人性的枷锁 Of Human Bondage【9.02连载至第100章】_派派后花园

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[Novel] 人性的枷锁 Of Human Bondage【9.02连载至第100章】

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chapter 98

And now it happened that the fortunes of Philip Carey, of no consequence to any but himself, were affected by the events through which his country was passing. History was being made, and the process was so significant that it seemed absurd it should touch the life of an obscure medical student. Battle after battle, Magersfontein, Colenso, Spion Kop, lost on the playing fields of Eton, had humiliated the nation and dealt the death-blow to the prestige of the aristocracy and gentry who till then had found no one seriously to oppose their assertion that they possessed a natural instinct of government. The old order was being swept away: history was being made indeed. Then the colossus put forth his strength, and, blundering again, at last blundered into the semblance of victory. Cronje surrendered at Paardeberg, Ladysmith was relieved, and at the beginning of March Lord Roberts marched into Bloemfontein.

It was two or three days after the news of this reached London that Macalister came into the tavern in Beak Street and announced joyfully that things were looking brighter on the Stock Exchange. Peace was in sight, Roberts would march into Pretoria within a few weeks, and shares were going up already. There was bound to be a boom.

‘Now’s the time to come in,’ he told Philip. ‘It’s no good waiting till the public gets on to it. It’s now or never.’

He had inside information. The manager of a mine in South Africa had cabled to the senior partner of his firm that the plant was uninjured. They would start working again as soon as possible. It wasn’t a speculation, it was an investment. To show how good a thing the senior partner thought it Macalister told Philip that he had bought five hundred shares for both his sisters: he never put them into anything that wasn’t as safe as the Bank of England.

‘I’m going to put my shirt on it myself,’ he said.

The shares were two and an eighth to a quarter. He advised Philip not to be greedy, but to be satisfied with a ten-shilling rise. He was buying three hundred for himself and suggested that Philip should do the same. He would hold them and sell when he thought fit. Philip had great faith in him, partly because he was a Scotsman and therefore by nature cautious, and partly because he had been right before. He jumped at the suggestion.

‘I daresay we shall be able to sell before the account,’ said Macalister, ‘but if not, I’ll arrange to carry them over for you.’

It seemed a capital system to Philip. You held on till you got your profit, and you never even had to put your hand in your pocket. He began to watch the Stock Exchange columns of the paper with new interest. Next day everything was up a little, and Macalister wrote to say that he had had to pay two and a quarter for the shares. He said that the market was firm. But in a day or two there was a set-back. The news that came from South Africa was less reassuring, and Philip with anxiety saw that his shares had fallen to two; but Macalister was optimistic, the Boers couldn’t hold out much longer, and he was willing to bet a top-hat that Roberts would march into Johannesburg before the middle of April. At the account Philip had to pay out nearly forty pounds. It worried him considerably, but he felt that the only course was to hold on: in his circumstances the loss was too great for him to pocket. For two or three weeks nothing happened; the Boers would not understand that they were beaten and nothing remained for them but to surrender: in fact they had one or two small successes, and Philip’s shares fell half a crown more. It became evident that the war was not finished. There was a lot of selling. When Macalister saw Philip he was pessimistic.

‘I’m not sure if the best thing wouldn’t be to cut the loss. I’ve been paying out about as much as I want to in differences.’

Philip was sick with anxiety. He could not sleep at night; he bolted his breakfast, reduced now to tea and bread and butter, in order to get over to the club reading-room and see the paper; sometimes the news was bad, and sometimes there was no news at all, but when the shares moved it was to go down. He did not know what to do. If he sold now he would lose altogether hard on three hundred and fifty pounds; and that would leave him only eighty pounds to go on with. He wished with all his heart that he had never been such a fool as to dabble on the Stock Exchange, but the only thing was to hold on; something decisive might happen any day and the shares would go up; he did not hope now for a profit, but he wanted to make good his loss. It was his only chance of finishing his course at the hospital. The Summer session was beginning in May, and at the end of it he meant to take the examination in midwifery. Then he would only have a year more; he reckoned it out carefully and came to the conclusion that he could manage it, fees and all, on a hundred and fifty pounds; but that was the least it could possibly be done on.

Early in April he went to the tavern in Beak Street anxious to see Macalister. It eased him a little to discuss the situation with him; and to realise that numerous people beside himself were suffering from loss of money made his own trouble a little less intolerable. But when Philip arrived no one was there but Hayward, and no sooner had Philip seated himself than he said:

‘I’m sailing for the Cape on Sunday.’

‘Are you!’ exclaimed Philip.

Hayward was the last person he would have expected to do anything of the kind. At the hospital men were going out now in numbers; the Government was glad to get anyone who was qualified; and others, going out as troopers, wrote home that they had been put on hospital work as soon as it was learned that they were medical students. A wave of patriotic feeling had swept over the country, and volunteers were coming from all ranks of society.

‘What are you going as?’ asked Philip.

‘Oh, in the Dorset Yeomanry. I’m going as a trooper.’

Philip had known Hayward for eight years. The youthful intimacy which had come from Philip’s enthusiastic admiration for the man who could tell him of art and literature had long since vanished; but habit had taken its place; and when Hayward was in London they saw one another once or twice a week. He still talked about books with a delicate appreciation. Philip was not yet tolerant, and sometimes Hayward’s conversation irritated him. He no longer believed implicitly that nothing in the world was of consequence but art. He resented Hayward’s contempt for action and success. Philip, stirring his punch, thought of his early friendship and his ardent expectation that Hayward would do great things; it was long since he had lost all such illusions, and he knew now that Hayward would never do anything but talk. He found his three hundred a year more difficult to live on now that he was thirty-five than he had when he was a young man; and his clothes, though still made by a good tailor, were worn a good deal longer than at one time he would have thought possible. He was too stout and no artful arrangement of his fair hair could conceal the fact that he was bald. His blue eyes were dull and pale. It was not hard to guess that he drank too much.

‘What on earth made you think of going out to the Cape?’ asked Philip.

‘Oh, I don’t know, I thought I ought to.’

Philip was silent. He felt rather silly. He understood that Hayward was being driven by an uneasiness in his soul which he could not account for. Some power within him made it seem necessary to go and fight for his country. It was strange, since he considered patriotism no more than a prejudice, and, flattering himself on his cosmopolitanism, he had looked upon England as a place of exile. His countrymen in the mass wounded his susceptibilities. Philip wondered what it was that made people do things which were so contrary to all their theories of life. It would have been reasonable for Hayward to stand aside and watch with a smile while the barbarians slaughtered one another. It looked as though men were puppets in the hands of an unknown force, which drove them to do this and that; and sometimes they used their reason to justify their actions; and when this was impossible they did the actions in despite of reason.

‘People are very extraordinary,’ said Philip. ‘I should never have expected you to go out as a trooper.’

Hayward smiled, slightly embarrassed, and said nothing.

‘I was examined yesterday,’ he remarked at last. ‘It was worth while undergoing the gene of it to know that one was perfectly fit.’

Philip noticed that he still used a French word in an affected way when an English one would have served. But just then Macalister came in.

‘I wanted to see you, Carey,’ he said. ‘My people don’t feel inclined to hold those shares any more, the market’s in such an awful state, and they want you to take them up.’

Philip’s heart sank. He knew that was impossible. It meant that he must accept the loss. His pride made him answer calmly.

‘I don’t know that I think that’s worth while. You’d better sell them.’

‘It’s all very fine to say that, I’m not sure if I can. The market’s stagnant, there are no buyers.’

‘But they’re marked down at one and an eighth.’

‘Oh yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. You can’t get that for them.’

Philip did not say anything for a moment. He was trying to collect himself.

‘D’you mean to say they’re worth nothing at all?’

‘Oh, I don’t say that. Of course they’re worth something, but you see, nobody’s buying them now.’

‘Then you must just sell them for what you can get.’

Macalister looked at Philip narrowly. He wondered whether he was very hard hit.

‘The only thing I can do is to hang on somehow till he dies.’

Philip reckoned his age. The Vicar of Blackstable was well over seventy. He had chronic bronchitis, but many old men had that and lived on indefinitely. Meanwhile something must turn up; Philip could not get away from the feeling that his position was altogether abnormal; people in his particular station did not starve. It was because he could not bring himself to believe in the reality of his experience that he did not give way to utter despair. He made up his mind to borrow half a sovereign from Lawson. He stayed in the garden all day and smoked when he felt very hungry; he did not mean to eat anything until he was setting out again for London: it was a long way and he must keep up his strength for that. He started when the day began to grow cooler, and slept on benches when he was tired. No one disturbed him. He had a wash and brush up, and a shave at Victoria, some tea and bread and butter, and while he was eating this read the advertisement columns of the morning paper. As he looked down them his eye fell upon an announcement asking for a salesman in the ‘furnishing drapery’ department of some well-known stores. He had a curious little sinking of the heart, for with his middle-class prejudices it seemed dreadful to go into a shop; but he shrugged his shoulders, after all what did it matter? and he made up his mind to have a shot at it. He had a queer feeling that by accepting every humiliation, by going out to meet it even, he was forcing the hand of fate. When he presented himself, feeling horribly shy, in the department at nine o’clock he found that many others were there before him. They were of all ages, from boys of sixteen to men of forty; some were talking to one another in undertones, but most were

‘No,’ said Philip.

