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第9章

[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第9章


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with a duster in her hand; with which she stopped to 
polish the backs of already lustrous books; musing and 
romancing as she did so。 Suddenly the right phrase or the 
perating point of view would suggest itself; and she 
would drop her duster and write ecstatically for a few 
breathless moments; and then the mood would pass away; 
and the duster would be sought for; and the old books 
polished again。 These spells of inspiration never burnt 
steadily; but flickered over the gigantic mass of the subject 
as capriciously as a willo’thewisp; lighting now on 
this point; now on that。 It was as much as Katharine 
could do to keep the pages of her mother’s manuscript in 
order; but to sort them so that the sixteenth year of Richard 
Alardyce’s life succeeded the fifteenth was beyond 

her skill。 And yet they were so brilliant; these paragraphs; 
so nobly phrased; so lightninglike in their illumination; 
that the dead seemed to crowd the very room。 Read continuously; 
they produced a sort of vertigo; and set her 
asking herself in despair what on earth she was to do 
with them? Her mother refused; also; to face the radical 
questions of what to leave in and what to leave out。 She 
could not decide how far the public was to be told the 
truth about the poet’s separation from his wife。 She drafted 
passages to suit either case; and then liked each so well 
that she could not decide upon the rejection of either。 

But the book must be written。 It was a duty that they 
owed the world; and to Katharine; at least; it meant more 
than that; for if they could not between them get this 
one book acplished they had no right to their privileged 
position。 Their increment became yearly more and 
more unearned。 Besides; it must be established indisputably 
that her grandfather was a very great man。 

By the time she was twentyseven; these thoughts had 
bee very familiar to her。 They trod their way through 
her mind as she sat opposite her mother of a morning at 

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Night and Day 

a table heaped with bundles of old letters and well supplied 
with pencils; scissors; bottles of gum; indiarubber 
bands; large envelopes; and other appliances for the manufacture 
of books。 Shortly before Ralph Denham’s visit; 
Katharine had resolved to try the effect of strict rules 
upon her mother’s habits of literary position。 They 
were to be seated at their tables every morning at ten 
o’clock; with a cleanswept morning of empty; secluded 
hours before them。 They were to keep their eyes fast upon 
the paper; and nothing was to tempt them to speech; 
save at the stroke of the hour when ten minutes for relaxation 
were to be allowed them。 If these rules were 
observed for a year; she made out on a sheet of paper 
that the pletion of the book was certain; and she laid 
her scheme before her mother with a feeling that much 
of the task was already acplished。 Mrs。 Hilbery examined 
the sheet of paper very carefully。 Then she clapped 
her hands and exclaimed enthusiastically: 

“Well done; Katharine! What a wonderful head for business 
you’ve got! Now I shall keep this before me; and 
every day I shall make a little mark in my pocketbook; 

and on the last day of all—let me think; what shall we do 
to celebrate the last day of all? If it weren’t the winter 
we could take a jaunt to Italy。 They say Switzerland’s 
very lovely in the snow; except for the cold。 But; as you 
say; the great thing is to finish the book。 Now let me 
see—” 

When they inspected her manuscripts; which Katharine 
had put in order; they found a state of things well calculated 
to dash their spirits; if they had not just resolved 
on reform。 They found; to begin with; a great variety of 
very imposing paragraphs with which the biography was 
to open; many of these; it is true; were unfinished; and 
resembled triumphal arches standing upon one leg; but; 
as Mrs。 Hilbery observed; they could be patched up in ten 
minutes; if she gave her mind to it。 Next; there was an 
account of the ancient home of the Alardyces; or rather; 
of spring in Suffolk; which was very beautifully written; 
although not essential to the story。 However; Katharine 
had put together a string of names and dates; so that the 
poet was capably brought into the world; and his ninth 
year was reached without further mishap。 After that; Mrs。 

32 



Virginia Woolf 

Hilbery wished; for sentimental reasons; to introduce the 
recollections of a very fluent old lady; who had been 
brought up in the same village; but these Katharine decided 
must go。 It might be advisable to introduce here a 
sketch of contemporary poetry contributed by Mr。 Hilbery; 
and thus terse and learned and altogether out of keeping 
with the rest; but Mrs。 Hilbery was of opinion that it was 
too bare; and made one feel altogether like a good little 
girl in a lectureroom; which was not at all in keeping 
with her father。 It was put on one side。 Now came the 
period of his early manhood; when various affairs of the 
heart must either be concealed or revealed; here again 
Mrs。 Hilbery was of two minds; and a thick packet of 
manuscript was shelved for further consideration。 

Several years were now altogether omitted; because Mrs。 
Hilbery had found something distasteful to her in that 
period; and had preferred to dwell upon her own recollections 
as a child。 After this; it seemed to Katharine 
that the book became a wild dance of willo’thewisps; 
without form or continuity; without coherence even; or 
any attempt to make a narrative。 Here were twenty pages 

upon her grandfather’s taste in hats; an essay upon contemporary 
china; a long account of a summer day’s expedition 
into the country; when they had missed their train; 
together with fragmentary visions of all sorts of famous 
men and women; which seemed to be partly imaginary 
and partly authentic。 There were; moreover; thousands of 
letters; and a mass of faithful recollections contributed 
by old friends; which had grown yellow now in their envelopes; 
but must be placed somewhere; or their feelings 
would be hurt。 So many volumes had been written about 
the poet since his death that she had also to dispose of 
a great number of misstatements; which involved minute 
researches and much correspondence。 Sometimes 
Katharine brooded; half crushed; among her papers; sometimes 
she felt that it was necessary for her very existence 
that she should free herself from the past; at others; that 
the past had pletely displaced the present; which; 
when one resumed life after a morning among the dead; 
proved to be of an utterly thin and inferior position。 

The worst of it was that she had no aptitude for literature。 
She did not like phrases。 She had even some natural 

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Night and Day 

antipathy to that process of selfexamination; that perpetual 
effort to understand one’s own feeling; and express 
it beautifully; fitly; or energetically in language; 
which constituted so great a part of her mother’s existence。 
She was; on the contrary; inclined to be silent; she 
shrank from expressing herself even in talk; let alone in 
writing。 As this disposition was highly convenient in a 
family much given to the manufacture of phrases; and 
seemed to argue a corresponding capacity for action; she 
was; from her childhood even; put in charge of household 
affairs。 She had the reputation; which nothing in 
her manner contradicted; of being the most practical of 
people。 Ordering meals; directing servants; paying bills; 
and so contriving that every clock ticked more or less 
accurately in time; and a number of vases were always 
full of fresh flowers was supposed to be a natural endowment 
of hers; and; indeed; Mrs。 Hilbery often observed 
that it was poetry the wrong side out。 From a very early 
age; too; she had to exert herself in another capacity; 
she had to counsel and help and generally sustain her 
mother。 Mrs。 Hilbery would have been perfectly well able 

to sustain herself if the world had been what the world is 
not。 She was beautifully adapted for life in another pla。 
But the natural genius she had for conducting

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