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| Chapter 20 The End of the Middle Ages | The Miss Alans did go to Greece, but they went by themselves. They alone of this little company will double Malea and plough the waters of the Saronic gulf. They alone will visit Athens and Delphi, and either shrine of intellectual song--that upon the Acropolis, encircled by blue seas; that under Parnassus, where the eagles build and the bronze charioteer drives undismayed towards infinity. Trembling, anxious, cumbered with much digestive bread, they did proceed to Constantinople, they did go round the world. The rest of us must be contented with a fair, but a less arduous, goal. Italiam petimus: we return to the Pension Bertolini.
George said it was his old room.
"No, it isn't," said Lucy; "because it is the room I had, and I had your father's room. I forget why; Charlotte made me, for some reason."
He knelt on the tiled floor, and laid his face in her lap.
"George, you baby, get up."
"Why shouldn't I be a baby?" murmured George.
Unable to answer this question, she put down his sock, which she was trying to mend, and gazed out through the window. It was evening and again the spring.
"Oh, bother Charlotte," she said thoughtfully. "What can such people be made of?"
"Same stuff as parsons are made of."
"Nonsense!"
"Quite right. It is nonsense."
"Now you get up off the cold floor, or you'll be starting rheumatism next, and you stop laughing and being so silly."
"Why shouldn't I laugh?" he asked, pinning her with his elbows, and advancing his face to hers. "What's there to cry at? Kiss me here." He indicated the spot where a kiss would be welcome.
He was a boy after all. When it came to the point, it was she who remembered the past, she into whose soul the iron had entered, she who knew whose room this had been last year. It endeared him to her strangely that he should be sometimes wrong.
"Any letters?" he asked.
"Just a line from Freddy."
"Now kiss me here; then here."
Then, threatened again with rheumatism, he strolled to the window, opened it (as the English will), and leant out. There was the parapet, there the river, there to the left the beginnings of the hills. The cab-driver, who at once saluted him with the hiss of a serpent, might be that very Phaethon who had set this happiness in motion twelve months ago. A passion of gratitude-- all feelings grow to passions in the South--came over the husband, and he blessed the people and the things who had taken so much trouble about a young fool. He had helped himself, it is true, but how stupidly!
All the fighting that mattered had been done by others--by Italy, by his father, by his wife.
"Lucy, you come and look at the cypresses; and the church, whatever its name is, still shows."
"San Miniato. I'll just finish your sock."
"Signorino, domani faremo uno giro," called the cabman, with engaging certainty.
George told him that he was mistaken; they had no money to throw away on driving.
And the people who had not meant to help--the Miss Lavishes, the Cecils, the Miss Bartletts! Ever prone to magnify Fate, George counted up the forces that had swept him into this contentment.
"Anything good in Freddy's letter?"
"Not yet."
His own content was absolute, but hers held bitterness: the Honeychurches had not forgiven them; they were disgusted at her past hypocrisy; she had alienated Windy Corner, perhaps for ever.
"What does he say?"
"Silly boy! He thinks he's being dignified. He knew we should go off in the spring--he has known it for six months--that if mother wouldn't give her consent we should take the thing into our own hands. They had fair warning, and now he calls it an elopement. Ridiculous boy--"
"Signorino, domani faremo uno giro--"
"But it will all come right in the end. He has to build us both up from the beginning again. I wish, though, that Cecil had not turned so cynical about women. He has, for the second time, quite altered. Why will men have theories about women? I haven't any about men. I wish, too, that Mr. Beebe--"
"You may well wish that."
"He will never forgive us--I mean, he will never be interested in us again. I wish that he did not influence them so much at Windy Corner. I wish he hadn't-- But if we act the truth, the people who really love us are sure to come back to us in the long run."
"Perhaps." Then he said more gently: "Well, I acted the truth-- the only thing I did do--and you came back to me. So possibly you know." He turned back into the room. "Nonsense with that sock." He carried her to the window, so that she, too, saw all the view. They sank upon their knees, invisible from the road, they hoped, and began to whisper one another's names. Ah! it was worth while; it was the great joy that they had expected, and countless little joys of which they had never dreamt. They were silent.
"Signorino, domani faremo--"
"Oh, bother that man!"
