奥兰多orlando (英文版)作者:弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙-第17章

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loquent　as　this　all　was；　he　now　tore　it　up　and　threw　it　in　the　dustbin。　‘Fame’；　he　said。　‘is　like’　（and　since　there　was　no　Nick　Greene　to　stop　him；　he　went　on　to　revel　in　images　of　which　we　will　choose　only　one　or　two　of　the　quietest）　‘a　braided　coat　which　hampers　the　limbs；　a　jacket　of　silver　which　curbs　the　heart；　a　painted　shield　which　covers　a　scarecrow；’　etc。　etc。　The　pith　of　his　phrases　was　that　while　fame　impedes　and　constricts；　obscurity　wraps　about　a　man　like　a　mist；　obscurity　is　dark；　ample；　and　free；　obscurity　lets　the　mind　take　its　way　unimpeded。　Over　the　obscure　man　is　poured　the　merciful　suffusion　of　darkness。　None　knows　where　he　goes　or　es。　He　may　seek　the　truth　and　speak　it；　he　alone　is　free；　he　alone　is　truthful；　he　alone　is　at　peace。　And　so　he　sank　into　a　quiet　mood；　under　the　oak　tree；　the　hardness　of　whose　roots；　exposed　above　the　ground；　seemed　to　him　rather　fortable　than　otherwise。

Sunk　for　a　long　time　in　profound　thoughts　as　to　the　value　of　obscurity；　and　the　delight　of　having　no　name；　but　being　like　a　wave　which　returns　to　the　deep　body　of　the　sea；　thinking　how　obscurity　rids　the　mind　of　the　irk　of　envy　and　spite；　how　it　sets　running　in　the　veins　the　free　waters　of　generosity　and　magnanimity；　and　allows　giving　and　taking　without　thanks　offered　or　praise　given；　which　must　have　been　the　way　of　all　great　poets；　he　supposed　（though　his　knowledge　of　Greek　was　not　enough　to　bear　him　out）；　for；　he　thought；　Shakespeare　must　have　written　like　that；　and　the　church　builders　built　like　that；　anonymously；　needing　no　thanking　or　naming；　but　only　their　work　in　the　daytime　and　a　little　ale　perhaps　at　night—’What　an　admirable　life　this　is；’　he　thought；　stretching　his　limbs　out　under　the　oak　tree。　‘And　why　not　enjoy　it　this　very　moment？’　The　thought　struck　him　like　a　bullet。　Ambition　dropped　like　a　plummet。　Rid　of　the　heart–burn　of　rejected　love；　and　of　vanity　rebuked；　and　all　the　other　stings　and　pricks　which　the　tle–bed　of　life　had　burnt　upon　him　when　ambitious　of　fame；　but　could　no　longer　inflict　upon　one　careless　of　glory；　he　opened　his　eyes；　which　had　been　wide　open　all　the　time；　but　had　seen　only　thoughts；　and　saw；　lying　in　the　hollow　beneath　him；　his　house。

There　it　lay　in　the　early　sunshine　of　spring。　It　looked　a　town　rather　than　a　house；　but　a　town　built；　not　hither　and　thither；　as　this　man　wished　or　that；　but　circumspectly；　by　a　single　architect　with　one　idea　in　his　head。　Courts　and　buildings；　grey；　red；　plum　colour；　lay　orderly　and　symmetrical；　the　courts　were　some　of　them　oblong　and　some　square；　in　this　was　a　fountain；　in　that　a　statue；　the　buildings　were　some　of　them　low；　some　pointed；　here　was　a　chapel；　there　a　belfry；　spaces　of　the　greenest　grass　lay　in　between　and　clumps　of　cedar　trees　and　beds　of　bright　flowers；　all　were　clasped—yet　so　well　set　out　was　it　that　it　seemed　that　every　part　had　room　to　spread　itself　fittingly—by　the　roll　of　a　massive　wall；　while　smoke　from　innumerable　chimneys　curled　perpetually　into　the　air。　This　vast；　yet　ordered　building；　which　could　house　a　thousand　men　and　perhaps　two　thousand　horses；　was　built；　Orlando　thought；　by　workmen　whose　names　are　unknown。　Here　have　lived；　for　more　centuries　than　I　can　count；　the　obscure　generations　of　my　own　obscure　family。　Not　one　of　these　Richards；　Johns；　Annes；　Elizabeths　has　left　a　token　of　himself　behind　him；　yet　all；　working　together　with　their　spades　and　their　needles；　their　love–making　and　their　child–bearing；　have　left　this。

