[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第13章

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group　was　saying。　Rodney；　meanwhile；　was　talking　about　

the　Elizabethan　dramatists。　

He　was　a　curiouslooking　man　since；　upon　first　sight；　
especially　if　he　chanced　to　be　talking　with　animation；　he　
appeared；　in　some　way；　ridiculous；　but；　next　moment；　in　
repose；　his　face；　with　its　large　nose；　thin　cheeks　and　lips　
expressing　the　utmost　sensibility；　somehow　recalled　a　
Roman　head　bound　with　laurel；　cut　upon　a　circle　of　semitransparent　
reddish　stone。　It　had　dignity　and　character。　
By　profession　a　clerk　in　a　Government　office；　he　was　one　
of　those　martyred　spirits　to　whom　literature　is　at　once　a　
source　of　divine　joy　and　of　almost　intolerable　irritation。　
Not　content　to　rest　in　their　love　of　it；　they　must　attempt　
to　practise　it　themselves；　and　they　are　generally　endowed　
with　very　little　facility　in　position。　They　condemn　
whatever　they　produce。　Moreover；　the　violence　of　their　
feelings　is　such　that　they　seldom　meet　with　adequate　
sympathy；　and　being　rendered　very　sensitive　by　their　cultivated　
perceptions；　suffer　constant　slights　both　to　their　
own　persons　and　to　the　thing　they　worship。　But　Rodney　
could　never　resist　making　trial　of　the　sympathies　of　any　
one　who　seemed　favorably　disposed；　and　Denham’s　praise　

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had　stimulated　his　very　susceptible　vanity。　

“You　remember　the　passage　just　before　the　death　of　
the　Duchess？”　he　continued；　edging　still　closer　to　Denham；　
and　adjusting　his　elbow　and　knee　in　an　incredibly　angular　
bination。　Here；　Katharine；　who　had　been　cut　off　
by　these　maneuvers　from　all　munication　with　the　outer　
world；　rose；　and　seated　herself　upon　the　windowsill；　where　
she　was　joined　by　Mary　Datchet。　The　two　young　women　
could　thus　survey　the　whole　party。　Denham　looked　after　
them；　and　made　as　if　he　were　tearing　handfuls　of　grass　
up　by　the　roots　from　the　carpet。　But　as　it　fell　in　accurately　
with　his　conception　of　life　that　all　one’s　desires　
were　bound　to　be　frustrated；　he　concentrated　his　mind　
upon　literature；　and　determined；　philosophically；　to　get　
what　he　could　out　of　that。　

Katharine　was　pleasantly　excited。　A　variety　of　courses　
was　open　to　her。　She　knew　several　people　slightly；　and　at　
any　moment　one　of　them　might　rise　from　the　floor　and　
e　and　speak　to　her；　on　the　other　hand；　she　might　
select　somebody　for　herself；　or　she　might　strike　into　
Rodney’s　discourse；　to　which　she　was　intermittently　at


tentive。　She　was　conscious　of　Mary’s　body　beside　her；　
but；　at　the　same　time；　the　consciousness　of　being　both　
of　them　women　made　it　unnecessary　to　speak　to　her。　But　
Mary；　feeling；　as　she　had　said；　that　Katharine　was　a　“personality；”　
wished　so　much　to　speak　to　her　that　in　a　few　
moments　she　did。　

“They’re　exactly　like　a　flock　of　sheep；　aren’t　they？”　she　
said；　referring　to　the　noise　that　rose　from　the　scattered　
bodies　beneath　her。　

Katharine　turned　and　smiled。　

“I　wonder　what　they’re　making　such　a　noise　about？”　
she　said。　

“The　Elizabethans；　I　suppose。”　

“No；　I　don’t　think　it’s　got　anything　to　do　with　the　Elizabethans。　
There！　Didn’t　you　hear　them　say；　‘Insurance　Bill’？”　

“I　wonder　why　men　always　talk　about　politics？”　Mary　
speculated。　“I　suppose；　if　we　had　votes；　we　should；　too。”　

“I　dare　say　we　should。　And　you　spend　your　life　in　getting　
us　votes；　don’t　you？”　

“I　do；”　said　Mary；　stoutly。　“From　ten　to　six　every　day　
I’m　at　it。”　

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Katharine　looked　at　Ralph　Denham；　who　was　now　pounding　
his　way　through　the　metaphysics　of　metaphor　with　
Rodney；　and　was　reminded　of　his　talk　that　Sunday　afternoon。　
She　connected　him　vaguely　with　Mary。　

“I　suppose　you’re　one　of　the　people　who　think　we　should　
all　have　professions；”　she　said；　rather　distantly；　as　if　feeling　
her　way　among　the　phantoms　of　an　unknown　world。　

“Oh　dear　no；”　said　Mary　at　once。　

“Well；　I　think　I　do；”　Katharine　continued；　with　half　a　
sigh。　“You　will　always　be　able　to　say　that　you’ve　done　
something；　whereas；　in　a　crowd　like　this；　I　feel　rather　
melancholy。”　

