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- Вирджиния Вульф
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Then
a
thunder-clap
of
complete
indifference
;
the
light
blown
out
;
then
the
return
of
measureless
irresponsible
joy
;
certain
fields
seem
to
glow
green
for
ever
,
and
innocent
landscapes
appear
as
if
in
the
light
of
the
first
dawn
--
one
patch
of
green
,
for
example
,
up
at
Hampstead
;
and
all
faces
are
lit
up
,
all
conspire
in
a
hush
of
tender
joy
;
and
then
the
mystic
sense
of
completion
and
then
that
rasping
,
dog-fish
skin-like
roughness
--
those
black
arrows
of
shivering
sensation
,
when
she
misses
the
post
,
when
she
does
not
come
.
Out
rush
a
bristle
of
horned
suspicions
,
horror
,
horror
,
horror
--
but
what
is
the
use
of
painfully
elaborating
these
consecutive
sentences
when
what
one
needs
is
nothing
consecutive
but
a
bark
,
a
groan
?
And
years
later
to
see
a
middle-aged
woman
in
a
restaurant
taking
off
her
cloak
.
'
But
to
return
.
Let
us
again
pretend
that
life
is
a
solid
substance
,
shaped
like
a
globe
,
which
we
turn
about
in
our
fingers
.
Let
us
pretend
that
we
can
make
out
a
plain
and
logical
story
,
so
that
when
one
matter
is
despatched
--
love
for
instance
--
we
go
on
,
in
an
orderly
manner
,
to
the
next
.
I
was
saying
there
was
a
willow
tree
.
Its
shower
of
falling
branches
,
its
creased
and
crooked
bark
had
the
effect
of
what
remains
outside
our
illusions
yet
can
not
stay
them
,
is
changed
by
them
for
the
moment
,
yet
shows
through
stable
,
still
,
and
with
a
sternness
that
our
lives
lack
.
Hence
the
comment
it
makes
;
the
standard
it
supplies
,
and
the
reason
why
,
as
we
flow
and
change
,
it
seems
to
measure
.
Neville
,
for
example
,
sat
with
me
on
the
turf
.
But
can
anything
be
as
clear
as
all
that
,
I
would
say
,
following
his
gaze
,
through
the
branches
,
to
a
punt
on
the
river
,
and
a
young
man
eating
bananas
from
a
paper
bag
?
The
scene
was
cut
out
with
such
intensity
and
so
permeated
with
the
quality
of
his
vision
that
for
a
moment
I
could
see
it
too
;
the
punt
,
the
bananas
,
the
young
man
,
through
the
branches
of
the
willow
tree
.
Then
it
faded
.
'
Rhoda
came
wandering
vaguely
.
She
would
take
advantage
of
any
scholar
in
a
blowing
gown
,
or
donkey
rolling
the
turf
with
slippered
feet
to
hide
behind
.
What
fear
wavered
and
hid
itself
and
blew
to
a
flame
in
the
depths
of
her
grey
,
her
startled
,
her
dreaming
eyes
?
Cruel
and
vindictive
as
we
are
,
we
are
not
bad
to
that
extent
.
We
have
our
fundamental
goodness
surely
or
to
talk
as
I
talk
freely
to
someone
I
hardly
know
would
be
impossible
--
we
should
cease
.
The
willow
as
she
saw
it
grew
on
the
verge
of
a
grey
desert
where
no
bird
sang
.
The
leaves
shrivelled
as
she
looked
at
them
,
tossed
in
agony
as
she
passed
them
.
The
trams
and
omnibuses
roared
hoarse
in
the
street
ran
over
rocks
and
sped
foaming
away
.
Perhaps
one
pillar
,
sunlit
,
stood
in
her
desert
by
a
pool
where
wild
beasts
come
down
stealthily
to
drink
.
'
Then
Jinny
came
.
She
flashed
her
fire
over
the
tree
.
She
was
like
a
crinkled
poppy
,
febrile
,
thirsty
with
the
desire
to
drink
dry
dust
.
Darting
,
angular
,
not
in
the
least
impulsive
,
she
came
prepared
.
So
little
flames
zigzag
over
the
cracks
in
the
dry
earth
.
She
made
the
willows
dance
,
but
not
with
illusion
;
for
she
saw
nothing
that
was
not
there
.
