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

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

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人性的枷锁 Of Human Bondage【9.02连载至第100章】
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  《人性的枷锁》是英国19世纪知名作家威廉·萨默塞特·毛姆的长篇半自传体小说，也是其代表作品，于1915年出版，作品尽管在批评界有所争议，但出版后便长印不衰，受到了极大的欢迎，也被翻拍成影视作品。小说以第一人称的视角叙述了主人公菲利普前半生的迷惘、探索、失望、挫折、和痛苦。作品的主题是命运羁绊之下的人性的自由。

   菲利普天生跛足，自幼失去双亲，自卑的心理深深植根在他的生活中。他在伯父凯里牧师和伯母路易莎的抚养下长大，伯父对其较为冷淡，但伯母悉心照料，给予他母亲般的温暖。菲利普自幼酷爱文学，在伯父的书房里找到寄托。伯父伯母希望菲利普到牛津学习神学，以后成为神父，把他送到一所宗教气氛浓厚的寄宿学校学习。在那里，虽然菲利普崭露了学习的天份，但生性腼腆的他并不能融入到学校生活中，也因为跛足受尽嘲笑。
    随后，菲利普不顾伯父的反对，远赴德国海德堡求学，在那里结识了英国人海沃德和美国人威克斯，开始对神学产生质疑。在一个假期回到英国家中时，菲利普同威尔金森小姐互生情愫但并不真心相恋，在回到德国后便逐渐停止通信。
    之后，菲利普到伦敦成为一名会计学徒，但他对枯燥的生活感到厌倦，很快就转而到巴黎学习艺术，在巴黎学了两年绘画。在巴黎，菲利普结交了一些朋友，其中有毫无天分、脾气怪异的普莱斯小姐。普莱斯小姐暗中喜欢菲利普，后来因为穷困无助和绝望而自杀。
    菲利普最终意识到自己在艺术上资质平平，不会有所建树，而伯母的死讯传来，菲利普回到英国，并决定去伦敦学医。在伦敦，菲利普爱上了女招待米尔德，但米尔德并不喜欢菲利普，而且天性自私，拒绝了菲利普的追求，同他人发生关系并怀孕。在追求失败后，菲利普转向女作家诺拉的怀抱。之后米尔德被人抛弃，又找到了菲利普，菲利普同诺拉分手，努力接济米尔德生活。但米尔德随后恋上了菲利普的朋友哈利并再次离开。
    当菲利普再次遇到米尔德时，发现她再次被抛弃，成为妓女。此时的菲利普已不再爱她，但因为怜悯而收留了她。米尔德试图引诱菲利普未果，一怒之下逃走。后来菲利普知晓她孩子病死，再次沦落风尘。
   菲利普后来因投资南非矿山失败而破产，不得不在商店里打工。但最终因得到伯父死后留下的遗产而再次回到医学院，取得医生资质。后来菲利普同多次帮助过自己的医生阿瑟尔尼的女儿萨利相恋，并得知她怀孕的消息。菲利普果断放弃之前游历的计划，同萨利订婚。
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[ 此帖被wj宝宝在2014-09-02 17:12重新编辑 ]
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chapter 1

The day broke gray and dull. The clouds hung heavily, and there was a rawness in the air that suggested snow. A woman servant came into a room in which a child was sleeping and drew the curtains. She glanced mechanically at the house opposite, a stucco house with a portico, and went to the child’s bed.

‘Wake up, Philip,’ she said.

She pulled down the bed-clothes, took him in her arms, and carried him downstairs. He was only half awake.

‘Your mother wants you,’ she said.

She opened the door of a room on the floor below and took the child over to a bed in which a woman was lying. It was his mother. She stretched out her arms, and the child nestled by her side. He did not ask why he had been awakened. The woman kissed his eyes, and with thin, small hands felt the warm body through his white flannel nightgown. She pressed him closer to herself.

‘Are you sleepy, darling?’ she said.

Her voice was so weak that it seemed to come already from a great distance. The child did not answer, but smiled comfortably. He was very happy in the large, warm bed, with those soft arms about him. He tried to make himself smaller still as he cuddled up against his mother, and he kissed her sleepily. In a moment he closed his eyes and was fast asleep. The doctor came forwards and stood by the bed-side.

‘Oh, don’t take him away yet,’ she moaned.

The doctor, without answering, looked at her gravely. Knowing she would not be allowed to keep the child much longer, the woman kissed him again; and she passed her hand down his body till she came to his feet; she held the right foot in her hand and felt the five small toes; and then slowly passed her hand over the left one. She gave a sob.

‘What’s the matter?’ said the doctor. ‘You’re tired.’

She shook her head, unable to speak, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. The doctor bent down.

‘Let me take him.’

She was too weak to resist his wish, and she gave the child up. The doctor handed him back to his nurse.

‘You’d better put him back in his own bed.’

‘Very well, sir.’ The little boy, still sleeping, was taken away. His mother sobbed now broken-heartedly.

‘What will happen to him, poor child?’

The monthly nurse tried to quiet her, and presently, from exhaustion, the crying ceased. The doctor walked to a table on the other side of the room, upon which, under a towel, lay the body of a still-born child. He lifted the towel and looked. He was hidden from the bed by a screen, but the woman guessed what he was doing.

‘Was it a girl or a boy?’ she whispered to the nurse.

‘Another boy.’

The woman did not answer. In a moment the child’s nurse came back. She approached the bed.

‘Master Philip never woke up,’ she said. There was a pause. Then the doctor felt his patient’s pulse once more.

‘I don’t think there’s anything I can do just now,’ he said. ‘I’ll call again after breakfast.’

‘I’ll show you out, sir,’ said the child’s nurse.

They walked downstairs in silence. In the hall the doctor stopped.

‘You’ve sent for Mrs. Carey’s brother-in-law, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘D’you know at what time he’ll be here?’

‘No, sir, I’m expecting a telegram.’

‘What about the little boy? I should think he’d be better out of the way.’

‘Miss Watkin said she’d take him, sir.’

‘Who’s she?’

‘She’s his godmother, sir. D’you think Mrs. Carey will get over it, sir?’

The doctor shook his head.

第一章

天亮了，天色阴沉沉的。彤云低垂，寒风刺骨，眼看要飞雪花了。屋里睡着个孩子，一名女仆走了进来，拉开窗帘。她朝对面的房子，一幢正门前筑有柱廊的灰泥房子，无意识地望了一眼，然后走到孩子床边。

"醒醒，菲利普，"她说。

她掀开被子，抱起孩子，带他下了楼。孩子迷迷糊糊的，还未醒透。

"你妈妈要你去哩，"她说。

她来到下面一层楼，推开一间屋子的房门，将小孩抱到床前。床上躺着一位妇人，是孩子的母亲。她张开双臂，让孩子依偎在自己身边。孩子没问为什么要在这时候将他唤醒。妇人吻吻孩子的眼睛，并用那双纤弱的小手，隔着孩子的白法兰绒睡衣，抚摩他温暖的身子。她让孩子贴紧自己的身子。

"还困吗，宝贝？"她说。

她的声音轻轻悠悠，仿佛是从远处飘来。孩子没有应声，只是惬意地微微一笑，躺在这张暖和的大床上，又被温柔的双臂搂着，感到有种说不出的快意。孩子紧偎着母亲，蜷起身子，想让自己缩得更小些；他睡意矇眬地吻着母亲。不一会，他阖上眼皮，酣然入梦了。医生走过来，站在床前。

"噢，别现在就把他抱走，"妇人悲戚地说。

医生神情严肃地望着她，没有答话。妇人心里明白医生不会让孩子在她身边呆多久的，她又一次亲亲孩子；她抚摸着孩子的身体，手指轻轻下持，最后触到孩子的下肢；她把右脚捏在手里，抚弄着那五个小脚趾。接着又慢慢地把手伸到左脚上。她抽搭了一声。

"怎么啦？"医生说，"你累了。"

她摇摇头，哽咽着说不出话来，眼泪沿着双颊扑籁而下。医生弯下身子。

"让我来抱他。"

她心力交瘁，无力违拗医生的意愿，只得任他抱走了孩子。医生把孩子交还给保姆。

"最好还是把孩子送回自己的床上去。"

"好的，先生。"

仍在呼呼熟睡的孩子被抱开了。做母亲的这时万箭钻心，低声呜咽起来。

"可怜的孩子，不知他将来会怎么样呢？"

侍候产妇的看护在一旁好言劝慰，想让她平静下来。隔了一会，她由于精疲力竭而停止了哭泣。医生走到房间另一侧的一张桌子跟前，桌上有具死婴，用毛巾蒙着。他揭开毛巾看了看。虽然医生的身子被屏风遮住，但床上的产妇还是猜着了他在干什么。

"是女的还是男的？"她低声问看护。

"又是个男孩。"

妇人没有再吭声。不一会，孩子的保姆回来了。她走到床头前。

"菲利普少爷睡得很香，"她说。

一阵沉默。医生又给病人搭脉。

"我想这会儿没我的事了，"他说。"早饭后我再来。"

"让我领您出去，"孩子的保姆说。

他们默然不语地步下楼梯。到了门厅，医生收住脚步。

"你们派人去请凯里太太的大伯了，是吗？"

"是的，先生。"

"你知道他什么时候能到这儿？"

"不知道，先生，我正在等电报。"

"那小孩怎么办？我觉得最好把他领开去。"

"沃特金小姐说她愿意照看孩子，先生。"

"这位小姐是谁？"

"是孩子的教母，先生。您认为凯里太太的病还能好吗，先生？"

医生摇摇头。
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举报 只看该作者 板凳   发表于: 2014-07-23 0




chapter 2

It was a week later. Philip was sitting on the floor in the drawing-room at Miss Watkin’s house in Onslow gardens. He was an only child and used to amusing himself. The room was filled with massive furniture, and on each of the sofas were three big cushions. There was a cushion too in each arm-chair. All these he had taken and, with the help of the gilt rout chairs, light and easy to move, had made an elaborate cave in which he could hide himself from the Red Indians who were lurking behind the curtains. He put his ear to the floor and listened to the herd of buffaloes that raced across the prairie. Presently, hearing the door open, he held his breath so that he might not be discovered; but a violent hand piled away a chair and the cushions fell down.

‘You naughty boy, Miss Watkin WILL be cross with you.’

‘Hulloa, Emma!’ he said.

The nurse bent down and kissed him, then began to shake out the cushions, and put them back in their places.

‘Am I to come home?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I’ve come to fetch you.’

‘You’ve got a new dress on.’

It was in eighteen-eighty-five, and she wore a bustle. Her gown was of black velvet, with tight sleeves and sloping shoulders, and the skirt had three large flounces. She wore a black bonnet with velvet strings. She hesitated. The question she had expected did not come, and so she could not give the answer she had prepared.

‘Aren’t you going to ask how your mamma is?’ she said at length.

‘Oh, I forgot. How is mamma?’

Now she was ready.

‘Your mamma is quite well and happy.’

‘Oh, I am glad.’

‘Your mamma’s gone away. You won’t ever see her any more.’ Philip did not know what she meant.

‘Why not?’

‘Your mamma’s in heaven.’

She began to cry, and Philip, though he did not quite understand, cried too. Emma was a tall, big-boned woman, with fair hair and large features. She came from Devonshire and, notwithstanding her many years of service in London, had never lost the breadth of her accent. Her tears increased her emotion, and she pressed the little boy to her heart. She felt vaguely the pity of that child deprived of the only love in the world that is quite unselfish. It seemed dreadful that he must be handed over to strangers. But in a little while she pulled herself together.

‘Your Uncle William is waiting in to see you,’ she said. ‘Go and say good-bye to Miss Watkin, and we’ll go home.’

‘I don’t want to say good-bye,’ he answered, instinctively anxious to hide his tears.

‘Very well, run upstairs and get your hat.’

He fetched it, and when he came down Emma was waiting for him in the hall. He heard the sound of voices in the study behind the dining-room. He paused. He knew that Miss Watkin and her sister were talking to friends, and it seemed to him—he was nine years old—that if he went in they would be sorry for him.

‘I think I’ll go and say good-bye to Miss Watkin.’

‘I think you’d better,’ said Emma.

‘Go in and tell them I’m coming,’ he said.

He wished to make the most of his opportunity. Emma knocked at the door and walked in. He heard her speak.

‘Master Philip wants to say good-bye to you, miss.’

There was a sudden hush of the conversation, and Philip limped in. Henrietta Watkin was a stout woman, with a red face and dyed hair. In those days to dye the hair excited comment, and Philip had heard much gossip at home when his godmother’s changed colour. She lived with an elder sister, who had resigned herself contentedly to old age. Two ladies, whom Philip did not know, were calling, and they looked at him curiously.

‘My poor child,’ said Miss Watkin, opening her arms.

She began to cry. Philip understood now why she had not been in to luncheon and why she wore a black dress. She could not speak.

‘I’ve got to go home,’ said Philip, at last.

He disengaged himself from Miss Watkin’s arms, and she kissed him again. Then he went to her sister and bade her good-bye too. One of the strange ladies asked if she might kiss him, and he gravely gave her permission. Though crying, he keenly enjoyed the sensation he was causing; he would have been glad to stay a little longer to be made much of, but felt they expected him to go, so he said that Emma was waiting for him. He went out of the room. Emma had gone downstairs to speak with a friend in the basement, and he waited for her on the landing. He heard Henrietta Watkin’s voice.

‘His mother was my greatest friend. I can’t bear to think that she’s dead.’

‘You oughtn’t to have gone to the funeral, Henrietta,’ said her sister. ‘I knew it would upset you.’

Then one of the strangers spoke.

‘Poor little boy, it’s dreadful to think of him quite alone in the world. I see he limps.’

‘Yes, he’s got a club-foot. It was such a grief to his mother.’

Then Emma came back. They called a hansom, and she told the driver where to go.



第二章

一个星期之后。翁斯洛花园街上的沃特金小姐公馆。菲利普正坐在客厅的地板上。他没有兄弟姐妹，已习惯于独个儿玩耍取乐。客厅里摆满了厚实的家具，每张长沙发上都有三只大靠垫。每张安乐椅上也放着一只椅垫。菲利普把这些软垫全拿过来，又借助于几张轻巧而易于挪动的镀金雕花靠背椅，煞费苦心地搭成个洞穴。他藏身在这儿，就可以躲开那些潜伏在帷幔后面的印第安人。菲利普把耳朵贴近地板，谛听野牛群在草原上狂奔疾驰。不一会儿，他听见门打开了，赶紧销声敛息，生怕被人发现；但是，一只有力的手猛地拖开靠背椅，软垫纷纷跌落在地。

"淘气鬼，你要惹沃特金小姐生气啦。"

"你好啊，埃玛？"他说。

保姆弯下腰吻了吻他，然后将软垫抖抖干净，一只只放回原处。

"我该回家了，是吗？"他问道。

"是呀，我特地来领你的。"

"你穿了件新衣裙哩。"

这是一八八五年。她身上穿一件黑天鹅绒裙袍，腰里衬着裙撑，窄袖削肩，裙子上镶了三条宽荷叶边；头上戴一顶系有天鹅绒饰带的黑色无边帽。她犹豫起来。她原以为孩子一见面，一定会提出那个问题，结果压根儿没提，这一来，她预先准备好的回答也就无从出口了。

"你不想问问你妈妈身体好吗？"最后她只好自己这么说了。

"噢，我忘了。妈妈身体好吗？"

埃玛这会儿胸有成竹。

"你妈妈身体很好，也很快活。"

"哦，我真高兴。"

"你妈妈已经去了，你再也见不着她了。"

菲利普没听懂她的意思。

"为什么见不着了？"

"你妈妈已在天国里了。"

埃玛失声痛哭，菲利普虽不完全明白是怎么回事，但也跟着号喝起来。埃玛是个高身材、宽骨架的妇人，一头金头，长得粗眉大眼。她是德文郡人，尽管在伦敦帮佣多年，却始终乡音未改。她这么一哭可真动了感情，难以自禁；她一把将孩子紧搂在怀里。她心头隐隐生出一股怜悯之情：这可怜的孩子被剥夺了他在人世间唯一的爱，那种自古至今纯属无私的爱。眼看着非得把他交到陌生人手里，真有点叫人心寒。过了不多一会儿，她渐渐平静下来。

"你威廉大伯正等着见你呢，"她说，"去对沃特金小姐说声再见，我们要回家了。"

"我不想去说什么再见，"他回答说。出于本能，他不想让人看到自己在哭鼻子。

"好吧，那就快上楼去拿帽子。"

菲利普拿了帽子，回到楼下，埃玛正在门厅里等着。菲利普听到餐室后面的书房里有人在说话。他站定身子。他明白是沃特金小姐和她姐姐在同朋友谈心；他这个九岁的孩子似乎感到，要是自己这时候闯进去，说不定她们会为他伤心难过的。

"我想我还是应该去对沃特金小姐说声再见。"

"我想也是去说一声的好，"埃玛说。

"那你就进去通报说我来了，"他说。

菲利普希望能充分利用这次机会。埃玛敲敲门，走了进去。他听见她说：

"小姐，菲利普少爷向您告别来了。"

谈话声戛然而止；菲利普一瘸一拐地走了进来。亨丽埃塔。沃特金是个身材敦实的女子，脸色红润，头发是染过的。在那个年头，染发颇招物议，记得教母刚把头发染了的那阵子，菲利普在自己家里就听到过不少闲话。沃特金小姐和姐姐住在一起。这位姐姐乐天知命，打算就此安心养老了。有两位菲利普不认识的太太正在这儿作客，她们用好奇的眼光打量着菲利普。

"我可怜的孩子。"沃特金小姐说着张开了双臂。

她呜呜哭了起来。菲利普这会儿明白过来为什么她刚才没在家吃午饭，为什么今天她要穿一身黑衣。沃特金小姐呜咽着说不出话来。

"我得回家去了，"菲利普最后这么说。

菲利普从沃特金小姐怀里脱出身来；她又一次来了亲这孩子。然后，菲利普走到教母的姐姐跟前，也对她说了声再见。陌生太太中的一位问菲利普是否可以让她吻一下，菲利普一本正经地表示可以。虽说他在不住流眼泪，但是对于眼前这种由自己引起的伤感场面，倒觉得挺带劲的。他很乐意再在这儿多呆一会，让她们在自己身上淋漓尽致地发泄一通，不过又感到她们巴不得自己快点走开，于是便推说埃玛正在等他，径自走出了书房。埃玛已到地下室同她的女友拉家常去了，菲利普就守在楼梯平台处等她。他能听到亨丽埃塔·沃特金的说话声音。

"他母亲是我最要好的朋友。想到她竟这么去了，心里真受不了。"

"你本来就不该去参加葬礼，亨丽埃塔，"她姐姐说，"我知道你去了会难过的。"

一位女客接口了。

"可怜的小家伙，就这么孤苦伶仃地活在人世上，想想也可怕。我见他走路腿还有点瘸呢！"

"是呀，他生下来一只脚就是畸形的。因为这个，他母亲生前可伤心哩。"

这时，埃玛回来了。他们叫了一辆马车，埃玛将去处告诉了车夫。
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chapter 3

When they reached the house Mrs. Carey had died in—it was in a dreary, respectable street between Notting Hill Gate and High Street, Kensington—Emma led Philip into the drawing-room. His uncle was writing letters of thanks for the wreaths which had been sent. One of them, which had arrived too late for the funeral, lay in its cardboard box on the hall-table.

‘Here’s Master Philip,’ said Emma.

Mr. Carey stood up slowly and shook hands with the little boy. Then on second thoughts he bent down and kissed his forehead. He was a man of somewhat less than average height, inclined to corpulence, with his hair, worn long, arranged over the scalp so as to conceal his baldness. He was clean-shaven. His features were regular, and it was possible to imagine that in his youth he had been good-looking. On his watch-chain he wore a gold cross.

‘You’re going to live with me now, Philip,’ said Mr. Carey. ‘Shall you like that?’

Two years before Philip had been sent down to stay at the vicarage after an attack of chicken-pox; but there remained with him a recollection of an attic and a large garden rather than of his uncle and aunt.

‘Yes.’

‘You must look upon me and your Aunt Louisa as your father and mother.’

The child’s mouth trembled a little, he reddened, but did not answer.

‘Your dear mother left you in my charge.’

Mr. Carey had no great ease in expressing himself. When the news came that his sister-in-law was dying, he set off at once for London, but on the way thought of nothing but the disturbance in his life that would be caused if her death forced him to undertake the care of her son. He was well over fifty, and his wife, to whom he had been married for thirty years, was childless; he did not look forward with any pleasure to the presence of a small boy who might be noisy and rough. He had never much liked his sister-in-law.

‘I’m going to take you down to Blackstable tomorrow,’ he said.

‘With Emma?’

The child put his hand in hers, and she pressed it.

‘I’m afraid Emma must go away,’ said Mr. Carey.

‘But I want Emma to come with me.’

Philip began to cry, and the nurse could not help crying too. Mr. Carey looked at them helplessly.

‘I think you’d better leave me alone with Master Philip for a moment.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Though Philip clung to her, she released herself gently. Mr. Carey took the boy on his knee and put his arm round him.

‘You mustn’t cry,’ he said. ‘You’re too old to have a nurse now. We must see about sending you to school.’

‘I want Emma to come with me,’ the child repeated.

‘It costs too much money, Philip. Your father didn’t leave very much, and I don’t know what’s become of it. You must look at every penny you spend.’

Mr. Carey had called the day before on the family solicitor. Philip’s father was a surgeon in good practice, and his hospital appointments suggested an established position; so that it was a surprise on his sudden death from blood-poisoning to find that he had left his widow little more than his life insurance and what could be got for the lease of their house in Bruton Street. This was six months ago; and Mrs. Carey, already in delicate health, finding herself with child, had lost her head and accepted for the lease the first offer that was made. She stored her furniture, and, at a rent which the parson thought outrageous, took a furnished house for a year, so that she might suffer from no inconvenience till her child was born. But she had never been used to the management of money, and was unable to adapt her expenditure to her altered circumstances. The little she had slipped through her fingers in one way and another, so that now, when all expenses were paid, not much more than two thousand pounds remained to support the boy till he was able to earn his own living. It was impossible to explain all this to Philip and he was sobbing still.

‘You’d better go to Emma,’ Mr. Carey said, feeling that she could console the child better than anyone.

Without a word Philip slipped off his uncle’s knee, but Mr. Carey stopped him.

‘We must go tomorrow, because on Saturday I’ve got to prepare my sermon, and you must tell Emma to get your things ready today. You can bring all your toys. And if you want anything to remember your father and mother by you can take one thing for each of them. Everything else is going to be sold.’

The boy slipped out of the room. Mr. Carey was unused to work, and he turned to his correspondence with resentment. On one side of the desk was a bundle of bills, and these filled him with irritation. One especially seemed preposterous. Immediately after Mrs. Carey’s death Emma had ordered from the florist masses of white flowers for the room in which the dead woman lay. It was sheer waste of money. Emma took far too much upon herself. Even if there had been no financial necessity, he would have dismissed her.

But Philip went to her, and hid his face in her bosom, and wept as though his heart would break. And she, feeling that he was almost her own son—she had taken him when he was a month old—consoled him with soft words. She promised that she would come and see him sometimes, and that she would never forget him; and she told him about the country he was going to and about her own home in Devonshire—her father kept a turnpike on the high-road that led to Exeter, and there were pigs in the sty, and there was a cow, and the cow had just had a calf—till Philip forgot his tears and grew excited at the thought of his approaching journey. Presently she put him down, for there was much to be done, and he helped her to lay out his clothes on the bed. She sent him into the nursery to gather up his toys, and in a little while he was playing happily.

But at last he grew tired of being alone and went back to the bed-room, in which Emma was now putting his things into a big tin box; he remembered then that his uncle had said he might take something to remember his father and mother by. He told Emma and asked her what he should take.

‘You’d better go into the drawing-room and see what you fancy.’

‘Uncle William’s there.’

‘Never mind that. They’re your own things now.’

Philip went downstairs slowly and found the door open. Mr. Carey had left the room. Philip walked slowly round. They had been in the house so short a time that there was little in it that had a particular interest to him. It was a stranger’s room, and Philip saw nothing that struck his fancy. But he knew which were his mother’s things and which belonged to the landlord, and presently fixed on a little clock that he had once heard his mother say she liked. With this he walked again rather disconsolately upstairs. Outside the door of his mother’s bed-room he stopped and listened. Though no one had told him not to go in, he had a feeling that it would be wrong to do so; he was a little frightened, and his heart beat uncomfortably; but at the same time something impelled him to turn the handle. He turned it very gently, as if to prevent anyone within from hearing, and then slowly pushed the door open. He stood on the threshold for a moment before he had the courage to enter. He was not frightened now, but it seemed strange. He closed the door behind him. The blinds were drawn, and the room, in the cold light of a January afternoon, was dark. On the dressing-table were Mrs. Carey’s brushes and the hand mirror. In a little tray were hairpins. There was a photograph of himself on the chimney-piece and one of his father. He had often been in the room when his mother was not in it, but now it seemed different. There was something curious in the look of the chairs. The bed was made as though someone were going to sleep in it that night, and in a case on the pillow was a night-dress.

Philip opened a large cupboard filled with dresses and, stepping in, took as many of them as he could in his arms and buried his face in them. They smelt of the scent his mother used. Then he pulled open the drawers, filled with his mother’s things, and looked at them: there were lavender bags among the linen, and their scent was fresh and pleasant. The strangeness of the room left it, and it seemed to him that his mother had just gone out for a walk. She would be in presently and would come upstairs to have nursery tea with him. And he seemed to feel her kiss on his lips.

It was not true that he would never see her again. It was not true simply because it was impossible. He climbed up on the bed and put his head on the pillow. He lay there quite still.



第三章

凯里太太去世时住的那所房子，坐落在肯辛顿区一条沉闷却颇体面的大街上，地处诺丁希尔门和高街之间。马车到了那儿以后，埃玛就把菲利普领进客厅。他伯父正在给赠送花圈的亲友写信致谢。有一只送来迟了，没赶上葬礼，这会儿仍装在纸盒里，搁在门厅桌子上。

"菲利普少爷来了，"埃玛说。

凯里先生慢腾腾地站起身来同小孩握手，一转念，又弯下腰在孩子额头上亲了亲。凯里先生的个头中等偏下，身子开始发福。他蓄着长发，有意让它盖住光秃的头顶。胡子刮得光光的，五官端正，不难想象，他年轻时相貌一定很帅。他的表链上挂着一枚金质十字架。

"打现在起你要跟我一起过日子了，菲利普，"凯里先生说，"你愿意吗？"

菲利普两年前出水痘时，曾被送到这位教区牧师的家里呆过一阵子；但今天能回忆起来的，只是那儿的一间顶楼和一个大花园，对于他的伯父和伯母却没有什么印象。

"愿意。"

"你得把我和你的路易莎伯母看作自己的父母。"

孩子的嘴唇微微哆嗦了一下，小脸蛋蓦地红了起来，但是他没吱声。

"你亲爱的妈妈把你托付给我照管了。"

凯里先生不善于辞令，这会儿不知该说些什么是好。他一得到弟媳病危的消息，立即动身前来伦敦。他一路上没想别的，只是在担心要是弟媳果真有什么不测，自己就得负起照管她儿子的责任，这辈子休想再过什么太平日子。他年逾半百，结婚已经三十年，妻子没生过一男半女；到了这把年纪，他可不乐意家里凭空冒出个小男孩来，说不定还是个成天爱大声嚷嚷、举止粗野的小子哩。再说，他对这位弟媳从来没有多少好感。

"我明天就打算带你去布莱克斯泰勃，"他说。

"埃玛也一块儿去？"

孩子将小手伸进埃玛的手掌，埃玛将它紧紧攥住。

"恐怕埃玛得离开你了，"凯里先生说。

"可我要埃玛跟我一块儿去。"

菲利普哇的一声哭开了，保姆也忍不住潜然泪下。凯里先生一筹莫展地望着他们。

"我想，最好让我单独同菲利普少爷谈一下。"

"好的，先生。"

尽管菲利普死命拉住她，但她还是温存地让孩子松开了手。凯里先生把孩子抱到膝头上，用胳臂勾着他。

"你不该哭鼻子哟，"凯里先生说。"你现在大了，不该再用保姆啦。我们得想法子送你去上学。"

"我要埃玛跟我一块儿去，"孩子又嘀咕了一遍。

"这样开销太大了，菲利普。你爸爸本没留下多少钱，不知道现在还剩下几个子儿呢。你得好好算计算计，一个便士也不能随便乱花。"

就在前一天，凯里先生走访了家庭律师。菲利普的父亲是位医术高明的外科医生。他在医院担任的各种职务表明，他在医务界已占得一席之地。所以，当他猝然死于血中毒症，人们看到他留给遗孀的财产只有一笔人寿保险金，以及出赁他们在布鲁顿街的那幢房子所收得的租金时，都感到十分意外。那是六个月以前的情况；当时凯里太太身体已十分虚弱，又发觉自己怀了孩子，于是一有人提出要租那幢房子，就稀里糊涂地同意了。她把自己的家具堆藏起来，另外租住进一幢附带全套家具陈设的房子，赁期一年，而租金呢，在那位牧师大伯看来，简直高得吓人。她之所以这么做，为的是在孩子出世前能顺顺当当地过一段日子。但是她从来不善于当家理财，也不懂得节衣缩食，量人为出，以适应境遇的改变。为数本来很有限的钱财，就这样东花一点，西用一点，差不多全从她的指缝里漏掉了。到现在，一切开销付清之后，剩下的不过两千镑多一些，孩子在独立谋生之前，就得靠这笔钱来维持生活。所有这一切又怎么同菲利普讲呢，而这个孩子还在一个劲儿哭鼻子。

"你还是找埃玛去吧，"凯里先生说，他觉得安慰孩子的本事恐怕埃玛比谁都强。

菲利普不声不响地从大伯的膝盖上溜了下来，但凯里先生随即又将他拦住。

"我们明天就得动身，因为星期六我还要准备布道讲稿。你得关照埃玛今天就把行装收拾停当。你可以把所有的玩具都带上，要是想要点父母的遗物留作纪念，你可以各留下一件。其余的东西全要卖掉。"

孩子悄悄地走进客厅。凯里先生一向不习惯伏案工作，这会儿，他怀着一肚子怨气继续写他的信。书桌的一头，放着一叠帐单，这些玩意儿使他怒火中烧。其中有一张显得特别荒唐。凯里太太刚咽气，埃玛立即向花商订购了大批白花，用来布置死者的房间。这纯粹是浪费钱。埃玛不知分寸，竟敢这么自作主张。即使生活很宽裕，他也要将她辞掉。

但是菲利普却赶紧跑到埃玛身边，一头扑倒在她怀里，哭得好不伤心。菲利普出世后一个月就一直由埃玛照领，而她也差不多把菲利普当亲生儿子看待。她好言哄劝，答应以后有空就来看他，决不会将他忘掉；她给菲利普讲了他所要去的那个地方的风土人情，接着又讲了自己德文郡老家的一些情况---一她父亲在通往埃克塞特的公路上看守税卡；她老家的猪圈里养了好多猪：另外还养了一头母牛，且刚生下一头牛犊--菲利普听着听着，不但忘掉了刚刚还在淌眼泪，而且想到这趟近在眼前的旅行还渐渐兴奋起来。过了一会儿，埃玛把他放到地上，她还有好多事要做呢。菲利普帮着把自己的衣服一件件拿出来，放在床上。她叫他到幼儿室去把玩具收拢来，不多一会儿，他就高高兴兴地玩开了。

最后，他一个人玩腻了，又回到卧室来。埃玛正忙着把他的衣物用品收进大铁皮箱里。这时，菲利普忽然想起伯父说过他可以拿件把父母亲的遗物留作纪念。他把这事对埃玛说了，并问她应该挑选什么。

"你最好上客厅去看看有什么你喜欢的。"

"威廉大伯在那儿呐。"

"没关系，那些东西现在都是属于你的嘛。"

菲利普缓步走到楼下，发现客厅门开着。凯里先生已经走开了。菲利普慢慢悠悠地转了一圈。他们刚来这儿不久，屋里几乎没有什么东西特别使他感兴趣。这是某个陌生人的屋子，里面看不到一件合他心意的东西；不过他还是能分辨出哪些是母亲的遗物，哪些是房东的物品。这时，他的目光停留在一只小钟上，记得有一回曾听到母亲说起她很喜欢它。菲利普拿着小钟，闷闷不乐地上楼来。他走到母亲的卧室门外，霍地停住脚步，侧耳细听。虽然谁也没关照他别进去，但他总有种感觉，似乎自己不该贸然闯入。菲利普有几分畏惧之意，心儿怦怦乱跳不止；同时却又有那么几分好奇，驱使他去扭动门把。他轻轻地旋转门把，似乎生怕被里面的人听见，随后把门一点一点推开。他在门槛上站立了片刻，最后鼓足勇气走了进去。现在他已无惧意，只是觉得眼前有点陌生。他随手把门带上。百叶窗关着，窗缝里透进几缕一月午后清冷的日光，屋里显得很幽暗。梳妆台上放着凯里太太的发刷和一把带柄面镜。一只小盘里有几只发夹。壁炉架上摆着一张他自己的照片，还有一张父亲的照片。过去，他常趁母亲不在的时候上这儿来；可现在，这屋子似乎变了样。那几张椅子的模样，看上去还真有点怪。床铺理得整整齐齐，好像当晚有人要来就寝似的。枕头边有只套袋，里面放着件睡衣。

菲利普打开大衣柜，里面挂满了衣服，他一脚跨进柜子，张开手臂尽可能多地抱了一抱衣服，将脸埋在衣堆里。衣服上温馨犹存，那是母亲生前所用香水散发出的香味。然后，他拉开抽屉，里面放满了母亲的衣饰用品。他细加端详：内衣里夹着几只薰衣草袋，散发着沁人心脾的阵阵清香。屋子里那种陌生气氛顿时消失了，他恍惚觉得母亲只是刚刚外出散步，待会儿就要回来的，而且还要到楼上幼儿室来同他一起用茶点。他的嘴唇甚至依稀感觉到了母亲给他的亲吻。

说他再也见不着妈妈了，这可没说对。见不着妈妈？这怎么可能呢！菲利普爬上床，把头搁在枕头上。他一动不动地躺在那儿。
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chapter 4

Philip parted from Emma with tears, but the journey to Blackstable amused him, and, when they arrived, he was resigned and cheerful. Blackstable was sixty miles from London. Giving their luggage to a porter, Mr. Carey set out to walk with Philip to the vicarage; it took them little more than five minutes, and, when they reached it, Philip suddenly remembered the gate. It was red and five-barred: it swung both ways on easy hinges; and it was possible, though forbidden, to swing backwards and forwards on it. They walked through the garden to the front-door. This was only used by visitors and on Sundays, and on special occasions, as when the Vicar went up to London or came back. The traffic of the house took place through a side-door, and there was a back door as well for the gardener and for beggars and tramps. It was a fairly large house of yellow brick, with a red roof, built about five and twenty years before in an ecclesiastical style. The front-door was like a church porch, and the drawing-room windows were gothic.

Mrs. Carey, knowing by what train they were coming, waited in the drawing-room and listened for the click of the gate. When she heard it she went to the door.

‘There’s Aunt Louisa,’ said Mr. Carey, when he saw her. ‘Run and give her a kiss.’

Philip started to run, awkwardly, trailing his club-foot, and then stopped. Mrs. Carey was a little, shrivelled woman of the same age as her husband, with a face extraordinarily filled with deep wrinkles, and pale blue eyes. Her gray hair was arranged in ringlets according to the fashion of her youth. She wore a black dress, and her only ornament was a gold chain, from which hung a cross. She had a shy manner and a gentle voice.

‘Did you walk, William?’ she said, almost reproachfully, as she kissed her husband.

‘I didn’t think of it,’ he answered, with a glance at his nephew.

‘It didn’t hurt you to walk, Philip, did it?’ she asked the child.

‘No. I always walk.’

He was a little surprised at their conversation. Aunt Louisa told him to come in, and they entered the hall. It was paved with red and yellow tiles, on which alternately were a Greek Cross and the Lamb of God. An imposing staircase led out of the hall. It was of polished pine, with a peculiar smell, and had been put in because fortunately, when the church was reseated, enough wood remained over. The balusters were decorated with emblems of the Four Evangelists.

‘I’ve had the stove lighted as I thought you’d be cold after your journey,’ said Mrs. Carey.

It was a large black stove that stood in the hall and was only lighted if the weather was very bad and the Vicar had a cold. It was not lighted if Mrs. Carey had a cold. Coal was expensive. Besides, Mary Ann, the maid, didn’t like fires all over the place. If they wanted all them fires they must keep a second girl. In the winter Mr. and Mrs. Carey lived in the dining-room so that one fire should do, and in the summer they could not get out of the habit, so the drawing-room was used only by Mr. Carey on Sunday afternoons for his nap. But every Saturday he had a fire in the study so that he could write his sermon.

Aunt Louisa took Philip upstairs and showed him into a tiny bed-room that looked out on the drive. Immediately in front of the window was a large tree, which Philip remembered now because the branches were so low that it was possible to climb quite high up it.

‘A small room for a small boy,’ said Mrs. Carey. ‘You won’t be frightened at sleeping alone?’

‘Oh, no.’

On his first visit to the vicarage he had come with his nurse, and Mrs. Carey had had little to do with him. She looked at him now with some uncertainty.

‘Can you wash your own hands, or shall I wash them for you?’

‘I can wash myself,’ he answered firmly.

‘Well, I shall look at them when you come down to tea,’ said Mrs. Carey.

She knew nothing about children. After it was settled that Philip should come down to Blackstable, Mrs. Carey had thought much how she should treat him; she was anxious to do her duty; but now he was there she found herself just as shy of him as he was of her. She hoped he would not be noisy and rough, because her husband did not like rough and noisy boys. Mrs. Carey made an excuse to leave Philip alone, but in a moment came back and knocked at the door; she asked him, without coming in, if he could pour out the water himself. Then she went downstairs and rang the bell for tea.

