“What are they looking at?” said Clarissa Dalloway to the maid who opened her door.
“他们在看什么呀？”克拉丽莎·达洛维问为她开门的女佣。
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
这幢房子的客厅如地窖一般凉爽。达洛维夫人把手罩在眼睛上面，在女佣人露西关上房门时，她听见了露西的裙子窸窣作响，她感觉自己像个远离了尘嚣的修女，感觉到面纱亲切地裹住了自己的脸庞，感觉到往日的虔诚得到了报偿。厨娘在厨房里吹口哨。她听见打字机的咔哒声。这就是她的生活，她在客厅桌子前垂下头来，沉醉在这份感动里，感觉到获得了祝福，得到了净化。她拿起记录着电话留言的便笺纸，自言自语地说道，这样的时刻就是生命之树上发出的新芽，是在黑暗中绽放的花朵，她想（仿佛是一朵可爱的玫瑰，只为了愉悦她的眼睛而绽放）。她一刻也没有信仰过上帝，但正因如此，她拿起便笺纸，想着，她就更必须在日常生活中对佣人们，是的，对狗儿和金丝雀，对高于一切的她的丈夫理查德心怀感恩。他就是她生活的基础——必须感恩那些快乐的声音，那些绿色的灯光，甚至要感恩那个吹口哨的厨娘，因为沃克太太是个爱尔兰人，整天都喜欢吹口哨——她想道，必须报答这些悄悄储存下来的美妙时刻。她拿起便笺纸，露西站在她旁边，想要向她解释：
“Mr. Dalloway, ma’am, told me to tell you he would be lunching out.”
“太太，达洛维先生让我告诉您，他出去吃午饭了。”
Clarissa read on the telephone pad, “Lady Bruton wishes to know if Mr. Dalloway will lunch with her to-day.”
克拉丽莎读着便笺纸上的电话内容，“布鲁顿女士想知道，达洛维先生今天是否可以和她一起共进午餐。”
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·布鲁顿没有邀请她，据说她的午餐会办得有声有色，很有意思。庸俗的嫉妒心并不能挑拨她和理查德之间的感情。但她害怕匆匆的时光，就像刻在冷漠石板上的日晷，她从布鲁顿女士的脸上看出了生命的枯萎。年复一年，她的生命被越切越薄。余下的时光已如此可怜，已无法再像青葱岁月时那样去尽情拓展，去吸取那生命的色彩、风味和韵律。想当初无论她走进哪个房间，那里都会因她而蓬荜生辉的。当她站在客厅门口稍作踌躇，她都会感觉到一种别致的悬念。就像一个潜水者在纵身跳下悬崖前所感受到的一般，大海在他的下面时明时暗，海浪眼看着就要汹涌而来，但结果却只是轻柔地拨开水面，银色的细浪翻卷着掀起海藻，再将其覆盖、淹没。
“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.
“别再害怕了，”克拉丽莎说。别再害怕炽热的太阳，因为布鲁顿女士只邀请理查德而不邀请她这事所带来的震惊，使她置身于其中的这个时刻也战栗了起来，宛如河岸边的一棵小草因船桨的惊扰而摇曳不定。于是她慌张起来，颤抖起来。
“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！”克拉丽莎说，露西分享了达洛维夫人想要让她感受到的失望（但并没有和她分享痛苦）。露西感受到了她们之间的默契，领会了达洛维夫人的意思，想到了上流社会的人们是如何相爱的。她冷静地为自己的未来画好了蓝图，她毕恭毕敬地接过达洛维夫人手里的阳伞，就好像那是女神从战场上凯旋后丢下的一件神圣武器，将它放到伞架上。
“Mr. Dalloway, ma’am”–
“太太，达洛维先生…”
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!
像个引身而退的修女，又像是个在宝塔上探险的孩子，她走上楼去，在窗前停留片刻，然后走进了卫生间。地上铺着绿地毡，有一只龙头在滴水。生活的核心是一片空虚，是阁楼上的一个房间。女人必须脱下她们那华贵的衣饰。到了正午时分，她们就必须脱下睡袍。她把发针插到针垫上，将她那饰有羽毛的黄帽子放在床上。床单很干净，床角处的白色阔条纹镶边绷得笔挺。她的床会越变越窄。蜡烛已烧掉了一半，她曾躺在床上入迷地读过马尔博男爵的《回忆录》[22]。她曾在深夜里读着关于莫斯科大撤退的描述。因为议会的会议总是开到很晚，理查德考虑到她的病体，坚持说她的睡眠不应该受到干扰。而其实，她更愿意在夜里看讲述莫斯科大撤退的书。他知道的。于是她的卧室被安排在阁楼上，一张窄窄的床。躺在那里看书，因为她的睡眠质量不好，她无法驱散那种生完孩子后还依然保留着的处女感，那感觉如床单般包裹着她。少女时代的她很可爱，可突然也会出现那样的时刻——比如那次在克里弗登树林下的河上——当时，由于这种冷漠的性情突然来袭，她让他失望了。接下来的一次发生在康斯坦丁堡，再后来发作的次数就越来越多了。她明白自己的缺陷在哪里。不是美貌，不是心灵。是某种渗透她全身的本质的东西，是一股冲破了表层的暖流，使男女间或女性间的冷漠关系激起了涟漪。