Chapter 3 third chapter

If Mrs. Van Hopper hadn't been a snob, I don't know what my life would be like today. It's funny to think that the path I take in life depends entirely on this lady's snobbery.Her morbid curiosity had become almost a quirk.At first, I was shocked and often overwhelmed with embarrassment.People snickered behind her back and hurried away when she entered the house, even hastily ducked through the waiter's door in the upstairs hallway, out of fear of being caught. At such times, I am like a servant who has suffered for others, and must bear all the pain of the master.For many years, she has been a frequent guest of the "Côte d'Azur" hotel. In addition to playing bridge, she also has a pastime that is notorious in Monte Carlo, that is, forcing travelers with status to be her friends. Although these people she only met once in the post office.She can always think of a way to introduce herself, and before the prey senses the danger, she has already made a formal invitation to visit her room.When attacking, she used a unique method: straightforward and unprepared; therefore, the opponent had little chance of escape.In the hotel lounge, halfway between the reception room and the passage leading to the dining room, she always had a sofa that was hers.After lunch and dinner.She always drank coffee there, so that all the guests who came in and went out had to pass her.Sometimes she also used me as a bait for her prey, sending me a message across the drawing room, or sending me to borrow a book or newspaper, or to inquire about a shop or some other address; In time, you will find a friend you both know.I detest such errands.People of renown seemed to feed her as much as a bedridden patient had to be fed jelly by the spoonful.She likes to find famous people with titles best, but she also likes to make friends with other people, as long as their photos have been seen in newspapers.

There are also people whose names have appeared in newspaper gossip columns, writers, artists, actors and so on, and even the most unbearable characters among them. Want to flirt. To this day, I can still recall her on that unforgettable afternoon—never mind how many years ago—as if it were only yesterday.She was sitting on her favorite sofa in the lounge, planning her attack; I could tell by her haste, even by tapping her teeth with her pince-nez, that she was thinking hard.From the fact that she hurried through the after-dinner fruit before consuming the dessert, I knew that she wanted to finish her lunch before this guest, so that she could sit in his path and wait.Suddenly, she turned to me, her small eyes sparkled, and said, "Go upstairs and find that letter from my nephew. Remember, it's the one he wrote on his honeymoon, with a picture inside.

Bring it to me now! " I know that her plan is already drawn up, and she is going to use her nephew as a medium.I hate that I have to play such a role in her tricks.This is not the first time.I was like a juggler, handing over the props, and then I remained silent, intently waiting for the master to give me a hint.The new visitor doesn't like to be disturbed, I'm sure of that.Ten months earlier she had collected bits and pieces of gossip about the man from the dailies, and had been hoarding them in her memory for future use.She once said something to me at lunch.Although I am still young and unsophisticated, I can imagine from these few words that he must hate being interrupted by others unexpectedly.

Why he chose Monte Carlo's "Côte d'Azur" to come here has nothing to do with us.He had his own thoughts, which no one else could understand; except, of course, Mrs. Van Hopper.This lady never knew how to be decent in the world, and she didn't pay attention to prudence. Gossip and gossip are indispensable in her life.Therefore, the stranger had to be dissected by her.I found the letter in the pigeonhole of her desk and hesitated before going downstairs to the lounge.For some reason, I feel, this seems to give him a little more time to be alone. I wish I had the courage to go down the waiter's stairs, make a detour, and run to the dining room to tell him that someone was waiting for him.However, social etiquette bound me deeply; besides, I didn't know what to say to him.So all I had to do was take the seat I usually occupied next to Mrs. Van Hopper, and let her weave her obnoxious web like a great proud spider to entangle the stranger.

It took me longer than I thought to go away.When I got to the lounge, he had already left the dining room, and she was worried that the partner would slip away, and before I got the letter, she had already cheekily tried to introduce herself, and at this moment he was already sitting on the sofa next to her .I walked across the hall to them and handed her the letter without a word.He stood up immediately. Mrs. Van Hopper, flushed with excitement at the success of her scheme, waved wildly in my direction and introduced my name vaguely. "Mr. de Winter is with us for coffee. Go tell the waiter to bring another cup." She spoke very curtly to let him know my position.What she meant was that I'm a little girl who doesn't matter in the conversation.Whenever she showed herself off, she always spoke in this tone; and her method of introducing me to people was also a kind of self-defense, because once I was mistaken for her daughter, and both were greatly embarrassed at the same time. .Her impertinence tells people: You can leave me alone and it doesn't matter.So the ladies gave me a little nod, both as a greeting and as a sign to send me away; and the gentlemen were greatly relieved to know that they could sit comfortably again without fear of being rude.

