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Sister Carrie / Сестра Кэрри. Книга для чтения на английском языке
Теодор Драйзер
Анастасия Владимировна Петрова
Classical literature (Каро)
Роман «Сестра Керри» известного американского писателя и общественного деятеля Теодора Драйзера (1871–1945) – одно из нескольких произведений, которые создали ему имя.
В основу романа положены эпизоды из жизни сестры Драйзера Эммы. Эта житейская мелодрама когда-то была расценена американской критикой как аморальная…
В книге представлен неадаптированный сокращенный текст на языке оригинала.
Теодор Драйзер
Sister Carrie / Сестра Кэрри. Книга для чтения на английском языке
© Антология, 2016
© КАРО, 2016
Chapter I
The Magnet Attracting: A Wife amid Forces
When Caroline Meeber boarded the afternoon train for Chicago, her total outfit consisted of a small trunk, a cheap imitation alligator-skin satchel[1 - satchel – сумка], a small lunch in a paper box, and a yellow leather snap purse, containing her ticket, a scrap of paper with her sister’s address in Van Buren Street, and four dollar in money. It was in August, 1889. She was eighteen years or age, bright, timid, and full of the illusions of ignorance and youth. Whatever touch of regret at parting characterized her given up.[2 - Whatever touch of regret at parting characterized her given up. – Если у нее и были сожаления при расставании, то они исчезли.] A gush of tears at her mother’s farewell kiss, mill where her father worked by the day, a pathetic sigh as the familiar green environs of the village passed in review and the threads which bound her so lightly to girlhood and home were irretrievably broken.
To be sure there was always the next station, where one might descend and return. There was the great city, bound more closely by these very trains which came up daily. Columbia City was not so very far away, even once she was in Chicago. What pray, is a few hours a few hundred miles? She looked at the little slip bearing her sister’s address and wondered. She gazed at the green landscape, now passing in swift review until her swifter thoughts replaced its impression with vague conjectures of what Chicago might be.
When a girls leaves her home at eighteen, she does one of two things. Either she falls into saving hands and becomes better, or she rapidly assumes the cosmopolitan standard of virtue and becomes worse. Of an intermediate balance, under the circumstances, there is no possibility.
Caroline, or Sister Carrie, as she had been half affectionately termed by the family, was possessed of a mind rudimentary in its power of observation and analysis. Self-interest with her was high, but not strong. It was nevertheless, her guiding characteristic. Warm with the fancies of youth, pretty with the insipid prettiness of the formative period, possessed of a figure promising eventual shapeliness and an eye alight with certain native intelligence she was a fair example of the middle American class two generations removed from the emigrant. Books were beyond her interest knowledge a sealed book. In the intuitive graces she was still crude. She could scarcely toss her head gracefully. Her hands were almost ineffectual. The feet, though small were set flatly. And yet she was interested in her charms, quick to understand the keener pleasures of life, ambitious to gain in material things.
“That,” said a voice in her ear,” is one of the prettiest little resorts in Wisconsin.”
“Is it?” she answered nervously. The train was just pulling out of Waukesha. For some time she had been conscious of a man behind. She felt him observing her mass of hair. He had been fidgeting, and with natural intuition she felt a certain interest growing in that quarter. Her maidenly reserve, and a certain sense of what was conventional under the circumstances, called her to forestall and deny this familiarity, but the daring and magnetism of the individual, born of past experience and triumphs, prevailed. She answered. He leaned forward to put his elbows upon the back of her seat and proceeded to make himself volubly agreeable.
“Yes, that is a great resort for Chicago people. The hotels are swell. You are not familiar with this part of the country, are you?”
“Oh, yes I am,” answered Carrie. “That is, I live at Columbia City. I have never been through here, though.”
“And so this is your first visit to Chicago,” he observed. All the time she was conscious of certain features out of the side of her eye. Flush, colorful cheeks, a light moustache, a gray fedora hat[3 - fedora hat – мягкая фетровая шляпа]. She now turned and looked upon him in full, the instincts of self-protection and coquetry mingling confusedly in her brain.
“I didn’t say that” she said.
“Oh,” he answered, in a very pleasing way and with an assumed air of mistake, “I thought you did.”
