达洛维夫人(外研社双语读库)(txt+pdf+epub+mobi电子书下载)

作者:Virginia Woolf 弗吉尼亚·伍尔夫

出版社:外语教学与研究出版社

格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT

达洛维夫人(外研社双语读库)

达洛维夫人(外研社双语读库)试读:

Mrs. Dalloway达洛维夫人

Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.

达洛维夫人说她要亲自去买些花。

For Lucy had her work cut out for her. The doors would be taken off their hinges; umpelmayer's men were coming. And then, thought Clarissa Dalloway, what a morning—fresh as if issued to children on a beach.

因为露西已有一份合适的工作要做。要把门从铰链上卸下来;昂伯尔梅尔公司的人就要到了。然后,克拉丽莎·达洛维思忖,多惬意的早晨啊——空气清新得仿佛是特意送给海滩上的孩子们似的。

What a lark! What a plunge! For so it had always seemed to her, when, with a little squeak of the hinges, which she could hear now, she had burst open the French windows and plunged at Bourton into the open air. How fresh, how calm, stiller than this of course, the air was in the early morning; like the flap of a wave; the kiss of a wave; chill and sharp and yet (for a girl of eighteen as she then was) solemn, feeling as she did, standing there at the open window, that something awful was about to happen; looking at the flowers, at the trees with the smoke winding off them and the rooks rising, falling; standing and looking until Peter Walsh said, "Musing among the vegetables?"—was that it?—"I prefer men to cauliflowers"—was that it? He must have said it at breakfast one morning when she had gone out on to the terrace—Peter Walsh. He would be back from India one of these days, June or July, she forgot which, for his letters were awfully dull; it was his sayings one remembered; his eyes, his pocket-knife, his smile, his grumpiness and, when millions of things had utterly vanished—how strange it was!—a few sayings like this about cabbages.

多么动听的百灵!多么迅疾的举动!对她来说过去似乎总是这样,随着合叶轻微的吱吱声,这声音她现在也能听到,她会突然打开落地窗,扎到伯顿的户外。那里清晨的空气多清新、多宁静,自然比眼前的更静谧,宛如浪涛拍打,又像浪花亲吻,冰冷刺骨却又(对当时她这样芳龄十八的姑娘来说)显得肃穆,那时她对着敞开的窗伫立着,预感到某种可怕的事即将发生。她赏着花,凝视着雾霭缭绕的树丛和飞起飞落的白嘴鸭,这样站着凝视着直到听见彼得·沃尔什说:“在蔬菜中冥想吗?”——说了那样的话吗?“我喜欢人胜过花椰菜”——说了那样的话吗?他——彼得·沃尔什一定在一天早晨吃早餐时说了那样的话,那时她已走到外面的阳台了。近日他会从印度归来,是六月还是七月,她忘了,因为他写的信异常乏味。他的话她倒记得。他的双眼、他的折叠刀、他的微笑、他的暴躁,千百万件往事都已如烟消散——真怪!几句如此有关卷心菜的话却浮现出来。

She stiffened a little on the kerb, waiting for Durtnall's van to pass. A charming woman, Scrope Purvis thought her (knowing her as one does know people who live next door to one in Westminster); a touch of the bird about her, of the jay, blue-green, light, vivacious, though she was over fifty, and grown very white since her illness. There she perched, never seeing him, waiting to cross, very upright.

她站在马路边上的一个大石头旁,稍微挺了挺身子,等达特奈尔公司的运货车开过。真是个迷人的女人,斯克罗普·珀维斯这样认为(他熟悉她就如你了解住在威斯敏斯特区隔壁的人那样)。她有一点鸟的特性,犹如松鸦,青绿、轻快、活泼,尽管她已五十有余,并且患病以来愈显苍白。她倚在马路边上,压根儿没看到他,直立着身子,等着过街。

For having lived in Westminster—how many years now? over twenty,—one feels even in the midst of the traffic, or waking at night, Clarissa was positive, a particular hush, or solemnity; an indescribable pause; a suspense (but that might be her heart, affected, they said, by influenza) before Big Ben strikes. There! Out it boomed. First a warning, musical; then the hour, irrevocable. The leaden circles dissolved in the air. Such fools we are, she thought, crossing Victoria Street. For Heaven only knows why one loves it so, how one sees it so, making it up, building it round one, tumbling it, creating it every moment afresh; but the veriest frumps, the most dejected of miseries sitting on doorsteps (drink their downfall) do the same; can't be dealt with, she felt positive, by Acts of Parliament for that very reason: they love life. In people's eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.

在威斯敏斯特区住了——到如今多少年?有二十几年吧——克拉丽莎可以肯定,即使置身于川流不息的大街,亦或夜晚梦醒,你都会觉察出一种特有的静谧,或是肃穆;一种难以名状的停滞;大本钟敲响之前的心神不宁(不过他们说,那或许是由于她的心脏受了流感的影响)。听啊!钟声隆隆地响起来了。开始是预报,悦耳动听;接着是报时,精确无误。如铅般沉重的音波在空气中渐渐消逝。她一边穿过维多利亚大街,一边思忖,我们真是大笨蛋。因为只有天晓得为何人如此热爱生活,怎样看待生活,为之精心构思,围绕自己来构建生活,又将其推翻,每时每刻都在刷新重建;但是即便衣着过时之极的老顽固,坐在门阶上异常懊丧苦恼之辈(酗酒致使他们潦倒)也这般看待生活;她毫不怀疑,正是由于那个原因,即使是议会法案也无可奈何:人们就是热爱生活。在人们眼里,在轻盈的、沉重的、艰难的步履中,在吼叫和喧嚣里,在四轮马车、汽车、公共汽车、有蓬货车、胸前身后都挂有广告牌的脚步沉重、摇摇摆摆的广告员中,铜管乐队,手摇风琴,在庆功的欢呼声和铃儿的叮当声以及头顶上空飞机奇怪的高歌声中,有她热爱的事物。生活、伦敦、这六月的时刻。

For it was the middle of June. The War was over, except for some one like Mrs. Foxcroft at the Embassy last night eating her heart out because that nice boy was killed and now the old Manor House must go to a cousin; or Lady Bexborough who opened a bazaar, they said, with the telegram in her hand, John, her favourite, killed; but it was over; thank Heaven—over. It was June. The King and Queen were at the Palace. And everywhere, though it was still so early, there was a beating, a stirring of galloping ponies, tapping of cricket bats; Lords, Ascot, Ranelagh and all the rest of it; wrapped in the soft mesh of the grey-blue morning air, which, as the day wore on, would unwind them, and set down on their lawns and pitches the bouncing ponies, whose forefeet just struck the ground and up they sprung, the whirling young men, and laughing girls in their transparent muslins who, even now, after dancing all night, were taking their absurd woolly dogs for a run; and even now, at this hour, discreet old dowagers were shooting out in their motor cars on errands of mystery; and the shopkeepers were fidgeting in their windows with their paste and diamonds, their lovely old sea-green brooches in eighteenth-century settings to tempt Americans (but one must economise, not buy things rashly for Elizabeth), and she, too, loving it as she did with an absurd and faithful passion, being part of it, since her people were courtiers once in the time of the Georges, she, too, was going that very night to kindle and illuminate; to give her party. But how strange, on entering the Park, the silence; the mist; the hum; the slow-swimming happy ducks; the pouched birds waddling; and who should be coming along with his back against the Government buildings, most appropriately, carrying a despatch box stamped with the Royal Arms, who but Hugh Whitbread; her old friend Hugh—the admirable Hugh!

因为时值六月中旬。战事停止了,除了如福克斯克罗夫特夫人一样的人以外,昨晚她在大使馆悲痛欲绝,她的好儿子战死了,如今那座古老的庄园只好归于她侄子名下;还有贝克斯伯勒女士,人们说她主持义卖开幕时,手中还握着电报,通知她最疼的儿子约翰阵亡了。不过战事停止了,感谢主——都停止了。时值六月。国王与王后都待在宫中。虽然时间尚早,四处已响起了有节奏的运动声、马驹奔跑的嗒嗒声、板球拍的轻叩声。洛兹板球场、爱斯科赛马场、拉内拉赫高尔夫俱乐部等所有娱乐场都淹没在柔软的类似网状的蓝灰色晨雾里。当白天一分一秒过去,雾渐消散,欢快的马驹会跑到娱乐场的草地与球场上,前蹄刚着地旋即一跃而起。还有转着圈的小伙子,笑容满面、身着透明纱衫的姑娘,即便此时,彻夜跳舞以后,还带上他们荒诞的毛茸茸的狗出来溜溜。而且即使现在,这样的时刻,那些谨慎的韶华已逝的遗孀们也上了汽车,急急忙忙投身于神秘的差使。店主们正手忙脚乱地在橱窗里摆放人造宝石和钻石,那美丽的古色古香的海绿色胸针镶在十八世纪样式的底座上诱使美国佬来买(但是一定要节俭,不要轻易给伊丽莎白买饰品)。她自己也喜爱这些珠宝,似乎怀着一种荒诞又虔诚的情感,因为她就是其中的一份子,她的先辈曾经是乔治时代的廷臣,她这个晚上也要闪亮辉煌地登场;参加她的聚会。可是一走进公园,那静谧是多么奇怪啊!那薄雾,那嗡嗡声,那悠然游走的欢快的鸭子,那步态摇摆的长有袋囊的鸟,那个迎面而来的人该是谁呢?他身后是政府大楼,完全没错,携带一个盖着皇室纹章的公文派送箱,正是休·惠特布雷德;她的故交休——可敬的休!

"Good morning to you, Clarissa!" said Hugh, rather extravagantly, for they had known each other as children. "Where are you off to?"“早安,克拉丽莎!”休煞有介事地问候道,因为他俩儿时便相识了。“你要动身去哪里?”

"I love walking in London," said Mrs. Dalloway. "Really it's better than walking in the country."“我喜欢在伦敦步行。”达洛维夫人回答,“的确这胜过在乡村小路上溜达哩。”

They had just come up—unfortunately—to see doctors. Other people came to see pictures; go to the opera; take their daughters out; the Whitbreads came "to see doctors."Times without number Clarissa had visited Evelyn Whitbread in a nursing home. Was Evelyn ill again? Evelyn was a good deal out of sorts, said Hugh, intimating by a kind of pout or swell of his very well-covered, manly, extremely handsome, perfectly upholstered body (he was almost too well dressed always, but presumably had to be, with his little job at Court) that his wife had some internal ailment, nothing serious, which, as an old friend, Clarissa Dalloway would quite understand without requiring him to specify. Ah yes, she did of course; what a nuisance; and felt very sisterly and oddly conscious at the same time of her hat. Not the right hat for the early morning, was that it? For Hugh always made her feel, as he bustled on, raising his hat rather extravagantly and assuring her that she might be a girl of eighteen, and of course he was coming to her party tonight, Evelyn absolutely insisted, only a little late he might be after the party at the Palace to which he had to take one of Jim's boys,—she always felt a little skimpy beside Hugh; schoolgirlish; but attached to him, partly from having known him always, but she did think him a good sort in his own way, though Richard was nearly driven mad by him, and as for Peter Walsh, he had never to this day forgiven her for liking him.

他们刚来伦敦——真遗憾——却是来寻医的。其他人到伦敦是想看电影,赏歌剧,把女儿带来开眼界,惠特布雷德一家却是来“看大夫”。克拉丽莎曾多次去护理院探望伊夫琳·惠特布雷德。难道伊夫琳又生病了?伊夫琳身体很不舒服,休说道,一边撅着嘴,挺着穿着考究、透着男子汉气概、英俊非凡、包装极好的身躯(他向来总是过分讲究穿着,不过想想也只能这样,他在宫里有份小差使),暗示他的夫人只得了点内科病,没什么大不了,作为故交,克拉丽莎·达洛维十分了解这些,而无需他具体阐明。噢不错,她确实了解,这病真烦人。一股姐妹般的情愫油然而生,于此同时她又古灵精怪地注意到自己的帽子。大清早的戴这个帽子不合适,是吧?因为休忙着往前走时,颇为一本正经地向上抬了抬他的帽子,让她总觉得自己像是年方十八的姑娘,另外她今晚的聚会他也肯定会来,这是伊夫琳强烈要求的,只是可能会晚些到,他必须先带上吉姆的一个儿子参加宫廷宴会。和休在一起她总觉得自己有点不像样子,像个中学生。但是又依恋他,一是由于他俩早就相识,而且她的确认为休自有他好的地方,尽管理查德差点被他逼疯了,至于彼得·沃尔什,至今也没有宽恕她对休的爱。

She could remember scene after scene at Bourton—Peter furious; Hugh not, of course, his match in any way, but still not a positive imbecile as Peter made out; not a mere barber's block. When his old mother wanted him to give up shooting or to take her to Bath he did it, without a word; he was really unselfish, and as for saying, as Peter did, that he had no heart, no brain, nothing but the manners and breeding of an English gentleman, that was only her dear Peter at his worst; and he could be intolerable; he could be impossible; but adorable to walk with on a morning like this.

伯顿的情景一幕接一幕浮现在她脑际——彼得暴跳如雷;当然,休无论如何也无法和他比,但也决非彼得声称的一个十足的傻瓜,不纯粹是理发师的木制假头。在他年迈的母亲希望他停止打猎或是把她带到巴斯去时,他没说半个不字就那么做了,他确实一点也不自私。至于彼得所讲的,休冷酷无情、没有头脑,有的仅仅是英国绅士的礼节与教养,这仅是她心爱的彼得心情极糟时的言语。他可能会让人无法容忍,使人难以相处,然而如此这般早晨跟他一起走走却是非常惬意的。

(June had drawn out every leaf on the trees. The mothers of Pimlico gave suck to their young. Messages were passing from the Fleet to the Admiralty. Arlington Street and Piccadilly seemed to chafe the very air in the Park and lift its leaves hotly, brilliantly, on waves of that divine vitality which Clarissa loved. To dance, to ride, she had adored all that.)(六月里树木枝繁叶茂。皮姆利科的慈母们在给小孩喂奶。时不时有讯息从舰队街传到海军部。繁华的阿灵顿街和皮卡迪利大街仿佛使公园里热气蒸腾,绚烂的树叶翻飞在活力充沛的气浪上,克拉丽莎深爱这神圣的生命力。跳舞啊,骑马啊,她都喜欢。)

For they might be parted for hundreds of years, she and Peter; she never wrote a letter and his were dry sticks;but suddenly it would come over her. If he were with me now what would he say?—some days, some sights bringing him back to her calmly, without the old bitterness; which perhaps was the reward of having cared for people; they came back in the middle of St. James's Park on a fine morning—indeed they did. But Peter—however beautiful the day might be, and the trees and the grass, and the little girl in pink—Peter never saw a thing of all that. He would put on his spectacles, if she told him to; he would look. It was the state of the world that interested him; Wagner, Pope's poetry, people's characters eternally, and the defects of her own soul. How he scolded her! How they argued! She would marry a Prime Minister and stand at the top of a staircase; the perfect hostess he called her (she had cried over it in her bedroom), she had the makings of the perfect hostess, he said.

他俩素未谋面也许好几百年了,彼得与她;她从未给他写信,而他的来信也写得干瘪枯燥;但是她冷不防会想起,若此时他在她身边他会说些什么呢?——某些日子、某些情景会让她静静地想起他,昔日的怨尤不复存在,这大概是对关心照顾别人的回报;她又想起一个明媚的早晨,他俩回到圣詹姆斯公园中央的情景——事实也如此。然而彼得——不论日子多么美好,树丛和草地、以及身穿粉红衣衫的小姑娘多么赏心悦目——彼得全都视若无睹。他会戴上眼镜的,要是她吩咐的话;他会瞅瞅。他关注的是世界形势,瓦格纳的音乐,蒲伯的诗,人类永恒的特性,以及她自身灵魂的缺陷。他是那样地斥责她!他俩是那样地争辩!他说她将嫁给首相并伫立在楼梯顶层;他称呼她为完美女主人(她曾在卧室为此哭泣),他说她天生就具有成为完美女主人的潜质。

So she would still find herself arguing in St. James's Park, still making out that she had been right—and she had too—not to marry him. For in marriage a little licence, a little independence there must be between people living together day in day out in the same house; which Richard gave her, and she him. (Where was he this morning for instance? Some committee, she never asked what.) But with Peter everything had to be shared; everything gone into. And it was intolerable, and when it came to that scene in the little garden by the fountain, she had to break with him or they would have been destroyed, both of them ruined, she was convinced; though she had borne about with her for years like an arrow sticking in her heart the grief, the anguish; and then the horror of the moment when some one told her at a concert that he had married a woman met on the boat going to India! Never should she forget all that! Cold, heartless, a prude, he called her. Never could she understand how he cared. But those Indian women did presumably—silly, pretty, flimsy nincompoops. And she wasted her pity. For he was quite happy, he assured her—perfectly happy, though he had never done a thing that they talked of; his whole life had been a failure. It made her angry still.

于是她觉得自己还是在圣詹姆斯公园争辩着,还是声称她一直都没错——她也的确没错——没有嫁给他。因为在婚姻这张小小的证书里,同一个屋子天天相伴的夫妇一定要有小小的自主权;理查德给了她这种权利,她也满足了他。(例如他今儿早上去哪了?去某个委员会吧,她从来不问。)可彼得却要分享她的每件事情,而且都要知根知底。真让人无法容忍,而出现了那小巧的花园喷泉旁的场面后,她不得不与他断绝关系,不然他俩都要毁灭,双方都会崩溃,她毫不怀疑;尽管如此,她蒙受了多年如箭穿心的悲戚与苦痛;继而是那恐怖的一刻,有人在一次音乐会上向她透露,彼得已同在去往印度船上结识的一个女人结婚了!这一切她永不会忘却!冷漠、没心没肺、假正经,他如此责怪她。她永远不能明白他百般的关怀。不过那些印度女人可能明白——那傻傻的、俊俏的、娇弱的蠢货们。而她是在浪费自己的同情。因为他要她相信他过得很幸福——非常幸福,即使没做过一件他俩讨论过的事;他整个人生是个失败。这令她更加愤怒。

She had reached the Park gates. She stood for a moment, looking at the omnibuses in Piccadilly.

她已走到公园门口了。她站了一会儿,注视着皮卡迪利大街上穿梭的公共汽车。

She would not say of any one in the world now that they were this or were that. She felt very young; at the same time unspeakably aged. She sliced like a knife through everything; at the same time was outside, looking on. She had a perpetual sense, as she watched the taxi cabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day. Not that she thought herself clever, or much out of the ordinary. How she had got through life on the few twigs of knowledge Fraulein Daniels gave them she could not think. She knew nothing; no language, no history; she scarcely read a book now, except memoirs in bed; and yet to her it was absolutely absorbing; all this; the cabs passing; and she would not say of Peter, she would not say of herself, I am this, I am that.

如今她不想谈论世上任何人这样那样的是非。她觉得她十分青春,然而又无法形容地衰老。她就像刀一样切入每件事物,却又置身事外、袖手旁观。她观察着来往的出租马车,内心总有一种自己是远远地、远远地独自在海边的感觉;她总觉得即使活上一天也非常、非常危险。倒不是她认为自己聪敏或是不同凡响。她想不明白她是怎样用丹尼尔斯小姐传授的这点浅薄的学识生活下来的。她一无所知,不懂语言,不晓历史。除了在床上看看自传,她现在几乎不看书。可是对她来说有致命吸引力的是眼下的事物,这一切,穿梭的出租马车。她不想谈论彼得,她也不愿意谈论自己,说自己这样或者那样。

Her only gift was knowing people almost by instinct, she thought, walking on. If you put her in a room with some one, up went her back like a cat's; or she purred. Devonshire House, Bath House, the house with the china cockatoo, she had seen them all lit up once; and remembered Sylvia, Fred, Sally Seton—such hosts of people; and dancing all night; and the waggons plodding past to market; and driving home across the Park. She remembered once throwing a shilling into the Serpentine. But every one remembered; what she loved was this, here, now, in front of her; the fat lady in the cab. Did it matter then, she asked herself, walking towards Bond Street, did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely; all this must go on without her; did she resent it; or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely? but that somehow in the streets of London, on the ebb and flow of things, here, there, she survived, Peter survived, lived in each other, she being part, she was positive, of the trees at home; of the house there, ugly, rambling all to bits and pieces as it was; part of people she had never met; being laid out like a mist between the people she knew best, who lifted her on their branches as she had seen the trees lift the mist, but it spread ever so far, her life, herself. But what was she dreaming as she looked into Hatchards' shop window? What was she trying to recover? What image of white dawn in the country, as she read in the book spread open:

她仅有的天赋则是几乎能靠直觉识透别人,她沉思着,继续走着。要是让她和谁同处一室,她会如猫一般立即警惕地弓着背;要么她就猫一般得意地传出呜呜的声音。德文郡府邸、巴斯伯爵府、陈列着瓷凤头鹦鹉的宅第,她曾见过它们都灯火辉煌的时候;还记着西尔维娅、弗雷德、萨莉·西顿——如此一大群人,跳了一整夜的舞;四轮马车沉重缓慢地经过,赶往市场;她开车横穿公园回家。她记得曾往公园的瑟彭泰恩湖里投过一先令钱币。但是每个人都记得这样的事;她喜爱的是这一切、此地、此时、就在她面前;坐在出租马车里的丰满女人。那这要紧吗,她问自己,一面走向邦德街,要紧吗,她的生命难免会彻底终结;没有她一切仍会继续;她是否觉得怨恨?或者认为一死了之不也会给人带来一丝慰藉?但是不知何故在伦敦的大街上,在这里、在那里,经历了人世盛衰,她幸存下来了,彼得幸存下来了,活在彼此的心中。她坚信自己是故乡树林的一部分,是那栋丑陋的、破败不堪的房屋的一部分,是那些素未谋面的人们的一部分。她如薄雾一般在最熟悉的人们中间铺散开来,这些人把她擎在他们的枝蔓上,正如她曾见过的树木托着薄雾,而她却蔓延得如此遥远,她的生活、她自身。可她透过哈查德书店陈列窗时在幻想什么?她试图回想什么?当她读到翻开的书上的两行诗时,会构想出白色拂晓的乡村何等的场景?

Fear no more the heat o' the sun Nor the furious winter's rages.

不要再怕炎炎骄阳,不要再怕寒冬肆虐。

This late age of the world's experience had bred in them all, all men and women, a well of tears. Tears and sorrows; courage and endurance; a perfectly upright and stoical bearing. Think, for example, of the woman she admired most, Lady Bexborough, opening the bazaar.

最近世界遭受的一切已使他们全部人的内心,所有男女都泪泉奔涌。泪与悲、勇与忍、刚正不阿与坚韧不拔。譬如,想到她最崇拜的那位女士——贝克斯伯勒女士——她主持义卖开幕式的情景吧。

There were Jorrocks' Jaunts and Jollities; there were Soapy Sponge and Mrs. Asquith's Memoirs and Big Game Shooting in Nigeria, all spread open. Ever so many books there were; but none that seemed exactly right to take to Evelyn Whitbread in her nursing home. Nothing that would serve to amuse her and make that indescribably dried-up little woman look, as Clarissa came in, just for a moment cordial; before they settled down for the usual interminable talk of women's ailments. How much she wanted it—that people should look pleased as she came in, Clarissa thought and turned and walked back towards Bond Street, annoyed, because it was silly to have other reasons for doing things. Much rather would she have been one of those people like Richard who did things for themselves, whereas, she thought, waiting to cross, half the time she did things not simply, not for themselves; but to make people think this or that; perfect idiocy she knew (and now the policeman held up his hand) for no one was ever for a second taken in. Oh if she could have had her life over again! she thought, stepping on to the pavement, could have looked even differently!

陈列窗里有耶罗克斯的《旅游与欢宴》,还有《浸透肥皂的海绵》以及阿斯奎思夫人的《回忆录》和《尼日利亚射杀大猎物纪行》,都翻开着。那里向来就有很多书,但是看上去没有一本书十分适合给护理院的伊夫琳·惠特布雷德捎去。那个女人枯瘦娇小得无法形容,没有哪一本书能逗她开心,就连克拉丽莎到来时也不能让她显出片刻的热诚;接着他们坐下来开始喋喋不休地谈论妇科病。她多期望如此——人们在她到来时脸上会显露出愉悦的神情,克拉丽莎思索着,转身重新向邦德街走去,颇为不悦,因为为了其他什么原因做事情是很愚蠢的。她更愿自己像理查德一样,做事情只考虑自己。而她呢,她在等待过街时心里想半数时间她做事情并不是为了这些事情本身,而是为了使人这样想或那样想。她知道这是极端愚蠢的(此时警察在举手示意),因为没人受会上当,哪怕一秒钟。哎!要是她的人生可以重来就好了!她一边踏上人行道,一边思索,甚至连长相都不一样呢!

