[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第6部分

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work　at　mathematics。　No　force　on　earth　would　have　made　
her　confess　that。　Her　actions　when　thus　engaged　were　
furtive　and　secretive；　like　those　of　some　nocturnal　animal。　
Steps　had　only　to　sound　on　the　staircase；　and　she　
slipped　her　paper　between　the　leaves　of　a　great　Greek　
dictionary　which　she　had　purloined　from　her　father’s　room　
for　this　purpose。　It　was　only　at　night；　indeed；　that　she　
felt　secure　enough　from　surprise　to　concentrate　her　mind　
to　the　utmost。　

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Night　and　Day　

Perhaps　the　unwomanly　nature　of　the　science　made　her　
instinctively　wish　to　conceal　her　love　of　it。　But　the　more　
profound　reason　was　that　in　her　mind　mathematics　were　
directly　opposed　to　literature。　She　would　not　have　cared　
to　confess　how　infinitely　she　preferred　the　exactitude；　
the　starlike　impersonality；　of　figures　to　the　confusion；　
agitation；　and　vagueness　of　the　finest　prose。　There　was　
something　a　little　unseemly　in　thus　opposing　the　tradition　
of　her　family；　something　that　made　her　feel　wrongheaded；　
and　thus　more　than　ever　disposed　to　shut　her　
desires　away　from　view　and　cherish　them　with　extraordinary　
fondness。　Again　and　again　she　was　thinking　of　some　
problem　when　she　should　have　been　thinking　of　her　grandfather。　
Waking　from　these　trances；　she　would　see　that　her　
mother；　too；　had　lapsed　into　some　dream　almost　as　visionary　
as　her　own；　for　the　people　who　played　their　parts　
in　it　had　long　been　numbered　among　the　dead。　But；　seeing　
her　own　state　mirrored　in　her　mother’s　face；　Katharine　
would　shake　herself　awake　with　a　sense　of　irritation。　Her　
mother　was　the　last　person　she　wished　to　resemble；　much　
though　she　admired　her。　Her　mon　sense　would　assert　

itself　almost　brutally；　and　Mrs。　Hilbery；　looking　at　her　
with　her　odd　sidelong　glance；　that　was　half　malicious　
and　half　tender；　would　liken　her　to　“your　wicked　old　Uncle　
Judge　Peter；　who　used　to　be　heard　delivering　sentence　of　
death　in　the　bathroom。　Thank　Heaven；　Katharine；　I’ve　
not　a　drop　of　HIM　in　me！”　

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Virginia　Woolf　

CHAPTER　IV　


At　about　nine　o’clock　at　night；　on　every　alternate　Wednesday；　
Miss　Mary　Datchet　made　the　same　resolve；　that　she　
would　never　again　lend　her　rooms　for　any　purposes　whatsoever。　
Being；　as　they　were；　rather　large　and　conveniently　
situated　in　a　street　mostly　dedicated　to　offices　off　the　
Strand；　people　who　wished　to　meet；　either　for　purposes　
of　enjoyment；　or　to　discuss　art；　or　to　reform　the　State；　
had　a　way　of　suggesting　that　Mary　had　better　be　asked　to　
lend　them　her　rooms。　She　always　met　the　request　with　
the　same　frown　of　wellsimulated　annoyance；　which　presently　
dissolved　in　a　kind　of　halfhumorous；　halfsurly　
shrug；　as　of　a　large　dog　tormented　by　children　who　shakes　
his　ears。　She　would　lend　her　room；　but　only　on　condition　
that　all　the　arrangements　were　made　by　her。　This　fortnightly　
meeting　of　a　society　for　the　free　discussion　of　
everything　entailed　a　great　deal　of　moving；　and　pulling；　
and　ranging　of　furniture　against　the　wall；　and　placing　of　
breakable　and　precious　things　in　safe　places。　Miss　Datchet　
was　quite　capable　of　lifting　a　kitchen　table　on　her　back；　

if　need　were；　for　although　wellproportioned　and　dressed　
beingly；　she　had　the　appearance　of　unusual　strength　
and　determination。　

She　was　some　twentyfive　years　of　age；　but　looked　older　
because　she　earned；　or　intended　to　earn；　her　own　living；　
and　had　already　lost　the　look　of　the　irresponsible　spectator；　
and　taken　on　that　of　the　private　in　the　army　of　workers。　
Her　gestures　seemed　to　have　a　certain　purpose；　the　
muscles　round　eyes　and　lips　were　set　rather　firmly；　as　
though　the　senses　had　undergone　some　discipline；　and　
were　held　ready　for　a　call　on　them。　She　had　contracted　
two　faint　lines　between　her　eyebrows；　not　from　anxiety　
but　from　thought；　and　it　was　quite　evident　that　all　the　
feminine　instincts　of　pleasing；　soothing；　and　charming　
were　crossed　by　others　in　no　way　peculiar　to　her　sex。　For　
the　rest　she　was　browneyed；　a　little　clumsy　in　movement；　
and　suggested　country　birth　and　a　descent　from　
respectable　hardworking　ancestors；　who　had　been　men　
of　faith　and　integrity　rather　than　doubters　or　fanatics。　

