The Voyage Out Part 1

The Voyage Out.

by Virginia Woolf.

INTRODUCTION.

At the age of twenty-five Virginia Woolf began work on her first novel, initially t.i.tled Melymbrosia. Melymbrosia. She had just lost her favorite brother, Thoby, to death and her best friend and sister, Vanessa, to marriage, and was feeling lonely and orphaned and angry at the solution people proposed: "I wish everyone didn't tell me to marry" She had just lost her favorite brother, Thoby, to death and her best friend and sister, Vanessa, to marriage, and was feeling lonely and orphaned and angry at the solution people proposed: "I wish everyone didn't tell me to marry" (The Letters of Virginia Woolf, Vol. (The Letters of Virginia Woolf, Vol. 1: 1: 1888-1912, 1888-1912, p. 274; see "For Further Reading"). At the time Woolf had never had a serious relationship with a man and was apprehensive about s.e.x and disdainful of marriage, which she feared would require her to surrender not just her independence but her sense of self. She was also furious about women's limited choices and their subjugated position in a male-orchestrated society. She poured all of these feelings and fears into her novel. p. 274; see "For Further Reading"). At the time Woolf had never had a serious relationship with a man and was apprehensive about s.e.x and disdainful of marriage, which she feared would require her to surrender not just her independence but her sense of self. She was also furious about women's limited choices and their subjugated position in a male-orchestrated society. She poured all of these feelings and fears into her novel.

Woolf had high ambitions for her first novel; in a letter to her brother-in-law Clive Bell she vowed, "I shall re-form the novel and capture mult.i.tude of things at present fugitive" (Letters, (Letters, vol. 1, p. 356). In Woolf's later work - most notably the masterpieces vol. 1, p. 356). In Woolf's later work - most notably the masterpieces Mrs. Dalloway, To the Lighthouse, Mrs. Dalloway, To the Lighthouse, and and The Waves The Waves - she succeeded in her goal of reforming the novel by developing a writing style entirely her own, one that used stream of consciousness and symbolism, not plot, to organize her material. These novels do not build to a climactic conclusion as much as they travel through a series of cascading epiphanies. In - she succeeded in her goal of reforming the novel by developing a writing style entirely her own, one that used stream of consciousness and symbolism, not plot, to organize her material. These novels do not build to a climactic conclusion as much as they travel through a series of cascading epiphanies. In The Voyage Out, The Voyage Out, however, Woolf was still writing under the shadow of E. M. Forster and the traditional novel; she was not yet ready to venture into such new terrain. One can see her experimenting, slowly honing the style that was to become her hallmark, but where later she was fearless, here she is tentative, still depending on plot, not style, to drive the narrative. however, Woolf was still writing under the shadow of E. M. Forster and the traditional novel; she was not yet ready to venture into such new terrain. One can see her experimenting, slowly honing the style that was to become her hallmark, but where later she was fearless, here she is tentative, still depending on plot, not style, to drive the narrative.

On the surface The Voyage Out The Voyage Out is structured around the tried-and-true marriage plot perfected by Jane Austen. A young, naive single woman, Rachel Vinrace, leaves on a voyage for South America and is taken under the wing of her more experienced Aunt Helen, who vows to educate Rachel in the ways of the world. Instinctively the reader feels the story will center on the question of whether Rachel will be successfully "educated" and a.s.similate into society through marriage. The introspective quality of the novel, however, contradicts this a.s.sumption; this is a story about not what people do or say but what they feel and how they experience. is structured around the tried-and-true marriage plot perfected by Jane Austen. A young, naive single woman, Rachel Vinrace, leaves on a voyage for South America and is taken under the wing of her more experienced Aunt Helen, who vows to educate Rachel in the ways of the world. Instinctively the reader feels the story will center on the question of whether Rachel will be successfully "educated" and a.s.similate into society through marriage. The introspective quality of the novel, however, contradicts this a.s.sumption; this is a story about not what people do or say but what they feel and how they experience.

The Voyage Out is also a meditation of sorts on three open-ended questions: What is love? Why do people marry? And what choices do women have in the here and now? Interwoven with these questions are several recurring themes, most notably the arrogant hypocrisy of the English middle cla.s.s and the limits of communication. Woolf displays a light and ironic touch in several sections, particularly when she is satirizing English att.i.tudes, but ultimately this is a contemplative novel about the solitary nature of our experience as human beings. Woolf signals her more serious intentions through an unconventional approach: She displaces the traditional marriage plot with uncertainty, confusion, suffering, and ultimately death. is also a meditation of sorts on three open-ended questions: What is love? Why do people marry? And what choices do women have in the here and now? Interwoven with these questions are several recurring themes, most notably the arrogant hypocrisy of the English middle cla.s.s and the limits of communication. Woolf displays a light and ironic touch in several sections, particularly when she is satirizing English att.i.tudes, but ultimately this is a contemplative novel about the solitary nature of our experience as human beings. Woolf signals her more serious intentions through an unconventional approach: She displaces the traditional marriage plot with uncertainty, confusion, suffering, and ultimately death.

The story of Woolf's early life is itself overshadowed by uncertainty, suffering, and death. She was born in 1882 to Leslie and Julia Stephen, an upper-middle-cla.s.s London couple. Leslie Stephen was an accomplished writer well known for his intellectual honesty, his atheism, and his stubbornness. He first married Minny Thackeray, niece of William Thackeray, and they had a daughter, Laura Stephen, before Minny died young. Julia Stephen, born Julia Jackson, was a relative of the pioneering photographer Julia Margaret Cameron; she had three children - George, Stella, and Gerald - from a previous marriage to Herbert Duckworth, before Herbert's sudden death. Julia and Leslie had four children of their own - Vanessa, Thoby, Virginia, and Adrian.

The house, then, that Virginia grew up in was full and chaotic; there were eight children, two parents, four stories, and seven servants. Leslie worked at home, writing in his library, while Julia tutored the Stephen children in an enthusiastic but somewhat unsystematic fashion. In recollections of her childhood Virginia said she rarely spent more than five minutes alone with her mother, who was always rushing to attend to the needs of Leslie, the house, the children, or her charity projects, and yet Virginia recalled a relatively happy childhood. Her fondest and indeed her most primal memory was that of the waves breaking outside the family's summer house in Cornwall, a womblike memory she vividly describes in her autobiographical essay "A Sketch of the Past": "It is of hearing the waves breaking one, two, one, two and ... feeling the purest ecstasy I can conceive" (Moments of Being, (Moments of Being, pp. 64 - 65). The vision of the sea as nurturing is prominent throughout Woolf's work, and pp. 64 - 65). The vision of the sea as nurturing is prominent throughout Woolf's work, and The Voyage Out The Voyage Out is no exception in this regard. Rachel turns to the sea again and again when she is confused or troubled; she endows it with a mysterious but calming power, although water is inextricably linked throughout the narrative to both desire and death. is no exception in this regard. Rachel turns to the sea again and again when she is confused or troubled; she endows it with a mysterious but calming power, although water is inextricably linked throughout the narrative to both desire and death.

