 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, please visit LibriVox.org. NIGHT AND DAY by Virginia Woolf. CHAPTER X Messers greatly in Hooper, the solicitors, in whose firm Ralph Denham was clerk, had their office in Lincoln's in-fields, and their Ralph Denham appeared every morning very punctually at ten o'clock. His punctuality, together with other qualities, marked him out among the clerks for success, and indeed it would have been safe to wager that in ten years' time or so one would find him at the head of his profession, had it not been for a peculiarity which sometimes seemed to make everything about him uncertain and perilous. His sister Joan had already been disturbed by his love of gambling with his savings. Scrutinizing him constantly with the eye of affection, she had become aware of a curious perversity in his temperament, which caused her much anxiety, and would have caused her still more if she had not recognized the germs of it in her own nature. She could fancy Ralph suddenly sacrificing his entire career for some fantastic imagination, some cause or idea, or even so her fancy ran, for some woman seen from a railway train, hanging up clothes in a backyard. When he had found this beauty or this cause, no force she knew would avail to restrain him from pursuit of it. She suspected the East also, and always fidgeted herself when she saw him with a book of Indian travels in his hand, as though he were sucking contagion from the page. On the other hand, no common love affair had there been such a thing, would have caused her a moment's uneasiness where Ralph was concerned. He was destined in her fancy for something splendid in the way of success or failure she knew not which. And yet nobody could have worked harder or done better in all the recognized stages of a young man's life than Ralph had done, and Joan had to gather materials for her fears from trifles in her brother's behavior which would have escaped any other eye. It was natural that she should be anxious. Life had been so arduous for all of them from the start that she could not help dreading any sudden relaxation of his grasp upon what he held, though, as she knew from inspection of her own life, such sudden impulse to let go and make away from the discipline and the drudgery was sometimes almost irresistible. But with Ralph, if he broke away, she knew that it would be only to put himself under harsher constraint. She figured him toiling through sandy deserts under a tropical sun to find the source of some river or the haunt of some fly. She figured him living by the labor of his hands in some city slum, the victim of one of those terrible theories of right and wrong which were current at the time. She figured him prisoner for life in the house of a woman who had seduced him by her misfortunes. Half proudly and wholly anxiously, she framed such thoughts as they sat late at night, talking together over the gas stove in Ralph's bedroom. It is likely that Ralph would not have recognized his own dream of a future in the forecasts which disturbed his sister's peace of mind. Certainly, if any one of them had been put before him, he would have rejected it with a laugh, as the sort of life that held no attractions for him. He could not have said how it was that he had put these absurd notions into his sister's head. Indeed, he prided himself upon being well broken into a life of hard work about which he had no sort of illusions. His vision of his own future, unlike many such forecasts, could have been made public at any moment without a blush. He attributed to himself a strong brain and conferred on himself a seat in the house of commons at the age of fifty, a moderate fortune, and, with luck, an unimportant office in a liberal government. There was nothing extravagant in a forecast of that kind, and certainly nothing dishonorable. Nevertheless, as his sister guessed, it needed all Ralph's strength of will, together with the pressure of circumstances, to keep his feet moving in the path which led that way. It needed, in particular, a constant repetition of a phrase to the effect that he shared the common fate, found it best of all, and wished for no other, and by repeating such phrases he acquired punctuality and habits of work, and could very plausibly demonstrate that to be a clerk in a solicitor's office was the best of all possible lives, and that other ambitions were vain. But, like all beliefs, not genuinely held, this one depended very much upon the amount of acceptance it received from other people, and in private, when the pressure of public opinion was removed, Ralph let himself swing very rapidly away from his actual circumstances, upon strange voyages which, indeed, he would have been ashamed to describe. In these dreams, of course, he figured in noble and romantic parts, but self-glorification was not the only motive of them. They gave outlet to some spirit which found no work to do in real life, for, with the pessimism which his lot forced upon him, Ralph had made up his mind that there was no use for what, contemptuously enough, he called dreams in the world which we inhabit. It sometimes seemed to him that this spirit was the most valuable possession he had. He thought that by means of it he could set flowering, waste-tracks of the earth, cure many ills, or raise up beauty where none now existed. It was, too, a fierce and potent spirit which would devour the dusty books and parchments on the office wall with one lick of its tongue, and leave him in a minute standing in nakedness, if he gave way to it. His endeavour for many years had been to control the spirit, and at the age of twenty-nine he thought he could pride himself upon a life rigidly divided into the hours of work and those of dreams. The two lived side by side without harming each other. As a matter of fact, this effort at discipline had been helped by the interests of a difficult profession. But the old conclusion to which Ralph had come when he left college still held sway in his mind, and tinged his views with the melancholy belief that life for most people compels the exercise of the lower gifts and wastes the precious ones, until it forces us to agree that there is little virtue as well as little profit in what once seemed to us the noblest part of our inheritance. Denim was not altogether popular either in his office or among his family. He was too positive at the stage of his career as to what was right and what wrong, too proud of his self-control, and as is natural in the case of persons not altogether happy or well-suited in their conditions, too apt to prove the folly of contentment if he found anyone who confessed to that weakness. In the office his rather ostentatious efficiency annoyed those who took their own work more lightly, and if they foretold his advancement it was not altogether sympathetically. Indeed, he appeared to be a rather hard and self-sufficient young man with a queer temper and manners that were uncomprisingly abrupt, who was consumed with a desire to get on in the world, which was natural, these critics thought, and a man of no means, but not engaging. The young men in the office had a perfect right to these opinions, because Denim showed no particular desire for their friendship. He liked them well enough, but shut them up in that compartment of life which was devoted to work. Hitherto, indeed, he had found little difficulty in arranging his life as methodically as he arranged his expenditure, but about this time he began to encounter experiences which were not so easy to classify. Mary Dashett had begun this confusion two years ago by bursting into laughter at some remark of his, almost the first time they met. She could not explain why it was. She thought him quite astonishingly odd. When he knew her well enough to tell her how he spent Monday and Wednesday and Saturday, she was still more amused. She laughed till he laughed too, without knowing why. It seemed to her very odd that he should know as much about breeding bulldogs as any man in England, that he had a collection of wildflowers found near London, and his weekly visit to old Miss Trotter at Ealing, who was an authority upon the science of heraldry, never failed to excite her laughter. She wanted to know everything, even the kind of cake which the old lady supplied on these occasions, and their summer excursions to churches in the neighbourhood of London for the purpose of taking rubbings of the brasses became most important festivals from the interest she took in them. In six months she knew more about his odd friends and hobbies than his own brothers and sisters knew, after living with him all his life, and Ralph found this very pleasant, though disordering, for his own view of himself had always been profoundly serious. Certainly it was very pleasant to be with Mary Dashett, and to become, directly the door was shut, quite a different sort of person, eccentric and lovable, with scarcely any likeness to the self most people knew. He became less serious and rather less dictatorial at home, for he was apt to hear Mary laughing at him and telling him, as she was fond of doing, that he knew nothing at all about anything. She made him also take an interest in public questions, for which she had a natural liking, and was in process of turning him from Tory to radical, after a course of public meetings, which began by boring him acutely, and ended by exciting him even more than they excited her. But he was reserved, when ideas started up in his mind he divided them automatically into those he could discuss with Mary, and those he must keep for himself. She knew this and it interested her, for she was accustomed to find young men very ready to talk about themselves, and had come to listen to them as one listens to children, without any thought of herself. But with Ralph she had very little of this maternal feeling, and in consequence a much keener sense of her own individuality. Late one afternoon Ralph stepped along the strand to an interview with a lawyer upon business. The afternoon light was almost over, and already streams of greenish and yellowish artificial light were being poured into an atmosphere which, in country lanes, would now have been soft with the smoke of wood fires. And on both sides of the road the shop windows were full of sparkling chains and highly polished leather cases, which stood upon shelves made of thick plate glass. None of these different objects was seen separately by Denim, but from all of them he drew an impression of stir and cheerfulness. Thus it came about that he saw Catherine Hilberry coming towards him, and look straight at her, as if she were only an illustration of the argument that was going forward in his mind. In this spirit he noticed the rather set expression in her eyes, and the slight half-conscious movement of her lips, which together with her height and the distinction of her dress, made her look as if the scurrying crowd impeded her and her direction were different from theirs. He noticed this calmly, but suddenly as he passed her his hands and knees began to tremble and his heart beat painfully. She did not see him and went on repeating to herself some lines which had stuck to her memory. It's life that matters, nothing but life, the process of discovering, the everlasting and perpetual process, not the discovery itself at all. Thus occupied she did not see Denim, and he had not the courage to stop her. But immediately the whole scene in the strand wore that curious look of order and purpose which is imparted to the most heterogeneous things when music sounds, and so pleasant was this impression that he was very glad that he had not stopped her after all. It grew slowly fainter, but lasted until he stood outside the barrister's chambers. When his interview with the barrister was over it was too late to go back to the office. His sight of Catherine had put him clearly out of tune