Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.
达洛维夫人说她要自己去买花。
For Lucy had her work cut out for her. The doors would be taken off their hinges; Rumpelmayer’s men were coming. And then, thought Clarissa Dalloway, what a morning — fresh as if issued to children on a beach.
对露西来说，这可不是一件容易的活儿：门上的铰链要拆掉，好把门卸下来；朗波梅尔公司的人会过来。随即，克拉丽莎·达洛维突然感叹起来，这是怎样的一个早晨啊——这个早晨清爽得仿佛是特意为海边嬉戏的孩子们准备的。
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.
多么新鲜！多么刺激！这样的感觉似乎总能让她回想起过去。她此刻仿佛就能听见，在铰链微弱的嘎吱声里，她猛然推开一扇落地窗，就此投入伯尔顿[1]的大自然里。多么清爽，多么安稳，那时候的清晨，当然要比此时更为宁静，如海浪的起伏，如浪花的轻吻，寒凉、清冽，甚至有点肃穆的味道（对她这个当时才十八岁的姑娘家来说）。那时的她站在打开的窗户前，感觉好像有什么不祥之事即将发生。她看着花，看着烟雾缭绕的树，看着飞起又飞落的白嘴鸦。她站在那儿，痴痴地看着，直到彼德·沃尔什说：“在菜园子里沉思呢？”——是这么说的吗？——“与花椰菜比，我更喜欢人。”——是这么说的吗？他一定是在那天早上吃早饭时说的这些，当时她已走到外面的露台上——这个彼德·沃尔什。他很快就要从印度回来了，是六月还是七月呢，她记不清了，因为他的信写得实在是乏味。但他说的话却能够让人记住，还有他的眼睛、他的小刀、他的微笑、他的火爆脾气，还有…成千上万桩往事都已忘得干干净净——真是不可思议！——却偏偏记住了卷心菜之类的只言片语。【注：【1】达洛维夫人婚前在乡下的庄园名。】
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.
她在路边挺了挺胸，等着德特纳尔公司的货车驶过。一个迷人的女子，斯克罗普·帕维斯这么认为（他了解她，就像他们是同住在威斯敏斯特的隔壁邻居）。她身上有种小鸟的气质，像一只蓝绿的鲣鸟，轻盈、活跃，尽管她已五十出头，而且因疾病缠身而面色苍白。她停在那里，压根没瞧见他。她挺直身子，准备过马路。
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.
由于一直居住在威斯敏斯特——多少年来着？有二十多年了吧——即便是在车来人往中或夜半醒来时，克拉丽莎都会确信人们会感觉到一种特别的宁静与肃穆，一种难以形容的停滞感，在大本钟敲响之前的焦虑感（不过，人们说那也许是因为她的心脏受到了流感的影响）。听哪！钟声隆隆。先是提示音，音色悦耳，再是报时声，势如破竹。沉重的钟声在空中环绕，直至消逝。我们多傻呀，她寻思着，穿过了维多利亚大街。只有天知道，为什么人们如此热爱生活，如此看待她，甚至要虚构她，不懈地美化她，然后又粉碎她，从而创造出每时每刻的新鲜感来。即使是邋遢透顶的女人，坐在门前台阶上那些最悲伤绝望的人们（酗酒使他们穷困潦倒）也一样。也正是因为这个原因，就连议会制定的清规戒律也奈何不得他们：人们都热爱生活。对此，她深信不疑。在人们的眼中，在人们或轻盈或沉重或艰难的步伐中，在咆哮与喧嚣中，在马车、汽车、大巴、货车和身前背后挂着广告牌摇摇晃晃蹒跚而行的人中，在铜管乐队中，在管风琴中，在欢庆声中，在叮当声中，在头顶上一架飞机发出的奇特而尖利的呼啸声中，有着她热爱的一切：生活、伦敦，还有六月的这一刻。
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!
