[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第55部分

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it　seemed　to　Katharine。　Whose　voice　was　now　going　to　
bine　with　them；　or　to　strike　a　discord？　

“Whose　voice？”　she　asked　herself；　hearing　a　man　inquire；　
with　great　determination；　for　her　number。　The　unfamiliar　
voice　now　asked　for　Miss　Hilbery。　Out　of　all　the　welter　of　
voices　which　crowd　round　the　far　end　of　the　telephone；　
out　of　the　enormous　range　of　possibilities；　whose　voice；　
what　possibility；　was　this？　A　pause　gave　her　time　to　ask　
herself　this　question。　It　was　solved　next　moment。　

“I’ve　looked　out　the　train…　。　Early　on　Saturday　afternoon　
would　suit　me　best…　。　I’m　Ralph　Denham…　。　But　
I’ll　write　it　down…　。”　

With　more　than　the　usual　sense　of　being　impinged　upon　
the　point　of　a　bayo；　Katharine　replied：　

“I　think　I　could　e。　I’ll　look　at　my　engagements…　。　

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Hold　on。”　

She　dropped　the　machine；　and　looked　fixedly　at　the　
print　of　the　greatuncle　who　had　not　ceased　to　gaze；　
with　an　air　of　amiable　authority；　into　a　world　which；　as　
yet；　beheld　no　symptoms　of　the　Indian　Mutiny。　And　yet；　
gently　swinging　against　the　wall；　within　the　black　tube；　
was　a　voice　which　recked　nothing　of　Uncle　James；　of　China　
teapots；　or　of　red　velvet　curtains。　She　watched　the　oscillation　
of　the　tube；　and　at　the　same　moment　became　conscious　
of　the　individuality　of　the　house　in　which　she　stood；　
she　heard　the　soft　domestic　sounds　of　regular　existence　
upon　staircases　and　floors　above　her　head；　and　movements　
through　the　wall　in　the　house　next　door。　She　had　
no　very　clear　vision　of　Denham　himself；　when　she　lifted　
the　telephone　to　her　lips　and　replied　that　she　thought　
Saturday　would　suit　her。　She　hoped　that　he　would　not　say　
goodbye　at　once；　although　she　felt　no　particular　anxiety　
to　attend　to　what　he　was　saying；　and　began；　even　while　
he　spoke；　to　think　of　her　own　upper　room；　with　its　books；　
its　papers　pressed　between　the　leaves　of　dictionaries；　
and　the　table　that　could　be　cleared　for　work。　She　re


placed　the　instrument；　thoughtfully；　her　restlessness　was　
assuaged；　she　finished　her　letter　to　Cassandra　without　
difficulty；　addressed　the　envelope；　and　fixed　the　stamp　
with　her　usual　quick　decision。　

A　bunch　of　anemones　caught　Mrs。　Hilbery’s　eye　when　
they　had　finished　luncheon。　The　blue　and　purple　and　white　
of　the　bowl；　standing　in　a　pool　of　variegated　light　on　a　
polished　Chippendale　table　in　the　drawingroom　window；　
made　her　stop　dead　with　an　exclamation　of　pleasure。　

“Who　is　lying　ill　in　bed；　Katharine？”　she　demanded。　
“Which　of　our　friends　wants　cheering　up？　Who　feels　that　
they’ve　been　forgotten　and　passed　over；　and　that　nobody　
wants　them？　Whose　water　rates　are　overdue；　and　the　cook　
leaving　in　a　temper　without　waiting　for　her　wages？　There　
was　somebody　I　know—”　she　concluded；　but　for　the　moment　
the　name　of　this　desirable　acquaintance　escaped　
her。　The　best　representative　of　the　forlorn　pany　whose　
day　would　be　brightened　by　a　bunch　of　anemones　was；　in　
Katharine’s　opinion；　the　widow　of　a　general　living　in　the　
Cromwell　Road。　In　default　of　the　actually　destitute　and　
starving；　whom　she　would　much　have　preferred；　Mrs。　

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Night　and　Day　

Hilbery　was　forced　to　acknowledge　her　claims；　for　though　
in　fortable　circumstances；　she　was　extremely　dull；　
unattractive；　connected　in　some　oblique　fashion　with　literature；　
and　had　been　touched　to　the　verge　of　tears；　on　
one　occasion；　by　an　afternoon　call。　

