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第53章

[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第53章


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Katharine and her engagement; the purple leaves 
stamped into the path; the white paper radiant under the 
electric light; and the hopelessness which seemed to surround 
all these things。 

“You’re right; Mary;” he said; with something of an effort; 
“though I don’t know how you guessed it。” 

She was silent; hoping that he might tell her the reason 
of his unhappiness; for his excuses had not deceived her。 

“I was unhappy—very unhappy;” he repeated。 Some 
six weeks separated him from that afternoon when he 
had sat upon the Embankment watching his visions dissolve 
in mist as the waters swam past and the sense of 
his desolation still made him shiver。 He had not recovered 
in the least from that depression。 Here was an opportunity 
for making himself face it; as he felt that he 
ought to; for; by this time; no doubt; it was only a sentimental 
ghost; better exorcised by ruthless exposure to 
such an eye as Mary’s; than allowed to underlie all his 
actions and thoughts as had been the case ever since he 

first saw Katharine Hilbery pouring out tea。 He must begin; 
however; by mentioning her name; and this he found 
it impossible to do。 He persuaded himself that he could 
make an honest statement without speaking her name; 
he persuaded himself that his feeling had very little to 
do with her。 

“Unhappiness is a state of mind;” he said; “by which I 
mean that it is not necessarily the result of any particular 
cause。” 

This rather stilted beginning did not please him; and it 
became more and more obvious to him that; whatever he 
might say; his unhappiness had been directly caused by 
Katharine。 

“I began to find my life unsatisfactory;” he started 
afresh。 “It seemed to me meaningless。” He paused again; 
but felt that this; at any rate; was true; and that on these 
lines he could go on。 

“All this moneymaking and working ten hours a day in 
an office; what’s it for? When one’s a boy; you see; one’s 
head is so full of dreams that it doesn’t seem to matter 
what one does。 And if you’re ambitious; you’re all right; 

189 



Night and Day 

you’ve got a reason for going on。 Now my reasons ceased 
to satisfy me。 Perhaps I never had any。 That’s very likely 
now I e to think of it。 (What reason is there for anything; 
though?) Still; it’s impossible; after a certain age; 
to take oneself in satisfactorily。 And I know what carried 
me on”—for a good reason now occurred to him—”I 
wanted to be the savior of my family and all that kind of 
thing。 I wanted them to get on in the world。 That was a 
lie; of course—a kind of selfglorification; too。 Like most 
people; I suppose; I’ve lived almost entirely among delusions; 
and now I’m at the awkward stage of finding it 
out。 I want another delusion to go on with。 That’s what 
my unhappiness amounts to; Mary。” 

There were two reasons that kept Mary very silent during 
this speech; and drew curiously straight lines upon 
her face。 In the first place; Ralph made no mention of 
marriage; in the second; he was not speaking the truth。 

“I don’t think it will be difficult to find a cottage;” she said; 
with cheerful hardness; ignoring the whole of this statement。 
“You’ve got a little money; haven’t you? Yes;” she concluded; 
“I don’t see why it shouldn’t be a very good plan。” 

They crossed the field in plete silence。 Ralph was 
surprised by her remark and a little hurt; and yet; on the 
whole; rather pleased。 He had convinced himself that it 
was impossible to lay his case truthfully before Mary; 
and; secretly; he was relieved to find that he had not 
parted with his dream to her。 She was; as he had always 
found her; the sensible; loyal friend; the woman he trusted; 
whose sympathy he could count upon; provided he kept 
within certain limits。 He was not displeased to find that 
those limits were very clearly marked。 When they had 
crossed the next hedge she said to him: 

“Yes; Ralph; it’s time you made a break。 I’ve e to 
the same conclusion myself。 Only it won’t be a country 
cottage in my case; it’ll be America。 America!” she cried。 
“That’s the place for me! They’ll teach me something about 
organizing a movement there; and I’ll e back and show 
you how to do it。” 

If she meant consciously or unconsciously to belittle 
the seclusion and security of a country cottage; she did 
not succeed; for Ralph’s determination was genuine。 But 
she made him visualize her in her own character; so that 

190 



Virginia Woolf 

he looked quickly at her; as she walked a little in front of 
him across the plowed field; for the first time that morning 
he saw her independently of him or of his preoccupation 
with Katharine。 He seemed to see her marching ahead; 
a rather clumsy but powerful and independent figure; for 
whose courage he felt the greatest respect。 

“Don’t go away; Mary!” he exclaimed; and stopped。 

“That’s what you said before; Ralph;” she returned; without 
looking at him。 “You want to go away yourself and you 
don’t want me to go away。 That’s not very sensible; is it?” 

“Mary;” he cried; stung by the remembrance of his exacting 
and dictatorial ways with her; “what a brute I’ve 
been to you!” 

It took all her strength to keep the tears from springing; 
and to thrust back her assurance that she would 
forgive him till Doomsday if he chose。 She was preserved 
from doing so only by a stubborn kind of respect for herself 
which lay at the root of her nature and forbade surrender; 
even in moments of almost overwhelming passion。 
Now; when all was tempest and highrunning waves; 
she knew of a land where the sun shone clear upon Ital


ian grammars and files of docketed papers。 Nevertheless; 
from the skeleton pallor of that land and the rocks that 
broke its surface; she knew that her life there would be 
harsh and lonely almost beyond endurance。 She walked 
steadily a little in front of him across the plowed field。 
Their way took them round the verge of a wood of thin 
trees standing at the edge of a steep fold in the land。 
Looking between the treetrunks; Ralph saw laid out on 
the perfectly flat and richly green meadow at the bottom 
of the hill a small gray manorhouse; with ponds; terraces; 
and clipped hedges in front of it; a farm building 
or so at the side; and a screen of firtrees rising behind; 
all perfectly sheltered and selfsufficient。 Behind the house 
the hill rose again; and the trees on the farther summit 
stood upright against the sky; which appeared of a more 
intense blue between their trunks。 His mind at once was 
filled with a sense of the actual presence of Katharine; 
the gray house and the intense blue sky gave him the 
feeling of her presence close by。 He leant against a tree; 
forming her name beneath his breath: 

“Katharine; Katharine;” he said aloud; and then; look


191 



Night and Day 

ing round; saw Mary walking slowly away from him; tearing 
a long spray of ivy from the trees as she passed them。 
She seemed so definitely opposed to the vision he held 
in his mind that he returned to it with a gesture of impatience。 


“Katharine; Katharine;” he repeated; and seemed to himself 
to be with her。 He lost his sense of all that surrounded 
him; all substantial things—the hour of the day; 
what we have done and are about to do; the presence of 
other people and the support we derive from seeing their 
belief in a mon reality—all this slipped from him。 So 
he might have felt if the earth had dropped from his feet; 
and the empty blue had hung all round him; and the air 
had been steeped in the presence of one woman。 The 
chirp of a robin on the bough above his head awakened 
him; and his awakenment was acpanied by a sigh。 
Here was the world in which he had lived; here the plowed 
field; the high road yonder; and Mary; stripping ivy from 
the trees。 When he came up with her he linked his arm 
through hers and said: 

“Now; Mary; what’s all this about America?” 

There was a brotherly kindness in his voice which seemed 
to her magnanimous; when she reflected that she had 
cut short his ex

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