2024年2月22日发(作者：)
The Legacy
"For Sissy Miller." Gilbert Clandon, taking up the pearl brooch that lay
among a litter of rings and brooches on a little table in his wife's
drawing-room, read the inscription: "For Sissy Miller, with my love."
It was like Angela to have remembered even Sissy Miller, her
secretary. Yet how strange it was, Gilbert Clandon thought once more,
that she had left everything in such order-a little gift of some sort for
every one of her friends. It was as if she had foreseen her death. Yet she
had been in perfect health when she left the house that morning, six
weeks ago; when she stepped off the kerb in Piccadilly and the car had
killed her.
He was waiting for Sissy Miller. He had asked her to come; he owed
her, he felt, after all the years she had been with them, this token of
consideration. Yes, he went on, as he sat there waiting, it was strange that
Angela had left everything in such order. Every friend had been left some
little token of her affection. Every ring, every necklace, every little
Chinese box-she had a passion for little boxes-had a name on it. And each
had some memory for him. This he had given her; this -the enamel
dolphin with the ruby eyes-she had pounced upon one day in a back street
in Venice. He could remember her little cry of delight. To him, of course,
she had left nothing in particular, unless it were her diary. Fifteen little
volumes, bound in green leather, stood behind him on her writing table.
Ever since they were married, she had kept a diary. Some of their very
few-he could not call them quarrels, say tiffs-had been about that diary.
When he came in and found her writing, she always shut it or put her
hand over it. "No, no, no," he could hear her say, "After I'm
dead-perhaps." So she had left it him, as her legacy. It was the only thing
they had not shared when she was alive. But he had always taken it for
granted that she would outlive him. If only she had stopped one moment,
and had thought what she was doing, she would be alive now. But she had
stepped straight off the kerb, the driver of the car had said at the inquest.
She had given him no chance to pull up. . .. Here the sound of voices in
the hall interrupted him.
"Miss Miller, Sir," said the maid.
She came in. He had never seen her alone in his life, nor, of course, in
tears. She was terribly distressed, and no wonder. Angela had been much
more to her than an employer. She had been a friend. To himself, he
thought, as he pushed a chair for her and asked her to sit down, she was
scarcely distinguishable from any other woman of her kind. There were
thousands of Sissy Millers-drab little women in black carrying attache
cases. But Angela, with her genius for sympathy, had discovered all sorts
of qualities in Sissy Miller. She was the soul of discretion; so silent; so
trustworthy, one could tell her anything, and so on.
Miss Miller could not speak at first. She sat there dabbing her eyes
with her pocket handkerchief. Then she made an effort.
"Pardon me, Mr. Clandon," she said.
He murmured. Of course he understood. It was only natural. He could
guess what his wife had meant to her.
"I've been so happy here," she said, looking round. Her eyes rested on
the writing table behind him. It was here they had worked-she and Angela.
For Angela had her share of the duties that fall to the lot of a prominent
politician's wife. She had been the greatest help to him in his career. He
had often seen her and Sissy sitting at that table-Sissy at the typewriter,
taking down letters from her dictation. No doubt Miss Miller was
thinking of that, too. Now all he had to do was to give her the brooch his
wife had left her. A rather incongruous gift it seemed. It might have been
better to have left her a sum of money, or even the typewriter. But there it
was-"For Sissy Miller, with my love." And, taking the brooch, he gave it
her with the little speech that he had prepared. He knew, he said, that she
would value it. His wife had often worn it. . .. And she replied, as she
took it almost as if she too had prepared a speech, that it would always be
a treasured possession. . .. She had, he supposed, other clothes upon
which a pearl brooch would not look quite so incongruous. She was
wearing the little black coat and skirt that seemed the uniform of her
profession. Then he remembered-she was in mourning, of course. She,
too, had had her tragedy-a brother, to who m she was devoted, had died
only a week or two before Angela. In some accident was it? He could not
remember-only Angela telling him. Angela, with her genius for sympathy,
had been terribly upset. Meanwhile Sissy Miller had risen. She was
putting on her gloves. Evidently she felt that she ought not to intrude. But
he could not let her go without saying something about her future. What
were her plans? Was there any way in which he could help her?
She was gazing at the table, where she had sat at her typewriter,
where the diary lay. And, lost in her memories of Angela, she did not at
once answer his sug gestion that he should help her. She seemed for a
moment not to understand. So he repeated:
"What are your plans, Miss Miller?"
"My plans? Oh, that's all right, Mr. Clandon," she exclaimed. "Please
don't bother yourself about me."
He took her to mean that she was in no need of financial assistance. It
would be better, he realized, to make any suggestion of that kind in a
letter. All he could do now was to say as he pressed her hand, "Remember,
Miss Miller, if there's any way in which I can help you, it will be a
pleasure. . . ." Then he opened the door. For a moment, on the threshold,
as if a sudden thought had struck her, she stopped.
