Chapter 37

THE SPIRIT AWAKENS: NEW SEARCH FOR THE GATE

 

It would be useless to explain how in due time the last fifty dollars was in sight. The seven hundred, by his process of handling, had only carried them into June. Before the final hundred mark was reached he began to indicate that a calamity was approaching.

"I don't know," he said one day, taking a trivial expenditure for meat as a text, "it seems to take an awful lot for us to live."

"It doesn't seem to me," said Carrie, "that we spend very much."

"My money is nearly gone," he said, "and I hardly know where it's gone to."

"All that seven hundred dollars?" asked Carrie.

"All but a hundred."

He looked so disconsolate that it scared her. She began to see that she herself had been drifting. She had felt it all the time.

"Well, George," she exclaimed, "why don't you get out and look for something? You could find something."

"I have looked," he said. "You can't make people give you a place."

She gazed weakly at him and said: "Well, what do you think you will do? A hundred dollars won't last long."

"I don't know," he said. "I can't do any more than look."

Carrie became frightened over this announcement. She thought desperately upon the subject. Frequently she had considered the stage as a door through which she might enter that gilded state which she had so much craved. Now, as in Chicago, it came as a last resource in distress. Something must be done if he did not get work soon. Perhaps she would have to go out and battle again alone.

She began to wonder how one would go about getting a place. Her experience in Chicago proved that she had not tried the right way. There must be people who would listen to and try you -- men who would give you an opportunity.

They were talking at the breakfast table, a morning or two later, when she brought up the dramatic subject by saying that she saw that Sarah Bernhardt was coming to this country. Hurstwood had seen it, too.

"How do people get on the stage, George?" she finally asked, innocently.

"I don't know," he said. "There must be dramatic agents."

Carrie was sipping coffee, and did not look up.

"Regular people who get you a place?"

"Yes, I think so," he answered.

Suddenly the air with which she asked attracted his attention.

"You're not still thinking about being an actress, are you?" he asked.

"No," she answered, "I was just wondering."

Without being clear, there was something in the thought which he objected to. He did not believe any more, after three years of observation, that Carrie would ever do anything great in that line. She seemed too simple, too yielding. His idea of the art was that it involved something more pompous. If she tried to get on the stage she would fall into the hands of some cheap manager and become like the rest of them. He had a good idea of what he meant by them. Carrie was pretty. She would get along all right, but where would he be?

"I'd get that idea out of my head, if I were you. It's a lot more difficult than you think."

Carrie felt this to contain, in some way, an aspersion upon her ability.

"You said I did real well in Chicago," she rejoined.

"You did," he answered, seeing that he was arousing opposition, "but Chicago isn't New York, by a big jump."

Carrie did not answer this at all. It hurt her.

"The stage," he went on, "is all right if you can be one of the big guns, but there's nothing to the rest of it. It takes a long while to get up."

"Oh, I don't know," said Carrie, slightly aroused.

In a flash, he thought he foresaw the result of this thing. Now, when the worst of his situation was approaching, she would get on the stage in some cheap way and forsake him. Strangely, he had not conceived well of her mental ability. That was because he did not understand the nature of emotional greatness. He had never learned that a person might be emotionally -- instead of intellectually -- great. Avery Hall was too far away for him to look back and sharply remember. He had lived with this woman too long.

"Well, I do," he answered. "If I were you I wouldn't think of it. It's not much of a profession for a woman."

"It's better than going hungry," said Carrie. "If you don't want me to do that, why don't you get work yourself?"

There was no answer ready for this. He had got used to the suggestion.

"Oh, let up," he answered.

The result of this was that she secretly resolved to try. It didn't matter about him. She was not going to be dragged into poverty and something worse to suit him. She could act. She could get something and then work up. What would he say then? She pictured herself already appearing in some fine performance on Broadway; of going every evening to her dressing-room and making up. Then she would come out at eleven o'clock and see the carriages ranged about, waiting for the people. It did not matter whether she was the star or not. If she were only once in, getting a decent salary, wearing the kind of clothes she liked, having the money to do with, going here and there as she pleased, how delightful it would all be. Her mind ran over this picture all the day long. Hurstwood's dreary state made its beauty become more and more vivid.

