Chapter 1
BEGUN 1913 FINISHED 1914
Dedicated to a Happier Year
PART
Once a term the whole school went for a walk—that is to say the three masters took part as well as all the boys. It was usually a pleasant outing, and everyone looked for-ward to it, forgot old scores, and behaved with freedom. Lest discipline should suffer, it took place just before the holidays, when leniency does no harm, and indeed it seemed more like a treat at home than school, for Mrs Abrahams, the Principal's wife, would meet them at the tea place with some lady friends, and be hospitable and motherly.
Mr Abrahams was a preparatory schoolmaster of the old-fash-ioned sort. He cared neither for work nor games, but fed his boys well and saw that they did not misbehave. The rest he left to the parents, and did not speculate how much the parents were leaving to him. Amid mutual compliments the boys passed out into a public school, healthy but backward, to receive upon un-defended flesh the first blows of the world. There is much to be said for apathy in education, and Mr Abrahams's pupils did not do badly in the long run, became parents in their turn, and in some cases sent him their sons. Mr Read, the junior assistant, was a master of the same type, only stupider, while Mr Ducie, the senior, acted as a stimulant, and prevented the whole concern from going to sleep. They did not like him much, but knew that he was necessary. Mr Ducie was an able man, orthodox, but not out of touch with the world, nor incapable of seeing both sides
of a question. He was unsuitable for parents and the denser boys, but good for the first form, and had even coached pupils into a scholarship. Nor was he a bad organizer. While affecting to hold the reins and to prefer Mr Read, Mr Abrahams really allowed Mr Ducie a free hand and ended by taking him into partnership. Mr Ducie always had something on his mind. On this occasion it was Hall, one of the older boys, who was leaving them to go to a public school. He wanted to have a "good talk" with Hall, during the outing. His colleagues objected, since it would leave them more to do, and the Principal remarked that he had already talked to Hall, and that the boy would prefer to take his last walk with his school-fellows. This was probable, but Mr Ducie was never deterred from doing what is right. He smiled and was si-lent. Mr Read knew what the "good talk" would be, for early in their acquaintance they had touched on a certain theme profes-sionally. Mr Read had disapproved. "Thin ice," he had said. The Principal neither knew nor would have wished to know. Parting from his pupils when they were fourteen, he forgot they had de-veloped into men. They seemed to him a race small but com-plete, like the New Guinea pygmies, "my boys". And they were even easier to understand than pygmies, because they never married and seldom died. Celibate and immortal, the long pro-cession passed before him, its thickness varying from twenty-five to forty at a time. "I see no use in books on education. Boys be-gan before education was thought of." Mr Ducie would smile, for he was soaked in evolution.
From this to the boys.
"Sir, may I hold your hand.... Sir, you promised me...Both Mr. Abrahams's hands were bagged and all Mr Read's. ... Oh sir, did you hear that? He thinks Mr Read has three hands! . .. I didn't, I said 'fingers'. Green eye! Green eye!"
"When you have quite finished—!"
"Sir!"
"I'm going to walk with Hall alone."
There were cries of disappointment. The other masters, seeing that it was no good, called the pack off, and marshalled them along the cliff towards the downs. Hall, triumphant, sprang to Mr Ducie's side, and felt too old to take his hand. He was a plump, pretty lad, not in any way remarkable. In this he resem-bled his father, who had passed in the procession twenty-five years before, vanished into a public school, married, begotten a son and two daughters, and recently died of pneumonia. Mr Hall had been a good citizen, but lethargic. Mr Ducie had in-formed himself about him before they began the walk.
"Well, Hall, expecting a pi-jaw, eh?"
"I don't know, sir—Mr Abrahams' given me one with 'Those Holy Fields'. Mrs Abrahams' given me sleeve links. The fellows have given me a set of Guatemalas up to two dollars. Look, sir! The ones with the parrot on the pillar on."
"Splendid, splendid! What did Mr Abrahams say? Told you you were a miserable sinner, I hope."
The boy laughed. He did not understand Mr Ducie, but knew that he was meaning to be funny. He felt at ease because it was his last day at school, and even if he did wrong he would not get into a row. Besides, Mr Abrahams had declared him a success. "We are proud of him; he will do us honour at Sunnington": he had seen the beginning of the letter to his mother. And the boys had showered presents on him, declaring he was brave. A great mistake—he wasn't brave: he was afraid of the dark. But no one knew this.
"Well, what did Mr Abrahams say?" repeated Mr Ducie, when they reached the sands. A long talk threatened, and the boy wished he was up on the cliff with his friends, but he knew that wishing is useless when boy meets man.
"Mr Abrahams told me to copy my father, sir."
"Anything else?"
"I am never to do anything I should be ashamed to have mother see me do. No one can go wrong then, and the public school will be very different from this."
"Did Mr Abrahams say how?"
"All kinds of difficulties—more like the world."
"Did he tell you what the world is like?"
"No."
"Did you ask him?"
"No, sir."
"That wasn't very sensible of you, Hall. Clear things up. Mr Abrahams and I are here to answer your questions. What do you suppose the world—the world of grown-up people is like?"
"I can't tell. I'm a boy," he said, very sincerely. "Are they very treacherous, sir?"
Mr Ducie was amused and asked him what examples of treachery he had seen. He replied that grown-up people would not be unkind to boys, but were they not always cheating one another? Losing his schoolboy manner, he began to talk like a child, and became fanciful and amusing. Mr Ducie lay down on the sand to listen to him, lit his pipe, and looked up to the sky. The little watering-place where they lived was now far behind, the rest of the school away in front. The day was gray and wind-less, with little distinction between clouds and sun.
"You live with your mother, don't you?" he interrupted, seeing that the boy had gained confidence.
"Yes, sir."
"Have you any elder brothers?"
"No, sir—only Ada and Kitty."
"Any uncles?"
"No."
"So you don't know many men?"
"Mother keeps a coachman and George in the garden, but of course you mean gentlemen. Mother has three maid-servants tolook after the house, but they are so idle that they will not mend Ada's stockings. Ada is my eldest little sister."
"How old are you?"
"Fourteen and three quarters."
"Well, you're an ignorant little beggar." They laughed. After a pause he said, "When I was your age, my father told me some-thing that proved very useful and helped me a good deal." This was untrue: his father had never told him anything. But he needed a prelude to what he was going to say.
"Did he, sir?"
"Shall I tell you what it was?"
"Please, sir."
"I am going to talk to you for a few moments as if I were your father, Maurice! I shall call you by your real name." Then, very simply and kindly, he approached the mystery of sex. He spoke of male and female, created by God in the beginning in orderthat the earth might be peopled, and of the period when the male and female receive their powers. "You are just becoming a man now, Maurice; that is why I am telling you about this. It is not a thing that your mother can tell you, and you should not mention it to her nor to any lady, and if at your next school boys mention it to you, just shut them up; tell them you know. Have you heard about it before?"
"No, sir."
"Not a word?"
"No, sir."
Still smoking his pipe, Mr Ducie got up, and choosing a smooth piece of sand drew diagrams upon it with his walking-stick. "This will make it easier," he said to the boy, who watched dully: it bore no relation to his experiences. He was attentive, as
was natural when he was the only one in the class, and he knew that the subject was serious and related to his own body. But he could not himself relate it; it fell to pieces as soon as Mr Ducie put it together, like an impossible sum. In vain he tried. His torpid brain would not awake. Puberty was there, but not intel-ligence, and manhood was stealing on him, as it always must, in a trance. Useless to break in upon that trance. Useless to describe it, however scientifically and sympathetically. The boy assents and is dragged back into sleep, not to be enticed there before his hour.
Mr Ducie, whatever his science, was sympathetic. Indeed he was too sympathetic; he attributed cultivated feelings to Mau-rice, and did not realize that he must either understand nothing or be overwhelmed. "All this is rather a bother," he said, 'Taut one must get it over, one mustn't make a mystery of it. Then come the great things—Love, Life." He was fluent, having talked to boys in this way before, and he knew the kind of question they would ask. Maurice would not ask: he only said, "I see, I see, I see," and at first Mr Ducie feared he did not see. He ex-amined him. The replies were satisfactory. They boy's memory was good and—so curious a fabric is the human—he even de-veloped a spurious intelligence, a surface flicker to respond to the beaconing glow of the man's. In the end he did ask one or two questions about sex, and they were to the point. Mr Ducie was much pleased. "That's right," he said. "You need never be puzzled or bothered now."
Love and life still remained, and he touched on them as they strolled forward by the colourless sea. He spoke of the ideal man —chaste with asceticism. He sketched the glory of Woman. En-gaged to be married himself, he grew more human, and his eyes coloured up behind the strong spectacles; his cheek flushed. To love a noble woman, to protect and serve her—this, he told the
little boy, was the crown of life. "You can't understand now, you will some day, and when you do understand it, remember the poor old pedagogue who put you on the track. It all hangs to-gether—all—and God's in his heaven, All's right with the world. Male and female! Ah wonderful!"
"I think I shall not marry," remarked Maurice.
"This day ten years hence—I invite you and your wife to din-ner with my wife and me. Will you accept?"
"Oh sir!" He smiled with pleasure.
"It's a bargain, then!" It was at all events a good joke to end with. Maurice was nattered and began to contemplate marriage. But while they were easing off Mr Ducie stopped, and held his cheek as though every tooth ached. He turned and looked at the long expanse of sand behind.
"I never scratched out those infernal diagrams," he said slowly.
At the further end of the bay some people were following them, also by the edge of the sea. Their course would take them by the very spot where Mr Ducie had illustrated sex, and one of them was a lady. He ran back sweating with fear.
"Sir, won't it be all right?" Maurice cried. "The tide'll have covered them by now."
"Good Heavens ... thank God ... the tide's rising."
And suddenly for an instant of time, the boy despised him. "Liar," he thought. "Liar, coward, he's told me nothing." . . . Then darkness rolled up again, the darkness that is primeval but not eternal, and yields to its own painful dawn.
1913年动笔
1914年完稿
献给更幸福的一年
全校——也就是说，三位教师和所有的学生每个学期出去散步一次。那通常是令人愉悦的郊游，每个人都企盼着，将分数抛在脑后，无拘无束。为了避免扰乱纪律，总在临放假之前组织，这个时候即便放纵一些也不碍事。与其说仍在学校，倒好像是在家里接受款待，因为校长夫人亚伯拉罕太太会偕同几位女友在喝茶的地方跟他们相聚，热情好客，像慈母一样。
亚伯拉罕先生是—位旧脑筋的私立预备学校校长。功课也罢，体育活动也罢，他一概不放在心上，只顾让学生吃好，防止他们品行不端。其他的就听任学生的父母去管了，从未顾及过家长多么信任他。校方和家长相互恭维着，那些身体健康、学业落后的学生们遂升入公学（译注：公学是英国独立的中等学校，由私人资助和管理，培养准备升入大学的学生。学生主要来自上等阶层和富裕的中等阶层家庭。），世道朝着他们那毫无防备的肉体猛击一拳。教学不力这一点，大有讨论的余地，从长远来看，亚伯拉罕先生的学生们并不怎么差劲儿。轮到他们做父亲后，有的还把儿子送到母校来。副教务主任里德是同一个类型的教师，只是更愚蠢一些。而教务主任杜希，却是本校的一副兴奋剂，使得全盘的教育方针不至于沉闷。那两个人不怎么喜欢他，但却知道他是不可或缺的。杜希先生是一位干练的教师，正统的教育家，既懂得人情世故，又有本事从两方面来看问题。他不善于跟家长周旋，也不适宜跟迟钝的学生打交道，却擅长教一年级。他把学生们培养成热爱读书的人，他的组织能力也不赖。亚伯拉罕先生表面上掌权，并做出一副偏爱里德先生的样子，骨子里却任凭杜希先生处理一切，到头来还让他做了共同经营者。
杜希先生老是惦念着什么。这次是高班的一个名叫霍尔的学生，不久就要跟他们告别，升人公学。他想在郊游的时候跟霍尔“畅谈”一番。他的同事们表示异议，因为事后会给他们添麻烦。校长说他们已经谈过话了，况且霍尔宁愿和同学们在一起，因为这是他最后一次散步。很可能是如此，然而凡是正当的事，杜希先生素来是一不做，二不休。他面泛微笑，一声不响。里德先生知道他要“畅谈”什么。因为他们初结识之际，在交流教育的经验时触及过一个问题。当时，里德先生反对杜希先生的意见，说那是“如履薄冰”。校长并不知道此事，他也不愿意知道。他那帮学生长到十四岁就离开他了，他忘记他们已经长成男子汉了。对他来说，他们好像是小型而完整的种族一“我的学生”，不啻是新几内亚的俾格米人（译注：俾格米人是现代人类学术语，专指男性平均身高不足150厘米的人种）。他们比俾格米人还容易理解，因为他们决不结婚，轻易不会死掉。这些单身汉是永生的，排成一字长队从他面前经过，数目不等，少则二十五名，多则四十名。“依我看，关于教育学的书没有用处，还没产生‘教育’这个概念的时候，孩子们就已经这样了。”杜希先生听罢，一笑置之，因为他专心研究进化论。
那么，学生们又如何呢？
“老师，我能拉着您的手吗？……老师，您答应过我的……亚伯拉罕老师的两只手都腾不出来。里德老师的手全都……啊，老师，您听见了吗？他以为里德老师有三只手呢！……我没那么说，我说的是‘指头’。吃醋喽！吃醋喽！”
“你们说完了吧！”
“老师！”
“我只跟霍尔一个人走。”
一片失望的喊声。其他两位教师发觉拦不住他，就把孩子们打发走，让他们沿着海边的悬崖朝沙丘走去。霍尔得意洋洋地一个箭步来到杜希先生身旁，但觉得自己的年龄大了，所以没拉住老师的手。他是胖胖的英俊少年，没有任何出众之处，在这一点上与他的父亲如出一辙。二十五年前，他父亲曾排在队伍里从校长面前走过去，消失到一家公学中，结了婚，成为一个男孩两个女孩的父亲，最近死于肺炎。霍尔生前是一位好市民，但工作懒散。郊游之前，杜希先生预先查明了这些情况。
“喂，霍尔，你以为会听到一通说教吧，嗯？”
“我不知道，老师。亚伯拉罕老师在说教之后给了我一本《神圣的田野》（译注：《神圣的田野》是萨缪尔.曼宁牧师写的一部宗教地理著作）。亚伯拉罕太太送给我一对袖口链扣。同学们给了我一套面值两元的危地马拉邮票。您看这张邮票，老师！柱子上还有一只鹦鹉呢。”
“好极啦，好极啦！亚伯拉罕老师说了些什么？是不是说你是个可怜的罪人呢？”
男孩大笑起来。他没听懂杜希先生的话，然而知道那是在开玩笑。他悠然自得，因为这是在本校的最后一天了。即便做错了，也不会被斥责。何况亚伯拉罕老师还说他成绩很好。他瞥过一眼校长写给他母亲的那封信的开头部分：“我们因他而自豪。他人萨宁顿之后，也会给本校添光彩。”同学们送给他许许多多礼物，声称他勇敢。然而大错特错——他不勇敢：他惧怕黑暗。但是没人知道这些。
“喏，亚伯拉罕老师说什么来着？”当他们走到沙滩上之后，杜希先生重复了一遍。这预示着将有一番冗长的谈话，男孩希望自己跟同学们一起在悬崖上步行。然而他知道，当一个孩子遇上一个成人的时候，孩子的愿望是无济于事的。
“亚伯拉罕老师教我效仿我父亲，老师。”
“还说了什么？”
“我决不能做任何羞于让我母亲知道的事。这样的话，任何人都不会误入歧途。他还说公学跟本校迥然不同。”
“亚伯拉罕老师说过怎样不同了吗？”
“困难重重——更像是两个世界。”
“他告诉你这个世界的情况了吗？”
“没有。”
“你问他了吗？”
“没有，老师。”
“这你就不够明智了，霍尔。你应该把事情弄清楚。亚伯拉罕老师和我就是待在这儿替你们解答问题的。你认为这个世界——也就是成人的世界是什么样的呢？”
“我说不上来，我不过是个孩子。”他非常真诚地说，“他们极其奸诈吗？老师？”
杜希先生觉得有趣，让他举例说明自己所看到的奸诈行为。他回答说，成年人不欺负孩子，然而他们相互间不总是在尔虞我诈吗？他抛弃了学生应有的规矩，说起话来像孩子一般，变得充满幻想，很有意思。杜希先生躺在沙滩上倾听，他点燃烟斗，仰望天空。如今他们已把寄宿学校所在的矿泉地甩在后面了，一群师生则在遥远的前方。天色灰暗，没有风，云彩与太阳混沌一片。
“你跟你母亲住在一起吗？”杜希先生看出男孩有了自信，就打断他的话问道。
“是的，老师。”
“你有哥哥吗？”
“没有，老师——只有艾达和吉蒂。”
“伯伯叔叔呢？”
“没有。”
“那么，你不大认识成年的男人吧？”
“母亲雇用一个马车夫，还有一个名叫乔治的园丁。然而您指的当然是绅士喽。母亲还雇了三个做家务的女佣，可她们懒得很，连艾达的袜子都不肯补。艾达是我的大妹妹。”
“你多大啦？”
“十四岁九个月。”
“喏，你是个不开窍的小家伙。”他们二人笑了。他歇了口气，又说下去，“我在你这个年龄的时候，我父亲告诉了我一件事．极其有用，受益匪浅。”这不是真的，他父亲从来没有告诉过他任何事。但是在进入正题之前，他需要一段开场白。
“是吗，老师？”
“我跟你说说他都告诉了我些什么事，好吗？”
“好的，老师。”
“我就只当做了你的父亲，跟你聊几分钟，莫瑞斯！我现在用你的教名称呼你。”于是，他非常直率诚恳地探讨起性的神秘来。他谈到原始时代神创造了男性与女性，以便让大地上充满了人，还谈到了男女能发挥本能的时期。“莫瑞斯，你快要成人了，所以我才告诉你这些事。你母亲不能跟你谈这个，你也不应该对她或任何一个女子提起这个话题。倘若在你即将要去的那座学校里，同学们跟你提到这事，就堵住他们的嘴，告诉他们你已经知道了。你原来听说过吗？”
“没有，老师。”
“一句也没听说过？”
“没有，老师。”
杜希先生站了起来，继续抽着烟斗，他看中了一片平坦的沙地，并在上面用手杖画了示意图。“这样一来就容易理解了。”男孩呆呆地看着，好像与他的人生风马牛不相及。他专心致志地倾听，很自然，老师在给他一个人授课。他知道话题是严肃的，涉及自己的肉体。但是他无法把它与自己联系起来，这就犹如一道难以解答的问题，杜希先生的说明自右耳朵进去，从左耳朵出来，简直是白费力气。他头脑迟钝，反应不过来。虽然进入了青春期，却茫然无知，性的冲动在恍惚状态下正悄悄地潜入他的身体内部。打破这种恍惚状态是无济于事的，不论怎样科学地、善意地加以描述也没有用。少年被唤醒后会重新昏睡起来，那个时期到来之前，是无法将他引诱进去的。
不论杜希先生的科学知识怎样，侧隐之心是有的。说实在的，他太温情了，认为莫瑞斯具备有教养的人的理智，却不曾领悟孩子要么对此一窍不通，要么会弄得不知所措。“这一切挺麻烦的，”他说，“可是得了解它，而不该把它看得很神秘。伟大的事情——爱、人生——将接踵而至。”他口若悬河。以往他也曾跟孩子们像这样谈过，而且知道他们会提出些什么问题。莫瑞斯却不发问，只是说：“我明白，我明白，我明白。”起初杜希先生怕他不明白，就问了一番，他的回答令人满意。男孩的记性很好。人的思维真是妙不可言，他甚至进一步阐述了似是而非的领悟，对成年人那诱导的光亮做出反应，闪烁出徒有其表的光辉。最后他确实提出了一两个关于性的问题，都很中肯，杜希先生十分满意。“就是那样。”他说，“这回你就永远不会迷惑不解或感到烦恼了。”
然而，还有爱与人生的问题。当他们沿着暗灰色的海边漫步的时候，他谈到这些。他谈到由于禁欲的缘故变得纯洁的理想人物，他描绘了女性的光辉。目前已订了婚的他，越谈越富于人情味儿，透过深度眼镜，目光炯炯有神。他的两颊泛红了。爱一个高尚的女子，保护并侍奉她——他告诉这个稚气的男孩，人生的意义就在于此。“眼下你还不能理解这些，有一天你会理解的。当你理解了的时候，可要记起那个启蒙你的老教师。所有的事都安排得严丝合缝——神在天上，尘世太平无事。男人和女人！多么美妙啊！”
“我认为我是不会结婚的。”莫瑞斯说。
“十年后的今天——我邀请你和你太太跟我和夫人一起吃饭。你肯光临吗？”
“哦，老师！”他笑逐颜开。
“那么，一言为定！”不管怎样，用这句笑话来结束今天的谈话．可谓恰如其分。莫瑞斯受宠若惊，开始深思婚姻问题。然而，’l1他们溜达了一段后，杜希先生停下脚步，好像所有的牙齿都疼痛起来一般，双手捧着两颊。他转过身去，望着来路那长长的一片沙地。
“我忘记抹掉那些该死的示意图啦。”他慢吞吞地说。
海湾那边有几个人，正沿着海岸朝着他们走来。其中还有个女人，他们的路线刚好经过杜希先生所画的性器官图解。他吓出一身冷汗，拔腿就往回奔。
“老师，不要紧吧？”莫瑞斯大声喊道。“现在潮水早把它们淹没了。”
“天哪……谢天谢地……涨潮啦。”
刹那间，男孩猛地鄙视起他来。“撒谎大王！”他想。“撒谎大王，胆小鬼，他所说的都是无稽之谈。”……接着，黑暗将少年笼罩住。久远的然而并非是永恒的黑暗落下帷幕，等待着自身那充满痛苦的黎明。
Chapter 2
Maurices mother lived near London, in a comfortable villa among some pines. There he and his sisters had been born, and thence his father had gone up to business every day, thither, returning. They nearly left when the church was built, but they became accustomed to it, as to everything, and even found it a convenience. Church was the only place Mrs Hall had to go to—the shops delivered. The station was not far either, nor was a tolerable day school for the girls. It was a land of facilities, where nothing had to be striven for, and suc-cess was indistinguishable from failure.
Maurice liked his home, and recognized his mother as its pre-siding genius. Without her there would be no soft chairs or food or easy games, and he was grateful to her for providing so much, and loved her. He liked his sisters also. When he arrived they ran out with cries of joy, took off his greatcoat, and dropped it for the servants on the floor of the hall. It was nice to be the centre of attraction and show off about school. His Guatemala stamps were admired—so were "Those Holy Fields" and a Hol-bein photograph that Mr Ducie had given him. After tea the weather cleared, and Mrs Hall put on her goloshes and walked with him round the grounds. They went kissing one another and conversing aimlessly.
"Morrie ..."
"Mummie ..."
"Now I must give my Morrie a lovely time."
"Where's George?"
"Such a splendid report from Mr Abrahams. He says you re-mind him of your poor father. . .. Now what shall we do these holidays?"
"I like here best."
"Darling boy..." She embraced him, more affectionately than ever.
"There is nothing like home, as everyone finds. Yes, toma-toes—" she liked reciting the names of vegetables. "Tomatoes, radishes, broccoli, onions—"
"Tomatoes, broccoli, onions, purple potatoes, white potatoes," droned the little boy.
"Turnip tops—"
"Mother, where's George?"
"He left last week."
"Why did George leave?" he asked.
"He was getting too old. Howell always changes the boy every two years."
"Oh."
"Turnip tops," she continued, "potatoes again, beetroot— Morrie, how would you like to pay a little visit to grandpapa and Aunt Ida if they ask us? I want you to have a very nice time this holiday, dear—you have been so good, but then Mr Abrahams is such a good man; you see, your father was at his school too, and we are sending you to your father's old public school too— Sunnington—in order that you may grow up like your dear father in every way."
A sob interrupted her.
"Morrie,darling —"
The little boy was in tears.
"My pet, what is it?"
"I don't know... I don't know..."
"Why, Maurice .. ."
He shook his head. She was grieved at her failure to make him happy, and began to cry too. The girls ran out, exclaiming, "Mother, what's wrong with Maurice?"
"Oh, don't," he wailed. "Kitty, get out—"
"He's overtired," said Mrs Hall—her explanation for every-thing.
"I'm overtired."
"Come to your room, Morrie—Oh my sweet, this is really too dreadful."
"No—I'm all right." He clenched his teeth, and a great mass of sorrow that had overwhelmed him by rising to the surface began to sink. He could feel it going down into his heart until he was conscious of it no longer. "I'm all right." He looked around him fiercely and dried his eyes. "I'll play Halma, I think." Before the pieces were set, he was talking as before; the childish collapse was over.
He beat Ada, who worshipped him, and Kitty, who did not, and then ran into the garden again to see the coachman. "How d'ye do, Howell. How's Mrs Howell? How d'ye do, Mrs Howell," and so on, speaking in a patronizing voice, different from that he used to gentlefolks. Then altering back, "Isn't it a new garden boy?"
"Yes, Master Maurice."
"Was George too old?"
"No, Master Maurice. He wanted to better himself."
"Oh, you mean he gave notice."
"That's right."
"Mother said he was too old and you gave him notice."
"No, Master Maurice."
"My poor woodstacks'll be glad," said Mrs Howell. Maurice
and the late garden boy had been used to play about in them.
"They are Mother's woodstacks, not yours," said Maurice and went indoors. The Howells were not offended, though they pre-tended to be so to one another. They had been servants all their lives, and liked a gentleman to be a snob. "He has quite a way with him already," they told the cook. "More like his father."
The Barrys, who came to dinner, were of the same opinion. Dr Barry was an old friend, or rather neighbour, of the family, and took a moderate interest in them. No one could be deeply inter-ested in the Halls. Kitty he liked—she had hints of grit in her— but the girls were in bed, and he told his wife afterwards that Maurice ought to have been there too. "And stop there all his life. As he will. Like his father. What is the use of such people?"
When Maurice did go to bed, it was reluctantly. That room always frightened him. He had been such a man all the evening, but the old feeling came over him as soon as his mother had kissed him good night. The trouble was the looking-glass. He did not mind seeing his face in it, nor casting a shadow on the ceiling, but he did mind seeing his shadow on the ceiling re-flected in the glass. He would arrange the candle so as to avoid the combination, and then dare himself to put it back and be gripped with fear. He knew what it was, it reminded him of nothing horrible. But he was afraid. In the end he would dash out the candle and leap into bed. Total darkness he could bear, but this room had the further defect of being opposite a street lamp. On good nights the light would penetrate the curtains un-alarmingly, but sometimes blots like skulls fell over the furni-ture. His heart beat violently, and he lay in terror, with all his household close at hand.
As he opened his eyes to look whether the blots had grown smaller, he remembered George. Something stirred in the unfathomable depths of his heart. He whispered, "George,
George." Who was George? Nobody—just a common servant. Mother and Ada and Kitty were far more important. But he was too little to argue this. He did not even know that when he yielded to this sorrow he overcame the spectral and fell asleep.
莫瑞斯的母亲住在伦敦郊外的一座松林环绕、舒适安逸的老宅里。他和妹妹们都是在这儿出生的，父亲每天从这里去上班，下班后再回来。修建起教堂的时候，他们差点儿搬家，然而他们对教堂也跟对其他的一切那样习惯起来，甚至发现教堂自有好处。惟独教堂是霍尔夫人非去不可的地方，因为家家店铺都送货上门。车站相距不远，女儿们就读的那所还算不错的学校也很近。这是一个凡事都方便的地方，没有任何值得为之拼搏的事物，成功与失败难以分辨。
莫瑞斯喜爱自己这个家，并把母亲看做保佑它的守护神。没有她的话，就不会有柔软的椅子、可口的食物以及轻松的游戏。由于她提供了这么多，他对她不胜感激，并且爱她。他也喜欢妹妹们，他一回家，她们就欢呼着跑出来，帮他脱下厚大衣，将它丢在门厅的地上，让仆人们收拾。像这样被大家捧着，把学校的事夸耀一番，是很惬意的。他那些危地马拉邮票、那本《神圣的田野》的书，以及杜希先生送给他的一帧霍尔拜因照片（译注：德国的霍尔拜因家族中有两位肖像画家最著名，名叫大霍尔拜因（约1465-1524）、小霍尔拜因（1497/1498-1543）。此处指根据肖像拍成的照片。），均受到称赞。喝完茶，天放晴了，霍尔太太穿上高筒橡皮套鞋，跟他一起在庭园里散步。母子二人边走边不时地吻一下，有一搭没一搭地聊着。
“莫瑞……”
“妈咪……”
“现在我得让我的莫瑞过上一段快乐的日子。”
“乔治在哪儿呢？”
“亚伯拉罕先生写来了一份非常出色的成绩报告单。他说，你使他想起你那可怜的父亲。……喂，咱们怎样度过这段假期好呢？”
“我最喜欢待在家里。”
“多乖的孩子啊……”她更亲热地拥抱了他。
“人人都认为任何地方都没有自己的家好。是啊，这里有西红柿——”她喜欢列举蔬菜的名字，“西红柿、萝卜、花椰菜、圆葱头——”
“西红柿、花椰菜、圆葱头、褐皮土豆、浅色皮土豆。”小男孩懒洋洋地说着。
“芜菁叶——”
“妈妈，乔治在哪儿呢？”
“上星期他辞工了。”
“乔治为什么要辞工？”他问道。
“他的年龄太大啦。豪厄尔总是每两年换一个小伙子。”
“哦。”
“芜菁叶，”她接着说下去，“土豆、甜菜根——莫瑞，要是外祖父和艾达姨妈邀请咱们-你愿意不愿意去？我想让你过个非常快乐的假期。亲爱的——你的成绩多棒哇。不过，亚伯拉罕先生这个人真好。要知道，你爸爸也在他那所学校念过书。为了让你成长得跟你爸爸一模一样，我们把你也送到你爸爸的母校萨宁顿公学去。”
一阵抽泣声打断了她的话。
“莫瑞，乖乖——”
小男孩泪流满面。
“我的乖乖，你怎么啦？”
“我不知道……我不知道……”
“哎呀，莫瑞斯……”
他摇摇头。她没能让他感到愉快，也开始哭起来。女孩们跑了出来，惊叫道：“妈妈，莫瑞斯怎么啦？”
“哦，别……”他大声哭叫，“吉蒂，走开——”
“他太累啦。”霍尔太太说—一凡事她都这么解释。
“我太累啦。”
“到你的屋里去吧，莫瑞——啊，我亲爱的，真是太可怕啦。”
“不——我不要紧。”他咬紧牙关。于是，冒到意识表层的使他突然感到不能自持的那一大团悲哀开始下沉了。他觉察出它降人到自己的心灵深处，终于再也意识不到了。“我不要紧。”他恶狠狠地四下里看了看，将眼泪挤干。“我想玩希腊跳棋。”（译注：希腊跳棋发明于1880年。在方形棋盘上绘有256个方格，双方将棋子从棋盘一角移至对角，先移完者胜。两人玩时每人有19个子，也可以三人玩。） 还没摆好棋子，他就已经能够像平时那样谈话了。那阵稚气的精神崩溃症状消失了。
他把崇拜他的艾达打败了，并将不崇拜他的吉蒂也打败了。接着，他重新跑到庭院里去看望车夫。“你好，豪厄尔。豪厄尔大婶在吗？你好，豪厄尔大婶。”不同于跟社会地位高的人交谈，他用一种屈尊俯就的腔调跟他们说话。接着，话题一转，“那是新来的小园丁吗？”
“是的，莫瑞斯少爷。”
“乔治年龄太大了吗？”
“不是的，莫瑞斯少爷。他找到了一份更好的工作。”
“哦，你的意思是说，是他自己辞工的。”
“可不是嘛。”
“妈妈说，你嫌他年龄太大了，就把他辞掉了。”
“不是这么回事，莫瑞斯少爷。”
“这下子我那堆可怜的柴火就高兴了。”豪厄尔大婶说。莫瑞斯和原先那个园丁总是将柴火垛当游戏场。“那是我妈妈的柴火垛，不是你的。”莫瑞斯说罢，掉头进屋去了。尽管豪厄尔夫妇相互间假装对此耿耿于怀，其实他们并没有感到不快。他们做了一辈子仆人，喜欢自命不凡的主人。
“少爷已经蛮有派头儿啦，”他们对厨师说，“越来越像老爷了。”
应邀来吃晚饭的巴里夫妇有着同样的看法。巴里大夫是这家人的老朋友，或者说是邻居，对他们有一定的兴趣。谁也不会深切关注霍尔家族。他喜欢吉蒂一她有那么一股刚毅劲头——然而女孩们都已经上床了。事后他告诉自己的妻子，莫瑞斯也该待在床上。“在那儿结束他的一生。他会这样的，就像他的父亲一样。这种人到底有什么用呢？”
莫瑞斯终于勉勉强强地上了床，那间卧室一向使他害怕。整个晚上他都做出一个男人的样子，然而当他的母亲道晚安吻别他的时候，原来的感觉又回来了。是那面镜子在作怪。他并不介意照在镜子里的自己的脸，也不在乎天花板上映着自己的投影，然而他却怕天花板上自己那个投影映现在镜中。他把蜡烛挪开，以便拆散这种组合，随后又鼓起勇气将蜡烛放回原处，顿时又惊恐万状。他知道那究竟是怎么回事，它并没使他联想到任何可怕的事，但是他很害怕。最后，他扑灭蜡烛，跳进被窝里。他能忍受伸手不见五指的黑暗，但这间屋子有着比镜子还严重的缺点：面对着一盏街灯。有些夜晚运气好，灯光丝毫不令人惊恐地透过窗帘照射进来。然而有时头盖骨般的黑斑会落在家具上，他的心脏就怦怦地猛跳，他惊慌失措地躺着，其实全家人近在咫尺。
他睁开眼睛看看那些黑斑是否缩小了。这时他想起了乔治。心中那不可测的深处，不知何物在蠕动。他喃喃自语：“乔治，乔治。”乔治是谁呢？无足轻重的人——一个普普通通的仆人而已。妈妈、艾达和吉蒂比他重要多了。然而他毕竟太小，考虑不周。他甚至不曾意识到，当自己沉浸在悲哀中时，竟制服了心里的鬼怪，进入了梦乡。
Chapter 3
Sunnington was the next stage in Maurice's career.
He traversed it without attracting attention. He was not good at work, though better than he pretended, nor colos-sally good at games. If people noticed him they liked him, for he had a bright friendly face and responded to attention; but there were so many boys of his type—they formed the back-bone of the school and we cannot notice each vertebra. He did the usual things—was kept in, once caned, rose from form to form on the classical side till he clung precariously to the sixth, and he became a house prefect, and later a school prefect and member of the first fifteen. Though clumsy, he had strength and physical pluck: at cricket he did not do so well. Having been bullied as a new boy, he bullied others when they seemed un-happy or weak, not because he was cruel but because it was the proper thing to do. In a word, he was a mediocre member of a mediocre school, and left a faint and favourable impression be-hind. "Hall? Wait a minute, which was Hall? Oh yes, I remem-ber; clean run enough."
Beneath it all, he was bewildered. He had lost the precocious clearness of the child which transfigures and explains the uni-verse, offering answers of miraculous insight and beauty. "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings . . ." But not out of the mouth of the boy of sixteen. Maurice forgot he had ever been sexless, and only realized in maturity how just and clear the
sensations of his earliest days must have been. He sank far below them now, for he was descending the Valley of the Shadow of Life. It lies between the lesser mountains and the greater, and without breathing its fogs no one can come through. He groped about in it longer than most boys.
Where all is obscure and unrealized the best similitude is a dream. Maurice had two dreams at school; they will interpret him.
In the first dream he felt very cross. He was playing football against a nondescript whose existence he resented. He made an effort and the nondescript turned into George, that garden boy. But he had to be careful or it would reappear. George headed down the field towards him, naked and jumping over the wood-stacks. "I shall go mad if he turns wrong now," said Maurice, and just as they collared this happened, and a brutal disappoint-ment woke him up. He did not connect it with Mr Ducie's homily, still less with his second dream, but he thought he was going to be ill, and afterwards that it was somehow a punish-ment for something.
The second dream is more difficult to convey. Nothing hap-pened. He scarcely saw a face, scarcely heard a voice say, "That is your friend," and then it was over, having filled him with beauty and taught him tenderness. He could die for such a friend, he would allow such a friend to die for him; they would make any sacrifice for each other, and count the world nothing, neither death nor distance nor crossness could part them, be-cause "this is my friend." Soon afterwards he was confirmed and tried to persuade himself that the friend must be Christ. But Christ has a mangy beard. Was he a Greek god, such as illus-trates the classical dictionary? More probable, but most prob-ably he was just a man. Maurice forbore to define his dream further. He had dragged it as far into life as it would come. He
would never meet that man nor hear that voice again, yet they became more real than anything he knew, and would actually—
"Hall! Dreaming again! A hundred lines!"
"Sir—oh! Dative absolute."
"Dreaming again. Too late." —would actually pull him back to them in broad daylight and drop a curtain. Then he would reimbibe the face and the four words, and would emerge yearning with tenderness and longing to be kind to everyone, because his friend wished it, and to be good that his friend might become more fond of him. Misery was somehow mixed up with all this happiness. It seemed as certain that he hadn't a friend as that he had one, and he would find a lonely place for tears, attributing them to the hundred lines.
Maurice's secret life can be understood now; it was part bru-tal, part ideal, like his dreams.
As soon as his body developed he became obscene. He sup-posed some special curse had descended on him, but he could not help it, for even when receiving the Holy Communion filthy thoughts would arise in his mind. The tone of the school was pure—that is to say, just before his arrival there had been a ter-rific scandal. The black sheep had been expelled, the remainder were drilled hard all day and policed at night, so it was his fortune or misfortune to have little opportunity of exchanging experiences with his school-fellows. He longed for smut, but heard little and contributed less, and his chief indecencies were solitary. Books: the school library was immaculate, but while at his grandfather's he came across an unexpurgated Martial, and stumbled about in it with burning ears. Thoughts: he had a dirty little collection. Acts: he desisted from these after the novelty was over, finding that they brought him more fatigue than pleasure.
All which, if it can be understood, took place in a trance. Maurice had fallen asleep in the Valley of the Shadow, far be-neath the peaks of either range, and knew neither this nor that his school-fellows were sleeping likewise.
The other half of his life seemed infinitely remote from ob-scenity. As he rose in the school he began to make a religion of some other boy. When this boy, whether older or younger than himself, was present, he would laugh loudly, talk absurdly, and be unable to work. He dared not be kind—it was not the thing —still less to express his admiration in words. And the adored one would shake him off before long, and reduce him to sulks. However, he had his revenges. Other boys sometimes wor-shipped him, and when he realized this he would shake off them. The adoration was mutual on one occasion, both yearning for they knew not what, but the result was the same. They quar-relled in a few days. All that came out of the chaos were the two feelings of beauty and tenderness that he had first felt in a dream. They grew yearly, flourishing like plants that are all leaves and show no sign of flower. Towards the close of his edu-cation at Sunnington the growth stopped. A check, a silence, fell upon the complex processes, and very timidly the youth began to look around him.
萨宁顿是莫瑞斯的人生中的下一个舞台。他没有引起人们注目地横穿过去。他的成绩不佳，其实比他装出来的要好，体育方面也不突出。人们倘若注意到他，就会喜欢他，因为他长着一张开朗亲切的面孔，对旁人的关切立即做出反应。然而，像他这种类型的少年比比皆是—一他们构成了学校的脊椎，我们不可能端详每一块椎骨。他走的是一条平凡的路一被关过禁闭，挨过一次鞭笞，作为古典文学专业的学生，一级级地升班，好歹升到六年级。他成了学生宿舍的舍监，后来又任全校的监督生，并被选为足球队员。尽管笨手笨脚，他却很有力气，身子骨很结实。板球嘛，他打得不怎么好。作为新生，他曾被欺负过；他反过来欺负那些看上去闷闷不乐或孱弱的学生，并非由于他残忍，而是由于这是司空见惯的事。总之，他是一所平庸的学校的平庸的成员，给人留下个模糊而良好的印象。“霍尔？且慢，谁是霍尔？啊，对，想起来了，那家伙还不赖。”
这一切是表面现象，骨子里他感到困惑。他已失却儿时的早熟的鲜明个性，那时，他曾把宇宙理想化并做出解释，结论是宇宙中充满了奇妙的洞察与美。“出自婴儿和乳臭未干的小儿之口……”而不是一个十六岁少年的言论。莫瑞斯忘记了自己曾有过无性的时期，如今进入成熟年龄，方领悟到孩提时候的知觉是多么正确明智。目前他已下沉到比那时低得多的地方，因为他正朝着生荫的幽谷（译注：作者把《旧约•诗篇》第23篇的“死荫的幽谷”改为“生荫的幽谷”。）往下降。该谷位于矮山与高山之间，除非先饱吸弥漫在那里的雾气，谁也穿不过去。他在里面探索的时间比绝大多数少年要长。
一切都是模糊而非现实的，酷似一场梦。莫瑞斯在学校里做过两场梦。它们能够象征这个时期的他。
在第一场梦中，他感到非常暴躁。他在踢足球，对手是他十分厌恶的一个没有特征的人。他竭力想看清楚，那个不易分辨的人忽然变成了小园丁乔治。但是他不得不小心谨慎，否则那个人会重新出现。乔治沿着田野朝他奔跑，赤裸着身子，从柴火垛上一蹿而过。“倘若他这时变得不对劲了，我会发疯的。”莫瑞斯说。他和乔治刚刚抓住对方的时候事情就发生了，强烈的失望使他惊醒。他不曾把这与杜希先生那番说教联系在一起，更无从与第二场梦联系上，然而他认为自己会患病的，后来又觉得这是为某些事遭到了惩罚。
第二场梦就更难以说明了，什么也没发生。他几乎没瞧见那张脸，勉勉强强听见了一个声音：“这是你的朋友。”就结束了。然而，这使他心中充满了美好，使他变得温柔。为了这样一位朋友，就是赴死，也在所不辞；他也容许这样一位朋友为自己赴死。他们彼此问肯做出任何牺牲，不把俗世放在眼里。死亡、距离也罢，龃龉也罢，都不可能将他们疏远，因为“这是我的朋友”。不久之后，他接受了坚振礼（译注：也译作“坚信礼”。基督教礼仪，象征一个人通过洗礼同上帝建立的关系得到巩固。婴儿受洗后，满七岁即可受坚振礼，自此能获得圣灵赐予的恩典、力量和勇气。）。他试图说服自己，那位朋友肯定是基督。可是耶稣基督蓄着肮脏的胡须。难道他是个希腊神吗？就像古典词典中所画的？很可能是的。然而他最有可能只是个凡人。莫瑞斯克制住自己，不再进一步试图阐明他的梦了。相反地，他把梦拖到现实生活中来。他再也不会遇见那个人，更不会听到那声音，但它们比现实世界的任何现象都更真实，遂引起了这么一件事：
“霍尔！你又做梦哪！罚你抄写一百行！”
“老师——啊！绝对与格。（译注：“与格”是指名词的语法上的格）”
“又做梦，适可而止吧。”
遇到这样的场合，他就在光天化日之下被拖回到梦中去，拉严帷幕。于是重新沉浸在那张脸和那六个字中。当他从帷幕里面走出来时，向往着温柔，渴望与人为善，因为这是他那位朋友的意愿。为了让他的朋友更喜欢他，他要做个善良的人。不知为何，这一切幸福伴随着苦痛。除了这一位，他好像确实连一个朋友都没有。他就找一个孤独的地方去流眼泪，却把这归咎于罚他抄写一百行。
如今我们知道了莫瑞斯生活中的隐私，一部分是肉欲的，一部分是理想的，犹如他的梦。
肉体刚一成熟，他就变得淫猥了。他料想这是受到了一种特殊的诅咒，然而身不由己。因为就连领圣餐的时候脑子里也会浮现猥亵的念头。学校的风尚是纯洁的——也就是说，就在他入学前不久，发生了一起惊人的丑闻。害群之马遭到开除处分，其余的学生整天被繁重的学业束缚着，夜间受到监视。这是幸运的还是不幸的，他几乎没有机会跟同学交换意见。他渴望说些下流话，但很少听到旁人说，他自己更无从说起。他那主要的猥亵行为是独自干的。书籍，学校的图书馆是完美无瑕的，然而在祖父家小住时，他发现了一本未经删节的马提雅尔（译注：马提雅尔(约38/40-约104)，罗马著名铭辞作家，是现代警句诗的开山祖师。人们指责他的诗有两大缺点：谄媚和猥亵。）的书。他磕磕巴巴地读着，两耳热辣辣的。思想，他贮存了一些色情的念头。行为，新鲜劲儿过去之后，他发觉这种行为给他带来的疲劳超过了快乐，从此就克制了。
要知道，这一切都是在昏睡状态下发生的。莫瑞斯在生荫的幽谷里沉睡，离两边的山顶都很远，他对此事一无所知，更不晓得自己的同学也同样在梦乡中。
他的另一半生活好像与伤风败俗相距甚远。进入高班后，他开始将某个少年当做一心追求的目标。不论这个少年比莫瑞斯年龄大还是小，只要他在场，莫瑞斯就大声笑，说些傻话，无法用功。莫瑞斯不敢对他表示友好一那可是有失体面的——更不能用语言来表达钦佩之情。过不了多久，他所爱慕的那个少年就把他甩了，弄得他闷闷不乐。不过，他也报了仇。别的少年有时崇拜他，一旦知道了这个，他就把他们甩了。有一次，双方相互爱慕，也不明白彼此依恋什么，然而结果是一样的。几天之后，两个人就吵架了。从一片馄饨中显露出的是原来他在梦中所意识到的美好和温柔这两种感觉。它们逐年成长，就好像是绿叶婆娑、却丝毫没有开花迹象的植物。在萨宁顿的学业即将结束时，就不再长了。复杂的成长过程受到抑制．伴随而来的是沉默。年轻人非常胆怯地四下里望着。
Chapter 4
He was nearly nineteen.
He stood on the platform on Prize Day, reciting a Greek Oration of his own composition. The hall was full of schoolboys and their parents, but Maurice affected to be ad-dressing the Hague Conference, and to be pointing out to it the folly of its ways. "What stupidity is this, O andres Europenaici, to talk of abolishing war? What? Is not Ares the son of Zeus himself? Moreover, war renders you robust by exercising your limbs, not forsooth like those of my opponent." The Greek was vile: Maurice had got the prize on account of the Thought, and barely thus. The examining master had stretched a point in his favour since he was leaving and a respectable chap, and more-over leaving for Cambridge, where prize books on his shelves would help to advertise the school. So he received Grote'sHis-tory of Greece amid tremendous applause. As he returned to his seat, which was next to his mother, he realized that he had again become popular, and wondered how. The clapping continued —it grew to an ovation; Ada and Kitty were pounding away with scarlet faces on the further side. Some of his friends, also leaving, cried "speech". This was irregular and quelled by the authorities, but the Headmaster himself rose and said a few words. Hall was one of them, and they would never cease to feel him so. The words were just. The school clapped not because Maurice was eminent but because he was average. It could cele-
brate itself in his image. People ran up to him afterwards saying "jolly good, old man", quite sentimentally, and even "it will be bilge in this hole without you." His relations shared in the tri-umph. On previous visits he had been hateful to them. "Sorry, mater, but you and the kids will have to walk alone" had been his remark after a football match when they had tried to join on to him in his mud and glory: Ada had cried. Now Ada was chat-ting quite ably to the Captain of the School, and Kitty was being handed cakes, and his mother was listening to his house-master's wife, on the disappointments of installing hot air. Everyone and everything had suddenly harmonized. Was this the world?
A few yards off he saw Dr Barry, their neighbour from home, who caught his eye and called out in his alarming way, "Con-gratulations, Maurice, on your triumph. Overwhelming! I drink to it in this cup"—he drained it—"of extremely nasty tea."
Maurice laughed and went up to him, rather guiltily; for his conscience was bad. Dr Barry had asked him to befriend a little nephew, who had entered the school that term, but he had done nothing—it was not the thing. He wished that he had had more courage now that it was too late and he felt a man.
"And what's the next stage in your triumphal career? Cam-bridge?"
"So they say."
"So they say, do they? And what do you say?"
"I don't know," said the hero good-temperedly.
"And after Cambridge, what? Stock Exchange?"
"I suppose so—my father's old partner talks of letting me in if all goes well."
"And after you're let in by your father's old partner, what? A pretty wife?"
Maurice laughed again.
"Who will present the expectant world with a Maurice the third? After which old age, grandchildren, and finally the daisies. So that's your notion of a career. Well, it isn't mine."
"What's your notion, Doctor?" called Kitty.
"To help the weak and right the wrong, my dear," he replied, looking across at her.
"I'm sure it is all our notions," said the housemaster's wife, and Mrs Hall agreed.
"Oh no, it's not. It isn't consistently mine, or I should be look-ing after my Dickie instead of lingering on this scene of splen-dour."
"Do bring dear Dickie to say how d'ye do to me," asked Mrs Hall. "Is his father down here too?"
"Mother!" Kitty whispered.
"Yes. My brother died last year," said Dr Barry. "The incident slipped your memory. War did not render him robust by exer-cising his limbs, as Maurice supposes. He got a shell in the stomach."
He left them.
"I think Dr Barry gets cynical," remarked Ada. "I think he's jealous." She was right: Dr Barry, who had been a lady killer in his time, did resent the continuance of young men. Poor Maur-ice encountered him again. He had been saying goodbye to his housemaster's wife, who was a handsome woman, very civil to the older boys. They shook hands warmly. On turning away he heard Dr Barry's "Well, Maurice; a youth irresistible in love as in war," and caught his cynical glance.
"I don't know what you mean, Dr Barry."
"Oh, you young fellows! Butter wouldn't melt in your mouth these days. Don't know what I mean! Prudish of a petticoat! Be frank, man, be frank. You don't take anyone in. The frank mind's the pure mind. I'm a medical man and an old man and I tell you
that. Man that is bom of woman must go with woman if the human race is to continue."
Maurice stared after the housemaster's wife, underwent a violent repulsion from her, and blushed crimson: he had re-membered Mr Ducie's diagrams. A trouble—nothing as beauti-ful as a sorrow—rose to the surface of his mind, displayed its ungainliness, and sank. Its precise nature he did not ask himself, for his hour was not yet, but the hint was appalling, and, hero though he was, he longed to be a little boy again, and to stroll half awake for ever by the colourless sea. Dr Barry went on lecturing him, and under the cover of a friendly manner said much that gave pain.
他快要满19岁了。
在年度颁奖日，他站在讲坛上，背诵着他本人写的希腊文演说稿。讲堂里挤满了学生与家长，莫瑞斯却只当自己是在海牙会议（译注：1899年和1907年在荷兰海牙举行过两次国际会议。第一次会议址未能就其主要目的即限制军备问题达成协议，但签订了和平解决国际争端的公约。第二次会议也未能就限制军备问题达成协议，但会议精神对第一次世界大战后国际联盟的成立大有影响。）上讲话，指出会议精神有多么愚蠢。“哦，欧洲的人们，协议废止战争，这是何等愚蠢的举动！啊？战神阿瑞斯难道不是主神宙斯的儿子吗？况且，战争还会促使你锻炼肢体，身躯健壮，与我的论敌迥然不同。”莫瑞斯的希腊文蹩脚透了，他是凭着有见解而获奖的，如此而已。负责审查的那位教师把他的分数打宽了一些，因为他是个品行端正的毕业生，而且即将升人剑桥。在那里，把作为奖品颁给他的那些书籍排列在书架上，就能帮助本校做宣传。于是，他在雷鸣般的掌声中接受了格罗特（译注：乔治•格罗特1794-1871，英国历史学家，代表作为《希腊史》1846-1856，共12卷）的《希腊史》。当他回到紧挨着母亲的座位上时，就认识到自己重新变得受欢迎，他感到很奇怪。掌声持续下去，甚至为他全场起立喝彩。艾达和吉蒂满脸涨得通红，在尽头接连不断地鼓掌。毕业班的几个同学大声喊着：“演说！”这不符合程序，被主持人制止了。然而，校长本人起身说了几句话：霍尔是他们当中的一个，并且他们会一直这样看待他。他说得恰到好处。学生们并非因为莫瑞斯出类拔萃才为他鼓掌，而是由于他是平庸的。人们可以假借他这个形象来颂扬自己。事后，人们朝着他蜂拥而来，用十分感伤的口吻说：“好极啦，老兄。”甚至感叹道：“你走了以后，这个鬼地方就没意思啦。”他的家族也大沾其光。以往家里人参加学校的活动时，他总对她们表示敌意。一场足球比赛结束后，他满身泥泞，沐浴着胜利的光辉。当母亲和妹妹们跑过来，想跟他待在一起时，他却说：“对不起，妈，您和小家伙们不得不单独走。”那一次，艾达哭了。眼下艾达正干练地跟最高班的班长聊天。有人递给吉蒂一盘蛋糕，他母亲正在倾听舍监的妻子诉说供暖设备不好用。真令人沮丧。每一个人，每一样事物，忽然都协调了。世界就是这样的吗？
莫瑞斯看见邻居巴里大夫站在不远处。大夫注意到了他，并且用大得吓人的声音喊：“祝贺你的成功，莫瑞斯！我十分感动！为你干这一杯。”他一饮而尽，“令人作呕的茶。”
莫瑞斯笑了，颇感内疚地朝他踱去。他心中有愧。巴里大夫的一个小侄子上学期入了本校，曾拜托莫瑞斯照顾。然而他什么也没做——没把这个当回事。现在他感到自己是个大人了，懊悔自己当初没有更多的勇气，但为时已晚。
“那么，你这辉煌的生涯中，下一个舞台在哪儿？剑桥吗？”
“他们这么说。”
“他们这么说，是吗？你怎么说呢？”
“我不知道。”今天的英雄和蔼可亲地说。
“剑桥之后怎样呢？证券交易所吗？”
“我料想是这样。我父亲的老搭档说，如果一切顺利，就让我参加。”
“你父亲的老搭档让你参加后又怎样呢？娶一个漂亮的妻子？”
莫瑞斯又笑了。
“她将送给满怀期待的世界一位莫瑞斯三世吧？接着迎来老境、儿孙，最后是长满雏菊的坟墓。这就是你对事业的见解，我的见解不是这样的。”
“您的见解是怎样的呢？”吉蒂大声说。
“帮助弱者，纠正谬误，亲爱的。”他朝她望过去，回答说。
“我相信这是我们大家的见解。”舍监的妻子说，霍尔太太表示同意。
“啊，不，不是的。我也并非一贯如此，否则的话，我该去照料我的迪基，而不是继续在这豪华的场所待下去。”
“请务必把亲爱的迪基带到我们家来玩玩。他爸爸也来了吗？”霍尔太太问。
“妈妈！”吉蒂悄声说。
“我弟弟去年去世了，”巴里大夫说。“您是贵人善忘。战争并没像莫瑞斯所设想的那样锻炼他的肢体，使他身躯健壮。他的腹部中了一颗子弹。”
他扬长而去。
“我认为巴里大夫变得玩世不恭了。”艾达发表了意见。“我认为他这是妒忌。”她说得一点不错。当年巴里大夫曾经是个使女人倾心的男人，年轻人后浪推前浪地拥上来，他感到不满。倒霉的莫瑞斯再度碰见了他。莫瑞斯正向舍监的妻子告别。她是个俏丽的女人，对高班男生礼数周到。他们热情地握手。莫瑞斯掉头而去的时候，听见巴里大夫说：“喏，莫瑞斯，风华正茂，不论在情场上还是在战场上，都是不可抗拒的。”于是，他的视线与大夫那嘲讽的目光相遇。
“我不明白您的意思，巴里大夫。”
“哦，你们这些年轻人！装出一副一本正经的样子。不明白我的意思！在姑娘面前过分拘谨！开诚布公，小伙子，开诚布公。你什么人也欺骗不了。开诚布公的心灵是纯洁的心灵。我是个医生，上了年纪，我告诉你这一点。男人是女人所生的，为了让人类继续存在下去，就必须跟女人同步而行。”
莫瑞斯凝视着舍监太太的背影，对她产生了强烈的厌恶感，满脸涨得通红。他记起了杜希先生画的那些示意图。一种苦恼——没有悲哀那么美——浮到他的意识表层，显示了一下它有多么丑陋，又沉下去。他并不曾问自己它的真面目，因为还没到时候。然而，旁人对他所做的暗示把他弄得毛骨悚然。尽管他是一位英雄，却渴望自己重新变成一个小男孩，永远半睡半醒地沿着无色的海洋徜徉。巴里大夫继续对他进行说教，大夫装出一副友好的样子，说了许许多多刺痛他的话。
Chapter 5
He chose a college patronized by his chief school friend Chapman and by other old Sunningtonians, and during his first year managed to experience little in Univer-sity life that was unfamiliar. He belonged to an Old Boys' Club, and they played games together, tea'd and lunched together, kept up their provincialisms and slang, sat elbow to elbow in hall, and walked arm in arm about the streets. Now and then they got drunk and boasted mysteriously about women, but their outlook remained that of the upper fifth, and some of them kept it through life. There was no feud between them and the other undergraduates, but they were too compact to be popular, too mediocre to lead, and they did not care to risk knowing men who had come from other public schools. All this suited Maur-ice. He was constitutionally lazy. Though none of his difficul-ties had been solved, none were added, which is something. The hush continued. He was less troubled by carnal thoughts. He stood still in the darkness instead of groping about in it, as if this was the end for which body and soul had been so pain-fully prepared.
During his second year he underwent a change. He had moved into college and it began to digest him. His days he might spend as before, but when the gates closed on him at night a new process began. Even as a freshman he made the important discovery that grown-up men behave politely to one another unless there is a reason for the contrary. Some third-year people had called on him in his digs. He had expected
them to break his plates and insult the photograph of his mother, and when they did not he ceased planning how some day he should break theirs, thus saving time. And the manners of the dons were even more remarkable. Maurice was only wait-ing for such an atmosphere himself to soften. He did not enjoy being cruel and rude. It was against his nature. But it was neces-sary at school, or he might have gone under, and he had sup-posed it would have been even more necessary on the larger battlefield of the University.
Once inside college, his discoveries multiplied. People turned out to be alive. Hitherto he had supposed that theywere what hepretended to be—flat pieces of cardboard stamped with a conventional design—but as he strolled about the courts at night and saw through the windows some men singing and others arguing and others at their books, there came by no process of reason a conviction that they were human beings with feelings akin to his own. He had never lived frankly since Mr Abra-hams's school, and despite Dr Barry did not mean to begin; but he saw that while deceiving others he had been deceived, and mistaken them for the empty creatures he wanted them to think he was. No, they too had insides. "But, O Lord, not such an in-side as mine." As soon as he thought about other people as real, Maurice became modest and conscious of sin: in all creation there could be no one as vile as himself: no wonder he pre-tended to be a piece of cardboard; if known as he was, he would be hounded out of the world. God, being altogether too large an order, did not worry him: he could not conceive of any censure being more terrific than, say, Joey Fetherstonhaugh's, who kept in the rooms below, or of any Hell as bitter as Coventry.
Shortly after this discovery he went to lunch with Mr Corn-wallis, the Dean.
There were two other guests, Chapman and a B.A. from Trin-ity, a relative of the Dean's, by name Risley. Risley was dark,
tall and affected. He made an exaggerated gesture when intro-duced, and when he spoke, which was continually, he used strong yet unmanly superlatives. Chapman caught Maurice's eye and distended his nostrils, inviting him to side against die newcomer. Maurice thought he would wait a bit first. His dis-inclination to give pain was increasing, and besides he was not sure that he loathed Risley, though no doubt he ought to, and in a minute should. So Chapman ventured alone. Finding Risley adored music, he began to run it down, saying, "I don't go in for being superior," and so on.
"I do!"
"Oh, do you! In that case I beg your pardon."
"Come along, Chapman, you are in need of food," called Mr Cornwallis, and promised himself some amusement at lunch.
" 'Spect Mr Risley isn't. I've put him off with my low talk."
They sat down, and Risley turned with a titter to Maurice and said, "I simplycant think of any reply to that"; in each of his sentences he accented one word violently. "It is so humili-ating. 'No' won't do. 'Yes' won't do. Whatis to be done?"
"What about saving nothing?" said the Dean.
"To say nothing? Horrible. You must be mad."
"Are you always talking, may one ask?" inquired Chapman.
Risley said he was.
"Never get tired of it?"
"Never."
"Ever tire other people?"
"Never."
"Odd that."
"Do not suggest I've tired you. Untrue, untrue, you're beam-ing."
"It's not at you if I am," said Chapman, who was hot-temp-ered.
Maurice and the Dean laughed.
"I come to a standstill again. How amazing are the difficulties of conversation."
"You seem to carry on better than most of us can," remarked Maurice. He had not spoken before, and his voice, which was low but very gruff, made Risley shiver.
"Naturally. It is my forte. It is the only thing I care about, conversation."
"Is that serious?"
"Everything I say is serious." And somehow Maurice knew this was true. It had struck him at once that Risley was serious. "And are you serious?"
"Don't sk me."
"Then talk until you become so."
"Rubbish," growled the Dean.
Chapman laughed tempestuously.
"Rubbish?" He questioned Maurice, who, when he grasped the point, was understood to reply that deeds are more impor-tant than words.
"What is the difference? Wordsare deeds. Do you mean to say that these five minutes in Cornwallis's rooms have done nothing for you? Will youever forget you have met me, for in-stance?"
Chapman grunted.
"Rut he will not, nor will you. And then I am told we ought to be doing something."
The Dean came to the rescue of the two Sunningtonians. He said to his young cousin, "You're unsound about memory. You confuse what's important with what's impressive. No doubt Chapman and Hall always will remember they've met you—"
"And forget this is a cutlet. Quite so."
"Rut the cutlet does some good to them, and you none."
"Obscurantist!"
"This is just like a book," said Chapman. "Eh, Hall?"
"I mean," said Risley, "oh how clearly I mean that the cutlet influences your subconscious lives, and I your conscious, and so I am not only more impressive than the cutlet but more impor-tant. Your Dean here, who dwells in Medieval Darkness and wishes you to do the same, pretends that only the subconscious, only the part of you that can be touched without your knowl-edge is important, and daily he drops soporific—"
"Oh, shut up," said the Dean.
"But I am a child of light—"
"Oh, shut up." And he turned the conversation on to normal lines. Risley was not egotistic, though he always talked about himself. He did not interrupt. Nor did he feign indifference. Gambolling like a dolphin, he accompanied them whitherso-ever they went, without hindering their course. He was at play, but seriously. It was as important to him to go to and fro as to them to go forward, and he loved keeping near them. A few months earlier Maurice would have agreed with Chapman, but now he was sure the man had an inside, and he wondered whether he should see more of him. He was pleased when, after lunch was over, Risley waited for him at the bottom of the stairs and said, "You didn't see. My cousin wasn't being human."
"He's good enough for us; that's all I know," exploded Chap-man. "He's absolutely delightful."
"Exactly. Eunuchs are." And he was gone.
"Well, I'm—" exclaimed the other, but with British self-con-trol suppressed the verb. He was deeply shocked. He didn't mind hot stuff in moderation, he told Maurice, but this was too much, it was bad form, ungentlemanly, the fellow could not have been through a public school. Maurice agreed. You could call your cousin a shit if you liked, but not a eunuch. Rotten style! All the same he was amused, and whenever he was hauled in in the future, mischievous and incongruous thoughts would occur to him about the Dean.
他选择的是挚友查普曼以及萨宁顿的其他老同学所光顾的那家学院。在第一年的陌生的大学生活期间，他几乎没有新体验。他属于老校友俱乐部，他们一起参加体育运动，一起喝茶进餐，满嘴土腔俚语，在大餐厅里紧挨着坐，挎着胳膊逛大街。他们不时地喝醉，关于女人，神秘兮兮地大吹大擂，然而他们的精神面貌仍像是公学的高班学生，有些人一辈子也改不掉。他们和其他同学之间素无怨仇，但他们紧紧地抱作一团，所以不受欢迎；他们又太平庸，当不了学生领袖；他们也无意冒险去结识来自其他公学的学生。这一切使莫瑞斯满意。他生性懒惰，尽管他的苦恼没有解决，却也没添新的。沉寂继续下去，肉欲的思想活动不再那么困扰他了。他静静地伫立在黑暗中，而不是用手到处摸索，好像这就是肉体与灵魂那么痛苦地做准备所要得到的结果。
第二年，他发生了变化。他搬进学院，那里的生活浸透了他。白天他过得跟以前一样，然而夜幕降临后，新生活就开始了。在一年级时，他就有了个重大发现。成年人彬彬有礼地交往，除非有特别的原因不能这么做。几个三年级的学生曾到单身宿舍来看望他。他以为他们准会打碎他的盘子，朝着他母亲的照片横加侮辱，结果不然。于是他也不用浪费时间去计划有一天怎样砸他们的盘子了。导师们温文尔雅，更是惊人。莫瑞斯本人正盼望着这种气氛，以便变得温和。他不喜欢蛮横粗鲁，那是与他的天性相悖的。然而，在公学时期，他非这样做不可，否则他就会被人踩在脚下。他曾经猜测，在大学这更辽阔的战场上，就更需要这样做了。
一旦在学院里生活，他的发现层出不穷。人们原来是活生生的，他一直以为他们乃是一片片印有普普通通图案的硬纸板，而他本人则是假装的。但是，当他夜间在院子里溜达的时候，隔着窗户看见有些学生在唱歌，另外一些正在争论，还有埋头读书的。不容置疑，他们是具有跟他同样的感情的人。离开亚伯拉罕先生的学校后，他再也不曾坦荡荡地做过人。尽管巴里大夫对他进行过那番说教，他却无意洗心革面。然而他明白了，在欺骗旁人的时候，他自己也被欺骗了。他曾希望旁人认为他是个空空洞洞的人，并错误地以为旁人也是那样的人。不，他们很有些内容。“然而，天哪，但愿不是我这样的内容。”莫瑞斯自从认为旁人是活生生的人以来，就变得谦虚了，并且开始意识到自己是有罪的。天地万物中，再也没有比他更坏的人了。难怪他要假装成一片硬纸板了。倘若他的原形毕露，他就会被驱逐出这个世界。神的存在太伟大了，不会使他感到忧虑。可以这么说，他难以想象还有比来自楼下套房里的乔伊-费瑟斯顿豪的谴责更可怕的惩罚，或是像考文垂（译注：1670年12月，英国政治家约翰•考文垂爵士（?-1682）暗讽国王查理二世对舞台的兴趣只在女演员身上，结果在路上遗到伏击，被几个近卫军官撕裂了鼻子。次年，国会通过考文垂法案：凡是殴斗而造成人体残废者应治重罪。这里指众怒难犯。）的酷刑那样悲惨的地狱。
发现此事后不久，他应邀去跟学监康沃利斯先生共进午餐。
另外还有两位客人。一个是查普曼，另一个是三一学院的硕士，名叫里斯利，是学监的亲戚。里斯利的头发乌黑，身材高大，矫揉造作。被介绍的时候，他做出夸张的姿态，说起话来（他滔滔不绝地说话）嗲声嗲气，满嘴最高级形容词。查普曼对莫瑞斯以目示意，张大鼻孔，邀他与自己携手将这陌生人教训一顿。莫瑞斯认为得先等一会儿，不愿意伤害别人的心情越来越强烈了，况且他拿不准自己是否厌恶里斯利。毫无疑问，他应该厌恶里斯利，一会儿工夫就会那样的。于是，查普曼单独向里斯利挑战了。他发觉里斯利热爱音乐，就开始予以贬低．说“我讨厌那种高雅的人”，等等。
“我喜欢！”
“哦，你喜欢！既然是这样，请原谅。”
“来吧，查普曼，你该吃点儿东西。”康沃利斯先生大声说，他心中断定这顿午饭会有些乐趣。
“我猜想里斯利先生不饿，我那些粗野的话使他倒了胃口。”
他们坐下后，里斯利窃笑着转向莫瑞斯说：“我简直不知道该怎样回答。”每说一句话，他就在某个字上加重语气。“这是奇耻大辱。说‘不’，不行；说‘是’，也不行，究竟该怎么办？”
“不说话好不好呢？”学监说。
“不说话？太恐怖了，你一定是疯了。”
“请问，你是不是总在说话？”查普曼问。
里斯利说：“是的。”
“永远也不厌烦吗？”
“永远也不。”
“没让旁人烦过吗？”
“从来也没有。”
“不可思议。”
“你该不是在暗示我让你讨厌了吧。这不是真的，不是真的，你简直是眉飞色舞。”
“倘若我眉飞色舞的话可不是由于你的缘故。”查普曼说，他性情暴躁。
莫瑞斯和学监笑了。
“我又被弄得哑口无言了。如此困难的谈话令我吃惊。”
“你好像比我们中的大多数人都谈得好。”莫瑞斯发表了意见。在这之前他一直没有说话，他粗哑低沉的嗓音使里斯利颤抖。
“当然，这是我的特长。我惟一看重的事情就是谈话。”
“此话当真？”
“我说的都是真心话。”莫瑞斯认为确实是这样，里斯利给他的印象是严肃的。莫瑞斯问他：“你是认真的吗？”
“别问我。”
“那么，就聊到你变得严肃为止。”
“废话！”学监咆哮如雷。
查普曼狂笑起来。
“你认为这是废话吗？”里斯利询问莫瑞斯。莫瑞斯得到要领后，认为行动比语言重要。
“两者有什么区别？语言就是行动。你的意思是说，在康沃利斯先生的屋子里待了五分钟，你没受什么影响吗？例如，你会忘记自己曾经遇见过我吗？”
查普曼哼了一声。
“他不会忘记的，你也不会。可我还得听你的说教，告诉我们该做什么！”
学监插嘴解救那两个萨宁顿毕业生。他对自己这位年轻的表弟说：“你对记忆的理解是不对的，你把重要的东西和令人难忘的东西混淆起来了。毫无疑问，查普曼和霍尔会念念不忘他们遇见过你——”
“却把吃炸肉排的事遗忘了，的确如此。”
“但是炸肉排对他们有些好处，对你一点儿好处也没有。”
“蒙昧主义者！”
“简直像是书本里的话。”查普曼说。“呃，霍尔？”
“我的意思是，”里斯利说，“哦，我的意思很清楚，炸肉排对你们的潜意识的生命产生影响，我这个人对你们的意识发生作用，所以我不仅比炸肉排令人难忘，也比它更重要。这位在座的你们的学监，生活在中世纪的黑暗里，他但愿你们也像他这么做，他假装只有下意识，只有你们的知识所涉及不到的那个部分才是重要的。他自己每天施催眠术——”
“喂，住嘴。”学监说。
“然而我是光明之子——”
“喂，住嘴。”于是他把话题转到正常的方向。尽管里斯利总是谈自己，他却不是个自我中心的人。他没有打断旁人的谈话，更不曾装出一副漠不关心的样子。他像一头海豚那样嬉戏着，不论他们聊到哪儿，他都奉陪，决不妨碍他们的进程。他在做游戏，然而是认真地做游戏。对他们来说，重要的是径直往前走，他却情愿来回走，他喜欢自始至终挨近他们。倘若是几个月之前，莫瑞斯的想法就会跟查普曼一致，然而如今他确信这个人有内容，琢磨着是不是该进一步认识他。吃罢午饭，里斯利在楼梯脚等候他，这使他感到高兴。
里斯利说：“你没看出来，我那位表哥不是个男子汉。”
“对我们来说，他是个好样儿的。”查普曼大发雷霆，“他非常讨人欢喜。”
“千真万确。阉人全都是这样的。”说罢，他扬长而去。
“啊，畜——”查普曼吼道，然而英国人的自我克制使他把下面的话咽回去了。他震惊不已。他告诉莫瑞斯，适度的脏话他并不介意，然而里斯利太过分了。这是卑鄙的，缺乏绅士风度，这小子不会是公学培养出来的。莫瑞斯的意见与他相同。如果愿意的话，可以骂你的表哥“混蛋”，可不能骂“阉人”。卑劣到极点！尽管如此，他被逗乐了。从那以后，每逢他被叫到学监室去挨申诉，有关学监的一些荒唐可笑、前后矛盾的想法就会浮现在他的脑海里。
Chapter 6
All that day and the next Maurice was planning how he could see this queer fish again. The chances were bad. He did not like to call on a senior-year man, and they were at different colleges. Risley, he gathered, was well known at the Union, and he went to the Tuesday debate in the hope of hear-ing him: perhaps he would be easier to understand in public. He was not attracted to the man in the sense that he wanted him for a friend, but he did feel he might help him—how, he didn't formulate. It was all very obscure, for the mountains still overshadowed Maurice. Risley, surely capering on the summit, might stretch him a helping hand.
Having failed at the Union, he had a reaction. He didn't want anyone's help; he was all right. Besides, none of his friends would stand Risley, and he must stick to his friends. But the re-action soon passed, and he longed to see him more than ever. Since Risley was so odd, might he not be odd too, and break all the undergraduate conventions by calling? One "ought to be human", and it was a human sort of thing to call. Much struck by the discovery, Maurice decided to be Bohemian also, and to enter the room making a witty speech in Risley's own style. "You've bargained for more than you've gained" occurred to him. It didn't sound very good, but Risley had been clever at not letting him feel a fool, so he would fire it off if inspired to nothing better, and leave the rest to luck.
For it had become an adventure. This man who said one ought to "talk, talk" had stirred Maurice incomprehensibly. One night, just before ten o'clock, he slipped into Trinity and waited in the Great Court until the gates were shut behind him. Look-ing up, he noticed the night. He was indifferent to beauty as a rule, but "what a show of stars!" he thought. And how the foun-tain splashed when the chimes died away, and the gates and doors all over Cambridge had been fastened up. Trinity men were around him—all of enormous intellect and culture. Maur-ice's set had laughed at Trinity, but they could not ignore its dis-dainful radiance, or deny the superiority it scarcely troubles to affirm. He had come to it without their knowledge, humbly, to ask its help. His witty speech faded in its atmosphere; and his heart beat violently. He was ashamed and afraid.
Risley's rooms were at the end of a short passage; which since it contained no obstacle was unlighted, and visitors slid along the wall until they hit the door. Maurice hit it sooner than he ex-pected—a most awful whack—and exclaimed "Oh damnation" loudly, while the panels quivered.
"Come in," said a voice. Disappointment awaited him. The speaker was a man of his own college, by name Durham. Risley was out.
"Do you want Mr Risley? Hullo, Hall!"
"Hullo! Where's Risley?"
"I don't know."
"Oh, it's nothing. I'll go."
"Are you going back into college?" asked Durham without looking up: he was kneeling over a castle of pianola records on the floor.
"I suppose so, as he isn't here. It wasn't anything particular."
"Wait a sec, and I'll come too. I'm sorting out the Pathetic Symphony."
Maurice examined Risley's room and wondered what would have been said in it, and then sat on the table and looked at Durham. He was a small man—very small—with simple man-ners and a fair face, which had flushed when Maurice blundered in. In the college he had a reputation for brains and also for exclusiveness. Almost the only thing Maurice had heard about him was that he "went out too much", and this meeting in Trin-ity confirmed it.
"I can't find the March," he said. "Sorry."
"All right."
"I'm borrowing them to play on Fetherstonhaugh's pianola."
"Under me."
"Have you come into college, Hall?"
"Yes, I'm beginning my second year."
"Oh yes, of course, I'm third."
He spoke without arrogance, and Maurice, forgetting due honour to seniority, said, "You look more like a fresher than a third-year man, I must say."
"I may do, but I feel like an M.A."
Maurice regarded him attentively.
"Risley's an amazing chap," he continued.
Maurice did not reply.
"But all the same a little of him goes a long way."
"Still you don't mind borrowing his things."
He looked up again. "Oughtn't I to?" he asked.
"I'm only ragging, of course," said Maurice, slipping off the table. "Have you found that music yet?"
"No."
"Because I must be going"; he was in no hurry, but his heart, which had never stopped beating quickly, impelled him to say this.
"Oh. All right."
This was not what Maurice had intended. "What is it you want?" he asked, advancing.
"The March out of the Pathetique—"
"That means nothing to me. So you like this style of music."
"I do."
"A good waltz is more my style."
"Mine too," said Durham, meeting his eye. As a rule Maurice shifted, but he held firm on this occasion. Then Durham said, "The other movement may be in that pile over by the window. I must look. I shan't be long." Maurice said resolutely, "I must go now."
"All right, I'll stop."
Beaten and lonely, Maurice went. The stars blurred, the night had turned towards rain. But while the porter was getting the keys at the gate he heard quick footsteps behind him.
"Got your March?"
"No, I thought I'd come along with you instead."
Maurice walked a few steps in silence, then said, "Here, give me some of those things to carry."
"I've got them safe."
"Give," he said roughly, and jerked the records from under Durham's arm. No other conversation passed. On reaching their own college they went straight to Fetherstonhaugh's room, for there was time to try a little music over before eleven o'clock. Durham sat down at the pianola. Maurice knelt beside him.
"Didn't know you were in the aesthetic push, Hall," said the host.
"I'm not—I want to hear what they're up to."
Durham began, then desisted, saying he would start with the 5/4 instead.
"Why?"
"It's nearer waltzes."
"Oh, never mind that. Play what you like. Don't go shifting— it wastes time."
But he could not get his way this time. When he put his hand on the roller Durham said, "You'll tear it, let go," and fixed the 5/4 instead.