“In　a　crowd？　Why　in　a　crowd？”　Mary　asked；　deepening　
the　two　lines　between　her　eyes；　and　hoisting　herself　nearer　
to　Katharine　upon　the　windowsill。　

“Don’t　you　see　how　many　different　things　these　people　
care　about？　And　I　want　to　beat　them　down—I　only　mean；”　
she　corrected　herself；　“that　I　want　to　assert　myself；　and　
it’s　difficult；　if　one　hasn’t　a　profession。”　

Mary　smiled；　thinking　that　to　beat　people　down　was　a　
process　that　should　present　no　difficulty　to　Miss　Katharine　

Hilbery。　They　knew　each　other　so　slightly　that　the　beginning　
of　intimacy；　which　Katharine　seemed　to　initiate　by　
talking　about　herself；　had　something　solemn　in　it；　and　
they　were　silent；　as　if　to　decide　whether　to　proceed　or　
not。　They　tested　the　ground。　

“Ah；　but　I　want　to　trample　upon　their　prostrate　bodies！”　
Katharine　announced；　a　moment　later；　with　a　laugh；　
as　if　at　the　train　of　thought　which　had　led　her　to　this　
conclusion。　

“One　doesn’t　necessarily　trample　upon　people’s　bodies　
because　one　runs　an　office；”　Mary　remarked。　

“No。　Perhaps　not；”　Katharine　replied。　The　conversation　
lapsed；　and　Mary　saw　Katharine　looking　out　into　the　room　
rather　moodily　with　closed　lips；　the　desire　to　talk　about　
herself　or　to　initiate　a　friendship　having；　apparently；　left　
her。　Mary　was　struck　by　her　capacity　for　being　thus　easily　
silent；　and　occupied　with　her　own　thoughts。　It　was　a　
habit　that　spoke　of　loneliness　and　a　mind　thinking　for　
itself。　When　Katharine　remained　silent　Mary　was　slightly　
embarrassed。　

“Yes；　they’re　very　like　sheep；”　she　repeated；　foolishly。　

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“And　yet　they　are　very　clever—at　least；”　Katharine　
added；　“I　suppose　they　have　all　read　Webster。”　

“Surely　you　don’t　think　that　a　proof　of　cleverness？　I’ve　
read　Webster；　I’ve　read　Ben　Jonson；　but　I　don’t　think　
myself　clever—not　exactly；　at　least。”　

“I　think　you　must　be　very　clever；”　Katharine　observed。　

“Why？　Because　I　run　an　office？”　

“I　wasn’t　thinking　of　that。　I　was　thinking　how　you　live　
alone　in　this　room；　and　have　parties。”　

Mary　reflected　for　a　second。　

“It　means；　chiefly；　a　power　of　being　disagreeable　to　
one’s　own　family；　I　think。　I　have　that；　perhaps。　I　didn’t　
want　to　live　at　home；　and　I　told　my　father。　He　didn’t　like　
it…　。　But　then　I　have　a　sister；　and　you　haven’t；　have　
you？”　

“No；　I　haven’t　any　sisters。”　

“You　are　writing　a　life　of　your　grandfather？”　Mary　pursued。　


Katharine　seemed　instantly　to　be　confronted　by　some　
familiar　thought　from　which　she　wished　to　escape。　She　
replied；　“Yes；　I　am　helping　my　mother；”　in　such　a　way　

that　Mary　felt　herself　baffled；　and　put　back　again　into　
the　position　in　which　she　had　been　at　the　beginning　of　
their　talk。　It　seemed　to　her　that　Katharine　possessed　a　
curious　power　of　drawing　near　and　receding；　which　sent　
alternate　emotions　through　her　far　more　quickly　than　was　
usual；　and　kept　her　in　a　condition　of　curious　alertness。　
Desiring　to　classify　her；　Mary　bethought　her　of　the　convenient　
term　“egoist。”　

“She’s　an　egoist；”　she　said　to　herself；　and　stored　that　
word　up　to　give　to　Ralph　one　day　when；　as　it　would　certainly　
fall　out；　they　were　discussing　Miss　Hilbery。　

“Heavens；　what　a　mess　there’ll　be　tomorrow　morning！”　
Katharine　exclaimed。　“I　hope　you　don’t　sleep　in　this　room；　
Miss　Datchet？”　

Mary　laughed。　

“What　are　you　laughing　at？”　Katharine　demanded。　

“I　won’t　tell　you。”　

“Let　me　guess。　You　were　laughing　because　you　thought　
I’d　changed　the　conversation？”　

“No。”　

“Because　you　think—”　She　paused。　

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“If　you　want　to　know；　I　was　laughing　at　the　way　you　
said　Miss　Datchet。”　

“Mary；　then。　Mary；　Mary；　Mary。”　

So　saying；　Katharine　drew　back　the　curtain　in　order；　
perhaps；　to　conceal　the　momentary　flush　of　pleasure　
which　is　caused　by　ing　perceptibly　nearer　to　another　
person。　

“Mary　Datchet；”　said　Mary。　“It’s　not　such　an　imposing　
name　as　Katharine　Hilbery；　I’m　afraid。”　

They　both　looked　out　of　the　window；　first　up　at　the　
hard　silve