520美书楼

手机浏览器扫描二维码访问

第34部分(第1页)

rt of her dress burst open; and out upon the table fell ‘The Oak Tree’; a poem。

‘A manuscript!’ said Sir Nicholas; putting on his gold pince–nez。 ‘How interesting; how excessively interesting! Permit me to look at it。’ And once more; after an interval of some three hundred years; Nicholas Greene took Orlando’s poem and; laying it down among the coffee cups and the liqueur glasses; began to read it。 But now his verdict was very different from what it had been then。 It reminded him; he said as he turned over the pages; of Addison’s “Cato”。 It pared favourably with Thomson’s “Seasons”。 There was no trace in it; he was thankful to say; of the modern spirit。 It was posed with a regard to truth; to nature; to the dictates of the human heart; which was rare indeed; in these days of unscrupulous eccentricity。 It must; of course; be published instantly。

Really Orlando did not know what he meant。 She had always carried her manuscripts about with her in the bosom of her dress。 The idea tickled Sir Nicholas considerably。

‘But what about royalties?’ he asked。

Orlando’s mind flew to Buckingham Palace and some dusky potentates who happened to be staying there。

Sir Nicholas was highly diverted。 He explained that he was alluding to the fact that Messrs — (here he mentioned a well–known firm of publishers) would be delighted; if he wrote them a line; to put the book on their list。 He could probably arrange for a royalty of ten per cent on all copies up to two thousand; after that it would be fifteen。 As for the reviewers; he would himself write a line to Mr —; who was the most influential; then a pliment—say a little puff of her own poems—addressed to the wife of the editor of the — never did any harm。 He would call —。 So he ran on。 Orlando understood nothing of all this; and from old experience did not altogether trust his good nature; but there was nothing for it but to submit to what was evidently his wish and the fervent desire of the poem itself。 So Sir Nicholas made the blood–stained packet into a neat parcel; flattened it into his breast pocket; lest it should disturb the set of his coat; and with many pliments on both sides; they parted。

Orlando walked up the street。 Now that the poem was gone;—and she felt a bare place in her breast where she had been used to carry it—she had nothing to do but reflect upon whatever she liked—the extraordinary chances it might be of the human lot。 Here she was in St James’s Street; a married woman; with a ring on her finger; where there had been a coffee house once there was now a restaurant; it was about half past three in the afternoon; the sun was shining; there were three pigeons; a mongrel terrier dog; two hansom cabs and a barouche landau。 What then; was Life? The thought popped into her head violently; irrelevantly (unless old Greene were somehow the cause of it)。 And it may be taken as a ment; adverse or favourable; as the reader chooses to consider it upon her relations with her husband (who was at the Horn); that whenever anything popped violently into her head; she went straight to the nearest telegraph office and wired to him。 There was one; as it happened; close at hand。 ‘My God Shel’; she wired; ‘life literature Greene toady—’ here she dropped into a cypher language which they had invented between them so that a whole spiritual state of the utmost plexity might be conveyed in a word or two without the telegraph clerk being any wiser; and added the words ‘Rattigan Glumphoboo’; which summed it up precisely。 For not only had the events of the morning made a deep impression on her; but it cannot have escaped the reader’s attention that Orlando was growing up—which is not necessarily growing better—and ‘Rattigan Glumphoboo’ described a very plicated spiritual state—which if the reader puts all his intelligence at our service he may discover for himself。

There could be no answer to her telegram for some hours; indeed; it was probable; she thought; glancing at the sky; where the upper clouds raced swiftly past; that there was a gale at Cape Horn; so that her husband would be at the mast–head; as likely as not; or cutting away some tattered spar; or even alone in a boat with a biscuit。 And so; leaving the post office; she turned to beguile herself into the next shop; which was a shop so mon in our day that it needs no description; yet; to her eyes; strange in the extreme; a shop where they sold books。 All her life long Orlando had known manuscripts; she had held in her hands the rough brown sheets on which Spenser had written in his little crabbed hand; she had seen Shakespeare’s script and Milton’s。 She owned; indeed; a fair number of quartos and folios; often with a son in her praise in them and sometimes a lock of hair。 But these innumerable little volumes; bright; identical; ephemeral; for they seemed bound in cardboard and printed on tissue paper; surprised her infinitely。 The whole works of Shakespeare cost half a crown; and could be put in your pocket。 One could hardly read them; indeed; the print was so small; but it was a marvel; none the less。 ‘Works’—the works of every writer she had known or heard of and many more stretched from end to end of the long shelves。 On tables and chairs; more ‘works’ were piled and tumbled; and these she saw; turning a page or two; were often works about other works by Sir Nicholas and a score of others whom; in her ignorance; she supposed; since they were bound and printed; to be very great writers too。 So she gave an astounding order to the bookseller to send her everything of any importance in the shop and left。