The dining-room, large and well-proportioned, had windows on two sides of it, with heavy curtains of red rep; there was a big table in the middle; and at one end an imposing mahogany sideboard with a looking-glass in it. In one corner stood a harmonium. On each side of the fireplace were chairs covered in stamped leather, each with an antimacassar; one had arms and was called the husband, and the other had none and was called the wife. Mrs. Carey never sat in the arm-chair: she said she preferred a chair that was not too comfortable; there was always a lot to do, and if her chair had had arms she might not be so ready to leave it.

Mr. Carey was making up the fire when Philip came in, and he pointed out to his nephew that there were two pokers. One was large and bright and polished and unused, and was called the Vicar; and the other, which was much smaller and had evidently passed through many fires, was called the Curate.

‘What are we waiting for?’ said Mr. Carey.

‘I told Mary Ann to make you an egg. I thought you’d be hungry after your journey.’

Mrs. Carey thought the journey from London to Blackstable very tiring. She seldom travelled herself, for the living was only three hundred a year, and, when her husband wanted a holiday, since there was not money for two, he went by himself. He was very fond of Church Congresses and usually managed to go up to London once a year; and once he had been to Paris for the exhibition, and two or three times to Switzerland. Mary Ann brought in the egg, and they sat down. The chair was much too low for Philip, and for a moment neither Mr. Carey nor his wife knew what to do.

‘I’ll put some books under him,’ said Mary Ann.

She took from the top of the harmonium the large Bible and the prayer-book from which the Vicar was accustomed to read prayers, and put them on Philip’s chair.

‘Oh, William, he can’t sit on the Bible,’ said Mrs. Carey, in a shocked tone. ‘Couldn’t you get him some books out of the study?’

Mr. Carey considered the question for an instant.

‘I don’t think it matters this once if you put the prayer-book on the top, Mary Ann,’ he said. ‘The book of Common Prayer is the composition of men like ourselves. It has no claim to divine authorship.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that, William,’ said Aunt Louisa.

Philip perched himself on the books, and the Vicar, having said grace, cut the top off his egg.

‘There,’ he said, handing it to Philip, ‘you can eat my top if you like.’

Philip would have liked an egg to himself, but he was not offered one, so took what he could.

‘How have the chickens been laying since I went away?’ asked the Vicar.

‘Oh, they’ve been dreadful, only one or two a day.’

‘How did you like that top, Philip?’ asked his uncle.

‘Very much, thank you.’

‘You shall have another one on Sunday afternoon.’

Mr. Carey always had a boiled egg at tea on Sunday, so that he might be fortified for the evening service.



第四章

菲利普同埃玛分手时眼泪汪汪的，但是一上了路，沿途所见所闻使他感到挺新鲜。等他们最后到了布莱克斯泰勃，他已显得随遇而安，兴致勃勃。布莱克斯泰勃离伦敦六十英里。凯里先生把行李交给了脚夫，同菲利普一起徒步朝牧师公馆走去。他们走了不过五分钟就到了。菲利普一见那扇大门，立即记起来了。那是扇红颜色的栅门，上面竖有五根栅栏，门上的铰链很活络，能向里外两个方向自由启闭，要是攀吊在栅门上，可以像荡秋千似地前后摆动，只是大人不许这么玩罢了。他们穿过花园来到正门前。这扇正门只有在客人来访时，或是在星期天，再不就是逢到某些特殊场合，比如牧师出门去伦敦或从伦敦归来时，才让使用。平时家里人进出都走边门；另外，还有一扇后门专供花匠、乞丐和流浪汉等出入。这是一幢相当宽敞的黄砖红顶楼房，有教堂建筑物的风格，大约是在二十五年前盖的。正门的款式颇像教堂的门廊，客厅装有哥特式窗户。

凯里太太知道他们会搭乘哪班火车来，所以就在客厅里静心等候，留神着开门的咔哒声。她一听到这声响，立即跑到门口。

"那就是你的路易莎伯母，"凯里先生瞧见凯里太太时对菲利普说，"快去同她亲亲。"

菲利普拖着他那条瘸腿奔跑起来，步态怪别扭的；他跑了几步又站住身子。凯里太太是个瘦小、干瘪的妇人，和丈夫同年，长着一对淡蓝眼睛，脸上皱纹之密，褶印之深，还真少见。灰白的头发，依然接她年轻时流行的发型，梳成一络络的小发卷。她穿了件黑衣裙，身上唯一的装饰品是根金链子，上面挂着一枚十字架。她神态羞怯，说起话来柔声细气的。

"一路走来的吗，威廉？"她一边吻着丈夫，一边带着近乎责备的口气说。

"我可没想到这点，"他回答说，同时朝他侄儿瞥了一眼。

"走了这么一程，脚疼不疼，菲利普？"她问孩子。

"不疼。我走惯了。"

菲利普听了他们的对话不免有点奇怪。路易莎伯母招呼他进屋去，他们一齐走进门厅。门厅里铺着红黄相间的花砖，上面交替印有希腊正十字图案和耶稣基督画像。一道气势不凡的楼梯由厅内通向厅外，它是用磨光发亮的松木做的，散发着一股异香。当年教区教堂装设新座椅时，幸好剩下很多木料，于是就成全了这道楼梯。楼梯栏杆上镌有象征福音书四作者的寓意图案。

"我已叫人把火炉生好了，我想你们一路风尘仆仆，到家一定会感到冷的，"凯里太太说。

门厅里有只黑乎乎的大火炉，只有逢到天气十分恶劣，再加上牧师先生伤风不适的日子才用它来取暖。即使凯里太太受凉感冒了，那也舍不得生这个炉子。煤太贵了。再说，女仆玛丽·安也不乐意在屋子里到处生火取暖。要是有个炉子就生个火，那非得再请个女仆不可。冬天，凯里夫妇整天呆在餐室里，这样，只需在那儿生个火炉就行了Z习惯成自然，到了夏天他们照样在那儿饮食起居，凯里先生只是在星期日下午才去客厅睡个午觉。不过每逢星期六，他为了撰写讲道稿，总让人在书房里生个火。

路易莎伯母带菲利普上了楼，把他领进一间面朝车道的小卧室。临窗有棵参天大树，菲利普记起来了，是的，就是这棵大树，枝条低低垂挂着，借着这些枝条，可以上树，爬得很高很高哩。

"小孩住小屋，"凯里太太说。"你独个儿睡不害怕吧？"

"哦，不害怕。"

菲利普上一回来这儿，有保姆陪着，所以凯里太太用不着为他操什么心。而此刻她望着菲利普，心里委实有点放心不下。

"你自己洗手行吗？要不要我帮你洗？"

"我自己能洗，"他回答得挺干脆。

"嗯，待会儿你下楼来用茶点，我可要检查呢，"凯里太太说。

她对孩子的事一无所知。在决定让菲利普来布莱克斯泰勃之后，凯里太太经常在盘算该如何对待他。她急切地想尽一下作长辈的义务；而现在孩子来了，她却发现自己在菲利普面前，竞像菲利普在自己跟前一样，感到羞怯不安。但愿他不是个老爱大声嚷嚷的野孩子，因为凯里先生不喜欢那样的孩子。凯里太太找了个借口走了，留下菲利普一个人，可是

一转眼又跑回来敲门。她没走进房间，只是站在门外问了声他会不会自己倒水，然后便下楼打铃吩咐仆人上茶点。

餐室宽绰，结构匀称，房间两面都有一排窗户，遮着厚厚实实的大红棱纹平布窗帘。餐室中央搁着张大餐桌，靠墙边立着的带镜红木餐具柜，颇有几分气派。一个角落里放着一架簧风琴。壁炉两边各摆着一张皮靠椅，革面上留有商标压印，椅背上都罩有椅套。其中一张配有扶手，被叫作"丈夫"椅；另一张没有扶手，被称为"老婆"椅。凯里太太从来不坐那张有扶手的安乐椅。她说，她宁可坐不太舒适的椅子；每天有许多家务事要干，要是她的椅于也配上扶手，那她就会一个劲儿坐下去，懒得动弹了。

菲利普进来时，凯里先生正在给炉子加煤。他随手指给侄子看两根拨火棒。其中一根又粗又亮，表面很光滑，未曾使用过，他管这根叫"牧师"；另一根要细得多，显然经常是用它来拨弄炉火的，他管这根叫"副牧师"。

"咱们还等什么呢？"凯里先生说。

"我吩咐玛丽·安给你煮个鸡蛋。我想你一路辛苦，大概饿坏了吧。"

在凯里太太想来，从伦敦回布莱克斯泰勃，一路上够劳累的。她自己难得出门，因为他们只能靠区区三百镑的年俸度日；每回丈夫要想外出度假，因手头拮据，负担不起两个人的盘缠，最后总是让他一个人去。凯里先生很喜欢出席全国基督教大会，每年总要设法去伦敦一次。他曾上巴黎参观过一次展览会，还到瑞士去旅行过两三回。玛丽·安把鸡蛋端了进来，大家人席就座。菲利普的椅子嫌太低，凯里先生和他太太竟一时不知所措。

"我去拿几本书给他垫垫，"玛丽·安说。

玛丽·安从簧风琴顶盖上取下一部大开本《圣经》和牧师祷告时经常用到的祈祷书，把它们放在菲利普的坐椅上。

"噢，威廉，他可不能坐在《圣经》上面呀！"凯里太太诚惶诚恐地说。"你上书房给他拿几本书来不行吗？"

凯里先生沉思了半晌。

"玛丽·安，我想，如果你偶尔把祈祷书搁在上面一次，也没多大关系吧，"他说。"这本《大众祈祷书》，本来就是一些像我们这样的凡人编写的，算不得什么经典神书。"

"这我倒没想到，威廉，"路易莎伯母说。

菲利普在这两本书上坐定身子，牧师做完了谢恩祈祷，动手把鸡蛋的尖头切下来。

"哎，"他说着，把切下的鸡蛋尖递给菲利普，"你喜欢的话，可以把这块蛋尖吃了。"

菲利普希望自己能享用一整个鸡蛋，可现在既然没这福分，只能给多少吃多少了。

"我不在家的时候，母鸡下蛋勤不勤？"牧师问。

"噢，差劲得很，每天只有一两只鸡下蛋。"

"那块鸡蛋尖的味儿怎么样，菲利普？"他大伯问。

"很好，谢谢您。"

"星期天下午你还可以吃上这么一块。"

凯里先生星期天用茶点时总要吃个煮鸡蛋，这样才有精力应付晚上的礼拜仪式。
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chapter 4

Philip parted from Emma with tears, but the journey to Blackstable amused him, and, when they arrived, he was resigned and cheerful. Blackstable was sixty miles from London. Giving their luggage to a porter, Mr. Carey set out to walk with Philip to the vicarage; it took them little more than five minutes, and, when they reached it, Philip suddenly remembered the gate. It was red and five-barred: it swung both ways on easy hinges; and it was possible, though forbidden, to swing backwards and forwards on it. They walked through the garden to the front-door. This was only used by visitors and on Sundays, and on special occasions, as when the Vicar went up to London or came back. The traffic of the house took place through a side-door, and there was a back door as well for the gardener and for beggars and tramps. It was a fairly large house of yellow brick, with a red roof, built about five and twenty years before in an ecclesiastical style. The front-door was like a church porch, and the drawing-room windows were gothic.

Mrs. Carey, knowing by what train they were coming, waited in the drawing-room and listened for the click of the gate. When she heard it she went to the door.

‘There’s Aunt Louisa,’ said Mr. Carey, when he saw her. ‘Run and give her a kiss.’

Philip started to run, awkwardly, trailing his club-foot, and then stopped. Mrs. Carey was a little, shrivelled woman of the same age as her husband, with a face extraordinarily filled with deep wrinkles, and pale blue eyes. Her gray hair was arranged in ringlets according to the fashion of her youth. She wore a black dress, and her only ornament was a gold chain, from which hung a cross. She had a shy manner and a gentle voice.

‘Did you walk, William?’ she said, almost reproachfully, as she kissed her husband.

‘I didn’t think of it,’ he answered, with a glance at his nephew.

‘It didn’t hurt you to walk, Philip, did it?’ she asked the child.

‘No. I always walk.’

He was a little surprised at their conversation. Aunt Louisa told him to come in, and they entered the hall. It was paved with red and yellow tiles, on which alternately were a Greek Cross and the Lamb of God. An imposing staircase led out of the hall. It was of polished pine, with a peculiar smell, and had been put in because fortunately, when the church was reseated, enough wood remained over. The balusters were decorated with emblems of the Four Evangelists.

‘I’ve had the stove lighted as I thought you’d be cold after your journey,’ said Mrs. Carey.

It was a large black stove that stood in the hall and was only lighted if the weather was very bad and the Vicar had a cold. It was not lighted if Mrs. Carey had a cold. Coal was expensive. Besides, Mary Ann, the maid, didn’t like fires all over the place. If they wanted all them fires they must keep a second girl. In the winter Mr. and Mrs. Carey lived in the dining-room so that one fire should do, and in the summer they could not get out of the habit, so the drawing-room was used only by Mr. Carey on Sunday afternoons for his nap. But every Saturday he had a fire in the study so that he could write his sermon.

Aunt Louisa took Philip upstairs and showed him into a tiny bed-room that looked out on the drive. Immediately in front of the window was a large tree, which Philip remembered now because the branches were so low that it was possible to climb quite high up it.

‘A small room for a small boy,’ said Mrs. Carey. ‘You won’t be frightened at sleeping alone?’

‘Oh, no.’

On his first visit to the vicarage he had come with his nurse, and Mrs. Carey had had little to do with him. She looked at him now with some uncertainty.

‘Can you wash your own hands, or shall I wash them for you?’

‘I can wash myself,’ he answered firmly.

‘Well, I shall look at them when you come down to tea,’ said Mrs. Carey.

She knew nothing about children. After it was settled that Philip should come down to Blackstable, Mrs. Carey had thought much how she should treat him; she was anxious to do her duty; but now he was there she found herself just as shy of him as he was of her. She hoped he would not be noisy and rough, because her husband did not like rough and noisy boys. Mrs. Carey made an excuse to leave Philip alone, but in a moment came back and knocked at the door; she asked him, without coming in, if he could pour out the water himself. Then she went downstairs and rang the bell for tea.

The dining-room, large and well-proportioned, had windows on two sides of it, with heavy curtains of red rep; there was a big table in the middle; and at one end an imposing mahogany sideboard with a looking-glass in it. In one corner stood a harmonium. On each side of the fireplace were chairs covered in stamped leather, each with an antimacassar; one had arms and was called the husband, and the other had none and was called the wife. Mrs. Carey never sat in the arm-chair: she said she preferred a chair that was not too comfortable; there was always a lot to do, and if her chair had had arms she might not be so ready to leave it.

Mr. Carey was making up the fire when Philip came in, and he pointed out to his nephew that there were two pokers. One was large and bright and polished and unused, and was called the Vicar; and the other, which was much smaller and had evidently passed through many fires, was called the Curate.

‘What are we waiting for?’ said Mr. Carey.

‘I told Mary Ann to make you an egg. I thought you’d be hungry after your journey.’

Mrs. Carey thought the journey from London to Blackstable very tiring. She seldom travelled herself, for the living was only three hundred a year, and, when her husband wanted a holiday, since there was not money for two, he went by himself. He was very fond of Church Congresses and usually managed to go up to London once a year; and once he had been to Paris for the exhibition, and two or three times to Switzerland. Mary Ann brought in the egg, and they sat down. The chair was much too low for Philip, and for a moment neither Mr. Carey nor his wife knew what to do.

‘I’ll put some books under him,’ said Mary Ann.

She took from the top of the harmonium the large Bible and the prayer-book from which the Vicar was accustomed to read prayers, and put them on Philip’s chair.

‘Oh, William, he can’t sit on the Bible,’ said Mrs. Carey, in a shocked tone. ‘Couldn’t you get him some books out of the study?’

Mr. Carey considered the question for an instant.

‘I don’t think it matters this once if you put the prayer-book on the top, Mary Ann,’ he said. ‘The book of Common Prayer is the composition of men like ourselves. It has no claim to divine authorship.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that, William,’ said Aunt Louisa.

Philip perched himself on the books, and the Vicar, having said grace, cut the top off his egg.

‘There,’ he said, handing it to Philip, ‘you can eat my top if you like.’

Philip would have liked an egg to himself, but he was not offered one, so took what he could.

‘How have the chickens been laying since I went away?’ asked the Vicar.

‘Oh, they’ve been dreadful, only one or two a day.’

‘How did you like that top, Philip?’ asked his uncle.

‘Very much, thank you.’

‘You shall have another one on Sunday afternoon.’

Mr. Carey always had a boiled egg at tea on Sunday, so that he might be fortified for the evening service.



第四章

菲利普同埃玛分手时眼泪汪汪的，但是一上了路，沿途所见所闻使他感到挺新鲜。等他们最后到了布莱克斯泰勃，他已显得随遇而安，兴致勃勃。布莱克斯泰勃离伦敦六十英里。凯里先生把行李交给了脚夫，同菲利普一起徒步朝牧师公馆走去。他们走了不过五分钟就到了。菲利普一见那扇大门，立即记起来了。那是扇红颜色的栅门，上面竖有五根栅栏，门上的铰链很活络，能向里外两个方向自由启闭，要是攀吊在栅门上，可以像荡秋千似地前后摆动，只是大人不许这么玩罢了。他们穿过花园来到正门前。这扇正门只有在客人来访时，或是在星期天，再不就是逢到某些特殊场合，比如牧师出门去伦敦或从伦敦归来时，才让使用。平时家里人进出都走边门；另外，还有一扇后门专供花匠、乞丐和流浪汉等出入。这是一幢相当宽敞的黄砖红顶楼房，有教堂建筑物的风格，大约是在二十五年前盖的。正门的款式颇像教堂的门廊，客厅装有哥特式窗户。

凯里太太知道他们会搭乘哪班火车来，所以就在客厅里静心等候，留神着开门的咔哒声。她一听到这声响，立即跑到门口。

"那就是你的路易莎伯母，"凯里先生瞧见凯里太太时对菲利普说，"快去同她亲亲。"

菲利普拖着他那条瘸腿奔跑起来，步态怪别扭的；他跑了几步又站住身子。凯里太太是个瘦小、干瘪的妇人，和丈夫同年，长着一对淡蓝眼睛，脸上皱纹之密，褶印之深，还真少见。灰白的头发，依然接她年轻时流行的发型，梳成一络络的小发卷。她穿了件黑衣裙，身上唯一的装饰品是根金链子，上面挂着一枚十字架。她神态羞怯，说起话来柔声细气的。

"一路走来的吗，威廉？"她一边吻着丈夫，一边带着近乎责备的口气说。

"我可没想到这点，"他回答说，同时朝他侄儿瞥了一眼。

"走了这么一程，脚疼不疼，菲利普？"她问孩子。

"不疼。我走惯了。"

菲利普听了他们的对话不免有点奇怪。路易莎伯母招呼他进屋去，他们一齐走进门厅。门厅里铺着红黄相间的花砖，上面交替印有希腊正十字图案和耶稣基督画像。一道气势不凡的楼梯由厅内通向厅外，它是用磨光发亮的松木做的，散发着一股异香。当年教区教堂装设新座椅时，幸好剩下很多木料，于是就成全了这道楼梯。楼梯栏杆上镌有象征福音书四作者的寓意图案。

"我已叫人把火炉生好了，我想你们一路风尘仆仆，到家一定会感到冷的，"凯里太太说。

门厅里有只黑乎乎的大火炉，只有逢到天气十分恶劣，再加上牧师先生伤风不适的日子才用它来取暖。即使凯里太太受凉感冒了，那也舍不得生这个炉子。煤太贵了。再说，女仆玛丽·安也不乐意在屋子里到处生火取暖。要是有个炉子就生个火，那非得再请个女仆不可。冬天，凯里夫妇整天呆在餐室里，这样，只需在那儿生个火炉就行了Z习惯成自然，到了夏天他们照样在那儿饮食起居，凯里先生只是在星期日下午才去客厅睡个午觉。不过每逢星期六，他为了撰写讲道稿，总让人在书房里生个火。

路易莎伯母带菲利普上了楼，把他领进一间面朝车道的小卧室。临窗有棵参天大树，菲利普记起来了，是的，就是这棵大树，枝条低低垂挂着，借着这些枝条，可以上树，爬得很高很高哩。

"小孩住小屋，"凯里太太说。"你独个儿睡不害怕吧？"

"哦，不害怕。"

菲利普上一回来这儿，有保姆陪着，所以凯里太太用不着为他操什么心。而此刻她望着菲利普，心里委实有点放心不下。

"你自己洗手行吗？要不要我帮你洗？"

"我自己能洗，"他回答得挺干脆。

"嗯，待会儿你下楼来用茶点，我可要检查呢，"凯里太太说。

她对孩子的事一无所知。在决定让菲利普来布莱克斯泰勃之后，凯里太太经常在盘算该如何对待他。她急切地想尽一下作长辈的义务；而现在孩子来了，她却发现自己在菲利普面前，竞像菲利普在自己跟前一样，感到羞怯不安。但愿他不是个老爱大声嚷嚷的野孩子，因为凯里先生不喜欢那样的孩子。凯里太太找了个借口走了，留下菲利普一个人，可是

一转眼又跑回来敲门。她没走进房间，只是站在门外问了声他会不会自己倒水，然后便下楼打铃吩咐仆人上茶点。

餐室宽绰，结构匀称，房间两面都有一排窗户，遮着厚厚实实的大红棱纹平布窗帘。餐室中央搁着张大餐桌，靠墙边立着的带镜红木餐具柜，颇有几分气派。一个角落里放着一架簧风琴。壁炉两边各摆着一张皮靠椅，革面上留有商标压印，椅背上都罩有椅套。其中一张配有扶手，被叫作"丈夫"椅；另一张没有扶手，被称为"老婆"椅。凯里太太从来不坐那张有扶手的安乐椅。她说，她宁可坐不太舒适的椅子；每天有许多家务事要干，要是她的椅于也配上扶手，那她就会一个劲儿坐下去，懒得动弹了。

菲利普进来时，凯里先生正在给炉子加煤。他随手指给侄子看两根拨火棒。其中一根又粗又亮，表面很光滑，未曾使用过，他管这根叫"牧师"；另一根要细得多，显然经常是用它来拨弄炉火的，他管这根叫"副牧师"。

"咱们还等什么呢？"凯里先生说。

"我吩咐玛丽·安给你煮个鸡蛋。我想你一路辛苦，大概饿坏了吧。"

在凯里太太想来，从伦敦回布莱克斯泰勃，一路上够劳累的。她自己难得出门，因为他们只能靠区区三百镑的年俸度日；每回丈夫要想外出度假，因手头拮据，负担不起两个人的盘缠，最后总是让他一个人去。凯里先生很喜欢出席全国基督教大会，每年总要设法去伦敦一次。他曾上巴黎参观过一次展览会，还到瑞士去旅行过两三回。玛丽·安把鸡蛋端了进来，大家人席就座。菲利普的椅子嫌太低，凯里先生和他太太竟一时不知所措。

"我去拿几本书给他垫垫，"玛丽·安说。

玛丽·安从簧风琴顶盖上取下一部大开本《圣经》和牧师祷告时经常用到的祈祷书，把它们放在菲利普的坐椅上。

"噢，威廉，他可不能坐在《圣经》上面呀！"凯里太太诚惶诚恐地说。"你上书房给他拿几本书来不行吗？"

凯里先生沉思了半晌。

"玛丽·安，我想，如果你偶尔把祈祷书搁在上面一次，也没多大关系吧，"他说。"这本《大众祈祷书》，本来就是一些像我们这样的凡人编写的，算不得什么经典神书。"

"这我倒没想到，威廉，"路易莎伯母说。

菲利普在这两本书上坐定身子，牧师做完了谢恩祈祷，动手把鸡蛋的尖头切下来。

"哎，"他说着，把切下的鸡蛋尖递给菲利普，"你喜欢的话，可以把这块蛋尖吃了。"

菲利普希望自己能享用一整个鸡蛋，可现在既然没这福分，只能给多少吃多少了。

"我不在家的时候，母鸡下蛋勤不勤？"牧师问。

"噢，差劲得很，每天只有一两只鸡下蛋。"

"那块鸡蛋尖的味儿怎么样，菲利普？"他大伯问。

"很好，谢谢您。"

"星期天下午你还可以吃上这么一块。"

凯里先生星期天用茶点时总要吃个煮鸡蛋，这样才有精力应付晚上的礼拜仪式。
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chapter 5

Philip came gradually to know the people he was to live with, and by fragments of conversation, some of it not meant for his ears, learned a good deal both about himself and about his dead parents. Philip’s father had been much younger than the Vicar of Blackstable. After a brilliant career at St. Luke’s Hospital he was put on the staff, and presently began to earn money in considerable sums. He spent it freely. When the parson set about restoring his church and asked his brother for a subscription, he was surprised by receiving a couple of hundred pounds: Mr. Carey, thrifty by inclination and economical by necessity, accepted it with mingled feelings; he was envious of his brother because he could afford to give so much, pleased for the sake of his church, and vaguely irritated by a generosity which seemed almost ostentatious. Then Henry Carey married a patient, a beautiful girl but penniless, an orphan with no near relations, but of good family; and there was an array of fine friends at the wedding. The parson, on his visits to her when he came to London, held himself with reserve. He felt shy with her and in his heart he resented her great beauty: she dressed more magnificently than became the wife of a hardworking surgeon; and the charming furniture of her house, the flowers among which she lived even in winter, suggested an extravagance which he deplored. He heard her talk of entertainments she was going to; and, as he told his wife on getting home again, it was impossible to accept hospitality without making some return. He had seen grapes in the dining-room that must have cost at least eight shillings a pound; and at luncheon he had been given asparagus two months before it was ready in the vicarage garden. Now all he had anticipated was come to pass: the Vicar felt the satisfaction of the prophet who saw fire and brimstone consume the city which would not mend its way to his warning. Poor Philip was practically penniless, and what was the good of his mother’s fine friends now? He heard that his father’s extravagance was really criminal, and it was a mercy that Providence had seen fit to take his dear mother to itself: she had no more idea of money than a child.

When Philip had been a week at Blackstable an incident happened which seemed to irritate his uncle very much. One morning he found on the breakfast table a small packet which had been sent on by post from the late Mrs. Carey’s house in London. It was addressed to her. When the parson opened it he found a dozen photographs of Mrs. Carey. They showed the head and shoulders only, and her hair was more plainly done than usual, low on the forehead, which gave her an unusual look; the face was thin and worn, but no illness could impair the beauty of her features. There was in the large dark eyes a sadness which Philip did not remember. The first sight of the dead woman gave Mr. Carey a little shock, but this was quickly followed by perplexity. The photographs seemed quite recent, and he could not imagine who had ordered them.

‘D’you know anything about these, Philip?’ he asked.

‘I remember mamma said she’d been taken,’ he answered. ‘Miss Watkin scolded her.... She said: I wanted the boy to have something to remember me by when he grows up.’

Mr. Carey looked at Philip for an instant. The child spoke in a clear treble. He recalled the words, but they meant nothing to him.

‘You’d better take one of the photographs and keep it in your room,’ said Mr. Carey. ‘I’ll put the others away.’

He sent one to Miss Watkin, and she wrote and explained how they came to be taken.

One day Mrs. Carey was lying in bed, but she was feeling a little better than usual, and the doctor in the morning had seemed hopeful; Emma had taken the child out, and the maids were downstairs in the basement: suddenly Mrs. Carey felt desperately alone in the world. A great fear seized her that she would not recover from the confinement which she was expecting in a fortnight. Her son was nine years old. How could he be expected to remember her? She could not bear to think that he would grow up and forget, forget her utterly; and she had loved him so passionately, because he was weakly and deformed, and because he was her child. She had no photographs of herself taken since her marriage, and that was ten years before. She wanted her son to know what she looked like at the end. He could not forget her then, not forget utterly. She knew that if she called her maid and told her she wanted to get up, the maid would prevent her, and perhaps send for the doctor, and she had not the strength now to struggle or argue. She got out of bed and began to dress herself. She had been on her back so long that her legs gave way beneath her, and then the soles of her feet tingled so that she could hardly bear to put them to the ground. But she went on. She was unused to doing her own hair and, when she raised her arms and began to brush it, she felt faint. She could never do it as her maid did. It was beautiful hair, very fine, and of a deep rich gold. Her eyebrows were straight and dark. She put on a black skirt, but chose the bodice of the evening dress which she liked best: it was of a white damask which was fashionable in those days. She looked at herself in the glass. Her face was very pale, but her skin was clear: she had never had much colour, and this had always made the redness of her beautiful mouth emphatic. She could not restrain a sob. But she could not afford to be sorry for herself; she was feeling already desperately tired; and she put on the furs which Henry had given her the Christmas before—she had been so proud of them and so happy then—and slipped downstairs with beating heart. She got safely out of the house and drove to a photographer. She paid for a dozen photographs. She was obliged to ask for a glass of water in the middle of the sitting; and the assistant, seeing she was ill, suggested that she should come another day, but she insisted on staying till the end. At last it was finished, and she drove back again to the dingy little house in Kensington which she hated with all her heart. It was a horrible house to die in.

She found the front door open, and when she drove up the maid and Emma ran down the steps to help her. They had been frightened when they found her room empty. At first they thought she must have gone to Miss Watkin, and the cook was sent round. Miss Watkin came back with her and was waiting anxiously in the drawing-room. She came downstairs now full of anxiety and reproaches; but the exertion had been more than Mrs. Carey was fit for, and when the occasion for firmness no longer existed she gave way. She fell heavily into Emma’s arms and was carried upstairs. She remained unconscious for a time that seemed incredibly long to those that watched her, and the doctor, hurriedly sent for, did not come. It was next day, when she was a little better, that Miss Watkin got some explanation out of her. Philip was playing on the floor of his mother’s bed-room, and neither of the ladies paid attention to him. He only understood vaguely what they were talking about, and he could not have said why those words remained in his memory.

‘I wanted the boy to have something to remember me by when he grows up.’

‘I can’t make out why she ordered a dozen,’ said Mr. Carey. ‘Two would have done.’



第五章

菲利普同那些自己要与之一起生活的人终于渐渐熟稔起来，通过他们日常交谈的片言只语--一有些当然并非有意说给他听的--了解到许多有关自己和他已故双亲的情况。菲利普的父亲要比牧师年轻好多岁。他在圣路加医院实习期间，成绩出众，被院方正式聘为该院的医生，不久，他就有了相当可观的收入。他花起钱来大手大脚，满不在乎。有回牧师着手修缮教堂，向这位兄弟募款，结果出乎意外地收到了几百镑。凯里先生手头拮据，省吃俭用惯了，他收下那笔款子时，心里酸甜苦辣，百感交集。他妒忌弟弟，因为弟弟竟拿得出这么一大笔钱来；他也为教堂感到高兴，不过又对这种近乎炫耀的慷慨解囊隐隐感到恼火。后来，亨利·凯里同一个病人结了婚，那是个容貌出众却一贫如洗的姑娘，一个无亲无故却是出身名门的孤女。婚礼上良朋佳友如云。打那以后，牧师每次上伦敦，总要去看望这位弟媳。不过在她面前，牧师总显得拘谨，甚至有些胆怯；心底里却对她的仪态万方暗怀愠怨。作为一个兢兢业业的外科医生的妻子，她的穿戴未免过于华丽；而她家里精美雅致的家具，还有那些鲜花--一甚至在寒冬腊月她也要生活在花丛之中--说明她生活之奢华，已达到令人痛心的程度。牧师还听她说起，她要出门去赴宴。正如牧师回到家里对他老伴所说，既然她受了人家的款待，总该礼尚往来罗。他在餐室里看到过一些鲜葡萄，想来至少得花八先令一磅；在吃午餐时，还请他尝用尚未上市的鲜芦笋，这种芦笋，在牧师自己家的菜园里还得过两个月才能拿来当菜吃。现在，他所预料的一切都已成了现实。牧师不由心生某种满足之感，就像预言家亲眼见到一个无视自己警告而一意孤行的城市，终于遭到地狱硫火的吞噬一般。可怜的菲利普现在差不多不名一文，他妈妈的那些良朋佳友现在又管什么用？菲利普听人说，自己父亲肆意挥霍实在是造了孽；老天爷还算慈悲，及早把他亲爱的妈妈领回到自己身边去了。在金钱方面，她并不比小孩更有见识。

菲利普来到布莱克斯泰勃一个星期后，发生了一件似乎使他伯父颇不以为然的事情。一天早上，牧师在餐桌上看到一个小包邮件，是由伦敦凯里太太生前所住寓所转寄来的。上面写的是已故凯里太太的名字和地址。牧师拆开一看，原来是凯里太太的照片，共十二张。照片只拍了头部和肩部。发式比平时朴素，云鬓低垂在前额上，使她显得有点异样；脸盘瘦削，面容憔悴，然而疾病却无损于她容貌的俏丽。一双乌黑的大眼睛，隐隐透出一股哀怨之情，这种哀怨神情菲利普已记不得了。凯里先生乍一见到这个已辞人世的女子，心头不觉微微一震，紧接着又感到迷惑不解。这些照片似乎是新近拍摄的，可他想象不出究竟是谁让拍的。

"你知道这些照片是怎么回事，菲利普？"他问道。

"我记得妈妈说去拍过照，"他回答说。"沃特金小姐还为这事责怪妈妈来着……妈妈说：'我要给孩子留下点什么，让他长大以后能记起我来。'"

凯里先生愣愣地望着菲利普。孩子的话音尖细而清朗。他回忆着母亲的话，却不明白话中的含义。

"你最好拿一张去，把它放在自己的房间里，"凯里先生说。"其余的就保存在我这儿吧。"

他寄了一张给沃特金小姐。她在回信里讲了拍摄这些照片的始末。

一天，凯里太太躺在床上，觉得人比平时稍微精神了些，医生早晨来看她，似乎也觉得病情有了点转机。埃玛带着孩子出去了，女仆们都在下面地下室里，凯里太太蓦地感到自己于然一身飘零世上，好不凄苦。一阵巨大的恐惧攫住心头：她原以为要不了两个星期，病体就会复原的，现在看来要水远卧床不起了。儿子今年才九岁，怎么能指望他将来不把自己忘掉呢？想到他日后长大成人会将自己忘掉，忘得一干二净，她心如刀割，难以忍受；她之所以这么炽烈地爱着他，是因为他体质赢弱，又有残疾，又因为他是自己的亲生骨肉。结婚以后她还没有拍过照，而结婚到现在一晃已有十载。她要让儿子知道自己临终前的模样，这样他就不会把自己忘得一干二净了。凯里太太知道，如果招呼侍女，说自己要起床，那么侍女一定会阻止她，说不定还会把医生叫来。她现在连挣扎、分辩的力气也没有。她下了床，开始穿衣。由于长期辗转病榻，双腿酥软，身体难以支撑，接着脚底又产生一种刺痛的感觉，甚至连脚都没法放到地上。她咬紧牙挺着。她不习惯自己梳理头发；她抬起手臂梳头时，感到一阵眩晕。她怎么也梳不成侍女给自己梳理的那种发式。那一头金黄色的秀发，既柔且密。两道细眉又直又黑。她穿上一条黑裙子，但选了一件最合她心意的夜礼服紧身胸衣。胸衣是用白锦缎做成的，这种料于在当时很时髦。她照照镜子，瞧见自己脸色苍白异常，但皮肤却很细洁。她脸上一向没有多少血色，而这一来，她那美丽的嘴唇反而越发显得红润。她情不自禁地抽泣了一声。但是，此刻可不是顾影自怜的当口，她已感到精疲力竭。凯里太太披上皮外衣，那是亨利前一年圣诞节送给她的，当时她颇为这件礼物自豪，感到无比幸福。她悄没声儿溜下楼梯，心儿突突剧跳不已。她顺顺当当出了屋子，叫了辆车去照相馆。凯里太太付了十一二张照片的钱。在坐着拍照的过程中，她支撑不住，不得不要了杯茶水。摄影师的助手看到她有病，建议她改日再来，但她坚持让自己拍完。最后，好歹算拍完了，她又叫车回肯辛顿的那所幽暗小屋。她打心底里厌恶那住所，想到自己竟要死在那里面，真可怕。

她看见大门洞开着。当她的车停下来时，侍女和埃玛三步并作两步奔下台阶来搀扶她。先前，她们发现房间空了，可真吓坏了。她们一转念，心想太太准是上沃特金小姐那儿去了，于是打发厨娘去找。不料，沃特金小姐却跟着厨娘一起来了，一直心焦如焚地守在客厅里。此刻沃特金小姐也赶下楼来，心里焦灼不安，嘴里不住嗔怪凯里太太。凯里太太经过这番折腾，已劳累过度，加上需要硬挺的时刻已经过去，她再也支撑不住，一头扑倒在埃玛怀里，随后便被抬到楼上。凯里太太虽只昏迷了不多一会儿，但对守护在身旁的人来说，时间却长得难以置信；他们赶紧派人去请医生，医生一直没来。到了第二大，凯里太太体力稍有恢复，沃特金小姐从她嘴里了解到了事情的原委。那当儿，菲利普正坐在母亲卧室的地板上玩耍，这两位妇人谁也没去注意他。她俩的谈话，他只是似懂非懂地听到了一些，他也说不清那些话怎么会留在他的记忆里的。

"我要给孩子留下点什么，让他长大以后能记起我来。"

"我不懂她为什么要拍十二张，"凯里先生说，"拍两张不就行了？"
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chapter 5

Philip came gradually to know the people he was to live with, and by fragments of conversation, some of it not meant for his ears, learned a good deal both about himself and about his dead parents. Philip’s father had been much younger than the Vicar of Blackstable. After a brilliant career at St. Luke’s Hospital he was put on the staff, and presently began to earn money in considerable sums. He spent it freely. When the parson set about restoring his church and asked his brother for a subscription, he was surprised by receiving a couple of hundred pounds: Mr. Carey, thrifty by inclination and economical by necessity, accepted it with mingled feelings; he was envious of his brother because he could afford to give so much, pleased for the sake of his church, and vaguely irritated by a generosity which seemed almost ostentatious. Then Henry Carey married a patient, a beautiful girl but penniless, an orphan with no near relations, but of good family; and there was an array of fine friends at the wedding. The parson, on his visits to her when he came to London, held himself with reserve. He felt shy with her and in his heart he resented her great beauty: she dressed more magnificently than became the wife of a hardworking surgeon; and the charming furniture of her house, the flowers among which she lived even in winter, suggested an extravagance which he deplored. He heard her talk of entertainments she was going to; and, as he told his wife on getting home again, it was impossible to accept hospitality without making some return. He had seen grapes in the dining-room that must have cost at least eight shillings a pound; and at luncheon he had been given asparagus two months before it was ready in the vicarage garden. Now all he had anticipated was come to pass: the Vicar felt the satisfaction of the prophet who saw fire and brimstone consume the city which would not mend its way to his warning. Poor Philip was practically penniless, and what was the good of his mother’s fine friends now? He heard that his father’s extravagance was really criminal, and it was a mercy that Providence had seen fit to take his dear mother to itself: she had no more idea of money than a child.

