[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第13部分

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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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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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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　been　paring　her　home　and　her　father　
and　mother　with　the　Suffrage　office　and　the　people　there。　

“But；　Katharine；”　Mrs。　Hilbery　continued；　with　one　of　
her　sudden　changes　of　mood；　“though；　Heaven　knows；　I　
don’t　want　to　see　you　married；　surely　if　ever　a　man　loved　
a　woman；　William　loves　you。　And　it’s　a　nice；　richsounding　
name　too—Katharine　Rodney；　which；　unfortunately；　
doesn’t　mean　that　he’s　got　any　money；　because　he　hasn’t。”　

The　alteration　of　her　name　annoyed　Katharine；　and　she　
observed；　rather　sharply；　that　she　didn’t　want　to　marry　
any　one。　

“It’s　very　dull　that　you　can　only　marry　one　husband；　
certainly；”　Mrs。　Hilbery　reflected。　“I　always　wish　that　you　
could　marry　everybody　who　wants　to　marry　you。　Perhaps　
they’ll　e　to　that　in　time；　but　meanwhile　I　confess　
that　dear　William—”　But　here　Mr。　Hilbery　came　in；　and　
the　more　solid　part　of　the　evening　began。　This　consisted　
in　the　reading　aloud　by　Katharine　from　some　prose　work　
or　other；　while　her　mother　knitted　scarves　intermittently　
on　a　little　circular　frame；　and　her　father　read　the　newspaper；　
not　so　attentively　but　that　he　could　ment　humorously　
now　and　again　upon　the　fortunes　of　the　hero　
and　the　heroine。　The　Hilberys　subscribed　to　a　library；　which　

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delivered　books　on　Tuesdays　and　Fridays；　and　Katharine　
did　her　best　to　interest　her　parents　in　the　works　of　living　
and　highly　respectable　authors；　but　Mrs。　Hilbery　was　perturbed　
by　the　very　look　of　the　light；　goldwreathed　volumes；　
and　would　make　little　faces　as　if　she　tasted　something　
bitter　as　the　reading　went　on；　while　Mr。　Hilbery　
would　treat　the　moderns　with　a　curious　elaborate　banter　
such　as　one　might　apply　to　the　antics　of　a　promising　
child。　So　this　evening；　after　five　pages　or　so　of　one　of　
these　masters；　Mrs。　Hilbery　protested　that　it　was　all　too　
clever　and　cheap　and　nasty　for　words。　

“Please；　Katharine；　read　us　something　real。”　

Katharine　had　to　go　to　the　bookcase　and　choose　a　portly　
volume　in　sleek；　yellow　calf；　which　had　directly　a　sedative　
effect　upon　both　her　parents。　But　the　delivery　of　the　
evening　post　broke　in　upon　the　periods　of　Henry　Fielding；　
and　Katharine　found　that　her　letters　needed　all　her　
attention。　

CHAPTER　VIII　


She　took　her　letters　up　to　her　room　with　her；　having　persuaded　
her　mother　to　go　to　bed　directly　Mr。　Hilbery　left　
them；　for　so　long　as　she　sat　in　the　same　room　as　her　
mother；　Mrs。　Hilbery　might；　at　any　moment；　ask　for　a　
sight　of　the　post。　A　very　hasty　glance　through　many　sheets　
had　shown　Katharine　that；　by　some　coincidence；　her　attention　
had　to　be　directed　to　many　different　anxieties　
simultaneously。　In　the　first　place；　Rodney　had　written　a　
very　full　account　of　his　state　of　mind；　which　was　illustrated　
by　a　son；　and　he　demanded　a　reconsideration　
of　their　position；　which　agitated　Katharine　more　than　
she　liked。　Then　there　were　two　letters　which　had　to　be　
laid　side　by　side　and　pared　before　she　could　make　out　
the　truth　of　their　story；　and　even　when　she　knew　the　
facts　she　could　not　decide　what　to　make　of　them；　and　
finally　she　had　to　reflect　upon　a　great　many　pages　from　a　
cousin　who　found　himself　in　financial　difficulties；　which　
forced　him　to　the　uncongenial　occupation　of　teaching　
the　young　ladies　of　Bungay　to　play　upon　the　violin。　

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But　the　two　letters　which　each　told　the　same　story　
differently　were　the　chief　source　of　her　perplexity。　She　
was　really　rather　shocked　to　find　it　definitely　established　
that　her　own　second　cousin；　Cyril　Alardyce；　had　lived　for　
the　last　four　years　with　a　woman　who　was　not　his　wife；　
who　had　borne　him　two　children；　and　was　now　about　to　
bear　him　another。　This　state　of　things　had　been　discovered　
by　Mrs。　Milvain；　her　aunt　Celia；　a　zealous　inquirer　
into　such　matters；　whose　letter　was　also　under　consideration。　
Cyril；　she　said；　must　be　made　to　marry　the　woman　
at　once；　and　Cyril；　rightly　or　wrongly；　was　indignant　with　
such　interference　with　his　affairs；　and　would　not　own　
that　he　had　any　cause　to　be　ashamed　of　himself。　Had　he　
any　cause　to　be　ashamed　of　himself；　Katharine　wondered；　
and　she　turned　to　her　aunt　again。　

