sister carrie

Chapter 87 (3)

Chapter 47 The Path of the Loser: The Harp in the Wind (3)
In the beginning, two or three people came together, first wandering around the closed wooden door, stamping their feet to keep warm.On their heads were faded and wrinkled felt hats.The unsuitable jacket was stained with snow, the collar was turned up, the trousers were bulging like pockets, the hips were frayed, and strips of cloth were floating around on the wet leather shoes.As for the leather shoes, the edges were cracked, and they were so worn out that they were almost a mess.They made no intention of breaking in, but walked sadly around, hands in their trouser pockets, glaring maliciously at the crowd and the growing number of electric lights.Time passed minute by minute, and the number of people was increasing.There were old men with gray beards and sunken eyes; there were younger men who were sick and skinny; there were also middle-aged men.Not a single chubby one.Among the crowd, there was a face as white as veal without moisture.Another face was as red as a brick.Some had thin shoulders, some had wooden legs, and some were so skinny that their clothes hung loose.There are big ears, rosacea, thick lips, and bloodshot red eyes.In the whole crowd, there is no normal, healthy face; no one standing upright; no one looking straight ahead and calm eyes.

In the invasion of wind, frost, rain and snow, they squeeze me and I squeeze you.His wrists, which his clothes and pockets could not cover, were blue from the cold.The ears that could not be covered by the shapeless hat were stiff with cold.In the snow, they often change the center of gravity of standing, put the center of gravity on one foot for a while, and put it on the other foot for a while, almost as if shaking in unison.

There were more and more people at the door, and there was a buzzing sound, not talking, but talking casually about a matter of common interest.Occasionally swearing and swearing mixed with vernacular.

"Damn it, it just has to be quicker."

"Look at the police over there."

"As if it wasn't cold enough."

"I'd rather be in prison."

Then a biting cold wind hit, and they squeezed even tighter.Everyone is next to each other, squeezing and pushing.No one was angry, no one begged, no bad word was uttered, it was all sullen and gritted teeth, and there was no talk of wisdom or friendship.

A carriage clanked and several people leaned against it.The one nearest the gate saw it.

"Look at that guy in the car."

"He won't be frozen."

"Ah, ah, ah!" cried the other, when the carriage passed by and could not even be heard.

Slowly it gradually darkened.A group of people appeared on the sidewalk going home.The man and the saleswoman walked past quickly.Suburban trams began to pack up.The gas lamps were brightly lit, and every window was glowing red with light.But the crowd still crowded at the door, unmoved.

"Can they still drive it?" a gruff voice asked.

In this way, it seemed that everyone was paying attention to the closed door again, and many people looked in this direction.They looked like wild animals, like dogs scratching the ground with their forefeet and snorting.They stared at the doorknob, they moved, they blinked, they muttered, they cursed, they argued.They were still waiting, and the snow was still flying, and the flakes were bitterly cold.On the battered hat, on the thin shoulders, the snow was accumulating, in little heaps and little heaps, curve after curve, and no hand patted it off.In the middle of the crowd, the heat melted the snow, dripping down hats and noses, and people didn't bother to reach out to wipe it.The snow in the outer circle, in piles, has not melted.Hurstwood, unable to squeeze into the middle of the crowd, stood there, head bowed and huddled wearily against the cold.

A gleam of light through the transom excited the hope of those who watched outside the door, and there was a sound of attention to the situation.Later, the latch rattled inside, and the crowd pricked up their ears.There were footsteps inside, and the voice sounded again.Someone yelled, "Hey, take your time." Then the door opened, and there was a shove and a shove for a while, but no one made a sound, like a herd of cattle, and then it went in, like floating logs, and disappeared up.There were wet hats and wet shoulders, and a crowd of hungry, cold, emaciated, disgruntled people poured into the gap between the two desolate walls.It was six o'clock at that time, and every pedestrian who hurried on the road showed that they were rushing home for dinner.But there is no supper here—only beds, nothing else.

Hurstwood paid his share of the quarter, and shuffled on weary feet to the room allotted to him.It was a dirty room - wooden walls, dusty floors, hard beds.A small gas lamp can only illuminate such a sad corner.

"Hmph!" he said, clearing his throat and locking the door behind him.

Now he took off his clothes calmly, but he took off his top first and stuffed it under the door.The vest does the same.His old, wet, cracked hat, he put on the table.Then he took off his shoes and lay down.

It seemed as if he had been thinking for a moment, for he stood up now, put out the gas lamp, and stood silently in the dark, unable to see clearly.After a while, and during this time, he didn't think about anything, just hesitated for a while, he turned on the gas again, but he didn't light a match.At this time, he was still standing there, thanks to the gift of the night, his figure was completely invisible, and the gas released filled the room.When his nose caught the scent, he changed his original position and groped into bed.