for a domestic evening. Where should he go? To walk through the streets of London until he came to Catherine's house, to look up at the windows and fancy her within seemed to him possible for a moment. And then he rejected the plan almost with a blush as with a curious division of consciousness one plucks a flower sentimentally and throws it away with a blush when it is actually picked. No, he would go and see Mary dash it. By this time she would be back from her work. To see Ralph appear unexpectedly in her room threw Mary for a second off her balance. She had been cleaning knives in her little scullery and when she had let him in she went back again and turned on the cold water tap to its fullest volume and then turned it off again. Now she thought to herself as she screwed it tight. I'm not going to let these silly ideas come into my head. Don't you think Mr. Asquith deserves to be hanged? She called back into the sitting room and when she joined him drying her hands she began to tell him about the latest evasion on the part of the government with respect to the woman's suffrage bill. Ralph did not want to talk about politics but he could not help prospecting Mary for taking such an interest in public questions. He looked at her as she lent forward poking the fire and expressing herself very clearly in phrases which bore distantly the taint of the platform and he thought, How absurd Mary would think me if she knew I had almost made up my mind to walk all the way to Chelsea in order to look at Catherine's windows. She wouldn't understand it but I like her very much as she is. For some time they discussed what the women had better do and as Ralph became genuinely interested in the question Mary unconsciously led her attention wander and a great desire came over her to talk to Ralph about her own feelings or at any rate about something personal so that she might see what he felt for her but she resisted this wish but she could not prevent him from feeling her lack of interest in what he was saying and gradually they both became silent. One thought after another came up in Ralph's mind but they were all in some way connected with Catherine with vague feelings of romance and adventure such as she inspired but he could not talk to Mary about such thoughts and he pitied her for knowing nothing of what he was feeling. Here, he thought, is where we differ from women. They have no sense of romance. Well, Mary, he said at length, why don't you say something amusing? His tone was certainly provoking but as a general rule Mary was not easily provoked. This evening, however, she replied rather sharply because I've got nothing amusing to say, I suppose. Ralph thought for a moment and then remarked, You work too hard. I don't mean your health, he added as she laughed scornfully. I mean, you seem to me to be getting wrapped up in your work. And is that a bad thing? She asked, shading her eyes with her hand. I think it is, he returned abruptly. But only a week ago you were saying the opposite. Her tone was defiant but she became curiously depressed. Ralph did not perceive it and took this opportunity of lecturing her and expressing his latest views upon the proper conduct of life. She listened but her main impression was that he had been meeting someone who had influenced him. He was telling her that she ought to read more and to see that there were other points of view as deserving of attention as her own. Naturally, having last seen him as he left the office in company with Catherine, she attributed the change to her. It was likely that Catherine, on leaving the scene which she had so clearly despised, had pronounced some such criticism or suggested it by her own attitude. But she knew that Ralph would never admit that he had been influenced by anybody. You don't read enough, Mary. He was saying, you ought to read more poetry. It was true that Mary's reading had been rather limited to such works as she needed to know for the sake of examinations. And her time for reading in London was very little. For some reason no one likes to be told that they do not read enough poetry. But her resentment was only visible in the way she changed the position of her hands and in the fixed look in her eyes. And then she thought to herself, I'm behaving exactly as I said I wouldn't behave. Whereupon she relaxed all her muscles and said in her reasonable way, tell me what I ought to read then. Ralph had unconsciously been irritated by Mary and he now delivered himself of a few names of great poets which were the texts for a discourse on the imperfection of Mary's character and way of life. You live with your inferiors, he said, warming unreasonably as he knew to his texts. And you get into a groove because on the whole it's rather a pleasant groove. And you tend to forget what you're there for. You have the feminine habit of making much of details. You don't see when things matter and when they don't. And that's what's the ruin of all these organizations. That's why the suffragists have never done anything all these years. You're enjoying room meetings and bazaars. You want to have ideas, Mary. Get hold of something big. Never mind making mistakes, but don't niggle. Why don't you throw it all up for a year and travel? See something of the world. Don't be content to live with half a dozen people in a backwater all your life. But you won't, he concluded. I've rather come to that way of thinking myself about myself, I mean, said Mary, surprising him by her acquiescence. I should like to go somewhere far away. For a moment they were both silent. Ralph then said, But look here, Mary, you haven't been taking this seriously, have you? His irritation was spent, and the depression which she could not keep out of her voice made him feel suddenly with remorse that he had been hurting her. You won't go away, will you? He asked. And as she said nothing, he said, Oh no, don't go away. I don't know exactly what I mean to do, she replied. She hovered on the verge of some discussion of her plans, and she received no encouragement. He fell into one of his queer silences, which seemed to Mary in spite of all her precautions, to have reference to what she also could not prevent herself from thinking about, their feeling for each other and their relationship. She felt that the two lines of thought bored their way in long parallel tunnels, which came very close indeed, but never ran into each other. When he had gone, and he left her without breaking his silence more than was needed to wish her good night, she sat on for a time, reviewing what he had said. If love is a devastating fire which melts the whole being into one mountain torrent, Mary was no more in love with Denim than she was in love with her poker or her tongs. But probably these extreme passions are very rare, and the state of mind thus depicted belongs to the very last stages of love, when the power to resist has been eaten away, week by week or day by day. Like most intelligent people, Mary was something of an egoist, to the extent, that is, of attaching great importance to what she felt, and she was by nature enough of a moralist to like to make certain from time to time that her feelings were credible to her. When Ralph left her, she thought over her state of mind and came to the conclusion that it would be a good thing to learn a language, say Italian or German. She then went to a drawer which she had to unlock and took from it certain deeply scored manuscript pages. She read them through, from her reading every now and then, and thinking very intently for a few seconds about Ralph. She did her best to verify all the qualities in him which gave rise to emotions in her, and persuaded herself that she accounted reasonably for them all. Then she looked back again at her manuscript and decided that to write grammatical English prose is the hardest thing in the world. But she thought about herself a great deal more than she thought about grammatical English prose or about Ralph Denim. And it may therefore be disputed whether she was in love or, if so, to which branch of the family her passion belonged. End of chapter 10. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, please visit LibriVox.org. Night and Day by Virginia Woolf, chapter 11. It's life that matters, nothing but life. The process of discovering the everlasting and perpetual process, said Catherine as she passed under the archway and so into the wide space of King's Bench Walk, not the discovery itself at all. She spoke the last words looking up at Rodney's windows which were a semi-lucent red color in her honour as she knew. He had asked her to tea with him. But she was in a mood when it is almost physically disagreeable to interrupt the stride of one's thought, and she walked up and down two or three times under the trees before approaching his staircase. She liked getting hold of some book which neither her father or mother had read in keeping it to herself and knowing its contents and privacy and pondering the meaning without sharing her thoughts with anyone or having to decide whether the book was a good one or a bad one. This evening she had twisted the words of Dostoevsky to suit her mood, a fatalistic mood, to proclaim that the process of discovery was life and that presumably the nature of one's goal mattered not at all. She sat down for a moment upon one of the seats, felt herself carried along in the swirl of many things, decided in her sudden way that it was time to heave all this thinking overboard and rose leaving a fishmonger's basket on the seat behind her. Two minutes later her rap sounded with authority upon Rodney's door. Well, William, she said, I'm afraid I'm late. It was true, but he was so glad to see her that he forgot his annoyance. He had been occupied for over an hour in making things ready for her and he now had his reward in seeing her look right and left as she slipped her cloak from her shoulders with evident satisfaction, although she said nothing. He had seen that the fire burnt well, jam pots were on the table, tin cover shone in the fender and the shabby comfort of the room was extreme. He was dressed in his old crimson dressing gown, which was faded irregularly and had bright new patches on it like the paler grass which one finds unlifting a stone. He made the tea and Catherine drew off her gloves and crossed her legs with a gesture that was rather masculine in its ease. Nor did they talk much until they were smoking cigarettes over the fire having placed their teacups upon the floor between them. They had not met since they had exchanged letters about their relationship. Catherine's answer to his protestation had been short and sensible. Half a sheet of note paper contained the whole of it, for she merely had to say that she was not in love with him and so could not marry him, but their friendship would continue, she hoped, unchanged. She had added a postscript in which she stated, I like your sonnet very much. So far as William was concerned, this appearance of ease was assumed. Three times that afternoon he had dressed himself in a tailcoat and three times he had discarded it for an old dressing gown. Three times he had placed his pearl tie pin in position and three times he had removed it again, the little looking glass in his room being the witness of these changes of mind. The question was, which would Catherine prefer on this particular afternoon in December? He read her note once more and the postscript about the sonnet settled the matter. Evidently she admired most the poet in him and as this, on the whole, agreed with his own opinion he decided to err, if anything, on the side of shabbiness. His demeanor was also regulated with premeditation. He spoke little and only on impersonal matters. He wished her to realize that in visiting him for the first time alone she was doing nothing remarkable, although in fact that was a point about which he was not