the dark flower-第52章
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under the calm surface of an ordinary Sunday。 They were like
people walking at the edge of a high cliff； not knowing from step
to step whether they would fall； or like swimmers struggling for
issue out of a dark whirlpool。
In the afternoon they went together to a concert； it was just
something to dosomething that saved them for an hour or two from
the possibility of speaking on the one subject left to them。 The
ship had gone down； and they were clutching at anything that for a
moment would help to keep them above water。
In the evening some people came to supper； a writer and two
painters； with their wives。 A grim eveningnever more so than
when the conversation turned on that perennial themethe freedom；
spiritual； mental； physical； requisite for those who practise Art。
All the stale arguments were brought forth； and had to be joined in
with unmoved faces。 And for all their talk of freedom； Lennan
could see the volte…face his friends would be making； if they only
knew。 It was not 'the thing' to seduce young girlsas if；
forsooth； there were freedom in doing only what people thought 'the
thing'！ Their cant about the free artist spirit experiencing
everything； would wither the moment it came up against a canon of
'good form；' so that in truth it was no freer than the bourgeois
spirit； with its conventions； or the priest spirit； with its cry of
'Sin！' No； no！ To resistif resistance were possible to this
dragging powermaxims of 'good form；' dogmas of religion and
morality； were no helpnothing was any help； but some feeling
stronger than passion itself。 Sylvia's face； forced to smile！
that； indeed was a reason why they should condemn him！ None of
their doctrines about freedom could explain that awaythe harm；
the death that came to a man's soul when he made a loving； faithful
creature suffer。
But they were gone at lastwith their 〃Thanks so much！〃 and their
〃Delightful evening！〃
And those two were face to face for another night。
He knew that it must begin all over againinevitable； after the
stab of that wretched argument plunged into their hearts and turned
and turned all the evening。
〃I won't； I mustn't keep you starved； and spoil your work。 Don't
think of me； Mark！ I can bear it！〃
And then a breakdown worse than the night before。 What genius；
what sheer genius Nature had for torturing her creatures！ If
anyone had told him； even so little as a week ago； that he could
have caused such suffering to SylviaSylvia； whom as a child with
wide blue eyes and a blue bow on her flaxen head he had guarded
across fields full of imaginary bulls； Sylvia； in whose hair his
star had caught； Sylvia； who day and night for fifteen years had
been his devoted wife； whom he loved and still admiredhe would
have given him the lie direct。 It would have seemed incredible；
monstrous； silly。 Had all married men and women such things to go
throughwas this but a very usual crossing of the desert？ Or was
it； once for all； shipwreck？ deathunholy； violent deathin a
storm of sand？
Another night of misery； and no answer to that question yet。
He had told her that he would not see Nell again without first
letting her know。 So； when morning came； he simply wrote the
words： 〃Don't come today！〃showed them to Sylvia； and sent them by
a servant to Dromore's。
Hard to describe the bitterness with which he entered his studio
that morning。 In all this chaos； what of his work？ Could he ever
have peace of mind for it again？ Those people last night had
talked of 'inspiration of passion； of experience。' In pleading
with her he had used the words himself。 Shepoor soul！had but
repeated them； trying to endure them； to believe them true。 And
were they true？ Again no answer； or certainly none that he could
give。 To have had the waters broken up； to be plunged into
emotion； to feel desperately； instead of stagnatingsome day he
might be gratefulwho knew？ Some day there might be fair country
again beyond this desert； where he could work even better than
before。 But just now； as well expect creative work from a
condemned man。 It seemed to him that he was equally destroyed
whether he gave Nell up； and with her； once for all； that roving；
seeking instinct； which ought； forsooth； to have been satisfied；
and was not； or whether he took Nell； knowing that in doing so he
was torturing a woman dear to him！ That was as far as he could see
to…day。 What he would come to see in time God only knew！ But：
'Freedom of the Spirit！' That was a phrase of bitter irony indeed！
And； there； with his work all round him； like a man tied hand and
foot； he was swept by such a feeling of exasperated rage as he had
never known。 Women！ These women！ Only let him be free of both；
of all women； and the passions and pities they aroused； so that his
brain and his hands might live and work again！ They should not
strangle； they should not destroy him！
Unfortunately； even in his rage； he knew that flight from them both
could never help him。 One way or the other the thing would have to
be fought through。 If it had been a straight fight even； a clear
issue between passion and pity！ But both he loved； and both he
pitied。 There was nothing straight and clear about it anywhere； it
was all too deeply rooted in full human nature。 And the appalling
sense of rushing ceaselessly from barrier to barrier began really
to affect his brain。
True； he had now and then a lucid interval of a few minutes； when
the ingenious nature of his own torments struck him as supremely
interesting and queer； but this was not precisely a relief； for it
only meant； as in prolonged toothache； that his power of feeling
had for a moment ceased。 A very pretty little hell indeed！
All day he had the premonition； amounting to certainty； that Nell
would take alarm at those three words he had sent her； and come in
spite of them。 And yet； what else could he have written？ Nothing
save what must have alarmed her more； or plunged him deeper。 He
had the feeling that she could follow his moods； that her eyes
could see him everywhere； as a cat's eyes can see in darkness。
That feeling had been with him； more or less； ever since the last
evening of October； the evening she came back from her summer
grown…up。 How long ago？ Only six dayswas it possible？ Ah； yes！
She knew when her spell was weakening； when the current wanted； as
it were； renewing。 And about six o'clockdusk alreadywithout
the least surprise； with only a sort of empty quivering； he heard
her knock。 And just behind the closed door； as near as he could
get to her； he stood； holding his breath。 He had given his word to
Sylviaof his own accord had given it。 Through the thin wood of
the old door he could hear the faint shuffle of her feet on the
pavement； moved a few inches this way and that； as though
supplicating the inexorable silence。 He seemed to see her head；
bent a little forward listening。 Three times she knocked； and each
time Lennan writhed。 It was so cruel！ With that seeing…sense of
hers she must know he was there； his very silence would be telling
herfor his silence had its voice； its pitiful breathless sound。
Then； quite distinctly； he heard her sigh； and her footsteps move
away； and covering his face with his hands he rushed to and fro in
the studio； like a madman。
No sound of her any more！ Gone！ It was unbearable； and； seizing
his hat； he ran out。 Which way？ At random he ran towards the
Square。 There she was； over by the railings； languidly；
irresolutely moving towards home。
XIV
But now that she was within reach； he wavered； he had given his
wordwas he going to break it？ Then she turned； and saw him； and
he could not go back。 In the biting easterly wind her face looked
small； and pinched； and cold； but her eyes only the larger； the
more full of witchery； as if beseeching him not to be angry； not to
send her away。
〃I had to come； I got frightened。 Why did you write such a tiny
little note？〃
He tried to make his voice sound quiet and ordinary。
〃You must be brave； Nell。 I have had to tell her。〃
She clutched at his arm； then drew herself up； and said in her
clear； clipped voice：
