《莫瑞斯》 Maurice【中英对照】完结_派派后花园

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[Novel] 《莫瑞斯》 Maurice【中英对照】完结

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木有有木

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Chapter 20
Clive got through his bar exams successfully, but just before he was called he had a slight touch of influ-enza with fever. Maurice came to see him as he was recovering, caught it, and went to bed himself. Thus they saw little of one another for several weeks, and when they did meet Clive was still white and nervy. He came down to the Halls', preferring their house to Pippa's, and hoping that the good food and quiet would set him up. He ate little, and when he spoke his theme was the futility of all things.
"I'm a barrister because I may enter public life," he said in reply to a question of Ada's. "But why should I enter public life? Who wants me?"
"Your mother says the county does."
"If the county wants anyone it wants a Radical. But I've talked to more people than my mother, and they're weary of us leisured classes coasting round in motor-cars and asking for something to do. All this solemn to and fro between great houses —it's a game without gaiety. You don't find it played outside England. (Maurice, I'm going to Greece.) No one wants us, or anything except a comfortable home."
"But to give a comfortable home's what public life is," shrilled Kitty.
"Is, or ought to be?"
"Well, it's all the same."
"Is and ought to be are not the same," said her mother, proud of grasping the distinction. "You ought to be not interrupting Mr Durham, whereas you—"
"—is," supplied Ada, and the family laugh made Clive jump.
"We are and we ought to be," concluded Mrs Hall. "Very dif-ferent."
"Not always," contradicted Clive.
"Not always, remember that, Kitty," she echoed, vaguely ad-monitory: on other occasions he had not minded her. Kitty cried back to her first assertion. Ada was saying anything, Maurice nothing. He was eating away placidly, too used to such table talk to see that it worried his friend. Between the courses he told an anecdote. All were silent to listen to him. He spoke slowly, stupidly, without attending to his words or taking the trouble to be interesting. Suddenly Clive cut in with "I say— I'm going to faint," and fell off his chair.
"Get a pillow, Kitty: Ada, eau de cologne," said their brother. He loosened Clive's collar. "Mother, fan him; no; fan him . . ."
"Silly it is," murmured Clive.
As he spoke, Maurice kissed him.
"I'm all right now."
The girls and a servant came running in.
"I can walk," he said, the colour returning to his face.
"Certainly not," cried Mrs Hall. "Maurice'U carry you—Mr Durham, put your arms round Maurice."
"Come along, old man. The doctor: somebody telephone." He picked up his friend, who was so weak that he began to cry.
"Maurice—I'm a fool."
"Be a fool," said Maurice, and carried him upstairs, undressed him, and put him to bed. Mrs Hall knocked, and going out to her he said quickly, "Mother, you needn't tell the others I kissed Durham."
"Oh, certainly not."
"He wouldn't like it. I was rather upset and did it without thinking. As you know, we are great friends, relations almost."
It sufficed. She liked to have little secrets with her son; it re-minded her of the time when she had been so much to him. Ada joined them with a hot water bottle, which he took in to the patient.
"The doctor'll see me like this," Clive sobbed.
"I hope he will."
"Why?"
Maurice lit a cigarette, and sat on the edge of the bed. "We want him to see you at your worst. Why did Pippa let you travel?"
"I was supposed to be well."
"Hell take you."
"Can we come in?" called Ada through the door.
"No. Send the doctor alone."
"He's here," cried Kitty in the distance. A man, little older than themselves, was announced.
"Hullo, Jowitt," said Maurice, rising. "Just cure me this chap. He's had influenza, and is supposed to be well. Result he's fainted, and can't stop crying."
"We know all about that," remarked Mr Jowitt, and stuck a thermometer into Clive's mouth. "Been working hard?"
"Yes, and now wants to go to Greece."
"So he shall. You clear out now. I'll see you downstairs."
Maurice obeyed, convinced that Clive was seriously ill. Jowitt followed in about ten minutes, and told Mrs Hall it was nothing much—a bad relapse. He wrote prescriptions, and said he would send in a nurse. Maurice followed him into the garden, and, laying a hand on his arm, said, "Now tell me how ill he is. This isn't a relapse. It's something more. Please tell me the truth."
"He'sall right," said the other; somewhat annoyed, for he
piqued himself on telling the truth. "I thought you realized that. He's stopped the hysteria and is getting off to sleep. It's just an ordinary relapse. He will have to be more careful this time than the other, that's all."
"And how long will these ordinary relapses, as you call them, go on? At any moment may he have this appalling pain?"
"He's only a bit uncomfortable—caught a chill in the car, he thinks."
"Jowitt, you don't tell me. A grown man doesn't cry, unless he's gone pretty far."
"That is only the weakness."
"Oh, give it your own name," said Maurice, removing his hand. "Besides, I'm keeping you."
"Not a bit, my young friend, I'm here to answer any difficul-ties."
"Well, if it's so slight, why are you sending in a nurse?"
"To amuse him. I understand he's well off."
"And can't we amuse him?"
"No, because of the infection. You were there when I told your mother none of you ought to go into the room."
"I thought you meant my sisters."
"You equally—more, for you've already caught it from him once."
"I won't have a nurse."
"Mrs Hall has telephoned to the Institute."
"Why is everything done in such a damned hurry?" said Maurice, raising his voice. "I shall nurse him myself."
"Have you wheeling the baby next."
"I beg your pardon?"
Jowitt went off laughing.
In tones that admitted no argument Maurice told his mother he should sleep in the patient's room. He would not have a bed
taken in, lest Clive woke up, but lay down on the floor with his head on a foot-stool, and read by the rays of a candle lamp. Before long Clive stirred and said feebly, "Oh damnation, oh damnation."
"Want anything?" Maurice called.
"My inside's all wrong."
Maurice lifted him out of bed and put him on the night stool. When relief had come he lifted him back.
"I can walk: you mustn't do this sort of thing."
"You'd do it for me."
He carried the stool down the passage and cleaned it. Now that Clive was undignified and weak, he loved him as never before.
"You mustn't," repeated Clive, when he came back. "It's too filthy."
"Doesn't worry me," said Maurice, lying down. "Get off to sleep again."
"The doctor told me he'd send a nurse."
"What do you want with a nurse? It's only a touch of diar-rhoea. You can keep on all night as far as I'm concerned. Hon-estly it doesn't worry me—I don't say this to please you. It just doesn't."
"I can't possibly—your office—"
"Look here, Clive, would you rather have a trained nurse or me? One's coming tonight, but I left word she was to be sent away again, because I'd rather chuck the office and look after you myself, and thought you'd rather."
Clive was silent so long that Maurice thought him asleep. At last he sighed, "I suppose I'd better have the nurse."
"Right: she will make you more comfortable than I can. Per-haps you're right."
Clive made no reply.
Ada had volunteered to sit up in the room below, and, accord-ing to arrangement, Maurice tapped three times, and while waiting for her studied Clive's blurred and sweaty face. It was useless the doctor talking: his friend was in agony. He longed to embrace him, but remembered this had brought on the hys-teria, and besides, Clive was restrained, fastidious almost. As Ada did not come he went downstairs, and found that she had fallen asleep. She lay, the picture of health, in a big leather chair, with her hands dropped on either side and her feet stretched out. Her bosom rose and fell, her heavy black hair served as a cushion to her face, and between her lips he saw teeth and a scarlet tongue. "Wake up," he cried irritably.
Ada woke.
"How do you expect to hear the front door when the nurse comes?"
"How is poor Mr Durham?"
"Very ill; dangerously ill."
"Oh Maurice! Maurice!"
"The nurse is to stop. I called you, but you never came. Go off to bed now, as you can't even help that much."
"Mother said I must sit up, because the nurse mustn't be let in by a man—it wouldn't look well."
"I can't think how you have time to think of such rubbish," said Maurice.
"We must keep the house a good name."
He was silent, then laughed in the way the girls disliked. At the bottom of their hearts they disliked him entirely, but were too confused mentally to know this. His laugh was the only grievance they avowed.
"Nurses are not nice. No nice girl would be a nurse. If they are you may be sure they do not come from nice homes, or they would stop at home."
"Ada, how long were you at school?" asked her brother, as he helped himself to a drink.
"I call going to school stopping at home."
He set down his glass with a clank, and left her. Clive's eyes were open, but he did not speak or seem to know that Maurice had returned, nor did the coming of the nurse arouse him.
克莱夫顺利地通过了出庭辩护律师的考试，然而在取得资格之前，患了轻微的流行性感冒，发起烧来。进入恢复期后，莫瑞斯去探望他时被传染上了，也卧病在床。这样一来，他们二人几个星期没怎么见面。后来好不容易见到了，克莱夫依然脸色苍白，神经紧张。跟皮帕家相比，他更喜欢霍尔家，所以前来小住，希望合口味的食品与安宁会使自己康复。他吃得很少，三句话不离“干什么都是白搭”。
“我做一名出庭辩护律师，为的是将来可能当政治家。”他这么回答艾达向他提的问题。“然而，我当政治家干吗？谁要我呢？”
“你母亲说，全郡居民要你。”
“全郡居民所要的是个激进党派成员。比起我母亲来，我跟更多的人谈过话。他们对咱们闲居阶级已经不感兴趣了。咱们坐着汽车去转悠，找事做。装腔作势地在各座大宅门之间串来串去，玩的是一场没有欢乐的游戏。除了在英国，没有人这么玩。（莫瑞斯，我要到希腊去。）谁都不需要我们，他们所需要的只是个舒适的家庭而已。”
“但是，政治家正在提供舒适的家庭。”吉蒂尖锐刺耳地说。
“是‘正在’呢，还是‘应该’呢？”
“喏，这完全是一码事。”
…正在’和‘应该’可不是一码事。”艾达的母亲说，由于理解了二者的不同，她很得意。“你们不应该打扰德拉姆先生，你们却……”
…正在’。”艾达从旁插嘴，全家人大笑，惹得克莱夫跳了起来。
…正在’和‘应该’，”霍尔太太做出结论，“是截然不同的。”
“未必是这样。”克莱夫反驳道。
“未必是这样。你可要记住，吉蒂。”她随声附和，稍微带点儿训斥的口吻。其他时候他并不在乎她说什么。吉蒂仍大声坚称二者是一码事。艾达念念有词，莫瑞斯默不作声。他一向安静地进食，对饭桌上的这种饶舌已习以为常，没有理会他的朋友竟给弄得心烦意乱。等着上菜的时候，他讲了一桩趣闻。大家都默默地倾听。他慢条斯理、笨嘴拙舌地讲着，既不注意措词，也不费心去讲得饶有趣味。克莱夫忽然喊了一声：“啊——我要晕倒啦！”就从椅子上跌下去了。
“拿个枕头来，吉蒂。艾达，科隆香水。”她们的哥哥吩咐道。他松开了克莱夫的领口。“妈，扇扇。不是我，是他……”
“多么不中用啊……”克莱夫喃喃地说，话音未落，莫瑞斯吻了他一下。
“这会儿我完全好了。”
姑娘们和一个仆人跑了进来。
“我能走路啦。”他说，他的脸恢复了血色。
“绝没有好。”霍尔太太叫喊。“莫瑞斯抱你去——德拉姆先生，用胳膊搂住莫瑞斯．”
“来吧，老兄。请大夫，谁去打个电话。”他抱起朋友，克莱夫虚弱地哭泣起来。
“莫瑞斯，我是个蠢材。”
“就做个蠢材好了。”莫瑞斯说，并把克莱夫抱上楼去，替他脱衣服，让他唾在床上。霍尔太太敲了敲门，他迎出去，快嘴快舌地说：“妈，您不必告诉旁人我吻过德拉姆。”
“哦，当然不告诉。”
“他不喜欢这样。我六神无主，连想都没想一下就这么做了。您知道，我们是挚友，几乎是亲戚。”
这就够了。她喜欢与儿子分享一些小秘密，这使她忆起过去的岁月，对他而言，那时她曾是无上宝贵的。艾达送来了一个热水袋。他接住，进屋拎到病人床头。
“让大夫瞧见我这副德行。”克莱夫呜咽地说。
“我但愿他能瞧见。”
“为什么？”
莫瑞斯点燃一支香烟，坐在床边上。“我们要他看看你最糟糕的样子。为什么皮帕让你去旅行？”
“我被认为已经康复了。”
“见鬼。”
“我们能进去吗？”艾达隔着门大声问道。
“不能。请大夫一个人进来。”
“他就在这儿。”吉蒂在远处叫喊。报过名字后，一个比他们大不了多少的人进来了。
“你好，乔伊特。”莫瑞斯边起身边招呼。“替我把这家伙治好了吧。他患了流行性感冒，被认为已经痊愈了。结果晕倒了，一个劲儿地哭。”
“这是常有的情况。”乔伊特先生说，并把一支体温计插到克莱夫嘴里。“是不是劳累过度呢？”
“可不是嘛。如今说是想去希腊。”
“啊，可以去。现在你先出去吧，待会儿我到楼下去见你。”
莫瑞斯听从了他的话，克莱夫想必病得很重。过了大约十分钟，乔伊特出来了，并告诉霍尔太太没什么大不了的——旧病复发而已。他开了处方，说要派个护士来。莫瑞斯尾随他到庭园里，将手放在大夫的胳膊上说：“现在告诉我，他病得多么厉害。这不是旧病复发，还有什么其他的，请告诉我真实情况。”
“他不要紧的。”大夫说。他一向以说实话而自负，所以弄得有些心烦。“我以为你已经领悟了这一点。癔病不再发作了，他快要入睡了。这是司空见惯的旧病复发，这一次他可得比上一次当心，如此而已。”
“你所说的这种司空见惯的旧病复发会拖延多久呢？他是不是随时都可能遭受这种骇人的痛苦呢？”
“他只不过是有点儿不舒服——他认为是在车子里患上了感冒。”
“乔伊特，你别对我这么说。一个成年人是不会哭的，除非已经相当严重了。”
“只不过是虚弱罢了。”
“哦，你怎么说都行，”莫瑞斯边说边把手移开。“而且我正在耽搁你。”
“一点儿关系也没有，我的年轻朋友，我等着解答你的任何难胚。”
“喏，倘若病情轻，你为什么派护士来呢？”
“好让他开心呗。我知道他手头宽裕。”
“难道我们就不能让他开心吗？”
“哪里的话。因为怕传染啊。我曾告诉过你母亲，你们都不应该走进病房，可那时你已经待在里边了。”
“我还以为你指的是我的妹妹们呢。”
“你也一样——尤其是你，因为你已经被他传染过一次了。”
“我不要护士。”
“霍尔太太已经给护士站打电话了。”
“为什么一切都他妈的赶成这个样子？”莫瑞斯提高了嗓门说，“我自个儿护理他。”
“下一步你就该把孩子放在婴儿车里推着走了。”
“请问，你说什么？”
乔伊特放声大笑，扬长而去。
莫瑞斯用不容置疑的口吻告诉母亲，他必须睡在病房里。由于怕吵醒克莱夫，他没让人把床搬进去，却头枕脚凳，卧在地板上，借着烛光读书。过一会儿，克莱夫蠕动起来，有气无力地说：“啊，该死。啊，该死。”
“你要什么？”莫瑞斯呼唤道。
“我闹肚子啦。”
莫瑞斯把他从床上抱下来，扶他坐在便桶上。不一会儿，又将他抱回去。
“我能走路。你不该做这种事。”
“你也会为我这么做的。”
他把便桶端到走廊尽头，冲洗干净。现在克莱夫既不体面又虚弱，他比任何时候都爱这个朋友。
“你不应该这样。”当他回来的时候，克莱夫把话重复了一遍。“太脏了。”
“我才不在乎呢。”莫瑞斯边躺下去边说，“再接着睡吧。”
“大夫告诉我，他要派个护士来。”
“你要护士干吗？只不过是轻微的腹泻而已。就我而言，你可以整宿泻个不停。老实说，我并不在乎——我不是为了使你高兴才这么说的。我就是不在乎。”
“我总不能——你还得去上班呢——”
“喂，克莱夫，你是宁愿要一位熟练的护士，还是要我呢？今天晚上预定来一位，可我已经留下话，来了就把她打发走。因为我情愿不去上班，自个儿照看你。我还认为你也愿意这样呢。”
克莱夫沉默良久，莫瑞斯甚至以为他睡着了。他终于叹了口气说：“我想，还是宁可要护士。”
“好的。她比我更能使你舒适一些。也许你是对的。”
克莱夫没有回答。
艾达自告奋勇在楼下的房间里守夜，莫瑞斯就按照预先谈好的敲了三下地板。等候她上楼的时候，他审视着克莱夫那张模糊不清、汗津津的脸。大夫那么说也是白搭，他的朋友苦恼不堪。他很想拥抱克莱夫，却又想起那曾使克莱夫的癔病发作，何况克莱夫一向是有所克制的，几乎到了洁癖的程度。艾达没有来，他就下楼去了，发现她睡得正熟。她躺在一把大皮椅上，双臂耷拉下来，伸出两只脚．俨然是健康的化身。她的胸脯一起一伏，浓密乌黑的头发充当了面庞的靠垫，嘴唇略启，露出皓齿与鲜红的舌头。“醒一醒。”他急躁地喊叫。
艾达醒过来了。
“像你这样，护士来的时候，你怎么听得见大门的响动呢？”
“可怜的德拉姆先生怎么样啦？”
“病得很重，病到危险的程度。”
“哦，莫瑞斯！莫瑞斯！”
“护士嘛，得留下来。我叫你来着，可你总也不来。去睡吧，因为你连这么一点儿忙也帮不上。”
“妈妈说我必须守夜。因为护士不应该由男人领进去——那不雅观。”
“我简直不能想象你们居然有时间考虑这么无聊的事。”莫瑞斯说。
“我们必须维护家庭的好名声。”
他没吭声，接着以妹妹们厌恶的样子笑了。她们的内心深处极不喜欢他。然而她们思想太混乱，并不曾觉察出这一点。她们惟一公开抱怨的是他这种笑法。
“护士没有教养，任何有教养的姑娘都不会去当护士。即使她们本人有教养，你也能肯定她们不是出身于有教养的家庭，否则她们会待在家里。”
“艾达，你上过几年学校？”哥哥一边斟酒一边问。
“我把上学叫做待在家里。”
他“咔嗒”一声将玻璃杯放下来，离开了她。克莱夫睁着眼睛，却没有说话，好像也不知道莫瑞斯已经回来了。甚至护士抵达，也没使他苏醒。
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Chapter 21
It was plain in a few days that nothing serious was amiss with the visitor. The attack, despite its dra-matic start, was less serious than its predecessor, and soon allowed his removal to Penge. His appearance and spirits re-mained poor, but that must be expected after influenza, and no one except Maurice felt the least uneasiness.