Here was a type of the traveling canvasser[4 - traveling canvasser – коммивояжер] for a manufacturing house a class which at that time was first being dubbed by the slang of the day “drummers”[5 - drummers – (амер.; разг.) коммивояжер, «зазывала»]. He came within the meaning of a still newer term, which had sprung into general use among Americans in 1880, and which concisely expressed the thought of one whose dress or manners are calculated to elicit the admiration of susceptible young women – a “masher”[6 - masher – щеголь, серцеед]. His suit was of a striped and crossed pattern of brown wool, new at that time, but since become familiar as a business suit. The low crotch of the vest revealed a stiff bosom of white and pink stripes. From his coat sleeves protruded a pair of linen cuffs of the same pattern, fastened with large, gold plate buttons, set with the common yellow agates known as “cat’s-eyes.” His finger bore several rings – one, the ever-ending heavy seal – and from his vest dangled a neat gold watch chain, from which was suspended the secret insignia of the Order of Elks[7 - insignia of the Order of Elks – эмблема тайного ордена Лосей]. The whole suit was rather tight-fitting, and was finished off with heavy-soled tan shoes, highly polished, and the gray fedora hat.
A woman should some day write the complete philosophy of clothes. No matter how young, it is one of the things she wholly comprehends. There is an indescribably faint line in the matter of man’s apparel, which somehow divides for her those who are worth glancing at and those who are not. Once an individual has passed this faint line on the way downward he will get no glance from her. There is another line at which the dress of a man will cause her to study her own. This line the individual at her elbow now marked for Carrie. She became conscious of an inequality. Her own plain blue dress, with its black cotton tape trimmings, now seemed to her shabby. She felt the worn state of her shoes.
“Let’s see,” he went on, “I know quite a number of people in your town. Morgenroth the clothier and Gibson the dry goods man.”
“Oh, do you?” she interrupted; aroused by memories of longings their show windows had cost her[8 - aroused by memories of longings their show windows had cost her – оживившись при воспоминании о страстных желаниях, которые она испытала, стоя перед их витринами].
At last he had a clew to her interest, and followed it deftly. In a few minutes he had come about into her seat. He talked of sales of clothing, his travels, Chicago, and the amusements of that city.
“If you are going there, you will enjoy it immensely. Have you relatives?”
“I am going to visit my sister,” she explained.
“You want to see Lincoln Park[9 - You want to see Lincoln Park – Вы непременно должны осмотреть Линкольн-парк],” he said, “and Michigan Boulevard. They are putting up great buildings there. It’s a second New York – great. So much to see – theatres, crowds, fine houses – oh, you’ll like that.”
There was a little ache in her fancy of all he described. Her insignificance in the presence of so much magnificence faintly affected her. She realized that hers was not to be a round of pleasure, and yet there was something promising in all the material prospect he set forth. There was something satisfactory in the attention of this individual with his good clothes. She could not help smiling as he told her of some popular actress of whom she reminded him. She was not silly and yet attention of this sort had its weight.
“You will be in Chicago some little time, won’t you?” he observed at one turn of the now easy conversation. “I don’t know,” said Carrie vaguely – a flesh vision of the possibility of her not securing employment rising in her mind.
“Several weeks, anyhow,” he said, looking steadily into her eyes.
“Why do you ask?” she said.
“Well, I’m going to be there several weeks. I’m going to study stock at our place and get new samples. I might show you around.”
“I don’t know whether you can or not. I mean I don’t know whether I can. I shall be living with my sister, and –”
“Well, if she minds, we’ll fix that.” He took out his pencil and a little pocket notebook as if it were all settled.
“What is your address there?” She fumbled her purse which contained the address slip.
He reached down in his hip pocket and took out a fat purse. It was filled with slips of paper, some mileage books, a roll of greenbacks. It impressed her deeply. Such a purse had never been carried by any one attentive to her. Indeed, and experienced traveler, a brisk man of the world, had never come within such close range before. The purse, the shiny tan shoes, the smart new suit, and the air with which he did things, built up for her a dim world of fortune, of which he was the center. It disposed her pleasantly toward all he might do.