She would have been, in the first place, dark like Lady Bexborough, with a skin of crumpled leather and beautiful eyes. She would have been, like Lady Bexborough, slow and stately; rather large; interested in politics like a man; with a country house; very dignified, very sincere. Instead of which she had a narrow pea-stick figure; a ridiculous little face, beaked like a bird's. That she held herself well was true; and had nice hands and feet; and dressed well, considering that she spent little. But often now this body she wore (she stopped to look at a Dutch picture), this body, with all its capacities, seemed nothing—nothing at all. She had the oddest sense of being herself invisible; unseen; unknown; there being no more marrying, no more having of children now, but only this astonishing and rather solemn progress with the rest of them, up Bond Street, this being Mrs. Dalloway; not even Clarissa any more; this being Mrs. Richard Dalloway.

首先,她会像贝克斯伯勒女士一般黑,长着褶皱皮革似的皮肤和漂亮的双眸。像贝克斯伯勒女士一样,她从容高贵、身材硕大,像男人一般爱好政治,在乡下有一处住宅,十分庄重,十分诚挚。而她自己的身材却像豌豆杆般瘦小,一张小脸令人发笑,嘴尖如喙。事实上她仪态优雅,手脚秀美,花钱很少却穿着得体。然而如今时不时她披着的这副躯体(她停下来凝视一幅荷兰画作),就是这副躯体,以及它拥有的种种功能好像都不存在了——完全不存在了。她有一种最怪异的感觉,以为自己无影无形、无人能见、无人所知;如今再也不用结婚,再也不用生养孩子,要做的只是这样惊奇又极庄重地与其他人一起往前走,沿邦德街上行。这是达洛维夫人,甚至再不是克拉丽莎,这是理查德·达洛维夫人。

Bond Street fascinated her; Bond Street early in the morning in the season; its flags flying; its shops; no splash; no glitter; one roll of tweed in the shop where her father had bought his suits for fifty years; a few pearls; salmon on an iceblock.

邦德街让她着迷。旺季中清早的邦德街,街上旗儿飘飘,店铺,看不见大肆铺张,看不见庸俗炫耀;一卷斜纹软呢陈放在她父亲买衣服达五十年之久的一家店里,几粒珍珠,冰块上放着的大马哈鱼。

"That is all," she said, looking at the fishmonger's. "That is all," she repeated, pausing for a moment at the window of a glove shop where, before the War, you could buy almost perfect gloves. And her old Uncle William used to say a lady is known by her shoes and her gloves. He had turned on his bed one morning in the middle of the War. He had said, "I have had enough."Gloves and shoes; she had a passion for gloves; but her own daughter, her Elizabeth, cared not a straw for either of them.“就是这些。”她说着,一边望着鱼贩的店。“就是这些。”她又说道,在一家手套商店的橱窗前停留片刻。战前,人们在那里能买到上好的手套。她年迈的威廉叔叔过去经常说从穿戴的鞋子和手套就能了解一个女人。战事期间的一个早晨,他在自己的床上逝去。他以前说过:“我经历的已经足够。”说到手套和鞋,她酷爱手套,可她的亲生女儿——她的伊丽莎白——对二者都毫无兴致。

Not a straw, she thought, going on up Bond Street to a shop where they kept flowers for her when she gave a party. Elizabeth really cared for her dog most of all. The whole house this morning smelt of tar. Still, better poor Grizzle than Miss Kilman; better distemper and tar and all the rest of it than sitting mewed in a stuffy bedroom with a prayer book! Better anything, she was inclined to say. But it might be only a phase, as Richard said, such as all girls go through. It might be falling in love. But why with Miss Kilman? who had been badly treated of course; one must make allowances for that, and Richard said she was very able, had a really historical mind. Anyhow they were inseparable, and Elizabeth, her own daughter, went to Communion; and how she dressed, how she treated people who came to lunch she did not care a bit, it being her experience that the religious ecstasy made people callous (so did causes); dulled their feelings, for Miss Kilman would do anything for the Russians, starved herself for the Austrians, but in private inflicted positive torture, so insensitive was she, dressed in a green mackintosh coat. Year in year out she wore that coat; she perspired; she was never in the room five minutes without making you feel her superiority, your inferiority; how poor she was; how rich you were; how she lived in a slum without a cushion or a bed or a rug or whatever it might be, all her soul rusted with that grievance sticking in it, her dismissal from school during the War—poor embittered unfortunate creature! For it was not her one hated but the idea of her, which undoubtedly had gathered into itself a great deal that was not Miss Kilman; had become one of those spectres with which one battles in the night; one of those spectres who stand astride us and suck up half our life-blood, dominators and tyrants; for no doubt with another throw of the dice, had the black been uppermost and not the white, she would have loved Miss Kilman! But not in this world. No. It rasped her, though, to have stirring about in her this brutal monster! to hear twigs cracking and feel hooves planted down in the depths of that leaf-encumbered forest, the soul; never to be content quite, or quite secure, for at any moment the brute would be stirring, this hatred, which, especially since her illness, had power to make her feel scraped, hurt in her spine; gave her physical pain, and made all pleasure in beauty, in friendship, in being well, in being loved and making her home delightful rock, quiver, and bend as if indeed there were a monster grubbing at the roots, as if the whole panoply of content were nothing but self love! this hatred!

毫无兴致,她想着,持续沿邦德街上行,走向她每次举行宴会时为她预留鲜花的一个商店。伊丽莎白最在乎的实际上是她的狗。今儿早晨,房屋四处满是焦油味。虽然如此,不幸的小狗格丽泽尔仍胜过基尔曼小姐;犬疫和焦油味以及诸如此类的事情仍好过关在令人窒息的寝室里读一本祈祷书!任何事情都比这强,她几乎要这样说。不过这也许仅仅是一段时期,像理查德所言,诸如每个姑娘都会经历的那样。也许是坠入爱河。可是为何喜爱基尔曼小姐?她确实遭受过虐待,人们须体谅那点。理查德还说她非常有才干,具备真正的历史思维。不管怎么说,她俩是如影随形,伊丽莎白——她亲生的女儿——去参领圣餐了;至于她的着装怎样,她怎样对待前来享用午餐的宾客,她都毫不关心。因为她的经验就是对宗教的痴迷会让人麻木(笃信事业也会这样),让人情感冷漠。因为基尔曼小姐愿为俄国人做一切事情,愿替奥地利人食不果腹。可是私人的事情却给人以极度的折磨,她是如此无情,总披着一件绿色的防水外套。年复一年,她总穿着那件外套;她汗津津的,哪怕是呆在房里五分钟,她准让你感受到她的优越,你的卑微;她那么贫困,你那么殷富;她是怎样住在一个连垫子、床、小块地毯诸如此类都稀缺的贫民窟里啊。她整个灵魂都随根深蒂固的怨恨锈蚀了。战时她遭学校勒令退学——如此可怜的、满腹辛酸的、不幸的人!其实为人所憎的不是她本人,而是她的观点。毋庸置疑,她的想法在很大程度上有悖于她作为基尔曼小姐的本性;她化为了人们夜里与之争斗的幽灵中的一员,那种骑在我们身上吸干我们一半鲜血的幽灵之一,变为主宰者和专制者的一员;因为毫无疑问,若重新投骰,要是黑色而不是白色占上风,她也许会爱上基尔曼小姐!不过在此世不会。绝不。然而,这激怒了她,任这个暴戾的怪物扰乱她的内心!她在她的灵魂——这片枝叶繁茂的森林深处听见了树枝的断裂声、马蹄的踩踏声,永远感觉不到十分地满足或完全地可靠。因为这个暴徒随时都会捣乱,尤其从她生病以来,这仇恨使她有被擦伤、脊骨疼痛之感,使她的肉体感到痛苦,还让她在漂亮、友情、健康、关爱以及打造快乐之家中享受的所有愉悦出现动摇、颤抖和扭曲,好像确实有个怪物在挖掘根基,就像披在心满意足之上的全副铠甲仅仅是自我陶醉一般!这样的仇恨!

Nonsense, nonsense! she cried to herself, pushing through the swing doors of Mulberry's the florists.

荒唐、无聊!她朝自己叫喊,同时推动花商马尔伯里店里的旋转门。

She advanced, light, tall, very upright, to be greeted at once by button-faced Miss Pym, whose hands were always bright red, as if they had been stood in cold water with the flowers.

她向前走去,体态轻盈、身材颀长、腰板笔直,长着一张纽扣般圆脸的皮姆小姐立即前来迎接。她的手永远显出明亮的红色,像是一直擎着花插在冰冷的水中一般。

There were flowers: delphiniums, sweet peas, bunches of lilac; and carnations, masses of carnations. There were roses; there were irises. Ah yes—so she breathed in the earthy garden sweet smell as she stood talking to Miss Pym who owed her help, and thought her kind, for kind she had been years ago; very kind, but she looked older, this year, turning her head from side to side among the irises and roses and nodding tufts of lilac with her eyes half closed, snuffing in, after the street uproar, the delicious scent, the exquisite coolness. And then, opening her eyes, how fresh like frilled linen clean from a laundry laid in wicker trays the roses looked; and dark and prim the red carnations, holding their heads up; and all the sweet peas spreading in their bowls, tinged violet, snow white, pale—as if it were the evening and girls in muslin frocks came out to pick sweet peas and roses after the superb summer's day, with its almost blue-black sky, its delphiniums, its carnations, its arum lilies was over; and it was the moment between six and seven when every flower—roses, carnations, irises, lilac—glows; white, violet, red, deep orange; every flower seems to burn by itself, softly, purely in the misty beds; and how she loved the grey-white moths spinning in and out, over the cherry pie, over the evening primroses!

这里鲜花遍地:飞燕草、麝香豌豆花、一扎扎紫丁香以及康乃馨,一大片康乃馨。这里还有玫瑰、鸢尾。啊!真好看——她与受过她恩惠的皮姆小姐站着说话时闻着混着泥土味儿的花园的芳香。皮姆小姐觉得她为人和善,很多年以前就为人和善、十分和善。可她今年看起来老了一些,她在鸢尾、玫瑰丛以及摇曳多姿的一簇簇紫丁香中转来转去,半闭着眼睛,在经历了街市的喧闹后,贪心地吮入这怡人的花香、这沁透心扉的凉爽。继而她睁开眼睛,看上去那玫瑰宛若洗衣店洗净后、置于藤条织篮里镶花边的亚麻布一样清新;红色康乃馨深暗庄重、翘首示意;全部的麝香豌豆花都铺在盘里,浅紫罗兰色、洁白、灰白——似乎眼下即是傍晚时分,女孩们身着薄纱衣裙在明媚的夏日黄昏里外出采集麝香豌豆花和玫瑰,天空近乎墨蓝,飞燕草、康乃馨、海芋遍地皆是;此刻是傍晚六点到七点——玫瑰、康乃馨、鸢尾、紫丁香——所有的花都绚烂盛开;白的、紫的、红的、深橙的;每一朵花好像都在薄雾的苗圃里燃烧自己,那么轻柔、纯粹;她是那样喜爱那只灰白的飞蛾,绕着香水草,绕着报春花旋入旋出!

And as she began to go with Miss Pym from jar to jar, choosing, nonsense, nonsense, she said to herself, more and more gently, as if this beauty, this scent, this colour, and Miss Pym liking her, trusting her, were a wave which she let flow over her and surmount that hatred, that monster, surmount it all; and it lifted her up and up when—oh! a pistol shot in the street outside!

然后她和皮姆小姐开始沿花坛挨个走去,挑挑拣拣,荒唐、无聊,她嘟哝着,声音越来越温柔。似乎这种美、这种香、这种颜色,以及喜欢她、信赖她的皮姆小姐一起形成一阵她任其淹没自己的浪涌,以克服那嫉恨、那怪物、克服一切;这浪涌托着她愈升愈高直到这时——天哪!外边街上传来一声枪响!

"Dear, those motor cars," said Miss Pym, going to the window to look, and coming back and smiling apologetically with her hands full of sweet peas, as if those motor cars, those tyres of motor cars, were all HER fault.“天哪,那些汽车。”皮姆小姐说着,满手捧着麝香豌豆花去窗边瞧了瞧,又返回来并致以抱歉的一笑,似乎那些汽车、那些漏气车胎都是她的错。

The violent explosion which made Mrs. Dalloway jump and Miss Pym go to the window and apologise came from a motor car which had drawn to the side of the pavement precisely opposite Mulberry's shop window. Passers-by who, of course, stopped and stared, had just time to see a face of the very greatest importance against the dove-grey upholstery, before a male hand drew the blind and there was nothing to be seen except a square of dove grey.

这一剧烈的爆破声吓得达洛维夫人跳了起来。皮姆小姐走到窗边略感歉意,这声巨响来自于刚停在马尔伯里店窗户正对面人行道旁的一辆汽车。路上行人当然皆驻足观望,碰巧瞧见靠在车内鸽灰色座椅上的一位首要人物的脸孔,然后一位男士的手拉下遮帘,除了一片鸽灰色就什么都看不清楚了。

Yet rumours were at once in circulation from the middle of Bond Street to Oxford Street on one side, to Atkinson's scent shop on the other, passing invisibly, inaudibly, like a cloud, swift, veil-like upon hills, falling indeed with something of a cloud's sudden sobriety and stillness upon faces which a second before had been utterly disorderly. But now mystery had brushed them with her wing; they had heard the voice of authority; the spirit of religion was abroad with her eyes bandaged tight and her lips gaping wide. But nobody knew whose face had been seen. Was it the Prince of Wales's, the Queen's, the Prime Minister's? Whose face was it? Nobody knew.

可是谣传从邦德街中段立即传出来,一头传到了牛津街,另一头传到了阿特金森街的香水店,传得无从察觉、无声无息,犹如一片浮云,迅速移动如纱幔般遮住山峰,的确似浮云般突至的冷静和庄重飘降在前一秒钟还全然混乱无章的人们的脸上。可如今神秘的羽翼轻拂过人们,他们已经聆听了权威的声音,宗教之神灵无处不在,她的双目被紧紧蒙住,双唇大张着。然而无人知晓看到的脸孔是谁。难道这脸孔属于威尔士亲王,属于王后,或属于首相?到底属于谁?无人知晓。

Edgar J. Watkiss, with his roll of lead piping round his arm, said audibly, humorously of course: "The Proime Minister's kyar."

埃德加·J.沃基斯一只手臂上缠着一圈铅管,用能听得见的、当然很滑稽的音调说:“修(首)相的机(汽)车。”

Septimus Warren Smith, who found himself unable to pass, heard him.

塞普蒂默斯·沃伦·史密斯发现自己不能通行,听到了他的话。

Septimus Warren Smith, aged about thirty, pale-faced, beak-nosed, wearing brown shoes and a shabby overcoat, with hazel eyes which had that look of apprehension in them which makes complete strangers apprehensive too. The world has raised its whip; where will it descend?

塞普蒂默斯·沃伦·史密斯年纪大约三十,面色苍白,鹰钩鼻,穿着褐色鞋子和一件破旧的大衣,浅褐色的眸子里那疑惧的神色使完全陌生之人也心生疑惧。世界已经高举鞭子,它将在哪里落下?

Everything had come to a standstill. The throb of the motor engines sounded like a pulse irregularly drumming through an entire body. The sun became extraordinarily hot because the motor car had stopped outside Mulberry's shop window; old ladies on the tops of omnibuses spread their black parasols; here a green, here a red parasol opened with a little pop. Mrs. Dalloway, coming to the window with her arms full of sweet peas, looked out with her little pink face pursed in enquiry. Every one looked at the motor car. Septimus looked. Boys on bicycles sprang off. Traffic accumulated. And there the motor car stood, with drawn blinds, and upon them a curious pattern like a tree, Septimus thought, and this gradual drawing together of everything to one centre before his eyes, as if some horror had come almost to the surface and was about to burst into flames, terrified him. The world wavered and quivered and threatened to burst into flames. It is I who am blocking the way, he thought. Was he not being looked at and pointed at; was he not weighted there, rooted to the pavement, for a purpose? But for what purpose?

一切都静止下来。汽车引擎的颤动听起来像经过浑身上下不规则跳动的脉搏。由于汽车泊在马尔伯里店窗外,阳光变得格外灼热;几个坐在公共汽车上层的老妇人撑起了黑色的遮阳伞;这里是把绿伞,那里又是把红伞轻轻地啪地一声撑开。达洛维夫人双臂捧着麝香豌豆花走到窗边,皱起娇小的粉红脸颊,疑云满面地朝外望。每个人都注视着这汽车。塞普蒂默斯也注视着。骑在自行车上的男孩们跳下了车。交通拥挤起来。这汽车泊在那里,遮帘拉下了,而遮帘上印着的树状图形真奇怪,塞普蒂默斯这样想着。而这种就在他眼前把一切汇聚到一个中心来,就像某种即将浮现的恐怖转眼就会喷出火焰,令他感到十分恐惧。世界在摇晃颤动,似乎就要熊熊燃烧起来。挡着路的是我,他想。难道他没有在众目睽睽之下受人指斥吗?难道他不是出于某种意图,占着人行道一动也不动吗?可究竟是何种目的?

"Let us go on, Septimus," said his wife, a little woman, with large eyes in a sallow pointed face; an Italian girl.“塞普蒂默斯,我们继续走吧。”他夫人叫他,这是一个娇小的女人,一对大眼睛嵌在土黄的尖脸上,一个意大利女子。

But Lucrezia herself could not help looking at the motor car and the tree pattern on the blinds. Was it the Queen in there—the Queen going shopping?

可卢克雷齐娅自己不由自主地注视着这汽车和遮帘上的树状图形。难道王后在车里——王后会去购物?

The chauffeur, who had been opening something, turning something, shutting something, got on to the box.

汽车司机一直在忙着打开、旋转、关闭某些部件,此时坐进了驾驶室。

"Come on," said Lucrezia.“快点。”卢克雷齐娅喊道。

But her husband, for they had been married four, five years now, jumped, started, and said, "All right!" angrily, as if she had interrupted him.

可是和她结婚四五年的丈夫此时吃惊地一跳,生气地说:“行啦!”仿佛她打扰了他。

People must notice; people must see. People, she thought, looking at the crowd staring at the motor car; the English people, with their children and their horses and their clothes, which she admired in a way; but they were "people" now, because Septimus had said, "I will kill myself"; an awful thing to say. Suppose they had heard him? She looked at the crowd. Help, help! she wanted to cry out to butchers' boys and women. Help! Only last autumn she and Septimus had stood on the Embankment wrapped in the same cloak and, Septimus reading a paper instead of talking, she had snatched it from him and laughed in the old man's face who saw them! But failure one conceals. She must take him away into some park.

人们肯定留意了,人们肯定看到了。人们,她想着,一边看着盯着汽车的群众,英国人,还有他们的小孩、马驹和服装,她对这一切有着某种程度的艳羡。不过此刻他们仅仅是“民众”,因塞普蒂默斯曾说:“我会自杀”。这样说真恐怖。假设别人听到他的话了呢?她注视着人群。救命,救命!她想朝着肉贩的伙计和女人们呼喊。救命!就在上个秋季,塞普蒂默斯与她曾合穿同一件披风站在泰晤士河堤上,塞普蒂默斯没有说话,而是在看报纸,她抢过他的报纸,当着注意到他们的老人的面大笑起来!但人会对挫败进行掩饰。她一定要让他离开这里去一个公园。

"Now we will cross," she said.“我们现在就过街吧。”她建议道。

She had a right to his arm, though it was without feeling. He would give her, who was so simple, so impulsive, only twenty-four, without friends in England, who had left Italy for his sake, a piece of bone.

她有挽着他手臂的权利,即使没有任何感觉。他愿意让她挽着。她那么纯朴、那么冲动,年纪仅二十四岁,在英国没有一个朋友,因他的缘故才离开了意大利,瘦得皮包骨头。

The motor car with its blinds drawn and an air of inscrutable reserve proceeded towards Piccadilly, still gazed at, still ruffling the faces on both sides of the street with the same dark breath of veneration whether for Queen, Prince, or Prime Minister nobody knew. The face itself had been seen only once by three people for a few seconds. Even the sex was now in dispute. But there could be no doubt that greatness was seated within; greatness was passing, hidden, down Bond Street, removed only by a hand's-breadth from ordinary people who might now, for the first and last time, be within speaking distance of the majesty of England, of the enduring symbol of the state which will be known to curious antiquaries, sifting the ruins of time, when London is a grass-grown path and all those hurrying along the pavement this Wednesday morning are but bones with a few wedding rings mixed up in their dust and the gold stoppings of innumerable decayed teeth. The face in the motor car will then be known. It is probably the Queen, thought Mrs. Dalloway, coming out of Mulberry's with her flowers; the Queen. And for a second she wore a look of extreme dignity standing by the flower shop in the sunlight while the car passed at a foot's pace, with its blinds drawn. The Queen going to some hospital; the Queen opening some bazaar, thought Clarissa.

那挡上遮帘的、神秘莫测的汽车开向了皮卡迪利大街,仍旧受到人们的注视,仍旧激起大街两旁凝视的面庞同样神秘崇敬的表情,而是否是王后、王子还是首相,无人知晓。车里的面孔只有三个人在几秒钟内看到过一次。甚至那是男是女都争执不下。不过无可争议的是坐在车里的是位重要人物。这位重要人物正秘密地驶过邦德街,与普通民众仅一步之遥。这些人或许是第一次也是最后一次与英国君主、与一国永恒的象征近乎面对面的距离。等到以后伦敦成了荒草丛生的田间小径,而本周三早上那所有急急忙忙走在人行道的人们只剩骷髅一堆,还有几颗散在遗骸灰烬中的婚戒和不计其数的腐烂牙齿中的金制填料,到了那时,爱探究的古物学者在岁月的遗迹中审视研究,桥车里的脸才会水落石出。十有八九是王后,达洛维夫人想,拿着花从马尔伯里店走出来。就是王后。这汽车仍用遮帘掩着,从距她仅一英尺远处经过时,她正站在太阳照射下的花店边,而她一刹那就露出无比庄重的神情。王后或是去什么医院,或是要去主持什么义卖会开幕,克拉丽莎寻思着。

The crush was terrific for the time of day. Lords, Ascot, Hurlingham, what was it? she wondered, for the street was blocked. The British middle classes sitting sideways on the tops of omnibuses with parcels and umbrellas, yes, even furs on a day like this, were, she thought, more ridiculous, more unlike anything there has ever been than one could conceive; and the Queen herself held up; the Queen herself unable to pass. Clarissa was suspended on one side of Brook Street; Sir John Buckhurst, the old Judge on the other, with the car between them (Sir John had laid down the law for years and liked a well-dressed woman) when the chauffeur, leaning ever so slightly, said or showed something to the policeman, who saluted and raised his arm and jerked his head and moved the omnibus to the side and the car passed through. Slowly and very silently it took its way.

这个时候交通却这般拥堵。是洛兹板球场、爱斯科赛马场、乌林汉姆英国马球总会有比赛,还是什么?她感到奇怪,因为街道非常拥堵。在公共汽车上层两旁坐着的英国中产阶级的人们带着手包和伞。是的,这样的天气还穿着毛皮衣服多荒唐,可笑得难以想象,她这样想着。王后也被堵住了,王后自己也过不去。克拉丽莎在布鲁克街一边被拦住。约翰·巴克赫斯特爵士,这位上了年纪的法官在另一边被拦住,而那车就在他们中间(约翰爵士参与法律制定好些年了且喜爱打扮入时的女子)。此时汽车司机把身子轻微倾斜,向警察说了什么或出示了某样东西,于是警察行礼致意,举起手臂,一甩头让公共汽车移到一边,那辆车便开过去了。那车缓慢又非常安静地开走了。

Clarissa guessed; Clarissa knew of course; she had seen something white, magical, circular, in the footman's hand, a disc inscribed with a name,—the Queen's, the Prince of Wales's, the Prime Minister's?—which, by force of its own lustre, burnt its way through (Clarissa saw the car diminishing, disappearing), to blaze among candelabras, glittering stars, breasts stiff with oak leaves, Hugh Whitbread and all his colleagues, the gentlemen of England, that night in Buckingham Palace. And Clarissa, too, gave a party. She stiffened a little; so she would stand at the top of her stairs.