When Philip had been a week at Blackstable an incident happened which seemed to irritate his uncle very much. One morning he found on the breakfast table a small packet which had been sent on by post from the late Mrs. Carey’s house in London. It was addressed to her. When the parson opened it he found a dozen photographs of Mrs. Carey. They showed the head and shoulders only, and her hair was more plainly done than usual, low on the forehead, which gave her an unusual look; the face was thin and worn, but no illness could impair the beauty of her features. There was in the large dark eyes a sadness which Philip did not remember. The first sight of the dead woman gave Mr. Carey a little shock, but this was quickly followed by perplexity. The photographs seemed quite recent, and he could not imagine who had ordered them.

‘D’you know anything about these, Philip?’ he asked.

‘I remember mamma said she’d been taken,’ he answered. ‘Miss Watkin scolded her.... She said: I wanted the boy to have something to remember me by when he grows up.’

Mr. Carey looked at Philip for an instant. The child spoke in a clear treble. He recalled the words, but they meant nothing to him.

‘You’d better take one of the photographs and keep it in your room,’ said Mr. Carey. ‘I’ll put the others away.’

He sent one to Miss Watkin, and she wrote and explained how they came to be taken.

One day Mrs. Carey was lying in bed, but she was feeling a little better than usual, and the doctor in the morning had seemed hopeful; Emma had taken the child out, and the maids were downstairs in the basement: suddenly Mrs. Carey felt desperately alone in the world. A great fear seized her that she would not recover from the confinement which she was expecting in a fortnight. Her son was nine years old. How could he be expected to remember her? She could not bear to think that he would grow up and forget, forget her utterly; and she had loved him so passionately, because he was weakly and deformed, and because he was her child. She had no photographs of herself taken since her marriage, and that was ten years before. She wanted her son to know what she looked like at the end. He could not forget her then, not forget utterly. She knew that if she called her maid and told her she wanted to get up, the maid would prevent her, and perhaps send for the doctor, and she had not the strength now to struggle or argue. She got out of bed and began to dress herself. She had been on her back so long that her legs gave way beneath her, and then the soles of her feet tingled so that she could hardly bear to put them to the ground. But she went on. She was unused to doing her own hair and, when she raised her arms and began to brush it, she felt faint. She could never do it as her maid did. It was beautiful hair, very fine, and of a deep rich gold. Her eyebrows were straight and dark. She put on a black skirt, but chose the bodice of the evening dress which she liked best: it was of a white damask which was fashionable in those days. She looked at herself in the glass. Her face was very pale, but her skin was clear: she had never had much colour, and this had always made the redness of her beautiful mouth emphatic. She could not restrain a sob. But she could not afford to be sorry for herself; she was feeling already desperately tired; and she put on the furs which Henry had given her the Christmas before—she had been so proud of them and so happy then—and slipped downstairs with beating heart. She got safely out of the house and drove to a photographer. She paid for a dozen photographs. She was obliged to ask for a glass of water in the middle of the sitting; and the assistant, seeing she was ill, suggested that she should come another day, but she insisted on staying till the end. At last it was finished, and she drove back again to the dingy little house in Kensington which she hated with all her heart. It was a horrible house to die in.

She found the front door open, and when she drove up the maid and Emma ran down the steps to help her. They had been frightened when they found her room empty. At first they thought she must have gone to Miss Watkin, and the cook was sent round. Miss Watkin came back with her and was waiting anxiously in the drawing-room. She came downstairs now full of anxiety and reproaches; but the exertion had been more than Mrs. Carey was fit for, and when the occasion for firmness no longer existed she gave way. She fell heavily into Emma’s arms and was carried upstairs. She remained unconscious for a time that seemed incredibly long to those that watched her, and the doctor, hurriedly sent for, did not come. It was next day, when she was a little better, that Miss Watkin got some explanation out of her. Philip was playing on the floor of his mother’s bed-room, and neither of the ladies paid attention to him. He only understood vaguely what they were talking about, and he could not have said why those words remained in his memory.

‘I wanted the boy to have something to remember me by when he grows up.’

‘I can’t make out why she ordered a dozen,’ said Mr. Carey. ‘Two would have done.’



第五章

菲利普同那些自己要与之一起生活的人终于渐渐熟稔起来，通过他们日常交谈的片言只语--一有些当然并非有意说给他听的--了解到许多有关自己和他已故双亲的情况。菲利普的父亲要比牧师年轻好多岁。他在圣路加医院实习期间，成绩出众，被院方正式聘为该院的医生，不久，他就有了相当可观的收入。他花起钱来大手大脚，满不在乎。有回牧师着手修缮教堂，向这位兄弟募款，结果出乎意外地收到了几百镑。凯里先生手头拮据，省吃俭用惯了，他收下那笔款子时，心里酸甜苦辣，百感交集。他妒忌弟弟，因为弟弟竟拿得出这么一大笔钱来；他也为教堂感到高兴，不过又对这种近乎炫耀的慷慨解囊隐隐感到恼火。后来，亨利·凯里同一个病人结了婚，那是个容貌出众却一贫如洗的姑娘，一个无亲无故却是出身名门的孤女。婚礼上良朋佳友如云。打那以后，牧师每次上伦敦，总要去看望这位弟媳。不过在她面前，牧师总显得拘谨，甚至有些胆怯；心底里却对她的仪态万方暗怀愠怨。作为一个兢兢业业的外科医生的妻子，她的穿戴未免过于华丽；而她家里精美雅致的家具，还有那些鲜花--一甚至在寒冬腊月她也要生活在花丛之中--说明她生活之奢华，已达到令人痛心的程度。牧师还听她说起，她要出门去赴宴。正如牧师回到家里对他老伴所说，既然她受了人家的款待，总该礼尚往来罗。他在餐室里看到过一些鲜葡萄，想来至少得花八先令一磅；在吃午餐时，还请他尝用尚未上市的鲜芦笋，这种芦笋，在牧师自己家的菜园里还得过两个月才能拿来当菜吃。现在，他所预料的一切都已成了现实。牧师不由心生某种满足之感，就像预言家亲眼见到一个无视自己警告而一意孤行的城市，终于遭到地狱硫火的吞噬一般。可怜的菲利普现在差不多不名一文，他妈妈的那些良朋佳友现在又管什么用？菲利普听人说，自己父亲肆意挥霍实在是造了孽；老天爷还算慈悲，及早把他亲爱的妈妈领回到自己身边去了。在金钱方面，她并不比小孩更有见识。

菲利普来到布莱克斯泰勃一个星期后，发生了一件似乎使他伯父颇不以为然的事情。一天早上，牧师在餐桌上看到一个小包邮件，是由伦敦凯里太太生前所住寓所转寄来的。上面写的是已故凯里太太的名字和地址。牧师拆开一看，原来是凯里太太的照片，共十二张。照片只拍了头部和肩部。发式比平时朴素，云鬓低垂在前额上，使她显得有点异样；脸盘瘦削，面容憔悴，然而疾病却无损于她容貌的俏丽。一双乌黑的大眼睛，隐隐透出一股哀怨之情，这种哀怨神情菲利普已记不得了。凯里先生乍一见到这个已辞人世的女子，心头不觉微微一震，紧接着又感到迷惑不解。这些照片似乎是新近拍摄的，可他想象不出究竟是谁让拍的。

"你知道这些照片是怎么回事，菲利普？"他问道。

"我记得妈妈说去拍过照，"他回答说。"沃特金小姐还为这事责怪妈妈来着……妈妈说：'我要给孩子留下点什么，让他长大以后能记起我来。'"

凯里先生愣愣地望着菲利普。孩子的话音尖细而清朗。他回忆着母亲的话，却不明白话中的含义。

"你最好拿一张去，把它放在自己的房间里，"凯里先生说。"其余的就保存在我这儿吧。"

他寄了一张给沃特金小姐。她在回信里讲了拍摄这些照片的始末。

一天，凯里太太躺在床上，觉得人比平时稍微精神了些，医生早晨来看她，似乎也觉得病情有了点转机。埃玛带着孩子出去了，女仆们都在下面地下室里，凯里太太蓦地感到自己于然一身飘零世上，好不凄苦。一阵巨大的恐惧攫住心头：她原以为要不了两个星期，病体就会复原的，现在看来要水远卧床不起了。儿子今年才九岁，怎么能指望他将来不把自己忘掉呢？想到他日后长大成人会将自己忘掉，忘得一干二净，她心如刀割，难以忍受；她之所以这么炽烈地爱着他，是因为他体质赢弱，又有残疾，又因为他是自己的亲生骨肉。结婚以后她还没有拍过照，而结婚到现在一晃已有十载。她要让儿子知道自己临终前的模样，这样他就不会把自己忘得一干二净了。凯里太太知道，如果招呼侍女，说自己要起床，那么侍女一定会阻止她，说不定还会把医生叫来。她现在连挣扎、分辩的力气也没有。她下了床，开始穿衣。由于长期辗转病榻，双腿酥软，身体难以支撑，接着脚底又产生一种刺痛的感觉，甚至连脚都没法放到地上。她咬紧牙挺着。她不习惯自己梳理头发；她抬起手臂梳头时，感到一阵眩晕。她怎么也梳不成侍女给自己梳理的那种发式。那一头金黄色的秀发，既柔且密。两道细眉又直又黑。她穿上一条黑裙子，但选了一件最合她心意的夜礼服紧身胸衣。胸衣是用白锦缎做成的，这种料于在当时很时髦。她照照镜子，瞧见自己脸色苍白异常，但皮肤却很细洁。她脸上一向没有多少血色，而这一来，她那美丽的嘴唇反而越发显得红润。她情不自禁地抽泣了一声。但是，此刻可不是顾影自怜的当口，她已感到精疲力竭。凯里太太披上皮外衣，那是亨利前一年圣诞节送给她的，当时她颇为这件礼物自豪，感到无比幸福。她悄没声儿溜下楼梯，心儿突突剧跳不已。她顺顺当当出了屋子，叫了辆车去照相馆。凯里太太付了十一二张照片的钱。在坐着拍照的过程中，她支撑不住，不得不要了杯茶水。摄影师的助手看到她有病，建议她改日再来，但她坚持让自己拍完。最后，好歹算拍完了，她又叫车回肯辛顿的那所幽暗小屋。她打心底里厌恶那住所，想到自己竟要死在那里面，真可怕。

她看见大门洞开着。当她的车停下来时，侍女和埃玛三步并作两步奔下台阶来搀扶她。先前，她们发现房间空了，可真吓坏了。她们一转念，心想太太准是上沃特金小姐那儿去了，于是打发厨娘去找。不料，沃特金小姐却跟着厨娘一起来了，一直心焦如焚地守在客厅里。此刻沃特金小姐也赶下楼来，心里焦灼不安，嘴里不住嗔怪凯里太太。凯里太太经过这番折腾，已劳累过度，加上需要硬挺的时刻已经过去，她再也支撑不住，一头扑倒在埃玛怀里，随后便被抬到楼上。凯里太太虽只昏迷了不多一会儿，但对守护在身旁的人来说，时间却长得难以置信；他们赶紧派人去请医生，医生一直没来。到了第二大，凯里太太体力稍有恢复，沃特金小姐从她嘴里了解到了事情的原委。那当儿，菲利普正坐在母亲卧室的地板上玩耍，这两位妇人谁也没去注意他。她俩的谈话，他只是似懂非懂地听到了一些，他也说不清那些话怎么会留在他的记忆里的。

"我要给孩子留下点什么，让他长大以后能记起我来。"

"我不懂她为什么要拍十二张，"凯里先生说，"拍两张不就行了？"
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chapter 6

One day was very like another at the vicarage.

Soon after breakfast Mary Ann brought in The Times. Mr. Carey shared it with two neighbours. He had it from ten till one, when the gardener took it over to Mr. Ellis at the Limes, with whom it remained till seven; then it was taken to Miss Brooks at the Manor House, who, since she got it late, had the advantage of keeping it. In summer Mrs. Carey, when she was making jam, often asked her for a copy to cover the pots with. When the Vicar settled down to his paper his wife put on her bonnet and went out to do the shopping. Philip accompanied her. Blackstable was a fishing village. It consisted of a high street in which were the shops, the bank, the doctor’s house, and the houses of two or three coalship owners; round the little harbor were shabby streets in which lived fishermen and poor people; but since they went to chapel they were of no account. When Mrs. Carey passed the dissenting ministers in the street she stepped over to the other side to avoid meeting them, but if there was not time for this fixed her eyes on the pavement. It was a scandal to which the Vicar had never resigned himself that there were three chapels in the High Street: he could not help feeling that the law should have stepped in to prevent their erection. Shopping in Blackstable was not a simple matter; for dissent, helped by the fact that the parish church was two miles from the town, was very common; and it was necessary to deal only with churchgoers; Mrs. Carey knew perfectly that the vicarage custom might make all the difference to a tradesman’s faith. There were two butchers who went to church, and they would not understand that the Vicar could not deal with both of them at once; nor were they satisfied with his simple plan of going for six months to one and for six months to the other. The butcher who was not sending meat to the vicarage constantly threatened not to come to church, and the Vicar was sometimes obliged to make a threat: it was very wrong of him not to come to church, but if he carried iniquity further and actually went to chapel, then of course, excellent as his meat was, Mr. Carey would be forced to leave him for ever. Mrs. Carey often stopped at the bank to deliver a message to Josiah Graves, the manager, who was choir-master, treasurer, and churchwarden. He was a tall, thin man with a sallow face and a long nose; his hair was very white, and to Philip he seemed extremely old. He kept the parish accounts, arranged the treats for the choir and the schools; though there was no organ in the parish church, it was generally considered (in Blackstable) that the choir he led was the best in Kent; and when there was any ceremony, such as a visit from the Bishop for confirmation or from the Rural Dean to preach at the Harvest Thanksgiving, he made the necessary preparations. But he had no hesitation in doing all manner of things without more than a perfunctory consultation with the Vicar, and the Vicar, though always ready to be saved trouble, much resented the churchwarden’s managing ways. He really seemed to look upon himself as the most important person in the parish. Mr. Carey constantly told his wife that if Josiah Graves did not take care he would give him a good rap over the knuckles one day; but Mrs. Carey advised him to bear with Josiah Graves: he meant well, and it was not his fault if he was not quite a gentleman. The Vicar, finding his comfort in the practice of a Christian virtue, exercised forbearance; but he revenged himself by calling the churchwarden Bismarck behind his back.

Once there had been a serious quarrel between the pair, and Mrs. Carey still thought of that anxious time with dismay. The Conservative candidate had announced his intention of addressing a meeting at Blackstable; and Josiah Graves, having arranged that it should take place in the Mission Hall, went to Mr. Carey and told him that he hoped he would say a few words. It appeared that the candidate had asked Josiah Graves to take the chair. This was more than Mr. Carey could put up with. He had firm views upon the respect which was due to the cloth, and it was ridiculous for a churchwarden to take the chair at a meeting when the Vicar was there. He reminded Josiah Graves that parson meant person, that is, the vicar was the person of the parish. Josiah Graves answered that he was the first to recognise the dignity of the church, but this was a matter of politics, and in his turn he reminded the Vicar that their Blessed Saviour had enjoined upon them to render unto Caesar the things that were Caesar’s. To this Mr. Carey replied that the devil could quote scripture to his purpose, himself had sole authority over the Mission Hall, and if he were not asked to be chairman he would refuse the use of it for a political meeting. Josiah Graves told Mr. Carey that he might do as he chose, and for his part he thought the Wesleyan Chapel would be an equally suitable place. Then Mr. Carey said that if Josiah Graves set foot in what was little better than a heathen temple he was not fit to be churchwarden in a Christian parish. Josiah Graves thereupon resigned all his offices, and that very evening sent to the church for his cassock and surplice. His sister, Miss Graves, who kept house for him, gave up her secretaryship of the Maternity Club, which provided the pregnant poor with flannel, baby linen, coals, and five shillings. Mr. Carey said he was at last master in his own house. But soon he found that he was obliged to see to all sorts of things that he knew nothing about; and Josiah Graves, after the first moment of irritation, discovered that he had lost his chief interest in life. Mrs. Carey and Miss Graves were much distressed by the quarrel; they met after a discreet exchange of letters, and made up their minds to put the matter right: they talked, one to her husband, the other to her brother, from morning till night; and since they were persuading these gentlemen to do what in their hearts they wanted, after three weeks of anxiety a reconciliation was effected. It was to both their interests, but they ascribed it to a common love for their Redeemer. The meeting was held at the Mission Hall, and the doctor was asked to be chairman. Mr. Carey and Josiah Graves both made speeches.

When Mrs. Carey had finished her business with the banker, she generally went upstairs to have a little chat with his sister; and while the ladies talked of parish matters, the curate or the new bonnet of Mrs. Wilson—Mr. Wilson was the richest man in Blackstable, he was thought to have at least five hundred a year, and he had married his cook—Philip sat demurely in the stiff parlour, used only to receive visitors, and busied himself with the restless movements of goldfish in a bowl. The windows were never opened except to air the room for a few minutes in the morning, and it had a stuffy smell which seemed to Philip to have a mysterious connection with banking.

Then Mrs. Carey remembered that she had to go to the grocer, and they continued their way. When the shopping was done they often went down a side street of little houses, mostly of wood, in which fishermen dwelt (and here and there a fisherman sat on his doorstep mending his nets, and nets hung to dry upon the doors), till they came to a small beach, shut in on each side by warehouses, but with a view of the sea. Mrs. Carey stood for a few minutes and looked at it, it was turbid and yellow, [and who knows what thoughts passed through her mind?] while Philip searched for flat stones to play ducks and drakes. Then they walked slowly back. They looked into the post office to get the right time, nodded to Mrs. Wigram the doctor’s wife, who sat at her window sewing, and so got home.

Dinner was at one o’clock; and on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday it consisted of beef, roast, hashed, and minced, and on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday of mutton. On Sunday they ate one of their own chickens. In the afternoon Philip did his lessons, He was taught Latin and mathematics by his uncle who knew neither, and French and the piano by his aunt. Of French she was ignorant, but she knew the piano well enough to accompany the old-fashioned songs she had sung for thirty years. Uncle William used to tell Philip that when he was a curate his wife had known twelve songs by heart, which she could sing at a moment’s notice whenever she was asked. She often sang still when there was a tea-party at the vicarage. There were few people whom the Careys cared to ask there, and their parties consisted always of the curate, Josiah Graves with his sister, Dr. Wigram and his wife. After tea Miss Graves played one or two of Mendelssohn’s Songs without Words, and Mrs. Carey sang When the Swallows Homeward Fly, or Trot, Trot, My Pony.

But the Careys did not give tea-parties often; the preparations upset them, and when their guests were gone they felt themselves exhausted. They preferred to have tea by themselves, and after tea they played backgammon. Mrs. Carey arranged that her husband should win, because he did not like losing. They had cold supper at eight. It was a scrappy meal because Mary Ann resented getting anything ready after tea, and Mrs. Carey helped to clear away. Mrs. Carey seldom ate more than bread and butter, with a little stewed fruit to follow, but the Vicar had a slice of cold meat. Immediately after supper Mrs. Carey rang the bell for prayers, and then Philip went to bed. He rebelled against being undressed by Mary Ann and after a while succeeded in establishing his right to dress and undress himself. At nine o’clock Mary Ann brought in the eggs and the plate. Mrs. Carey wrote the date on each egg and put the number down in a book. She then took the plate-basket on her arm and went upstairs. Mr. Carey continued to read one of his old books, but as the clock struck ten he got up, put out the lamps, and followed his wife to bed.

When Philip arrived there was some difficulty in deciding on which evening he should have his bath. It was never easy to get plenty of hot water, since the kitchen boiler did not work, and it was impossible for two persons to have a bath on the same day. The only man who had a bathroom in Blackstable was Mr. Wilson, and it was thought ostentatious of him. Mary Ann had her bath in the kitchen on Monday night, because she liked to begin the week clean. Uncle William could not have his on Saturday, because he had a heavy day before him and he was always a little tired after a bath, so he had it on Friday. Mrs. Carey had hers on Thursday for the same reason. It looked as though Saturday were naturally indicated for Philip, but Mary Ann said she couldn’t keep the fire up on Saturday night: what with all the cooking on Sunday, having to make pastry and she didn’t know what all, she did not feel up to giving the boy his bath on Saturday night; and it was quite clear that he could not bath himself. Mrs. Carey was shy about bathing a boy, and of course the Vicar had his sermon. But the Vicar insisted that Philip should be clean and sweet for the lord’s Day. Mary Ann said she would rather go than be put upon—and after eighteen years she didn’t expect to have more work given her, and they might show some consideration—and Philip said he didn’t want anyone to bath him, but could very well bath himself. This settled it. Mary Ann said she was quite sure he wouldn’t bath himself properly, and rather than he should go dirty—and not because he was going into the presence of the Lord, but because she couldn’t abide a boy who wasn’t properly washed—she’d work herself to the bone even if it was Saturday night.



第六章

牧师公馆里的生活，千篇一律，日复一日，无甚变化。

吃过早餐不久，玛丽·安把《泰晤士报》拿进来。这份报纸是凯里先生同两位邻居合订的。十时至一时归凯里先生看，到时间花匠就拿去给莱姆斯庄的埃利斯先生，一下午报纸留在他那儿，到七时再送交梅诺庄园的布鲁克斯小姐。她最后拿到手，也有个好处，报纸随后便留在她那儿啦。凯里太太夏天制作果酱时，常从她那儿讨张报纸来包果酱罐。每天凯里先生坐下来专心看报的时候，凯里太太就戴上无边帽，由菲利普陪着上街买东西。布莱克斯泰勃是个渔村，镇上只有一条大街，店铺、银行全设在那儿，医生以及两三个煤船主也住在这条街上。小渔港的周围是些窄街陋巷，住着渔民和穷苦村民；既然他们只上非教区教堂做礼拜，那当然是些微不足道的角色罗。凯里太太在街上一见到非国教教会的牧师，总是忙不迭问到街对面去，免得同他们打照面；实在规避不及，就目不斜视地盯着人行道。在这样一条大街上，竞然设立着三座非教区教堂，这种丑事实在叫牧师无法容忍：他总觉得法律该出面干预，明文禁止设立这类教堂。小镇离教区礼堂有两英里，这也是造成镇上人普遍不从国教的原因之一。在布莱克斯泰勃买东西可大有学问，必须同国教派教友打交道，凯里太太心里雪亮，牧师家人光顾哪家店铺，对店主的信仰有举足轻重的影响。镇上有两个肉铺掌柜，向来是上教区教堂做礼拜的，他们不明白牧师为什么不能同时光顾他们两家铺子；牧师的解决办法很简单，这半年在这家肉铺买肉，那半年再照顾另一家的生意，但他们对这个办法就是不满意。一旦哪家轮空，不定时向牧师家送肉，掌柜的就口口声声扬言以后不再涉足教区教堂了；牧师有时候不得已也要回敬一下：不上教区教堂做礼拜，已是大错特错，如果竟敢错上加错，真的跑到非国教教堂去做礼拜，那么即使他铺子里的肉再好，他凯里先生迫于无奈，当然只好永远不上门问津了。凯里太太路过银行，常常进去替丈夫捎口信给经理乔赛亚·格雷夫斯。格雷夫斯是教区教堂的唱诗班领班，同时兼任司库和执事。他个儿又瘦又高，蜡黄的脸上长着个长鼻子，满头白发，在菲利普心目中，没有再比他老的人了。教堂帐目归他管，款待唱诗班歌童、安排主日学校学生远足之类的事儿，也由他负责。虽说教区教堂连架风琴也没有，但是格雷夫斯主持的唱诗班，在布莱克斯泰勃却一致公认是全肯特郡首屈一指的。凡要举行什么仪式，比如主教大人来施坚信礼啦，教区长在收获感恩节来讲道啦，所有必不可少的准备工作全由他格雷夫斯一手张罗。他处理起教区事务来，无论巨细，都独断独行，从来不同牧师认真磋商。而牧师呢，尽管生性怕麻烦，主张多一事不如少一事，但对这位教会执事的专断作风，也很不以为然。看来，他俨然以全教区首要人物自居了。牧师几次三番在凯里太太面前扬言，如果乔赛亚·格雷夫斯不有所收敛，迟早要给他点厉害瞧瞧。不过，凯里太太总是劝他忍耐着点：格雷夫斯用心还是好的，要是他缺少君子之风，那也不能苛求于他嘛。牧师采取了克制态度，以恪守基督徒的美德自慰；不过有时免不了要在背地里骂这位教会执事是"俾斯麦"，出出肚子里的怨气。

有一回这一对终于闹翻了；至今凯里太太想起那段令人焦虑不安的日子，仍心有余悸。是这么回事：保守党候选人宣布要在布莱克斯泰勃发表竞选演说Z乔赛亚·格雷夫斯把演说地点安排在布道堂内，随后跑去找凯里先生，说自己希望到时候也要在会上讲几句。看来那位候选人已请乔赛亚·格雷夫斯主持会议了。这种越俎代庖的做法，叫凯里先生如何忍受得了。牧师的职权理应受到尊重，在这点上他决不允许有半点含糊。要是一次有牧师出席的会议，竟让教会执事来主持，岂不荒唐透顶。牧师提醒乔赛亚·格雷夫斯，教区牧师乃是教区的至尊人物，也就是说，在教区内该由牧师说了算的。乔赛亚·格雷夫斯回敬说，没有人比他更认从教会的尊严了，但这回纯粹是政治上的事务；他反过来提醒牧师别忘了耶稣基督的训诫，"该撒的物当归给该撒"。对此，牧师反唇相讥：为了自己的目的，魔鬼也会引用《圣经》；不管怎么说，布道堂的支配权只属于他一个人，如果不请他主持，他决不同意动用教堂来召开政治会议。乔赛亚·格雷夫斯冲着凯里先生说了声悉听尊便，接着场言，反正他本人觉得美以美教堂同样是个很合适的开会场所。凯里先生说，如果乔赛亚·格雷夫斯胆敢涉足于一个比异教徒庙宇好不了多少的地方，他就再没有资格担任堂堂国教教区的执事。乔赛亚·格雷夫斯一气之下，便辞去了所有圣职，并于当晚派人到教堂取回黑袈裟和白法衣。替他管家的妹妹格雷夫斯小姐，也辞去了母道会的干事职务。母道会的会务，是向教区内贫苦孕妇发放法兰绒服、婴儿衣、煤以及五先令的救济金。凯里先生说，这回他总算真正当家作主了。但是牧师很快发觉自己对各种要处理的事务一窍不通；而乔赛亚·格雷夫斯呢，愤怒之余也发现自己失去了生活中的主要乐趣。这场争吵使凯里太太和格雷夫斯小姐深为苦恼。她们先是私下通信，继而又碰头商量，决心要把这个疙瘩解开。她们一个劝解自己的丈夫，一个说服自己的哥哥，嘴皮子从早磨到晚。既然她们谆谆规劝的原是这两位正人君子心里巴望做的，所以过了令人不安的三周之后，他俩终于握手言欢了。他们重修旧好，当然对双方部有好处，但他们却归之于对主的共同之爱。演讲会还是在布道堂里举行，不过改由医生来主持，凯里先生和乔赛亚·格雷夫斯两人都在会上讲了话。

凯里太太把口信带给银行家之后，照例要上楼同格雷夫斯小姐拉句把家常，谈谈教区里的事儿，对副牧师，或者对威尔逊太太的新帽子议论一番。威尔逊先生是布莱克斯泰勃的首富，估计每年至少有五百镑的收入。他娶了自己的厨娘做老婆。她们闲聊的时候，菲利普规规矩矩地坐在密不透风的客厅里，目不暇接地看着鱼缸内穿来游去的金鱼。这间客厅只有在接待客人时才使用，窗户整天关着，仅在早晨开几分钟，让房问透透风，客厅里的这股浑浊气味，在菲利普想来，大概跟银行业有着某种神秘的联系吧。

这时，凯里太太想起还得去杂货铺，便又跟菲利普起身上路了。买好东西之后，他们常沿着一条小街一直走到个海滩。小街两边净是些渔民居住的小屋子，大多是小木屋（这儿到处可以看见渔民坐在自己家门口织补鱼网，鱼网就晾挂在门扉上）。海滩边上仓库林立，但从仓库间的空隙处仍可望得见大海。凯里太太在那儿伫立几分钟，眺望浑浊发黄的海面（谁知道她在想些什么呢？）；而这时候，菲利普就四下寻找扁石，打水漂取乐。然后，他们慢悠悠地往回走，路经邮局时，朝里望望钟点，走过医生家门前，又朝坐在窗口缝衣服的医生老婆威格拉姆太太点头打了个招呼，随后径直回家去。

下午一时吃午饭。星期一、二、三，吃烤牛肉、牛肉丝、剁牛肉；星期四、五、六，吃羊肉。星期天享用一只自家饲养的鸡。每天下午，规定是菲利普做功课的时间。大伯教他拉丁文和数学，其实他大伯自己对这两门学问一窍不通。伯母教他法文和钢琴，而她对法文也几乎是一无所知。不过钢琴倒还会弹两下，能为自己伴奏几首老掉了牙的歌子，这些歌她已唱了三十年。威廉大伯常常对菲利普说，在他还是副牧师的时候，他太太有十二首歌烂熟于心，不论什么时候请她表演，她都能即席唱它几首。就是现在，牧师公馆举行茶会的时候，她还不时露这么一手。牧师不愿邀请太多的人，有幸出席茶会的不外乎那么几位：副牧师、格雷夫斯兄妹、威格拉姆医生夫妇。用过茶点之后，格雷夫斯小姐演奏一两首门德尔松的《无言歌》，而凯里太太就演唱一首《当燕子飞回家的时候》或者《跑呀，跑呀，我的小马孔

不过凯里先生家并不经常举行茶会，因为张罗起来实在忙得够呛，待到客人告辞，他们已累得筋疲力尽。他们喜欢老两口子对坐品茶。用完了茶点再玩一会十五子棋，凯里太太总设法让凯里先生赢，因为他输了会不高兴的。晚上八时吃晚饭，马马虎虎吃些冷菜残羹。玛丽·安准备了茶点之后，再不高兴做什么菜了，而凯里太太还得帮着收拾餐具。通常，凯里太太只吃点涂牛油的面包片，然后再尝用点水果羹；牧帅则外加一片冷肉。晚饭一结束，凯里太太便打晚祷铃。随后，菲利普就去睡觉了。他执意不让玛丽·安替他脱衣服，反抗了一阵子，终于赢得了自己穿衣、脱衣的权利。九时，玛丽·安把盛着鸡蛋的盘子端进屋来。凯里太太在每只鸡蛋上标上日期，并把鸡蛋的数日登录在本子上。这以后，她挎上餐具篮上楼。凯里先生从经常翻阅的书中抽出一本来，继续看着。钟一敲十点，他便站起身，熄了灯，随妻子睡觉去了。

菲利普刚来时，一度竟决定不了到底安排他在哪天晚上洗澡。由于厨房的锅炉出了毛病，热水供应始终是个人难题，同一天内不可能安排两个人洗澡。在布莱克斯泰勃有浴室的唯独威尔逊先生一家，村里人都认为那是存心摆阔。星期一晚上，玛丽·安在厨房洗澡，因为她喜欢干干净净地开始新的一周。威廉大伯不能在星期六洗澡，因为下一天够他辛苦的，而洗完澡，他总觉得有点倦怠，所以便安排在星期五洗澡。凯里太太出于同样的考虑要在星期四沐浴。看来，菲利普当然只好在星期六洗澡了，但玛丽·安说，星期六她可不能让炉子一直烧到晚上，因为星期大得烧那么多的莱，又要做糕点，还有忙不完的这事那事，再要在星期六晚上替孩子洗澡，她觉得实在吃不消。是嘛，这孩子明摆着不会自己洗澡的。至于凯里太太，觉得给男小孩洗澡怪不好意思；牧师先生不用说，得忙着准备他的布道搞。可牧师执意认为，菲利普一定得梳洗得干干净净、整整齐齐地迎接主日。玛丽·安说，她宁可卷铺盖滚蛋也不愿接受硬逼她干的这差事--在这儿已经干了十八个年头，她可不想再承担额外的活计了，他们也该体谅体谅她嘛。不料菲利普本人却表示，他不需要任何人帮他洗澡，他自己完全对付得了，这一说，难题倒迎刃而解了。玛丽·安说，她敢断定，让孩子自己洗是洗不干净的，与其让孩子脏着身子，还不如让她自己累死的好，哪怕是在星期六晚上也罢--一这倒不是因为怕孩子在主面前出丑，而是因为她看不惯那种身上洗得不干不净的孩子。
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chapter 7

Sunday was a day crowded with incident. Mr. Carey was accustomed to say that he was the only man in his parish who worked seven days a week.

The household got up half an hour earlier than usual. No lying abed for a poor parson on the day of rest, Mr. Carey remarked as Mary Ann knocked at the door punctually at eight. It took Mrs. Carey longer to dress, and she got down to breakfast at nine, a little breathless, only just before her husband. Mr. Carey’s boots stood in front of the fire to warm. Prayers were longer than usual, and the breakfast more substantial. After breakfast the Vicar cut thin slices of bread for the communion, and Philip was privileged to cut off the crust. He was sent to the study to fetch a marble paperweight, with which Mr. Carey pressed the bread till it was thin and pulpy, and then it was cut into small squares. The amount was regulated by the weather. On a very bad day few people came to church, and on a very fine one, though many came, few stayed for communion. There were most when it was dry enough to make the walk to church pleasant, but not so fine that people wanted to hurry away.

Then Mrs. Carey brought the communion plate out of the safe, which stood in the pantry, and the Vicar polished it with a chamois leather. At ten the fly drove up, and Mr. Carey got into his boots. Mrs. Carey took several minutes to put on her bonnet, during which the Vicar, in a voluminous cloak, stood in the hall with just such an expression on his face as would have become an early Christian about to be led into the arena. It was extraordinary that after thirty years of marriage his wife could not be ready in time on Sunday morning. At last she came, in black satin; the Vicar did not like colours in a clergyman’s wife at any time, but on Sundays he was determined that she should wear black; now and then, in conspiracy with Miss Graves, she ventured a white feather or a pink rose in her bonnet, but the Vicar insisted that it should disappear; he said he would not go to church with the scarlet woman: Mrs. Carey sighed as a woman but obeyed as a wife. They were about to step into the carriage when the Vicar remembered that no one had given him his egg. They knew that he must have an egg for his voice, there were two women in the house, and no one had the least regard for his comfort. Mrs. Carey scolded Mary Ann, and Mary Ann answered that she could not think of everything. She hurried away to fetch an egg, and Mrs. Carey beat it up in a glass of sherry. The Vicar swallowed it at a gulp. The communion plate was stowed in the carriage, and they set off.

The fly came from The Red Lion and had a peculiar smell of stale straw. They drove with both windows closed so that the Vicar should not catch cold. The sexton was waiting at the porch to take the communion plate, and while the Vicar went to the vestry Mrs. Carey and Philip settled themselves in the vicarage pew. Mrs. Carey placed in front of her the sixpenny bit she was accustomed to put in the plate, and gave Philip threepence for the same purpose. The church filled up gradually and the service began.

Philip grew bored during the sermon, but if he fidgetted Mrs. Carey put a gentle hand on his arm and looked at him reproachfully. He regained interest when the final hymn was sung and Mr.Graves passed round with the plate.

When everyone had gone Mrs. Carey went into Miss Graves’ pew to have a few words with her while they were waiting for the gentlemen, and Philip went to the vestry. His uncle, the curate, and Mr. Graves were still in their surplices. Mr. Carey gave him the remains of the consecrated bread and told him he might eat it. He had been accustomed to eat it himself, as it seemed blasphemous to throw it away, but Philip’s keen appetite relieved him from the duty. Then they counted the money. It consisted of pennies, sixpences and threepenny bits. There were always two single shillings, one put in the plate by the Vicar and the other by Mr. Graves; and sometimes there was a florin. Mr. Graves told the Vicar who had given this. It was always a stranger to Blackstable, and Mr. Carey wondered who he was. But Miss Graves had observed the rash act and was able to tell Mrs. Carey that the stranger came from London, was married and had children. During the drive home Mrs. Carey passed the information on, and the Vicar made up his mind to call on him and ask for a subscription to the Additional Curates Society. Mr. Carey asked if Philip had behaved properly; and Mrs. Carey remarked that Mrs. Wigram had a new mantle, Mr. Cox was not in church, and somebody thought that Miss Phillips was engaged. When they reached the vicarage they all felt that they deserved a substantial dinner.

