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《到灯塔去》是英国女作家弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙（1882—1941）于1927年创作的长篇小说，被视为其最完美的一部作品。2005年，这部小说被《时代》杂志评为1923年以来一百部优秀英文小说之一。小说以“到灯塔去”为贯穿全书的中心线索，讲述了拉姆齐一家人和几位客人在第一次世界大战前后的一段生活经历。伍尔芙作为意识流作家中成就最高的女性作家，其巅峰作品《到灯塔去》延续了现代主义小说家普鲁斯特和乔伊斯的写作技巧，被视为意识流杰作。小说包括大量对话、思考与观察，几乎没有动作。这也是人们普遍抱怨这部作品不容易读下去的主要原因。
《到灯塔去》是伍尔芙倾注心血的准自传体小说。小说塑造的两个主要人物拉姆齐先生与拉姆齐夫人的原型是伍尔芙的父母亲，小说中有许许多多不同的人物形象，如莉丽、詹姆斯、凯姆、罗杰等等，这些不同的人物在伍尔芙的现实生活中都曾出现过，并与她有着各种联系与交集。小说中拉姆齐一家的避暑别墅也是以伍尔芙童年生活中位于英格兰康沃尔郡的避暑别墅为原型的。
本期的选段节选自小说第一部分《窗》的第十八、十九章。
As she came downstairs， she noticed that she could now see the moon itself through the staircase window—the yellow harvest moon—and turned， and they saw her， standing above them on the stairs.
“That’s my mother，” thought Prue. She said， like a child， “We thought of going down to the beach to watch the waves.”
Instantly， for no reason at all， Mrs Ramsay became like a girl of twenty， full of 1）gaiety. A mood of 2）revelry suddenly took possession of her. Of course they must go； of course they must go， she cried， laughing； and running down the last three or four steps quickly， and saying she only wished she could come too， and would they be very late， and had any of them got a watch？
“Yes， Paul has，” said Minta. Paul slipped a beautiful gold watch out of a little wash-leather case to show her. And seeing the gold watch lying in his hand， Mrs Ramsay felt， How extraordinarily lucky Minta is！ She is marrying a man who has a gold watch in a washleather bag！
She went with a smile on her lips into the other room， where her husband sat reading.
“They are engaged，” she said， beginning to knit.“Paul and Minta.”
“So I guessed，” he said. There was nothing very much to be said about it. So they sat silent.
Then she became aware that she wanted him to say something.
Anything， anything， she thought， going on with her knitting. Anything will do.
“How nice it would be to marry a man with a wash-leather bag for his watch，” she said， for that was the sort of joke they had together.
He was silent， swinging the compass on his watchchain to and fro， and thinking of Scott’s novels and Balzac’s novels. But through the 3）crepuscular walls of their intimacy， for they were drawing together， 4）involuntarily， coming side by side， quite close， she could feel his mind like a raised hand shadowing her mind.
“You won’t finish that stocking tonight，” he said.
“No，” she said， flattening the stocking out upon her knee， “I shan’t finish it.” And what then？ For she felt that he was still looking at her， but that his look had changed. He wanted something—wanted the thing she always found it so difficult to give him； wanted her to tell him that she loved him. And that， no， she could not do. He found talking so much easier than she did. He could say things—she never could. So naturally it was always he that said the things， and then for some reason he would mind this suddenly， and would 5）reproach her. A heartless woman he called her； she never told him that she loved him. But it was not so—it was not so. It was only that she never could say what she felt. Was there no crumb on his coat？ Nothing she could do for him？ Getting up， she stood at the window with the reddish-brown stocking in her hands， partly to turn away from him， partly because she did not mind looking now， with him watching， at the Lighthouse， for she knew that he had turned his head as she turned； he was watching her. She knew that he was thinking， You are more beautiful than ever. And she felt herself very beautiful. Will you not tell me just for once that you love me？ He was thinking that， for he was roused， what with Minta and his book， and its being the end of the day and their having quarrelled about going to the Lighthouse. But she could not do it； she could not say it. Then， knowing that he was watching her， instead of saying anything she turned， holding her stocking， and looked at him. And as she looked at him she began to smile， for though she had not said a word， he knew， of course he knew， that she loved him. He could not deny it. And smiling she looked out of the window and said （thinking to herself， Nothing on earth can equal this happiness）—
“Yes， you were right. It’s going to be wet tomorrow.”She had not said it： but he knew it. And she looked at him， smiling， for she had triumphed again.
