He—unmistakably male, though the fashions of clothing at the time somewhat concealed gender identity—was swinging his sword at a Moorish head hanging from the rafters.Except for the sunken cheeks and a couple of strands of coarse, dry hair that looked like coconut palms, the skeleton was the color of an old football, and the shape was somewhat similar.It was cut off by Orlando's father or grandfather from the shoulder of a huge pagan who popped up on a moonlit night in the middle of nowhere in Africa.Now, the head swayed gently in the breeze.In the mansion owned by the Slayer, the wind blows through the attic rooms endlessly.
The ancestors of Orlando once galloped in the place full of daffodils, wild rocks, and magical rivers. They cut heads of various colors from the shoulders of countless people, and brought them back to hang on the rafters.Orlando vowed that he too would follow in the footsteps of his predecessors.But he was only sixteen years old, and he could not gallop in Africa or France with his parents when he was young. He could only sneak into his room on the attic when his mother was feeding the peacocks in the garden, swinging his sword at the air, jumping and stabbing.Sometimes he cut the rope from which the skeleton was hanging, and the head fell to the ground with a thud, and he had to retighten the rope with a kind of chivalry, and hang the head where he could barely reach.And his enemy grinned triumphantly at him with his black, dried lips.The skeleton rocked back and forth, because the house was so big that the wind seemed to be trapped on the top floor where he lived, blowing here and there, from winter to summer.The hunters on the green tapestry kept swaying with the wind.From the time these tapestries were woven, his ancestors were nobles.They wear crowns and come out of the pale twilight in the north.The dappled light and shadow in the room and the interlaced yellow checks on the floor should be the leaking shadow of the huge coat of arms on the stained glass window when the sunlight shines on it?The position where Orlando stands now is exactly in the middle of the body of the yellow cheetah on the coat of arms.He put his hand on the window sill, and was about to open the window, when red, blue, and yellow colors appeared on his arms at once, like the wings of a colorful butterfly.Those who are interested in symbols and are good at deciphering symbolism may notice that when Orlando opened the window, although his shapely legs, graceful figure and strong shoulders were all dotted with the multicolored coat of arms, But there was nothing but sunshine on his face.It was a face of innocence and melancholy.Blessed was the mother who bore him, and even luckier was the one who wrote his biography.The mother was never bothered by him, and the biographer need not be a novelist or a poet.His achievements, glory, and status will all be recorded in the calendar, and he deserves his name until he meets people's highest expectations.Orlando's looks are worthy of such a life.The rosy cheeks were covered with fine down, and the down on the lips was slightly thicker than that on the cheeks.The small lips parted slightly to reveal fine, almond-white teeth.The bridge of the nose is small but straight.Dark hair, delicate ears, just in proportion to his head.But, goodness, when it comes to youthful beauty, how can we not mention forehead and eyes.Alas, almost everyone is born with these three things.If we glanced at Orlando standing at the window, we were obliged to admit that his large eyes, like wet violets, filled with water and made them appear even larger.His forehead was set like a proud marble dome between the smooth blobs of his temples.Just one glance at those eyes and forehead is enough to spark creativity.One need only glance at those eyes and his brow to admit that any good biographer would avoid discussing his controversies.At this moment, some scenes in his vision disturbed him, such as seeing his mother, the beautiful woman in green dress, feeding the peacock outside, and the maid Twitchette followed her; but there were also some scenes that made him feel Delights, such as the birds and the woods; and some sights to indulge his thoughts of death, such as the evening sky and the homing crows; and all these, with hammers and wood-cracking in the garden, Hovering into his mind--there's a lot of space in there--raised him with passions and emotions that every good biographer should avoid.Slowly Orlando calmed down, sat down at the table, as he did day after day, and casually produced his notebook, on which was written "Ethelbert: A Tragedy in Five Acts."He filled the ink with the old yellowed quill.
In a short while, he filled more than ten pages of verses. Obviously, he wrote very fluently and concisely.Evil, crime, misery are the characters in his plays; and the king and queen of Utopia; they are caught up in terrible plots; they are full of noble emotions; he writes freely, but every word is not like From him--he was not yet seventeen, and some years before the end of the sixteenth century--it was remarkable to write such a work at his age.However, he finally stopped writing.For he was ready to write about nature, as all young poets aspire to.He stared straight at the laurel bush under the window, trying to describe this green shade vividly.But then, of course, he couldn't write.Green in nature and green in literature are completely different things.Nature and writing seem inherently incompatible.When the two meet, they tear each other apart.The green shade before Orlando's eyes disturbed the rhythm and rhythm of his writing.Besides, nature itself can play tricks on people.Take a look at the sunset sky outside the window, bees flying in the flowers, a dog yawning, think "How many times can I see such a sunset", etc. (these thoughts are well known and not worth writing), He would drop his pen, grab his cloak, and stride out of the room, often tripping his foot over the lacquer cabinet.Because Orlando was always clumsy about such little things.
He carefully avoids people.Seeing Stubbs the gardener coming down the path, he ducked behind a tree.After the gardener had passed, he slipped out through a small door in the garden wall.He walked around the stables, the kennels, the brewery, the carpentry, the laundry, and places where tallow candles were made, cattle were slaughtered, horseshoes were shoed, clothes were sewn—the estate was like a small town, each All kinds of craftsmen were busy at work-he set foot on a path covered with ferns, which led through a hidden manor and led up to the hills.The various dispositions of people may be related to each other, and one disposition must be accompanied by another disposition.Biographers should note at this point that clumsy people often prefer to be alone.Orlando, as he often stumbled over the chest, liked the solitude and the view, the loneliness of forever, forever, forever.
He was silent for a while, and finally heaved a long breath and said, "I am alone." This is the first time he has spoken in this biography.He walked briskly through fern and medlar bushes, alarming elk and wild birds, up the hill to a solitary oak on top.The terrain here is high, and the nineteen counties of England can be seen at a glance.Maybe thirty or forty counties could be seen, on a clear day with clear skies.Sometimes you can see the English Channel, where there are waves and waves.You can also see boats swaying on the river.Great ships set sail for the sea; from there came the booming of the fleet's cannons; there was a fort on the shore; a castle in the meadow; a watchtower here, a fortification there; and Some of the mansions, like Orlando's father's estate, were as large as towns, set in valleys and surrounded by high walls.Looking east, you can see the spiers and smog of the city of London; if the wind is right, the steep peaks and rolling hills of Snowdon Peak may occasionally stand out from the clouds, which is a wonderful skyline.For a long time, Orlando stood there, appreciating these landscapes one by one, staring and identifying them.That was his father's estate; that was his uncle's; and the three tall towers in the woods were his aunt's.The heath and the forest were theirs, and the pheasants and elk and foxes and badger bears and butterflies.
He let out a long breath, and threw himself on the ground at the foot of the oak tree--his movement was so passionate that "thump" is the more appropriate word.He likes to feel the spine of the earth beneath him in fleeting summer landscapes.In his view, the solid oak root is the spine; in his hallucination, the oak root is like the back of a tall horse under his lap; It was solid and dependable, because his floating heart needed to lean on.It was a restless heart, and every day when he woke up in the dusk, all kinds of lusts were overwhelming in his heart.He put his mind on the oak tree and lay there flat. Gradually, the ups and downs in his heart and the turmoil around him subsided; the delicate leaves hung quietly on the tree, and the elk stood standing; Frozen; his legs became heavy on the ground; he lay motionless, the moose approached him step by step, the rooks flew around him, the swallows swooped down and circled him, the dragonflies swept by. And pass.All the passions of the summer evening seemed to weave a web around him.
