火爆小说网

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第26部分（第1页）

crecy；　‘Women　are　but　children　of　a　larger　growth。。。A　man　of　sense　only　trifles　with　them；　plays　with　them；　humours　and　flatters　them’；　which；　since　children　always　hear　what　they　are　not　meant　to；　and　sometimes；　even；　grow　up；　may　have　somehow　leaked　out；　so　that　the　whole　ceremony　of　pouring　out　tea　is　a　curious　one。　A　woman　knows　very　well　that；　though　a　wit　sends　her　his　poems；　praises　her　judgment；　solicits　her　criticism；　and　drinks　her　tea；　this　by　no　means　signifies　that　he　respects　her　opinions；　admires　her　understanding；　or　will　refuse；　though　the　rapier　is　denied　him；　to　run　her　through　the　body　with　his　pen。　All　this；　we　say；　whisper　it　as　low　as　we　can；　may　have　leaked　out　by　now；　so　that　even　with　the　cream　jug　suspended　and　the　sugar　tongs　distended　the　ladies　may　fidget　a　little；　look　out　of　the　window　a　little；　yawn　a　little；　and　so　let　the　sugar　fall　with　a　great　plop—as　Orlando　did　now—into　Mr　Pope’s　tea。　Never　was　any　mortal　so　ready　to　suspect　an　insult　or　so　quick　to　avenge　one　as　Mr　Pope。　He　turned　to　Orlando　and　presented　her　instantly　with　the　rough　draught　of　a　certain　famous　line　in　the　‘Characters　of　Women’。　Much　polish　was　afterwards　bestowed　on　it；　but　even　in　the　original　it　was　striking　enough。　Orlando　received　it　with　a　curtsey。　Mr　Pope　left　her　with　a　bow。　Orlando；　to　cool　her　cheeks；　for　really　she　felt　as　if　the　little　man　had　struck　her；　strolled　in　the　nut　grove　at　the　bottom　of　the　garden。　Soon　the　cool　breezes　did　their　work。　To　her　amazement　she　found　that　she　was　hugely　relieved　to　find　herself　alone。　She　watched　the　merry　boatloads　rowing　up　the　river。　No　doubt　the　sight　put　her　in　mind　of　one　or　two　incidents　in　her　past　life。　She　sat　herself　down　in　profound　meditation　beneath　a　fine　willow　tree。　There　she　sat　till　the　stars　were　in　the　sky。　Then　she　rose；　turned；　and　went　into　the　house；　where　she　sought　her　bedroom　and　locked　the　door。　Now　she　opened　a　cupboard　in　which　hung　still　many　of　the　clothes　she　had　worn　as　a　young　man　of　fashion；　and　from　among　them　she　chose　a　black　velvet　suit　richly　trimmed　with　Veian　lace。　It　was　a　little　out　of　fashion；　indeed；　but　it　fitted　her　to　perfection　and　dressed　in　it　she　looked　the　very　figure　of　a　noble　Lord。　She　took　a　turn　or　two　before　the　mirror　to　make　sure　that　her　petticoats　had　not　lost　her　the　freedom　of　her　legs；　and　then　let　herself　secretly　out　of　doors。

It　was　a　fine　night　early　in　April。　A　myriad　stars　mingling　with　the　light　of　a　sickle　moon；　which　again　was　enforced　by　the　street　lamps；　made　a　light　infinitely　being　to　the　human　countenance　and　to　the　architecture　of　Mr　Wren。　Everything　appeared　in　its　tenderest　form；　yet；　just　as　it　seemed　on　the　point　of　dissolution；　some　drop　of　silver　sharpened　it　to　animation。　Thus　it　was　that　talk　should　be；　thought　Orlando　（indulging　in　foolish　reverie）；　that　society　should　be；　that　friendship　should　be；　that　love　should　be。　For；　Heaven　knows　why；　just　as　we　have　lost　faith　in　human　intercourse　some　random　collocation　of　barns　and　trees　or　a　haystack　and　a　waggon　presents　us　with　so　perfect　a　symbol　of　what　is　unattainable　that　we　begin　the　search　again。