她能够隐约地感触到这一点。她憎恨它，天知道这样的踌躇不安是从哪里得来的，她感到，或许是天性使然（她的天性向来都很明智）。然而她有时也会禁不住被女性的魅力征服，那魅力不是来自少女，而是来自于坦然相告的女人，她们常常对她倾诉，倾诉她们的困厄，她们的愚笨。不管是出于同情，还是被她们的美貌吸引，还是由于自己比她们年长，还是某种偶然的因素——如一阵淡淡的清香，或隔壁飘来的小提琴声（在某些时刻，音乐的力量是那么不可思议），她当时毫无疑问地体会到了男人们的感觉。这样的感觉虽然只在一时，但已足够。这是不期而至的启示，如脸上泛起的一阵红晕，你想要加以遏制，然而它已扩散开，你拿它束手无策，只得赶紧躲到偏僻的角落里，在那里暗自颤抖，感觉这个世界在向你逼近，这个世界因为某种奇异的意义、某种狂喜的压力而不断膨胀，挣破了稀薄的表皮喷涌而出，用超凡的抚慰能力，缝合了裂缝与剧痛！然后，就在那一刻，她看见了一幕幻景，在一朵藏红花中燃烧着的一根火柴，一种内在的意义几乎就要显露出来。可是，靠近中的世界撤退了，那份坚强也随之疲软了下去。结束了——这个时刻到此为止了。同这样的时刻（也包括同女人们在一起的时刻）形成对比（她放下了帽子）的是，这张床、这本马尔博男爵的书、这根烧得剩下半支的蜡烛。睁着眼睛躺在床上，地板在嘎吱作响。灯火通明的屋子突然间暗下来，如果她抬起头来，就能听见理查德小心翼翼地轻轻转动门把手时发出的咔哒声。接着，他脱掉鞋子悄悄地溜上楼，有时还会失手把热水袋掉在地上，随即就是一通咒骂！那时她会笑得合不拢嘴！【注：[22]马尔博男爵（1782~1854），法国将军，著有描写拿破仑时代的《回忆录》。】
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.
她将便笺纸放回到客厅桌上，然后手扶着栏杆，缓缓地朝楼上走去，仿佛刚刚辞别了一场派对，在那里不时有这个那个朋友使她感受到自己的音容笑貌。仿佛她关上门走了出来，独自站在门外，独自面对那恐怖的夜，或者更确切地说来，是面对着这个实实在在的六月晨曦。她知道，她也感觉到，对某些人来说，这样的晨光恰如玫瑰花瓣那柔和的光华。她在楼梯平台上开着的窗户边停下了脚步，外面传来帘子的啪啪声、狗的吠叫声。进来吧，她想道，就让白昼的侵轧、喧嚣和欣欣向荣之声统统进来吧。她突然间感觉到自己萎缩了，衰老了，乳房也瘪掉了，感觉到自己来到了室外，飘到了窗外，脱离了自己的身体，脱离了这个已经不中用的大脑。这些感受都是因为布鲁顿女士没有邀请她，据说她的午餐会办得有滋有味的。
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 Englishwomen. 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.
坐在地板上——那是萨利给她的第一印象——双手抱膝坐在地板上，抽着烟。会是发生在哪儿呢？在曼宁家吗？在金洛克·琼斯家吗？一定是在某次派对上（在哪里的派对呢，她记不得了），因为她清楚地记得，她问过那个当时陪着萨利本人的男子：“那人是谁呀？”，那男子也告诉了她，还说萨利的父母关系不和（她当时多么诧异——为人父母的竟然也会干架）。不过，她的视线整晚都不曾离开过萨利。那是她最为爱慕的超凡脱俗的美，黝黑的肤色，大大的眼睛，她总是羡慕那种气质，因为她自己身上没有——那种放纵的气质，就好像什么都能说，什么都能做。这样的气质在外国人身上很常见，但在英国女人身上却很稀罕。萨利总是说她血管里流着法国人的血，她有一个祖先曾经侍奉过玛丽·安托瓦内特[23]，后来被砍了头，留下了一枚红宝石戒指。也许就在那年夏天，萨利来伯尔顿小住，有天晚饭后，她突然风风火火地闯进来，身上分文没有，着实把可怜的海伦娜姑妈搞得火冒三丈，以至于从此再也没有原谅她。原来是她家发生了一场争吵。于是那天晚上她就跑到克拉丽莎家来了，身上真的是一文没有——连路费都是当掉了一枚胸针换来的。她是在一怒之下离家出走的。那天晚上，她们整整聊了一个通宵。正是萨利使克拉丽莎头一次感悟到，伯尔顿的生活是多么闭塞。她对性一无所知——对社会问题也一窍不通。她有次看见一个老头摔死在农田里——也看见过刚产下小牛犊的母牛。可是，海伦娜姑妈从不喜欢谈论任何事情（萨利把威廉·莫里斯[24]的书借给她时，还不得不用牛皮纸把封面包起来）。她们俩坐在顶楼上她的闺房里，一谈就是好几个钟头，她们谈论生活，谈论该如何去改造这个世界。她们想要建立一个废除私有制的社会，还确实写过一封关于这个想法的信，尽管没有寄出去。当然，这主意最初是萨利想出来的——不过，不多会儿她就和萨利一样兴奋起来——在早餐前还躺在床上读柏拉图，读莫里斯，甚至连着个把小时读雪莱的诗歌呢。【注：[23]玛丽·安托瓦内特（1755~1793）：法王路易十六之妻，一代艳后。在法国大革命期间被送上断头台。[24]威廉·莫里斯（1834~1896）：英国作家、画家，代表作有《世俗的天堂》《乌有乡的消息》等。】
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?