Maurice listened carefully to the music. He rather liked it.
"You ought to be this end," said Fetherstonhaugh, who was working by the fire. "You should get away from the machine as far as you can."
"I think so—Would you mind playing it again if Fetherston-haugh doesn't mind?"
"Yes, do, Durham. It is a jolly thing."
Durham refused. Maurice saw that he was not pliable. He said, "A movement isn't like a separate piece—you can't repeat it"—an unintelligible excuse, but apparently valid. He played the Largo, which was far from jolly, and then eleven struck and Fetherstonhaugh made them tea. He and Durham were in for the same Tripos, and talked shop, while Maurice listened. His excitement had never ceased. He saw that Durham was not only clever, but had a tranquil and orderly brain. He knew what he wanted to read, where he was weak, and how far the officials could help him. He had neither the blind faith in tutors and lec-tures that was held by Maurice and his set nor the contempt professed by Fetherstonhaugh. "You can always learn some-thing from an older man, even if he hasn't read the latest Ger-mans." They argued a little about Sophocles, then in low water Durham said it was a pose in "us undergraduates" to ignore him and advised Fetherstonhaugh to re-read theAjax with his eye on the characters rather than the author; he would learn more that way, both about Greek grammar and lif e.
Maurice regretted all this. He had somehow hoped to find the man unbalanced. Fetherstonhaugh was a great person, both in
brain and brawn, and had a trenchant and copious manner. But Durham listened unmoved, shook out the falsities and approved the rest. What hope for Maurice who was nothing but falsities? A stab of anger went through him. Jumping up, he said good night, to regret his haste as soon as he was outside the door. He settled to wait, not on the staircase itself, for this struck him as absurd, but somewhere between its foot and Durham's own room. Going out into the court, he located the latter, even knocking at the door, though he knew the owner was absent,, and looking in he studied furniture and pictures in the firelight. Then he took his stand on a sort of bridge in the courtyard. Un-fortunately it was not a real bridge: it only spanned a slight de-pression in the ground, which the architect had tried to utilize in his effect. To stand on it was to feel in a photographic studio, and the parapet was too low to lean upon. Still, with a pipe in his mouth, Maurice looked fairly natural, and hoped it wouldn't rain.
The lights were out, except in Fetherstonhaugh's room. Twelve struck, then a quarter past. For a whole hour he might have been watching for Durham. Presently there was a noise on the staircase and the neat little figure ran out with a gown round its throat and books in its hand. It was the moment for which he had waited, but he found himself strolling away. Dur-ham went to his rooms behind him. The opportunity was pass-ing.
"Good night," he screamed; his voice was going out of gear, and startling them both. "Who's that? Good night, Hall. Taking a stroll before bed?" "I generally do. You don't want any more tea, I suppose?" "Do I? No, perhaps it's a bit late for tea." Rather tepidly he added, "Like some whisky though?" "Have you a drop?" leaped from Maurice.
"Yes—come in. Here I keep: ground floor."
"Oh, here!" Durham turned on the light. The fire was nearly out now. He told Maurice to sit down and brought up a table with glasses.
"Say when?"
"Thanks—most awfully, most awfully."
"Soda or plain?" he asked, yawning.
"Soda," said Maurice. But it was impossible to stop, for the man was tired and had only invited him out of civility. He drank and returned to his own room, where he provided himself with plenty of tobacco and went into the court again.
It was absolutely quiet now, and absolutely dark. Maurice walked to and fro on the hallowed grass, himself noiseless, his heart glowing. The rest of him fell asleep, bit by bit, and first of all his brain, his weakest organ. His body followed, then his feet carried him upstairs to escape the dawn. But his heart had lit never to be quenched again, and one thing in him at last was real.
Next morning he was calmer. He had a cold for one thing, the rain having soaked him unnoticed, and for another he had overslept to the extent of missing a chapel and two lectures. It was impossible to get his life straight. After lunch he changed for football, and being in good time flung himself on his sofa to sleep till tea. But he was not hungry. Refusing an invitation, he strolled out into the town and, meeting a Turkish bath, had one. It cured his cold, but made him late for another lecture. When hall came, he felt he could not face the mass of Old Sunning-tonians, and, though he had not signed off, absented himself, and dined alone at the Union. He saw Risley there, but with indif-ference. Then the evening began again, and he found to his sur-prise that he was very clear-headed, and could do six hours' work in three. He went to bed at his usual time, and woke up
healthy and very happy. Some instinct, deep below his con-sciousness, had advised him to let Durham and his thoughts about Durham have a twenty-four-hours' rest.
They began to see a little of one another. Durham asked him to lunch, and Maurice asked him back, but not too soon. A caution alien to his nature was at work. He had always been cautious pettily, but this was on a large scale. He became alert, and all his actions that October term might be described in the language of battle. He would not venture on to difficult ground. He spied out Durham's weaknesses as well as his strength. And above all he exercised and cleaned his powers.
If obliged to ask himself, "What's all this?" he would have re-plied, "Durham is another of those boys in whom I was inter-ested at school," but he was obliged to ask nothing, and merely went ahead with his mouth and his mind shut. Each day with its contradictions slipped into the abyss, and he knew that he was gaining ground. Nothing else mattered. If he worked well and was nice socially, it was only a by-product, to which he had de-voted no care. To ascend, to stretch a hand up the mountainside until a hand catches it, was the end for which he had been bom. He forgot the hysteria of his first night and his stranger recov-ery. They were steps which he kicked behind him. He never even thought of tenderness and emotion; his considerations about Durham remained cold. Durham didn't dislike him, he was sure. That was all he wanted. One thing at a time. He didn't so much as have hopes, for hope distracts, and he had a great deal to see to.
当天和第二天，莫瑞斯一直在盘算怎样才能再度见到这个怪人。机会太少了。他不愿意去拜访高班学生，而且他们又在不同的学院。他断定里斯利在学生联合会（译注：学生联合会既具有俱乐部性质（有餐厅，还经常举行舞会），同时也是英国议会政治的摇篮，每周都举行辩论会。）尽人皆知，就去参加星期二的辩论会，指望能听到里斯利的发言。也许在大庭广众之下更容易理解他。莫瑞斯不是在想跟里斯利交朋友的心情下被他所吸引的，但他感到里斯利能帮助他也未可知——究竟如何帮助，他就想不出来了。一切都朦朦胧胧，因为他依然在山岭的阴影下。里斯利想必正在山顶上跳跃嬉戏，说不定能助他一臂之力。
他在学生联合会未能如愿以偿，就产生了一种逆反心理。他不需要任何人的帮助，他这样就挺好。再说，他的朋友们没有一个能容忍里斯利，他必须忠于自己的朋友。然而这种逆反心理很快就消失了，他比原来更渴望见到里斯利。既然里斯利如此古怪，他何不也来个古怪之举，打破大学本科生的一切惯例，去拜访他？“应该做个男子汉”，去拜访是男子汉份内之事。莫瑞斯被这一发现所打动，决定也做个放荡不羁的人，一走进里斯利的房间，就用里斯利的腔调发表妙趣横生的演说。他想到一句话：“你原想获得更大的成果。”听上去并不十分精彩，里斯利很精明，不要让他觉得自己是个蠢人。除非灵机一动，能想起更俏皮的话，听天由命吧。
这变成一种冒险了。那个人说，人们应该“谈话，谈话”，使得莫瑞斯莫名其妙地激动起来。一个夜晚，快要到十点钟的时候，他溜进三一学院，在大院子里一直等到大门在他身后关闭。他抬头望望夜空。通常他对美漠不关心，这时却想着“满天星斗！”报时的钟声已响过，剑桥校园内所有的门都关严了，随后传到耳际的喷泉迸溅声何等清越。周围都是三一学院的学生们——极有才智，教养非常好。莫瑞斯的伙伴们尽管嘲笑三一学院，却决不能无视三一学院散发出的自负的光辉。也决不能对三一学院所不屑于被认可的优越一笑置之。他是背着伙伴们到三一学院来的，是谦虚地来向它求助的。在学院的这种气氛下，他那俏皮的台词消失了，他的心怦怦直跳，既羞愧又害怕。
里斯利的套房位于短短的走廊尽头。什么障碍物也没有，走廊也就没点灯。来客沿墙而行，直到撞上门为止。莫瑞斯比自己所预料的更快地撞上了它——咣当一声巨响——墙板震颤起来。于是他惊叫道：“该死！”
“请进！”屋里有人说。失望等待着他，说话的是跟他同学院的人，名叫德拉姆。里斯利出门了。
“你要找里斯利先生吗？嘿，是霍尔呀！”
“嘿！里斯利去哪儿啦？”
“我不知道。”
“啊，没关系，我回去了。”
“你要回咱们学院去吗？”德拉姆头也不抬地问道。他跪在地板上，摆弄一摞自动钢琴（译注：自动钢琴：在一卷卷纸上按音符时值和音高穿凿出大小不一的孔，演奏时，空气被压入孔中，推动琴槌击弦发声。十九世纪晚期开始流行，直到留声机和无线电问世为止。）用的唱片。
“我想既然他不在，没有什么特别的事。”
“稍等一会儿，我也一起回去。我正在找《悲怆交响曲》（译注：《悲怆》是俄国作曲家柴可夫斯基（1840-1893）的B小调第六交响曲的副标题。）。”
莫瑞斯四下里打量着里斯利的屋子，寻思着在这里究竟都谈过些什么呢？然后坐在桌子上，瞧着德拉姆。他个子矮小——非常小——态度自然，皮肤白皙。当莫瑞斯跌跌撞撞地走进去时，他飞红了脸。在学院里，他以脑筋好以及孤傲著称。关于他，莫瑞斯只听说是“太爱到外头去走动”。在三一学院与他相逢，证实了这一点。
“我找不到《进行曲》。（译注：指《悲怆交响曲》第三乐章，是一首谐谑曲，富于进行曲的特征。）”他说，“对不起，叫你久等了。”
“不要紧。”
“我借几张，放在费瑟斯顿豪的自动钢琴上听。”
“他就住在我楼下。”
“你入了学院吗，霍尔？”
“嗯，我刚升二年级。”
“啊，当然。我是三年级。”
德拉姆的口气一点儿都不狂妄，莫瑞斯忘记了对高班生所应表示的敬意，说道：“依我看，与其说是三年级，你更像是个一年级的学生。”
“也许是这样。可我觉得自己像是个文学硕士。
莫瑞斯留心地端详他。
“里斯利是个了不起的家伙。”他继续说下去。
莫瑞斯没有吱声。
“尽管如此，偶尔见一次面，也就够了。”
“不过，你还照样跑来向他借东西。”
他又抬起头来看。“这么做不合适吗？”他问。
“我只是开玩笑而已。”莫瑞斯边说边从桌子上滑下来。“你找到那张唱片了吗？”
“没有。”
“因为我得走啦一”其实他并不急于离开，然而他的心一个劲儿地怦怦直跳，以致非这么说不可。
“哦，好的。”
莫瑞斯没想到他会这么回答。“你在找什么呢？”他边往前走边问。
“《悲怆》里的《进行曲》。”
“我一点都不懂。那么，你喜欢这种风格的音乐喽？”
“喜欢。”
“我更喜欢的风格是活泼的华尔兹舞曲。”
“我也一样。”德拉姆说，他与莫瑞斯四目相视。莫瑞斯通常会把目光移开，然而这次却直勾勾地望着。于是德拉姆说：“其他乐章也许在窗边的那一摞里，我得去瞧瞧，耽误不了多会儿。”
莫瑞斯坚决地说：“我必须马上走。”
“好吧，我这就停下来。”
莫瑞斯走出去了，颓丧而孤独。星星已模糊不清，天空像要下雨。当门房正找大门钥匙时，他听见背后传来急促的脚步声。
“找到你的《进行曲》了吗？”
“没有。我改变了主意，打算跟你一起回去。”
莫瑞斯默默地走了几步，随后说：“喏，我帮你拿一些。”
“我拿得了。”
“给我。”他粗鲁地说，并将唱片从德拉姆的腋下一把夺过来。他们没再交谈，返回自己的学院后，他们径直到费瑟斯顿豪的房间去了。因为在十一点以前，他们还能试听一会儿音乐。德拉姆坐在自动钢琴前的凳子上，莫瑞斯屈膝跪在他旁边。
“没想到你也是艺术伙伴中的一个，霍尔。”房间的主人说。
“我可不是一我想听听这里面都有些什么。”
自动钢琴开始演奏，又停止了。德拉姆说他要调成四分之五拍。
“为什么？”
“那更接近华尔兹舞曲。”
“啊，这没关系，随意演奏吧。别调了——太浪费时间了。”
然而这一次他却未能固执己见。他刚将自己的手放在滚轴上，德拉姆就说：“放手，你会把它损坏的。”并把琴调成了四分之五拍。
莫瑞斯专注地听着，他颇为喜爱这个乐曲。
“你应该到这边来，”正在炉火边用功的费瑟斯顿豪说，“尽量地离琴远一点才好。”
“有道理——倘若费瑟斯顿豪不介意，可不可以再奏一遍？”
“我没关系，德拉姆，再奏一遍吧。多么愉快的音乐。”
德拉姆拒绝了，莫瑞斯看出他不是个顺从的人。他说：“乐章不是独立的乐曲——不能重复地听。”这是个莫名其妙的借口，但显然站得住脚。德拉姆接着又奏了《广板》（译注：《广板》系德国作曲家亨德尔（1685-1759）所作乐曲。通常用以指别人改编的许多动听的器乐曲，是从亨德尔的歌剧《赛尔斯》中的《绿树青葱》咏叹调改编而成（其实谱上原来标的是“小广板”）。），一点也不快活。随后时钟敲了十一下，费瑟斯顿豪给他们沏了茶。他和德拉姆双双准备参加荣誉学位考试，就谈起专业来，莫瑞斯聆听着。他始终兴奋不已。他看得出德拉姆不仅才思敏捷，还具备沉着、有条理的思维。他知道自己想要读什么书，有哪方面的弱点，校方能够给他多大的帮助。莫瑞斯及其伙伴们对导师与讲义盲目信赖，德拉姆却不然。但他也不像费瑟斯顿豪那样，对导师与讲义抱着轻蔑的态度。“你总可以从年长的人身上学到一些东西，即便他没读过最近出版的德文书籍。”关于索福克勒斯（译注：索福克勒斯（约前496一约前406），古希腊三大悲剧诗人之一。他的传世剧作是《埃阿斯》（约公元前441）等。），他们争论了一会儿。德拉姆有点儿招架不住了，提出“我们这些本科生”忽视索福克勒斯，这是附庸风雅。他劝告费瑟斯顿豪重读《埃阿斯》，别去注意作者，宁肯把两眼盯在登场人物上。这样来读，不论关于希腊文法还是希腊人的生活，都能学到更多的东西。
这番争论使莫瑞斯感到沮丧。不知为什么，他曾指望能发现德拉姆的情绪不稳。费瑟斯顿豪是个优秀的人物，脑筋好，肌肉发达-直言不讳，喋喋不休。然而德拉姆冷静地听，将谬误提出来，对其余的表示同意。莫瑞斯简直就是谬误的化身，他有什么希望呢？愤怒的利刃刺穿了他的身子。他跳起来道了声“晚安”，可是刚一走出屋子，就懊悔自己不该这么性急。他决定等候，不是在楼梯上等，因为他觉得这样很可笑，还是在楼梯脚与德拉姆的房屋之间等吧。他走到院子里，找到了德拉姆那间屋子，明知道主人不在，却还敲了敲门，并打开门探了探头，借着炉火的光仔细端详家具和墙上挂的画。然后就去站在院子里的一座徒有其名的桥上。遗憾的是那不是真正的桥，只是庭园设计师为了效果起见，把它架设在一片洼地上而已。在上面一站，就会有待在照相馆的摄影室里那样的感觉。栏杆太矮，不能凭靠。不过，莫瑞斯口衔烟斗，看上去颇像是站在真桥上似的，他希望不要下雨。
除了费瑟斯顿豪的屋子，所有的灯光都熄了。时钟敲了十二下，接着十二点一刻也过去了。他可能已等候了德拉姆一个钟头。过了一会儿，楼梯响了，一个矮小文雅的身姿，他穿着大学礼服，手捧书籍跑了出来。莫瑞斯所等待的正是这一瞬间，他却不由自主地移步走开。德拉姆在他后面，走向自己的屋子。他正在错过机会。
“晚安！”他尖声喊叫，刺耳的声音使两个人都大吃一惊。
“谁？晚安，霍尔。睡觉前散散步吗？”
“我通常都这样。你不想再喝茶了吧？”
“我吗？不，现在喝茶或许太晚了些。”他不大热情地补上一句，“不过，来点儿威士忌如何？”
“你有吗？”莫瑞斯赶紧说。
“对，请进。我就住在这儿，一楼。”
“哦，这儿！”德拉姆把灯捻亮了。这会儿壁炉里的火已经快燃尽了。他叫莫瑞斯坐下，并把桌子和玻璃杯端过来。
“要多少？”
“多谢一足够了，足够了。”
“兑苏打水还是喝纯的？”他边打哈欠边问。
“兑苏打水。”莫瑞斯说。他不便久坐，因为德拉姆疲倦了，只是出于礼貌才邀他进屋的。他喝完以后回到自己的房间去了。他在屋里吸了大量的烟，又重新来到了院子里。
万籁俱寂，一团漆黑。莫瑞斯在圣洁的草坪上来回踱步，毫无声息，心里热辣辣的。身体的其他部位一点点地睡着了，首先进入梦乡的是他的头脑——最弱的器官。他的肉体接着入睡，随后他的两只脚将他送上楼，以便逃避拂晓。心中被点燃的火永远也不会被熄灭，他身上终于有了个真实的部位。
第二天早晨，他心里渐渐宁静下来。因为前天晚上淋了雨，他患了感冒，并且睡过了头。非但没去做礼拜，还旷了两堂课。让他的生活步人正轨已经不可能了。午饭后，他换了衣服准备去踢足球，看看时间还充裕，便躺在了沙发上。结果一直睡到喝茶的时间。他并不饿，拒绝一个邀请后溜达到了大街上，去洗了一个蒸汽浴。这治好了他的感冒，结果又旷了一堂课。该到大餐厅吃饭了，他却无心跟萨宁顿的老校友们碰头。他不曾事先打招呼，擅自缺了席，并孤零零地在学生联合会吃了顿饭。他在那儿看见了里斯利，但他对里斯利很冷漠。夜幕又降临了。莫瑞斯发现自己思维非常敏捷，三个小时就能做完六个小时的功课，令自己大吃一惊。他按平时的就寝时间上了床，一觉醒来，身体健康，心情非常愉快。潜在意识深处的一种本能劝他在二十四小时之内别再去想德拉姆以及有关德拉姆的事。
从此，他们二人偶尔见见面。德拉姆请莫瑞斯吃午饭，莫瑞斯再回请一次。他的天性中所没有的谨慎在起作用，他一向不在这方面下工夫，这次可是极其谨慎。他变得很警惕，从十月开始的这个学期，他所有的行为都可以用“斗争”一词来描述，但决不涉足危险领域。他窥探到了德拉姆的长处以及弱点。尤其重要的是，他锻炼并加强了自己的能力。
倘若被迫问自己：“这是在干什么？”他就会回答说：“德拉姆是我所感兴趣的。”然而他没有问过自己，仅仅是闭着嘴，关上心扉，径直往前走。光阴日复一日，连同种种矛盾，消逝到深渊中。他知道自己有所进展，其余的全都无所谓。倘若他很用功，跟同学相处得很好，那都是连带反应而已，他根本不放在心上。向上爬，朝着山腰伸出手去，直到某人的手抓住它。他就是为了达到这个目的而生下来的。他忘掉了第一个夜晚自己那种病态的兴奋，以及更奇妙的康复。那是他在告别过去。他的心境与温存、感情完全无关，想到德拉姆的时候，他是冷静的。他深信德拉姆并不讨厌他，对他来说，这就足够了。一步一个脚印，他甚至没有抱什么希望。因为希望会使他分神，而他不得不关照的事太多了。
Chapter 7
Next term they were intimate at once. "Hall, I nearly wrote a letter to you in the vac," said Durham, plunging into a conversation.
"That so?"
"But an awful screed. I'd been having a rotten time."
His voice was not very serious, and Maurice said, "What went wrong? Couldn't you keep down the Christmas pudding?"
It presently appeared that the pudding was allegorical; there had been a big family row.
"I don't know what you'll say—I'd rather like your opinion on what happened if it doesn't bore you."
"Not a bit," said Maurice.
"We've had a bust up on the religious question."
At that moment they were interrupted by Chapman.
"I'm sorry, we're fixing something," Maurice told him.
Chapman withdrew.
"You needn't have done that, any time would do for my rot," Durham protested. He went on more earnestly.
"Hall, I don't want to worry you with my beliefs, or rather with their absence, but to explain the situation I must just tell you that I'm unorthodox. I'm not a Christian."
Maurice held unorthodoxy to be bad form and had remarked last term in a college debate that if a man had doubts he might have the grace to keep them to himself. But he only said to Dur-ham that it was a difficult question and a wide one.
"I know—it isn't about that. Leave it aside." He looked for a little into the fire. "It is about the way my mother took it. I told her six months ago—in the summer—and she didn't mind. She made some foolish joke, as she does, but that was all. It just passed over. I was thankful, for it had been on my mind for years. I had never believed since I found something that did me better, quite as a kid, and when I came to know Risley and his crew it seemed imperative to speak out. You know what a point they make of that—it's really their main point. So I spoke out. She said, 'Oh yes, you'll be wiser when you are as old as me': the mildest form of the thing conceivable, and I went away re-joicing. Now it's all come up again."
"Why?"
"Why? On account of Christmas. I didn't want to communi-cate. You're supposed to receive it three times a year—"
"Yes, I know. Holy Communion."
"—and at Christmas it came round. I said I wouldn't. Mother wheedled me in a way quite unlike her, asked me to do it this once to please her—then got cross, said I would damage her reputation as well as my own—we're the local squires and the neighbourhood's uncivilized. But what I couldn't stand was the end. She said I was wicked. I could have honoured her if she had said that six months before, but now! now to drag in holy words like wickedness and goodness in order to make me do what I disbelieved. I told her I have my own communions. If I went to them as you and the girls are doing to yours my gods would kill me!' I suppose that was too strong."
Maurice, not well understanding, said, "So did you go?"
"Where?"
"To the church."
Durham sprang up. His face was disgusted. Then he bit his lip and began to smile.
"No, I didn't go to church, Hall. I thought that was plain."
"I'm sorry—I wish you'd sit down. I didn't mean to offend you. I'm rather slow at catching."
Durham squatted on the rug close to Maurice's chair. "Have you known Chapman long?" he asked after a pause.
"Here and at school, five years."
"Oh." He seemed to reflect. "Give me a cigarette. Put it in my mouth. Thanks." Maurice supposed the talk was over, but after the swirl he went on. "You see—you mentioned you had a mother and two sisters, which is exactly my own allowance, and all through the row I was wondering what you would have done in my position."
"Your mother must be very different to mine."
"What is yours like?"
"She never makes a row about anything."
"Because you've never yet done anything she wouldn't ap-prove, I expect—and never will."
"Oh no, she wouldn't fag herself."
"You can't tell, Hall, especially with women. I'm sick with her. That's my real trouble that I want your help about."
"She'll come round."
"Exactly, my dear chap, but shall I? I must have been pre-tending to like her. This row has shattered my he. I did think I had stopped building lies. I despise her character, I am dis-gusted with her. There, I have told you what no one else in the world knows."
Maurice clenched his fist and hit Durham lightly on the head with it. "Hard luck," he breathed.
"Tell me about your home life."
"There's nothing to tell. We just go on."
"Lucky devils."
"Oh, I don't know. Are you ragging, or was your vac really beastly, Durham?"
"Absolute Hell, misery and Hell."
Maurice's fist unclenched to reform with a handful of hair in its grasp.
"Waou, that hurts!" cried the other joyously.
"What did your sisters say about Holy Communion?"
"One's married a clerg—No, that hurts."
"Absolute Hell, eh?"
"Hall, I never knew you were a fool—" he possessed himself of Maurice's hand— "and the other's engaged to Archibald Lon-don, Esquire, of the—Waou! Ee! Shut up, I'm going." He fell between Maurice's knees.
"Well, why don't you go if you're going?"
"Because I can't go."
It was the first time he had dared to play with Durham. Reli-gion and relatives faded into the background, as he rolled him up in the hearth rug and fitted his head into the waste-paper basket. Hearing the noise, Fetherstonhaugh ran up and helped. There was nothing but ragging for many days after that, Dur-ham becoming quite as silly as himself. Wherever they met, which was everywhere, they would butt and spar and embroil their friends. At last Durham got tired. Being the weaker he was hurt sometimes, and his chairs had been broken. Maurice felt the change at once. His coltishness passed, but they had become demonstrative during it. They walked arm in arm or arm around shoulder now. When they sat it was nearly always in the same position—Maurice in a chair, and Durham at his feet, leaning against him. In the world of their friends this attracted no no-tice. Maurice would stroke Durham's hair.
And their range increased elsewhere. During this Lent term Maurice came out as a theologian. It was not humbug entirely. He believed that he believed, and felt genuine pain when any-thing he was accustomed to met criticism—the pain that mas-querades among the middle classes as Faith. It was not Faith,
being inactive. It gave him no support, no wider outlook. It didn't exist till opposition touched it, when it ached like a use-less nerve. They all had these nerves at home, and regarded them as divine, though neither the Bible nor the Prayer Book nor the Sacraments nor Christian ethics nor anything spiritual were alive to them. "But how can people?" they exclaimed, when anything was attacked, and subscribed to Defence Soci-eties. Maurice's father was becoming a pillar of Church and So-ciety when he died, and other things being alike Maurice would have stiffened too.
But other things were not to be alike. He had this overwhelm-ing desire to impress Durham. He wanted to show his friend that he had something besides brute strength, and where his father would have kept canny silence he began to talk, talk. "You think I don't think, but I can tell you I do." Very often Durham made no reply and Maurice would be terrified lest he was losing him. He had heard it said, "Durham's all right as long as you amuse him, then he drops you," and feared lest by exhibiting his orthodoxy he was bringing on what he tried to avoid. But he could not stop. The craving for notice grew overwhelming, so he talked, talked.
One day Durham said, "Hall, why this thusness?"
"Religion means a lot to me," bluffed Maurice. "Because I say so little you think I don't feel. I care a lot."
"In that case come to coffee after hall."
They were just going in. Durham, being a scholar, had to read grace, and there was cynicism in his accent. During the meal they looked at each other. They sat at different tables, but Maurice had contrived to move his seat so that he could glance at his friend. The phase of bread pellets was over. Durham looked severe this evening and was not speaking to his neigh-bours. Maurice knew that he was thoughtful and wondered what about.
"You wanted to get it and you're going to," said Durham, sporting the door.
Maurice went cold and then crimson. But Durham's voice, when he next heard it, was attacking his opinions on the Trinity. He thought he minded about the Trinity, yet it seemed unim-portant beside the fires of his terror. He sprawled in an arm-chair, all the strength out of him, with sweat on his forehead and hands. Durham moved about getting the coffee ready and saying, "I knew you wouldn't like this, but you have brought it on yourself. You can't expect me to bottle myself up indefinitely. I must let out sometimes."
"Go on," said Maurice, clearing his throat.
"I never meant to talk, for I respect people's opinions too much to laugh at them, but it doesn't seem to me that you have any opinions to respect. They're all second-hand tags—no, tenth-hand."
Maurice, who was recovering, remarked that this was pretty strong.
"You're always saying, 1 care a lot.'"
"And what right have you to assume that I don't?"
"You do care a lot about something, Hall, but it obviously isn't the Trinity."
"What is it then?"
"Rugger."
Maurice had another attack. His hand shook and he spilt the coffee on the arm of the chair. "You're a bit unfair," he heard himself saying. "You might at least have the grace to suggest that I care about people."
Durham looked surprised, but said, "You care nothing about the Trinity, any way."
"Oh, damn the Trinity."
He burst with laughter. "Exactly, exactly. We will now pass on to my next point."
"I don't see the use, and I've a rotten head any way—I mean a headache. Nothing's gained by—all this. No doubt I can't prove the thing—I mean the arrangement of Three Gods in One and One in Three. But it means a lot to millions of people, what-ever you may say, and we aren't going to give it up. We feel about it very deeply. God is good. That is the main point. Why go off on a side track?"
"Why feel so deeply about a side track?"
"What?"
Durham tidied up his remarks for him.
"Well, the whole show all hangs together."
"So that if the Trinity went wrong it would invalidate the whole show?"
"I don't see that. Not at all."
He was doing badly, but his head really did ache, and when he wiped the sweat off it re-formed.
"No doubt I can't explain well, as I care for nothing but rug-ger."
Durham came and sat humorously on the edge of his chair.
"Look out—you've gone into the coffee now."
"Blast—so I have."
While he cleaned himself, Maurice unsported and looked out into the court. It seemed years since he had left it. He felt dis-inclined to be longer alone with Durham and called to some men to join them. A coffee of the usual type ensued, but when they left Maurice felt equally disinclined to leave with them. He flourished the Trinity again. "It's a mystery," he argued.
"It isn't a mystery to me. But I honour anyone to whom it really is."
Maurice felt uncomfortable and looked at his own thick brown hands. Was the Trinity really a mystery to him? Except at his confirmation had he given the institution five minutes'
thought? The arrival of the other men had cleared his head, and, no longer emotional, he glanced at his mind. It appeared like his hands—serviceable, no doubt, and healthy, and capable of development. But it lacked refinement, it had never touched mysteries, nor a good deal else. It was thick and brown.
"My position's this," he announced after a pause. "I don't be-lieve in the Trinity, I give in there, but on the other hand I was wrong when I said everything hangs together. It doesn't, and because I don't believe in the Trinity it doesn't mean I am not a Christian."
"What do you believe in?" said Durham, unchecked.
"The—the essentials."
"As?"
In a low voice Maurice said, "The Redemption." He had never spoken the words out of church before and thrilled with emotion. But he did not believe in them any more than in the Trinity, and knew that Durham would detect this. The Re-demption was the highest card in the suit, but that suit wasn't trumps, and his friend could capture it with some miserable two.
All that Durham said at the time was, "Dante did believe in the Trinity," and going to the shelf found the concluding pas-sage of theParadiso. He read to Maurice about the three rainbow circles that intersect, and between their junctions is enshadowed a human face. Poetry bored Maurice, but towards the close he cried, "Whose face was it?"
"God's, don't you see?"
"But isn't that poem supposed to be a dream?"
Hall was a muddle-headed fellow, and Durham did not try to make sense of this, nor knew that Maurice was thinking of a dream of his own at school, and of the voice that had said, "That is your friend."
"Dante would have called it an awakening, not a dream."
"Then you think that sort of stuff's all right?"
"Belief's always right," replied Durham, putting back the book. "It's all right and it's also unmistakable. Every man has somewhere about him some belief for which he'd die. Only isn't it improbable that your parents and guardians told it to you? If there is one won't it be part of your own flesh and spirit? Show me that. Don't go hawking out tags like 'The Redemption' or 'The Trinity'."
"I've given up the Trinity."
"The Redemption, then."
"You're beastly hard," said Maurice. "I always knew I was stupid, it's no news. The Risley set are more your sort and you had better talk to them."
Durham looked awkward. He was nonplussed for a reply at last, and let Maurice slouch off without protest. Next day they met as usual. It had not been a tiff but a sudden gradient, and they travelled all the quicker after the rise. They talked theol-ogy again, Maurice defending the Redemption. He lost. He real-ized that he had no sense of Christ's existence or of his goodness, and should be positively sorry if there was such a person. His dislike of Christianity grew and became profound. In ten days he gave up communicating, in three weeks he cut out all the chapels he dared. Durham was puzzled by the rapidity. They were both puzzled, and Maurice, although he had lost and yielded all his opinions, had a queer feeling that he was really winning and carrying on a campaign that he had begun last term.
For Durham wasn't bored with him now. Durham couldn't do without him, and would be found at all hours curled up in his room and spoiling to argue. It was so unlike the man, who was reserved and no great dialectician. He gave as his reason for at-
tacking Maurice's opinions that "They are so rotten, Hall, every-one else up here believes respectably." Was this the whole truth? Was there not something else behind his new manner and furi-ous iconoclasm? Maurice thought there was. Outwardly in re-treat, he thought that his Faith was a pawn well lost; for in capturing it Durham had exposed his heart.
Towards the end of term they touched upon a yet more deli-cate subject. They attended the Dean's translation class, and when one of the men was forging quietly ahead Mr Cornvvallis observed in a flat toneless voice: "Omit: a reference to the un-speakable vice of the Greeks." Durham observed afterwards that he ought to lose his fellowship for such hypocrisy.
Maurice laughed.
"I regard it as a point of pure scholarship. The Greeks, or most of them, were that way inclined, and to omit it is to omit the mainstay of Athenian society."
"Is that so?"
"You've read theSymposium?'
Maurice had not, and did not add that he had explored Mar-tial.
"It's all in there—not meat for babes, of course, but you ought to read it. Read it this vac."
No more was said at the time, but he was free of another sub-ject, and one that he had never mentioned to any living soul. He hadn't known it could be mentioned, and when Durham did so in the middle of the sunlitcourt a breath of liberty touched him.
下一个学期（译注：剑桥大学的学年从每年十月间开始。全年分三个学期，每个学期约八个半星期。三个学期分别是米迦勒节学期、四旬斋学期、复括节学期。“下一个学期”指四旬斋学期。）伊始，他们两个人的关系变得亲密了。
“霍尔，在假期里，我差点儿给你写信。”德拉姆一看见莫瑞斯就说。
“是吗？”
“然而写起来就冗长得要命。日子过得糟糕透顶。”
他的语气并不很严肃。于是莫瑞斯说：“有什么不对？吃圣诞节布丁，肚子出毛病了吗？”
不一会儿，他就听出了布丁可以用作寓言，德拉姆家里发生了一起激烈的争吵。
“我不晓得你会怎么说——倘若你不觉得厌烦的话，我倒是想听听你对此事的看法。”
“一点儿也不觉得厌烦。”莫瑞斯说。
“关于宗教问题，我们吵得不可开交。”
这时候，查普曼的到来打搅了他们。
“对不起，我们正在谈话。”莫瑞斯对他说。
查普曼走了。
“你不必那么做，什么时候都可以听我这番无稽之谈。”德拉姆提出异议，然而他更认真地继续谈着。
“霍尔，我不愿意用自己的信仰——或者不如说是缺乏信仰——的问题来烦扰你。但是为了把情况解释明白，我必须告诉你，我是个异端分子，我不是个基督教徒。”
按照莫瑞斯的观点，异端就是邪恶的。上学期在学院所举行的一次讨论会上，他曾发表这样一种见解：倘若一个人对基督教有疑问，也应该有守口如瓶的雅量。然而他对德拉姆只说了句“信仰是个很麻烦的问题，范围太大了”。
“我知道——不是关于信仰的问题，把它撇在一边吧。”他注视了一会儿炉火。“而是我母亲对此事怎样看的问题。半年前——夏天的时候——我就告诉她了，她并未介意。她照例说了些愚蠢的笑话，仅此而已，事情就过去了。我感到欣慰，因为这是我多年的心事。小时候我发现了对我来说有些事比基督教更有益处，从此再也没信过神。当我结识了里斯利以及他那伙人之后，就很想全部说出来。你知道他们把坦诚看得多么重要，这确实是他们的主要着眼点。于是我就向母亲和盘托出。她说：‘啊，是吗？你到了我这岁数，会稍微变得聪明一些吧。’这是我所能想象的最温和的反应了，我欢欢喜喜地离开了家。可是在这次的假期中，这一切又成了问题。”
“为什么？”
“为什么？由于过圣诞节的缘故。我不愿意领圣餐，基督教徒每年应该领三次圣餐一”
“啊，我知道，圣餐。”
“过圣诞节的时候，这就成问题了。我说我绝不去，母亲一反常态，用甜言蜜语哄我，要求我领这一次圣餐，好让她高兴。接着她就生起气来，说我会损坏我本人以及她的名誉。我们是本地的乡绅，周围净是没受过教育的人们。然而我所不能忍受的是母亲的最后一句话。母亲说我是邪恶的。如果她这话是半年前说的，我可以接受她的看法，现在不行！为了让我做没有信仰的事，眼下竟用上邪恶啦、善良啦这样一些分量很重的词。我告诉她，我有我个人的圣餐仪式。‘倘若我像您和咱们家的女孩子们参加你们的圣餐仪式那样去参加我的圣餐仪式的话，我的神祗们会杀掉我的！’这话恐怕说得太重了。”
莫瑞斯没怎么听懂他的意思，就问道：“那么，你去了吧？”
“去哪儿？”
“教堂呀。”
德拉姆跳了起来，满脸厌恶的神色。接着他咬咬嘴唇．面泛微笑。
“没有，霍尔，我没去教堂。我认为这是不言而喻的事。”
“对不起——我请求你坐下来。我无意触犯你，我的脑筋太迟钝了。”
德拉姆挨着莫瑞斯的椅子蹲在地毯上。过了一会儿，他问：“你跟查普曼认识很长时间了吗？”
“从公学到现在五年了。”
“噢。”他好像在沉思。“给我一支香烟，替我送到嘴里，多谢。”莫瑞斯以为有关信仰的话已结束了，然而喷出一口烟后，他又说下去。“听我说——你告诉过我，你有母亲和两个妹妹，刚好和我的情形一样。在那场争吵中，我一直想知道，要是你会怎么办事？”
“你母亲肯定和我母亲不同。”
“你母亲是怎样一个人？”
“她对任何事情都不大吵大闹。”
“因为你从来还没做过让她不赞成的事，我料想，今后你也永远不会的。”
“哦，不是这样。我母亲不愿意把自己弄得疲惫不堪。”
“简直说不准。霍尔，尤其是女人。我对母亲感到厌恶。这就是我真正的烦恼，想得到你的帮助。”
“她会回心转意的。”
“千真万确，亲爱的老弟。可是我呢？过去我想必是假装爱她而已。这次的争吵使我的谎言粉碎了。我的确以为自己已经不再编造谎言了。我讨厌她的性格，她令我反感。喏，我把世界上其他任何人都不知道的事告诉你了。”
莫瑞斯攥起拳头，轻轻地敲着德拉姆的头。“运气不好。”他低声说。
“对我说说你们～家人的生活。”
“没什么好说的，我们只是这样相处下去。”
“你们这些幸运儿。”
“哦，我不知道，德拉姆，你是在开玩笑呢，还是假期实在过得糟透了呢？”
“简直是活地狱，悲惨的境遇，人间地狱。”
莫瑞斯打开拳头，抓住德拉姆的一绺头发，又攥紧拳头。
“哇，好疼！”德拉姆快活地叫起来。
“关于圣餐仪式，你的妹妹们怎么说？”
“有个妹妹跟一位牧师结婚了——别，好疼。”
“简直是活地狱，啊？”
“霍尔，我再也没想到你是一个愚蠢的——”他抓住了莫瑞斯的手。“另一个跟乡绅阿尔赤鲍尔德•伦敦订了婚一嗷！哎哟！放手，我走啦。”他倒在莫瑞斯的双膝之间了。
“喏，你说要走，为什么不走呢？”
“因为我不能走哇。”
莫瑞斯这是头一回胆敢跟德拉姆闹着玩儿。当他拿壁炉前的小地毯把德拉姆裹起来，并将字纸篓扣在他头上时，宗教和亲属就消失了踪影。费瑟斯顿豪听到喧闹声，跑上楼，解救了德拉姆。从此，他们二人一连打闹了好多天。德拉姆变得跟莫瑞斯一样滑稽可笑。他们不论在什么地方相遇——他们在任何地方都相遇——就半真半假地互相殴打，把朋友们也卷进去。德拉姆终于感到厌烦了。他的体质较弱，间或受了伤，屋中的几把椅子也给弄坏了。莫瑞斯立即觉察出德拉姆的心情起了变化。他不再像小马驹那样跟德拉姆欢闹了，然而，通过欢闹。他们学会了直率地表露感情。如今他们两个人互相挽着臂，或者搂着脖子走路。当他们坐下来的时候，姿势几乎一成不变——莫瑞斯坐在椅子上，德拉姆坐在他脚下，倚着他的膝。在朋友们当中，这不曾引起人们的注意。莫瑞斯总是抚摩德拉姆的头发。
他们还向其他领域扩展。在四旬斋（译注：四旬斋（亦名大斋期），始自四旬斋首日（圣灰星期三）．即耶稣复活节前六个半星期，规定要在四十天内（星期日除外）进行斋戒，模拟当年耶稣在旷野禁食。）这个学期，莫瑞斯标榜自己是个神学家，这并不完全是无稽之谈。他相信自己是有信仰的，当他所习以为常的任何东西受到指责时，他就会感到真正的痛苦。在中产阶级的人们中间，这种痛苦戴着信仰的假面具。这不是信仰，其实是惰性。它不曾给予莫瑞斯支持，也没能帮助他扩大视野。遇到反击之前，它甚至不存在，一遇到反击，它就像不起作用的神经一样作痛。他们家每人都有这样一根神经，并把它看作神圣的。尽管对他们来说，《圣经》、祈祷书、圣餐、基督教伦理以及其他任何超乎世俗的东西都是没有生命的。其中任何一样东西遭到攻击后，他们就惊叫道：“人们怎么能这样？”于是就在保卫协会的文件上签名。莫瑞斯的父亲去世的时候快要成为教会与社会的中坚了。倘若处在同样的状况下，莫瑞斯的思想也会僵化的。
然而，他并没有处在同样的状况下。他有一种想要令德拉姆钦佩的无比强烈的愿望。他想向这位朋友显示，除了蛮劲十足，他还有别的。他父亲说话谨慎，他却喋喋不休。“你认为我什么也不想，然而我可以告诉你，不是这么回事。”德拉姆经常不回答。莫瑞斯就心惊胆战，以为会失掉这个朋友。他曾听人家说：“只要你一天能让德拉姆开心，他就对你好．否则他就把你甩了。”他生怕由于炫耀自己的正统宗教观点，会发生本来试图避免的事。然而他怎么也抑制不住，引起德拉姆瞩目的渴望越来越强烈，于是他口若悬河地说个没完。
一天，德拉姆说：“霍尔，你为什么这样？”
“对我来说，宗教信仰是至关紧要的事。”莫瑞斯虚张声势。“由于我说得极少，你就认为我无动于衷。我把它看得非常重要。”
“那么，会餐后到我屋里来喝咖啡吧。”
他们二人正往大餐厅里走。德拉姆领着奖学金，所以必须做饭前感恩祷告，他的祈祷含有玩世不恭的腔调。吃饭时他们相互望着。他们坐在不同的桌前，然而莫瑞斯巧妙地把椅子挪了挪，以便能看见他的朋友。把面包当作小球来抛掷的阶段早已成为过去。这个傍晚，德拉姆脸上的神色严肃，没跟周围的人们交谈。莫瑞斯知道他有心事，猜测着他究竟在想些什么。
“你想要什么，你就会得到什么。”德拉姆一边说一边关严外边那扇门，以表示“谢绝会见”。
莫瑞斯浑身发冷，满脸涨得通红。接着，莫瑞斯又听见德拉姆的声音了。他在对莫瑞斯关于三位一体（译注：三位一体指上帝（天主教中，叫做“天主”）本体为一，但又是圣父、圣子邪稣基督和圣灵三位。《新约》为三位一体教义提供了根据。到了四世纪末，三位一体教义已大致具备今天的形式。）的看法进行抨击。莫瑞斯原来以为自己是重视三位一体教义的。然而面对着这片恐怖的火焰，那好像无关紧要了。他仰面朝天地倒在一把扶手椅上，一点儿力气都没有了，额头和双手淌着汗。德拉姆踱来踱去，准备着咖啡，嘴里说：“我知道你不喜欢我这样，但你是自找的。你总不能指望我无限期地把话憋在心里，我非得不时地发泄一通不可。”
“说下去吧。”莫瑞斯清了清嗓子说。
“其实我本来什么也不想说，因为我一向十分尊重人们的意见，不愿意嘲笑他们。然而依我看，你好像没有任何值得尊重的意见。你那些意见统统是二手货——不，十手货。”
莫瑞斯又振作起来了，并指出德拉姆的话说得太重了。
“你的口头禅是：‘我把它看得非常重要。…
“你凭什么臆断不是这么回事呢？”
“你确实把一些事情看得很重要，霍尔，但那显然不是三位一体教义。”
“那么，是什么呢？”
“是足球。”
这又是对莫瑞斯的当头一棒。他的手颤抖起来，竟把咖啡洒在椅子的扶手上。“你有点儿不公平。”他听见自己这么说。“你起码有气度暗示一下，我把人看得很重要嘛。”
德拉姆的脸上露出惊奇的表情，说：“反正你把三位一体看得一点儿都不重要。”
“啊，让三位一体见鬼去吧！”
德拉姆突然哈哈大笑。“就得这样，就得这样，咱们现在来谈谈我的下一个论点。”
“我不明白这有什么用，反正我的脑袋有毛病，我是说头痛。毫无疑问，我证明不了这些事，也就是说，证明不了三位上帝本体为一，一位上帝本体为三。但是，不管你怎么说，对好几百万人而言，这是至关紧要的，我们是不会放弃这个教义的。对此我们有深切的感受。上帝是善良的，这是最重要的一点。为什么非要走上岔道不可呢？”
“为什么对岔道有深切的感受呢？”
“你说什么？”
德拉姆把莫瑞斯说过的话替他重新整理了一遍。
“喏，这样就首尾一致了。”
“那么，倘若三位一体教义出了错，是不是所有的论点都站不住脚了呢？”
“我不这么认为，决不会的。”
莫瑞斯完全处于招架之势。他的头还真疼，那些汗刚擦完，就又流了出来。
“难怪我解释不清楚，因为除了足球，我把什么都看得不重要。”
德拉姆走过来，情绪很好地坐在莫瑞斯那把椅子的边上。
“留神——你把咖啡碰洒啦。”
“糟糕——是我洒的。”
莫瑞斯一面擦洒在身上的咖啡，一面打开外边那扇门，朝院子里望去。离开这院子以来，好像已过了好几年似的。他不愿意再独自跟德拉姆相处，就招呼几个同学来和他们做伴，随后照平时那样喝起咖啡来。然而他们告辞时，莫瑞斯却没有跟他们结伴而去。他又吹嘘起三位一体教义来了。“这是神秘的。”他振振有词。
“对我来说，这并不神秘。然而我尊重那些由衷地感到它神秘的人。”
莫瑞斯感到不自在，瞧着自己这双厚实棕色的手。对他来说，三位一体真是神秘的吗？除了受坚振礼的时候，关于三位一体，他哪怕动过五分钟的脑筋呢？其他同学来过之后，他冷静下来，再也不感情用事了。他扫视了自己的头脑，它看上去像他这双手，毫无疑问，很耐用，又健康，具有发展的潜力。然而，它不够高雅，从未有过神秘的感觉，对旁的很多东西也都是这样。它是厚实棕色的。
“我采取这么个态度，”他顿了一下，接着大声说，“我不相信三位一体教义，在这一点上，我让步。另一方面，那句‘这样就首尾一敛了，，我说得不对，首尾并不一致。然而，不相信三位一体教义，并不意味着我不是个基督教徒。”
“你相信什么？”德拉姆逼问道。
“基——基督教的本质。”
“诸如……”
莫瑞斯低声说：“耶稣赎罪。”他从未在教会之外的地方这么说过，于是激动得热血沸腾。但是，正如他不相信三位一体教义，他也并不相信耶稣赎罪。他知道德拉姆会看破这一点。耶稣赎罪是一张将牌，然而这一局打的是无将牌，他的朋友用一张非将牌就能把它吃掉。
当时德拉姆只说了句：“但丁（译注：但丁(1265-1321)是意大利最伟大的诗人、散文作家、政治思想家。其杰杰作《神曲》采取了中古梦幻文学形式，分《地狱》、《炼狱》、《天国》三部分。“三”这个数字，作为”三位一体”的象征，经常出现于全书。）曾相信三位一体教义。”他从书架上找到了《天国》的最后部分。他把有关三道彩虹交叉处浮现出一张人脸的那几行读给莫瑞斯听。诗使莫瑞斯感到厌烦，但是快要读完的时候，他大声问：“是谁的脸？”
“神的，这不是很明显的事吗？”
“然而那诗不是假托幻梦来写的吗？”
霍尔这家伙头脑糊涂，德拉姆并不想弄懂他这句话的含义。他更无从知晓莫瑞斯正在想着自己在公学时期曾做过的那场梦的事，以及告诉他“这是你的朋友”的那个声音。
“但丁没说过那是梦，他宁愿把它说成是醒悟。”
“那么你认为浮想联翩是天经地义的？”
“信仰一向是天经地义的，”德拉姆边回答边把那本书放回去，“它是天经地义的，又是一贯正确的。每一个人都在心灵的某处有着某种信仰，他可以为之献出生命。不过，这会不会是你的父母和监护教给你的呢？倘若有信仰的话，是否应该成为你本人的肉身与灵魂的一部分呢？你得向我证实你是有信仰的。别再现趸现卖．耶稣赎罪’或‘三位一体’了。”
“我已经放弃三位一体了。”
“还有耶稣赎罪呢。”
“你太苛刻了，”莫瑞斯说，“我一向知道自己的脑筋迟钝，从来就是如此。里斯利那帮人对你更合适，你最好跟他们谈。”
德拉姆面泛尴尬的神色。他终于感到窘困，无言以对了，于是听任莫瑞斯萎靡不振地溜走。第二天，他们照平素那样见了面。他们二人昨天并没有拌嘴，只是面前猛地出现了个陡坡。攀上坡顶后，他们走得更快了。他们又讨论起神学来，莫瑞斯为耶稣赎罪进行辩护。他败在德拉姆手下。他认识到自己对基督的存在以及基督的善良产生不了真实的感觉。倘若果真有基督这么个人，他实在感到抱歉。他对基督教的厌恶与日俱增，越来越深。不出十天，他就决定不再领圣餐了。三个星期之内，凡是他敢于溜号儿的礼拜仪式，他一概不参加了。他的变化快得让德拉姆感到困惑。他们两个人都有困惑之感。莫瑞斯尽管败下阵来，放弃了他所有的见解，却尝到一种奇妙的陶醉感。他认为自己实际上是赢了，正持续着上学期打响的战斗。
如今德拉姆已经不再对他感到厌烦了。德拉姆已经离不开他了，任何时候都能发现德拉姆在莫瑞斯屋里蜷做一团，不停地想跟他争辩。这太不像德拉姆的为人了。德拉姆一向是矜持的，不是个辩论家。他反驳莫瑞斯的见解的借口是：“那是无稽之谈，霍尔。这里的其他任何人都具有作为绅士的信仰。”这是完全真实的？在他这种新姿态和他对传统信仰发动的攻击的后面，没有其他的什么了吗？莫瑞斯觉得其中有点儿什么。表面上他退却了，却认为自己失掉信仰这个棋子还是很合算的，因为为了得到它，德拉姆袒露了心迹。
这个学期即将结束的时候，他们接触到一个更敏感的问题。他们两个人正在上学监的翻译课，有个学生小声把希腊文口译成英文。康沃利斯先生却用低沉平稳的声调说：“省略。这一段涉及希腊人那难以启齿的罪恶。（译注：指同性爱。）”德拉姆事后说，此人虚伪，应予开除教职。
莫瑞斯笑了。
“我认为这正是纯粹的学术研究的核心问题。希腊人，也就是说，绝大多数希腊人都有那样一种倾向。把它省略了，就等于省略了雅典社会的主流。”
“是这样的吗？”
“你读过《会饮篇》（译注：《会饮篇》是古希腊客观唯心主义哲学家柏拉图（前427一前347）的作品，用对话形式写理想的爱与绝对的美。）吗？”
莫瑞斯没读过。他不曾补充说，自己倒是探索过马提雅尔。
“书里面都是这方面内容——当然不宜给孩子看，可你应该读。这次的假期里就读吧。”
当时没再说下去，然而从此他有权谈另一个问题了，而那个话题是他跟任何人之间都从未涉及过的。他不曾想过竟能谈这种事。当德拉姆在阳光照耀下的院子里谈及此事时，他接触到了一股自由的气息。
Chapter 8
On reaching home he talked about Durham until the fact that he had a friend penetrated into the minds of his family. Ada wondered whether it was brother to a certain Miss Durham—not but what she was an only child—while Mrs Hall confused it with a don named Cumberland. Maurice was deeply wounded. One strong feeling arouses another, and a pro-found irritation against his womenkind set in. His relations with them hitherto had been trivial but stable, but it seemed iniqui-tous that anyone should mispronounce the name of the man who was more to him than all the world. Home emasculated every-thing.
It was the same with his atheism. No one felt as deeply as he expected. With the crudity of youth he drew his mother apart and said that he should always respect her religious prejudices and those of the girls, but that his own conscience permitted him to attend church no longer. She said it was a great misfor-tune.
"I knew you would be upset. I cannot help it, mother dearest. I am made that way and it is no good arguing."
"Your poor father always went to church."
"I'm not my father."
"Morrie, Morrie, what a thing to say."
"Well, he isn't," said Kitty in her perky way. "Really, mother, come."
"Kitty, dear, you here," cried Mrs Hall, feeling that disap-proval was due and unwilling to bestow it on her son. "We were talking about things not suited, and you are perfectly wrong be-sides, for Maurice is the image of his father—Dr Barry said so."
"Well, Dr Barry doesn't go to church himself," said Maurice, falling into the family habit of talking all over the shop.
"He is a most clever man," said Mrs Hall with finality, "and Mrs Barry's the same."
This slip of their mother's convulsed Ada and Kitty. They would not stop laughing at the idea of Mrs Barry's being a man, and Maurice's atheism was forgotten. He did not communicate on Easter Sunday, and supposed the row would come then, as in Durham's case. But no one took any notice, for the suburbs no longer exact Christianity. This disgusted him; it made him look at society with new eyes. Did society, while professing to be so moral and sensitive, really mind anything?
He wrote often to Durham—long letters trying carefully to express shades of feeling. Durham made little of them and said so. His replies were equally long. Maurice never let them out of his pocket, changing them from suit to suit and even pinning them in his pyjamas when he went to bed. He would wake up and touch them and, watching the reflections from the street lamp, remember how he used to feel afraid as a little boy.
Episode of Gladys Olcott.
Miss Olcott was one of their infrequent guests. She had been good to Mrs Hall and Ada in some hydro, and, receiving an in-vitation, had followed it up. She was charming—at least the women said so, and male callers told the son of the house he was a lucky dog. He laughed, they laughed, and having ignored her at first he took to paying her attentions.
Now Maurice, though he did not know it, had become an at-tractive young man. Much exercise had tamed his clumsiness. He was heavy but alert, and his face seemed following the ex-ample of his body. Mrs Hall put it down to his moustache— "Maurice's moustache will be the making of him"—a remark more profound than she realized. Certainly the little black line of it did pull his face together, and show up his teeth when he smiled, and his clothes suited him also: by Durham's advice he kept to flannel trousers, even on Sunday.
He turned his smile on Miss Olcott—it seemed the proper thing to do. She responded. He put his muscles at her service by taking her out in his new side-car. He sprawled at her feet. Find-ing she smoked, he persuaded her to stop behind with him in the dining-room and to look between his eyes. Blue vapour quivered and shredded and built dissolving walls, and Maurice's thoughts voyaged with it, to vanish as soon as a window was opened for fresh air. He saw that she was pleased, and his family, servants and all, intrigued; he determined to go further.
Something went wrong at once. Maurice paid her compli-ments, said that her hair etc. was ripping. She tried to stop him, but he was insensitive, and did not know that he had annoyed her. He had read that girls always pretended to stop men who complimented them. He haunted her. When she excused herself from riding with him on the last day he played the domineering male. She was his guest, she came, and having taken her to some scenery that he considered romantic he pressed her little hand between his own.
It was not that Miss Olcott objected to having her hand pressed. Others had done it and Maurice could have done it had he guessed how. But she knew something was wrong. His touch revolted her. It was a corpse's. Springing up she cried, "Mr Hall, don't be silly. I meandon't be silly. I am not saying it to make you sillier."
"Miss Olcott—Gladys—I'd rather die than offend—" growled the boy, trying to keep it up.
"I must go back by train," she said, crying a little. "I must, I'm awfully sorry." She arrived home before him with a sensible little story about a headache and dust in her eyes, but his family also knew that something had gone wrong.
Except for this episode the vac passed pleasantly. Maurice did some reading, following his friend's advice rather than his tutor's, and he asserted in one or two ways his belief that he was grown up. At his instigation his mother dismissed the Howells who had long paralyzed the outdoor department, and set up a motor-car instead of a carriage. Everyone was impressed, in-cluding the Howells. He also called upon his father's old partner. He had inherited some business aptitude and some money, and it was settled that when he left Cambridge he should enter the firm as an unauthorized clerk; Hill and Hall, Stock Brokers. Maurice was stepping into the niche that England had prepared for him.
莫瑞斯回家后，总是念叨德拉姆，直到全家人都把他有个朋友的事铭刻在心中。艾达想象着他或许是一位德拉姆小姐的哥哥，不过，她记得那位小姐是独生女。霍尔太太则把德拉姆和一位姓坎伯兰（译注：德拉姆是英格兰东北部一郡。坎伯兰是英格兰西北部一郡。）的大学教师混淆起来了。莫瑞斯深受伤害。受伤害的强烈感情激起了另一种感情。心灵深处，他对家中的女眷感到不快。迄今他和她们的关系虽然平凡却是稳定的。但是无论谁竟然把对他来说比全世界还重要的友人的姓名搞错，在他看来简直是不可饶恕的。一切东西的主要内容都被家庭生活抽掉了。
他的无神论也遭到同样的下场。任何人都没像他所料想的那样把他的话当真。凭借年轻人的任性，他将母亲拉到一边，说他今后也尊重母亲和妹妹们的宗教偏见，然而他本人的良心再也不容许他进教堂了。她说，这真是天大的不幸。
“最亲爱的妈妈，我知道这会让您心烦意乱。我天生就是这样一个人，您说服不了我。”
“你那可怜的爸爸一向是进教堂的。”
“我不是我爸爸。”
“莫瑞，莫瑞，你怎么能这么说话呢。”
“喏，哥哥确实不是爸爸，”吉蒂照例出言不逊，“一点儿不假。妈妈，您过来吧。”
“吉蒂，亲爱的，你呀，”霍尔太太大声说。她感到应该对儿子的言论表示不以为然，却又不愿意跟他摊牌。“我们在谈一个深奥的问题。而且你也完全错了，因为莫瑞斯简直就像是他爸爸，巴里大夫这么说过。”
“喏，巴里大夫本人也不进教堂呀。”莫瑞斯说。这一家人说话一向是东拉西扯，他也受了影响。
“他是一位无比聪明的绅士。”霍尔太太斩钉截铁地说，“巴里太太也一样。”
母亲的口误使艾达和吉蒂笑得前仰后合。一想到巴里太太居然成了一位绅士，她们就笑个不停，莫瑞斯的无神论被抛到脑后了。在星期日，复活节这一天，他没有领圣餐。他原以为会像德拉姆那样会引起一番争吵，然而任何人都没有理会，因为在郊外，人们对基督教已经不再重视了。这令他反感透了，他用新的眼光看待社会。世人道貌岸然，看上去能体贴旁人的感情，难道骨子里竟对什么都漠不关心吗？
他经常给德拉姆写信——一封封长信，试图细腻地表达感情的荫翳。德拉姆把这看得无足轻重，而且坦诚相告。德拉姆的回信也一样冗长。莫瑞斯总是随身携带着它们，每次换衣服就把它们移到另一件衣服的兜里。睡觉时，甚至用别针别在睡衣上。半夜里醒来，他抚摸它们，留心观察着在街灯映照下的天花板上的投影，并想起自己还是个小男孩时，曾经多么害怕过。
还发生了一件关于格拉迪斯•奥尔科特小姐的事情。
奥尔科特小姐是他们家不常来往的客人中的一个。在一家水疗旅馆里，她曾对霍尔太太和艾达照顾得无微不至，因此应邀而来。她是个妩媚的姑娘，至少女人们都这么说。男客们则对这家的儿子说，他是个幸运儿。他笑了，他们笑了。起初，莫瑞斯没把她看在眼里、自此对她献起殷勤来了。
莫瑞斯本人没有意识到，他已成为一个英俊的青年。大量的体育锻炼使得他不再那么笨手笨脚了。身体很重，但动作敏捷，面部好像也随着变得线条优美。霍尔太太把这归功于他嘴唇上面那一簇小胡子。“莫瑞斯的小胡子可以造就他。”她这句评语比她所意识到的要深刻。那一小道黑线确实使他脸上的表情富于魅力，从而他微笑的时候牙齿就很显眼了。莫瑞斯还很会穿衣服，在德拉姆的劝告下，即使在星期天他也一直穿法兰绒长裤。
他朝着奥尔科特小姐微笑——好像应该这么做，她以笑脸相迎。他用体力为她效劳，让她坐在他那辆簇新的摩托车挎斗里，带她出去兜风。他伸开四肢，躺在她脚下。他发现她抽烟．就说服她跟他一起留在饭厅里。只剩他们两个人后，他要她凝视他的眼睛。蓝色水雾颤动着，一缕一缕的，融化成一堵堵墙壁，莫瑞斯也随着浮想联翩。新鲜空气从一扇打开的窗户飘进来，一切突然都消失了。他看出她是满意的。他的母亲、妹妹们以及仆人们，也被激起极大的好奇心。他打定主意继续做下去。
紧接着就失败了。莫瑞斯恭维她说，她的一头秀发非常好等等。她试图制止他，然而他不敏感，不知道自己惹恼了她。他在书中读到过，女孩总是假装制止那些向她们说奉承话的男人。他缠住她。最后一天，她托辞不肯坐进他那辆摩托车的挎斗．，于是他扮演了盛气凌人的大男子汉角色。奥尔科特小姐是来做客的，只好跟着他去兜风。他把她带到他认为富于浪漫色彩的风景区，用双手攥住她那两只小小的手。
奥尔科特小姐并不反对自己的手被攥住。别的男人也这么做过，只要莫瑞斯懂得该怎样做，她是不会感到不满的。但是她觉得有些不正常，他的触摸使她反感，那种感觉像是来自于尸体的。她跳起来喊道：“霍尔先生，别这么愚蠢。我的意思是说，别这么傻。我不是为了让你做出更傻的事才这么说的。”
“奥尔科特小姐——格拉迪斯——我宁肯死掉，也不愿意得罪你——”小伙子低声吼叫，他打算继续跟她周旋。
“我得乘火车回去。”她边抽泣边说，“我非坐火车不可，请原谅。”她比他先到了家，撒了个适当的小谎，头痛啦，眼睛里进了沙子啦。然而他的家人觉察到出了什么问题。
除了这段插曲，假期过得挺愉快。莫瑞斯读了些书，与其说是在导师的指教下，不如说是接受了德拉姆的建议。他确信自己已长大成人，为了证实这一点，他做了一两件事。他鼓动母亲将多年来使全家人的户外活动陷于瘫痪状态的豪厄尔夫妇解雇，并把马车换成小轿车。每一个人都心悦诚服，包括豪厄尔夫妇。他还拜访了父亲的一位老搭档。莫瑞斯从父亲那里继承了点儿从事商业的才能以及一笔钱。于是莫瑞斯决定从剑桥毕业后，就作为一名不持有股东资格的社员进入希尔与霍尔证券交易公司。他将迈入英国为他准备的、非常适合他的领域。
Chapter 9
During the previous term he had reached an unusual level mentally, but the vac pulled him back towards public-schoolishness. He was less alert, he again behaved as he supposed he was supposed to behave—a perilous feat for one who is not dowered with imagination. His mind, not obscured totally, was often crossed by clouds, and though Miss Olcott had passed, the insincerity that led him to her remained. His family were the main cause of this. He had yet to realize that they were stronger than he and influenced him incalculably. Three weeks in their company left him untidy, sloppy, victorious in every item, yet defeated on the whole. He came back thinking, and even speaking, like his mother or Ada.
Till Durham arrived he had not noticed the deterioration. Durham had not been well, and came up a few days late. When his face, paler than usual, peered round the door, Maurice had a spasm of despair, and tried to recollect where they stood last term, and to gather up the threads of the campaign. He felt him-self slack, and afraid of action. The worst part of him rose to the surface, and urged him to prefer comfort to joy.
"Hullo, old man," he said awkwardly.
Durham slipped in without speaking.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing"; and Maurice knew that he had lost touch. Last term he would have understood this silent entrance.
"Anyhow, take a pew."
Durham sat upon the floor beyond his reach. It was late after-noon. The sounds of the May term, the scents of the Cambridge year in flower, floated in through the window and said to Mau-rice, "You are unworthy of us." He knew that he was three parts dead, an alien, a yokel in Athens. He had no business here, nor with such a friend.
"I say, Durham—"
Durham came nearer. Maurice stretched out a hand and felt the head nestle against it. He forgot what he was going to say. The sounds and scents whispered, "You are we, we are youth." Very gently he stroked the hair and ran his fingers down into it as if to caress the brain.
"I say, Durham, have you been all right?"
"Have you?"
"No."
"You wrote you were." I wasn t.
The truth in his own voice made him tremble. "A rotten vac and I never knew it," and wondered how long he should know it. The mist would lower again, he felt sure, and with an unhappy sigh he pulled Durham's head against his knee, as though it was a talisman for clear living. It lay there, and he had accomplished a new tenderness—stroked it steadily from temple to throat. Then, removing both hands, he dropped them on either side of him and sat sighing.
"Hall." . Maurice looked.
"Is there some trouble?"
He caressed and again withdrew. It seemed as certain that he hadn't as that he had a friend.
"Anything to do with that girl?"
"No."
"You wrote you liked her."
"I didn't—don't."
Deeper sighs broke from him. They rattled in his throat, turn-ing to groans. His head fell back, and he forgot the pressure of Durham on his knee, forgot that Durham was watching his turbid agony. He stared at the ceiling with wrinkled mouth and eyes, understanding nothing except that man has been created to feel pain and loneliness without help from heaven.
Now Durham stretched up to him, stroked his hair. They clasped one another. They were lying breast against breast soon, head was on shoulder, but just as their cheeks met someone called "Hall" from the court, and he answered: he always had answered when people called. Both started violently, and Dur-ham sprang to the mantelpiece where he leant his head on his arm. Absurd people came thundering up the stairs. They wanted tea. Maurice pointed to it, then was drawn into their conversa-tion, and scarcely noticed his friend's departure. It had been an ordinary talk, he told himself, but too sentimental, and he culti-vated a breeziness against their next meeting.
This took place soon enough. With half a dozen others he was starting for the theatre after hall when Durham called him.
"I knew you read theSymposium in the vac," he said in a low voice.
Maurice felt uneasy.
"Then you understand—without me saying more—"
"How do you mean?"
Durham could not wait. People were all around them, but with eyes that had gone intensely blue he whispered, "I love you."
Maurice was scandalized, horrified. He was shocked to the bottom of his suburban soul, and exclaimed, "Oh, rot!" The words, the manner, were out of him before he could recall them.
"Durham, you're an Englishman. I'm another. Don't talk non-sense. I'm not offended, because I know you don't mean it, but it's the only subject absolutely beyond the limit as you know, it's the worst crime in the calendar, and you must never mention it again. Durham! a rotten notion really—"
But his friend was gone, gone without a word, flying across the court, the bang of his door heard through the sounds of spring.
上学期莫瑞斯曾在精神方面达到非同凡响的水平，然而假期又把他拖回到公学学生的程度。他没那么机敏了，重新按照他认为人们所期待的那样来行动——对于未被赋予想象力的人而言，这是危险的。他的精神并未处于完全的阴暗中，云影经常从上面掠过。奥尔科特小姐的事已成为过去，把他引到她身边的那种虚伪仍然存在。他的家族是发生这件事的主要缘由。这一次，他不得不认识到她们比他强大，对他有难以估量的影响力。跟她们相处三周，他的思路没有了条理，感情变得脆弱。看上去每一件事都取得了胜利，从整体来看却一败涂地。他回到学校时，不论考虑问题还是谈吐都跟他的母亲或艾达如出一辙。
德拉姆返校之前，莫瑞斯不曾意识到自己退化了。德拉姆因身体不好，迟几天才回来。当他那张比平时更显苍白的脸出现在门口朝屋里看时。一阵绝望袭上莫瑞斯的心头。他试图想起他们二人上学期曾伫立过的地方，为了继续开展战斗找线索。他感到自己已经懒惰了，害怕采取行动。他的精神世界的最坏的部分浮到表面上来了，怂恿他宁可得到慰藉，也不愿意寻求快乐。
“喂，老兄！”他局促不安地说。
德拉姆一声不响地溜进来了。
“你怎么啦？”
“没怎么。”莫瑞斯说罢，明白了自己业已失掉线索。在上学期，他是了解德拉姆为什么默默地走进来的。
“先坐下来吧。”
德拉姆找了个莫瑞斯伸手够不着的角落，在地板上坐下来。已经到了黄昏时分，五月这个学期的声音，剑桥景色里的花香，从窗户飘进来对莫瑞斯说：“你不配做我们当中的一员。”他知道自己的身体已死掉四分之三，在剑桥是个异邦人，是步人雅典的一个乡下人。他没有资格跟这样一个友人待在一起。
“喂，德拉姆……”
德拉姆凑近了他。莫瑞斯伸出一只手，感觉出德拉姆将头靠在他的胳膊上。他忘记自己想说什么来着。声音和花香悄声说：“你是我们当中的一个，我们朝气蓬勃。”他无比温柔地抚摩德拉姆的头发，犹如爱抚德拉姆的头脑一般，将自己的手指插到德拉姆的头发之间。
“喂，德拉姆，你一直都好吗？”
“你呢？”
“不好。”
“你在信里说你很好。”
“一点儿都不好。”
他的嗓音流露出的真情使他浑身发颤。“假期过得糟透了，而我自己居然没察觉。”莫瑞斯想知道自己究竟能领悟多少呢。他确信雾又会降下来，于是闷闷不乐地叹了口气，将德拉姆的脑袋拉到他的膝头，就好像那是个法宝，可以使他明智地活下去似的。德拉姆的头一动不动地待在那儿。莫瑞斯发现了表达柔情的一种新方式一不断地从德拉姆的鬓角抚摸到喉咙。接着，他将双手挪开，耷拉在身体两侧，坐在那儿叹气。
“霍尔。”
莫瑞斯将视线移向德拉姆的脸。
“你有什么心事吗？”
莫瑞斯又爱抚一番，随后缩回手。看起来他肯定连一个朋友都没有。
“跟那个姑娘有什么关系吗？”
“没有。”
“你在信上说过你喜欢她。”
“我没喜欢过她——现在也不喜欢。”
他爆发出几声更深的叹息。它们在他的喉咙里咯咯作响，变成呻吟声。他把头往后仰，忘记德拉姆的头压在他的膝上，忘记了德拉姆在留心观察着他那混乱的苦恼。他睁大眼睛看着天花板，嘴边满是皱纹，眼角出现了鱼尾纹。人是在得不到老天保佑的情况下，为了感受痛苦和孤独而被创造的，除此以外他什么也不理解。
这时德拉姆伸过手来，爱抚他的头发。他们二人相互搂抱在一起。不一会儿，他们就胸挨着胸躺在那儿了，彼此把头靠在对方的肩上。然而，他们二入刚把脸蛋儿贴在一块儿，有人在院子里喊了声“霍尔”，他就答应了。只要有人喊他，他一向马上就答应。两个人都剧烈地动弹了一下，德拉姆一个箭步蹿到壁炉架跟前，用胳膊托着头。一帮蠢材乱哄哄地冲上楼梯。他们提出喝茶的要求，莫瑞斯指了指茶具在哪儿，接着就被拖进他们的谈话，几乎没理会到朋友的告辞。他告诉自己，他跟德拉姆之间谈的是一些普普通通的话，只不过是太带伤感情绪了。他做好思想准备，下次跟德拉姆见面时，要装出一副毫不在意、快快活活的样子。
他们很快就相遇了。会餐后，莫瑞斯和五六个人结伴向剧场走去。德拉姆将他叫住了。
“我知道你在假期里读过《会饮篇》。”他低声说。
莫瑞斯感到不安。
“那么，你就该明白了——用不着我再说什么。”
“你这话是什么意思？”
德拉姆已经迫不及待，尽管周围有那么多人，他那双蓝眼睛热情到极点，对莫瑞斯耳语道：“我爱你。”
莫瑞斯感到愤慨，毛骨悚然。他那郊区居民的狭隘灵魂深深地受到震惊，大声说：“哦，别胡说！”他无法抑制自己的言行。“德拉姆，你是个英国人，我也是。不要说荒谬的话。你并没有伤害我的感情，因为我晓得你是言不由衷。然而，你要知道，这是惟一绝对被禁忌的话题。它是列在大学要览里的最严重的犯罪行为。你千万不要再说了。德拉姆！这确实是一种可鄙的非分之想……”
但是他的朋友已经走了，一句话也没说就走掉了。德拉姆飞也似地跑过院子，穿过春天的喧哗，传来了他那间屋的外门“砰”地关上的响声。
Chapter 10 
A slow nature such as Maurice's appears insensitive, for it needs time even to feel. Its instinct is to assume that nothing either for good or evil has happened, and to resist the invader. Once gripped, it feels acutely, and its sensations in love are particularly profound. Given time, it can know and im-part ecstasy; given time, it can sink to the heart of Hell. Thus it was that his agony began as a slight regret; sleepless nights and lonely days must intensify it into a frenzy that consumed him. It worked inwards, till it touched the root whence body and soul both spring, the"I"that he had been trained to obscure, and, realized at last, doubled its power and grew superhuman. For it might have been joy. New worlds broke loose in him at this, and he saw from the vastness of the ruin what ecstasy he had lost, what a communion.
They did not speak again for two days. Durham would have made it longer, but most of their friends were now in common, and they were bound to meet. Realizing this, he wrote Maurice an icy note suggesting that it would be a public convenience if they behaved as if nothing had happened. He added, "I shall be obliged if you will not mention my criminal morbidity to any-one. I am sure you will do this from the sensible way in which you took the news." Maurice did not reply, but first put the note with the letters he had received during the vac and afterwards burnt them all.
He supposed the climax of agony had come. But he was fresh to real suffering as to reality of any kind. They had yet to meet. On the second afternoon they found themselves in the same four at tennis and the pain grew excruciating. He could scarcely stand or see; if he returned Durham's service the ball sent a throb up his arm. Then they were made to be partners; once they jostled, Durham winced, but managed to laugh in the old fash-ion.
Moreover, it proved convenient that he should come back to college in Maurice's side-car. He got in without demur. Mau-rice, who had not been to bed for two nights, went light-headed, turned the machine into a by-lane, and travelled top speed. There was a wagon in front, full of women. He drove straight at them, but when they screamed stuck on his brakes, and just avoided disaster. Durham made no comment. As he indicated in his note, he only spoke when others were present. All other inter-course was to end.
That evening Maurice went to bed as usual. But as he laid his head on the pillows a flood of tears oozed from it. He was hor-rified. A man crying! Fetherstonhaugh might hear him. He wept stifled in the sheets, he sprang about kicking, then struck his head against the wall and smashed the crockery. Someone did come up the stairs. He grew quiet at once and did not recom-mence when the footsteps died away. Lighting a candle, he looked with surprise at his torn pyjamas and trembling limbs. He continued to cry, for he could not stop, but the suicidal point had been passed, and, remaking the bed, he lay down. His gyp was clearing away the ruins when he opened his eyes. It seemed queer to Maurice that a gyp should have been dragged in. He wondered whether the man suspected anything, then slept again. On waking the second time he found letters on the floor—one from old Mr Grace, his grandfather, about the party that was
to be given when he came of age, another from a don's wife ask-ing him to lunch ("Mr Durham is coming too, so you won't be shy"), another from Ada with mention of Gladys Olcott. Yet again he fell asleep.
Madness is not for everyone, but Maurice's proved the thun-derbolt that dispels the clouds. The storm had been working up not for three days as he supposed, but for six years. It had brewed in the obscurities of being where no eye pierces, his surroundings had thickened it. It had burst and he had not died. The brilliancy of day was around him, he stood upon the mountain range that overshadows youth, he saw.
Most of the day he sat with open eyes, as if looking into the Valley he had left. It was all so plain now. He had lied. He phrased it "been fed upon lies," but lies are the natural food of boyhood, and he had eaten greedily. His first resolve was to be more careful in the future. He would live straight, not because it mattered to anyone now, but for the sake of the game. He would not deceive himself so much. He would not—and this was the test—pretend to care about women when the only sex that attracted him was his own. He loved men and always had loved them. He longed to embrace them and mingle his being with theirs. Now that the man who returned his love had been lost, he admitted this.
