[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第44部分

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mother　were　in　Italy；　and　something　happened　so　that　I　
couldn’t　join　them。　For　three　weeks　I　lived　entirely　by　
myself；　and　the　only　person　I　spoke　to　was　a　stranger　in　
a　shop　where　I　lunched—a　man　with　a　beard。　Then　I　
went　back　to　my　room　by　myself　and—well；　I　did　what　I　
liked。　It　doesn’t　make　me　out　an　amiable　character；　I’m　
afraid；”　she　added；　“but　I　can’t　endure　living　with　other　
people。　An　occasional　man　with　a　beard　is　interesting；　
he’s　detached；　he　lets　me　go　my　way；　and　we　know　we　
shall　never　meet　again。　Therefore；　we　are　perfectly　sincere—
a　thing　not　possible　with　one’s　friends。”　

“Nonsense；”　Denham　replied　abruptly。　

“Why　‘nonsense’？”　she　inquired。　

“Because　you　don’t　mean　what　you　say；”　he　expostulated。　


“You’re　very　positive；”　she　said；　laughing　and　looking　at　
him。　How　arbitrary；　hottempered；　and　imperious　he　was！　
He　had　asked　her　to　e　to　Kew　to　advise　him；　he　then　

told　her　that　he　had　settled　the　question　already；　he　then　
proceeded　to　find　fault　with　her。　He　was　the　very　opposite　
of　William　Rodney；　she　thought；　he　was　shabby；　his　clothes　
were　badly　made；　he　was　ill　versed　in　the　amenities　of　life；　
he　was　tonguetied　and　awkward　to　the　verge　of　obliterating　
his　real　character。　He　was　awkwardly　silent；　he　was　
awkwardly　emphatic。　And　yet　she　liked　him。　

“I　don’t　mean　what　I　say；”　she　repeated　goodhumoredly。　
“Well—？”　

“I　doubt　whether　you　make　absolute　sincerity　your　standard　
in　life；”　he　answered　significantly。　

She　flushed。　He　had　perated　at　once　to　the　weak　
spot—her　engagement；　and　had　reason　for　what　he　said。　
He　was　not　altogether　justified　now；　at　any　rate；　she　was　
glad　to　remember；　but　she　could　not　enlighten　him　and　
must　bear　his　insinuations；　though　from　the　lips　of　a　man　
who　had　behaved　as　he　had　behaved　their　force　should　
not　have　been　sharp。　Nevertheless；　what　he　said　had　its　
force；　she　mused；　partly　because　he　seemed　unconscious　
of　his　own　lapse　in　the　case　of　Mary　Datchet；　and　thus　
baffled　her　insight；　partly　because　he　always　spoke　with　

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force；　for　what　reason　she　did　not　yet　feel　certain。　

“Absolute　sincerity　is　rather　difficult；　don’t　you　think？”　
she　inquired；　with　a　touch　of　irony。　

“There　are　people　one　credits　even　with　that；”　he　replied　
a　little　vaguely。　He　was　ashamed　of　his　savage　wish　
to　hurt　her；　and　yet　it　was　not　for　the　sake　of　hurting　her；　
who　was　beyond　his　shafts；　but　in　order　to　mortify　his　
own　incredibly　reckless　impulse　of　abandonment　to　the　
spirit　which　seemed；　at　moments；　about　to　rush　him　to　
the　uttermost　ends　of　the　earth。　She　affected　him　beyond　
the　scope　of　his　wildest　dreams。　He　seemed　to　see　
that　beneath　the　quiet　surface　of　her　manner；　which　was　
almost　pathetically　at　hand　and　within　reach　for　all　the　
trivial　demands　of　daily　life；　there　was　a　spirit　which　she　
reserved　or　repressed　for　some　reason　either　of　loneliness　
or—could　it　be　possible—of　love。　Was　it　given　to　Rodney　
to　see　her　unmasked；　unrestrained；　unconscious　of　her　
duties？　a　creature　of　uncalculating　passion　and　instinctive　
freedom？　No；　he　refused　to　believe　it。　It　was　in　her　
loneliness　that　Katharine　was　unreserved。　“I　went　back　
to　my　room　by　myself　and　I　did—what　I　liked。”　She　had　

said　that　to　him；　and　in　saying　it　had　given　him　a　glimpse　
of　possibilities；　even　of　confidences；　as　if　he　might　be　
the　one　to　share　her　loneliness；　the　mere　hint　of　which　
made　his　heart　beat　faster　and　his　brain　spin。　He　checked　
himself　as　brutally　as　he　could。　He　saw　her　redden；　and　in　
the　irony　of　her　reply　he　heard　her　resentment。　