可是，这个爱的问题（她想着，一边把外衣摆好），这个关于爱上了女人的问题，就说萨利·西顿吧，她以前和萨利·西顿的那种关系。不管怎么说，难道不也是爱吗？
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!”
回想起来，令人诧异的是，她对萨利的感情既纯洁又诚恳。这和她对男人的感情迥然不同。这种感情完全是无私的，而且，还有一种只存在于女性间的，尤其是刚成年的女性间的特质。在她这边，这感情是保护性的。它发自一种类似于同盟军般的感觉，一种终将有什么会来拆散她们的预感（她们谈起婚姻来，总说得像是一场灾祸），导致了这种骑士精神，这种想要保护对方的感情，这样的感情在她身上要比萨利强烈许多。因为在那些日子里，萨利无论做什么都全然不计后果。出于虚荣心，萨利会干下最出格的事，围着露台的女儿墙骑自行车，抽雪茄烟。荒唐，那时的她——实在是荒唐。可是，她的魅力也是毋庸置疑的，至少对克拉丽莎来说是的。所以她至今还记得自己手里拿着热水罐，站在位于顶楼的闺房里，大声地喃喃自语：“她和我在同一屋檐下…她和我在同一屋檐下啊！”
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.
萨利的力量是惊人的，她有天赋，有个性。比如，她对待鲜花的方式就很独特。在伯尔顿，人们总是在桌子底下摆一整排难看的小花瓶。萨利跑出去，采来了蜀葵、大丽花——各种鲜花，人们从未看见过这些花被摆在一起的——剪下花朵，放在一只只水杯里，让它们漂浮在水面上。人们在日落时分进来用餐时，都会为那别致的效果而惊叹不已（当然，海伦娜姑妈认为那样对待鲜花实在是缺德）。还有次，她洗澡忘了拿海绵，就光着身子跑过走廊去取。从此，那个一本正经的老女佣艾伦·阿特金斯逢人就嘀嘀咕咕——“要是给哪位先生看见了该怎么得了？”她的行为着实令人咋舌。克拉丽莎的父亲则嫌她不修边幅。
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.
萨利穿了件粉红的薄纱衫——怎么可能？总之，她看上去，光彩熠熠，生气勃勃，就像飞进来的一只小鸟或气球，暂时歇息在一根荆棘上。但在一个人恋爱时（如果这不算爱，那算什么呢），最难理解的莫过于他人的全然漠视。海伦娜姑妈一吃完晚饭就走开了，爸爸在看报纸。彼德·沃尔什也许当时在场，也许还有老小姐卡明斯。约瑟夫·布莱科普夫一定也在场，因为他每年夏天都来，可怜的老头，一住就是好几个礼拜，表面上是来和她一起读德语的，但其实是来弹钢琴，是来荒腔走调地演唱勃拉姆斯的歌曲的。
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 dressing-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!
不，现在这些话对她来说已毫无意义了。往昔的感情，她甚至连一点余韵都捕捉不住。但她还能记得自己曾激动得浑身冰凉，在迷醉的状态下梳妆打扮（此刻，往日的感觉似乎又回来了，她拔下发针，放在梳妆台上，开始梳头）。在粉红的暮色中，有几只白嘴鸦飞上飞下，她穿戴好后走下楼去，穿过客厅时，她感到“如果此刻就能奔赴黄泉，那么此刻就是最幸福的时刻了”。那就是她的感觉——奥赛罗式的感觉，她感受到了，她相信自己的感受和莎士比亚笔下奥赛罗的感受一般强烈，这都是因为，她穿了一袭白衣走下楼去，要去和萨利·西顿一起吃顿晚饭呢！
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:
这一切与萨利比起来都不过是背景。她站在壁炉边，用她那使每一句话听上去都像爱抚一般的甜美嗓音，和克拉丽莎的父亲闲聊着，克拉丽莎的父亲不由自主地被她吸引住了（他永远都不会忘记，他曾借给她一本书，结果却发现那本书在露台上被雨淋得透湿）。此时她突然说道：“闷在屋子里多无聊呀！”，于是大家都来到外面露台上，这里看看那里瞧瞧。彼德·沃尔什和约瑟夫·布莱科普夫继续谈论着瓦格纳。克拉丽莎和萨利稍稍落在后面。她们经过一个鲜花盛开的石瓮，紧接着，她这一辈子里最为美妙的时刻就来到了。萨利停下了脚步，摘了一朵花，亲吻了她的唇。整个世界也许就此坍塌了！其他人都消失不见了，只剩下她和萨利。她感觉好像是收到了一份厚礼，一份包好的厚礼，要她保管好，不可以拆开来看——一粒钻石，某种无价之宝，包得好好的，在她们散步时（走过来走过去，走过来走过去），她把包装打开，或者是它的光辉射了出来，使她获得了启示，多么虔诚的感觉！——那时，老约瑟夫和彼德来到了她们面前。
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?