像莫瑞斯这样本性迟钝的人，看上去感觉不灵敏，因为任何事物他都需要花费时间去感受。这样的性子有一种本能，装作好事坏事均未发生的样子，以抗拒侵犯者。一旦被攫住，会有剧烈的感觉，恋爱使这种性子迸发出的激情格外强烈。假以时日，它有能力进入忘我的境界，并传授旁人这样的特性。假以时日，它能堕入地狱的无底深渊。就这样，莫瑞斯的苦恼是从些微的懊悔开始的。失眠的夜晚与孤寂的白昼必然加剧这种苦恼，以致使他陷入狂乱状态，不断受折磨。这种苦恼侵入内心深处，最后触及肉身与灵魂的根源——也就是他曾在昏睡中训练自己予以埋没的那个“我”。终于有所领悟，力量倍增，成长为超人。一个个新世界在他的内部瓦解了，废墟堆积如山，他这才发现自己所失掉的是什么样的狂喜，是什么样的心灵交流。
这之后，他们足足有两天没交谈，德拉姆希望越长越好。如今他们所交往的大多是共同的朋友，所以两个人相会是在所难免的。德拉姆了解这一点，就给莫瑞斯写了封冷冰冰的短笺，提出倘若他们的举止让人觉得什么事都不曾发生，对大家都有好处。他补充道：“假若你不向任何人谈起我那恶劣的病态言行，我将感激不尽。我确信你会以听到我的自白时的那种明智态度这么做的。”莫瑞斯没有写回信。起初他把这封短笺与假期中收到的那一摞信放在一起，随后将它们一古脑儿烧掉了。
莫瑞斯以为这是苦恼的顶点，然而现世的任何一种真正的苦难才刚刚开始。他们仍得见面。第二天下午打网球的时候，他们发现二人均被列在参加比赛的四个人当中，于是痛苦得难以忍受。莫瑞斯几乎站不住，也不能看了。当他接德拉姆的大力发球时，震得胳膊发麻。后来他们被安排成球场上的搭档。有一次他们的身体相撞了，德拉姆退缩了一下，然而成功地照老样子笑了笑。
此外，德拉姆被认为为了方便起见，应该坐在莫瑞斯那辆摩托车的挎斗里返回学院。德拉姆二话不说就坐进去了。莫瑞斯已经两宿没睡觉了，头昏眼花地驾驶摩托车，转入小巷，用全速急驰而去。前方有一辆满载妇女的四轮运货马车。他径直朝她们猛冲，她们尖声喊叫。他来个急刹车，及时避免了一场惨祸。德拉姆一言未发。正如他在短笺中所表示的，而今他只有当着旁人的面才跟莫瑞斯说话，其他一切交往都得结束。
那天晚上莫瑞斯像往常一样上了床。然而他的头刚一挨枕头，就泪如泉涌。他感到震惊，一个男人在哭！费瑟斯顿豪可能会听见。他用被单抑制着哭泣，并且又踢又跳。他把脑袋往墙上撞，陶器被震碎了。不知是什么人，沿着楼梯走了上来。他立即安静下来，脚步声消失后，也没再出声音。他点燃一支蜡烛，惊讶地看着自己那件撕破了的睡衣和发颤的四肢。他继续哭下去，因为抑制不住。但是倾向于自杀的那一瞬间已经过去了，他把床重新铺了铺，躺下来。当他睁开眼睛的时候，工友正在清理杯盘的碎片。莫瑞斯觉得太奇怪了，连工友都受了牵连。他想知道这位工友是否觉察到了什么，随后又入睡了。第二次醒来，发现地板上有几封信。一封是他的外祖父——格雷斯老先生写来的，谈及当他成年之际举办宴会一事。另一封是学监的妻子邀请他共进午餐（“德拉姆先生也来，所以你用不着害臊。”）。还有一封信是艾达写的，提到了格拉迪斯•奥尔科特小姐。接着，他又进入了梦乡。
并不是人人都会发疯。但是就莫瑞斯而言，疯狂的霹雳将乌云驱散了。他以为风暴是三天之内酝酿成的，其实已经酝酿了六年之久。它是在任何肉眼都无法看穿的生命的晦暗中孕育出来的，环境使它膨胀。它爆裂了，他却没有死掉。四周充满了白昼的灿烂光辉，他站在朝青春期投下阴影的山脉上，他明白了。
这一天，绝大部分时间他都睁大眼睛坐着，仿佛在俯瞰自己撇下的那个幽谷。如今一切都洞若观火。原来他是在虚伪中生活过来的。他称之为“靠虚伪喂大的”。然而虚伪是少年时代的天然养料，他曾狼吞虎咽过。他首先打定主意今后要谨小慎微。从此他将正正经经地做人，并非因为这样一来会对什么人有好处，而是为了能光明正大地行事。再也不要那么欺骗自己了，既然惟一能够吸引他的是同性人，他就别装出一副对女性有兴趣的样子了——对他来说，这可是个考验。他爱的是男人，一向如此。他希望拥抱男性。将自己的人生跟他们的打成一片。如今已失掉那个曾经回报他那份眷爱的男子，他才肯承认这一点。
Chapter 11
After this crisis Maurice became a man. Hitherto—if human beings can be estimated—he had not been worth anyone's affection, but conventional, petty, treacherous to others, because to himself. Now he had the highest gift to offer. The idealism and the brutality that ran through boyhood had joined at last, and twined into love. No one might want such love, but he could not feel ashamed of it, because it was "he," neither body or soul, nor body and soul, but "he" working through both. He still suffered, yet a sense of triumph had come elsewhere. Pain had shown him a niche behind the world's judge-ments, whither he could withdraw.
There was still much to learn, and years passed before he ex-plored certain abysses in his being—horrible enough they were. But he discovered the method and looked no more at scratches in the sand. He had awoken too late for happiness, but not for strength, and could feel an austere joy, as of a warrior who is homeless but stands fully armed.
As the term went on he decided to speak to Durham. He valued words highly, having so lately discovered them. Why should he suffer and cause his friend suffering, when words might put all right? He heard himself saying, "I really love you as you love me," and Durham replying, "Is that so? Then I for-give you," and to the ardour of youth such a conversation seemed possible, though somehow he did not conceive it as leading to
joy. He made several attempts, but partly through his own shy-ness, partly through Durham's, they failed. If he went round, the door was sported, or else there were people inside; should he enter, Durham left when the other guests did. He invited him to meals—he could never come; he offered to lift him again for tennis, but an excuse was made. Even if they met in the court, Durham would affect to have forgotten something and run past him or away. He was surprised their friends did not notice the change, but few undergraduates are observant—they have too much to discover within themselves and it was a don who re-marked that Durham had stopped honeymooning with that Hall person.
He found his opportunity after a debating society to which both belonged. Durham—pleading his Tripos—had sent in his resignation, but had begged that the society might meet in his rooms first, as he wished to take his share of hospitality. This was like him; he hated to be under an obligation to anyone. Maurice went and sat through a tedious evening. When every-one, including the host, surged out into the fresh air, he re-mained, thinking of the first night he had visited that room, and wondering whether the past cannot return.
Durham entered, and did not at once see who it was. Ignoring him utterly, he proceeded to tidy up for the night.
"You're beastly hard," blurted Maurice, "you don't know what it is to have a mind in a mess, and it makes you very hard."
Durham shook his head as one who refuses to listen. He looked so ill that Maurice had a wild desire to catch hold of him.
"You might give me a chance instead of avoiding me—I only want to discuss."
"We've discussed the whole evening."
"I mean theSymposium, like the ancient Greeks."
"Oh Hall, don't be so stupid—you ought to know that to be alone with you hurts me. No, please don't reopen. It's over. It's
over." He went into the other room and began to undress. "For-give this discourtesy, but I simply can't—my nerves are all no-how after three weeks of this."
"So are mine," cried Maurice.
"Poor, poor chap!"
"Durham, I'm in Hell."
"Oh, you'll get out. It's only the Hell of disgust. You've never done anything to be ashamed of, so you don't know what's really Hell."
Maurice gave a cry of pain. It was so unmistakable that Dur-ham, who was about to close the door between them, said, "Very well, 111 discuss if you like. What's the matter? You appear to want to apologize about something. Why? You behave as if I'm annoyed with you. What have you done wrong? You've been thoroughly decent from first to last."
In vain he protested.
"So decent that I mistook your ordinary friendliness. When you were so good to me, above all the afternoon I came up— I thought it was something else. I am more sorry than I can ever say. I had no right to move out of my books and music, which was what I did when I met you. You won't want my apol-ogy any more than anything else I could give, but, Hall, I do make it most sincerely. It is a lasting grief to have insulted you."
His voice was feeble but clear, and his face like a sword. Mau-rice flung useless words about love.
"That's all, I think. Get married quickly and forget."
"Durham, I love you."
He laughed bitterly.
"I do—I have always—"
"Good night, good night."
"I tell you, I do—I came to say it—in your very own way—I have always been like the Greeks and didn't know."
"Expand the statement."
Words deserted him immediately. He could only speak when he was not asked to.
"Hall, don't be grotesque." He raised his hand, for Maurice had exclaimed. "It's like the very decent fellow you are to comfort me, but there are limits; one or two things I can't swallow."
"I'm not grotesque—"
"I shouldn't have said that. So do leave me. I'm thankful it's into your hands I fell. Most men would have reported me to the Dean or the Police."
"Oh, go to Hell, it's all you're fit for," cried Maurice, rushed into the court and heard once more the bang of the outer door. Furious he stood on the bridge in a night that resembled the first —drizzly with faint stars. He made no allowance for three weeks of torture unlike his own or for the poison which, secreted by one man, acts differently on another. He was enraged not to find his friend as he had left him. Twelve o'clock struck, one, two, and he was still planning what to say when there is nothing to say and the resources of speech are ended.
Then savage, reckless, drenched with the rain, he saw in the first glimmer of dawn the window of Durham's room, and his heart leapt alive and shook him to pieces. It cried "You love and are loved." He looked round the court. It cried "You are strong, he weak and alone," won over his will. Terrified at what he must do, he caught hold of the mullion and sprang.
"Maurice—"
As he alighted his name had been called out of dreams. The violence went out of his heart, and a purity that he had never imagined dwelt there instead. His friend had called him. He stood for a moment entranced, then the new emotion found him words, and laying his hand very gently upon the pillows he an-swered, "Give!"
出了这件事之后，莫瑞斯变成了男子汉。倘若能够对人加以评价的话，过去他不值得让任何人爱慕。他曾经是个墨守成规、心胸狭窄、背信弃义的人。他连自己都欺骗，又怎么能忠于旁人呢？现在他具有能够赠送人们的最有价值的礼品了。少年期一直流淌在身子里的理想主义与肉欲终于结合了，并孕育出爱情这个果实。或许任何人都不想得到这样的爱情，但是他不会为此感到羞愧，因为那就是“他本人”。并不单是肉体或灵魂，更不是肉体与灵魂合二为一，却是“他本人”对二者起着作用。他依然苦恼着，胜利的感觉却来自其他方面。痛苦将世间的审判所触及不到的适当场所指给他看，他可以隐遁在那里。
尚有许许多多应该学习的事物，过了好几年他才探索自己内部那一个个深渊——它们真够可怕的。然而他发现了办法，再也不去看沙地上的示意图了。他觉醒得太迟，来不及获得幸福了，但还来得及增强自己的实力。他能感受到禁欲的喜悦，犹如一个失去了家园、却武装到牙齿的战士。
随着这个学期的进展，他决定跟德拉姆谈一次话。他最近才看出语言的价值，予以高度评价。既然语言可能会把一切事情都安排好，他为什么还要自讨苦吃，也让朋友吃苦头呢？他听见自己在说：“我真的爱你，正如你爱我一样。”并听见德拉姆回答：“是吗？那么我就饶了你。”以年轻人的激情，这样的交谈似乎是可能的。不过，不知怎的，他不认为它会使自己找到快乐。他尝试了几次，由于他本人缺乏自信，又由于德拉姆过于腼腆，都失败了。他到德拉姆的房间去一看，要么就是外面那扇门关得严严的，表示谢绝会客，要么就是屋里有旁人。倘若他进去的话，其他客人告辞时，德拉姆也会跟他们结伴而去。他请德拉姆吃饭——德拉姆总找个借口谢绝。他提出再让德拉姆搭他的摩托车去打网球，德拉姆必然婉辞。即使他们二人在院子里相遇，德拉姆也会假装忘了东西，从他身旁一溜烟儿跑得没影儿了。他们的朋友们竟然没发觉这个变化，使莫瑞斯感到吃惊。其实，本科生没有几个观察力敏锐的。他们自顾不暇，自己内部的东西就够他们发现的了。倒是有一位学监谈到，德拉姆不再向那个名叫霍尔的人献殷勤了。
德拉姆和莫瑞斯同是一个讨论会的会员。在一次集会之后，莫瑞斯找到了机会。德拉姆以参加荣誉学位考试为理由，申请退出该会。在这之前，他要求会员们在他的房间里举行一次集会，以便报答大家的深情厚谊。德拉姆行事为人一向是这样的：他不愿意欠任何人的情。莫瑞斯前往，耐心地坐在那儿度过一个单词沉闷的傍晚。当包括主人在内的每一个人涌到室外去呼吸新鲜空气时，他留了下来，回想着自己初次造访这间屋子的往事，猜测着究竟有没有J日梦重温的可能。
德拉姆进来了，他没有马上发觉待在那儿的是谁。他完全无视莫瑞斯，着手收拾房间。
“你太苛刻了，”莫瑞斯莽撞地说，“你不知道头脑不灵敏是什么滋味，所以才会如此苛刻地对待我。”
德拉姆好像拒绝听到一般摇了摇头。他面带病容，促使莫瑞斯疯狂地渴望紧紧抓住他。
“别总是躲避我，哪怕给我一次机会也好嘛——我只是想讨论一下。”
“咱们已经讨论了一个晚上。”
“我指的是《会饮篇》，就像古代希腊人那样。”
“喂，霍尔，别那么傻头傻脑的——你应该知道，跟你单独在一起，使我感到痛苦。不，请不要揭旧伤疤吧。事情已经过去了，过去了。”他走进邻室，开始脱衣服。“请原谅我待你简慢。然而我确实不行了——这三个星期以来，我的神经完全乱了套。”
“我也一样！”莫瑞斯叫喊。
“小可怜虫！”
“德拉姆，眼下我在地狱里呢。”
“哦，你会挣脱出来的。那只不过是厌烦的地狱而已。你从来没做过任何丢人的事，所以你不知道什么是真正的地狱。”
莫瑞斯发出了痛苦的喊声：“绝对不会弄错的。”正要把自己和莫瑞斯之间的那扇门关上的德拉姆说：“好的。倘若你愿意的话，我就跟你讨论一番。究竟是怎么回事？你好像要为什么事道歉似的。为什么？看你的举止，仿佛我被你惹恼了一般。你做了什么坏事呢？你自始至终是绝对正派的。”
莫瑞斯怎么抗议也没有用。
“你是那样正派，以致我对你那普通的友谊产生了误会。你对我那么好，尤其是我上楼来的那个下午——我竟然认为它是另外一种东西。我非常抱歉，难以用语言表达。我不该越出书籍和音乐的范畴，可我遇见你的时候，却这么做了。你不屑于听到我的道歉，也不愿意让我替你做旁的什么。然而霍尔，我最真诚地向你道歉。我对你太无礼了，将毕生感到懊悔。”
德拉姆的声音有气无力，却是清脆的，脸像一把剑那样寒气逼人。莫瑞斯说了一些关于爱的话，终归徒劳。
“一切都了结啦，我想。早点儿结婚，忘掉这些吧。”
“德拉姆，我爱你。”
德拉姆发出了苦涩的笑声。
“是真的——从来就……”
“晚安，晚安。”
“我告诉你，我爱你——我是为了说这话而来的——用跟你完全一样的措词。我一向跟那些希腊人如出一辙，却蒙在鼓里。”
“你畅所欲言吧。”
莫瑞斯立即语塞了。只有没人要求他说话时，他才说得出来。
“霍尔，别出洋相。”德拉姆举起一只手来，因为莫瑞斯惊叫起来了。“你想安慰我。你是个好人，这样做正符合你的处世之道。然而，什么都是有限度的。有一两件事我不能忍受。”
“我并没有出洋相……”
“我不该这么说。因此，务必请离开我。我很感谢自己栽在你手里。绝大多数人会到学监或警察那儿去告发我。”
“哦，下地狱去吧，那是最适合你的地方。”莫瑞斯喊着冲进院子，再度听见了外面那扇门“砰”的一声关上。他狂怒地伫立在那座桥上。这个夜晚与头一次的那么相似，下着蒙蒙细雨，星星朦朦胧胧。他没有考虑到三个星期以来德拉姆所经受的与他不同的折磨，以及一个人的隐私或许会在旁人身上发生截然不同的作用。自从上次分手后他再也没有看到他的朋友，所以被激怒了。时钟敲了十二下、一下、两下，他仍在琢磨该说些什么，尽管已无话可说，语言已经枯竭。
莫瑞斯被雨淋透了，非常暴躁，在最初一抹曙光中他看见了德拉姆那个房间的窗户。他的心脏剧烈地跳动，将他震得粉碎。它喊道：“你爱着，也被爱着。”他四下里望着院子。院子喊道：“你是坚强的，他是软弱而孤独的。”莫瑞斯的意志屈服了，必须要做的事使他极度惊恐，他抓住窗棂子，纵身一跳。
“莫瑞斯……”
当他跳进屋子后，德拉姆在梦中呼唤着他的名字。心头的狂躁消失了，取而代之的是他从未想象过的纯真感情。他的朋友呼唤了他，他神魂颠倒。伫立片刻，新产生的激情终于使他有所吐露，他轻轻地将手放在枕头上，回答说：“克莱夫！”
Chapter 12
Clive had suffered little from bewilderment as a boy. His sincere mind, with its keen sense of right and wrong, had brought him the belief that he was damned instead. Deeply religious, with a living desire to reach God and to please Him, he found himself crossed at an early age by this other de-sire, obviously from Sodom. He had no doubt as to what it was: his emotion, more compact than Maurice's, was not split into the brutal and the ideal, nor did he waste years in bridging the gulf. He had in him the impulse that destroyed the City of the Plain. It should not ever become carnal, but why had he out of all Christians been punished with it?
At first he thought God must be trying him, and if he did not blaspheme would recompense him like Job. He therefore bowed his head, fasted, and kept away from anyone whom he found himself inclined to like. His sixteenth year was ceaseless torture. He told no one, and finally broke down and had to be removed from school. During the convalescence he found himself falling in love with a cousin who walked by his bath chair, a young married man. It was hopeless, he was damned.
These terrors had visited Maurice, but dimly: to Clive they were definite, continuous, and not more insistent at the Eucharist than elsewhere. He never mistook them, in spite of the rein he kept on grossness. He could control the body; it was the tainted soul that mocked his prayers.
The boy had always been a scholar, awake to the printed word, and the horrors the Bible had evoked for him were to be laid by Plato. Never could he forget his emotion at first reading theFhaedrus. He saw there his malady described exquisitely, calmly, as a passion which we can direct, like any other, towards good or bad. Here was no invitation to licence. He could not believe his good fortune at first—thought there must be some misunder-standing and that he and Plato were thinking of different things. Then he saw that the temperate pagan really did comprehend him, and, slipping past the Bible rather than opposing it, was offering a new guide for life. "To make the most of what I have." Not to crush it down, not vainly to wish that it was something else, but to cultivate it in such ways as will not vex either God or Man.
He was obliged however to throw over Christianity. Those who base their conduct upon what they are rather than upon what they ought to be, always must throw it over in the end, and besides, between Clive's temperament and that religion there is a secular feud. No clear-headed man can combine them. The temperament, to quote the legal formula, is "not to be mentioned among Christians", and a legend tells that all who shared it died on the morning of the Nativity. Clive regretted this. He came of a family of lawyers and squires, good and able men for the most part, and he did not wish to depart from their tradition. He wished Christianity would compromise with him a little and searched the Scriptures for support. There was David and Jona-than; there was even the "disciple that Jesus loved." But the Church's interpretation was against him; he could not find any rest for his soul in her without crippling it, and withdrew higher into the classics yearly.
By eighteen he was unusually mature, and so well under con-trol that he could allow himself to be friendly with anyone who
attracted him. Harmony had succeeded asceticism. At Cam-bridge he cultivated tender emotions for other under-graduates, and his life, hitherto gray, became slightly tinged with delicate hues. Cautious and sane, he advanced, nor was there anything petty in his caution. He was ready to go further should he con-sider it right.
In his second year he met Risley, himself "that way." Clive did not return the confidence which was given rather freely, nor did he like Risley and his set. But he was stimulated. He was glad to know that there were more of his sort about, and their frank-ness braced him into telling his mother about his agnosticism; it was all he could tell her. Mrs Durham, a worldly woman, made little protest. It was at Christmas the trouble came. Being the only gentry in the parish, the Durhams communicated sepa-ately, and to have the whole village looking on while she and her daughters knelt without Clive in the middle of that long footstool cut her with shame and stung her into anger. They quarrelled. He saw her for what she really was—withered, un-sympathetic, empty—and in his disillusion found himself think-ing vividly of Hall.
Hall: he was only one of several men whom he rather liked. True he, also, had a mother and two sisters, but Clive was too level-headed to pretend this was the only bond between them. He must like Hall more than he realized—must be a little in love with him. And as soon as they met he had a rush of emotion that carried him into intimacy.
The man was bourgeois, unfinished and stupid—the worst of confidants. Yet he told about his home troubles, touched out of all proportion by his dismissal of Chapman. When Hall started teasing he was charmed. Others held off, regarding him as se-date, and he liked being thrown about by a powerful and hand-some boy. It was delightful too when Hall stroked his hair: the
faces of the two people in the room would fade: he leant back till his cheek brushed the flannel of the trousers and felt the warmth strike through. He was under no illusion on these oc-casions. He knew what kind of pleasure he was receiving, and received it honestly, certain that it brought no harm to either of them. Hall was a man who only liked women—one could tell that at a glance.
Towards the end of the term he noticed that Hall had ac-quired a peculiar and beautiful expression. It came only now and then, was subtle and lay far down; he noticed it first when they were squabbling about theology. It was affectionate, kindly, and to that extent a natural expression, but there was mixed in it something that he had not observed in the man, a touch of— impudence? He was not sure, but liked it. It recurred when they met suddenly or had been silent. It beckoned to him across intel-lect, saying, "This is all very well, you're clever, we know—but come!" It haunted him so that he watched for it while his brain and tongue were busy, and when it came he felt himself replying, "I'll come—I didn't know."
"You can't help yourself now. You must come."
"I don't want to help myself."
"Come then."
He did come. He flung down all the barriers—not at once, for he did not live in a house that can be destroyed in a day. All that term and through letters afterwards he made the path clear. Once certain that Hall loved him, he unloosed his own love. Hitherto it had been dalliance, a passing pleasure for body and mind. How he despised that now. Love was harmonious, im-mense. He poured into it the dignity as well as the richness of his being, and indeed in that well-tempered soul the two were one. There was nothing humble about Clive. He knew his own worth, and, when he had expected to go through life without love, he had blamed circumstances rather than himself. Hall,
though attractive and beautiful, had not condescended. They would meet on an equality next term.
But books meant so much for him he forgot that they were a bewilderment to others. Had he trusted the body there would have been no disaster, but by linking their love to the past he linked it to the present, and roused in his friend's mind the con-ventions and the fear of the law. He realized nothing of this. What Hall said he must mean. Otherwise why should he say it? Hall loathed him—had said so, "Oh, rot"—the words hurt more than any abuse, and rang in his ears for days. Hall was the healthy normal Englishman, who had never had a glimmer of what was up.
Great was the pain, great the mortification, but worse fol-lowed. So deeply had Clive become one with the beloved that he began to loathe himself. His whole philosophy of life broke down, and the sense of sin was reborn in its ruins, and crawled along corridors. Hall had said he was a criminal, and must know. He was damned. He dare never be friends with a young man again, for fear of corrupting him. Had he not lost Hall his faith in Christianity and attempted his purity besides?
During those three weeks Clive altered immensely, and was beyond the reach of argument when Hall—good, blundering creature—came to his room to comfort him, tried this and that without success, and vanished in a gust of temper. "Oh, go to Hell, it's all you're fit for." Never a truer word but hard to accept from the beloved. Clive's defeat increased: his life had been blown to pieces, and he felt no inward strength to rebuild it and clear out evil. His conclusion was "Ridiculous boy! I never loved him. I only had an image I made up in my polluted mind, and may God help me to get rid of it."
But it was this image that visited his sleep, and caused him to whisper its name.
"Maurice..."
"Clive..."
"Hall!" he gasped, fully awake. Warmth was upon him. "Mau-rice, Maurice, Maurice___OhMaurice —"
"I know."
"Maurice, I love you."
"I you."
They kissed, scarcely wishing it. Then Maurice vanished as he had come, through the window.
少年时代，克莱夫很少由于迷惑不解而苦恼。但是，由于他心地真诚，对善与恶的感觉敏锐，以致相信自己是该遭天罚的。他非常虔诚，有着接近神、使神感到满意的强烈愿望。不过，年少时他就领悟到自己因来自所多玛的另一种欲望（译注：据《旧约全书•创世记》第18至19章，所多玛的市民干尽了残酷邪恶的勾当。全城被神毁掉，除了善良的罗得一家人，市民们统统被灭绝。“另一种欲望”指同性爱倾向。）而备受磨难。他丝毫没有怀疑这究竟是什么。他的情感比莫瑞斯的细腻，不曾分裂为肉欲与理想，更没有试图在二者之间的鸿沟上搭桥而荒废光阴。他具有一股内在的冲动，那座悲恸之城就是被它毁掉的。永远不能听任这股冲动变成肉欲，但是在众多的基督教徒当中，为什么偏偏让他受这样的惩罚呢？
起初他以为神准是在考验他。倘若他不亵渎神，就会像约伯那样得到补偿（译注：据《旧约全书•约伯记》，约伯经受了神对他的种种考验，从不怨天尤人。最后，神把他所失去的财富还给了他。）。于是他耷拉着脑袋，过斋戒生活，决不接近任何一个他觉得自己会喜欢的人。十六岁那一年，他不断地受到折磨。他对所有的人都守口如瓶，终于患上神经衰弱，被迫休学。进入康复期后，他坐在轮椅上外出，却发现自己爱上了那个陪他的已婚青年，他的一位亲戚。简直是无可救药，他该遭到天罚。
莫瑞斯也曾体验过这样的恐怖，然而是隐隐约约的。克莱夫所尝到的恐怖却是明确的，持续不断的，举行圣餐仪式的时候最要命。尽管他抑制住自己，不会有粗鲁的言行，他却绝不会看错真相。他能够控制自己的肉体，然而他那具堕落的灵魂却在嘲弄他所做的祷告。
这个少年素喜读书，深受书本的启发。《圣经》在他心中引起的恐怖被柏拉图平息下去了。他永远不会忘记初读《斐德罗斯篇》（译注：《斐德罗斯篇》是柏拉图的对话集，内容主要是美学和神秘主义。他把人分成九等，第一等人是“爱智慧者，爱美者，或诗神和爱神的顶礼者”。第六等人是“诗人或其他从事模仿的艺术家”。）时的兴奋。其中他的病被细腻地、平静地加以描述，是作为跟任何其他的激情一样，既可以引向好的方面，也可以引向坏的方面的激情来描述的。这里没有怂恿人去放纵的记述。起初他不能相信自己的好运气——他以为自己准是误解了，他跟柏拉图所想的是两码事。随后，他知道了这位温和的异教徒确实理解他；并没有跟《圣经》对立，却从旁边溜过去，向他捧出新的人生指南：“尽量发展自己的禀赋。”不是将它压垮，也不是徒然希望它是别样的东西，而是以不会惹恼神或人的方式来培育它。
但是他非放弃基督教不可。凡是我行我素，而不是遵奉既定的行为准则的人，最后都必须放弃它。何况克莱夫的性格倾向与基督教教义在俗世间是势不两立的。任何一个头脑清楚的人都不可能使二者妥协。如果引用法律上的惯用语句，克莱夫这种性格倾向是“在基督教徒当中不可启口的”。神话中说，有这种倾向的人在耶稣诞生的第二天早晨统统死掉了，克莱夫对此感到遗憾。他出身于律师、乡绅门第，家族中大多数人都有教养，有本事。他不愿意偏离这一传统。他渴望基督教稍微对他做出让步，就翻看《圣经》，寻找能够支持自己的词句。有大卫与约拿旦(译注：大卫是扫罗王之子约拿旦的好友，扫罗妒忌大卫，想置之于死地。大卫在约拿旦的协助下逃逸。见《旧约全书•撒母耳记上》第18至20章。)的先例，甚至还有“耶稣所钟爱的门徒”（译注：指约翰《约翰福音》的作者。耶稣看见他的母亲和他所钟爱的门徒站在旁边，就对他母亲说：‘妈妈，瞧，你的儿子。’接着，他又对那个门徒说：‘瞧，你的母亲。’”见《新约全书•约翰福音》第19章第26至27节。）。然而教会的解释与他的不一致。倘若想通过《圣经》使自己的灵魂得到安宁，他就必须曲解这种解释不可。于是他逐年对古典文学越钻越深。
18岁时，他已成熟得不同凡响。他能够充分克制自己，不论他感到谁有吸引力，他都会与之建立友好关系，融洽接替了禁欲。在剑桥，他为其他学友们陶冶了温柔的感情。他的人生迄今是灰色的，眼下稍微带有淡淡的色泽了。他谨慎而稳健地前进，他的谨慎丝毫没有小气的意味。只要他认为是正确的，他就准备再向前迈进。
二年级的时候，他遇见了里斯利。里斯利也有“那种倾向”。里斯利相当坦率地向他吐露了自己的秘密，克莱夫却守口如瓶。而且他不喜欢里斯利及其伙伴们，但是他受到了刺激。他知道了周围还有他这种倾向的人，感到很高兴。他们的直言不讳促使他鼓起勇气，将自己的不可知论告诉了母亲。他只能开诚布公地说这么多。德拉姆太太是个圆滑的女人，没提出什么异议。圣诞节期间惹出了麻烦，作为本教区惟一属于绅士阶级的望族，德拉姆这家人与全村的教徒是分开领圣餐的。在众目睽睽之下，她和两个女儿跪在长长的脚台中央，克莱夫却缺席，这使她恼羞成怒。母子吵架了，她原形毕露——憔悴枯槁，没有同情心，精神空虚。他看到母亲这副样子，感到幻灭。这时候，他发觉自己正在强烈地想着霍尔。
霍尔，那是他相当喜欢的几个人中的一个。真的，霍尔也有一位母亲和两个妹妹。然而克莱夫的头脑十分冷静，不至于假装这是他们之间惟一紧密的关系。他对霍尔的好感一定比自己所领悟到的要深—一想必是有点儿爱上了霍尔。放完了假，他们刚一见面，一阵激情袭上心头，促使他跟霍尔亲密起来。
霍尔没有教养，毛毛糙糙，头脑糊涂——最不宜把这种人当做知己。然而由于他给查普曼下了逐客令，克莱夫感激不已，就把家里的那场纠纷向他和盘托出。当霍尔开始跟他戏弄的时候，他被陶醉了。旁人认为他道貌岸然，对他敬而远之。其实他喜欢让这么个有力气的英俊少年摔着玩儿。被霍尔抚摸头发也很愉快。待在屋子里的他们两个人的脸，轮廓模糊了。克莱夫向后仰，脸颊碰着霍尔的法兰绒裤子，并感到裤子的热气刺穿自己的身子。在这些场合，他没有抱任何幻想，他明白自己获得的是什么样的快乐，于是老老实实地接受了它。他确信双方都没有受到伤害，霍尔这个人只喜欢女子——一眼就看得出这一点。
接近学期末的时候，克莱夫发现霍尔脸上有一种特殊的、美丽的表情。这种表情只是偶然浮现，难于捉摸，转瞬即逝。当他们针对神学问题进行争论的时候，他头一次注意到它。它是亲热、和善的，这还在自然表情的范围内。然而，他觉得霍尔的表情中好像夹杂着过去不曾注意到的一丝蛮横。他拿不准，但喜欢它。当他们二人突然相遇或者沉默半晌之后，霍尔的脸上就会泛出这样的神情。它越过理性，引诱他说：“一切都很好，我们知道你是个聪明人一到我这儿来吧！”这种神情萦回在克莱夫的心头，他一边忙于动脑子，鼓其如簧之舌，一边期待着。它浮现在霍尔的脸上后，他就情不自禁地在心里回答：“我会去的——我原来不知道。”
“你现在已经无法违抗了，你非来不可。”
“我不想违抗。”
“那么，来吧。”
克莱夫来了。他拆掉了所有的屏障，不是一下子就拆尽的。因为他并没有住在能够毁于一旦的家里。整整一个学期，随后又在假期内通过书信，他铺平了道路。及至他确知霍尔爱着他，他就释放出自己那一腔爱情。在这之前，不过是调情，是肉体与精神的一种刹那间的快乐而已。而今，他多么藐视它啊。爱是和谐的，无穷无尽的。他将个人的尊严与宽大的心怀倾注进去。在他那平和的灵魂中，它们是合二为一的。克莱夫丝毫没有自卑感，他孤芳自赏。及至料想自己注定要过一辈子没有爱情的生活时，他责备的与其说是自个儿．毋宁说是环境。霍尔呢，尽管长得一表人才，又富于吸引力，在他面前并没有表现出一副了不起的样子。下学期他们会以平等的地位会面。
然而，对他来说书籍是无比重要的，他竟忘记别人会被书弄得迷惑不解。倘若他侧重肉体，就不会招致任何不幸了。但是他把他们二人的爱跟古代衔接起来，同时又联系到现在。这样一来t就在他的朋友心中唤醒了因循旧习，以及对法律的恐惧。他完全没有理会到这一点。霍尔所说的肯定是由衷之言，否则他为什么要说呢？霍尔厌恶他，而且这么说了：“哦，别胡说！”这比任何谩骂都使他感到痛苦，在他的耳际萦绕了好几天。霍尔是个健康、正常的英国人，对克莱夫的心事浑然不觉。
克莱夫痛苦不已，屈辱至极，但更糟糕的还在后头。由于克莱夫已经与他所挚爱的人深深地融为一体了，他开始厌恶起自己来。他的人生哲学完全崩溃了，从废墟中重新产生的罪恶意识，在瓦砾间乱爬。霍尔曾经说那是犯罪行为，而他是晓得这句话的分量的。克莱夫被弄得身败名裂。他再也不敢跟小伙子交朋友了，生怕会使对方道德败坏。难道他没有让霍尔失掉对基督教的信仰，甚至还试图玷 ，污他的纯洁吗？
三个星期以来，克莱夫发生了极大的变化。当霍尔——善良、愚钝的人儿——到他的房间来安慰他时，他抱着超然的态度。霍尔用尽种种办法也没有用，终于大发雷霆，消失了踪影。“哦，下地狱去吧，那是最适合你的地方。”此话无比真实，然而出自所爱的人之口就难以接受了。克莱夫一而再再而三地败下阵来。他的人生被彻底粉碎，他感到自己没有重建人生并清除邪恶的勇气。他的结论是：“荒谬的男孩！我从来没爱过他。我不过是在被污染了的心灵中塑造了这么个形象。神啊，请帮助我将它驱除掉。”
然而，出现在他睡梦中的正是这个形象，致使他呼唤他的名字。
“莫瑞斯……”
“克莱夫……”
“霍尔！”他透不过气来，完全清醒了。暖烘烘的体温笼罩在他身上。“莫瑞斯，莫瑞斯，莫瑞斯……啊，莫瑞斯……”
“我知道。”
“莫瑞斯，我爱你。”
“我也爱你。”
他们二人不由自主地接吻。随后，莫瑞斯就像进来的时候一样，从窗子跳出去，消失了踪影。
Chapter 13
"I've missed two lectures already," remarked Maurice, who was breakfasting in his pyjamas.
"Cut them all—he'll only gate you."
"Will you come out in the side-car?"
"Yes, but a long way," said Clive, lighting a cigarette. "I can't stick Cambridge in this weather. Let's get right outside it ever so far and bathe. I can work as we go along—Oh damnation!"— for there were steps on the stairs. Joey Fetherstonhaugh looked in and asked one or other of them to play tennis with him that afternoon. Maurice accepted.
"Maurice! What did you do that for, you fool?"
"Cleared him out quickest. Clive, meet me at the garage in twenty minutes, bring your putrid books, and borrow Joey's goggles. I must dress. Bring some lunch too."
"What about horses instead?"
"Too slow."
They met as arranged. Joey's goggles had offered no difficulty, as he had been out. But as they threaded Jesus Lane they were hailed by the Dean.
"Hall, haven't you a lecture?"
"I overslept," called Maurice contemptuously.
"Hall! Hall! Stop when I speak."
Maurice went on. "No good arguing," he observed.
"Not the least."
They swirled across the bridge and into the Ely road. Maurice said, "Now we'll go to Hell." The machine was powerful, he reckless naturally. It leapt forward into the fens and the reced-ing dome of die sky. They became a cloud of dust, a stench, and a roar to the world, but the air they breathed was pure, and all the noise they heard was the long drawn cheer of the wind. They cared for no one, they were outside humanity, and death, had it come, would only have continued their pursuit of a retreating horizon. A tower, a town—it had been Ely—were behind them, in front the same sky, paling at last as though heralding the sea. "Right turn," again, then "left," "right," until all sense of direc-tion was gone. There was a rip, a grate. Maurice took no notice. A noise arose as of a thousand pebbles being shaken together between his legs. No accident occurred, but the machine came to a standstill among the dark black fields. The song of the lark was heard, the trail of dust began to settle behind them. They were alone.
"Let's eat," said Clive.
They ate on a grassy embankment. Above them the waters of a dyke moved imperceptibly, and reflected interminable willow trees. Man, who had created the whole landscape, was nowhere to be seen. After lunch Clive thought he ought to work. He spread out his books and was asleep in ten minutes. Maurice lay up by the water, smoking. A farmer's cart appeared, and it did occur to him to ask which county they were in. But he said noth-ing, nor did the farmer appear to notice him. When Clive awoke it was past three. "We shall want some tea soon," was his con-tribution.
"All right. Can you mend that bloody bike?"
"Oh yes, didn't something jam?" He yawned and walked down to the machine. "No, I can't, Maurice, can you?"
"Rather not."
They laid their cheeks together and began laughing. The smash struck them as extraordinarily funny. Grandpapa's present too! He had given it to Maurice against his coming of age in August. Clive said, "How if we left it and walked?"
"Yes, who'd do it any harm? Leave the coats and things inside it. Likewise Joey's goggles."
"What about my books?"
"Leave 'em too."
"I shan't want them after hall?"
"Oh, I don't know. Tea's more important than hall. It stands to reason—well what are you giggling at?—that if we follow a dyke long enough we must come to a pub."
"Why, they use it to water their beer!"
Maurice smote him on the ribs, and for ten minutes they played up amongst the trees, too silly for speech. Pensive again, they stood close together, then hid the bicycle behind dog roses, and started. Clive took his notebook away with him, but it did not survive in any useful form, for the dyke they were following branched.
"We must wade this," he said. "We can't go round or we shall never get anywhere. Maurice, look—we must keep in a bee line south."
"All right."
It did not matter which of them suggested what that day; the other always agreed. Clive took off his shoes and socks and rolled his trousers up. Then he stepped upon the brown surface of the dyke and vanished. He reappeared swimming.
"All that deep!" he spluttered, climbing out. "Maurice, no idea! Had you?"
Maurice cried, "I say, I must bathe properly." He did so, while Clive carried his clothes. The light grew radiant. Presently they came to a farm.
The farmer's wife was inhospitable and ungracious, but they spoke of her afterwards as "absolutely ripping." She did in the end give them tea and allow Clive to dry near her kitchen fire. She "left payment to them," and, when they overpaid her, grum-bled. Nothing checked their spirits. They transmuted every-thing.
"Goodbye, we're greatly obliged," said Clive. "And if any of your men come across the bike: I wish we could describe where we left it better. Anyhow I'll give you my friend's card. Tie it on the bike if they will be so kind, and bring it down to the nearest station. Something of the sort, I don't know. The station master will wire to us."
The station was five miles on. When they reached it the sun was low, and they were not back in Cambridge till after hall. All this last part of the day was perfect. The train, for some un-known reason, was full, and they sat close together, talking quietly under the hubbub, and smiling. When they parted it was in the ordinary way: neither had an impulse to say anything special. The whole day had been ordinary. Yet it had never come before to either of them, nor was it to be repeated.
“我已经误了两堂课了。”莫瑞斯说。他身穿睡衣，正在吃早餐。
“都别上了——只不过是受到禁止外出的处分呗。”
“你愿意坐在摩托车的挎斗里去兜风吗？”
“好的，到远处去吧。”克莱夫边点燃一支香烟边说。“像这样的天气，我可不能老待在剑桥。咱们离开这儿，走得远远的，游泳去吧。一路上，我还可以用功。哎呀，怎么啦？”这时传来了跑上楼梯的脚步声。乔伊•费瑟斯顿豪探进头来，问他们两个人当中的任何一个能不能当天下午跟他一道打网球。莫瑞斯同意了。
“莫瑞斯，干吗同意呀，你这傻瓜？”
“为的是最快地把他打发走。克莱夫，20分钟之内在车库跟我碰头。捎上你那些枯燥的书，把乔伊的风镜也借来。我得换衣服，再带点儿午餐。”
“咱们骑马去如何？”
“太慢啦。”
他们照预先安排的那样碰了头。乔伊的风镜毫不费力地就弄到手了，因为他不在屋里。然而当他们沿着耶稣小径驰行时，学监叫他们停下来。
“霍尔，你不是有课吗？”
“我睡过了头。”莫瑞斯傲慢不恭地大声叫喊。
“霍尔！霍尔！我跟你说话的时候，你得停住。”
霍尔继续驾驶着。“争论下去也没用。”他说。
“一点儿用处也没有。”
摩托车飞也似地跨过桥，奔上通往伊利（译注：伊利是剑桥郡的一座小城镇，常有来自附近剑桥的游客参观游览。位于乌兹河西岸，坐落在冲积扇的岩石“岛”上。现存的大教堂是由诺曼人隐修院院长西米恩创建的。）的公路。莫瑞斯说：“咱们现在该下地狱啦。”发动机的马力很大，他又天性莽撞。摩托车向沼泽地扑去。天空快速地向后退着。他们化为一团尘雾，一股恶臭，俗世的一片噪音，但他们所吸的空气是清新的，他们听到的只有风那快活的长啸。他们对任何人都不关心，他们超然物外。倘若死神降临，他们依然会继续追逐那后退的地平线。圣堂的尘塔，城镇——那就是伊利——被他们撇在后面了。前方还是同样的天空，颜色终于变得淡一些了。“向右转”，再转一次，然后“向左”，“向右”，直到完全失掉方向感。“啪”的一声，接着又“嘎”的一声，莫瑞斯置之不理。两条腿之间发出了像是搅和一千颗石头子般的声音n没出车祸，然而在黑黝黝的一片田野间，马达突然停住了。听到了云雀鸣啭声，长长地拖在他们身后的那溜尘土开始沉降了。除了他们．连个人影都没有。
“咱们吃饭吧。”克莱夫说。
他们坐在长满了草的堤岸I二吃了饭。河水几乎察觉不出地移动着，沿堤栽种的柳树无止无休地在水上投下影子。哪里也看不到制造整个风景的人。吃完饭，克莱夫认为他该用功了。他摊开书本，不出十分钟就睡着了。莫瑞斯在水边躺下来抽烟。出现了一辆农夫的手推车，他有心打听一下他们目前待在哪个郡。然而他没吱声，那个农夫好像也不曾注意到他。克莱夫一觉醒来，已经三点多钟了。他劈头就说：“过一会儿咱们该喝茶了。”
“好的。你会修理那辆该死的摩托车吗？”
“当然会。是不是什么地方发生故障了？”他打了个哈欠，走到车子跟前去。“不，我修理不了。莫瑞斯，你会吗？”
“当然不会。”
他们二人相互贴着脸颊，开怀大笑。他们认为车撞毁了是无比滑稽的事件。况且这还是外公的礼物呢！八月间莫瑞斯将达成人年龄，外公给了他这份贺礼。克莱夫说：“咱们把它撂下，走回去如何？”
“行。谁也不会来捣蛋吧？把大衣什么的都放在车里。乔伊的风镜也放进去。”
“我的书怎么办？”
“也放下吧。”
“饭后我还用得着书吧？”
“唔，这就很难说了。喝茶比吃饭重要，这是合乎常理的——喂，你傻笑什么？——倘若咱们沿着河堤一直走，必然会撞见一家小酒馆。”
“他们把河水兑在啤酒里！”
莫瑞斯朝着克莱夫的侧腹打了一拳。他们在树丛间打闹了十分钟，太荒唐了，连话也顾不得说了。他们重新变得若有所思，紧挨在一起伫立着。随后，将摩托车藏在野蔷薇丛下面以后就启程了。克莱夫随身携带着笔记本，到头来它报废了，因为他们沿堤走着的那条河分成了两叉。
“咱们得蹬水过河。”克莱夫说。“咱们可不能兜圈子，否则就会迷失方向。莫瑞斯，瞧——咱们必须笔直地朝南走。”
“明白啦。”
那一天，不论他们当中的哪一个提出什么建议，都无关紧要，另一个人准同意。克莱夫脱了鞋和短袜子，卷起裤腿。随后，他踩进那褐色的水，没了顶。他游着泳，浮上来了。
“深极啦！”他边急促而慌乱地说，边从水里爬出来。“莫瑞斯，我完全没想到！你想到了吗？”
莫瑞斯叫喊道：“我必须适当地游泳。”他就这么做了。克莱夫替他拿着衣服，阳光灿烂。不一会儿，他们来到一座农舍跟前。
那位大娘既冷淡又粗鄙，然而事后他们说她“好极了”。到头来她总算是以茶水招待了他们，还容许克莱夫在她厨房的炉火旁烘干他那些湿衣服。她说“随你们给多少都行”，他们多付给她一些钱，她只是咕哝了一句什么。他们依然兴高采烈，什么也抑制不住他们。他们使一切都起了变化。
“再见，多谢你的招待。”克莱夫说，“要是本地的一个男人找到了那辆摩托车-尚若能把我们放摩托车的地点讲得详细一些就好了。不管怎样，我把朋友的名片留给你，请他们费神把它拴在摩托车上，将车运到最近的火车站去。大致就是这样，我也说不准。站长会给我们打电报的。”
火车站在相距五英里的地方。他们走到车站的时候，太阳都快落了。晚饭结束后，他们才返抵剑桥。这一天的最后一段时间过得十分美满。不知道是什么缘故，火车满员，他们紧挨着坐在那儿，在喧闹声中小声交谈，面泛微笑。他们是像平时那样分手的，谁也没有凭一时冲动说点儿特别的话。这是平凡的一天，然而他们二人都是平生第一次过这样的日子，而且也是最后的一次。
Chapter 14
The Dean sent Maurice down. Mr Cornwallis was not a severe official, and the boy had a tolerable record, but he could not overlook so gross a breach of discipline. "And why did you not stop when I called you, Hall?" Hall made no answer, did not even look sorry. He had a smouldering eye, and Mr Cornwallis, though much an-noyed, realized that he was confronted with a man. In a dead, bloodless way, he even guessed what had happened.
"Yesterday you cut chapel, four lectures, including my own translation class, and hall. You have done this sort of thing be-fore. It's unnecessary to add impertinence, don't you think? Well? No reply? You will go down and inform your mother of the reason. I shall inform her too. Until you write me a letter of apology, I shall not recommend your readmission to the college in October. Catch the twelve o'clock."
"All right."
Mr Cornwallis motioned him out.
No punishment was inflicted on Durham. He had been let off all lectures in view of his Tripos, and even if he had been remiss the Dean would not have worried him; the best classical scholar of his year, he had won special treatment. A good thing he would no longer be distracted by Hall. Mr Cornwallis always suspected such friendships. It was not natural that men of different char-acters and tastes should be intimate, and although undergradu-
ates, unlike schoolboys, are officially normal, the dons exercised a certain amount of watchfulness, and felt it right to spoil a love affair when they could.
Clive helped him pack, and saw him off. He said little, lest he depressed his friend, who was still in the heroics, but his heart sank. It was his last term, for his mother would not let him stay up a fourth year, which meant that he and Maurice would never meet in Cambridge again. Their love belonged to it, and par-ticularly to their rooms, so that he could not conceive of their meeting anywhere else. He wished that Maurice had not taken up a strong line with the Dean, but it was too late now, and that the side-car had not been lost. He connected that side-car with intensities—the agony of the tennis court, the joy of yesterday. Bound in a single motion, they seemed there closer to one an-other than elsewhere; the machine took on a life of its own, in which they met and realized the unity preached by Plato. It had gone, and when Maurice's train went also, actually tearing hand from hand, he broke down, and returning to his room wrote pas-sionate sheets of despair.
Maurice received the letter the next morning. It completed what his family had begun, and he had his first explosion of rage against the world.
学监勒令莫瑞斯停学。
康沃利斯先生不是一位严厉的学监，迄今莫瑞斯品学尚好。但是他绝不能宽恕此次的违法乱纪。“霍尔，我叫你停住的时候，你为什么不肯停下来？”霍尔不回答，而且连道歉的样子都没有。他的眼睛郁积着不满情绪。康沃利斯先生尽管十分烦恼，却领悟到自己面对的是一个成年人。他运用呆滞、冷酷的想象力，甚至猜测出发生了什么事。
“昨天你没去做礼拜，还旷了四堂课，包括我本人教的翻译课，也没参加会餐。过去你也这么做过，不用再火上浇油，摆出一副傲慢的态度了吧？你不这么想吗？啊？不回答吗？罚你停学，回家去告诉你母亲，怎么会落到这步田地的。我也会通知她。除非你给我写一封悔过书来，否则我绝不推荐你在十月间复学。乘十二点钟的火车动身吧。”
“知道啦。”
康沃利斯先生打手势示意让他出去。
德拉姆不曾受到任何惩罚。由于即将参加荣誉学位考试，所有的课程他都被免了。即便他旷了课，学监也不会跟他过不去。作为这个学年最杰出的古典文学高才生，他获得了特殊待遇。今后他再也不必为霍尔的缘故弄得精神涣散，是件好事。康沃利斯先生一直怀疑学生之间存在着这样的友谊。性格与爱好都不相同的大学生成为密友，是不自然的。不像公学的学生，大学本科生已被公认为具有自制能力了。尽管如此，学监们在一定程度上还是小心提防着，并认为应该力所能及地破坏这种恋爱关系。
克莱夫帮助莫瑞斯打点行李，为他送行。他的话很少，以免使朋友沮丧，但他的心情是抑郁的，莫瑞斯却依然以英雄自居。这是他的最后一个学期了，因为他的母亲不让他在剑桥读四年之久。这就意味着他和莫瑞斯再也不会在剑桥相逢了。他们之间的爱情属于剑桥，尤其属于他们的房间，所以他很难想象两个人会在别的任何地方见面。他想，倘若莫瑞斯不曾对学监采取那么强硬的态度该有多好，然而现在为时已晚。他还希望那辆摩托车没有丢失。他把那辆摩托车跟激情联系在一起——在网球场上，他曾苦恼过，昨天却充满了欢乐。他们二人始终是一致行动的，在摩托车里好像比在其他地方挨得更近了。摩托车具有了自己的生命，他们在车里会合，并实现了柏拉图所倡导的那种结合。摩托车已经没有了，莫瑞斯搭乘的火车也急驰而去，把他们相互拉着的手拆散开来。克莱夫的精神崩溃了，于是回到自己的房间，写了一封充满绝望的信。
第二天早晨，莫瑞斯收到了信。这封信把他的家族已经开始做的那件事结束了。他对世界头一次爆发了愤怒。
Chapter 15
"I can`tapologize, mother—I explained last night there's nothing to apologize about. They had no right to send me down when everyone cuts lectures. It's pure spite, and you can ask anyone—Ada, do try turning on the coffee in-stead of the salt water."
She sobbed, "Maurice, you've upset mother: how can you be so unkind and brutal?"
"I'm sure I don't mean to be. I don't see I've been unkind. I shall go straight into the business now, like father did, without taking one of their rotten degrees. I see no harm in that."
"You might have kept your poor father out, he never had any unpleasantness," said Mrs Hall. "Oh Morrie, my darling—and we did so look forward to Cambridge."
"All this crying's a mistake," announced Kitty, who aspired to the functions of a tonic. "It only makes Maurice tfunk he's im-portant, which he isn't: he'll write to the Dean as soon as no one wants him to."
"I shan't. It's unsuitable," replied her brother, hard as iron.
"I don't see that."
"Little girls don't see a good deal."
"I'm not so sure!"
He glanced at her. But she only said that she saw a good deal more than some little boys who thought themselves little men. She was merely maundering, and the fear, tinged with respect,
i
that had arisen in him died down. No, he couldn't apologize. He had done nothing wrong and wouldn't say he had, it was the first taste of honesty he had known for years, and honesty is like blood. In his unbending mood the boy thought it would be pos-sible to live without compromise, and ignore all that didn't yield to himself and Clive! Clive's letter had maddened him. No doubt he is stupid—the sensible lover would apologize and get back to comfort his friend—but it was the stupidity of passion, which would rather have nothing than a little.
They continued talking and weeping. At last he rose, said, "I can't eat to this accompaniment," and went into the garden. His mother followed with a tray. Her very softness enraged him, for love develops the athlete. It cost her nothing to muck about with tender words and toast: she only wanted to make him soft too.
She wanted to know whether she had heard rightly, was he refusing to apologize? She wondered what her father would say, and incidentally learnt that the birthday gift was lying beside some East Anglian drove. She grew seriously concerned, for its loss was more intelligible to her than the loss of a degree. The girls minded too. They mourned the bicycle for the rest of the morning, and, though Maurice could always silence them or send them out of earshot, he felt that their pliancy might sap his strength again, as in the Easter vacation.
In the afternoon he had a collapse. He remembered that Clive and he had only been together one day! And they had spent it careering about like fools—instead of in one another's arms! Maurice did not know that they had thus spent it perfectly—he was too young to detect the triviality of contact for contact's sake. Though restrained by his friend, he would have surfeited passion. Later on, when his love took second strength, he real-ized how well Fate had served him. The one embrace in the
darkness, the one long day in the light and the wind, were twin columns, each useless without the other. And all the agony of separation that he went through now, instead of destroying, was to fulfil.
He tried to answer Clive's letter. Already he feared to ring false. In the evening he received another, composed of the words "Maurice! I love you." He answered, "Clive, I love you." Then they wrote every day and for all their care created new images in each other's hearts. Letters distort even more quickly than silence. A terror seized Clive that something was going wrong, and just before his exam he got leave to run down to town. Maurice lunched with him. It was horrible. Both were tired, and they had chosen a restaurant where they could not hear themselves speak. "I haven't enjoyed it," said Clive when he wished goodbye. Maurice felt relieved. He had pretended to himself that he had enjoyed it, and thus increased his misery. They agreed that they would confine themselves to facts in their letters, and only write when anything was urgent. The emotional strain relaxed, and Maurice, nearer to brain fever than he sup-posed, had several dreamless nights that healed him. But daily life remained a poor business.
His position at home was anomalous: Mrs Hall wished that someone would decide it for her. He looked like a man and had turned out the Howells last Easter; but on the other hand he had been sent down from Cambridge and was not yet twenty-one. What was his place in her house? Instigated by Kitty, she tried to assert herself, but Maurice, after a genuine look of sur-prise, laid back his ears. Mrs Hall wavered, and, though fond of her son, took the unwise step of appealing to Dr Barry. Maurice was asked to go round one evening to be talked to.
"Well, Maurice, and how goes the career? Not quite as you expected, eh?"
Maurice was still afraid of their neighbour.
"Not quite as your mother expected, which is more to the point."
"Not quite as anyone expected," said Maurice, looking at his hands.
Dr Barry then said, "Oh, it's all for the best. What do you want with a University Degree? It was never intended for the suburban classes. You're not going to be either a parson or a barrister or a pedagogue. And you are not a county gentleman. Sheer waste of time. Get into harness at once. Quite right to insult the Dean. The city's your place. Your mother—" He paused and lit a cigar, the boy had been offered nothing. "Your mother doesn't understand this, Worrying because you don't apologize. For my own part I think these things right them-selves. You got into an atmosphere for which you are not suited, and you've very properly taken the first opportunity to get out of it."
"How do you mean, sir?"
"Oh. Not sufficiently clear? I mean that the county gentleman would apologize by instinct if he found he had behaved like a cad. You've a different tradition."
"I think I must be getting home now," said Maurice, not with-out dignity.
"Yes, I think you must. I didn't invite you to have a pleasant evening, as I hope you have realized."
"You've spoken straight—perhaps some day I shall too. I know I'd like to."
This set the Doctor off, and he cried:
"How dare you bully your mother, Maurice. You ought to be horsewhipped. You young puppy! Swaggering about instead of asking her to forgive you! I know all about it. She came here with tears in her eyes and asked me to speak. She and your sis-
ters are my respected neighbours, and as long as a woman calls me I'm at her service. Don't answer me, sir, don't answer, I want none of your speech, straight or otherwise. You are a disgrace to chivalry. I don't know what the world is coming to. I dont know what the world—I'm disappointed and disgusted with you."
Maurice, outside at last, mopped his forehead. He was ashamed in a way. He knew he had behaved badly to his mother, and all the snob in him had been touched to the raw. But some-how he could not retract, could not alter. Once out of the rut, he seemed out of it for ever. "A disgrace to chivalry." He con-sidered the accusation. If a woman had been in that side-car, if then he had refused to stop at the Dean's bidding, would Dr Barry have required an apology from him? Surely not. He fol-lowed out this train of thought with difficulty. His brain was still feeble. But he was obliged to use it, for so much in current speech and ideas needed translation before he could understand them.
His mother met him, looking ashamed herself; she felt, as he did, that she ought to have done her own scolding. Maurice had grown up, she complained to Kitty; the children went from one; it was all very sad. Kitty asserted her brother was still nothing but a boy, but all these women had a sense of some change in his mouth and eyes and voice since he had faced Dr Barry.
“我决不写悔过书，妈妈——昨天晚上我已经解释过，我没有什么可谢罪的。人人都在旷课，他们凭什么罚我停学？这纯粹是有意和我作对，您可以随便问任何人。喂，艾达，给我来杯地道的咖啡，可别给我盐水。”
艾达抽泣着说：“莫瑞斯，你把妈妈弄得心烦意乱，你怎么可以这样冷酷残忍呢？”
“我敢说，这不是故意的。我不认为自己冷酷。我要像爸爸那样直接就业，不要那没用的学位了。我看不出这样做有什么害处。”
“别把你可怜的爸爸牵扯进来，他可从来没做过任何让人不愉快的事。”霍尔太太说。“哦，莫瑞，我亲爱的——我们大家对剑桥抱过多么大的期望啊。”
“你们不该这么哭哭啼啼的，”渴望起到强硬作用的吉蒂说，“这仅仅让莫瑞斯觉得自己很重要，其实他没什么了不起。一旦没人要求他写了，他马上就会给学监写的。”
“我才不写呢，这样做不合适。”哥哥斩钉截铁地说。
“我看不出有什么不合适。”
“小姑娘看不出来的东西太多了。”
“这很难说！”
他瞥了她一眼。她说自己远比那些自以为成了小大人的男孩子所看出来的要多。她不过是诈唬而已。于是，他对妹妹油然而生的敬畏之情消失了。不，他可不能谢罪，他没做任何不好的事，所以不愿意说自己做过。这是多年来他头一次接受诚实的考验，而诚实就像血液一样宝贵。莫瑞斯顽固地认为，他能够毫不妥协地过一辈子。凡是不肯对他本人和克莱夫做出让步的人，他一概不理睬！克莱夫的信使得他精神错乱。毫无疑问，他是个糊涂虫。倘若他是个通情达理的情人，就会写悔过书，回剑桥去安慰自己的友人。然而这是激情造成的愚蠢，宁可什么都不要，也不肯只要一点点。
莫瑞斯的母亲和妹妹继续唠叨并哭泣。他终于站起来说：“在这样的伴奏下，我吃不下去。”就走到庭院里去了。母亲端着托盘跟了出来。她的宽厚惹恼了他，因为爱情使运动员莫瑞斯成长起来了。对她来说，捧着放有烤面包片的托盘，边说好话边溜达算不了什么，她只不过是想让儿子也变得跟她一样宽厚而已。
她想知道自己是否听错了。难道他真的拒绝悔过吗？她琢磨着．倘若她父亲知道了，会说些什么。接着，她偶然得悉，老人家送给莫瑞斯的那份生日礼物竟被撂在东英吉利亚（译注：东英吉利亚是英格兰最东端的传统地区。由诺福克、萨福克二郡和剑桥郡、埃塞克斯郡的一部分组成，沿岸有重要的渔港和避暑地。）的道旁了。她认真地对此事表示关切，因为对她而言，丢摩托车比丢学位更明白易懂。两个妹妹也牵挂此事。直到晌午为止，她们不断地为摩托车而哀叹。尽管莫瑞斯一向能够让她们闭嘴，或把她们打发到听不见她们声音的地方去，但他生怕她们过于顺从，会像复活节放假期间那样削弱他的志气，所以什么也没说。
到了下午，莫瑞斯的精神崩溃了。他想起克莱夫和自己仅仅相聚了一天！而且就像一对傻子似的乘着摩托车疾驰——却不曾相互搂抱！莫瑞斯没有理解，正因为如此，他们这一天才尽善尽美。他太年轻了，不曾察觉为接触而接触是何等平庸。虽然他的朋友在抑制着他，他还是几乎倾注全部激情。后来，当他的爱获得第二种力量时，他才领悟命运待他不薄。黑暗中的一次拥抱，在光与风中的漫长的一天，是两根相辅相成的柱子。眼下他所忍受的别离的痛苦，并非为了破坏，而是为了成全。
他试着给克莱夫写回信，他已经在惧怕虚伪了。傍晚他收到另一封来信，是用“莫瑞斯，我爱你！”这样的词句构成的。他在回信中写道：“克莱夫，我爱你。”随后，他们之间每天都有书信往来，毫不在意地相互在心里制造着对方的新形象。信件比沉默更迅速地引起曲解。心怀恐惧，不知什么地方出了问题，克莱夫感到害怕。于是临考试前，他请假直奔伦敦。莫瑞斯与他共进午餐，这是一件可怕的事。双方都已经很疲倦了，却选了一家噪音格外大的饭馆，彼此说话的声音都听不见。“我一点儿也不愉快。”分手的时候克莱夫说。莫瑞斯感到宽慰，他自己都装出一副愉快的样子，心里就更加难受了。他们约定，今后在信中仅限于写事实，除非有紧急情况，不再写信，心理上的压迫感减少了。莫瑞斯头脑发热，几乎处于高度兴奋状态，只不过自己没有意识到。这之后，他接连睡了几夜，连梦都没做，终于康复了。然而，日常生活依旧不愉快。
他在家中的地位是不正常的，霍尔太太希望有人替他做出决定。他俨然是个大人了，上次过复活节假期时，还把豪厄尔夫妇解雇了。然而另一方面，他在剑桥受到停学处分，尚未满二十一岁。在她这个家里，该给他什么样的地位呢？在吉蒂的鼓动下，她试图向儿子显示一下自己的权威。莫瑞斯起初露出了真正惊讶的神色，随后就敌视起她来。霍尔太太动摇了，虽然喜欢她的儿子，却采取了求助于巴里大夫这一不明智的措施。一个傍晚，大夫叫莫瑞斯到自己家去，说是有话跟他谈。
“喂，莫瑞斯，学业怎么样？不完全像是你所期待的样子吧，啊？”
莫瑞斯对他们家这位邻居依然心怀畏惧。
“不完全像是你母亲所期待的样子一这么说更中肯一些。”
“不完全像是任何人所期待的样子。”莫瑞斯瞧着自己的手说。
于是，巴里大夫说：“哦，这样就最好了。你要大学的学位干吗？它从来就不是为郊区的中产阶级而设的。你既不会去做牧师，也不会去做律师或教员，你也不是个乡绅，纯粹是在荒废光阴。马上就业算啦，你把学监侮辱了一通，相当不错。你的职位在伦敦商业中心区。你的母亲……”他停顿了一下，点燃了一支雪茄，却什么都没给这个小伙子。“你的母亲不理解这一点。只因为你不肯悔过，她很着急。依我看，水到渠成。你踏进了不适合于你的地方，而你又非常正确地抓住第一个机会摆脱了这个环境。”
“您这是什么意思，先生？”
“咦，我说得不够清楚吗？我指的是，倘若一位乡绅发现自己的举止像个粗鄙无礼的人，他就会凭着直觉道歉。你是在不同的传统观念下长大的。”
“我想，现在我该回家去了。”莫瑞斯说，他保持了威严。
“对，我想你是该回去了。我希望你已经领悟到我不是请你来度过一个愉快的傍晚的。”
“您谈得直截了当——也许迟早有一天，我也会这样做。我知道自己喜欢这样。”
大夫一触即发，他大声嚷道：“你怎么敢欺侮你母亲，莫瑞斯。应该用马鞭狠狠地抽打你一顿。你这个浅薄自负的小子！不去请求母亲原谅，却大摇大摆地走来走去！我统统都知道。她泪汪汪地到这儿来了，要求我说几句话。她和你的两个妹妹是我所尊重的邻居。只要女人们发话，我就惟命是从。别回答我，先生，别回答。不论直截了当与否，你的辩解我一句也不要听。你玷辱了骑士精神。我不知道世界变成了什么样子，我不知道——我对你感到失望，感到厌恶。”
莫瑞斯终于走到外面去了，他擦了擦额头。他有几分惭愧，自己对母亲不好，他身上那庸俗的一面被刺痛了。然而不知怎的，他下不来台，不能改变。一旦脱了轨，好像永远也上不了轨道了。“玷辱了骑士精神。”他琢磨着大夫的指责。倘若坐在摩托车挎斗里的是个女人，倘若他是由于这个缘故才拒绝按学监的命令停下来，那么巴里大夫还会要求他谢罪吗？想必不会的。他吃力地沿着这个思路想下去，他的头脑依然虚弱，但是他非动脑筋不可。因为有那么多日常谈话与想法，他都得重新解释一遍才能领会。
他的母亲在等候着他。她显得怪难为情的样子。她的儿子．她觉得应该亲自来训斥他。她对吉蒂抱怨说，莫瑞斯长大成人了，子女们一个个地离去，多么令人悲伤啊。吉蒂硬说她哥哥仍旧是个孩子。然而自从莫瑞斯去见过巴里大夫以后，家中的女眷都觉得他的嘴、眼睛和嗓音统统起了一些变化。
Chapter 16
TheDurhams lived in a remote part of England on the Wilts and Somerset border. Though not an old family they had held land for four generations, and its influence had passed into them. Clive's great-great-uncle had been Lord Chief Justice in the reign of George IV,and the nest he had feathered was Penge. The feathers were inclined to blow about now. A hundred years had nibbled into the fortune, which no wealthy bride had replenished, and both house and estate were marked, not indeed with decay, but with the immobility that precedes it.
The house lay among woods. A park, still ridged with the lines of vanished hedges, stretched around, giving light and air and pasture to horses and Alderney cows. Beyond it the trees began, most planted by old Sir Edwin, who had annexed the common lands. There were two entrances to the park, one up by the village, the other on the clayey road that went to the station. There had been no station in the old days, and the ap-proach from it, which was undignified and led by the back premises, typified an afterthought of England's.
Maurice arrived in the evening. He had travelled straight from his grandfather's at Birmingham, where, rather tepidly, he had come of age. Though in disgrace, he had not been mulcted of his presents, but they were given and received without enthusiasm. He had looked forward so much to being
twenty-one. Kitty implied that he did not enjoy it because he had gone to the bad. Quite nicely he pinched her ear for this and kissed her, which annoyed her a good deal. "You have nosense of things," she said crossly. He smiled.
From Alfriston Gardens, with its cousins and meat teas, the change to Penge was immense. County families, even when in-telligent, have something alarming about them, and Maurice approached any seat with awe. True, Clive had met him and was with him in the brougham, but then so was a Mrs Sheep-shanks, who had arrived by his train. Mrs Sheepshanks had a maid, following behind with her luggage and his in a cab, and he wondered whether he ought to have brought a servant too. The lodge gate was held by a little girl. Mrs Sheepshanks wishedeveryone curtsied. Clive trod on his foot when she said this, but he wasn't sure whether accidentally. He was sure of nothing. When they approached he mistook the back for the front, and prepared to open the door. Mrs Sheepshanks said, "Oh, but that's complimentary." Besides, there was a butler to open the door.
Tea, very bitter, was awaiting them, and Mrs Durham looked one way while she poured out the other. People stood about, all looking distinguished or there for some distinguished reason. They were doing things or causing others to do them: Miss Durham booked him to canvass tomorrow for Tariff Reform. They agreed politically; but the cry with which she greeted his alliance did not please him. "Mother, Mr Hallis sound." Major Western, a cousin also stopping in the house, would ask him about Cambridge. Did Army men mind one being sent down? . . . No, it was worse than the restaurant, for there Clive had been out of his element too.
"Pippa, does Mr Hall know his room?"
'The Blue Room, mama."
"The one with no fireplace," called Clive. "Show him up." He was seeing off some callers.
Miss Durham passed Maurice on to the butler. They went up a side staircase. Maurice saw the main flight to the right, and wondered whether he was being slighted. His room was small, furnished cheaply. It had no outlook. As he knelt down to un-pack, a feeling of Sunnington came over him, and he deter-mined, while he was at Penge, to work through all his clothes. They shouldn't suppose he was unfashionable; he was as good as anyone. But he had scarcely reached this conclusion when Clive rushed in with the sunlight behind him. "Maurice, I shall kiss you," he said, and did so.
"Where—what's through there?"
"Our study—" He was laughing, his expression wild and radi-ant.
"Oh, so that's why—"
"Maurice! Maurice! you've actually come. You're here. This place'll never seem the same again, I shall love it at last."
"It's jolly for me coming," said Maurice chokily: the sudden rush of joy made his head swim.
"Go on unpacking. So I arranged it on purpose. We're up this staircase by ourselves. It's as like college as I could manage."
"It's better."
"I really feel it will be."
There was a knock on the passage door. Maurice started, but Clive though still sitting on his shoulder said, "Come in!" indif-ferently. A housemaid entered with hot water.
"Except for meals we need never be in the other part of the house," he continued. "Either here or out of doors. Jolly, eh? I've a piano." He drew him into the study. "Look at the view. You may shoot rabbits out of this window. By the way, if my mother or Pippa tells you at dinner that they want you to do
this or that tomorrow, you needn't worry. Say 'yes' to them if you like. You're actually going to ride with me, and they know it. It's only their ritual. On Sunday, when you haven't been to church they'll pretend afterwards you were there."
"But I've no proper riding breeches."
"I can't associate with you in that case," said Clive and bounded off.
When Maurice returned to the drawing-room he felt he had a greater right to be there than anyone. He walked up to Mrs Sheepshanks, opened his mouth before she could open hers, and was encouraging to her. He took his place in the absurd octet that was forming to go in—Clive and Mrs Sheepshanks, Major Western and another woman, another man and Pippa, himself and his hostess. She apologized for the smallness of the party.
"Not at all," said Maurice, and saw Clive glance at him mali-ciously: he had used the wrong tag. Mrs Durham then put him. through his paces, but he did not care a damn whether he satis-fied her or not. She had her son's features and seemed equally able, though not equally sincere. He understood why Clive should have come to despise her.
After dinner the men smoked, then joined the ladies. It was a suburban evening, but with a difference; these people had the air of settling something: they either just had arranged or soon would rearrange England. Yet the gate posts, the roads—he had noticed them on the way up—were in bad repair, and the timber wasn't kept properly, the windows stuck, the boards creaked. He was less impressed than he had expected by Penge.
When the ladies retired Clive said, "Maurice, you look sleepy too." Maurice took the hint, and five minutes afterwards they met again in the study, with all the night to talk into. They lit their pipes. It was the first time they had experienced full tran-
quillity together, and exquisite words would be spoken. They knew this, yet scarcely wanted to begin.
"I'll tell you my latest now," said Clive. "As soon as I got home I had a row with mother and told her I should stop up a fourth year."
Maurice gave a cry.
"What's wrong?"
"I've been sent down."
"But you're coming back in October."
"I'm not. Cornwallis said I must apologize, and I wouldn't— I thought you wouldn't be up, so I didn't care."
"And I settled to stop because I thought you would be up. Comedy of Errors."
Maurice stared gloomily before him.
"Comedy of Errors, not Tragedy. You can apologize now."
"It's too late."
Clive laughed. "Why too late? It makes it simpler. You didn't like to apologize until the term in which your offence was com-mitted had come to an end. 'Dear Mr Cornwallis: Now that the term is over, I venture to write to you.' I'll draft the letter tomor-row."
Maurice pondered and finally exclaimed, "Clive, you're a devil."
"I'm a bit of an outlaw, I grant, but it serves these people right. As long as they talk of the unspeakable vice of the Greeks they can't expect fair play. It served my mother right when I slipped up to kiss you before dinner. She would have no mercy if she knew, she wouldn't attempt, wouldn't want to attempt to understand that I feel to you as Pippa to her fiance, only far more nobly, far more deeply, body and soul, no starved medie-valism of course, only a—a particular harmony of body and soul that I don't think women have even guessed. But you know."
"Yes. I'll apologize."
There was a long interval: they discussed the motor bicycle, which had never been heard of again. Clive made coffee.
"Tell me, what made you wake me that night after the Debat-ing Society. Describe."
"I kept on thinking of something to say, and couldn't, so at last I couldn't even think, so I just came."
"Sort of thing you would do."
"Are you ragging?" asked Maurice shyly.
"My God!" There was a silence. "Tell me now about the night I first came up. Why did you make us both so unhappy?"
"I don't know, I say. I can't explain anything. Why did you mislead me with that rotten Plato? I was still in a muddle. A lot of things hadn't joined up in me that since have."
"But hadn't you been getting hold of me for months? Since first you saw me at Risley's, in fact."
"Don't ask me."
"It's a queer business, any way."
"It's that."
Clive laughed delightedly, and wriggled in his chair. "Mau-rice, the more I think it over the more certain I am that it's you who are the devil."
"Oh, all right."
"I should have gone through life half awake if you'd had the decency to leave me alone. Awake intellectually, yes, and emo-tionally in a way; but here—" He pointed with his pipe stem to his heart; and both smiled. "Perhaps we woke up one another. I like to think that any way."
"When did you first care about me?"
"Don't ask me," echoed Clive.
"Oh, be a bit serious—well—what was it in me you first cared about?"
"Like really to know?" asked Clive, who was in the mood Maurice adored—half mischievous, half passionate; a mood of supreme affection.
"Yes."
"Well, it was your beauty."
"My what?"
"Beauty. ... I used to admire that man over the bookcase most."
"I can give points to a picture, I dare say," said Maurice, hav-ing glanced at the Michelangelo. "Clive, you're a silly little fool, and since you've brought it up I think you're beautiful, the only beautiful person I've ever seen. I love your voice and everything to do with you, down to your clothes or the room you are sitting in. I adore you."
Clive went crimson. "Sit up straight and let's change the sub-ject," he said, all the folly out of him.
"I didn't mean to annoy you at all—"
"Those things must be said once, or we should never know they were in each other's hearts. I hadn't guessed, not so much at least. You've done all right, Maurice." He did not change the subject but developed it into another that had interested him recently, the precise influence of Desire upon our aesthetic judgements. "Look at that picture, for instance. I love it because, like the painter himself, I love the subject. I don't judge it with eyes of the normal man. There seem two roads for arriving at Beauty—one is in common, and all the world has reached Michelangelo by it, but the other is private to me and a few more. We come to him by both roads. On the other hand Greuze —his subject matter repels me. I can only get to him down one road. The rest of the world finds two."
Maurice did not interrupt: it was all charming nonsense to him.
"These private roads are perhaps a mistake," concluded Clive. "But as long as the human figure is painted they will be taken. Landscape is the only safe subject—or perhaps something geo-metric, rhythmical, inhuman absolutely. I wonder whether that is what the Mohammedans were up to and old Moses—I've just thought of this. If you introduce the human figure you at once arouse either disgust or desire. Very faintiy sometimes, but it's there. 'Thou shalt not make for thyself any graven image—' because one couldn't possibly make it for all other people too. Maurice, shall we rewrite history? 'The Aesthetic Philosophy of the Decalogue.' I've always thought it remarkable of God not to have damned you or me in it. I used to put it down to him for righteousness, though now I suspect he was merely ill-informed. Still I might make out a case. Shall I choose it for a Fellowship Dissertation?"
"Ican't follow, you know," said Maurice, a little ashamed.
And their love scene drew out, having the inestimable gain of a new language. No tradition overawed the boys. No convention settled what was poetic, what absurd. They were concerned with a passion that few English minds have admitted, and so created untrammelled. Something of exquisite beauty arose in the mind of each at last, something unforgettable and eternal, but built of the humblest scraps of speech and from the simplest emotions.
"I say, will you kiss me?" asked Maurice, when the sparrows woke in the eaves above them, and far out in the woods the ring-doves began to coo.
Clive shook his head, and smiling they parted, having estab-lished perfection in their lives, at all events for a time.
