奥兰多orlando (英文版)作者:弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙-第5部分

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g　her　eyes　across　the　boars’　heads　and　stuffed　peacocks；　laughed　too。　He　laughed；　but　the　laugh　on　his　lips　froze　in　wonder。　Whom　had　he　loved；　what　had　he　loved；　he　asked　himself　in　a　tumult　of　emotion；　until　now？　An　old　woman；　he　answered；　all　skin　and　bone。　Red–cheeked　trulls　too　many　to　mention。　A　puling　nun。　A　hard–bitten　cruel–mouthed　adventuress。　A　nodding　mass　of　lace　and　ceremony。　Love　had　meant　to　him　nothing　but　sawdust　and　cinders。　The　joys　he　had　had　of　it　tasted　insipid　in　the　extreme。　He　marvelled　how　he　could　have　gone　through　with　it　without　yawning。　For　as　he　looked　the　thickness　of　his　blood　melted；　the　ice　turned　to　wine　in　his　veins；　he　heard　the　waters　flowing　and　the　birds　singing；　spring　broke　over　the　hard　wintry　landscape；　his　manhood　woke；　he　grasped　a　sword　in　his　hand；　he　charged　a　more　daring　foe　than　Pole　or　Moor；　he　dived　in　deep　water；　he　saw　the　flower　of　danger　growing　in　a　crevice；　he　stretched　his　hand—in　fact　he　was　rattling　off　one　of　his　most　impassioned　sons　when　the　Princess　addressed　him；　‘Would　you　have　the　goodness　to　pass　the　salt？’

He　blushed　deeply。

‘With　all　the　pleasure　in　the　world；　Madame；’　he　replied；　speaking　French　with　a　perfect　accent。　For；　heaven　be　praised；　he　spoke　the　tongue　as　his　own；　his　mother’s　maid　had　taught　him。　Yet　perhaps　it　would　have　been　better　for　him　had　he　never　learnt　that　tongue；　never　answered　that　voice；　never　followed　the　light　of　those　eyes。。。

The　Princess　continued。　Who　were　those　bumpkins；　she　asked　him；　who　sat　beside　her　with　the　manners　of　stablemen？　What　was　the　nauseating　mixture　they　had　poured　on　her　plate？　Did　the　dogs　eat　at　the　same　table　with　the　men　in　England？　Was　that　figure　of　fun　at　the　end　of　the　table　with　her　hair　rigged　up　like　a　Maypole　（me　une　grande　perche　mal　fagotee）　really　the　Queen？　And　did　the　King　always　slobber　like　that？　And　which　of　those　popinjays　was　George　Villiers？　Though　these　questions　rather　disposed　Orlando　at　first；　they　were　put　with　such　archness　and　drollery　that　he　could　not　help　but　laugh；　and　he　saw　from　the　blank　faces　of　the　pany　that　nobody　understood　a　word；　he　answered　her　as　freely　as　she　asked　him；　speaking；　as　she　did；　in　perfect　French。

Thus　began　an　intimacy　between　the　two　which　soon　became　the　scandal　of　the　Court。