Maurice thought seldom about disease and death, but when he did it was with strong disapproval. They could not be allowed to spoil his life or his friend's, and he brought all his youth and health to bear on Clive. He was with him constantly, going down uninvited to Penge for weekends or for a few days' holi-day, and trying by example rather than precept to cheer him up. Clive did not respond. He could rouse himself in company, and even affect interest in a right of way question that had arisen between the Durhams and the British Public, but when they were alone he relapsed into gloom, would not speak, or spoke in a half serious, half joking way that tells of mental ex-haustion. He determined to go to Greece. That was the only point on which he held firm. He would go, though the month would be September, and he alone. "It must be done," he said. "It is a vow. Every barbarian must give the Acropolis its chance once."
Maurice had no use for Greece. His interest in the classics had been slight and obscene, and had vanished when he loved
Clive. The stories of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, of Phaedrus. of the Theban Band were well enough for those whose hearts were empty, but no substitute for life. That Clive should occa-sionally prefer them puzzled him. In Italy, which he liked well enough in spite of the food and the frescoes, he had refused to cross to the yet holier land beyond the Adriatic. "It sounds out of repair" was his argument. "A heap of old stones without any paint on. At all events this"1—he indicated the library of Siena Cathedral—"you may say what you like, but it is in working order." Clive, in his amusement, jumped up and down upon the Piccolomini tiles, and the custodian laughed too instead of scolding them. Italy had been very jolly—as much as one wants in the way of sight-seeing surely—but in these latter days Greece had cropped up again. Maurice hated the very word, and by a curious inversion connected it with morbidity and death. Whenever he wanted to plan, to play tennis, to talk non-sense, Greece intervened. Clive saw his antipathy, and took to teasing him about it, not very kindly.
For Clive wasn't kind: it was to Maurice the most serious of all the symptoms. He would make slightly malicious remarks, and use his intimate knowledge to wound. He failed: i.e., his knowledge was incomplete, or he would have known the impos-sibility of vexing athletic love. If Maurice sometimes parried outwardly it was because he felt it human to respond: he always had been put off Christ turning the other cheek. Inwardly noth-ing vexed him. The desire for union was too strong to admit resentment. And sometimes, quite cheerfully, he would conduct a parallel conversation, hitting out at Clive at times in acknowl-edgement of his presence, but going his own way towards light, in hope that the beloved would follow.
Their last conversation took place on these lines. It was the evening before Clive's departure, and he had the whole of the
Hall family to dine with him at the Savoy, as a return for their kindness to him, and had sandwiched them out between some other friends. "We shall know what it is if you fallthis time," cried Ada, nodding at the champagne. "Your health!" he replied. "And the health of all ladies. Come, Maurice!" It pleased him to be slightly old-fashioned. Healths were drunk, and only Maurice detected the underlying bitterness.
After the banquet he said to Maurice, "Are you sleeping at home?"
"No."
"I thought you might want to see your people home."
"Not he, Mr Durham," said his mother. "Nothing I can do or say can make him miss a Wednesday. Maurice is a regular old bachelor."
"My flat's upside down with packing," remarked Clive. "I leave by the morning train, and go straight through to Mar-seilles."
Maurice took no notice, and came. They stood yawning at each other, while the lift descended for them, then sped up-wards, climbed another stage on their feet, and went down a passage that recalled the approach to Risley's rooms at Trinity. The flat, small, dark, and silent, lay at the end. It was, as Clive said, littered with rubbish, but his housekeeper, who slept out, had made up Maurice's bed as usual, and had arranged drinks.
"Yet again," remarked Clive.
Maurice liked alcohol, and had a good head.
"I'm going to bed. I see you've found what you wanted."
"Take care of yourself. Don't overdo the ruins. By the way—" He took a phial out of his pocket. "I knew you'd forget this. Chlorodyne."
"Chlorodyne! Your contribution!"
He nodded,
"Chlorodyne for Greece. . . . Ada has been telling me that
you thought I was going to die. Why on earth do you worry about my health? There's no fear. I shan't ever have so clean and clear an experience as death."
"I know I shall die some time and I don't want to, nor you to. If either of us goes, nothing's left for both. I don't know if you call that clean and clear?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then I'd rather be dirty," said Maurice, after a pause. Clive shivered.
"Don't you agree?"
"Oh, you're getting like everyone else. You will have a theory. We can't go quietly ahead, we must always be formulating, though every formula breaks down. 'Dirt at all costs' is to be yours. I say there are cases when one gets too dirty. Then Lethe, if there is such a river, will wash it away. But there may not be such a river. The Greeks assumed little enough, yet too much perhaps. There may be no forgetfulness beyond the grave. This wretched equipment may continue. In other words, beyond the grave there may be Hell."
"Oh, balls."
Clive generally enjoyed his metaphysics. But this time he went on. "To forget everything—even happiness. Happiness! A casual tickling of someone or something against oneself— that's all. Would that we had never been lovers! For then, Mau-rice, you and I should have lain still and been quiet. We should have slept, then had we been at rest with kings and counsellors of the earth, which built desolate places for themselves—"
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"—or as an hidden untimely birth, we had not been: as infants which never saw light. But as it is—Well, don't look so serious."
"Don't try to be funny then," said Maurice. "I never did think anything of your speeches."
"Words conceal thought. That theory?"
"They make a silly noise. I don't care about your thoughts either."
"Then what do you care about in me?"
Maurice smiled: as soon as this question was asked, he felt happy, and refused to answer it.
"My beauty?" said Clive cynically. "These somewhat faded charms. My hair is falling out. Are you aware?"
"Bald as an egg by thirty."
"As an addled egg. Perhaps you like me for my mind. During and after my illness I must have been a delightful companion."
Maurice looked at him with tenderness. He was studying him, as in the earliest days of their acquaintance. Only then it was to find out what he was like, now what had gone wrong with him. Something was wrong. The diseases still simmered, vexing the brain, and causing it to be gloomy and perverse, and Maurice did not resent this: he hoped to succeed where the doctor had failed. He knew his own strength. Presently he would put it forth as love, and heal his friend, but for the moment he investigated.
"I expect you do like me for my mind—for its feebleness. You always knew I was inferior. You're wonderfully considerate— give me plenty of rope and never snub me as you did your family at dinner."
It was as if he wanted to pick a quarrel.
"Now and then you call me to heel—" He pinched him, pre-tending to be playful. Maurice started. "What is wrong now? Tired?"
"I'm off to bed."
"I.e., you're tired. Why can't you answer a question? I didn't say 'tired of me', though I might have."
"Have you ordered your taxi for the nine o'clock?"
"No, nor got my ticket. I shan't go to Greece at all. Perhaps it'll be as intolerable as England."
"Well, good night, old man." He went, deeply concerned, to his room. Why. would everyone declare Clive was fit to travel? Clive even knew he wasn't himself. So methodical as a rule, he had put off taking his ticket till the last moment. He might still not go, but to express the hope was to defeat it. Maurice un-dressed, and catching sight of himself in the glass, thought, "A mercy I'm fit." He saw a well-trained serviceable body and a face that contradicted it no longer. Virility had harmonized them and shaded either with dark hair. Slipping on his pyjamas, he sprang into bed, concerned, yet profoundly happy, because he was strong enough to live for two. Clive had helped him. Clive would help him again when the pendulum swung, mean-while he must help Clive, and all through life they would alter-nate thus: as he dozed off he had a further vision of love, that was not far from the ultimate.
There was a knock at the wall that divided their rooms.
"What is it?" he called; then, "Come in!" for Clive was now at the door.
"Can I come into your bed?"
"Come along," said Maurice, making room.
"I'm cold and miserable generally. I can't sleep. I don't know why."
Maurice did not misunderstand him. He knew and shared his opinions on this point. They lay side by side without touching. Presently Clive said, "It's no better here. I shall go." Maurice was not sorry, for he could not get to sleep either, though for a different reason, and he was afraid Clive might hear the drum-ming of his heart, and guess what it was.
