[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第69部分

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back　to　them；　that　William；　even　now；　was　plunging　deeper　

and　deeper　into　the　delight　of　unexpected　understanding　
with　Cassandra。　He　had　almost　told　her　that　he　was　finding　
it　infinitely　better　than　he　could　have　believed。　She　
looked　out　of　the　window；　sternly　determined　to　forget　
private　misfortunes；　to　forget　herself；　to　forget　individual　
lives。　With　her　eyes　upon　the　dark　sky；　voices　reached　her　
from　the　room　in　which　she　was　standing。　She　heard　them　
as　if　they　came　from　people　in　another　world；　a　world　
antecedent　to　her　world；　a　world　that　was　the　prelude；　
the　antechamber　to　reality；　it　was　as　if；　lately　dead；　she　
heard　the　living　talking。　The　dream　nature　of　our　life　had　
never　been　more　apparent　to　her；　never　had　life　been　
more　certainly　an　affair　of　four　walls；　whose　objects　existed　
only　within　the　range　of　lights　and　fires；　beyond　
which　lay　nothing；　or　nothing　more　than　darkness。　She　
seemed　physically　to　have　stepped　beyond　the　region　
where　the　light　of　illusion　still　makes　it　desirable　to　possess；　
to　love；　to　struggle。　And　yet　her　melancholy　brought　
her　no　serenity。　She　still　heard　the　voices　within　the　room。　
She　was　still　tormented　by　desires。　She　wished　to　be　beyond　
their　range。　She　wished　inconsistently　enough　that　

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Virginia　Woolf　

she　could　find　herself　driving　rapidly　through　the　streets；　
she　was　even　anxious　to　be　with　some　one　who；　after　a　
moment’s　groping；　took　a　definite　shape　and　solidified　
into　the　person　of　Mary　Datchet。　She　drew　the　curtains　so　
that　the　draperies　met　in　deep　folds　in　the　middle　of　the　
window。　

“Ah；　there　she　is；”　said　Mr。　Hilbery；　who　was　standing　
swaying　affably　from　side　to　side；　with　his　back　to　the　
fire。　“e　here；　Katharine。　I　couldn’t　see　where　you’d　
got　to—our　children；”　he　observed　parenthetically；　“have　
their　uses—I　want　you　to　go　to　my　study；　Katharine；　go　
to　the　third　shelf　on　the　righthand　side　of　the　door；　take　
down　‘Trelawny’s　Recollections　of　Shelley’；　bring　it　to　me。　
Then；　Peyton；　you　will　have　to　admit　to　the　assembled　
pany　that　you　have　been　mistaken。”　

“‘Trelawny’s　Recollections　of　Shelley。’　The　third　shelf　on　
the　right　of　the　door；”　Katharine　repeated。　After　all；　one　
does　not　check　children　in　their　play；　or　rouse　sleepers　
from　their　dreams。　She　passed　William　and　Cassandra　on　
her　way　to　the　door。　

“Stop；　Katharine；”　said　William；　speaking　almost　as　if　he　

were　conscious　of　her　against　his　will。　“Let　me　go。”　He　rose；　
after　a　second’s　hesitation；　and　she　understood　that　it　cost　
him　an　effort。　She　knelt　one　knee　upon　the　sofa　where　
Cassandra　sat；　looking　down　at　her　cousin’s　face；　which　still　
moved　with　the　speed　of　what　she　had　been　saying。　

“Are　you—happy？”　she　asked。　

“Oh；　my　dear！”　Cassandra　exclaimed；　as　if　no　further　
words　were　needed。　“Of　course；　we　disagree　about　every　
subject　under　the　sun；”　she　exclaimed；　“but　I　think　he’s　
the　cleverest　man　I’ve　ever　met—and　you’re　the　most　
beautiful　woman；”　she　added；　looking　at　Katharine；　and　
as　she　looked　her　face　lost　its　animation　and　became　
almost　melancholy　in　sympathy　with　Katharine’s　melancholy；　
which　seemed　to　Cassandra　the　last　refinement　of　
her　distinction。　