When Virginia was thirteen her childhood ended suddenly when her mother caught a fever and abruptly died. The whole family was crushed, and Leslie was all but inconsolable, but for Virginia the blow was devastating. She began to exhibit signs of nervous tension and to hallucinate, and then had a full-scale nervous breakdown. There was already a pattern of mental illness in Virginia's family: Her half sister Laura had been placed in an inst.i.tution; her cousin J. K. Stephen had gone mad and also been inst.i.tutionalized; and her father, Leslie, suffered from depression. Clearly there was a possibility that Virginia's illness was genetic and biochemical, but at the time mental illness was seriously misunderstood and mistreated. The family doctor prescribed outdoor exercise four hours a day, regular gla.s.ses of milk, and no unnecessary excitement. Stella, Virginia's older half sister, who had taken over as matriarch, supervised Virginia's treatment, and Virginia slowly recovered.

But then just as Virginia and the family had started to heal, Stella died after returning from her honeymoon. The Stephen family was once again bereft. Leslie, always a needy person, descended into self-pity and gloom, claiming no one had suffered as he had. He bore down on his children, demanding their sympathy and their attention. However, the Stephen children - Vanessa, Thoby, Virginia, and Adrian - had had enough. They believed that their father's excessive demands had contributed to their mother's and sister's deaths and consequently decided to ignore him as much as possible. As the next female in line, Vanessa was delegated to run the household, but she refused to allow her duties or her father's needs to interfere with her work. She did what was necessary, then dashed off to her studies at art school as quickly as possible. Thoby was at Cambridge, and Adrian, the youngest, attended day school; so only Virginia remained at home with her father on a daily basis.

To her siblings this would have been a tragedy, but for Virginia it was in many ways a blessing; it allowed her to structure her own schooling and develop a closer relationship with Leslie. Her education thus far had been haphazard, limited by her mother's skills and interrupted by her breakdown. Although Virginia was a prolific reader and had already displayed a gift for writing - she had started a family newspaper called The Hyde Park Gate News The Hyde Park Gate News at nine - her talents, being those of a female, were largely ignored. While her two brothers were sent to school and then university, Virginia was left to fend for herself. She had access to her father's extensive library and moved through it with astonishing speed, devouring Macaulay, Cowper's letters, and volumes of English history one after the other. When Virginia visited her father's library he would discuss books with her, and they slowly developed a bond. Woolf's view of books as a means of establishing intimacy recurs throughout at nine - her talents, being those of a female, were largely ignored. While her two brothers were sent to school and then university, Virginia was left to fend for herself. She had access to her father's extensive library and moved through it with astonishing speed, devouring Macaulay, Cowper's letters, and volumes of English history one after the other. When Virginia visited her father's library he would discuss books with her, and they slowly developed a bond. Woolf's view of books as a means of establishing intimacy recurs throughout The Voyage Out: The Voyage Out: Richard Dalloway advises Rachel to read Edmund Burke while flirting with her; Clarissa gives Rachel Richard Dalloway advises Rachel to read Edmund Burke while flirting with her; Clarissa gives Rachel Persuasion Persuasion as a token of her affection; and St. John sends Rachel Gibbon's as a token of her affection; and St. John sends Rachel Gibbon's The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire as penance for his insulting behavior at a dance. as penance for his insulting behavior at a dance.

In addition to her voluminous reading, Virginia devised literary exercises and was tutored in Greek and Latin. Only a person of unusual will and ambition would be capable of administering her own education in such a manner. She translated Thucydides and wrote historical essays - not for a grade, but for her own improvement. Virginia inherited this discipline from her father, and she knew it; during this period, she began to appreciate him as an intellect and to identify with him as a writer.

By the time Virginia was twenty-two her father, already seventy-two, had been diagnosed with cancer. Leslie Stephen's death was not unexpected, but it was still painful for Virginia, who was just beginning to know him. While Vanessa celebrated the family's newfound freedom, Virginia suffered through enormous pangs of guilt and grief. The nervous tensions returned; she stopped eating, couldn't sleep, and suffered a second nervous breakdown. She was moved to the house of a family friend and attended by nurses around the clock. Her illness became worse: Virginia suffered severe delusions, heard the birds talk in Greek, and became suicidal. She tried to kill herself by jumping from a low window but escaped without injury.

Vanessa consulted the family doctor and related how their half brother George had behaved inappropriately with Virginia. In later accounts posthumously published in Moments of Being, Moments of Being, Virginia described how George had crept into her room when she was a teenager and gotten into bed with her, kissing her and professing love; she also related that her other half brother, Gerald, had touched her s.e.xually when she was a child. Much has been made by contemporary scholars (most prominently Louise DeSalvo) of Woolf's s.e.xual abuse, but in reality we do not know the facts of the abuse, its extent, or how it contributed to her illness or to her work. What we do know is that she had a fear of male desire and a feeling of as.e.xuality that lasted throughout her life. Virginia described how George had crept into her room when she was a teenager and gotten into bed with her, kissing her and professing love; she also related that her other half brother, Gerald, had touched her s.e.xually when she was a child. Much has been made by contemporary scholars (most prominently Louise DeSalvo) of Woolf's s.e.xual abuse, but in reality we do not know the facts of the abuse, its extent, or how it contributed to her illness or to her work. What we do know is that she had a fear of male desire and a feeling of as.e.xuality that lasted throughout her life.

In 1904, while Virginia was still recovering from her breakdown, Vanessa leased a new house for her and her siblings in the Bloomsbury section of London, far from the reach of their extended relatives. There Vanessa, Thoby, Virginia, and Adrian would be free of the ghosts of Hyde Park Gate and liberated from Edwardian social conventions.

At that time English society was very constrained. Entertainment was largely a matter of social intercourse, but conversation was circ.u.mscribed, and certain topics - anything remotely inflammatory or s.e.xual - were not mentioned. Daily life was highly segregated, not just by cla.s.s but by gender - women could not attend Cambridge, could not run for office, and could not vote. Women were also barred from the majority of professions, with writing a notable exception. The defining factor for a woman, though, was not work but her marital status. When married she was a defined figure in the social fabric, a known and valued quant.i.ty; when single she was a failure, a spinster, a leftover, someone to be pitied, dependent on others for support and protection. But change was on the way both for women and for society. The suffragettes were beginning to gain momentum in Britain, and there was an avant-garde movement developing in the arts.