at all sure. Certainly Catherine seemed quite unmoved by any disturbing thoughts and if he had been completely master of himself my indeed have complained that she was a trifle absent-minded. The ease, the familiarity of the situation alone with Rodney, among tea-cups and candles, had more effect upon her than was apparent. She asked to look at his books and then at his pictures. It was awhile she held a photograph from the Greek in her hands that she exclaimed impulsively if incongruously. My oysters! I had a basket! she exclaimed, and I've left it somewhere. Uncle Dudley dines with us tonight. What in the world have I done with them? She rose and began to wander about the room. William rose also and stood in front of the fire muttering, Oysters! Oysters! Your basket of oysters! But though he looked vaguely here and there as if the oysters might be on the top of the bookshelf his eyes returned always to Catherine. She drew the curtain and looked out among the scanty leaves of the plain trees. I had them, she calculated, in the strand. I sat on a seat. Well, never mind, she concluded, turning back into the room abruptly. I daresay some old creature is enjoying them by this time. I should have thought that you never forgot anything, William remarked as they settled down again. That's part of the myth about me, I know, Catherine replied. I wonder, William pondered with some caution, what the truth about you is. But I know this sort of thing doesn't interest you, he added hastily with a touch of peevishness. No, it doesn't interest me very much, she replied candidly. What shall we talk about, then? he asked. She looked rather whimsically around the walls of the room. However we start we end up talking about the same thing, about poetry, I mean. I wonder if you realize, William, that I've never read even Shakespeare. It's rather wonderful how I've kept up all these years. You've kept it up for ten years very beautifully, as far as I'm concerned, he said. Ten years, so long as that? And I don't think it's always bored you, he added. She looked into the fire silently. She could not deny that the surface of her feeling was absolutely unruffled by anything in William's character. On the contrary, she felt certain that she could deal with whatever turned up. He gave her peace in which she could think of things that were far removed from what they talked about. Even now, when he sat within a yard of her, how easily her mind ranged hither and thither. Suddenly a picture presented itself before her, without any effort on her part, as pictures will, of herself in these very rooms. She had come in from a lecture and she held a pile of books in her hand, scientific books, and books about mathematics and astronomy which she had mastered. She put them down on the table over there. It was a picture plucked from her life two or three years hence when she was married to William, but here she checked herself abruptly. She could not entirely forget William's presence because, in spite of his efforts to control himself, his nervousness was apparent. On such occasions his eyes protruded more than ever, and his face had more than ever the appearance of being covered with a thin, crackling skin through which every flush of his volatile blood showed itself instantly. By this time he had shaped so many sentences and rejected them, felt so many impulses and subdued them that he was a uniform scarlet. You may say you don't read books, he remark, but all the same you know about them. Besides, who wants you to be learned? Leave that to the poor devils who have nothing better to do. You, you, ahem, well then why don't you read me something before I go? said Catherine, looking at her watch. Catherine, you've only just come. Let me see now, what have I got to show you? He rose and stirred about the papers on his table as if in doubt. He then picked up a manuscript, and after spreading it smoothly upon his knee, he looked up at Catherine suspiciously. He caught her smiling. I believe you only ask me to read out of kindness. He burst out. Let's find something else to talk about. Who have you been seeing? I don't generally ask things out of kindness, Catherine observed. However, if you don't want to read, you needn't. William gave a queer snort of exasperation and opened his manuscript once more, though he kept his eyes upon her face as he did so. No face could have been graver or more judicial. One can trust you certainly to say unpleasant things, he said, smoothing out the page, clearing his throat, and reading half a stanza to himself. Ahem. The princess is lost in the wood and she hears the sound of a horn. This would all be very pretty on the stage, but I can't get the effect here. Anyhow, Silvano enters, accompanied by the rest of the gentlemen of Gratian's court. I begin where he soliloquizes. He jerked his head and began to read. Although Catherine had just disclaimed any knowledge of literature, she listened attentively. At least she listened to the first twenty-five lines attentively, and then she frowned. Her attention was only aroused again when Rodney raised his finger, a sign she knew that the meter was about to change. His theory was that every mood has its meter. His mastery of meters was very great, and if the beauty of a drama depended upon the variety of measures in which the personages speak, Rodney's plays must have challenged the works of Shakespeare. Catherine's ignorance of Shakespeare did not prevent her from feeling fairly certain that plays should not produce a sense of chill stupor in the audience, such as overcame her as the lines flowed on, sometimes long and sometimes short, but always delivered with the same lilt of voice, which seemed to nail each line firmly onto the same spot in the hearer's brain. Still, she reflected, these sorts of skills are almost exclusively masculine. Women neither practice them nor know how to value them, and one's husband's proficiency in this direction might legitimately increase one's respect for him, since mystification is no bad basis for respect. No one could doubt that William was a scholar. The reading ended with the finish of the act. Catherine had prepared a little speech. That seems to me extremely well-written, William, although, of course, I don't know enough to criticize in detail. But it's the skill that strikes you, not the emotion. In a fragment like that, of course, the skill strikes one's most. But perhaps. Have you time to listen to one more short piece? A scene between the lovers. Some real feeling in that, I think. Denim agrees that it's the best thing I've done. You've read it to Ralph Denim. Catherine inquired, with surprise. He's a better judge than I am. What did he say? My dear Catherine, Rodney exclaimed, I don't ask you for criticism, as I should ask a scholar. I dare say there are only five men in England whose opinion of my work matters a straw to me. But I trust you, where feeling is concerned. I had you in my mind often when I was writing these scenes. I kept asking myself, now is this the sort of thing Catherine would like? I always think of you when I'm writing Catherine, even when it's the sort of thing you wouldn't know about. And I'd rather, yes, I really believe I'd rather, use that well of my writing than anyone in the world. This was so genuine a tribute to his trust in her that Catherine was touched. You think too much of me altogether, William, she said, forgetting that she had not meant to speak in this way. No, Catherine, I don't, he replied, replacing his manuscript in the drawer. It does me good to think of you. So quiet an answer, followed as it was by no expression of love, but merely by the statement that if she must go he would take her to the strand, and would, if she could wait a moment, change his dressing-gown for a coat, move towards the warmest feeling of affection for him that she had yet experienced. While he changed in the next room she stood by the bookcase, taking down books and opening them but reading nothing on their pages. She felt certain that she would marry Rodney. How could one avoid it? How could one find fault with it? Here she sighed, and putting the thought of marriage away fell into a dream state in which she became another person, and the whole world seemed changed. Being a frequent visitor to that world she could find her way there unhesitatingly. If she had tried to analyze her impressions, she would have said that there dwelt the realities of the appearances which figure in our world. So direct, powerful, and unimpeded were her sensations there, compared with those called forth in actual life. There dwelt the things one might have felt, had there been cause. The perfect happiness of which here we taste the fragment, the beauty seen here in flying glimpses only. No doubt much of the furniture of this world was drawn directly from the past, and even from the England of the Elizabethan age. However the embellishment of this imaginary world might change, two qualities were constant in it. It was a place where feelings were liberated from the constraint which the real world puts upon them, and the process of awakening was always marked by resignation and a kind of stoical acceptance of facts. She met no acquaintance there, as Denim did, miraculously transfigured. She played no heroic part, but there certainly she loved some magnanimous hero, and as they swept together among the leaf-hung trees of an unknown world, they shared the feelings which came fresh and fast as the waves on the shore. But the sands of her liberation were running fast. Even through the forest branches came sound of Rodney moving things on his dressing table, and Catherine woke herself from this excursion by shutting the cover of the book she was holding and replacing it in the bookshelf. William, she said, speaking rather faintly at first, like one sending a voice from sleep to reach the living, William, she repeated firmly, if you still want me to marry you, I will. Perhaps it was that no man could expect to have the most momentous question of his life settled in a voice so level, so toneless, so devoid of joy or energy. At any rate William made no answer. She waited stoically. A moment later he stepped briskly from his dressing-room and observed that if she wanted to buy more oysters he thought he knew where they could find a fishmonger shop still open. She breathed deeply a sigh of relief. Extract from a letter sent a few days later by Mrs. Hilberry to her sister-in-law, Mrs. Milvane. How stupid of me to forget the name in my telegram. Such a nice, rich English name, too. And in addition he has all the graces of intellect. He has read literally everything. I tell Catherine I shall always put him on my right side at dinner so as to have him by me when people begin talking about characters in Shakespeare. They won't be rich but they'll be very, very happy. I was sitting in my room late one night feeling that nothing nice would ever happen to me again when I heard Catherine outside in the passage and I thought to myself, shall I call her in? And then I thought, in that hopeless dreary way one does think with the fire going out and one's birthday just over, why should I lay my troubles on her? But my little self-control had its reward. For the next moment she tapped at the door and came in and sat on the rug and though we neither of us said anything I felt so happy all of a second that I couldn't help crying. Oh, Catherine, when you come to my age how I hope you'll have a daughter, too. You know how silent Catherine is. She was so silent for such a long time that in my foolish nervous state I dreaded something. I don't quite know what. And then she told me how, after all, she had made up her mind. She had written. She expected him to-morrow. At first I wasn't glad at all. I didn't want her to marry anyone. But once she said, it will make no difference, I shall always care for you and father most. Then I saw