About an hour later—the sun was sinking rapidly, the white clouds were turning into a red sunset glow, the hills were lavender, the trees were dark purple, and the valleys were dark and dim—there was a blast of horns.Orlando jumped to his feet.From that dark place in the valley came the exhilarating sound; a compact but well-organized place, like a labyrinth, like a town, surrounded by walls.The horn sounded from the depths of the valley where he lived.With the sound of trumpets and other melodious sounds, he saw that the dark valley was suddenly brightly lit.Some of the faint lights that moved in a hurry seemed to be the servants running down the corridor under the call of the master; others were bright and dazzling, as if the empty banquet hall was lit up to welcome the coming distinguished guests.There are also some lights flickering, as if the guards were holding lights in their hands, bowing respectfully, kneeling, getting up, welcoming and escorting a lady who just got off the carriage.Carriages came and went in the garden, and horses shook their feathered headdresses.The queen's holy carriage has arrived.
Orlando couldn't look any further, he rushed down the hill quickly, slipped into the manor through the side door, ran upstairs along the spiral staircase, and came to his room.He took off his stockings and threw them to one side of the room, then took off his vest and threw them to the other side of the room.He combed his hair, wiped his hands, and trimmed his nails.With a small mirror no larger than six inches, and a pair of well-worn candles, he put on crimson breeches, lace collar, taffeta waistcoat, and shoes embroidered with roses as large as Two dahlias.The accurate clock was not more than ten minutes past the time he finished dressing.When everything was ready, he flushed with excitement.However, he was still too late.
He ran to the banquet hall by the well-known shortcut, through a series of rooms and stairs.It's at the other end of the five-acre estate.But halfway through the run, passing the backyard where the servants lived, he stopped.The door of Mrs. Stucklet's sitting-room was open—she was not in the room herself, and had gone, no doubt, to attend to the mistress, and she must have had the keys with her.But there was a fat, poorly dressed man sitting at her dining table, with a beer mug in his hand and a piece of paper in front of him.He was wearing a brown tweed jacket with a dirty collar.He held a pen in his hand, but he didn't write anything, and he seemed to be racking his brains until he could form an idea that satisfied him and the writing impulse he wanted.His eyes are round and full of mist, like two emeralds with wonderful texture, staring at a certain place without moving.He did not see Orlando.But Orlando, who was walking in a hurry, stopped suddenly.Is this a poet?Is he writing poetry? "Tell me everything in the world," he wanted to say to the man.Because Orlando had the craziest, wildest, most outrageous ideas about poets and poetry—but how to talk to that man?He doesn't have you in his eyes, only ogres, satyrs, maybe only see the depths of the sea?Orlando stood there dumbfounded, seeing the man, concentrating, meditating, turning the pen back and forth between his fingers, and then, after writing a few lines quickly, raised his head.Orlando suddenly felt very embarrassed, so he ran away and rushed towards the banquet hall.Once there, just in time to salute Her Majesty, he ignorantly knelt and presented the Queen with a bowl filled with rosewater.
He was so shy that he saw nothing but the Queen's ringed hand as she plunged into the water.But that alone is enough.It was an unforgettable hand, slender and slender, with knuckles on long fingers like crown jewels or scepters of royal power.It was a nervous, grumpy, sick hand.It is also a majestic hand, and it only needs to be lifted slightly to bring a head to the ground.He guessed that this hand should grow on an old body, which is like a wardrobe that stores fur and smells like camphor.This body is wrapped in silk and satin, decorated with jewels.Although this body may endure the pain of the sciatic nerve, but its back is still straight; although it is full of fear, it never flinches.The queen's eyes are pale yellow.Orlando felt it all, he felt it all as he watched the great rings glisten in the water, and something pressed against his hair.Perhaps these feelings just showed that he did not see anything useful for historians.In fact, his mind was so confused by such contrasts—dark night and blazing candles, humble poet and noble queen, quiet fields and noisy servants—that he saw nothing; or , only saw one hand.
Likewise, the Queen only saw the top of Orlando's head.Yet if from one hand one can infer the whole body, and know all the qualities of the noble queen, her dominance, her courage, her frailties, her terrors, so too will this noble lady, when she looks down from her throne over Orlando's head. imagination.If the wax figure of Westminster Abbey is real, her eyes should always be wide open.The long curly hair on the dark head hanging low before her, so pious, so innocent, suggested that this noble boy had perfect legs, which always stood upright.He also has violet eyes.A heart of gold; loyal and masculine.All these fascinated the old woman, but with every fascination there was always a depression.Because she was old, tired, and yielded to fate.Her ears were filled with the sound of cannon, and all she saw were poison and swords gleaming with evil.When she sat at the table and listened, she could hear the guns of the English Channel.She was terrified—was that a curse?Or just whispering?Against this dark background, innocence and simplicity seemed very kind to her.It is said that that night, while Orlando was asleep, the queen pressed her handprint on the parchment document, stamped her seal, and officially transferred a large monastery to Orlando's father as a gift. This monastery once belonged to the archbishop and later became the royal family property.
Orlando slept soundly that night, not knowing it at all.The queen kissed him, and he didn't know it.A woman's heart is complicated, perhaps, because the moment the queen's lips touched his, he trembled unconsciously, causing the queen to leave her young cousin (they have a common blood) Impressed.At any rate, after less than two years of Orlando's quiet pastoral life, and after he had written less than two dozen tragedies, a dozen histories, and a dozen or so sonnets, he was ordered to serve the Queen at Whitehall. The decree is here.
The Queen watched Orlando walking towards her along the corridor, and said, "Here you are, my innocent child!" evil.)
"Come forward," she said.She sat upright by the fire.She made him stand a foot away from her and looked him up and down.Was she comparing the Orlando she had surmised that night with the real one in front of her?Did she find her guess reasonable?Eyes, mouth, nose, breasts, buttocks, hands—her lips moved visibly as she examined them.She laughed when she saw his legs.He perfectly fits the image of an aristocratic gentleman.But what about his heart?Her pale yellow eagle eyes rested on him menacingly, as if she wanted to see into his soul.Under her gaze, his face turned red, as red as a Damascena rose.Strength, grace, ignorance, romance, poetry and youth—he was clear to her at a glance.She immediately took off a ring from her finger (her knuckles were a little swollen), put it on his hand, and made him the royal treasurer and steward; Kneeling, he fastened the jeweled Order of the Garter at the thinnest point of his leg.Since then, he has been on a smooth journey.When Queen Majesty visited, he accompanied him on horseback.She sent him to Scotland to visit the unfortunate Queen of Scots.Just as he was about to leave for the Polish battlefield, she recalled him.Because, how could she bear the thought that his slender body would be riddled with holes and his curly hair would roll in the dust?She kept him with her.At the height of her power, when a salute came from the Tower of London, people cheered under the windows, and the thick gunpowder smoke in the air made people sneeze, she pulled him to hide in a pile of cushions, the maid They put it for her (she was so tired and old).She buried his face in the strange smell emanating from her—she hadn't changed her clothes in a month—it was the smell of the whole world, he thought, which brought back memories of his childhood, as if the house kept his mother. Old closet smell of leather.He stood up, almost smothered in her embrace. "I am the king!" She said in a low voice—at this moment, a rocket rose into the sky, and her cheeks were flushed red.
