[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第80章

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wasting　time　wasted　also　high　private　hopes　of　his　own。　

His　face　was　no　bad　index　to　what　went　on　within　him。　
He　was　in　a　condition　of　mind　rather　too　exalted　for　the　
trivialities　of　daily　life。　He　could　not　accept　the　fact　that　
a　lady　was　fifteen　minutes　late　in　keeping　her　appointment　
without　seeing　in　that　accident　the　frustration　of　
his　entire　life。　Looking　at　his　watch；　he　seemed　to　look　

deep　into　the　springs　of　human　existence；　and　by　the　
light　of　what　he　saw　there　altered　his　course　towards　the　
north　and　the　midnight…　。　Yes；　one’s　voyage　must　be　
made　absolutely　without　panions　through　ice　and　
black　water—towards　what　goal？　Here　he　laid　his　finger　
upon　the　halfhour；　and　decided　that　when　the　minute
hand　reached　that　point　he　would　go；　at　the　same　time　
answering　the　question　put　by　another　of　the　many　voices　
of　consciousness　with　the　reply　that　there　was　undoubtedly　
a　goal；　but　that　it　would　need　the　most　relentless　
energy　to　keep　anywhere　in　its　direction。　Still；　still；　one　
goes　on；　the　ticking　seconds　seemed　to　assure　him；　with　
dignity；　with　open　eyes；　with　determination　not　to　accept　
the　secondrate；　not　to　be　tempted　by　the　unworthy；　
not　to　yield；　not　to　promise。　Twentyfive　minutes　
past　three　were　now　marked　upon　the　face　of　the　
watch。　The　world；　he　assured　himself；　since　Katharine　
Hilbery　was　now　half　an　hour　behind　her　time；　offers　no　
happiness；　no　rest　from　struggle；　no　certainty。　In　a　scheme　
of　things　utterly　bad　from　the　start　the　only　unpardonable　
folly　is　that　of　hope。　Raising　his　eyes　for　a　moment　

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Night　and　Day　

from　the　face　of　his　watch；　he　rested　them　upon　the　
opposite　bank；　reflectively　and　not　without　a　certain　wistfulness；　
as　if　the　sternness　of　their　gaze　were　still　capable　
of　mitigation。　Soon　a　look　of　the　deepest　satisfaction　
filled　them；　though；　for　a　moment；　he　did　not　move。　
He　watched　a　lady　who　came　rapidly；　and　yet　with　a　trace　
of　hesitation；　down　the　broad　grasswalk　towards　him。　
She　did　not　see　him。　Distance　lent　her　figure　an　indescribable　
height；　and　romance　seemed　to　surround　her　
from　the　floating　of　a　purple　veil　which　the　light　air　filled　
and　curved　from　her　shoulders。　

“Here　she　es；　like　a　ship　in　full　sail；”　he　said　to　
himself；　half　remembering　some　line　from　a　play　or　poem　
where　the　heroine　bore　down　thus　with　feathers　flying　
and　airs　saluting　her。　The　greenery　and　the　high　presences　
of　the　trees　surrounded　her　as　if　they　stood　forth　
at　her　ing。　He　rose；　and　she　saw　him；　her　little　exclamation　
proved　that　she　was　glad　to　find　him；　and　then　
that　she　blamed　herself　for　being　late。　

“Why　did　you　never　tell　me？　I　didn’t　know　there　was　
this；”　she　remarked；　alluding　to　the　lake；　the　broad　green　

space；　the　vista　of　trees；　with　the　ruffled　gold　of　the　
Thames　in　the　distance　and　the　Ducal　castle　standing　in　
its　meadows。　She　paid　the　rigid　tail　of　the　Ducal　lion　the　
tribute　of　incredulous　laughter。　

“You’ve　never　been　to　Kew？”　Denham　remarked。　

But　it　appeared　that　she　had　e　once　as　a　small　
child；　when　the　geography　of　the　place　was　entirely　different；　
and　the　fauna　included　certainly　flamingoes　and；　
possibly；　camels。　They　strolled　on；　refashioning　these　legendary　
gardens。　She　was；　as　he　felt；　glad　merely　to　stroll　
and　loiter　and　let　her　fancy　touch　upon　anything　her　
eyes　encountered—a　bush；　a　parkkeeper；　a　decorated　
goose—as　if　the　relaxation　soothed　her。　The　warmth　of　
the　afternoon；　the　first　of　spring；　tempted　them　to　sit　
upon　a　seat　in　a　glade　of　beechtrees；　with　forest　drives　
striking　green　paths　this　way　and　that　around　them。　She　
sighed　deeply。　

“It’s　so　peaceful；”　she　said；　as　if　in　explanation　of　her　
sigh。　Not　a　single　person　was　in　sight；　and　the　stir　of　the　
wind　in　the　branches；　that　sound　so　seldom　heard　by　
Londoners；　seemed　to　her　as　if　wafted　from　fathomless　