It　happened　that　Mrs。　Hilbery　had　an　engagement　elsewhere；　
so　that　the　task　of　taking　the　flowers　to　the　
Cromwell　Road　fell　upon　Katharine。　She　took　her　letter　to　
Cassandra　with　her；　meaning　to　post　it　in　the　first　pillar
box　she　came　to。　When；　however；　she　was　fairly　out　of　
doors；　and　constantly　invited　by　pillarboxes　and　post
offices　to　slip　her　envelope　down　their　scarlet　throats；　
she　forbore。　She　made　absurd　excuses；　as　that　she　did　
not　wish　to　cross　the　road；　or　that　she　was　certain　to　
pass　another　postoffice　in　a　more　central　position　a　little　
farther　on。　The　longer　she　held　the　letter　in　her　hand；　
however；　the　more　persistently　certain　questions　pressed　
upon　her；　as　if　from　a　collection　of　voices　in　the　air。　
These　invisible　people　wished　to　be　informed　whether　
she　was　engaged　to　William　Rodney；　or　was　the　engagement　
broken　off？　Was　it　right；　they　asked；　to　invite　

Cassandra　for　a　visit；　and　was　William　Rodney　in　love　
with　her；　or　likely　to　fall　in　love？　Then　the　questioners　
paused　for　a　moment；　and　resumed　as　if　another　side　of　
the　problem　had　just　e　to　their　notice。　What　did　Ralph　
Denham　mean　by　what　he　said　to　you　last　night？　Do　you　
consider　that　he　is　in　love　with　you？　Is　it　right　to　consent　
to　a　solitary　walk　with　him；　and　what　advice　are　you　
going　to　give　him　about　his　future？　Has　William　Rodney　
cause　to　be　jealous　of　your　conduct；　and　what　do　you　
propose　to　do　about　Mary　Datchet？　What　are　you　going　
to　do？　What　does　honor　require　you　to　do？　they　repeated。　

“Good　Heavens！”　Katharine　exclaimed；　after　listening　
to　all　these　remarks；　“I　suppose　I　ought　to　make　up　my　
mind。”　

But　the　debate　was　a　formal　skirmishing；　a　pastime　to　
gain　breathingspace。　Like　all　people　brought　up　in　a　
tradition；　Katharine　was　able；　within　ten　minutes　or　so；　
to　reduce　any　moral　difficulty　to　its　traditional　shape　and　
solve　it　by　the　traditional　answers。　The　book　of　wisdom　
lay　open；　if　not　upon　her　mother’s　knee；　upon　the　knees　
of　many　uncles　and　aunts。　She　had　only　to　consult　them；　

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and　they　would　at　once　turn　to　the　right　page　and　read　
out　an　answer　exactly　suited　to　one　in　her　position。　The　
rules　which　should　govern　the　behavior　of　an　unmarried　
woman　are　written　in　red　ink；　graved　upon　marble；　if；　by　
some　freak　of　nature；　it　should　fall　out　that　the　unmarried　
woman　has　not　the　same　writing　scored　upon　her　
heart。　She　was　ready　to　believe　that　some　people　are　
fortunate　enough　to　reject；　accept；　resign；　or　lay　down　
their　lives　at　the　bidding　of　traditional　authority；　she　
could　envy　them；　but　in　her　case　the　questions　became　
phantoms　directly　she　tried　seriously　to　find　an　answer；　
which　proved　that　the　traditional　answer　would　be　of　no　
use　to　her　individually。　Yet　it　had　served　so　many　people；　
she　thought；　glancing　at　the　rows　of　houses　on　either　
side　of　her；　where　families；　whose　ines　must　be　between　
a　thousand　and　fifteenhundred　a　year　lived；　and　
kept；　perhaps；　three　servants；　and　draped　their　windows　
with　curtains　which　were　always　thick　and　generally　dirty；　
and　must；　she　thought；　since　you　could　only　see　a　look
ingglass　gleaming　above　a　sideboard　on　which　a　dish　of　
apples　was　set；　keep　the　room　inside　very　dark。　But　she　

turned　her　head　away；　observing　that　this　was　not　a　
method　of　thinking　the　matter　out。　

The　only　truth　which　she　could　discover　was　the　truth　
of　what　she　herself　felt—a　frail　beam　when　pared　
with　the　broad　illumination　shed　by　the　eyes　of　all　the　
people　who　are　in　agreement　to　see　together；　but　having　
rejected　the　visionary　voices；　she　had　no　choice　but　to　
make　this　her　guide　through　the　dark　masses　which　confronted　
her。　She　tried　to　follow　her　beam；　with　an　expression　
upon　her　face　which　would　have　made　any　passerby　
think　her　reprehensibly　and　almost　ridiculously　detached　
from　the　surrounding　scene。　One　would　have　felt　alarmed　
lest　this　young　and　striking　woman　were　about　to　do　
something　eccentric。　But　her　beauty　saved　her　from　the　
worst　fate　that　can　befall　a　pedestrian；　people　looked　at　
her；　but　they　did　not　laugh。　To　seek　a　true　feeling　among　
the　chaos　of　the　unfeelings　or　halffeelings　of　life；　to　
recognize　it　when　found；　and　to　accept　the　consequences　
of　the　discovery；　draws　lines　upon　the　smoothest　brow；　
while　it　quickens　the　light　of　the　eyes；　it　is　a　pursuit　
which　is　alternately　bewildering；　debasing；　and　exalting；　