"Mr. Clandon," she said, looking straight at him for the first time, and
for the first time he was struck by the expression, sympathetic yet
searching, in her eyes. "If at any time," she continued, "there's anything I
can do to help you, remember, I shall feel it, for your wife's sake, a
pleasure . . ."
With that she was gone. Her words and the look that went with them
were unexpected. It was almost as if she believed, or hoped, that he
would need her. A curious, perhaps a fantastic idea occurred to him as he
returned to his chair. Could it be, that during all those years when he had
scarcely noticed her, she, as the novelists say, had entertained a passion
for him? He caught his own reflection in the glass as he passed. He was
over fifty; but he could not help admitting that he was still, as the
looking-glass showed him, a very distinguished-looking man.
"Poor Sissy Miller!" he said, half laughing. How he would have liked
to share that joke with his wife! He turned instinctively to her diary.
"Gilbert," he read, opening it at random, "looked so wonderful. . . ." It
was as if she had answered his question. Of course, she seemed to say,
you're very attractive to women. Of course Sissy Miller felt that too. He
read on. "How proud I am to be his wife!" And he had always been very
proud to be her husband. How often, when they dined out somewhere, he
had looked at her across the table and said to himself, She is the loveliest
woman here! He read on. That first year he had been standing for
Parliament. They had toured his constituency. "When Gilbert sat down
the applause was terrific. The whole audience rose and sang: 'For he's a
jolly good fellow.' I was quite overcome." He remembered that, too. She
had been sitting on the platform beside him. He could still see the glance
she cast at him, and how she had tears in her eyes. And then? He turned
the pages. They had gone to Venice. He recalled that happy holiday after
the election. "We had ices at Florians." He smiled-she was still such a
child; she loved ices. "Gilbert gave me a most interesting account of the
history of Venice. He told me that the Doges. . ."
遗产
“给西西·米勒，”在他妻子休息室里，克兰顿从一张小桌子上的一堆戒指和胸针中拿出他妻子特意为西西·米勒准备的那个珍珠胸针，继续读完剩下的遗言：“给西西·米勒，我的爱。”
这就好像安吉拉甚至记得有西西·米勒这么一个人当过她秘书一样，然而这是多么奇怪的一件事啊。克林顿不止一次在脑海里回想起这件事，这就好像在她死前她已经为她的每一位朋友都准备了一份小礼物，也就是说她好像能预感到自己的死亡一样。六个星期前的那天——也就是她从皮卡迪利大街两旁的人行道上冲出来被车撞死的那天，她明明在早上离家的时候还是那么健康。