Philip looked at the assistants. Some were draping chintzes and cretonnes, and others, his neighbour told him were preparing country orders that had come in by post. At about a quarter past nine the buyer arrived. He heard one of the men who were waiting say to another that it was Mr. Gibbons. He was middle-aged, short and corpulent, with a black beard and dark, greasy hair. He had brisk movements and a clever face. He wore a silk hat and a frock coat, the lapel of which was adorned with a white geranium surrounded by leaves. He went into his office, leaving the door open; it was very small and contained only an American roll-desk in the corner, a bookcase, and a cupboard. The men standing outside watched him mechanically take the geranium out of his coat and put it in an ink-pot filled with water. It was against the rules to wear flowers in business.

[During the day the department men who wanted to keep in with the governor admired the flower.

‘I’ve never seen better,’ they said, ‘you didn’t grow it yourself?’

‘Yes I did,’ he smiled, and a gleam of pride filled his intelligent eyes.]

He took off his hat and changed his coat, glanced at the letters and then at the men who were waiting to see him. He made a slight sign with one finger, and the first in the queue stepped into the office. They filed past him one by one and answered his questions. He put them very briefly, keeping his eyes fixed on the applicant’s face.

‘Age? Experience? Why did you leave your job?’

He listened to the replies without expression. When it came to Philip’s turn he fancied that Mr. Gibbons stared at him curiously. Philip’s clothes were neat and tolerably cut. He looked a little different from the others.

‘Experience?’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t any,’ said Philip.

‘No good.’

Philip walked out of the office. The ordeal had been so much less painful than he expected that he felt no particular disappointment. He could hardly hope to succeed in getting a place the first time he tried. He had kept the newspaper and now looked at the advertisements again: a shop in Holborn needed a salesman too, and he went there; but when he arrived he found that someone had already been engaged. If he wanted to get anything to eat that day he must go to Lawson’s studio before he went out to luncheon, so he made his way along the Brompton Road to Yeoman’s Row.

‘I say, I’m rather broke till the end of the month,’ he said as soon as he found an opportunity. ‘I wish you’d lend me half a sovereign, will you?’

It was incredible the difficulty he found in asking for money; and he remembered the casual way, as though almost they were conferring a favour, men at the hospital had extracted small sums out of him which they had no intention of repaying.

‘Like a shot,’ said Lawson.

But when he put his hand in his pocket he found that he had only eight shillings. Philip’s heart sank.

‘Oh well, lend me five bob, will you?’ he said lightly.

‘Here you are.’

Philip went to the public baths in Westminster and spent sixpence on a bath. Then he got himself something to eat. He did not know what to do with himself in the afternoon. He would not go back to the hospital in case anyone should ask him questions, and besides, he had nothing to do there now; they would wonder in the two or three departments he had worked in why he did not come, but they must think what they chose, it did not matter: he would not be the first student who had dropped out without warning. He went to the free library, and looked at the papers till they wearied him, then he took out Stevenson’s New Arabian Nights; but he found he could not read: the words meant nothing to him, and he continued to brood over his helplessness. He kept on thinking the same things all the time, and the fixity of his thoughts made his head ache. At last, craving for fresh air, he went into the Green Park and lay down on the grass. He thought miserably of his deformity, which made it impossible for him to go to the war. He went to sleep and dreamt that he was suddenly sound of foot and out at the Cape in a regiment of Yeomanry; the pictures he had looked at in the illustrated papers gave materials for his fancy; and he saw himself on the Veldt, in khaki, sitting with other men round a fire at night. When he awoke he found that it was still quite light, and presently he heard Big Ben strike seven. He had twelve hours to get through with nothing to do. He dreaded the interminable night. The sky was overcast and he feared it would rain; he would have to go to a lodging-house where he could get a bed; he had seen them advertised on lamps outside houses in Lambeth: Good Beds sixpence; he had never been inside one, and dreaded the foul smell and the vermin. He made up his mind to stay in the open air if he possibly could. He remained in the park till it was closed and then began to walk about. He was very tired. The thought came to him that an accident would be a piece of luck, so that he could be taken to a hospital and lie there, in a clean bed, for weeks. At midnight he was so hungry that he could not go without food any more, so he went to a coffee stall at Hyde Park Corner and ate a couple of potatoes and had a cup of coffee. Then he walked again. He felt too restless to sleep, and he had a horrible dread of being moved on by the police. He noted that he was beginning to look upon the constable from quite a new angle. This was the third night he had spent out. Now and then he sat on the benches in Piccadilly and towards morning he strolled down to The Embankment. He listened to the striking of Big Ben, marking every quarter of an hour, and reckoned out how long it left till the city woke again. In the morning he spent a few coppers on making himself neat and clean, bought a paper to read the advertisements, and set out once more on the search for work.

He went on in this way for several days. He had very little food and began to feel weak and ill, so that he had hardly enough energy to go on looking for the work which seemed so desperately hard to find. He was growing used now to the long waiting at the back of a shop on the chance that he would be taken on, and the curt dismissal. He walked to all parts of London in answer to the advertisements, and he came to know by sight men who applied as fruitlessly as himself. One or two tried to make friends with him, but he was too tired and too wretched to accept their advances. He did not go any more to Lawson, because he owed him five shillings. He began to be too dazed to think clearly and ceased very much to care what would happen to him. He cried a good deal. At first he was very angry with himself for this and ashamed, but he found it relieved him, and somehow made him feel less hungry. In the very early morning he suffered a good deal from cold. One night he went into his room to change his linen; he slipped in about three, when he was quite sure everyone would be asleep, and out again at five; he lay on the bed and its softness was enchanting; all his bones ached, and as he lay he revelled in the pleasure of it; it was so delicious that he did not want to go to sleep. He was growing used to want of food and did not feel very hungry, but only weak. Constantly now at the back of his mind was the thought of doing away with himself, but he used all the strength he had not to dwell on it, because he was afraid the temptation would get hold of him so that he would not be able to help himself. He kept on saying to himself that it would be absurd to commit suicide, since something must happen soon; he could not get over the impression that his situation was too preposterous to be taken quite seriously; it was like an illness which must be endured but from which he was bound to recover. Every night he swore that nothing would induce him to put up with such another and determined next morning to write to his uncle, or to Mr. Nixon, the solicitor, or to Lawson; but when the time came he could not bring himself to make the humiliating confession of his utter failure. He did not know how Lawson would take it. In their friendship Lawson had been scatter-brained and he had prided himself on his common sense. He would have to tell the whole history of his folly. He had an uneasy feeling that Lawson, after helping him, would turn the cold shoulder on him. His uncle and the solicitor would of course do something for him, but he dreaded their reproaches. He did not want anyone to reproach him: he clenched his teeth and repeated that what had happened was inevitable just because it had happened. Regret was absurd.

The days were unending, and the five shillings Lawson had lent him would not last much longer. Philip longed for Sunday to come so that he could go to Athelny’s. He did not know what prevented him from going there sooner, except perhaps that he wanted so badly to get through on his own; for Athelny, who had been in straits as desperate, was the only person who could do anything for him. Perhaps after dinner he could bring himself to tell Athelny that he was in difficulties. Philip repeated to himself over and over again what he should say to him. He was dreadfully afraid that Athelny would put him off with airy phrases: that would be so horrible that he wanted to delay as long as possible the putting of him to the test. Philip had lost all confidence in his fellows.

Saturday night was cold and raw. Philip suffered horribly. From midday on Saturday till he dragged himself wearily to Athelny’s house he ate nothing. He spent his last twopence on Sunday morning on a wash and a brush up in the lavatory at Charing Cross.



第九十八章

菲利普手头的些许钱财,在别人眼里是九牛一毛,可对他本人来说,却是性命攸关。可就是他这笔微乎其微的钱财,却也受到他的祖国目下所经历的一连串事件的影响。人们正在作出名垂青史的业绩,这一过程具有极其伟大的意义,但竟波及到一名默默无闻的医科学生的人生道路,似乎又有些荒谬。马格斯方丹、科伦索、斯平·科珀的相继败北,使国家蒙受奇耻大辱、给贵族绅士们的威信以致命的一击。那些贵族绅士一向宣称他们天生具有治理国家的能力,在这之前,他们还没有谁敢认真地向他们这一断言挑战过呢。然而,旧秩序在土崩瓦解;人们真的在作出名垂史册的光辉业绩。接着,巨人施展其威力,可因仓促上阵又犯了大错。最后竟无意中造成了一种种胜利的假象。克隆杰在派尔德堡投降了,莱迪史密斯解围了。三月初,罗伯兹勋爵开进了布隆方丹。

这则消息传至伦敦两三天后,马卡利斯特一走进皮克大街那家酒菜馆,就高兴地嚷道,股票交易所的情况大有起色。战火不日就要平息,不出几个星期,罗伯兹就要开进比勒陀利亚,股票行情已经涨了,而且很快就会暴涨。

"好机会来了,"他对菲利普说。"可等到大家都抢购股票就不行了。功败垂成,就在此一举啦!"

