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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青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 58

Philip woke early next morning, and his first thought was of Mildred. It struck him that he might meet her at Victoria Station and walk with her to the shop. He shaved quickly, scrambled into his clothes, and took a bus to the station. He was there by twenty to eight and watched the incoming trains. Crowds poured out of them, clerks and shop-people at that early hour, and thronged up the platform: they hurried along, sometimes in pairs, here and there a group of girls, but more often alone. They were white, most of them, ugly in the early morning, and they had an abstracted look; the younger ones walked lightly, as though the cement of the platform were pleasant to tread, but the others went as though impelled by a machine: their faces were set in an anxious frown.

At last Philip saw Mildred, and he went up to her eagerly.

‘Good-morning,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d come and see how you were after last night.’

She wore an old brown ulster and a sailor hat. It was very clear that she was not pleased to see him.

‘Oh, I’m all right. I haven’t got much time to waste.’

‘D’you mind if I walk down Victoria Street with you?’

‘I’m none too early. I shall have to walk fast,’ she answered, looking down at Philip’s club-foot.

He turned scarlet.

‘I beg your pardon. I won’t detain you.’

‘You can please yourself.’

She went on, and he with a sinking heart made his way home to breakfast. He hated her. He knew he was a fool to bother about her; she was not the sort of woman who would ever care two straws for him, and she must look upon his deformity with distaste. He made up his mind that he would not go in to tea that afternoon, but, hating himself, he went. She nodded to him as he came in and smiled.

‘I expect I was rather short with you this morning,’ she said. ‘You see, I didn’t expect you, and it came like a surprise.’

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter at all.’

He felt that a great weight had suddenly been lifted from him. He was infinitely grateful for one word of kindness.

‘Why don’t you sit down?’ he asked. ‘Nobody’s wanting you just now.’

‘I don’t mind if I do.’

He looked at her, but could think of nothing to say; he racked his brains anxiously, seeking for a remark which should keep her by him; he wanted to tell her how much she meant to him; but he did not know how to make love now that he loved in earnest.

‘Where’s your friend with the fair moustache? I haven’t seen him lately"

‘Oh, he’s gone back to Birmingham. He’s in business there. He only comes up to London every now and again.’

‘Is he in love with you?’

‘You’d better ask him,’ she said, with a laugh. ‘I don’t know what it’s got to do with you if he is.’

A bitter answer leaped to his tongue, but he was learning self-restraint.

‘I wonder why you say things like that,’ was all he permitted himself to say.

She looked at him with those indifferent eyes of hers.

‘It looks as if you didn’t set much store on me,’ he added.

‘Why should I?’

‘No reason at all.’

He reached over for his paper.

‘You are quick-tempered,’ she said, when she saw the gesture. ‘You do take offence easily.’

He smiled and looked at her appealingly.

‘Will you do something for me?’ he asked.

‘That depends what it is.’

‘Let me walk back to the station with you tonight.’

‘I don’t mind.’

He went out after tea and went back to his rooms, but at eight o’clock, when the shop closed, he was waiting outside.

‘You are a caution,’ she said, when she came out. ‘I don’t understand you.’

‘I shouldn’t have thought it was very difficult,’ he answered bitterly.

‘Did any of the girls see you waiting for me?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t care.’

‘They all laugh at you, you know. They say you’re spoony on me.’

‘Much you care,’ he muttered.

‘Now then, quarrelsome.’

At the station he took a ticket and said he was going to accompany her home.

‘You don’t seem to have much to do with your time,’ she said.

‘I suppose I can waste it in my own way.’

They seemed to be always on the verge of a quarrel. The fact was that he hated himself for loving her. She seemed to be constantly humiliating him, and for each snub that he endured he owed her a grudge. But she was in a friendly mood that evening, and talkative: she told him that her parents were dead; she gave him to understand that she did not have to earn her living, but worked for amusement.

‘My aunt doesn’t like my going to business. I can have the best of everything at home. I don’t want you to think I work because I need to.’ Philip knew that she was not speaking the truth. The gentility of her class made her use this pretence to avoid the stigma attached to earning her living.

‘My family’s very well-connected,’ she said.

Philip smiled faintly, and she noticed it.

‘What are you laughing at?’ she said quickly. ‘Don’t you believe I’m telling you the truth?’

‘Of course I do,’ he answered.

She looked at him suspiciously, but in a moment could not resist the temptation to impress him with the splendour of her early days.

‘My father always kept a dog-cart, and we had three servants. We had a cook and a housemaid and an odd man. We used to grow beautiful roses. People used to stop at the gate and ask who the house belonged to, the roses were so beautiful. Of course it isn’t very nice for me having to mix with them girls in the shop, it’s not the class of person I’ve been used to, and sometimes I really think I’ll give up business on that account. It’s not the work I mind, don’t think that; but it’s the class of people I have to mix with.’

They were sitting opposite one another in the train, and Philip, listening sympathetically to what she said, was quite happy. He was amused at her naivete and slightly touched. There was a very faint colour in her cheeks. He was thinking that it would be delightful to kiss the tip of her chin.

‘The moment you come into the shop I saw you was a gentleman in every sense of the word. Was your father a professional man?’

‘He was a doctor.’

‘You can always tell a professional man. There’s something about them, I don’t know what it is, but I know at once.’

They walked along from the station together.

‘I say, I want you to come and see another play with me,’ he said.

‘I don’t mind,’ she said.

‘You might go so far as to say you’d like to.’

‘Why?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s fix a day. Would Saturday night suit you?’

‘Yes, that’ll do.’

They made further arrangements, and then found themselves at the corner of the road in which she lived. She gave him her hand, and he held it.

‘I say, I do so awfully want to call you Mildred.’

‘You may if you like, I don’t care.’

‘And you’ll call me Philip, won’t you?’

‘I will if I can think of it. It seems more natural to call you Mr. Carey.’

He drew her slightly towards him, but she leaned back.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Won’t you kiss me good-night?’ he whispered.

‘Impudence!’ she said.

She snatched away her hand and hurried towards her house.

Philip bought tickets for Saturday night. It was not one of the days on which she got off early and therefore she would have no time to go home and change; but she meant to bring a frock up with her in the morning and hurry into her clothes at the shop. If the manageress was in a good temper she would let her go at seven. Philip had agreed to wait outside from a quarter past seven onwards. He looked forward to the occasion with painful eagerness, for in the cab on the way from the theatre to the station he thought she would let him kiss her. The vehicle gave every facility for a man to put his arm round a girl’s waist (an advantage which the hansom had over the taxi of the present day), and the delight of that was worth the cost of the evening’s entertainment.

But on Saturday afternoon when he went in to have tea, in order to confirm the arrangements, he met the man with the fair moustache coming out of the shop. He knew by now that he was called Miller. He was a naturalized German, who had anglicised his name, and he had lived many years in England. Philip had heard him speak, and, though his English was fluent and natural, it had not quite the intonation of the native. Philip knew that he was flirting with Mildred, and he was horribly jealous of him; but he took comfort in the coldness of her temperament, which otherwise distressed him; and, thinking her incapable of passion, he looked upon his rival as no better off than himself. But his heart sank now, for his first thought was that Miller’s sudden appearance might interfere with the jaunt which he had so looked forward to. He entered, sick with apprehension. The waitress came up to him, took his order for tea, and presently brought it.

‘I’m awfully, sorry’ she said, with an expression on her face of real distress. ‘I shan’t be able to come tonight after all.’

‘Why?’ said Philip.

‘Don’t look so stern about it,’ she laughed. ‘It’s not my fault. My aunt was taken ill last night, and it’s the girl’s night out so I must go and sit with her. She can’t be left alone, can she?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll see you home instead.’

‘But you’ve got the tickets. It would be a pity to waste them.’

He took them out of his pocket and deliberately tore them up.

‘What are you doing that for?’

‘You don’t suppose I want to go and see a rotten musical comedy by myself, do you? I only took seats there for your sake.’

‘You can’t see me home if that’s what you mean?’

‘You’ve made other arrangements.’

‘I don’t know what you mean by that. You’re just as selfish as all the rest of them. You only think of yourself. It’s not my fault if my aunt’s queer.’

She quickly wrote out his bill and left him. Philip knew very little about women, or he would have been aware that one should accept their most transparent lies. He made up his mind that he would watch the shop and see for certain whether Mildred went out with the German. He had an unhappy passion for certainty. At seven he stationed himself on the opposite pavement. He looked about for Miller, but did not see him. In ten minutes she came out, she had on the cloak and shawl which she had worn when he took her to the Shaftesbury Theatre. It was obvious that she was not going home. She saw him before he had time to move away, started a little, and then came straight up to him.

‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

‘Taking the air,’ he answered.

‘You’re spying on me, you dirty little cad. I thought you was a gentleman.’

‘Did you think a gentleman would be likely to take any interest in you?’ he murmured.

There was a devil within him which forced him to make matters worse. He wanted to hurt her as much as she was hurting him.

‘I suppose I can change my mind if I like. I’m not obliged to come out with you. I tell you I’m going home, and I won’t be followed or spied upon.’

‘Have you seen Miller today?’

‘That’s no business of yours. In point of fact I haven’t, so you’re wrong again.’

‘I saw him this afternoon. He’d just come out of the shop when I went in.’

‘Well, what if he did? I can go out with him if I want to, can’t I? I don’t know what you’ve got to say to it.’

‘He’s keeping you waiting, isn’t he?’

‘Well, I’d rather wait for him than have you wait for me. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. And now p’raps you’ll go off home and mind your own business in future.’

His mood changed suddenly from anger to despair, and his voice trembled when he spoke.

‘I say, don’t be beastly with me, Mildred. You know I’m awfully fond of you. I think I love you with all my heart. Won’t you change your mind? I was looking forward to this evening so awfully. You see, he hasn’t come, and he can’t care twopence about you really. Won’t you dine with me? I’ll get some more tickets, and we’ll go anywhere you like.’

‘I tell you I won’t. It’s no good you talking. I’ve made up my mind, and when I make up my mind I keep to it.’

He looked at her for a moment. His heart was torn with anguish. People were hurrying past them on the pavement, and cabs and omnibuses rolled by noisily. He saw that Mildred’s eyes were wandering. She was afraid of missing Miller in the crowd.

‘I can’t go on like this,’ groaned Philip. ‘it’s too degrading. if I go now I go for good. Unless you’ll come with me tonight you’ll never see me again.’

‘You seem to think that’ll be an awful thing for me. All I say is, good riddance to bad rubbish.’

‘Then good-bye.’

He nodded and limped away slowly, for he hoped with all his heart that she would call him back. At the next lamp-post he stopped and looked over his shoulder. He thought she might beckon to him—he was willing to forget everything, he was ready for any humiliation—but she had turned away, and apparently had ceased to trouble about him. He realised that she was glad to be quit of him.



第五十八章

第二天菲利普一早醒来,首先想到的就是米尔德丽德。他忽然生出个念头:何不去维多利亚车站接她,然后陪她走一程,送她去店里上班。菲利普赶紧刮了脸,匆匆穿好衣服,出门跳上去火车站的公共汽车。七点四十分他到达车站,仔细留神着一列列进站的火车,只见熙熙攘攘的人流不断地从车厢里涌出来。早上这时候,乘车的净是些赶去上班的职员和店员。他们拥上月台,匆匆前行,有成双结对的,也有只身独行的(为数较多),还不时看到三五成群的姑娘。在这大清早,人人脸色苍白,多数人显得丑陋,带着一副神不守舍的恍馏神情。年轻人脚步轻快,仿佛在水泥月台上行走尚有几分乐趣,其他的人则像受到某种机器的驱策,只顾埋头赶路:他们个个愁眉锁眼,露出一脸的焦虑。
菲利普终于看到了米尔德丽德。他急不可待地迎了上去。
"早安!"他说,"我想最好来看看你,不知你昨晚看戏之后身子可好。"
不难看出,她很不高兴在这儿遇见菲利普。她穿件棕色长外套,戴顶水手草帽。
"噢,我身体蛮好。我可没有时间磨蹭。"
"让我陪你沿维多利亚街走一程,你不介意吧?"
"时间不早了,我得抓紧赶路,"说着,朝菲利普的跛足望了一眼。
菲利普刷地红了脸。
"对不起,那我就不耽搁你了。"
"请便。"
米尔德丽德径自往前走去,菲利普垂头丧气地回家来吃早点。他恨死了米尔德丽德。他知道自己这么为她神魂颠倒,实在傻透了。像她这。种女人,断然不会把自己放在眼里,而且一定会对自己的残疾心生厌恶。菲利普狠了狠心,决定下午不再去那点心店吃茶点。可到时候他还是身。不由己地去了。这不能不叫他痛恨自己。米尔德丽德见他进来,便朝他点头一笑。
"我想,今天早晨对你有些失礼,"她说。"你得知道,我压根儿没想到你会来,太出人意外了。"
"噢,一点没关系。"
他只感到周身上下突然一阵轻松。这么短短的一句体己话,足以使他感激涕零。
"干吗不坐下?"菲利普说,"这会儿又没人要你照应。"
"就坐一会儿吧,反正我不在乎。"
菲利普望着她,一时却想不出话来说。他搜索枯肠,急于想找个话题,能把她留在自己身边。他想告诉米尔德丽德,说她在自己心里占有多一重要的位置。菲利普这一回真心实意地爱上了,反倒口中讷讷,不知该如何向心上人求爱。
"你那位蓄着漂亮小胡子的朋友哪儿去了?近来怎么一直没见着他。"
"噢,他回伯明翰去了。他是在那儿做生意的。只是偶尔上伦敦来走一趟。"
"他爱上你了吧?"
"这你最好去问他本人,"她哈哈一笑。"我倒不明白,就算他真爱上我了,跟你又有何相干。"
一句挖苦的话已冒到了舌尖,但是他已学会了自我克制。
"真不明白为什么要冲着我说这种话,"结果他只是说了这么一句。
米尔德丽德用她那双冷冰冰的眼睛瞅着菲利普。
"看来你并不怎么把我放在眼里,"菲利普又加了一句。
"我干吗非要把你放在眼里呢?"
"确实没有这个必要。"
菲利普伸手去拿自己带来的报纸。
"你这个人脾气真大,"米尔德丽德看到菲利普不以为然的姿态,说,"动不动就生别人的气。"
菲利普微微一笑,带着几分恳求的神情望着米尔德丽德。
"你肯赏脸帮我个忙吗?"
"那得看是什么事了。"
"允许我今晚送你去火车站。"
"随你的便。"
吃完茶点,菲利普走出餐馆回自己住所去了。到了晚上八点,点心店打烊了,他等候在店门外。
"你真是个怪人,"米尔德丽德走出门来说道,"我一点摸不透你的心思。"
"果真想摸透我的心思,我看也不难吧,"菲利普不无挖苦地回答说。
"你在这儿等我,有没有被店里别的姑娘看到?"
"我不知道,反正我不在乎。"
"你要知道,她们都在笑话你哪,说你被我迷住了。"
"你才不把我放在心上呢,"菲利普咕哝道。
"瞧你又想跟我斗嘴了。"
到了车站后,菲利普买了一张车票,说要送她回家。
"你似乎闲得没事干了,"她说。
"我想时间是我自己的,我爱怎么打发就怎么打发。"
他俩似乎老是有意在抬杠。事实上是菲利普怨恨自己,竟爱上了这样一个女人。她似乎老在侮辱他,而他每受到一回冷遇,心里的怨恨就增加一分。但是那天晚上,米尔德丽德倒挺随和,话也比平日多。她告诉菲利普,她的双亲都已过世。她有意要让菲利普知道,她无须挣钱糊口,她出门干活无非是为了找点乐趣,解解闷罢了。
"我姨妈不赞成我出来找活儿干。我家里并不愁吃少穿,样样都挺称心。你可别以为我是不得已才出来混饭吃的。"
菲利普心里明白她没说实话。她那个阶层的人本来就喜欢摆架子充阔,而她呢,当然也生怕人家说她是挣钱糊口,面子上不好看,所以定要编出一套词儿来。
"我们家的亲戚也都是体体面面的,"她说。
菲利普淡然一笑,哪知未能逃过米尔德丽德的眼睛。
"你笑什么?"她当即责问说,"你以为我讲的不是实话?"
"我当然相信你说的,"他回答道。
米尔德丽德用怀疑的目光打量着菲利普。过了一会儿,她又忍不住要向菲利普炫耀一下自己往昔的荣华。
"我父亲常年备有一辆双轮马车,家里雇有三个男仆,一个厨师,一个女仆,还有一个打杂的短工。我们家院子里种着美丽的玫瑰花,打我们家门口经过的行人,常常驻足而立,打听这是谁家的住宅,说那些玫瑰真美。当然罗,让自己跟店里那些姑娘整天厮混在一起,实在不是个滋味,我同那号人实在合不来,所以有时候我真想洗手不干了。店里活儿我倒不在乎,你可别这样想我,我讨厌的是同那一流人物为伍。"
他们面对面地坐在车厢里,菲利普颇表同情地听米尔德丽德絮絮而谈,心里相当快活。她的天真幼稚,不但使他觉得有趣,而且使他有所触动。米尔德丽德的两腮泛起淡淡的红晕,菲利普心想,要是这时能吻一下她的下巴尖,那该有多美。
"你一进我们的店门,我就看出你是个道道地地的上等人。你父亲是个干体面职业的行家吧?"
"是个医生。"
"凡是干体面职业的行家,我一眼就能认出来。他们身上总有点与众不同的地方。究竟是什么,我也说不清,反正一看就知道了。"
他俩一块儿从车站走出来。
"喂,我想请你再陪我去看一场戏。"
"我没意见。"
"你就不可以说一声'我很想去呢'?"
"干吗非要那么说?"
"不肯说就不说吧。让咱们定个时间。星期六晚上你看行不行?"
"行。"
接着他俩又作进一步的安排,边走边说,不觉已来到米尔德丽德所住大街的拐角上。她朝菲利普伸出手来,菲利普一把握住了。
"哎,我真想就叫你米尔德丽德。"
"要是你喜欢,就这么叫吧,反正我不在乎。"
"你也叫我菲利普,好吗?"
"要是到时候我能想起来,我就这么叫你。不过叫你凯里先生似乎更顺口些。"
菲利普轻轻把她往自己的身边拉,但是她却往后一仰。
"你要干哈?"
"难道你不愿在分手之前亲我一下?"他低声说。
"好放肆!"她说。
米尔德丽德猛然将手抽回,匆匆地朝自己家走去。
菲利普买好了星期六晚上的戏票。那天不是米尔德丽德早下班的日子,所以她没时间赶回家去更衣,故打算早上出门时随身带件外套,下了班就在店里匆匆换上。要是碰上女经理心里高兴,说不定还能让米尔德丽德在七点钟就提前下班。菲利普答应七点一刻就开始在点心店外面等候。他心急火燎地盼着这次出游机会,因为他估计看完戏之后,在搭乘马车去火车站的途中,米尔德丽德会让他吻一下的。坐在马车上,男人伸手去勾位姑娘的腰肢,那是再方便不过了(这可是马车比现代出租汽车略胜一筹的地方);光凭这点乐趣,一晚上破费再多也值得。
谁知到了星期六下午,就在菲利普进店吃茶点,想进一步敲定晚上的约会时,碰上了那个蓄漂亮小胡子的男人从店里走出来。菲利普现在已知道他叫米勒,是个入了英国籍的德国人,已在英国呆了好多年,连自己的名字也英国化了。菲利普以前听过他说话,他虽然能操一口流利、道地的英语,可语腔语调毕竟和土生土长的英国人有所不同。菲利普知道他在同米尔德丽德调情,所以对他怀有一股强烈的妒意。幸亏米尔德丽德生性冷淡,他心里还觉得好受些,要是她性格开放,那更叫他伤心呢。他想,既然米尔德丽德不易动情,那位情敌的境遇决不会比他更顺心。不过菲利普此刻心头咯噔往下沉,因为他立刻想到,米勒的突然露面可能会影响到他几天来所梦牵魂萦的这一趟出游。他走进店门,心里七上八下翻腾着。那女招待走到他跟前,问他要些什么茶点,不一会儿就给端来了。
"很抱歉,"她说,脸上确实很有几分难过的神情,"今儿晚上我实在去不了啦。"
"为什么?"
"何必为这点事板起脸来呢?"她笑着说。"这又不是我的过错。我姨妈昨晚病倒了,今晚又逢到女仆放假,所以我得留在家里陪她。总不能把她一个人丢在家里不管,你说是吗?"
"没关系。咱们就别去看戏,我送你回家得了。"
"可你票子已买好了,浪费了多可惜。"
菲利普从口袋里掏出戏票,当着她的面撕了。
"你这是干吗?"
"你想想,我一个人岂会去看那种无聊透顶的喜歌剧?我去看那玩意儿,还不完全是为了你!"
"即使你当真想送我回家,我也不要你送。"
"怕是另有所约吧。"
"我不明白你这话是什么意思。你和天底下的男人一样自私,光想到自己。我姨妈身子不舒服,总不能怪我吧。"
米尔德丽德说罢,随手开了帐单,转身走开了。菲利普太不了解女人,否则他就懂得,遇到这种事儿,哪怕是再明显不过的谎言,也最好装聋作哑,姑且信之。他打定主意,非要守在点心店附近,看看米尔德丽德是不是同那德国佬一块儿出去。这也是他的不幸之处,事事都想要查个水落石出。到了七点,菲利普守在点心店对面的人行道上,东张西望,四下搜寻,却不见米勒的影子。十分钟不到,只见米尔德丽德从店内出来,她身披斗篷,头裹围巾,同那天菲利普带她上谢夫蒂斯贝利戏院时一样穿戴。此刻她显然不是回家去。菲利普躲闪不及,被米尔德丽德一眼看到了。她先是一怔,然后径直朝他走来。
"你在这儿干吗?"她说。
"透透空气嘛,"菲利普回答说。
"你在监视我呢,你这个卑鄙小人。我还当你是正人君子呢。"
"你以为正人君子会对你这号人发生兴趣?"菲利普咕哝道。
他憋了一肚子火,实在按捺不住,哪怕是闹到不可收拾的地步也在所不惜。他要以牙还牙,也狠狠地伤一下她的心。
"我想只要我高兴,为什么不可以改变主意。凭哪一点我非要跟你出去。告诉你,我现在要回家去,不许你盯我的梢,不许你监视我。"
"你今天见到米勒了?"
"那不关你的事。事实上我并没见到他,瞧你又想到哪儿去了。"
"今天下午我见到他了。我走进店门时,他刚巧走出来。"
"他来过了又怎么样?要是我愿意,我完全可以同他出去,对不对?我不明白你有什么好罗唆的?"
"他叫你久等了吧?"
"哟,我宁愿等他,也不愿意要你等我。劝你好好考虑我的话。你现在最好还是回家去,忙你自己的前程大事吧。"
菲利普情绪骤变,满腔愤怒突然化为一片绝望,说话时连声音也发抖了。
"我说,别对我这么薄情寡义,米尔德丽德。你知道我多喜欢你。我想我是打心底里爱着你。难道你还不肯回心转意?我眼巴巴地好不容易盼到今晚。你瞧,他没来。他根本就没把你放在心上。跟我去吃饭好吗?我再去搞两张戏票来,你愿意上哪儿,咱们就上哪儿。"
"告诉你,我不愿意。随你怎么说也是白搭。现在我已经打定了主意,而我一旦主意已定,就决不会再改变。"
菲利普愣愣地望着她,心像刀剐似地难受。人行道上,熙来攘往的人群在他们身旁匆匆而过,马车和公共汽车川流不息,不断地发出辚辚之声。他发现米尔德丽德正在那里左顾右盼,那神情分明是唯恐看漏了夹在人群之中的米勒。
"我受不了啦,"菲利普呻吟着说。"老是这么低三下四的,多丢人。现在我如果去了,今后再不会来找你。除非你今晚跟我走,否则你再见不着我了。"
"你大概以为这么一说,就能把我吓住,是吗?老实对你说了吧:没有你在跟前,我眼前才清静呢。"
"好,咱们就此一刀两断。"
菲利普点点头,拐着条腿走开了,他脚步放得很慢,心里巴不得米尔德丽德招呼他回去。走过一根路灯杆,他收住脚步,回首顾盼,心想她说不定会招手唤他回去--他愿意不记前隙,愿意忍受任何屈辱--然而她早已转身走开,显然她根本就没把他放在心上。菲利普这才明白过来,米尔德丽德巴不得能把他甩掉呢。


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 59

Philip passed the evening wretchedly. He had told his landlady that he would not be in, so there was nothing for him to eat, and he had to go to Gatti’s for dinner. Afterwards he went back to his rooms, but Griffiths on the floor above him was having a party, and the noisy merriment made his own misery more hard to bear. He went to a music-hall, but it was Saturday night and there was standing-room only: after half an hour of boredom his legs grew tired and he went home. He tried to read, but he could not fix his attention; and yet it was necessary that he should work hard. His examination in biology was in little more than a fortnight, and, though it was easy, he had neglected his lectures of late and was conscious that he knew nothing. It was only a viva, however, and he felt sure that in a fortnight he could find out enough about the subject to scrape through. He had confidence in his intelligence. He threw aside his book and gave himself up to thinking deliberately of the matter which was in his mind all the time.

He reproached himself bitterly for his behaviour that evening. Why had he given her the alternative that she must dine with him or else never see him again? Of course she refused. He should have allowed for her pride. He had burnt his ships behind him. It would not be so hard to bear if he thought that she was suffering now, but he knew her too well: she was perfectly indifferent to him. If he hadn’t been a fool he would have pretended to believe her story; he ought to have had the strength to conceal his disappointment and the self-control to master his temper. He could not tell why he loved her. He had read of the idealisation that takes place in love, but he saw her exactly as she was. She was not amusing or clever, her mind was common; she had a vulgar shrewdness which revolted him, she had no gentleness nor softness. As she would have put it herself, she was on the make. What aroused her admiration was a clever trick played on an unsuspecting person; to ‘do’ somebody always gave her satisfaction. Philip laughed savagely as he thought of her gentility and the refinement with which she ate her food; she could not bear a coarse word, so far as her limited vocabulary reached she had a passion for euphemisms, and she scented indecency everywhere; she never spoke of trousers but referred to them as nether garments; she thought it slightly indelicate to blow her nose and did it in a deprecating way. She was dreadfully anaemic and suffered from the dyspepsia which accompanies that ailing. Philip was repelled by her flat breast and narrow hips, and he hated the vulgar way in which she did her hair. He loathed and despised himself for loving her.

The fact remained that he was helpless. He felt just as he had felt sometimes in the hands of a bigger boy at school. He had struggled against the superior strength till his own strength was gone, and he was rendered quite powerless—he remembered the peculiar languor he had felt in his limbs, almost as though he were paralysed—so that he could not help himself at all. He might have been dead. He felt just that same weakness now. He loved the woman so that he knew he had never loved before. He did not mind her faults of person or of character, he thought he loved them too: at all events they meant nothing to him. It did not seem himself that was concerned; he felt that he had been seized by some strange force that moved him against his will, contrary to his interests; and because he had a passion for freedom he hated the chains which bound him. He laughed at himself when he thought how often he had longed to experience the overwhelming passion. He cursed himself because he had given way to it. He thought of the beginnings; nothing of all this would have happened if he had not gone into the shop with Dunsford. The whole thing was his own fault. Except for his ridiculous vanity he would never have troubled himself with the ill-mannered slut.

At all events the occurrences of that evening had finished the whole affair. Unless he was lost to all sense of shame he could not go back. He wanted passionately to get rid of the love that obsessed him; it was degrading and hateful. He must prevent himself from thinking of her. In a little while the anguish he suffered must grow less. His mind went back to the past. He wondered whether Emily Wilkinson and Fanny Price had endured on his account anything like the torment that he suffered now. He felt a pang of remorse.

‘I didn’t know then what it was like,’ he said to himself.

He slept very badly. The next day was Sunday, and he worked at his biology. He sat with the book in front of him, forming the words with his lips in order to fix his attention, but he could remember nothing. He found his thoughts going back to Mildred every minute, and he repeated to himself the exact words of the quarrel they had had. He had to force himself back to his book. He went out for a walk. The streets on the South side of the river were dingy enough on week-days, but there was an energy, a coming and going, which gave them a sordid vivacity; but on Sundays, with no shops open, no carts in the roadway, silent and depressed, they were indescribably dreary. Philip thought that day would never end. But he was so tired that he slept heavily, and when Monday came he entered upon life with determination. Christmas was approaching, and a good many of the students had gone into the country for the short holiday between the two parts of the winter session; but Philip had refused his uncle’s invitation to go down to Blackstable. He had given the approaching examination as his excuse, but in point of fact he had been unwilling to leave London and Mildred. He had neglected his work so much that now he had only a fortnight to learn what the curriculum allowed three months for. He set to work seriously. He found it easier each day not to think of Mildred. He congratulated himself on his force of character. The pain he suffered was no longer anguish, but a sort of soreness, like what one might be expected to feel if one had been thrown off a horse and, though no bones were broken, were bruised all over and shaken. Philip found that he was able to observe with curiosity the condition he had been in during the last few weeks. He analysed his feelings with interest. He was a little amused at himself. One thing that struck him was how little under those circumstances it mattered what one thought; the system of personal philosophy, which had given him great satisfaction to devise, had not served him. He was puzzled by this.

But sometimes in the street he would see a girl who looked so like Mildred that his heart seemed to stop beating. Then he could not help himself, he hurried on to catch her up, eager and anxious, only to find that it was a total stranger. Men came back from the country, and he went with Dunsford to have tea at an A. B. C. shop. The well-known uniform made him so miserable that he could not speak. The thought came to him that perhaps she had been transferred to another establishment of the firm for which she worked, and he might suddenly find himself face to face with her. The idea filled him with panic, so that he feared Dunsford would see that something was the matter with him: he could not think of anything to say; he pretended to listen to what Dunsford was talking about; the conversation maddened him; and it was all he could do to prevent himself from crying out to Dunsford for Heaven’s sake to hold his tongue.

Then came the day of his examination. Philip, when his turn arrived, went forward to the examiner’s table with the utmost confidence. He answered three or four questions. Then they showed him various specimens; he had been to very few lectures and, as soon as he was asked about things which he could not learn from books, he was floored. He did what he could to hide his ignorance, the examiner did not insist, and soon his ten minutes were over. He felt certain he had passed; but next day, when he went up to the examination buildings to see the result posted on the door, he was astounded not to find his number among those who had satisfied the examiners. In amazement he read the list three times. Dunsford was with him.

‘I say, I’m awfully sorry you’re ploughed,’ he said.

He had just inquired Philip’s number. Philip turned and saw by his radiant face that Dunsford had passed.

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter a bit,’ said Philip. ‘I’m jolly glad you’re all right. I shall go up again in July.’

He was very anxious to pretend he did not mind, and on their way back along The Embankment insisted on talking of indifferent things. Dunsford good-naturedly wanted to discuss the causes of Philip’s failure, but Philip was obstinately casual. He was horribly mortified; and the fact that Dunsford, whom he looked upon as a very pleasant but quite stupid fellow, had passed made his own rebuff harder to bear. He had always been proud of his intelligence, and now he asked himself desperately whether he was not mistaken in the opinion he held of himself. In the three months of the winter session the students who had joined in October had already shaken down into groups, and it was clear which were brilliant, which were clever or industrious, and which were ‘rotters.’ Philip was conscious that his failure was a surprise to no one but himself. It was tea-time, and he knew that a lot of men would be having tea in the basement of the Medical School: those who had passed the examination would be exultant, those who disliked him would look at him with satisfaction, and the poor devils who had failed would sympathise with him in order to receive sympathy. His instinct was not to go near the hospital for a week, when the affair would be no more thought of, but, because he hated so much to go just then, he went: he wanted to inflict suffering upon himself. He forgot for the moment his maxim of life to follow his inclinations with due regard for the policeman round the corner; or, if he acted in accordance with it, there must have been some strange morbidity in his nature which made him take a grim pleasure in self-torture.

But later on, when he had endured the ordeal to which he forced himself, going out into the night after the noisy conversation in the smoking-room, he was seized with a feeling of utter loneliness. He seemed to himself absurd and futile. He had an urgent need of consolation, and the temptation to see Mildred was irresistible. He thought bitterly that there was small chance of consolation from her; but he wanted to see her even if he did not speak to her; after all, she was a waitress and would be obliged to serve him. She was the only person in the world he cared for. There was no use in hiding that fact from himself. Of course it would be humiliating to go back to the shop as though nothing had happened, but he had not much self-respect left. Though he would not confess it to himself, he had hoped each day that she would write to him; she knew that a letter addressed to the hospital would find him; but she had not written: it was evident that she cared nothing if she saw him again or not. And he kept on repeating to himself:

‘I must see her. I must see her.’

The desire was so great that he could not give the time necessary to walk, but jumped in a cab. He was too thrifty to use one when it could possibly be avoided. He stood outside the shop for a minute or two. The thought came to him that perhaps she had left, and in terror he walked in quickly. He saw her at once. He sat down and she came up to him.

‘A cup of tea and a muffin, please,’ he ordered.

He could hardly speak. He was afraid for a moment that he was going to cry.

‘I almost thought you was dead,’ she said.

She was smiling. Smiling! She seemed to have forgotten completely that last scene which Philip had repeated to himself a hundred times.

‘I thought if you’d wanted to see me you’d write,’ he answered.

‘I’ve got too much to do to think about writing letters.’

It seemed impossible for her to say a gracious thing. Philip cursed the fate which chained him to such a woman. She went away to fetch his tea.

‘Would you like me to sit down for a minute or two?’ she said, when she brought it.

‘Yes.’

‘Where have you been all this time?’

‘I’ve been in London.’

‘I thought you’d gone away for the holidays. Why haven’t you been in then?’

Philip looked at her with haggard, passionate eyes.

‘Don’t you remember that I said I’d never see you again?’

‘What are you doing now then?’

She seemed anxious to make him drink up the cup of his humiliation; but he knew her well enough to know that she spoke at random; she hurt him frightfully, and never even tried to. He did not answer.

‘It was a nasty trick you played on me, spying on me like that. I always thought you was a gentleman in every sense of the word.’

‘Don’t be beastly to me, Mildred. I can’t bear it.’

‘You are a funny feller. I can’t make you out.’

‘It’s very simple. I’m such a blasted fool as to love you with all my heart and soul, and I know that you don’t care twopence for me.’

‘If you had been a gentleman I think you’d have come next day and begged my pardon.’

She had no mercy. He looked at her neck and thought how he would like to jab it with the knife he had for his muffin. He knew enough anatomy to make pretty certain of getting the carotid artery. And at the same time he wanted to cover her pale, thin face with kisses.

‘If I could only make you understand how frightfully I’m in love with you.’

‘You haven’t begged my pardon yet.’

He grew very white. She felt that she had done nothing wrong on that occasion. She wanted him now to humble himself. He was very proud. For one instant he felt inclined to tell her to go to hell, but he dared not. His passion made him abject. He was willing to submit to anything rather than not see her.

‘I’m very sorry, Mildred. I beg your pardon.’

He had to force the words out. It was a horrible effort.

‘Now you’ve said that I don’t mind telling you that I wish I had come out with you that evening. I thought Miller was a gentleman, but I’ve discovered my mistake now. I soon sent him about his business.’

Philip gave a little gasp.

‘Mildred, won’t you come out with me tonight? Let’s go and dine somewhere.’

‘Oh, I can’t. My aunt’ll be expecting me home.’

‘I’ll send her a wire. You can say you’ve been detained in the shop; she won’t know any better. Oh, do come, for God’s sake. I haven’t seen you for so long, and I want to talk to you.’

She looked down at her clothes.

‘Never mind about that. We’ll go somewhere where it doesn’t matter how you’re dressed. And we’ll go to a music-hall afterwards. Please say yes. It would give me so much pleasure.’

She hesitated a moment; he looked at her with pitifully appealing eyes.

‘Well, I don’t mind if I do. I haven’t been out anywhere since I don’t know how long.’

It was with the greatest difficulty he could prevent himself from seizing her hand there and then to cover it with kisses.



第五十九章

菲利普在极度的痛苦中熬过了那个夜晚。他事先关照过房东太太,说晚上不回来用餐,所以房东太太没给他准备吃的,他只得跑到加蒂餐馆;去吃了顿晚饭。然后,他又回到自己的寓所来。这时候,格里菲思那一伙人正在楼上聚会,一阵阵热闹的欢声笑语不断从楼上传来,相形之下,菲利普越发觉得内心的痛苦难以忍受。他索性去杂耍剧场,因为是星期六晚上,场内座无虚席,只好站着观看。站了半个小时,两腿已发酸,加上节目又乏味,便中途退场回寓所来。他想看一会儿书,却没法集中思想,而眼下又非发奋用功不可,再过半个月就要举行生物考试了。虽说这门课很。容易,可他近来很不用功,落了不少课,自知什么也没学到。好在只进行口试,他觉得抓紧这两个星期,临时抱一下佛脚,混个及格还是有把握的。他自信聪明,有恃无恐。他把书本往旁边一扔,一门心思考虑起那件魂牵梦绕的事情来。
他狠狠责备自己今晚举止失当。干吗自己要把话说绝,说什么要么她陪自己去用餐,要么就此一刀两断?她当然要一口回绝罗。他应该考;虑到她的自尊心。他这种破釜沉舟的做法,实际上是把自己的退路给断。了。退一步说,要是菲利普能对自己说她这会儿也很痛苦呢,那么他心里;兴许要好受些,可是他深知其为人,她根本不把他放在心上。要是他当时稍微放聪明些,就应该装聋作哑,不去揭穿她的鬼话。他该有那么点涵养功夫,不让自己的失望情绪流露出来,更不要在她面前使性子耍脾气。菲利普实在想不通,自己怎么会爱上她的。过去他在书本里看到过所谓"情人眼里出美人"的说法,可他在米尔德丽德身上看到的分明是她的本来面:目。她一无情趣,二不聪明,思想又相当平庸;她身上那股狡黠的市井之。气,更叫菲利普反感;她没有教养,也缺少女性特有的温柔。正如她所标榜的那样,她是个"重实际"的女人。平时有谁玩点花招,捉弄一下老实。人,总能赢得她的赞赏;让人"上当受骗",她心里说不出有多舒服。菲利普想到她进餐时那种冒充风雅、忸怩作态的样子,禁不住哈哈狂笑。她还容忍不得粗俗的言词,尽管她胸无点墨,词汇贫乏,偏喜欢假充斯文,滥用婉词。她的忌讳也特别多。譬如,她从来不兴讲"裤子",而硬要说"下装"。再有,她觉得擤鼻子有伤大雅,所以逢到要擤鼻子,总露出一副不得己而为之的神态。她严重贫血,自然也伴有消化不良症。她那扁平的胸部和狭窄的臀部,颇令菲利普扫兴;她那俗气的发式,也叫菲利普厌恶。可他偏偏爱上了这样一个女人,这怎能不叫他厌恶、轻视自己。
厌恶也罢,轻视也罢,事实上他现在已是欲罢而不能。他感到这就像当年在学校里受到大孩子的欺凌一样。他拚命抵御,不畏强暴,直到自己筋疲力尽,再无半点还手之力--他至今还记得那种四肢疲软的奇特感觉,就像全身瘫痪了似的--最后只好束手就擒,听凭他人摆布。那简直是一种死去活来的经历。现在,他又产生了那种疲软、瘫痪的感觉。他现在恋上了这个女人,才明白他以前从没有真正爱过谁。任她有种种缺点,身体上的也罢,品格上的也罢,他一概不在乎,甚至觉得连那些缺点他也爱上了。无论如何,那些缺点在他来说完全算不了什么。仿佛整个这件事,并不直接关系到他个人的切身利害,只觉得自己受着一股奇异力量的驱使,不断干出一系列既违心又害己的蠢事来。他生性酷爱自由,所以卜分痛恨那条束缚他心灵的锁链。自己过去做梦也想体验一下不可抗拒的情欲的滋味,想想也觉得可笑。他诅咒自己竟如此迁就自己的情欲。他回想起这一切究竟是怎么开始的。要是当初他没跟邓斯福德去那家点心店,也就不会有今天的这种局面了。总之,全怪自己不好。要是自己没有那份荒唐可笑的虚荣心,他才不会在那个粗鄙的臭娘儿身上费神呢。
不管怎么说,今天晚上这场口角,总算把这一切全都了结了。只要他还有一点羞耻之心,就绝不可能再退回去,求她重修旧好。他热切地想从令人困扰的情网中挣脱出来;这种可恨的爱情只能叫人体面丢尽。他必须强迫自己不再去想她。过了一会儿,他心中的痛苦准是缓解了几分。他开始回首起往事来。他想到埃米莉·威尔金森和范妮·普赖斯,不知她们为了他,是否也忍受过他目前所身受的折腾。他不禁涌起一股悔恨之情。
"那时候,我还不懂爱情是怎么一回事呢,"他自言自语道。
那天夜里,他睡得很不安稳。第二天是星期天,他算是开始复习生物了。他坐在那儿,一本书摊开在面前,为了集中思想,他努动嘴唇,默念课丈,可念来念去什么也没印到脑子里去。他发现自己无时无刻不在想米;尔德丽德;他把前一天晚上同米尔德丽德怄气吵嘴的话,又一字字、一句句地仔细回忆了一遍。他得费好大气力,才能把注意力收回到课本上来。他干脆外出散步去了。泰晤士河南岸的那几条小街,平时尽管够腌(月赞)的,可街上车水马龙,人来人往,多少还有点生气。一到星期天,大小店铺全都关门停业,马路上也不见有车辆来往,四下静悄悄的,显得凄清冷落,给人一种难以名状的沉闷之感。菲利普觉得这一天好长,像是没完没了似的。后来实在太困顿了,这才昏昏沉沉地睡去。一觉醒来,已是星期一,他总算不再访惶犹豫,重新迈开了生活的步子。此时已近圣诞节,好多同,学到乡下去度假了(在冬季学期的期中,有一段不长的假期)。他大伯曾邀他回布莱克斯泰勃过圣诞节,但被他婉言回绝了。他借口要准备考试,事实上是不愿意离开伦敦,丢不开米尔德丽德。他落了许多课,学业全荒废了,现在得在短短的两周内,把规定三个月里学完的课程统统补上。这一回,他倒真的发狠用起功来。随着日子一天天过去,他发觉,要自己不去想米尔德丽德,似乎也越来越容易办到了。他庆幸自己毕竟还有那么一股骨气。他内心的痛楚,不再像以前那么钻心刺骨地难受,而是变为时强时弱的隐痛,就好比是从马背上摔下来,尽管跌得遍体鳞伤,昏昏沉沉,却没伤着骨头,要是不去触碰那些伤口,倒也不觉着怎么痛得厉害。菲利普发觉,他甚至还能带着几分好奇心来审视自己近几个星期来的处境。他饶有兴味地剖析了自己的感情。他对自己的所作所为觉得有点好笑。有一点使他深有感触:处在当时那种情况之下,个人的想法是多么的无足轻重Z他那一套经过精心构思、并使他感到十分满意的个人处世哲学,到头来竟一点也帮不了他的忙。对此,菲利普感到困惑不解。
话虽这么说,可有时候他在街上远远看到一位长相颇似米尔德丽德的姑娘,他的心又似乎骤然停止了跳动。接着,他又会身不由己地撒腿追了上去,心里既热切又焦急,可走近一看,原来是位陌生人。同学们纷纷从乡下回来了,他和邓斯福德一同到ABC面包公司经营的一家咖啡馆去吃点心。他一见到那眼熟的女招待制服,竟难过得连话也讲不出来。他还忽生奇念:说不定她已经调到该面包公司的一家分店来工作了,说。不定哪一天他又会同她邂逅而遇。他一转到这个念头,心里顿时慌乱起来,却又生怕邓斯福德看出自己的神态失常。他心乱如麻,想不出话来说,只好装着在聆听邓斯福德讲话的样子。可他越听越恼,简直忍不住要冲着邓斯福德大嚷一声:看在老天的份上,快住口吧!
考试的日子来临了。轮到菲利普时,他胸有成竹地走到主考人的桌子跟前。主考人先让他回答了三四个问题,然后又指给他看各种各样的标本。菲利普平时没上几堂课,所以一问到书本上没讲到的内容,顿时傻了眼。他尽量想搪塞过去,主考人也没多加追问,十分钟的口试很快就过去了。菲利普心想,及格大概总不成问题吧,可第二天当他来到考试大楼看张贴在大门上的考试成绩时,不由得猛吃一惊--他在顺利通过考试的考生名单里没有找到自己的学号。他不胜惊讶,把那张名单反复看了三遍。邓斯福德这会儿就在他身边。
"哎,太遗憾了,你没及格呐,"他说。
在看榜之前他刚问过菲利普的学号。菲利普转过身子,只见邓斯福德喜形于色,准是考及格了。
"哦,一点也没关系,"菲利普说,"你过关了,我真为你高兴。我到七月份再来碰碰运气吧。"
他强作镇静,竭力装出满不在乎的样子,当他俩沿着泰晤士河堤路回学校时,菲利普尽扯些与考试无关的话题。邓斯福德出于好心,想帮助菲利普分析一下考试失利的原因,但菲利普硬是摆出一副漫不经心的神态。其实,他感到自己蒙受了奇耻大屏:一向被他认作是虽讨人喜欢、头脑却相当迟钝的邓斯福德,居然通过了考试,而自己却败下阵来,这不能不使他倍觉难堪。他一向为自己的才智出众感到自豪,可他现在忽然自暴自弃起来,怀疑是不是对自己估计过高了。这学期开学到现在已有三个月,十月份入学的学生自然而然地分化成好几档,哪些学生才华出众,哪些聪明机灵或者勤奋好学,又有哪些是不堪造就的"窝囊废",早已是壁垒分明的了。菲利普肚里明白,他这次考场失利,除了他自己以外,谁也不感到意外。现在已是吃茶点的时刻,他知道许多同学这会儿正在学校的地下室里喝茶。那些顺利通过考试的人,准是高兴得什么似的;那些本来就不喜欢自己的人,无疑会朝他投来幸灾乐祸的目光;而那些没考及格的倒霉蛋,则会同情自己,其实也无非是希望能彼此同病相怜罢了。出于本能,菲利普想在一星期内不进学院的大门,因为事隔一星期,时过境迁,人们也就淡忘了。可菲利普生就一副怪脾气,正因为自己不愿意在这时候去,就偏偏去了--为了自讨苦吃。这会儿,他忘记了自己的座右铭:尽可随心所欲,只是得适当留神街角处的警察。若要说他正是按此准则行事的,那一定是他性格中具有某种病态因素,使他专以残酷折磨自我为乐事。
后来,菲利普果真经受了这场强加在自己身上的折磨,但是当他听够了吸烟室里嘈杂喧嚷的谈话,独自步入黑夜之中,一阵极度的孤寂之感却猛然袭上他的心头。他觉得自己既荒唐又没出息。他迫切需要安慰;他再也抵挡不住那股诱惑,急于要去见米尔德丽德。他不无辛酸地想到,自己很少有可能从她那儿得到些许安慰。但是,他要见她一面,哪怕一句话不说也是好的。她毕竟是个女招待嘛,说什么也得伺候他。在这个世界上,使他牵肠挂肚的就只她一个。自己硬是不承认这一事实,又有何用?当然罗,要他装作若无其事的样子再上那家点心店去,实在丢人,不过他的自尊心也所剩无几了。尽管他嘴上死也不肯承认,可心里却在天天盼望她能给自己来封信。只要把信寄到医学院来,就能送到他手里,这一点她不会不知道;然而,她就是不写。显然,见到他也罢,见不到也罢,她才不在乎呢。菲利普连声自语道:
"我一定要见她,我一定要见她。"
要想见她的愿望如此强烈,以至连走着去也嫌太慢,他急不可待地跳上一辆出租马车。他一向省吃俭用,除非万不得已,是舍不得为此破费的。他在店门外逡巡不前。过了一两分钟,脑子里忽然闪过一个念头:她会不会已经离开这儿了呢?他心里一惊,急忙跨步走了进去。他一眼就见到了她。等他坐下后,米尔德丽德朝他走过来。
"请来杯茶,外加一块松饼,"菲利普吩咐道。
他几乎连话也说不出来。一时间,他真担心自己会号啕大哭起来。
"我简直当你见上帝去了呢。"
说着她莞尔一笑。她笑了!她似乎已经把上回吵嘴的事全忘了,而菲利普却把双方口角之词翻来覆去地在心里念叨了不知多少遍。
"我想,你如果希望见我,会给我写信的,"他回答说。
"我自己的事还忙不过来,哪有闲工夫给你写信。"
看来,她那张利嘴里总吐不出好话来的。
菲利普暗暗诅咒命运,竟把自己和这么个女人拴在一起。她去给他端茶点。
"要我陪你坐一两分钟吗?"米尔德丽德端来了茶点,说。
"坐吧。"
"这一阵于你上哪儿去啦?"
"我一直在伦敦。"
"我还当你度假去了。那你干吗不上这儿来?"
菲利普那双憔悴却洋溢着热情的眼睛紧盯着米尔德丽德。
"我不是说过我再不想见你了,难道你忘了?"
"那你现在干吗还要来呢?"
她似乎急于要他饮下这杯蒙羞受辱的苦酒。不过,菲利普根了解她的为人,知道她是有口无心,随便说说罢了。她的话深深地刺痛了他的心,而就她来说,也未必总是出于本意。菲利普没有回答她。
"你居然在盯梢监视我,这么欺负人,太缺德了吧。我一直当你是道道地地的上等人呢。"
"别对我这么狠心,米尔德丽德。我实在忍受不了。"
"你真是个怪人,一点也摸不透你。"
"还不就是这么回事。我是个该死的大傻瓜,明明知道你根本不把我放在心上,可我还是真心诚意地爱你。"
"要是你真是个上等人,我觉得你第二天就该来向我赔个不是。"
她竟是铁石心肠,毫无怜悯之心。菲利普瞅着她的颈脖子,心想:要是能用那把切松饼的小刀在她脖子上捅一下,那该有多痛快。他学过解剖学,所以要一刀割断她的颈动脉,完全不成问题。而同时他又想凑近她,吻遍那张苍白、瘦削的脸庞。
"但愿我能让你明白,我爱你爱得快发疯了。"
"你还没有求我原谅呢。"
菲利普脸色发白。米尔德丽德觉得自己那天一点也没错,现在就是要煞煞他的威风。菲利普向来自尊心很强。有那么一瞬间,菲利普真想冲着她说:见你的鬼去吧!可他不敢说出口。情欲已把他一身的骨气全磨光了。只要能见到她,不论叫干什么,他都愿意。
"我很对不起你,米尔德丽德,请你原谅。"
菲利普百般无奈,硬从嘴里挤出这句话来,把吃奶的力气也用上了。
"既然你这么说了,那我不妨对你直说。那天晚上我后悔没跟你一块出去。我原以为米勒是个正人君子,现在才知道我是看错了人。我很快就把他给打发走了。"
菲利普抽了一口凉气。
"米尔德丽德,今晚你可愿意陪我出去走走?我们一块儿找个地方吃顿饭吧。"
"哟,那可不行。我姨妈等我回去呢。"
"那我去给她打个电话,就说你有事要留在店里,反正她又搞不清楚。哦,看在上帝的面上,答应了吧。我好久没见到你啦,有好多话要对你说日内。"
米尔德丽德低头看看自己的衣服。
"这个你不用操心,我们可以找个马虎点的地方,那儿随你穿什么都无所谓。吃过饭,我们就去杂耍剧场。你就答应了吧。这会使我多高业
她犹豫了片刻,菲利普用乞求的目光可怜巴巴地注视着她。
"嗯,去就去吧。我自己也记不清有多久没出去走走啦。"
菲利普好不容易才克制住自己,差点儿没当场就抓住她的手热吻起来。

wj宝宝

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青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 60

They dined in Soho. Philip was tremulous with joy. It was not one of the more crowded of those cheap restaurants where the respectable and needy dine in the belief that it is bohemian and the assurance that it is economical. It was a humble establishment, kept by a good man from Rouen and his wife, that Philip had discovered by accident. He had been attracted by the Gallic look of the window, in which was generally an uncooked steak on one plate and on each side two dishes of raw vegetables. There was one seedy French waiter, who was attempting to learn English in a house where he never heard anything but French; and the customers were a few ladies of easy virtue, a menage or two, who had their own napkins reserved for them, and a few queer men who came in for hurried, scanty meals.

Here Mildred and Philip were able to get a table to themselves. Philip sent the waiter for a bottle of Burgundy from the neighbouring tavern, and they had a potage aux herbes, a steak from the window aux pommes, and an omelette au kirsch. There was really an air of romance in the meal and in the place. Mildred, at first a little reserved in her appreciation—‘I never quite trust these foreign places, you never know what there is in these messed up dishes’—was insensibly moved by it.

‘I like this place, Philip,’ she said. ‘You feel you can put your elbows on the table, don’t you?’

A tall fellow came in, with a mane of gray hair and a ragged thin beard. He wore a dilapidated cloak and a wide-awake hat. He nodded to Philip, who had met him there before.

‘He looks like an anarchist,’ said Mildred.

‘He is, one of the most dangerous in Europe. He’s been in every prison on the Continent and has assassinated more persons than any gentleman unhung. He always goes about with a bomb in his pocket, and of course it makes conversation a little difficult because if you don’t agree with him he lays it on the table in a marked manner.’

She looked at the man with horror and surprise, and then glanced suspiciously at Philip. She saw that his eyes were laughing. She frowned a little.

‘You’re getting at me.’

He gave a little shout of joy. He was so happy. But Mildred didn’t like being laughed at.

‘I don’t see anything funny in telling lies.’

‘Don’t be cross.’

He took her hand, which was lying on the table, and pressed it gently.