It seemed strange to me, therefore, to see the new visitor standing still and calling the waiter for coffee himself. "I'm afraid I must contradict you," he said to her. "It was you two with me for coffee." Before I knew what was going on, he was sitting in the hard chair that I usually took, and I was sitting next to Mrs. Van Hopper. in the sofa. For a while, she looked a little unhappy because it didn't fit her original plan, but then she beamed again, and she put her fat body between the coffee table and me, leaned over his chair, and babbled loudly. , waving the letter in his hand: "You know, I recognized you as soon as you entered the restaurant, and I thought: "Hey, isn't this Mr. de Winter, isn't this Bill's friend?I'm sure to show Bill the honeymoon photos he took with his bride. 'Well, these are the pictures.This is Dora, what a stunner, isn't she?Look at her slender waist and big almond eyes.Here they are sunbathing in Palm Cove.As you can imagine, Bill was madly in love with her.Bill, of course, hadn't met her when he was at the Chiraridge Hotel!It was at that banquet that I first saw you.But I dare say you'll never remember an old woman like me. "While talking, she rolled her eyes provocatively and bared her gleaming teeth.

"On the contrary, I remember you well," he said, and before she had time to lay a trap to drag her into endless reminiscences of the first meeting, he handed over the cigarette case and lit the light. The smoke kept her speechless for a moment. "I don't like Palm Beach," he said, blowing out the match.I glanced at him and realized how out of place he would be against the Florida background.He would have belonged to those decaying fifteenth-century cities with their narrow cobbled streets and slender spiers, and whose inhabitants wore pointed shoes and wool stockings.His countenance was attractive, sensitive, magically and uncannily medieval.Looking at him, I was reminded of a portrait I had seen in an art exhibition somewhere, of some unknown gentleman.As long as someone strips him of his English tweed suit and dresses him in black, with lace at the neck and cuffs, he will gaze upon us in the modern world from a distant past.In the distant past, gentlemen in great cloaks walked in the night, and stood in the shadow of ancient gates; narrow stairs, dark dungeons, whispers in the dark, flashes of swords, and the wordless Elegant etiquette.

I wish I could remember the master who made this portrait.The portrait hangs in a corner of the gallery, its eyes staring at you through the dusty frame... However, at the moment they were talking very enthusiastically, and I didn't hear what they were talking about just now. At this moment, I only heard him say: "No, it wasn't like this even twenty years ago. I never heard of that kind of thing." Not funny." Then I heard Mrs. Van Hopper's indulgent, self-satisfied laugh. "If kid Bill had a home like Manderley, he wouldn't hang out in Palm Beach," she said. "People say that Mandali is a fairyland, and there is no other word to describe it."

She stopped, expecting him to smile back, but he continued to smoke to himself.Although his expression was imperceptibly indifferent, I noticed a slight frown on his brow. "Of course, I've seen pictures of Manderley," she insisted. "It's so charming. I remember Bill telling me that Manderley is more beautiful than all other great estates. I don't know how you'd want to leave it." At this moment, his silence was already very embarrassing, and anyone else would have noticed it at a glance.But she was still chattering, like a clumsy ram, crashing into the well-protected boundary of others, rushing left and right, trampling at will.I just felt the blood rushing to my face as she was dragging me along to the humiliation.

"Naturally, you English men all have the same attitude toward home," she said, growing louder. "You're belittling your own homes to show you're not arrogant. Isn't there a gallery of medieval bards in Manderley? There's a collection of paintings that are priceless, aren't there?" She turned to me. , explained it to me: "Mr. de Winter is too modest to be honest. But I dare say his lovely old home has belonged to his family since the time of the Conquest. Listen to people It is said that the paintings in the Minstrel Gallery are extremely precious. Mr. De Winter, I think your ancestors often entertained the royal family at Manderley?" ①Referring to King William's conquest of England in 1066.

