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Full Online Book HomeLong StoriesThe Voyage Out - Chapter 27
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The Voyage Out - Chapter 27 Post by :R_Hagel Category :Long Stories Author :Virginia Woolf Date :February 2011 Read :1742

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The Voyage Out - Chapter 27

All that evening the clouds gathered, until they closed entirely over
the blue of the sky. They seemed to narrow the space between earth
and heaven, so that there was no room for the air to move in freely;
and the waves, too, lay flat, and yet rigid, as if they were restrained.
The leaves on the bushes and trees in the garden hung closely together,
and the feeling of pressure and restraint was increased by the short
chirping sounds which came from birds and insects.

So strange were the lights and the silence that the busy hum
of voices which usually filled the dining-room at meal times
had distinct gaps in it, and during these silences the clatter
of the knives upon plates became audible. The first roll of thunder
and the first heavy drop striking the pane caused a little stir.

"It's coming!" was said simultaneously in many different languages.

There was then a profound silence, as if the thunder had withdrawn
into itself. People had just begun to eat again, when a gust of cold
air came through the open windows, lifting tablecloths and skirts,
a light flashed, and was instantly followed by a clap of thunder
right over the hotel. The rain swished with it, and immediately
there were all those sounds of windows being shut and doors slamming
violently which accompany a storm.

The room grew suddenly several degrees darker, for the wind
seemed to be driving waves of darkness across the earth. No one
attempted to eat for a time, but sat looking out at the garden,
with their forks in the air. The flashes now came frequently,
lighting up faces as if they were going to be photographed,
surprising them in tense and unnatural expressions. The clap
followed close and violently upon them. Several women half rose
from their chairs and then sat down again, but dinner was continued
uneasily with eyes upon the garden. The bushes outside were
ruffled and whitened, and the wind pressed upon them so that they
seemed to stoop to the ground. The waiters had to press dishes
upon the diners' notice; and the diners had to draw the attention
of waiters, for they were all absorbed in looking at the storm.
As the thunder showed no signs of withdrawing, but seemed massed
right overhead, while the lightning aimed straight at the garden
every time, an uneasy gloom replaced the first excitement.

Finishing the meal very quickly, people congregated in the hall,
where they felt more secure than in any other place because they could
retreat far from the windows, and although they heard the thunder,
they could not see anything. A little boy was carried away sobbing
in the arms of his mother.

While the storm continued, no one seemed inclined to sit down,
but they collected in little groups under the central skylight,
where they stood in a yellow atmosphere, looking upwards.
Now and again their faces became white, as the lightning flashed,
and finally a terrific crash came, making the panes of the skylight
lift at the joints.

"Ah!" several voices exclaimed at the same moment.

"Something struck," said a man's voice.

The rain rushed down. The rain seemed now to extinguish the lightning
and the thunder, and the hall became almost dark.

After a minute or two, when nothing was heard but the rattle of water
upon the glass, there was a perceptible slackening of the sound,
and then the atmosphere became lighter.

"It's over," said another voice.

At a touch, all the electric lights were turned on, and revealed
a crowd of people all standing, all looking with rather strained faces
up at the skylight, but when they saw each other in the artificial
light they turned at once and began to move away. For some minutes
the rain continued to rattle upon the skylight, and the thunder
gave another shake or two; but it was evident from the clearing
of the darkness and the light drumming of the rain upon the roof,
that the great confused ocean of air was travelling away from them,
and passing high over head with its clouds and its rods of fire,
out to sea. The building, which had seemed so small in the tumult
of the storm, now became as square and spacious as usual.

As the storm drew away, the people in the hall of the hotel sat down;
and with a comfortable sense of relief, began to tell each other stories
about great storms, and produced in many cases their occupations
for the evening. The chess-board was brought out, and Mr. Elliot,
who wore a stock instead of a collar as a sign of convalescence, but was
otherwise much as usual, challenged Mr. Pepper to a final contest.
Round them gathered a group of ladies with pieces of needlework,
or in default of needlework, with novels, to superintend the game,
much as if they were in charge of two small boys playing marbles.
Every now and then they looked at the board and made some encouraging
remark to the gentlemen.

Mrs. Paley just round the corner had her cards arranged in long ladders
before her, with Susan sitting near to sympathise but not to correct,
and the merchants and the miscellaneous people who had never been
discovered to possess names were stretched in their arm-chairs
with their newspapers on their knees. The conversation in these
circumstances was very gentle, fragmentary, and intermittent,
but the room was full of the indescribable stir of life. Every now
and then the moth, which was now grey of wing and shiny of thorax,
whizzed over their heads, and hit the lamps with a thud.