克拉丽莎猜对了,克拉丽莎显然清楚,她已看到侍从手中有个白色的、有着魔力的圆盘,上面刻着人名——是王后的,或威尔士亲王的,还是首相的?它借助自身的光芒烧开了一条通道(克拉丽莎眼见那车越来越小,消失了)。那天晚上,它将在白金汉宫异彩纷呈,在巨大的枝状烛台、闪烁的星形勋章、挺拔的挂着橡树叶的胸膛、休·惠特布雷德及所有他的同仁、英格兰的绅士们中间熠熠生辉。而克拉丽莎也要举行宴会。她微微直了直身子,站在她家楼梯的顶层。

The car had gone, but it had left a slight ripple which flowed through glove shops and hat shops and tailors' shops on both sides of Bond Street. For thirty seconds all heads were inclined the same way—to the window. Choosing a pair of gloves—should they be to the elbow or above it, lemon or pale grey?—ladies stopped; when the sentence was finished something had happened. Something so trifling in single instances that no mathematical instrument, though capable of transmitting shocks in China, could register the vibration; yet in its fulness rather formidable and in its common appeal emotional; for in all the hat shops and tailors' shops strangers looked at each other and thought of the dead; of the flag; of Empire. In a public house in a back street a Colonial insulted the House of Windsor which led to words, broken beer glasses, and a general shindy, which echoed strangely across the way in the ears of girls buying white underlinen threaded with pure white ribbon for their weddings. For the surface agitation of the passing car as it sunk grazed something very profound.

那车开走了,可它留下了一丝涟漪,穿过了邦德街两旁的手套店、帽店、裁缝店。三十秒钟的时间里所有人的头都朝着一个方向——窗口。正拣选手套的女士们——需要齐肘的或者肘以上的手套,柠檬黄还是淡灰?都停了下来,话音刚落就有事发生。这事独自发生时很不起眼,无论哪种精确仪器,即使能传达发生在中国的地震,也不能记下它的震颤。但是当它聚拢到一起时就产生令人敬畏的力量,能够激起公众的情感。因为所有帽店和裁缝店中的陌生人相互看着,联想到逝者、联想到国旗、联想到大英帝国。后街酒馆中一个殖民地居民出言冒犯了温莎王室,导致口角之争,啤酒玻璃杯打碎了,随之出现一阵骚乱。喧闹声穿过街怪异地回荡在小姐们耳中,她们在替自己的婚礼选购有纯白缎带纹路的白色内衣。经过这里的小汽车引发的表面激动慢慢平静下来,却触动了某种极为深沉的情愫。

Gliding across Piccadilly, the car turned down St. James's Street. Tall men, men of robust physique, well-dressed men with their tail-coats and their white slips and their hair raked back who, for reasons difficult to discriminate, were standing in the bow window of Brooks's with their hands behind the tails of their coats, looking out, perceived instinctively that greatness was passing, and the pale light of the immortal presence fell upon them as it had fallen upon Clarissa Dalloway. At once they stood even straighter, and removed their hands, and seemed ready to attend their Sovereign, if need be, to the cannon's mouth, as their ancestors had done before them. The white busts and the little tables in the background covered with copies of the Tatler and syphons of soda water seemed to approve; seemed to indicate the flowing corn and the manor houses of England; and to return the frail hum of the motor wheels as the walls of a whispering gallery return a single voice expanded and made sonorous by the might of a whole cathedral. Shawled Moll Pratt with her flowers on the pavement wished the dear boy well (it was the Prince of Wales for certain) and would have tossed the price of a pot of beer—a bunch of roses—into St. James's Street out of sheer light-heartedness and contempt of poverty had she not seen the constable's eye upon her, discouraging an old Irishwoman's loyalty. The sentries at St. James's saluted; Queen Alexandra's policeman approved.

那车滑过了皮卡迪利大街,拐进了圣詹姆斯大街。高个子男人、体格强健的男人、身穿燕尾服和白裤子又向后梳着头发的、打扮入时的男人,不知什么原因,这时都站在布鲁克斯酒家的凸窗前,双手背在燕尾服后面,向外看去。他们本能地意识到有重要人物正打这里驶过,不朽的伟人散发的微光照在他们身上,就像它刚才照在了克拉丽莎·达洛维身上一样。煞那间,他们挺得更直了,又把手从背后移开,仿佛已做好准备侍奉君王,若有必要,他们会冲到炮口下,正如他们祖先以前所做的那样。背后的白色半身雕像和摆放着《闲谈者》杂志以及苏打水弯管的小桌子好像也在表示赞许,仿佛它们意味着英格兰翻滚的麦浪和庄园房屋,又仿佛把车胎微弱的嗡嗡声反射回去,正如回音廊的墙壁反射声音,借着大教堂的力量,使声音变得高亢响亮。身披围巾的莫尔·普拉特手拿鲜花站在人行道上,祝愿那亲爱的年轻人身体健康(里面一定是威尔士亲王)。要不是看到警察正盯着她,妨碍她这个爱尔兰老妇人一表忠心,她就会出于纯粹的轻松和对贫困的蔑视,将一壶啤酒的钱——一束玫瑰——扔到圣詹姆斯大街上。圣詹姆斯宫殿的哨兵们敬礼示意,亚历山德拉王后的警官表示赞许。

A small crowd meanwhile had gathered at the gates of Buckingham Palace. Listlessly, yet confidently, poor people all of them, they waited; looked at the Palace itself with the flag flying; at Victoria, billowing on her mound, admired her shelves of running water, her geraniums; singled out from the motor cars in the Mall first this one, then that; bestowed emotion, vainly, upon commoners out for a drive; recalled their tribute to keep it unspent while this car passed and that; and all the time let rumour accumulate in their veins and thrill the nerves in their thighs at the thought of Royalty looking at them; the Queen bowing; the Prince saluting; at the thought of the heavenly life divinely bestowed upon Kings; of the equerries and deep curtsies; of the Queen's old doll's house; of Princess Mary married to an Englishman, and the Prince—ah! the Prince!

一小队民众此刻已聚拢在白金汉宫门口。他们这些穷人无精打采,又沉着自信地等候着,注视着那旗帜飞扬的宫殿,注视着高台上衣裙飞舞的维多利亚女王,欣赏她周围的层层流水,她的天竺葵。从摩尔街的汽车中一会儿选中这一辆,一会儿又是另一辆。将感情徒劳地赋予驾车的平民。在东一辆西一辆的车驶过时又收回他们的称赞保存起来。整个过程,他们听任谣传在他们血管中聚集,刺激着大腿的神经细胞,想着王室在看着他们。王后在鞠躬行礼,亲王在致敬,想到上帝赐予君王们天国般的日子,想起宫廷侍者和屈膝深深行礼,想到王后以前的玩的玩偶之家,想到玛丽公主与一位英格兰人结婚了,而亲王——啊!亲王!

who took wonderfully, they said, after old King Edward, but was ever so much slimmer. The Prince lived at St. James's; but he might come along in the morning to visit his mother.

人们说他与老国王爱德华长得极像,不过更加纤细。王子住在圣詹姆斯宫,不过早晨他也许会来看望他的母后。

So Sarah Bletchley said with her baby in her arms, tipping her foot up and down as though she were by her own fender in Pimlico, but keeping her eyes on the Mall, while Emily Coates ranged over the Palace windows and thought of the housemaids, the innumerable housemaids, the bedrooms, the innumerable bedrooms. Joined by an elderly gentleman with an Aberdeen terrier, by men without occupation, the crowd increased. Little Mr. Bowley, who had rooms in the Albany and was sealed with wax over the deeper sources of life but could be unsealed suddenly, inappropriately, sentimentally, by this sort of thing—poor women waiting to see the Queen go past—poor women, nice little children, orphans, widows, the War—tut-tut—actually had tears in his eyes. A breeze flaunting ever so warmly down the Mall through the thin trees, past the bronze heroes, lifted some flag flying in the British breast of Mr. Bowley and he raised his hat as the car turned into the Mall and held it high as the car approached; and let the poor mothers of Pimlico press close to him, and stood very upright. The car came on.

莎拉·布莱奇利怀抱婴儿这样说的。她不停踮着脚尖,像是在皮姆利科家中壁炉围栏前一样,但她却一直盯着摩尔街,此时埃米莉·科茨环顾着宫殿的窗口,想象着女佣、无数的女佣、卧房、无数的卧房。一位领着一条阿伯丁犬的老绅士,和一些无业游民也加入进来,人越聚越多。鲍利先生个子矮小,在奥尔巴尼市有一套房间。他生命深处的源泉已经被蜡封住了,但见到此情此景——贫穷的、等着目送王后通过的女人——贫穷的女士、乖巧的孩子、孤儿、寡妇、战事——却突然地、不适宜地、伤感地将蜡打开,唏嘘感叹着,他的眼中真的含着泪水。一阵暖融融的微风在稀稀落落的树木中吹过摩尔街,吹过青铜英雄雕像,吹得鲍利先生这个英国人心胸中的旗帜飘扬起来。那车驶入摩尔街时,他脱帽示意,车临近时他高举着帽子,任皮姆利科贫困的母亲们紧压着他,挺得直直的。那车驶过来了。

Suddenly Mrs. Coates looked up into the sky. The sound of an aeroplane bored ominously into the ears of the crowd. There it was coming over the trees, letting out white smoke from behind, which curled and twisted, actually writing something! Making letters in the sky! Every one looked up.

猛然间科茨夫人抬头向天上望去。飞机那不详的声音刺入人群的耳中。它快飞到树林上方了,机尾冒出白色烟雾,回旋扭转,竟是在写什么!在空中写字!每个人都向上仰望。

Dropping dead down the aeroplane soared straight up, curved in a loop, raced, sank, rose, and whatever it did, wherever it went, out fluttered behind it a thick ruffled bar of white smoke which curled and wreathed upon the sky in letters. But what letters? A C was it? an E, then an L? Only for a moment did they lie still; then they moved and melted and were rubbed out up in the sky, and the aeroplane shot further away and again, in a fresh space of sky, began writing a K, an E, a Y perhaps?

飞机陡然下降后直冲云霄,转了一圈,又疾速前进、下坠、升高,然而不管怎么飞,不管飞到哪里,总有一股浓浓的、波纹似的白烟从机尾冒出,在空中回旋缭绕地形成字母。可是写的什么字母?写的A与C吗?一个E,还有一个L?它们在空中定格仅仅是一瞬;接着便飘移、扩散直到在空中没有一丝痕迹,飞机很快飞远了,又一次飞到一片新天地中,着手写个k,一个E,或许再来一个Y?

"Glaxo," said Mrs. Coates in a strained, awe-stricken voice, gazing straight up, and her baby, lying stiff and white in her arms, gazed straight up.

"Glaxo。” 科茨夫人带着紧张、畏惧的音调念道,同时仰头凝视天空,而她白皙的宝宝一动不动地躺在她的怀中,也抬头望着天。

"Kreemo," murmured Mrs. Bletchley, like a sleepwalker. With his hat held out perfectly still in his hand, Mr. Bowley gazed straight up. All down the Mall people were standing and looking up into the sky.

"Kreemo。”布莱奇利夫人嘀咕道,就像个梦游者。鲍利先生完全一动不动地用手举着帽子,抬头望着天。整个摩尔街的人都伫立着向天空望去。

As they looked the whole world became perfectly silent, and a flight of gulls crossed the sky, first one gull leading, then another, and in this extraordinary silence and peace, in this pallor, in this purity, bells struck eleven times, the sound fading up there among the gulls.

就在他们抬头仰望时,整个世界变得非常静谧,一队海鸥从空中掠过,起初有一只海鸥领队,随即又有一只,在这异常的静谧和安宁中,在这苍白和纯净中,钟声敲了十一次,余音在海鸥中逐渐消散。

The aeroplane turned and raced and swooped exactly where it liked, swiftly, freely, like a skater—

飞机任意地改变方向、急速前行、又陡然下降,迅速敏捷、自由自在,活像一个溜冰员。

"That's an E," said Mrs. Bletchley—or a dancer—“那是E。”布莱奇利夫人说道——或者是一个舞蹈家——

"It's toffee," murmured Mr. Bowley—(and the car went in at the gates and nobody looked at it), and shutting off the smoke, away and away it rushed, and the smoke faded and assembled itself round the broad white shapes of the clouds.“这是toffee。”鲍利先生念叨着——那辆车驶入大门却没人看它,飞机不再喷烟,迅速飞离,愈来愈远,那烟消散开了,积聚在一团团白云周围。

It had gone; it was behind the clouds. There was no sound. The clouds to which the letters E, G, or L had attached themselves moved freely, as if destined to cross from West to East on a mission of the greatest importance which would never be revealed, and yet certainly so it was—a mission of the greatest importance. Then suddenly, as a train comes out of a tunnel, the aeroplane rushed out of the clouds again, the sound boring into the ears of all people in the Mall, in the Green Park, in Piccadilly, in Regent Street, in Regent's Park, and the bar of smoke curved behind and it dropped down, and it soared up and wrote one letter after another—but what word was it writing?

飞机飞走了,消失在云背后。周围阒寂无声。衬托着字母E、G或L的云朵随心所欲地移动着,仿佛注定要从西移到东去完成一项极重大的任务,这又绝不能透露,但的确是这样——一项极重大的任务。一瞬间,飞机像开出隧道的列车,又倏地钻出云端,轰鸣之声响彻摩尔街、格林公园、皮卡迪利大街、摄政街、摄政公园里所有人的耳鼓。机身后冒出一股扭曲的白烟,飞机下坠、上升,相继写出一个个字母——但写出了什么字呢?

Lucrezia Warren Smith, sitting by her husband's side on a seat in Regent's Park in the Broad Walk, looked up.

卢克雷齐娅·沃伦·史密斯在摄政公园大道旁的座位上挨着丈夫坐着,抬头看着天。

"Look, look, Septimus!" she cried. For Dr. Holmes had told her to make her husband (who had nothing whatever seriously the matter with him but was a little out of sorts) take an interest in things outside himself.“看那里,看那里,塞普蒂默斯!”她大喊着。因为霍姆斯医生对她说过要使她丈夫(他其实一点病没有,只是心情有些不好)把兴趣放在身外之事上。

So, thought Septimus, looking up, they are signalling to me. Not indeed in actual words; that is, he could not read the language yet; but it was plain enough, this beauty, this exquisite beauty, and tears filled his eyes as he looked at the smoke words languishing and melting in the sky and bestowing upon him in their inexhaustible charity and laughing goodness one shape after another of unimaginable beauty and signalling their intention to provide him, for nothing, for ever, for looking merely, with beauty, more beauty! Tears ran down his cheeks.

塞普蒂默斯仰望天空,在想原来他们正在向我发送暗号。其实并非是具体的词,也就是说,他还不能理解这语言。但这美、出奇的美再显然不过了。他凝视着天上烟雾组成的字淡化消散时,他的双眼满含热泪,这些字用他们无限的仁慈和笑的善意赐予他一个接一个不可思议的美。而且暗示他,他们的意图让他无偿地、永恒地看到美、更多的美!眼泪从他的脸颊上流了下来。

It was toffee; they were advertising toffee, a nursemaid told Rezia. Together they began to spell t... o... f...

那是太妃糖,他们在为太妃糖做广告,一位保姆告诉雷齐娅。她们一齐开始拼着t……o……f……

"K... R..." said the nursemaid, and Septimus heard her say "Kay Arr" close to his ear, deeply, softly, like a mellow organ, but with a roughness in her voice like a grasshopper's, which rasped his spine deliciously and sent running up into his brain waves of sound which, concussing, broke. A marvellous discovery indeed—that the human voice in certain atmospheric conditions (for one must be scientific, above all scientific) can quicken trees into life! Happily Rezia put her hand with a tremendous weight on his knee so that he was weighted down, transfixed, or the excitement of the elm trees rising and falling, rising and falling with all their leaves alight and the colour thinning and thickening from blue to the green of a hollow wave, like plumes on horses' heads, feathers on ladies', so proudly they rose and fell, so superbly, would have sent him mad. But he would not go mad. He would shut his eyes; he would see no more.

"K……R……”保姆说道,塞普蒂默斯听到她念“凯·阿尔”, 她凑近他耳边,音色低沉、轻柔,就像醇美的风琴声。不过她的嗓音中还带有蚂蚱声的粗糙,令人惬意地刺激着他的脊梁,把阵阵声波传至他脑际,产生激烈的震荡和冲击。的确是个惊人的发现——人的声音在一定的大气条件下(因为人必须讲究科学,科学是首要的)可以加速树木的生长!雷齐娅高兴地将她的手重重地放在他的膝上,以便把他压住、钉牢。榆树们兴奋地起伏着,所有枝叶都闪着光,颜色一会儿浅一会儿深,由蓝转为波谷的绿,如马头的鬃毛,似女士所戴的羽饰,它们那么自豪地波动着,那般绝美,还好被她的手压着,不然这些都会令他发狂的。然而他不会发狂。他将合上双眼,他不会再看什么。

But they beckoned; leaves were alive; trees were alive. And the leaves being connected by millions of fibres with his own body, there on the seat, fanned it up and down; when the branch stretched he, too, made that statement. The sparrows fluttering, rising, and falling in jagged fountains were part of the pattern; the white and blue, barred with black branches. Sounds made harmonies with premeditation; the spaces between them were as significant as the sounds. A child cried. Rightly far away a horn sounded. All taken together meant the birth of a new religion—

然而它们在招手,树叶是有生命的,树也有生命。叶子通过数百万的纤维与他坐着的身躯相连,上下地扇动着他的身体,当枝条伸展开时,他也同样地表示回应。麻雀在错落有致的喷泉旁振动羽翼,飞起飞落,构成这图案的一部分,白和蓝的背景中,有黑色枝条形成的条纹。声音与冥想相融合,他们之间的间隔与声音一样耐人寻味。一个小孩哭了起来。远处适时吹起了号角。这一切合在一起表明一个新的宗教诞生了——

"Septimus!" said Rezia. He started violently. People must notice. "I am going to walk to the fountain and back," she said.“塞普蒂默斯!”雷齐娅喊着。他猛然惊起。人们一定注意到了。“我打算散步到喷泉那里后再返回。”她说道。

For she could stand it no longer. Dr. Holmes might say there was nothing the matter. Far rather would she that he were dead! She could not sit beside him when he stared so and did not see her and made everything terrible; sky and tree, children playing, dragging carts, blowing whistles, falling down; all were terrible. And he would not kill himself; and she could tell no one. "Septimus has been working too hard"—that was all she could say to her own mother. To love makes one solitary, she thought. She could tell nobody, not even Septimus now, and looking back, she saw him sitting in his shabby overcoat alone, on the seat, hunched up, staring. And it was cowardly for a man to say he would kill himself, but Septimus had fought; he was brave; he was not Septimus now. She put on her lace collar. She put on her new hat and he never noticed; and he was happy without her. Nothing could make her happy without him! Nothing! He was selfish. So men are. For he was not ill. Dr. Holmes said there was nothing the matter with him. She spread her hand before her. Look! Her wedding ring slipped—she had grown so thin. It was she who suffered—but she had nobody to tell.

因为她再也忍不了了。霍姆斯医生可能会说这没什么要紧。她真宁愿他死去!她无法在他身边坐下。他的眼睛瞪那么大却没有看她。这使一切都很糟糕,天空、树木、游戏的孩子、吃力前行的车、吹哨、摔倒,一切都很糟糕。他不愿自杀,而她也不能向谁透露。“塞普蒂默斯工作一直都很辛苦。”——那就是所有她能告诉自己母亲的话。爱一个人使人寂寞,她想。她现在谁也不能透露,甚至是塞普蒂默斯也不行。她转过头,只见他穿着旧大衣,一个人坐在座位上,弯着背,盯着什么。一个男子汉说要自杀意味着怯懦。塞普蒂默斯曾战斗过,他是勇敢的。但他现在已不是以前的塞普蒂默斯了。她戴上了她的蕾丝领。她戴上了新帽子,而他从未留意过,没有她他感到高兴。可没有他任何事都无法让她开心!任何事都不行!他是自私的。男人都这样。他没病。霍姆斯医生说他没什么病。她把手伸在面前。瞧!她的婚戒滑落了——她变得这么瘦了。她忍受着痛苦——但她无人可诉。

Far was Italy and the white houses and the room where her sisters sat making hats, and the streets crowded every evening with people walking, laughing out loud, not half alive like people here, huddled up in Bath chairs, looking at a few ugly flowers stuck in pots!

在遥远的意大利,有些白色宅子,她的姐妹们坐在一间屋里制帽,街上每晚都拥挤着散步和嘻哈大笑的人,和这里半死不活的人一点也不像,他们在轮椅里缩成一团,盯着花盆中栽着的几朵丑陋的花!

"For you should see the Milan gardens," she said aloud. But to whom?“你应该去参观米兰的公园。”她高声说。不过让谁听啊?

There was nobody. Her words faded. So a rocket fades. Its sparks, having grazed their way into the night, surrender to it, dark descends, pours over the outlines of houses and towers; bleak hillsides soften and fall in. But though they are gone, the night is full of them; robbed of colour, blank of windows, they exist more ponderously, give out what the frank daylight fails to transmit—the trouble and suspense of things conglomerated there in the darkness; huddled together in the darkness; reft of the relief which dawn brings when, washing the walls white and grey, spotting each window pane, lifting the mist from the fields, showing the red-brown cows peacefully grazing, all is once more decked out to the eye; exists again. I am alone; I am alone! she cried, by the fountain in Regent's Park (staring at the Indian and his cross), as perhaps at midnight, when all boundaries are lost, the country reverts to its ancient shape, as the Romans saw it, lying cloudy, when they landed, and the hills had no names and rivers wound they knew not where—such was her darkness; when suddenly, as if a shelf were shot forth and she stood on it, she said how she was his wife, married years ago in Milan, his wife, and would never, never tell that he was mad! Turning, the shelf fell; down, down she dropped. For he was gone, she thought—gone, as he threatened, to kill himself—to throw himself under a cart! But no; there he was; still sitting alone on the seat, in his shabby overcoat, his legs crossed, staring, talking aloud.

这里没有人。她的声音在消逝。火箭的消逝也如此。它喷出火花冲向夜空,隐没在夜空中。暗夜来临,笼罩着房舍和塔楼的轮廓,荒凉的山丘柔和了,在夜色中隐没。可是尽管它们都不见了,夜依然蕴蓄着它们;色彩遭吞噬了,窗户看不见了,它们更凝重地存在着,传达出坦然的白昼无法传达的意境——漆黑的夜里,事物的烦扰和悬疑聚拢在一起,在暗夜里拥挤成一团;夜夺去了拂晓带来的慰藉,当晨晖把墙刷得灰白,照亮每扇窗玻璃,使田野的薄雾散去,露出安静地吃着草的棕红色的奶牛,这一切又装扮好了显现在眼前;又恢复了生机。我独自一人,我是孤独的!她哭喊着,站在摄政公园喷泉边(盯着那印度人和他的十字架),像是在午夜,所有的界线都消失了,国家还原成它远古的样子,就像罗马人着陆时看到的一样,万物朦胧模糊,山峦无名,河流迂回不知去向——这就是她心中的黑暗。一瞬间,似乎从哪里冒出一块暗礁,她站上去,说着她是怎样成为他的太太的,多年前与他在米兰结了婚,成了他的太太,她永远、永远不会告诉别人他疯了!她转过身,暗礁就倒下去了,她掉了下去,不住地下沉、下沉。因为他离开了,她思索着——离开了,和他扬言的一样,要去自杀——让自己死在一辆马车下!但没有。他在那里,依旧一个人在座位上坐着,穿着他的破大衣,交叉着腿,目不转睛,高声和自己说话。

Men must not cut down trees. There is a God. (He noted such revelations on the backs of envelopes.) Change the world. No one kills from hatred. Make it known (he wrote it down). He waited. He listened. A sparrow perched on the railing opposite chirped Septimus, Septimus, four or five times over and went on, drawing its notes out, to sing freshly and piercingly in Greek words how there is no crime and, joined by another sparrow, they sang in voices prolonged and piercing in Greek words, from trees in the meadow of life beyond a river where the dead walk, how there is no death.

