[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第65部分

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precisely　it　was。　

“I　find　Cassandra；”　she　repeated。　

“She　missed　her　train；”　Katharine　interposed；　seeing　
that　Cassandra　was　unable　to　speak。　

“Life；”　began　Mrs。　Hilbery；　drawing　inspiration　from　the　
portraits　on　the　wall　apparently；　“consists　in　missing　trains　
and　in　finding—”　But　she　pulled　herself　up　and　remarked　
that　the　kettle　must　have　boiled　pletely　over　everything。　


To　Katharine’s　agitated　mind　it　appeared　that　this　kettle　
was　an　enormous　kettle；　capable　of　deluging　the　house　
in　its　incessant　showers　of　steam；　the　enraged　representative　
of　all　those　household　duties　which　she　had　neglected。　
She　ran　hastily　up　to　the　drawingroom；　and　the　
rest　followed　her；　for　Mrs。　Hilbery　put　her　arm　round　
Cassandra　and　drew　her　upstairs。　They　found　Rodney　ob


serving　the　kettle　with　uneasiness　but　with　such　absence　
of　mind　that　Katharine’s　catastrophe　was　in　a　fair　way　to　
be　fulfilled。　In　putting　the　matter　straight　no　greetings　
were　exchanged；　but　Rodney　and　Cassandra　chose　seats　
as　far　apart　as　possible；　and　sat　down　with　an　air　of　
people　making　a　very　temporary　lodgment。　Either　Mrs。　
Hilbery　was　impervious　to　their　disfort；　or　chose　to　
ignore　it；　or　thought　it　high　time　that　the　subject　was　
changed；　for　she　did　nothing　but　talk　about　Shakespeare’s　
tomb。　

“So　much　earth　and　so　much　water　and　that　sublime　
spirit　brooding　over　it　all；”　she　mused；　and　went　on　to　
sing　her　strange；　halfearthly　song　of　dawns　and　sunsets；　
of　great　poets；　and　the　unchanged　spirit　of　noble　loving　
which　they　had　taught；　so　that　nothing　changes；　and　
one　age　is　linked　with　another；　and　no　one　dies；　and　we　
all　meet　in　spirit；　until　she　appeared　oblivious　of　any　one　
in　the　room。　But　suddenly　her　remarks　seemed　to　contract　
the　enormously　wide　circle　in　which　they　were　soaring　
and　to　alight；　airily　and　temporarily；　upon　matters　of　
more　immediate　moment。　

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Virginia　Woolf　

“Katharine　and　Ralph；”　she　said；　as　if　to　try　the　sound。　
“William　and　Cassandra。”　

“I　feel　myself　in　an　entirely　false　position；”　said　William　
desperately；　thrusting　himself　into　this　breach　in　her　
reflections。　“I’ve　no　right　to　be　sitting　here。　Mr。　Hilbery　
told　me　yesterday　to　leave　the　house。　I’d　no　intention　of　
ing　back　again。　I　shall　now—”　

“I　feel　the　same　too；”　Cassandra　interrupted。　“After　what　
Uncle　Trevor　said　to　me　last　night—”　

“I　have　put　you　into　a　most　odious　position；”　Rodney　
went　on；　rising　from　his　seat；　in　which　movement　he　was　
imitated　simultaneously　by　Cassandra。　“Until　I　have　your　
father’s　consent　I　have　no　right　to　speak　to　you—let　
alone　in　this　house；　where　my　conduct”—he　looked　at　
Katharine；　stammered；　and　fell　silent—”where　my　conduct　
has　been　reprehensible　and　inexcusable　in　the　extreme；”　
he　forced　himself　to　continue。　“I　have　explained　
everything　to　your　mother。　She　is　so　generous　as　to　try　
and　make　me　believe　that　I　have　done　no　harm—you　
have　convinced　her　that　my　behavior；　selfish　and　weak　as　
it　was—selfish　and　weak—”　he　repeated；　like　a　speaker　

who　has　lost　his　notes。　

Two　emotions　seemed　to　be　struggling　in　Katharine；　
one　the　desire　to　laugh　at　the　ridiculous　spectacle　of　
William　making　her　a　formal　speech　across　the　teatable；　
the　other　a　desire　to　weep　at　the　sight　of　something　
childlike　and　honest　in　him　which　touched　her　inexpressibly。　
To　every　one’s　surprise　she　rose；　stretched　out　her　
hand；　and　said：　