The old queen doted on him very much.It is said that the queen has a special vision and can see men at a glance.She arranged a grand and bright future for him.Give him land, give him a manor.He shall be her son in old age, her crutch in feeble body, and the great oak upon which she leans in old age.When she made promises to Orlando, when she gave him almost domineering tenderness, she always had a deep and hoarse voice, she was covered in silk and satin, and she sat upright by the fire, but no matter how hot the fire was, she never felt warmth.
In the meantime, the long winter still stops and lingers.The trees in the courtyard are covered with silver.The water in the small river is also slow and sluggish.One day, the snow covered the ground, the dark paneled room was full of shadows, and the hoaring of stags came from the courtyard. The queen saw a boy outside the door in the mirror-the mirror was her defense. Installed by a spy, the door was always open because she was afraid of the killer—could that boy be Orlando? --he was kissing a girl--what abominable, shameless flirt?She seized up the sword with the gold handle, and slammed it at the mirror, which shattered; and people came running to lift her up, and sat down again in her chair.She had been devastated since then, and went to the end of her life amidst constant nagging about men's treachery.
This may be Orlando's fault.But how can we blame him?It was the time of Queen Elizabeth, when the moral standards were different from ours, and the poets, the customs, and even the vegetables were different then.Everything is not what it used to be.As far as the climate is concerned, we may all believe that summers and winters feel differently hot and cold than they did back then.In those days, the gorgeous day and the passionate night were as distinct as the land and the river and the sea; of.At that time, sometimes it was cloudy and rainy, and sometimes it was dry and rainless.Sometimes the sun is hot, and sometimes it is cloudy.Poets are used to making this poetic, singing the withering of the rose and the withering of the petals.The singing time is short and fleeting, followed by a long sleepless night.People of that era would not have used greenhouses or greenhouses to artificially prolong or preserve the variegation of flowers.They won't understand that our age is no longer refined, no longer ambiguous, but more and more methodical and full of doubts.For them, passion is everything.The flowers bloom and wither, the sun rises and sets, and the loved one gets it and loses it again.What poets resort to lines, young people emulate in life.Girls are like roses, and their beauty is as short-lived as the flowering season.The flowers must be picked before the night falls, because the time is in a hurry and there is no time to wait.Therefore, if Orlando followed the fashion of the day, followed the poet's verse, and picked off the flowers that belonged to him on the windowsill, even if the ground was still covered with snow that day, and the vigilant queen witnessed the scene in the corridor, it would be difficult for us to feel sorry for him. He blamed it.He was still so young and full of childishness, just because of his temperament.As for the girl, we know no more about her than Queen Elizabeth, perhaps named Doris, Cross, Delia, or Diana, all of which appear successively in his poems.Likewise, she may have been a lady or maid at court.Because Orlando is very affectionate, he not only loves the flowers in the garden, but also is obsessed with wild flowers and weeds.
By this point we have revealed something of Orlando's eccentricity as mercilessly as any biographer might.His eccentricity may have come from one of his grandmothers, who wore a dungaree and carried a milk pail.The noble blue blood of Normandy that ran through him was mingled with particles of the brown soil of Kent and Sussex.He thinks this mix of brown soil with blue bloodlines is fine.What is certain is that he always liked the company of inferior people, especially those who were underappreciated and wise.He sympathizes with them.At this stage of his life, he was full of poetry, reciting good lines every night, and it was difficult to fall asleep.The cheeks of the innkeeper's daughter were fresher to him than those of court ladies, and the gamekeeper's niece was more intelligent to him.So he started frequenting the old Waping Steps and Beer Hall late at night.He was wearing a gray cloak, covering the necklace of power around his neck and the medal on his leg.There, there are gravel-paved paths, green sports fields, and the humble buildings that are typical of such places.With a wine glass in front of him, he listened to the stories of the sailors telling the stories of hardships and horrors they had experienced in the Spanish sea.Someone lost a toe, someone lost a nose.Oral stories are never raw, unlike written stories.He especially loved to hear them sing the folk songs of the Azores in unison, while the parrots they brought back from those places would come and peck at their earrings and tap the rings on their fingers with their hard and greedy beaks. Rubies, and imitating their masters with swearing.The chattering and unrestrained looks of the women are not inferior to these parrots at all.They sat on men's laps, put their arms around them, and wondered what unusual things they were hiding in their duffel coats, just as Orlando was eager to find out the truth.
Opportunities abound.The river was crowded with barges, sampans, and boats of all kinds from morning till night.Every day some large and well-made ship sails to the Indies.Occasionally, some dark broken ships slowly sailed into the port to berth with difficulty, and there were a few unkempt men of unknown origin standing on the deck.Boys and girls are often seen flirting by the water's edge after sundown; and it is not surprising to hear that they are sleeping with their arms around each other in piles of sacks full of treasures.Orlando, Su Ji and the Earl of Cumberland really had this kind of thing.It was a hot day, and the love between Orlando and Suki was very hot.In the end they both fell asleep soundly among a pile of rubies on board.Late at night, the Earl of Cumberland came alone with a lamp to inspect his treasure, which was mostly the spoils of his adventures in Spain.When the light shone on a large wooden barrel, he drew back in terror, cursing softly.Next to the barrel, two people were entangled with each other and fell asleep soundly.They were wrapped in a scarlet cloak, and Suki's breasts were like the never-melting snow of Orlando's poetry.The Earl of Cumberland was superstitious about ghosts and gods, and thought he had done a lot of evil, so he mistook the two men for the ghosts of sailors who died of drowning, and crawled out of the grave to ask him to settle accounts.He crossed himself on his chest and vowed to make amends.The row of simple houses on Sheen Road that survived to this day were built by the Earl of Cumberland in order to atone for his sins after that night of horror.Twelve poor old women in that parish drank tea by day and prayed for the Earl of Cumberland in the evening, thanking him for keeping them from sleeping in the streets.In fact, this should be attributed to the teenage girl and girl's affair in the treasure ship-if we don't get into moral issues.
Orlando, however, soon became bored, not only with the uncomfortable way of life and the crooked streets around him, but also with the ignorance of the people.We must remember that people in Elizabethan days were not as concerned with poverty and crime as we are today.They are not ashamed of reading like modern people, nor are they proud of being the sons of butchers, and regard illiteracy and ignorance as virtues like modern people.They do not imagine that we associate "life" and "reality" with ignorance and cruelty.In fact, they didn't even have an equivalent word for "stupid and cruel" at the time.Orlando is not in the bar to pursue "life", nor is it to stay away from the bar to explore "reality".When he heard people go on and on about how Jack lost his nose and Suki lost his virginity, he got a little tired of the retold stories, though he admitted they were good stories to tell.Because in his opinion, there is only one way to cut a nose, and there is only one way for a girl to lose her virginity, but art and science are rich and colorful, which can arouse his strong curiosity.So, he kept the happy time in the tavern in his memory, and stopped patronizing those beer halls and entertainment places. He hung the gray cloak back in the wardrobe, revealing the shining necklace on his neck and the shining medal on his knee, Reappeared in King James' palace.He is young, rich and handsome.The applause he got overwhelmed everyone.
Naturally, many women fell for him.At least three women had been engaged to him—Clorinda, Fivella, Euphrothine—as he called them in his sonnets.
