[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第12部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


rather　fiercely；　as　if　she　were　a　gayplumed；　mischievous　
bird；　who　might　light　on　the　topmost　bough　and　pick　off　
the　ruddiest　cherry；　without　any　warning。　Two　women　
less　like　each　other　could　scarcely　be　imagined；　Ralph　

thought；　looking　from　one　to　the　other。　Next　moment；　he　
too；　rose；　and　nodding　to　Mary；　as　Katharine　said　goodbye；　
opened　the　door　for　her；　and　followed　her　out。　

Mary　sat　still　and　made　no　attempt　to　prevent　them　
from　going。　For　a　second　or　two　after　the　door　had　shut　
on　them　her　eyes　rested　on　the　door　with　a　straightforward　
fierceness　in　which；　for　a　moment；　a　certain　degree　
of　bewilderment　seemed　to　enter；　but；　after　a　brief　hesitation；　
she　put　down　her　cup　and　proceeded　to　clear　away　
the　teathings。　

The　impulse　which　had　driven　Ralph　to　take　this　action　
was　the　result　of　a　very　swift　little　piece　of　reasoning；　
and　thus；　perhaps；　was　not　quite　so　much　of　an　impulse　
as　it　seemed。　It　passed　through　his　mind　that　if　he　missed　
this　chance　of　talking　to　Katharine；　he　would　have　to　
face　an　enraged　ghost；　when　he　was　alone　in　his　room　
again；　demanding　an　explanation　of　his　cowardly　indecision。　
It　was　better；　on　the　whole；　to　risk　present　disfiture　
than　to　waste　an　evening　bandying　excuses　and　
constructing　impossible　scenes　with　this　unpromising　
section　of　himself。　For　ever　since　he　had　visited　the　

76　



Virginia　Woolf　

Hilberys　he　had　been　much　at　the　mercy　of　a　phantom　
Katharine；　who　came　to　him　when　he　sat　alone；　and　answered　
him　as　he　would　have　her　answer；　and　was　always　
beside　him　to　crown　those　varying　triumphs　which　were　
transacted　almost　every　night；　in　imaginary　scenes；　as　he　
walked　through　the　lamplit　streets　home　from　the　office。　
To　walk　with　Katharine　in　the　flesh　would　either　feed　
that　phantom　with　fresh　food；　which；　as　all　who　nourish　
dreams　are　aware；　is　a　process　that　bees　necessary　
from　time　to　time；　or　refine　it　to　such　a　degree　of　thinness　
that　it　was　scarcely　serviceable　any　longer；　and　that；　
too；　is　sometimes　a　wele　change　to　a　dreamer。　And　
all　the　time　Ralph　was　well　aware　that　the　bulk　of　Katharine　
was　not　represented　in　his　dreams　at　all；　so　that　when　he　
met　her　he　was　bewildered　by　the　fact　that　she　had　nothing　
to　do　with　his　dream　of　her。　

When；　on　reaching　the　street；　Katharine　found　that　Mr。　
Denham　proceeded　to　keep　pace　by　her　side；　she　was　
surprised　and；　perhaps；　a　little　annoyed。　She；　too；　had　
her　margin　of　imagination；　and　tonight　her　activity　in　
this　obscure　region　of　the　mind　required　solitude。　If　she　

had　had　her　way；　she　would　have　walked　very　fast　down　
the　Tottenham　Court　Road；　and　then　sprung　into　a　cab　and　
raced　swiftly　home。　The　view　she　had　had　of　the　inside　of　
an　office　was　of　the　nature　of　a　dream　to　her。　Shut　off　up　
there；　she　pared　Mrs。　Seal；　and　Mary　Datchet；　and　Mr。　
Clacton　to　enchanted　people　in　a　bewitched　tower；　with　
the　spiders’　webs　looping　across　the　corners　of　the　room；　
and　all　the　tools　of　the　necromancer’s　craft　at　hand；　for　so　
aloof　and　unreal　and　apart　from　the　normal　world　did　they　
seem　to　her；　in　the　house　of　innumerable　typewriters；　
murmuring　their　incantations　and　concocting　their　drugs；　
and　flinging　their　frail　spiders’　webs　over　the　torrent　of　life　
which　rushed　down　the　streets　outside。　

