[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第94部分

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of　his　own；　and　there　are　any　number　of　sisters　and　brothers　
dependent　on　him。”　

“Ah；　he　has　a　mother？”　Mrs。　Hilbery　inquired。　

“Yes。　Rather　a　finelooking　old　lady；　with　white　hair。”　
Katharine　began　to　describe　her　visit；　and　soon　Mrs。　
Hilbery　elicited　the　facts　that　not　only　was　the　house　of　
excruciating　ugliness；　which　Ralph　bore　without　plaint；　
but　that　it　was　evident　that　every　one　depended　on　him；　
and　he　had　a　room　at　the　top　of　the　house；　with　a　wonderful　
view　over　London；　and　a　rook。　

“A　wretched　old　bird　in　a　corner；　with　half　its　feathers　
out；”　she　said；　with　a　tenderness　in　her　voice　that　seemed　
to　miserate　the　sufferings　of　humanity　while　resting　
assured　in　the　capacity　of　Ralph　Denham　to　alleviate　them；　

so　that　Mrs。　Hilbery　could　not　help　exclaiming：　

“But；　Katharine；　you　are　in　love！”　at　which　Katharine　
flushed；　looked　startled；　as　if　she　had　said　something　
that　she　ought　not　to　have　said；　and　shook　her　head。　

Hastily　Mrs。　Hilbery　asked　for　further　details　of　this　
extraordinary　house；　and　interposed　a　few　speculations　
about　the　meeting　between　Keats　and　Coleridge　in　a　lane；　
which　tided　over　the　disfort　of　the　moment；　and　drew　
Katharine　on　to　further　descriptions　and　indiscretions。　In　
truth；　she　found　an　extraordinary　pleasure　in　being　thus　
free　to　talk　to　some　one　who　was　equally　wise　and　equally　
benignant；　the　mother　of　her　earliest　childhood；　whose　
silence　seemed　to　answer　questions　that　were　never　asked。　
Mrs。　Hilbery　listened　without　making　any　remark　for　a　
considerable　time。　She　seemed　to　draw　her　conclusions　
rather　by　looking　at　her　daughter　than　by　listening　to　
her；　and；　if　crossexamined；　she　would　probably　have　given　
a　highly　inaccurate　version　of　Ralph　Denham’s　lifehistory　
except　that　he　was　penniless；　fatherless；　and　lived　
at　Highgate—all　of　which　was　much　in　his　favor。　But　by　
means　of　these　furtive　glances　she　had　assured　herself　

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Night　and　Day　

that　Katharine　was　in　a　state　which　gave　her；　alternately；　

the　most　exquisite　pleasure　and　the　most　profound　alarm。　

She　could　not　help　ejaculating　at　last：　

“It’s　all　done　in　five　minutes　at　a　Registry　Office　nowadays；　
if　you　think　the　Church　service　a　little　florid—which　
it　is；　though　there　are　noble　things　in　it。”　

“But　we　don’t　want　to　be　married；”　Katharine　replied　
emphatically；　and　added；　“Why；　after　all；　isn’t　it　perfectly　
possible　to　live　together　without　being　married？”　

Again　Mrs。　Hilbery　looked　disposed；　and；　in　her　
trouble；　took　up　the　sheets　which　were　lying　upon　the　
table；　and　began　turning　them　over　this　way　and　that；　
and　muttering　to　herself　as　she　glanced：　

“A　plus　B　minus　C　equals　‘x　y　z’。　It’s　so　dreadfully　ugly；　
Katharine。　That’s　what　I　feel—so　dreadfully　ugly。”　

Katharine　took　the　sheets　from　her　mother’s　hand　and　
began　shuffling　them　absentmindedly　together；　for　her　
fixed　gaze　seemed　to　show　that　her　thoughts　were　intent　
upon　some　other　matter。　

“Well；　I　don’t　know　about　ugliness；”　she　said　at　length。　

“But　he　doesn’t　ask　it　of　you？”　Mrs。　Hilbery　exclaimed。　

“Not　that　grave　young　man　with　the　steady　brown　eyes？”　

“He　doesn’t　ask　anything—we　neither　of　us　ask　anything。”　


“If　I　could　help　you；　Katharine；　by　the　memory　of　what　
I　felt—”　

