奥兰多orlando (英文版)作者:弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙-第3部分

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the　Polish　wars　when　she　recalled　him。　For　how　could　she　bear　to　think　of　that　tender　flesh　torn　and　that　curly　head　rolled　in　the　dust？　She　kept　him　with　her。　At　the　height　of　her　triumph　when　the　guns　were　booming　at　the　Tower　and　the　air　was　thick　enough　with　gunpowder　to　make　one　sneeze　and　the　huzzas　of　the　people　rang　beneath　the　windows；　she　pulled　him　down　among　the　cushions　where　her　women　had　laid　her　（she　was　so　worn　and　old）　and　made　him　bury　his　face　in　that　astonishing　position—she　had　not　changed　her　dress　for　a　month—which　smelt　for　all　the　world；　he　thought；　recalling　his　boyish　memory；　like　some　old　cabi　at　home　where　his　mother’s　furs　were　stored。　He　rose；　half　suffocated　from　the　embrace。　‘This’；　she　breathed；　‘is　my　victory！’—even　as　a　rocket　roared　up　and　dyed　her　cheeks　scarlet。

For　the　old　woman　loved　him。　And　the　Queen；　who　knew　a　man　when　she　saw　one；　though　not；　it　is　said；　in　the　usual　way；　plotted　for　him　a　splendid　ambitious　career。　Lands　were　given　him；　houses　assigned　him。　He　was　to　be　the　son　of　her　old　age；　the　limb　of　her　infirmity；　the　oak　tree　on　which　she　leant　her　degradation。　She　croaked　out　these　promises　and　strange　domineering　tendernesses　（they　were　at　Richmond　now）　sitting　bolt　upright　in　her　stiff　brocades　by　the　fire　which；　however　high　they　piled　it；　never　kept　her　warm。

Meanwhile；　the　long　winter　months　drew　on。　Every　tree　in　the　Park　was　lined　with　frost。　The　river　ran　sluggishly。　One　day　when　the　snow　was　on　the　ground　and　the　dark　panelled　rooms　were　full　of　shadows　and　the　stags　were　barking　in　the　Park；　she　saw　in　the　mirror；　which　she　kept　for　fear　of　spies　always　by　her；　through　the　door；　which　she　kept　for　fear　of　murderers　always　open；　a　boy—could　it　be　Orlando？—kissing　a　girl—who　in　the　Devil’s　name　was　the　brazen　hussy？　Snatching　at　her　golden–hilted　sword　she　struck　violently　at　the　mirror。　The　glass　crashed；　people　came　running；　she　was　lifted　and　set　in　her　chair　again；　but　she　was　stricken　after　that　and　groaned　much；　as　her　days　wore　to　an　end；　of　man’s　treachery。

It　was　Orlando’s　fault　perhaps；　yet；　after　all；　are　we　to　blame　Orlando？　The　age　was　the　Elizabethan；　their　morals　were　not　ours；　nor　their　poets；　nor　their　climate；　nor　their　vegetables　even。　Everything　was　different。　The　weather　itself；　the　heat　and　cold　of　summer　and　winter；　was；　we　may　believe；　of　another　temper　altogether。　The　brilliant　amorous　day　was　divided　as　sheerly　from　the　night　as　land　from　water。　Sunsets　were　redder　and　more　intense；　dawns　were　whiter　and　more　auroral。　Of　our　crepuscular　half–lights　and　lingering　twilights　they　knew　nothing。　The　rain　fell　vehemently；　or　not　at　all。　The　sun　blazed　or　there　was　darkness。　Translating　this　to　the　spiritual　regions　as　their　wont　is；　the　poets　sang　beautifully　how　roses　fade　and　petals　fall。　The　moment　is　brief　they　sang；　the　moment　is　over；　one　long　night　is　then　to　be　slept　by　all。　As　for　using　the　artifices　of　the　greenhouse　or　conservatory　to　prolong　or　preserve　these　fresh　pinks　and　roses；　that　was　not　their　way。　The　withered　intricacies　and　ambiguities　of　our　more　gradual　and　doubtful　age　were　unknown　to　them。　Violence　was　all。　The　flower　bloomed　and　faded。　The　sun　rose　and　sank。　The　lover　loved　and　went。　And　what　the　poets　said　in　rhyme；　the　young　translated　into　practice。　Girls　were　roses；　and　their　seasons　were　short　as　the　flowers’。　Plucked　they　must　be　before　nightfall；　for　the　day　was　brief　and　the　day　was　all。　Thus；　if　Orlando　followed　the　leading　of　the　climate；　of　the　poets；　of　the　age　itself；　and　plucked　his　flower　in　the　window–seat　even　with　the　snow　on　the　ground　and　the　Queen　vigilant　in　the　corridor　we　can　scarcely　bring　ourselves　to　blame　him。　He　was　young；　he　was　boyish；　he　did　but　as　nature　bade　him　do。　As　for　the　girl；　we　know　no　more　than　Queen　Elizabeth　herself　did　what　her　name　was。　It　may　have　been　Doris；　Chloris；　Delia；　or　Diana；　for　he　made　rhymes　to　them　all　in　turn；　equally；　she　may　have　been　a　court　lady；　or　some　serving　maid。　For　Orlando’s　taste　was　broad；　he　was　no　lover　of　garden　flowers　only；　the　wild　and　the　weeds　even　had　always　a　fascination　for　him。

