奥兰多orlando (英文版)作者:弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙-第19部分

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e　wild　for　love　of　him。。。A　thousand；　thousand　kisses　to　Tom；　Gerry；　Peter；　and　dearest　Mew’　＇presumably　her　cat＇。

From　the　Gazette　of　the　time；　we　gather　that　‘as　the　clock　struck　twelve；　the　Ambassador　appeared　on　the　centre　Balcony　which　was　hung　with　priceless　rugs。　Six　Turks　of　the　Imperial　Body　Guard；　each　over　six　foot　in　height；　held　torches　to　his　right　and　left。　Rockets　rose　into　the　air　at　his　appearance；　and　a　great　shout　went　up　from　the　people；　which　the　Ambassador　acknowledged；　bowing　deeply；　and　speaking　a　few　words　of　thanks　in　the　Turkish　language；　which　it　was　one　of　his　acplishments　to　speak　with　fluency。　Next；　Sir　Adrian　Scrope；　in　the　full　dress　of　a　British　Admiral；　advanced；　the　Ambassador　knelt　on　one　knee；　the　Admiral　placed　the　Collar　of　the　Most　Noble　Order　of　the　Bath　round　his　neck；　then　pinned　the　Star　to　his　breast；　after　which　another　gentleman　of　the　diplomatic　corps　advancing　in　a　stately　manner　placed　on　his　shoulders　the　ducal　robes；　and　handed　him　on　a　crimson　cushion；　the　ducal　coro。’

At　length；　with　a　gesture　of　extraordinary　majesty　and　grace；　first　bowing　profoundly；　then　raising　himself　proudly　erect；　Orlando　took　the　golden　circlet　of　strawberry　leaves　and　placed　it；　with　a　gesture　which　none　that　saw　it　ever　forgot；　upon　his　brows。　It　was　at　this　point　that　the　first　disturbance　began。　Either　the　people　had　expected　a　miracle—some　say　a　shower　of　gold　was　prophesied　to　fall　from　the　skies—which　did　not　happen；　or　this　was　the　signal　chosen　for　the　attack　to　begin；　nobody　seems　to　know；　but　as　the　coro　settled　on　Orlando’s　brows　a　great　uproar　rose。　Bells　began　ringing；　the　harsh　cries　of　the　prophets　were　heard　above　the　shouts　of　the　people；　many　Turks　fell　flat　to　the　ground　and　touched　the　earth　with　their　foreheads。　A　door　burst　open。　The　natives　pressed　into　the　banqueting　rooms。　Women　shrieked。　A　certain　lady；　who　was　said　to　be　dying　for　love　of　Orlando；　seized　a　candelabra　and　dashed　it　to　the　ground。　What　might　not　have　happened；　had　it　not　been　for　the　presence　of　Sir　Adrian　Scrope　and　a　squad　of　British　bluejackets；　nobody　can　say。　But　the　Admiral　ordered　the　bugles　to　be　sounded；　a　hundred　bluejackets　stood　instantly　at　attention；　the　disorder　was　quelled；　and　quiet；　at　least　for　the　time　being；　fell　upon　the　scene。

So　far；　we　are　on　the　firm；　if　rather　narrow；　ground　of　ascertained　truth。　But　nobody　has　ever　known　exactly　what　took　place　later　that　night。　The　testimony　of　the　sentries　and　others　seems；　however；　to　prove　that　the　Embassy　was　empty　of　pany；　and　shut　up　for　the　night　in　the　usual　way　by　two　A。M。　The　Ambassador　was　seen　to　go　to　his　room；　still　wearing　the　insignia　of　his　rank；　and　shut　the　door。　Some　say　he　locked　it；　which　was　against　his　custom。　Others　maintain　that　they　heard　music　of　a　rustic　kind；　such　as　shepherds　play；　later　that　night　in　the　courtyard　under　the　Ambassador’s　window。　A　washer–woman；　who　was　kept　awake　by　toothache；　said　that　she　saw　a　man’s　figure；　wrapped　in　a　cloak　or　dressing　gown；　e　out　upon　the　balcony。　Then；　she　said；　a　woman；　much　muffled；　but　apparently　of　the　peasant　class；　was　drawn　up　by　means　of　a　rope　which　the　man　let　down　to　her　on　to　the　balcony。　There；　the　washer–woman　said；　they　embraced　passionately　‘like　lovers’；　and　went　into　the　room　together；　drawing　the　curtains　so　that　no　more　could　be　seen。