He　began　slipping　his　smooth；　silver　watch　in　his　pocket；　
in　the　hope　that　somehow　he　might　help　himself　back　to　
that　calm　and　fatalistic　mood　which　had　been　his　when　
he　looked　at　its　face　upon　the　bank　of　the　lake；　for　that　
mood　must；　at　whatever　cost；　be　the　mood　of　his　intercourse　
with　Katharine。　He　had　spoken　of　gratitude　and　
acquiescence　in　the　letter　which　he　had　never　sent；　and　
now　all　the　force　of　his　character　must　make　good　those　
vows　in　her　presence。　

She；　thus　challenged；　tried　meanwhile　to　define　her　
points。　She　wished　to　make　Denham　understand。　

“Don’t　you　see　that　if　you　have　no　relations　with　people　
it’s　easier　to　be　honest　with　them？”　she　inquired。　“That　
is　what　I　meant。　One　needn’t　cajole　them；　one’s　under　no　
obligation　to　them。　Surely　you　must　have　found　with　your　

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own　family　that　it’s　impossible　to　discuss　what　matters　
to　you　most　because　you’re　all　herded　together；　because　
you’re　in　a　conspiracy；　because　the　position　is　false—”　
Her　reasoning　suspended　itself　a　little　inconclusively；　for　
the　subject　was　plex；　and　she　found　herself　in　ignorance　
whether　Denham　had　a　family　or　not。　Denham　was　
agreed　with　her　as　to　the　destructiveness　of　the　family　
system；　but　he　did　not　wish　to　discuss　the　problem　at　
that　moment。　

He　turned　to　a　problem　which　was　of　greater　interest　to　
him。　

“I’m　convinced；”　he　said；　“that　there　are　cases　in　which　
perfect　sincerity　is　possible—cases　where　there’s　no　relationship；　
though　the　people　live　together；　if　you　like；　
where　each　is　free；　where　there’s　no　obligation　upon　either　
side。”　

“For　a　time　perhaps；”　she　agreed；　a　little　despondently。　
“But　obligations　always　grow　up。　There　are　feelings　to　be　
considered。　People　aren’t　simple；　and　though　they　may　
mean　to　be　reasonable；　they　end”—in　the　condition　in　
which　she　found　herself；　she　meant；　but　added　lamely—　

”in　a　muddle。”　

“Because；”　Denham　instantly　intervened；　“they　don’t　
make　themselves　understood　at　the　beginning。　I　could　
undertake；　at　this　instant；”　he　continued；　with　a　reasonable　
intonation　which　did　much　credit　to　his　selfcontrol；　
“to　lay　down　terms　for　a　friendship　which　should　be　perfectly　
sincere　and　perfectly　straightforward。”　

She　was　curious　to　hear　them；　but；　besides　feeling　that　
the　topic　concealed　dangers　better　known　to　her　than　to　
him；　she　was　reminded　by　his　tone　of　his　curious　abstract　
declaration　upon　the　Embankment。　Anything　that　hinted　
at　love　for　the　moment　alarmed　her；　it　was　as　much　an　
infliction　to　her　as　the　rubbing　of　a　skinless　wound。　

But　he　went　on；　without　waiting　for　her　invitation。　

“In　the　first　place；　such　a　friendship　must　be　unemotional；”　
he　laid　it　down　emphatically。　“At　least；　on　both　
sides　it　must　be　understood　that　if　either　chooses　to　fall　
in　love；　he　or　she　does　so　entirely　at　his　own　risk。　Neither　
is　under　any　obligation　to　the　other。　They　must　be　at　
liberty　to　break　or　to　alter　at　any　moment。　They　must　be　
able　to　say　whatever　they　wish　to　say。　All　this　must　be　

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understood。”　

“And　they　gain　something　worth　having？”　she　asked。　

“It’s　a　risk—of　course　it’s　a　risk；”　he　replied。　The　word　

was　one　that　she　had　been　using　frequently　in　her　arguments　
with　herself　of　late。　

“But　it’s　the　only　way—if　you　think　friendship　worth　
having；”　he　concluded。　

“Perhaps　under　those　conditions　it　might　be；”　she　said　
reflectively。　

“Well；”　he　said；　“those　are　the　terms　of　the　friendship　I　
wish　to　offer　you。”　She　had　known　that　this　was　ing；　
but；　none　the　less；　felt　a　little　shock；　half　of　pleasure；　
half　of　reluctance；　when　she　heard　the　formal　statement。　

“I　should　like　it；”　she　began；　“but—”　

“Would　Rodney　mind？”　