She turned into Hyde Park; which she had known of old (beneath that cleft tree; she remembered; the Duke of Hamilton fell run through the body by Lord Mohun); and her lips; which are often to blame in the matter; began framing the words of her telegram into a senseless singsong; life literature Greene toady Rattigan Glumphoboo; so that several park keepers looked at her with suspicion and were only brought to a favourable opinion of her sanity by noticing the pearl necklace which she wore。 She had carried off a sheaf of papers and critical journals from the book shop; and at length; flinging herself on her elbow beneath a tree; she spread these pages round her and did her best to fathom the noble art of prose position as these masters practised it。 For still the old credulity was alive in her; even the blurred type of a weekly newspaper had some sanctity in her eyes。 So she read; lying on her elbow; an article by Sir Nicholas on the collected works of a man she had once known—John Donne。 But she had pitched herself; without knowing it; not far from the Serpentine。 The barking of a thousand dogs sounded in her ears。 Carriage wheels rushed ceaselessly in a circle。 Leaves sighed overhead。 Now and again a braided skirt and a pair of tight scarlet trousers crossed the grass within a few steps of her。 Once a gigantic rubber ball bounced on the newspaper。 Violets; oranges; reds; and blues broke through the interstices of the leaves and sparkled in the emerald on her finger。 She read a sentence and looked up at the sky; she looked up at the sky and looked down at the newspaper。 Life? Literature? One to be made into the other? But how monstrously difficult! For—here came by a pair of tight scarlet trousers—how would Addison have put that? Here came two dogs dancing on their hind legs。 How would Lamb have described that? For reading Sir Nicholas and his friends (as she did in the intervals of looking about her); she somehow got the impression—here she rose and walked—they made one feel—it was an extremely unfortable feeling—one must never; never say what one thought。 (She stood on the banks of the Serpentine。 It was a bronze colour; spider–thin boats were skimming from side to side。) They made one feel; she continued; that one must always; always write like somebody else。 (The tears formed themselves in her eyes。) For really; she thought; pushing a little boat off with her toe; I don’t think I could (here the whole of Sir Nicholas’ article came before her as articles do; ten minutes after they are read; with the look of his room; his head; his cat; his writing–table; and the time of the day thrown in); I don’t think I could; she continued; considering the article from this point of view; sit in a study; no; it’s not a study; it’s a mouldy kind of drawing–room; all day long; and talk to pretty young men; and tell them little anecdotes; which they mustn’t repeat; about what Tupper said about Smiles; and then; she continued; weeping bitterly; they’re all so manly; and then; I do detest Duchesses; and I don’t like cake; and though I’m spiteful enough; I could never learn to be as spiteful as all that; so how can I be a critic and write the best English prose of my time? Damn it all! she exclaimed; launching a penny steamer so vigorously that the poor little boat almost sank in the bronze–coloured waves。

Now; the truth is that when one has been in a state of mind (as nurses call it)—and the tears still stood in Orlando’s eyes—the thing one is looking at bees; not itself; but another thing; which is bigger and much more important and yet remains the same thing。 If one looks at the Serpentine in this state of mind; the waves soon bee just as big as the waves on the Atlantic; the toy boats bee indistinguishable from ocean liners。 So Orlando mistook the toy boat for her husband’s brig; and the wave she had made with her toe for a mountain of water off Cape Horn; and as she watched the toy boat climb the ripple; she thought she saw Bonthrop’s ship climb up and up a glassy wall; up and up it went; and a white crest with a thousand deaths in it arched over it; and through the thousand deaths it went and disappeared—’It’s sunk!’ she cried out in an agony—and then; behold; there it was again sailing along safe and sound among the ducks on the other side of the Atlantic。