‘You are lovely, and I could kiss the ground you walk on,’ he said.

The greenish pallor of her skin intoxicated him, and her thin white lips had an extraordinary fascination. Her anaemia made her rather short of breath, and she held her mouth slightly open. it seemed to add somehow to the attractiveness of her face.

‘You do like me a bit, don’t you?’ he asked.

‘Well, if I didn’t I suppose I shouldn’t be here, should I? You’re a gentleman in every sense of the word, I will say that for you.’

They had finished their dinner and were drinking coffee. Philip, throwing economy to the winds, smoked a three-penny cigar.

‘You can’t imagine what a pleasure it is to me just to sit opposite and look at you. I’ve yearned for you. I was sick for a sight of you.’

Mildred smiled a little and faintly flushed. She was not then suffering from the dyspepsia which generally attacked her immediately after a meal. She felt more kindly disposed to Philip than ever before, and the unaccustomed tenderness in her eyes filled him with joy. He knew instinctively that it was madness to give himself into her hands; his only chance was to treat her casually and never allow her to see the untamed passions that seethed in his breast; she would only take advantage of his weakness; but he could not be prudent now: he told her all the agony he had endured during the separation from her; he told her of his struggles with himself, how he had tried to get over his passion, thought he had succeeded, and how he found out that it was as strong as ever. He knew that he had never really wanted to get over it. He loved her so much that he did not mind suffering. He bared his heart to her. He showed her proudly all his weakness.

Nothing would have pleased him more than to sit on in the cosy, shabby restaurant, but he knew that Mildred wanted entertainment. She was restless and, wherever she was, wanted after a while to go somewhere else. He dared not bore her.

‘I say, how about going to a music-hall?’ he said.

He thought rapidly that if she cared for him at all she would say she preferred to stay there.

‘I was just thinking we ought to be going if we are going,’ she answered.

‘Come on then.’

Philip waited impatiently for the end of the performance. He had made up his mind exactly what to do, and when they got into the cab he passed his arm, as though almost by accident, round her waist. But he drew it back quickly with a little cry. He had pricked himself. She laughed.

‘There, that comes of putting your arm where it’s got no business to be,’ she said. ‘I always know when men try and put their arm round my waist. That pin always catches them.’

‘I’ll be more careful.’

He put his arm round again. She made no objection.

‘I’m so comfortable,’ he sighed blissfully.

‘So long as you’re happy,’ she retorted.

They drove down St. James’ Street into the Park, and Philip quickly kissed her. He was strangely afraid of her, and it required all his courage. She turned her lips to him without speaking. She neither seemed to mind nor to like it.

‘If you only knew how long I’ve wanted to do that,’ he murmured.

He tried to kiss her again, but she turned her head away.

‘Once is enough,’ she said.

On the chance of kissing her a second time he travelled down to Herne Hill with her, and at the end of the road in which she lived he asked her:

‘Won’t you give me another kiss?’

She looked at him indifferently and then glanced up the road to see that no one was in sight.

‘I don’t mind.’

He seized her in his arms and kissed her passionately, but she pushed him away.

‘Mind my hat, silly. You are clumsy,’ she said.



第六十章

他俩是在索霍区吃的晚饭。菲利普快活得连人都发抖了。他们吃饭的地方,并非是那种生意兴隆、顾客盈门的大众餐馆(一些手头拮据的体面人士爱上那类餐馆用餐,因为在那儿既可显示自己豪放不羁的名士本色,又不必担心破费过多),而是一家店客寒怆的小馆子。掌柜的是个老实巴交的鲁昂人,他老婆也帮着照管店里的生意。这家馆子是前些日子菲利普无意间发现的,他对那种法国风味的橱窗布置很感兴趣:橱窗正中照例放一客牛排,两旁各放两盆新鲜蔬菜。饭馆只有一名衣衫褴褛的法国侍者,他想在这儿学点英语,可听来听去,客人却全是说的法语。有几位放浪形骸的轻佻女士,经常光顾于此;有一两家法国侨民在这儿包饭,店里还存有他们的自备餐巾;此外,不时有个把模样古怪的男子,进店来胡乱吃点什么。

菲利普和米尔德丽德在这儿可以单独占张餐桌。菲利普让侍者去附近酒店买了瓶法国葡萄酒,另外点了一客potsge aux erbes、一客陈列在橱窗里的牛排加aux pommes。和一客omelette au kirsch。这儿的菜肴和环境,倒真有几分浪漫的异国风味。米尔德丽德起初有点不以为然:"我向来不大相信这些外国馆子,谁知道他们拿了些什么乱七八糟的东西来做菜。"可不多一会儿,她就不知不觉地被同化了。

"我喜欢这地方,菲利普,"她说,"在这儿挺逍遥自在,不必拘束,你说是吗?"

一个高个子走了进来。他一头的灰发,又长又密,稀疏的胡子蓬蓬松松。他披了件破旧的斗篷,头上戴一顶阔边呢帽。他朝菲利普点点头,因为菲利普过去在这儿同他打过照面。

"瞧他的模样倒像个无政府主义者,"米尔德丽德说。

"他吗,是欧洲最危险的人物之一。他饱尝了大陆上各处的铁窗风味,要说他亲手干掉的人有多少,只有上绞刑架的杀人魔王可以和他相比。他到处逛荡,口袋里总揣着颗炸弹。当然罗,跟他说话可得留神着点,如果一言不合,他就掏出炸弹,砰地往桌子上一放,让你见识见识。"

米尔德丽德惊惧参半地望着那人。隔了一会儿,她又满腹狐疑地扫了菲利普一眼,发现菲利普的眼睛里透出笑意。她眉尖微微一蹩。

"你在逗弄人。"

菲利普"啊哈"地一声欢呼。他心里快活极了。但是米尔德丽德最不乐意让人取笑。

"我看不出吹牛撒谎有什么可乐的。"

"别生气呀。"

菲利普握住她搁在餐桌上的那只手,轻轻地捏了捏。

"你真可爱,倘若要我吻你脚下踩过的尘土,我也愿意。"

她那白得发育的皮肤,令菲利普心醉神迷,而她那两片薄薄的没有血色的嘴唇,简直有一股勾魂摄魄的魔力。她由于患有贫血,呼吸有点急促,两片嘴唇经常微微张着。不知怎么地,菲利普觉得这种病态反倒给她的脸蛋增添了几分妩媚。

"你真有点喜欢我,是不?"他问。

"嗯,要不我干吗陪你上这儿来?你是个道道地地的上等人,我说的可是心里话呐。"

他们吃完饭,开始喝咖啡。这会儿,菲利普再也顾不得省钱,竟然抽起三便士一支的雪茄来。

"你想象不出,就这样坐在你对面,望着你,能给我带来多大的乐趣。我无时无刻不在思念你,巴望能见你一面。"

米尔德丽德嫣然一笑,两颊泛起淡淡的一抹红晕。平时她一吃好饭,总是闹消化不良,可今天这病倒没犯。她今天对菲利普似乎特别有好感。连她那目光也一反常态,显得温情脉脉,这怎能不叫菲利普心花怒放。他出于本能,知道自己这样完全拜倒在她脚下,任她摆布,实在是昏了头。要想赢得她的爱,就应该在她面前佯作漫不经心的样子,而绝不能让她察觉那股在他心中沸腾着的澎湃激情;否则她就会利用他的弱点,玩他于股掌之上。但是现在,他情急智昏,也顾不上这许多了。他向她倾诉衷肠,说自己同她分手之后忍受了多少痛苦,自己如何竭力挣扎着想摆脱情欲,一度还以为取得了成功,可到头来发现,那股强烈的情欲却是有增无已。他知道自己嘴上说要摆脱这股情欲,其实并非出自于真心。他实在太爱她了,即使自己受到点折磨也算不得什么。他恨不得把自己的心掏出来给她。他把自己的弱点全都暴露在她面前,甚至以此为荣。

对菲利普来说,就这么坐在这间舒适、简陋的饭馆里,人世间之最大乐事莫过于此了。但是他知道,米尔德丽德喜欢上戏院,逛游乐场。她生性好动,不管到了什么地方,待不多一会儿,就急着要上别处去了。他可不敢让她觉着腻烦。

"听我说,咱们这就去杂耍剧场,怎么样?"他嘴上这么建议,心里却飞快地转着念头:她要是真喜欢自己,一定会说宁愿待在这儿。

"我刚才也在想,要是咱们打算去杂耍剧场,现在就该走了。"

"那就去吧。"

菲利普强耐着性子,好不容易熬到了终场。下一步该采取什么行动,他早已拿定了主意。所以他们上了马车,他就装作无意似地顺手搂住她的腰肢。可是只听他"哎哟"了一声,赶紧把手缩回来。不知什么东西把他扎了一下。米尔德丽德格格笑了。

"嘿,这就是你没事找事,把手臂往这儿乱伸的好处,"她说。"男人什么时候要伸手来搂我,那是瞒不过我的。我的那枚别针决不会放过他们。"

"这一回我可要当心点了。"

菲利普又伸手搂住了她的腰肢。她没有作出拒绝的表示。

"这么坐着好舒服,"他快活地舒了口气说。

"还不是因为你沾到了便宜,所以高兴了,"她刺了他一句。

马车从圣詹姆士街拐进了公园。菲利普飞快地吻了她一下。他对她怕得出奇,他鼓足了全身的勇气才敢去吻她。而她呢,什么话也不说,只是把嘴唇微微掉向他。看她那副神情,似乎既不介意,也不喜欢。

"你不知道我想吻你想了有多久,"菲利普嗫嚅道。

他想再吻她一下,她却把头扭开了。

"一次够啦,"她说。

菲利普陪着她往赫尼希尔走去,他仍在窥何时机,等他们到了她所住大街的尽头时,他问:

"让我再吻你一下好吗?"

她漠然地望着他,接着又朝大街上瞥了一眼,四下阒无人影。

"随你的便。"

菲利普一把将她搂在怀里,发狂地吻着她。米尔德丽德用力将他推开。

"当心我的帽子,傻瓜。谁像你这么笨手笨脚的。"


wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 61

He saw her then every day. He began going to lunch at the shop, but Mildred stopped him: she said it made the girls talk; so he had to content himself with tea; but he always waited about to walk with her to the station; and once or twice a week they dined together. He gave her little presents, a gold bangle, gloves, handkerchiefs, and the like. He was spending more than he could afford, but he could not help it: it was only when he gave her anything that she showed any affection. She knew the price of everything, and her gratitude was in exact proportion with the value of his gift. He did not care. He was too happy when she volunteered to kiss him to mind by what means he got her demonstrativeness. He discovered that she found Sundays at home tedious, so he went down to Herne Hill in the morning, met her at the end of the road, and went to church with her.

‘I always like to go to church once,’ she said. ‘it looks well, doesn’t it?’

Then she went back to dinner, he got a scrappy meal at a hotel, and in the afternoon they took a walk in Brockwell Park. They had nothing much to say to one another, and Philip, desperately afraid she was bored (she was very easily bored), racked his brain for topics of conversation. He realised that these walks amused neither of them, but he could not bear to leave her, and did all he could to lengthen them till she became tired and out of temper. He knew that she did not care for him, and he tried to force a love which his reason told him was not in her nature: she was cold. He had no claim on her, but he could not help being exacting. Now that they were more intimate he found it less easy to control his temper; he was often irritable and could not help saying bitter things. Often they quarrelled, and she would not speak to him for a while; but this always reduced him to subjection, and he crawled before her. He was angry with himself for showing so little dignity. He grew furiously jealous if he saw her speaking to any other man in the shop, and when he was jealous he seemed to be beside himself. He would deliberately insult her, leave the shop and spend afterwards a sleepless night tossing on his bed, by turns angry and remorseful. Next day he would go to the shop and appeal for forgiveness.

‘Don’t be angry with me,’ he said. ‘I’m so awfully fond of you that I can’t help myself.’

‘One of these days you’ll go too far,’ she answered.

He was anxious to come to her home in order that the greater intimacy should give him an advantage over the stray acquaintances she made during her working-hours; but she would not let him.

‘My aunt would think it so funny,’ she said.

He suspected that her refusal was due only to a disinclination to let him see her aunt. Mildred had represented her as the widow of a professional man (that was her formula of distinction), and was uneasily conscious that the good woman could hardly be called distinguished. Philip imagined that she was in point of fact the widow of a small tradesman. He knew that Mildred was a snob. But he found no means by which he could indicate to her that he did not mind how common the aunt was.

Their worst quarrel took place one evening at dinner when she told him that a man had asked her to go to a play with him. Philip turned pale, and his face grew hard and stern.

‘You’re not going?’ he said.

‘Why shouldn’t I? He’s a very nice gentlemanly fellow.’

‘I’ll take you anywhere you like.’

‘But that isn’t the same thing. I can’t always go about with you. Besides he’s asked me to fix my own day, and I’ll just go one evening when I’m not going out with you. It won’t make any difference to you.’

‘If you had any sense of decency, if you had any gratitude, you wouldn’t dream of going.’

‘I don’t know what you mean by gratitude. if you’re referring to the things you’ve given me you can have them back. I don’t want them.’

Her voice had the shrewish tone it sometimes got.

‘It’s not very lively, always going about with you. It’s always do you love me, do you love me, till I just get about sick of it.’

(He knew it was madness to go on asking her that, but he could not help himself.

‘Oh, I like you all right,’ she would answer.

‘Is that all? I love you with all my heart.’

‘I’m not that sort, I’m not one to say much.’

‘If you knew how happy just one word would make me!’

‘Well, what I always say is, people must take me as they find me, and if they don’t like it they can lump it.’

But sometimes she expressed herself more plainly still, and, when he asked the question, answered:

‘Oh, don’t go on at that again.’

Then he became sulky and silent. He hated her.)

And now he said:

‘Oh, well, if you feel like that about it I wonder you condescend to come out with me at all.’

‘It’s not my seeking, you can be very sure of that, you just force me to.’

His pride was bitterly hurt, and he answered madly.

‘You think I’m just good enough to stand you dinners and theatres when there’s no one else to do it, and when someone else turns up I can go to hell. Thank you, I’m about sick of being made a convenience.’

‘I’m not going to be talked to like that by anyone. I’ll just show you how much I want your dirty dinner.’

She got up, put on her jacket, and walked quickly out of the restaurant. Philip sat on. He determined he would not move, but ten minutes afterwards he jumped in a cab and followed her. He guessed that she would take a ‘bus to Victoria, so that they would arrive about the same time. He saw her on the platform, escaped her notice, and went down to Herne Hill in the same train. He did not want to speak to her till she was on the way home and could not escape him.

As soon as she had turned out of the main street, brightly lit and noisy with traffic, he caught her up.

‘Mildred,’ he called.

She walked on and would neither look at him nor answer. He repeated her name. Then she stopped and faced him.

‘What d’you want? I saw you hanging about Victoria. Why don’t you leave me alone?’

‘I’m awfully sorry. Won’t you make it up?’

‘No, I’m sick of your temper and your jealousy. I don’t care for you, I never have cared for you, and I never shall care for you. I don’t want to have anything more to do with you.’

She walked on quickly, and he had to hurry to keep up with her.

‘You never make allowances for me,’ he said. ‘It’s all very well to be jolly and amiable when you’re indifferent to anyone. It’s very hard when you’re as much in love as I am. Have mercy on me. I don’t mind that you don’t care for me. After all you can’t help it. I only want you to let me love you.’

She walked on, refusing to speak, and Philip saw with agony that they had only a few hundred yards to go before they reached her house. He abased himself. He poured out an incoherent story of love and penitence.

‘If you’ll only forgive me this time I promise you you’ll never have to complain of me in future. You can go out with whoever you choose. I’ll be only too glad if you’ll come with me when you’ve got nothing better to do.’

She stopped again, for they had reached the corner at which he always left her.

‘Now you can take yourself off. I won’t have you coming up to the door.’

‘I won’t go till you say you’ll forgive me.’

‘I’m sick and tired of the whole thing.’

He hesitated a moment, for he had an instinct that he could say something that would move her. It made him feel almost sick to utter the words.

‘It is cruel, I have so much to put up with. You don’t know what it is to be a cripple. Of course you don’t like me. I can’t expect you to.’

‘Philip, I didn’t mean that,’ she answered quickly, with a sudden break of pity in her voice. ‘You know it’s not true.’

He was beginning to act now, and his voice was husky and low.

‘Oh, I’ve felt it,’ he said.

She took his hand and looked at him, and her own eyes were filled with tears.

‘I promise you it never made any difference to me. I never thought about it after the first day or two.’

He kept a gloomy, tragic silence. He wanted her to think he was overcome with emotion.

‘You know I like you awfully, Philip. Only you are so trying sometimes. Let’s make it up.’

She put up her lips to his, and with a sigh of relief he kissed her.

‘Now are you happy again?’ she asked.

‘Madly"

She bade him good-night and hurried down the road. Next day he took her in a little watch with a brooch to pin on her dress. She had been hankering for it.

But three or four days later, when she brought him his tea, Mildred said to him:

‘You remember what you promised the other night? You mean to keep that, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

He knew exactly what she meant and was prepared for her next words.

‘Because I’m going out with that gentleman I told you about tonight.’

‘All right. I hope you’ll enjoy yourself.’

‘You don’t mind, do you?’

He had himself now under excellent control.

‘I don’t like it,’ he smiled, ‘but I’m not going to make myself more disagreeable than I can help.’

She was excited over the outing and talked about it willingly. Philip wondered whether she did so in order to pain him or merely because she was callous. He was in the habit of condoning her cruelty by the thought of her stupidity. She had not the brains to see when she was wounding him.

‘It’s not much fun to be in love with a girl who has no imagination and no sense of humour,’ he thought, as he listened.

But the want of these things excused her. He felt that if he had not realised this he could never forgive her for the pain she caused him.

‘He’s got seats for the Tivoli,’ she said. ‘He gave me my choice and I chose that. And we’re going to dine at the Cafe Royal. He says it’s the most expensive place in London.’

‘He’s a gentleman in every sense of the word,’ thought Philip, but he clenched his teeth to prevent himself from uttering a syllable.

Philip went to the Tivoli and saw Mildred with her companion, a smooth-faced young man with sleek hair and the spruce look of a commercial traveller, sitting in the second row of the stalls. Mildred wore a black picture hat with ostrich feathers in it, which became her well. She was listening to her host with that quiet smile which Philip knew; she had no vivacity of expression, and it required broad farce to excite her laughter; but Philip could see that she was interested and amused. He thought to himself bitterly that her companion, flashy and jovial, exactly suited her. Her sluggish temperament made her appreciate noisy people. Philip had a passion for discussion, but no talent for small-talk. He admired the easy drollery of which some of his friends were masters, Lawson for instance, and his sense of inferiority made him shy and awkward. The things which interested him bored Mildred. She expected men to talk about football and racing, and he knew nothing of either. He did not know the catchwords which only need be said to excite a laugh.

Printed matter had always been a fetish to Philip, and now, in order to make himself more interesting, he read industriously The Sporting Times.



第六十一章

打那以后,菲利普天天都要同她见面。他甚至开始在那家点心店吃午饭。米尔德丽德不让他这么做,说这会惹店里的姑娘们说闲话的,所以他只好满足于在那儿用茶点。不过他差不多天大守在点心店附近等她下班,陪她走到车站。他俩每星期要一块儿外出用餐一两次。他还送给她一些金镯儿、手套、手帕之类的小礼品。他现在花费大了,月月超支。他也是迫不得已:米尔德丽德只有在礼物到手的时候,才会流露出些许温情来。她知道每样东西的价钱,而她表示谢意的热情程度,则是随礼物价值的大小而浮动的。菲利普也不计较这点。只要米尔德丽德主动给他一个甜吻,他就陶然若醉,至于他是凭什么手段打动伊人情怀的,那才不在乎呢。他了解到米尔德丽德星期天在家感到无聊,于是到了星期天早上,他就跑到赫尼希尔,在马路尽头和她碰头,然后陪她上教堂做礼拜。

"我早就想去教堂看看,那儿挺有气派的,是吗?"

从教堂里出来,她回家去吃午饭,菲利普在一家旅馆里随便吃了点东西。下午,他们又去布洛克韦尔公园散步。他俩话不投机,没什么好多谈的,菲利普深恐她感到厌烦(她动不动就感到腻烦),只得绞尽脑汁,找话题同她闲聊。菲利普知道,像这样的散步,双方都得不到什么乐趣,但他就是舍不得离开她,尽量想延长散步的时间,最后往往累得她筋疲力尽,由她发一通脾气而收场。菲利普明知她不喜欢自己,他的理智告诉他,这个女人天生一副铁石心肠,全然不懂什么叫爱情,可他偏偏缘木求鱼,想从她那儿得到爱情。他无权向她提什么要求,可又身不由己地要强求于她。由于彼此渐渐熟捻了,他不像过去那么容易约束自己的脾气,动辄就发怒,而到了气头上,免不了要说些尖酸刻薄的话。他们俩经常拌嘴,之后她就对他不理不睬,结果又总是他厚着脸皮找上门去,低声下气地求情告饶。菲利普有时也恨自己竟然这么没有骨气。此外,他要是看到米尔德丽德在餐厅里同别的男人说话,心里顿时会酸溜溜的,妒火直冒,而他一巳打翻了醋罐子,就像发疯似地再也管束不住自己。他会故意当众羞辱她一顿,悻然而去。可到了晚上,却是一会儿怒火中烧,一会儿懊悔不迭,辗转床榻,夜不成寐。第二天,他又会跑到店里去找她当面赔不是,求她宽恕。

"别生我的气吧,"他说,"我也是出于无奈,因为我实在太喜欢你了。"

"总有一天你会闹得下不来台的,"她回答说。

菲利普非常想到她家去走走,把关系搞得更密切些,这样,比起她上班时所结识的那些泛泛之交来,他就能稳占上风了。但是米尔德丽德偏不许他去。

"我姨妈见了岂不要觉着奇怪?"她说。

菲利普心想,她不许他上门,无非是不想让他见到她姨妈罢了。米尔德丽德一直说她姨妈是个有身分的寡妇,丈夫生前是个自由职业者(在她眼里,自由职业者就是"体面"的代名词),而她自己心里有数,她那位宝贝姨妈很难称得上是"有身分"的,因而觉得老大不自在。据菲利普估计,她充其量只是个小商人的未亡人罢了。他知道米尔德丽德是个势利鬼。他想向她表明心迹,无论她的姨妈出身何等寒微,他全不在乎,可就是不知如何把话挑明。

一天晚上,他俩一块儿吃饭的时候,又吵了起来,这下可彻底闹翻了。她告诉菲利普,有个男的想请她一块儿去看戏。菲利普一听,面孔煞白,那张脸绷得紧紧的,似乎连针也扎不进。

"你不会去吧?"

"干吗不去?他可是个体体面面的上等人呢。"

"只要你说声喜欢,不管哪儿我都愿意带你去。"

"这是两码事嘛。我总不能老是跟着你到处转吧。再说,哪天去看戏,他让我自己决定,我可以随便定在哪一天,只要不是同你一起外出的日子就行了嘛。这又不碍着你什么的。"

"要是你还有点自爱之心,要是你还有点感激之情,那你说什么也不会想去的。"

"我不明白你说的'感激之情'是什么意思。如果你指的是你送给我的那些东西,那你尽可以收回去。谁希罕那些个劳什子。"

她说话的口吻,就像泼妇骂街似的--不过她用这种口吻说话,也不是破天荒头一遭了。

"老是跟着你到处转,多没意思。你光会翻来覆去说,'你爱我吗?''你爱我吗?'简直叫人腻透了。"

(菲利普明知自己一而再、再而三要她回答这个问题实在荒唐得很,可到时候又非问不可。

"嗯,我着实喜欢你,"她总是这么回答。

"就这么一句?我可是真心实意地爱着你呐。"

"我不是那种人,不会来那一套。"

"但愿你能知道,就那么一个词儿,会给我带来多大的幸福!"

"哎,我还是这句老话:我天生是这么个人,谁同我打交道,都得包涵点!假如不合他们的口味,也只好请他们委屈一下咯。"

有时候,她说得更加直截了当。菲利普问起那个老问题时,她干脆回答说:

"别义跟我来这一套。"

菲利普于是把脸一沉,不吱声了,心里恨死了她。)

这会儿,菲利普说:

"嗯,我倒要请教了,要是我真的让你觉着腻透了,那你干吗还要屈尊同我一块儿出来呢?"

"我才不想出来呢,这你尽可放心,还不是你死拖活拉硬把我拖来的。"

这句话可大大地刺伤了菲利普的自尊心,他发疯似地接口说:

"你以为我就那么好欺侮,只配在你找不到旁人的时候请你吃饭,陪你看戏,一旦有人来了,就得乖乖地滚到一边去?得了吧,我才不高兴扛这样的木梢呢。"

"我可不愿让人用这种口吻来跟我说话。现在就请你瞧瞧,我是多么希罕你的这顿该死的晚饭!"

说罢,她霍地站起身,把外套往身上一披,疾步走出餐馆。菲利普仍坐在那儿,他打定了主意由她去。可是十分钟以后,只见他急急忙忙跳上一辆出租马车,又追赶她去了。他估计她是搭公共汽车去维多利亚车站的,所以由马车代步,说不定能同时赶到那儿。他一眼就瞧见她站在月台上,他竭力避开她的视线,悄悄地跟她搭上同一班火车去赫尼希尔。他打算等她快到家了,再同她说话,那时她想避也避不了啦。

待她一转身,刚从亮如白昼、熙熙攘攘的大街拐人横街,他立刻赶了上去。

"米尔德丽德,"他轻声呼唤。

她只顾往前走,既不看他一眼,也不答理他一声。菲利普又唤了她一声,她这才收住脚步,转身面朝菲利普。

"你这算什么意思?我看见你在维多利亚车站晃来晃去。你干吗老缠着我不放。"

"我非常抱歉。让我们讲和吧。"

"不。你的臭脾气,还有你那股醋劲儿,我受够了。我不喜欢你,从来就没喜欢过你,也永远不会喜欢你。咱俩就此一刀两断。"

她继续匆匆前行,菲利普得加快步子才跟得上她。

"你从来也不肯设身处地为我想想,"他说。"要是你心里没有谁,那你当然会整天嘻嘻哈哈,和和气气的,什么也不计较,可要是你也像我这样一头栽入了情网,就很难控制自己的脾气啦。怜悯怜悯我吧。你不喜欢我,我不介意,感情这东西毕竟是没法强求的嘛。只要你能让我爱你就行了。"

她只顾往前走,硬是不开腔。眼看再走不了几百码就到她家门口了,菲利普心里猛地一揪。他再也顾不得体面了。他语无伦次地倾诉心中的爱和悔恨。

"只要你能原谅我这一次,我保证今后绝不再让你受委屈。你高兴跟谁出去,就跟谁出去。你如果什么时候有空,愿意陪我一会儿,我就心满意足了。"

她又停下脚步,因为他们已经来到街角处,平时他们总是在这儿分手的。

"现在请你自便吧。我不要你走近我家门日。"

"我偏不走,除非你说你原谅我了。"

"这一切我厌烦透了。"

菲利普迟疑了片刻。他有一种直觉:他可以说几句叩动她心扉的话,不过要让这些话出口,连自己都感到恶心。

"造化真残忍,我要忍受多大的痛苦啊。你不知道残废人过的是什么日子。你当然不喜欢我。我也不指望你会喜欢我。"

"菲利普,我可没那意思,"她赶忙接口说,口吻里突然流露出几分怜悯。"你知道,你说的不是事实。"

菲利普索性假戏真做了。他压低了嗓门,声音里微带沙哑。

"哦,我可感觉到了呢,"他说。

她握住菲利普的手,望着他,眼眶里噙满了泪水。

"我可以向你担保:这一点我从来没有计较过。除了最初的一两天,我就再没往那上面想过。"

他像悲剧演员那样神情郁悒,缄口不语,他有意要让她感到,他悲不自胜,完全被感情的波澜冲垮了。

"菲利普,你知道我是很喜欢你的。只是有时候你有点叫人受不了。让咱们讲和吧。"

她扬起头,将自己的嘴唇凑了过去,菲利普如释重负地长叹一声,接住了她的吻。

"这下你高兴了吧?"她问。

"高兴极了。"

她向他道了晚安,然后沿着马路匆匆离去。第二天,他送给她一只小巧的怀表,表链上系有一枚胸针,可以别在外套上。这可是件她盼望已久的礼品。

但是过了三四天,米尔德丽德给他上茶点时对他说:

"你还记得那天晚上你答应过我的话吗?你说话算数的,是吗?"

"是的。"

他很清楚她指的是什么事,所以对她接下去要说的话已有了思想准备。

"今儿个晚上,我要跟上回在你面前提起过的那位先生外出一次。"

"好吧。但愿你能玩得尽兴。"

"你不介意,是吗?"

这会儿他不露声色,完全控制住了自己的感情。

"我当然不怎么乐意,"他微微一笑,"不过,我现在想尽量约束自己,不再乱发脾气了。"

一提到这次约会,她显得很兴奋,话也不觉多了起来。菲利普暗暗纳闷:她这么做,究竟是有意伤他的心呢,还是仅仅因为她生来就不懂得体恤别人的感情?他已经习惯于为她开脱,认为她的冷漠无情纯粹出于愚昧无知。她生性迟钝,伤了他的心自己还不知道。

"跟一个既无想象力又无幽默感的姑娘谈情说爱,实在没有多大的乐趣,"他一边听一边这么想。

不过,话又得说回来,也正由于她天生缺少这两种禀性,菲利普才不怎么见怪于她。要不,他哪能原谅她一而再、再而三地给自己带来痛苦呢。

"他已在蒂沃利剧院订了座,"她说。"他让我挑,我就挑了那家戏院。我们先要上皇家餐厅吃晚饭。他说那是全伦敦最阔气的一家馆子。"

"他可是个道道地地的上等人,"菲利普学着米尔德丽德的腔调,在肚里暗暗嘀咕了一句,但是他紧咬牙关,不吭一声。

菲利普也去了蒂沃利剧院,看到米尔德丽德他们坐在正厅前座第二排。她的同伴是个脸上滑溜溜的小伙子,头发梳得油光可鉴,衣着挺括,看上去像个跑码头的兜销员。米尔德丽德戴了一顶黑色阔边帽,上面插着几根鸵鸟羽毛,这种帽子她戴着倒挺适合。她听着那位东道主说话,脸上挂着菲利普所熟悉的那丝浅笑。她脸上的表情向来缺少生气,呆板得很。只有那种粗俗的滑稽笑料,才能逗得她哈哈大笑。不过,菲利普看得出来,她这会兴致很浓,听得津津有味。他酸溜溜地对自己说,她跟那个华而不实、爱说爱笑的同伴倒是天造地设的一对呢。米尔德丽德生性鲁钝,喜欢接近叽叽呱呱的浅薄之徒。菲利普虽说很喜欢同别人探讨各种问题,却并不擅长于空日闲聊。他的一些朋友,例如劳森,很有一套说笑逗趣的本事,兴致所至,插科打诨,谈笑风生,这常叫他钦佩不已。凡是他感兴趣的事,米尔德丽德偏偏觉得乏味。她希望听男人谈论足球和赛马,而菲利普对这两样恰恰一窍不通。能逗伊人展颜一笑的时髦话,他却一句也讲不出来,真是急死人。

菲利普一向迷信于印刷成册的出版物,现在为了给自己的言谈话语增添点儿情趣,便孜孜不倦地啃起《体育时报》来了。

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
举报 只看该作者 64楼  发表于: 2014-08-20 0



chapter 62

Philip did not surrender himself willingly to the passion that consumed him. He knew that all things human are transitory and therefore that it must cease one day or another. He looked forward to that day with eager longing. Love was like a parasite in his heart, nourishing a hateful existence on his life’s blood; it absorbed his existence so intensely that he could take pleasure in nothing else. He had been used to delight in the grace of St. James’ Park, and often he sat and looked at the branches of a tree silhouetted against the sky, it was like a Japanese print; and he found a continual magic in the beautiful Thames with its barges and its wharfs; the changing sky of London had filled his soul with pleasant fancies. But now beauty meant nothing to him. He was bored and restless when he was not with Mildred. Sometimes he thought he would console his sorrow by looking at pictures, but he walked through the National Gallery like a sight-seer; and no picture called up in him a thrill of emotion. He wondered if he could ever care again for all the things he had loved. He had been devoted to reading, but now books were meaningless; and he spent his spare hours in the smoking-room of the hospital club, turning over innumerable periodicals. This love was a torment, and he resented bitterly the subjugation in which it held him; he was a prisoner and he longed for freedom.

Sometimes he awoke in the morning and felt nothing; his soul leaped, for he thought he was free; he loved no longer; but in a little while, as he grew wide awake, the pain settled in his heart, and he knew that he was not cured yet. Though he yearned for Mildred so madly he despised her. He thought to himself that there could be no greater torture in the world than at the same time to love and to contemn.

Philip, burrowing as was his habit into the state of his feelings, discussing with himself continually his condition, came to the conclusion that he could only cure himself of his degrading passion by making Mildred his mistress. It was sexual hunger that he suffered from, and if he could satisfy this he might free himself from the intolerable chains that bound him. He knew that Mildred did not care for him at all in that way. When he kissed her passionately she withdrew herself from him with instinctive distaste. She had no sensuality. Sometimes he had tried to make her jealous by talking of adventures in Paris, but they did not interest her; once or twice he had sat at other tables in the tea-shop and affected to flirt with the waitress who attended them, but she was entirely indifferent. He could see that it was no pretence on her part.

‘You didn’t mind my not sitting at one of your tables this afternoon?’ he asked once, when he was walking to the station with her. ‘Yours seemed to be all full.’

This was not a fact, but she did not contradict him. Even if his desertion meant nothing to her he would have been grateful if she had pretended it did. A reproach would have been balm to his soul.

‘I think it’s silly of you to sit at the same table every day. You ought to give the other girls a turn now and again.’

But the more he thought of it the more he was convinced that complete surrender on her part was his only way to freedom. He was like a knight of old, metamorphosed by magic spells, who sought the potions which should restore him to his fair and proper form. Philip had only one hope. Mildred greatly desired to go to Paris. To her, as to most English people, it was the centre of gaiety and fashion: she had heard of the Magasin du Louvre, where you could get the very latest thing for about half the price you had to pay in London; a friend of hers had passed her honeymoon in Paris and had spent all day at the Louvre; and she and her husband, my dear, they never went to bed till six in the morning all the time they were there; the Moulin Rouge and I don’t know what all. Philip did not care that if she yielded to his desires it would only be the unwilling price she paid for the gratification of her wish. He did not care upon what terms he satisfied his passion. He had even had a mad, melodramatic idea to drug her. He had plied her with liquor in the hope of exciting her, but she had no taste for wine; and though she liked him to order champagne because it looked well, she never drank more than half a glass. She liked to leave untouched a large glass filled to the brim.

‘It shows the waiters who you are,’ she said.

Philip chose an opportunity when she seemed more than usually friendly. He had an examination in anatomy at the end of March. Easter, which came a week later, would give Mildred three whole days holiday.

‘I say, why don’t you come over to Paris then?’ he suggested. ‘We’d have such a ripping time.’

‘How could you? It would cost no end of money.’

Philip had thought of that. It would cost at least five-and-twenty pounds. It was a large sum to him. He was willing to spend his last penny on her.

‘What does that matter? Say you’ll come, darling.’

‘What next, I should like to know. I can’t see myself going away with a man that I wasn’t married to. You oughtn’t to suggest such a thing.’

‘What does it matter?’

He enlarged on the glories of the Rue de la Paix and the garish splendour of the Folies Bergeres. He described the Louvre and the Bon Marche. He told her about the Cabaret du Neant, the Abbaye, and the various haunts to which foreigners go. He painted in glowing colours the side of Paris which he despised. He pressed her to come with him.

‘You know, you say you love me, but if you really loved me you’d want to marry me. You’ve never asked me to marry you.’

‘You know I can’t afford it. After all, I’m in my first year, I shan’t earn a penny for six years.’

‘Oh, I’m not blaming you. I wouldn’t marry you if you went down on your bended knees to me.’

He had thought of marriage more than once, but it was a step from which he shrank. In Paris he had come by the opinion that marriage was a ridiculous institution of the philistines. He knew also that a permanent tie would ruin him. He had middle-class instincts, and it seemed a dreadful thing to him to marry a waitress. A common wife would prevent him from getting a decent practice. Besides, he had only just enough money to last him till he was qualified; he could not keep a wife even if they arranged not to have children. He thought of Cronshaw bound to a vulgar slattern, and he shuddered with dismay . He foresaw what Mildred, with her genteel ideas and her mean mind, would become: it was impossible for him to marry her. But he decided only with his reason; he felt that he must have her whatever happened; and if he could not get her without marrying her he would do that; the future could look after itself. It might end in disaster; he did not care. When he got hold of an idea it obsessed him, he could think of nothing else, and he had a more than common power to persuade himself of the reasonableness of what he wished to do. He found himself overthrowing all the sensible arguments which had occurred to him against marriage. Each day he found that he was more passionately devoted to her; and his unsatisfied love became angry and resentful.

‘By George, if I marry her I’ll make her pay for all the suffering I’ve endured,’ he said to himself.

At last he could bear the agony no longer. After dinner one evening in the little restaurant in Soho, to which now they often went, he spoke to her.

‘I say, did you mean it the other day that you wouldn’t marry me if I asked you?’

‘Yes, why not?’

‘Because I can’t live without you. I want you with me always. I’ve tried to get over it and I can’t. I never shall now. I want you to marry me.’

She had read too many novelettes not to know how to take such an offer.

‘I’m sure I’m very grateful to you, Philip. I’m very much flattered at your proposal.’

‘Oh, don’t talk rot. You will marry me, won’t you?’

‘D’you think we should be happy?’

‘No. But what does that matter?’

The words were wrung out of him almost against his will. They surprised her.

‘Well, you are a funny chap. Why d’you want to marry me then? The other day you said you couldn’t afford it.’

‘I think I’ve got about fourteen hundred pounds left. Two can live just as cheaply as one. That’ll keep us till I’m qualified and have got through with my hospital appointments, and then I can get an assistantship.’

‘It means you wouldn’t be able to earn anything for six years. We should have about four pounds a week to live on till then, shouldn’t we?’

‘Not much more than three. There are all my fees to pay.’

‘And what would you get as an assistant?’

‘Three pounds a week.’

‘D’you mean to say you have to work all that time and spend a small fortune just to earn three pounds a week at the end of it? I don’t see that I should be any better off than I am now.’

He was silent for a moment.

‘D’you mean to say you won’t marry me?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘Does my great love mean nothing to you at all?’

‘One has to think of oneself in those things, don’t one? I shouldn’t mind marrying, but I don’t want to marry if I’m going to be no better off than what I am now. I don’t see the use of it.’

‘If you cared for me you wouldn’t think of all that.’

‘P’raps not.’

He was silent. He drank a glass of wine in order to get rid of the choking in his throat.

‘Look at that girl who’s just going out,’ said Mildred. ‘She got them furs at the Bon Marche at Brixton. I saw them in the window last time I went down there.’

Philip smiled grimly.

‘What are you laughing at?’ she asked. ‘It’s true. And I said to my aunt at the time, I wouldn’t buy anything that had been in the window like that, for everyone to know how much you paid for it.’

‘I can’t understand you. You make me frightfully unhappy, and in the next breath you talk rot that has nothing to do with what we’re speaking about.’

‘You are nasty to me,’ she answered, aggrieved. ‘I can’t help noticing those furs, because I said to my aunt...’

‘I don’t care a damn what you said to your aunt,’ he interrupted impatiently.

‘I wish you wouldn’t use bad language when you speak to me Philip. You know I don’t like it.’

Philip smiled a little, but his eyes were wild. He was silent for a while. He looked at her sullenly. He hated, despised, and loved her.

‘If I had an ounce of sense I’d never see you again,’ he said at last. ‘If you only knew how heartily I despise myself for loving you!’

‘That’s not a very nice thing to say to me,’ she replied sulkily.

‘It isn’t,’ he laughed. ‘Let’s go to the Pavilion.’

‘That’s what’s so funny in you, you start laughing just when one doesn’t expect you to. And if I make you that unhappy why d’you want to take me to the Pavilion? I’m quite ready to go home.’

‘Merely because I’m less unhappy with you than away from you.’

‘I should like to know what you really think of me.’

He laughed outright.

‘My dear, if you did you’d never speak to me again.’



第六十二章

菲利普不甘心于听凭情欲的摆布。他知道,人生世事无一不似过眼烟云,自己的情欲早晚也会烟消云散的。他不胜翘企地期待这一天的到来。爱情好似依附在他心灵上的一条寄生虫,靠吮吸他的心血来维持那可恶的生命;爱情搞得他神魂颠倒,使他对生活中的其他事情一概失去了兴趣。过去,他喜欢去幽静典雅的圣詹姆士公园,常坐在那儿观赏蓝天衬映下的繁枝茂叶,其色泽之淡雅,轮廓之分明,宛如一幅日本版画。他也常去秀丽的泰晤士河河边,觉得在那驳船穿行、码头毗连的河上风光之中,自有一股令人百看不厌的魅力。此外,伦敦变幻不定的万里云天,更能激起他心灵的遐想。可如今,景色再美,他也无心恋及。只要不同米尔德丽德呆在一块儿,他就感到百无聊赖,坐立不安。有时候他去观赏画展,想借此排遣心中的愁思,结果却像观光的游客那样,在国家美术馆的画廊上匆匆而过,没有一幅画能在他心里激起感情的涟漪。他甚至怀疑,自己从前所迷恋过的那些事物,今后会不会再使自己感到兴趣。他过去手不释卷,乐此不疲,现在却觉得满纸荒唐,废话连篇。他一空下来,就钻进医学院俱乐部的吸烟室,一本接一本地浏览期刊杂志。这样的爱情实在是一种折磨,他怨恨自己竟会身陷其中而不能自拔。他成了樊笼中的囚犯,可他心中渴望着自由。

有时他早晨一觉醒来,只觉得心泰神安。他心灵涌起一阵狂喜,因为他相信自己终于挣脱了羁绊:他不再爱她了。哪知过了一会儿,等他神智完全清醒了,痛苦又重新潜入他心田,他明白自己的心病依然如故。尽管他如狂似醉地迷恋着米尔德丽德,可心底里却又对她十分鄙视。他暗暗对自己说:恐怕世界上再没有比这种既爱又嫌的矛盾感情更折磨人的了。

菲利普一向有解剖自我、探究内心感情的习惯。经过一段时间的反复盘算,他终于得出这样的结论:只有使米尔德丽德成为自己的情妇,才能摆脱卑劣情欲的折磨。他的痛苦乃在于肉欲得不到满足;倘若这一点得到了满足,说不定他就能挣脱那条束缚着他身心的、不堪忍受的锁链。他知道米尔德丽德在这方面对他丝毫不感兴趣。每当他发狂似地亲吻她的时候,她出于本能的厌恶,总是尽力挣脱开去。这个女人竟然一点不动春心。有时候他特意讲些在巴黎的风流艳遇,想借此激起她的醋劲,谁知她全然不感兴趣。还有一两回,他故意坐到其他餐桌上去同别的女招待打情骂俏,可她根本不把这当作一回事。菲利普看得出来,她倒不是在存心做作。

"今天下午我没光顾你的座儿,你不介意吧?"有一回他陪她去火车站时这么问。"你管的那几张桌子似乎全坐满了。"

这话并不符合事实,她也不屑点穿他。其实,就算她不把这种事儿放在心上吧,可要是她能装出几分计较的样子,菲利普也会心坏感激的。如果再说句把嗔怪的话,那对菲利普饱受创伤的心灵更是莫大的安慰了。

"我觉得你天天老钉着一张餐桌坐,够傻的。你是该光顾光顾其他姑娘的座儿嘛。"

菲利普越想越觉得眼前只有一条出路:只有叫她委身相就,自己才能获得身心的自由。他就像古时候中了妖术而变成怪兽的骑士,急于想找到那种能恢复自己健美人形的解药。菲利普仅存有一线希望。米尔德丽德很想去巴黎开开眼界。对于她,就像对于大多数英国人一样,巴黎乃是欢乐与时尚的中心。她听人谈起过卢佛尔商场,在那儿可以买到最时新的商品,价钱只及伦敦一半左右。她有位女友曾去巴黎度蜜月,在卢佛尔宫里消磨了一整天。在巴黎逗留期间,她同丈夫,我的老天呀,天天玩个通宵,不到早晨六点是决不肯上床睡觉的。还有"红磨坊"什么的,叫人说不清,道不尽。菲利普心想,哪怕她仅仅是为了实现去巴黎的宿愿才勉强委身相就,自己也不在乎。只要能满足自己的情欲,什么条件他都不计较。他甚至生出闹剧式的疯狂念头--想给她灌麻醉药。吃饭时,他一味地劝她喝酒,想借酒力来刺激她,可她偏偏不爱喝酒。每回进餐,她爱让菲利普点香槟酒,因为这种酒放在餐桌上挺有气派,而她喝下肚的从不超过半杯。她喜欢让大酒杯斟得满满的,然后原封不动地留在餐桌上。

"让跑堂的瞧瞧咱们是何等人物,"她说。

菲利普凑准她态度特别和顺的当口,把这事儿提了出来。三月底他参加解剖学考试。再过一星期就是复活节,到时候她有三个整天的假期。

"听我说,假期里你干吗不去跑一趟巴黎?"他提议说,"我们可以痛痛快快地玩它几天嘛。"

"玩得起吗?得花好大一笔钱呢。"

菲利普盘算过了,跑一趟巴黎少说也得花二十五镑。对他来说,确实是笔不小的款额。不过即使把所有的钱都花在她身上,他也心甘情愿。

"那算得了什么。你就答应了吧,我亲爱的。"

一你倒说说看,天底下还有什么比这更荒唐的事。我哪能没结婚就跟个男人往外乱跑!亏你想得出这么个馊主意。"

"那有什么大不了呢?"

他大谈特谈和平大街有多繁华,牧羊女舞剧场又是何等富丽堂皇。他绘形绘色把卢佛尔宫和廉价商场描述了一番。最后又着意提到仙阁酒家、修道院以及外国游客常去光顾的寻欢作乐之处。他把自己所鄙夷的巴黎那俗艳的一面,抹上了一层绚丽夺目的油彩。他一个劲地劝米尔德丽德跟他同往巴黎一游。

"听我说,你老是讲你爱我,爱我,要是你果真爱我,就该要我嫁给你。可你从来也没向我求过婚。"

"你知道我结不起婚啊。说到底,我还刚进大学读一年级。今后六年里我赚不到一个子儿。"

"噢,我只是说说罢了,没有责怪你的意思。即使你跪在我面前向我求婚,我也不会答应嫁给你的。"

他曾多次想到过结婚的事儿,他怎么也不敢贸然跨出这一步。早在巴黎的时候,他就形成了这样一种看法:男婚女嫁乃是市井之徒的荒谬习俗。他也知道,同她结下百年之好,定会断送掉他的前程。菲利普出于中产阶级的本能,认为娶一个女招待为妻,无异是冒天下之大不题。家里。放着个平庸的婆娘,体面人士岂肯上门求医。再从他目前的经济状况来看,他巴巴结结地过日子,尚可以勉强维持到他最终取得医生资格。要是结了婚,即使商定不生小孩,他也无力养活妻子。想到克朗肖如何把自己的命运同一个庸俗、邋遢的女人连结在一起,菲利普不由得心寒了。他完全可以预见到,爱慕虚荣、头脑平庸的米尔德丽德将来会成个何等样的角色。说什么也不能同这样的女人结合。在理智上他可以下这样的论断,然而在感情上却认为,哪怕是天塌地陷,也得把她占为己有。假如他非得同她结婚才能将她弄到手,那他就孤注一掷,干脆讨她做老婆,将来的事等到将来再说。哪怕到头来身败名裂,他也全不在乎。他脑子一经生出个念头,那就想赶也赶不跑。他像着了魔似的,其他的一切全可置于不顾。他还有一套不寻常的本事,凡是自己执意要做的事,他总能摆出各种各样的理由来,说得自己心安而又理得。现在,他也把自己所想到的那些反对这门婚事的正当理由,逐条逐条地推翻了。他只觉得自己一天比一天更加倾心于米尔德丽德;而那股得不到满足的情欲最后竟使他恼羞成怒。

"老天在上,要是哪天她当真做了我老婆,非得和她清算这笔帐,让她也来受受这份活罪,"他自言自语说。

最后,他再也忍受不住这种痛苦的折磨。一天晚上,在索霍区那家小饭馆吃过晚饭之后(现在他们已是那儿的常客了),菲利普对她说:

"哎,那天你说,即使我向你求婚,你也不会嫁给我的,此话可当真?"

"嗯,怎不当真?"

"我没有你实在没法活。我要你永远陪在我身边。我竭力摆脱,可就是摆脱不了。永远也办不到。我要你嫁给我。"

她曾读过许多小说,自然不会不知道该如何应付这种场面。

"我真的非常感激你,菲利普。承蒙您向我求婚,我真有点受宠若惊呢。"

"哦,别来这套废话。你愿意嫁给我的,是吗?"

"你觉得我们一起生活会幸福吗?"

"不会。但这又有何妨?"

这句话几乎是菲利普违背了自己的意愿,硬从牙缝里挤出来的。她听了不觉一惊。

"哟,你这人好怪。既然你那么想,干吗还要同我结婚?那天你不是说结不起婚的吗?"

"我想我还剩有一千四百镑的财产。两个人凑合着过日子,不见得比单身多花钱。咱们细水长流,那笔款子可以维持到我取得行医资格,然后再在医院里实习一段时间,我就能当上助理医师。"

"那就是说,这六年里你赚不到一个于儿。我们得靠四镑左右的钱过一个星期,是吗?"

"只有三镑多一点儿。我还得付学费呢。"

"你当上了助理医师,能有多少收入?"

"每周三镑。"

"你的意思是说,你长年累月地寒窗苦读,还把仅有的一点儿老本都给贴上了,到头来,却只能换到个每周三镑的收入?我看即使到那时候,我的日子也不见得会比现在好过些。"

菲利普一时语塞。

"这就是说你不愿嫁给我罗?"过了一会儿他嗓音嘶哑地问。"我对你的一片痴情,难道你觉得全无所谓?"

"在这些事情上,谁都免不了要为自己打算打算,不是吗?我不反对结婚,但如果结婚以后,境遇并不见得比眼前好,那我宁可不结婚。我看不出这样的婚事会有什么意思。"

"我看你根本不把我放在心上,否则你不会存这种想法。"

"大概是吧。"

菲利普哑口无言。他喝了一杯酒,想清清梗塞的喉管。

"瞧那个刚走出去的姑娘,"米尔德丽德说,"她穿的那身皮货,是在布里克斯顿的廉价商场里买的。上次我去那儿时在橱窗里看到过。"

菲利普冷冷一笑。

"你笑什么?"她问,"我说的一点不假。当时我还对我姨妈说过,我才不高兴买那种陈列在橱窗里的货色呢,你是花几个钱买下的,谁肚子里都雪亮。"

"真不懂你是什么意思。先是伤透了我的心,接着又七拉八扯地净说些毫不相干的废话。"

"瞧你尽跟我耍脾气,"她说,似乎像是蒙受了多大委屈似的。"我没法不去注意那件皮货,因为我对姨妈说过……"

"你对你姨妈说些什么关我屁事,"他不耐烦地打断她的话。

"我希望你对我说话的时候嘴里放干净些,菲利普,你知道我不爱听粗话。"

菲利普脸上露出一丝笑容,眼窝里却闪烁着怒火。他沉默了片刻,悻悻地瞅着她。对眼前的这个女人,他既恼恨又鄙视,可就是爱她。

"我要是还有一丝半点理智的话,无论如何也不会再想见你,"他终于忍不住这么说了。"但愿你能知道,就因为爱上你这样的女人,我可是打心底里瞧不起自己!"

"你这话冲着我说,恐怕不很得体吧,"她虎着脸说。

"是不得体,"他哈哈笑了。"让我们到派维莲凉亭去吧。"

"你这个人就是这么怪。偏偏在别人意想不到的时候冷不防笑起来。既然我让你那么伤心,你干吗还要带我去派维莲凉亭?"

"无非是因为同你分开要比同你待在一起更使我伤心。"

"我倒真想知道你究竟对我有怎么个看法。"

他纵声大笑。

"我亲爱的,你要是知道了我对你的看法,就再不愿意搭理我啦。"

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 63

Philip did not pass the examination in anatomy at the end of March. He and Dunsford had worked at the subject together on Philip’s skeleton, asking each other questions till both knew by heart every attachment and the meaning of every nodule and groove on the human bones; but in the examination room Philip was seized with panic, and failed to give right answers to questions from a sudden fear that they might be wrong. He knew he was ploughed and did not even trouble to go up to the building next day to see whether his number was up. The second failure put him definitely among the incompetent and idle men of his year.

He did not care much. He had other things to think of. He told himself that Mildred must have senses like anybody else, it was only a question of awakening them; he had theories about woman, the rip at heart, and thought that there must come a time with everyone when she would yield to persistence. It was a question of watching for the opportunity, keeping his temper, wearing her down with small attentions, taking advantage of the physical exhaustion which opened the heart to tenderness, making himself a refuge from the petty vexations of her work. He talked to her of the relations between his friends in Paris and the fair ladies they admired. The life he described had a charm, an easy gaiety, in which was no grossness. Weaving into his own recollections the adventures of Mimi and Rodolphe, of Musette and the rest of them, he poured into Mildred’s ears a story of poverty made picturesque by song and laughter, of lawless love made romantic by beauty and youth. He never attacked her prejudices directly, but sought to combat them by the suggestion that they were suburban. He never let himself be disturbed by her inattention, nor irritated by her indifference. He thought he had bored her. By an effort he made himself affable and entertaining; he never let himself be angry, he never asked for anything, he never complained, he never scolded. When she made engagements and broke them, he met her next day with a smiling face; when she excused herself, he said it did not matter. He never let her see that she pained him. He understood that his passionate grief had wearied her, and he took care to hide every sentiment which could be in the least degree troublesome. He was heroic.