how selfish I was and I told her that she must give him everything, everything, everything. I told her I should be thankful to come second. But why, when everything's turned out, just as one always hoped it would turn out, why then can one do nothing but cry? Nothing but feel a desolate old woman whose life's been a failure and now is nearly over and age is so cruel. But Catherine said to me, I am happy. I'm very happy. And then I thought, though it all seemed so desperately dismal at the time, Catherine had said she was happy and I should have a son and it would all turn out so much more wonderfully than I could possibly imagine. For though the sermons don't say so, I do believe the world is meant for us to be happy in. She told me that they would live quite near us and see us every day and she would go on with the life and we should finish it as we had meant to and after all it would be far more hard if she didn't marry or suppose she married someone we couldn't endure. Suppose she had fallen in love with someone who was married already and though one never thinks anyone good enough for the people one's fond of he has the kindest, truest instincts I'm sure and though he seems nervous and his manner is not commanding I only think these things because it's Catherine and now I've written this it comes over me that of course all the time Catherine has what he hasn't she does command she isn't nervous it comes naturally to her to rule and control it's time that she should give all this to someone who will need her when we aren't there save in our spirits for whatever people say I'm sure I shall come back to this wonderful world where one's been so happy and so miserable where even now I seem to see myself stretching out my hands for another present from the great fairy tree whose bowels are still hung with enchanting toys though they are rarer now perhaps and between the branches one sees no longer the blue sky but the stars and the tops of the mountains one doesn't know any more does one one hasn't any advice to give one's children one can only hope that they will have the same vision and the same power to believe without which life would be so meaningless that is what I ask for Catherine and her husband End of Chapter 11 This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information please visit LibriVox.org Night and Day Chapter 12 Is Mr. Hillberry at home or Mrs. Hillberry? Denim asked of the polar maid in Chelsea a week later. No, sir, but Miss Hillberry is at home the girl answered Ralph had anticipated many answers but not this one and now it was unexpectedly made plain to him that it was the chance of seeing Catherine that had brought him all the way to Chelsea on pretense of seeing her father He made some show of considering the matter and was taken upstairs to the drawing room As upon that first occasion some weeks ago the door closed as if it were a thousand doors softly excluding the world and once more Ralph received an impression of a room full of deep shadows firelight unwavering silver candle flames and empty spaces to be crossed before reaching the round table in the middle of the room with its frail burden of silver trays and china tea cups but this time Catherine was there by herself the volume in her hand showed that she expected no visitors Ralph said something about hoping to find her father my father is out she replied but if you can wait I expect him soon it might have been due merely to politeness but Ralph felt that she received him almost with cordiality perhaps she was bored by drinking tea and reading a book all alone at any rate she tossed the book onto a sofa with a gesture of relief Is that one of the moderns whom you despise? he asked smiling at the carelessness of her gesture yes she replied I think even you would despise him even I he repeated why even I you said you liked modern things I said I hated them this was not a very accurate report of their conversation among the relics perhaps but Ralph was flattered to think that she remembered anything about it or did I confess that I hated all books and on seeing him look up with an air of inquiry I forget do you hate all books? he asked it would be absurd to say that I hate all books when I've only read ten perhaps but here she pulled herself up short well yes I do hate books she continued why do you want to be forever talking about your feelings that's what I can't make out and poetry is all about feelings novels are all about feelings she cut a cake vigorously into slices and providing a tray with bread and butter for Mrs. Hillberry who was in her room with a cold she rose to go upstairs Ralph held the door open for her and then stood with clasped hands in the middle of the room his eyes were bright and indeed he scarcely knew whether they beheld dreams or realities all down the street and on the doorstep and while he mounted the stairs his dream of Catherine possessed him and he had dismissed it in order to prevent too painful a collision between what he dreamt of her and what she was and in five minutes she had filled the shell of the old dream with the flesh of life looked with fire out of phantom eyes he glanced about him with bewilderment at finding himself among her chairs and tables they were solid for he grasped the back of the chair in which Catherine had sat and yet they were unreal the atmosphere was that of a dream of his spirit to seize what the minutes had to give him and from the depths of his mind there rose unchecked a joyful recognition of the truth that human nature surpasses in its beauty all that our wildest dreams bring us hints of Catherine came into the room a moment later he stood watching her come towards him and thought her more beautiful and strange than his dream of her for the real Catherine could speak the words which seemed to crowd behind the forehead of the eyes and the commonest sentence would be flashed on by this immortal light and she overflowed the edges of the dream he remarked that her softness was like that of some vast snowy owl she wore a ruby on her finger my mother wants me to tell you she said that she hopes you have begun your poem she says everyone ought to write poetry all my relations write poetry she went on I can't bear to think of it sometimes it's none of it any good but then one needn't read it you don't encourage me to write a poem said Ralph but you're not a poet too are you she inquired turning upon him with a laugh should I tell you if I were yes because I think you speak the truth she said searching him for proof of this apparently with eyes now almost impersonally direct it would be easy Ralph thought to worship one so far removed straight in nature easy to submit recklessly to her without thought of future pain are you a poet she demanded he felt that her question had an unexplained weight of meaning behind it as if she saw an answer to a question that she did not ask no I haven't written any poetry for years he replied but all the same I don't agree with you I think it's the only thing worth doing why do you say that she asked almost with impatience tapping her spoon two or three times against the side of her cup why Ralph laid hands on the first words that came to mind because I suppose it keeps an ideal alive which might die otherwise a curious change came over her face as if the flame of her mind were subdued and she looked at him ironically and with the expression which he had called sad before for want of a better name for it I don't know that there's much in having ideals she said but you have them he replied energetically why do we call them ideals it's a stupid word dreams I mean she followed his words with parted lips as though to answer eagerly when he had done but as he said dreams I mean the door of the drawing room swung open and so remained for a perceptible instant they both held themselves silent her lips still parted far off they heard the rustle of the skirts then the owner of the skirts appeared in the doorway which she almost filled nearly concealing the figure of a very much smaller lady who accompanied her my aunts Catherine murmured under her breath her tone had a hint of tragedy in it but no less Ralph thought than the situation required she addressed the larger lady as Aunt Millicent the smaller was Aunt Celia Mrs. Milvane who had lately undertaken the task of marrying Cyril to his wife both ladies but Mrs. Cauchem and Millicent in particular had that look of heightened smooth incarnateen existence which is proper to elderly ladies paying calls in London about five o'clock in the afternoon portraits by Romney seen through glass have something of their pink mellow look their blooming softness as of apricots hanging upon a red wall in the afternoon sun Mrs. Cauchem was so apparelled with hanging muffs chains and swinging draperies that it was impossible to detect the shape of a human being in the mass of brown and black which filled the armchair Mrs. Milvane was a much spider figure but the same doubt as did the precise lines of her contour of filled Ralph as he regarded them with dismal foreboding what remark of his would ever reach these fabulous and fantastic characters for there was something fantastically unreal in the curious swayings and noddings of Mrs. Cauchem as if her equipment included a large wire spring her voice had a high pitched cooing note which prolonged words and cut them short until the English language seemed no longer fit for common purposes in a moment of nervousness so Ralph thought Catherine had turned on innumerable electric lights but Mrs. Cauchem had gained impetus perhaps her swaying movements had that end in view for sustained speech and she now addressed Ralph deliberately and elaborately I come from walking Mr. Popham you may well ask me why walking and that I answer for perhaps the hundredth time because of the sunsets we went there for the sunsets but that was five and twenty years ago where are the sunsets now alas there is no sunset now nearer than the south coast her rich and romantic notes were accompanied by a wave of a long white hand which when waved gave off a flash of diamonds rubies and emeralds Ralph wondered whether she more resembled an elephant with a jeweled headdress or a superb cockatoo balanced insecurely upon its perch and pecking capriciously at a lump of sugar where are the sunsets now she repeated do you find sunsets now Mr. Popham I live at Highgate he replied at Highgate yes Highgate has its charms your uncle John lived at Highgate she jerked in the direction of Catherine she sank her head upon her breast as if for a moment's meditation which passed she looked up and observed I dare say there are very pretty lanes in Highgate I can recollect walking with your mother Catherine through lanes blossoming with wild Hawthorne but where is the Hawthorne now you remember that exquisite description in the Quincy Mr. Popham I forget you and your generation with all your activity and enlightenment at which I can only marvel here she displayed both her beautiful white hands do not read the Quincy you have your bellock your chesterton your Bernard Shaw why should you read the Quincy but I do read the Quincy Ralph protested more than bellock and chesterton anyhow indeed exclaimed Mrs. Cusham and relief mingled you are then a rare avis in your generation I am delighted to meet anyone who reads the Quincy here she hollowed her hand into a screen and leaning towards Catherine inquired in a very audible whisper does your friend write Mr. Denham said Catherine with more than her usual clearness and firmness writes for the review he is a lawyer the clean shaven lip showing the expression of the mouth I recognize them at once I always feel at home with lawyers Mr. Denham they used to come about so much more in the old days Mrs. Milvane interposed the frail silvery notes of her voice falling with the sweet tone of an old bell you say you live at Highgate she