But Lucy remembered the vendor of photographs and said, "No, don't be rude to him." Then with a catching of her breath, she murmured: "Mr. Eager and Charlotte, dreadful frozen Charlotte. How cruel she would be to a man like that!"
"Look at the lights going over the bridge."
"But this room reminds me of Charlotte. How horrible to grow old in Charlotte's way! To think that evening at the rectory that she shouldn't have heard your father was in the house. For she would have stopped me going in, and he was the only person alive who could have made me see sense. You couldn't have made me. When I am very happy"--she kissed him--"I remember on how little it all hangs. If Charlotte had only known, she would have stopped me going in, and I should have gone to silly Greece, and become different for ever."
"But she did know," said George; "she did see my father, surely. He said so."
"Oh, no, she didn't see him. She was upstairs with old Mrs. Beebe, don't you remember, and then went straight to the church. She said so."
George was obstinate again. "My father," said he, "saw her, and I prefer his word. He was dozing by the study fire, and he opened his eyes, and there was Miss Bartlett. A few minutes before you came in. She was turning to go as he woke up. He didn't speak to her."
Then they spoke of other things--the desultory talk of those who have been fighting to reach one another, and whose reward is to rest quietly in each other's arms. It was long ere they returned to Miss Bartlett, but when they did her behaviour seemed more interesting. George, who disliked any darkness, said: "It's clear that she knew. Then, why did she risk the meeting? She knew he was there, and yet she went to church."
They tried to piece the thing together.
As they talked, an incredible solution came into Lucy's mind. She rejected it, and said: "How like Charlotte to undo her work by a feeble muddle at the last moment." But something in the dying evening, in the roar of the river, in their very embrace warned them that her words fell short of life, and George whispered: "Or did she mean it?"
"Mean what?"
"Signorino, domani faremo uno giro--"
Lucy bent forward and said with gentleness: "Lascia, prego, lascia. Siamo sposati."
"Scusi tanto, signora," he replied in tones as gentle and whipped up his horse.
"Buona sera--e grazie."
"Niente."
The cabman drove away singing.
"Mean what, George?"