And bring them all together.Clorinda was graceful and sweet; Orlando had been infatuated with her for six and a half months; but she had white eyelashes, and fainted at the sight of blood.The baked hare on her father's table made her faint.She was deeply influenced by the pastor and saved her underwear to give to the poor.She regards reforming Orlando and washing away his sins as her mission, which makes Orlando very disgusted.So he called off the engagement.She died of smallpox shortly thereafter, and he was not much saddened.
Next up is Fivela.She's a different type altogether.She was the daughter of a poor Somerset gentleman, and had risen to the upper ranks of court by her gallantry and sense of humor.Her equestrian rider attire, beautiful insteps and graceful dance steps, are quite appreciated in the court.But once, a spaniel tore Fivella's stockings (which, to be honest, were very few and mostly made of coarse wool), and she whipped the animal under the Orlando window without thinking. A dog that nearly killed it.Orlando is an avid animal lover. From then on, he noticed that Fivella's teeth were crooked and two front teeth grew inward, and he thought this symbolized a woman's stubborn and cruel character, so he broke off the engagement that night.
The third place is Euphroxin.She was the most heartfelt one he ever had.She was born into an Irish family of Desmonds, as old and deep-rooted as Orlando's family.She is beautiful and generous, with a ruddy complexion and a calm and dignified appearance.She speaks beautiful Italian.Although the lower teeth are a little yellow, the upper teeth are neat and perfect.There was always a little dog by her lap, sometimes a greyhound, sometimes a spaniel.She fed them white bread from her own plate, and sang sweet songs to the accompaniment of the virginal.She cherishes her body very much, and she always sleeps until noon before getting up to dress up.In short, she would be the perfect match for a nobleman like Orlando.They had gotten to the point where they were talking about marriage, and the lawyers for both sides were busy with the deeds of succession and transfer of property, houses and estates, and other things that had to be done when two wealthy families married.It was at this time that a severe freeze suddenly came, which was often the case in Britain at that time.
According to historians, that freeze was the worst ever experienced by the British Isles.The bird was frozen in mid-air and fell to the ground like a stone.In Norwich, a young village girl was seen walking on the road at the corner of the street. She was hit by a snowstorm, and she was pulverized in front of people's eyes, and she was lifted up to the roof like dust.Many cattle and sheep were frozen to death.The corpses were frozen to ice, and the sheets stuck to the corpses and could not be torn off.Don't be surprised if you see a large herd of pigs frozen in the middle of the road.There are shepherds, farmers, horses, and fowling boys everywhere frozen to death in lifelike poses, some with their hands to their noses, others with a bottle to their lips, and one holding a The stone was about to be hurled at a crow, which was sitting on the hedge within a yard