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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第12部分


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as though a vision drew him now to the door; now to the 
window; bespoke his horrible disfort under the stare 
of so many eyes。 He was scrupulously well dressed; and a 
pearl in the center of his tie seemed to give him a touch 
of aristocratic opulence。 But the rather prominent eyes 

41 



Night and Day 

and the impulsive stammering manner; which seemed to 
indicate a torrent of ideas intermittently pressing for utterance 
and always checked in their course by a clutch of 
nervousness; drew no pity; as in the case of a more imposing 
personage; but a desire to laugh; which was; however; 
entirely lacking in malice。 Mr。 Rodney was evidently 
so painfully conscious of the oddity of his appearance; 
and his very redness and the starts to which his body was 
liable gave such proof of his own disfort; that there 
was something endearing in this ridiculous susceptibility; 
although most people would probably have echoed 
Denham’s private exclamation; “Fancy marrying a creature 
like that!” 

His paper was carefully written out; but in spite of this 
precaution Mr。 Rodney managed to turn over two sheets 
instead of one; to choose the wrong sentence where two 
were written together; and to discover his own handwriting 
suddenly illegible。 When he found himself possessed 
of a coherent passage; he shook it at his audience almost 
aggressively; and then fumbled for another。 After a distressing 
search a fresh discovery would be made; and 

produced in the same way; until; by means of repeated 
attacks; he had stirred his audience to a degree of animation 
quite remarkable in these gatherings。 Whether 
they were stirred by his enthusiasm for poetry or by the 
contortions which a human being was going through for 
their benefit; it would be hard to say。 At length Mr。 Rodney 
sat down impulsively in the middle of a sentence; and; 
after a pause of bewilderment; the audience expressed 
its relief at being able to laugh aloud in a decided outburst 
of applause。 

Mr。 Rodney acknowledged this with a wild glance round 
him; and; instead of waiting to answer questions; he 
jumped up; thrust himself through the seated bodies into 
the corner where Katharine was sitting; and exclaimed; 
very audibly: 

“Well; Katharine; I hope I’ve made a big enough fool of 
myself even for you! It was terrible! terrible! terrible!” 

“Hush! You must answer their questions;” Katharine 
whispered; desiring; at all costs; to keep him quiet。 Oddly 
enough; when the speaker was no longer in front of them; 
there seemed to be much that was suggestive in what he 

42 



Virginia Woolf 

had said。 At any rate; a palefaced young man with sad 
eyes was already on his feet; delivering an accurately 
worded speech with perfect posure。 William Rodney 
listened with a curious lifting of his upper lip; although 
his face was still quivering slightly with emotion。 

“Idiot!” he whispered。 “He’s misunderstood every word 
I said!” 

“Well then; answer him;” Katharine whispered back。 

“No; I shan’t! They’d only laugh at me。 Why did I let 
you persuade me that these sort of people care for literature?” 
he continued。 

There was much to be said both for and against Mr。 
Rodney’s paper。 It had been crammed with assertions that 
suchandsuch passages; taken liberally from English; 
French; and Italian; are the supreme pearls of literature。 
Further; he was fond of using metaphors which; pounded 
in the study; were apt to sound either cramped 
or out of place as he delivered them in fragments。 Literature 
was a fresh garland of spring flowers; he said; in 
which yewberries and the purple nightshade mingled with 
the various tints of the anemone; and somehow or other 

this garland encircled marble brows。 He had read very 
badly some very beautiful quotations。 But through his 
manner and his confusion of language there had emerged 
some passion of feeling which; as he spoke; formed in 
the majority of the audience a little picture or an idea 
which each now was eager to give expression to。 Most of 
the people there proposed to spend their lives in the 
practice either of writing or painting; and merely by looking 
at them it could be seen that; as they listened to Mr。 
Purvis first; and then to Mr。 Greenhalgh; they were seeing 
something done by these gentlemen to a possession 
which they thought to be their own。 One person after 
another rose; and; as with an illbalanced axe; attempted 
to hew out his conception of art a little more clearly; and 
sat down with the feeling that; for some reason which he 
could not grasp; his strokes had gone awry。 As they sat 
down they turned almost invariably to the person sitting 
next them; and rectified and continued what they had 
just said in public。 Before long; therefore; the groups on 
the mattresses and the groups on the chairs were all in 
munication with each other; and Mary Datchet; who 

43 



Night and Day 

had begun to darn stockings again; stooped down and 

remarked to Ralph: 

“That was what I call a firstrate paper。” 

Both of them instinctively turned their eyes in the direction 
of the reader of the paper。 He was lying back 
against the wall; with his eyes apparently shut; and his 
chin sunk upon his collar。 Katharine was turning over the 
pages of his manuscript as if she were looking for some 
passage that had particularly struck her; and had a difficulty 
in finding it。 

“Let’s go and tell him how much we liked it;” said Mary; 
thus suggesting an action which Ralph was anxious to 
take; though without her he would have been too proud 
to do it; for he suspected that he had more interest in 
Katharine than she had in him。 

“That was a very interesting paper;” Mary began; without 
any shyness; seating herself on the floor opposite to 
Rodney and Katharine。 “Will you lend me the manuscript 
to read in peace?” 

Rodney; who had opened his eyes on their approach; 
regarded her for a moment in suspicious silence。 

“Do you say that merely to disguise the fact of my ridiculous 
failure?” he asked。 

Katharine looked up from her reading with a smile。 

“He says he doesn’t mind what we think of him;” she 
remarked。 “He says we don’t care a rap for art of any 
kind。” 

“I asked her to pity me; and she teases me!” Rodney 
exclaimed。 

“I don’t intend to pity you; Mr。 Rodney;” Mary remarked; 
kindly; but firmly。 “When a paper’s a failure; nobody says 
anything; whereas now; just listen to them!” 

The sound; which filled the room; with its hurry of short 
syllables; its sudden pauses; and its sudden attacks; might be 
pared to some animal hubbub; frantic and inarticulate。 

“D’you think that’s all about my paper?” Rodney inquired; 
after a moment’s attention; with a distinct brightening 
of expression。 

“Of course it is;” said Mary。 “It was a very suggestive 
paper。” 

She turned to Denham for confirmation; and he corroborated 
her。 

44 



Virginia Woolf 

“It’s the ten minutes after a paper is read that proves 
whether it’s been a success or not;” he said。 “If I were 
you; Rodney; I should be very pleased with myself。” 

This mendation seemed to fort Mr。 Rodney pletely; 
and he began to bethink him of all the passages 
in his paper which deserved to be called “suggestive。” 

“Did you agree at all; Denham; with what I said about 
Shakespeare’s later use of imagery? I’m afraid I didn’t 
altogether make my meaning plain。” 

Here he gathered himself together; and by means of a 
series of froglike jerks; succeeded in bringing himself 
close to Denham。 

Denham answered him with the brevity which is the 
result of having another sentence in the mind to be addressed 
to another person。 He wished to say to Katharine: 
“Did you remember to get that picture glazed before your 
aunt came to dinner?” but; besides having to answer 
Rodney; he was not sure that the remark; with its assertion 
of intimacy; would not strike Katharine as impertinent。 
She was listening to what some one in another 
group was saying。 Rodney; meanwhile; was talking about 

the Elizabethan dram

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