[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第12章

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as　though　a　vision　drew　him　now　to　the　door；　now　to　the　
window；　bespoke　his　horrible　disfort　under　the　stare　
of　so　many　eyes。　He　was　scrupulously　well　dressed；　and　a　
pearl　in　the　center　of　his　tie　seemed　to　give　him　a　touch　
of　aristocratic　opulence。　But　the　rather　prominent　eyes　

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Night　and　Day　

and　the　impulsive　stammering　manner；　which　seemed　to　
indicate　a　torrent　of　ideas　intermittently　pressing　for　utterance　
and　always　checked　in　their　course　by　a　clutch　of　
nervousness；　drew　no　pity；　as　in　the　case　of　a　more　imposing　
personage；　but　a　desire　to　laugh；　which　was；　however；　
entirely　lacking　in　malice。　Mr。　Rodney　was　evidently　
so　painfully　conscious　of　the　oddity　of　his　appearance；　
and　his　very　redness　and　the　starts　to　which　his　body　was　
liable　gave　such　proof　of　his　own　disfort；　that　there　
was　something　endearing　in　this　ridiculous　susceptibility；　
although　most　people　would　probably　have　echoed　
Denham’s　private　exclamation；　“Fancy　marrying　a　creature　
like　that！”　

His　paper　was　carefully　written　out；　but　in　spite　of　this　
precaution　Mr。　Rodney　managed　to　turn　over　two　sheets　
instead　of　one；　to　choose　the　wrong　sentence　where　two　
were　written　together；　and　to　discover　his　own　handwriting　
suddenly　illegible。　When　he　found　himself　possessed　
of　a　coherent　passage；　he　shook　it　at　his　audience　almost　
aggressively；　and　then　fumbled　for　another。　After　a　distressing　
search　a　fresh　discovery　would　be　made；　and　

produced　in　the　same　way；　until；　by　means　of　repeated　
attacks；　he　had　stirred　his　audience　to　a　degree　of　animation　
quite　remarkable　in　these　gatherings。　Whether　
they　were　stirred　by　his　enthusiasm　for　poetry　or　by　the　
contortions　which　a　human　being　was　going　through　for　
their　benefit；　it　would　be　hard　to　say。　At　length　Mr。　Rodney　
sat　down　impulsively　in　the　middle　of　a　sentence；　and；　
after　a　pause　of　bewilderment；　the　audience　expressed　
its　relief　at　being　able　to　laugh　aloud　in　a　decided　outburst　
of　applause。　

Mr。　Rodney　acknowledged　this　with　a　wild　glance　round　
him；　and；　instead　of　waiting　to　answer　questions；　he　
jumped　up；　thrust　himself　through　the　seated　bodies　into　
the　corner　where　Katharine　was　sitting；　and　exclaimed；　
very　audibly：　

“Well；　Katharine；　I　hope　I’ve　made　a　big　enough　fool　of　
myself　even　for　you！　It　was　terrible！　terrible！　terrible！”　

“Hush！　You　must　answer　their　questions；”　Katharine　
whispered；　desiring；　at　all　costs；　to　keep　him　quiet。　Oddly　
enough；　when　the　speaker　was　no　longer　in　front　of　them；　
there　seemed　to　be　much　that　was　suggestive　in　what　he　

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Virginia　Woolf　

had　said。　At　any　rate；　a　palefaced　young　man　with　sad　
eyes　was　already　on　his　feet；　delivering　an　accurately　
worded　speech　with　perfect　posure。　William　Rodney　
listened　with　a　curious　lifting　of　his　upper　lip；　although　
his　face　was　still　quivering　slightly　with　emotion。　

“Idiot！”　he　whispered。　“He’s　misunderstood　every　word　
I　said！”　

“Well　then；　answer　him；”　Katharine　whispered　back。　

“No；　I　shan’t！　They’d　only　laugh　at　me。　Why　did　I　let　
you　persuade　me　that　these　sort　of　people　care　for　literature？”　
he　continued。　

There　was　much　to　be　said　both　for　and　against　Mr。　
Rodney’s　paper。　It　had　been　crammed　with　assertions　that　
suchandsuch　passages；　taken　liberally　from　English；　
French；　and　Italian；　are　the　supreme　pearls　of　literature。　
Further；　he　was　fond　of　using　metaphors　which；　pounded　
in　the　study；　were　apt　to　sound　either　cramped　
or　out　of　place　as　he　delivered　them　in　fragments。　Literature　
was　a　fresh　garland　of　spring　flowers；　he　said；　in　
which　yewberries　and　the　purple　nightshade　mingled　with　
the　various　tints　of　the　anemone；　and　somehow　or　other　

