[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第51部分

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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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Virginia　Woolf　

“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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Night　and　Day　

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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Night　and　Day　

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。　Chippen’s　
chambers；　past　M