Next　morning；　the　Duke；　as　we　must　now　call　him；　was　found　by　his　secretaries　sunk　in　profound　slumber　amid　bed　clothes　that　were　much　tumbled。　The　room　was　in　some　disorder；　his　coro　having　rolled　on　the　floor；　and　his　cloak　and　garter　being　flung　all　of　a　heap　on　a　chair。　The　table　was　littered　with　papers。　No　suspicion　was　felt　at　first；　as　the　fatigues　of　the　night　had　been　great。　But　when　afternoon　came　and　he　still　slept；　a　doctor　was　summoned。　He　applied　remedies　which　had　been　used　on　the　previous　occasion；　plasters；　tles；　emetics；　etc。；　but　without　success。　Orlando　slept　on。　His　secretaries　then　thought　it　their　duty　to　examine　the　papers　on　the　table。　Many　were　scribbled　over　with　poetry；　in　which　frequent　mention　was　made　of　an　oak　tree。　There　were　also　various　state　papers　and　others　of　a　private　nature　concerning　the　management　of　his　estates　in　England。　But　at　length　they　came　upon　a　document　of　far　greater　significance。　It　was　nothing　less；　indeed；　than　a　deed　of　marriage；　drawn　up；　signed；　and　witnessed　between　his　Lordship；　Orlando；　Knight　of　the　Garter；　etc。；　etc。；　etc。；　and　Rosina　Pepita；　a　dancer；　father　unknown；　but　reputed　a　gipsy；　mother　also　unknown　but　reputed　a　seller　of　old　iron　in　the　market–place　over　against　the　Galata　Bridge。　The　secretaries　looked　at　each　other　in　dismay。　And　still　Orlando　slept。　Morning　and　evening　they　watched　him；　but；　save　that　his　breathing　was　regular　and　his　cheeks　still　flushed　their　habitual　deep　rose；　he　gave　no　sign　of　life。　Whatever　science　or　ingenuity　could　do　to　waken　him　they　did。　But　still　he　slept。

On　the　seventh　day　of　his　trance　（Thursday；　May　the　10th）　the　first　shot　was　fired　of　that　terrible　and　bloody　insurrection　of　which　Lieutenant　Brigge　had　detected　the　first　symptoms。　The　Turks　rose　against　the　Sultan；　set　fire　to　the　town；　and　put　every　foreigner　they　could　find；　either　to　the　sword　or　to　the　bastinado。　A　few　English　managed　to　escape；　but；　as　might　have　been　expected；　the　gentlemen　of　the　British　Embassy　preferred　to　die　in　defence　of　their　red　boxes；　or；　in　extreme　cases；　to　swallow　bunches　of　keys　rather　than　let　them　fall　into　the　hands　of　the　Infidel。　The　rioters　broke　into　Orlando’s　room；　but　seeing　him　stretched　to　all　appearances　dead　they　left　him　untouched；　and　only　robbed　him　of　his　coro　and　the　robes　of　the　Garter。

And　now　again　obscurity　descends；　and　would　indeed　that　it　were　deeper！　Would；　we　almost　have　it　in　our　hearts　to　exclaim；　that　it　were　so　deep　that　we　could　see　nothing　whatever　through　its　opacity！　Would　that　we　might　here　take　the　pen　and　write　Finis　to　our　work！　Would　that　we　might　spare　the　reader　what　is　to　e　and　say　to　him　in　so　many　words；　Orlando　died　and　was　buried。　But　here；　alas；　Truth；　Candour；　and　Honesty；　the　austere　Gods　who　keep　watch　and　ward　by　the　inkpot　of　the　biographer；　cry　No！　Putting　their　silver　trumpets　to　their　lips　they　demand　in　one　blast；　Truth！　And　again　they　cry　Truth！　and　sounding　yet　a　third　time　in　concert　they　peal　forth；　The　Truth　and　nothing　but　the　Truth！

