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But to show you how little I deserve to be called a professional woman, how little I know of the struggles and difficulties of such lives, I have to admit that instead of spending that sum upon bread and butter, rent, shoes and stockings, or butcher’s bills, I went out and bought a cat—a beautiful cat, a Persian cat, which very soon involved me in bitter disputes with my neighbours.但需明示，我多么不配称作一个职业女性，我对这类生活的奋斗与艰辛知之甚少，我得承认，用这笔钱，我没买食物、交房租、买鞋袜、换肉票，而是出去买了一只猫——很漂亮的一只波斯猫，很快就把我卷到了和邻里痛苦的纠纷中。 What could be easier than to write articles and to buy Persian cats with the profits? But wait a moment. Articles have to be about something. Mine, I seem to remember, was about a novel by a famous man. And while I was writing this review, I discovered that if I were going to review books I should need to do battle with a certain phantom. And the phantom was a woman, and when I came to know her better I called her after the heroine of a famous poem, The Angel in the House. It was she who used to come between me and my paper when I was writing reviews. It was she who bothered me and wasted my time and so tormented me that at last I killed her. You who come of a younger and happier generation may not have heard of her—you may not know what I mean by the Angel in the House. I will describe her as shortly as I can. She was intensely sympathetic. She was immensely charming. She was utterly unselfish. She excelled in the difficult arts of family life. She sacrificed herself daily. If there was chicken, she took the leg; if there was a draught she sat in it—in short she was so constituted that she never had a mind or a wish of her own, but preferred to sympathize always with the minds and wishes of others. Above all—I need not say it—she was pure. Her purity was supposed to be her chief beauty—her blushes, her great grace. In those days—the last of Queen Victoria—every house had its Angel. And when I came to write I encountered her with the very first words. The shadow of her wings fell on my page; I heard the rustling of her skirts in the room.写写文章，然后用稿费买几只波斯猫，还有什么比这更简单呢？不过稍等。写文章得涉及点儿什么。我的文章，好像记得，是关于一位名人的小说。在写书评时，我发现，假如要作评析，我需要与一只幽灵作斗争。这只幽灵是个女人，开始更好地了解她后，我用名诗《家庭天使》里女主人公的名字为它命名。就是她，在我写书评时曾在我和纸之间制造麻烦。就是她，扰乱我，浪费我的时间，折磨我，最后，我杀了她。你们这更年轻、更快乐的一代可能没听说过她——你们可能不知道我提“家庭天使”是什么意思。我会尽量简短地描述她。她善解人意，魅力十足，大公无私。她擅长处理家庭生活中的难题，每天都在自我献身。如果有鸡肉，她选鸡腿吃；如果屋内进风，她就坐在风口——简而言之，她真算得上从不考虑自己，从不渴求什么，更喜欢赞成他人，总为他人着想。最重要的——都无需说——她很单纯。她的单纯被认为是她主要的美——她羞面红红，举止优雅。当时——维多利亚女王执政后期——各家有各家的天使。我开始写作，开头几句便遇上了她。她长着翅膀，阴影投在纸上；我听到，她的裙摆在屋内沙沙作响。
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