[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第47章

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conclusion　in　her　mind　which　finished　the　sum　for　the　

present；　at　least；　she　changed　the　focus　of　her　eyes；　and　
saw　nothing　but　the　stars。　

Tonight　they　seemed　fixed　with　unusual　firmness　in　
the　blue；　and　flashed　back　such　a　ripple　of　light　into　her　
eyes　that　she　found　herself　thinking　that　tonight　the　
stars　were　happy。　Without　knowing　or　caring　more　for　
Church　practices　than　most　people　of　her　age；　Katharine　
could　not　look　into　the　sky　at　Christmas　time　without　
feeling　that；　at　this　one　season；　the　Heavens　bend　over　
the　earth　with　sympathy；　and　signal　with　immortal　radiance　
that　they；　too；　take　part　in　her　festival。　Somehow；　it　
seemed　to　her　that　they　were　even　now　beholding　the　
procession　of　kings　and　wise　men　upon　some　road　on　a　
distant　part　of　the　earth。　And　yet；　after　gazing　for　another　
second；　the　stars　did　their　usual　work　upon　the　
mind；　froze　to　cinders　the　whole　of　our　short　human　history；　
and　reduced　the　human　body　to　an　apelike；　furry　
form；　crouching　amid　the　brushwood　of　a　barbarous　clod　
of　mud。　This　stage　was　soon　succeeded　by　another；　in　
which　there　was　nothing　in　the　universe　save　stars　and　
the　light　of　stars；　as　she　looked　up　the　pupils　of　her　eyes　

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Night　and　Day　

so　dilated　with　starlight　that　the　whole　of　her　seemed　
dissolved　in　silver　and　spilt　over　the　ledges　of　the　stars　
for　ever　and　ever　indefinitely　through　space。　Somehow　
simultaneously；　though　incongruously；　she　was　riding　with　
the　magnanimous　hero　upon　the　shore　or　under　forest　
trees；　and　so　might　have　continued　were　it　not　for　the　
rebuke　forcibly　administered　by　the　body；　which；　content　
with　the　normal　conditions　of　life；　in　no　way　furthers　any　
attempt　on　the　part　of　the　mind　to　alter　them。　She　grew　
cold；　shook　herself；　rose；　and　walked　towards　the　house。　

By　the　light　of　the　stars；　Stogdon　House　looked　pale　
and　romantic；　and　about　twice　its　natural　size。　Built　by　a　
retired　admiral　in　the　early　years　of　the　nieenth　century；　
the　curving　bow　windows　of　the　front；　now　filled　
with　reddishyellow　light；　suggested　a　portly　threedecker；　
sailing　seas　where　those　dolphins　and　narwhals　who　disport　
themselves　upon　the　edges　of　old　maps　were　scattered　
with　an　impartial　hand。　A　semicircular　flight　of　shallow　
steps　led　to　a　very　large　door；　which　Katharine　had　
left　ajar。　She　hesitated；　cast　her　eyes　over　the　front　of　
the　house；　marked　that　a　light　burnt　in　one　small　window　

upon　an　upper　floor；　and　pushed　the　door　open。　For　a　
moment　she　stood　in　the　square　hall；　among　many　horned　
skulls；　sallow　globes；　cracked　oilpaintings；　and　stuffed　
owls；　hesitating；　it　seemed；　whether　she　should　open　the　
door　on　her　right；　through　which　the　stir　of　life　reached　
her　ears。　Listening　for　a　moment；　she　heard　a　sound　which　
decided　her；　apparently；　not　to　enter；　her　uncle；　Sir　Francis；　
was　playing　his　nightly　game　of　whist；　it　appeared　probable　
that　he　was　losing。　

She　went　up　the　curving　stairway；　which　represented　
the　one　attempt　at　ceremony　in　the　otherwise　rather　dilapidated　
mansion；　and　down　a　narrow　passage　until　she　
came　to　the　room　whose　light　she　had　seen　from　the　
garden。　Knocking；　she　was　told　to　e　in。　A　young　man；　
Henry　Otway；　was　reading；　with　his　feet　on　the　fender。　
He　had　a　fine　head；　the　brow　arched　in　the　Elizabethan　
manner；　but　the　gentle；　honest　eyes　were　rather　skeptical　
than　glowing　with　the　Elizabethan　vigor。　He　gave　the　
impression　that　he　had　not　yet　found　the　cause　which　
suited　his　temperament。　

He　turned；　put　down　his　book；　and　looked　at　her。　He　

168　



Virginia　Woolf　

noticed　her　rather　pale；　dewdrenched　look；　as　of　one　
whose　mind　is　not　altogether　settled　in　the　body。　He　had　
often　laid　his　difficulties　before　her；　and　guessed；　in　some　
ways　hoped；　that　perhaps　she　now　had　need　of　him。　At　
the　same　time；　she　carried　on　her　life　with　such　independence　
that　he　scarcely　expected　any　confidence　to　be　
expressed　in　words。　

“You　have　fled；　too；　then？”　he　said；　looking　at　her　cloak。　
Katharine　had　forgotten　to　remove　this　token　of　her　stargazing。　


