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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第2部分


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pair of oval; hazel eyes which were rather bright for his 
time of life; and relieved the heaviness of his face。 He 
played constantly with a little green stone attached to 
his watchchain; thus displaying long and very sensitive 
fingers; and had a habit of moving his head hither and 
thither very quickly without altering the position of his 
large and rather corpulent body; so that he seemed to be 
providing himself incessantly with food for amusement 
and reflection with the least possible expenditure of energy。 
One might suppose that he had passed the time of 
life when his ambitions were personal; or that he had 
gratified them as far as he was likely to do; and now 
employed his considerable acuteness rather to observe 

and reflect than to attain any result。 

Katharine; so Denham decided; while Mr。 Fortescue built 
up another rounded structure of words; had a likeness to 
each of her parents; but these elements were rather oddly 
blended。 She had the quick; impulsive movements of her 
mother; the lips parting often to speak; and closing again; 
and the dark oval eyes of her father brimming with light 
upon a basis of sadness; or; since she was too young to 
have acquired a sorrowful point of view; one might say 
that the basis was not sadness so much as a spirit given 
to contemplation and selfcontrol。 Judging by her hair; 
her coloring; and the shape of her features; she was striking; 
if not actually beautiful。 Decision and posure 
stamped her; a bination of qualities that produced a 
very marked character; and one that was not calculated 
to put a young man; who scarcely knew her; at his ease。 
For the rest; she was tall; her dress was of some quiet 
color; with old yellowtinted lace for ornament; to which 
the spark of an ancient jewel gave its one red gleam。 
Denham noticed that; although silent; she kept sufficient 
control of the situation to answer immediately her 

6 



Virginia Woolf 

mother appealed to her for help; and yet it was obvious to 
him that she attended only with the surface skin of her 
mind。 It struck him that her position at the teatable; among 
all these elderly people; was not without its difficulties; 
and he checked his inclination to find her; or her attitude; 
generally antipathetic to him。 The talk had passed over 
Manchester; after dealing with it very generously。 

“Would it be the Battle of Trafalgar or the Spanish Armada; 
Katharine?” her mother demanded。 

“Trafalgar; mother。” 

“Trafalgar; of course! How stupid of me! Another cup of 
tea; with a thin slice of lemon in it; and then; dear Mr。 
Fortescue; please explain my absurd little puzzle。 One 
can’t help believing gentlemen with Roman noses; even 
if one meets them in omnibuses。” 

Mr。 Hilbery here interposed so far as Denham was concerned; 
and talked a great deal of sense about the solicitors’ 
profession; and the changes which he had seen in 
his lifetime。 Indeed; Denham properly fell to his lot; owing 
to the fact that an article by Denham upon some 
legal matter; published by Mr。 Hilbery in his Review; had 

brought them acquainted。 But when a moment later Mrs。 
Sutton Bailey was announced; he turned to her; and Mr。 
Denham found himself sitting silent; rejecting possible 
things to say; beside Katharine; who was silent too。 Being 
much about the same age and both under thirty; they 
were prohibited from the use of a great many convenient 
phrases which launch conversation into smooth waters。 
They were further silenced by Katharine’s rather malicious 
determination not to help this young man; in whose 
upright and resolute bearing she detected something 
hostile to her surroundings; by any of the usual feminine 
amenities。 They therefore sat silent; Denham controlling 
his desire to say something abrupt and explosive; which 
should shock her into life。 But Mrs。 Hilbery was immediately 
sensitive to any silence in the drawingroom; as of 
a dumb note in a sonorous scale; and leaning across the 
table she observed; in the curiously tentative detached 
manner which always gave her phrases the likeness of 
butterflies flaunting from one sunny spot to another; 
“D’you know; Mr。 Denham; you remind me so much of 
dear Mr。 Ruskin… 。 Is it his tie; Katharine; or his hair; or 

7 



Night and Day 

the way he sits in his chair? Do tell me; Mr。 Denham; are 
you an admirer of Ruskin? Some one; the other day; said 
to me; ‘Oh; no; we don’t read Ruskin; Mrs。 Hilbery。’ What 
do you read; I wonder?—for you can’t spend all your time 
going up in aeroplanes and burrowing into the bowels of 
the earth。” 

She looked benevolently at Denham; who said nothing 
articulate; and then at Katharine; who smiled but said 
nothing either; upon which Mrs。 Hilbery seemed possessed 
by a brilliant idea; and exclaimed: 

“I’m sure Mr。 Denham would like to see our things; 
Katharine。 I’m sure he’s not like that dreadful young man; 
Mr。 Ponting; who told me that he considered it our duty 
to live exclusively in the present。 After all; what IS the 
present? Half of it’s the past; and the better half; too; I 
should say;” she added; turning to Mr。 Fortescue。 

Denham rose; half meaning to go; and thinking that he 
had seen all that there was to see; but Katharine rose at 
the same moment; and saying; “Perhaps you would like 
to see the pictures;” led the way across the drawing
room to a smaller room opening out of it。 

The smaller room was something like a chapel in a cathedral; 
or a grotto in a cave; for the booming sound of 
the traffic in the distance suggested the soft surge of waters; 
and the oval mirrors; with their silver surface; were 
like deep pools trembling beneath starlight。 But the parison 
to a religious temple of some kind was the more 
apt of the two; for the little room was crowded with relics。 

As Katharine touched different spots; lights sprang here 
and there; and revealed a square mass of redandgold 
books; and then a long skirt in blueandwhite paint lustrous 
behind glass; and then a mahogany writingtable; 
with its orderly equipment; and; finally; a picture above 
the table; to which special illumination was accorded。 
When Katharine had touched these last lights; she stood 
back; as much as to say; “There!” Denham found himself 
looked down upon by the eyes of the great poet; Richard 
Alardyce; and suffered a little shock which would have 
led him; had he been wearing a hat; to remove it。 The 
eyes looked at him out of the mellow pinks and yellows 
of the paint with divine friendliness; which embraced him; 
and passed on to contemplate the entire world。 The paint 

8 



Virginia Woolf 

had so faded that very little but the beautiful large eyes 
were left; dark in the surrounding dimness。 

Katharine waited as though for him to receive a full 
impression; and then she said: 

“This is his writingtable。 He used this pen;” and she 
lifted a quill pen and laid it down again。 The writing
table was splashed with old ink; and the pen disheveled 
in service。 There lay the gigantic goldrimmed spectacles; 
ready to his hand; and beneath the table was a pair of 
large; worn slippers; one of which Katharine picked up; 
remarking: 

“I think my grandfather must have been at least twice as 
large as any one is nowadays。 This;” she went on; as if she 
knew what she had to say by heart; “is the original manuscript 
of the ‘Ode to Winter。’ The early poems are far less 
corrected than the later。 Would you like to look at it?” 

While Mr。 Denham examined the manuscript; she glanced 
up at her grandfather; and; for the thousandth time; fell 
into a pleasant dreamy state in which she seemed to be 
the panion of those giant men; of their own lineage; 
at any rate; and the insignificant present moment was 

put to shame。 That magnificent ghostly head on the canvas; 
surely; never beheld all the trivialities of a Sunday 
afternoon; and it did not seem to matter what she and 
this young man said to each other; for they were only 
small people。 

“This is a copy of the first edition of the poems;” she 
continued; without considering the fa

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