of him, as if it was a stuffed animal.The freeze was so severe that petrification often occurred thereafter.Many people have speculated that the large increase in rocks in some parts of Derbyshire was not caused by volcanic eruptions, because there was no volcanic eruption, but some unfortunate passers-by were frozen into stones in situ.Although some owners of the land regard these stones as a gift from heaven, this has nothing to do with the church.Most people use stones as landmarks, or as rubbings for sheep to itch, or as drinking troughs for cattle, if the stones are properly shaped.Most of these stones are still used for these purposes today.
However, when people living in the countryside were suffering from extreme shortage of supplies and stalled trading among farmers, London was immersed in an extravagant and extravagant carnival and festive atmosphere.The royal palace is located in Greenwich, and the newly enthroned king wants to win the favor of the people through the coronation ceremony.He ordered that the frozen river, which was more than twenty feet thick and six or seven miles wide, be cleaned up, and decorated with pavilions, winding paths, promenades, and bars and lounges as a park or playground, all at the king's expense.Directly opposite the palace gates, he made a space for himself and his courtiers, enclosed by a ribbon and separated from the public.The place immediately became the center of English high society.Beneath the crimson canopy of the Royal Pagoda, bearded and hoop-collared politicians conduct business.Under the pergolas covered with ostrich feathers, soldiers plotted to conquer the Moors and defeat the Turks.The generals, holding wine glasses and pacing back and forth on the path, waved their arms and pointed to the distance, telling the story of the Northwest Passage and the Spanish Armada.Lovers flirt on daybeds covered in sable fur.Frozen roses rained down as the queen and her retinue walked out of the palace.Colorful balloons floated motionless in the air, and here and there were piles of cedar and oak bonfires, sprinkled with a lot of salt, and conjured green, orange, and purple flames.The ice is as hard as steel, but it is transparent, and no matter how hot the campfire is, it cannot melt it.From time to time, through the crystal clear ice, a porpoise, or a flounder, can be seen a few feet below the surface.Groups of eels stood motionless, falling into a lethargic state.但它们究竟是真死，还只是假死，待回暖后又会复苏，这个问题一直困扰着哲学家。在伦敦桥附近，河面冰冻厚达二十英寻，透过冰层可以清楚地看到河床上躺着一艘沉船，那原是一艘装满了苹果的船，因为超载，去年秋天沉入了河底。一位身披毛呢披肩、穿着宽大裙子的老妇人，正要乘这艘小贩船到对岸的苏里市场去，她的膝下堆满了苹果，看起来似乎正向一位客人兜售她的水果，但她发紫的嘴唇却说明了真相。这番景象是詹姆斯王特别喜欢的，他会带着一大群朝臣们一同观赏。一句话，日光下这番景象之美轮美奂是无与伦比的。但狂欢的气氛却是在夜晚才达到巅峰。冰天雪地的夜晚格外宁静，月亮和星星闪烁着宝石般幽冷的光芒，伴随着长笛和小号优美动听的音乐，群臣翩翩起舞。
奥兰多并不在那些脚步轻盈、跳着克兰特舞和沃塔舞的人群中，这是真的，因为他笨手笨脚，而且有点心不在焉。比起那些花哨的异国舞步，他更喜欢小时候经常跳的、自己家乡那种简朴的舞蹈。1月7日傍晚大约六点的时候，他刚跳完几曲四步舞和小步舞，就看见莫斯科公国大使馆的亭子那儿有个身影朝他这边过来，那人穿着宽松的俄罗斯风格的束腰上衣和长裤，难以分辨是男是女，他那强烈的好奇心被吊了起来。这位不知姓名也辨不清性别的人，中等身材，纤细苗条，一身牡蛎色的天鹅绒，镶着不同寻常的绿色羽毛。但这些琐碎细节在那人全身散发出的独特魅力映衬下，仍不免黯然失色。奥兰多的脑海里在三秒钟之内浮现出最荒诞离奇的意象和比喻，他把她称为甜瓜、菠萝、橄榄树，翡翠，或是雪狐。他弄不清楚自己是听到，还是品到，或看到过她，或兼而有之。（虽然我们的叙述不能在此停下来，但仍要匆匆补充说明一下，奥兰多此时的所有意象都很单纯，十分符合他的感觉，而这些感觉大多来自于他幼年时喜爱的口味。但正因为这些感觉很单纯，因此也十分强烈，使他难以冷静下来寻找原因。）……甜瓜、翡翠、雪狐——他就这般狂热地赞美着，目不转睛地凝视着。当那人几乎踮着脚尖从他身边一掠而过时，奥兰多懊恼得差点揪自己的头发，天哪，一定是个男孩——女孩滑冰不会如此敏捷有力。可如果是相同性别的话，那相拥而欢岂不成了无稽之谈。但那人又滑过来了。双腿、双手和姿态都像是男孩，但男孩不会有那样的双唇，也不会有那样的胸脯，男孩的眼睛也不会像大海深处的水那样湛蓝。此时，国王在侍从的搀扶下从一旁慢慢走过，那不知名的滑冰者终于停了下来，向国王行礼，仪态万方。她静静地站在那儿，与奥兰多近在咫尺。竟是女人。奥兰多凝视着她，他颤栗着，时而热血沸腾，时而手脚冰凉。他恨不得扑进夏日的怀抱，用脚把橡果踩得粉碎，用双臂缠绕榉树和橡树。他双唇微启，露出了精致的小白牙，似乎要咬什么，继而又双唇微合，似乎已经咬了一口。而此时，尤芙萝辛小姐正依偎在他的臂弯中。
