If indeed it’s true, as they’re saying, that Regent Street is up, and the Treaty signed, and the weather not cold for the time of year, and even at that rent not a flat to be had, and the worst of influenza1 its after effects; if I bethink me of having forgotten to write about the leak in the larder2, and left my glove in the train; if the ties of blood require me, leaning forward, to accept cordially the hand which is perhaps offered hesitatingly —
“Seven years since we met!”
“The last time in Venice.”
“And where are you living now?”
“Well, the late afternoon suits me the best, though, if it weren’t asking too much —”
“But I knew you at once!”
“Still, the war made a break —”
If the mind’s shot through by such little arrows, and — for human society compels it — no sooner is one launched than another presses forward; if this engenders3 heat and in addition they’ve turned on the electric light; if saying one thing does, in so many cases, leave behind it a need to improve and revise, stirring besides regrets, pleasures, vanities, and desires — if it’s all the facts I mean, and the hats, the fur boas, the gentlemen’s swallow-tail coats, and pearl tie-pins that come to the surface — what chance is there?
Of what? It becomes every minute more difficult to say why, in spite of everything, I sit here believing I can’t now say what, or even remember the last time it happened.
“Did you see the procession?”
“The King looked cold.”
“No, no, no. But what was it?”
“She’s bought a house at Malmesbury.”
“How lucky to find one!”
On the contrary, it seems to me pretty sure that she, whoever she may be, is damned, since it’s all a matter of flats and hats and sea gulls4, or so it seems to be for a hundred people sitting here well dressed, walled in, furred, replete5. Not that I can boast, since I too sit passive on a gilt6 chair, only turning the earth above a buried memory, as we all do, for there are signs, if I’m not mistaken, that we’re all recalling something, furtively7 seeking something. Why fidget? Why so anxious about the sit of cloaks; and gloves — whether to button or unbutton? Then watch that elderly face against the dark canvas, a moment ago urbane8 and flushed; now taciturn and sad, as if in shadow. Was it the sound of the second violin tuning9 in the ante-room? Here they come; four black figures, carrying instruments, and seat themselves facing the white squares under the downpour of light; rest the tips of their bows on the music stand; with a simultaneous movement lift them; lightly poise10 them, and, looking across at the player opposite, the first violin counts one, two, three —
Flourish, spring, burgeon11, burst! The pear tree on the top of the mountain. Fountains jet; drops descend12. But the waters of the Rhone flow swift and deep, race under the arches, and sweep the trailing water leaves, washing shadows over the silver fish, the spotted13 fish rushed down by the swift waters, now swept into an eddy14 where — it’s difficult this — conglomeration15 of fish all in a pool; leaping, splashing, scraping sharp fins16; and such a boil of current that the yellow pebbles17 are churned round and round, round and round — free now, rushing downwards18, or even somehow ascending19 in exquisite21 spirals into the air; curled like thin shavings from under a plane; up and up . . . How lovely goodness is in those who, stepping lightly, go smiling through the world! Also in jolly old fishwives, squatted22 under arches, oh scene old women, how deeply they laugh and shake and rollick, when they walk, from side to side, hum, hah!
“That’s an early Mozart, of course —”
“But the tune23, like all his tunes24, makes one despair — I mean hope. What do I mean? That’s the worst of music! I want to dance, laugh, eat pink cakes, yellow cakes, drink thin, sharp wine. Or an indecent story, now — I could relish25 that. The older one grows the more one likes indecency. Hall, hah! I’m laughing. What at? You said nothing, nor did the old gentleman opposite . . . But suppose — suppose — Hush26!”
The melancholy27 river bears us on. When the moon comes through the trailing willow28 boughs29, I see your face, I hear your voice and the bird singing as we pass the osier bed. What are you whispering? Sorrow, sorrow. Joy, joy. Woven together, like reeds in moonlight. Woven together, inextricably commingled30, bound in pain and strewn in sorrow — crash!
The boat sinks. Rising, the figures ascend20, but now leaf thin, tapering31 to a dusky wraith32, which, fiery33 tipped, draws its twofold passion from my heart. For me it sings, unseals my sorrow, thaws34 compassion35, floods with love the sunless world, nor, ceasing, abates36 its tenderness but deftly37, subtly, weaves in and out until in this pattern, this consummation, the cleft38 ones unify39; soar, sob40, sink to rest, sorrow and joy.
Why then grieve? Ask what? Remain unsatisfied? I say all’s been settled; yes; laid to rest under a coverlet of rose leaves, falling. Falling. Ah, but they cease. One rose leaf, falling from an enormous height, like a little parachute dropped from an invisible balloon, turns, flutters waveringly. It won’t reach us.
“No, no. I noticed nothing. That’s the worst of music — these silly dreams. The second violin was late, you say?”
“There’s old Mrs. Munro, feeling her way out — blinder each year, poor woman — on this slippery floor.”
Eyeless old age, grey-headed Sphinx . . . There she stands on the pavement, beckoning41, so sternly, the red omnibus.
“How lovely! How well they play! How — how — how!”
The tongue is but a clapper. Simplicity42 itself. The feathers in the hat next me are bright and pleasing as a child’s rattle43. The leaf on the plane-tree flashes green through the chink in the curtain. Very strange, very exciting.
“How — how — how!” Hush!
These are the lovers on the grass.
“If, madam, you will take my hand —”
“Sir, I would trust you with my heart. Moreover, we have left our bodies in the banqueting hall. Those on the turf are the shadows of our souls.”