她走下楼，注意到现在她能从楼梯的窗口看到月亮了——那一轮金黄色的、收获季节的满月——她转过身来，于是他们看到她就站在他们上方的楼梯上。
“那就是我的母亲，”普鲁想。她像个孩子似的说道：“我们刚才想着要到海滩上去看海浪呢。”
突然间，不知是什么缘故，拉姆齐夫人好像变成了一个二十岁的姑娘，充满喜悦。她突然被一种狂喜的心情占据。他们当然应该去；当然要去，她笑着嚷道；她飞快地跑下最后三四级楼梯。她说，她真希望她也能去，他们不会待得太晚吧，他们有谁带表了吗？
“有的，保罗有个表，”敏泰说。保罗从一只小小的软皮表袋里拿出一只漂亮的金表给她看。看到他手中的金表，拉姆齐夫人感到，敏泰是多么幸福啊！她要嫁给一个有一只放在软皮表袋里的金表的男人了！
嘴角带着微笑，她走进另一间屋子，她丈夫正坐在那儿看书。
“他们订婚了，”她一边开始织起袜子，一边说，“保罗和敏泰。”
“我也猜到了，”他说。这没什么可多说的。因此他们默默无言地坐着。
这时她渐渐意识到自己希望他能说点什么。
随便什么，随便什么，她继续织着袜子，心里在想。说什么都行。
“嫁给一个用软皮袋装表的男人，那有多好啊，”她说，因为那是他们俩都喜欢的那类笑话。
他默然无语，来回摆动着他表链上的指南针，正思考着司各特和巴尔扎克的小说。但他们不由自主地越凑越近，肩并着肩，靠得很近，透过他们之间依稀存在的墙壁，她能感觉到他的思想如一只举起的手一般，遮蔽了她的思想。
“你今天晚上织不完那只袜子的，”他说。
“对，”她把袜子在自己膝盖上抻抻平，说，“我织不完。”
那又如何呢？她感到他仍在看着她，但神情已经变了。他想要什么——想要那个她一直觉得很难给予他的东西，要她对他说她爱他。而这一点，不行，她做不到。他比她善于辞令。他能说会道——她可从来不会。因此，很自然，这类话总是他来说。转而，他会因为某种原因突然对此不满，并且对她加以指责。他称她是个没心肝的女人，从来也没有对他说过她爱他。但事实并非如此——并非如此。只不过是她从来不会表达内心的感觉。她只会说，他的外套上没有沾上面包屑吧？她可以为他做些什么吗？她站起来，手里拿着那只红棕色的袜子，站到窗前，一方面是要转过身避开他，一方面也是因为她现在不在乎让他看到她在凝视灯塔了。她知道在她转身时他也转过头来；他在看着她。她知道他在想：你比以往任何时候都更美丽了。而她也觉得自己非常美丽。难道你就不能对我说这么一次你爱我？他心里想的是这个，因为他感到不快，那是由于敏泰和他的著作，加上一天已近结束，以及他们为到灯塔去的事争吵过。但是她做不到；她说不出口。她知道他在看着她，她却什么也没说，只是捏着袜子转过身来，凝视着他。她凝视着他，脸上露出了微笑，她虽然一个字也没有说，但是他知道，他当然知道，她爱他。他无法否认这一点。她微笑着向窗外看去，说道（她心里想，世界上没有任何东西能和这份幸福媲美）——
“对，你是对的，明天会下雨。”她什么也没有说，但他明白她的意思。她微笑地看着他。她又一次胜利了。
译文参考自上海译文出版社版本，有改动
瞿世镜 译
《到灯塔去》是伍尔芙倾注心血的准自传体小说。小说塑造的两个主要人物拉姆齐先生与拉姆齐夫人的原型是伍尔芙的父母亲，小说中有许许多多不同的人物形象，如莉丽、詹姆斯、凯姆、罗杰等等，这些不同的人物在伍尔芙的现实生活中都曾出现过，并与她有着各种联系与交集。小说中拉姆齐一家的避暑别墅也是以伍尔芙童年生活中位于英格兰康沃尔郡的避暑别墅为原型的。
本期的选段节选自小说第一部分《窗》的第十八、十九章。
As she came downstairs， she noticed that she could now see the moon itself through the staircase window—the yellow harvest moon—and turned， and they saw her， standing above them on the stairs.
“That’s my mother，” thought Prue. She said， like a child， “We thought of going down to the beach to watch the waves.”
Instantly， for no reason at all， Mrs Ramsay became like a girl of twenty， full of 1）gaiety. A mood of 2）revelry suddenly took possession of her. Of course they must go； of course they must go， she cried， laughing； and running down the last three or four steps quickly， and saying she only wished she could come too， and would they be very late， and had any of them got a watch？
“Yes， Paul has，” said Minta. Paul slipped a beautiful gold watch out of a little wash-leather case to show her. And seeing the gold watch lying in his hand， Mrs Ramsay felt， How extraordinarily lucky Minta is！ She is marrying a man who has a gold watch in a washleather bag！
She went with a smile on her lips into the other room， where her husband sat reading.
“They are engaged，” she said， beginning to knit.“Paul and Minta.”
“So I guessed，” he said. There was nothing very much to be said about it. So they sat silent.
Then she became aware that she wanted him to say something.
Anything， anything， she thought， going on with her knitting. Anything will do.
“How nice it would be to marry a man with a wash-leather bag for his watch，” she said， for that was the sort of joke they had together.
He was silent， swinging the compass on his watchchain to and fro， and thinking of Scott’s novels and Balzac’s novels. But through the 3）crepuscular walls of their intimacy， for they were drawing together， 4）involuntarily， coming side by side， quite close， she could feel his mind like a raised hand shadowing her mind.