Though she never mentioned the change, for she did not take any conscious notice of it, it affected her nevertheless: she became more confidential with him; she took her little grievances to him, and she always had some grievance against the manageress of the shop, one of her fellow waitresses, or her aunt; she was talkative enough now, and though she never said anything that was not trivial Philip was never tired of listening to her.

‘I like you when you don’t want to make love to me,’ she told him once.

‘That’s flattering for me,’ he laughed.

She did not realise how her words made his heart sink nor what an effort it needed for him to answer so lightly.

‘Oh, I don’t mind your kissing me now and then. It doesn’t hurt me and it gives you pleasure.’

Occasionally she went so far as to ask him to take her out to dinner, and the offer, coming from her, filled him with rapture.

‘I wouldn’t do it to anyone else,’ she said, by way of apology. ‘But I know I can with you.’

‘You couldn’t give me greater pleasure,’ he smiled.

She asked him to give her something to eat one evening towards the end of April.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Where would you like to go afterwards?’

‘Oh, don’t let’s go anywhere. Let’s just sit and talk. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Rather not.’

He thought she must be beginning to care for him. Three months before the thought of an evening spent in conversation would have bored her to death. It was a fine day, and the spring added to Philip’s high spirits. He was content with very little now.

‘I say, won’t it be ripping when the summer comes along,’ he said, as they drove along on the top of a ‘bus to Soho—she had herself suggested that they should not be so extravagant as to go by cab. ‘We shall be able to spend every Sunday on the river. We’ll take our luncheon in a basket.’

She smiled slightly, and he was encouraged to take her hand. She did not withdraw it.

‘I really think you’re beginning to like me a bit,’ he smiled.

‘You ARE silly, you know I like you, or else I shouldn’t be here, should I?’

They were old customers at the little restaurant in Soho by now, and the patronne gave them a smile as they came in. The waiter was obsequious.

‘Let me order the dinner tonight,’ said Mildred.

Philip, thinking her more enchanting than ever, gave her the menu, and she chose her favourite dishes. The range was small, and they had eaten many times all that the restaurant could provide. Philip was gay. He looked into her eyes, and he dwelt on every perfection of her pale cheek. When they had finished Mildred by way of exception took a cigarette. She smoked very seldom.

‘I don’t like to see a lady smoking,’ she said.

She hesitated a moment and then spoke.

‘Were you surprised, my asking you to take me out and give me a bit of dinner tonight?’

‘I was delighted.’

‘I’ve got something to say to you, Philip.’

He looked at her quickly, his heart sank, but he had trained himself well.

‘Well, fire away,’ he said, smiling.

‘You’re not going to be silly about it, are you? The fact is I’m going to get married.’

‘Are you?’ said Philip.

He could think of nothing else to say. He had considered the possibility often and had imagined to himself what he would do and say. He had suffered agonies when he thought of the despair he would suffer, he had thought of suicide, of the mad passion of anger that would seize him; but perhaps he had too completely anticipated the emotion he would experience, so that now he felt merely exhausted. He felt as one does in a serious illness when the vitality is so low that one is indifferent to the issue and wants only to be left alone.

‘You see, I’m getting on,’ she said. ‘I’m twenty-four and it’s time I settled down.’

He was silent. He looked at the patronne sitting behind the counter, and his eye dwelt on a red feather one of the diners wore in her hat. Mildred was nettled.

‘You might congratulate me,’ she said.

‘I might, mightn’t I? I can hardly believe it’s true. I’ve dreamt it so often. It rather tickles me that I should have been so jolly glad that you asked me to take you out to dinner. Whom are you going to marry?’

‘Miller,’ she answered, with a slight blush.

‘Miller?’ cried Philip, astounded. ‘But you’ve not seen him for months.’

‘He came in to lunch one day last week and asked me then. He’s earning very good money. He makes seven pounds a week now and he’s got prospects.’

Philip was silent again. He remembered that she had always liked Miller; he amused her; there was in his foreign birth an exotic charm which she felt unconsciously.

‘I suppose it was inevitable,’ he said at last. ‘You were bound to accept the highest bidder. When are you going to marry?’

‘On Saturday next. I have given notice.’

Philip felt a sudden pang.

‘As soon as that?’

‘We’re going to be married at a registry office. Emil prefers it.’

Philip felt dreadfully tired. He wanted to get away from her. He thought he would go straight to bed. He called for the bill.

‘I’ll put you in a cab and send you down to Victoria. I daresay you won’t have to wait long for a train.’

‘Won’t you come with me?’

‘I think I’d rather not if you don’t mind.’

‘It’s just as you please,’ she answered haughtily. ‘I suppose I shall see you at tea-time tomorrow?’

‘No, I think we’d better make a full stop now. I don’t see why I should go on making myself unhappy. I’ve paid the cab.’

He nodded to her and forced a smile on his lips, then jumped on a ‘bus and made his way home. He smoked a pipe before he went to bed, but he could hardly keep his eyes open. He suffered no pain. He fell into a heavy sleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.



第六十三章


菲利普没能通过三月底举行的解剖学考试。考试前,他曾同邓斯福德在一块儿复习功课。两人面对菲利普备置的那具骨架,你问我答,我问你答,直到把人体骨骼上的所有附着物以及各个骨节、骨沟的功用都背得滚瓜烂熟。谁知进了考场以后,菲利普却突然惊慌起来,生怕答错了题,结果心里越是怕错,笔底下就越是错误百出。菲利普自知这次考糟了,所以第二天甚至懒得跑到考试大楼去看自己的学号是否登在榜上。由于这第二次的考试失利,他无疑已归在年级中既无能又不用功的学生之列。

菲利普倒也不怎么在乎。他还有别的事情要操心。他对自己说,米尔德丽德也是血肉凡胎,想必总有七情六欲,问题在于如何唤醒她的这些潜在意识。对于女人,他自有一套理论,认为她们个个色厉内荏,只要死死地盯住不放,她们总有俯首就范的时候。关键在于耐住性子,窥伺时机:不时向她们献点殷勤,以消浊她们的意志;趁她们身体累乏之时,对她们备加温存,从而叩开她们的心扉,每当她们在工作中遇到什么不称心的事儿,能及时为她们解怨排闷。菲利普给米尔德丽德讲了巴黎旧友的一些情况,谈到他们如何同自己的心上人亲切交往。那儿的生活经他一描绘,顿时逸闻横生,不但显得轻松愉快,且无半点粗俗之气。他把米密和鲁多尔夫以及缪塞和其他人的风流艳史交织在自己对往事的回忆之中,让米尔德丽德听起来觉得那儿的生活虽说贫困,却充满诗情画意,洋溢着歌声和欢笑,甚至男女之间的那些苟且之事,由于焕发着青春与美而带上罗曼蒂克的色彩。他从来不直截了当地抨击她的偏见,而是旁敲侧击地加以暗示:她的那些看法纯系孤陋寡闻所致。现在,哪怕她再漫不经心,态度再冷淡,他也决不为此空自烦恼或是悻然不悦。他觉得自己已惹她生厌了。他尽量显得温和恭顺,使自己的谈吐富有情趣;他不再使性子,耍脾气,从不提出任何要求,也决不埋怨、责怪。即使有时她失信爽约,第二:天他照样笑脸相迎;而当她向他表示歉意时,他只是说一声"没关系"。他从来不让她察觉到自己为她受尽了痛苦折磨。他知道他过去向她倾诉相思之苦,结果反使她不胜厌烦,所以现在他处处留神,不轻易流露一丝半点的情感,免得招她嫌恶。他的用心可谓良苦矣。

尽管米尔德丽德从不提及他态度上的微妙变化---因为她不屑费神去留心这种事儿--然而,这毕竟对她还是起到了潜移默化的作用,她开始同菲利普讲心里话了。每回受到了点什么委屈,她总要到菲利普这儿来发泄一通;她还常在菲利普面前抱怨诉苦,说店里的女经理、同事中的某个女招待,或是她姨妈怎么怎么亏待她了。她现在絮絮叨叨的,话还真多,虽然讲的不外乎一些鸡毛蒜皮的小事情,可菲利普听了从不感到厌烦。

"只要你不死缠着向我求爱,我还真有点喜欢你呢,"有一次她对他这么说。

"承蒙你抬举我了。"菲利普呵呵一笑。

殊不知她的这句话像当头一盆冷水,浇得菲利普透心凉了。别看菲利普回话的口气挺轻松,那可是咬紧了牙硬挤出来的呀。

"嗯,你不时要吻我一下,我也不在乎。反正又伤不着我什么。只要你觉着高兴就好了。"

有时候,她甚至主动要菲利普带她去外面用餐,她肯这么赏脸,菲利普自然喜出望外。

"对别人我才不肯说这个话呢,"她还为自己辩解一句。"你嘛,我知道不会见怪的。"

"你肯赏脸,实在是给了我天大的面子,"菲利普笑吟吟地说。

临四月底的一个晚上,米尔德丽德要菲利普请她去吃点什么。

"行,吃点好饭,你想去哪儿?"

"哟,哪儿也别去,就陪我坐着聊聊。你不会有意见吧,呃?"

"那还用说。"

菲利普心想,她淮是对他自己有了几分情意。假使在三个月以前,要她一晚上哪儿也别去,净坐着聊天,她不觉得厌烦死了才怪呢。那天天气晴朗,春意盎然,这更增添了菲利普的兴致。他现在极容易满足。

"我说,等夏天来了那才带劲呢,"菲利普说,此刻他们正坐在去索霍区的公共汽车的顶层上(米尔德丽德主动提议说,不该那么铺张,出门老是坐马车)。"每逢星期天,我们就可以在泰晤十河上玩它一整天。我们可以自备午餐,随身带个食品篮。"

她莞尔一笑,菲利普见了顿添一股勇气,一把握住她的手。她也无意抽回。

"我真要说,你开始有点喜欢我了。"他满面春风。

"你真傻。明知道我喜欢你,要不我干吗跟你上这儿来呢?"

他俩现在已是索霍区那家小餐馆的老主顾了,patronne一见他们进来,就冲着他们含笑致意。那个跑堂的更是一脸巴结之色。

"今晚让我来点菜,"米尔德丽德说。

菲利普把菜单递给了她,觉得她今晚分外妩媚动人。她点了几个她最爱吃的菜肴。菜单上不多几样菜,这家馆子所有的菜肴他们都已品尝过多次。菲利普喜形于色,一会儿窥视她的双眼,一会儿望着她那张尽善尽美的苍白脸庞出神。吃完晚餐,米尔德丽德破例抽了支烟,她是难得抽烟的。

"我觉得女人抽烟叫人看着怪不顺眼的,"她说。

她迟疑了片刻,又接着说:

"我要你今晚带我出来,又要你请我吃饭,你是否感到有点意外?"

"我高兴还来不及呢。"

"我有话要对你说,菲利普。"

他飞快地瞥了她一眼,心头猛地咯瞪一沉。不过他现在已老练多了。

"往下说呀,"他脸上仍挂着微笑。

"你不会傻呵呵地想不开吧?告诉你,我快要结婚了。"

"真的?"菲利普说。

他一时想不出别的话来说。他以前也常考虑到这种可能性,还想象自己到时候会作何反应。他一想到自己早晚难逃此绝境,便觉得心如刀绞,甚至还转过自杀的念头,估计自己到时候会陷入疯狂的怒火而无力自拔。然而,也许正因为他对这一局面早有充分的思想准备,所以事到临头,他反倒只有一种精疲力竭之感,好似一个病入膏盲的病人,业已气息奄奄,万念俱灰,只求他人别来打扰。

"你知道我年纪一天天大了,"她说,"今年已经二十四岁,该有个归宿了。"

菲利普没有应声。他望望坐在柜台后面的饭馆老板,随后目光又落在一位女客身上,望着她帽子上的一根红羽毛。米尔德丽德有些恼火。

"你该向我道喜才是。"

"该向你道喜,可不?我简直不敢相信这是真的。我经常在梦里梦到这事。你要我带你出来吃饭,我喜欢得合不拢嘴,原来竟是这么回事,想想还真发噱。你要同谁结婚?"

"米勒,"她回答说,现出几分赧颜。

"米勒!"菲利普惊讶得失声叫了起来,"这几个月你一直没见到过他。"

"上星期他上店里来吃中饭,把这事儿提了出来。他是个赚大钱的人。眼下每星期挣七镑,日后光景还要好。"

菲利普又不做声了。他想到米尔德丽德过去就一向喜欢米勒。米勒能使她笑逐颜开,他的异国血统中有着一股奇异的魅力,米尔德丽德不知不觉地被他迷住了。

"说来这也是难免的,"他最后这么说道。"谁出的价高,就该归谁所有。你们打算什么时候结婚?"

"就在下星期六。我已经通知亲友了。"

菲利普心里猛地一揪。

"这么快?"

"我们不准备搞什么结婚仪式,去登记处办个手续就行了。埃米尔喜欢这样。"

菲利普心力交瘁,想快点脱身,立即上床去睡觉。他招呼跑堂结帐。

"我去叫辆马车送你去维多利亚车站。我想你不用久等就能上火车的。"

"你不陪我去了?"

"假如你不介意,我想就不奉陪了。"

"随你便吧,"她口气傲慢地说,"我想明天用茶点的时候还会再见面的吧?"

"不,我想咱俩最好就此一刀两断。我何苦要继续折磨自己呢。车资我已经付了。"

他强作笑颜,朝她一点头,随即跳上公共汽车回寓所去了。上床前,他抽了一斗烟,但似乎连眼皮子也撑不开。他不觉得有一丝半点的痛苦,头一搁到枕头上,便立即呼呼睡去。

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 64

But about three in the morning Philip awoke and could not sleep again. He began to think of Mildred. He tried not to, but could not help himself. He repeated to himself the same thing time after time till his brain reeled. It was inevitable that she should marry: life was hard for a girl who had to earn her own living; and if she found someone who could give her a comfortable home she should not be blamed if she accepted. Philip acknowledged that from her point of view it would have been madness to marry him: only love could have made such poverty bearable, and she did not love him. It was no fault of hers; it was a fact that must be accepted like any other. Philip tried to reason with himself. He told himself that deep down in his heart was mortified pride; his passion had begun in wounded vanity, and it was this at bottom which caused now a great part of his wretchedness. He despised himself as much as he despised her. Then he made plans for the future, the same plans over and over again, interrupted by recollections of kisses on her soft pale cheek and by the sound of her voice with its trailing accent; he had a great deal of work to do, since in the summer he was taking chemistry as well as the two examinations he had failed in. He had separated himself from his friends at the hospital, but now he wanted companionship. There was one happy occurrence: Hayward a fortnight before had written to say that he was passing through London and had asked him to dinner; but Philip, unwilling to be bothered, had refused. He was coming back for the season, and Philip made up his mind to write to him.

He was thankful when eight o’clock struck and he could get up. He was pale and weary. But when he had bathed, dressed, and had breakfast, he felt himself joined up again with the world at large; and his pain was a little easier to bear. He did not feel like going to lectures that morning, but went instead to the Army and Navy Stores to buy Mildred a wedding-present. After much wavering he settled on a dressing-bag. It cost twenty pounds, which was much more than he could afford, but it was showy and vulgar: he knew she would be aware exactly how much it cost; he got a melancholy satisfaction in choosing a gift which would give her pleasure and at the same time indicate for himself the contempt he had for her.

Philip had looked forward with apprehension to the day on which Mildred was to be married; he was expecting an intolerable anguish; and it was with relief that he got a letter from Hayward on Saturday morning to say that he was coming up early on that very day and would fetch Philip to help him to find rooms. Philip, anxious to be distracted, looked up a time-table and discovered the only train Hayward was likely to come by; he went to meet him, and the reunion of the friends was enthusiastic. They left the luggage at the station, and set off gaily. Hayward characteristically proposed that first of all they should go for an hour to the National Gallery; he had not seen pictures for some time, and he stated that it needed a glimpse to set him in tune with life. Philip for months had had no one with whom he could talk of art and books. Since the Paris days Hayward had immersed himself in the modern French versifiers, and, such a plethora of poets is there in France, he had several new geniuses to tell Philip about. They walked through the gallery pointing out to one another their favourite pictures; one subject led to another; they talked excitedly. The sun was shining and the air was warm.

‘Let’s go and sit in the Park,’ said Hayward. ‘We’ll look for rooms after luncheon.’

The spring was pleasant there. It was a day upon which one felt it good merely to live. The young green of the trees was exquisite against the sky; and the sky, pale and blue, was dappled with little white clouds. At the end of the ornamental water was the gray mass of the Horse Guards. The ordered elegance of the scene had the charm of an eighteenth-century picture. It reminded you not of Watteau, whose landscapes are so idyllic that they recall only the woodland glens seen in dreams, but of the more prosaic Jean-Baptiste Pater. Philip’s heart was filled with lightness. He realised, what he had only read before, that art (for there was art in the manner in which he looked upon nature) might liberate the soul from pain.

They went to an Italian restaurant for luncheon and ordered themselves a fiaschetto of Chianti. Lingering over the meal they talked on. They reminded one another of the people they had known at Heidelberg, they spoke of Philip’s friends in Paris, they talked of books, pictures, morals, life; and suddenly Philip heard a clock strike three. He remembered that by this time Mildred was married. He felt a sort of stitch in his heart, and for a minute or two he could not hear what Hayward was saying. But he filled his glass with Chianti. He was unaccustomed to alcohol and it had gone to his head. For the time at all events he was free from care. His quick brain had lain idle for so many months that he was intoxicated now with conversation. He was thankful to have someone to talk to who would interest himself in the things that interested him.

‘I say don’t let’s waste this beautiful day in looking for rooms. I’ll put you up tonight. You can look for rooms tomorrow or Monday.’

‘All right. What shall we do?’ answered Hayward.

‘Let’s get on a penny steamboat and go down to Greenwich.’

The idea appealed to Hayward, and they jumped into a cab which took them to Westminster Bridge. They got on the steamboat just as she was starting. Presently Philip, a smile on his lips, spoke.

‘I remember when first I went to Paris, Clutton, I think it was, gave a long discourse on the subject that beauty is put into things by painters and poets. They create beauty. In themselves there is nothing to choose between the Campanile of Giotto and a factory chimney. And then beautiful things grow rich with the emotion that they have aroused in succeeding generations. That is why old things are more beautiful than modern. The Ode on a Grecian Urn is more lovely now than when it was written, because for a hundred years lovers have read it and the sick at heart taken comfort in its lines.’

Philip left Hayward to infer what in the passing scene had suggested these words to him, and it was a delight to know that he could safely leave the inference. It was in sudden reaction from the life he had been leading for so long that he was now deeply affected. The delicate iridescence of the London air gave the softness of a pastel to the gray stone of the buildings; and in the wharfs and storehouses there was the severity of grace of a Japanese print. They went further down; and the splendid channel, a symbol of the great empire, broadened, and it was crowded with traffic; Philip thought of the painters and the poets who had made all these things so beautiful, and his heart was filled with gratitude. They came to the Pool of London, and who can describe its majesty? The imagination thrills, and Heaven knows what figures people still its broad stream, Doctor Johnson with Boswell by his side, an old Pepys going on board a man-o’-war: the pageant of English history, and romance, and high adventure. Philip turned to Hayward with shining eyes.

‘Dear Charles Dickens,’ he murmured, smiling a little at his own emotion.

‘Aren’t you rather sorry you chucked painting?’ asked Hayward.

‘No.’

‘I suppose you like doctoring?’

‘No, I hate it, but there was nothing else to do. The drudgery of the first two years is awful, and unfortunately I haven’t got the scientific temperament.’

‘Well, you can’t go on changing professions.’

‘Oh, no. I’m going to stick to this. I think I shall like it better when I get into the wards. I have an idea that I’m more interested in people than in anything else in the world. And as far as I can see, it’s the only profession in which you have your freedom. You carry your knowledge in your head; with a box of instruments and a few drugs you can make your living anywhere.’

‘Aren’t you going to take a practice then?’

‘Not for a good long time at any rate,’ Philip answered. ‘As soon as I’ve got through my hospital appointments I shall get a ship; I want to go to the East—the Malay Archipelago, Siam, China, and all that sort of thing—and then I shall take odd jobs. Something always comes along, cholera duty in India and things like that. I want to go from place to place. I want to see the world. The only way a poor man can do that is by going in for the medical.’

They came to Greenwich then. The noble building of Inigo Jones faced the river grandly.

‘I say, look, that must be the place where Poor Jack dived into the mud for pennies,’ said Philip.

They wandered in the park. Ragged children were playing in it, and it was noisy with their cries: here and there old seamen were basking in the sun. There was an air of a hundred years ago.

‘It seems a pity you wasted two years in Paris,’ said Hayward.

‘Waste? Look at the movement of that child, look at the pattern which the sun makes on the ground, shining through the trees, look at that sky—why, I should never have seen that sky if I hadn’t been to Paris.’

Hayward thought that Philip choked a sob, and he looked at him with astonishment.

‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Nothing. I’m sorry to be so damned emotional, but for six months I’ve been starved for beauty.’

‘You used to be so matter of fact. It’s very interesting to hear you say that.’

‘Damn it all, I don’t want to be interesting,’ laughed Philip. ‘Let’s go and have a stodgy tea.’



第六十四章

凌晨三点光景,菲利普就醒了,且再也不能人睡。他想起了米尔德丽德。他试图不去想她,但无奈情思缠绵,不能自已,就这样,时作时辍,反反复复,直弄得自己头昏脑胀。米尔德丽德要嫁人,这是不可避免的,因为对一位要自谋生计的姑娘来说,生活是艰难的;倘若她发现有人能够给她提供一个舒适的家并接受之,那也是无可指摘的。菲利普意识到,在米尔德丽德看来,让她同自己结婚才是个愚蠢的行动呢,因为只有爱情才,能使眼下这种捉襟见肘的日子得以忍受。然而,她却并不爱他。这绝不是米尔德丽德的过错,这不过是他不得不接受的又一个事实罢了。他试图说服自己。他深知他那被刺伤的自负深深地埋在心底,此时他的情欲却从被损害的虚荣中勃然而起。实际上,在很大程度上,正是由于这一点,他才变得颓唐消沉。菲利普像鄙视米尔德丽德那样鄙视自己。他为未来作出种种打算,反来复去地考虑着那些同样的计划。在这当儿,他又回想起自己在她那娇嫩、苍白的脸颊上亲吻的情景,耳际又响起她那回荡不绝的嗓音。在医学院里,他同朋友们断绝来往,而眼下他却希望有人作伴。事情真凑巧,半个月前,海沃德来信说他要路过伦敦,邀请菲利普一同进餐,但那时菲利普因不愿受人打扰而婉言谢绝了。海沃德快要返回伦敦,在此度过社交季节,于是,菲利普决定写封信给海沃德。

钟敲八点。他还能爬起来,对此他感到欣慰。他脸色苍白,倦容满面。但是,在洗了把澡,穿上了衣服,用过早餐之后,他感到自己又重新回到了尘世,病痛也显得较易忍受了。这天上午,他不想去听课,而来到陆海军商场,为米尔德丽德买件结婚礼物。菲利普犹豫了半晌,最后决定买个化妆手提包。它花去了二十镑,大大超出了他的支付能力。不过,这只包既艳丽夺目又俗不可耐。他知道米尔德丽德一定会十分精确地估计出这只包的价钱来的。这件礼物既能使她感到快乐,又能表达自己对她的鄙视。他为自己挑中了这件礼物而内心感到一种隐隐扎痛的满足。

菲利普怀着惶恐不安的心情期待着米尔德丽德成亲的日子,他这是在期待着一种难以忍受的痛苦。他感到宽慰的是,星期六早晨他接到海沃德的一封信,信中说,他就在当天早些时候来伦敦,并请菲利普替他事先找好住处。菲利普急于摆脱眼下的心境,便去查阅时刻表,找出海沃德可能搭乘的那趟车。他赶往车站迎接海沃德。朋友聚首,兴奋之至。他俩将行李寄存在车站,随后便欢天喜地地走了。海沃德还同往常一样,提议他俩首先花一个小时去游览国立美术馆。海沃德已经好些时候没有观赏图画了,说是一定得去瞧上一眼,使自己跟生活的旋律合拍协调起来。数月来,菲利普找不到一个人能同自己谈论艺术和书籍。自从去巴黎以来,海沃德一直在专心致志地研究法国的现代诗人。而在法国,这类诗人繁若群星,数不胜数。眼下,海沃德就有好几位新跃文坛的天才诗人的事儿要告诉菲利普听。他们俩漫步在美术馆,各自给对方指点着自己心爱的图画,情绪激昂地交谈着,从一个话题转到另一个话题。此时,阳光普照,微风和煦。

"走,咱俩上公园去坐一会儿,"海沃德提议说,"吃过中饭再去找房间不迟。"

公园里,春意盎然,沁人心脾。这种日子叫人感到,人只要活着就是幸福。在天空的映衬下,青翠欲滴的树林,分外妖烧。淡蓝色的天幕上嵌镶着朵朵白云。玉带般的河流的尽头,是一群身穿灰色制服的皇家禁卫骑兵队。这种层次分明的优美景色,带有一种十八世纪图画的风采眼前的景色,使人想起的是约翰一巴普蒂斯特·佩特的那种平凡质朴的图画,而不是沃特画的画。沃特的风景画富有诗意,画中只有在梦幻虚境中才能看到的那种森林幽谷的景致。菲利普心里不觉一阵轻松。他从过去读过的书本中领悟到,艺术(因为艺术的存在正如他认为自然界的存在一样)还可以将人的心灵从痛苦中解救出来。

他们俩来到一家意大利餐馆吃中饭,还要了一瓶香提酒。两人慢啜细嚼,边吃边谈,一起回忆着他俩在海德堡的熟人,谈论菲利普在巴黎的朋友,议论书籍、图画、道德和人生。猛然间,菲利普听到一只钟接连敲了三下,直觉得声声撞击着他那颗心。有那么一两分钟,海沃德说的话他啥也没听见。但是,他还一个劲儿地往自己杯子里勘酒。他喝不惯酒,并已经感到酒力直冲脑门。不管怎么说,他眼下是无忧无虑的了。多少个月来,他那敏捷的脑于闲着不思想,这时却完全陶醉在谈话中间。他为有个同自己情趣相投的人在一起交谈而感到无比欣慰。

"我说呀,咱们可别把这良辰浪费在寻找房间上头。今晚我来安顿你。你可以在明天或者下星期一再去找房间嘛!"

"好的。那眼下咱俩干什么呢?"海沃德应声说道。

"咱俩花上一个便士,乘汽船到格林威治去。"

这个主意正中海沃德的下怀。于是,他同菲利普一起跳上一辆出租马车,来到威斯敏斯特大桥,接着又乘上一艘刚要离岸的汽船。此时,菲利普的嘴角露出一丝笑意。他说:

"我还记得当初去巴黎那会儿,克拉顿,对,就是他,还发了一通长篇宏论呢。他说是画家和诗人把美赋予事物中去的,是他们创造了美。在"他们看来,乔托的钟楼和一家工厂的烟囱没有两样。然而,美丽的事物随着它们勾起一代代人们的情感而变得越来越绚丽多彩。古老的事物要比现代的事物更加美丽,其道理也就在于此。那篇《希腊古瓶颂》现在就比刚问世那会儿要更加隽永妩媚,这是因为上百年来,情侣们不断地吟诵它,那些悲观失望者也从诗句中求得安慰的缘故。"

菲利普让海沃德去推断,面对两岸摇曳而过的景色,听了他的话会作何联想。他发现自己有意作出暗示而未被对方觉察,不觉窃窃自喜。长期来他过着的那种生活,突然间在他心灵中激起了强烈的反应,使得他思绪万千,感慨系之。伦敦缥缈的大气,晕光闪烁,给建筑物的灰石蒙上了一层柔和的轻淡优美的色彩;那一个个码头、一座座仓库透出丝丝类似日本版画式的纯朴、庄重的气息。他们俩继续向前泛舟荡漾。那雄伟壮丽的水道,是大英帝国的标志,越往前越开阔。河面上千帆竞发,穿梭不息。菲利普想起那些画家和诗人把所有这一些描绘得如此婀娜多姿,心头充满了感激之情。他们随船来到伦敦地区的泰晤土河面上。有谁能够描绘出它的庄严仪容呢?顿时,他思绪驰骋,激动不已。天晓得是什么使得人们把这浩瀚的河面变得平静如镜,使得鲍士威尔老是跟随在约翰逊的左右,使得老佩皮斯跨上军舰的。啊,原来是壮丽的英国历史,是离奇的际遇和充满惊险的冒险!菲利普笑容可掬地转向海沃德。

"亲爱的狄更斯,"他喃喃地说。当觉察到自己的感情激昂起来,他不觉莞尔。

"你放弃学画,就不感到后悔吗?"海沃德问道。

"不后悔!"

"看来你是喜欢行医的?"

"不,恰恰相反,我很不喜欢当医生。不过也没有旁的事情可做呀。头两年的功课重得快把人压垮了,再说,遗憾的是,我可没一点儿科学家的气质。"

"哦,你可不能再见异思迁了。"

"嗯,不会的。我要坚持学医。我想,到了病房,我会更加喜欢上这一职业的。我有个想法,我对人比对世界上任何一样东西都更有兴趣。照我看,只有当医生,才能享有充分的自由。你把知识装在脑于里,拎着医疗器械箱,外加几味药,你就可以到处混饭吃。"

"这么说,你是不想当一名开业医师的?"

"至少在很长一段时间里不想当开业医师,"菲利普回答说。"我一取得医院的职位,便去搭乘海轮。我想到东方去--到马来群岛、暹罗、中国等等地方去---然后,我将找些零星的活儿干干。事情总是有得做的,比如说,印度闹霍乱病啦,诸如此类。我还想去周游列国。一个经济拮据的人要做到这一点,唯一的办法就是行医。"

接着他们来到了格林威治。英尼戈·琼斯设计的宏伟的大厦,仪态雍容地正视着河面。

"嘿,快瞧,那儿准是可怜的杰克跳下去捞钱的地方,"菲利普说。

他们俩在公园里信步闲逛。衣衫褴褛的孩子们在嬉耍,他们的吆喝声响遍整个公园。年迈的海员们这儿一群那儿一帮地坐着晒太阳。这儿弥漫着一种百年前的那种古朴的气息。

"你在巴黎白白浪费了两年,有些可惜,"海沃德感叹了一声。

"白白浪费?瞧那个孩子的动作,瞧那阳光穿过树叶照在地上的图案,再瞧瞧头顶上那块天--啊,要是我不到巴黎去,我就看不到那儿的天空。"

海沃德发觉菲利普语塞哽咽,不禁诧异地凝视着他。

"你怎么啦?"

"没什么。对不起,我太伤感了。不过,这半年来,我无时无刻不渴望着来观赏一下大自然的美。"

"你过去一直很讲究实际。真有趣,还能从你嘴里说出那种话来。"

"去你的,我可不想变得有趣,"菲利普哈哈笑着说。"走,咱们喝杯浓茶去!"

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 65

Hayward’s visit did Philip a great deal of good. Each day his thoughts dwelt less on Mildred. He looked back upon the past with disgust. He could not understand how he had submitted to the dishonour of such a love; and when he thought of Mildred it was with angry hatred, because she had submitted him to so much humiliation. His imagination presented her to him now with her defects of person and manner exaggerated, so that he shuddered at the thought of having been connected with her.

‘It just shows how damned weak I am,’ he said to himself. The adventure was like a blunder that one had committed at a party so horrible that one felt nothing could be done to excuse it: the only remedy was to forget. His horror at the degradation he had suffered helped him. He was like a snake casting its skin and he looked upon the old covering with nausea. He exulted in the possession of himself once more; he realised how much of the delight of the world he had lost when he was absorbed in that madness which they called love; he had had enough of it; he did not want to be in love any more if love was that. Philip told Hayward something of what he had gone through.

‘Wasn’t it Sophocles,’ he asked, ‘who prayed for the time when he would be delivered from the wild beast of passion that devoured his heart-strings?’

Philip seemed really to be born again. He breathed the circumambient air as though he had never breathed it before, and he took a child’s pleasure in all the facts of the world. He called his period of insanity six months’ hard labour.

Hayward had only been settled in London a few days when Philip received from Blackstable, where it had been sent, a card for a private view at some picture gallery. He took Hayward, and, on looking at the catalogue, saw that Lawson had a picture in it.

‘I suppose he sent the card,’ said Philip. ‘Let’s go and find him, he’s sure to be in front of his picture.’

This, a profile of Ruth Chalice, was tucked away in a corner, and Lawson was not far from it. He looked a little lost, in his large soft hat and loose, pale clothes, amongst the fashionable throng that had gathered for the private view. He greeted Philip with enthusiasm, and with his usual volubility told him that he had come to live in London, Ruth Chalice was a hussy, he had taken a studio, Paris was played out, he had a commission for a portrait, and they’d better dine together and have a good old talk. Philip reminded him of his acquaintance with Hayward, and was entertained to see that Lawson was slightly awed by Hayward’s elegant clothes and grand manner. They sat upon him better than they had done in the shabby little studio which Lawson and Philip had shared.

At dinner Lawson went on with his news. Flanagan had gone back to America. Clutton had disappeared. He had come to the conclusion that a man had no chance of doing anything so long as he was in contact with art and artists: the only thing was to get right away. To make the step easier he had quarrelled with all his friends in Paris. He developed a talent for telling them home truths, which made them bear with fortitude his declaration that he had done with that city and was settling in Gerona, a little town in the north of Spain which had attracted him when he saw it from the train on his way to Barcelona. He was living there now alone.

‘I wonder if he’ll ever do any good,’ said Philip.

He was interested in the human side of that struggle to express something which was so obscure in the man’s mind that he was become morbid and querulous. Philip felt vaguely that he was himself in the same case, but with him it was the conduct of his life as a whole that perplexed him. That was his means of self-expression, and what he must do with it was not clear. But he had no time to continue with this train of thought, for Lawson poured out a frank recital of his affair with Ruth Chalice. She had left him for a young student who had just come from England, and was behaving in a scandalous fashion. Lawson really thought someone ought to step in and save the young man. She would ruin him. Philip gathered that Lawson’s chief grievance was that the rupture had come in the middle of a portrait he was painting.

‘Women have no real feeling for art,’ he said. ‘They only pretend they have.’ But he finished philosophically enough: ‘However, I got four portraits out of her, and I’m not sure if the last I was working on would ever have been a success.’

Philip envied the easy way in which the painter managed his love affairs. He had passed eighteen months pleasantly enough, had got an excellent model for nothing, and had parted from her at the end with no great pang.

‘And what about Cronshaw?’ asked Philip.

‘Oh, he’s done for,’ answered Lawson, with the cheerful callousness of his youth. ‘He’ll be dead in six months. He got pneumonia last winter. He was in the English hospital for seven weeks, and when he came out they told him his only chance was to give up liquor.’

‘Poor devil,’ smiled the abstemious Philip.

‘He kept off for a bit. He used to go to the Lilas all the same, he couldn’t keep away from that, but he used to drink hot milk, avec de la fleur d’oranger, and he was damned dull.’

‘I take it you did not conceal the fact from him.’

‘Oh, he knew it himself. A little while ago he started on whiskey again. He said he was too old to turn over any new leaves. He would rather be happy for six months and die at the end of it than linger on for five years. And then I think he’s been awfully hard up lately. You see, he didn’t earn anything while he was ill, and the slut he lives with has been giving him a rotten time.’

‘I remember, the first time I saw him I admired him awfully,’ said Philip. ‘I thought he was wonderful. It is sickening that vulgar, middle-class virtue should pay.’

‘Of course he was a rotter. He was bound to end in the gutter sooner or later,’ said Lawson.

Philip was hurt because Lawson would not see the pity of it. Of course it was cause and effect, but in the necessity with which one follows the other lay all tragedy of life.

‘Oh, I’ d forgotten,’ said Lawson. ‘Just after you left he sent round a present for you. I thought you’d be coming back and I didn’t bother about it, and then I didn’t think it worth sending on; but it’ll come over to London with the rest of my things, and you can come to my studio one day and fetch it away if you want it.’

‘You haven’t told me what it is yet.’

‘Oh, it’s only a ragged little bit of carpet. I shouldn’t think it’s worth anything. I asked him one day what the devil he’d sent the filthy thing for. He told me he’d seen it in a shop in the Rue de Rennes and bought it for fifteen francs. It appears to be a Persian rug. He said you’d asked him the meaning of life and that was the answer. But he was very drunk.’

Philip laughed.

‘Oh yes, I know. I’ll take it. It was a favourite wheeze of his. He said I must find out for myself, or else the answer meant nothing.’



第六十五章

海沃德的来访,给菲利普带来了莫大的好处,冲淡了他对米尔德丽德的思念。回首往事,菲利普不胜厌恶之至。他自己也闹不清,过去怎么会堕入那种不体面的爱情中去的。每当想起米尔德丽德,菲利普心中不免忿恨交加,全是米尔德丽德使他蒙受这奇耻大辱。此时,呈现在他想象中的是被夸大了的她人身、仪态方面的瑕疵。他一想到自己竟同米尔德丽德这种女人有过一段暧情昧意的纠葛,不禁不寒而栗。

"这一切都表明我的意志是多么脆弱啊,"菲利普喃喃地说。先前那段经历,犹如一个人在社交场合犯下的过错,过错之严重,无论做什么都无法宽宥,唯一的补救办法,就是把它从记忆中抹去。他对自己先前的堕落十分憎恶。这倒帮了他的忙。他像一条蜕了皮的蛇,怀着厌恶的心情,鄙夷地望着自己过去的躯壳。他为自己恢复了自制力而感到欣喜若狂。菲利普意识到,在他沉湎于人们称之为爱情的痴情之中的时候,他失去了世界上多少别的乐趣啊。那种滋味他可尝够了。要是那就叫爱情,那他从此再也不会堕入那张情网中去了。菲利普把自己的一些经历告诉了海沃德。

"索夫克勒斯不就祈求有朝一日能挣脱吞噬他最诚挚爱情的情欲这头野兽吗?"他问道。

菲利普俨然一副获得了新生的样子。他贪婪地呼吸着周围的空气,仿佛从来没有呼吸过似的。他像稚童般惊喜地打量着世间万物。他把那段痴狂时期看作是服了半年的劳役。

海沃德来伦敦后没几天,菲利普接到一张寄自布莱克斯泰勃的请柬,邀请他去参观在一家美术馆举办的画展。他带上海沃德一同前往。在浏览画展目录册时,他们发现劳森也有一张画参加了这次预展。

"我想请柬就是他寄的,"菲利普说,"我们找他去,他肯定站在自己那幅画的前面。"

那张露思·查利斯的肖像画被摆在一个角落里,劳森就站在这张画的附近。他头戴一顶轻便的大帽子,身着宽大的浅色服装。置身在蜂拥而来观赏预展的时髦人物中问,他显出一副迷离惝恍的神色。他热情地同菲利普打招呼,随即同往常一样,又口若悬河地给菲利普诉说起他搬来伦敦住下了,露思·查利斯是个轻佻的女子,他租到了一间画室,并因代销一张肖像而得到一笔佣金等等。他提议他俩在一起用餐,借此机会好好叙谈叙谈。菲利普使他想起了他的相识海沃德。菲利普饶有兴趣地看着劳森面对海沃德的风雅的服饰和堂皇的气派有点儿肃然起敬的样子。

他俩奚落挖苦劳森,比在劳森和菲利普合用的那间寒熗的小画室里还要厉害。

吃饭的时候,劳森继续讲他的新闻。弗拉纳根业已返回美国。克拉顿不见了。克拉顿得出个结论,说一个人一旦同艺术和艺术家搭上关系,就不可能有所作为,唯一的办法就是立即脱离。为使出走顺利,弗拉纳根同他在巴黎的朋友们一个不落地都吵翻了。他培养了一种给他们诉说令人难堪的事实的才能,迫使他们以极大的耐心听他宣布说,他在巴黎已经呆够了,准备去赫罗纳定居。这座位于西班牙北部、深深吸引着他的小城镇,还是在他乘车去巴塞罗那的路上偶然发现的呐。他现在就独自一人住在那儿。

"我怀疑他能有什么出息,"菲利普说。

克拉顿就好作出人为的努力,来表达人们头脑里混沌不清的问题,因此,变态、易怒同他这个人就完全相称。菲利普朦胧觉得自己也是这样,不过,对他来说,是他的道德行为使他陷入了困窘。那就是他的自我表现的方式,至于对此怎么办,他可心中无数。但是,他没有时间来继续他的思索,因为劳森坦率地把同露思·查利斯的风流韵事一股脑儿地倒了出来。她遗弃了他,转而同一位刚从英国来的青年学生打得火热,闹得乌烟瘴气。劳森认为应该有人出来干预并拯救那个年轻人,要不她将毁了他。菲利普暗自忖度着,劳森最感伤心的还是他画画的中途突然闯进了那个关系破裂的插曲。

"女人们对艺术缺乏真正的感受力,"他说。"她们只是佯装她们有罢了。"不过,他末了几句话倒是相当旷达:"话得说回来,我毕竟还给她画了四张画儿,至于正在画的这最后一张画儿,不能肯定是否还能画成功呢。"

这位画家处理他的爱情纠葛那样的漫不经心,菲利普着实羡慕。劳森相当愉快地度过了一年半,并未花分文就得到了一个漂亮的模特儿,最后同她分手时,心灵上没留太深的伤痕。

"克朗肖现在怎么样?"菲利普问道。

"噢,他算是完了,"劳森皮笑肉不笑地答道。"他不出半年就要死了。去年冬天,他得了肺炎,在一家英国医院里住了七个星期。出院时,他们对他说,他康复的唯一机会就是戒酒。"

"可怜的人儿,"菲利普微微一笑。他一向是饮食有度的。

"有一阵子他是滴酒不进。他还常常到利拉斯店里去,他可熬不住不去呀。不过,他经常只是喝杯热牛奶,或者桔子汁。也太没趣了。"

"我想你没有把事实瞒了他吧?"

"哦,他自己也知道。不久前他又喝起威士忌酒来了。他说他已经老了,来不及革面洗心了。他要快快活活地过上半年,到那时,就是死也比苟延残喘活上五年要强。我想他手头拮据,简直到了山穷水尽的地步。你瞧,他生病期间,连一项进帐都没有,而且跟他同居的那个荡妇使他吃尽了苦头。"

"我记得,第一次见到他时,我对他佩服得五体投地,"菲利普说。"我那时认为他简直了不起。庸俗的中产阶级的德行居然得此报应,真叫人作呕。"

"当然罗,他是个不中用的家伙。他迟早会在那贫民窟里了却残生,"劳森说。

菲利普感到伤心,因为劳森一点也没有怜悯之情。当然,这件事是因果报应,既有前因,必有后报,而生活的全部悲剧就寓于这一支配人类生活和行为的自然规律之中。

"啊,我忘了一件事,"劳森说。"你刚走不久,克朗肖叫人送你一件礼物。我当时想你会回来,因此我也就没有托人带给你,何况当时我认为根本不值得这么做。不过,那件礼物将跟我的其余几件行李一道运来伦敦,要是你想要的话,可以到我的画室来取。"

"你还没有告诉我那是个什么东西呢。"

"哦,那是条破烂不堪的地毯。我想它值不了几个钱。有一天我问他,他怎么想得起来送这种破烂货。他告诉我他在鲁德雷恩大街上一家商店里看到这条地毯,便花了十五个法郎把它买了下来。看上去还是条波斯地毯。他说你曾问过他什么是生活的意义,那条地毯就是个回答。不过,那时他烂醉如泥了。"

菲利普哈哈笑了起来。

"喔,是的,我知道了。我要来取这条地毯。这是他的绝妙的主意。他说我必须自己去找出这个答案,否则就毫无意义。"

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 66

Philip worked well and easily; he had a good deal to do, since he was taking in July the three parts of the First Conjoint examination, two of which he had failed in before; but he found life pleasant. He made a new friend. Lawson, on the lookout for models, had discovered a girl who was understudying at one of the theatres, and in order to induce her to sit to him arranged a little luncheon-party one Sunday. She brought a chaperon with her; and to her Philip, asked to make a fourth, was instructed to confine his attentions. He found this easy, since she turned out to be an agreeable chatterbox with an amusing tongue. She asked Philip to go and see her; she had rooms in Vincent Square, and was always in to tea at five o’clock; he went, was delighted with his welcome, and went again. Mrs. Nesbit was not more than twenty-five, very small, with a pleasant, ugly face; she had very bright eyes, high cheekbones, and a large mouth: the excessive contrasts of her colouring reminded one of a portrait by one of the modern French painters; her skin was very white, her cheeks were very red, her thick eyebrows, her hair, were very black. The effect was odd, a little unnatural, but far from unpleasing. She was separated from her husband and earned her living and her child’s by writing penny novelettes. There were one or two publishers who made a specialty of that sort of thing, and she had as much work as she could do. It was ill-paid, she received fifteen pounds for a story of thirty thousand words; but she was satisfied.

‘After all, it only costs the reader twopence,’ she said, ‘and they like the same thing over and over again. I just change the names and that’s all. When I’m bored I think of the washing and the rent and clothes for baby, and I go on again.’

Besides, she walked on at various theatres where they wanted supers and earned by this when in work from sixteen shillings to a guinea a week. At the end of her day she was so tired that she slept like a top. She made the best of her difficult lot. Her keen sense of humour enabled her to get amusement out of every vexatious circumstance. Sometimes things went wrong, and she found herself with no money at all; then her trifling possessions found their way to a pawnshop in the Vauxhall Bridge Road, and she ate bread and butter till things grew brighter. She never lost her cheerfulness.

Philip was interested in her shiftless life, and she made him laugh with the fantastic narration of her struggles. He asked her why she did not try her hand at literary work of a better sort, but she knew that she had no talent, and the abominable stuff she turned out by the thousand words was not only tolerably paid, but was the best she could do. She had nothing to look forward to but a continuation of the life she led. She seemed to have no relations, and her friends were as poor as herself.

‘I don’t think of the future,’ she said. ‘As long as I have enough money for three weeks’ rent and a pound or two over for food I never bother. Life wouldn’t be worth living if I worried over the future as well as the present. When things are at their worst I find something always happens.’

Soon Philip grew in the habit of going in to tea with her every day, and so that his visits might not embarrass her he took in a cake or a pound of butter or some tea. They started to call one another by their Christian names. Feminine sympathy was new to him, and he delighted in someone who gave a willing ear to all his troubles. The hours went quickly. He did not hide his admiration for her. She was a delightful companion. He could not help comparing her with Mildred; and he contrasted with the one’s obstinate stupidity, which refused interest to everything she did not know, the other’s quick appreciation and ready intelligence. His heart sank when he thought that he might have been tied for life to such a woman as Mildred. One evening he told Norah the whole story of his love. It was not one to give him much reason for self-esteem, and it was very pleasant to receive such charming sympathy.

‘I think you’re well out of it,’ she said, when he had finished.

She had a funny way at times of holding her head on one side like an Aberdeen puppy. She was sitting in an upright chair, sewing, for she had no time to do nothing, and Philip had made himself comfortable at her feet.

‘I can’t tell you how heartily thankful I am it’s all over,’ he sighed.

‘Poor thing, you must have had a rotten time,’ she murmured, and by way of showing her sympathy put her hand on his shoulder.

He took it and kissed it, but she withdrew it quickly.

‘Why did you do that?’ she asked, with a blush.

‘Have you any objection?’

She looked at him for a moment with twinkling eyes, and she smiled.

‘No,’ she said.

He got up on his knees and faced her. She looked into his eyes steadily, and her large mouth trembled with a smile.

‘Well?’ she said.

‘You know, you are a ripper. I’m so grateful to you for being nice to me. I like you so much.’

‘Don’t be idiotic,’ she said.

Philip took hold of her elbows and drew her towards him. She made no resistance, but bent forward a little, and he kissed her red lips.

‘Why did you do that?’ she asked again.

‘Because it’s comfortable.’

She did not answer, but a tender look came into her eyes, and she passed her hand softly over his hair.

‘You know, it’s awfully silly of you to behave like this. We were such good friends. It would be so jolly to leave it at that.’

‘If you really want to appeal to my better nature,’ replied Philip, ‘you’ll do well not to stroke my cheek while you’re doing it.’

She gave a little chuckle, but she did not stop.

‘It’s very wrong of me, isn’t it?’ she said.

Philip, surprised and a little amused, looked into her eyes, and as he looked he saw them soften and grow liquid, and there was an expression in them that enchanted him. His heart was suddenly stirred, and tears came to his eyes.

‘Norah, you’re not fond of me, are you?’ he asked, incredulously.

‘You clever boy, you ask such stupid questions.’

‘Oh, my dear, it never struck me that you could be.’

He flung his arms round her and kissed her, while she, laughing, blushing, and crying, surrendered herself willingly to his embrace.

Presently he released her and sitting back on his heels looked at her curiously.

‘Well, I’m blowed!’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘I’m so surprised.’

‘And pleased?’

‘Delighted,’ he cried with all his heart, ‘and so proud and so happy and so grateful.’

He took her hands and covered them with kisses. This was the beginning for Philip of a happiness which seemed both solid and durable. They became lovers but remained friends. There was in Norah a maternal instinct which received satisfaction in her love for Philip; she wanted someone to pet, and scold, and make a fuss of; she had a domestic temperament and found pleasure in looking after his health and his linen. She pitied his deformity, over which he was so sensitive, and her pity expressed itself instinctively in tenderness. She was young, strong, and healthy, and it seemed quite natural to her to give her love. She had high spirits and a merry soul. She liked Philip because he laughed with her at all the amusing things in life that caught her fancy, and above all she liked him because he was he.

When she told him this he answered gaily:

‘Nonsense. You like me because I’m a silent person and never want to get a word in.’

Philip did not love her at all. He was extremely fond of her, glad to be with her, amused and interested by her conversation. She restored his belief in himself and put healing ointments, as it were, on all the bruises of his soul. He was immensely flattered that she cared for him. He admired her courage, her optimism, her impudent defiance of fate; she had a little philosophy of her own, ingenuous and practical.

‘You know, I don’t believe in churches and parsons and all that,’ she said, ‘but I believe in God, and I don’t believe He minds much about what you do as long as you keep your end up and help a lame dog over a stile when you can. And I think people on the whole are very nice, and I’m sorry for those who aren’t.’

‘And what about afterwards?’ asked Philip.

‘Oh, well, I don’t know for certain, you know,’ she smiled, ‘but I hope for the best. And anyhow there’ll be no rent to pay and no novelettes to write.’

She had a feminine gift for delicate flattery. She thought that Philip did a brave thing when he left Paris because he was conscious he could not be a great artist; and he was enchanted when she expressed enthusiastic admiration for him. He had never been quite certain whether this action indicated courage or infirmity of purpose. It was delightful to realise that she considered it heroic. She ventured to tackle him on a subject which his friends instinctively avoided.

‘It’s very silly of you to be so sensitive about your club-foot,’ she said. She saw him bush darkly, but went on. ‘You know, people don’t think about it nearly as much as you do. They notice it the first time they see you, and then they forget about it.’

He would not answer.

‘You’re not angry with me, are you?’

‘No.’

She put her arm round his neck.

‘You know, I only speak about it because I love you. I don’t want it to make you unhappy.’

‘I think you can say anything you choose to me,’ he answered, smiling. ‘I wish I could do something to show you how grateful I am to you.’

She took him in hand in other ways. She would not let him be bearish and laughed at him when he was out of temper. She made him more urbane.

‘You can make me do anything you like,’ he said to her once.

‘D’you mind?’

‘No, I want to do what you like.’

He had the sense to realise his happiness. It seemed to him that she gave him all that a wife could, and he preserved his freedom; she was the most charming friend he had ever had, with a sympathy that he had never found in a man. The sexual relationship was no more than the strongest link in their friendship. It completed it, but was not essential. And because Philip’s appetites were satisfied, he became more equable and easier to live with. He felt in complete possession of himself. He thought sometimes of the winter, during which he had been obsessed by a hideous passion, and he was filled with loathing for Mildred and with horror of himself.

His examinations were approaching, and Norah was as interested in them as he. He was flattered and touched by her eagerness. She made him promise to come at once and tell her the results. He passed the three parts this time without mishap, and when he went to tell her she burst into tears.

‘Oh, I’m so glad, I was so anxious.’

‘You silly little thing,’ he laughed, but he was choking.

No one could help being pleased with the way she took it.

‘And what are you going to do now?’ she asked.

‘I can take a holiday with a clear conscience. I have no work to do till the winter session begins in October.’

‘I suppose you’ll go down to your uncle’s at Blackstable?’

‘You suppose quite wrong. I’m going to stay in London and play with you.’

‘I’d rather you went away.’

‘Why? Are you tired of me?’

She laughed and put her hands on his shoulders.

‘Because you’ve been working hard, and you look utterly washed out. You want some fresh air and a rest. Please go.’

He did not answer for a moment. He looked at her with loving eyes.

‘You know, I’d never believe it of anyone but you. You’re only thinking of my good. I wonder what you see in me.’

‘Will you give me a good character with my month’s notice?’ she laughed gaily.

‘I’ll say that you’re thoughtful and kind, and you’re not exacting; you never worry, you’re not troublesome, and you’re easy to please.’

‘All that’s nonsense,’ she said, ‘but I’ll tell you one thing: I’m one of the few persons I ever met who are able to learn from experience.’