没过几天就弄清楚了，来客病得不重。尽管刚复发时看上去挺吓人，但没有想象的那么厉害。不久他就获得了回彭杰去的许可。他的脸色依然不好，精神萎靡，但这也是患过流行性感冒后预料之中的事，除了莫瑞斯外，旁人丝毫没有感到不安。
莫瑞斯轻易不去想疾病与死亡的事，倘若想的话，就伴随着强烈的反感。不应该容许它们来损害他本人或朋友的生命。于是他携带着自己的全部青春与健康去对克莱夫发生作用。每逢周末或连休日，他就到彭杰去做不速之客，不是靠口头训导，而是以身作则使他鼓起劲儿来。对克莱夫却未能奏效。当众他会振作起来，甚至对德拉姆家族与英国公众之间所发生的公路通行权问题佯装兴致勃勃。然而只剩下他和莫瑞斯在一起的时候，他就故态复萌，意气消沉，不肯说话。要么就用半认真半开玩笑的口吻说点儿什么，这表明他的精神已经耗尽了。他已打定主意要去希腊。惟独这一点，他是十分坚定的。尽管九月份才能动身，他非去不可，而且是单独前往。“我必须去，”他说，“是去履行誓言。每一个未开化的人都得给予卫城（译注：卫城是古希腊城邦兼有防卫性质的中心地区，内有市政与宗教建筑。卫城多建于高山之巅，具有军事和宗教双重目的。雅典卫城是最著名的卫城，位于陡峭的山冈上，建于公元前5世纪中叶。）一次机会。”
莫瑞斯与希腊风马牛不相及。他对古希腊罗马文学的兴趣淡薄，而且是淫猥的，一经爱上克莱夫，就消失殆尽。哈莫狄奥斯和阿里斯托吉顿啦（译注：哈莫狄奥斯和阿里斯托吉顿是一对同性爱者。修昔底德在《伯罗奔尼撒战争史》中说：暴君希庇亚斯之弟希帕尔科斯侮辱了哈莫狄奥斯。哈莫狄奥斯和阿里斯托吉顿就计划在公元前514年对希庇亚斯及其兄弟行刺。结果只杀死了希帕尔科斯。哈莫狄奥斯当场遇害，阿里斯托吉顿被擒后死于毒刑。希庇亚斯的暴政又延续了四年多。），斐多啦，以及第邦神圣队（译注：第邦神圣队是由一对对同性爱者组成的军队）啦，这些故事对那些心灵空虚的人们而言是蛮好的，却代替不了人生。克莱夫时而偏爱它们，莫瑞斯觉得莫名其妙。他十分喜欢意大利，尽管讨厌那儿的食品和湿壁画（译注：用在清水中磨研的颜色粉末，在刚抹好的湿灰泥墙壁上作画的方法。色彩与石灰一起干燥凝固后，就成为墙壁的永久部分。）。他却拒绝渡过亚德里亚海，到那更神圣的土地（译注：指希腊。意大利东南与希腊之间隔着亚德里亚海。）去。“使人感到年久失修，”他提出这么个理由，“一堆老掉牙的石头，什么颜色也没有。总之，这个嘛，”——他指的是锡耶纳大教堂里的书库——“不管你怎么说，这个派上了用场。”克莱夫听得十分开心，在皮科洛米尼时代（译注：指意大利籍教皇庇护二世（1439-1464在位），原名艾伊尼阿斯·西尔维乌·皮科洛米尼。皮科洛米尼家族是贵族世家，家族中出过军人、文人和教皇。）的彩色瓷砖上跳来跳去。管理人非但没申诉他们，还跟他们一道笑。意大利令人非常快活——就观光而言，确实是这样——然而近来希腊又突然冒出来了。莫瑞斯就连这个词都憎恶。出于难以解释的偏见，他由希腊而联想到疾病和死亡。每当他有什么打算，打网球啦，聊天啦，希腊就插进来了。克莱夫看出他厌恶希腊，就养成借此取笑他的习惯，并不怎么体谅他。
克莱夫就是不体谅他。莫瑞斯认为这是所有的症状中最严重的。克莱夫会说些稍微出于恶意的话，还用自己谙熟的知识来伤害他。克莱夫失败了，也就是说，他的知识并不全面，否则他就会知道，要想损害像莫瑞斯这么个运动健将的爱情是不可能的。莫瑞斯有时表面上避开了克莱夫的攻击，因为他觉得有所反应是人之常情。他一向不喜欢基督关于连另一边脸也伸过去的教导（译注：见《新约全书，路加福音》第6章第29节“论爱仇敌”。耶稣教导说：“有人打你一边的脸，连另一边也让他打吧！”）。在内心里，他一点儿也不生克莱夫的气。与克莱夫结合的欲望太强烈了，怨恨无从侵入。有时候他会十分快活地进行与之匹敌的谈话，偶尔回击他一句，表示并没忘记他就在眼前。他径直走向光明，希望自己所挚爱的人会尾随其后。
他们二人之间的最后一次谈话就是如此这般地进行的。那是克莱夫动身前的傍晚，他把霍尔一家人请到萨沃伊来吃晚餐，以回报他们对他的亲切关怀。他安排他们夹坐在其他朋友中间。“假若这次你晕倒了，我们会知道是怎么个来由。”艾达边朝着香槟酒点头，边大声说。“为你的健康干杯！”他回答。“为所有的女士们的健康干杯！干一杯，莫瑞斯！”他喜欢来点儿老一套的做法。大家为健康干了杯，惟独莫瑞斯看破了潜在的讥刺。
晚宴结束后，他对莫瑞斯说：“你回家去睡吗？”
“不。”
“我以为你想把家里人护送回府上去呢。”
“他才不干呢，德拉姆先生。”他母亲说，“不论我怎么做，怎么说，他也决不肯放弃一个星期三。莫瑞斯是个十足的老光棍儿。”
“我的套房里被行李弄得很乱。”克莱夫说，“我乘早晨的火车径直穿行到马赛（译注：马赛是法国的第二大城市和最大的商业港口，临地中海利翁湾。从伦敦出发后．需要坐轮船渡过多佛尔海峡，才能抵达法国。）去。”
莫瑞斯充耳不闻，还是来了。等候电梯降下来的时候，他们朝着对方大打呵欠。接着，乘电梯上去，徒步登上另一层楼梯，沿着过道走去。令人联想到三一学院里通向里斯利那个套房的走廊。克莱夫的套房小而黑暗，寂然无声，位于尽头。正像克莱夫说过的那样，里面杂乱无章，然而不在这里住宿的女管家已照常为莫瑞斯铺好了床，饮料也准备停当了。
“还要喝啊。”克莱夫说。
莫瑞斯喜欢喝酒，而且有酒量。
“我要上床了。依我看，你想要的都有了。”
“好好照顾自己。身体已经垮了，可别再劳累过度。另外，”他从衣兜里掏出一个小药瓶，“我就知道你会忘记这个，哥罗颠②。”
“哥罗颠！（译注：哥罗颠是一种止痛麻醉药。）难为你想得这么周到！”
莫瑞斯点了点头。
“带着哥罗颠到希腊去……艾达告诉我，你还以为我会一命呜呼呢。你究竟为什么这么为我的健康担心呢？别害怕。像死亡这样干净利索的经验，永远与我无缘。”
“我清楚自己迟早会死，而我不愿意死，更不愿意你死。倘若咱们两个人当中有一个死了，什么都没留下，我不知道你是否把这叫做干净利索。”
“是的，我就这么叫。”
“那么，我宁愿自己是污秽的。”莫瑞斯停顿了半晌说，克莱夫打了个寒噤。
“你不同意吗？”
“哦，你变得跟任何凡夫俗子毫无二致了。你非有个理论不可。咱们不能静悄悄地向前走，总是非得做成公式。尽管每个公式都有不再起作用的一天。你的公式是‘不惜任何代价也要保持污秽，。我可要告诉你，还有变得过于污秽的情形呢。于是忘川（译注：忘川是希腊神话中从冥府流过去的一条河。凡是喝了这条河水的亡魂，会把过去的事一概忘掉。）——倘若有这么一条河的话一就会把它洗净。然而也许没有这样的河，希腊人并没怎么任意想象。不然，或许还想象得过了头呢。说不定到了坟墓的彼方，什么都忘不掉。糟糕的记性也许会延续下去。换言之，坟墓的彼方可能就是地狱。”
“呸，胡说八道。”
克莱夫通常是借着抽象的空谈来自得其乐。然而这一次，他继续发挥下去。“忘却一切——连幸福都抛到脑后。幸福！被什么人或什么东西偶然胳肢了一下——如此而已。咱们两个人要足从来没做过情人，该有多好！因为要是那样的话，咱们就可以一动不动地躺着，一声不响。咱们应该睡觉了，那样一来，咱们就可以跟世上那些为自己确保了孤寂场所的国王们及其谋士们友好相处了——”
“你究竟在说些什么呀？”
“要么就像夭折的早产儿那样，咱们从来就没享有过生命，犹如那些压根儿不曾见过光的婴儿。然而事实上——喂，别显得那么严肃。”
“那么，你就别说这么古怪的话好了。”莫瑞斯说，“我倒是从来也没把你的话当真过。”
“话语掩盖思想，是这套理论吗？”
“话语不过是发出无聊的声音而已。我也不喜欢你的思想。”
“那么，你喜欢我的哪一点呢？”
莫瑞斯微微一笑。克莱夫刚这么一问，他就感到满足了，不肯回答。
“我的美貌吗？”克莱夫用讥讽的口吻说，“姿色已褪了几分，我的头发大量地脱落。你发觉了吗？”
“三十岁的时候就成了秃子，像个鸡蛋似的。”
“精神错乱的秃子，也许你喜欢我的头脑。生病期间以及病后，我想必是个可爱的伙伴。”
莫瑞斯温情脉脉地望着他。他在观察克莱夫，犹如他们初结识的时候那样。只不过当初是想弄清楚他是个什么样的人，现在想知道的是他出了什么毛病。克莱夫是有点儿不对头。还有后遗症，弄得他头脑混乱，情绪沮丧，一意孤行。莫瑞斯没有对此感到不满。大夫失败了，他希望自己能成功，他知道自己的力量。他将凭借爱的力量治好朋友的病，眼下他在进行探索。
“我认为你确实是由于我的头脑的关系才喜欢我。喜欢我的意志薄弱这一点，你一向清楚我不如你。你对我体贴得无微不至，你听任我为所欲为。吃饭的时候你故意冷落你家里的人，对我却从来没这么做过。”
这简直像是在找碴儿打架。
“可你不时地要我对你俯首帖耳——”他假装闹着玩儿地掐了莫瑞斯一下。莫瑞斯吓了一跳，“怎么啦？厌倦了吗？”
“我要睡觉去了。”
“也就是说，你厌倦了。你为什么不能回答一个问题？我并没说‘对我感到厌倦了’，尽管我可以这么说。”
“你已经叫好了出租车，让它早晨九点钟来吗？”
“没有，连车票都还没买呢。说不定我根本就不去希腊，也许它跟英国一样令人难以忍受。”
“唔。晚安，老兄。”他深深地忧虑着回到自己的屋子。为什么人人都说克莱夫已经适合于旅行了呢？连克莱夫本人都知道自己不正常。克莱夫一般是有条不紊的，所以拖延到最后还没买票。或许他到头来不会出发，然而表示出一种愿望就是为了挫败它。莫瑞斯脱下衣服，瞥了一眼映在镜中的自己，想道：“真是幸运，我是健康的。”他看见的是锻炼得结结实实、矫健的肉体，以及一张再与之般配的脸。男子气概使二者相协调，均覆以乌黑的毛。他穿上睡衣，跳上床。尽管忧虑着克莱夫的事，却高兴极了。因为他强壮到足以使两个人生存下去。克莱夫曾帮助过他。形势一变，克莱夫还要帮助他。目前他必须帮助克莱夫。他们两个人将毕生像这样轮流互助。他昏昏欲睡时，梦幻中出现了爱的前景，与终极目的相距不远了。
隔壁传来了叩打声。
“怎么啦？”他问，接着就说，“请进！”因为克莱夫已来到门外。
“我可以钻进你的被窝吗？”
“来吧。”莫瑞斯边说边为他挪出地方。
“我总是发冷，苦不堪言，唾不着觉。我也不知道是怎么回事。”
莫瑞斯并没有误解克莱夫。在这一点上，他了解克莱夫，两个人的意见一致。他们并肩而卧，却没有挨在一起。过了一会儿，克莱夫说：“这儿也好不了多少，我走啦。”莫瑞斯并没有感到遗憾，因为他也睡不着，尽管是出于不同的理由。他的心怦怦直跳，生怕被克莱夫听见，从而揣测出个中原因。
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Chapter 22
Clive sat in the theatre of Dionysus. The stage was empty, as it had been for many centuries, the audi-torium empty; the sun had set though the Acropolis behind still radiated heat. He saw barren plains running down to the sea, Salamis, Aegina, mountains, all blended in a violet evening. Here dwelt his gods—Pallas Athene in the first place: he might if he chose imagine her shrine untouched, and her statue catch-ing the last of the glow. She understood all men, though mother-less and a virgin. He had been coming to thank her for years because she had lifted him out of the mire.
But he saw only dying light and a dead land. He uttered no prayer, believed in no deity, and knew that the past was devoid of meaning like the present, and a refuge for cowards.
Well, he had written to Maurice at last. His letter was journey-ing down to the sea. Where one sterility touched another, it would embark and voyage past Sunium and Cythera, would land and embark, would land again. Maurice would get it as he was starting for his work. "Against my will I have become normal. I cannot help it." The words had been written.
He descended the theatre wearily. Who could help anything? Not only in sex, but in all things men have moved blindly, have evolved out of slime to dissolve into it when this accident of con-
sequences is over.
sighed the actors
in this very place two thousand years before. Even that remark, though further from vanity than most, was vain.
克莱夫坐在狄奥尼索斯剧场（译注：狄奥尼索斯剧场是最早形式的希腊剧场，坐落于雅典卫城南侧。4世纪后，剧场冷落，后停止使用，并开始损毁。1765年人们重新发现了这个剧场，19世纪末在考古学家和希腊式建筑权威德普菲尔德的指导下按其原貌进行了重大修复。）里。多少个世纪以来，舞台是空荡荡的，观众席也空无一人。太阳已经落下，背后的卫城却还发散着热气。他眺望着向海边倾斜的光秃秃的平原，萨拉米斯（萨拉米斯，希腊拉阿蒂卡州岛屿，位于爱琴海萨罗尼克湾内）、埃伊纳（译注：埃伊纳，希腊萨罗尼克群岛中最大的岛屿。埃伊纳岛的全盛时期在公元前5世纪。东面的山顶上有一座保存完好的神庙，建于公元前5世纪，以祭奉阿帕伊亚神-古代埃伊纳人的神）、群山，统统与淡紫色黄昏融为一体。他的神祗们就住在这里——首先是雅典娜·波利亚斯（译注：在希腊宗教里，雅典娜是城市的保护女神，雅典因而得名。从君主政体向民主政体过渡的时期，作为城市女神的雅典娜·波利亚斯在雅典出现了。赫西奥德在《神谱》里记述说，她没有母亲,是从宙斯的前额中跳出来的。帕台农神庙殿堂内的雅典娜女神像是用金子和象牙制作的。）。倘若愿意的话，他可以想象雅典娜的神庙完好如初，她的雕像在落日余晖下熠熠发光。尽管没有母亲，又是个处女，她对所有的男人了如指掌。多年来，克莱夫不断地渴望到此向她表示谢忱，因为她将他从泥潭中拖了出来。
然而他只看见了渐渐消失的光和死灭了的大地。他不曾祷告，对任何神祗都没有信仰。他知道过去就跟现在一样毫无意义，并为懦夫提供了避难所。
他终于给莫瑞斯写了信。他这封信将要渡海，经过陆地与海洋接触之处，被装上了船，绕过苏钮姆岬与基西拉（译注：基西拉是伊奥尼亚群岛中最靠东南的岛屿），登陆后又被装上船，再度登陆。莫瑞斯上班的时候就会收到这封信。“我不由自主地变得正常了。我一点儿办法也没有。”他终于把这话写出来了。
他有气无力地走下剧场。不论是谁，又有什么办法呢？不仅在性方面，毋宁说是在各方面，人们都是盲目地踱过来的。他们脱离泥淖逐渐演变成人，及至偶然的连锁结束，就又消融到泥淖中去。两千年前，刚好就在此处，演员们感叹道：“最好是根本就没出生。（译注：原文为希腊文）”就连这句言词都是空洞的，尽管比起大多数台词来，它与虚荣相距甚远。
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Chapter 23
Dear Clive,
Please come back on receiving this. I have looked out your connections, and you can reach England on Tuesday week if you start at once. I am very anxious about you on account of your letter, as it shows how ill you are. I have waited to hear from you for a fortnight and now come two sentences, which I suppose mean that you cannot love anyone of your own sex any longer. We will see whether this is so as soon as you arrive!
I called upon Pippa yesterday. She was full of the lawsuit, and thinks your mother made a mistake in closing the path. Your mother has told the village she is not closing it against them. I called to get news of you, but Pippa had not heard either. You will be amused to hear that I have been learning some classical music lately—also golf. I get on as well as can be expected at Hill and Hall's. My mother has gone to Birmingham after changing back-wards and forwards for a week. Now you have all the news. Wire on getting this, and again on reaching Dover.
Maurice.
Clive received this letter and shook his head. He was going with some hotel acquaintances up Pentelicus, and tore it to pieces on the top of the mountain. He had stopped loving Mau-rice and should have to say so plainly.