已是六月中旬，战争结束了，只有像福克斯克罗夫特夫人那样的人还依然故我，她昨晚在大使馆里还是一副伤心欲绝的样子，因为她的宝贝儿子阵亡了，现在那座古老的庄园势必要落入她侄子之手了；还有贝克斯伯罗女士，人们说在她主持那场义卖开幕时，她手里还拽着那张宣告她爱子约翰战死的电报。不过战争毕竟结束了，感谢上帝——终于结束了。已经是六月了。国王与王后还好好地待在王宫里。尽管还是大清早，飞奔的赛马那欢快的嘚嘚声已是随处可闻，还有板球拍的扣击声。洛兹板球场、爱斯科特赛马场、拉内拉赫马球场，以及所有的游乐场所，都被笼罩在灰蓝的晨雾织出的一张柔网中。随着白昼的推进，晨雾将会散尽，草坪与球场上将会出现腾跃的赛马，它们的前蹄才刚着地就又迫不及待地跳起来。还有飞奔着的小伙子，欢笑着的姑娘们，她们穿着透明的薄衫，在通宵的舞会之后，此时也照样牵出怪模怪样的小毛狗出来溜达了。即使现在，在这么一个大清早，严谨刻板的老贵妇们也乘上了自己的汽车，飞驰着去完成她们那神秘的使命。店主们在忙乱地布置橱窗，将一枚枚钻石、人造宝石，还有海绿色的可爱的旧胸针放置在十八世纪式样的底座上，用来吸引美国佬（不过克拉丽莎必须节约，不能随便为伊丽莎白买这买那），可克拉丽莎自己也怀着可笑的热情，打心眼里喜欢这些珠宝，她属于这种生活，因为她的祖先曾是乔治王朝时期的大臣，而且，她要把自己打扮得光彩照人，在这个特别的晚上举行她的派对。可奇怪的是，一走进公园，她就置身于一片静谧中。薄雾迷离，远处传来低沉的嗡嗡声，快乐的鸭子在水中缓缓地游弋，大喉袋的鸟儿摇摇摆摆。那个背朝着政府大楼走过来的人会是谁呢。只见他手里提着一只印有皇家徽章的配送箱，真是再合适不过了，除了休·惠特布莱德还会是谁呢。她的老朋友休——令人赞赏的休！
“Good-morning to you, Clarissa!” said Hugh, rather extravagantly, for they had known each other as children. “Where are you off to?”
“早上好呀，克拉丽莎！”休打趣地说道，因为他俩自小就认识了。“你上哪儿去呢？”
“I love walking in London,” said Mrs. Dalloway. “Really it’s better than walking in the country.”
“我喜欢在伦敦逛，”达洛维夫人说，“比在乡下溜达真的有意思多了。”
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 to-night, 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.
他们刚到伦敦——不幸的是——他们是来看医生的。别人家是带着女儿来看电影的，看歌剧的，而惠特布莱德一家却是来“看医生”的。克拉丽莎不知道去疗养院探望过伊芙林·惠特布莱德多少次了。难道伊芙林又病了吗？伊芙林的身体一直不太好，休用一本正经的神气说，他穿着时髦，有男子汉派头，相当英俊潇洒，身体锻炼得很结实（他的衣着几乎总是过于花哨，不过实在也是理所应当，因为他是在宫廷里打杂的嘛），他的老婆身体总是有点不舒服，作为一个老朋友，克拉丽莎·达洛维非常理解，不会去要求他进一步说明病情。啊，对了，她当然理解啰，多烦人呀，一边还在想着自己的帽子，感觉很不好意思，也很尴尬。大清早戴这样的帽子不合适，对吗？因为休老是让她感觉，他那匆匆忙忙的态度，那相当夸张的举起帽子的动作，让她不由自主地感觉自己还只是个十八岁的姑娘，他今晚当然也会来她的派对，伊芙林坚决要他来的，不过可能要晚一些，他得先去宫廷宴会接杰米家的一个小子——和休在一起，克拉丽莎总感到有点小家子气，像个女学生似的，不过她依赖他，因为从小就认识他，不过她确实认为他是个行为独特的好人，尽管理查德几乎要被他逼疯了。至于彼德·沃尔什嘛，到目前为止他从来也没有原谅过她，因为她喜欢休。
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.
