“Never mind,” said Gumbril. “We shall get in in time for the minuetto. It’s then that the fun really begins.”
“Sour grapes,” said Emily, putting her ear to the door. “It sounds to me simply too lovely.”
They stood outside, like beggars waiting abjectly2 at the doors of a banqueting-hall—stood and listened to the snatches of music that came out tantalizingly3 from within. A rattle4 of clapping announced at last that the first movement was over; the doors were thrown open. Hungrily they rushed in. The Sclopis Quartet and a subsidiary viola were bowing from the platform. There was a chirrup of tuning5, then preliminary silence. Sclopis nodded and moved his bow. The minuetto of Mozart’s G minor6 Quintet broke out, phrase after phrase, short and decisive, with every now and then a violent sforzando chord, startling in its harsh and sudden emphasis.
Minuetto—all civilization, Mr. Mercaptan would have said, was implied in the delicious word, the delicate, pretty thing. Ladies and precious gentlemen, fresh from the wit and gallantry of Crebillon-haunted sofas, stepping gracefully7 to a pattern of airy notes. To this passion of one who cries out, to this obscure and angry argument with fate how would they, Gumbril wondered, how would they have tripped it?
191How pure the passion, how unaffected, clear and without clot8 or pretension9 the unhappiness of that slow movement which followed! Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Pure and unsullied; pure and unmixed, unadulterated. “Not passionate10, thank God; only sensual and sentimental11.” In the name of earwig. Amen. Pure, pure. Worshippers have tried to rape1 the statues of the gods; the statuaries who made the images were generally to blame. And how deliciously, too, an artist can suffer! and, in the face of the whole Albert Hall, with what an effective gesture and grimace12! But blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. The instruments come together and part again. Long silver threads hang aerially over a murmur13 of waters; in the midst of muffled14 sobbing15 a cry. The fountains blow their architecture of slender pillars, and from basin to basin the waters fall; from basin to basin, and every fall makes somehow possible a higher leaping of the jet, and at the last fall the mounting column springs up into the sunlight, and from water the music has modulated16 up into a rainbow. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God; they shall make God visible, too, to other eyes.
Blood beats in the ears. Beat, beat, beat. A slow drum in the darkness, beating in the ears of one who lies wakeful with fever, with the sickness of too much misery17. It beats unceasingly, in the ears, in the mind itself. Body and mind are indivisible, and in the spirit blood painfully throbs18. Sad thoughts droop19 through the mind. A small, pure light comes swaying down through the darkness, comes to rest, resigning itself to the obscurity of its misfortune. There is resignation, but blood still beats in the ears. Blood still painfully beats, though the mind has acquiesced20. And 192then, suddenly, the mind exerts itself, throws off the fever of too much suffering and laughing, commands the body to dance. The introduction to the last movement comes to its suspended, throbbing21 close. There is an instant of expectation, and then, with a series of mounting trochees and a downward hurrying, step after tiny step, in triple time, the dance begins. Irrelevant22, irreverent, out of key with all that has gone before. But man’s greatest strength lies in his capacity for irrelevance23. In the midst of pestilences24, wars and famines, he builds cathedrals; and a slave, he can think the irrelevant and unsuitable thoughts of a free man. The spirit is slave to fever and beating blood, at the mercy of an obscure and tyrannous misfortune. But irrelevantly25, it elects to dance in triple measure—a mounting skip, a patter of descending26 feet.
The G minor Quintet is at an end; the applause rattles27 out loudly. Enthusiasts28 stand up and cry bravo. And the five men on the platform rise and bow their acknowledgments. Great Sclopis himself receives his share of the plaudits with a weary condescension29; weary are his poached eyes, weary his disillusioned30 smile. It is only his due, he knows; but he has had so much clapping, so many lovely women. He has a Roman nose, a colossal31 brow and, though the tawny32 musical mane does much to conceal33 the fact, no back to his head. Garofalo, the second fiddle34, is black, beady-eyed and pot-bellied. The convex reflections of the electroliers slide back and forth35 over his polished bald head, as he bends, again, again, in little military salutes36. Peperkoek, two metres high, bows with a sinuous37 politeness. His face, his hair are all of the same greyish buff colour; he does not smile, his appearance is monolithic38 and grim. Not so exuberant39 Knoedler, who sweats and smiles and embraces 193his ’cello send lays his hand to his heart and bows almost to the ground as though all this hullabaloo were directed only at him. As for poor little Mr. Jenkins, the subsidiary viola, he has slid away into the background, and feeling that this is really the Sclopis’s show and that he, a mere40 intruder, has no right to any of these demonstrations41, he hardly bows at all, but only smiles, vaguely42 and nervously43, and from time to time makes a little spasmodic twitch44 to show that he isn’t really ungrateful or haughty45, as you might think, but that he feels in the circumstances—the position is a little embarrassing—it is hard to explain....
