One Sunday she walked to Hyde Park and saw some of the suffragist speakers pelted13 with turf by a rowdily hostile crowd. The occasion proved to be critical, so far as some of her tendencies were concerned. Militancy14 had not appealed to her. There was too much of the “drunk and disorderly” about it, too much spiteful screaming. It suggested a reversion to savage15, back-street methods, and Eve’s pride had refused to indulge in futile16 and wholly undignified exhibitions of violence. There were better ways of protesting than by kicking policemen’s shins, breaking windows, and sneaking17 about at midnight setting fire to houses. Yet when she saw these women pelted, hooted18 at, and threatened, the spirit of partisanship19 fired up at the challenge.
She was on the outskirts20 of the crowd, and perhaps her pale and intent face attracted attention. At all events, she found a lout21, who looked like a young shop-assistant, standing22 close beside her, and staring in her face.
“Votes for women!”
His ironical23 shout was an accusation24, and his eyes were the eyes of a bully25. And of a sudden Eve understood what it meant for a woman to have to stand up and face the coarse male element in the crowd, all the young cads who were out for horseplay. She was conscious of physical fear; a shrinking from the bestial26 thoughtlessness of a mob that did things that any single man would have been ashamed to do.
The fellow was still staring at her.
“Now, then, ‘Votes for Women!’ Own up!”
He jogged her with his elbow, and she kept a scornful profile towards him, though trembling inwardly.
Someone interposed.
“You there, leave the young lady alone! She’s only listening like you and me.”
The aggressor turned with a snarl27, but found himself up against a particularly big workman dressed in his Sunday clothes.
“You’re an old woman yourself.”
“Go home and sell stockings over the counter, and leave decent people alone.”
Eve thanked the man with a look, and turned out of the crowd. The workman followed her.
“’Scuse me, miss, I’ll walk to the gates with you. There are too many of these young blackguard fools about.”
“Thank you very much.”
“I’ve got a lot of sympathy with the women, but seems to me some of ’em are on the wrong road.”
She looked at him interestedly. He was big and fresh coloured and quiet, and reminded her in his coarser way of James Canterton.
“You think so?”
“It don’t do to lose your temper, even in a game, and that’s what some of the women are doing. We’re reasonable sort of creatures, and it’s no use going back to the old boot and claw business.”
“What they say is that they have tried reasoning, and that men would not listen.”
He laughed.
“That’s rot! Excuse me, miss. You’ve got to give reason a chance, and a pretty long chance. Do you think we working men won what we’ve got in three months? You have to go on shoving and shoving, and in the end, if you’ve got common sense on your side, you push the public through. You can’t expect things turned all topsy-turvy in ten minutes, because a few women get up on carts and scream. They ought to know better.”
“They say it is the only thing that’s left.”
His blue eyes twinkled.
“Not a bit of it, miss. The men were coming round. We’re better chaps, better husbands and fathers than we were a hundred years ago. You know, miss, a man ain’t averse28 to a decent amount of pleasant persuasion29. It don’t do to nag30 him, or he may tell you to go to blazes. Well, I wish you good afternoon.”
They had reached the gates, and he touched the brim of his hard hat, smiling down at her with shrewd kindness.
“I’m very grateful to you.”
He coloured up, and his smile broadened, and Eve walked away down Oxford31 Street, doing some pregnant thinking.
The man had reminded her of Canterton. What was Canterton’s attitude towards this movement, and what was her attitude to Canterton now that she had touched more of the realities of life? When she came to analyse her feelings she found that Canterton did not appear to exist for her in the present. Fernhill and its atmosphere had become prehistoric32. It had removed into the Golden Age, above and beyond criticism, and she did not include it in this world of struggling prejudices and aspirations33. And yet, when she let herself think of Canterton and Lynette, she felt less sure of the sex antagonism34 that she was encouraging with scourge35 and prayer. Canterton seemed to stand in the pathway of her advance, looking down at her with eyes that smiled, eyes that were without mockery. Moreover, something that he had once said to her kept opposing itself to her arbitrary and enthusiastic pessimism36. She could remember him stating his views, and she could remember disagreeing with him.