After several months of convalescence Virginia moved into her new home with her siblings. It was there that Bloomsbury - which later became shorthand for a set of values and a movement in England during the first four decades of the twentieth century - was born. The group started in a rather impromptu fashion when Thoby invited his Cambridge friends Lytton Strachey, Saxon Sydney-Turner, Clive Bell, and Desmond MacCarthy to drop by on Thursday nights. Virginia was anxious to meet these promising young men; Thoby had been regaling her for years with tales of their brilliance and wit, and she wanted to see how she stacked up against them. At first Virginia was unimpressed. These morose young men seemed to have overinflated egos and to write very bad poetry, as witnessed by a joint collection they had published called Euphrosyne Euphrosyne (naming the ship (naming the ship Euphrosyne Euphrosyne in in The Voyage Out The Voyage Out was an inside joke of sorts). But then the men started to talk, and the talk startled Virginia. This was talk without boundaries, talk without constraints, and Virginia reveled in it. Finally, after all of those years shut up in a room studying by herself, she had a chance to discuss, to debate, to partic.i.p.ate in a liberated intellectual community. Her belief in talk's ameliorative powers is reflected in was an inside joke of sorts). But then the men started to talk, and the talk startled Virginia. This was talk without boundaries, talk without constraints, and Virginia reveled in it. Finally, after all of those years shut up in a room studying by herself, she had a chance to discuss, to debate, to partic.i.p.ate in a liberated intellectual community. Her belief in talk's ameliorative powers is reflected in The Voyage Out The Voyage Out in Helen's plan to educate Rachel: "Talk was the medicine she trusted to, talk about everything, talk that was free, unguarded" (p. 118). Perhaps the one Bloomsbury person Virginia most delighted in talking with was Lytton Strachey. Dazzlingly clever and widely read, Lytton proved to be an ideal compet.i.tor and confidante for Virginia. The two developed such an affection for each other over the years that Lytton, although h.o.m.os.e.xual, was once moved to propose marriage - he retracted the offer the same day - and Woolf was inspired to base several characters on Lytton, including the neurasthenic but brilliant St. John Hirst in in Helen's plan to educate Rachel: "Talk was the medicine she trusted to, talk about everything, talk that was free, unguarded" (p. 118). Perhaps the one Bloomsbury person Virginia most delighted in talking with was Lytton Strachey. Dazzlingly clever and widely read, Lytton proved to be an ideal compet.i.tor and confidante for Virginia. The two developed such an affection for each other over the years that Lytton, although h.o.m.os.e.xual, was once moved to propose marriage - he retracted the offer the same day - and Woolf was inspired to base several characters on Lytton, including the neurasthenic but brilliant St. John Hirst in The Voyage Out. The Voyage Out.

Bloomsbury was not the only significant change in Virginia's life. She was now, after years of apprenticeship, a published writer at the age of twenty-two. While convalescing she had written a piece about Haworth Parsonage that was published in the Guardian Guardian and a note for a biography on her father. These pieces led to review work for the and a note for a biography on her father. These pieces led to review work for the Guardian Guardian and later the and later the Times Literary Supplement. Times Literary Supplement. Virginia was soon writing between twenty-five and forty pieces a year, complaining about her workload but rejoicing in her newfound earning power. Virginia was soon writing between twenty-five and forty pieces a year, complaining about her workload but rejoicing in her newfound earning power.

The Bloomsbury group was dealt a sharp blow in 1906 with the death of its center, Thoby Stephen. Thoby, Adrian, Vanessa, and Virginia had traveled on an extended journey to Greece, where Vanessa got appendicitis and then Thoby fell ill. Vanessa recovered, but Thoby, whose typhoid fever was originally misdiagnosed as malaria, died. He was only twenty-six. Virginia had cared for both Thoby and Vanessa during their illnesses, and she channeled her feelings of frustration, boredom, and helplessness into the final chapters of The Voyage Out. The Voyage Out. There is perhaps no better depiction of the debilitating cycle of hope and despair one experiences while watching a loved one die than Terence's agonizing vigil with Rachel. There is perhaps no better depiction of the debilitating cycle of hope and despair one experiences while watching a loved one die than Terence's agonizing vigil with Rachel.

Vanessa responded to Thoby's death by marrying one of his closest friends, the painter and critic Clive Bell - an act that left Woolf feeling abandoned and betrayed. Bloomsbury responded by drawing closer together and bringing in new members like E. M. Forster, Maynard Keynes, Duncan Grant, and Roger Fry. Virginia responded not with a breakdown but with a hardening of spirit and a resolution to honor Thoby's memory. But after weathering the loss of four family members in ten years she had begun to feel that death was an unshakeable companion.

It is in this environment, then, that Woolf began work on her first novel. The writing went slowly, in part because of Woolf's high expectations and her shifting views of love, marriage, and women's position in society. During the several years of writing, Woolf received four marriage proposals, had an extended flirtation with her brother-in-law Clive Bell, volunteered with the suffrage movement, and watched as her sister Vanessa gave birth to two children. Naturally, Woolf's approach to her heroine changed as her own ident.i.ty and opinions altered. As she revised the novel, Woolf was strongly influenced by Roger Fry and the "post-impressionist" exhibition he was organizing in London in 1910. The public was not yet ready for Matisse or Pica.s.so, but Fry's argument for a movement away from representational art to something more expressive and original inspired Woolf. She tried to incorporate his ideas into her work. Her method became more visually stylized, inward, and symbolist. Finally, after five years and at least seven drafts, she finished her first novel, now t.i.tled The Voyage Out. The Voyage Out.

In an essay on Jane Austen, Woolf wrote, "the second-rate works of a great writer are worth reading because they offer the best criticism of his masterpieces" (The Common Reader, (The Common Reader, p. 137). p. 137). The Voyage The Voyage Out is by no means second-rate; it lacks, however, the innovation, audacity, and fluidity of Woolf's later masterpieces. The contrast in style and execution between Woolf's first novel and her more mature work is not surprising, but it is revealing and ill.u.s.trates where Woolf had difficulties, what she left behind, and what she fought to discover. Where later she was instinctive and economical, rendering a scene or a character in a few deft strokes, here Woolf is somewhat redundant and discursive, belaboring her themes and overstuffing her story. Where later she ingeniously forged a new form, using language and overlapping realities to simulate consciousness, here she is cautious, sticking to the beaten path of a conventional plot. Despite these limitations, Out is by no means second-rate; it lacks, however, the innovation, audacity, and fluidity of Woolf's later masterpieces. The contrast in style and execution between Woolf's first novel and her more mature work is not surprising, but it is revealing and ill.u.s.trates where Woolf had difficulties, what she left behind, and what she fought to discover. Where later she was instinctive and economical, rendering a scene or a character in a few deft strokes, here Woolf is somewhat redundant and discursive, belaboring her themes and overstuffing her story. Where later she ingeniously forged a new form, using language and overlapping realities to simulate consciousness, here she is cautious, sticking to the beaten path of a conventional plot. Despite these limitations, The Voyage Out The Voyage Out remains a haunting and brilliant novel about a young woman's search for ident.i.ty and love. It is also a unique window into Woolf's unconscious. remains a haunting and brilliant novel about a young woman's search for ident.i.ty and love. It is also a unique window into Woolf's unconscious.

