[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第34部分

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London’s　heroes　upon　the　Embankment；　and　spoke　the　
words　aloud。　To　her　they　represented　the　rare　flower　or　
splinter　of　rock　brought　down　by　a　climber　in　proof　that　
he　has　stood　for　a　moment；　at　least；　upon　the　highest　
peak　of　the　mountain。　She　had　been　up　there　and　seen　
the　world　spread　to　the　horizon。　It　was　now　necessary　to　
alter　her　course　to　some　extent；　according　to　her　new　
resolve。　Her　post　should　be　in　one　of　those　exposed　and　
desolate　stations　which　are　shunned　naturally　by　happy　
people。　She　arranged　the　details　of　the　new　plan　in　her　

mind；　not　without　a　grim　satisfaction。　

“Now；”　she　said　to　herself；　rising　from　her　seat；　“I’ll　
think　of　Ralph。”　

Where　was　he　to　be　placed　in　the　new　scale　of　life？　Her　
exalted　mood　seemed　to　make　it　safe　to　handle　the　question。　
But　she　was　dismayed　to　find　how　quickly　her　passions　
leapt　forward　the　moment　she　sanctioned　this　line　
of　thought。　Now　she　was　identified　with　him　and　rethought　
his　thoughts　with　plete　selfsurrender；　now；　with　a　
sudden　cleavage　of　spirit；　she　turned　upon　him　and　denounced　
him　for　his　cruelty。　

“But　I　refuse—I　refuse　to　hate　any　one；”　she　said　aloud；　
chose　the　moment　to　cross　the　road　with　circumspection；　
and　ten　minutes　later　lunched　in　the　Strand；　cutting　her　
meat　firmly　into　small　pieces；　but　giving　her　fellowdiners　
no　further　cause　to　judge　her　eccentric。　Her　soliloquy　
crystallized　itself　into　little　fragmentary　phrases　emerging　
suddenly　from　the　turbulence　of　her　thought；　particularly　
when　she　had　to　exert　herself　in　any　way；　either　
to　move；　to　count　money；　or　to　choose　a　turning。　“To　
know　the　truth—to　accept　without　bitterness”—those；　

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perhaps；　were　the　most　articulate　of　her　utterances；　for　
no　one　could　have　made　head　or　tail　of　the　queer　gibberish　
murmured　in　front　of　the　statue　of　Francis；　Duke　of　
Bedford；　save　that　the　name　of　Ralph　occurred　frequently　
in　very　strange　connections；　as　if；　having　spoken　it；　she　
wished；　superstitiously；　to　cancel　it　by　adding　some　other　
word　that　robbed　the　sentence　with　his　name　in　it　of　any　
meaning。　

Those　champions　of　the　cause　of　women；　Mr。　Clacton　
and　Mrs。　Seal；　did　not　perceive　anything　strange　in　Mary’s　
behavior；　save　that　she　was　almost　half　an　hour　later　than　
usual　in　ing　back　to　the　office。　Happily；　their　own　affairs　
kept　them　busy；　and　she　was　free　from　their　inspection。　
If　they　had　surprised　her　they　would　have　found　her　
lost；　apparently；　in　admiration　of　the　large　hotel　across　
the　square；　for；　after　writing　a　few　words；　her　pen　rested　
upon　the　paper；　and　her　mind　pursued　its　own　journey　
among　the　sunblazoned　windows　and　the　drifts　of　purplish　
smoke　which　formed　her　view。　And；　indeed；　this　background　
was　by　no　means　out　of　keeping　with　her　thoughts。　
She　saw　to　the　remote　spaces　behind　the　strife　of　the　

foreground；　enabled　now　to　gaze　there；　since　she　had　renounced　
her　own　demands；　privileged　to　see　the　larger　
view；　to　share　the　vast　desires　and　sufferings　of　the　mass　
of　mankind。　She　had　been　too　lately　and　too　roughly　mastered　
by　facts　to　take　an　easy　pleasure　in　the　relief　of　
renunciation；　such　satisfaction　as　she　felt　came　only　from　
the　discovery　that；　having　renounced　everything　that　made　
life　happy；　easy；　splendid；　individual；　there　remained　a　hard　
reality；　unimpaired　by　one’s　personal　adventures；　remote　
as　the　stars；　unquenchable　as　they　are。　

While　Mary　Datchet　was　undergoing　this　curious　transformation　
from　the　particular　to　the　universal；　Mrs。　Seal　
remembered　her　duties　with　regard　to　the　kettle　and　the　
gasfire。　She　was　a　little　surprised　to　find　that　Mary　had　
drawn　her　chair　to　the　window；　and；　having　lit　the　gas；　she　
raised　herself　from　a　stooping　posture　and　looked　at　her。　
The　most　obvious　reason　for　such　an　attitude　in　a　secretary　
was　some　kind　of　indisposition。　But　Mary；　rousing　
herself　with　an　effort；　denied　that　she　was　indisposed。　

