[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第95部分

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Her　remark　was　entirely　destructive　of　poetry；　since　
it　was　to　the　effect　that　poetry　had　nothing　whatever　to　
do　with　her；　all　her　friends　spent　their　lives　in　making　up　
phrases；　she　said；　all　his　feeling　was　an　illusion；　and　next　
moment；　as　if　to　taunt　him　with　his　impotence；　she　had　
sunk　into　one　of　those　dreamy　states　which　took　no　account　
whatever　of　his　existence。　Ralph　was　roused　by　his　
passionate　attempts　to　attract　her　attention　to　the　fact　
that　he　was　standing　in　the　middle　of　his　little　private　
room　in　Lincoln’s　Inn　Fields　at　a　considerable　distance　
from　Chelsea。　The　physical　distance　increased　his　desperation。　
He　began　pacing　in　circles　until　the　process　
sickened　him；　and　then　took　a　sheet　of　paper　for　the　
position　of　a　letter　which；　he　vowed　before　he　began　
it；　should　be　sent　that　same　evening。　

It　was　a　difficult　matter　to　put　into　words；　poetry　would　
have　done　it　better　justice；　but　he　must　abstain　from　
poetry。　In　an　infinite　number　of　halfobliterated　scratches　
he　tried　to　convey　to　her　the　possibility　that　although　
human　beings　are　woefully　illadapted　for　munica


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Night　and　Day　

tion；　still；　such　munion　is　the　best　we　know；　moreover；　
they　make　it　possible　for　each　to　have　access　to　
another　world　independent　of　personal　affairs；　a　world　of　
law；　of　philosophy；　or　more　strangely　a　world　such　as　he　
had　had　a　glimpse　of　the　other　evening　when　together　
they　seemed　to　be　sharing　something；　creating　something；　
an　ideal—a　vision　flung　out　in　advance　of　our　
actual　circumstances。　If　this　golden　rim　were　quenched；　
if　life　were　no　longer　circled　by　an　illusion　（but　was　it　an　
illusion　after　all？）；　then　it　would　be　too　dismal　an　affair　
to　carry　to　an　end；　so　he　wrote　with　a　sudden　spurt　of　
conviction　which　made　clear　way　for　a　space　and　left　at　
least　one　sentence　standing　whole。　Making　every　allowance　
for　other　desires；　on　the　whole　this　conclusion　appeared　
to　him　to　justify　their　relationship。　But　the　conclusion　
was　mystical；　it　plunged　him　into　thought。　The　
difficulty　with　which　even　this　amount　was　written；　the　
inadequacy　of　the　words；　and　the　need　of　writing　under　
them　and　over　them　others　which；　after　all；　did　no　better；　
led　him　to　leave　off　before　he　was　at　ail　satisfied　
with　his　production；　and　unable　to　resist　the　conviction　

that　such　rambling　would　never　be　fit　for　Katharine’s　eye。　
He　felt　himself　more　cut　off　from　her　than　ever。　In　idleness；　
and　because　he　could　do　nothing　further　with　words；　
he　began　to　draw　little　figures　in　the　blank　spaces；　heads　
meant　to　resemble　her　head；　blots　fringed　with　flames　
meant　to　represent—perhaps　the　entire　universe。　From　
this　occupation　he　was　roused　by　the　message　that　a　
lady　wished　to　speak　to　him。　He　had　scarcely　time　to　run　
his　hands　through　his　hair　in　order　to　look　as　much　like　a　
solicitor　as　possible；　and　to　cram　his　papers　into　his　
pocket；　already　overe　with　shame　that　another　eye　
should　behold　them；　when　he　realized　that　his　preparations　
were　needless。　The　lady　was　Mrs。　Hilbery。　

“I　hope　you’re　not　disposing　of　somebody’s　fortune　in　a　
hurry；”　she　remarked；　gazing　at　the　documents　on　his　
table；　“or　cutting　off　an　entail　at　one　blow；　because　I　
want　to　ask　you　to　do　me　a　favor。　And　Anderson　won’t　
keep　his　horse　waiting。　（Anderson　is　a　perfect　tyrant；　but　
he　drove　my　dear　father　to　the　Abbey　the　day　they　buried　
him。）　I　made　bold　to　e　to　you；　Mr。　Denham；　not　exactly　
in　search　of　legal　assistance　（though　I　don’t　know　