Curiously this idea soon took hold of Hurstwood. His vanishing sum suggested that he would need sustenance. Why could not Carrie assist him a little until he could get something?

He came in one day with something of this idea in his mind.

"I met John B. Drake to-day," he said. "He's going to open a hotel here in the fall. He says that he can make a place for me then."

"Who is he?" asked Carrie.

"He's the man that runs the Grand Pacific in Chicago."

"Oh," said Carrie.

"I'd get about fourteen hundred a year out of that."

"That would be good, wouldn't it?" she said, sympathetically.

"If I can only get over this summer," he added, "I think I'll be all right. I'm hearing from some of my friends again."

Carrie swallowed this story in all its pristine beauty. She sincerely wished he could get through the summer. He looked so hopeless.

"How much money have you left?"

"Only fifty dollars."

"Oh, mercy," she exclaimed, "what will we do? It's only twenty days until the rent will be due again."

Hurstwood rested his head on his hands and looked blankly at the floor.

"Maybe you could get something in the stage line?" he blandly suggested.

"Maybe I could," said Carrie, glad that some one approved of the idea.

"I'll lay my hand to whatever I can get," he said, now that he saw her brighten up. "I can get something."

She cleaned up the things one morning after he had gone, dressed as neatly as her wardrobe permitted, and set out for Broadway. She did not know that thoroughfare very well. To her it was a wonderful conglomeration of everything great and mighty. The theatres were there -- these agencies must be somewhere about.

She decided to stop in at the Madison Square Theatre and ask how to find the theatrical agents. This seemed the sensible way. Accordingly, when she reached that theatre she applied to the clerk at the box office.

"Eh?" he said, looking out. "Dramatic agents? I don't know. You'll find them in the 'Clipper,' though. They all advertise in that."

"Is that a paper?" said Carrie.

"Yes," said the clerk, marvelling at such ignorance of a common fact. "You can get it at the news-stands," he added politely, seeing how pretty the inquirer was.

Carrie proceeded to get the "Clipper," and tried to find the agents by looking over it as she stood beside the stand. This could not be done so easily. Thirteenth Street was a number of blocks off, but she went back, carrying the precious paper and regretting the waste of time.

Hurstwood was already there, sitting in his place.

"Where were you?" he asked.

"I've been trying to find some dramatic agents."

He felt a little diffident about asking concerning her success. The paper she began to scan attracted his attention.

"What have you got there?" he asked.

"The 'Clipper.' The man said I'd find their addresses in here."

"Have you been all the way over to Broadway to find that out? I could have told you."

"Why didn't you?" she asked, without looking up.

"You never asked me," he returned.

She went hunting aimlessly through the crowded columns. Her mind was distracted by this man's indifference. The difficulty of the situation she was facing was only added to by all he did. Self-commiseration brewed in her heart. Tears trembled along her eyelids but did not fall. Hurstwood noticed something.

"Let me look."

To recover herself she went into the front room while he searched. Presently she returned. He had a pencil, and was writing upon an envelope.

"Here're three," he said.

Carrie took it and found that one was Mrs. Bermudez, another Marcus Jenks, a third Percy Weil. She paused only a moment, and then moved toward the door.

"I might as well go right away," she said, without looking back.

Hurstwood saw her depart with some faint stirrings of shame, which were the expression of a manhood rapidly becoming stultified. He sat a while, and then it became too much. He got up and put on his hat.

"I guess I'll go out," he said to himself, and went, strolling nowhere in particular, but feeling somehow that he must go.

Carrie's first call was upon Mrs. Bermudez, whose address was quite the nearest. It was an old-fashioned residence turned into offices. Mrs. Bermudez's offices consisted of what formerly had been a back chamber and a hall bedroom, marked "Private."

As Carrie entered she noticed several persons lounging about -- men, who said nothing and did nothing.

While she was waiting to be noticed, the door of the hall bedroom opened and from it issued two very mannish-looking women, very tightly dressed, and wearing white collars and cuffs. After them came a portly lady of about forty-five, light-haired, sharp-eyed, and evidently good-natured. At least she was smiling.

"Now, don't forget about that," said one of the mannish women.

"I won't," said the portly woman. "Let's see," she added, "where are you the first week in February?"

"Pittsburg," said the woman.

"I'll write you there."

"All right," said the other, and the two passed out.