他得知这位陌生女子是位公主，名叫玛萝莎·斯丹尼洛夫斯卡·达姬玛尔·娜达莎·依丽亚娜·罗曼诺维奇，莫斯科公国大使可能是她的叔父或父亲，她是随大使前来参加国王加冕礼的。人们对莫斯科大公国知之甚微，他们都蓄着浓密的胡须，戴皮帽，坐在那儿沉默寡言。他们喝着黑乎乎的饮料，又不时把它吐到冰上。他们都不说英文，虽然有人懂些法文，但当时英国宫廷中说法文的人又寥寥无几。
一次偶然的机会使奥兰多与公主相知相熟。在宴请达官贵族的招待会上，宽敞的遮篷下摆满了长桌，而他俩隔着一张桌子相对而坐。坐在公主两边的是两位年轻的贵族，一位是弗朗西斯·弗莱勋爵，另一位是年轻的莫雷伯爵。奥兰多饶有兴趣地看到，公主很快就使这两位年轻贵族狼狈不堪，虽然他们都很优秀，但他们懂的法语与年幼无知的孩子差不多。宴会一开始，公主转身用法语对伯爵说：“我认识一位你们家族的绅士，他显然去年夏天在波兰。”或，“英国王室里女士的美貌令我赞叹不已。没有女人比贵国的王后更优雅，也没有人的发型比她的更漂亮。”虽然公主说话时的优雅妩媚令人倾倒，但弗朗西斯勋爵和伯爵两人听罢显得尴尬万分。于是一人赶紧帮她盛调味汁，另一人吹口哨把狗唤来，逗着狗啃肉骨头。看到这情景，公主实在忍俊不禁，笑出声来。坐在对面的奥兰多，隔着餐桌上的野猪头和填满作料的孔雀，与公主的目光相遇，也大笑起来。但心中的疑惑使他的笑容凝滞住了。他心烦意乱地自问： 迄今为止，他爱过谁吗？他爱过什么吗？一位瘦得皮包骨的老妇人，不计其数的涂脂抹粉的娼妓，一位哭哭啼啼的修女，一位冷酷无情、言语刻薄的女探险家，一位毫无主见、只在乎婚纱婚礼的女子。爱情于他，恰如尘埃灰烬。所谓的快乐，他却觉得索然无味。他惊叹自己竟然对所经历的那一切毫不厌倦。当他看着公主，他身体里凝固的血液融化了，血管中的冰化为了美酒；他听到水在流淌，鸟在啁啾；春天来了，将冬天的萧瑟一扫而尽；他的男性豪壮之气苏醒了；他手握长剑；他向那些比波兰人和摩尔人更凶悍的敌人冲刺过去；他潜入水底；他看到了长在岩石裂缝中的邪恶之花；他伸出手去——事实是，他正构思着一首激情洋溢的十四行诗，就听到公主对他说，“请您把盐递过来，好吗？”他的脸涨得通红。
“十分荣幸，小姐，”他用一口纯正的法语回答道。感谢上苍，法语对他来说好似母语一般，是他母亲的女仆教会他的。然而，如果他从来不会说这种语言，从未回答过公主的问题，从未追寻过那双眼睛的光芒……或许对他来说更好。
公主继续问奥兰多，她身边坐着的这些举止粗俗的土老帽是谁？他们盛在她餐盘里那些乱七八糟、令人作呕的东西是什么？英国人都与狗同桌进餐吗？坐在长桌顶端、发型像五朔节花柱一样的滑稽女人，真的是王后吗？国王总是这样涎水肆流吗？那群花花公子中，哪一位是乔治·维利耶？这些问题起初令奥兰多略感不安，但她提问的方式既淘气又幽默，奥兰多忍不住开怀大笑。他看周围的人一脸茫然，就知道他们谁也没听懂。于是他回答她时也用纯正的法语，也像她那样口无遮拦。
就这样，他们两人建立了亲密的关系，并很快就在宫中闹得沸沸扬扬。
人们不久就注意到，奥兰多对这位莫斯科女人的关注远远超出了礼貌的要求。他与她几乎形影不离，他们之间的谈话虽然别人听不懂，但见两人聊得兴致勃勃，脸上泛着红晕，且笑声不断，最愚钝的人也能猜出他们在谈什么。而且，奥兰多本人的变化也非同寻常。人们从未见他如此兴高采烈，他那种孩子气的笨拙在一夜之间消失殆尽，从一个郁郁寡欢、一进女人房间就把桌上的首饰碰翻在地的小伙子，变成了一位风度优雅、谦恭有礼的绅士。他把那莫斯科女人（人们如此称呼她）搀扶上她的雪橇，或伸出手来邀请她跳舞，或接住她有意掉下来的斑点花纹纱巾，或遵从这位高贵女人的吩咐去做其他各种杂事，凡此种种，他都像情人那样殷勤周到。看着这些情景，老年人呆滞浑浊的眼睛放出了光芒，年轻人也心跳加速。然而，乌云笼罩了这一切。老年人摇头，年轻人窃笑，大家都知道奥兰多已另有婚约。玛格丽特·奥布莱恩·奥黛尔·奥瑞利·泰尔康奈尔勋爵小姐（这是奥兰多十四行诗中的那位尤芙萝辛小姐的全名）的左手中指上戴着奥兰多送她的那枚闪闪发光的蓝宝石戒指呢。按说她才有权得到奥兰多的呵护。然而她即便把衣橱里（她有很多衣橱）所有的手巾都掉在冰面上，奥兰多也不会弯腰去拾。她若要他把她扶上雪橇，起码得等上二十分钟，而最终不得不屈尊，由自己的黑人家仆来服侍。她滑冰的时候姿态笨拙，没有人在身旁为她鼓劲，跌倒后也没人扶她站起来，为她掸去衬裙上的雪花。虽然她天性稳重，很少动怒，更不愿像大多数人那样，相信区区一个外国女人就能夺走奥兰多对她的爱。但最终，即便她本人也开始怀疑，她那宁静的心境即将被什么东西摧毁了。
的确，随着时间的推移，奥兰多对于自己的情感越发不加掩饰。他会找些借口，离开正准备聚餐的朋友们，或当一组人正准备在冰上跳四方舞的时候，他会借机溜走。人们旋即会发现，那莫斯科女人也消失了踪影。但最令宫廷感到恼怒的，是他们不顾宫廷的颜面，而虚荣心是宫廷的最敏感处。人们常常看到这对男女悄悄越过河面上那条分隔皇家区域和百姓区域的丝带，遁迹于茫茫人海中。因为公主会突然跺着脚大声说：“带我离开这儿，我讨厌你们英国这些乌合之众，”她此处指的是英国宫廷。她已经忍无可忍了，她说，宫廷中到处是盯着别人的脸、热衷于窥探隐私的老妇人，到处是自以为是、只会踩别人脚的男人。他们身上散发出难闻的气味。他们的狗竟然在她的双腿间穿梭奔跑。在宫廷里就好似被囚禁于笼子中。而在俄罗斯，河面足有十里之宽，六匹马可以并驾齐驱，跑上整整一天也见不到一个生灵。况且，她还想看看伦敦塔、皇家卫队、伦敦城门前悬挂的人头，还有城区的珠宝店。于是，奥兰多带着她来到城区，看了皇家卫队和悬挂在城门口的叛逆者首级，在皇家交易市场为她买了所有她喜欢的东西。但这还不够，两人都越来越想整日相伴，私下相守，远离那些少见多怪、有窥视癖的人们。于是，他们没有走那条回伦敦的路，而是另外择路，很快就远离了冰封的泰晤士河面上熙熙攘攘的人群。一路上除了海鸟和一位乡村老妇外，他们再没遇见一个人。那乡村老妇试图在冰上凿洞取水，或拣一些树枝和枯叶用来生火，但却徒劳无望。穷人只能守着自己的穷窝，稍富裕些的人，只要条件允许，都挤到城里去取暖享乐了。
孩提时的俄罗斯公主
于是，这河面便归奥兰多和萨莎独自享用了。萨莎是奥兰多对她的昵称，这也是他小时候喂养的一只俄罗斯小白狐的名字。那小家伙雪白柔软，牙齿却坚硬如钢。有一次它凶狠地咬了奥兰多一口，为此，父亲叫人把它给杀了。奥兰多和萨莎两人因为滑冰，也因为爱情，浑身燥热，就在荒芜的岸边躺了下来，沿岸长着一排黄柳。奥兰多裹着一件皮大氅，把萨莎搂在怀里，对她轻声说道，这是他第一次体验到爱情的喜悦。当爱的狂风骤雨过后，他俩心醉神迷地躺在冰面上，他把自己的风流往事告诉她，那些女子与她相比，简直就是木头、粗布、炭渣。他的激情洋溢逗得她哈哈大笑，她再次投入他的怀抱中，并给了他充满爱意的拥抱。随后，他们惊叹身下的冰并未因他们情感的炙热而融化，怜悯那穷苦的老妇人不能用这种自然的方法来融冰，只能用冰冷坚硬的斧子来刨冰。后来，他俩裹着黑貂皮大氅，沐浴在阳光下，海阔天空地聊了起来，聊风景和旅游；摩尔人和异教徒；某位男人的胡须和某位女子的皮肤；她如何喂一只蹲在桌上的老鼠吃食；他家里客厅中的挂毯如何总是不停地摆动；一张面孔；一根羽毛；他们聊的话题不分巨细，无所不谈。