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Virginia　Woolf　

who　I’d　rather　e　to；　if　I　were　in　trouble）；　but　in　order　
to　ask　your　help　in　settling　some　tiresome　little　domestic　
affairs　that　have　arisen　in　my　absence。　I’ve　been　to　
StratfordonAvon　（I　must　tell　you　all　about　that　one　of　
these　days）；　and　there　I　got　a　letter　from　my　sisterinlaw；　
a　dear　kind　goose　who　likes　interfering　with　other　
people’s　children　because　she’s　got　none　of　her　own。　（We’re　
dreadfully　afraid　that　she’s　going　to　lose　the　sight　of　one　
of　her　eyes；　and　I　always　feel　that　our　physical　ailments　
are　so　apt　to　turn　into　mental　ailments。　I　think　Matthew　
Arnold　says　something　of　the　same　kind　about　Lord　Byron。）　
But　that’s　neither　here　nor　there。”　

The　effect　of　these　parentheses；　whether　they　were　introduced　
for　that　purpose　or　represented　a　natural　instinct　
on　Mrs。　Hilbery’s　part　to　embellish　the　bareness　of　
her　discourse；　gave　Ralph　time　to　perceive　that　she　possessed　
all　the　facts　of　their　situation　and　was　e；　somehow；　
in　the　capacity　of　ambassador。　

“I　didn’t　e　here　to　talk　about　Lord　Byron；”　Mrs。　
Hilbery　continued；　with　a　little　laugh；　“though　I　know　
that　both　you　and　Katharine；　unlike　other　young　people　

of　your　generation；　still　find　him　worth　reading。”　She　
paused。　“I’m　so　glad　you’ve　made　Katharine　read　poetry；　
Mr。　Denham！”　she　exclaimed；　“and　feel　poetry；　and　look　
poetry！　She　can’t　talk　it　yet；　but　she　will—oh；　she　will！”　

Ralph；　whose　hand　was　grasped　and　whose　tongue　almost　
refused　to　articulate；　somehow　contrived　to　say　that　there　
were　moments　when　he　felt　hopeless；　utterly　hopeless；　though　
he　gave　no　reason　for　this　statement　on　his　part。　

“But　you　care　for　her？”　Mrs。　Hilbery　inquired。　

“Good　God！”　he　exclaimed；　with　a　vehemence　which　
admitted　of　no　question。　

“It’s　the　Church　of　England　service　you　both　object　to？”　
Mrs。　Hilbery　inquired　innocently。　

“I　don’t　care　a　damn　what　service　it　is；”　Ralph　replied。　

“You　would　marry　her　in　Westminster　Abbey　if　the　worst　
came　to　the　worst？”　Mrs。　Hilbery　inquired。　

“I　would　marry　her　in　St。　Paul’s　Cathedral；”　Ralph　replied。　
His　doubts　upon　this　point；　which　were　always　
roused　by　Katharine’s　presence；　had　vanished　pletely；　
and　his　strongest　wish　in　the　world　was　to　be　with　her　
immediately；　since　every　second　he　was　away　from　her　he　

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Night　and　Day　

imagined　her　slipping　farther　and　farther　from　him　into　
one　of　those　states　of　mind　in　which　he　was　unrepresented。　
He　wished　to　dominate　her；　to　possess　her。　

“Thank　God！”　exclaimed　Mrs。　Hilbery。　She　thanked　Him　
for　a　variety　of　blessings：　for　the　conviction　with　which　
the　young　man　spoke；　and　not　least　for　the　prospect　that　
on　her　daughter’s　weddingday　the　noble　cadences；　the　
stately　periods；　the　ancient　eloquence　of　the　marriage　
service　would　resound　over　the　heads　of　a　distinguished　
congregation　gathered　together　near　the　very　spot　where　
her　father　lay　quiescent　with　the　other　poets　of　England。　
The　tears　filled　her　eyes；　but　she　remembered　simultaneously　
that　her　carriage　was　waiting；　and　with　dim　eyes　
she　walked　to　the　door。　Denham　followed　her　downstairs。　