第六十六章

菲利普心情愉快地埋头学习。他有许多事情要做,因为七月里他要参加第一次统考的三个科目的考试,其中两项是他上次未获通过的。尽管这样,他还是觉得生活充满了欢乐。他交上了一位新朋友。劳森在物色模特儿的时候,发现了一位在一家剧院练习当替角的姑娘。为了诱使那位姑娘坐着让他画像,劳森于一个星期天安排了一次午餐聚会。同那位姑娘一道来的还有一位女伴。菲利普也应邀出席。这样凑足了四个人。他的任务是专门陪伴那位姑娘的伴娘。他发觉这件事并不难,因为这位伴娘是个讨人喜欢的健谈者,有着逗人发笑的口才。她邀请菲利普到她住处去看她,并告诉他她在文森特广场有几个房间,一般于下午五点在家吃茶点。他真的去了,看到自己受到欢迎面感到高兴,以后又去登门造访。内斯比特太太不过二十五岁,身材矮小,面貌虽不美丽,但是丰采却是很温柔可爱的。她有对晶莹闪亮的眸子,高隆的颧骨和一张宽宽的嘴。她脸面各部的色调过分悬殊,使人想起了一位法国现代画家创作的一张人物肖像画。她的皮肤白皙,面颊颊红,眉毛浓密,头发乌黑发亮,其效果有些古怪,还有点不自然,但决不使人感到不适。她同丈夫分居,靠撰写稿酬微薄的中篇小说维持她和孩子的生活。有一两家出版商专门出这种小说,所以她能写多少就可以写多少。这种小说的稿酬很低,写一篇三万字的小说才给十五个英镑,不过,她也满足了。

"这样的小说,读者毕竟只要花两个便士,"她说,"而且同样的故事他们百看不厌,我只要换换名字就行了。有时我感到腻烦,但一想起我得付洗衣费和房租,还得给孩子添置衣服,我就又硬着头皮写下去。"

除此之外,她还到几家需用配角的剧院去寻找工作,借此挣几个钱。一旦受雇,她一星期可以赚得十六个先令到一个畿尼。可一天下来,却累得筋疲力尽,她倒头便睡,活像个死人。她生活道路坎坷,但能好自为之;她那强烈的幽默感使得她能够身处困厄之中,依然自得其乐。有时时运个济,她发觉身上分文不名,这时候,她那些不值钱的家什就被送进沃克斯霍尔大桥路上的那爿当铺。在境况有所好转之前,她就一直啃着涂黄油的面包。但是,她可从来没有失去她那乐呵呵的本色。

菲利普对她过着那种得过且过的生活颇感兴趣。她絮聒不休地叙述她那怪诞的个人奋斗的经历来逗他发笑。他问她为什么不试着写些质量好些的文学作品。然而,她知道自己没有这种天赋,况且她那些粗制滥造的低劣作品按千字计算的稿酬,也还说得过去,同时,这种作品也是她倾尽全力写出来的。她除了希望眼下这种日子得以延续之外,别无他求。她看上去没什么亲戚,几位朋友也同她一样一贫如洗。

"将来会怎么样,我根本不去考虑,"她说。"只要手头有钱付三个星期的房租,有一两个英镑买食品,我就什么也不想。要是成天想着今天,愁着明天,生活还有什么意思呢?就是事情糟到无可再糟的地步,我想总还是有路可走的。"

没多久,菲利普形成了每天都去同内斯比特太太共用茶点的习惯。这样,他带着一块糕或者一磅黄油或者些许茶点去拜访她时,她不至于感到难堪。他俩开始互唤对方的教名。他对女性的柔情还不熟悉,然而对有人乐意倾听自己的苦恼,心里头倒是乐滋滋的。时光一小时一小时地飞逝。他毫不掩饰自己对她的欣羡之情。她是一位令人感到愉快的伴侣。他不禁将她同米尔德丽德比较起来:一个是愚昧无知且固执己见,凡是她不知道的东西,她一概不感兴趣;另一个是思想敏捷,才智洋溢。想到他险乎终身同米尔德丽德这样的女人缠在一起,不觉精神为之沮丧。一天黄昏,菲利普把他同米尔德丽德之间的爱情纠葛原原本本地讲给诺拉听。他这么做倒不是因为这件事给他脸上增添什么光彩,而是因为他为能得到诺拉的媚人的同情而感到乐不可支。

"我想,你现在已经彻底摆脱了这种困境了,"他讲完后,她接着说了这么一句。

有时,她像阿伯丁木偶似的,滑稽地把头侧向一边。她坐在一张竖式椅子里,做着针线活儿。她可没有时间闭着不做事哟。菲利普舒适地依在她的脚旁。

"这一切终于结束了,我打心眼里感到高兴,这种心情实在难以形容。"

"可怜的人儿,在那段时间里,你一定很不愉快吧,"她喃喃低语,同时把只手搁在他的肩膀上,以示同情。

菲利普猛地抓起那只搁在自己肩头的手吻了起来。诺拉急忙把手抽了回来。

"你干吗要这样?"她红着脸问道。

"你不高兴了?"

她两眼烟烟闪光,对着他凝视了片刻,接着又嫣然一笑。

"不是的,"她说。

菲利普倏地跪立起来,面对着她。诺拉愣愣地望着他的眼睛,那张宽宽的嘴微笑地牵动着。

"怎么啦?"诺拉问。

"啊,你是个极好的人儿。你待我这么好,我感激不尽。我太喜欢你了。"

"尽说些傻里傻气的话,"她说。

菲利普抓住她的胳膊,把她拉向自己。她未作抵抗,而是微微向前倾过身子。他吻着她那红润的嘴唇。

"你干吗要这样?"她又问道。

"因为这样舒服呗!"

她默默不语,但她那对眸子闪烁着温柔的光芒。她用手怜爱地抚摩着他的头发。

"你知道,你这样做太蠢了。咱俩是亲密无间的好朋友。我们一直像朋友一样相处不是很好吗?"

"要是你真正想要合我的心意的话,"菲利普回答道,"你最好还是不要像你眼下正在做的那样抚弄我的脸颊。"

她格格一笑,但她并没有停止抚摸他的面颊。

"我这样子错了,是吗?"她说。

菲利普惊喜交集,窥视着她的眼睛。在这当儿,他发觉她那双眼睛渐渐发亮,含情脉脉,蕴藏在那对眸子里的神情使得他心荡神驰。他的心不由得一阵激动,热泪涌进了他的眼眶。

"诺拉,你不喜欢我,是不?"他问道,一脸疑惑的神情。

"你是个聪明的孩子,寸你问得出这样愚笨的问题。"

他猛然搂抱着她。

不一会儿,菲利普松开了她,向后蹲坐在自己的脚后跟上,好奇地打量着她。

"嗯,我简直发狂了!"他说。

"为什么?"

"我觉得太惊讶了!"

"不感到愉快吗?"

"太高兴了,"他叫喊着,声音犹如从心底迸发出来似的,"太骄傲了,太幸福了,太感激了!"

他拿起她的手,不住地吻着。这对菲利普来说,一种既坚如磐石又永不泯灭的幸福开始了。他俩变成了情侣,但仍然是朋友。在诺拉的身上,存在着一种因把自己的爱倾注在菲利普身上而得到满足的做母亲的本能。她需要有个人受她爱抚、叱责和刺刺不休的称道;她有一种一心追求家庭情趣的气质,以照顾他的健康和替他缝补浆洗为人生快事。她深切同情他的残疾,而他本人对这一点异常敏感,因此,她本能地以柔情脉脉的方式来表达她对他的怜爱之情。她还是个刚过豆蔻年华的少妇,健康、丰腴。对她说来,奉献自己的爱是顺理成章十分自然的。她心境快乐,内心充满了欢笑。她喜欢菲利普,是因为他凡是听到生活中合她意的趣事儿,都同她一起畅怀欢笑;她之所以喜欢他,最重要的还是他就是他。

她把这一点告诉菲利普时,他欢欣地说:

"胡说八道。你喜欢我,因为我是个不多话的人,从不插嘴。"

菲利普压根儿就不爱诺拉。但是,他却非常喜欢她,乐意同她果在一起,兴趣盎然地谛听她那妙趣横生的谈吐。诺拉帮助他对自己树立起信心,宛如替他在心灵的创伤上涂搽愈合的药膏。他钦佩她有勇气,充满了乐观,大胆地向命运挑战。她自己没什么人生哲学,但讲究实际,不矫揉造作。

"你知道,什么教堂、牧师,诸如此类的东西,我统统不信,"她说。"但是,我信奉上帝。不过,只要你还能勉强维持生活,只要你有时还能够仗义勇为,拯人于危难之中,我就不信上帝还会想着你。我认为,人总的来说还是正派的,而对那些不正派的人,我感到遗憾。"

"那以后怎么办呢?"菲利普问道。

"喔,我自己也心中无数,你是知道的,"她莞尔一笑。"不过,我抱着乐观的希望。无论如何,我将不用付房租,也不用写小说。"

她有着女性所特有的那种在奉承别人时善于察言观色、投其所好的人才。她认为,菲利普自量无望成为一名伟大的画家便毅然离开巴黎,这是件果断的举动。当她热烈地称颂他时,他听得如痴如狂。这一举动究竟是说明自己勇敢呢,还是说明自己生活的门的摇摆不定,他一直心存疑惑。想到她认为那是英勇的表现,他感到欣慰。她大胆地跟他谈沦起那个他朋友们本能地回避的问题。

"你真傻,竟对你那条跛脚如此敏感,"她说。看到他神情阴郁,脸涨得通红,她接着说:"你知道,人们并没有像你这样想得那么多。他们第一次见着你时才注意一下,以后就忘了。"

菲利普不愿搭腔。

"你不生我的气,是不?"

"不生气。"

"你知道,我这样讲是因为我爱你。我决不想使你感到不愉快。"

"我想,你对我讲什么都可以,"菲利普微笑着答道。"我希望我能做些什么,以表达我对你的感激之情。"

诺拉用别的办法把他牢牢地掌握在自己的手中,不让他粗暴得像个狗熊。每逢他发脾气,她就嘲笑他。她使得菲利普变得更加温文尔雅。

"你可以叫我做你想要我做的任何事,"有一次他对她这样说。

"你介意吗?"

"不,我想做你要我做的事。"

他感到有一种要实现自己幸福的欲望。在他看来,诺拉把一个妻子所能给予其丈夫的一切都给了自己,然而他依旧可以自由活动。她是他从来没有过的一位最娇媚的朋友,从她那儿得到的同情,是他从未在一个男子身上找到过的。两性关系不过是他俩之间的友谊的最坚牢的纽带。有了它,他俩之间的友谊就完美无缺,但它决不是须臾不可离开的。况且他的欲望得到了满足,他变得更加平静,更容易与人相处。他感到自己完全能够控制自己。有时,他想起在那逝去的冬天日子里,他一直为十分可怕的欲念所困扰,内心里充满了对米尔德丽德的厌恶和对自己的憎恶。

他的考试日渐临近。诺拉对考试的关心程度不亚于他。她那急切的心情深深打动了他的心,使他感到非常愉快。她叫他答应立即返回,并把考试结果告诉她。他顺利地通过了三个科目的考试,当他告诉她时,她两眼热泪盈眶。

"喔,我太高兴了,那时我是多么的紧张和不安哪!"

"你这个愚蠢的小妮子,"菲利普喉咙哽咽得笑不出声来。

谁看到她这副表情会不感到激动呢?

"现在你打算做些什么?"她问道。

"我可以问心无愧地过个假期。在十月份冬季学期开学之前,我没事可做。"

"我想你将去布莱克斯泰勃你大伯那儿?"

"你完全想错了。我准备呆在伦敦,同你在一起玩。"

"我倒希望你走。"

"为什么?你讨厌我了?"

她笑着,并把双手放在他的肩膀上。

"你最近工作太辛苦了,脸色很苍白,需要呼吸新鲜空气,好好休息一下。请走吧。"

他沉默了片刻,带着爱慕的目光凝视着她。

"你知道,我相信除了你别人谁也不会说这样的话。你总是为我着想。我猜不透你究竟看中了我什么。"

"我这一个月对你的照顾是否给你留下个好印象呢?"她欢快地笑着说。

"我要说你待人厚道,体贴入微,你从不苛求于人,你成天无忧无虑,你不令人讨厌,你还容易满足。"

"尽说些混帐话,"她说。"我要对你说一句:我一生中碰到一种人,他们能从生活经历中学习些东西,这种人寥寥无几,而我就是其中的一个。"

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 67

Philip looked forward to his return to London with impatience. During the two months he spent at Blackstable Norah wrote to him frequently, long letters in a bold, large hand, in which with cheerful humour she described the little events of the daily round, the domestic troubles of her landlady, rich food for laughter, the comic vexations of her rehearsals—she was walking on in an important spectacle at one of the London theatres—and her odd adventures with the publishers of novelettes. Philip read a great deal, bathed, played tennis, and sailed. At the beginning of October he settled down in London to work for the Second Conjoint examination. He was eager to pass it, since that ended the drudgery of the curriculum; after it was done with the student became an out-patients’ clerk, and was brought in contact with men and women as well as with text-books. Philip saw Norah every day.

Lawson had been spending the summer at Poole, and had a number of sketches to show of the harbour and of the beach. He had a couple of commissions for portraits and proposed to stay in London till the bad light drove him away. Hayward, in London too, intended to spend the winter abroad, but remained week after week from sheer inability to make up his mind to go. Hayward had run to fat during the last two or three years—it was five years since Philip first met him in Heidelberg—and he was prematurely bald. He was very sensitive about it and wore his hair long to conceal the unsightly patch on the crown of his head. His only consolation was that his brow was now very noble. His blue eyes had lost their colour; they had a listless droop; and his mouth, losing the fulness of youth, was weak and pale. He still talked vaguely of the things he was going to do in the future, but with less conviction; and he was conscious that his friends no longer believed in him: when he had drank two or three glasses of whiskey he was inclined to be elegiac.

‘I’m a failure,’ he murmured, ‘I’m unfit for the brutality of the struggle of life. All I can do is to stand aside and let the vulgar throng hustle by in their pursuit of the good things.’

He gave you the impression that to fail was a more delicate, a more exquisite thing, than to succeed. He insinuated that his aloofness was due to distaste for all that was common and low. He talked beautifully of Plato.

‘I should have thought you’d got through with Plato by now,’ said Philip impatiently.

‘Would you?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows.

He was not inclined to pursue the subject. He had discovered of late the effective dignity of silence.

‘I don’t see the use of reading the same thing over and over again,’ said Philip. ‘That’s only a laborious form of idleness.’

‘But are you under the impression that you have so great a mind that you can understand the most profound writer at a first reading?’

‘I don’t want to understand him, I’m not a critic. I’m not interested in him for his sake but for mine.’

‘Why d’you read then?’

‘Partly for pleasure, because it’s a habit and I’m just as uncomfortable if I don’t read as if I don’t smoke, and partly to know myself. When I read a book I seem to read it with my eyes only, but now and then I come across a passage, perhaps only a phrase, which has a meaning for ME, and it becomes part of me; I’ve got out of the book all that’s any use to me, and I can’t get anything more if I read it a dozen times. You see, it seems to me, one’s like a closed bud, and most of what one reads and does has no effect at all; but there are certain things that have a peculiar significance for one, and they open a petal; and the petals open one by one; and at last the flower is there.’

Philip was not satisfied with his metaphor, but he did not know how else to explain a thing which he felt and yet was not clear about.

‘You want to do things, you want to become things,’ said Hayward, with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘It’s so vulgar.’

Philip knew Hayward very well by now. He was weak and vain, so vain that you had to be on the watch constantly not to hurt his feelings; he mingled idleness and idealism so that he could not separate them. At Lawson’s studio one day he met a journalist, who was charmed by his conversation, and a week later the editor of a paper wrote to suggest that he should do some criticism for him. For forty-eight hours Hayward lived in an agony of indecision. He had talked of getting occupation of this sort so long that he had not the face to refuse outright, but the thought of doing anything filled him with panic. At last he declined the offer and breathed freely.

‘It would have interfered with my work,’ he told Philip.

‘What work?’ asked Philip brutally.

‘My inner life,’ he answered.

Then he went on to say beautiful things about Amiel, the professor of Geneva, whose brilliancy promised achievement which was never fulfilled; till at his death the reason of his failure and the excuse were at once manifest in the minute, wonderful journal which was found among his papers. Hayward smiled enigmatically.

But Hayward could still talk delightfully about books; his taste was exquisite and his discrimination elegant; and he had a constant interest in ideas, which made him an entertaining companion. They meant nothing to him really, since they never had any effect on him; but he treated them as he might have pieces of china in an auction-room, handling them with pleasure in their shape and their glaze, pricing them in his mind; and then, putting them back into their case, thought of them no more.

And it was Hayward who made a momentous discovery. One evening, after due preparation, he took Philip and Lawson to a tavern situated in Beak Street, remarkable not only in itself and for its history—it had memories of eighteenth-century glories which excited the romantic imagination—but for its snuff, which was the best in London, and above all for its punch. Hayward led them into a large, long room, dingily magnificent, with huge pictures on the walls of nude women: they were vast allegories of the school of Haydon; but smoke, gas, and the London atmosphere had given them a richness which made them look like old masters. The dark panelling, the massive, tarnished gold of the cornice, the mahogany tables, gave the room an air of sumptuous comfort, and the leather-covered seats along the wall were soft and easy. There was a ram’s head on a table opposite the door, and this contained the celebrated snuff. They ordered punch. They drank it. It was hot rum punch. The pen falters when it attempts to treat of the excellence thereof; the sober vocabulary, the sparse epithet of this narrative, are inadequate to the task; and pompous terms, jewelled, exotic phrases rise to the excited fancy. It warmed the blood and cleared the head; it filled the soul with well-being; it disposed the mind at once to utter wit and to appreciate the wit of others; it had the vagueness of music and the precision of mathematics. Only one of its qualities was comparable to anything else: it had the warmth of a good heart; but its taste, its smell, its feel, were not to be described in words. Charles Lamb, with his infinite tact, attempting to, might have drawn charming pictures of the life of his day; Lord Byron in a stanza of Don Juan, aiming at the impossible, might have achieved the sublime; Oscar Wilde, heaping jewels of Ispahan upon brocades of Byzantium, might have created a troubling beauty. Considering it, the mind reeled under visions of the feasts of Elagabalus; and the subtle harmonies of Debussy mingled with the musty, fragrant romance of chests in which have been kept old clothes, ruffs, hose, doublets, of a forgotten generation, and the wan odour of lilies of the valley and the savour of Cheddar cheese.

Hayward discovered the tavern at which this priceless beverage was to be obtained by meeting in the street a man called Macalister who had been at Cambridge with him. He was a stockbroker and a philosopher. He was accustomed to go to the tavern once a week; and soon Philip, Lawson, and Hayward got into the habit of meeting there every Tuesday evening: change of manners made it now little frequented, which was an advantage to persons who took pleasure in conversation. Macalister was a big-boned fellow, much too short for his width, with a large, fleshy face and a soft voice. He was a student of Kant and judged everything from the standpoint of pure reason. He was fond of expounding his doctrines. Philip listened with excited interest. He had long come to the conclusion that nothing amused him more than metaphysics, but he was not so sure of their efficacy in the affairs of life. The neat little system which he had formed as the result of his meditations at Blackstable had not been of conspicuous use during his infatuation for Mildred. He could not be positive that reason was much help in the conduct of life. It seemed to him that life lived itself. He remembered very vividly the violence of the emotion which had possessed him and his inability, as if he were tied down to the ground with ropes, to react against it. He read many wise things in books, but he could only judge from his own experience (he did not know whether he was different from other people); he did not calculate the pros and cons of an action, the benefits which must befall him if he did it, the harm which might result from the omission; but his whole being was urged on irresistibly. He did not act with a part of himself but altogether. The power that possessed him seemed to have nothing to do with reason: all that reason did was to point out the methods of obtaining what his whole soul was striving for.

Macalister reminded him of the Categorical Imperative.

‘Act so that every action of yours should be capable of becoming a universal rule of action for all men.’

‘That seems to me perfect nonsense,’ said Philip.

‘You’re a bold man to say that of anything stated by Immanuel Kant,’ retorted Macalister.

‘Why? Reverence for what somebody said is a stultifying quality: there’s a damned sight too much reverence in the world. Kant thought things not because they were true, but because he was Kant.’

‘Well, what is your objection to the Categorical Imperative?’ (They talked as though the fate of empires were in the balance.)

‘It suggests that one can choose one’s course by an effort of will. And it suggests that reason is the surest guide. Why should its dictates be any better than those of passion? They’re different. That’s all.’

‘You seem to be a contented slave of your passions.’

‘A slave because I can’t help myself, but not a contented one,’ laughed Philip.

While he spoke he thought of that hot madness which had driven him in pursuit of Mildred. He remembered how he had chafed against it and how he had felt the degradation of it.

‘Thank God, I’m free from all that now,’ he thought.

And yet even as he said it he was not quite sure whether he spoke sincerely. When he was under the influence of passion he had felt a singular vigour, and his mind had worked with unwonted force. He was more alive, there was an excitement in sheer being, an eager vehemence of soul, which made life now a trifle dull. For all the misery he had endured there was a compensation in that sense of rushing, overwhelming existence.

But Philip’s unlucky words engaged him in a discussion on the freedom of the will, and Macalister, with his well-stored memory, brought out argument after argument. He had a mind that delighted in dialectics, and he forced Philip to contradict himself; he pushed him into corners from which he could only escape by damaging concessions; he tripped him up with logic and battered him with authorities.

At last Philip said:

‘Well, I can’t say anything about other people. I can only speak for myself. The illusion of free will is so strong in my mind that I can’t get away from it, but I believe it is only an illusion. But it is an illusion which is one of the strongest motives of my actions. Before I do anything I feel that I have choice, and that influences what I do; but afterwards, when the thing is done, I believe that it was inevitable from all eternity.’

‘What do you deduce from that?’ asked Hayward.

‘Why, merely the futility of regret. It’s no good crying over spilt milk, because all the forces of the universe were bent on spilling it.’



第六十七章

菲利普在布莱克斯泰勃呆了两个月之后,急着要返回伦敦。在这两个月里,诺拉频频来信,信都写得很长,而且笔力浑厚遒劲。在信中,她用酣畅和幽默的笔调描述日常琐事、房东太太的家庭纠纷、妙趣横生的笑料、她在排练时遇上的带有喜剧性的烦恼--那时她正在伦敦一家戏院里一场重要的戏里扮演配角--以及她同小说出版商们打交道时的种种奇遇。菲利普博览群书,游泳,打网球,还去驾舟游览。十月初,他回到了伦敦,定下心来读书,准备迎接第二次统考。他急盼通过考试,因为考试及格意味着繁重的课程就此告一段落,此后,他就得上医院门诊部实习,同男男女女各色人以及教科书打交道。菲利普每天都去看望诺拉。

劳森一直在普尔避暑,他画的几张港湾和海滩的写生画参加了画展。他受托画两张肖像画,并打算在光线不便于他作画之前一直呆在伦敦。此时,海沃德也在伦敦,意欲去国外过冬。但是,时间一周周地流逝过去,他却依然滞留伦敦,就是下不了动身的决心。在这两三年间,海沃德发福了--菲利普第一次在海德堡见到他距今已有五个年头了--还过早地秃了顶。他对此非常敏感,故意把头发留得老长老长的,以遮掩那不雅观的光秃秃的脑顶心。他唯一感到安慰的是,他的眉毛俊秀如前。他那双蓝眼睛却暗淡失神,眼皮萎顿地低垂着;那张嘴全无年轻人的勃勃生气,显得凋萎、苍白。海沃德仍旧含混地谈论着他将来准备做的事情,但信心不足。他意识到朋友们再也不相信自己了,因此,三两杯威士忌下了肚,他便变得哀哀戚戚,黯然神伤。

"我是个失败者,"他喃喃地说,"我经受不住人生争斗的残酷。我所能做的只是让出道儿来,让那些官小之辈去喧嚣,扰攘,角逐他们的利益吧。"

海沃德给人以这样一个印象:即失败是一件比成功更为微妙、更为高雅的事情。他暗示说他的孤僻高傲来自对一切平凡而又卑贱的事物的厌恶。他对柏拉图却推崇备至。

"我早以为你现在已不再研究柏拉图了呢,"菲利普不耐烦地说了一句。

"是吗?"海沃德扬了扬眉毛,问道。

"我看不出老是翻来复去地读同样的东西有什么意义,"菲利普说,"这只不过是一种既无聊又费劲的消遣罢了。"

"但是,难道你认为你自己有颗伟大的脑瓜,对一个思想最深邃的作家的作品只要读一遍就能理解了吗?"

"我可不想理解他,我也不是个评论家。我并不是为了他,而是为了我自己才对他发生兴趣的。"

"那你为什么也要读书呢?"

"一来是为了寻求乐趣。因为读书是一种习惯,不读书就像我不抽烟那样难过。二来是为了了解我自己。我读起书来,只是用眼睛瞄瞄而已。不过,有时我也碰上一段文字,或许只是一个词组,对我来说还有些意思,这时,它们就变成了我的一个部分。书中凡是对我有用的东西,我都把它们吸收了,因此,即使再读上几十遍,我也不能获得更多的东西。在我看来,一个人仿佛是一个包得紧紧的蓓蕾。一个人所读的书或做的事,在大多数情况下,对他毫无作用。然而,有些事情对一个人来说确实具有一种特殊意义,这些具有特殊意义的事情使得蓓蕾绽开一片花瓣,花瓣一片片接连开放,最后便开成一朵鲜花。"

菲利普对自己打的比方不甚满意,但是他不知如何表达自己感觉到的但仍不甚了了的情感。

"你想有番作为,还想出人头地呐,"海沃德耸耸肩膀说。"这是多么的庸俗。"

直到此时,菲利普算是了解海沃德了。他意志薄弱,虚荣心强。他竟虚荣到了这样的地步,你得时刻提防着别伤害他的感情。他将理想和无聊混为一谈,不能将两者加以区分。一天,在劳森的画室里,海沃德遇上一位新闻记者。这位记者为他的侃侃谈吐所陶醉。一周以后,一家报纸的编辑来信建议他写些评论文章。在接信后的四十八个小时里面,海沃德一直处于优柔寡断、犹疑不决的痛苦之中。长期以来,他常常谈论要谋取这样的职位,因此眼下无脸断然拒绝,但一想到要去干事,内心又充满了恐惧。最后,他还是谢绝了这一建议,这才感到松了口气。

"要不,它会干扰我的工作的,"他告诉菲利普说。

"什么工作?"菲利普没好声气地问道。

"我的精神生活呗,"海沃德答道。

接着他数说起那位日内瓦教授艾米尔的种种风流韵事。他的聪明睿智使他完全有可能取得成就,但他终究一事无成。直到这位教授寿终上寝时,他为什么会失败以及为什么要为自己开脱这两个疑问,在从他的文件堆里找出的那本记载详尽、语颇隽永的日记里立刻得到了答案。说罢,海沃德脸上泛起了一丝不可名状的笑意。

但是,海沃德居然还兴致勃勃地谈论起书籍来了。他的情趣风雅,眼光敏锐。他耽于幻想的豪兴不衰,幻想成了他引以为乐的伙伴。其实,幻想对他毫无意义,因为幻想对他从没发生过什么影响。但是他却像对待拍卖行里的瓷器一样对待幻想,怀着对瓷器的外表及其光泽的浓厚兴趣摆弄着它,在脑海里掂量着它的价格,最后把它收进箱子,从此再不加以理会。

然而,作出重大发现的却正足海沃德。一天黄昏时分,在作了一定的准备之后,他把菲利普和劳森带至一家坐落在比克大街上的酒菜馆。这家馆子享有盛誉,不只是因为店面堂皇及其悠久的历史--它使人怀念那些发人遐思蹁跹的十八世纪的荣耀事迹--且还因为这里备有全伦敦最佳的鼻烟。这里的混合甜饮料尤为著名。海沃德把他们俩领进一个狭长的大房间。这儿,光线朦胧,装饰华丽,墙上悬挂着巨幅裸体女人像:均是海登派的巨幅寓言画。但是,缭绕的烟雾、弥漫的空气和伦敦特有的气氛,使得画中人个个丰姿秀逸、栩栩如生,仿佛她们历来就是这儿的主人似的。那黝黑的镶板、厚实的光泽黯淡的烫金檐口以及红木桌于,这一切给房间以一种豪华的气派;沿墙排列的一张张皮椅,既柔软又舒适。正对房门的桌上摆着一只公羊头,里面盛有该店遐迩闻名的鼻烟。他们要了混合甜饮料,在一起开怀畅饮。这是种热气腾腾的掺有朗姆酒的甜饮料。要写出这种饮料的妙处,手中的拙笔不禁打颤。这段文字,字眼严肃,词藻平庸,根本不足以表情达意;而浮华的措辞,珠光闪烁而引人入胜的言词一向是用来描绘激动不已的想象力的。这饮料使热血沸腾,使头脑清新,使人感到心旷神怡(它使心灵里充满健康舒憩之感),使人情趣横溢,令人乐意领略旁人的机智。它像音乐那样捉摸不定,却又像数学那样精确细密。这种饮料只有其中一个特性还能同其他东西作一比较:即它有一种好心肠的温暖。但是,它的滋味、气味及其给人的感受,却不是言语所能表达的。查尔斯·拉姆用其无穷的机智来写的话,完全可能描绘出一幅当时的令人陶醉的风俗画;要是拜伦伯爵在其《唐·璜》的一节诗里来描述这一难以言表的事儿,他会写得字字珠玑,异常雄伟壮丽;奥斯卡·王尔德把伊斯法罕的珠宝倾注在拜占庭的织锦上的话,兴许对能把它塑造成一个乱人心思的美人。想到这里,眼前不觉疑真疑幻地晃动着伊拉加巴拉的宴会上觥筹交错的情景;耳畔回响起德彪西的一曲曲幽咽的谐调,调中还透出丝丝被遗忘的一代存放旧衣、皱领、长统袜和紧身衣的衣柜所发出的夹杂着霉味却芬芳的传奇气息,迎面飘来深壑幽谷中的百合花的清香和茄达干酿的芳香。我不禁头晕目眩起来。

海沃德在街上邂逅他在剑桥大学时的一位名叫马卡利斯特的同窗,通过他,才发现了这家专售这种名贵的混合酒的酒菜馆。马卡利斯待既是交易所经纪人,又是个哲学家。每个星期,他都得光顾一次这家酒菜馆。于是,隔了没多久,菲利普、劳森和海沃德每逢星期二晚上必定聚首一次。生活方式的改变使得他们经常光顾这家酒菜馆。这对喜于交谈的人们来说,倒也不无禅益。马卡利斯特其人,大骨骼,身板宽阔,相比之下,个头却显得太矮了,一张宽大的脸上肉滚滚的,说起话来总是柔声细气的。他是康德的弟干涸而总是从纯理性的观点出发看待一切事物u他就喜欢阐发自己的学说。菲利普怀着浓厚的兴趣谛听着,因为他早就认为世间再也没有别的学说比形而上学更能激起他的兴趣。不过,他对形而上学在解决人生事务方面是否有效还不那么有把握。他在布莱克斯泰勃冥思苦索而得出的那个小小的、巧妙的思想体系,看来在他迷恋米尔德丽德期间,并没有起什么影响。他不能确信理性在处理人生事务方面会有多大的禅益。在他看来,生活毕竞是生活,有其自身的规律。直到现在,他还清晰地记得先前那种左右着他一切言行的情感的威力,以及他对此束手无策,犹如他周身被绳索死死捆在地上一般。他从书中懂得了不少道理,可却只会从自己的经验出发对事物作出判断(他不知道自己跟别人是否有所不同)。他采取行动,从不权衡行动的利弊,也从不考虑其利害得失。但是,他始终感到有一股不可抗拒的力量在驱使着自己向前。他行动起来不是半心半意,而是全力以赴。那股左右着一切的力量看来与理性根本不搭界:理性的作用不过是向他指出获得他心心念念想获得的东西的途径而已。

此时,马卡利斯特提醒菲利普别忘了"绝对命令"这一著名论点。

"你一定要这样行为,使得你的每个行为的格调足以成为一切人行为的普遍规律。"

"对我来说,你的话是十足的胡说八道,"菲利普反驳道。

"你真是狗胆包天,竟敢冲撞伊曼纽尔·康德,"马卡利斯特随即顶了一句。

"为什么不可以呢?对某个人说的话唯命是从,这是愚蠢的品质。当今世上盲目崇拜的气氛简直太盛了。康德考虑事情,并不是因为这些事物确实存在,而只是因为他是康德。"

"嗯,那么,你对'绝对命令,究竟是怎么看的呢?"

(他们俩你一言我一语地争论着,就好像帝国的命运处于千钧一发之际似的。)

"它表明一个人可以凭自己的意志力选择道路。它还告诉人们理性是最最可靠的向导。为什么它的指令一定要比情感的指令强呢?两者是绝然不同的嘛。这就是我对'绝对命令,的看法。"

"看来你是你的情感的心悦诚服的奴隶。"

"如果是个奴隶的话,那是因为我无可奈何,不过决不是个心说诚服的奴隶,"菲利普笑吟吟地答道。

说话的当儿,菲利普回想起自己追求米尔德丽德时那股狂热的劲儿。当初他在那股灼烈的情火的烘烤下是怎样焦躁不安,以及后来又是怎样因之而蒙受奇耻大辱的情景,一一掠过他的脑际。

"谢天谢地,现在我终于从那里挣脱出来了!"他心里叹道。

尽管他嘴上这么说,但他还是拿不准这些话是否是他的肺腑之言。当他处于情欲的影响下,他感到自己浑身充满了奇特的活力,脑子异乎寻常地活跃。他生气勃勃、精神抖擞,体内洋溢着一股激情,心里荡漾着一种急不可耐的热情。这一切无不使眼下的生活显得有点枯燥乏味。他平生所遭受的一切不幸,都从那种意义上的充满激情、极为兴奋的生活中得到了补偿。

但是,菲利普刚才那番语焉不详的议论却把马卡利斯特的注意力转向讨论意志的自由的问题上来了。马卡利斯特凭借其博闻强记的特长,提出了一个又一个论点。他还颇喜欢玩弄雄辩术。他把菲利普逼得自相矛盾起来。他动不动就把菲利普逼人窘境,使得菲利普只能作出不利于自己的让步,以摆脱尴尬的局面。马卡利斯特用缜密的逻辑驳得他体无完肤,又以权威的力量打得他一败涂地。

最后,菲利普终于开口说道:

"嗯,关于别人的事儿,我没什么可说的。我只能说我自己。在我的头脑里,对意志的自由的幻想非常强烈,我怎么也摆脱不了。不过,我还是认为这不过是一种幻想而已。可这种幻想恰恰又是我的行为的最强烈的动因之一。在采取行动之前,我总认为我可以自由选择,而我就是在这种思想支配下做事的。但当事情做过以后,我才发现那样做是永远无法避免的。"

"你从中引出什么结论呢?"海沃德插进来问。

"嘿,这不明摆着,懊悔是徒劳的。牛奶既倾,哭也无用,因为世间一切力量都一心一意要把牛奶掀翻嘛!"

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
举报 只看该作者 70楼  发表于: 2014-08-25 0



chapter 68

One morning Philip on getting up felt his head swim, and going back to bed suddenly discovered he was ill. All his limbs ached and he shivered with cold. When the landlady brought in his breakfast he called to her through the open door that he was not well, and asked for a cup of tea and a piece of toast. A few minutes later there was a knock at his door, and Griffiths came in. They had lived in the same house for over a year, but had never done more than nod to one another in the passage.

‘I say, I hear you’re seedy,’ said Griffiths. ‘I thought I’d come in and see what was the matter with you.’

Philip, blushing he knew not why, made light of the whole thing. He would be all right in an hour or two.

‘Well, you’d better let me take your temperature,’ said Griffiths.

‘It’s quite unnecessary,’ answered Philip irritably.

‘Come on.’

Philip put the thermometer in his mouth. Griffiths sat on the side of the bed and chatted brightly for a moment, then he took it out and looked at it.

‘Now, look here, old man, you must stay in bed, and I’ll bring old Deacon in to have a look at you.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Philip. ‘There’s nothing the matter. I wish you wouldn’t bother about me.’

‘But it isn’t any bother. You’ve got a temperature and you must stay in bed. You will, won’t you?’

There was a peculiar charm in his manner, a mingling of gravity and kindliness, which was infinitely attractive.

‘You’ve got a wonderful bed-side manner,’ Philip murmured, closing his eyes with a smile.

Griffiths shook out his pillow for him, deftly smoothed down the bedclothes, and tucked him up. He went into Philip’s sitting-room to look for a siphon, could not find one, and fetched it from his own room. He drew down the blind.

‘Now, go to sleep and I’ll bring the old man round as soon as he’s done the wards.’

It seemed hours before anyone came to Philip. His head felt as if it would split, anguish rent his limbs, and he was afraid he was going to cry. Then there was a knock at the door and Griffiths, healthy, strong, and cheerful, came in.

‘Here’s Doctor Deacon,’ he said.

The physician stepped forward, an elderly man with a bland manner, whom Philip knew only by sight. A few questions, a brief examination, and the diagnosis.

‘What d’you make it?’ he asked Griffiths, smiling.

‘Influenza.’

‘Quite right.’

Doctor Deacon looked round the dingy lodging-house room.

‘Wouldn’t you like to go to the hospital? They’ll put you in a private ward, and you can be better looked after than you can here.’

‘I’d rather stay where I am,’ said Philip.

He did not want to be disturbed, and he was always shy of new surroundings. He did not fancy nurses fussing about him, and the dreary cleanliness of the hospital.

‘I can look after him, sir,’ said Griffiths at once.

‘Oh, very well.’

He wrote a prescription, gave instructions, and left.

‘Now you’ve got to do exactly as I tell you,’ said Griffiths. ‘I’m day-nurse and night-nurse all in one.’

‘It’s very kind of you, but I shan’t want anything,’ said Philip.

Griffiths put his hand on Philip’s forehead, a large cool, dry hand, and the touch seemed to him good.

‘I’m just going to take this round to the dispensary to have it made up, and then I’ll come back.’

In a little while he brought the medicine and gave Philip a dose. Then he went upstairs to fetch his books.

‘You won’t mind my working in your room this afternoon, will you?’ he said, when he came down. ‘I’ll leave the door open so that you can give me a shout if you want anything.’

Later in the day Philip, awaking from an uneasy doze, heard voices in his sitting-room. A friend had come in to see Griffiths.

‘I say, you’d better not come in tonight,’ he heard Griffiths saying.

And then a minute or two afterwards someone else entered the room and expressed his surprise at finding Griffiths there. Philip heard him explain.

‘I’m looking after a second year’s man who’s got these rooms. The wretched blighter’s down with influenza. No whist tonight, old man.’

Presently Griffiths was left alone and Philip called him.

‘I say, you’re not putting off a party tonight, are you?’ he asked.

‘Not on your account. I must work at my surgery.’

‘Don’t put it off. I shall be all right. You needn’t bother about me.’

‘That’s all right.’

Philip grew worse. As the night came on he became slightly delirious, but towards morning he awoke from a restless sleep. He saw Griffiths get out of an arm-chair, go down on his knees, and with his fingers put piece after piece of coal on the fire. He was in pyjamas and a dressing-gown.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘Did I wake you up? I tried to make up the fire without making a row.’

‘Why aren’t you in bed? What’s the time?’

‘About five. I thought I’d better sit up with you tonight. I brought an arm-chair in as I thought if I put a mattress down I should sleep so soundly that I shouldn’t hear you if you wanted anything.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t be so good to me,’ groaned Philip. ‘Suppose you catch it?’

‘Then you shall nurse me, old man,’ said Griffiths, with a laugh.

In the morning Griffiths drew up the blind. He looked pale and tired after his night’s watch, but was full of spirits.

‘Now, I’m going to wash you,’ he said to Philip cheerfully.

‘I can wash myself,’ said Philip, ashamed.

‘Nonsense. If you were in the small ward a nurse would wash you, and I can do it just as well as a nurse.’

Philip, too weak and wretched to resist, allowed Griffiths to wash his hands and face, his feet, his chest and back. He did it with charming tenderness, carrying on meanwhile a stream of friendly chatter; then he changed the sheet just as they did at the hospital, shook out the pillow, and arranged the bed-clothes.

‘I should like Sister Arthur to see me. It would make her sit up. Deacon’s coming in to see you early.’

‘I can’t imagine why you should be so good to me,’ said Philip.

‘It’s good practice for me. It’s rather a lark having a patient.’

Griffiths gave him his breakfast and went off to get dressed and have something to eat. A few minutes before ten he came back with a bunch of grapes and a few flowers.

‘You are awfully kind,’ said Philip.

He was in bed for five days.

Norah and Griffiths nursed him between them. Though Griffiths was the same age as Philip he adopted towards him a humorous, motherly attitude. He was a thoughtful fellow, gentle and encouraging; but his greatest quality was a vitality which seemed to give health to everyone with whom he came in contact. Philip was unused to the petting which most people enjoy from mothers or sisters and he was deeply touched by the feminine tenderness of this strong young man. Philip grew better. Then Griffiths, sitting idly in Philip’s room, amused him with gay stories of amorous adventure. He was a flirtatious creature, capable of carrying on three or four affairs at a time; and his account of the devices he was forced to in order to keep out of difficulties made excellent hearing. He had a gift for throwing a romantic glamour over everything that happened to him. He was crippled with debts, everything he had of any value was pawned, but he managed always to be cheerful, extravagant, and generous. He was the adventurer by nature. He loved people of doubtful occupations and shifty purposes; and his acquaintance among the riff-raff that frequents the bars of London was enormous. Loose women, treating him as a friend, told him the troubles, difficulties, and successes of their lives; and card-sharpers, respecting his impecuniosity, stood him dinners and lent him five-pound notes. He was ploughed in his examinations time after time; but he bore this cheerfully, and submitted with such a charming grace to the parental expostulations that his father, a doctor in practice at Leeds, had not the heart to be seriously angry with him.

‘I’m an awful fool at books,’ he said cheerfully, ‘but I CAN’T work.’

Life was much too jolly. But it was clear that when he had got through the exuberance of his youth, and was at last qualified, he would be a tremendous success in practice. He would cure people by the sheer charm of his manner.

Philip worshipped him as at school he had worshipped boys who were tall and straight and high of spirits. By the time he was well they were fast friends, and it was a peculiar satisfaction to Philip that Griffiths seemed to enjoy sitting in his little parlour, wasting Philip’s time with his amusing chatter and smoking innumerable cigarettes. Philip took him sometimes to the tavern off Regent Street. Hayward found him stupid, but Lawson recognised his charm and was eager to paint him; he was a picturesque figure with his blue eyes, white skin, and curly hair. Often they discussed things he knew nothing about, and then he sat quietly, with a good-natured smile on his handsome face, feeling quite rightly that his presence was sufficient contribution to the entertainment of the company. When he discovered that Macalister was a stockbroker he was eager for tips; and Macalister, with his grave smile, told him what fortunes he could have made if he had bought certain stock at certain times. It made Philip’s mouth water, for in one way and another he was spending more than he had expected, and it would have suited him very well to make a little money by the easy method Macalister suggested.

‘Next time I hear of a really good thing I’ll let you know,’ said the stockbroker. ‘They do come along sometimes. It’s only a matter of biding one’s time.’

Philip could not help thinking how delightful it would be to make fifty pounds, so that he could give Norah the furs she so badly needed for the winter. He looked at the shops in Regent Street and picked out the articles he could buy for the money. She deserved everything. She made his life very happy.



第六十八章

一天早晨,菲利普起床后,直觉得头晕目眩,重新躺下时,蓦地发觉自己病了,四肢疼痛,周身直打冷颤。房东太太来给他送早餐时,他朝着洞开的房门对房东太太说他身体不适,要他送一杯茶和一片烤面包来。过了没几分钟,一声叩门声之后,格里菲思走了进来。他俩同住在一幢公寓里已有一年多了,但除了在过道里互相点头打招呼之外,别无更多的交往。

"喂,听说你身体不舒服,"格里非思说,"我想我得来看看你究竟怎么啦?"

菲利普莫名其妙地脸露赧颜,对自己的病痛满不在乎,只说过一两个钟头就会好的。

"嗯,你最好还是让我给你量量体温,"格里菲思说。

"根本没这个必要,"菲利普烦躁地回答。

"哎,还是量一下吧!"

菲利普把体温表放进嘴里。格里菲思坐在床沿上,喜气洋洋地聊着天,过了一会儿,他从菲利普嘴里抽出体温表看了一眼。

"好了,你瞧瞧体温表,老兄,你得卧床休息,我去叫老迪肯来给你看病。"

"尽扯淡,"菲利普说,"根本无关紧要,我希望你别为我操心。"

"谈不上什么操心。你在发烧,应该卧床休息。你躺着,好吗?"

他的举止仪态有一种特殊的魅力,既庄重又和蔼,简直太迷人了。

"你的临床风度简直妙不可言,"菲利普喃喃地说,微笑着合上了眼睛。

格里菲思替他抖松枕头,动作利落地铺平床单,并替他把被子塞紧。他走进菲利普的起居间寻找虹吸瓶,没找着,便从自己房间里拿了一只来。接着,他把百叶窗拉了下来。

"好了,你好好睡吧,老迪肯一查完病房,我就把他领到这儿来。"

过了好几个钟头以后才有人来看菲利普。他感到脑袋瓜像是要炸开来似的,极度的疼痛撕裂着他的四肢,他担心自己马上要叫起来。不一会儿,一记敲门声过后,格里菲思走了进来,他是那样的健康、强壮和愉快。

"迪肯大夫来了,"他通报了一声。

这位态度和蔼的老医生朝前挪了几步。菲利普跟他只是面熟,并不相识。他问了几个问题,简单地作了检查,然后便开处方。

"你看他得的是什么病?"格里菲思笑吟吟地问道。

"流行性感冒。"

"一点不错。"

迪肯大夫朝这间光线幽暗的公寓房间扫了一眼。

"你不愿意住进医院里去吗?他们会把你安置在隔离病房的,那儿要比这儿能得到更多的照顾。"

"我宁愿呆在原地不动,"菲利普说。

他不想受人打扰,而且身处陌生环境,他总是疑虑重重。他讨厌护士们大肆张扬地围着他转,不喜欢医院里那种令人沉闷的清洁环境。

"先生,我可以来照料他,"格里菲思立刻说道。

"喔,那太好了!"

他开了张药方,又关照了几句,便走了。

"现在,你一切都得听我的,"格里菲思说,"我一人身兼日夜值班护士之职。"

"谢谢你,不过我不会需要什么的,"菲利普说。

格里菲思伸出一只于,搭在菲利普的额头上。那是一只凉丝丝、干巴巴的大手,然而这一摸却给菲利普带来了快意。

"我这就把处方送到药房里去,他们把药配好,我就回来。"

不一会儿,他取来了药,在给菲利普服了一剂之后,就噔噔上楼去拿他的书。

"今天下午我就在你的房间看书,你不会反对吧?"下楼后,他对菲利普说。"我让房门开着,你需要什么,就叫我一声。"

这天晚些时候,菲利普从心神不宁的瞌睡中醒来,听到他的起居室里有说话声,原来是格里菲思的朋友看他来了。

"喂,你今晚最好别来了,"他听到格里菲思说。

过了一两分钟以后,又有一个人走进了房间,对他在这儿找到格里菲思而表示惊讶。

"我正在护理一位租赁这套房间的二年级学生,这个可怜的家伙因患流行性感冒病倒了。今晚不能玩惠斯特了,老兄。"

不久,房间里就剩下格里菲思一个人了,菲利普便招呼他。

"嘿,你怎么推辞不去参加今晚的晚会啦?"他问道。

"这并不是为了你,我得读我的外科教科书。"

"你尽管去好了。我过一会儿就会好的。你不必为我操心。"

"好的。"

菲利普的病情渐见恶化。夜幕降临时,他的神志有些昏迷不清。次日晨光熹微时分,他才从心神不宁的睡眠中清醒过来。他发现格里菲思从扶手椅里爬起来,双膝跪在地上,用手指把一块块煤扔进壁炉里。格里菲思身穿宽大的睡衣裤,外面套了件晨衣。

"你在干什么?"他问道。

"我把你吵醒了吗?我在生火,想尽量不弄出响声来。"

"你为什么不躺在床上?现在什么时候了?"

"五点左右。我想,今晚我最好还是通宵陪伴着你。我把扶手椅搬了进来,是因为我怕一铺上床垫,我睡得太死,就听不见你要什么东西了。"

"我希望你快别这样了,"菲利普呻吟道,"假如把你传染上了,怎么办?"

"那你就来护理我,老兄,"格里菲思笑着说。

早晨,格里菲思打开百叶窗。固守了个通宵,他看上去脸色苍白,疲惫不堪,但神情仍很快乐。

"喂,找来给你擦洗一下吧,"他兴高采烈地对菲利普说。

"我自己能洗,"菲利普说着,不觉赧然。

"胡扯,你要是躺在小病房里,护士也会来帮你洗的,而我可以做得跟护士一般好。"

菲利普身体太虚弱了,精神上也很痛苦,无力拂其美意,只好听凭他给自己洗脸、洗手、洗脚,让他给自己擦胸、擦背。他的动作温柔,给人以快感,在这同时,他嘴里吐出连珠似的亲切友好的话语。然后,正如他们在医院里做的那样,他换下了床单,抖松枕头整理被褥。

"我想,阿瑟大婶看到了我,保管叫她惊讶不已。迪肯很早就会来看你的。"

"我难以理解你为什么要待我这么好,"菲利普说。

"这对我是一次很好的实习机会。照料一个病人太有趣了。"

格里菲思把自己的早餐给了菲利普,然后穿上衣服出去吃了点东西。十点前几分钟,他手捧一串葡萄和一束鲜花回来了。

"你简直太好了,"菲利普说。

菲利普卧床了五天。

诺拉和格里菲思两人轮流照料他。虽说格里菲思同菲利普年龄相仿,然而他却像一位富有幽默感的母亲一样对待菲利普。他是个体贴人的小伙子,温文尔雅,给人以力量,但是他最大的特点还在于他有一种勃勃的生气,似乎能给每一个与其相处的人带来健康。很多人以他们的母亲或姐妹的爱抚为人生乐趣,而菲利普可不习惯这一套,然而这位体格强壮的年轻人身上洋溢着女性的柔情蜜意,却使他深受感动。菲利普的病情日见好转。于是,格里菲思懒散地坐在菲利普的房间里,讲述些欢快的男女风流逸事,替他解闷消愁。他是个爱调情的家伙,同一个时间里可以跟三四个女人鬼混。他叙述起那些他出于无奈为了摆脱困境而采取的种种办法来,确实娓娓动听。他有这样一种天才,能够使他遭遇的每一件事都蒙上一种富有浪漫色彩的魅力。他因负债累累而手头不活络时,他那些稍许值几个钱的东西都被送进了当铺,即使这样,他还是尽量装得欢天喜地,挥霍无度和落落大方。他生来就是一个冒险家。他就是喜欢那些从事不正当职业以及朝三暮四、反复无常的人,经常出没于伦敦的酒吧间,地痞流氓中很大一批人都同他相识。放荡的女人把他视作朋友,向他倾诉她们人生的烦恼、艰苦和成功;而那班赌棍们却都能体谅他的寒怆的日子,供他吃喝,还借给他面值五英镑的钞票。他虽屡试不第,但都愉快地忍受了。他用幽雅迷人的举止顺从父母双亲的规劝,使得他那位在利兹当开业医生的父亲不忍正言厉色地对他发火。

"我在读书方面,是个实足的笨伯,"他乐呵呵地说,"我的脑子就是转不起来。"

生活也太有趣了。但是,有一点是很清楚的:即他那情感洋溢的青春期一过,在最后取得了医生的资格之后,他一定能够在医道方面有所成就。就凭他那举止的魅力,也能医治人们的病痛。

菲利普崇拜他,正如在学校里崇拜那些身材高大、品行正直、道德高尚的学生一样。菲利普病愈时,他同格里菲思成了莫逆之交。看到格里菲思似乎喜欢坐在他的房间里,谈论些令人感到快乐的趣事儿以及抽着数不胜数的烟卷儿来消磨他的时间,菲利普内心里充满了一种莫可名状的满足。有时,菲利普带他上里根特大街上的那家酒菜馆。海沃德发觉格里菲思很蠢,但劳森却意识到了他的迷人之处,并急于要给他画画。他的体态生动,长着蓝色的眸子、白皙的皮肤和鬈曲的头发。他们讨论的问题,他常常是一无所知,然而他却安静地坐在一旁,俊美的脸上挂着温顺敦厚的微笑,恰如其分地感到他的在场本身足以给同伴们增添欢乐。当发觉马卡利斯特是位证券经纪人时,他热切地想得到些小费。然而,马卡利斯特脸带严肃的笑容告诉他,倘若他有时能购进些股票,他就可以赚进一笔钱财。这使得菲利普也垂涎欲滴,因为在某种程度上,他也有些人不敷出,因此借马卡利斯特提及的轻而易举的生财之道赚一点儿钱,这对菲利普是最合适不过的了。

"下次我一听到好消息就告诉你,"那位证券经纪人说。"有时真的会有好消息来的,问题在于等待时机。"

菲利普情不自禁地畅想起来,要是能赚个五十英镑,那该多好啊!这样,他就可以给诺拉买件她过冬御寒的皮大衣。他注视着里根特大街上的几家商店,挑选了几件他买得起的东西。诺拉一切都应该享有,因为她使他的生活充满了欢乐。

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
举报 只看该作者 71楼  发表于: 2014-08-25 0



chapter 69

One afternoon, when he went back to his rooms from the hospital to wash and tidy himself before going to tea as usual with Norah, as he let himself in with his latch-key, his landlady opened the door for him.