"What's the use?" he said weakly as he straightened up to rest.

Now Carrie had achieved, in part, what seemed to be her purpose in life, or at least a natural human desire.She could look at her long coat, her carriage, her furnishings and her bank balance.Friends, there were, as the world said—someone who would acknowledge her success in business, bow to her, and smile at her.For these, she has always longed for.There was applause, too, and there was publicity—something that was once remote and necessary is now insignificant.And beauty--the cuteness of her type--but alas, she was still so lonely.When she had nothing else to do, she sang and dreamed in her rocking chair.

In life, there is always an intellectual side and an emotional side—the heart that thinks rationally and the heart that excites emotion.From the former come men of action—generals and statesmen; from the latter poets and dreamers—artists of all.

Like a harp in the wind, emotion responds to every quiver of fantasy, and through emotion expresses the success and failure of ideals.

Humanity has not yet understood the dreamer, just as she has not yet understood the ideal.For her, the laws and morals in the world are too strict.She always listens to the call of "beauty", longing for the wings of "beauty" shining in the distance, she watches, follows, and walks until her feet are tired.That's how Carrie watched, followed, swayed, and sang.

It must be remembered that rationality plays no role here.When she first saw Chicago, the city offered so many beautiful things that she had never seen before, and instinctively, just by emotion, she embraced the beautiful things and did not let go.People seem to be content without fancy clothes and elegant surroundings.So she leans toward these things.Chicago, New York, Drouet, Hurstwood, the world of fashion, the world of the theater—these are but accidental things.What she desires is not these, but what these represent.Time has proven these representations to be false.

Oh, the vision of life! How blind we still are.Take Carrie, for example. In the beginning, she is poor, simple, and sentimental. She responds to all the lovely things in life with desire, but finds herself blocked by the wall.The law says: "Everything you desire, you will inevitably be fascinated, and approach it cautiously without following the right path." The custom says: "If you want to live a better life, you must do it through honest labor." The reward is difficult to suffer.If it is a long road, and people will never find "beauty", if they can only end up in physical and mental difficulties, if the pursuit of "beauty" is so difficult that they have to abandon the right way and take the wrong way , in order to realize the dream as soon as possible; then, who has no reason, who can blame others? It is not evil itself, but the desire for a better life, which often leads people astray.It is not evil but good, which often lures people who are sensitive to feelings and not accustomed to rational thinking astray.

Carrie walks in a gorgeous and glorious realm, but she is not happy.Just as she had thought when Drouet accepted her.This time, too, she thought: "Now I've risen as high as I can." As she had thought when Hurstwood seemed to offer her a better path, this time she too Thinking: "Now I am happy." However, since the world always walks its own way, and has no time to care whether all living beings have done a stupid thing, now she finds that she is still so lonely.She was always generous to all who were most in need.As she walked down Broadway, she stopped thinking about the manners of the people who walked beside her.It would be enviable if these people enjoyed more of the peace and beauty that shone in the distance.

Drouet had renounced his claim and was nowhere to be seen.As for Hurstwood's death, she didn't even know about it.A slowly rowing black boat departs from the wharf at No. 20 Qitiao Street every week, and now it carries the body of his nameless man, along with the bodies of many others, to the burial ground of the poor.

This was the case with the two with whom she had relations.Their influence on her life can only be explained clearly from the nature of her pursuits.For her, both men represented at one time the greatest successes in the world.They embody a state that is attained by the luckiest of men—they are, so to speak, ambassadors of a life of comfort and carefreeness, their credentials gleaming.It was only natural that the envoys of this world should be distrusted when the world they represented could no longer seduce her.Even if Hurstwood were restored to his earlier beauty and glory now, it would be impossible for him to have any charm for her.She had realized that in his world, as in hers, there was no happiness.

Sitting alone, she is now a living example of how those who strayed by emotion rather than by reason are led in the pursuit of "beauty."Disillusioned as she often is, she still looks forward to the happy day when she can be guided forward in her dreams becoming reality.Ames has already pointed out a step to go further, but beyond this step, go forward and go forward, if it is fully realized, there will be a further realm in front of her.It is that joyful light that illuminates distant hills in the world for which men are ever seeking.

Oh, Carrie, Carrie! Oh, the blind pursuit in human nature! It says, up, up, where there is beauty, there is pursuit.Whether it is the bell of a lonely sheep in a peaceful field, or the flash of beauty in the pastoral, or the flash of soul in the eyes of passers-by, the heart will understand, answer and follow.It is when the feet are tired and the hope seems to be in vain that the heartache will arise and the desire will arise.Know, then, that it should be neither too much nor enough for you.In the hour of dreaming under your window, you will be alone longing.In your rocking chair, under your window, you'll be dreaming of a happiness you may never feel.

(End of this chapter)