Instantly the portly lady's face became exceedingly sober and shrewd. She turned about and fixed on Carrie a very searching eye.

"Well," she said, "young woman, what can I do for you?"

"Are you Mrs. Bermudez?"

"Yes."

"Well," said Carrie, hesitating how to begin, "do you get places for persons upon the stage?"

"Yes."

"Could you get me one?"

"Have you ever had any experience?"

"A very little," said Carrie.

"Whom did you play with?"

"Oh, with no one," said Carrie. "It was just a show gotten-"

"Oh, I see," said the woman, interrupting her. "No, I don't know of anything now."

Carrie's countenance fell.

"You want to get some New York experience," concluded the affable Mrs. Bermudez. "We'll take your name, though."

Carrie stood looking while the lady retired to her office.

"What is your address?" inquired a young lady behind the counter, taking up the curtailed conversation.

"Mrs. George Wheeler," said Carrie, moving over to where she was writing. The woman wrote her address in full and then allowed her to depart at her leisure.

She encountered a very similar experience in the office of Mr. Jenks, only he varied it by saying at the close: "If you could play at some local house, or had a programme with your name on it, I might do something."

In the third place the individual asked:

"What sort of work do you want to do?"

"What do you mean?" said Carrie.

"Well, do you want to get in a comedy or on the vaudeville stage or in the chorus?"

"Oh, I'd like to get a part in a play," said Carrie.

"Well," said the man, "it'll cost you something to do that."

"How much?" said Carrie, who, ridiculous as it may seem, had not thought of this before.

"Well, that's for you to say," he answered shrewdly.

Carrie looked at him curiously. She hardly knew how to continue the inquiry.

"Could you get me a part if I paid?"

"If we didn't you'd get your money back."

"Oh," she said.

The agent saw he was dealing with an inexperienced soul, and continued accordingly.

"You'd want to deposit fifty dollars, anyway. No agent would trouble about you for less than that."

Carrie saw a light.

"Thank you," she said. "I'll think about it."

She started to go, and then bethought herself.

"How soon would I get a place?" she asked.

"Well, that's hard to say," said the man. "You might get one in a week, or it might be a month. You'd get the first thing that we thought you could do."

"I see," said Carrie, and then, half-smiling to be agreeable, she walked out.

The agent studied a moment, and then said to himself:

"It's funny how anxious these women are to get on the stage."

Carrie found ample food for reflection in the fifty-dollar proposition. "Maybe they'd take my money and not give me anything," she thought. She had some jewelry -- a diamond ring and pin and several other pieces. She could get fifty dollars for those if she went to a pawnbroker.

Hurstwood was home before her. He had not thought she would be so long seeking.

"Well?" he said, not venturing to ask what news.

"I didn't find out anything to-day," said Carrie, taking off her gloves. "They all want money to get you a place."

"How much?" asked Hurstwood.

"Fifty dollars."

"They don't want anything, do they?"

"Oh, they're like everybody else. You can't tell whether they'd ever get you anything after you did pay them."

"Well, I wouldn't put up fifty on that basis," said Hurstwood, as if he were deciding, money in hand.

"I don't know," said Carrie. "I think I'll try some of the managers."

Hurstwood heard this, dead to the horror of it. He rocked a little to and fro, and chewed at his finger. It seemed all very natural in such extreme states. He would do better later on.

第三十七章

如梦初醒：另谋出路

毋须解释怎么会过了一段时间，就眼见得只剩下最后的５０块钱了。由他来理财，那７００块钱只将他们维持到了６月份。快到只剩下最后的１００块钱的时候，他开始提及即将临头的灾难。

“我真不懂，”一天，他以一小笔买肉的开支为借口说，“看来我们过日子的确要花很多的钱。”“依我看，”嘉莉说，“我们花得并不太多。”“我的钱就要花完了，”他说，“而且我几乎不知道钱都花到哪里去了。”“那７００块钱都要花完了吗？”嘉莉问道。

“就只剩下１００块钱了。”

