sister carrie

Chapter 17 (1)

Chapter 10 Winter Advice: The Envoy of Wealthy Life Visits (1)
In light of the world's attitude toward women and their responsibilities, Carrie's state of mind deserves consideration.Her conduct was always measured by an arbitrary yardstick.Society holds a traditional standard by which to judge everything.All men should be good, all women should be chaste.Gangster, why did you commit a crime
crime. (This is the word used in ancient England. - Translator)
In spite of all the permissive interpretations of Spencer and modern natural philosophers, we have only a naive moral conception.The truth is more than conforming to the laws of evolution.It's more complicated than we realize.First of all, we must answer why the heartstrings tremble, and then we must explain why some sad tunes spread throughout the world and never fade away; we must find out why the rose always blooms its bright red flowers no matter the weather, and what is the subtle process involved .In the very nature of these facts lies the very first principle of morality.

"Oh," thought Drouet, "how sweet is my conquest."

"Ah," thought Carrie, with pathetic misgivings, "what have I lost?"

We stand in front of this question as old as the world, with serious attitudes, but our hearts are messed up; we are trying to construct a correct theory of morality-provide the correct answer to what is justice.

To one class of society, Carrie was well off--to those who were hungry and weathered.Carrie was the wife who stayed peacefully in the calm harbor.Drouet rented and furnished three rooms in Ogton Square, on the West End, across from Union Park.This is a place with green grass and fresh air. Take today's Chicago as an example, there is no place that can match it.The scenery here is suitable for rest.The best room looked out over a lawn shaded by a small pond in the park, which was now dead and yellow.The steeple of the Union Park Congregational Church and the towers of several other churches in the distance showed through the dead branches, which were shaken by the harsh winter wind.

The equipment provided in the room is quite comfortable.The floor was covered with a fine Brussels carpet, crimson against pale yellow, and large vases of brightly colored flowers.Between the two windows stood a large kitchen mirror.There was a big blue soft velvet sofa in the corner, surrounded by a few rocking chairs.There were a few pictures, some tapestries, a few ornaments, and that was all the furniture.

In the bedroom off the front room was Carrie's trunk, bought by Drouet.In the closet hung a row of clothes—she hadn't had so many before, and they were beautiful.The third room could be used as a kitchen if need be, and Drouet had Carrie buy a small portable gas range, from which Chinese meals could be prepared, from oysters, Drouet's favorite, toasted bread with cheese. kind.Finally, there is a bathroom.The whole place is cozy, with gas lamps, and there is no fire in the basement below, but the hot air is passed through the flue to the furnace sheds in the various rooms for heating. .Add to that her industriousness and tidiness, and even more so now, and there was always a pleasant air about the place.

In this way, Carrie lived to her liking here, free from all the difficulties that foreboding.However, at the same time, it also brought her some new difficulties, which belonged to the psychological state.Taken together, these turned her relationships upside down and made her almost a different person.She saw a more beautiful Carrie in the mirror than before.She looked again into her heart, where there was a mirror of herself and society's morals, and she saw a worse Carrie than before.Between these two images, she wavers, not knowing which one to believe.

"Ah, you are a little beauty," Drouet was accustomed to call to her.

She would look at him happily with her big eyes.

"You know that yourself, don't you?" he would go on.

"Oh, I don't know," she would reply, pleased at being told so, yet hesitant to believe that she could be so vain, and think so highly of herself, though she did believe so. of.

Her conscience, however, was not so fond of flattery as Drouet's.She heard another voice in her conscience, and she herself contended with it, begged it, and forgave it.In the final analysis, this voice may not be a fair and intelligent advisor.It is not the usual generalized little conscience.This thing, which represented the world, her past circumstances, and habits and traditions, all this mess, by which the voice of man was really the voice of God.

"Oh, you guilty man," said the voice.

"Why?" she asked.

"Look at all this," said the voice in your ear, "look at the good people, how they will laugh at you for what you have done; look at the good girls, what will happen to them when they know you are such a coward avoid you. You didn't try hard before you failed."

That's how Carrie listened to that voice when she was alone, looking out the window across the park.The voice came only occasionally—when there was nothing else to disturb it, or when the cheerfulness was not evident, or when Drouet was not here.The voice spoke clearly at first, but never quite convincingly.There is always something to answer it.The days of December threatened, she was alone; she had her desires; she was afraid of the bitter cold wind.The voice of poverty answered for her.

When the bright days of summer are over, the city takes on the gray, gloomy garments in which men toil in the long winter months.The endless building looks gray and hazy.The sky and the streets are all covered with gloomy colors; the bare branches, dust and paper scraps blown by the wind add to the heavy and depressing colors.Bursts of cold breath swept through the narrow and long streets, as if they were full of sad messages.Poets, artists, nobility of heart; no man who possesses all high things can feel these things, except dogs and men in general.They feel it as fully as the poet, but are powerless to express it.The sparrow on the wire, the cat in the doorway, the horse dragging its heavy load, felt the long, sharp breath of winter.It pierces to the very heart of all life, whether animate or inanimate.If it weren't for the artificial flames of laughter, the torrent of business still seeking profit, and the places of entertainment that sell joy; if the merchants could not display their goods according to the custom in and out of the mall; Full of customers who come and go in a hurry, we will soon find out how the cold hands of winter hold people's hearts tightly; in those days, when the sun withholds part of the light and heat, it is so true. It's frustrating.We rely on these things more than we usually think.We are worms produced by the heat, and without the heat we would disappear.

Under the influence of such a gray day, the secret voice came again.

Such psychological conflicts do not always come to mind.Carrie was by no means a melancholy soul.Moreover, she does not have the frame of mind to cling to a definite truth and not let go.Whenever she fell into an illogical maze and couldn't find an exit because of thinking about a topic, she would turn around and walk away.

All the while Drouet restrained himself in the mold of his kind.He was always taking her out, spending money on her, and taking her with him whenever he went on a trip.Sometimes, the days when he went out to run business were shorter, and she would be at home alone for two or three days.However, according to the old rules, they tend to always be together.

"Hello, Carrie," he said one morning.This was not long after they settled down, "I have invited my friend Hurstwood to come to the house one day, and play together in the evening."

"Who is he?" asked Carrie doubtfully.

"Oh, he's an interesting man. He's Fitzgerald--the manager of the Moai Hotel."

"And what's that?" said Carrie.

"The best hotel in the city, just walk a little way up. It's a high-end place."

Carrie hesitated for a moment, thinking of what Drouet had said to him, and what her attitude was to be.

"It's nothing," said Drouet, sensing what was going on in her mind. "He knows nothing. You are Mrs. Drouet now."

There was something in the tone which Carrie found a little inconsiderate.She realized that Drouet was not a delicate person.

"Why don't we get married?" she asked, remembering how many times he had sworn to the sea.

(End of this chapter)