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222
Virginia Woolf
she had dealt with the morning。 As she put her hat on
she determined to lunch at a shop in the Strand； so as to
set that other piece of mechanism； her body； into action。
With a brain working and a body working one could keep
step with the crowd and never be found out for the hollow
machine； lacking the essential thing； that one was
conscious of being。
She considered her case as she walked down the Charing
Cross Road。 She put to herself a series of questions。 Would
she mind； for example； if the wheels of that motoromnibus
passed over her and crushed her to death？ No； not in
the least； or an adventure with that disagreeablelooking
man hanging about the entrance of the Tube station？
No； she could not conceive fear or excitement。 Did suffering
in any form appall her？ No； suffering was neither
good nor bad。 And this essential thing？ In the eyes of
every single person she detected a flame； as if a spark in
the brain ignited spontaneously at contact with the things
they met and drove them on。 The young women looking
into the milliners’ windows had that look in their eyes；
and elderly men turning over books in the secondhand
bookshops； and eagerly waiting to hear what the price
was—the very lowest price—they had it； too。 But she
cared nothing at all for clothes or for money either。 Books
she shrank from； for they were connected too closely with
Ralph。 She kept on her way resolutely through the crowd
of people； among whom she was so much of an alien；
feeling them cleave and give way before her。
Strange thoughts are bred in passing through crowded
streets should the passenger； by chance； have no exact
destination in front of him； much as the mind shapes all
kinds of forms； solutions； images when listening inattentively
to music。 From an acute consciousness of herself
as an individual； Mary passed to a conception of the
scheme of things in which； as a human being； she must
have her share。 She half held a vision； the vision shaped
and dwindled。 She wished she had a pencil and a piece of
paper to help her to give a form to this conception which
posed itself as she walked down the Charing Cross
Road。 But if she talked to any one； the conception might
escape her。 Her vision seemed to lay out the lines of her
life until death in a way which satisfied her sense of
223
Night and Day
harmony。 It only needed a persistent effort of thought；
stimulated in this strange way by the crowd and the noise；
to climb the crest of existence and see it all laid out once
and for ever。 Already her suffering as an individual was
left behind her。 Of this process； which was to her so full
of effort； which prised infinitely swift and full passages
of thought； leading from one crest to another； as
she shaped her conception of life in this world； only two
articulate words escaped her； muttered beneath her
breath—”Not happiness—not happiness。”
She sat down on a seat opposite the statue of one of
London’s heroes upon the Embankment； and spoke the
words aloud。 To her they represented the rare flower or
splinter of rock brought down by a climber in proof that
he has stood for a moment； at least； upon the highest
peak of the mountain。 She had been up there and seen
the world spread to the horizon。 It was now necessary to
alter her course to some extent； according to her new
resolve。 Her post should be in one of those exposed and
desolate stations which are shunned naturally by happy
people。 She arranged the details of the new plan in her
mind； not without a grim satisfaction。
“Now；” she said to herself； rising from her seat； “I’ll
think of Ralph。”
Where was he to be placed in the new scale of life？ Her
exalted mood seemed to make it safe to handle the question。
But she was dismayed to find how quickly her passions
leapt forward the moment she sanctioned this line
of thought。 Now she was identified with him and rethought
his thoughts with plete selfsurrender； now； with a
sudden cleavage of spirit； she turned upon him and denounced
him for his cruelty。
“But I refuse—I refuse to hate any one；” she said aloud；
chose the moment to cross the road with circumspection；
and ten minutes later lunched in the Strand； cutting her
meat firmly into small pieces； but giving her fellowdiners
no further cause to judge her eccentric。 Her soliloquy
crystallized itself into little fragmentary phrases emerging
suddenly from the turbulence of her thought； particularly
when she had to exert herself in any way； either
to move； to count money； or to choose a turning。 “To
know the truth—to accept without bitterness”—those；
224
Virginia Woolf
perhaps； were the most articulate of her utterances； for
no one could have made head or tail of the queer gibberish
murmured in front of the statue of Francis； Duke of
Bedford； save that the name of Ralph occurred frequently
in very strange connections； as if； having spoken it； she
wished； superstitiously； to cancel it by adding some other
word that robbed the sentence with his name in it of any
meaning。
Those champions of the cause of women； Mr。 Clacton
and Mrs。 Seal； did not perceive anything strange in Mary’s
behavior； save that she was almost half an hour later than
usual in ing back to the office。 Happily； their own affairs
kept them busy； and she was free from their inspection。
If they had surprised her they would have found her
lost； apparently； in admiration of the large hotel across
the square； for； after writing a few words； her pen rested
upon the paper； and her mind pursued its own journey
among the sunblazoned windows and the drifts of purplish
smoke which formed her view。 And； indeed； this background
was by no means out of keeping with her thoughts。
She saw to the remote spaces behind the strife of the
foreground； enabled now to gaze there； since she had renounced
her own demands； privileged to see the larger
view； to share the vast desires and sufferings of the mass
of mankind。 She had been too lately and too roughly mastered
by