The Voyage Out by Virginia Woolf A Penn State Electronic Classics Series Publication The Voyage Out by Virginia Woolf is a publication of the Pennsylvania State University. This Portable Document file is furnished free and without any charge of any kind. Any person using this document file, for any purpose, and in any way does so at his or her own risk. Neither the Pennsylvania State University nor Jim Manis, Faculty Editor, nor anyone associated with the Pennsylvania State University assumes any responsibility for the material contained within the document or for the file as an electronic transmission, in any way. The Voyage Out by Virginia Woolf, the Pennsylvania State University, Electronic Classics Series, Jim Manis, Faculty Editor, Hazleton, PA 18202-1291 is a Portable Document File produced as part of an ongoing student publication project to bring classical works of literature, in English, to free and easy access of those wishing to make use of them. Cover Design: Jim Manis Copyright © 2001 The Pennsylvania State University The Pennsylvania State University is an equal opportunity university. Virginia Woolf edge of the pavement with a lady on his arm. Angry glances The Voyage Out struck upon their backs. The small, agitated figures—for in comparison with this couple most people looked small— by decorated with fountain pens, and burdened with des- patch-boxes, had appointments to keep, and drew a weekly salary, so that there was some reason for the unfriendly Virginia Woolf stare which was bestowed upon Mr. Ambrose’s height and upon Mrs. Ambrose’s cloak. But some enchantment had Chapter I put both man and woman beyond the reach of malice and unpopularity. In his guess one might guess from the s the streets that lead from the Strand to the moving lips that it was thought; and in hers from the Embankment are very narrow, it is better not to eyes fixed stonily straight in front of her at a level above Awalk down them arm-in-arm. If you persist, law- the eyes of most that it was sorrow. It was only by scorn- yers’ clerks will have to make flying leaps into the mud; ing all she met that she kept herself from tears, and the young lady typists will have to fidget behind you. In the friction of people brushing past her was evidently pain- streets of London where beauty goes unregarded, eccen- ful. After watching the traffic on the Embankment for a tricity must pay the penalty, and it is better not to be minute or two with a stoical gaze she twitched her very tall, to wear a long blue cloak, or to beat the air husband’s sleeve, and they crossed between the swift dis- with your left hand. charge of motor cars. When they were safe on the further One afternoon in the beginning of October when the side, she gently withdrew her arm from his, allowing her traffic was becoming brisk a tall man strode along the mouth at the same time to relax, to tremble; then tears 3 The Voyage Out rolled down, and leaning her elbows on the balustrade, afternoon; most people, walking for pleasure, contem- she shielded her face from the curious. Mr. Ambrose at- plate for three minutes; when, having compared the oc- tempted consolation; he patted her shoulder; but she casion with other occasions, or made some sentence, they showed no signs of admitting him, and feeling it awk- pass on. Sometimes the flats and churches and hotels of ward to stand beside a grief that was greater than his, he Westminster are like the outlines of Constantinople in a crossed his arms behind him, and took a turn along the mist; sometimes the river is an opulent purple, some- pavement. times mud-coloured, sometimes sparkling blue like the The embankment juts out in angles here and there, like sea. It is always worth while to look down and see what pulpits; instead of preachers, however, small boys oc- is happening. But this lady looked neither up nor down; cupy them, dangling string, dropping pebbles, or launch- the only thing she had seen, since she stood there, was a ing wads of paper for a cruise. With their sharp eye for circular iridescent patch slowly floating past with a straw eccentricity, they were inclined to think Mr. Ambrose awful; in the middle of it. The straw and the patch swam again but the quickest witted cried “Bluebeard!” as he passed. and again behind the tremulous medium of a great well- In case they should proceed to tease his wife, Mr. Ambrose ing tear, and the tear rose and fell and dropped into the flourished his stick at them, upon which they decided river. Then there struck close upon her ears— that he was grotesque merely, and four instead of one cried “Bluebeard!” in chorus. Lars Porsena of Clusium Although Mrs. Ambrose stood quite still, much longer By the nine Gods he swore— than is natural, the little boys let her be. Some one is always looking into the river near Waterloo Bridge; a and then more faintly, as if the speaker had passed her couple will stand there talking for half an hour on a fine on his walk— 4 Virginia Woolf weeping and begin to walk. That the Great House of Tarquin “I would rather walk,” she said, her husband having Should suffer wrong no more. hailed a cab already occupied by two city men. The fixity of her mood was broken by the action of Yes, she knew she must go back to all that, but at present walking. The shooting motor cars, more like spiders in she must weep. Screening her face she sobbed more the moon than terrestrial objects, the thundering drays, steadily than she had yet done, her shoulders rising and the jingling hansoms, and little black broughams, made falling with great regularity. It was this figure that her her think of the world she lived in. Somewhere up there husband saw when, having reached the polished Sphinx, above the pinnacles where the smoke rose in a pointed having entangled himself with a man selling picture post- hill, her children were now asking for her, and getting a cards, he turned; the stanza instantly stopped. He came soothing reply. As for the mass of streets, squares, and up to her, laid his hand on her shoulder, and said, “Dear- public buildings which parted them, she only felt at this est.” His voice was supplicating. But she shut her face moment how little London had done to make her love it, away from him, as much as to say, “You can’t possibly although thirty of her forty years had been spent in a understand.” street. She knew how to read the people who were pass- As he did not leave her, however, she had to wipe her ing her; there were the rich who were running to and eyes, and to raise them to the level of the factory chim- from each others’ houses at this hour; there were the neys on the other bank. She saw also the arches of Wa- bigoted workers driving in a straight line to their offices; terloo Bridge and the carts moving across them, like the there were the poor who were unhappy and rightly malig- line of animals in a shooting gallery. They were seen nant. Already, though there was sunlight in the haze, blankly, but to see anything was of course to end her tattered old men and women were nodding off to sleep 5 The Voyage Out upon the seats. When one gave up seeing the beauty things, as though the West End, with its electric lamps, that clothed things, this was the skeleton beneath. its vast plate-glass windows all shining yellow, its care- A fine rain now made her still more dismal; vans with fully-finished houses, and tiny live figures trotting on the odd names of those engaged in odd industries— the pavement, or bowled along on wheels in the road, Sprules, Manufacturer of Saw-dust; Grabb, to whom no was the finished work. It appeared to her a very small bit piece of waste paper comes amiss—fell flat as a bad joke; of work for such an enormous factory to have made. For bold lovers, sheltered behind one cloak, seemed to her some reason it appeared to her as a small golden tassel sordid, past their passion; the flower women, a contented on the edge of a vast black cloak. company, whose talk is always worth hearing, were sod- Observing that they passed no other hansom cab, but den hags; the red, yellow, and blue flowers, whose heads only vans and waggons, and that not one of the thou- were pressed together, would not blaze. Moreover, her sand men and women she saw was either a gentleman or husband walking with a quick rhythmic stride, jerking his a lady, Mrs. Ambrose understood that after all it is the free hand occasionally, was either a Viking or a stricken ordinary thing to be poor, and that London is the city of Nelson; the sea-gulls had changed his note. innumerable poor people. Startled by this discovery and “Ridley, shall we drive? Shall we drive, Ridley?” seeing herself pacing a circle all the days of her life round Mrs. Ambrose had to speak sharply; by this time he was Picadilly Circus she was greatly relieved to pass a build- far away. ing put up by the London County Council for Night Schools. The cab, by trotting steadily along the same road, soon “Lord, how gloomy it is!” her husband groaned.