The drops of rain grew very large and heavy, and the travellers, instead of waiting on the kerb, withdrew to the shelter of the wall of the Queen's Elm. George was now among the group, precipitated9 like the rest, as it were, out of the solution of London. George was of the age which does not admit rain or which believes that it is immune from the usual consequences of exposure to rain. When advised, especially by women, to defend himself against the treacheries of the weather, he always protested confidently that he would 'be all right.' Thus with a stick and a straw hat he would affront10 terrible dangers. It was a species of valour which the event often justified11. Indeed he generally was all right. But to-night, afoot on the way from South Kensington Station in a region quite unfamiliar12 to him, he was intimidated13 by the slapping menace of the big drops. Reality faced him. His scared thought ran: "Unless I do something at once I shall get wet through." Impossible to appear drenched14 at old Haim's! So he had abandoned all his pretensions15 to a magical invulnerability, and rushed under the eave of the Queen's Elm to join the omnibus group.
He did not harmonize with the omnibus group, being both too elegant and too high-spirited. His proper rôle in the circumstances would have been to 'jump into a hansom'; but there were no empty hansoms, and moreover, for certain reasons of finance, he had sworn off hansoms until a given date. He regarded the situation as 'rather a lark,' and he somehow knew that the group understood and appreciated and perhaps resented his superior and tolerant attitude. An omnibus rolled palely into the radiance of the Queen's Elm lamp, the horses' flanks and the lofty driver's apron16 gleaming with rain. He sprang towards the vehicle; the whole group sprang. "Full inside!" snapped the conductor inexorably. Ting, ting! It was gone, glimmering17 with its enigmatic load into the distance. George turned again to the wall, humiliated18. It seemed wrong that the conductor should have included him with the knot of common omnibus-travellers and late workers. The conductor ought to have differentiated19.... He put out a hand. The rain had capriciously ceased! He departed gaily20 and triumphantly21. He was re-endowed with the magical invulnerability.
The background of his mind was variegated22. The incidents of the tremendous motor-car race from Paris to Berlin, which had finished nearly a week earlier, still glowed on it. And the fact that King Edward VII had driven in a car from Pall23 Mall to Windsor Castle in sixty minutes was beautifully present. Then, he was slightly worried concerning the Mediterranean24 Fleet. He knew nothing about it, but as a good citizen he suspected in idle moments, like a number of other good citizens, that all was not quite well with the Mediterranean Fleet. As for the war, he had only begun to be interested in the war within the last six months, and already he was sick of it. He knew that the Boers had just wrecked25 a British military train, and his attitude towards such methods of fighting was rather severe and scornful; he did not regard them as 'war.' However, the apparent permanence of the war was splendidly compensated26 by the victory of the brothers Doherty over the American lawn-tennis champions in the Gentlemen's Doubles at Wimbledon. Who could have expected the brothers to win after the defeat of R.H. by Mr. Gore27 in the Singles? George had most painfully feared that the Americans would conquer, and their overthrowing28 by the twin brothers indicated to George, who took himself for a serious student of affairs, that Britain was continuing to exist, and that the new national self-depreciative, yearning29 for efficiency might possibly be rather absurd after all.
In the midst of these and similar thoughts, and of innumerable minor30 thoughts about himself, in the very centre of his mind and occupying nearly the whole of it, was the vast thought, the obsession31, of his own potential power and its fulfilment. George's egotism was terrific, and as right as any other natural phenomenon. He had to get on. Much money was included in his scheme, but simply as a by-product32. He had to be a great architect, and—equally important—he had to be publicly recognized as a great architect, and recognition could not come without money. For him, the entire created universe was the means to his end. He would not use it unlawfully, but he would use it. He was using it, as well as he yet knew how, and with an independence that was as complete as it was unconscious. In regard to matters upon which his instinct had not suggested a course of action, George was always ready enough to be taught; indeed his respect for an expert was truly deferential33. But when his instinct had begun to operate he would consult nobody and consider nobody, being deeply sure that infallible wisdom had been granted to him. (Nor did experience seem to teach him.) Thus, in the affair of a London lodging34, though he was still two years from his majority and had no resources save the purse of his stepfather, Edwin Clayhanger, he had decided35 to leave the Orgreaves without asking or even informing his parents. In his next letter home he would no doubt inform them, casually36, of what he meant to do or actually had done, and if objections followed he would honestly resent them.