He had said, “People are very much happier than you imagine. Sentimentalists have always made too much of the woe37 of the world. There is a sort of thing I call organic happiness, the active physical happiness of the animal that is reasonably healthy. Of course we grumble38, but don’t make the mistake of taking grumbling39 for the cries of discontented misery40. I believe that most of the miserable41 people are over-sensed, under-bodied neurotics42. They lack animal vitality43. I think I can speak from experience, since I have mixed a good deal with working people. In the mass they are happy, much happier, perhaps, than we are. Perhaps because they don’t eat too much, and so think dyspeptically.”
That saying of Canterton’s, “People are much happier than you imagine” haunted Eve’s consciousness, walked at her side, and would not suffer itself to be forgotten. She had moments when she suspected that he had spoken a great truth. He had told her once to read Walt Whitman, but of what use was that great, barbaric, joyous45 person to her in her wilful46 viewing of sociological problems? It was a statement that she could test by her own observations, this assertion that the majority of people are happy. The clerks and shopmen who lunched in the tea-shops talked hard, laughed, and made a cheerful noise. If she went to the docks or Covent Garden Market, or watched labourers at work in the streets, she seemed to strike a stolid47 yet jocose48 cheerfulness that massed itself against her rather pessimistic view of life. The evening crowds in the streets were cheerful, and these, she supposed, were the people who slaved in shops. The factory girls out for the dinner hour were merry souls. If she went into one of the parks on Sunday, she could not exactly convince herself that she was watching a miserable people released for one day from the sordid49 and hopeless slavery of toil50.
The mass of people did appear to be happy. And Eve was absurdly angry, with some of the prophet’s anger, who would rather have seen a city perish than that God should make him appear a fool. Her convictions rallied themselves to meet the challenge of this apparent fact. She contended that this happiness was a specious51, surface happiness. One had but to get below the surface, to penetrate52 behind the mere53 scenic54 effects of civilisation55 to discover the real sorrows. What of the slums? She had seen them with her own eyes. What of the hospitals, the asylums56, the prisons, the workhouses, the sweating dens57, even the sordid little suburbs! She was in a temper to pile Pelion on Ossa in her desire to storm and overturn this serene58 Olympian assumption that mankind in the mass was happy.
In walking along Southampton Row into Kingsway, she passed on most days a cheerful, ruddy-faced young woman who sold copies of Votes for Women. This young woman was prettily59 plain, but good to look at in a clean and comely60 and sturdy way. Eve glanced at her each day with the eyes of a friend. The figure became personal, familiar, prophetic. She had marked down this young woman who sold papers as a Providence61 to whom she might ultimately appeal.
It seemed to her a curious necessity that she should be driven to try and prove that people were unhappy, and that most men acted basely in their sexual relationships towards women. This last conviction did not need much proving.
Being in a mood that demanded fanatical thoroughness, Eve played with the ultimate baseness of man, and made herself a candle to the night-flying moths62. She repeated the experience twice—once in Regent Street, and once in Leicester Square. Nothing but fanaticism63 could have made such an experiment possible, and have enabled her to outface her scorn and her disgust. Several men spoke44 to her, and she dallied64 with each one for a few seconds before letting him feel her scorn.
She spent the last night of her stay in the Bloomsbury hotel sitting in the lounge and listening to three raucous65 American women who were talking over their travels. They had been to Algiers, Egypt, Italy, the South of France, and of course to Paris. The dominant66 talker, who had gorgeous yellow hair, not according to Nature, and whose hands were always moving restlessly and showing off their rings, seemed to remember and to identify the various places she had visited by some particular sort of food that she had eaten! “Siena, Siena. Wasn’t that the place, Mina, where we had ravioli?”
