[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第98部分

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Beethoven？　She　sat　down　to　the　piano；　the　door　closed　
softly　behind　them。　His　eyes　rested　on　the　closed　door　
for　some　seconds　unwaveringly；　but；　by　degrees；　the　look　
of　expectation　died　out　of　them；　and；　with　a　sigh；　he　
listened　to　the　music。　

Katharine　and　Ralph　were　agreed　with　scarcely　a　word　
of　discussion　as　to　what　they　wished　to　do；　and　in　a　

436　



Virginia　Woolf　

moment　she　joined　him　in　the　hall　dressed　for　walking。　
The　night　was　still　and　moonlit；　fit　for　walking；　though　
any　night　would　have　seemed　so　to　them；　desiring　more　
than　anything　movement；　freedom　from　scrutiny；　silence；　
and　the　open　air。　

“At　last！”　she　breathed；　as　the　front　door　shut。　She　told　
him　how　she　had　waited；　fidgeted；　thought　he　was　never　
ing；　listened　for　the　sound　of　doors；　half　expected　to　
see　him　again　under　the　lamppost；　looking　at　the　house。　
They　turned　and　looked　at　the　serene　front　with　its　gold
rimmed　windows；　to　him　the　shrine　of　so　much　adoration。　
In　spite　of　her　laugh　and　the　little　pressure　of　mockery　
on　his　arm；　he　would　not　resign　his　belief；　but　with　
her　hand　resting　there；　her　voice　quickened　and　mysteriously　
moving　in　his　ears；　he　had　not　time—they　had　not　
the　same　inclination—other　objects　drew　his　attention。　

How　they　came　to　find　themselves　walking　down　a　street　
with　many　lamps；　corners　radiant　with　light；　and　a　steady　
succession　of　motoromnibuses　plying　both　ways　along　
it；　they　could　neither　of　them　tell；　nor　account　for　the　
impulse　which　led　them　suddenly　to　select　one　of　these　

wayfarers　and　mount　to　the　very　front　seat。　After　curving　
through　streets　of　parative　darkness；　so　narrow　that　
shadows　on　the　blinds　were　pressed　within　a　few　feet　of　
their　faces；　they　came　to　one　of　those　great　knots　of　
activity　where　the　lights；　having　drawn　close　together；　
thin　out　again　and　take　their　separate　ways。　They　were　
borne　on　until　they　saw　the　spires　of　the　city　churches　
pale　and　flat　against　the　sky。　

“Are　you　cold？”　he　asked；　as　they　stopped　by　Temple　Bar。　

“Yes；　I　am　rather；”　she　replied；　being　conscious　that　
the　splendid　race　of　lights　drawn　past　her　eyes　by　the　
superb　curving　and　swerving　of　the　monster　on　which　she　
sat　was　at　an　end。　They　had　followed　some　such　course　in　
their　thoughts　too；　they　had　been　borne　on；　victors　in　
the　forefront　of　some　triumphal　car；　spectators　of　a　pageant　
enacted　for　them；　masters　of　life。　But　standing　on　
the　pavement　alone；　this　exaltation　left　them；　they　were　
glad　to　be　alone　together。　Ralph　stood　still　for　a　moment　
to　light　his　pipe　beneath　a　lamp。　

She　looked　at　his　face　isolated　in　the　little　circle　of　
light。　

437　



Night　and　Day　

“Oh；　that　cottage；”　she　said。　“We　must　take　it　and　go　
there。”　

“And　leave　all　this？”　he　inquired。　

“As　you　like；”　she　replied。　She　thought；　looking　at　the　
sky　above　Chancery　Lane；　how　the　roof　was　the　same　
everywhere；　how　she　was　now　secure　of　all　that　this　lofty　
blue　and　its　steadfast　lights　meant　to　her；　reality；　was　it；　
figures；　love；　truth？　

“I’ve　something　on　my　mind；”　said　Ralph　abruptly。　“I　
mean　I’ve　been　thinking　of　Mary　Datchet。　We’re　very　near　
her　rooms　now。　Would　you　mind　if　we　went　there？”　