人们不能砍伐树木。世间有上帝。(他在信封背面写下这类启示。)它改变了世界。人不能仇杀。让大家都知晓(他写下来了)。他在等。他在听。一只停歇在对面栏杆上的麻雀啁啾地叫着塞普蒂默斯,塞普蒂默斯,四五声后又拖长调子用希腊语唱起来,声音清脆刺耳,唱着世上怎样没有罪行,又有一只麻雀和它一起拉长尖声用希腊语唱着,怎样没有死亡,它们站在河对岸生命之草地的树丛中,那里有亡灵在行走。

There was his hand; there the dead. White things were assembling behind the railings opposite. But he dared not look. Evans was behind the railings!

他的手在这里,亡灵在那里。白色的东西积聚在对面栏杆后面。可是他不敢瞧一瞧。埃文斯在那栏杆后面!

"What are you saying?" said Rezia suddenly, sitting down by him. Interrupted again! She was always interrupting.“你说什么呢?”雷齐娅坐在他旁边,忽然开口说话。又一次被打断!她老爱来打断。

Away from people—they must get away from people, he said (jumping up), right away over there, where there were chairs beneath a tree and the long slope of the park dipped like a length of green stuff with a ceiling cloth of blue and pink smoke high above, and there was a rampart of far irregular houses hazed in smoke, the traffic hummed in a circle, and on the right, dun-coloured animals stretched long necks over the Zoo palings, barking, howling. There they sat down under a tree.

远离人群——他们必须逃离人群,他说道(跳了起来),即刻就到那里,树下有些椅子,公园里一长段斜坡宛若一条绿缎带向下倾斜。蓝色和粉色的烟雾形成了高高的天蓬,遥远的、参差不齐的房屋在烟雾弥漫中形成一道壁垒,来往车辆在环形道上嗡嗡作响,在右边,深褐色动物将长脖颈伸出了公园栅栏,又吠又嚎。他们坐在那里的一棵树下。

"Look," she implored him, pointing at a little troop of boys carrying cricket stumps, and one shuffled, spun round on his heel and shuffled, as if he were acting a clown at the music hall.“看呀。”她乞求道,指向一群拿着板球门柱的男孩,有一个男孩把脚在地上滑来滑去,脚后跟立住打转,又在地上滑来滑去,好像他正在音乐厅演小丑。

"Look," she implored him, for Dr. Holmes had told her to make him notice real things, go to a music hall, play cricket—that was the very game, Dr. Holmes said, a nice out-of-door game, the very game for her husband.“看呀。”她乞求道,因为霍姆斯医生告诉过她要使他关注实实在在的事,到音乐厅去,或打打板球——那是个很合适的游戏,霍姆斯医生说,是一个有益的户外游戏,他丈夫最适合了。

"Look," she repeated.“看呀。”她又说道。

Look the unseen bade him, the voice which now communicated with him who was the greatest of mankind, Septimus, lately taken from life to death, the Lord who had come to renew society, who lay like a coverlet, a snow blanket smitten only by the sun, for ever unwasted, suffering for ever, the scapegoat, the eternal sufferer, but he did not want it, he moaned, putting from him with a wave of his hand that eternal suffering, that eternal loneliness.

幽冥命令他看,那声音此刻就在与他对话,塞普蒂默斯,人类最伟大的一员,最近刚历经生死的考验,是来复兴社会的上帝,他像床单一样躺在那里,又如仅有阳光才能损毁的雪白毛毯,永远不会耗尽,永远受苦受难,如替罪羊,永恒的蒙难者。然而他不想这样,他呻吟着,挥挥手把永恒的苦难、永恒的寂寥撵走了。

"Look," she repeated, for he must not talk aloud to himself out of doors.“看呀。”她再次说,因为他在外面不应高声自语。

"Oh look," she implored him. But what was there to look at? A few sheep. That was all.“噢看呀。”她向他乞求。但那有什么好看的?有几头羊。就这些。

The way to Regent's Park Tube station—could they tell her the way to Regent's Park Tube station—Maisie Johnson wanted to know. She was only up from Edinburgh two days ago.

摄政公园地铁站怎么走——人们可以告知她去摄政公园地铁站的路吗——梅茜·约翰逊想知道。两天前她才从爱丁堡来到这里。

"Not this way—over there!”Rezia exclaimed, waving her aside, lest she should see Septimus.“这路不对——往那里走!”雷齐娅大喊,挥手示意她到一边去,以防她遇见塞普蒂默斯。

Both seemed queer, Maisie Johnson thought. Everything seemed very queer. In London for the first time, come to take up a post at her uncle's in Leadenhall Street, and now walking through Regent's Park in the morning, this couple on the chairs gave her quite a turn; the young woman seeming foreign, the man looking queer; so that should she be very old she would still remember and make it jangle again among her memories how she had walked through Regent's Park on a fine summer's morning fifty years ago. For she was only nineteen and had got her way at last, to come to London; and now how queer it was, this couple she had asked the way of, and the girl started and jerked her hand, and the man—he seemed awfully odd; quarrelling, perhaps; parting for ever, perhaps; something was up, she knew; and now all these people (for she returned to the Broad Walk), the stone basins, the prim flowers, the old men and women, invalids most of them in Bath chairs—all seemed, after Edinburgh, so queer. And Maisie Johnson, as she joined that gently trudging, vaguely gazing, breeze-kissed company—squirrels perching and preening, sparrow fountains fluttering for crumbs, dogs busy with the railings, busy with each other, while the soft warm air washed over them and lent to the fixed unsurprised gaze with which they received life something whimsical and mollified—Maisie Johnson positively felt she must cry Oh! (for that young man on the seat had given her quite a turn. Something was up, she knew.)

这一对看来有些奇怪,梅茜·约翰逊心想。每件事都显得很奇怪。她初次来到伦敦,在莱登霍尔街她叔叔的店里工作,早晨她正走过摄政公园时,椅子上这对夫妇令她吃了一惊;那年轻女人看似外国人,男的显得怪异;所以就算她年纪很大了,她还是会记得这一幕,那时记忆里会浮现出五十年前某个明媚的夏季清晨她如何走过摄政公园的情形。因为她仅十九岁,最终如她所愿,来到伦敦。而现在多奇怪呀,她问路的这对夫妇,女人吃惊地猛一摆手,男人——他看来非常怪异;可能他俩在争吵;可能会永远地分离;她清楚一定有事发生;此刻所有这群人(由于她返回大路上了),这些石坛、这些整洁的花、这些上年纪的男人女人,他们中多数是轮椅上的病患——对于从爱丁堡来的她来说,看来都如此奇怪。梅茜·约翰逊加入了那缓慢跋涉、恍惚凝视、和风拂面的人群——松鼠栖息树上舔着身上的毛,麻雀在喷泉边扑闪着翅膀寻觅面包屑,几条狗忙于围着篱笆嬉戏。而暖融融的空气浸润着他们,令他们对生活固执冷漠的注视增添了些许怪诞与平和——梅茜·约翰逊非常肯定她需要大叫一声“噢”!(因为坐在椅子上那个年轻男人令她吃了一惊。什么事要发生了,她知道。)

Horror! horror! she wanted to cry. (She had left her people; they had warned her what would happen.)

恐怖!恐怖!她想大叫。(她离开亲人了,他们告诫过她会出什么事的。)

Why hadn't she stayed at home? she cried, twisting the knob of the iron railing. That girl, thought Mrs. Dempster (who saved crusts for the squirrels and often ate her lunch in Regent's Park), don't know a thing yet; and really it seemed to her better to be a little stout, a little slack, a little moderate in one's expectations. Percy drank. Well, better to have a son, thought Mrs. Dempster. She had had a hard time of it, and couldn't help smiling at a girl like that. You'll get married, for you're pretty enough, thought Mrs. Dempster. Get married, she thought, and then you'll know. Oh, the cooks, and so on. Every man has his ways. But whether I'd have chosen quite like that if I could have known, thought Mrs. Dempster, and could not help wishing to whisper a word to Maisie Johnson; to feel on the creased pouch of her worn old face the kiss of pity. For it's been a hard life, thought Mrs. Dempster. What hadn't she given to it? Roses; figure; her feet too. (She drew the knobbed lumps beneath her skirt.)

为什么她不呆在家呢?她大叫着,转动了铁栏杆上的球形捏手。那个女孩,登普斯特夫人想(她留下面包屑喂松鼠,还常在摄政公园吃午餐),仍然什么事都不明白。事实上,对她来说结实一些,动作放松一些,期待适度一些还好点。珀西爱喝酒。哦,最好生个男孩,登普斯特夫人这样想。她经历过艰难的日子,忍不住朝着那样的一位姑娘微笑。你会嫁人的,因为你很美,登普斯特夫人这样想着。嫁人,她想,到时你就知道了。噢,那些厨子,等等。每个男人都有着自己的习惯。要是我早能知道,是否会那样选择呢,登普斯特夫人想,她禁不住盼望和梅茜·约翰逊小声说句话;让她沧桑的老脸上起皱下垂的皮肤感觉到同情的一吻。因为生活是辛苦的,登普斯特夫人想着。她还有什么没付出的吗?红润的脸颊、身材和她的双脚。(她收拢了自己裙下粗肿的双腿。)

Roses, she thought sardonically. All trash, m'dear. For really, what with eating, drinking, and mating, the bad days and good, life had been no mere matter of roses, and what was more, let me tell you, Carrie Dempster had no wish to change her lot with any woman's in Kentish Town! But, she implored, pity. Pity, for the loss of roses. Pity she asked of Maisie Johnson, standing by the hyacinth beds.

红润的脸颊,她讥讽地想道。尽胡说,我亲爱的。因为实际上,鉴于吃、喝、做爱、倒霉和走运的时日,生活有的不仅是玫瑰。此外,让我来告诉你,卡丽·登普斯特不愿与肯第史城的任何一个女人交换她的命运!然而,她乞求道,同情。同情,为了那逝去的红润面颊。她请求得到伫立在风信子花床边的梅茜·约翰逊的同情。

Ah, but that aeroplane! Hadn't Mrs. Dempster always longed to see foreign parts? She had a nephew, a missionary. It soared and shot. She always went on the sea at Margate, not out o' sight of land, but she had no patience with women who were afraid of water. It swept and fell. Her stomach was in her mouth. Up again. There's a fine young feller aboard of it, Mrs. Dempster wagered, and away and away it went, fast and fading, away and away the aeroplane shot; soaring over Greenwich and all the masts; over the little island of grey churches, St. Paul's and the rest till, on either side of London, fields spread out and dark brown woods where adventurous thrushes hopping boldly, glancing quickly, snatched the snail and tapped him on a stone, once, twice, thrice.

啊,可瞧那飞机!登普斯特夫人不是总想看看外国风土吗?她有个侄儿,一个传教士。飞机疾速冲上云霄。她总是去马盖特出海,但始终让陆地出现在视野之内。可她没有耐心忍受怕水的女人。飞机掠过后就往下坠。她的心快要跳出来了。飞机又升起来了。飞机上有个好样的小伙子,登普斯特夫人保证。飞机疾速地越飞越远,慢慢消逝,越来越高,越过格林威治和所有桅杆,越过遍布灰色教堂的一小块区域,其中有圣保罗大教堂和其他教堂,越过伦敦两边。田野延伸开来,茶褐色森林里勇敢的画眉大胆跳跃着,迅速地一瞥,叼住一只蜗牛往石头上击打,一下、两下、三下。

Away and away the aeroplane shot, till it was nothing but a bright spark; an aspiration; a concentration; a symbol (so it seemed to Mr. Bentley, vigorously rolling his strip of turf at Greenwich) of man's soul; of his determination, thought Mr. Bentley, sweeping round the cedar tree, to get outside his body, beyond his house, by means of thought, Einstein, speculation, mathematics, the Mendelian theory—away the aeroplane shot.

飞机越飞越远,直到只剩一个亮点。一种渴望,一种凝聚,一种人类灵魂的象征(本特利先生就是这样认为的,他正在格林威治精力旺盛地平整他的一块草皮),一种人类通过思维、爱因斯坦、推测、数学、孟德尔学说超越自身躯体、摆脱居所的决心的象征,本特利先生一边打扫着雪松周围,一边这样思索着——飞机越飞越远。

Then, while a seedy-looking nondescript man carrying a leather bag stood on the steps of St. Paul's Cathedral, and hesitated, for within was what balm, how great a welcome, how many tombs with banners waving over them, tokens of victories not over armies, but over, he thought, that plaguy spirit of truth seeking which leaves me at present without a situation, and more than that, the cathedral offers company, he thought, invites you to membership of a society; great men belong to it; martyrs have died for it; why not enter in, he thought, put this leather bag stuffed with pamphlets before an altar, a cross, the symbol of something which has soared beyond seeking and questing and knocking of words together and has become all spirit, disembodied, ghostly—why not enter in? he thought and while he hesitated out flew the aeroplane over Ludgate Circus.

此后,一个衣衫破烂、莫名其妙的人拎着一只皮包站在圣保罗大教堂的台阶上,犹豫不决。因为不知道教堂里会有什么样的慰藉,多么热烈的欢迎,多少旗帜飘飘的坟墓,不是战胜敌人的军队的标志,而是战胜了那令人讨厌的寻找真理的精神的标志。他想这精神使我如今境遇堪忧。而且,大教堂提供志同道合的人,他想着,会邀你成为社团的一员。大人物是它的成员,殉道者为之献身。为什么不到里面去,他想着,随后把装满宣传单的皮包放在圣餐桌和十字架前,它象征着一种超越了寻求、探索和言语表达,完完全全成为精神的、脱离了躯体的、幽灵一样的东西——为什么不到里面去呢?他思索着,正当他犹豫之时,飞机出现在拉德盖特环形广场的上空。

It was strange; it was still. Not a sound was to be heard above the traffic. Unguided it seemed; sped of its own free will. And now, curving up and up, straight up, like something mounting in ecstasy, in pure delight, out from behind poured white smoke looping, writing a T, an O, an F.

真是怪异,真是宁静。除了车辆就听不到其他声音了。看起来飞机好似无人驾驶,自由自在地飞翔。此刻,它转着弯越飞越高,青云直上,似乎出于欣喜若狂、纯粹出于喜悦而攀升,机尾冒出环状白烟,书写出字母T、O、F。

"What are they looking at?" said Clarissa Dalloway to the maid who opened her door.“他们在看什么?”克拉丽莎·达洛维向开门的女佣问道。

The hall of the house was cool as a vault. Mrs. Dalloway raised her hand to her eyes, and, as the maid shut the door to, and she heard the swish of Lucy's skirts, she felt like a nun who has left the world and feels fold round her the familiar veils and the response to old devotions. The cook whistled in the kitchen. She heard the click of the typewriter. It was her life, and, bending her head over the hall table, she bowed beneath the influence, felt blessed and purified, saying to herself, as she took the pad with the telephone message on it, how moments like this are buds on the tree of life, flowers of darkness they are, she thought (as if some lovely rose had blossomed for her eyes only); not for a moment did she believe in God; but all the more, she thought, taking up the pad, must one repay in daily life to servants, yes, to dogs and canaries, above all to Richard her husband, who was the foundation of it—of the gay sounds, of the green lights, of the cook even whistling, for Mrs. Walker was Irish and whistled all day long—one must pay back from this secret deposit of exquisite moments, she thought, lifting the pad, while Lucy stood by her, trying to explain how

这座宅子的门厅和地下室一样凉快。达洛维夫人将一只手举在眼前,女佣把门关上时,她听到露西裙子的窸窣声,她觉得自己好似与世隔绝的修女,裹着熟悉的修女的头巾,感觉到过去的虔诚得到了回应。厨师在厨房吹口哨。她听到打字机的咔哒声。这是她的生活。她在大厅的桌边埋着头,接受这影响力,感觉获得了祝福和净化。她拿起记有电话信息的便签本时,心中暗想,这种时刻真是生命之树上的花蕾,它们是黑夜之花(似乎有朵可爱的玫瑰只在她眼前绽放)。她一刻也没信仰过上帝。正因为这样,她更应该在日常生活中报答,她拿起便签本,心里想,在对待佣人,是的,对待狗和金丝雀,尤其是对待理查德——她的丈夫,他是生活的根本——那快乐的声音、绿灯光、甚至那吹哨的厨师,因为沃克夫人是爱尔兰人,所以整天吹哨——人必须用这私自贮存的美好时刻来报答,她思索着,一边擎着便签本。露西站在她身旁,试着解释什么。

"Mr. Dalloway, ma'am"—“夫人,达洛维先生——”

Clarissa read on the telephone pad, "Lady Bruton wishes to know if Mr. Dalloway will lunch with her today."

克拉丽莎读着便签本上的电话留言:“布鲁顿女士想知晓达洛维先生今天能否与她一起吃午饭。”

"Mr. Dalloway, ma'am, told me to tell you he would be lunching out."“夫人,达洛维先生让我跟您说他会在外面吃午餐。”

"Dear!" said Clarissa, and Lucy shared as she meant her to her disappointment (but not the pang); felt the concord between them; took the hint; thought how the gentry love; gilded her own future with calm; and, taking Mrs. Dalloway's parasol, handled it like a sacred weapon which a Goddess, having acquitted herself honourably in the field of battle, sheds, and placed it in the umbrella stand.“天啊!”克拉丽莎说,露西如她所愿地感受到了她的沮丧(可并不是悲痛),感受到了她俩间的契合,领会了其间隐含之意,思考着名流们之间的爱情,镇定地为她的将来镀金。露西拿过达洛维夫人的阳伞,像是从战场上胜利归来的女神身上卸下神圣的武器,放在伞架上。

"Fear no more," said Clarissa. Fear no more the heat o' the sun; for the shock of Lady Bruton asking Richard to lunch without her made the moment in which she had stood shiver, as a plant on the river-bed feels the shock of a passing oar and shivers: so she rocked: so she shivered.“不要再害怕了。”克拉丽莎说道。不用再怕骄阳的酷热。因为布鲁顿女士邀请理查德而没请她赴午餐,这使得她伫立的那一刻都颤抖了,像是河床上一株植物感受到了桨划过时的震动而随之颤抖。因而她震动,她颤抖。

Millicent Bruton, whose lunch parties were said to be extraordinarily amusing, had not asked her. No vulgar jealousy could separate her from Richard. But she feared time itself, and read on Lady Bruton's face, as if it had been a dial cut in impassive stone, the dwindling of life; how year by year her share was sliced; how little the margin that remained was capable any longer of stretching, of absorbing, as in the youthful years, the colours, salts, tones of existence, so that she filled the room she entered, and felt often as she stood hesitating one moment on the threshold of her drawing-room, an exquisite suspense, such as might stay a diver before plunging while the sea darkens and brightens beneath him, and the waves which threaten to break, but only gently split their surface, roll and conceal and encrust as they just turn over the weeds with pearl.

米莉森特·布鲁顿没邀请她,听说她的午宴会格外有意思。没什么俗气的妒忌可以将她与理查德分离。可她怕的是光阴本身,在布鲁顿女士脸上她读出了日渐萎缩的生命,就如无情的石头上刻着的日晷。而一年年过去了,她的生命是怎样被一点点切除,剩下的日子太少,不能再像青春岁月那般延伸,吸取生存的色彩、味道和音调。从前她走进一间房间时,她的存在会立刻充满整个房间。站在客厅门口迟疑的那一刻,她会感到非常不安,就像一个跳水运动员起跳前迟疑不决,海水在他身下忽明忽暗,浪涛似乎快要撞击开来,但只是温柔地拨开水面,用珍珠似的水花掀起水藻,翻滚着,随后把它们遮盖和淹没。

She put the pad on the hall table. She began to go slowly upstairs, with her hand on the bannisters, as if she had left a party, where now this friend now that had flashed back her face, her voice; had shut the door and gone out and stood alone, a single figure against the appalling night, or rather, to be accurate, against the stare of this matter-of-fact June morning; soft with the glow of rose petals for some, she knew, and felt it, as she paused by the open staircase window which let in blinds flapping, dogs barking, let in, she thought, feeling herself suddenly shrivelled, aged, breastless, the grinding, blowing, flowering of the day, out of doors, out of the window, out of her body and brain which now failed, since Lady Bruton, whose lunch parties were said to be extraordinarily amusing, had not asked her.

她将便签本放在了门厅的桌上。她开始缓慢地上楼,手扶着栏杆,仿佛刚参加完一个宴会,那里不时这个朋友、那个朋友令她回想起她的脸庞和声音。仿佛她关上门走出去一个人站着,独自面对这可怕的夜,或者更确切地说,面对这实实在在的六月早上的凝视。她知道这天早上对某些人来说如玫瑰花瓣的光辉一般柔和。当她驻足在打开的楼梯窗边时,她感觉到了这一点。窗外传来了百叶窗轻轻拍打声和狗叫声,传来了白昼的摩擦、锤炼和成熟的声音,她想着想着,便觉得自己瞬间变得枯萎、衰老、胸部干瘪,觉得自己已在门外、在窗外、超越了自己的身躯和此时衰竭的大脑,皆因布鲁顿女士没请她去据称那格外有意思的午宴。

Like a nun withdrawing, or a child exploring a tower, she went upstairs, paused at the window, came to the bathroom. There was the green linoleum and a tap dripping. There was an emptiness about the heart of life; an attic room. Women must put off their rich apparel. At midday they must disrobe. She pierced the pincushion and laid her feathered yellow hat on the bed. The sheets were clean, tight stretched in a broad white band from side to side. Narrower and narrower would her bed be. The candle was half burnt down and she had read deep in Baron Marbot's Memoirs. She had read late at night of the retreat from Moscow. For the House sat so long that Richard insisted, after her illness, that she must sleep undisturbed. And really she preferred to read of the retreat from Moscow. He knew it. So the room was an attic; the bed narrow; and lying there reading, for she slept badly, she could not dispel a virginity preserved through childbirth which clung to her like a sheet. Lovely in girlhood, suddenly there came a moment—for example on the river beneath the woods at Clieveden—when, through some contraction of this cold spirit, she had failed him. And then at Constantinople, and again and again. She could see what she lacked. It was not beauty; it was not mind. It was something central which permeated; something warm which broke up surfaces and rippled the cold contact of man and woman, or of women together. For THAT she could dimly perceive. She resented it, had a scruple picked up Heaven knows where, or, as she felt, sent by Nature (who is invariably wise); yet she could not resist sometimes yielding to the charm of a woman, not a girl, of a woman confessing, as to her they often did, some scrape, some folly. And whether it was pity, or their beauty, or that she was older, or some accident—like a faint scent, or a violin next door (so strange is the power of sounds at certain moments), she did undoubtedly then feel what men felt. Only for a moment; but it was enough. It was a sudden revelation, a tinge like a blush which one tried to check and then, as it spread, one yielded to its expansion, and rushed to the farthest verge and there quivered and felt the world come closer, swollen with some astonishing significance, some pressure of rapture, which split its thin skin and gushed and poured with an extraordinary alleviation over the cracks and sores! Then, for that moment, she had seen an illumination; a match burning in a crocus; an inner meaning almost expressed. But the close withdrew; the hard softened. It was over—the moment. Against such moments (with women too) there contrasted (as she laid her hat down) the bed and Baron Marbot and the candle half-burnt. Lying awake, the floor creaked; the lit house was suddenly darkened, and if she raised her head she could just hear the click of the handle released as gently as possible by Richard, who slipped upstairs in his socks and then, as often as not, dropped his hot-water bottle and swore! How she laughed!