When this was over Mrs. Carey went to her room to rest, and Mr. Carey lay down on the sofa in the drawing-room for forty winks.

They had tea at five, and the Vicar ate an egg to support himself for evensong. Mrs. Carey did not go to this so that Mary Ann might, but she read the service through and the hymns. Mr. Carey walked to church in the evening, and Philip limped along by his side. The walk through the darkness along the country road strangely impressed him, and the church with all its lights in the distance, coming gradually nearer, seemed very friendly. At first he was shy with his uncle, but little by little grew used to him, and he would slip his hand in his uncle’s and walk more easily for the feeling of protection.

They had supper when they got home. Mr. Carey’s slippers were waiting for him on a footstool in front of the fire and by their side Philip’s, one the shoe of a small boy, the other misshapen and odd. He was dreadfully tired when he went up to bed, and he did not resist when Mary Ann undressed him. She kissed him after she tucked him up, and he began to love her.



第七章

星期日这天，事情排得满满的。凯里先生老爱自诩：整个教区内，每周工作七天的就他一个。

这天，全家都比平常提早半小时起身。玛丽·安准八点前来敲房门，这时凯里先生总免不了要嘀咕一句：当牧师的真苦命，休息日也休想在床上多躺一会儿。凯里太太这天花在穿衣服上的时间也要多些，梳妆打扮到九点才气喘吁吁地下楼用早餐，正好先于丈夫一步。凯里先生的靴于搁在火炉前，好让它烘烘暖和。做祷告的时间要比平日长，早餐也比往常丰盛。早餐后，牧师着手准备圣餐，把面包切成薄片；菲利普很荣幸，能在一旁帮着削面包皮。牧师差菲利普去书房取来一块大理石镇纸，用它压面包。等面包片压得又薄又软了，再把它们切成许多小方块。数量的多寡，视天气而定。刮风下雨天，上教堂的人寥寥无几；如果天气特好，做礼拜的教友固然济济一堂，但留下来用圣餐的也不会很多。要是大既不下雨，同时又算不上风和日丽，上教堂走一遭尚不失为快事，教友们也并不急着去领略假日的乐趣-一逢上这种日子，领圣餐的人才会很多。

随后，凯里太太从餐具室的菜橱里取出圣餐盘，牧师用块羚羊皮将'Z擦得锃亮锃亮。十时，马车停到了门口，凯里先生穿好靴子。凯里太太花了好几分钟工夫才戴好她那顶无边帽，这期间，牧师披着件宽肥的大憋，候在门厅里，脸上那副神情，活像古代的基督徒，正等着被领人竞技场似的。真奇怪，结婚三十年了，老婆子每到星期天早晨还老是这么磨磨蹭蹭的。她总算姗姗而来了，身上穿着一袭黑缎子衣服。不管什么场合，牧师一看到教士老婆披红戴绿就觉得不顺眼；到星期天，他更是坚持老伴非穿一身黑不可。有几次，凯里太太同格雷夫斯小姐串通好，鼓起勇气在无边帽上插一根白羽毛，或是缀一朵粉红玫瑰什么的，但牧师执意要把它们拿掉，说他不愿意同妖艳的荡妇一块儿上教堂。作为妇人，凯里太太忍不住一声长叹；而作为妻子，她又不得不唯命是从。他们正要上马车的时候，牧师忽然记起家里人今天还没给他吃过鸡蛋。她们明明知道他得吃个鸡蛋润润喉咙；家里有两个女的，可没有一个把他的饮食起居放在心上。凯里太太埋怨玛丽·安，可玛丽·安却回嘴说，她一个人哪能什么事都考虑周全。玛丽·安赶紧去把鸡蛋拿来；凯里太太随手将蛋打入一杯雪利酒里。牧师一口吞下了肚。圣餐盘放进马车，他们出发了。

这辆单马马车是"红狮"车行放来的，车里一股霉稻草的怪味。一路上，两面车窗关得严严实实，生怕牧师着了凉。守候在教堂门廊处的教堂执事，将圣餐盘接了过去。牧师径自朝法衣室走去，凯里太太和菲利普则人牧师家族席坐定。凯里太太在自己面前放了枚六便士的钱币，每回她投在圣餐盘里的就是这点钱，同时还给了菲利普一枚三便士的小钱，派同样的用场。教堂里渐渐坐满了，礼拜随之开始。

牧师的讲道，菲利普听着听着，不觉厌倦起来。可是只要他稍一挪动身子，凯里太太马上伸手将他胳臂轻轻按住，同时用责备的目光盯他一眼。等最后一支圣歌唱完，格雷夫斯先生端着圣餐盘分发圣餐的时候，菲利普的兴致又浓了。

做礼拜的人全离开了教堂，凯里太太走到格雷夫斯小姐的座席跟前，趁等候牧师他们的当儿，同格雷夫斯小姐闲聊几句；而菲利普此时却一溜烟进了法衣室。大伯、副牧师和格雷夫斯先生，还都穿着白法衣。凯里先生将剩下的圣餐给了菲利普，叫他吃了。过去一向是他自己吃掉的，因为扔掉了似乎是对神明的亵渎；菲利普食欲旺盛，现在正好由他代劳。然后他们清点盘里的钱币，里面有一便士的，有六便士的，也有三便士的。每回都有两枚一先令的钱币。一枚是牧师放进去的，另一枚是格雷夫斯先生放的；间或还冒出枚弗罗林银币来。格雷夫斯先生告诉牧师银币是谁奉献的，往往是某个来布莱克斯泰勃作客的外乡人。凯里先生暗暗纳闷，这位施主究竟是什么样人。不过格雷夫斯小姐早已将这种轻率举动看在眼里，而且能在凯里太太面前说出外乡人的底细：他是从伦敦来的，结过婚，而且有孩子。在乘车回家的路上，凯里太太透露了这个消息，于是凯里先生打定主意要亲自登门拜访，请这位施主为"编外副牧师协会"慷慨解囊。凯里先生问起菲利普刚才在教堂里是否守规矩，可凯里太太却唠叨着威格拉姆太太穿了件新斗篷啦，考克斯先生没来做礼拜啦，以及有人认为菲利普斯小姐已经订了婚啦。他们回到家里，个个觉得折腾了一个上午，理当美美地饱餐一顿。

饭后，凯里太太回自己房里休息去了。凯里先生躺在客厅的长沙发上，忙里偷闲打个盹儿。

下午五时进茶点，牧师特地吃了个鸡蛋，免得主持晚祷时支撑不住。凯里太太为了让玛丽·安去教堂参加晚祷，自己就留在家里了，不过她照样念祈祷文，吟诵圣诗。晚上，凯里先生步行去教堂，菲利普一瘸一拐地跟随在他身边。晚间在乡村小路上行走，菲利普觉得有种新奇之感。远处灯火通明的教堂，一点儿一点儿靠近过来，似乎显得分外亲切。起初，菲利普在他大伯跟前还有点怯生，后来慢慢相处惯了，他常把手悄悄伸进大伯的手掌里，他感到有人在保护自己，跨步时就比较从容自在了。

他们一回到家里，就开始吃晚饭。凯里先生的拖鞋已准备好，端放在火炉前的脚凳上；菲利普的拖鞋也搁在旁边：其中一只，和普通小男孩的鞋没什么两样，另一只却呈畸形，样子很怪。菲利普上楼睡觉时已经累坏了，只得听任玛丽·安帮他脱衣服。玛丽·安给菲利普盖好被子，顺势亲了亲他；菲利普开始喜欢她了。
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chapter 8

Philip had led always the solitary life of an only child, and his loneliness at the vicarage was no greater than it had been when his mother lived. He made friends with Mary Ann. She was a chubby little person of thirty-five, the daughter of a fisherman, and had come to the vicarage at eighteen; it was her first place and she had no intention of leaving it; but she held a possible marriage as a rod over the timid heads of her master and mistress. Her father and mother lived in a little house off Harbour Street, and she went to see them on her evenings out. Her stories of the sea touched Philip’s imagination, and the narrow alleys round the harbour grew rich with the romance which his young fancy lent them. One evening he asked whether he might go home with her; but his aunt was afraid that he might catch something, and his uncle said that evil communications corrupted good manners. He disliked the fisher folk, who were rough, uncouth, and went to chapel. But Philip was more comfortable in the kitchen than in the dining-room, and, whenever he could, he took his toys and played there. His aunt was not sorry. She did not like disorder, and though she recognised that boys must be expected to be untidy she preferred that he should make a mess in the kitchen. If he fidgeted his uncle was apt to grow restless and say it was high time he went to school. Mrs. Carey thought Philip very young for this, and her heart went out to the motherless child; but her attempts to gain his affection were awkward, and the boy, feeling shy, received her demonstrations with so much sullenness that she was mortified. Sometimes she heard his shrill voice raised in laughter in the kitchen, but when she went in, he grew suddenly silent, and he flushed darkly when Mary Ann explained the joke. Mrs. Carey could not see anything amusing in what she heard, and she smiled with constraint.

‘He seems happier with Mary Ann than with us, William,’ she said, when she returned to her sewing.

‘One can see he’s been very badly brought up. He wants licking into shape.’

On the second Sunday after Philip arrived an unlucky incident occurred. Mr. Carey had retired as usual after dinner for a little snooze in the drawing-room, but he was in an irritable mood and could not sleep. Josiah Graves that morning had objected strongly to some candlesticks with which the Vicar had adorned the altar. He had bought them second-hand in Tercanbury, and he thought they looked very well. But Josiah Graves said they were popish. This was a taunt that always aroused the Vicar. He had been at Oxford during the movement which ended in the secession from the Established Church of Edward Manning, and he felt a certain sympathy for the Church of Rome. He would willingly have made the service more ornate than had been usual in the low-church parish of Blackstable, and in his secret soul he yearned for processions and lighted candles. He drew the line at incense. He hated the word protestant. He called himself a Catholic. He was accustomed to say that Papists required an epithet, they were Roman Catholic; but the Church of England was Catholic in the best, the fullest, and the noblest sense of the term. He was pleased to think that his shaven face gave him the look of a priest, and in his youth he had possessed an ascetic air which added to the impression. He often related that on one of his holidays in Boulogne, one of those holidays upon which his wife for economy’s sake did not accompany him, when he was sitting in a church, the cure had come up to him and invited him to preach a sermon. He dismissed his curates when they married, having decided views on the celibacy of the unbeneficed clergy. But when at an election the Liberals had written on his garden fence in large blue letters: This way to Rome, he had been very angry, and threatened to prosecute the leaders of the Liberal party in Blackstable. He made up his mind now that nothing Josiah Graves said would induce him to remove the candlesticks from the altar, and he muttered Bismarck to himself once or twice irritably.

Suddenly he heard an unexpected noise. He pulled the handkerchief off his face, got up from the sofa on which he was lying, and went into the dining-room. Philip was seated on the table with all his bricks around him. He had built a monstrous castle, and some defect in the foundation had just brought the structure down in noisy ruin.

‘What are you doing with those bricks, Philip? You know you’re not allowed to play games on Sunday.’

Philip stared at him for a moment with frightened eyes, and, as his habit was, flushed deeply.

‘I always used to play at home,’ he answered.

‘I’m sure your dear mamma never allowed you to do such a wicked thing as that.’

Philip did not know it was wicked; but if it was, he did not wish it to be supposed that his mother had consented to it. He hung his head and did not answer.

‘Don’t you know it’s very, very wicked to play on Sunday? What d’you suppose it’s called the day of rest for? You’re going to church tonight, and how can you face your Maker when you’ve been breaking one of His laws in the afternoon?’

Mr. Carey told him to put the bricks away at once, and stood over him while Philip did so.

‘You’re a very naughty boy,’ he repeated. ‘Think of the grief you’re causing your poor mother in heaven.’

Philip felt inclined to cry, but he had an instinctive disinclination to letting other people see his tears, and he clenched his teeth to prevent the sobs from escaping. Mr. Carey sat down in his arm-chair and began to turn over the pages of a book. Philip stood at the window. The vicarage was set back from the highroad to Tercanbury, and from the dining-room one saw a semicircular strip of lawn and then as far as the horizon green fields. Sheep were grazing in them. The sky was forlorn and gray. Philip felt infinitely unhappy.

Presently Mary Ann came in to lay the tea, and Aunt Louisa descended the stairs.

‘Have you had a nice little nap, William?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he answered. ‘Philip made so much noise that I couldn’t sleep a wink.’

This was not quite accurate, for he had been kept awake by his own thoughts; and Philip, listening sullenly, reflected that he had only made a noise once, and there was no reason why his uncle should not have slept before or after. When Mrs. Carey asked for an explanation the Vicar narrated the facts.

‘He hasn’t even said he was sorry,’ he finished.

‘Oh, Philip, I’m sure you’re sorry,’ said Mrs. Carey, anxious that the child should not seem wickeder to his uncle than need be.

Philip did not reply. He went on munching his bread and butter. He did not know what power it was in him that prevented him from making any expression of regret. He felt his ears tingling, he was a little inclined to cry, but no word would issue from his lips.

‘You needn’t make it worse by sulking,’ said Mr. Carey.

Tea was finished in silence. Mrs. Carey looked at Philip surreptitiously now and then, but the Vicar elaborately ignored him. When Philip saw his uncle go upstairs to get ready for church he went into the hall and got his hat and coat, but when the Vicar came downstairs and saw him, he said:

‘I don’t wish you to go to church tonight, Philip. I don’t think you’re in a proper frame of mind to enter the House of God.’

Philip did not say a word. He felt it was a deep humiliation that was placed upon him, and his cheeks reddened. He stood silently watching his uncle put on his broad hat and his voluminous cloak. Mrs. Carey as usual went to the door to see him off. Then she turned to Philip.

‘Never mind, Philip, you won’t be a naughty boy next Sunday, will you, and then your uncle will take you to church with him in the evening.’

She took off his hat and coat, and led him into the dining-room.

‘Shall you and I read the service together, Philip, and we’ll sing the hymns at the harmonium. Would you like that?’

Philip shook his head decidedly. Mrs. Carey was taken aback. If he would not read the evening service with her she did not know what to do with him.

‘Then what would you like to do until your uncle comes back?’ she asked helplessly.

Philip broke his silence at last.

‘I want to be left alone,’ he said.

‘Philip, how can you say anything so unkind? Don’t you know that your uncle and I only want your good? Don’t you love me at all?’

‘I hate you. I wish you was dead.’

Mrs. Carey gasped. He said the words so savagely that it gave her quite a start. She had nothing to say. She sat down in her husband’s chair; and as she thought of her desire to love the friendless, crippled boy and her eager wish that he should love her—she was a barren woman and, even though it was clearly God’s will that she should be childless, she could scarcely bear to look at little children sometimes, her heart ached so—the tears rose to her eyes and one by one, slowly, rolled down her cheeks. Philip watched her in amazement. She took out her handkerchief, and now she cried without restraint. Suddenly Philip realised that she was crying because of what he had said, and he was sorry. He went up to her silently and kissed her. It was the first kiss he had ever given her without being asked. And the poor lady, so small in her black satin, shrivelled up and sallow, with her funny corkscrew curls, took the little boy on her lap and put her arms around him and wept as though her heart would break. But her tears were partly tears of happiness, for she felt that the strangeness between them was gone. She loved him now with a new love because he had made her suffer.



第八章

菲利普本来就过惯了那种孤独无伴的独子生活，所以到了牧师家以后，也不见得比他母亲在世时更觉着寂寞冷清。他同玛丽·安交上了朋友。玛丽·安小小的个儿，圆圆的脸盘，今年三十五岁，父亲捕鱼为生。她十八岁那年就到了牧师家，这儿是她帮佣的第一户人家，她也无意离开这儿；但是她经常拿"我要嫁人啦"当法宝，吓唬吓唬胆小的男女东家。她父母住在离港口街不远的一所小屋子里。晚上有空时，她常去探望他们。她讲的那些大海故事，颇使菲利普心驰神往。小孩的想象力，给港口一带的狭街陋巷蒙上一层传奇色彩，它们在他眼里显得奇幻多姿。一天晚上，菲利普问是不是可以随玛丽·安到她家去玩玩，可他伯母生怕他沾染上什么，而他伯父则说近墨者黑，和不干不净的人交往会败坏良好的教养。凯里先生看不惯那些打鱼的，嫌他们粗野无礼，而且是上非教区教堂做礼拜的。可是对菲利普来说，呆在厨房里要比呆在餐室里更自在些，一有机会，他就抱起玩具到厨房间去玩耍。他伯母倒也不怎么在意。她不喜欢屋子里搞得乱七八糟的；她也承认，男小孩嘛，免不了要在屋里瞎捣鼓的，所以不如让他上厨房去闹腾。平时，只要菲利普稍微有点坐立不定，凯里先生就显得很不耐烦，说早该送他去上学啦。凯里太太觉得菲利普还小，没到上学的年龄，说实在的，她还真疼这个没娘的孩子呢。她很想博得孩子的好感，做法却不怎么高明，搞得孩子怪难为情的，孩子对她的种种亲热表示又推却不得，结果露出一脸的不高兴，这不能不叫她感到伤心。有时候，她听到菲利普在厨房里尖着嗓门格格大笑，可是只要自己脚一跨进厨房门，孩子立即不作声了。每每玛丽·安解释发笑的原因，菲利普的小脸蛋就涨得绯红。凯里太太听了，并不觉得有什么可乐的，只是勉强地笑笑。

"威廉，这孩子呆在玛丽·安身边，似乎反而比同我们在一块更快活，"她回进屋来，一面重新拿起针线活，一面这么对丈夫说。

"谁都看得出，这小家伙缺少教养。得好好管教管教才行。"

菲利普来后的第二个星期大，不幸闯了一场祸。午餐后，凯里先生照例去客厅小睡片刻，但是那天他心烦意乱，怎么也睡不着。上午，牧师用几盏烛台把教堂圣坛装饰了一下，不料却遭到乔赛亚·格雷夫斯的强烈反对。这几盏烛台是他从坎特伯雷买来的旧货，他觉得它们很有气派。但乔赛亚·格雷夫斯一口咬定那是些天主教兴的玩意儿。这样的一句奚落话，总能惹得牧师火冒三丈。当年爆发牛津运动时，凯里先生正在牛津念书，后来那场运动以爱德华·曼宁脱离国教而告终。就凯里先生本人来说，对罗马天主教颇抱几分同情。按他的心意，他很希望把这儿布莱克斯泰勃低教会派教区的礼拜仪式搞得隆重些，举行一番行列仪式，使满屋明烛高燃，而现在至多也只能焚上几炷香。他讨厌"新教徒"这个称呼，而称天主教徒。他常说，那些信奉罗马公教的人，无非是因为需要个标榜身分的称号才成了罗马"天主教徒"；其实，英国国教才是真正名副其实的、最能充分体现其高贵含义的"天主之教"。他想到自己的仪容总很得意：刮得光光的脸，天生一副天主教教士的模样；而他年轻时得天独厚的苦行僧仪表，更能给人一种"天主教教士"的印象。他常对人说起自己在布隆涅度假时的一段经历（那回也像往常一样，为了省钱他老婆没陪他一块去）：一天，他正坐在某教堂内，一位法国教区牧师特地走到他面前，请他上台讲经布道。凯里先生坚决主张，尚未领受牧师圣职的教士应该独身禁欲，所以，他手下的副牧师只要一结婚，就被他-一打发掉。然而在某次大选时，自由党人在他花园的篱笆上用蓝笔涂了几个赫赫大字："此路通往罗马"。凯里先生见此勃然大怒，扬言要上法院告布莱克斯泰勃自由党头目。这会儿他打定主意，乔赛亚·格雷夫斯不管怎么说，休想让他把烛台从圣坛上拿开；想到气恼处，禁不住悻悻然嘟囔了几声"俾斯麦"！

就在这时，牧师冷不防听到哗啦一响。他掀掉盖在脸上的手帕，从沙发上一跃而起，直奔餐室。菲利普坐在桌旁，周围是一大堆砖头。他刚才搭了座巍峨的城堡，哪知底部出了点毛病，结果整个建筑物哗啦一下子塌倒了，成为一堆废墟。

"你拿那些砖头干吗，菲利普？要知道星期天是不准做游戏的。"

菲利普瞪着一双受惊的眼睛，愣愣地望着牧师，同时他的小脸习惯性地涨得通红。

"我过去在家里总是做游戏的，"他回答说。

"我敢肯定，你那位好妈妈决不会允许你于这种坏事的。"

菲利普没想到这样做竟不正当；不过要是果真如此，他可不愿让人以为他母亲同意他这么干的。他耷拉着脑袋，默然不语。

"你难道不知道星期天做游戏是很不很不正当的吗？你不想想星期天干吗叫休息日来着？你晚上要去教堂，可你下午触犯了天主的戒律，晚上怎么有脸面对天主呢？"

凯里先生叫菲利普立即把砖头搬走，并且站在边上监督他。

"你这个孩子真淘气，"他反复嚼咕着。"想想你那位天国里的可怜妈妈，你现在使她多伤心。"

菲利普忍不住想哭，但是出于本能，他不愿让人看到自己掉眼泪，于是他紧咬牙关，硬是不让自己哭出来。凯里先生在安乐椅上坐定，顺手拿过一本书，翻了起来。菲利普站在窗口。牧师公馆很僻静，同那条通往坎特伯雷的公路隔着相当一段距离。从餐室窗口，可以望见一长条呈半圆形的草坪，再过去，则是一片绿茵茵的、连绵天际的田野。羊群在田野里吃草。天色凄迷而阴郁，菲利普满腔悲苦。

这时，玛丽·安进屋来上茶点，路易莎伯母也下楼来了。

"午觉睡得好吗，威廉？"她问。

"好什么！"他回答说。"菲利普这么吵吵闹闹，简直叫人没法合眼。"

凯里先生说的不尽合乎事实，因为他睡不着实在是自己有心事。菲利普绷着小脸听着，心里暗暗嘀咕：找不过偶尔并出了点声音，在这之前之后，大伯他干吗不能睡呢，真没道理。凯里太太问起是怎么回事，牧师原原本本地说了。

"他竞然连一声'对不起'也没说，"凯里先生最后加了这么一句。

"噢，菲利普，我知道你一定觉得对不起你大伯的，是吗？"凯里太太赶紧说，生怕孩子会给他伯父留下不必要的环印象。

菲利普没吱声，只顾埋头哨嚼手里的牛油面包片。菲利普自己也搞不懂哪儿来的一股蛮劲，硬是不肯道歉认错。他觉得耳朵里隐隐作痛，真有点想哭，可就是不肯吐出一言半语。

"你也不用虎着脸，已经够糟的啦，"凯里先生说。

大家门头吃完茶点。凯里太太不时打眼角里偷偷朝菲利普望上一眼；但是凯里先生却故意对他不理不睬。菲利普看到伯父上楼准备更衣上教堂了，就跑到门厅拿起自己的帽子和外套，可是当牧师下楼看见菲利普时，却冲着他说：

"我希望你今晚别上教堂了，菲利普。我想你现在的这种精神状态，是不宜走进天主圣堂的。"

菲利普一言不发，感到自己蒙受了奇耻大辱，双颊红得像火烧。他默不作声地站在那儿，望着伯父戴上宽边帽，披上宽肥的大氅。凯里太太照例将丈夫送至门口，然后转过身来对菲利普说：

"没关系，菲利普、下一个星期天你一定会很乖的，是吗？这样你伯父晚上又会带你去教堂了。"

她拿掉菲利普的帽子和外套，领他走进餐室。

"让我们一块儿来念祈祷文好吗，菲利普？我们还要弹风琴唱圣歌呢。你喜欢吗？"

菲利普神态坚决地一摇头，凯里太太不觉吃了一惊。如果这孩子不愿意同她一起做晚祷，那她就不知道该怎么对待他了。

"那么你在伯父回来之前想干什么呢？"凯里太太束手无策地问。

菲利普总算开腔了。

"我希望谁也别来管我，"他说。

"菲利普，你怎么能说出这样没良心的话来？你不知道你伯父和我完全是为你好吗？难道你一点儿也不爱我吗？"

"我恨你。巴不得你死掉才好呢！"

凯里太太倒抽一门冷气。这孩子竟然说出这么粗暴无礼的话来，怎不叫她瞠目吃惊。凯里太太一时说不出话来。她在丈夫的安乐椅上坐下，想到自己真心疼爱这个孤苦伶仃的跛足孩子，想到自己多么热切地希望能得到这孩子的爱，她想着想着，不禁热泪盈眶，接着一颗颗泪珠顺着双颊慢慢往下淌。凯里太太自己不能生儿育女；她认为自己膝下无于，无疑是上帝的旨意。尽管这样，她有时见到别人家的小孩，仍觉得受不了，心里感到悲苦怅然。菲利普望着伯母这般神情不由得惊呆了。只见她掏出一方手帕，放声痛哭起来。菲利普恍然醒悟过来，自己方才的话伤了伯母的心，惹得她哭了。他感到很内疚，悄悄地走到她跟前，在她脸上亲了一下。菲利普主动来吻她，还是破天荒第一遭。这位面容枯黄、憔悴的可怜老太--一她穿着黑缎子服显得那么瘦小，头上梳的螺旋状发卷又是那么滑稽可笑--把将孩子抱到膝头上，紧紧搂住，一面仍伤心地低声饮泣。然而，她流下的眼泪，一半却是出于欣喜，她感到自己和孩子问的那层隔阂已不复存在。她现在对这孩子萌生出一股忄卷忄卷之忱，因为这孩子使她领略了痛苦的滋味。
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chapter 9

On the following Sunday, when the Vicar was making his preparations to go into the drawing-room for his nap—all the actions of his life were conducted with ceremony—and Mrs. Carey was about to go upstairs, Philip asked:

‘What shall I do if I’m not allowed to play?’

‘Can’t you sit still for once and be quiet?’

‘I can’t sit still till tea-time.’

Mr. Carey looked out of the window, but it was cold and raw, and he could not suggest that Philip should go into the garden.

‘I know what you can do. You can learn by heart the collect for the day.’

He took the prayer-book which was used for prayers from the harmonium, and turned the pages till he came to the place he wanted.

‘It’s not a long one. If you can say it without a mistake when I come in to tea you shall have the top of my egg.’

Mrs. Carey drew up Philip’s chair to the dining-room table—they had bought him a high chair by now—and placed the book in front of him.

‘The devil finds work for idle hands to do,’ said Mr. Carey.

He put some more coals on the fire so that there should be a cheerful blaze when he came in to tea, and went into the drawing-room. He loosened his collar, arranged the cushions, and settled himself comfortably on the sofa. But thinking the drawing-room a little chilly, Mrs. Carey brought him a rug from the hall; she put it over his legs and tucked it round his feet. She drew the blinds so that the light should not offend his eyes, and since he had closed them already went out of the room on tiptoe. The Vicar was at peace with himself today, and in ten minutes he was asleep. He snored softly.

It was the Sixth Sunday after Epiphany, and the collect began with the words: O God, whose blessed Son was manifested that he might destroy the works of the devil, and make us the sons of God, and heirs of Eternal life. Philip read it through. He could make no sense of it. He began saying the words aloud to himself, but many of them were unknown to him, and the construction of the sentence was strange. He could not get more than two lines in his head. And his attention was constantly wandering: there were fruit trees trained on the walls of the vicarage, and a long twig beat now and then against the windowpane; sheep grazed stolidly in the field beyond the garden. It seemed as though there were knots inside his brain. Then panic seized him that he would not know the words by tea-time, and he kept on whispering them to himself quickly; he did not try to understand, but merely to get them parrot-like into his memory.

Mrs. Carey could not sleep that afternoon, and by four o’clock she was so wide awake that she came downstairs. She thought she would hear Philip his collect so that he should make no mistakes when he said it to his uncle. His uncle then would be pleased; he would see that the boy’s heart was in the right place. But when Mrs. Carey came to the dining-room and was about to go in, she heard a sound that made her stop suddenly. Her heart gave a little jump. She turned away and quietly slipped out of the front-door. She walked round the house till she came to the dining-room window and then cautiously looked in. Philip was still sitting on the chair she had put him in, but his head was on the table buried in his arms, and he was sobbing desperately. She saw the convulsive movement of his shoulders. Mrs. Carey was frightened. A thing that had always struck her about the child was that he seemed so collected. She had never seen him cry. And now she realised that his calmness was some instinctive shame of showing his fillings: he hid himself to weep.

Without thinking that her husband disliked being wakened suddenly, she burst into the drawing-room.

‘William, William,’ she said. ‘The boy’s crying as though his heart would break.’

Mr. Carey sat up and disentangled himself from the rug about his legs.

‘What’s he got to cry about?’

‘I don’t know.... Oh, William, we can’t let the boy be unhappy. D’you think it’s our fault? If we’d had children we’d have known what to do.’

Mr. Carey looked at her in perplexity. He felt extraordinarily helpless.

‘He can’t be crying because I gave him the collect to learn. It’s not more than ten lines.’

‘Don’t you think I might take him some picture books to look at, William? There are some of the Holy Land. There couldn’t be anything wrong in that.’

‘Very well, I don’t mind.’

Mrs. Carey went into the study. To collect books was Mr. Carey’s only passion, and he never went into Tercanbury without spending an hour or two in the second-hand shop; he always brought back four or five musty volumes. He never read them, for he had long lost the habit of reading, but he liked to turn the pages, look at the illustrations if they were illustrated, and mend the bindings. He welcomed wet days because on them he could stay at home without pangs of conscience and spend the afternoon with white of egg and a glue-pot, patching up the Russia leather of some battered quarto. He had many volumes of old travels, with steel engravings, and Mrs. Carey quickly found two which described Palestine. She coughed elaborately at the door so that Philip should have time to compose himself, she felt that he would be humiliated if she came upon him in the midst of his tears, then she rattled the door handle. When she went in Philip was poring over the prayer-book, hiding his eyes with his hands so that she might not see he had been crying.

‘Do you know the collect yet?’ she said.

He did not answer for a moment, and she felt that he did not trust his voice. She was oddly embarrassed.

‘I can’t learn it by heart,’ he said at last, with a gasp.

‘Oh, well, never mind,’ she said. ‘You needn’t. I’ve got some picture books for you to look at. Come and sit on my lap, and we’ll look at them together.’

Philip slipped off his chair and limped over to her. He looked down so that she should not see his eyes. She put her arms round him.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘that’s the place where our blessed Lord was born.’

She showed him an Eastern town with flat roofs and cupolas and minarets. In the foreground was a group of palm-trees, and under them were resting two Arabs and some camels. Philip passed his hand over the picture as if he wanted to feel the houses and the loose habiliments of the nomads.

‘Read what it says,’ he asked.

Mrs. Carey in her even voice read the opposite page. It was a romantic narrative of some Eastern traveller of the thirties, pompous maybe, but fragrant with the emotion with which the East came to the generation that followed Byron and Chateaubriand. In a moment or two Philip interrupted her.

‘I want to see another picture.’

When Mary Ann came in and Mrs. Carey rose to help her lay the cloth. Philip took the book in his hands and hurried through the illustrations. It was with difficulty that his aunt induced him to put the book down for tea. He had forgotten his horrible struggle to get the collect by heart; he had forgotten his tears. Next day it was raining, and he asked for the book again. Mrs. Carey gave it him joyfully. Talking over his future with her husband she had found that both desired him to take orders, and this eagerness for the book which described places hallowed by the presence of Jesus seemed a good sign. It looked as though the boy’s mind addressed itself naturally to holy things. But in a day or two he asked for more books. Mr. Carey took him into his study, showed him the shelf in which he kept illustrated works, and chose for him one that dealt with Rome. Philip took it greedily. The pictures led him to a new amusement. He began to read the page before and the page after each engraving to find out what it was about, and soon he lost all interest in his toys.

Then, when no one was near, he took out books for himself; and perhaps because the first impression on his mind was made by an Eastern town, he found his chief amusement in those which described the Levant. His heart beat with excitement at the pictures of mosques and rich palaces; but there was one, in a book on Constantinople, which peculiarly stirred his imagination. It was called the Hall of the Thousand Columns. It was a Byzantine cistern, which the popular fancy had endowed with fantastic vastness; and the legend which he read told that a boat was always moored at the entrance to tempt the unwary, but no traveller venturing into the darkness had ever been seen again. And Philip wondered whether the boat went on for ever through one pillared alley after another or came at last to some strange mansion.

One day a good fortune befell him, for he hit upon Lane’s translation of The Thousand Nights and a Night. He was captured first by the illustrations, and then he began to read, to start with, the stories that dealt with magic, and then the others; and those he liked he read again and again. He could think of nothing else. He forgot the life about him. He had to be called two or three times before he would come to his dinner. Insensibly he formed the most delightful habit in the world, the habit of reading: he did not know that thus he was providing himself with a refuge from all the distress of life; he did not know either that he was creating for himself an unreal world which would make the real world of every day a source of bitter disappointment. Presently he began to read other things. His brain was precocious. His uncle and aunt, seeing that he occupied himself and neither worried nor made a noise, ceased to trouble themselves about him. Mr. Carey had so many books that he did not know them, and as he read little he forgot the odd lots he had bought at one time and another because they were cheap. Haphazard among the sermons and homilies, the travels, the lives of the Saints, the Fathers, the histories of the church, were old-fashioned novels; and these Philip at last discovered. He chose them by their titles, and the first he read was The Lancashire Witches, and then he read The Admirable Crichton, and then many more. Whenever he started a book with two solitary travellers riding along the brink of a desperate ravine he knew he was safe.

The summer was come now, and the gardener, an old sailor, made him a hammock and fixed it up for him in the branches of a weeping willow. And here for long hours he lay, hidden from anyone who might come to the vicarage, reading, reading passionately. Time passed and it was July; August came: on Sundays the church was crowded with strangers, and the collection at the offertory often amounted to two pounds. Neither the Vicar nor Mrs. Carey went out of the garden much during this period; for they disliked strange faces, and they looked upon the visitors from London with aversion. The house opposite was taken for six weeks by a gentleman who had two little boys, and he sent in to ask if Philip would like to go and play with them; but Mrs. Carey returned a polite refusal. She was afraid that Philip would be corrupted by little boys from London. He was going to be a clergyman, and it was necessary that he should be preserved from contamination. She liked to see in him an infant Samuel.