‘There’s a lady waiting to see you,’ she said.

‘Me?’ exclaimed Philip.

He was surprised. It would only be Norah, and he had no idea what had brought her.

‘I shouldn’t ‘ave let her in, only she’s been three times, and she seemed that upset at not finding you, so I told her she could wait.’

He pushed past the explaining landlady and burst into the room. His heart turned sick. It was Mildred. She was sitting down, but got up hurriedly as he came in. She did not move towards him nor speak. He was so surprised that he did not know what he was saying.

‘What the hell d’you want?’ he asked.

She did not answer, but began to cry. She did not put her hands to her eyes, but kept them hanging by the side of her body. She looked like a housemaid applying for a situation. There was a dreadful humility in her bearing. Philip did not know what feelings came over him. He had a sudden impulse to turn round and escape from the room.

‘I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,’ he said at last.

‘I wish I was dead,’ she moaned.

Philip left her standing where she was. He could only think at the moment of steadying himself. His knees were shaking. He looked at her, and he groaned in despair.

‘What’s the matter?’ he said.

‘He’s left me—Emil.’

Philip’s heart bounded. He knew then that he loved her as passionately as ever. He had never ceased to love her. She was standing before him humble and unresisting. He wished to take her in his arms and cover her tear-stained face with kisses. Oh, how long the separation had been! He did not know how he could have endured it.

‘You’d better sit down. Let me give you a drink.’

He drew the chair near the fire and she sat in it. He mixed her whiskey and soda, and, sobbing still, she drank it. She looked at him with great, mournful eyes. There were large black lines under them. She was thinner and whiter than when last he had seen her.

‘I wish I’d married you when you asked me,’ she said.

Philip did not know why the remark seemed to swell his heart. He could not keep the distance from her which he had forced upon himself. He put his hand on her shoulder.

‘I’m awfully sorry you’re in trouble.’

She leaned her head against his bosom and burst into hysterical crying. Her hat was in the way and she took it off. He had never dreamt that she was capable of crying like that. He kissed her again and again. It seemed to ease her a little.

‘You were always good to me, Philip,’ she said. ‘That’s why I knew I could come to you.’

‘Tell me what’s happened.’

‘Oh, I can’t, I can’t,’ she cried out, breaking away from him.

He sank down on his knees beside her and put his cheek against hers.

‘Don’t you know that there’s nothing you can’t tell me? I can never blame you for anything.’

She told him the story little by little, and sometimes she sobbed so much that he could hardly understand.

‘Last Monday week he went up to Birmingham, and he promised to be back on Thursday, and he never came, and he didn’t come on the Friday, so I wrote to ask what was the matter, and he never answered the letter. And I wrote and said that if I didn’t hear from him by return I’d go up to Birmingham, and this morning I got a solicitor’s letter to say I had no claim on him, and if I molested him he’d seek the protection of the law.’

‘But it’s absurd,’ cried Philip. ‘A man can’t treat his wife like that. Had you had a row?’

‘Oh, yes, we’d had a quarrel on the Sunday, and he said he was sick of me, but he’d said it before, and he’d come back all right. I didn’t think he meant it. He was frightened, because I told him a baby was coming. I kept it from him as long as I could. Then I had to tell him. He said it was my fault, and I ought to have known better. If you’d only heard the things he said to me! But I found out precious quick that he wasn’t a gentleman. He left me without a penny. He hadn’t paid the rent, and I hadn’t got the money to pay it, and the woman who kept the house said such things to me—well, I might have been a thief the way she talked.’

‘I thought you were going to take a flat.’

‘That’s what he said, but we just took furnished apartments in Highbury. He was that mean. He said I was extravagant, he didn’t give me anything to be extravagant with.’

She had an extraordinary way of mixing the trivial with the important. Philip was puzzled. The whole thing was incomprehensible.

‘No man could be such a blackguard.’

‘You don’t know him. I wouldn’t go back to him now not if he was to come and ask me on his bended knees. I was a fool ever to think of him. And he wasn’t earning the money he said he was. The lies he told me!’

Philip thought for a minute or two. He was so deeply moved by her distress that he could not think of himself.

‘Would you like me to go to Birmingham? I could see him and try to make things up.’

‘Oh, there’s no chance of that. He’ll never come back now, I know him.’

‘But he must provide for you. He can’t get out of that. I don’t know anything about these things, you’d better go and see a solicitor.’

‘How can I? I haven’t got the money.’

‘I’ll pay all that. I’ll write a note to my own solicitor, the sportsman who was my father’s executor. Would you like me to come with you now? I expect he’ll still be at his office.’

‘No, give me a letter to him. I’ll go alone.’

She was a little calmer now. He sat down and wrote a note. Then he remembered that she had no money. He had fortunately changed a cheque the day before and was able to give her five pounds.

‘You are good to me, Philip,’ she said.

‘I’m so happy to be able to do something for you.’

‘Are you fond of me still?’

‘Just as fond as ever.’

She put up her lips and he kissed her. There was a surrender in the action which he had never seen in her before. It was worth all the agony he had suffered.

She went away and he found that she had been there for two hours. He was extraordinarily happy.

‘Poor thing, poor thing,’ he murmured to himself, his heart glowing with a greater love than he had ever felt before.

He never thought of Norah at all till about eight o’clock a telegram came. He knew before opening it that it was from her.

Is anything the matter? Norah.

He did not know what to do nor what to answer. He could fetch her after the play, in which she was walking on, was over and stroll home with her as he sometimes did; but his whole soul revolted against the idea of seeing her that evening. He thought of writing to her, but he could not bring himself to address her as usual, dearest Norah. He made up his mind to telegraph.

Sorry. Could not get away, Philip.

He visualised her. He was slightly repelled by the ugly little face, with its high cheekbones and the crude colour. There was a coarseness in her skin which gave him goose-flesh. He knew that his telegram must be followed by some action on his part, but at all events it postponed it.

Next day he wired again.

Regret, unable to come. Will write.

Mildred had suggested coming at four in the afternoon, and he would not tell her that the hour was inconvenient. After all she came first. He waited for her impatiently. He watched for her at the window and opened the front-door himself.

‘Well? Did you see Nixon?’

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘He said it wasn’t any good. Nothing’s to be done. I must just grin and bear it.’

‘But that’s impossible,’ cried Philip.

She sat down wearily.

‘Did he give any reasons?’ he asked.

She gave him a crumpled letter.

‘There’s your letter, Philip. I never took it. I couldn’t tell you yesterday, I really couldn’t. Emil didn’t marry me. He couldn’t. He had a wife already and three children.’

Philip felt a sudden pang of jealousy and anguish. It was almost more than he could bear.

‘That’s why I couldn’t go back to my aunt. There’s no one I can go to but you.’

‘What made you go away with him?’ Philip asked, in a low voice which he struggled to make firm.

‘I don’t know. I didn’t know he was a married man at first, and when he told me I gave him a piece of my mind. And then I didn’t see him for months, and when he came to the shop again and asked me I don’t know what came over me. I felt as if I couldn’t help it. I had to go with him.’

‘Were you in love with him?’

‘I don’t know. I couldn’t hardly help laughing at the things he said. And there was something about him—he said I’d never regret it, he promised to give me seven pounds a week—he said he was earning fifteen, and it was all a lie, he wasn’t. And then I was sick of going to the shop every morning, and I wasn’t getting on very well with my aunt; she wanted to treat me as a servant instead of a relation, said I ought to do my own room, and if I didn’t do it nobody was going to do it for me. Oh, I wish I hadn’t. But when he came to the shop and asked me I felt I couldn’t help it.’

Philip moved away from her. He sat down at the table and buried his face in his hands. He felt dreadfully humiliated.

‘You’re not angry with me, Philip?’ she asked piteously.

‘No,’ he answered, looking up but away from her, ‘only I’m awfully hurt.’

‘Why?’

‘You see, I was so dreadfully in love with you. I did everything I could to make you care for me. I thought you were incapable of loving anyone. It’s so horrible to know that you were willing to sacrifice everything for that bounder. I wonder what you saw in him.’

‘I’m awfully sorry, Philip. I regretted it bitterly afterwards, I promise you that.’

He thought of Emil Miller, with his pasty, unhealthy look, his shifty blue eyes, and the vulgar smartness of his appearance; he always wore bright red knitted waistcoats. Philip sighed. She got up and went to him. She put her arm round his neck.

‘I shall never forget that you offered to marry me, Philip.’

He took her hand and looked up at her. She bent down and kissed him.

‘Philip, if you want me still I’ll do anything you like now. I know you’re a gentleman in every sense of the word.’

His heart stood still. Her words made him feel slightly sick.

‘It’s awfully good of you, but I couldn’t.’

‘Don’t you care for me any more?’

‘Yes, I love you with all my heart.’

‘Then why shouldn’t we have a good time while we’ve got the chance? You see, it can’t matter now"

He released himself from her.

‘You don’t understand. I’ve been sick with love for you ever since I saw you, but now—that man. I’ve unfortunately got a vivid imagination. The thought of it simply disgusts me.’

‘You are funny,’ she said.

He took her hand again and smiled at her.

‘You mustn’t think I’m not grateful. I can never thank you enough, but you see, it’s just stronger than I am.’

‘You are a good friend, Philip.’

They went on talking, and soon they had returned to the familiar companionship of old days. It grew late. Philip suggested that they should dine together and go to a music-hall. She wanted some persuasion, for she had an idea of acting up to her situation, and felt instinctively that it did not accord with her distressed condition to go to a place of entertainment. At last Philip asked her to go simply to please him, and when she could look upon it as an act of self-sacrifice she accepted. She had a new thoughtfulness which delighted Philip. She asked him to take her to the little restaurant in Soho to which they had so often been; he was infinitely grateful to her, because her suggestion showed that happy memories were attached to it. She grew much more cheerful as dinner proceeded. The Burgundy from the public house at the corner warmed her heart, and she forgot that she ought to preserve a dolorous countenance. Philip thought it safe to speak to her of the future.

‘I suppose you haven’t got a brass farthing, have you?’ he asked, when an opportunity presented itself.

‘Only what you gave me yesterday, and I had to give the landlady three pounds of that.’

‘Well, I’d better give you a tenner to go on with. I’ll go and see my solicitor and get him to write to Miller. We can make him pay up something, I’m sure. If we can get a hundred pounds out of him it’ll carry you on till after the baby comes.’

‘I wouldn’t take a penny from him. I’d rather starve.’

‘But it’s monstrous that he should leave you in the lurch like this.’

‘I’ve got my pride to consider.’

It was a little awkward for Philip. He needed rigid economy to make his own money last till he was qualified, and he must have something over to keep him during the year he intended to spend as house physician and house surgeon either at his own or at some other hospital. But Mildred had told him various stories of Emil’s meanness, and he was afraid to remonstrate with her in case she accused him too of want of generosity.

‘I wouldn’t take a penny piece from him. I’d sooner beg my bread. I’d have seen about getting some work to do long before now, only it wouldn’t be good for me in the state I’m in. You have to think of your health, don’t you?’

‘You needn’t bother about the present,’ said Philip. ‘I can let you have all you want till you’re fit to work again.’

‘I knew I could depend on you. I told Emil he needn’t think I hadn’t got somebody to go to. I told him you was a gentleman in every sense of the word.’

By degrees Philip learned how the separation had come about. It appeared that the fellow’s wife had discovered the adventure he was engaged in during his periodical visits to London, and had gone to the head of the firm that employed him. She threatened to divorce him, and they announced that they would dismiss him if she did. He was passionately devoted to his children and could not bear the thought of being separated from them. When he had to choose between his wife and his mistress he chose his wife. He had been always anxious that there should be no child to make the entanglement more complicated; and when Mildred, unable longer to conceal its approach, informed him of the fact, he was seized with panic. He picked a quarrel and left her without more ado.

‘When d’you expect to be confined?’ asked Philip.

‘At the beginning of March.’

‘Three months.’

It was necessary to discuss plans. Mildred declared she would not remain in the rooms at Highbury, and Philip thought it more convenient too that she should be nearer to him. He promised to look for something next day. She suggested the Vauxhall Bridge Road as a likely neighbourhood.

‘And it would be near for afterwards,’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I should only be able to stay there about two months or a little more, and then I should have to go into a house. I know a very respectable place, where they have a most superior class of people, and they take you for four guineas a week and no extras. Of course the doctor’s extra, but that’s all. A friend of mine went there, and the lady who keeps it is a thorough lady. I mean to tell her that my husband’s an officer in India and I’ve come to London for my baby, because it’s better for my health.’

It seemed extraordinary to Philip to hear her talking in this way. With her delicate little features and her pale face she looked cold and maidenly. When he thought of the passions that burnt within her, so unexpected, his heart was strangely troubled. His pulse beat quickly.



第六十九章

一天下午,菲利普从医院回到公寓,同往常一样,准备在同诺拉共用茶点之前,梳洗打扮一番。他刚要掏钥匙开门时,房东太太却霍地把门打开了。

"有位太太等着要见你,"房东太太说。

"找我?"菲利普惊讶地说。

菲利普不由得一怔。来者只可能是诺拉,但他不知道是什么风把她给吹来的。

"我本不应该让她进来的,可她接连来了三次,都没见着你,她看上去怪难过的,所以我告诉她可以在此等候你。"

菲利普急急从喋喋不休的房东太太面前奔过去,一头冲进房间。他感到一阵恶心:原来是米尔德丽德。她正准备坐下去,见他进来,便忙不迭地站起来。她既没有走近他,也没有说话。他惊呆了,连自己在说些什么都茫然不知。

"你究竟想要干什么?"他问道。

米尔德丽德默不作答,却哇地失声痛哭。她并没有用手蒙住眼睛,而是把手悬在身体的两侧,宛如一位垂手恳求雇佣的女用人,姿态里带有一种令人讨厌的谦卑。菲利普闹不清自己心里头是什么样的滋味,真想掉转身子奔出房间去。

"我不曾想到还会再见到你,"他终于说了这么一句话。

"要是我死了,就好了,"她呜咽着说。

菲利普让她站在原地。此时,他只想让自己镇静下来。他的双膝在颤抖。他双眼注视着米尔德丽德,精神颓然地呻吟着。

"出什么事啦?"他说。

"埃米尔--他遗弃了我。"

菲利普的心怦怦直跳。此时他意识到自己仍一如既往地狂热地爱恋着她,对她的爱情从来就没有终止过。她就站在他的面前,是那样的低声下气,那样的百依百顺。他恨不得一把将她搂进自己的怀里,在她泪水晶莹的脸上狂吻。啊,这一离别是多么的长久!他竟不知道自己是怎么能熬过来的。

"你还是坐下吧。我给你倒杯酒来。"

他把椅子移近壁炉,米尔德丽德一屁股坐下来。他给她配了杯威士忌苏打水。她一边抽泣,一边啜饮着,那双充满悲哀的大眼睛凝视着他。她比菲利普上次见到她时要憔悴得多,那色更苍白。

"你那时向我求婚时,我就同你结婚该有多好呢,"米尔德丽德哀戚地说。

这句话似乎在他内心激起了感情的波浪。究竟为什么会这样?菲利普也说不出个所以然来。他不能再像刚才那样强迫自己去冷淡她了。他伸出手来搁在她的肩膀上。

"我为你身处困境而感到十分难过。"

米尔德丽德把头偎依在菲利普的怀里,歇斯底里地大哭大叫起来。头上的帽子有些碍事,她便把它脱了下来。他可从来没有料想到她竟会这样悲恸地哭着。他不住地吻着她,这似乎使她平静了些。

"你待我一向很好,菲利普,"她说,"这就是为什么我知道我可以来找你的缘故。"

"告诉我出什么事啦。"

"哦,我不能讲,我不能讲,"她叫喊着,从他的怀抱里挣脱开去。

他蹲下跪在她的身旁,把自己的脸颊紧紧地贴住她的脸颊。

"难道你不知道你无事不可对我讲的吗?我决不会怪罪于你的。"

她把事情一点一点地讲给他听,有时哽咽得厉害,他几乎听不懂她在说些什么。

"上星期一,他到伯明翰去,答应星期三返回的,可是,他没有回来,到了星期五,还不见他的人影。于是,我写信去问他出什么事了,可是他连信也不回一封。我又写了封信,并说要是再不给回音,我就要去伯明翰了。然而今天早晨,我接到一位律师的来函,函中说我无权对他提出要求,而且说,倘若我去干扰他,他就要去谋求法律的保护。"

"真是荒谬绝伦!"菲利普叫喊道。"一个男人决不可以这样对待自己的妻子。你们俩是否吵架啦?"

"哦,是的,星期日那天,我们俩干了一仗。他说他讨厌我,但是这话他从前也说过,后来还是回来的呀。我可没有想到他会当真。他感到惊惶失措,因为我告诉他快要生孩子了。我尽可能地瞒着他。最后我不得不告诉他。他说这是我的过错,还说我应该比他懂得更多一些。你听听他对我尽说些什么呀!但是,我很快就发觉他并不是一位正人君子。他一分钱也没留下就把我抛弃了。他连房租也没有付,可我又没钱去付,那位管家女人曾在我面前说这样的话--嗯,照她说来我还是个贼哩!

"他嘴上说的是一套,可是做的又是一套。我们只是在海伯里租了套房间。他就是如此的吝啬。他说我挥霍无度,可是他没给过我一个子儿呀。"

她有一种把巨细事情胡乱掺杂在一起的特殊本领。菲利普被弄得迷惑不解,整个事情所起来有些莫名其妙。

"没有一个男人是像他这样的恶棍。"

"你不了解他,现在我不愿回到他那儿去,即使他跑来跪在我面前,我也不回去。我那时真傻,怎么会想到跟他的呢?而且他并不是如他所说的那样在挣钱。他对我说的全是骗人的鬼话!"

菲利普思索了一两分钟。她的悲哀深深地震撼着他的心,他可不能只为自个儿着想啊。

"你要我上伯明翰去吗?我可以去见他,设法让你俩重归于好。"

"根本没门儿。现在他决不会回心转意了,我了解他。"

"但是,他必须负担你的生活费用,这是他推诿不了的。诸如此类的事情,我可一点儿也不懂,你最好还是去找个律师。"

"我怎么能呢?我身上一个子儿也没有。"

"这笔费用由我来付。我将给我自己的律师写封信,就是那位担任我父亲遗嘱执行人的运动家。你现在愿意同我一起去找他吗?我估计眼下他仍在办公室里。"

"不,把写给他的信交给我,我自个儿去。"

此时,她变得镇静了一点。他坐下来写了封信。他倏地想起她身边一文不名。真凑巧,他前天才兑了张支票的现钞,给她五个英镑还是拿得出来的。

"你对我真好,菲利普,"米尔德丽德说。

"能够为你做点事情,我感到很高兴。"

"你现在还喜欢我吗?

"跟过去一样地喜欢你。"

她噘起嘴唇,于是他吻了她。从她这一举动里,他看到了在她身上从来没有看到过的一种感情上的屈服。就凭这一点,他内心遭受到的一切痛苦都得到了报偿。

她走了,他发觉她在这儿呆了两个小时。他感到乐不可支。

"可怜的人儿,可怜的人儿,"他前南地自言自语,内心升腾起他以往从未有过的一股灼热的情火。

大约八点钟的光景,菲利普接到了一份电报。在这之前,他压根儿就没有想到诺拉。打开电报一看,才知道这是诺拉拍来的。

出了什么事啦?诺拉。

菲利普茫然不知所措,不知道该如何回复。诺拉正在一出戏里担任配角。他可以同有时所做的那样,俟戏一完,就跑去接她,并同她并肩漫步回家。但这天晚上,他整个心灵都反对他去见诺拉。他考虑给她写信,但不能使自己跟往常一样称呼她为"最亲爱的诺拉"。他决定去拍个电报。

抱歉。无法脱身。菲利普。

他在脑海里勾勒出诺拉的体态轮廓。她那张颧骨高高的、面色粗鄙的丑陋小脸使他感到厌恶。一想到她那粗糙的皮肤,他身上就起鸡皮疙瘩。他知道,电报发出后,还得赶紧采取某些步骤,不过,无论如何这份电报为他采取某些步骤赢得了时间。

翌日,他又发了份电报。

遗憾。不能来。详见信。

米尔德丽德提出下午四点到,而菲利普却不愿对她说这时间不方便。不管怎么说,是她先来嘛。菲利普心情急躁地等待着米尔德丽德。他站在窗前望着,一见到她,便亲自跑去开门。

"嗯?你见到尼克逊了吗""

"见到了,"米尔德丽德回答说。"他说那样做没有什么用处。无法可想。我只得默默忍受。"

"可是,那样做是不可能的,"菲利普叫嚷道。

她疲惫不堪地坐了下来。

"他有没有摆出理由呢?"他问。

她递给他一封捏皱了的信。

"这儿有你的一封信,菲利普。我一直没拆它。昨天我不能对你讲,真的不能对你说。埃米尔没有同我结婚。他也不能那样做,因为他已经有妻子,还生了三个孩子。"

一阵妒意和痛苦交集在一起的感情突然袭上菲利普的心头。他简直忍受不了这一打击。

"这就是我不能回去见我姨妈的缘故。眼下除了你以外,我是无人可找。"

"是什么促使你同他出走呢?"菲利普极力克制住自己,用一种低沉的声音问道。

"不知道。起先我并不了解他是个有妇之夫。当他把这事告诉我时,我当面教训了他一顿。然后,接连数月我没见着他的人影,当他再次回到店里并向我求婚时,我真不晓得到底怎么啦,只觉得好像无法可想,不得不跟他走似的。"

"那时你爱他吗?"

"不知道。那时听他说话,我情不自禁要发笑。还有一些关于他的事儿--他说我永远也不会后悔,并保证每星期交给我七英镑--他说他那时赚十五英镑,然而,这一切全是弥天大谎,他根本就没有十五英镑。那时候,我厌恶每天早上要到店里去上班,同时我同姨妈的关系不很融洽,好像使唤奴婢一样对待我,并不把我当作亲戚。她说我应该自己动手整理房间,要不就没人给我整理。哦,要是我那时不上他的当该多好呢。可是,当他走到店里征求我的意见时,我觉得我实在没有办法。"

菲利普从她身边移开去,坐在桌子旁,双手掩面。他感到深受耻辱。

"你不生我的气吧,菲利普?"她带着令人哀怜的声调说。

"不,"他回答道,同时抬起头来,但目光避着她,"我只是感到伤心极了。"

"为什么呢?"

"你是知道的,我那时深深地爱着你。我能够做到的事,我都做了,为的是想得到你的青睐。我认为你决不会去爱上别人的。得知你为了那个粗鲁的汉子而心甘情愿地牺牲自己的切的消息,我简直感到太可怕了。我不知道你究竟看中了他什么。"

"我太难过了,菲利普。后来我后悔极了,我向你保证,真的后悔极了。"

菲利普想起了埃米尔·米勒其人。他脸色苍白,毫无血色,长着一双诡诈的蓝眼睛,一副俗不可耐的精明相,身上总是穿件颜色鲜艳的编织的背心。菲利普喟然一声叹息。米尔德南德站起身子,走到他的跟前,双臂勾住了他的脖子。

"我永远不会忘记你曾提出要同我结婚,菲利普。"

菲利普一把抓住了她的手,抬头凝望着她。她弯下身子,吻着他。

"菲利普,假使你仍然要我,那么,凡是你喜欢的事情,我现在都愿意去做。我晓得你是一位真正的品行高尚的人。"

他的心倏忽停住了跳动。她的话使他感到有点儿恶心。

"你真太好了,不过我不能这样啊。"

"难道你不喜欢我了?"

"怎么不喜欢呢,我打心眼里爱你。"

"那么,既然我们有这个机会,为什么不乘机乐上一乐呢?你要知道,现在可没什么关系啦!"

菲利普挣脱了米尔德丽德的拥抱。

"你没有听懂我的意思。自从我遇见了你,我就害上了相思病。但是。眼下--那个男人。不幸的是,我这个人有一种丰富的想象力,一想起那件事,我就想呕吐。"

"你真有趣,"她说。

他再次握住她的丁,朝她微微一笑。

"你切莫认为我不感激你。我对你是永远感谢不尽的。但是,你知道,那种情感要比我强得多呢。"

"你是个好朋友,菲利普。"

他们俩不停地交谈着,很快就回到昔日那种亲密的同伴情谊中去。天色渐晚。菲利普建议他俩在一起吃晚饭,然后去音乐厅。她想让菲利普做些说服工作,因为她有意要装出一副与她目前处境相衬的姿态。她本能地感到,此时出入娱乐场所同她目前悲痛的心境不相符合。最后,菲利普说请她一同去只是为了使他高兴,直到她认为这是一种自我牺牲的举动时,她才应承下来。她提出了一个新的很体贴人的建议,这使得菲利普感到很高兴。她叫菲利普带她上他们以前经常光顾的那家坐落在索霍街上的小饭馆。他对她感激不尽,因为她的建议给他带来了对幸福往事的美好回忆。在吃晚饭的过程中,她渐渐变得兴高采烈起来。喝着从街角那爿小酒店打来的红葡萄酒,她心里头热乎乎的,竟忘记了自己该保持一副忧郁的神情。菲利普想,此时可以平安无事地同她谈论关于今后的打算了。

"我猜想,你身上是一文不名的了,是吗?"一有机会,他就问她。

"我身上只有你昨天给的几个钱,而且还得从中拿出三英镑给房东太太吧。"

"唔,我还是再给你一张十英镑先花着,我马上去找我的律师,请他给米勒写封信。我肯定可以叫他付笔款子。要是我们能从他那里得到一百英镑的话,这笔钱可以使你维持到小孩出世。"

"我决不要他一个便士。我宁可挨饿。"

"但是像他这样子把你丢下不管也太可恶了。"

"我还得考虑我的自尊心。"

菲利普觉得有点尴尬。他自己必须严格节约,才能使他的钱一直维持到他取得医生的资格,而且他还得留下一笔钱,以作为他在眼下所在的或别的医院里当住院内科或外科医生期间所需的生活费用。但是,想起了米尔德丽德给他讲关于埃米尔吝啬的事儿,他便不敢同她争辩,生怕她谴责自己也缺乏慷慨解囊的品性。

"我宁愿沿街乞讨面包,也不愿拿他一个便士。很早以前,我就想找个工作于干,不过我目前这种状况去工作也没有好处。人都得考虑自己的健康,不是吗?"

"眼下你还不必考虑去干活,"菲利普说。"在你感到能够工作之前,我可以让你得到你所要的一切。"

"我早就知道我可以信赖你。我对埃米尔说,别以为我找不到人帮忙。我告诉他你是位真正的品行高尚的人。"

菲利普逐步了解到分居是怎么会产生的。看来那个家伙的结发妻子发觉他定期赴伦敦期间所干的勾当,并找到雇佣他的那家公司的头头。她扬言要同他离婚,而那家公司声称要是她提出离婚,他们就把他解雇。那个家伙非常疼爱他的几个孩子,不堪忍受要同孩子们分离的想法。要他在妻子和情妇之间作出抉择时,他选择了妻子。他的心情一直忐忑不安,他希望不要因有孩子而使得这场纠纷更加复杂。当米尔德丽德无法再隐瞒,把即将分娩的事告诉他时,他惊恐万状,找岔儿同米尔德丽德吵架,并直截了当地把她遗弃了。

"你什么时候临产?"菲利普问。

"三月初。"

"还有三个月哩。"

讨论计划很有必要。米尔德丽德提出不想再呆在海伯里公寓里了,而菲利普也认为她应该靠近他,这样更方便些。他答应第二天去给她找房子。她认为沃克斯霍尔大桥路是个适当的地点。

"对以后来说,到那儿去路也近些,"她说。

"你这是什么意思?"

"唔,我只能在那儿呆两个月或者稍许多一点,然后我就得住进一幢房子。我知道有一处很高雅的地方,那儿有一批属于最高贵阶层的人,他们接纳你,一星期只要四畿尼,而且还没有其他额外的费用。当然罗,医生的诊费不计在内。除此之外,不要别的费用。我的一位朋友曾经去过那儿。管理这幢房子的是一位一丝不苟的太太。我打算告诉她,我的丈夫是一名驻在印度的军官,而我是来伦敦生孩子的,因为这有益于我的健康。"

听她这么说,菲利普感到有点儿离奇。娇嫩的容貌和苍白的脸色使她显得冷淡而恬静。当他想起熊熊燃烧在她胸膛的激情竟如此出人意料,他的心绪变得莫可名状的紊乱和不安,他的脉搏急剧地跳动着。

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 70

Philip expected to find a letter from Norah when he got back to his rooms, but there was nothing; nor did he receive one the following morning. The silence irritated and at the same time alarmed him. They had seen one another every day he had been in London since the previous June; and it must seem odd to her that he should let two days go by without visiting her or offering a reason for his absence; he wondered whether by an unlucky chance she had seen him with Mildred. He could not bear to think that she was hurt or unhappy, and he made up his mind to call on her that afternoon. He was almost inclined to reproach her because he had allowed himself to get on such intimate terms with her. The thought of continuing them filled him with disgust.

He found two rooms for Mildred on the second floor of a house in the Vauxhall Bridge Road. They were noisy, but he knew that she liked the rattle of traffic under her windows.

‘I don’t like a dead and alive street where you don’t see a soul pass all day,’ she said. ‘Give me a bit of life.’

Then he forced himself to go to Vincent Square. He was sick with apprehension when he rang the bell. He had an uneasy sense that he was treating Norah badly; he dreaded reproaches; he knew she had a quick temper, and he hated scenes: perhaps the best way would be to tell her frankly that Mildred had come back to him and his love for her was as violent as it had ever been; he was very sorry, but he had nothing to offer Norah any more. Then he thought of her anguish, for he knew she loved him; it had flattered him before, and he was immensely grateful; but now it was horrible. She had not deserved that he should inflict pain upon her. He asked himself how she would greet him now, and as he walked up the stairs all possible forms of her behaviour flashed across his mind. He knocked at the door. He felt that he was pale, and wondered how to conceal his nervousness.

She was writing away industriously, but she sprang to her feet as he entered.

‘I recognised your step,’ she cried. ‘Where have you been hiding yourself, you naughty boy?’

She came towards him joyfully and put her arms round his neck. She was delighted to see him. He kissed her, and then, to give himself countenance, said he was dying for tea. She bustled the fire to make the kettle boil.

‘I’ve been awfully busy,’ he said lamely.

She began to chatter in her bright way, telling him of a new commission she had to provide a novelette for a firm which had not hitherto employed her. She was to get fifteen guineas for it.

‘It’s money from the clouds. I’ll tell you what we’ll do, we’ll stand ourselves a little jaunt. Let’s go and spend a day at Oxford, shall we? I’d love to see the colleges.’

He looked at her to see whether there was any shadow of reproach in her eyes; but they were as frank and merry as ever: she was overjoyed to see him. His heart sank. He could not tell her the brutal truth. She made some toast for him, and cut it into little pieces, and gave it him as though he were a child.

‘Is the brute fed?’ she asked.

He nodded, smiling; and she lit a cigarette for him. Then, as she loved to do, she came and sat on his knees. She was very light. She leaned back in his arms with a sigh of delicious happiness.

‘Say something nice to me,’ she murmured.

‘What shall I say?’

‘You might by an effort of imagination say that you rather liked me.’

‘You know I do that.’

He had not the heart to tell her then. He would give her peace at all events for that day, and perhaps he might write to her. That would be easier. He could not bear to think of her crying. She made him kiss her, and as he kissed her he thought of Mildred and Mildred’s pale, thin lips. The recollection of Mildred remained with him all the time, like an incorporated form, but more substantial than a shadow; and the sight continually distracted his attention.

‘You’re very quiet today,’ Norah said.

Her loquacity was a standing joke between them, and he answered:

‘You never let me get a word in, and I’ve got out of the habit of talking.’

‘But you’re not listening, and that’s bad manners.’

He reddened a little, wondering whether she had some inkling of his secret; he turned away his eyes uneasily. The weight of her irked him this afternoon, and he did not want her to touch him.

‘My foot’s gone to sleep,’ he said.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she cried, jumping up. ‘I shall have to bant if I can’t break myself of this habit of sitting on gentlemen’s knees.’

He went through an elaborate form of stamping his foot and walking about. Then he stood in front of the fire so that she should not resume her position. While she talked he thought that she was worth ten of Mildred; she amused him much more and was jollier to talk to; she was cleverer, and she had a much nicer nature. She was a good, brave, honest little woman; and Mildred, he thought bitterly, deserved none of these epithets. If he had any sense he would stick to Norah, she would make him much happier than he would ever be with Mildred: after all she loved him, and Mildred was only grateful for his help. But when all was said the important thing was to love rather than to be loved; and he yearned for Mildred with his whole soul. He would sooner have ten minutes with her than a whole afternoon with Norah, he prized one kiss of her cold lips more than all Norah could give him.

‘I can’t help myself,’ he thought. ‘I’ve just got her in my bones.’

He did not care if she was heartless, vicious and vulgar, stupid and grasping, he loved her. He would rather have misery with the one than happiness with the other.

When he got up to go Norah said casually:

‘Well, I shall see you tomorrow, shan’t I?’

‘Yes,’ he answered.

He knew that he would not be able to come, since he was going to help Mildred with her moving, but he had not the courage to say so. He made up his mind that he would send a wire. Mildred saw the rooms in the morning, was satisfied with them, and after luncheon Philip went up with her to Highbury. She had a trunk for her clothes and another for the various odds and ends, cushions, lampshades, photograph frames, with which she had tried to give the apartments a home-like air; she had two or three large cardboard boxes besides, but in all there was no more than could be put on the roof of a four-wheeler. As they drove through Victoria Street Philip sat well back in the cab in case Norah should happen to be passing. He had not had an opportunity to telegraph and could not do so from the post office in the Vauxhall Bridge Road, since she would wonder what he was doing in that neighbourhood; and if he was there he could have no excuse for not going into the neighbouring square where she lived. He made up his mind that he had better go in and see her for half an hour; but the necessity irritated him: he was angry with Norah, because she forced him to vulgar and degrading shifts. But he was happy to be with Mildred. It amused him to help her with the unpacking; and he experienced a charming sense of possession in installing her in these lodgings which he had found and was paying for. He would not let her exert herself. It was a pleasure to do things for her, and she had no desire to do what somebody else seemed desirous to do for her. He unpacked her clothes and put them away. She was not proposing to go out again, so he got her slippers and took off her boots. It delighted him to perform menial offices.

‘You do spoil me,’ she said, running her fingers affectionately through his hair, while he was on his knees unbuttoning her boots.

He took her hands and kissed them.

‘It is nipping to have you here.’

He arranged the cushions and the photograph frames. She had several jars of green earthenware.

‘I’ll get you some flowers for them,’ he said.

He looked round at his work proudly.

‘As I’m not going out any more I think I’ll get into a tea-gown,’ she said. ‘Undo me behind, will you?’

She turned round as unconcernedly as though he were a woman. His sex meant nothing to her. But his heart was filled with gratitude for the intimacy her request showed. He undid the hooks and eyes with clumsy fingers.

‘That first day I came into the shop I never thought I’d be doing this for you now,’ he said, with a laugh which he forced.

‘Somebody must do it,’ she answered.

She went into the bed-room and slipped into a pale blue tea-gown decorated with a great deal of cheap lace. Then Philip settled her on a sofa and made tea for her.

‘I’m afraid I can’t stay and have it with you,’ he said regretfully. ‘I’ve got a beastly appointment. But I shall be back in half an hour.’

He wondered what he should say if she asked him what the appointment was, but she showed no curiosity. He had ordered dinner for the two of them when he took the rooms, and proposed to spend the evening with her quietly. He was in such a hurry to get back that he took a tram along the Vauxhall Bridge Road. He thought he had better break the fact to Norah at once that he could not stay more than a few minutes.

‘I say, I’ve got only just time to say how d’you do,’ he said, as soon as he got into her rooms. ‘I’m frightfully busy.’

Her face fell.

‘Why, what’s the matter?’

It exasperated him that she should force him to tell lies, and he knew that he reddened when he answered that there was a demonstration at the hospital which he was bound to go to. He fancied that she looked as though she did not believe him, and this irritated him all the more.

‘Oh, well, it doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I shall have you all tomorrow.’

He looked at her blankly. It was Sunday, and he had been looking forward to spending the day with Mildred. He told himself that he must do that in common decency; he could not leave her by herself in a strange house.

‘I’m awfully sorry, I’m engaged tomorrow.’

He knew this was the beginning of a scene which he would have given anything to avoid. The colour on Norah’s cheeks grew brighter.

‘But I’ve asked the Gordons to lunch’—they were an actor and his wife who were touring the provinces and in London for Sunday—‘I told you about it a week ago.’

‘I’m awfully sorry, I forgot.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m afraid I can’t possibly come. Isn’t there somebody else you can get?’

‘What are you doing tomorrow then?’

‘I wish you wouldn’t cross-examine me.’

‘Don’t you want to tell me?’

‘I don’t in the least mind telling you, but it’s rather annoying to be forced to account for all one’s movements.’

Norah suddenly changed. With an effort of self-control she got the better of her temper, and going up to him took his hands.

‘Don’t disappoint me tomorrow, Philip, I’ve been looking forward so much to spending the day with you. The Gordons want to see you, and we’ll have such a jolly time.’

‘I’d love to if I could.’

‘I’m not very exacting, am I? I don’t often ask you to do anything that’s a bother. Won’t you get out of your horrid engagement—just this once?’

‘I’m awfully sorry, I don’t see how I can,’ he replied sullenly.

‘Tell me what it is,’ she said coaxingly.

He had had time to invent something. ‘Griffiths’ two sisters are up for the week-end and we’re taking them out.’

‘Is that all?’ she said joyfully. ‘Griffiths can so easily get another man.’

He wished he had thought of something more urgent than that. It was a clumsy lie.

‘No, I’m awfully sorry, I can’t—I’ve promised and I mean to keep my promise.’

‘But you promised me too. Surely I come first.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t persist,’ he said.

She flared up.

‘You won’t come because you don’t want to. I don’t know what you’ve been doing the last few days, you’ve been quite different.’

He looked at his watch.

‘I’m afraid I’ll have to be going,’ he said.

‘You won’t come tomorrow?’

‘No.’

‘In that case you needn’t trouble to come again,’ she cried, losing her temper for good.

‘That’s just as you like,’ he answered.

‘Don’t let me detain you any longer,’ she added ironically.

He shrugged his shoulders and walked out. He was relieved that it had gone no worse. There had been no tears. As he walked along he congratulated himself on getting out of the affair so easily. He went into Victoria Street and bought a few flowers to take in to Mildred.

The little dinner was a great success. Philip had sent in a small pot of caviare, which he knew she was very fond of, and the landlady brought them up some cutlets with vegetables and a sweet. Philip had ordered Burgundy, which was her favourite wine. With the curtains drawn, a bright fire, and one of Mildred’s shades on the lamp, the room was cosy.

‘It’s really just like home,’ smiled Philip.

‘I might be worse off, mightn’t I?’ she answered.

When they finished, Philip drew two arm-chairs in front of the fire, and they sat down. He smoked his pipe comfortably. He felt happy and generous.

‘What would you like to do tomorrow?’ he asked.

‘Oh, I’m going to Tulse Hill. You remember the manageress at the shop, well, she’s married now, and she’s asked me to go and spend the day with her. Of course she thinks I’m married too.’

Philip’s heart sank.

‘But I refused an invitation so that I might spend Sunday with you.’

He thought that if she loved him she would say that in that case she would stay with him. He knew very well that Norah would not have hesitated.

‘Well, you were a silly to do that. I’ve promised to go for three weeks and more.’

‘But how can you go alone?’

‘Oh, I shall say that Emil’s away on business. Her husband’s in the glove trade, and he’s a very superior fellow.’

Philip was silent, and bitter feelings passed through his heart. She gave him a sidelong glance.

‘You don’t grudge me a little pleasure, Philip? You see, it’s the last time I shall be able to go anywhere for I don’t know how long, and I had promised.’

He took her hand and smiled.

‘No, darling, I want you to have the best time you can. I only want you to be happy.’

There was a little book bound in blue paper lying open, face downwards, on the sofa, and Philip idly took it up. It was a twopenny novelette, and the author was Courtenay Paget. That was the name under which Norah wrote.

‘I do like his books,’ said Mildred. ‘I read them all. They’re so refined.’

He remembered what Norah had said of herself.

‘I have an immense popularity among kitchen-maids. They think me so genteel.’



第七十章

菲利普殷切盼望回到寓所时能接到诺拉的来信,但一无所获。翌晨,也仍旧没有收到她的片亩只语。诺拉沓无音信,使得他烦躁不安,同时又震惊不已。打他去年来伦敦之后,他同诺拉俩天天碰头见面。然而他却接连两天不去看她,也不说明不去的原囚,诺拉一定要见怪。菲利普怀疑她是否于一个偶然的不幸的机会瞧见他跟米尔德丽德在一起了。想到诺拉会感到伤心或者不愉快,他于心不忍,于是,决定当天下午就去找她。他颇有点要埋怨诺拉的意思,因为他竟让自己同她保持这种感情深笃亲昵的关系。想到要继续保持这种关系,他心里头腌(月赞)极了。

菲利普在沃克斯霍尔大桥路的一幢房子的二楼为米尔德丽德租了两个房间。房外声音嘈杂,不过他知道她喜欢窗外车水马龙的喧闹声。

"我可不喜欢半阴不阳、毫无生气的街道,住在那种地方,整天价看不到一个人影儿,"米尔德丽德说,"让我嗅上一点儿生活的气息吧。"

尔后,菲利普强迫自己来到文森特广场。举手按铃的时候,他内心充满着忧伤。他怀有一种因错待了诺拉而忐忑不安的心情。他不敢埋怨诺拉。他知道她的性子暴躁,而他又不愿看到吵架的场面。也许最好的办法还是直截了当地告诉她,说米尔德丽德现在又回到了他的身边,而他对她依然是一往情深,热烈地爱着她。对此,他深感内疚,但他再也没有什么可以奉献给诺拉的了。他料想到诺拉会感到极端痛苦,因为他明白她是爱自己的。以往她对他所怀的钟爱之情,使他感到心旌飘摇,而他对此也不胜感激之至。但是,眼下这一切简直太可怕了。她不应该忍受他强加于她的痛苦。他暗暗地问自己,现在她会怎样接待自己呢?当他沿着阶梯拾级而上时,她一切可能的举止行动一一掠过他的心头。他叩着房门。他感到脸色刷地发白,不知道该如何掩饰自己内心的不安。

诺拉正埋头奋笔疾书,但当菲利普跨进房间时,她霍地跳了起来。

"我听出是你的脚步声,"她嚷嚷着,"近来你躲到哪儿去啦?你这个淘气鬼!"

她喜气洋洋地朝他走来,两臂勾住了他的颈脖。看到诺拉感到很高兴,菲利普吻了她,然后故作姿态,说他极想用茶点。诺拉连忙生火,煮沸锅里的水。

"我最近忙得不可开交,"他笨嘴拙舌地说。

接着,诺拉神采飞扬地絮聒开了,告诉他她受托为一家以往从未雇佣过她的公司写一个中篇小说。为此,她可以拿到十五个畿尼呐。

"这笔钱是从天上掉下来的。我来告诉你我们该干些什么。我们自己会钞出去溜它一圈,到牛津去玩上一天,好吗?我就是喜欢去看看那儿的几所学院。"

菲利普凝视着她,窥察她那双眸子里是否有埋怨的阴影。但是,她那双眸子同往常一样,流露出坦率、欢乐的目光:见到了他,她感到欣喜雀跃。他的心沉甸甸的。但不能把那个残忍的事实披露给她听。诺拉给他烤了点面包,还把他当作小孩一样,将面包切成小块才递给他。

"下作坯,吃饱了吗?"她问道。

他点点头,不觉莞尔。她为他点了支烟。接着,她同往常一样,走过来坐在菲利普的双膝上。她的身子很轻。她往后靠着,偎依在他的怀里,脸上浮泛起甜蜜幸福的神情。

"给我说些可心的话儿吧,"她喃喃地说。

"说些什么呢?"

"你可以想象说你非常喜欢我。"

"我一直很喜欢你,这你是知道的。"

这会儿,他实在不忍心启口,把那件事情告诉诺拉,无论如何,也要让她安安宁宁地度过这一天。或许,他可以采取写信的方式告诉她。在信里讲要容易得多。想起她会痛哭流涕,他实在于心不忍啊。诺拉逗他吻他,然而在接吻的时候,他想起了米尔德丽德,想起了米尔德丽德的苍白的、薄薄的嘴唇。对米尔德丽德的回忆,犹如一个无骸的形体--一个要比人影丰富、充实得多的形体--每时每刻都在缠着他,不时地使他变得心猿意马,神思恍惚。

"你今天太沉默了,"诺拉说。

在他们两人之间,她的嘴碎话多总是老牌的笑把儿。他回答说:

"你从来不让我有置喙的余地,因此,我已经没有讲话的习惯了。"

"但是,你也不在听我说话呀,这种态度可不好。"

他脸微微发红,不禁怀疑起她对自己内心的隐秘是否有所觉察。他局促不安地移开自己的眼光。这天下午,诺拉身子的重量令人生厌,他不想让她碰到自己。

"我的脚发麻了,"他说。

"真对不起,"她叫喊了一声,从他腿上猛地跳了下来,"要是我改不掉这个坐在绅士们膝上的习惯,那就非得行减肥法不对罗!"

菲利普煞有介事地在地板上跺跺脚,还绕着房间兜圈儿。然后,他站在壁炉跟前,这样她就无法再坐在他的腿上了。在她讲话的当儿,他认为诺拉要比米尔德丽德高强十倍,诺拉给他带来了更多的乐趣,同诺拉谈话时他心情更为愉快,她要比米尔德丽德聪颖得多,而且性情更为温柔。她是个贤淑、诚实、有胆有识的小妇人。而米尔德丽德呢?他痛苦地认为,这几个形容没有一个她是配的。倘若他还有理智的话,他应该矢志不渝地守着诺拉,她一定会使他感觉到比他同米尔德丽德在一起要幸福得。多:不管怎么说,诺拉对他是一往情深,而米尔德丽德却只是感激他的帮助而已。不过话得说回来,重要的还在于与其被人爱还不如去爱别人,他心心念念地思念着米尔德丽德。他宁可只同米尔德丽德呆上十分钟,也不愿同诺拉呆整整一个下午,他把在米尔德丽德冷冰冰的嘴唇上吻上一吻,看得要比吻遍诺拉全身更有价值。

"我简直不能自拔,"他暗自思忖着,"米尔德丽德可算是铭刻在我的心灵上了。"

纵然她无心无肝、腐化堕落和俗不可耐,纵然她愚蠢无知、贪婪嗜欲,他都毫不在乎,还是爱恋着她。他宁可同这一个结合在一起过痛苦悲惨的日子,也不愿同那一个在一起共享鸾凤和鸣之乐。

他站起来要走的时候,诺拉漫不经心地说:

"嗯,我明天等你来,好吗?"

"好的,"他应了一声。

他心里明白,翌日他要去帮米尔德丽德搬家,不能上这儿来了。可是,他没有勇气说出口。他决定给她打个电报来。米尔德丽德上午去看了那两个房间,颇为中意。中饭后,菲利普同她一道去海伯里。她有一只箱子用来盛放衣服,另一只箱子里装些零星杂物、坐垫、灯罩、相片镜框等等,她要用这些东西来把那套租赁的房间布置得像个家庭的模样。此外,她还有两三只硕大的硬纸板箱子。不过,这些物件全都叠放在四轮出租马车上,也没有碰到车顶。他们通过维多利亚大街时,菲利普蜷缩在马车的后座,以防万一被偶然路过这里的诺拉撞见。他没有得到打电报的机会,而电报也不能在沃克斯霍尔大桥路的邮政局里打,这会使诺拉对他在那条路上的行动产生怀疑。再说,要是他人在那儿,他就毫无借口不到近在咫尺的她的寓所所在的那个广场上。他决定最好还是花上半个小时,跑去看她一趟。然而,这件迫于情势不得不做的事,弄得他心烦意乱。他很生诺拉的气,因为正是她使自已变得如此庸俗卑下、失魂落魄。但是,同米尔德丽德呆在一起,他却感到心驰神荡。帮她打开行李时,他心里头有说不出的高兴;他为自己一手把米尔德丽德安顿在由他找到的并由他付房租的寓所里,心中荡漾着一种微妙的占有欲。他可舍不得让她累坏了身子。为她做点儿事是一种乐趣,而她自己却不愿做别人急欲替她做的事儿。他为她打开箱了,取出衣服摆在一边。见她不再提议外出,他便给她拿来拖鞋,并替她脱下靴子。他为自己代操奴件之役而感到由衷的高兴。

当他双膝下跪替她解开靴子的揿钮时,米尔德丽德一边轻怜蜜爱地抚摩着他的头发,一边说,"你太娇惯找了。"

他蓦地抓起她的双手吻了起来。

"有你在这儿,真叫人感到愉快。"

他整理坐垫,摆好相片镜框。她还有几只绿色的陶瓶。

"我将给你弄些花来放在瓶里,"他说。

他骄傲地环顾四周,打量着自己干的活儿。

"我不准备出去了,我想我还是穿件宽松的女袍,"她说。"帮我从后面解开钮扣,好吗?"

她毫无顾忌地转过身去,好像他也是个女人似的。他作为男性,对她说来,毫无吸引力。可是,她这句话所表达的亲昵劲儿,倒使得他心里充满了感激之情。他手指笨拙地解开扣子。

"在第一次走进那爿店的那天,我可没想到今天会来给你做这种事情,"菲利普强颜欢笑地说。

"总要有人做这件事的,"米尔德丽德回答了一句。

她走进卧室,套了件镶满廉价花边的天蓝色宽松女袍。然后,菲利普把她抱进一张沙发里,并去替她沏茶。

"恐怕我不能在这儿同你一起用茶了,"他不无遗憾地说,"我有一个十分讨厌的约会。不过半个钟头以后我就回来。"

要是她问起是什么样的约会,他还真不知道怎么回答呢!不过,她并没有流露出一点儿好奇心。他在租赁房间的时候,就预先订了两人的饭菜,并提出要同她一道安安稳稳地过个黄昏。他心里急着要赶回来,所以他便搭乘电车走沃克斯霍尔大桥路。他想不如索性对诺拉讲明他只能呆几分钟。

"喂,我只有向你问声好的时间,"他脚刚跨进诺拉的房间,就哇啦地说开了。"我忙得要死。"

诺拉听后把脸一沉。

"哎唷,怎么啦?"

他对诺拉居然逼着他说谎非常恼怒。他回答说医院里在举行示威,他一定得参加。就在说话的当儿,他自觉脸红了。他想她脸上显现出不相信他的神情,这使得他更为恼火。

"哦,好的,这没关系,"诺拉说,"明天一天你得呆在我这儿。"

菲利普毫无表情地望着她。翌日是星期天,他一直想在这一天同米尔德丽德呆在一起。他对自己说,就是出于起码的礼貌,他也应该那样做,总不能把她孤零零一个人扔在一间陌生的屋子里呀!

"实在对不起,明天我有约会。"

他知道这是一场他千方百计要避免的争吵的开始。诺拉的脸涨得更红了。

"可是,我已经邀请戈登夫妇来吃中饭"--演员戈登偕同妻子正在外省游览,星期日要在伦敦过--"这事我一周前就告诉你了。"

"实在对不起,我忘了,"他嗫嚅道。"我恐怕十有八九不能来。你就不能另请旁人吗?"

"那你明天干什么去?"

"我希望你不要盘问我。"

"难道你真的不想告诉我吗?"

"我还不至于不愿告诉你,不过硬逼着一个人讲自己的行踪,这也太恼人了!"

眨眼间,诺拉换了另外一副脸孔。她极力克制着不让自己发脾气,走到菲利普的跟前,拉起他的手。

"明天别让我失望,菲利普,我一直殷切地期望着能同你在一起过个星期天。戈登夫妇想见见你,我们一定会玩得很快乐。"

"要是能来,我倒是极想来的。"

"我待人不算太苛刻,对不?我不是常常找你的麻烦的。你不能不赴那个讨厌的约会吗?就这一次好吗?"

"实在对不起,我认为我不能这么做,"菲利普冷冷地回答说。

"告诉我这是什么样的约会,"她带着哄孩子似的口吻说道。

菲利普抓紧时间编造了个理由。

"格里菲思的两位妹妹要来度周末,我们俩要带她们出去玩玩。"

"就这些吗?"她高兴地说道。"格里菲思很容易就可以找到另一个人嘛!"

他希望能想出个比上面所说的更为紧迫的事儿来。那个借口太拙劣了。

"不,实在对不起,我不能--我已经答应了,我就得信守诺言。"

"可是,你也曾答应过我的。完全可以肯定,是我首先提出来的。"

"我希望你不要坚持了,"菲利普说。

诺拉勃然大怒。

"你是不想来,所以才不来的。不知你前些日子在干些什么勾当,你完全变了。"

菲利普看了看自己的手表。

"恐怕我一定得走了,"他说。

"你明天不来吗?"