马卡利斯特还打听到内部消息。南非的一座矿山的经理给他所在公司的一位高级合伙人打了一份电报,电报中说工厂未受丝毫破坏。他们将尽快复工。那可不是投机,而是一宗投资。为了表明那位高级合伙人也认为形势无限好,马卡利斯特还告诉菲利普,说那位高级合伙人为他两个姐姐各买进了五百股。要不是那个企业跟英格兰银行一样牢靠,他那个人是从不轻易向任何企业投资的。

"鄙人就准备孤注一掷,"马卡利斯特说。

每份股票为二又八分之一至四分之一英镑。马卡利斯特劝菲利普不要太贪心,能涨十先令也该满足了。他自己准备买进三百股,并建议菲利普也买同样数目的股票。他将把股票攥在手里,一有合适的机会便把它们抛售出去。菲利普非常信任马卡利斯特,一方面因为马卡利斯特是个苏格兰人,而苏格兰人办事生来就小心谨慎,另一方面因为上一次他给菲利普赚了些钱。于是,菲利普二话没说,当场认购了同样数目的股票。

"我想我们一定能够抢在交易冻结之前把股票抛售出去,"马卡利斯特说,"万一不行,我就设法把本钱交还给你。"

对菲利普来说,这个办法再好也没有了。你尽可沉住气,直到有利可图时再抛售出去,这样自己永远也不必掏钱。他又开始怀着兴趣浏览报纸上刊登股票交易所消息的专栏。第二天,无论什么都往上涨了一点,马卡利斯特写信来说他不得不用二又四分之一英镑买一股。他说市况坚挺。不过,一两天之后,股票行情有所下跌。南非方面来的消息令人不安,菲利普不无忧虑地看到自己的股票跌了两成。可是马卡利斯特却充满了乐观,他认为布尔人撑不了多长时间,四月中旬以前,罗伯兹将挺进至约翰内斯堡,并为之跟菲利普赌一顶大礼帽。结帐时,菲利普得付出将近四十英镑。这件事把他的心弄得七上八下的,不过他觉得唯一的选择就是咬紧牙关坚持到底:照他的境况来说,这笔损失他可付不起呀。以后的两三个星期内,一点动静都没有。那些布尔人却不愿承认他们打输了,不承认他们目下别无他路只有投降这个结局,事实上,他们还取得了一两次小小的胜利呢。菲利普的股票又下跌了半个克朗。事情很明显,战争还未能结束。人们纷纷抛售手中的股票。在同菲利普见面时,马卡利斯特对前途悲观失望。

"趁损失不大时,赶快撒手这个办法不知是否是个上策。我支付的数目跟我想得到的差额的数目一样儿。"

菲利普郁郁不乐,忧心如焚,夜不成眠。为了要赶到俱乐部阅览室去看报纸,他三口两口就把早饭扒拉下肚。这些日子他早饭只是喝杯茶,吃上几片牛油面包。消息时好时坏,有时干脆什么消息都没有。股票行情不动则已,要动就是往下跌。他惶惶然不知所措。要是现在把股票脱手,那他实实足足要亏损三百五十英镑,这样一来,他手头就只剩有八十英镑维持生活了。他衷心希望当初他不那么傻,不到股票交易所去投机赚钱该有多好啊,尽管如此,目前唯一的办法就是硬硬头皮顶下去。具有决定性意义的事情随时都可能发生,到时候,股票行情又会看涨。眼下,他可没有赚钱的奢望,一心只想弥补自己的亏空。这是他得以在圣路加医院完成学业的唯一机会。夏季学期五月份开学,学期结束时,他将参加助产学的考试。此后,他再学一年就可以结业了。他心里仔仔细细地盘算了一番,只要有一百五十英镑,就足以付学费以及其他一切费用,但是一百五十英镑已经是最低限度的数字了,有了这笔款子,他才能学完全部课程。

三月初的一天,他走进皮克大街那家酒菜馆,一心想在那里碰上马卡利斯特。同他在一起议论战争形势,菲利普觉得内心会稍微宽松一些;当意识到除自己以外还有数不胜数的人们同遭拈据之苦,菲利普便感到自己的痛苦变得不再那么难以忍受了。菲利普走进一看,只见除了海沃德以外,旁人谁也没来。他刚坐下去,海沃德就开口说道:

"星期天,我要乘船去好望角了。"

"真的!"菲利普惊叫了一声。

菲利普万万没想到海沃德会上好望角。医院里也有许多人要出去。政府对凡是取得了当医生资格的人都表示欢迎。其他人出去都是当骑兵,可他们纷纷写信回来说上司一得知他们是医科学生,便把他们分配到医院去工作了。举国上下顿时掀起了一股爱国热浪,社会各阶层的人都纷纷自愿报名奔赴前线。

"你是以什么身分去的?"

"哦,我是去当骑兵的,被编在多塞特义勇骑兵队里。"

菲利普认识海沃德已有八个年头了。他们俩青年时代的那种亲密情谊已消失得无影无踪。那种亲密情谊源于菲利普对一个能够给他谈论文学艺术的人发自内心的敬慕之情。但是取代这种亲密情谊的是礼尚往来的世俗习惯。海沃德在伦敦的时候,他们俩每个星期碰一两次面。海沃德依旧带着一种幽雅、欣赏的口吻谈论着各种各样的书籍,菲利普都听腻了。有时,海沃德的谈吐弄得他怪恼火的。菲利普不再盲目相信世间除了艺术别的都毫无意义的那种陈词滥凋了,还对海沃德轻视实践和不求进取甚为反感。菲利普拿起杯子,晃了晃杯中的混合酒。这当儿,他想起了自己早年对海沃德所怀的友好情谊以及他殷切地期待着海沃德有所作为的事儿。这一切幻想,早已像肥皂泡似的破灭了。他心里明白,海沃德除了夸夸其谈外旁的什么事也成不了。海沃德已是三十五岁的人了,他发觉每年三百英镑的进帐越来越不够开销,可这点钱他年轻时还觉得颇为宽裕的呢。他身上穿的衣服,虽说依然是高级裁缝师缝制的,但穿的时间要长得多了,这在过去他认为是不时能的事。他身材太高大了,那头浅色头发梳理得也不得法,未能遮盖得住秃秃的脑顶心。他那对蓝眼睛浑浊、呆滞。不难看出,他喝酒太多了。

"你怎么想起要上好望角的呢?"菲利普脱口问了一声。

"噢,我也说不清楚,我想我应该这样。"

菲利普缄默不语,感到腌(月赞)极了。他心里明白,海沃德是在一种躁动不安的情感驱使下才上好望角的,而这种情感从何而来,海沃德本人也说不清。他体内有股力量在推着他奔赴前线去为祖国而战。他一向认为爱国热忱不过是一种偏见,又自我标榜笃信世界主义,他一直把英国视作一块流放之地,可又采取目下这一行动,此事简直令人不可思议。他的同胞们伤害了他的感情。菲利普心中不由得纳闷起来,究竟是什么促使人们做出跟他们的人生哲学截然相反的事情来的呢?要是让海沃德脸带微笑地袖手旁观野蛮人互相残杀,似乎显得更合理些。这一切似乎都表明,人们不过是被一种看不见的力量玩弄于股掌之上的傀儡而已,是它在驱使人们做出这样或那样的事情。有时,人们还凭借理智来为其行动辩护,要是做不到这一点,他们干脆悍然不顾理智,一味地蛮干。

"人真是特别,"菲利普说,"我万万没料到你会去当骑兵。"

海沃德微微笑了笑,神色显得有些尴尬,但没有说话。

"昨天我体检过了,"海沃德最后说,"只要知道自己体魄很健全,就是受点ggne,那也还是值得的。"

菲利普发觉,本来完全可以用英语表达的意思,海沃德却矫揉造作地用了个法文字。就在这时候,马卡利斯特一脚走了进来。

"我正想找你,凯里,"他说。"我们那儿的人都不想继续抱着股票不放了,市况很不景气,所以他们都想叫你认兑股票。"

菲利普的心不由得一沉。他知道那样是不行的,因为那样做意味着他得承受一笔损失,但碍于自尊心,他还是操着平稳的语调回答说:

"我不晓得我的想法好还是不好。你还是把股票抛出去算了。"

"嘴上说说倒省劲,我还没有把握能不能把股票卖出去呢。市况萧条,一个买主也找不到哇。"

"对股票的价格已跌到了一又八分之一英镑了哇。"

"噢,是的,不过这也无济于事。就是卖出去也卖不到那个价呀。""

菲利普沉吟了半晌,极力使自己的情绪镇静下来。

"那你的意思是说股票一钱不值罗?"