He took out a neat business card, on which was engraved Bartlett, Caryoe & Company, and down in the left-hand corner, Chas. H. Drouet.
“That’s me,” he said, putting the card in her hand and touching his name. “It’s pronounced Drew-eh. Our family was French, on my father’s side.”
She looked at it while he put up his purse. Then he got out a letter from a bunch in his coat pocket. “This is the house I travel for,” he went on, pointing to a picture on it, “corner of State and Lake.” There was pride in his voice. He felt that it was something to be connected with such a place, and he made her feel that way.
“What is your address?” he began again, fixing his pencil to write.
She looked at his hand.
“Carrie Meeber,” she said slowly. “Three hundred and fifty-four West Van Buren Street, care S.C Hanson.”
He wrote it carefully down and got out the purse again. “You’ll be at home if I come around Monday night?” he said.
“I think so” she answered.
They were nearing Chicago. Signs were everywhere numerous. Trains flashed by them. Across wide stretches of flat, open prairie they could see lines of telegraph poles stalking across the fields toward the great city. Far away were indications of suburban towns, some big smoke-stacks towering high in the air.
Frequently there were two-story frame houses standing out in the open fields, without fences or trees, lone outposts of the approaching army of homes.
Sister Carrie gazed out of the window. Her companion, affected by her wonder, so contagious are all things, felt anew some interest in the city and pointed out its marvels.
“This is Northwest Chicago,” said Drouet. “This is the Chicago River,” and he pointed to a little muddy creek, crowded with the huge masted wanderers from far off waters nosing the black posted banks. With a puff, a clang, and a clatter of rails it was gone. “Chicago is getting to be a great town,” he went on. “It’s a wonder. You’ll find lots to see here.”
She did not hear this very well. Her heart was troubled by a kind of terror. The fact that she was alone, away from home, rushing into a great sea of life and endeavour began to tell. She could not help but feel a little choked for breath – a little sick as her heart beat so fast. She half closed her eyes and tried to think it was nothing, that Columbia City was only a little way off.
“Chicago! Chicago!” called the brakeman, shamming open the door. They were rushing into a more crowded yard, alive with the clatter and clang of life. She began to gather up her poor little grip and closed her hand firmly upon her purse. Drouet arose, kicked his legs to straighten his trousers, and seized his clean yellow grip. “I suppose your people will be here to meet you?” he said. “Let me carry your grip.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I’d rather you wouldn’t. I’d rather you wouldn’t be with me when I meet my sister.”
“All right,” he said in all kindness. “I’ll be near, – though, in case she isn’t here, and take you out there safely.”
“You’re so kind,” said Carrie, feeling the goodness of such attention in her strange situation.
“Chicago!” called the brakeman, drawing the word out long. They were under a great shadowy train shed where the lamps were already beginning to shine out, with passenger cars all about and train moving at s snail’s pace. The people in the car were all up and crowding about the door.
“Well, here we are,” said Drouet, leading the way to the door. “Good-bye, till I see you Monday.”
“Good-bye,” she answered, taking his proffered hand. Remember, I’ll be looking till you find your sister smiled into his eyes.
They filed out, and he affected to take no notice of her. A lean-faced, rather commonplace woman recognized Carrie on the platform and hurried forward.
“Why, Sister Carrie!” she began, and there was a perfunctory embrace of welcome.
Carrie realized the change of affectional atmosphere at once. Amid all the maze, uproar, and novelty she felt cold reality taking her by the hand. No world of light and merriment. No round of amusement. Her sister carried with her most of the grimness of shift and toil.[10 - Her sister carried with her most of the grimness of shift and toil. – Вид сестры свидетельствовал о беспросветности ее жизни, наполненной тяжелым трудом.]
“Why, how are all the folks at home?” she began; “how is father, and mother?”
Carrie answered, but was looking away. Down the aisle, toward the gate leading into the waiting-room and the street, stood Drouet. He was looking back. When he saw that she saw him and was safe with her sister he turned to go, sending back the shadow of a smile. Only Carrie saw it. She felt something lost to her when he moved away. When he disappeared she felt his absence thoroughly. With her sister she was much alone, a lone figure in a tossing, thoughtless sea.
