𝙰𝚣𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚕对《The Painted Veil》的笔记(1)

𝙰𝚣𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚕
𝙰𝚣𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚕 (明朝即長路 惜取此時心)

读过 The Painted Veil

The Painted Veil
  • 书名: The Painted Veil
  • 作者: W. Somerset Maugham
  • 页数: 256
  • 出版社: Vintage
  • 出版年: 2006-11-14
  • The Painted Veil
    Az:其實還是讀的蠻傷心的 當然 更多是對Walter的死 毛姆的著力點或許在人與人的隔膜 命運的飄忽不定 但更多還是在人的自我與心靈之上的東西 愛與恨 忠誠與背叛 慾望與信念 等等。與其說是命運的作弄 更多其實還是人的不成熟吧。
    "I had no illusions about you," he said.
    "I knew you were silly and frivolous and empty-headed. But I loved you. I knew that your aims and ideals were vulgar and commonplace. But I loved you. I knew that you were second-rate. But I loved you. It's comic when I think how hard I tried to be amused by the things that amused you and how anxious I was to hide from you that I wasn't ignorant and vulgar and scandal-mongering and stupid. I knew how frightened you were of intelligence and I did everything I could to make you think me as big a fool as the rest of the men you knew. I knew that you'd only married me for convenience. I loved you so much, I didn't care. Most people, as far as I can see, when they're in love with someone and the love isn't returned feel that they have a grievance. They grow angry and bitter. I wasn't like that. I never expected you to love me, I didn't see any reason that you should, I never thought myself very lovable. I was thankful to be allowed to love you and I was enraptured when now and then I thought you were pleased with me or when I noticed in your eyes a gleam of good-humoured affection. I tried not to bore you with my love; I knew I couldn't afford to do that and I was always on the lookout for the first sign that you were impatient with my affection. What most husbands expect as a right I was prepared to receive as a favour."
    Kitty's jaw, always a little too square, protruded with an apish hideousness and her beautiful eyes were black with malice. But she kept her temper in check. "If a man hasn't what's necessary to make a woman love him, it's his fault, not hers." "Evidently." His derisive tone increased her irritation. She felt that she could wound him more by maintaining her calm.
    "Was it necessary to tell me that you wanted nothing in the world but me?" The corners of his mouth dropped peevishly. "Oh, my dear, it's rather hard to take quite literally the things a man says when he's in love with you." "Didn't you mean them?" "At the moment."
    Vaguely, as when you are studying a foreign language and read a page which at first you can make nothing of, till a word or a sentence gives you a clue; and on a sudden a suspicion, as it were, of the sense flashes across your troubled wits, vaguely she gained an inkling into the workings of Walter's mind. It was like a dark and ominous landscape seen by a flash of lightning and in a moment hidden again by the night. She shuddered at what she saw.
    "He made that threat only because he knew that you'd crumple up at it, Charlie. It's strange that he should have judged you so accurately. It was just like him to expose me to such a cruel disillusion."
    Charlie looked down at the sheet of blotting paper in front of him. He was frowning a little and his mouth was sulky. But he did not reply.
    "He knew that you were vain, cowardly, and self-seeking. He wanted me to see it with my own eyes. He knew that you'd run like a hare at the approach of danger. He knew how grossly deceived I was in thinking that you were in love with me, because he knew that you were incapable of loving any one but yourself. He knew you'd sacrifice me without a pang to save your own skin."
    Waddington too thought highly of Walter. She alone had been blind to his merit. Why? Because he loved her and she did not love him. What was it in the human heart that made you despise a man because he loved you? But Waddington had confessed that he did not like Walter. Men didn't. It was easy to see that those two nuns had for him a feeling which was very like affection. He was different with women; notwithstanding his shyness you felt in him an exquisite
    "You used not to be; you used to feel contempt for me. Don't you still?" "Don't you know that I'm afraid of you?" Again he was silent. "I don't understand you," he said at last. "I don't know what it is you want." "Nothing for myself. I only want you to be a little less unhappy."
    "Why do you despise yourself?" she asked, hardly knowing that she spoke, as though she were continuing without a break the earlier conversation.
    He put down his book and observed her reflectively. He seemed to gather his thoughts from a remote distance. "Because I loved you."
    She flushed and looked away. She could not bear his cold, steady, and appraising gaze. She understood what he meant. It was a little while before she answered. "I think you do me an injustice," she said, "It's not fair to blame me because I was silly and frivolous and vulgar. I was brought up like that. All the girls I know are like that… It's like reproaching someone who has no ear for music because he's bored at a symphony concert. Is it fair to blame me because you ascribed to me qualities I hadn't got? I never tried to deceive you by pretending I was anything I wasn't. I was just pretty and gay. You don't ask for a pearl necklace or a sable coat at a booth in a fair; you ask for a tin trumpet and a toy balloon."
    "I don't blame you."
    His voice was weary. She was beginning to feel a trifle impatient with him. Why could he not realize, what suddenly had become so clear to her, that beside all the terror of death under whose shadow they lay and beside the awe of the beauty which she had caught a glimpse of that day, their own affairs were trivial? What did it really matter if a silly woman had committed adultery and why should her husband, face to face with the sublime, give it a thought? It was strange that Walter with all his cleverness should have so little sense of proportion. Because he had dressed a doll in gorgeous robes and set her in a sanctuary to worship her, and then discovered that the doll was filled with sawdust he could neither forgive himself nor her. His soul was lacerated. It was all make-believe that he had lived on, and when the truth shattered it he thought reality itself was shattered. It was true enough, he would not forgive her because he could not forgive himself.
    "You know, my dear child, that one cannot find peace in work or in pleasure, in the world or in a convent, but only in one's soul."
    She was inclined to say to Walter: "Look here, don't you think we've been silly long enough? We've sulked with one another like children. Why can't we kiss and be friends? There's no reason why we shouldn't be friends just because we're not lovers."
    "There is only one way to win hearts and that is to make oneself like unto those of whom one would be loved."
    it would be ugly and vulgar even to let any one see in her heart; but she had gone through too much to make pretences to herself. It seemed to her that this at least the last few weeks had taught her, that if it is necessary sometimes to lie to others it is always despicable to lie to oneself.
    2012-11-29 12:39:39 1人喜欢 回应

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