《[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版》

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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版- 第42部分


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with a sense that she had played her part; and a sigh at 
the thought that none of her children felt it necessary to 
play theirs。 

The carriage bowled along smoothly over the gently 
curving road。 Mrs。 Hilbery dropped into a pleasant; inattentive 
state of mind; in which she was conscious of the 
running green lines of the hedges; of the swelling 
ploughland; and of the mild blue sky; which served her; 
after the first five minutes; for a pastoral background to 
the drama of human life; and then she thought of a cottage 
garden; with the flash of yellow daffodils against 
blue water; and what with the arrangement of these different 
prospects; and the shaping of two or three lovely 
phrases; she did not notice that the young people in the 
carriage were almost silent。 Henry; indeed; had been included 
against his wish; and revenged himself by observ


ing Katharine and Rodney with disillusioned eyes; while 
Katharine was in a state of gloomy selfsuppression which 
resulted in plete apathy。 When Rodney spoke to her 
she either said “Hum!” or assented so listlessly that he 
addressed his next remark to her mother。 His deference 
was agreeable to her; his manners were exemplary; and 
when the church towers and factory chimneys of the town 
came into sight; she roused herself; and recalled memories 
of the fair summer of 1853; which fitted in harmoniously 
with what she was dreaming of the future。 

186 



Virginia Woolf 

CHAPTER XVIII 


But other passengers were approaching Lincoln meanwhile 
by other roads on foot。 A county town draws the 
inhabitants of all vicarages; farms; country houses; and 
wayside cottages; within a radius of ten miles at least; 
once or twice a week to its streets; and among them; on 
this occasion; were Ralph Denham and Mary Datchet。 They 
despised the roads; and took their way across the fields; 
and yet; from their appearance; it did not seem as if they 
cared much where they walked so long as the way did not 
actually trip them up。 When they left the Vicarage; they 
had begun an argument which swung their feet along so 
rhythmically in time with it that they covered the ground 
at over four miles an hour; and saw nothing of the 
hedgerows; the swelling plowland; or the mild blue sky。 
What they saw were the Houses of Parliament and the 
Government Offices in Whitehall。 They both belonged to 
the class which is conscious of having lost its birthright 
in these great structures and is seeking to build another 
kind of lodging for its own notion of law and govern


ment。 Purposely; perhaps; Mary did not agree with Ralph; 
she loved to feel her mind in conflict with his; and to be 
certain that he spared her female judgment no ounce of 
his male muscularity。 He seemed to argue as fiercely with 
her as if she were his brother。 They were alike; however; 
in believing that it behooved them to take in hand the 
repair and reconstruction of the fabric of England。 They 
agreed in thinking that nature has not been generous in 
the endowment of our councilors。 They agreed; unconsciously; 
in a mute love for the muddy field through which 
they tramped; with eyes narrowed close by the concentration 
of their minds。 At length they drew breath; let 
the argument fly away into the limbo of other good arguments; 
and; leaning over a gate; opened their eyes for 
the first time and looked about them。 Their feet tingled 
with warm blood and their breath rose in steam around 
them。 The bodily exercise made them both feel more direct 
and less selfconscious than usual; and Mary; indeed; 
was overe by a sort of lightheadedness which made 
it seem to her that it mattered very little what happened 
next。 It mattered so little; indeed; that she felt herself 

187 



Night and Day 

on the point of saying to Ralph: 

“I love you; I shall never love anybody else。 Marry me 
or leave me; think what you like of me—I don’t care a 
straw。” At the moment; however; speech or silence seemed 
immaterial; and she merely clapped her hands together; 
and looked at the distant woods with the rustlike bloom 
on their brown; and the green and blue landscape through 
the steam of her own breath。 It seemed a mere tossup 
whether she said; “I love you;” or whether she said; “I 
love the beechtrees;” or only “I love—I love。” 

“Do you know; Mary;” Ralph suddenly interrupted her; 
“I’ve made up my mind。” 

Her indifference must have been superficial; for it disappeared 
at once。 Indeed; she lost sight of the trees; and 
saw her own hand upon the topmost bar of the gate with 
extreme distinctness; while he went on: 

“I’ve made up my mind to chuck my work and live down 
here。 I want you to tell me about that cottage you spoke 
of。 However; I suppose there’ll be no difficulty about getting 
a cottage; will there?” He spoke with an assumption 
of carelessness as if expecting her to dissuade him。 

She still waited; as if for him to continue; she was 
convinced that in some roundabout way he approached 
the subject of their marriage。 

“I can’t stand the office any longer;” he proceeded。 “I 
don’t know what my family will say; but I’m sure I’m right。 
Don’t you think so?” 

“Live down here by yourself?” she asked。 

“Some old woman would do for me; I suppose;” he replied。 
“I’m sick of the whole thing;” he went on; and 
opened the gate with a jerk。 They began to cross the 
next field walking side by side。 

“I tell you; Mary; it’s utter destruction; working away; 
day after day; at stuff that doesn’t matter a damn to any 
one。 I’ve stood eight years of it; and I’m not going to 
stand it any longer。 I suppose this all seems to you mad; 
though?” 

By this time Mary had recovered her selfcontrol。 

“No。 I thought you weren’t happy;” she said。 

“Why did you think that?” he asked; with some surprise。 


“Don’t you remember that morning in Lincoln’s Inn 

188 



Virginia Woolf 

Fields?” she asked。 

“Yes;” said Ralph; slackening his pace and remembering 
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。 Americ

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