A characteristic example of his independence had happened when at the unripe37 age of seventeen he left the Five Towns for London. Upon his mother's marriage to Edwin Clayhanger his own name had been informally changed for him to Clayhanger. But a few days before the day of departure he had announced that, as Clayhanger was not his own name and that he preferred his own name, he should henceforth be known as 'Cannon38,' his father's name. He did not invite discussion. Mr. Clayhanger had thereupon said to him privately39 and as one man of the world to another: "But you aren't really entitled to the name Cannon, sonny." "Why?" "Because your father was what's commonly known as a bigamist, and his marriage with your mother was not legal. I thought I'd take this opportunity of telling you. You needn't say anything to your mother—unless of course you feel you must." To which George had replied: "No, I won't. But if Cannon was my father's name I think I'll have it all the same." And he did have it. The bigamy of his father did not apparently40 affect him. Upon further inquiry41 he learnt that his father might be alive or might be dead, but that if alive he was in America.
The few words from Mr. Enwright about Chelsea had sufficed to turn Chelsea into Elysium, Paradise, almost into Paris. No other quarter of London was inhabitable by a rising architect. As soon as Haim had gone George had begun to look up Chelsea in the office library, and as Mr. Enwright happened to be an active member of the Society for the Survey of the Memorials of Greater London, the library served him well. In an hour and a half he had absorbed something of the historical topography of Chelsea. He knew that the Fulham Road upon which he was now walking was a boundary of Chelsea. He knew that the Queen's Elm public-house had its name from the tradition that Elizabeth had once sheltered from a shower beneath an elm tree which stood at that very corner. He knew that Chelsea had been a 'village of palaces,' and what was the function of the Thames in the magnificent life of that village. The secret residence of Turner in Chelsea, under the strange alias42 of Admiral Booth, excited George's admiration43; he liked the idea of hidden retreats and splendid, fanciful pseudonyms44. But the master-figure of Chelsea for George was Sir Thomas More. He could see Sir Thomas More walking in his majestic45 garden by the river with the King's arm round his neck, and Holbein close by, and respectful august prelates and a nagging46 wife in the background. And he could see Sir Thomas More taking his barge47 for the last journey to the Tower, and Sir Thomas More's daughter coming back in the same barge with her father's head on board. Curious! He envied Sir Thomas More.
"Darned bad tower for a village of palaces!" he thought, not of the Tower of London, but of the tower of the Workhouse which he was now approaching. He thought he could design an incomparably better tower than that. And he saw himself in the future, the architect of vast monuments, strolling in a grand garden of his own at evening with other distinguished48 and witty49 persons.
But there were high-sounding names in the history of Chelsea besides those of More and Turner. Not names of people! Cremorne and Ranelagh! Cremorne to the west and Ranelagh to the east. The legend of these vanished resorts of pleasure and vice50 stirred his longings51 and his sense of romantic beauty—especially Ranelagh with its Rotunda52. (He wanted, when the time came, to be finely vicious, as he wanted to be everything. An architect could not be great without being everything.) He projected himself into the Rotunda, with its sixty windows, its countless53 refreshment-boxes, its huge paintings, and the orchestra in the middle, and the expensive and naughty crowd walking round and round and round on the matting, and the muffled54 footsteps and the swish of trains on the matting, and the specious55 smiles and whispers, and the blare of the band and the smell of the lamps and candles.... Earl's Court was a poor, tawdry, unsightly thing after that.
When he had passed under the Workhouse tower he came to a side street which, according to Haim's description of the neighbourhood, ought to have been Alexandra Grove56. The large lamp on the corner, however, gave no indication, nor in the darkness could any sign be seen on the blind wall of either of the corner houses in Fulham Road. Doubtless in daytime the street had a visible label, but the borough57 authorities evidently believed that night endowed the stranger with powers of divination58. George turned hesitant down the mysterious gorge59, which had two dim lamps of its own, and which ended in a high wall, whereat could be descried60 unattainable trees—possibly the grove of Alexandra. Silence and a charmed stillness held the gorge, while in Fulham Road not a hundred yards away omnibuses and an occasional hansom rattled61 along in an ordinary world. George soon decided that he was not in Alexandra Grove, on account of the size of the houses. He could not conceive Mr. Haim owning one of them. They stood lofty in the gloom, in pairs, secluded62 from the pavement by a stucco garden-wall and low bushes. They were double-fronted, and their doors were at the summits of flights of blanched63 steps that showed through the bars of iron gates. They had three stories above a basement. Still, he looked for No. 8. But just as the street had no name, so the houses had no numbers. No. 16 alone could be distinguished; it had figures on its faintly illuminated64 fanlight. He walked back, idly counting.
Then, amid the curtained and shuttered facades65, he saw, across the road, a bright beam from a basement. He crossed and peeped through a gate, and an interior was suddenly revealed to him. Near the window of a room sat a young woman bending over a table. A gas-jet on a bracket in the wall, a few inches higher than her head and a foot distant from it, threw a strong radiance on her face and hair. The luminous66 living picture, framed by the window in blackness, instantly entranced him. All the splendid images of the past faded and were confuted and invalidated and destroyed by this intense reality so present and so near to him. (Nevertheless, for a moment he thought of her as the daughter of Sir Thomas More.) She was drawing. She was drawing with her whole mind and heart. At intervals, scarcely moving her head, she would glance aside at a paper to her left on the table.... She seemed to search it, to drag some secret out of it, and then she would resume her drawing. She was neither dark nor fair; she was comely67, perhaps beautiful; she had beautiful lips, and her nose, behind the nostrils68, joined the cheek in a lovely contour, like a tiny bulb. Yes, she was superb. But what mastered him was less her fresh physical charm than the rapt and extreme vitality69 of her existing.... He knew from her gestures and the tools on the table that she could be no amateur. She was a professional. He thought: Chelsea!... Marvellous place, Chelsea! He ought to have found that out long ago. He imagined Chelsea full of such pictures—the only true home of beauty and romance.
Then the impact of a single idea startled his blood. He went hot. He flushed. He had tingling70 sensations all down his back, and in his legs and in his arms. It was as though he had been caught in a dubious71 situation. Though he was utterly72 innocent, he felt as though he had something to be ashamed of. The idea was: she resembled old Haim, facially! Ridiculous idea! But she did resemble old Haim, particularly in the lobal termination of the nose. And in the lips too. And there was a vague, general resemblance. Absurd! It was a fancy.... He would not have cared for anybody to be watching him then, to surprise him watching her. He heard unmistakable footsteps on the pavement. A policeman darkly approached. Policemen at times can be very apposite. George moved his gaze and looked with admirable casualness around.
"Officer, is this Alexandra Grove?" (His stepfather had taught him to address all policemen as 'officer.')
"It is, sir."
"Oh! Well, which is No. 8? There're no numbers."
"You couldn't be much nearer to it, sir," said the policeman dryly, and pointed73 to a large number, fairly visible, on the wide gate-post. George had not inspected the gate-post.
"Oh! Thanks!"
He mounted the steps, and in the thick gloom of the portico74 fumbled75 for the bell and rang it. He was tremendously excited and expectant and apprehensive76 and puzzled. He heard rain flatly spitting in big drops on the steps. He had not noticed till then that it had begun again. The bell jangled below. The light in the basement went out. He flushed anew. He thought, trembling: "She's coming to the door herself!"
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1
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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apathetically
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| adv.不露感情地；无动于衷地；不感兴趣地；冷淡地 | |
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defile
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| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
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imprinted
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| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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intimidated
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| v.恐吓；威胁adj.害怕的；受到威胁的 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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differentiated
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| 区分，区别，辨别( differentiate的过去式和过去分词 )； 区别对待； 表明…间的差别，构成…间差别的特征 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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compensated
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| 补偿，报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 )； 给（某人）赔偿（或赔款） | |
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gore
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| n.凝血，血污；v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破；缝以补裆；顶 | |
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overthrowing
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| v.打倒，推翻( overthrow的现在分词 )；使终止 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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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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obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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by-product
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| n.副产品，附带产生的结果 | |
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deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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unripe
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| adj.未成熟的；n.未成熟 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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pseudonyms
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| n.假名，化名，（尤指）笔名( pseudonym的名词复数 ) | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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46
nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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50
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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51
longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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52
rotunda
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| n.圆形建筑物；圆厅 | |
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53
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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54
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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55
specious
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| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
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56
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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divination
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| n.占卜，预测 | |
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59
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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60
descried
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| adj.被注意到的，被发现的，被看到的 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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62
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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63
blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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65
facades
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| n.（房屋的）正面( facade的名词复数 )；假象，外观 | |
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66
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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68
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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69
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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70
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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71
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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72
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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73
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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74
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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75
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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