恰似一个修女归隐,或一个孩子在宝塔探险,她爬上楼,在窗边驻足片刻,走进洗手间。里面铺着绿色油毡,一只龙头滴着水。生活的中心一片空虚,阁楼上的一间屋子。女人必须卸去她们奢华的衣装。她们必须在中午时分退去衣装。她将针插入针垫,将插着羽毛的黄帽子置于床上。床单很整洁,像一条宽宽的白色带子紧紧地绷在床上。她的床将愈来愈窄。蜡烛的一半燃尽了,她曾经很投入地看马尔博男爵的《回忆录》。她在深夜读了莫斯科撤退的内容。由于议会的会议很长,理查德坚持她生病后睡眠一定不能受到打扰。她实际上更喜欢读莫斯科撤退的内容。他知道。所以她在阁楼上的房间里,一张狭小的床,她躺在那里看书,她睡眠不好,她无法驱散虽然生过孩子却仍存在的处女感,像床单一样紧紧地裹着她。少女时代的她很可爱,忽然某个瞬间——比方说在克利夫登森林下的河上——当时,由于这种冷漠性情,她让他失望了。然后在君士坦丁堡,又一次次发生这种事。她能够看到自己的缺陷。不是美丽,也不是头脑。而是某种渗透全身的非常重要的东西,某种温暖的、能冲破表层,使男女之间或女人之间淡漠的关系能够泛起涟漪的东西。对于这一点,她隐约可以觉察到。她憎恨它,对它有说不出的不安,天知道这不安是从哪里来的,或者,像她感觉的那样,是大自然赋予的(大自然向来是充满智慧的)。但有时她抵抗不住女人的吸引力,不是指一个女孩,而是一个忏悔自己的窘况或者愚蠢行为的女人,她们常这样做。是否是因怜悯,或她们的美丽,或她更年长,或某种巧合——比如一股幽幽的香气,或邻屋的小提琴声(有些时候声音的力量是多么地奇特),她的确感受到了男人的感受。仅仅一瞬间的感受,不过这就够了。这是一个突如其来的启示,恰似脸红的滋味,你设法制止,它却蔓延开来,你也只好任其扩展,匆匆跑向最远的角落,在那里颤抖着,感到世界在紧逼,充满了一种令人吃惊的涵义、一种对极度欢喜的压抑,它冲破了薄薄的表皮倾泻出来,极大地缓解了裂口和疼痛。于是,在那个时刻,她看到了光明。一根火柴在一朵番红花里燃烧。一种内在的含义近乎得到了表达。可是亲近的撤退了,坚硬的软化了。那一刻——结束了。与这些时刻(包括和女人在一起的时刻)相呼应的是(她脱下帽子)那张床、马尔博男爵的书和燃了半截的蜡烛。她醒着躺在床上,地板嘎吱作响。亮着灯的房间忽然变黑了,要是她抬头,便能隐约听到理查德尽可能温柔地松开门把手时发出的咔哒声,他只穿着袜子溜上了楼,然后却常常把热水袋掉到地上,便咒骂着!她笑死了!

But this question of love (she thought, putting her coat away), this falling in love with women. Take Sally Seton; her relation in the old days with Sally Seton. Had not that, after all, been love?

不过这个爱情问题(她思索着,一边放好了她的大衣),爱上女人的问题。以萨莉·西顿为例,过去她与萨莉·西顿的关系。不管怎样,莫非那不就是爱情吗?

She sat on the floor—that was her first impression of Sally—she sat on the floor with her arms round her knees, smoking a cigarette. Where could it have been? The Mannings? The Kinloch-Jones's? At some party (where, she could not be certain), for she had a distinct recollection of saying to the man she was with, "Who is THAT?"And he had told her, and said that Sally's parents did not get on (how that shocked her—that one's parents should quarrel!). But all that evening she could not take her eyes off Sally. It was an extraordinary beauty of the kind she most admired, dark, large-eyed, with that quality which, since she hadn't got it herself, she always envied—a sort of abandonment, as if she could say anything, do anything; a quality much commoner in foreigners than in English women. Sally always said she had French blood in her veins, an ancestor had been with Marie Antoinette, had his head cut off, left a ruby ring. Perhaps that summer she came to stay at Bourton, walking in quite unexpectedly without a penny in her pocket, one night after dinner, and upsetting poor Aunt Helena to such an extent that she never forgave her. There had been some quarrel at home. She literally hadn't a penny that night when she came to them—had pawned a brooch to come down. She had rushed off in a passion. They sat up till all hours of the night talking. Sally it was who made her feel, for the first time, how sheltered the life at Bourton was. She knew nothing about sex—nothing about social problems. She had once seen an old man who had dropped dead in a field—she had seen cows just after their calves were born. But Aunt Helena never liked discussion of anything (when Sally gave her William Morris, it had to be wrapped in brown paper). There they sat, hour after hour, talking in her bedroom at the top of the house, talking about life, how they were to reform the world. They meant to found a society to abolish private property, and actually had a letter written, though not sent out. The ideas were Sally's, of course—but very soon she was just as excited—read Plato in bed before breakfast; read Morris; read Shelley by the hour.

萨莉在地板上坐着——她对萨莉的第一印象就是那样——她双手抱膝坐在地板上,抽着烟。那可能是在什么地方?是曼宁家吗?还是金洛克·琼斯家?是在某次宴会上(在哪里她不能确定),因为她清晰地记得问与她一起的男人:“那是谁?”他告诉了她,又说萨莉的父母之间有些隔阂(那是怎样使她震惊啊——一个人的父母居然要争吵)。可一整晚她的视线都无法从萨莉身上移开。这是她最喜欢的那种非凡的美,黑皮肤,大眼睛,还有她无拘无束的个性,似乎她什么都敢说,什么都敢做。这一点在外国女人身上要比在英国女人身上要普遍得多,由于她自己没有这个特点,因此非常羡慕萨莉。萨莉老是说她有着法国血统,祖上曾有人是玛丽·安托瓦妮特的侍者,他被砍了头,传下一只红宝石戒指。或许就是那个夏天萨莉来伯顿小住过一段时间。有一天晚饭后她出人意料地走了进来,口袋里没有一分钱,可怜的海伦娜姑妈非常烦乱,以至于一直都没有原谅她。萨莉家发生了一场争吵。她来她们家的那晚真的没有一分钱——还是当了一枚胸针才有了路费。她是一气之下冲出门的。她们彻夜未眠地聊。就是萨莉第一次使她感觉到伯顿的生活是多么地未经风雨。她根本不知道什么是性——什么是社会问题。她曾有一回看到一个老人倒在田野里死了——她曾见到刚产下小牛犊的母牛。可海伦娜姑妈从不喜欢谈论任何事情(萨莉把威廉·莫里斯的书给她时,不得不用牛皮纸包起来)。她和萨莉坐在顶楼上她的卧房里,一小时又一小时地聊着,聊生活,聊她俩打算怎样改造世界。她俩计划创办一个废除私有财产的社团,确实也写过一封信,尽管并未寄出。当然,这些都是萨莉的主意——可是不久,她就像萨莉那样兴奋——早饭前在床上读柏拉图,读莫里斯。一个小时接着一个小时地读雪莱。

Sally's power was amazing, her gift, her personality. There was her way with flowers, for instance. At Bourton they always had stiff little vases all the way down the table. Sally went out, picked hollyhocks, dahlias—all sorts of flowers that had never been seen together—cut their heads off, and made them swim on the top of water in bowls. The effect was extraordinary—coming in to dinner in the sunset. (Of course Aunt Helena thought it wicked to treat flowers like that.) Then she forgot her sponge, and ran along the passage naked. That grim old housemaid, Ellen Atkins, went about grumbling—"Suppose any of the gentlemen had seen?"Indeed she did shock people. She was untidy, Papa said.

萨莉的力量令人惊奇,她的天赋,她的个性。例如,她摆放花的习惯。在伯顿,人们老是把呆板的小花瓶在桌子上摆成一排。萨莉外出了,采下蜀葵、大丽花——各类从未见人们放在一起的花——她剪下花朵,让它们浮在碗中的水面上。在日落时分回来吃饭时见到——那效果非比寻常。(当然,海伦娜姑妈认为如此对待花是邪恶的。)还有她忘了拿海绵,就光着身子跑过走廊。那个冷酷的老女仆,埃伦·阿特金斯,到处嘟囔:“假如哪位绅士看到了如何是好?”她的确令人震惊。她不爱干净,父亲说。

The strange thing, on looking back, was the purity, the integrity, of her feeling for Sally. It was not like one's feeling for a man. It was completely disinterested, and besides, it had a quality which could only exist between women, between women just grown up. It was protective, on her side; sprang from a sense of being in league together, a presentiment of something that was bound to part them (they spoke of marriage always as a catastrophe), which led to this chivalry, this protective feeling which was much more on her side than Sally's. For in those days she was completely reckless; did the most idiotic things out of bravado; bicycled round the parapet on the terrace; smoked cigars. Absurd, she was—very absurd. But the charm was overpowering, to her at least, so that she could remember standing in her bedroom at the top of the house holding the hot-water can in her hands and saying aloud, "She is beneath this roof....She is beneath this roof!"No, the words meant absolutely nothing to her now. She could not even get an echo of her old emotion. But she could remember going cold with excitement, and doing her hair in a kind of ecstasy (now the old feeling began to come back to her, as she took out her hairpins, laid them on the dressin table, began to do her hair), with the rooks flaunting up and down in the pink evening light, and dressing, and going downstairs, and feeling as she crossed the hall "if it were now to die 'twere now to be most happy."That was her feeling—Othello's feeling, and she felt it, she was convinced, as strongly as Shakespeare meant Othello to feel it, all because she was coming down to dinner in a white frock to meet Sally Seton!

回顾起来,不可思议的是她对萨莉情感上的纯净和真挚。和对男人的感情不同。它是全然没有私心的,而且,它有一种只能存在于女人之间,存在于刚成年的女人之间的特性。就她而言,这是保护性的情感,来自一种联盟之感,一种她俩必定会被某种东西分离的预感(她俩说起婚姻时,老是把它看作灾难),这就促成了这种骑士精神,和这种保护性的情感,这方面在她身上要比萨莉身上强得多。因为那时萨莉完全不计后果,为了逞能会做出最愚蠢的事情。比如围着露台矮墙蹬自行车,抽雪茄。她真是荒唐——非常荒唐。不过这种吸引力是无法抵抗的,至少对她而言是这样。所以她能记得自己站在顶楼卧房里,手拿暖水瓶高喊:“她就在这个屋子里……她就在这个屋子里!”如今,这些话对她已经完全没有任何意义。对昔日的旧情,她甚至一点反响都找不到了。不过她仍然记得曾兴奋得发冷,带着狂喜梳头发(如今她取出发卡搁在梳妆台上,开始梳头发时,昔日的情感又涌上心头)。白嘴鸭得意地在粉红色的夜幕下飞起飞落。她梳妆完毕,走下楼来,她走过大厅时觉得:“要是现在死去,此刻即是最幸福的。”那即是她的感受——奥赛罗的感受,她感觉到了这一点,她深信自己感觉到的与莎士比亚想让奥赛罗感觉到的一样强烈,这些皆因她身着白色上衣下楼吃饭,去与萨莉·西顿相见!

She was wearing pink gauze—was that possible? She SEEMED, anyhow, all light, glowing, like some bird or air ball that has flown in, attached itself for a moment to a bramble. But nothing is so strange when one is in love (and what was this except being in love?) as the complete indifference of other people. Aunt Helena just wandered off after dinner; Papa read the paper. Peter Walsh might have been there, and old Miss Cummings; Joseph Breitkopf certainly was, for he came every summer, poor old man, for weeks and weeks, and pretended to read German with her, but really played the piano and sang Brahms without any voice.

萨莉身着粉红薄纱衣——那可能吗?无论如何,她似乎全身闪耀着光芒,宛如飞进来的一只鸟或气球,在荆棘丛里呆上一会儿。可是人在爱情中时(这不是爱情又是什么),最奇怪的莫过于对其他人的冷漠。海伦娜姑妈吃完晚饭后就出去散步了,父亲读着报纸。彼得·沃尔什或许在那里,上了年纪的卡明斯小姐兴许也在,约瑟夫·布赖特科普夫一定在场,因为每年夏天他都来住上几周,可怜的老人,他装作与她一同朗读德文,但实际上是来弹钢琴,蹩脚地哼唱勃拉姆斯的曲子。

All this was only a background for Sally. She stood by the fireplace talking, in that beautiful voice which made everything she said sound like a caress, to Papa, who had begun to be attracted rather against his will (he never got over lending her one of his books and finding it soaked on the terrace), when suddenly she said, "What a shame to sit indoors!" and they all went out on to the terrace and walked up and down. Peter Walsh and Joseph Breitkopf went on about Wagner. She and Sally fell a little behind. Then came the most exquisite moment of her whole life passing a stone urn with flowers in it. Sally stopped; picked a flower; kissed her on the lips. The whole world might have turned upside down! The others disappeared; there she was alone with Sally. And she felt that she had been given a present, wrapped up, and told just to keep it, not to look at it—a diamond, something infinitely precious, wrapped up, which, as they walked (up and down, up and down), she uncovered, or the radiance burnt through, the revelation, the religious feeling!—when old Joseph and Peter faced them:

这一切仅仅是为了陪衬萨莉。她站在火炉边与克拉丽莎的父亲谈话。她那美妙的声音使她谈论的每件事听来如爱抚一般。父亲也禁不住开始被她吸引。他曾借了自己的一本书给她,结果发现它被浸湿在露台上,这事他一直无法释怀。她忽然说道:“呆在屋里多可惜啊!”然后他们都走到外面的露台上,走来走去。彼得·沃尔什与约瑟夫·布赖特科普夫接着谈论瓦格纳。她和萨莉走在后面一点。她们经过一只插着花的石瓮,此时,她一生中最美妙的时刻来到了。萨莉驻足,摘下一株花,亲了亲她的嘴唇。真是天摇地晃!别人都消失了,唯有她和萨莉呆在那里。她觉得自己像是得到了一件包好的礼物,让她保存好,不能看——一颗钻石,无价之宝,包得好好的,在她俩散步时(来来回回,来来回回),她拆开包装,也许是钻石的光芒透射出来,是神启,是笃真的情感!此刻,老约瑟夫与彼得走到她俩跟前。

"Star-gazing?" said Peter.“呆呆地想什么呢?”彼得说。

It was like running one's face against a granite wall in the darkness! It was shocking; it was horrible!

像是脸在黑夜中撞到了花岗岩墙上!太讨厌了!太恐怖了!

Not for herself. She felt only how Sally was being mauled already, maltreated; she felt his hostility; his jealousy; his determination to break into their companionship. All this she saw as one sees a landscape in a flash of lightning—and Sally (never had she admired her so much!) gallantly taking her way unvanquished. She laughed. She made old Joseph tell her the names of the stars, which he liked doing very seriously. She stood there: she listened. She heard the names of the stars.

并非为自己而想。她只是感觉到了萨莉已经受到了粗暴地对待。她感受到了他的敌意,他的嫉妒,他想要插手她俩交情的决心。她看到了这一切,如同有人在闪电的一瞬看见了眼前的风景——而萨莉(她从未如此强烈地爱慕她!)毫不气馁,勇敢地一意孤行。她笑着。她要老约瑟夫告诉她那些星星的名字,这是他喜欢认真去做的事。她站在那里,听着。她听到了那些星星的名字。

"Oh this horror!" she said to herself, as if she had known all along that something would interrupt, would embitter her moment of happiness.“噢,真可怕!”她自言自语,好像她一直就清楚有什么事会来扰乱,会来毁坏她幸福的一刻。

Yet, after all, how much she owed to him later. Always when she thought of him she thought of their quarrels for some reason—because she wanted his good opinion so much, perhaps. She owed him words: "sentimental," "civilised"; they started up every day of her life as if he guarded her. A book was sentimental; an attitude to life sentimental. "Sentimental," perhaps she was to be thinking of the past. What would he think, she wondered, when he came back?

但是,毕竟后来她欠了彼得很多情啊。不知为何,她一想起他,总是想起他俩的争吵——大概是因为她太需要他的好评了。他用这些词来评价她:“感伤”、“文明”。她生活的每一天都是以这两个词开始,似乎他在保护着她。一本书是感伤的,一种生活态度是感伤的。也许她老是回想过去也是“感伤的”。她想知道,他回来时他会想什么?

That she had grown older? Would he say that, or would she see him thinking when he came back, that she had grown older? It was true. Since her illness she had turned almost white.

想她老了吗?他回来了会那样说吗?或者她会觉察到他认为她老了?这是事实。自从患病之后,她的头发近乎全白了。

Laying her brooch on the table, she had a sudden spasm, as if, while she mused, the icy claws had had the chance to fix in her. She was not old yet. She had just broken into her fifty-second year. Months and months of it were still untouched. June, July, August! Each still remained almost whole, and, as if to catch the falling drop, Clarissa (crossing to the dressing table) plunged into the very heart of the moment, transfixed it, there—the moment of this June morning on which was the pressure of all the other mornings, seeing the glass, the dressing-table, and all the bottles afresh, collecting the whole of her at one point (as she looked into the glass), seeing the delicate pink face of the woman who was that very night to give a party; of Clarissa Dalloway; of herself.

她将胸针搁于桌上,忽然间觉得一阵战栗,似乎她冥想时,冷冰冰的爪子已经乘机在她的身上安顿下来。她尚未老去。她刚迈入第五十二个年头。还有好多好多个月要度过呢。六月、七月、八月!每个月仍几乎是完完整整的,而且,似乎为了抓住消逝的一点一滴,克拉丽莎(向梳妆台走去)陷入这一刻的核心里,定在那里——这六月早上的一刻,其他所有早上的压力都聚拢在这里,她重新注视着镜子、梳妆台,和所有瓶子,这些把她全身都聚拢在一点(她照镜子时),只见那晚举办晚宴的女子娇嫩粉红的面庞,是克拉丽莎·达洛维的面庞,她自己的面庞。

How many million times she had seen her face, and always with the same imperceptible contraction! She pursed her lips when she looked in the glass. It was to give her face point. That was her self—pointed; dartlike; definite. That was her self when some effort, some call on her to be her self, drew the parts together, she alone knew how different, how incompatible and composed so for the world only into one centre, one diamond, one woman who sat in her drawing-room and made a meeting-point, a radiancy no doubt in some dull lives, a refuge for the lonely to come to, perhaps; she had helped young people, who were grateful to her; had tried to be the same always, never showing a sign of all the other sides of her—faults, jealousies, vanities, suspicions, like this of Lady Bruton not asking her to lunch; which, she thought (combing her hair finally), is utterly base! Now, where was her dress?

她曾数百万次看到自己的面庞,总是露出不变的难以察觉的收缩!她照镜子时嘟着嘴。让她的脸显得尖些。那就是她自己——尖脸,梭镖似的,确定无疑。那就是她自己,当某种努力、某种让她做自己的召唤将她全身各处聚拢到一点时,唯独她自己知晓这多么不同,多么不一致。只是为了这外部世界才把自己构成一个中心,一颗钻石、一个坐在自己客厅里为大家提供聚会场所的女人。无疑为一些生活枯燥的人带来一点光亮,或许是孤独之人的避风港。她帮助过青年,他们都感激她。她曾试着始终如一,永不显露她所有其他方面的迹象——过错、嫉妒、虚荣、怀疑,就如对于布鲁顿女士没邀请她赴午宴这件事,她想(终于梳头发了),真是极端卑劣的! 哎,她的礼服在哪里呢?

Her evening dresses hung in the cupboard. Clarissa, plunging her hand into the softness, gently detached the green dress and carried it to the window. She had torn it. Some one had trod on the skirt. She had felt it give at the Embassy party at the top among the folds. By artificial light the green shone, but lost its colour now in the sun. She would mend it. Her maids had too much to do. She would wear it tonight. She would take her silks, her scissors, her—what was it?—her thimble, of course, down into the drawing-room, for she must also write, and see that things generally were more or less in order.

她的晚礼服挂在衣柜中。克拉丽莎将手插入柔软的衣服里,温柔地取下绿色礼服,把它拿到窗边。她把礼服扯坏了。有人踩到裙子上了。在使馆宴会上,她感觉到裙围顶部褶皱处裂开了。绿色在人造灯下闪闪发光,可如今在阳光下便失去了色彩。她会缝补好它。她的女仆们要做的事够多了。她会在今晚穿上它。她会带上她的丝绒、她的剪刀、还有她的——什么来着?当然,她的顶针,到楼下客厅去,因为她还得写信,还要照看好一切,使得所有事情都大致上准备妥当。

Strange, she thought, pausing on the landing, and assembling that diamond shape, that single person, strange how a mistress knows the very moment, the very temper of her house! Faint sounds rose in spirals up the well of the stairs; the swish of a mop; tapping; knocking; a loudness when the front door opened; a voice repeating a message in the basement; the chink of silver on a tray; clean silver for the party. All was for the party.

真怪,她想着,一边在楼梯平台停下来。把自己组成那个钻石形状的、独自的一个人,真怪,一个女主人对自己家中的那重大时刻、那特性有如此的了解!微弱的声音沿着楼梯井扶摇直上,是拖把的窸窣声、轻敲声、碰撞声、前门打开时的响声、地下室里一个在重复什么消息的声音、盘子上银器的叮当声,为宴会备好的洁净的银器。全是为了这次宴会。

(And Lucy, coming into the drawing-room with her tray held out, put the giant candlesticks on the mantelpiece, the silver casket in the middle, turned the crystal dolphin towards the clock. They would come; they would stand; they would talk in the mincing tones which she could imitate, ladies and gentlemen. Of all, her mistress was loveliest—mistress of silver, of linen, of china, for the sun, the silver, doors off their hinges, Rumpelmayer's men, gave her a sense, as she laid the paper-knife on the inlaid table, of something achieved. Behold! Behold!(而露西托着盘子来到客厅,把巨型烛台放到壁炉架上,银制首饰盒摆在正中,将水晶海豚转向挂钟。他们会来的,他们会在站在这里,他们会装腔作势地聊天,她也可以模仿那样说话,那些女士先生们。所有人中,她的女主人最可爱了——她是银器、亚麻织物、瓷器的女主人,因为这阳光、银器、脱下合叶的门、昂伯尔梅尔派来的人全部给她一种成就了什么的感觉。此刻,她把裁纸剪刀放到了有镶蚀的桌子上。瞧!瞧!

she said, speaking to her old friends in the baker's shop, where she had first seen service at Caterham, prying into the glass. She was Lady Angela, attending Princess Mary, when in came Mrs. Dalloway.)

她对面包店里的老朋友们说道,同时窥探玻璃窗,这是她初次在凯特勒姆店做事。她是安杰拉太太,是伺候玛丽公主的。这时,达洛维夫人走了进来。)

"Oh Lucy," she said, "the silver does look nice!"“噢,露西,”她说道,“银器看起来的确很美!”

"And how," she said, turning the crystal dolphin to stand straight, "how did you enjoy the play last night?""Oh, they had to go before the end!" she said. "They had to be back at ten!" she said. "So they don't know what happened," she said. "That does seem hard luck," she said (for her servants stayed later, if they asked her). "That does seem rather a shame," she said, taking the old bald-looking cushion in the middle of the sofa and putting it in Lucy's arms, and giving her a little push, and crying:“你觉得,”她说着,一边旋转水晶海豚让其竖立,“昨晚的戏怎么样?”“啊,演出结束前他们就得走!”她说道。“他们必须十点回去!”她说道。“因此他们不清楚发生了什么。”她答道。“那真不走运。”她说道(只要她的仆人们提出来,他们就可以再呆一会儿)。“那真是非常遗憾。”她如是说,拿起沙发中间的一块光秃秃的旧靠枕,塞到露西怀里,轻轻地推了一下她,大声说道,

"Take it away! Give it to Mrs. Walker with my compliments! Take it away!" she cried.“把它拿去!送给沃克夫人并代我问好!把它拿去!”她大声说道。

And Lucy stopped at the drawing-room door, holding the cushion, and said, very shyly, turning a little pink, Couldn't she help to mend that dress?

露西拿着靠枕,在客厅门口停住了,脸微微泛红,十分害羞地问她能否帮忙修补那身礼服?

But, said Mrs. Dalloway, she had enough on her hands already, quite enough of her own to do without that.