亲爱的克莱夫：
收到这封信后，就请回来吧。我查了一下交通情况。假若马上动身的话，星期二你就能抵达英国。由于你的信的缘故，我为你非常担忧。因为它证实了你病得多么重。这封信我盼了两个星期，盼到的是两个句子。你的意思莫非是说，今后你再也不能爱任何一个同性的人了。你一回来就水落石出了！
昨天我给皮帕打了电话。她满脑子都是诉讼的事。她认为令堂禁止通行那条路是个错误。令堂已告诉村方，此举不是针对他们的。我打电话是为了得到你的消息，然而皮帕也没收到你的信。近来我学了点儿古典音乐，你听了，会觉得好笑吧。还学会了打高尔夫球。我在希尔与霍尔混得还可以。家母反复考虑了一周之后，到伯明翰去了。现在你已有了所有的消息。收到此函，请打个电报。在多佛上岸后，再打一次。
莫瑞斯
克莱夫收到此信，摇了摇头。他约好了跟几个在旅馆结识的人去攀登彭特利库斯山（译注：彭特利库斯山是希腊阿蒂卡州山地。主峰科基纳拉斯峰海拔1109米，位于雅典东北约16公里处。山顶有一座雅典娜女神殿堂。）。在山顶上，他把信撕得粉碎。克莱夫已经不再爱莫瑞斯了，必须坦率地告诉他。
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Chapter 24
He stopped a week more at Athens, lest by any pos- sibility he was wrong. The change had been so shock-ing that sometimes he thought Maurice was right, and that it was the finish of his illness. It humiliated him, for he had under-stood his soul, or, as he said, himself, ever since he was fifteen. But the body is deeper than the soul and its secrets inscrutable. There had been no warning—just a blind alteration of the life spirit, just an announcement, "You who loved men, will hence-forward love women. Understand or not, it's the same to me." Whereupon he collapsed. He tried to clothe the change with reason, and understand it, in order that he might feel less hu-miliated: but it was of the nature of death or birth, and he failed. It came during illness—possibly through illness. During the first attack, when he was severed from ordinary life and fever-ish, it seized an opportunity that it would have taken some time or other. He noticed how charming his nurse was and enjoyed obeying her. When he went a drive his eye rested on women. Little details, a hat, the way a skirt is held, scent, laughter, the delicate walk across mud—blended into a charming whole, and it pleased him to find that the women often answered his eye with equal pleasure. Men had never responded—they did not assume he admired them, and were either unconscious or puz-zled. But women took admiration for granted. They might be offended or coy, but they understood, and welcomed him into a
world of delicious interchange. All through the drive Clive was radiant. How happy normal people made their lives! On how little had he existed for twenty-four years! He chatted to his nurse, and felt her his for ever. He noticed the statues, the ad-vertisements, the daily papers. Passing a cinema palace, he went in. The film was unbearable artistically, but the man who made it, the men and the women who looked on—they knew, and he was one of the them.
In no case could the exaltation have lasted. He was like one whose ears have been syringed; for the first few hours he hears super-normal sounds, which vanish when he adjusts himself to the human tradition. He had not gained a sense, but rearranged one, and life would not have appeared as a holiday for long. It saddened at once, for on his return Maurice was waiting for him, and a seizure resulted: like a fit, it struck at him from behind the brain. He murmured that he was too tired to talk, and escaped, and Maurice's illness gave him a further reprieve, during which he persuaded himself that their relations had not altered, and that he might without disloyalty contemplate women. He wrote affectionately and accepted the invitation to recruit, without misgivings.
He said he caught cold in the car; but in his heart he believed that the cause of his relapse was spiritual: to be with Maurice or anyone connected with him was suddenly revolting. The heat at dinner! The voices of the Halls! Their laughter! Maurice's an-ecdote! It mixed with the food—was the food. Unable to dis-tinguish matter from spirit, he fainted.
But when he opened his eyes it was to the knowledge that love had died, so that he wept when his friend kissed him. Each kindness increased his suffering, until he asked the nurse to for-bid Mr Hall to enter the room. Then he recovered and could fly to Penge, where he loved him as much as ever until he turned up.
He noticed the devotion, the heroism even, but his friend bored him. He longed for him to go back to town, and actually said so, so near the surface had the rock risen. Maurice shook his head and stopped.
Clive did not give in to the life spirit without a struggle. He believed in the intellect and tried to think himself back into the old state. He averted his eyes from women, and when that failed adopted childish and violent expedients. The one was this visit to Greece, the other—he could not recall it without disgust. Not until all emotion had ebbed would it have been possible. He regretted it deeply, for Maurice now inspired him with a physi-cal dislike that made the future more difficult, and he wished to keep friends with his old lover, and to help him through the ap-proaching catastrophe. It was all so complicated. When love flies it is remembered not as love but as something else. Blessed are the uneducated, who forget it entirely, and are never con-scious of folly or pruriency in the past, of long aimless conversa-tions.
他在雅典继续逗留了一个月，因为他生怕自己可能误会了。这种变化使他太震惊了，有时他认为也许莫瑞斯说得对，疾病把他的精力耗尽了。这令他感到屈辱。因为从十五岁起，他就理解自己的灵魂，借用他本人的话：理解自己。然而肉体比灵魂深奥，拥有难以捉摸的秘密。没有任何警告一生命的本质无端地起了变化，仅仅这么通告道：“你原来是个爱男性的人，今后将爱女性。不论你理解与否，对我而言，都是一样的。”于是他的精神崩溃了。他试图给这个变化披上理智的外衣，好去理解它，这样就不至于感到那么丢脸了。但这是属于死亡或诞生范畴的问题，他失败了。
变化是病中发生的——兴许是疾病导致的。他第一次发病期间，脱离了日常生活，发着烧，迟早会发生的那个变化乘虚而人。他注意到护士何等迷人，乐意听从她的吩咐。乘车兜风的时候，他两眼盯着女人们。一些小小的细节——一顶帽子，撩起裙子的手势，香水的气味，嫣然一笑，乖巧地躲闪着泥的碎步——构成了富于魅力的整体。他高兴地发现，女人们往往同样快乐地对他的眼神做出反应。男人们从未做出过反应，他们做梦也想不到他会欣赏他们，要么意识不到他的视线，要么感到困惑。然而女人们认为自己理应受到赞美。她们也许会见怪或忸怩作态，但她们是大度的，并欢迎他进入彼此在精神上美妙地交流的世界。一路上，克莱夫满面春风。正常人过的是多么幸福的人生啊！这二十四年，自己是靠何等少得可怜的一点儿东西活过来的呀！他跟护士聊天，感到她是永远属于他的。他注意到了雕像、广告和日报。经过一家电影院时，他心血来潮，走了进去。就艺术性而言，那影片让人无法忍受，然而制片人与看电影的男男女女却是相识的。克莱夫是他们当中的一员。
这种兴奋绝不能持久。他就像是个把耳朵洗净了的人。起初的几个钟头，他听得见异常的声音，及至使自己适应了普通人的惯例，它就消失了。他并没有获得新观念，不过是把旧的重新调整了一番。生活不会长期像过节似的，很快就黯淡起来。因为他刚一回来，莫瑞斯正等候着他。结果他被吓晕了，脑后遭到袭击，就像是发作似的。他嘟哝着自己太累啦，说不出话来，逃之天天。莫瑞斯的病使他暂时得到解脱。这期间，他说服自己，他们两个人的关系并没有起变化，他可以在仍忠于莫瑞斯的情况下转一些关于女人的念头。他怀着深厚感情给莫瑞斯写了封信，毫无疑虑地接受了前来休养的邀请。
他说自己在车子里受了风寒。但是内心里他确信，旧病复发的原因是精神方面的。与莫瑞斯或跟他有关的任何人待在一起，忽然令他恶心了。吃饭的时候热气腾腾！霍尔一家人的嗓门！她们的笑声！莫瑞斯讲的趣闻！它与食物混杂在一起了——它不折不扣就是食物。他分辨不出什么是物质，什么是精神，就昏过去了。
然而当他睁开眼睛的时候，却知道爱已经死了。因此，他的朋友吻他之际，他哭了。莫瑞斯对他的每一个友好行为都增添他的痛苦，他终于要求护士禁止霍尔先生进科病房。随后，他恢复了健康，得以逃回到彭杰。他觉得自己还像过去一样爱着莫瑞斯，然而莫瑞斯刚一找上门来，这种感觉就化为乌有。他注意到了莫瑞斯的献身精神，乃至英雄气概，但这个朋友使他感到厌烦。他希望莫瑞斯回到伦敦去，并且直接说了，大有一触即发之势。莫瑞斯摇了摇头，继续留在彭杰。
克莱夫并不是没有挣扎就屈服于精神生命所发生的这种变化的。他相信思维能力，试图靠思索使自己回到原先的状态下。他把目光从女人身上移开，一旦失败就采取稚气、激烈的权宜手段。一个是希腊之行，另一个呢——他一回想起来就不能不感到厌恶。除非所有的情感都逐渐消失，否则他是不可能无动于衷的。克莱夫深深地懊悔，如今莫瑞斯使他产生一种生理上的嫌恶，将来面临的困难就更大了。他愿与昔日情人友好相处，在逼近的严重不幸中，自始至终助以一臂之力。一切是如此错综复杂，爱情溜掉后，留在记忆中的就不再是爱情了，而是别的什么。没受过教育的人多么有福啊，因为他们能够把它完全抛在脑后，不记得过去干的荒唐事或好色行为．以及那冗长、不着边际的谈话。
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Chapter 25
Clive did not wire, nor start at once. Though desir-ous to be kind and training himself to think reason-ably of Maurice, he refused to obey orders as of old. He returned to England at his leisure. He did wire from Folkestone to Mau-rice's office, and expected to be met at Charing Cross, and when he was not he took a train on to the suburbs, in order to explain as quickly as possible. His attitude was sympathetic and calm.
It was an October evening; the falling leaves, the mist, the hoot of an owl, filled him with pleasing melancholy. Greece had been clear but dead. He liked the atmosphere of the North, whose gospel is not truth, but compromise. He and his friend would arrange something that should include women. Sadder and older, but without a crisis, they would slip into a relation, as evening into night. He liked the night also. It had gracious-ness and repose. It was not absolutely dark. Just as he was about to lose his way up from the station, he saw another street lamp, and then past that another. There were chains in every direction, one of which he followed to his goal.
Kitty heard his voice, and came from the drawing-room to welcome him. He had always cared for Kitty least of the family —she was not a true woman, as he called it now—and she brought the news that Maurice was away for the night on busi-ness. "Mother and Ada are in church," she added. "They have had to walk because Maurice would take the car."
"Where has he gone?"
"Don't ask me. He leaves his address with the servants. We know even less about Maurice than when you were last here, if you think that possible. He has become a most mysterious per-son." She gave him tea, humming a tune.
Her lack of sense and of charm produced a not unwelcome reaction in her brother's favour. She continued to complain of him in the cowed fashion that she had inherited from Mrs Hall.
"It's only five minutes to church," remarked Clive.
"Yes, they would have been in to receive you if he had let us know. He keeps everything so secret, and then laughs at girls."
"It was I who did not let him know."
"What's Greece like?"
He told her. She was as bored as her brother would have been, and had not his gift of listening beneath words. Clive remem-bered how often he had held forth to Maurice and felt at the end an access of intimacy. There was a good deal to be saved out of the wreck of that passion. Maurice was big, and so sensible when once he understood.
Kitty proceeded, sketching her own affairs in a slightly clever way. She had asked to go to an Institute to acquire Domestic Economy, and her mother would have allowed her, but Mau-rice had put his foot down when he heard that the fees were three guineas a week. Kitty's grievances were mainly financial: she wanted an allowance. Ada had one. Ada, as heiress-apparent, had to "learn the value of money. But I am not to learn any-thing." Clive decided that he would tell his friend to treat the girl better; once before he had interfered, and Maurice, charm-ing to the core, had made him feel he could say anything.
A deep voice interrupted them; the churchgoers were back. Ada came in, dressed in a jersey, tam o'shanter, and gray skirt; the autumn mist had left a delicate bloom upon her hair. Her
cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright; she greeted him with obvious pleasure, and though her exclamations were the same as Kitty's they produced a different effect. "Why didn't you let us know?" she cried. "There will be nothing but the pie. We would have given you a real English dinner."
He said he must return to town in a few minutes but Mrs Hall insisted he should sleep. He was glad to do this. The house now filled with tender memories, especially when Ada spoke. He had forgotten she was so different from Kitty.
"I thought you were Maurice," he said to her. "Your voices are wonderfully alike."
"It's because I have a cold," she said, laughing.
"No, they are alike," said Mrs Hall. "Ada has Maurice's voice, his nose, by which of course I mean the mouth too, and his good spirits and good health. Three things, I often think of it. Kitty on the other hand has his brain."
All laughed. The three women were evidently fond of one another. Clive saw relations that he had not guessed, for they were expanding in the absence of their man. Plants live by the sun, yet a few of them flower at night-fall, and the Halls re-minded him of the evening primroses that starred a deserted alley at Penge. When talking to her mother and sister, even Kitty had beauty, and he determined to rebuke Maurice about her; not unkindly, for Maurice was beautiful too, and bulked largely in this new vision.
The girls had been incited by Dr Barry to join an ambulance class, and after dinner Clive submitted his body to be bound. Ada tied up his scalp, Kitty his ankle, while Mrs Hall, happy and careless, repeated "Well, Mr Durham, this is a better illness than the last anyhow."
"Mrs Hall, I wish you would call me by my Christian name."
"Indeed I will. But Ada and Kitty—not you."
"I wish Ada and Kitty would too."
"Clive, then!" said Kitty.
"Kitty, then!"
"Clive."
"Ada—that's better." But he was blushing. "I hate formalities."
"So do I," came the chorus. "I care nothing for anyone's opin-ion—never did," and fixed him with candid eyes.
"Maurice on the other hand," from Mrs Hall, "is very partic-ular."
"Maurice is a rip really—Waow, you're hurting my head."
"Waow, waow," Ada imitated.
There was a ring at the telephone.
"He has had your wire from the office," announced Kitty. "He wants to know whether you're here."
"Say I am."
"He's coming back tonight, then. Now he wants to talk to you."