It
was
a
tree
;
there
was
the
river
;
it
was
afternoon
;
here
we
were
;
I
in
my
serge
suit
;
she
in
green
.
There
was
no
past
,
no
future
;
merely
the
moment
in
its
ring
of
light
,
and
our
bodies
;
and
the
inevitable
climax
,
the
ecstasy
.
'
Louis
,
when
he
let
himself
down
on
the
grass
,
cautiously
spreading
(
I
do
not
exaggerate
)
a
mackintosh
square
,
made
one
acknowledge
his
presence
.
It
was
formidable
.
I
had
the
intelligence
to
salute
his
integrity
;
his
research
with
bony
fingers
wrapped
in
rags
because
of
chilblains
for
some
diamond
of
indissoluble
veracity
.
I
buried
boxes
of
burnt
matches
in
holes
in
the
turf
at
his
feet
.
His
grim
and
caustic
tongue
reproved
my
indolence
.
He
fascinated
me
with
his
sordid
imagination
.
His
heroes
wore
bowler-hats
and
talked
about
selling
pianos
for
tenners
.
Through
his
landscape
the
tram
squealed
;
the
factory
poured
its
acrid
fumes
.
He
haunted
mean
streets
and
towns
where
women
lay
drunk
,
naked
,
on
counterpanes
on
Christmas
day
.
His
words
falling
from
a
shot-tower
hit
the
water
and
up
it
spurted
.
He
found
one
word
,
one
only
for
the
moon
.
Then
he
got
up
and
went
;
we
all
got
up
;
we
all
went
.
But
I
,
pausing
,
looked
at
the
tree
,
and
as
I
looked
in
autumn
at
the
fiery
and
yellow
branches
,
some
sediment
formed
;
I
formed
;
a
drop
fell
;
I
fell
--
that
is
,
from
some
completed
experience
I
had
emerged
.
'
I
rose
and
walked
away
--
I
,
I
,
I
;
not
Byron
,
Shelley
,
Dostoevsky
,
but
I
,
Bernard
.
I
even
repeated
my
own
name
once
or
twice
.
I
went
,
swinging
my
stick
,
into
a
shop
,
and
bought
--
not
that
I
love
music
--
a
picture
of
Beethoven
in
a
silver
frame
.
Not
that
I
love
music
,
but
because
the
whole
of
life
,
its
masters
,
its
adventurers
,
then
appeared
in
long
ranks
of
magnificent
human
beings
behind
me
;
and
I
was
the
inheritor
;
I
,
the
continuer
;
I
,
the
person
miraculously
appointed
to
carry
it
on
.
So
,
swinging
my
stick
,
with
my
eyes
filmed
,
not
with
pride
,
but
with
humility
rather
,
I
walked
down
the
street
.
The
first
whirr
of
wings
had
gone
up
,
the
carol
,
the
exclamation
;
and
now
one
enters
;
one
goes
into
the
house
,
the
dry
,
uncompromising
,
inhabited
house
,
the
place
with
all
its
traditions
,
its
objects
,
its
accumulations
of
rubbish
,
and
treasures
displayed
upon
tables
.
I
visited
the
family
tailor
,
who
remembered
my
uncle
.
People
turned
up
in
great
quantities
,
not
cut
out
,
like
the
first
faces
(
Neville
,
Louis
,
Jinny
,
Susan
,
Rhoda
)
,
but
confused
,
featureless
,
or
changed
their
features
so
fast
that
they
seemed
to
have
none
.
And
blushing
yet
scornful
,
in
the
oddest
condition
of
raw
rapture
and
scepticism
,
I
took
the
blow
;
the
mixed
sensations
;
the
complex
and
disturbing
and
utterly
unprepared
for
impacts
of
life
all
over
,
in
all
places
,
at
the
same
time
.
How
upsetting
!
How
humiliating
never
to
be
sure
what
to
say
next
,
and
those
painful
silences
,
glaring
as
dry
deserts
,
with
every
pebble
apparent
;
and
then
to
say
what
one
ought
not
to
have
said
,
and
then
to
be
conscious
of
a
ramrod
of
incorruptible
sincerity
which
one
would
willingly
exchange
for
a
shower
of
smooth
pence
,
but
could
not
,
there
at
that
party
,
where
Jinny
sat
quite
at
her
ease
,
rayed
out
on
a
gilt
chair
.
'
Then
says
some
lady
with
an
impressive
gesture
,
"
Come
with
me
.