Chapter II
What Poverty Threatened: of Granite and Brass
Minnie’s flat, as the one-floor resident apartment were then being called, was in a part of West Van Buren Street inhabited by families of labourers and clerks, men who had come, and were still coming, with the rush of population pouring in at the rate of 50,000 a year. It was on the third floor, the front windows looking down into the street, where, at night the lights of grocery stores were shinning and children were playing.
She gazed into the lighted street when Minnie brought her into the front room, and wondered at the sounds, the movement, the murmur of the vast city which stretched for miles and miles in every direction.
Mrs. Hanson, after the first greetings were over, gave Carrie the baby and proceed to get supper. Her husband asked a few questions and sat down to read the evening paper. He was silent man, American born, of a Swede father, and now employed as a cleaner of refrigerator cars at the stock-yards. To him the presence or absence of his wife’s sister was a matter of indifference. Her personal appearance did not affect him one way or the other. His one observation to the point was concerning the chances of work in Chicago.
“It’s a big place” he said. “You can get in somewhere in a few days. Everybody does.” It had been tacitly understood beforehand that she was to get work and pay her board. He was of a clean, saving disposition, and had already paid a number of monthly installments on two lots far out the West Side. His ambition was some day to build a house on them.
In the interval which marked the preparation of the meal Carrie found time to study the flat. She had some slight gift of observation and that sense, so rich in every women – intuition.
She felt the drag of a lean and narrow life. The walls of the rooms were discordantly papered. The floors were covered with matting and the hall laid with a thin rag carpet. One could see that the furniture was of that poor, hurriedly patched together quality sold by the installment houses.
She sat with Minnie, in the kitchen, holding the baby until it began to cry. Then she walked and sang to it, until Hanson, disturbed in his reading, came and took it. A pleasant side to his nature came out here. He was patient. One could see that he was very much wrapped up in his offspring.
“Now, now,” he said, walking. “There, there,” and there was a certain Swedish accent noticeable in his voice.
“You’ll want to see the city first, won’t you?” said Minnie, when they were eating. “Well, we’ll go out Sunday and see Lincoln Park.”
Carrie noticed that Hanson had said nothing to this. He seemed to be thinking of something else.
“Well,” she said, “I think I’ll look around to-morrow I’ve got Friday and Saturday, and it won’t be any trouble. Which way is the business part?”
Minnie began to explain, but her husband took this part of the conversation to himself.
“It’s that way,” he said, pointing east. “That’s east. Then he went off into the longest speech he had yet indulged in, concerning the lay of Chicago.” You’d better look in those big manufacturing houses along Franklin Street and just the other side of the river,” he concluded. “Lots of girls work there. You could get home easy, too. It isn’t very far.”
Carrie nodded and asked her sister about the neighborhood. The latter talked in a subdued tone, telling the little she knew about it, while Hanson concerned himself with the baby. Finally he jumped up and handed the child to his wife.
“I’ve got to get up early in the morning, so I’ll go to bed,” and off he went, disappearing into the dark little bedroom off the hall, for the night.
“He works way down at the stock-yards,” explained Minnie, “so he’s got to get up at half-past five.”
“What time do you get up to get breakfast?” asked Carrie.
“At about twenty minutes of five.” Together they finished the labor of the day, Carrie washing the dishes while Minnie undressed the baby and put it to bed. Minnie’s manner was one of trained industry, and Carrie could see that it was a steady round of toil with her[11 - steady round of toil with her – привычный круг ее обязанностей].
She began to see that her relations with Drouet would have to be abandoned. He could not come here. She read from the manner of Hanson, in the subdued air of Minnie, and, indeed, the whole atmosphere of the flat, a settled opposition to anything save a conservative round of toil. If Hanson sat every evening in the front room and read his paper, if he went to bed at nine, and Minnie a little later, what would they except of her? She saw that: she would first need to get work and establish herself on a paying basis before she could think of having company of any sort. Her little flirtation with Drouet seemed now an extraordinary thing.
“No,” she said to herself, “he can’t come here.” She asked Minnie for ink and paper, which were upon the mantel in the dining-room, and when the latter had gone to bed at ten, got out Drouet’s card and wrote him.
