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That

is

,

I

am

fiercer

and

stronger

than

you

are

,

yet

the

apparition

that

appears

above

ground

after

ages

of

nonentity

will

be

spent

in

terror

lest

you

should

laugh

at

me

,

in

veerings

with

the

wind

against

the

soot

storms

,

in

efforts

to

make

a

steel

ring

of

clear

poetry

that

shall

connect

the

gulls

and

the

women

with

bad

teeth

,

the

church

spire

and

the

bobbing

billycock

hats

as

I

see

them

when

I

take

my

luncheon

and

prop

my

poet

--

is

it

Lucretius

?

--

against

a

cruet

and

the

gravy-splashed

bill

of

fare

.

'

'

But

you

will

never

hate

me

,

'

said

Jinny

.

'

You

will

never

see

me

,

even

across

a

room

full

of

gilt

chairs

and

ambassadors

,

without

coming

to

me

across

the

room

to

seek

my

sympathy

.

When

I

came

in

just

now

everything

stood

still

in

a

pattern

.

Waiters

stopped

,

diners

raised

their

forks

and

held

them

.

I

had

the

air

of

being

prepared

for

what

would

happen

.

When

I

sat

down

you

put

your

hands

to

your

ties

,

you

hid

them

under

the

table

.

But

I

hide

nothing

.

I

am

prepared

.

Every

time

the

door

opens

I

cry

"

More

!

"

But

my

imagination

is

the

bodies

.

I

can

imagine

nothing

beyond

the

circle

cast

by

my

body

.

My

body

goes

before

me

,

like

a

lantern

down

a

dark

lane

,

bringing

one

thing

after

another

out

of

darkness

into

a

ring

of

light

.

I

dazzle

you

;

I

make

you

believe

that

this

is

all

.

'

'

But

when

you

stand

in

the

door

,

'

said

Neville

,

'

you

inflict

stillness

,

demanding

admiration

,

and

that

is

a

great

impediment

to

the

freedom

of

intercourse

.

You

stand

in

the

door

making

us

notice

you

.

But

none

of

you

saw

me

approach

.

I

came

early

;

I

came

quickly

and

directly

,

here

,

to

sit

by

the

person

whom

I

love

.

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My

life

has

a

rapidity

that

yours

lack

.

I

am

like

a

hound

on

the

scent

.

I

hunt

from

dawn

to

dusk

.

Nothing

,

not

the

pursuit

of

perfection

through

the

sand

,

nor

fame

,

nor

money

,

has

meaning

for

me

.

I

shall

have

riches

;

I

shall

have

fame

.

But

I

shall

never

have

what

I

want

,

for

I

lack

bodily

grace

and

the

courage

that

comes

with

it

.

The

swiftness

of

my

mind

is

too

strong

for

my

body

.

I

fail

before

I

reach

the

end

and

fall

in

a

heap

,

damp

,

perhaps

disgusting

.

I

excite

pity

in

the

crises

of

life

,

not

love

.

Therefore

I

suffer

horribly

.

But

I

do

not

suffer

,

as

Louis

does

,

to

make

myself

a

spectacle

.

I

have

too

fine

a

sense

of

fact

to

allow

myself

these

juggleries

,

these

pretences

.

I

see

everything

--

except

one

thing

--

with

complete

clarity

.

That

is

my

saving

.

That

is

what

gives

my

suffering

an

unceasing

excitement

.

That

is

what

makes

me

dictate

,

even

when

I

am

silent

.

And

since

I

am

,

in

one

respect

,

deluded

,

since

the

person

is

always

changing

,

though

not

the

desire

,

and

I

do

not

know

in

the

morning

by

whom

I

shall

sit

at

night

,

I

am

never

stagnant

;

I

rise

from

my

worst

disasters

,

I

turn

,

I

change

.

Pebbles

bounce

off

the

mail

of

my

muscular

,

my

extended

body

.

In

this

pursuit

I

shall

grow

old

.

'

'

If

I

could

believe

,

'

said

Rhoda

,

'

that

I

should

grow

old

in

pursuit

and

change

,

I

should

be

rid

of

my

fear

:

nothing

persists

.

One

moment

does

not

lead

to

another

.

The

door

opens

and

the

tiger

leaps

.

You

did

not

see

me

come

.

I

circled

round

the

chairs

to

avoid

the

horror

of

the

spring

.

I

am

afraid

of

you

all

.

I

am

afraid

of

the

shock

of

sensation

that

leaps

upon

me

,

because

I

can

not

deal

with

it

as

you

do

--

I

can

not

make

one

moment

merge

in

the

next

.

To

me

they

are

all

violent

,

all

separate

;

and

if

I

fall

under

the

shock

of

the

leap

of

the

moment

you

will

be

on

me

,

tearing

me

to

pieces

.