她能够回想起在伯尔顿的一幕幕生活场景——暴跳如雷的彼德，当然啰，休无论如何都不是他的对手，但也不是彼德认为的那种积极的笨蛋，休不完全是一个木头人。有一次，休的老母亲让他放弃打猎什么的，陪她去趟巴思[2]，他二话没说就一口答应了。他真的是个无私的人，至于别人说的，比如彼德说的，休是个没心没肺、没头没脑的废物，只知道一个英国绅士应有的礼仪与教养，那只是她那亲爱的彼德在心情不佳时的胡诌而已。休有时会让人无法忍受，有时简直不可理喻，不过，在这样一个清晨，要是有他陪在身边散步，那就太美了。【注：【2】英格兰西南部的一座市镇，在布里斯托尔港的东南面，以其乔治王朝的建筑和温泉而著名。】
(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.)
（六月使每一株树上都冒出了绿叶。皮姆里克区的母亲们在给婴儿喂奶。各种消息正从舰队街[3]源源不断地传往海军部。阿灵顿街和皮卡迪里街似乎把公园里的空气都烤热了，滚烫的树叶被高高地托起，光彩夺目，克拉丽莎喜爱这热浪所代表的神圣生命力。去欢歌热舞，去策马扬鞭，她喜爱这样的热力。）【注：【3】伦敦的街名，是新闻出版界集中之地。】
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.
就好像他们已分开了几百年，她和彼德。她从没给他写过信，而他的信又写得枯燥乏味，但刹那间一切仿佛都回来了。如果他此时与我在一起，他会说些什么呢？——往日的时光，往日的生活，平静地将他送回到她身边，而且没有了往日的苦涩，那也许就是关心别人而得到的报酬吧。在这个美丽的清晨，在圣詹姆斯公园里，一切都回来了——真的都回来了。可是彼德——不管这是个多么美丽的一天，不管树木和花草有多么清新，不管穿着粉裙的小姑娘是多么可爱——彼德根本就不会去注意这些事情。如果她要求，他就会戴上眼镜，对周围看上一眼。但使他感兴趣的是世界的状态，瓦格纳、蒲伯[4]的诗歌，永恒的人性，还有克拉丽莎自身的缺陷。他曾经多么严厉地叱责过她！他们曾经吵得多凶呀！她会嫁一个首相，站到人生阶梯的最高一级，而他把她称为地道的家庭主妇（她为此在闺房里哭得一塌糊涂），她身上有家庭主妇的所有气质，他说过。【注：[4]亚历山大·蒲伯（1688~1744）：英国著名的古典派诗人。】
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，站在圣詹姆斯公园里的她感觉依旧在和他争论，依旧想要证明当时自己没有嫁给他是对的——是绝对正确的选择。因为婚姻就是一纸契约，对两个整天生活在同一屋檐下的人来说，必须要有那么一点点独立的空间。理查德给了她这个空间，她也给了理查德（比方说，他今天早上在哪儿呢？在某个委员会吧，她从来不刨根问底）。可如果换成彼德，那就会是一切都必须彼此分享，一切都必须讲得明明白白，这实在让人受不了。后来发生了小花园里喷泉旁的一幕，她只得与他分手了，要不然他俩会毁了自己，彼此都会受到伤害，她确信。尽管她为此伤心痛苦了好几年，好像有一支飞箭刺着她的心房。后来，有人在音乐会上告诉她，他娶了一个在去印度的船上遇见的女子，她又感到多么地恐怖！她永远也不会忘记这些往事！冷酷、无情、假正经，他对她如是评价。她永远都理解不了他的爱。但那些印度女人也许能理解吧——那些傻乎乎的、漂亮的、肤浅的女人。而她是在浪费自己的同情心，因为他很幸福，他向她保证——幸福无比，尽管他们谈论过的事他一件没做成，他的整个一生就是一场失败。想到这个就让她觉得来气。
She had reached the Park gates. She stood for a moment, looking at the omnibuses in Piccadilly.
她走到公园门口，在那儿站了一会儿，看着皮卡迪里街上往来穿梭的巴士。
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 Fräulein 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.