“Ah；　but　it’s　only　ten　o’clock；”　said　Katharine　darkly。　

“As　late　as　that！　Well—？”　She　did　not　understand。　

“At　twelve　my　horses　turn　into　rats　and　off　I　go。　The　
illusion　fades。　But　I　accept　my　fate。　I　make　hay　while　the　
sun　shines。”　Cassandra　looked　at　her　with　a　puzzled　expression。　


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Night　and　Day　

“Here’s　Katharine　talking　about　rats；　and　hay；　and　all　
sorts　of　odd　things；”　she　said；　as　William　returned　to　
them。　He　had　been　quick。　“Can　you　make　her　out？”　

Katharine　perceived　from　his　little　frown　and　hesitation　
that　he　did　not　find　that　particular　problem　to　his　
taste　at　present。　She　stood　upright　at　once　and　said　in　a　
different　tone：　

“I　really　am　off；　though。　I　wish　you’d　explain　if　they　
say　anything；　William。　I　shan’t　be　late；　but　I’ve　got　to　see　
some　one。”　

“At　this　time　of　night？”　Cassandra　exclaimed。　

“Whom　have　you　got　to　see？”　William　demanded。　

“A　friend；”　she　remarked；　half　turning　her　head　towards　
him。　She　knew　that　he　wished　her　to　stay；　not；　indeed；　
with　them；　but　in　their　neighborhood；　in　case　of　need。　

“Katharine　has　a　great　many　friends；”　said　William　rather　
lamely；　sitting　down　once　more；　as　Katharine　left　the　room。　

She　was　soon　driving　quickly；　as　she　had　wished　to　
drive；　through　the　lamplit　streets。　She　liked　both　light　
and　speed；　and　the　sense　of　being　out　of　doors　alone；　
and　the　knowledge　that　she　would　reach　Mary　in　her　high；　

lonely　room　at　the　end　of　the　drive。　She　climbed　the　
stone　steps　quickly；　remarking　the　queer　look　of　her　blue　
silk　skirt　and　blue　shoes　upon　the　stone；　dusty　with　the　
boots　of　the　day；　under　the　light　of　an　occasional　jet　of　
flickering　gas。　

The　door　was　opened　in　a　second　by　Mary　herself；　whose　
face　showed　not　only　surprise　at　the　sight　of　her　visitor；　
but　some　degree　of　embarrassment。　She　greeted　her　cordially；　
and；　as　there　was　no　time　for　explanations；　
Katharine　walked　straight　into　the　sittingroom；　and　found　
herself　in　the　presence　of　a　young　man　who　was　lying　
back　in　a　chair　and　holding　a　sheet　of　paper　in　his　hand；　
at　which　he　was　looking　as　if　he　expected　to　go　on　immediately　
with　what　he　was　in　the　middle　of　saying　to　Mary　
Datchet。　The　apparition　of　an　unknown　lady　in　full　evening　
dress　seemed　to　disturb　him。　He　took　his　pipe　from　his　
mouth；　rose　stiffly；　and　sat　down　again　with　a　jerk。　

“Have　you　been　dining　out？”　Mary　asked。　

“Are　you　working？”　Katharine　inquired　simultaneously。　

The　young　man　shook　his　head；　as　if　he　disowned　his　
share　in　the　question　with　some　irritation。　

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“Well；　not　exactly；”　Mary　replied。　“Mr。　Bast　had　
brought　some　papers　to　show　me。　We　were　going　through　
them；　but　we’d　almost　done…　。　Tell　us　about　your　party。”　

Mary　had　a　ruffled　appearance；　as　if　she　had　been　running　
her　fingers　through　her　hair　in　the　course　of　her　
conversation；　she　was　dressed　more　or　less　like　a　Russian　
peasant　girl。　She　sat　down　again　in　a　chair　which　looked　
as　if　it　had　been　her　seat　for　some　hours；　the　saucer　
which　stood　upon　the　arm　contained　the　ashes　of　many　
cigarettes。　Mr。　Bast；　a　very　young　man　with　a　fresh　
plexion　and　a　high　forehead　from　which　the　hair　was　
bed　straight　back；　was　one　of　that　group　of　“very　
able　young　men”　suspected　by　Mr。　Clacton；　justly　as　it　
turned　out；　of　an　influence　upon　Mary　Datchet。　He　had　
e　down　from　one　of　the　Universities　not　long　ago；　
and　was　now　charged　with　the　reformation　of　society。　In　
connection　with　the　rest　of　the　group　of　very　able　young　
men　he　had　drawn　up　a　scheme　for　the　education　of　labor；　
for　the　amalgamation　of　the　middle　class　and　the　
working　class；　and　for　a　joint　assault　of　the　two　bodies；　
bined　in　the　Society　for　the　Education　of　Democracy；　