She　may　have　been　conscious　that　there　was　some　exaggeration　
in　this　fancy　of　hers；　for　she　certainly　did　not　
wish　to　share　it　with　Ralph。　To　him；　she　supposed；　Mary　
Datchet；　posing　leaflets　for　Cabi　Ministers　among　
her　typewriters；　represented　all　that　was　interesting　and　
genuine；　and；　accordingly；　she　shut　them　both　out　from　
all　share　in　the　crowded　street；　with　its　pendant　necklace　
of　lamps；　its　lighted　windows；　and　its　throng　of　men　and　

77　



Night　and　Day　

women；　which　exhilarated　her　to　such　an　extent　that　she　
very　nearly　forgot　her　panion。　She　walked　very　fast；　
and　the　effect　of　people　passing　in　the　opposite　direction　
was　to　produce　a　queer　dizziness　both　in　her　head　
and　in　Ralph’s；　which　set　their　bodies　far　apart。　But　she　
did　her　duty　by　her　panion　almost　unconsciously。　

“Mary　Datchet　does　that　sort　of　work　very　well…　。　She’s　
responsible　for　it；　I　suppose？”　

“Yes。　The　others　don’t　help　at　all…　。　Has　she　made　a　
convert　of　you？”　

“Oh　no。　That　is；　I’m　a　convert　already。”　

“But　she　hasn’t　persuaded　you　to　work　for　them？”　

“Oh　dear　no—that　wouldn’t　do　at　all。”　

So　they　walked　on　down　the　Tottenham　Court　Road；　
parting　and　ing　together　again；　and　Ralph　felt　much　
as　though　he　were　addressing　the　summit　of　a　poplar　in　a　
high　gale　of　wind。　

“Suppose　we　get　on　to　that　omnibus？”　he　suggested。　

Katharine　acquiesced；　and　they　climbed　up；　and　found　
themselves　alone　on　top　of　it。　

“But　which　way　are　you　going？”　Katharine　asked；　wak


ing　a　little　from　the　trance　into　which　movement　among　
moving　things　had　thrown　her。　

“I’m　going　to　the　Temple；”　Ralph　replied；　inventing　a　
destination　on　the　spur　of　the　moment。　He　felt　the　change　
e　over　her　as　they　sat　down　and　the　omnibus　began　
to　move　forward。　He　imagined　her　contemplating　the　avenue　
in　front　of　them　with　those　honest　sad　eyes　which　
seemed　to　set　him　at　such　a　distance　from　them。　But　the　
breeze　was　blowing　in　their　faces；　it　lifted　her　hat　for　a　
second；　and　she　drew　out　a　pin　and　stuck　it　in　again；—a　
little　action　which　seemed；　for　some　reason；　to　make　her　
rather　more　fallible。　Ah；　if　only　her　hat　would　blow　off；　
and　leave　her　altogether　disheveled；　accepting　it　from　
his　hands！　

“This　is　like　Venice；”　she　observed；　raising　her　hand。　
“The　motorcars；　I　mean；　shooting　about　so　quickly；　with　
their　lights。”　

“I’ve　never　seen　Venice；”　he　replied。　“I　keep　that　and　
some　other　things　for　my　old　age。”　

“What　are　the　other　things？”　she　asked。　

“There’s　Venice　and　India　and；　I　think；　Dante；　too。”　

78　



Virginia　Woolf　

She　laughed。　

“Think　of　providing　for　one’s　old　age！　And　would　you　
refuse　to　see　Venice　if　you　had　the　chance？”　