“I cannot have you call on me here. You will have to wait until you hear from me again. My sister’s place is so small.”
Finally, wearied by her own reflections, she began to grow dull in her chair, and feeling the need of sleep, arranged her clothing for the night and went to bed.
When she awoke at eight the next morning, Hanson had gone. Her sister was busy in the dining-room, which was also the sitting-room, sewing. She worked, after dressing, to arrange a little breakfast for herself, and then advised with Minnie as to which way to look. The latter had changed considerably since Carrie had seen her. She was now a thin, though rugged, women of twenty-seven, with ideas of life coloured by her husband’s and fast hardening into narrower conceptions of pleasure and duty than had ever been hers in a thoroughly circumscribed youth. “She had invited Carrie, not because she longed for her presence, but because the latter was dissatisfied at home, and could probably get work and pay her board here. She was pleased to see her in a way but reflected her husband’s point of view in the matter of work. Anything was good enough so long as it paid – say, five dollars a week to begin with.
It was under such auspicions circumstances that she started out this morning to look for work. She walked east along Van Buren Street through a region of lessening importance, until it deteriorated into a mass of shanties and coal-yards[12 - shanties and coal-yards – лачуг и угольных складов], and finally verged upon the river. She walked bravely forward, led by an honest desire to find employment and delayed at every step by the interest of the unfolding scene, and a sense of helplessness amid so much evidence of power and force which she did not understand.
Chapter III
We Question of Fortune: Four – Fifty a Week
Once across the river and into the wholesale district she glanced about her for some likely door at which to apply. As she contemplated the wide windows and imposing signs, she became conscious of being gazed upon and understood for what she was a wage seeker. She had never done this thing before, and lacked courage. To avoid a certain indefinable shame she felt at being caught spying about for a position, she quickened her steps and assumed an air of indifference supposedly common to one upon an errand. In this way she passed many manufacturing and wholesale houses without once glancing in. At last, after several blocks of walking, she felt that this would not do, and began to look about again though without relaxing her pace. A little way on she saw a great door which, for some reason, attracted her attention. It was ornamented by a small brass sign, and seemed to be the entrance to a vast hive of six or seven floors. “Perhaps,” she though, “they may want some one,” and crossed over to enter. When she came within a score of feet of the desired goal, she saw through the window a young man in a gray checked suit. That he had anything to do with the concern, she could not tell but because he happened to be looking in her direction her weakening heart misgave her and she hurried by, too overcome with shame to enter. Over the way stood a great six-story structure, labeled Storm and King, which she viewed with rising hope. It was a wholesale dry goods concern and employed women. She could see them moving about now and then upon the upper floors. This place she decided to enter, no matter what. She crossed over and walked directly toward the entrance. As she did so, two men came out and paused in the door. A telegraph messenger in blue dashed past her and up the few steps that led to the entrance and disappeared. Several pedestrians out of the hurrying throng which filled the sidewalks passed about her as she paused, hesitating. She looked helplessly around, and then, seeing herself observed, retreated. It was too difficult a task. She could not go past them.
So serve a defeat told upon her nerves. Her feet carried her mechanically forward, every foot of her progress being a satisfactory portion of a flight which she gladly made. Block after block passed by.
Her cowardice began to trouble her in a way. She turned back, resolving to hunt up Storm and King and enter. On the way she encountered a great wholesale shoe company, through the broad plate windows of which she saw an enclosed executive department, hidden by frosted glass. Without this enclosure, but just within the street entrance, sat a grey-haired gentleman at a small table, with a large open ledger before him. She walked by this institution several times hesitating, but finding herself unobserved, faltered past the screen door and stood humbly waiting.
“Well, young lady,” observed the old gentleman, looking at her somewhat kindly, “what is it you wish?”
“I am, that is, do you – I mean, do you need any help?” she stammered.
“Not just at present,” he answered smiling. “Not just at present. Come in some time next week. Occasionally we need some one.”
She received the answer in silence and backed awkwardly out. The pleasant nature of her reception rather astonished her. She had expected that it would be more difficult, that something cold and harsh would be said she knew not what. That she had not been put to shame and made to feel her unfortunate position, seemed remarkable.