然而，她后来毕竟欠了彼德多少情呀。只要一想到他，她就会想起他们老是为了些琐事拌嘴——也许，是因为她太想得到他的好评了。他送给她两句评价：“伤感”“有教养”。她每天的生活就从这两句评价开始，就好像他时刻都在保护着她。一本伤感的书，一种伤感的生活态度。“伤感”，老是喜欢回忆过去，也许她确实是一个伤感的人。等他回来后，她不知道，他又会怎么想呢？
“Star-gazing?” said Peter.
“发什么呆呢？”彼德说。
“Oh this horror!” she said to herself, as if she had known all along that something would interrupt, would embitter her moment of happiness.
“哦，这个恐怖的家伙！”她自言自语，仿佛她向来都知道总有什么会来打搅她，会来破坏她的幸福时刻。
It was like running one’s face against a granite wall in the darkness! It was shocking; it was horrible!
感觉就像在黑暗中撞上了花岗岩的石墙！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.
不是为了她自己。她只是感觉萨利已经受到了伤害，受到了虐待。她感到他的敌意，他的嫉妒，他想要破坏她们间友谊的决心。她看见了这一切，就像在一道闪电下看见了眼前的风景——而萨利（克拉丽莎还从没这么佩服过她！）却像没事似的，依旧我行我素。她大笑，让老约瑟夫告诉她天上星星的名字[25]，那恰好是他很乐意认真去做的事。克拉丽莎站在那里，她听着。她知道了那些星星的名字。【注：[25]上文中彼德说的发呆原文为stargazing，其字面意义为仰望星星，萨利在此调皮地利用了这个词的双关意。】
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.
他会说她变老了吗？还是在他回来后，她会看出他心里在想她变老了呢？事实如此。自从生病以来，她的头发几乎全白了。
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.
她将胸针放在桌子上，突然起了一阵抽搐，就好像，在她沉思时，冰冷的爪子趁机将她俘获了。她还没有老呢。她才刚刚步入五十二岁的行列。还有无数个月份依然摆在她面前。六月、七月、八月！每个月都几乎还保持着完整性。就像要抓住逝去的时光，克拉丽莎（走到梳妆台边上）的整个身心都沉入了这一时刻的正中央，使它停留在那儿——六月清晨的这个时刻，此外的每一个清晨都重重地压在它上面。她看着镜子、梳妆台，看着所有的新酒瓶，然后又将目光集中在自己身上（她看着镜子），看着一张优雅的、粉红色的、女人的脸，这个女人今晚要举办一场派对！那是克拉丽莎·达洛维的脸，是她自己的脸。
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?
她曾成千上万次看过自己的脸，每次都看见同样细微的、收敛的表情！她看着镜子，撅起了嘴唇。这使得她的脸型尖了起来。那是她自己——尖尖的脸，如飞镖，棱角分明。那是她自己，在某种努力下，在某种要求她展露自我的呼唤下，她将脸上的零碎集中了起来，只有她知道那是多么不同，多么矛盾，多么沉着。这个世界成为了一个中心，一枚钻石。一个坐在梳妆台前给大家提供了聚会场所的女人，对于一些麻木的生命来说，这无疑是一种光辉，也许还是一个孤独者所追求的避风港。她帮助了年轻人，他们对她心怀感激。她总想要保持一贯的形象，从来不会把她身上的其他方面显露出来——吹毛求疵、爱嫉妒、爱虚荣、爱猜疑，就比如布鲁顿女士不请她吃午饭这件事，她想（终于开始梳头了），这件事实在是卑鄙无耻！算了，她的衣服在哪儿呢？
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.
多奇怪，她在楼梯平台上停住脚步，想着，要把自己装扮成如钻石一般单纯的人，多奇怪，女主人对这一重大的时刻，对自己家的特性有如此的了解！微弱的声音沿着楼梯袅袅上升，有拖把的簌簌声，有轻叩声，有敲击声，有大门打开时的响声，有地下室里重复着一个口信的声音，有托盘上银器的叮当声，那是为晚餐会准备的干净的银餐具。一切都是为了派对。
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 to-night. 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.
她的晚礼服挂在衣橱里。克拉丽莎把手探入柔软的衣料中，轻轻地抽出那件绿色的连衣裙，把它拿到了窗前。裙子被撕破了。在大使馆的宴会上，有人踩到了这条裙子，她感觉裙腰的褶子处都要松开来了。在灯光下，绿颜色会闪闪发亮，但现在在日光下则发暗了。她自己来补吧。女佣们要干的事够多了。她今晚要穿这条裙子。她要拿上丝线、剪刀，还有什么来着，当然，还有针箍，去楼下的客厅，因为她还要写信，还要照料一切，使一切大致上能做到井井有条。
“Oh Lucy,” she said, “the silver does look nice!”
“哦，露西，”她说，“这些银餐具实在太漂亮了！”
(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! 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.)
（而露西，拿着托盘走进了客厅，将巨大的烛台放到壁炉架上，把银制的首饰盒摆在中间，把水晶海豚转了个向，朝着时钟。他们会来，他们会站在这儿，他们会用她也能模仿的装腔作势的调子说话，这些先生女士们。在所有人中，她的女主人是最可爱的一个——她是这些银器、亚麻织物、瓷器的女主人，因为太阳、餐具、拆下来的门、朗波梅尔公司的人都给了她一种成就感。此时露西将裁纸刀放在刻花桌子上。看哪！看哪！露西那时还对面包房里的一个老朋友说，凯特汉姆的面包房就是露西的第一份活，一边紧盯着玻璃窗。露西是安吉拉女士，是服侍玛丽公主的，克拉丽莎那时这样说过。此时达洛维夫人走了进来。）
“And how,” she said, turning the crystal dolphin to stand straight, “how did you enjoy the play last night?”
