Halo wondered at her own folly1 in imagining that Vance, with a whole new world pressing on his imagination, would be able to take up the thread of his work with the composure of a seasoned writer. Life with him was teaching her more about the creative processes. She saw that Vance himself had not yet taken his own measure, or calculated the pressure of new sensations and emotions on his inventive faculty2. His impulse was either to try to incorporate every fresh suggestion, visual or imaginative, into the fabric3 of his work, or to build a new story with it; but when the impressions were too abundant and powerful they benumbed him.
For the moment he appeared to have lost even the desire to store up his sensations. What he wanted was to study Spanish history and art, to learn the language, to let the fiery4 panorama5 roll past his idle imagination. If he had known how to paint, he told Halo, that might have been an outlet6. It was a pity, he thought, he hadn’t gone in for painting instead of writing — painting, or perhaps sculpture. Some palpable flesh-and-blood rendering7 of life, rather than the gray disintegration8 of words. He recalled the hours he had spent in New York, on the broken-hinged divan9 in the studio of the young woman sculptor10, Rebecca Stram, watching her mauling her clay . . . “I tell you what it is: words are the last refuge of the impotent. Writing is inexcusable in anybody who isn’t blind or paralyzed. It’s an infirmity, a palsy — that’s what it is. The fellows who ‘grab’ life, as Goethe called it, are the conquerors11 who turn it into form and colour . . . Damn words; they’re just the pots and pans of life, the pails and scrubbing-brushes. I wish I didn’t have to think in words . . . I sometimes feel as if I had them in my veins12 instead of blood. Sometimes I even wish I didn’t have you to talk to, so that I could get away from words forever . . . Why don’t you tell me just to hold my tongue, and live?”
This was one mood; but in others he declared that in yielding to it he had blasphemed against the Holy Ghost. “The tongue of fire descends13 on a man in one form or another, no knowing which; all a fellow can do is to catch the flame and nurse it, whatever it happens to produce . . . The other day I was haranguing14 you about the difference between plastic expression and interpreting things in words. Utter rubbish, of course. Why the deuce didn’t you tell me so? The difference is in the mind, not in the material or the tool. If words are a man’s tools he’s got to paint or model with THEM . . . or compose symphonies with THEM . . . that’s all. Look here, Halo — any idea what I’ve done with vol. three of Prescott? No —? I had it with me yesterday when we went out to Medina Zahara, didn’t I? And my Spanish grammar too! Lord, did I go and leave them both out there, do you suppose?”
Halo sighed, and thought that as for the Prescott it didn’t really matter. She had brought with her all the latest and most erudite works on Christians15 and Moors16 in the peninsula; but after a glance at Dozy17, and a little half-hearted plodding18 in Hume, he had disappointed her by rejecting all her authors for Prescott and Washington Irving. “But, Vance, dear, they were so undocumented. Prescott was wonderful for his day, of course; but so much that we know now was not available then. And as for Washington Irving . . .” Vance laughed, and turned over on his face in the grass where he and Halo were sitting, on the sunburnt downs above Cordova. “Well, they just roll over me like waves,” he said, leaning his chin on his locked hands and gazing down at the ancient city. He lay there in silence, his brows wrinkled against the glare, with now and then a faint tremor19 of the nostrils20, like the twitching21 of a sensitive animal’s. Once he stretched out a hand, stroking the short grass and plucking at a clump22 of dwarf23 herbs that he crushed against his face. “Smells like sun and incense24 — as if it was the breath of the old place.” He held out the tuft to Halo. It was hot and aromatic25, full of the flame of a parched26 earth and the vibration27 of bees. “It’s like my happiness,” she thought. She lay there in an idle ecstasy28. Overhead a great bird of prey29 circled against the blue; and Halo remembered how she had once thought of happiness as something bright-winged, untameable, with radiant alien eyes. Now the wings were folded and the strange guest lay asleep in her heart. She was no more afraid of it than a young mother is of her child; only perpetually conscious of it, watching it with wakeful eyes, as the mother watches while her child sleeps. And she thought: “If I could get quite used to it perhaps it would get used to me too, and never stir. If only I could learn to stop watching it.”
Vance raised himself on his elbow. “See here,” he broke out, “what I really want is to write poetry. From the very first I’ve always felt inside of myself that for me it was that or nothing. All the rest is just pot-boiling. Using words to tell stories with is like paving the kitchen-floor with diamonds. God! Words are too beautiful to be walked over in that way, with muddy feet, like the hall oil-cloth. Supposing Keats had used HIS words to write best~sellers with? Don’t it strike you like turning a Knights30 of Pythias picnic loose down there in the cathedral? Words ought to be received at the door of the mind with lighted torches and incense and things — like one of the big church ceremonies you described to me. See here, Halo — when did you say they danced before the altar of the cathedral at Seville? I wish I could get that into poetry. . .”