She　entered　Leicester　Square　as　she　made　these　observations。　The　buildings　had　an　airy　yet　formal　symmetry　not　theirs　by　day。　The　canopy　of　the　sky　seemed　most　dexterously　washed　in　to　fill　up　the　outline　of　roof　and　chimney。　A　young　woman　who　sat　dejectedly　with　one　arm　drooping　by　her　side；　the　other　reposing　in　her　lap；　on　a　seat　beneath　a　plane　tree　in　the　middle　of　the　square　seemed　the　very　figure　of　grace；　simplicity；　and　desolation。　Orlando　swept　her　hat　off　to　her　in　the　manner　of　a　gallant　paying　his　addresses　to　a　lady　of　fashion　in　a　public　place。　The　young　woman　raised　her　head。　It　was　of　the　most　exquisite　shapeliness。　The　young　woman　raised　her　eyes。　Orlando　saw　them　to　be　of　a　lustre　such　as　is　sometimes　seen　on　teapots　but　rarely　in　a　human　face。　Through　this　silver　glaze　the　young　woman　looked　up　at　him　（for　a　man　he　was　to　her）　appealing；　hoping；　trembling；　fearing。　She　rose；　she　accepted　his　arm。　For—need　we　stress　the　point？—she　was　of　the　tribe　which　nightly　burnishes　their　wares；　and　sets　them　in　order　on　the　mon　counter　to　wait　the　highest　bidder。　She　led　Orlando　to　the　room　in　Gerrard　Street　which　was　her　lodging。　To　feel　her　hanging　lightly　yet　like　a　suppliant　on　her　arm；　roused　in　Orlando　all　the　feelings　which　bee　a　man。　She　looked；　she　felt；　she　talked　like　one。　Yet；　having　been　so　lately　a　woman　herself；　she　suspected　that　the　girl’s　timidity　and　her　hesitating　answers　and　the　very　fumbling　with　the　key　in　the　latch　and　the　fold　of　her　cloak　and　the　droop　of　her　wrist　were　all　put　on　to　gratify　her　masculinity。　Upstairs　they　went；　and　the　pains　which　the　poor　creature　had　been　at　to　decorate　her　room　and　hide　the　fact　that　she　had　no　other　deceived　Orlando　not　a　moment。　The　deception　roused　her　scorn；　the　truth　roused　her　pity。　One　thing　showing　through　the　other　bred　the　oddest　assortment　of　feeling；　so　that　she　did　not　know　whether　to　laugh　or　to　cry。　Meanwhile　Nell；　as　the　girl　called　herself；　unbuttoned　her　gloves；　carefully　concealed　the　left–hand　thumb；　which　wanted　mending；　then　drew　behind　a　screen；　where；　perhaps；　she　rouged　her　cheeks；　arranged　her　clothes；　fixed　a　new　kerchief　round　her　neck—all　the　time　prattling　as　women　do；　to　amuse　her　lover；　though　Orlando　could　have　sworn；　from　the　tone　of　her　voice；　that　her　thoughts　were　elsewhere。　When　all　was　ready；　out　she　came；　prepared—but　here　Orlando　could　stand　it　no　longer。　In　the　strangest　torment　of　anger；　merriment；　and　pity　she　flung　off　all　disguise　and　admitted　herself　a　woman。

At　this；　Nell　burst　into　such　a　roar　of　laughter　as　might　have　been　heard　across　the　way。

‘Well；　my　dear；’　she　said；　when　she　had　somewhat　recovered；　‘I’m　by　no　means　sorry　to　hear　it。　For　the　plain　Dunstable　of　the　matter　is’　（and　it　was　remarkable　how　soon；　on　discovering　that　they　were　of　the　same　sex；　her　manner　changed　and　she　dropped　her　plaintive；　appealing　ways）；　‘the　plain　Dunstable　of　the　matter　is；　that　I’m　not　in　the　mood　for　the　society　of　the　other　sex　to–night。　Indeed；　I’m　in　the　devil　of　a　fix。’　Whereupon；　drawing　up　the　fire　and　stirring　a　bowl　of　punch；　she　told　Orlando　the　whole　story　of　her　life。　Since　it　is　Orlando’s　life　that　engages　us　at　present；　we　need　not　relate　the　adventures　of　the　other　lady；　but　it　is　certain　that　Orlando　had　never　known　the　hours　speed　faster　or　more　merrily；　though　Mistress　Nell　had　not　a　particle　of　wit　about　her；　and　when　the　name　of　Mr　Pope　came　up　in　talk　asked　innocently　if　he　were　connected　with　the　perruque　maker　of　that　name　in　Jermyn　Street。　Yet；　to　Orlando；　such　is　the　charm　of　ease　and　the　seduction　of　beauty；　this　poor　girl’s　talk；　larded　though　it　was　with　the　monest　expressions　of　the　street　corners；　tasted　like　wine　after　the　fine　phrases　she　had　been　used　to；　and　she　was　forced　to　the　conclusion　that　there　was　something　in　the　sneer　of　Mr　Pope；　in　the　condescension　of　Mr　Addison；　and　in　the　secret　of　Lord　Chesterfield　which　took　away　her　relish　for　the　society　of　wits；　deeply　though　she　must　continue　to　respect　their　works。

