[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第123部分

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“No；　I’m　a　person　who　can’t　tell　things；”　she　pleaded。　
“I　shall　say　something　ridiculous—something　about　
flames—fires。　No；　I　can’t　tell　you。”　

But　he　persuaded　her　into　a　broken　statement；　beautiful　
to　him；　charged　with　extreme　excitement　as　she　spoke　of　
the　dark　red　fire；　and　the　smoke　twined　round　it；　making　
him　feel　that　he　had　stepped　over　the　threshold　into　the　
faintly　lit　vastness　of　another　mind；　stirring　with　shapes；　
so　large；　so　dim；　unveiling　themselves　only　in　flashes；　and　
moving　away　again　into　the　darkness；　engulfed　by　it。　They　
had　walked　by　this　time　to　the　street　in　which　Mary　lived；　
and　being　engrossed　by　what　they　said　and　partly　saw；　
passed　her　staircase　without　looking　up。　At　this　time　of　
night　there　was　no　traffic　and　scarcely　any　footpassengers；　
so　that　they　could　pace　slowly　without　interruption；　
arminarm；　raising　their　hands　now　and　then　to　draw　something　
upon　the　vast　blue　curtain　of　the　sky。　

439　



Night　and　Day　

They　brought　themselves　by　these　means；　acting　on　a　
mood　of　profound　happiness；　to　a　state　of　clearsightedness　
where　the　lifting　of　a　finger　had　effect；　and　
one　word　spoke　more　than　a　sentence。　They　lapsed　gently　
into　silence；　traveling　the　dark　paths　of　thought　side　
by　side　towards　something　discerned　in　the　distance　which　
gradually　possessed　them　both。　They　were　victors；　masters　
of　life；　but　at　the　same　time　absorbed　in　the　flame；　
giving　their　life　to　increase　its　brightness；　to　testify　to　
their　faith。　Thus　they　had　walked；　perhaps；　twice　or　three　
times　up　and　down　Mary　Datchet’s　street　before　the　recurrence　
of　a　light　burning　behind　a　thin；　yellow　blind　
caused　them　to　stop　without　exactly　knowing　why　they　
did　so。　It　burned　itself　into　their　minds。　

“That　is　the　light　in　Mary’s　room；”　said　Ralph。　“She　
must　be　at　home。”　He　pointed　across　the　street。　Katharine’s　
eyes　rested　there　too。　

“Is　she　alone；　working　at　this　time　of　night？　What　is　
she　working　at？”　she　wondered。　“Why　should　we　interrupt　
her？”　she　asked　passionately。　“What　have　we　got　to　
give　her？　She’s　happy　too；”　she　added。　“She　has　her　work。”　

Her　voice　shook　slightly；　and　the　light　swam　like　an　ocean　

of　gold　behind　her　tears。　

“You　don’t　want　me　to　go　to　her？”　Ralph　asked。　

“Go；　if　you　like；　tell　her　what　you　like；”　she　replied。　

He　crossed　the　road　immediately；　and　went　up　the　steps　
into　Mary’s　house。　Katharine　stood　where　he　left　her；　looking　
at　the　window　and　expecting　soon　to　see　a　shadow　
move　across　it；　but　she　saw　nothing；　the　blinds　conveyed　
nothing；　the　light　was　not　moved。　It　signaled　to　her　across　
the　dark　street；　it　was　a　sign　of　triumph　shining　there　for　
ever；　not　to　be　extinguished　this　side　of　the　grave。　She　
brandished　her　happiness　as　if　in　salute；　she　dipped　it　as　
if　in　reverence。　“How　they　burn！”　she　thought；　and　all　
the　darkness　of　London　seemed　set　with　fires；　roaring　
upwards；　but　her　eyes　came　back　to　Mary’s　window　and　
rested　there　satisfied。　She　had　waited　some　time　before　a　
figure　detached　itself　from　the　doorway　and　came　across　
the　road；　slowly　and　reluctantly；　to　where　she　stood。　

“I　didn’t　go　in—I　couldn’t　bring　myself；”　he　broke　off。　
He　had　stood　outside　Mary’s　door　unable　to　bring　himself　
to　knock；　if　she　had　e　out　she　would　have　found　him　

440　



Virginia　Woolf　

there；　the　tears　running　down　his　cheeks；　unable　to　speak。　

They　stood　for　some　moments；　looking　at　the　illuminated　
blinds；　an　expression　to　them　both　of　something　
impersonal　and　serene　in　the　spirit　of　the　woman　within；　
working　out　her　plans　far　into　the　night—her　plans　for　
the　good　of　a　world　that　none　of　them　were　ever　to　know。　
Then　their　minds　jumped　on　and　other　little　figures　came　
by　in　procession；　headed；　in　Ralph’s　view；　by　the　figure　
of　Sally　Seal。　