但是,达洛维夫人说露西自己已有足够的活儿要做,不缝补礼服也够她忙活的了。

"But, thank you, Lucy, oh, thank you," said Mrs. Dalloway, and thank you, thank you, she went on saying (sitting down on the sofa with her dress over her knees, her scissors, her silks), thank you, thank you, she went on saying in gratitude to her servants generally for helping her to be like this, to be what she wanted, gentle, generous-hearted. Her servants liked her. And then this dress of hers—where was the tear? and now her needle to be threaded. This was a favourite dress, one of Sally Parker's, the last almost she ever made, alas, for Sally had now retired, living at Ealing, and if ever I have a moment, thought Clarissa (but never would she have a moment any more), I shall go and see her at Ealing. For she was a character, thought Clarissa, a real artist. She thought of little out-of-the-way things; yet her dresses were never queer. You could wear them at Hatfield; at Buckingham Palace. She had worn them at Hatfield; at Buckingham Palace.“但是,谢谢你,露西,噢,谢谢你。”达洛维夫人说,谢谢你,谢谢你,她不停地说着(她坐在沙发上,膝盖上放着礼服、剪刀、丝绸),谢谢你,谢谢你,她继续说着,感激她的仆人们帮她成为现在的她,成为她想要的那样——温柔、宽宏大量。她的仆人们都喜欢她。她的礼服——哪个地方扯坏了?这时要穿针引线了。这是她最喜爱的一件礼服,萨莉·帕克缝制的,差不多是她做的最后一件了。哎,因为萨莉现已退休,在伊灵住,如果我有一刻空闲,克拉丽莎想着(可她再也不会有一刻空闲),我会去伊灵看望她。因为她有个性,克拉丽莎想着,是个真正的艺术家。她想起了萨莉一些古怪的事情,然而她做的衣服从来都不古怪。你能在哈特菲尔德穿这些衣服,在白金汉宫穿也行。她在哈特菲尔德穿过,在白金汉宫也穿过。

Quiet descended on her, calm, content, as her needle, drawing the silk smoothly to its gentle pause, collected the green folds together and attached them, very lightly, to the belt. So on a summer's day waves collect, overbalance, and fall; collect and fall; and the whole world seems to be saying "that is all" more and more ponderously, until even the heart in the body which lies in the sun on the beach says too, That is all. Fear no more, says the heart. Fear no more, says the heart, committing its burden to some sea, which sighs collectively for all sorrows, and renews, begins, collects, lets fall. And the body alone listens to the passing bee; the wave breaking; the dog barking, far away barking and barking.

静谧侵袭了她全身,她觉得宁静、满足,手中的针把丝线一针一针地平稳地拉到头,把散开的绿色褶边叠好,轻轻地缝在裙腰上。就如夏日里波浪聚拢、失衡、散落,聚拢来又散落。全世界似乎都在说“就是这样”,那声音越来越沉重,直到连海滩上晒太阳的人也在内心说,就是这样。不用再害怕,那颗心说。不用再害怕,那颗心说,把包袱托付给大海吧,它为所有悲伤叹息,随即复苏、开始、聚拢、任其散落。唯有身躯聆听着飞舞的蜜蜂在鸣唱,波浪在拍打,狗在叫,在遥远的地方不停地叫着。

"Heavens, the front-door bell!" exclaimed Clarissa, staying her needle. Roused, she listened.“天啊,前门响起了门铃声!”克拉丽莎大声说,停下了手中的针。她被唤醒了,留心听着。

"Mrs. Dalloway will see me," said the elderly man in the hall. "Oh yes, she will see ME," he repeated, putting Lucy aside very benevolently, and running upstairs ever so quickly. "Yes, yes, yes," he muttered as he ran upstairs. "She will see me. After five years in India, Clarissa will see me."“达洛维夫人要见我。”大厅里一名年长的男子说。“噢,是的,她要见我。”他反复说着,十分友善地把露西推到一边,非常迅速地跑上了楼。“是的,是的,是的。”他一边跑一边咕哝着。“她要见我。我在印度呆了五年了,克拉丽莎要见我。”

"Who can—what can," asked Mrs. Dalloway (thinking it was outrageous to be interrupted at eleven o'clock on the morning of the day she was giving a party), hearing a step on the stairs. She heard a hand upon the door. She made to hide her dress, like a virgin protecting chastity, respecting privacy. Now the brass knob slipped. Now the door opened, and in came—for a single second she could not remember what he was called! so surprised she was to see him, so glad, so shy, so utterly taken aback to have Peter Walsh come to her unexpectedly in the morning! (She had not read his letter.)“会是谁呢?来干什么?”达洛维夫人自言自语道(她觉得这真令人无法容忍,在她举办宴会那天早上十一点,居然会被打扰),她听到了楼梯上的脚步声。她听到有人把手放到门上。她准备要藏起礼服,宛若一位处女维护贞洁,注重隐私。现在铜把手在扭动。这时门开了,走进来一个人——一瞬间她记不得他叫什么名字!看到他时她是多么惊讶、多么欢欣、多么腼腆,彼得·沃尔什早上意外的到来使她完全惊呆了!(她没看他写的信。)

"And how are you?" said Peter Walsh, positively trembling; taking both her hands; kissing both her hands. She's grown older, he thought, sitting down. I shan't tell her anything about it, he thought, for she's grown older. She's looking at me, he thought, a sudden embarrassment coming over him, though he had kissed her hands. Putting his hand into his pocket, he took out a large pocket-knife and half opened the blade.“你过得怎么样?”彼得·沃尔什颤抖地说道,真的在颤抖。他握住她的双手,亲吻她的双手。她变老了些,他想,一边坐了下来。我不应给她讲这个的,他思索着,因为她变老了。她正在看我,他想着,这使他感到一阵突如其来的尴尬,虽然他已经亲吻过她的手。他把一只手伸向袋中,取出一把大折刀,打开了一半。

Exactly the same, thought Clarissa; the same queer look; the same check suit; a little out of the straight his face is, a little thinner, dryer, perhaps, but he looks awfully well, and just the same.

他和以前一样,克拉丽莎想着。一样的怪异表情,一样的格子套装,脸似乎有点歪,还有点干瘦,可看起来气色很好,完全没变。

"How heavenly it is to see you again!" she exclaimed. He had his knife out. That's so like him, she thought.“再次看到你真是太好了!”她大声说道。他拿出折刀。他就是这样,她想。

He had only reached town last night, he said; would have to go down into the country at once; and how was everything, how was everybody—Richard? Elizabeth? "And what's all this?" he said, tilting his pen-knife towards her green dress.

他昨晚刚进城,他说道。立刻就得到乡下去。一切都好吗?每个人都好吗?理查德好吗?伊丽莎白好吗?“这些是什么?”他说着,用小刀斜着指向她的绿色礼服。

He's very well dressed, thought Clarissa; yet he always criticises ME.

他穿戴很讲究,克拉丽莎想,但是他老是批评我。

Here she is mending her dress; mending her dress as usual, he thought; here she's been sitting all the time I've been in India; mending her dress; playing about; going to parties; running to the House and back and all that, he thought, growing more and more irritated, more and more agitated, for there's nothing in the world so bad for some women as marriage, he thought; and politics; and having a Conservative husband, like the admirable Richard. So it is, so it is, he thought, shutting his knife with a snap.

她正在这里补礼服,像平时一样补礼服,他想。我在印度时,她就坐在这里缝补她的礼服,到处闲逛,参加宴会,跑去议会又回来等诸如此类。他想着,越发急躁,越发不安,因为对某些女子来说,世上没什么比婚姻更糟糕的了。还有政治,有一个保守党人做丈夫,比如那令人欣赏的理查德。就是这样,就是这样,他想,啪地一声合上了刀。

"Richard's very well. Richard's at a Committee," said Clarissa.“理查德很好。理查德在委员会有事。”克拉丽莎说道。

And she opened her scissors, and said, did he mind her just finishing what she was doing to her dress, for they had a party that night?

她打开剪刀,问他介不介意她缝完她的礼服,因为晚上有个聚会。

"Which I shan't ask you to," she said. "My dear Peter!" she said.“我没想要请你去。”她说道。“我亲爱的彼得!”她说道。

But it was delicious to hear her say that—my dear Peter! Indeed, it was all so delicious—the silver, the chairs; all so delicious!

不过听她那么称呼是很开心的——我亲爱的彼得!实际上,这一切都如此怡人心脾——银器、那些椅子,一切都令人陶醉!

Why wouldn't she ask him to her party? he asked. Now of course, thought Clarissa, he's enchanting! perfectly enchanting! Now I remember how impossible it was ever to make up my mind—and why did I make up my mind—not to marry him? she wondered, that awful summer?

为什么她不想请他参加宴会呢?他问。当然,克拉丽莎想,他很迷人!异常迷人!现在,我想起要我做决定不嫁给他是多么困难——为什么我做了那样的决定?她寻思着,就在那个可怕的夏天。

"But it's so extraordinary that you should have come this morning!" she cried, putting her hands, one on top of another, down on her dress.“但是你今天早晨来真是太非同寻常了!”她大声说道,双手交叉着,放在礼服上。

"Do you remember," she said, "how the blinds used to flap at Bourton?"“你还记不记得,”她说道,“以前在伯顿时,百叶窗常拍打得啪啪响?”

"They did," he said; and he remembered breakfasting alone, very awkwardly, with her father; who had died; and he had not written to Clarissa. But he had never got on well with old Parry, that querulous, weak-kneed old man, Clarissa's father, Justin Parry.“就是。”他说道。于是他又忆起单独和她父亲共进早餐,实在尴尬极了。她父亲过世了。他也没有给克拉丽莎写过信。可是他从未和老帕里融洽相处过,那是位爱抱怨、犹犹豫豫的老人,克拉丽莎的父亲——贾斯廷·帕里。

"I often wish I'd got on better with your father," he said.“我常想要是和你父亲相处得更融洽就好了。”他说道。

"But he never liked any one who—our friends," said Clarissa; and could have bitten her tongue for thus reminding Peter that he had wanted to marry her.“但是他从未喜欢过任何人——我们的朋友。”克拉丽莎说道。她真应咬住自己的舌头,因为如此的话便让彼得忆起他曾想娶她。

Of course I did, thought Peter; it almost broke my heart too, he thought; and was overcome with his own grief, which rose like a moon looked at from a terrace, ghastly beautiful with light from the sunken day. I was more unhappy than I've ever been since, he thought. And as if in truth he were sitting there on the terrace he edged a little towards Clarissa; put his hand out; raised it; let it fall. There above them it hung, that moon. She too seemed to be sitting with him on the terrace, in the moonlight.

当然我想过娶你,彼得心想,这差点让我的心都碎了,沉浸在自己的悲伤中,这悲伤就像从露台上看到的月亮一样慢慢升起,在暮色中显出苍白的美。自那以后我从未如此悲痛过,他想。好像他确实在露台上坐着,侧身向克拉丽莎移了移,伸出手,抬起手,又垂下来。那明月,就悬挂在他们头上。她也好像与他一起在露台上坐着,沉浸在月色中。

"Herbert has it now," she said. "I never go there now," she said.“赫伯特现在拥有那地方了。”她说道。“如今我从不去那里。”她说道。

Then, just as happens on a terrace in the moonlight, when one person begins to feel ashamed that he is already bored, and yet as the other sits silent, very quiet, sadly looking at the moon, does not like to speak, moves his foot, clears his throat, notices some iron scroll on a table leg, stirs a leaf, but says nothing—so Peter Walsh did now. For why go back like this to the past? he thought. Why make him think of it again? Why make him suffer, when she had tortured him so infernally? Why? "Do you remember the lake?" she said, in an abrupt voice, under the pressure of an emotion which caught her heart, made the muscles of her throat stiff, and contracted her lips in a spasm as she said "lake."For she was a child, throwing bread to the ducks, between her parents, and at the same time a grown woman coming to her parents who stood by the lake, holding her life in her arms which, as she neared them, grew larger and larger in her arms, until it became a whole life, a complete life, which she put down by them and said, "This is what I have made of it! This!"

此时,就像月光下露台上发生的场景,一个人由于已经感到无聊而开始觉得羞愧,可是另一个人默默地坐着,十分安静,哀伤地望着那明月,不愿说什么,只是动了动脚,清了清喉咙,留心到桌腿上的漩涡形铁饰,动了一下一片树叶,却一声不响——彼得·沃尔什现在就是这样。因为何故要如此回忆过去呢?他想。为何又要他忆起往昔呢?她已如此无情地折磨过他,干嘛还要让他痛苦?为什么?“你还记得那个湖吗?”她突然说道,内心强烈的感情压得她喉咙肌肉变僵,当她说“湖”字时,嘴唇在颤抖。因为她那时候是个小孩,站在她父母中间扔面包给鸭子吃,而同时也是一个成年女人,怀抱着自己的生活来到站在湖畔的父母跟前。她走近他们时,她怀抱着的生活愈发丰满,直到成为一个完整的生活、圆满的生活,她把这生活放到他们身边,说:“这即是我成就的生活!就是这个!”

And what had she made of it?

而她成就了什么呢?

What, indeed? sitting there sewing this morning with Peter.

到底是什么?不过是今早与彼得一起坐在那里缝缝补补。

She looked at Peter Walsh; her look, passing through all that time and that emotion, reached him doubtfully; settled on him tearfully; and rose and fluttered away, as a bird touches a branch and rises and flutters away. Quite simply she wiped her eyes.

她看着彼得·沃尔什,她的目光穿越了那段时间和那段感情,将信将疑地落在他身上,眼里含着泪水。随即她拾起目光,飘走了。就像一只鸟儿暂落枝头,又飞起来振翼远去。她一点都没有掩饰地地擦拭了自己的双眼。

"Yes," said Peter. "Yes, yes, yes," he said, as if she drew up to the surface something which positively hurt him as it rose. Stop! Stop! he wanted to cry. For he was not old; his life was not over; not by any means. He was only just past fifty. Shall I tell her, he thought, or not? He would like to make a clean breast of it all. But she is too cold, he thought; sewing, with her scissors;“是的。”彼得说道。“是的,是的,是的。”他一直说,似乎她将某个东西拉到了表面,在它升起时无疑伤到他了。不要说了!不要说了!他想要大喊。因为他年龄不大,他的生活尚未到头,绝对没到头。他刚刚五十出头。我应不应该告诉她呢?他想。他想要和盘托出。可她这么冷淡,他心想,总是拿着她的剪刀缝缝补补。

Daisy would look ordinary beside Clarissa. And she would think me a failure, which I am in their sense, he thought; in the Dalloways' sense. Oh yes, he had no doubt about that; he was a failure, compared with all this—the inlaid table, the mounted paper-knife, the dolphin and the candlesticks, the chair-covers and the old valuable English tinted prints—he was a failure! I detest the smugness of the whole affair, he thought; Richard's doing, not Clarissa's; save that she married him. (Here Lucy came into the room, carrying silver, more silver, but charming, slender, graceful she looked, he thought, as she stooped to put it down.) And this has been going on all the time! he thought; week after week; Clarissa's life; while I—he thought; and at once everything seemed to radiate from him; journeys; rides; quarrels; adventures; bridge parties; love affairs; work; work, work! and he took out his knife quite openly—his old horn-handled knife which Clarissa could swear he had had these thirty years—and clenched his fist upon it.

黛西在克拉丽莎身边看起来会很普通。而她会觉得我是一个失败者,在他们眼中我的确如此,他寻思着,在达洛维一家眼中,我是个失败者。噢,没错,他对此深信不疑,他是失败的。与这一切比起来——有镶饰的桌子、嵌宝石的裁纸刀、那海豚与烛台、椅布与古典名贵的英国套色版画——他是一个失败的人!我痛恨这一切所透漏出来的洋洋自得,他想着,我痛恨理查德的所作所为,不是克拉丽莎的作风,只不过她与他结婚了。(此刻露西进屋来了,端着银餐具,更多的银餐具。在她屈身放置银器时,他想着,她看起来很迷人——纤细、优雅。)然而这一直以来都在继续!他想,一周周过去了,克拉丽莎的生活。而我呢——他想,每一件事立刻好像都自他身上散发出来——旅行、骑马、吵架、冒险、桥牌聚会、风流韵事、工作、工作、工作!而他毫不掩饰地掏出了小刀——那陈旧的牛角柄刀,克拉丽莎可以保证这把刀已经跟随他三十年了——紧握在拳头里。

What an extraordinary habit that was, Clarissa thought; always playing with a knife. Always making one feel, too, frivolous; empty-minded; a mere silly chatterbox, as he used. But I too, she thought, and, taking up her needle, summoned, like a Queen whose guards have fallen asleep and left her unprotected (she had been quite taken aback by this visit—it had upset her) so that any one can stroll in and have a look at her where she lies with the brambles curving over her, summoned to her help the things she did; the things she liked; her husband; Elizabeth; her self, in short, which Peter hardly knew now, all to come about her and beat off the enemy.

那真是个奇怪的习惯,克拉丽莎想,老是把玩一把刀。还老是让人觉得轻佻,头脑简单,仅仅是个愚蠢的话匣子,正如他以前所说的那样。可我也是啊,她心想,接着拿起针,召唤帮助,好似一个由于卫兵睡着了而失去防卫的王后(他的拜访让她很是惊讶——这令她沮丧),所以无论谁都能溜进来,看见她躺在荆棘丛中召唤帮助,召唤她做过的事情,她喜欢的事情,她的丈夫,伊丽莎白,她自己。简而言之,彼得如今几乎对现在的她一无所知,全都来到她这里,打退敌人。

"Well, and what's happened to you?" she said. So before a battle begins, the horses paw the ground; toss their heads; the light shines on their flanks; their necks curve. So Peter Walsh and Clarissa, sitting side by side on the blue sofa, challenged each other. His powers chafed and tossed in him. He assembled from different quarters all sorts of things; praise; his career at Oxford; his marriage, which she knew nothing whatever about; how he had loved; and altogether done his job.“哦,你怎么样了?”她说。好比战斗打响前,马蹄刨地,昂头,光照耀在两侧胁腹上,脖子弯起。就这样,彼得·沃尔什与克拉丽莎在蓝色沙发上肩并肩坐着,互相挑战。他的力量在身体里翻滚着。他从各个方面汇合了各种各样的事情——对他的赞美,他在牛津的事业,他的婚姻,对此她全然不知,他怎样恋爱的,还有总而言之,他怎样完成了自己的职责的。

"Millions of things!" he exclaimed, and, urged by the assembly of powers which were now charging this way and that and giving him the feeling at once frightening and extremely exhilarating of being rushed through the air on the shoulders of people he could no longer see, he raised his hands to his forehead.“数以千百万件事!”他大喊,接着,这股汇聚起来的力量此刻横冲直撞,立即让他觉得可怕又异常兴奋。宛如被一些他再也看不到的人们扛在肩上,在空中快速前进,在这股力量的激励之下,他将手抬到额前。

Clarissa sat very upright; drew in her breath.

克拉丽莎坐得笔挺,屏住呼吸。

"I am in love," he said, not to her however, but to some one raised up in the dark so that you could not touch her but must lay your garland down on the grass in the dark.“我在恋爱。”他说道,但不是讲给她听的,而是对着黑暗中升起的某个人说的,那样你就无法感触到她,只能在黑暗中把你的花环放在草地上。

"In love," he repeated, now speaking rather dryly to Clarissa Dalloway; "in love with a girl in India."He had deposited his garland. Clarissa could make what she would of it.“恋爱,”他重复说,此时是相当冷淡地对克拉丽莎·达洛维说,“爱上一个印度的姑娘。”他已把花环放下了。克拉丽莎愿意怎样就怎样。

"In love!" she said. That he at his age should be sucked under in his little bow-tie by that monster! And there's no flesh on his neck; his hands are red; and he's six months older than I am! her eye flashed back to her; but in her heart she felt, all the same, he is in love. He has that, she felt; he is in love.“恋爱!”她说道。在他那年龄,戴着一个蝴蝶领结,竟然会被那怪物吞掉!他的脖子瘦得皮包骨,手红红的,他还比我大六个月呢!她的眼神返回到自己身上,可她心里仍然感觉到他恋爱了。他拥有了爱情,她感觉到了,他陷入了爱情。

But the indomitable egotism which for ever rides down the hosts opposed to it, the river which says on, on, on; even though, it admits, there may be no goal for us whatever, still on, on; this indomitable egotism charged her cheeks with colour; made her look very young; very pink; very bright-eyed as she sat with her dress upon her knee, and her needle held to the end of green silk, trembling a little. He was in love! Not with her. With some younger woman, of course.

然而那不可战胜的唯我主义永远要踏翻反对它的大军,它是一条喊着前进、前进、前进的河,即使它承认我们或许没有任何目的,依旧要前进、前进。这不可战胜的唯我主义令她双颊泛红,使她看来十分年轻,肤色粉嫩,眼睛炯炯有神。她坐在那里,把礼服放在膝盖上,针把绿色丝线拉到头后停在那里,身子有些战栗。他在恋爱!不是与她相爱。当然,是与一个更年轻的女人相爱。

"And who is she?" she asked.“那她是谁?”她问。

Now this statue must be brought from its height and set down between them.

这时,得把这尊雕像从高处取下来放在他们中央。

"A married woman, unfortunately," he said; "the wife of a Major in the Indian Army."“一个有夫之妇,真不幸,”他说,“她是一个印度陆军少校的妻子。”

And with a curious ironical sweetness he smiled as he placed her in this ridiculous way before Clarissa.

他的笑容带有奇怪的讽刺意味,此刻他就用这种荒谬的方式把她置于克拉丽莎眼前。

(All the same, he is in love, thought Clarissa.)(尽管如此,他恋爱了,克拉丽莎想。)

"She has," he continued, very reasonably, "two small children; a boy and a girl; and I have come over to see my lawyers about the divorce."“她生育了,”他十分理智地说下去,“两个很小的孩子,一男一女。我来就是要与我的律师商议离婚事宜。”

There they are! he thought.

他们的情形就是这样!他想。

Do what you like with them, Clarissa! There they are! And second by second it seemed to him that the wife of the Major in the Indian Army (his Daisy) and her two small children became more and more lovely as Clarissa looked at them; as if he had set light to a grey pellet on a plate and there had risen up a lovely tree in the brisk sea-salted air of their intimacy (for in some ways no one understood him, felt with him, as Clarissa did)—their exquisite intimacy.

你想对他们怎样就怎样吧,克拉丽莎!他们的情形就是这样!时间一分一秒地过去了,克拉丽莎注视着他们时,他仿佛觉得那印度陆军少校的妻子(他的黛西)和她的两个孩子显得愈发可爱。似乎他点亮了盘中一颗灰色小球,于是在他们俩轻快的、充满海盐味的亲密氛围中长出一株可爱的树(因为从某种程度上来讲,没人能像克拉丽莎一样理解他,与他有共鸣)——他们格外地亲密。

She flattered him; she fooled him, thought Clarissa; shaping the woman, the wife of the Major in the Indian Army, with three strokes of a knife. What a waste! What a folly! All his life long Peter had been fooled like that; first getting sent down from Oxford; next marrying the girl on the boat going out to India; now the wife of a Major in the Indian Army—thank Heaven she had refused to marry him! Still, he was in love; her old friend, her dear Peter, he was in love.

她奉承他,她欺骗他,克拉丽莎心想。她用刀三下就刻画出那女人的嘴脸,那印度陆军少校的妻子。真是糟蹋了他!真愚蠢!彼得一生都那样被人愚弄。起初是被牛津勒令退学,接着是娶了在去印度船上认识的一个姑娘。如今又认识了印度陆军少校的妻子——谢天谢地,她拒绝了他的求婚!尽管如此,他恋爱了。她的故友,她亲爱的彼得,恋爱了。

"But what are you going to do?" she asked him. Oh the lawyers and solicitors, Messrs. Hooper and Grateley of Lincoln's Inn, they were going to do it, he said. And he actually pared his nails with his pocket-knife.“那你准备怎么做呢?”她问他。哦,这是那些律师先生的事。林肯法律协会的胡珀与格雷特利律师事务所的律师会去解决这件事的,他这样说。接着,他居然用他的折刀修起指甲来。

For Heaven's sake, leave your knife alone! she cried to herself in irrepressible irritation; it was his silly unconventionality, his weakness; his lack of the ghost of a notion what any one else was feeling that annoyed her, had always annoyed her; and now at his age, how silly!

看在上帝的份上,别玩你的刀了!她抑制不住愤怒,在心里大喊。他傻里傻气地不谙世故,他的软弱,他丝毫不注意其他人的感受,这些都让她生气,始终让她生气。而且到了现在这个年纪,多愚蠢!

I know all that, Peter thought; I know what I'm up against, he thought, running his finger along the blade of his knife, Clarissa and Dalloway and all the rest of them; but I'll show Clarissa—and then to his utter surprise, suddenly thrown by those uncontrollable forces thrown through the air, he burst into tears; wept; wept without the least shame, sitting on the sofa, the tears running down his cheeks.

