[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第7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！


him；　and；　instead　of　waiting　to　answer　questions；　he　
jumped　up；　thrust　himself　through　the　seated　bodies　into　
the　corner　where　Katharine　was　sitting；　and　exclaimed；　
very　audibly：　

“Well；　Katharine；　I　hope　I’ve　made　a　big　enough　fool　of　
myself　even　for　you！　It　was　terrible！　terrible！　terrible！”　

“Hush！　You　must　answer　their　questions；”　Katharine　
whispered；　desiring；　at　all　costs；　to　keep　him　quiet。　Oddly　
enough；　when　the　speaker　was　no　longer　in　front　of　them；　
there　seemed　to　be　much　that　was　suggestive　in　what　he　

42　



Virginia　Woolf　

had　said。　At　any　rate；　a　palefaced　young　man　with　sad　
eyes　was　already　on　his　feet；　delivering　an　accurately　
worded　speech　with　perfect　posure。　William　Rodney　
listened　with　a　curious　lifting　of　his　upper　lip；　although　
his　face　was　still　quivering　slightly　with　emotion。　

“Idiot！”　he　whispered。　“He’s　misunderstood　every　word　
I　said！”　

“Well　then；　answer　him；”　Katharine　whispered　back。　

“No；　I　shan’t！　They’d　only　laugh　at　me。　Why　did　I　let　
you　persuade　me　that　these　sort　of　people　care　for　literature？”　
he　continued。　

There　was　much　to　be　said　both　for　and　against　Mr。　
Rodney’s　paper。　It　had　been　crammed　with　assertions　that　
suchandsuch　passages；　taken　liberally　from　English；　
French；　and　Italian；　are　the　supreme　pearls　of　literature。　
Further；　he　was　fond　of　using　metaphors　which；　pounded　
in　the　study；　were　apt　to　sound　either　cramped　
or　out　of　place　as　he　delivered　them　in　fragments。　Literature　
was　a　fresh　garland　of　spring　flowers；　he　said；　in　
which　yewberries　and　the　purple　nightshade　mingled　with　
the　various　tints　of　the　anemone；　and　somehow　or　other　

this　garland　encircled　marble　brows。　He　had　read　very　
badly　some　very　beautiful　quotations。　But　through　his　
manner　and　his　confusion　of　language　there　had　emerged　
some　passion　of　feeling　which；　as　he　spoke；　formed　in　
the　majority　of　the　audience　a　little　picture　or　an　idea　
which　each　now　was　eager　to　give　expression　to。　Most　of　
the　people　there　proposed　to　spend　their　lives　in　the　
practice　either　of　writing　or　painting；　and　merely　by　looking　
at　them　it　could　be　seen　that；　as　they　listened　to　Mr。　
Purvis　first；　and　then　to　Mr。　Greenhalgh；　they　were　seeing　
something　done　by　these　gentlemen　to　a　possession　
which　they　thought　to　be　their　own。　One　person　after　
another　rose；　and；　as　with　an　illbalanced　axe；　attempted　
to　hew　out　his　conception　of　art　a　little　more　clearly；　and　
sat　down　with　the　feeling　that；　for　some　reason　which　he　
could　not　grasp；　his　strokes　had　gone　awry。　As　they　sat　
down　they　turned　almost　invariably　to　the　person　sitting　
next　them；　and　rectified　and　continued　what　they　had　
just　said　in　public。　Before　long；　therefore；　the　groups　on　
the　mattresses　and　the　groups　on　the　chairs　were　all　in　
munication　with　each　other；　and　Mary　Datchet；　who　

43　



Night　and　Day　

had　begun　to　darn　stockings　again；　stooped　down　and　

remarked　to　Ralph：　

“That　was　what　I　call　a　firstrate　paper。”　

Both　of　them　instinctively　turned　their　eyes　in　the　direction　
of　the　reader　of　the　paper。　He　was　lying　back　
against　the　wall；　with　his　eyes　apparently　shut；　and　his　
chin　sunk　upon　his　collar。　Katharine　was　turning　over　the　
pages　of　his　manuscript　as　if　she　were　looking　for　some　
passage　that　had　particularly　struck　her；　and　had　a　difficulty　
in　finding　it。　

“Let’s　go　and　tell　him　how　much　we　liked　it；”　said　Mary；　
thus　suggesting　an　action　which　Ralph　was　anxious　to　
take；　though　without　her　he　would　have　been　too　proud　
to　do　it；　for　he　suspected　that　he　had　more　interest　in　
Katharine　than　she　had　in　him。　

“That　was　a　very　interesting　paper；”　Mary　began；　without　
any　shyness；　seating　herself　on　the　floor　opposite　to　
Rodney　and　Katharine。　“Will　you　lend　me　the　manuscript　
to　read　in　peace？”　

