Street Haunting讲课教案.docx
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Street Haunting讲课教案.docx
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StreetHaunting讲课教案
StreetHaunting
StreetHaunting:
ALondonAdventure*
*Writtenin1930.
Nooneperhapshaseverfeltpassionatelytowardsaleadpencil.Buttherearecircumstancesinwhichitcanbecomesupremelydesirabletopossessone;momentswhenwearesetuponhavinganobject,anexcuseforwalkinghalfacrossLondonbetweenteaanddinner.Asthefoxhunterhuntsinordertopreservethebreedoffoxes,andthegolferplaysinorderthatopenspacesmaybepreservedfromthebuilders,sowhenthedesirecomesuponustogostreetramblingthepencildoesforapretext,andgettingupwesay:
“ReallyImustbuyapencil,”asifundercoverofthisexcusewecouldindulgesafelyinthegreatestpleasureoftownlifeinwinter—ramblingthestreetsofLondon.
Thehourshouldbetheeveningandtheseasonwinter,forinwinterthechampagnebrightnessoftheairandthesociabilityofthestreetsaregrateful.Wearenotthentauntedasinthesummerbythelongingforshadeandsolitudeandsweetairsfromthehayfields.Theeveninghour,too,givesustheirresponsibilitywhichdarknessandlamplightbestow.Wearenolongerquiteourselves.Aswestepoutofthehouseonafineeveningbetweenfourandsix,weshedtheselfourfriendsknowusbyandbecomepartofthatvastrepublicanarmyofanonymoustrampers,whosesocietyissoagreeableafterthesolitudeofone’sownroom.Fortherewesitsurroundedbyobjectswhichperpetuallyexpresstheoddityofourowntemperamentsandenforcethememoriesofourownexperience.Thatbowlonthemantelpiece,forinstance,wasboughtatMantuaonawindyday.Wewereleavingtheshopwhenthesinisteroldwomanpluckedatourskirtsandsaidshewouldfindherselfstarvingoneofthesedays,but,“Takeit!
”shecried,andthrusttheblueandwhitechinabowlintoourhandsasifsheneverwantedtoberemindedofherquixoticgenerosity.So,guiltily,butsuspectingneverthelesshowbadlywehadbeenfleeced,wecarrieditbacktothelittlehotelwhere,inthemiddleofthenight,theinnkeeperquarrelledsoviolentlywithhiswifethatweallleantoutintothecourtyardtolook,andsawthevineslacedaboutamongthepillarsandthestarswhiteinthesky.Themomentwasstabilized,stampedlikeacoinindeliblyamongamillionthatslippedbyimperceptibly.There,too,wasthemelancholyEnglishman,whoroseamongthecoffeecupsandthelittleirontablesandrevealedthesecretsofhissoul—astravellersdo.Allthis—Italy,thewindymorning,thevineslacedaboutthepillars,theEnglishmanandthesecretsofhissoul—riseupinacloudfromthechinabowlonthemantelpiece.Andthere,asoureyesfalltothefloor,isthatbrownstainonthecarpet.Mr.LloydGeorgemadethat.“Theman’sadevil!
”saidMr.Cummings,puttingthekettledownwithwhichhewasabouttofilltheteapotsothatitburntabrownringonthecarpet.
Butwhenthedoorshutsonus,allthatvanishes.Theshell-likecoveringwhichoursoulshaveexcretedtohousethemselves,tomakeforthemselvesashapedistinctfromothers,isbroken,andthereisleftofallthesewrinklesandroughnessesacentraloysterofperceptiveness,anenormouseye.Howbeautifulastreetisinwinter!
Itisatoncerevealedandobscured.Herevaguelyonecantracesymmetricalstraightavenuesofdoorsandwindows;hereunderthelampsarefloatingislandsofpalelightthroughwhichpassquicklybrightmenandwomen,who,foralltheirpovertyandshabbiness,wearacertainlookofunreality,anairoftriumph,asiftheyhadgivenlifetheslip,sothatlife,deceivedofherprey,blundersonwithoutthem.But,afterall,weareonlyglidingsmoothlyonthesurface.Theeyeisnotaminer,notadiver,notaseekerafterburiedtreasure.Itfloatsussmoothlydownastream;resting,pausing,thebrainsleepsperhapsasitlooks.
HowbeautifulaLondonstreetisthen,withitsislandsoflight,anditslonggrovesofdarkness,andononesideofitperhapssometree-sprinkled,grass-grownspacewherenightisfoldingherselftosleepnaturallyand,asonepassestheironrailing,onehearsthoselittlecracklingsandstirringsofleafandtwigwhichseemtosupposethesilenceoffieldsallroundthem,anowlhooting,andfarawaytherattleofatraininthevalley.ButthisisLondon,wearereminded;highamongthebaretreesarehungoblongframesofreddishyellowlight—windows;therearepointsofbrillianceburningsteadilylikelowstars—lamps;thisemptyground,whichholdsthecountryinitanditspeace,isonlyaLondonsquare,setaboutbyofficesandhouseswhereatthishourfiercelightsburnovermaps,overdocuments,overdeskswhereclerkssitturningwithwettedforefingerthefilesofendlesscorrespondences;ormoresuffusedlythefirelightwaversandthelamplightfallsupontheprivacyofsomedrawing-room,itseasychairs,itspapers,itschina,itsinlaidtable,andthefigureofawoman,accuratelymeasuringouttheprecisenumberofspoonsofteawhich——Shelooksatthedoorasifsheheardaringdownstairsandsomebodyasking,isshein?
