[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第8部分

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but　must　be　placed　somewhere；　or　their　feelings　
would　be　hurt。　So　many　volumes　had　been　written　about　
the　poet　since　his　death　that　she　had　also　to　dispose　of　
a　great　number　of　misstatements；　which　involved　minute　
researches　and　much　correspondence。　Sometimes　
Katharine　brooded；　half　crushed；　among　her　papers；　sometimes　
she　felt　that　it　was　necessary　for　her　very　existence　
that　she　should　free　herself　from　the　past；　at　others；　that　
the　past　had　pletely　displaced　the　present；　which；　
when　one　resumed　life　after　a　morning　among　the　dead；　
proved　to　be　of　an　utterly　thin　and　inferior　position。　

The　worst　of　it　was　that　she　had　no　aptitude　for　literature。　
She　did　not　like　phrases。　She　had　even　some　natural　

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antipathy　to　that　process　of　selfexamination；　that　perpetual　
effort　to　understand　one’s　own　feeling；　and　express　
it　beautifully；　fitly；　or　energetically　in　language；　
which　constituted　so　great　a　part　of　her　mother’s　existence。　
She　was；　on　the　contrary；　inclined　to　be　silent；　she　
shrank　from　expressing　herself　even　in　talk；　let　alone　in　
writing。　As　this　disposition　was　highly　convenient　in　a　
family　much　given　to　the　manufacture　of　phrases；　and　
seemed　to　argue　a　corresponding　capacity　for　action；　she　
was；　from　her　childhood　even；　put　in　charge　of　household　
affairs。　She　had　the　reputation；　which　nothing　in　
her　manner　contradicted；　of　being　the　most　practical　of　
people。　Ordering　meals；　directing　servants；　paying　bills；　
and　so　contriving　that　every　clock　ticked　more　or　less　
accurately　in　time；　and　a　number　of　vases　were　always　
full　of　fresh　flowers　was　supposed　to　be　a　natural　endowment　
of　hers；　and；　indeed；　Mrs。　Hilbery　often　observed　
that　it　was　poetry　the　wrong　side　out。　From　a　very　early　
age；　too；　she　had　to　exert　herself　in　another　capacity；　
she　had　to　counsel　and　help　and　generally　sustain　her　
mother。　Mrs。　Hilbery　would　have　been　perfectly　well　able　

to　sustain　herself　if　the　world　had　been　what　the　world　is　
not。　She　was　beautifully　adapted　for　life　in　another　pla。　
But　the　natural　genius　she　had　for　conducting　affairs　there　
was　of　no　real　use　to　her　here。　Her　watch；　for　example；　
was　a　constant　source　of　surprise　to　her；　and　at　the　age　
of　sixtyfive　she　was　still　amazed　at　the　ascendancy　which　
rules　and　reasons　exerted　over　the　lives　of　other　people。　
She　had　never　learnt　her　lesson；　and　had　constantly　to　
be　punished　for　her　ignorance。　But　as　that　ignorance　was　
bined　with　a　fine　natural　insight　which　saw　deep　
whenever　it　saw　at　all；　it　was　not　possible　to　write　Mrs。　
Hilbery　off　among　the　dunces；　on　the　contrary；　she　had　a　
way　of　seeming　the　wisest　person　in　the　room。　But；　on　
the　whole；　she　found　it　very　necessary　to　seek　support　in　
her　daughter。　

Katharine；　thus；　was　a　member　of　a　very　great　profession　
which　has；　as　yet；　no　title　and　very　little　recognition；　although　
the　labor　of　mill　and　factory　is；　perhaps；　no　more　
severe　and　the　results　of　less　benefit　to　the　world。　She　
lived　at　home。　She　did　it　very　well；　too。　Any　one　ing　to　
the　house　in　Cheyne　Walk　felt　that　here　was　an　orderly　

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place；　shapely；　controlled—a　place　where　life　had　been　
trained　to　show　to　the　best　advantage；　and；　though　posed　
of　different　elements；　made　to　appear　harmonious　
and　with　a　character　of　its　own。　Perhaps　it　was　the　chief　
triumph　of　Katharine’s　art　that　Mrs。　Hilbery’s　character　predominated。　
She　and　Mr。　Hilbery　appeared　to　be　a　rich　background　
for　her　mother’s　more　striking　qualities。　

Silence　being；　thus；　both　natural　to　her　and　imposed　
upon　her；　the　only　other　remark　that　her　mother’s　friends　
were　in　the　habit　of　making　about　it　was　that　it　was　
neither　a　stupid　silence　nor　an　indifferent　silence。　But　to　
what　quality　it　owed　its　character；　since　character　of　some　
sort　it　had；　no　one　troubled　themselves　to　inquire。　It　was　
understood　that　she　was　helping　her　mother　to　produce　a　
great　book。　She　was　known　to　manage　the　household。　
She　was　certainly　beautiful。　That　accounted　for　her　satisfactorily。　
But　it　would　have　been　a　surprise；　not　only　to　
other　people　but　to　Katharine　herself；　if　some　magic　watch　
could　have　taken　count　of　the　moments　spent　in　an　entirely　
different　occupation　from　her　ostensible　one。　Sitting　
with　faded　papers　before　her；　she　took　part　in　a　

series　of　scenes　such　as　the　taming　of　wild　ponies　upon　
the　American　prairies；　or　the　conduct　of　a　vast　ship　in　a　
hurricane　round　a　black　promontory　of　rock；　or　in　others　
more　peaceful；　but　marked　by　her　plete　emancipation　
from　her　present　surroundings　and；　needless　to　say；　
by　her　surpassing　ability　in　her　new　vocation。　When　she　
was　rid　of　the　pretense　of　paper　and　pen；　phrasemaking　
and　biography；　she　turned　her　attention　in　a　more　legitimate　
direction；　though；　strangely　enough；　she　would　
rather　have　confessed　her　wildest　dreams　of　hurricane　
and　prairie　than　the　fact　that；　upstairs；　alone　in　her　room；　
she　rose　early　in　the　morning　or　sat　up　late　at　night　to　…　
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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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