“还有，”她动了动水晶海豚使其站稳了，说道，“昨晚上的戏你觉得怎样？”
“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:
“哦，戏还没演完，他们就不得不走了！”露西说，“他们十点钟必须要回去的！”她说，“所以他们不知道结局如何，”她又说。“真是太不走运了，”达洛维夫人说道（因为她的仆人可以留得晚一些，如果他们问她的话）。“真是太不应该了，”她说。她拿起沙发中央看上去光秃秃的旧垫子，塞到露西的手里，轻轻推了她一把，大声说道：
“Take it away! Give it to Mrs. Walker with my compliments! Take it away!” she cried.
“把它拿走！去送给沃尔克太太，说我问她好！把它拿走！”她大声说。
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?
露西在客厅门口停下脚步，拿着坐垫，脸涨得有点红红的，胆怯地说，让我补这条裙子不好吗？
But, said Mrs. Dalloway, she had enough on her hands already, quite enough of her own to do without that.
可是，达洛维夫人说，露西手头要干的活已经太多了，不补裙子也已经够她忙活的了。
“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.
“不过，谢谢你，露西，哦，谢谢你，”达洛维夫人说。谢谢你，谢谢你，她不停地说这句（坐在沙发上，裙子铺在她的膝头，还有剪刀和丝线），谢谢你，谢谢你，她不停地说，主要是为了她的仆人们帮助她做成了自己，做成了她想要成为的那个人，做成了一个温和善良的人而表示谢意。她的仆人都喜欢她。好了，看看这条裙子吧——破口在哪里来着？此时她把丝线穿进了针眼。这是萨利·帕克很喜欢的一条裙子，几乎是她做的最后一条，因为现在萨利已经退休了，她住在伊令[26]，只要我一有空，克拉丽莎想（但她再也不会有什么空了），我就要去伊令看她。因为她是个人物，克拉丽莎想，一个真正的艺术家。她想到了萨利身上一些古怪的地方，但她做的裙子从来也没有什么古怪。你可以穿着它去哈特菲尔德，也可以去白金汉宫。她在哈特菲尔德穿过这条裙子，在白金汉宫也穿过。【注：[26]英格兰东南部一城市。】
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.
宁静的氛围降临在她的四周，平和，满足。她轻巧地穿针引线，将柔滑的丝线拉到头，把绿褶子并拢在一起，非常轻柔地，将它们缝在腰带上。于是，在一个夏日里，波浪聚拢，散开，破碎；合拢后，又破碎。整个世界都似乎在越来越深沉地说着“只能如此了”，直到在阳光下躺在沙滩上的人们也在心里嘀咕起来，只能如此了。别再害怕，心里说。别再害怕，心里说，把沉重的负担交给大海，它会为所有的悲哀而叹息，也会复苏，重新开始，合拢，再破碎。只有肉体在倾听蜜蜂嗡嗡地飞过，大浪拍岸，犬吠，遥远的犬吠，不绝于耳。
“Heavens, the front-door bell!” exclaimed Clarissa, staying her needle. Roused, she listened.
“天哪，前门的铃声响起来了！”克拉丽莎喊，停下了手里的针线活。她站起来，侧耳倾听。
“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.”
“达洛维夫人会见我的，”一个老头在门厅里说。“哦，是的，她会见我的，”他重复道，一边极为和善地轻轻推开了露西，匆匆地奔上楼梯。“是的，是的，是的，”他低声嘀咕着上楼。“她会见我的。在印度一待就是五年，克拉丽莎一定会见我的。”
“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.
“你好吗？”彼德·沃尔什说，他真的在发抖呢。他握住她的双手，亲吻她的双手。她变老了，他不由得感慨，坐了下来。我应该对她变老了这件事，他想道，只字不提。她正看着我呢，他想，一阵突如其来的尴尬将他俘虏，尽管他已经吻过她的手了。他把手放进口袋，掏出一把小折刀，稍稍打开了一点。
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.
他一点没变，克拉丽莎想，还是那种古怪的神情，还穿着格子西服。他的脸显得有点歪，比以前干瘦了一点，也许，不过他看上去气色棒极了，而且一点也没变。
“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.)
“谁会——怎么会，”达洛维夫人听着楼梯上的脚步声，心里想（在她为晚上的派对繁忙地做着准备的早上十一点钟就来打搅她，实在是太过分了）。她听见那人把手放在了门上。她好像要把那条裙子藏起来，就像一个处女要保卫贞操，要保护隐私。此时黄铜的球把手转动起来。门打开了，一个男子走进来——她一时都想不起来他叫什么名字了！看见他，她有多惊讶呀，多开心呀，多腼腆呀，彼德·沃尔什就这么从天而降看她来了，她真的是被吓破了胆（她还没来得及看他的信呢）！
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?
她张开剪刀，问他是否介意让她把补裙子的活干完，因为她家今晚要举办派对。
He’s very well dressed, thought Clarissa; yet he always criticises ME.
他穿得很体面，克拉丽莎想，不过，他总爱批评我。
“How heavenly it is to see you again!” she exclaimed. He had his knife out. That’s so like him, she thought.