“Oh　no；”　she　replied　quickly。　

“No；　no；　it　isn’t　that；”　she　went　on；　and　again　came　to　
an　end。　She　had　been　touched　by　the　unreserved　and　yet　
ceremonious　way　in　which　he　had　made　what　he　called　
his　offer　of　terms；　but　if　he　was　generous　it　was　the　more　
necessary　for　her　to　be　cautious。　They　would　find　them


selves　in　difficulties；　she　speculated；　but；　at　this　point；　
which　was　not　very　far；　after　all；　upon　the　road　of　caution；　
her　foresight　deserted　her。　She　sought　for　some　definite　
catastrophe　into　which　they　must　inevitably　plunge。　
But　she　could　think　of　none。　It　seemed　to　her　that　these　
catastrophes　were　fictitious；　life　went　on　and　on—life　
was　different　altogether　from　what　people　said。　And　not　
only　was　she　at　an　end　of　her　stock　of　caution；　but　it　
seemed　suddenly　altogether　superfluous。　Surely　if　any　one　
could　take　care　of　himself；　Ralph　Denham　could；　he　had　
told　her　that　he　did　not　love　her。　And；　further；　she　meditated；　
walking　on　beneath　the　beechtrees　and　swinging　
her　umbrella；　as　in　her　thought　she　was　accustomed　to　
plete　freedom；　why　should　she　perpetually　apply　so　
different　a　standard　to　her　behavior　in　practice？　Why；　she　
reflected；　should　there　be　this　perpetual　disparity　between　
the　thought　and　the　action；　between　the　life　of　
solitude　and　the　life　of　society；　this　astonishing　precipice　
on　one　side　of　which　the　soul　was　active　and　in　
broad　daylight；　on　the　other　side　of　which　it　was　contemplative　
and　dark　as　night？　Was　it　not　possible　to　step　

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from　one　to　the　other；　erect；　and　without　essential　change？　
Was　this　not　the　chance　he　offered　her—the　rare　and　
wonderful　chance　of　friendship？　At　any　rate；　she　told　
Denham；　with　a　sigh　in　which　he　heard　both　impatience　
and　relief；　that　she　agreed；　she　thought　him　right；　she　
would　accept　his　terms　of　friendship。　

“Now；”　she　said；　“let’s　go　and　have　tea。”　

In　fact；　these　principles　having　been　laid　down；　a　great　
lightness　of　spirit　showed　itself　in　both　of　them。　They　
were　both　convinced　that　something　of　profound　importance　
had　been　settled；　and　could　now　give　their　attention　
to　their　tea　and　the　Gardens。　They　wandered　in　and　
out　of　glasshouses；　saw　lilies　swimming　in　tanks；　breathed　
in　the　scent　of　thousands　of　carnations；　and　pared　
their　respective　tastes　in　the　matter　of　trees　and　lakes。　
While　talking　exclusively　of　what　they　saw；　so　that　any　
one　might　have　overheard　them；　they　felt　that　the　pact　
between　them　was　made　firmer　and　deeper　by　the　
number　of　people　who　passed　them　and　suspected　nothing　
of　the　kind。　The　question　of　Ralph’s　cottage　and　future　
was　not　mentioned　again。　

CHAPTER　XXVI　


Although　the　old　coaches；　with　their　gay　panels　and　the　
guard’s　horn；　and　the　humors　of　the　box　and　the　vicissitudes　
of　the　road；　have　long　moldered　into　dust　so　far　as　
they　were　matter；　and　are　preserved　in　the　printed　pages　
of　our　novelists　so　far　as　they　partook　of　the　spirit；　a　
journey　to　London　by　express　train　can　still　be　a　very　
pleasant　and　romantic　adventure。　Cassandra　Otway；　at　the　
age　of　twentytwo；　could　imagine　few　things　more　pleasant。　
Satiated　with　months　of　green　fields　as　she　was；　the　
first　row　of　artisans’　villas　on　the　outskirts　of　London　
seemed　to　have　something　serious　about　it；　which　positively　
increased　the　importance　of　every　person　in　the　
railway　carriage；　and　even；　to　her　impressionable　mind；　
quickened　the　speed　of　the　train　and　gave　a　note　of　stern　
authority　to　the　shriek　of　the　enginewhistle。　They　were　
bound　for　London；　they　must　have　precedence　of　all　traffic　
not　similarly　destined。　A　different　demeanor　was　necessary　
directly　one　stepped　out　upon　Liverpool　Street　
platform；　and　became　one　of　those　preoccupied　and　hasty　