"哦,我可没这么说。它们当然还是值几个钱的,不过,要知道,眼下没人来买呀。"

"那你一定得把它们抛售出去,能得多少就得多少。"

马卡利斯特眯缝着双眼瞅着菲利普,怀疑他是否被这个坏消息给震懵了。

"实在抱歉,老伙计,不过我们俩是风雨同舟啊。谁料到战争会像这样子拖延下去呢。是我拖累了你,可我自己也搭在里头呀。"

"这没有关系,"菲利普说,"人总是要冒险的嘛。"

菲利普说罢转身回到桌子边的座位上。他刚才是站着跟马卡利斯特说话的。菲利普惊得直发愣,脑瓜突然胀痛欲裂,然而他不想让在座的其他两位认为他懦弱,便又陪着坐了一个小时。不管他们俩说什么,他都发狂似的哈哈大笑。最后他离座告辞了。

"你对待这件事的态度非常冷静,"马卡利斯特在他握手的当儿说,"我想任何一个人损失了三四百英镑都不会像你这样处之泰然。"

一回到那间狭小、简陋的卧室,菲利普便一头扑倒在床上,伤心绝望透顶。他对自己的愚蠢行为非常懊悔。尽管他不住地告诫自己懊悔是荒唐的,因为木已成舟,无法挽回,但是他还是情难自已,悔恨不已。他痛苦极了,怎么也合不上眼。前几年中,他白白地浪费金钱的种种情景,一股脑儿地涌现在他的脑海里。他头疼得仿佛要炸开似的。

第二天傍晚,邮差在递送当天的最后一批邮件时,给他送来了帐单。随即,他翻了翻自己的银行存折,发现付清一切帐目以后,仅落得七个英镑。七个英镑!谢天谢地,他总算还有钱付清这些帐目。要是他不得不告诉马卡利斯特,说自己没钱付帐,那该是多么可怕呀。夏季学期期间,菲利普在眼科病房当敷裹员。他曾从一位学生手里买得一副检眼镜。他还没有付钱呢,但是他又没有勇气去对那位学生说自己不再想买那副检眼镜了。再说,他还得买些书籍。他手头还有五英镑左右。他靠这点钱过了六个星期。随后,他给牧师大伯写了封信,他认为这封信完全是用一种谈公事的口吻写成的。他在信中说,由于战争的缘故,他遭受了重大损大,除非他大伯伸手拉他一把,否则他就不能继续他的学业。他在信中恳请大伯借给他一百五十英镑,在以后一年半中按月寄给他。对这笔钱他将付利息,并许诺在他开始挣钱以后,将逐步偿还本金。他最迟在一年半以后就可以取得当医生的资格了,到那时,他肯定能得到一个周薪为三英镑的助手职位。他大伯回信说他无能为力,并说在眼下一切都跌价的情况下,叫他去变卖些许财产的做法是不道德的。至于他手头现有的几个钱,为了对他本人负责起见,他觉得很有必要仍旧由他保管,以备万一生病时好用。在信写结束的时候,他还稍稍训诫了菲利普几句,说他过去曾一而再、再而三地告诫菲利普,可菲利普只是把他的话当作耳边风。他不能不坦率地说,他对菲利普目下的处境并不感到奇怪。因为他早就认为菲利普花钱一向大手大脚,入不敷出,最后落得这种结局本是在意料之中的。在读信的当儿,菲利普的脸一阵红,一阵白。他不曾料到他大伯竟会拒绝他的请求,顿时火冒三丈。但是,他又满腹惆怅。要是他大伯不肯资助他,他就不能继续呆在医院。突然,一阵恐惧感攫住了他的心。他也顾不得面子不面子了,提笔又给那位布莱克斯泰勃教区牧师写了封信,把他的困境描述得十分窘迫。可是,也许菲利普没有把话说清楚,他大伯并未意识到菲利普究竞困难到何种地步。他在回信中说他不能改变初衷,还说菲利普年已二十有五,也该自己挣饭吃了。他死后,菲利普虽可获得些许财产,但是,即使到那时,他也不愿给菲利普留下一个便士的现钱。菲利普感觉得出,信中字里行间流露出了一个多年来反对过他的所作所为而事实又证明反对正确了的人的得意心请。


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等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 99

Philip began to pawn his clothes. He reduced his expenses by eating only one meal a day beside his breakfast; and he ate it, bread and butter and cocoa, at four so that it should last him till next morning. He was so hungry by nine o'clock that he had to go to bed. He thought of borrowing money from Lawson, but the fear of a refusal held him back; at last he asked him for five pounds. Lawson lent it with pleasure, but, as he did so, said:

    "You'll let me have it back in a week or so, won't you? I've got to pay my framer, and I'm awfully broke just now. "

    Philip knew he would not be able to return it, and the thought of what Lawson would think made him so ashamed that in a couple of days he took the money back untouched. Lawson was just going out to luncheon and asked Philip to come too. Philip could hardly eat, he was so glad to get some solid food. On Sunday he was sure of a good dinner from Athelny. He hesitated to tell the Athelnys what had happened to him: they had always looked upon him as comparatively well-to-do, and he had a dread that they would think less well of him if they knew he was penniless.

    Though he had always been poor, the possibility of not having enough to eat had never occurred to him; it was not the sort of thing that happened to the people among whom he lived; and he was as ashamed as if he had some disgraceful disease. The situation in which he found himself was quite outside the range of his experience. He was so taken aback that he did not know what else to do than to go on at the hospital; he had a vague hope that something would turn up; he could not quite believe that what was happening to him was true; and he remembered how during his first term at school he had often thought his life was a dream from which he would awake to find himself once more at home. But very soon he foresaw that in a week or so he would have no money at all. He must set about trying to earn something at once. If he had been qualified, even with a club-foot, he could have gone out to the Cape, since the demand for medical men was now great. Except for his deformity he might have enlisted in one of the yeomanry regiments which were constantly being sent out. He went to the secretary of the Medical School and asked if he could give him the coaching of some backward student; but the secretary held out no hope of getting him anything of the sort. Philip read the advertisement columns of the medical papers, and he applied for the post of unqualified assistant to a man who had a dispensary in the Fulham Road. When he went to see him, he saw the doctor glance at his club-foot; and on hearing that Philip was only in his fourth year at the hospital he said at once that his experience was insufficient: Philip understood that this was only an excuse; the man would not have an assistant who might not be as active as he wanted. Philip turned his attention to other means of earning money. He knew French and German and thought there might be some chance of finding a job as correspondence clerk; it made his heart sink, but he set his teeth; there was nothing else to do. Though too shy to answer the advertisements which demanded a personal application, he replied to those which asked for letters; but he had no experience to state and no recommendations: he was conscious that neither his German nor his French was commercial; he was ignorant of the terms used in business; he knew neither shorthand nor typewriting. He could not help recognising that his case was hopeless. He thought of writing to the solicitor who had been his father's executor, but he could not bring himself to, for it was contrary to his express advice that he had sold the mortgages in which his money had been invested. He knew from his uncle that Mr. Nixon thoroughly disapproved of him. He had gathered from Philip's year in the accountant's office that he was idle and incompetent.

    "I'd sooner starve, " Philip muttered to himself.

    Once or twice the possibility of suicide presented itself to him; it would be easy to get something from the hospital dispensary, and it was a comfort to think that if the worst came to the worst he had at hand means of making a painless end of himself; but it was not a course that he considered seriously. When Mildred had left him to go with Griffiths his anguish had been so great that he wanted to die in order to get rid of the pain. He did not feel like that now. He remembered that the Casualty Sister had told him how people oftener did away with themselves for want of money than for want of love; and he chuckled when he thought that he was an exception. He wished only that he could talk his worries over with somebody, but he could not bring himself to confess them. He was ashamed. He went on looking for work. He left his rent unpaid for three weeks, explaining to his landlady that he would get money at the end of the month; she did not say anything, but pursed her lips and looked grim. When the end of the month came and she asked if it would be convenient for him to pay something on account, it made him feel very sick to say that he could not; he told her he would write to his uncle and was sure to be able to settle his bill on the following Saturday.

    "Well, I 'ope you will, Mr. Carey, because I 'ave my rent to pay, and I can't afford to let accounts run on. " She did not speak with anger, but with determination that was rather frightening. She paused for a moment and then said: "If you don't pay next Saturday, I shall 'ave to complain to the secretary of the 'ospital. "

    "Oh yes, that'll be all right. "

    She looked at him for a little and glanced round the bare room. When she spoke it was without any emphasis, as though it were quite a natural thing to say.

    "I've got a nice 'ot joint downstairs, and if you like to come down to the kitchen you're welcome to a bit of dinner. "

    Philip felt himself redden to the soles of his feet, and a sob caught at his throat.

    "Thank you very much, Mrs. Higgins, but I'm not at all hungry. "

    "Very good, sir. "

    When she left the room Philip threw himself on his bed. He had to clench his fists in order to prevent himself from crying.



