He was bewildered. He had nothing to say. He was not even angry, but stood, with a glass of whiskey between his hands, trying to think what had led her to such a conclusion.
She had chosen the moment before bed, when, in accordance with their bourgeois1 habit, she always dispensed2 drinks to the men. Freddy and Mr. Floyd were sure to retire with their glasses, while Cecil invariably lingered, sipping3 at his while she locked up the sideboard.
"I am very sorry about it," she said; "I have carefully thought things over. We are too different. I must ask you to release me, and try to forget that there ever was such a foolish girl."
It was a suitable speech, but she was more angry than sorry, and her voice showed it.
"Different--how--how--"
"I haven't had a really good education, for one thing," she continued, still on her knees by the sideboard. "My Italian trip came too late, and I am forgetting all that I learnt there. I shall never be able to talk to your friends, or behave as a wife of yours should."
"I don't understand you. You aren't like yourself. You're tired, Lucy."
"Tired!" she retorted, kindling4 at once. "That is exactly like you. You always think women don't mean what they say."
"Well, you sound tired, as if something has worried you."
"What if I do? It doesn't prevent me from realizing the truth. I can't marry you, and you will thank me for saying so some day."
"You had that bad headache yesterday--All right"--for she had exclaimed indignantly: "I see it's much more than headaches. But give me a moment's time." He closed his eyes. "You must excuse me if I say stupid things, but my brain has gone to pieces. Part of it lives three minutes back, when I was sure that you loved me, and the other part--I find it difficult--I am likely to say the wrong thing."
It struck her that he was not behaving so badly, and her irritation5 increased. She again desired a struggle, not a discussion. To bring on the crisis, she said:
"There are days when one sees clearly, and this is one of them. Things must come to a breaking-point some time, and it happens to be to-day. If you want to know, quite a little thing decided6 me to speak to you--when you wouldn't play tennis with Freddy."
"I never do play tennis," said Cecil, painfully bewildered; "I never could play. I don't understand a word you say."
"You can play well enough to make up a four. I thought it abominably7 selfish of you."
"No, I can't--well, never mind the tennis. Why couldn't you--couldn't you have warned me if you felt anything wrong? You talked of our wedding at lunch--at least, you let me talk."
"I knew you wouldn't understand," said Lucy quite crossly. "I might have known there would have been these dreadful explanations. Of course, it isn't the tennis--that was only the last straw to all I have been feeling for weeks. Surely it was better not to speak until I felt certain." She developed this position. "Often before I have wondered if I was fitted for your wife--for instance, in London; and are you fitted to be my husband? I don't think so. You don't like Freddy, nor my mother. There was always a lot against our engagement, Cecil, but all our relations seemed pleased, and we met so often, and it was no good mentioning it until--well, until all things came to a point. They have to-day. I see clearly. I must speak. That's all."
"I cannot think you were right," said Cecil gently. "I cannot tell why, but though all that you say sounds true, I feel that you are not treating me fairly. It's all too horrible."
"What's the good of a scene?"
"No good. But surely I have a right to hear a little more."
He put down his glass and opened the window. From where she knelt, jangling her keys, she could see a slit8 of darkness, and, peering into it, as if it would tell him that "little more," his long, thoughtful face.
"Don't open the window; and you'd better draw the curtain, too; Freddy or any one might be outside." He obeyed. "I really think we had better go to bed, if you don't mind. I shall only say things that will make me unhappy afterwards. As you say it is all too horrible, and it is no good talking."
But to Cecil, now that he was about to lose her, she seemed each moment more desirable. He looked at her, instead of through her, for the first time since they were engaged. From a Leonardo she had become a living woman, with mysteries and forces of her own, with qualities that even eluded9 art. His brain recovered from the shock, and, in a burst of genuine devotion, he cried: "But I love you, and I did think you loved me!"
"I did not," she said. "I thought I did at first. I am sorry, and ought to have refused you this last time, too."
He began to walk up and down the room, and she grew more and more vexed10 at his dignified11 behaviour. She had counted on his being petty. It would have made things easier for her. By a cruel irony12 she was drawing out all that was finest in his disposition13.
"You don't love me, evidently. I dare say you are right not to. But it would hurt a little less if I knew why."