Instead　of　answering　her；　he　wondered　whether　he　
should　tell　her　something　that　was　quite　true　about　himself；　
and　as　he　wondered；　he　told　her。　

“I’ve　planned　out　my　life　in　sections　ever　since　I　was　a　
child；　to　make　it　last　longer。　You　see；　I’m　always　afraid　
that　I’m　missing　something—”　

“And　so　am　I！”　Katharine　exclaimed。　“But；　after　all；”　
she　added；　“why　should　you　miss　anything？”　

“Why？　Because　I’m　poor；　for　one　thing；”　Ralph　rejoined。　
“You；　I　suppose；　can　have　Venice　and　India　and　Dante　
every　day　of　your　life。”　

She　said　nothing　for　a　moment；　but　rested　one　hand；　
which　was　bare　of　glove；　upon　the　rail　in　front　of　her；　
meditating　upon　a　variety　of　things；　of　which　one　was　
that　this　strange　young　man　pronounced　Dante　as　she　
was　used　to　hearing　it　pronounced；　and　another；　that　he　
had；　most　unexpectedly；　a　feeling　about　life　that　was　
familiar　to　her。　Perhaps；　then；　he　was　the　sort　of　person　

she　might　take　an　interest　in；　if　she　came　to　know　him　
better；　and　as　she　had　placed　him　among　those　whom　
she　would　never　want　to　know　better；　this　was　enough　to　
make　her　silent。　She　hastily　recalled　her　first　view　of　
him；　in　the　little　room　where　the　relics　were　kept；　and　
ran　a　bar　through　half　her　impressions；　as　one　cancels　a　
badly　written　sentence；　having　found　the　right　one。　

“But　to　know　that　one　might　have　things　doesn’t　alter　
the　fact　that　one　hasn’t　got　them；”　she　said；　in　some　confusion。　
“How　could　I　go　to　India；　for　example？　Besides；”　
she　began　impulsively；　and　stopped　herself。　Here　the　conductor　
came　round；　and　interrupted　them。　Ralph　waited　
for　her　to　resume　her　sentence；　but　she　said　no　more。　

“I　have　a　message　to　give　your　father；”　he　remarked。　
“Perhaps　you　would　give　it　him；　or　I　could　e—”　

“Yes；　do　e；”　Katharine　replied。　

“Still；　I　don’t　see　why　you　shouldn’t　go　to　India；”　Ralph　
began；　in　order　to　keep　her　from　rising；　as　she　threatened　
to　do。　

But　she　got　up　in　spite　of　him；　and　said　goodbye　with　
her　usual　air　of　decision；　and　left　him　with　a　quickness　

79　



Night　and　Day　

which　Ralph　connected　now　with　all　her　movements。　He　
looked　down　and　saw　her　standing　on　the　pavement　edge；　
an　alert；　manding　figure；　which　waited　its　season　to　
cross；　and　then　walked　boldly　and　swiftly　to　the　other　
side。　That　gesture　and　action　would　be　added　to　the　picture　
he　had　of　her；　but　at　present　the　real　woman　pletely　
routed　the　phantom　one。　

CHAPTER　VII　


And　little　Augustus　Pelham　said　to　me；　‘It’s　the　younger　
generation　knocking　at　the　door；’　and　I　said　to　him；　‘Oh；　
but　the　younger　generation　es　in　without　knocking；　
Mr。　Pelham。’　Such　a　feeble　little　joke；　wasn’t　it；　but　down　
it　went　into　his　notebook　all　the　same。”　

“Let　us　congratulate　ourselves　that　we　shall　be　in　the　
grave　before　that　work　is　published；”　said　Mr。　Hilbery。　