A young woman put down her needlework and exclaimed, "Poor creature!
it would be kinder to kill it." But nobody seemed disposed to rouse
himself in order to kill the moth. They watched it dash from lamp
to lamp, because they were comfortable, and had nothing to do.

On the sofa, beside the chess-players, Mrs. Elliot was imparting
a new stitch in knitting to Mrs. Thornbury, so that their heads
came very near together, and were only to be distinguished
by the old lace cap which Mrs. Thornbury wore in the evening.
Mrs. Elliot was an expert at knitting, and disclaimed a compliment
to that effect with evident pride.

"I suppose we're all proud of something," she said, "and I'm proud of
my knitting. I think things like that run in families. We all knit well.
I had an uncle who knitted his own socks to the day of his death--
and he did it better than any of his daughters, dear old gentleman.
Now I wonder that you, Miss Allan, who use your eyes so much,
don't take up knitting in the evenings. You'd find it such a relief,
I should say--such a rest to the eyes--and the bazaars are so glad
of things." Her voice dropped into the smooth half-conscious tone
of the expert knitter; the words came gently one after another.
"As much as I do I can always dispose of, which is a comfort, for then
I feel that I am not wasting my time--"

Miss Allan, being thus addressed, shut her novel and observed
the others placidly for a time. At last she said, "It is surely
not natural to leave your wife because she happens to be in love
with you. But that--as far as I can make out--is what the gentleman
in my story does."

"Tut, tut, that doesn't sound good--no, that doesn't sound
at all natural," murmured the knitters in their absorbed voices.

"Still, it's the kind of book people call very clever," Miss Allan added.

"_Maternity_--by Michael Jessop--I presume," Mr. Elliot put in,
for he could never resist the temptation of talking while he
played chess.

"D'you know," said Mrs. Elliot, after a moment, "I don't think people
_do write good novels now--not as good as they used to, anyhow."

No one took the trouble to agree with her or to disagree with her.
Arthur Venning who was strolling about, sometimes looking at the game,
sometimes reading a page of a magazine, looked at Miss Allan,
who was half asleep, and said humorously, "A penny for your thoughts,
Miss Allan."

The others looked up. They were glad that he had not spoken to them.
But Miss Allan replied without any hesitation, "I was thinking
of my imaginary uncle. Hasn't every one got an imaginary uncle?"
she continued. "I have one--a most delightful old gentleman.
He's always giving me things. Sometimes it's a gold watch;
sometimes it's a carriage and pair; sometimes it's a beautiful little
cottage in the New Forest; sometimes it's a ticket to the place I most
want to see."

She set them all thinking vaguely of the things they wanted.
Mrs. Elliot knew exactly what she wanted; she wanted a child;
and the usual little pucker deepened on her brow.

"We're such lucky people," she said, looking at her husband.
"We really have no wants." She was apt to say this, partly in order
to convince herself, and partly in order to convince other people.
But she was prevented from wondering how far she carried conviction
by the entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Flushing, who came through the hall
and stopped by the chess-board. Mrs. Flushing looked wilder than ever.
A great strand of black hair looped down across her brow, her cheeks
were whipped a dark blood red, and drops of rain made wet marks
upon them.

Mr. Flushing explained that they had been on the roof watching
the storm.

"It was a wonderful sight," he said. "The lightning went right
out over the sea, and lit up the waves and the ships far away.
You can't think how wonderful the mountains looked too, with the lights
on them, and the great masses of shadow. It's all over now."

He slid down into a chair, becoming interested in the final struggle
of the game.

"And you go back to-morrow?" said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at
Mrs. Flushing.

"Yes," she replied.

"And indeed one is not sorry to go back," said Mrs. Elliot,
assuming an air of mournful anxiety, "after all this illness."

"Are you afraid of dyin'?" Mrs. Flushing demanded scornfully.

"I think we are all afraid of that," said Mrs. Elliot with dignity.

"I suppose we're all cowards when it comes to the point,"
said Mrs. Flushing, rubbing her cheek against the back of the chair.
"I'm sure I am."