德拉姆家住在英格兰偏远地区，威尔特（译注：威尔特是英格兰南部一郡，位于布里斯托尔海峡、英吉利海峡和泰晤士河之间的分水岭地区。）与萨默塞特（萨默塞特是英格兰西南部一郡，北濒布里斯托尔海湾。沿岸风景优美，是保护区。）两郡交界处。尽管并非世家，这个家族拥有这片土地已达四代之久，其影响融入了他们的血液。在乔治四世（译注：乔治四世(1762-1830)．英国国王、汉诺威国王。1820年即位。）的统治下，克莱夫的曾叔祖曾任英国首席法官。彭杰就是他用羽毛筑起来的窝。如今那些羽毛几乎被刮得七零八落了。这份家当遭到百年岁月的蚕食，也未娶上一位阔新娘来改换门庭。宅邸与庄园虽然尚未真正朽烂，却已打上了停滞的烙印，而那正是朽烂的前兆。
宅邸坐落在森林里。周围是辽阔的园林，仍被逐渐消失的树篱圈起。园林提供着阳光、空气、牧场与成群的奥尔德尼（译注：奥尔德尼是英国海峡群岛岛屿，在英吉利海峡，以养牛和旅游业为主。）乳牛。园林外面是一片森林，大多是老埃德温爵士生前栽种的。他将私有的园林与公地并在了一起。园林有两个大门口。从村庄往上走就到了一个门口，另一道门则开在通往车站的黏土质道路上。原本这里没有车站，从车站通向园林的是一条沿着后院的不像样的背巷，象征着英国人的事后聪明。
莫瑞斯是傍晚抵达的。他是从住在伯明翰的外祖父家里径直上路的。在那里，他死气沉沉地过了成年的生日。尽管丢尽了面子，礼物并没被取消，但是送的人和接受的人都不起劲儿。他曾经翘盼着满二十一岁这一天。吉蒂暗示说，由于哥哥堕落了，所以感到不快乐。作为报复，莫瑞斯好好地掐了一下她的耳朵，并吻了她，弄得吉蒂非常恼火。“你不明事理。”她气冲冲地说。他面泛微笑。
外祖父那座艾尔弗里斯顿花园有不少表兄弟姐妹，下午喝茶的时候供应肉食冷盘。从那儿来到彭杰，变化太大了。全郡居民，即使那些有才智的，其周围的气氛也令人不安。莫瑞斯不论是到哪座庄园去拜访，都心怀畏惧。不错，克莱夫到车站来接他，陪他坐上四轮轿式马车。跟莫瑞斯乘同一趟火车来的希普香克斯太太也坐上了这辆马车。希普香克斯太太有一个女佣，连同她和莫瑞斯的行李，乘一辆出租马车，尾随其后。莫瑞斯嘀咕着自己是否也该带个仆人来。一个小姑娘扶着看守小屋那扇敞开的门，希普香克斯太太想让每个人都对她施屈膝礼。当这位太太对小姑娘这么说的时候，克莱夫踩了莫瑞斯一脚，莫瑞斯拿不准克莱夫是故意的，还是偶然的。他什么都拿不准。他们来到宅第跟前时，他把后门误当成前门，伸手去为这位太太开门。希普香克斯太太说：“哦，实在不敢当。”而且那儿有个负责开门的男管家。
已经给客人斟好了很酽的茶。德拉姆太太一面倒茶，一面朝另一边望着。人们东一个西一个站着，看上去他们都气度不凡，要么就是为了不同凡响的理由而待在那儿。他们本人有所作为，要么就是敦促旁人有所作为。德拉姆小姐跟莫瑞斯约好，明天一起去参加关税改革的讨论会。他们两个人在政治上意见一致，但是她由于欢迎这种同盟而大声喊叫使他很不高兴。“妈妈，霍尔先生是个正经人。”韦斯顿少校是德拉姆家的亲戚，也暂时住在他们家。他这样那样地向莫瑞斯打听剑桥的事。军人会在乎他受停学处分这一点吗？……可不，这比在饭馆里那次还糟，因为在那儿，克莱夫也不得其所。
“皮帕，霍尔先生知道他住在哪间屋子里吗？”
“是蓝屋，妈妈。”
“那间屋里没有壁炉。”克莱夫在一边大声说，“你领他去吧。”他正在送走一些客人。
德拉姆小姐把莫瑞斯带到男管家那里。他们沿着侧面的楼梯走上去，莫瑞斯看见正面的楼梯在右边，他怀疑自己莫非受到了怠慢。他这间屋子很小，摆设也简陋，窗外没有景致。当他跪下来打开行李时，在萨宁顿住宿时的感觉重新袭上心头。他拿定主意，在彭杰逗留期间，要有效地利用自己所带来的全部衣物。他们休想将他当成不符合时尚的人，他样样都不比别人逊色。然而他刚得出这个结论，克莱夫就背着阳光冲进屋子。“莫瑞斯，我要吻你。”他说完就做了。
“那个门通向什么地方？”
“咱们的书房呗……”他笑着，表情激动，容光焕发。
“噢，原来如此……”
“莫瑞斯！莫瑞斯！你真来啦，你在这儿。彭杰再也不像过去那样了，我终于爱上了这个地方。”
“我到这儿来，太高兴了。”莫瑞斯的声音哽噎了。一阵欢乐猛地袭上心头，他感到眩晕。
“继续把行李打开吧，我是故意这么安排的。只有咱们两个人走这楼梯。我尽量安排得像在学院里一样。”
“比学院里还好呢。”
“我确实认为是这样。”
有人在敲通向过道的那扇门，莫瑞斯吓了一跳。克莱夫仍坐在他的肩膀上，满不在乎地说：“请进！”一个女佣送热水来了。
“除了吃饭，咱们用不着去家里的其他地方。”他继续说，“要么待在这儿，要么就出门。快乐吧，啊？我有一架钢琴。”他把莫瑞斯拉进书房。“看看风景。从这个窗户你就可以射击兔子。顺便说说，倘若吃晚饭的时候家母或皮帕告诉你，明天她们要你做这做那，你不用发愁。你如果愿意的话，可以对她们说：‘好的。’其实你将跟我一道去骑马，她们也知道。她们只不过是照通常的习惯邀请一下而已。在星期天，假若你没去做礼拜，事后她们会假装认为你去过了。”
“可是我没有正式的马裤。”
“那么我就不奉陪啦。”克莱夫说罢，从莫瑞斯的肩上一跃而下。
当莫瑞斯回到客厅里的时候，他认为自己所拥有的待在那儿的权利比任何人都大。他踱到希普香克斯太太跟前，她还没来得及开口，他就说起话来，对她表示支持。不成双、不成对的八个人准备入席——克莱夫与希普香克斯太太，韦斯顿少校与另一个妇女，另一个男子与皮帕，他本人与女主人—一他堂堂正正地确保了自己的座位。她向他道歉说，人数太少了。
“哪里，哪里。”莫瑞斯说。他发觉克莱夫用讥讽的眼神瞥视自己，于是想：这句套话用错了。接着，德拉姆太太开始考察莫瑞斯的能力，然而他一点儿也不在乎她是否对自己感到满意。她的容貌跟儿子相像，看上去跟儿子一样有本事，所不同的是没有儿子那么真诚。他理解了克莱夫为什么会看不起自己的母亲。
饭后，男人们抽了一会儿烟，就来跟女士们做伴。这与住在伦敦郊区的中等阶层的人们消磨傍晚时光的方式相似，然而又有所不同。这些人有一种处理大事的风度：他们要么刚刚扭转过，要么即将重新扭转乾坤。不过，大门的门柱也罢，道路也罢——来的时候他一路注意到——无不年久失修。森林树木管理不善，一扇扇窗户卡住了，地板踏上去嘎吱作响。他对彭杰的幻想多少破灭了一些。
女士们回到各自的房间去了，克莱夫说：“莫瑞斯，看上去你也困了。”莫瑞斯领会了这个提示，过了五分钟，他们二人就在书房里重逢，以便彻夜谈心。他们点燃了烟斗。这是他们第一次在一起体验完完全全的静谧，他们将进行微妙的对话。他们心领神会，可是舍不得马上开始。
“我现在告诉你我最近的情况。”克莱夫说，“我一到家就跟母亲争吵，告诉她，第四个学年我也要待在剑桥。”
莫瑞斯大喊一声。
“怎么啦？”
“我受了停学处分呀。”
“不过，十月你就会返校的。”
“我不回去。康沃利斯先生说我必须写悔过书，我不写——我以为你读完第三个学年就走了，所以满不在乎。”
“而我还只当你会回来，才决定荐读上一年的。简直是一场错误的喜剧。”
莫瑞斯神色忧郁地朝前面望着。
“错误的喜剧，不是悲剧。你现在就可以写悔过书。”
“已经太晚啦。”
克莱夫笑了。“怎么会太晚呢？反倒更简单一些呢。你在自己犯了过错的这个学期结束之前无意悔过。‘亲爱的康沃利斯先生，在本学期结束之际，恕我冒昧地向您致书。’明天我替你起草悔过书的底稿。”
莫瑞斯思考了一番，最后惊叫道：“克莱夫，你是个坏蛋！”
“我承认自己有不法之徒的一面，然而那帮人就欠我这么对待他们。只要他们一天说什么‘希腊人那难以启齿的罪恶’，他们又怎么能指望我磊落坦率地对待他们呢？晚饭前，我溜进去吻了你一下。我母亲完全蒙在鼓里，活该！倘若她知道了，绝不会轻饶我。我对你的感情就跟皮帕对她的未婚夫的感情一样，只不过高尚得多，深厚得多。母亲却不想知道，也不试图知道。肉与灵协调一致，当然不是中世纪那饿瘪了的东西，只是肉与灵的一种特殊的协调一致。依我看，女人甚至理会不到有这种东西。但你是知道的。”
“好的，我写悔过书。”
他们聊了好一会儿，还谈起那辆摩托车。从那一天起，再也不曾听说它怎样了。克莱夫煮了咖啡。
“喂，那天晚上开完讨论会之后，你怎么会想起来叫我的？你说一说。”
“我一直想对你说点儿什么，可又不知道该说什么。最后弄得思绪纷乱，所以就去了。”
“这种事你是做得出来的。”
“你是在跟我开玩笑吗？”莫瑞斯羞怯地问。
“哪里的话！”紧接着是一阵沉默。“现在跟我讲讲我第一次对你吐露心里话的那个晚上的事。你为什么弄得咱们两个人都那么不愉快呢？”
“我不知道，我什么都无从解释。你为什么搬出讨厌的柏拉图来误导我呢？当时我还糊里糊涂的，对许多事都不明白。打那以后，才逐渐开窍儿。”
“不过，你使我醉心而不能自拔，已达几个月之久了吗？事实上，是从你在里斯利的房间里头一次见到我的时候起。”
“别问我这个。”
“不管怎么说，这件事儿难以解释。”
“可不是嘛。”
克莱夫高兴地笑了，在椅子上扭动着身体。“莫瑞斯，我越细琢磨越能肯定，你才是个坏蛋呢。”
“是这么回事吗？”
“倘若你高抬贵手，容我听其自然，我就会半睡半醒地了此一生。当然，我在理智方面是清醒的，在感情方面多少也……然而，这里……”他用烟斗柄指了指自己的心脏。于是，两个人都微笑了。“也许咱们俩是互相被唤醒了。我情愿这么想。”
“你是从什么时候起看上我的？”
“别问我这个。”克莱夫重复了一遍莫瑞斯方才的话。
“喂，你给我放正经点儿——喏——你起初看上我的哪一点？”
“你真想知道吗？”克莱夫问。莫瑞斯非常喜欢这种心境——顽皮与激情参半，洋溢着挚爱的克莱夫。
“想知道。”
“喏，看上了你的美。”
“我的什么？”
“美……我曾经最爱慕书架上方的那个男人。”
“一幅画嘛，我足可以理解的。”莫瑞斯瞥了一眼墙上的米开朗琪罗说。“克莱夫，你是个可笑的小傻瓜。你既然提出来了嘛，我也认为你美。你是我迄今见过的惟一长得美的人。我爱你的嗓音，爱与你有关的一切，直到你的衣服，或是你坐在里面的屋子。我崇拜你。”
克莱夫的脸变得绯红。“坐直了，咱们换个话题吧。”他说，那股傻劲儿已荡然无存。
“我压根儿没有惹恼你的意思。”
“这些话非得说一遍不可，否则咱们俩永远不会明白彼此的心事。我没想到，至少没猜测出到了这种程度。你做得很对，莫瑞斯。”他不曾换话题，却把它发展到新近感兴趣的另一个主题上去了：欲望对我们的审美能力究竟产生多大的影响。“比方说，瞧瞧那幅画。我爱它，因为我跟画家本人一样，爱他所画的那个青年。我不用一般男人的目光来鉴赏这幅画。通向美的路似乎有两条一一条是共通的，芸芸众生正是沿着这条路走到米开朗琪罗跟前的。另一条是我和另外几个人走的幽径。我们沿着这两条路抵达米开朗琪罗那儿。但是，格勒兹（译注：琼-巴普蒂斯特.格勒兹(1725-1805)是法国风俗画和肖像画家。1759年结识法国文学家、哲学家狄德罗（1713-1784），受其鼓励倾向于感情夸张的风俗画。）却不然。他的题材使我感到厌恶。我只能沿着一条路走到他跟前，芸芸众生却能找到两条路。”
莫瑞斯没有打断他的话。对他来说，那通篇都是可爱的无稽之谈。
“私自拥有幽径也许是错误的，”克莱夫下结论说，“然而只要还画人物像，幽径就存在。风景是惟一安全的题材。要么就是几何图形，格调优美，完全无人性的主题。我心里琢磨，这会不会是回教徒所领会到的一点呢？还有老摩西——我这是刚刚想到的。倘若你把人体画下来，当即会引起厌恶或挑逗起欲望。有时是非常轻微的，但必然产生。‘不可为自己造任何偶像’（译注：见《旧约全书•出埃及记》第20章第4节。）。因为你不可能为所有的人都造偶像。莫瑞斯，咱们来改写历史如何？《十诫里的美的哲学》。我一直认为神真了不起，没有处罚你我之辈。过去我把这看作出于神的正义，不过如今我猜想神仅仅是不知情而已。然而我还是能就这个专题进行答辩。我要不要拿这个主题写篇论文，好取得特别研究员的资格呢？”
“我听不懂，这你是知道的。”莫瑞斯说，他有点儿难为情。
他们的情场获得了不可估量的意义的新语言，从而拖长了。任何传统都不曾吓倒这对年轻人。任何习俗也不曾确定什么是富有诗意的，什么是不合理的。肯于承认他们所涉及的那种情欲的英国心灵寥寥无几，也就没有为之制造羁绊。他们的心灵中终于出现了极致的美。难以忘怀，永恒不变，是用最谦卑的片言只语表达出来的，并且发自最单纯的感情。
“喂，你肯吻我一下吗？”当麻雀在头顶上的屋檐下睡醒，斑尾林鸽在远方的森林里开始咕咕地鸣啭时，莫瑞斯问。
克莱夫摇摇头，他们面泛微笑分手了。无论如何，他们暂时在各自的人生中建立了完美。
Chapter 17
It seems strange that Maurice should have won any respect from the Durham family, but they did not dislike him. They only disliked people who wanted to know them well—it was a positive mania—and the rumour that a man wished to enter county society was a sufficient reason for ex-cluding him from it. Inside (region of high interchange and dignified movements that meant nothing) were to be found several who, like Mr Hall, neither loved their fate nor feared it, and would depart without a sigh if necessary. The Durhams felt they were conferring a favour on him by treating him as one of themselves, yet were pleased he should take it as a matter of course, gratitude being mysteriously connected in their minds with ill breeding.
Wanting only his food and his friend, Maurice did not observe he was a success, and was surprised when the old lady claimed him for a talk towards the end of his visit. She had questioned him about his family and discovered the riakedness thereof, but this time her manner was deferential: she wanted his opinion of Clive.
"Mr Hall, we wish you to help us: Clive thinks so much of you. Do you consider it wise for him to stop up a fourth year at Cambridge?"
Maurice was wanting to wonder which horse he should ride in the afternoon: he only half attended, which gave an appear-ance of profundity.
"After the deplorable exhibition he has made of himself in the Tripos—is it wise?"
"He means to," said Maurice.
Mrs Durham nodded. "There you have gone to the root of the matter. Clive means to. Well, he is his own master. This place is his. Did he tell you?"
"No."
"Oh, Penge is his absolutely, under my husband's will. I must move to the dower house as soon as he marries—"
Maurice started; she looked at him and saw that he had col-oured. "So thereis some girl," she thought. Neglecting the point for a moment, she returned to Cambridge, and observed how little a fourth year would profit a "yokel"—she used the word with gay assurance—and how desirable it was that Clive should take his place in the countryside. There was the game, there were his tenants, there were finally politics. "His father repre-sented the division, as you doubtless know."
"No."
"What does he talk to you about?" she laughed. "Anyhow, my husband was a member for seven years, and though a Lib is in now, one knows that cannot last. All our old friends are looking to him. But he must take his place, he must fit himself, and what on earth is the good of all this—I forget what—advanced work. He ought to spend the year travelling instead. He must go to America and if possible the Colonies. It has become absolutely indispensable."
"He speaks of travelling after Cambridge. He wants me to
"Itrust you will—but not Greece, Mr Hall. That is travelling for play. Do dissuade him from Italy and Greece."
"I'd prefer America myself."
"Naturally—anyone sensible would; but he's a student—a dreamer—Pippa says he writes verse. Have you seen any?"
Maurice had seen a poem to himself. Conscious that life grew daily more amazing, he said nothing. Was he the same man who eight months back had been puzzled by Risley? What had deep-ened his vision? Section after section the armies of humanity were coming alive. Alive, but slightly absurd; they misunder-stoodhim so utterly: they exposed their weakness when they thought themselves most acute. He could not help smiling.
"You evidently have . . ." Then suddenly "Mr Hall, is there anyone? Some Newnham girl? Pippa declares there is."
"Pippa had better ask then," Maurice replied.
Mrs Durham was impressed. He had met one impertinence with another. Who would have expected such skill in a young man? He seemed even indifferent to his victory, and was smil-ing to one of the other guests, who approached over the lawn to tea. In the tones that she reserved for an equal she said, "Im-press on him about America anyhow. He needs reality. I noticed that last year."
Maurice duly impressed, when they were riding through the glades alone.
"I thought you were going down," was Clive's comment. "Like them. They wouldn't look at Joey." Clive was in full reaction against his family, he hated the worldliness that they combined with complete ignorance of the World. "These children will be a nuisance," he remarked during a canter.
"What children?"
"Mine! The need of an heir for Penge. My mother calls it marriage, but that was all she was thinking of."
Maurice was silent. It had not occurred to him before that neither he nor his friend would leave life behind them.
"I shall be worried eternally. They've always some girl stay-ing in the house as it is."
"Just go on growing old—"
"Eh, boy?"
"Nothing," said Maurice, and reined up. An immense sadness —he believed himself beyond such irritants—had risen up in his soul. He and the beloved would vanish utterly—would con-tinue neither in Heaven nor on Earth. They had won past the conventions, but Nature still faced them, saying with even voice, "Very well, you are thus; I blame none of my children. But you must go the way of all sterility." The thought that he was sterile weighed on the young man with a sudden shame. His mother or Mrs Durham might lack mind or heart, but they had done visible work; they had handed on the torch their sons would tread out.
He had meant not to trouble Clive, but out it all came as soon as they lay down in the fern. Clive did not agree. "Why chil-dren?" he asked. "Why always children? For love to end where it begins is far more beautiful, and Nature knows it."
"Yes, but if everyone—"
Clive pulled him back into themselves. He murmured some-thing about Eternity in an hour: Maurice did not understand, but the voice soothed him.
莫瑞斯能够赢得德拉姆家族的敬意似乎是奇妙的，他们并不讨厌他。他们只厌恶——而且简直到了偏执狂的程度——那些想跟他们套交情的人；倘若风传某人希望进入乡绅社交界，就有足够的理由对他施以闭门羹。在内部（这是由高姿态的礼尚往来与威严的举止构成的领域，毫无意义）能找到几位像霍尔先生这样的人：对他们的好运抱着不卑不亢的态度，必要的时候就告辞，连气都不叹一声。德拉姆家族认为，把他当作家庭成员之一予以招待，是对他赏光，他处之泰然，这又中了他们的意。在他们的心目中，表示谢意莫名其妙地是与缺乏教养联系在一起的。
莫瑞斯所要的只是食物和他的友人，对自己取得的成功浑然不觉。当他的逗留期即将结束时，老夫人要求跟他谈一次话，使他吃了一惊。关于他的家族，她早就讯问过，已了如指掌。然而这一次，她是谦逊地对待他的：关于克莱夫，她想听听他的意见。
“霍尔先生，我们想请你帮帮忙。克莱夫非常看重你。你认为他在剑桥待上第四年，这明智吗？”
莫瑞斯满脑子都是下午该骑哪匹马的事，所以心不在焉，但却显出很深沉的样子。
“这可是在文学士学位考试时当众出丑之后啊——这明智吗？”
“他要这么做。”莫瑞斯说。
德拉姆夫人点了点头。“你这是一语破的。克莱夫要这么做。喏，他是不受任何人牵制的。这份家当是他的，他告诉过你吗？”
“没有。”
“根据我丈夫的遗嘱，彭杰全部归他所有。只要他一结婚，我就搬到寡妇房里去……”
莫瑞斯吃了一惊。她看了看他，发现他双颊通红。“那么，有女友了。”她猜测。她姑且把这个话题撇开，又回到剑桥上，说对一个“乡巴佬”——她是爽朗、满怀信心地使用这个词的——而言，念第四年书，益处太少了。要是克莱夫在乡间占有他自己的位置，那该多么可心啊。这里有猎场，有他那些佃户，最后还有政治。“他父亲代表这个选区参加了议会，你肯定是知道的。”
“不知道。”
“他都跟你谈些什么呀？”她笑了。“不管怎样，我丈夫担任过七年议员。尽管眼下自由党在当政，谁都知道不会持续很久。我们所有的老朋友统统指望着他，但他务必占有自己的位置，务必适应下来。这一切——它叫什么来着——研究院什么的，到底有什么用呢？他应该去旅行一年。他必须到美国去一趟，如果可能的话，再到那些殖民地去转转。已经到了势在必行的地步。”
“他说，从剑桥毕业之后就去旅行。他要我一起去。”
“我相信你们会去的——可别到希腊去，霍尔先生。那是娱乐之旅。千万劝阻他，别去意大利和希腊。”
“我本人也更喜欢美国。”
“当然喽——任何一个通情达理的人都会如此；但他是个学者——一个空想家——皮帕说他还写诗呢。你看到过吗？”
莫瑞斯看到过献给他本人的一首诗。他察觉到生活日益变得令人惊异，于是默不作声。八个月以前，里斯利曾使他大惑不解，难道自己仍是同一个人吗？究竟是什么扩大了他的视野呢？生气勃勃的人一群群地出现在他的视野里。生气勃勃，然而有点儿愚蠢。他们彻头彻尾误解了他。他们自以为最敏锐的时候，暴露了弱点。他不禁面泛微笑。
“你显然看到过……”接着，她突然说，“霍尔先生，他有什么人吗？是纽恩汉姆（译注：小说的时代背景为20世纪初期。除了纽恩汉姆学院（建于1871年）以外，剑桥大学的各所学院当时只收男生。以后又为女子创立了新大厅学院（建于1954年）和露西•卡文迪什学院（建于1965年）。这三所学院至今只收女生。到1987年为止，其他28所学院已陆续改为男女合校。）的姑娘吗？皮帕说他有个女友。”
“那么，皮帕最好还是问一句。”莫瑞斯回答。
德拉姆夫人对他感到钦佩。他出言不逊，以反击不逊。谁料得到一个年轻人会有这样的本领呢？他对自己取得的胜利甚至显得满不在乎，正朝一个在此小住的宾客微笑。那人沿着草坪走过来喝茶。她用对待与自己地位相等者的口吻说：“你好歹让他牢牢记住美国吧，他需要的是现实。去年我就注意到了这一点。”
当他们双双骑马穿越林中空地的时候，莫瑞斯尽量让他对美国留下印象。
“我觉得你变得俗气了。”克莱夫批评他说，“跟他们一样，他们对乔伊是不屑一顾的。”克莱夫对自己的家族是完完全全抗拒的。他们把名利心与丝毫不谙世事融为一体，他恨透了这一点。“孩子们也够麻烦的。”当马放慢了速度的时候，他说。
“什么孩子？”
“我的呀！彭杰这份家当，需要一个继承人。我母亲把这叫做婚姻，她脑子里转的全是这个念头。”
莫瑞斯沉默了。他从来没有想过自己或是这个朋友会留下后代。
“我会有无休止的烦恼。就像这样，总是有个什么姑娘在家里小住。”
“逐渐变老而已……”
“你说什么，老弟？”
“没什么。”莫瑞斯说罢，勒紧缰绳停住了。他的心中充满了极度的悲伤。他原以为自己不会再有这样的激情了。他和他心爱的人将会消失殆尽。他们的灵魂不会升天，也不会在世上留下子孙。他们胜利地摈弃了习俗，但是大自然依然面对着他们，用冷酷无情的噪音说：“很好，你们就是这样的；我不责备自己的任何孩子。不过，你们得沿着所有不育者的路走下去。”当这个年轻人想到自己竟没有后代时，猛然地羞愧难当。他的母亲或德拉姆太太也许不够聪明，感情贫乏，但她们完成了肉眼看得见的工作。她们将生命的火炬传给了自己的儿子，他们却会把火踩灭。
他无意伤害克莱夫的感情，然而他们刚在羊齿丛中躺下来，他就说出了自己的想法。克莱夫并不同意，“为什么提起孩子？”他问。“为什么老是孩子？爱嘛，在哪儿开始就在哪儿结束，那要美得多，大自然也明白这一点。”
“对，但是如果人人都……”
克莱夫把他拖回到他们自己的事情上来。他叽叽咕咕地说什么永恒寓于一小时之内。莫瑞斯没有听懂，克莱夫的嗓音却使他得到抚慰。
Chapter 18
During the next two years Maurice and Clive had as much happiness as men under that star can expect. They were affectionate and consistent by nature, and, thanks to Clive, extremely sensible. Clive knew that ecstasy cannot last, but can carve a channel for something lasting, and he contrived a relation that proved permanent. If Maurice made love it was Clive who preserved it, and caused its rivers to water the gar' den. He could not bear that one drop should be wasted, either in bitterness or in sentimentality, and as time went on they abstained from avowals ("we have said everything") and almost from caresses. Their happiness was to be together; they radiated something of their calm amongst others, and could take their place in society.
Clive had expanded in this direction ever since he had under-stood Greek. The love that Socrates bore Phaedo now lay within his reach, love passionate but temperate, such as only finer na-tures can understand, and he found in Maurice a nature that was not indeed fine, but charmingly willing. He led the beloved up a narrow and beautiful path, high above either abyss. It went on until the final darkness—he could see no other terror—and when that descended they would at all events have lived more fully than either saint or sensualist, and would have extracted to their utmost the nobility and sweetness of the world. He edu-cated Maurice, or rather his spirit educated Maurice's spirit, for
they themselves became equal. Neither thought "Am I led; am I leading?" Love had caught him out of triviality and Maurice out of bewilderment in order that two imperfect souls might touch perfection.
So they proceeded outwardly like other men. Society received them, as she receives thousands like them. Behind Society slum-bered the Law. They had their last year at Cambridge together, they travelled in Italy. Then the prison house closed, but on both of them. Clive was working for the bar, Maurice harnessed to an office. They were together still.
这之后两年期间，莫瑞斯和克莱夫将星宿下的男人所能指望的幸福都弄到了手。他们是天生的情种，始终如一。多亏克莱夫还非常明智。克莱夫明白，狂热不能持久，他却能为耐久的东西开辟渠道，并想方设法把两人的关系安排得绵延不绝。倘若创造爱的是莫瑞斯，维护爱的就是克莱夫，他用爱之流滋润两人的庭园。他连一滴也不忍心把它浪费在讥讽或感伤上。随着岁月的流逝，他们克制自己，不再信誓旦旦了（“咱们已经把话说尽了”），爱抚也几乎完全抑制了。两人只要待在一起，就沉浸在幸福中。与旁人共处时，他们是平静的，得以在社会上确保自己的位置。
克莱夫自从通晓希腊文以来，就朝这个方向发展。苏格拉底对斐多（译注：苏格拉底（约公元前470-前399）古希腊三大哲人中的第一位。他和柏拉图、亚里士多德共同奠定了西方文化的哲学基础。斐多（约公元前417-?）哲学家。出身于贵族家庭，在对斯巴达的战争(公元前400-前399)中被俘，卖为奴隶。苏格拉底的一个友人将他买下后释放．于是他成为苏格拉底的学生。柏拉图的一篇对话以他的名字命名。苏格拉底去世后．斐多返回埃利斯，创办学校。）所抱有的那种爱，他伸手就够得着。这是一种充满激情却又有节制的爱，只有气质典雅者才能理解。克莱夫在莫瑞斯身上所找到的气质，说得确切些，够不上典雅，然而心甘情愿得可爱。他引导自己所钟爱的人沿着美丽的窄径高高地向上攀，两侧是深渊。此径一直延伸到黑暗的终点。除此而外，他无所畏惧。当黑暗降临之际，反正他们业已度过了比圣徒或纵欲者都充实得多的生涯，尽情地索取了尘世的崇高与甘美。他教育了莫瑞斯，或者毋宁说是他的精神教育了莫瑞斯的精神，因为他们已经在平等相处了。谁也不去琢磨：“我究竟是在引导，还是被引导着呢？”为了使两颗并不完美的灵魂臻于完美，爱把他从平庸中捞出来，又把莫瑞斯从困惑中捞出来。
于是，表面上他们跟旁人一样生活下去。社会接受了他们，犹如接受成千上万他们这类的人。法律在社会背后安睡。他们一道在剑桥度过最后一年，接着到意大利去旅行。随后，牢门关上了，两个人都被关在里面。克莱夫为了取得出庭辩护律师的资格而深造，莫瑞斯到证券公司去工作。二人依然在一起。
Chapter 19
By this time their families had become acquainted.
"They will never get on," they had agreed. "They belong to different sections of society." But, perhaps out of per-versity, the families did get on, and Clive and Maurice found amusement in seeing them together. Both were misogynists, Clive especially. In the grip of their temperaments, they had not developed the imagination to do duty instead, and during their love women had become as remote as horses or cats; all that the creatures did seemed silly. When Kitty asked to hold Pippa's baby, when Mrs Durham and Mrs Hall visited the Royal Academy in unison, they saw a misfit in nature rather than in society, and gave wild explanations. There was nothing strange really: they themselves were sufficient cause. Their passion for each other was the strongest force in either family, and drew everything after it as a hidden current draws a boat. Mrs Hall and Mrs Durham came together because their sons were friends; "and now," said Mrs Hall, "we are friends too."
Maurice was present the day their "friendship" began. The matrons met in Pippa's London house. Pippa had married a Mr London, a coincidence that made a great impression on Kitty, who hoped she would not think of it and laugh during tea. Ada, as too silly for a first visit, had been left at home by Maurice's advice. Nothing happened. Then Pippa and her mother motored out to return the civility. He was in town but again nothing seemed to have happened, except that Pippa had praised Kitty's
brains to Ada and Ada's beauty to Kitty, thus offending both girls, and Mrs Hall had warned Mrs Durham against installing hot air at Penge. Then they met again, and as far as he could see it was always like this; nothing, nothing, and still nothing.
Mrs Durham had of course her motives. She was looking out wives for Clive, and put down the Hall girls on her list. She had a theory one ought to cross breeds a bit, and Ada, though sub-urban, was healthy. No doubt the girl was a fool, but Mrs Dur-ham did not propose to retire to the dower house in practice, whatever she might do in theory, and believed she could best manage Clive through his wife. Kitty had fewer qualifications. She was less foolish, less beautiful, and less rich. Ada would inherit the whole of her grandfather's fortune, which was con-siderable, and had always inherited his good humour. Mrs Dur-ham met old Mr Grace once, and rather liked him.
Had she supposed the Halls were also planning she would have drawn back. Like Maurice they held her by their indiffer-ence. Mrs Hall was too idle to scheme, the girls too innocent. Mrs Durham regarded Ada as a favourable line and invited her to Penge. Only Pippa, into whose mind a breath of modernity had blown, began to think her brother's coldness odd. "Clive,are you going to marry?" she asked suddenly. But his reply, "No, do tell mother," dispelled her suspicions: it is the sort of reply a man who is going to marry would make.
No one worried Maurice. He had established his power at home, and his mother began to speak of him in the tones she had reserved for her husband. He was not only the son of the house, but more of a personage than had been expected. He kept the servants in order, understood the car, subscribed to this and not to that, tabooed certain of the girls' acquaintances. By twenty-three he was a promising suburban tyrant, whose rule was the stronger because it was fairly just and mild. Kitty
protested, but she had no backing and no experience. In the end she had to say she was sorry and to receive a kiss. She was no match for this good-humoured and slightly hostile young man, and she failed to establish the advantage that his escapade at Cambridge had given her.
Maurice's habits became regular. He ate a large breakfast and caught the 8.36 to town. In the train he read theDaily Tele-graph. He worked till 1.0, lunched lightly, and worked again through the afternoon. Returning home, he had some exercise and a large dinner, and in the evening he read the evening paper, or laid down the law, or played billiards or bridge.
But every Wednesday he slept at Clive's little flat in town. Weekends were also inviolable. They said at home, "You must never interfere with Maurice's Wednesdays or with his week-ends. He would be most annoyed."
这时候两家人已经互相认识了。
“他们是绝对处不好的。”在这一点上，克莱夫和莫瑞斯的意见一致。“他们属于不同的社会阶层嘛。”然而，正相反，两家人居然意气相投，克莱夫和莫瑞斯看到他们济济一堂，觉得好笑。他们二人都憎恶女子，尤其是克莱夫。他们本性难移，连想都没想到过应该反过来尽点儿义务。他们沉浸在爱河中的时候，女眷变得跟马和猫一样疏远，她们不论做什么，都显得傻里傻气。吉蒂要求抱抱皮帕的婴儿，德拉姆太太和霍尔太太一同去参观皇家学院（译注：指皇家戏剧艺术学院。伦敦一所由国家资助的最古老的戏剧学校。1904年由演员兼导演H.B.特里爵士创建，次年迁至高尔大街。），他们都认为这与其说是社会阶层不同，毋宁说是阴错阳差地将不同性格的人扭到一块儿去了，于是胡乱加以解释。其实一点儿都不奇怪，他们本人就是充足的推动力。他们之间的强烈感情成了维系两家人的结结实实的纽带，犹如暗流拖着一艘船一般，拖曳着一切。霍尔太太与德拉姆太太因为儿子们是朋友才走到一起来的。“如今，”霍尔太太说，“我们也成了朋友。”
她们之间的“友谊”开始那天，莫瑞斯也在场。夫人们是在皮帕那坐落于伦敦的住宅里见面的。皮帕嫁给了一位姓伦敦的先生。这一巧合给吉蒂留下了深刻印象，但愿自己可别在喝茶的时候想起这件事笑起来。遵照莫瑞斯的意见，艾达被留在家里，因为就初次拜访而言，她太愚蠢。什么事也没发生。然后，皮帕和她母亲坐汽车回拜。当时他在伦敦，好像还是什么事都没发生。只不过皮帕向艾达夸赞吉蒂的脑子灵，又对吉蒂赞扬艾达长得漂亮，从而把两个姑娘都得罪了。霍尔太太则提醒德拉姆太太，可别在彭杰装暖气设备。接着，她们又见了面。据他所知，总是这样：什么都没发生，依然没发生任何事。
德拉姆太太当然有她的动机。她正在为克莱夫物色妻子，于是将霍尔家的姑娘们列在自己的名单上。她有一套理论，认为血统应该杂一些，而艾达呢，尽管土里土气，却很健康。毫无疑问，这姑娘脑子不好使，然而德拉姆太太不论在口头上怎么说，实际上无意引退到寡妇房里去。她相信，最宜通过克莱夫的妻子来操纵他。吉蒂的资格就差一些了。她没那么笨，没那么漂亮，也没那么富有。艾达将来会继承外祖父的全部财产，相当可观，与生俱来的好脾气也得自外祖父的遗传。德拉姆太太跟格雷斯先生有一面之缘，她颇喜欢他。
倘若她揣测霍尔一家人也有所企图，她会打退堂鼓的。她们跟莫瑞斯一样冷漠，从而把她吸引住了。霍尔太太过于怠惰，不会出谋划策，姑娘们太天真无邪。德拉姆太太认为艾达的门第好，就邀请她到彭杰去做客。惟独皮帕，由于受了些许现代化的洗礼，开始觉得她哥哥的冷淡简直是古怪。“克莱夫，你打算结婚吗？”她冷不防问道。然而他回答的那句“不，务必去告诉母亲”，消除了她的疑虑。这正是有意结婚的男人会说的话。
没有人来烦扰莫瑞斯。他在家中确立了自己的权力，母亲开始用对丈夫的那种口吻说话。他不仅是这一家的嫡子，还成了一位名士，这是人们所始料未及的。他把仆人们管理得井然有序，对汽车的事一清二楚，赞成这个，不同意那个，禁止妹妹们与某些相识者来往。在二十三岁时，他成了伦敦郊外的中产家庭一名前途远大的暴君，由于他的统治相当公正宽容，也就更稳固。吉蒂反抗过，然而没人支持她，又缺乏经验，最后她只好道歉，被哥哥吻了一下。她可不是这个态度友好、稍微怀点儿敌意的青年的对手。他在剑桥时的那次越轨行为曾使她占过上风，她却未能巧妙地加以利用。
莫瑞斯的日常生活变得很有规律。他吃上一顿丰盛的早餐，乘八点三十六分的火车赴伦敦，在车上读《每日电讯报》。他工作到一点，午餐吃得很少，再整整工作一个下午。回家后，做些轻微的运动，饱餐一顿。傍晚读晚报，发号施令，要么就打台球，或玩桥牌。
每逢星期三他就在克莱夫那坐落于伦敦的小套房过夜，周末也同样是不可侵犯的。女眷们在家里念叨：“你可千万别干预莫瑞斯的星期三或周末。他会被惹恼到极点。”
Chapter 20
Clive got through his bar exams successfully, but just before he was called he had a slight touch of influ-enza with fever. Maurice came to see him as he was recovering, caught it, and went to bed himself. Thus they saw little of one another for several weeks, and when they did meet Clive was still white and nervy. He came down to the Halls', preferring their house to Pippa's, and hoping that the good food and quiet would set him up. He ate little, and when he spoke his theme was the futility of all things.
"I'm a barrister because I may enter public life," he said in reply to a question of Ada's. "But why should I enter public life? Who wants me?"
"Your mother says the county does."
"If the county wants anyone it wants a Radical. But I've talked to more people than my mother, and they're weary of us leisured classes coasting round in motor-cars and asking for something to do. All this solemn to and fro between great houses —it's a game without gaiety. You don't find it played outside England. (Maurice, I'm going to Greece.) No one wants us, or anything except a comfortable home."
"But to give a comfortable home's what public life is," shrilled Kitty.
"Is, or ought to be?"
"Well, it's all the same."
"Is and ought to be are not the same," said her mother, proud of grasping the distinction. "You ought to be not interrupting Mr Durham, whereas you—"
"—is," supplied Ada, and the family laugh made Clive jump.
"We are and we ought to be," concluded Mrs Hall. "Very dif-ferent."
"Not always," contradicted Clive.
"Not always, remember that, Kitty," she echoed, vaguely ad-monitory: on other occasions he had not minded her. Kitty cried back to her first assertion. Ada was saying anything, Maurice nothing. He was eating away placidly, too used to such table talk to see that it worried his friend. Between the courses he told an anecdote. All were silent to listen to him. He spoke slowly, stupidly, without attending to his words or taking the trouble to be interesting. Suddenly Clive cut in with "I say— I'm going to faint," and fell off his chair.
"Get a pillow, Kitty: Ada, eau de cologne," said their brother. He loosened Clive's collar. "Mother, fan him; no; fan him . . ."
"Silly it is," murmured Clive.
As he spoke, Maurice kissed him.
"I'm all right now."
The girls and a servant came running in.
"I can walk," he said, the colour returning to his face.
"Certainly not," cried Mrs Hall. "Maurice'U carry you—Mr Durham, put your arms round Maurice."
"Come along, old man. The doctor: somebody telephone." He picked up his friend, who was so weak that he began to cry.
"Maurice—I'm a fool."
"Be a fool," said Maurice, and carried him upstairs, undressed him, and put him to bed. Mrs Hall knocked, and going out to her he said quickly, "Mother, you needn't tell the others I kissed Durham."
"Oh, certainly not."
"He wouldn't like it. I was rather upset and did it without thinking. As you know, we are great friends, relations almost."
It sufficed. She liked to have little secrets with her son; it re-minded her of the time when she had been so much to him. Ada joined them with a hot water bottle, which he took in to the patient.
"The doctor'll see me like this," Clive sobbed.
"I hope he will."
"Why?"
Maurice lit a cigarette, and sat on the edge of the bed. "We want him to see you at your worst. Why did Pippa let you travel?"
"I was supposed to be well."
"Hell take you."
"Can we come in?" called Ada through the door.
"No. Send the doctor alone."
"He's here," cried Kitty in the distance. A man, little older than themselves, was announced.
"Hullo, Jowitt," said Maurice, rising. "Just cure me this chap. He's had influenza, and is supposed to be well. Result he's fainted, and can't stop crying."
"We know all about that," remarked Mr Jowitt, and stuck a thermometer into Clive's mouth. "Been working hard?"
"Yes, and now wants to go to Greece."
"So he shall. You clear out now. I'll see you downstairs."
Maurice obeyed, convinced that Clive was seriously ill. Jowitt followed in about ten minutes, and told Mrs Hall it was nothing much—a bad relapse. He wrote prescriptions, and said he would send in a nurse. Maurice followed him into the garden, and, laying a hand on his arm, said, "Now tell me how ill he is. This isn't a relapse. It's something more. Please tell me the truth."
"He'sall right," said the other; somewhat annoyed, for he
piqued himself on telling the truth. "I thought you realized that. He's stopped the hysteria and is getting off to sleep. It's just an ordinary relapse. He will have to be more careful this time than the other, that's all."
"And how long will these ordinary relapses, as you call them, go on? At any moment may he have this appalling pain?"
"He's only a bit uncomfortable—caught a chill in the car, he thinks."
"Jowitt, you don't tell me. A grown man doesn't cry, unless he's gone pretty far."
"That is only the weakness."
"Oh, give it your own name," said Maurice, removing his hand. "Besides, I'm keeping you."
"Not a bit, my young friend, I'm here to answer any difficul-ties."
"Well, if it's so slight, why are you sending in a nurse?"
"To amuse him. I understand he's well off."
"And can't we amuse him?"
"No, because of the infection. You were there when I told your mother none of you ought to go into the room."
"I thought you meant my sisters."
"You equally—more, for you've already caught it from him once."
"I won't have a nurse."
"Mrs Hall has telephoned to the Institute."
"Why is everything done in such a damned hurry?" said Maurice, raising his voice. "I shall nurse him myself."
"Have you wheeling the baby next."
"I beg your pardon?"
Jowitt went off laughing.
In tones that admitted no argument Maurice told his mother he should sleep in the patient's room. He would not have a bed
taken in, lest Clive woke up, but lay down on the floor with his head on a foot-stool, and read by the rays of a candle lamp. Before long Clive stirred and said feebly, "Oh damnation, oh damnation."
"Want anything?" Maurice called.
"My inside's all wrong."
Maurice lifted him out of bed and put him on the night stool. When relief had come he lifted him back.
"I can walk: you mustn't do this sort of thing."
"You'd do it for me."
He carried the stool down the passage and cleaned it. Now that Clive was undignified and weak, he loved him as never before.
"You mustn't," repeated Clive, when he came back. "It's too filthy."
"Doesn't worry me," said Maurice, lying down. "Get off to sleep again."
"The doctor told me he'd send a nurse."
"What do you want with a nurse? It's only a touch of diar-rhoea. You can keep on all night as far as I'm concerned. Hon-estly it doesn't worry me—I don't say this to please you. It just doesn't."
"I can't possibly—your office—"
"Look here, Clive, would you rather have a trained nurse or me? One's coming tonight, but I left word she was to be sent away again, because I'd rather chuck the office and look after you myself, and thought you'd rather."
Clive was silent so long that Maurice thought him asleep. At last he sighed, "I suppose I'd better have the nurse."
"Right: she will make you more comfortable than I can. Per-haps you're right."
Clive made no reply.
Ada had volunteered to sit up in the room below, and, accord-ing to arrangement, Maurice tapped three times, and while waiting for her studied Clive's blurred and sweaty face. It was useless the doctor talking: his friend was in agony. He longed to embrace him, but remembered this had brought on the hys-teria, and besides, Clive was restrained, fastidious almost. As Ada did not come he went downstairs, and found that she had fallen asleep. She lay, the picture of health, in a big leather chair, with her hands dropped on either side and her feet stretched out. Her bosom rose and fell, her heavy black hair served as a cushion to her face, and between her lips he saw teeth and a scarlet tongue. "Wake up," he cried irritably.
Ada woke.
"How do you expect to hear the front door when the nurse comes?"
"How is poor Mr Durham?"
"Very ill; dangerously ill."
"Oh Maurice! Maurice!"
"The nurse is to stop. I called you, but you never came. Go off to bed now, as you can't even help that much."
"Mother said I must sit up, because the nurse mustn't be let in by a man—it wouldn't look well."
"I can't think how you have time to think of such rubbish," said Maurice.
"We must keep the house a good name."
He was silent, then laughed in the way the girls disliked. At the bottom of their hearts they disliked him entirely, but were too confused mentally to know this. His laugh was the only grievance they avowed.
"Nurses are not nice. No nice girl would be a nurse. If they are you may be sure they do not come from nice homes, or they would stop at home."
"Ada, how long were you at school?" asked her brother, as he helped himself to a drink.
"I call going to school stopping at home."
He set down his glass with a clank, and left her. Clive's eyes were open, but he did not speak or seem to know that Maurice had returned, nor did the coming of the nurse arouse him.
克莱夫顺利地通过了出庭辩护律师的考试，然而在取得资格之前，患了轻微的流行性感冒，发起烧来。进入恢复期后，莫瑞斯去探望他时被传染上了，也卧病在床。这样一来，他们二人几个星期没怎么见面。后来好不容易见到了，克莱夫依然脸色苍白，神经紧张。跟皮帕家相比，他更喜欢霍尔家，所以前来小住，希望合口味的食品与安宁会使自己康复。他吃得很少，三句话不离“干什么都是白搭”。
“我做一名出庭辩护律师，为的是将来可能当政治家。”他这么回答艾达向他提的问题。“然而，我当政治家干吗？谁要我呢？”
“你母亲说，全郡居民要你。”
“全郡居民所要的是个激进党派成员。比起我母亲来，我跟更多的人谈过话。他们对咱们闲居阶级已经不感兴趣了。咱们坐着汽车去转悠，找事做。装腔作势地在各座大宅门之间串来串去，玩的是一场没有欢乐的游戏。除了在英国，没有人这么玩。（莫瑞斯，我要到希腊去。）谁都不需要我们，他们所需要的只是个舒适的家庭而已。”
“但是，政治家正在提供舒适的家庭。”吉蒂尖锐刺耳地说。
“是‘正在’呢，还是‘应该’呢？”
“喏，这完全是一码事。”
…正在’和‘应该’可不是一码事。”艾达的母亲说，由于理解了二者的不同，她很得意。“你们不应该打扰德拉姆先生，你们却……”
…正在’。”艾达从旁插嘴，全家人大笑，惹得克莱夫跳了起来。
…正在’和‘应该’，”霍尔太太做出结论，“是截然不同的。”
“未必是这样。”克莱夫反驳道。
“未必是这样。你可要记住，吉蒂。”她随声附和，稍微带点儿训斥的口吻。其他时候他并不在乎她说什么。吉蒂仍大声坚称二者是一码事。艾达念念有词，莫瑞斯默不作声。他一向安静地进食，对饭桌上的这种饶舌已习以为常，没有理会他的朋友竟给弄得心烦意乱。等着上菜的时候，他讲了一桩趣闻。大家都默默地倾听。他慢条斯理、笨嘴拙舌地讲着，既不注意措词，也不费心去讲得饶有趣味。克莱夫忽然喊了一声：“啊——我要晕倒啦！”就从椅子上跌下去了。
“拿个枕头来，吉蒂。艾达，科隆香水。”她们的哥哥吩咐道。他松开了克莱夫的领口。“妈，扇扇。不是我，是他……”
“多么不中用啊……”克莱夫喃喃地说，话音未落，莫瑞斯吻了他一下。
“这会儿我完全好了。”
姑娘们和一个仆人跑了进来。
“我能走路啦。”他说，他的脸恢复了血色。
“绝没有好。”霍尔太太叫喊。“莫瑞斯抱你去——德拉姆先生，用胳膊搂住莫瑞斯．”
“来吧，老兄。请大夫，谁去打个电话。”他抱起朋友，克莱夫虚弱地哭泣起来。
“莫瑞斯，我是个蠢材。”
“就做个蠢材好了。”莫瑞斯说，并把克莱夫抱上楼去，替他脱衣服，让他唾在床上。霍尔太太敲了敲门，他迎出去，快嘴快舌地说：“妈，您不必告诉旁人我吻过德拉姆。”
“哦，当然不告诉。”
“他不喜欢这样。我六神无主，连想都没想一下就这么做了。您知道，我们是挚友，几乎是亲戚。”
这就够了。她喜欢与儿子分享一些小秘密，这使她忆起过去的岁月，对他而言，那时她曾是无上宝贵的。艾达送来了一个热水袋。他接住，进屋拎到病人床头。
“让大夫瞧见我这副德行。”克莱夫呜咽地说。
“我但愿他能瞧见。”
“为什么？”
莫瑞斯点燃一支香烟，坐在床边上。“我们要他看看你最糟糕的样子。为什么皮帕让你去旅行？”
“我被认为已经康复了。”
“见鬼。”
“我们能进去吗？”艾达隔着门大声问道。
“不能。请大夫一个人进来。”
“他就在这儿。”吉蒂在远处叫喊。报过名字后，一个比他们大不了多少的人进来了。
“你好，乔伊特。”莫瑞斯边起身边招呼。“替我把这家伙治好了吧。他患了流行性感冒，被认为已经痊愈了。结果晕倒了，一个劲儿地哭。”
“这是常有的情况。”乔伊特先生说，并把一支体温计插到克莱夫嘴里。“是不是劳累过度呢？”
“可不是嘛。如今说是想去希腊。”
“啊，可以去。现在你先出去吧，待会儿我到楼下去见你。”
莫瑞斯听从了他的话，克莱夫想必病得很重。过了大约十分钟，乔伊特出来了，并告诉霍尔太太没什么大不了的——旧病复发而已。他开了处方，说要派个护士来。莫瑞斯尾随他到庭园里，将手放在大夫的胳膊上说：“现在告诉我，他病得多么厉害。这不是旧病复发，还有什么其他的，请告诉我真实情况。”
“他不要紧的。”大夫说。他一向以说实话而自负，所以弄得有些心烦。“我以为你已经领悟了这一点。癔病不再发作了，他快要入睡了。这是司空见惯的旧病复发，这一次他可得比上一次当心，如此而已。”
“你所说的这种司空见惯的旧病复发会拖延多久呢？他是不是随时都可能遭受这种骇人的痛苦呢？”
“他只不过是有点儿不舒服——他认为是在车子里患上了感冒。”
“乔伊特，你别对我这么说。一个成年人是不会哭的，除非已经相当严重了。”
“只不过是虚弱罢了。”
“哦，你怎么说都行，”莫瑞斯边说边把手移开。“而且我正在耽搁你。”
“一点儿关系也没有，我的年轻朋友，我等着解答你的任何难胚。”
“喏，倘若病情轻，你为什么派护士来呢？”
“好让他开心呗。我知道他手头宽裕。”
“难道我们就不能让他开心吗？”
“哪里的话。因为怕传染啊。我曾告诉过你母亲，你们都不应该走进病房，可那时你已经待在里边了。”
“我还以为你指的是我的妹妹们呢。”
“你也一样——尤其是你，因为你已经被他传染过一次了。”
“我不要护士。”
“霍尔太太已经给护士站打电话了。”
“为什么一切都他妈的赶成这个样子？”莫瑞斯提高了嗓门说，“我自个儿护理他。”
“下一步你就该把孩子放在婴儿车里推着走了。”
“请问，你说什么？”
乔伊特放声大笑，扬长而去。
莫瑞斯用不容置疑的口吻告诉母亲，他必须睡在病房里。由于怕吵醒克莱夫，他没让人把床搬进去，却头枕脚凳，卧在地板上，借着烛光读书。过一会儿，克莱夫蠕动起来，有气无力地说：“啊，该死。啊，该死。”
“你要什么？”莫瑞斯呼唤道。
“我闹肚子啦。”
莫瑞斯把他从床上抱下来，扶他坐在便桶上。不一会儿，又将他抱回去。
“我能走路。你不该做这种事。”
“你也会为我这么做的。”
他把便桶端到走廊尽头，冲洗干净。现在克莱夫既不体面又虚弱，他比任何时候都爱这个朋友。
“你不应该这样。”当他回来的时候，克莱夫把话重复了一遍。“太脏了。”
“我才不在乎呢。”莫瑞斯边躺下去边说，“再接着睡吧。”
“大夫告诉我，他要派个护士来。”
“你要护士干吗？只不过是轻微的腹泻而已。就我而言，你可以整宿泻个不停。老实说，我并不在乎——我不是为了使你高兴才这么说的。我就是不在乎。”
“我总不能——你还得去上班呢——”
“喂，克莱夫，你是宁愿要一位熟练的护士，还是要我呢？今天晚上预定来一位，可我已经留下话，来了就把她打发走。因为我情愿不去上班，自个儿照看你。我还认为你也愿意这样呢。”
克莱夫沉默良久，莫瑞斯甚至以为他睡着了。他终于叹了口气说：“我想，还是宁可要护士。”
“好的。她比我更能使你舒适一些。也许你是对的。”
克莱夫没有回答。
艾达自告奋勇在楼下的房间里守夜，莫瑞斯就按照预先谈好的敲了三下地板。等候她上楼的时候，他审视着克莱夫那张模糊不清、汗津津的脸。大夫那么说也是白搭，他的朋友苦恼不堪。他很想拥抱克莱夫，却又想起那曾使克莱夫的癔病发作，何况克莱夫一向是有所克制的，几乎到了洁癖的程度。艾达没有来，他就下楼去了，发现她睡得正熟。她躺在一把大皮椅上，双臂耷拉下来，伸出两只脚．俨然是健康的化身。她的胸脯一起一伏，浓密乌黑的头发充当了面庞的靠垫，嘴唇略启，露出皓齿与鲜红的舌头。“醒一醒。”他急躁地喊叫。
艾达醒过来了。
“像你这样，护士来的时候，你怎么听得见大门的响动呢？”
“可怜的德拉姆先生怎么样啦？”
“病得很重，病到危险的程度。”
“哦，莫瑞斯！莫瑞斯！”
“护士嘛，得留下来。我叫你来着，可你总也不来。去睡吧，因为你连这么一点儿忙也帮不上。”
“妈妈说我必须守夜。因为护士不应该由男人领进去——那不雅观。”
“我简直不能想象你们居然有时间考虑这么无聊的事。”莫瑞斯说。
“我们必须维护家庭的好名声。”
他没吭声，接着以妹妹们厌恶的样子笑了。她们的内心深处极不喜欢他。然而她们思想太混乱，并不曾觉察出这一点。她们惟一公开抱怨的是他这种笑法。
“护士没有教养，任何有教养的姑娘都不会去当护士。即使她们本人有教养，你也能肯定她们不是出身于有教养的家庭，否则她们会待在家里。”
“艾达，你上过几年学校？”哥哥一边斟酒一边问。
“我把上学叫做待在家里。”
他“咔嗒”一声将玻璃杯放下来，离开了她。克莱夫睁着眼睛，却没有说话，好像也不知道莫瑞斯已经回来了。甚至护士抵达，也没使他苏醒。
Chapter 21
It was plain in a few days that nothing serious was amiss with the visitor. The attack, despite its dra-matic start, was less serious than its predecessor, and soon allowed his removal to Penge. His appearance and spirits re-mained poor, but that must be expected after influenza, and no one except Maurice felt the least uneasiness.
Maurice thought seldom about disease and death, but when he did it was with strong disapproval. They could not be allowed to spoil his life or his friend's, and he brought all his youth and health to bear on Clive. He was with him constantly, going down uninvited to Penge for weekends or for a few days' holi-day, and trying by example rather than precept to cheer him up. Clive did not respond. He could rouse himself in company, and even affect interest in a right of way question that had arisen between the Durhams and the British Public, but when they were alone he relapsed into gloom, would not speak, or spoke in a half serious, half joking way that tells of mental ex-haustion. He determined to go to Greece. That was the only point on which he held firm. He would go, though the month would be September, and he alone. "It must be done," he said. "It is a vow. Every barbarian must give the Acropolis its chance once."
Maurice had no use for Greece. His interest in the classics had been slight and obscene, and had vanished when he loved
Clive. The stories of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, of Phaedrus. of the Theban Band were well enough for those whose hearts were empty, but no substitute for life. That Clive should occa-sionally prefer them puzzled him. In Italy, which he liked well enough in spite of the food and the frescoes, he had refused to cross to the yet holier land beyond the Adriatic. "It sounds out of repair" was his argument. "A heap of old stones without any paint on. At all events this"1—he indicated the library of Siena Cathedral—"you may say what you like, but it is in working order." Clive, in his amusement, jumped up and down upon the Piccolomini tiles, and the custodian laughed too instead of scolding them. Italy had been very jolly—as much as one wants in the way of sight-seeing surely—but in these latter days Greece had cropped up again. Maurice hated the very word, and by a curious inversion connected it with morbidity and death. Whenever he wanted to plan, to play tennis, to talk non-sense, Greece intervened. Clive saw his antipathy, and took to teasing him about it, not very kindly.
For Clive wasn't kind: it was to Maurice the most serious of all the symptoms. He would make slightly malicious remarks, and use his intimate knowledge to wound. He failed: i.e., his knowledge was incomplete, or he would have known the impos-sibility of vexing athletic love. If Maurice sometimes parried outwardly it was because he felt it human to respond: he always had been put off Christ turning the other cheek. Inwardly noth-ing vexed him. The desire for union was too strong to admit resentment. And sometimes, quite cheerfully, he would conduct a parallel conversation, hitting out at Clive at times in acknowl-edgement of his presence, but going his own way towards light, in hope that the beloved would follow.
Their last conversation took place on these lines. It was the evening before Clive's departure, and he had the whole of the
Hall family to dine with him at the Savoy, as a return for their kindness to him, and had sandwiched them out between some other friends. "We shall know what it is if you fallthis time," cried Ada, nodding at the champagne. "Your health!" he replied. "And the health of all ladies. Come, Maurice!" It pleased him to be slightly old-fashioned. Healths were drunk, and only Maurice detected the underlying bitterness.
After the banquet he said to Maurice, "Are you sleeping at home?"
"No."
"I thought you might want to see your people home."
"Not he, Mr Durham," said his mother. "Nothing I can do or say can make him miss a Wednesday. Maurice is a regular old bachelor."
"My flat's upside down with packing," remarked Clive. "I leave by the morning train, and go straight through to Mar-seilles."
Maurice took no notice, and came. They stood yawning at each other, while the lift descended for them, then sped up-wards, climbed another stage on their feet, and went down a passage that recalled the approach to Risley's rooms at Trinity. The flat, small, dark, and silent, lay at the end. It was, as Clive said, littered with rubbish, but his housekeeper, who slept out, had made up Maurice's bed as usual, and had arranged drinks.
"Yet again," remarked Clive.
Maurice liked alcohol, and had a good head.
"I'm going to bed. I see you've found what you wanted."
"Take care of yourself. Don't overdo the ruins. By the way—" He took a phial out of his pocket. "I knew you'd forget this. Chlorodyne."
"Chlorodyne! Your contribution!"
He nodded,
"Chlorodyne for Greece. . . . Ada has been telling me that
you thought I was going to die. Why on earth do you worry about my health? There's no fear. I shan't ever have so clean and clear an experience as death."
"I know I shall die some time and I don't want to, nor you to. If either of us goes, nothing's left for both. I don't know if you call that clean and clear?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then I'd rather be dirty," said Maurice, after a pause. Clive shivered.
"Don't you agree?"
"Oh, you're getting like everyone else. You will have a theory. We can't go quietly ahead, we must always be formulating, though every formula breaks down. 'Dirt at all costs' is to be yours. I say there are cases when one gets too dirty. Then Lethe, if there is such a river, will wash it away. But there may not be such a river. The Greeks assumed little enough, yet too much perhaps. There may be no forgetfulness beyond the grave. This wretched equipment may continue. In other words, beyond the grave there may be Hell."
"Oh, balls."
Clive generally enjoyed his metaphysics. But this time he went on. "To forget everything—even happiness. Happiness! A casual tickling of someone or something against oneself— that's all. Would that we had never been lovers! For then, Mau-rice, you and I should have lain still and been quiet. We should have slept, then had we been at rest with kings and counsellors of the earth, which built desolate places for themselves—"
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"—or as an hidden untimely birth, we had not been: as infants which never saw light. But as it is—Well, don't look so serious."
"Don't try to be funny then," said Maurice. "I never did think anything of your speeches."
"Words conceal thought. That theory?"
"They make a silly noise. I don't care about your thoughts either."
"Then what do you care about in me?"
Maurice smiled: as soon as this question was asked, he felt happy, and refused to answer it.
"My beauty?" said Clive cynically. "These somewhat faded charms. My hair is falling out. Are you aware?"
"Bald as an egg by thirty."
"As an addled egg. Perhaps you like me for my mind. During and after my illness I must have been a delightful companion."
Maurice looked at him with tenderness. He was studying him, as in the earliest days of their acquaintance. Only then it was to find out what he was like, now what had gone wrong with him. Something was wrong. The diseases still simmered, vexing the brain, and causing it to be gloomy and perverse, and Maurice did not resent this: he hoped to succeed where the doctor had failed. He knew his own strength. Presently he would put it forth as love, and heal his friend, but for the moment he investigated.
"I expect you do like me for my mind—for its feebleness. You always knew I was inferior. You're wonderfully considerate— give me plenty of rope and never snub me as you did your family at dinner."
It was as if he wanted to pick a quarrel.
"Now and then you call me to heel—" He pinched him, pre-tending to be playful. Maurice started. "What is wrong now? Tired?"
"I'm off to bed."
"I.e., you're tired. Why can't you answer a question? I didn't say 'tired of me', though I might have."
"Have you ordered your taxi for the nine o'clock?"
"No, nor got my ticket. I shan't go to Greece at all. Perhaps it'll be as intolerable as England."
"Well, good night, old man." He went, deeply concerned, to his room. Why. would everyone declare Clive was fit to travel? Clive even knew he wasn't himself. So methodical as a rule, he had put off taking his ticket till the last moment. He might still not go, but to express the hope was to defeat it. Maurice un-dressed, and catching sight of himself in the glass, thought, "A mercy I'm fit." He saw a well-trained serviceable body and a face that contradicted it no longer. Virility had harmonized them and shaded either with dark hair. Slipping on his pyjamas, he sprang into bed, concerned, yet profoundly happy, because he was strong enough to live for two. Clive had helped him. Clive would help him again when the pendulum swung, mean-while he must help Clive, and all through life they would alter-nate thus: as he dozed off he had a further vision of love, that was not far from the ultimate.
There was a knock at the wall that divided their rooms.
"What is it?" he called; then, "Come in!" for Clive was now at the door.
"Can I come into your bed?"
"Come along," said Maurice, making room.
"I'm cold and miserable generally. I can't sleep. I don't know why."
Maurice did not misunderstand him. He knew and shared his opinions on this point. They lay side by side without touching. Presently Clive said, "It's no better here. I shall go." Maurice was not sorry, for he could not get to sleep either, though for a different reason, and he was afraid Clive might hear the drum-ming of his heart, and guess what it was.
没过几天就弄清楚了，来客病得不重。尽管刚复发时看上去挺吓人，但没有想象的那么厉害。不久他就获得了回彭杰去的许可。他的脸色依然不好，精神萎靡，但这也是患过流行性感冒后预料之中的事，除了莫瑞斯外，旁人丝毫没有感到不安。
莫瑞斯轻易不去想疾病与死亡的事，倘若想的话，就伴随着强烈的反感。不应该容许它们来损害他本人或朋友的生命。于是他携带着自己的全部青春与健康去对克莱夫发生作用。每逢周末或连休日，他就到彭杰去做不速之客，不是靠口头训导，而是以身作则使他鼓起劲儿来。对克莱夫却未能奏效。当众他会振作起来，甚至对德拉姆家族与英国公众之间所发生的公路通行权问题佯装兴致勃勃。然而只剩下他和莫瑞斯在一起的时候，他就故态复萌，意气消沉，不肯说话。要么就用半认真半开玩笑的口吻说点儿什么，这表明他的精神已经耗尽了。他已打定主意要去希腊。惟独这一点，他是十分坚定的。尽管九月份才能动身，他非去不可，而且是单独前往。“我必须去，”他说，“是去履行誓言。每一个未开化的人都得给予卫城（译注：卫城是古希腊城邦兼有防卫性质的中心地区，内有市政与宗教建筑。卫城多建于高山之巅，具有军事和宗教双重目的。雅典卫城是最著名的卫城，位于陡峭的山冈上，建于公元前5世纪中叶。）一次机会。”
莫瑞斯与希腊风马牛不相及。他对古希腊罗马文学的兴趣淡薄，而且是淫猥的，一经爱上克莱夫，就消失殆尽。哈莫狄奥斯和阿里斯托吉顿啦（译注：哈莫狄奥斯和阿里斯托吉顿是一对同性爱者。修昔底德在《伯罗奔尼撒战争史》中说：暴君希庇亚斯之弟希帕尔科斯侮辱了哈莫狄奥斯。哈莫狄奥斯和阿里斯托吉顿就计划在公元前514年对希庇亚斯及其兄弟行刺。结果只杀死了希帕尔科斯。哈莫狄奥斯当场遇害，阿里斯托吉顿被擒后死于毒刑。希庇亚斯的暴政又延续了四年多。），斐多啦，以及第邦神圣队（译注：第邦神圣队是由一对对同性爱者组成的军队）啦，这些故事对那些心灵空虚的人们而言是蛮好的，却代替不了人生。克莱夫时而偏爱它们，莫瑞斯觉得莫名其妙。他十分喜欢意大利，尽管讨厌那儿的食品和湿壁画（译注：用在清水中磨研的颜色粉末，在刚抹好的湿灰泥墙壁上作画的方法。色彩与石灰一起干燥凝固后，就成为墙壁的永久部分。）。他却拒绝渡过亚德里亚海，到那更神圣的土地（译注：指希腊。意大利东南与希腊之间隔着亚德里亚海。）去。“使人感到年久失修，”他提出这么个理由，“一堆老掉牙的石头，什么颜色也没有。总之，这个嘛，”——他指的是锡耶纳大教堂里的书库——“不管你怎么说，这个派上了用场。”克莱夫听得十分开心，在皮科洛米尼时代（译注：指意大利籍教皇庇护二世（1439-1464在位），原名艾伊尼阿斯•西尔维乌•皮科洛米尼。皮科洛米尼家族是贵族世家，家族中出过军人、文人和教皇。）的彩色瓷砖上跳来跳去。管理人非但没申诉他们，还跟他们一道笑。意大利令人非常快活——就观光而言，确实是这样——然而近来希腊又突然冒出来了。莫瑞斯就连这个词都憎恶。出于难以解释的偏见，他由希腊而联想到疾病和死亡。每当他有什么打算，打网球啦，聊天啦，希腊就插进来了。克莱夫看出他厌恶希腊，就养成借此取笑他的习惯，并不怎么体谅他。
克莱夫就是不体谅他。莫瑞斯认为这是所有的症状中最严重的。克莱夫会说些稍微出于恶意的话，还用自己谙熟的知识来伤害他。克莱夫失败了，也就是说，他的知识并不全面，否则他就会知道，要想损害像莫瑞斯这么个运动健将的爱情是不可能的。莫瑞斯有时表面上避开了克莱夫的攻击，因为他觉得有所反应是人之常情。他一向不喜欢基督关于连另一边脸也伸过去的教导（译注：见《新约全书，路加福音》第6章第29节“论爱仇敌”。耶稣教导说：“有人打你一边的脸，连另一边也让他打吧！”）。在内心里，他一点儿也不生克莱夫的气。与克莱夫结合的欲望太强烈了，怨恨无从侵入。有时候他会十分快活地进行与之匹敌的谈话，偶尔回击他一句，表示并没忘记他就在眼前。他径直走向光明，希望自己所挚爱的人会尾随其后。
他们二人之间的最后一次谈话就是如此这般地进行的。那是克莱夫动身前的傍晚，他把霍尔一家人请到萨沃伊来吃晚餐，以回报他们对他的亲切关怀。他安排他们夹坐在其他朋友中间。“假若这次你晕倒了，我们会知道是怎么个来由。”艾达边朝着香槟酒点头，边大声说。“为你的健康干杯！”他回答。“为所有的女士们的健康干杯！干一杯，莫瑞斯！”他喜欢来点儿老一套的做法。大家为健康干了杯，惟独莫瑞斯看破了潜在的讥刺。
晚宴结束后，他对莫瑞斯说：“你回家去睡吗？”
“不。”
“我以为你想把家里人护送回府上去呢。”
“他才不干呢，德拉姆先生。”他母亲说，“不论我怎么做，怎么说，他也决不肯放弃一个星期三。莫瑞斯是个十足的老光棍儿。”
“我的套房里被行李弄得很乱。”克莱夫说，“我乘早晨的火车径直穿行到马赛（译注：马赛是法国的第二大城市和最大的商业港口，临地中海利翁湾。从伦敦出发后．需要坐轮船渡过多佛尔海峡，才能抵达法国。）去。”
莫瑞斯充耳不闻，还是来了。等候电梯降下来的时候，他们朝着对方大打呵欠。接着，乘电梯上去，徒步登上另一层楼梯，沿着过道走去。令人联想到三一学院里通向里斯利那个套房的走廊。克莱夫的套房小而黑暗，寂然无声，位于尽头。正像克莱夫说过的那样，里面杂乱无章，然而不在这里住宿的女管家已照常为莫瑞斯铺好了床，饮料也准备停当了。
“还要喝啊。”克莱夫说。
莫瑞斯喜欢喝酒，而且有酒量。
“我要上床了。依我看，你想要的都有了。”
“好好照顾自己。身体已经垮了，可别再劳累过度。另外，”他从衣兜里掏出一个小药瓶，“我就知道你会忘记这个，哥罗颠②。”
“哥罗颠！（译注：哥罗颠是一种止痛麻醉药。）难为你想得这么周到！”
莫瑞斯点了点头。
“带着哥罗颠到希腊去……艾达告诉我，你还以为我会一命呜呼呢。你究竟为什么这么为我的健康担心呢？别害怕。像死亡这样干净利索的经验，永远与我无缘。”
“我清楚自己迟早会死，而我不愿意死，更不愿意你死。倘若咱们两个人当中有一个死了，什么都没留下，我不知道你是否把这叫做干净利索。”
“是的，我就这么叫。”
“那么，我宁愿自己是污秽的。”莫瑞斯停顿了半晌说，克莱夫打了个寒噤。
“你不同意吗？”
“哦，你变得跟任何凡夫俗子毫无二致了。你非有个理论不可。咱们不能静悄悄地向前走，总是非得做成公式。尽管每个公式都有不再起作用的一天。你的公式是‘不惜任何代价也要保持污秽，。我可要告诉你，还有变得过于污秽的情形呢。于是忘川（译注：忘川是希腊神话中从冥府流过去的一条河。凡是喝了这条河水的亡魂，会把过去的事一概忘掉。）——倘若有这么一条河的话一就会把它洗净。然而也许没有这样的河，希腊人并没怎么任意想象。不然，或许还想象得过了头呢。说不定到了坟墓的彼方，什么都忘不掉。糟糕的记性也许会延续下去。换言之，坟墓的彼方可能就是地狱。”
“呸，胡说八道。”
克莱夫通常是借着抽象的空谈来自得其乐。然而这一次，他继续发挥下去。“忘却一切——连幸福都抛到脑后。幸福！被什么人或什么东西偶然胳肢了一下——如此而已。咱们两个人要足从来没做过情人，该有多好！因为要是那样的话，咱们就可以一动不动地躺着，一声不响。咱们应该睡觉了，那样一来，咱们就可以跟世上那些为自己确保了孤寂场所的国王们及其谋士们友好相处了——”
“你究竟在说些什么呀？”
“要么就像夭折的早产儿那样，咱们从来就没享有过生命，犹如那些压根儿不曾见过光的婴儿。然而事实上——喂，别显得那么严肃。”
“那么，你就别说这么古怪的话好了。”莫瑞斯说，“我倒是从来也没把你的话当真过。”
“话语掩盖思想，是这套理论吗？”
“话语不过是发出无聊的声音而已。我也不喜欢你的思想。”
“那么，你喜欢我的哪一点呢？”
莫瑞斯微微一笑。克莱夫刚这么一问，他就感到满足了，不肯回答。
“我的美貌吗？”克莱夫用讥讽的口吻说，“姿色已褪了几分，我的头发大量地脱落。你发觉了吗？”
“三十岁的时候就成了秃子，像个鸡蛋似的。”
“精神错乱的秃子，也许你喜欢我的头脑。生病期间以及病后，我想必是个可爱的伙伴。”
莫瑞斯温情脉脉地望着他。他在观察克莱夫，犹如他们初结识的时候那样。只不过当初是想弄清楚他是个什么样的人，现在想知道的是他出了什么毛病。克莱夫是有点儿不对头。还有后遗症，弄得他头脑混乱，情绪沮丧，一意孤行。莫瑞斯没有对此感到不满。大夫失败了，他希望自己能成功，他知道自己的力量。他将凭借爱的力量治好朋友的病，眼下他在进行探索。
“我认为你确实是由于我的头脑的关系才喜欢我。喜欢我的意志薄弱这一点，你一向清楚我不如你。你对我体贴得无微不至，你听任我为所欲为。吃饭的时候你故意冷落你家里的人，对我却从来没这么做过。”
这简直像是在找碴儿打架。
“可你不时地要我对你俯首帖耳——”他假装闹着玩儿地掐了莫瑞斯一下。莫瑞斯吓了一跳，“怎么啦？厌倦了吗？”
“我要睡觉去了。”
“也就是说，你厌倦了。你为什么不能回答一个问题？我并没说‘对我感到厌倦了’，尽管我可以这么说。”
“你已经叫好了出租车，让它早晨九点钟来吗？”
“没有，连车票都还没买呢。说不定我根本就不去希腊，也许它跟英国一样令人难以忍受。”
“唔。晚安，老兄。”他深深地忧虑着回到自己的屋子。为什么人人都说克莱夫已经适合于旅行了呢？连克莱夫本人都知道自己不正常。克莱夫一般是有条不紊的，所以拖延到最后还没买票。或许他到头来不会出发，然而表示出一种愿望就是为了挫败它。莫瑞斯脱下衣服，瞥了一眼映在镜中的自己，想道：“真是幸运，我是健康的。”他看见的是锻炼得结结实实、矫健的肉体，以及一张再与之般配的脸。男子气概使二者相协调，均覆以乌黑的毛。他穿上睡衣，跳上床。尽管忧虑着克莱夫的事，却高兴极了。因为他强壮到足以使两个人生存下去。克莱夫曾帮助过他。形势一变，克莱夫还要帮助他。目前他必须帮助克莱夫。他们两个人将毕生像这样轮流互助。他昏昏欲睡时，梦幻中出现了爱的前景，与终极目的相距不远了。
隔壁传来了叩打声。
“怎么啦？”他问，接着就说，“请进！”因为克莱夫已来到门外。
“我可以钻进你的被窝吗？”
“来吧。”莫瑞斯边说边为他挪出地方。
“我总是发冷，苦不堪言，唾不着觉。我也不知道是怎么回事。”
莫瑞斯并没有误解克莱夫。在这一点上，他了解克莱夫，两个人的意见一致。他们并肩而卧，却没有挨在一起。过了一会儿，克莱夫说：“这儿也好不了多少，我走啦。”莫瑞斯并没有感到遗憾，因为他也睡不着，尽管是出于不同的理由。他的心怦怦直跳，生怕被克莱夫听见，从而揣测出个中原因。
Chapter 22
Clive sat in the theatre of Dionysus. The stage was empty, as it had been for many centuries, the audi-torium empty; the sun had set though the Acropolis behind still radiated heat. He saw barren plains running down to the sea, Salamis, Aegina, mountains, all blended in a violet evening. Here dwelt his gods—Pallas Athene in the first place: he might if he chose imagine her shrine untouched, and her statue catch-ing the last of the glow. She understood all men, though mother-less and a virgin. He had been coming to thank her for years because she had lifted him out of the mire.
But he saw only dying light and a dead land. He uttered no prayer, believed in no deity, and knew that the past was devoid of meaning like the present, and a refuge for cowards.
Well, he had written to Maurice at last. His letter was journey-ing down to the sea. Where one sterility touched another, it would embark and voyage past Sunium and Cythera, would land and embark, would land again. Maurice would get it as he was starting for his work. "Against my will I have become normal. I cannot help it." The words had been written.
He descended the theatre wearily. Who could help anything? Not only in sex, but in all things men have moved blindly, have evolved out of slime to dissolve into it when this accident of con-
sequences is over.
sighed the actors
in this very place two thousand years before. Even that remark, though further from vanity than most, was vain.
