Walk through the Admiralty Arch (I had
reached that monument), or any other avenue given up to trophies and cannon,
and reflect upon the kind of glory celebrated there. Or watch in the spring sunshine
the stockbroker and the great barrister going indoors to make money and more
money and more money when it is a fact that five hundred pounds a year will
keep one alive in the sunshine. These are unpleasant instincts to harbour, I
reflected. They are bred of the conditions of life; of the lack of
civilization, I thought, looking at the statue of the Duke of Cambridge, and in
particular at the feathers in his cocked hat, with a fixity that they have
scarcely ever received before. And, as I realized these drawbacks, by degrees
fear and bitterness modified themselves into pity and toleration; and then in a
year or two, pity and toleration went, and the greatest release of all came,
which is freedom to think of things in themselves. That building, for example,
do I like it or not? Is that picture beautiful or not? Is that in my opinion a good
book or a bad? Indeed my aunt's legacy unveiled the sky to me, and substituted
for the large and imposing figure of a gentleman, which Milton recommended for
my perpetual adoration, a view of the open sky.
A Room of One’s Own (38-9)
No comments:
Post a Comment