At　which—Heaven　be　praised！　for　it　affords　us　a　breathing　space—the　doors　gently　open；　as　if　a　breath　of　the　gentlest　and　holiest　zephyr　had　wafted　them　apart；　and　three　figures　enter。　First；　es　our　Lady　of　Purity；　whose　brows　are　bound　with　fillets　of　the　whitest　lamb’s　wool；　whose　hair　is　as　an　avalanche　of　the　driven　snow；　and　in　whose　hand　reposes　the　white　quill　of　a　virgin　goose。　Following　her；　but　with　a　statelier　step；　es　our　Lady　of　Chastity；　on　whose　brow　is　set　like　a　turret　of　burning　but　unwasting　fire　a　diadem　of　icicles；　her　eyes　are　pure　stars；　and　her　fingers；　if　they　touch　you；　freeze　you　to　the　bone。　Close　behind　her；　sheltering　indeed　in　the　shadow　of　her　more　stately　sisters；　es　our　Lady　of　Modesty；　frailest　and　fairest　of　the　three；　whose　face　is　only　shown　as　the　young　moon　shows　when　it　is　thin　and　sickle　shaped　and　half　hidden　among　clouds。　Each　advances　towards　the　centre　of　the　room　where　Orlando　still　lies　sleeping；　and　with　gestures　at　once　appealing　and　manding；　OUR　LADY　OF　PURITY　speaks　first：

‘I　am　the　guardian　of　the　sleeping　fawn；　the　snow　is　dear　to　me；　and　the　moon　rising；　and　the　silver　sea。　With　my　robes　I　cover　the　speckled　hen’s　eggs　and　the　brindled　sea　shell；　I　cover　vice　and　poverty。　On　all　things　frail　or　dark　or　doubtful；　my　veil　descends。　Wherefore；　speak　not；　reveal　not。　Spare；　O　spare！’

Here　the　trumpets　peal　forth。

‘Purity　Avaunt！　Begone　Purity！’

Then　OUR　LADY　OF　CHASTITY　speaks：

‘I　am　she　whose　touch　freezes　and　whose　glance　turns　to　stone。　I　have　stayed　the　star　in　its　dancing；　and　the　wave　as　it　falls。　The　highest　Alps　are　my　dwelling　place；　and　when　I　walk；　the　lightnings　flash　in　my　hair；　where　my　eyes　fall；　they　kill。　Rather　than　let　Orlando　wake；　I　will　freeze　him　to　the　bone。　Spare；　O　spare！’

Here　the　trumpets　peal　forth。

‘Chastity　Avaunt！　Begone　Chastity！’

Then　OUR　LADY　OF　MODESTY　speaks；　so　low　that　one　can　hardly　hear：

‘I　am　she　that　men　call　Modesty。　Virgin　I　am　and　ever　shall　be。　Not　for　me　the　fruitful　fields　and　the　fertile　vineyard。　Increase　is　odious　to　me；　and　when　the　apples　burgeon　or　the　flocks　breed；　I　run；　I　run；　I　let　my　mantle　fall。　My　hair　covers　my　eyes。　I　do　not　see。　Spare；　O　spare！’

Again　the　trumpets　peal　forth：

‘Modesty　Avaunt！　Begone　Modesty！’

With　gestures　of　grief　and　lamentation　the　three　sisters　now　join　hands　and　dance　slowly；　tossing　their　veils　and　singing　as　they　go：

‘Truth　e　not　out　from　your　horrid　den。　Hide　deeper；　fearful　Truth。　For　you　flaunt　in　the　brutal　gaze　of　the　sun　things　that　were　better　unknown　and　undone；　you　unveil　the　shameful；　the　dark　you　make　clear；　Hide！　Hide！　Hide！’

Here　they　make　as　if　to　cover　Orlando　with　their　draperies。　The　trumpets；　meanwhile；　still　blare　forth；

‘The　Truth　and　nothing　but　the　Truth。’

At　this　the　Sisters　try　to　c