“You won’t finish that stocking tonight，” he said.
“No，” she said， flattening the stocking out upon her knee， “I shan’t finish it.” And what then？ For she felt that he was still looking at her， but that his look had changed. He wanted something—wanted the thing she always found it so difficult to give him； wanted her to tell him that she loved him. And that， no， she could not do. He found talking so much easier than she did. He could say things—she never could. So naturally it was always he that said the things， and then for some reason he would mind this suddenly， and would 5）reproach her. A heartless woman he called her； she never told him that she loved him. But it was not so—it was not so. It was only that she never could say what she felt. Was there no crumb on his coat？ Nothing she could do for him？ Getting up， she stood at the window with the reddish-brown stocking in her hands， partly to turn away from him， partly because she did not mind looking now， with him watching， at the Lighthouse， for she knew that he had turned his head as she turned； he was watching her. She knew that he was thinking， You are more beautiful than ever. And she felt herself very beautiful. Will you not tell me just for once that you love me？ He was thinking that， for he was roused， what with Minta and his book， and its being the end of the day and their having quarrelled about going to the Lighthouse. But she could not do it； she could not say it. Then， knowing that he was watching her， instead of saying anything she turned， holding her stocking， and looked at him. And as she looked at him she began to smile， for though she had not said a word， he knew， of course he knew， that she loved him. He could not deny it. And smiling she looked out of the window and said （thinking to herself， Nothing on earth can equal this happiness）—
“Yes， you were right. It’s going to be wet tomorrow.”She had not said it： but he knew it. And she looked at him， smiling， for she had triumphed again.
她走下楼，注意到现在她能从楼梯的窗口看到月亮了——那一轮金黄色的、收获季节的满月——她转过身来，于是他们看到她就站在他们上方的楼梯上。
“那就是我的母亲，”普鲁想。她像个孩子似的说道：“我们刚才想着要到海滩上去看海浪呢。”
突然间，不知是什么缘故，拉姆齐夫人好像变成了一个二十岁的姑娘，充满喜悦。她突然被一种狂喜的心情占据。他们当然应该去；当然要去，她笑着嚷道；她飞快地跑下最后三四级楼梯。她说，她真希望她也能去，他们不会待得太晚吧，他们有谁带表了吗？
“有的，保罗有个表，”敏泰说。保罗从一只小小的软皮表袋里拿出一只漂亮的金表给她看。看到他手中的金表，拉姆齐夫人感到，敏泰是多么幸福啊！她要嫁给一个有一只放在软皮表袋里的金表的男人了！
嘴角带着微笑，她走进另一间屋子，她丈夫正坐在那儿看书。
“他们订婚了，”她一边开始织起袜子，一边说，“保罗和敏泰。”
“我也猜到了，”他说。这没什么可多说的。因此他们默默无言地坐着。
这时她渐渐意识到自己希望他能说点什么。
随便什么，随便什么，她继续织着袜子，心里在想。说什么都行。
“嫁给一个用软皮袋装表的男人，那有多好啊，”她说，因为那是他们俩都喜欢的那类笑话。
他默然无语，来回摆动着他表链上的指南针，正思考着司各特和巴尔扎克的小说。但他们不由自主地越凑越近，肩并着肩，靠得很近，透过他们之间依稀存在的墙壁，她能感觉到他的思想如一只举起的手一般，遮蔽了她的思想。
“你今天晚上织不完那只袜子的，”他说。
“对，”她把袜子在自己膝盖上抻抻平，说，“我织不完。”
那又如何呢？她感到他仍在看着她，但神情已经变了。他想要什么——想要那个她一直觉得很难给予他的东西，要她对他说她爱他。而这一点，不行，她做不到。他比她善于辞令。他能说会道——她可从来不会。因此，很自然，这类话总是他来说。转而，他会因为某种原因突然对此不满，并且对她加以指责。他称她是个没心肝的女人，从来也没有对他说过她爱他。但事实并非如此——并非如此。只不过是她从来不会表达内心的感觉。她只会说，他的外套上没有沾上面包屑吧？她可以为他做些什么吗？她站起来，手里拿着那只红棕色的袜子，站到窗前，一方面是要转过身避开他，一方面也是因为她现在不在乎让他看到她在凝视灯塔了。她知道在她转身时他也转过头来；他在看着她。她知道他在想：你比以往任何时候都更美丽了。而她也觉得自己非常美丽。难道你就不能对我说这么一次你爱我？他心里想的是这个，因为他感到不快，那是由于敏泰和他的著作，加上一天已近结束，以及他们为到灯塔去的事争吵过。但是她做不到；她说不出口。她知道他在看着她，她却什么也没说，只是捏着袜子转过身来，凝视着他。她凝视着他，脸上露出了微笑，她虽然一个字也没有说，但是他知道，他当然知道，她爱他。他无法否认这一点。她微笑着向窗外看去，说道（她心里想，世界上没有任何东西能和这份幸福媲美）——
“对，你是对的，明天会下雨。”她什么也没有说，但他明白她的意思。她微笑地看着他。她又一次胜利了。
译文参考自上海译文出版社版本，有改动
瞿世镜 译