Butherewemuststopperemptorily.Weareindangerofdiggingdeeperthantheeyeapproves;weareimpedingourpassagedownthesmoothstreambycatchingatsomebranchorroot.Atanymoment,thesleepingarmymaystiritselfandwakeinusathousandviolinsandtrumpetsinresponse;thearmyofhumanbeingsmayrouseitselfandassertallitsodditiesandsufferingsandsordidities.Letusdallyalittlelonger,becontentstillwithsurfacesonly—theglossybrillianceofthemotoromnibuses;thecarnalsplendourofthebutchers’shopswiththeiryellowflanksandpurplesteaks;theblueandredbunchesofflowersburningsobravelythroughtheplateglassoftheflorists’windows.
Fortheeyehasthisstrangeproperty:
itrestsonlyonbeauty;likeabutterflyitseekscolourandbasksinwarmth.Onawinter’snightlikethis,whennaturehasbeenatpainstopolishandpreenherself,itbringsbacktheprettiesttrophies,breaksofflittlelumpsofemeraldandcoralasifthewholeearthweremadeofpreciousstone.Thethingitcannotdo(oneisspeakingoftheaverageunprofessionaleye)istocomposethesetrophiesinsuchawayastobringoutthemoreobscureanglesandrelationships.Henceafteraprolongeddietofthissimple,sugaryfare,ofbeautypureanduncomposed,webecomeconsciousofsatiety.Wehaltatthedoorofthebootshopandmakesomelittleexcuse,whichhasnothingtodowiththerealreason,forfoldingupthebrightparaphernaliaofthestreetsandwithdrawingtosomeduskierchamberofthebeingwherewemayask,asweraiseourleftfootobedientlyuponthestand:
“What,then,isitliketobeadwarf?
”
Shecameinescortedbytwowomenwho,beingofnormalsize,lookedlikebenevolentgiantsbesideher.Smilingattheshopgirls,theyseemedtobedisclaiminganylotinherdeformityandassuringheroftheirprotection.Sheworethepeevishyetapologeticexpressionusualonthefacesofthedeformed.Sheneededtheirkindness,yetsheresentedit.Butwhentheshopgirlhadbeensummonedandthegiantesses,smilingindulgently,hadaskedforshoesfor“thislady”andthegirlhadpushedthelittlestandinfrontofher,thedwarfstuckherfootoutwithanimpetuositywhichseemedtoclaimallourattention.Lookatthat!
Lookatthat!
sheseemedtodemandofusall,asshethrustherfootout,forbeholditwastheshapely,perfectlyproportionedfootofawell-grownwoman.Itwasarched;itwasaristocratic.Herwholemannerchangedasshelookedatitrestingonthestand.Shelookedsoothedandsatisfied.Hermannerbecamefullofself-confidence.Shesentforshoeaftershoe;shetriedonpairafterpair.Shegotupandpirouettedbeforeaglasswhichreflectedthefootonlyinyellowshoes,infawnshoes,inshoesoflizardskin.Sheraisedherlittleskirtsanddisplayedherlittlelegs.Shewasthinkingthat,afterall,feetarethemostimportantpartofthewholeperson;women,shesaidtoherself,havebeenlovedfortheirfeetalone.Seeingnothingbutherfeet,sheimaginedperhapsthattherestofherbodywasofapiecewiththosebeautifulfeet.Shewasshabbilydressed,butshewasreadytolavishanymoneyuponhershoes.Andasthiswastheonlyoccasionuponwhichshewashotafraidofbeinglookedatbutpositivelycravedattention,shewasreadytouseanydevicetoprolongthechoosingandfitting.Lookatmyfeet,sheseemedtobesaying,asshetookastepthiswayandthenastepthatway.Theshopgirlgood-humouredlymusthavesaidsomethingflattering,forsuddenlyherfacelitupinecstasy.But,afterall,thegiantesses,benevolentthoughtheywere,hadtheirownaffairstoseeto;shemustmakeuphermind;shemustdecidewhichtochoose.Atlength,thepairwaschosenand,asshewalkedoutbetweenherguardians,withtheparcelswingingfromherfinger,theecstasyfaded,knowledgereturned,theoldpeevishness,theoldapologycameback,andbythetimeshehadreachedthestreetagainshehadbecomeadwarfonly.
Butshehadchangedthemood;shehadcalledintobeinganatmospherewhich,aswefollowedheroutintothestreet,seemedactuallytocreatethehumped,thetwisted,thedeformed.Twobeardedmen,brothers,apparently,stone-blind,supportingthemselvesbyrestingahandontheheadofasmallboybetweenthem,marcheddownthestreet.Ontheycamewiththeunyieldingyettremuloustreadoftheblind,whichseemstolendtotheirapproachsomethingoftheterrorandinevitabilityofthefatethathasovertakenthem.Astheypassed,holdingstraighton,thelittleconvoyseemedtocleaveasunderthepassers-bywiththemomentumofitssilence,itsdirectness,itsdisaster.Indeed,thedwarfhadstartedahobbl
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