克莱夫坐在狄奥尼索斯剧场（译注：狄奥尼索斯剧场是最早形式的希腊剧场，坐落于雅典卫城南侧。4世纪后，剧场冷落，后停止使用，并开始损毁。1765年人们重新发现了这个剧场，19世纪末在考古学家和希腊式建筑权威德普菲尔德的指导下按其原貌进行了重大修复。）里。多少个世纪以来，舞台是空荡荡的，观众席也空无一人。太阳已经落下，背后的卫城却还发散着热气。他眺望着向海边倾斜的光秃秃的平原，萨拉米斯（萨拉米斯，希腊拉阿蒂卡州岛屿，位于爱琴海萨罗尼克湾内）、埃伊纳（译注：埃伊纳，希腊萨罗尼克群岛中最大的岛屿。埃伊纳岛的全盛时期在公元前5世纪。东面的山顶上有一座保存完好的神庙，建于公元前5世纪，以祭奉阿帕伊亚神-古代埃伊纳人的神）、群山，统统与淡紫色黄昏融为一体。他的神祗们就住在这里——首先是雅典娜•波利亚斯（译注：在希腊宗教里，雅典娜是城市的保护女神，雅典因而得名。从君主政体向民主政体过渡的时期，作为城市女神的雅典娜•波利亚斯在雅典出现了。赫西奥德在《神谱》里记述说，她没有母亲,是从宙斯的前额中跳出来的。帕台农神庙殿堂内的雅典娜女神像是用金子和象牙制作的。）。倘若愿意的话，他可以想象雅典娜的神庙完好如初，她的雕像在落日余晖下熠熠发光。尽管没有母亲，又是个处女，她对所有的男人了如指掌。多年来，克莱夫不断地渴望到此向她表示谢忱，因为她将他从泥潭中拖了出来。
然而他只看见了渐渐消失的光和死灭了的大地。他不曾祷告，对任何神祗都没有信仰。他知道过去就跟现在一样毫无意义，并为懦夫提供了避难所。
他终于给莫瑞斯写了信。他这封信将要渡海，经过陆地与海洋接触之处，被装上了船，绕过苏钮姆岬与基西拉（译注：基西拉是伊奥尼亚群岛中最靠东南的岛屿），登陆后又被装上船，再度登陆。莫瑞斯上班的时候就会收到这封信。“我不由自主地变得正常了。我一点儿办法也没有。”他终于把这话写出来了。
他有气无力地走下剧场。不论是谁，又有什么办法呢？不仅在性方面，毋宁说是在各方面，人们都是盲目地踱过来的。他们脱离泥淖逐渐演变成人，及至偶然的连锁结束，就又消融到泥淖中去。两千年前，刚好就在此处，演员们感叹道：“最好是根本就没出生。（译注：原文为希腊文）”就连这句言词都是空洞的，尽管比起大多数台词来，它与虚荣相距甚远。
Chapter 23
Dear Clive,
Please come back on receiving this. I have looked out your connections, and you can reach England on Tuesday week if you start at once. I am very anxious about you on account of your letter, as it shows how ill you are. I have waited to hear from you for a fortnight and now come two sentences, which I suppose mean that you cannot love anyone of your own sex any longer. We will see whether this is so as soon as you arrive!
I called upon Pippa yesterday. She was full of the lawsuit, and thinks your mother made a mistake in closing the path. Your mother has told the village she is not closing it against them. I called to get news of you, but Pippa had not heard either. You will be amused to hear that I have been learning some classical music lately—also golf. I get on as well as can be expected at Hill and Hall's. My mother has gone to Birmingham after changing back-wards and forwards for a week. Now you have all the news. Wire on getting this, and again on reaching Dover.
Maurice.
Clive received this letter and shook his head. He was going with some hotel acquaintances up Pentelicus, and tore it to pieces on the top of the mountain. He had stopped loving Mau-rice and should have to say so plainly.
亲爱的克莱夫：
收到这封信后，就请回来吧。我查了一下交通情况。假若马上动身的话，星期二你就能抵达英国。由于你的信的缘故，我为你非常担忧。因为它证实了你病得多么重。这封信我盼了两个星期，盼到的是两个句子。你的意思莫非是说，今后你再也不能爱任何一个同性的人了。你一回来就水落石出了！
昨天我给皮帕打了电话。她满脑子都是诉讼的事。她认为令堂禁止通行那条路是个错误。令堂已告诉村方，此举不是针对他们的。我打电话是为了得到你的消息，然而皮帕也没收到你的信。近来我学了点儿古典音乐，你听了，会觉得好笑吧。还学会了打高尔夫球。我在希尔与霍尔混得还可以。家母反复考虑了一周之后，到伯明翰去了。现在你已有了所有的消息。收到此函，请打个电报。在多佛上岸后，再打一次。
莫瑞斯
克莱夫收到此信，摇了摇头。他约好了跟几个在旅馆结识的人去攀登彭特利库斯山（译注：彭特利库斯山是希腊阿蒂卡州山地。主峰科基纳拉斯峰海拔1109米，位于雅典东北约16公里处。山顶有一座雅典娜女神殿堂。）。在山顶上，他把信撕得粉碎。克莱夫已经不再爱莫瑞斯了，必须坦率地告诉他。
Chapter 24
He stopped a week more at Athens, lest by any pos- sibility he was wrong. The change had been so shock-ing that sometimes he thought Maurice was right, and that it was the finish of his illness. It humiliated him, for he had under-stood his soul, or, as he said, himself, ever since he was fifteen. But the body is deeper than the soul and its secrets inscrutable. There had been no warning—just a blind alteration of the life spirit, just an announcement, "You who loved men, will hence-forward love women. Understand or not, it's the same to me." Whereupon he collapsed. He tried to clothe the change with reason, and understand it, in order that he might feel less hu-miliated: but it was of the nature of death or birth, and he failed. It came during illness—possibly through illness. During the first attack, when he was severed from ordinary life and fever-ish, it seized an opportunity that it would have taken some time or other. He noticed how charming his nurse was and enjoyed obeying her. When he went a drive his eye rested on women. Little details, a hat, the way a skirt is held, scent, laughter, the delicate walk across mud—blended into a charming whole, and it pleased him to find that the women often answered his eye with equal pleasure. Men had never responded—they did not assume he admired them, and were either unconscious or puz-zled. But women took admiration for granted. They might be offended or coy, but they understood, and welcomed him into a
world of delicious interchange. All through the drive Clive was radiant. How happy normal people made their lives! On how little had he existed for twenty-four years! He chatted to his nurse, and felt her his for ever. He noticed the statues, the ad-vertisements, the daily papers. Passing a cinema palace, he went in. The film was unbearable artistically, but the man who made it, the men and the women who looked on—they knew, and he was one of the them.
In no case could the exaltation have lasted. He was like one whose ears have been syringed; for the first few hours he hears super-normal sounds, which vanish when he adjusts himself to the human tradition. He had not gained a sense, but rearranged one, and life would not have appeared as a holiday for long. It saddened at once, for on his return Maurice was waiting for him, and a seizure resulted: like a fit, it struck at him from behind the brain. He murmured that he was too tired to talk, and escaped, and Maurice's illness gave him a further reprieve, during which he persuaded himself that their relations had not altered, and that he might without disloyalty contemplate women. He wrote affectionately and accepted the invitation to recruit, without misgivings.
He said he caught cold in the car; but in his heart he believed that the cause of his relapse was spiritual: to be with Maurice or anyone connected with him was suddenly revolting. The heat at dinner! The voices of the Halls! Their laughter! Maurice's an-ecdote! It mixed with the food—was the food. Unable to dis-tinguish matter from spirit, he fainted.
But when he opened his eyes it was to the knowledge that love had died, so that he wept when his friend kissed him. Each kindness increased his suffering, until he asked the nurse to for-bid Mr Hall to enter the room. Then he recovered and could fly to Penge, where he loved him as much as ever until he turned up.
He noticed the devotion, the heroism even, but his friend bored him. He longed for him to go back to town, and actually said so, so near the surface had the rock risen. Maurice shook his head and stopped.
Clive did not give in to the life spirit without a struggle. He believed in the intellect and tried to think himself back into the old state. He averted his eyes from women, and when that failed adopted childish and violent expedients. The one was this visit to Greece, the other—he could not recall it without disgust. Not until all emotion had ebbed would it have been possible. He regretted it deeply, for Maurice now inspired him with a physi-cal dislike that made the future more difficult, and he wished to keep friends with his old lover, and to help him through the ap-proaching catastrophe. It was all so complicated. When love flies it is remembered not as love but as something else. Blessed are the uneducated, who forget it entirely, and are never con-scious of folly or pruriency in the past, of long aimless conversa-tions.
他在雅典继续逗留了一个月，因为他生怕自己可能误会了。这种变化使他太震惊了，有时他认为也许莫瑞斯说得对，疾病把他的精力耗尽了。这令他感到屈辱。因为从十五岁起，他就理解自己的灵魂，借用他本人的话：理解自己。然而肉体比灵魂深奥，拥有难以捉摸的秘密。没有任何警告一生命的本质无端地起了变化，仅仅这么通告道：“你原来是个爱男性的人，今后将爱女性。不论你理解与否，对我而言，都是一样的。”于是他的精神崩溃了。他试图给这个变化披上理智的外衣，好去理解它，这样就不至于感到那么丢脸了。但这是属于死亡或诞生范畴的问题，他失败了。
变化是病中发生的——兴许是疾病导致的。他第一次发病期间，脱离了日常生活，发着烧，迟早会发生的那个变化乘虚而人。他注意到护士何等迷人，乐意听从她的吩咐。乘车兜风的时候，他两眼盯着女人们。一些小小的细节——一顶帽子，撩起裙子的手势，香水的气味，嫣然一笑，乖巧地躲闪着泥的碎步——构成了富于魅力的整体。他高兴地发现，女人们往往同样快乐地对他的眼神做出反应。男人们从未做出过反应，他们做梦也想不到他会欣赏他们，要么意识不到他的视线，要么感到困惑。然而女人们认为自己理应受到赞美。她们也许会见怪或忸怩作态，但她们是大度的，并欢迎他进入彼此在精神上美妙地交流的世界。一路上，克莱夫满面春风。正常人过的是多么幸福的人生啊！这二十四年，自己是靠何等少得可怜的一点儿东西活过来的呀！他跟护士聊天，感到她是永远属于他的。他注意到了雕像、广告和日报。经过一家电影院时，他心血来潮，走了进去。就艺术性而言，那影片让人无法忍受，然而制片人与看电影的男男女女却是相识的。克莱夫是他们当中的一员。
这种兴奋绝不能持久。他就像是个把耳朵洗净了的人。起初的几个钟头，他听得见异常的声音，及至使自己适应了普通人的惯例，它就消失了。他并没有获得新观念，不过是把旧的重新调整了一番。生活不会长期像过节似的，很快就黯淡起来。因为他刚一回来，莫瑞斯正等候着他。结果他被吓晕了，脑后遭到袭击，就像是发作似的。他嘟哝着自己太累啦，说不出话来，逃之天天。莫瑞斯的病使他暂时得到解脱。这期间，他说服自己，他们两个人的关系并没有起变化，他可以在仍忠于莫瑞斯的情况下转一些关于女人的念头。他怀着深厚感情给莫瑞斯写了封信，毫无疑虑地接受了前来休养的邀请。
他说自己在车子里受了风寒。但是内心里他确信，旧病复发的原因是精神方面的。与莫瑞斯或跟他有关的任何人待在一起，忽然令他恶心了。吃饭的时候热气腾腾！霍尔一家人的嗓门！她们的笑声！莫瑞斯讲的趣闻！它与食物混杂在一起了——它不折不扣就是食物。他分辨不出什么是物质，什么是精神，就昏过去了。
然而当他睁开眼睛的时候，却知道爱已经死了。因此，他的朋友吻他之际，他哭了。莫瑞斯对他的每一个友好行为都增添他的痛苦，他终于要求护士禁止霍尔先生进科病房。随后，他恢复了健康，得以逃回到彭杰。他觉得自己还像过去一样爱着莫瑞斯，然而莫瑞斯刚一找上门来，这种感觉就化为乌有。他注意到了莫瑞斯的献身精神，乃至英雄气概，但这个朋友使他感到厌烦。他希望莫瑞斯回到伦敦去，并且直接说了，大有一触即发之势。莫瑞斯摇了摇头，继续留在彭杰。
克莱夫并不是没有挣扎就屈服于精神生命所发生的这种变化的。他相信思维能力，试图靠思索使自己回到原先的状态下。他把目光从女人身上移开，一旦失败就采取稚气、激烈的权宜手段。一个是希腊之行，另一个呢——他一回想起来就不能不感到厌恶。除非所有的情感都逐渐消失，否则他是不可能无动于衷的。克莱夫深深地懊悔，如今莫瑞斯使他产生一种生理上的嫌恶，将来面临的困难就更大了。他愿与昔日情人友好相处，在逼近的严重不幸中，自始至终助以一臂之力。一切是如此错综复杂，爱情溜掉后，留在记忆中的就不再是爱情了，而是别的什么。没受过教育的人多么有福啊，因为他们能够把它完全抛在脑后，不记得过去干的荒唐事或好色行为．以及那冗长、不着边际的谈话。
Chapter 25
Clive did not wire, nor start at once. Though desir-ous to be kind and training himself to think reason-ably of Maurice, he refused to obey orders as of old. He returned to England at his leisure. He did wire from Folkestone to Mau-rice's office, and expected to be met at Charing Cross, and when he was not he took a train on to the suburbs, in order to explain as quickly as possible. His attitude was sympathetic and calm.
It was an October evening; the falling leaves, the mist, the hoot of an owl, filled him with pleasing melancholy. Greece had been clear but dead. He liked the atmosphere of the North, whose gospel is not truth, but compromise. He and his friend would arrange something that should include women. Sadder and older, but without a crisis, they would slip into a relation, as evening into night. He liked the night also. It had gracious-ness and repose. It was not absolutely dark. Just as he was about to lose his way up from the station, he saw another street lamp, and then past that another. There were chains in every direction, one of which he followed to his goal.
Kitty heard his voice, and came from the drawing-room to welcome him. He had always cared for Kitty least of the family —she was not a true woman, as he called it now—and she brought the news that Maurice was away for the night on busi-ness. "Mother and Ada are in church," she added. "They have had to walk because Maurice would take the car."
"Where has he gone?"
"Don't ask me. He leaves his address with the servants. We know even less about Maurice than when you were last here, if you think that possible. He has become a most mysterious per-son." She gave him tea, humming a tune.
Her lack of sense and of charm produced a not unwelcome reaction in her brother's favour. She continued to complain of him in the cowed fashion that she had inherited from Mrs Hall.
"It's only five minutes to church," remarked Clive.
"Yes, they would have been in to receive you if he had let us know. He keeps everything so secret, and then laughs at girls."
"It was I who did not let him know."
"What's Greece like?"
He told her. She was as bored as her brother would have been, and had not his gift of listening beneath words. Clive remem-bered how often he had held forth to Maurice and felt at the end an access of intimacy. There was a good deal to be saved out of the wreck of that passion. Maurice was big, and so sensible when once he understood.
Kitty proceeded, sketching her own affairs in a slightly clever way. She had asked to go to an Institute to acquire Domestic Economy, and her mother would have allowed her, but Mau-rice had put his foot down when he heard that the fees were three guineas a week. Kitty's grievances were mainly financial: she wanted an allowance. Ada had one. Ada, as heiress-apparent, had to "learn the value of money. But I am not to learn any-thing." Clive decided that he would tell his friend to treat the girl better; once before he had interfered, and Maurice, charm-ing to the core, had made him feel he could say anything.
A deep voice interrupted them; the churchgoers were back. Ada came in, dressed in a jersey, tam o'shanter, and gray skirt; the autumn mist had left a delicate bloom upon her hair. Her
cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright; she greeted him with obvious pleasure, and though her exclamations were the same as Kitty's they produced a different effect. "Why didn't you let us know?" she cried. "There will be nothing but the pie. We would have given you a real English dinner."
He said he must return to town in a few minutes but Mrs Hall insisted he should sleep. He was glad to do this. The house now filled with tender memories, especially when Ada spoke. He had forgotten she was so different from Kitty.
"I thought you were Maurice," he said to her. "Your voices are wonderfully alike."
"It's because I have a cold," she said, laughing.
"No, they are alike," said Mrs Hall. "Ada has Maurice's voice, his nose, by which of course I mean the mouth too, and his good spirits and good health. Three things, I often think of it. Kitty on the other hand has his brain."
All laughed. The three women were evidently fond of one another. Clive saw relations that he had not guessed, for they were expanding in the absence of their man. Plants live by the sun, yet a few of them flower at night-fall, and the Halls re-minded him of the evening primroses that starred a deserted alley at Penge. When talking to her mother and sister, even Kitty had beauty, and he determined to rebuke Maurice about her; not unkindly, for Maurice was beautiful too, and bulked largely in this new vision.
The girls had been incited by Dr Barry to join an ambulance class, and after dinner Clive submitted his body to be bound. Ada tied up his scalp, Kitty his ankle, while Mrs Hall, happy and careless, repeated "Well, Mr Durham, this is a better illness than the last anyhow."
"Mrs Hall, I wish you would call me by my Christian name."
"Indeed I will. But Ada and Kitty—not you."
"I wish Ada and Kitty would too."
"Clive, then!" said Kitty.
"Kitty, then!"
"Clive."
"Ada—that's better." But he was blushing. "I hate formalities."
"So do I," came the chorus. "I care nothing for anyone's opin-ion—never did," and fixed him with candid eyes.
"Maurice on the other hand," from Mrs Hall, "is very partic-ular."
"Maurice is a rip really—Waow, you're hurting my head."
"Waow, waow," Ada imitated.
There was a ring at the telephone.
"He has had your wire from the office," announced Kitty. "He wants to know whether you're here."
"Say I am."
"He's coming back tonight, then. Now he wants to talk to you."
Clive took the receiver, but only a burr arrived. They had been disconnected. They could not ring Maurice up as they did not know where he was, and Clive felt relieved, for the approach of reality alarmed him. He was so happy being bandaged: his friend would arrive soon enough. Now Ada bent over him. He saw features that he knew, with a light behind that glorified them. He turned from the dark hair and eyes to the unshadowed mouth or to the curves of the body, and found in her the exact need of his transition. He had seen more seductive women, but none that promised such peace. She was the compromise be-tween memory and desire, she was the quiet evening that Greece had never known. No argument touched her, because she was tenderness, who reconciles present with past. He had not sup-posed there was such a creature except in Heaven, and he did not believe in Heaven. Now much had become possible sud-denly. He lay looking into her eyes, where some of his hope lay reflected. He knew that he might make her love him, and the
knowledge lit him with temperate fire. It was charming—he desired no more yet, and his only anxiety was lest Maurice should arrive, for a memory should remain a memory. Whenever the others ran out of the room to see whether that noise was the car, he kept her with him, and soon she understood that he wished this, and stopped without his command.
"If you knew what it is to be in England!" he said suddenly.
"Is Greece not nice?"
"Horrible."
She was distressed and Clive also sighed. Their eyes met.
"I'm so sorry, Clive."
"Oh, it's all over."
"What exactly was it—"
"Ada, it was this. While in Greece I had to reconstruct my life from the bottom. Not an easy task, but I think I've done it."
"We often talked of you. Maurice said you would like Greece."
"Maurice doesn't know—no one knows as much as you! I've told you more than anyone. Can you keep a secret?"
"Of course."
Clive was nonplussed. The conversation had become impos-sible. But Ada never expected continuity. To be alone with Clive, whom she innocently admired, was enough. She told him how thankful she was he had returned. He agreed, with vehe-mence. "Especially to return here."
"The car!" Kitty shrieked.
"Don't go!" he repeated, catching her hand.
"I must—Maurice—"
"Bother Maurice." He held her. There was a tumult in the hall. "Where's he gone?" his friend was roaring. "Where've you put him?"
"Ada, take me a walk tomorrow. See more of me. . . . That's settled."
Her brother burst in. Seeing the bandages, he thought there
i
had been an accident, then laughed at his mistake. "Come out of that, Clive. Why did you let them? I say, he looks well. You look well. Good man. Come and have a drink. I'll unpick you. No, girls, not you." Clive followed him, but, turning, had an im-perceptible nod from Ada.
Maurice looked like an immense animal in his fur coat. He slipped it off as soon as they were alone, and came up smiling. "So you don't love me?" he challenged.
"All that must be tomorrow," said Clive, averting his eyes.
"Quite so. Have a drink."
"Maurice, I don't want a row."
"I do."
He waved the glass aside. The storm must burst. "But you mustn't talk to me like this," he continued. "It increases my dif-ficulties."
"I want a row and I'll have it." He came in his oldest manner and thrust a hand into Clive's hair. "Sit down. Now why did you write me that letter?"
Clive did not reply. He was looking with growing dismay into the face he had once loved. The horror of masculinity had re-turned, and he wondered what would happen if Maurice tried to embrace him.
"Why? Eh? Now you're fit again, tell me."
"Go off my chair, and I will." Then he began one of the speeches he had prepared. It was scientific and impersonal, as this would wound Maurice least. "I have become normal—like other men, I don't know how, any more than I know how I was born. It is outside reason, it is against my wish. Ask any ques-tions you like. I have come down here to answer them, for I couldn't go into details in my letter. But I wrote the letter be-cause it was true."
"True, you say?"
"Was and is the truth."
"You say that you care for women only, not men?"
"I care for men, in the real sense, Maurice, and always shall."
"All that presently."
He too was impersonal, but he had not got off the chair. His fingers remained on Clive's head, touching the bandages, his mood had changed from gaiety to quiet concern. He was neither angry nor afraid, he only wanted to heal, and Clive, in the midst of repulsion, realized what a triumph of love was ruining, and how feeble or how ironical must be the power that governs Man.
"Who made you change?"
He disliked the form of the question. "No one. It was a change in me merely physical." He began to relate his experiences.
"Evidently the nurse," said Maurice thoughtfully. "I wish you had told me before.... I knew something had gone wrong and thought of several things, but not this. One oughtn't to keep secrets, or they get worse. One ought to talk, talk, talk—pro-vided one has someone to talk to, as you and I have. If you'd have told me, you would have been right by now."
"Why?"
"Because I should have made you right."
"How?"
"You'll see," he said smiling.
"It's not the least good—I've changed."
"Can the leopard change his spots? Clive, you're in a muddle. It's part of your general health. I'm not anxious now, because you're well otherwise, you even look happy, and the rest must follow. I see you were afraid to tell me, lest it gave me pain, but we've got past sparing each other. You ought to have told me. What else am I here for? You can't trust anyone else. You and I are outlaws. All this"—he pointed to the middle-class comfort of the room—"would be taken from us if people knew."
He groaned. "But I've changed, I've changed."
We can only interpret by our experiences. Maurice could understand muddle, not change. "You only think you've changed," he said, smiling. "I used to think I had when Miss OI-cott was here, but it all went when I returned to you."
"I know my own mind," said Clive, getting warm and freeing himself from the chair. "I was never like you."
"You are now. Do you remember how I pretended—``
"Of course I remember. Don't be childish."
"We love each other, and know it. Then what else—"
"Oh, for God's sake, Maurice, hold your tongue. If I love any-one it's Ada." He added, "I take her at random as an example."
But an example was the one thing Maurice could realize. "Ada?" he said, with a change of tone.
"Only to prove to you the sort of thing."
"You scarcely know Ada."
"Nor did I know my nurse or the other women I've mentioned. As I said before, it's no special person, only a tendency."
"Who was in when you arrived?"
"Kitty."
"But it's Ada, not Kitty."
"Yes, but I don't mean—Oh, don't be stupid!"
"What do you mean?"
"Anyhow, you understand, now," said Clive, trying to keep impersonal, and turning to the comforting words with which his discourse should have concluded. "I've changed. Now I want you to understand too that the change won't spoil anything in our friendship that is real. I like you enormously—more than any man I've ever met" (he did not feel this as he said it) "I most enormously respect and admire you. It's character, not pas-sion, that is the real bond."
"Did you say something to Ada just before I came in? Didn't you hear my car come up? Why did Kitty and my mother come
out and not you? You must have heard my noise. You knew I flung up my work for you. You never talked to me down the tele-phone. You didn't write or come back from Greece. How much did you see of her when you were here before?"
"Look here, old man, I can't be cross-questioned."
"You said you could."
"Not about your sister."
"Why not?"
"You must shut up, I say. Come back to what I was saying about character—the real tie between human beings. You can't build a house on the sand, and passion's sand. We want bed rock . . ."
"Ada!" he called, suddenly deliberate.
Clive shouted in horror. "What for?"
"Ada! Ada!"
He rushed at the door and locked it. "Maurice, it mustn't end like this—not a row," he implored. But as Maurice approached he pulled out the key and clenched it, for chivalry had awoken at last. "You can't drag in a woman," he breathed; "I won't have it."
"Give that up."
"I mustn't. Don't make it worse. No—no."
Maurice bore down on him. He escaped: they dodged round the big chair, arguing for the key in whispers.
They touched with hostility, then parted for ever, the key falling between them.
"Clive, did I hurt you?"
"No."
"My darling, I didn't mean to."
"I'm all right."
They looked at one another for a moment before beginning new lives. "What an ending," he sobbed, "what an ending."
"I do rather love her," said Clive, very pale.
"What's going to happen?" said Maurice, sitting down and wiping his mouth. "Arrange . . . I'm done for."
Since Ada was in the passage Clive went out to her: to Woman was his first duty. Having appeased her with vague words, he returned to the smoking-room, but the door was now locked be-tween them. He heard Maurice turn out the electric light and sit down with a thud.
"Don't be an ass anyway," he called nervously. There was no reply. Clive scarcely knew what to do. At any rate he could not stop in the house. Asserting a man's prerogative, he announced that he must sleep in town after all, in which the women ac-quiesced. He left the darkness within for that without: the leaves fell as he went to the station, the owls hooted, the mist enveloped him. It was so late that the lamps had been extinguished in the suburban roads, and total night without compromise weighed on him, as on his friend. He too suffered and exclaimed, "What an ending!" but he was promised a dawn. The love of women would rise as certainly as the sun, scorching up immaturity and ushering the full human day, and even in his pain he knew this. He would not marry Ada—she had been transitional—but some goddess of the new universe that had opened to him in London, someone utterly unlike Maurice Hall.
克莱夫没打电报，更没有立即动身。尽管满心想对莫瑞斯宽容一些，并且训练自己尽量抱一种合情合理的看法，克莱夫却再也不肯像过去那样听任莫瑞斯摆布了。他从容不迫地返回英国。他还是从福克斯通（译注：福克斯通是英格兰肯特郡城镇，通铁路后发展成为英吉利海峡的客运港和第一流的海滨胜地。）往莫瑞斯的公司发了一封电报，原以为莫瑞斯会到查灵克罗斯（译注：查灵克罗斯是大伦敦威斯特敏斯特市的一处地方，位于伦敦正中心）来迎接他。莫瑞斯没有来，他就乘火车前往郊区，以便及早解释一番。他的态度是既有同情心又很沉着。
那是十月份的一个傍晚。落叶纷飞，薄雾，猫头鹰的呜叫，使他心里充满了愉快的愁绪。希腊是清澈的，然而死气沉沉。他喜欢北方的气氛，此地的福音不在于真实，而在于妥协。他和他的朋友会做些安排，把女人容纳进来。犹如黄昏进入夜晚，他们也会随着年龄饱经忧患，安全顺利地形成一种关系。他也喜欢夜晚。它是仁慈宽厚、安详恬静的，四周并非漆黑一团。他从火车站走过来，快要迷路时，就看见了另一盏街灯，走过去后，又是下一盏。每一个方向，街灯都像链子似的绵延不绝，他沿着其中的一条踱到目的地。
吉蒂听见了他的声音，从客厅里出来迎接他。霍尔一家人当中，克莱夫一向最不喜欢吉蒂了。按克莱夫现在的措词来说就是：吉蒂不是个地地道道的女人。她告诉克莱夫一个消息，莫瑞斯今天晚上有工作，不回家了。“妈妈和艾达到教堂去了。”她补充说，“她们只好步行了，因为莫瑞斯是坐汽车出去的。”
“他到哪儿去啦？”
“别问我，他把地址留给仆人了。你想象得到吗？上次你在这儿的时候，我们对莫瑞斯了解得就不多，现在甚至更少了。他变成了一个最神秘的人。”她边哼着曲子，边给他沏了杯茶。吉蒂缺乏见识与魅力，对克莱夫来说正合适。他能够在不至于感到嫌恶的情况下，倾听她诉说莫瑞斯的事。她用从霍尔太太那儿继承来的黏糊糊的腔调继续抱怨他。
“只需要五分钟就能到教堂。”克莱夫说。
“是啊。假若他跟我们说一声儿，她们就会留在家里招待你的。他对一切都守口如瓶，反过来又笑话女孩子们。”
“是我没让他知道。”
“希腊怎么样？”
他告诉了她。她听得厌烦透了，换了她哥哥，也会这样的。况且她没有他那种能够听出言外之意的天赋。克莱夫想起来，当他对莫瑞斯大发议论之后，亲密的感情就油然而生。这种情况，不知凡几。那腔激情虽已化为废墟，却能抢救出好多东西。莫瑞斯是个卓越的人，一旦理解了什么，又如此明智。
吉蒂接着就耍点儿小聪明，概述起自己的事来。她曾提出人家政学校的要求，母亲已经答应了。然而莫瑞斯听说每周要交三畿尼（译注：畿尼是旧时英国金币，合1.05英镑。）学费，就斩钉截铁地说不行。吉蒂的牢骚主要是金钱方面的。她想要一笔私房钱，艾达就有一笔。艾达作为法定继承人，必须“学会金钱的价值，可是什么都不让我学”。克莱夫决定对自己的朋友说说，要待这个女孩儿好一点儿。过去他就干预过一次，莫瑞斯十分愉快地听取了他的意见，使他觉得他什么话都可以说。
他们被低沉的嗓音打断，那两个去教堂的人回来了。艾达进来了，身穿圆领紧身毛衣，头戴宽顶无檐圆帽，裙子是灰色的。秋雾在她的头发上留下了精巧的水珠。她的双颊红润，两眼炯炯有神。她向他致意时喜形于色，尽管她的惊叫与吉蒂如出一辙，却产生了不同的效果。“你为什么没预先通知我们呢？”她大喊道。“除了饼，什么都没有。我们本来可以准备一顿正式的英国大餐为你接风的。”
他说，几分钟之内他就得返回伦敦，然而霍尔太太一定要留他过夜。恭敬不如从命。这座房子眼下充满了温馨的回忆，尤其是艾达说话的时候。他忘记了她与吉蒂截然不同。
“我还只当你是莫瑞斯呢，”他对她说，“你们的嗓音出奇地相似。”
“因为我感冒了啊。”她笑着说。
“不，他们就是相像，”霍尔太太说，“艾达有莫瑞斯的嗓门。他的鼻子，我的意思当然是说还有他的嘴，以及他的好兴致和健康，我常常认为这三样都像。另一方面，吉蒂有莫瑞斯那样的头脑。”
大家都笑了，三个女子明显地相互喜爱。克莱夫目睹了以前不曾理会的母女关系。由于家长不在，她们变得更友善，更健谈。植物，靠太阳生长，然而有些植物是随着日暮开花的。霍尔家的女眷们使他联想到点缀着彭杰的一条荒芜小径的月见草（译注：月见草是柳叶菜科月见草属植物，草本，开美丽的黄花。广布北美，欧洲有引种。二年生，叶互生）。跟母亲姐姐聊天时，就连吉蒂也面目姣好。他拿定主意为了她的事谴责莫瑞斯几句，但是不能用苛刻的口气。因为莫瑞斯也美，在这崭新的幻象中，莫瑞斯成了个庞然大物。
巴里大夫曾鼓励两个姑娘去参加救护班的学习。饭后，克莱夫听凭她们往自己身上缠绷带。艾达包扎他的头部，吉蒂包扎的是脚踝。这时候，霍尔太太喜气洋洋，漫不经心，反复说：“喏，德拉姆先生，不管怎样，你这次的病比上次害的那场强一些。”
“霍尔太太，我希望您直呼我的教名。”
“好的，就这样吧。但是艾达和吉蒂，你们可不行。”
“我希望艾达和吉蒂也这么叫。”
“那么，克莱夫！”吉蒂说。
“那么，吉蒂！”
“克莱夫。”
“艾达——这么叫多好啊。”然而，他的脸颊羞红了。“我讨厌拘泥于形式。”
“我也是这样。”姑娘们异口同声地说。“我对任何人的看法都毫不在乎——一向如此。”边说边用率直的眼神盯着他。
“莫瑞斯可不然，”霍尔太太说，“他挑剔得很。”
“莫瑞斯这个人实在不足取——畦，你把我的头弄疼啦。”
“哇，畦。”艾达仿效他说。
电话铃响了。
“他在公司里收到了你的电报，”吉蒂大声报告，“他问你在不在这儿。”
“告诉他我在。”
“那么，今天晚上他就回来。现在他想跟你说话。”
克莱夫拿起听筒，然而只传来了嗡嗡声，电话挂断了。他们不知道莫瑞斯在哪儿，所以无法给他打过去。克莱夫松了一口气，因为现实的逼近使他感到惊慌，被缠上绷带给他带来了很大的快乐。他的朋友很快就到了。现在艾达朝他俯下身来，他瞅见了自己所熟悉的容貌，在后面的灯光映衬下平添了几分魅力。他将视线从她那深色头发和眼睛移向没有阴影的嘴巴和身体的曲线，并在她身上找到了转变感情的时候恰好需要的一切。他见过更性感的女人们，但没有一个女人向他许诺过这样的安宁。她是回忆与欲望达成的和解，她是希腊所从未知晓的恬静的傍晚。什么争论都跟她不沾边，因为她是和善的，把过去与现在调和起来。他从未料想过还有这样的人，除非是在天堂里，而他是不相信天堂的。突然，很多事都变得可能了。他躺在那儿，朝她的眼睛望着，他的几缕希望在里面有所反映。他知道能够使她爱上自己，这样一来他身上就点燃起文火。多么美好啊，于愿已足，他唯一焦虑的是莫瑞斯会回家来，因为回忆就应该终属回忆。每逢有什么响动，当别人跑出屋子去看是不是汽车到了的时候，他就把她留下来陪自己。她很快就明白了他的愿望，不等他发话就留在他身边了。
“你简直不知道待在英国有多么好！”他猛然说。
“难道希腊不可爱吗？”
“可怕。”
她感到忧伤，克莱夫也叹了口气。他们的目光相遇了。
“我觉得很难过，克莱夫。”
“哦，事情已经过去了。”
“确切地说，到底是……”
“艾达，是这么回事。在希腊逗留期间，我不得不彻头彻尾地重建自己的人生。谈何容易，可我认为我已经完成了。”
“我们经常谈论你。莫瑞斯说你会喜爱希腊的。”
“莫瑞斯还蒙在鼓里呢，谁知道的也没有你多！我对你比对任何人说的都多。你能守口如瓶吗？”
“当然喽。”
克莱夫不知所措了，这番谈话变得棘手了。然而艾达一点儿也没有期望继续说下去，能够跟她所天真地钦佩的克莱夫单独待在一起就足够了。她告诉他，他回来了，她甭提有多么高兴了。他热烈地表示同意，“尤其是回到这儿来”。
“汽车！”吉蒂尖声呼叫起来。
“别去！”克莱夫边抓住艾达的手，边重复了一遍。
“我必须去……莫瑞斯……”
“莫瑞斯嘛，管他呢。”他不肯松手。从门厅里传来了一片喧哗声。“他到哪儿去了？”他的朋友正在吼叫。“你们把他安顿在哪儿了？”
“艾达，明天和我去散步吧。多跟我见见面。……一言为定。”
她的哥哥冲进来了。他瞧见绷带，以为出了事故，知道自己弄错了以后又大笑起来。“快摘掉吧，克莱夫。你为什么听任她们摆布？我说，他气色蛮好。你看上去挺健康。老兄，过去喝一杯吧。我替你解下绷带，不，姑娘们，你们不行。”克莱犬跟着莫瑞斯走出去之际转过身来，只见艾达朝他几乎察觉不出地点了点头。
身穿毛皮大衣的莫瑞斯活像一头巨兽。离开旁人后，他立即脱下大衣，笑眯眯地踱过来。“那么，你不爱我了吗？”他提出疑问。
“这一切等明天再谈吧。”克莱夫边避开他的目光边说。
“知道了。来一杯。”
“莫瑞斯，我不愿意争吵。”
“我愿意。”
他摆摆手，不肯接递过来的那杯酒。这场风暴注定要爆发了。“可你不应该用这种口吻跟我说话，”他接着说，“这会使我越来越困难。”
“我就是要争吵，我非要争吵不可。”他按照最初那个时期的样子走过来，将一只手插进克莱夫的头发。“坐下来。哟，你为什么给我写那样一封信？”
克莱夫没有回答，他更加沮丧地望着这张自己一度爱过的脸。对男性的嫌恶重新浮上心头，他想知道，倘若莫瑞斯试图拥抱他，会发生什么事呢？
“为什么？啊？现在你已经康复了，告诉我。”
“你离开我的椅子，我就说。”于是他开始讲预先准备好的一席话。它是有条理的，不牵涉个人感情的，对莫瑞斯的伤害会最轻微。“我变得正常了——跟别人一样，我也不知道是怎样变的，正如我不知道自己是怎么出生的一样。这是不合乎情理的，我并不希望如此。你愿意问什么就问吧。我是为了回答你才到这儿来的。因为我在信里不可能详尽地写。然而我在信中写的是真实的。”
“你说是真实的？”
“当时是真实的，现在也是。”
“你说你只喜欢女人，而不是男人？”
“在真正的意义上，我对男人是喜欢的，莫瑞斯，今后也一直会喜欢。”
“一切都来得这么突然。”
他的态度也是冷漠的，但他没离开克莱夫的椅子。他的手指仍停留在克莱夫的头上，抚摩着绷带。他的情绪从快活变成宁静的关切。他既没生气，也不害怕，一心一意只想把朋友治好。克莱夫满腔厌恶，他领悟到，两个人所取得的爱的胜利行将崩溃，人心该有多脆弱，多么充满讽刺意味。
“是谁使你发生变化的？”
他讨厌这种讯问的方式。“谁都没让我变。这仅仅是生理上的变化。”他开始诉说自己的体验。
“显然是那个护士。”莫瑞斯若有所思地说，“你要是及早告诉我就好了。……我东想西想，然而没料到是这个。保密是不对的，弄得越来越糟。就应该说啊，说啊，说啊。只要有能够彼此倾吐衷曲的人就行。咱们两个完全是这样的。倘若你告诉了我，这会儿你早就没事了。”
“为什么呢？”
“因为我会使你恢复正常的。”
“怎样恢复？”
“你等着瞧吧。”他微笑着说。
“一点儿用处也没有——我已经变了。”
“难道豹子能够把身上的斑点变掉吗？克莱夫，你的头脑糊涂了，这跟你刚生过一场病也有关系。如今我不再担心了，因为其他方面你已经康复了。看上去你还很高兴，这个问题也会迎刃而解。我明白你是生怕我会感到痛苦，所以不敢告诉我。但是咱们两个人之间还用得着客气吗？你应该跟我说一声就好了。要不是为了你，我为什么待在这儿？其他任何人你都不信任。你和我是不法之徒。倘若世人知道了，这一切，”他边说边指着室内那些为中产阶级提供舒适生活的摆设，“全都会被没收。”
克莱夫烦闷地说：“然而我已经变了，我已经变了。”
我们只能凭借自己的体验来理解。莫瑞斯明白什么是糊涂，却不明白变了是怎么回事。“你只是认为自己变了而已。”他，笑吟吟地说。“当奥尔科特小姐在这儿的时候，我常常认为自个儿变了，然而我一回到你身边，那种感觉就统统消失了。”
“我了解自己的心境，”克莱夫边说边激动起来，起身离开了椅子。“我一向跟你不同。”
“现在一样了。你还记得吗？我曾经怎样假装……”
“我当然记得了，别这么孩子气。”
“咱们两个人相互爱着，自己也知道。那么，另外还有什么……”
“哦，看在上帝的分上，莫瑞斯，你给我住口！倘若我爱什么人的话，就是艾达。”他补充说，“我只是作为一个例子随便提到她的。”
然而，莫瑞斯倒是能够理解什么叫做例子。“艾达？”他说，连腔调都变了。
“仅仅是向你表明某一种感情。”
“你几乎不了解艾达啊。”
“我也不了解我那位护士，以及我提到过的其他一些女人。正如我刚才说过的，并不是特定的什么人，只是一种倾向而已。”
“你到这儿的时候，谁在家来着？”
“吉蒂。”
“然而你说的是艾达呀，不是吉蒂。”
“是啊。可我指的不是～哦，别这么笨头笨脑的！”
“你这话是什么意思？”
“不管怎样，我已经把自己的问题摊开来了。现在呢，”克莱夫竭力不牵涉个人感情地说，他求助于能够给予慰藉的词句，这番谈话是预定要这么结束的。“我变了。眼下我想让你也理解，尽管我变了，却丝毫不会损害咱们两个人之间的真实友情。我非常喜欢你——超过了我曾遇见的任何人（他是言不由衷的）。我非常尊敬并且赞美你，真正的纽带是品性，而不是情欲。”
“就在我进屋之前，你跟艾达说什么了吗？难道你没听见我的汽车开过来吗？为什么吉蒂和妈妈迎出来了，你们却没出来？你们应该听见了我的声音啊。你知道我为了你把工作都丢开了。你一次也没接我的电话，你既没写信给我，也没有马上从希腊返回。过去你到这儿来的时候，跟艾达见过多少次？”
“嘿，老弟，这么盘问我可不行。”
“你说过可以问。”
“关于你的妹妹，可不行。”
“为什么不行？”
“喂，我说呀，你必须住口。再回到我刚才谈起的品性的问题——它才是人与人之间的真正的纽带。你不能在沙子上建造起一座房子，而情欲就是沙子。我们需要坚实牢固的地基……”
“艾达！”他突然故意喊道。
克莱夫吓得大叫，“干什么？”
“艾达！艾达！”
克莱夫冲到门跟前，将它锁上了。“莫瑞斯，不应该这么结束——可别吵完架再分手。”他恳求道。然而，当莫瑞斯走过来时，他抽出钥匙，攥在手里，敬重女性的理念终于被唤醒了。“你不能连累女人，”他喃喃地说，“我决不允许。”
“把它交出来。”
“决不。别把事情弄得更糟，不行——不行。”
莫瑞斯立即冲到他身边。他撒腿就逃，二人围绕着那把大椅子你追我躲，唧唧喳喳地为了给不给钥匙而争辩着。
他们怀着敌意碰撞在一起，随后永远分离了，钥匙掉在两个人之间的地面上。
“克莱夫，我伤着你了吗？”
“没有。”
“亲爱的，我是无意的。”
“我不要紧。”
他们在开始新的人生之前，相互望了一眼对方的脸。“这叫什么结局呀，”他啜泣着，“这叫什么结局呀。”
“我确实相当喜欢她。”克莱夫说，脸色很苍白。
“将会发生什么事呢？”莫瑞斯说，他坐下来，擦着嘴。“你来安排吧……我已经精疲力竭了。”
艾达既然到走廊里来了，克莱夫便迎出去。目前他首要的义务就是保护女性。他含糊其辞安抚了她一番，欲返回吸烟室。然而门已被锁上，进不去了。他听见莫瑞斯熄了灯，“咕咚”一声坐到椅子上。
“不管怎样，别干傻事。”克莱夫焦虑不安地高声说。没有回答。克莱夫简直不知道如何是好，无论如何他也不能在这家过夜了。他开始行使男人的特权，宣布自己终究还是得回城里去睡，女人们表示同意。他撇下室内的黑暗，步入外界的黑暗。他向车站踱去时，落叶纷飞，猫头鹰呜叫，路被雾气笼罩着。夜色更深，郊外的街灯已熄灭了。没有妥协余地的完全的夜晚像对待他的朋友那样，压得他喘不过气来。他也遭受了痛苦，于是大声喊道：“这叫什么结局呀！”然而，他已被许诺将获得黎明。女人的爱会像旭日一样千真万确地升起，把不成熟处烧焦，引他进入成熟的日子。即使在苦恼之中他也清楚这一点，他是不会跟艾达结婚的——她出现于过渡时期——但是他一定能找到在伦敦为他开拓的那个新世界的女神，她与莫瑞斯‘霍尔迥然不同。
Chapter 26
For three years Maurice had been so fit and happy that he went on automatically for a day longer. He woke with the feeling that it must be all right soon. Clive would come back, apologizing or not as he chose, and he would apol-ogize to Clive. Clive must love him, because his whole life was dependent on love and here it was going on as usual. How could he sleep and rest if he had no friend? When he returned from town to find no news, he remained for a little calm, and allowed his family to speculate on Clive's departure. But he began to watch Ada. She looked sad—even their mother noticed it. Shad-ing his eyes, he watched her. Save for her, he would have dis-missed the scene as "one of Clive's long speeches", but she came into that speech as an example. He wondered why she was sad.
"I say—" he called when they were alone; he had no idea what he was going to say, though a sudden blackness should have warned him. She replied, but he could not hear her voice. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, trembling.
"Nothing."
"There is—I can see it. You can't take me in."
"Oh no—really, Maurice, nothing."
"Why did—what did he say?"
"Nothing."
"Who said nothing?" he yelled, crashing both fists on the table. He had caught her.
"Nothing—only Clive."
The name on her lips opened Hell. He suffered hideously and before he could stop himself had spoken words that neither ever forgot. He accused his sister of corrupting his friend. He let her suppose that Clive had complained of her conduct and gone back to town on that account. Her gentle nature was so outraged that she could not defend herself, but sobbed and sobbed, and implored him not to speak to her mother, just as if she were guilty. He assented: jealousy had maddened him.
"But when you see him—Mr Durham—tell him I didn't mean —say there's no one whom I'd rather—"
"—go wrong with," he supplied: not till later did he under-stand his own blackguardism.
Hiding her face, Ada collapsed.
"Ishall not tell him. I shall never see Durham again to tell. You've the satisfaction of breaking up that friendship."
She sobbed, "I don't mind that—you've always been so un-kind to us, always." He drew up at last. Kitty had said that sort of thing to him, but never Ada. He saw that beneath their ob-sequious surface his sisters disliked him: he had not even suc-ceeded at home. Muttering "It's not my fault," he left her.
A refined nature would have behaved better and perhaps have suffered less. Maurice was not intellectual, nor religious, nor had he that strange solace of self-pity that is granted to some. Except on one point his temperament was normal, and he behaved as would the average man who after two years of happiness had been betrayed by his wife. It was nothing to him that Nature had caught up this dropped stitch in order to continue her pat-tern. While he had love he had kept reason. Now he saw Clive's change as treachery and Ada as its cause, and returned in a few hours to the abyss where he had wandered as a boy.
After this explosion his career went forward. He caught the
usual train to town, to earn and spend money in the old man-ner; he read the old papers and discussed strikes and the divorce laws with his friends. At first he was proud of his self-control: did not he hold Clive's reputation in the hollow of his hand? But he grew more bitter, he wished that he had shouted while he had the strength and smashed down this front of lies. What if he too were involved? His family, his position in society—they had been nothing to him for years. He was an outlaw in disguise. Perhaps among those who took to the greenwood in old time there had been two men like himself—two. At times he enter-tained the dream. Two men can defy the world.
Yes: the heart of his agony would be loneliness. He took time to realize this, being slow. The incestuous jealousy, the morti-fication, the rage at his past obtuseness—these might pass, and having done much harm they did pass. Memories of Clive might pass. But the loneliness remained. He would wake and gasp "I've no one!" or "Oh Christ, what a world!" Clive took to visiting him in dreams. He knew there was no one, but Clive, smiling in his sweet way, said "I'm genuine this time," to torture him. Once he had a dream about the dream of the face and the voice, a dream about it, no nearer. Also old dreams of the other sort, that tried to disintegrate him. Days followed nights. An immense silence, as of death, encircled the young man, and as he was go-ing up to town one morning it struck him that he really was dead. What was the use of money-grubbing, eating, and playing games? That was all he did or had ever done.
"Life's a damn poor show," he exclaimed, crumpling up theDaily Telegraph.
The other occupants of the carriage who liked him began to laugh.
"I'd jump out of the window for twopence."
Having spoken, he began to contemplate suicide. There was
nothing to deter him. He had no initial fear of death, and no sense of a world beyond it, nor did he mind disgracing his fam-ily. He knew that loneliness was poisoning him, so that he grew viler as well as more unhappy. Under these circumstances might he not cease? He began to compare ways and means, and would have shot himself but for an unexpected event. This event was the illness and death of his grandfather, which induced a new state of mind.
Meanwhile, he had received letters from Clive, but they al-ways contained the sentence, "We had better not meet just yet." He grasped the situation now—his friend would do anything for him except be with him; it had been thus ever since the first illness, and on these lines he was offered friendship in the future. Maurice did not cease to love, but his heart had been broken; he never had wild thoughts of winning Clive back. What he grasped he grasped with a firmness that the refined might envy, and suffered up to the hilt.
He answered these letters, oddly sincere. He still wrote what was true, and confided that he was unbearably lonely and should blow out his brains before the year ended. But he wrote without emotion. It was more a tribute to their heroic past, and accepted by Durham as such. His replies were unemotional also, and it was plain that, however much help he was given and however hard he tried, he could no longer penetrate into Mau-rice's mind.
三年以来，莫瑞斯生活得无比健康幸福，第二天也习惯成自然地度过了。一觉醒来，他感到一切都会很快好起来。克莱夫将会回来，道歉与否，由他自己决定。至于他呢，是要向克莱夫道歉的。克莱夫非爱他不可，因为他的整个人生是仰仗爱情的。今天，他不是也在正常地生活着吗？倘若没有朋友，他怎么能睡觉、休息呢？他从伦敦回到家里后，得悉没有克莱夫的音讯。他暂时保持冷静，听任家里人推测克莱夫为什么突然告辞。但是他开始留心观察艾达。她的神情忧伤，就连他们的母亲都注意到了。他垂下眼皮，审视着她。若不是克莱夫提到了她，莫瑞斯会认为昨天晚上那一场是“克莱夫又一次发表冗长的讲话”。然而在那篇讲话中，艾达作为一个例子被提到了。奇怪的是，她为什么感到忧伤。
“喂．”只剩下他们二人在一起时，他开口说话了。可足他不知道自己打算说什么，黑暗警告了他。她回答了，但是他听不见她的声音。“你怎么啦？”他浑身发颤，问道。
“没怎么。”
“就是有事——我看得出来，你骗不了我。”
“哦，不——真的，莫瑞斯，没事。”
“为什么——他说什么来着？”
“什么都没说。”
“什么都没说，你指的是谁？”他攥起双拳砸桌子，大喊大叫。这下可让他逮了个正着。
“什么都没说——克莱夫呀。”
她吐出的这个名字使地狱之门敞开了。他体验到巨大的痛苦，来不及抑制自己，说出了双方都永远忘不掉的话。他指责妹妹腐蚀了他的朋友，他让她以为，克莱夫曾抱怨过她的行为，由于这个缘故才回伦敦去的。性格温和的她受到伤害后甚至不懂得替自己辩护，只是一味地呜咽，哀求他别跟妈妈说，就好像她本人有什么过错似的。他答应不给她告状。忌妒使他变得疯狂了。
“可你见到他——德拉姆先生——的时候，告诉他我没有那个意思——我跟任何人都没有……”
“……犯错误的打算。”他补充说。后来他才明白此言何等粗鄙。
艾达把脸藏起来，她支持不住了。
“我不告诉他。我永远不会跟德拉姆见面了，什么也告诉不了他。你破坏了我们之间的友谊，这下子称心了吧。”
她抽噎着说：“破坏了我也不在乎。你对我们从来都是冷酷的，从来都是。”他终于变得冷酷了。他看出，妹妹们表面上顺从，骨子里是厌恶他的。甚至在家中，他也没有成功可言。他悄声说：“这不是我的过错。”随后离开了她。
有教养的人，举止更文雅一些，也许少受些折磨。莫瑞斯没有才智，不信仰宗教，也缺乏某些人所拥有的自我怜悯这一奇妙的慰藉方法。除了这一点，他的性情是正常的，他采取的是度过两年幸福生活后被妻子背叛了的任何一个普通男人那样的行动。大自然补上遗漏了的这一针，以便继续编织它的图案，对他来说是无所谓的。拥有爱的时候，他保持了理智。现在他把克莱夫的变心看成背叛，艾达就是起因。不出几个钟头，他就返回到曾在少年时代徘徊过的那个深渊。
这次爆发后，他的人生延续下去。他照例乘那趟火车赴伦敦，像原先那样挣钱并花钱。他依旧读以前那几份报纸，跟同事们谈论罢工啦，离婚法啦。起初他对拥有自制力感到得意。他不是已经把克莱夫的名声攥在手心里了吗？然而他更加充满怨恨，他希望趁着自己还有那股气力，大声喊出来，把这骗人的幌子扔到一旁。即使连他本人也牵涉进去了，那又怎么样？他的家族，他的社会地位——对他而言，多年来都已经无所谓了。他是个乔装打扮的不法分子，也许从前逃进绿林（译注：绿林是英国一系列民谣中的传奇英雄罗宾汉隐居的地方。有些民谣可以追溯到14世纪以前，罗宾汉是反叛者，是结伙抢劫官府的代表人物，所获钱财却分给穷人。）的人中有两个像他这样的——两个。两个人就可以向整个世界挑战，有时他怀有这样的梦想，并自得其乐。
苦恼的核心是寂寞。他是个迟钝的人，过了一个时期才认识到这一点。乱伦的妒忌、屈辱，由于往日的愚钝而引起的愤怒一这一切都会过去的，对他造成的那么多伤害也会过去。对克莱夫的回忆可能会过去，寂寞却挥之不去。他醒过来，气喘吁吁地说：“我什么人也没有！”“啊，天哪，这是什么世道呀！”克莱夫开始出现在梦里了。他知道什么人都没有，然而克莱夫甜蜜地微笑着说：“这次我可是真的。”使他受尽折磨。有一次他梦见了原先做过的那个有关脸和声音的梦。梦中梦，更朦胧。另外一些旧梦也频频进入梦境，企图让他崩溃。日以继夜，死亡般的无止境的静寂笼罩着这个青年。一天早晨，在开往伦敦的火车中，他觉得自己实际上已经死了。赚钱、吃饭、规规矩矩地活着，有什么用呢？他所做的或他曾经做过的，无非是这些。
“生活是一出蹩脚透顶的戏，”他一边把《每日电讯报》揉成一团，一边呼喊。
其他乘客并不讨厌他，都笑起来了。
“我会满不在乎地从窗子跳出去。”
说罢，他开始仔细考虑自杀的事，什么也制止不了他。他对死亡本来就没有畏惧，也不相信来世，更不在乎使家族丢脸。他知道孤独正在伤害自己，于是变得更加可憎，越来越愁闷。在这样的境遇下，是否不如死了算了呢？他开始比较该采取什么办法与手段，若不是发生了一件意想不到的事，他会开枪自杀的。外祖父患病并且去世了，使他进入新的精神状态。
其间，克莱夫寄来了好几封信，然而信中总是这么写着：“咱们还是别见面为好。”现在他领会了自己的处境——他这个朋友什么都愿r劳，惟独拒绝跟他待在一起。克莱夫自从头一次生病就是这样，今后他所提供的也是这样的友情。莫瑞斯一往情深，然而他的心被弄碎了。他从来没有异想天开地认为能把克莱夫争取回来，他以高尚的人所羡慕的那种坚定来领悟自己所该领悟的东西。他把苦酒饮到最后一滴。
莫瑞斯一封封地写了回信，写得出奇地诚恳。他写的依然是真实的，吐露说自己寂寞难耐，年内将击穿头颅而死。但他写得没有感情，不如说是对他们那英勇的往昔的颂辞，德拉姆就是这样来接受的，他的回信也缺乏感情。有一点是明显的：不论借助什么，不论下多大工夫，他再也不可能看透莫瑞斯的心了。
Chapter 27
Maurice's grandfather was an example of the growth that may come with old age. Throughout life he had been the ordinary business man—hard and touchy—but he re-tired not too late, and with surprising results. He took to "read-ing", and though the direct effects were grotesque, a softness was generated that transformed his character. The opinions of others—once to be contradicted or ignored—appeared worthy of note, and their desires worth humouring. Ida, his unmarried daughter, who kept house for him, had dreaded the time "when my father will have nothing to do", and herself impervious, did not realize that he had changed until he was about to leave her.
The old gentleman employed his leisure in evolving a new religion—or rather a new cosmogony, for it did not contradict chapel. The chief point was that God lives inside the sun, whose bright envelope consists of the spirits of the blessed. Sunspots reveal God to men, so that when they occurred Mr Grace spent hours at his telescope, noting the interior darkness. The incarna-tion was a sort of sunspot.
He was glad to discuss his discovery with anyone, but did not proselytize, remarking that each must settle for himself: Clive Durham, with whom he had once had a long talk, knew as much about his opinions as anyone. They were those of the practical man who tries to think spiritually—absurd and materialistic, but first hand. Mr Grace had rejected the tasteful accounts of
the unseen that are handed out by the churches, and for that reason the hellenist had got on with him.
Now he was dying. A past of questionable honesty had faded, and he looked forward to joining those he loved and to be joined in due season by those whom he left behind. He summoned his late employees—men without illusions, but they "humoured the old hypocrite". He summoned his family, whom he had always treated well. His last days were very beautiful. To inquire into the causes of beauty were to inquire too closely, and only a cynic would dispel the blended Sorrow and Peace that perfumed Al-friston Gardens while a dear old man lay dying.
The relations came separately, in parties of two and three. All, except Maurice, were impressed. There was no intrigue, as Mr Grace had been open about his will, and each knew what to ex-pect. Ada, as the favourite grandchild, shared the fortune with her aunt. The rest had legacies. Maurice did not propose to re-ceive his. He did nothing to force Death on, but it waited to meet him at the right moment, probably when he returned.
But the sight of a fellow-traveller disconcerted him. His grandfather was getting ready for a journey to the sun, and, garrulous with illness, poured out to him one December after-noon. "Maurice, you read the papers. You've seen the new theory —" It was that a meteor swarm impinged on the rings of Saturn, and chipped pieces off them that fell into the sun. Now Mr Grace located the wicked in the outer planets of our system, and since he disbelieved in eternal damnation had been troubled how to extricate them. The new theory explained this. They were chipped off and reabsorbed into the good! Courteous and grave, the young man listened until a fear seized him that this tosh might be true. The fear was momentary, yet started one of those rearrangements that affect the whole character. It left him with the conviction that his grandfather was convinced. One
more human being had come alive. He had accomplished an act of creation, and as he did so Death turned her head away. "It's a great thing to believe as you do," he said very sadly. "Since Cambridge I believe in nothing—except in a sort of darkness."
"Ah, when I was your age—and now I see a bright light—no electric light can compare to it."
"When you were my age, grandfather, what?"
But Mr Grace did not answer questions. He said, "Brighter than magnesium wire—the light within," then drew a stupid parallel between God, dark inside the glowing sun, and the soul, invisible inside the visible body. "The power within—the soul: let it out, but not yet, not till the evening." He paused. "Maurice, be good to your mother; to your sisters; to your wife and chil-dren; to your clerks, as I have." He paused again and Maurice grunted, but not disrespectfully. He was caught by the phrase "not till the evening, do not let it out till the evening." The old man rambled ahead. One ought to be good—kind—brave: all the old advice. Yet it was sincere. It came from a living heart.
"Why?" he interrupted. "Grandpapa, why?"
"The light witiiin—"
"Ihaven't one." He laughed lest emotion should master him. "Such light as I had went out six weeks ago. I don't want to be good or kind or brave. If I go on living I shall be—not those things: the reverse of them. I don't want that either; I don't want anything."
"The light within—"
Maurice had neared confidences, but they would not have been listened to. His grandfather didn't, couldn't understand. He was only to get "the light within—be kind", yet the phrase continued the rearrangement that had begun inside him. Whyshould one be kind and good? For someone's sake—for the sake of Clive or God or the sun? But he had no one. No one except his
mother mattered and she only a little. He was practically alone, and why should he go on living? There was really no reason, yet he had a dreary feeling he should, because he had not got Death either; she, like Love, had glanced at him for a minute, then turned away, and left him to "play the game". And he might have to play as long as his grandfather, and retire as absurdly.
莫瑞斯的外祖父是老有所成的典范。他做了一辈子平凡的实业家——精明强干，动辄发火——但是他退休不是太晚，而且结果出人意料。他养成了“读书”的嗜好，宽厚仁慈改变了他的性格，这一直接效果的产生是怪诞的。旁人的看法——以前认为应该予以反驳或无视的——如今看来值得注意了，对旁人的心愿也尽量满足。他那个未婚的女儿艾达替他管家，她担心有一天“我父亲没事可做了”，那可怎么办。她是个感觉迟钝的人，直到他即将离开她的时候，都没发觉他变了。
老绅士把闲暇用在发展新兴宗教，或者不如说是新的宇宙演化论上，因为它并不对抗教会。主要的论点是：神存在于太阳当中，其光轮是由受祝福者的灵魂构成的，黑子向人启示神的存在。因此，每逢出现黑子，格雷斯先生在望远镜前一坐就是几个钟头，注视着黑子的暗核（译注：太阳黑子只是相对于周围温度高达数千度的明亮光球才显得黑。黑子的暗核称为“本影”，较亮的外环称为“半影”。）。“道成肉身”（译注：“道”指耶稣。“道成肉身”是基督教的中心教义。谓上帝之道即上帝的儿子、三位一体真神中的第二位成为肉身，就是耶稣基督，耶稣基督是神，也是人，基督是“上帝所生，非上帝所造”，因此耶稣不是被造物，而是造物主）是一种黑子。
他对任何人都津津乐道自己的这个发现。不过他说，各人有各人的志向，所以无意让别人皈依自己这个信仰。曾经跟他长谈过的克莱夫•德拉姆对他的见解了如指掌。这是试图从精神方面来进行思考的一个讲求实际者的见解—一可笑而实利主义的，然而是第一手的。正因为如此，克莱夫这个古希腊文明崇拜者才跟他合得来。
现在他快要死了。不一定完全正直的过去已消逝，他一心盼望与自己所爱的人们相聚，到了一定的时候，他所撇下的人们也将去与他相聚。他把以前的雇员们召集到床前。这些人对他不抱幻想，却“逢迎这个年迈的伪善者”。他把家族的人召集来，他一向待他们很好。他的最后那段日子非常美。去探讨何以会如此美，未免有追根问底之嫌。当一位亲爱的老人奄奄一息地躺着的时候，艾尔弗里斯顿花园弥漫着悲哀与平静相融的馨香，惟有愤世嫉俗者才会想去驱散它。
亲戚们纷纷到来。除了莫瑞斯，人人都印象深刻。格雷斯先生早就把遗嘱的内容公开了，大家都知道自己能得到什么，因此没有引起任何人的好奇心，他所宠爱的外孙女艾达与姨妈一起继承房产和宅地。其他人也各有一份遗赠物，莫瑞斯没提出要领他那一份。他没有逼迫死神及早降临，然而死神会等到恰当的时刻来迎接他，很可能就在他返回伦敦之际。
但是，旅伴这副样子使他疑虑不安。他的外祖父准备启程奔赴太阳，疾病让他变得饶舌了，十二月里的一个下午，他对外孙滔滔不绝地说：“莫瑞斯，你在报纸上读到了吧。你注意到新学说了吧……”据报道，流星群撞在土星环上，被撞下来的碎片落到太阳里面。格雷斯先生认为，恶人死后灵魂被赶到太阳系外侧的行星里。他不相信永远下地狱的学说，所以一直忧心忡忡，不知该怎样拯救恶人的灵魂。新学说对这一点做了解释，这些灵魂成了碎片，重新并入善里面！年轻人彬彬有礼、严肃认真地聆听着，突然被一种恐惧感笼罩住，觉得这番胡话也许是真的。这恐惧转瞬即逝，却使他开始洗心革面，整个性格发生了变化。他深信外祖父的信仰是令人信服的。一个活生生的人又出现了，他完成了一个创造性的行为，这样死神就把头转过去了。“能有您这样的信仰，可真了不起。”莫瑞斯非常伤心地说。“剑桥以来，我什么都不相信了——只是处在一种黑暗中。”
“啊，我在你这个年龄的时候嘛——如今我看到了光明——电灯可远远比不上它。”
“外公，您在我这个年龄的时候怎么样呢？”
然而，格雷斯先生不予回答。他说：“内在的光——比镁光灯还亮。”接着，他把灿烂的太阳黑子的暗核、灵魂，以及可见的肉体内部那不可见的力量与上帝之间做了个愚蠢的对比。“把内部的力量——灵魂释放出来，但是现在不行，等到了晚上再说。”他歇了口气。“莫瑞斯，待你的母亲，你的妹妹们，你的妻子和儿女们，以及你的下属要善良，就像我那样。”他又歇了口气。莫瑞斯咕哝了一声，但是并没有不尊重的意思。“到了傍晚再说，到了傍晚再把灵魂放出来”这句话把他吸引住了。老人漫无边际地闲扯下去。为人要善良、仁慈，要有勇气。统统是老生常谈。然而却是真诚的，发自一颗生气勃勃的心。
“为什么呢？”莫瑞斯插嘴道，“外公，为什么呢？”
“内在的光——”
“我没有这样的光。”他生怕自己会耽于感伤，就笑了。“我曾经拥有的光，已经在六个星期以前熄灭了。我不愿意变得善良、仁慈或勇敢。倘若我继续活下去，我不会这样活，而是刚好相反。我也不愿意过那样的生活，我什么都不愿意。”
“内在的光——”
莫瑞斯几乎要倾吐衷情了。不过，即使倾吐了，也会被置若罔闻。他的外祖父听不进去，也理解不了。莫瑞斯所得到的仅仅是“内在的光——为人要善良”这句话。然而这句话却促使他继续洗心革面。为什么为人要善良、仁慈呢？为了某人——究竟是为了克莱夫还是为了神，抑或是为了太阳呢？但是他什么人都没有。除了他母亲，任何人都无关紧要，就连他母亲，也没有多大关系。他差不多是孑然一身，为什么还要继续活下去呢？确实没有活下去的理由，然而他又有个阴郁的预感：自己只好活下去。因为就连死神也不属于他。死神犹如爱神，朝他瞥视了一会儿，就转身而去，撇下他，让他“度过光明磊落的一生”。他完全可能像外祖父那样延年益寿，跟外祖父一样可笑地退休。
Chapter 28
His change, then, cannot be described as a conver-sion. There was nothing edifying about it. When he came home and examined the pistol he would never use, he was seized with disgust; when he greeted his mother no unfathom-able love for her welled up. He lived on, miserable and mis-understood, as before, and increasingly lonely. One cannot write those words too often: Maurice's loneliness: it increased.
But a change there had been. He set himself to acquire new habits, and in particular those minor arts of life that he had neglected when with Clive. Punctuality, courtesy, patriotism, chivalry even—here were a few. He practised a severe self-discipline. It was necessary not only to acquire the art, but to know when to apply it, and gently to modify his behaviour. At first he could do little. He had taken up a line to which his fam-ily and the world were accustomed, and any deviation worried them. This came out very strongly in a conversation with Ada.
Ada had become engaged to his old chum Chapman, and his hideous rivalry with her could end. Even after his grandfather's death he had feared she might marry Clive, and gone hot with jealousy. Clive would marry someone. But the thought of him with Ada remained maddening, and he could scarcely have be-haved properly unless it had been removed.
The match was excellent, and having approved of it publicly he took her aside, and said, "Ada, I behaved so badly to you,
i
dear, after Clive's visit. I want to say so now and ask you to for-give me. It's given a lot of pain since. I'm very sorry."
She looked surprised and not quite pleased; he saw that she still disliked him. She muttered, "That's all over—I love Arthur now."
"I wish I had not gone mad that evening, but I happened to be very much worried about something. Clive never said what I let you think he said either. He never blamed you."
"I don't care whether he did. It doesn't signify."
Her brother's apologies were so rare that she seized the op-portunity to trample on him. "When did you last see him?"— Kitty had suggested they had quarrelled.
"Not for some time."
"Those weekends and Wednesdays seem to have quite stopped."
"I wish you happiness. Old Chappie's a good fellow. For two people who are in love to marry strikes me as very jolly."
"It's very kind of you to wish me happiness, Maurice, I'm sure. I hope I shall have it whether I am wished it or not." (This was described to Chapman afterwards as a "repartee.") "I'm sure I wish you the same sort of thing you've been wishing me all along equally." Her face reddened. She had suffered a good deal, and was by no means indifferent to Clive, whose withdrawal had hurt her.
Maurice guessed as much and looked gloomily at her. Then he changed the subject, and, being without memory, she recov-ered her temper. But she could not forgive her brother: indeed it was not right that one of her temperament should, since he had insulted her centrally, and marred the dawning of a love.
Similar difficulties arose with Kitty. She also was on his con-science, but was displeased when he made amends. He offered to pay her fees at the Domestic Institute whereon her soul had
been so long set, and, though she accepted, it was ungraciously, and with the remark, "I expect I'm too old now to properly learn anything." She and Ada incited each other to thwart him in little things. Mrs Hall was shocked at first and rebuked them, but finding her son too indifferent to protect himself, she grew indifferent too. She was fond of him, but would not fight for him any more than she would fight against him when he was rude to the Dean. And so it happened that he was considered less in the house, and during the winter rather lost the position he had won at Cambridge. It began to be "Oh, Maurice won't mind—he can walk—sleep on the camp bed—smoke without a fire." He raised no objection—this was the sort of thing he now lived for—but he noted the subtle change and how it coin-cided with the coming of loneliness.
The world was likewise puzzled. He joined the Territorials— hitherto he had held off on the ground that the country can only be saved by conscription. He supported the social work even of the Church. He gave up Saturday golf in order to play foot-ball with the youths of the College Setdement in South London, and his Wednesday evenings in order to teach arithmetic and boxing to them. The railway carriage felt a little suspicious. Hall had turned serious, what! He cut down his expenses that he might subscribe more largely to charities—to preventive chari-ties: he would not give a halfpenny to rescue work. What with all this and what with his stockbroking, he managed to keep on the go.
Yet he was doing a fine thing—proving on how little the soul can exist. Fed neither by Heaven nor by Earth he was going forward, a lamp that would have blown out, were materialism true. He hadn't a God, he hadn't a lover—the two usual incen-tives to virtue. But on he struggled with his back to ease, be-cause dignity demanded it. There was no one to watch him,
nor did he watch himself, but struggles like his are the su-preme achievements of humanity, and surpass any legends about Heaven.
No reward awaited him. This work, like much that had gone before, was to fall ruining. But he did not fall with it, and the muscles it had developed remained for another use.
因此，莫瑞斯所起的变化说不上是皈依，其间丝毫没有启迪性的东西。当他回到家，检查那永远也不会使用的手枪时，突然感到憎恶。当他向母亲致意的时候，心里并没有涌出对她的无比深情的爱。他像以前那样活得凄凄惨惨，受到误解，越来越寂寞。人是不可能把心中的寂寥说尽的。莫瑞斯的孤寂与日俱增。
然而，他确实变了。他决心努力养成新习惯，尤其是与克莱夫在一起时曾忽视的生活小技巧。诸如严守时间、爱国心，甚至骑士精神等，他自律甚严。掌握技巧固然重要，还得领会什么时候运用，而且委婉地改变自己的举止。起初他所能做的不多。他从不至于引起自己的家族与世人的好奇心这方面着手，任何越轨行为都会使他们焦虑。他与艾达的一次谈话，产出了强烈的不谐和音。
艾达跟他多年的密友查普曼订婚了，他与她作为情敌的丑恶的对抗情绪就可以了结了。在外祖父逝世之后，他仍旧惧怕她会嫁给克莱夫，忌妒得心里火辣辣的。克莱夫会跟某一个人结婚，但是一想到他竟和艾达结婚，依然使他发狂。除非妒火熄灭了，他简直不可能正当地行事。
她和查普曼般配极了。莫瑞斯当众十分赞许，然后把她叫到一边去说：“艾达，亲爱的，克莱夫到咱们家来过之后，我对你很不好。现在我向你道歉，请你宽恕我。从那个时候起，这事造成了很大的痛苦。我感到非常对不起。”
她看上去吃了一惊，神情并不愉快。他明白她至今讨厌他。她悄声说：“这一切都过去了——现在我爱亚瑟。”
“那天晚上我不该发脾气。我刚好为一件事非常不安。克莱夫从来也没说过那些话，是我让你觉得他说了的。他从来也没责备过你。”
“我不在乎他是否说过，这根本不重要。”
她哥哥是轻易不道歉的，因而她抓住机会让他下不了台。“你是什么时候最后一次见到他的？”——吉蒂曾暗示，哥哥与克莱夫吵架了。
“有一段时间了。”
“你们那些周末和星期三，好像完全断绝了。”
“我祝愿你幸福，老查皮（译注：查皮是查普曼的昵称。）是个好人。我突然想到，两个相爱的人结婚，是件令人非常愉快的事。”
“莫瑞斯，我真的感谢你祝愿我幸福。不论你祝愿与否，我希望自己会获得幸福。”（事后，艾达把自己对哥哥的这番“巧妙的回答”叙述给查普曼听了。）“我真的祝愿你获得同样的幸福，就像你始终祝愿我那样。”她的面颊泛红了。她吃够了苦头，她对克莱夫不是漠不关心，他的退出伤了她的感情。
莫瑞斯对此有所揣测，忧郁地瞧着她，换了一个话题。她是个没有记性的人，心情又好起来了。但是她不能饶恕哥哥，既然他深深地侮辱了她，并且破坏了刚刚萌芽的爱情，像她这种性格的女人确实不该饶恕他。
他跟吉蒂之间也同样困难重重。他对她也感到内疚，但是当他赔不是的时候，她却怫然不悦。他表示愿意为她交向往已久的家政学校的学费。她尽管接受了，态度却并不亲切，还说了这么一句：“我认为现在自己的岁数已经太大了，不可能正正经经地学什么东西了。”她和艾达竞相在一些小事情上与哥哥作对。起初霍尔太太感到吃惊，责备了她们。不过，她发现自己的儿子对于自卫太不关心了，于是她也变得漠不关心。她喜欢儿子，然而正如他对学监粗鲁的那次她不曾跟他对抗，现在她也无意为了他的缘故而跟旁人对抗。这样一来他在家里就威信扫地了。进入冬季，他将自己在剑桥时代所赢得的地位丧失殆尽。是这样开始的：“哦，莫瑞斯才不介意呢——他可以走着去——睡在帆布床上——在没有生火的屋子里抽烟。”他不曾表示异议——如今，这就是他的人生——然而他注意到了那微妙的变化，以及寂寞怎样伴随而来。
世人也同样感到莫名其妙。他参加了国防义勇军（译注：英国国防义勇军的简称，是防卫本土的地方性组织），迄今他借口只有征兵制度才能拯救祖国，拖延着没去人队。他甚至支持起教会的社会事业来了。他放弃了星期六的高尔夫球，以便跟伦敦南区学院社区的青少年玩足球。每逢星期三晚上，还教他们算术和拳击。乘火车去卜．班的同事们有点儿怀疑：什么，霍尔变得一本正经了？他节省开销，这样能多捐些钱给慈善事业。他资助那些能够自救者，却连半个便士也不肯用来济贫。由于参加这些活动，并从事证券经济业务，他总算使自己忙碌不堪。
不过，他做的是一件好事——他正在证实灵魂可以存在于微小的东西上面。既无上帝的保佑，也没有来自大地的帮助，他向前迈进。倘若唯物论有道理的话，他好比是一吹就灭的油灯。他没有神，他没有情人——这二者通常能诱使人们培育美德。然而他背对着安逸，挣扎下去，因为尊严要求他这么做。没有一个人留心观察他，就连他自己也不曾观察自己。但是他所做的这一切苦斗，是人类最高的成就，超过了有关天国的任何传说。
他拿不到任何报酬，犹如过去消逝了的许许多多工作一样，这项工作也注定前途尽毁。然而他没有随着倒下，通过苦斗，练就了体力，可以派上其他用处。
Chapter 29
The crash came on a Sunday in spring—exquisite weather. They sat round the breakfast table, in mourning because of Grandpa, but otherwise worldly. Besides his mother and sisters, there was impossible Aunt Ida, who lived with them now, and a Miss Tonks, a friend whom Kitty had made at the Domestic Institute, and who indeed seemed its only tan-gible product. Between Ada and himself stood an empty chair.
"Oh, Mr Durham's engaged to be married," cried Mrs Hall, who was reading a letter. "How friendly of his mother to tell me. Penge, a county estate," she explained to Miss Tonks.
"That won't impress Violet, mother. She's a socialist."
"Am I, Kitty? Good news."
"You mean bad news, Miss Tonks," said Aunt Ida.
"Mother, who toom?"
"You will say 'Who toom' as a joke too often."
"Oh mother, get on, who is she?" asked Ada, having stifled a regret.
"Lady Anne Woods. You can read the letter for yourselves. He met her in Greece. Lady Anne Woods. Daughter of Sir H. Woods."