Here；　indeed；　we　lay　bare　rudely；　as　a　biographer　may；　a　curious　trait　in　him；　to　be　accounted　for；　perhaps；　by　the　fact　that　a　certain　grandmother　of　his　had　worn　a　smock　and　carried　milkpails。　Some　grains　of　the　Kentish　or　Sussex　earth　were　mixed　with　the　thin；　fine　fluid　which　came　to　him　from　Normandy。　He　held　that　the　mixture　of　brown　earth　and　blue　blood　was　a　good　one。　Certain　it　is　that　he　had　always　a　liking　for　low　pany；　especially　for　that　of　lettered　people　whose　wits　so　often　keep　them　under；　as　if　there　were　the　sympathy　of　blood　between　them。　At　this　season　of　his　life；　when　his　head　brimmed　with　rhymes　and　he　never　went　to　bed　without　striking　off　some　conceit；　the　cheek　of　an　innkeeper’s　daughter　seemed　fresher　and　the　wit　of　a　gamekeeper’s　niece　seemed　quicker　than　those　of　the　ladies　at　Court。　Hence；　he　began　going　frequently　to　Wapping　Old　Stairs　and　the　beer　gardens　at　night；　wrapped　in　a　grey　cloak　to　hide　the　star　at　his　neck　and　the　garter　at　his　knee。　There；　with　a　mug　before　him；　among　the　sanded　alleys　and　bowling　greens　and　all　the　simple　architecture　of　such　places；　he　listened　to　sailors’　stories　of　hardship　and　horror　and　cruelty　on　the　Spanish　main；　how　some　had　lost　their　toes；　others　their　noses—for　the　spoken　story　was　never　so　rounded　or　so　finely　coloured　as　the　written。　Especially　he　loved　to　hear　them　volley　forth　their　songs　of　‘the　Azores；　while　the　parrakeets；　which　they　had　brought　from　those　parts；　pecked　at　the　rings　in　their　ears；　tapped　with　their　hard　acquisitive　beaks　at　the　rubies　on　their　fingers；　and　swore　as　vilely　as　their　masters。　The　women　were　scarcely　less　bold　in　their　speech　and　less　free　in　their　manner　than　the　birds。　They　perched　on　his　knee；　flung　their　arms　round　his　neck　and；　guessing　that　something　out　of　the　mon　lay　hid　beneath　his　duffle　cloak；　were　quite　as　eager　to　e　at　the　truth　of　the　matter　as　Orlando　himself。

Nor　was　opportunity　lacking。　The　river　was　astir　early　and　late　with　barges；　wherries；　and　craft　of　all　description。　Every　day　sailed　to　sea　some　fine　ship　bound　for　the　Indies；　now　and　again　another　blackened　and　ragged　with　hairy　men　on　board　crept　painfully　to　anchor。　No　one　missed　a　boy　or　girl　if　they　dallied　a　little　on　the　water　after　sunset；　or　raised　an　eyebrow　if　gossip　had　seen　them　sleeping　soundly　among　the　treasure　sacks　safe　in　each　other’s　arms。　Such　indeed　was　the　adventure　that　befel　Orlando；　Sukey；　and　the　Earl　of　Cumberland。　The　day　was　hot；　their　loves　had　been　active；　they　had　fallen　asleep　among　the　rubies。　Late　that　night　the　Earl；　whose　fortunes　were　much　bound　up　in　the　Spanish　ventures；　came　to　check　the　booty　alone　with　a　lantern。　He　flashed　the　light　on　a　barrel。　He　started　back　with　an　oath。　Twined　about　the　cask　two　spirits　lay　sleeping。　Superstitious　by　nature；　and　his　conscience　laden　with　many　a　crime；　the　Earl　took　the　couple—they　were　wrapped　in　a　red　cloak；　and　Sukey’s　bosom　was　almost　as　white　as　the　eternal　snows　of　Orlando’s　poetry—for　a　phantom　sprung　from　the　graves　of　drowned　sailors　to　upbraid　him。　He　crossed　himself。　He　vowed　repentance。　The　row　of　alms　houses　still　standing　in　the　Sheen　Road　is　the　visible　fruit　of　that　moment’s　panic。　Twelve　poor　old　women　of　the　parish　today　drink　tea　and　tonight　bless　his　Lordship　for　a　roof　above　their　heads；　so　that　illicit　love　in　a　treasure　ship—but　we　omit　the　moral。