第九十九章

菲利普开始典当衣服。为了紧缩开支,除了早饭,他每天就吃一餐,仅用些面包、奶油和可可。这一餐是在下午四时,这样可以熬到第二天早晨。到了晚上九时,饥肠辘辘,无力支撑,只得上床睡觉。他曾考虑去向劳森告贷,但因害怕吃闭门羹而畏葸不前,最后熬不过,还是去向他借了五英镑。劳森非常乐意借钱给菲利普,不过在借钱的当儿,却说:

"你会在一个星期左右的时间里还给我的,是不?我还得用这个钱去付给我做画框的人的工钱,再说我眼下手头也紧得很哪。"

菲利普深知自己到时根本还不出这笔钱来,但想到劳森不知对自己会有什么看法时,他感到很不好意思。于是,三两天以后,又把这笔钱原封不动地退还给劳森。劳森正要外出吃中饭,见了菲利普便邀请他一道进餐。菲利普根本吃不起什么东西,当然很乐意跟他一道去吃顿像样的饭菜。星期天,他肯定可以在阿特尔涅家吃上一顿美餐。他对是否把自己的事儿告诉阿特尔涅一家有点犹豫不决,因为他们一直认为他颇为殷实,生怕他们一旦知道了他身上不名一文以后会不怎么看重他。

虽说他日子一向过得并不富裕,可他从来不曾想到会落到饿肚子的地步。这种事情是从来不会在跟他生活在一起的人们中间发生的。他感到羞愧难言,就像是患有一种不光彩的疾病似的。他的经验已不足以对付目下所处的困境。他除了继续在医院于下去之外,不知道还能做些什么,对此,他感到不胜惊愕。他有个模糊的希望:事情总会好转的,他不怎么相信眼下发生的事儿会是真的。想当初刚开始上学那会儿,他常常想他的学校生活不过是场梦,一觉醒来就会发觉自己回到了家里的。但是不久,他想到一个星期左右之后他将囊空如洗,一文不名,得赶紧想法子赚些钱。要是早已取得了医生资格,即使拖了只跛足,他还是可以到好望角去,因为当时对医护人员的需求量极大。要不是身有残疾,他兴许早被征入经常被派出国外的义勇骑兵队了。菲利普找到了医学院的秘书,询问是否可以让他辅导智力差的学生,但是那位秘书却说他根本无望做这种事儿。菲利普阅读医学界报纸上的广告栏,发现有个人在富勒姆路上开了爿药房,便去向这个人申请当一名无医生资格的助手。菲利普上门去找那个人洽谈时,发觉那位医生朝他的跛足瞥了一眼。当听到菲利普说自己还是个四年级生,那医生便立即表示他的经验还不够。菲利普心里明白这只是个托辞而已,那个人是不愿录用一位不像他想象中那么灵活的助手的。随后,菲利普把注意力转向其他赚钱的方式。他既懂法文又懂德文,凭这一点,也许能找到个文书的职位。虽然羞于按广告要求预先寄一份个人申请书,但他还是向那些要求出示证件的公司提出了申请。不过他毫无资历可言,也没有人给他推荐。他意识到无论是他的法文还是他的德文,都不足以应付生意经,因为他对商业用语一窍不通,再说他既不会速记也不会打字。他不得不承认自己到了山穷水尽的地步。他考虑给那位作为他父亲遗嘱执行人的律师写封信,但是又终究不敢写,因为他违背了这位律师的明白无误的劝告,把抵押着他的全部财产的契据卖了个精光。菲利普从大伯那儿得知,尼克逊先生一点儿也不喜欢他。尼克逊先生从会计室里得知,菲利普这一年里是既毫无作为又吊儿郎当。

"我宁肯饿死,"菲利普喃喃地自言自语。

有那么一两次,他起了自杀的念头。从医院药房里很容易就可以搞到些毒药,想到这里,他不无欣慰地认为,即使事情到了最坏的地步,他手边就有毫无痛苦地结果自己生命的办法。但是,这件事他压根儿没认真考虑过。当米尔德丽德遗弃他随格里菲思出走时,他悲恸欲绝,真想以一死来了却精神上的痛苦。可眼下他并不像那次一样想寻死觅活的。菲利普记起了急救室那位女护士对他说的一番话。她说,人们更经常的是为无钱而不是为失恋而自杀的。他认为自己倒是个例外。在这当儿,他不禁扑哧一声笑了起来。菲利普多么希望能对人诉说自己满腹的忧虑,但他又不能让自己把这些忧虑和盘托出。他感到难为情。他继续外出寻找工作。他已经三个星期未付房租了,对房东太太解释说他到月底才能得到笔钱。房东太太听后没有做声,只是噘起了嘴巴,脸上冷若冰霜。到了月底,房东太太跑来询问菲利普,说让他先付些房租这种做法是否适宜。房东太太的话使他感到一阵恶心。他说手头无钱,付不出房租,但他告诉房东太太,说他将写信给他大伯,下星期六他肯定能够结清积欠的赁金。

"嗯,我希望你能结清欠帐,凯里先生,因为我自己也得交房租呀,我可无法老是让帐拖欠下去。"她说话时虽说语气平和,但话中夹带着一种使人发憷的斩钉截铁的味儿。她顿了顿后又说:"下星期六你再不付房租,我可要去向医院秘书告状了。"

"喔,会付的,你就放心吧。"

房东太太瞧了他一会儿,随即朝空荡荡的房间扫视了一眼。等她再次启口时,仍然口气平平,语调平缓,仿佛是在说一件最平淡无奇的事儿似的。

"我楼下有块热乎乎、香喷喷的大块肉,如果你愿意到楼下厨房去的话,我欢迎你来分享这顿午饭。"

菲利普顿时感到自己浑身燥热,羞得无地自容,差一点没哭出声来。

"太谢谢您了,希金斯太太,不过我现在一点儿也不觉得饿。"

"那好,先生。"

房东太太一走,菲利普猛地扑倒在床上,使劲握紧双拳,竭力克制住不让自己哭出声来。

wj宝宝

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等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 100

Saturday. It was the day on which he had promised to pay his landlady. He had been expecting something to turn up all through the week. He had found no work. He had never been driven to extremities before, and he was so dazed that he did not know what to do. He had at the back of his mind a feeling that the whole thing was a preposterous joke. He had no more than a few coppers left, he had sold all the clothes he could do without; he had some books and one or two odds and ends upon which he might have got a shilling or two, but the landlady was keeping an eye on his comings and goings: he was afraid she would stop him if he took anything more from his room. The only thing was to tell her that he could not pay his bill. He had not the courage. It was the middle of June. The night was fine and warm. He made up his mind to stay out. He walked slowly along the Chelsea Embankment, because the river was restful and quiet, till he was tired, and then sat on a bench and dozed. He did not know how long he slept; he awoke with a start, dreaming that he was being shaken by a policeman and told to move on; but when he opened his eyes he found himself alone. He walked on, he did not know why, and at last came to Chiswick, where he slept again. Presently the hardness of the bench roused him. The night seemed very long. He shivered. He was seized with a sense of his misery; and he did not know what on earth to do: he was ashamed at having slept on the Embankment; it seemed peculiarly humiliating, and he felt his cheeks flush in the darkness. He remembered stories he had heard of those who did and how among them were officers, clergymen, and men who had been to universities: he wondered if he would become one of them, standing in a line to get soup from a charitable institution. It would be much better to commit suicide. He could not go on like that: Lawson would help him when he knew what straits he was in; it was absurd to let his pride prevent him from asking for assistance. He wondered why he had come such a cropper. He had always tried to do what he thought best, and everything had gone wrong. He had helped people when he could, he did not think he had been more selfish than anyone else, it seemed horribly unjust that he should be reduced to such a pass.

    But it was no good thinking about it. He walked on. It was now light: the river was beautiful in the silence, and there was something mysterious in the early day; it was going to be very fine, and the sky, pale in the dawn, was cloudless. He felt very tired, and hunger was gnawing at his entrails, but he could not sit still; he was constantly afraid of being spoken to by a policeman. He dreaded the mortification of that. He felt dirty and wished he could have a wash. At last he found himself at Hampton Court. He felt that if he did not have something to eat he would cry. He chose a cheap eating-house and went in; there was a smell of hot things, and it made him feel slightly sick: he meant to eat something nourishing enough to keep up for the rest of the day, but his stomach revolted at the sight of food. He had a cup of tea and some bread and butter. He remembered then that it was Sunday and he could go to the Athelnys; he thought of the roast beef and the Yorkshire pudding they would eat; but he was fearfully tired and could not face the happy, noisy family. He was feeling morose and wretched. He wanted to be left alone. He made up his mind that he would go into the gardens of the palace and lie down. His bones ached. Perhaps he would find a pump so that he could wash his hands and face and drink something; he was very thirsty; and now that he was no longer hungry he thought with pleasure of the flowers and the lawns and the great leafy trees. He felt that there he could think out better what he must do. He lay on the grass, in the shade, and lit his pipe. For economy's sake he had for a long time confined himself to two pipes a day; he was thankful now that his pouch was full. He did not know what people did when they had no money. Presently he fell asleep. When he awoke it was nearly mid-day, and he thought that soon he must be setting out for London so as to be there in the early morning and answer any advertisements which seemed to promise. He thought of his uncle, who had told him that he would leave him at his death the little he had; Philip did not in the least know how much this was: it could not be more than a few hundred pounds. He wondered whether he could raise money on the reversion. Not without the old man's consent, and that he would never give.