continued I wonder whether you happen to know if there is an old house called Tempest Lodge still in existence an old white house in a garden Ralph shook his head and she sighed ah no it must have been pulled down by this time with all the other old houses there were such pretty lanes in those days that was how your uncle met your Aunt Emily you know she addressed Catherine they walked home through the lanes a sprit of May in her bonnet Mrs. Cosham ejaculated reminiscently and next Sunday he had violets in his buttonhole and that was how we guessed Catherine laughed she looked at Ralph his eyes were meditative and she wondered what he found in this old gossip to make him ponder so contentedly she felt she hardly knew why a curious pity for him Uncle John yes poor John you always called him why was that she asked to make them go on talking which indeed they needed little invitation to do that was what his father old Sir Richard always called him poor John or the fool of the family Mrs. Milvane hastened to inform them the other boys were so brilliant and he could never pass his examinations so they sent him to India a long voyage in those days poor fellow you had your own room you know and you did it up but he will get his knighthood and a pension I believe she said turning to Ralph only it is not England no Mrs. Cosham confirmed her it is not England in those days we thought an Indian judgeship about equal to a county court judgeship at home his honor a pretty title but still not at the top of the tree however she sighed if you have a wife and seven children and people nowadays very quickly forget your father's name well you have to take what you can get she concluded and I fancy Mrs. Milvane resumed lowering her voice rather confidentially would have done more if it hadn't been for his wife your Aunt Emily she was a very good woman diverted to him of course but she was not ambitious for him and if a wife isn't ambitious for her husband especially in a profession like the law clients soon get to know of it in our young days Mr. Denham we used to say that we knew which of our friends would become judges by looking at the girls they married and so it was and so I fancy it always will be I don't think she added summing up these scattered remarks that any man is really happy unless he succeeds in his profession Mrs. Kaushum approved of this sentiment with more ponderous sujacity from her side of the tea table in the first place by swaying her head and in the second by remarking no men are not the same as women I fancy that Alfred Tennyson spoke the truth about that as about many other things how I wish he'd live to write the prince a sequel to the princess I confess I'm almost tired of princesses we want someone to show us what a good man can be we have Laura in Beatrice Antigone in Cordelia but we have no heroic man how do you as a poet account for that Mr. Denham I'm not a poet, said Ralph could humoredly, I'm only a solicitor but you're right too Mrs. Kaushum demanded afraid that she should be balked of her priceless discovery a young man truly devoted to literature in my spare time Denham reassured her in your spare time Mrs. Kaushum echoed that is a proof of devotion indeed she half closed her eyes and indulged herself in a fascinating picture of a brief list barrister lodged in a garret writing immortal novels by the light of a farthing dip but the romance which fell upon the figures of great writers and illumined their pages was no false radiance in her case she carried her pocket Shakespeare about with her and met life fortified by the words of the poets how far she saw Denham and how far she confused him with some hero of fiction it would be hard to say literature had taken possession even of her memories she was matching him presumably with certain characters in the old novels for she came out after a pause with um, um, tenderness, warrington I could never forgive Laura she pronounced energetically for not marrying George in spite of everything George Elliott did the very same thing and Lewis was a little frog-faced man with the manner of a dancing master but warrington now had everything in his favor intellect, passion, romance, distinction and the connection was a mere piece of undergraduate folly Arthur, I confess has always seemed to me a bit of a flop I can't imagine how Laura married him but you say you're a solicitor, Mr. Denham I can't imagine how Laura married him I can't imagine how Laura married him I can't imagine how Laura married him say you're a solicitor, Mr. Denham now there are one or two things I should like to ask you about Shakespeare she drew out her small worn volume with some difficulty opened it and shook it in the air they say nowadays that Shakespeare was a lawyer they say that accounts for his knowledge of human nature there's a fine example for you, Mr. Denham study your clients, young man and the world will be the richer one of these days I have no doubt tell me, how do we come out of it now better or worse than you expected thus called upon to sum up the worth of human nature in a few words Ralph answered unhesitatingly worse, Mrs. Cossum a good deal worse I'm afraid the ordinary man is a bit of a rascal and the ordinary woman no, I don't like the ordinary woman either ah, dear me I've no doubt that's very true very true Mrs. Cossum sighed I have agreed with you anyhow she looked at him and thought that there were signs of distinct power in his brow he would do well, she thought, to devote himself to satire Charles Lavington, you remember was a solicitor Mrs. Milvane interposed rather resenting the waste of time involved in talking about fictitious people when you might be talking about real people but you wouldn't remember him, Catherine Mr. Lavington, oh yes I do said Catherine speaking from other thoughts with her little start the summer we had a house near Tenby I remember the field and the pond with the tadpoles and making haystacks with Mr. Lavington she is right there was a pond with tadpoles Mrs. Cossum corroborated Millets made studies of it for Ophelia some say it is the best picture he ever painted and I remember the dog chained up in the yard and the dead snakes hanging in the toolhouse it was at Tenby that you were chased by the bull Mrs. Milvane continued but that you couldn't remember though it's true you were a wonderful child such eyes she had Mr. Denham I used to say to her father she's watching us and summing us all up in her little mind and they had a nurse in those days she went on telling her story with charming solemnity to Ralph who was a good woman but engaged to a sailor when she ought to have been attending to the baby they were on the sea and Mrs. Hilbury allowed this girl Susan her name was to have him stay in the village they abused her goodness I'm sorry to say and while they walked in the lanes they stood the perambulator alone in a field where there was a bull the animal became enraged by the red blanket in the perambulator and heaven knows what might have happened if a gentleman had not been walking by in the nick of time and rescued Catherine in his arms said Catherine my darling it was a great red Devonshire bull and not long after it gored a man to death and had to be destroyed and your mother forgave Susan a thing I could never have done Maggie sympathies were entirely with Susan and the sailor I am sure said Mrs. Kaushum rather tartly my sister-in-law she continued has laid her burdens upon Providence at every crisis in her life and Providence I must confess has responded nobilities so far yes said Catherine with a laugh for she liked the rashness which irritated the rest of the family my mother's bulls always turned into cows at the critical moment well said Mrs. Milvane I'm glad you have someone to protect you from bulls now I can't imagine William protecting anyone from bulls said Catherine it happened that Mrs. Kaushum had once more produced her pocket volume of Shakespeare and was consulting Ralph upon an obscure passage in measure for measure he did not at once seize the meaning of what Catherine and her aunt were saying William he supposed referred to some small cousin for he now saw Catherine as a child in a pinafore but nevertheless he was so much distracted that his eye could hardly follow the words on the paper a moment later he heard them speak distinctly of an engagement ring I like rubies he heard Catherine say to be imprisoned in the viewless winds and blown with restless violence round the pendant world Mrs. Kaushum entoned at the same instant Rodney fitted itself to William in Ralph's mind he felt convinced that Catherine was engaged to Rodney his first sensation was one of violent rage with her for having deceived him throughout the visit fed him with pleasant old wives tales let him see her as a child playing in a meadow shared her youth with him while all the while she was a stranger entirely and engaged to marry Rodney but was it possible? surely it was not possible for in his eyes she was still a child he paused so long over the book that Mrs. Kaushum had time to look over his shoulder and ask her niece and have you settled upon a house yet Catherine? this convinced him of the truth of the monstrous idea he looked up at once and said yes it's a difficult passage his voice had changed so much he spoke with such curtness and even with such contempt he looked at him fairly puzzled happily she belonged to a generation which expected uncouthness in its men and she merely felt convinced that this Mr. Denim was very very clever she took back her Shakespeare as Denim seemed to have no more to say and secreted it once more about her person with the infinitely pathetic resignation of the old Catherine's engaged to William Rodney she said by way of filling in the pause a very old friend of ours he has a wonderful knowledge of literature too wonderful she nodded her head rather vaguely you should meet each other Denim's one wish was to leave the house as soon as he could but the elderly ladies had risen and were proposing to visit Mrs. Hilbury in her bedroom so that any move on his part was impossible at the same time he wished to say something but he knew not what to Catherine alone she took her aunts upstairs and returned coming towards him once more with an air of innocence and the tenderness that amazed him my father will be back she said won't you sit down and she laughed as if now they might share a perfectly friendly laugh at the tea party but Ralph made no attempt to seat himself I must congratulate you he said it was news to me he saw her face change but only to become graver than before my engagement she asked yes I am going to marry William Rodney Ralph remained standing with his hand on the back of a chair in absolute silence Abysses seemed to plunge into darkness between them he looked at her but her face showed that she was not thinking of him no regret or consciousness of wrong disturbed her well I must go he said at length she seemed about to say something then changed her mind and said merely you will come again I hope we always seem she hesitated to be interrupted he bowed and left the room Ralph strode with extreme swiftness along the embankment every muscle was taught and braced as if to resist some sudden attack from outside for the moment it seemed as if the attack were about to be directed against his body and his brain thus was on the alert but without understanding finding himself after a few minutes no longer under observation and no attack delivered he slackened his pace the pain spread all through him took possession of every governing seat scarcely any resistance from powers exhausted by their first effort at defense he took his way languidly along the river embankment away from home rather than towards it the world had him at its mercy he made no pattern out of the sights he saw he felt himself now as he had often fancied other people adrift on the stream and far