“I’m　frightfully　lazy　this　afternoon；”　she　added；　with　a　
glance　at　her　table。　“You　must　really　get　another　secre


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Night　and　Day　

tary；　Sally。”　

The　words　were　meant　to　be　taken　lightly；　but　something　
in　the　tone　of　them　roused　a　jealous　fear　which　
was　always　dormant　in　Mrs。　Seal’s　breast。　She　was　terribly　
afraid　that　one　of　these　days　Mary；　the　young　woman　
who　typified　so　many　rather　sentimental　and　enthusiastic　
ideas；　who　had　some　sort　of　visionary　existence　in　
white　with　a　sheaf　of　lilies　in　her　hand；　would　announce；　
in　a　jaunty　way；　that　she　was　about　to　be　married。　

“You　don’t　mean　that　you’re　going　to　leave　us？”　she　
said。　

“I’ve　not　made　up　my　mind　about　anything；”　said　Mary—　
a　remark　which　could　be　taken　as　a　generalization。　

Mrs。　Seal　got　the　teacups　out　of　the　cupboard　and　set　
them　on　the　table。　

“You’re　not　going　to　be　married；　are　you？”　she　asked；　
pronouncing　the　words　with　nervous　speed。　

“Why　are　you　asking　such　absurd　questions　this　afternoon；　
Sally？”　Mary　asked；　not　very　steadily。　“Must　we　all　
get　married？”　

Mrs。　Seal　emitted　a　most　peculiar　chuckle。　She　seemed　

for　one　moment　to　acknowledge　the　terrible　side　of　life　
which　is　concerned　with　the　emotions；　the　private　lives；　
of　the　sexes；　and　then　to　sheer　off　from　it　with　all　possible　
speed　into　the　shades　of　her　own　shivering　virginity。　
She　was　made　so　unfortable　by　the　turn　the　conversation　
had　taken；　that　she　plunged　her　head　into　the　
cupboard；　and　endeavored　to　abstract　some　very　obscure　
piece　of　china。　

“We　have　our　work；”　she　said；　withdrawing　her　head；　
displaying　cheeks　more　than　usually　crimson；　and　placing　
a　jampot　emphatically　upon　the　table。　But；　for　the　
moment；　she　was　unable　to　launch　herself　upon　one　of　
those　enthusiastic；　but　inconsequent；　tirades　upon　liberty；　
democracy；　the　rights　of　the　people；　and　the　iniquities　
of　the　Government；　in　which　she　delighted。　Some　
memory　from　her　own　past　or　from　the　past　of　her　sex　
rose　to　her　mind　and　kept　her　abashed。　She　glanced　furtively　
at　Mary；　who　still　sat　by　the　window　with　her　arm　
upon　the　sill。　She　noticed　how　young　she　was　and　full　of　
the　promise　of　womanhood。　The　sight　made　her　so　uneasy　
that　she　fidgeted　the　cups　upon　their　saucers。　

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“Yes—enough　work　to　last　a　lifetime；”　said　Mary；　as　if　
concluding　some　passage　of　thought。　

Mrs。　Seal　brightened　at　once。　She　lamented　her　lack　of　
scientific　training；　and　her　deficiency　in　the　processes　of　
logic；　but　she　set　her　mind　to　work　at　once　to　make　the　
prospects　of　the　cause　appear　as　alluring　and　important　
as　she　could。　She　delivered　herself　of　an　harangue　in　
which　she　asked　a　great　many　rhetorical　questions　and　
answered　them　with　a　little　bang　of　one　fist　upon　another。　


“To　last　a　lifetime？　My　dear　child；　it　will　last　all　our　
lifetimes。　As　one　falls　another　steps　into　the　breach。　My　
father；　in　his　generation；　a　pioneer—I；　ing　after　him；　
do　my　little　best。　What；　alas！　can　one　do　more？　And　now　
it’s　you　young　women—we　look　to　you—the　future　looks　
to　you。　Ah；　my　dear；　if　I’d　a　thousand　lives；　I’d　give　them　
all　to　our　cause。　The　cause　of　women；　d’you　say？　I　say　the　
cause　of　humanity。　And　there　are　some”—she　glanced　
fiercely　at　the　window—”who　don’t　see　it！　There　are　some　
who　are　satisfied　to　go　on；　year　after　year；　refusing　to　
admit　the　truth。　And　we　who　have　the　vision—the　kettle　

boiling　over？　No；　no；　let　me　see　to　it—we　who　know　the　
truth；”　she　continued；　gesticulating　with　the　kettle　and　
the　teapot。　Owing　to　these　encumbrances；　perhaps；　she　
lost　the　thread　of　her　discourse；　and　concluded；　rather　
wistfully；　“It’s　all　so　simple。”　She　referred　to　a　matter　
that　was　a　perpetual　source　of　bewilderment　to　her—the　
extraordinary　incapacity　of　the　human　race；　in　a　world　
where　the　good　is　so　unmistakably　divided　from　the　bad；　
of　distinguishing　one　from　the　other；　and　embodying　what　
ought　to　be　done　in　a　few　large；　simple　Acts　of　Parliament；　
which　would；　in　a　very　short　time；　pletely　
change　the　lot　of　humanity。　