At　the　end　of　a　fairly　hard　day’s　work　it　was　certainly　
something　of　an　effort　to　clear　one’s　room；　to　pull　the　

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Night　and　Day　

mattress　off　one’s　bed；　and　lay　it　on　the　floor；　to　fill　a　
pitcher　with　cold　coffee；　and　to　sweep　a　long　table　clear　
for　plates　and　cups　and　saucers；　with　pyramids　of　little　
pink　biscuits　between　them；　but　when　these　alterations　
were　effected；　Mary　felt　a　lightness　of　spirit　e　to　her；　
as　if　she　had　put　off　the　stout　stuff　of　her　working　hours　
and　slipped　over　her　entire　being　some　vesture　of　thin；　
bright　silk。　She　knelt　before　the　fire　and　looked　out　into　
the　room。　The　light　fell　softly；　but　with　clear　radiance；　
through　shades　of　yellow　and　blue　paper；　and　the　room；　
which　was　set　with　one　or　two　sofas　resembling　grassy　
mounds　in　their　lack　of　shape；　looked　unusually　large　and　
quiet。　Mary　was　led　to　think　of　the　heights　of　a　Sussex　
down；　and　the　swelling　green　circle　of　some　camp　of　ancient　
warriors。　The　moonlight　would　be　falling　there　so　
peacefully　now；　and　she　could　fancy　the　rough　pathway　
of　silver　upon　the　wrinkled　skin　of　the　sea。　

“And　here　we　are；”　she　said；　half　aloud；　half　satirically；　
yet　with　evident　pride；　“talking　about　art。”　

She　pulled　a　basket　containing　balls　of　differently　colored　
wools　and　a　pair　of　stockings　which　needed　darning　

towards　her；　and　began　to　set　her　fingers　to　work；　while　
her　mind；　reflecting　the　lassitude　of　her　body；　went　on　
perversely；　conjuring　up　visions　of　solitude　and　quiet；　
and　she　pictured　herself　laying　aside　her　knitting　and　
walking　out　on　to　the　down；　and　hearing　nothing　but　the　
sheep　cropping　the　grass　close　to　the　roots；　while　the　
shadows　of　the　little　trees　moved　very　slightly　this　way　
and　that　in　the　moonlight；　as　the　breeze　went　through　
them。　But　she　was　perfectly　conscious　of　her　present　situation；　
and　derived　some　pleasure　from　the　reflection　that　
she　could　rejoice　equally　in　solitude；　and　in　the　presence　
of　the　many　very　different　people　who　were　now　making　
their　way；　by　divers　paths；　across　London　to　the　spot　
where　she　was　sitting。　

As　she　ran　her　needle　in　and　out　of　the　wool；　she　thought　
of　the　various　stages　in　her　own　life　which　made　her　
present　position　seem　the　culmination　of　successive　
miracles。　She　thought　of　her　clerical　father　in　his　country　
parsonage；　and　of　her　mother’s　death；　and　of　her　own　
determination　to　obtain　education；　and　of　her　college　
life；　which　had　merged；　not　so　very　long　ago；　in　the　won


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Virginia　Woolf　

derful　maze　of　London；　which　still　seemed　to　her；　in　spite　
of　her　constitutional　levelheadedness；　like　a　vast　electric　
light；　casting　radiance　upon　the　myriads　of　men　and　
women　who　crowded　round　it。　And　here　she　was　at　the　
very　center　of　it　all；　that　center　which　was　constantly　in　
the　minds　of　people　in　remote　Canadian　forests　and　on　
the　plains　of　India；　when　their　thoughts　turned　to　England。　
The　nine　mellow　strokes；　by　which　she　was　now　
apprised　of　the　hour；　were　a　message　from　the　great　clock　
at　Westminster　itself。　As　the　last　of　them　died　away；　there　
was　a　firm　knocking　on　her　own　door；　and　she　rose　and　
opened　it。　She　returned　to　the　room；　with　a　look　of　steady　
pleasure　in　her　eyes；　and　she　was　talking　to　Ralph　Denham；　
who　followed　her。　

“Alone？”　he　said；　as　if　he　were　pleasantly　surprised　by　
that　fact。　

“I　am　sometimes　alone；”　she　replied。　

“But　you　expect　a　great　many　people；”　he　added；　looking　
round　him。　“It’s　like　a　room　on　the　stage。　Who　is　it　
tonight？”　