“Yes；　tell　me　what　you　felt。”　

Mrs。　Hilbery；　her　eyes　growing　blank；　peered　down　the　
enormously　long　corridor　of　days　at　the　far　end　of　which　
the　little　figures　of　herself　and　her　husband　appeared　
fantastically　attired；　clasping　hands　upon　a　moonlit　beach；　
with　roses　swinging　in　the　dusk。　

“We　were　in　a　little　boat　going　out　to　a　ship　at　night；”　
she　began。　“The　sun　had　set　and　the　moon　was　rising　
over　our　heads。　There　were　lovely　silver　lights　upon　the　
waves　and　three　green　lights　upon　the　steamer　in　the　
middle　of　the　bay。　Your　father’s　head　looked　so　grand　
against　the　mast。　It　was　life；　it　was　death。　The　great　sea　
was　round　us。　It　was　the　voyage　for　ever　and　ever。”　

The　ancient　fairytale　fell　roundly　and　harmoniously　upon　
Katharine’s　ears。　Yes；　there　was　the　enormous　space　of　
the　sea；　there　were　the　three　green　lights　upon　the　

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steamer；　the　cloaked　figures　climbed　up　on　deck。　And　so；　
voyaging　over　the　green　and　purple　waters；　past　the　cliffs　
and　the　sandy　lagoons　and　through　pools　crowded　with　
the　masts　of　ships　and　the　steeples　of　churches—here　
they　were。　The　river　seemed　to　have　brought　them　and　
deposited　them　here　at　this　precise　point。　She　looked　
admiringly　at　her　mother；　that　ancient　voyager。　

“Who　knows；”　exclaimed　Mrs。　Hilbery；　continuing　her　
reveries；　“where　we　are　bound　for；　or　why；　or　who　has　
sent　us；　or　what　we　shall　find—who　knows　anything；　
except　that　love　is　our　faith—love—”　she　crooned；　and　
the　soft　sound　beating　through　the　dim　words　was　heard　
by　her　daughter　as　the　breaking　of　waves　solemnly　in　
order　upon　the　vast　shore　that　she　gazed　upon。　She　would　
have　been　content　for　her　mother　to　repeat　that　word　
almost　indefinitely—a　soothing　word　when　uttered　by　
another；　a　riveting　together　of　the　shattered　fragments　
of　the　world。　But　Mrs。　Hilbery；　instead　of　repeating　the　
word　love；　said　pleadingly：　

“And　you　won’t　think　those　ugly　thoughts　again；　will　
you；　Katharine？”　at　which　words　the　ship　which　Katharine　

had　been　considering　seemed　to　put　into　harbor　and　have　
done　with　its　seafaring。　Yet　she　was　in　great　need；　if　not　
exactly　of　sympathy；　of　some　form　of　advice；　or；　at　least；　
of　the　opportunity　of　setting　forth　her　problems　before　a　
third　person　so　as　to　renew　them　in　her　own　eyes。　

“But　then；”　she　said；　ignoring　the　difficult　problem　of　
ugliness；　“you　knew　you　were　in　love；　but　we’re　different。　
It　seems；”　she　continued；　frowning　a　little　as　she　tried　to　
fix　the　difficult　feeling；　“as　if　something　came　to　an　end　
suddenly—gave　out—faded—an　illusion—as　if　when　we　
think　we’re　in　love　we　make　it　up—we　imagine　what　
doesn’t　exist。　That’s　why　it’s　impossible　that　we　should　
ever　marry。　Always　to　be　finding　the　other　an　illusion；　
and　going　off　and　forgetting　about　them；　never　to　be　
certain　that　you　cared；　or　that　he　wasn’t　caring　for　some　
one　not　you　at　all；　the　horror　of　changing　from　one　state　
to　the　other；　being　happy　one　moment　and　miserable　the　
next—that’s　the　reason　why　we　can’t　possibly　marry。　At　
the　same　time；”　she　continued；　“we　can’t　live　without　
each　other；　because—”　Mrs。　Hilbery　waited　patiently　for　
the　sentence　to　be　pleted；　but　Katharine　fell　silent　