Soon　it　was　observed　Orlando　paid　the　Muscovite　far　more　attention　than　mere　civility　demanded。　He　was　seldom　far　from　her　side；　and　their　conversation；　though　unintelligible　to　the　rest；　was　carried　on　with　such　animation；　provoked　such　blushes　and　laughter；　that　the　dullest　could　guess　the　subject。　Moreover；　the　change　in　Orlando　himself　was　extraordinary。　Nobody　had　ever　seen　him　so　animated。　In　one　night　he　had　thrown　off　his　boyish　clumsiness；　he　was　changed　from　a　sulky　stripling；　who　could　not　enter　a　ladies’　room　without　sweeping　half　the　ornaments　from　the　table；　to　a　nobleman；　full　of　grace　and　manly　courtesy。　To　see　him　hand　the　Muscovite　（as　she　was　called）　to　her　sledge；　or　offer　her　his　hand　for　the　dance；　or　catch　the　spotted　kerchief　which　she　had　let　drop；　or　discharge　any　other　of　those　manifold　duties　which　the　supreme　lady　exacts　and　the　lover　hastens　to　anticipate　was　a　sight　to　kindle　the　dull　eyes　of　age；　and　to　make　the　quick　pulse　of　youth　beat　faster。　Yet　over　it　all　hung　a　cloud。　The　old　men　shrugged　their　shoulders。　The　young　tittered　between　their　fingers。　All　knew　that　a　Orlando　was　betrothed　to　another。　The　Lady　Margaret　O’Brien　O’Dare　O’Reilly　Tyrconnel　（for　that　was　the　proper　name　of　Euphrosyne　of　the　Sons）　wore　Orlando’s　splendid　sapphire　on　the　second　finger　of　her　left　hand。　It　was　she　who　had　the　supreme　right　to　his　attentions。　Yet　she　might　drop　all　the　handkerchiefs　in　her　wardrobe　（of　which　she　had　many　scores）　upon　the　ice　and　Orlando　never　stooped　to　pick　them　up。　She　might　wait　twenty　minutes　for　him　to　hand　her　to　her　sledge；　and　in　the　end　have　to　be　content　with　the　services　of　her　Blackamoor。　When　she　skated；　which　she　did　rather　clumsily；　no　one　was　at　her　elbow　to　encourage　her；　and；　if　she　fell；　which　she　did　rather　heavily；　no　one　raised　her　to　her　feet　and　dusted　the　snow　from　her　petticoats。　Although　she　was　naturally　phlegmatic；　slow　to　take　offence；　and　more　reluctant　than　most　people　to　believe　that　a　mere　foreigner　could　oust　her　from　Orlando’s　affections；　still　even　the　Lady　Margaret　herself　was　brought　at　last　to　suspect　that　something　was　brewing　against　her　peace　of　mind。

Indeed；　as　the　days　passed；　Orlando　took　less　and　less　care　to　hide　his　feelings。　Making　some　excuse　or　other；　he　would　leave　the　pany　as　soon　as　they　had　dined；　or　steal　away　from　the　skaters；　who　were　forming　sets　for　a　quadrille。　Next　moment　it　would　be　seen　that　the　Muscovite　was　missing　too。　But　what　most　outraged　the　Court；　and　stung　it　in　its　tenderest　part；　which　is　its　vanity；　was　that　the　couple　was　often　seen　to　slip　under　the　silken　rope；　which　railed　off　the　Royal　enclosure　from　the　public　part　of　the　river　and　to　disappear　among　the　crowd　of　mon　people。　For　suddenly　the　Princess　would　stamp　her　foot　and　cry；　‘Take　me　away。　I　detest　your　English　mob；’　by　which　she　meant　the　English　Court　itself。　She　could　stand　it　no　longer。　It　was　full　of　prying　old　women；　she　said；　who　stared　in　one’s　face；　and　of　bumptious　young　men　who　trod　on　one’s　toes。　They　smelt　bad。　Their　dogs　ran　between　her　legs。　It　was　like　being　in　a　cage。　In　Russia　they　had　rivers　ten　miles　broad　on　which　one　could　gallop　six　horses　abreast　all　day　long　without　meeting　a　soul。　Besides；　she　wanted　to　see　the　Tower；　the　Beefeaters；　the　Heads　on　Temple　Bar；　and　the　jewellers’　shops　in　the　city。　Thus；　it　came　about　that　Orlando　took　her　into　the　city；　showed　her　the　Beefeaters　and　the　rebels’　heads；　and　bought　her　whatever　took　her　fancy　in　the　Royal　Exchange。　But　this　was　not　enough。　Each　increasingly　desired　the　other’s　pany　in　privacy　all　day　long　where　there　were　none　to　marvel　or　to　stare。　Instead　of　taking　the　road　to　London；　therefore；　they　turned　the　other　way　about　and　were　soon　beyond　the　crowd　among　the　frozen　reaches　of　the　Thames　where；　save　for　sea　birds　and　some　old　country　woman　hacking　at　the　ice　in　a　vain　attempt　to　draw　a　pailful　of　water　or　gathering　what　sticks　or　dead　leaves　she　could　find　for　firing；　not　a　living　soul　ever　came　their　way。　The　poor　kept　closely　to　their　cottages；　and　the　better　sort；　who　could　afford　it；　crowded　for　warmth　and　merriment　to　the　city。

