英文
Chapter XIV Darkness
MARIE and Pierre were famous. France offered them prizes. England sent them an invitation. They carried from France a gift for their English friend, Lord Kelvin, a gift of a tiny particle of radium in a glass phial, which he showed with childish glee to his scientific friends. Pierre was to lecture on Radium to the Royal Institute, and Marie was to be the first woman ever to be admitted to a meeting of that severe and splendid Society. Never had there been so gay a lecture there, for Pierre made the wizard Radium show its strange tricks to the solemn assembly of all the most learned Englishmen. The Royal Society was enchanted, and all London was agog to see the two “parents” of radium. There were banquets in their honor, and the noble and the rich glimmered in pearls and diamonds as they gazed in astonishment at that strange thing—a woman scientist, who dined at night in a simple black dress unrelieved by a single jewel, and whose hands, scarred with acids, were bare of any ring; but she looked no less distinguished than they, with her thin figure, her inspired face, and her great pale forehead over those intense eyes. Marie, herself, loved the glitter around her, but she was a little surprised to see the usually indifferent Pierre apparently absorbed in the dazzling scene.
“Aren't jewels pretty things?” she asked him. “I never dreamed such lovely ones existed.”
Pierre laughed. “Do you know,” he said, “at dinner I hadn't anything to do with my mind so I spent the time working out how many laboratories could have been built and equipped with the price of those jewels!”
No! The Curies were certainly “different.” They understood a substance that gave out its own light, but not jewelled reflectors. They didn't even know what to do with a gold medal when the Royal Society honoured Marie with the Davy Medal. Pierre gave it to Irène as a thoroughly safe and biteable plaything, and she adored it.
They knew still less what to do with fame and crowds and applause and journalists. Marie could only be miserable about them.
On December 10th, 1903, she was awarded half the Nobel Prize for Science. Henri Becquerel had the other half. She was the first woman to be thus honoured in science, but not a word of excitement escaped her. She rejoiced in the real part of the prize: the recognition by her fellow-scientists of her work and the gentle pleasure of having some money to spend; but the glitter and the tinsel, fame, letters of congratulation from strangers, demands for autographs, requests for interviews from photographers and journalists—those things she hated. “I would like to bury myself to get a little peace,” she wrote.
She enjoyed spending the money, and how she spent it showed her in all her sincerity and charm. She banked some of it, so that the family income from it might pay someone to help in the laboratory and also enable Pierre to give up his teaching at the School of Physics and so have time to do research. She gave a large gift to the sanatorium which the Dluskis had founded in Poland. She gave presents to Pierre's brother and her own sisters; she paid subscriptions to scientific societies; she helped some Polish students, her laboratory boys, and a Sèvres girl who was in need. Then she remembered an old French teacher of her own who lived in Poland, who had a lovely, impossible day-dream—that of visiting just once again her dear France. Marie wrote to her, sent her the money for her journey, and invited her to come and stay with her. The old woman wept with joy at the immense unexpected pleasure. Last of all, Marie gave herself a present—a modern bathroom in her house in the Boulevard Kellerman, and new paper for one of her sitting-rooms.
But oh! The foolish crowd! Instead of collecting money to build a laboratory so that the Curies might find out more about Radium, they wasted Marie's time, forced her to play hide-and-seek in the street in order to get into her own house unmolested; published in the newspapers all the little details of their home-life that the Curies loved and would have liked to keep to themselves, even the baby-words that Irène said to her nurse, even the colour of the roof cat. Marie exclaimed, “They prevent our working. Our life is spoilt with honour and glory!” And she meant it. She was shy, and very busy, and the senseless crowd was making her really ill. Once, when the Curies were dining with the French President, a lady went up to Marie and asked if she should present her to the King of Greece. “I don't see the necessity,” said Marie, gently, and then perceived, in an overwhelming glance, that the lady was Mme. Loubet, the wife of the President, and that she was very surprised indeed. “Of course… of course, naturally I'll do anything you like,” she stammered, blushing. To meet kings is a pleasure to so many people, but Marie was different. She was tired and she was young. She wanted a holiday, just to be gay and free and happy, and to be an ordinary mother and an ordinary wife. She wished Irène's whooping-cough wouldn't take so many months to go away and that Pierre's illness wouldn't frighten her. Since she had danced in Poland twenty years before, her life had been nothing but work, and never had she so longed to do nothing, to forget that she was the famous Mme. Curie, and to be mere Manya again and eat too many strawberries and sleep and do nothing.