this　garland　encircled　marble　brows。　He　had　read　very　
badly　some　very　beautiful　quotations。　But　through　his　
manner　and　his　confusion　of　language　there　had　emerged　
some　passion　of　feeling　which；　as　he　spoke；　formed　in　
the　majority　of　the　audience　a　little　picture　or　an　idea　
which　each　now　was　eager　to　give　expression　to。　Most　of　
the　people　there　proposed　to　spend　their　lives　in　the　
practice　either　of　writing　or　painting；　and　merely　by　looking　
at　them　it　could　be　seen　that；　as　they　listened　to　Mr。　
Purvis　first；　and　then　to　Mr。　Greenhalgh；　they　were　seeing　
something　done　by　these　gentlemen　to　a　possession　
which　they　thought　to　be　their　own。　One　person　after　
another　rose；　and；　as　with　an　illbalanced　axe；　attempted　
to　hew　out　his　conception　of　art　a　little　more　clearly；　and　
sat　down　with　the　feeling　that；　for　some　reason　which　he　
could　not　grasp；　his　strokes　had　gone　awry。　As　they　sat　
down　they　turned　almost　invariably　to　the　person　sitting　
next　them；　and　rectified　and　continued　what　they　had　
just　said　in　public。　Before　long；　therefore；　the　groups　on　
the　mattresses　and　the　groups　on　the　chairs　were　all　in　
munication　with　each　other；　and　Mary　Datchet；　who　

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Night　and　Day　

had　begun　to　darn　stockings　again；　stooped　down　and　

remarked　to　Ralph：　

“That　was　what　I　call　a　firstrate　paper。”　

Both　of　them　instinctively　turned　their　eyes　in　the　direction　
of　the　reader　of　the　paper。　He　was　lying　back　
against　the　wall；　with　his　eyes　apparently　shut；　and　his　
chin　sunk　upon　his　collar。　Katharine　was　turning　over　the　
pages　of　his　manuscript　as　if　she　were　looking　for　some　
passage　that　had　particularly　struck　her；　and　had　a　difficulty　
in　finding　it。　

“Let’s　go　and　tell　him　how　much　we　liked　it；”　said　Mary；　
thus　suggesting　an　action　which　Ralph　was　anxious　to　
take；　though　without　her　he　would　have　been　too　proud　
to　do　it；　for　he　suspected　that　he　had　more　interest　in　
Katharine　than　she　had　in　him。　

“That　was　a　very　interesting　paper；”　Mary　began；　without　
any　shyness；　seating　herself　on　the　floor　opposite　to　
Rodney　and　Katharine。　“Will　you　lend　me　the　manuscript　
to　read　in　peace？”　

Rodney；　who　had　opened　his　eyes　on　their　approach；　
regarded　her　for　a　moment　in　suspicious　silence。　

“Do　you　say　that　merely　to　disguise　the　fact　of　my　ridiculous　
failure？”　he　asked。　

Katharine　looked　up　from　her　reading　with　a　smile。　

“He　says　he　doesn’t　mind　what　we　think　of　him；”　she　
remarked。　“He　says　we　don’t　care　a　rap　for　art　of　any　
kind。”　

“I　asked　her　to　pity　me；　and　she　teases　me！”　Rodney　
exclaimed。　

“I　don’t　intend　to　pity　you；　Mr。　Rodney；”　Mary　remarked；　
kindly；　but　firmly。　“When　a　paper’s　a　failure；　nobody　says　
anything；　whereas　now；　just　listen　to　them！”　

The　sound；　which　filled　the　room；　with　its　hurry　of　short　
syllables；　its　sudden　pauses；　and　its　sudden　attacks；　might　be　
pared　to　some　animal　hubbub；　frantic　and　inarticulate。　

“D’you　think　that’s　all　about　my　paper？”　Rodney　inquired；　
after　a　moment’s　attention；　with　a　distinct　brightening　
of　expression。　

“Of　course　it　is；”　said　Mary。　“It　was　a　very　suggestive　
paper。”　

She　turned　to　Denham　for　confirmation；　and　he　corroborated　
her。　

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Virginia　Woolf　

“It’s　the　ten　minutes　after　a　paper　is　read　that　proves　
whether　it’s　been　a　success　or　not；”　he　said。　“If　I　were　
you；　Rodney；　I　should　be　very　pleased　with　myself。”　

This　mendation　seemed　to　fort　Mr。　Rodney　pletely；　
and　he　began　to　bethink　him　of　all　the　passages　
in　his　paper　which　deserved　to　be　called　“suggestive。”　

“Did　you　agree　at　all；　Denham；　with　what　I　said　about　
Shakespeare’s　later　use　of　imagery？　I’m　afraid　I　didn’t　
altogether　make　my　meaning　plain。”　

Here　he　gathered　himself　together；　and　by　means　of　a　
series　of　froglike　jerks；　succeeded　in　bringing　himself　
close　to　Denham。　

Denham　answered　him　with　the　brevity　which　is　the　
result　of　having　another　sentence　in　the　mind　to　be　addressed　
to　another　person。　He　wished　to　say　to　Katharine：　
“Did　you　remember　to　get　that　picture　glazed　before　your　
aunt　came　to　dinner？”　but；　besides　having　to　answer　
Rodney；　he　was　not　sure　that　the　remark；　with　its　assertion　
of　intimacy；　would　not　strike　Katharine　as　impertinent。　
She　was　listening　to　what　some　one　in　another　
group　was　saying。　Rodney；　meanwhile；　was　talking　about　

the　Elizabethan　dram