    "The only thing I can do is to hang on somehow till he dies. "

    Philip reckoned his age. The Vicar of Blackstable was well over seventy. He had chronic bronchitis, but many old men had that and lived on indefinitely. Meanwhile something must turn up; Philip could not get away from the feeling that his position was altogether abnormal; people in his particular station did not starve. It was because he could not bring himself to believe in the reality of his experience that he did not give way to utter despair. He made up his mind to borrow half a sovereign from Lawson. He stayed in the garden all day and smoked when he felt very hungry; he did not mean to eat anything until he was setting out again for London: it was a long way and he must keep up his strength for that. He started when the day began to grow cooler, and slept on benches when he was tired. No one disturbed him. He had a wash and brush up, and a shave at Victoria, some tea and bread and butter, and while he was eating this read the advertisement columns of the morning paper. As he looked down them his eye fell upon an announcement asking for a salesman in the `furnishing drapery' department of some well-known stores. He had a curious little sinking of the heart, for with his middle-class prejudices it seemed dreadful to go into a shop; but he shrugged his shoulders, after all what did it matter? and he made up his mind to have a shot at it. He had a queer feeling that by accepting every humiliation, by going out to meet it even, he was forcing the hand of fate. When he presented himself, feeling horribly shy, in the department at nine o'clock he found that many others were there before him. They were of all ages, from boys of sixteen to men of forty; some were talking to one another in undertones, but most were silent; and when he took up his place those around him gave him a look of hostility. He heard one man say:

    "The only thing I look forward to is getting my refusal soon enough to give me time to look elsewhere. "

    The man, standing next him, glanced at Philip and asked:

    "Had any experience?"

    "No, " said Philip.

    He paused a moment and then made a remark: "Even the smaller houses won't see you without appointment after lunch. "

    Philip looked at the assistants. Some were draping chintzes and cretonnes, and others, his neighbour told him were preparing country orders that had come in by post. At about a quarter past nine the buyer arrived. He heard one of the men who were waiting say to another that it was Mr. Gibbons. He was middle-aged, short and corpulent, with a black beard and dark, greasy hair. He had brisk movements and a clever face. He wore a silk hat and a frock coat, the lapel of which was adorned with a white geranium surrounded by leaves. He went into his office, leaving the door open; it was very small and contained only an American roll-desk in the corner, a bookcase, and a cupboard. The men standing outside watched him mechanically take the geranium out of his coat and put it in an ink-pot filled with water. It was against the rules to wear flowers in business.

    [During the day the department men who wanted to keep in with the governor admired the flower.

    "I've never seen better, " they said, "you didn't grow it yourself?"

    "Yes I did, " he smiled, and a gleam of pride filled his intelligent eyes. ]

    He took off his hat and changed his coat, glanced at the letters and then at the men who were waiting to see him. He made a slight sign with one finger, and the first in the queue stepped into the office. They filed past him one by one and answered his questions. He put them very briefly, keeping his eyes fixed on the applicant's face.

    "Age? Experience? Why did you leave your job?"

    He listened to the replies without expression. When it came to Philip's turn he fancied that Mr. Gibbons stared at him curiously. Philip's clothes were neat and tolerably cut. He looked a little different from the others.

    "Experience?"

    "I'm afraid I haven't any, " said Philip.

    "No good. "

    Philip walked out of the office. The ordeal had been so much less painful than he expected that he felt no particular disappointment. He could hardly hope to succeed in getting a place the first time he tried. He had kept the newspaper and now looked at the advertisements again: a shop in Holborn needed a salesman too, and he went there; but when he arrived he found that someone had already been engaged. If he wanted to get anything to eat that day he must go to Lawson's studio before he went out to luncheon, so he made his way along the Brompton Road to Yeoman's Row.

    "I say, I'm rather broke till the end of the month, " he said as soon as he found an opportunity. "I wish you'd lend me half a sovereign, will you?"

    It was incredible the difficulty he found in asking for money; and he remembered the casual way, as though almost they were conferring a favour, men at the hospital had extracted small sums out of him which they had no intention of repaying.

    "Like a shot, " said Lawson.

    But when he put his hand in his pocket he found that he had only eight shillings. Philip's heart sank.

    "Oh well, lend me five bob, will you?" he said lightly.

    "Here you are. "

    Philip went to the public baths in Westminster and spent sixpence on a bath. Then he got himself something to eat. He did not know what to do with himself in the afternoon. He would not go back to the hospital in case anyone should ask him questions, and besides, he had nothing to do there now; they would wonder in the two or three departments he had worked in why he did not come, but they must think what they chose, it did not matter: he would not be the first student who had dropped out without warning. He went to the free library, and looked at the papers till they wearied him, then he took out Stevenson's New Arabian Nights; but he found he could not read: the words meant nothing to him, and he continued to brood over his helplessness. He kept on thinking the same things all the time, and the fixity of his thoughts made his head ache. At last, craving for fresh air, he went into the Green Park and lay down on the grass. He thought miserably of his deformity, which made it impossible for him to go to the war. He went to sleep and dreamt that he was suddenly sound of foot and out at the Cape in a regiment of Yeomanry; the pictures he had looked at in the illustrated papers gave materials for his fancy; and he saw himself on the Veldt, in khaki, sitting with other men round a fire at night. When he awoke he found that it was still quite light, and presently he heard Big Ben strike seven. He had twelve hours to get through with nothing to do. He dreaded the interminable night. The sky was overcast and he feared it would rain; he would have to go to a lodging-house where he could get a bed; he had seen them advertised on lamps outside houses in Lambeth: Good Beds sixpence; he had never been inside one, and dreaded the foul smell and the vermin. He made up his mind to stay in the open air if he possibly could. He remained in the park till it was closed and then began to walk about. He was very tired. The thought came to him that an accident would be a piece of luck, so that he could be taken to a hospital and lie there, in a clean bed, for weeks. At midnight he was so hungry that he could not go without food any more, so he went to a coffee stall at Hyde Park Corner and ate a couple of potatoes and had a cup of coffee. Then he walked again. He felt too restless to sleep, and he had a horrible dread of being moved on by the police. He noted that he was beginning to look upon the constable from quite a new angle. This was the third night he had spent out. Now and then he sat on the benches in Piccadilly and towards morning he strolled down to The Embankment. He listened to the striking of Big Ben, marking every quarter of an hour, and reckoned out how long it left till the city woke again. In the morning he spent a few coppers on making himself neat and clean, bought a paper to read the advertisements, and set out once more on the search for work.

    He went on in this way for several days. He had very little food and began to feel weak and ill, so that he had hardly enough energy to go on looking for the work which seemed so desperately hard to find. He was growing used now to the long waiting at the back of a shop on the chance that he would be taken on, and the curt dismissal. He walked to all parts of London in answer to the advertisements, and he came to know by sight men who applied as fruitlessly as himself. One or two tried to make friends with him, but he was too tired and too wretched to accept their advances. He did not go any more to Lawson, because he owed him five shillings. He began to be too dazed to think clearly and ceased very much to care what would happen to him. He cried a good deal. At first he was very angry with himself for this and ashamed, but he found it relieved him, and somehow made him feel less hungry. In the very early morning he suffered a good deal from cold. One night he went into his room to change his linen; he slipped in about three, when he was quite sure everyone would be asleep, and out again at five; he lay on the bed and its softness was enchanting; all his bones ached, and as he lay he revelled in the pleasure of it; it was so delicious that he did not want to go to sleep. He was growing used to want of food and did not feel very hungry, but only weak. Constantly now at the back of his mind was the thought of doing away with himself, but he used all the strength he had not to dwell on it, because he was afraid the temptation would get hold of him so that he would not be able to help himself. He kept on saying to himself that it would be absurd to commit suicide, since something must happen soon; he could not get over the impression that his situation was too preposterous to be taken quite seriously; it was like an illness which must be endured but from which he was bound to recover. Every night he swore that nothing would induce him to put up with such another and determined next morning to write to his uncle, or to Mr. Nixon, the solicitor, or to Lawson; but when the time came he could not bring himself to make the humiliating confession of his utter failure. He did not know how Lawson would take it. In their friendship Lawson had been scatter-brained and he had prided himself on his common sense. He would have to tell the whole history of his folly. He had an uneasy feeling that Lawson, after helping him, would turn the cold shoulder on him. His uncle and the solicitor would of course do something for him, but he dreaded their reproaches. He did not want anyone to reproach him: he clenched his teeth and repeated that what had happened was inevitable just because it had happened. Regret was absurd.