There was an outcry amongst the well-informed. It was sub-sequently found that Mrs Durham's sentence ran, "I will now tell you the name of the lady: Anne Woods: daughter of Sir H.
Woods." But even then it was remarkable, and owing to Greece romantic.
"Maurice!" said his aunt across the hubbub.
"Hullo!" .
"That boy's late."
Leaning back in his chair he shouted "Dickie!" at the ceiling: they were putting up Dr Barry's young nephew for the week-end, to oblige.
"He doesn't even sleep above, so that's no good," said Kitty. 111 go up.
He smoked half a cigarette in the garden and returned. The news had nearly upset him after all. It had come so brutally, and —what hurt him as much—no one behaved as if it were his concern. Nor was it. Mrs Durham and his mother were the prin-cipals now. Their friendship had survived the heroic.
He was thinking, "Clive might have written: for the sake of the past he might", when his aunt interrupted him. "That boy's never come," she complained.
He rose with a smile. "My fault. I forgot."
"Forgot!" Everyone concentrated on him. "Forgot when you went out specially? Oh Morrie, you are a funny boy." He left the room, pursued by humorous scorn, and almost forgot again. "In there's my work," he thought, and a deadly lassitude fell on him.
He went upstairs with the tread of an older man, and drew breath at the top. He stretched his arms wide. The morning was exquisite—made for others: for them the leaves rustled and the sun poured into the house. He banged at Dickie Barry's door, and, as that seemed no use, opened it.
The boy, who had been to a dance the night before, remained asleep. He lay with his limbs uncovered. He lay unashamed, embraced and penetrated by the sun. The lips were parted, the down on the upper was touched with gold, the hair broken into
countless glories, the body was a delicate amber. To anyone he would have seemed beautiful, and to Maurice who reached him by two paths he became die World's desire.
"It's past nine," he said as soon as he could speak.
Dickie groaned and pulled up the bedclothes to his chin.
"Breakfast—wake up."
"How long have you been here?" he asked, opening his eyes, which were all of him that was now visible, and gazing into Maurice's.
"A little," he said, after a pause.
"I'm awfully sorry."
"You can be as late as you like—it's only I didn't want you to miss the jolly day."
Downstairs they were revelling in snobbery. Kitty asked him whether he had known about Miss Woods. He answered "Yes" —a lie that marked an epoch. Then his aunt's voice arrived, was that boy never coming?
"I told him not to hurry," said Maurice, trembling all over.
"Maurice, you're not very practical, dear," said Mrs Hall.
"He's on a visit."
Auntie remarked that the first duty of a visitor was to conform to the rules of the house. Hitherto he had never opposed her, but now he said, "The rule of this house is that everyone does what they like."
"Breakfast is at half past eight."
"For those who like. Those who are sleepy like breakfast at nine or ten."
"No house could go on, Maurice. No servants would stop, as you will find."
"I'd rather servants went than my guests were treated like schoolboys."
"A schoolboy! Haw! Heis one!"
"Mr Barry's now at Woolwich," said Maurice shortly.
Aunt Ida snorted, but Miss Tonks shot him a glance of re-spect. The others had not listened, intent on poor Mrs Durham, who would now only have the dower house. The loss of his tem-per left him very happy. In a few minutes Dickie joined them, and he rose to greet his god. The boy's hair was now flat from the bath, and his graceful body hidden beneath clothes, but he remained extraordinarily beautiful. There was a freshness about him—he might have arrived with the flowers—and he gave the impression of modesty and of good will. When he apologized to Mrs Hall, the note of his voice made Maurice shiver. And this was the child he wouldn't protect at Sunnington! This the guest whose arrival last night he had felt rather a bore.
So strong was the passion, while it lasted, that he believed the crisis of his life had come. He broke all engagements, as in the old days. After breakfast he saw Dickie to his uncle's, got arm in arm with him, and exacted a promise for tea. It was kept. Maurice abandoned himself to joy. His blood heated. He would not attend to the talk, yet even this advantaged him, for when he said "What?" Dickie came over to the sofa. He passed an arm round him.... The entrance of Aunt Ida may have averted dis-aster, yet he thought he saw response in the candid eyes.
They met once more—at midnight. Maurice was not happy now, for during the hours of waiting his emotion had become physical.
"I'd a latch key," said Dickie, surprised at finding his host up.
"I know."
There was a pause. Both uneasy, they were glancing at each other and afraid to meet a glance.
"Is it a cold night out?"
"No."
"Can I get you anything before I go up?"
"No, thanks."
Maurice went to the switches and turned on the landing light. Then he turned out the lights in the hall and sprang after Dickie, overtaking him noiselessly.
"This is my room," he whispered."Imean generally. They've turned me out for you." He added, "I sleep here alone." He was conscious that words were escaping him. Having removed Dickie's overcoat he stood holding it, saying nothing. The house was so quiet that they could hear the women breathing in the other rooms.
The boy said nothing either. The varieties of development are endless, and it so happened that he understood the situation perfectly. If Hall insisted, he would not kick up a row, but he had rather not: he felt like that about it.
"I'm above," panted Maurice, not daring. "In the attic over this—if you want anything—all night alone. I always am."
Dickie's impulse was to bolt the door after him, but he dis-missed it as unsoldierly, and awoke to the ringing of the break-fast bell, with the sun on his face and his mind washed clean.
春天的一个天气极好的星期日，发生了一件事。他们围着摆好早饭的桌子而坐，大家在为外祖父服丧，其他的都照旧。除了他的母亲和妹妹们之外，还有难以对付的艾达姨妈，如今她跟他们同住。另有一位汤克斯小姐，是吉蒂在家政学校结识的朋友，看来她确实是该校所提供的惟一具体的成果。艾达与莫瑞斯之间的那把椅子是空的。
“哦，德拉姆先生订婚啦。”正在读信的霍尔太太大声说。“他母亲多么友好啊，把这件事告诉了我。彭杰是他们家的庄园。”她对汤克斯小姐解释。
“妈妈，这不会给维奥莱特留下印象的，她是个社会主义者。”
“我是吗，吉蒂？好消息。”
“你的意思是说，坏消息，汤克斯小姐。”艾达姨妈说。
“妈妈，新娘子是何许人也？”
“你成天拿‘何许人也’来打趣。”
“啊，妈妈，说下去，她是谁呀？”艾达把不服气的话咽了回去，问道。
“安妮.伍兹小姐。你可以自己读嘛。他是在希腊遇见她的。安妮。伍兹夫人，H．伍兹爵士的女儿。”
对社交界的情况了如指掌的女人们大声提出质疑，接着就发现德拉姆太太是这么写的：“现在我告诉您那位小姐的芳名：安妮•伍兹，H．伍兹爵士的女儿。（译注：原文作："I will now tell you the name of the lady:Anne Woods,daughter of Sir H.Woods."德拉姆太太却读成"Lady Anne Woods"。Lady 是对贵族妇女的尊称，根据已婚、未婚，分别译为“夫人”或”小姐”。只拥有爵士称号者的女儿，姓名前不能冠以Lady，所以女人们听她这么说，便提出质疑。）”
然而，即使这样，还是不同凡响，在希腊结识这一点也富于浪漫主义色彩。
“莫瑞斯！”姨妈的声音穿过一片喧哗传了过来。
“唉！”
“那孩子怎么还不来？”
莫瑞斯靠着椅背，向后仰，朝天花板喊道：“迪基！”他们接受了巴里大夫的请求，留他的年轻侄子在家里度周末。
“他又没睡在上面的屋子里，喊也没用。”吉蒂说。
“我上楼去看看。”
他在庭园里吸了半支香烟，就回来了。这个消息使他心绪烦乱，它来得那么无情，谁也没做出这与他有什么关系的反应，从而给了他不亚于消息本身的痛苦。这确实与他无关，现在，德拉姆太太和他母亲是主角。儿子们的友谊以悲剧告终，她们之间的友谊却延续下去了。
他想着：“克莱夫总该写封信来的。看在过去那段交情的分上，他也该写。”这时姨妈打断了他的思路：“那个孩子始终没有来。”她抱怨道。
他面泛微笑，站了起来。“这怪我，我忘记啦。”
“忘记啦！”大家的注意力集中到他身上。“你是特地去的，竟然忘记啦？哦，莫瑞，好个可笑的小伙子。”他离开了屋子，背后是一片诙谐的侮弄。他差点儿又忘掉了。“我得到那儿去办事。”他这么想着，极度的倦意袭上心头。
他以年长者的步伐迈上楼梯，到了楼梯平台，深深地吸了口气。他尽情地伸开双臂，这是个生趣盎然的早晨——是为了旁人的。为了他们树叶飒飒地抖动，阳光倾泻到房子里。他猛敲迪基-巴里的房门，好像不用费力气，房门就已经开了。
头天晚上少年参加了舞会，仍在酣睡。他躺在那儿，浑身一丝不挂。他不知羞耻地躺着，阳光拥抱着并且穿透了他。他双唇微启，上唇的汗毛金光闪闪，无数根毛发光彩夺目，肉体是柔和的琥珀色。在任何人眼里，他都是美的。至于莫瑞斯呢，他有两条通向这个少年的路，少年就化为现世的欲望了。
“九点多了。”莫瑞斯好不容易才说出这么一句话。
迪基呻吟了一声，将被子一直拽到下巴那儿。
“早饭——起来吧。”
“你在这儿待了多久？”他说着睁开眼睛。现在只看得见他的眼睛了，这双眼睛凝视着莫瑞斯。
“一小会儿，”他歇了口气才说。
“我非常抱歉。”
“你可以随心所欲地晚起——我只不过是不愿意你错过大好的天气而已。”
楼下，女眷们正沉迷在贵族崇拜中。吉蒂问他，知不知道伍兹小姐的事。他回答说：“知道。”这句谎言标志着开辟了新纪元，接着就传来了姨妈的声音。“那个孩子永远也不来了吗？”
“我告诉他，不用忙着下来。”莫瑞斯说，他浑身发颤。
“莫瑞斯，你这个人不大能干，亲爱的。”霍尔太太说。
“他是来做客的。”
姨妈发表意见说，客人首先有义务去遵守主人的家规。迄今他一次也没有顶撞过她，然而现在他说：“这里的家规是每个人爱做什么做什么。”
“八点半吃早饭。”
“是为了那些愿意的人。还没睡够的人愿意在九点钟或十点钟吃早饭。”
“谁家也不能继续这样下去，莫瑞斯。你会发现，任何仆人也留不住。”
“我宁可听任仆人辞工，也不让我的客人被当作学童那样来对待。”
“学童！呃！他就是呀！”
“巴里先生目前在伍尔威齐（译注：指坐落在伍尔威齐的英国陆军士官学拉。伍尔威齐系大伦敦东南部地区，现已划归格林尼治。格林尼治是英格兰大伦敦外围自治市，在泰晤士河南岸。伍尔威齐位于下游。）。”
艾达姨妈嗤之以鼻，汤克斯小姐却怀着敬意瞥了他一眼。其他人并没有听，她们热衷于谈论可怜的德拉姆太太的事，而今留给她的惟有寡妇房了。发了一通脾气后，他非常高兴。几分钟后，迪基到饭桌跟前来了。莫瑞斯站起来迎接他的神。少年刚洗过澡，湿头发平贴在脑袋上。他那秀美的肉体被衣服遮住了，然而他还是异常标致。他是那么清新——可能是跟花儿一起到达的——给人留下谦虚与善意的印象。当他向霍尔太太表示歉意的时候，他的声调使莫瑞斯浑身战栗。而这就是他在萨宁顿不肯照顾的那个孩子！这就是昨天晚上抵达的时候使他感到厌烦的客人。
这股激情持续下去，非常强烈，以致他相信人生的转折点到来了。就像从前那样，他解除了所有的约会。吃罢早饭，他把迪基送到叔叔家。两个人挽臂而行，约好一起喝茶并践了约。莫瑞斯沉浸在欢乐中。他热血沸腾了，不能专心致志地听旁人说话，然而就连这也对他有利。因为当他问“什么”时，迪基就会到他那张沙发跟前来。他伸出一只胳膊搂住迪基……艾达姨妈进来了，从而避免了灾祸的发生。但是莫瑞斯认为他在那双坦率的眼睛里看到了反应。
他们再一次的相遇是在半夜。现在莫瑞斯不再感到幸福了，因为在几个钟头的等待中，他的激情已经变成生理上的。
“我有门钥匙。”迪基说，他发现主人还没睡，吃了一惊。
“我知道。”
停顿了片刻，两人都很不安，相互望着，却又怕遇到对方的视线。
“夜里外面冷吗？”
“不冷。”
“我上楼之前，有什么能为你做的事吗？”
“没有，谢谢。”
莫瑞斯踱到开关那儿，把楼梯平台的电灯打开了。接着他关掉了门厅里的灯，蹦蹦跳跳地尾随迪基，悄悄地赶上了他。
“这是我的屋子。”他跟少年交头接耳地说。“我指的是平时。因为你的缘故，她们把我请出去了。”他补充说：“我一个人睡在这儿。”他意识到话是脱口而出的。他替迪基脱下大衣，捧着它伫立在那儿，默不作声。家中静悄悄的，他们甚至听得见女人们在别的屋子里发出的呼吸声。
少年也什么都没说。人们发育的过程变化多端，无穷无尽，他偏巧完全了解自己的处境。倘若霍尔坚持的话，他不会吵吵闹闹。然而他宁愿什么事也不发生，这就是他对这件事的想法。
“我在楼上，”莫瑞斯气喘吁吁地说，他胆怯了。“在这间屋子上面的阁楼里——整夜都是一个人，一向如此。”
莫瑞斯走后，迪基出于一时的冲动，想把门锁起来。不过他觉得这不像是士官学校学生的行为，就打消了这个念头。早饭的铃响了，他才醒。阳光照着他的脸，精神被荡涤得清清白白。
Chapter 30
This episode burst Maurice's life to pieces. Interpret-ing it by the past, he mistook Dickie for a second Clive, but three years are not lived in a day, and the fires died down as quickly as they had risen, leaving some suspicious ashes behind them. Dickie left on the Monday, and by Friday his image had faded. A client then came into the office, a lively and handsome young Frenchman, who implored Monsieur 'All not to swindle him. While they chaffed, a familiar feeling arose, but this time he smelt attendant odours from the abyss. "No, people like me must keep our noses to the grindstone, I'm afraid," he replied, in answer to the Frenchman's prayer to lunch with him, and his voice was so British that it produced shouts of laughter and a pantomime.
When the fellow had gone he faced the truth. His feeling for Dickie required a very primitive name. He would have senti-mentalized once and called it adoration, but the habit of hon-esty had grown strong. What a stoat he had been! Poor little Dickie! He saw the boy leaping from his embrace, to smash through the window and break his limbs, or yelling like a ma-niac until help came. He saw the police—
"Lust." He said the word out loud.
Lust is negligible when absent. In the calm of his office Maurice expected to subdue it, now that he had found its name. His mind, ever practical, wasted no time in theological despair,
but advanced to the grindstone. He had been forewarned, and therefore forearmed, and had only to keep away from boys and young men to ensure success. Yes, from other young men. Cer-tain obscurities of the last six months became clear. For exam-ple, a pupil at the Settlement—He wrinkled his nose, as one who needs no further proof. The feeling that can impel a gentleman towards a person of lower class stands self-condemned.
He did not know what lay ahead. He was entering into a state that would only end with impotence or death. Clive had post-poned it. Clive had influenced him, as always. It had been un-derstood between them that their love, though including the body, should not gratify it, and the understanding had pro-ceeded—no words were used—from Clive. He had been nearest to words on the first evening at Penge, when he refused Mau-rice's kiss, or on the last afternoon there, when they lay amid deep fern. Then had been framed the rule that brought the golden age, and would have sufficed till death. But to Maurice, despite his content, there had been something hypnotic about it. It had expressed Clive, not him, but now that he was alone he cracked hideously, as once at school. And it was not Clive who would heal him. That influence, even if exerted, would have failed, for a relation such as theirs cannot break without trans-forming both men for ever.
But he could not realize all this. The ethereal past had blinded him, and the highest happiness he could dream was a return to it. As he sat in his office working, he could not see the vast curve of his life, still less the ghost of his father sitting opposite. Mr Hall senior had neither fought nor thought; there had never been any occasion; he had supported society and moved without a crisis from illicit to licit love. Now, looking across at his son, he is touched with envy, the only pain that survives in the world of shades. For he sees the flesh educating the spirit, as his has
never been educated, and developing the sluggish heart and the slack mind against their will.
Presently Maurice was called to the telephone. He raised it to his ear, and, after six months' silence, heard the voice of his only friend.
"Hullo," he began, "hullo, you will have heard my news, Maurice."
"Yes, but you didn't write, so I didn't."
"Quite so."
"Where are you now?"
"Off to a restaurant. We want you to come round there. Will you?"
"I'm afraid I can't. I've just refused one invitation to lunch."
"Are you too busy to talk a little?"
"Oh no."
Clive resumed, evidently relieved by the atmosphere. "My young woman's with me. Presently she'll talk too."
"Oh, all right. Tell me all your plans."
"The wedding's next month."
"Best of luck."
Neither could think of anything to say.
"Now for Anne."
"I'm Anne Woods," said a girl's voice.
"My name's Hall."
"What?"
"Maurice Christopher Hall."
"Mine's Anne Clare Wilbraham Woods, but I can't think of anything to say."
"No more can I."
"You're the eighth friend of Clive I've talked to in this way this morning."
"The eighth?"
"I can't hear."
"I said the eighth."
"Oh yes, now I'll give Clive a turn. Goodbye."
Clive resumed. "By the way, can you come down to Penge next week? It's short notice, but later all will be chaos."
"I'm afraid I can't do that very well. Mr Hill's getting married too, so that I'm more or less busy here."
"What, your old partner?"
"Yes, and after him Ada to Chapman."
"So I heard. How about August? Not September, that's almost certainly the by-election. But come in August and see us through that awful Park v. Village cricket match."
"Thanks, I probably could. You had better write nearer the time."
"Oh, of course. By the way, Anne has a hundred pounds in her pocket. Will you invest it for her?"
"Certainly. What does she fancy?"
"You'd better choose. She's not allowed to fancy more than four per cent."
Maurice quoted a few securities.
"I'd like the last one," said Anne's voice. "I didn't catch its name."
"You'll see it on the Contract Note. What's your address, please?"
She informed him.
"All right. Send the cheque when you hear from us. Perhaps I'd better ring off and buy at once."
He did so. Their intercourse was to run on these lines. How-ever pleasant Clive and his wife were to him, he always felt that they stood at the other end of the telephone wire. After lunch he chose their wedding present. His instinct was to give a thumper, but since he was only eighth on the list of the bride-
groom's friends, this would seem out of place. While paying three guineas he caught sight of himself in the glass behind the counter. What a solid young citizen he looked—quiet, honoura-ble, prosperous without vulgarity. On such does England rely. Was it conceivable that on Sunday last he had nearly assaulted a boy?
这件事摧毁了莫瑞斯的人生。他把这当作旧梦重温，误以为迪基是第二个克莱夫。然而三年的岁月是不可能在一天之内度过的，火焰熄灭得跟燃烧起来的时候一样迅速，遗留下了可疑的灰烬。迪基于星期一告辞，到星期五的时候，他的影子已逐渐消失。一个顾客来到他的办公室，是个活泼英俊的法国青年，他恳求先生（译注：原文为法语）不要让他受骗上当。他们相互打趣，一种熟悉的感觉出现了，但是这一次他嗅到了发自深渊的气味。法国人祈求与他共进午餐，他回答说：“不，像我这样的人恐怕必须不停地埋头苦干。”他那十足的英国腔引起了一阵大笑和夸张的手势。
那个人离开时他看到了真实。他对迪基所怀的感觉需要一个非常原始的名称。他一度沉浸在感伤中，把这叫做“崇拜”。然而要求自己做个坦诚的人的习惯日益占了上风。自己曾是一只何等讨厌的鼬子啊！可怜的小迪基！他看到少年挣脱开他的拥抱，打碎窗户冲出去，摔折了胳膊，或者像疯了那样大喊大叫，直到有人前来救助。他看见了警察——
“淫欲。”他高声说出这个词。
淫欲并不存在的时候，就是无足轻重的。办公室里一片宁静，既然已经找到了这种感觉的名称，莫瑞斯相信自己是能予以克制的。他的精神从来就是讲究实际的，所以没有荒废光阴沉湎在神学的绝望中，而是埋头苦干，勇往直前。他预先受到警告，因此有备无患，只要离青少年远点儿，就能确保成功。是啊，别接近年轻人。六个月以来的那些含糊暧昧的地方，变得清晰了。比如，社区里的那个学生——莫瑞斯皱起鼻子，就像用不着更进一步的证据的人那样。作为绅士，竟被比自己低的阶层的人强烈地吸引住，这种感觉足以让他受到良心的谴责。
他不知道在前面等待自己的是什么。他只能步人以阳痿或死亡告终的境界，是克莱夫延缓了这个过程，自始至终他受着克莱夫的影响。他们之间达成共识，双方爱情包括肉体，但不是满足肉体。这种理解出自克莱夫，不是用语言表达的。莫瑞斯头一次在彭杰过夜的时候，也差点儿说出口来，那一次，他不允许莫瑞斯吻他。还有一次是莫瑞斯在那儿消磨的最后一个下午，当他们躺在茂密的羊齿丛中的时候。当时拟定了给他们带来黄金时代的规则，能够满足他们终生的需要。然而对莫瑞斯而言，尽管感到满意，却有一种被施以催眠术的感觉。表达出来的是克莱夫的感情，而不是他的。目前只剩下他一个人，他失去自制，丑态百出，犹如一度在学校的时候那样。克莱夫不再能够使他痊愈了。克莱夫即使对他施加了影响，也是徒劳。因为像他们这样的关系，一旦破裂了，势必使双方永远改变。
但是莫瑞斯没能领悟到这一切。以前在如神灵般缥缈虚幻的境界中度过的岁月，使他失去了判断力，他所能幻想的最大的幸福就是旧梦重温。坐在办公室里工作的时候，他看不见自己的人生所描绘的巨大曲线。至于坐在对面的父亲的亡灵，他更是视而不见。他的父亲霍尔先生既没搏斗过，也没思索过。他从未有过这样的机会。他是社会中坚，从非法的爱情移到合法的爱情上来，却没出现危机。现在他隔着桌子看着儿子，有点儿羡慕一在阴间，这是残存的惟一的痛苦。因为他看见儿子的肉体在教育精神，他的精神却从未接受过肉体的教育。儿子呢，肉体使呆滞的心灵与迟钝的头脑成长着。
这时，莫瑞斯被喊去接电话。他把听筒举到耳边，在六个月的沉默之后，他听到了惟一的朋友的声音。
“喂，”朋友开口说，“莫瑞斯，你总该听到了我的消息。”
“嗯。可是你没写信给我，所以我也没写。”
“的确如此。”
“你现在在哪儿？”
“在一家餐馆里。我们想请你到这儿来，你能来吗？”
“恐怕去不了。有人邀请我吃午餐，我刚刚谢绝了。”
“你是不是太忙，连说一会儿话的时间都没有呢？”
“哦，那还不至于。”
莫瑞斯的口吻显然使克莱夫放了心，他接着说下去：“我的小新娘跟我在一起，待会儿她也说几句。”
“哦，好的。把你的计划告诉我吧。”
“下个月举行婚礼。”
“祝你们好运。”
两个人都想不出该说什么好了。
“现在由安妮来说。”
“我是安妮‘伍兹。”传来了一个姑娘的声音。
“我叫霍尔。”
“什么？”
“莫瑞斯•克里斯托弗•霍尔。”
“我叫安妮。克莱尔。威尔布里厄姆•伍兹。可是我再也想不出任何话了。”
“我也想不出来。”
“今天一上午我都在跟克莱夫的朋友这么谈话，你是第八个。”
“第八个？”
“我听不见。”
“我说，第八个。”
“啊，可不是嘛。现在我让克莱夫来接，再见。”
克莱夫接下去说：“顺便说一下，下周你能到彭杰来一趟吗？邀请得唐突了些，不过再往后就会陷入一片混乱了。”
“我恐怕不能应邀。希尔先生也要结婚了，所以我在这儿会忙碌一些。”
“什么，你的老搭档吗？”
“是啊。这之后艾达跟查普曼结婚。”
“我听说啦。八月怎么样？九月不行，肯定会举行补缺选举，你在八月间来吧。彭杰和村民之间将进行一场大规模的板球赛，你来为我们助威吧。”
“谢谢，我也许能来。快到日子的时候，你最好写信给我。”
“哦，当然。顺便说一声，安妮手头有一百英镑。你能为她投资吗？”
“完全可以，她想要什么样的？”
“最好由你来选。人家告诉她，百分之四以上可不行，风险太大。”
莫瑞斯报了几家证券公司的名字。
“我喜欢最后一家，”传来了安妮的声音，“我没听清楚它的名字。”
“你会在合同上看到的。请问，你的地址呢？”
她告诉了他。
“好，得到我们的消息就请寄支票来。也许，我最好还是挂断电话，马上去办理购买手续。”
他照办了，他们将像这样交往下去。不论克莱夫及其妻子待他多么友善，他总觉得他们站在电话线那一头。午饭后，他去选购祝贺他们结婚的礼品。他本能地想送一份厚礼，但在新郎的友人名单上他的名字仅仅排在第八位，这么做似乎不合适。付三畿尼的价钱时，他瞥见了映在柜台后边那面镜子中的自己的身影。他看上去是个何等稳健的年轻市民啊——安详、体面、成功、毫不庸俗。英国依靠的就是这样的人。谁能相信上星期日他几乎去袭击一个少年呢？
Chapter 31
As the spring wore away, he decided to consult a doc-tor. The decision—most alien to his temperament— was forced on him by a hideous experience in the train. He had been brooding in an ill-conditioned way, and his expression aroused the suspicions and the hopes of the only other person in the carriage. This person, stout and greasy-faced, made a las-civous sign, and, off his guard, Maurice responded. Next mo-ment both rose to their feet. The other man smiled, whereupon Maurice knocked him down. Which was hard on the man, who was elderly and whose nose streamed with blood over the cushions, and the harder because he was now consumed with fear and thought Maurice would pull the alarm cord. He splut-tered apologies, offered money. Maurice stood over him, black-browed, and saw in this disgusting and dishonourable old age his own.
He loathed the idea of a doctor, but he had failed to kill lust single-handed. As crude as in his boyhood, it was many times as strong, and raged in his empty soul. He might "keep away from young men", as he had naively resolved, but he could not keep away from their images, and hourly committed sin in his heart. Any punishment was preferable, for he assumed a doctor would punish him. He could undergo any course of treatment on the chance of being cured, and even if he wasn't he would be occu-pied and have fewer minutes for brooding.
Whom should he consult? Young Jowitt was the only doctor he knew well, and the day after that railway journey he man-aged to remark to him in casual tones, "I say, in your rounds here, do you come across unspeakables of the Oscar Wilde sort?" But Jowitt replied. "No, that's in the asylum work, thank God," which was discouraging, and perhaps it might be better to consult someone whom he should never see again. He thought of specialists, but did not know whether there were any for his disease, nor whether they would keep faith if he confided in them. On all other subjects he could command advice, but on this, which touched him daily, civilization was silent.
In the end he braved a visit to Dr Barry. He knew he should have a bad time, but the old man, though a bully and a tease, was absolutely trustworthy, and had been better disposed to him since his civilities to Dickie. They were in no sense friends, which made it easier, and he went so seldom to the house that it would make little difference were he forbidden it for ever.
He went on a cold evening in May. Spring had turned into a mockery, and a wretched summer was expected also. It was exactly three years since he had come here under balmy skies, to receive his lecture about Cambridge, and his heart beat quicker, remembering how severe the old man had been then. He found him in an agreeable mood, playing bridge with his daughter and wife, and urgent that Maurice should make a fourth in their party.
"I'm afraid I want to speak to you, sir," he said with an emo-tion so intense that he felt he should never accomplish the real words at all.
"Well, speak away."
"I mean professionally."
"Lord, man, I've retired from practice for the last six years. You go to Jericho or Jowitt. Sit down, Maurice. Glad to see you,
shouldn't have guessed you were dying. Polly! Whisky for this fading flower."
Maurice remained standing, then turned away so oddly that Dr Barry followed him into the hall and said, "Hi, Maurice, can I seriously do anything for you?"
"I should think you can!"
"I've not even a consulting-room."
"It's an illness too awfully intimate for Jowitt—I'd rather come to you—you're the only doctor alive I dare tell. Once before I said to you I hoped I'd learn to speak out. It's about that"
"A secret trouble, eh? Well, come along."
They went into the dining-room, which was still strewn with dessert. The Venus de Medici in bronze stood on the mantel-piece, copies of Greuze hung on the walls. Maurice tried to speak and failed, poured out some water, failed again, and broke into a fit of sobbing.
"Take your time," said the old man quite kindly, "and remem-ber of course that this is professional. Nothing you say will ever reach your mother's ears."
The ugliness of the interview overcame him. It was like being back in the train. He wept at the hideousness into which he had been forced, he who had meant to tell no one but Clive. Unable to say the right words, he muttered, "It's about women—"
Dr Barry leapt to a conclusion—indeed he had been there ever since they spoke in the hall. He had had a touch of trouble himself when young, which made him sympathetic about it. "We'll soon fix that up," he said.
Maurice stopped his tears before more than a few had issued, and felt the rest piled in an agonizing bar across his brain. "Oh, fix me for God's sake," he said, and sank into a chair, arms hang-ing. "I'm close on done for."
"Ah, women! How well I remember when you spouted on the platform at school. . . the year my poor brother died it was . . . you gaped at some master's wife . . . he's a lot to learn and life's a hard school, I remember thinking. Only women can teach us and there bad women as well as good. Dear, dear!" He cleared his throat. "Well, boy, don't be afraid of me. Only tell me the truth, and I'll get you well. When did you catch the beastly thing? At the Varsity?"
Maurice did not understand. Then his brow went damp. "It's nothing as filthy as that," he said explosively. "In my own rotten way I've kept clean."
Dr Barry seemed offended. He locked the door, saying, "Im-potent, eh? Let's have a look," rather contemptuously.
Maurice stripped, throwing the garments from him in a rage. He had been insulted as he had insulted Ada.
"You're all right," was the verdict.
"What d'ye mean, sir, by all right?"
"What I say. You're a clean man. Nothing to worry about here."
He sat down by the fire, and, dulled though he was to impres-sions, Dr Barry noted the pose. It wasn't artistic, yet it could have been called superb. He sat in his usual position, and his body as well as his face seemed gazing indomitably at the flames. He wasn't going to knuckle under—somehow he gave that im-pression. He might be slow and clumsy, but if once he got what he wanted he would hold to it till Heaven and Earth blushed crimson.
"You're all right," repeated the other. "You can marry tomor-row if you like, and if you take an old man's advice you will. Cover up now, it's so draughty. What put all this into your head?"
"So you've never guessed," he said, with a touch of scorn in
his terror. "I'm an unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort." His eyes closed, and driving clenched fists against them he sat motionless, having appealed to Caesar.
At last judgement came. He could scarcely believe his ears. It was "Rubbish, rubbish!" He had expected many things, but not this; for if his words were rubbish his life was a dream.
"Dr Barry, I can't have explained—"
"Now listen to me, Maurice, never let that evil hallucination, that temptation from the devil, occur to you again."
The voice impressed him, and was not Science speaking?
"Who put that he into your head? You whom I see and know to be a decent fellow! We'll never mention it again. No--ril not discuss. I'll not discuss. The worst thing I could do for you is to discuss it."
"I want advice," said Maurice, struggling against the over-whelming manner. "It's not rubbish to me, but my life."
"Rubbish," came the voice authoritatively.
"I've been like this ever since I can remember without know-ing why. What is it? Am I diseased? If I am, I want to be cured, I can't put up with the loneliness any more, the last six months specially. Anything you tell me, I'll do. That's all. You must help me."
He fell back into his original position, gazing body and soul into the fire.
"Come! Dress yourself."
"I'm sorry," he murmured, and obeyed. Then Dr Barry unlocked the door and called, "Polly! Whisky!" The consulta-tion was over.
春意渐浓，他决定找医生看一看。在火车中有过一次丑恶的经验，迫使他做出跟他的性格格格不入的这个决定。当时他心绪不宁，正在郁闷地沉思。车厢里只有一个乘客，他的表情引起了这个人的猜疑和希望。此人身体肥壮，脸上油腻腻的。他做了个猥亵的手势，莫瑞斯没有提防，竟然有所反应。一转眼工夫，两个人都站了起来。那个人眉开眼笑，于是莫瑞斯一下子将他击倒。他尝到了厉害，鼻血流到坐垫上。现在他害怕得不得了，以为莫瑞斯会拽警铃的绳索。他急促而慌乱地道歉，表示愿意给钱。莫瑞斯脸色铁青，俯视着他，从这个令人作呕、不光彩的老头身上看到了自己的未来。
想到要去找医生，他感到厌恶。然而单凭自己是不可能消灭肉欲的。肉欲是赤裸裸的，犹如在他少年时代那样，然而比当初强烈好几倍，在他那空洞的灵魂中逞凶。他曾天真地地打定主意要“离青少年远点儿”，这一点固然做得到，他却无法疏远他们的影像，时时刻刻在心中犯罪。任何惩罚都比这个强一些，他认为医生会惩罚他。只要能康复，什么样的治疗他都情愿接受。即便不能治愈，也会占用并缩短他郁闷地想心事的时间。
该接受谁的诊治呢？年轻的乔伊特是他惟一熟悉的医生。乘火车旅行遭遇了那件事的次日，他用漫不经心的语气问了乔伊特一句：“我说，你在这一带巡回诊治的时候，会不会碰上奥斯卡•王尔德（译注：奥斯卡.王尔德(1854-1900)是爱尔兰诗人、小说家、戏剧家。1895年他被指控和青年艾尔弗雷德.道格拉斯搞同性爱，被判入狱服劳役两年。他在狱中写了长信《从深处》，抱怨道格拉斯对他的引诱。）那样的难以启齿的病例呢？”然而乔伊特回答说：“不会的，那是精神病院分内的工作，谢天谢地。”这使莫瑞斯沮丧。也许不如请一位从此再也无缘相见的人来诊治更好。他想到了专科医生，但他不知道有没有专门看他这种病的医生，更不知道倘若他向他们吐露秘密，他们能不能守口如瓶。其他任何问题他都可以向旁人请教，然而惟独在这个每天都折磨他的问题上，文明保持着沉默。
莫瑞斯终于毅然去拜访巴里大夫。他知道自己发窘。然而那个老者尽管盛气凌人，爱捉弄人，却是绝对可以信赖的。自从他使迪基受到礼遇以来，大夫对他也多少有了好感。他们二人决不是朋友，反而用不着挂虑。他轻易不到大夫家去，即便今后永远被禁止上门，也没什么关系。
他是在五月里的一个冷峭的夜晚去的。春季的天气变得很恶劣，估计夏天也会这样。整整三年前，他曾在暖洋洋的天空下来到这里，以便为剑桥那件事挨训。想起那个老人当时何等严厉，他的心跳得越来越快了。他发现老人情绪愉快，正跟女儿与妻子打着桥牌，他想把莫瑞斯拉进来，凑成四人。
“先生，抱歉得很，我有话跟您说。”他这么说的时候感情太激动了，以致觉得自己永远也不能倾诉衷情。
“好的，敞开儿说吧。”
“我的意思是，想请您诊治一下。”
“天啊，我已经退休，六年没行医啦。你去找耶利各或乔伊特好了。坐下，莫瑞斯。很高兴见到你，我从来也没认为你快死啦。波莉！给这朵快要枯萎了的花儿端杯威士忌来。”
莫瑞斯依然伫立着，随后古里古怪地转身而去。巴里大夫跟随着步入门厅，说：“嘿，莫瑞斯，我能为你做点儿正经事吗？”
“我相信您能！”
“我连一间诊室都没有。”
“这是一种涉及隐私的病，不能让乔伊特诊治。我宁愿来找您—一您是世上我惟一敢告诉的大夫。以前我曾对您说过，我但愿自己能学会大胆公开地说出来，就是这件事。”
“一个秘密的苦恼，啊？好的，过来吧。”
他们到饭厅去了。桌子上还摆着一盘盘吃剩的甜点心。壁炉架上立着梅迪契（译注：洛伦佐.德.梅迪契( 1449—1492)是佛罗伦萨政治家，统治者和文学艺术保护人。意大利雕刻家米开朗琪罗(1475-1564)就是在他的帮助下梅迪契园学雕刻的。在15世纪后半叶，由于洛伦佐的鼓励，佛罗伦萨的艺术十分繁荣。梅迪契家族的统治一直延续到18世纪。）的维纳斯铜像，墙上挂着格勒兹的复制品。莫瑞斯试图说话，却说不出来。倒出一点儿水，又失败了，就突然抽泣起来。
“从从容容地谈。”老人十分和善地说，“当然要记住：这涉及我的医德。你所说的，永远也不会传到你母亲的耳朵里。”
这次面谈的丑陋压倒了莫瑞斯，他好像又返回到那节火车车厢里去了。他为自己被追陷入骇人听闻的境地而流泪。他原来打算除了克莱夫，不向任何人吐露。他找不到恰当的字眼儿，就咕哝道：“关于女人的事——”
其实，自从他们在门厅里交谈以来，巴里大夫就估计是这么回事。他本人年轻的时候也有过一点儿麻烦，致使他对此抱同情的态度。“我们很快就会使你痊愈的。”他说。
莫瑞斯没等更多的眼泪流出来，勉强将它抑制住了。他感到剩下的泪水堆成一团，痛苦地压迫着他的脑子。“哦，千万为我把病治好吧，”他说着，深深地坐在一把椅子上，将双臂耷拉下去。“我快完蛋啦。”
“啊，关于女人的问题！你在学校的讲坛上滔滔不绝地发表演说的日子，我记得非常清楚……我那可怜的弟弟就是那一年死掉的……你目瞪口呆地瞧着一位老师的妻子……我记得当时自己曾想：他有许许多多该学的，人生是一座严厉的学校。只有女人能教咱们，除了好女人之外，还有坏女人。啊，啊！”他清了清嗓子。“喂，小伙子，用不着怕我。只要告诉我真实情况，我就替你把病治好。你是在哪儿染上这脏玩艺儿的？是在大学里吗？”
莫瑞斯没听懂。接着，他的额头冒出了冷汗。“不是那样肮脏的病。”他暴躁地说，“我尽管不健全；却守身如玉。”
巴里大夫好像被触怒了。他边锁上门，边以相当轻蔑的口吻说：“阳痿，是吗？咱们来检查一下。”
莫瑞斯愤怒地脱掉衣服并抛到一边。他受到了侮辱，正如曾经侮辱过艾达那样。
“你是正常的。”这是大夫的诊断。
“先生，正常指的是什么？”
“我说的是，你是个纯洁的男子。在这一点上，丝毫不用担心。”
他在壁炉旁坐下来。尽管巴里大夫对事物的印象是模糊的，却注意到了他的姿势。艺术性不强，然而说得上是精彩绝伦。他像平时那样坐着，身体和脸仿佛都充满不屈不挠的精神，凝视着火焰。他才不会屈服呢——不知为什么，他给人以这样一种印象。他或许迟钝而笨拙，然而一旦得到了想要的东西，他就会抓住它，直到天地都羞得红彤彤的。
“你是正常的。”对方重复了一遍。“倘若你愿意的话，明天就能结婚。你要是肯接受一个老人的劝告，你会这么做的。现在穿上衣服吧，穿堂风挺厉害的。是什么使你想到了这一切？”
“您根本就没猜到。”他说。虽然非常恐惧，声调里却含着一丝轻蔑。“我是奥斯卡•王尔德那种难以启齿的人。”他闭紧双目，攥住两只拳头，按在眼睛上，一动不动地坐着。他对恺撒所做的申诉已经结束。
他终于听到了审判，几乎不能相信自己的耳朵，那就是：“胡说八道！胡说八道！”他期待大夫会说各种各样的话，惟独不是这一句。因为假若他是在胡说八道，他的人生就是一场梦而已。
“巴里大夫，我还没解释清——。”
“现在听我说，莫瑞斯。永远也不要再让自己的脑子里浮现那样邪恶的幻觉，来自魔鬼的诱惑。”
这个嗓音使他深深感动。难道不是科学在说话吗？
“是谁把这样的谎言塞进你的脑子的？你可是个正派人呀！我瞧得出来，也了解你。咱们再也别提这个r。不——我决不谈，决不接触这个话题。我能为你做的最坏的一件事就是讨论这个问题。”
“我希望得到您的指点。”莫瑞斯说。他对巴里大夫那种盛气凌人的态度进行抗拒。“对我来说，这不是胡说八道，却关系列我的生命。”
“胡说八道。”传来了充满权威的声音。
“我也不知道是怎么回事，自从记事以来，我一直是这个样子。这是什么呢？我得病了吗？要是病了，我希望能够康复。我再也耐不住这样的凄凉，尤其是最近六个月。不论您吩咐我什么，我都照办。我把自己的要求和盘托出了，请您务必帮助我。”
他又恢复了原先那个姿势，全身心都在凝视那炉火。
“来！穿上衣服。”
“对不起。”他低声说，并且听从了大夫的话。接着，巴里大夫拧开了门锁，呼唤道：“波莉！威士忌！”诊治结束了。
Chapter 32
Dr Barry had given the best advice he could. He had read no scientific works on Maurice's subject. None had existed when he walked the hospitals, and any published since were in German, and therefore suspect. Averse to it by temperament, he endorsed the verdict of society gladly; that is to say, his verdict was theological. He held that only the most depraved could glance at Sodom, and so, when a man of good antecedents and physique confessed the tendency, "Rubbish, rubbish!" was his natural reply. He was quite sincere. He be-lieved that Maurice had heard some remark by chance, which had generated morbid thoughts, and that the contemptuous silence of a medical man would at once dispel them.
And Maurice went away not unimpressed. Dr Barry was a great name at home. He had twice saved Kitty and had attended Mr Hall through his last illness, and he was so honest and in-dependent and never said what he did not feel. He had been their ultimate authority for nearly twenty years—seldom ap-pealed to, but known to exist and to judge righteousness, and now that he pronounced "rubbish", Maurice wondered whether it might not be rubbish, though every fibre in him protested. He hated Dr Barry's mind; to tolerate prostitution struck him as beastly. Yet he respected it and went away inclined for another argument with destiny.
He was the more inclined for a reason that he could not tell
to the doctor. Clive had turned towards women soon after he reached the age of twenty-four. He himself would be twenty-four in August. Was it possible that he would turn also . . . and now that he came to think, few men married before twenty-four. Maurice had the Englishman's inability to conceive variety. His troubles had taught him that other people are alive, but not yet that they are different, and he attempted to regard Clive's devel-opment as a forerunner of his own.
It would be jolly certainly to be married, and at one with so-ciety and the law. Dr Barry, meeting him on another day, said, "Maurice, you get the right girl—there'll be no more trouble then." Gladys Olcott recurred to him. Of course he was not a crude undergraduate now. He had suffered and explored him-self, and knew he was abnormal. But hopelessly so? Suppose he met a woman who was sympathetic in other ways? He wanted children. He was capable of begetting children—Dr Barry had said so. Was marriage impossible after all? The topic was in the air at home, owing to Ada, and his mother would often suggest that he should find someone for Kitty and Kitty someone for him. Her detachment was amazing. The words "marriage," "love," "a family" had lost all meaning to her during widowhood. A concert ticket sent by Miss Tonks to Kitty revealed possibilities. Kitty could not use it, and offered it round the table. Maurice said he should like to go. She reminded him that it was his Club night, but he said he would cut that. He went, and it happened to be the symphony of Tchaikovsky Clive had taught him to like. He enjoyed the piercing and the tearing and the soothing—the mu-sic did not mean more to him than that—and they induced a warm feeling of gratitude towards Miss Tonks. Unfortunately, after the concert he met Risley.
"Symphonie Pathique," said Risley gaily.
"Symphony Pathetic," corrected the Philistine.
"Symphonie Incestueuse et Pathique." And he informed his young friend that Tchaikovsky had fallen in love with his own nephew, and dedicated his masterpiece to him. "I come to see all respectable London flock. Isn't itsupreme!"
"Queer things you know," said Maurice stuffily. It was odd that when he had a confidant he didn't want one. But he got a life of Tchaikovsky out of the library at once. The episode of the composer's marriage conveys little to the normal reader, who vaguely assumes incompatibility, but it thrilled Maurice. He knew what the disaster meant and how near Dr Barry had dragged him to it. Reading on, he made the acquaintance of "Bob", the wonderful nephew to whom Tchaikovsky turns after the breakdown, and in whom is his spiritual and musical resur-rection. The book blew off the gathering dust and he respected it as the one literary work that had ever helped him. But it only helped him backwards. He was where he had been in the train, having gained nothing except the belief that doctors are fools.
Now every avenue seemed blocked, and in his despair he turned to the practices he had abandoned as a boy, and found they did bring him a degraded kind of peace, did still the physi-cal urge into which all his sensations were contracting, and enable him to do his work. He was an average man, and could have won an average fight, but Nature had pitted him against the extraordinary, which only saints can subdue unaided, and he began to lose ground. Shortly before his visit to Penge a new hope dawned, faint and unlovely. It was hypnotism. Mr Corn-wallis, Risky told him, had been hypnotized. A doctor had said, "Come, come, you are no eunuch!" and lo! he had ceased to be one. Maurice procured the doctor's address, but did not suppose anything would come of it: one interview with the science suf-ficed him, and he always felt Risley knew too much; his voice when he gave the address was friendly but slightly amused.
巴里大夫给了自己所能给的最好的医嘱。他从未读过有关莫瑞斯这种症状的医学论文，当他在医院里实习的时候，还没有这些论文。后来所发表的有关论文又都是用德文写的，因此令人怀疑。他生性对此感到厌恶，因而高高兴兴地赞同社会所做出的裁决。也就是说，那是站在神学立场上的裁决。他相信，惟有最堕落的人才会瞥视所多玛。因此，当一个身世清白、身体健康的人向他坦白自己有这种倾向的时候，他自自然然地就回答说：“胡说八道！胡说八道！”他是十分真诚的。他坚信莫瑞斯是偶然风闻一些议论，从而酿成病态的思绪，而一个医师那充满轻蔑的沉默是能够立即消除这种疑虑的。
莫瑞斯也不是无动于衷地告辞而去的。在霍尔家，巴里大夫可谓大名鼎鼎，他两次使吉蒂起死回生。霍尔先生生最后那场病期间，始终是由他护理的。他非常正直，有独立见解，从来也没有言不由衷过。将近二十年来，他一直是他们家的至高无上的权威者。他们轻易不求助于他，然而全家人都知道他的存在，知道他是能够判断是非的。如今他虽然断定莫瑞斯是在“胡说八道”，但莫瑞斯的每个细胞都有所抵触，心里还是很怀疑：难道自己真是在胡说八道吗？他憎恨巴里大夫的处世哲学：容忍卖淫，简直是卑鄙。但是他依然尊重大夫的想法。他有意与命运再度争辩，离开了大夫家。
由于不便告诉大夫的一个原因，他加强了这个心意。克莱夫刚满二十四岁就对女人感兴趣了。到了八月，他就满二十四岁了。他或许也会转变吧……现在想想，不满二十四岁就结婚的男人寥寥无几。像大多数英国人那样，莫瑞斯意想不到社会上有各种各样的人。他的烦恼教给他，世上还生活着其他人，却没告诉他，人们是形形色色的。他试图把克莱夫的发展过程看作自己的先驱。
倘若能够结婚，与社会和法律达成共识，该是何等愉快啊。后来巴里大夫又遇见了莫瑞斯，并且说：“莫瑞斯，你去找个合适姑娘——这样一来就什么麻烦都没有了。”他想起了格拉迪斯•奥尔科特。当然，如今他已不是那个生硬的大学生了。在那之后，他吃尽了苦头，做过自我剖析，知道自己不正常。然而，难道就没有希望吗？假使他遇见了一个女子，在其他方面对他表示同情呢？他希望有儿女。他是有生育能力的——巴里大夫这么说过。难道他终究不能结婚吗？由于艾达的缘故，这个话题在家里闹得沸沸扬扬。他母亲经常建议他为吉蒂找个什么人。吉蒂则为他找，她抱着一种令人吃惊的超然态度。对她来说，在守寡期间，“婚姻”、“爱”与“子女”这些词已丧失了全部意义。汤克斯小姐送给吉蒂一张音乐会的票，透露出种种可能性。吉蒂说自己不能去，挨个儿问围桌而坐的人要不要。莫瑞斯表示他愿意去。她提醒他道，那天晚上他还有俱乐部的活动呢。然而他说，他不参加了。他去了，碰巧是柴可夫斯基的交响曲。那是克莱夫教会他喜欢上的。他欣赏那种刺耳、撕裂、抚慰——对他而言，该乐曲所意味的不超过这个——乐曲还诱使他对汤克斯小姐生出温情脉脉的感激。不幸的是，散场后他遇见了里斯利。
“《背德悲响曲》。”里斯利愉快地说。
“《悲怆交响曲》。”俗人纠正说。
“《乱伦与背德悲响曲》。”于是他告诉他的年轻朋友，柴可夫斯基爱上了自己的侄子，并把杰作献给了他。“我来瞧瞧伦敦的一切绅士淑女恭听这乐曲的场面。哎呀，至高无上！”
“你怎么知道这么古怪的事。”莫瑞斯一本正经地说。奇怪的是，当他找到一个知己的时候，他并不想吐露秘密。不过，他马上到图书馆，找来了一本柴可夫斯基的传记。对正常的读者而言，这位作曲家的婚姻没有多大意义，充其量能揣测他与妻子合不来。然而，莫瑞斯却感到一阵狂喜。他知道这种不幸意味着什么，以及巴里大夫怎样把他拖到悲惨结局的边缘。读着读着，他与“鲍勃”相识了。婚姻破裂后，柴可夫斯基被这位了不起的侄子所吸引，从而在精神上和音乐上获得新生。此书把积尘吹掉了，他对它心怀敬意。因为它是惟一帮助过他的文学作品。然而它仅仅是帮助他后退了而已。他还停留在火车中的那个场所，除了相信大夫们统统是傻瓜以外，一无所获。
现在，条条道路好像都堵死了。出于绝望，他恢复了少年时代就已放弃的行为。他发现，这确实给予自己一种堕落的安宁，确实把支配自己全部感觉的生理冲动镇定下来，好容易才得以埋头工作。他是个普通的人，能够在一场普通的战斗中获胜。然而大自然却把他摆在与不同寻常的事物进行较量的位置上，惟有圣徒才能独力征服它，他开始节节败退。造访彭杰之前不久，新的希望渐露端倪，模模糊糊，不够美好。是催眠术，里斯利告诉他，康沃利斯先生就曾求助于催眠术。一位大夫说：“喂，喂，你不是个阉人！”于是，看哪！他就再也不是阉人了。莫瑞斯找到了那位大夫的地址，但他并不相信会有什么结果。他跟科学打过一次交道，就足矣了。他一向觉得里斯利知道得太多了。当里斯利交给他那个地址的时候，口气固然友好，却略微有点儿觉得有趣的味道。
Chapter 33
Now that Clive Durham was safe from intimacy, he looked forward to helping his friend, who must have had a pretty rough time since they parted in the smoking-room. Their correspondence had ceased several months ago. Mau-rice's last had been written after Birmingham, and announced he should not kill himself. Clive had never supposed he would, and was glad the melodrama was over. When they talked down the telephone he heard a man whom he might respect at the other end of it—a fellow who sounded willing to let bygones be bygones and passion acquaintanceship. There was no affectation of ease; poor Maurice sounded shy, a bit huffy even, exactly the condition Clive deemed natural, and felt he could ameliorate.
He was anxious to do what he could. Though the quality of the past escaped him he remembered its proportions, and ac-knowledged that Maurice had once lifted him out of aestheti-cism into the sun and wind of love. But for Maurice he would never have developed into being worthy of Anne. His friend had helped him through three barren years, and he would be ungrateful indeed if he did not help his friend. Clive did not like gratitude. He would rather have helped out of pure friend-liness. But he had to use the only tool he had, and if all went well, if Maurice kept unemotional, if he remained at the end of a telephone, if he was sound as regarded Anne, if he was not bitter, or too serious or too rough—then they might be friends
again, though by a different route and in a different manner. Maurice had admirable qualities—he knew this, and the time might be returning when he would feel it also.
Such thoughts as the above occurred to Clive rarely and fee-bly. The centre of his life was Anne. Would Anne get on with his mother? Would Anne like Penge, she who had been brought up in Sussex, near the sea? Would she regret the lack of religious opportunities there? And the presence of politics? Besotted with love, he gave her his body and soul, he poured out at her feet all that an earlier passion had taught him, and could only re-member with an effort for whom that passion had been.
In the first glow of his engagement, when she was the whole world to him, the Acropolis included, he thought of confessing to her about Maurice. She had confessed a peccadillo to him. But loyalty to his friend withheld him, and he was glad after-wards, for, immortal as Anne proved, she was not Pallas Athene, and there were many points on which he could not touch. Their own union became the chief of these. When he arrived in her room after marriage, she did not know what he wanted. Despite an elaborate education, no one had told her about sex. Clive was as considerate as possible, but he scared her terribly, and left feeling she hated him. She did not. She welcomed him on future nights. But it was always without a word. They united in a world that bore no reference to the daily, and this secrecy drew after it much else of their lives. So much could never be mentioned. He never saw her naked, nor she him. They ignored the repro-ductive and the digestive functions. So there would never be any question of this episode of his immaturity.
It was unmentionable. It didn't stand between him and her. She stood between him and it, and on second thoughts he was glad, for though not disgraceful it had been sentimental and deserved oblivion.
Secrecy suited him, at least he adopted it without regret. He had never itched to call a spade a spade, and though he valued the body the actual deed of sex seemed to him unimaginative, and best veiled in night. Between men it is inexcusable, between man and woman it may be practised since nature and society approve, but never discussed nor vaunted. His ideal of marriage was temperate and graceful, like all his ideals, and he found a fit helpmate in Anne, who had refinement herself, and admired it in others. They loved each other tenderly. Beautiful conven-tions received them—while beyond the barrier Maurice wan-dered, the wrong words on his lips and the wrong desires in his heart, and his arms full of air.
如今克莱夫-德拉姆再也不会由于与莫瑞斯的亲昵关系而受损害了，因此他期望助友人以一臂之力。自从他们在吸烟室分手以来，莫瑞斯想必备尝辛酸。几个月以前，他们就断绝书信往来了。莫瑞斯的最后一封信是外祖父在伯明翰逝世之后写的，他告知自己绝不自杀。克莱夫从未料想他会自杀，他很高兴这一戏剧性事件就此结束。当他们通过电话交谈的时候，他听到的是值得表示敬意的一位男子汉的嗓音——听上去，这个男子汉愿意摈弃前嫌，将激情转变为泛泛之交。可怜的莫瑞斯并非矫揉造作，装出豁达的样子。他的声调缺乏自信，甚至有点儿气恼，克莱夫恰恰断定这是正常的，从而觉得有改善的余地。
他很想力所能及地做些什么。他记不起过去那件事是什么性质的了，却记得它的分量。他还承认莫瑞斯曾使他从艺术至上主义的深渊升腾到爱的光风霁月中去。如果没有莫瑞斯，他永远也不会成长为与安妮般配的男子。在那没有成果的三年里，他的朋友始终在帮助他。倘若他不肯帮助这位朋友，确实是忘恩负义到极点了。克莱夫不喜欢表达感激之情，他宁肯出于纯粹的友谊进行帮助，然而他不得不使用惟一的手段。倘若一切都顺利，倘若莫瑞斯一直抑制自己，不感情用事，倘若他停留在电话的另一头，倘若在安妮这个问题上他是健全的，倘若他不怀恨在心，不太较真儿或者不太粗暴——那么他们就能够重新做朋友，尽管是通过另外一种途径，采取另外的方式。莫瑞斯具有令人钦佩的素质——他清楚这～点，而他不仅知道，还能够感觉到这样的日子也许正在回来。
克莱夫的脑子里难得浮现这样一些想法，而且想得也不深，他的人生以安妮为核心。安妮和他的母亲处得好吗？安妮会喜欢彭杰吗？她可是在靠近海洋的苏塞克斯（译注：苏塞克斯是盎格鲁撤克逊英格兰王国之一，位于英格兰东南部，版图相当于现在的东塞西克斯和西塞西克斯两郡。）长大的呀。这里缺少宗教仪式，她会感到失望吗？丈夫从事政治活动，她能适应这种气氛吗？克莱夫沉醉在爱情中，将整个身心都献给了她，把早先的激情所教会自己的全部倾泻在她的脚下。至于那番激情原是为了什么人的，他可得费些力气才能回忆起来。
订婚伊始，热情洋溢，对克莱夫而言，安妮是全世界——包括卫城在内。他曾经想把莫瑞斯这件事向她坦白，她向他坦白过一个小错误，然而出于对朋友的忠诚，他抑制住了自己。事后，他为此而庆幸。因为尽管安妮显示出自己是个女神，却并不是雅典娜•波里亚斯。有好几个问题是他不能涉及的。他们二人的结合成为主要的问题。婚后，当他进入她的卧室之际，她不知道他要干什么。虽然她受过良好的教育，却没有人教过她何谓性。克莱夫对她关心爱护得无以复加，但他把她吓得魂不附体。他边想着她厌恶他了，边离开卧室。但她没有，此后，她夜夜都欢迎他，只是两个人一言不发。他们在与日常生活不相干的世界中结合，这个秘密拖曳着他们生活里的许许多多其他的事情。有那么多事是不可提及的。他从未看到过她的裸体，她也没瞧见过他的。他们无视人的生殖机能与消化机能。正因为如此，关于他尚未成熟时的那个话题，永远也没有启齿的余地。
那是说不出口的。它没有插到他和她之间来，是她站到他和它之间了。重新考虑一番之后，他认为幸亏没有说。尽管没有什么不光彩的，却令人感伤，值得忘却。
保密合他的心意，至少他毫不遗憾地采取了这个做法。他从未有过直言不讳的愿望。虽然他重视肉体，却觉得实际的性行为似乎是缺乏想象力的，最好用夜幕遮住。男人与男人之间的性行为是不可宽恕的，男人与女人之间则是可行的，因为自然与社会予以认可。但是绝不能议论，更不能吹嘘。克莱夫的理想婚姻是有节制而优雅的，就像他所有的理想一样。他在安妮身上找到了合适的伴侣，她本人有教养，也钦佩旁人的教养。他们体贴入微地相互爱慕。美好的习俗接纳了他们——与此同时，隔着栅栏，莫瑞斯正在徘徊，嘴里是不合时宜的话语，心中充满邪恶的欲望，双臂抱着满满当当的空气。
Chapter 34
Maurice took a week's holiday in August and reached Penge according to invitation three days before the Park v. Village cricket match. He arrived in an odd and bitter mood. He had been thinking over Risley's hypnotist, and grew much inclined to consult him. It was such a nuisance. For in-stance, as he drove up through the park he saw a gamekeeper dallying with two of the maids, and felt a pang of envy. The girls were damned ugly, which the man wasn't: somehow this made it worse, and he stared at the trio, feeling cruel and re-spectable; the girls broke away giggling, the man returned the stare furtively and then thought it safer to touch his cap; he had spoilt that little game. But they would meet again when he had passed, and all over the world girls would meet men, to kiss them and be kissed; might it not be better to alter his tempera-ment and toe the line? He would decide after his visit—for against hope he was still hoping for something from Clive.
"Clive's out," said the young hostess. "He sends you his love or something, and will be in to dinner. Archie London will look after you, but I don't believe you want looking after."
Maurice smiled and accepted some tea. The drawing-room had its old air. Groups of people stood about with the air of ar-ranging something, and though Clive's mother no longer pre-sided she remained in residence, owing to the dower house drains. The sense of dilapidation had increased. Through pour-ing rain he had noticed gate posts crooked, trees stifling, and
indoors some bright wedding presents showed as patches on a threadbare garment. Miss Woods had brought no money to Penge. She was accomplished and delightful, but she belonged to the same class as the Durhams, and every year England grew less inclined to pay her highly.
"Clive's canvassing," she continued, "there'll be a by-election in the autumn. He has at last induced them to induce him to stand"; she had the aristocratic knack of anticipating criticism. "But seriously, it will be a wonderful thing for the poor if he gets in. He is their truest friend, if only they knew it."
Maurice nodded. He felt disposed to discuss social problems. "They want drilling a bit," he said.
"Yes, they need a leader," said a gentle but distinguished voice, "and until they find one they will suffer." Anne introduced the new rector, Mr Borenius. He was her own importation. Clive did not mind whom he appointed if the man was a gentleman and devoted himself to the village. Mr Borenius fulfilled both conditions, and as he was High Church might strike a balance against the outgoing incumbent, who had been Low.
"Oh Mr Borenius, how interesting!" the old lady cried from across the room. "But I suppose in your opinion we all want a leader. I quite agree." She darted her eyes hither and thither. "AH of you want a leader, I repeat." And Mr Borenius's eyes followed hers, perhaps looking for something he did not find, for he soon took leave.
"He can't have anything to do at the Rectory," said Anne thoughtfully, 'Taut he always is like that. He comes up to scold Clive about the housing, and won't stop to dinner. You see, he's so sensitive; he worries about the poor."
"I've had to do with the poor too," said Maurice, taking a piece of cake, "but I can't worry over them. One must give them a leg up for the sake of the country generally, that's all. They
haven't our feelings. They don't suffer as we should in their place."
Anne looked disapproval, but she felt she had entrusted her hundred pounds to the right sort of stock broker.
"Caddies and a college mission in the slums is all I know. Still, I've learned a little. The poor don't want pity. They only really like me when I've got the gloves on and am knocking them about."
"Oh, you teach them boxing."
"Yes, and play football. . . they're rotten sportsmen."
"I suppose they are. Mr Borenius says they want love," said Anne after a pause.
"I've no doubt they do, but they won't get it."
"Mr Hall!"
Maurice wiped his moustache and smiled.
"You'rehorrible."
"I didn't think. I suppose that does sound so."
"But do you like being horrible?"
"One gets used to anything," he said, suddenly turning, for the door had blown open behind.
"Well, good gracious me, I scold Clive for being cynical, but you outdo him."
"I get used to being horrible, as you call it, as the poor do to their slums. It's only a question of time." He was speaking rather freely; a biting recklessness had come to him since his arrival. Clive hadn't bothered to be in to receive him. Very well! "After you've banged about a bit you get used to your particular hole. Everyone yapping at the start like a lot of puppies, Waou! Waou!" His unexpected imitation made her laugh. "At last you learn that everyone's far too busy to listen to you, so you stop yapping. That's a fact."
"A man's view," she said, nodding her head. "I'll never let Clive hold it. I believe in sympathy... in bearing one another's
burdens. No doubt I'm unfashionable. Are you a disciple of Nietzsche?"
"Ask me another!"
Anne liked this Mr Hall, whom Clive had warned her she might find unresponsive. So he was in a way, but evidently he had personality. She understood why her husband had found him a good travelling companion in Italy. "Now why don't you like the poor?" she asked suddenly.
"I don't dislike them. I just don't think about them except when I'm obliged. These slums, syndicalism, all the rest of it, are a public menace, and one has to do one's little bit against them. But not for love. Your Mr Borenius won't face facts."
She was silent, then asked him how old he was.
"Twenty-four tomorrow."
"Well, you're very hard for your age."
"Just now you said I was horrible. You're letting me off very easily, Mrs Durham!"
"Anyhow, you're set, which is worse."
She saw him frown, and, fearing she had been impertinent, turned the talk on to Clive. She had expected Clive to be back by now, she said, and it was the more disappointing because to-morrow Clive would have to be really away. The agent, who knew the constituency, was showing him round. Mr Hall must be forgiving, and he must help them in the cricket match.
"It rather depends upon some other plans. ... I might have to...
She glanced at his face with a sudden curiosity, then said, "Wouldn't you like to see your room?—Archie, take Mr Hall to the Russet Room."
"Thanks.... Is there a post out?"
"Not this evening, but you can wire. Wire you'll stop. ... Or oughtn't I to interfere?"
"I may have to wire—I'm not quite sure. Thanks frightfully."
Then he followed Mr London to the Russet Room, thinking "Clive might have ... for the sake of the past he might have been here to greet me. He ought to have known how wretched I should feel." He didn't care for Clive, but he could suffer from him. The rain poured out of a leaden sky on to the park, the woods were silent. As twilight fell, he entered a new circle of torment.
He stopped up in the room till dinner, fighting with ghosts he had loved. If this new doctor could alter his being, was it not his duty to go, though body and soul would be violated? With the world as it is, one must marry or decay. He was not yet free of Clive and never would be until something greater intervened.
"Is Mr Durham back?" he inquired, when the housemaid brought hot water.
"Yes, sir."
"Just in?"
"No. About half an hour, sir."
She drew the curtains and hid the sight but not the sound of the rain. Meanwhile Maurice scribbled a wire. " 'Lasker Jones, 6 Wigmore Place, W.,' " he read. " 'Please make appointment Thursday. Hall. C/o Durham, Penge, Wiltshire.'"
"Yes, sir."
"Thanks so much," he said deferentially, and grimaced as soon as he was alone. There was now a complete break between his public and private actions. In the drawing-room he greeted Clive without a tremor. They shook hands warmly, Clive saying, "You look awfully fit. Do you know whom you are going to take in?" and introducing him to a girl. Clive had become quite the squire. All his grievances against society had passed since his marriage. Agreeing politically, they had plenty to talk about.
On his side, Clive was pleased with his visitor. Anne had re-ported him as "rough, but very nice"—a satisfactory condition. There was a coarseness of fibre about him, but that didn't matter
now: that horrible scene about Ada could be forgotten. Maurice also got on well with Archie London—important, for Archie bored Anne and was the sort of man who could fix on to some-one. Clive assigned them to each other, for the visit.
In the drawing-room they talked politics again, convinced every one of them that radicals are untruthful, and socialists mad. The rain poured down with a monotony nothing could dis-turb. In the lulls of conversation its whisper entered the room, and towards the end of the evening there was "tap, tap" on the lid of the piano.
"The family ghost again," said Mrs Durham with a bright smile.
"There's the sweetest hole in the ceiling," cried Anne. "Clive, can't we leave it?"
"We shall have to," he remarked, ringing the bell. "Let's shift our pianoforte though. It won't stand much more."
"How about a saucer?" said Mr London. "Clive, how about a saucer? Once the rain came through the ceiling of the club, I rang the bell and the servant brought a saucer."
"I ring the bell and the servant brings nothing," said Clive, pealing again. "Yes, we'll have a saucer, Archie, but we must move the piano too. Anne's dear little hole may grow in the night. There's only a lean-to roof over this part of the room."
"Poor Penge!" said his mother. All had risen to their feet, and were gazing at the leak. Anne began to probe the piano's entrails with blotting paper. The evening had broken up, and they were well content to make fun about the rain, which had sent them this hint of its presence.
"Bring a basin, will you," said Clive, when the bell was an-swered, "and a duster, and get one of the men to help shift the piano and take up the carpet in the bay. The rain's come through again."
"We had to ring twice, ring twice," remarked his mother.
"Le delai s'explique," she added, for when the parlourmaid returned it was with the keeper as well as the valet. "C'est tou-jours comme 5a quand—we have our little idylls below stairs too, you know."
"You men, what do you want to do tomorrow?" said Clive to his guests. "I must go canvassing. Don't come too. It's beyond words dull. Like to take out a gun or what?"
"Very nice," said Maurice and Archie.
"Scudder, do you hear?"
"Le bpnhomme est distrait," said his mother. The piano had rucked up a rug, and the servants, not liking to raise their voices before gentlefolk, misunderstood one another's orders, and whis-pered "What?"
"Scudder, the gentlemen'll shoot tomorrow—I'm sure I don't know what, but come round at ten. Shall we turn in now?"
"Early to bed's the rule here, as you know, Mr Hall," said Anne. Then she wished the three servants good night and led the way upstairs. Maurice lingered to choose a book. Might Lecky'sHistory of Rationalism fill a gap? The rain dripped into the basin, the men muttered over the carpet in the bay, and, kneel-ing, seemed to celebrate some obsequy.
"Damnation, isn't there anything, anything?"
"—ish, he's not talking to us," said the valet to the gamekeeper.
Lecky it was, but his mind proved unequal, and after a few minutes he threw it on the bed and brooded over the telegram. In the dreariness of Penge his purpose grew stronger. Life had proved a blind alley, with a muck heap at the end of it, and he must cut back and start again. One could be absolutely trans-formed, Risley implied, provided one didn't care a damn for the past. Farewell, beauty and warmth. They ended in muck and must go. Drawing the curtains, he gazed long into the rain, and sighed, and struck his own face, and bit his own lips.
八月份，莫瑞斯请了一周的假，按照邀请，在彭杰和村民之间举行板球赛的三天前来到这座庄园。他是怀着古怪、怨愤的心情抵达的。他一直在想着里斯利谈及的那位催眠术师的事，强烈地倾向于找他诊治。这种病太讨厌了。比方说，当他乘马车在园林中穿行的时候，他瞧见一个猎场看守正在跟两个女仆调情，一阵妒意袭上心头。两个姑娘丑陋得很，那个男人却不以为然。不知怎的，这就更糟了。他瞪着那三个人，觉得自己既残酷又一本正经。两个姑娘咯咯地笑着脱逃了。男人鬼鬼祟祟地偷看了他一眼，觉得伸手碰碰便帽更安全一些。他给三个人的小小游戏泼了冷水。然而，他一旦离开这里，他们仍会凑到一起，相互接吻。他是否应该改变自己的气质，随大溜儿呢？他要等造访之后再决定——心存万一的希望，对克莱夫有所期待。
“克莱夫出门了。”年轻的女主人说，“他向你致意，回来吃晚饭。阿尔赤（译注：阿尔赤是阿尔赤鲍尔德的昵称）。伦敦会照料你。可我不相信你需要照料。”
莫瑞斯微微一笑，喝下给他端来的茶。客厅还留有昔日的气氛。人们三三两两地伫立在周围，仿佛在安排什么事的样子。克莱夫的母亲尽管不再当家做主，却仍住在主楼里，因为寡妇房的下水道堵塞了。整座宅第更加给人以荒废之感。隔着瓢泼大雨，他注意到大门柱弯曲了，树木郁郁苍苍，令人窒息。室内，色彩鲜艳的结婚礼物活像是打在磨得很薄的衣服上的一块块补丁。伍兹小姐并没有给彭杰带现钱来。她有造诣，讨人喜欢，与德拉姆家属于同一个阶层，英国倾向于逐年减少付给她的款项。
“克莱夫游说去了，”她接下去说，“秋天将举行补缺选举。他终于说服了大家，让他们支持他去做候选人。”她有一套贵族的本领，能够预感到对方的批判。“说正经的，倘若他当选了，对穷人而言，是一桩极好的事。他是他们的最真实的朋友，要是他们知道该有多好。”
莫瑞斯点了点头，他乐意谈谈社会问题。“得训练训练那些人。”他说。
“是啊，他们需要一位领导者。”一个柔和然而高雅的嗓音说，“他们得受苦，直到找到一位领导者。”安妮把新任的教区长博雷尼乌斯先生介绍给他，他是她本人请来的。不论任命谁，克莱夫都无所谓，只要他人品好，献身于本村的事务就行。这两个条件博雷尼乌斯先生都具备。他属于高教会派（译注：高教会派注重圣职的权威、圣餐以及仪式，是英国国教会系统中的一派），而即将离任的那位教区牧师则属于低教会派（译注：低教会派也是英国国教会系统中的一派，强调福音主义，不大重视圣餐、仪式以及圣职的权威），刚好取得平衡。
“哎呀，博雷尼鸟斯先生，您说得多么有意思！”老夫人的喊声从屋子的另一头传过来。“可是我猜想，您的意见是我们大家都需要一位领导者，我完全同意。”她东张西望。“你们大家都需要一位领导者，可不。”博雷尼乌斯先生说罢，随着她的视线四下里打量。可能没找到他所物色的东西，过一会儿他就告辞了。
“在教区他不会有什么可做的事。”安妮若有所思地说，“不过，他总是这样子。他上门来，为人们的住房问题申斥克莱夫一顿，连饭也不肯吃就走了。是这样的，他很敏感，为穷人忧虑。”
“我也在跟穷人打交道，”莫瑞斯边取一片蛋糕边说，“可我不为他们忧虑。一般说来，为了国家的缘故，有必要帮助他们渡过难关，仅此而已。他们没有咱们这样的感觉。咱们要是处于他们的地位，会痛苦不堪，他们却浑然不觉。”
安妮好像不以为然。她却觉得自己把那一百英镑交到信得过的证券经纪人手里了。
“我只认得球僮或贫民窟里的学院传道区的人们。不过，我还是了解到一些情况。穷人并不想让别人可怜他们。自从我戴上拳击手套，跟他们厮打以来，他们才真正喜欢我。”
“哦，你教他们拳击。”
“是啊，还有足球……他们是蹩脚的运动员。”
“我想是的。博雷尼乌斯先生说他们需要爱。”安妮歇了口气说。
“他们肯定需要，然而他们得不到。”
“霍尔先生。”
莫瑞斯擦了擦小胡子，眉开眼笑。
“你是个玩世不恭的人。”
“我只是随便说说。我猜想听上去是这样的吧。”
“可你喜欢做个玩世不恭的人吗？”
“人嘛，对什么都能习以为常。”他说完，猛地转过身去，因为背后的门被风刮开了。
“唷，我的天哪！我斥责克莱夫愤世嫉俗，但是你却超过了他。”
“我对玩世不恭——用你的话来说广一也习以为常了。正如穷人对贫民窟那样，这只是个时间问题。”他畅所欲言。进门后，油然生出一种火辣辣的鲁莽劲头。克莱夫不屑于留在家中迎迓他。管它呢！“你东撞撞，西撞撞，随后就会对自己那个特定的窝习惯下来。起初，人人都像一群小狗似的尖叫：汪！汪！”他出乎意料地学起狗叫来，把她逗笑了。“到头来你会领悟大家都太忙，没工夫听你叫，于是你就不再叫下去了。事实如此。”
“一个男人的看法。”她边说边点头，“我永远也不让克莱夫抱这样的观点。我认为人应该有恻隐之心。……相互提携。毫无疑问，这一套已经过时了。你是尼采的崇奉者吗？”
“问点儿别的吧！”
安妮喜欢这位霍尔先生。克莱夫预先提醒过她，她也许会发现此人反应不灵敏。在某些方面他是这样的，但他显然有个性。她理解了为什么她丈夫会觉得他是意大利之行的好伙伴。“可是，你为什么讨厌穷人呢？”她突然问。
“我并非讨厌他们。只不过是除非迫不得已，我把他们置之度外。贫民窟啦，工团主义（译注：亦称无政府工团主义或革命工团主义，主张工人阶级采取直接行动消灭资本主义制度（包括国家），建立以生产单位的工人为基础的社会制度的运动。它盛行于1900-1914年间的法国，并对西班牙、意大利、英国等有相当影响。第一次世界大战时已趋于衰落，但到第二次世界大战前，它在欧洲仍有一定的影响。）啦，以及其他的一切，是共同的威胁，为了对抗它们，每个人都应该尽绵薄之力，但不是出于爱。你的博雷尼乌斯先生没有面对现实。”
她沉默片刻，然后问他的年龄。
“明天就满二十四岁了。”
“啊，就你这个年龄而言，你非常冷酷。”
“你刚才说我玩世不恭。你对我的判断下得太容易了，德拉姆太太！”
“不管怎样，你是固执的，这就更糟了。”
她发现他皱起眉来，于是担心自己的言语过分了些，就把话题转到克莱夫身上。她说，她原以为克莱夫该回来了。由于明天克莱夫得出门，就越发令人扫兴了。熟悉选区情况的选举干事带领他四处参观。霍尔会原谅的，而且进行板球赛的时候，还得请他帮助他们呢。
“在一定程度上，得根据其他的一些计划而定……我也许要……”
她突然引起好奇心，扫视着他的脸，然后说：“你不想看看你的房间吗？——阿尔赤，把霍尔先生领到赤褐屋去吧。”
“谢谢……还能赶上发信时间吗？”
“今天晚上赶不上了。不过，你可以打电报，就写上我们的地址好了。……我也许不该多管闲事吧？”
“我可能得打电报——我还拿不准，非常感谢。”随后他跟着伦敦先生前往赤褐屋，边走边想：“克莱夫按说是可以……看在过去的情分上，按说他可以待在这儿迎接我。他应该知道我会多么沮丧。”他并不挂念克莱夫，但他依然会由于克莱夫的缘故遭受痛苦。大雨从铅灰色的天空上倾泻到园林里，森林万籁俱寂。黄昏时分，他陷入新一轮的苦恼。
他在屋子里一直等到开晚饭，跟自己曾经爱过的幽灵进行搏斗。倘若这位新大夫能够改变他的本性，他是不是有义务去一趟呢，尽管他的肉体和灵魂都会遭到亵渎也在所不辞。世界既然就是这样一个地方，人嘛，要么就得结婚，要么就腐朽掉。他尚未摆脱克莱夫，而且永远也摆脱不了，直到更重大的什么东西插进来为止。
“德拉姆先生回来了吗？”当女仆送热水来的时候，他问道。
“回来了，先生。”
“刚回来吗？”
“不，已经回来约半个小时了，先生。”
她拉上窗帘，把景色遮挡了，却没能遮掩雨声。这时候，莫瑞斯潦潦草草地写了电文。伦敦西区威格莫尔街六号拉斯克•琼斯请予预约挂号 星期四霍尔发自威尔特郡彭杰庄园德拉姆府
“知道了，先生。”
“多谢，多谢。”他恳切地说。只剩他一个人后，立即蹙起鼻子。如今，在公与私两种场合下，他的行动判若两人。踱人客厅后，他向克莱夫致意的时候，声音一点儿都没发颤。他们热烈地握手，克莱夫说：“你看上去精神抖擞。你知道你将陪伴哪一位进入餐厅吗？”并将一个姑娘介绍给他。克莱夫变成一位地地道道的乡绅了。自从结婚以来，他对社会的不满全都消失了。他们的政治观点一致-不愁没有话题。
从克莱夫这方面来说，他对来客感到满意。安妮品评道：“粗鲁，然而非常正派。”——情况令人称心如意。莫瑞斯有那么一种粗野的气质，但是如今这已无关紧要了。有关艾达的可怕的场面可以被遗忘。莫瑞斯与阿尔赤•伦敦也处得很好一这一点挺重要，因为阿尔赤使安妮感到厌烦。阿尔赤是那种能够给人做搭档的人。克莱夫邀请二位来作客的时候就把他们搭配在一起了。
在客厅里，他们又谈起了政治，使得在座的人个个都相信激进派不诚实，社会主义者发了狂。大雨滂沱，声音单调，什么也干扰不了它。会话刚一停顿，雨的沙沙声就传到客厅里来了。晚会即将结束时，雨水嘀嘀嗒嗒地落到钢琴盖上了。
“咱们家的幽灵又来啦。”德拉姆老夫人嫣然一笑说。
“顶棚里有个最可爱的洞。”安妮大声说。“克莱夫，咱们能不能把它保留下来？”
“咱们只能这样做。”他边按铃边回答。“不过，咱们把钢琴挪开吧。它可经受不了雨淋。”
“放只碟子如何？”伦敦先生说。“克莱夫，一只碟子如何？有一次，俱乐部的顶棚漏雨，我按了铃，仆人就拿来了一只碟子。”
“我呢，按了铃，可是仆人什么也没拿来。”克莱夫说着，又按铃。“好的，咱们放一只碟子，阿尔赤。但咱们非把钢琴挪开不可。安妮的可爱的小洞也许会在夜里变大了。客厅的这部分，只搭了个单坡屋顶而已。”
“可怜的彭杰！”他的母亲说。大家都站起来了，仰望着漏洞。安妮着手把吸墨纸伸到钢琴内部去吸水。晚会结束了，雨漏下来向他们暗示自己的存在，他们尽情地开雨的玩笑来取乐。
“你端个盆来好吗？”当女仆应铃声而至的时候，克莱夫说，“还要一块抹布。喊个男的来，帮助把开间（译注：开间是建筑物立面上竖向两柱之间或平面上两排柱子或柱墩之间的整个空间）里的钢琴搬开，地毯也撤掉。雨又漏下来了。”
“我们不得不按两下铃，按了两下呢。”他的母亲表示了一点儿意见。
女仆回来的时候，除了男管家，把猎场看守也领来了。于是她接下去说：“这才明白为什么耽误了，一向都是这样的（译注：原文为法语）——要知道，咱们在楼下也有小小的轻松浪漫场面。”
“诸位，你们明天想干什么？”克莱夫对客人们说。“我得去游说，用不着跟我去。再也没有如此枯燥乏味的了。愿意带支猎枪出去一趟吗，怎么样？”
“好得很。”莫瑞斯和阿尔赤说。
“斯卡德，你听见了吗？”
“好男儿心不在焉。（译注：原文为法语）”他的母亲说。钢琴勾住了地毯，仆人们顾忌当着绅士淑女的面提高嗓门，误会了彼此的吩咐，动作不协调，于是相互悄声问：“什么？”
“斯卡德，客人们明天要去打猎。不知能打到什么。我没把握。你在十点钟到这儿来。咱们现在去睡觉吧？”
“这儿的习惯是早睡，这你是知道的，霍尔先生。”安妮说。随后她向三个仆人道了晚安，率先沿着楼梯走上去。莫瑞斯留下来，选了一本书。莱基（译注：威廉•爱德华•哈特波尔•莱基（1838-1903）是爱尔兰历史学家。《理性主义史》一书深受熟悉达尔文进化论的读者们的欢迎）的《理性主义史》能够填补空白吗？雨水滴到盆里，两个男仆在开间里的地毯上俯身嘀咕着。他们跪在那儿，就像是举行葬礼似的。
“该死，什么都没有吗，没有吗？”
“——嘘，他不是对咱们说的。”男管家对猎场看守说。
那是莱基的著作。然而他的脑子不灵，读不进去。几分钟后，他把它丢在床上，暗自思忖电报的事。处在彭杰的阴郁气氛下，求医的决心更坚定了。人生被证实是条死胡同，尽头是一堆污泥。他必须回到起点，重新做起。里斯利曾暗示，人只要毫不在乎过去，就能脱胎换骨，彻底改变。再见吧，美与温暖。它们到头来化为污泥，非清除掉不可。他拉开窗帘，朝着雨凝视良久，叹口气，咬紧嘴唇。
Chapter 35
The next day was even drearier and the only thing to be said in its favour was that it had the unreality of a nightmare. Archie London chattered, the rain dribbled, and in the sacred name of sport they were urged after rabbits over the Penge estate. Sometimes they shot the rabbits, some-times missed them, sometimes they tried ferrets and nets. The rabbits needed keeping down and perhaps that was why the entertainment had been forced on them: there was a prudent strain in Clive. They returned to lunch, and Maurice had a thrill: his telegram had arrived from Mr Lasker Jones, granting him an appointment for tomorrow. But the thrill soon passed. Archie thought they had better go after the bunnies again, and he was too depressed to refuse. The rain was now less, on the other hand the mist was thicker, the mud stickier, and towards tea time they lost a ferret. The keeper made out this was their fault, Archie knew better, and explained the matter to Maurice in the smoking-room with the aid of diagrams. Dinner arrived at eight, so did the politicians, and after dinner the drawing-room ceiling dripped into basins and saucers. Then in the Rus-set Room, the same weather, the same despair, and the fact that now Clive sat on his bed talking intimately did not make any difference. The talk might have moved him had it come earlier, but he had been so pained by the inhospitality, he had spent so lonely and so imbecile a day, that he could respond to the past no longer. His thoughts were all with Mr Lasker Jones, and he
wanted to be alone to compose a written statement about his case.