"Because"--a phrase came to her, and she accepted it--"you're the sort who can't know any one intimately."
A horrified14 look came into his eyes.
"I don't mean exactly that. But you will question me, though I beg you not to, and I must say something. It is that, more or less. When we were only acquaintances, you let me be myself, but now you're always protecting me." Her voice swelled15. "I won't be protected. I will choose for myself what is ladylike and right. To shield me is an insult. Can't I be trusted to face the truth but I must get it second-hand16 through you? A woman's place! You despise my mother--I know you do--because she's conventional and bothers over puddings; but, oh goodness!"--she rose to her feet--"conventional, Cecil, you're that, for you may understand beautiful things, but you don't know how to use them; and you wrap yourself up in art and books and music, and would try to wrap up me. I won't be stifled17, not by the most glorious music, for people are more glorious, and you hide them from me. That's why I break off my engagement. You were all right as long as you kept to things, but when you came to people--" She stopped.
There was a pause. Then Cecil said with great emotion:
"It is true."
"True on the whole," she corrected, full of some vague shame.
"True, every word. It is a revelation. It is--I."
"Anyhow, those are my reasons for not being your wife."
He repeated: "'The sort that can know no one intimately.' It is true. I fell to pieces the very first day we were engaged. I behaved like a cad to Beebe and to your brother. You are even greater than I thought." She withdrew a step. "I'm not going to worry you. You are far too good to me. I shall never forget your insight; and, dear, I only blame you for this: you might have warned me in the early stages, before you felt you wouldn't marry me, and so have given me a chance to improve. I have never known you till this evening. I have just used you as a peg18 for my silly notions of what a woman should be. But this evening you are a different person: new thoughts--even a new voice--"
"What do you mean by a new voice?" she asked, seized with incontrollable anger.
"I mean that a new person seems speaking through you," said he.
Then she lost her balance. She cried: "If you think I am in love with some one else, you are very much mistaken."
"Of course I don't think that. You are not that kind, Lucy."
"Oh, yes, you do think it. It's your old idea, the idea that has kept Europe back--I mean the idea that women are always thinking of men. If a girl breaks off her engagement, every one says: 'Oh, she had some one else in her mind; she hopes to get some one else.' It's disgusting, brutal19! As if a girl can't break it off for the sake of freedom."
He answered reverently20: "I may have said that in the past. I shall never say it again. You have taught me better."
She began to redden, and pretended to examine the windows again. "Of course, there is no question of 'some one else' in this, no 'jilting' or any such nauseous stupidity. I beg your pardon most humbly21 if my words suggested that there was. I only meant that there was a force in you that I hadn't known of up till now."
"All right, Cecil, that will do. Don't apologize to me. It was my mistake."
"It is a question between ideals, yours and mine--pure abstract ideals, and yours are the nobler. I was bound up in the old vicious notions, and all the time you were splendid and new." His voice broke. "I must actually thank you for what you have done-- for showing me what I really am. Solemnly, I thank you for showing me a true woman. Will you shake hands?"
"Of course I will," said Lucy, twisting up her other hand in the curtains. "Good-night, Cecil. Good-bye. That's all right. I'm sorry about it. Thank you very much for your gentleness."
"Let me light your candle, shall I?"
They went into the hall.
"Thank you. Good-night again. God bless you, Lucy!"
"Good-bye, Cecil."
She watched him steal up-stairs, while the shadows from three banisters passed over her face like the beat of wings. On the landing he paused strong in his renunciation, and gave her a look of memorable22 beauty. For all his culture, Cecil was an ascetic23 at heart, and nothing in his love became him like the leaving of it.
She could never marry. In the tumult24 of her soul, that stood firm. Cecil believed in her; she must some day believe in herself. She must be one of the women whom she had praised so eloquently25, who care for liberty and not for men; she must forget that George loved her, that George had been thinking through her and gained her this honourable26 release, that George had gone away into--what was it?--the darkness.
She put out the lamp.