他看上去情绪很坏，吓了她一跳。她这时感到自己也是漂泊不定。她一直都有这种感觉。

“喂，乔治，”她叫道，“为什么你不出去找些事做呢？你可以找到事的。”“我找过了，”他说，“你总不能强迫人家给你个职位吧。”她无力地望着他说：“那么，你想怎么办呢？１００块钱可用不了多久。”“我不知道，”他说，“除了找找看，我也没有别的办法。”这句话让嘉莉感到惊恐了。她苦苦地想着这个问题。她过去常常认为舞台是通向她十分渴望的金色世界的门户。现在，就像在芝加哥一样，舞台又成为她危难之中的最后希望。

如果他不能很快找到工作，就必须另想办法。也许她又得出去孤身奋斗了。

她开始考虑该怎样着手去找事做。她在芝加哥的经验证明她以前的找法不对。肯定会有人愿意听你的请求，试用你的。有人会给你一个机会的。

过了一两天，他们在早餐桌上谈话时，她提到了戏剧，说是她看到萨拉·伯恩哈特要来美国的消息。赫斯渥也看到了这条消息。

“人家是怎样当上演员的，乔治？”她终于天真地问。

“我不知道，”他说，“肯定是通过剧团代理人吧。”嘉莉在呷着咖啡，头也没抬。

“是些专门代人找工作的人吗？”

“是的，我想是这样的，”他回答道。

突然，她问话的神情引起了他的注意。

“莫非你还在想着当演员，是吗？”他问。

“不，”她回答，“我只是搞不懂罢了。”

他也不大清楚为什么，但他对这种想法有些不赞成。观察了三年以后，他不再相信嘉莉会在这一行里有多大的成功。她似乎太单纯、太温顺了。他对戏剧艺术的看法认为艺术包含着某种更为浮夸的东西。倘若她想当演员，就会落入某个卑鄙的经理的手中，变得和那帮人一样。他十分了解他所指的那帮人。嘉莉长得漂亮，她会混得不错，可是他该置身何处呢？

“要是我是你的话，我就不打这个注意。那比你想的要难得多。”嘉莉觉得这话多少含有贬低她的才能的意思。

“可你说过我在芝加哥的演出确实不错，”她反驳说。

“你是演得不错，”他回答，看出他已经激起了反感。“但是芝加哥远远不同于纽约。”对此，嘉莉根本不答理。这话太让她伤心了。

“演戏这事嘛，”他接着说，“倘若你能成为名角，是不错的，但是对其他人来说就不怎样了。要想成名，得花很长的时间。”“哦，这我可不知道，”嘉莉说，有点激动了。

刹那间，他觉得他已经预见到了这件事的结局。现在，他已临近山穷水尽，而她要通过某种不光彩的途径当上演员，把他抛弃。奇怪的是，他从不往好处去想她的智力。这是因为他不会从本质上理解感情的伟大。他从来就不知道一个人可能会在感情上很伟大，而不是在知识上。阿佛莱会堂已经成为十分遥远的过去，他既不会去回想，也记不清楚了。他和这个女人同居得太久了。

“哦，我倒是知道的，”他回答，“要是我是你的话，我就不会去想它了。对于女人来说，这可不是个好职业。”“这总比挨饿强吧，”嘉莉说，“如果你不要我去演戏，为什么你自己不去找工作呢？”对此，没有现成的回答。他已经听惯了这个意见。

“好啦，别说了吧，”他回答。

这番谈话的结果是她暗暗下了决心，要去试试。这不关他的事。她可不愿意为了迎合他而被拖进贫困，或是更糟的处境。她能演戏。她能找到事做，然后逐步成名。到那时候，他还能说些什么呢？她想象着自己已经在百老汇的某些精彩演出中登台亮相，每天晚上走进自己的化妆室去化妆。然后，她会在１１点钟走出戏院，看见四周那些一排排等人的马车。她是否名角并不重要。只要她能干上这一行，拿着像样的薪水，穿着爱穿的衣服，有钱可花，想去哪里就去哪里，这一切该是多么令人快乐！她整天脑子里就想着这些情景。赫斯渥那令人沮丧的处境使得这些情景更加美丽迷人。

说也奇怪，这个想法很快也占据了赫斯渥的头脑。他那逐渐消失的钱提醒他，需要找点生计了。为什么嘉莉不能帮他一点，直到他找到事做呢？

一天，他回到家里，脑子里有些这样的想法。

“今天我遇见了约翰·贝·德雷克，”他说，“他打算今年秋天在这里开一家旅馆。他说到那时能给我一个职位。”“他是谁？”嘉莉问。

“他是在芝加哥开太平洋大饭店的。”