第九章

这个星期天，牧师正准备去客厅睡午觉（牧师的生活起居就像举行仪式似地按部就班，有板有眼），而凯里太太也正打算上楼去休息，菲利普这时却冷不防启口问：

"不许我玩，那叫我干什么呢？"

"你就不能安安稳稳地坐一会儿吗？"

"我心没法在吃茶点以前，老是这么一动不动坐着。"

凯里先生朝窗外望了望，屋外寒峭阴冷，总不能叫菲利普上花园去吧。

"我知道你可以干点什么了。你可以背一段规定今天念的短祈祷文。"

说着，他从风琴上取下那本供祷告用的祈祷书，翻到要找的那一页。

"这段不算长。如果我进来吃茶点的时候你能一字不差地背出来，我就把我的鸡蛋尖奖给你吃。"

凯里太太随手把菲利普的座椅拖到餐桌旁（他们已特地为菲利普备置了一张高脚座椅），并且把祈祷书放在他面前。

"魔鬼会差使游手好闲之徒干坏事的，"凯里先生说。

他给火炉加了点煤，待会儿进来用茶点时炉火就会烧得旺旺的。凯用先生走进客厅，松开衣领，把靠垫摆摆正，然后舒舒坦坦地在沙发上躺下。凯里太太想到客厅里冷丝丝的，便从门厅那儿拿了条旅行毛毯来，给他盖在腿上，并将双脚裹了个严实。她本来还想把百叶窗放下，免得日光刺眼，后来看到他已经把百叶窗关严了，便踏着脚走出客厅。牧师今天心神安宁，不到十分钟就已堕入梦乡，还轻轻地打起呼噜来。

那天是主显节后的第六个星期天，指定这天念的祈祷文一开头是这么写的："主啊，圣子已显明他可以破除魔鬼的妖术，从而使我们成为上帝之子，成为永生的后嗣。"菲利普一口气读完祈祷文，却不知所云。他开始高声诵读，里面有好多不认得的词儿，句子结构又是那么古怪。菲利普念来念去，至多也只记得住两行。他老是心不在焉：屋子四周沿墙种着许多果树，一根细长的垂枝不时曳打着窗子玻璃；羊群在花园那边的田野里木然地啃嚼着青草。菲利普的脑袋瓜里似乎结满了疙瘩。突然一阵恐惧袭上心头：要是到用茶点时还背不出来怎么办？他又继续叽里咕噜念起来，念得很快，他不再试着去理解内容，而是像鹦鹉学舌那样硬把这些句于往自己脑袋里塞。

那天下午，凯里太太却翻来覆去睡不着，捱到四点钟光景，她毫无睡意，索性起床走下楼来。她想先听菲利普背一遍祈祷文，免得在背给大伯听时出什么差错，这样他大伯就会感到满意，明白这孩子的心地还是纯正的。但是凯里太太来到餐室门口正待进去的时候，忽然听见一个意想不到的声音，使她倏地收住脚步。她心头猛地一跳。她转过身，蹑手蹑脚出了正门，沿着屋子绕到餐室窗下，小心翼翼地探头朝屋里张望。菲利普仍坐在她端给他的那张椅子里，但是身子却趴在桌子上，小脑瓜埋在手臂里，正悲痛欲绝地低声啜泣着。凯里太太还看到他的肩膀在一扇一扇上下抽搐。这一下可把她给吓坏了。过去她一直有这样的印象，似乎这孩子颇能自制，从未见他哭过鼻子。凯里太太恍然省悟，孩子的故作镇静原来是某种本能反应，认为在人前流露感情是丢脸的事儿：他常常躲在人背后偷偷哭泣呢！

凯里太太一口气冲进客厅，她丈夫向来讨厌别人突然把他从睡梦中叫醒，这时她也顾不得了。

"威廉，威廉，"她说，"那孩子哭得好伤心哩。"

凯里先生坐起身子，把裹在腿上的毯子掀掉。

"哭的什么事？"

"我不知道……噢，威廉，我们可不能让孩子受委屈呀。你说这是不是该怪我们？我们要是自己有孩子，就知道该怎么办了。"

凯里先生惶惑不解地望着凯里太太。遇到这种事，他特别感到束手无策。

"不见得是因为我叫他背祈祷文他才哭鼻子的吧。一共还不满十行呢。"

"还是让我去拿几本图画书给他看看，你说呢，威廉？我们有几本关于圣地的图画书。这么做不会有什么不妥吧。"

"好吧，我没意见。"

凯里太太进了书房。搜集图书是凯里先生唯一热中的俗事，他每回上坎特伯雷总要在旧书店泡上一两个钟头，而且还带回来四五卷发霉的旧书。他从不去读它们，因为读书恰情的习惯他早就给丢了，不过他有时还是喜欢翻翻，假如书里有插图的话，就看看那些插图。他还喜欢修补旧书的封皮。他巴望天下雨，因为逢到这种天气，他可以心安理得地呆在家里，用胶水锅调点蛋白，花一个下午的时间，修补几册四开本旧书的俄罗斯皮革封面。他收藏了好多册古旧游记，里面还有钢板雕刻画的插页；凯里太太一下子就找出两本介绍圣地巴勒斯坦的书。她走到餐室门口，故意咳嗽一声，好让菲利普有时间镇定下来。她想，菲利普如果在偷偷掉眼泪的当口被自己撞上了，一定会觉得丢脸的。接着，她又喀哒喀哒地转动门把。她走进餐室时，看见菲利普装出一副聚精会神看祈祷书的样子。他用手遮住眼睛，生怕让凯里太太发觉自己刚才在掉眼泪。

"祈祷文背出来了吗？"她问。

他没有马上回答；她觉察得出孩子是生怕自己的嗓音露了馅。她感到这局面尴尬得出奇。

"我背不出来，"他喘了一口粗气，总算迸出了一句。

"噢，没关系，"她说。"你不用背了。我给你拿来了几本图画书。来，坐到我膝头上来，我们一块儿看吧。"

菲利普一骨碌翻下椅于，一瘸一拐地朝她走来。他低头望着地板，有意不让凯里太太看到自己的眼睛。她一把将他搂住。

"瞧，这儿就是耶稣基督的诞生地。"

她指给他看的是座东方风味的城池，城内平顶、圆顶建筑物和寺院尖塔交相错落。画面的前景是一排棕桐树，两个阿拉伯人和几只骆驼正在树下歇脚。菲利普用手在画面上抹来抹去，似乎是想摸到那些房屋建筑和流浪汉身上的宽松衣衫。

"念念这上面写了些什么，"他请求说。

凯里太太用平静的声调，念了那另外一页上的文字记叙。那是三十年代某个东方旅行家写的一段富有浪漫色彩的游记，词藻也许过于华丽了些，但文笔优美动人，感情充沛，而对于继拜伦和夏多勃里昂之后的那一代人来说，东方世界正是焕发着这种感情色彩展现在他们面前的。过了一会儿，菲利普打断了凯里太太的朗读。

"再给我看张别的图画。"

这时，玛丽·安走了进来，凯里太太站起身来帮她铺台布，菲利普捧着书，忙不迭把书里所有插图一张张翻看过去。他伯母费了好大一番口舌，才哄住他放下书本来用茶点。他已把刚才背祈祷文时的极度苦恼丢诸脑后，忘了刚才还在哭鼻子流眼泪哩。次日，天下起雨来，他又提出要看那本书。凯里太太满心欢喜地拿给了他。凯里太太曾同丈夫谈起过孩子的前途，发觉他俩都希望孩子将来能领圣职，当个牧师；现在，菲利普对这本描述圣子显身之地的书表现出异乎寻常的兴趣，这无疑是个好兆头哟。看来这孩子的心灵，天生是同神圣的事物息息相通的。而隔了一两天，他又提出要看别的书。凯里先生把他领到书房里，给他看一排书架，那上面放着他收藏的一些有插图的书卷，并为他挑选了一本介绍罗马的书。菲利普遍不及待地接了过去。书中的插图把他引进一片新的乐境。为了搞清图画的内容，他试着去念每幅版画前后页的文字叙述；不久，玩具再也弓坏起他的兴趣了。

之后，只要身旁没有人，他就把书拿出来自念自看；也许是因为最初给他留下深刻印象的是座东方城市，所以他特别偏爱那些描述地中海东部国家和岛屿的书籍。他一看到画有清真寺和富丽堂皇的宫殿的图片时，心儿就兴奋得怦怦直跳；在一本关于康斯坦丁堡的书里，有一幅题为"千柱厅"的插图，特别使他浮想联翩。画的是拜占庭的一个人工湖，经过人n］的想象加工，它成了一个神奇虚幻、浩瀚无际的魔湖。菲利普读了插图的说明：在这人工湖的入口处，总是停泊着一叶轻舟，专门引诱那些处事轻率的莽汉，而凡是冒险闯入这片神秘深渊的游人，没有一个能生还。菲利普真想知道，那一叶轻舟究竟是在那一道道柱廊里永远穿行转悠着呢，还是最终抵达了某座奇异的大厦。

一天，菲利普意外地交上了好运，偶然翻到一本莱恩翻译的个一千零一夜》。他一翻开书就被书中的插图吸引住了，接着开始细读起来。一上来先读了那几篇述及巫术的故事，然后又陆续读了其他各篇；他喜欢的几篇，则是爱不释手，读了又读。他完全沉浸在这些故事里面，把周围的一切全忘了。吃饭时，总得让人唤上两三遍才珊珊而来。不知不觉间，菲利普养成了世上给人以最大乐趣的习惯--一披览群书的习惯；他自己并没意识到，这一来却给自己找到了一个逃避人生忧患苦难的庇护所；他也没意识到，他正在为自己臆造出一个虚无缥缈的幻境，转而又使得日常的现实世界成了痛苦失望的源泉。没多久，他开始阅读起其他书籍来。他的智力过早地成熟了。大伯和伯母见到孩子既不发愁也不吵闹，整个身心沉浸在书海之中，也就不再在他身上劳神了。凯里先生的藏书多得连他自己也搞不清；他自己并没认真读过几本，对那些因贪其便宜而陆陆续续买回来的零星旧书，心里也没有个底。在一大堆讲道集、游记、圣人长老传记、宗教史话等书价里面，也混杂了一些旧小说，而这些旧小说终于也让菲利普发现了。他根据书名把它们挑了出来。第一本念的是烂开夏女巫》，接着读了《令人钦羡的克里奇顿》，以后又陆续读了好多别的小说。每当他翻开一本书，看到书里关于两个孤独游子在悬崖峭壁上策马行进的描写时，他总联想到自己是安然无险的。

春去夏来。一位老水手出身的花匠，给菲利普做了一张吊床，挂在垂柳的枝干上。菲利普一连几小时躺在这张吊床上看书，如饥似渴地看呀看呀，不论是谁上牧师家来，都见不着菲利普的人影。光阴荏苒，转眼已是七月，接着忽忽又到了八月。每逢星期天，教堂内总挤满了陌生人，做礼拜时募到的捐款往往有两镑之多。在这段时间里，牧师也好，凯里太太也好，经常足不出户。他们不喜欢见到那些陌生面孔，对那些来自伦敦的游客极为反感。有位先生租下牧师公馆对面的一幢房子，住了六个星期。这位先生有两个小男孩。有一回，他特地派人来问菲利普是否高兴上他家和孩子一起玩耍，凯里太太婉言谢绝了。她生怕菲利普会被伦敦来的孩子带坏。菲利普长大了要当牧师，所以一定不能让他沾染上不良习气。凯里太太巴不得菲利普从小就成为一个撒母耳。
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chapter 10

The Careys made up their minds to send Philip to King’s School at Tercanbury. The neighbouring clergy sent their sons there. It was united by long tradition to the Cathedral: its headmaster was an honorary Canon, and a past headmaster was the Archdeacon. Boys were encouraged there to aspire to Holy Orders, and the education was such as might prepare an honest lad to spend his life in God’s service. A preparatory school was attached to it, and to this it was arranged that Philip should go. Mr. Carey took him into Tercanbury one Thursday afternoon towards the end of September. All day Philip had been excited and rather frightened. He knew little of school life but what he had read in the stories of The Boy’s Own Paper. He had also read Eric, or Little by Little.

When they got out of the train at Tercanbury, Philip felt sick with apprehension, and during the drive in to the town sat pale and silent. The high brick wall in front of the school gave it the look of a prison. There was a little door in it, which opened on their ringing; and a clumsy, untidy man came out and fetched Philip’s tin trunk and his play-box. They were shown into the drawing-room; it was filled with massive, ugly furniture, and the chairs of the suite were placed round the walls with a forbidding rigidity. They waited for the headmaster.

‘What’s Mr. Watson like?’ asked Philip, after a while.

‘You’ll see for yourself.’

There was another pause. Mr. Carey wondered why the headmaster did not come. Presently Philip made an effort and spoke again.

‘Tell him I’ve got a club-foot,’ he said.

Before Mr. Carey could speak the door burst open and Mr. Watson swept into the room. To Philip he seemed gigantic. He was a man of over six feet high, and broad, with enormous hands and a great red beard; he talked loudly in a jovial manner; but his aggressive cheerfulness struck terror in Philip’s heart. He shook hands with Mr. Carey, and then took Philip’s small hand in his.

‘Well, young fellow, are you glad to come to school?’ he shouted.

Philip reddened and found no word to answer.

‘How old are you?’

‘Nine,’ said Philip.

‘You must say sir,’ said his uncle.

‘I expect you’ve got a good lot to learn,’ the headmaster bellowed cheerily.

To give the boy confidence he began to tickle him with rough fingers. Philip, feeling shy and uncomfortable, squirmed under his touch.

‘I’ve put him in the small dormitory for the present.... You’ll like that, won’t you?’ he added to Philip. ‘Only eight of you in there. You won’t feel so strange.’

Then the door opened, and Mrs. Watson came in. She was a dark woman with black hair, neatly parted in the middle. She had curiously thick lips and a small round nose. Her eyes were large and black. There was a singular coldness in her appearance. She seldom spoke and smiled more seldom still. Her husband introduced Mr. Carey to her, and then gave Philip a friendly push towards her.

‘This is a new boy, Helen, His name’s Carey.’

Without a word she shook hands with Philip and then sat down, not speaking, while the headmaster asked Mr. Carey how much Philip knew and what books he had been working with. The Vicar of Blackstable was a little embarrassed by Mr. Watson’s boisterous heartiness, and in a moment or two got up.

‘I think I’d better leave Philip with you now.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Mr. Watson. ‘He’ll be safe with me. He’ll get on like a house on fire. Won’t you, young fellow?’

Without waiting for an answer from Philip the big man burst into a great bellow of laughter. Mr. Carey kissed Philip on the forehead and went away.

‘Come along, young fellow,’ shouted Mr. Watson. ‘I’ll show you the school-room.’

He swept out of the drawing-room with giant strides, and Philip hurriedly limped behind him. He was taken into a long, bare room with two tables that ran along its whole length; on each side of them were wooden forms.

‘Nobody much here yet,’ said Mr. Watson. ‘I’ll just show you the playground, and then I’ll leave you to shift for yourself.’

Mr. Watson led the way. Philip found himself in a large play-ground with high brick walls on three sides of it. On the fourth side was an iron railing through which you saw a vast lawn and beyond this some of the buildings of King’s School. One small boy was wandering disconsolately, kicking up the gravel as he walked.

‘Hulloa, Venning,’ shouted Mr. Watson. ‘When did you turn up?’

The small boy came forward and shook hands.

‘Here’s a new boy. He’s older and bigger than you, so don’t you bully him.’

The headmaster glared amicably at the two children, filling them with fear by the roar of his voice, and then with a guffaw left them.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Carey.’

‘What’s your father?’

‘He’s dead.’

‘Oh! Does your mother wash?’

‘My mother’s dead, too.’

Philip thought this answer would cause the boy a certain awkwardness, but Venning was not to be turned from his facetiousness for so little.

‘Well, did she wash?’ he went on.

‘Yes,’ said Philip indignantly.

‘She was a washerwoman then?’

‘No, she wasn’t.’

‘Then she didn’t wash.’

The little boy crowed with delight at the success of his dialectic. Then he caught sight of Philip’s feet.

‘What’s the matter with your foot?’

Philip instinctively tried to withdraw it from sight. He hid it behind the one which was whole.

‘I’ve got a club-foot,’ he answered.

‘How did you get it?’

‘I’ve always had it.’

‘Let’s have a look.’

‘No.’

‘Don’t then.’

The little boy accompanied the words with a sharp kick on Philip’s shin, which Philip did not expect and thus could not guard against. The pain was so great that it made him gasp, but greater than the pain was the surprise. He did not know why Venning kicked him. He had not the presence of mind to give him a black eye. Besides, the boy was smaller than he, and he had read in The Boy’s Own Paper that it was a mean thing to hit anyone smaller than yourself. While Philip was nursing his shin a third boy appeared, and his tormentor left him. In a little while he noticed that the pair were talking about him, and he felt they were looking at his feet. He grew hot and uncomfortable.

But others arrived, a dozen together, and then more, and they began to talk about their doings during the holidays, where they had been, and what wonderful cricket they had played. A few new boys appeared, and with these presently Philip found himself talking. He was shy and nervous. He was anxious to make himself pleasant, but he could not think of anything to say. He was asked a great many questions and answered them all quite willingly. One boy asked him whether he could play cricket.

‘No,’ answered Philip. ‘I’ve got a club-foot.’

The boy looked down quickly and reddened. Philip saw that he felt he had asked an unseemly question. He was too shy to apologise and looked at Philip awkwardly.



第十章

凯里夫妇决定送菲利普进坎特伯雷皇家公学念书。邻近一带的牧师，都是把自己的儿子往那儿送的。根据长久以来的习惯，这所学校早已同坎特伯雷大教堂联系在一起了：该校校长是教堂牧师会的名誉会员；前任校长中有一位还是大教堂的副主教。学校鼓励孩子立志领圣职，当牧师；而学校的教学安排，也着眼于让诚实可靠的少年日后能终身侍奉上帝。皇家公学有一所附属预备学校，现在打算送菲利普去的就是这所学校。近九月底的一个星期四下午，凯里先生领菲利普去坎特伯雷。这一整天，菲利普既兴奋，又惴惴不安。对于学校生活，他只是从《男童报》上的故事里稍微了解到一些。此外，他还读过（埃里克--点滴进步》那本书。

他们在坎特伯雷跨下火车时，菲利普紧张得快要晕倒了；去城里的途中，他脸色煞白，一声不响地呆坐在马车里。学校前面那堵高高的砖墙使学校看上去活像座监狱。墙上有扇小门，他们一按铃，门应声而开。一个笨手笨脚、衣履不整的工友走出来，帮菲利普拿铁皮衣箱和日用品箱。他们被领进会客室。会客室里摆满了笨实、难看的家具，沿墙端放着一圈靠椅，给人一种庄严肃穆的印象。他们恭候校长光临。

"沃森先生是个啥模样的？"过了半响，菲利普开口问。

"待会儿你自己瞧吧。"

接着又是一阵沉默。凯里先生暗暗纳闷：校长怎么迟迟不露面？这时菲利普鼓起勇气，又说：

"告诉他我的一只脚有毛病。"

凯里先生还没来得及答话，门倏地被推开，沃森先生大摇大摆地走了进来。在菲利普看来，他简直是个巨人：他身高六英尺开外，肩膀宽阔，一双硕大无朋的巨掌，一簇火红的大胡子。他说起话来，嗓门很大，语调轻快，可是他那股咄咄逼人的快活劲儿，却使菲利普胆战心惊。他同凯里先生握握手，接着又把菲利普的小手捏在掌心里。

"喂，小家伙，来上学了，觉得带劲吗？"他大声说。

菲利普红着脸，窘得不知如何回答是好。

"你多大岁数啦？"

"九岁，"菲利普说。

"你该称呼一声'先生，才是，"他大伯在旁提醒说。

"看来你要学的东西还不少呢，"校长兴致勃勃地大声嚷嚷道。

为了给孩子鼓鼓劲，沃森先生用他粗壮的手指搔逗起菲利普来。菲利普给他这么一搔，又难为情，又发痒难受，不住扭动着身子。

"我暂且把他安排在小宿舍里……住在那儿你会喜欢的，是不是？"他朝菲利普加了一句。"你们那儿一共才八个人。你不会感到太陌生的。"

这时门打开了，沃森太太走了进来。她是个肤色黝黑的妇人。乌黑的头发，打头正中清晰地向两边分开。嘴唇厚得出奇，鼻子挺小，鼻尖圆圆的，一双眼睛又大又黑。这位太太的神态冷若冰霜。她难得启口，脸上的笑容更难见到。沃森先生把凯里先生介绍给自己的太太，然后又亲热地把菲利普住她身边一推。

"这是个新来的孩子，海伦。他叫凯里。"

沃森太太默默地同菲利普握握手，然后一言不发地在一旁坐下。校长问凯里先生菲利普在读些什么书，程度怎样。沃森先生嘻嘻哈哈的热乎劲儿，使这个布莱克斯泰勃的教区牧师有点受不了；不多一会儿，凯里先生赶紧起身告辞。

"我想，菲利普现在就托你多多照应啦。"

"没说的，"沃森先生说。"孩子在我这儿保管没问题。要不了一两天他就习惯这儿的生活啦。你说呢，小家伙？"

不等菲利普回答，大个子校长就纵声哈哈大笑起来。凯里先生在菲利普额上亲了一下，随即离开了。

"跟我来，小伙子，"沃森先生扯着嗓门说，"我领你去看看教室。"

沃森先生迈着大步，大摇大摆地走出客厅，菲利普赶紧在他后面一瘸一拐地跟着。他被领进一个长长的房间，里面空荡荡的，只摆着两张和房问一般长的桌子，桌子两边各有一排长板凳。

"现在学校里还没什么学生，"沃森先生说，"我再领你去看看操场，然后就请你自便了。"

沃森先生在前面领路。菲利普发现自己来到一个大操场，操场的三面都围有高高的砖墙，还有一面横着一道铁栅栏，透过栅栏，可以望见一大片草坪，草坪那边便是皇家公学的几座校舍。一个小男孩在操场上没精打采地闲逛，一边走一边踢着脚下的砂砾。

"喂，文宁，"沃森先生大声招呼，"你什么时候来的？"

小男孩走上前来同沃森先生握手。

"这是个新同学，年纪比你大，个子也比你高，可别欺负他呀。"

校长瞪大眼睛，友善地望着这两个孩子，那洪钟般的嗓音足以将孩子们震慑住，接着他哈哈笑着走开了。

"你叫什么名字？"

"凯里。"

"你爸爸干什么的？"

"爸爸过世了。"

"哦！你妈妈给人洗衣服吗？"

"我妈妈也去世了。"

菲利普以为他的回答会使那孩子发窘，哪知文宁并不当回事，仍嬉皮笑脸地开玩笑。

"哦，那她生前洗衣服吗？"

"洗过的，"菲利普没好气地回答。

"那她是个洗衣妇罗？"

"不，她不是洗衣妇。"

"那她就没给人洗过衣服。"

小男孩觉得自己巧辩有术，占了上风，挺洋洋得意。这时候他一眼瞧见了菲利普的脚。

"你的脚怎么啦？"

菲利普本能地缩回那只跛足，藏在好脚的后面，想不让他看见。

"我的脚有点畸形，"他回答道。

"怎么搞的？"

"生下来就这样。"

"让我看看。"

"不。"

"不看就不看。"

那孩子嘴上这么说，却猛地朝菲利普的小腿飞起一脚。菲利普猝不及防，被踢个正着，痛得他直呼嘘喘气。然而，就程度而言，肉体上的疼痛还及不上心里的惊讶。菲利普不明白文宁干吗要对他来这么一招。他惊魂未定，顾不上还手，况且这孩子年纪也比他小。他在《男童报》上念到过，揍一个比自己年幼的对手是件不光彩的事。在菲利普抚揉小腿的时候，操场上又出现了第三个孩子，那个折磨人的孩子撇开他跑了。过了一会儿，菲利普注意到他俩在窃窃私议，还不住打量自己的一双脚。菲利普两腮发烫，浑身发毛。

这时候又来了一批孩子，共有十来个，不多一会儿又跑来几个，他们叽叽呱呱扯开了：假期里干了些什么啊，去过哪些地方啊，打了多少场精采的板球啊。几个新同学出现了，一转眼菲利普不知怎么倒同他们攀谈了起来。他显得腼腆，局促不安。菲利普急于给人留下个愉快的印象，可一时却找不到话茬来。别的孩子向他问这问那，提了一大堆问题，他很乐意地--一作了回答。有个小男孩还问他会不会打板球。

"不会，"菲利普说，"我的脚不方便。"

那男孩朝他下肢瞥了一眼，涨红了脸。菲利普看得出，那孩子察觉到自己问的问题不甚得体，羞得连句道歉的话都说不出口，只是尴尬地冲着菲利普发愣。
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chapter 11

Next morning when the clanging of a bell awoke Philip he looked round his cubicle in astonishment. Then a voice sang out, and he remembered where he was.

‘Are you awake, Singer?’

The partitions of the cubicle were of polished pitch-pine, and there was a green curtain in front. In those days there was little thought of ventilation, and the windows were closed except when the dormitory was aired in the morning.

Philip got up and knelt down to say his prayers. It was a cold morning, and he shivered a little; but he had been taught by his uncle that his prayers were more acceptable to God if he said them in his nightshirt than if he waited till he was dressed. This did not surprise him, for he was beginning to realise that he was the creature of a God who appreciated the discomfort of his worshippers. Then he washed. There were two baths for the fifty boarders, and each boy had a bath once a week. The rest of his washing was done in a small basin on a wash-stand, which with the bed and a chair, made up the furniture of each cubicle. The boys chatted gaily while they dressed. Philip was all ears. Then another bell sounded, and they ran downstairs. They took their seats on the forms on each side of the two long tables in the school-room; and Mr. Watson, followed by his wife and the servants, came in and sat down. Mr. Watson read prayers in an impressive manner, and the supplications thundered out in his loud voice as though they were threats personally addressed to each boy. Philip listened with anxiety. Then Mr. Watson read a chapter from the Bible, and the servants trooped out. In a moment the untidy youth brought in two large pots of tea and on a second journey immense dishes of bread and butter.

Philip had a squeamish appetite, and the thick slabs of poor butter on the bread turned his stomach, but he saw other boys scraping it off and followed their example. They all had potted meats and such like, which they had brought in their play-boxes; and some had ‘extras,’ eggs or bacon, upon which Mr. Watson made a profit. When he had asked Mr. Carey whether Philip was to have these, Mr. Carey replied that he did not think boys should be spoilt. Mr. Watson quite agreed with him—he considered nothing was better than bread and butter for growing lads—but some parents, unduly pampering their offspring, insisted on it.

Philip noticed that ‘extras’ gave boys a certain consideration and made up his mind, when he wrote to Aunt Louisa, to ask for them.

After breakfast the boys wandered out into the play-ground. Here the day-boys were gradually assembling. They were sons of the local clergy, of the officers at the Depot, and of such manufacturers or men of business as the old town possessed. Presently a bell rang, and they all trooped into school. This consisted of a large, long room at opposite ends of which two under-masters conducted the second and third forms, and of a smaller one, leading out of it, used by Mr. Watson, who taught the first form. To attach the preparatory to the senior school these three classes were known officially, on speech days and in reports, as upper, middle, and lower second. Philip was put in the last. The master, a red-faced man with a pleasant voice, was called Rice; he had a jolly manner with boys, and the time passed quickly. Philip was surprised when it was a quarter to eleven and they were let out for ten minutes’ rest.

The whole school rushed noisily into the play-ground. The new boys were told to go into the middle, while the others stationed themselves along opposite walls. They began to play Pig in the Middle. The old boys ran from wall to wall while the new boys tried to catch them: when one was seized and the mystic words said—one, two, three, and a pig for me—he became a prisoner and, turning sides, helped to catch those who were still free. Philip saw a boy running past and tried to catch him, but his limp gave him no chance; and the runners, taking their opportunity, made straight for the ground he covered. Then one of them had the brilliant idea of imitating Philip’s clumsy run. Other boys saw it and began to laugh; then they all copied the first; and they ran round Philip, limping grotesquely, screaming in their treble voices with shrill laughter. They lost their heads with the delight of their new amusement, and choked with helpless merriment. One of them tripped Philip up and he fell, heavily as he always fell, and cut his knee. They laughed all the louder when he got up. A boy pushed him from behind, and he would have fallen again if another had not caught him. The game was forgotten in the entertainment of Philip’s deformity. One of them invented an odd, rolling limp that struck the rest as supremely ridiculous, and several of the boys lay down on the ground and rolled about in laughter: Philip was completely scared. He could not make out why they were laughing at him. His heart beat so that he could hardly breathe, and he was more frightened than he had ever been in his life. He stood still stupidly while the boys ran round him, mimicking and laughing; they shouted to him to try and catch them; but he did not move. He did not want them to see him run any more. He was using all his strength to prevent himself from crying.

Suddenly the bell rang, and they all trooped back to school. Philip’s knee was bleeding, and he was dusty and dishevelled. For some minutes Mr. Rice could not control his form. They were excited still by the strange novelty, and Philip saw one or two of them furtively looking down at his feet. He tucked them under the bench.

In the afternoon they went up to play football, but Mr. Watson stopped Philip on the way out after dinner.

‘I suppose you can’t play football, Carey?’ he asked him.

Philip blushed self-consciously.

‘No, sir.’

‘Very well. You’d better go up to the field. You can walk as far as that, can’t you? ‘

Philip had no idea where the field was, but he answered all the same.

‘Yes, sir.’

The boys went in charge of Mr. Rice, who glanced at Philip and seeing he had not changed, asked why he was not going to play.

‘Mr. Watson said I needn’t, sir,’ said Philip.

‘Why?’

There were boys all round him, looking at him curiously, and a feeling of shame came over Philip. He looked down without answering. Others gave the reply.

‘He’s got a club-foot, sir.’

‘Oh, I see.’

Mr. Rice was quite young; he had only taken his degree a year before; and he was suddenly embarrassed. His instinct was to beg the boy’s pardon, but he was too shy to do so. He made his voice gruff and loud.

‘Now then, you boys, what are you waiting about for? Get on with you.’

Some of them had already started and those that were left now set off, in groups of two or three.

‘You’d better come along with me, Carey,’ said the master ‘You don’t know the way, do you?’

Philip guessed the kindness, and a sob came to his throat.

‘I can’t go very fast, sir.’

‘Then I’ll go very slow,’ said the master, with a smile.

Philip’s heart went out to the red-faced, commonplace young man who said a gentle word to him. He suddenly felt less unhappy.

But at night when they went up to bed and were undressing, the boy who was called Singer came out of his cubicle and put his head in Philip’s.

‘I say, let’s look at your foot,’ he said.

‘No,’ answered Philip.

He jumped into bed quickly.

‘Don’t say no to me,’ said Singer. ‘Come on, Mason.’

The boy in the next cubicle was looking round the corner, and at the words he slipped in. They made for Philip and tried to tear the bed-clothes off him, but he held them tightly.

‘Why can’t you leave me alone?’ he cried.

Singer seized a brush and with the back of it beat Philip’s hands clenched on the blanket. Philip cried out.

‘Why don’t you show us your foot quietly?’

‘I won’t.’

In desperation Philip clenched his fist and hit the boy who tormented him, but he was at a disadvantage, and the boy seized his arm. He began to turn it.

‘Oh, don’t, don’t,’ said Philip. ‘You’ll break my arm.’

‘Stop still then and put out your foot.’

Philip gave a sob and a gasp. The boy gave the arm another wrench. The pain was unendurable.

‘All right. I’ll do it,’ said Philip.

He put out his foot. Singer still kept his hand on Philip’s wrist. He looked curiously at the deformity.

‘Isn’t it beastly?’ said Mason.

Another came in and looked too.

‘Ugh,’ he said, in disgust.

‘My word, it is rum,’ said Singer, making a face. ‘Is it hard?’

He touched it with the tip of his forefinger, cautiously, as though it were something that had a life of its own. Suddenly they heard Mr. Watson’s heavy tread on the stairs. They threw the clothes back on Philip and dashed like rabbits into their cubicles. Mr. Watson came into the dormitory. Raising himself on tiptoe he could see over the rod that bore the green curtain, and he looked into two or three of the cubicles. The little boys were safely in bed. He put out the light and went out.

Singer called out to Philip, but he did not answer. He had got his teeth in the pillow so that his sobbing should be inaudible. He was not crying for the pain they had caused him, nor for the humiliation he had suffered when they looked at his foot, but with rage at himself because, unable to stand the torture, he had put out his foot of his own accord.

And then he felt the misery of his life. It seemed to his childish mind that this unhappiness must go on for ever. For no particular reason he remembered that cold morning when Emma had taken him out of bed and put him beside his mother. He had not thought of it once since it happened, but now he seemed to feel the warmth of his mother’s body against his and her arms around him. Suddenly it seemed to him that his life was a dream, his mother’s death, and the life at the vicarage, and these two wretched days at school, and he would awake in the morning and be back again at home. His tears dried as he thought of it. He was too unhappy, it must be nothing but a dream, and his mother was alive, and Emma would come up presently and go to bed. He fell asleep.

But when he awoke next morning it was to the clanging of a bell, and the first thing his eyes saw was the green curtain of his cubicle.



第十一章

次日清晨，菲利普被一阵丁丁当当的钟声吵醒，他睁开眼，不无惊讶地打量着自己的一方斗室。这时，耳边响起一声叫唤，使他记起自己此刻置身于何处。

"你醒了吗，辛格？"

小卧室是用磨光的油松本隔成的，卧室正面挂着一幅绿色门帘。那时候，人们很少考虑到屋内的通风问题，窗户老是关得严严的，只在早晨打汗一会儿，让宿舍透点新鲜空气。

菲利普从床上爬起，跪在地上做祷告。早晨寒气彻骨，菲利普一阵哆嗦：不过他人伯曾开导过他，穿着睡衣做祷告，比等到穿戴整齐后再做祷告更合上帝的心意。这种说法倒不怎么使菲利普感到意外，因为他自己也开始有所领悟：他足上帝创造出来的生灵，这位造物主对善男信女们的磨难困苦特别欣赏。作完晨祷，菲利普开始梳洗。宿舍里有两只浴盆，供五十名寄宿生轮流使用，每个学生一星期可洗一次澡。平时就用搁在脸盆架上的小脸盆洗脸揩身。这只洗脸架，再加上床铺和一把椅子，就是每问小卧室的全部家什。孩子们一边穿衣服，一边快活地随便闲扯。菲利普竖起耳朵听着。这时，又传来一阵钟声，孩子们飞奔下楼。他们进了教室，在两张长桌旁的条凳上坐定。沃森先生也进来坐下，后面跟着他的太太和几名工友。沃森先生做起祷告来很有点威势，雷鸣般的声声祈祷，似乎是针对每个孩子本人发出的恐吓之间。菲利普忐忑不安地听着。随后，沃森先生念了一章《圣经》，工友们鱼贯而出。不一会儿，那个衣履不整的年轻工友端来了两大壶茶，接着又跑了一趟，捧进来几大盘涂着黄油的面包片。

菲利普怕吃油腻的食物，看到涂在面包上的那厚厚一层劣质黄油，怎不叫他倒胃日？但他看到其他孩子都把那层黄油刮掉，他就如法炮制。他们都有一罐罐炯肉之类的自备食品，是放在日用品箱里带进来的。有些学生还享用一份鸡蛋或成肉"加菜"，沃森先生从这上面捞到一笔外快。沃森先生也问过凯里先生，是否让菲利普也来份"加菜"，凯里先生一口回绝，说他觉得不该把孩子惯坏了。沃森先生极表赞同--一他认为，对正在发育成长的少年来说，再没有比面包加黄油更好的食物了--一但是有些做爹娘的却过分娇宠子女，坚持要给他们"加菜"。

菲利普注意到"加菜"给某些孩子争得了几分面子，于是他打定主意，等到给路易莎伯母写信时，要求给自己也来一份"加菜"。

早餐后，孩子们都到外面操场上去溜达。走读生也陆续到校。他们的父亲或是当地的牧师，或是兵站的军官，再不就是定居在这座古城里的工厂主和商人。不一会儿，铃声大作，孩子们争先恐后拥向讲堂。讲堂包括一个长长的大房间和一个小套间。大房间的两头，由两位教师分别教中、低班的课；小套间是沃森先生授课用的，他教高班。为了表示这所学校是附属于皇家公学的预备学校，在一年一度的授奖典礼上，在公文报告里，这三个班级一律正式称为预科高班、预科中班和预科低班。菲利普被安排在低班。这个班的老师名叫赖斯，他满脸红光，有一副悦耳动听的嗓子，给孩子们上课时活泼而风趣。时间不知不觉地溜了过去，一会儿已是十点三刻，时间过得如此之快，使菲利普感到惊讶。课间，孩子们被放到教室外面去休息十分钟。

全校学生一下子吵吵嚷嚷地涌到操场上。新来的学生被吩咐站在操场中央，其他学生沿墙分立在左右两侧。他们开始玩起"逮清的游戏。老同学从这一堵墙跑到另一堵墙，中间的新同学这时便设法上去拦截，如果逮住一个，就念声咒语："一、二、三，猪归咱。"于是，那个被逮住的孩子便成了俘虏，反过来帮新同学去捉那些还在逍遥奔跑的人。菲利普看见一个男孩打身边跑过，想上前将他抓住，可他一瘸一拐，眼睁睁让他溜了；这一下，奔跑着的孩子趁机全朝他管辖的地盘跑来。其中有个男孩灵机一动，模仿起菲利普奔跑的怪样子。其他孩子见状都咧嘴大笑，接着他们也学那男孩的样，在菲利普周围怪模怪样地拐着腿奔跑，尖着嗓门又是叫又是笑。他们陶醉在这种新玩意儿的欢快之中，乐得透不过气来。有一个孩子上前绊了菲利普一交，而菲利普就像平常摔倒时那样，实实地摔个正着，膝盖也跌破了。菲利普挣扎着从地上爬起，孩子们笑得更欢了。一个男孩从背后猛推了菲利普一把，要不是另一个男孩顺手将他拉住，他保准又是扑地一交。大伙儿光顾拿菲利普的残疾取乐，连做游戏也给忘了。其中一个孩子更是别出心裁，做了个怪里怪气的一摇三摆的痛步模样，让人觉得特别滑稽可笑，好几个孩子乐不可支，笑得直在地上打滚：菲利普吓得U瞪口呆，他实在不明白大伙儿干吗要这般嘲弄他。他的心怦怦乱跳，几乎连气也透不过来。菲利普出娘胎以来，还从未受到过这么大的惊吓。他呆若木鸡似地站在那儿，任凭孩子们在他周围大声哄笑，模仿他的步态，奔来跑去。他们冲着他大声喊叫，逗他去抓他们，但是菲利普纹丝不动。菲利普不愿让他们再看到自己奔跑。他使出全身气力，强忍着不哭出来。

突然铃声响了，学生们纷纷涌回讲堂。菲利普的膝盖在淌血，他头发提散，衣衫凌乱，满身是上。有好几分钟，赖斯先生没法控制班上的秩序。刚才那套新奇的玩意儿使孩子们兴奋不已；菲利普看到有一两个同学还在偷偷打量自己的下肢，赶紧把脚缩到板凳下面。

下午，孩子们准备去球场踢足球。菲利普吃过午饭，正往外走，沃森先生把他叫住。

"我想，你不会踢足球吧，凯里？"沃森先生问菲利普。

菲利普窘得涨红了脸。

"不会，先生。"

"那就别踢了。你最好也到场地上去。这点路你总能走吧？"

菲利普并不知道足球场在哪儿，但他还是照先前那样回答了一句：

"能的，先生。"

孩子们在赖斯先生的带领下出发了，他一眼瞥见菲利普没换衣服，便问他为什么不准备去踢球。

"沃森先生说我不必踢了，先生，"菲利普说。

"为什么？"

许多孩子围着菲利普，好奇地望着他。菲利普感到一阵羞愧，垂下眼皮不吭声。别的孩子替他回答了。

"他是个瘸子，先生。"

"噢，我明白了。"

赖斯先生很年轻，一年前刚取得学位。他这时突然感到很困窘。他本能地想对菲利普表示歉意，可又不好意思开口。他粗着嗓子冲着其他孩子嚷了一句：

"喂，孩子们，你们还在等什么呀？还不快走！"

有些学生早已出发，留下来的人也三三两两地走了。

"你最好跟我一块儿走，凯里，"老师说，"你不认得路，是吧？"

菲利普猜到了老师的好意，喉咙口抽噎了一声。

"我走不快的，先生。"

"那我就走慢点，"老师微笑着说。

这位红脸膛的普普通通的年轻人说了句体贴的话，一下子赢得了菲利普的好感。他顿时不再感到那么难过了。

可是晚上孩子们上楼脱衣睡觉的时候，那个叫辛格的男孩却从自己的小卧室里跑出来，把脑袋瓜伸进菲利普的卧室。

"嘿，把你的脚伸出来让我们瞧瞧，"他说。

"不，"菲利普回答道。

他赶紧跳上床钻进毯子。

"别对我说'不，字，"辛格说。"快来，梅森。"

隔壁卧室里的孩子正在门角处探头探脑，一听到叫唤，立即溜了进来。他们朝菲利普走来，伸手想去掀他身上的毯子，但菲利普紧紧揪住不放。

"你们干吗死乞白赖地缠着我？"菲利普叫喊道。

辛格抓起一把刷子，用刷子背敲打菲利普那只紧抓着毛毯的手。菲利普大叫起来。

"你干吗不把脚乖乖地伸出来让咱们看？"

"就不让你们看。"

绝望之余，菲利普捏紧拳头，对准那个折腾自己的孩子揍了一拳，但是，他势孤力单，辛格一把抓住菲利普的胳臂，死劲反扭着。

"哦，别扭别扭，"菲利普说，"胳臂要断的。"

"那么你老老实实躺着别动，把脚伸出来。"

菲利普抽搭一声，吁了口气。辛格又把手臂扭了一下。菲利普疼得没法忍受。

"好吧，我伸，我伸，"菲利普说。

菲利普伸出了脚。辛格仍旧抓住菲利普的手腕不放。他好奇地打量着那只跛足。

"真恶心！"梅森说。

这时又进来一个孩子，也来凑趣看热闹。

"呸，呸，"他不胜厌恶地说。

"哎哟，模样儿真怪，"辛格说着做了个鬼脸。"它硬不硬？"

他心环戒惧地用食指尖碰碰那只脚，好像它是个有生命意识的怪物似的。突然，他们听到楼梯上传来沃森先生沉重的脚步声。他们赶紧把毯子扔还给菲利普，像兔子似地一溜烟钻回自己的卧室。沃森先生走进学生宿舍。他只须踮起脚跟，就可以从挂着绿色帘子的竿子上方看到里面的动静。他察看了两三间学生卧室。孩子们都已安然人睡，他熄了灯，回身出去。

辛格叫唤菲利普，但菲利普没有理会。他用牙紧紧咬着枕头，怕让人听到自己在啜泣。此刻他暗自流泪，倒不是因为挨了揍，身子疼痛，也不是因为让他们看了自己的残足，蒙受了羞屏，而是恼恨自己懦弱，这么经不起折磨，最后竟乖乖地把脚伸了出去。

此时，他感受到了生活道路上的凄风苦雨。在他这个人生才刚开始的小孩看来，今后准是苦海无边的了。不知怎么地，他忽然想起那个寒冷的早晨，埃玛怎么将他从床上抱到妈妈身边。打那以后，他再未回想过那番情景；叶是此刻，他似乎又感受到偎依在母亲怀里的那股暖意。他顿时觉得，自己所经历的一切，他母亲的溘然辞世，牧师公馆里的生活，还有这两天在学校的不幸遭遇，恍若一场幻梦；而明天一早醒来，自己又在家里了。菲利普想着想着，眼泪渐渐干了。他委实太不幸了，这一切想必是场幻梦；他母亲还活着，埃玛一会儿就会上楼来睡觉的。他睡着了。

然而第二天早晨，他依旧在丁丁当当的铃声中愕然醒来，首先跃入眼帘的还是他小卧室里的那幅绿色门帘。
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chapter 12

As time went on Philip’s deformity ceased to interest. It was accepted like one boy’s red hair and another’s unreasonable corpulence. But meanwhile he had grown horribly sensitive. He never ran if he could help it, because he knew it made his limp more conspicuous, and he adopted a peculiar walk. He stood still as much as he could, with his club-foot behind the other, so that it should not attract notice, and he was constantly on the look out for any reference to it. Because he could not join in the games which other boys played, their life remained strange to him; he only interested himself from the outside in their doings; and it seemed to him that there was a barrier between them and him. Sometimes they seemed to think that it was his fault if he could not play football, and he was unable to make them understand. He was left a good deal to himself. He had been inclined to talkativeness, but gradually he became silent. He began to think of the difference between himself and others.