But Pierre was in a hurry. There was so much work to do. He couldn't understand Marie's holiday spirit—that was something altogether too girlish, altogether too unscientific. They must devote themselves to science, he told her, and she obeyed. She always obeyed him. But she was terribly tired, so tired that she almost didn't want her new baby, Eve. “Poor little thing,” she said, “to have to live in so hard a world as this.” It was indeed a cruel thing that the hunters and pursuers should have taken all her gaiety and courage, even from Manya.
But Eve did her good, for she loved very new babies, and she was obliged to have the month's holiday that Eve gave her—Eve, with the dark hair and blue eyes, who was so different from Irène, of the fair hair and hazel eyes. Eve wouldn't lie in her cradle, but protested vigorously, and Marie was not a model mother who left her to cry, but a soft-hearted one who took her up and carried her about till she slept.
Just before the coming of Eve, an odd privilege had been granted to Marie by the University of Paris, the right to work in Pierre's laboratory. She had been working there all the time, but suddenly the University woke up and gave her an appointment which allowed her to do so—the appointment of “Physics Organiser” under M. Curie at a salary of ￡96 a year. The University acknowledged, what everyone else had known for a long time, that the Curies always worked together. All their time and their thoughts and their work were quite naturally shared, just as if they were one happy person.
In June, 1905, Pierre and Marie went to beautiful Stockholm, where Pierre had to make a speech, in both their names, in connection with the Nobel Prize. He described Sweden rather. charmingly, as composed of lakes and fjords surrounded by a little dry land, and the two enjoyed the uncrowded calm of the vast spaces and the courtesy of a nation which did not press upon them.
But Marie sometimes made friends with strangers. There was an American baller dancer, Lo?e Fuller, who used strange lighting to make her dancing more beautiful. She wrote to Marie to ask how she could use Radium to light her butterfly wings. Pierre and Marie laughed at the wild idea, but wrote back very gently explaining the queer thing that was Radium. Lo?e replied that she had only one way of thanking them for their letter—to come and dance to them in their own home. The Curies accepted that uncommon thanks, and on the day there appeared at their door an odd-looking girl with baby-blue eyes and an army of electricians. All day the electricians worked. By the evening the Curies' dining-room was transformed into a fairyland of strange lights, and Lo?e danced, making herself by turns flame, flower, bird, and witch.
The little music-hall dancer became a great friend, and took the Curies to introduce them to her friend, Rodin, the great sculptor, and there, in his studio, among the casts and marbles, Science, Sculpture and Dance would sit and talk the evening out.
Then came April, 1906. The hot sun of April in France drew their scent from the violets, purple and white, that coloured the hedgerows in the valley of the Chevreuse. Marie and Pierre, Irène and Eve, were on holiday. In the evening they fetched the milk from the farm; Eve, the little mountebank, making them all laugh as she tottered in the dry cart-ruts. In the mornings, Pierre and Marie, on their bicycles, hunted flowers through the woods and revisited the pond, which they had met on their honeymoon. It was dry and the water-lilies had gone, but yellow-flowering reeds circled the mud with a bright startling crown. And Marie and Pierre, wandering home, gathered violets and powder-blue periwinkle from the banks of the sunken lanes.
At noon on another day they lay in the sun and dreamed, while Irène chased butterflies with a green net, greeting them with high-pitched cries and squeals of glee.
