***** In the last letter which reached me from Balthazar he wrote: ‘I think of you often and not without a certain grim humour. You have retired29 to your island, with, as you think, all the data about us and our lives. No doubt you are bringing us to judgement on paper in the manner of writers. I wish I could see the result. It must fall very far short of truth: I mean such truths as I could tell you about us all — even perhaps about yourself. Or the truths Clea could tell you (she is in Paris on a visit and has stopped writing to me recently). I picture you, wise one, poring over Moeurs, the diaries of Justine, Nessim, etc., imagining that the truth is to be found in them. Wrong! Wrong! A diary is the last place to go if you wish to seek the truth about a person. Nobody dares to make the final confession30 to themselves on paper: or at least, not about love. Do you know whom Justine really loved? You believed it was yourself, did you not? Confess!’ My only answer was to send him the huge bundle of paper which had grown up so stiffly under my slow pen and to which I had loosely given her name as a title — though Cahiers would have done just as well. Months passed after this — a blessed silence indeed, for it suggested that my critic had been satisfied, silenced. I cannot say that I forgot the city, but I let the memory of it sleep. Yet of course, it was always there, as it always will be, hanging in the mind like the mirage31 which travellers so often see. Pursewarden has described the phenomenon in the following words: ‘We were still almost a couple of hours’ steaming distance before land could possibly come into sight when suddenly my companion shouted and pointed32 at the horizon. We saw, inverted33 in the sky, a full-scale mirage of the city, luminous34 and trembling, as if painted on dusty silk: yet in the nicest detail. From memory I could clearly make out its features, Ras El Tin Palace, the Nebi Daniel Mosque35 and so forth36. The whole representation was as breath-taking as a masterpiece painted in fresh dew. It hung there in the sky for a considerable time, perhaps twenty-five minutes, before melting slowly into the horizon mist. An hour later, the real city appeared, swelling37 from a smudge to the size of its mirage.’ ***** The two or three winters we have spent in this island have been lonely ones — dour38 and windswept winters and hot summers. Luckily, the child is too young to feel as I do the need for books, for conversation. She is happy and active. Now in the spring come the long calms, the tideless, scentless39 days of premonition. The sea tames itself and becomes attentive40. Soon the cicadas will bring in their crackling music, background to the shepherd’s dry flute41 among the rocks. The scrambling42 tortoise and the lizard43 are our only companions. I should explain that our only regular visitant from the outside world is the Smyrna packet which once a week crosses the headland to the south, always at the same hour, at the same speed, just after dusk. In winter, the high seas and winds make it invisible, but now — I sit and wait for it. You hear at first only the faint drumming of engines. Then the creature slides round the cape1, cutting its line of silk froth in the sea, brightly lit up in the moth-soft darkness of the Aegean night — condensed, but without outlines, like a cloud of fireflies moving. It travels fast, and disappears all too soon round the next headland, leaving behind it perhaps only the half-uttered fragment of a popular song, or the skin of a tangerine44 which I will find next day, washed up on the long pebbled46 beach where I bathe with the child. The little arbour of oleanders under the planes — this is my writing-room. After the child has gone to bed, I sit here at the old sea-stained table, waiting for the visitant, unwilling47 to light the paraffin lamp before it has passed. It is the only day of the week I know by name here — Thursday. It sounds silly, but in an island so empty of variety, I look forward to the weekly visit like a child to a school treat. I know the boat brings letters for which I shall have to wait perhaps twenty-four hours. But I never see the little ship vanish without regret. And when it has passed, I light the lamp with a sigh and return to my papers. I write so slowly, with such pain. Pursewarden once, speaking about writing, told me that the pain that accompanied composition was entirely48 due, in artists, to the fear of madness; ‘force it a bit and tell yourself that you don’t give a damn if you do go mad, and you’ll find it comes quicker, you’ll break the barrier.’ (I don’t know how true this all is. But the money he left me in his will has served me well, and I still have a few pounds between me and the devils of debt and work.) I describe this weekly diversion in some detail because it was into this picture that Balthazar intruded49 one June evening with a suddenness that surprised me — I was going to write ‘deafened’ — there is no one to talk to here — but ‘surprised me’. This evening something like a miracle happened. The little steamer, instead of disappearing as usual, turned abruptly50 through an arc of 150 degrees and entered the lagoon51, there to lie in a furry52 cocoon53 of its own light: and to drop into the centre of the golden puddle54 it had created the long slow anchor-chain whose symbol itself is like a search for truth. It was a moving sight to one who, like myself, had been landlocked in spirit as all writers are — indeed, become like a ship in a bottle, sailing nowhere — and I watched as an Indian must perhaps have watched the first white man’s craft touch the shores of the New World. The darkness, the silence, were broken now by the uneven55 lap-lap of oars56; and then, after an age, by the chink of city-shod feet upon shingle57. A hoarse58 voice gave a direction. Then silence. As I lit the lamp to set the wick in trim and so deliver myself from the spell of this departure from the norm, the grave dark face of my friend, like some goat-like apparition59 from the Underworld, materialized among the thick branches of myrtle. We drew a breath and stood smiling at each other in the yellow light: the dark Assyrian ringlets, the beard of Pan. ‘No — I am real!’ said Balthazar with a laugh and we embraced furiously. Balthazar! The Mediterranean60 is an absurdly small sea; the length and greatness of its history makes us dream it larger than it is. Alexandria indeed — the true no less than the imagined — lay only some hundreds of sea-miles to the south. ‘I am on my way to Smyrna’ said Balthazar, ‘from where I was going to post you this.’ He laid upon the scarred old table the immense bundle of manuscript I had sent him — papers now seared and starred by a massive interlinear of sentences, paragraphs and question-marks. Seating himself opposite with his Mephistophelean air, he said in a lower, more hesitant tone: ‘I have debated in myself very long about telling you some of the things I have put down here. At times it seemed a folly61 and an impertinence. After all, your concern — was it with us as real people or as “characters”? I didn’t know. I still don’t. These pages may lose me your friendship without adding anything to the sum of your knowledge. You have been painting the city, touch by touch, upon a curved surface — was your object poetry or fact? If the latter, then there are things which you have a right to know.’ He still had not explained his amazing appearance before me, so anxious was he about the central meaning of the visitation. He did so now, noticing my bewilderment at the cloud of fire-flies in the normally deserted62 bay. He smiled. ‘The ship is delayed for a few hours with engine trouble. It is one of Nessim’s. The captain is Hasim Kohly, an old friend: perhaps you remember him? No. Well, I guessed from your description roughly where you must be living; but to be landed on your doorstep like this, I confess!’ His laughter was wonderful to hear once more. But I hardly listened, for his words had plunged me into a ferment63, a desire to study his interlinear, to revise — not my book (that has never been of the slightest importance to me for it will never even be published), but my view of the city and its inhabitants. For my own personal Alexandria had become, in all this loneliness, as dear as a philosophy of introspection, almost a monomania. I was so filled with emotion I did not know what to say to him. ‘Stay with us, Balthazar —’ I said, ‘stay awhile….’ ‘We leave in two hours’ he said, and patting the papers before him: ‘This may give you visions and fevers’ he added doubtfully. ‘Good’ I said — ‘I ask for nothing better.’ ‘We are all still real people’ he said, ‘whatever you try and do to us — those of us who are still alive. Melissa, Pursewarden — they can’t answer back because they are dead. At least, so one thinks.’ ‘So one thinks. The best retorts always come from beyond the grave.’ We sat and began to talk about the past, rather stiffly to be sure. He had already dined on board and there was nothing I could offer him beyond a glass of the good island wine which he sipped64 slowly. Later he asked to see Melissa’s child, and I led him back through the clustering oleanders to a place from which we could both look into the great firelit room where she lay looking beautiful and grave, asleep there with her thumb in her mouth. Balthazar’s dark cruel eye softened65 as he watched her, lightly breathing. ‘One day’ he said in a low voice ‘Nessim will want to see her. Quite soon, mark. He has begun to talk about her, be curious. With old age coming on, he will feel he needs her support, mark my words.’ And he quoted in Greek: ‘First the young, like vines, climb up the dull supports of their elders who feel their fingers on them, soft and tender; then the old climb down the lovely supporting bodies of the young into their proper deaths.’ I said nothing. It was the room itself which was breathing now — not our bodies. ‘You have been lonely here’ said Balthazar. ‘But splendidly, desirably lonely.’ ‘Yes, I envy you. But truthfully.’ And then his eye caught the unfinished portrait of Justine which Clea in another life had given me. ‘That portrait’ he said ‘which was interrupted by a kiss. How good to see that again — how good!’ He smiled. ‘It is like hearing a loved and familiar statement in music which leads one towards an emotion always recapturable, never-failing.’ I did not say anything. I did not dare. He turned to me. ‘And Clea?’ he said at last, in the voice of someone interrogating66 an echo. I said: ‘I have heard nothing from her for ages. Time doesn’t count here. I expect she has married, has gone away to another country, has children, a reputation as a painter … everything one would wish her,’ He looked at me curiously67 and shook his head. ‘No’ he said; but that was all. It was long after midnight when the seamen68 called him from the dark olive groves69. I walked to the beach with him, sad to see him leave so soon. A rowboat waited at the water’s edge with a sailor standing70 to his oars in it. He said something in Arabic. The spring sea was enticingly71 warm after a day’s sunshine and as Balthazar entered the boat the whim72 seized me to swim out with him to the vessel73 which lay not two hundred yards away from the shore. This I did and hovered74 to watch him climb the rail, and to watch the boat drawn75 up. ‘Don’t get caught in the screw’ he called, and ‘Go back before the engines start’ — ‘I will’ — ‘But wait — before you go —’ He ducked back into a stateroom to reappear and drop something into the water beside me. It fell with a soft splash. ‘A rose from Alexandria’ he said, ‘from the city which has everything but happiness to offer its lovers.’ He chuckled76. ‘Give it to the child.’ ‘Balthazar, good-bye!’ ‘Write to me — if you dare!’ Caught like a spider between the cross mesh77 of lights, and turning towards those yellow pools which still lay between the dark shore and myself, I waved and he waved back. I put the precious rose between my teeth and dog-paddled back to my clothes on the pebble45 beach, talking to myself. And there, lying upon the table in the yellow lamplight, lay the great interlinear to Justine — as I had called it. It was crosshatched, crabbed78, starred with questions and answers in differentcoloured inks, in typescript. It seemed to me then to be somehow symbolic79 of the very reality we had shared — a palimpsest upon which each of us had left his or her individual traces, layer by layer. Must I now learn to see it all with new eyes, to accustom80 myself to the truths which Balthazar has added? It is impossible to describe with what emotion I read his words — sometimes so detailed81 and sometimes so briefly82 curt83 — as for example in the list he had headed ‘Some Fallacies and Misapprehensions’ where he said coldly: ‘Number 4. That Justine “loved” you. She “loved”, if anyone, Pursewarden. “What does that mean”? She was forced to use you as a decoy in order to protect him from the jealousy84 of Nessim whom she had married. Pursewarden himself did not care for her at all — supreme85 logic86 of love!’ In my mind’s eye the city rose once more against the flat mirror of the green lake and the broken loins of sandstone which marked the desert’s edge. The politics of love, the intrigues87 of desire, good and evil, virtue88 and caprice, love and murder, moved obscurely in the dark corners of Alexandria’s streets and squares, brothels and drawing-rooms — moved like a great congress of eels89 in the slime of plot and counter-plot. It was almost dawn before I surrendered the fascinating mound90 of paper with its comments upon my own real (inner) life and like a drunkard stumbled to my bed, my head aching, echoing with the city, the only city left where every extreme of race and habit can meet and marry, where inner destinies intersect. I could hear the dry voice of my friend repeating as I fell asleep: ‘How much do you care to know … how much more do you care to know?’ — ‘I must know everything in order to be at last delivered from the city’ I replied in my dream.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
cape
|
|
| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
oyster
|
|
| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
zinc
|
|
| n.锌；vt.在...上镀锌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
copper
|
|
| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
harpoon
|
|
| n.鱼叉；vt.用鱼叉叉，用鱼叉捕获 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
swollen
|
|
| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
mica
|
|
| n.云母 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
delta
|
|
| n.（流的）角洲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
refreshment
|
|
| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
renewal
|
|
| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
effigy
|
|
| n.肖像 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
warships
|
|
| 军舰，战舰( warship的名词复数 )； 舰只 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
awnings
|
|
| 篷帐布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
lodged
|
|
| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
cypresses
|
|
| n.柏属植物，柏树( cypress的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
confided
|
|
| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
dispersed
|
|
| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
allot
|
|
| v.分配；拨给；n.部分；小块菜地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
tapestry
|
|
| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
inscribed
|
|
| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
amulet
|
|
| n.护身符 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
personalities
|
|
| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
interpretation
|
|
| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
psyche
|
|
| n.精神；灵魂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
villain
|
|
| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
mirage
|
|
| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
inverted
|
|
| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
luminous
|
|
| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
mosque
|
|
| n.清真寺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
swelling
|
|
| n.肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
dour
|
|
| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
scentless
|
|
| adj.无气味的，遗臭已消失的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
40
attentive
|
|
| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
flute
|
|
| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
scrambling
|
|
| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
lizard
|
|
| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
tangerine
|
|
| n.橘子，橘子树 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
pebble
|
|
| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
pebbled
|
|
| 用卵石铺（pebble的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
unwilling
|
|
| adj.不情愿的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
intruded
|
|
| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
lagoon
|
|
| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
furry
|
|
| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
cocoon
|
|
| n.茧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
puddle
|
|
| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
uneven
|
|
| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
oars
|
|
| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
shingle
|
|
| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
hoarse
|
|
| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
apparition
|
|
| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
Mediterranean
|
|
| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
ferment
|
|
| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
sipped
|
|
| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
interrogating
|
|
| n.询问技术v.询问( interrogate的现在分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
seamen
|
|
| n.海员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
groves
|
|
| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
enticingly
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
72
whim
|
|
| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
vessel
|
|
| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
hovered
|
|
| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
chuckled
|
|
| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
mesh
|
|
| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
crabbed
|
|
| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
symbolic
|
|
| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
accustom
|
|
| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
detailed
|
|
| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
briefly
|
|
| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
curt
|
|
| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
logic
|
|
| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
intrigues
|
|
| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
eels
|
|
| abbr. 电子发射器定位系统（=electronic emitter location system） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
mound
|
|
| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |