Nevertheless he was at that moment particularly serious, and his seriousness was growing. His secret engagement had affected8 him, in part directly, and in part by the intensification9 of ambitious endeavour which had resulted from contact with that fount of seriousness, Marguerite. Although still entirely10 dependent—even to cigarette money—upon the benevolence11 of a couple of old individuals a hundred and fifty miles off, he reckoned that he was advancing in the world. The Intermediate Examination was past, and already he felt that he had come to grips with the Final and would emerge victorious12. He felt too that his general knowledge and the force and variety of his ideas were increasing. At times, when he and Marguerite talked, he was convinced that both of them had achieved absolute knowledge, and that their criticisms of the world were and would always be unanswerable. After the Final, he hoped, his uncle would buy him a share in the Lucas & Enwright practice. In due season, his engagement would be revealed, and all would be immensely impressed by his self-restraint and his good taste, and the marriage would occur, and he would be a London architect, an established man—at the mature age of, say, twenty-two.
No cloud would have obscured the inward radiance caused by the lovely image of Marguerite and by his confidence in himself, had it not been for those criticisms of the world. He had moods of being rather gravely concerned as to the world, and as to London. He was recovering from the first great attack of London. He saw faults in London. He was capable of being disturbed by, for example, the ugliness and the inefficiency13 of London. He even thought that something ought to be done about it. Upon this Sunday morning, fresh from visions of Venice, and rendered a little complacent14 by the grim execution of the morning's programme of work, he was positively15 pained by the aspect of Redcliffe Gardens. The Redcliffe Arms public-house, locked and dead, which was the daily paradise of hundreds of human beings, and had given balm and illusion to whole generations, seemed simply horrible to him in its Sunday morning coma16. The large and stuffy17 unsightliness of it could not be borne. (However, the glimpse of a barmaid at an upper window interested him pleasantly for a moment.) And the Redcliffe Arms was the true gate to the stucco and areas of Redcliffe Gardens. He looked down into the areas and saw therein the furtive18 existence of squalor behind barred windows. All the obscene apparatus19 of London life was there. And as he raised his eyes to the drawing-room and bedroom stories he found no relief. His eyes could discover nothing that was not mean, ugly, frowzy20, and unimaginative. He pictured the heavy, gloomy, lethargic21 life within. The slatternly servants pottering about the bases of the sooty buildings sickened and saddened him. A solitary22 Earl's Court omnibus that lumbered23 past with its sinister24, sparse25 cargo26 seemed to be a spectacle absolutely tragic—he did not know why. The few wayfarers27 were obviously prim28 and smug. No joy, no elegance29, anywhere! Only, at intervals30, a feeling that mysterious and repulsive31 wealth was hiding itself like an ogre in the eternal twilight32 of fastnesses beyond the stuccoed walls and the grimy curtains.... The city worked six days in order to be precisely33 this on the seventh. Truly it was very similar to the Five Towns, and in essentials not a bit better.—A sociological discovery which startled him! He wanted to destroy Redcliffe Gardens, and to design it afresh and rebuild it under the inspiration of St. Mark's and of the principles of hygiene34 as taught for the Final Examination. He had grandiose35 ideas for a new design. As for Redcliffe Square, he could do marvels36 with its spaces.
He arrived too soon at Earl's Court Station, having forgotten that the Underground Railway had a treaty with the Church of England and all the Nonconformist churches not to run trains while the city, represented by possibly two per cent of its numbers, was at divine worship. He walked to and fro along the platforms in the vast echoing cavern37 peopled with wandering lost souls, and at last a train came in from the void, and it had the air of a miracle, because nobody had believed that any train ever would come in. And at last the Turnham Green train came in, and George got into a smoking compartment38, and Mr. Enwright was in the compartment.
Mr. Enwright also was going to the Orgreave luncheon39. He was in what the office called 'one of his moods.' The other occupants of the compartment had a stiff and self-conscious air: some apparently40 were proud of being abroad on Sunday morning; some apparently were ashamed. Mr. Enwright's demeanour was as free and natural as that of a child. His lined and drawn41 face showed worry and self-absorption in the frankest manner. He began at once to explain how badly he had slept; indeed he asserted that he had not slept at all; and he complained with extreme acerbity42 of the renewal43 of his catarrh. 'Constant secretion44. Constant secretion,' was the phrase he used to describe the chief symptom. Then by a forced transition he turned to the profession of architecture, and restated his celebrated45 theory that it was the Cinderella of professions. The firm had quite recently obtained a very important job in a manufacturing quarter of London, without having to compete for it; but Mr. Enwright's great leading ideas never fluctuated with the fluctuation46 of facts. If the multiplicity of his lucrative47 jobs had been such as to compel him to run round from one to another on a piebald pony48 in the style of Sir Hugh Corver, his view of the profession would not have altered. He spoke49 with terrible sarcasm50 apropos51 of a rumour52 current in architectural circles that a provincial53 city intended soon to invite competitive designs for a building of really enormous proportions, and took oath that in no case should his firm, enter for the competition. In short, his condition was markedly pessimistic.
George loved him, and was bound to humour him; and in order to respond sympathetically to Enwright's pessimism54 he attempted to describe his sensations concerning the London Sunday, and in particular the Sunday morning aspect of Earl's Court streets. He animadverted with virulence55, and brought forward his new startling discovery that London was in truth as provincial as the provinces.
"Why don't you?"
"Simply because it's bigger—so much bigger. That's the principal difference, and you'll never get over it. You must appreciate size. An elephant is a noble animal, but it wouldn't be if it was only as big as a fly. London's an elephant, and forget it not."
"It's frightfully ugly, most of it, anyhow, and especially on Sunday morning," George persisted.
"Is it? I wonder whether it is, now. The architecture's ugly. But what's architecture? Architecture isn't everything. If you can go up and down London and see nothing but architecture, you'll never be an A1 architect." He spoke in a low, kindly57, and reasonable tone. "I like London on Sunday mornings. In fact it's marvellous. You say it's untidy and all that ... slatternly, and so on. Well, so it ought to be when it gets up late. Jolly bad sign if it wasn't. And that's part of it! Why, dash it, look at a bedroom when you trail about, getting up! Look how you leave it! The existence of a big city while it's waking up—lethargy business—a sort of shamelessness—it's like a great animal! I think it's marvellous, and I always have thought so."
George would not openly agree, but his mind was illuminated58 with a new light, and in his mind he agreed, very admiringly.
The train stopped; people got out; and the two were alone in the compartment.
"I thought all was over between you and Adela," said Mr. Enwright, confidentially59 and quizzically.
George blushed a little. "Oh no!"
"I don't know what I'm going to her lunch for, I'm sure. I suppose I have to go."
"I have, too," said George.
"Well, she won't do you any good, you know. I was glad when you left there."
George looked worldly. "Rum sort, isn't she?"
I'll tell you what she is, now. You remember Aida at the Paris Opéra. The procession in the second act where you lost your head and said it was the finest music ever written. And those girls in white, waving palms in front of the hero—What's-his-name. There are some women who are born to do that and nothing else. Thin lips. Fixed60 idiotic61 smile. They don't think a bit about what they're doing. They're thinking about themselves all the time. They simply don't care a damn about the hero, or about the audience, or anything, and they scarcely pretend to. Arrogance62 isn't the word. It's something more terrific—it's stupendous! Mrs. John's like that. I thought of it as I was coming along here."
"Is she?" said George negligently63. "Perhaps she is. I never thought of her like that."
Turnham Green Station was announced.
点击收听单词发音
1 corps | |
n.(通信等兵种的)部队;(同类作的)一组 | |
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2 varnish | |
n.清漆;v.上清漆;粉饰 | |
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3 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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4 eastwards | |
adj.向东方(的),朝东(的);n.向东的方向 | |
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5 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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6 vistas | |
长条形景色( vista的名词复数 ); 回顾; 展望; (未来可能发生的)一系列情景 | |
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7 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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8 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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9 intensification | |
n.激烈化,增强明暗度;加厚 | |
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10 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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11 benevolence | |
n.慈悲,捐助 | |
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12 victorious | |
adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
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13 inefficiency | |
n.无效率,无能;无效率事例 | |
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14 complacent | |
adj.自满的;自鸣得意的 | |
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15 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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16 coma | |
n.昏迷,昏迷状态 | |
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17 stuffy | |
adj.不透气的,闷热的 | |
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18 furtive | |
adj.鬼鬼崇崇的,偷偷摸摸的 | |
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19 apparatus | |
n.装置,器械;器具,设备 | |
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20 frowzy | |
adj.不整洁的;污秽的 | |
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21 lethargic | |
adj.昏睡的,懒洋洋的 | |
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22 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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23 lumbered | |
砍伐(lumber的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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24 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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25 sparse | |
adj.稀疏的,稀稀落落的,薄的 | |
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26 cargo | |
n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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27 wayfarers | |
n.旅人,(尤指)徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
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28 prim | |
adj.拘泥形式的,一本正经的;n.循规蹈矩,整洁;adv.循规蹈矩地,整洁地 | |
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29 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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30 intervals | |
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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31 repulsive | |
adj.排斥的,使人反感的 | |
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32 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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33 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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34 hygiene | |
n.健康法,卫生学 (a.hygienic) | |
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35 grandiose | |
adj.宏伟的,宏大的,堂皇的,铺张的 | |
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36 marvels | |
n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 );令人惊奇的事物(或事例);不平凡的成果;成就v.惊奇,对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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37 cavern | |
n.洞穴,大山洞 | |
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38 compartment | |
n.卧车包房,隔间;分隔的空间 | |
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39 luncheon | |
n.午宴,午餐,便宴 | |
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40 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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41 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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42 acerbity | |
n.涩,酸,刻薄 | |
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43 renewal | |
adj.(契约)延期,续订,更新,复活,重来 | |
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44 secretion | |
n.分泌 | |
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45 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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46 fluctuation | |
n.(物价的)波动,涨落;周期性变动;脉动 | |
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47 lucrative | |
adj.赚钱的,可获利的 | |
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48 pony | |
adj.小型的;n.小马 | |
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49 spoke | |
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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50 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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51 apropos | |
adv.恰好地;adj.恰当的;关于 | |
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52 rumour | |
n.谣言,谣传,传闻 | |
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53 provincial | |
adj.省的,地方的;n.外省人,乡下人 | |
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54 pessimism | |
n.悲观者,悲观主义者,厌世者 | |
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55 virulence | |
n.毒力,毒性;病毒性;致病力 | |
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56 judicial | |
adj.司法的,法庭的,审判的,明断的,公正的 | |
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57 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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58 illuminated | |
adj.被照明的;受启迪的 | |
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59 confidentially | |
ad.秘密地,悄悄地 | |
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60 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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61 idiotic | |
adj.白痴的 | |
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62 arrogance | |
n.傲慢,自大 | |
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63 negligently | |
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