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第76章

[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第76章


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could envy them; but in her case the questions became 
phantoms directly she tried seriously to find an answer; 
which proved that the traditional answer would be of no 
use to her individually。 Yet it had served so many people; 
she thought; glancing at the rows of houses on either 
side of her; where families; whose ines must be between 
a thousand and fifteenhundred a year lived; and 
kept; perhaps; three servants; and draped their windows 
with curtains which were always thick and generally dirty; 
and must; she thought; since you could only see a look
ingglass gleaming above a sideboard on which a dish of 
apples was set; keep the room inside very dark。 But she 

turned her head away; observing that this was not a 
method of thinking the matter out。 

The only truth which she could discover was the truth 
of what she herself felt—a frail beam when pared 
with the broad illumination shed by the eyes of all the 
people who are in agreement to see together; but having 
rejected the visionary voices; she had no choice but to 
make this her guide through the dark masses which confronted 
her。 She tried to follow her beam; with an expression 
upon her face which would have made any passerby 
think her reprehensibly and almost ridiculously detached 
from the surrounding scene。 One would have felt alarmed 
lest this young and striking woman were about to do 
something eccentric。 But her beauty saved her from the 
worst fate that can befall a pedestrian; people looked at 
her; but they did not laugh。 To seek a true feeling among 
the chaos of the unfeelings or halffeelings of life; to 
recognize it when found; and to accept the consequences 
of the discovery; draws lines upon the smoothest brow; 
while it quickens the light of the eyes; it is a pursuit 
which is alternately bewildering; debasing; and exalting; 

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Night and Day 

and; as Katharine speedily found; her discoveries gave her 
equal cause for surprise; shame; and intense anxiety。 Much 
depended; as usual; upon the interpretation of the word 
love; which word came up again and again; whether she 
considered Rodney; Denham; Mary Datchet; or herself; and 
in each case it seemed to stand for something different; 
and yet for something unmistakable and something not to 
be passed by。 For the more she looked into the confusion 
of lives which; instead of running parallel; had suddenly 
intersected each other; the more distinctly she seemed to 
convince herself that there was no other light on them 
than was shed by this strange illumination; and no other 
path save the one upon which it threw its beams。 Her 
blindness in the case of Rodney; her attempt to match his 
true feeling with her false feeling; was a failure never to 
be sufficiently condemned; indeed; she could only pay it 
the tribute of leaving it a black and naked landmark unburied 
by attempt at oblivion or excuse。 

With this to humiliate there was much to exalt。 She 
thought of three different scenes; she thought of Mary 
sitting upright and saying; “I’m in love—I’m in love”; 

she thought of Rodney losing his selfconsciousness among 
the dead leaves; and speaking with the abandonment of 
a child; she thought of Denham leaning upon the stone 
parapet and talking to the distant sky; so that she thought 
him mad。 Her mind; passing from Mary to Denham; from 
William to Cassandra; and from Denham to herself—if; as 
she rather doubted; Denham’s state of mind was connected 
with herself—seemed to be tracing out the lines 
of some symmetrical pattern; some arrangement of life; 
which invested; if not herself; at least the others; not 
only with interest; but with a kind of tragic beauty。 She 
had a fantastic picture of them upholding splendid palaces 
upon their bent backs。 They were the lanternbearers; 
whose lights; scattered among the crowd; wove a 
pattern; dissolving; joining; meeting again in bination。 
Half forming such conceptions as these in her rapid 
walk along the dreary streets of South Kensington; she 
determined that; whatever else might be obscure; she 
must further the objects of Mary; Denham; William; and 
Cassandra。 The way was not apparent。 No course of action 
seemed to her indubitably right。 All she achieved by 

272 



Virginia Woolf 

her thinking was the conviction that; in such a cause; no 
risk was too great; and that; far from making any rules for 
herself or others; she would let difficulties accumulate 
unsolved; situations widen their jaws unsatiated; while she 
maintained a position of absolute and fearless independence。 
So she could best serve the people who loved。 

Read in the light of this exaltation; there was a new 
meaning in the words which her mother had penciled 
upon the card attached to the bunch of anemones。 The 
door of the house in the Cromwell Road opened; gloomy 
vistas of passage and staircase were revealed; such light 
as there was seemed to be concentrated upon a silver 
salver of visitingcards; whose black borders suggested 
that the widow’s friends had all suffered the same bereavement。 
The parlormaid could hardly be expected to 
fathom the meaning of the grave tone in which the young 
lady proffered the flowers; with Mrs。 Hilbery’s love; and 
the door shut upon the offering。 

The sight of a face; the slam of a door; are both rather 
destructive of exaltation in the abstract; and; as she 
walked back to Chelsea; Katharine had her doubts whether 

anything would e of her resolves。 If you cannot make 
sure of people; however; you can hold fairly fast to figures; 
and in some way or other her thought about such 
problems as she was wont to consider worked in happily 
with her mood as to her friends’ lives。 She reached home 
rather late for tea。 

On the ancient Dutch chest in the hall she perceived 
one or two hats; coats; and walkingsticks; and the sound 
of voices reached her as she stood outside the drawing
room door。 Her mother gave a little cry as she came in; a 
cry which conveyed to Katharine the fact that she was 
late; that the teacups and milkjugs were in a conspiracy 
of disobedience; and that she must immediately take her 
place at the head of the table and pour out tea for the 
guests。 Augustus Pelham; the diarist; liked a calm atmosphere 
in which to tell his stories; he liked attention; he 
liked to elicit little facts; little stories; about the past 
and the great dead; from such distinguished characters 
as Mrs。 Hilbery for the nourishment of his diary; for whose 
sake he frequented teatables and ate yearly an enormous 
quantity of buttered toast。 He; therefore; weled 

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Night and Day 

Katharine with relief; and she had merely to shake hands 
with Rodney and to greet the American lady who had 
e to be shown the relics; before the talk started again 
on the broad lines of reminiscence and discussion which 
were familiar to her。 

Yet; even with this thick veil between them; she could 
not help looking at Rodney; as if she could detect what 
had happened to him since they met。 It was in vain。 His 
clothes; even the white slip; the pearl in his tie; seemed 
to intercept her quick glance; and to proclaim the futility 
of such inquiries of a discreet; urbane gentleman; who 
balanced his cup of tea and poised a slice of bread and 
butter on the edge of the saucer。 He would not meet her 
eye; but that could be accounted for by his activity in 
serving and helping; and the polite alacrity with which 
he was answering the questions of the American visitor。 

It was certainly a sight to daunt any one ing in 
with a head full of theories about love。 The voices of the 
invisible questioners were reinforced by the scene round 
the table; and sounded with a tremendous selfconfidence; 
as if they had behind them the mon sense of twenty 

generations; together with the immediate approval of Mr。 
Augustus Pelham; Mrs。 Vermont Bankes; William Rodney; 
and; possibly; Mrs。 Hilbery herself。 Katharine set her teeth; 
not entirely in the metaphorical sense; for her hand; obeying 
the impulse towards definite action; laid firmly upon 
the table beside her an envelope which she 

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