“喔，”嘉莉说。

“我那个职位大约一年能拿１４００块钱的薪水。”“那太好了，是不是？”她同情地说。

“只要我能熬过这个夏天，”他补充说，“我想一切就会好了。我又收到了几个朋友的来信。”嘉莉原原本本地相信了这个美丽的故事。她真诚地希望他能熬过这个夏天。他看上去太绝望了。

“你还剩下多少钱？”

“只有５０块了。”

“哦，天哪！”她叫起来了，“我们该怎么办呢？离下一次付房租只有二十天了。”赫斯渥两手捧着头，茫然地看着地板。

“也许你能在戏剧这一行里找些事做，”他和蔼地提议道。

“也许我能找到，”嘉莉说，很高兴有人赞成她的想法。

“只要是能找到的事情我都愿意去做，”看见她高兴起来，他说，“我能找到事情做的。”一天早晨，他走了以后，她把家里收拾干净，尽自己所有的衣服穿戴整齐，动身去百老汇大街。她对那条大街并不太熟悉。在她看来，那里奇妙地聚集着所有伟大和非凡的事业。戏院都在那里--这种代理处肯定就在那附近。

她决定先顺道拜访一下麦迪逊广场戏院，问问怎样才能找到剧团代理人。这种做法似乎很明智。因此，当她到了那家戏院时，就向票房的人打听这事。

“什么？”他说，探头看了看。“剧团代理人？我不知道。不过你可以从《剪报》上找到他们。他们都在那上面刊登广告。”“那是一种报纸吗？”嘉莉问。

“是的，”那人说，很奇怪她竟会不知道这么一件普通的事情。“你可以在报摊上买到的。”看见来询问的人这么漂亮，他客气地又加了一句。

嘉莉于是去买了《剪报》，站在报摊边，想扫一眼报纸，找到那些代理人。这事做起来并不那么容易。从这里到十三街要过好几条横马路，但她还是回去了，带着这份珍贵的报纸，直后悔浪费了时间。

赫斯渥已经回到家里，坐在他的老位子上。

“你去哪里了？”他问道。

“我试着去找几个剧团代理人。”

他感到有点胆怯，不敢问她是否成功了。她开始翻阅的那份报纸引起了他的注意。

“你那儿看的是什么？”他问。

“《剪报》。那人说我可以在这上面找到他们的地址。”“你大老远地跑到百老汇大街去，就是为了这个？我本来可以告诉你的。”“那你为什么不告诉我呢？“她问，头也没抬。

“你从来没有问过我嘛，”回答。

她在那些密密麻麻的栏目中，漫无目的地寻找着。这个人的冷漠搅得她心神不宁。他所做的一切，只是使得她面临的处境更加困难。她在心里开始自叹命苦。她的眼睑上已经挂上了眼泪，只是没有掉下来。赫斯渥也有所察觉。

“让我来看看。”

为了使自己恢复镇静，趁他查看报纸时，她去了前房间。

很快她就回来了。他正拿着一支铅笔，在一个信封上写着什么。

“这里有三个，”他说。

嘉莉接过信封，看到一个是伯缪台兹太太，另一个是马库斯·詹克斯，第三个是珀西·韦尔。她只停了一会儿，然后就朝门口走去。

“我最好立刻就去，”她说，头也没回。

赫斯渥眼看着她离去，心里隐约泛起阵阵羞愧，这是男子汉气概迅速衰退的表现。他坐了一会儿，随后觉得无法忍受了。他站起身来，戴上了帽子。

“我看我还得出去，”他自言自语着就出去了，没有目的地遛达着。不知怎么地，他只是觉得自己非出去不可。

嘉莉第一个拜访的是伯缪台兹太太，她的地址最近。这是一座老式住宅改成的办公室。伯缪台兹的办公室由原来的一间后房间和一间直通过道的卧室组成，标有“闲人莫入。”嘉莉进去时，发现几个人闲坐在那里，都是男人，不说话，也不干事。

当她正在等待有人注意她时，直通过道的卧室的门开了，从里面出来两个很像男人的女人，穿着十分紧身的衣服，配有白衣领和白袖口。她们的身后跟着一个胖夫人，大约４５岁，淡色头发，目光敏锐，看上去心地善良。至少，她正在微笑着。