Never　had　the　house　looked　more　noble　and　humane。

Why；　then；　had　he　wished　to　raise　himself　above　them？　For　it　seemed　vain　and　arrogant　in　the　extreme　to　try　to　better　that　anonymous　work　of　creation；　the　labours　of　those　vanished　hands。　Better　was　it　to　go　unknown　and　leave　behind　you　an　arch；　a　potting　shed；　a　wall　where　peaches　ripen；　than　to　burn　like　a　meteor　and　leave　no　dust。　For　after　all；　he　said；　kindling　as　he　looked　at　the　great　house　on　the　greensward　below；　the　unknown　lords　and　ladies　who　lived　there　never　forgot　to　set　aside　something　for　those　who　e　after；　for　the　roof　that　will　leak；　for　the　tree　that　will　fall。　There　was　always　a　warm　corner　for　the　old　shepherd　in　the　kitchen；　always　food　for　the　hungry；　always　their　goblets　were　polished；　though　they　lay　sick；　and　their　windows　were　lit　though　they　lay　dying。　Lords　though　they　were；　they　were　content　to　go　down　into　obscurity　with　the　molecatcher　and　the　stone–mason。　Obscure　noblemen；　forgotten　builders—thus　he　apostrophized　them　with　a　warmth　that　entirely　gainsaid　such　critics　as　called　him　cold；　indifferent；　slothful　（the　truth　being　that　a　quality　often　lies　just　on　the　other　side　of　the　wall　from　where　we　seek　it）—thus　he　apostrophized　his　house　and　race　in　terms　of　the　most　moving　eloquence；　but　when　it　came　to　the　peroration—and　what　is　eloquence　that　lacks　a　peroration？—he　fumbled。　He　would　have　liked　to　have　ended　with　a　flourish　to　the　effect　that　he　would　follow　in　their　footsteps　and　add　another　stone　to　their　building。　Since；　however；　the　building　already　covered　nine　acres；　to　add　even　a　single　stone　seemed　superfluous。　Could　one　mention　furniture　in　a　peroration？　Could　one　speak　of　chairs　and　tables　and　mats　to　lie　beside　people’s　beds？　For　whatever　the　peroration　wanted；　that　was　what　the　house　stood　in　need　of。　Leaving　his　speech　unfinished　for　the　moment；　he　strode　down　hill　again　resolved　henceforward　to　devote　himself　to　the　furnishing　of　the　mansion。　The　news—that　she　was　to　attend　him　instantly—brought　tears　to　the　eyes　of　good　old　Mrs　Grimsditch；　now　grown　somewhat　old。　Together　they　perambulated　the　house。

The　towel　horse　in　the　King’s　bedroom　（’and　that　was　King　Jamie；　my　Lord；’　she　said；　hinting　that　it　was　many　a　day　since　a　King　had　slept　under　their　roof；　but　the　odious　Parliament　days　were　over　and　there　was　now　a　Crown　in　England　again）　lacked　a　leg；　there　were　no　stands　to　the　ewers　in　the　little　closet　leading　into　the　waiting　room　of　the　Duchess’s　page；　Mr　Greene　had　made　a　stain　on　the　carpet　with　his　nasty　pipe　smoking；　which　she　and　Judy；　for　all　their　scrubbing；　had　never　been　able　to　wash　out。　Indeed；　when　Orlando　came　to　reckon　up　the　matter　of　furnishing　with　rosewood　chairs　and　cedar–wood　cabis；　with　silver　basins；　china　bowls；　and　Persian　carpets；　every　one　of　the　three　hundred　and　sixty–five　bedrooms　which　the　house　contained；　he　saw　that　it　would　be　no　light　one；　and　if　some　thousands　of　pounds　of　his　estate　remained　over；　these　would　do　little　more　than　hang　a　few　galleries　with　tapestry；　set　the　dining　hall　with　fine；　carved　chairs　and　provide　mirrors　of　solid　silver　and　chairs　of　the　same　metal　（for　which　he　had　an　inordinate　passion）　for　the　furnishing　of　the　royal　bedchambers。

He　now　set　to　work　in　earnest；　as　we　can　prove　beyond　a　doubt　if　we　look　at　his　ledgers。　Let　us　glance　at　an　inventory　of　what　he　bought　at　this　time；　with　the　expenses　totted　up　in　the　margin—but　these　we　omit。

‘To　fifty　pairs　of　Spanish　blankets；　ditto　curtains　of　crimson　and　white　taffeta；　the　valence　to　them　of　white　satin　embroidered　with　crimson　and　white　silk。。。

‘To　seventy　yellow　satin　chairs　and　sixty　stools；　suitable　with　their　buckram　covers　to　them　all。。。

‘To　sixty　seven　walnut　tree　tables。。。

‘To　seventeen　dozen　boxes　containing　each　dozen　five　dozen　of　Venice　glasses。。。

‘To　one　hundred　and　two　mats；　each　thirty　yards　long。。。

‘To　niy　seven　cushions　of　crimson　damask　laid　with　silver　parchment　lace　and　footstools　of　cloth　of　tissue　and　chairs　suitable。。。

‘To　fifty　branches　for　a　dozen　lights　apiece。。。’

Already—it　is　an　effect　lists　have　upon　us—we　are　beginning　to　yawn。　But　if　we　stop；　it　is　only　that　the　catalogue　is　tedious；　not　that　it　is　finished。　There　are　niy–nine　pages　more　of　it　and　the　total　sum　disbursed　ran　into　many　thousands—that　is　to　say　millions　of　our　money。　And　if　his　day　was　spent　like　this；　at　night　again；　Lord　Orlando　might　be　found　reckoning　out　what　it　would　cost　to　level　a　million　molehills；　if　the　men　were　paid　tenpence　an　hour；　and　again；　how　many　hundredweight　of　nails　at　fivepence　halfpenny　a　gill　were　needed　to　repair　the　fence　round　the　park；　which　was　fifteen　miles　in　circumference。　And　so　on　and　so　on。