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[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第74部分


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for a study of Shakespeare’s sons as a preliminary to 
the fifth chapter of her grandfather’s biography。 Beginning 
with a perfectly frivolous jest; Mrs。 Hilbery had 
evolved a theory that Anne Hathaway had a way; among 
other things; of writing Shakespeare’s sons; the idea; 
struck out to enliven a party of professors; who forwarded 

a number of privately printed manuals within the next 
few days for her instruction; had submerged her in a flood 
of Elizabethan literature; she had e half to believe in 
her joke; which was; she said; at least as good as other 
people’s facts; and all her fancy for the time being centered 
upon StratfordonAvon。 She had a plan; she told 
Katharine; when; rather later than usual; Katharine came 
into the room the morning after her walk by the river; for 
visiting Shakespeare’s tomb。 Any fact about the poet had 
bee; for the moment; of far greater interest to her 
than the immediate present; and the certainty that there 
was existing in England a spot of ground where 
Shakespeare had undoubtedly stood; where his very bones 
lay directly beneath one’s feet; was so absorbing to her 
on this particular occasion that she greeted her daughter 
with the exclamation: 

“D’you think he ever passed this house?” 

The question; for the moment; seemed to Katharine to 
have reference to Ralph Denham。 

“On his way to Blackfriars; I mean;” Mrs。 Hilbery continued; 
“for you know the latest discovery is that he owned 

264 



Virginia Woolf 

a house there。” 

Katharine still looked about her in perplexity; and Mrs。 
Hilbery added: 

“Which is a proof that he wasn’t as poor as they’ve 
sometimes said。 I should like to think that he had enough; 
though I don’t in the least want him to be rich。” 

Then; perceiving her daughter’s expression of perplexity; 
Mrs。 Hilbery burst out laughing。 

“My dear; I’m not talking about YOUR William; though 
that’s another reason for liking him。 I’m talking; I’m thinking; 
I’m dreaming of MY William—William Shakespeare; 
of course。 Isn’t it odd;” she mused; standing at the window 
and tapping gently upon the pane; “that for all one 
can see; that dear old thing in the blue bon; crossing 
the road with her basket on her arm; has never heard 
that there was such a person? Yet it all goes on: lawyers 
hurrying to their work; cabmen squabbling for their fares; 
little boys rolling their hoops; little girls throwing bread 
to the gulls; as if there weren’t a Shakespeare in the 
world。 I should like to stand at that crossing all day long 
and say: ‘People; read Shakespeare!’” 

Katharine sat down at her table and opened a long 
dusty envelope。 As Shelley was mentioned in the course 
of the letter as if he were alive; it had; of course; considerable 
value。 Her immediate task was to decide whether 
the whole letter should be printed; or only the paragraph 
which mentioned Shelley’s name; and she reached out for 
a pen and held it in readiness to do justice upon the 
sheet。 Her pen; however; remained in the air。 Almost surreptitiously 
she slipped a clean sheet in front of her; and 
her hand; descending; began drawing square boxes halved 
and quartered by straight lines; and then circles which 
underwent the same process of dissection。 

“Katharine! I’ve hit upon a brilliant idea!” Mrs。 Hilbery 
exclaimed—”to lay out; say; a hundred pounds or so on 
copies of Shakespeare; and give them to working men。 
Some of your clever friends who get up meetings might 
help us; Katharine。 And that might lead to a playhouse; 
where we could all take parts。 You’d be Rosalind—but 
you’ve a dash of the old nurse in you。 Your father’s Hamlet; 
e to years of discretion; and I’m—well; I’m a bit 
of them all; I’m quite a large bit of the fool; but the fools 

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Night and Day 

in Shakespeare say all the clever things。 Now who shall 
William be? A hero? Hotspur? Henry the Fifth? No; William’s 
got a touch of Hamlet in him; too。 I can fancy that William 
talks to himself when he’s alone。 Ah; Katharine; you 
must say very beautiful things when you’re together!” 
she added wistfully; with a glance at her daughter; who 
had told her nothing about the dinner the night before。 

“Oh; we talk a lot of nonsense;” said Katharine; hiding 
her slip of paper as her mother stood by her; and spreading 
the old letter about Shelley in front of her。 

“It won’t seem to you nonsense in ten years’ time;” 
said Mrs。 Hilbery。 “Believe me; Katharine; you’ll look back 
on these days afterwards; you’ll remember all the silly 
things you’ve said; and you’ll find that your life has been 
built on them。 The best of life is built on what we say 
when we’re in love。 It isn’t nonsense; Katharine;” she 
urged; “it’s the truth; it’s the only truth。” 

Katharine was on the point of interrupting her mother; 
and then she was on the point of confiding in her。 They 
came strangely close together sometimes。 But; while she 
hesitated and sought for words not too direct; her mother 

had recourse to Shakespeare; and turned page after page; 
set upon finding some quotation which said all this about 
love far; far better than she could。 Accordingly; Katharine 
did nothing but scrub one of her circles an intense black 
with her pencil; in the midst of which process the telephone
bell rang; and she left the room to answer it。 

When she returned; Mrs。 Hilbery had found not the passage 
she wanted; but another of exquisite beauty as she 
justly observed; looking up for a second to ask Katharine 
who that was? 

“Mary Datchet;” Katharine replied briefly。 

“Ah—I half wish I’d called you Mary; but it wouldn’t 
have gone with Hilbery; and it wouldn’t have gone with 
Rodney。 Now this isn’t the passage I wanted。 (I never can 
find what I want。) But it’s spring; it’s the daffodils; it’s 
the green fields; it’s the birds。” 

She was cut short in her quotation by another imperative 
telephonebell。 Once more Katharine left the room。 

“My dear child; how odious the triumphs of science are!” 
Mrs。 Hilbery exclaimed on her return。 “They’ll be linking 
us with the moon next—but who was that?” 

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Virginia Woolf 

“William;” Katharine replied yet more briefly。 

“I’ll forgive William anything; for I’m certain that there 
aren’t any Williams in the moon。 I hope he’s ing to 
luncheon?” 

“He’s ing to tea。” 

“Well; that’s better than nothing; and I promise to leave 
you alone。” 

“There’s no need for you to do that;” said Katharine。 

She swept her hand over the faded sheet; and drew 
herself up squarely to the table as if she refused to waste 
time any longer。 The gesture was not lost upon her mother。 
It hinted at the existence of something stern and unapproachable 
in her daughter’s character; which struck chill 
upon her; as the sight of poverty; or drunkenness; or the 
logic with which Mr。 Hilbery sometimes thought good to 
demolish her certainty of an approaching millennium 
struck chill upon her。 She went back to her own table; 
and putting on her spectacles with a curious expression 
of quiet humility; addressed herself for the first time that 
morning to the task before her。 The shock with an unsympathetic 
world had a sobering effect on her。 For once; 

her industry surpassed her daughter’s。 Katharine could 
not reduce the world to that particular perspective in 
which Harriet Martineau; for instance; was a figure of 
solid importance; and possessed of a genuine relationship 
to this figure or to that date。 Singularly enough; the 
sharp call of the telephonebell still echoed in her ear; 
and her body and mind were in a state of tension; as if; 
at any moment; she might hear another summons of 
greater interest to her than the whole of the nieenth 
century。 She did not clearly realize what this call was to 
be; but when the ears have got into the habit of listening; 
they go on listening involuntarily; and thus Katharine 
spent the greater part of the morning in listening to a 
variety of sounds in the back streets of Chelsea。 For the 
first time in her l

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