“Do　you　remember　Sally　Seal？”　he　asked。　Katharine　bent　
her　head。　

“Your　mother　and　Mary？”　he　went　on。　“Rodney　and　
Cassandra？　Old　Joan　up　at　Highgate？”　He　stopped　in　his　
enumeration；　not　finding　it　possible　to　link　them　together　
in　any　way　that　should　explain　the　queer　bination　
which　he　could　perceive　in　them；　as　he　thought　of　them。　
They　appeared　to　him　to　be　more　than　individuals；　to　be　
made　up　of　many　different　things　in　cohesion；　he　had　a　
vision　of　an　orderly　world。　

“It’s　all　so　easy—it’s　all　so　simple；”　Katherine　quoted；　
remembering　some　words　of　Sally　Seal’s；　and　wishing　Ralph　

to　understand　that　she　followed　the　track　of　his　thought。　
She　felt　him　trying　to　piece　together　in　a　laborious　and　
elementary　fashion　fragments　of　belief；　unsoldered　and　
separate；　lacking　the　unity　of　phrases　fashioned　by　the　
old　believers。　Together　they　groped　in　this　difficult　region；　
where　the　unfinished；　the　unfulfilled；　the　unwritten；　
the　unreturned；　came　together　in　their　ghostly　way　
and　wore　the　semblance　of　the　plete　and　the　satisfactory。　
The　future　emerged　more　splendid　than　ever　from　
this　construction　of　the　present。　Books　were　to　be　written；　
and　since　books　must　be　written　in　rooms；　and　rooms　
must　have　hangings；　and　outside　the　windows　there　must　
be　land；　and　an　horizon　to　that　land；　and　trees　perhaps；　
and　a　hill；　they　sketched　a　habitation　for　themselves　upon　
the　outline　of　great　offices　in　the　Strand　and　continued　
to　make　an　account　of　the　future　upon　the　omnibus　which　
took　them　towards　Chelsea；　and　still；　for　both　of　them；　it　
swam　miraculously　in　the　golden　light　of　a　large　steady　
lamp。　

As　the　night　was　far　advanced　they　had　the　whole　of　
the　seats　on　the　top　of　the　omnibus　to　choose　from；　and　

441　



Night　and　Day　

the　roads；　save　for　an　occasional　couple；　wearing　even　at　
midnight；　an　air　of　sheltering　their　words　from　the　public；　
were　deserted。　No　longer　did　the　shadow　of　a　man　
sing　to　the　shadow　of　a　piano。　A　few　lights　in　bedroom　
windows　burnt　but　were　extinguished　one　by　one　as　the　
omnibus　passed　them。　

They　dismounted　and　walked　down　to　the　river。　She　felt　
his　arm　stiffen　beneath　her　hand；　and　knew　by　this　token　
that　they　had　entered　the　enchanted　region。　She　might　
speak　to　him；　but　with　that　strange　tremor　in　his　voice；　
those　eyes　blindly　adoring；　whom　did　he　answer？　What　
woman　did　he　see？　And　where　was　she　walking；　and　who　
was　her　panion？　Moments；　fragments；　a　second　of　
vision；　and　then　the　flying　waters；　the　winds　dissipating　
and　dissolving；　then；　too；　the　recollection　from　chaos；　
the　return　of　security；　the　earth　firm；　superb　and　brilliant　
in　the　sun。　From　the　heart　of　his　darkness　he　spoke　his　
thanksgiving；　from　a　region　as　far；　as　hidden；　she　answered　
him。　On　a　June　night　the　nightingales　sing；　they　
answer　each　other　across　the　plain；　they　are　heard　under　
the　window　among　the　trees　in　the　garden。　Pausing；　they　

looked　down　into　the　river　which　bore　its　dark　tide　of　
waters；　endlessly　moving；　beneath　them。　They　turned　and　
found　themselves　opposite　the　house。　Quietly　they　surveyed　
the　friendly　place；　burning　its　lamps　either　in　expectation　
of　them　or　because　Rodney　was　still　there　talking　
to　Cassandra。　Katharine　pushed　the　door　half　open　
and　stood　upon　the　threshold。　The　light　lay　in　soft　golden　
grains　upon　the　deep　obscurity　of　the　hushed　and　sleeping　
household。　For　a　moment　they　waited；　and　then　loosed　
their　hands。　“Good　night；”　he　breathed。　“Good　night；”　
she　murmured　back　to　him。　


442　

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