Rodney；　who　had　opened　his　eyes　on　their　approach；　
regarded　her　for　a　moment　in　suspicious　silence。　

“Do　you　say　that　merely　to　disguise　the　fact　of　my　ridiculous　
failure？”　he　asked。　

Katharine　looked　up　from　her　reading　with　a　smile。　

“He　says　he　doesn’t　mind　what　we　think　of　him；”　she　
remarked。　“He　says　we　don’t　care　a　rap　for　art　of　any　
kind。”　

“I　asked　her　to　pity　me；　and　she　teases　me！”　Rodney　
exclaimed。　

“I　don’t　intend　to　pity　you；　Mr。　Rodney；”　Mary　remarked；　
kindly；　but　firmly。　“When　a　paper’s　a　failure；　nobody　says　
anything；　whereas　now；　just　listen　to　them！”　

The　sound；　which　filled　the　room；　with　its　hurry　of　short　
syllables；　its　sudden　pauses；　and　its　sudden　attacks；　might　be　
pared　to　some　animal　hubbub；　frantic　and　inarticulate。　

“D’you　think　that’s　all　about　my　paper？”　Rodney　inquired；　
after　a　moment’s　attention；　with　a　distinct　brightening　
of　expression。　

“Of　course　it　is；”　said　Mary。　“It　was　a　very　suggestive　
paper。”　

She　turned　to　Denham　for　confirmation；　and　he　corroborated　
her。　

44　



Virginia　Woolf　

“It’s　the　ten　minutes　after　a　paper　is　read　that　proves　
whether　it’s　been　a　success　or　not；”　he　said。　“If　I　were　
you；　Rodney；　I　should　be　very　pleased　with　myself。”　

This　mendation　seemed　to　fort　Mr。　Rodney　pletely；　
and　he　began　to　bethink　him　of　all　the　passages　
in　his　paper　which　deserved　to　be　called　“suggestive。”　

“Did　you　agree　at　all；　Denham；　with　what　I　said　about　
Shakespeare’s　later　use　of　imagery？　I’m　afraid　I　didn’t　
altogether　make　my　meaning　plain。”　

Here　he　gathered　himself　together；　and　by　means　of　a　
series　of　froglike　jerks；　succeeded　in　bringing　himself　
close　to　Denham。　

Denham　answered　him　with　the　brevity　which　is　the　
result　of　having　another　sentence　in　the　mind　to　be　addressed　
to　another　person。　He　wished　to　say　to　Katharine：　
“Did　you　remember　to　get　that　picture　glazed　before　your　
aunt　came　to　dinner？”　but；　besides　having　to　answer　
Rodney；　he　was　not　sure　that　the　remark；　with　its　assertion　
of　intimacy；　would　not　strike　Katharine　as　impertinent。　
She　was　listening　to　what　some　one　in　another　
group　was　saying。　Rodney；　meanwhile；　was　talking　about　

the　Elizabethan　dramatists。　

He　was　a　curiouslooking　man　since；　upon　first　sight；　
especially　if　he　chanced　to　be　talking　with　animation；　he　
appeared；　in　some　way；　ridiculous；　but；　next　moment；　in　
repose；　his　face；　with　its　large　nose；　thin　cheeks　and　lips　
expressing　the　utmost　sensibility；　somehow　recalled　a　
Roman　head　bound　with　laurel；　cut　upon　a　circle　of　semitransparent　
reddish　stone。　It　had　dignity　and　character。　
By　profession　a　clerk　in　a　Government　office；　he　was　one　
of　those　martyred　spirits　to　whom　literature　is　at　once　a　
source　of　divine　joy　and　of　almost　intolerable　irritation。　
Not　content　to　rest　in　their　love　of　it；　they　must　attempt　
to　practise　it　themselves；　and　they　are　generally　endowed　
with　very　little　facility　in　position。　They　condemn　
whatever　they　produce。　Moreover；　the　violence　of　their　
feelings　is　such　that　they　seldom　meet　with　adequate　
sympathy；　and　being　rendered　very　sensitive　by　their　cultivated　
perceptions；　suffer　constant　slights　both　to　their　
own　persons　and　to　the　thing　they　worship。　But　Rodney　
could　never　resist　making　trial　of　the　sympathies　of　any　
one　who　seemed　favorably　disposed；　and　Denham’s　praise　

45　



Night　and　Day　

had　stimulated　his　very　susceptible　vanity。　

“You　remember　the　passage　just　before　the　death　of　
the　Duchess？”　he　continued；　edging　still　closer　to　Denham；　
and　adjusting　his　elbow　and　knee　in　an　incredibly　angular　
bination。　Here；　Katharine；　who　had　been　cut　off　
by　these　maneuvers　from　all　munication　with　the　outer　
world；　rose；　and　seated　herself　upon　the　windowsill；　where　
she　was　joined　by　Mary　Datchet。　The　two　young　women　
could　thus　survey　the　whole　party。　Denham　looked　after　
them；　and　made　as　if　he　were　tearing　handfuls　of　grass　
up　by　the　roots　from　the　carpet。　But　as　it　fell　in　accurately　
with　his　conception　of　life　that　all　one’s　desires　
were　bound　to　be　frustrated；　he　concentrated　his　mind　
upon　literature；　and　determined；　philosophically；　to　get　
what　he　could　out　of　that。　