The　elderly　couple　were　waiting　for　the　dinnerbell　to　
ring　and　for　their　daughter　to　e　into　the　room。　Their　
armchairs　were　drawn　up　on　either　side　of　the　fire；　and　
each　sat　in　the　same　slightly　crouched　position；　looking　
into　the　coals；　with　the　expressions　of　people　who　have　
had　their　share　of　experiences　and　wait；　rather　passively；　
for　something　to　happen。　Mr。　Hilbery　now　gave　all　his　
attention　to　a　piece　of　coal　which　had　fallen　out　of　the　
grate；　and　to　selecting　a　favorable　position　for　it　among　
the　lumps　that　were　burning　already。　Mrs。　Hilbery　watched　
him　in　silence；　and　the　smile　changed　on　her　lips　as　if　
her　mind　still　played　with　the　events　of　the　afternoon。　

80　



Virginia　Woolf　

When　Mr。　Hilbery　had　acplished　his　task；　he　resumed　
his　crouching　position　again；　and　began　to　toy　with　the　
little　green　stone　attached　to　his　watchchain。　His　deep；　
ovalshaped　eyes　were　fixed　upon　the　flames；　but　behind　
the　superficial　glaze　seemed　to　brood　an　observant　and　
whimsical　spirit；　which　kept　the　brown　of　the　eye　still　
unusually　vivid。　But　a　look　of　indolence；　the　result　of　
skepticism　or　of　a　taste　too　fastidious　to　be　satisfied　by　
the　prizes　and　conclusions　so　easily　within　his　grasp；　
lent　him　an　expression　almost　of　melancholy。　After　sitting　
thus　for　a　time；　he　seemed　to　reach　some　point　in　
his　thinking　which　demonstrated　its　futility；　upon　which　
he　sighed　and　stretched　his　hand　for　a　book　lying　on　the　
table　by　his　side。　

Directly　the　door　opened　he　closed　the　book；　and　the　
eyes　of　father　and　mother　both　rested　on　Katharine　as　
she　came　towards　them。　The　sight　seemed　at　once　to　
give　them　a　motive　which　they　had　not　had　before。　To　
them　she　appeared；　as　she　walked　towards　them　in　her　
light　evening　dress；　extremely　young；　and　the　sight　of　
her　refreshed　them；　were　it　only　because　her　youth　and　

ignorance　made　their　knowledge　of　the　world　of　some　
value。　

“The　only　excuse　for　you；　Katharine；　is　that　dinner　is　
still　later　than　you　are；”　said　Mr。　Hilbery；　putting　down　
his　spectacles。　

“I　don’t　mind　her　being　late　when　the　result　is　so　charming；”　
said　Mrs。　Hilbery；　looking　with　pride　at　her　daughter。　
“Still；　I　don’t　know　that　I　like　your　being　out　so　late；　
Katharine；”　she　continued。　“You　took　a　cab；　I　hope？”　

Here　dinner　was　announced；　and　Mr。　Hilbery　formally　
led　his　wife　downstairs　on　his　arm。　They　were　all　dressed　
for　dinner；　and；　indeed；　the　prettiness　of　the　dinnertable　
merited　that　pliment。　There　was　no　cloth　upon　the　
table；　and　the　china　made　regular　circles　of　deep　blue　
upon　the　shining　brown　wood。　In　the　middle　there　was　a　
bowl　of　tawny　red　and　yellow　chrysanthemums；　and　one　
of　pure　white；　so　fresh　that　the　narrow　petals　were　curved　
backwards　into　a　firm　white　ball。　From　the　surrounding　
walls　the　heads　of　three　famous　Victorian　writers　surveyed　
this　entertainment；　and　slips　of　paper　pasted　beneath　
them　testified　in　the　great　man’s　own　handwriting　

81　



Night　and　Day　

that　he　was　yours　sincerely　or　affectionately　or　for　ever。　
The　father　and　daughter　would　have　been　quite　content；　
apparently；　to　eat　their　dinner　in　silence；　or　with　a　few　
cryptic　remarks　expressed　in　a　shorthand　which　could　not　
be　understood　by　the　servants。　But　silence　depressed　Mrs。　
Hilbery；　and　far　from　minding　the　presence　of　maids；　she　
would　often　address　herself　to　them；　and　was　never　altogether　
unconscious　of　their　approval　or　disapproval　of　
her　remarks。　In　the　first　place　she　called　them　to　witness　
that　the　room　was　darker　than　usual；　and　had　all　the　
lights　turned　on。　