Clive took the receiver, but only a burr arrived. They had been disconnected. They could not ring Maurice up as they did not know where he was, and Clive felt relieved, for the approach of reality alarmed him. He was so happy being bandaged: his friend would arrive soon enough. Now Ada bent over him. He saw features that he knew, with a light behind that glorified them. He turned from the dark hair and eyes to the unshadowed mouth or to the curves of the body, and found in her the exact need of his transition. He had seen more seductive women, but none that promised such peace. She was the compromise be-tween memory and desire, she was the quiet evening that Greece had never known. No argument touched her, because she was tenderness, who reconciles present with past. He had not sup-posed there was such a creature except in Heaven, and he did not believe in Heaven. Now much had become possible sud-denly. He lay looking into her eyes, where some of his hope lay reflected. He knew that he might make her love him, and the
knowledge lit him with temperate fire. It was charming—he desired no more yet, and his only anxiety was lest Maurice should arrive, for a memory should remain a memory. Whenever the others ran out of the room to see whether that noise was the car, he kept her with him, and soon she understood that he wished this, and stopped without his command.
"If you knew what it is to be in England!" he said suddenly.
"Is Greece not nice?"
"Horrible."
She was distressed and Clive also sighed. Their eyes met.
"I'm so sorry, Clive."
"Oh, it's all over."
"What exactly was it—"
"Ada, it was this. While in Greece I had to reconstruct my life from the bottom. Not an easy task, but I think I've done it."
"We often talked of you. Maurice said you would like Greece."
"Maurice doesn't know—no one knows as much as you! I've told you more than anyone. Can you keep a secret?"
"Of course."
Clive was nonplussed. The conversation had become impos-sible. But Ada never expected continuity. To be alone with Clive, whom she innocently admired, was enough. She told him how thankful she was he had returned. He agreed, with vehe-mence. "Especially to return here."
"The car!" Kitty shrieked.
"Don't go!" he repeated, catching her hand.
"I must—Maurice—"
"Bother Maurice." He held her. There was a tumult in the hall. "Where's he gone?" his friend was roaring. "Where've you put him?"
"Ada, take me a walk tomorrow. See more of me. . . . That's settled."
Her brother burst in. Seeing the bandages, he thought there
i
had been an accident, then laughed at his mistake. "Come out of that, Clive. Why did you let them? I say, he looks well. You look well. Good man. Come and have a drink. I'll unpick you. No, girls, not you." Clive followed him, but, turning, had an im-perceptible nod from Ada.
Maurice looked like an immense animal in his fur coat. He slipped it off as soon as they were alone, and came up smiling. "So you don't love me?" he challenged.
"All that must be tomorrow," said Clive, averting his eyes.
"Quite so. Have a drink."
"Maurice, I don't want a row."
"I do."
He waved the glass aside. The storm must burst. "But you mustn't talk to me like this," he continued. "It increases my dif-ficulties."
"I want a row and I'll have it." He came in his oldest manner and thrust a hand into Clive's hair. "Sit down. Now why did you write me that letter?"
Clive did not reply. He was looking with growing dismay into the face he had once loved. The horror of masculinity had re-turned, and he wondered what would happen if Maurice tried to embrace him.
"Why? Eh? Now you're fit again, tell me."
"Go off my chair, and I will." Then he began one of the speeches he had prepared. It was scientific and impersonal, as this would wound Maurice least. "I have become normal—like other men, I don't know how, any more than I know how I was born. It is outside reason, it is against my wish. Ask any ques-tions you like. I have come down here to answer them, for I couldn't go into details in my letter. But I wrote the letter be-cause it was true."
"True, you say?"
"Was and is the truth."
"You say that you care for women only, not men?"
"I care for men, in the real sense, Maurice, and always shall."
"All that presently."
He too was impersonal, but he had not got off the chair. His fingers remained on Clive's head, touching the bandages, his mood had changed from gaiety to quiet concern. He was neither angry nor afraid, he only wanted to heal, and Clive, in the midst of repulsion, realized what a triumph of love was ruining, and how feeble or how ironical must be the power that governs Man.
"Who made you change?"
He disliked the form of the question. "No one. It was a change in me merely physical." He began to relate his experiences.
"Evidently the nurse," said Maurice thoughtfully. "I wish you had told me before.... I knew something had gone wrong and thought of several things, but not this. One oughtn't to keep secrets, or they get worse. One ought to talk, talk, talk—pro-vided one has someone to talk to, as you and I have. If you'd have told me, you would have been right by now."
"Why?"
"Because I should have made you right."
"How?"
"You'll see," he said smiling.
"It's not the least good—I've changed."
"Can the leopard change his spots? Clive, you're in a muddle. It's part of your general health. I'm not anxious now, because you're well otherwise, you even look happy, and the rest must follow. I see you were afraid to tell me, lest it gave me pain, but we've got past sparing each other. You ought to have told me. What else am I here for? You can't trust anyone else. You and I are outlaws. All this"—he pointed to the middle-class comfort of the room—"would be taken from us if people knew."
He groaned. "But I've changed, I've changed."
We can only interpret by our experiences. Maurice could understand muddle, not change. "You only think you've changed," he said, smiling. "I used to think I had when Miss OI-cott was here, but it all went when I returned to you."
"I know my own mind," said Clive, getting warm and freeing himself from the chair. "I was never like you."
"You are now. Do you remember how I pretended—``
"Of course I remember. Don't be childish."
"We love each other, and know it. Then what else—"
"Oh, for God's sake, Maurice, hold your tongue. If I love any-one it's Ada." He added, "I take her at random as an example."
But an example was the one thing Maurice could realize. "Ada?" he said, with a change of tone.
"Only to prove to you the sort of thing."
"You scarcely know Ada."
"Nor did I know my nurse or the other women I've mentioned. As I said before, it's no special person, only a tendency."
"Who was in when you arrived?"
"Kitty."
"But it's Ada, not Kitty."
"Yes, but I don't mean—Oh, don't be stupid!"
"What do you mean?"
"Anyhow, you understand, now," said Clive, trying to keep impersonal, and turning to the comforting words with which his discourse should have concluded. "I've changed. Now I want you to understand too that the change won't spoil anything in our friendship that is real. I like you enormously—more than any man I've ever met" (he did not feel this as he said it) "I most enormously respect and admire you. It's character, not pas-sion, that is the real bond."
"Did you say something to Ada just before I came in? Didn't you hear my car come up? Why did Kitty and my mother come
out and not you? You must have heard my noise. You knew I flung up my work for you. You never talked to me down the tele-phone. You didn't write or come back from Greece. How much did you see of her when you were here before?"
"Look here, old man, I can't be cross-questioned."
"You said you could."
"Not about your sister."
"Why not?"
"You must shut up, I say. Come back to what I was saying about character—the real tie between human beings. You can't build a house on the sand, and passion's sand. We want bed rock . . ."
"Ada!" he called, suddenly deliberate.
Clive shouted in horror. "What for?"
"Ada! Ada!"
He rushed at the door and locked it. "Maurice, it mustn't end like this—not a row," he implored. But as Maurice approached he pulled out the key and clenched it, for chivalry had awoken at last. "You can't drag in a woman," he breathed; "I won't have it."
"Give that up."
"I mustn't. Don't make it worse. No—no."
Maurice bore down on him. He escaped: they dodged round the big chair, arguing for the key in whispers.
They touched with hostility, then parted for ever, the key falling between them.
"Clive, did I hurt you?"
"No."
"My darling, I didn't mean to."
"I'm all right."
They looked at one another for a moment before beginning new lives. "What an ending," he sobbed, "what an ending."
"I do rather love her," said Clive, very pale.
"What's going to happen?" said Maurice, sitting down and wiping his mouth. "Arrange . . . I'm done for."
Since Ada was in the passage Clive went out to her: to Woman was his first duty. Having appeased her with vague words, he returned to the smoking-room, but the door was now locked be-tween them. He heard Maurice turn out the electric light and sit down with a thud.
"Don't be an ass anyway," he called nervously. There was no reply. Clive scarcely knew what to do. At any rate he could not stop in the house. Asserting a man's prerogative, he announced that he must sleep in town after all, in which the women ac-quiesced. He left the darkness within for that without: the leaves fell as he went to the station, the owls hooted, the mist enveloped him. It was so late that the lamps had been extinguished in the suburban roads, and total night without compromise weighed on him, as on his friend. He too suffered and exclaimed, "What an ending!" but he was promised a dawn. The love of women would rise as certainly as the sun, scorching up immaturity and ushering the full human day, and even in his pain he knew this. He would not marry Ada—she had been transitional—but some goddess of the new universe that had opened to him in London, someone utterly unlike Maurice Hall.