Hence；　Orlando　and　Sasha；　as　he　called　her　for　short；　and　because　it　was　the　name　of　a　white　Russian　fox　he　had　had　as　a　boy—a　creature　soft　as　snow；　but　with　teeth　of　steel；　which　bit　him　so　savagely　that　his　father　had　it　killed—hence；　they　had　the　river　to　themselves。　Hot　with　skating　and　with　love　they　would　throw　themselves　down　in　some　solitary　reach；　where　the　yellow　osiers　fringed　the　bank；　and　wrapped　in　a　great　fur　cloak　Orlando　would　take　her　in　his　arms；　and　know；　for　the　first　time；　he　murmured；　the　delights　of　love。　Then；　when　the　ecstasy　was　over　and　they　lay　lulled　in　a　swoon　on　the　ice；　he　would　tell　her　of　his　other　loves；　and　how；　pared　with　her；　they　had　been　of　wood；　of　sackcloth；　and　of　cinders。　And　laughing　at　his　vehemence；　she　would　turn　once　more　in　his　arms　and　give　him　for　love’s　sake；　one　more　embrace。　And　then　they　would　marvel　that　the　ice　did　not　melt　with　their　heat；　and　pity　the　poor　old　woman　who　had　no　such　natural　means　of　thawing　it；　but　must　hack　at　it　with　a　chopper　of　cold　steel。　And　then；　wrapped　in　their　sables；　they　would　talk　of　everything　under　the　sun；　of　sights　and　travels；　of　Moor　and　Pagan；　of　this　man’s　beard　and　that　woman’s　skin；　of　a　rat　that　fed　from　her　hand　at　table；　of　the　arras　that　moved　always　in　the　hall　at　home；　of　a　face；　of　a　feather。　Nothing　was　too　small　for　such　converse；　nothing　was　too　great。

Then　suddenly；　Orlando　would　fall　into　one　of　his　moods　of　melancholy；　the　sight　of　the　old　woman　hobbling　over　the　ice　might　be　the　cause　of　it；　or　nothing；　and　would　fling　himself　face　downwards　on　the　ice　and　look　into　the　frozen　waters　and　think　of　death。　For　the　philosopher　is　right　who　says　that　nothing　thicker　than　a　knife’s　blade　separates　happiness　from　melancholy；　and　he　goes　on　to　opine　that　one　is　twin　fellow　to　the　other；　and　draws　from　this　the　conclusion　that　all　extremes　of　feeling　are　allied　to　madness；　and　so　bids　us　take　refuge　in　the　true　Church　（in　his　view　the　Anabaptist）；　which　is　the　only　harbour；　port；　anchorage；　etc。；　he　said；　for　those　tossed　on　this　sea。

‘All　ends　in　death；’　Orlando　would　say；　sitting　upright；　his　face　clouded　with　gloom。　（For　that　was　the　way　his　mind　worked　now；　in　violent　see–saws　from　life　to　death；　stopping　at　nothing　in　between；　so　that　the　biographer　must　not　stop　either；　but　must　fly　as　fast　as　he　can　and　so　keep　pace　with　the　unthinking　passionate　foolish　actions　and　sudden　extravagant　words　in　which；　it　is　impossible　to　deny；　Orlando　at　this　time　of　his　life　indulged。）

‘All　ends　in　death；’　Orlando　would　say；　sitting　upright　on　the　ice。　But　Sasha　who　after　all　had　no　English　blood　in　her　but　was　from　Russia　where　the　sunsets　are　longer；　the　dawns　less　sudden；　and　sentences　often　left　unfinished　from　doubt　as　to　how　best　to　end　them—Sasha　stared　at　him；　perhaps　sneered　at　him；　for　he　must　have　seemed　a　child　to　her；　and　said　nothing。　But　at　length　the　ice　grew　cold　beneath　them；　which　she　disliked；　so　pulling　him　to　his　feet　again；　she　talked　so　enchantingly；　so　wittily；　so　wisely　（but　unfortunately　always　in　French；　which　notoriously　loses　its　flavour　in　translation）　that　he　forgot　the　frozen　waters　or　night　ing　or　the　old　woman　or　whatever　it　was；　and　would　try　to　tell　her—plunging　and　splashing　among　a　thousand　images　which　had　gone　as　stale　as　the　women　who　inspired　them—what　she　was　like。　Snow；　cream；　marble；　cherries；　alabaster；　golden　wire？　None　of　these。　She　was　like　a　fox；　or　an　olive　tree；　like　the　waves　of　the　sea　when　you　look　down　upon　them　from　a　height；　like　an　emerald；　like　the　sun　on　a　green　hill　which　is　yet　clouded—like　nothing　he　had　seen　or　known　in　England。　Ransack　the　language　as　he　might；　words　failed　him。　He　wanted　another　landscape；　and　another　tongue。　English　was　too　frank；　too　candid；　too　honeyed　a　spe