Since I was born, I have never endured such embarrassment, not even in her hands.Unexpectedly, the other party was caught off guard and sarcastically said: "Yes, it has belonged to my family since the time of King Etheld," he said. "It is the king of England who is called 'not yet ready'. In fact, he got this nickname when he lived in my house, because he was always late for dinner." ① Refers to King Etheld II of England (968 ? - 1016) Of course, this is the retribution she deserves!I waited for her to change face.But it was unbelievable that what he said had no effect on her, so I had to sit on pins and needles for her, like a child who had been slapped in the ear. "Really?" She made mistakes again and again. "I don't know a thing. My historical knowledge is very shaky, and so many kings always confuse me. But how interesting it all is. I must write to my daughter, she is a great scholar." .” We can't talk anymore.I just feel like my cheeks are flushed.I'm too young to know what to do.If I had been a few years older, I would have caught his eye and smiled at him; Mrs. Van Hooper's unbelievable performance had established a kind of rapport with him.But the truth of the matter was that I was overwhelmed with shame, and again I was suffering from the pain that was so common in my youth. He probably saw my embarrassment, so he leaned over from his chair, spoke to me in a soft voice, and asked me if I wanted more coffee.As I shook my head in decline, I felt his bewildered, pensive eyes still fixed on me. He was probably wondering what my relationship was to Mrs. Van Hopper, and whether we should both be considered the same philistines. "What do you think of Monte Carlo? What do you think?" he asked.Pulling me into their conversation really made me extremely embarrassed, and I immediately showed the immature appearance of a former schoolgirl with disheveled hair.Before I could stammer something obvious and foolish about how man-crafted the place is, Mrs. Van Hopper interrupted: "She's spoiled, De Mr. Winter, that's her problem. How many girls are willing to sacrifice their eyes for the chance to see Monte Carlo." "Wouldn't that defeat the purpose?" He said with a faint smile on his face. She shrugged and exhaled a cloud of smoke.I think she didn't understand what he meant at once. "I'm a regular at Monte Carlo," she told him. "It's a hell of an English winter. I can't stand the climate. Why do you come here? You're not a regular here. Do you want to play 'snow rice'? Have you brought your golf clubs? "①A kind of card game similar to "Solitaire". "I haven't thought it through yet, I was in a hurry when I left home," he replied. These few words of his own must have shaken some kind of memory, and his face darkened again, and he frowned slightly. She was still babbling indifferently. "Naturally you miss the fog at Manderley, which is a different sight altogether. The rural west must be mind-blowing in spring. "He reached for the ashtray and stubbed out the cigarette. I noticed a subtle change in his eyes, something indescribable wandering there for a moment; I seemed to see some privacy in him, but this What are you doing with me?" "Yes, Manderley was at its most beautiful when I left," he said briefly. Then everyone was silent, followed by embarrassment.I stole a glance at him, and couldn't help but think more clearly of my unknown gentleman: wearing a great cloak, moving surreptitiously, wandering in the corridors in the dark.It was Mrs. Van Hopper's voice, which tore through my reverie like an electric bell. "I'm sure you know a lot of people here, but Monte Carlo has been a bit dull this winter, and you haven't met many famous people. The Duke of Middlesex is here, living on his own yacht. I haven't had time to go on the yacht. Going to see him! (As far as I know, she's never been on that yacht.) Of course you know Rielle Middlesex Rowe. What a charmer! People always say the second child wasn't born to the Duke Well, I don't believe it. When a woman is good looking, people gossip, don't they? And she's just so attractive. Caxton and Hislop don't get along well after marriage, is it true? ’ she went on and on, rambling and gossip, never realizing that the names were completely foreign and meaningless to him.She also didn't notice that the more she disregarded the other party's reaction and kept talking nonsense, the more indifferent the other party was and the less she talked.But he never interrupted her, and he never looked at his watch. It seemed that since he made a fool of her in front of me and made an initial mistake, he had set a code of conduct for himself. Follow the rules without hesitation, and don't want to offend others anymore.He was finally relieved by a pager who came to say that a tailor was waiting in the room for Mrs. Van Hopper. Immediately he got up, moved his chair, and said, "Don't let me detain you. Clothes are changing so fast now that they may change again before you go upstairs." His mockery didn't sting her, she took it as a compliment instead. "It's a pleasure to meet you like this, Mr. Devontram," she said, walking with me toward the elevator. "Since I've made the abrupt start, I hope to see you from time to