removed from control of it a man with no grasp upon circumstances any longer old battered men loafing at the doors of public houses now seemed to be his fellows and he felt as he supposed them to feel a mingling of envy and hatred towards those who pass quickly and certainly to a goal of their own they too saw things very thin and shadowy and were wafted about by the lightest breath of wind for the substantial world with its prospect of avenues leading on and on to the invisible distance had slipped from him since Catherine was engaged now all his life was visible and the straight meager path had its ending soon enough Catherine was engaged and she had deceived him too he felt for corners of his being untouched by his disaster but there was no limit to the flood of damage not one of his possessions was safe now Catherine had deceived him she had mixed herself with every thought of his and ref to her they seemed false thoughts which he would blush to think again his life seemed immeasurably impoverished he sat himself down in spite of the chilly fog which obscured the farther bank and left its light suspended upon a blank surface upon one of the riverside seats and let the tide of disillusionment sweep through him for the time being all bright points in his life were blotted out all prominences leveled at first he made himself believe that Catherine had treated him badly and drew comfort from the thought that left alone she would recollect this and think of him and tender him in silence at any rate and apology but this grain of comfort failed him after a second or two for upon reflection he had to admit that Catherine owed him nothing Catherine had promised nothing taken nothing to her his dreams had meant nothing this indeed was the lowest pitch of his despair if the best of one's feelings means nothing to the person most concerned in those feelings what reality is left us the old romance which had warmed his days for him the thoughts of Catherine which had painted every hour were now made to appear foolish and enfeebled he rose and looked into the river whose swift race of done-colored waters seemed the very spirit of futility and oblivion in what can one trust then he thought as he lent there so feeble and insubstantial did he feel himself that he repeated the word aloud in what can one trust not in men and women not in one's dreams about them there's nothing nothing left at all now then a man reasoned to know that he could bring to birth and keep alive a fine anger when he chose Rodney provided a good target for that emotion and yet at the moment Rodney and Catherine herself seemed disembodied ghosts he could scarcely remember the look of them his mind plunged lower and lower there was no importance to him all things had turned to ghosts the whole mass of the world was insubstantial vapor surrounding the solitary spark in his mind whose burning point he could remember for it burnt no more he had once cherished a belief and Catherine had embodied this belief and she did so no longer he did not blame her he blamed nothing, nobody he saw the truth he saw the done-colored race of waters but life is vigorous the body lives and the body no doubt dictated the reflection which now urged him to movement that one may cast away the forms of human beings and yet retain the passion which seemed inseparable from their existence in the flesh now this passion burnt on his horizon as the winter sun makes a greenish pain in the west through thinning clouds his eyes were set on something infinitely far and remote by that light he felt he could walk and would in future have to find his way but that was all that was left to him of a populace and teaming world End of Chapter 12 This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information please visit LibriVox.org Night and Day by Virginia Woolf Chapter 13 The lunch hour in the office was partly spent by denim in the consumption of food whether fine or wet he passed most of it pacing the gravel paths in Lincoln's infields the children got to know his figure and the sparrows expected their daily scattering of breadcrumbs no doubt since he often gave a copper and almost always a handful of bread he was not as blind to his surroundings as he thought himself he thought that these winter days were spent in long hours before white papers radiant in electric light and in short passages through fog dim streets when he came back to his work after lunch he carried in his head a picture of the strand scattered with omnibuses and of the purple shapes of leaves pressed flat upon the gravel as if his eyes had always been bent upon the ground his brain worked incessantly but his thought was attended with so little joy that he did not willingly recall it but drove ahead now in this direction now in that when he came home laden with dark books borrowed from a library Mary Dashett coming from the strand at lunchtime saw him one day taking his turn closely buttoned in an overcoat and so lost in thought that he might have been sitting in his own room she was overcome by something very like awe by the sight of him then she felt much inclined to laugh although her pulse beat faster she passed him and he never saw her she came back and touched him on the shoulder gracious Mary he exclaimed how you startled me yes you look as if you were walking in your sleep she said are you arranging some terrible love affair have you got to reconcile a desperate couple I wasn't thinking about my work Ralph replied rather hastily and besides that sort of things not in my line he added rather grimly the morning was fine and they had still some minutes of leisure to spend they had not met for two or three weeks and Mary had much to say to Ralph but she was not certain how far he wished for her company however after a turn or two in which a few facts were communicated he suggested sitting down and she took the seat beside him the sparrows came fluttering about them and Ralph produced from his pocket the half of a roll saved from his luncheon he threw a few crumbs among them I've never seen sparrows so tame Mary observed by way of saying something no said Ralph the sparrows in Hyde Park aren't as tame as this if we keep perfectly still I'll get one to settle on my arm Mary felt that she could have foregone this display of animal good temper but seeing that Ralph for some curious reason took a pride in the sparrows she bet him a sixpence that he would not succeed done he said and his eye which had been gloomy showed a spark of light his conversation now was addressed entirely to a bald cock's barrel who seemed bolder than the rest and Mary took the opportunity of looking at him she was not satisfied his face was worn and his expressions turned a child came bowling its hoop through the concourse of birds and Ralph threw his last crumbs of bread into the bushes with a snort of impatience that's what always happens just as I've almost got him he said here's your sixpence Mary but you've only got it thanks to that brute of a boy they oughtn't to be allowed to bowl hoops here oughtn't to be allowed to bowl hoops my dear Ralph, what nonsense you always say that he complained and it isn't nonsense what's the point of having a garden if one can't watch birds in it the street does all right for hoops and if children can't be trusted in the streets their mothers should keep them at home Mary made no answer to this remark but frowned she lent back on the sea and looked about her at the great houses breaking the soft grey-blue sky with their chimneys ah well she said London's a fine place to live in I believe I could sit and watch people all day long I like my fellow creatures Ralph sighed impatiently yes I think so when you come to know them she added as if his disagreement had been spoken that's just when I don't like them he replied still I don't see why you shouldn't cherish that illusion he spoke without much vehemence of agreement or disagreement he seemed chilled wake up Ralph you're half asleep Mary cried turning and pinching his sleeve what have you been doing with yourself moping, working, despising the world as usual as he merely shook his head and filled his pipe she went on it's a bit of a pose isn't it not more than most things he said I will say to you but I must go on we have a committee she rose but hesitated looking down upon him rather gravely you don't look happy Ralph she said is it anything or is it nothing he did not immediately answer her but rose too and walked with her towards the gate as usual he did not speak to her without considering whether what he was about to say was the sort of thing that he could say to her I've been bothered partly by work and partly by family troubles Charles has been behaving like a fool he wants to go out to Canada as a farmer well there's something to be said for that said Mary and they passed the gate and walked slowly round the fields again discussing difficulties which, as a matter of fact were more or less chronic in the denim family and only now brought forward to appease Mary's sympathy which however soothes Ralph more than he was aware of she made him at least dwell upon problems which were real in the sense that they were capable of solution and the true cause of his melancholy which was not susceptible to such treatment sank rather more deeply into the shades of his mind Mary was attentive she was helpful Ralph could not help feeling grateful to her the more so perhaps because he had not told her the truth about his state and when they reached the gate again he wished to make some affectionate objection to him but his affection took the rather uncouth form of expostulating with her about her work what do you want to sit on a committee for he asked it's a waste of your time Mary I agree with you that a country walk would benefit the world more she said look here she added suddenly why don't you come to us at Christmas it's almost the best time of year come to you addition Ralph repeated to me later she said rather hastily and then started off in the direction of Russell Square she had invited him on the impulse of the moment as a vision of the country came before her and now she was annoyed with herself for having done so and then she was annoyed at being annoyed if I can't face a walk in the field alone with Ralph she reasoned I'd better buy a cat and live in a lodging at Ealing like Sally Seal and he won't come or did he mean that he would come she shook her head she really did not know what he had met she never felt quite certain but now she was more than usually baffled was he concealing something from her his manner had been odd his deep absorption had impressed her there was something in him that she had not fathomed and the mystery of his nature laid more of a spell upon her than she liked moreover she could not prevent herself from doing now what she had often blamed others of her sex for doing from endowing her friend with a kind of heavenly fire and passing her life before it for his sanction under this process the committee rather dwindled in importance the suffrage shrank she vowed she would work harder at the Italian language she thought she would take up the study of birds but this program for a perfect life threatened to become so absurd that she very soon caught herself out in the evil habit and was rehearsing her speech to the committee by the time the chestnut-colored bricks of Russell Square came in sight indeed she never noticed them she ran upstairs as usual and was completely awakened to reality by the sight of Mrs. Seal on the landing outside the office inducing a very large dog to drink water out of a tumbler Miss Markham has already arrived Mrs. Seal remarked with due solemnity and this is her dog a very fine dog too said Mary patting him on the head yes a magnificent fellow Mrs. Seal agreed a kind of Saint Bernard she tells me so like Kit to have a Saint Bernard and you guard your mistress well