The novel opens with a married couple, the Ambroses, making their way down a path along London's Embankment to board a ship headed for South America. Ridley, the husband, is all business, but his wife, Helen, is overcome by grief for the children she has left behind. Ridley tries to console Helen, "but she show[s] no signs of admitting him" (pp. 5-6) and continues to sob while he turns away.

Already, before the story has barely begun, Woolf shows the chasm that exists between two supposedly intimate people, a husband and a wife. This disconnection initiates one of the central themes of the novel - the notion that extreme emotions are comprehendible only to their possessor, and that communication, however desirable, is limited.

Once Helen and Ridley reach their ship, the Euphrosyne, Euphrosyne, they are greeted by Rachel, their niece and the daughter of the captain, and by Mr. Pepper, an elderly scholar and a curmudgeon. The Ambroses' arrival is a harbinger of sorts, as it triggers four mentions of death: first, when the Ambroses note the dangerous stairs; second, when Mr. Pepper talks about rheumatism; and last, when Ridley and Mr. Pepper discuss the deaths of two mutual acquaintances. Indeed, as the novel progresses the body count only grows; we hear about dead pets, dead explorers, dead fathers, dead mothers, dead poets, death from childbirth, and the suicide of a maid. We even watch as the hero, Terence, demonstrates how to simulate death. What do all of these morbid references mean? First, they are a foreshadowing mechanism, preparing us for what is to come. Second, they serve as a reminder of the insidious proximity of death. they are greeted by Rachel, their niece and the daughter of the captain, and by Mr. Pepper, an elderly scholar and a curmudgeon. The Ambroses' arrival is a harbinger of sorts, as it triggers four mentions of death: first, when the Ambroses note the dangerous stairs; second, when Mr. Pepper talks about rheumatism; and last, when Ridley and Mr. Pepper discuss the deaths of two mutual acquaintances. Indeed, as the novel progresses the body count only grows; we hear about dead pets, dead explorers, dead fathers, dead mothers, dead poets, death from childbirth, and the suicide of a maid. We even watch as the hero, Terence, demonstrates how to simulate death. What do all of these morbid references mean? First, they are a foreshadowing mechanism, preparing us for what is to come. Second, they serve as a reminder of the insidious proximity of death.

We are then led to evaluate our heroine, Rachel, through the eyes of her more experienced Aunt Helen. Helen quickly sizes Rachel up as an awkward, naive young woman: "Yes! how clear it was that she would be vacillating, emotional, and when you said something to her it would make no more lasting impression than the stroke of a stick upon water" (p. 16). Rachel's naivete makes more sense when we learn about her isolated upbringing and her incomplete education. Her mother died when she was eleven, and she was raised by maiden aunts while her father traveled with his shipping business. What little education Rachel received in a finishing school left her ignorant and somewhat helpless; indeed, "there was no subject in the world which she knew accurately," whether it was "the shape of the earth, the history of the world, how trains worked, or money was invested" (p. 28). Woolf makes it clear that although Rachel's ignorance may be extreme, even for a less educated era, it is by no means exceptional in a society that strives to keep women powerless and innocent in an effort to preserve their virtue and ensure their subservience.

Helen, however, blames Rachel's ignorant condition not on society but on her brother-in-law Willoughby. She suspects him of "nameless atrocities with regard to his daughter" (p. 19). We are never told exactly what these "nameless atrocities" were, but we slowly discover that Rachel's haphazard upbringing has left a void that makes it difficult for her to understand both her own and other people's emotions. We first see this in Rachel's response to Helen's display of physical affection. After Rachel accidentally sees Helen kiss Ridley she is somewhat baffled and looks down at the bottom of the sea, where "beneath it was green and dim, and it grew dimmer and dimmer until the sand at the bottom was only a pale blur" (p. 22). This is the first of numerous a.s.sociations of desire with the bottom of the sea - a.s.sociations that link darkness to Rachel's feelings about men and s.e.x. Just as darkness is the absence of light, Rachel appears to envision the bottom of the sea as an absence of feeling, a black vacuum capable of absorbing all of her confused emotions and restoring her to stillness and calm.

The balance of power on board the Euphrosyne Euphrosyne shifts when the Dalloways, a conservative politician and his socialite wife, board the ship for a short interval. The Dalloways are on an extended tour studying foreign countries for what they claim is the benefit of England; they are so a.s.siduous in their task that in Spain they even "mounted mules, for they wished to understand how the peasants live" (p. 34). The Dalloways' sense of ent.i.tlement extends to the ship, and at dinner they dominate the conversation. Mr. Dalloway drones on about the "utter folly and futility " (p. 38) of the women's suffrage movement, while Clarissa attempts to charm Mr. Pepper, who mistakes her plat.i.tudes about learning Greek for sincerity and offers to teach her. Clarissa regrets her false enthusiasm that night when she has nightmares about "great Greek letters stalking round the room" (p. 48). Richard and Clarissa are obviously absurd, but they are also glamorous, and in any case they are the people who run England, and so, they believe, the world. Indeed, for the Dalloways the world seems to exist only insofar as it suits their own purpose, an att.i.tude Woolf encapsulates beautifully with Richard's image of English foreign policy as "a la.s.so that opened and caught things, enormous chunks of the habitable globe" (p. 46). shifts when the Dalloways, a conservative politician and his socialite wife, board the ship for a short interval. The Dalloways are on an extended tour studying foreign countries for what they claim is the benefit of England; they are so a.s.siduous in their task that in Spain they even "mounted mules, for they wished to understand how the peasants live" (p. 34). The Dalloways' sense of ent.i.tlement extends to the ship, and at dinner they dominate the conversation. Mr. Dalloway drones on about the "utter folly and futility " (p. 38) of the women's suffrage movement, while Clarissa attempts to charm Mr. Pepper, who mistakes her plat.i.tudes about learning Greek for sincerity and offers to teach her. Clarissa regrets her false enthusiasm that night when she has nightmares about "great Greek letters stalking round the room" (p. 48). Richard and Clarissa are obviously absurd, but they are also glamorous, and in any case they are the people who run England, and so, they believe, the world. Indeed, for the Dalloways the world seems to exist only insofar as it suits their own purpose, an att.i.tude Woolf encapsulates beautifully with Richard's image of English foreign policy as "a la.s.so that opened and caught things, enormous chunks of the habitable globe" (p. 46).