“又能见到你，真太好了！”她欢呼道。他已经掏出了折刀。他就是喜欢那样，她想道。
“And what’s all this?” he said, tilting his pen-knife towards her green dress.
“这是怎么一回事呀？”他把小刀斜着指向绿裙子，问道。
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.
她正在补这条裙子，像平时一样补她的裙子，他思忖。我在印度的时候，她整天都坐在这里，补她的裙子；玩一会儿，去参加派对；跑去议会，再跑回来，诸如此类。他想到如此种种，他越来越烦躁，越来越激动。他认为，对有些女人来说，这个世界上没有比结婚更糟糕的事了，参与政治，嫁给一个保守党的老公，就比如可亲可敬的理查德。原来如此，原来如此，他思量着，他啪的一声合上折刀。
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?
他昨晚上刚到这里的，他说，还不得不马上去一趟乡下。一切都好吗？大家伙都好吗——理查德好吗？伊丽莎白好吗？
“Richard’s very well. Richard’s at a Committee,” said Clarissa.
“理查德很好，他正在委员会里开会呢，”克拉丽莎说。
“Which I shan’t ask you to,” she said. “My dear Peter!” she said.
“我不会强求你来参加的，”她说，“我亲爱的彼德！”
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!
不过听她这么叫他还是很享受的——我亲爱的彼德！真的，所有的一切都是一种享受——银餐具，椅子，一切都那么奢华！
“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.
“可你今天早上会来这儿，实在太不可思议了！”她的手放在裙子上，一只压着另一只，高声说。
Why wouldn’t she ask him to her party? he asked.
为什么她不叫我参加派对呢？他问。
“Do you remember,” she said, “how the blinds used to flap at Bourton?”
“你还记得吗，”她说，“在伯尔顿时，百叶窗总是敲得啪啪响的？”
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?
如今，当然啰，克拉丽莎想，他变得多有魅力啊！简直魅力难挡啊！我记得当初，要下定决心有多么困难——当初我怎么会下定决心——不嫁给他的呢？她搞不懂，那个恶劣的夏天。
“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.
“是啊，”他说，他还记得独自和她的父亲一起吃早饭时的那种尴尬。她父亲已经去世了，他也没有写信慰问过克拉丽莎。不过，他向来和老帕里合不来，那个脾气暴躁、优柔寡断的老头，克拉丽莎的父亲，贾斯丁·帕里。
“I often wish I’d got on better with your father,” he said.
“我常希望自己能和你父亲交上朋友，”他说。
“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.
“可他从来不喜欢任何一个想要…任何一个我的朋友。”克拉丽莎说。她本应该管住自己的嘴，她这么说会提醒彼德，他曾想要娶她呢。
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?
然后，正如月光下的露台上会发生的情形一样，一个人因为厌倦而开始感到羞愧，而另一个人还是静静地坐着。他如此安静，忧伤地望着月亮，不想说话，只是动动腿，清清喉咙，注意到一只桌腿上的铸铁涡卷，碰碰一片树叶，但什么也不说——彼德·沃尔什现在就是如此状态。为什么要像这样回到从前呢？他想。是什么让他再次回想起那一段往事的呢？为什么还要让他受苦呢，她不是已经如此残忍地折磨过他了吗？为什么？
“Herbert has it now,” she said. “I never go there now,” she said.
“现在伯尔顿归赫伯特所有了，”她说，“我再也不去了。”
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.
我当然想的，彼德心想，这事几乎让我的心都碎了。他沉浸在自己的悲伤中，那悲伤如站在露台上仰望着初升的月亮，在落日余晖中散发着晶莹的幽光。从那以后，我再没有那么痛苦过，他想。他感觉好像真的坐到了露台上，朝着克拉丽莎稍稍挪近了些，伸出手去，举起来，又放下。在他们头顶上高悬着的，是一轮明月。她仿佛也坐在露台上，在月光下，坐在他旁边。
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.
她瞧着彼德·沃尔什，她的目光，穿越了所有往日的时光与感情，迟疑地落到他身上。含泪的目光在他身上停驻，然后又升起来，飘走了，如原本栖息于一根树枝的小鸟，又振翅飞走了。她毫不掩饰地擦了擦眼。
“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!” And what had she made of it? What, indeed? sitting there sewing this morning with Peter.
“你还记得那面湖吗？”她用生硬的口吻问，在俘获她心灵的激情的重压下，她的喉部肌肉发僵了，在说“湖”这个词时，连嘴唇也打起颤来。因为她既是一个孩子，站在父母中间，把面包扔给鸭子吃；同时又是一个成年女子，来到站在湖边的父母亲身边，双手紧紧拥抱住生活，在她靠近他们时，生活在她的手中越变越高大，直到成为一个完整的生活，一个充实的生活。她把自己的生活放下来，交到父母亲的手上，说：“这就是我的生活！就是这个！”她创造出来的是什么样的生活呢？真的，是什么样的生活呢？不过是今天早上，坐在彼德的旁边，缝缝补补的生活罢了。
“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; 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.