"不来。"

"这么说,不必再劳驾光临了,"她叫嚷着,这下可大动肝火了。

"随你的便,"他回敬了一句。

"别再让我耽搁你了,"她挖苦地补了一句。

菲利普耸了耸肩膀,走出屋外。他感到如释重负,事情总算还不环。还没有出现涕泗滂沱的场面。一路上,他因这么容易就摆脱那桩事情而额手庆幸。他走进维多利亚大街,买了几束鲜花带给米尔德丽德。

这个小型便宴进行得十分成功。菲利普早先送来了一小罐鱼子酱,他知道米尔德丽德就爱吃这种东西。房东太太给他俩端上来几块炸肉排、蔬菜和一道甜食。菲利普还订了她最爱喝的红葡萄酒。帷幕敞开,炉火熊熊,灯泡安上了米尔德丽德的灯罩,房间里弥漫着舒适惬意的气息。

"这儿真像是一个家,"菲利普满面春风地说。

"兴许我会变得更加不幸,会吗?"她回答道。

吃完饭,菲利普把两张安乐椅拉到壁炉前。他俩坐在上面歇息。他悠然自得抽着烟斗,感到心旷神怡。

"明天你要做什么呢?"他问米尔德丽德说。

"喔,我要到图尔斯山去。你记得那爿店里的女经理吗?嘿,她现在已经结婚了,她邀请我去同她在一起过星期天。当然罗,她想我现在也结婚了。"

菲利普听后垂头丧气。

"可是,为了能同你在一起过星期天,我还谢绝了一张请柬呢。"

他想,米尔德丽德要是爱他的话,一定会说那就同他在一起吧。

菲利普心里明白,诺拉碰上这种情况是决不会犹豫的。

"唔,你这个笨瓜竟干出这号事来。三个星期前,我就答应她了。"

"但是,你一个人怎么去呢?"

"哦,我会说埃米尔外出办事了。她的丈夫是干手帕行当的,他是个态度非常傲慢的家伙。"

菲利普默然不语,一股难过的感情涌上了心头。米尔德丽德凝睇着他。

"你不会连这一点儿乐趣都不给我吧,菲利普?你是知道的,这是我能够出去走走的最后一个机会了,还不知要隔多久才会再有这种机会呐。况且这是我早讲定了的。"

他拿起她的手,笑着对她说:

"不,亲爱的,我要你去痛痛快快地玩上一玩。我只是想让你感到愉快。"

一本用蓝纸包着的小书打开着,书页朝下地躺在沙发上,菲利普懒懒地把它拿了起来。这是一本定价两便士的中篇小说,其作者是科特纳·帕各特。这就是诺拉写书时用的笔名。

"我非常喜欢看他写的书,"米尔德丽德说,"凡是他写的书我都看,写得太美了。"

他仍然记得诺拉对她自己的评价。

"我在那些帮厨的女工里面享有盛誉。她们都认为我颇有绅士风度。"

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 71

Philip, in return for Griffiths’ confidences, had told him the details of his own complicated amours, and on Sunday morning, after breakfast when they sat by the fire in their dressing-gowns and smoked, he recounted the scene of the previous day. Griffiths congratulated him because he had got out of his difficulties so easily.

‘It’s the simplest thing in the world to have an affair with a woman, he remarked sententiously, ‘but it’s a devil of a nuisance to get out of it.’

Philip felt a little inclined to pat himself on the back for his skill in managing the business. At all events he was immensely relieved. He thought of Mildred enjoying herself in Tulse Hill, and he found in himself a real satisfaction because she was happy. It was an act of self-sacrifice on his part that he did not grudge her pleasure even though paid for by his own disappointment, and it filled his heart with a comfortable glow.

But on Monday morning he found on his table a letter from Norah. She wrote:

Dearest,

I’m sorry I was cross on Saturday. Forgive me and come to tea in the afternoon as usual. I love you.

Your Norah.

His heart sank, and he did not know what to do. He took the note to Griffiths and showed it to him.

‘You’d better leave it unanswered,’ said he.

‘Oh, I can’t,’ cried Philip. ‘I should be miserable if I thought of her waiting and waiting. You don’t know what it is to be sick for the postman’s knock. I do, and I can’t expose anybody else to that torture.’

‘My dear fellow, one can’t break that sort of affair off without somebody suffering. You must just set your teeth to that. One thing is, it doesn’t last very long.’

Philip felt that Norah had not deserved that he should make her suffer; and what did Griffiths know about the degrees of anguish she was capable of? He remembered his own pain when Mildred had told him she was going to be married. He did not want anyone to experience what he had experienced then.

‘If you’re so anxious not to give her pain, go back to her,’ said Griffiths.

‘I can’t do that.’

He got up and walked up and down the room nervously. He was angry with Norah because she had not let the matter rest. She must have seen that he had no more love to give her. They said women were so quick at seeing those things.

‘You might help me,’ he said to Griffiths.

‘My dear fellow, don’t make such a fuss about it. People do get over these things, you know. She probably isn’t so wrapped up in you as you think, either. One’s always rather apt to exaggerate the passion one’s inspired other people with.’

He paused and looked at Philip with amusement.

‘Look here, there’s only one thing you can do. Write to her, and tell her the thing’s over. Put it so that there can be no mistake about it. It’ll hurt her, but it’ll hurt her less if you do the thing brutally than if you try half-hearted ways.’

Philip sat down and wrote the following letter:

My dear Norah,

I am sorry to make you unhappy, but I think we had better let things remain where we left them on Saturday. I don’t think there’s any use in letting these things drag on when they’ve ceased to be amusing. You told me to go and I went. I do not propose to come back. Good-bye.

Philip Carey.

He showed the letter to Griffiths and asked him what he thought of it. Griffiths read it and looked at Philip with twinkling eyes. He did not say what he felt.

‘I think that’ll do the trick,’ he said.

Philip went out and posted it. He passed an uncomfortable morning, for he imagined with great detail what Norah would feel when she received his letter. He tortured himself with the thought of her tears. But at the same time he was relieved. Imagined grief was more easy to bear than grief seen, and he was free now to love Mildred with all his soul. His heart leaped at the thought of going to see her that afternoon, when his day’s work at the hospital was over.

When as usual he went back to his rooms to tidy himself, he had no sooner put the latch-key in his door than he heard a voice behind him.

‘May I come in? I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour.’

It was Norah. He felt himself blush to the roots of his hair. She spoke gaily. There was no trace of resentment in her voice and nothing to indicate that there was a rupture between them. He felt himself cornered. He was sick with fear, but he did his best to smile.

‘Yes, do,’ he said.

He opened the door, and she preceded him into his sitting-room. He was nervous and, to give himself countenance, offered her a cigarette and lit one for himself. She looked at him brightly.

‘Why did you write me such a horrid letter, you naughty boy? If I’d taken it seriously it would have made me perfectly wretched.’

‘It was meant seriously,’ he answered gravely.

‘Don’t be so silly. I lost my temper the other day, and I wrote and apologised. You weren’t satisfied, so I’ve come here to apologise again. After all, you’re your own master and I have no claims upon you. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.’

She got up from the chair in which she was sitting and went towards him impulsively, with outstretched hands.

‘Let’s make friends again, Philip. I’m so sorry if I offended you.’

He could not prevent her from taking his hands, but he could not look at her.

‘I’m afraid it’s too late,’ he said.

She let herself down on the floor by his side and clasped his knees.

‘Philip, don’t be silly. I’m quick-tempered too and I can understand that I hurt you, but it’s so stupid to sulk over it. What’s the good of making us both unhappy? It’s been so jolly, our friendship.’ She passed her fingers slowly over his hand. ‘I love you, Philip.’

He got up, disengaging himself from her, and went to the other side of the room.

‘I’m awfully sorry, I can’t do anything. The whole thing’s over.’

‘D’you mean to say you don’t love me any more?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘You were just looking for an opportunity to throw me over and you took that one?’

He did not answer. She looked at him steadily for a time which seemed intolerable. She was sitting on the floor where he had left her, leaning against the arm-chair. She began to cry quite silently, without trying to hide her face, and the large tears rolled down her cheeks one after the other. She did not sob. It was horribly painful to see her. Philip turned away.

‘I’m awfully sorry to hurt you. It’s not my fault if I don’t love you.’

She did not answer. She merely sat there, as though she were overwhelmed, and the tears flowed down her cheeks. It would have been easier to bear if she had reproached him. He had thought her temper would get the better of her, and he was prepared for that. At the back of his mind was a feeling that a real quarrel, in which each said to the other cruel things, would in some way be a justification of his behaviour. The time passed. At last he grew frightened by her silent crying; he went into his bed-room and got a glass of water; he leaned over her.

‘Won’t you drink a little? It’ll relieve you.’

She put her lips listlessly to the glass and drank two or three mouthfuls. Then in an exhausted whisper she asked him for a handkerchief. She dried her eyes.

‘Of course I knew you never loved me as much as I loved you,’ she moaned.

‘I’m afraid that’s always the case,’ he said. ‘There’s always one who loves and one who lets himself be loved.’

He thought of Mildred, and a bitter pain traversed his heart. Norah did not answer for a long time.

‘I’d been so miserably unhappy, and my life was so hateful,’ she said at last.

She did not speak to him, but to herself. He had never heard her before complain of the life she had led with her husband or of her poverty. He had always admired the bold front she displayed to the world.

‘And then you came along and you were so good to me. And I admired you because you were clever and it was so heavenly to have someone I could put my trust in. I loved you. I never thought it could come to an end. And without any fault of mine at all.’

Her tears began to flow again, but now she was more mistress of herself, and she hid her face in Philip’s handkerchief. She tried hard to control herself.

‘Give me some more water,’ she said.

She wiped her eyes.

‘I’m sorry to make such a fool of myself. I was so unprepared.’

‘I’m awfully sorry, Norah. I want you to know that I’m very grateful for all you’ve done for me.’

He wondered what it was she saw in him.

‘Oh, it’s always the same,’ she sighed, ‘if you want men to behave well to you, you must be beastly to them; if you treat them decently they make you suffer for it.’

She got up from the floor and said she must go. She gave Philip a long, steady look. Then she sighed.

‘It’s so inexplicable. What does it all mean?’

Philip took a sudden determination.

‘I think I’d better tell you, I don’t want you to think too badly of me, I want you to see that I can’t help myself. Mildred’s come back.’

The colour came to her face.

‘Why didn’t you tell me at once? I deserved that surely.’

‘I was afraid to.’

She looked at herself in the glass and set her hat straight.

‘Will you call me a cab,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel I can walk.’

He went to the door and stopped a passing hansom; but when she followed him into the street he was startled to see how white she was. There was a heaviness in her movements as though she had suddenly grown older. She looked so ill that he had not the heart to let her go alone.

‘I’ll drive back with you if you don’t mind.’

She did not answer, and he got into the cab. They drove along in silence over the bridge, through shabby streets in which children, with shrill cries, played in the road. When they arrived at her door she did not immediately get out. It seemed as though she could not summon enough strength to her legs to move.

‘I hope you’ll forgive me, Norah,’ he said.

She turned her eyes towards him, and he saw that they were bright again with tears, but she forced a smile to her lips.

‘Poor fellow, you’re quite worried about me. You mustn’t bother. I don’t blame you. I shall get over it all right.’

Lightly and quickly she stroked his face to show him that she bore no ill-feeling, the gesture was scarcely more than suggested; then she jumped out of the cab and let herself into her house.

Philip paid the hansom and walked to Mildred’s lodgings. There was a curious heaviness in his heart. He was inclined to reproach himself. But why? He did not know what else he could have done. Passing a fruiterer’s, he remembered that Mildred was fond of grapes. He was so grateful that he could show his love for her by recollecting every whim she had.



第七十一章

菲利普为报答格里菲思的知遇之恩,便把自己那些暧情昧意的纠葛一五一十地抖落给他听。星期天早晨用过早饭后,他俩身披晨衣坐在壁炉旁抽烟,这当儿,菲利普又给他讲起了前日与诺拉龃龉不和的事儿。格里菲思祝贺他如此干净利落地摆脱了困境。

"同一个女人谈情说爱,这是世上最容易的事儿了,"他故作庄重地说,"可是,要斩断绵绵情丝却令人十分生厌。"

菲利普对自己如此巧妙地摆脱了干系,颇有些沾沾自喜的味儿。不管怎么说,他现在可是心安理得了。一想起米尔德丽德在图尔斯山过得很愉快,他为她的幸福而的的确确感到心满意足。尽管他自己深感失望,但还是没有掠人之美,这对他来说,完全是一种自我牺牲的行为,也正是这一点使得他内心充满了喜悦。

但在星期一早晨,菲利普发觉桌子上赫然躺着一封来自诺拉的信,信上写着:

最亲爱的:

星期六那天,我大发脾气,实感抱歉,望能谅察。请同往常一样于下午来用茶点。我爱你。

你的诺拉

菲利普神情沮丧,茫然不知所措。他走到格里菲思的跟前,把这封信递了过去。

"你还是不写回信的好,"格里菲思说。

"喔,我可不能这样,"菲利普嚷道。"要是我想起她老是在盼我的回信,我心里会很不好受的。你可不知道等待邮递员的叩门声是啥滋味,我可算是有体会的了。我决不能让人家也忍受这种折磨。"

"老兄,一个人要断绝这种关系,又要不让人感到难过,这是不成的。干那号事,你得咬紧牙关。要知道,那种痛苦是不会持续多久的。"

菲利普重新坐了下来,挥笔写了下面这封信:

亲爱的诺拉:

使你感到不愉快,我深感内疚。不过,我想我们俩还是让事情停留在星期六那种地步为好。我认为,既然事情已毫无乐趣可言,那么,再让它继续下去又有什么意义呢?你叫我走开,我就走了。我不存回去的奢望。再见。

菲利普·凯里

他把信拿给格里菲思看,并征求他的意见。格里菲思读完后,闪动着晶莹的眼光注视着菲利普。他心里究竟怎么想的,却只字未吐。

"我认为这封信定能奏效,"他说。

菲利普出去把信寄走了。一上午,他过得很不舒畅,一直在推测着诺拉接信后感情变化的细枝末节。他为诺拉可能要掉泪的念头所苦恼。但是在这同时,他又感到轻松。想象中的痛苦总是要比目睹的痛苦来得容易忍受,何况他眼下可以无拘无束地、情思专一地爱着米尔德丽德了。医院下班时,想到那天下午要去看望米尔德丽德,他的心几乎要跳出胸腔。

跟往常一样,他回到自己房间梳理一下。他刚把钥匙塞进门上的锁眼,突然从身后传来一个人的说话声。

"我可以进来吗?我已经等了你半个小时了。"

这是诺拉的声音。他顿觉自己的脸刷地红到了耳根。她说话时,声调欢快,没有一丝怨恨,从中听不出可资证明他俩双方龃龉的端倪。他觉得自己无地自容。他既害怕又厌恶,但还竭力装出一副笑脸。

"可以,请进吧,"他说。

菲利普把门打开,诺拉在他头里走进起居间。他心中忐忑不安,为使自己镇静下来,他递给诺拉一支烟,同时自己也点了一支。诺拉神采奕奕地凝望着他。

"你这个淘气鬼,为什么要给我写来这么一封可怕的信?我要是拿它当真的话,它足以使我感到痛心疾首。"

"这封信决不是闹着玩的,"他神情抑郁地回答道。

"别这么傻里傻气的。那天我是发了脾气,可是我写了信,道了歉。你还不满意,喏,今天我又上门请罪来了。归根结蒂,你是独立自主的,我无权对你提出任何要求。我决不要你做你不愿意做的事情。"

她从椅子里站起来,两手张着,感情冲动地朝菲利普走来。

"让我们言归于好吧,菲利普。要是我触犯了你,我感到难过。"

他不能不让她握住自己的双手,但是他不敢正视她。

"恐怕现在太迟了。"他说。

她一屁股坐在他腿旁的地板上,抱住了他的双腿。

"菲利普,别傻!我性情急躁,我知道是我伤害了你的感情,不过为了这一点就生气,那也太傻了。弄得大家都不开心,这又有什么好处呢?我们的友谊是多么令人愉快啊。"她的手指缓慢地抚摩着他的手。"我爱你,菲利普。"

他站起身子,躲开她,走到房间的另一端。

"实在抱歉,我无能为力。整个事情就此完结。"

"你的意思是说你不再爱我了?"

"恐怕是的。"

"你是在找个机会把我抛弃掉,而你就抓住了那件事,是不是?"

他默不作声。她两眼直勾勾地盯视了他一会儿,看上去她已到了妨无可忍的地步。她还是坐在原地不动,背靠着安乐椅。她无声地哭着,也不用双手蒙住脸面,豆大的泪珠一颗颗顺着她的面颊滚落下来。她没有抽泣。看到她这种样子,令人不觉悚然,痛苦万分。菲利普转过身去。

"我伤了你的心,实在对不起。就是我不爱你,这也不是我的过错。"

她默默无言。她似乎不胜悲切,只是木然地呆坐着,眼泪不住地顺着面颊流淌。要是她声色俱厉地呵斥他,他也许好受些。菲利普想诺拉脾气上来时会控制不住自己,而且他也准备她来这么一着。在思想深处,他,觉得干脆大吵一场,两人都用刻毒的语言咒骂对方,在一定程度上,还能证明自己的行为是无咎的。时光匆匆流逝。最后他看到她无声地哭着而变得惊慌起来。他走进卧室,倒了杯水来,朝着诺拉俯下身去。

"你不喝点儿水吗?喝了,心里要好受些。"

她嘴唇设精打采地伸向杯子,喝了两三口水。然后她精神倦怠地、轻声地向菲利普讨了块手帕。她擦干了眼泪。

"自然,我早就知道你从来就没有像我爱你那样爱过我,"她呻吟地一说。

"恐怕事情往往就是如此,"他说,"总是有人去爱别人,也总是有人被别人爱。"

他想起了米尔德丽德,一阵剧痛袭上心头。诺拉沉默了好一会儿。

"我总是那么悲惨不幸,我的一生又是那么的可恨,"她最后说。

这话诺拉并不是对菲利普,而是对她自己说的。以往,他可从来没有听到她埋怨过她同丈夫在一起的生活,也没有听到她诅咒过穷困的境况。他过去总是非常钦佩她敢于正视世界的凛然态度。

"后来,你同我邂逅相逢,而且又对我那么好。我钦佩你,是因为你聪明,再说,找到了一个自己信得过的人,这有多可贵啊。我爱过你。但万万没料到会有如此结局,而且我一点儿过错都没有。"

她又淌下了眼泪,不过此时她较能控制住自己,用菲利普的手帕蒙住自己的脸。她极力克制住自己的情感。

"再给我些水喝,"她说。

她擦了擦眼睛。

"抱歉,我竟做出这种蠢事来。我是一点思想准备也没有啊。"

"太对不起你了,诺拉。我想叫你知道的是,我非常感激你为我所做的一切

他不知道诺拉究竟看中了他什么。

"唉,事情全是一个样,"她叹息地说,"倘若要男人们待你好,你就得待他们狠;要是待他们好,他们就给你罪受。"

诺拉从地板上站起来要走,她向菲利普投来长长的、沉静的一瞥,接着是一阵欷瞒叹息声。

"太莫名其妙了。这一切究竟是什么意思?"

菲利普突然打定了主意。

"我想我还是告诉你,我不想让你把我看得太坏了,你是我的话,也是没有办法的啊。米尔德丽德已经回来了。"

诺拉涨红了脸。

"你为什么不立刻告诉我?我是当然应该知道的。"

"我不敢讲。"

她对着镜子端详自己,把帽子戴正。

"劳驾叫辆出租马车,"她说,"我实在走不动了。"

菲利普走到门口,叫住一辆路过的双轮双座马车。当她跟随他走到街上时,他发现她脸色非常苍白,不禁吃了一惊。她的步履沉重,好像转眼间变得苍老了似的。看到她的病容,他不忍心让她独自一人回去。

"要是你不反对的话,我陪你回去。"

见她不置可否,他便坐进了马车。他们默默地驶过大桥,穿过几条穷街陋巷,孩子们尖声匐喝着在马路上戏耍。马车来到诺拉寓所门前时,她没有立刻走出车子,看上去她似乎不能聚集足够的气力来挪动步子。

"我希望你原谅我,诺拉,"菲利普说。

她把眼睛转向菲利普。此时他发觉那双眼睛又闪烁着晶莹的泪花,但是她还极力使自己的嘴角露出一丝笑意。

"可怜的人!你太为我担忧了、你不必费心。我不怪你。我会好起来的。"

她轻轻地、敏捷地抚摸他的脸,以表示她对他不怀怨恨之心,这一动作仅仅起点暗示的作用,如此而已。然后,她跳下马车,头也不回地走进屋去。

菲利普付了车资后,便朝米尔德丽德的寓所走去。他怀有一种莫名其妙的沉重心情,真想把自己臭骂一顿。但是,为什么呢?他不知道他还能做些什么。路过一爿水果店时,他记起了米尔德丽德喜欢吃葡萄。他非常感激自己能够通过回忆记起她的每一种嗜好来表达对她的爱慕之情。

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 72

For the next three months Philip went every day to see Mildred. He took his books with him and after tea worked, while Mildred lay on the sofa reading novels. Sometimes he would look up and watch her for a minute. A happy smile crossed his lips. She would feel his eyes upon her.

‘Don’t waste your time looking at me, silly. Go on with your work,’ she said.

‘Tyrant,’ he answered gaily.

He put aside his book when the landlady came in to lay the cloth for dinner, and in his high spirits he exchanged chaff with her. She was a little cockney, of middle age, with an amusing humour and a quick tongue. Mildred had become great friends with her and had given her an elaborate but mendacious account of the circumstances which had brought her to the pass she was in. The good-hearted little woman was touched and found no trouble too great to make Mildred comfortable. Mildred’s sense of propriety had suggested that Philip should pass himself off as her brother. They dined together, and Philip was delighted when he had ordered something which tempted Mildred’s capricious appetite. It enchanted him to see her sitting opposite him, and every now and then from sheer joy he took her hand and pressed it. After dinner she sat in the arm-chair by the fire, and he settled himself down on the floor beside her, leaning against her knees, and smoked. Often they did not talk at all, and sometimes Philip noticed that she had fallen into a doze. He dared not move then in case he woke her, and he sat very quietly, looking lazily into the fire and enjoying his happiness.

‘Had a nice little nap?’ he smiled, when she woke.

‘I’ve not been sleeping,’ she answered. ‘I only just closed my eyes.’

She would never acknowledge that she had been asleep. She had a phlegmatic temperament, and her condition did not seriously inconvenience her. She took a lot of trouble about her health and accepted the advice of anyone who chose to offer it. She went for a ‘constitutional’ every morning that it was fine and remained out a definite time. When it was not too cold she sat in St. James’ Park. But the rest of the day she spent quite happily on her sofa, reading one novel after another or chatting with the landlady; she had an inexhaustible interest in gossip, and told Philip with abundant detail the history of the landlady, of the lodgers on the drawing-room floor, and of the people who lived in the next house on either side. Now and then she was seized with panic; she poured out her fears to Philip about the pain of the confinement and was in terror lest she should die; she gave him a full account of the confinements of the landlady and of the lady on the drawing-room floor (Mildred did not know her; ‘I’m one to keep myself to myself,’ she said, ‘I’m not one to go about with anybody.’) and she narrated details with a queer mixture of horror and gusto; but for the most part she looked forward to the occurrence with equanimity.

‘After all, I’m not the first one to have a baby, am I? And the doctor says I shan’t have any trouble. You see, it isn’t as if I wasn’t well made.’

Mrs. Owen, the owner of the house she was going to when her time came, had recommended a doctor, and Mildred saw him once a week. He was to charge fifteen guineas.

‘Of course I could have got it done cheaper, but Mrs. Owen strongly recommended him, and I thought it wasn’t worth while to spoil the ship for a coat of tar.’

‘If you feel happy and comfortable I don’t mind a bit about the expense,’ said Philip.

She accepted all that Philip did for her as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and on his side he loved to spend money on her: each five-pound note he gave her caused him a little thrill of happiness and pride; he gave her a good many, for she was not economical.

‘I don’t know where the money goes to,’ she said herself, ‘it seems to slip through my fingers like water.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Philip. ‘I’m so glad to be able to do anything I can for you.’

She could not sew well and so did not make the necessary things for the baby; she told Philip it was much cheaper in the end to buy them. Philip had lately sold one of the mortgages in which his money had been put; and now, with five hundred pounds in the bank waiting to be invested in something that could be more easily realised, he felt himself uncommonly well-to-do. They talked often of the future. Philip was anxious that Mildred should keep the child with her, but she refused: she had her living to earn, and it would be more easy to do this if she had not also to look after a baby. Her plan was to get back into one of the shops of the company for which she had worked before, and the child could be put with some decent woman in the country.

‘I can find someone who’ll look after it well for seven and sixpence a week. It’ll be better for the baby and better for me.’

It seemed callous to Philip, but when he tried to reason with her she pretended to think he was concerned with the expense.

‘You needn’t worry about that,’ she said. ‘I shan’t ask YOU to pay for it.’

‘You know I don’t care how much I pay.’

At the bottom of her heart was the hope that the child would be still-born. She did no more than hint it, but Philip saw that the thought was there. He was shocked at first; and then, reasoning with himself, he was obliged to confess that for all concerned such an event was to be desired.

‘It’s all very fine to say this and that,’ Mildred remarked querulously, ‘but it’s jolly difficult for a girl to earn her living by herself; it doesn’t make it any easier when she’s got a baby.’

‘Fortunately you’ve got me to fall back on,’ smiled Philip, taking her hand.

‘You’ve been good to me, Philip.’

‘Oh, what rot!’

‘You can’t say I didn’t offer anything in return for what you’ve done.’

‘Good heavens, I don’t want a return. If I’ve done anything for you, I’ve done it because I love you. You owe me nothing. I don’t want you to do anything unless you love me.’

He was a little horrified by her feeling that her body was a commodity which she could deliver indifferently as an acknowledgment for services rendered.

‘But I do want to, Philip. You’ve been so good to me.’

‘Well, it won’t hurt for waiting. When you’re all right again we’ll go for our little honeymoon.’

‘You are naughty,’ she said, smiling.

Mildred expected to be confined early in March, and as soon as she was well enough she was to go to the seaside for a fortnight: that would give Philip a chance to work without interruption for his examination; after that came the Easter holidays, and they had arranged to go to Paris together. Philip talked endlessly of the things they would do. Paris was delightful then. They would take a room in a little hotel he knew in the Latin Quarter, and they would eat in all sorts of charming little restaurants; they would go to the play, and he would take her to music halls. It would amuse her to meet his friends. He had talked to her about Cronshaw, she would see him; and there was Lawson, he had gone to Paris for a couple of months; and they would go to the Bal Bullier; there were excursions; they would make trips to Versailles, Chartres, Fontainebleau.

‘It’ll cost a lot of money,’ she said.

‘Oh, damn the expense. Think how I’ve been looking forward to it. Don’t you know what it means to me? I’ve never loved anyone but you. I never shall.’

She listened to his enthusiasm with smiling eyes. He thought he saw in them a new tenderness, and he was grateful to her. She was much gentler than she used to be. There was in her no longer the superciliousness which had irritated him. She was so accustomed to him now that she took no pains to keep up before him any pretences. She no longer troubled to do her hair with the old elaboration, but just tied it in a knot; and she left off the vast fringe which she generally wore: the more careless style suited her. Her face was so thin that it made her eyes seem very large; there were heavy lines under them, and the pallor of her cheeks made their colour more profound. She had a wistful look which was infinitely pathetic. There seemed to Philip to be in her something of the Madonna. He wished they could continue in that same way always. He was happier than he had ever been in his life.

He used to leave her at ten o’clock every night, for she liked to go to bed early, and he was obliged to put in another couple of hours’ work to make up for the lost evening. He generally brushed her hair for her before he went. He had made a ritual of the kisses he gave her when he bade her good-night; first he kissed the palms of her hands (how thin the fingers were, the nails were beautiful, for she spent much time in manicuring them,) then he kissed her closed eyes, first the right one and then the left, and at last he kissed her lips. He went home with a heart overflowing with love. He longed for an opportunity to gratify the desire for self-sacrifice which consumed him.

Presently the time came for her to move to the nursing-home where she was to be confined. Philip was then able to visit her only in the afternoons. Mildred changed her story and represented herself as the wife of a soldier who had gone to India to join his regiment, and Philip was introduced to the mistress of the establishment as her brother-in-law.

‘I have to be rather careful what I say,’ she told him, ‘as there’s another lady here whose husband’s in the Indian Civil.’

‘I wouldn’t let that disturb me if I were you,’ said Philip. ‘I’m convinced that her husband and yours went out on the same boat.’

‘What boat?’ she asked innocently.

‘The Flying Dutchman.’

Mildred was safely delivered of a daughter, and when Philip was allowed to see her the child was lying by her side. Mildred was very weak, but relieved that everything was over. She showed him the baby, and herself looked at it curiously.

‘It’s a funny-looking little thing, isn’t it? I can’t believe it’s mine.’

It was red and wrinkled and odd. Philip smiled when he looked at it. He did not quite know what to say; and it embarrassed him because the nurse who owned the house was standing by his side; and he felt by the way she was looking at him that, disbelieving Mildred’s complicated story, she thought he was the father.

‘What are you going to call her?’ asked Philip.

‘I can’t make up my mind if I shall call her Madeleine or Cecilia.’

The nurse left them alone for a few minutes, and Philip bent down and kissed Mildred on the mouth.

‘I’m so glad it’s all over happily, darling.’

She put her thin arms round his neck.

‘You have been a brick to me, Phil dear.’

‘Now I feel that you’re mine at last. I’ve waited so long for you, my dear.’

They heard the nurse at the door, and Philip hurriedly got up. The nurse entered. There was a slight smile on her lips.



第七十二章

以后的三个月里,菲利普每天都去看望米尔德丽德。他去时随身带着书,一用过茶点,便埋首攻读,这当儿,米尔德丽德便躺在沙发上欣赏小说。有时,他抬起头来,盯着她瞅上一会儿,嘴角隐隐露出一丝甜蜜的笑意。然而,米尔德丽德总是能觉察出他向自己投来的目光。

"别望着我浪费你的时间,傻瓜!快做你的功课吧,"她说。

"好一个独裁者,"他兴高采烈地应答着。

菲利普见房东太太进来铺台布准备开饭,便放下书本,兴致勃勃地同她打趣逗乐。这位房东太太是个上了年纪、个儿瘦小的伦敦佬,伶牙俐齿的,具有逗人发笑的幽默感。米尔德丽德已经同她交上了朋友,并且还把导致自己处于目前这种不幸境遇的种种情况,对她作了一番详尽的但是虚假的叙述。这位好心肠的瘦小女人却深受感动,觉得只要米尔德丽德日子过得舒适,再大的麻烦也不为大。米尔德丽德出于礼貌起见,建议菲利普以她兄长的身分出现。他俩在一起用餐,米尔德丽德的胃口变幻莫测。但每当订到能引起她的食欲的饭菜时,菲利普心里总有说不出的高兴。看到她就坐在自己的对面,他不禁为之心醉;他按捺不住内心的喜悦,不时地拉起她的手紧紧地攥着。饭后,米尔德丽德坐进靠近壁炉的安乐椅里,他则紧挨着她坐在地板上,身子倚着她的双膝,嘴里叼着支烟。他俩常常不言不语。有时,发觉她打着盹儿,菲利普便不敢动作,生怕惊醒她,悄没声息地坐在那儿,眼睛懒懒地望着炉火,尽情享受着他的幸福。

"午觉睡得香吗?"她醒来时,他笑吟吟地问道。

"我可没睡,"她回答说,"只是闭闭眼睛就是了。"

她从来不会承认自己睡着的。她生性冷漠,而眼下她身体状况也没有使她感到特别的不便之处。她为了自身的健康,可算是费尽心机,不论什么,只要他愿意提出建议,她都照听不误。每天早晨,只要天好,她都出去,在外面呆上一段时间。天气不太冷的话,她就坐在圣詹姆士公园里。一天余下的时光,她全是悠闲地坐在沙发里消磨掉的,不是读着一本又一本的小说,就是同房东太太在一块儿唠叨扯淡。她就爱说东道西的,其谈兴之浓,经久不衰。她对菲利普絮絮叨叨地讲述房东太太的身世,谈论住在起居室那层楼上的房客以及左邻右舍的趣闻轶事。时而她脸上现出惊恐的神色,对菲利普诉说起自己害怕分娩的痛苦,生怕自己因此而撒手人世。接着,又把房东太太以及那位住在起居室那层楼上的太太的分娩情况,对菲利普从头至尾说了个罄尽。(至于那位住在起居室那层楼上的太太,米尔德丽德还不认识呢。"我这个人就喜欢清静,"她说,"可不是那种见人就搭讪的人儿。")她带着一种莫可名状的既兴奋又惊悸的口吻娓娓叙来,不过,在大部分时间里,她对近在眼前的临产一事,却处之泰然。

"不管怎么说,我不是第一个生孩子的女人呀,对不?况且大夫说我是不会有什么麻烦的。你瞧,看来我还不是生来就不能生孩子的女人呢。"

眼看产期将至,米尔德丽德去找了房东欧文太太。欧文太太给她推荐了一位大夫,米尔德丽德每隔一周去检查一次。这位大夫索费十五畿尼。

"当然咯,我完全可以还他的价,不过这位大夫是欧文太太竭力推荐的,因此我想总不能因小失大吧。"

"如果你觉得愉快、舒适,费用我才不在乎呢!"菲利普说。

菲利普为她做什么,她都心安理得,似乎这是天经地义的;而在菲利普这方面说来,他就喜欢为她花钱,每给她一张五英镑的钞票,都在他心头激起一种幸福感和自豪感。菲利普给了她好一笔数字的钱,因为她从来不是算计着花钱的。

"我也说不清钱是怎么花的,"她自言自语地说,"就像水似的,都从我指缝里流掉了。"

"这不打紧,"菲利普说,"我能为你做的,我都乐意去做。"

她既不擅针线活,又不为那即将出世的孩子缝制几件必不可少的衣衫。她对菲利普说到头来买它几件比自己做还要便宜得多。菲利普手头有几张抵押契据,这就是他的全部钱财。近日他卖掉了一张,换来的五百英镑,眼下存在银行里,准备往一桩其意义不能一下子就能理解的事业里投资。此时,他感到自己异乎寻常的富有。他们俩常常在一起憧憬未来。菲利普切望米尔德丽德把孩子带在身边,但是米尔德丽德却连声拒绝,因为她还得去挣钱糊口,要是不带孩子,去找工作就要容易得多。她打算重新回到她先前工作过的商店里去,而把孩子交给乡下一个正经女人抚养。

"我能找到只要七先令六便士就会带好孩子的人。这样,无论对我还是对孩子来说,都有好处。"

这在菲利普看来似乎有点不近人情。但是当他试图同米尔德丽德说理时,她却装作认为菲利普只是肉痛要付孩子的抚养费。

"孩子的抚养费,你大可不必操心,"她说,"我决不会叫你付的。"

"要我付多少钱,我是不计较的,这你是知道的。"

米尔德丽德内心深处巴不得这孩子是个死胎。虽说她丝毫没有流露,但菲利普看出她存有这份心思。起初,菲利普不由得一怔,可后来,经过一番考虑,也不得不承认,鉴于种种因素,事情果真如此,倒是求之不得的。

"坐着说这论那的倒是很动听,"米尔德丽德抱怨地说,"可是叫一个姑娘出去自谋生计就艰难了,要是身边再拖着个孩子,那就更不容易了。"

"幸运的是,你还有我可以助你一臂之力呢,"菲利普笑吟吟地说着便拉起了米尔德丽德的手。

"菲利普,你一直待我很好。"

"喔,尽说些混帐话!"

"你可不能说我以往对你为我所做的一切一点都没有酬报你啊。"

"老天在上,我可从来不曾想从你那儿得到什么酬报。如果说我为你做了些什么的话,那是因为我爱你才这么做的。你什么也不欠我。我希望你也爱我。除此之外,我对你没什么企求了。"

对米尔德丽德把自己的肉体看作是件商品,她可以为了尽其用途而随随便便地提供给买主的想法,菲利普感到有点吃惊。

"不过我真想报答你,菲利普。你待我一直是那么情深意切。"

"嗯,再等一段时间也无甚害处。等你身体好了以后,咱俩再去度几天蜜月不迟。"

"你真淘气,"她粲然一笑,怪嗔着菲利普。

米尔德丽德企望在阳春三月坐月子,身体一好便去海边过上半个月,这样可以让菲利普不受干扰地复习迎考,然后就是复活节,他们俩早已打算双双去巴黎度假。菲利普滔滔不绝地数说着他俩在巴黎的种种活动。到那时,巴黎可是个赏心悦目的好去处。他们可以在他所熟悉的拉丁区的一家小旅馆里开个房间,上各式各样的迷人的小饭馆去品尝食物,上戏院观看歌剧。他还要带她去欣赏音乐,引她去见见自己的亲朋好友。这一切会使她感到很有趣的。他曾在米尔德丽德面前谈起过克朗肖,她很想见见他。还有劳森,他已经去巴黎好几个月了。他们还可以去逛逛皮利埃舞厅,还将去凡尔赛、恰特兹、枫丹白露游览观光。

"那可要花一大笔钱哩,"她说。

"哦,甭管花多少钱。想想吧。我朝思暮想的就盼着这一天哪。难道你不清楚这对我有多么重要吗?过去我除了你谁也不爱,以后也不会去爱旁人。"

米尔德丽德笑眯眯的,默默地谛听着他这番慷慨陈词。他认为从她笑眼里看到的是一片脉脉柔情,对此,他对她满怀感激。她比往常要温存得多。以往她身上那种令人不快的傲慢神气,眼下已杏无踪影。她在他跟前呆惯了,不再故作姿态了,也不再像先前那样精心梳理她的头发了,只是随随便便地拢成一个发髻。她通常把她那浓密的刘海梳得齐齐整整,现在却任其披散着。她那张瘦削的脸庞使她那双眼睛显得格外的大。下眼睑布满了皱纹,在苍白的双颊衬托下,更显突兀分明。她神情阴郁,悲哀之至。从她身上,菲利普仿佛看到了圣母马利亚的影子。他希望米尔德丽德岁岁年年永不改颜。他体会到今生前所未有过的幸福。

每天晚上,一到十点,菲利普便起身向米尔德丽德告辞,一来因为她喜欢早早就寝,二来因为他回去后还得用功一两个钟头,以弥补先前几个小时耽误下来的功课。他通常在离开她之前替她梳理头发。在同她道过晚安之后,菲利普便举行仪式般地把他的亲吻奉献给她。首先,他吻吻她的手掌心(她的手指是多么的纤细,那指甲又是多么的秀美,因为她花了不少时间来修剪指甲),接着便先右后左地亲亲她那双合上的眼睛,最后贴着她的嘴唇亲了又亲,吻了又吻。在回家的路上,他那颗心充溢着爱。他引颈盼望能有机会一遂平生心愿,以弥补因自我牺牲而使自己心劳神疲的亏缺。

不久,米尔德丽德该移居私人医院了,她将要在那儿生产。此时,菲利普只能于下午去探望她了。米尔德丽德另编了一套说法,把自己说成是一名随团队驻扎在印度的士兵的妻子,而把菲利普作为自己的小叔子介绍给这家私人医院的女院长。

"我说什么都得当心,"她告诉菲利普说,"因为这儿还有一位太太,她的丈夫就在印度民政部工作。"

"我要是你的话,才不为此担忧呢,"菲利普说。"我相信她的丈夫同你的丈夫是搭乘同一条船去的。"

"什么船?"她天真地问道。

"鬼船呗!"

米尔德丽德顺利地生下了个女孩。当菲利普获准进去看她时,那婴儿就躺在她的身边。米尔德丽德的身体非常虚弱,但因为一切都过去了,心情还是轻松的。她把孩子抱给菲利普看,而她自己用一种古怪的目光打量着这孩子。

"这小东西看上去怪滑稽可笑的,是不?我简直不敢相信她是我生的。"

那新生儿浑身通红,皮肤皱皱的,模样古怪。菲利普瞅着瞧着,脸上现出了笑容,不知说什么是好。他感到很是尴尬,因为此时那位拥有这家私人医院的看护就站在他的身旁。从她瞧自己的目光看来,菲利普觉得她压根儿就不相信米尔德丽德那种颇为复杂的说法,她认为菲利普就是这孩子的生身父亲。

"你准备给她起个什么名儿?"菲利普问道。

"究竟是叫她马德琳还是塞西莉亚,我还没打定主意。"

那位护士走开了,让他们俩单独呆上几分钟。于是,菲利普弯下腰去,对着米尔德丽德的嘴吻了一下。

"亲爱的,一切都平安地过去了,我感到很高兴。"

她抬起纤细的双臂,勾住菲利普的脖子。

"你真是个热心肠的人儿,亲爱的菲尔。"

"现在我终于觉得你是我的人啦。我等你等了好久了,我的亲爱的人儿。"

他们听到那位看护走到门边的声响,于是菲利普急急乎直起身子。看护走进房间时,嘴角露出一丝淡淡的笑意。

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 73

Three weeks later Philip saw Mildred and her baby off to Brighton. She had made a quick recovery and looked better than he had ever seen her. She was going to a boarding-house where she had spent a couple of weekends with Emil Miller, and had written to say that her husband was obliged to go to Germany on business and she was coming down with her baby. She got pleasure out of the stories she invented, and she showed a certain fertility of invention in the working out of the details. Mildred proposed to find in Brighton some woman who would be willing to take charge of the baby. Philip was startled at the callousness with which she insisted on getting rid of it so soon, but she argued with common sense that the poor child had much better be put somewhere before it grew used to her. Philip had expected the maternal instinct to make itself felt when she had had the baby two or three weeks and had counted on this to help him persuade her to keep it; but nothing of the sort occurred. Mildred was not unkind to her baby; she did all that was necessary; it amused her sometimes, and she talked about it a good deal; but at heart she was indifferent to it. She could not look upon it as part of herself. She fancied it resembled its father already. She was continually wondering how she would manage when it grew older; and she was exasperated with herself for being such a fool as to have it at all.

‘If I’d only known then all I do now,’ she said.

She laughed at Philip, because he was anxious about its welfare.

‘You couldn’t make more fuss if you was the father,’ she said. ‘I’d like to see Emil getting into such a stew about it.’

Philip’s mind was full of the stories he had heard of baby-farming and the ghouls who ill-treat the wretched children that selfish, cruel parents have put in their charge.

‘Don’t be so silly,’ said Mildred. ‘That’s when you give a woman a sum down to look after a baby. But when you’re going to pay so much a week it’s to their interest to look after it well.’

Philip insisted that Mildred should place the child with people who had no children of their own and would promise to take no other.

‘Don’t haggle about the price,’ he said. ‘I’d rather pay half a guinea a week than run any risk of the kid being starved or beaten.’

‘You’re a funny old thing, Philip,’ she laughed.

To him there was something very touching in the child’s helplessness. It was small, ugly, and querulous. Its birth had been looked forward to with shame and anguish. Nobody wanted it. It was dependent on him, a stranger, for food, shelter, and clothes to cover its nakedness.

As the train started he kissed Mildred. He would have kissed the baby too, but he was afraid she would laugh at him.

‘You will write to me, darling, won’t you? And I shall look forward to your coming back with oh! such impatience.’

‘Mind you get through your exam.’

He had been working for it industriously, and now with only ten days before him he made a final effort. He was very anxious to pass, first to save himself time and expense, for money had been slipping through his fingers during the last four months with incredible speed; and then because this examination marked the end of the drudgery: after that the student had to do with medicine, midwifery, and surgery, the interest of which was more vivid than the anatomy and physiology with which he had been hitherto concerned. Philip looked forward with interest to the rest of the curriculum. Nor did he want to have to confess to Mildred that he had failed: though the examination was difficult and the majority of candidates were ploughed at the first attempt, he knew that she would think less well of him if he did not succeed; she had a peculiarly humiliating way of showing what she thought.

Mildred sent him a postcard to announce her safe arrival, and he snatched half an hour every day to write a long letter to her. He had always a certain shyness in expressing himself by word of mouth, but he found he could tell her, pen in hand, all sorts of things which it would have made him feel ridiculous to say. Profiting by the discovery he poured out to her his whole heart. He had never been able to tell her before how his adoration filled every part of him so that all his actions, all his thoughts, were touched with it. He wrote to her of the future, the happiness that lay before him, and the gratitude which he owed her. He asked himself (he had often asked himself before but had never put it into words) what it was in her that filled him with such extravagant delight; he did not know; he knew only that when she was with him he was happy, and when she was away from him the world was on a sudden cold and gray; he knew only that when he thought of her his heart seemed to grow big in his body so that it was difficult to breathe (as if it pressed against his lungs) and it throbbed, so that the delight of her presence was almost pain; his knees shook, and he felt strangely weak as though, not having eaten, he were tremulous from want of food. He looked forward eagerly to her answers. He did not expect her to write often, for he knew that letter-writing came difficultly to her; and he was quite content with the clumsy little note that arrived in reply to four of his. She spoke of the boarding-house in which she had taken a room, of the weather and the baby, told him she had been for a walk on the front with a lady-friend whom she had met in the boarding-house and who had taken such a fancy to baby, she was going to the theatre on Saturday night, and Brighton was filling up. It touched Philip because it was so matter-of-fact. The crabbed style, the formality of the matter, gave him a queer desire to laugh and to take her in his arms and kiss her.

He went into the examination with happy confidence. There was nothing in either of the papers that gave him trouble. He knew that he had done well, and though the second part of the examination was viva voce and he was more nervous, he managed to answer the questions adequately. He sent a triumphant telegram to Mildred when the result was announced.

When he got back to his rooms Philip found a letter from her, saying that she thought it would be better for her to stay another week in Brighton. She had found a woman who would be glad to take the baby for seven shillings a week, but she wanted to make inquiries about her, and she was herself benefiting so much by the sea-air that she was sure a few days more would do her no end of good. She hated asking Philip for money, but would he send some by return, as she had had to buy herself a new hat, she couldn’t go about with her lady-friend always in the same hat, and her lady-friend was so dressy. Philip had a moment of bitter disappointment. It took away all his pleasure at getting through his examination.

‘If she loved me one quarter as much as I love her she couldn’t bear to stay away a day longer than necessary.’

He put the thought away from him quickly; it was pure selfishness; of course her health was more important than anything else. But he had nothing to do now; he might spend the week with her in Brighton, and they could be together all day. His heart leaped at the thought. It would be amusing to appear before Mildred suddenly with the information that he had taken a room in the boarding-house. He looked out trains. But he paused. He was not certain that she would be pleased to see him; she had made friends in Brighton; he was quiet, and she liked boisterous joviality; he realised that she amused herself more with other people than with him. It would torture him if he felt for an instant that he was in the way. He was afraid to risk it. He dared not even write and suggest that, with nothing to keep him in town, he would like to spend the week where he could see her every day. She knew he had nothing to do; if she wanted him to come she would have asked him to. He dared not risk the anguish he would suffer if he proposed to come and she made excuses to prevent him.

He wrote to her next day, sent her a five-pound note, and at the end of his letter said that if she were very nice and cared to see him for the week-end he would be glad to run down; but she was by no means to alter any plans she had made. He awaited her answer with impatience. In it she said that if she had only known before she could have arranged it, but she had promised to go to a music-hall on the Saturday night; besides, it would make the people at the boarding-house talk if he stayed there. Why did he not come on Sunday morning and spend the day? They could lunch at the Metropole, and she would take him afterwards to see the very superior lady-like person who was going to take the baby.

Sunday. He blessed the day because it was fine. As the train approached Brighton the sun poured through the carriage window. Mildred was waiting for him on the platform.

‘How jolly of you to come and meet me!’ he cried, as he seized her hands.

‘You expected me, didn’t you?’

‘I hoped you would. I say, how well you’re looking.’

‘It’s done me a rare lot of good, but I think I’m wise to stay here as long as I can. And there are a very nice class of people at the boarding-house. I wanted cheering up after seeing nobody all these months. It was dull sometimes.’

She looked very smart in her new hat, a large black straw with a great many inexpensive flowers on it; and round her neck floated a long boa of imitation swansdown. She was still very thin, and she stooped a little when she walked (she had always done that,) but her eyes did not seem so large; and though she never had any colour, her skin had lost the earthy look it had. They walked down to the sea. Philip, remembering he had not walked with her for months, grew suddenly conscious of his limp and walked stiffly in the attempt to conceal it.

‘Are you glad to see me?’ he asked, love dancing madly in his heart.

‘Of course I am. You needn’t ask that.’

‘By the way, Griffiths sends you his love.’

‘What cheek!’

He had talked to her a great deal of Griffiths. He had told her how flirtatious he was and had amused her often with the narration of some adventure which Griffiths under the seal of secrecy had imparted to him. Mildred had listened, with some pretence of disgust sometimes, but generally with curiosity; and Philip, admiringly, had enlarged upon his friend’s good looks and charm.

‘I’m sure you’ll like him just as much as I do. He’s so jolly and amusing, and he’s such an awfully good sort.’

Philip told her how, when they were perfect strangers, Griffiths had nursed him through an illness; and in the telling Griffiths’ self-sacrifice lost nothing.

‘You can’t help liking him,’ said Philip.

‘I don’t like good-looking men,’ said Mildred. ‘They’re too conceited for me.’

‘He wants to know you. I’ve talked to him about you an awful lot.’

‘What have you said?’ asked Mildred.

Philip had no one but Griffiths to talk to of his love for Mildred, and little by little had told him the whole story of his connection with her. He described her to him fifty times. He dwelt amorously on every detail of her appearance, and Griffiths knew exactly how her thin hands were shaped and how white her face was, and he laughed at Philip when he talked of the charm of her pale, thin lips.

‘By Jove, I’m glad I don’t take things so badly as that,’ he said. ‘Life wouldn’t be worth living.’

Philip smiled. Griffiths did not know the delight of being so madly in love that it was like meat and wine and the air one breathed and whatever else was essential to existence. Griffiths knew that Philip had looked after the girl while she was having her baby and was now going away with her.

‘Well, I must say you’ve deserved to get something,’ he remarked. ‘It must have cost you a pretty penny. It’s lucky you can afford it.’

‘I can’t,’ said Philip. ‘But what do I care!’

Since it was early for luncheon, Philip and Mildred sat in one of the shelters on the parade, sunning themselves, and watched the people pass. There were the Brighton shop-boys who walked in twos and threes, swinging their canes, and there were the Brighton shop-girls who tripped along in giggling bunches. They could tell the people who had come down from London for the day; the keen air gave a fillip to their weariness. There were many Jews, stout ladies in tight satin dresses and diamonds, little corpulent men with a gesticulative manner. There were middle-aged gentlemen spending a week-end in one of the large hotels, carefully dressed; and they walked industriously after too substantial a breakfast to give themselves an appetite for too substantial a luncheon: they exchanged the time of day with friends and talked of Dr. Brighton or London-by-the-Sea. Here and there a well-known actor passed, elaborately unconscious of the attention he excited: sometimes he wore patent leather boots, a coat with an astrakhan collar, and carried a silver-knobbed stick; and sometimes, looking as though he had come from a day’s shooting, he strolled in knickerbockers, and ulster of Harris tweed, and a tweed hat on the back of his head. The sun shone on the blue sea, and the blue sea was trim and neat.

After luncheon they went to Hove to see the woman who was to take charge of the baby. She lived in a small house in a back street, but it was clean and tidy. Her name was Mrs. Harding. She was an elderly, stout person, with gray hair and a red, fleshy face. She looked motherly in her cap, and Philip thought she seemed kind.

‘Won’t you find it an awful nuisance to look after a baby?’ he asked her.

She explained that her husband was a curate, a good deal older than herself, who had difficulty in getting permanent work since vicars wanted young men to assist them; he earned a little now and then by doing locums when someone took a holiday or fell ill, and a charitable institution gave them a small pension; but her life was lonely, it would be something to do to look after a child, and the few shillings a week paid for it would help her to keep things going. She promised that it should be well fed.

‘Quite the lady, isn’t she?’ said Mildred, when they went away.

They went back to have tea at the Metropole. Mildred liked the crowd and the band. Philip was tired of talking, and he watched her face as she looked with keen eyes at the dresses of the women who came in. She had a peculiar sharpness for reckoning up what things cost, and now and then she leaned over to him and whispered the result of her meditations.

‘D’you see that aigrette there? That cost every bit of seven guineas.’

Or: ‘Look at that ermine, Philip. That’s rabbit, that is—that’s not ermine.’ She laughed triumphantly. ‘I’d know it a mile off.’

Philip smiled happily. He was glad to see her pleasure, and the ingenuousness of her conversation amused and touched him. The band played sentimental music.

After dinner they walked down to the station, and Philip took her arm. He told her what arrangements he had made for their journey to France. She was to come up to London at the end of the week, but she told him that she could not go away till the Saturday of the week after that. He had already engaged a room in a hotel in Paris. He was looking forward eagerly to taking the tickets.

‘You won’t mind going second-class, will you? We mustn’t be extravagant, and it’ll be all the better if we can do ourselves pretty well when we get there.’

He had talked to her a hundred times of the Quarter. They would wander through its pleasant old streets, and they would sit idly in the charming gardens of the Luxembourg. If the weather was fine perhaps, when they had had enough of Paris, they might go to Fontainebleau. The trees would be just bursting into leaf. The green of the forest in spring was more beautiful than anything he knew; it was like a song, and it was like the happy pain of love. Mildred listened quietly. He turned to her and tried to look deep into her eyes.

‘You do want to come, don’t you?’ he said.

‘Of course I do,’ she smiled.

‘You don’t know how I’m looking forward to it. I don’t know how I shall get through the next days. I’m so afraid something will happen to prevent it. It maddens me sometimes that I can’t tell you how much I love you. And at last, at last...’

He broke off. They reached the station, but they had dawdled on the way, and Philip had barely time to say good-night. He kissed her quickly and ran towards the wicket as fast as he could. She stood where he left her. He was strangely grotesque when he ran.