Although the Dalloways serve as a vehicle to satirize English hypocrisy and ent.i.tlement, their real purpose is to act as a catalyst to incite Rachel's emotional journey. At first glance Richard Dalloway would appear to be an unlikely catalyst for anyone's emotional journey, let alone Rachel's. He is, after all, a narrow-minded, pontificating, arrogant misogynist. But he is still a powerful and important man, and when he focuses his attention on Rachel during a casual conversation about dead pets and his childhood, she is overwhelmed. She has never had any real interactions with men, and it seems "incredible that a man like that should be willing to talk to her" (p. 52). Inevitably, a crush blooms. Then, during Clarissa's visit to Rachel's room, Rachel also develops a crush on Clarissa. The visit starts with superficial talk until Rachel, spurred on by the mention of her dead mother, declares, "I shall never marry," and then asks Clarissa, "Why do people marry?" (p. 56), and unsuccessfully attempts to articulate her wants. Rachel is in search of answers about not just marriage or men but life, yet Clarissa is not listening. She simply a.s.sures Rachel that all of her wants will be answered by marriage.

Rachel's surging emotions are made manifest as a great storm arrives, forcing the pa.s.sengers to stay in their cabins while it pa.s.ses. Richard collides with Rachel during a short turn on deck, and the two quickly retreat to her cabin to escape the gusting wind. Richard resorts to pleasantries, asking Rachel about her "interests"; Rachel's response is odd but to the point: She says, "You see, I'm a woman" (p. 70), as if that prevents her from having any real interests. Her supplication is enough to arouse Richard, though, and he suddenly grabs her and kisses her, causing Rachel to nearly black out and Richard to pull back.

"You tempt me," he said. The tone of his voice was terrifying. He seemed choked in fright. They were both trembling. Rachel stood up and went. Her head was cold, her knees shaking, and the physical pain of the emotion was so great that she could only keep herself moving above the great leaps of her heart. She leant upon the rail of the ship, and gradually ceased to feel, for a chill of body and mind crept over her (p. 71).

Here Rachel is experiencing not pa.s.sion but virtual paralysis. Richard's desire has stirred up hitherto unknown but exciting feelings that she can only cope with by looking into the calm of the dark and mesmerizing sea. That night, however, her excitement turns into anxiety, and in a dream she finds herself in a long tunnel whose "walls oozed with damp," facing "a little deformed man." The only way Rachel can preserve herself from the beastlike man in her nightmare is by lying "still and cold as death," until finally she shakes herself awake, still to feel pursued by "barbarian men" (p. 72). Although Richard's kiss has introduced Rachel to a world of "infinite possibilities" (p. 71), it has also aroused in her terrifying, irrational fears of not only what men seem to want - namely s.e.x - but also what she herself feels.

Richard's kiss also has an educational effect, indirectly triggering Rachel's personal awakening. Like many women of the era, Rachel has been trained to be a vessel, to respond to others and silence her inner voice. But during a discussion with Helen about the kiss, Rachel suddenly realizes that she is beholden to no one and can actually be her own person. While this realization may seem cliched or even obvious to the modern reader, at the time it was a somewhat revolutionary concept.

The rest of the story takes place in a fictional British resort colony named Santa Marina, bordering on a jungle somewhere in South America. It is a testimony to Woolf's confidence in her imagination that she did not hesitate to set the novel in a place she had never visited. (The farthest she ever traveled were a boat trip to Portugal and an expedition to Greece.) Woolf renders the landscape beautifully and imaginatively but, despite her critiques of British imperialism, takes little interest in the people the British are subjugating; the locals of South America are all but missing from the novel.

Helen and Ridley set up house with Rachel in a villa loaned by Helen's brother, and Rachel's informal education begins. While Ridley moves into the background, laboring through his translations of Pindar, Helen makes Rachel her project and in essence her subst.i.tute child, trying slowly to "enlighten her" through books and more essentially through conversation. Helen does her best to rectify years of miseducation and neglect. She teaches Rachel basic things, such as how babies are born and how to better interact with people, but in a letter to a friend Helen confides that her powers are limited: "I now pray for a young man to come to my help" (p. 92).

Helen's prayers are answered right after she finishes the letter, when she and Rachel walk into town and stop at a hotel where most of the British stay. Standing just outside the windows in the dark they spy on the hotel guests socializing after dinner. A stocky young man, Terence Hewet, approaches the window. At first he appears to address the two women as he stares outside, but actually he is talking to another man hidden behind a curtain, his friend St. John Hirst. This strange interlude is prophetic: It offers Terence Hewet as the young man Helen has just prayed for, introduces light and darkness as a motif in Terence and Rachel's relationship, and establishes a connection between Terence, Rachel, Helen, and St. John.

Woolf then shifts the narrative away from Rachel and Helen as she moves like a camera through the various bedrooms of the hotel and around the breakfast table the next morning, introducing us to a new, second tier of entertaining characters. Through her female characters Woolf gives an interesting overview of the different paths open to women. At one end of the spectrum is Miss Allan, the older spinster who must toil to support herself by teaching and writing literary surveys. At the other end is Susan Warrington, a young woman anxious to marry who has been brought on vacation by her sick aunt, the fussy Mrs. Paley. Complementing Susan is Evelyn, an incorrigible flirt who relishes marriage proposals but can't seem to surrender her freedom and talks of relating to men as only friends. Finally, there are the married options: Mrs. Thornbury, the older wife and mother who babies her husband, and Mrs. Elliot, the childless wife of an Oxford don. Each woman seems slightly unsettled in her life, yet relieved she is not someone else. As Miss Allan leaves breakfast to go write, Mrs. Thornbury laments to Mrs. Elliot, "Unmarried women - earning their livings - it's the hardest life of all" (p. 110).

The centerpiece of the novel and the crux of Rachel's emotional journey is her romance with Terence Hewet. The romance appears to progress, like most relationships, through gradual stages of uncertainty and attraction and symbiosis, until finally they both declare their feelings and become engaged. But undercutting the relationship are Rachel's anxieties about s.e.x and men and her newfound desire to maintain a separate sense of self. These anxieties are expressed through the images of death and water that recur in this section of the novel.

But what of our hero, Terence? What sort of a man is he? And what is his part in the evolving romance? Initially he appears to be fairly good husband material. He is educated, experienced with women, and independently wealthy. He likes poetry and wants to be a writer. He takes a genuine interest in Rachel and her life. He displays real concern about women's position in society. (Indeed, many of Terence's feminist opinions are identical to Woolf's own, and she would later make many of the same arguments in A Room of One's Own.) A Room of One's Own.) He also appears to be well aware of the pitfalls of marriage - the ways in which husbands can dominate their wives - and he vows to be different. And yet Terence does seem to want to possess Rachel. Whenever she exhibits a desire to be independent, he becomes uncomfortable. If she withdraws from him to think her own thoughts or just to practice the piano, he can be angry or even insulting. Rachel is cognizant of Terence's neediness - a neediness that is fuel for her own fears about marriage. But she also appears to be truly attracted to him, and to hope that they will be able to create some type of compromise. He also appears to be well aware of the pitfalls of marriage - the ways in which husbands can dominate their wives - and he vows to be different. And yet Terence does seem to want to possess Rachel. Whenever she exhibits a desire to be independent, he becomes uncomfortable. If she withdraws from him to think her own thoughts or just to practice the piano, he can be angry or even insulting. Rachel is cognizant of Terence's neediness - a neediness that is fuel for her own fears about marriage. But she also appears to be truly attracted to him, and to hope that they will be able to create some type of compromise.