“Life has been sweet with you, Marie,” murmured Pierre.
Then, after dinner, he caught the train to Paris and work, carrying with him the yellow ranunculus they had gathered by the pond. The others joined him the next day, and April, as is the way with April, had turned wet and cold.
The day after Marie and the children came home was April the 19th, 1906—a wet day, with muddy, slippery streets, a cloudy day and dark. Pierre had several engagements in the city; Marie had to get the house in order after the holidays, and many things to do in town. Busily, gaily, she went hither and yon. Six o'clock found her back on her own doorstep, happy to be home again, eager to meet Pierre and to begin another of those delicious evenings working with him at scientific calculations.
She opened the drawing-room door. Three men rose and stood, with deep respect in their attitude; just that, as if she had been a queen; and in their eyes she read a terrible pity. Paul Appell, her old teacher, had to tell her that Pierre had slipped in the street and the wheel of a heavy horse-drawn dray had crushed his head.
“Pierre is dead?… dead? Really dead?” she said.
When Eve grew up, she told us, in the lovely life she wrote of her mother, that from the moment she spoke the words “Pierre est mort,” a cloak of solitude and secrecy enveloped Marie, and that from that April day for ever she was a person apart and lonely.
中文
第十四章 黑暗
玛丽和皮埃尔声名鹊起。法国为两个人颁奖。英国向他们发出邀请。他们从法国带了一件礼物送给英国朋友开尔文，那就是装在玻璃瓶中的微量镭元素，开尔文带着孩子般灿烂的笑容骄傲地向自己科学界的朋友们展示。皮埃尔将在皇家学院就镭元素作演讲，玛丽也将成为第一位获准在此神圣庄严的科学殿堂参加会议的女性。此次演讲盛况空前，在座的全都是英国知识渊博的著名学者，皮埃尔向他们展示了镭元素的神奇力量。皇家学院为之振奋，整个伦敦都渴望一睹镭元素“父母”的风采。他们专门为两个人举办了宴会，权贵们打扮得珠光宝气，他们带着惊讶的神情望向玛丽——这位伟大的女性科学家，只穿了一条朴素的黑裙子就来赴宴，没戴任何首饰，她那被酸液腐蚀的双手也没戴任何戒指；但这丝毫没有影响她的高贵，她身材高挑，面庞光彩照人，额头光洁高挺，拥有一双炯炯有神的大眼睛。玛丽自己很喜欢周围的繁华盛景，但她却有点惊讶地发现，平常对于宴会漠不关心的皮埃尔，显然也已经沉浸在了这种眼花缭乱之中。
“珠宝很美艳吧？”玛丽问他，“我从没想过世间还有如此美丽的东西。”
皮埃尔大笑。“你知道，”他说，“吃晚宴的时候我没事儿干，脑子里就在想，这些珠宝加起来能建多少设备齐全的实验室啊！”
天啊！居里夫妇的确“与众不同”。他们了解发光物质，但却搞不懂珠光宝气的石头。皇家学会授予玛丽戴维奖章，夫妻二人甚至不知道该拿这金质奖章作何用。皮埃尔把它给艾琳当摔不碎、咬不坏的玩具，艾琳非常喜欢。
他们也不知道该如何对待名誉、人群、掌声和记者。这些只会徒增玛丽的痛苦。
1903年12月10日，玛丽与亨利·贝可勒尔分别被授予诺贝尔科学奖。她是科学界第一位获此殊荣的女性，但并没引起她多大的兴奋。她反而更享受荣誉带来的实际影响：科学家们对她工作的认可，获得经费的欣慰；但闪光灯和曝光、名誉、陌生人寄来的庆祝信、要签名的请求、摄影师和记者们邀约采访的请求等，这些事情她并不喜欢。“我恨不得把自己藏起来，借此得到片刻安宁。”她写道。
玛丽喜欢能支配金钱的感觉，而她支配金钱的方式也完全体现出她的真挚善良与个人魅力。她把一部分钱存进银行，这样获得的收入就能雇个帮手在实验室里帮忙，皮埃尔也能辞去在物理学院的教师职位，潜心科研。此外，她还给杜鲁斯基夫妇在波兰创办的养老院捐赠了一笔钱。给皮埃尔的哥哥和自己的姐姐们买了礼物；对科学协会进行捐赠；资助了一些波兰学生、实验室的男孩们以及一个急需帮助的塞尔夫女孩。玛丽随后又记起了自己年迈的法国老师，老师目前客居波兰，平生的夙愿就是能再回到她深爱的法国看看。玛丽给老师写了封信，并寄去了车旅费，邀请她前来法国和自己同住。那位年迈的老妇人面对这意料之外的幸福喜极而泣。最后，玛丽还给自己准备了一份礼物——给位于凯勒曼大道的家装了现代化的洗浴室，给起居室更换了新壁纸。
但遗憾的是！平庸的大众！不是集资建设实验室，让居里夫妇做更多镭方面的研究，他们的过分关注让玛丽在大街上要躲躲藏藏才能顺利回家，浪费了她大量的时间。报纸上刊登居里夫妇生活的小细节，侵犯到了夫妻二人的隐私，即使连艾琳这个小孩子对保姆说的话，连屋顶上花猫的颜色都被一一曝光在众人面前。玛丽抗议道：“他们严重影响了我们的工作。我们的生活也被荣誉和光环破坏了！”她说的没错。玛丽寡言忙碌，却几乎被缺乏理性的大众逼疯了。一次，居里夫妇去参加法国总统的晚宴，一位女士走向玛丽，请求她将自己引荐给希腊国王。“我觉得没这必要。”玛丽语气平和，但目光坚定。那位女士其实就是卢贝总统的夫人，玛丽的回答让她很惊讶。“当然……我当然会尊重您的意见。”她面色绯红，吞吞吐吐地说道。能面见国王对许多人来说是莫大的殊荣，但玛丽不同寻常。她年轻，并对这一切深感厌倦。她渴望休假，能自由放松地生活，做一位寻常的母亲，一位普通的妻子。她希望艾琳的咳嗽能快点好起来，希望皮埃尔的病痛快点消去。从上一次她在波兰跳过舞后，这二十年间她的生活中只有工作，但她也没像现在这样渴望无所事事，渴望忘掉自己是著名的居里夫人。她只想再成为那个简单的玛丽，尽情吃草莓、睡觉、享受生活。