The biggest boy in his dormitory, Singer, took a dislike to him, and Philip, small for his age, had to put up with a good deal of hard treatment. About half-way through the term a mania ran through the school for a game called Nibs. It was a game for two, played on a table or a form with steel pens. You had to push your nib with the finger-nail so as to get the point of it over your opponent’s, while he manoeuvred to prevent this and to get the point of his nib over the back of yours; when this result was achieved you breathed on the ball of your thumb, pressed it hard on the two nibs, and if you were able then to lift them without dropping either, both nibs became yours. Soon nothing was seen but boys playing this game, and the more skilful acquired vast stores of nibs. But in a little while Mr. Watson made up his mind that it was a form of gambling, forbade the game, and confiscated all the nibs in the boys’ possession. Philip had been very adroit, and it was with a heavy heart that he gave up his winning; but his fingers itched to play still, and a few days later, on his way to the football field, he went into a shop and bought a pennyworth of J pens. He carried them loose in his pocket and enjoyed feeling them. Presently Singer found out that he had them. Singer had given up his nibs too, but he had kept back a very large one, called a Jumbo, which was almost unconquerable, and he could not resist the opportunity of getting Philip’s Js out of him. Though Philip knew that he was at a disadvantage with his small nibs, he had an adventurous disposition and was willing to take the risk; besides, he was aware that Singer would not allow him to refuse. He had not played for a week and sat down to the game now with a thrill of excitement. He lost two of his small nibs quickly, and Singer was jubilant, but the third time by some chance the Jumbo slipped round and Philip was able to push his J across it. He crowed with triumph. At that moment Mr. Watson came in.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

He looked from Singer to Philip, but neither answered.

‘Don’t you know that I’ve forbidden you to play that idiotic game?’

Philip’s heart beat fast. He knew what was coming and was dreadfully frightened, but in his fright there was a certain exultation. He had never been swished. Of course it would hurt, but it was something to boast about afterwards.

‘Come into my study.’

The headmaster turned, and they followed him side by side Singer whispered to Philip:

‘We’re in for it.’

Mr. Watson pointed to Singer.

‘Bend over,’ he said.

Philip, very white, saw the boy quiver at each stroke, and after the third he heard him cry out. Three more followed.

‘That’ll do. Get up.’

Singer stood up. The tears were streaming down his face. Philip stepped forward. Mr. Watson looked at him for a moment.

‘I’m not going to cane you. You’re a new boy. And I can’t hit a cripple. Go away, both of you, and don’t be naughty again.’

When they got back into the school-room a group of boys, who had learned in some mysterious way what was happening, were waiting for them. They set upon Singer at once with eager questions. Singer faced them, his face red with the pain and marks of tears still on his cheeks. He pointed with his head at Philip, who was standing a little behind him.

‘He got off because he’s a cripple,’ he said angrily.

Philip stood silent and flushed. He felt that they looked at him with contempt.

‘How many did you get?’ one boy asked Singer.

But he did not answer. He was angry because he had been hurt

‘Don’t ask me to play Nibs with you again,’ he said to Philip. ‘It’s jolly nice for you. You don’t risk anything.’

‘I didn’t ask you.’

‘Didn’t you!’

He quickly put out his foot and tripped Philip up. Philip was always rather unsteady on his feet, and he fell heavily to the ground.

‘Cripple,’ said Singer.

For the rest of the term he tormented Philip cruelly, and, though Philip tried to keep out of his way, the school was so small that it was impossible; he tried being friendly and jolly with him; he abased himself, so far as to buy him a knife; but though Singer took the knife he was not placated. Once or twice, driven beyond endurance, he hit and kicked the bigger boy, but Singer was so much stronger that Philip was helpless, and he was always forced after more or less torture to beg his pardon. It was that which rankled with Philip: he could not bear the humiliation of apologies, which were wrung from him by pain greater than he could bear. And what made it worse was that there seemed no end to his wretchedness; Singer was only eleven and would not go to the upper school till he was thirteen. Philip realised that he must live two years with a tormentor from whom there was no escape. He was only happy while he was working and when he got into bed. And often there recurred to him then that queer feeling that his life with all its misery was nothing but a dream, and that he would awake in the morning in his own little bed in London.



第十二章

日子一久，菲利普的残疾不再使孩子们感兴趣，而是像某个孩子的红头发，或者像某个孩子的过度肥胖那样，终于也为大家所认可。然而在这段时间里，菲利普却变得极度敏感。只要能不跑，他就尽量避免奔跑，因为他知道自己一奔跑就越发病得厉害，即使平时走路，也扭。泥作态，步履奇特。在人前，他尽可能伫立不动，把跛足藏在另一只脚后边，以免惹人注目。他每时每刻都在留神别人是否牵扯到自己的跛足。其他孩子玩的游戏，他没法参加，所以对于他们的生活始终很生疏。他们的各种活动也没有他的份，他只能自个儿站在一边观看。他觉得自己同别的孩子之间，似乎横着一道无形的壁障。有时候，孩子们似乎也认为，菲利普不会踢足球那全该怪他自己，而菲利普自己又无法取得孩子们的谅解。他经常茕茕孑立，形影相吊。他一向饶舌多话，现在却渐渐变得沉默寡言。他开始思索起自己跟别的孩子之间究竟有什么不同来了。

宿舍里最大的孩子辛格不喜欢菲利普。就年龄来说，菲利普的个儿算是矮小的，他得经常忍受各种虐待。大约过了半个学期，学校里出现一股玩"笔尖"游戏的热潮。这是种双人游戏，用钢笔尖在桌子或长凳上斗着玩。玩的人须用指甲推动自己的一只笔尖，设法让它迎着对手的笔尖头爬上去；而对手一面招架防备，一面也竭力设法使自己的笔尖迎头爬上对方的笔尖背。谁成功了，就在自己拇指向球上呵口气，然后用力按这两只笔尖，假如能把它们粘住，同时提起来，那么，这两只笔尖就属于赢者的了。没多久，学校里净看见学生们在玩这种游戏，那些心灵手巧的孩子赢得了大量笔尖。过了一阵子，沃森先生认定这是一种赌博，断然禁止这种游戏，并把学生手里的笔尖全部充公。这种游戏菲利普玩得挺得心应手，结果也只好忍痛割爱，交出全部战利品。但是，他手指痒痒的，总想再过过痛。几天以后，他在去足球场途中，跑进一家商店，花了一个便士，买了几枚丁字形钢笔尖。他把这些笔尖散放在口袋里，摸着过瘾。辛格很快发现菲利普手头有这些笔尖。辛格的笔尖也上缴了，但是他偷偷留下一只封号叫"大象"的特大笔尖，这只笔尖几乎是常胜将军。这会儿，他怎么也不愿坐失良机，非要把菲利普的丁字形笔尖赢到手不可。菲利普尽管明明知道用自己的小笔尖和他对阵，无异是以卵击石，但他生性爱冒险，所以还是愿意背水一战。再说他也明白，要是自己拒绝比赛，辛格决不肯善罢甘休。他已经歇手了一个星期，现在坐下来重新挥戈上阵，心头止不住一阵兴奋。菲利普一下子就输掉了两只小笔尖，辛格乐得眉开眼笑。可是第三次交锋时，辛格的"大象"不知怎么地突然一个滑转，菲利普乘机把他的丁字形笔尖推上了"大象"脊背。他由于得胜而欢呼起来。就在这时，沃森先生一脚跨了进来。

"你们在干什么？"他问。

他望望辛格，又望望菲利普，他俩谁也不吱声。

"难道你们不知道，我禁止你们玩这种愚蠢的游戏？"

菲利普的心怦怦直跳。他知道会有什么样的结果，吓得魂不附体，但恐惧之中又掺杂着几分喜悦。菲利普还从未挨过老师鞭答。皮肉之苦固然难熬，但事过之后，未尝不可借此在别的孩子面前吹嘘一番。

"上我书房来。"

校长转过身，两个孩子并排跟在后面，辛格轻声对菲利普嘀咕了一句：

"这回咱们该倒霉了。"

沃森先生指着辛格说：

"弯下身子！"

菲利普脸色煞白，看见辛格每挨一鞭，身子就抽搐一下，三鞭抽下，辛格哇哇号啕起来。紧接着又是三鞭。

"够了，站起来。"

辛格直起身，泪水流了一脸。菲利普跨上一步，沃森先生打量了他一番：

"我可不想用藤鞭抽你。你刚来不久，而且我也不能揍一个瘸腿的孩子。走吧，你们俩都走吧，今后不许再胡闹了。"

他俩走回教室时，一群孩子正在那儿等候着，他们已经通过某种神秘的渠道打听到出了什么事。孩子们急不可耐地冲着辛格问这问那。辛格面朝着他们，脸疼得涨成猪肝色，面颊上还留着斑斑泪痕。辛格将脑袋朝站在身后不远的菲利普一撇，悻悻然说：

"给他滑了过去，他因为是个瘸子沾光啦。"

菲利普红着脸，默不作声地站着。他察觉到孩子们向他投来鄙夷的目光。

"挨了几下？"有个孩子问辛格。

辛格没有理睬。他因为受了皮肉之苦，一肚子怒火。

"以后再也别来找我斗笔尖了，"他冲着菲利普吼道，"你可真占便宜，一点风险也不用担。"

"我可没来找你。"

"你没有？"

辛格说着猛起一脚，将菲利普绊倒在地。菲利普平时就站不太稳，这一交摔得着实不轻。

"瘸子！"辛格骂了一声。

后半学期里，辛格持命作践菲利普。尽管菲利普竭力回避，无奈学校太小，总是冤家路窄。他试图主动同辛格搞好关系，甚至还巴结奉承他，买了一把小刀送他，小刀他倒收下了，可就是不肯握手言和。有一两回，菲利普实在忍无可忍，一时性起，就朝这个比他大的男孩挥拳踢脚，但是辛格的气力要大得多，菲利普哪是他的对手，到头来好歹挨了一顿揍，而且还得哀告求饶。这一点特别使他疾首痛心他忍受不了讨饶的屈屏，但每当疼痛超过了肉体所能忍受的限度，他又不得不认错道歉。更糟糕的是，这种悲惨的生活不知得捱到何年何月。辛格才十一岁，一直要到十三岁才会升到中学部去。菲利普明白还得同这个作践自己的冤家同窗两年，而且休想躲得了他。菲利普只有在埋头做功课的当儿，再不就是上床睡觉的时候，才稍许快活一点。一种莫名的感觉经常萦绕在他脑际：眼前的生活，连同它的百般苦难，都不过是一场幻梦，说不定早晨一觉醒来，自己又躺在伦敦老家的那张小床上了。
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chapter 13

Two years passed, and Philip was nearly twelve. He was in the first form, within two or three places of the top, and after Christmas when several boys would be leaving for the senior school he would be head boy. He had already quite a collection of prizes, worthless books on bad paper, but in gorgeous bindings decorated with the arms of the school: his position had freed him from bullying, and he was not unhappy. His fellows forgave him his success because of his deformity.

‘After all, it’s jolly easy for him to get prizes,’ they said, ‘there’s nothing he CAN do but swat.’

He had lost his early terror of Mr. Watson. He had grown used to the loud voice, and when the headmaster’s heavy hand was laid on his shoulder Philip discerned vaguely the intention of a caress. He had the good memory which is more useful for scholastic achievements than mental power, and he knew Mr. Watson expected him to leave the preparatory school with a scholarship.

But he had grown very self-conscious. The new-born child does not realise that his body is more a part of himself than surrounding objects, and will play with his toes without any feeling that they belong to him more than the rattle by his side; and it is only by degrees, through pain, that he understands the fact of the body. And experiences of the same kind are necessary for the individual to become conscious of himself; but here there is the difference that, although everyone becomes equally conscious of his body as a separate and complete organism, everyone does not become equally conscious of himself as a complete and separate personality. The feeling of apartness from others comes to most with puberty, but it is not always developed to such a degree as to make the difference between the individual and his fellows noticeable to the individual. It is such as he, as little conscious of himself as the bee in a hive, who are the lucky in life, for they have the best chance of happiness: their activities are shared by all, and their pleasures are only pleasures because they are enjoyed in common; you will see them on Whit-Monday dancing on Hampstead Heath, shouting at a football match, or from club windows in Pall Mall cheering a royal procession. It is because of them that man has been called a social animal.

Philip passed from the innocence of childhood to bitter consciousness of himself by the ridicule which his club-foot had excited. The circumstances of his case were so peculiar that he could not apply to them the ready-made rules which acted well enough in ordinary affairs, and he was forced to think for himself. The many books he had read filled his mind with ideas which, because he only half understood them, gave more scope to his imagination. Beneath his painful shyness something was growing up within him, and obscurely he realised his personality. But at times it gave him odd surprises; he did things, he knew not why, and afterwards when he thought of them found himself all at sea.

There was a boy called Luard between whom and Philip a friendship had arisen, and one day, when they were playing together in the school-room, Luard began to perform some trick with an ebony pen-holder of Philip’s.

‘Don’t play the giddy ox,’ said Philip. ‘You’ll only break it.’

‘I shan’t.’

But no sooner were the words out of the boy’s mouth than the pen-holder snapped in two. Luard looked at Philip with dismay.

‘Oh, I say, I’m awfully sorry.’

The tears rolled down Philip’s cheeks, but he did not answer.

‘I say, what’s the matter?’ said Luard, with surprise. ‘I’ll get you another one exactly the same.’

‘It’s not about the pen-holder I care,’ said Philip, in a trembling voice, ‘only it was given me by my mater, just before she died.’

‘I say, I’m awfully sorry, Carey.’

‘It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t your fault.’

Philip took the two pieces of the pen-holder and looked at them. He tried to restrain his sobs. He felt utterly miserable. And yet he could not tell why, for he knew quite well that he had bought the pen-holder during his last holidays at Blackstable for one and twopence. He did not know in the least what had made him invent that pathetic story, but he was quite as unhappy as though it had been true. The pious atmosphere of the vicarage and the religious tone of the school had made Philip’s conscience very sensitive; he absorbed insensibly the feeling about him that the Tempter was ever on the watch to gain his immortal soul; and though he was not more truthful than most boys he never told a lie without suffering from remorse. When he thought over this incident he was very much distressed, and made up his mind that he must go to Luard and tell him that the story was an invention. Though he dreaded humiliation more than anything in the world, he hugged himself for two or three days at the thought of the agonising joy of humiliating himself to the Glory of God. But he never got any further. He satisfied his conscience by the more comfortable method of expressing his repentance only to the Almighty. But he could not understand why he should have been so genuinely affected by the story he was making up. The tears that flowed down his grubby cheeks were real tears. Then by some accident of association there occurred to him that scene when Emma had told him of his mother’s death, and, though he could not speak for crying, he had insisted on going in to say good-bye to the Misses Watkin so that they might see his grief and pity him.



第十三章

一晃两年过去了，菲利普已快十二岁。现在他已升入预科高班，在班里是名列前茅的优等生。圣诞节以后有几个学生要升到中学部去念书，到那时，菲利普就是班里的尖子顶儿了。他已获得了一大堆奖品，尽是些没什么价值的图书，纸张质地很差，装潢倒挺考究，封面上还镌有学校的徽志。菲利普成了优等生以后，再没有人敢来欺负他，而他也不再那么郁郁寡欢了。由于他生理有缺陷，同学们并不怎么忌妒他的成就。

"对他来说，要到手件把奖品还不容易，"他们说，"他除了死啃书本，还能干什么呢！"

菲利普已不像早先那么害怕沃森先生，并习惯了他那种粗声粗气的嗓门；每当校长先生的手掌沉沉地按在菲利普的肩头上，他依稀辨觉出这实在是一种爱抚的表示。菲利普记性很好，而记忆力往往比智力更有助于学业上的长进。他知道沃森先生希望他在预科毕业时能获得一笔奖学金。

可是菲利普在这两年里，自我意识变得十分强烈。一般来说，婴儿意识不到自己的躯体有异于周围物体，乃是自身的一部分；他要弄自己的脚趾，就像耍弄身边的拨浪鼓一样，并不觉得这些脚趾是属于他自身的。只是通过日积月累的疼痛感觉，他才逐渐理解到自己肉体的存在。而对个人来说，他也非得经历这类切肤之痛，才逐渐意识到自我的存在；不过这里也有不同的地方：尽管我们每个人都同样感觉到自己的身躯是个独立而完整的机体，但并非所有的人都同样感觉到自己是以完整而独立的个性存在于世的。大多数人随着青春期的到来，会产生一种落落寡合的感觉，但是这种感觉并不总是发展到明显地同他人格格不入的程度。只有像蜂群里的蜜蜂那样很少感觉到自身存在的人，才是生活的幸运儿，因力他们最有可能获得幸福：他们群集群起，融成一片，而他们的生活乐趣之所以成为生活乐趣，就在于他们是同游同行，欢乐与共的。我们可以在圣灵节那天，看到人们在汉普斯特德·希斯公园翩翩起舞，在足球比赛中呐喊助威，或是从蓓尔美尔大街的俱乐部窗口挥手向庄严的宗教队列连声欢呼。正因为有他们这些人，人类才被称作社会动物。

菲利普由于自己的跛足不断遭人嘲弄，逐渐失却了孩提的天真，进而痛苦地意识到自身的存在。对他来说，个人情况相当特殊，无法沿用现成的处世法则来应付周围环境，尽管这些法则在通常情况下还是行之有效的。他不得不另谋别法。菲利普看了好多书，脑子里塞满了各种各样的念头，正由于他对书里讲的事理只是一知半解，这反倒为他的想象力开阔了驰骋的天地。在他痛苦的羞态背后，在他的心灵深处，某种东西却在逐渐成形，他迷迷糊糊地意识到了自己的个性。不过有时候，这也会让他感到不胜惊讶；他的行为举上有时连自己也莫名其妙，事后回想起来，也茫然如堕大海，讲不出个所以然来。

班里有个叫卢亚德的男孩，和菲利普交上了朋友。有一天，他们在教室里一块儿玩着，卢亚德随手拿过菲利普的乌木笔杆耍起戏法来。

"别来这套无聊把戏，"菲利普说，"你不把笔杆折断才怪呢。"

"不会的。"

那小孩话音未落，笔杆已"啪"地一声折成两段。卢亚德狼狈地望着菲利普。

"哎呀，实在对不起。"

泪珠沿着菲利普的面颊扑籁而下，但他没有吱声。

"咦，怎么啦？"卢亚德委实吃了一惊，"一模一样的赔你一根就是啦。"

"笔杆本身我倒不在乎，"菲利普语声颤抖地说，"只是这支笔杆是我妈临终时留给我的。"

"噢，凯里，真是太遗憾了。"

"算了，我不怪你。"

菲利普把折成两段的笔杆拿在手里，出神地看着。他强忍着不发出呜咽，心里悲不自胜。然而他说不上自己为何这般伤心，因为他明明知道，这支笔杆是他上回在布莱克斯泰勃度假时花了一两个便士买来的。他一点也不明白自己为什么无端编造出这么个伤感动人的故事来，可是他却动了真情，无限伤感，好像确有其事似的。牧师家的虔诚气氛，还有学校里的宗教色彩，使得菲利普十分注意良心的清白无暇；他耳濡口染，不知不觉形成了这样一种意识：魔鬼每时每刻都在窥探，一心想攫取他的永生不灭的灵魂。虽说菲利普不见得比大多数孩子更为诚实，但是他每回撒了谎，事后总追悔不迭。这会儿，他把刚才的事前前后后思量了一番，感到很痛心，打定主意要去找卢亚德，说清楚那故事是自己信口杜撰的。尽管在他眼里，世上再没有比蒙羞受辱更可怕的了，然而有两三天的时间，他想到自己能以卑躬的忏悔来增添上帝的荣耀，想到痛苦悔罪之余的喜悦心情，还暗自庆幸呢。但是他并没有把自己的决心付诸行动，而是选取了比较轻松的办法来安抚自己的良心，只向全能的上帝表示忏悔之意。然而有一点他还是想不通，他怎么会真的被自己虚构的故事打动了呢。那两行沿着邋遢的面颊滚落的泪珠，确实是饱含真情的热泪。后来，他又偶然联想到埃玛向自己透露母亲去世消息时的那番情景。当时，他虽然泣不成声，还是执意要进屋去同两位沃特金小姐道别，好让她们看到自己在哀恸悲伤，从而产生怜悯之情。
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chapter 14

Then a wave of religiosity passed through the school. Bad language was no longer heard, and the little nastinesses of small boys were looked upon with hostility; the bigger boys, like the lords temporal of the Middle Ages, used the strength of their arms to persuade those weaker than themselves to virtuous courses.

Philip, his restless mind avid for new things, became very devout. He heard soon that it was possible to join a Bible League, and wrote to London for particulars. These consisted in a form to be filled up with the applicant’s name, age, and school; a solemn declaration to be signed that he would read a set portion of Holy Scripture every night for a year; and a request for half a crown; this, it was explained, was demanded partly to prove the earnestness of the applicant’s desire to become a member of the League, and partly to cover clerical expenses. Philip duly sent the papers and the money, and in return received a calendar worth about a penny, on which was set down the appointed passage to be read each day, and a sheet of paper on one side of which was a picture of the Good Shepherd and a lamb, and on the other, decoratively framed in red lines, a short prayer which had to be said before beginning to read.

Every evening he undressed as quickly as possible in order to have time for his task before the gas was put out. He read industriously, as he read always, without criticism, stories of cruelty, deceit, ingratitude, dishonesty, and low cunning. Actions which would have excited his horror in the life about him, in the reading passed through his mind without comment, because they were committed under the direct inspiration of God. The method of the League was to alternate a book of the Old Testament with a book of the New, and one night Philip came across these words of Jesus Christ:

If ye have faith, and doubt not, ye shall not only do this which is done to the fig-tree, but also if ye shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; it shall be done.

And all this, whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive.

They made no particular impression on him, but it happened that two or three days later, being Sunday, the Canon in residence chose them for the text of his sermon. Even if Philip had wanted to hear this it would have been impossible, for the boys of King’s School sit in the choir, and the pulpit stands at the corner of the transept so that the preacher’s back is almost turned to them. The distance also is so great that it needs a man with a fine voice and a knowledge of elocution to make himself heard in the choir; and according to long usage the Canons of Tercanbury are chosen for their learning rather than for any qualities which might be of use in a cathedral church. But the words of the text, perhaps because he had read them so short a while before, came clearly enough to Philip’s ears, and they seemed on a sudden to have a personal application. He thought about them through most of the sermon, and that night, on getting into bed, he turned over the pages of the Gospel and found once more the passage. Though he believed implicitly everything he saw in print, he had learned already that in the Bible things that said one thing quite clearly often mysteriously meant another. There was no one he liked to ask at school, so he kept the question he had in mind till the Christmas holidays, and then one day he made an opportunity. It was after supper and prayers were just finished. Mrs. Carey was counting the eggs that Mary Ann had brought in as usual and writing on each one the date. Philip stood at the table and pretended to turn listlessly the pages of the Bible.

‘I say, Uncle William, this passage here, does it really mean that?’

He put his finger against it as though he had come across it accidentally.

Mr. Carey looked up over his spectacles. He was holding The Blackstable Times in front of the fire. It had come in that evening damp from the press, and the Vicar always aired it for ten minutes before he began to read.

‘What passage is that?’ he asked.

‘Why, this about if you have faith you can remove mountains.’

‘If it says so in the Bible it is so, Philip,’ said Mrs. Carey gently, taking up the plate-basket.

Philip looked at his uncle for an answer.

‘It’s a matter of faith.’

‘D’you mean to say that if you really believed you could move mountains you could?’

‘By the grace of God,’ said the Vicar.

‘Now, say good-night to your uncle, Philip,’ said Aunt Louisa. ‘You’re not wanting to move a mountain tonight, are you?’

Philip allowed himself to be kissed on the forehead by his uncle and preceded Mrs. Carey upstairs. He had got the information he wanted. His little room was icy, and he shivered when he put on his nightshirt. But he always felt that his prayers were more pleasing to God when he said them under conditions of discomfort. The coldness of his hands and feet were an offering to the Almighty. And tonight he sank on his knees; buried his face in his hands, and prayed to God with all his might that He would make his club-foot whole. It was a very small thing beside the moving of mountains. He knew that God could do it if He wished, and his own faith was complete. Next morning, finishing his prayers with the same request, he fixed a date for the miracle.

‘Oh, God, in Thy loving mercy and goodness, if it be Thy will, please make my foot all right on the night before I go back to school.’

He was glad to get his petition into a formula, and he repeated it later in the dining-room during the short pause which the Vicar always made after prayers, before he rose from his knees. He said it again in the evening and again, shivering in his nightshirt, before he got into bed. And he believed. For once he looked forward with eagerness to the end of the holidays. He laughed to himself as he thought of his uncle’s astonishment when he ran down the stairs three at a time; and after breakfast he and Aunt Louisa would have to hurry out and buy a new pair of boots. At school they would be astounded.

‘Hulloa, Carey, what have you done with your foot?’

‘Oh, it’s all right now,’ he would answer casually, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

He would be able to play football. His heart leaped as he saw himself running, running, faster than any of the other boys. At the end of the Easter term there were the sports, and he would be able to go in for the races; he rather fancied himself over the hurdles. It would be splendid to be like everyone else, not to be stared at curiously by new boys who did not know about his deformity, nor at the baths in summer to need incredible precautions, while he was undressing, before he could hide his foot in the water.

He prayed with all the power of his soul. No doubts assailed him. He was confident in the word of God. And the night before he was to go back to school he went up to bed tremulous with excitement. There was snow on the ground, and Aunt Louisa had allowed herself the unaccustomed luxury of a fire in her bed-room; but in Philip’s little room it was so cold that his fingers were numb, and he had great difficulty in undoing his collar. His teeth chattered. The idea came to him that he must do something more than usual to attract the attention of God, and he turned back the rug which was in front of his bed so that he could kneel on the bare boards; and then it struck him that his nightshirt was a softness that might displease his Maker, so he took it off and said his prayers naked. When he got into bed he was so cold that for some time he could not sleep, but when he did, it was so soundly that Mary Ann had to shake him when she brought in his hot water next morning. She talked to him while she drew the curtains, but he did not answer; he had remembered at once that this was the morning for the miracle. His heart was filled with joy and gratitude. His first instinct was to put down his hand and feel the foot which was whole now, but to do this seemed to doubt the goodness of God. He knew that his foot was well. But at last he made up his mind, and with the toes of his right foot he just touched his left. Then he passed his hand over it.

He limped downstairs just as Mary Ann was going into the dining-room for prayers, and then he sat down to breakfast.

‘You’re very quiet this morning, Philip,’ said Aunt Louisa presently.

‘He’s thinking of the good breakfast he’ll have at school to-morrow,’ said the Vicar.

When Philip answered, it was in a way that always irritated his uncle, with something that had nothing to do with the matter in hand. He called it a bad habit of wool-gathering.

‘Supposing you’d asked God to do something,’ said Philip, ‘and really believed it was going to happen, like moving a mountain, I mean, and you had faith, and it didn’t happen, what would it mean?’

‘What a funny boy you are!’ said Aunt Louisa. ‘You asked about moving mountains two or three weeks ago.’

‘It would just mean that you hadn’t got faith,’ answered Uncle William.

Philip accepted the explanation. If God had not cured him, it was because he did not really believe. And yet he did not see how he could believe more than he did. But perhaps he had not given God enough time. He had only asked Him for nineteen days. In a day or two he began his prayer again, and this time he fixed upon Easter. That was the day of His Son’s glorious resurrection, and God in His happiness might be mercifully inclined. But now Philip added other means of attaining his desire: he began to wish, when he saw a new moon or a dappled horse, and he looked out for shooting stars; during exeat they had a chicken at the vicarage, and he broke the lucky bone with Aunt Louisa and wished again, each time that his foot might be made whole. He was appealing unconsciously to gods older to his race than the God of Israel. And he bombarded the Almighty with his prayer, at odd times of the day, whenever it occurred to him, in identical words always, for it seemed to him important to make his request in the same terms. But presently the feeling came to him that this time also his faith would not be great enough. He could not resist the doubt that assailed him. He made his own experience into a general rule.

‘I suppose no one ever has faith enough,’ he said.

It was like the salt which his nurse used to tell him about: you could catch any bird by putting salt on his tail; and once he had taken a little bag of it into Kensington Gardens. But he could never get near enough to put the salt on a bird’s tail. Before Easter he had given up the struggle. He felt a dull resentment against his uncle for taking him in. The text which spoke of the moving of mountains was just one of those that said one thing and meant another. He thought his uncle had been playing a practical joke on him.



第十四章

接着，学校里掀起一股笃信宗教的热潮。再听不到有谁骂人、讲粗话，低年级学生的捣蛋行为被视为大逆不道，而大孩子们就像中世纪不居圣职的上院议员那样，依仗自己的膂力迫使弱小者改恶从善。

菲利普的思想本来就比较活跃，渴望探求新事物，这股热潮一来，他变得十分虔诚。不久，他听说有个"圣经联谊会"征收会员，便写信去伦敦询问详情。回信悦，要填一张表格，写上申请人的姓名、年龄和所在学校；还要在一份正式宣誓书上签字，保证自己每天晚上念一节《圣经》，持续念上一年；另外，再缴半个克朗会费--据解释，所以要缴这半个克朗，一方面是为了证明申请者要求加入"圣经联谊会"的诚意，另一方面也是为了分担该会的办公开支。菲利普将表格和钱款及时寄了去，随后收到对方寄来的一本约值一个便士的日历，日历上注明每天规定要念的经文；另外还附了一页纸，纸的一面印着一幅耶稣和羊羔的图画，另一面是一小段框有红线的祈祷词，每天在念《圣经》之前得先吟诵这段祈祷同。

每天晚上，菲利普以最快速度脱去衣服，为的是争取时间，赶在煤气灯熄掉之前完成他的读经任务。他孜孜不倦地阅读经文，就像平时念书一样，那些关于暴虐、欺骗、忘恩负义、不诚实和诡诈的故事，他不加思辨地一一念过去。这般所作所为，要是果真出现在周围的现实生活之中，准会使他惊恐万状，而现在他念到时，却是不置一词地让它们在头脑里一掠而过，因为这些恶行是在上帝的直接授意下干的。"圣经联谊会"的读经办法是交替诵读《旧约》和《新约》中的一个篇章。一天晚上，菲利普看到耶稣基督的这样一段话：

"你们若有信心，不疑惑，不但能行无花果树上所行的事，就是对这座山说，你挪开此地，投在海里，也必成就。

"你们祷告，无论求什么，只要信，就必得着。"

当时，这段话并没有给他留下什么印象。但事有凑巧，就在两三天后的那个星期天，住在任所的教堂牧师会成员，也把这段话作为他布道的内容。照理说，即使菲利普很想洗耳恭听，恐怕也未必能听清楚，因为皇家公学的学生全被安排在唱诗班的座席上，而布道坛又设在教堂的十字式耳堂的角落处，这样，布道人差不多是完全背对着菲利普他们。再说，距离又那么远，布道人要是想让坐在唱诗班座席上的人听清楚自己的话，那么他不但得生就一副响嗓子，还须懂得演说的诀窍才行。但长期以来，挑选坎特伯雷大教堂牧师会成员的主要依据，照例是教士们的学识造诣，而不注重他们是否具备应付大教堂事务的实际才能。或许是因为菲利普不久前刚读过那段经文，因而传到他耳朵里时倒还清晰可闻。不知怎么地，他突然觉得这些话似乎是针对自己讲的。在布道的过程中，菲利普老是想着那段话。晚上一爬上床，立刻翻开福音书，又找到了那段经文。菲利普尽管对书上讲的一同一语向来深信不疑，但现在发觉《圣经》里有时明明说的是一码事，到头来指的却是另一码事，确是够玄乎的。这儿学校里，他乐意请教的人一个也没有，于是他把问题记在心里，等到圣诞节回家度假时，才找了个机会提出来。一天吃过晚饭，刚做完祷告，凯里太太同往常一样在数点玛丽·安拿进屋来的鸡蛋，并在每只上面标上日期。菲利普站在桌旁假装没精打采地翻看《圣经》。

"我说呀，威廉大伯，这儿一段话，真是这个意思吗？"

菲利普用手指按着那段经文，装作无意之间读到的样子。

凯里先生抬起眼睛，从眼镜框的上方望着菲利普。他正拿着份《布莱克斯泰勃时报》，凑在炉火前面烘烤。那天晚上送来的报纸，油墨还未干透，牧师总要把报纸烘上十分钟，然后才开始看。

"是哪一节？"

"嗯，是讲只要心诚，大山也能搬掉的那一节。"

"假如《圣经》里这么说的，那当然就是这个意思了，菲利普，"凯里太太语调柔和地说，一面顺手操起餐具篮。

菲利普望着大伯，等他回答。

"这里有个心诚不诚的问题。"

"您的意思是说，只要心诚，就一定能把大山搬掉，是这样吗？"

"要靠心诚感化上帝，"牧师说。

"好了，该向你大伯道晚安了，菲利普，"路易莎伯母说。"你总不至于今晚就想去报大山吧？"

菲利普让大伯在自己额头上亲了一下，然后走在凯里太太前头，上楼去了。他想要打听的，已经打听到了。小房间像座冰窖似的，他在换睡衣时，禁不住直打哆嗦。然而菲利普总觉得在艰苦的条件下做祷告，更能博得上帝的欢心。他手脚的冰凉麻木，正是奉献给全能之主的祭品。今晚，他跪倒在地，双手掩面，整个身心都在向上帝祈祷，恳求上帝能使他的跛足恢复正常。同搬走大山相比，这简直是件不费吹灰之力的小事。他知道，上帝只要愿意，一举手就能办到；而就他自己来说，内心一片至诚。第二天早晨菲利普结束祷告时，又提出了同样的请求，同时心中还为这项奇迹了出现规定了个日期。

"哦，上帝，假如仁慈与怜悯乃是您的意愿，就请您赐仁慈与怜悯于我，在我回学校的前一天晚上，把我的跛足治好吧。"

菲利普高兴地把他的祈求编成一套固定词儿。后来在餐室里祷告时又重复了一遍。牧师在念完祷告之后，往往要静默片刻才站起身子，而菲利普就是趁这当儿默诵的。晚上睡觉前，他身穿睡衣，浑身哆嗦着又默告了一遍。他的心不可谓不诚。他一度甚至巴不得假期早点结束。他想到大伯见到自己竟一步三级地飞奔下楼，该是多么惊讶；早餐后，自己和路易莎伯母又得怎么赶着出门去买一双新靴子……想着，想着，他不禁失声笑了出来。还有学校里的那些同学，见了不惊得目瞪口呆才怪呢！

