[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；　

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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　

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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