第七十三章

三周以后,米尔德丽德带着孩子上布赖顿,菲利普前往车站给她母女俩送行。她身体恢复得很快,菲利普发现她的气色比以往任何时候都好。她打算住在布赖顿一家食宿公寓里,她曾经同埃米尔·米勒在那儿度过两三个周末。她预先写了封信去,说她丈夫奉命去德国出差,她将带着孩子到那儿去度假。她津津乐道于自己编造的谎言,而且在编造细枝末节方面还颇有些想象力呢。米尔德南德打算在布赖顿找个乐意领养她孩子的保姆。看到她竟如此冷漠,急着要摆脱掉这个孩子,菲利普感到震惊。但她却口口声声说先让这孩子在别处呆段时间,然后再领回来,让孩子慢慢习惯在她身边生活,这样做要好得多,还说这是人之常情。菲利普曾想,她亲自带了两三个星期的孩子,总该唤起她做母亲的天性了,因此他企图借助这一点来帮助自己说服米尔德丽德能把孩子留在身边,可是根本就没有那回事。米尔德丽德对孩子也不能说不好,该做的事她都做了。有时这孩子也给她带来乐趣,而且她也常常三句话不离孩子的事儿。但是,她内心深处,对这孩子可一点感情也没有。她不能想象这孩子会是她身上的一块肉。她已经预感到这孩子长相像她生身父亲。她常常暗自纳闷,待这孩子长大以后,她还不知怎么办呢。想到自己当初怎么会那样傻,竟怀了这么个孩子,她不禁自怨自艾起来。

"要是我当初像现在这么清醒就好了,"她嘟哝了一句。

她嘲笑菲利普,因为他为了那孩子的幸福而操心,简直到了忧心如焚的地步。

"假如你是父亲的话,你就不会这么大惊小怪的了,"她说,"我倒想看看埃米尔为了这孩子而感到心乱如麻、坐卧不安的样子。"

菲利普曾经听人说起过育婴堂,以及有些可怜的孩子被他们的自私、狠心的父母扔进专以恐怖事情取乐的歹徒手中而惨遭虐待的事儿。眼下,他脑海里充斥着这些令人可怖的念头。

"别傻,"米尔德丽德说,"这是你出钱找个女人照看孩子。你一周出那么多钱,她们照顾好孩子,对她们自己也是有好处的呀。"

菲利普坚持要米尔德丽德把孩子交给自己没有生养过孩子的妇人抚养,并要她保证不再领别的孩子。

"别计较工钱,"他接着说,"我宁愿一周出半个畿厄,也不愿让这孩子去遭受饥饿或毒打。"

"你这个老伙计,还怪有趣的哩,菲利普。"

菲利普看到这孩子脆弱无力,任人处置,觉得怪揪心的。这个小东西,样子像个丑八怪,还动不动就大哭大闹发脾气。她是在生育她的人怀着耻辱、苦恼的期待中降临到人世间来的,谁也不要她,却全仗他这个陌生人为她提供吃的、住的,给她衣衫以遮掩其赤裸裸的躯体。

火车启动时,他吻了吻米尔德丽德。他本想也亲亲那个小家伙,可生怕米尔德丽德因此而讥笑他。

"你会给我来信的,亲爱的,是不?我盼望着你快点回来,哦,我简直都等不及了!"

"注意可要通过考试啊。"

近来他一直为通过考试而孜孜不倦地温习功课,眼下还剩下十天,他要作最后的冲刺。他急不可待地要通过考试:一来可省些自己的时间和费用,因为在过去四个月里,钞票以难以想象的速度从他的指缝里漏掉了;二来意味着单调乏味的课程就此结束。他要进入学习药物、妇产和外科的阶段,学习这三门课程显然要比迄今还在学的解剖学、生理学要有趣得多。菲利普怀着兴趣期待着余下的三门课程。他可不想到最后不得不向米尔德丽德坦白自己没有通过考试,尽管考试很难,绝大多数的考生第一次都没有及格。要是他考试不及格,他知道米尔德丽德对他就没有什么好印象了,她在表明自己的看法时,总是用一种与众不同的叫人下不了台的讥诮口吻。

米尔德丽德给他寄来了一张明信片,报了个平安。每天,他都从百忙中抽出半个小时给她写封长信。他历来羞于辞令,不过他发现,借助于手中的这枝秃笔,他可以把平时羞于启口的活儿都毫无顾忌地写下来告诉她。多亏了这一发现,他把自己的心里话对她倾筐地诉了个罄尽。他周身各处无不洋溢着他对米尔德南德的爱慕之情,因此他的每一个举动、每一个念头无不受之影响。可是,以前他一直没能向她一诉衷肠。他在信中畅谈了他对未来的憧憬,描绘展现在他面前的锦绣前程,同时也倾诉了自己对她的感激之情。他扪心自问,米尔德丽德身上究竟有些什么使得他整个心灵充满了无限的快乐(以往他也常常问自己,但从来没有用语言的方式来表达)。对此,他也说不清楚。他只知道有她在自己身边,他就感到无比幸福,而她一旦离他而去,那整个世界蓦地变得凄凉阴冷,黯然无光。他只知道一想起她,他那颗心啊,仿佛在体内逐渐增大,并剧烈地跳荡着,使得呼吸都发生了困难(就像那颗心在压迫肺似的)。此时,由于见到她而激起的一阵欢喜变成了近乎是一种隐痛,他的双腿打颤,感到一种莫名其妙的虚弱,仿佛他多时粒米未进,长期饥饿而变得四肢无力,摇摇欲倒似的。他急切地盼望着她的回信。他并不指望她经常来信,因为他了解写封信对米尔德丽德来说也不是件易事。她寄来了一封短笺,字迹歪歪扭扭的,算是对他前四封信的回答,不过,他也心满意足了。在这封短笺里,她描述了那幢食宿公寓,她在那儿订了个房间;说到了那儿的天气和孩子的情况;告诉他她同一位在食宿公寓结识的太太在公寓正门前散步,而这位太太还挺喜欢孩子的哩;还说她将于星期六晚上去看戏;最后提到布赖顿到处客满了。这封短信是那么的平淡无奇,倒也拨动了菲利普的情弦。那难辨认的字迹,以及这封信本身只是例行常礼这件事,无不勾引起了一种莫名其妙的欲念。他想放怀畅笑,将米尔德丽德一把搂抱在怀里,亲她个够。

他满怀信心和兴奋走进考场。没有哪张试卷有题目难倒他的。他知道这次考得不差。考试的第二部分是VIVA VOCE,虽说他在回答问题时显得有些紧张,但还是竭力给以恰如其分的回答。考试成绩一公布,他便给米尔德丽德拍了个报喜的电报。

他回到住处时,发现有她写来的一封信,信上说她认为她还是在布赖顿再呆一个星期的好,原因是她已经找到了一位妇人,每周只要七个先令就乐意给她带孩子,但她还想摸一摸这位妇人的情况。再说,她此去布赖顿经海风一吹,受益匪浅,因此再多呆些时日,肯定会给她带来无穷的好处。她实在不愿向菲利普讨钱,可要是他在回信时顺便捎上几个子儿,那是最好不过的了。因为她一直想给自己买顶新帽子,总不能让自己跟那些太太们出去散步时老是戴同一顶帽子呀,而她那位女朋友对穿戴还挺讲究的哩。好一会儿,菲利普感到凄苦和失望,因通过考试而欢天喜地的心情顿时化为乌有。

"要足她对我怀有的情意有我对她的那份情意的四分之一,那她也就决不忍心在外多呆一大的。"

但他很快就打消了这个念头。这纯粹是自私自利!她的健康当然比什么都要紧咯。但是眼下他无所事事,不妨去布赖顿和她一道度过这一周,这样他们俩从早到晚都可以厮守在一起了。想到这里,他的心不由得怦怦直跳。要是他突然出现在米尔德丽德的面前,并告诉她他已经在同一幢食宿公寓里订了个房间,那情景才有趣哩。他去查阅火车的时刻表,但又戛然驻步不前。米尔德丽德见到他会高兴,这一点他是有把握的。她在布赖顿结交了不少朋友。他一向沉默寡言,而米尔德丽德却喜欢热闹和恣情欢乐。他意识到她同别人在一起时要比跟他在一起快乐得多。如果他稍微感觉到自己在碍事,那他可受不了这个折磨。他不敢贸然行事,甚至也不敢写信暗示,说他眼下在城里闲着,很想到他可以天天看到她的地方去过上一周。她知道他空着无事,倘若她想叫他去,她早就会写信来说了。要是他提出要去,而她却提出种种借日叫他不去,他可不敢自讨这个苦吃。

翌日,他写了封信给她,还随信邮去五个英镑,最后他在信里带了一笔,说要是她好心想于周末见见他的话,他自己很乐意到她那儿去,不过她不必为此变动她原先的计划。他焦急地等待着她的回音。她在来信中说,要是她早知道的话,她就会为此作出安排,不过她已经答应人家于星期六晚上一道上杂耍剧场观看表演。此外,要是他呆在那儿的话,会招食宿公寓里的人议论的。他为何不可以在星期天早晨来并在那儿过上一天呢?这样,他们可以上梅特洛波尔饭店吃中饭,然后她带他去见见那个气宇不凡的贵妇人似的太太,就是这位太太马上要带她的孩子。

星期天。菲利普感谢大公作美,因为这大天气晴朗。列车驶近布赖顿时,缕缕朝晖,一泻如流,透过窗子照人车厢。米尔德丽德正伫立在月台上等候他。

"你跑来接我真好极了!"菲利普一边嚷道,一边紧紧地攥住她的手。

"你也真希望我来嘛,不是这样吗?"

"我想你一定会来的。啃,你的气色挺好的哩!"

"身体的确大有起色,不过我想我在这儿能呆多久就呆多久,这个想法是明智的。食宿公寓里的那些人都是上流社会的正经人。在与世隔绝了几个月之后,我真想提高提高自己的兴致。那会儿,有时还真闷死人了。"

她戴了顶新帽子,显得挺精神的。那是顶黑色大草帽,上面插着许多廉价的鲜花。她脖子上围着的一条长长的仿天鹅绒制品制成的围巾随风飘着。她依然很瘦,走路的时候脊背微微佝偻着(她历来如此),不过,她那双眼睛似乎不像以往那么大了。虽然她的皮肤从来没有什么特别的色泽,但原先那种土黄色已经褪去。他们并肩步向海边。菲利普记起自己已经有好几个月没同她一起散步了,他蓦地意识到自己是个跛子,为了掩饰自己的窘态,便迈着僵硬的步子向前走去。

"看到我你高兴吗?"他问米尔德丽德。此时此刻,他心里激荡着狂热的爱。

"我当然高兴咯。这还用问吗?"

"喂,格里菲思向你问好。"

"真不知害臊!"

菲利普曾在她面前谈论过格里菲思的好多事情。他告诉她格里菲思此人生性轻浮,还把格里菲思在得到菲利普恪守秘密的诺言后透露给他的一些自己所干的风流韵事讲给她听,以讨她的欢喜。米尔德丽德在一旁谛听着,有时会露出一种不屑一听的轻蔑神情,不过一般说来还是不无好奇。菲利普还把他那位朋友的俊美的外貌及其洒脱的举止大事铺陈了一番,说话间还夹带着一种羡慕赞叹的口吻。

"你肯定会跟我一样地喜欢他的。他那个人生性欢快、有趣,是个很好的好人。"

菲利普还告诉米尔德丽德,说还在他同格里菲思互不熟识的时候,当他病倒在床上时,格里菲思是如何照料他的。他这番叙述把格里菲思的见义勇为的事迹一事不漏地统统讲了出来。

"你会情不自禁地喜欢上他的,"菲利普说。

"我可不喜欢相貌很帅的男人,"米尔德丽德说。"在我看来,他们都太傲慢了。"

"他想同你结识结识。我经常在他面前说起你。"

"你同他说些什么来着?"米尔德丽德问道。

除了对格里菲思,菲利普没有人可以一诉自己对米尔德丽德的满腔情愫,就这样,他渐渐把他同米尔德丽德之间的关系全抖落给格里菲思所了。他不下五十次在格里菲思面前描绘了米尔德丽德的容貌。他用充满眷恋的口吻详详细细地描绘米尔德丽德的外表,连一个细节都不漏掉,因此格里菲思对她那双纤细的手是啥模样以及她的脸色有多苍白都知道得清清楚楚。当菲利普说到她那两片毫无血色然而却富有魅力的薄薄的嘴唇时,格里菲思便嘲笑起他来。

"啊!我高兴的是我可不像你那样拙劣地对待事物,"他说。"否则,人活在世上就没有意思了。"

菲利普莞尔一笑。格里菲思哪里懂得热恋的甜蜜,就好比人们须臾不可缺少的肉、酒和呼吸的空气。他晓得那姑娘怀孕时全仗菲利普照料,而眼下菲利普将同她一道外出度假。

"唔,我得说你理应得到报偿,"格里菲思对菲利普说。"这次你肯定破费了不少钱财。幸运的是,你有能力承担这笔费用。"

"我也是力不从心哪,"菲利普接着说。"不过,我才不在乎呢!"

天色尚早,还不到吃饭的时辰,菲利普和米尔德丽德坐在广场一个避风的角落里,一边享受着阳光的乐趣,一边目不转睛地望着广场上来往的游人。一些布赖顿的男店员,三三两两地一边走一边挥舞着手杖,一群群布赖顿的女店员,踏着欢快的步履向前走去,嘴里还不住地格格笑着。他们俩一眼就辨认出哪些人是从伦敦赶来消磨这一天的。空气中寒意料峭,使得那些伦敦佬显得身体困乏,精神萎顿。眼前走过一批犹太人,那些老太太们,身体敦实,裹着缎于衣服,浑身上下闪烁着珠光宝气,而男人们,个头矮小,体态臃肿,说话时总是配以丰富的手势。还有一些衣着考究的中年绅士,住在大旅馆里欢度周末。他们在吃过一顿丰盛的早餐之后,不辞辛劳地来回踱步,好使自己在用丰盛的午餐时胃口不减。他们互相校准钟点,在一起谈谈有关布赖顿博士的逸事或者聊聊海边的伦敦风光。间或走过一位遐迩闻名的演员,引起了所有在场的人们的注目,对。此,这位名演员摆出一副毫不觉察的神气。时而,他身穿装有阿斯特拉罕羔皮领子的外套,脚上套双漆皮靴子,手里拄着根银质把手的手杖;时而,他上身披着宽大的哈立斯粗花呢有带长袍,下身套条灯笼裤,后脑勺上覆盖一顶花呢帽,悠然自得地溜达着,像是刚打完猎回来似的。阳光洒在蓝色的海面上。蔚蓝的大海,一平如镜。

中餐过后,他们俩便上霍夫去看望那位领养孩子的妇人。这位妇人住在后街的一所小房子里。房子虽小,收拾得倒整整洁洁。她叫哈丁太太,一位中年模样、身体健旺的妇人,头发花白,脸膛红红的,而且很丰满。她戴了顶帽子,一副慈母相,因此菲利普认为她看来似乎是位面善心慈的太太。

"你不觉得带孩子是桩十分讨厌的苦差事吗?"菲利普向那位妇人说。

那位妇人对他们两位解释说,她的丈夫是个副牧师,年龄要比她大出许多。教区的牧师们都想录用年轻人当他们的助手,这样一来,她的丈夫就很难谋得一个永久性的职位,只得在有人外出度假或病倒在床时去代职,挣得几个子儿。另外,某个慈善机构施舍给他们夫妇俩一笔小小的救济金。她感到很孤独,因此领个孩子带带兴许会使生活稍有生气。再说,由照料孩子而挣得的几个先令也可以帮她维持生计。她许诺一定把孩子喂养得白白胖胖的。

"她真像是位高贵的太太,是不?"在他们俩告辞出来后,米尔德丽德对菲利普说。

他们俩回到梅特洛波尔饭店去用茶点。米尔德丽德喜欢那里的人群和乐队。菲利普懒得说话。在米尔德丽德目光炯炯地盯视着走进店来的女客身上的服饰的当儿,他在一旁默默地凝视着她的脸。她有一种特殊的洞察力,一眼就能看出哪些东西值多少钱。她不时地向菲利普倾过身子,低声报告她观察的结果。

"你瞧见那儿的白鹭羽毛了吗?每一根羽毛就值七个畿尼呢!"

没隔一会儿,她又说:"快看那件貂皮长袍,菲利普。那是兔皮,那是--那不是貂皮。"她得意地哈哈笑着。"我老远就可以一眼认出来。"

菲利普喜形于色。看到她这么快乐,他也感到高兴,她那机智的谈锋使得他乐不可支,深受感动。那边的乐队奏起凄楚动人的乐曲。

晚饭后,他们俩朝火车站走去。这当儿,菲利普挽起了米尔德丽德的手臂。他把他为法国之行所作的安排告诉了她。他要米尔德丽德本周末返回伦敦,但她却说在下周六以前回不了伦敦。他已经在巴黎一家旅馆里订了个房间。他热切地盼望能订到车票。

"我们坐二等车厢去巴黎,你不会反对吧?我们花钱可不能大手大脚啊,只要我们到了那儿玩得痛快,就比什么都强。"

菲利普在她面前谈起拉丁区已不下一百次了。他们将在该区的古色古香亲切可人的大街小巷间信步漫游,将悠闲地坐在卢森堡大公园的花园里。在巴黎玩够了以后,要是天公作美,他们还可以上枫丹白露。届时,树枝都将抽出新叶。早春时分,森林一片葱绿,那景致比啥都要美。它好比是支颂歌,宛如甜蜜之中夹带丝丝幽忧的爱情。米尔德丽德默默地倾听着。他转眸凝视着她。"你很想来,是不?"他问道。

"那当然咯,"她说罢嫣然一笑。

"你不知道我是多么殷切地盼望着此行早日到来。以后这几天我还不知道怎么过呢,生怕节外生枝,使得此行落空。有时候,因为我说不清我对你怀有多么深的爱情,我简直要发疯了。这下好了,最后,终于……"

他戛然而止。他们已经来到车站。刚才在路上耽搁太久了,因此菲利普向米尔德丽德道别都来不及了,只是匆匆吻了她一下,随即撒腿朝售票口拚命奔去。她站在原地没动。他跑步的姿势实在别扭、难看。

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 74

The following Saturday Mildred returned, and that evening Philip kept her to himself. He took seats for the play, and they drank champagne at dinner. It was her first gaiety in London for so long that she enjoyed everything ingenuously. She cuddled up to Philip when they drove from the theatre to the room he had taken for her in Pimlico.

‘I really believe you’re quite glad to see me,’ he said.

She did not answer, but gently pressed his hand. Demonstrations of affection were so rare with her that Philip was enchanted.

‘I’ve asked Griffiths to dine with us tomorrow,’ he told her.

‘Oh, I’m glad you’ve done that. I wanted to meet him.’

There was no place of entertainment to take her to on Sunday night, and Philip was afraid she would be bored if she were alone with him all day. Griffiths was amusing; he would help them to get through the evening; and Philip was so fond of them both that he wanted them to know and to like one another. He left Mildred with the words:

‘Only six days more.’

They had arranged to dine in the gallery at Romano’s on Sunday, because the dinner was excellent and looked as though it cost a good deal more than it did. Philip and Mildred arrived first and had to wait some time for Griffiths.

‘He’s an unpunctual devil,’ said Philip. ‘He’s probably making love to one of his numerous flames.’

But presently he appeared. He was a handsome creature, tall and thin; his head was placed well on the body, it gave him a conquering air which was attractive; and his curly hair, his bold, friendly blue eyes, his red mouth, were charming. Philip saw Mildred look at him with appreciation, and he felt a curious satisfaction. Griffiths greeted them with a smile.

‘I’ve heard a great deal about you,’ he said to Mildred, as he took her hand.

‘Not so much as I’ve heard about you,’ she answered.

‘Nor so bad,’ said. Philip.

‘Has he been blackening my character?’

Griffiths laughed, and Philip saw that Mildred noticed how white and regular his teeth were and how pleasant his smile.

‘You ought to feel like old friends,’ said Philip. ‘I’ve talked so much about you to one another.’

Griffiths was in the best possible humour, for, having at length passed his final examination, he was qualified, and he had just been appointed house-surgeon at a hospital in the North of London. He was taking up his duties at the beginning of May and meanwhile was going home for a holiday; this was his last week in town, and he was determined to get as much enjoyment into it as he could. He began to talk the gay nonsense which Philip admired because he could not copy it. There was nothing much in what he said, but his vivacity gave it point. There flowed from him a force of life which affected everyone who knew him; it was almost as sensible as bodily warmth. Mildred was more lively than Philip had ever known her, and he was delighted to see that his little party was a success. She was amusing herself enormously. She laughed louder and louder. She quite forgot the genteel reserve which had become second nature to her.

Presently Griffiths said:

‘I say, it’s dreadfully difficult for me to call you Mrs. Miller. Philip never calls you anything but Mildred.’

‘I daresay she won’t scratch your eyes out if you call her that too,’ laughed Philip.

‘Then she must call me Harry.’

Philip sat silent while they chattered away and thought how good it was to see people happy. Now and then Griffiths teased him a little, kindly, because he was always so serious.

‘I believe he’s quite fond of you, Philip,’ smiled Mildred.

‘He isn’t a bad old thing,’ answered Griffiths, and taking Philip’s hand he shook it gaily.

It seemed an added charm in Griffiths that he liked Philip. They were all sober people, and the wine they had drunk went to their heads. Griffiths became more talkative and so boisterous that Philip, amused, had to beg him to be quiet. He had a gift for story-telling, and his adventures lost nothing of their romance and their laughter in his narration. He played in all of them a gallant, humorous part. Mildred, her eyes shining with excitement, urged him on. He poured out anecdote after anecdote. When the lights began to be turned out she was astonished.

‘My word, the evening has gone quickly. I thought it wasn’t more than half past nine.’

They got up to go and when she said good-bye, she added:

‘I’m coming to have tea at Philip’s room tomorrow. You might look in if you can.’

‘All right,’ he smiled.

On the way back to Pimlico Mildred talked of nothing but Griffiths. She was taken with his good looks, his well-cut clothes, his voice, his gaiety.

‘I am glad you like him,’ said Philip. ‘D’you remember you were rather sniffy about meeting him?’

‘I think it’s so nice of him to be so fond of you, Philip. He is a nice friend for you to have.’

She put up her face to Philip for him to kiss her. It was a thing she did rarely.

‘I have enjoyed myself this evening, Philip. Thank you so much.’

‘Don’t be so absurd,’ he laughed, touched by her appreciation so that he felt the moisture come to his eyes.

She opened her door and just before she went in, turned again to Philip.

‘Tell Harry I’m madly in love with him,’ she said.

‘All right,’ he laughed. ‘Good-night.’

Next day, when they were having tea, Griffiths came in. He sank lazily into an arm-chair. There was something strangely sensual in the slow movements of his large limbs. Philip remained silent, while the others chattered away, but he was enjoying himself. He admired them both so much that it seemed natural enough for them to admire one another. He did not care if Griffiths absorbed Mildred’s attention, he would have her to himself during the evening: he had something of the attitude of a loving husband, confident in his wife’s affection, who looks on with amusement while she flirts harmlessly with a stranger. But at half past seven he looked at his watch and said:

‘It’s about time we went out to dinner, Mildred.’

There was a moment’s pause, and Griffiths seemed to be considering.

‘Well, I’ll be getting along,’ he said at last. ‘I didn’t know it was so late.’

‘Are you doing anything tonight?’ asked Mildred.

‘No.’

There was another silence. Philip felt slightly irritated.

‘I’ll just go and have a wash,’ he said, and to Mildred he added: ‘Would you like to wash your hands?’

She did not answer him.

‘Why don’t you come and dine with us?’ she said to Griffiths.

He looked at Philip and saw him staring at him sombrely.

‘I dined with you last night,’ he laughed. ‘I should be in the way.’

‘Oh, that doesn’t matter,’ insisted Mildred. ‘Make him come, Philip. He won’t be in the way, will he?’

‘Let him come by all means if he’d like to.’

‘All right, then,’ said Griffiths promptly. ‘I’ll just go upstairs and tidy myself.’

The moment he left the room Philip turned to Mildred angrily.

‘Why on earth did you ask him to dine with us?’

‘I couldn’t help myself. It would have looked so funny to say nothing when he said he wasn’t doing anything.’

‘Oh, what rot! And why the hell did you ask him if he was doing anything?’

Mildred’s pale lips tightened a little.

‘I want a little amusement sometimes. I get tired always being alone with you.’

They heard Griffiths coming heavily down the stairs, and Philip went into his bed-room to wash. They dined in the neighbourhood in an Italian restaurant. Philip was cross and silent, but he quickly realised that he was showing to disadvantage in comparison with Griffiths, and he forced himself to hide his annoyance. He drank a good deal of wine to destroy the pain that was gnawing at his heart, and he set himself to talk. Mildred, as though remorseful for what she had said, did all she could to make herself pleasant to him. She was kindly and affectionate. Presently Philip began to think he had been a fool to surrender to a feeling of jealousy. After dinner when they got into a hansom to drive to a music-hall Mildred, sitting between the two men, of her own accord gave him her hand. His anger vanished. Suddenly, he knew not how, he grew conscious that Griffiths was holding her other hand. The pain seized him again violently, it was a real physical pain, and he asked himself, panic-stricken, what he might have asked himself before, whether Mildred and Griffiths were in love with one another. He could not see anything of the performance on account of the mist of suspicion, anger, dismay, and wretchedness which seemed to be before his eyes; but he forced himself to conceal the fact that anything was the matter; he went on talking and laughing. Then a strange desire to torture himself seized him, and he got up, saying he wanted to go and drink something. Mildred and Griffiths had never been alone together for a moment. He wanted to leave them by themselves.

‘I’ll come too,’ said Griffiths. ‘I’ve got rather a thirst on.’

‘Oh, nonsense, you stay and talk to Mildred.’

Philip did not know why he said that. He was throwing them together now to make the pain he suffered more intolerable. He did not go to the bar, but up into the balcony, from where he could watch them and not be seen. They had ceased to look at the stage and were smiling into one another’s eyes. Griffiths was talking with his usual happy fluency and Mildred seemed to hang on his lips. Philip’s head began to ache frightfully. He stood there motionless. He knew he would be in the way if he went back. They were enjoying themselves without him, and he was suffering, suffering. Time passed, and now he had an extraordinary shyness about rejoining them. He knew they had not thought of him at all, and he reflected bitterly that he had paid for the dinner and their seats in the music-hall. What a fool they were making of him! He was hot with shame. He could see how happy they were without him. His instinct was to leave them to themselves and go home, but he had not his hat and coat, and it would necessitate endless explanations. He went back. He felt a shadow of annoyance in Mildred’s eyes when she saw him, and his heart sank.

‘You’ve been a devil of a time,’ said Griffiths, with a smile of welcome.

‘I met some men I knew. I’ve been talking to them, and I couldn’t get away. I thought you’d be all right together.’

‘I’ve been enjoying myself thoroughly,’ said Griffiths. ‘I don’t know about Mildred.’

She gave a little laugh of happy complacency. There was a vulgar sound in the ring of it that horrified Philip. He suggested that they should go.

‘Come on,’ said Griffiths, ‘we’ll both drive you home.’

Philip suspected that she had suggested that arrangement so that she might not be left alone with him. In the cab he did not take her hand nor did she offer it, and he knew all the time that she was holding Griffiths’. His chief thought was that it was all so horribly vulgar. As they drove along he asked himself what plans they had made to meet without his knowledge, he cursed himself for having left them alone, he had actually gone out of his way to enable them to arrange things.

‘Let’s keep the cab,’ said Philip, when they reached the house in which Mildred was lodging. ‘I’m too tired to walk home.’

On the way back Griffiths talked gaily and seemed indifferent to the fact that Philip answered in monosyllables. Philip felt he must notice that something was the matter. Philip’s silence at last grew too significant to struggle against, and Griffiths, suddenly nervous, ceased talking. Philip wanted to say something, but he was so shy he could hardly bring himself to, and yet the time was passing and the opportunity would be lost. It was best to get at the truth at once. He forced himself to speak.

‘Are you in love with Mildred?’ he asked suddenly.

‘I?’ Griffiths laughed. ‘Is that what you’ve been so funny about this evening? Of course not, my dear old man.’

He tried to slip his hand through Philip’s arm, but Philip drew himself away. He knew Griffiths was lying. He could not bring himself to force Griffiths to tell him that he had not been holding the girl’s hand. He suddenly felt very weak and broken.

‘It doesn’t matter to you, Harry,’ he said. ‘You’ve got so many women—don’t take her away from me. It means my whole life. I’ve been so awfully wretched.’

His voice broke, and he could not prevent the sob that was torn from him. He was horribly ashamed of himself.

‘My dear old boy, you know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I’m far too fond of you for that. I was only playing the fool. If I’d known you were going to take it like that I’d have been more careful.’

‘Is that true?’ asked Philip.

‘I don’t care a twopenny damn for her. I give you my word of honour.’

Philip gave a sigh of relief. The cab stopped at their door.



第七十四章

在紧接着的那周的星期六,米尔德丽德回到了伦敦。当晚,菲利普一直陪伴在她身边。他上歌剧院订了两个座位。晚餐时,他们俩还饮啜了香槟酒呢。米尔德丽德在伦敦已有多年,但这么开心她还是头一次,于是,她便尽情享受了一番生活的乐趣。戏院散场后,他们便雇了辆马车,朝平利科大街驶去,菲利普在那儿为她租了个房间。一路上,米尔德丽德蜷缩着身子躺在菲利普的怀里。

"我深信你见到我一定很高兴,"菲利普说。

米尔德丽德没有吱声,只是温存地攥了攥菲利普的手。对米尔德丽德来说,柔情的外露是罕见的,因此,经她这么一攥,菲利普不觉心旌飘摇了。

"我已邀请格里菲思同我们一道吃饭,"菲利普告诉她说。

"喔,你这样做我很高兴。我老早就想同他见见面了。"

星期天晚上城里没有什么娱乐场所可以带米尔德丽德去的。菲利普唯恐米尔德丽德整天同他呆在一块会感觉腻味。他想起了格里菲思,此人一举一动无不逗人发笑,可以为他们俩消磨这一夜晚助兴。菲利普对格里菲思和米尔德丽德两人都很喜欢,真希望他们俩相互结识,并且喜欢上对方。菲利普走时对米尔德丽德说:

"还只有六天时间了。"

他们预先包了罗曼诺餐馆顶层楼上的雅座。这顿佳肴丰盛而且可口,看上去远远超过了他们支付的饭钱。菲利普同米尔德丽德先到,只得坐下来等候格里菲思。

"他这个老兄历来不准时,"菲利普开腔说,"他的情人多得数不清,眼下兴许正在同她们中间的一个鬼混哩!"

但是,菲利普的话音刚落,格里菲思飘然而至。他是个瘦高个儿,长得倒挺俊的。一颗脑袋同他整个身材适成比例,给人以一种不可一世的神气,倒蛮引人注目的。他那头鬈发,那双大胆、热情的蓝眼睛,还有那张鲜红的嘴,无不具有迷人的魅力。菲利普发现米尔德丽德饶有兴味地凝睇着格里菲思,心中升腾起一种莫可名状的满足。格里菲思对着他们俩粲然一笑,算是打了个招呼。

"你的事儿我听说了不少,"在同米尔德丽德握手的当儿,格里菲思对她说。

"怕的是还没有我听到有关你的事儿多吧,"她回了一句。

"也没有你那么环,"菲利普补了一句。

"他是不是一直在败环我的名声呀?"

格里菲思说罢哈哈大笑。此刻,菲利普看见米尔德丽德注意到格里菲思那口牙齿是多么的洁白整齐,他那笑靥又是那么的悦人。

"你们俩理应像对老朋友一样相处,"菲利普说,"我已经分别为你们俩作了一番详尽的介绍了。"

今晚,格里菲思的心境是最好不过了,因为他终于通过了结业考试,取得了当医生的资格,并于不久前被委任为伦敦北部的一家医院的住院外科医生。他将于五月初赴任,在此之前他准备返回乡里度假。这一周是他在伦敦的最后一周,于是他决心趁此机会痛痛快快地乐上一乐。他又讲开了他那些妙趣横生的无稽之谈,对此,菲利普却赞叹不已,因为他自己就是模仿也模仿不起来。他的话多半没什么意义,不过他说话时那股活泼劲儿给他的话添加了分量。说话间,一种活力宛若一股涓涓细流从他口中淌出,凡是同他熟识的人,无不为之感动,就好比身上流过了一股暖流。米尔德丽德那种欢天喜地的样子,菲利普前所未见。眼看到由自己一手张罗的小小聚会颇为成功,菲利普感到很是高兴。米尔德丽德着实快活了一番。她的笑声越来越高,完全忘却了业已成为她第二天性的那种矜持斯文的淡漠表情。

这时,格里菲思说:

"喂,要我称呼你米勒太太还真不习惯呢。菲利普一向只叫你米尔德丽德。"

"你真那样称呼她,她大概不至于会把你的眼珠给抠出来的,"菲利普笑呵呵地说。

"那她得叫我哈利。"

在他们俩闲聊的时候,菲利普默默地坐在一旁暗自思忖,看到别人精神愉快确是件非常有趣的事儿。格里菲思不时地将菲利普戏弄一番,当然是出自一番好意罗,因为他这个人一向是正经八百、不苟言笑的。

"我想他一定很喜欢你,菲利普,"米尔德丽德笑吟吟地说。

"他这个老伙计人可不坏,"格里菲思一面接口说道,一面抓起菲利普的手快乐地摇晃着。

格里菲思喜欢菲利普这件事似乎使得他更富有魅力。他们可都是饮食有度的人儿,几滴酒下肚,其力直冲脑门。格里菲思的话越来越多,竟到了口若悬河的地步;菲利普虽觉有趣,但也不得不出来恳求他有所收敛。他有讲故事的天赋,在叙述的过程中,他把他那些富有传奇色彩的风流韵事、逗人发笑的妙处渲染得淋漓尽致。在这些艳遇中,他都是扮演了一个奔放不羁、幽默风趣的角色。米尔德丽德双眸闪烁着激动的光芒,不住地敦促格里菲思继续往下讲。于是,他便倾诉了一则又一则轶事。当餐馆里的灯光渐渐隐去时,米尔德丽德不胜惊讶。

"哎呀,今晚过得好快啊。我还以为不到九点半呢。"

他们起身离座,步出餐馆。道别时,米尔德丽德又说:

"明天我上菲利普那儿用茶。可能的话,你不妨也来。"

"好的,"格里菲思笑眯眯地说。

在回平利科大街的路上,米尔德丽德还是口口声声不离格里菲思,完全为他的堂堂仪表、裁剪精美的衣服、说话的声音以及他那欢快的性格所陶醉。

"对你喜欢上他,我是很高兴的,"菲利普说。"起先你还觉得不屑同他见面呢。这你还记得吗?"

"菲利普,我认为他这个人真好,竟这么喜欢你。他确是你应该结交的好朋友。"

她朝菲利普仰起面孔,让他亲吻,这在她来说,却是少有的举动。

"菲利普,今晚过得很愉快。太感激你了。"

"别说那些混帐话,"他哈哈笑了起来。她的赞赏深深地打动了他的心,他感到双目湿润了。

她打开了房门,在进去前,她掉头对菲利普说:

"去告诉哈利,就说我狂热地爱上了他。"

"好的,"他笑呵呵地应着,"祝你晚安。"

翌日,正当他们俩在用茶点的时候,格里菲思一脚跨了进来,随即懒洋洋地坐进一张安乐椅里。他那粗手大脚慢腾腾的动作里流露出一种难以言表的性感。在格里菲思同米尔德丽德叽叽咕咕闲扯时,菲利普缄默不语。他对那两位充满了爱慕之情,因此,在他看来,他们俩相互爱慕,这也是十分自然的。即使格里菲思把米尔德丽德的心思吸引了过去,他也不在乎,因为到了晚上,米尔德丽德就全部属于他了。这时,他好比是一位对自己妻子的感情笃信不疑的温顺的丈夫,在一旁饶有兴味地看着妻子毫无危险地同一位陌生人调情。但是挨到七点半,他看了看手表,说:

"米尔德丽德,我们该出去吃饭了。"

房间里一阵沉默。格里菲思一副若有所思的样子。

"唔,我得走了,"格里菲思终于开口说,"没想到天已不早了。"

"今晚你有事吗?"米尔德丽德问道。

"事倒没什么。"

又是一阵沉默。菲利普心中有些儿不悦。

"我这就去解手,"菲利普说后,又对米尔德丽德说,"你要不要上厕所呀?"

她没有答理他。

"你为何不跟我们一道去吃饭呢?"她却对格里菲思这样说。

格里菲思望着菲利普,只见他目光阴沉地瞪视着自己。

"昨晚我随你们去吃了一顿,"格里菲思哈哈笑着说。"我去你们就不方便了。"

"哦,这没关系的,"米尔德丽德执著地说。"叫他一起去吧,菲利普。他去不碍事的,对不?"

"他愿去尽管去好了。"

"那好吧,"格里菲思立即接口说,"我这就上楼去梳理一下。"

他刚走出房间,菲利普便生气地对着米尔德丽德嚷道:

"你究竟为啥要叫他跟我们一块去吃饭呢?"

"我忍不住就说了。不过当他说他无事可做的时候,我们一声不吭,那不是太奇怪了吗。"

"喔,乱弹琴!那你又干吗要问他有没有事呢?"

米尔德丽德抿了抿嘴唇。

"有时候我想要一点乐趣。老是同你呆在一块,我就会发腻。"

他们听到了格里菲思下楼时发出的咚咚脚步声,于是菲利普转身走进卧室梳洗去了。他们就在附近一家意大利餐馆吃晚饭。菲利普气呼呼的一声不吭,但是他很快就意识到自己这副模样在格里菲思的面前显得很是不利,于是强忍下这满腹的怨气。他喝了一杯又一杯的酒,借酒浇灭烧灼他心的哀痛,还强打精神,间或也开口插上几句。米尔德丽德对自己刚才说的话感到内疚,便使出浑身解数以讨菲利普的欢心。她显得那么和颜悦色,那么含情脉脉。这倒叫菲利普责怪起自己太傻气,竟吃起醋来了。晚饭后,他们乘了辆马车上杂耍剧场,一路上,米尔德丽德还主动伸出手让他握着呢。此时,原先的那一股怨气早就飞到爪哇国去了。蓦地,不知怎地,他渐渐意识到与此同时格里菲思也握着她的另一只手。一阵痛楚再次猛烈地向心上袭来,这是一种灼人的切肤之痛。他内心惶惑不已,暗暗问自己一个以前兴许也会问的问题:米尔德丽德和格里菲思是否相互爱恋上了。他眼前仿佛飘浮着一团怀疑、忿懑、悲哀、沮丧的迷雾,台上的演出他啥也看不清,但他还是极力装出一副若无其事的样子,继续同他们俩又说又笑的。不一会儿,一种莫名其妙的要折磨自己的欲念攫住了他的心,他倏地站了起来,说他想出去喝点什么。米尔德丽德和格里菲思还不曾有机会单独相处过,他想让他们俩单独呆一会。

"我也去,"格里菲思说,"我也口渴得很。"

"喔,扯淡,你留下陪米尔德丽德说个话儿。"

菲利普自己也不知道怎么会说出这种话来的。他把他们俩撇在一边,使得内心的痛苦难以忍受。他并没有到酒吧间去,而是走上阳台,从那儿他可以监视他们而自己不被发觉。只见他们俩再也不看演出了,而是相视而笑。格里菲思还是同原来一样,眉飞色舞地侃侃而谈,而米尔德丽德则全神贯注地倾听着。菲利普只觉得头痛欲裂,一动不动地伫立在那儿。他知道自己再回去会碍事的。没有他,他们玩得很愉快,可他却备受折磨。时间飞逝而过,眼下他特别羞于再回到他们中间去。他心里明白,他们俩心目中压根儿就没他这个人。他不胜悲哀地想起今晚这顿晚饭钱以及剧场的票子还是他掏的腰包呢。他们俩把自己耍得好苦啊!他羞忿交加,不能自已。他看得出,没有他在旁边他们俩是多么的愉快。他本欲扔下他们径自回到自己的住所,但是他没拿帽子和外衣,再说自己这么一走,以后还得作没完没了的解释。他又回到自己的座位上。他发觉在米尔德丽德向自已投来的目光中隐隐流露出丝丝愠怒,他的心不由得一沉。

"你走了好一会儿了,"格里菲思说,脸上堆着次迎的微笑。

"我碰上了几位熟人,一攀谈上就难脱身。我想你们俩在一起一定很好。"

"我感到非常愉快,"格里菲思说,"就不知米尔德丽德是怎么想的。"

她发出一声短促的洋洋得意的笑声,笑声里透出丝丝俗不可耐的味儿,菲利普听了不觉为之悚然。他提议他们该回去了。

"喂,"格里菲思说,"我跟菲利普一同送你回去。"

菲利普疑心这种安排是米尔德丽德率先暗示的。这样,她可以避免由他单独送自己回去。在马车里,他没有拉她的手,而米尔德丽德也没有主动把手伸向他;可他知道她一路上却始终握着格里菲思的手。当时他最主要的想法是这一切简直鄙俗不堪。马车辚辚向前。他暗自纳闷,不知他们俩背着他作出了哪些幽会的安排,想到这儿,不禁诅咒起自己出走而给他们以可乘之机来了,事实上正是自己故意出走才促成他们这么做的。

"咱俩也乘马车回去,"当马车来到米尔德丽德的住地时,菲利普说,"我实在太累了,脚都抬不起来。"

在回他们寓所的路上,格里菲思谈笑风生,菲利普却受理不理的,态度冷淡地应答着,可格里菲思似乎毫不在乎。菲利普肚里思量,格里菲思想必注意到事有蹊跷了。最后,菲利普越来越沉默,格里菲思再也无法佯装不察了,顿时显得局促不安,戛然打住了话头。菲利普想说些什么,但又甚觉羞愧,难以启口。可是,机不可失,时不待人,最好趁此机会立刻弄清事情的真相。他硬逼着自己开了腔。

"你爱米尔德丽德吗?"他突然发问道。

"我?"格里菲思哈哈大笑,"今晚你老是阴阳怪气的,就是为了这个缘故吗?我当然不爱她,我亲爱的老兄。"

他说罢挽起菲利普的手臂,但菲利普却把身子移了开去。他心里明白,格里菲思是在撒谎。他不能强迫格里菲思告诉自己说他一直没有握米尔德丽德的手。突然间,他觉得全身瘫软,心力交瘁。

"哈利,这事对你来说无所谓,"他说道。"你已经玩了那么多女人,可千万不要把她从我身边夺走。这意味着我整个生命。我的境遇已经够惨的了。"

他的说话声也变得异样,语塞喉管,忍不住抽抽噎嘻地哭了起来。他赧颜满面,简直无地自容。

"亲爱的老伙计,我决不会干出任何伤害你的事来的,这你是知道的。我太喜欢你了,还不至于会于出那种荒唐事来。我只是逗着玩儿的。要是我早知道你为了这事会这么伤心,我早就小心行事了。"

"此话当真?"菲利普随即问道。

"她,我根本看不上眼。我以我的名誉担保。"

菲利普如释重负地叹了口气。马车戛然停在他们寓所的门前。


wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 75

Next day Philip was in a good temper. He was very anxious not to bore Mildred with too much of his society, and so had arranged that he should not see her till dinner-time. She was ready when he fetched her, and he chaffed her for her unwonted punctuality. She was wearing a new dress he had given her. He remarked on its smartness.

‘It’ll have to go back and be altered,’ she said. ‘The skirt hangs all wrong.’

‘You’ll have to make the dressmaker hurry up if you want to take it to Paris with you.’

‘It’ll be ready in time for that.’

‘Only three more whole days. We’ll go over by the eleven o’clock, shall we?’

‘If you like.’

He would have her for nearly a month entirely to himself. His eyes rested on her with hungry adoration. He was able to laugh a little at his own passion.

‘I wonder what it is I see in you,’ he smiled.

‘That’s a nice thing to say,’ she answered.

Her body was so thin that one could almost see her skeleton. Her chest was as flat as a boy’s. Her mouth, with its narrow pale lips, was ugly, and her skin was faintly green.

‘I shall give you Blaud’s Pills in quantities when we’re away,’ said Philip, laughing. ‘I’m going to bring you back fat and rosy.’

‘I don’t want to get fat,’ she said.

She did not speak of Griffiths, and presently while they were dining Philip half in malice, for he felt sure of himself and his power over her, said:

‘It seems to me you were having a great flirtation with Harry last night?’

‘I told you I was in love with him,’ she laughed.

‘I’m glad to know that he’s not in love with you.’

‘How d’you know?’

‘I asked him.’

She hesitated a moment, looking at Philip, and a curious gleam came into her eyes.

‘Would you like to read a letter I had from him this morning?’

She handed him an envelope and Philip recognised Griffiths’ bold, legible writing. There were eight pages. It was well written, frank and charming; it was the letter of a man who was used to making love to women. He told Mildred that he loved her passionately, he had fallen in love with her the first moment he saw her; he did not want to love her, for he knew how fond Philip was of her, but he could not help himself. Philip was such a dear, and he was very much ashamed of himself, but it was not his fault, he was just carried away. He paid her delightful compliments. Finally he thanked her for consenting to lunch with him next day and said he was dreadfully impatient to see her. Philip noticed that the letter was dated the night before; Griffiths must have written it after leaving Philip, and had taken the trouble to go out and post it when Philip thought he was in bed.

He read it with a sickening palpitation of his heart, but gave no outward sign of surprise. He handed it back to Mildred with a smile, calmly.

‘Did you enjoy your lunch?’

‘Rather,’ she said emphatically.

He felt that his hands were trembling, so he put them under the table.

‘You mustn’t take Griffiths too seriously. He’s just a butterfly, you know.’

She took the letter and looked at it again.

‘I can’t help it either,’ she said, in a voice which she tried to make nonchalant. ‘I don’t know what’s come over me.’

‘It’s a little awkward for me, isn’t it?’ said Philip.

She gave him a quick look.

‘You’re taking it pretty calmly, I must say.’

‘What do you expect me to do? Do you want me to tear out my hair in handfuls?’

‘I knew you’d be angry with me.’

‘The funny thing is, I’m not at all. I ought to have known this would happen. I was a fool to bring you together. I know perfectly well that he’s got every advantage over me; he’s much jollier, and he’s very handsome, he’s more amusing, he can talk to you about the things that interest you.’

‘I don’t know what you mean by that. If I’m not clever I can’t help it, but I’m not the fool you think I am, not by a long way, I can tell you. You’re a bit too superior for me, my young friend.’

‘D’you want to quarrel with me?’ he asked mildly.

‘No, but I don’t see why you should treat me as if I was I don’t know what.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just wanted to talk things over quietly. We don’t want to make a mess of them if we can help it. I saw you were attracted by him and it seemed to me very natural. The only thing that really hurts me is that he should have encouraged you. He knew how awfully keen I was on you. I think it’s rather shabby of him to have written that letter to you five minutes after he told me he didn’t care twopence about you.’

‘If you think you’re going to make me like him any the less by saying nasty things about him, you’re mistaken.’

Philip was silent for a moment. He did not know what words he could use to make her see his point of view. He wanted to speak coolly and deliberately, but he was in such a turmoil of emotion that he could not clear his thoughts.

‘It’s not worth while sacrificing everything for an infatuation that you know can’t last. After all, he doesn’t care for anyone more than ten days, and you’re rather cold; that sort of thing doesn’t mean very much to you.’

‘That’s what you think.’

She made it more difficult for him by adopting a cantankerous tone.

‘If you’re in love with him you can’t help it. I’ll just bear it as best I can. We get on very well together, you and I, and I’ve not behaved badly to you, have I? I’ve always known that you’re not in love with me, but you like me all right, and when we get over to Paris you’ll forget about Griffiths. If you make up your mind to put him out of your thoughts you won’t find it so hard as all that, and I’ve deserved that you should do something for me.’

She did not answer, and they went on eating their dinner. When the silence grew oppressive Philip began to talk of indifferent things. He pretended not to notice that Mildred was inattentive. Her answers were perfunctory, and she volunteered no remarks of her own. At last she interrupted abruptly what he was saying:

‘Philip, I’m afraid I shan’t be able to go away on Saturday. The doctor says I oughtn’t to.’

He knew this was not true, but he answered:

‘When will you be able to come away?’

She glanced at him, saw that his face was white and rigid, and looked nervously away. She was at that moment a little afraid of him.

‘I may as well tell you and have done with it, I can’t come away with you at all.’

‘I thought you were driving at that. It’s too late to change your mind now. I’ve got the tickets and everything.’

‘You said you didn’t wish me to go unless I wanted it too, and I don’t.’

‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to have any more tricks played with me. You must come.’

‘I like you very much, Philip, as a friend. But I can’t bear to think of anything else. I don’t like you that way. I couldn’t, Philip.’

‘You were quite willing to a week ago.’

‘It was different then.’

‘You hadn’t met Griffiths?’

‘You said yourself I couldn’t help it if I’m in love with him.’

Her face was set into a sulky look, and she kept her eyes fixed on her plate. Philip was white with rage. He would have liked to hit her in the face with his clenched fist, and in fancy he saw how she would look with a black eye. There were two lads of eighteen dining at a table near them, and now and then they looked at Mildred; he wondered if they envied him dining with a pretty girl; perhaps they were wishing they stood in his shoes. It was Mildred who broke the silence.

‘What’s the good of our going away together? I’d be thinking of him all the time. It wouldn’t be much fun for you.’

‘That’s my business,’ he answered.

She thought over all his reply implicated, and she reddened.

‘But that’s just beastly.’

‘What of it?’

‘I thought you were a gentleman in every sense of the word.’

‘You were mistaken.’

His reply entertained him, and he laughed as he said it.

‘For God’s sake don’t laugh,’ she cried. ‘I can’t come away with you, Philip. I’m awfully sorry. I know I haven’t behaved well to you, but one can’t force themselves.’

‘Have you forgotten that when you were in trouble I did everything for you? I planked out the money to keep you till your baby was born, I paid for your doctor and everything, I paid for you to go to Brighton, and I’m paying for the keep of your baby, I’m paying for your clothes, I’m paying for every stitch you’ve got on now.’

‘If you was a gentleman you wouldn’t throw what you’ve done for me in my face.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, shut up. What d’you suppose I care if I’m a gentleman or not? If I were a gentleman I shouldn’t waste my time with a vulgar slut like you. I don’t care a damn if you like me or not. I’m sick of being made a blasted fool of. You’re jolly well coming to Paris with me on Saturday or you can take the consequences.’

Her cheeks were red with anger, and when she answered her voice had the hard commonness which she concealed generally by a genteel enunciation.

‘I never liked you, not from the beginning, but you forced yourself on me, I always hated it when you kissed me. I wouldn’t let you touch me now not if I was starving.’

Philip tried to swallow the food on his plate, but the muscles of his throat refused to act. He gulped down something to drink and lit a cigarette. He was trembling in every part. He did not speak. He waited for her to move, but she sat in silence, staring at the white tablecloth. If they had been alone he would have flung his arms round her and kissed her passionately; he fancied the throwing back of her long white throat as he pressed upon her mouth with his lips. They passed an hour without speaking, and at last Philip thought the waiter began to stare at them curiously. He called for the bill.

‘Shall we go?’ he said then, in an even tone.

She did not reply, but gathered together her bag and her gloves. She put on her coat.

‘When are you seeing Griffiths again?’

‘Tomorrow,’ she answered indifferently.

‘You’d better talk it over with him.’

She opened her bag mechanically and saw a piece of paper in it. She took it out.

‘Here’s the bill for this dress,’ she said hesitatingly.

‘What of it?’

‘I promised I’d give her the money tomorrow.’

‘Did you?’

‘Does that mean you won’t pay for it after having told me I could get it?’

‘It does.’

‘I’ll ask Harry,’ she said, flushing quickly.

‘He’ll be glad to help you. He owes me seven pounds at the moment, and he pawned his microscope last week, because he was so broke.’

‘You needn’t think you can frighten me by that. I’m quite capable of earning my own living.’

‘It’s the best thing you can do. I don’t propose to give you a farthing more.’

She thought of her rent due on Saturday and the baby’s keep, but did not say anything. They left the restaurant, and in the street Philip asked her:

‘Shall I call a cab for you? I’m going to take a little stroll.’

‘I haven’t got any money. I had to pay a bill this afternoon.’

‘It won’t hurt you to walk. If you want to see me tomorrow I shall be in about tea-time.’

He took off his hat and sauntered away. He looked round in a moment and saw that she was standing helplessly where he had left her, looking at the traffic. He went back and with a laugh pressed a coin into her hand.

‘Here’s two bob for you to get home with.’

Before she could speak he hurried away.



第七十五章

翌日,菲利普心境颇佳。他生怕自己在米尔德丽德身边呆得太久会使她心生腻烦。因此,他决定不到吃饭时间不去找她。他去接时,见她已梳理停当,正等候着他,于是就她这次罕见的准时践约一事跟她打趣逗笑。她身上穿的是他送的新衣裙,对此,他评头品足,说这衣裙还怪俏丽的哩。

"裙子缝得不对头,"米尔德丽德却说,"还得送回去重新改。"

"如果你打算把它带到巴黎的话,那你得叫裁缝抓紧一点。"

"到时一定能改好的。"

"还只剩下三天了。我们乘十一点钟的火车去,好吗?"

"随你的便。"

当想到差不多有一个月的光景他将天天守在米尔德丽德的身旁,菲利普的两眼闪耀着贪婪而又爱恋的光芒,骨碌碌地在她身上扫个不停。对自己的这种色欲,菲利普不觉莞尔。

"我不知道看中了你身上的哪一点,"他笑吟吟地说。

"说得好!"她回了一句。

米尔德丽德瘦骨嶙峋,几乎一眼就可以看到她的骨头架子。胸脯就跟男孩一样的扁平,嘴巴因双唇狭窄、苍白而显得很丑。她的皮肤呈淡绿色。

"到了巴黎之后,我就拼命给你吃布劳氏丸,"菲利普边笑边说,"叫你回来的时候变得胖胖的,脸色像玫瑰花似的红润。"

"我可不想发胖,"她顶了一句。

吃饭的当儿,她对格里菲思只字不提,此刻,菲利普踌躇满志,深信自己能拿得住他,于是半开玩笑半正经地说:

"看来昨天晚上你同哈利着实调情了一番?"

