[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第27部分

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which　they　kept　steadily　in　view—but　she　was　interrupted。　

Mrs。　Hilbery　had　risen　from　her　table；　and　was　standing　
looking　out　of　the　window　at　a　string　of　barges　swimming　
up　the　river。　

Katharine　watched　her。　Suddenly　Mrs。　Hilbery　turned　
abruptly；　and　exclaimed：　

“I　really　believe　I’m　bewitched！　I　only　want　three　sentences；　
you　see；　something　quite　straightforward　and　
monplace；　and　I　can’t　find　‘em。”　

She　began　to　pace　up　and　down　the　room；　snatching　up　
her　duster；　but　she　was　too　much　annoyed　to　find　any　
relief；　as　yet；　in　polishing　the　backs　of　books。　

“Besides；”　she　said；　giving　the　sheet　she　had　written　to　
Katharine；　“I　don’t　believe　this’ll　do。　Did　your　grandfather　
ever　visit　the　Hebrides；　Katharine？”　She　looked　in　a　
strangely　beseeching　way　at　her　daughter。　“My　mind　got　
running　on　the　Hebrides；　and　I　couldn’t　help　writing　a　
little　description　of　them。　Perhaps　it　would　do　at　the　

beginning　of　a　chapter。　Chapters　often　begin　quite　differently　
from　the　way　they　go　on；　you　know。”　Katharine　
read　what　her　mother　had　written。　She　might　have　been　
a　schoolmaster　criticizing　a　child’s　essay。　Her　face　gave　
Mrs。　Hilbery；　who　watched　it　anxiously；　no　ground　for　
hope。　

“It’s　very　beautiful；”　she　stated；　“but；　you　see；　mother；　
we　ought　to　go　from　point　to　point—”　

“Oh；　I　know；”　Mrs。　Hilbery　exclaimed。　“And　that’s　just　
what　I　can’t　do。　Things　keep　ing　into　my　head。　It　
isn’t　that　I　don’t　know　everything　and　feel　everything　
（who　did　know　him；　if　I　didn’t？）；　but　I　can’t　put　it　down；　
you　see。　There’s　a　kind　of　blind　spot；”　she　said；　touching　
her　forehead；　“there。　And　when　I　can’t　sleep　o’　nights；　I　
fancy　I　shall　die　without　having　done　it。”　

From　exultation　she　had　passed　to　the　depths　of　depression　
which　the　imagination　of　her　death　aroused。　The　
depression　municated　itself　to　Katharine。　How　impotent　
they　were；　fiddling　about　all　day　long　with　papers！　
And　the　clock　was　striking　eleven　and　nothing　done！　She　
watched　her　mother；　now　rummaging　in　a　great　brass


96　



Virginia　Woolf　

bound　box　which　stood　by　her　table；　but　she　did　not　go　
to　her　help。　Of　course；　Katharine　reflected；　her　mother　
had　now　lost　some　paper；　and　they　would　waste　the　rest　
of　the　morning　looking　for　it。　She　cast　her　eyes　down　in　
irritation；　and　read　again　her　mother’s　musical　sentences　
about　the　silver　gulls；　and　the　roots　of　little　pink　flowers　
washed　by　pellucid　streams；　and　the　blue　mists　of　hyacinths；　
until　she　was　struck　by　her　mother’s　silence。　She　
raised　her　eyes。　Mrs。　Hilbery　had　emptied　a　portfolio　containing　
old　photographs　over　her　table；　and　was　looking　
from　one　to　another。　

“Surely；　Katharine；”　she　said；　“the　men　were　far　handsomer　
in　those　days　than　they　are　now；　in　spite　of　their　
odious　whiskers？　Look　at　old　John　Graham；　in　his　white　
waistcoat—look　at　Uncle　Harley。　That’s　Peter　the　manservant；　
I　suppose。　Uncle　John　brought　him　back　from　India。”　

Katharine　looked　at　her　mother；　but　did　not　stir　or　answer。　
She　had　suddenly　bee　very　angry；　with　a　rage　
which　their　relationship　made　silent；　and　therefore　doubly　
powerful　and　critical。　She　felt　all　the　unfairness　of　
the　claim　which　her　mother　tacitly　made　to　her　time　and　

sympathy；　and　what　Mrs。　Hilbery　took；　Katharine　thought　
bitterly；　she　wasted。　Then；　in　a　flash；　she　remembered　
that　she　had　still　to　tell　her　about　Cyril’s　misbehavior。　
Her　anger　immediately　dissipated　itself；　it　broke　like　some　
wave　that　has　gathered　itself　high　above　the　rest；　the　
waters　were　resumed　into　the　sea　again；　and　Katharine　
felt　once　more　full　of　peace　and　solicitude；　and　anxious　
only　that　her　mother　should　be　protected　from　pain。　She　
crossed　the　room　instinctively；　and　sat　on　the　arm　of　her　
mother’s　chair。　Mrs。　Hilbery　leant　her　head　against　her　
daughter’s　body。　

