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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第17部分

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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 

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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。 

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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 those noble great rooms 
into a stuffy little Suffrage office。 Still; if the clerks read 

poetry there must be something nice about them。” 

“No; because they don’t read it as we read it;” Katharine 
insisted。 

“But it’s nice to think of them reading your grandfather; 
and not filling up those dreadful little forms all day 
long;” Mrs。 Hilbery persisted; her notion of office life 
being derived from some chance view of a scene behind 
the counter at her bank; as she slipped the sovereigns 
into her purse。 

“At any rate; they haven’t made a convert of Katharine; 
which was what I was afraid of;” Mr。 Hilbery remarked。 

“Oh no;” said Katharine very decidedly; “I wouldn’t work 
with them for anything。” 

“It’s curious;” Mr。 Hilbery continued; agreeing with his 
daughter; “how the sight of one’s fellowenthusiasts always 
chokes one off。 They show up the faults of one’s 
cause so much more plainly than one’s antagonists。 One 
can be enthusiastic in one’s study; but directly one es 
into touch with the people who agree with one; all the 
glamor goes。 So I’ve always found;” and he proceeded to 
tell them; as he peeled his apple; how he mitted him


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Night and Day 

self once; in his youthful days; to make a speech at a 
political meeting; and went there ablaze with enthusiasm 
for the ideals of his own side; but while his leaders spoke; 
he became gradually converted to the other way of thinking; 
if thinking it could be called; and had to feign illness 
in order to avoid making a fool of himself—an experience 
which had sickened him of public meetings。 

Katharine listened and felt as she generally did when 
her father; and to some extent her mother; described their 
feelings; that she quite understood and agreed with them; 
but; at the same time; saw something which they did not 
see; and always felt some disappointment when they fell 
short of her vision; as they always did。 The plates succeeded 
each other swiftly and noiselessly in front of her; 
and the table was decked for dessert; and as the talk 
murmured on in familiar grooves; she sat there; rather 
like a judge; listening to her parents; who did; indeed; 
feel it very pleasant when they made her laugh。 

Daily life in a house where there are young and old is 
full of curious little ceremonies and pieties; which are 
discharged quite punctually; though the meaning of them 

is obscure; and a mystery has e to brood over them 
which lends even a superstitious charm to their performance。 
Such was the nightly ceremony of the cigar and 
the glass of port; which were placed on the right hand 
and on the left hand of Mr。 Hilbery; and simultaneously 
Mrs。 Hilbery and Katharine left the room。 All the years 
they had lived together they had never seen Mr。 Hilbery 
smoke his cigar or drink his port; and they would have 
felt it unseemly if; by chance; they had surprised him as 
he sat there。 These short; but clearly marked; periods of 
separation between the sexes were always used for an 
intimate postscript to what had been said at dinner; the 
sense of being women together ing out most strongly 
when the male sex was; as if by some religious rite; secluded 
from the female。 Katharine knew by heart the sort 
of mood that possessed her as she walked upstairs to the 
drawingroom; her mother’s arm in hers; and she could 
anticipate the pleasure with which; when she had turned 
on the lights; they both regarded the drawingroom; fresh 
swept and set in order for the last section of the day; 
with the red parrots swinging on the chintz curtains; and 

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Virginia Woolf 

the armchairs warming in the blaze。 Mrs。 Hilbery stood 
over the fire; with one foot on the fender; and her skirts 
slightly raised。 

“Oh; Katharine;” she exclaimed; “how you’ve made me 
think of Mamma and the old days in Russell Square! I can 
see the chandeliers; and the green silk of the piano; and 
Mamma sitting in her cashmere shawl by the window; 
singing till the little ragamuffin boys outside stopped to 
listen。 Papa sent me in with a bunch of violets while he 
waited round the corner。 It must have been a summer 
evening。 That was before things were hopeless… 。” 

As she spoke an expression of regret; which must have 
e frequently to cause the lines which now grew deep 
round the lips and eyes; settled on her face。 The poet’s 
marriage had not been a happy one。 He had left his wife; 
and after some years of a rather reckless existence; she 
had died; before her time。 This disaster had led to great 
irregularities of education; and; indeed; Mrs。 Hilbery might 
be said to have escaped education altogether。 But she 
had been her father’s panion at the season when he 
wrote the finest of his poems。 She had sat on his knee in 

taverns and other haunts of drunken poets; and it was for 
her sake; so people said; that he had cured himself of his 
dissipation; and bee the irreproachable literary character 
that the world knows; whose inspiration had deserted 
him。 As Mrs。 Hilbery grew old she thought more 
and more of the past; and this ancient disaster seemed at 
times almost to prey upon her mind; as if she could not 
pass out of life herself without laying the ghost of her 
parent’s sorrow to rest。 

Katharine wished to fort her mother; but it was difficult 
to do this satisfactorily when the facts themselves 
were so much of a legend。 The house in Russell Square; 
for example; with its noble rooms; and the magnoliatree 
in the garden; and the sweetvoiced piano; and the sound 
of feet ing down the corridors; and other properties 
of size and romance—had they any existence? Yet why 
should Mrs。 Alardyce live all alone in this gigantic mansion; 
and; if she did not live alone; with whom did she 
live? For its own sake; Katharine rather liked this tragic 
story; and would have been glad to hear the details of it; 
and to have been able to discuss them frankly。 But this it 

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Night and Day 

became less and less possible to do; for though Mrs。 
Hilbery was constantly reverting to the story; it was always 
in this tentative and restless fashion; as though by 
a touch here and there she could set things straight which 
had been crooked these sixty years。 Perhaps; indeed; she 
no longer knew what the truth was。 

“If they’d lived now;” she concluded; “I feel it wouldn’t 
have happened。 People aren’t so set upon tragedy as they 
were then。 If my father had been able to go round the 
world; or if she’d had a rest cure; everything would have 
e right。 But what could I do? And then they had bad 
friends; both of them; who made mischief。 Ah; Katharine; 
when you marry; be quite; quite sure that you love your 
husband!” 

The tears stood in Mrs。 Hilbery’s eyes。 

While forting her; Katharine thought to herself; “Now 
this is what Mary Datchet and Mr。 Denham don’t understand。 
This is the sort of position I’m always getting into。 
How simple it must be to live as they do!” for all the 
evening she had 
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