Clive felt the visit had been a failure, but, as he remarked, "Politics can't wait, and you happen to coincide with the rush." He was vexed too at forgetting that today was Maurice's birth-day—and was urgent that their guest should stop over the match. Maurice said he was frightfully sorry, but now couldn't, as he had this urgent and unexpected engagement in town.
"Can't you come back after keeping it? We're shocking hosts, but it's such a pleasure having you. Do treat the house as an hotel—go your way, and we'll go ours."
"The fact is I'm hoping to get married," said Maurice, the words flying from him as if they had independent life.
"I'm awfully glad," said Clive, dropping his eyes. "Maurice, I'm awfully glad. It's the greatest thing in the world, perhaps the only one—"
"I know." He was wondering why he had spoken. His sentence flew out into the rain; he was always conscious of the rain and the decaying roofs at Penge.
"I shan't bother you with talk, but I must just say that Anne guessed it. Women are extraordinary. She declared all along that you had something up your sleeve. I laughed, but now I shall have to give in." His eyes rose. "Oh Maurice, I'm so glad. It's very good of you to tell me—it's what I've always wished for you."
"I know you have."
There was a silence. Clive's old manner had come back. He was generous, charming.
"It's wonderful, isn't it?—the—I'm so glad. I wish I could think of something else to say. Do you mind if I just tell Anne?"
"Not a bit. Tell everyone," cried Maurice, with a brutality
that passed unnoticed. "The more the better." He courted ex-ternal pressure. "If the girl I want won't, there's others."
Clive smiled a little at this, but was too pleased to be squeam-ish. He was pleased partly for Maurice, but also because it rounded off his own position. He hated queerness, Cambridge, the Blue Room, certain glades in the park were—not tainted, there had been nothing disgraceful—but rendered subtly ridic-ulous. Quite lately he had turned up a poem written during Maurice's first visit to Penge, which might have hailed from the land through the looking-glass, so fatuous it was, so perverse. "Shade from the old hellenic ships." Had he addressed the sturdy undergraduate thus? And the knowledge that Maurice had equally outgrown such sentimentality purified it, and from him also words burst as if they had been alive.
"I've thought more often of you than you imagine, Maurice my dear. As I said last autumn, I care for you in the real sense, and always shall. We were young idiots, weren't we?—but one can get something even out of idiocy. Development. No, more than that, intimacy. You and I know and trust one another just because we were once idiots. Marriage has made no difference. Oh, that's jolly, I do think—"
"You give me your blessing then?"
"I should think so!"
"Thanks."
Clive's eyes softened. He wanted to convey something warmer than development. Dare he borrow a gesture from the past?
"Think of me all tomorrow," said Maurice, "and as for Anne— she may think of me too."
So gracious a reference decided him to kiss the fellow very gently on his big brown hand.
Maurice shuddered.
"You don't mind?"
"Oh no."
"Maurice dear, I wanted just to show I hadn't forgotten the past. I quite agree—don't let's mention it ever again, but I wanted to show just this once."
"All right."
"Aren't you thankful it's ended properly?"
"How properly?"
"Instead of that muddle last year."
"Oh with you."
"Quits, and I'll go."
Maurice applied his lips to the starched cuff of a dress shirt. Having functioned, he withdrew, leaving Clive more friendly than ever, and insistent he should return to Penge as soon as circumstances allowed this. Clive stopped talking late while the water gurgled over the dormer. When he had gone Maurice drew the curtains and fell on his knees, leaning his chin upon the window sill and allowing the drops to sprinkle his hair.
"Come!" he cried suddenly, surprising himself. Whom had he called? He had been thinking of nothing and the word had leapt out. As quickly as possible he shut out the air and the darkness, and re-enclosed his body in the Russet Room. Then he wrote his statement. It took some time, and, though far from imaginative, he went to bed with the jumps. He was convinced that someone had looked over his shoulder while he wrote. He wasn't alone. Or again, that he hadn't personally written. Since coming to Penge he seemed a bundle of voices, not Maurice, and now he could almost hear them quarrelling inside him. But none of them belonged to Clive: he had got that far.
次日更阴郁了。惟一可取之处是像做恶梦一般，使人有虚幻之感。阿尔赤•伦敦喋喋不休，雨声淅沥。在“运动”这一神圣的名义下，两个人在彭杰庄园里被怂恿追踪兔子。有时击中了兔子，有时落了空。他们间或尝试用雪貂（译注：欧洲人从罗马时代起，就用雪貂消灭鼠类和其他害兽，还用它把兔子从洞穴里赶出来。在亚洲，用雪貂狩猎的时间更早。饲养的雪貂不能独立生存，倘若走失，几天之内就会死去。野生的雪貂已被列为濒危动物）狩猎，也曾布下罗网。必须控制兔子的数量，兴许这正是迫使他们参加这项娱乐活动的原因。克莱夫有一种精打细算的倾向，他们回来吃午饭。莫瑞斯感到一阵激动袭上心头，拉斯克-琼斯先生的回电到了，约他第二天去看病。然而，这激动转瞬即逝。阿尔赤认为他们还是以饭后再去追捕兔子为好，莫瑞斯的心情抑郁得无法控制。现在雨下得小一些了，但是雾更浓了，更泥泞了。喝下午茶的时间将至，一只雪貂却逃之天天。猎场看守把这说成是他们的过错，阿尔赤知道事实并非如此，并且在吸烟室借助于示意图，把情况向莫瑞斯解释了一下。八点钟开晚饭，政客们也回来了。饭后，雨水从客厅的顶棚漏到盆和碟子里。然后，在赤褐屋里，是跟头天晚上如出一辙的天气和绝望。此刻，克莱夫坐在他的床上，亲密地侃侃而谈，但已于事无补。倘若克莱夫早一点儿来谈，可能会使莫瑞斯感动，然而他待客竟如此不友好，使莫瑞斯伤透了心。这一天他过得太孤寂、太不像话了，以致再也不能对往昔做出反应了。他满脑子都是拉斯克•琼斯先生的事，愿意一个人待在屋子里，以便把自己的症状写成书面材料。
克莱夫觉察出朋友的造访失败了，然而他说：“政治是刻不容缓的，而且你刚好赶上了大忙特忙的时候。”他还为自己忘记了今天是莫瑞斯的生日而懊恼。他极力主张，客人一直逗留到比赛结束后再走。莫瑞斯说他非常抱歉，现在可不行了，因为在伦敦有一件意想不到的急事。
“完事之后你能不能回来？我们是很糟糕的东道主，但是能请你来作客，荣幸之至。尽管把这房子当作旅馆好了——怎么想就怎么做，我们也随心所欲地去做。”
“说实在的，我还希望结婚呢。”莫瑞斯说，这话冲口而出，犹如有着独立的生命一般。
“我高兴极了。”克莱夫边垂下眼睛边说。“莫瑞斯，我高兴极了。这是世界上最了不起的事，也许是独一无二的——”
“我知道。”为什么要说出这样的话呢？他心里很纳闷。他的词句飞到户外的雨里。他时时刻刻意识到雨和彭杰那腐朽的屋顶。
“我不再啰啰嗦嗦地打扰你了。然而我必须说一句：安妮猜到了。女人是不同凡响的。一开始她就坚持说，你留有后手。我笑了，然而现在我甘拜下风。”他抬起眼睛来。“哦，莫瑞斯，我多么高兴啊，你肯告诉我，太好啦——我一向希望你能这样。”
“这我是知道的。”
随后是一阵沉默。克莱夫故态复萌，他既洒脱又可爱。
“令人惊喜，不是吗？——那——我兴高采烈。我但愿自己能想出一些其他的措词。如果我告诉安妮，你介意吗？”
“一点儿也不。告诉所有的人吧。”莫瑞斯大声叫喊。克莱夫不曾理会他的口气中所蕴含的冷酷无情。“多多益善。”他寻求外界的压力。“倘若我想得到的姑娘把我甩了，还有别人呢。”
克莱夫听罢，面泛笑意，由于太高兴了，并没有吹毛求疵。有几分是为莫瑞斯而高兴，然而也因为他本人的态度从此能自圆其说了。他厌恶同性爱。剑桥、蓝屋、园林里的羊齿丛——并没有污迹，毫无可耻之处——却带有微妙的滑稽可笑的意味。最近他偶然翻出来一首诗，是他在莫瑞斯第一次造访彭杰期间所写的。简直像是从镜子里来到世界上的。它是如此荒唐，如此乖张。“往昔那一艘艘希腊海轮的身影。”难道他是这样向那个健壮的大学生致意的吗？他知道莫瑞斯也同样成长得不再需要故作多情，于是感到神清气爽，仿佛被赋予了生命一般的话语也脱口而出。
“莫瑞斯，我亲爱的，我多次想到你，超过了你的想象。正如我去年秋天说过的那样，我在真正的意义上关怀你，也将永远关怀下去。咱们曾经是一对年轻的傻子，是吧？——然而，即便从傻劲儿里，也能获得点儿什么。成长，不，超过了这个，亲密。正因为咱们一度做过傻子，所以才能相互了解并信赖。婚姻并没有使咱们之间发生分歧。哦，多愉快啊，我真的认为——”
“那么，你为我祝福喽？”
“可不是嘛！”
“谢谢。”
克莱夫的眼神变得柔和了。他想要表达比成长来得亲切的东西。他胆敢从过去借个姿态吗？
“明天一整天你都想着我吧。”莫瑞斯说，“至于安妮——她也可以想着我。”
他所做的表示是如此宽厚谦和，以至克莱夫决定轻轻地吻了一下他那褐色的大手。
莫瑞斯浑身战栗了。
“你不介意吧？”
“哦，不。”
“莫瑞斯，亲爱的，我只不过是想让你知道我没有忘掉过去。我完全赞成——咱们再也不要提到过去的事了。然而我仅仅想表示这么一次。”
“好的。”
“它妥善地结束了，难道你不感到欣慰吗？”
“怎样妥善法儿？”
“没像去年那样弄得一团糟。”
“哦，去你的。”
“咱们两清，随后我就走。”
莫瑞斯将自己的嘴唇碰了碰那上过浆的礼服用衬衫袖口。仪式刚一结束，他就往后退了退。克莱夫越发跟他亲密了，坚持说，办完事请务必及早回到彭杰来。克莱夫谈到很晚才住口，这时候隔着天窗，传来了流水的汩汩声。他走后，莫瑞斯拉开窗帘，双膝着地，将下巴抵在窗台上，听任雨水淋湿头发。
“来吧！”他猛然大喊一声，使自己吓了一跳。他呼唤的是谁呢？他什么也没想，词儿却蹦出来了。他尽快地将新鲜空气和黑暗关在外面，重新将自身圈在赤褐屋里。随后他就写起书面材料来，颇费了些工夫。尽管他远远不是个富于想象力的人，就寝之际心里却烦乱不宁。他确信自己正写的时候，有人越过肩膀看着，他并非孤身无助。再者，他觉得这不是他亲自写成的。自从来到彭杰后他好像已不是莫瑞斯了，却变为一大堆声音，这时他几乎能听见这些声音在他内部争吵。然而，没有一个声音是克莱夫的：莫瑞斯已经达到这个地步了。
Chapter 36
Archie London was also returning to town, and very early next morning they stood in the hall together waiting for the brougham, while the man who had taken them after rabbits waited outside for a tip.
"Tell him to boil his head," said Maurice crossly. "I offered him five bob and he wouldn't take it. Damned cheek!"
Mr London was scandalized. What were servants coming to? Was it to be nothing but gold? If so, one might as well shut up shop, and say so. He began a story about his wife's monthly nurse. Pippa had treated that woman more than an equal, but what can you expect with half educated people? Half an educa-tion is worse than none.
"Hear, hear," said Maurice, yawning.
All the same, Mr London wondered whether noblesse didn't oblige.
"Oh, try if you want to."
He stretched a hand into the rain.
"Hall, he took it all right, you know."
"Did he, the devil?" said Maurice. "Why didn't he take mine? I suppose you gave more."
With shame Mr London confessed this was so. He had in-creased the tip through fear of a snub. The fellow was the limit evidently, yet he couldn't think it was good taste in Hall to take the matter up. When servants are rude one should merely ignore it.
t
But Maurice was cross, tired, and worried about his appoint-ment in town, and he felt the episode part of the ungraciousness of Penge. It was in the spirit of revenge that he strolled to the door, and said in his familiar yet alarming way, "Hullo! So five shillings aren't good enough! So you'll only take gold!" He was interrupted by Anne, who had come to see them off.
"Best of luck," she said to Maurice with a very sweet expres-sion, then paused, as if inviting confidences. None came, but she added, "I'm so glad you're not horrible."
"Are you?"
"Men like to be thought horrible. Clive does. Don't you, Clive? Mr Hall, men are very funny creatures." She took hold of her necklace and smiled. "Very funny. Best of luck." By now she was delighted with Maurice. His situation, and the way he took it, struck her as appropriately masculine. "Now a woman in love," she explained to Clive on the doorstep, as they watched their guests start: "now a woman in love never bluffs—I wish I knew the girl's name."
Interfering with the house-servants, the keeper carried out Maurice's case to the brougham, evidently ashamed. "Stick it in then," said Maurice coldly. Amid wavings from Anne, Clive, and Mrs Durham, they started, and London recommenced the story of Pippa's monthly nurse.
"How about a little air?" suggested the victim. He opened the window and looked at the dripping park. The stupidity of so much rain! What did itwant to rain for? The indifference of the universe to man! Descending into woods, the brougham toiled along feebly. It seemed impossible that it should ever reach the station, or Pippa's misfortune cease.
Not far from the lodge there was a nasty little climb, and the road, always in bad condition, was edged with dog roses that scratched the paint. Blossom after blossom crept past them,
draggled by the ungenial year: some had cankered, others would never unfold: here and there beauty triumphed, but des-perately, flickering in a world of gloom. Maurice looked into one after another, and though he did not care for flowers the failure irritated him. Scarcely anything was perfect. On one spray every flower was lopsided, the next swarmed with caterpillars, or bulged with galls. The indifference of nature! And her incom-petence! He leant out of the window to see whether she couldn't bring it off once, and stared straight into the bright brown eyes of a young man.
"God, why there's that keeper chap again!"
"Couldn't be, couldn't have got here. We left him up at the house."
"He could have if he'd run."
"Why should he have run?"
"That's true, why should he have?" said Maurice, then lifted the flap at the back of the brougham and peered through it into the rose bushes, which a haze already concealed.
"Was it?"
"I couldn't see." His companion resumed the narrative at once, and talked almost without ceasing until they parted at Waterloo.
In the taxi Maurice read over his statement, and its frankness alarmed him. He, who could not trust Jowitt, was putting him-self into the hands of a quack; despite Risley's assurances, he connected hypnotism with seances and blackmail, and had often growled at it from behind theDaily Telegraph; had he not bet-ter retire?
But the house seemed all right. When the door opened, the little Lasker Joneses were playing on the stairs—charming chil-dren, who mistook him for "Uncle Peter", and clung to his hands; and when he was shut into the waiting room withPunch the sense of the normal grew stronger. He went to his fate
calmly. He wanted a woman to secure him socially and diminish his lust and bear children. He never thought of that woman as a positive joy—at the worst, Dickie had been that—for during the long struggle he had forgotten what Love is, and sought not happiness at the hands of Mr Lasker Jones, but repose.
That gentleman further relieved him by coming up to his idea of what an advanced scientific man ought to be. Sallow and ex-pressionless, he sat in a large pictureless room before a roll-top desk. "Mr Hall?" he said, and offered a bloodless hand. His ac-cent was slightly American. "Well, Mr Hall, and what's the trouble?" Maurice became detached too. It was as if they met to discuss a third party. "It's all down here," he said, producing the statement. "I've consulted one doctor and he could do nothing. I don't know whether you can."
The statement was read.
"I'm not wrong in coming to you, I hope?"
"Not at all, Mr Hall. Seventy-five per cent of my patients are of your type. Is that statement recent?"
"I wrote it last night."
"And accurate?"
"Well, names and place are a bit changed, naturally."
Mr Lasker Jones did not seem to think it natural. He asked several questions about "Mr Cumberland", Maurice's pseudo-nym for Clive, and wished to know whether they had ever united: on his lips it was curiously inoffensive. He neither praised nor blamed nor pitied: he paid no attention to a sudden outburst of Maurice's against society. And though Maurice yearned for sympathy—he had not had a word of it for a year— he was glad none came, for it might have shattered his purpose.
He asked, "What's the name of my trouble? Has it one?"
"Congenital homosexuality."
"Congenital how much? Well, can anything be done?"
"Oh, certainly, if you consent."
"The fact is I've an old-fashioned prejudice against hypno-tism."
"I'm afraid you may possibly retain that prejudice after trying, Mr Hall. I cannot promise a cure. I spoke to you of my other patients—seventy-five per cent—but in only fifty per cent have I been successful."
The confession gave Maurice confidence, no quack would have made it. "We may as well have a shot," he said, smiling. "What must I do?"
"Merely remain where you are. I will experiment to see how deeply the tendency is rooted. You will return (if you wish) for regular treatment later. Mr Hall! I shall try to send you into a trance, and if I succeed I shall make suggestions to you which will (we hope) remain, and become part of your normal state when you wake. You are not to resist me."
"All right, go ahead."
Then Mr Lasker Jones left his desk and sat in an impersonal way on the arm of Maurice's chair. Maurice felt he was going to have a tooth out. For a little time nothing happened, but presently his eye caught a spot of light on the fire irons, and the rest of the room went dim. He could see whatever he was look-ing at, but little else, and he could hear the doctor's voice and his own. Evidently he was going into a trance, and the achieve-ment gave him a feeling of pride.
"You're not quite off yet, I think."
"No, I'm not."
He made some more passes. "How about now?"
"I'm nearer off now."
"Quite?"
Maurice agreed, but did not feel sure. "Now that you're quite off, how do you like my consulting-room?"
"It's a nice room."
"Not too dark?"
"Rather dark."
"You can see the picture though, can't you?"
Maurice then saw a picture on the opposite wall, yet he knew that there was none.
"Have a look at it, Mr Hall. Come nearer. Take care of that crack in the carpet though."
"How broad is the crack?"
"You can jump it."
Maurice immediately located a crack, and jumped, but he was not convinced of the necessity.
"Admirable—now what do you suppose this picture is of, whom is it of—?"
"Whom is it of—"
"Edna May."
"Mr Edna May."
"No, Mr Hall, Miss Edna May."
"It's Mr Edna May."
"Isn't she beautiful?"
"I want to go home to my mother." Both laughed at this re-mark, the doctor leading.
"Miss Edna May is not only beautiful, she is attractive."
"She doesn't attract me," said Maurice pettishly.
"Oh Mr Hall, what an ungallant remark. Look at her lovely hair."
"I like short hair best."
"Why?"
"Because I can stroke it—" and he began to cry. He came to himself in the chair. Tears were wet on his cheeks, but he felt as usual, and started talking at once.
"I say, I had a dream when you woke me up. I'd better tell it
you. I thought I saw a face and heard someone say, "That's your friend.' Is that all right? I often feel it—I can't explain—sort of walking towards me through sleep, though it never gets up to me, that dream."
"Did it get near now?"
"Jolly near. Is that a bad sign?"
"No, oh no—you're open to suggestion, you're open—I made you see a picture on the wall."
Maurice nodded: he had quite forgotten. There was a pause, during which he produced two guineas, and asked for a second appointment. It was arranged that he should telephone next week, and in the interval Mr Lasker Jones wanted him to re-main where he was in the country, quietly.
Maurice could not doubt that Clive and Anne would welcome him, nor that their influence would be suitable. Penge was an emetic. It helped him to get rid of the old poisonous life that had seemed so sweet, it cured him of tenderness and humanity. Yes, he'd go back, he said: he would wire to his friends and catch the afternoon express.
"Mr Hall, take exercise in moderation. A little tennis, or stroll about with a gun."
Maurice lingered to say, "On second thoughts perhaps I won't go back."
"Why so?"
"Well, it seems rather foolish to make that long journey twice in a day."
"You prefer then to stop in your own home?"
"Yes—no—no, all right, I will go back to Penge."
阿尔赤•伦敦也要进城去。第二天一大早，他们一起在门厅里等候四轮轿式马车。领他们去追捕兔子的那个人站在外面，指望得到小费。
“告诉他别犯傻。”莫瑞斯暴躁地说，“我给他五先令，他却不肯接。无礼的混蛋！”
伦敦先生感到愤慨。仆人们都惯成什么样子啦？他们只肯收金币吗？既然如此，尽可以辞工嘛，说出来好了。他讲起妻子所雇的那个按月付工钱的奶妈。皮帕对她格外优遇。然而你能指望一个没受过多少教育的人怎么样呢？只受一点儿皮毛的教育比不受还糟。
“说得好，说得好。”莫瑞斯边打哈欠边说。
不过，伦敦先生心里仍然琢磨着，莫非身份高的人自有乐善好施的义务呢？
“哦，倘若你有这么一种愿望的话，就试试看吧。”
他将一只手伸到雨里去了。
“霍尔，我跟你说，他乖乖地接受了。”
“是吗？这恶棍！”莫瑞斯说，“为什么他不肯接受我的呢？我猜想你给的多吧。”
伦敦先生面泛愧色，承认是这么回事。他生怕碰一鼻子灰，所以一狠心给了较多的小费。那家伙显然让人无法容忍，但他认为霍尔为此事较真儿，格调并不高雅。当仆人粗暴无礼的时候，就应该不予理睬。
然而莫瑞斯非常生气，感到疲倦，赴伦敦请催眠术师诊治，也使他焦虑。他觉得刚才发生的事是彭杰待客简慢的一个例子。他有心报复，溜达到门口，用一种随便的、却含有威胁意味的口吻说：“嘿！那么五先令还是不够喽！那么你只肯接受金币喽！”安妮来给他们送行，把他的话打断了。
“祝你好运。”她对莫瑞斯说，表情极其妩媚，接着顿了顿，好像在邀他吐露秘密。她扑了个空，却补充说：“我很高兴，因为你现在并没有玩世不恭。”
“你高兴吗？”
“男人都喜欢让人家觉得自己玩世不恭。克莱夫就是这样。对吗，克莱夫？霍尔先生，男人个个都滑稽透顶。”她抚弄着项链，微笑了一下。“滑稽透顶。祝你好运。”这时莫瑞斯很中她的意。他的处境，以及他面对现实的态度，给她以有着恰如其分的男子汉气概的印象。“如今，恋爱中的女人，”当他们目送客人们动身的时候，她站在门外的台阶上对克莱夫解释说，“如今，恋爱中的女人绝不装腔作势——我但愿能知道那个女孩子的名字。”
那个猎场看守显然感到羞愧了，他从仆人手里把莫瑞斯的手提箱夺过来，搬到马车跟前。“把它放进去。”莫瑞斯冷淡地说。安妮、克莱夫和德拉姆夫人一个劲儿地挥手，他们就这么启程r。伦敦先生重新讲起皮帕按月付工钱的那个奶妈的事来。
“换换空气怎么样？”莫瑞斯招架不住了。他打开车窗，眺望那湿淋淋的园林。雨水这么大，荒谬透顶！干吗要下雨？宇宙万物丝毫也不关心人类！马车有气无力地沿着林间的下坡路跋涉。它好像永远也不可能抵达车站，皮帕的不幸也似乎绵绵无绝期。
离看守小屋不远处有一段险峻的上坡路，一向是坑坑洼洼的。两侧都扎煞着野蔷薇，抓挠马车的车帮，一簇簇花儿从车子旁边划过去。淋雨害得它们在泥水中拖脏了，有的生了黑腐病，有的蓓蕾开不成花朵。东一朵，西一朵，美取得了胜利，然而也不过是在幽暗的世界中绝望地闪烁而已。莫瑞斯一朵朵地端详。尽管他并不怎么喜欢花，它们那副衰败的样子却使他气恼。几乎没有完美的东西。这个枝子上的每一朵花都向一边倾斜，另一枝上密密匝匝地爬满了毛毛虫，要么就长了虫瘿（译注：由细菌、真菌.病毒及线虫侵染或昆虫、螨类刺激引致的植物局部组织过度生长或肿胀的现象），鼓鼓囊囊的。大自然何等无动于衷！何等不够格！他从车窗探出身去，想看看究竟有没有一样差强人意的东西，径直进入视线的是一个小伙子那双炯炯有神的褐色眼睛。
“天哪，怎么又是那个看猎场的家伙！”
”不可能，他不可能到这儿来。咱们是在房子跟前把他撇下的。”
“如果他一路跑，还是来得了。”
“他跑什么呢？”
“说得对，跑什么呢？”莫瑞斯说，随即撩起后边的车篷，朝野蔷薇丛眯起眼看——它已被晨霭遮住了。
“是他吗？”
“我瞧不见。”他的旅伴立即重新接过话茬儿，几乎不停地絮聒到二人在滑铁卢车站分手为止。
在出租车里，莫瑞斯重读一遍自己的书面材料，率直得令他吃惊。他信不过乔伊特，却把自己交到一个庸医手里。尽管里斯利做了保证，他仍把催眠术与降神会和敲诈联系在一起。只要在《每日电讯报》上读到这类报道，他就常常对着它咆哮如雷。他是否最好打退堂鼓呢？
然而，那座房子好像还说得过去。门打开后，小拉斯克•琼斯们正在楼梯上玩耍——这几个可爱的孩子们误认为他是“彼得叔叔”，抓住他的手不放。当他被关在候诊室里，拿起一本《庞奇》（译注：英国的一种幽默杂志）的时候，情绪就越发正常了。他打算心平气和地听任命运摆布。他想要一个使他在社会上得到保证，肉欲有所削弱，并为他生儿育女的女性。他从未期待那个女人会给他纯粹的快乐——迪基那次，起码也还有快乐——因为在漫长的搏斗过程中，他已忘却了什么是爱。他向拉斯克•琼斯先生手中寻求的不是幸福，而是安逸。
那位先生使他更加感到宽慰。因为在莫瑞斯的心目中，一位研究先进的现代科学的人几乎就是琼斯先生这样的。他脸色灰黄，毫无表情，在一间连一幅画也没有的大屋子里，面对一张卷盖式书桌而坐。“霍尔先生吗？”他说，并伸出一只没有血色的手。他说话略带美国口音。“啊，霍尔先生，你哪里不舒服？”莫瑞斯也抱以一种超然的态度。他们好像是为了谈一个局外人的事才碰头似的。“全都写在这儿啦。”他边说边出示那份书面材料。“我请一位大夫诊治过，他无能为力。我不知道您有没有办法。”
琼斯先生读了那份材料。
“但愿我没有找错地方？”
“完全找对了。我的病人当中有百分之七十五是你这个类型的。这是最近写的吗？”
“我是昨天晚上写的。”
“准确吗？”
“哦，姓名和地点当然做了些改动。”
拉斯克•琼斯先生好像并不认为这是当然的。关于“坎伯兰先生”——这是莫瑞斯给克莱夫取的假名——他问了几个问题，并且想知道两个人之间有没有过性行为。奇怪的是，此词出自他的口，丝毫不触犯人。他既不称赞，也不责备，更不表示怜悯。当莫瑞斯突然对社会发泄不满的时候，他也浑然不觉。尽管莫瑞斯渴望得到同情——一年来这方面的话他连一个字也没听到过——却由于大夫没说这样的话而高兴。因为这样一来，他的意志就消沉了。
他问：“我这病叫什么名字？有名字吗？”
“先天性同性爱。”
“先天性究竟是什么程度呢？唷，有什么办法没有？”
“啊，当然喽，倘若你同意的话。”
“说实在的，我对催眠术抱有古老的偏见。”
“恐怕你即使试过之后，仍会保留那样一种偏见，霍尔先生。我不能保证一定把你治好。我跟你谈到过我的其他那些病人——百分之七十五——然而治愈率只达到其中的百分之五十。”
他这么一坦白，莫瑞斯倒有了信心。任何庸医也不会这么说。“咱们也试试看吧。”他笑吟吟地说。“我应该做些什么？”
“你只要原地不动就行。我要做些实验，看看你这种倾向，根子扎得有多深。以后（倘若愿意的话）．你只要定期前来复诊就行。霍尔先生！我试着使你进入催眠状态，要是成功了，我就对你做些暗示。（我们希望）这种暗示的效果能持续下去，等你苏醒过来后，成为你的正常状态的一部分。你可不要抵制我。”
“好的，开始吧。”
于是，拉斯克•琼斯先生离开他那张桌子，不牵涉个人感情地在莫瑞斯那把椅子的扶手上坐下来。莫瑞斯觉得像是要给他拔牙似的，暂时什么事也没发生。然而过了一会儿他看见火炉用具上有个光点，屋子的其他部分变得暗淡了。他看得见自己正看着的那个东西，别的就看不到什么了。他还听得见大夫的声音以及他自己的声音。显然他即将进入催眠状态，这一成果使他感到骄傲。
“我觉得你还没有完全进入状态。”
“没有，我没有。”
大夫又打了几个手势。“现在怎样？”
“我快要进入了。”
“完全进入了吗？”
莫瑞斯承认是这样，但他感到没有把握。“现在你既然完全进入了状态，你觉得我这间诊室怎么样，喜欢它吗？”
“这是一间很好的屋子。”
“不太暗吗？”
“相当暗。”
“不过，你看得见那幅画，看见了吗？”
于是，莫瑞斯看见了对面墙上的一幅画，尽管他知道画是不存在的。
。仔细看看它吧，霍尔先生。挨近一些，但是要当心地毯上的裂缝。”
“裂缝有多宽？”
“你可以跳过去。”
莫瑞斯立即发现了裂缝在哪儿，一跃而过，然而他并不相信有这样的必要。
“好极啦——那么，你认为这是什么画呢，画的是谁呢——？”
“画的是谁——”
“艾德娜•梅。”
“艾德娜•梅先生。”
“不，霍尔先生，是艾德娜‘梅小姐。”
“那是艾德娜-梅先生。”
“她长得不是很美吗？”
“我想回家找我妈妈去。”他们二人都被这句话逗笑了，是大夫带头笑的。
“艾德娜•梅小姐不仅长得美，还吸引人。”
“她并不吸引我。”莫瑞斯使着性子说。
“哦，霍尔先生，你这话何等失礼。瞧瞧她那秀美的头发。”
“我最喜欢短发。”
“为什么？”
“因为我可以抚摩它——”然后他哭起来了。他回到椅子上，苏醒过来。泪水把双颊弄湿了，但是他的感觉还跟平常一样，于是马上唠叨开了。
“哎呀，你把我弄醒的时候，我做了个梦。我最好还是告诉你，我觉得自己看见了一张脸，听见什么人说：‘这是你的朋友。．这对劲儿吗？我经常有这样的感觉——我说不清楚——就是这样一场梦，在睡眠中朝我走过来。然而从来也没走到我跟前来过。”
“刚才靠近你了吗？”
“非常近，这是个不好的迹象吗？”
“不，啊，不——你容易接受暗示，你很坦率——我让你看了一幅墙上的画。”
莫瑞斯点了点头，他已经把这忘得精光。停顿了一下，他掏出两畿尼，请大夫再给预约一个号。约好莫瑞斯将于下周打电话来，这期间拉斯克•琼斯先生要求他心平气和地待在目前逗留的乡村。
莫瑞斯并不怀疑克莱夫和安妮会欢迎他，更不怀疑他们会对他起恰到好处的作用。彭杰是一剂催吐药。它帮助他摆脱曾经显得如此美好快乐的往昔——那段有毒的岁月，治好他的软心肠与仁慈。他说，好的，他会回去。他将打电报给他的朋友们，搭乘下午的快车。
“霍尔先生，你要适度地从事运动。打点儿网球，或是带着枪去散步。”
莫瑞斯临离开的时候说：“我重新考虑了一下，也许不回去啦。”
“为什么呢？”
“这个，我觉得一天之内远行两次，挺愚蠢的。”
“您宁愿待在自己家里吗？”
“是的——不——不，好的，我回到彭杰去。”
Chapter 37
On his return he was amused to find that the young people were just off for twenty-four hours' election-eering. He now cared less for Clive than Clive for him. That kiss had disillusioned. It was such a trivial prudish kiss, and alas! so typical. The less you had the more it was supposed to be— that was Clive's teaching. Not only was the half greater than the whole—at Cambridge Maurice would just accept this—but now he was offered the quarter and told it was greater than the half. Did the fellow suppose he was made of paper?
Clive explained how he wouldn't be going had Maurice held out hopes of returning, and how he would be back for the match any way. Anne whispered, 'Was the luck good?" Maurice re-plied, "So-so," whereupon she covered him with her wing and offered to invite his young lady down to Penge. "Mr Hall, is she very charming? I am convinced she has bright brown eyes." But Clive called her off, and Maurice was left to an evening with Mrs Durham and Mr Borenius.
Unusual restlessness was on him. It recalled the initial night at Cambridge, when he had been to Risley's rooms. The rain had stopped during his dash to town. He wanted to walk about in the evening and watch the sun set and listen to the dripping trees. Ghostly but perfect, the evening primroses were expand-ing in the shrubbery, and stirred him by their odours. Clive had shown him evening primroses in the past, but had never told
him they smelt. He liked being out of doors, among the robins and bats, stealing hither and thither bare-headed, till the gong should summon him to dress for yet another meal, and the cur-tains of the Russet Room close. No, he wasn't the same; a rear-rangement of his being had begun as surely as at Birmingham, when Death had looked away, and to Mr Lasker Jones be all credit! Deeper than conscious effort there was a change, which might land him with luck in the arms of Miss Tonks.
As he wandered about, the man whom he had reprimanded in the morning came up, touched his cap, and inquired whether he would shoot tomorrow. Obviously he wouldn't, since it was the cricket match, but the question had been asked in order to pave the way for an apology. "I'm sure I'm very sorry I failed to give you and Mr London full satisfaction, sir," was its form. Maurice, vindictive no longer, said, "That's all right, Scudder." Scudder was an importation—part of the larger life that had come into Penge with politics and Anne; he was smarter than old Mr Ayres, the head keeper, and knew it. He implied that he hadn't taken the five shillings because it was too much; he didn't say why he had taken the ten! He added, "Glad to see you down again so soon, sir," which struck Maurice as subtly unsuitable, so he repeated, "That's all right, Scudder," and went in.
It was a dinner-jacket evening—not tails, because they would only be three—and though he had respected such niceties for years he found them suddenly ridiculous. What did clothes mat-ter as long as you got your food, and the other people were good sorts—which they wouldn't be? And as he touched the carapace of his dress shirt a sense of ignominy came over him, and he felt he had no right to criticize anyone who lived in the open air. How dry Mrs Durham seemed—she was Clive with the sap perished. And Mr Borenius—how dry! Though to do Mr Bore-nius justice he contained surprises. Contemptuous of all parsons,
Maurice had paid little attention to this one, and was startled when he came out strong after dessert. He had assumed that as rector of the parish he would be helping Clive in the election. But "I vote for no one who is not a communicant, as Mr Durham understands."
"The Rads are attacking your church, you know," was all he could think of.
"That is why I do not vote for the Radical candidate. He is a Christian, so naturally I should have done."
"Bit particular, sir, if I may say so. Clive will do all the things you want done. You may be lucky he isn't an atheist. There are a certain amount of those about, you know!"
He smiled in response, saying, "The atheist is nearer the Kingdom of Heaven than the hellenist. 'Unless ye become as little children'—and what is the atheist but a child?"
Maurice looked at his hands, but before he could frame a reply the valet came in to ask whether he had any orders for the keeper.
"I saw him before dinner, Simcox. Nothing, thanks. Tomor-row's the match. I did tell him."
"Yes, but he wonders whether you'd care to go down to the pond between the innings for a bathe, sir, now that the weather had altered. He has just bailed out the boat."
"Very good of him."
"If that's Mr Scudder may I speak to him?" asked Mr Borenius.
"Will you tell him, Simcox? Also tell him I shan't be bathing." When the valet had gone he said, "Would you rather speak to him here? Have him in as far as I'm concerned."
"Thank you, Mr Hall, but I'll go out. He'll prefer the kitchen."
"He'll prefer it no doubt. There are fair young females in the kitchen."
"Ah! Ah!" He had the air of one to whom sex occurs for the
first time. "You don't happen to know whether he has anyone in view matrimonially, do you?"
" 'Fraid I don't. . . saw him kissing two girls at once on my arrival if that's any help."
"It sometimes happens that those men get confidential out shooting. The open air, the sense of companionship—"
"They don't get confidential with me. Archie London and I got rather fed up with him yesterday as a matter of fact. Too anxious to boss the show. We found him a bit of a swine."
"Excuse the inquiry."
"What's there to excuse?" said Maurice, annoyed with the rector for alluding so smugly to the open air. i
"Speaking frankly, I should be glad to see that particular young man settled with a helpmate before he sails." Smiling gently, he added, "And all young men."
"What's he sailing for?"
"He is to emigrate." And intoning "to emigrate" in a particular irritating way, he repaired to the kitchen.
Maurice strolled for five minutes in the shrubbery. Food and wine had heated him, and he thought with some inconsequence that even old Chapman had sown some wild oats. He alone— Clive admonishing—combined advanced thought with the con-duct of a Sunday scholar. He wasn't Methuselah—he'd a right to a fling. Oh those jolly scents, those bushes where you could hide, that sky as black as the bushes! They were turning away from him. Indoors was his place and there he'd moulder, a re-spectable pillar of society who has never had the chance to mis-behave. The alley that he was pacing opened through a swing gate into the park, but the damp grass there might dull his pumps, so he felt bound to return. As he did so he struck against corduroys, and was held for a moment by both elbows; it had been Scudder escaping from Mr Borenius. Released, he con-
tinued his dreamings. Yesterday's shoot, which at the time had made little impression on him, began faintly to glow, and he realized that even during its boredom he had been alive. He felt back from it to the incidents of his arrival, such as the piano-moving: then forwards to the incidents of today, beginning with the five shillings' tip and ending with now. And when he reached "now", it was as if an electric current passed through the chain of insignificant events so that he dropped it and let it smash back into darkness. "Damnation, what a night," he resumed while puffs of air touched him and one another. Then the swing gate in the distance, which hid been tinkling for a little, seemed to slam against freedom, and he went indoors.
"Oh Mr Hall!" cried the old lady. "How exquisite is your coiffure."
"My coiffure?" He found that his head was all yellow with evening primrose pollen.
"Oh, don't brush it off. I like it on your black hair. Mr Bore-nius, is he not quite bacchanalian?"
The clergyman raised sightless eyes. He had been interrupted in the middle of a serious talk. "But Mrs Durham," he persisted. "I understood so distinctly from you that all your servants had been confirmed."
"I thought so, Mr Borenius, I did think so."
"Yet I go into the kitchen, and straight away I discover Simcox, Scudder, and Mrs Wetherall. For Simcox and Mrs Wetherall I can make arrangements. Scudder is the serious case, because I have not time to prepare him properly before he sails, even if the bishop could be prevailed upon."
Mrs Durham tried to be grave, but Maurice, whom she rather liked, was laughing. She suggested that Mr Borenius should give Scudder a note to some clergyman abroad—there was bound to be one.
"Yes, but will he present it? He shows no hostility to the Church, but will he be bothered? Had I only been told which of your servants had been confirmed and which had not, this crisis would not have arisen."
"Servants are so inconsiderate," said the old lady. "They tell me nothing. Why, Scudder sprung his notice on Clive in just the same way. His brother invites him. So off he goes. Now Mr Hall, let's have your advice over this crisis: what would you do?"
"Our young friend condemns the entire Church, militant and triumphant."
Maurice roused himself. If the parson hadn't looked so damned ugly he wouldn't have bothered, but he couldn't stand that squinny face sneering at youth. Scudder cleaned a gun, carried a suitcase, baled out a boat, emigrated—did something7anyway, while gentlefolk squatted on chairs finding fault with his soul. If he did cadge for tips it was natural, and if he didn't, if his apology was genuine—why then he was a fine fellow. He'd speak anyhow. "How do you know he'll communicate if he's confirmed?" he said. "I don't communicate." Mrs Durham hummed a tune; this was going too far.
"But you were given the opportunity. The priest did what he could for you. He has not done what he could for Scudder and consequently the Church is to blame. That is why I make so much of a point which must appear very trivial to you."
"I'm awfully stupid, but I think I see: you want to make sure that he and not the Church shall be to blame in the future. Well, sir, that may be your idea of religion but it isn't mine and it wasn't Christ's."
It was as smart a speech as he had ever made; since the hyp-notism his brain had known moments of unusual power. But Mr Borenius was unassailable. He replied pleasantly, "The unbe-liever has always such a very clear idea as to what Belief ought
ii
to be, I wish I had half his certainty." Then he arose and went, and Maurice walked him through the short cut through the kitchen garden. Against the wall leant the subject of their delib-erations, no doubt awaiting one of the maids; he appeared to be haunting the premises this evening. Maurice would have seen nothing, so thick now was the darkness; it was Mr Borenius who exacted a low "Good night, sir" for them both. A delicate scent of fruit perfumed the air; it had further to be feared that the young man had stolen an apricot. Scents were everywhere that night, despite the cold, and Maurice returned via the shrubbery, that he might inhale the evening primroses.
Again he heard the cautious "Good night, sir," and feeling friendly to the reprobate replied, "Good night, Scudder, they tell me you're emigrating."
"That's my idea, sir," came the voice.
"Well, good luck to you."
"Thank you, sir, it seems rather strange."
"Canada or Australia, I suppose."
"No, sir, the Argentine."
"Ah, ah, a fine country."
"Have you visited it yourself, sir?"
"Rather not, England for me," said Maurice, strolling on and again colliding with corduroys. Dull talk, unimportant meeting, yet they harmonized with the darkness, the quietness of the hour, they suited him, and as he walked away he was followed by a sense of well-being which lasted until he reached the house. Through its window he could see Mrs Durham all relaxed and ugly. Her face clicked into position as he entered, so did his own, and they exchanged a few affected remarks about his day in town, before parting for bed.
He had taken to sleeping badly during the past year, and knew as soon as he lay down that this would be a night of physi-
cal labour. The events of the last twelve hours had excited him, and clashed against one another in his mind. Now it was the early start, now the journey with London, the interview, the re-turn; and at the back of all lurked a fear that he had not said something at that interview that he ought to have said, that he had missed out something vital from his confession to the doc-tor. Yet what was it? He had drawn up the statement yesterday in this very room, and been satisfied at the time. He began to worry—which Mr Lasker Jones had forbidden him to do, be-cause the introspective are more difficult to heal: he was sup-posed to lie fallow to the suggestions sown during the trance, and never wonder whether they would germinate or not. But he could not help worrying, and Penge, instead of numbing, seemed more stimulating than most places. How vivid, if com-plex, were its impressions, how the tangle of flowers and fruit wreathed his brain! Objects he had never seen, such as rain water baled from a boat, he could see tonight, though curtained in tightly. Ah to get out to them! Ah for darkness—not the darkness of a house which coops up a man among furniture, but the darkness where he can be free! Vain wish! He had paid a doctor two guineas to draw the curtains tighter, and presently, in the brown cube of such a room, Miss Tonks would lie pris-oned beside him. And, as the yeast of the trance continued to work, Maurice had the illusion of a portrait that changed, now at his will, now against it, from male to female, and came leap-ing down the football-field where he bathed. ... He moaned, half asleep. There was something better in life than this rub-bish, if only he could get to it—love—nobility—big spaces where passion clasped peace, spaces no science could reach, but they existed for ever, full of woods some of them, and arched with majestic sky and a friend. . . .
He really was asleep when he sprang up and flung wide the
curtains with a cry of "Come!" The action awoke him; what had he done that for? A mist covered the grass of the park, and the tree trunks rose out of it like the channel marks in the estu-ary near his old private school. It was jollycold. He shivered and clenched his fists. The moon had risen. Below him was the drawing-room, and the men who were repaying the tiles on the roof of the bay had left their ladder resting against his window sill. What had they done that for? He shook the ladder and glanced into the woods, but the wish to go into them vanished as soon as he could go. What use was it? He was too old for fun in the damp.
But as he returned to his bed a little noise sounded, a noise so intimate that it might have arisen inside his own body. He seemed to crackle and burn and saw the ladder's top quivering against the moonlit air. The head and the shoulders of a man rose up, paused, a gun was leant against the window sill very carefully, and someone he scarcely knew moved towards him and knelt beside him and whispered, "Sir, was you calling out for me? . . . Sir, I know. ... I know," and touched him.
返抵彭杰后，莫瑞斯觉得很有趣儿。因为他发现，这对年轻夫妇正要离家去从事二十四小时的选举运动。而今他对克莱夫的关怀竟然比克莱夫对他的关怀还少了。那一吻使他不再抱幻想了。那是何等浅薄无聊、过分拘谨的吻啊。唉！况且又那么有代表性。克莱夫曾教导他说：你拥有的越少，越会被认为拥有的多。非但一半比全部要大——剑桥时代的莫瑞斯会囫囵吞枣地接受——然而现在表示愿意给他的是四分之一，却告诉他这比一半还要大。难道这小子认为我莫瑞斯是纸做的吗？
克莱夫解释说，倘若莫瑞斯早让他知道自己会回来，他是不会走的，并表示，反正举行板球赛的时候他将返回。安妮悄悄地问：“运气好吗？”莫瑞斯答道：“马马虎虎。”于是，她决定把他放在自己的庇护下，主动邀请那位年轻小姐到彭杰来。“霍尔先生，她非常妩媚吗？我确信她长着一双炯炯有神的褐色眼睛。”然而，克莱夫把她喊走了。莫瑞斯留下来，跟德拉姆太太以及博雷尼乌斯先生共度傍晚。
莫瑞斯感到异常焦躁不安。这使他想起初进剑桥，自己到里斯利的房间去的那个夜晚。他奔赴伦敦的时候，雨已经停了。他想在傍晚到处走走，观看日落，倾听树木的滴水声。月见草像幽灵似的，然而尽善尽美，在灌木丛中绚烂盛开，漫天铺去，香气袭人，使他怦然心动。以前，克莱夫让他看过月见草，却从未告诉他花儿这么香。他喜欢待在户外，与知更鸟和蝙蝠为伍，光着头到处走。及至敲了锣，又得穿上礼服去吃另一顿饭，随后赤褐屋的帘子就拉严了。不，他跟原来不一样了。他的整个身心开始重新调整，犹如在伯明翰死神把视线移开的那次一样真实。一切都应归功于拉斯克•琼斯先生！他所起的变化源于有意识地做的努力，走运的话，可能会把自己送到汤克斯小姐的双臂中。
他正闲逛的时候，当天早晨他申斥过的那个人走到跟前来，伸手摸了一下便帽，问他明天打不打猎。他不会去打猎，这是明摆着的事，因为第二天要举行板球赛。但对方是为了给道歉铺平道路才问的，形式如下：“我肯定我感到非常对不起，没能让你和伦敦先生十分满意，老爷。”莫瑞斯已不再记仇，便说：“没关系，斯卡德。”斯卡德是新雇来的——政治与安妮来到彭杰后，随之扩大了的生活的一部分。他比总管家艾尔斯老先生聪明，自己也知道这一点。他暗示五先令太多了，所以他没接受。他却没说为什么接受了那十先令！他补充说：“很高兴看到你这么快就回来了，老爷。”莫瑞斯觉得这话有点儿不对劲儿，于是重复了一遍：“没关系，斯卡德。”就进了屋。
由于只有三个人，晚饭不必穿燕尾服，只消穿无尾晚礼服。尽管多年来他一直尊重这样一些规矩，他却突然发现这一切都足荒谬的。只要你有东西吃，同席者个个有教养，服装又有什么要紧呢？何况同席者还可能不是什么正经人呢！当他戴上礼服用衬衫的活领时，一种耻辱感袭上心头。他觉得自己没有权利批评在野外谋生的任何人。德拉姆太太看上去多么枯燥——她就是没有了生气的克莱夫。还有博雷尼乌斯先生-何等枯燥！不过，说句公道话，博雷尼乌斯先生有着令人惊奇的方面。凡是牧师，莫瑞斯一概瞧不起，对这一位也没怎么理会。吃完了正餐后的甜食，这位先生做了给人以深刻印象的发言，使他大吃一惊。莫瑞斯认为，作为教区长，博雷尼乌斯先生会在这次的选举中支持克莱夫。然而他说：“我不投拒绝领受圣餐者的票，德拉姆先生也清楚这一点。”
“激进派正在攻击你的教会呢，你知道的。”莫瑞斯只想得出这么一句话。
“因此我不投激进派候选人的票。他是个基督教徒，所以本来我是当然应该投他一票的。”
“请原谅，先生，你有点儿过于苛求了。凡是你想要做的事，克莱夫都会为你做。他不是个无神论者，算你走运。这一带有一定数量的无神论者，你知道的！”
听罢，他边微笑边说：“无神论者离天国比古希腊文化崇拜者要近一些。‘除非你们改变，像小孩子一样，’（译注：这是耶稣对门徒说的话。下一句是：“你们绝不能成为天国的子民。”见《新约全书.马太福音》第18章第3节。）——无神论者不就是小孩子吗？”
莫瑞斯看了看自己的手，然而他还没想好该怎样回答，男管家进来了，问他对猎场看守者有何吩咐。
“吃饭前我已经见到他了，西姆科克斯。什么事都没有，谢谢。明天要举行板球赛了，我已经跟他这么说过了。”
“明白了。但是他想知道在两场比赛之间，您想不想到水池里去沐浴，因为天气转晴了。他刚刚把小船里的水舀出来。”
“他太受累啦。”
“如果那是斯卡德先生的话，我能跟他说句话吗？”博雷尼乌斯先生问道。
“你能告诉他吗，西姆科克斯？还告诉他，我不去沐浴。”男管家走后，他说：“你不如在这儿跟他谈吧？让他进来好了，我没关系。”
“谢谢你，霍尔先生，然而还是我去吧。他宁愿在厨房里。”
“敢情，他宁愿在那儿。厨房里有俏丽的年轻女子。”
“啊！啊！”从博雷尼乌斯先生的神情来看，他是初次想到性的问题。“你知道他有没有结婚的对象，知道吗？”
“我恐怕不知道……我刚到的那天，曾看见他同时吻两个姑娘，这也许有助于你了解情况。”
“外出打猎的时候，这种人间或会吐露心里话。旷野里的空气，伙伴关系的感觉——”
“他们可不会对我吐露心里话。说实在的，昨天阿尔赤-伦敦和我都对他相当不满。他太急于发号施令了，我们发现他有点儿贪鄙下流。”
“我不该问你这个，向你道歉。”
“有什么可道歉的？”莫瑞斯说。由于教区长自以为是地提到旷野里的空气什么的，从而触怒了他。
“坦率地说，要是能看到这个特定的年轻人在远航之前找到一位终身伴侣，我会感到高兴的。”教区长温和地微笑着,补充一句，“以及所有的年轻人。”
“他为什么要远航？”
“他要做移民。”教区长是以特别惹人生气的语调拖长声音说出“做移民”一词的，随即到厨房去了。
莫瑞斯在灌木丛里漫步了五分钟。食物和酒使他浑身热乎乎的，浮想联翩。就连老查普曼年轻时都放荡过。惟独他——在克莱夫的谆谆告诫下——将高深的思想与主日学者（译注：主日学是为了对儿童和青少年进行宗教教育而开办的学校。现代主日学运动的创始人雷克斯（1736-1811）认为，利用星期日使青少年受到宗教教育可以防止他们走向犯罪。主日学者是作者杜撰的词，指循规蹈矩。）的操行结合在一起。他并非玛土撒拉（译注：据《旧约全书.创世记》第5章第27节记载，玛土撒拉在世969年，是传说中最长寿的人。）一他有权尽情地放纵一下。哦，那宜人的芳香，那些可供你藏身的树丛，跟树丛一样黑沉沉的天空！它们都避开他。室内才是他的住处，他——可敬的社会栋梁。从未有机会行为不端——将在那儿朽烂。他正沿着一条小径踱去。穿过一道旋转门，就能进入园林。然而，那里的湿漉漉的草可能会把他穿的这双黑色漆皮鞋损坏了，所以他觉得非折回去不可。刚掉过身去，就跟一个穿灯芯绒衣裤的人撞了满怀，被一双胳膊抱住片刻，那是从博雷尼乌斯先生跟前脱逃出来的斯卡德。斯卡德松开手后，他继续沉湎于幻想。昨天的狩猎，当时并没给他留下什么印象，而今开始依稀发出光辉。他领悟到，尽管猎兔时觉得无聊，自己却是充满活力的。他追忆到初抵之际的往事，例如搬钢琴。又推进到今天发生的事，始于五先令小费，以现在这件事告终。当他想到“现在”的时候，一股电流仿佛穿过了那一连串无足轻重的事件，于是他让思考戛然而止，听任它撞回到黑暗中。“该死，这是什么夜晚啊。”他重新往回走，一股股空气触着了他，并相互碰来碰去。旋转门在远处丁零零地响了一会儿，“砰”的一声好像把自由关在外面了。他走进了屋子。
“哦，霍尔先生！”老夫人大声说。“你的头饰（译注：原文为法语）多么精美呀。”
“我的头饰（译注：原文为法语）？”他发觉自己的头发被月见草的花粉统统染黄了。
“啊，别把它掸掉。我喜欢它配在你的黑头发上那副样子。博雷尼乌斯先生，你看他长得活脱不是个巴克斯（译注：酒神巴克斯是罗马神话中的神祗，相当于希腊神话中的酒神狄俄尼索斯）吗？”
教区长抬起了眼睛，视而不见。他是谈着严肃的话题时被打断的。“然而，德拉姆太太，”他继续说下去，“我从你嘴里清清楚楚地听说过，府上的仆人全都受过坚振礼。”
“我以为是这样的，博雷尼乌斯先生，我确实以为是这样的。”
“可我到厨房里去一问，马上就发现了西姆科克斯、斯卡德和韦瑟莱尔大嫂还没受过。我可以为西姆科克斯和韦瑟莱尔大嫂做些安排，斯卡德的情况就严重了。即便我能说服主教，也没有工夫在他远航之前帮他正规地做好准备。”
德拉姆太太试图显得庄重一些，但她相当喜欢的莫瑞斯却乐不可支。她向博雷尼乌斯先生建议道，他应该交给斯卡德一封致海外的牧师的信——那里肯定会有牧师的。
“不错，但他肯交给对方吗？他对教会没有表现出敌意，然而他肯费这点劲儿吗？倘若你告诉过我，你的仆人当中，谁受了坚振礼，谁没有受，就不至于引起这么严重的后果了。”
“仆人是极不会体谅人的，”老夫人说，“他们什么也不告诉我。唔，斯卡德也是一样，突然向克莱夫提出要辞工，他哥哥邀他去-于是他就撂挑子了。霍尔先生，我们听听你对这件事的看法吧。你会怎么做呢？”
“我们的年轻朋友跟整个教会较量，斗志昂扬，充满胜利的喜悦。”
莫瑞斯振奋起精神来了。教区长若不是奇丑无比，他绝不会和他一般见识。但是他不能容忍那张怀着偏见嘲笑青春的脸。斯卡德收拾猎枪，搬手提箱，从小船里舀出雨水，移居海外——反正他在干着点儿什么。这时，社会地位高的人悠然自得地坐在椅子上，挑他灵魂的刺儿。要是他索取小费的话，这是很自然的事。要是他没有索取，要是他所做的辩解属实的话——那么他就是个好样儿的。无论如何他要说一说。“你怎么能知道只要他受了坚振礼，他就会去领圣餐呢？”他说。“我并不领圣餐。”德拉姆太太哼起歌曲来了，这话说得太过火了。
“然而，你是被给过机会的，牧师为你尽过力。他却没有为斯卡德尽力，因此教会该受责备。所以我才如此予以重视，而在你看来必定是琐事一桩。”
“我笨得厉害，但我认为我明白了。你想确保不让教会将来受责备，却不是惟恐他会受责备。唔，先生，这也许是你对宗教信仰的概念，我可没有这样的概念，基督也没有。”
这是迄今所说过的最辛辣的一段话。自从被施过催眠术以来，他的头脑一阵阵地异常敏锐。然而，博雷尼乌斯先生是无懈可击的。他和颜悦色地说：“不信教的人对于信仰该怎样，永远有着非常清楚的概念，我但愿自己有他一半的信仰。”说罢，他起身告辞，莫瑞斯送他穿过菜园子，抄近路而行。他们所讨论的对象正倚墙而立，无疑是在等候女仆中的一位。这个傍晚，他们二人似乎频频地狭路相逢。而今已黑暗得伸手不见五指，莫瑞斯是什么也不会瞧见的。倒是博雷尼乌斯先生低声招呼道：“晚安，先生。”于是从对方嘴里也说出了同样的话。空气中弥漫着沁人的果香。可以推测，小伙子恐怕偷吃了一个杏。尽管这么冷，当晚到处散布着香气。莫瑞斯是穿过灌木丛折回去的，以便深深吸入月见草的芳香。
他再度听见了谨小慎微的声音：“晚安，老爷。”由于对这个被上帝摈弃者怀着友好的感情，便回答说：“晚安，斯卡德，他们告诉我，你将移居海外。”
“有这个想法，老爷。”传来了这么个声音。
“喂，祝你成功。”
“谢谢你，老爷，我觉得心里怪怪的。”
“我料想是加拿大或澳大利亚吧？”
“不是，老爷，是阿根廷。”
“啊，啊，是个好国家。”
“你去过吗，老爷？”
“我宁可不去，我还是喜欢英国。”莫瑞斯边说边往前走，又和那个穿灯芯绒衣裤的人撞个满怀。乏味的谈话，无足轻重的邂逅，这一切却与晚间的黑暗和静寂协调，很中他的意。当他离开斯卡德一路走去的时候，产生了一种健康、幸福的感觉，一直持续到抵达房屋。隔着窗子，他瞧见了德拉姆太太，十分自在，松弛丑陋。他一进去，她的脸一下子绷紧了，他的脸也是这样。关于他当天的伦敦之行，他们交换了几句社交辞令，这才回到各自的寝室。
一年来他为失眠所困扰。刚躺下来他就知道自己会彻夜从事肉体劳动。这十二个小时发生的事使他感到兴奋，在他的脑子里相互冲突着。一会儿是清早启程，一会儿是与伦敦一道旅行，接受诊治．然后是归途。这一切的背后潜伏着一种畏惧：接受诊治的时候．是否有什么该说的话他没有说呢？他写给大夫的书面材料中，是否遗漏了什么重要问题呢？但那又是什么呢？他是昨天在这间屋里写出那份材料的，当时感到满意。他开始着急起来——而拉斯克•琼斯先生是禁止他自寻烦恼的。因为对思想感情等进行过分内省就更难以治愈了。按说他应该让脑子变成一片空白，接受施催眠术时的暗示疗法，决不琢磨播下的种子是否会发芽。然而他不禁忧心忡忡。彭杰非但未能使他变得麻木不仁，好像比任何其他地方都更刺激着他的神经。彭杰给他的印象虽然错综复杂，却又何等鲜明啊。鲜花和果实怎样纷乱地缭绕在他的脑际！他从未见过的事物，诸如从小船里舀出雨水，今天晚上他却能看见，虽然严严实实地拉上了窗帘。啊，但愿能外出，到它们当中去！啊，到黑暗中去——不是把人拘禁在家具之间的房屋里的黑暗，而是他能够自由自在的黑暗！虚妄的愿望！为了把帘子拉得更严实一些，他付给了一位大夫两畿尼，不久，在这样一间屋子的褐色立方体中，被囚禁的汤克斯小姐会躺在他身旁。催眠术的酵母继续发酵，莫瑞斯的眼前浮现出变来变去的肖像幻影，忽而遂愿，忽而违背他的意愿，从男性变为女性，蹦跳着朝他正在那儿沐浴的足球场冲下来。……他半睡半醒地发出呻吟声。按说入生拥有比这无聊的事情强一些的东西，倘若他能够弄到就好了——爱情——崇高——辽阔的空间，在那儿，激情热烈地紧紧拥抱着安宁。任何科学也够不着那些空间，然而它们永远存在，有的空间充满了森林，有的顶着苍穹，那里还有个朋友……
他确实睡着了。突然一跃而起，拉开窗帘，叫喊：“来吧！”这个行动使他醒过来了。他为什么要这么做？雾气笼罩着园林的草，树干从雾中耸起，活像是他往时那座私立学校附近的港湾里那些水道标志。真够冷的，他打着哆嗦，攥紧拳头。皓月当空。他的房间下面就是客厅，那些仆人将开间顶棚上的瓦修补一番后，梯子仍搭靠在他这屋子的窗台外面。他们干吗要这么做？他摇晃了一下梯子，眺望森林。然而，一旦能够到森林去了，想去的愿望就消失了。有什么用呢？他的岁数已经太大，在湿漉漉的地方找不到乐趣了。
然而当他回到床上的时候，传来了一个声音，那声音亲密得仿佛是从他本人的身体内部发出的。他似乎噼噼啪啪地响着燃烧起来了。只见梯子的顶端在明月的空气中颤动。一个男人的头部和双肩浮现出来，歇了口气，小心翼翼地将一杆枪戳在窗台脚下的地板上。他几乎不认识的那个人朝他凑过来，跪在他身旁，低声耳语：“老爷，你喊我来着吧？……老爷，我懂……我懂。”并且开始抚摩他。
Chapter 38
"Had I best be going now, sir?" Abominably shy, Maurice pretended not to hear.
"We mustn't fall asleep though, awkward if anyone came in," he continued, with a pleasant blurred laugh that made Maurice feel friendly but at the same time diffident and sad. He man-aged to reply, "You mustn't call me sir," and the laugh sounded again, as if brushing aside such problems. There seemed to be charm and insight, yet his discomfort increased.
"May I ask your name?" he said awkwardly.
"I'm Scudder."
"I know you're Scudder—I meant your other name."
"Only Alec just."
"Jolly name to have."
"It's only my name."
"I'm called Maurice."
"I saw you when you first drove up, Mr Hall, wasn't it Tues-day, I did think you looked at me angry and gentle both to-gether."
"Who were those people with you?" said Maurice, after a pause.
"Oh that wor only Mill, that wor Milly's cousin. Then do you remember the piano got wet the same evening, and you had great trouble to suit yourself over a book, didn't read it, did you either."
"How ever did you know I didn't read my book?"
"Saw you leaning out of the window instead. I saw you the next night too. I was out on the lawn."
"Do you mean you were out in all that infernal rain?"
"Yes .. . watching ... oh, that's nothing, you've got to watch, haven't you . . . see, I've not much longer in this country, that's how I kep putting it."
"How beastly I was to you this morning!"
"Oh that's nothing—Excuse the question but is that door locked?"
"I'll lock it." As he did so, the feeling of awkwardness re-turned. Whither was he tending, from Clive into what compan-ionship?
Presently they fell asleep.
They slept separate at first, as if proximity harassed them, but towards morning a movement began, and they woke deep in each other's arms. "Had I best be going now?" he repeated, but Maurice, through whose earlier night had threaded the dream "Something is a little wrong and had better be," was resting ut-terly at last, and murmured "No, no."
"Sir, the church has gone four, you'll have to release me."
"Maurice, I'm Maurice."
"But the church has—"
"Damn the church."
He said, "I've the cricket pitch to help roll for the match," but did not move, and seemed in the faint gray light to be smil-ing proudly. "I have the young birds too—the boat's done—Mr London and Mr Fetherstonhaugh dived splack into the water lilies—they told me all young gentlemen can dive—I never learned to. It seems more natural like not to let the head get under the water. I call that drowning before your day."
"I was taught I'd be ill if I didn't wet my hair."
"Well, you was taught what wasn't the case."
"I expect so—it's a piece with all else I was taught. A master I used to trust as a kid taught me it. I can still remember walk-ing on the beach with him ... oh dear! And the tide came up, all beastly gray . . ." He shook himself fully awake, as he felt his companion slip from him. "Don't, why did you?"
"There's the cricket—"
"No, there's not the cricket—You're going abroad."
"Well, well find another opportunity before I do."
"If you'll stop, I'll tell you my dream. I dreamt of an old grandfather of mine. He was a queer card. I wonder what you'd have made of him. He used to think dead people went to the sun, but he treated his own employees badly."
"I dreamt the Reverend Borenius was trying to drown me, and now really I must go, I can't talk about dreams, don't you see, or I'll catch it from Mr Ayres."
"Did you ever dream you'd a friend, Alec? Nothing else but just 'my friend', he trying to help you and you him. A friend," he repeated, sentimental suddenly. "Someone to last your whole life and you his. I suppose such a thing can't really happen out-side sleep."
But the moment for speech had passed. Class was calling, the crack in the floor must reopen at sunrise. When he reached the window Maurice called, "Scudder," and he turned like a well-trained dog.
"Alec, you're a dear fellow and we've been very happy."
"You get some sleep, there's no hurry in your case," he said kindly, and took up the gun that had guarded them through the night. The tips of the ladder quivered against the dawn as he descended, then were motionless. There was a tiny crackle from the gravel, a tiny clink from the fence that divided garden and park: then all was as if nothing had been, and silence absolute filled the Russet Room, broken after a time by the sounds of a new day.
“我是不是这会儿最好走掉呢，老爷？”
莫瑞斯羞怯到了极点，假装没听见。
“不过，咱们可不能睡着了，要是什么人进来了，就糟了。”他一边愉快地窃笑着，一边接下去说。莫瑞斯虽然感到亲切，同时又胆怯悲哀。他好歹回答道：“别叫我老爷。”再一次传来了笑声，好像对这类问题表示漠视似的。对方仿佛有魅力与悟性，然而他越来越不自在了。
“请问你的大名？”他笨嘴拙舌地说。
“我叫斯卡德。”
“我知道你姓斯卡德——我指的是你的名字。”
“就叫阿列克。”
“好名字。”
“我就叫这个名字。”
“我叫莫瑞斯。”
“你头一次坐马车来，我就看见你了，霍尔先生。记得那是星期二，我觉得你看我的时候，又生气，又和气。”
“跟你在一块儿的都是谁呀？”莫瑞斯踌躇了一下才问。
“啊，就是米尔呗，还有一个是米利的表妹。你记得吗？那天晚上钢琴淋湿了，你费了很大劲儿去找一本中意的书，可你并没有读。”
“你怎么知道我没有读我那本书？”
“我看见你从窗口探出身去。第二天晚上，我也瞧见你了。我待在外面的草坪上来着。”
“你的意思是说，下着倾盆大雨，你竟然还到外面去了吗？”
“是啊……守望着……哦，这不算什么。你得守望着，不是吗……你知道，我在这个国家待不了多久了，所以得好好看看。”
“今天早晨我对你太粗野了！”
“哦，没什么——请原谅我这么问：那扇门上锁了吗？”
“我去把它锁上。”他正这么做的时候，胆怯的感觉重新袭上心头。他在朝什么方向走？离开克莱夫，要去跟什么人做伴呢？
他们二人旋即入睡了。
起初他们是分开来睡的，好像一挨近就会受到骚扰似的，然而天刚蒙蒙亮动作就开始了，醒来的时候已经紧紧地搂抱在一起。“我是不是最好这会儿就走掉呢？”他一遍遍地说。尽管上半夜莫瑞斯梦中的思路是：“某件事有点儿不对头，随它去吧。”然而他的心情终干完全平静了，于是附耳私语：“不，不。”
“老爷，教堂的钟已经敲了四下，你得放我走了。”
“莫瑞斯，我叫莫瑞斯。”
“可教堂——”
“管他妈的教堂呢。”
他嘴上说：“为了板球赛，我还得帮助把球场辗平呢。”但是一动也不动，在灰色微光下，似乎面带自豪的笑容。“我还得照料那些雏鸟——小船已收拾停当了——伦敦先生和费瑟斯顿先生一个猛子扎到荷花当中去了——他们告诉我，所有的年轻绅士都会潜水——我从来也没学会。不让头进到水里，好像更自然一些。我把这叫做没到寿数已尽的时候就淹死。”
“有人教我说，如果不把头发弄湿，我就会生病。”
“啊，人家教给你的不是那么一回事。”
“敢情——这不过是其中的一桩而已。这是我还是个孩子的时候一向信赖的老师教给我的。我至今记得跟他一道沿着海滩散步的事……天呀！潮水冲过来了，四下里暗得要命……”当他觉察出伙伴正从他身边溜走的时候，就战栗了一下，清醒过来了。“你为什么要走？”
“板球那件事——”
“不，不是板球——你要到海外去。”
“唷，我动身以前，咱们还能另外找个机会。”
“你要是待在这儿，我就把我做的梦讲给你听。我梦见了我那个老外祖父，他是一位别有风趣的怪人。我倒想知道，倘若你见了他，会作何感想。他向来认为，人死后就到太阳那儿去。然而，他对待手下的雇员很苛刻。”
“我梦见博雷尼乌斯大师试图把我淹死。这会儿我真得走啦a我不能谈什么梦，你难道不知道吗？不然的话，艾尔斯先生就会骂我的。”
“阿列克，你梦见过自己有个朋友吗？仅仅是‘我的朋友’，别的什么都不是，相互帮助。一个朋友。”他重复了一遍，突然充满了柔情。“彼此间的友情持续终生。我料想这样的事是不可能真正发生的，除非是在睡梦中。”
然而，聊天的时间已经过去了。阶级在呼唤，随着日出，地板上的缝儿又裂开了。当他走到窗口的时候，莫瑞斯喊道：“斯卡德。”他就像是一头训练有素的狗似的转过身来。
“阿列克，你是个好样儿的，咱们两个人都感到非常满足。”
“你睡会儿吧，你这方面用不着匆匆忙忙的。”他和善地说，并拿起彻夜保护过他们的那杆枪。梯子的顶端在曙光中微微颤动，随后一动也不动了。踏在沙砾上那轻微的“咯吱咯吱”声，把庭园与庄园隔开来的那道篱笆“喀嗒”一声响了。随后，绝对的静寂充满了赤褐屋，就好像什么都不曾发生过似的。过了半晌，新的一天的噪声划破了沉静。
Chapter 39
Having unlocked the door, Maurice dashed back into bed.
"Curtains drawn, sir, nice air, nice day for the match," said Simcox entering in some excitement with the tea. He looked at the head of black hair that was all the visitor showed. No answer came, and, disappointed of the morning chat Mr Hall had hith-erto accorded, he gathered up the dinner-jacket and its appur-tenances, and took them away to brush.
Simcox and Scudder; two servants. Maurice sat up and drank a cup of tea. He would have to give Scudder some handsome present now, indeed he would like to, but what should it be? What could one give a man in that position? Not a motor-bike. Then he remembered that he was emigrating, which made the problem easier. But the anxious look remained on his face, for he was wondering whether Simcox had been surprised at find-ing the door locked. Also had he meant anything by "Curtains drawn, sir"? Voices sounded under his window. He tried to drowse again, but the acts of other men had impinged.
"Now what will you wear, sir, I wonder?" inquired Simcox, returning. "You'll put on your cricketing flannels straight away perhaps; that rather than the tweed."
"All right."
"College blazer with them, sir?"
"No—never mind."