don't you sailor you see that wicked man don't break into her larder when she's out at her work helping poor souls who have lost their way but we're late we must begin and scattering the rest of the water indiscriminately over the floor she hurried Mary into the committee room end of Chapter 13 this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information please visit LibriVox.org Night and Day by Virginia Woolf Chapter 14 Mr. Clackton was in his glory the machinery which he had perfected and controlled was now about to turn out its bimonthly product a committee meeting and his pride in the perfect structure of these assemblies was great the jargon of committee rooms he loved the way in which the door kept opening as the clock struck the hour in obedience to a few strokes of his pen on a piece of paper and when it had opened sufficiently often he loved to issue from his inner chamber with documents in his hands visibly important with a preoccupied expression on his face that might have suited a prime minister advancing to meet his cabinet by his orders the table had been decorated beforehand with six sheets of blotting paper with six pens, six ink pots a tumbler and a jug of water a bell and in deference to the taste of the lady members a vase of hearty chrysanthemums he had already surreptitiously straightened the sheets of blotting paper in relation to the ink pots and now stood in front of the fire engaged in conversation with Miss Markham but his eye was on the door and when Mary and Mrs. Seal entered he gave a little laugh and observed to the assembly which was scattered about the room I fancy, ladies and gentlemen that we are ready to commence so speaking he took his seat at the head of the table and arranging one bundle of papers upon his right and another upon his left called upon Miss Stashett to read the minutes of the previous meeting Mary obeyed a keen observer might have wondered why it was necessary for the secretary to knit her brows so closely over the tolerably matter-of-fact statement before her could there be any doubt in her mind that she was involved to circularize the provinces with leaflet number three or to issue a statistical diagram showing the proportion of married women to spinsters in New Zealand or that the net-profits of Mrs. Hipley's Bazaar had reached a total of five pounds eight shillings and two pens half-penny could any doubt as to the perfect sense and propriety of these statements be disturbing her no one could have guessed from the look of her that she was disturbed at all a pleasanter and saner woman it was never seen within a committee room she seemed a compound of the autumn leaves and the winter sunshine less poetically speaking she showed both gentleness and strength an indefinable promise of soft maternity blending with her evident fitness for honest labor nevertheless she had great difficulty in reducing her mind to obedience and her reading lacked conviction as if as was indeed the case she had lost the power of visualizing what she read and directly the list was completed her mind floated to Lincoln's infields and the fluttering wings of innumerable sparrows was Ralph still enticing the bolt-headed cock sparrow to sit upon his hand? had he succeeded? would he ever succeed? she had meant to ask him why it is that the sparrows in Lincoln's infield are tamer than the sparrows in Hyde Park perhaps it is that the passerbys are a rarer and they come to recognize their benefactors for the first half hour at the committee meeting Mary had thus to do battle with the skeptical presence of Ralph Denham who threatened to have it all his own way Mary tried half a dozen methods of ousting him she raised her voice she articulated distinctly she looked firmly at Mr. Clacton's bald head she began to write a note to her annoyance her pencil drew a little round figure on the blotting paper which she could not deny was really a bald-headed cock sparrow she looked again at Mr. Clacton yes he was bald and so are cocksparrows never was a secretary tormented by so many unsuitable suggestions and they all came alas with something ludicrously grotesque about them which might at any moment provoke her to such flippancy as would shock her colleagues forever the thought of what she might say made her bite her lips as if her lips would protect her but all these suggestions were but flotsam and jetsam cast to the surface by a more profound disturbance which as she could not consider it at present manifested its existence by these grotesque nods and beckonings consider it she must when the committee was over meanwhile she was behaving scandalously she was looking out of the window and thinking of the color of the sky and of the decorations on the imperial hotel when she ought to have been shepherding her colleagues and pinning them down to the matter in hand she could not bring herself to attach more weight to one project than to another Ralph had said she could not stop to consider what he had said but he had somehow divested the proceedings of all reality and then without conscious effort by some trick of the brain she found herself becoming interested in some scheme for organizing a newspaper campaign certain articles were to be written certain editors approached what line was it advisable to take she found herself strongly disapproving of what Mr. Clackton was saying she committed herself to the opinion that now was the time to strike hard directly she had said this she felt that she had turned upon Ralph's ghost and she became more and more in earnest and anxious to bring the others round to her point of view once more she knew exactly and indisputably what is right and what is wrong as if emerging from a mist the old foes of the public good loomed ahead of her capitalist, newspaper proprietors anti-suffragists and in some ways most pernicious of all the masses who take no interest one way or another among whom for the time being she certainly discerned the features of Ralph Denham indeed when Miss Markham asked her to suggest the names of a few friends of hers she expressed herself with unusual bitterness my friends think all this kind of thing useless she felt that she was really saying that to Ralph himself oh they're that sort are they said Miss Markham with a little laugh and with renewed figure their legions charged the foe Mary spirits had been low when she entered the committee room but now they were considerably improved she knew the ways of this world it was a shapely orderly place she felt convinced of its right and its wrong and the feeling that she was fit to deal a heavy blow against her enemies warmed her heart and kindled her eye in one of those flights of fancy not characteristic of her but tiresomely frequent this afternoon she envisaged herself battered with rotten eggs upon a platform from which Ralph Vanley begged her to descend but what do I matter compared with the cause she said and so on much to her credit however teased by foolish fancies she kept the surface of her brain moderate and vigilant and subdued Miss Ecile very tactfully more than once when she demanded action everywhere at once as became her father's daughter the other members of the committee who were all rather elderly people were a good deal impressed by Mary and inclined to side with her and against each other partly perhaps because of her youth the feeling that she controlled them all filled Mary with a sense of power and she felt that no work can equal in importance or be so exciting as the work of making other people do what you want them to do indeed when she had won her point she felt a slight degree of contempt for the people who had yielded to her the committee now rose gathered together their papers shook them straight placed them in their attaché cases snapped the locks firmly together and hurried away having for the most part to catch trains in order to keep other appointments with other committees for they were all busy people Mary, Miss Ecile and Mr. Clacton were left alone the room was hot and untidy the pieces of pink blotting paper were lying at different angles upon the table and the tumbler was half full of water which someone had poured out and forgotten to drink Miss Ecile began preparing the tea while Mr. Clacton retired to his room to file the fresh accumulation of documents Mary was too much excited even to help Miss Ecile with the cups and saucers she flung up the window and stood by it looking out the street lamps were already lit and through the mist in the square one could see little figures hurrying across the road and along the pavement on the farther side in her absurd mood of lustful arrogance Mary looked at the little figures and thought, if I liked I could make you go in there or stop short I could make you walk in single file or in double file I could do what I liked with you then Miss Ecile came and stood by her all I knew to put something around your shoulders Sally Mary asked in rather a condescending tone of voice feeling a sort of pity for the enthusiastic ineffective little woman but Miss Ecile paid no attention to the suggestion well did you enjoy yourself Mary asked with a little laugh Miss Ecile drew a deep breath restrained herself and then burst out looking out too upon Russell Square and Southampton Row and at the passersby if only one could get every one of those people into this room and make them understand for five minutes but they must see the truth someday if only one could make them see it Mary knew herself to be very much wiser than Miss Ecile and when Miss Ecile said anything even if it was what Mary herself was feeling she automatically thought of all that there was to be said against it on this occasion her arrogant feeling that she could direct everybody dwindled away let's have our tea she said turning back from the window and pulling down the blind it was a good meeting didn't you think so Sally she let fall casually as she sat down at the table surely Miss Ecile must realize that Mary had been extraordinarily efficient but we go at such a snail's pace said Sally shaking her head impatiently at this Mary burst out laughing and all her arrogance was dissipated you can afford to laugh said Sally with another shake of her head but I can't I'm 55 and I dare say I shall be in my grave by the time we get it if we ever do oh no you won't be in your grave said Mary kindly it'll be such a great day said Miss Ecile with a toss of her locks a great day not only for us but for civilization that's what I feel you know about these meetings one of them is a step onwards in the great march humanity you know we do want the people after us to have a better time of it and so many don't see it I wonder how it is that they don't see it she was carrying plates and cups from the cupboard as she spoke so that her sentences were more than usually broken apart Mary could not help looking at the odd little priestess of humanity with something like admiration while she had been thinking about herself Miss Ecile had thought of nothing but her vision you mustn't wear yourself out Sally if you want to see the great day she said rising and trying to take a plate of biscuits for Miss Ecile's hands my dear child what else is my old body good for she exclaimed thinking more tightly than before to her plate of biscuits shouldn't I be proud to give everything I have to the cause for I'm not in intelligence like you there were domestic circumstances I'd like to tell you one of these days so I say foolish things I lose my head you know you don't it's a great mistake to lose one's head but my heart's in the right place and I'm so glad Kit has a big dog for I didn't think her looking well they had their tea and went over many of the points that had been raised in the committee rather more intimately than had been possible then and they all felt an agreeable sense of being in some way behind the scenes of having their hands upon strings