“是的，”彼德说。“是的，是的，是的，”他反复说，就好像她已迫近到某个一定会伤害到他的表面。闭嘴！闭嘴！他想要大喊。因为他还不是老头子，他的生命还没有走到尽头。无论怎么说，都还没有。他才五十刚出头。我该告诉她吗，他寻思着，还是不该呢？他愿意把肺腑之言都向她倾吐。可她太冷淡了，缝缝补补的，拿着大剪子。他的戴西此时如果站在克拉丽莎旁边，一定会显得极为平庸。她会认为我是个失败者，按他们的标准，我确实是个失败者——按达洛维家的标准。哦，是的，他对此没有半点怀疑，与这一切相比，他是个失败者——雕花的桌子，带装饰的裁纸刀，海豚和烛台，椅套和珍贵的英国淡彩老版画——他是个失败者！我讨厌这全盘的矫揉造作，他想，是理查德的错，不是克拉丽莎的，更别说她嫁给了他（此时露西跑进房间，手上拿着银具，很多很多银具，但她看上去很可爱，很苗条，很优雅，他看着她弯腰放下银餐具）。这一切一直这么持续着！一周又一周，克拉丽莎的生活，而我——他思索着，此时，一切似乎都突然地降临在了他的身上——旅行，骑马，争吵，探险，桥牌会，情事，工作，工作，工作！而且他堂而皇之地掏出了刀子——他的那把牛角柄的老刀，克拉丽莎打赌他这三十年来一直用这把刀——把它紧紧地攥在手心里。
“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.
“那么，你最近做些什么呢？”她问。在战斗开始前，战马趴在地上，摇晃着脑袋，腹部的纤毛在阳光下闪亮，脖颈歪斜。于是，彼德·沃尔什和克拉丽莎肩并肩坐在蓝色的沙发上，彼此较劲。一股力量在彼德的体内翻腾、汹涌。他把来自四面八方的各种事情集中起来，有对他的赞美，也有他在牛津的职业。而他的婚姻，还有他是如何恋爱的，以及最后是怎么达到目的的，所有这些她都一无所知。
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.
他这习惯多么与众不同呀，克拉丽莎想，总是把玩着刀子。也总让人感觉浮躁、空虚，他只是个喋喋不休的傻瓜，跟他过去一样。但我也一样呀，她想，随即拿起了针线，她呼唤着，就像一个因卫兵睡着了而失去保护的女王（他的造访使她很是惊讶——也令她颇为沮丧），所以任何人都可以信步走来，来瞧一瞧这个在缠绕的荆蔓下躺着的女人。不过，她要呼唤她取得的所有成就和喜爱的事情来帮助她——她的丈夫，伊丽莎白，她的自我。简而言之，现在的彼德根本就不了解她的自我，让所有的一切都来帮忙，来帮助她击退眼前的敌人吧。
“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.
“千百万桩事情！”他高呼。此时，积聚起来的力量在横冲直撞，立刻使他感觉到恐惧与极度的兴奋，就好像被人们扛在肩头匆匆前行。他什么也看不见了，只能举起双手放在前额上。
Clarissa sat very upright; drew in her breath.
克拉丽莎坐得笔直，屏住气。
“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.
“我恋爱了，”他说，但不是对她说的，而是对一个在黑暗中长大成人的女人说的，因此你触摸不到她，只能将你的花环放在黑黢黢的草地上。
“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.
“我恋爱了，”他再次说道，这次是用相当冷淡的语气对克拉丽莎·达洛维说的，“爱上了一个印度姑娘。”他已献好了花环。随便克拉丽莎怎么想好了。
“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。他这种年纪的人，还戴着个小领结，居然也会被那个魔鬼吞掉！瞧，他的脖子上没一点肉，他的双手红彤彤的，更何况他还比我大六个月呢！她的目光转回到自己身上，但心里仍然觉得——他是在恋爱。他是的，她感觉到——他是在恋爱。
“And who is she?” she asked.
“那么，她是谁呢？”她问。
Now this statue must be brought from its height and set down between them.
现在必须把这尊雕像[27]从高处搬下来，放在他们中间了。【注：[27]指彼德所爱的印度女子。】
“A married woman, unfortunately,” he said; “the wife of a Major in the Indian Army.”
“不幸的是，她是个有夫之妇，”他说，“她丈夫是印度军队里的少校。”
(All the same, he is in love, thought Clarissa.)
（不管怎么说，他确实是在恋爱，克拉丽莎想。）
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.
但是，那百折不挠的自以为是总是把反对它的大军踩倒在地，如一条河流般滔滔不绝地说着：前进，前进，前进！尽管它也知道，也许我们本来就没什么目标，但它仍然前进，前进。这种百折不挠的自以为是使得她脸颊泛红，使她看上去很年轻，很健康。她的眼睛很亮，身子微微颤抖地坐在那儿，那条裙子放在膝头，她把针把绿丝线拉到头后停下来。他在恋爱！但恋爱的对象不是她。当然，是某个更年轻的女人。
“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.”
“她有，”他实事求是地继续说道，“两个小孩，一男一女，我回来是为了找律师谈戴西离婚的事情。”
And with a curious ironical sweetness he smiled as he placed her in this ridiculous way before Clarissa.
他就这么荒谬地将她摆在克拉丽莎面前，脸上露出了古怪、嘲讽又甜美的微笑。
There they are! he thought. 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.
就这么回事！他想。你想怎样就怎样好了，克拉丽莎！就这么回事！在克拉丽莎揣摩他们的时候，他觉得他那个印度陆军少校的妻子（他的戴西）和她的两个小孩在分分秒秒间变得越发可爱了，仿佛他在用光打着盘子里的一只灰色小球，在他们那海盐风味浓烈的亲密关系中——他们那细腻的亲密关系——生长出一棵可爱的树（因为从某种角度说，没人像克拉丽莎那般理解他、同情他）。
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.
