Suddenly Mr Ramsay raised his head as he passed and looked straight ather, with his distraught wild gaze which was yet so penetrating1, as if hesaw you, for one second, for the first time, for ever; and she pretended todrink out of her empty coffee cup so as to escape him—to escape his demandon her, to put aside a moment longer that imperious need. And heshook his head at her, and strode on ("Alone" she heard him say,"Perished" she heard him say) and like everything else this strangemorning the words became symbols, wrote themselves all over the grey-green walls. If only she could put them together, she felt, write them outin some sentence, then she would have got at the truth of things. Old MrCarmichael came padding softly in, fetched his coffee, took his cup andmade off to sit in the sun. The extraordinary unreality was frightening;but it was also exciting. Going to the Lighthouse. But what does one sendto the Lighthouse? Perished. Alone. The grey-green light on the wall opposite.
The empty places. Such were some of the parts, but how bringthem together? she asked. As if any interruption would break the frailshape she was building on the table she turned her back to the windowlest Mr Ramsay should see her. She must escape somewhere, be alonesomewhere. Suddenly she remembered. When she had sat there last tenyears ago there had been a little sprig or leaf pattern on the table-cloth,which she had looked at in a moment of revelation. There had been aproblem about a foreground of a picture. Move the tree to the middle,she had said. She had never finished that picture. She would paint thatpicture now. It had been knocking about in her mind all these years.
Where were her paints, she wondered? Her paints, yes. She had left themin the hall last night. She would start at once. She got up quickly, beforeMr Ramsay turned.
She fetched herself a chair. She pitched her easel with her precise oldmaidishmovements on the edge of the lawn, not too close to Mr Carmichael,but close enough for his protection. Yes, it must have been preciselyhere that she had stood ten years ago. There was the wall; the hedge; the tree. The question was of some relation between those masses.
She had borne it in her mind all these years. It seemed as if the solutionhad come to her: she knew now what she wanted to do.
But with Mr Ramsay bearing down on her, she could do nothing.
Every time he approached—he was walking up and down the terrace—ruin approached, chaos3 approached. She could not paint. Shestooped, she turned; she took up this rag; she squeezed that tube. But allshe did was to ward4 him off a moment. He made it impossible for her todo anything. For if she gave him the least chance, if he saw her disengageda moment, looking his way a moment, he would be on her, saying,as he had said last night, "You find us much changed." Last night he hadgot up and stopped before her, and said that. Dumb and staring thoughthey had all sat, the six children whom they used to call after the Kingsand Queens of England—the Red, the Fair, the Wicked, the Ruthless—she felt how they raged under it. Kind old Mrs Beckwith saidsomething sensible. But it was a house full of unrelated passions—shehad felt that all the evening. And on top of this chaos Mr Ramsay got up,pressed her hand, and said: "You will find us much changed" and noneof them had moved or had spoken; but had sat there as if they wereforced to let him say it. Only James (certainly the Sullen) scowled5 at thelamp; and Cam screwed her handkerchief round her finger. Then he remindedthem that they were going to the Lighthouse tomorrow. Theymust be ready, in the hall, on the stroke of half-past seven. Then, with hishand on the door, he stopped; he turned upon them. Did they not wantto go? he demanded. Had they dared say No (he had some reason forwanting it) he would have flung himself tragically6 backwards7 into thebitter waters of depair. Such a gift he had for gesture. He looked like aking in exile. Doggedly8 James said yes. Cam stumbled more wretchedly.
Yes, oh, yes, they'd both be ready, they said. And it struck her, this wastragedy—not palls9, dust, and the shroud10; but children coerced11, their spiritssubdued. James was sixteen, Cam, seventeen, perhaps. She hadlooked round for some one who was not there, for Mrs Ramsay, presumably.
But there was only kind Mrs Beckwith turning over her sketchesunder the lamp. Then, being tired, her mind still rising and falling withthe sea, the taste and smell that places have after long absence possessingher, the candles wavering in her eyes, she had lost herself and gone under.
It was a wonderful night, starlit; the waves sounded as they wentupstairs; the moon surprised them, enormous, pale, as they passed thestaircase window. She had slept at once.
She set her clean canvas firmly upon the easel, as a barrier, frail2, butshe hoped sufficiently12 substantial to ward off Mr Ramsay and his exactingness13.
She did her best to look, when his back was turned, at her picture;that line there, that mass there. But it was out of the question. Lethim be fifty feet away, let him not even speak to you, let him not evensee you, he permeated14, he prevailed, he imposed himself. He changedeverything. She could not see the colour; she could not see the lines; evenwith his back turned to her, she could only think, But he'll be down onme in a moment, demanding—something she felt she could not givehim. She rejected one brush; she chose another. When would those childrencome? When would they all be off? she fidgeted. That man, shethought, her anger rising in her, never gave; that man took. She, on theother hand, would be forced to give. Mrs Ramsay had given. Giving, giving,giving, she had died—and had left all this. Really, she was angrywith Mrs Ramsay. With the brush slightly trembling in her fingers shelooked at the hedge, the step, the wall. It was all Mrs Ramsay's doing.
She was dead. Here was Lily, at forty-four, wasting her time, unable todo a thing, standing15 there, playing at painting, playing at the one thingone did not play at, and it was all Mrs Ramsay's fault. She was dead. Thestep where she used to sit was empty. She was dead.
But why repeat this over and over again? Why be always trying tobring up some feeling she had not got? There was a kind of blasphemy16 init. It was all dry: all withered17: all spent. They ought not to have askedher; she ought not to have come. One can't waste one's time at forty-four, she thought. She hated playing at painting. A brush, the one dependablething in a world of strife18, ruin, chaos—that one should not playwith, knowingly even: she detested19 it. But he made her. You shan't touchyour canvas, he seemed to say, bearing down on her, till you've given mewhat I want of you. Here he was, close upon her again, greedy, distraught.
Well, thought Lily in despair, letting her right hand fall at herside, it would be simpler then to have it over. Surely, she could imitatefrom recollection the glow, the rhapsody, the self-surrender, she hadseen on so many women's faces (on Mrs Ramsay's, for instance) when onsome occasion like this they blazed up—she could remember the look onMrs Ramsay's face—into a rapture20 of sympathy, of delight in the rewardthey had, which, though the reason of it escaped her, evidently conferredon them the most supreme21 bliss22 of which human nature was capable.
Here he was, stopped by her side. She would give him what she could.
收听单词发音 |
1
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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palls
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| n.柩衣( pall的名词复数 )；墓衣；棺罩；深色或厚重的覆盖物v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的第三人称单数 ) | |
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shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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coerced
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| v.迫使做( coerce的过去式和过去分词 )；强迫；（以武力、惩罚、威胁等手段）控制；支配 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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exactingness
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| 正确，精确 | |
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permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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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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blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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17
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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21
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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