‘Ecstasy!’ she cried。 ‘Ecstasy! Where’s the post office?’ she wondered。 ‘For I must wire at once to Shel and tell him。。。’ And repeating ‘A toy boat on the Serpentine’; and ‘Ecstasy’; alternately; for the thoughts were interchangeable and meant exactly the same thing; she hurried towards Park Lane。

‘A toy boat; a toy boat; a toy boat;’ she repeated; thus enforcing upon herself the fact that it is not articles by Nick Greene on John Donne nor eight–hour bills nor covenants nor factory acts that matter; it’s something useless; sudden; violent; something that costs a life; red; blue; purple; a spirit; a splash; like those hyacinths (she was passing a fine bed of them); free from taint; dependence; soilure of humanity or care for one’s kind; something rash; ridiculous; like my hyacinth; husband I mean; Bonthrop: that’s what it is—a toy boat on the Serpentine; ecstasy—it’s ecstasy that matters。 Thus she spoke aloud; waiting for the carriages to pass at Stanhope Gate; for the consequence of not living with one’s husband; except when the wind is sunk; is that one talks nonsense aloud in Park Lane。 It would no doubt have been different had she lived all the year round with him as Queen Victoria remended。 As it was the thought of him would e upon her in a flash。 She found it absolutely necessary to spea

我的苦难我的大学  演讲论辩技巧  东北黑旋风  草包英雄  双子变变变  现在,发现你的优势  丛林战争  生活要懂点博弈学 作 者: 王宇  亮剑精神  梨园往事  女性经理人打造术:跟王熙凤学管理  江泽民  民国演义  血色使命  红色之翼  五胡烽火录  在中国做事(全文阅读) - 黄夏君  销售人员职业教程  要塞-中世纪领主  冷血悍将  

热门小说推荐
我不想逆天啊

我不想逆天啊

我林凡成为富家子弟,必须得享受。修炼?不现实的事情。最多加加点。阅读此书可能带来不适,此书已经注满正能量。全订验证群532355835逆天书普通群534442331...

飞剑问道

飞剑问道

在这个世界,有狐仙河神水怪大妖,也有求长生的修行者。修行者们,开法眼,可看妖魔鬼怪。炼一口飞剑,可千里杀敌。千里眼顺风耳,更可探查四方。秦府二公子‘秦云’,便是一位修行者...

时空冒险传奇

时空冒险传奇

我是空间的旅人,时间的行者我追逐真理,寻觅起源我行走诸天,求真万界我是传道者,亦是冒险家。另外,我真的很凶,超凶(看封面)!声明1本书尽量走合理认知世界的路线,有自己的观点设定,不喜勿扰!声明2本书中的内容并不真科学,并不全合理,因为没有实际基础,纯属作者菌的蘑菇想法,作者也写不出全无bug的小说。...

天美地艳男人是山

天美地艳男人是山

从农村考入大学的庾明毕业后因为成了老厂长的乘龙快婿,后随老厂长进京,成为中央某部后备干部,并被下派到蓟原市任市长。然而,官运亨通的他因为妻子的奸情发生了婚变,蓟原市急欲接班当权的少壮派势力以为他没有了后台,便扯住其年轻恋爱时与恋人的越轨行为作文章,将其赶下台,多亏老省长爱惜人才,推荐其参加跨国合资公司总裁竞聘,才东山再起然而,仕途一旦顺风,官运一发不可收拾由于庾明联合地方政府开展棚户区改造工程受到了中央领导和老百姓的赞誉。在省代会上,他又被推举到了省长的重要岗位。一介平民跃升为省长...

师娘,借个火(师娘,别玩火)

师娘,借个火(师娘,别玩火)

师父死了,留下美艳师娘,一堆的人打主意,李福根要怎么才能保住师娘呢?...

特种高手

特种高手

(都市热血小说)叶龙曾是世界上公认的文武奇才,所到之处,再强大的敌人也得望风而逃。然而,就是这样的叱咤风云人物却突然放弃耀眼光环,回到灯红酒绿的都市保护大小姐!他性格冷酷张狂,为达到目的不择手段!凭借惊人的本能和超人的智力,在繁华的天骄市上演一场激情四射的热血人生!PS本书读者群128492045(豆丹家族)...

每日热搜小说推荐