“Remember；”　she　wrote；　in　her　profuse；　emphatic　statement；　
“that　he　bears　your　grandfather’s　name；　and　so　will　
the　child　that　is　to　be　born。　The　poor　boy　is　not　so　much　
to　blame　as　the　woman　who　deluded　him；　thinking　him　a　
gentleman；　which　he　is；　and　having　money；　which　he　has　
not。”　

“What　would　Ralph　Denham　say　to　this？”　thought　
Katharine；　beginning　to　pace　up　and　down　her　bedroom。　
She　twitched　aside　the　curtains；　so　that；　on　turning；　she　
was　faced　by　darkness；　and　looking　out；　could　just　distinguish　
the　branches　of　a　plaree　and　the　yellow　lights　
of　some　one　else’s　windows。　

“What　would　Mary　Datchet　and　Ralph　Denham　say？”　
she　reflected；　pausing　by　the　window；　which；　as　the　night　
was　warm；　she　raised；　in　order　to　feel　the　air　upon　her　
face；　and　to　lose　herself　in　the　nothingness　of　night。　But　
with　the　air　the　distant　humming　sound　of　faroff　crowded　
thoroughfares　was　admitted　to　the　room。　The　incessant　
and　tumultuous　hum　of　the　distant　traffic　seemed；　as　she　
stood　there；　to　represent　the　thick　texture　of　her　life；　for　
her　life　was　so　hemmed　in　with　the　progress　of　other　
lives　that　the　sound　of　its　own　advance　was　inaudible。　
People　like　Ralph　and　Mary；　she　thought；　had　it　all　their　
own　way；　and　an　empty　space　before　them；　and；　as　she　
envied　them；　she　cast　her　mind　out　to　imagine　an　empty　
land　where　all　this　petty　intercourse　of　men　and　women；　
this　life　made　up　of　the　dense　crossings　and　entangle


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ments　of　men　and　women；　had　no　existence　whatever。　
Even　now；　alone；　at　night；　looking　out　into　the　shapeless　
mass　of　London；　she　was　forced　to　remember　that　there　
was　one　point　and　here　another　with　which　she　had　some　
connection。　William　Rodney；　at　this　very　moment；　was　
seated　in　a　minute　speck　of　light　somewhere　to　the　east　of　
her；　and　his　mind　was　occupied；　not　with　his　book；　but　
with　her。　She　wished　that　no　one　in　the　whole　world　would　
think　of　her。　However；　there　was　no　way　of　escaping　from　
one’s　fellowbeings；　she　concluded；　and　shut　the　window　
with　a　sigh；　and　returned　once　more　to　her　letters。　

She　could　not　doubt　but　that　William’s　letter　was　the　
most　genuine　she　had　yet　received　from　him。　He　had　
e　to　the　conclusion　that　he　could　not　live　without　
her；　he　wrote。　He　believed　that　he　knew　her；　and　could　
give　her　happiness；　and　that　their　marriage　would　be　
unlike　other　marriages。　Nor　was　the　son；　in　spite　of　
its　acplishment；　lacking　in　passion；　and　Katharine；　
as　she　read　the　pages　through　again；　could　see　in　what　
direction　her　feelings　ought　to　flow；　supposing　they　revealed　
themselves。　She　would　e　to　feel　a　humorous　

sort　of　tenderness　for　him；　a　zealous　care　for　his　susceptibilities；　
and；　after　all；　she　considered；　thinking　of　her　
father　and　mother；　what　is　love？　

Naturally；　with　her　face；　position；　and　background；　she　
had　experience　of　young　men　who　wished　to　marry　her；　
and　made　protestations　of　love；　but；　perhaps　because　
she　did　not　return　the　feeling；　it　remained　something　of　
a　pageant　to　her。　Not　having　experience　of　it　herself；　her　
mind　had　unconsciously　occupied　itself　for　some　years　in　
dressing　up　an　image　of　love；　and　the　marriage　that　was　
the　oute　of　love；　and　the　man　who　inspired　love；　
which　naturally　dwarfed　any　examples　that　came　her　way。　
Easily；　and　without　correction　by　reason；　her　imagination　
made　pictures；　superb　backgrounds　casting　a　rich　though　
phantom　light　upon　the　facts　in　the　foreground。　Splendid　
as　the　waters　that　drop　with　resounding　thunder　from　
high　ledges　of　rock；　and　plunge　downwards　into　the　blue　
depths　of　night；　was　the　presence　of　love　she　dreamt；　
drawing　into　it　every　drop　of　the　force　of　life；　and　dashing　
them　all　asunder　in　the　superb　catastrophe　in　which　
everything　was　surrendered；　and　nothing　might　be　re


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Night　and　Day　

claimed。　The　man；