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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 41/96
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"
The
English
are
so
silent
,
"
Rezia
said
.
She
liked
it
,
she
said
.
She
respected
these
Englishmen
,
and
wanted
to
see
London
,
and
the
English
horses
,
and
the
tailor-made
suits
,
and
could
remember
hearing
how
wonderful
the
shops
were
,
from
an
Aunt
who
had
married
and
lived
in
Soho
.
It
might
be
possible
,
Septimus
thought
,
looking
at
England
from
the
train
window
,
as
they
left
Newhaven
;
it
might
be
possible
that
the
world
itself
is
without
meaning
.
At
the
office
they
advanced
him
to
a
post
of
considerable
responsibility
.
They
were
proud
of
him
;
he
had
won
crosses
.
"
You
have
done
your
duty
;
it
is
up
to
us
--
"
began
Mr.
Brewer
;
and
could
not
finish
,
so
pleasurable
was
his
emotion
.
They
took
admirable
lodgings
off
the
Tottenham
Court
Road
.
Here
he
opened
Shakespeare
once
more
.
That
boy
's
business
of
the
intoxication
of
language
--
Antony
and
Cleopatra
--
had
shrivelled
utterly
.
How
Shakespeare
loathed
humanity
--
the
putting
on
of
clothes
,
the
getting
of
children
,
the
sordidity
of
the
mouth
and
the
belly
!
This
was
now
revealed
to
Septimus
;
the
message
hidden
in
the
beauty
of
words
.
The
secret
signal
which
one
generation
passes
,
under
disguise
,
to
the
next
is
loathing
,
hatred
,
despair
.
Dante
the
same
.
Aeschylus
(
translated
)
the
same
.
There
Rezia
sat
at
the
table
trimming
hats
.
She
trimmed
hats
for
Mrs.
Filmer
's
friends
;
she
trimmed
hats
by
the
hour
.
She
looked
pale
,
mysterious
,
like
a
lily
,
drowned
,
under
water
,
he
thought
.
"
The
English
are
so
serious
,
"
she
would
say
,
putting
her
arms
round
Septimus
,
her
cheek
against
his
.
Love
between
man
and
woman
was
repulsive
to
Shakespeare
.
The
business
of
copulation
was
filth
to
him
before
the
end
.
But
,
Rezia
said
,
she
must
have
children
.
They
had
been
married
five
years
.
They
went
to
the
Tower
together
;
to
the
Victoria
and
Albert
Museum
;
stood
in
the
crowd
to
see
the
King
open
Parliament
.
And
there
were
the
shops
--
hat
shops
,
dress
shops
,
shops
with
leather
bags
in
the
window
,
where
she
would
stand
staring
.
But
she
must
have
a
boy
.
She
must
have
a
son
like
Septimus
,
she
said
.
But
nobody
could
be
like
Septimus
;
so
gentle
;
so
serious
;
so
clever
.
Could
she
not
read
Shakespeare
too
?
Was
Shakespeare
a
difficult
author
?
she
asked
.
One
can
not
bring
children
into
a
world
like
this
.
One
can
not
perpetuate
suffering
,
or
increase
the
breed
of
these
lustful
animals
,
who
have
no
lasting
emotions
,
but
only
whims
and
vanities
,
eddying
them
now
this
way
,
now
that
.
He
watched
her
snip
,
shape
,
as
one
watches
a
bird
hop
,
flit
in
the
grass
,
without
daring
to
move
a
finger
.
For
the
truth
is
(
let
her
ignore
it
)
that
human
beings
have
neither
kindness
,
nor
faith
,
nor
charity
beyond
what
serves
to
increase
the
pleasure
of
the
moment
.
They
hunt
in
packs
.
Their
packs
scour
the
desert
and
vanish
screaming
into
the
wilderness
.
They
desert
the
fallen
.
They
are
plastered
over
with
grimaces
.