Katharine　was　pleasantly　excited。　A　variety　of　courses　
was　open　to　her。　She　knew　several　people　slightly；　and　at　
any　moment　one　of　them　might　rise　from　the　floor　and　
e　and　speak　to　her；　on　the　other　hand；　she　might　
select　somebody　for　herself；　or　she　might　strike　into　
Rodney’s　discourse；　to　which　she　was　intermittently　at


tentive。　She　was　conscious　of　Mary’s　body　beside　her；　
but；　at　the　same　time；　the　consciousness　of　being　both　
of　them　women　made　it　unnecessary　to　speak　to　her。　But　
Mary；　feeling；　as　she　had　said；　that　Katharine　was　a　“personality；”　
wished　so　much　to　speak　to　her　that　in　a　few　
moments　she　did。　

“They’re　exactly　like　a　flock　of　sheep；　aren’t　they？”　she　
said；　referring　to　the　noise　that　rose　from　the　scattered　
bodies　beneath　her。　

Katharine　turned　and　smiled。　

“I　wonder　what　they’re　making　such　a　noise　about？”　
she　said。　

“The　Elizabethans；　I　suppose。”　

“No；　I　don’t　think　it’s　got　anything　to　do　with　the　Elizabethans。　
There！　Didn’t　you　hear　them　say；　‘Insurance　Bill’？”　

“I　wonder　why　men　always　talk　about　politics？”　Mary　
speculated。　“I　suppose；　if　we　had　votes；　we　should；　too。”　

“I　dare　say　we　should。　And　you　spend　your　life　in　getting　
us　votes；　don’t　you？”　

“I　do；”　said　Mary；　stoutly。　“From　ten　to　six　every　day　
I’m　at　it。”　

46　



Virginia　Woolf　

Katharine　looked　at　Ralph　Denham；　who　was　now　pounding　
his　way　through　the　metaphysics　of　metaphor　with　
Rodney；　and　was　reminded　of　his　talk　that　Sunday　afternoon。　
She　connected　him　vaguely　with　Mary。　

“I　suppose　you’re　one　of　the　people　who　think　we　should　
all　have　professions；”　she　said；　rather　distantly；　as　if　feeling　
her　way　among　the　phantoms　of　an　unknown　world。　

“Oh　dear　no；”　said　Mary　at　once。　

“Well；　I　think　I　do；”　Katharine　continued；　with　half　a　
sigh。　“You　will　always　be　able　to　say　that　you’ve　done　
something；　whereas；　in　a　crowd　like　this；　I　feel　rather　
melancholy。”　

“In　a　crowd？　Why　in　a　crowd？”　Mary　asked；　deepening　
the　two　lines　between　her　eyes；　and　hoisting　herself　nearer　
to　Katharine　upon　the　windowsill。　

“Don’t　you　see　how　many　different　things　these　people　
care　about？　And　I　want　to　beat　them　down—I　only　mean；”　
she　corrected　herself；　“that　I　want　to　assert　myself；　and　
it’s　difficult；　if　one　hasn’t　a　profession。”　

Mary　smiled；　thinking　that　to　beat　people　down　was　a　
process　that　should　present　no　difficulty　to　Miss　Katharine　

Hilbery。　They　knew　each　other　so　slightly　that　the　beginning　
of　intimacy；　which　Katharine　seemed　to　initiate　by　
talking　about　herself；　had　something　solemn　in　it；　and　
they　were　silent；　as　if　to　decide　whether　to　proceed　or　
not。　They　tested　the　ground。　

“Ah；　but　I　want　to　trample　upon　their　prostrate　bodies！”　
Katharine　announced；　a　moment　later；　with　a　laugh；　
as　if　at　the　train　of　thought　which　had　led　her　to　this　
conclusion。　

“One　doesn’t　necessarily　trample　upon　people’s　bodies　
because　one　runs　an　office；”　Mary　remarked。　

“No。　Perhaps　not；”　Katharine　replied。　The　conversation　
lapsed；　and　Mary　saw　Katharine　looking　out　into　the　room　
rather　moodily　with　closed　lips；　the　desire　to　talk　about　
herself　or　to　initiate　a　friendship　having；　apparently；　left　
her。　Mary　was　struck　by　her　capacity　for　being　thus　easily　
silent；　and　occupied　with　her　own　thoughts。　It　was　a　
habit　that　spoke　of　loneliness　and　a　mind　thinking　for　
itself。　When　Katharine　remained　silent　Mary　was　slightly　
embarrassed。　