"喂，凯里，你的脚怎么好啦？"

"噢，好了就好了呗，"他就这么漫不经心地随口应上一句，似乎这本来是世界上最自然不过的事。

这一来，菲利普尽可以踢足球了。他仿佛见到自己在撒开腿跑呀，跑呀，跑得比谁都快，想到这儿他的心止不住突突猛跳。到复活节学期结束时，学校要举行运动会，他可以参加各种田径赛；他甚至想象到自己飞步跨栏的情景。他可以同正常人完全一样，那些新来的学生，再不会因发现自己的生理缺陷而不胜好奇地一个劲儿打量自己；夏天去浴场洗澡，也不必在脱衣服时战战兢兢，百般防范，然后赶紧把脚藏到水里了--这一切，实在妙不可言。

菲利普将心灵的全部力量，都倾注在自己的祈祷里。他没有一丝一毫的怀疑，对上帝的言词无限信仰。在返校前的那天晚上，他上楼就寝时激动得浑身颤抖不止。户外地面积了一层白雪；甚至路易莎伯母也忍痛破格在自己的卧房里生了火，而菲利普的小房间里冷森森的，连手指也冻麻了。他好不容易才把领扣解开。牙齿不住格格打战。菲利普忽然心生一念：他得以某种异乎寻常的举动来吸引上帝的注意。于是，他把床前的小地毯挪开，好让自己跪在光秃秃的地板上；他又突然想到，自己身上的睡衣太柔软了，可能会惹造物主不快，所以索性把睡衣也脱了，就这么赤裸着身子作祷告。他钻到床上，身子冰凉冰凉，好一阵子都睡不着。可是一旦入睡后，睡得又香又沉，到第二天早晨玛丽·安进屋给他送热水来时，竟不得不把他摇醒。玛丽·安一边拉开窗帘，一边跟他说话。但菲利普不吭声，因为他一醒来马上就记起，奇迹应该就在今晨出现。他心中充满了喜悦和感激之情。他第一个本能动作，就是想伸手去抚摸那只现在已经完好无缺的下肢。但这么做，似乎是对上帝仁慈的怀疑。他知道自己的脚已经健全了。最后他拿定主意，就单用右脚脚趾碰了碰左脚。接着他赶紧伸手摸去。

就在玛丽·安进餐室准备作晨祷的时候，菲利普一瘸一拐地下了楼，在餐桌旁坐下用早餐。

"今儿个早上你怎么一句话也不说呀，菲利普，"少顷，路易莎伯母说。

"这会儿他呀，正在想明天学校给他吃的那顿丰盛早餐哪，"牧师说。

菲利普应答的话，显然跟眼前的事儿毫不相干，这种答非所问的情况常惹他大伯生气。他大伯常斥之为"心不在焉的环习惯"。

"假定你请求上帝做某件事，"菲利普说，"而且也真心相信这种事儿一定会发生，噢，我指的是搬走大山之类的事，而且心也够诚的，结果事。清却没发生，这说明什么呢？"

"真是个古怪孩子！"路易莎伯母说。"两三个星期之前，你就问过搬走大山的事啦。"

"那正说明你心不诚哪，"威廉大伯回答说。

菲利普接受了这种解释。心诚则灵嘛，要是上帝没把他医治好，原因只能是自己心还不够诚。可他没法明白，究竟怎样才能使自己进一步加深自己的诚意。说不定是没给上帝足够的时间吧，他给上帝的限期只有十九天嘛。过了一两天，他又开始祷告了。这一回，他把日期定在复活节。那是上帝的圣子光荣复活的日子，说不定上帝沉浸在幸福之中，会越发慈悲为怀的吧。菲利普但求如愿以偿，又加用了其他一些办法：每当他看到一轮新月或者一匹有斑纹的马，他就开始为自己祝愿；他还留神天上的流星。有一回他假日回来，正碰上家里吃鸡，他同路易莎伯母一块儿扯那根如愿骨时，他又表示了自己的心愿。每一回，他都祈祷自己的跛足能恢复正常。不知不觉间，他竟祈求起自己种族最早信奉的诸神抵来，这些神抵比以色列信奉的上帝具有更悠远的历史。白天，只要有空，只要他记起来，就一遍又一遍地向全能的主祈祷，总是一成不变的那几句话。在他看来，用同样的言词向上帝请求，是至关重要的。但过了不久，他又隐隐约约感到这一回他的信念也还不够深。他无法抵御向他阵阵袭来的疑虑。他把自己的切身体验归纳成这样一条规律：

"依我看，谁也没法心诚到那种地步，"他说。

这就像他保姆过去常对他说起的盐的妙用一样。她说：不管是什么乌，只要你往它尾巴上撒点盐，就能轻而易举地将它逮住。有一次，菲利普真的带着一小袋盐，进了肯辛顿花园。但是他怎么也没法挨近小鸟，以便能把盐撒在它尾巴上。他没到复活节，就放弃了这种努力。他对他大伯暗暗生出一股怨气，觉得自己上了大伯的当。《圣经》里讲的搬走大山的事，正是属于这种情况：说的是一码事，指的又是另一码事。他觉得他大伯一直在耍弄自己哩。
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chapter 15

The King’s School at Tercanbury, to which Philip went when he was thirteen, prided itself on its antiquity. It traced its origin to an abbey school, founded before the Conquest, where the rudiments of learning were taught by Augustine monks; and, like many another establishment of this sort, on the destruction of the monasteries it had been reorganised by the officers of King Henry VIII and thus acquired its name. Since then, pursuing its modest course, it had given to the sons of the local gentry and of the professional people of Kent an education sufficient to their needs. One or two men of letters, beginning with a poet, than whom only Shakespeare had a more splendid genius, and ending with a writer of prose whose view of life has affected profoundly the generation of which Philip was a member, had gone forth from its gates to achieve fame; it had produced one or two eminent lawyers, but eminent lawyers are common, and one or two soldiers of distinction; but during the three centuries since its separation from the monastic order it had trained especially men of the church, bishops, deans, canons, and above all country clergymen: there were boys in the school whose fathers, grandfathers, great-grandfathers, had been educated there and had all been rectors of parishes in the diocese of Tercanbury; and they came to it with their minds made up already to be ordained. But there were signs notwithstanding that even there changes were coming; for a few, repeating what they had heard at home, said that the Church was no longer what it used to be. It wasn’t so much the money; but the class of people who went in for it weren’t the same; and two or three boys knew curates whose fathers were tradesmen: they’d rather go out to the Colonies (in those days the Colonies were still the last hope of those who could get nothing to do in England) than be a curate under some chap who wasn’t a gentleman. At King’s School, as at Blackstable Vicarage, a tradesman was anyone who was not lucky enough to own land (and here a fine distinction was made between the gentleman farmer and the landowner), or did not follow one of the four professions to which it was possible for a gentleman to belong. Among the day-boys, of whom there were about a hundred and fifty, sons of the local gentry and of the men stationed at the depot, those whose fathers were engaged in business were made to feel the degradation of their state.

The masters had no patience with modern ideas of education, which they read of sometimes in The Times or The Guardian, and hoped fervently that King’s School would remain true to its old traditions. The dead languages were taught with such thoroughness that an old boy seldom thought of Homer or Virgil in after life without a qualm of boredom; and though in the common room at dinner one or two bolder spirits suggested that mathematics were of increasing importance, the general feeling was that they were a less noble study than the classics. Neither German nor chemistry was taught, and French only by the form-masters; they could keep order better than a foreigner, and, since they knew the grammar as well as any Frenchman, it seemed unimportant that none of them could have got a cup of coffee in the restaurant at Boulogne unless the waiter had known a little English. Geography was taught chiefly by making boys draw maps, and this was a favourite occupation, especially when the country dealt with was mountainous: it was possible to waste a great deal of time in drawing the Andes or the Apennines. The masters, graduates of Oxford or Cambridge, were ordained and unmarried; if by chance they wished to marry they could only do so by accepting one of the smaller livings at the disposal of the Chapter; but for many years none of them had cared to leave the refined society of Tercanbury, which owing to the cavalry depot had a martial as well as an ecclesiastical tone, for the monotony of life in a country rectory; and they were now all men of middle age.

The headmaster, on the other hand, was obliged to be married and he conducted the school till age began to tell upon him. When he retired he was rewarded with a much better living than any of the under-masters could hope for, and an honorary Canonry.

But a year before Philip entered the school a great change had come over it. It had been obvious for some time that Dr. Fleming, who had been headmaster for the quarter of a century, was become too deaf to continue his work to the greater glory of God; and when one of the livings on the outskirts of the city fell vacant, with a stipend of six hundred a year, the Chapter offered it to him in such a manner as to imply that they thought it high time for him to retire. He could nurse his ailments comfortably on such an income. Two or three curates who had hoped for preferment told their wives it was scandalous to give a parish that needed a young, strong, and energetic man to an old fellow who knew nothing of parochial work, and had feathered his nest already; but the mutterings of the unbeneficed clergy do not reach the ears of a cathedral Chapter. And as for the parishioners they had nothing to say in the matter, and therefore nobody asked for their opinion. The Wesleyans and the Baptists both had chapels in the village.

When Dr. Fleming was thus disposed of it became necessary to find a successor. It was contrary to the traditions of the school that one of the lower-masters should be chosen. The common-room was unanimous in desiring the election of Mr. Watson, headmaster of the preparatory school; he could hardly be described as already a master of King’s School, they had all known him for twenty years, and there was no danger that he would make a nuisance of himself. But the Chapter sprang a surprise on them. It chose a man called Perkins. At first nobody knew who Perkins was, and the name favourably impressed no one; but before the shock of it had passed away, it was realised that Perkins was the son of Perkins the linendraper. Dr. Fleming informed the masters just before dinner, and his manner showed his consternation. Such of them as were dining in, ate their meal almost in silence, and no reference was made to the matter till the servants had left the room. Then they set to. The names of those present on this occasion are unimportant, but they had been known to generations of school-boys as Sighs, Tar, Winks, Squirts, and Pat.

They all knew Tom Perkins. The first thing about him was that he was not a gentleman. They remembered him quite well. He was a small, dark boy, with untidy black hair and large eyes. He looked like a gipsy. He had come to the school as a day-boy, with the best scholarship on their endowment, so that his education had cost him nothing. Of course he was brilliant. At every Speech-Day he was loaded with prizes. He was their show-boy, and they remembered now bitterly their fear that he would try to get some scholarship at one of the larger public schools and so pass out of their hands. Dr. Fleming had gone to the linendraper his father—they all remembered the shop, Perkins and Cooper, in St. Catherine’s Street—and said he hoped Tom would remain with them till he went to Oxford. The school was Perkins and Cooper’s best customer, and Mr. Perkins was only too glad to give the required assurance. Tom Perkins continued to triumph, he was the finest classical scholar that Dr. Fleming remembered, and on leaving the school took with him the most valuable scholarship they had to offer. He got another at Magdalen and settled down to a brilliant career at the University. The school magazine recorded the distinctions he achieved year after year, and when he got his double first Dr. Fleming himself wrote a few words of eulogy on the front page. It was with greater satisfaction that they welcomed his success, since Perkins and Cooper had fallen upon evil days: Cooper drank like a fish, and just before Tom Perkins took his degree the linendrapers filed their petition in bankruptcy.

In due course Tom Perkins took Holy Orders and entered upon the profession for which he was so admirably suited. He had been an assistant master at Wellington and then at Rugby.

But there was quite a difference between welcoming his success at other schools and serving under his leadership in their own. Tar had frequently given him lines, and Squirts had boxed his ears. They could not imagine how the Chapter had made such a mistake. No one could be expected to forget that he was the son of a bankrupt linendraper, and the alcoholism of Cooper seemed to increase the disgrace. It was understood that the Dean had supported his candidature with zeal, so the Dean would probably ask him to dinner; but would the pleasant little dinners in the precincts ever be the same when Tom Perkins sat at the table? And what about the depot? He really could not expect officers and gentlemen to receive him as one of themselves. It would do the school incalculable harm. Parents would be dissatisfied, and no one could be surprised if there were wholesale withdrawals. And then the indignity of calling him Mr. Perkins! The masters thought by way of protest of sending in their resignations in a body, but the uneasy fear that they would be accepted with equanimity restrained them.

‘The only thing is to prepare ourselves for changes,’ said Sighs, who had conducted the fifth form for five and twenty years with unparalleled incompetence.

And when they saw him they were not reassured. Dr. Fleming invited them to meet him at luncheon. He was now a man of thirty-two, tall and lean, but with the same wild and unkempt look they remembered on him as a boy. His clothes, ill-made and shabby, were put on untidily. His hair was as black and as long as ever, and he had plainly never learned to brush it; it fell over his forehead with every gesture, and he had a quick movement of the hand with which he pushed it back from his eyes. He had a black moustache and a beard which came high up on his face almost to the cheek-bones, He talked to the masters quite easily, as though he had parted from them a week or two before; he was evidently delighted to see them. He seemed unconscious of the strangeness of the position and appeared not to notice any oddness in being addressed as Mr. Perkins.

When he bade them good-bye, one of the masters, for something to say, remarked that he was allowing himself plenty of time to catch his train.

‘I want to go round and have a look at the shop,’ he answered cheerfully.

There was a distinct embarrassment. They wondered that he could be so tactless, and to make it worse Dr. Fleming had not heard what he said. His wife shouted it in his ear.

‘He wants to go round and look at his father’s old shop.’

Only Tom Perkins was unconscious of the humiliation which the whole party felt. He turned to Mrs. Fleming.

‘Who’s got it now, d’you know?’

She could hardly answer. She was very angry.

‘It’s still a linendraper’s,’ she said bitterly. ‘Grove is the name. We don’t deal there any more.’

‘I wonder if he’d let me go over the house.’

‘I expect he would if you explain who you are.’

It was not till the end of dinner that evening that any reference was made in the common-room to the subject that was in all their minds. Then it was Sighs who asked:

‘Well, what did you think of our new head?’ They thought of the conversation at luncheon. It was hardly a conversation; it was a monologue. Perkins had talked incessantly. He talked very quickly, with a flow of easy words and in a deep, resonant voice. He had a short, odd little laugh which showed his white teeth. They had followed him with difficulty, for his mind darted from subject to subject with a connection they did not always catch. He talked of pedagogics, and this was natural enough; but he had much to say of modern theories in Germany which they had never heard of and received with misgiving. He talked of the classics, but he had been to Greece, and he discoursed of archaeology; he had once spent a winter digging; they could not see how that helped a man to teach boys to pass examinations, He talked of politics. It sounded odd to them to hear him compare Lord Beaconsfield with Alcibiades. He talked of Mr. Gladstone and Home Rule. They realised that he was a Liberal. Their hearts sank. He talked of German philosophy and of French fiction. They could not think a man profound whose interests were so diverse.

It was Winks who summed up the general impression and put it into a form they all felt conclusively damning. Winks was the master of the upper third, a weak-kneed man with drooping eye-lids, He was too tall for his strength, and his movements were slow and languid. He gave an impression of lassitude, and his nickname was eminently appropriate.

‘He’s very enthusiastic,’ said Winks.

Enthusiasm was ill-bred. Enthusiasm was ungentlemanly. They thought of the Salvation Army with its braying trumpets and its drums. Enthusiasm meant change. They had goose-flesh when they thought of all the pleasant old habits which stood in imminent danger. They hardly dared to look forward to the future.

‘He looks more of a gipsy than ever,’ said one, after a pause.

‘I wonder if the Dean and Chapter knew that he was a Radical when they elected him,’ another observed bitterly.

But conversation halted. They were too much disturbed for words.

When Tar and Sighs were walking together to the Chapter House on Speech-Day a week later, Tar, who had a bitter tongue, remarked to his colleague:

‘Well, we’ve seen a good many Speech-Days here, haven’t we? I wonder if we shall see another.’

Sighs was more melancholy even than usual.

‘If anything worth having comes along in the way of a living I don’t mind when I retire.’



第十五章

菲利普十三岁那年正式进了坎特伯雷皇家公学。该校颇以其源远流长而自豪。它最初是所修道院学堂，早在诺曼人征服英国之前就创办了，当时只设有几门很简单的课程，由奥古斯汀教团的修士讲授。这所学校也像其他这类学校一样，在修道院遭到破坏之后，就由亨利八世国王陛下的官员加以整顿重建，该校的校名即源出于此。打那时起，学校采取了比较实际的办学方针，面向当地上流人士以及肯特郡各行各业人士的子弟，向他们提供足以应付实际需要的教育。有一两个学生走出校门之后，成了誉满字内的文人，他们最初以诗人的身分驰骋文坛，论其才华之横溢，仅次于莎士比亚，最后专事散文写作，影响深远，他们的人生观甚至影响到菲利普这一代人。皇家公学还出了个把出类拔萃的律师，不过当今社会上名律师多如牛毛，这也就不足为奇了。此外，还出过个把战功赫赫的军人。然而，皇家公学在脱离修士会以后的三百年内，主要还是专为教会培养大量人材：教士、主教、主任牧师、牧师会成员，特别是乡村牧师。有些在校学生的父亲、祖父和曾祖父都在这儿念过书，现在全都当上了坎特伯雷主教管区内的教区长，所以这些学生刚跨进校门时就已经决心继承祖业，将来当个牧师。尽管如此，也还是有迹象表明，甚至在这些人身上也会发生某些变化；有些孩子把在家里听到的话搬到学校来，说什么如今的教会已不复是往日的教会。问题倒不在于教会的薪俸菲薄，而是现在干教会这一行的人良莠不齐，鱼龙混杂。据个别孩子所知，有几位副牧师的父亲就是做买卖的。他们宁可跑到殖民地去（那时候，凡是在英国找不到出路的人，依然把最后的希望寄托在殖民地上），也不愿在某个出身低贱的小子手下当副牧师。在皇家公学也像在布莱克斯泰勃的牧师公馆一样，说到买卖人，就是指那些投错了娘胎、没有祖传因产（这里，有田产的乡绅和一般的土地占有者之间存在着细微的差别），或是并非从事四大专门职业的人（对于有身分的人来说，要谋事也总是在这四门职业中加以选择的）。皇家公学的走读生里面，大约有一百五十人的家长是当地的上流人士或是驻扎在兵站里的军官，至于老子是做买卖的那些孩子，则自觉地位卑微而抬不起头来。

学校里的那些老夫子，容不得半点教育方面的新思想，有时在《泰晤士报》或《卫报》上也看到一些，便大不以为然。他们一心只盼皇家公学能保持其固有的老传统。那些僵死的语言，教师们教起来道地得无以复加，孩子们日后往往一想到荷马或维吉尔，就不免泛起一股厌恶之感。尽管也有个把胆大妄为的角色在教员公用室进餐时暗示说，数学已显得日益重要了，但大多数人总觉着这门学科岂能与高雅的古典文学相提并论。学校里既不传授德语，又不设置化学课。而法语课呢，那是由级任老师上的，他们维持课堂秩序比外国教员更加有效；再说，他们的语法知识决不比任何法国人逊色。至于他们在布洛涅的餐馆里，要不是侍者懂得点英文，恐怕连杯咖啡也喝不成，这一点似乎是无关宏旨的。教地理课，主要是让学生们画地图。孩子们倒也最爱上这门课，特别是在讲到某个多山国家的时候，因为画画安第斯山脉或是画画亚平宁山脉，可以消磨掉很多时间。教师都是些毕业于牛津或剑桥的、没结过婚的教士。假如他们之中偶尔有哪个心血来潮想结婚成家的话，那就得听任牧师会处置，接受某个薪俸较微的职务才行。实际上多年来，还未有哪位教师愿意离开坎特伯雷这样一个高雅的生活圈子（这个生活圈子除了虔诚的宗教气氛之外，还由于当地的骑兵站而带上几分尚武色彩），去过乡村教区的那种单调生活；而学校的教师现在都早已过了四十岁。

而皇家公学的校长，却非得结婚不可；他主持学校事务，直到年迈体衰、无力视事为止。校长退休时，不仅酬以一份一般教师连想都不敢想的优厚俸禄，而且还授予牧师会荣誉会员的称号。

然而就在菲利普升入皇家公学的前一年，发生了一项重大变化。早一阵子大家就注意到，当了二十五年校长的弗莱明博士已经耳聋眼花，显然无力再继续为上帝效劳增光了。后来，正好城郊有个年俸六百镑的肥缺空了出来，牧师会便建议他接受这份美差，实际上也是在暗示他该告老退休了。再说，靠着这样一份年俸，他也尽可以舒舒服服休养生息，尽其天年。有两三位一直觊觎这份肥缺的副牧师，免不了要在老婆面前抱怨叫屈：这样一个需要由身强力壮的年轻人来主持的教区，却交给了一个对教区工作一窍不通、只知营私自肥的老朽，简直岂有此理！不过尚未受领牧师之职的教士们的牢骚怨言，是传不到大教堂牧师会衮衮诸公的耳朵里的。至于那些教区居民，他们在这种事情上没什么要说的，所以也不会有人去征询他们的意见。而美以美会教徒和浸礼会教徒在乡村里又都有自己的小教堂。

弗莱明博士的事儿就这样处置停当了，现在有必要物色一个继任人。如果从本校教师中挑选，那是违背学校传统的。全体教员一致希望推举预备学校校长沃森先生出山：很难把他算作皇家公学的教师，再说，大家认识他已有二十年，不用担心他会成为一个讨人嫌的角色。但是，牧师会的决定却让他们大吃一惊。牧师会选中了一个叫珀金斯的无名之辈。起初，谁也不知道珀金斯是谁，珀金斯这个名字也没给谁留下什么好印象。然而惊愕之余，他们猛然省悟过来：这个珀金斯原来就是布店老板珀金斯的儿子！弗莱明博士直到午餐前才把这消息正式通知全体教师，从他的举止神态来看，他本人也不胜惶遽。那些留在学校里用餐的教师，几乎是一声不响地只顾埋头吃饭，压根儿不提这件事，一直等到工友离开了屋子，才渐渐议论开来。那些在场的人究竟何名柯姓，不说也无妨大局，好在几代学生都知道他们的雅号叫"常叹气"、"柏油"、"瞌睡虫"、"水熗"和"小团团"。

他们全都认识汤姆·珀金斯。首先，他这个人算不上有身分的绅士。他过去的情况大家记忆犹新。他是个身材瘦小，肤色黝黑的小男孩，一头乱草堆似的黑发，一双圆滚滚的大眼睛，看上去活像个吉卜赛人。那会儿念书时，他是名走读生，享受学校提供的最高标准的奖学金，所以他在求学期间，连一个子儿也不曾破费。当然罗，他也确实才华横溢。一年一度的授奖典礼上，他手里总是捧满了奖品。汤姆·珀金斯成了学校的活金字招牌。这会儿，教师们不无心酸地回想起当年他们怎么个提心吊担，生怕他会甩开他们，去领取某所规模较大的公学的助学金。弗莱明博士甚至亲自跑去拜见他那位开布店的父亲--教师们都还记得设在圣凯瑟琳大街上的那家"珀金斯-库珀布店--而且表示希望汤姆在进牛津之前能一直留在他们那儿。皇家公学是"珀金斯-库珀"布店的最大主顾，珀金斯先生当然很乐意满足对方要求，一口作出了保证。汤姆·珀金斯继续青云直上。他是弗莱明博士记忆之中古典文学学得最好的尖子学生。离校时，他带走了学校向他提供的最高额奖学金。他在马格达兰学院又得到一份奖学金，随之开始了大学里的光辉历程。校刊上记载了他年复一年获得的各种荣誉。当他两门功课都获得第一名时，弗莱明博士亲自写了几句颂词，登在校刊的扉页上。学校教师在庆贺他学业上的出色成就之时，心情分外满意，因为"珀金斯-库珀"布店这时已交上了厄运。库珀嗜酒如命，狂饮无度；而就在汤姆·珀金斯即将取得学位的当口上，这两位布商递交了破产申请书。

汤姆·珀金斯及时受领圣职，当起牧师来了，而他也确实是块当牧师的料于。他先后在威灵顿公学和拉格比公学担任过副校长。

话得说回来，赞扬他在其他学校取得成就是一码事，而在自己学校里，并且还要在他手下共事，那可完全是另一码事。"柏油"先生常常罚他抄书，"水熗"先生还打过他的耳刮子。牧师会竟然作出这等大谬不然的事儿来，实在令人难以想象。谁也不会忘掉他是个破产布商的儿子，而库珀的嗜酒贪杯似乎又往他脸上抹了一层灰。不说也知道，坎特伯雷教长自然是热情支持自己提出来的候选人罗，所以说不定还要设宴替他接风呢。可是，教堂园地内举行的那种赏心悦目的小型宴会，如果让汤姆·珀金斯成了座上客，是否还能保持同样的雅趣呢？兵站方面会有何反应？他根本别指望军官和上流人士会容许他进入他们的生活圈子；如果真的进入了，对学校的危害简直无法估量。家长们肯定会对此表示不满，要是大批学生突然中途退学，也不会令人感到意外。再说，到时候还要称他一声"珀金斯先生"，实在太有失体面！教师们真想集体递交辞呈以示抗议，但是万一上面处之泰然，真的接受了他们的辞呈，岂非弄巧成拙？！想到这里义只得作罢。

"没别的法子，只得以不变应付万变罗，""常叹气"先生说。五年级的课他已教了二十五年，至于教学，再找不到比他豆窝囊的了。

教师们和新校长见面之后，心里也未必就踏实些。弗莱明博士邀请他们在午餐时同新校长见面。他现在已是三十二岁的人了，又高又瘦，而他那副不修边幅的邋遢相，还是和教师们记忆中的那个小男孩一模一样。几件做工蹩脚的衣服胡乱地套在身上，一副寒酸相。满头蓬松的乱发还是像以前那样又黑又长，显然他从来没学会怎么梳理头发；他一挥手，一跺足，那一绺绺头发就耷拉到脑门上，随后又猛地一抬手，把头发从眼睛旁撩回去。脸上胡子拉碴，黑乎乎的一片，差不多快长到了颧骨上。他同教师们谈起话来从容自在，好像同他们才分手了一两个星期。显然，他见到他们很高兴。对于他新任的职务，他似乎一点儿也不感到生疏。人们称他"珀金斯先生"，他也不觉着这里面有什么可以大惊小怪的地方。

他同教师们道别时，有位没话找话的教师，随口说了一声"离火车开车时间还早着呢"。

"我想各处去转一转，顺便看看那个铺子，"珀金斯兴冲冲地回答说。

在场的人明显地感到困窘。他们暗暗奇怪这家伙怎么会这般愣头愣脑的；而那位弗莱明博土偏偏没听清楚珀金斯的话，气氛越发显得尴尬。他的太太冲着他耳朵大声嚷嚷：

"他想各处去转一转，顺便看看他父亲的老铺子。"

所有在场的人都辨出了话里的羞辱之意，唯独汤姆·珀金斯无所察觉。他转身面向弗莱明太太：

"您知道那铺子现在归谁啦？"

她差点答不上话来，心里恼火得什么似的。

"还是落在一个布商手里呗，"她没好气地说。"名字叫格罗夫。我们现在不上那家铺子买东西了。"

"不知道他肯不肯让我进去看看。"

"我想，要是说清楚您是谁，他会让您看的吧。"

直到晚上吃完晚饭，教员公用室里才有人提到那件在肚里憋了好半天的事儿。是"常叹气"先生开的头。他问：

"嗯，诸位觉得我们这位新上司如何？"

他们想着午餐时的那场交谈。其实也算不上什么交谈，而是一场独白，是珀金斯一个人不停地自拉自唱。他说起话来口若悬河，滔滔不绝，嗓音深沉而洪亮。他咧嘴一笑，露出一口洁白的牙齿，笑声短促而古怪。他们听他讲话很费力，且不得要领。他一会儿讲这，一会儿讲那，不断变换话题，他们往往抓不住他前言后语的联系。他谈到教学法，这是自然不过的，可他却大讲了一通闻所未闻的德国现代理论，听得教师们莫不栖栖惶惶。他谈到古典文学，可又说起本人曾去过希腊，接着又拉扯到考古学上，说他曾经花了整整一个冬天挖掘古物。他们实在不明白，这套玩意儿对于教师辅导学生应付考试究竟有何稗益。他还谈到政治。教师们听到他把贝根斯菲尔德勋爵同阿尔基维泽斯相提并论时，不免感到莫名其妙。他还谈到了格莱斯顿先生和地方自治。他们这才恍然大悟，这家伙原来是个自由党人。众人心头顿时凉了半截。他还谈到了德国哲学和法国小说。教师们认为，一个什么都要涉猎、玩赏的人，在学术上肯定不会造诣很深的。

最后还是那位"瞌睡虫"先生，画龙点睛地把大家的想法概括成一句精辟妙语。"瞌睡虫"是三年级高班的级任老师，生性懦弱，眼皮子老是耷拉着。瘦高挑个儿，有气无力，动作迟钝、呆板，给人一种终日没精打采的印象，别人给他起的那个雅号，倒真是入木三分，贴切得很。

"此人乃是热情冲动之徒，""瞌睡虫"说。

热情溢于言表，乃是缺乏教养的表现。热情冲动，绝非绅士应有的风度，让人联想到救世军吹吹打打的哄闹场面。热情意味着变动。这些老夫子想到合人心意的传统积习危在旦夕，不由得浑身起了鸡皮疙瘩。前途简直不堪设想。

"瞧他那副模样，越来越像个吉卜赛人了，"沉默了一阵子以后，有人这么说。

"我怀疑教长和牧师会选定此人时，是否知道他是个激进分子，"另一个人悻悻然抱怨说。

谈话难以继续。众人心乱如麻，语塞喉管。

一星期之后，"柏油"先生和"常叹气"先生结伴同行，去牧师会会堂参加一年一度的授奖典礼。路上，一向说话尖刻的"柏油"先生对那位同事感叹道：

"你我参加这儿的授奖典礼总不算少吧？可谁知道这是不是最后一次呢？！"

"常叹气"比往日更加愁眉苦脸。

"我现在也别无他求，只要能给我安排个稍许像样点的去处，我退休也不在乎个早晚了。"
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chapter 16

A year passed, and when Philip came to the school the old masters were all in their places; but a good many changes had taken place notwithstanding their stubborn resistance, none the less formidable because it was concealed under an apparent desire to fall in with the new head’s ideas. Though the form-masters still taught French to the lower school, another master had come, with a degree of doctor of philology from the University of Heidelberg and a record of three years spent in a French lycee, to teach French to the upper forms and German to anyone who cared to take it up instead of Greek. Another master was engaged to teach mathematics more systematically than had been found necessary hitherto. Neither of these was ordained. This was a real revolution, and when the pair arrived the older masters received them with distrust. A laboratory had been fitted up, army classes were instituted; they all said the character of the school was changing. And heaven only knew what further projects Mr. Perkins turned in that untidy head of his. The school was small as public schools go, there were not more than two hundred boarders; and it was difficult for it to grow larger, for it was huddled up against the Cathedral; the precincts, with the exception of a house in which some of the masters lodged, were occupied by the cathedral clergy; and there was no more room for building. But Mr. Perkins devised an elaborate scheme by which he might obtain sufficient space to make the school double its present size. He wanted to attract boys from London. He thought it would be good for them to be thrown in contact with the Kentish lads, and it would sharpen the country wits of these.

‘It’s against all our traditions,’ said Sighs, when Mr. Perkins made the suggestion to him. ‘We’ve rather gone out of our way to avoid the contamination of boys from London.’

‘Oh, what nonsense!’ said Mr. Perkins.

No one had ever told the form-master before that he talked nonsense, and he was meditating an acid reply, in which perhaps he might insert a veiled reference to hosiery, when Mr. Perkins in his impetuous way attacked him outrageously.

‘That house in the precincts—if you’d only marry I’d get the Chapter to put another couple of stories on, and we’d make dormitories and studies, and your wife could help you.’

The elderly clergyman gasped. Why should he marry? He was fifty-seven, a man couldn’t marry at fifty-seven. He couldn’t start looking after a house at his time of life. He didn’t want to marry. If the choice lay between that and the country living he would much sooner resign. All he wanted now was peace and quietness.

‘I’m not thinking of marrying,’ he said.

Mr. Perkins looked at him with his dark, bright eyes, and if there was a twinkle in them poor Sighs never saw it.

‘What a pity! Couldn’t you marry to oblige me? It would help me a great deal with the Dean and Chapter when I suggest rebuilding your house.’

But Mr. Perkins’ most unpopular innovation was his system of taking occasionally another man’s form. He asked it as a favour, but after all it was a favour which could not be refused, and as Tar, otherwise Mr. Turner, said, it was undignified for all parties. He gave no warning, but after morning prayers would say to one of the masters:

‘I wonder if you’d mind taking the Sixth today at eleven. We’ll change over, shall we?’

They did not know whether this was usual at other schools, but certainly it had never been done at Tercanbury. The results were curious. Mr. Turner, who was the first victim, broke the news to his form that the headmaster would take them for Latin that day, and on the pretence that they might like to ask him a question or two so that they should not make perfect fools of themselves, spent the last quarter of an hour of the history lesson in construing for them the passage of Livy which had been set for the day; but when he rejoined his class and looked at the paper on which Mr. Perkins had written the marks, a surprise awaited him; for the two boys at the top of the form seemed to have done very ill, while others who had never distinguished themselves before were given full marks. When he asked Eldridge, his cleverest boy, what was the meaning of this the answer came sullenly:

‘Mr. Perkins never gave us any construing to do. He asked me what I knew about General Gordon.’

Mr. Turner looked at him in astonishment. The boys evidently felt they had been hardly used, and he could not help agreeing with their silent dissatisfaction. He could not see either what General Gordon had to do with Livy. He hazarded an inquiry afterwards.

‘Eldridge was dreadfully put out because you asked him what he knew about General Gordon,’ he said to the headmaster, with an attempt at a chuckle.

Mr. Perkins laughed.

‘I saw they’d got to the agrarian laws of Caius Gracchus, and I wondered if they knew anything about the agrarian troubles in Ireland. But all they knew about Ireland was that Dublin was on the Liffey. So I wondered if they’d ever heard of General Gordon.’

Then the horrid fact was disclosed that the new head had a mania for general information. He had doubts about the utility of examinations on subjects which had been crammed for the occasion. He wanted common sense.

Sighs grew more worried every month; he could not get the thought out of his head that Mr. Perkins would ask him to fix a day for his marriage; and he hated the attitude the head adopted towards classical literature. There was no doubt that he was a fine scholar, and he was engaged on a work which was quite in the right tradition: he was writing a treatise on the trees in Latin literature; but he talked of it flippantly, as though it were a pastime of no great importance, like billiards, which engaged his leisure but was not to be considered with seriousness. And Squirts, the master of the Middle Third, grew more ill-tempered every day.

It was in his form that Philip was put on entering the school. The Rev. B. B. Gordon was a man by nature ill-suited to be a schoolmaster: he was impatient and choleric. With no one to call him to account, with only small boys to face him, he had long lost all power of self-control. He began his work in a rage and ended it in a passion. He was a man of middle height and of a corpulent figure; he had sandy hair, worn very short and now growing gray, and a small bristly moustache. His large face, with indistinct features and small blue eyes, was naturally red, but during his frequent attacks of anger it grew dark and purple. His nails were bitten to the quick, for while some trembling boy was construing he would sit at his desk shaking with the fury that consumed him, and gnaw his fingers. Stories, perhaps exaggerated, were told of his violence, and two years before there had been some excitement in the school when it was heard that one father was threatening a prosecution: he had boxed the ears of a boy named Walters with a book so violently that his hearing was affected and the boy had to be taken away from the school. The boy’s father lived in Tercanbury, and there had been much indignation in the city, the local paper had referred to the matter; but Mr. Walters was only a brewer, so the sympathy was divided. The rest of the boys, for reasons best known to themselves, though they loathed the master, took his side in the affair, and, to show their indignation that the school’s business had been dealt with outside, made things as uncomfortable as they could for Walters’ younger brother, who still remained. But Mr. Gordon had only escaped the country living by the skin of his teeth, and he had never hit a boy since. The right the masters possessed to cane boys on the hand was taken away from them, and Squirts could no longer emphasize his anger by beating his desk with the cane. He never did more now than take a boy by the shoulders and shake him. He still made a naughty or refractory lad stand with one arm stretched out for anything from ten minutes to half an hour, and he was as violent as before with his tongue.

No master could have been more unfitted to teach things to so shy a boy as Philip. He had come to the school with fewer terrors than he had when first he went to Mr. Watson’s. He knew a good many boys who had been with him at the preparatory school. He felt more grownup, and instinctively realised that among the larger numbers his deformity would be less noticeable. But from the first day Mr. Gordon struck terror in his heart; and the master, quick to discern the boys who were frightened of him, seemed on that account to take a peculiar dislike to him. Philip had enjoyed his work, but now he began to look upon the hours passed in school with horror. Rather than risk an answer which might be wrong and excite a storm of abuse from the master, he would sit stupidly silent, and when it came towards his turn to stand up and construe he grew sick and white with apprehension. His happy moments were those when Mr. Perkins took the form. He was able to gratify the passion for general knowledge which beset the headmaster; he had read all sorts of strange books beyond his years, and often Mr. Perkins, when a question was going round the room, would stop at Philip with a smile that filled the boy with rapture, and say:

‘Now, Carey, you tell them.’

The good marks he got on these occasions increased Mr. Gordon’s indignation. One day it came to Philip’s turn to translate, and the master sat there glaring at him and furiously biting his thumb. He was in a ferocious mood. Philip began to speak in a low voice.

‘Don’t mumble,’ shouted the master.

Something seemed to stick in Philip’s throat.

‘Go on. Go on. Go on.’

Each time the words were screamed more loudly. The effect was to drive all he knew out of Philip’s head, and he looked at the printed page vacantly. Mr. Gordon began to breathe heavily.