    The days were unending, and the five shillings Lawson had lent him would not last much longer. Philip longed for Sunday to come so that he could go to Athelny's. He did not know what prevented him from going there sooner, except perhaps that he wanted so badly to get through on his own; for Athelny, who had been in straits as desperate, was the only person who could do anything for him. Perhaps after dinner he could bring himself to tell Athelny that he was in difficulties. Philip repeated to himself over and over again what he should say to him. He was dreadfully afraid that Athelny would put him off with airy phrases: that would be so horrible that he wanted to delay as long as possible the putting of him to the test. Philip had lost all confidence in his fellows.

    Saturday night was cold and raw. Philip suffered horribly. From midday on Saturday till he dragged himself wearily to Athelny's house he ate nothing. He spent his last twopence on Sunday morning on a wash and a brush up in the lavatory at Charing Cross.



第一百章

星期六。菲利普曾答应房东太太在这一天缴纳房租。一个星期来,他天天引颈期待着什么新情况出现,结果什么工作也没找着。他可从未沦入这般绝望的境地,因而不觉茫然,束手无策。他内心里总认为这一切是个荒谬绝伦的玩笑。他身边只有几枚铜币,凡是用不着穿的衣服都典卖光了。他的住处还有几本书和一些零星什物,兴许还可以卖一两个先令。可是,房东太太却虎视眈眈地望着他的一举一动,他生怕自己从住处拿东西出来时遭到房东太太的阻截。唯一的办法就是直截了当地告诉房东太太,说他缴不起房租,可他又役有这么个勇气。眼下是六月中旬,夜晚倒还温暖宜人。于是,菲利普决定在外过夜。他沿着切尔西长堤缓步而行,那河面一平如镜,无声无息。最后,他走累了,便坐在一张长条椅上打个盹儿。他蓦地从梦中惊醒过来,不知自己睡了多久。他梦见一位警察把他推醒,催逼着他继续往前走。但是,他张开眼皮一看,发觉身边并无旁人。不知怎么的,他又抬步朝前走去,最后来到奇齐克,在那儿又睡了一觉。长条椅硬撅撅的,睡得很不舒服,不多时他便醒了。这一夜似乎特别的长。他不禁打了个寒颤。一股凄苦之情爬上了他的心头,不知究竟怎么办才好。他为自己竟在长堤上过夜而感到害臊,觉得这件事似乎特别丢脸。坐在暗地里,他直觉得双颊阵阵发烫。此刻,他回想起那些从前亦有过此番经历的人们对他讲的话来,而那些人中间,有的还是当牧师、军官的,还有曾经念过大学的哩。他暗自纳闷,自己是否也会成为他们中间的一员,去加入那列排在慈善机关前面的队伍中去,等着施舍一碗汤喝。与其如此,倒不如以自杀了此残生,他可不能像那样子苟且偷生。劳森要是得知他落到这般田地,肯定会向他伸出援助之手的。为了顾全面子而不去恳求帮助,这种做法是荒唐的。他真弄不懂自己怎么会堕入这般凄惨的境地的。他一向审时度势,总是尽力去做自己认为是最好的事情,可眼下一切都乱了套。他总是力所能及地帮助别人,并不认为他比其他任何人来得更为自私,可如今他却陷入了这种困厄的境地,事情似乎太不公平了。

但是,尽坐着空想又顶什么事呢。他继续朝前走着。此时,晨光熹微,万籁俱寂,那条河显得优美极了,四周似乎弥漫着一种神秘莫测的气氛。这天定是个好天,黎明时的颖穹,白苍苍的,无一丝云彩。菲利普感到心力交瘁,饥饿在啮蚀着五脏六腑,但又不能定下心来坐着歇息,因为他一直在担心会受到警察的盘洁。他可受不了那种耻辱。他发觉自己身上很脏,很希望能洗上一把澡。最后,他来到汉普顿宫,感到要不吃点东西填填肚子,准会哇地哭出声来。于是,他选了家下等馆子走了进去。馆子热气腾腾,使得他有点儿恶心。他本打算吃些富有营养的食物,以维持以后几天的日子,但一看见食物,却又不住地反胃。他只喝了杯茶,吃了些涂黄油的面包。此刻,他记起了这天是星期天,他满可以上阿特尔涅家去,他们家可能会吃烤牛肉和富有约克郡地方风味的布丁。但是他疲惫个堪,无力面对那幸福的、喧嚷的家庭。他愁眉不展,心情讲透了,只想自个儿呆在一个地方。于是,他决定走进汉普顿宫内花园里去,静静地躺一会儿。他浑身骨头疼痛不已。或许,他可以找到个水泵房,这样就可以洗洗脸和手,还可以喝它几口,因为此刻他渴得嗓子眼里直冒烟。眼下肚子泡了,他又饶有情趣地想起了鲜花、草坪和婷婷如盖的大树来了,觉得在那样的环境下,可以更好地为今后作出谋划。他嘴里叼着烟斗,仰面躺在绿荫下的草坪上。为了节省起见,很长一段时间以来,他每天只准自己抽两袋烟。看着烟斗里还能装满烟丝,一股感激之情从心底涌泛上来。别人身无分文时是怎么样打发日子的,他可不知道。不一会儿,他酣然入梦了。一觉醒来,已是中午时分。他想,呆不了多久,就得动身去伦敦,争取次日凌晨赶到那儿,去应对那些有所作为的招聘广告。菲利普想起了牧师大伯,他曾许诺死后把他的些许财产留给自己的。这笔遗产的数目究竟有多大,菲利普毫无所知:至多不过几百英镑罢了。他不知道能否去提他即将继承的这笔钱财。唉,不经那老东西的同意,这笔钱是提不出来的,而他大伯眼睛不闭是永远不会撒手的。

"我唯一能做的就是耐心等待,等到他死!"

菲利普盘算起他大伯的年龄来。那位布莱克斯泰勃教区牧师早过了古稀之年,还患有慢性支气管炎。可许多老人都身患同样的疾病,却一个个抱住尘世不放,死期还遥遥无期呢。不过在这期间,总会有什么新情况出现的。菲利普总觉得他的境况有些反常,人们处在他特殊的位子上是决计不会挨饿的。正因为他不愿相信他目下的境况是真的,所以他并不失望。他打定主意,去向劳森先借上半个英镑。菲利普一整天呆在汉普顿宫内花园里,肚子饿了就抽上几口烟,不到动身去伦敦的时候,他不去吃东西,因为那段路还不短哩,他得为走完这段路程而养精蓄锐。天气转凉以后,他才动身朝伦敦走去,走累了,就在路边的长条椅上躺上一会儿。一路上没有一个人打扰他。到了维多利亚大街,他梳洗整容了一番,喝了杯茶,吃了点涂黄油的面包。吃东西的当儿,他浏览着晨报上的广告栏,目光停留在几家遐迩闻名的公司的装饰织品部招聘售货员的广告上。他的心不由得莫名其妙地变得有些儿沉重。囿于中产阶段的偏见,他觉得踏进商店去当售货员怪丢人现眼的,但他耸了耸双肩。说到底,这又有什么要紧的呢?他决定去试它一试。菲利普不觉诧异起来,觉得自己对每一次遭受的耻辱都逆来顺受,甚至还堂而皇之地迎上前去,就像是在胁迫命运同自己摊牌似的。他怀着难言的羞赧心情,于九时来到装饰织品部。这时,他发现已经有许多人赶在自己的头里先到了。他们中间从十六岁的少年到四十岁的成年男子各种年龄的人都有。有几个人压低了声音在交谈着,但大多数都缄默不语。菲利普站进队伍里的时候,周围的人都向他投来充满敌意的一瞥。这当儿,他听到有个人在说:

"我盼只盼早点通知我落选的消息,这样我好及时到别处去找工作。"

站在身后的那个人朝菲利普瞥了一眼,随即问了一句:

"您过去做过这种工作吗?"

"没做过。"

那个人顿了顿后便接着说道:"吃过了午饭,即使是小客栈,未经事先预订房间,也是不会接待你的。"

菲利普两眼望着那些店员,只见有的在忙着悬挂擦光印花布和印花装饰布,还有的人呢,他听身边的人介绍说,他们是在整理从乡间邮来的订货单。约莫九点一刻的光景,经理到了。他听到队伍里有人告诉另一个人说这位就是吉本斯先生。此人中年模样,矮矮胖胖的,蓄着浓密的胡子。深色的头发,油光可鉴。他动作轻快,脸上一副精明相。他头上戴了顶丝绸质地的帽子,身上着了一件礼服大衣,翻领上别了朵绿叶簇拥着的洁白的天竺葵。他径直走进办公室,让门敞开着。那间办公室很小,角落里摆着一张美国式的有活动顶板的书桌,此外,就是一个书橱和一个柜子。站在门外的人望着吉本斯先生慢条斯理地从大衣翻领上取下天竺葵,把它插入盛满水的墨水瓶里。据说上班时别花是违反规定的。

(这天上班时间,店员们为了讨好他们的顶头上司,一个个竞相赞美那枝天竺葵。

"我这辈子还从没见过比这更美的花儿呢,"他们争先恐后地说。"总不会是你自个儿种的吧?"