“Did you go to Ré’s at Monte Carlo? It’s an experience to have eaten at Ré’s.” “I shan’t forget the Nile. The Arab boy made some bad coffee, and I was sick in the stomach.” They went on to describe their various hagglings with hotel-keepers, cabmen, and shop-people, and the yellow-haired lady who wore “nippers” on a very thin-bridged, sharp-pointed nose, had an exhilarating tale to tell of how she had stood out against a Paris taxi-driver over a matter of ten cents. Eve had always heard such lavish67 tales of American extravagance, that she was surprised to discover in these women the worst sort of meanness, the meanness that contrives68 to be generous on a few ostentatious occasions by beating all the lesser69 people’s profits down to vanishing point. She wondered whether these American women with their hard eyes, selfish mouths, and short-fingered, ill-formed, grasping hands were typical of this new hybrid70 race.
It amused her to contrast her own situation with theirs. When to-morrow’s bill was paid, and her box taken to Charing71 Cross station, she calculated that she would have about twelve pence left in her purse. And she was going to test another aspect of life on those twelve pennies. It would not be ravioli, or luncheon72 at Ré’s.
Eve packed up her box next morning, paid her bill, and drove off to Charing Cross, where she left her box in the cloak-room. She had exactly elevenpence left in her purse, and it was her most serious intention to make these eleven pennies last her for the best part of two days. One thing that she had lost, without noticing it, was her sense of humour. Fanaticism cannot laugh. Had Simeon Stylites glimpsed but for a moment the comic side of his existence, he would have come down off that pillar like a cat off a burning roof.
The day turned out to be a very tiring one for her, and Eve found out how abominably73 uncomfortable London can be when one has no room of one’s own to go to, and no particular business to do. She just drifted about till she was tired, and then the problem was to find something upon which to sit. She spent the latter part of the morning in the gardens below Charing Cross Station, and then it began to rain. Lunch cost her threepence—half a scone74 and butter, and a glass of milk. She dawdled75 over it, but rain was still falling when she came out again into the street. A station waiting-room appeared to be her only refuge, for it was a sixpenny day at the National Gallery, and as she sat for two hours on a bench, wondering whether the weather was going to make the experiment she contemplated76 a highly realistic and unpleasant test of what a wet night was like when spent on one of the Embankment seats.
The weather cleared about four o’clock, and Eve went across to a tea-shop, and spent another threepence on a cup of tea and a slice of cake. She had made a point of making the most of her last breakfast at the hotel, but she began to feel abominably hungry, with a hunger that revolted against cake. After tea she walked to Hyde Park, sat there till within half an hour of dusk, and then wandered back down Oxford Street, growing hungrier and hungrier. It was a very provoking sign of health, but if one part of her clamoured for food, her body, as a whole, protested that it was tired. The sight of a restaurant made her loiter, and she paused once or twice in front of some confectionery shop, and looked at the cakes in the window. But sweet stuffs did not tempt77 her. They are the mere playthings of people who are well fed. She found that she had a most primitive78 desire for good roast meat, beef for preference, swimming in brown gravy79, and she accepted her appetite quite solemnly as a phenomenon that threw an illuminating80 light upon the problems of existence.
Exploring a shabbier neighbourhood she discovered a cheap cook-shop with a steaming window and a good advertising81 smell. There was a bill of fare stuck up in the window, and she calculated that she could spend another three pennies. Sausages and mashed82 potatoes were to be had for that sum, and in five minutes she was sitting at a wooden table covered with a dirty cloth, and helping83 herself to mustard out of a cracked glass pot.
It was quite a carnal experience, and she came out refreshed and much more cheerful, telling herself with naive84 seriousness that she was splitting life up into its elements. Food appeared to be a very important problem, and hunger a lust85 whose strength is unknown save to the very few, yet she was so near to her real self that she was on the edge of laughter. Then it occurred to her that she was not doing the thing thoroughly86, that she had lapsed87, that she ought to have started the night hungry.
There was more time to be wasted, and she strolled down Shaftesbury Avenue and round Piccadilly Circus into Regent Street. The pavements were fairly crowded, and the multitude of lights made her feel less lonely. She loitered along, looking into shop windows, and she had amused herself in this way for about ten minutes before she became aware of another face that kept appearing near to hers. She saw it reflected in four successive windows, the face of an old man, spruce yet senile, the little moustache carefully trimmed, a faint red patch on either cheek. The eyes were turned to one side, and seemed to be watching something. She did not realise at first that that something was herself.