upon　Capital。　The　scheme　had　already　reached　the　stage　
in　which　it　was　permissible　to　hire　an　office　and　engage　
a　secretary；　and　he　had　been　deputed　to　expound　the　
scheme　to　Mary；　and　make　her　an　offer　of　the　Secretaryship；　
to　which；　as　a　matter　of　principle；　a　small　salary　
was　attached。　Since　seven　o’clock　that　evening　he　had　
been　reading　out　loud　the　document　in　which　the　faith　of　
the　new　reformers　was　expounded；　but　the　reading　was　
so　frequently　interrupted　by　discussion；　and　it　was　so　
often　necessary　to　inform　Mary　“in　strictest　confidence”　
of　the　private　characters　and　evil　designs　of　certain　individuals　
and　societies　that　they　were　still　only　halfway　
through　the　manuscript。　Neither　of　them　realized　that　
the　talk　had　already　lasted　three　hours。　In　their　absorption　
they　had　forgotten　even　to　feed　the　fire；　and　yet　
both　Mr。　Bast　in　his　exposition；　and　Mary　in　her　interrogation；　
carefully　preserved　a　kind　of　formality　calculated　
to　check　the　desire　of　the　human　mind　for　irrelevant　
discussion。　Her　questions　frequently　began；　“Am　I　
to　understand—”　and　his　replies　invariably　represented　
the　views　of　some　one　called　“we。”　

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Night　and　Day　

By　this　time　Mary　was　almost　persuaded　that　she；　too；　
was　included　in　the　“we；”　and　agreed　with　Mr。　Bast　in　
believing　that　“our”　views；　“our”　society；　“our”　policy；　
stood　for　something　quite　definitely　segregated　from　the　
main　body　of　society　in　a　circle　of　superior　illumination。　

The　appearance　of　Katharine　in　this　atmosphere　was　
extremely　incongruous；　and　had　the　effect　of　making　Mary　
remember　all　sorts　of　things　that　she　had　been　glad　to　
forget。　

“You’ve　been　dining　out？”　she　asked　again；　looking；　
with　a　little　smile；　at　the　blue　silk　and　the　pearlsewn　
shoes。　

“No；　at　home。　Are　you　starting　something　new？”　
Katharine　hazarded；　rather　hesitatingly；　looking　at　the　
papers。　

“We　are；”　Mr。　Bast　replied。　He　said　no　more。　

“I’m　thinking　of　leaving　our　friends　in　Russell　Square；”　
Mary　explained。　

“I　see。　And　then　you　will　do　something　else。”　

“Well；　I’m　afraid　I　like　working；”　said　Mary。　

“Afraid；”　said　Mr。　Bast；　conveying　the　impression　

that；　in　his　opinion；　no　sensible　person　could　be　afraid　
of　liking　to　work。　

“Yes；”　said　Katharine；　as　if　he　had　stated　this　opinion　
aloud。　“I　should　like　to　start　something—something　off　
one’s　own　bat—that’s　what　I　should　like。”　

“Yes；　that’s　the　fun；”　said　Mr。　Bast；　looking　at　her　
for　the　first　time　rather　keenly；　and　refilling　his　pipe。　

“But　you　can’t　limit　work—that’s　what　I　mean；”　said　
Mary。　“I　mean　there　are　other　sorts　of　work。　No　one　works　
harder　than　a　woman　with　little　children。”　

“Quite　so；”　said　Mr。　Bast。　“It’s　precisely　the　women　
with　babies　we　want　to　get　hold　of。”　He　glanced　at　his　
document；　rolled　it　into　a　cylinder　between　his　fingers；　
and　gazed　into　the　fire。　Katharine　felt　that　in　this　pany　
anything　that　one　said　would　be　judged　upon　its　
merits；　one　had　only　to　say　what　one　thought；　rather　
barely　and　tersely；　with　a　curious　assumption　that　the