Mrs Dalloway - Virginia Woolf - PDF-2 PDF

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MRS.DALLOWAY VirginiaWoolf

TableofContents I II III IV V VI VII VIII

I Mrs.Dallowaysaidshewouldbuytheflowersherself. 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. 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a 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. 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. 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. 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! “Good–morningtoyou,Clarissa!”saidHugh,ratherextravagantly,fortheyhadknown eachotheraschildren.“Whereareyouoffto?” “IlovewalkinginLondon,”saidMrs.Dalloway.“Reallyit’sbetterthanwalkinginthe country.” 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. 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. (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.) 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. 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boa 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. ShehadreachedtheParkgates.Shestoodforamoment,lookingattheomnibusesin Piccadilly. 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. 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: Fearnomoretheheato’thesun Northefuriouswinter’srages. 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. 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! 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. 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. “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. 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al 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. 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! Nonsense,nonsense!shecriedtoherself,pushingthroughtheswingdoorsofMulberry’s theflorists. 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. 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 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! “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 t...