It did not do to think, nor, for the matter of that to feel. She gave up trying to understand herself, and the vast armies of the benighted27, who follow neither the heart nor the brain, and march to their destiny by catch-words. The armies are full of pleasant and pious28 folk. But they have yielded to the only enemy that matters--the enemy within. They have sinned against passion and truth, and vain will be their strife29 after virtue30. As the years pass, they are censured31. Their pleasantry and their piety32 show cracks, their wit becomes cynicism, their unselfishness hypocrisy33; they feel and produce discomfort34 wherever they go. They have sinned against Eros and against Pallas Athene, and not by any heavenly intervention35, but by the ordinary course of nature, those allied36 deities37 will be avenged38.
Lucy entered this army when she pretended to George that she did not love him, and pretended to Cecil that she loved no one. The night received her, as it had received Miss Bartlett thirty years before.
他给搞糊涂了。他说不出话来。他甚至没有发怒，只是站在那里，双手握着一杯威士忌，拼命在想到底是什么促使她作出这样的结论。
她选择了睡觉前的这一时刻，按照她们中产阶级的习惯，这时她总是把饮料分发给男士们。弗雷迪和弗洛伊德先生当然会端着酒杯回房休息，而塞西尔则总是留下来，在她将餐具柜上锁的时候，他细细品味他的那一杯酒。
“我非常抱歉，”她说，“我仔细考虑过了。我们彼此太不同了。我必须请求你解除和我的婚约，并且设法忘掉曾经有过这么一个愚蠢的姑娘。”
这番话说得很得体，可是实际上她的火气超过歉意，这可以从她的声音里听出来。
“不同——怎么——怎么——”
“首先，我没有受过真正好的教育，”她依旧跪在餐具柜旁，继续说。“我那意大利之行来得太迟了，而我在那里学到的一切都快忘光了。我将永远没法和你的朋友们交谈，我的举止也没法达到你的妻子应该达到的水平。”
“我不明白你在说些什么。你跟往常不一样了。露西，你太累了。”
“太累了！”她反驳一句，一下子激动起来。“这正是你的本色。你总是以为女人嘴里那么说，心里并不那么想。”
“好了，你听起来是累了，好像有什么心事使你很苦恼。”
“就算有又怎么样？它并不妨碍我认识事实的真相。我不能和你结婚。将来有一天你会感谢我今天这样说的。”
“你昨天头痛得厉害——好吧”——因为她刚才是恼怒地大声说的——“我明白这不是简单的头痛问题。可是请你给我一点时间。”他闭上了眼睛。“要是我说一些愚蠢的话，请你一定原谅我，因为我的脑袋已完全不顶用了。它的一部分还是像三分钟前那样，那时我完全有把握你是爱我的，而其他一部分一我觉得很难讲出口——我很可能要说错话。”
她感到他的表现还不算错，因而愈来愈恼怒。她又一次希望与他进行一番争论，而不是讨论。为了使关键时刻到来，她说：
“有些日子一个人看问题很清楚。今天就是这样一个日子。事物发展总会有个转折点，而正巧就是在今天。如果你想知道的话，是一件很小的事情使我决定和你谈话的——那就是你不肯陪弗雷迪打球。”
“我一向不打网球，”塞西尔说，感到痛苦地惶惑不解。“我从来打不好。你说的话我一点也听不懂。”
“三缺一时你还是能行的。我认为你那样做自私得叫人厌恶。”
“不，我不行——得了，不谈网球啦。假使你当时就觉得有什么不对，为什么不能——不能警告我一下呢？吃午饭时你还谈到了我们的婚礼——至少你让我谈起我们的婚礼。”