Soon；　however；　Orlando　grew　tired；　not　only　of　the　disfort　of　this　way　of　life；　and　of　the　crabbed　streets　of　the　neighbourhood；　but　of　the　primitive　manner　of　the　people。　For　it　has　to　be　remembered　that　crime　and　poverty　had　none　of　the　attraction　for　the　Elizabethans　that　they　have　for　us。　They　had　none　of　our　modern　shame　of　book　learning；　none　of　our　belief　that　to　be　born　the　son　of　a　butcher　is　a　blessing　and　to　be　unable　to　read　a　virtue；　no　fancy　that　what　we　call　‘life’　and　‘reality’　are　somehow　connected　with　ignorance　and　brutality；　nor；　indeed；　any　equivalent　for　these　two　words　at　all。　It　was　not　to　seek　‘life’　that　Orlando　went　among　them；　not　in　quest　of　‘reality’　that　he　left　them。　But　when　he　had　heard　a　score　of　times　how　Jakes　had　lost　his　nose　and　Sukey　her　honour—and　they　told　the　stories　admirably；　it　must　be　admitted—he　began　to　be　a　little　weary　of　the　repetition；　for　a　nose　can　only　be　cut　off　in　one　way　and　maidenhood　lost　in　another—or　so　it　seemed　to　him—whereas　the　arts　and　the　sciences　had　a　diversity　about　them　which　stirred　his　curiosity　profoundly。　So；　always　keeping　them　in　happy　memory；　he　left　off　frequenting　the　beer　gardens　and　the　skittle　alleys；　hung　his　grey　cloak　in　his　wardrobe；　let　his　star　shine　at　his　neck　and　his　garter　twinkle　at　his　knee；　and　appeared　once　more　at　the　Court　of　King　James。　He　was　young；　he　was　rich；　he　was　handsome。　No　one　could　have　been　received　with　greater　acclamation　than　he　was。

It　is　certain　indeed　that　many　ladies　were　ready　to　show　him　their　favours。　The　names　of　three　at　least　were　freely　coupled　with　his　in　marriage—Clorinda；　Favilla；　Euphrosyne—so　he　called　them　in　his　sons。

To　take　them　in　order；　Clorinda　was　a　sweet–mannered　gentle　lady　enough；—indeed　Orlando　was　greatly　taken　with　her　for　six　months　and　a　half；　but　she　had　white　eyelashes　and　could　not　bear　the　sight　of　blood。　A　hare　brought　up　roasted　at　her　father’s　table　turned　her　faint。　She　was　much　under　the　influence　of　the　Priests　too；　and　stinted　her　underlinen　in　order　to　give　to　the　poor。　She　took　it　on　her　to　reform　Orlando　of　his　sins；　which　sickened　him；　so　that　he　drew　back　from　the　marriage；　and　did　not　much　regret　it　when　she　died　soon　after　of　the　small–pox。

Favilla；　who　es　next；　was　of　a　different　sort　altogether。　She　was　the　daughter　of　a　poor　Somersetshire　gentleman；　who；　by　sheer　assiduity　and　the　use　of　her　eyes　had　worked　her　way　up　at　court；　where　her　address　in　horsemanship；　her　fine　instep；　and　her　grace　in　dancing　won　the　admiration　of　all。　Once；　however；　she　was　so　ill–advised　as　to　whip　a　spaniel　that　had　torn　one　of　her　silk　stockings　（and　it　must　be　said　in　justice　that　Favilla　had　few　stockings　and　those　for　t