飘- 第39部分

　“I’m　so　happy；”　she　whispered；　“and　so　proud　of　the　soldiers　that　I　just　can’t　help　crying　about　it。”
　There　was　a　deep；　almost　fanatic　glow　in　her　eyes　that　for　a　moment　lit　up　her　plain　little　face　and　made　it　beautiful。
　The　same　look　was　on　the　faces　of　all　the　women　as　the　song　ended；　tears　of　pride　on　cheeks；　pink　or　wrinkled；　smiles　on　lips；　a　deep　hot　glow　in　eyes；　as　they　turned　to　their　men；　sweetheart　to　lover；　mother　to　son；　wife　to　husband。　They　were　all　beautiful　with　the　blinding　beauty　that　transfigures　even　the　plainest　woman　when　she　is　utterly　protected　and　utterly　loved　and　is　giving　back　that　love　a　thousandfold。
　They　loved　their　men；　they　believed　in　them；　they　trusted　them　to　the　last　breaths　of　their　bodies。　How　could　disaster　ever　come　to　women　such　as　they　when　their　stalwart　gray　line　stood　between　them　and　the　Yankees？　Had　there　ever　been　such　men　as　these　since　the　first　dawn　of　the　world；　so　heroic；　so　reckless；　so　gallant；　so　tender？　How　could　anything　but　overwhelming　victory　come　to　a　Cause　as　just　and　right　as　theirs？　A　Cause　they　loved　as　much　as　they　loved　their　men；　a　Cause　they　served　with　their　hands　and　their　hearts；　a　Cause　they　talked　about；　thought　about；　dreamed　about—a　Cause　to　which　they　would　sacrifice　these　men　if　need　be；　and　bear　their　loss　as　proudly　as　the　men　bore　their　battle　flags。
　It　was　high　tide　of　devotion　and　pride　in　their　hearts；　high　tide　of　the　Confederacy；　for　final　victory　was　at　hand。　Stonewall　Jackson’s　triumphs　in　the　Valley　and　the　defeat　of　the　Yankees　in　the　Seven　Days’　Battle　around　Richmond　showed　that　clearly。　How　could　it　be　otherwise　with　such　leaders　as　Lee　and　Jackson？　One　more　victory　and　the　Yankees　would　be　on　their　knees　yelling　for　peace　and　the　men　would　be　riding　home　and　there　would　be　kissing　and　laughter。　One　more　victory　and　the　war　was　over！
　Of　course；　there　were　empty　chairs　and　babies　who　would　never　see　their　fathers’　faces　and　unmarked　graves　by　lonely　Virginia　creeks　and　in　the　still　mountains　of　Tennessee；　but　was　that　too　great　a　price　to　pay　for　such　a　Cause？　Silks　for　the　ladies　and　tea　and　sugar　were　hard　to　get；　but　that　was　something　to　joke　about。　Besides；　the　dashing　blockade　runners　were　bringing　in　these　very　things　under　the　Yankees’　disgruntled　noses；　and　that　made　the　possession　of　them　many　times　more　thrilling。　Soon　Raphael　Semmes　and　the　Confederate　Navy　would　tend　to　those　Yankee　gunboats　and　the　ports　would　be　wide　open。　And　England　was　coming　in　to　help　the　Confederacy　win　the　war；　because　the　English　mills　were　standing　idle　for　want　of　Southern　cotton。　And　naturally　the　British　aristocracy　sympathized　with　the　Confederacy；　as　one　aristocrat　with　another；　against　a　race　of　dollar　lovers　like　the　Yankees。
　So　the　women　swished　their　silks　and　laughed　and；　looking　on　their　men　with　hearts　bursting　with　pride；　they　knew　that　love　snatched　in　the　face　of　danger　and　death　was　doubly　sweet　for　the　strange　excitement　that　went　with　it。
　When　first　she　looked　at　the　crowd；　Scarlett’s　heart　had　thump…thumped　with　the　unaccustomed　excitement　of　being　at　a　party；　but　as　she　half…comprehendingly　saw　the　high…hearted　look　on　the　faces　about　her；　her　joy　began　to　evaporate。　Every　woman　present　was　blazing　with　an　emotion　she　did　not　feel。　It　bewildered　and　depressed　her。　Somehow；　the　hall　did　not　seem　so　pretty　nor　the　girls　so　dashing；　and　the　white　heat　of　devotion　to　the　Cause　that　was　still　shining　on　every　face　seemed—why；　it　just　seemed　silly！