如今她不会去这样那样地评论世界上的任何人。她感觉很年轻，同时又感觉有说不出的苍老。她如一把解剖一切的刀，但同时她又是个局外人，一个旁观者。她看着一辆辆出租车，有了一种永恒的疏离感，她仿佛越走越远，孤身一人地，一直走到遥远的海边。她老是有那样的感觉，哪怕只活一天都是非常非常危险的事。她并不觉得自己聪明，或者出类拔萃。靠丹尼斯小姐教给她的那点可怜的知识，她是怎么活下来的，她想不通。她什么也不懂，不懂语言，也不懂历史。如今，她几乎什么书都不看，除了躺在床上看回忆录。然而生活对她来说，还是有着绝对的吸引力，这一切，包括来往的出租车。她不会去评论彼德，也不会评论自己，说自己是这样那样的一个人。
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:
她唯一的天赋是，仅凭直觉就几乎能看透一个人，她这样想着，继续往前走。如果你让她和某个人待在同一个房间里，她的背就会像猫一般拱起来，或者会喵喵地叫起来[5]。德文郡的府邸，巴斯的府邸，瓷片上画着鹦鹉的府邸，她曾经看见过它们灯火辉煌的样子。她还记得西尔薇亚、弗莱德、萨利·西顿——她们一大帮子人，彻夜欢舞。她看着运货马车缓缓地朝着市场方向驶去，她驾车穿过公园回家。她记得她有一次把一先令扔进了公园里的蛇湖。不过大家都记得，她喜爱的是在她眼前的此时此刻，此情此景，比如出租车里的那位胖女士。那么，这有什么关系吗，她问自己，一边向着邦德街走去，这有什么关系呢，反正她最后注定是要离开人世的。没有了她，这一切都还会继续下去，她对此会有什么不满吗？抑或，相信死亡会了结一切烦恼，不也是一种安慰吗。不过，毕竟是在伦敦的街头，看尽了潮起潮落，跑遍了这里那里，她活了下来，彼德活了下来，活在彼此的心里。她相信，自己属于家乡的树木；属于家乡的房屋，尽管那幢房子已荒草丛生、丑陋荒芜；她也属于那些素未谋面的陌生人。她如一层薄雾，横陈在对她最为了解的人们中，他们将她高高托起，宛如树木将迷雾托起一般，她曾见过如此景象。可那层薄雾不断地伸展，直至那迢递之地，直至她的生活，她的自我。可在她看着哈查兹书店的橱窗时，她又在做着怎样的梦呢？她想要挽留住什么呢？在她读着那本摊开的书时，脑海里浮现出的是怎样一幅乡间晨曦的景象呢：【注：[5]前者表示她讨厌此人，后者表示喜欢。】
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun
别再害怕烈日的烤灼
Nor the furious winter’s rages.
也不要怕严冬的肆虐[6]。【注：[6]参见莎士比亚戏剧《辛白林》第四幕第二场。】
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.
这世界刚经历过的那些事情令他们每一个人，令每一个男人和女人，都泪如雨下。但他们有着泪水与悲痛，勇气与坚韧，绝对的正义感，如斯多葛教徒一般的忍耐力。想一想，比如说，她最为钦佩的那个女人，那个主持义卖的贝克斯伯罗女士。
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!
橱窗里有《乔罗克斯的远足与欢宴》[7]，有《肥皂海绵》[8]，有阿斯奎斯夫人[9]的《回忆录》和《尼日利亚狩猎记》，这些书全都摊开着。那里的书永远都琳琅满目，但似乎没有一本适合带给疗养院里的伊芙林·惠特布莱德看。没有任何东西会让她感兴趣，会在克拉丽莎进去的时候，让这个干瘪得不可言状的小女人看上去有一丝兴奋，哪怕只是稍纵即逝的一刹那，在她们如往常一样坐下来没完没了地谈论妇科病之前。她多么希望如此呀——在她走进去时别人的脸上露出快乐的神情，克拉丽莎一边想着一边调头向邦德街折回去，她觉得心烦意乱，因为做什么事情都要寻找无关的理由真的很傻。她更愿意自己能成为像理查德那样的人，他们做事只为了事情本身。然而，她一边等待过马路一边想，她做事往往没那么单纯，往往不是为了事情本身，而是为了使别人产生这样那样的想法。她知道那样做纯属荒谬（此时警察举起了手臂），因为根本没有人会信。哦，如果她的生活能够从头再来的话——她想着，一边踏上了横道线——就连她的容貌也会大为改观吧！【注：[7]英国作家罗伯特·瑟提斯（1805~1864）所著的一部小说。[8]也是瑟提斯所著的小说，原名为《海绵先生历险记》，书中主人公的名字叫“肥皂海绵”。[9]玛戈特·阿斯奎斯夫人（1864~1945）：英国作家。】
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.