他正在等西西·米勒，因为在这之前曾叫她过来一趟。毕竟她曾与他们夫妻俩共事那么多年，他感觉他欠了她什么。在他等她过来的时候，他又开始回想起那件事，这实在是太奇怪了，安吉拉居然把什么事都安排好了。她给每位朋友都留了一些东西聊表心意。这里的每一枚戒指，每一条项链，每一个小的中国盒子——她钟情于小盒子，甚至给它们取了名字——都能勾起他对往事的回忆。这个是他送给她的，这个眼睛由红宝石做成的搪瓷海豚是她某一天从威尼斯的一条小巷中抓到的，他至今都能记得她当时喜极而泣的表情。意料之中，她并没有特地留给他什么，除了那本日记。日记共分为十五册，用绿色的皮革包裹着，放在他身后的书桌上。自从他俩结婚以后，她就一直保留着写日记的习惯。他们曾经因为这本日记起过一些争执——克兰顿甚至不能把它叫做争执，应该叫做拌嘴。当她在写日记的时候他进
来，她总会把日记本合上并用手遮住。“不行，不行，不行，”他听到她说，“在我死了以后就可以了，或许。”所以她把这个留给了他，作为遗产。在她生前，这是唯一一样他俩并没有共享的东西。但他一直理所当然得认为她会比他长寿。只要她当时有那么一瞬间听了下来，并想到她在做什么，她现在就能活着了。然而根据肇事司机的口供，当时她径直从人行道上冲了下来，司机甚至没来得及反应……这时从走廊穿来一个声音打断了他的思绪
“米勒小姐到了，先生。”女仆说道。
她进来了。克兰顿之前从未单独见过她，当然，也没见多她哭的样子。她看起来十分的悲伤。安吉拉对她来说不仅仅是一位雇主这么简单，安吉拉曾是她的一位朋友。当然，对他来说，他和其他女人没什么区别——在他为米勒搬凳子让她坐的时候他想到。这世界上好像有成千上百个西西·米勒——目光呆滞，身穿黑色衣服。但是安吉拉，因为她与生俱来的同情心，发现了好多西西·米勒身上的优点：她是一个可以值得信赖的人，你可以告诉她任何事。
西西·米勒一开始沉默不语，她坐在那，一直用她口袋里的手帕抹着眼泪。后来她终于开始尝试着说话。
“原谅我，克兰顿先生。”她说到。
他小声地嘀咕道：我当然能够理解。这只是人的本能，他能猜到他妻子对西西·米勒来说意味着什么。
“我曾经在这里度过很开心的一段时光”她说道，并且环顾四周。她的视线最终停留在他身后的那张写字台上。正是在那，安吉拉和她
一起工作。身为一名有名的政治家的妻子，安吉拉需要分担一些工作。安吉拉曾经对他的职业生涯提供过非常好的帮助。他经常看到安吉拉的西西·米勒在那张桌前坐着——西西·米勒坐在打字机前，打下安吉拉口述的内容。毫无疑问西西·米勒此时也在回想这个场景。现在他所能做的就是给她安吉拉为她准备的胸针，尽管看起来似乎不是一个怎么合适的礼物，似乎给她留一大笔钱是一个更好的选择，或者那台打字机。但是，她留的是一张纸条——上面写着“给西西·米勒，我的爱”——和一枚胸针。他将那枚胸针给了西西·米勒，并讲了一段他之前准备好的小的演讲。他知道，他说，她十分看重那枚胸针，他妻子经常戴着它……她的回应就好像她之前也准备了一段稿子。她说到这对她来说永远会是一份宝贵的财富……他认为她以前的珍珠胸针与她的衣服搭配并没有这枚胸针看起来这么不合适。她今天穿着一件小的黑色外套和裙子，看起来就好像是她的职业装。然后他想起来了，今天是她的丧期。她当然也有她自己的悲剧故事，她的哥哥，只比安吉拉早死了一个或者两个星期。多么巧合啊不是吗？他记不大清楚了——只是安吉拉曾经跟他说过而已。安吉拉因为她的同情心，曾表现出十分地悲痛。与此同时西西·米勒站了起来，她戴上了她的手套，很显然她认为她不应该再打扰下去了。但是他还不能让她走，在她对她的未来什么都没说之前。她有什么计划吗?他有什么能够帮助她的吗？
她长久地凝视着那张桌子，那张她曾坐着打字的桌子，那张放着日记的桌子，陷入在了她对安吉拉的回忆当中。他对她说他觉得他应
该帮助她，然而西西·米勒并没有回答，她似乎一时之间不太明白她在说什么，于是克兰顿重复了一遍。
“你对将来有什么打算吗，米勒小姐？”
“我的打算？哦，克兰顿先生”她大声地说，“请不要因为我的事打扰到你。”
克兰顿猜测她的意思是她不需要经济上的帮助。他意识到给她一些建议可能会更好。他现在能做的事情就是按住她的手说：“请记得，米勒小姐，如果有任何我能帮得上忙的，那都是我的荣幸……”然后他打开了房门。有那么一瞬间，在门口，就好像有一个想法突然在她的脑海里形成了，她停下了脚步。
“克兰顿先生，”她说，并且第一次直视着他，也是第一次他被她眼中的同情震惊到了，“任何时候，”她继续说到，“如果有需要的话，会有的，因为你妻子的原因，我能感觉得到，我很荣幸……”
说着她就离开了，她的话和眼神都非常出乎意料。这就好像她相信，或者说她希望，他将会需要她。一个好奇的，或者说是一个奇怪的想法在他的脑中形成了，在他返回到他的椅子上的时候。有可能，在他几乎没有注意过她的这些年里，她，正如小说家所说的那般，对他有了一种渴望？他捕捉到了他自己在镜子里面的身影。他已经五十多岁了，但他不得不承认，他仍然是那么博人眼球的男人，正如他的镜子所呈现给他的一样。
“可怜的西西·米勒。”他半开玩笑地说。他本可以将这个玩笑同妻子一起分享。本能地，他转向了她的日记。“吉尔伯特，”他随
意地翻开了日记，读到，“看起来十分帅气……”这就好像她在回答他这个问题。当然，她相当于在说。你对女人有一种吸引力。西西·米勒很显然也这么觉得。他继续往下读：“我多么荣幸能成为他的妻子啊！”同样他也曾因为成为她的丈夫而感到自豪。当他们出去吃饭的时候，他经常隔着桌子看着安吉拉并自言自语：“她是这里最可爱的女人！”他继续读下去，那是他第一次参加议会选举，他们曾来参加他的选举。“当基尔伯特坐下的时候，掌声不绝，所有的观众都站起来并且唱到：‘他是一个很好的同事’。”他记得这件事，她坐在他身后的平台上，他至今还能感觉到她投注在他身上的目光和她热泪盈眶的画面。然后呢？他翻了一页。他们曾去过威尼斯，他回忆起了那段选举之后的美好旅行。“我们在弗罗里达州有冰淇淋。”他笑道——她依旧是个孩子，还是如此热爱冰淇淋。“吉尔伯特给我介绍了威尼斯历史中最有趣的那一部分，他告诉我道奇宫……”
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