随后，奥兰多那郁郁寡欢的情绪忽然又来了。也许是那老妇人在冰上蹒跚而行的景象引起的。也许是无端而起。他脸朝下扑倒在冰面上，目光透过冰冻的河水，想到了死亡。有位哲学家说得对，快乐与忧愁之间仅纤毫之距，他还说，二者如同孪生兄弟。由此推论，一切情感的终极就是几近疯狂。因此，他恳求我们到真正的教会去寻求慰藉（他认为重洗派教会是真正的教会）。他说，对于颠簸于茫茫苦海的人来说，那里就是停泊的唯一港湾。
“万物的归宿都是死亡，”奥兰多坐直了身子，忧心忡忡地说。（悠忽转念间，从生想到死，从死想到生，两者之间的转换没有停顿，此时他的大脑就是这样运转的。因此传记作者也不能停下来，必须跟上他思维的迅疾飞跃，跟上他那种不假思索的激情澎湃的举止，以及脱口而出的惊世骇俗的言辞。毋庸置疑，奥兰多目前正处于这样的人生阶段。）
“万物的归宿都是死亡，”奥兰多笔直地坐在冰上，说道。但萨莎毕竟不是英国血统，她是俄罗斯人，那里的黄昏更长，黎明也姗姗来迟，人们说话时为了斟酌如何更好地结尾而常常半吞半吐。萨莎一声不响地盯着他，也许还带点嘲讽之意，因为他在她眼里一定像个孩子似的。最后，他们身下的冰变得越来越冷，她可不喜欢这样，于是就拉奥兰多站起身来。她说话是那么迷人，妙趣横生，机智幽默，以至于奥兰多忘记了冰冻的河水和夜幕的降临，忘记了那位老妇人和其他所有事情（遗憾的是，她总是说法语，而谁都知道，一旦翻译成英文，便会风趣殆失）。奥兰多想告诉她，他是如何形容她的。可当他潜心寻觅意象时，那成千上万个意象却都是形容一般女人的陈词滥调，白雪、奶油、大理石、樱桃、雪花石膏、金丝带？都不配形容她。她就像一只狐狸，或一棵橄榄树；就像从高处俯瞰的大海波涛；就像翡翠；就像没有云遮雾绕的青翠山峦上那一轮红日——她与他在英国所见所知的一切都不同。他苦思冥想，却无从寻觅合适的语言和辞藻。他想用另一种语言，来形容独特的景象。用英语来描绘萨莎，太直接、太坦白，也太甜腻。因为无论她看起来有多么开朗、多么性感，她的言辞总有弦外之音。无论她举止多么坦荡，却总让人觉得有什么深藏不露的东西。因此，绿色火焰似乎隐藏在翡翠里，一轮红日被掩映在山峦中。清澈明朗的只是外表，内心则燃烧着不安分的火苗，它起伏不定，来去无常，她身上从未有一丝英国女人的持重——想到这里，奥兰多想起了玛格丽特勋爵小姐和她的衬裙。就这样，奥兰多带着萨莎在冰上疯狂地滑行，越滑越快，他发誓要追逐火焰，要潜入深水觅宝，等等。他气喘吁吁地说着，满含激情，就像一个诗人，他那被痛苦压抑着的诗句，一下子喷涌而出。
但萨莎沉默不语。当奥兰多对她说，她像狐狸，橄榄树，或青翠山峦，向她讲述他的整部家史，说他家的房子是不列颠最古老的庄园，他的家族原来住在恺撒统治下的罗马，那时他们可以乘坐饰满流苏的轿辇行走在科索大街上（科索大街是罗马的主干道），他说这是唯有皇家血统的人才享有的特权（他有点飘飘然地沾沾自喜）。他会停下来问她，她的家在哪里？她父亲是干什么的？她有兄弟吗？为何独自与叔父在一起？虽然她都轻描淡写地回答了他，但不知怎么，他们彼此都觉得有些别扭。奥兰多起初怀疑也许她的地位并不像看上去的那样高贵；抑或她羞愧于自己同胞的举止野蛮，因为他听说莫斯科公国的女人都长有胡须，男人腰部以下都以皮毛遮体；男男女女都在周身抹上动物油脂，以御严寒；用手撕肉吃；居住的小屋在英国贵族看来连牲口棚都不如。于是，他忍住了，没有追问她。但细想起来，他断定她的缄默不是因为这些原因。因为她自己的下颏很光洁，她穿着天鹅绒的衣服，戴着珍珠项链，举手投足完全不像是出自牲口棚的女人。
那么，她究竟向他隐瞒了什么呢？在他对她的强烈情感中，隐隐有一丝疑惑，那疑惑好似纪念碑底座下的流沙，在转瞬流逝间足以撼动整个建筑。他突然觉得痛苦万分，继而大发雷霆，弄得她不知该如何让他平静下来。也许她并没想平息他的愤怒，因为他发火的样子很讨人喜欢，所以她反而有意纵容他——这是莫斯科大公国人的怪癖。
接着讲我们的故事。那天他们比往常滑得远些，滑到了船只抛锚的那片河域，在那一艘艘被冻在河中央的船只中，就有俄罗斯大公国使团的船。双头黑鹰旗在它的主桅杆上迎风飞舞，桅杆上挂着的五彩缤纷的冰柱足有几码长。萨莎有几件衣裳忘在了船上，他们猜想船上可能没人，就爬上甲板去找衣裳。奥兰多还记得自己过去在船舱里做的那些风流事，因此倘若有人捷足先登了这块风水宝地，他也不会感到惊讶。事实果不其然。他们没走多远，就有一个漂亮的小伙子从一大卷缆绳后面冒了出来，不知他刚才躲在那儿干什么。他说自己是位船员——这显然没错，因为他说的是俄语。他说他可以帮公主找到她要的东西。他点燃了一截蜡烛，和她一起消失在甲板下的船舱里。
时间一点点过去，奥兰多沉浸在自己的梦里，满脑子想的都是生活中的开心事，他的珍爱，她的可贵，以及如何使她无怨无悔、难舍难分地为他所拥有。这需要克服障碍和困难，因为她铁了心要生活在俄罗斯，那儿有冰封的河流，狂野的骏马，她还说，那儿的男人们相互厮杀，一剑封喉。说实话，那种苍松白雪的景致，那种放荡凶残的习性，对他来说毫无吸引力。他不想这么快就结束他的乡村生活，健健身、种种树，悠闲自得。他也不想辞职，毁了自己的前途。不想为了猎射驯鹿而放弃野兔，为了伏特加而放弃加那利白葡萄酒，也不想在袖口里悄悄藏一柄刀——对此他百思不得其解。但为了她，这一切他都会去做，甚至做得更多。至于他和玛格丽特小姐的婚礼，尽管已经定在一周后的今天举行，但这显然太不可思议了，他都懒得去想它。她的家人会责骂他抛弃了一位尊贵的女子；他的朋友会嘲笑他为了一个哥萨克女人和茫茫雪野，而毁了世界上最美好的前程。然而这一切与萨莎本人相比，简直轻如鸿毛。一旦月黑风高的夜晚降临，他们将远走高飞。他们将乘船去俄罗斯。他是这样想的。他一边在甲板上踱来踱去，一边在心里谋划着。
圣保罗大教堂十字架上的那一轮橙红的落日，突然唤醒了他。它血红血红的，正迅速西沉。必定已是黄昏时分，萨莎已经去了一个多小时了。他猛然涌起一种不祥的预感，原本对她的坚定信任被蒙上了阴影。他一头钻进船舱，沿着他目睹他们消失的方向找去。他在黑暗中磕磕碰碰地穿行于大箱子和大木桶之间。在一个角落里有一点昏暗的亮光，他意识到他们两人就坐在那里。在一秒钟之内，他预见到他将会看到什么样的情景。他会看到萨莎坐在那水手的大腿上，看到她朝他俯下身去，看到他们搂抱在一起。那一星亮光被他的愤怒幻化成了一团火红的云。他爆发出一声痛苦的嚎叫，整艘船中都回荡着他的怒吼。萨莎冲过来挡在两个男人之间，否则不等那水手抽出刀来，就已被奥兰多掐死了。这时，一阵撕心裂肺的恶心向奥兰多袭来，他们只好扶他躺在地板上，给他灌白兰地，好让他清醒过来。渐渐地，他缓了过来，在甲板上的一堆麻袋上坐起身来，萨莎在他身边安抚着，她那轻柔摇曳的身姿，在他仍然晕眩的眼前晃动，仿佛一只狐狸，刚咬了他一口，现在又来甜言蜜语地哄他，责怪他，以至于他怀疑自己刚才所看到的是否真实。也许是烛光摇曳不定，也许是暗影憧憧？她说，箱子太沉了，他是在帮她搬箱子。奥兰多有一刻相信了她——谁能肯定那些他最怕看到的情景不是他的愤怒所臆造出来的呢？但随即他又为她的谎言而变得更加狂怒。萨莎的脸色苍白，她在甲板上直跺脚，说她作为罗曼诺夫家族的女人，如果竟躺在一个普通水手的怀中，那她就向她的神祈求，让她今晚就死去。的确，看着这两人在一起（他几乎不愿去看），一位如此娇弱的女子竟然被一个毛茸茸的、海里的畜生玩弄于股掌之中，这般不堪的想象令奥兰多怒不可遏。那水手身材高大，不穿鞋身高也有六英尺四，耳朵上戴着俗气的金属耳环，看上去就像一匹拉货的大马，鹪鹩和知更鸟在飞行途中会落在它背上栖息。于是，奥兰多不再坚持，他相信了她，并祈求她原谅。然而，当他们重归于好，亲亲热热走向船舷的时候，萨莎手扶舷梯停下了脚步，回头对那个长着黄褐色宽脸的怪物说了一串俄语，是客套，还是玩笑，亦或是打情骂俏，奥兰多一个字也听不懂。但她语调里含有的某种东西（也许是俄语辅音造成的）使奥兰多想起了几天前那个晚上的情景： 他撞见她偷偷躲在角落里啃一截蜡烛头，那是她从地上捡起来的。没错，那蜡烛是粉红色的，镀了金，而且曾在国王桌上用过，但它毕竟是牛油做的，而她竟然用嘴去啃。奥兰多一边扶她走下船，来到冰面上，一边思忖，也许她并不高贵，带有农夫与生俱来的那种粗鄙？他幻想她到四十岁时会变得臃肿不堪，没精打采，尽管她此时纤细如芦苇，欢快如云雀。然而，他心中的这些疑虑在他们滑向伦敦的途中又烟消云散了，他觉得自己好像被一条大鱼钩住了鼻子，在水中扑腾，既不甘心，又无可奈何。