也许，她原本会像贝克斯伯罗女士一般黝黑，有如皱皮一般的肌肤，还有双美丽的眼睛。也许，她会像贝克斯伯罗女士一样，举止庄重沉稳，一副人高马大的样子，像男人一样对政治感兴趣，在乡下有幢府邸，很尊贵，也很诚恳。然而，她有的只是一副豆芽般的细长身材，一张滑稽可笑的小脸，如小鸟般的尖嘴。诚然，她保养得很不错，手和脚都很好看，穿得也好，尽管她在衣着上的花费并不大。可如今，她寄居的这具肉身（她停下脚步，看着一幅荷兰画）常常显得无足轻重——甚至像根本不存在似的。她有种古怪异样的感觉，感觉自己成了个隐形人，没人看得见她，没人认识她。再也不会有结婚生子这种事情了，剩下的唯有随着滚滚人潮奇怪而庄严地往前迈步，迈步走入邦德街。剩下的唯有达洛维夫人自己，甚至连克拉丽莎都不存在了，只剩下理查德·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.
邦德街令她着迷，在这个季节，这个清晨的邦德街。街上彩旗飘扬，一家家店铺，不张扬、不炫耀。在她父亲五十年来一直在那里买西服的商店里放着一卷斜纹呢，珠宝店里有几粒珍珠，鱼摊冰块上有一条三文鱼。
“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.
“就这些，”她看着卖鱼的摊子，自语道。“就这些，”她在手套店的橱窗前停留了片刻，再次说道。战前，你可以在那里买到几近完美的手套。她的威廉大叔以前常这么说，通过鞋子和手套你就能看出一个姑娘是否是淑女。在战争中的某天早上，大叔突然去世了。他曾说过：“我已经活够了。”手套与鞋子，她尤其喜欢手套。但她的亲生女儿，她的伊丽莎白，却对这两样全无兴趣。
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 in to 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.
全无兴趣，她一边想着，一边沿邦德街向一家花店走去。她每次举办派对，他们都会为她把花留好。而伊丽莎白最关心的是她的小狗，真的。今天早上，整幢房子里都闻得到一股柏油味。不过，可怜的小狗灰灰总比基尔曼小姐要好一点。犬热症、柏油，以及所有的不适，也总比枯坐在闷热的卧室里抱着本祈祷书要好！随便什么都比那好，她想这么说。可这也许只是人生的一个阶段，就像理查德说过的，每个姑娘都会经历这样一个阶段。也许是因为坠入了爱河。可为什么恋爱的对象偏偏是基尔曼小姐呢？当然，基尔曼小姐以前曾遭受过虐待，所以我们必须对她多加体谅，而且理查德说过她是个很有能力的人，有着不折不扣的历史学家的头脑。总之，她俩已到了形影不离的程度，而伊丽莎白，她的亲生女儿，还去参加了圣餐礼呢。克拉丽莎应该如何穿着打扮，应该以何种态度来面对那些前来领圣餐的人们，这些她都满不在乎，她的阅历告诉她痴迷于宗教会使人的性情变得冷淡（痴迷于任何事业都会如此），他们的感觉会变得迟钝。就拿基尔曼小姐来说吧，她愿意为俄罗斯人奉献一切，愿意为奥地利人忍饥挨饿，可在日常生活中她又绝对是个让人受不了的角色。她迟钝乏味，总是穿着她那件防水布的绿大衣。她年复一年穿着那件大衣，她浑身冒汗，只要她在房间里待上五分钟，你就准保会感受到她的崇高、你的渺小；感受到她是多么贫穷，你是多么富有；感受到她在没有一张垫子或床铺或地毯或随便什么的贫民窟里是怎么生活的。她的整个灵魂因浸泡在悲惨世界里而遭到了腐蚀，在战争期间她被学校免职了——这个可怜巴巴的、满心委屈的、不幸的女人啊！其实，人家讨厌的不是她这个人，而是她的那些个想法，它们会聚在一起，无疑会成为一种巨大的威胁，但威胁并非来自基尔曼小姐本人，而是她的思想。她的思想如人们在黑夜里与之搏斗的鬼魂，如骑在我们头上吮吸掉我们一半鲜血的鬼魂，如蛮不讲理的统治者、暴君。不容置疑的是，如果我们重新掷一回骰子，如果黑色取代白色成为了一切的主宰，她就会爱上基尔曼小姐的！可这个世界的现实并非如此。并非如此。
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!