The bright confusion of his mind sometimes charmed and sometimes frightened her. She was so much afraid of laying clumsy hands on his capricious impulses that she felt herself sinking into the character of the blindly admiring wife. Yet that had not been her dream, or his. She remembered how her frank criticism had guided and stimulated31 him while he was writing “Instead”, and she did not quite know why she had become so uncertain and shy in talking with him of his literary plans, so fearful of discouraging or misdirecting him. Sometimes she asked herself if it would not have been better if they had stayed in America, in some out-of-the-way place where this tremendous vision of a new world would not have thrust itself between him and his work. Yet she felt it must be a weak talent that could not bear the shock of wonder and the hardening processes of experience. Presently the mass of new impressions would be sorted out and dominated by his indefatigable32 mind, and become a part of its material — and meanwhile, what mattered but that he and she were together, with these waves of beauty breaking over them? All she had to do was to hold her breath and wait. She slipped her hand in his. “Do you remember when you read me your first poetry, that morning up on Thundertop?”
A few days later Vance came in from one of his dreaming rambles33 about Cordova, and said, with illuminated34 eyes: “I’ve met a man who says we’re fools not to go straight off to Granada.”
Halo could not repress a feint movement of impatience35. It was a little exasperating36 to have this information imparted as a novelty. Vance seemed to have no recollection of her having told him repeatedly that they ought to get to Granada before the rainy weather began.
“A man? What sort of a man?”
“He said his name was Alders37,” said Vance, as if that settled everything.
Halo made a hasty mental calculation of the probable cost of cancelling the lease of their lodgings38, which they had had to take for the rest of the season. The landlady39 would certainly be nasty; but Halo had fought such battles before, and instantly began sharpening her mental weapons. “Well, all right. Do you want me to get ready?”
“He says we ought to,” Vance repeated serenely40.
For the next two or three days he vanished frequently to rejoin his new friend. Halo gathered that Alders was a wandering American who wrote — at least he was planning a book on Saint Theresa. “For the present he’s just letting Spain soak into him,” Vance explained. He did not offer to produce Alders for Halo’s inspection41, and she did not suggest that he should. She was beginning to realize that in throwing in her lot with Vance’s she had entered into an unknown country — as unknown to her as Spain was to him, and with far fewer landmarks42 to guide her. When Lewis Tarrant made a new acquaintance, and imparted the fact to his wife, his words at once situated43 the person in question, socially and intellectually. But Vance could not situate anybody. He could only say that he liked a fellow, or didn’t like him. He seemed to think that in some mysterious way the impressions he could not sum up in words would be telepathically communicated to Halo; but this was impossible, for they had no common ground of reference. Halo tried to bridge the gulf44 by declaring cheerfully: “Well, I’m sure I’ll like him if you do,” but Vance answered, with a sort of school-boy vagueness: “Oh, I dunno that I like him as much as all that,” making no allusion45 to Halo’s possible opinion of Alders. He seemed to regard Alders as exclusively his own, as a child might a new toy.
A few more days passed; then Vance suddenly announced that he thought it would be fun to go over to Granada in the touring car that was starting the next morning. Could Halo be ready, did she think? After another mental readjustment she said, yes, of course, if he’d be home in the afternoon in time to pack his things; to which he cheerfully agreed.
At the tourist agency Vance surprised her by engaging three seats. Alders, he said, was going to Granada too, and had asked to have his ticket taken for him. An exclamation46 of annoyance47 was on Halo’s tongue; but she repressed it, and bought the ticket.
The next morning, when they arrived at the square from which the car started, Vance said: “Here’s Alders,” and a nondescript young man in a shabby gray suit came forward. He greeted Halo with an awkward bow, and started to climb to Vance’s side; but at the last moment he bent48 over to say something to the conductor, as the result of which he was transferred to a seat several rows behind them, and a girl with large horn spectacles and a portable gramophone was pushed into his place. Vance laughed. “You scared him — he’s as shy as a hawk49.” He seemed content to know that his new friend was making the journey with them, and bound for the same destination.
At Granada they went for a night to an hotel in the town, and the next morning Vance proposed that they should look for rooms in one of the English pensions on the Alhambra hill. Alders, who knew the place well, had given him several addresses; and though Halo was beginning to resent Alders’s occult participation50 in their affairs, she agreed to the suggestion. But half way up the hill Vance deserted51 her, captivated by the carolling of fountains under the elms, and the shadowy invitation of the great Moorish52 archway. “See here, Halo — this beats everything. Do you mind if I wait for you here while you look for rooms? I shouldn’t be any good anyway,” he said persuasively53; and Halo, admitting the fact, went on alone.