“That’s　more　cheerful；”　she　exclaimed。　“D’you　know；　
Katharine；　that　ridiculous　goose　came　to　tea　with　me？　
Oh；　how　I　wanted　you！　He　tried　to　make　epigrams　all　the　
time；　and　I　got　so　nervous；　expecting　them；　you　know；　
that　I　spilt　the　tea—and　he　made　an　epigram　about　that！”　
“Which　ridiculous　goose？”　Katharine　asked　her　father。　

“Only　one　of　my　geese；　happily；　makes　epigrams—　
Augustus　Pelham；　of　course；”　said　Mrs。　Hilbery。　

“I’m　not　sorry　that　I　was　out；”　said　Katharine。　

“Poor　Augustus！”　Mrs。　Hilbery　exclaimed。　“But　we’re　all　

too　hard　on　him。　Remember　how　devoted　he　is　to　his　
tiresome　old　mother。”　

“That’s　only　because　she　is　his　mother。　Any　one　connected　
with　himself—”　

“No；　no；　Katharine—that’s　too　bad。　That’s—what’s　the　
word　I　mean；　Trevor；　something　long　and　Latin—the　sort　
of　word　you　and　Katharine　know—”　

Mr。　Hilbery　suggested　“cynical。”　

“Well；　that’ll　do。　I　don’t　believe　in　sending　girls　to　college；　
but　I　should　teach　them　that　sort　of　thing。　It　makes　
one　feel　so　dignified；　bringing　out　these　little　allusions；　
and　passing　on　gracefully　to　the　next　topic。　But　I　don’t　
know　what’s　e　over　me—I　actually　had　to　ask　Augustus　
the　name　of　the　lady　Hamlet　was　in　love　with；　as　you　
were　out；　Katharine；　and　Heaven　knows　what　he　mayn’t　
put　down　about　me　in　his　diary。”　

“I　wish；”　Katharine　started；　with　great　impetuosity；　and　
checked　herself。　Her　mother　always　stirred　her　to　feel　
and　think　quickly；　and　then　she　remembered　that　her　father　
was　there；　listening　with　attention。　

“What　is　it　you　wish？”　he　asked；　as　she　paused。　

82　



Virginia　Woolf　

He　often　surprised　her；　thus；　into　telling　him　what　she　
had　not　meant　to　tell　him；　and　then　they　argued；　while　
Mrs。　Hilbery　went　on　with　her　own　thoughts。　

“I　wish　mother　wasn’t　famous。　I　was　out　at　tea；　and　
they　would　talk　to　me　about　poetry。”　

“Thinking　you　must　be　poetical；　I　see—and　aren’t　you？”　

“Who’s　been　talking　to　you　about　poetry；　Katharine？”　
Mrs。　Hilbery　demanded；　and　Katharine　was　mitted　to　
giving　her　parents　an　account　of　her　visit　to　the　Suffrage　
office。　

“They　have　an　office　at　the　top　of　one　of　the　old　houses　
in　Russell　Square。　I　never　saw　such　queerlooking　people。　
And　the　man　discovered　I　was　related　to　the　poet；　and　
talked　to　me　about　poetry。　Even　Mary　Datchet　seems　different　
in　that　atmosphere。”　

“Yes；　the　office　atmosphere　is　very　bad　for　the　soul；”　
said　Mr。　Hilbery。　

“I　don’t　remember　any　offices　in　Russell　Square　in　the　
old　days；　when　Mamma　lived　there；”　Mrs。　Hilbery　mused；　
“and　I　can’t　fancy　turning　one　of