“What　is　nobler；”　she　mused；　turning　over　the　photographs；　
“than　to　be　a　woman　to　whom　every　one　turns；　in　
sorrow　or　difficulty？　How　have　the　young　women　of　your　
generation　improved　upon　that；　Katharine？　I　can　see　them　
now；　sweeping　over　the　lawns　at　Melbury　House；　in　their　
flounces　and　furbelows；　so　calm　and　stately　and　imperial　
（and　the　monkey　and　the　little　black　dwarf　following　behind）；　
as　if　nothing　mattered　in　the　world　but　to　be　beautiful　
and　kind。　But　they　did　more　than　we　do；　I　sometimes　
think。　They　were；　and　that’s　better　than　doing。　They　seem　

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Night　and　Day　

to　me　like　ships；　like　majestic　ships；　holding　on　their　
way；　not　shoving　or　pushing；　not　fretted　by　little　things；　
as　we　are；　but　taking　their　way；　like　ships　with　white　
sails。”　

Katharine　tried　to　interrupt　this　discourse；　but　the　opportunity　
did　not　e；　and　she　could　not　forbear　to　turn　
over　the　pages　of　the　album　in　which　the　old　photographs　
were　stored。　The　faces　of　these　men　and　women　
shone　forth　wonderfully　after　the　hubbub　of　living　faces；　
and　seemed；　as　her　mother　had　said；　to　wear　a　marvelous　
dignity　and　calm；　as　if　they　had　ruled　their　kingdoms　
justly　and　deserved　great　love。　Some　were　of　almost　incredible　
beauty；　others　were　ugly　enough　in　a　forcible　
way；　but　none　were　dull　or　bored　or　insignificant。　The　
superb　stiff　folds　of　the　crinolines　suited　the　women；　the　
cloaks　and　hats　of　the　gentlemen　seemed　full　of　character。　
Once　more　Katharine　felt　the　serene　air　all　round　her；　
and　seemed　far　off　to　hear　the　solemn　beating　of　the　sea　
upon　the　shore。　But　she　knew　that　she　must　join　the　
present　on　to　this　past。　

Mrs。　Hilbery　was　rambling　on；　from　story　to　story。　

“That’s　Janie　Mannering；”　she　said；　pointing　to　a　superb；　
whitehaired　dame；　whose　satin　robes　seemed　strung　
with　pearls。　“I　must　have　told　you　how　she　found　her　
cook　drunk　under　the　kitchen　table　when　the　Empress　
was　ing　to　dinner；　and　tucked　up　her　velvet　sleeves　
（she　always　dressed　like　an　Empress　herself）；　cooked　the　
whole　meal；　and　appeared　in　the　drawingroom　as　if　she’d　
been　sleeping　on　a　bank　of　roses　all　day。　She　could　do　
anything　with　her　hands—they　all　could—make　a　cottage　
or　embroider　a　petticoat。　

“And　that’s　Queenie　Colquhoun；”　she　went　on；　turning　
the　pages；　“who　took　her　coffin　out　with　her　to　Jamaica；　
packed　with　lovely　shawls　and　bons；　because　you　
couldn’t　get　coffins　in　Jamaica；　and　she　had　a　horror　of　
dying　there　（as　she　did）；　and　being　devoured　by　the　white　
ants。　And　there’s　Sabine；　the　loveliest　of　them　all；　ah！　it　
was　like　a　star　rising　when　she　came　into　the　room。　And　
that’s　Miriam；　in　her　coachman’s　cloak；　with　all　the　little　
capes　on；　and　she　wore　great　topboots　underneath。　You　
young　people　may　say　you’re　unconventional；　but　you’re　
nothing　pared　with　her。”　

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Virginia　Woolf　

Turning　the　page；　she　came　upon　the　picture　of　a　very　
masculine；　handsome　lady；　whose　head　the　photographer　
had　adorned　with　an　imperial　crown。　

“Ah；　you　wretch！”　Mrs。　Hilbery　exclaimed；　“what　a　wicked　
old　despot　you　were；　in　your　day！　How　we　all　bowed　down　
before　you！　‘Maggie；’　she　used　to　say；　‘if　it　hadn’t　been　for　
me；　where　would　you　be　now？’　And　it　was　true；　she　brought　
them　together；　you　know。　She　said　to　my　father；　‘Marry　
her；’　and　he　did；　and　she　said　to　poor　little　Clara；　‘Fall　
down　and　worship　him；’　and　she　did；　but　she　got　up　again；　
of　course。　What　else　could　one　expect？　She　was　a　mere　
child—eighteen—and　half　dead　with　fright；　too。　But　that　
old　tyrant　never　repented。　She　used　to　say　that　she　had　
given　them　three　perfect　months；　and　no　one　had　a　right　
to　more；　and　I　sometimes　think；　Katharine；　that’s　true；　
you　know。　It’s　more　than　most　of　us　have；　only　we　have　
to　pretend；　which　was　a　thing　neither　of　them　could　ever　
do。　I　fancy；”　Mrs。　Hilbery　mused；　“that　there　was　a　kind　
of　sincerity　in　those　days　between　men　and　women　which；　
with　all　your　outspokenness；　you　haven’t　got。”　

Katharine　again　tried　to　interrupt。　But　Mrs。　Hilbery　had　

been　gathering　impetus　from　her　recollections；　and　was　
now　in　high　spirits。　

“They　must　have　been　good　friends　at　heart；”　she　resumed；　
“because　she　used　to　sing　his　songs。　Ah；　how　d