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Virginia　Woolf　

oceans　of　sweet　air　in　the　distance。　

While　she　breathed　and　looked；　Denham　was　engaged　
in　uncovering　with　the　point　of　his　stick　a　group　of　green　
spikes　half　smothered　by　the　dead　leaves。　He　did　this　
with　the　peculiar　touch　of　the　botanist。　In　naming　the　
little　green　plant　to　her　he　used　the　Latin　name；　thus　
disguising　some　flower　familiar　even　to　Chelsea；　and　
making　her　exclaim；　half　in　amusement；　at　his　knowledge。　
Her　own　ignorance　was　vast；　she　confessed。　What　
did　one　call　that　tree　opposite；　for　instance；　supposing　
one　condescended　to　call　it　by　its　English　name？　Beech　
or　elm　or　sycamore？　It　chanced；　by　the　testimony　of　a　
dead　leaf；　to　be　oak；　and　a　little　attention　to　a　diagram　
which　Denham　proceeded　to　draw　upon　an　envelope　soon　
put　Katharine　in　possession　of　some　of　the　fundamental　
distinctions　between　our　British　trees。　She　then　asked　
him　to　inform　her　about　flowers。　To　her　they　were　variously　
shaped　and　colored　petals；　poised；　at　different　seasons　
of　the　year；　upon　very　similar　green　stalks；　but　to　
him　they　were；　in　the　first　instance；　bulbs　or　seeds；　and　
later；　living　things　endowed　with　sex；　and　pores；　and　

susceptibilities　which　adapted　themselves　by　all　manner　
of　ingenious　devices　to　live　and　beget　life；　and　could　be　
fashioned　squat　or　tapering；　flamecolored　or　pale；　pure　
or　spotted；　by　processes　which　might　reveal　the　secrets　
of　human　existence。　Denham　spoke　with　increasing　ardor　
of　a　hobby　which　had　long　been　his　in　secret。　No　discourse　
could　have　worn　a　more　wele　sound　in　
Katharine’s　ears。　For　weeks　she　had　heard　nothing　that　
made　such　pleasant　music　in　her　mind。　It　wakened　echoes　
in　all　those　remote　fastnesses　of　her　being　where　
loneliness　had　brooded　so　long　undisturbed。　

She　wished　he　would　go　on　for　ever　talking　of　plants；　
and　showing　her　how　science　felt　not　quite　blindly　for　
the　law　that　ruled　their　endless　variations。　A　law　that　
might　be　inscrutable　but　was　certainly　omnipotent　appealed　
to　her　at　the　moment；　because　she　could　find　
nothing　like　it　in　possession　of　human　lives。　Circumstances　
had　long　forced　her；　as　they　force　most　women　in　the　
flower　of　youth；　to　consider；　painfully　and　minutely；　all　
that　part　of　life　which　is　conspicuously　without　order；　
she　had　had　to　consider　moods　and　wishes；　degrees　of　

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Night　and　Day　

liking　or　disliking；　and　their　effect　upon　the　destiny　of　
people　dear　to　her；　she　had　been　forced　to　deny　herself　
any　contemplation　of　that　other　part　of　life　where　thought　
constructs　a　destiny　which　is　independent　of　human　beings。　
As　Denham　spoke；　she　followed　his　words　and　considered　
their　bearing　with　an　easy　vigor　which　spoke　of　a　
capacity　long　hoarded　and　unspent。　The　very　trees　and　
the　green　merging　into　the　blue　distance　became　symbols　
of　the　vast　external　world　which　recks　so　little　of　the　
happiness；　of　the　marriages　or　deaths　of　individuals。　In　
order　to　give　her　examples　of　what　he　was　saying；　Denham　
led　the　way；　first　to　the　Rock　Garden；　and　then　to　the　
Orchid　House。　

For　him　there　was　safety　in　the　direction　which　the　talk　
had　taken。　His　emphasis　might　e　from　feelings　more　
personal　than　those　science　roused　in　him；　but　it　was　
disguised；　and　naturally　he　found　it　easy　to　expound　and　
explain。　Nevertheless；　when　he　saw　Katharine　among　the　
orchids；　her　beauty　strangely　emphasized　by　the　fantastic　
plants；　which　seemed　to　peer　and　gape　at　her　from　
striped　hoods　and　fleshy　throats；　his　ardor　for　botany　

waned；　and　a　more　plex　feeling　replaced　it。　She　fell　
silent。　The　orchids　seemed　to　suggest　absorbing　reflections。　
In　defiance　of　the　rules　she　stretched　her　ungloved　
hand　and　touched　one。　The　sight　of　the　rubies　upon　her　
finger　affected　him　so　disagreeably　that　he　started　and　
turned　away。　But　next　moment　he　controlled　himself；　he　
looked　at　her　taking　in　one　strange　shape　after　another　
with　the　contemplative；　considering　gaze　of　a　person　who　
sees　not　exactly　what　is　before　him；　but　gropes　in　regions　
that　lie　beyond　it。　The　faraway　look　entirely　lacked　
selfconsciousness。　Denham　doubted　whether　she　remembered　
his　presence。　He　could　recall　himself；　of　course；　by　
a　word　or　a　movement—but　why？　She　was　happier　thus。