“Fled？”　she　asked。　“From　whom　d’you　mean？　Oh；　the　
family　party。　Yes；　it　was　hot　down　there；　so　I　went　into　
the　garden。”　

“And　aren’t　you　very　cold？”　Henry　inquired；　placing　coal　
on　the　fire；　drawing　a　chair　up　to　the　grate；　and　laying　
aside　her　cloak。　Her　indifference　to　such　details　often　
forced　Henry　to　act　the　part　generally　taken　by　women　in　
such　dealings。　It　was　one　of　the　ties　between　them。　

“Thank　you；　Henry；”　she　said。　“I’m　not　disturbing　you？”　

“I’m　not　here。　I’m　at　Bungay；”　he　replied。　“I’m　giving　a　
music　lesson　to　Harold　and　Julia。　That　was　why　I　had　to　

leave　the　table　with　the　ladies—I’m　spending　the　night　
there；　and　I　shan’t　be　back　till　late　on　Christmas　Eve。”　

“How　I　wish—”　Katharine　began；　and　stopped　short。　“I　
think　these　parties　are　a　great　mistake；”　she　added　briefly；　
and　sighed。　

“Oh；　horrible！”　he　agreed；　and　they　both　fell　silent。　

Her　sigh　made　him　look　at　her。　Should　he　venture　to　
ask　her　why　she　sighed？　Was　her　reticence　about　her　own　
affairs　as　inviolable　as　it　had　often　been　convenient　for　
rather　an　egoistical　young　man　to　think　it？　But　since　her　
engagement　to　Rodney；　Henry’s　feeling　towards　her　had　
bee　rather　plex；　equally　divided　between　an　impulse　
to　hurt　her　and　an　impulse　to　be　tender　to　her；　and　
all　the　time　he　suffered　a　curious　irritation　from　the　sense　
that　she　was　drifting　away　from　him　for　ever　upon　unknown　
seas。　On　her　side；　directly　Katharine　got　into　his　
presence；　and　the　sense　of　the　stars　dropped　from　her；　
she　knew　that　any　intercourse　between　people　is　extremely　
partial；　from　the　whole　mass　of　her　feelings；　only　one　or　
two　could　be　selected　for　Henry’s　inspection；　and　therefore　
she　sighed。　Then　she　looked　at　him；　and　their　eyes　

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Night　and　Day　

meeting；　much　more　seemed　to　be　in　mon　between　them　
than　had　appeared　possible。　At　any　rate　they　had　a　grandfather　
in　mon；　at　any　rate　there　was　a　kind　of　loyalty　
between　them　sometimes　found　between　relations　who　have　
no　other　cause　to　like　each　other；　as　these　two　had。　

“Well；　what’s　the　date　of　the　wedding？”　said　Henry；　the　
malicious　mood　now　predominating。　

“I　think　some　time　in　March；”　she　replied。　

“And　afterwards？”　he　asked。　

“We　take　a　house；　I　suppose；　somewhere　in　Chelsea。”　

“It’s　very　interesting；”　he　observed；　stealing　another　
look　at　her。　

She　lay　back　in　her　armchair；　her　feet　high　upon　the　
side　of　the　grate；　and　in　front　of　her；　presumably　to　screen　
her　eyes；　she　held　a　newspaper　from　which　she　picked　up　
a　sentence　or　two　now　and　again。　Observing　this；　Henry　
remarked：　

“Perhaps　marriage　will　make　you　more　human。”　

At　this　she　lowered　the　newspaper　an　inch　or　two；　but　
said　nothing。　Indeed；　she　sat　quite　silent　for　over　a　
minute。　

“When　you　consider　things　like　the　stars；　our　affairs　
don’t　seem　to　matter　very　much；　do　they？”　she　said　suddenly。　


“I　don’t　think　I　ever　do　consider　things　like　the　stars；”　
Henry　replied。　“I’m　not　sure　that　that’s　not　the　explanation；　
though；”　he　added；　now　observing　her　steadily。　

“I　doubt　whether　there　is　an　explanation；”　she　replied　
rather　hurriedly；　not　clearly　understanding　what　he　meant。　

“What？　No　explanation　of　anything？”　he　inquired；　with　
a　smile。　

“Oh；　things　happen。　That’s　about　all；”　she　let　drop　in　
her　casual；　decided　way。　

“That　certainly　seems　to　explain　some　of　your　actions；”　
Henry　thought　to　himself。　

“One　thing’s　about　as　good　as　another；　and　one’s　got　to　
do　something；”　he　said　aloud；　expressing　what　he　supposed　
to　be　her　attitude；　much　in　her　accent。　Perhaps　
she　detected　the　imitation；　for　looking　gently　at　him；　
she　said；　with　ironical　posure：　

“Well；　if　you　believe　that　your　life　must　be　simple；　
Henry。”　

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Virginia　Woolf　

“But　I　don’t　believe　it；”　he　said　shortly。　

“No　more　do　I；”　she　replied。　

“What　about　the　stars？”　he　asked　a　moment　later。　“I　
understand　that　you　rule　your　life　by　the　stars？”　

She　let　this　pass；　either