“One　would　have　thought；”　she　said；　“that　men　of　University　
training；　like　Mr。　Asquith—one　would　have　thought　that　
an　appeal　to　reason　would　not　be　unheard　by　them。　But　
reason；”　she　reflected；　“what　is　reason　without　Reality？”　

Doing　homage　to　the　phrase；　she　repeated　it　once　more；　
and　caught　the　ear　of　Mr。　Clacton；　as　he　issued　from　his　
room；　and　he　repeated　it　a　third　time；　giving　it；　as　he　
was　in　the　habit　of　doing　with　Mrs。　Seal’s　phrases；　a　dryly　
humorous　intonation。　He　was　well　pleased　with　the　world；　

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however；　and　he　remarked；　in　a　flattering　manner；　that　
he　would　like　to　see　that　phrase　in　large　letters　at　the　
head　of　a　leaflet。　

“But；　Mrs。　Seal；　we　have　to　aim　at　a　judicious　bination　
of　the　two；”　he　added　in　his　magisterial　way　to　check　
the　unbalanced　enthusiasm　of　the　women。　“Reality　has　to　
be　voiced　by　reason　before　it　can　make　itself　felt。　The　
weak　point　of　all　these　movements；　Miss　Datchet；”　he　continued；　
taking　his　place　at　the　table　and　turning　to　Mary　
as　usual　when　about　to　deliver　his　more　profound　cogitations；　
“is　that　they　are　not　based　upon　sufficiently　intellectual　
grounds。　A　mistake；　in　my　opinion。　The　British　public　
likes　a　pellet　of　reason　in　its　jam　of　eloquence—a　pill　of　
reason　in　its　pudding　of　sentiment；”　he　said；　sharpening　
the　phrase　to　a　satisfactory　degree　of　literary　precision。　

His　eyes　rested；　with　something　of　the　vanity　of　an　
author；　upon　the　yellow　leaflet　which　Mary　held　in　her　
hand。　She　rose；　took　her　seat　at　the　head　of　the　table；　
poured　out　tea　for　her　colleagues；　and　gave　her　opinion　
upon　the　leaflet。　So　she　had　poured　out　tea；　so　she　had　
criticized　Mr。　Clacton’s　leaflets　a　hundred　times　already；　

but　now　it　seemed　to　her　that　she　was　doing　it　in　a　
different　spirit；　she　had　enlisted　in　the　army；　and　was　a　
volunteer　no　longer。　She　had　renounced　something　and　
was　now—how　could　she　express　it？；—not　quite　“in　the　
running”　for　life。　She　had　always　known　that　Mr。　Clacton　
and　Mrs。　Seal　were　not　in　the　running；　and　across　the　
gulf　that　separated　them　she　had　seen　them　in　the　guise　
of　shadow　people；　flitting　in　and　out　of　the　ranks　of　the　
living—eccentrics；　undeveloped　human　beings；　from　
whose　substance　some　essential　part　had　been　cut　away。　
All　this　had　never　struck　her　so　clearly　as　it　did　this　afternoon；　
when　she　felt　that　her　lot　was　cast　with　them　for　
ever。　One　view　of　the　world　plunged　in　darkness；　so　a　
more　volatile　temperament　might　have　argued　after　a　
season　of　despair；　let　the　world　turn　again　and　show　another；　
more　splendid；　perhaps。　No；　Mary　thought；　with　
unflinching　loyalty　to　what　appeared　to　her　to　be　the　
true　view；　having　lost　what　is　best；　I　do　not　mean　to　
pretend　that　any　other　view　does　instead。　Whatever　happens；　
I　mean　to　have　no　presences　in　my　life。　Her　very　
words　had　a　sort　of　distinctness　which　is　sometimes　pro


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Virginia　Woolf　

duced　by　sharp；　bodily　pain。　To　Mrs。　Seal’s　secret　jubilation　
the　rule　which　forbade　discussion　of　shop　at　teatime　
was　overlooked。　Mary　and　Mr。　Clacton　argued　with　a　
cogency　and　a　ferocity　which　made　the　little　woman　feel　
that　something　very　important—she　hardly　knew　what—　
was　taking　place。　She　became　much　excited；　one　crucifix　
became　entangled　with　another；　and　she　dug　a　considerable　
hole　in　the　table　with　the　point　of　her　pencil　in　
order　to　emphasize　the　most　striking　heads　of　the　discourse；　
and　how　any　bination　of　Cabi　Ministers　
could　resist　such　discourse　she　really　did　not　know。　