“William　Rodney；　upon　the　Elizabethan　use　of　meta


phor。　I　expect　a　good　solid　paper；　with　plenty　of　quotations　
from　the　classics。”　

Ralph　warmed　his　hands　at　the　fire；　which　was　flapping　
bravely　in　the　grate；　while　Mary　took　up　her　stocking　
again。　

“I　suppose　you　are　the　only　woman　in　London　who　darns　
her　own　stockings；”　he　observed。　

“I’m　only　one　of　a　great　many　thousands　really；”　she　
replied；　“though　I　must　admit　that　I　was　thinking　myself　
very　remarkable　when　you　came　in。　And　now　that　you’re　
here　I　don’t　think　myself　remarkable　at　all。　How　horrid　of　
you！　But　I’m　afraid　you’re　much　more　remarkable　than　I　
am。　You’ve　done　much　more　than　I’ve　done。”　

“If　that’s　your　standard；　you’ve　nothing　to　be　proud　
of；”　said　Ralph　grimly。　

“Well；　I　must　reflect　with　Emerson　that　it’s　being　and　
not　doing　that　matters；”　she　continued。　

“Emerson？”　Ralph　exclaimed；　with　derision。　“You　don’t　
mean　to　say　you　read　Emerson？”　

“Perhaps　it　wasn’t　Emerson；　but　why　shouldn’t　I　read　
Emerson？”　she　asked；　with　a　tinge　of　anxiety。　

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Night　and　Day　

“There’s　no　reason　that　I　know　of。　It’s　the　bination　
that’s　odd—books　and　stockings。　The　bination　is　very　
odd。”　But　it　seemed　to　remend　itself　to　him。　Mary　gave　
a　little　laugh；　expressive　of　happiness；　and　the　particular　
stitches　that　she　was　now　putting　into　her　work　appeared　
to　her　to　be　done　with　singular　grace　and　felicity。　She　held　
out　the　stocking　and　looked　at　it　approvingly。　

“You　always　say　that；”　she　said。　“I　assure　you　it’s　a　
mon　‘bination；’　as　you　call　it；　in　the　houses　of　
the　clergy。　The　only　thing　that’s　odd　about　me　is　that　I　
enjoy　them　both—Emerson　and　the　stocking。”　

A　knock　was　heard；　and　Ralph　exclaimed：　

“Damn　those　people！　I　wish　they　weren’t　ing！”　

“It’s　only　Mr。　Turner；　on　the　floor　below；”　said　Mary；　and　
she　felt　grateful　to　Mr。　Turner　for　having　alarmed　Ralph；　
and　for　having　given　a　false　alarm。　

“Will　there　be　a　crowd？”　Ralph　asked；　after　a　pause。　

“There’ll　be　the　Morrises　and　the　Crashaws；　and　Dick　
Osborne；　and　Septimus；　and　all　that　set。　Katharine　Hilbery　
is　ing；　by　the　way；　so　William　Rodney　told　me。”　

“Katharine　Hilbery！”　Ralph　exclaimed。　

“You　know　her？”　Mary　asked；　with　some　surprise。　

“I　went　to　a　teaparty　at　her　house。”　

Mary　pressed　him　to　tell　her　all　about　it；　and　Ralph　was　
not　at　all　unwilling　to　exhibit　proofs　of　the　extent　of　his　
knowledge。　He　described　the　scene　with　certain　additions　
and　exaggerations　which　interested　Mary　very　much。　

“But；　in　spite　of　what　you　say；　I　do　admire　her；”　she　
said。　“I’ve　only　seen　her　once　or　twice；　but　she　seems　to　
me　to　be　what　one　calls　a　‘personality。’”　

“I　didn’t　mean　to　abuse　her。　I　only　felt　that　she　wasn’t　
very　sympathetic　to　me。”　

“They　say　she’s　going　to　marry　that　queer　creature　
Rodney。”　

“Marry　Rodney？　Then　she　must　be　more　deluded　than　I　
thought　her。”　

“Now　that’s　my　door；　all　right；”　Mary　exclaimed；　carefully　
putting　her　wools　away；　as　a　succession　of　knocks　
reverberated　unnecessarily；　acpanied　by　a　sound　of　
people　stamping　their　feet　and　laughing。　A　moment　later　
the　room　was　full　of　young　men　and　women；　who　came　in　
with　a　peculiar　look　of　expectation；　exclaimed　“Oh！”　when　