She　had　turned　before　she　answered　him。　She　had　no　
wish　to　see　any　one　tonight；　it　seemed　to　her　that　the　
immense　riddle　was　answered；　the　problem　had　been　
solved；　she　held　in　her　hands　for　one　brief　moment　the　
globe　which　we　spend　our　lives　in　trying　to　shape；　round；　
whole；　and　entire　from　the　confusion　of　chaos。　To　see　
Mary　was　to　risk　the　destruction　of　this　globe。　

“Did　you　treat　her　badly？”　she　asked　rather　mechanically；　
walking　on。　

“I　could　defend　myself；”　he　said；　almost　defiantly。　“But　

what’s　the　use；　if　one　feels　a　thing？　I　won’t　be　with　her　a　
minute；”　he　said。　“I’ll　just　tell　her—”　

“Of　course；　you　must　tell　her；”　said　Katharine；　and　now　
felt　anxious　for　him　to　do　what　appeared　to　be　necessary　
if　he；　too；　were　to　hold　his　globe　for　a　moment　round；　
whole；　and　entire。　

“I　wish—I　wish—”　she　sighed；　for　melancholy　came　
over　her　and　obscured　at　least　a　section　of　her　clear　vision。　
The　globe　swam　before　her　as　if　obscured　by　tears。　

“I　regret　nothing；”　said　Ralph　firmly。　She　leant　towards　
him　almost　as　if　she　could　thus　see　what　he　saw。　She　
thought　how　obscure　he　still　was　to　her；　save　only　that　
more　and　more　constantly　he　appeared　to　her　a　fire　burning　
through　its　smoke；　a　source　of　life。　

“Go　on；”　she　said。　“You　regret　nothing—”　

“Nothing—nothing；”　he　repeated。　

“What　a　fire！”　she　thought　to　herself。　She　thought　of　
him　blazing　splendidly　in　the　night；　yet　so　obscure　that　
to　hold　his　arm；　as　she　held　it；　was　only　to　touch　the　
opaque　substance　surrounding　the　flame　that　roared　upwards。　


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Virginia　Woolf　

“Why　nothing？”　she　asked　hurriedly；　in　order　that　he　
might　say　more　and　so　make　more　splendid；　more　red；　
more　darkly　intertwined　with　smoke　this　flame　rushing　
upwards。　

“What　are　you　thinking　of；　Katharine？”　he　asked　suspiciously；　
noticing　her　tone　of　dreaminess　and　the　inapt　
words。　

“I　was　thinking　of　you—yes；　I　swear　it。　Always　of　you；　
but　you　take　such　strange　shapes　in　my　mind。　You’ve　
destroyed　my　loneliness。　Am　I　to　tell　you　how　I　see　you？　
No；　tell　me—tell　me　from　the　beginning。”　

Beginning　with　spasmodic　words；　he　went　on　to　speak　
more　and　more　fluently；　more　and　more　passionately；　feeling　
her　leaning　towards　him；　listening　with　wonder　like　a　
child；　with　gratitude　like　a　woman。　She　interrupted　him　
gravely　now　and　then。　

“But　it　was　foolish　to　stand　outside　and　look　at　the　
windows。　Suppose　William　hadn’t　seen　you。　Would　you　
have　gone　to　bed？”　

He　capped　her　reproof　with　wonderment　that　a　woman　
of　her　age　could　have　stood　in　Kingsway　looking　at　the　

traffic　until　she　forgot。　

“But　it　was　then　I　first　knew　I　loved　you！”　she　exclaimed。　


“Tell　me　from　the　beginning；”　he　begged　her。　

“No；　I’m　a　person　who　can’t　tell　things；”　she　pleaded。　
“I　shall　say　something　ridiculous—something　about　
flames—fires。　No；　I　can’t　tell　you。”　

But　he　persuaded　her　into　a　broken　statement；　beautiful　
to　him；　charged　with　extreme　excitement　as　she　spoke　of　
the　dark　red　fire；　and　the　smoke　twined　round　it；　making　
him　feel　that　he　had　stepped　over　the　threshold　into　the　
faintly　lit　vastness　of　another　mind；　stirring　with　shapes；　
so　large；　so　dim；　unveiling　themselves　only　in　flashes；　and　
moving　away　again　into　the　darkness；　engulfed　by　it。　They　
had　walked　by　this　time　to　the　street　in　which　Mary　lived；　
and　being　engrossed　by　what　they　said　and　partly　saw；　
passed　her　staircase　without　looking　up。　At　this　time　of　
night　there　was　no　traffic　and　scarcely　any　footpassengers；　
so　that　they　could　pace　slowly　without　interruption；　
arminarm；　raising　their　hands　now　and　then　to　draw　something　
upon　the　vast　blue　curtain　of　the　sky。　