但皮埃尔此时根本停不下来。他手边有大量的工作要做。他无法理解玛丽想放假的心情——这种愿望太小女孩化了，太不符合科学精神。皮埃尔告诉玛丽，他们必须要为科学献身，玛丽顺从了。她一直都顺着皮埃尔的心意。但她真的筋疲力尽了，累到连自己肚中的孩子伊芙都不想要。“可怜的小家伙，”她说，“要生活在这纷乱的世界里。” 事实上，她的那些仰慕者和追随者，严重影响到了她对于生活的勇气和幸福感，这是无比残忍的。
然而，伊芙的出生也为她带来了乐趣，玛丽喜欢孩子，她还能顺理成章地享受伊芙出生带来的产假——伊芙长着黑色的头发和蓝色的眼睛，与艾琳金黄色的头发和淡褐色的眼睛完全不同。伊芙不愿躺在摇篮里，奋力挣扎着抗议，玛丽不忍心让她在摇篮里哭泣，心软地将她抱起，一直哄到她入睡为止。
在伊芙出生前，巴黎大学给玛丽授予了一项特权，即可在皮埃尔的实验室里工作。她其实一直就在实验室里工作，但学校不知怎的突然醒悟，给了她这项任命——任命她为“物理学科的组建者”，一年有九十六法郎的薪水。众所周知，居里夫妇一直都是并肩作战，学校目前也认可了这一点。他们的时间、思想和工作都自然平分，就好像是一个人。
1905年6月，皮埃尔和玛丽来到了风景秀丽的斯德哥尔摩，皮埃尔受邀以二人共同的名义发表演讲，这也和诺贝尔奖相关。他对瑞典大加赞赏，用尽溢美之词，这个国家遍布着湖泊、峡湾，周围仅有一点陆地，两个人享受着不被打扰的静谧，享受着这个国家毫无压力的礼遇。
玛丽有时会和陌生人交朋友。有位名为洛伊·富勒的美国芭蕾舞演员，她用奇幻的灯光让舞蹈显得更加美轮美奂。她写信问玛丽，如何能利用镭元素照亮自己的蝴蝶袖。皮埃尔和玛丽虽然觉得这想法很奇怪，但还是回信委婉地解释了镭射线的性能。洛伊回信道，她唯一能表达感谢之情的方式，就是来居里夫妇家现场跳一段芭蕾舞。居里夫妇接受了这不同寻常的感谢方式。一天，一个打扮奇特、拥有孩童般蓝眼睛的女孩出现在他们家门口，身后还跟着一队电气师。电气师鼓捣了一整天。晚上，居里夫妇家的餐厅点缀着各式各样的彩灯，装扮如同仙境，洛伊跳着舞，交替出现火苗、鲜花、飞鸟和巫术。
这位小小的艺术家成了居里夫妇的好朋友，并将两个人引荐给了自己伟大的雕刻家朋友罗丹。坐在罗丹的工作室里，在铸件和大理石中，这几个来自科学、雕刻和舞蹈领域的人彻夜交谈，相谈甚欢。
时间到了1906年的4月。在法国的骄阳下，紫罗兰盛开，芳香四溢，紫色和白色的花朵相映，装点着谢夫勒斯山谷里的灌木。玛丽和皮埃尔带着艾琳和伊芙在此度假。晚上，一家人去农场里打奶；伊芙这个小魔头，在学步车里蹒跚走路，逗得大家哈哈大笑。早晨，皮埃尔和玛丽骑着自行车，穿过树林采摘鲜花，再看一看蜜月时发现的林间湖泊。湖水已干涸，水仙花也不见了，唯有四周环绕着的黄色芦苇，像一顶色彩鲜亮的皇冠。玛丽和皮埃尔漫步回家，从河岸边采回了紫罗兰和蓝色的长春花。
第二天中午，他们沐浴在阳光里，艾琳举着绿网捕蝴蝶，发出兴奋的尖叫声和欢笑声。
“生活待你不薄，玛丽。”皮埃尔低声说道。
晚饭过后，皮埃尔就搭乘火车返回巴黎工作，随身携带着他们在湖边采摘的黄色芦苇。第二天，玛丽也带着孩子们重返巴黎，4月亦如它的节气，变得潮湿阴冷。
1906年4月19日，玛丽和孩子们已经返还家中——这是潮湿的一天，街道上泥泞湿滑，天空阴暗，布满乌云。皮埃尔在城里还有几项工作要做，玛丽则要回家整理家务，在镇上还有些事要处理。她忙碌且快乐地走来走去。六点钟她到家，很高兴能再次回到舒适的家中，渴望见到皮埃尔，与他像往常一样一同进行科研到深夜。
她打开客厅的门。看见三名男士站起身来，带着深深的敬意，仿佛将玛丽视为女王。在他们的神情中玛丽读到了沉痛的忧伤。她之前的老师保罗·阿佩尔告诉玛丽，皮埃尔在街上滑倒了，被运货马车的轮子碾到了头。
“皮埃尔死了吗？……死了吗？真的死了吗？”她问道。
伊芙长大后，撰写了母亲的生平事迹，她告诉我们，从知道皮埃尔去世的那一刻起，一种孤独与无助就深深萦绕在玛丽心头，从那个悲伤的四月起，她就一个人被孤独地留在了人世间。