"是我自个儿种的,"吉本斯先生说着,脸上笑容可掬,那对聪慧的眼睛里流露出一丝自豪的光芒。)

吉本斯先生摘下帽子,换下礼服大衣后,瞟了一眼桌上的信件,随后又朝站在门外的那些人瞥了一眼。他微微弯了弯手指,打了个手势,于是站在队伍里的第一个人便进了他的办公室。这些人一个挨着一个打他面前走过,回答着他的发问。他问得很简短,在发问的当儿,两眼死死地盯视着应试人员的脸孔。

"年龄?经历?你为什么离开你以前的工作?"

他脸上毫无表情地听着别人的答话。轮到菲利普时,菲利普觉得吉本斯先生用一种异样的眼光凝视着他。这天菲利普穿着整洁,衣服裁剪得还算贴身,显得有些儿与众不同。

"有何经历?"

"对不起,我从没干过这类工作,"菲利普答道。

"那不行。"

菲利普走出了办公室,此番经历并没有给他带来比想象的更为剧烈的痛苦,所以他也不觉得特别难受。他不可能存有一下子就能找到职位的奢望。此时,他手里还拿着那张报纸,便又在广告栏里找开了。他发现霍尔本地区有爿商店也在招聘一名售货员。可是,到那儿一看,这一职位已经给人占了。这一天他还想吃东西的话,那就得赶在劳森外出用餐之前到达劳森的画室。他沿着布朗普顿路信步朝自由民街走去。

"喂,月底之前,我手头一个钱也没有了,"菲利普一有机会便对劳森说。"我希望你能借给我半个英镑,好吗?"

他发现开口向别人借钱可真难哪。此时,他回想起医院里有些人向他借钱时的那种漫不经心的样子来,他们从他手里借走钱,非但无意归还,而且看上去还像是他们在赐予他恩典似的。

"非常乐意,"劳森说。

可是,劳森把手伸进口袋掏钱时,发觉自己总共才有八个先令。菲利普的心一下子凉了半截。

"嗯,呃,那就借给我五个先令吧,好吗?"他轻轻地说道。

"喏,给你五先令。"

菲利普来到威斯敏斯特一家公共浴室,花了六便士洗了个澡。然后,他买了点食物填了填肚子。他自己也不知道如何打发这天下午的时光。他不愿再回到医院去,生怕被人撞见问这问那的,再说,眼下那儿也没他干的事了。他曾经呆过的两三个科室里的人对他的不露面兴许会感到纳闷,不过他们爱怎么想就怎么想吧,反正他也不是第一个不告而别的人。他来到免费图书馆,借了几张报纸看起来,看腻了就抽出史蒂文森的《新天方夜谭》。但是,他发觉一个字也看不进去。书上写的对他来说毫无意思,因为他还在不停地考虑着他眼下困厄的境地。他脑子里翻来复去地考虑着同样的问题,头都胀了。后来,他渴望着吸口新鲜空气,便从图书馆出来,来到格林公园,仰天躺在草坪上。他怏怏不乐地想起了自己的残疾,正因为自己是个跛子,才没能上前线去打仗。他渐渐进入了梦乡,梦见自己的脚突然变好了,远离祖国来到好望角的骑兵团队。他在报纸上的插图里看到的一切为他的想象添上了翅膀。他看到自己在费尔德特,身穿卡其军服,夜间同旁人一道围坐在篝火旁。他醒来时,发觉天色尚早,不一会儿,耳边传来议院塔上的大钟当当接连敲了七下。他还得百无聊赖地打发余下的十二个小时呢,他特别害怕那漫漫的长夜。天上阴云密布,他担心天快下雨了。这样,他得上寄宿舍去租张铺过夜。他曾在兰佩思那儿看到寄宿舍门前的灯罩上亮着的广告:床铺舒适,六便士一个铺位。可他从来没进去住过,而且也怕那里面的令人作呕的气味和虫子。他打定主意,只要天公作美,就在外头宿夜。他在公园里一直呆到清园闭门,然后才起身到处溜达。眼下,他感到疲惫不堪。蓦然间,他想要是能碰上个事故,兴许倒是个好运气。那样的话,他就可以被送进医院,在干干净净的床铺上躺上几个星期。子夜时分,他饥饿实在难忍,于是便上海德公园拐角处吃了几片马铃薯,喝了杯咖啡。接着,他又到处游荡。他内心烦躁不安,毫无睡意,而且生怕遇上警察来催促他不停地往前走。他注意到自己渐渐地从一个新的角度来看待那些警察了。这是他在外露宿的第三个夜晚了。他不时地坐在皮卡迪利大街上的长条凳上小歇一会,破晓时分,便信步朝切尔西长堤踅去。他谛听着议院塔上的大钟的当当钟声,每过一刻钟便做个记号,心里盘算着还得呆多久城市才能苏醒过来。早晨,他花了几枚铜币梳洗打扮了一番,买了张报纸浏览上面的广告栏的消息,接着便动身继续去寻找工作。

接连数日,他都是这样度过的。他进食很少,渐渐觉得浑身懒洋洋的,软弱无力,再也打不起精神去寻找工作,而要找到工作看上去确比登天还难。他抱着能被录取的一线希望,久久地等待在商店的门口,却被人家三言两语就打发走了。对此,他也慢慢地习以为常了。他瞧着招聘广告的说明,按图索骥,跑遍了整个伦敦去寻求工作。可是没多久,他发现一些面熟的人也同他一样一无所获。他们中间有那么一两个人想同他交个朋友,可是他疲倦不堪,没精打采的,也懒得接受他们的友好表示。以后他再也没有去找过劳森,因为他还欠劳森五个先令未还呢。近来,他成天公头昏眼花,脑子也不好使,对以后他究竟会落得个什么结局,他也不怎么介意了。他经常哭泣,起初他还不住地生自己的气,觉得怪丢人的,可后来他发觉哭了一场,心里反而觉得好受些了,至少使得他感到肚子也不怎么饿了。凌晨时分,寒风刺骨,他可遭罪了。一天深夜,他溜进寓所去换了换内衣。约莫凌晨三点光景,他断定这时屋内的人们还在酣睡,便悄然无声地溜进了房间,又于早上五点偷偷地溜了出来。在这期间,他仰卧在柔软的床铺上,心里着实痛快。此时,他浑身骨头阵阵酸痛。他静静地躺在床上,扬扬得意地领略着这番乐趣,感到惬意至极,怎么也睡不着。他对食不果腹的日子慢慢习惯了,倒也不大觉得肚子饿,只是觉得浑身无力而已。眼下,他脑海里常常掠过自杀的念头,但是他竭尽全力不让自己去想这个问题,生怕自杀的念头一旦占了上风,他就无法控制住自己。他一再默默地告诫自己,自杀的举动是荒唐的,因为要不了多久,他就会时来运转的。他说什么也摆脱不了这样的印象:他眼下所处的困境显得太荒谬,因此他根本就没有把它当真。他认为这好比是一场他不得不忍受的疾病,但最后终究是会从这场疾病中康复过来的。每天夜里,他都赌咒,发誓,无论什么力量都不能使他再忍受一次这样的打击,并决心次日早晨给他大伯和律师尼克逊先生,或者劳森写封信。可是到了第二天早晨,他怎么也不想低三下四地向他们承认自己的失败。他不清楚劳森知道了他的情况后会有何反应。在他们的友好交往中,劳森一向是轻率浮躁的,而他却为自己略通世故人情而感到自豪。他将不得不把自己的愚蠢行为向劳森和盘托出。在接济了他一次以后,劳森很可能会让他吃闭门羹,对此,菲利普心里惴惴不安。至于他的大伯和那位律师,他们肯定会有所表示的,不过,他怕他们会呵斥自己,而他自己可不愿受任何人的呵斥。他咬紧牙关,心里不住地默默念叨着:事情既然发生了,那就是不可避免的了,懊恼是荒唐可笑的。

这样的日子过了一天又一天,可劳森借给他的五先令却维持不了多久。菲利普殷切期盼着星期肾快快到来,这样,他就可以上阿特尔涅家去。究竟是什么阻拦他迟迟不去阿特尔涅家的,菲利普自己也说不清楚,兴许是他想独自熬过这一难关的缘故吧。虽说阿特尔涅家道艰难,过着捉襟见肘的日子,可眼下也只有阿特尔涅能够为他排难解闷了。或许在吃过午饭后,他可以把自己的难处告诉给阿特尔涅。他嘴里不断地念叨着他要对阿特尔涅说的话。他十分担心阿特尔涅会说些惠而不实的漂亮话来打发他,要是那样的话,他可真受不了。因此,他想尽可能地拖延时间,迟一点让自己去尝那种遭人冷遇的苦味。此时,菲利普对他的伙伴都丧失了信心。

星期六的夜晚,又湿又冷。菲利普吃足了苦头。从星期六中午起直到他拖着疲乏的步子上阿特尔涅家这段时间里,他粒米未吃,滴水未进。星期天早晨,他在查里恩十字广场的盥洗室里花去了身上仅剩的两便士,梳洗了一番。

restlin

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