“Then these are the embraces of our souls.” The lemons nod assent44. The swan pushes from the bank and floats dreaming into mid45 stream.
“But to return. He followed me down the corridor, and, as we turned the corner, trod on the lace of my petticoat. What could I do but cry ‘Ah!’ and stop to finger it? At which he drew his sword, made passes as if he were stabbing something to death, and cried, ‘Mad! Mad! Mad!’ Whereupon I screamed, and the Prince, who was writing in the large vellum book in the oriel window, came out in his velvet46 skull-cap and furred slippers47, snatched a rapier from the wall — the King of Spain’s gift, you know — on which I escaped, flinging on this cloak to hide the ravages48 to my skirt — to hide . . . But listen! the horns!”
The gentleman replies so fast to the lady, and she runs up the scale with such witty49 exchange of compliment now culminating in a sob of passion, that the words are indistinguishable though the meaning is plain enough — love, laughter, flight, pursuit, celestial50 bliss51 — all floated out on the gayest ripple52 of tender endearment53 — until the sound of the silver horns, at first far distant, gradually sounds more and more distinctly, as if seneschals were saluting54 the dawn or proclaiming ominously55 the escape of the lovers . . . The green garden, moonlit pool, lemons, lovers, and fish are all dissolved in the opal sky, across which, as the horns are joined by trumpets56 and supported by clarions there rise white arches firmly planted on marble pillars . . . Tramp and trumpeting57. Clang and clangour. Firm establishment. Fast foundations. March of myriads58. Confusion and chaos59 trod to earth. But this city to which we travel has neither stone nor marble; hangs enduring; stands unshakable; nor does a face, nor does a flag greet or welcome. Leave then to perish your hope; droop60 in the desert my joy; naked advance. Bare are the pillars; auspicious61 to none; casting no shade; resplendent; severe. Back then I fall, eager no more, desiring only to go, find the street, mark the buildings, greet the applewoman, say to the maid who opens the door: A starry62 night.
“Good night, good night. You go this way?”
“Alas. I go that.”
点击收听单词发音
1 influenza | |
n.流行性感冒,流感 | |
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2 larder | |
n.食物贮藏室,食品橱 | |
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3 engenders | |
v.产生(某形势或状况),造成,引起( engender的第三人称单数 ) | |
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4 gulls | |
n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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5 replete | |
adj.饱满的,塞满的;n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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6 gilt | |
adj.镀金的;n.金边证券 | |
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7 furtively | |
adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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8 urbane | |
adj.温文尔雅的,懂礼的 | |
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9 tuning | |
n.调谐,调整,调音v.调音( tune的现在分词 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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10 poise | |
vt./vi. 平衡,保持平衡;n.泰然自若,自信 | |
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11 burgeon | |
v.萌芽,发芽;迅速发展 | |
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12 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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13 spotted | |
adj.有斑点的,斑纹的,弄污了的 | |
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14 eddy | |
n.漩涡,涡流 | |
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15 conglomeration | |
n.团块,聚集,混合物 | |
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16 fins | |
[医]散热片;鱼鳍;飞边;鸭掌 | |
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17 pebbles | |
[复数]鹅卵石; 沙砾; 卵石,小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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18 downwards | |
adj./adv.向下的(地),下行的(地) | |
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19 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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20 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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21 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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22 squatted | |
v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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23 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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24 tunes | |
n.曲调,曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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25 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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26 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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27 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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28 willow | |
n.柳树 | |
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29 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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30 commingled | |
v.混合,掺和,合并( commingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31 tapering | |
adj.尖端细的 | |
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32 wraith | |
n.幽灵;骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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33 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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34 thaws | |
n.(足以解冻的)暖和天气( thaw的名词复数 );(敌对国家之间)关系缓和v.(气候)解冻( thaw的第三人称单数 );(态度、感情等)缓和;(冰、雪及冷冻食物)溶化;软化 | |
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35 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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36 abates | |
减少( abate的第三人称单数 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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37 deftly | |
adv.灵巧地,熟练地,敏捷地 | |
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38 cleft | |
n.裂缝;adj.裂开的 | |
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39 unify | |
vt.使联合,统一;使相同,使一致 | |
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40 sob | |
n.空间轨道的轰炸机;呜咽,哭泣 | |
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41 beckoning | |
adj.引诱人的,令人心动的v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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42 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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43 rattle | |
v.飞奔,碰响;激怒;n.碰撞声;拨浪鼓 | |
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44 assent | |
v.批准,认可;n.批准,认可 | |
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45 mid | |
adj.中央的,中间的 | |
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46 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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47 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
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48 ravages | |
劫掠后的残迹,破坏的结果,毁坏后的残迹 | |
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49 witty | |
adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
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50 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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51 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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52 ripple | |
n.涟波,涟漪,波纹,粗钢梳;vt.使...起涟漪,使起波纹; vi.呈波浪状,起伏前进 | |
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53 endearment | |
n.表示亲爱的行为 | |
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54 saluting | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的现在分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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55 ominously | |
adv.恶兆地,不吉利地;预示地 | |
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56 trumpets | |
喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 ); 小号; 喇叭形物; (尤指)绽开的水仙花 | |
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57 trumpeting | |
大声说出或宣告(trumpet的现在分词形式) | |
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58 myriads | |
n.无数,极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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59 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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60 droop | |
v.低垂,下垂;凋萎,萎靡 | |
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61 auspicious | |
adj.吉利的;幸运的,吉兆的 | |
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62 starry | |
adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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