I

have

no

end

in

view

.

I

do

not

know

how

to

run

minute

to

minute

and

hour

to

hour

,

solving

them

by

some

natural

force

until

they

make

the

whole

and

indivisible

mass

that

you

call

life

.

Because

you

have

an

end

in

view

--

one

person

,

is

it

,

to

sit

beside

,

an

idea

is

it

,

your

beauty

is

it

?

I

do

not

know

--

your

days

and

hours

pass

like

the

boughs

of

forest

trees

and

the

smooth

green

of

forest

rides

to

a

hound

running

on

the

scent

.

But

there

is

no

single

scent

,

no

single

body

for

me

to

follow

.

And

I

have

no

face

.

I

am

like

the

foam

that

races

over

the

beach

or

the

moonlight

that

falls

arrowlike

here

on

a

tin

can

,

here

on

a

spike

of

the

mailed

sea

holly

,

or

a

bone

or

a

half-eaten

boat

.

I

am

whirled

down

caverns

,

and

flap

like

paper

against

endless

corridors

,

and

must

press

my

hand

against

the

wall

to

draw

myself

back

.

'

But

since

I

wish

above

all

things

to

have

lodgment

,

I

pretend

,

as

I

go

upstairs

lagging

behind

Jinny

and

Susan

,

to

have

an

end

in

view

.

I

pull

on

my

stockings

as

I

see

them

pull

on

theirs

.

I

wait

for

you

to

speak

and

then

speak

like

you

.

I

am

drawn

here

across

London

to

a

particular

spot

,

to

a

particular

place

,

not

to

see

you

or

you

or

you

,

but

to

light

my

fire

at

the

general

blaze

of

you

who

live

wholly

,

indivisibly

and

without

caring

.

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'

'

When

I

came

into

the

room

tonight

,

'

said

Susan

,

'

I

stopped

,

I

peered

about

like

an

animal

with

its

eyes

near

to

the

ground

.

The

smell

of

carpets

and

furniture

and

scent

disgusts

me

.

I

like

to

walk

through

the

wet

fields

alone

,

or

to

stop

at

a

gate

and

watch

my

setter

nose

in

a

circle

,

and

to

ask

:

Where

is

the

hare

?

I

like

to

be

with

people

who

twist

herbs

,

and

spit

into

the

fire

,

and

shuffle

down

long

passages

in

slippers

like

my

father

.

The

only

sayings

I

understand

are

cries

of

love

,

hate

,

rage

and

pain

.

This

talking

is

undressing

an

old

woman

whose

dress

had

seemed

to

be

part

of

her

,

but

now

,

as

we

talk

,

she

turns

pinkish

underneath

,

and

has

wrinkled

thighs

and

sagging

breasts

.

When

you

are

silent

you

are

again

beautiful

.

I

shall

never

have

anything

but

natural

happiness

.

It

will

almost

content

me

.

I

shall

go

to

bed

tired

.

I

shall

lie

like

a

field

bearing

crops

in

rotation

;

in

the

summer

heat

will

dance

over

me

;

in

the

winter

I

shall

be

cracked

with

the

cold

.

But

heat

and

cold

will

follow

each

other

naturally

without

my

willing

or

unwilling

.

My

children

will

carry

me

on

;

their

teething

,

their

crying

,

their

going

to

school

and

coming

back

will

be

like

the

waves

of

the

sea

under

me

.

No

day

will

be

without

its

movement

.

I

shall

be

lifted

higher

than

any

of

you

on

the

backs

of

the

seasons

.

I

shall

possess

more

than

Jinny

,

more

than

Rhoda

,

by

the

time

I

die

.

But

on

the

other

hand

,

where

you

are

various

and

dimple

a

million

times

to

the

ideas

and

laughter

of

others

,

I

shall

be

sullen

,

storm-tinted

and

all

one

purple

.

I

shall

be

debased

and

hide-bound

by

the

bestial

and

beautiful

passion

of

maternity

.

I

shall

push

the

fortunes

of

my

children

unscrupulously

.

I

shall

hate

those

who

see

their

faults

.

I

shall

lie

basely

to

help

them

.

I

shall

let

them

wall

me

away

from

you

,

from

you

and

from

you

.

Also

,

I

am

torn

with

jealousy

.

I

hate

Jinny

because

she

shows

me

that

my

hands

are

red

,

my

nails

bitten

.

I

love

with

such

ferocity

that

it

kills

me

when

the

object

of

my

love

shows

by

a

phrase

that

he

can

escape

.

He

escapes

,

and

I

am

left

clutching

at

a

string

that

slips

in

and

out

among

the

leaves

on

the

tree-tops

.

I

do

not

understand

phrases

.

'

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