“Strange,” said Gumbril, “to think that those ridiculous creatures could have produced what we’ve just been hearing.”
The poached eye of Sclopis lighted on Emily, flushed and ardently46 applauding. He gave her, all to herself, a weary smile. He would have a letter, he guessed, to-morrow morning signed ‘Your little Admirer in the Third Row.’ She looked a choice little piece. He smiled again to encourage her. Emily, alas47! had not even noticed. She was applauding the music.
“Did I...?” Emily laughed expressively49. “No, I didn’t enjoy,” she said. “Enjoy isn’t the word. You enjoy eating ices. It made me happy. It’s unhappy music, but it made me happy.”
Gumbril hailed a cab and gave the address of his rooms in Great Russell Street. “Happy,” he repeated, as they sat there side by side in the darkness. He, too, was happy.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To my rooms,” said Gumbril, “we shall be quiet there.” 194He was afraid she might object to going there—after yesterday. But she made no comment.
“Some people think that it’s only possible to be happy if one makes a noise,” she said, after a pause. “I find it’s too delicate and melancholy50 for noise. Being happy is rather melancholy—like the most beautiful landscape, like those trees and the grass and the clouds and the sunshine to-day.”
“From the outside,” said Gumbril, “it even looks rather dull.” They stumbled up the dark staircase to his rooms. Gumbril lit a pair of candles and put the kettle on the gas ring. They sat together on the divan51 sipping52 tea. In the rich, soft light of the candles she looked different, more beautiful. The silk of her dress seemed wonderfully rich and glossy53, like the petals54 of a tulip, and on her face, on her bare arms and neck the light seemed to spread an impalpable bright bloom. On the wall behind them, their shadows ran up towards the ceiling, enormous and profoundly black.
“How unreal it is,” Gumbril whispered. “Not true. This remote secret room. These lights and shadows out of another time. And you out of nowhere and I, out of a past utterly55 remote from yours, sitting together here, together—and being happy. That’s the strangest thing of all. Being quite senselessly happy. It’s unreal, unreal.”
“But why,” said Emily, “why? It’s here and happening now. It is real.”
“It all might vanish, at any moment,” he said.
Emily smiled rather sadly. “It’ll vanish in due time,” she said. “Quite naturally, not by magic; it’ll vanish the way everything else vanishes and changes. But it’s here now.”
They gave themselves up to the enchantment56. The 195candles burned, two shining eyes of flame, without a wink57, minute after minute. But for them there were no longer any minutes. Emily leaned against him, her body held in the crook58 of his arm, her head resting on his shoulder. He caressed59 his cheek against her hair; sometimes, very gently, he kissed her forehead or her closed eyes.
“If I had known you years ago ...” she sighed. “But I was a silly little idiot then. I shouldn’t have noticed any difference between you and anybody else.”
“I shall be very jealous,” Emily spoke60 again after another timeless silence. “There must never be anybody else, never the shadow of anybody else.”
“There never will be anybody else,” said Gumbril.
Emily smiled and opened her eyes, looked up at him. “Ah, not here,” she said, “not in this real unreal room. Not during this eternity61. But there will be other rooms just as real as this.”
“Not so real, not so real.” He bent62 his face towards hers. She closed her eyes again, and the lids fluttered with a sudden tremulous movement at the touch of his light kiss.
For them there were no more minutes. But time passed, time passed flowing in a dark stream, stanchlessly, as though from some profound mysterious wound in the world’s side, bleeding, bleeding for ever. One of the candles had burned down to the socket63 and the long, smoky flame wavered unsteadily. The flickering65 light troubled their eyes; the shadows twitched66 and stirred uneasily. Emily looked up at him.
“What’s the time?” she said.
Gumbril looked at his watch. It was nearly one o’clock. “Too late for you to get back,” he said.
196“Too late?” Emily sat-up. Ah, the enchantment was breaking, was giving way, like a film of ice beneath a weight, like a web before a thrust of the wind. They looked at one another. “What shall I do?” she asked.
“You could sleep here,” Gumbril answered in a voice that came from a long way away.
She sat for a long time in silence, looking through half-closed eyes at the expiring candle flame. Gumbril watched her in an agony of suspense67. Was the ice to be broken, the web-work finally and for ever torn? The enchantment could still be prolonged, the eternity renewed. He felt his heart beating in his breast; he held his breath. It would be terrible if she were to go now, it would be a kind of death. The flame of the candle flickered68 more violently, leaping up in a thin, long, smoky flare69, sinking again almost to darkness. Emily got up and blew out the candle. The other still burned calmly and steadily64.
“May I stay?” she asked. “Will you allow me?”
He understood the meaning of her question, and nodded. “Of course,” he said.
“Of course? Is it as much of course as all that?”