“How are you to-night, dear?”
Eve stared straight through the window for some seconds, and then turned and faced him. He was like Death valeted to perfection, and turned out with all his senility polished to the last finger nail. His lower eyelids88 were baggy89, and innumerable little veins90 showed in the skin that looked tightly stretched over his nose and cheekbones. He smiled at her, the fingers of one hand picking at the lapel of his coat.
“I am glad to see you looking so nice, dear. Supposing we have a little dinner?”
“I beg your pardon. I think you must be rather short-sighted!”
She thought as she walked away, “Supposing I had been a different sort of woman, and supposing I had been hungry!”
She made direct for the river after this experience, and, turning down Charing Cross and under the railway bridge, saw the long sweep of the darkness between the fringes of yellow lights. There were very few people about, and a raw draught91 seemed to come up the river. She crossed to the Embankment and walked along, glancing over the parapet at the vaguely92 agitated93 and glimmering94 surface below. The huge shadow of the bridge seemed to take the river at one leap. The lapping of the water was cold, and suggestively restless.
Then she turned her attention to the seats. They seemed to be full, packed from rail to rail with indistinct figures that were huddled95 close together. All these figures were mute and motionless. Once she saw a flutter of white where someone was picking broken food out of a piece of newspaper. And once she heard a figure speaking in a monotonous96 grumbling voice that kept the same level.
Was she too late even for such a refuge? She walked on and at last discovered a seat where a gap showed between a man’s felt hat and a woman’s bonnet97. Eve paused rather dubiously98, shrinking from thrusting herself into that vacant space. She shrank from touching99 these sodden100 greasy101 things that had drifted like refuse into some sluggish102 backwater.
Then a quiver of pity and of shame overcame her. She went and thrust herself into the vacant place. The whole seat seemed to wriggle103 and squirm. The man next to her heaved and woke up with a gulp104. Eve discovered at once that his breath was not ambrosial105.
“’Ere, you’re sitting on it!”
“I beg your pardon.”
She felt something flat withdrawn107. It was a bloater wrapped up in a bit of paper, but the woman did not explain. She tucked the thing away behind her and relapsed. The whole seat resettled itself. No one said anything. Eve heard nothing but the sound of breathing, and the noise made by the passing of an occasional motor, cab, or train.
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1
compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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altruism
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| n.利他主义，不自私 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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rimless
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| adj.无边的 | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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fatuously
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| adv.愚昧地，昏庸地，蠢地 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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hunching
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| 隆起（hunch的现在分词形式） | |
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neurotic
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| adj.神经病的，神经过敏的；n.神经过敏者，神经病患者 | |
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grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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pelted
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| （连续地）投掷( pelt的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续抨击； 攻击； 剥去…的皮 | |
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militancy
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| n.warlike behavior or tendency | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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Partisanship
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| n. 党派性, 党派偏见 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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lout
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| n.粗鄙的人；举止粗鲁的人 | |
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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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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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bestial
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| adj.残忍的；野蛮的 | |
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snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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antagonism
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| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
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scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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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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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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neurotics
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| n.神经官能症的( neurotic的名词复数 )；神经质的；神经过敏的；极为焦虑的 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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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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45
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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jocose
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| adj.开玩笑的，滑稽的 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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specious
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| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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53
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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scenic
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| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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56
asylums
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| n.避难所( asylum的名词复数 )；庇护；政治避难；精神病院 | |
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57
dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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fanaticism
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| n.狂热，盲信 | |
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dallied
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的过去式和过去分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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contrives
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的第三人称单数 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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hybrid
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| n.(动，植）杂种，混合物 | |
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charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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scone
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| n.圆饼，甜饼，司康饼 | |
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dawdled
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| v.混（时间）( dawdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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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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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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mashed
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| a.捣烂的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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88
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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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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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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101
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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102
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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103
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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ambrosial
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| adj.美味的 | |
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106
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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