我都知道的，彼德想，我知道我在面对着什么。他想着，一边将手指在刀刃上滑过，克拉丽莎、达洛维，还有他们所有人。但我会让克拉丽莎看到——接着，完全出乎他的意料，一股在天空里游荡着的控制不住的力量突然向他袭来，他不禁流下了眼泪。他哭了，纵情地哭着，他坐在沙发上，泪水滚下他的脸颊。
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!
看在老天的分上，别再弄你的刀子啦！在抑制不住的恼怒中，她暗自高呼，那是他愚蠢的反传统，他的弱点！他对别人的感觉简直无知无觉，她为此生他的气，老是生他的气。而现在，都到了他那把年纪，真荒唐！
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.
那女人讨好他，欺骗了他，克拉丽莎想。她三刀就能刻出这个女人的形象，这个印度陆军少校的老婆。多浪费！多愚蠢！彼德的一辈子老是像这样上当受骗，开始是被牛津开除，后来是娶了个在去印度的船上搭识的女人，现在又是什么印度陆军少校的老婆——谢天谢地，她当初幸亏没嫁给他！不过，他是在恋爱！她的老朋友，她亲爱的彼德，是在恋爱。
“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.
“可你打算怎么办呢？”她问他。哦，林肯律师协会的胡帕和格雷特利律师事务所的律师们，他们会帮他搞定的，他说。此时，他竟然用那把折刀修起指甲来了。
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!
于是，克拉丽莎倾身向前，握住他的手，把他拉向她，吻他——实际上在她能够压下在她胸中闪烁着银光的羽毛舞动之前，就已经感觉到了他的脸贴着她的脸——她胸中的羽毛如在热带飓风下翻滚的蒲苇，此时飓风渐渐平息，她抓着他的手，拍着他的膝，等到她坐回去时，她感觉和他在一起极为平和轻松。突然之间她想道，如果当初嫁给了他，这样的快乐就会每天都陪伴我呢！
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.
对她来说，一切都结束了。床单绷紧了，床很窄。她独自上了高塔，任由别人在阳光下采摘黑莓。门已关上，在坠落的灰泥和零乱的鸟巢中，景色显得如此遥远，声音显得如此单薄、阴沉（有次在利思山上也这么觉得，她记得），理查德，理查德！她高喊，如一个在夜里惊醒的人，在黑暗中伸出手去寻求帮助。理查德正和布鲁顿女士共进午餐呢，她又想到这事了。他撇下了我，我永远都是孤零零的一个人，她想着，双手环绕着抱住了膝盖。
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.
彼德·沃尔什站了起来，走到窗前，背对着她，左右挥舞着一条印花大手绢。他看上去心灵手巧，冷漠孤独，枯瘦的肩胛将大衣微微拱起，猛烈地抽着鼻子。把我带走吧，克拉丽莎冲动地想，就好像他即刻就要启程去做伟大的航行。接着，下一秒，就好像一出非常激动人心的五幕剧，现在画上了句号，就好像她一辈子都活在那出戏里，她私奔，她和彼德同居，但现在，一切都收场了。
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.
现在，到了该行动的时候，就像一个女人收拾起她的东西，她的大衣，她的手套，她的望远镜，起身走出戏院，来到外面的大街上。她从沙发上站起来，走到彼德旁边。
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.
这实在太奇怪了，他想，她怎么会至今仍拥有这份力量？她这么窸窸窣窣地跑过来，这么横穿过这间房间，她依然拥有那种力量，可以使月亮，他讨厌自己这么想，升起在夏夜里伯尔顿的露台上。
“Tell me,” he said, seizing her by the shoulders. “Are you happy, Clarissa? Does Richard –“
“告诉我，”他说道，一边抓住她的肩头。“你幸福吗，克拉丽莎？理查德他…”
“Here is my Elizabeth,” said Clarissa, emotionally, histrionically, perhaps.
“这是我的伊丽莎白，”克拉丽莎说，满怀深情地，有点夸张地，也许。
“How d’y do?” said Elizabeth coming forward.
“您好呀，”伊丽莎白走上前来打招呼。
“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.
“哈罗，伊丽莎白！”彼德高声说，一面把手绢塞进了口袋，飞快地向她走过去，说了声“再见，克拉丽莎”，看也没看她，便飞快地离开了房间，跑下楼去，打开了过道上的门。
The door opened.
房门开了。
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.
大本钟的半点报时以超凡的气势在他们中间响起，好像是个年轻人，强壮、冷漠、草率，在左右开弓地挥舞着哑铃。
“Peter! Peter!” cried Clarissa, following him out on to the landing. “My party to-night! Remember my party to-night!” 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 to-night!” sounded frail and thin and very far away as Peter Walsh shut the door.
“彼德！彼德！”克拉丽莎喊着追到了楼梯口。“我今晚的派对！记得我今晚的派对呀！”她喊着，不得不提高嗓门来对抗室外的喧嚣，但终于还是被车流及所有的钟声所淹没，在彼德·沃尔什的关门声中，她那句“记得我今晚的派对呀！”听上去十分细微脆弱，十分遥远。
0 条评论