It　was　a　strange　drive。　For　Denham　it　was　without　exception　
the　most　unpleasant　he　had　ever　taken。　His　only　
wish　was　to　go　as　straightly　and　quickly　as　possible　to　
Cheyne　Walk；　but　it　soon　appeared　that　Mrs。　Hilbery　either　
ignored　or　thought　fit　to　baffle　this　desire　by　interposing　
various　errands　of　her　own。　She　stopped　the　carriage　
at　postoffices；　and　coffeeshops；　and　shops　of　in


scrutable　dignity　where　the　aged　attendants　had　to　be　
greeted　as　old　friends；　and；　catching　sight　of　the　dome　of　
St。　Paul’s　above　the　irregular　spires　of　Ludgate　Hill；　she　
pulled　the　cord　impulsively；　and　gave　directions　that　
Anderson　should　drive　them　there。　But　Anderson　had　reasons　
of　his　own　for　discouraging　afternoon　worship；　and　
kept　his　horse’s　nose　obstinately　towards　the　west。　After　
some　minutes；　Mrs。　Hilbery　realized　the　situation；　and　
accepted　it　goodhumoredly；　apologizing　to　Ralph　for　his　
disappointment。　

“Never　mind；”　she　said；　“we’ll　go　to　St。　Paul’s　another　
day；　and　it　may　turn　out；　though　I　can’t　promise　that　it　
will；　that　he’ll　take　us　past　Westminster　Abbey；　which　
would　be　even　better。”　

Ralph　was　scarcely　aware　of　what　she　went　on　to　say。　Her　
mind　and　body　both　seemed　to　have　floated　into　another　
region　of　quicksailing　clouds　rapidly　passing　across　each　
other　and　enveloping　everything　in　a　vaporous　indistinctness。　
Meanwhile　he　remained　conscious　of　his　own　concentrated　
desire；　his　impotence　to　bring　about　anything　
he　wished；　and　his　increasing　agony　of　impatience。　

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Virginia　Woolf　

Suddenly　Mrs。　Hilbery　pulled　the　cord　with　such　decision　
that　even　Anderson　had　to　listen　to　the　order　which　she　
leant　out　of　the　window　to　give　him。　The　carriage　pulled　
up　abruptly　in　the　middle　of　Whitehall　before　a　large　building　
dedicated　to　one　of　our　Government　offices。　In　a　second　
Mrs。　Hilbery　was　mounting　the　steps；　and　Ralph　was　left　in　
too　acute　an　irritation　by　this　further　delay　even　to　speculate　
what　errand　took　her　now　to　the　Board　of　Education。　
He　was　about　to　jump　from　the　carriage　and　take　a　cab；　
when　Mrs。　Hilbery　reappeared　talking　genially　to　a　figure　
who　remained　hidden　behind　her。　

“There’s　plenty　of　room　for　us　all；”　she　was　saying。　“Plenty　
of　room。　We　could　find　space　for　four　of　you；　William；”　she　
added；　opening　the　door；　and　Ralph　found　that　Rodney　
had　now　joined　their　pany。　The　two　men　glanced　at　
each　other。　If　distress；　shame；　disfort　in　its　most　acute　
form　were　ever　visible　upon　a　human　face；　Ralph　could　
read　them　all　expressed　beyond　the　eloquence　of　words　
upon　the　face　of　his　unfortunate　panion。　But　Mrs。　
Hilbery　was　either　pletely　unseeing　or　determined　to　
appear　so。　She　went　on　talking；　she　talked；　it　seemed　to　

both　the　young　men；　to　some　one　outside；　up　in　the　air。　
She　talked　about　Shakespeare；　she　apostrophized　the　human　
race；　she　proclaimed　the　virtues　of　divine　poetry；　she　
began　to　recite　verses　which　broke　down　in　the　middle。　
The　great　advantage　of　her　discourse　was　that　it　was　self
supporting。　It　nourished　itself　until　Cheyne　Walk　was　
reached　upon　half　a　dozen　grunts　and　murmurs。　

“Now；”　she　said；　alighting　briskly　at　her　door；　“here　we　
are！”　

There　was　something　airy　and　ironical　in　her　voice　and　
expression　as　she　turned　upon　the　doorstep　and　looked　
at　them；　which　filled　both　Rodney　and　Denham　with　the　
same　misgivings　at　having　trusted　their　fortunes　to　such　
an　ambassador；　and　Rodney