克莱夫没打电报，更没有立即动身。尽管满心想对莫瑞斯宽容一些，并且训练自己尽量抱一种合情合理的看法，克莱夫却再也不肯像过去那样听任莫瑞斯摆布了。他从容不迫地返回英国。他还是从福克斯通（译注：福克斯通是英格兰肯特郡城镇，通铁路后发展成为英吉利海峡的客运港和第一流的海滨胜地。）往莫瑞斯的公司发了一封电报，原以为莫瑞斯会到查灵克罗斯（译注：查灵克罗斯是大伦敦威斯特敏斯特市的一处地方，位于伦敦正中心）来迎接他。莫瑞斯没有来，他就乘火车前往郊区，以便及早解释一番。他的态度是既有同情心又很沉着。
那是十月份的一个傍晚。落叶纷飞，薄雾，猫头鹰的呜叫，使他心里充满了愉快的愁绪。希腊是清澈的，然而死气沉沉。他喜欢北方的气氛，此地的福音不在于真实，而在于妥协。他和他的朋友会做些安排，把女人容纳进来。犹如黄昏进入夜晚，他们也会随着年龄饱经忧患，安全顺利地形成一种关系。他也喜欢夜晚。它是仁慈宽厚、安详恬静的，四周并非漆黑一团。他从火车站走过来，快要迷路时，就看见了另一盏街灯，走过去后，又是下一盏。每一个方向，街灯都像链子似的绵延不绝，他沿着其中的一条踱到目的地。
吉蒂听见了他的声音，从客厅里出来迎接他。霍尔一家人当中，克莱夫一向最不喜欢吉蒂了。按克莱夫现在的措词来说就是：吉蒂不是个地地道道的女人。她告诉克莱夫一个消息，莫瑞斯今天晚上有工作，不回家了。“妈妈和艾达到教堂去了。”她补充说，“她们只好步行了，因为莫瑞斯是坐汽车出去的。”
“他到哪儿去啦？”
“别问我，他把地址留给仆人了。你想象得到吗？上次你在这儿的时候，我们对莫瑞斯了解得就不多，现在甚至更少了。他变成了一个最神秘的人。”她边哼着曲子，边给他沏了杯茶。吉蒂缺乏见识与魅力，对克莱夫来说正合适。他能够在不至于感到嫌恶的情况下，倾听她诉说莫瑞斯的事。她用从霍尔太太那儿继承来的黏糊糊的腔调继续抱怨他。
“只需要五分钟就能到教堂。”克莱夫说。
“是啊。假若他跟我们说一声儿，她们就会留在家里招待你的。他对一切都守口如瓶，反过来又笑话女孩子们。”
“是我没让他知道。”
“希腊怎么样？”
他告诉了她。她听得厌烦透了，换了她哥哥，也会这样的。况且她没有他那种能够听出言外之意的天赋。克莱夫想起来，当他对莫瑞斯大发议论之后，亲密的感情就油然而生。这种情况，不知凡几。那腔激情虽已化为废墟，却能抢救出好多东西。莫瑞斯是个卓越的人，一旦理解了什么，又如此明智。
吉蒂接着就耍点儿小聪明，概述起自己的事来。她曾提出人家政学校的要求，母亲已经答应了。然而莫瑞斯听说每周要交三畿尼（译注：畿尼是旧时英国金币，合1.05英镑。）学费，就斩钉截铁地说不行。吉蒂的牢骚主要是金钱方面的。她想要一笔私房钱，艾达就有一笔。艾达作为法定继承人，必须“学会金钱的价值，可是什么都不让我学”。克莱夫决定对自己的朋友说说，要待这个女孩儿好一点儿。过去他就干预过一次，莫瑞斯十分愉快地听取了他的意见，使他觉得他什么话都可以说。
他们被低沉的嗓音打断，那两个去教堂的人回来了。艾达进来了，身穿圆领紧身毛衣，头戴宽顶无檐圆帽，裙子是灰色的。秋雾在她的头发上留下了精巧的水珠。她的双颊红润，两眼炯炯有神。她向他致意时喜形于色，尽管她的惊叫与吉蒂如出一辙，却产生了不同的效果。“你为什么没预先通知我们呢？”她大喊道。“除了饼，什么都没有。我们本来可以准备一顿正式的英国大餐为你接风的。”
他说，几分钟之内他就得返回伦敦，然而霍尔太太一定要留他过夜。恭敬不如从命。这座房子眼下充满了温馨的回忆，尤其是艾达说话的时候。他忘记了她与吉蒂截然不同。
“我还只当你是莫瑞斯呢，”他对她说，“你们的嗓音出奇地相似。”
“因为我感冒了啊。”她笑着说。
“不，他们就是相像，”霍尔太太说，“艾达有莫瑞斯的嗓门。他的鼻子，我的意思当然是说还有他的嘴，以及他的好兴致和健康，我常常认为这三样都像。另一方面，吉蒂有莫瑞斯那样的头脑。”
大家都笑了，三个女子明显地相互喜爱。克莱夫目睹了以前不曾理会的母女关系。由于家长不在，她们变得更友善，更健谈。植物，靠太阳生长，然而有些植物是随着日暮开花的。霍尔家的女眷们使他联想到点缀着彭杰的一条荒芜小径的月见草（译注：月见草是柳叶菜科月见草属植物，草本，开美丽的黄花。广布北美，欧洲有引种。二年生，叶互生）。跟母亲姐姐聊天时，就连吉蒂也面目姣好。他拿定主意为了她的事谴责莫瑞斯几句，但是不能用苛刻的口气。因为莫瑞斯也美，在这崭新的幻象中，莫瑞斯成了个庞然大物。
巴里大夫曾鼓励两个姑娘去参加救护班的学习。饭后，克莱夫听凭她们往自己身上缠绷带。艾达包扎他的头部，吉蒂包扎的是脚踝。这时候，霍尔太太喜气洋洋，漫不经心，反复说：“喏，德拉姆先生，不管怎样，你这次的病比上次害的那场强一些。”
“霍尔太太，我希望您直呼我的教名。”
“好的，就这样吧。但是艾达和吉蒂，你们可不行。”
“我希望艾达和吉蒂也这么叫。”
“那么，克莱夫！”吉蒂说。
“那么，吉蒂！”
“克莱夫。”
“艾达——这么叫多好啊。”然而，他的脸颊羞红了。“我讨厌拘泥于形式。”
“我也是这样。”姑娘们异口同声地说。“我对任何人的看法都毫不在乎——一向如此。”边说边用率直的眼神盯着他。
“莫瑞斯可不然，”霍尔太太说，“他挑剔得很。”
“莫瑞斯这个人实在不足取——畦，你把我的头弄疼啦。”
“哇，畦。”艾达仿效他说。
电话铃响了。
“他在公司里收到了你的电报，”吉蒂大声报告，“他问你在不在这儿。”
“告诉他我在。”
“那么，今天晚上他就回来。现在他想跟你说话。”
克莱夫拿起听筒，然而只传来了嗡嗡声，电话挂断了。他们不知道莫瑞斯在哪儿，所以无法给他打过去。克莱夫松了一口气，因为现实的逼近使他感到惊慌，被缠上绷带给他带来了很大的快乐。他的朋友很快就到了。现在艾达朝他俯下身来，他瞅见了自己所熟悉的容貌，在后面的灯光映衬下平添了几分魅力。他将视线从她那深色头发和眼睛移向没有阴影的嘴巴和身体的曲线，并在她身上找到了转变感情的时候恰好需要的一切。他见过更性感的女人们，但没有一个女人向他许诺过这样的安宁。她是回忆与欲望达成的和解，她是希腊所从未知晓的恬静的傍晚。什么争论都跟她不沾边，因为她是和善的，把过去与现在调和起来。他从未料想过还有这样的人，除非是在天堂里，而他是不相信天堂的。突然，很多事都变得可能了。他躺在那儿，朝她的眼睛望着，他的几缕希望在里面有所反映。他知道能够使她爱上自己，这样一来他身上就点燃起文火。多么美好啊，于愿已足，他唯一焦虑的是莫瑞斯会回家来，因为回忆就应该终属回忆。每逢有什么响动，当别人跑出屋子去看是不是汽车到了的时候，他就把她留下来陪自己。她很快就明白了他的愿望，不等他发话就留在他身边了。
“你简直不知道待在英国有多么好！”他猛然说。
“难道希腊不可爱吗？”
“可怕。”
她感到忧伤，克莱夫也叹了口气。他们的目光相遇了。
“我觉得很难过，克莱夫。”
“哦，事情已经过去了。”
“确切地说，到底是……”
“艾达，是这么回事。在希腊逗留期间，我不得不彻头彻尾地重建自己的人生。谈何容易，可我认为我已经完成了。”
“我们经常谈论你。莫瑞斯说你会喜爱希腊的。”
“莫瑞斯还蒙在鼓里呢，谁知道的也没有你多！我对你比对任何人说的都多。你能守口如瓶吗？”
“当然喽。”
克莱夫不知所措了，这番谈话变得棘手了。然而艾达一点儿也没有期望继续说下去，能够跟她所天真地钦佩的克莱夫单独待在一起就足够了。她告诉他，他回来了，她甭提有多么高兴了。他热烈地表示同意，“尤其是回到这儿来”。
“汽车！”吉蒂尖声呼叫起来。
“别去！”克莱夫边抓住艾达的手，边重复了一遍。
“我必须去……莫瑞斯……”
“莫瑞斯嘛，管他呢。”他不肯松手。从门厅里传来了一片喧哗声。“他到哪儿去了？”他的朋友正在吼叫。“你们把他安顿在哪儿了？”
“艾达，明天和我去散步吧。多跟我见见面。……一言为定。”
她的哥哥冲进来了。他瞧见绷带，以为出了事故，知道自己弄错了以后又大笑起来。“快摘掉吧，克莱夫。你为什么听任她们摆布？我说，他气色蛮好。你看上去挺健康。老兄，过去喝一杯吧。我替你解下绷带，不，姑娘们，你们不行。”克莱犬跟着莫瑞斯走出去之际转过身来，只见艾达朝他几乎察觉不出地点了点头。
身穿毛皮大衣的莫瑞斯活像一头巨兽。离开旁人后，他立即脱下大衣，笑眯眯地踱过来。“那么，你不爱我了吗？”他提出疑问。
“这一切等明天再谈吧。”克莱夫边避开他的目光边说。
“知道了。来一杯。”
“莫瑞斯，我不愿意争吵。”
“我愿意。”
他摆摆手，不肯接递过来的那杯酒。这场风暴注定要爆发了。“可你不应该用这种口吻跟我说话，”他接着说，“这会使我越来越困难。”
“我就是要争吵，我非要争吵不可。”他按照最初那个时期的样子走过来，将一只手插进克莱夫的头发。“坐下来。哟，你为什么给我写那样一封信？”
克莱夫没有回答，他更加沮丧地望着这张自己一度爱过的脸。对男性的嫌恶重新浮上心头，他想知道，倘若莫瑞斯试图拥抱他，会发生什么事呢？
“为什么？啊？现在你已经康复了，告诉我。”
“你离开我的椅子，我就说。”于是他开始讲预先准备好的一席话。它是有条理的，不牵涉个人感情的，对莫瑞斯的伤害会最轻微。“我变得正常了——跟别人一样，我也不知道是怎样变的，正如我不知道自己是怎么出生的一样。这是不合乎情理的，我并不希望如此。你愿意问什么就问吧。我是为了回答你才到这儿来的。因为我在信里不可能详尽地写。然而我在信中写的是真实的。”
“你说是真实的？”
“当时是真实的，现在也是。”
“你说你只喜欢女人，而不是男人？”
“在真正的意义上，我对男人是喜欢的，莫瑞斯，今后也一直会喜欢。”
“一切都来得这么突然。”
他的态度也是冷漠的，但他没离开克莱夫的椅子。他的手指仍停留在克莱夫的头上，抚摩着绷带。他的情绪从快活变成宁静的关切。他既没生气，也不害怕，一心一意只想把朋友治好。克莱夫满腔厌恶，他领悟到，两个人所取得的爱的胜利行将崩溃，人心该有多脆弱，多么充满讽刺意味。
“是谁使你发生变化的？”
他讨厌这种讯问的方式。“谁都没让我变。这仅仅是生理上的变化。”他开始诉说自己的体验。
“显然是那个护士。”莫瑞斯若有所思地说，“你要是及早告诉我就好了。……我东想西想，然而没料到是这个。保密是不对的，弄得越来越糟。就应该说啊，说啊，说啊。只要有能够彼此倾吐衷曲的人就行。咱们两个完全是这样的。倘若你告诉了我，这会儿你早就没事了。”
“为什么呢？”
“因为我会使你恢复正常的。”
“怎样恢复？”
“你等着瞧吧。”他微笑着说。
“一点儿用处也没有——我已经变了。”
“难道豹子能够把身上的斑点变掉吗？克莱夫，你的头脑糊涂了，这跟你刚生过一场病也有关系。如今我不再担心了，因为其他方面你已经康复了。看上去你还很高兴，这个问题也会迎刃而解。我明白你是生怕我会感到痛苦，所以不敢告诉我。但是咱们两个人之间还用得着客气吗？你应该跟我说一声就好了。要不是为了你，我为什么待在这儿？其他任何人你都不信任。你和我是不法之徒。倘若世人知道了，这一切，”他边说边指着室内那些为中产阶级提供舒适生活的摆设，“全都会被没收。”
克莱夫烦闷地说：“然而我已经变了，我已经变了。”
我们只能凭借自己的体验来理解。莫瑞斯明白什么是糊涂，却不明白变了是怎么回事。“你只是认为自己变了而已。”他，笑吟吟地说。“当奥尔科特小姐在这儿的时候，我常常认为自个儿变了，然而我一回到你身边，那种感觉就统统消失了。”
“我了解自己的心境，”克莱夫边说边激动起来，起身离开了椅子。“我一向跟你不同。”
“现在一样了。你还记得吗？我曾经怎样假装……”
“我当然记得了，别这么孩子气。”
“咱们两个人相互爱着，自己也知道。那么，另外还有什么……”
“哦，看在上帝的分上，莫瑞斯，你给我住口！倘若我爱什么人的话，就是艾达。”他补充说，“我只是作为一个例子随便提到她的。”
然而，莫瑞斯倒是能够理解什么叫做例子。“艾达？”他说，连腔调都变了。
“仅仅是向你表明某一种感情。”
“你几乎不了解艾达啊。”
“我也不了解我那位护士，以及我提到过的其他一些女人。正如我刚才说过的，并不是特定的什么人，只是一种倾向而已。”
“你到这儿的时候，谁在家来着？”
“吉蒂。”
“然而你说的是艾达呀，不是吉蒂。”
“是啊。可我指的不是～哦，别这么笨头笨脑的！”
“你这话是什么意思？”
“不管怎样，我已经把自己的问题摊开来了。现在呢，”克莱夫竭力不牵涉个人感情地说，他求助于能够给予慰藉的词句，这番谈话是预定要这么结束的。“我变了。眼下我想让你也理解，尽管我变了，却丝毫不会损害咱们两个人之间的真实友情。我非常喜欢你——超过了我曾遇见的任何人（他是言不由衷的）。我非常尊敬并且赞美你，真正的纽带是品性，而不是情欲。”
“就在我进屋之前，你跟艾达说什么了吗？难道你没听见我的汽车开过来吗？为什么吉蒂和妈妈迎出来了，你们却没出来？你们应该听见了我的声音啊。你知道我为了你把工作都丢开了。你一次也没接我的电话，你既没写信给我，也没有马上从希腊返回。过去你到这儿来的时候，跟艾达见过多少次？”
“嘿，老弟，这么盘问我可不行。”
“你说过可以问。”
“关于你的妹妹，可不行。”
“为什么不行？”
“喂，我说呀，你必须住口。再回到我刚才谈起的品性的问题——它才是人与人之间的真正的纽带。你不能在沙子上建造起一座房子，而情欲就是沙子。我们需要坚实牢固的地基……”
“艾达！”他突然故意喊道。
克莱夫吓得大叫，“干什么？”
“艾达！艾达！”
克莱夫冲到门跟前，将它锁上了。“莫瑞斯，不应该这么结束——可别吵完架再分手。”他恳求道。然而，当莫瑞斯走过来时，他抽出钥匙，攥在手里，敬重女性的理念终于被唤醒了。“你不能连累女人，”他喃喃地说，“我决不允许。”
“把它交出来。”
“决不。别把事情弄得更糟，不行——不行。”
莫瑞斯立即冲到他身边。他撒腿就逃，二人围绕着那把大椅子你追我躲，唧唧喳喳地为了给不给钥匙而争辩着。
他们怀着敌意碰撞在一起，随后永远分离了，钥匙掉在两个人之间的地面上。
“克莱夫，我伤着你了吗？”
“没有。”
“亲爱的，我是无意的。”
“我不要紧。”
他们在开始新的人生之前，相互望了一眼对方的脸。“这叫什么结局呀，”他啜泣着，“这叫什么结局呀。”
“我确实相当喜欢她。”克莱夫说，脸色很苍白。
“将会发生什么事呢？”莫瑞斯说，他坐下来，擦着嘴。“你来安排吧……我已经精疲力竭了。”
艾达既然到走廊里来了，克莱夫便迎出去。目前他首要的义务就是保护女性。他含糊其辞安抚了她一番，欲返回吸烟室。然而门已被锁上，进不去了。他听见莫瑞斯熄了灯，“咕咚”一声坐到椅子上。
“不管怎样，别干傻事。”克莱夫焦虑不安地高声说。没有回答。克莱夫简直不知道如何是好，无论如何他也不能在这家过夜了。他开始行使男人的特权，宣布自己终究还是得回城里去睡，女人们表示同意。他撇下室内的黑暗，步入外界的黑暗。他向车站踱去时，落叶纷飞，猫头鹰呜叫，路被雾气笼罩着。夜色更深，郊外的街灯已熄灭了。没有妥协余地的完全的夜晚像对待他的朋友那样，压得他喘不过气来。他也遭受了痛苦，于是大声喊道：“这叫什么结局呀！”然而，他已被许诺将获得黎明。女人的爱会像旭日一样千真万确地升起，把不成熟处烧焦，引他进入成熟的日子。即使在苦恼之中他也清楚这一点，他是不会跟艾达结婚的——她出现于过渡时期——但是他一定能找到在伦敦为他开拓的那个新世界的女神，她与莫瑞斯‘霍尔迥然不同。
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Chapter 26
For three years Maurice had been so fit and happy that he went on automatically for a day longer. He woke with the feeling that it must be all right soon. Clive would come back, apologizing or not as he chose, and he would apol-ogize to Clive. Clive must love him, because his whole life was dependent on love and here it was going on as usual. How could he sleep and rest if he had no friend? When he returned from town to find no news, he remained for a little calm, and allowed his family to speculate on Clive's departure. But he began to watch Ada. She looked sad—even their mother noticed it. Shad-ing his eyes, he watched her. Save for her, he would have dis-missed the scene as "one of Clive's long speeches", but she came into that speech as an example. He wondered why she was sad.
"I say—" he called when they were alone; he had no idea what he was going to say, though a sudden blackness should have warned him. She replied, but he could not hear her voice. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, trembling.
"Nothing."
"There is—I can see it. You can't take me in."
"Oh no—really, Maurice, nothing."
"Why did—what did he say?"
"Nothing."
"Who said nothing?" he yelled, crashing both fists on the table. He had caught her.
"Nothing—only Clive."
The name on her lips opened Hell. He suffered hideously and before he could stop himself had spoken words that neither ever forgot. He accused his sister of corrupting his friend. He let her suppose that Clive had complained of her conduct and gone back to town on that account. Her gentle nature was so outraged that she could not defend herself, but sobbed and sobbed, and implored him not to speak to her mother, just as if she were guilty. He assented: jealousy had maddened him.
"But when you see him—Mr Durham—tell him I didn't mean —say there's no one whom I'd rather—"
"—go wrong with," he supplied: not till later did he under-stand his own blackguardism.
Hiding her face, Ada collapsed.
"Ishall not tell him. I shall never see Durham again to tell. You've the satisfaction of breaking up that friendship."
She sobbed, "I don't mind that—you've always been so un-kind to us, always." He drew up at last. Kitty had said that sort of thing to him, but never Ada. He saw that beneath their ob-sequious surface his sisters disliked him: he had not even suc-ceeded at home. Muttering "It's not my fault," he left her.
A refined nature would have behaved better and perhaps have suffered less. Maurice was not intellectual, nor religious, nor had he that strange solace of self-pity that is granted to some. Except on one point his temperament was normal, and he behaved as would the average man who after two years of happiness had been betrayed by his wife. It was nothing to him that Nature had caught up this dropped stitch in order to continue her pat-tern. While he had love he had kept reason. Now he saw Clive's change as treachery and Ada as its cause, and returned in a few hours to the abyss where he had wandered as a boy.
After this explosion his career went forward. He caught the
usual train to town, to earn and spend money in the old man-ner; he read the old papers and discussed strikes and the divorce laws with his friends. At first he was proud of his self-control: did not he hold Clive's reputation in the hollow of his hand? But he grew more bitter, he wished that he had shouted while he had the strength and smashed down this front of lies. What if he too were involved? His family, his position in society—they had been nothing to him for years. He was an outlaw in disguise. Perhaps among those who took to the greenwood in old time there had been two men like himself—two. At times he enter-tained the dream. Two men can defy the world.