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Night　and　Day　

and　fingered　her　sheet　of　figures。　

“We　have　to　have　faith　in　our　vision；”　Mrs。　Hilbery　resumed；　
glancing　at　the　figures；　which　distressed　her　
vaguely；　and　had　some　connection　in　her　mind　with　the　
household　accounts；　“otherwise；　as　you　say—”　She　cast　
a　lightning　glance　into　the　depths　of　disillusionment　which　
were；　perhaps；　not　altogether　unknown　to　her。　

“Believe　me；　Katharine；　it’s　the　same　for　every　one—　
for　me；　too—for　your　father；”　she　said　earnestly；　and　
sighed。　They　looked　together　into　the　abyss　and；　as　the　
elder　of　the　two；　she　recovered　herself　first　and　asked：　

“But　where　is　Ralph？　Why　isn’t　he　here　to　see　me？”　

Katharine’s　expression　changed　instantly。　

“Because　he’s　not　allowed　to　e　here；”　she　replied　
bitterly。　

Mrs。　Hilbery　brushed　this　aside。　

“Would　there　be　time　to　send　for　him　before　luncheon？”　
she　asked。　

Katharine　looked　at　her　as　if；　indeed；　she　were　some　
magician。　Once　more　she　felt　that　instead　of　being　a　
grown　woman；　used　to　advise　and　mand；　she　was　

only　a　foot　or　two　raised　above　the　long　grass　and　the　
little　flowers　and　entirely　dependent　upon　the　figure　of　
indefinite　size　whose　head　went　up　into　the　sky；　whose　
hand　was　in　hers；　for　guidance。　

“I’m　not　happy　without　him；”　she　said　simply。　

Mrs。　Hilbery　nodded　her　head　in　a　manner　which　indicated　
plete　understanding；　and　the　immediate　conception　
of　certain　plans　for　the　future。　She　swept　up　her　
flowers；　breathed　in　their　sweetness；　and；　humming　a　
little　song　about　a　miller’s　daughter；　left　the　room。　

The　case　upon　which　Ralph　Denham　was　engaged　that　
afternoon　was　not　apparently　receiving　his　full　attention；　
and　yet　the　affairs　of　the　late　John　Leake　of　Dublin　
were　sufficiently　confused　to　need　all　the　care　that　a　
solicitor　could　bestow　upon　them；　if　the　widow　Leake　
and　the　five　Leake　children　of　tender　age　were　to　receive　
any　pittance　at　all。　But　the　appeal　to　Ralph’s　humanity　
had　little　chance　of　being　heard　today；　he　was　no　longer　
a　model　of　concentration。　The　partition　so　carefully　erected　
between　the　different　sections　of　his　life　had　been　broken　
down；　with　the　result　that　though　his　eyes　were　fixed　

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Virginia　Woolf　

upon　the　last　Will　and　Testament；　he　saw　through　the　
page　a　certain　drawingroom　in　Cheyne　Walk。　

He　tried　every　device　that　had　proved　effective　in　the　
past　for　keeping　up　the　partitions　of　the　mind；　until　he　
could　decently　go　home；　but　a　little　to　his　alarm　he　found　
himself　assailed　so　persistently；　as　if　from　outside；　by　
Katharine；　that　he　launched　forth　desperately　into　an　
imaginary　interview　with　her。　She　obliterated　a　bookcase　
full　of　law　reports；　and　the　corners　and　lines　of　the　room　
underwent　a　curious　softening　of　outline　like　that　which　
sometimes　makes　a　room　unfamiliar　at　the　moment　of　
waking　from　sleep。　By　degrees；　a　pulse　or　stress　began　to　
beat　at　regular　intervals　in　his　mind；　heaping　his　thoughts　
into　waves　to　which　words　fitted　themselves；　and　without　
much　consciousness　of　what　he　was　doing；　he　began　
to　write　on　a　sheet　of　draft　paper　what　had　the　appearance　
of　a　poem　lacking　several　words　in　each　line。　Not　
many　lines　had　been　set　down；　however；　before　he　threw　
away　his　pen　as　violently　as　if　that　were　responsible　for　
his　misdeeds；　and　tore　the　paper　into　many　separate　
pieces。　This　was　a　sign　that　Katharine　had　asserted　her


self　and　put　to　him　a　remark　that　could　not　be　met　poetically。　
Her　remark　was　entirely　destructive　of　poetry；　since　
it　was