"DjunaBarnes-LadiesAlmanack" - читать интересную книгу автора (Barnes Djuna)

her Satisfaction, thus ending it for both, in one way or another."
"It is not enough," said Lady Buck-and-Balk. "Think how tender are the Hearts of
Women, at their toughest! One small Trickle of Blood on that dear Torso (and
here she starved toward her choice) and I should be less than any Man! And I
dare say Tilly would be as distracted were she to perceive in me one Rib gone
astray, or one Wrist most horribly bleeding! Nay, we could never come to a
Killing, for women have not, like brutal Man," she concluded, "and Death between
them, but Pity only, and a resuscitating Need! Like may not spit Like, nor
Similarity sit in Inquest upon Similarity!"
"I could do it with most disconcerting Ease," said Dame Musset, "but then there
is in me no Wren's Blood or Trepidation. Why should a Woman be un-spit? Love of
Woman for Woman should increase Terror. I see that so far it does not. All is
not as it should be!"
"Ah never, never, never," sighed a soft Voice, and the trio thus became aware of
that touch of Sentiment known as Masie Tuck-and-Frill, erstwhile Sage-femme but
now, because of the Trend of the Times, lamentably out of a Job, though it was
said, nothing could cure her of her Longing, for though she was called to no
Beds, but those of Sisters mingled in the Bond of no Relativity, nevertheless
looked with a hoping Eye between the Sheets, and put a loving Hand at the Crook
of every Arm, and between the Knees, though she found nothing ever requiring
Attention, nor any small Voice saying "Where am I?" she still cherished a fond
Delusion that in one Way or another, the Pretties would yet whelp a little
Sweet, by fair Means or foul, and was heard in many a dim Corridor admonishing a
Love of nine Months not to overtake her strength, and to be particularly careful
not to slip in going down Stairs. "For", as she said, "Creation has ever been
too Marvellous for us to doubt of it now, and though the Medieval way is still
thought good enough, what is to prevent some modern Girl from rising from the
Couch of a Girl as modern, with something new in her Mind? To stick to the old
Tradition is Credulity, and Credulity has been worn to a Thread. A Feather", she
said, "might accomplish it, or a Song rightly sung, or an Exclamation said in
the right Place, or a Trifle done in the right Spirit, and then you would have
need of me indeed!" and here she began to sing the first Lullaby ever cast for a
Girl's Girl should she one day become a Mother. And with this as a Preface,
every Woman of every sort, found her Everywhere. So it was that the Three saw
her sitting among the Cushions sewing a fine Seam, and saying in the Wistful,
lost Voice of those with a Trade too tender for Oblivion, "Women are a little
this side of Contemplation, their Love has the Poignancy of all lost Tension.
Men are too early, Women too tardy, and Religion too late for Religion.
"Love in Man is Fear of Fear. Love in Woman is Hope without Hope. Man fears all
that can be taken from him, a Woman's Love includes that, and then Lies down
beside it. A Man's love is built to fit Nature. Woman's is a Kiss in the Mirror.
It is a Farewell to the Creator, without disturbing him, the supreme Tenderness
toward Oblivion, Battle after Retreat, Challenge when the Sword is broken. Yea,
it strikes loudly on the Heart, for thus she gives her Body to all unrecorded
Music, which is the Psalm."
"You speak, " said Dame Musset, turning a charmed Eye upon her, "in the Voice of
one who should be One of Us!"
"I speak", said Masie Tuck-and-Frill, "in that Voice which has been accorded
ever to those who go neither Hither nor Thither; the Voice of the Prophet. Those
alone who sit in one Condition, their Life through, know what the plans were,