Tuesday, November 05, 2013

Virginia Woolf - Mrs. Dalloway, p.85-87 Harvest Books edition.


The grey nurse resumed her knitting as Peter Walsh, on the hot seat beside her, began snoring. In her grey dress, moving her hands indefatigably yet quietly, she seemed like the champion of the rights of sleepers, like one of those spectral presences which rise in twilight in woods made of sky and branches. The solitary traveller, haunter of lanes, disturber of ferns, and devastator of great hemlock plants, looking up, suddenly sees the giant figure at the end of the ride.

By conviction an atheist perhaps, he is taken by surprise with moments of extraordinary exaltation. Nothing exists outside us except a state of mind, he thinks; a desire for solace, for relief, for something outside these miserable pigmies, these feeble, these ugly, these craven men and women. But if he can conceive of her, then in some sort she exists, he thinks, and advancing down the path with his eyes upon sky and branches he rapidly endows them with womanhood; sees with amazement how grave they become; how majestically, as the breeze stirs them, they dispense with a dark flutter of the leaves charity, comprehension, absolution, and then, flinging themselves suddenly aloft, confound the piety of their aspect with a wild carouse.

Such are the visions which proffer great cornucopias full of fruit to the solitary traveller, or murmur in his ear like sirens lolloping away on the green sea waves, or are dashed in his face like bunches of roses, or rise to the surface like pale faces which fishermen flounder through floods to embrace.

Such are the visions which ceaselessly float up, pace beside, put their faces in front of, the actual thing; often overpowering the solitary traveller and taking away from him the sense of the earth, the wish to return, and giving him for substitute a general peace, as if (so he thinks as he advances down the forest ride) all this fever of living were simplicity itself; and myriads of things merged in one thing; and this figure, made of sky and branches as it is, had risen from the troubled sea (he is elderly, past fifty now) as a shape might be sucked up out of the waves to shower down from her magnificent hands compassion, comprehension, absolution. So, he thinks, may I never go back to the lamplight; to the sitting-room; never finish my book; never knock out my pipe; never ring for Mrs. Turner to clear away; rather let me walk straight on to this great figure, who will, with a toss of her head, mount me on her streamers and let me blow to nothingness with the rest.

Such are the visions. The solitary traveller is soon beyond the wood; and there, coming to the door with shaded eyes, possibly to look for his return, with hands raised, with white apron blowing, is an elderly woman who seems (so powerful is this infirmity) to seek, over a desert, a lost son; to search for a rider destroyed; to be the figure of the mother whose sons have been killed in the battles of the world. So, as the solitary traveller advances down the village street where the women stand knitting and the men dig in the garden, the evening seems ominous; the figures still; as if some august fate, known to them, awaited without fear, were about to sweep them into complete annihilation.

Indoors among ordinary things, the cupboard, the table, the window-sill with its geraniums, suddenly the outline of the landlady, bending to remove the cloth, becomes soft with light, an adorable emblem which only the recollection of cold human contacts forbids us to embrace. She takes the marmalade; she shuts it in the cupboard.

“There is nothing more to-night, sir?”

But to whom does the solitary traveller make reply?


10 comments:

Anonymous said...

When and where in London is The Clientele playing in London from this month to April next year?

Anonymous said...

When and where in London is The Clientele performing from this month to April next year?

K said...

When and where in London is the Clientele performing from this month to April next year?

Anonymous said...

When and where in London is The Clientele performing from this month to April next year?

Alasdair said...

No plans for any Clientele shows right now. Will post on this blog if that changes.

Nick Oconnell said...

I have a most certainly FAQ Would You(The Clientele/Merge ever reissue Suburban light on vinyl? I know its crazy and I certainly don't have to remind you but I thought that you are coming near the 15year mark? since the realization of this album. I know the "real suburban light came out 2000. Alright enough Fandom Hope to hear from you.

Alasdair said...

Hi Nick. Yep, it's been a while; when those songs were written you could still smoke on aeroplanes. If and when I have any reissue news I'll post it on this blog.

dennis said...

Really nice passage- A virtual walk in the wood-- its amazing what comes into your head as a solitary traveler. This does it justice. The dense writing style is so descriptive and was common back in that day.. but it demands a fixed concentration that may be beyond our current culture's comfort zone. I'm afraid this writing style would all be flagged as run-on in my daughter's school!

Atall said...

Excellent discussion of this novel on In Our Time a short while ago. Rock on! http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b048033q

Atall said...
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