The Voyage Out Virginia Woolf (the chimp paradox .txt) 📖

was a virtue never more needed than today, when we lived in a time of experiment and upheaval⁠—witness the aeroplane and wireless telegraph, and there were other problems which hardly presented themselves to our fathers, but which no man who called himself a man could leave unsettled. Here Mr. Bax became more definitely clerical, if it were possible, he seemed to speak with a certain innocent craftiness, as he pointed out that all this laid a special duty upon earnest Christians. What men were inclined to say now was, “Oh, that fellow⁠—he’s a parson.” What we want them to say is, “He’s a good fellow”⁠—in other words, “He is my brother.” He exhorted them to keep in touch with men of the modern type; they must sympathise with their multifarious interests in order to keep before their eyes that whatever discoveries were made there was one discovery which could not be superseded, which was indeed as much of a necessity to the most successful and most brilliant of them all as it had been to their fathers. The humblest could help; the least important things had an influence (here his manner became definitely priestly and his remarks seemed to be directed to women, for indeed Mr. Bax’s congregations were mainly composed of women, and he was used to assigning them their duties in his innocent clerical campaigns). Leaving more definite instruction, he passed on, and his theme broadened into a peroration for which he drew a long breath and stood very upright⁠—“As a drop of water, detached, alone, separate from others, falling from the cloud and entering the great ocean, alters, so scientists tell us, not only the immediate spot in the ocean where it falls, but all the myriad drops which together compose the great universe of waters, and by this means alters the configuration of the globe and the lives of millions of sea creatures, and finally the lives of the men and women who seek their living upon the shores⁠—as all this is within the compass of a single drop of water, such as any rain shower sends in millions to lose themselves in the earth, to lose themselves we say, but we know very well that the fruits of the earth could not flourish without them⁠—so is a marvel comparable to this within the reach of each one of us, who dropping a little word or a little deed into the great universe alters it; yea, it is a solemn thought, alters it, for good or for evil, not for one instant, or in one vicinity, but throughout the entire race, and for all eternity.” Whipping round as though to avoid applause, he continued with the same breath, but in a different tone of voice⁠—“And now to God the Father⁠ ⁠…”

He gave his blessing, and then, while the solemn chords again issued from the harmonium behind the curtain, the different people began scraping and fumbling and moving very awkwardly and consciously towards the door. Halfway upstairs, at a point where the light and sounds of the upper world conflicted with the dimness and the dying hymn-tune of the under, Rachel felt a hand drop upon her shoulder.

“Miss Vinrace,” Mrs. Flushing whispered peremptorily, “stay to luncheon. It’s such a dismal day. They don’t even give one beef for luncheon. Please stay.”

Here they came out into the hall, where once more the little band was greeted with curious respectful glances by the people who had not gone to church, although their clothing made it clear that they approved of Sunday to the very verge of going to church. Rachel felt unable to stand any more of this particular atmosphere, and was about to say she must go back, when Terence passed them, drawn along in talk with Evelyn M. Rachel thereupon contented herself with saying that the people looked very respectable, which negative remark Mrs. Flushing interpreted to mean that she would stay.

“English people abroad!” she returned with a vivid flash of malice. “Ain’t they awful! But we won’t stay here,” she continued, plucking at Rachel’s arm. “Come up to my room.”

She bore her past Hewet and Evelyn and the Thornburys and the Elliots. Hewet stepped forward.

“Luncheon⁠—” he began.

“Miss Vinrace has promised to lunch with me,” said Mrs. Flushing, and began to pound energetically up the staircase, as though the middle classes of England were in pursuit. She did not stop until she had slammed her bedroom door behind them.

“Well, what did you think of it?” she demanded, panting slightly.

All the disgust and horror which Rachel had been accumulating burst forth beyond her control.

“I thought it the most loathsome exhibition I’d ever seen!” she broke out. “How can they⁠—how dare they⁠—what do you mean by it⁠—Mr. Bax, hospital nurses, old men, prostitutes, disgusting⁠—”

She hit off the points she remembered as fast as she could, but she was too indignant to stop to analyse her feelings. Mrs. Flushing watched her with keen gusto as she stood ejaculating with emphatic movements of her head and hands in the middle of the room.

“Go on, go on, do go on,” she laughed, clapping her hands. “It’s delightful to hear you!”

“But why do you go?” Rachel demanded.

“I’ve been every Sunday of my life ever since I can remember,” Mrs. Flushing chuckled, as though that were a reason by itself.

Rachel turned abruptly to the window. She did not know what it was that had put her into such a passion; the sight of Terence in the hall had confused her thoughts, leaving her merely indignant. She looked straight at their own villa, halfway up the side of the mountain. The most familiar view seen framed through glass has a certain unfamiliar distinction, and she grew calm as she gazed. Then she remembered that she was in the presence of someone she did not know well, and she turned and looked at Mrs. Flushing. Mrs. Flushing was still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking up, with her lips parted, so that her strong white teeth showed in two rows.

“Tell me,” she said, “which