这一切我都明白,彼得心想。我明白我面临的是什么,他想,手指顺着刀刃滑动,面对的是克拉丽莎、达洛维及他们那一群人。不过我要展示给克拉丽莎看——此时,令他十分惊讶的是,忽然间他被那些从空中丢下来的、不可控制的力量压倒。他放声大哭,丝毫不感到羞耻。他坐在沙发上,眼泪顺着面颊流淌。

And Clarissa had leant forward, taken his hand, drawn him to her, kissed him,—actually had felt his face on hers before she could down the brandishing of silver flashing—plumes like pampas grass in a tropic gale in her breast, which, subsiding, left her holding his hand, patting his knee and, feeling as she sat back extraordinarily at her ease with him and light-hearted, all in a clap it came over her, If I had married him, this gaiety would have been mine all day!

克拉丽莎身体前倾,抓住他的手,将他拉到自己身边,亲吻他——实际上,在她可以压抑住胸中那飞舞的银光闪闪的羽翼之前,就感觉到了贴在她面颊上的他的脸——好似热带强风中舞动的蒲苇草。胸中的强风逐渐消退,只剩下她抓着他的手,轻拍他的膝头,她往后靠去时,觉得跟他一起特别放松,无忧无虑。忽然一个想法掠过她脑际,如果我嫁给了他,这种欢乐就会一整天陪伴着我。

It was all over for her. The sheet was stretched and the bed narrow. She had gone up into the tower alone and left them blackberrying in the sun. The door had shut, and there among the dust of fallen plaster and the litter of birds' nests how distant the view had looked, and the sounds came thin and chill (once on Leith Hill, she remembered), and Richard, Richard! she cried, as a sleeper in the night starts and stretches a hand in the dark for help. Lunching with Lady Bruton, it came back to her. He has left me; I am alone for ever, she thought, folding her hands upon her knee.

对她而言,一切都已完结。床单铺得很平展,床窄窄的。她一个人走上塔顶,剩下其他人在太阳下采摘黑莓。门关上了,在脱落的墙皮灰土和乱七八糟的鸟窝中,景色看起来是那么遥远,传来微弱冰冷的声音(曾经在利思山上,她记得),理查德,理查德!她呼唤着,像一个夜间酣睡的人被惊醒了,在黑夜中伸手求助。与布鲁顿女士共进午餐,她的脑海中又浮现出这事。他扔下我,我永远是孤独的,她心想,双手交叉搁在膝前。

Peter Walsh had got up and crossed to the window and stood with his back to her, flicking a bandanna handkerchief from side to side. Masterly and dry and desolate he looked, his thin shoulder-blades lifting his coat slightly; blowing his nose violently. Take me with you, Clarissa thought impulsively, as if he were starting directly upon some great voyage; and then, next moment, it was as if the five acts of a play that had been very exciting and moving were now over and she had lived a lifetime in them and had run away, had lived with Peter, and it was now over.

彼得·沃尔什起身来,走到窗边,背朝她站着,轻轻挥舞着一张印花大手帕。他看上去娴熟、乏味、孤独。他瘦瘦的肩胛将他的外衣轻轻撑起来,用力地擤着鼻子。带我和你一起走,克拉丽莎冲动地想道,似乎他即将开始一次伟大的航程。然后,下一刻,似乎曾使人极度兴奋和感动的五幕剧此时结束了,她在剧中过完了一生,曾离家出走,曾与彼得一起生活过,如今这些都结束了。

Now it was time to move, and, as a woman gathers her things together, her cloak, her gloves, her opera-glasses, and gets up to go out of the theatre into the street, she rose from the sofa and went to Peter.

此刻是时候该行动了,就像一个女士把她的东西收好,她的披风、手套、观剧用的小型望远镜,起身离开剧场向街上走去,她从沙发上起身走向彼得。

And it was awfully strange, he thought, how she still had the power, as she came tinkling, rustling, still had the power as she came across the room, to make the moon, which he detested, rise at Bourton on the terrace in the summer sky.

这真是太奇怪了,他想,当她随着叮当声和沙沙声走过来时,仍然有一股力量,当她穿过屋子时,仍然有一股力量,让他所憎恶的月亮在夏季天空下的伯顿露台上冉冉上升。

"Tell me," he said, seizing her by the shoulders. "Are you happy, Clarissa? Does Richard—”“告诉我,”他说,一边抓着她的双肩,“你快乐吗,克拉丽莎?理查德是否?”

The door opened.

门打开了。

"Here is my Elizabeth," said Clarissa, emotionally, histrionically, perhaps.“这是我的伊丽莎白。”克拉丽莎说道,充满了感情,可能有点做作。

"How d'y do?" said Elizabeth coming forward.“您好吗?”伊丽莎白向前走来问候。

The sound of Big Ben striking the half-hour struck out between them with extraordinary vigour, as if a young man, strong, indifferent, inconsiderate, were swinging dumb-bells this way and that.

大本钟在他们中间格外高亢地敲响半点钟,就像一个强壮的年轻人,淡漠、不顾及别人,来回地摇晃着哑铃。

"Hullo, Elizabeth!" cried Peter, stuffing his handkerchief into his pocket, going quickly to her, saying "Good-bye, Clarissa" without looking at her, leaving the room quickly, and running downstairs and opening the hall door.“你好,伊丽莎白!”彼得喊道,将他的手帕塞进口袋,迅速走向她,一面说,“再见,克拉丽莎”,却没看她,迅速离开了屋子,跑下了楼,打开了门厅的门。

"Peter! Peter!" cried Clarissa, following him out on to the landing. "My party tonight! Remember my party tonight!" she cried, having to raise her voice against the roar of the open air, and, overwhelmed by the traffic and the sound of all the clocks striking, her voice crying "Remember my party tonight!" sounded frail and thin and very far away as Peter Walsh shut the door.“彼得!彼得!”克拉丽莎大喊,紧跟他走到楼梯平台。“我今晚的聚会!要记得我今晚的聚会!”她大喊着,不得不提高声音来震住户外的嘈杂。她的声音淹没在来往的车辆和钟声里,当她大喊“记得我今晚的聚会”时,彼得关上了门,那声音听起来虚弱、单薄、悠远。

Remember my party, remember my party, said Peter Walsh as he stepped down the street, speaking to himself rhythmically, in time with the flow of the sound, the direct downright sound of Big Ben striking the half-hour. (The leaden circles dissolved in the air.) Oh these parties, he thought; Clarissa's parties. Why does she give these parties, he thought. Not that he blamed her or this effigy of a man in a tail-coat with a carnation in his buttonhole coming towards him. Only one person in the world could be as he was, in love. And there he was, this fortunate man, himself, reflected in the plate-glass window of a motor-car manufacturer in Victoria Street. All India lay behind him; plains, mountains; epidemics of cholera; a district twice as big as Ireland; decisions he had come to alone—he, Peter Walsh; who was now really for the first time in his life, in love. Clarissa had grown hard, he thought; and a trifle sentimental into the bargain, he suspected, looking at the great motor-cars capable of doing—how many miles on how many gallons? For he had a turn for mechanics; had invented a plough in his district, had ordered wheel-barrows from England, but the coolies wouldn't use them, all of which Clarissa knew nothing whatever about.

记得我的聚会,记得我的聚会,彼得·沃尔什走到街上时有节拍地喃喃自语,和着大本钟敲响半点钟那直截了当的声波。(一圈圈铅般沉重的声波在空气中消融。)噢,这些聚会,他想道,克拉丽莎的聚会。为何她要举行这些聚会,他思索着。他并不怪她,也不责怪迎面而来的这个穿着燕尾服,纽扣孔插着一朵康乃馨的雕像似的男人。世上只有一人能够如他一般陷入爱情。他就在这里,他是个幸运儿。他自己的影像映在维多利亚大街上一个汽车制造厂的厚玻璃窗上。整个印度都展现在他背后,平原、山脉、霍乱。比爱尔兰广阔两倍的区域。他独自作出决定——他,彼得·沃尔什,如今在他一生中第一次真正地陷入了爱情。克拉丽莎变得心肠很硬,他心想,而且他怀疑还有些多愁善感,同时望着那些有能耐的大型汽车——多少加仑汽油可以行驶多少英里?他在机械方面有天赋,在他居住的地区发明了一种犁,还从英国订购过手推车,可那些苦力不愿使用这些工具。所有这些克拉丽莎都毫不知情。

The way she said "Here is my Elizabeth!"—that annoyed him. Why not "Here's Elizabeth" simply? It was insincere. And Elizabeth didn't like it either. (Still the last tremors of the great booming voice shook the air round him; the half-hour; still early; only half-past eleven still.) For he understood young people; he liked them. There was always something cold in Clarissa, he thought. She had always, even as a girl, a sort of timidity, which in middle age becomes conventionality, and then it's all up, it's all up, he thought, looking rather drearily into the glassy depths, and wondering whether by calling at that hour he had annoyed her; overcome with shame suddenly at having been a fool; wept; been emotional; told her everything, as usual, as usual.

她说“这是我的伊丽莎白”的语气——让他生气。为何不是简单地说“这是伊丽莎白”?这不诚恳。而伊丽莎白也不喜欢这样。(响亮沉重的钟声的最后一丝余波依旧震荡着他四周的空气,半点钟,时间尚早,才十一点半。)因为他理解年轻人,他喜欢他们。克拉丽莎身上总有一丝淡漠,他认为。即使在她还是少女的时侯,她就一直有些胆怯,到了中年就变成了因循守旧,然后一切全结束了,全结束了,他想着,十分阴郁地朝玻璃窗深处望去,想知道是否因为那个时刻的来访惹恼了她。忽然间,他感到十分羞愧,觉得自己就像一个傻瓜一样,哭泣,情绪激动,把什么都告诉了她,像往常一样,像往常一样。

As a cloud crosses the sun, silence falls on London; and falls on the mind. Effort ceases. Time flaps on the mast. There we stop; there we stand. Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame. Where there is nothing, Peter Walsh said to himself; feeling hollowed out, utterly empty within. Clarissa refused me, he thought. He stood there thinking, Clarissa refused me.

宛若一朵云遮掩了太阳,静谧笼罩了伦敦,落在心上。努力结束了。光阴在拍打桅杆。我们在此停顿,我们在此驻足。唯有僵硬的习俗的骨骼支撑着人的身躯。里面没有任何东西,彼得·沃尔什自言自语道,感觉自己被挖空了,体内彻底空荡荡了。克拉丽莎拒绝了我,他想。他站在那里思索着,克拉丽莎拒绝了我。

Ah, said St. Margaret's, like a hostess who comes into her drawing-room on the very stroke of the hour and finds her guests there already. I am not late.

啊——圣玛格丽特教堂的钟声说,就像一个女主人在钟声响起那一刻走进自家客厅,才发觉她的宾客们已经到了——我没有迟到。

No, it is precisely half-past eleven, she says. Yet, though she is perfectly right, her voice, being the voice of the hostess, is reluctant to inflict its individuality. Some grief for the past holds it back; some concern for the present. It is half-past eleven, she says, and the sound of St. Margaret's glides into the recesses of the heart and buries itself in ring after ring of sound, like something alive which wants to confide itself, to disperse itself, to be, with a tremor of delight, at rest—like Clarissa herself, thought Peter Walsh, coming down the stairs on the stroke of the hour in white. It is Clarissa herself, he thought, with a deep emotion, and an extraordinarily clear, yet puzzling, recollection of her, as if this bell had come into the room years ago, where they sat at some moment of great intimacy, and had gone from one to the other and had left, like a bee with honey, laden with the moment. But what room? What moment? And why had he been so profoundly happy when the clock was striking? Then, as the sound of St. Margaret's languished, he thought. She has been ill, and the sound expressed languor and suffering. It was her heart, he remembered; and the sudden loudness of the final stroke tolled for death that surprised in the midst of life, Clarissa falling where she stood, in her drawing-room. No! No! he cried. She is not dead!

还不迟,刚好十一点半,她说道。可是,虽然她完全正确,她的嗓音,她女主人的嗓音,却不情愿显露个性。压抑她的是对过去的某种悲痛,对现在的某种担心。十一点半了,她说道,圣玛格丽特的钟声潜入了心底深处,在一圈圈的声波中隐没,像是什么有生命的东西要向自己吐露心声,驱散自己,随着快乐的颤栗而静止——就像克拉丽莎自己,彼得·沃尔什寻思着,一边穿着白衣在钟声响起时走下楼来。那是克拉丽莎自己,他想着,情绪激动,格外清醒,又十分困惑地追忆着她,似乎这钟声几年前就回响在屋里,在某个时刻他们非常亲昵地坐在那里,互吐衷肠,像一只蜜蜂采蜜归去,载满那一刻的甜蜜而去。然而是在哪间屋子?什么时刻?在钟声敲响时,他又为何觉得如此透彻心扉地愉悦?于是,在圣玛格丽特的钟声减弱时,他想,她患过病,而这钟声就表示虚弱和苦痛。她有心脏病,他想起来了,突然变得响亮的最后一次钟声是死亡的丧钟,在生命的中途突至而来。克拉丽莎倒在了她站立的地方,她的客厅中。不行!不行!他喊道。她没死!

I am not old, he cried, and marched up Whitehall, as if there rolled down to him, vigorous, unending, his future.

我没有老,他哭喊,又沿着怀特霍尔街前行,似乎他那朝气蓬勃的、永恒的将来朝他滚滚而来。

He was not old, or set, or dried in the least.

他丝毫没老,也不固执、不乏味。

As for caring what they said of him—the Dalloways, the Whitbreads, and their set, he cared not a straw—not a straw (though it was true he would have, some time or other, to see whether Richard couldn't help him to some job). Striding, staring, he glared at the statue of the Duke of Cambridge. He had been sent down from Oxford—true. He had been a Socialist, in some sense a failure—true. Still the future of civilisation lies, he thought, in the hands of young men like that; of young men such as he was, thirty years ago; with their love of abstract principles; getting books sent out to them all the way from London to a peak in the Himalayas; reading science; reading philosophy. The future lies in the hands of young men like that, he thought.

至于别人怎么说他——达洛维一家、惠特布雷德一家,还有他们那群人,他毫不介意——丝毫不介意(尽管他的确早晚得考虑理查德能否可以帮他找个差事)。他大步流星,目不转睛,直盯着坎布里奇公爵的雕像。他被牛津开除过——千真万确。他过去是个社会主义信奉者,从某种意义上来看是个失败者——千真万确。不过他认为,文明的前景掌握在那样的年轻人手里,好比三十年前的他那样的年轻人手里,他们热爱抽象原理,从伦敦订购书刊,一直寄到喜马拉雅山的一个巅峰,他们阅读科学,阅读哲学。未来就在那样的年轻人的掌握中,他想道。

A patter like the patter of leaves in a wood came from behind, and with it a rustling, regular thudding sound, which as it overtook him drummed his thoughts, strict in step, up Whitehall, without his doing. Boys in uniform, carrying guns, marched with their eyes ahead of them, marched, their arms stiff, and on their faces an expression like the letters of a legend written round the base of a statue praising duty, gratitude, fidelity, love of England.

他背后传出类似树丛中叶子翻飞的啪哒声,带有一点沙沙声和有规律的砰砰声,这声音赶上他后,击打着他的思绪,令他止不住严格地和着这拍子,走在怀特霍尔街上。男孩们穿着制服,端着枪,双眼凝视前方行进,行进。他们的臂膀僵直,面部表情犹如刻在雕像底座周围的赞颂尽职、感恩、忠贞、热爱英国的铭文。

It is, thought Peter Walsh, beginning to keep step with them, a very fine training. But they did not look robust. They were weedy for the most part, boys of sixteen, who might, tomorrow, stand behind bowls of rice, cakes of soap on counters. Now they wore on them unmixed with sensual pleasure or daily preoccupations the solemnity of the wreath which they had fetched from Finsbury Pavement to the empty tomb. They had taken their vow. The traffic respected it; vans were stopped.

彼得·沃尔什开始与他们保持步调一致,感到这是一个很好的锻炼。可他们看起来并不健壮。这些十六岁的男孩多半是瘦弱的,或许明天就会在放有一碗碗米饭、一块块肥皂的柜台后站着。此时他们带着从芬斯伯里大街取来花环的同样的肃穆表情——毫未参杂感官享乐或日常烦扰——去把花圈祭奠给那座空墓。他们已经起誓。来往的车辆敬重他们,货车止行。

I can't keep up with them, Peter Walsh thought, as they marched up Whitehall, and sure enough, on they marched, past him, past every one, in their steady way, as if one will worked legs and arms uniformly, and life, with its varieties, its irreticences, had been laid under a pavement of monuments and wreaths and drugged into a stiff yet staring corpse by discipline. One had to respect it; one might laugh; but one had to respect it, he thought. There they go, thought Peter Walsh, pausing at the edge of the pavement; and all the exalted statues, Nelson, Gordon, Havelock, the black, the spectacular images of great soldiers stood looking ahead of them, as if they too had made the same renunciation (Peter Walsh felt he too had made it, the great renunciation), trampled under the same temptations, and achieved at length a marble stare. But the stare Peter Walsh did not want for himself in the least; though he could respect it in others. He could respect it in boys. They don't know the troubles of the flesh yet, he thought, as the marching boys disappeared in the direction of the Strand—all that I've been through, he thought, crossing the road, and standing under Gordon's statue, Gordon whom as a boy he had worshipped; Gordon standing lonely with one leg raised and his arms crossed,—poor Gordon, he thought.

我跟不上他们了,彼得·沃尔什想道,他们正朝着怀特霍尔街行进,果真如此,他们继续行进着,超越了他,超越了每个人,步伐稳健,似乎有一个意志使手腿一致。而生活,变化多端、生气勃勃的,被压在了纪念碑和花环铺就的路面下,为纪律麻痹成一具瞪眼的僵尸。人们只好尊重它,人们或许会嘲笑,不过必须得尊重它,他想。他们走到那边去了,彼得·沃尔什想着,一边在人行道边上停了下来。所有那些高耸的塑像,纳尔逊、戈登、哈夫洛克,那些伟大战士的伟岸的黑色身影矗立着眺望前方,似乎他们也作了相同的克己牺牲(彼得·沃尔什觉得他也如此,作了伟大的克己牺牲),把相同的引诱踩在脚下,终究变成那大理石像上冷漠的目光。然而彼得·沃尔什自身丝毫不想要这种目光,虽然他能尊重他人的这种目光。他能尊重男孩们的这种目光。他们尚未懂得众生的烦扰,他想,此时朝滨河马路前进的男孩们慢慢消失了——那一切我都经历过了,他想,一边穿过马路,站在戈登的塑像下,还在他孩提时,就崇拜戈登。戈登孤零零地伫立在那里,抬起一条腿,交叉着双臂——可怜的戈登,他想道。

And just because nobody yet knew he was in London, except Clarissa, and the earth, after the voyage, still seemed an island to him, the strangeness of standing alone, alive, unknown, at half-past eleven in Trafalgar Square overcame him. What is it? Where am I? And why, after all, does one do it? he thought, the divorce seeming all moonshine. And down his mind went flat as a marsh, and three great emotions bowled over him; understanding; a vast philanthropy; and finally, as if the result of the others, an irrepressible, exquisite delight; as if inside his brain by another hand strings were pulled, shutters moved, and he, having nothing to do with it, yet stood at the opening of endless avenues, down which if he chose he might wander. He had not felt so young for years.

恰好因为谁也不知晓他在伦敦,克拉丽莎除外,而且航行之后,对他而言大地依然像座岛屿,因而当他独自一人、充满活力、无人知悉地于十一点半站在特拉法尔加广场时的陌生之感令他无法忍受。这是怎么回事?我在哪里?究竟为何有人要做这件事?他思索着,离婚看似纯粹空谈。他的心情低落得平如沼泽,三种强烈的情感击倒了他:领悟,无边的博爱,最后是压抑不住的无比快乐,似乎这是其他两种情感的产物。好似他的头脑里有其他人的手在拽动绳子,移动百叶窗,而他与这一切没有任何瓜葛,站在无止境的大道路口,假如他愿意便可顺着大道漫步。多年以来他都没有觉得如此年轻。

He had escaped! was utterly free—as happens in the downfall of habit when the mind, like an unguarded flame, bows and bends and seems about to blow from its holding. I haven't felt so young for years! thought Peter, escaping (only of course for an hour or so) from being precisely what he was, and feeling like a child who runs out of doors, and sees, as he runs, his old nurse waving at the wrong window. But she's extraordinarily attractive, he thought, as, walking across Trafalgar Square in the direction of the Haymarket, came a young woman who, as she passed Gordon's statue, seemed, Peter Walsh thought (susceptible as he was), to shed veil after veil, until she became the very woman he had always had in mind; young, but stately; merry, but discreet; black, but enchanting.

他已逃脱!彻底自由了——就如习惯遭破坏后,心灵就像未受保护的火苗,上下乱窜,恍惚即将被从灯台上吹下来。多年以来我都没觉得如此年轻了!彼得想着,逃脱了原本的他(当然仅仅只有一小时左右),就像一个跑到户外的孩子,奔跑时看见他的老保姆在一个搞错的窗边朝他挥手。不过她格外地迷人,他想,一边穿越特拉法尔加广场,朝干草市方向走去。迎面走来一位妙龄女郞,她走过戈登的塑像时,彼得·沃尔什觉得(他十分敏感),似乎退下了一层层面纱,终于变成他一直心仪的那位女子——青春却又庄重,快乐却又慎重,皮肤黝黑却十分迷人。

Straightening himself and stealthily fingering his pocket-knife he started after her to follow this woman, this excitement, which seemed even with its back turned to shed on him a light which connected them, which singled him out, as if the random uproar of the traffic had whispered through hollowed hands his name, not Peter, but his private name which he called himself in his own thoughts. "You," she said, only "you," saying it with her white gloves and her shoulders. Then the thin long cloak which the wind stirred as she walked past Dent's shop in Cockspur Street blew out with an enveloping kindness, a mournful tenderness, as of arms that would open and take the tired—

他挺了挺身子,悄悄地拨弄着折刀,开始跟在这女郎身后,追寻他心仪的女子。这种激动,即便是背对着他,好像也给他带来一丝光亮,将他们连在一起,突出了他,似乎车水马龙随意的喧嚣声透过空握着的双手耳语着他的名字,并非彼得,而是他沉思时称呼自己的秘密名字。“你。”她说道,只有一声“你”,她用白手套和肩膀说道。随后她走过科克斯珀街上的登特商店时,风掀起她又薄又长的披风,带着包容一切的慈悲、凄婉的温柔,像是会张开来把疲惫之人拥入怀中的双臂——

But she's not married; she's young; quite young, thought Peter, the red carnation he had seen her wear as she came across Trafalgar Square burning again in his eyes and making her lips red. But she waited at the kerbstone. There was a dignity about her. She was not worldly, like Clarissa; not rich, like Clarissa. Was she, he wondered as she moved, respectable? Witty, with a lizard's flickering tongue, he thought (for one must invent, must allow oneself a little diversion), a cool waiting wit, a darting wit; not noisy.

不过她尚未嫁人,她是年轻的,非常年轻,彼得想着。他瞧见她穿越特拉法尔加广场时佩戴的那朵红色康乃馨又在他眼里点燃了,使她的唇变得通红。不过她在人行道的边上等着。她有一种高贵的气质。她不如克拉丽莎那么俗气,不如克拉丽莎那么殷富。她走起来时,他思忖着,她是个体面女人吗?机智、能言善辩,他想着(因为人一定要虚构点什么,一定要给自己找点乐子),一种沉着的、呼之欲出的机智,毫不张扬。

She moved; she crossed; he followed her. To embarrass her was the last thing he wished. Still if she stopped he would say "Come and have an ice," he would say, and she would answer, perfectly simply, "Oh yes."

她开始走起来,穿过了街道,他跟在她后面。他最不愿做的就是使她难堪。不过要是她停下来,他就会说:“来吃个冰淇淋吧。”他会说的,而她也会非常简明地回答:“那好吧。”

But other people got between them in the street, obstructing him, blotting her out. He pursued; she changed. There was colour in her cheeks; mockery in her eyes; he was an adventurer, reckless, he thought, swift, daring, indeed (landed as he was last night from India) a romantic buccaneer, careless of all these damned proprieties, yellow dressing-gowns, pipes, fishing-rods, in the shop windows; and respectability and evening parties and spruce old men wearing white slips beneath their waistcoats. He was a buccaneer. On and on she went, across Piccadilly, and up Regent Street, ahead of him, her cloak, her gloves, her shoulders combining with the fringes and the laces and the feather boas in the windows to make the spirit of finery and whimsy which dwindled out of the shops on to the pavement, as the light of a lamp goes wavering at night over hedges in the darkness.