　In　a　sudden　flash　of　self…knowledge　that　made　her　mouth　pop　open　with　astonishment；　she　realized　that　she　did　not　share　with　these　women　their　fierce　pride；　their　desire　to　sacrifice　themselves　and　everything　they　had　for　the　Cause。　Before　horror　made　her　think：　“No—no！　I　mustn’t　think　such　things！　They’re　wrong—sinful；”　she　knew　the　Cause　meant　nothing　at　all　to　her　and　that　she　was　bored　with　heating　other　people　talk　about　it　with　that　fanatic　look　in　their　eyes。　The　Cause　didn’t　seem　sacred　to　her。　The　war　didn’t　seem　to　be　a　holy　affair；　but　a　nuisance　that　killed　men　senselessly　and　cost　money　and　made　luxuries　hard　to　get。　She　saw　that　she　was　tired　of　the　endless　knitting　and　the　endless　bandage　rolling　and　lint　picking　that　roughened　the　cuticle　of　her　nails。　And　oh；　she　was　so　tired　of　the　hospital！　Tired　and　bored　and　nauseated　with　the　sickening　gangrene　smells　and　the　endless　moaning；　frightened　by　the　look　that　coming　death　gave　to　sunken　faces。
　She　looked　furtively　around　her；　as　the　treacherous；　blasphemous　thoughts　rushed　through　her　mind；　fearful　that　someone　might　find　them　written　clearly　upon　her　face。　Oh；　why　couldn’t　she　feel　like　those　other　women！　They　were　whole　hearted　and　sincere　in　their　devotion　to　the　Cause。　They　really　meant　everything　they　said　and　did。　And　if　anyone　should　ever　suspect　that　she—　No；　no　one　must　ever　know！　She　must　go　on　making　a　pretense　of　enthusiasm　and　pride　in　the　Cause　which　she　could　not　feel；　acting　out　her　part　of　the　widow　of　a　Confederate　officer　who　bears　her　grief　bravely；　whose　heart　is　in　the　grave；　who　feels　that　her　husband’s　death　meant　nothing　if　it　aided　the　Cause　to　triumph。
　Oh；　why　was　she　different；　apart　from　these　loving　women？　She　could　never　love　anything　or　anyone　so　selflessly　as　they　did。　What　a　lonely　feeling　it　was—and　she　had　never　been　lonely　either　in　body　or　spirit　before。　At　first　she　tried　to　stifle　the　thoughts；　but　the　hard　self…honesty　that　lay　at　the　base　of　her　nature　would　not　permit　it　And　so；　while　the　bazaar　went　on；　while　she　and　Melanie　waited　on　the　customers　who　came　to　their　booth；　her　mind　was　busily　working；　trying　to　justify　herself　to　herself—a　task　which　she　seldom　found　difficult。
　The　other　women　were　simply　silly　and　hysterical　with　their　talk　of　patriotism　and　the　Cause；　and　the　men　were　almost　as　bad　with　their　talk　of　vital　issues　and　States’　Rights。　She；　Scarlett　O’Hara　Hamilton；　alone　had　good　hard…headed　Irish　sense。　She　wasn’t　going　to　make　a　fool　out　of　herself　about　the　Cause；　but　neither　was　she　going　to　make　a　fool　out　of　herself　by　admitting　her　true　feelings。　She　was　hard…headed　enough　to　be　practical　about　the　situation；　and　no　one　would　ever　know　how　she　felt　How　surprised　the　bazaar　would　be　if　they　knew　what　she　really　was　thinking！　How　shocked　if　she　suddenly　climbed　on　the　bandstand　and　declared　that　she　thought　the　war　ought　to　stop；　so　everybody　could　go　home　and　tend　to　their　cotton　and　there　could　be　parties　and　beaux　again　and　plenty　of　pale　green　dresses。