Yes: the heart of his agony would be loneliness. He took time to realize this, being slow. The incestuous jealousy, the morti-fication, the rage at his past obtuseness—these might pass, and having done much harm they did pass. Memories of Clive might pass. But the loneliness remained. He would wake and gasp "I've no one!" or "Oh Christ, what a world!" Clive took to visiting him in dreams. He knew there was no one, but Clive, smiling in his sweet way, said "I'm genuine this time," to torture him. Once he had a dream about the dream of the face and the voice, a dream about it, no nearer. Also old dreams of the other sort, that tried to disintegrate him. Days followed nights. An immense silence, as of death, encircled the young man, and as he was go-ing up to town one morning it struck him that he really was dead. What was the use of money-grubbing, eating, and playing games? That was all he did or had ever done.
"Life's a damn poor show," he exclaimed, crumpling up theDaily Telegraph.
The other occupants of the carriage who liked him began to laugh.
"I'd jump out of the window for twopence."
Having spoken, he began to contemplate suicide. There was
nothing to deter him. He had no initial fear of death, and no sense of a world beyond it, nor did he mind disgracing his fam-ily. He knew that loneliness was poisoning him, so that he grew viler as well as more unhappy. Under these circumstances might he not cease? He began to compare ways and means, and would have shot himself but for an unexpected event. This event was the illness and death of his grandfather, which induced a new state of mind.
Meanwhile, he had received letters from Clive, but they al-ways contained the sentence, "We had better not meet just yet." He grasped the situation now—his friend would do anything for him except be with him; it had been thus ever since the first illness, and on these lines he was offered friendship in the future. Maurice did not cease to love, but his heart had been broken; he never had wild thoughts of winning Clive back. What he grasped he grasped with a firmness that the refined might envy, and suffered up to the hilt.
He answered these letters, oddly sincere. He still wrote what was true, and confided that he was unbearably lonely and should blow out his brains before the year ended. But he wrote without emotion. It was more a tribute to their heroic past, and accepted by Durham as such. His replies were unemotional also, and it was plain that, however much help he was given and however hard he tried, he could no longer penetrate into Mau-rice's mind.
三年以来，莫瑞斯生活得无比健康幸福，第二天也习惯成自然地度过了。一觉醒来，他感到一切都会很快好起来。克莱夫将会回来，道歉与否，由他自己决定。至于他呢，是要向克莱夫道歉的。克莱夫非爱他不可，因为他的整个人生是仰仗爱情的。今天，他不是也在正常地生活着吗？倘若没有朋友，他怎么能睡觉、休息呢？他从伦敦回到家里后，得悉没有克莱夫的音讯。他暂时保持冷静，听任家里人推测克莱夫为什么突然告辞。但是他开始留心观察艾达。她的神情忧伤，就连他们的母亲都注意到了。他垂下眼皮，审视着她。若不是克莱夫提到了她，莫瑞斯会认为昨天晚上那一场是“克莱夫又一次发表冗长的讲话”。然而在那篇讲话中，艾达作为一个例子被提到了。奇怪的是，她为什么感到忧伤。
“喂．”只剩下他们二人在一起时，他开口说话了。可足他不知道自己打算说什么，黑暗警告了他。她回答了，但是他听不见她的声音。“你怎么啦？”他浑身发颤，问道。
“没怎么。”
“就是有事——我看得出来，你骗不了我。”
“哦，不——真的，莫瑞斯，没事。”
“为什么——他说什么来着？”
“什么都没说。”
“什么都没说，你指的是谁？”他攥起双拳砸桌子，大喊大叫。这下可让他逮了个正着。
“什么都没说——克莱夫呀。”
她吐出的这个名字使地狱之门敞开了。他体验到巨大的痛苦，来不及抑制自己，说出了双方都永远忘不掉的话。他指责妹妹腐蚀了他的朋友，他让她以为，克莱夫曾抱怨过她的行为，由于这个缘故才回伦敦去的。性格温和的她受到伤害后甚至不懂得替自己辩护，只是一味地呜咽，哀求他别跟妈妈说，就好像她本人有什么过错似的。他答应不给她告状。忌妒使他变得疯狂了。
“可你见到他——德拉姆先生——的时候，告诉他我没有那个意思——我跟任何人都没有……”
“……犯错误的打算。”他补充说。后来他才明白此言何等粗鄙。
艾达把脸藏起来，她支持不住了。
“我不告诉他。我永远不会跟德拉姆见面了，什么也告诉不了他。你破坏了我们之间的友谊，这下子称心了吧。”
她抽噎着说：“破坏了我也不在乎。你对我们从来都是冷酷的，从来都是。”他终于变得冷酷了。他看出，妹妹们表面上顺从，骨子里是厌恶他的。甚至在家中，他也没有成功可言。他悄声说：“这不是我的过错。”随后离开了她。
有教养的人，举止更文雅一些，也许少受些折磨。莫瑞斯没有才智，不信仰宗教，也缺乏某些人所拥有的自我怜悯这一奇妙的慰藉方法。除了这一点，他的性情是正常的，他采取的是度过两年幸福生活后被妻子背叛了的任何一个普通男人那样的行动。大自然补上遗漏了的这一针，以便继续编织它的图案，对他来说是无所谓的。拥有爱的时候，他保持了理智。现在他把克莱夫的变心看成背叛，艾达就是起因。不出几个钟头，他就返回到曾在少年时代徘徊过的那个深渊。
这次爆发后，他的人生延续下去。他照例乘那趟火车赴伦敦，像原先那样挣钱并花钱。他依旧读以前那几份报纸，跟同事们谈论罢工啦，离婚法啦。起初他对拥有自制力感到得意。他不是已经把克莱夫的名声攥在手心里了吗？然而他更加充满怨恨，他希望趁着自己还有那股气力，大声喊出来，把这骗人的幌子扔到一旁。即使连他本人也牵涉进去了，那又怎么样？他的家族，他的社会地位——对他而言，多年来都已经无所谓了。他是个乔装打扮的不法分子，也许从前逃进绿林（译注：绿林是英国一系列民谣中的传奇英雄罗宾汉隐居的地方。有些民谣可以追溯到14世纪以前，罗宾汉是反叛者，是结伙抢劫官府的代表人物，所获钱财却分给穷人。）的人中有两个像他这样的——两个。两个人就可以向整个世界挑战，有时他怀有这样的梦想，并自得其乐。
苦恼的核心是寂寞。他是个迟钝的人，过了一个时期才认识到这一点。乱伦的妒忌、屈辱，由于往日的愚钝而引起的愤怒一这一切都会过去的，对他造成的那么多伤害也会过去。对克莱夫的回忆可能会过去，寂寞却挥之不去。他醒过来，气喘吁吁地说：“我什么人也没有！”“啊，天哪，这是什么世道呀！”克莱夫开始出现在梦里了。他知道什么人都没有，然而克莱夫甜蜜地微笑着说：“这次我可是真的。”使他受尽折磨。有一次他梦见了原先做过的那个有关脸和声音的梦。梦中梦，更朦胧。另外一些旧梦也频频进入梦境，企图让他崩溃。日以继夜，死亡般的无止境的静寂笼罩着这个青年。一天早晨，在开往伦敦的火车中，他觉得自己实际上已经死了。赚钱、吃饭、规规矩矩地活着，有什么用呢？他所做的或他曾经做过的，无非是这些。
“生活是一出蹩脚透顶的戏，”他一边把《每日电讯报》揉成一团，一边呼喊。
其他乘客并不讨厌他，都笑起来了。
“我会满不在乎地从窗子跳出去。”
说罢，他开始仔细考虑自杀的事，什么也制止不了他。他对死亡本来就没有畏惧，也不相信来世，更不在乎使家族丢脸。他知道孤独正在伤害自己，于是变得更加可憎，越来越愁闷。在这样的境遇下，是否不如死了算了呢？他开始比较该采取什么办法与手段，若不是发生了一件意想不到的事，他会开熗自杀的。外祖父患病并且去世了，使他进入新的精神状态。
其间，克莱夫寄来了好几封信，然而信中总是这么写着：“咱们还是别见面为好。”现在他领会了自己的处境——他这个朋友什么都愿r劳，惟独拒绝跟他待在一起。克莱夫自从头一次生病就是这样，今后他所提供的也是这样的友情。莫瑞斯一往情深，然而他的心被弄碎了。他从来没有异想天开地认为能把克莱夫争取回来，他以高尚的人所羡慕的那种坚定来领悟自己所该领悟的东西。他把苦酒饮到最后一滴。
莫瑞斯一封封地写了回信，写得出奇地诚恳。他写的依然是真实的，吐露说自己寂寞难耐，年内将击穿头颅而死。但他写得没有感情，不如说是对他们那英勇的往昔的颂辞，德拉姆就是这样来接受的，他的回信也缺乏感情。有一点是明显的：不论借助什么，不论下多大工夫，他再也不可能看透莫瑞斯的心了。
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4071鲜花 1鸡蛋

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Chapter 27
Maurice's grandfather was an example of the growth that may come with old age. Throughout life he had been the ordinary business man—hard and touchy—but he re-tired not too late, and with surprising results. He took to "read-ing", and though the direct effects were grotesque, a softness was generated that transformed his character. The opinions of others—once to be contradicted or ignored—appeared worthy of note, and their desires worth humouring. Ida, his unmarried daughter, who kept house for him, had dreaded the time "when my father will have nothing to do", and herself impervious, did not realize that he had changed until he was about to leave her.
The old gentleman employed his leisure in evolving a new religion—or rather a new cosmogony, for it did not contradict chapel. The chief point was that God lives inside the sun, whose bright envelope consists of the spirits of the blessed. Sunspots reveal God to men, so that when they occurred Mr Grace spent hours at his telescope, noting the interior darkness. The incarna-tion was a sort of sunspot.
He was glad to discuss his discovery with anyone, but did not proselytize, remarking that each must settle for himself: Clive Durham, with whom he had once had a long talk, knew as much about his opinions as anyone. They were those of the practical man who tries to think spiritually—absurd and materialistic, but first hand. Mr Grace had rejected the tasteful accounts of
the unseen that are handed out by the churches, and for that reason the hellenist had got on with him.
Now he was dying. A past of questionable honesty had faded, and he looked forward to joining those he loved and to be joined in due season by those whom he left behind. He summoned his late employees—men without illusions, but they "humoured the old hypocrite". He summoned his family, whom he had always treated well. His last days were very beautiful. To inquire into the causes of beauty were to inquire too closely, and only a cynic would dispel the blended Sorrow and Peace that perfumed Al-friston Gardens while a dear old man lay dying.
The relations came separately, in parties of two and three. All, except Maurice, were impressed. There was no intrigue, as Mr Grace had been open about his will, and each knew what to ex-pect. Ada, as the favourite grandchild, shared the fortune with her aunt. The rest had legacies. Maurice did not propose to re-ceive his. He did nothing to force Death on, but it waited to meet him at the right moment, probably when he returned.
But the sight of a fellow-traveller disconcerted him. His grandfather was getting ready for a journey to the sun, and, garrulous with illness, poured out to him one December after-noon. "Maurice, you read the papers. You've seen the new theory —" It was that a meteor swarm impinged on the rings of Saturn, and chipped pieces off them that fell into the sun. Now Mr Grace located the wicked in the outer planets of our system, and since he disbelieved in eternal damnation had been troubled how to extricate them. The new theory explained this. They were chipped off and reabsorbed into the good! Courteous and grave, the young man listened until a fear seized him that this tosh might be true. The fear was momentary, yet started one of those rearrangements that affect the whole character. It left him with the conviction that his grandfather was convinced. One
more human being had come alive. He had accomplished an act of creation, and as he did so Death turned her head away. "It's a great thing to believe as you do," he said very sadly. "Since Cambridge I believe in nothing—except in a sort of darkness."
"Ah, when I was your age—and now I see a bright light—no electric light can compare to it."
"When you were my age, grandfather, what?"
But Mr Grace did not answer questions. He said, "Brighter than magnesium wire—the light within," then drew a stupid parallel between God, dark inside the glowing sun, and the soul, invisible inside the visible body. "The power within—the soul: let it out, but not yet, not till the evening." He paused. "Maurice, be good to your mother; to your sisters; to your wife and chil-dren; to your clerks, as I have." He paused again and Maurice grunted, but not disrespectfully. He was caught by the phrase "not till the evening, do not let it out till the evening." The old man rambled ahead. One ought to be good—kind—brave: all the old advice. Yet it was sincere. It came from a living heart.
"Why?" he interrupted. "Grandpapa, why?"
"The light witiiin—"
"Ihaven't one." He laughed lest emotion should master him. "Such light as I had went out six weeks ago. I don't want to be good or kind or brave. If I go on living I shall be—not those things: the reverse of them. I don't want that either; I don't want anything."
"The light within—"
Maurice had neared confidences, but they would not have been listened to. His grandfather didn't, couldn't understand. He was only to get "the light within—be kind", yet the phrase continued the rearrangement that had begun inside him. Whyshould one be kind and good? For someone's sake—for the sake of Clive or God or the sun? But he had no one. No one except his
mother mattered and she only a little. He was practically alone, and why should he go on living? There was really no reason, yet he had a dreary feeling he should, because he had not got Death either; she, like Love, had glanced at him for a minute, then turned away, and left him to "play the game". And he might have to play as long as his grandfather, and retire as absurdly.