可街道上的其他人阻在他们中间,挡住了他,遮住了她。他追随着,她有了变化。她的两颊泛红,眼神透出讥讽。他认为自己是一个冒险者,不计后果、迅捷、大胆,确实(事实上他昨晚才从印度抵达这里)是一个富于传奇色彩的海盗,不在乎这一切糟透了的繁文缛节,商店橱窗中的黄色晨袍、烟管、钓竿,也不在乎是否得体、晚宴、背心下面穿着白色内衣的、衣着整洁的老头。他是一个海盗。她继续走着,穿越了皮卡迪利大街,往摄政街走去。她的披风、手套、肩膀,结合橱窗中的流苏、蕾丝、羽毛围巾,形成了华丽而怪异的精神,渐渐减弱,从商店散到人行道上,就像夜晚的灯光摇曳地照耀着黑暗中的树篱。

Laughing and delightful, she had crossed Oxford Street and Great Portland Street and turned down one of the little streets, and now, and now, the great moment was approaching, for now she slackened, opened her bag, and with one look in his direction, but not at him, one look that bade farewell, summed up the whole situation and dismissed it triumphantly, for ever, had fitted her key, opened the door, and gone! Clarissa's voice saying, Remember my party, Remember my party, sang in his ears. The house was one of those flat red houses with hanging flower-baskets of vague impropriety. It was over.

她高兴地笑着,越过牛津街和大波特兰街,转入一条小街道下行,此时,此刻,这伟大的一刻即将来临,因为这时她放慢脚步,打开了包,往他的方向看了一眼,可不是在看他,那是告别的一瞥,总结了整个局面,成功地永远地离开了它,她将钥匙放入锁眼里,把门打开,不见了。克拉丽莎的话回荡在他的耳畔,记得我的聚会,记得我的聚会。这房子是那种单调的红房子,吊着暧昧不雅的花篮。这件事就结束了。

Well, I've had my fun; I've had it, he thought, looking up at the swinging baskets of pale geraniums. And it was smashed to atoms—his fun, for it was half made up, as he knew very well; invented, this escapade with the girl; made up, as one makes up the better part of life, he thought—making oneself up; making her up; creating an exquisite amusement, and something more. But odd it was, and quite true; all this one could never share—it smashed to atoms.

好吧,我挺开心的,我挺开心,他心想,同时抬头望着摇摆的、装着浅色天竺葵的篮子。但是它的快乐一下子被击得粉碎,因为他很清楚那快乐有一半是虚构的,是编造出来的。刚才与那位女孩的调情,是虚构出来的,好比人们虚构生活中美好的一面,他思索着——虚构自己,虚构她,营造无比地快乐,还有更多的什么。虽然很古怪,但又很真实。你永远无法与别人分享这一切——它被击得粉碎。

He turned; went up the street, thinking to find somewhere to sit, till it was time for Lincoln's Inn—for Messrs. Hooper and Grateley.

他转过身,顺着街走,想要找一处地方坐坐,一直到了该去林肯法律协会——胡珀和格雷特利律师事务所——的时候。

Where should he go? No matter. Up the street, then, towards Regent's Park. His boots on the pavement struck out "no matter"; for it was early, still very early.

他应去哪里啊?不要紧。那么,顺着这条路走,走向摄政公园。他的靴子在人行道上说着“不要紧”。因为时间尚早,仍然很早。

It was a splendid morning too. Like the pulse of a perfect heart, life struck straight through the streets. There was no fumbling—no hesitation. Sweeping and swerving, accurately, punctually, noiselessly, there, precisely at the right instant, the motor-car stopped at the door. The girl, silk-stockinged, feathered, evanescent, but not to him particularly attractive (for he had had his fling), alighted. Admirable butlers, tawny chow dogs, halls laid in black and white lozenges with white blinds blowing, Peter saw through the opened door and approved of. A splendid achievement in its own way, after all, London; the season; civilisation. Coming as he did from a respectable Anglo-Indian family which for at least three generations had administered the affairs of a continent (it's strange, he thought, what a sentiment I have about that, disliking India, and empire, and army as he did), there were moments when civilisation, even of this sort, seemed dear to him as a personal possession; moments of pride in England; in butlers; chow dogs; girls in their security.

这又是一个绚烂的早晨。街上处处洋溢着生机,就像一颗完好无损的心脏在跳动。没有摸索——没有踌躇。一辆汽车疾驰而来,突然转了个弯,就在那适当的一瞬间准确地、悄然无息地停在一扇门前。一个身材瘦削的女孩走下车来,她穿着长筒丝袜,头插羽饰,然而对他而言并不是格外地引人注目(因为他已恣意享乐过)。彼得透过敞开的门朝大厅望去,令人钦佩的男管家、棕黄色的中国狗,大厅铺着黑白相间的菱形地板,白色百叶窗飘舞着,他十分欣赏这一切。毕竟,伦敦以其自己的方式成就了一个辉煌的成绩,它的季节,它的文明。他出身在一个有威望的盎格鲁-印度家庭,起码有三代先辈曾参与过大陆事务的管理(他心想,真是奇怪,自己居然有这样的思想感情,他是那么讨厌印度、讨厌帝国,讨厌军队)。有时候,文明,即便是诸如此类的文明,也像私人物品一样令他感到珍贵。有时,他为英国自豪,为男管家、中国狗、为生活有保障的女孩感到自豪。

Ridiculous enough, still there it is, he thought. And the doctors and men of business and capable women all going about their business, punctual, alert, robust, seemed to him wholly admirable, good fellows, to whom one would entrust one's life, companions in the art of living, who would see one through. What with one thing and another, the show was really very tolerable; and he would sit down in the shade and smoke.

真是荒唐可笑,可这情感仍然存在,他想。那些医生、商人,以及能干的女人都在忙着自己的事务,他们都准时、机警、健壮。对他来说,似乎都值得敬佩。他们是可以托付生命的好人,是生存技术方面的伴侣,可与之有难同当。这里啊,那里啊,眼前的景象还过得去,他要在树阴下坐下来,抽一支烟。

There was Regent's Park. Yes. As a child he had walked in Regent's Park—odd, he thought, how the thought of childhood keeps coming back to me—the result of seeing Clarissa, perhaps; for women live much more in the past than we do, he thought. They attach themselves to places; and their fathers—a woman's always proud of her father. Bourton was a nice place, a very nice place, but I could never get on with the old man, he thought. There was quite a scene one night—an argument about something or other, what, he could not remember. Politics presumably.

那就是摄政公园了。不错。他儿时曾在摄政公园散步——好奇怪,他心想,儿时的记忆怎么总是浮现在我的脑海——或许是看到了克拉丽莎的缘故吧,因为女人们比我们更多地活在往事中,他思索着。她们依恋着一些地方,依恋着父亲——女人永远为自己的父亲感到自豪。伯顿是一个不错的地方,一个很好的地方。不过,我和这老头永远也相处不了,他想。有一天夜里,我们大吵了一番——争论一件什么事情,至于具体是什么,他记不住了。可能是政治方面的事。

Yes, he remembered Regent's Park; the long straight walk; the little house where one bought air-balls to the left; an absurd statue with an inscription somewhere or other. He looked for an empty seat. He did not want to be bothered (feeling a little drowsy as he did) by people asking him the time. An elderly grey nurse, with a baby asleep in its perambulator—that was the best he could do for himself; sit down at the far end of the seat by that nurse.

不错,他记得摄政公园。那又长又直的小路,左边售卖气球的小屋,有个地方还有一尊刻写着铭文的荒唐雕像。他在找一个空座位。他不想因为被人问时间而受到打扰(他觉得有些困倦)。一位年老的灰白头发的保姆,身边有个婴儿睡在童车里——这是他能为自己找到的最好的座位了。他就在保姆座位的另一端坐下来。

She's a queer-looking girl, he thought, suddenly remembering Elizabeth as she came into the room and stood by her mother. Grown big; quite grown-up, not exactly pretty; handsome rather; and she can't be more than eighteen. Probably she doesn't get on with Clarissa. "There's my Elizabeth"—that sort of thing—why not "Here's Elizabeth" simply?—trying to make out, like most mothers, that things are what they're not. She trusts to her charm too much, he thought. She overdoes it.

他忽然记起伊丽莎白走进屋站在她母亲身边的样子,他想,她是个相貌奇特的女孩。身材高大,几乎长大成人了。不能算美,只能算端庄,她顶多十八岁。或许她与克拉丽莎的关系不大好。“这是我的伊丽莎白。”——诸如此类的事——为何不是简单地说“这是伊丽莎白”?——和多数母亲一样,想假装事情并非如此。她过分信赖自己的魅力了,他想。她做得过头了。

The rich benignant cigar smoke eddied coolly down his throat; he puffed it out again in rings which breasted the air bravely for a moment; blue, circular—I shall try and get a word alone with Elizabeth tonight, he thought—then began to wobble into hour-glass shapes and taper away; odd shapes they take, he thought. Suddenly he closed his eyes, raised his hand with an effort, and threw away the heavy end of his cigar. A great brush swept smooth across his mind, sweeping across it moving branches, children's voices, the shuffle of feet, and people passing, and humming traffic, rising and falling traffic. Down, down he sank into the plumes and feathers of sleep, sank, and was muffled over.

浓烈温和的雪茄烟雾慢慢地旋进他的喉咙,又被他一圈一圈地吐出,一时间,烟圈勇敢地迎着空气而上,蓝蓝的,圆圆的——今晚我该试试单独与伊丽莎白聊聊,他想——接着开始晃动着成了沙漏的形状,渐渐变淡消逝。烟圈的样子真奇怪,他想。他忽然闭上双眼,努力抬起一只手,扔掉了沉沉的雪茄烟蒂。一把大刷子平滑地拂过他的脑际,拂过晃动的枝条、孩子的声音、纷乱的脚步声、往来的行人、过往车辆的起起伏伏的嗡鸣声。他往下沉啊,沉啊,陷入了羽毛般的梦境中,沉了下去,完全陷进去了。

The grey nurse resumed her knitting as Peter Walsh, on the hot seat beside her, began snoring. In her grey dress, moving her hands indefatigably yet quietly, she seemed like the champion of the rights of sleepers, like one of those spectral presences which rise in twilight in woods made of sky and branches. The solitary traveller, haunter of lanes, disturber of ferns, and devastator of great hemlock plants, looking up, suddenly sees the giant figure at the end of the ride.

头发灰白的保姆又继续织着毛衣,彼得·沃尔什坐在她旁边热乎乎的座位上打起了呼噜。她穿着灰色衣裙,不厌其烦地、安静地动着双手,看上去仿佛是入睡者权利的守护者,是傍晚时分在苍穹与枝丫交织的树林中升起的幽灵。这个孤零零的旅徒,在小巷中出没,扰乱了厥草,蹂躏了大毒芹,他抬头望去,突然看见路的另一头出现一个硕大的身影。

By conviction an atheist perhaps, he is taken by surprise with moments of extraordinary exaltation. Nothing exists outside us except a state of mind, he thinks; a desire for solace, for relief, for something outside these miserable pigmies, these feeble, these ugly, these craven men and women. But if he can conceive of her, then in some sort she exists, he thinks, and advancing down the path with his eyes upon sky and branches he rapidly endows them with womanhood; sees with amazement how grave they become; how majestically, as the breeze stirs them, they dispense with a dark flutter of the leaves charity, comprehension, absolution, and then, flinging themselves suddenly aloft, confound the piety of their aspect with a wild carouse.

可能因为坚信自己是无神论者,片刻的异常兴奋令他感到格外惊讶。我们体外存在的只是一种精神状态,他想,是一种渴望,渴求慰藉、超脱,渴求某种这些微不足道的小人物、这些软弱的人、丑陋的人、怯懦的男男女女身上所没有的东西。可要是他能将她想象出来,那么她从某种意义上讲即是存在的,他想。继续沿小路走下去,他抬眼望着苍穹和树枝,很快赋予它们女人的气质。他吃惊地看着它们变得那么庄重,那么庄严。当微风轻拂它们时,随着叶子的微微颤动,它们施与仁慈、理解、饶恕。接着,她们忽地纵身向上,模糊了她们虔诚的一面,恣意狂欢。

Such are the visions which proffer great cornucopias full of fruit to the solitary traveller, or murmur in his ear like sirens lolloping away on the green sea waves, or are dashed in his face like bunches of roses, or rise to the surface like pale faces which fishermen flounder through floods to embrace.

这就是幻像,它提供给孤单的旅徒盛满水果的羊角形大口袋,或在他耳边呢喃,像海妖在绿色的海浪上跳跃,或像一束束玫瑰撞在他的脸上,或如浮出水面的、渔人们在浪涛中挣扎着要捧住的苍白面孔。

Such are the visions which ceaselessly float up, pace beside, put their faces in front of, the actual thing; often overpowering the solitary traveller and taking away from him the sense of the earth, the wish to return, and giving him for substitute a general peace, as if (so he thinks as he advances down the forest ride) all this fever of living were simplicity itself; and myriads of things merged in one thing; and this figure, made of sky and branches as it is, had risen from the troubled sea (he is elderly, past fifty now) as a shape might be sucked up out of the waves to shower down from her magnificent hands compassion, comprehension, absolution. So, he thinks, may I never go back to the lamplight; to the sitting-room; never finish my book; never knock out my pipe; never ring for Mrs. Turner to clear away; rather let me walk straight on to this great figure, who will, with a toss of her head, mount me on her streamers and let me blow to nothingness with the rest.

就是这些幻像无休止地浮现,在真实的事物旁边踱来踱去,把它们的面孔置于真实的事物面前。它们经常令形单影只的旅徒难以抗拒,夺去他对于大地的意识、归来的渴望,取而代之的是给他一种大体的平静,就像(他沿着林中小径前行时如此思索着)这一切生之狂热是如此简单明了的事物。形形色色的事物融于一体;而这由苍穹和树枝织成的身影已从澎湃的大海中升起(他上了年纪,如今五十多岁了),宛若从海浪中可以吸出一个形体,经由她华贵的手倾注怜悯、理解、饶恕。所以,他想道,希望我永不返回那灯光下,不返回那客厅,永不看完我那本书,永不磕掉我烟斗里的烟灰,永不按铃让特纳太太来清扫,让我径直走向这伟大的身影,她会一抬头,把我安放于她的飘带上,使我与其余的一切灰飞烟灭。

Such are the visions. The solitary traveller is soon beyond the wood; and there, coming to the door with shaded eyes, possibly to look for his return, with hands raised, with white apron blowing, is an elderly woman who seems (so powerful is this infirmity) to seek, over a desert, a lost son; to search for a rider destroyed; to be the figure of the mother whose sons have been killed in the battles of the world. So, as the solitary traveller advances down the village street where the women stand knitting and the men dig in the garden, the evening seems ominous; the figures still; as if some august fate, known to them, awaited without fear, were about to sweep them into complete annihilation.

就是这些幻像。孤单的旅徒不久便离开了林地。那里,一位年迈的、眼神忧郁的妇人来到了门口,她举着双手,白色的围裙随风飘动,可能是在期盼着他的归来。她似乎(这个虚弱的人却是这般有力量)要在沙漠中找寻失去的儿子;要去搜寻一个被击败的骑士;要成为一个儿子都战死在世界战争中的母亲的形象。所以,孤单的旅徒顺着村庄街道往前走时,街边女人们站着编织,男人们在园圃里掘土,那个傍晚好像预示着不祥之象。那些身影纹丝不动,似乎某种他们知道的、无畏等候的、令人敬畏的命运要将他们一举彻底歼灭。

Indoors among ordinary things, the cupboard, the table, the window-sill with its geraniums, suddenly the outline of the landlady, bending to remove the cloth, becomes soft with light, an adorable emblem which only the recollection of cold human contacts forbids us to embrace.

在屋内的橱柜、桌子、放着天竺葵的窗台这些普通的物件中,那俯身拿走桌布的女房东的轮廓忽然随着光线变得柔和起来,这是一个非常可爱的化身,只是想起的、冷淡的人际关系才阻止我们拥抱彼此。

She takes the marmalade; she shuts it in the cupboard.

她拿出橘子酱,放进了橱柜里。

"There is nothing more tonight, sir?"“今晚没什么事了吗,先生?”

But to whom does the solitary traveller make reply?

可是那孤单的旅徒要应答谁呢?

So the elderly nurse knitted over the sleeping baby in Regent's Park. So Peter Walsh snored.

就这样,摄政公园里在睡着的婴儿旁那年迈的保姆在编织。就这样,彼得·沃尔什打着鼾。

He woke with extreme suddenness, saying to himself, "The death of the soul."

他冷不丁地猛然醒来,喃喃自语:“灵魂的死亡。”

"Lord, Lord!" he said to himself out loud, stretching and opening his eyes. "The death of the soul."The words attached themselves to some scene, to some room, to some past he had been dreaming of. It became clearer; the scene, the room, the past he had been dreaming of.“主啊,主啊!”他高声自言自语道,伸着懒腰,睁开双眼,“灵魂的死亡。”这只言片语与他梦到的某个场景、某个房间、某段往事密切相关。他梦到的那场景、那屋子、那往事愈发清晰起来。

It was at Bourton that summer, early in the nineties, when he was so passionately in love with Clarissa. There were a great many people there, laughing and talking, sitting round a table after tea and the room was bathed in yellow light and full of cigarette smoke. They were talking about a man who had married his housemaid, one of the neighbouring squires, he had forgotten his name. He had married his housemaid, and she had been brought to Bourton to call—an awful visit it had been. She was absurdly over-dressed, "like a cockatoo," Clarissa had said, imitating her, and she never stopped talking. On and on she went, on and on. Clarissa imitated her. Then somebody said—Sally Seton it was—did it make any real difference to one's feelings to know that before they'd married she had had a baby? (In those days, in mixed company, it was a bold thing to say.) He could see Clarissa now, turning bright pink; somehow contracting; and saying, "Oh, I shall never be able to speak to her again!"Whereupon the whole party sitting round the tea-table seemed to wobble. It was very uncomfortable.

九十年代早期,那个伯顿的夏天,他狂热地爱着克拉丽莎。屋内人很多,有说有笑,吃过下午茶后围坐在桌边。房间沐浴在黄色的光线下,弥漫着香烟的烟雾。他们议论着附近一个娶自己女仆为妻的乡绅,他已经忘了那乡绅的名字。他和自己女仆结了婚,还带她到伯顿造访——一个糟糕的造访。她装扮过了头,太滑稽了,“像只白鹦。”克拉丽莎模仿她的模样说道,而且那女人总是说个没完。她说个不停,没完没了。克拉丽莎模仿她。接着有人说——萨莉·西顿——要是知道他们婚前,她就曾有个孩子,人们对她的看法就会真的有所改变吗?(在那个时候,在男女皆在场的情形下,说出这种话是很大胆的。)他至今都能想起克拉丽莎的样子,她的脸变得通红,有些抽搐,说:“噢,我再也不和她说话了!”这时,坐在茶桌旁的所有人都显出局促不安。那场景非常尴尬。

He hadn't blamed her for minding the fact, since in those days a girl brought up as she was, knew nothing, but it was her manner that annoyed him; timid; hard; something arrogant; unimaginative; prudish. "The death of the soul."He had said that instinctively, ticketing the moment as he used to do—the death of her soul.

他没有因为她介意这种事而责怪她,因为那时像她一样成长在那种环境下的女孩对一切一无所知,但是她的态度令他不快,羞怯,冷酷、有些自负、无趣、过分拘谨。“灵魂的死亡。”他本能地说了出来,像惯常那样把这个时刻标定了下来——她的灵魂死了。

Every one wobbled; every one seemed to bow, as she spoke, and then to stand up different. He could see Sally Seton, like a child who has been in mischief, leaning forward, rather flushed, wanting to talk, but afraid, and Clarissa did frighten people. (She was Clarissa's greatest friend, always about the place, totally unlike her, an attractive creature, handsome, dark, with the reputation in those days of great daring and he used to give her cigars, which she smoked in her bedroom. She had either been engaged to somebody or quarrelled with her family and old Parry disliked them both equally, which was a great bond.) Then Clarissa, still with an air of being offended with them all, got up, made some excuse, and went off, alone. As she opened the door, in came that great shaggy dog which ran after sheep. She flung herself upon him, went into raptures. It was as if she said to Peter—it was all aimed at him, he knew—"I know you thought me absurd about that woman just now; but see how extraordinarily sympathetic I am; see how I love my Rob!"

每个人都局促不安,她说话时,每个人都像是在点头哈腰,但是站起来就变样了。他看到萨莉·西顿,活像一个调皮的孩子,身体前倾,脸变得通红,想说又不敢说,克拉丽莎的确能把人镇住。(她是克拉丽莎最亲密的朋友,总是到这里玩。她与克拉丽莎截然不同。她很漂亮迷人,皮肤黝黑。那时她因格外大胆而出名,他常给她雪茄吸,她就在自家卧室中抽烟。她或许是与某人订婚了,或许是与家里人吵架了,老帕里对她和克拉丽莎都很讨厌,这却加强了她俩的关系。)然后克拉丽莎站起来,依然挂着被所有人冒犯了的神情,找借口一个人离开了。她开门时,那条喜欢追赶羊群的大长毛犬跑了进来。她搂住它,异常欣喜。就好像她在对彼得说——这完全是针对他,他知道——“我知道你觉得我刚说的有关那个女人的话很荒谬,但你瞧我是多么富有同情心,瞧我多爱我的罗布!”

They had always this queer power of communicating without words. She knew directly he criticised her. Then she would do something quite obvious to defend herself, like this fuss with the dog—but it never took him in, he always saw through Clarissa. Not that he said anything, of course; just sat looking glum. It was the way their quarrels often began.

他俩之间一向就有这种不必说话便可交流的奇怪能力。她很快就知道他在批评她。因此她就会做某件事,明显为自己辩解,就像抱狗这样的小事——但这从来骗不过他,他总是能看透克拉丽莎。当然他什么也没说,只是闷闷不乐地坐在那里。他俩的争辩经常这样开始。

She shut the door. At once he became extremely depressed. It all seemed useless—going on being in love; going on quarrelling; going on making it up, and he wandered off alone, among outhouses, stables, looking at the horses. (The place was quite a humble one; the Parrys were never very well off; but there were always grooms and stable-boys about—Clarissa loved riding—and an old coachman—what was his name?—an old nurse, old Moody, old Goody, some such name they called her, whom one was taken to visit in a little room with lots of photographs, lots of bird-cages.)

她把门关上了。他立刻变得非常消沉。一切好像皆是徒劳——继续爱着;继续吵着;继续和解,他一个人在外屋与马房之间闲逛,看看马匹。(那地方很简陋,帕里一家从来也没有富裕过,不过也一直雇有马夫和马童——克拉丽莎喜欢骑马——还有一个年老的马车夫——他叫什么来着?——以及一个年老的保姆,他们叫她老穆迪、老古迪之类的名字,人们被领到一个有很多照片、很多鸟笼的小屋去拜访她。)

It was an awful evening! He grew more and more gloomy, not about that only; about everything. And he couldn't see her; couldn't explain to her; couldn't have it out. There were always people about—she'd go on as if nothing had happened. That was the devilish part of her—this coldness, this woodenness, something very profound in her, which he had felt again this morning talking to her; an impenetrability. Yet Heaven knows he loved her. She had some queer power of fiddling on one's nerves, turning one's nerves to fiddle-strings, yes.

真是一个糟糕的夜晚!他变得越来越消沉,不仅为那一件事,为所有事。但是他没法看到她,没法向她解释,没法说个清楚。身边一直有人——她得继续装作什么都没有发生过。这就是她的可恶之处——冷淡、漠不关心,这在她的性格深处已经根深蒂固。早上与她交谈时,他又感觉到了,无法穿透。然而天知道他是爱她的。她有某种奇怪的力量可以拨动你的神经,是的,把你的神经变成琴弦。

He had gone in to dinner rather late, from some idiotic idea of making himself felt, and had sat down by old Miss Parry—Aunt Helena—Mr. Parry's sister, who was supposed to preside. There she sat in her white Cashmere shawl, with her head against the window—a formidable old lady, but kind to him, for he had found her some rare flower, and she was a great botanist, marching off in thick boots with a black collecting-box slung between her shoulders. He sat down beside her, and couldn't speak. Everything seemed to race past him; he just sat there, eating. And then half-way through dinner he made himself look across at Clarissa for the first time. She was talking to a young

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