These　poor　creatures；　she　ascertained；　for　Nell　brought　Prue；　and　Prue　Kitty；　and　Kitty　Rose；　had　a　society　of　their　own　of　which　they　now　elected　her　a　member。　Each　would　tell　the　story　of　the　adventures　which　had　landed　her　in　her　present　way　of　life。　Several　were　the　natural　daughters　of　earls　and　one　was　a　good　deal　nearer　than　she　should　have　been　to　the　King’s　person。　None　was　too　wretched　or　too　poor　but　to　have　some　ring　or　handkerchief　in　her　pocket　which　stood　her　in　lieu　of　pedigree。　So　they　would　draw　round　the　punch–bowl　which　Orlando　made　it　her　business　to　furnish　generously；　and　many　were　the　fine　tales　they　told　and　many　the　amusing　observations　they　made；　for　it　cannot　be　denied　that　when　women　get　together—but　hist—they　are　always　careful　to　see　that　the　doors　are　shut　and　that　not　a　word　of　it　gets　into　print。　All　they　desire　is—but　hist　again—is　that　not　a　man’s　step　on　the　stair？　All　they　desire；　we　were　about　to　say　when　the　gentleman　took　the　very　words　out　of　our　mouths。　Women　have　no　desires；　says　this　gentleman；　ing　into　Nell’s　parlour；　only　affectations。　Without　desires　（she　has　served　him　and　he　is　gone）　their　conversation　cannot　be　of　the　slightest　interest　to　anyone。　‘It　is　well　known’；　says　Mr　S。　W。；　‘that　when　they　lack　the　stimulus　of　the　other　sex；　women　can　find　nothing　to　say　to　each　other。　When　they　are　alone；　they　do　not　talk；　they　scratch。’　And　since　they　cannot　talk　together　and　scratching　cannot　continue　without　interruption　and　it　is　well　known　（Mr　T。　R。　has　proved　it）　‘that　women　are　incapable　of　any　feeling　of　affection　for　their　own　sex　and　hold　each　other　in　the　greatest　aversion’；　what　can　we　suppose　that　women　do　when　they　seek　out　each　other’s　society？

As　that　is　not　a　question　that　can　engage　the　attention　of　a　sensible　man；　let　us；　who　enjoy　the　immunity　of　all　biographers　and　historians　from　any　sex　whatever；　pass　it　over；　and　merely　state　that　Orlando　professed　great　enjoyment　in　the　society　of　her　own　sex；　and　leave　it　to　the　gentlemen　to　prove；　as　they　are　very　fond　of　doing；　that　this　is　impossible。

But　to　give　an　exact　and　particular　account　of　Orlando’s　life　at　this　time　bees　more　and　more　out　of　the　question。　As　we　peer　and　grope　in　the　ill–lit；　ill–paved；　ill–ventilated　courtyards　that　lay　about　Gerrard　Street　and　Drury　Lane　at　that　time；　we　seem　now　to　catch　sight　of　her　and　then　again　to　lose　it。　The　task　is　made　still　more　difficult　by　the　fact　that　she　found　it　convenient　at　this　time　to　change　frequently　from　one　set　of　clothes　to　another。　Thus　she　often　occurs　in　contemporary　memoirs　as　‘Lord’　So–and–so；　who　was　in　fact　her　cousin；　her　bounty　is　ascribed　to　him；　and　it　is　he　who　is　said　to　have　written　the　poems　that　were　really　hers。　She　had；　it　seems；　no　difficulty　in　sustaining　the　different　parts；　for　her　sex　changed　far　more　frequently　than　those　who　have　worn　only　one　set　of　clothing　can　conceive；　nor　can　there　be　any　doubt　that　she　reaped　a　twofold　harvest　by　this　device；　the　pleasures　of　life　were　increased　and　its　experiences　multiplied。　For　the　probity　of　breeches　she　exchanged　the　seductiveness　of　petticoats　and　enjoyed　the　love　of　both　sexes　equally。

So　then　one　may　sketch　her　spending　her　morning　in　a　China　robe　of　ambiguous　gender　among　her　books；　then　receiving　a　client　or　two　（for　she　had　many　scores　of　suppliants）　in　the　same　garment；　then　she　would　take　a　turn　in　the　garden　and　clip　the　nut　trees—for　which　knee–breeches　were　convenient；　then　she　would　change　into　a　flowered　taffeta　which　best　suited　a　drive　to　Richmond　and　a　proposal　of　marriage　from　some　great　nobleman；　and　so　back　again　to　town；　where　she　would　don　a　snuff–coloured　gown　like　a　lawyer’s　and　visit　the　courts　to　hear　how　her　cases　were　doing；—for　her　fortune　was　wasting　hourly　and　the　suits　seemed　no　nearer　consummation　than　they　had　been　a　hundred　years　ago；　and　so；　finally；　when　night　came；　she　would　more　often　than　not　bee　a　nobleman　plete　from　head　to　toe　and　walk　the　streets　in　search　of　adventure。

Returning　from　some　of　these　junketings—of　which　there　were　many　st

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