On the hillside below the hotels she wandered about, consulting Alders’s list, till a dusty stony54 lane ended unexpectedly at a gate inscribed55: “English Pension. View. Afternoon Tea”; and in a tumble-down house among oranges and pomegranates she was shown two rooms high up on a roof-terrace. The rooms were comfortless, and not too clean; but the terrace overhung the fairest landscape on earth. Halo concluded her bargain and hurried back rejoicing to the Alhambra. She was impatient to lead Vance up to this magical proscenium, and hear his cry at first sight of the snow peaks and green plain. She found him curled up in a coign of the wall above the city. He seemed to have forgotten the errand on which she had left him, and protested at being obliged to leave his warm corner. “What’s the use of finding such a place if you come and root me out of it?” “I’ve found something even better — come and see!” she exulted56; and reluctantly he let her lead him out of the Alhambra and up the hill. But when she introduced him to the terrace he cried out: “Say, are we really going to live here? Why the devil did you let me waste all that time at Cordova? Alders TOLD ME— ”
Halo laughed ironically. “I told you long before Alders. Only you’re so used to the sound of my voice that I don’t believe you hear it any longer.”
He was looking at her with beauty-drunk eyes. “Maybe I don’t,” he agreed contentedly57, turning back to lean over the parapet. Halo could not help being a little vexed58 that they should owe the discovery of this vantage-ground to Alders. She might easily have found it herself — but it was in pursuance of his indications that she had turned down that uninviting lane. She wished she were able to feel more grateful.
Alders came up to see if they were satisfied. He himself lodged59, mysteriously, somewhere below in the town; but he was always on the Alhambra hill. That first day they asked him to tea, in one of the little tearooms near the Alhambra, and afterward60 he walked up with them to the Generalife. His shyness in Halo’s presence persisted — or at any rate, his reserve. For she was never, then or afterward, sure if he were shy or merely indifferent, any more than she could decide if he were young or old. She could barely remember, when he was out of sight, what he looked like. There was something shadowy and indefinite about his whole person. His dullish sandy hair merged61 into the colour of his skin, his thin lips were of the same tint62 as his small unkempt moustache. She had seen straw-coloured and sand-coloured people, but never any whom protective mimicry63 had provided with so complete a neutrality. His manner was neutral too, if anything could be called a manner which seemed rather a resigned endurance of human intercourse64. Judging from Mr. Alders’s attitude one would have supposed that his one aim was to avoid his fellow beings; but Halo presently discovered that this shrinking exterior65 concealed66 a ravenous67 sociability68.
She recognized in him the roving American with a thin glaze69 of culture over an unlettered origin, and a taste for developing in conversation theories picked up in random70 reading, or evolved from an imperfect understanding of art and history. He told them that among his friends (he implied that they were few but illustrious) he was known as “The Scholar Gypsy” — adding that the name (taken, he smilingly explained, from a poem by Matthew Arnold) had been conferred on him because of his nomadic71 habits; perhaps also, he concluded, of his scholarly tastes. He made these boasts with such disarming72 modesty73 that Halo could not resent them, though she failed to understand the impression they produced on Vance. But gradually she discovered that under his literary veneer74 Alders possessed75 a miscellaneous accumulation of facts and anecdotes76 about places and people. His mind was like the inside of one of the humble77 curiosity-shops on the way up to the Alhambra, where nothing was worth more than a few pesetas; but these odds78 and ends of cosmopolitan79 experience amused Vance, and excited his imagination, though Halo noticed that he was less impressed by them than by Alders’s views on Croce or Spengler, or the origin of religious mysticism in Western Europe. Vance’s ravenous desire to learn more and more — to learn, all at once, everything that could be known on every subject — was stimulated by his new friend’s allusions80 and references, and Halo saw that he ascribed her own lukewarm share in their talks to feminine inferiority. “Of course general ideas always bore women to death,” he said in a tone of apology, as they climbed to their pension after a long afternoon with Alders at the Alcobazar. “But you see I was pretty well starved for talk out at Euphoria — and in New York too. God! When I think of the raw lumps of ignorance those fellows used to feed me, at the Cocoanut Tree and at Rebecca Stram’s . . . I tell you what, Halo, going round with a man like Alders, who’s got art and philosophy at his fingers’ ends — ”
She was on the point of interrupting: “Yes, but only there — ” but she saw Vance’s glowing face, and understood that he was getting from his new friend something which a scholar like George Frenside might not have been able to give him. There was excitement in the very confusion of Alders’s references, and reassurance81 in their audacity82. Vance seemed to feel that he too might become a scholar after a few more talks with Alders, and that the wisdom of the ages might emerge from a breathless perusal83 of Samuel Butler and Havelock Ellis.