莫瑞斯的外祖父是老有所成的典范。他做了一辈子平凡的实业家——精明强干，动辄发火——但是他退休不是太晚，而且结果出人意料。他养成了“读书”的嗜好，宽厚仁慈改变了他的性格，这一直接效果的产生是怪诞的。旁人的看法——以前认为应该予以反驳或无视的——如今看来值得注意了，对旁人的心愿也尽量满足。他那个未婚的女儿艾达替他管家，她担心有一天“我父亲没事可做了”，那可怎么办。她是个感觉迟钝的人，直到他即将离开她的时候，都没发觉他变了。
老绅士把闲暇用在发展新兴宗教，或者不如说是新的宇宙演化论上，因为它并不对抗教会。主要的论点是：神存在于太阳当中，其光轮是由受祝福者的灵魂构成的，黑子向人启示神的存在。因此，每逢出现黑子，格雷斯先生在望远镜前一坐就是几个钟头，注视着黑子的暗核（译注：太阳黑子只是相对于周围温度高达数千度的明亮光球才显得黑。黑子的暗核称为“本影”，较亮的外环称为“半影”。）。“道成肉身”（译注：“道”指耶稣。“道成肉身”是基督教的中心教义。谓上帝之道即上帝的儿子、三位一体真神中的第二位成为肉身，就是耶稣基督，耶稣基督是神，也是人，基督是“上帝所生，非上帝所造”，因此耶稣不是被造物，而是造物主）是一种黑子。
他对任何人都津津乐道自己的这个发现。不过他说，各人有各人的志向，所以无意让别人皈依自己这个信仰。曾经跟他长谈过的克莱夫·德拉姆对他的见解了如指掌。这是试图从精神方面来进行思考的一个讲求实际者的见解—一可笑而实利主义的，然而是第一手的。正因为如此，克莱夫这个古希腊文明崇拜者才跟他合得来。
现在他快要死了。不一定完全正直的过去已消逝，他一心盼望与自己所爱的人们相聚，到了一定的时候，他所撇下的人们也将去与他相聚。他把以前的雇员们召集到床前。这些人对他不抱幻想，却“逢迎这个年迈的伪善者”。他把家族的人召集来，他一向待他们很好。他的最后那段日子非常美。去探讨何以会如此美，未免有追根问底之嫌。当一位亲爱的老人奄奄一息地躺着的时候，艾尔弗里斯顿花园弥漫着悲哀与平静相融的馨香，惟有愤世嫉俗者才会想去驱散它。
亲戚们纷纷到来。除了莫瑞斯，人人都印象深刻。格雷斯先生早就把遗嘱的内容公开了，大家都知道自己能得到什么，因此没有引起任何人的好奇心，他所宠爱的外孙女艾达与姨妈一起继承房产和宅地。其他人也各有一份遗赠物，莫瑞斯没提出要领他那一份。他没有逼迫死神及早降临，然而死神会等到恰当的时刻来迎接他，很可能就在他返回伦敦之际。
但是，旅伴这副样子使他疑虑不安。他的外祖父准备启程奔赴太阳，疾病让他变得饶舌了，十二月里的一个下午，他对外孙滔滔不绝地说：“莫瑞斯，你在报纸上读到了吧。你注意到新学说了吧……”据报道，流星群撞在土星环上，被撞下来的碎片落到太阳里面。格雷斯先生认为，恶人死后灵魂被赶到太阳系外侧的行星里。他不相信永远下地狱的学说，所以一直忧心忡忡，不知该怎样拯救恶人的灵魂。新学说对这一点做了解释，这些灵魂成了碎片，重新并入善里面！年轻人彬彬有礼、严肃认真地聆听着，突然被一种恐惧感笼罩住，觉得这番胡话也许是真的。这恐惧转瞬即逝，却使他开始洗心革面，整个性格发生了变化。他深信外祖父的信仰是令人信服的。一个活生生的人又出现了，他完成了一个创造性的行为，这样死神就把头转过去了。“能有您这样的信仰，可真了不起。”莫瑞斯非常伤心地说。“剑桥以来，我什么都不相信了——只是处在一种黑暗中。”
“啊，我在你这个年龄的时候嘛——如今我看到了光明——电灯可远远比不上它。”
“外公，您在我这个年龄的时候怎么样呢？”
然而，格雷斯先生不予回答。他说：“内在的光——比镁光灯还亮。”接着，他把灿烂的太阳黑子的暗核、灵魂，以及可见的肉体内部那不可见的力量与上帝之间做了个愚蠢的对比。“把内部的力量——灵魂释放出来，但是现在不行，等到了晚上再说。”他歇了口气。“莫瑞斯，待你的母亲，你的妹妹们，你的妻子和儿女们，以及你的下属要善良，就像我那样。”他又歇了口气。莫瑞斯咕哝了一声，但是并没有不尊重的意思。“到了傍晚再说，到了傍晚再把灵魂放出来”这句话把他吸引住了。老人漫无边际地闲扯下去。为人要善良、仁慈，要有勇气。统统是老生常谈。然而却是真诚的，发自一颗生气勃勃的心。
“为什么呢？”莫瑞斯插嘴道，“外公，为什么呢？”
“内在的光——”
“我没有这样的光。”他生怕自己会耽于感伤，就笑了。“我曾经拥有的光，已经在六个星期以前熄灭了。我不愿意变得善良、仁慈或勇敢。倘若我继续活下去，我不会这样活，而是刚好相反。我也不愿意过那样的生活，我什么都不愿意。”
“内在的光——”
莫瑞斯几乎要倾吐衷情了。不过，即使倾吐了，也会被置若罔闻。他的外祖父听不进去，也理解不了。莫瑞斯所得到的仅仅是“内在的光——为人要善良”这句话。然而这句话却促使他继续洗心革面。为什么为人要善良、仁慈呢？为了某人——究竟是为了克莱夫还是为了神，抑或是为了太阳呢？但是他什么人都没有。除了他母亲，任何人都无关紧要，就连他母亲，也没有多大关系。他差不多是孑然一身，为什么还要继续活下去呢？确实没有活下去的理由，然而他又有个阴郁的预感：自己只好活下去。因为就连死神也不属于他。死神犹如爱神，朝他瞥视了一会儿，就转身而去，撇下他，让他“度过光明磊落的一生”。他完全可能像外祖父那样延年益寿，跟外祖父一样可笑地退休。
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4071鲜花 1鸡蛋

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Chapter 28
His change, then, cannot be described as a conver-sion. There was nothing edifying about it. When he came home and examined the pistol he would never use, he was seized with disgust; when he greeted his mother no unfathom-able love for her welled up. He lived on, miserable and mis-understood, as before, and increasingly lonely. One cannot write those words too often: Maurice's loneliness: it increased.
But a change there had been. He set himself to acquire new habits, and in particular those minor arts of life that he had neglected when with Clive. Punctuality, courtesy, patriotism, chivalry even—here were a few. He practised a severe self-discipline. It was necessary not only to acquire the art, but to know when to apply it, and gently to modify his behaviour. At first he could do little. He had taken up a line to which his fam-ily and the world were accustomed, and any deviation worried them. This came out very strongly in a conversation with Ada.
Ada had become engaged to his old chum Chapman, and his hideous rivalry with her could end. Even after his grandfather's death he had feared she might marry Clive, and gone hot with jealousy. Clive would marry someone. But the thought of him with Ada remained maddening, and he could scarcely have be-haved properly unless it had been removed.
The match was excellent, and having approved of it publicly he took her aside, and said, "Ada, I behaved so badly to you,
i
dear, after Clive's visit. I want to say so now and ask you to for-give me. It's given a lot of pain since. I'm very sorry."
She looked surprised and not quite pleased; he saw that she still disliked him. She muttered, "That's all over—I love Arthur now."
"I wish I had not gone mad that evening, but I happened to be very much worried about something. Clive never said what I let you think he said either. He never blamed you."
"I don't care whether he did. It doesn't signify."
Her brother's apologies were so rare that she seized the op-portunity to trample on him. "When did you last see him?"— Kitty had suggested they had quarrelled.
"Not for some time."
"Those weekends and Wednesdays seem to have quite stopped."
"I wish you happiness. Old Chappie's a good fellow. For two people who are in love to marry strikes me as very jolly."
"It's very kind of you to wish me happiness, Maurice, I'm sure. I hope I shall have it whether I am wished it or not." (This was described to Chapman afterwards as a "repartee.") "I'm sure I wish you the same sort of thing you've been wishing me all along equally." Her face reddened. She had suffered a good deal, and was by no means indifferent to Clive, whose withdrawal had hurt her.
Maurice guessed as much and looked gloomily at her. Then he changed the subject, and, being without memory, she recov-ered her temper. But she could not forgive her brother: indeed it was not right that one of her temperament should, since he had insulted her centrally, and marred the dawning of a love.
Similar difficulties arose with Kitty. She also was on his con-science, but was displeased when he made amends. He offered to pay her fees at the Domestic Institute whereon her soul had
been so long set, and, though she accepted, it was ungraciously, and with the remark, "I expect I'm too old now to properly learn anything." She and Ada incited each other to thwart him in little things. Mrs Hall was shocked at first and rebuked them, but finding her son too indifferent to protect himself, she grew indifferent too. She was fond of him, but would not fight for him any more than she would fight against him when he was rude to the Dean. And so it happened that he was considered less in the house, and during the winter rather lost the position he had won at Cambridge. It began to be "Oh, Maurice won't mind—he can walk—sleep on the camp bed—smoke without a fire." He raised no objection—this was the sort of thing he now lived for—but he noted the subtle change and how it coin-cided with the coming of loneliness.
The world was likewise puzzled. He joined the Territorials— hitherto he had held off on the ground that the country can only be saved by conscription. He supported the social work even of the Church. He gave up Saturday golf in order to play foot-ball with the youths of the College Setdement in South London, and his Wednesday evenings in order to teach arithmetic and boxing to them. The railway carriage felt a little suspicious. Hall had turned serious, what! He cut down his expenses that he might subscribe more largely to charities—to preventive chari-ties: he would not give a halfpenny to rescue work. What with all this and what with his stockbroking, he managed to keep on the go.
Yet he was doing a fine thing—proving on how little the soul can exist. Fed neither by Heaven nor by Earth he was going forward, a lamp that would have blown out, were materialism true. He hadn't a God, he hadn't a lover—the two usual incen-tives to virtue. But on he struggled with his back to ease, be-cause dignity demanded it. There was no one to watch him,
nor did he watch himself, but struggles like his are the su-preme achievements of humanity, and surpass any legends about Heaven.
No reward awaited him. This work, like much that had gone before, was to fall ruining. But he did not fall with it, and the muscles it had developed remained for another use.
因此，莫瑞斯所起的变化说不上是皈依，其间丝毫没有启迪性的东西。当他回到家，检查那永远也不会使用的手熗时，突然感到憎恶。当他向母亲致意的时候，心里并没有涌出对她的无比深情的爱。他像以前那样活得凄凄惨惨，受到误解，越来越寂寞。人是不可能把心中的寂寥说尽的。莫瑞斯的孤寂与日俱增。
然而，他确实变了。他决心努力养成新习惯，尤其是与克莱夫在一起时曾忽视的生活小技巧。诸如严守时间、爱国心，甚至骑士精神等，他自律甚严。掌握技巧固然重要，还得领会什么时候运用，而且委婉地改变自己的举止。起初他所能做的不多。他从不至于引起自己的家族与世人的好奇心这方面着手，任何越轨行为都会使他们焦虑。他与艾达的一次谈话，产出了强烈的不谐和音。
艾达跟他多年的密友查普曼订婚了，他与她作为情敌的丑恶的对抗情绪就可以了结了。在外祖父逝世之后，他仍旧惧怕她会嫁给克莱夫，忌妒得心里火辣辣的。克莱夫会跟某一个人结婚，但是一想到他竟和艾达结婚，依然使他发狂。除非妒火熄灭了，他简直不可能正当地行事。
她和查普曼般配极了。莫瑞斯当众十分赞许，然后把她叫到一边去说：“艾达，亲爱的，克莱夫到咱们家来过之后，我对你很不好。现在我向你道歉，请你宽恕我。从那个时候起，这事造成了很大的痛苦。我感到非常对不起。”
她看上去吃了一惊，神情并不愉快。他明白她至今讨厌他。她悄声说：“这一切都过去了——现在我爱亚瑟。”
“那天晚上我不该发脾气。我刚好为一件事非常不安。克莱夫从来也没说过那些话，是我让你觉得他说了的。他从来也没责备过你。”
“我不在乎他是否说过，这根本不重要。”
她哥哥是轻易不道歉的，因而她抓住机会让他下不了台。“你是什么时候最后一次见到他的？”——吉蒂曾暗示，哥哥与克莱夫吵架了。
“有一段时间了。”
“你们那些周末和星期三，好像完全断绝了。”
“我祝愿你幸福，老查皮（译注：查皮是查普曼的昵称。）是个好人。我突然想到，两个相爱的人结婚，是件令人非常愉快的事。”
“莫瑞斯，我真的感谢你祝愿我幸福。不论你祝愿与否，我希望自己会获得幸福。”（事后，艾达把自己对哥哥的这番“巧妙的回答”叙述给查普曼听了。）“我真的祝愿你获得同样的幸福，就像你始终祝愿我那样。”她的面颊泛红了。她吃够了苦头，她对克莱夫不是漠不关心，他的退出伤了她的感情。
莫瑞斯对此有所揣测，忧郁地瞧着她，换了一个话题。她是个没有记性的人，心情又好起来了。但是她不能饶恕哥哥，既然他深深地侮辱了她，并且破坏了刚刚萌芽的爱情，像她这种性格的女人确实不该饶恕他。
他跟吉蒂之间也同样困难重重。他对她也感到内疚，但是当他赔不是的时候，她却怫然不悦。他表示愿意为她交向往已久的家政学校的学费。她尽管接受了，态度却并不亲切，还说了这么一句：“我认为现在自己的岁数已经太大了，不可能正正经经地学什么东西了。”她和艾达竞相在一些小事情上与哥哥作对。起初霍尔太太感到吃惊，责备了她们。不过，她发现自己的儿子对于自卫太不关心了，于是她也变得漠不关心。她喜欢儿子，然而正如他对学监粗鲁的那次她不曾跟他对抗，现在她也无意为了他的缘故而跟旁人对抗。这样一来他在家里就威信扫地了。进入冬季，他将自己在剑桥时代所赢得的地位丧失殆尽。是这样开始的：“哦，莫瑞斯才不介意呢——他可以走着去——睡在帆布床上——在没有生火的屋子里抽烟。”他不曾表示异议——如今，这就是他的人生——然而他注意到了那微妙的变化，以及寂寞怎样伴随而来。
世人也同样感到莫名其妙。他参加了国防义勇军（译注：英国国防义勇军的简称，是防卫本土的地方性组织），迄今他借口只有征兵制度才能拯救祖国，拖延着没去人队。他甚至支持起教会的社会事业来了。他放弃了星期六的高尔夫球，以便跟伦敦南区学院社区的青少年玩足球。每逢星期三晚上，还教他们算术和拳击。乘火车去卜．班的同事们有点儿怀疑：什么，霍尔变得一本正经了？他节省开销，这样能多捐些钱给慈善事业。他资助那些能够自救者，却连半个便士也不肯用来济贫。由于参加这些活动，并从事证券经济业务，他总算使自己忙碌不堪。
不过，他做的是一件好事——他正在证实灵魂可以存在于微小的东西上面。既无上帝的保佑，也没有来自大地的帮助，他向前迈进。倘若唯物论有道理的话，他好比是一吹就灭的油灯。他没有神，他没有情人——这二者通常能诱使人们培育美德。然而他背对着安逸，挣扎下去，因为尊严要求他这么做。没有一个人留心观察他，就连他自己也不曾观察自己。但是他所做的这一切苦斗，是人类最高的成就，超过了有关天国的任何传说。
他拿不到任何报酬，犹如过去消逝了的许许多多工作一样，这项工作也注定前途尽毁。然而他没有随着倒下，通过苦斗，练就了体力，可以派上其他用处。
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