Sister Carrie
嘉莉是個俊俏的農村姑娘，她羨慕大都市的物質
生活，便來到了芝加哥謀生。嚴酷的現實破碎了她的
美夢，迎接她的是失業和疾病。在走投無路時，她做
了推銷員德魯埃的情婦，后來由于更大的欲望又做了
酒店經理赫斯渥的情婦。與赫斯渥私奔后，在紐約由
于偶然的機會她成了走紅一時的演員，擠上了上流社
會，實現了她的幻想。然而，所謂的“上流社會生活”
又給她帶來了什么呢？她感到空虛，找不到生活的真
正意義，在寂寞和凄涼中，她坐在搖椅里夢想著那終
不可得的幸福。
[ 美] 西奧多·德萊塞（ Theodore Dreiser）
嘉莉妹妹
In the light of the world’s attitude toward woman and her
duties，the nature of Carrie’s mental state deserves consideration.
Actions such as hers are measured by an arbitrary scale. Society
possesses a conventional standard whereby it judges all things.
All men should be good，all women virtuous. Wherefore，villain，
hast thou failed？
For all the liberal analysis of Spencer and our modern
naturalistic philosophers，we have but an infantile perception of
morals. There is more in the subject than mere conformity to a
law of evolution. It is yet deeper than conformity to things of earth
alone. It is more involved than we，as yet，perceive. Answer，first，
why the heart thrills ；explain wherefore some plaintive note goes
wandering about the world，undying ；make clear the rose’s subtle
alchemy evolving its ruddy lamp in light and rain. In the essence
of these facts lie the first principles of morals.
“Oh，”thought Drouet，“how delicious is my conquest.”
“Ah，”thought Carrie，with mournful misgivings，“what is it I
have lost？”
Before this world — old proposition we stand，serious，
interested，confused ；endeavouring to evolve the true theory of
morals — the true answer to what is right.
In the view of a certain stratum of society，Carrie was
comfortably established— in the eyes of the starveling，beaten
by every wind and gusty sheet of rain，she was safe in a halcyon
harbour.
Drouet had taken three rooms，furnished，in Ogden Place，
facing Union Park，on the West Side. That was a little，greencarpeted
breathing spot，than which，today，there is nothing more
Beautiful in Chicago. It afforded a vista pleasant to contemplate.
The best room looked out upon the lawn of the park，now sear
and brown，where a little lake lay sheltered. Over the bare limbs
of the trees，which now swayed in the wintry wind，rose the
steeple of the Union Park Congregational Church，and far off the
towers of several others.
The rooms were comfortably enough furnished. There was
a good Brussels carpet on the floor，rich in dull red and lemon
shades，and representing large jardinieres filled with gorgeous，
impossible flowers. There was a large pier-glass mirror between
the two windows. A large，soft，green，plush-covered couch
occupied one corner，and several rocking-chairs were set about.
Some pictures，several rugs，a few small pieces of bric-a-brac，
and the tale of contents is told.
In the bedroom，off the front room，was Carrie’s trunk，bought
by Drouet，and in the wardrobe built into the wall quite an array
of clothing — more than she had ever possessed before，and of
very becoming designs. There was a third room for possible use
as a kitchen，where Drouet had Carrie establish a little portable
gas stove for the preparation of small lunches，oysters，Welsh
rarebits，and the like，of which he was exceedingly fond ；and，
lastly，a bath. The whole place was cosey，in that it was lighted
by gas and heated by furnace registers，possessing also a small
grate，set with an asbestos back，a method of cheerful warming
which was then first coming into use. By her industry and natural
love of order，which now developed，the place maintained an air
pleasing in the extreme.
Here，then，was Carrie，established in a pleasant fashion，
free of certain difficulties which most ominously confronted her，
laden with many new ones which were of a mental order，and
altogether so turned about in all of her earthly relationships that
she might well have been a new and different individual. She
looked into her glass and saw a prettier Carrie than she had seen
before ；she looked into her mind，a mirror prepared of her own
and the world’s opinions，and saw a worse. Between these two
images she wavered，hesitating which to believe.
“My，but you’re a little beauty，”Drouet was wont to exclaim
to her.She would look at him with large，pleased eyes.
“You know it，don’t you？” he would continue.
“Oh，I don’t know，”she would reply，feeling delight in the
fact that one should think so，hesitating to believe，though she
really did，that she was vain enough to think so much of herself.
Her conscience，however，was not a Drouet，interested to
praise. There she heard a different voice，with which she argued，
pleaded，excused. It was no just and sapient counsellor，in its
last analysis. It was only an average little conscience，a thing
which represented the world，her past environment，habit，
convention，in a confused way. With it，the voice of the people
was truly the voice of God.
“Oh，thou failure！ ”said the voice.
“Why？”she questioned.
“Look at those about，”came the whispered answer.“ Look
at those who are good. How would they scorn to do what you
have done. Look at the good girls ；how will they draw away from
such as you when they know you have been weak. You had not
tried before you failed.”
It was when Carrie was alone，looking out across the park，
that she would be listening to this. It would come infrequently—
when something else did not interfere，when the pleasant
side was not too apparent，when Drouet was not there. It was
somewhat clear in utterance at first，but never wholly convincing.
There was always an answer，always the December days