He whispered: "Is it this? Is this possible? I'll put a marvel to you. That your cousin has always hoped. That from the very first moment we met, she hoped, far down in her mind, that we should be like this--of course, very far down. That she fought us on the surface, and yet she hoped. I can't explain her any other way. Can you? Look how she kept me alive in you all the summer; how she gave you no peace; how month after month she became more eccentric and unreliable. The sight of us haunted her--or she couldn't have described us as she did to her friend. There are details--it burnt. I read the book afterwards. She is not frozen, Lucy, she is not withered up all through. She tore us apart twice, but in the rectory that evening she was given one more chance to make us happy. We can never make friends with her or thank her. But I do believe that, far down in her heart, far below all speech and behaviour, she is glad."
"It is impossible," murmured Lucy, and then, remembering the experiences of her own heart, she said: "No--it is just possible."
Youth enwrapped them; the song of Phaethon announced passion requited, love attained. But they were conscious of a love more mysterious than this. The song died away; they heard the river, bearing down the snows of winter into the Mediterranean. | 中文：
两位艾伦小姐确实去了希腊，不过她们是自己去的。这支小小队伍中只有她们两人将绕过马利埃（译注：马利埃，指马利埃海角，在希腊南部伯罗奔尼撤半岛的东南端），在萨罗尼克湾（译注：萨罗尼克湾，在希腊东南部，雅典城即位于该湾的北端）的波涛中航行。只有她们两人将游览雅典与特尔斐，以及两座智慧之歌的神庙中的一座——一座建筑在雅典卫城（译注：指智慧女神雅典娜的神庙）上，被蔚蓝的海所包围；另一座在帕纳塞斯山下，（译注：指希腊中部帕纳塞斯山下的太阳神阿波罗与文艺女神们的灵地的遗址，那里有一个战士驾着战车的青铜雕像）苍鹰在那里筑巢，青铜战士毫不气馁地驾着青铜战车向无限的空间驰去。两位小姐颤颤巍巍地、心情迫切地携带着数量可观的易消化面包，确实去了君士坦丁堡，她们确实周游了世界。至于我们其他人士则必须对一个美好而不那么费力到达的目标表示满意。我们到意大利去；我们回到了贝尔托利尼公寓。
乔治说这间屋子就是他住过的老房间。
“不，不是的，”露西说，“因为这一间是我住过的，而我住的是仂；爸爸的房间。我忘记是什么缘故了；反正是夏绿蒂为了某种原因让我住这一间。”
他在砖地上跪下，把脸埋在她的裙兜里。
“乔治，小宝贝，快起来。”
“我为什么不该是个小宝贝呢？”乔治喃喃地说。
她无法回答这个问题，便把手中正在替他补的袜子放下，向窗外望去。那时是傍晚，又是春天了。
“唉，又是夏绿蒂，真讨厌，”她说，显出沉思的样子。“真不知道这种人是用什么材料做成的？”
“和做成牧师的材料一样。”
“胡扯！”
“说得很对。是胡扯。”
“快从冰冷的地板上起来，不然你接下去就要患风湿病了，而且不要再笑，也不要这么傻呵呵的。”
“我为什么不该笑？”他问，用双肘夹住她，使她不能动弹，接着把脸凑到她的脸前。“有什么好嚷嚷的？吻我这里。”他示意希望她吻他的地方。
他毕竟是个孩子。到了关键时刻，是她想起了过去，是她经受了巨大的痛苦，是她最清楚去年谁住这间房间。他有时候也会弄错，说也奇怪，这使得她更加钟爱他了。
“有信吗？”他问。
“弗雷迪来了一封短信。”
“现在吻我这里；然后这里。”
他再度被警告可能会生风湿病，于是他走到窗前，把窗户打开（英国人总是会这样做的），将头探出窗外。前面就是护墙，就是那条河，左边便是一重重山峦的开端部分。马车夫立即发出蛇一般的嘶嘶声，同他打招呼，这位车夫很可能就是一年前促使这幸福之轮开始转动的那个法厄同。一股感激的热情——在南方，一切感情都发展为热情——在那位丈夫的心里油然而生。他为所有为了一个年轻的傻瓜耗费这么多心血的人和物祝福。他确曾自告奋勇，可是做得多么愚蠢啊！真正重要的战斗都是由别人——意大利、他父亲、他妻子——来完成的。