It was hard on Halo to have it thought that such flights were beyond her; but she told herself again that at this stage her business was to hold her breath and watch. Though she resented Alders’s incursion into their lives she was relieved that Vance did not expect her to share in his confabulations with his new friend; and she came to see how natural it was that to a youth who had lacked all artistic84 and intellectual training the other’s shallow culture should seem so deep. The clever young writers he had known in New York had read only each other and “Ulysses”; here was a man full of the curious lore85 of the past, who could at any rate put the Cocoanut Tree clan86 in their true perspective.
This hunger and thirst of Vance’s was all the more touching87 to Halo because she knew that his eagerness to learn everything at once was due not to superficiality but to the sense of time lost and of precious secrets kept from him. “If only I’d had Alders’s advantages!” he burst out one evening, in passionate88 retrospection; and she could not help answering: “It was funny, though, his thinking you’d never heard of Matthew Arnold.”
“Well, I don’t believe those Cocoanut Tree fellows have; or if they have, they’ve thrown him overboard without reading him. They haven’t got time to embalm89 dead bodies, they say — leave that to the morticians. And there they sit and talk endlessly all day long about nothing! Look here, Halo — I sometimes think I was meant to be a student and not a writer; a ‘grammarian’, like the fellow in the Browning poem. Alders was telling me last night how many years the Jesuit novitiate lasts — he thought at one time of being a Jesuit. Well, I tell you what, it gave me a big idea of those old fellows who weren’t afraid of being left behind . . . weren’t always trying to catch up . . . catch up with WHAT? Why; just with other fellows who were trying to catch up. Did you ever think of the beauty of not giving a damn if you were left behind?”
Yes; in those ways Alders was good for him. His talk was a blurred90 window; but through it the boy caught glimpses of the summits. Halo could have given him a clearer sight of them; but she recognized that the distance was yet too great between her traditional culture and Vance’s untutored curiosities. This dawdling91 Autolycus, with his bag of bright-coloured scraps92, might serve as a guide where she was useless.
Luckily there were days when Alders was off on his own mysterious affairs, and Halo had her lover to herself. Then life burned with beauty, and every hour was full of magic. Vance’s successive declarations that he meant to write poetry, to take up painting, to immure93 himself in a scholar’s cell, no longer frightened her. It was enchanting94 to watch the tumult95 of his mind, sun-flecked, storm~shadowed, subsiding96 in moonlit calm or leaping sky-ward in sun and gale97. This journey was a time of preparation from which his imagination would come forth98 richer and more vigorous. Occasionally she wished his idleness were not so total, for she was afraid the lost habit of work might be hard to recover; but when she hinted this, he rejoined that she didn’t understand the way the creative mind was made. “There’s Alders, now — I suppose you might think he was loafing . . . Well, he’s AMASSING99. A very different thing. He told me he might very likely lie fallow another year before he wrote the first line of his book about the influence of Byzantine art on El Greco.”
“On WHAT? I thought he was collecting material for a life of St. Theresa.”
Vance frowned impatiently. “Yes; he was. But he’s put that aside, because he felt he ought to go into sixteenth century art in Spain before he tackles mysticism. He says you can approach spiritual phenomena100 only from the outside; the way they manifest themselves in art and architecture and the whole social structure . . . If you don’t get that into your system first . . .”
Halo made no answer, and Vance continued, still in a slightly irritated tone: “I don’t suppose you want me to be like those fellows that are sent to Europe for a year on a college scholarship, and are expected by the Faculty to come back with a masterpiece? I’ve heard you on the subject of those masterpieces. And a novel isn’t a thesis anyhow — it’s a live thing that’s got to be carried inside of you before it can be born. I suppose I’m a trial to you sometimes,” he concluded.
“Only when you imagine that I don’t understand.” But he protested that he never did; and side by side on their high-hung terrace they watched the full moon push up above the Sierra.
收听单词发音 |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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disintegration
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| n.分散，解体 | |
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divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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conquerors
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| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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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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descends
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| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
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haranguing
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| v.高谈阔论( harangue的现在分词 ) | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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dozy
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| adj.困倦的；愚笨的 | |
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plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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aromatic
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| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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alders
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| n.桤木( alder的名词复数 ) | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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moorish
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| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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persuasively
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| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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mimicry
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| n.（生物）拟态，模仿 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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sociability
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| n.好交际，社交性，善于交际 | |
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glaze
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| v.因疲倦、疲劳等指眼睛变得呆滞，毫无表情 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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nomadic
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| adj.流浪的；游牧的 | |
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disarming
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| adj.消除敌意的，使人消气的v.裁军( disarm的现在分词 )；使息怒 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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veneer
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| n.(墙上的)饰面，虚饰 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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embalm
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| v.保存（尸体）不腐 | |
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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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dawdling
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| adj.闲逛的，懒散的v.混（时间）( dawdle的现在分词 ) | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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immure
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| v.囚禁，幽禁 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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subsiding
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的现在分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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amassing
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| v.积累，积聚( amass的现在分词 ) | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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