"我告诉过你说我爱上了他嘛,"她笑哈哈地说。

"我可高兴地得知他并不爱你。"

"何以见得?"

"我亲口问过他的嘛。"

米尔德丽德犹豫了半晌,默默地注视着菲利普,蓦然间,她双眸发出一种奇异的光亮。

"你愿意看一看他今天早晨给我的信吗?"

米尔德丽德说着随手递来一只信封,菲利普一眼就认出了那信封上格里菲思的粗大、清晰的字体。这封信一共写了八张纸,写得不错,口气坦率,读来令人神魂颠倒,正是出于一个惯于寻花问柳的男人的手笔。他在信中对米尔德丽德一诉衷肠,说他狂热地爱着米尔德丽德,而且是一见钟情呢;还声称他无意这么做,因为他知道菲利普非常喜欢她,但无奈情火中烧,不能自制。想到菲利普是那么一个可爱的人儿,他为自己感到万分羞愧,但这不是他的过错,只怨自己完全为米尔德丽德所倾倒。他还用一套甜言蜜语把米尔德丽德恭维了一番。最后,他感谢米尔德丽德答应第二天同他一起就餐,并说他急不可耐地期待着同她会面。菲利普意识到此信是前一天晚上写的,一定是格里菲思在同菲利普分手以后写的,而且还在菲利普以为格里菲思已就寝的时候,不辞辛劳地跑出去把信寄走的。

看信的那一刻,他那颗心怦怦直跳,直恶心。但是他脸上丝毫没露惊讶的神色,而是面带微笑,镇定自若地把信递还给米尔德丽德。

"那顿中饭吃得香吗?"

"真带劲,"她回答时还加重了语气。

菲利普感到双手不住地颤抖,于是他把手藏到桌子下面。

"你可不要拿格里菲思当真,要知道他是个浪荡哥儿。"

米尔德丽德接过信去,又端详了一番。

"我也是没办法,"她说话时,极力装出一副若无其事的样子。"我自己也闹不清我究竟怎么啦。"

"这事叫我可伤脑筋了,不是吗?"菲利普说。

她匆匆地扫了他一眼。

"我得说,你对此事的态度倒蛮镇定沉着的呢。"

"你想叫我怎么办呢?你想叫我歇斯底里地发作一通吗?"

"我原先以为你会生我气的。"

"奇怪的是,我一点儿也不生气。我早该知道这种事情会发生的。我太傻气了,把你们两位引到一起去了。他哪一点都比我强,这我心里清楚着哪。他生性欢快,长得又很帅,还很风趣,他的谈吐,无不迎合你的旨趣。"

"我不懂你说的是什么意思。我这个人很笨,这我也没办法。不过老实告诉你,我并不像你想象的那般蠢,还不至于到那种地步呢。我的年轻的朋友,你对我也太傲慢点了吧。"

"你想同我吵架吗?"他口气温和地问道。

"没有这个意思。但是我不懂你为什么要那样对待我,就好像我啥也,不懂似的。"

"很抱歉,我可无意要触犯你,只是想心平气和地把事情说清楚。尽力想法子不要把事情搞得一团糟。我看到你被他吸引住了,这在我看来是很自然的。令人伤心的是,明知道我对你是一往情深,可他居然还怂恿你这么干。他才对我说他压根儿不爱你,可五分钟之后又写了那么一封信,这种做法在我看来也太卑鄙龌龊了。":

"你以为在我面前说他的坏话,我就不喜欢他了,那你是打错算盘了。"

菲利普沉吟良久,不知该说些什么才能使米尔德丽德明白自己的意思。他想冷静地、郑重其事地把话说清楚,但无余眼下思潮翻滚,心乱如麻,一下子还理不出个头绪来。

"为了一宗你知道不会长久的男女私情而牺牲自己的一切,那是不值得的。说到底,他同谁都处不长,十天一过就什么都不顾了,再说你生来就很冷漠。那种艳事不会给你带来多大好处的。"

"那只是你的看法。"

米尔德丽德的这种态度倒使得他一下子发不起火来。

"你爱上了他,这是没法子的事情,我只有极力忍受这个痛苦。你和我两人一向处得不错,我对你从来没有做出什么越轨的举动,对不?你并个爱我,这我肚子里一向有数,不过你还是喜欢我的。我们一同在巴黎,你自然而然就会忘掉格里菲思。只要你下决心忘掉他,你会发觉这样做并不难。你也该为我着想着想哇,这在我来说,也是理所应当的。"

米尔德丽德闷声不响。于是,他们俩默默无言地吃着饭。沉默的气氛宛如铅块似的,越压越重,令人窒息。过了一会儿,菲利普搭讪着说些鸡毛蒜皮的小事。米尔德丽德心不在焉,似听非所的样子,他只当没看见。她只是顺着菲利普的话头敷衍几句,却不主动披露自己的心迹。后来,她突然打断菲利普的话,冷冷地说:

"菲利普,星期六我恐怕不能走了,因为医生说我不该这么做。"

他心里明白这是遁词,但嘴上还是说:

"那么,你啥时候能够动身呢?"

她瞥了菲利普一眼,发觉他的脸色苍白,神情严峻,于是迅即把目光移向别处。此时,她有些惧怕菲利普。

"我还是老实告诉你吧,我根本不能跟你一块儿去。"

"我料到你有这个意思。可是,眼下改变主意已经迟了。车票已经买了,一切准备工作都就绪了。"

"你说过除非我想去巴黎,否则你不会勉强我的,而现在我就是不想去嘛。"

"我已经改变主意了。我不打算再同自己开什么玩笑了。你一定得跟我走。"

"菲利普,作为一个朋友,我一向很喜欢你。朋友就是朋友,旁的我想都不忍去想。我也不希望你存有别的什么念头。巴黎之行,我是不能奉陪的了,菲利普。"

"可是一个礼拜前你还是很愿意去的嘛。"

"那时情况不同。"

"就因为那时你还没有碰上格里菲思?"

"你亲口说过要是我爱上了格里菲思,这也是没有办法的事情嘛。"

她的脸倏忽板了起来,两眼直直地盯视着面前的菜碟于。菲利普气得脸色发白。他真想用拳头对准她的脸给她一家伙,脑海里浮现出被打得鼻青眼肿的模样来。邻近的一张餐桌旁坐着两个十八岁的小伙子,他们不时地转眼凝视米尔德丽德。他暗自思忖,他们是否羡慕他同一位妩媚的少女在一起用餐,说不定他们还在想取他而代之呢。最后还是米尔德丽德开腔打破了这难堪的沉寂。

"咱俩一块儿出去会有什么好结果呢?就是去了,我还会无时无刻不想念他的。这样不会给你带来多少乐趣的。"

"那是我的事,"他接口答道。

米尔德丽德细细玩味着他的答话的弦外之音,不觉双颊绯红。

"但是这也太卑鄙了。"

"此话怎讲?"

"我原以为你是个真正的绅士呐。"

"那你看错人了。"

他觉得他的回答妙极了,所以他一边说着,一边还哈哈大笑哩。

"看在老天爷的份上,别笑啦!"她大声地嚷道。"菲利普,我不能陪你去。实在对不起。我知道我一向待你不好,但是一个人总不能强迫自去做自己不愿做的事儿呀!"

"你落难的时候,啥都是我给你张罗的,难道这一切你都忘了不成?你生孩子之前的一切费用都是我开支的。你看医生以及其他一切费用。都是我付的。你上布赖顿的车票、旅费也都是我提供的。眼下我还在'你付孩子的寄养费,给你买衣服,你身上穿的哪一块布不是我买的呢?"

"如果你是绅士的话,你就决不会把你为我所做的一切在我面前拦落炫耀。"

"哦,老天爷,闭上你那张臭嘴吧!你以为我还在乎我是否是个绅士吗?要是我是个绅士,我就决不会在像你这样的俗不可耐的荡妇身上浪费时间了。你喜欢不喜欢我,我毫不在乎!我心里腌(月赞)透了,被人当该死的傻瓜一样地耍。你星期六高高兴兴地来跟我一块去巴黎,要不然你吃不了兜了走。"

她胸中的怒火把两颊烧得通红,在回敬菲利普的当儿,也跟平常人一样硬邦邦的,可平时她却总是温文尔雅的。

"我从来就不喜欢你,打咱俩开始认识时我就不喜欢你,都是你强加给我的。你每次吻我,我都恨你。从现在起,不准你碰我一个指头,就是我饿死,也不准你碰。"

菲利普试图把自己面前的盘子里的食物一口吞下去,但喉咙的肌肉就是不听使唤。他把酒一饮而尽,随即点了支烟。他全身在不住地颤抖。他一声不吭,默默地等待着她起立,但是她却像尊泥塑木雕似的坐着不动,两眼目不转睛地望着雪白的台布。要是这时就只有他们两人的话,他就会一把把她搂在自己的怀里,在她脸上狂吻;他想象起当他把自己的嘴唇紧紧贴住她的嘴唇时她仰起那雪白纤细的颈子的情景来了。他们俩就这样无言以对过了个把钟头,最后菲利普感到那侍者渐渐用一种诧异的目光凝睇着他们俩,于是便叫侍者来结帐。

"咱们走吧?"接着他心平气和地说。

米尔德丽德虽没有吭声,但伸手拿起了手提包和手套,并穿上外套。

"下次你什么时候同格里菲思见面?"

"明天,"她冷淡地答道。

"你最好把此事跟他聊聊。"

米尔德丽德下意识地打开手提包,目光触到包里的一片纸。她随即把它掏了出来。

"这就是我身上穿的这件外套的帐单,"她吞吞吐吐地说。

"怎么回事?"

"我答应明天付钱的。"

"是吗?"

"这件衣服是你同意我买的。你刚才的意思是不是说你不打算付钱了?"

"是这个意思。"

"那我去叫哈利付。"她说话时,脸颊红了一下。

"他很乐意帮助你。眼下他还欠我七个英镑,上周他还把显微镜送进了当铺,因为他穷得精光。"

"你不要以为拿这个就可以吓唬我。我完全能够自己去挣钱养活自己,"

"那再好也没有了。我可不打算再在你身上花一个子儿了。"

她又想起了星期六该付的房租和孩子的领养费的事儿来,但没有吱声。他们俩走出餐馆,来到街上。菲利普问她道:

"我给你叫辆马车来好吗?我准备散一会儿步。"

"我连一个子儿也没有,可下午还得付一笔帐。"

"你自己走回去也伤不了你的身体。明天你想见我的话,大约用茶点的时候我在家。"

他向米尔德丽德脱帽致意,随即信步向前走去。片刻后,他掉头朝身后望了望,只见米尔德丽德立在原地未动,神情沮丧地望着街上来往的车辆。他返身折了回来,一边嘻嘻笑着,一边把一枚硬币塞在米尔德丽德的手里。

"唔,两个先令,够你付马车费的。"

米尔德丽德还没有来得及开口说话,他便匆匆走开了。

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 76

Next day, in the afternoon, Philip sat in his room and wondered whether Mildred would come. He had slept badly. He had spent the morning in the club of the Medical School, reading one newspaper after another. It was the vacation and few students he knew were in London, but he found one or two people to talk to, he played a game of chess, and so wore out the tedious hours. After luncheon he felt so tired, his head was aching so, that he went back to his lodgings and lay down; he tried to read a novel. He had not seen Griffiths. He was not in when Philip returned the night before; he heard him come back, but he did not as usual look into Philip’s room to see if he was asleep; and in the morning Philip heard him go out early. It was clear that he wanted to avoid him. Suddenly there was a light tap at his door. Philip sprang to his feet and opened it. Mildred stood on the threshold. She did not move.

‘Come in,’ said Philip.

He closed the door after her. She sat down. She hesitated to begin.

‘Thank you for giving me that two shillings last night,’ she said.

‘Oh, that’s all right.’

She gave him a faint smile. It reminded Philip of the timid, ingratiating look of a puppy that has been beaten for naughtiness and wants to reconcile himself with his master.

‘I’ve been lunching with Harry,’ she said.

‘Have you?’

‘If you still want me to go away with you on Saturday, Philip, I’ll come.’

A quick thrill of triumph shot through his heart, but it was a sensation that only lasted an instant; it was followed by a suspicion.

‘Because of the money?’ he asked.

‘Partly,’ she answered simply. ‘Harry can’t do anything. He owes five weeks here, and he owes you seven pounds, and his tailor’s pressing him for money. He’d pawn anything he could, but he’s pawned everything already. I had a job to put the woman off about my new dress, and on Saturday there’s the book at my lodgings, and I can’t get work in five minutes. It always means waiting some little time till there’s a vacancy.’

She said all this in an even, querulous tone, as though she were recounting the injustices of fate, which had to be borne as part of the natural order of things. Philip did not answer. He knew what she told him well enough.

‘You said partly,’ he observed at last.

‘Well, Harry says you’ve been a brick to both of us. You’ve been a real good friend to him, he says, and you’ve done for me what p’raps no other man would have done. We must do the straight thing, he says. And he said what you said about him, that he’s fickle by nature, he’s not like you, and I should be a fool to throw you away for him. He won’t last and you will, he says so himself.’

‘D’you WANT to come away with me?’ asked Philip.

‘I don’t mind.’

He looked at her, and the corners of his mouth turned down in an expression of misery. He had triumphed indeed, and he was going to have his way. He gave a little laugh of derision at his own humiliation. She looked at him quickly, but did not speak.

‘I’ve looked forward with all my soul to going away with you, and I thought at last, after all that wretchedness, I was going to be happy...’

He did not finish what he was going to say. And then on a sudden, without warning, Mildred broke into a storm of tears. She was sitting in the chair in which Norah had sat and wept, and like her she hid her face on the back of it, towards the side where there was a little bump formed by the sagging in the middle, where the head had rested.

‘I’m not lucky with women,’ thought Philip.

Her thin body was shaken with sobs. Philip had never seen a woman cry with such an utter abandonment. It was horribly painful, and his heart was torn. Without realising what he did, he went up to her and put his arms round her; she did not resist, but in her wretchedness surrendered herself to his comforting. He whispered to her little words of solace. He scarcely knew what he was saying, he bent over her and kissed her repeatedly.

‘Are you awfully unhappy?’ he said at last.

‘I wish I was dead,’ she moaned. ‘I wish I’d died when the baby come.’

Her hat was in her way, and Philip took it off for her. He placed her head more comfortably in the chair, and then he went and sat down at the table and looked at her.

‘It is awful, love, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Fancy anyone wanting to be in love.’

Presently the violence of her sobbing diminished and she sat in the chair, exhausted, with her head thrown back and her arms hanging by her side. She had the grotesque look of one of those painters’ dummies used to hang draperies on.

‘I didn’t know you loved him so much as all that,’ said Philip.

He understood Griffiths’ love well enough, for he put himself in Griffiths’ place and saw with his eyes, touched with his hands; he was able to think himself in Griffiths’ body, and he kissed her with his lips, smiled at her with his smiling blue eyes. It was her emotion that surprised him. He had never thought her capable of passion, and this was passion: there was no mistaking it. Something seemed to give way in his heart; it really felt to him as though something were breaking, and he felt strangely weak.

‘I don’t want to make you unhappy. You needn’t come away with me if you don’t want to. I’ll give you the money all the same.’

She shook her head.

‘No, I said I’d come, and I’ll come.’

‘What’s the good, if you’re sick with love for him?’

‘Yes, that’s the word. I’m sick with love. I know it won’t last, just as well as he does, but just now...’

She paused and shut her eyes as though she were going to faint. A strange idea came to Philip, and he spoke it as it came, without stopping to think it out.

‘Why don’t you go away with him?’

‘How can I? You know we haven’t got the money.’

‘I’ll give you the money"

‘You?’

She sat up and looked at him. Her eyes began to shine, and the colour came into her cheeks.

‘Perhaps the best thing would be to get it over, and then you’d come back to me.’

Now that he had made the suggestion he was sick with anguish, and yet the torture of it gave him a strange, subtle sensation. She stared at him with open eyes.

‘Oh, how could we, on your money? Harry wouldn’t think of it.’

‘Oh yes, he would, if you persuaded him.’

Her objections made him insist, and yet he wanted her with all his heart to refuse vehemently.

‘I’ll give you a fiver, and you can go away from Saturday to Monday. You could easily do that. On Monday he’s going home till he takes up his appointment at the North London.’

‘Oh, Philip, do you mean that?’ she cried, clasping her hands. ‘if you could only let us go—I would love you so much afterwards, I’d do anything for you. I’m sure I shall get over it if you’ll only do that. Would you really give us the money?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

She was entirely changed now. She began to laugh. He could see that she was insanely happy. She got up and knelt down by Philip’s side, taking his hands.

‘You are a brick, Philip. You’re the best fellow I’ve ever known. Won’t you be angry with me afterwards?’

He shook his head, smiling, but with what agony in his heart!

‘May I go and tell Harry now? And can I say to him that you don’t mind? He won’t consent unless you promise it doesn’t matter. Oh, you don’t know how I love him! And afterwards I’ll do anything you like. I’ll come over to Paris with you or anywhere on Monday.’

She got up and put on her hat.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m going to ask him if he’ll take me.’

‘Already?’

‘D’you want me to stay? I’ll stay if you like.’

She sat down, but he gave a little laugh.

‘No, it doesn’t matter, you’d better go at once. There’s only one thing: I can’t bear to see Griffiths just now, it would hurt me too awfully. Say I have no ill-feeling towards him or anything like that, but ask him to keep out of my way.’

‘All right.’ She sprang up and put on her gloves. ‘I’ll let you know what he says.’

‘You’d better dine with me tonight.’

‘Very well.’

She put up her face for him to kiss her, and when he pressed his lips to hers she threw her arms round his neck.

‘You are a darling, Philip.’

She sent him a note a couple of hours later to say that she had a headache and could not dine with him. Philip had almost expected it. He knew that she was dining with Griffiths. He was horribly jealous, but the sudden passion which had seized the pair of them seemed like something that had come from the outside, as though a god had visited them with it, and he felt himself helpless. It seemed so natural that they should love one another. He saw all the advantages that Griffiths had over himself and confessed that in Mildred’s place he would have done as Mildred did. What hurt him most was Griffiths’ treachery; they had been such good friends, and Griffiths knew how passionately devoted he was to Mildred: he might have spared him.

He did not see Mildred again till Friday; he was sick for a sight of her by then; but when she came and he realised that he had gone out of her thoughts entirely, for they were engrossed in Griffiths, he suddenly hated her. He saw now why she and Griffiths loved one another, Griffiths was stupid, oh so stupid! he had known that all along, but had shut his eyes to it, stupid and empty-headed: that charm of his concealed an utter selfishness; he was willing to sacrifice anyone to his appetites. And how inane was the life he led, lounging about bars and drinking in music halls, wandering from one light amour to another! He never read a book, he was blind to everything that was not frivolous and vulgar; he had never a thought that was fine: the word most common on his lips was smart; that was his highest praise for man or woman. Smart! It was no wonder he pleased Mildred. They suited one another.

Philip talked to Mildred of things that mattered to neither of them. He knew she wanted to speak of Griffiths, but he gave her no opportunity. He did not refer to the fact that two evenings before she had put off dining with him on a trivial excuse. He was casual with her, trying to make her think he was suddenly grown indifferent; and he exercised peculiar skill in saying little things which he knew would wound her; but which were so indefinite, so delicately cruel, that she could not take exception to them. At last she got up.

‘I think I must be going off now,’ she said.

‘I daresay you’ve got a lot to do,’ he answered.

She held out her hand, he took it, said good-bye, and opened the door for her. He knew what she wanted to speak about, and he knew also that his cold, ironical air intimidated her. Often his shyness made him seem so frigid that unintentionally he frightened people, and, having discovered this, he was able when occasion arose to assume the same manner.

‘You haven’t forgotten what you promised?’ she said at last, as he held open the door.

‘What is that?’

‘About the money"

‘How much d’you want?’

He spoke with an icy deliberation which made his words peculiarly offensive. Mildred flushed. He knew she hated him at that moment, and he wondered at the self-control by which she prevented herself from flying out at him. He wanted to make her suffer.

‘There’s the dress and the book tomorrow. That’s all. Harry won’t come, so we shan’t want money for that.’

Philip’s heart gave a great thud against his ribs, and he let the door handle go. The door swung to.

‘Why not?’

‘He says we couldn’t, not on your money.’

A devil seized Philip, a devil of self-torture which was always lurking within him, and, though with all his soul he wished that Griffiths and Mildred should not go away together, he could not help himself; he set himself to persuade Griffiths through her.

‘I don’t see why not, if I’m willing,’ he said.

‘That’s what I told him.’

‘I should have thought if he really wanted to go he wouldn’t hesitate.’

‘Oh, it’s not that, he wants to all right. He’d go at once if he had the money.’

‘If he’s squeamish about it I’ll give YOU the money.’

‘I said you’d lend it if he liked, and we’d pay it back as soon as we could.’

‘It’s rather a change for you going on your knees to get a man to take you away for a week-end.’

‘It is rather, isn’t it?’ she said, with a shameless little laugh. It sent a cold shudder down Philip’s spine.

‘What are you going to do then?’ he asked.

‘Nothing. He’s going home tomorrow. He must.’

That would be Philip’s salvation. With Griffiths out of the way he could get Mildred back. She knew no one in London, she would be thrown on to his society, and when they were alone together he could soon make her forget this infatuation. If he said nothing more he was safe. But he had a fiendish desire to break down their scruples, he wanted to know how abominably they could behave towards him; if he tempted them a little more they would yield, and he took a fierce joy at the thought of their dishonour. Though every word he spoke tortured him, he found in the torture a horrible delight.

‘It looks as if it were now or never.’

‘That’s what I told him,’ she said.

There was a passionate note in her voice which struck Philip. He was biting his nails in his nervousness.

‘Where were you thinking of going?’

‘Oh, to Oxford. He was at the ‘Varsity there, you know. He said he’d show me the colleges.’

Philip remembered that once he had suggested going to Oxford for the day, and she had expressed firmly the boredom she felt at the thought of sights.

‘And it looks as if you’d have fine weather. It ought to be very jolly there just now.’

‘I’ve done all I could to persuade him.’

‘Why don’t you have another try?’

‘Shall I say you want us to go?’

‘I don’t think you must go as far as that,’ said Philip.

She paused for a minute or two, looking at him. Philip forced himself to look at her in a friendly way. He hated her, he despised her, he loved her with all his heart.

‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll go and see if he can’t arrange it. And then, if he says yes, I’ll come and fetch the money tomorrow. When shall you be in?’

‘I’ll come back here after luncheon and wait.’

‘All right.’

‘I’ll give you the money for your dress and your room now.’

He went to his desk and took out what money he had. The dress was six guineas; there was besides her rent and her food, and the baby’s keep for a week. He gave her eight pounds ten.

‘Thanks very much,’ she said.

She left him.



第七十六章

第二天晌午,菲利普坐在卧室里,暗自思量着不知米尔德丽德是否会来。头一天夜里,他睡得很不好。这天上午,他在医学院俱乐部浏览了一张又一张的报纸,借以消磨时光。学校放假了,他所熟识的学生很少有在伦敦的,不过他还是找到了一两个人聊个天儿,还下了盘棋,就这样打发了那令人沉闷的时光。中饭后,他感觉疲惫不堪,头痛欲裂,于是回到自己的寓所后,便一头倒在床上捧了本小说看着。他一直没有见着格里菲思。前天夜里菲利普回来时他不在家。后来听到他回来了,却没见着,他没跟往常那样窥视菲利普的房间,看他是否已入睡。到了早晨,又听到他老早就跑了出去。很明显,格里菲思是想避免同他照面。蓦地,耳边传来一下轻轻的叩门声,菲利普一骨碌从床上跃了下来,一瘸一拐地跑去开门,只见米尔德丽德一动不动地站在门边。

"进来呀,"菲利普说。

他在她身后把门闭上。米尔德丽德一屁股坐了下来。她迟疑了一下才开腔说话。

"谢谢你昨晚给了我两个先令,"她说。

"喔,快别谢了。"

她对菲利普报以淡淡的一笑。这使得菲利普想起了一条狗因淘气挨打后,为讨主人的欢心,脸上露出一种胆怯、奉承的表情来。

"我和哈利在一起吃中饭来着,"她说。

"是吗?"

"菲利普,如果你还要我星期六陪你一起去巴黎的话,我准备陪你去。"

一种胜利的狂喜似闪电般地向他心口袭来,不过这种情感瞬息即逝,随后心中升起了一团疑云。

"是为了钱吗?"他问道。

"有一半是这个原因,"她坦率地说。"哈利无能为力。他欠了这儿五个月的房租,还欠你七个英镑,而裁缝又一直钉住他要工钱。他能当的东西都要当,可是他把什么东西都当掉了。为了要把那个做我这件衣服的女裁缝打发掉,我就够操心的了,可这星期六房租又到期了。五分钟之内我又找不到工作,总是要等一段时间才能等到个空缺。"

她是操一种平和的却是抱怨的口吻说这番话的,仿佛她这是在数说命运的种种不合理,虽说不合理,却是与生俱来,不得不逆来顺受似的。菲利普听后没有吭声,不过对她说这番话的用心却洞若观火。

"你的话只说了一半,"最后他说。

"嗯,哈利说你待我们俩一向很好。他说,在他心目中,你是他真正的好朋友,而你为我所做的一切,恐怕世上没有第二个男人会像你这样的了。他说我们做人要正直老实。正如你说他的那样,他也说自己不像你,他生性用情不专,还说我要是为了他而抛弃你,那是十分愚蠢的行为。他的感情是不会持久的,而你会。他自己常常这么说。"

"你想跟我一块儿去巴黎吗?"菲利普问道。

"我不反对。"

他凝视着米尔德丽德,嘴角向下弯曲着,透出丝丝凄苦的神情。他确实大获全胜,而且自己的夙愿即将得偿。他不禁哈哈一笑,嘲笑起自己蒙受的耻辱。米尔德丽德飞快地瞥了他一眼,但没有作声。

"我殷切地期待着咱俩一块儿去巴黎一游,我曾想过,经过了那么多的痛苦的折磨,我终于得到了幸福……"

但他并没有能够说完他想说的心里话。突然,米尔德丽德事先毫无迹象地哇的一声哭开了,顿时泪如泉涌。她坐的那张椅子,诺拉也曾坐在那几嘤嘤抽泣过。同诺拉一样,米尔德丽德把脸搁在椅子的靠背上。靠背中央凹陷,两边微微隆起,她就把头部靠在椅子中央的凹陷处。

"我同女人打交道总是不走运,"菲利普思忖着。

她那瘦骨嶙峋的身子随着一吸一顿的抽泣而不住地起伏着。菲利普从来还没有见过一个女人如此自暴自弃地恸哭过。蓦地,一阵悸怕紧紧抓住了他的心,撕裂着他的心。他不知不觉地移步来到米尔德丽德的跟前,伸出双臂抱着她。米尔德丽德丝毫不作反抗,在这悲恸欲绝的时刻,她任其爱抚自己。菲利普在她耳边说了几句安慰的体己话,究竟说了些什么,连他自己也不甚了了。他随即弯下身子,在她脸上不住地吻着。

"你很难过吗?"他最后问了这么一句。

"我巴不得自己死去,"她神情凄怆地叹道,"但愿我分娩时死了就好了。"

她头上还戴着帽子,有些儿碍事,于是菲利普帮她取了下来。他把她的头放在椅子更舒适的部位,然后走过去坐在桌子边,目不转睛地望着她。

"亲爱的,事情糟透了,是不?"菲利普说,"真想不到任何人都需要爱呀!"

不一会儿,米尔德丽德渐渐止住了抽泣,精疲力竭地瘫在椅子里,头往后仰着,两臂无力地垂在两旁,模样古怪,活像画家勾画的用来展示眼、饰的橱窗模特儿。

"我可不知道你爱他爱得这么深啊,"菲利普又说。

菲利普把自己放在格里菲思的位置上,用他那样的眼睛去看人,用他那双手去抚摩;他可以设想格里菲思的躯体就是自己的躯体,用他那张嘴同米尔德丽德接吻,用他那双充满笑意的眼睛朝着她微笑。因此,菲利普完全理解格里菲思的爱恋之情。使他惊异的倒是米尔德丽德的感情。他可从来没想到她也会感情冲动,而这次是确确实实的,毫无疑问是感情冲动。他内心有某种东西消失了,他痛切地感到了这一点,仿佛什么东西崩坍了一般。他只觉得自己莫名其妙地虚弱不堪。

"我并不想使你伤心。如果你不想跟我一块去,那就别去了。不管去还是不去,我都给你钱。"

她摇摇头说:

"不能这样。我说过我要跟你去,那我就一定去。"

"假如你一心依恋着他,就是去了又有什么好处?"

"是的,你说得很对。我确实是一心依恋着他。同格里菲思一样,我也知道这种感情长久不了,不过眼下……"

她不再往下说,一下合上了双眼,像是要晕过去似的。一个奇怪的念头闪现在菲利普的脑海里,他不假思索地脱口而出:

"为什么你不跟他一道走呢?"

"那怎么成呢?你知道我们俩没钱呀。"

"钱,我给!"

"你?!"

她霍地坐直身子,盯视着菲利普。那对眸子渐渐发亮,双颊也渐渐红润起来。

"看来最好的办法还是你出去度过这段时间,然后再到我的身边来。"

由于提了这么个建议,他顿觉不胜恨恨。然而,这种痛苦的折磨却给他带来了一种奇怪的、难以捉摸的情感。米尔德丽德圆睁着双眼凝视着他。

"喔,我们怎么好用你的钱呢?哈利决不会同意的。"

"啊,你去劝他,他是会同意的。"

她的反对反倒使他更加坚持自己的意见,然而他打心眼里希望米尔德丽德能断然拒绝这个建议。

"我给你五英镑,这样你可以在外地从这周星期六呆到下星期一。这点钱足够了。到了星期一,他就要回家乡,一直呆到他回伦敦北部上任为止。"

"哦,菲利普,这是真的吗?"她不由得嚷了起来,还拍着手。"只要你让我跟他一块走,以后我一定会深深地爱你的,为了你,我做什么都心甘情愿。只要你真的这样做了,我肯定能克服这个感情上的危机。你真的愿意给我们钱吗?"

"真的,"他答道。

此时,米尔德丽德变得判若两人,嘴一咧便哈哈笑了起来。看得出她感到欣喜若狂。米尔德丽德离开椅子,跪在菲利普的身旁,紧紧地拉住他的手。

"你真好,菲利普。你是我见过的最好的人儿。以后你会不会生我的气呀?"

菲利普微笑着摇了摇头,可他内心却承受着多么巨大的痛苦啊!

"我现在可以去告诉哈利吗?我可以对他说你不介意吗?除非你说没关系,要不然他是不会同意的。喔,你不知道我有多爱他!以后你要我怎么样我就怎么样。星期一我就回来同你一起去巴黎,去哪儿都可以。"

她站了起来,并戴上了帽子。

"你上哪?"

"我去问问他是否愿意带我一起走。"

"那么急呀?"

"你要我留在这儿吗?你要我留下来我就不走。"

她一屁股坐了下来,但是菲利普却格格一笑。

"不,没关系,你还是去吧。不过有件事得说清楚:眼下我不愿见到格里菲思,见到他太使我伤心了。去告诉他,说我菲利普对他不怀敌意,也没有别的什么不好的看法,但是请他离我远一点。"

"好吧,"她从椅子里一跃而起,迅即戴上手套,"我会把他的话传给你的"

"你今晚最好来跟我一道吃晚饭。"

"那敢情好。"

她仰起脸等他吻她,当菲利普的嘴唇贴近她的嘴唇时,她伸出双臂勾住他的脖子。

"你真是个可爱的人儿,菲利普。"

两三个小时以后,她差人给他送来了便条,说她头痛不能践约同他一同进餐。菲利普几乎料到她会来这么一着的。他知道她是在同格里菲思一道吃饭。他妒火中烧,但是那种迷住了他们俩心窍的突如其来的勃勃情欲,像是从天外飞来似的,仿佛是天神赋予他们的一般,他深感自己无能为力,也无可奈何。他们相爱是非常自然的。他看到了格里菲思胜过自己的种种长处,并承认如果自己处在米尔德丽德的位置,也会干出米尔德丽德所干的事情来的。最使他伤心的是格里菲思的背信弃义的行为。他们一直是情意那么深厚的好朋友,而且格里菲思分明知道他对米尔德丽德是多么的一往情深。格里菲思应该对他高抬贵手嘛。

星期五以前他一直没有见到米尔德丽德,不过他也讨厌见到她。但是当她出现在他面前时,他知道自己在米尔德丽德的心目中没有丝毫的地位,因为他们两人都心心念念想着格里菲思。陡然间,他对她耿耿于怀。现在他明白了她和格里菲思相爱的原因了。格里菲思此人很蠢,喔,简直愚蠢至极!这一点他一向都知道,不过是视而不见罢了。格里菲思既愚蠢又浮躁。他身上的那种魅力恰恰掩盖了他那颗极端自私的心,为了满足自己的私欲,他任何人都可以出卖。他过的生活是多么的贫乏空虚,整天价不是在酒吧间游荡,就是在杂耍剧场里酗酒,再不就是到处眠花宿柳,闹出一桩桩桃色事件!他历来不读书,除了声色犬马,啥也不懂。他没转过一个好念头:最常挂在嘴边的字眼儿是"漂亮"。这是他送给一个男人或女人的最高的赞美词。漂亮!无怪乎他能讨米尔德丽德的欢心,他们这是同声相应,同气相求。

菲利普对米尔德丽德说些无关紧要的琐事。他知道米尔德丽德想讲讲格里菲思的事儿,但是他不给她置喙的机会。他避而不谈两天前的晚上她用一个小小的借口拒绝同他一道吃晚饭的事儿。他漫不经心的,试图使她相信他突然变得对什么都满不在乎。他练就一种唠叨小事的特殊本领,专聊些他知道能刺痛她心的琐碎小事。他的话是绵里藏针,说得又很圆滑,叫她听了有苦说不出。最后,她霍地站了起来。

"我想我该走了,"她说。

"你还挺忙的哩!"他回敬了一句。

她伸出了手,菲利普与她握别,并为她打开了房门。他知道她想要讲的事儿,同时也知道他冷冰冰的、冷嘲热讽的神气吓得她不敢启口。他的羞怯常常使他显得态度冷漠,无形之中使人们见了他都退避三舍。他发现了这一点之后,便一有机会就装出这种样子去对付别人。

"你总不会忘记你的许诺吧!"他扶着房门的当儿,米尔德丽德说。

"什么许诺?"

"钱呀。"

"要多少?"

他说话的口气冷淡、审慎,使得他的话显得特别的戳心。米尔德丽德的脸红了。他心里明白现在米尔德丽德恨死他了,对米尔德丽德克制的自己不发脾气的毅力,菲利普感到不胜惊讶。他要让她吃些苦头。

"明天要付衣服钱和房租。就这些了。哈利不走了,所以我们也不需要那笔钱了。"

菲利普的心咯瞪一下,手松开了,房门又砰然闭上了。

"怎么不走呀?"

"他说我们没钱,也不能用你的钱。"

一个魔鬼抓住了菲利普的心,这是一种潜伏在他体内的自己折磨自己的魔鬼。虽说他满心希望格里菲思和米尔德丽德不要双双出走,但是他也无计可施。他让自己通过米尔德丽德去劝说格里菲思。

"只要我愿意,我不懂为什么不能去,"他说。

"我对他就是这么说的嘛。"

"我本该想到,假如他真的想走,他是不会犹豫的。"

"喔,不是那么回事,他一直想走。要是手头有钱,他立刻就走。"

"如果他过于拘谨的话,那我就把钱给你。"

"我说过,如果他愿意,这笔钱就算是你借给我们的,我们一旦手头宽裕,便立即如数奉还。"

"这样一来,跟你跪在一个男人面前乞求他带你去度周末,多少有些儿不同。"

"多少有些儿不同,是这样吗?"说罢,她厚颜无耻地格格一笑。"

这笑声使得菲利普直打冷颤。;

"那你打算干什么?"他问道。

"不干什么。他明天回家去。他一定得走。"

这下菲利普可得救了。格里菲思不在眼前,他就可以使米尔德丽德重新回到自己的身边。她在伦敦一个熟人也没有,只得同他厮守在一。只要他们单独在一起,他就能够使她很快忘却这段风流艳事。要是他就此作罢,不再多言,倒什么事也没有。然而他有着一种强烈的欲念,想要打消他们的顾忌,他倒要看看他们对待他究竟会可恶到什么地步。只要他略施小技稍稍引诱他们一下,他们就会向自己屈服,于是他一想到他们俩卑躬屈膝、低三下四的丑态,心里就激荡起一种按捺不住的喜悦。虽说他每吐一个字,内心犹如针戳般地难受,但他发觉这痛苦里面自有无穷的乐趣。

"看来,事情到了此时不干更待何时的地步罗。"

"我对他正是这么说的,"她说。

她的讲话带着情绪亢奋的调子,菲利普听后不由得一怔。他局促不安地咬着手指甲。

"你们想上哪儿呢?"

"喔,上牛津去。他曾在那儿上过大学,这你是知道的。他说带我去参观校园呐。"

菲利普记起有一次他曾经提议他们俩一块儿去牛津玩上一天,可她断然拒绝,说什么一想到那儿的景致,她就感到兴味索然。

"看来你们会遇上好天气的。那里现在该是好玩的时候。"

"为了说服他去那儿,我嘴皮都磨破了。"

"你不好再试一试吗?"

"你是否还想让我们走呀?"

"我想你们不必跑那么远嘛,"菲利普说。

她顿了一两秒钟,两眼直勾勾地望着菲利普,而菲利普竭力装作友好地转眸凝视她。他恨她,鄙视她,但是又诚心诚意地爱着她。

"我把我的打算告诉你,我准备去找他,看他能否为之作出安排。要是他同意了,我明天就来你这儿取钱。明天你什么时候在家?"

"我一吃过中饭就回来等你。"

"好的。"

"现在我就给你钱去付衣服钱和房租。"

他走到书桌跟前,拿出他手头所有的现钱。那件衣裙要付六畿尼,此外,还有她的房租、饭钱和孩子的领养费。他一共给了她八英镑十先令。

"太谢谢你了,"她说。

米尔德丽德说罢转身走了。

wj宝宝

ZxID:11619415


等级: 内阁元老
青春又回来了嘛(*^▽^*)
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chapter 77

After lunching in the basement of the Medical School Philip went back to his rooms. It was Saturday afternoon, and the landlady was cleaning the stairs.

‘Is Mr. Griffiths in?’ he asked.

‘No, sir. He went away this morning, soon after you went out.’

‘Isn’t he coming back?’

‘I don’t think so, sir. He’s taken his luggage.’

Philip wondered what this could mean. He took a book and began to read. It was Burton’s Journey to Meccah, which he had just got out of the Westminster Public Library; and he read the first page, but could make no sense of it, for his mind was elsewhere; he was listening all the time for a ring at the bell. He dared not hope that Griffiths had gone away already, without Mildred, to his home in Cumberland. Mildred would be coming presently for the money. He set his teeth and read on; he tried desperately to concentrate his attention; the sentences etched themselves in his brain by the force of his effort, but they were distorted by the agony he was enduring. He wished with all his heart that he had not made the horrible proposition to give them money; but now that he had made it he lacked the strength to go back on it, not on Mildred’s account, but on his own. There was a morbid obstinacy in him which forced him to do the thing he had determined. He discovered that the three pages he had read had made no impression on him at all; and he went back and started from the beginning: he found himself reading one sentence over and over again; and now it weaved itself in with his thoughts, horribly, like some formula in a nightmare. One thing he could do was to go out and keep away till midnight; they could not go then; and he saw them calling at the house every hour to ask if he was in. He enjoyed the thought of their disappointment. He repeated that sentence to himself mechanically. But he could not do that. Let them come and take the money, and he would know then to what depths of infamy it was possible for men to descend. He could not read any more now. He simply could not see the words. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, and, numb with misery, waited for Mildred.

The landlady came in.

‘Will you see Mrs. Miller, sir?’

‘Show her in.’

Philip pulled himself together to receive her without any sign of what he was feeling. He had an impulse to throw himself on his knees and seize her hands and beg her not to go; but he knew there was no way of moving her; she would tell Griffiths what he had said and how he acted. He was ashamed.

‘Well, how about the little jaunt?’ he said gaily.

‘We’re going. Harry’s outside. I told him you didn’t want to see him, so he’s kept out of your way. But he wants to know if he can come in just for a minute to say good-bye to you.’

‘No, I won’t see him,’ said Philip.

He could see she did not care if he saw Griffiths or not. Now that she was there he wanted her to go quickly.

‘Look here, here’s the fiver. I’d like you to go now.’

She took it and thanked him. She turned to leave the room.

‘When are you coming back?’ he asked.

‘Oh, on Monday. Harry must go home then.’

He knew what he was going to say was humiliating, but he was broken down with jealousy and desire.

‘Then I shall see you, shan’t I?’

He could not help the note of appeal in his voice.

‘Of course. I’ll let you know the moment I’m back.’

He shook hands with her. Through the curtains he watched her jump into a four-wheeler that stood at the door. It rolled away. Then he threw himself on his bed and hid his face in his hands. He felt tears coming to his eyes, and he was angry with himself; he clenched his hands and screwed up his body to prevent them; but he could not; and great painful sobs were forced from him.

He got up at last, exhausted and ashamed, and washed his face. He mixed himself a strong whiskey and soda. It made him feel a little better. Then he caught sight of the tickets to Paris, which were on the chimney-piece, and, seizing them, with an impulse of rage he flung them in the fire. He knew he could have got the money back on them, but it relieved him to destroy them. Then he went out in search of someone to be with. The club was empty. He felt he would go mad unless he found someone to talk to; but Lawson was abroad; he went on to Hayward’s rooms: the maid who opened the door told him that he had gone down to Brighton for the week-end. Then Philip went to a gallery and found it was just closing. He did not know what to do. He was distracted. And he thought of Griffiths and Mildred going to Oxford, sitting opposite one another in the train, happy. He went back to his rooms, but they filled him with horror, he had been so wretched in them; he tried once more to read Burton’s book, but, as he read, he told himself again and again what a fool he had been; it was he who had made the suggestion that they should go away, he had offered the money, he had forced it upon them; he might have known what would happen when he introduced Griffiths to Mildred; his own vehement passion was enough to arouse the other’s desire. By this time they had reached Oxford. They would put up in one of the lodging-houses in John Street; Philip had never been to Oxford, but Griffiths had talked to him about it so much that he knew exactly where they would go; and they would dine at the Clarendon: Griffiths had been in the habit of dining there when he went on the spree. Philip got himself something to eat in a restaurant near Charing Cross; he had made up his mind to go to a play, and afterwards he fought his way into the pit of a theatre at which one of Oscar Wilde’s pieces was being performed. He wondered if Mildred and Griffiths would go to a play that evening: they must kill the evening somehow; they were too stupid, both of them to content themselves with conversation: he got a fierce delight in reminding himself of the vulgarity of their minds which suited them so exactly to one another. He watched the play with an abstracted mind, trying to give himself gaiety by drinking whiskey in each interval; he was unused to alcohol, and it affected him quickly, but his drunkenness was savage and morose. When the play was over he had another drink. He could not go to bed, he knew he would not sleep, and he dreaded the pictures which his vivid imagination would place before him. He tried not to think of them. He knew he had drunk too much. Now he was seized with a desire to do horrible, sordid things; he wanted to roll himself in gutters; his whole being yearned for beastliness; he wanted to grovel.

He walked up Piccadilly, dragging his club-foot, sombrely drunk, with rage and misery clawing at his heart. He was stopped by a painted harlot, who put her hand on his arm; he pushed her violently away with brutal words. He walked on a few steps and then stopped. She would do as well as another. He was sorry he had spoken so roughly to her. He went up to her.

‘I say,’ he began.

‘Go to hell,’ she said.

Philip laughed.

‘I merely wanted to ask if you’d do me the honour of supping with me tonight.’

She looked at him with amazement, and hesitated for a while. She saw he was drunk.

‘I don’t mind.’

He was amused that she should use a phrase he had heard so often on Mildred’s lips. He took her to one of the restaurants he had been in the habit of going to with Mildred. He noticed as they walked along that she looked down at his limb.

‘I’ve got a club-foot,’ he said. ‘Have you any objection?’

‘You are a cure,’ she laughed.

When he got home his bones were aching, and in his head there was a hammering that made him nearly scream. He took another whiskey and soda to steady himself, and going to bed sank into a dreamless sleep till mid-day.



第七十七章

午时分,房东太太正在打扫楼梯。

"格里菲思先生在吗?"菲利普间房东太太。

"不在,先生。今天早上你走后不久他也走了。"

"他还回来吗?"

"我想不会回来了,先生。他把行李都搬走了。"

菲利普猜不透格里菲思那样做究竟是什么意思。他信手捧起一本书,读了起来。这是他刚从威斯敏斯特公共图书馆借来的伯顿著的《麦加之行》。第一贞读完了,他却不知所云,因为他的心思根本不在书上,而一直竖起两耳,悉心谛听着是否有人来拉门铃。他不敢存有这样的奢望:格里菲思会把米尔德丽德留在伦敦而独自回坎伯兰省亲。等了不一会儿,米尔德丽德就会来找他要钱的。他硬着头皮继续读着,竭力把注意力集中到书上去。这么一来,书上的句子倒是看进脑子里去了,可是郁结在心头的痛苦使得他曲解了这些句子的确切含义。他满心希望自己当初不提那个由自己掏腰包资助他们旅行的馊主意就好了,但是,一言既出,他又没有勇气收回。这倒不是为了米尔德丽德,而是为了他自己。他身匕有股病态的执拗劲儿,驱使着他去做他下决心要做的事。他发现读了三页书,但脑子里依然空空如也,压根儿没留下一点印象。于是,他把书又翻了过去,重新从头读起。他发觉自己翻来覆去地老是看着同一个句于,蓦地,书上的句子同自己的思绪交织在一起,犹如恶梦中一幅森然可怖的图案。有一件事是他能够做到的,即离汗这儿躲到外面去,子夜过后再回来。这样,格里菲思和米尔德丽德就走不成咯。他仿佛看到他们俩每过一个小时就跑来探问一次,问房东太太他是否在家。想到他们俩扫兴失望的样儿,他心里头喜滋滋的,兴奋之余,不觉有意识地又把书上的那个句子重念了一遍。然而,他可不能做那种事。让他们来拿钱吧!那样的话,他就可以知道人们可能寡廉鲜耻到何种地步。此时他再无心读下去了,书上的字简直看不清。他倒在椅子里,紧闭着双眼,呆板的神情里透出丝丝凄苦。他在等待着米尔德丽德的到来。

房东太太悄然走进房来问道:

"先生,你见不见米勒太太?"

"叫她进来。"

菲利普打起精神,不动声色地接待了米尔德丽德。他一时情不自禁地想拜倒在她脚下,抓起她的双手,乞求她不要离他而去,但是他知道此时没有什么东西讨以打动她的心。她会把他说的话和他的一举一动都告诉给格里菲思。他感觉羞愧不已。

"你们的远足准备得怎样了?"他乐呵呵地问道。

"我们马上就走。哈利就在门外。我告诉他你不愿见他,所以他就不进来了。不过他还是想知道,他是否可以进来呆上一分钟,跟你说声再见。"

"不行,我不想见到他,"菲利普回了一句。

他看得出米尔德丽德根本不在乎他见不见格里菲思。她既来了,他想趁早把她打发走。

"喏,这是张五镑的钞票。我希望你马上就离开这儿。"

她接过钞票,道了声谢,随即转过身去,脚步咚咚地离开房问。

"你哪天回来?"他问道。

"嗯,星期一就回来,因为那大哈利一定得回家去。"

他知道他想要说的话难免出乖露丑,有损自己的体面。但是无奈胸中情火和妒火中烧,灼灼逼人,他也顾不上体面不体面了,便脱口说了出来:

"到那大我可以不可以去看你?"

他一时不能自已,说话时还是夹带着哀求的调于。

"当然可以罗。我一回到伦敦就同你联系。"

两人握手道别后,菲利普隔着窗帘眼巴巴地望着米尔德丽德跃入停在门口的四轮出租马车。马车磷磷地走远了。此时,他颓然倒在床上,双手掩面,不觉热泪盈眶。对此,他自己生起自己的气来了。他用双手紧紧扭住向己的身子,竭力不让自己掉泪,但没能忍住,他不住地啜泣,哭得好不伤心。

菲利普顿觉周身瘫软无力,内心羞愧不已。他还是从床上爬了起来,跑去洗了把脸,还为自己调制了一杯浓烈的威士忌掺和苏打水的饮料。喝过后,他觉得稍微好受一些。蓦然间,他瞥见了搁在壁炉上面的去巴黎的两张车票,一时火冒三丈,便一把抓起车票,把它们扔进了炉火。他知道把票退了自己还可得笔钱,但是只有把它们烧了才解心头之恨。接着,他离开寓所,外出找个人在一起说个话儿,以排遣内心的愁闷。但是,学校俱乐部里空无一人。他感到百无聊赖,要不找个人说个话儿,自己准会发疯。但是劳森还在国外。他信步来到海沃德的住处,那个应声出来开门的女仆告诉他,说海沃德已上布赖顿度周末去了。然后菲利普来到一家美术馆,可真不凑巧,这家美术馆又刚刚闭馆。这下他变得心烦意乱,真不知做什么是好。他不禁想起格里菲思和米尔德丽德来了:这时他们俩正在去牛津的路上,面对面地坐在车厢里,心里乐开了花。他又回到自己的住所,但这里的一切使他心里充满了恐怖,因为就是在这个鬼地方,近来他接二连三地遭受到莫大的不幸。他力图再次捧起那本伯顿爵士写的书。但是,他一面读着书,一面心里不断地嘀咕着,说自己是个彻头彻尾的大傻瓜,因为正是他让他们结伴外出旅行的,主动给他们提供盘资,而且还是强塞给他们的呢。当初,在把格里菲思介绍给米尔德丽德认识的时候,他完全可以预料到事情的后果,因为他自己满腔按捺不住的激情足以勾起另一位的勃勃欲念。此时,他们恐已抵达牛津了,或许就住在约翰街上的一家食宿公寓里。菲利普至今还没到过牛津。可格里菲思却经常在他面前谈起这个地方,他完全知道他们俩会上哪儿观光游玩。他们吃饭可以上克拉伦敦餐馆:每当要寻欢作乐,格里菲思总是上这家餐馆。菲利普就在查里恩十字广场附近一家饭馆里胡乱吃了点东西。因为他早下定决心要去看场歌剧,所以一吃完饭,便奋力穿过拥挤不堪的人群,来到剧院的正厅后座。剧院正上演奥斯卡·王尔德的一出戏。他暗自纳闷,这晚米尔德丽德和格里菲思他们俩是否也会去逛戏院,不管怎么说,他们总得想法于打发时光呀。他们是一对蠢货,都满足于在一起磨牙扯淡。他回想起他们俩旨趣鄙俗下流,真是天造地设的一对,这时,他心里有一种说不出的高兴。他心猿意马地看着演出,每一幕之间都要喝上几口威士忌,以提高一下自己的情趣。他不习惯喝烈性酒,不一会儿,酒力发作,直冲脑门,而且他越喝心里越烦躁、郁闷。演出结束时,他又喝了一杯。他不能上床睡觉,自己心里也明白就是上了床也睡不着,他就是害怕看到由于自己想象力活跃而浮现在自己眼前的种种画面。他竭力克制自己,不去想格里菲思和米尔德丽德。他知道自己酒喝得太多了。眼下,一种跃跃欲试做件可怕的、卑鄙下流事儿的欲念攫住了他的心。他想喝它个酷配大醉。他浑身兽欲勃发,急煎煎地想发泄一通。他真想趴倒在地上。

他拖曳着那条瘸腿,朝皮卡迪利大街踉跄走去。他醉醺醺的,心里悲愤交集,犹如猫爪抓心似的难受。蓦地,一个脸上涂满脂粉的妓女挡住了他,并用手挽起了他的胳膊。他嘴里骂骂咧咧的,用力推开那个妓女。他朝前挪了几步,随即又打住脚步,心想她跟旁的什么女人还不一样嘛。他为自己刚才言语粗鲁而感到内疚。于是他又走到她的面前。

"嘿,"他开腔打着招呼。

"见鬼去吧,"她回敬了一句。

菲利普听罢哈哈大笑。

"我是想问问你今晚能否赏个脸儿,陪我去喝杯茶。"

那个妓女饶有兴趣地打量着菲利普,心里踌躇着,好一会儿没有讲话。她发觉菲利普喝醉了。

"我不反对。"

这句话他从米尔德丽德嘴里听到过不知多少次了,这个妓女居然也这样说话,菲利普直觉得诧异。他把妓女带上一家饭馆,这是他同米尔德丽德常常光顾的地方。在走路的当儿,菲利普发觉她老是目光朝下瞅着他的腿。

"我有条腿是瘸的,"他说,"你有意见吗?"

"你这个人真怪,"她笑着说。

他回到自己的住所时,浑身骨头疼痛不已,脑壳里像是有把榔头不住地敲打着,痛得他几乎要惊呼救命。他又喝了杯威士忌加苏打水,镇定一下自己的情绪,然后爬上床去。不一会儿,便酣然人睡,直到次日中午才醒。


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