“You’ve　nothing　to　reproach　yourself　with—you’ve　been　
always—”　but　here　her　voice　died　away；　and　the　tears　
forced　themselves　into　her　eyes；　and　ran　down　her　cheeks；　
while　William；　equally　moved；　seized　her　hand　and　pressed　
it　to　his　lips。　No　one　perceived　that　the　drawingroom　
door　had　opened　itself　sufficiently　to　admit　at　least　half　
the　person　of　Mr。　Hilbery；　or　saw　him　gaze　at　the　scene　
round　the　teatable　with　an　expression　of　the　utmost　
disgust　and　expostulation。　He　withdrew　unseen。　He　paused　
outside　on　the　landing　trying　to　recover　his　selfcontrol　
and　to　decide　what　course　he　might　with　most　dignity　
pursue。　It　was　obvious　to　him　that　his　wife　had　entirely　
confused　the　meaning　of　his　instructions。　She　had　plunged　

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Night　and　Day　

them　all　into　the　most　odious　confusion。　He　waited　a　
moment；　and　then；　with　much　preliminary　rattling　of　the　
handle；　opened　the　door　a　second　time。　They　had　all　regained　
their　places；　some　incident　of　an　absurd　nature　
had　now　set　them　laughing　and　looking　under　the　table；　
so　that　his　entrance　passed　momentarily　unperceived。　
Katharine；　with　flushed　cheeks；　raised　her　head　and　said：　

“Well；　that’s　my　last　attempt　at　the　dramatic。”　

“It’s　astonishing　what　a　distance　they　roll；”　said　Ralph；　
stooping　to　turn　up　the　corner　of　the　hearthrug。　

“Don’t　trouble—don’t　bother。　We　shall　find　it—”　Mrs。　
Hilbery　began；　and　then　saw　her　husband　and　exclaimed：　
“Oh；　Trevor；　we’re　looking　for　Cassandra’s　engagement
ring！”　

Mr。　Hilbery　looked　instinctively　at　the　carpet。　Remarkably　
enough；　the　ring　had　rolled　to　the　very　point　where　
he　stood。　He　saw　the　rubies　touching　the　tip　of　his　boot。　
Such　is　the　force　of　habit　that　he　could　not　refrain　from　
stooping；　with　an　absurd　little　thrill　of　pleasure　at　being　
the　one　to　find　what　others　were　looking　for；　and；　picking　
the　ring　up；　he　presented　it；　with　a　bow　that　was　

courtly　in　the　extreme；　to　Cassandra。　Whether　the　making　
of　a　bow　released　automatically　feelings　of　plaisance　
and　urbanity；　Mr。　Hilbery　found　his　resentment　pletely　
washed　away　during　the　second　in　which　he　bent　and　
straightened　himself。　Cassandra　dared　to　offer　her　cheek　
and　received　his　embrace。　He　nodded　with　some　degree　
of　stiffness　to　Rodney　and　Denham；　who　had　both　risen　
upon　seeing　him；　and　now　altogether　sat　down。　Mrs。　
Hilbery　seemed　to　have　been　waiting　for　the　entrance　of　
her　husband；　and　for　this　precise　moment　in　order　to　put　
to　him　a　question　which；　from　the　ardor　with　which　she　
announced　it；　had　evidently　been　pressing　for　utterance　
for　some　time　past。　

“Oh；　Trevor；　please　tell　me；　what　was　the　date　of　the　
first　performance　of　‘Hamlet’？”　

In　order　to　answer　her　Mr。　Hilbery　had　to　have　recourse　
to　the　exact　scholarship　of　William　Rodney；　and　before　he　
had　given　his　excellent　authorities　for　believing　as　he　
believed；　Rodney　felt　himself　admitted　once　more　to　the　
society　of　the　civilized　and　sanctioned　by　the　authority　
of　no　less　a　person　than　Shakespeare　himself。　The　power　

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Virginia　Woolf　

of　literature；　which　had　temporarily　deserted　Mr。　Hilbery；　
now　came　back　to　him；　pouring　over　the　raw　ugliness　of　
human　affairs　its　soothing　balm；　and　providing　a　form　
into　which　such　passions　as　he　had　felt　so　painfully　the　
night　before　could　be　molded　so　that　they　fell　roundly　
from　the　tongue　in　shapely　phrases；　hurting　nobody。　He　
was　sufficiently　sure　of　his　mand　of　language　at　length　
to　look　at　Katharine　and　again　at　Denham。　All　this　talk　
about　Shakespeare　had　acted　as　a　soporific；　or　rather　as　
an　incantation　upon　Katharine。　She　leaned　back　in　her　
chair　at　the　head　of　the　teatable；　perfectly　silent；　looking　
vaguely　past　them　all；　receiving　the　most　generalized　
ideas　of　human　heads　against　pictures；　against　yellow
tinted　walls；　against　curtains　of　deep　crimson　velvet。　
Denham；　to　whom　he　turned　next；　shared　her　immobility　
under　his　gaze。　But　beneath　his　restraint　and　calm　it　was　
possible　to　detect　a　resolution；　a　will；　set　now　with　unalterable　
tenacity；　which　made　such　turns　of　speech　as　Mr。　
Hilbery　had　at　mand　appear　oddly　irrelevant。　At　any　
rate；　he　said　nothing。　He　respected　the　young　man；　he　
was　a　very　able　young　man；　he　was　likely　to　get　his　own　