“我知道你不会理解的，”露西相当生气地说。“我早就应该知道会需要这些令人厌烦的解释的。当然啦，不是为了打网球——那只是使我几个星期来的感觉终于成为不堪忍受。当然在我没有完全肯定以前还是不说为好。”她进一步阐明她的这一观点。“以前我常常怀疑我是否适合做你的妻子———譬如说在伦敦；还有你是否适合做我的丈夫？我认为并不适合。你不喜欢弗雷迪，也不喜欢我的母亲。始终存在着许多不利于我们的婚约的因素，塞西尔，不过我们的亲戚似乎全都很高兴，而我们又常常见面，所以不等到——嗯，不等到一切事情有了眉目，提出那个问题是不好的。今天一切事情有了眉目。我看得很清楚。我一定要说出来。就这么回事。”
“我怎么想也不认为你是对的，”塞西尔温和地说。“我讲不出为什么，但是尽管你说的那些话听起来全都很对，我还是感到你对待我是不公平的。这实在太可怕了。”
“吵吵闹闹有什么好处？”
“没有好处。可是我总该有权利听你讲得详细一些吧。”
他把酒杯放下，打开窗户。她跪在那里，把一串钥匙摇得叮当作响，从那里能看到一道裂缝，他那沉思的马脸正透过这裂缝望着外面的黑夜，仿佛它会把这“详细一些”讲给他听似的。
“不要开窗；最好把窗帘也拉上；弗雷迪或其他什么人可能就在外面。”他按照她的话做了。“说真的，我想我们还是去睡觉吧，假使你不在乎的话。我只会说出些使我今后会感到难过的话。正如你所说的，这实在太可怕了，因此说出来是没有好处的。”
然而对塞西尔说来，因为即将失去她，她显得愈来愈可爱了。自从他们订婚以来，他第一次对着她看，而不是透过她看。她从一幅莱奥纳多的名画变成了一个活生生的女人，有着她自己的奥秘与力量，有着一些连艺术也难以体现的气质。他的神志从震惊中恢复过来，不由真情迸发，叫道：“可是我爱你，而且我原先的的确确以为你是爱我的！”
“我没有爱过你，”她说。“起先我曾以为我爱你。真对不起，最近这一次求婚我就应该拒绝你的。”
他开始在房间里走来走去，他的举止庄重大方，使她愈来愈烦躁了。她原以为他一定会表现得气量狭小。这样她反而会觉得容易处理些。她现在却把他性情中最美好的东西都引发出来了，这真是个无情的讽刺。
“很清楚你并不爱我。我敢说你不爱我是做得对的。不过我要是知道了为什么，我就会难过得好一点。”
“因为”——她突然想起了一句话，也接受了这句话一“因为你是这样一种人，你不可能和任何人很亲密。”
他眼睛里流露出极为震惊的神色。
“我的意思并不完全是这样。不过虽然我请求你不要问我，你还是一定要问，我就只好说上两句。大致上是那个意思。当我们仅仅是普通朋友时，你让我我行我素，可是现在你老是在保护我。”她的声音变得响亮起来。“我不要人家保护。我要自己选择什么是对的，什么是大家闺秀的风度。要庇护我其实是一种侮辱。难道不能相信我可以面对真理，而必须让我通过你来第二手地获得真理？女人的地位！你看不起我妈妈——我知道你看不起-因为她因循守旧，关心布丁这一类小事；可是天哪！”——她站了起来——“因循守旧，塞西尔，你才是因循守旧，因为虽然你可能懂得美的东西，但是你不知道怎样利用它们；而且你把自己埋在艺术、书本和音乐里，也想把我埋起来。可是我不想被窒息，即使被最辉煌的音乐也罢，因为人们更辉煌，而你把我藏起来与他们隔开，这就是我为什么要解除婚约的原因。如果你只是同物打交道，你是没问题的，但是一旦同人打交道——”她住了口。
出现了暂时的停顿。接着塞西尔大为激动地说：“说得对。”
“总的说来是对的，”她纠正他，心里充满了一种说不出的羞愧。
“每一句话都说得对。这真是个启发。这就是—一我。”
“不管怎么说，这些就是我不能成为你妻子的理由。”
他重复说：…不可能和任何人很亲密的这样一种人。’说得对。就在我们订婚的第一天，我变得不知所措。我对待毕比和你弟弟的行为简直像个无赖。你比我过去想的还要高大。”她后退了一步。“我不准备使你感到为难。你对我太好了。我永远也不会忘记你的洞察力；而且亲爱的，我只埋怨你这一点：在最初的阶段，在你还没有感到不愿和我结婚的时候，你满可以向我发出警告，这样就能给我一个改进的机会。直到今天晚上我才了解你。我一向只是利用你，把你当作一种标志，来体现我认为女人应该如何如何的那些荒唐的想法。可是今天晚上你完全不一样了：新的想法一连声音也是新的——”
“你说声音也是新的是什么意思？”她问，突然感到怒不可遏。
“我的意思是好像有个新人通过你在说话，”他说。
这时她失去了平衡。她嚷道：“假使你认为我爱上了别人，那你就大大地错了。”
“我当然不那么想。你不是那种人，露西。”
“啊不，你正是这么想的。这是你固有的想法，那种使欧洲长期落后的想法——我指的是以为女人心里所想的不外乎是男人的那种想法。要是一个姑娘解除了婚约，每个人都会说：‘啊，她心里有了别人；她希望另外找一个。’这么说太叫人恶心了，真蛮横无理！难道一个姑娘就不能为了获得自由而解除婚约！”
他恭恭敬敬地回答：“过去我可能说过这样的话。我以后再也不会这样说了。你教育了我，使我懂得了好歹。”
她的脸颊红了起来，她装作重新检查窗户，看看关好了没有。
“当然啦，这里面不存在‘另一个’的问题，不是什么‘甩了对方’或者诸如此类令人恶心的做法。要是我的话听起来包含那种想法，那我非常谦恭地请你原谅。我的意思只是说你的身上有一股力量，直到今天我才发现。”