Rachel and Terence's ultimate declaration happens during a stop on a river expedition when they take a walk together into the wild jungle terrain. There, surrounded by the reverberations of trees that suggest the sounds of the sea, they are moved to confess their love. That night, when they are lying at separate ends of the boat, they both feel as if they were "sitting perfectly silent at the bottom of the world" (p. 269). They seem finally to have surrendered to each other, but they are united in a strange isolated place, a darkness akin to the bottom of the sea.

Helen has a strange and somewhat ambivalent response to the news of Terence and Rachel's engagement and impending marriage, which occurs in one of the most discussed and ambiguous pa.s.sages in the novel: A hand dropped abrupt as iron on Rachel's shoulder; it might have been a bolt from heaven. She fell beneath it, and the gra.s.s whipped across her eyes and filled her mouth and ears. Through the waving stems she saw a figure, large and shapeless against the sky. Helen was upon her. Rolled this way and that, now seeing only forests of green, and now the high blue heaven, she was speechless and almost without sense. At last she lay still, all the gra.s.ses shaken round her and before her by her panting. Over her loomed two great heads, the heads of a man and woman, of Terence and Helen (p. 276).

As many critics have noted, it is very difficult to understand what is happening here. Is it a s.e.xual embrace? A jealous attack by Helen? Or some strange coupling between Helen, Rachel, and Terence? In earlier versions of The Voyage Out The Voyage Out the scene is less ambiguous as Helen physically tackles Rachel, straddles her, stuffs her mouth with seeds, and then demands that she surrender (see the scene is less ambiguous as Helen physically tackles Rachel, straddles her, stuffs her mouth with seeds, and then demands that she surrender (see Melymbrosia: Melymbrosia: An Early Version of of "The Voyage Out," "The Voyage Out," p. 206). Helen appears to be modeled in part on Woolf's sister Vanessa, and Mitch.e.l.l Leaska in his book on Woolf ent.i.tled p. 206). Helen appears to be modeled in part on Woolf's sister Vanessa, and Mitch.e.l.l Leaska in his book on Woolf ent.i.tled Granite and Rainbow Granite and Rainbow has suggested that Woolf changed this pa.s.sage in the published version because she was uncomfortable with what it revealed about herself and her sister. Virginia's flirtation with Vanessa's husband, Clive, had created a love triangle similar to Helen's relationship with Terence and Rachel. Helen's relationship with Rachel is more complex than a simple love triangle, however, because she views Rachel as both child and friend, lover subst.i.tute and sister, and sees Terence and Rachel as both her possession and her responsibility. Whatever Woolf's reasons for altering the pa.s.sage, though, what we are left with in the published version is the feeling that Rachel has experienced a kind of ecstasy, and indeed this wrangling is the closest the book ever gets to an actual s.e.xual encounter. has suggested that Woolf changed this pa.s.sage in the published version because she was uncomfortable with what it revealed about herself and her sister. Virginia's flirtation with Vanessa's husband, Clive, had created a love triangle similar to Helen's relationship with Terence and Rachel. Helen's relationship with Rachel is more complex than a simple love triangle, however, because she views Rachel as both child and friend, lover subst.i.tute and sister, and sees Terence and Rachel as both her possession and her responsibility. Whatever Woolf's reasons for altering the pa.s.sage, though, what we are left with in the published version is the feeling that Rachel has experienced a kind of ecstasy, and indeed this wrangling is the closest the book ever gets to an actual s.e.xual encounter.

The last section of the novel is the most harrowing and the most profoundly realized, as Rachel's simultaneous struggle to love Terence, conquer her fears, and preserve her separate ident.i.ty spirals to a devastating conclusion. Shortly after a tea at the hotel to celebrate her engagement with Terence, Rachel catches a fever, battles the illness, and then dies. Many readers and critics have deemed Rachel's sudden death an implausible and unsatisfying leap in the story. But, as the deaths of Woolf's siblings demonstrate, it was by no means improbable at that time for a young person to catch a fever and unexpectedly die. So, then, the question becomes this: Are Rachel's fever and death justified in the world of the narrative?

In many ways, the answer is yes. For one thing, her fever seems to have a catalyst. It arrives in the form of a headache while Terence reads from a pa.s.sage in Milton's Comus. Comus. In this pa.s.sage Sabrina, a virginal water nymph, is called upon to save a lady from Comus, thereby preserving the lady's virtue. Earlier in In this pa.s.sage Sabrina, a virginal water nymph, is called upon to save a lady from Comus, thereby preserving the lady's virtue. Earlier in Comus Comus Sabrina herself was saved when she jumped into the water to escape the wrath of her jealous stepmother, Gwendolyn, and was transformed into a water nymph. As Terence reads, Rachel's head begins to throb, and she retires. It is almost as if she has received a secret message from the pa.s.sage - to save herself as Sabrina did by escaping into water, into the darkness. But what exactly would Rachel be saving herself from? The ba.n.a.l married life that she has just contemplated at the tea? Terence's apparent need, despite his avowed feminism, to possess and know all of her? Her adoptive mother Helen's anger and jealousy? s.e.x? Or is Rachel escaping from a more generalized terror of love and marriage? There is no clear answer, but it is a mistake to claim that the text does not provide any possibilities. Sabrina herself was saved when she jumped into the water to escape the wrath of her jealous stepmother, Gwendolyn, and was transformed into a water nymph. As Terence reads, Rachel's head begins to throb, and she retires. It is almost as if she has received a secret message from the pa.s.sage - to save herself as Sabrina did by escaping into water, into the darkness. But what exactly would Rachel be saving herself from? The ba.n.a.l married life that she has just contemplated at the tea? Terence's apparent need, despite his avowed feminism, to possess and know all of her? Her adoptive mother Helen's anger and jealousy? s.e.x? Or is Rachel escaping from a more generalized terror of love and marriage? There is no clear answer, but it is a mistake to claim that the text does not provide any possibilities.

After going to bed Rachel has strange flashes before her eyes and begins to suffer delusions.

Rachel again shut her eyes, and found herself walking through a tunnel under the Thames, where there were little deformed women sitting in archways playing cards, while the bricks of which the wall was made oozed with damp (p. 322).