She　could　hardly　bring　herself　to　remember　her　own　
private　instrument　of　justice—the　typewriter。　The　telephone
bell　rang；　and　as　she　hurried　off　to　answer　a　voice　
which　always　seemed　a　proof　of　importance　by　itself；　she　
felt　that　it　was　at　this　exact　spot　on　the　surface　of　the　
globe　that　all　the　subterranean　wires　of　thought　and　
progress　came　together。　When　she　returned；　with　a　message　
from　the　printer；　she　found　that　Mary　was　putting　
on　her　hat　firmly；　there　was　something　imperious　and　
dominating　in　her　attitude　altogether。　

“Look；　Sally；”　she　said；　“these　letters　want　copying。　
These　I’ve　not　looked　at。　The　question　of　the　new　census　
will　have　to　be　gone　into　carefully。　But　I’m　going　home　
now。　Good　night；　Mr。　Clacton；　good　night；　Sally。”　

“We　are　very　fortunate　in　our　secretary；　Mr。　Clacton；”　
said　Mrs。　Seal；　pausing　with　her　hand　on　the　papers；　as　
the　door　shut　behind　Mary。　Mr。　Clacton　himself　had　been　
vaguely　impressed　by　something　in　Mary’s　behavior　towards　
him。　He　envisaged　a　time　even　when　it　would　bee　
necessary　to　tell　her　that　there　could　not　be　two　
masters　in　one　office—but　she　was　certainly　able；　very　
able；　and　in　touch　with　a　group　of　very　clever　young　
men。　No　doubt　they　had　suggested　to　her　some　of　her　
new　ideas。　

He　signified　his　assent　to　Mrs。　Seal’s　remark；　but　observed；　
with　a　glance　at　the　clock；　which　showed　only　
half　an　hour　past　five：　

“If　she　takes　the　work　seriously；　Mrs。　Seal—but　that’s　
just　what　some　of　your　clever　young　ladies　don’t　do。”　So　
saying　he　returned　to　his　room；　and　Mrs。　Seal；　after　a　
moment’s　hesitation；　hurried　back　to　her　labors。　

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CHAPTER　XXI　


Mary　walked　to　the　nearest　station　and　reached　home　in　
an　incredibly　short　space　of　time；　just　so　much；　indeed；　
as　was　needed　for　the　intelligent　understanding　of　the　
news　of　the　world　as　the　“Westminster　Gazette”　reported　
it。　Within　a　few　minutes　of　opening　her　door；　she　was　in　
trim　for　a　hard　evening’s　work。　She　unlocked　a　drawer　
and　took　out　a　manuscript；　which　consisted　of　a　very　few　
pages；　entitled；　in　a　forcible　hand；　“Some　Aspects　of　the　
Democratic　State。”　The　aspects　dwindled　out　in　a　cries
cross　of　blotted　lines　in　the　very　middle　of　a　sentence；　
and　suggested　that　the　author　had　been　interrupted；　or　
convinced　of　the　futility　of　proceeding；　with　her　pen　in　
the　air…　。　Oh；　yes；　Ralph　had　e　in　at　that　point。　She　
scored　that　sheet　very　effectively；　and；　choosing　a　fresh　
one；　began　at　a　great　rate　with　a　generalization　upon　the　
structure　of　human　society；　which　was　a　good　deal　bolder　
than　her　custom。　Ralph　had　told　her　once　that　she　couldn’t　
write　English；　which　accounted　for　those　frequent　blots　
and　insertions；　but　she　put　all　that　behind　her；　and　drove　

ahead　with　such　words　as　came　her　way；　until　she　had　
acplished　half　a　page　of　generalization　and　might　
legitimately　draw　breath。　Directly　her　hand　stopped　her　
brain　stopped　too；　and　she　began　to　listen。　A　paperboy　
shouted　down　the　street；　an　omnibus　ceased　and　lurched　
on　again　with　the　heave　of　duty　once　more　shouldered；　
the　dullness　of　the　sounds　suggested　that　a　fog　had　risen　
since　her　return；　if；　indeed；　a　fog　has　power　to　deaden　
sound；　of　which　fact；　she　could　not　be　sure　at　the　present　
moment。　It　was　the　sort　of　fact　Ralph　Denham　knew。　At　
any　rate；　it　was　no　concern　of　hers；　and　she　was　about　to　
dip　a　pen　when　her　ear　was　caught　by　the　sound　of　a　step　
upon　the　stone　staircase。　She　followed　it　past　Mr。　Chippe