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Night　and　Day　

and；　as　Katharine　speedily　found；　her　discoveries　gave　her　
equal　cause　for　surprise；　shame；　and　intense　anxiety。　Much　
depended；　as　usual；　upon　the　interpretation　of　the　word　
love；　which　word　came　up　again　and　again；　whether　she　
considered　Rodney；　Denham；　Mary　Datchet；　or　herself；　and　
in　each　case　it　seemed　to　stand　for　something　different；　
and　yet　for　something　unmistakable　and　something　not　to　
be　passed　by。　For　the　more　she　looked　into　the　confusion　
of　lives　which；　instead　of　running　parallel；　had　suddenly　
intersected　each　other；　the　more　distinctly　she　seemed　to　
convince　herself　that　there　was　no　other　light　on　them　
than　was　shed　by　this　strange　illumination；　and　no　other　
path　save　the　one　upon　which　it　threw　its　beams。　Her　
blindness　in　the　case　of　Rodney；　her　attempt　to　match　his　
true　feeling　with　her　false　feeling；　was　a　failure　never　to　
be　sufficiently　condemned；　indeed；　she　could　only　pay　it　
the　tribute　of　leaving　it　a　black　and　naked　landmark　unburied　
by　attempt　at　oblivion　or　excuse。　

With　this　to　humiliate　there　was　much　to　exalt。　She　
thought　of　three　different　scenes；　she　thought　of　Mary　
sitting　upright　and　saying；　“I’m　in　love—I’m　in　love”；　

she　thought　of　Rodney　losing　his　selfconsciousness　among　
the　dead　leaves；　and　speaking　with　the　abandonment　of　
a　child；　she　thought　of　Denham　leaning　upon　the　stone　
parapet　and　talking　to　the　distant　sky；　so　that　she　thought　
him　mad。　Her　mind；　passing　from　Mary　to　Denham；　from　
William　to　Cassandra；　and　from　Denham　to　herself—if；　as　
she　rather　doubted；　Denham’s　state　of　mind　was　connected　
with　herself—seemed　to　be　tracing　out　the　lines　
of　some　symmetrical　pattern；　some　arrangement　of　life；　
which　invested；　if　not　herself；　at　least　the　others；　not　
only　with　interest；　but　with　a　kind　of　tragic　beauty。　She　
had　a　fantastic　picture　of　them　upholding　splendid　palaces　
upon　their　bent　backs。　They　were　the　lanternbearers；　
whose　lights；　scattered　among　the　crowd；　wove　a　
pattern；　dissolving；　joining；　meeting　again　in　bination。　
Half　forming　such　conceptions　as　these　in　her　rapid　
walk　along　the　dreary　streets　of　South　Kensington；　she　
determined　that；　whatever　else　might　be　obscure；　she　
must　further　the　objects　of　Mary；　Denham；　William；　and　
Cassandra。　The　way　was　not　apparent。　No　course　of　action　
seemed　to　her　indubitably　right。　All　she　achieved　by　

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her　thinking　was　the　conviction　that；　in　such　a　cause；　no　
risk　was　too　great；　and　that；　far　from　making　any　rules　for　
herself　or　others；　she　would　let　difficulties　accumulate　
unsolved；　situations　widen　their　jaws　unsatiated；　while　she　
maintained　a　position　of　absolute　and　fearless　independence。　
So　she　could　best　serve　the　people　who　loved。　

Read　in　the　light　of　this　exaltation；　there　was　a　new　
meaning　in　the　words　which　her　mother　had　penciled　
upon　the　card　attached　to　the　bunch　of　anemones。　The　
door　of　the　house　in　the　Cromwell　Road　opened；　gloomy　
vistas　of　passage　and　staircase　were　revealed；　such　light　
as　there　was　seemed　to　be　concentrated　upon　a　silver　
salver　of　visitingcards；　whose　black　borders　suggested　
that　the　widow’s　friends　had　all　suffered　the　same　bereavement。　
The　parlormaid　could　hardly　be　expected　to　
fathom　the　meaning　of　t