439　



Night　and　Day　

They　brought　themselves　by　these　means；　acting　on　a　
mood　of　profound　happiness；　to　a　state　of　clearsightedness　
where　the　lifting　of　a　finger　had　effect；　and　
one　word　spoke　more　than　a　sentence。　They　lapsed　gently　
into　silence；　traveling　the　dark　paths　of　thought　side　
by　side　towards　something　discerned　in　the　distance　which　
gradually　possessed　them　both。　They　were　victors；　masters　
of　life；　but　at　the　same　time　absorbed　in　the　flame；　
giving　their　life　to　increase　its　brightness；　to　testify　to　
their　faith。　Thus　they　had　walked；　perhaps；　twice　or　three　
times　up　and　down　Mary　Datchet’s　street　before　the　recurrence　
of　a　light　burning　behind　a　thin；　yellow　blind　
caused　them　to　stop　without　exactly　knowing　why　they　
did　so。　It　burned　itself　into　their　minds。　

“That　is　the　light　in　Mary’s　room；”　said　Ralph。　“She　
must　be　at　home。”　He　pointed　across　the　street。　Katharine’s　
eyes　rested　there　too。　

“Is　she　alone；　working　at　this　time　of　night？　What　is　
she　working　at？”　she　wondered。　“Why　should　we　interrupt　
her？”　she　asked　passionately。　“What　have　we　got　to　
give　her？　She’s　happy　too；”　she　added。　“She　has　her　work。”　

Her　voice　shook　slightly；　and　the　light　swam　like　an　ocean　

of　gold　behind　her　tears。　

“You　don’t　want　me　to　go　to　her？”　Ralph　asked。　

“Go；　if　you　like；　tell　her　what　you　like；”　she　replied。　

He　crossed　the　road　immediately；　and　went　up　the　steps　
into　Mary’s　house。　Katharine　stood　where　he　left　her；　looking　
at　the　window　and　expecting　soon　to　see　a　shadow　
move　across　it；　but　she　saw　nothing；　the　blinds　conveyed　
nothing；　the　light　was　not　moved。　It　signaled　to　her　across　
the　dark　street；　it　was　a　sign　of　triumph　shining　there　for　
ever；　not　to　be　extinguished　this　side　of　the　grave。　She　
brandished　her　happiness　as　if　in　salute；　she　dipped　it　as　
if　in　reverence。　“How　they　burn！”　she　thought；　and　all　
the　darkness　of　London　seemed　set　with　fires；　roaring　
upwards；　but　her　eyes　came　back　to　Mary’s　window　and　
rested　there　satisfied。　She　had　waited　some　time　before　a　
figure　detached　itself　from　the　doorway　and　came　across　
the　road；　slowly　and　reluctantly；　to　where　she　stood。　

“I　didn’t　go　in—I　couldn’t　bring　myself；”　he　broke　off。　
He　had　stood　outside　Mary’s　door　unable　to　bring　himself　
to　knock；　if　she　had　e　out　she　would　have　found　him　

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Virginia　Woolf　

there；　the　tears　running　down　his　cheeks；　unable　to　speak。　

They　stood　for　some　moments；　looking　at　the　illuminated　
blinds；　an　expression　to　them　both　of　something　
impersonal　and　serene　in　the　spirit　of　the　woman　within；　
working　out　her　plans　far　into　the　night—her　plans　for　
the　good　of　a　world　that　none　of　them　were　ever　to　know。　
Then　their　minds　jumped　on　and　other　little　figures　came　
by　in　procession；　headed；　in　Ralph’s　view；　by　the　figure　
of　Sally　Seal。　

“Do　you　remember　Sally　Seal？”　he　asked。　Katharine　bent　
her　head。　

“Your　mother　and　Mary？”　he　went　on。　“Rodney　and　
Cassandra？　Old　Joan　up　at　Highgate？”　He　stopped　in　his　
enumeration；　not　finding　it　possible　to　link　them　together　
in　any　way　that　should　explain　the　queer　bination　
which　he