“When I say so.” He smiled at her. The eternity had been renewed, the enchantment prolonged. There was no need to think of anything now but the moment. The past was forgotten, the future abolished. There was only this secret room and the candlelight and the unreal, impossible happiness of being two. Now that this peril70 of a disenchantment had been averted71, it would last for ever. He got up from the couch, crossed the room, he took her hands and kissed them.
“Shall we sleep now?” she asked.
Gumbril nodded.
197“Do you mind if I blow out the light?” And without waiting for his answer, Emily turned, gave a puff72, and the room was in darkness. He heard the rustling73 of her undressing. Hastily he stripped off his own clothes, pulled back the coverlet from the divan. The bed was made and ready; he opened it and slipped between the sheets. A dim greenish light from the gas lamp in the street below came up between the parted curtains illuminating74 faintly the farther end of the room. Against this tempered darkness he could see her, silhouetted75, standing76 quite still, as if hesitating on some invisible brink77.
“Emily,” he whispered.
“I’m coming,” Emily answered. She stood there, unmoving, a few seconds longer, then overstepped the brink. She came silently across the room, and sat down on the edge of the low couch. Gumbril lay perfectly78 still, without speaking, waiting in the enchanted79 timeless darkness. Emily lifted her knees, slid her feet in under the sheet, then stretched herself out beside him, her body, in the narrow bed, touching80 his. Gumbril felt that she was trembling; trembling, a sharp involuntary start, a little shudder81, another start.
“You’re cold,” he said, and slipping one arm beneath her shoulders he drew her, limp and unresisting, towards him. She lay there, pressed against him. Gradually the trembling ceased. Quite still, quite still in the calm of the enchantment. The past is forgotten, the future abolished; there is only this dark and everlasting82 moment. A drugged and intoxicated83 stupor84 of happiness possessed85 his spirit; a numbness86, warm and delicious, lay upon him. And yet through the stupor he knew with a dreadful anxious certainty that the end would soon be there. Like a man on 198the night before his execution, he looked forward through the endless present; he foresaw the end of his eternity. And after? Everything was uncertain and unsafe.
Very gently, he began caressing87 her shoulder, her long slender arm, drawing his finger-tips lightly and slowly over her smooth skin; slowly from her neck, over her shoulder, lingeringly round the elbow to her hand. Again, again; he was learning her arm. The form of it was part of the knowledge, now, of his finger-tips; his fingers knew it as they knew a piece of music, as they knew Mozart’s Twelfth Sonata88, for example. And the themes that crowd so quickly one after another at the beginning of the first movement played themselves serially89, glitteringly in his mind; they became a part of the enchantment.
Through the silk of her shift he learned her curving side, her smooth straight back and the ridge90 of her spine91. He stretched down, touched her feet, her knees. Under the smock he learned her warm body, lightly, slowly caressing. He knew her, his fingers, he felt, could build her up, a warm and curving statue in the darkness. He did not desire her; to desire would have been to break the enchantment. He let himself sink deeper and deeper into his dark stupor of happiness. She was asleep in his arms; and soon he too was asleep.
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收听单词发音
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1
rape
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| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
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2
abjectly
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| 凄惨地； 绝望地； 糟透地； 悲惨地 | |
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3
tantalizingly
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| adv.…得令人着急，…到令人着急的程度 | |
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4
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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5
tuning
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| 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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6
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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7
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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clot
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| n.凝块；v.使凝成块 | |
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9
pretension
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| n.要求；自命，自称；自负 | |
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10
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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13
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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14
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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15
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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modulated
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| 已调整[制]的，被调的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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18
throbs
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| 体内的跳动( throb的名词复数 ) | |
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droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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22
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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irrelevance
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| n.无关紧要；不相关；不相关的事物 | |
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pestilences
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| n.瘟疫， （尤指）腺鼠疫( pestilence的名词复数 ) | |
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irrelevantly
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| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
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26
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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27
rattles
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| （使）发出格格的响声， （使）作嘎嘎声( rattle的第三人称单数 )； 喋喋不休地说话； 迅速而嘎嘎作响地移动，堕下或走动； 使紧张，使恐惧 | |
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28
enthusiasts
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| n.热心人，热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
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29
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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disillusioned
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| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
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colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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salutes
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| n.致敬，欢迎，敬礼( salute的名词复数 )v.欢迎，致敬( salute的第三人称单数 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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sinuous
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| adj.蜿蜒的，迂回的 | |
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monolithic
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| adj.似独块巨石的；整体的 | |
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39
exuberant
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| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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40
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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41
demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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42
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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43
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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44
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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45
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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46
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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47
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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48
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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49
expressively
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| ad.表示(某事物)地；表达地 | |
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50
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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51
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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52
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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53
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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54
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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55
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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56
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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57
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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58
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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59
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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61
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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62
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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63
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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64
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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65
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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66
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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67
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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68
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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70
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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sonata
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| n.奏鸣曲 | |
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serially
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| adv.连续地，连续刊载地 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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