TO THE LIGHTHOUSEeyes with his hand: “They will have landed,”and she felt that she had been right. He said[%]exactly what she had said.They had not neededto speak. They had been thinking the samethings and he had answered her without herasking him anything. He stood there [∧]as ifhewerespreadinghis hands over all the weakness and suffering ofmankind; she thought he was surveying, toler-antly, [∧]andcompassionately, their final destiny. Nowhe has crowned the occasion, she thought, whenhis hand slowly fell, as if she had seen him letfall from his great height a wreath of violets andasphodels which, fluttering slowly, lay at lengthupon the earth.

Quickly, as if she were recalled by somethingover there, she turned to her canvas. There it was—her picture. Yes, with all its green and blues,its lines running up and across, its attempt atsomething. It would be hung in the attics, shethought; it would be destroyed. But what didthat matter? she asked herself, taking up herbrush again. She looked at the steps; they wereempty; she looked at her canvas; it was blurred.With a sudden intensity, as if she saw it clear for asecond, she drew a line there, in the centre. Itwas done; it was finished. Yes, she thought,laying down her brush [∧]in extremefatigue, I have had my vision.THE END322
Resize Images  

Select Pane

Berg Materials

View Pane