那是一个美得惊人的黄昏。夕阳西下，火红的晚霞将伦敦所有圆圆的和尖尖的屋顶、塔楼和山峰都映衬得黛色朦胧。这边是查林街的浮雕十字架；那边是圣保罗大教堂的穹顶；再过去是方方正正的伦敦塔群楼；那好似落尽了树叶、只剩顶端树疙瘩的树丛，是伦敦城门前的长矛上戳着的人头。此刻，西敏寺的窗口亮起了烛光，（在奥兰多的幻觉里）宛若天国五彩斑斓的屏障；西边的天空仿佛一扇金色的窗户，有一群天使在天梯上不停地上下穿梭（这仍是奥兰多的幻觉）。他和萨莎两人似乎一直在向天空的幽深之处滑行，冰变得如此湛蓝，像玻璃一般光滑，他们越滑越快，直奔城里而去，白色的海鸥绕着他们飞旋，它们的翅膀在空气中划过，恰似他们两人的冰鞋在冰上掠过。
萨莎比往日更加温柔，也更兴高采烈，好似为了消除奥兰多的疑虑。她很少谈论自己的过去，但此刻她告诉他，在俄罗斯的冬日里，她会聆听狼的嗥叫声响彻大草原，她还模仿了三声狼嗥。于是，他也讲给她听家乡雪地里牡鹿的故事，牡鹿们在雪地里迷路后，会跑进屋里避寒，有位老人从木桶里舀稀饭喂它们。她听后就称赞他，说他热爱动物，有侠义精神，还赞美他的双腿。奥兰多被她夸得飘飘然，想到自己竟然污蔑她，幻想她坐在一个普通水手的膝上，到四十岁时身材臃肿、无精打采，不禁羞愧难当。他对她说，他找不到任何词藻足以赞美她，然而，她会使他立即联想到春天、绿草和奔腾的河水。他把她的手抓得更紧了，带着她旋转，绕了半个河面的大圈，那些海鸥和鸬鹚也随着他们盘旋飞舞。最后，他们停了下来，上气不接下气，她微微喘着气对他说，他就像一棵圣诞树，树上点亮着成千上万支蜡烛（他们俄罗斯的圣诞树就是如此），悬挂着黄色的小球；熠熠发光；能照亮整条大街。（人们可以把这理解为）他那光彩照人的双颊、深色的卷发、黑红相间的大氅，使他看上去好似内心燃着一盏灯，自内而外散发着流光溢彩。
所有的色彩都在转瞬间消褪，唯独奥兰多双颊的红晕仍在。夜幕降临了。那一抹橙色的夕阳不见了，取而代之的是火把、篝火和油灯放出的光，这些白得瘆人的光把河面照得通明，一切都发生了最奇异的变化。那些教堂和贵族们的邸宅仿佛悬在空中一般，因为其正面的白色岩石只看得见一些沟沟壑壑。特别是圣保罗大教堂，只剩下一个镀金的十字架，其余都看不见了。西敏寺则灰暗得宛如一片树叶的形骸。所有一切都变得形销骨立。当他们两人快滑到举办庆典的场地时，耳边传来低沉的声音，好似音叉敲出的低音，这声音越来越响，直至变成一片喧嚣。伴随着火箭升空，欢呼声此起彼伏。渐渐地，他们能够看清有一些小小的身影从熙熙攘攘的人群中冲出来，在河面上旋转，一会儿旋到这儿，一会儿又旋到那儿，仿佛河面上飞舞的小虫。黑黢黢的冬夜像一只漆黑的碗，扣在这灯火通明的圈子上。于是千姿百态的焰火升腾而起，打破了黑暗： 有五彩缤纷的火箭，新月，蟒蛇和王冠，为了使人们喜出望外、惊喜连连，每次焰火燃起之前都要有所间歇。树木和远山一会儿现出夏日般的青翠，一会儿又陷入冬日的幽暗。
此刻，奥兰多和公主已经快到皇家圈出的那块领地了，却被一大群人挡住了去路。那群人已经大胆地逼近了划分界限的丝带。他俩不愿意就这样结束私密时刻，去面对那些人审视他们的锐利目光，于是两人混在人群中踌躇不前，周围都是学徒、裁缝、渔家女、马贩子、骗子、饥肠辘辘的读书人、围着披肩的女仆、卖柑橘的姑娘、马夫、神情严肃的公民、一脸猥亵的酒保，还有一群衣衫褴褛的孩子，总是凑在人多的地方，大声尖叫，并在人们的脚边乱跑——伦敦街头的三教九流都汇聚在此了，他们打打闹闹，挤挤撞撞，掷骰子玩，算命，推推搡搡，挠痒逗乐，小偷小摸。有人哄堂大笑，有人愁眉苦脸；有人哈欠连天，有人则如同房顶上的寒鸦般虔诚肃敬；有人穿裘皮和厚呢料衣服，有人则破衣烂衫，脚上缠着破布，才不致直接踩在冰上。各种穿戴装扮显示了各色人等不同的财富和地位。在一个类似我们如今上演《庞奇与朱迪》的亭子或戏台对面，大多数人都挤在那里。台上正在上演一出戏。一个黑人挥舞着胳膊大发雷霆，一个身穿白衣的女子躺在床上。尽管那戏台很简陋，演员踩着搭起的梯子上下戏台，有时会跌跌绊绊的，观众们又是跺脚又是吹口哨，看得厌烦时就会剥一只橘子，把橘子皮扔到冰面上，逗着狗追逐嬉戏。但那宛若音乐一般奇妙婉转的台词曲调却令奥兰多怦然心动。那些台词连珠炮似的急速迸射而出，使他想起了在瓦平花园酒吧里唱歌的水手们，即便台词空洞无聊，对于他来说也似烈酒一般。时不时会有一句台词掠过冰面朝他扑面而来，把他的心彻底击碎。戏台上那摩尔人的狂怒似乎就是他自己的狂怒，当那摩尔人把那女人掐死在床上时，就如同他用自己的双手杀死了萨莎。
戏终于演完了。一切陷于黑暗之中。眼泪顺着他的面颊流淌下来，他仰望天空，却仍是黑茫茫一片。他想，毁灭与死亡笼罩了一切。人生的尽头是坟墓。昆虫终会把我们吞噬殆尽。
就在他吟诵的时候，他的脑海里升起了一颗苍白的星星。夜色正浓，漆黑一片，而这正是他们所期盼的黑夜。他记得清清楚楚，他们正是打算在这样的黑夜远走高飞。时机已到。他一阵冲动，把萨莎一把搂过来，在她耳边“嘘”了一声，说“我的生命之日”。这是他俩的暗号。他们将于午夜时分在布莱克弗雷尔附近的一家客栈汇合。备好的快马会等在那儿，万事俱备，只待他们远走高飞。于是，他们各自回自己的帐篷，分头准备去了。他们还需要一个小时的时间。
离午夜还早，奥兰多却已等候在那里。夜黑如墨，伸手不见五指，对他们十分有利，但四周死寂般的静谧，马蹄声和婴儿的啼哭声能传出半英里远。奥兰多在院子里踱来踱去的时候，还真听到了马蹄踩在鹅卵石地面上发出的缓慢均匀的蹄声，还有女人衣裙的窸窣声，颇令他提心吊胆。不过那些行路人只是夜归的生意人，或附近某个不干正经事的女人。待他们走过后，街上比先前更寂静了。这时，在城市贫民居住的那些窄小拥挤的房子里，灯光从楼下移到了楼上的卧室，不一会儿就一盏接一盏地熄灭了。城郊地带大多街灯阑珊，而且巡夜人又玩忽职守，因此，距黎明到来还有很久的时候，就早已油尽灯灭了。夜便愈发黑沉沉了。奥兰多察看了自己那盏灯的灯芯，检查了马鞍和肚带，给手枪装满火药，又仔细查看了枪套；他把这些事反复做了十几遍，直至完全放心才罢。虽然离午夜还有二十几分钟，他也不愿到客栈的大堂里去等。客栈的老板娘此时还在侍候几名海员，他们喝着廉价的加纳利葡萄酒，轮流唱着小曲，讲述德雷克、霍金斯和格伦威尔的故事，直至从椅子上翻滚下来，身子蜷成一团，在泥地上酣然入睡。对于奥兰多那颗充满激情、疯狂跳动的心来说，黑夜也许更善解人意。他侧耳聆听着每一声脚步，揣测着每一种声响。那些醉醺醺的叫喊声，还有那些因分娩或其他病痛而发出的哀号声，每一声都似乎是他此番冒险的不祥之兆，令他心中充满悲悯。但对于萨莎，他却并不担心。以她的勇敢，这种冒险不算什么。她会穿着一身男子装束，披风、马
孩提时的俄罗斯公主