"Not a bit of it!" said Mr. Flushing, turning round, for Mr. Pepper
took a very long time to consider his move. "It's not cowardly
to wish to live, Alice. It's the very reverse of cowardly.
Personally, I'd like to go on for a hundred years--granted, of course,
that I had the full use of my faculties. Think of all the things that
are bound to happen!" "That is what I feel," Mrs. Thornbury rejoined.
"The changes, the improvements, the inventions--and beauty.
D'you know I feel sometimes that I couldn't bear to die and cease
to see beautiful things about me?"

"It would certainly be very dull to die before they have discovered
whether there is life in Mars," Miss Allan added.

"Do you really believe there's life in Mars?" asked Mrs. Flushing,
turning to her for the first time with keen interest. "Who tells
you that? Some one who knows? D'you know a man called--?"

Here Mrs. Thornbury laid down her knitting, and a look of extreme
solicitude came into her eyes.

"There is Mr. Hirst," she said quietly.

St. John had just come through the swing door. He was rather
blown about by the wind, and his cheeks looked terribly pale,
unshorn, and cavernous. After taking off his coat he was going
to pass straight through the hall and up to his room, but he could
not ignore the presence of so many people he knew, especially as
Mrs. Thornbury rose and went up to him, holding out her hand.
But the shock of the warm lamp-lit room, together with the sight
of so many cheerful human beings sitting together at their ease,
after the dark walk in the rain, and the long days of strain
and horror, overcame him completely. He looked at Mrs. Thornbury
and could not speak.

Every one was silent. Mr. Pepper's hand stayed upon his Knight.
Mrs. Thornbury somehow moved him to a chair, sat herself beside him,
and with tears in her own eyes said gently, "You have done everything
for your friend."

Her action set them all talking again as if they had never stopped,
and Mr. Pepper finished the move with his Knight.

"There was nothing to be done," said St. John. He spoke very slowly.
"It seems impossible--"

He drew his hand across his eyes as if some dream came between him
and the others and prevented him from seeing where he was.

"And that poor fellow," said Mrs. Thornbury, the tears falling
again down her cheeks.

"Impossible," St. John repeated.

"Did he have the consolation of knowing--?" Mrs. Thornbury began
very tentatively.

But St. John made no reply. He lay back in his chair, half-seeing
the others, half-hearing what they said. He was terribly tired,
and 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. As he sat there, motionless, this feeling
of relief became a feeling of profound happiness. Without any
sense of disloyalty to Terence and Rachel he ceased to think
about either of them. The movements and the voices seemed to draw
together from different parts of the room, and to combine themselves
into a pattern before his eyes; he was content to sit silently
watching the pattern build itself up, looking at what he hardly saw.

The game was really a good one, and Mr. Pepper and Mr. Elliot were
becoming more and more set upon the struggle. Mrs. Thornbury,
seeing that St. John did not wish to talk, resumed her knitting.

"Lightning again!" Mrs. Flushing suddenly exclaimed. A yellow
light flashed across the blue window, and for a second they saw
the green trees outside. She strode to the door, pushed it open,
and stood half out in the open air.

But the light was only the reflection of the storm which was over.
The rain had ceased, the heavy clouds were blown away, and the air
was thin and clear, although vapourish mists were being driven swiftly
across the moon. The sky was once more a deep and solemn blue,
and the shape of the earth was visible at the bottom of the air,
enormous, dark, and solid, rising into the tapering mass of the mountain,
and pricked here and there on the slopes by the tiny lights of villas.
The driving air, the drone of the trees, and the flashing light
which now and again spread a broad illumination over the earth
filled Mrs. Flushing with exultation. Her breasts rose and fell.

"Splendid! Splendid!" she muttered to herself. Then she turned back
into the hall and exclaimed in a peremptory voice, "Come outside
and see, Wilfrid; it's wonderful."

Some half-stirred; some rose; some dropped their balls of wool
and began to stoop to look for them.

"To bed--to bed," said Miss Allan.

"It was the move with your Queen that gave it away, Pepper,"
exclaimed Mr. Elliot triumphantly, sweeping the pieces together
and standing up. He had won the game.

"What? Pepper beaten at last? I congratulate you!" said Arthur
Venning, who was wheeling old Mrs. Paley to bed.

All these voices sounded gratefully in St. John's ears as he lay
half-asleep, and yet vividly conscious of everything around him.
Across his eyes passed a procession of objects, black and indistinct,
the figures of people picking up their books, their cards, their balls
of wool, their work-baskets, and passing him one after another on
their way to bed.


The Voyage Out, by Virginia Woolf

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