“好吧，塞西尔，可以了。别向我道歉了。那原是我的错。”
“这是一个有关理想的问题，你的理想和我的——纯粹抽象的理想，而你的更加高尚。我被陈旧的错误观念所束缚，而你却一直是新颖的，光彩照人。”他的嗓音突然变了。“说实在的，我应该对你的行动表示感谢——因为你让我知道我实际上是怎么样的一个人。我严肃地向你道谢，因为你让我看到了一个真正的女人，你愿意和我握手吗？”
“我当然愿意，”露西说，把另一只手和窗帘卷在一起。“晚安-塞西尔。再见。这没什么。对这事我很抱歉。非常感谢你的雅量。”
“我来替你点蜡烛好吗？”
他们走进过道。
“谢谢你。再一次祝你晚安。愿上帝保佑你，露西！”
“再见，塞西尔。”
她望着他悄悄地上楼，楼梯栏杆的黑影像双翅扑打一般掠过他的脸。他在楼梯平台上停下来，竭力克制自己，朝她看了一眼，那一眼很美，令人永生难忘。尽管塞西尔很有教养，内心里却是个禁欲主义者，他在恋爱中最恰当的表现莫过于他的离之而去了。
她永远不可能结婚。她心绪纷乱，但是这一点是坚定不移的。塞西尔相信她；将来总有一天她也该相信自己。她必须成为被她自己赞不绝口的女人中的一个，这些女人关心的不是男人，而是自由；她必须忘却乔治爱她，忘却乔治通过她来思考，使她得以这样体面地解除了婚约，忘却乔治已进入了——那叫什么来着？——黑暗。
她把灯熄了。
思考没有用，为了那件事，感受也没有用。她不再作出努力要理解自己，而加入了黑暗中的大军，他们既不受感情支配，也不受理智驱使，却跟着时髦口号，大步走向自己的命运。这大军中多的是愉快、虔诚的人。然而他们却向唯一值得重视的敌人——心中的敌人——投降了。他们违犯了爱情与真理，因而他们对美德的追求是徒劳的。随着岁月的流逝，他们受到了指责。他们的风趣与虔诚出现了裂缝，他们的机智变成玩世不恭，他们的大公无私变成假貌为善；无论他们走到哪里，他们都感到不舒服，也使别人感到不舒服。他们对爱神厄洛斯犯了罪，对帕拉斯·雅典娜（译注：帕拉斯·雅典娜，希腊神话中的智慧女神。此处的爱神与智慧女神喻指上文的“爱情与真理”）犯了罪，而众神结成了联盟，一定会向他们报复的，这不是天谴，而只是自然的一般进程。
当露西向乔治佯称她并不爱他，向塞西尔佯称她没有爱上任何人时，她实际上已加入了这支大军。黑夜接纳了她，就像三十年前接纳巴特利特小姐那样。
收听单词发音 |
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bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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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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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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benighted
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| adj.蒙昧的 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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censured
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| v.指责，非难，谴责( censure的过去式 ) | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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deities
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| n.神，女神( deity的名词复数 )；神祗；神灵；神明 | |
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avenged
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| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
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