“喂，别忘记那件事，”那两个像男人的女人中的一个说。

“不会的，”胖夫人说。“让我想想，”她又补充说，“２月份的第一个星期你们会在哪里？”“在匹兹堡，”那个女人说。

“我会往那里给你们写信的。”

“好吧，”对方说着，两个人就出去了。

立刻，这位胖夫人的脸色变得极其严肃和精明。她转过身来，用锐利的目光打量着嘉莉。

“喂，”她说，“年轻人，我能为你效劳吗？”“你是伯缪台兹太太吗？”“是的。”“这个，”嘉莉说，不知从何说起，“你能介绍人上台演戏吗？”“是的。”“你能帮我找个角色吗？”“你有经验吗？”“有一点点，”嘉莉说。

“你在哪个剧团干过？”

“哦，一个也没有，”嘉莉说。“那只是一次客串，在--”“哦，我明白了，”那个女人说道，打断了她。“不，眼下我不知道有什么机会。”嘉莉的脸色变了。

“你得有些在纽约演出的经验才行，”和蔼的伯缪台兹太太最后说，“不过，我们可以记下你的名字。”嘉莉站在那里看着这位夫人回到自己的办公室。

“请问你的地址是什么？”柜台后的一个年轻女人接过中断的谈话，问道。

“乔治·惠勒太太，”嘉莉说着，走到她在写字的地方。那个女人写下了她的详细地址，然后就对她说请便了。

在詹克斯的办公室里，她的遭遇也十分相似，唯一不同的是，他在最后说：“要是你能在某个地方戏院演出，或者有一张有你的名字的节目单的话，我也许能效点劳。”在第三个地方，那个人问道：“你想干哪一类的工作？”“你问这个是什么意思？”嘉莉说。

“喔，你是想演喜剧，还是杂耍剧，还是当群舞演员。”“哦，我想在一出戏里担任一个角色，”嘉莉说。

“那样的话，”那人说，“你要花些钱才能办得到。”“多少钱？”嘉莉说，看起来也许很可笑，她以前没想过这一点。

“哦，那就由你说了，”他精明地回答。

嘉莉好奇地看着他。她几乎不知道该怎么接着往下问了。

“如果我付了钱，你能给我一个角色吗？”“要是不能给，就把钱退还给你。““哦，”她说。

那个代理人看出他是在和一个没有经验的人打交道，因此接着说。

“不管怎样，你都要先付５０块钱，少于这个数，没有哪个代理人会愿意为你费神的。"嘉莉看出了端倪。

“谢谢你，”她说，“我要考虑一下。”

她动身要走时又想起了一些什么。

“要过多久我才能得到一个角色？”她问。

“哦，那就难说了，”那人说，“也许一个星期，也许一个月。

我们一有合适的事就会给你的。”

“我明白了，”嘉莉说，然后，露出一丝悦人的笑容，走了出来。

那个代理人琢磨了一会儿，然后自言自语道：“这些女人都这么渴望着能当演员，真是可笑。”这个５０块钱的要求让嘉莉想了很多。“也许他们会拿了我的钱，却什么也不给我，”她想，她有一些珠宝--一只钻石戒指和别针，还有几件别的首饰。要是她去当铺当了这些东西，她是可以筹出５０块钱的。

赫斯渥在她之前回的家。他没有想到她要花这么长的时间去寻找。

“喂，”他说，不敢询问有什么消息。

“今天我什么事也没找到，”嘉莉说着，脱下手套。“他们都要你先付钱，才给你事做。”“多少钱？”赫斯渥问。

“５０块。”

“他们没作任何要求，是不是？”

“哦，他们和别的人一样。即便你真地付了钱，也说不准他们到底会不会给你事做。”“唉，我可不愿意为此拿出５０块钱，”赫斯渥说，好像他正手里拿着钱在作决定似的。

“我不知道，”嘉莉说，“我想去找几个经理试试。”赫斯渥听到这话，已经不再觉得这种想法有什么可怕了。

他轻轻地前后摇摇啃着他的手指。到了如此山穷水尽的地步，这似乎也是非常自然的。以后，他会好起来的。