可是，这个残忍的魔鬼，在她的体内肆意翻腾，激怒了她！她听见了树枝折断的声音，感觉到沉重的马蹄声踩踏在枝繁叶茂的密林深处，这座灵魂的密林。从来也不会完全满足，或者有充分的安全感，因为这个残忍的恶魔随时随地都会搅动起你的憎恨，而它，尤其是因为她的疾病，拥有巨大的力量使她感觉身陷囹圄，脊背生疼。它使她的肉体痛苦，使得在优美、友谊、健康和爱情中感受到的快乐和她那个快乐的家庭发生了动摇、颤抖、扭曲，就好像确实有个魔鬼在挖墙脚，就好像整个华丽的装饰只不过是自恋而已！这股厌恶之情！
Nonsense, nonsense! she cried to herself, pushing through the swing doors of Mulberry’s the florists.
废话，废话！她冲自己大喊，一边推开了马贝利花店的旋转门。
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.
她走进去，轻轻松松、人高马大、身子笔挺、圆脸的皮姆小姐立马跑上前招呼她。皮姆小姐的双手总是红彤彤的，就好像和鲜花一起浸过冷水一样。
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!
店里有这些花：飞燕草；甜豌豆；一束束的紫丁香；康乃馨；大把大把的康乃馨；还有玫瑰；还有鸢尾花。啊，是的——她在这个人间乐园里尽情地吮吸着甜美的芬芳，她站在那里和皮姆小姐说话。皮姆小姐在帮她挑花，她想到，皮姆小姐真是个好人，多年前她就一直这么和善。可今年皮姆看上去老多了，她的头在鸢尾花和玫瑰花之间转来转去，她半闭着眼对着一簇簇的紫丁香点头，用力地嗅着。尽管大街上喧嚣嘈杂，店里却弥漫着怡人的花香，还有那优雅的凉爽。接着，她睁开眼，玫瑰看上去多清爽呀，就像在洗衣店柳条筐里放着的蕾丝亚麻毛巾。红色的康乃馨又浓烈又整洁，高傲地昂着头。甜豌豆在花瓶里伸展着枝丫。淡淡的紫色，雪花般的洁白，暗雅——宛如一个炎炎夏日后的黄昏，穿着薄衣的姑娘们出来采摘甜豌豆和玫瑰花，天空几乎是靛蓝色的，飞燕草、康乃馨、水百合都在盛开着。傍晚六七点之间的时刻，每一朵鲜花——玫瑰、康乃馨、鸢尾花、紫丁香——都鲜艳夺目，雪白、淡紫、艳红、橙黄。每一朵鲜花都仿佛在燃烧自己，在薄雾般的花床里温柔地、纯洁地燃烧着。她是多么喜欢穿梭在鲜花间的灰白的蛾子呀，它飞过了香水草，飞过了晚香玉！
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!
她跟在皮姆小姐后面从一个花罐走到另一个花罐，选着鲜花。全是废话，废话。她自言自语着，感觉越来越温柔，就好像这份美丽，这片芬芳，这样的色彩，再加上皮姆小姐喜欢她，信任她，这股温柔的暖流将她浑身裹住，它战胜了憎恨，战胜了那个魔鬼，战胜了一切！它将她轻轻托起，越托越高，直到——砰！外面的街上突然传来一声枪响！
“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，这些汽车，”皮姆小姐说着，忙走到窗口张望，然后又走回来，带着表示歉意的微笑，手上捧满了甘美的豌豆花，就好像那些汽车，那些爆掉的轮胎，都是她的过错。
0 条评论