This nightmare parallels her nightmare early in the novel after Richard kissed her; only this time it is deformed women, not men, in the tunnel. But what does this strange scene mean? It doesn't appear to represent any one thing as much as it is an amalgam of Rachel's crippling anxiety about marriage and her fear of losing her self Her strange visions while she is sick - such as seeing a woman cut off a man's head as Hewet goes to kiss her - are both a.s.sociations with past events (a cook cutting off a chicken's head) and primal projections of her uncensored urges. Interestingly, Rachel's symptoms bear some resemblance to Woolf's own symptoms when she suffered a breakdown, including flashing black spots, a racing pulse, and then escalating delusions and distortions of reality.

As Rachel's condition worsens, Terence, St. John, and Helen divide tasks to care for her around the clock; eventually they all begin to suffer from the strain; "the separate feelings of pleasure, interest, and pain, which combine to make up the ordinary day, were merged in one long-drawn sensation of sordid misery and profound boredom" (p. 326). Terence suffers most of all, alternating between a resigned nihilism and a pervading dread of what may come.

In her illness Rachel tries to decipher the images that flash in front of her, convinced that her delusions have some larger meaning: "The sights were all concerned in some plot, some adventure, some escape. The nature of what they were doing changed incessantly, although there was always a reason behind it, which she must endeavour to grasp" (p. 331). Rachel does not appear to be a woman fighting for her life, but instead a woman retreating to the place where feelings and anxiety cannot reach her - the symbolic sea.

She fell into a deep pool of sticky water, which eventually closed over her head. She saw nothing and heard nothing but a faint booming sound, which was the sound of the sea rolling over her head. While all her tormentors thought that she was dead, she was not dead, but curled up at the bottom of the sea (p. 331).

Although Rachel appears to feel safe and coc.o.o.ned in her symbolic sea, she is in fact teetering on the verge of death. Ultimately she does die, of course, but is this an actual choice - opting for death over marriage - or does Rachel simply become overwhelmed by her illness and lose her will to live? Woolf gives no real explanation for Rachel's final descent into death. Instead she shifts the narrative focus and the reader's empathy onto Terence. As Rachel dies we are anch.o.r.ed in Terence's point of view and his struggle to absorb and, in a sense, justify his loss.

She had ceased to breathe. So much the better - this was death. It was nothing; it was to cease to breathe. It was happiness, it was perfect happiness. They had now what they had always wanted to have, the union which had been impossible while they lived. Unconscious whether he thought the words or spoke them aloud, he said, "No two people have ever been so happy as we have been. No one has ever loved as we have loved" (p. 343).

Once Rachel dies it would seem that the novel is over, but Woolf continues the story through the next day at the hotel. Why does she do this? Perhaps to place Rachel's death in perspective, reminding us through Miss Allan and Evelyn that women have choices beyond marriage. But Woolf also uses the last chapter to establish who really suffers in death: not those who pa.s.s on but those who must endure, those who are forced to find a way to reconnect to life as Woolf herself had had to do time and again after the deaths in her family. When Miss Allan hears of Rachel's death, she sits in a chair and ponders her own existence: "She felt very old this morning, and useless too, as if her life had been a failure, as if it had been hard and laborious to no purpose. She did not want to go on living, and yet she knew that she would" (p. 346).

When The Voyage Out The Voyage Out was published in 1915 it was widely praised by reviewers. The was published in 1915 it was widely praised by reviewers. The Observer Observer (April 4, 1915) noted, "There is something greater than talent that colors the cleverness of this book. Its perpetual effort to say the real thing and not the expected thing, its humor and its sense of irony ... among ordinary novels it is a wild swan among good grey geese." E. M. Forster writing in the (April 4, 1915) noted, "There is something greater than talent that colors the cleverness of this book. Its perpetual effort to say the real thing and not the expected thing, its humor and its sense of irony ... among ordinary novels it is a wild swan among good grey geese." E. M. Forster writing in the Daily News and Leader Daily News and Leader (April 8, 1915) said the book beautifully ill.u.s.trated the truth that "it is for a voyage into solitude that man was created," and added that the novel was "as poignant as anything in modern fiction." (April 8, 1915) said the book beautifully ill.u.s.trated the truth that "it is for a voyage into solitude that man was created," and added that the novel was "as poignant as anything in modern fiction."

Woolf was warmed by this praise - she felt that she had finally established herself as a novelist. But her strong resemblance to Rachel poses a question: To what extent was the book autobiographical? Certainly Woolf shared many of Rachel's traits; she had lost a mother at an early age, possessed a nervous and awkward public disposition, and displayed a general discomfort with s.e.x. She also had similar feelings of unworthiness and confusion, as she wrote in a letter to her friend, "To be 29 and unmarried - to be a failure - childless - insane too, no writer" (Letters, (Letters, p. 466). Like Rachel, Woolf wanted male companionship, but she didn't know if she could ever surrender to marriage itself. When Leonard Woolf - Thoby's old Cambridge friend who had just returned to England and joined the Bloomsbury fold - proposed marriage, she hesitated. In a letter to him she wrote of her concerns: "I go from being half in love with and wanting you to be with me always ... to the extreme of wildness and aloofness.... I feel no physical attraction in you" p. 466). Like Rachel, Woolf wanted male companionship, but she didn't know if she could ever surrender to marriage itself. When Leonard Woolf - Thoby's old Cambridge friend who had just returned to England and joined the Bloomsbury fold - proposed marriage, she hesitated. In a letter to him she wrote of her concerns: "I go from being half in love with and wanting you to be with me always ... to the extreme of wildness and aloofness.... I feel no physical attraction in you" (Letters, (Letters, p. 496). Her vacillation sounds much like Rachel's own struggle to surrender to Terence. p. 496). Her vacillation sounds much like Rachel's own struggle to surrender to Terence.

In the end, however, Woolf made a marriage choice that was altogether different from Rachel's. On August 10, 1912, Virginia Stephen married Leonard Woolf and became Virginia Woolf. Her marriage coincided with the finishing of the novel, but its publication had to be put off for more than a year because shortly after her honeymoon Woolf suffered a collapse. She had been pushing herself while writing the ending of The Voyage Out, The Voyage Out, going deep into her unconscious, and in so doing, according to her biographer Quentin Bell, she "had been playing with fire. She had succeeded in bringing some of the devils who dwelt within her mind hugely and gruesomely from the depths, and she had gone too far for comfort" (Bell, vol. 2, p. 42). going deep into her unconscious, and in so doing, according to her biographer Quentin Bell, she "had been playing with fire. She had succeeded in bringing some of the devils who dwelt within her mind hugely and gruesomely from the depths, and she had gone too far for comfort" (Bell, vol. 2, p. 42).