way。　He　could；　he　thought；　looking　at　his　still　and　very　
dignified　head；　understand　Katharine’s　preference；　and；　
as　he　thought　this；　he　was　surprised　by　a　pang　of　acute　
jealousy。　She　might　have　married　Rodney　without　causing　
him　a　twinge。　This　man　she　loved。　Or　what　was　the　
state　of　affairs　between　them？　An　extraordinary　confusion　
of　emotion　was　beginning　to　get　the　better　of　him；　
when　Mrs。　Hilbery；　who　had　been　conscious　of　a　sudden　
pause　in　the　conversation；　and　had　looked　wistfully　at　
her　daughter　once　or　twice；　remarked：　

“Don’t　stay　if　you　want　to　go；　Katharine。　There’s　the　
little　room　over　there。　Perhaps　you　and　Ralph—”　

“We’re　engaged；”　said　Katharine；　waking　with　a　start；　
and　looking　straight　at　her　father。　He　was　taken　aback　by　
the　directness　of　the　statement；　he　exclaimed　as　if　an　
unexpected　blow　had　struck　him。　Had　he　loved　her　to　see　
her　swept　away　by　this　torrent；　to　have　her　taken　from　
him　by　this　uncontrollable　force；　to　stand　by　helpless；　
ignored？　Oh；　how　he　loved　her！　How　he　loved　her！　He　
nodded　very　curtly　to　Denham。　

“I　gathered　something　of　the　kind　last　night；”　he　said。　

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Night　and　Day　

“I　hope　you’ll　deserve　her。”　But　he　never　looked　at　his　
daughter；　and　strode　out　of　the　room；　leaving　in　the　minds　
of　the　women　a　sense；　half　of　awe；　half　of　amusement；　at　
the　extravagant；　inconsiderate；　uncivilized　male；　outraged　
somehow　and　gone　bellowing　to　his　lair　with　a　roar　which　
still　sometimes　reverberates　in　the　most　polished　of　draw
ingrooms。　Then　Katharine；　looking　at　the　shut　door；　
looked　down　again；　to　hide　her　tears。　

CHAPTER　XXXIV　


The　lamps　were　lit；　their　luster　reflected　itself　in　the　polished　
wood；　good　wine　was　passed　round　the　dinner
table；　before　the　meal　was　far　advanced　civilization　had　
triumphed；　and　Mr。　Hilbery　presided　over　a　feast　which　
came　to　wear　more　and　more　surely　an　aspect；　cheerful；　
dignified；　promising　well　for　the　future。　To　judge　from　
the　expression　in　Katharine’s　eyes　it　promised　something—
but　he　checked　the　approach　sentimentality。　He　
poured　out　wine；　he　bade　Denham　help　himself。　

They　went　upstairs　and　he　saw　Katharine　and　Denham　
abstract　themselves　directly　Cassandra　had　asked　whether　
she　might　not　play　him　something　—some　Mozart？　some　
Beethoven？　She　sat　down　to　the　piano；　the　door　closed　
softly　behind　them。　His　eyes　rested　on　the　closed　door　
for　some　seconds　unwaveringly；　but；　by　degrees；　the　look　
of　expectation　died　out　of　them；　and；　with　a　sigh；　he　
listened　to　the　music。　

Katharine　and　Ralph　were　agreed　with　scarcely　a　word　
of　discussion　as　to　what　they　wished　to　do；　and　in　a　

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Virginia　Woolf　

moment　she　joined　him　in　the　hall　dressed　for　walking。　
The　night　was　still　and　moonlit；　fit　for　walking；　though　
any　night　would　have　seemed　so　to　them；　desiring　more　
than　anything　movement；　freedom　from　scrutiny；　silence；　
and　the　open　air。　

“At　last！”　she　breathed；　as　the　front　door　shut。　She　told　
him　how　she　had　waited；　fidgeted；　thought　he　was　never　
ing；　listened　for　the　sound　of　doors；　half　expected　to　
see　him　again　under　the　lamppost；　looking　at　the　house。　
They　turned　and　looked　at　the　serene　front　with　its　gold
rimmed　windows；　to　him　the　shrine　of　so　much　adoration。　
In　spite　of　her　laugh　and　the　little　pressure　of　mockery　
on　his　arm；　he　would　not　resign　his　belief；　but　with　
her　hand　resting　there；　her　voice　quickened　and　mysteriously　
moving　in　his　ears；　he　had　not　time—they　had　not　
the　same　inclination—other　objects　drew　his　attention。　