which when pulled would completely change the pageant exhibited daily to those who read the newspapers although their views were very different this sense united them and made them almost cordial in their manners to each other Mary however left the tea party rather early desiring both to be alone and then to hear some music at the Queen's Hall she fully intended to use her loneliness to think out her position with regard to Ralph but although she walked back to the strand with this end in view she found her mind uncomfortably full of different drains of thought she started one and then another they seemed even to take their color from the street she happened to be in thus the vision of humanity appeared to be in some way connected with Bloomsbury and faded distinctly by the time she crossed the main road then a belated organ grinder in Hall born set her thoughts dancing incongruously and by the time she was crossing the great misty square of Lincoln's in fields she was cold and depressed again and horribly clear-sighted the dark removed the stimulus of human companionship and a tear actually slid down her cheek accompanying a sudden conviction within her that she loved Ralph and that he didn't love her all dark and empty now was the path where they had walked that morning and the sparrows silent in the bare trees but the lights in her own building soon cheered her all these different states of mind were submerged in the deep flood of desires, thoughts, perceptions antagonisms which washed perpetually at the base of her being to rise into prominence in turn when the conditions of the upper world were favorable she put off the hour of clear thought until Christmas saying to herself as she lit her fire that it is impossible to think anything out in London and no doubt Ralph wouldn't come at Christmas and she would take long walks into the heart of the country and decide this question and all the others that puzzled her meanwhile she thought drawing her feet up onto the fender life was full of complexity life was a thing one must love to the last fiber of it she had sat there for five minutes or so and her thoughts had time to grow dim when there was a ring at her bell her eye brightened she felt immediately convinced that Ralph had come to visit her accordingly she waited a moment before opening the door she wanted to feel her hand secure upon the reins of all the troublesome emotions which the sight of Ralph would certainly arouse she composed herself unnecessarily however where she had to admit not Ralph but Catherine and William Rodney her first impression was that they were both extremely well-dressed she felt herself shabby and slovenly beside them and did not know how she should entertain them nor could she guess why they had come she had heard nothing of their engagement but after the first disappointment she was pleased for she felt instantly that Catherine was a personality and moreover she need not now exercise herself control we were passing and saw a light in your window so we came up Catherine explained standing and looking very tall and distinguished and rather absent-minded we've been to see some pictures said William oh dear! he exclaimed looking about him this room reminds me of one of the worst hours in my existence when I read a paper and you all sat round and jeered at me first I could feel her gloating over every mistake I made Miss Dashett was kind Miss Dashett just made it possible for me to get through I remember sitting down he drew off his light yellow gloves and began slapping his knees with them his vitality was pleasant Mary thought although he made her laugh the very look of him was inclined to make her laugh his rather prominent eyes passed from one young woman to the other and his lips perpetually formed words which remained unspoken we have been seeing old masters at the Grafton Gallery said Catherine apparently paying no attention to William and accepting a cigarette which Mary offered her she lent back in her chair and the smoke which hung about her face seemed to withdraw her still further from the others would you believe it Miss Dashett William continued Catherine doesn't like titan she doesn't like apricots she doesn't like peaches she doesn't like green peas she doesn't like orange marbles and gray days without any sun she's a typical example of the cold northern nature I come from Devonshire had they been quarreling Mary wonder and had they for that reason sought refuge in her room or were they engaged or had Catherine just refused him she was completely baffled Catherine now reappeared from her veil of smoke knocked the ash from her cigarette into the fireplace and looked with an odd expression of solicitude at the irritable man perhaps Mary she said tentatively you wouldn't mind giving us some tea we did try to get some but the shop was so crowded and in the next one there was a band playing and most of the pictures at any rate were very dull whatever you may say William she spoke with a kind of guarded gentleness Mary accordingly retired to make preparations in the pantry well in the world are they after she asked of her own reflection in the little looking glass which hung there she was not left to doubt much longer for on coming back into the sitting room with the tea things Catherine informed her apparently having been instructed so to do by William of their engagement William she said thinks that perhaps you don't know we are going to be married Mary found herself shaking William's hand and addressing her congratulations to him as if Catherine were inaccessible she had indeed taken hold of the tea kettle let me see Catherine said hot water into the cups first doesn't one you have some dodge of your own haven't you William about making tea Mary was half inclined to suspect that this was said in order to conceal nervousness but if so the concealment was unusually perfect talk of marriage was dismissed Catherine might have been seated in her own drawing room controlling a situation which presented no sort of difficulty to her trained mind rather to her surprise Mary found herself making conversation with William about old Italian pictures while Catherine poured out tea, cut cake kept William's plate supplied without joining more than was necessary in the conversation she seemed to have taken possession of Mary's room and to handle the cups as if they belonged to her but it was done so naturally that it bred no resentment in Mary on the contrary she found herself putting her hand on Catherine's knee affectionately for an instant was there something maternal in this assumption of control? and thinking of Catherine as one who would soon be married these maternal heirs filled Mary's mind with a new tenderness and even with awe Catherine seemed very much older and more experienced than she was meanwhile Rodney talked if his appearance was superficially against him it had the advantage of making his solid merit something of a surprise he had kept notebooks he knew a great deal about pictures he could compare different examples in different galleries and his authoritative answers to intelligent questions gained not a little, Mary felt from the smart taps which he dealt as he delivered them upon the lumps of coal she was impressed your tea, William, said Catherine gently he paused, gulped it down obediently and continued and then it struck Mary that Catherine in the shade of her broad brimmed hat and in the midst of the smoke and in the obscurity of her character was perhaps smiling to herself not altogether in the maternal spirit what she said was very simple but her words even your tea, William were set down as gently and cautiously and exactly as the feet of a Persian cat stepping among China ornaments for the second time that day Mary felt herself baffled by something inscrutable in the character of a person to whom she felt herself much attracted she thought that if she were engaged to Catherine she too would find herself very soon using those fretful questions with which William evidently teased his bride and yet Catherine's voice was humble I wonder how you find the time to know all about pictures as well as books she asked how do I find the time William answered delighted Mary guessed at this little compliment why I always travel with a notebook and I ask my way to the picture gallery the very first thing in the morning and then I meet men and talk to them there's a man in my office I was telling Miss Dashett about the Flemish school I picked up a lot of it from him it's a way men have Gibbons his name is you must meet him we'll ask him to lunch and this is not caring about art he explained turning to Mary it's one of Catherine's poses Miss Dashett did you know she posed she pretends that she's never read Shakespeare and why should she read Shakespeare since she is Shakespeare Rosalind you know that's queer little chuckle somehow this compliment appeared very old fashioned and almost in bad taste Mary actually felt herself blush as if he had said the sex or the ladies constrained perhaps by nervousness Rodney continued in the same vein she knows enough enough for all decent purposes what do you women want with learning when you have so much else everything I should say everything leave us something said Catherine apparently waking from a brown study I was thinking we must be going is it tonight that Lady Farrell B dines with us no we mustn't be late said Rodney Rising do you know the Farrell Bs Miss Dashett they own Trantum Abbey he added for her information as she looked doubtful and if Catherine makes herself very charming tonight perhaps he'll lend it to us for the honeymoon I agree that may be a reason otherwise she's a dull woman said Catherine at least she added as if to qualify her abruptness I find it difficult to talk to her because you expect everyone else to take all the trouble I've seen her sit silent a whole evening he said turning to Mary as he had frequently done already don't you find that too sometimes when we're alone I've counted the time on my watch here he took out a large gold watch and tapped the glass the time between one remark and the next and once I counted ten minutes and twenty seconds and then if you'll believe me she only said um I'm sure I'm sorry Catherine apologized I know it's a bad habit but then you see at home the rest of her excuse was cut short so far as Mary was concerned by the closing of the door she fancied she could hear William finding fresh fault on the stairs a moment later the doorbell rang again and Catherine reappeared having left her purse in the chair she soon found it and said pausing for a moment at the door and speaking differently as they were alone I think being engaged is very bad for the character she shook her purse in her hand until the coins jingled as if she alluded merely to this example of her forgetfulness but the remark puzzled Mary it seemed to refer to something else and her manner had changed so strangely now that William was out of hearing that she could not help looking at her she looked almost stern so that Mary trying to smile at her only succeeded in producing a silent stare of interrogation as the door shut for the second time she sank onto the floor in front of the fire trying now that their bodies were not there to distract her to piece together her impressions of them as a whole and though priding herself with all other men and women upon an infallible eye for character she could not feel at all certain motives inspired Catherine Hillberry in life there was something that carried her on smoothly out of reach something yes but what something that reminded Mary of Ralph oddly enough he gave her the same feeling too and with him too she felt baffled oddly enough for no two people she hastily concluded were more unlike and yet both had this hidden impulse this incalculable force this thing they cared for and didn't talk about oh what was it end of chapter 14