Anxious about her book's reception and nervous about the sharing of such private, vulnerable feelings, Woolf again had a full-scale breakdown. Frightened of her illness, she attempted suicide by trying to overdose on Veronal, and Leonard had to keep her on round-the-clock supervision with a staff of nurses. For the next several years Woolf wavered in and out of mental illness. Finally, in 1917, she was p.r.o.nounced cured and deemed able to return to her normal life. Although her nervous tensions and depression would reoccur throughout her life, Woolf didn't have another full-scale breakdown until she was fifty-nine. This time fear of illness would conquer her and in a strange synchronicity with her first novel, Woolf would leave this world by drowning herself in a river. She left behind a suicide note for Leonard that echoed Hewet's last line to Rachel, "I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been" (Bell, vol. 2, p. 226).

Woolf's depression and suicide have led many to view her life as tragic. But ultimately it is a story of triumph. She battled mental illness and enormous obstacles successfully to do the thing she felt was more necessary, more fundamental, more vital than anything else in the world: to write. She was helped enormously by her husband, Leonard, who not only monitored her health and buoyed her spirits but also supervised the publishing venture they started - Hogarth Press - and allowed Virginia the freedom within their marriage to remain herself. His support no doubt had a controlling aspect, but without it she may not have survived as long as she did - something she readily acknowledged. Even when she was well, she knew that she was at risk because her madness was simply at bay, dwelling somewhere within her. One could argue that her illness had a positive side, in that through it she was able to access hidden depths; but it could not be controlled or predicted.

In the end Woolf left us with an astonishing, prolific, wide-ranging legacy of essays, novels, letters, and criticism. But her legacy is not in her work as much as it is in the spirit she infused it with - one of joy, humanity, and revelation. She felt that life was never what is seen on the surface, that "behind the cotton wool is hidden a pattern; that we - I mean all human beings - are connected with this; that the whole world is a work of art" (Moments of Being (Moments of Being, p. 72). This view of a shared connection can be seen at the conclusion of The Voyage Out when The Voyage Out when St. John goes back to the hotel and is liberated from the pain of Rachel's death by the presence of others: "The light and warmth, the movements of the hands, and the soft communicative voices soothed him; they gave him a strange sense of quiet and relief" (p. 362). We may not always understand the pattern in front of us, Woolf seems to be saying, and we may spend the majority of our life isolated from others and trapped within our own experience, but only by reconnecting to the pattern through people and through art can we truly be alive. St. John goes back to the hotel and is liberated from the pain of Rachel's death by the presence of others: "The light and warmth, the movements of the hands, and the soft communicative voices soothed him; they gave him a strange sense of quiet and relief" (p. 362). We may not always understand the pattern in front of us, Woolf seems to be saying, and we may spend the majority of our life isolated from others and trapped within our own experience, but only by reconnecting to the pattern through people and through art can we truly be alive.

Pagan Harleman studied literature at Columbia College, then traveled extensively in the Middle East and West Africa before receiving an MFA from NYU's graduate film program. While at NYU she made several award-winning shorts and received the Dean's Fellowship, the Steven Tisch Fellowship, and a Director's Craft Award. studied literature at Columbia College, then traveled extensively in the Middle East and West Africa before receiving an MFA from NYU's graduate film program. While at NYU she made several award-winning shorts and received the Dean's Fellowship, the Steven Tisch Fellowship, and a Director's Craft Award.

TO.

L.W.

CHAPTER I.

As THE STREETS THAT lead from the Strand to the Embankment are very narrow, it is better not to walk down them arm-in-arm. If you persist, lawyers' clerks will have to make flying leaps into the mud; young lady typists will have to fidget behind you. In the streets of London where beauty goes unregarded, eccentricity must pay the penalty, and it is better not to be very tall, to wear a long blue cloak, or to beat the air with your left hand.

One afternoon in the beginning of October when the traffic was becoming brisk a tall man strode along the edge of the pavement with a lady on his arm. Angry glances struck upon their backs. The small, agitated figures - for in comparison with this couple most people looked small - decorated with fountain pens, and burdened with despatch-boxes, had appointments to keep, and drew a weekly salary, so that there was some reason for the unfriendly stare which was bestowed upon Mr. Ambrose's height and upon Mrs. Ambrose's cloak. But some enchantment had put both man and woman beyond the reach of malice and unpopularity. In his case one might guess from the moving lips that it was thought; and in hers from the eyes fixed stonily straight in front of her at a level above the eyes of most that it was sorrow. It was only by scorning all she met that she kept herself from tears, and the friction of people brushing past her was evidently painful. After watching the traffic on the Embankment for a minute or two with a stoical gaze she twitched her husband's sleeve, and they crossed between the swift discharge of motor cars. When they were safe on the further side, she gently withdrew her arm from his, allowing her mouth at the same time to relax, to tremble; then tears rolled down, and, leaning her elbows on the bal.u.s.trade, she shielded her face from the curious. Mr. Ambrose attempted consolation; he patted her shoulder; but she showed no signs of admitting him, and feeling it awkward to stand beside a grief that was greater than his, he crossed his arms behind him, and took a turn along the pavement.

The embankment juts out in angles here and there, like pulpits; instead of preachers, however, small boys occupy them, dangling string, dropping pebbles, or launching wads of paper for a cruise. With their sharp eye for eccentricity, they were inclined to think Mr. Ambrose awful; but the quickest witted cried 'Bluebeard!' as he pa.s.sed. In case they should proceed to tease his wife, Mr. Ambrose flourished his stick at them, upon which they decided that he was grotesque merely, and four instead of one cried 'Bluebeard!' in chorus.

Although Mrs. Ambrose stood quite still, much longer than is natural, the little boys let her be. Some one is always looking into the river near Waterloo Bridge; a couple will stand there talking for half an hour on a fine afternoon; most people, walking for pleasure, contemplate for three minutes; when, having compared the occasion with other occasions, or made some sentence, they pa.s.s on. Sometimes the flats and churches and hotels of Westminster are like the outlines of Constantinople in a mist; sometimes the river is an opulent purple, sometimes mud-coloured, sometimes sparkling blue like the sea. It is always worth while to look down and see what is happening. But this lady looked neither up nor down; the only thing she had seen, since she stood there, was a circular iridescent patch slowly floating past with a straw in the middle of it. The straw and the patch swam again and again behind the tremulous medium of a great welling tear, and the tear rose and fell and dropped into the river. Then there struck close upon her ears - Lars Porsena of Clusium By the nine G.o.ds he swore - and then more faintly, as if the speaker had pa.s.sed her on his walk - That the Great House of Tarquin Should suffer wrong no more.1 Yes, she knew she must go back to all that, but at present she must weep. Screening her face she sobbed more steadily than she had yet done, her shoulders rising and falling with great regularity. It was this figure that her husband saw when, having reac