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citizens　for　whose　needs　innumerable　taxicabs；　motor
omnibuses；　and　underground　railways　were　in　waiting。　
She　did　her　best　to　look　dignified　and　preoccupied　too；　
but　as　the　cab　carried　her　away；　with　a　determination　
which　alarmed　her　a　little；　she　became　more　and　more　
forgetful　of　her　station　as　a　citizen　of　London；　and　turned　
her　head　from　one　window　to　another；　picking　up　eagerly　
a　building　on　this　side　or　a　street　scene　on　that　to　feed　
her　intense　curiosity。　And　yet；　while　the　drive　lasted　no　
one　was　real；　nothing　was　ordinary；　the　crowds；　the　Government　
buildings；　the　tide　of　men　and　women　washing　
the　base　of　the　great　glass　windows；　were　all　generalized；　
and　affected　her　as　if　she　saw　them　on　the　stage。　

All　these　feelings　were　sustained　and　partly　inspired　by　
the　fact　that　her　journey　took　her　straight　to　the　center　
of　her　most　romantic　world。　A　thousand　times　in　the　midst　
of　her　pastoral　landscape　her　thoughts　took　this　precise　
road；　were　admitted　to　the　house　in　Chelsea；　and　went　
directly　upstairs　to　Katharine’s　room；　where；　invisible　
themselves；　they　had　the　better　chance　of　feasting　upon　
the　privacy　of　the　room’s　adorable　and　mysterious　mis


tress。　Cassandra　adored　her　cousin；　the　adoration　might　
have　been　foolish；　but　was　saved　from　that　excess　and　
lent　an　engaging　charm　by　the　volatile　nature　of　
Cassandra’s　temperament。　She　had　adored　a　great　many　
things　and　people　in　the　course　of　twentytwo　years；　she　
had　been　alternately　the　pride　and　the　desperation　of　her　
teachers。　She　had　worshipped　architecture　and　music；　
natural　history　and　humanity；　literature　and　art；　but　always　
at　the　height　of　her　enthusiasm；　which　was　acpanied　
by　a　brilliant　degree　of　acplishment；　she　
changed　her　mind　and　bought；　surreptitiously；　another　
grammar。　The　terrible　results　which　governesses　had　predicted　
from　such　mental　dissipation　were　certainly　apparent　
now　that　Cassandra　was　twentytwo；　and　had　never　
passed　an　examination；　and　daily　showed　herself　less　and　
less　capable　of　passing　one。　The　more　serious　prediction　
that　she　could　never　possibly　earn　her　living　was　also　
verified。　But　from　all　these　short　strands　of　different　acplishments　
Cassandra　wove　for　herself　an　attitude；　a　
cast　of　mind；　which；　if　useless；　was　found　by　some　people　
to　have　the　not　despicable　virtues　of　vivacity　and　fresh


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ness。　Katharine；　for　example；　thought　her　a　most　charming　
panion。　The　cousins　seemed　to　assemble　between　
them　a　great　range　of　qualities　which　are　never　found　
united　in　one　person　and　seldom　in　half　a　dozen　people。　
Where　Katharine　was　simple；　Cassandra　was　plex；　
where　Katharine　was　solid　and　direct；　Cassandra　was　vague　
and　evasive。　In　short；　they　represented　very　well　the　manly　
and　the　womanly　sides　of　the　feminine　nature；　and；　for　
foundation；　there　was　the　profound　unity　of　mon　blood　
between　them。　If　Cassandra　adored　Katharine　she　was　
incapable　of　adoring　any　one　without　refreshing　her　spirit　
with　frequent　draughts　of　raillery　and　criticism；　and　
Katharine　enjoyed　her　laughter　at　least　as　much　as　her　
respect。　

Respect　was　certainly　uppermost　in　Cassandra’s　mind　
at　the　present　moment。　Katharine’s　engagement　had　appealed　
to　her　imagination　as　the　first　engagement　in　a　
circle　of　contemporaries　is　apt　to　appeal　to　the　imaginations　
of　the　others；　it　was　solemn；　beautiful；　and　mysterious；　
it　gave　both　parties　the　important　air　of　those　who　
have　been　initiated　into　some　rite　which　is　still　con


cealed　from　the　rest　of　the　group。　For　Katharine’s　sake　
Cassandra　thought　William　a　most　distinguished　and　interesting　
character；　and　weled　first　his　conversation　
and　then　his　manuscript　as　the　marks　of　a　friendship　
which　it　flattered　and　delighted　her　to　inspire。　

Katharine　was　still　out　when　she　arrived　at　Cheyne　Walk。　
After　greeting　her　uncle　and　aunt　and　receiving；　as　usual；