“Yes；　they’re　very　like　sheep；”　she　repeated；　foolishly。　

47　



Night　and　Day　

“And　yet　they　are　very　clever—at　least；”　Katharine　
added；　“I　suppose　they　have　all　read　Webster。”　

“Surely　you　don’t　think　that　a　proof　of　cleverness？　I’ve　
read　Webster；　I’ve　read　Ben　Jonson；　but　I　don’t　think　
myself　clever—not　exactly；　at　least。”　

“I　think　you　must　be　very　clever；”　Katharine　observed。　

“Why？　Because　I　run　an　office？”　

“I　wasn’t　thinking　of　that。　I　was　thinking　how　you　live　
alone　in　this　room；　and　have　parties。”　

Mary　reflected　for　a　second。　

“It　means；　chiefly；　a　power　of　being　disagreeable　to　
one’s　own　family；　I　think。　I　have　that；　perhaps。　I　didn’t　
want　to　live　at　home；　and　I　told　my　father。　He　didn’t　like　
it…　。　But　then　I　have　a　sister；　and　you　haven’t；　have　
you？”　

“No；　I　haven’t　any　sisters。”　

“You　are　writing　a　life　of　your　grandfather？”　Mary　pursued。　


Katharine　seemed　instantly　to　be　confronted　by　some　
familiar　thought　from　which　she　wished　to　escape。　She　
replied；　“Yes；　I　am　helping　my　mother；”　in　such　a　way　

that　Mary　felt　herself　baffled；　and　put　back　again　into　
the　position　in　which　she　had　been　at　the　beginning　of　
their　talk。　It　seemed　to　her　that　Katharine　possessed　a　
curious　power　of　drawing　near　and　receding；　which　sent　
alternate　emotions　through　her　far　more　quickly　than　was　
usual；　and　kept　her　in　a　condition　of　curious　alertness。　
Desiring　to　classify　her；　Mary　bethought　her　of　the　convenient　
term　“egoist。”　

“She’s　an　egoist；”　she　said　to　herself；　and　stored　that　
word　up　to　give　to　Ralph　one　day　when；　as　it　would　certainly　
fall　out；　they　were　discussing　Miss　Hilbery。　

“Heavens；　what　a　mess　there’ll　be　tomorrow　morning！”　
Katharine　exclaimed。　“I　hope　you　don’t　sleep　in　this　room；　
Miss　Datchet？”　

Mary　laughed。　

“What　are　you　laughing　at？”　Katharine　demanded。　

“I　won’t　tell　you。”　

“Let　me　guess。　You　were　laughing　because　you　thought　
I’d　changed　the　conversation？”　

“No。”　

“Because　you　think—”　She　paused。　

48　



Virginia　Woolf　

“If　you　want　to　know；　I　was　laughing　at　the　way　you　
said　Miss　Datchet。”　

“Mary；　then。　Mary；　Mary；　Mary。”　

So　saying；　Katharine　drew　back　the　curtain　in　order；　
perhaps；　to　conceal　the　momentary　flush　of　pleasure　
which　is　caused　by　ing　perceptibly　nearer　to　another　
person。　

“Mary　Datchet；”　said　Mary。　“It’s　not　such　an　imposing　
name　as　Katharine　Hilbery；　I’m　afraid。”　

They　both　looked　out　of　the　window；　first　up　at　the　
hard　silver　moon；　stationary　among　a　hurry　of　little　grey
blue　clouds；　and　then　down　upon　the　roofs　of　London；　
with　all　their　upright　chimneys；　and　then　below　them　at　
the　empty　moonlit　pavement　of　the　street；　upon　which　
the　joint　of　each　pavingstone　was　clearly　marked　out。　
Mary　then　saw　Katharine　raise　her　eyes　again　to　the　moon；　
with　a　contemplative　look　in　them；　as　though　she　were　
setting　that　moon　against　the　moon　of　other　nights；　held　
in　memory。　Some　one　in　the　room　behind　them　made　a　
joke　about　stargazing；　which　destroyed　their　pleasure　in　
it；　and　they　looked　back　into　the　room　again。　

Ralph　had　been　watching　for　this　moment；　and　he　instantly　
produced　his　sentence。　

“I　wonder；　Miss　Hilbery；　whether　you　remembered　to　
get　that　picture　glazed？”　His　voice　showed　that　the　question　
was　one　that　had　been　prepared。　

“Oh；　you　idiot！”　Mary　exclaimed；　very　nearly　aloud；　with　
a　sense　that　Ralph　had　said　something　very　stupid。　So；　
after　three　lessons　in　Latin　grammar；　one　might　correct　a　
fellow　student；　wh