　For　a　moment；　her　self…justification　buoyed　her　up　but　still　she　looked　about　the　hall　with　distaste。　The　McLure　girls’　booth　was　inconspicuous；　as　Mrs。　Merriwether　had　said；　and　there　were　long　intervals　when　no　one　came　to　their　corner　and　Scarlett　had　nothing　to　do　but　look　enviously　on　the　happy　throng。　Melanie　sensed　her　moodiness　but；　crediting　it　to　longing　for　Charlie；　did　not　try　to　engage　her　in　conversation。　She　busied　herself　arranging　the　articles　in　the　booth　in　more　attractive　display；　while　Scarlett　sat　and　looked　glumly　around　the　room。　Even　the　banked　flowers　below　the　pictures　of　Mr。　Davis　and　Mr。　Stephens　displeased　her。
　“It　looks　like　an　altar；”　she　sniffed。　“And　the　way　they　all　carry　on　about　those　two；　they　might　as　well　be　the　Father　and　the　Son！”　Then　smitten　with　sudden　fright　at　her　irreverence　she　began　hastily　to　cross　herself　by　way　of　apology　but　caught　herself　in　time。
　“Well；　it’s　true；”　she　argued　with　her　conscience。　“Everybody　carries　on　like　they　were　holy　and　they　aren’t　anything　but　men；　and　mighty　unattractive　looking　ones　at　that。”
　Of　course；　Mr。　Stephens　couldn’t　help　how　he　looked　for　he　had　been　an　invalid　all　his　life；　but　Mr。　Davis—　She　looked　up　at　the　cameo　clean；　proud　face。　It　was　his　goatee　that　annoyed　her　the　most。　Men　should　either　be　clean　shaven；　mustached　or　wear　full　beards。
　“That　little　wisp　looks　like　it　was　just　the　best　he　could　do；”　she　thought；　not　seeing　in　his　face　the　cold　hard　intelligence　that　was　carrying　the　weight　of　a　new　nation。
　No；　she　was　not　happy　now；　and　at　first　she　had　been　radiant　with　the　pleasure　of　being　in　a　crowd。　Now　just　being　present　was　not　enough。　She　was　at　the　bazaar　but　not　a　part　of　it。　No　one　paid　her　any　attention　and　she　was　the　only　young　unmarried　woman　present　who　did　not　have　a　beau。　And　all　her　life　she　had　enjoyed　the　center　of　the　stage。　It　wasn’t　fair！　She　was　seventeen　years　old　and　her　feet　were　patting　the　floor；　wanting　to　skip　and　dance。　She　was　seventeen　years　old　and　she　had　a　husband　lying　at　Oakland　Cemetery　and　a　baby　in　his　cradle　at　Aunt　Pittypat’s　and　everyone　thought　she　should　be　content　with　her　lot。　She　had　a　whiter　bosom　and　a　smaller　waist　and　a　tinier　foot　than　any　girl　present；　but　for　all　they　mattered　she　might　just　as　well　be　lying　beside　Charles　with　“Beloved　Wife　of”　carved　over　her。
　She　wasn’t　a　girl　who　could　dance　and　flirt　and　she　wasn’t　a　wife　who　could　sit　with　other　wives　and　criticize　the　dancing　and　flirting　girls。　And　she　wasn’t　old　enough　to　be　a　widow。　Widows　should　be　old—so　terribly　old　they　didn’t　want　to　dance　and　flirt　and　be　admired。　Oh；　it　wasn’t　fair　that　she　should　have　to　sit　here　primly　and　be　the　acme　of　widowed　dignity　and　propriety　when　she　was　only　seventeen。　It　wasn’t　fair　that　she　must　keep　her　voice　low　and　her　eyes　cast　modestly　down；　when　men；　attractive　ones；　too；　came　to　their　booth。
　Every　girl　in　Atlanta　was　three　deep　in　men。　Even　the　plainest　girls　were　carrying　on　like　belles—and；　oh；　worst　of　all；　they　were　carrying　on　in　such　lovely；　lovely　dresses！
　Here　she　sat　like　a　crow　with　hot　black　taffeta　to　her　wrists　and　buttoned　up　to　her　chin；　with　not　even　a　hint　of　lace　or　braid；　not　a　jewel　except　Ellen’s　onyx　mourning　brooch；　watching　tacky…looking　girls　hanging　on　the　arms　of　good…looking　men。　All　because　Charles　Hamilton　had　had　the　measles。　He　didn’t　even　die　in　a　fine　glow　of　gallantry　in　battle；　so　she　could　brag　about　him。
　Rebelliously　she　leaned　her　elbows　on　the　counter　and　looked　at　the　crowd；　flouting　Mammy’s　oft…repeated　admonition　against　leaning　on　elbows　and　making　them　ugly　and　wrinkled。　What　did　it　matter　if　th