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Virginia　Woolf　

they　saw　Denham；　and　then　stood　still；　gaping　rather　
foolishly。　

The　room　very　soon　contained　between　twenty　and　thirty　
people；　who　found　seats　for　the　most　part　upon　the　floor；　
occupying　the　mattresses；　and　hunching　themselves　together　
into　triangular　shapes。　They　were　all　young　and　
some　of　them　seemed　to　make　a　protest　by　their　hair　and　
dress；　and　something　somber　and　truculent　in　the　expression　
of　their　faces；　against　the　more　normal　type；　
who　would　have　passed　unnoticed　in　an　omnibus　or　an　
underground　railway。　It　was　notable　that　the　talk　was　
confined　to　groups；　and　was；　at　first；　entirely　spasmodic　
in　character；　and　muttered　in　undertones　as　if　the　speakers　
were　suspicious　of　their　fellowguests。　

Katharine　Hilbery　came　in　rather　late；　and　took　up　a　
position　on　the　floor；　with　her　back　against　the　wall。　She　
looked　round　quickly；　recognized　about　half　a　dozen　
people；　to　whom　she　nodded；　but　failed　to　see　Ralph；　or；　
if　so；　had　already　forgotten　to　attach　any　name　to　him。　
But　in　a　second　these　heterogeneous　elements　were　all　
united　by　the　voice　of　Mr。　Rodney；　who　suddenly　strode　

up　to　the　table；　and　began　very　rapidly　in　highstrained　
tones：　

“In　undertaking　to　speak　of　the　Elizabethan　use　of　metaphor　
in　poetry—”　

All　the　different　heads　swung　slightly　or　steadied　themselves　
into　a　position　in　which　they　could　gaze　straight　
at　the　speaker’s　face；　and　the　same　rather　solemn　expression　
was　visible　on　all　of　them。　But；　at　the　same　time；　
even　the　faces　that　were　most　exposed　to　view；　and　therefore　
most　tautly　under　control；　disclosed　a　sudden　impulsive　
tremor　which；　unless　directly　checked；　would　have　
developed　into　an　outburst　of　laughter。　The　first　sight　of　
Mr。　Rodney　was　irresistibly　ludicrous。　He　was　very　red　in　
the　face；　whether　from　the　cool　November　night　or　nervousness；　
and　every　movement；　from　the　way　he　wrung　
his　hands　to　the　way　he　jerked　his　head　to　right　and　left；　
as　though　a　vision　drew　him　now　to　the　door；　now　to　the　
window；　bespoke　his　horrible　disfort　under　the　stare　
of　so　many　eyes。　He　was　scrupulously　well　dressed；　and　a　
pearl　in　the　center　of　his　tie　seemed　to　give　him　a　touch　
of　aristocratic　opulence。　But　the　rather　prominent　eyes　

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Night　and　Day　

and　the　impulsive　stammering　manner；　which　seemed　to　
indicate　a　torrent　of　ideas　intermittently　pressing　for　utterance　
and　always　checked　in　their　course　by　a　clutch　of　
nervousness；　drew　no　pity；　as　in　the　case　of　a　more　imposing　
personage；　but　a　desire　to　laugh；　which　was；　however；　
entirely　lacking　in　malice。　Mr。　Rodney　was　evidently　
so　painfully　conscious　of　the　oddity　of　his　appearance；　
and　his　very　redness　and　the　starts　to　which　his　body　was　
liable　gave　such　proof　of　his　own　disfort；　that　there　
was　something　endearing　in　this　ridiculous　susceptibility；　
although　most　people　would　probably　have　echoed　
Denham’s　private　exclamation；　“Fancy　marrying　a　creature　
like　that！”　

His　paper　was　carefully　written　out；　but　in　spite　of　this　
precaution　Mr。　Rodney　managed　to　turn　over　two　sheets　
instead　of　one；　to　choose　the　wrong　sentence　where　two　
were　written　together；　and　to　discover　his　own　handwriting　
suddenly　illegible。　When　he　found　himself　possessed　
of　a　coherent　passage；　he　shook　it　at　his　audience　almost　
aggressively；　and　then　fumbled　for　another。　After　a　distressing　
search　a　fresh　discovery　would　be　made；　and　

produced　in　the　same　way；　until；　by　means　of　repeated　
attacks；　he　had　stirred　his　audience　to　a　degree　of　animation　
quite　remarkable　in　these　gatherings。　Whether　
they　were　stirred　by　his　enthusiasm　for　poetry　or　by　the　
contortions　which　a　human　being　was　going　through　for　
their　benefit；　it　would　be　hard　to　say。　At　length　Mr。　Rodney　
sat　down　impulsively　in　the　middle　of　a　sentence；　and；　
after　a　pause　of　bewilderment；　the　audience　expressed　
its　relief　at　being　able　to　laugh　aloud　in　a　decided　outburst　
of　applause。　

Mr。　Rodney　acknowledged　this　with　a　wild　glance　round　
him；　and；　instead　of　waiting　to　answer　questions；　he　
jumped　up；　thrust　himself　through　the　seated　bo