‘If you don’t know why don’t you say so? Do you know it or not? Did you hear all this construed last time or not? Why don’t you speak? Speak, you blockhead, speak!’

The master seized the arms of his chair and grasped them as though to prevent himself from falling upon Philip. They knew that in past days he often used to seize boys by the throat till they almost choked. The veins in his forehead stood out and his face grew dark and threatening. He was a man insane.

Philip had known the passage perfectly the day before, but now he could remember nothing.

‘I don’t know it,’ he gasped.

‘Why don’t you know it? Let’s take the words one by one. We’ll soon see if you don’t know it.’

Philip stood silent, very white, trembling a little, with his head bent down on the book. The master’s breathing grew almost stertorous.

‘The headmaster says you’re clever. I don’t know how he sees it. General information.’ He laughed savagely. ‘I don’t know what they put you in his form for ‘Blockhead.’

He was pleased with the word, and he repeated it at the top of his voice.

‘Blockhead! Blockhead! Club-footed blockhead!’

That relieved him a little. He saw Philip redden suddenly. He told him to fetch the Black Book. Philip put down his Caesar and went silently out. The Black Book was a sombre volume in which the names of boys were written with their misdeeds, and when a name was down three times it meant a caning. Philip went to the headmaster’s house and knocked at his study-door. Mr. Perkins was seated at his table.

‘May I have the Black Book, please, sir.’

‘There it is,’ answered Mr. Perkins, indicating its place by a nod of his head. ‘What have you been doing that you shouldn’t?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

Mr. Perkins gave him a quick look, but without answering went on with his work. Philip took the book and went out. When the hour was up, a few minutes later, he brought it back.

‘Let me have a look at it,’ said the headmaster. ‘I see Mr. Gordon has black-booked you for ‘gross impertinence.’ What was it?’

‘I don’t know, sir. Mr. Gordon said I was a club-footed blockhead.’

Mr. Perkins looked at him again. He wondered whether there was sarcasm behind the boy’s reply, but he was still much too shaken. His face was white and his eyes had a look of terrified distress. Mr. Perkins got up and put the book down. As he did so he took up some photographs.

‘A friend of mine sent me some pictures of Athens this morning,’ he said casually. ‘Look here, there’s the Akropolis.’

He began explaining to Philip what he saw. The ruin grew vivid with his words. He showed him the theatre of Dionysus and explained in what order the people sat, and how beyond they could see the blue Aegean. And then suddenly he said:

‘I remember Mr. Gordon used to call me a gipsy counter-jumper when I was in his form.’

And before Philip, his mind fixed on the photographs, had time to gather the meaning of the remark, Mr. Perkins was showing him a picture of Salamis, and with his finger, a finger of which the nail had a little black edge to it, was pointing out how the Greek ships were placed and how the Persian.

第十六章

转眼间，一年过去了。当菲利普升入皇家公学时，那些老学究依然守着各自的地盘；尽管他们百般阻挠，学校里还是出现了不少变化。说实在的，他们暗地里的那股顽固劲儿，一点也不因为表面上随声附和新上司的主张就更容易对付些。现在，低年级学生的法语课仍由级任老师上，但是学校里另外延聘了一位教师，他一面教高年级的法语课，一面还给那些不喜欢学希腊语的学生开德语课。这位新教师曾在海德堡大学获得语言学博士的学位，并在法国某中学里执教过三年。学校还请了一位数学教师，让他比较系统地讲授数学，而过去一向是认为无须如此大动干戈的。两位新教师都是未就圣职的文士。这真是一场名副其实的重大变革，所以当这两位刚来校执教时，前辈教师都对他们侧目而视，觉得他们靠不住。学校辟建了实验室，还设置了军训课。教师们议论纷纷：学校这一下可兜底变啦！天晓得珀金斯先生那颗乱七八糟的脑袋瓜里，还在盘算些什么新花样！皇家公学同一般的公学一样，校舍狭小，最多只能收二百个寄宿生，而且学校挤缩在大教堂的边上，没法再扩大；教堂周围的那一圈之地，除了有一幢教师宿舍，差不多全让大教堂的教士们给占了，根本别想找到一块扩建校舍的空地。然而，珀金斯先生精心构思了一项计划，如能付诸实施，足以将现有的学校规模扩大一倍。他想把伦敦的孩子吸引过来。他觉得让伦敦孩子接触接触肯特郡的少年，未尝没有好处，也可以使这儿一些不见世面的乡村才子得到磨练。

"这可完全违背了本校的老传统，""常叹气"听了珀金斯先生的提议之后说，"我们对伦敦的孩子，一向倍加防范，不让他们败坏我们学校的风气。"

"嘿，简直是瞎扯淡！"

过去，还从未有谁当着这位老夫子的面说他瞎扯淡，他打算反唇相讥，回敬他一句，不妨在话里点一下布料衣裤之类的事儿，捅捅他的老底。可就在他苦思冥想、搜索枯肠的当儿，那位出言不逊的珀金斯先生又肆无忌惮地冲着他发话了：

"教堂园地里的那所房子--只要您结了婚，我就设法让牧师会在上面再加高两层，我们可以用那几间屋作宿舍和书室，而您太太还可以照顾照顾您。"

这位上了年纪的牧师倒抽了一口凉气。结婚？干吗呢？已经五十七岁啦。哪有人到了五十七岁还结婚的呢！总不见得到这把年纪再来营巢筑窝吧。他压根儿不想结婚。如果非要他在结婚与乡居这两者之间作出抉择，他宁可告老退隐。他现在只求太太平平安度晚年。

"我可没转过结婚的念头哟，"他嘟哝了一句。

珀金斯先生用那双烟烟闪亮的黑眼睛，打量着对方，即使他眸子在调皮地忽闪忽闪，可怜的"常叹气"先生也决不会有所察觉的。

"多可惜！您就不能帮我个忙，结婚安家算了？这样，我在主任牧师和牧师会面前建议将你房子翻造加高时，就更好说话了。"

然而，珀金斯先生最不得人心的一项革新，还是他搞的那套不定期同别的教师换班上课的新规矩。他嘴上说得挺客气，请对方行个方便，实际上这个方便却是非提供不可的。这种做法照"柏油"先生，也就是特纳先生的说法，双方都有失尊严。珀金斯先生往往事先也不打个招呼，晨祷刚结束，就突然对某位教师说：

"请您今天上午十一点替我上六年级的课，不知尊意如何？我们换个班上上，行吗？"

教师们不知道其他学校是否也兴这套做法，不过在这儿坎特伯雷肯定是前所未有的。就上课的效果来说，也让人莫名其妙。首当其冲的是特纳先生，他把消息事先透露给班里的学生，说这天的拉丁文课将由校长先生来上，同时，借口学生们兴许要问他一两个问题，特地在历史课下课前留出一刻钟时间，把规定那天要学的利维的一段文章给学生逐句讲解了一遍，免得他们到时候目瞪口呆、出足洋相。然而，等他回到班上，看到珀金斯先生的打分记录，不觉一惊：他班上的两名拔尖学生看来很不争气，而另外几个一向中不溜儿的学生却得了满分。他问自己班上最聪明的孩子埃尔德里奇究竟是怎么回事，孩子绷着脸回答说：

"珀金斯先生根本没要我们解释课文，他问我关于戈登将军知道点什么。"

特纳先生惊愕地望着埃尔德里奇。孩子们显然都觉得受了委屈，他禁不住对孩子们敢怒不敢言的情绪产生共鸣。他也看不出戈登将军同利维有何相于。后来他鼓起勇气旁敲侧击地探问了一下。

"您问埃尔德里奇关于戈登将军知道些什么，这一问可真把他问懵啦，"他强作笑颜对校长说。

珀金斯先生纵声大笑。

"我见他们已学到凯斯·格拉胡斯的土地法，所以很想知道他们对爱尔兰的土地纠纷是否有所了解。谁知他们对爱尔兰的了解，仅止于都柏林位于利菲河畔这一点。所以我再问了一下他们是否听说过戈登将军。"

于是，这个可怕的事实赫然公诸于众：这位新来的上司原来是个"常识迷"。他颇怀疑目前通行的学科考试有何用处，学生们死记硬背无非是为了应付这些考试。他注重的是常识。

时间一个月一个月过去，"常叹气"越来越忧心忡忡。他设法排遣这样的念头：珀金斯先生一定会逼他把结婚日期确定下来；此外，他还十分恼恨这位上司对古典文学所持的态度。毋庸置疑，珀金斯先生是位造诣很深的学者，眼下正忙于写一篇完全符合正统的论著--一篇有关拉丁文学谱系的论文，但是他平时谈论起古典文学来，口气相当轻率，就像是在谈论某种无关宏旨的类似弹子的娱乐一般，似乎它只是供茶余饭后助兴的话题，无须严肃对待。再说到三年级中班的教师"水熗"先生，此公脾气也是一天坏似一天。

菲利普进皇家公学之后，就被安排在他班上。这位B·B·戈登牧师先生，就其性情来说，似乎并不适宜做教师：既无耐心，肝火又旺。再加上长期以来无人过问他的教学，接触的又尽是些年幼学生，他可以为所欲为，自制力早已丧失殆尽。他上起课来，往往以大发雷霆开始，以暴跳如雷结束。他个子不高也不矮，胖墩墩的，一头黄中带红的短发已开始染上白霜，唇上蓄着一撮又短又硬的小胡子。此公其貌不扬，大脸盘上长着一对小小的蓝眼睛，脸色红扑扑的，可脾气一发作立时转成猪肝色，而他这个人又是动辄发火的。手上的指甲由于经常咬呀，咬呀，连肉也包不住了：只要有哪个学生解释课文时打哆嗦，他就怒从心头起，坐在讲台边直发抖，同时狠咬自己的指甲。关于他虐待学生的丑事，师生中传得沸沸扬扬，其中免不了也有夸大其词的地方。两年前有件事，曾在学校里轰动一时。据说，有位学生家长常扬言要向法院起诉，因为这位老夫子拿起一本书，狠命揍了一个名叫沃尔特斯的孩子的耳光，结果孩子的听觉受到严重影响，不得不中途辍学。孩子的父亲就住在坎特伯雷，城里好些人为之愤愤不平，当地报纸还报道过这件事。然而，沃尔特斯先生毕竟只是区区一酿酒商，所以别人对他的同情也无形中打了个折扣。至于班上其余的孩子，尽管很讨厌这位老夫子，但出于他们自己最清楚不过的考虑，在这件事情上，还是站在教师这一边，不但对外界于涉校内事务表示愤慨，甚至还百般刁难继续留在学校的沃尔特斯的弟弟。不过，戈登先生险些儿被撵到乡下去苟度余生，此后再不敢揍学生了。教师们随之丧失了打学生手心的权利，"水熗"也再不能用教鞭抽打讲台来发泄心头的盛怒了，现在至多不过是抓住学生的肩膀，使劲操他两下。不过对于调皮捣蛋，或是犟头倔脑的孩子，他们照旧要给予处罚，让他们空悬着一条胳膊，在那儿站上十分钟到半小时，而骂起学生来，依然像过去一样没遮拦。

对于像菲利普这样生性胆怯的学生来说，恐怕再也找不到比"水熗"更糟糕的教师了。菲利普这次进皇家公学，比起第一回见沃森先生时，胆子总算大了些。这儿有好多孩子他都认识，是预科的老同学。他觉得自己不再是小孩子了，他本能地意识到，周围同学越多，他的残疾就越少惹人注目。然而进校第一天，戈登先生就使他诚惶诚恐；这位夫子一眼就能看出哪些学生怕他，同时似乎也单凭这点，就此特别讨厌那些学生。过去，菲利普听老师讲课总觉得津津有味，可现在每到上课就胆战心惊，度时如年。教师提问时，他宁叶呆头呆脑地坐着，一声不响，生怕回答错了，挨老师一顿臭骂；每回轮到他站起来解释课文，他总是战战兢兢，脸色煞白，像害了大病似的。他也有快乐的时候，那就是珀金斯先生前来代课的时候。对这位有常识癖的校长，菲利普颇能投其所好，供成年人阅读的各种奇书异卷，菲利普都有所涉猎。珀金斯先生上课常出现这样的情况：他提出的问题先在学生中兜了一圈，谁也回答不出，最后总是留待菲利普来回答。珀金斯先生朝菲利普微微一笑--这一笑使得菲利普心花怒放--然后说：

"好，凯里，请你给大家说说吧！"

菲利普在这种场合取得的好分数，更增添了戈登先生胸中的不平。一天，轮到菲利普做翻译练习，老夫子坐在那儿，一面恶狠狠地瞪着菲利普，一面气呼呼地咬着大拇指。他正在火头上呢！菲利普开始轻声低语。

"别咕咕哝哝的！"老师吼叫了一声。

菲利普喉咙里像被什么异物堵住似的。

"说下去！说下去！说下去！"

他一连尖叫三声，一次比一次响，结果把菲利普原来学到的东西全都吓跑了，菲利普只是望着书页发愣。戈登先生直喘粗气。

"你要是不懂，干吗不明说呢？你到底懂不懂？上次解释课文的时候，你究竟听进去了没有？干吗不开口？说啊，你这个笨蛋！说啊！"

老夫子抓住坐椅的扶手，紧紧抓着，似乎生怕自己会朝菲利普猛扑上去。学生们都知道，过去他常一把掐住学生的脖子，差不多要把学生掐个半死才放手。这会儿戈登先生额上青筋毕露，脸色阴沉可怕。他简直成了个疯子。

菲利普前一天已把那段课文全搞懂了，但此刻却什么也记不起来。

"我不懂，"他气喘吁吁地说。

"你怎么会不懂呢？好吧，让咱们逐字逐句解释，你究竟是不是在装蒜，马上就能见分晓。"

菲利普站着不吭声，面如土色，浑身微微打颤，脑袋耷拉着，差不多碰到了课本。老夫子的鼻孔呼呼直响，简直像在打呼噜。

"校长说你很聪明，真不知道他是怎么看出来的。普通常识！"他粗野地大笑起来。"我不明白他们干吗要把你安排到这个班上来。笨蛋！"

他对这个词儿很欣赏，拉开嗓门一连重复了几声。

"笨蛋！笨蛋！一个瘸腿大笨蛋！"

戈登先生这么发泄一通，火气总算消了几分。他瞧见菲利普的脸倏地涨得通红。他叫菲利普去把记过簿拿来。菲利普放下手里的《恺撒纪事》，悄然无声地走出教室。记过簿是个浅黑封面的本儿，专门用来登录顽皮学生的越轨行为。哪个学生的大名在本子上出现三次，他就要挨一顿鞭答。菲利普走到校长的住处，敲敲他的书房门。珀金斯先生正坐在桌旁。

"先生，我可以拿记过簿吗？"

"就在那儿，"珀金斯先生随口应了一句，同时朝放记过簿的地方点一点头。"你干了什么不该干的事啦？"

"我不知道，先生。"

珀金斯先生朝菲利普瞥了一眼，但没再说什么，继续忙自己的事儿。菲利普拿起本子，出了书房。几分钟后，菲利普又把记过簿送回来。

"让我看一下，"校长说。"哦，戈登先生把你的名字记进了记过簿，说你'放肆无礼，究竟是怎么回事啊？"

"我不知道，先生。戈登先生说我是个瘸腿笨蛋。"

珀金斯先生又望了菲利普一眼，他很想知道这孩子回答的话里是否暗含讥讽之意，只见这孩子惊魂未定，脸色苍白，目光里流露出惊恐、痛苦的神色。珀金斯先生站起身，放下记过簿，顺手拿起几张照片。

"今天上午，我的一位朋友给我寄来了几张雅典地方的风景照，"他口气随便地说。"瞧，这是雅典卫城。"

他把照片上的古迹细细解释给菲利普听。经他这么一说，画面上的残垣废墟顿时变得栩栩如生。他还把狄俄尼索斯露天剧场指给菲利普看，讲解当时观众按等级就座的情况，又讲到观众打哪边极目远眺，可以看见蔚蓝色的爱琴海。接着，他突然话题一转：

"我记得过去在戈登先生班上念书的时候，他常常叫我'站柜台的吉卜赛人'。"

菲利普的注意力全集中在那些照片上，他还没来得及领会这句话的含义，珀金斯先生又拿出一张萨拉米斯岛的图片，还用手指--那手指的指甲尖还有一道黑边--点给他看当年希腊、波斯两国战舰的阵容部署。
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chapter 17

Philip passed the next two years with comfortable monotony. He was not bullied more than other boys of his size; and his deformity, withdrawing him from games, acquired for him an insignificance for which he was grateful. He was not popular, and he was very lonely. He spent a couple of terms with Winks in the Upper Third. Winks, with his weary manner and his drooping eyelids, looked infinitely bored. He did his duty, but he did it with an abstracted mind. He was kind, gentle, and foolish. He had a great belief in the honour of boys; he felt that the first thing to make them truthful was not to let it enter your head for a moment that it was possible for them to lie. ‘Ask much,’ he quoted, ‘and much shall be given to you.’ Life was easy in the Upper Third. You knew exactly what lines would come to your turn to construe, and with the crib that passed from hand to hand you could find out all you wanted in two minutes; you could hold a Latin Grammar open on your knees while questions were passing round; and Winks never noticed anything odd in the fact that the same incredible mistake was to be found in a dozen different exercises. He had no great faith in examinations, for he noticed that boys never did so well in them as in form: it was disappointing, but not significant. In due course they were moved up, having learned little but a cheerful effrontery in the distortion of truth, which was possibly of greater service to them in after life than an ability to read Latin at sight.

Then they fell into the hands of Tar. His name was Turner; he was the most vivacious of the old masters, a short man with an immense belly, a black beard turning now to gray, and a swarthy skin. In his clerical dress there was indeed something in him to suggest the tar-barrel; and though on principle he gave five hundred lines to any boy on whose lips he overheard his nickname, at dinner-parties in the precincts he often made little jokes about it. He was the most worldly of the masters; he dined out more frequently than any of the others, and the society he kept was not so exclusively clerical. The boys looked upon him as rather a dog. He left off his clerical attire during the holidays and had been seen in Switzerland in gay tweeds. He liked a bottle of wine and a good dinner, and having once been seen at the Cafe Royal with a lady who was very probably a near relation, was thenceforward supposed by generations of schoolboys to indulge in orgies the circumstantial details of which pointed to an unbounded belief in human depravity.

Mr. Turner reckoned that it took him a term to lick boys into shape after they had been in the Upper Third; and now and then he let fall a sly hint, which showed that he knew perfectly what went on in his colleague’s form. He took it good-humouredly. He looked upon boys as young ruffians who were more apt to be truthful if it was quite certain a lie would be found out, whose sense of honour was peculiar to themselves and did not apply to dealings with masters, and who were least likely to be troublesome when they learned that it did not pay. He was proud of his form and as eager at fifty-five that it should do better in examinations than any of the others as he had been when he first came to the school. He had the choler of the obese, easily roused and as easily calmed, and his boys soon discovered that there was much kindliness beneath the invective with which he constantly assailed them. He had no patience with fools, but was willing to take much trouble with boys whom he suspected of concealing intelligence behind their wilfulness. He was fond of inviting them to tea; and, though vowing they never got a look in with him at the cakes and muffins, for it was the fashion to believe that his corpulence pointed to a voracious appetite, and his voracious appetite to tapeworms, they accepted his invitations with real pleasure.

Philip was now more comfortable, for space was so limited that there were only studies for boys in the upper school, and till then he had lived in the great hall in which they all ate and in which the lower forms did preparation in a promiscuity which was vaguely distasteful to him. Now and then it made him restless to be with people and he wanted urgently to be alone. He set out for solitary walks into the country. There was a little stream, with pollards on both sides of it, that ran through green fields, and it made him happy, he knew not why, to wander along its banks. When he was tired he lay face-downward on the grass and watched the eager scurrying of minnows and of tadpoles. It gave him a peculiar satisfaction to saunter round the precincts. On the green in the middle they practised at nets in the summer, but during the rest of the year it was quiet: boys used to wander round sometimes arm in arm, or a studious fellow with abstracted gaze walked slowly, repeating to himself something he had to learn by heart. There was a colony of rooks in the great elms, and they filled the air with melancholy cries. Along one side lay the Cathedral with its great central tower, and Philip, who knew as yet nothing of beauty, felt when he looked at it a troubling delight which he could not understand. When he had a study (it was a little square room looking on a slum, and four boys shared it), he bought a photograph of that view of the Cathedral, and pinned it up over his desk. And he found himself taking a new interest in what he saw from the window of the Fourth Form room. It looked on to old lawns, carefully tended, and fine trees with foliage dense and rich. It gave him an odd feeling in his heart, and he did not know if it was pain or pleasure. It was the first dawn of the aesthetic emotion. It accompanied other changes. His voice broke. It was no longer quite under his control, and queer sounds issued from his throat.

Then he began to go to the classes which were held in the headmaster’s study, immediately after tea, to prepare boys for confirmation. Philip’s piety had not stood the test of time, and he had long since given up his nightly reading of the Bible; but now, under the influence of Mr. Perkins, with this new condition of the body which made him so restless, his old feelings revived, and he reproached himself bitterly for his backsliding. The fires of Hell burned fiercely before his mind’s eye. If he had died during that time when he was little better than an infidel he would have been lost; he believed implicitly in pain everlasting, he believed in it much more than in eternal happiness; and he shuddered at the dangers he had run.

Since the day on which Mr. Perkins had spoken kindly to him, when he was smarting under the particular form of abuse which he could least bear, Philip had conceived for his headmaster a dog-like adoration. He racked his brains vainly for some way to please him. He treasured the smallest word of commendation which by chance fell from his lips. And when he came to the quiet little meetings in his house he was prepared to surrender himself entirely. He kept his eyes fixed on Mr. Perkins’ shining eyes, and sat with mouth half open, his head a little thrown forward so as to miss no word. The ordinariness of the surroundings made the matters they dealt with extraordinarily moving. And often the master, seized himself by the wonder of his subject, would push back the book in front of him, and with his hands clasped together over his heart, as though to still the beating, would talk of the mysteries of their religion. Sometimes Philip did not understand, but he did not want to understand, he felt vaguely that it was enough to feel. It seemed to him then that the headmaster, with his black, straggling hair and his pale face, was like those prophets of Israel who feared not to take kings to task; and when he thought of the Redeemer he saw Him only with the same dark eyes and those wan cheeks.

Mr. Perkins took this part of his work with great seriousness. There was never here any of that flashing humour which made the other masters suspect him of flippancy. Finding time for everything in his busy day, he was able at certain intervals to take separately for a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes the boys whom he was preparing for confirmation. He wanted to make them feel that this was the first consciously serious step in their lives; he tried to grope into the depths of their souls; he wanted to instil in them his own vehement devotion. In Philip, notwithstanding his shyness, he felt the possibility of a passion equal to his own. The boy’s temperament seemed to him essentially religious. One day he broke off suddenly from the subject on which he had been talking.

‘Have you thought at all what you’re going to be when you grow up?’ he asked.

‘My uncle wants me to be ordained,’ said Philip.

‘And you?’

Philip looked away. He was ashamed to answer that he felt himself unworthy.

‘I don’t know any life that’s so full of happiness as ours. I wish I could make you feel what a wonderful privilege it is. One can serve God in every walk, but we stand nearer to Him. I don’t want to influence you, but if you made up your mind—oh, at once—you couldn’t help feeling that joy and relief which never desert one again.’

Philip did not answer, but the headmaster read in his eyes that he realised already something of what he tried to indicate.

‘If you go on as you are now you’ll find yourself head of the school one of these days, and you ought to be pretty safe for a scholarship when you leave. Have you got anything of your own?’

‘My uncle says I shall have a hundred a year when I’m twenty-one.’

‘You’ll be rich. I had nothing.’

The headmaster hesitated a moment, and then, idly drawing lines with a pencil on the blotting paper in front of him, went on.

‘I’m afraid your choice of professions will be rather limited. You naturally couldn’t go in for anything that required physical activity.’

Philip reddened to the roots of his hair, as he always did when any reference was made to his club-foot. Mr. Perkins looked at him gravely.

‘I wonder if you’re not oversensitive about your misfortune. Has it ever struck you to thank God for it?’

Philip looked up quickly. His lips tightened. He remembered how for months, trusting in what they told him, he had implored God to heal him as He had healed the Leper and made the Blind to see.

‘As long as you accept it rebelliously it can only cause you shame. But if you looked upon it as a cross that was given you to bear only because your shoulders were strong enough to bear it, a sign of God’s favour, then it would be a source of happiness to you instead of misery.’

He saw that the boy hated to discuss the matter and he let him go.

But Philip thought over all that the headmaster had said, and presently, his mind taken up entirely with the ceremony that was before him, a mystical rapture seized him. His spirit seemed to free itself from the bonds of the flesh and he seemed to be living a new life. He aspired to perfection with all the passion that was in him. He wanted to surrender himself entirely to the service of God, and he made up his mind definitely that he would be ordained. When the great day arrived, his soul deeply moved by all the preparation, by the books he had studied and above all by the overwhelming influence of the head, he could hardly contain himself for fear and joy. One thought had tormented him. He knew that he would have to walk alone through the chancel, and he dreaded showing his limp thus obviously, not only to the whole school, who were attending the service, but also to the strangers, people from the city or parents who had come to see their sons confirmed. But when the time came he felt suddenly that he could accept the humiliation joyfully; and as he limped up the chancel, very small and insignificant beneath the lofty vaulting of the Cathedral, he offered consciously his deformity as a sacrifice to the God who loved him.



第十七章

菲利普在接下来的两年里，生活虽说单凋，倒还算自在。比起另外一些个子同他相仿的学生来，也不见得受到更多的欺凌；他身有残疾，不能参加任何游戏活动，所以在外人眼里，有他没有他都无所谓，而菲利普也正求之不得。他默默无闻，形单影只。他在"瞌睡虫"先生的班上学了两个学期。这位"瞌睡虫"先生，成天耷拉着眼皮，一副没精打采的样子，似乎对一切都感到厌倦。他还算克尽职守，不过干什么都心不在焉。他心地善良，性情温和，就是有点迂拙。他对学生的品行很信得过；他认为，对教师来说，要使孩子们诚实可信，最要紧的是自己一刻也不该产生孩子可能会撒谎这种念头。他还引经据典地说："求豆者得豆，求瓜者得瓜。"在三年级高班里，日子着实好混。比如说，逢到解释课文，还未轮到自己，早就摸准了要解释哪几行，再加上作弊用的注释本又在学生手里传来递去，不消两分钟就可以查到所需要的东西。教师挨个儿提问时，学生可以把拉丁语语法书摊在自己的膝头上；即使在十几个学生的作业本上同时发现巧得令人难以置信的错误，"瞌睡虫"夫子也从不觉得这里面有何可疑之处。他不怎么相信考试，因为他注意到学生们考试起来成绩从不像平时在班上那么出色：这固然令人丧气，不过也无妨大局。到时候，学生们照样升级，他们虽然在学业上无甚长进，但是却学会了若无其事、厚着脸皮弄虚作假的本事，对于他们日后处世来说，这种本事说不定比识点拉丁文更管用呢。

随后，他们归"柏油"先生管教了。他真名叫特纳，在学校的老夫子中数他最富有生气。黝黑的肤色，五短身材，挺着个大肚子，下巴上的那一大把黑胡须已开始花白。他穿着那身牧师服，倒也真让人联想到柏油桶。平时要是无意听到有哪个孩子唤他的雅号，他就根据校规罚孩子抄五百行字，然而在教堂园地举行的聚餐会上，自己倒也常常拿这个雅号开几句玩笑。在教师中间，他最耽于世俗的享乐，外出赴宴比谁都勤。与之交往的人也不局限于牧师这个圈子。在学生们的眼里，他是个十足的无赖。一到了假期，这位夫子便脱去牧师服，有人曾看到他在瑞士穿了一套花里胡哨的粗呢服。他爱好杯中物，讲究口腹之欲。有一次，有人还看到他同一位女士--可能是他的一位近亲--在皇家餐馆对酌共餐。打这以后，好几代学生都认为此公耽于纵酒宴乐，这方面许多绘声绘色的详尽细节，足以证实人性堕落之说不容怀疑。

特纳先生估计，要改造这些在三年级高班呆过的学生，整饬他们的学风，得花整整一学期的工夫。他不时在学生面前狡黠地透点口风，表示对他同事班里的种种弊端洞悉无遗。面对这种情况，他倒也不恼火。在他看来，学生天生是些小痞子，只有在确信自己的谎言会露出马脚来的时候，他们才会稍许放老实些。他们有自己独特的荣誉感，而这种荣誉感在同教师打交道时完全不适用；等他们知道调皮捣蛋捞不到半点好处了，才能有所收敛。特纳先生颇为自己的班级感到自豪，尽管眼下已五十五岁了，可还是像初来学校执教时那样，热中于使自己班级的考试成绩胜过别的班级。他也像一般胖子那样，动辄发火，但火气来得快，消得也快；不多久，学生们就摸着了他的脾气，尽管他经常正言厉色，将他们痛加训斥，但是在他声色俱厉的表象下面，却自有一番亲切厚意。他对那些脑子不开窍的笨蛋很没有耐心，但是对于一些外表任性、内藏颖慧的淘气鬼，却能循循善诱，不厌其烦。他喜欢邀他们到自己房里用茶，尽管那些学生发誓说，同特纳先生一起喝茶时，从不见有蛋糕和松饼之类的点心--一般人总认为特纳先生如此发福，说明他饕餮贪食，而饕餮贪食则说明他肚里多了几条线虫--但他们还是真心乐意接受他的邀请的。

菲利普现在更惬意了：学校校舍并不宽舒，仅有的一些书室只供高年级学生享用。在这之前，他一直住在集体大宿舍里，学生们在里面吃饭，低年级学生还在那儿做功课，乱哄哄的，菲利普看了总有种说不出的滋味。同别人混在一起，常使他坐立不安，他渴望能让他一个人清静清静。他经常独个儿信步逛人乡间。那儿有条小溪，淙淙流过绿色的田野，小溪两岸耸立着一株株整了枝的大树。菲利普沿着河岸溜达，心里总觉着挺快乐，至于究竟乐在何处，他也说不出个所以然来。走累了，他就趴在岸边草地上，望着鲦鱼和蝌蚪在水里忙碌穿梭。在教堂园地里悠然漫步，给了他一种独特的满足之感。教堂园地中央有一片草地，夏天学生们在那儿练习打网球，而在其他季节，周围十分恬静。孩子们有时候手挽手地在草地上闲逛，间或有个别勤奋好学的孩子在那儿慢腾腾地踱步，眼睛里露出若有所思的神色，嘴里反复念叨着需要背熟的功课。一群白嘴鸦栖息在那几株参天榆树上，凄厉的哀鸣响彻长空。教堂矗立在草地的一侧，雄伟的中央塔楼刺破天穹。菲利普此时还不懂什么叫"美"，可是当他举目凝望教堂的时候，总是油然而生一股莫可名状的、令人困惑的喜悦之情。他搬进书室之后（那是一间俯视着贫民窟的四方斗室，由四个学生合住），买来一张大教堂的照片，把它钉在自己的书桌上方。有时他站在四年级教室里凭窗眺望，发觉从眼前的景色里自能领略到一番新的情趣。教室对面是一块块古色古香、保养得很好的草坪，其间错落着枝繁叶茂的葱郁树丛。这些景物给了菲利普某种奇怪的感受，说不清究竟是痛苦呢，还是喜悦。他心扉微开，第一回萌生出强烈的美感。与此同时，还出现了其他的变化。他的嗓音也开始变了，喉头不由自主地发出古怪的声调来。

菲利普开始到校长书斋里听校长上课，这是为给孩子们施坚信礼而设置的课程，时间在下午用过茶点之后。菲利普对上帝的虔敬热诚，没能经受住时间的考验，他早就丢掉了晚上念诵《圣经》的习惯。可是此时，在珀金斯先生的影响下，再加上身体内部所发生的使他如此心神不定的新变化，他旧情复萌了；他痛责自己虎头蛇尾，有始无终。他脑海里闪现出一幅地狱之火熊熊燃烧的图象。他的所作所为比起异教徒来，实在好不了多少，要是他此时此刻就咽气的话，一定会泯灭在地狱的怒火之中。他坚信永久苦难的存在，而就其程度来说，远远超过了对于永久幸福的笃信；他想到自己所冒的风险不免有点不寒而栗。

菲利普那天在班上当众受到最不堪忍受的凌辱之后，心里像针扎似地不住作痛，可就在这时，珀金斯先生却亲切地同菲利普谈了一席话，从此，菲利普便像家犬眷恋主人那样敬慕校长。他绞尽脑汁想讨好校长先生，可就是没门儿。出于校长之日的褒奖之词，哪怕是最微不足道的一言半语，他也视若珍宝。他来到校长住所参加那些非正式的小型聚会时，恨不得能扑倒在校长脚下。他端坐在那儿，目不转睛地望着珀金斯先生那对灼灼有光的眸子，嘴巴半张半闭，脑袋微微前倾，唯恐听漏一个字。学校的环境平淡无奇，这就使得他们谈论的内容分外扣人心弦。有时，甚至连校长本人也被自己奇妙的话题深深打动了，只见他将面前的书往前一推，十指交叉，紧贴在胸口，似乎是想遏制住心房的剧跳，醉眼陶然地讲述起扑朔迷离的宗教故事。有时菲利普并不理解，而他也不求领悟，他朦朦陇陵地觉得，只要能感觉到那种气氛就够了。在他看来，黑发蓬松、面容苍白的校长，此时酷似那些敢于直言申斥国王的以色列预言家；而当他想到基督耶稣时，又似乎看到耶稣也长着同样的黑眼睛和苍白面颊。

珀金斯先生承担这部分工作时，态度极其认真严肃。平时他谈吐幽默，妙语闪烁，致使学校的冬烘学究都疑心他生性轻浮，可是在上述场合，他总是容严心肃，不苟言笑。珀金斯先生从早忙到晚，事无巨细全都应付得过来，每隔一段时候，还能抽出一刻钟或二十分钟，分别接待那些准备受坚信礼的孩子。他要让他们意识到，这是他们在人生道路上自觉迈出的严肃的第一步。他力图在孩子们的心灵深处探索，把自己炽热的献身精神，灌注进孩子们的心灵。他觉得菲利普尽管外表羞怯，但内心却可能蕴藏着一股同自己不相上下的激情。在他看来，这孩子的气质，基本上是属于那种虔诚敬神的气质。有一天，他在同菲利普谈话时，猝然中断原来的话题，问道：

"你考虑过没有，自己长大了要干什么？"

"我大伯要我当牧师，"菲利普说。

"那你自己呢？"

菲利普转脸望着别处，他想说自己觉得不配侍奉上帝，却又羞于出口。

"我不知道世界上还有什么生活能像我们的生活这样充满幸福。但愿我能让你体会到，这是一种得天独厚的、了不起的荣幸。世人固然皆能以各种身分侍奉上帝，但我们离上帝更近。我并不想左右你的决定，不过，要是--噢，一旦--你拿定了主意，就一定会感受到那种永不消逝的欢乐和宽慰。"

菲利普没有回答，但是校长可以从菲利普的眼神里看出，这孩子对他这番话的寓意已心领神会。

"要是你能像现在这样刻苦攻读，持之以恒，要不了多久，你就会发现自己是全校首屈一指的高才生，这样，等你毕业时，就不愁拿不到奖学金。噢，你自己可有什么财产吗？"

"我大伯说，等我年满二十一岁，我每年可有一百镑的收入。"

"那你算得上是很阔绰的了。我那么大的时候可是两手空空，一无所有。"

校长沉吟了半晌，然后随手拿起一支铅笔，在面前的吸墨纸上漫不经心地画着线条，一面继续往下说：

"将来供你选择职业的余地，恐怕是相当有限呢。你自然没法从事任何需要体力的职业罗。"

菲利普的脸一直红到颈脖子，每逢有人稍一提及他的跛足，他总是这样。珀金斯先生神情严肃地望着他。

"不知道你对自己的不幸是否过于敏感了。你可曾想到过要为此感谢上帝？"

菲利普猛然抬起头来。他双唇紧闭，想着自己如何听信了别人的言词，一连好几个月，祈求上帝能像治愈麻风病人和盲人那样治愈自己的跛足。

"只要你在接受这种不幸时稍有违抗之意，那它就只能给你带来耻辱。要是你把它看作是上帝恩宠的表示，看作是因为见你双肩强壮，足以承受，才赐予你佩带的一枚十字架，那么它就不再是你痛苦的根由，而会成为你幸福的源泉。"

他看到这孩子不愿谈论此事，就让他走了。

但是事后，菲利普仔细回味了校长的每一句话，他顿时杂念全无，尽是想着即将面临的坚信礼仪，沉浸在神秘的、如醉如痴的狂喜之中。他的灵魂似乎挣脱了肉体的羁绊，他仿佛已开始了一种全新的生活；他全部身心的热情都被激发了起来，热切希望自己能进入尽善至美的境地。他要将整个身心奉献给上帝。他已经铁了心，要就圣职，当牧师。当这个伟大的日子终于来到时，他惊喜交加，几乎无法自持；他所作的一切准备，他所研读过的所有书籍，尤其是校长的一番令人折服的教诲，深深地感化了他的灵魂。有一个念头一直在折磨着他。他知道，他得独个儿穿过圣坛，他害怕在众目睽睽之下暴露自己一瘸一拐的步态，不光是暴露在参加仪式的全校师生面前，而且还暴露在本城人士或者特来参加儿子受坚信礼的学生家长这样一些陌生人面前。然而，临到最后一刻，他突然觉得自己完全可以带着欢愉的心情来承受这种屈屏。于是，菲利普瘸着腿，一步一步走向圣坛，他的身影在大教堂气势巍然的拱顶下，显得那么渺小，那么微不足道，他有意识地将自己的残疾作为一份祭品，奉献给怜爱他的上帝。
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