time. You must come and sit in my room and have a drink. There may be a visitor or two to-morrow evening, and you may come too." I hastened Turning his face away, he was afraid of seeing the embarrassment he tried to decline. "I'm so sorry," he said. "Tomorrow I may drive to Sosipal, and I don't know when I'll be back." She had no choice but to give up, but we were still lingering by the elevator door. "I think they must have got you a nice room. The hotel is half empty, so if you don't feel comfortable, make sure you make a fuss with them. The servants take care of your luggage, don't you?" The familiarity was too much, and rare even for her.I caught a glimpse of his face. "I have no servant," he replied calmly. "Maybe you'd like to unpack for me!" This time the arrow hit the target, her face turned pale, and she had to smile awkwardly. "Ah, I didn't mean..." Then, it was really unbelievable.She turned to me suddenly and said: "Perhaps you can help Mr. de Winter if need be. You are a capable boy in many ways." There was another short silence.Frightened, I stood dumbfounded, waiting for his reply.He looked down at us with a sarcastic, slightly haughty expression, a faint smile on his lips. "Brilliant," he said. "But I believe in an old saying in my family: the single traveler travels the fastest. Maybe you've never heard that!" Then, before Mrs. Van Hopper could answer, he turned and walked away. "How funny!" said Mrs. Van Hopper as we rode up the elevator. "Do you think it's humorous for him to leave abruptly? Men often do such weird things. I remember a famous writer who ran down the waiter's stairs whenever he saw me coming. I saw him Probably obsessed with me, but lacked self-confidence. But I was young then." The elevator wobbled and stopped.When we got to our floor, the elevator attendant opened the door. "By the way, my dear," she said to me in the corridor, "don't blame me for picking you up again. But this afternoon you've been a bit presumptuous, and it's embarrassing to me that you're trying to dominate the conversation. And, dare I say He felt the same way, men don't like that." I didn't say a word, and it seemed that nothing would do anything to her. "Ah, well, don't be upset," she shrugged with a smile. "After all, I am responsible for your actions here. Naturally, you might as well listen to my advice. I can be your mother at any age. Eh bien, Blaize, Blaize, ie viens①..." Humming a ditty, she walked into the bedroom. The tailor was waiting for her.①French: "Okay, Blaize, here I come. " I knelt on a chair by the window, watching the street scene in the afternoon.The sun was shining brightly and a gust of wind was blowing merrily.In half an hour we were sitting down to play bridge again.The windows were closed, and the hot water was wide open.I thought about the ashtray I was always expected to pick up, the cluttered pile of flattened cigarette butts stained with lipstick and discarded chocolate bonbons.My intellect developed while learning about snapshot photography, learning how to organize a wonderful family.Such a mind was hardly used to bridge; besides, her friends were impatient to play with me. I felt that in the presence of a young girl like myself they could no more converse as they would in the presence of the parlor-maid before the fruit was brought after dinner.Because I was there, it was difficult for them to start talking all at once, with gossip that was both libelous and insinuating.Then the male guest would feign an unnatural enthusiasm and ask me some ridiculous questions about history or painting.They thought I had left school not long ago, and they had to talk to me, so they had to talk about it. I sighed and turned back from the window.The sun is full of hope; the sea is white-capped by the blowing wind.I thought of Monaco, which I had passed through a day or two ago, where there was a house leaning on a certain street corner, bent over a cobbled square.There is a slit-like window on the high, collapsed roof. Perhaps a medieval person once lived behind this window.Picking up pencil and paper from my desk, I drew absent-mindedly, imagining a pale, hook-nosed profile head, dark eyes, a high nose bridge, and a mocking upper lip.Then I added a pointed beard to the figure, and lace at the neckline, just as the master painted it long ago in a bygone age. There is a knock on the door.The elevator attendant came in with a note in his hand. "Ma'am is in the bedroom," I told him.But he shook his head and said the letter was for me.I opened the envelope and found that there was only a piece of notebook paper inside, and a few words were written in Yang Sheng's handwriting: "Forgive me, I was too rude this afternoon." Just a few words, neither signature nor title.But my name was clearly written on the envelope, and it was spelled correctly, which is rare. "Any reply?" the waiter asked me. I raised my head from the cursive writing and replied, "No, no. No reply." After the waiter left, I stuffed my toilet bag into my pocket and looked at my pencil drawing again.But for some reason, I don't like it anymore.The face was dead and lifeless, and the lace neckline and beard were the embellishments of an exhausting charade.