“露西，你来看那些柏树；还看得见那教堂呢！别管它叫什么名字。”
“它叫圣米尼亚托。我快把你的袜子补好了。”
“先生，我们明天去兜风吧（译注：意大利马车夫说的这句话和后面露西与他的对话原文都是意大利语），”车夫大声说，语气既肯定，又动人。
乔治对他说他打错了算盘；他们不想把钱浪费在兜风上。
还有那些原来并不打算帮助他们的人——拉维希小姐们、塞西尔们、巴特利特小姐们！乔治一向容易夸大命运的作用-这时便统计起把他卷进目前这种心满意足境遇的各种势力来。
“弗雷迪信里有什么好消息吗？”
“还没有看到。”
他感到绝对满意，露西的满意中却包含着苦涩：霍尼彻奇母子还没有原谅他俩；他们十分憎恨她过去的虚伪；她和风角产生了隔阂，这种隔阂也许永远无法消除。
“他写了些什么？”
“这个傻小子！他自以为显得满崇高呢。他明知道我们要在春天出游——他已经知道有半年了——他知道如果妈妈不同意，我们也会自作主张的。其实他们得到了足够的暗示，可是现在他却把它称做私奔。这孩子太荒唐了——”
“先生，我们明天去兜风——”
“不过最后一切都会好的。他必须重新从头提高我们俩的声誉。不过我真希望塞西尔对女人的态度没有变得这样玩世不恭。这是他的第二次改变，变化相当大。男人为什么对女人要有成套的看法呢？我对男人就没有。我也希望毕比先生——”
“你完全有理由提出那样的希望。”
“他永远也不会原谅我们——我是说，他再也不会关心我们了。要是他在风角对他们没有那么大的影响就好了。要是他过去没有就好了——不过只要我们是按真情行动的，那么真正爱我们的人最终一定会回到我们身边来的。”
“也许是这样。”接着他更加温柔地说：“哦，我当初就是按真情行动的——这是我真正做到的唯一的事情——所以你回到我的身边来了。因此，你可能懂得这些事。”他转身回到房间里来。“别摆弄那只袜子啦。”他把她抱到窗前，这样她也看到了全部景色。他们跪了下来，为的是不让路人看见他们，彼此轻轻地呼唤对方的名字。啊！真是值得；这是他们所盼望的巨大欢乐，也是他们从来没有梦想得到的无数点点滴滴的欢乐。他们保持着沉默。
“先生，我们明天去一”
“唉，那个人真讨厌！”
可是露西想起了那个出售画片的小贩，便说，“不，不要对他这样不客气。”然后她屏住了呼吸，喃喃道：“伊格先生和夏绿蒂，那可怕的已经僵化了的夏绿蒂！她对这种人会是非常冷酷的！”
“看那照在桥上的一路灯光。”
“可是这间房间使我想起夏绿蒂来。像她那样活到老是多么可怕呀！想想在教区长家里的那个晚上，她居然没有听见你爸爸也在屋子里。要不然她就会不让我进去的，而他正是活着的唯一能使我明白事理的人。这一点你就做不到。我感到非常幸福的时候”——她吻他——“我没有忘记这一切来得好险呀！要是夏绿蒂知道了，她就会不让我进去，我就会冲到希腊那个鬼地方去了，我的一生就此完全不一样了。”
“可是她明明知道，”乔治说，“她肯定看见我爸爸的。他是这样说的。”
“啊，不，她没有看见他。你不记得她在楼上和毕比老太太在一起吗？后来就直接到教堂去了。她是这样说的。”
乔治又一次固执己见。他说，“我爸爸看见她的，而我宁可相信他的话。他坐在书房里炉火旁打瞌睡，睁开眼睛时，看见巴特利特小姐站在那里。这一切发生在你进来前的几分钟。他醒来时，她正转身离开。他没有同她讲话。”
接着他们谈起其他事情——说到哪里是哪里，就像那些经过了苦战才能得到对方的人那样，而他们的报酬是静静地靠在彼此的怀抱里。过了好些时候，他们才回到巴特利特小姐这个话题，但他们谈论她的时候，她的行为似乎比刚才更使人感兴趣了。乔治这个人不喜欢任何隐晦，他说：“事情明摆着她是知道的。那么她为什么冒这个风险让你们俩见面呢？她明知道他在里面，然而她却去了教堂。”
他们尽力拼凑情况来搞清全部事实。
他们讲着讲着，露西的脑海里闪过一个令人难以置信的解答。她拒绝接受它，说：“夏绿蒂就是这个样子，最后思想稍微有点混乱，便功亏一篑。”可是在行将消逝的暮色、滔滔的河水、他们的拥抱中，都似乎有一种声音在告诫他们她说的话缺乏活力，于是乔治低声说道：“或许是她故意这样的？”
“故意怎么样？”
“先生，我们明天去兜风——”
露西俯身向前，柔声说道：“走开，请走开吧。我们已经成家了。”
“真对不起，太太，”他同样柔声地回答，一面挥鞭抽打马匹。
“谢谢你——晚安。”
“不用谢。”
马夫唱着歌驱车而去。
“乔治，故意怎么样？”
他低声说：“难道真是这样？这可能吗？我给你看一个奇迹。你的表姐一直盼望着。从我们最初会面的那一刻起，她在脑海的深处就盼望我们会成为这样——当然，是非常深的深处。她表面上同我们作对，可是她是这样盼望的。如果不是这样，我就无法解释她的行动了。你能解释吗？请看整个夏天她是怎样使我活在你的心里的；她使你心神不定；一个月一个月过去，她变得愈来愈怪癖，愈来愈不可靠。我们的形象萦绕着她——不然她不可能把我们向她的朋友作那样一番描述的。有一些细节——十分炽热。我后来读了那本书。她没有僵化，露西，她并没有全部枯萎，她拆散我们两次，可是那天晚上在教区长家里，她又一次获得使我们幸福的机会。我们永远也不可能和她交朋友或向她道谢。不过我确信在她心灵的深处，在她所有的言辞和行为的后面，她是高兴的。”
“这不可能，”露西喃喃地说，接着记起了她自己心灵的体验，说道：“不——这完全是可能的。”
青春笼罩着他们；法厄同的那首歌宣告热情获得了回报，爱情也已得到。然而他们感受到一种比这个更为神秘的爱情。歌声渐渐消失；他们听到了水声滔滔，河水把冬天的积雪冲进了地中海。
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