How　they　came　to　find　themselves　walking　down　a　street　
with　many　lamps；　corners　radiant　with　light；　and　a　steady　
succession　of　motoromnibuses　plying　both　ways　along　
it；　they　could　neither　of　them　tell；　nor　account　for　the　
impulse　which　led　them　suddenly　to　select　one　of　these　

wayfarers　and　mount　to　the　very　front　seat。　After　curving　
through　streets　of　parative　darkness；　so　narrow　that　
shadows　on　the　blinds　were　pressed　within　a　few　feet　of　
their　faces；　they　came　to　one　of　those　great　knots　of　
activity　where　the　lights；　having　drawn　close　together；　
thin　out　again　and　take　their　separate　ways。　They　were　
borne　on　until　they　saw　the　spires　of　the　city　churches　
pale　and　flat　against　the　sky。　

“Are　you　cold？”　he　asked；　as　they　stopped　by　Temple　Bar。　

“Yes；　I　am　rather；”　she　replied；　being　conscious　that　
the　splendid　race　of　lights　drawn　past　her　eyes　by　the　
superb　curving　and　swerving　of　the　monster　on　which　she　
sat　was　at　an　end。　They　had　followed　some　such　course　in　
their　thoughts　too；　they　had　been　borne　on；　victors　in　
the　forefront　of　some　triumphal　car；　spectators　of　a　pageant　
enacted　for　them；　masters　of　life。　But　standing　on　
the　pavement　alone；　this　exaltation　left　them；　they　were　
glad　to　be　alone　together。　Ralph　stood　still　for　a　moment　
to　light　his　pipe　beneath　a　lamp。　

She　looked　at　his　face　isolated　in　the　little　circle　of　
light。　

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Night　and　Day　

“Oh；　that　cottage；”　she　said。　“We　must　take　it　and　go　
there。”　

“And　leave　all　this？”　he　inquired。　

“As　you　like；”　she　replied。　She　thought；　looking　at　the　
sky　above　Chancery　Lane；　how　the　roof　was　the　same　
everywhere；　how　she　was　now　secure　of　all　that　this　lofty　
blue　and　its　steadfast　lights　meant　to　her；　reality；　was　it；　
figures；　love；　truth？　

“I’ve　something　on　my　mind；”　said　Ralph　abruptly。　“I　
mean　I’ve　been　thinking　of　Mary　Datchet。　We’re　very　near　
her　rooms　now。　Would　you　mind　if　we　went　there？”　

She　had　turned　before　she　answered　him。　She　had　no　
wish　to　see　any　one　tonight；　it　seemed　to　her　that　the　
immense　riddle　was　answered；　the　problem　had　been　
solved；　she　held　in　her　hands　for　one　brief　moment　the　
globe　which　we　spend　our　lives　in　trying　to　shape；　round；　
whole；　and　entire　from　the　confusion　of　chaos。　To　see　
Mary　was　to　risk　the　destruction　of　this　globe。　

“Did　you　treat　her　badly？”　she　asked　rather　mechanically；　
walking　on。　

“I　could　defend　myself；”　he　said；　almost　defiantly。　“But　

what’s　the　use；　if　one　feels　a　thing？　I　won’t　be　with　her　a　
minute；”　he　said。　“I’ll　just　tell　her—”　

“Of　course；　you　must　tell　her；”　said　Katharine；　and　now　
felt　anxious　for　him　to　do　what　appeared　to　be　necessary　
if　he；　too；　were　to　hold　his　globe　for　a　moment　round；　
whole；　and　entire。　

“I　wish—I　wish—”　she　sighed；　for　melancholy　came　
over　her　and　obscured　at　least　a　section　of　her　clear　vision。　
The　globe　swam　before　her　as　if　obscured　by　tears。　

“I　regret　nothing；”　said　Ralph　firmly。　She　leant　towards　
him　almost　as　if　she　could　thus　see　what　he　saw。　She　
thought　how　obscure　he　still　was　to　her；　save　only　that　
more　and　more　constantly　he　appeared　to　her　a　fire　burning　
through　its　smoke；　a　source　of　life。　

“Go　on；”　she　said。　“You　regret　nothing—”　

“Nothing—nothing；”　he　repeated。　

“What　a　fire！”　she　thought　to　herself。　She　thought　of　
him　blazing　splendidly　in　the　night；　yet　so　obscure　that　
to　hold　his　arm；　as　she　held　it；　was　only　to　touch　the　
opaque　substance　surrounding　the　flame　that　roared　upwards。　


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Virginia　Woolf　

“Why　nothing？”　she　asked　hurriedly；　in　order　that　he　
might　say　more　and　so　make　more　splendid；　more　red；　
more　darkly　intertwined　with　smoke　this　flame　rushing　
upwards。　

“What　are　you　thinking　of；　Katharine？”　he　asked　suspiciously；　
noticing　her　tone　of　dreaminess　a