"Very good, sir." He straightened out a pair of socks and con-tinued meditatively: "Oh, they've moved that ladder at last, I see. About time." Maurice then saw that the tips against the sky had disappeared. "I could have sworn it was here when I brought in your tea, sir. Still, one can never be certain."
"No, one can't," agreed Maurice, speaking with difficulty and with the sense that he had lost his bearings. He felt relief when Simcox had left, but it was overshadowed by the thought of Mrs Durham and the breakfast table, and by the problem of a suit-able present for his late companion. It couldn't be a cheque, lest suspicions were aroused when it was cashed. As he dressed, the trickle of discomfort gathered force. Though not a dandy, he had the suburban gentleman's usual show of toilet appliances, and they all seemed alien. Then the gong boomed, and just as he was going down to breakfast he saw a flake of mud close to the window sill. Scudder had been careful, but not careful enough. He was headachy and faint when, clothed all in white, he at last descended to take his place in society.
Letters—a pile of them, and all subtly annoying. Ada, most civil. Kitty, saying his mother looked done up. Aunt Ida—a post-card—wanting to know whether the chauffeur was supposed to obey orders, or had one misunderstood?, business fatuities, circulars about the College Mission, the Territorial training, the Golf Club, and the Property Defence Association. He bowed humorously over them to his hostess. When she scarcely re-sponded, he went hot round his mouth. It was only that Mrs Durham's own letters worried her. But he did not know this, and was carried out further by the current. Each human being seemed new, and terrified him: he spoke to a race whose nature and numbers were unknown, and whose very food tasted poi-sonous.
After breakfast Simcox returned to the charge. "Sir, in Mr
Durham's absence the servants feel—we should be so honoured if you would captain us against the Village in the forthcoming 'Park versus Village' match."
"I'm not a cricketer, Simcox. Who's your best bat?"
"We have no one better than the under gamekeeper."
"Then make the under gamekeeper captain."
Simcox lingered to say, "Things always go better under a gentleman."
"Tell them to put me to field deep—and I won't bat first: about eighth if he likes—not first. You might tell him, as I shan't come down till it's time." He closed his eyes, feeling sick-ish. He had created something whose nature he ignored. Had he been theologically minded, he would have named it remorse, but he kept a free soul, despite confusion.
Maurice hated cricket. It demanded a snickety neatness he could not supply; and, though he had often done it for Clive's sake, he disliked playing with his social inferiors. Footer was different—he could give and take there—but in cricket he might be bowled or punished by some lout, and he felt it unsuitable. Hearing his side had won the toss, he did not go down for half an hour. Mrs Durham and one or two friends already sat in the shed. They were all very quiet. Maurice squatted at their feet, and watched the game. It was exactly like other years. The rest of his side were servants and had gathered a dozen yards away round old Mr Ayres, who was scoring: old Mr Ayres always scored.
"The captain has put himself in first," said a lady. "A gentle-man would never have done that. Little points interest me."
Maurice said, "The captain's our best man, apparently."
She yawned and presently criticized: she'd an instinct that man was conceited. Her voice fell idly into the summer air. He was emigrating, said Mrs Durham—the more energetic did—
which turned them to politics and Clive. His chin on his knees, Maurice brooded. A storm of distaste was working up inside him, and he did not know against what to direct it. Whether the ladies spoke, whether Alec blocked Mr Borenius's lobs, whether the villagers clapped or didn't clap, he felt unspeakably op-pressed: he had swallowed an unknown drug: he had disturbed his life to its foundations, and couldn't tell what would crumble. When he went out to bat, it was a new over, so that Alec re-ceived first ball. His style changed. Abandoning caution, he swiped the ball into the fern. Lifting his eyes, he met Maurice's and smiled. Lost ball. Next time he hit a boundary. He was un-trained, but had the cricketing build, and the game took on some semblance of reality. Maurice played up too. His mind had cleared, and he felt that they were against the whole world, that not only Mr Borenius and the field but the audience in the shed and all England were closing round the wickets. They played for the sake of each other and their fragile relationship —if one fell the other would follow. They intended no harm to the world, but so long as it attacked they must punish, they must stand wary, then hit with full strength, they must show that when two are gathered together majorities shall not tri-umph. And as the game proceeded it connected with the night, and interpreted it. Clive ended it easily enough. When he came to the ground they were no longer the leading force; people turned their heads, the game languished, and ceased. Alec re-signed. It was only fit and proper that the squire should bat at once. Without looking at Maurice, he receded. He too was in white flannels, and their looseness made him look like a gentle-man or anyone else. He stood in front of the shed with dignity, and when Clive had done talking offered his bat, which Clive took as a matter of course: then flung himself down by old Ayres.
Maurice met his friend, overwhelmed with spurious tender-ness.
"Clive. ... Oh my dear, are you back? Aren't you fagged frightfully?"
"Meetings till midnight—another this afternoon—must bat a minute to please these people."
"What! Leaving me again? How frightfully rotten."
"You may well say so, but I really do come back this evening, then your visit really does begin. I've a hundred things to ask you, Maurice."
"Now, gentlemen," said a voice; it was the socialist school-master, out at long stop.
"We stand rebuked," said Clive, but didn't hurry himself. "Anne's cried off the afternoon meeting, so you'll have her for company. Oh look, they've actually mended her dear little hole in the roof of the drawing-room. Maurice! No, I can't remember what I was going to say. Let us join the Olympic Games."
Maurice went out first ball. "Wait for me," called Clive, but he went straight for the house, for he felt sure that the break-down was coming. As he passed the servants, the majority of them rose to their feet, and applauded him frantically, and the fact that Scudder didn't alarmed him. Was it meant for imperti-nence? The wrinkled forehead—the mouth—possibly a cruel mouth; head a trifle too small—why was the shirt open at the throat like that? And in the hall of Penge he met Anne.
"Mr Hall, the meeting didn't go." Then she saw his face, which was green-white, and cried, "Oh, but you're not well."
"I know," he said, trembling.
Men hate to be fussed, so she only replied, "I'm frightfully sorry, I'll send some ice to your room."
"You've been so kind to me always—"
"Look here, what about a doctor?"
"Never another doctor," he cried frantically.
"We want to be kind to you—naturally. When one's happy oneself one wants the same happiness for others."
"Nothing's the same."
"Mr Hall—!"
"Nothing's the same for anyone. That's why life's this Hell, if you do a thing you're damned, and if you don't you're damned—" he paused, and continued. "Sun too hot—should like a little ice."
She ran for it, and released he flew up to the Russet Room. It brought home to him the precise facts of the situation, and he was violently sick.
莫瑞斯开了门上的锁，飞快地回到床上。
“把窗帘拉开了，老爷？多好的微风，对举行比赛来说是上好的天气。”有点儿兴奋的西姆科克斯边端茶进来边说。他瞧了瞧客人惟一露出来的满头黑发。莫瑞斯没有回答。西姆科克斯原是指望像往日那样跟客人聊一通的，今天早晨落了空，便把无尾晚礼服和其他衣物拢在一起，拿出去掸干净。
西姆科克斯和斯卡德两个都是仆人。莫瑞斯坐起来，喝了一杯茶。现在他想送给斯卡德一份相当大的礼物，他确实想给，可送什么好呢？该给他那个地位的人什么东西呢？不宜送摩托车。接着他又想起斯卡德即将移居海外，这下子问题就容易解决了。但是他依然面泛难色，因为他琢磨着西姆科克斯发现门上了锁，是否感到吃惊。他那句“把窗帘拉开了，老爷？”是不是有什么含义呢？窗户下面，人声嘈杂。他试图再打个盹儿，然而旁人的行动妨碍了他。
“今天早晨你穿什么呢，老爷？”西姆科克斯回到屋里问道。“您干脆穿那身打板球的法兰绒衣裤怎么样？比穿粗花呢套装要强一些。”
“好的。”
“再披那件印着学院名字的运动外衣好吗，老爷？”
“不——啊，可以。”
“好极啦，老爷。”他将两只短袜摆在一起，若有所思地说下去：“哦，原来他们终于把梯子搬走啦，早该搬的。”于是莫瑞斯也发觉朝着天空的梯子尖儿已不见踪影。“我敢明确地说，当我给您送茶来的时候，它还在这儿来着，老爷。不过，咱们永远也不能十拿九稳。”
“可不，永远也不能。”莫瑞斯随声附和着。他说话很吃力，觉得自己已茫然不知所措了。当西姆科克斯离开的时候，他松了口气。然而一想到与德拉姆太太同桌进早餐，以及该送给新伙伴什么礼品才合适，心情依旧是郁闷的。不能寄支票给他，就怕兑成现金之际会引起怀疑。换衣服时，心里越来越烦闷了。他并不是个爱穿着打扮的人，却像住在郊外的一般绅士那样注意仪容。这一切都显得格格不入。接着，敲锣了。他正要下楼去吃早餐，紧粘在窗台旁的一小片泥映入他的眼帘。斯卡德算是谨慎的，但是还不够谨慎。当他穿着一身白，终于下楼去占据自己在社会上的位置时，只觉得头痛，行将昏厥。
信件一一大摞，每一封都不由得使他心烦。艾达的信最郑重了。吉蒂的信里说：母亲看上去已精疲力竭。艾达姨妈在明信片上写道：她想知道汽车司机该不该听从吩咐，难道是她搞误会了吗？事务方面的无聊的函件，学院传道区的通告，国防义勇军的训练通知，高尔夫俱乐部，还有财产保护协会。隔着这摞信，他诙谐地朝女主人躬身行礼。她几乎没有答理他，于是他的脸涨得通红。德拉姆太太只不过是在为自己收到的几封信焦虑而已。他却不明白这一点，已到这步田地欲罢不能了。每一个在座者都好像是陌生人，使他极度惊恐。他在跟完全不了解其性质与情况的种族谈话，就连他们的食品的味道都是恶臭的。
早餐后，西姆科克斯向他重新进攻了。“老爷，德拉姆先生不在家的时候，仆人们觉得——要是您肯在马上就要举行的‘庄园与村子’的对抗赛中担任我们的队长，大家会感到非常荣幸。”
“我不擅长打板球，西姆科克斯。你们最好的击球手是谁？”
“我们中间没有比底下那个猎场看守更棒的了。”
“那么就让底下那个猎场看守者当队长好啦。”
西姆科克斯不肯退让，他说：“一旦绅士带头，打赢的可能性就大多了。”
“告诉他们，让我当外野手一我决不头一个击球。要是队长愿意的话，就安排我当大约第八名击球手一决不当第一名。你可以告诉他，因为轮到我的时候，我才到场上去。”他觉得不舒服，就闭上了眼睛。他正在自食其果，对该结果的性质却熟视无睹。倘若他有宗教信仰的话，他就会把这叫做懊悔，尽管他狼狈不堪，却仍保持着一颗自由自在的灵魂。
莫瑞斯讨厌板球。用球棒的边缘碰击球需要一种技巧，而这正是他所缺乏的。虽然为了克莱夫的缘故他多次参加过比赛，却不喜欢跟社会阶层比自己低的人一起打。足球就不同了——他可以跟对方势均力敌地进行比赛——但是在板球赛中，他可能会被某个粗鲁的年轻人逼得出局或遭受痛击。他觉得这是不得体的。他听说．以掷硬币来决定哪一方先进攻时，他这方赢了。于是，过了半个钟头才下去。德拉姆太太和一两个朋友已经坐在亭子里了，她们全都静悄悄的。莫瑞斯蹲伏在她们的脚下，注视着比赛。跟早些年举行的比赛毫无二致。他这一方的其他队员都是仆人，他们在十二英码开外处，簇拥着正在记分的艾尔斯老人。艾尔斯老人一向管记分。
“队长头一个击了球。”一位太太说，“一位绅士是永远不会这么做的。我对这些小小的差异感兴趣。”
莫瑞斯说：“队长显然是咱们这方最棒的击球手。”
她打了个哈欠，立即品头论足起来。她凭直觉看出那个人自高自大，她的嗓音陡然坠人夏日的微风中。他快要移居海外了。德拉姆太太说——精力最充沛的人都移居海外——随后，话题就转到政治和克莱夫上了。莫瑞斯用双膝托住下巴，郁闷地沉思着。激烈的厌恶在心中油然而生，他不知道该朝哪儿去发泄。女人们聊天也罢，阿列克击下了博雷尼乌斯先生所投的下手球也罢，村民们鼓掌抑或没鼓掌也罢，反正他的心情压抑得不可名状。他咽下了一副来历不明的药剂。他的人生打从根基起撼动了，而且不知道什么将会化为齑粉。
当莫瑞斯去击球的时候，新的一局刚开始，因而阿列克接了第一个球。他的打法改变了，他不再谨慎了，尽情地将球猛击到羊齿丛中去。他抬起眼睛，与莫瑞斯面面相觑，莞尔一笑，球不见了。第二次他击了个得分最高的界线球。他虽没受过训练，体格却适宜玩板球，打起球来有气势。莫瑞斯也鼓起劲头来了。他的心情不再抑郁了，只觉得自己和阿列克正在对抗全世界。不仅是博雷尼乌斯以及那一队球员，好像亭子里的观众和整个英国统统聚拢到三柱门周围来了。他们是为了彼此，为了他们那脆弱的关系而战——倘若一个跌倒了，另一个也会跟着倒下去。他们无意伤害世人，然而只要对方进攻，他们就必须予以痛击。他们非得严加提防不可，而且竭尽全力还击。他们一定让大家明白，要是两个同心协力，对方纵然人多势众也无从得胜。随着比赛的进行，与夜间那件事联系起来了，并阐释了其意义。克莱夫轻而易举地就把这一切结束了。他一上场，他们两个人就不再是主力了。大家把头转向他，球赛顿时黯然失色，停止了，阿列克卸任了。克莱夫这个乡绅一到，理应马上就当队长。阿列克连看也没看莫瑞斯一眼，就退出去了。他也是一身白色法兰绒装束，衣裤宽大，使得他看上去俨然是个绅士。阿列克端庄地站在亭子前面，当克莱夫说完他那一席话的时候，就把板球递过去。克莱夫理所当然地伸手接住。随后，阿列克在艾尔斯老人身旁一屁股坐了下来。
莫瑞斯充满了虚假的柔情，迎接朋友。
“克莱夫……哦，亲爱的，你回来啦。难道你不累吗？”
“一场接一场的会议，一直开到半夜——今天中午又开——必须打上一分钟，好让这帮人高兴高兴。”
“怎么！再一次把我撇下吗？真是不像话。”
“你这么说也有理，可是今天傍晚我一定回来。这回你才算是真正开始在我家做客。莫瑞斯，我要向你提出一百个问题呢。”
“喂，先生们。”传来了一个声音，那是站在草坪直线外的教师-一位社会主义者。
“咱们挨说啦，”克莱夫说，但他并没有慌。“下午的集会安妮打退堂鼓了，所以她可以陪你。哦，你去瞧瞧，他们竟然把客厅顶棚上她那个可爱的小洞补好了。莫瑞斯！不，我不记得想要说什么了。咱们去参加奥林匹克运动会吧。”
第一个球莫瑞斯就出局了。“等着我。”克莱夫喊道，但是他直奔房间，因为他确信自己快要垮了。当他从仆人们跟前走过去的时候，大多数都站起来，发疯似的鼓掌。斯卡德却没这么做，此事使他感到不安。这是否意味着鲁莽呢？起了皱纹的前额——嘴——说不定还是一张残酷的嘴。略小一些的头——为什么要把衬衫的领口像那样敞开？在彭杰的门厅里，他遇见了安妮。
“霍尔先生，会议开得不成功。”话音刚落，她就发现他脸色发青，于是叫喊道，“哦，你身体不合适吧！”
“我知道。”他边说边浑身打着哆嗦。
男人不喜欢人家对他大惊小怪，所以她只搭腔道：“我很替你难过，我送些冰到你的房间去。”
“你总是对我这么体贴——”
“哎，请一位大夫来怎么样？”
“绝对不要再请大夫了。”他狂呼大叫。
“当然喽，我们想关心你。自己要是幸福的话，就会希望别人也同样幸福。”
“天底下没有同样的东西。”
“霍尔先生——！”
“对任何人来说，都没有同样的东西。正因为如此，人生就成了地狱。倘若你做一件事，你就会遭天罚；倘若你什么都不做，也会遭天罚——”他歇了口气，接着说下去，“太阳毒得厉害——我想要点儿冰。”
她跑去取冰。他如释重负，飞快地跑上楼，进入赤褐屋。而今他认识到自己所面对的赤裸裸的现实，猛地感到想呕吐。
Chapter 40
He felt better at once, but realized that he must leave Penge. He changed into the serge, packed, and was soon downstairs again with a neat little story. "The sun caught me," he told Anne, "but I'd radier a worrying letter too, and I think I'd better be in town."
"Much, much better," she cried, all sympathy.
"Yes, much better," echoed Clive, who was up from the match. "We'd hoped you'd put it right yesterday, Maurice, but we quite understand, and if you must go you must go."
And old Mrs Durham had also accrued. There was to be a laughing open secret about this girl in town, who had almost accepted his offer of marriage but not quite. It didn't matter how ill he looked or how queerly he behaved, he was officially a lover, and they interpreted everything to their satisfaction and found him delightful.
Clive motored him to the station, since their ways lay to-gether that far. The drive skirted the cricket field before enter-ing the woods. Scudder was fielding now, looking reckless and graceful. He was close to them, and stamped one foot, as though summoning something. That was the final vision, and whether of a devil or a comrade Maurice had no idea. Oh, the situation was disgusting—of that he was certain, and indeed never wavered till the end of his life. But to be certain of a situation is not to be certain of a human being. Once away from
Penge he would see clearly perhaps; at all events there was Mr Lasker Jones.
"What sort of man is that keeper of yours who captained us?" he asked Clive, having tried the sentence over to himself first, to be sure it didn't sound odd.
"He's leaving this month," said Clive under the impression that he was giving a reply. Fortunately they were passing the kennels at that moment, and he added, "We shall miss him as regards the dogs, anyhow."
"But not in other ways?"
"I expect we shall do worse. One always does. Hard-working anyhow, and decidedly intelligent, whereas the man I've com-ing in his place—"; and, glad that Maurice should be interested he sketched the economy of Penge.
"Straight?" He trembled as he asked this supreme question.
"Scudder? A little too smart to be straight. However, Anne would say I'm being unfair. You can't expect our standard of honesty in servants, any more than you can expect loyalty or gratitude."
"I could never run a job like Penge," resumed Maurice after a pause. "I should never know what type of servant to select. Take Scudder for instance. What class of home does he come from? I haven't the slightest idea."
"Wasn't his father the butcher at Osmington? Yes. I think so."
Maurice flung his hat on the floor of the car with all his force. "This is about the limit," he thought, and buried both hands in his hair.
"Head rotten again?"
"Putrid."
Clive kept sympathetic silence, which neither broke until they parted; all the way Maurice sat crouched with the palms of his hands against his eyes. His whole life he had known
things but not known them—it was the great defect in his char-acter. He had known it was unsafe to return to Penge, lest some folly leapt out of the woods at him, yet he had returned. He had throbbed when Anne said, "Has she bright brown eyes?" He had known in a way it was wiser not to lean out of his bedroom window again and again into the night and call "Come!" His interior spirit was as sensitive to promptings as most men's, but he could not interpret them. Not till the crisis had come was he clear. And this tangle, so different from Cambridge, resembled it so far that too late he could trace the entanglement. Risley's room had its counterpart in the wild rose and the evening prim-roses of yesterday, the side-car dash through the fens fore-shadowed his innings at cricket.
But Cambridge had left him a hero, Penge a traitor. He had abused his host's confidence and defiled his house in his ab-sence, he had insulted Mrs Durham and Anne. And when he reached home there came a worse blow; he had also sinned against his family. Hitherto they had never counted. Fools to be kind to. They were fools still, but he dare not approach them. Between those commonplace women and himself stretched a gulf that hallowed them. Their chatter, their squabble about precedence, their complaints of the chauffeur, seemed word of a greater wrong. When his mother said, "Morrie, now for a nice talk," his heart stopped. They strolled round the garden, as they had done ten years ago, and she murmured the names of vege-tables. Then he had looked up to her, now down; now he knew very well what he wanted with the garden boy. And now Kitty, always a message-bearer, rushed out of the house, and in her hand she held a telegram.
Maurice trembled with anger and fear. "Come back, waiting tonight at boathouse, Penge, Alec": a nice message to be handed in through the local post-office! Presumably one of the house-
servants had supplied his address, for the telegram was fully directed. A nice situation! It contained every promise of black-mail, at the best it was incredible insolence. Of course he shouldn't answer, nor could there be any question now of giving Scudder a present. He had gone outside his class, and it served him right.
But all that night his body yearned for Alec's, despite him. He called it lustful, a word easily uttered, and opposed to it his work, his family, his friends, his position in society. In that coali-tion must surely be included his will. For if the will can over-leap class, civilization as we have made it will go to pieces. But his body would not be convinced. Chance had mated it too perfectly. Neither argument nor threat could silence it, so in the morning, feeling exhausted and ashamed, he telephoned to Mr Lasker Jones and made a second appointment. Before he was due to go to it a letter came. It arrived at breakfast and he read it under his mother's eyes. It was phrased as follows.
Mr Maurice. Dear Sir. I waited both nights in the boathouse. I said the boathouse as the ladder as taken away and the woods is to damp to lie down. So please come to "the boathouse" tomor-row night or next, pretend to the other gentlemen you want a stroll, easily managed, then come down to the boathouse. Dear Sir, let me share with you once before leaving Old England if it is not asking to much. I have key, will let you in. I leave per Ss Normannia Aug 29. I since cricket match do long to talk with one of my arms round you, then place both arms round you and share with you, the above now seems sweeter to me than words can say. I am perfectly aware I am only a servant that never presume on your loving kindness to take liberties or in any other way.
Yours respectfully,
A. Scudder.
(gamekeeper to C. Durham Esq.)
Maurice, was you taken ill that you left, as the indoors servants say? I hope you feel all as usual by this time. Mind and write if you
can't come, for I get no sleep waiting night after night, so come without fail to "Boathouse Penge" tomorrow night, or failing the after.
Well, what did this mean? The sentence Maurice pounced on to the neglect of all others was"I have the key." Yes, he had, and there was a duplicate, kept up at the house, with which an ac-complice, probably Simcox—In this light he interpreted the whole letter. His mother and aunt, the coffee he was drinking, the college cups on the sideboard, all said in their different ways, "If you go you are ruined, if you reply your letter will be used to put pressure upon you. You are in a nasty position but you have this advantage: he hasn't a scrap of your handwriting, and he's leaving England in ten days' time. Lie low, and hope for the best." He made a wry face. Butchers' sons and the rest of them may pretend to be innocent and affectionate, but they read the Police Court News, they know. ... If he heard again, he must consult a reliable solicitor, just as he was going to Las-ker Jones for the emotional fiasco. He had been very foolish, but if he played his cards carefully for the next ten days he ought to get through.
他马上就感到好一些了，但是知道自己必须离开彭杰。他换上一身哔叽衣裤，打点好行李，很快就下了楼，并编了个巧妙的小瞎话。“我患了日射病，”他告诉安妮，“而且还收到一封使我担心的信。所以我想，最好回伦敦去。”
“可不是嘛，最好这样。”她满心同情地大声说。
“是啊，最好这样。”已经从比赛场地回来了的克莱夫随声附和道。“我们原来希望你昨天就能谈妥的，莫瑞斯。可我们完全理解，倘若你非去不可的话，你就去吧。”
德拉姆老夫人也帮腔。伦敦的这位姑娘的事已成了公开的可笑的秘密，她几乎接受了他的求婚，就还差那么一点儿。不论他看上去多么不舒服，行为何等乖张，都没关系。他是个堂堂正正的求婚者，他们怀着满意的心情来解释一切，还发现他蛮讨人喜欢。
克莱夫用汽车顺路把他送到车站。进入森林之前，乍子从板球场边上开过去。这会儿斯卡德正担任守场员，看上去大大咧咧，举止优雅。他离他们不远，抬起一只脚来用力踹，就好像在召唤什么似的。这是映在莫瑞斯眼帘里的斯卡德最后的姿态，他弄不清那究竟是魔鬼呢，还是自己亲密的同伴。啊，他的处境糟糕透了——这是千真万确的，他终生决不会屈服于这样的处境。虽然能够把处境弄清楚，人心却是不可捉摸的。一旦离开了彭杰，也许他就能够看清楚了。不管怎样，还有拉斯克•琼斯先生呢。
“你们那个看猎场的是个什么样的人啊？他还当上了队长呢。”为了绝不让克莱夫听上去感到跷蹊，他先把这句话暗自说了一遍才这么问。
“这个月他就辞工了。”克莱夫觉得这就算是他的回答了。此刻，他们刚好从养狗场前经过，他补充一句：“无论如何，我们失去了一个照料狗的人，够不方便的。”
“别的方面没什么不方便吗？”
“我预料更糟的还在后头。一年到头，麻烦不断。总之，他很勤劳，脑子绝对好使。而我打算雇来接替他的那个人呢——”他很高兴莫瑞斯对此表示关注，就把彭杰的经济情况概述了一番。
“是个正经人吗？”当他提出这个至关重要的问题时，浑身打着哆嗦。
“斯卡德吗？太聪明了些，说不上是个正经人。不过，安妮会说我这么看不公平。咱们不能拿自己对诚实的标准来衡量仆人们，忠诚啦，感激啦，也是这样。”
“我永远也管理不了彭杰这么个庄园，”莫瑞斯沉默了片刻后说，“我永远也不会知道该挑选什么类型的仆人。就以斯卡德为例吧，他出身于什么样的家庭？我全不了解。”
“他老子是奥斯敏顿的一个屠夫吧。对，我想是的。”
莫瑞斯竭尽全力将帽子往汽车的座位下一扔。“已经到极限啦。”他这么想，并将双手插到头发当中去。
“头又痛起来了吗？”
“痛得厉害。”
克莱夫怀着满腔同情，不再言语了。直到分手，双方都不曾打破沉默。一路上，莫瑞斯弯腰低头而坐，用手心捂住两眼。他这辈子，明明知道各种各样的事，却又不理解——这是他性格中的极大缺陷。他知道回彭杰是危险的，惟恐一桩荒唐事会从森林里朝他跳跃过来，然而他还是回来了。“她长着一双目光炯炯的褐色眼睛吗？”当安妮这么说的时候，他心里怦怦直跳。不知为什么，他知道不从卧室的窗口接二连三地朝黑夜探出身去，呼唤“来吧”会更聪明一些。跟绝大多数男人一样，他对任何暗示都是敏感的，然而他不能理解个中奥妙，直到危急关头才恍然大悟。这场混乱与剑桥那一场迥然不同，却又有相似的一点：当他得以把一团乱麻理出头绪的时候，业已太迟了。里斯利的房间相当于昨天的野蔷薇与月见草。乘摩托车从沼泽地带猛冲过去，预兆着他在板球场上大显身手。
但是剑桥使他成为英雄，彭杰则让他成了叛徒。他滥用了东道主的信赖，在其外出期间，玷污了其房屋，从而凌辱了德拉姆太太和安妮。当他回到自己家后，更猛烈的打击等待着他。他对家族也犯了罪。迄今他没把她们放在眼里，她们不过是必须加以体贴的傻子而已。她们依然是傻子，但他不敢靠近她们。他和这些平凡的妇女之间绵延着一道不可逾越的鸿沟，使她们变得神圣不可侵犯。她们的唠叨，关于该优先满足什么的口角，针对汽车司机发的牢骚，好像都是冲着他那档子恶行而来的。当他的母亲说“莫瑞，咱们娘儿俩好好聊一聊”的时候，他的心脏停止了跳动。他们就像十年前那样在庭园里溜达，她小声列举着蔬菜的名字。当时他得抬起头来望她，如今则低头看她。现在他非常清楚地知道了当初自己想从那个小园丁身上得到什么。吉蒂一向替他送信，这时手里拿着一封电报，从房子里跑出来。
莫瑞斯愤惧交加，浑身战栗。“回来，今晚在船库里等候。彭杰，阿列克。”通过当地的邮局发来了这么一封讨厌的电报！大概上房的一个仆人把地址告诉了他，因为电报上把地址写得很准确。多么讨厌的处境！这回对方就能随意对他进行种种敲诈勒索了，起码也是难以置信的侮辱。当然他没有必要回答，现在更不存在送给斯卡德任何礼物的问题了。他越出了自己的社会阶层，这是自食其果。
然而，当天夜里他的肉体不由自主地不断渴求着阿列克的肉体。他把这叫做“淫欲”，此词脱口而出。他以自己的工作、家庭、朋友、社会地位予之对抗。这一连串当中肯定应该包括他的意志。因为倘若意志能够无视阶级，我们所形成的文明就会被摧毁了。但是他的肉体却想不通，机缘使它遇上了最理想的伴侣，不论是极力说服还是威胁，它都不肯沉默。到了早晨，莫瑞斯感到精疲力竭，羞愧不已，于是给拉斯克•琼斯先生打了电话，再度预约复诊。他还没动身，就收到了一封信。是吃早饭的时候递给他，他在母亲的眼皮底下读的。全文如下：
莫瑞斯先生，亲爱的老爷。两个晚上我都在船库里等候。我说船库，因为梯子已被搬走了，森林里太潮湿，不能躺下来。所以请你在明天或后天晚上到“船库”来。你对其他绅士们假装说要去散步，这样好安排，然后就到船库来。亲爱的老爷，倘若我的要求不是太过分的话，就让我在离开古老的英格兰之前跟你共享一次吧。我有钥匙，会放你进去。八月二十九日，我乘诺曼尼亚号轮船起航。自从板球赛以来，我就希望伸出一只胳膊搂着你，跟你聊天。再伸出两只胳膊搂着你，与你共享。对我来说，现在这件事好像愉快得难以形容。我充分意识到自己不过是个仆人，永远也不会趁着你热情相待而钻空子，对你放肆，或有别的任何表现。
阿•斯卡德谨上
（克•德拉姆乡绅的猎场看守）莫瑞斯，你是像上房的仆人们所说的那样由于生病才走的吗？我希望这会儿你已经跟平常一样了。假若你不能来的话，别忘记写信告诉我。因为一夜夜地等待，我就没法睡觉了。所以明天晚上务必到“彭杰的船库”来。不行的话，后天晚上来。
啊，这是什么意思呢？莫瑞斯只抓住了“我有钥匙”这句话，对其他词句一概未加理睬。是的，他有钥匙。然而楼房的也得有，那么准是另配了一把喽。他必然有个同谋者，兴许是西姆科克斯——他以这个观点来解读全文。他母亲和姨妈、他正喝着的咖啡、摆在餐具柜里的一只只学院的奖杯，七嘴八舌地对他说：“你一旦去了，就断送了自己的前程。你要是回了信，它就会被用来对你施加压力。你陷入了困境，但是他手里连你写的一个纸片儿都没有。再说，不出十天他就离开英国了。潜伏起来，抱乐观的希望吧。”他皱起眉头来。屠夫的儿子及其伙伴们装出一副天真无邪、蛮有交情的样子，然而他们够熬过去的。
Chapter 41
"Mornin', doctor. Think you can polish me off this time?" he began, very flippant in his manner; then flung himself down in the chair, half closed his eyes and said, "Well, go ahead." He was in a fury to be cured. The knowledge of this interview had helped him to bear up against the vam-pire. Once normal, he could settle him. He longed for the trance, wherein his personality would melt and be subtly reformed. At the least he gained five minutes' oblivion, while the will of the doctor strove to penetrate his own.
"I will go ahead in one moment, Mr Hall. First tell me how you have been?"
"Oh, as usual. Fresh air and exercise, as you told me. All serene."
"Have you frequented female society with any pleasure?"
"Some ladies were at Penge. I only stayed one night there. The day after you saw me, Friday, I returned to London— that's to say home."
"You had intended to stop longer with your friends, I think."
"I think I did."
Lasker Jones then sat down on the side of his chair. "Let yourself go now," he said quietly.
"Rather."
He repeated the passes. Maurice looked at the fire irons as before.
"Mr Hall, are you going into a trance?"
There was a long silence, broken by Maurice saying gravely, "I'm not quite sure."
They tried again.
"Is the room at all dark, Mr Hall?"
Maurice said, "A bit," in the hope that it would become so. And it did darken a little.
"What do you see?"
"Well, if it's dark I can't be expected to see."
"What did you see last time?"
"A picture."
"Quite so, and what else?"
"What else?"
"What else? A cr— a cr—"
"Crack in the floor."
"And then?"
Maurice changed his position and said, "I stepped over it."
"And then?"
He was silent.
"And then?" the persuasive voice repeated.
"I hear you all right," said Maurice. "The bother is I've not gone off. I went just a little muzzy at the start, but now I'm as wide awake as you are. You might have another shot."
They tried again, with no success.
"What in Hell can have happened? You could bowl me out last week first ball. What's your explanation?"
"You should not resist me."
"Damn it all, I don't."
"You are less suggestible than you were."
"I don't know what that may mean, not being an expert in the jargon, but I swear from the bottom of my heart I want to be healed. I want to be like other men, not this outcast whom no-body wants—"
They tried again.
"Then am I one of your twenty-five per cent failures?"
"Icould do a little with you last week, but we do have these sudden disappointments."
"Sudden disappointment, am I? Well, don't be beat, don't give up," he guffawed, affectedly bluff.
"I do not propose to give up, Mr Hall."
Again they failed.
"And what's to happen to me?" said Maurice, with a sudden drop in his voice. He spoke in despair, but Mr Lasker Jones had an answer to every question. "I'm afraid I can only advise you to live in some country that has adopted the Code Napoleon," he said.
"I don't understand."
"France or Italy, for instance. There homosexuality is no longer criminal."
"You mean that a Frenchman could share with a friend and yet not go to prison?"
"Share? Do you mean unite? If both are of age and avoid public indecency, certainly."
"Will the law ever be that in England?"
"I doubt it. England has always been disinclined to accept human nature."
Maurice understood. He was an Englishman himself, and only his troubles had kept him awake. He smiled sadly. "It comes to this then: there always have been people like me and always will be, and generally they have been persecuted."
"That is so, Mr Hall; or, as psychiatry prefers to put it, there has been, is, and always will be every conceivable type of per-son. And you must remember that your type was once put to death in England."
"Was it really? On the other hand, they could get away. England wasn't all built over and policed. Men of my sort could take to the greenwood."
"Is that so? I was not aware."
"Oh, it's only my own notion," said Maurice, laying the fee down. "It strikes me there may have been more about the Greeks—Theban Band—and the rest of it. Well, this wasn't un-like. I don't see how they could have kept together otherwise— especially when they came from such different classes."
"An interesting theory."
Words flying out of him again, he said, "I've not been straight with you."
"Indeed, Mr Hall."
What a comfort the man was! Science is better than sympa-thy, if only it is science.
"Since I was last here I went wrong with a—he's nothing but a gamekeeper. I don't know what to do."
"I can scarcely advise you on such a point."
"I know you can't. But you might tell me whether he's pulling me away from sleep. I half wondered."
"No one can be pulled against his will, Mr Hall."
"I'd a notion he'd stopped me going into the trance, and I wished—that seems silly—that I hadn't happened to have a letter from him in my pocket—read it as I've told you so much. I feel simply walking on a volcano. He's an uneducated man; he's got me in his power. In court would he have a case?"
"I am no lawyer," came the unvarying voice, "but I do not think this letter can be construed as containing a menace. It's a matter on which you should consult your solicitor, not me."
"I'm sorry, but it's been a relief. I wonder if you'd be awfully kind—hypnotize me once more. I feel I might go off now I've told you. I'd hoped to get cured without giving myself away. Are there such things as men getting anyone in their power through dreams?"
"I will try on condition your confession is this time exhaus-tive. Otherwise you waste both my time and your own."
It was exhaustive. He spared neither his lover nor himself. When all was detailed, the perfection of the night appeared as a transient grossness, such as his father had indulged in thirty years before.
"Sit down once again."
Maurice heard a slight noise and swerved.
"It is my children playing overhead."
"Iget half to believe in spooks."
"It is merely the children."
Silence returned. The afternoon sunshine fell yellow through the window upon the roll-top desk. This time Maurice fixed his attention on that. Before recommencing, the doctor took Alec's letter, and solemnly burnt it to ashes before his eyes.
Nothing happened.
“早安，大夫。这次你能特别快地把我治好吗？”莫瑞斯用非常轻佻的口吻说，接着就一屁股坐在椅子上，半闭上眼睛催促道：“喂，动手呀。”他想把病治好，急得像热锅上的蚂蚁似的。知道自己会来接受治疗一事，帮助他毫不气馁地对抗那个吸血鬼。身心一旦健全了，他就能和对方一了百了。他迫切希望陷入昏睡状态，那样一来他的人格就会融化，获得微妙的改进。最起码能让他失去记忆五分钟。这时，大夫的意志就竭力浸透到他的意志中去。
“马上就开始，霍尔先生。先告诉我近来你的情况怎么样？”
“啊，跟平常一样。新鲜空气和运动，正如你嘱咐我的那样，一切顺利。”
“你心情愉快地跟女人们经常往来吗？”
“彭杰有几个女人，我只在那儿逗留了一夜。你为我诊治过的第二天，星期五，我回伦敦去了——也就是说，回家了。”
．．我以为你是打算在朋友们那里再多住些日子的。”
“我原来是这么打算的。”
接着，拉斯克•琼斯在莫瑞斯的椅子旁边坐了下来。“现在’开始吧。”他安详地说。
“好的。”
他一遍遍地施催眠术。莫瑞斯就像上次似的看着火炉用具。
“霍尔先生，你快陷入昏睡状态了吗？”
莫瑞斯沉默良久，随后划破寂静，严肃地说：“我不大有把握。”
他们又试了一遍。
“屋子暗一点儿了吗，霍尔先生？”
莫瑞斯希望屋子能暗下来，就说：“一点点儿。”确实暗一点儿了。
“你看见了什么？”
“咦，既然暗了，就不能指望我看见什么了。”
“上一次你看见了什么？”
“一幅画。”
“完全对。还有什么？”
“还有什么？”
“还有什么？一道裂——一道裂——”
“地板上有一道裂缝。”
“然后呢？”
莫瑞斯换了个姿势说：“我迈过去了。”
“然后呢？”
他不吭声了。
“然后呢？”那个劝诱的声音重复了一遍。
“你的话我都听见了，”莫瑞斯说，“使我伤脑筋的是我并没有进入恍惚状态。起初我有一点儿迷迷糊糊，可现在我跟你一样清醒。你可以再尝试一次。”
他们又试了一遍，然而没成功。
“到底发生了什么事呀？上星期你对我施催眠术，一下就成功了。你能说明原因吗？”
“你不应该对抗我。”
“该死的，我没对抗啊。”
“你没有上次那样容易受影响了。”
“我不明白这是什么意思，因为我不是这些行话的专家。然而我衷心发誓，我希望恢复健康。我巴不得能变得像别的男人那样，不当这样一个被大家所唾弃的无赖——”
他们又试了一遍。
“那么，我属于你那百分之二十五的失败的病例喽？”
“上星期我还多少能对你起作用。然而，我们的确会像这样突然受挫折。”
“突然受挫折，我吗？喂，别气馁，别放弃。”他虚张声势，粗野地笑道。
“我不打算放弃，霍尔先生。”
他们又失败了一次。
“什么事会降临到我头上呢？”莫瑞斯忽然压低了嗓门说。他是悲观失望地说这话的，然而拉斯克.琼斯对每一个问题都能做出答复。“不瞒你说，我只能劝告你到采纳《拿破仑法典》（译注：《拿破仑法典》是1804年颁布的法国民法典。其间几经修改，至今仍然有效。按照法典，所有的公民一律平等。法典第一编是人法，其中包括人格的保护。）的国家去生活。”他说。
“我不明白。”
“比方说，法国或意大利。在那儿，同性爱已经不再是犯法的了。”
“你的意思是说，法国人即使和一个朋友共享，也不会被关进监狱吗？”
“共享？你指的是发生关系吗？如果双方都成年了，而且不在公共场所有猥亵行为，当然不会入狱。”
“这条法律迟早会在英国施行吗？”
“恐怕施行不了。英国一向不愿意承认人性。”
莫瑞斯领会了。他本人就是个英国人，只因为灾难重重，他才有所醒悟。他面带悲痛的笑容，“那么，是这么一回事喽：像我这样的人，过去一直有过，今后也还会有。通常他们会遭到迫害。”
“是这样的，霍尔先生。照精神病学的说法就是：过去一直有过，今后也还会有各式各样的人。你必须记住，在英国，像你这种类型的人曾经被处以死刑。”
“真的吗？另一方面，他们可以逃跑呀。从前英国并没有密密匝匝遍地盖起房子，布满警察。像我这种人可以逃到绿林里去。”
“是吗？我从来不知道还有这样的事。”
“哦，这仅仅是我本人突然产生的怪念头。”莫瑞斯边撂下诊治费边说。“我突然想到，希腊人可能还有咱们所不知道的一面一第邦神圣队——以及其他的。唷，这种情况不是不可能的。不然的话，很难想象他们怎么能拧成一股绳——尤其是他们来自形形色色的阶级。”
“有趣的说法。”
这时，他的话又脱口而出：“我对你并不坦率。”
“哦，霍尔先生。”
这个人给了他多大的慰藉呀！科学比同情强，只要它是科学就行。
“自从我上次到你这儿来过之后，我跟一个——他只不过是个看猎场的——发生了不正当的关系。我不知道该怎么办。”
“关于这一点，我无从向你提供建议。”
“我知道你提供不了。然而你可以告诉我，是不是由于他对我的影响，我才不能进入催眠状态。我觉得或许是这样。”
“谁都不可能违背自己意愿地被人影响，霍尔先生。”
“我相信是他阻拦我陷入昏睡状态的，我希望一这个愿望好像很可笑——要是不曾把他的一封来信揣在我的兜里就好了——你读吧，反正我已经告诉你这么多啦。我简直觉得仿佛是在一座火山上走着。他是个没受过教育的人，却把我控制住了。在法庭上，会做出对他有利的判决吗？”
“我不是个律师，”传来了一个没有变化的嗓音，“然而我不认为这封信能被解释为包含着这样的威胁。这个问题你应该跟你的律师去商量，而不是跟我。”
“真是抱歉。不过，这使我如释重负。我不知道你肯不肯大发善心——再对我施一次催眠术。现在我已经告诉了你，我感到可能会成功。我原本希望用不着露马脚就痊愈了。人们能不能通过叫控制别人？”
“在这次你把情况和盘托出的前提下，我愿意试一遍。否则你就是在浪费我和你自己的时间。”
他坦白得很彻底。不论是对情人还是他本人，都毫不留情。全部叙述之后，那个夜晚的圆满看上去就是一时的放荡了，犹如三十年前他父亲的纵欲行为。
“重新坐下吧。”
莫瑞斯听见了轻微的响声，突然掉过身去。
“我的孩子们在楼上玩呢。”
“我还只当是幽灵呢。”
“只不过是孩子们。”
恢复了寂静。午后的阳光黄灿灿地穿过窗子倾泻到卷盖式书桌上。这一次，莫瑞斯聚精会神地望着它。开始之前，大夫拿起阿列克那封信，在莫瑞斯眼前将它郑重其事地烧成灰烬。
什么事情也没发生。
Chapter 42
By pleasuring the body Maurice had confirmed— that very word was used in the final verdict—he had confirmed his spirit in its perversion, and cut himself off from the congregation of normal man. In his irritation he stammered; "What I want to know is—what I can't tell you nor you me— how did a country lad like that know so much about me? Why did he thunder up that special night when I was weakest? I'd never let him touch me with my friend in the house, because, damn it all, I'm more or less a gentleman—public school, var-sity, and so on—I can't even now believe that it was with him." Regretting he had not possessed Clive in the hour of their pas-sion, he left, left his last shelter, while the doctor said perfunc-torily. "Fresh air and exercise may do wonders yet." The doctor wanted to get on to his next patient, and he did not care for Maurice's type. He was not shocked like Dr Barry, but he was bored, and never thought of the young invert again.
On the doorstep something rejoined Maurice—his old self perhaps, for as he walked along a voice spoke out of his mortifi-cation, and its accents recalled Cambridge; a reckless youthful voice that girded at him for being a fool. "You've done for your-self this time," it seemed to say, and when he stopped outside the park, because the King and Queen were passing, he de-spised them at the moment he bared his head. It was as if the barrier that kept him from his fellows had taken another aspect. He was not afraid or ashamed anymore. After all, the forests and the night were on his side, not theirs; they, not he, were in-
side a ring fence. He had acted wrongly, and was still being punished—but wrongly because he had tried to get the best of both worlds. "But I must belong to my class, that's fixed," he persisted.
"Very well," said his old self. "Now go home, and tomorrow morning mind you catch the 8.36 up to the office, for your holi-day is over, remember, and mind you never turn your head, as I may, towards Sherwood."
"I'm not a poet, I'm not that kind of an ass—"
The King and Queen vanished into their palace, the sun fell behind the park trees, which melted into one huge creature that had fingers and fists of green.
"The life of the earth, Maurice? Don't you belong to that?"
"Well, what do you call the 'life of the earth'—it ought to be the same as my daily life—the same as society. One ought to be built on the other, as Clive once said."
"Quite so. Most unfortunate, that facts pay no attention to Clive."
"Anyhow, I must stick to my class."
"Night is coming—be quick then—take a taxi—be quick like your father, before doors close."
Hailing one, he caught the 6.20. Another letter from Scudder awaited him on the leather tray in the hall. He knew the writing at once, the "Mr M. Hall" instead of "Esq.", the stamps plastered crooked. He was frightened and annoyed, yet not so much as he would have been in the morning, for though science despaired of him he despaired less of himself. After all, is not a real Hell bet-ter than a manufactured Heaven? He was not sorry that he had eluded the manipulations of Mr Lasker Jones. He put the letter into the pocket of his dinner-jacket, where it tugged unread, while he played cards, and heard how the chauffeur had given notice; one didn't know what servants were coming to: to his suggestion that servants might be flesh and blood like ourselves
his aunt opposed a loud "They aren't". At bedtime he kissed his mother and Kitty without the fear of defiling them; their short-lived sanctity was over, and all that they did and said had re-sumed insignificance. It was with no feeling of treason that he locked his door, and gazed for five minutes into the suburban night. He heard owls, the ring of a distant tram and his heart sounding louder than either. The letter was beastly long. The blood began pounding over his body as he unfolded it, but his head kept cool, and he managed to read it as a whole, not merely sentence by sentence.
Mr Hall, Mr Borenius has just spoke to me. Sir, you do not treat me fairly. I am sailing next week, per s.s. Normannia. I wrote you I am going, it is not fair you never write to me. I come of a respectable family, I don't think it fair to treat me like a dog. My father is a respectable tradesman. I am going to be on my own in the Argentine. You say, "Alec, you are a dear fellow"; but you do not write.I know about you and Mr Durham. Why do you say "call me Maurice", and then treat me so unfairly? Mr Hall, I am coming to London Tuesday. If you do not want me at your home say where in London, you had better see me—I would make you sorry for it. Sir, nothing of note has occurred since you left Penge. Cricket seems over, some of the great trees as lost some of their leaves, which is very early. Has Mr Borenius spoken to you about certain girls? I can't help being rather rough, it is some men's nature, but you should not treat me like a dog. It was before you came. It is natural to want a girl, you cannot go against human nature. Mr Borenius found out about the girls through the new communion class. He has just spoken to me. I have never come like that to a gentleman before. Were you annoyed at being disturbed so early? Sir, it was your fault, your head was on me. I had my work, I was Mr Durham's servant, not yours. I am not your servant, I will not be treated as your servant, and I don't care if the world knows it. I will show respectwhere it's due only, that is to say to gentleman who are gentleman. Simcox says, "Mr Hall says to put him in about eighth." I put you in fifth, but I was captain, and you have no right to treat me unfairly on that account.
Yours respectfully, A. Scudder.
P.S. I know something.
This last was the outstanding point, yet Maurice could brood over the letter as a whole. There was evidently some unsavoury gossip in the under-world about himself and Clive, but what did it matter now? What did it matter if they had been spied on in the Blue Room, or among the ferns, and been misinterpreted? He was concerned with the present. Why should Scudder have mentioned such gossip? What was he up to? Why had he flung out these words, some foul, many stupid, some gracious? While actually reading the letter, Maurice might feel it carrion he must toss on to his solicitor, but when he laid it down and took up his pipe, it seemed the sort of letter he might have written himself. Muddle-headed? How about muddle-headed? If so, it was in his own line! He didn't want such a letter, he didn't know what it wanted—half a dozen things possibly—but he couldn't well be cold and hard over it as Clive had been to him over the originalSymposium business, and argue, "Here's a certain statement, I shall keep you to it." He replied, "A.S. Yes. Meet me Tuesday 5.0 p.m. entrance of British Museum. B.M. a large building. Anyone will tell you which. M.C.H." That struck him as best. Both were outcasts, and if it came to a scrap must have it with-out benefit of society. As for the rendezvous, he chose it because they were unlikely to be disturbed there by anyone whom he knew. Poor B.M., solemn and chaste! The young man smiled, and his face became mischievous and happy. He smiled also at the thought that Clive hadn't quite kept out of the mud after all, and though the face now hardened into lines less pleasing, it proved him an athlete, who had emerged from a year of suf-fering uninjured.
His new vigour persisted next morning, when he returned to work. Before his failure with Lasker Jones he had looked for-ward to work as a privilege of which he was almost unworthy. It was to have rehabilitated him, so that he could hold up his head at home. But now it too crumbled, and again he wanted
to laugh, and wondered why he had been taken in so long. The clientele of Messrs Hill and Hall was drawn from the middle-middle classes, whose highest desire seemed shelter—continu-ous shelter—not a lair in the darkness to be reached against fear, but shelter everywhere and always, until the existence of earth and sky is forgotten, shelter from poverty and disease and violence and impoliteness; and consequently from joy; God slipped this retribution in. He saw from their faces, as from the faces of his clerks and his partners, that they had never known real joy. Society had catered for them too completely. They had never struggled, and only a struggle twists sentimentality and lust together into love. Maurice would have been a good lover. He could have given and taken serious pleasure. But in these men the strands were untwisted; they were either fatuous or ob-scene, and in his present mood he despised the latter least. They would come to him and ask for a safe six per cent security. He would reply, "You can't combine high interest with safety—it isn't to be done"; and in the end they would say, "How would it be if I invested most of my money at four per cent, and play about with an odd hundred?" Even so did they speculate in a little vice—not in too much, lest it disorganized domesticity, but in enough to show that their virtue was sham. And until yester-day he had cringed to them.
Why should he serve such men? He began discussing the ethics of his profession, like a clever undergraduate, but the railway carriage did not take him seriously. "Young Hall's all right," remained the verdict. "Hell never lose a single client, not he." And they diagnosed a cynicism not unseemly in a busi-ness man. "All the time he's investing steadily, you bet. Remem-ber that slum talk of his in the spring?"
由于在肉体上得到了快乐，莫瑞斯施行了坚振礼——最后的判决正是用此词来下的——他对精神施行坚振礼，让精神走入邪路，从而与正常人的集团断绝了关系。他气恼地结结巴巴地说：“我想知道的是一我不能告诉你，你也不能告诉我——像他那么个乡下小子怎么会对我了如指掌？为什么他在我最虚弱的那个特定的晚上进行突然袭击？倘若我的朋友在家，我决不让他碰我一个指头。因为，他妈的，我总还算是个绅士——公学、大学等等一甚至现在我都难以相信是跟他。”他懊悔自己在充满激情的时刻所委身的对象并不是克莱夫，于是告辞离开了他最后这座遇难所。大夫呢，敷衍塞责地说：“新鲜空气和运动依然能取得惊人的效果。”大夫只想去为下一个患者看病，他不喜欢莫瑞斯这种类型的。他并没有像巴里大夫那样为之震骇，然而他感到厌烦，从此再也不曾想起过这个反常的青年。
在门口，某种东西回到他身上来了——也许是昔日的他。因为当他一路走去的时候，从屈辱中发出了一个声音，那腔调使他回忆起剑桥。那个鲁莽、年轻的嗓音嘲笑他是个傻瓜。“这一次你可完蛋啦。”它好像这么说。由于国王和王后正从这里经过，莫瑞斯只得在公园外面停下脚步。脱帽的那一瞬间，他对他们产生了轻蔑之感。把他和同伴们隔开来的那道栅栏好像呈现出另一个局面。他再也不害怕，也不感到羞愧了。森林和夜晚毕竟是站在他这一边的，却并不支持他们。被圈在围墙里的是他们，而不是他。他行为不端，至今仍受着处罚——他的错误在于试图把两个世界的最好的东西都弄到手。“但是我必须属于自己的阶级，这是确定了的。”他固执地说。
“很好嘛，”昔日的他说，“现在就回家去吧。别忘了明天早晨乘八点三十六分的火车到办公室去，因为你的假期已经结束了。记住，神决不要调过头看舍伍德（译注：指舍伍德森林，是英国英格兰诺丁汉郡林地和原皇家猎场，因侠盗罗宾汉曾出没于此而有名。以前森林几乎覆盖整个诺丁汉郡西部并延伸到德比郡，现面积已减小。），我呢，也许会这么做。”
“我不是诗人，我不是那样的傻瓜——”
国王和王后进入宫殿，无影无踪了。太阳落到公园的树丛后面。树木融合为有着无数手指与拳头的庞然大物。
“大地的生活如何，莫瑞斯？你是不是属于它？”
“啊，你所说的‘大地的生活’——应该跟我的日常生活毫无二致——跟社会毫无二致。正如有一次克莱夫说过的，日常生活应该建立在社会上。”
“正是这样。最大的遗憾是，这些事实却忽视了克莱夫。”
“不管怎样，我必须忠于自己的阶级。”
“夜幕快降临了——那么就抓紧时间——坐出租车——在没关门之前，像你父亲那样急如星火。”
莫瑞斯叫了一辆出租车，赶上了六点二十分的火车。斯卡德的另一封信在门厅里的皮托盘里等着他。他立即认出了笔迹，写的是“莫‘霍尔先生”，而不是“大人”，邮票贴得歪歪扭扭。他感到害怕、烦恼，倘若今天早晨遇上这样的事，就越发难以承受。尽管科学认为他是无可救药的了，他对自己却还抱着一线希望。一座真正的地狱毕竟比虚构的天堂强。不是吗？他并不因摆脱了拉斯克•琼斯先生的控制而感到遗憾。他把信塞到无尾晚礼服的内兜里，当他玩纸牌的时候，那封未读过的信被拖来拖去。他听说司机要辞工。女人们抱怨着，这年头，仆人都怎么啦？他表态说，仆人也跟咱们一样，是有血有肉的人啊。他的姨妈大声抗议：“他们才不是呢。”到了就寝时间，他吻了母亲和吉蒂，却丝毫也没有玷污她们的感觉。他一度认为她们是圣洁的，转眼间这种看法就过去了。她们的一切言行重新变得毫无意义。当他锁上门的时候，完全没有背信弃义的感觉。他朝着伦敦郊外的夜晚出神地凝视了五分钟。他听见了猫头鹰的啼叫，远处电车铃铛丁零零地响着，他的心脏跳得比这两种声音还响。那封信长得要命，他推开信笺的时候．浑身的血沸腾起来了。但他依然保持头脑的冷静，不仅是一句句地读，还做到了一览无余。
霍尔先生，博雷尼乌斯先生刚刚跟我谈过话。先生．你待我不公正。下星期我就乘诺曼尼亚号轮船起航了。我写信告诉你我要走了，你呢，从来也不写信给我，这是不公正的。我出身在一个体面的家庭里，我不认为把我当作一条狗那样来对待是公正的。我爹是个体面的商人。我要到阿根廷去自立。你说：“阿列克，你是个好样儿的。”但是你不写信。我知道你和德拉姆先生的事。为什么你说：“管我叫莫瑞斯。”却这么不公正地对待我呢？霍尔先生，星期二我到伦敦来。要是你不愿意让我到你家去，就告诉我在伦敦的什么地方。你最好跟我见面——不然的话，我要叫你吃不了兜着走。先生，自从你离开彭杰，什么值得注意的事也没发生。板球赛似乎完了。有些大树开始掉叶子了，掉得非常早。博雷尼乌斯先生跟你讲过某些姑娘的事吗？我忍不住撒过野，这是某些男人的天性，可你不该把我当作一条狗那样来对待。在你来以前，想要个姑娘是很自然的事，你不能违反人的天性。博雷尼乌斯先生是通过新开的圣餐仪式学习班，才发现姑娘们的事的，他刚刚跟我谈过话。我从来也没像那样进过绅士的房间。你是不是因为大清早就被吵醒而对我烦透了呢？先生，那是你的过错，你把脑袋压在我身上了。我有活儿要干，我是德拉姆先生的仆人，不是你的。我不是你的仆人，我不愿意被当作你的仆人来对待。我不在乎把这个想法公诸于世。我只尊重那些该尊重的人。也就是说，那些地地道道的绅士。西姆科克斯说：“霍尔先生说过，安排他当大约第八名击球手。”我安排你当了第五名。可我是队长呀，你没有权利由于这个缘故就不公正地对待我。又及：我还知道一些事。尊重你的阿•斯卡德
最后的附言引人注目，然而莫瑞斯能够从整体上来焦急地考虑此信。关于他本人和克莱夫，仆人当中显然流传着声名狼藉的闲话。然而，事至如今又能怎样呢？就算他们在蓝屋或羊齿丛之间的行为被人窥视，引起了误解，又有什么关系呢？他担心的是目前的事。斯卡德为什么偏偏提及这些流言蜚语？他安的是什么心？他为什么洋洋洒洒抛出这一大篇，有些词句是令人不快的，很多是傻话，还有几句比较亲切。读着这封信的时候，莫瑞斯觉得它像是一块腐肉，他必须把它赶紧交给律师。然而，及至他将信撂下，点燃烟斗，却认为这像是他本人也会写的信。昏头昏脑吗？昏头昏脑又怎么了？倘若是这样的话，也是符合他自己的行为准则的呀！他不稀罕这样一封信，他不清楚对方写此信的意图——也许有半打意图——然而他不愿意冷淡苛酷地对待它，犹如克莱夫在《会饮篇》原著这件事上对待他那样。克莱夫振振有词：“上面是这么写的，请你记在心里。”他写了回信：“阿•斯。行。星期二下午五点钟在大英博物馆门口跟我会面。博物馆是个巨大的建筑物，谁都会告诉你是哪一座。莫．C．霍。”他觉得这么写最好。他们两个人都是被排斥在社会之外的人。要是争吵起来，最好也别惹世人注意。至于选这个地点来会见，因为不大可能在此撞见与他相识的人。可怜的大英博物馆，既庄严又纯洁！年轻人微笑了，脸上浮现出顽皮、幸福的神色。这微笑还有个原因：想到了克莱夫归根到底并未能完全不受毁谤。尽管这张脸现在绷起来了，露出没那么愉快的皱纹，却足以证明他是个强壮的运动员，丝毫没有受到损伤，终于摆脱了一年的苦难。
第二天早晨他回去工作了，新产生的活力一直持续着。在拉斯克•琼斯那儿一败涂地之前，他曾对这份工作满怀希望，认为这是自己几乎不配享受的殊荣，它将使他恢复正常生活，从而在家里也能抬起头来。然而如今连这个希望都破灭了。他又想大笑一场了，心里琢磨着自己为什么会被欺骗得这么久。希尔与霍尔证券公司的主顾们来自中产阶级的中问阶层，其最高的愿望好像就是确保一座避难所，而且还是一座持久的避难所。不是害怕的时候前往躲藏的黑暗中的隐匿处，而是遍地都是、时时刻刻都有的避难所，直到大地与天空的存在被抛到脑后。这座避难所保护人不受贫穷、疾病、暴力与无礼的侵犯，最后，就连快乐也被剥夺了，是神悄悄地让他们遭受这个惩罚的。莫瑞斯从他们脸上，正如从办事员以及合伙人脸上看出，他们从来也不知道什么是真正的快乐，社会为他们提供得太齐全了，他们从未苦斗过。惟有苦斗才能把多情的心与肉欲融合起来，化为爱。莫瑞斯可以做一个出色的情人，他能够给予并接受真诚的爱。然而在这些人身上，那两样并没有融合，他们要么昏庸无能，要么荒淫无耻。眼下，在他的心目中，后者还没有前者可鄙。客户到他这儿来，要买既安全又有六分利息的证券。于是他回答：“高利息和安全不可兼得——你得舍弃一样儿。”最后他们就说：“要是我把大部分钱都投在四分利息的证券上，用剩下的一百英镑来玩儿，你看怎么样？”即使他们玩了股票，为了避免扰乱家庭生活，充其量也就是那么一点儿，但也足够显示他们的美德是虚伪的。直到昨天，他在他们面前总是卑躬屈膝。
他为什么为这帮人服务呢？他像一个锋芒毕露的本科学生那样议论起自己的职业道德来了。然而火车里的其他乘客没把他的话当真。“小霍尔是好样儿的。”这个评价依然没有变。“他决不会失掉一个客户，他才不会呢。”他们下结论说，对一位实业家而言，冷嘲热讽并非不相称。“口头上虽这么说，他一个劲儿地投资。还记得吗？春天的时候他还谈论贫民窟呢。”
Chapter 43
The rain was coming down in its old fashion, tapping on a million roofs and occasionally effecting an entry. It beat down the smoke, and caused the fumes of petrol and the smell of wet clothes to linger mixed on the streets of London. In the great forecourt of the Museum it could fall uninterrupt-edly, plumb onto the draggled doves and the helmets of the police. So dark was the afternoon that some of the lights had been turned on inside, and the great building suggested a tomb, miraculously illuminated by spirits of the dead.
Alec arrived first, dressed no longer in corduroys but in a new blue suit and bowler hat—part of his outfit for the Argentine. He sprang, as he had boasted, of a respectable family—publi-cans, small tradesmen—and it was only by accident that he had appeared as an untamed son of the woods. Indeed, he liked the woods and the fresh air and water, he liked them better than anything and he liked to protect or destroy life, but woods con-tain no "openings", and young men who want to get on must leave them. He was determined in a blind way to get on now. Fate had placed a snare in his hands, and he meant to set it. He tramped over the courtyard, then took the steps in a series of springs; having won the shelter of the portico he stood motion-less, except for the flicker of his eyes. These sudden changes of pace were typical of the man, who always advanced as a skir-misher, was always "on the spot" as Clive had phrased it in the
written testimonial; "during the five months A. Scudder was in my service I found him prompt and assiduous": qualities that he proposed to display now. When the victim drove up he be-came half cruel, half frightened. Gentlemen he knew, mates he knew; what class of creature was Mr Hall who said, "Call me Maurice"? Narrowing his eyes to slits, he stood as though wait-ing for orders outside the front porch at Penge.
Maurice approached the most dangerous day of his life with-out any plan at all, yet something kept rippling in his mind like muscles beneath a healthy skin. He was not supported by pride but he did feel fit, anxious to play the game, and, as an English-man should, hoped that his opponent felt fit too. He wanted to be decent, he wasn't afraid. When he saw Alec's face glowing through the dirty air his own tingled slightly, and he determined not to strike until he was struck.
"Here you are," he said, raising a pair of gloves to his hat. "This rain's the limit. Let's have a talk inside."
"Where you wish."
Maurice looked at him with some friendliness, and they en-tered the building. As they did so, Alec raised his head and sneezed like a lion.
"Got a chill? It's the weather."
"What's all this place?" he asked.
"Old things belonging to the nation." They paused in the corridor of Roman emperors. "Yes, it's bad weather. There've only been two fine days. And one fine night," he added mis-chievously, surprising himself.
But Alec didn't catch on. It wasn't the opening he wanted. He was waiting for signs of fear, that the menial in him might strike. He pretended not to understand the allusion, and sneezed again. The roar echoed down vestibules, and his face, convulsed and distorted, took a sudden appearance of hunger.
"I'm glad you wrote to me the second time. I liked both your letters. I'm not offended—you've never done anything wrong. It's all your mistake about cricket and the rest. I'll tell you straight out I enjoyed being with you, if that's the trouble. Is it? I want you to tell me. I just don't know."
"What's here?That's no mistake." He touched his breast pocket, meaningly. "Your writing. And you and the squire—that's no mistake—some may wish as it was one."
"Don't drag in that," said Maurice, but without indignation, and it struck him as odd that he had none, and that even the Clive of Cambridge had lost sanctity.
"Mr Hall—you reckernize it wouldn't very well suit you if certain things came out, I suppose."
Maurice found himself trying to get underneath the words.
He continued, feeling his way to a grip. "What's more, I've always been a respectable young fellow until you called me into your room to amuse yourself. It don't hardly seem fair that a gentleman should drag you down. At least that's how my brother sees it." He faltered as he spoke these last words. "My brother's waiting outside now as a matter of fact. He wanted to come and speak to you hisself, he's been scolding me shocking, but I said, 'No Fred no, Mr Hall's a gentleman and can be trusted to behave like one, so you leave 'im to me,' I said, 'and Mr Durham, he's a gentleman too, always was and always will be.'"
"With regard to Mr Durham," said Maurice, feeling inclined to speak on this point: "It's quite correct that I cared for him and he for me once, but he changed, and now he doesn't care any more for me nor I for him. It's the end."
"End o' what?"
"Of our friendship."
"Mr Hall, have you heard what I was saying?"
"I hear everything you say," said Maurice thoughtfully, and continued in exactly the same tone: "Scudder, why do you think it's 'natural' to care both for women and men? You wrote so in your letter. It isn't natural for me. I have really got to think that 'natural' only means oneself."
The man seemed interested. "Couldn't you get a kid of your own, then?" he asked, roughening.
"I've been to two doctors about it. Neither were any good."
"So you can't?"
"No, I can't."
"Want one?" he asked, as if hostile.
"It's not much use wanting."
"I could marry tomorrow if I like," he bragged. While speak-ing, he caught sight of a winged Assyrian bull, and his expres-sion altered into naive wonder. "He's big enough, isn't he," he remarked. "They must have owned wonderful machinery to make a thing like that."
"I expect so," said Maurice, also impressed by the bull. "I couldn't tell you. Here seems to be another one."
"A pair, so to speak. Would these have been ornaments?"
"This one has five legs."
"So's mine. A curious idea." Standing each by his monster, they looked at each other, and smiled. Then his face hardened again and he said, "Won't do, Mr Hall. I see your game, but you don't fool me twice, and you'll do better to have a friendly talk with me rather than wait for Fred, I can tell you. You've had your fun and you've got to pay up." He looked handsome as he threatened—including the pupils of his eyes, which were evil. Maurice gazed into them gently but keenly. And nothing re-sulted from the outburst at all. It fell away like a flake of mud. Murmuring something about "leaving you to think this over", he sat down on a bench. Maurice joined him there shortly. And
it was thus for nearly twenty minutes: they kept wandering from room to room as if in search of something. They would peer at a goddess or vase, then move at a single impulse, and their unison was the stranger because on the surface they were at war. Alec recommenced his hints—horrible, reptilian—but somehow they did not pollute the intervening silences, and Maurice failed to get afraid or angry, and only regretted that any human being should have got into such a mess. When he chose to reply their eyes met, and his smile was sometimes re-flected on the lips of his foe. The belief grew that the actual situation was a blind—a practical joke almost—and concealed something real, that either desired. Serious and good-tempered, he continued to hold his own, and if he made no offensive it was because his blood wasn't warm. To set it moving, a shock from without was required, and chance administered this.
He was bending over a model of the Acropolis with his fore-head a little wrinkled and his lips murmuring, "I see, I see, I see." A gentleman near overheard him, started, peered through strong spectacles, and said "Surely! I may forget faces but never a voice. Surely! You are one of our old boys." It was Mr Ducie.
Maurice did not reply. Alec sidled up closer to participate.
"Surely you were at Mr Abrahams's school. Now wait! Wait! Don't tell me your name. I want to remember it. I will remember it. You're not Sanday, you're not Gibbs. I know. I know. It's Wimbleby."
How like Mr Ducie to get the facts just wrong! To his own name Maurice would have responded, but he now had the in-clination to lie; he was tired of their endless inaccuracy, he had suffered too much from it. He replied, "No, my name's Scudder." The correction flew out as the first that occurred to him. It lay ripe to be used, and as he uttered it he knew why. But at the instant of enlightenment Alec himself spoke. "It isn't," he said
to Mr Ducie, "and I've a serious charge to bring against this gentleman."
"Yes, awfully serious," remarked Maurice, and rested his hand on Alec's shoulder, so that the fingers touched the back of the neck, doing this merely because he wished to do it, not for an-other reason.
Mr Ducie did not take notice. An unsuspicious man, he as-sumed some uncouth joke. The dark gentlemanly fellow couldn't be Wimbleby if he said he wasn't. He said, "I'm extremely sorry, sir, it's so seldom I make a mistake," and then, determined to show he was not an old fool, he addressed the silent pair on the subject of the British Museum—not merely a collection of relics but a place round which one could take—er—the less fortunate, quite so—a stimulating place—it raised questions even in the minds of boys—which one answered—no doubt inadequately; until a patient voice said, "Ben, we are waiting," and Mr Ducie rejoined his wife. As he did so Alec jerked away and muttered, 'That's all right. . .. I won't trouble you now."
"Where are you going with your serious charge?" said Mau-rice, suddenly formidable.
"Couldn't say." He looked back, his colouring stood out against the heroes, perfect but bloodless, who had never known be-wilderment or infamy. "Don't you worry—I'll never harm you now, you've too much pluck."
"Pluck be damned," said Maurice, with a plunge into anger.
"It'll all go no further—" He struck his own mouth. "I don't know what came over me, Mr Hall; I don't want to harm you, I never did."
"You blackmailed me."
"No, sir, no..."
"You did."
"Maurice, listen, I only ..."
"Maurice am I?"
"You called me Alec... . I'm as good as you."
"I don't find you are!" There was a pause; before the storm; then he burst out: "By God, if you'd split on me to Mr Ducie, I'd have broken you. It might have cost me hundreds, but I've got them, and the police always back my sort against yours. You don't know. We'd have got you into quod, for blackmail, after which—I'd have blown out my brains."
"Killed yourself? Death?"
"I should have known by that time that I loved you. Too late ... everything's always too late." The rows of old statues tottered, and he heard himself add, "I don't mean anything, but come out-side, we can't talk here." They left the enormous and overheated building, they passed the library, supposed catholic, seeking darkness and rain. On the portico Maurice stopped and said bitterly, "I forgot. Your brother?"
"He's down at father's—doesn't know a word—I was but threatening—"
"—for blackmail."
"Could you but understand..." He pulled out Maurice's note. "Take it if you like.... I don't want it.. . never did .... I sup-pose this is the end."
Assuredly it wasn't that. Unable to part yet ignorant of what could next come, they strode raging through the last glimmering of the sordid day; night, ever one in her quality, came finally, and Maurice recovered his self-control and could look at the new material that passion had gained for him. In a deserted square, against railings that encircled some trees, they came to a halt, and he began to discuss their crisis.
But as he grew calm the other grew fierce. It was as if Mr Ducie had established some infuriating inequality between them, so that one struck as soon as his fellow tired of striking. Alec said savagely, "It rained harder than this in the boathouse, it was yet colder. Why did you not come?"
"Muddle."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You've to learn I'm always in a muddle. I didn't come or write because I wanted to get away from you without wanting. You won't understand. You kept dragging me back and I got awfully frightened. I felt you when I tried to get some sleep at the doc-tor's. You came hard at me. I knew something was evil but couldn't tell what, so kept pretending it was you."
"What was it?"
"The—situation."
"I don't follow this. Why did you not come to the boathouse?"
"My fear—and your trouble has been fear too. Ever since the cricket match you've let yourself get afraid of me. That's why we've been trying to down one another so and are still."
"Iwouldn't take a penny from you, I wouldn't hurt your little finger," he growled, and rattled the bars that kept him from the trees.
"But you're still trying hard to hurt me in my mind."
"Why do you go and say you love me?"
"Why do you call me Maurice?"
"Oh let's give over talking. Here—" and he held out his hand. Maurice took it, and they knew at that moment the greatest triumph ordinary man can win. Physical love means reaction, being panic in essence, and Maurice saw now how natural it was that their primitive abandonment at Penge should have led to peril. They knew too little about each other—and too much. Hence fear. Hence cruelty. And he rejoiced because he had understood Alec's infamy through his own—glimpsing, not for the first time, the genius who hides in man's tormented soul. Not as a hero, but as a comrade, had he stood up to the bluster, and found childishness behind it, and behind that something else.
Presently the other spoke. Spasms of remorse and apology broke him; he was as one who throws off a poison. Then, gather-ing health, he began to tell his friend everything, no longer ashamed. He spoke of his relations. . . . He too was embedded in class. No one knew he was in London—Penge thought he was at his father's, his father at Penge—it had been difficult, very. Now he ought to go home—see his brother with whom he re-turned to the Argentine: his brother connected with trade, and his brother's wife; and he mingled some brag, as those whose education is not literary must. He came of a respectable family, he repeated, he bowed down to no man, not he, he was as good as any gentleman. But while be bragged his arm was gaining Maurice's. They deserved such a caress—the feeling was strange. Words died away, abruptly to recommence. It was Alec who ventured them.
"Stop with me."
Maurice swerved and their muscles clipped. By now they were in love with one another consciously.
"Sleep the night with me. I know a place."
"I can't, I've an engagement," said Maurice, his heart beating violently. A formal dinner party awaited him of the sort that brought work to his firm and that he couldn't possibly cut. He had almost forgotten its existence."Ihave to leave you now and get changed. But look here: Alec, be reasonable. Meet me an-other evening instead—any day."
"Can't come to London again—father or Mr Ayres will be passing remarks."
"What does it matter if they do?"
"What's your engagement matter?"
They were silent again. Then Maurice said in affectionate yet "dejected tones, "All right. To Hell with it," and they passed on together in the rain.
雨照老样子下起来了，砸在一百万个房顶上，偶尔还捎进屋里。雨把烟浇得消散了，以致使石油的臭气与湿衣服的气味相混合，弥漫在伦敦的大街小巷。它连续不断地降在博物馆那宽敞的前院，笔直地泼在脏了的鸽子和警察的钢盔上。下午暗得厉害，博物馆内部已经点燃了几盏灯，宏伟的建筑物使人联想到一座坟墓，奇迹般地被亡灵照亮。
阿列克先到了。他没再穿灯芯绒衣服，却身着崭新的蓝色三件套礼服，头戴圆顶硬礼帽。这是他为了前往阿根廷而添置的旅行装的一部分。正如他所夸耀的，他出身于一个体面的家庭——客栈老板、小生意人——他一度看上去像是个森林中未开化者之子，那仅仅是出于偶然。他确实喜爱森林、新鲜空气和水，比对任何东西都爱。他还喜欢保护或杀害野生动物。然而森林里没有“好机会”，凡足想发迹的年轻人必然撇下森林。现在他莽撞地下定决心努力发迹。命运使他掌握了一只罗网，他打算将它布下。他大步流星地跨过前院，跳跃着迈上台阶，到了有圆柱的门廊下，他就一动也不动地伫立在那里，惟有一双眼睛仍眨巴着。像这样突然改变动作是他的癖性。他总是犹如一名散兵似的向前挺进。克莱夫在推荐书上写道，他老是“在现场。阿•斯卡德被我雇用的期间，我发现他既敏捷又勤勉”。眼下他打算将这些本领露一手。当猎物乘汽车抵达时，他感到冷酷、恐惧参半。他了解绅士，也了解伙伴。这个曾经说过“管我叫莫瑞斯”的人，到底属于什么类型呢？他把眼睛眯成一条缝，伫立在那儿，就像在彭杰的正面门廊外边听候吩咐一般。
莫瑞斯忐忑不安地走向平生最危险的一天，然而心中不断地泛起涟漪，犹如在健康的皮肤下面颤动的肌肉似的。他没有被自尊心所支撑，但是感觉确实良好，急欲光明正大地比试一番。正如英国人之常情，他希望对手也感觉良好。他想要行为得体，毫不畏惧。当他透过肮脏的空气瞧见阿列克那红润的脸蛋儿时，他自己的面颊也泛起了一丝红晕。他下定决心，在遭到攻击之前，决不攻击。
“你来啦。”他边把拿着一副手套的手举起来扶扶帽子边说。“雨太大了，咱们进去谈吧。”
“你愿意去哪儿都行。”
莫瑞斯用略微带点儿友善的表情瞅着他，两介人就走进馆里去了。刚一进去，阿列克就抬起头，像头狮子似的打了个喷嚏。
“着凉了吗？全怪这雨天。”
“这地方都是些什么呀？”他问。
“属于国家的古老的东西。”他们在罗马皇帝的回廊里停下脚步。“是啊，天气糟透啦。只有过两个晴天和一个美好的夜晚。”他顽皮地补上一句，连自己都吃了一惊。
然而阿列克没有理会。像这样的开头，可不是他所想的。他等待着对方露出害怕的样子，这下子他身上的奴仆劣根性就可以进行讹诈了。他假装没听懂莫瑞斯转弯抹角提及的事，再度打了喷嚏。震耳的喷嚏声响彻回廊，他那张抽搐得变了样的脸，突然露出饥饿的神色。
“我很高兴你第二次给我写信，你的两封信我都喜欢。我没有见怪一你从来没有做过任何不对的事。关于板球赛等等，统统是你的误会。我坦率地告诉你吧，我跟你相处感到愉快。难道你以为我不愉快吗？是这样吗？我想要你告诉我，我不明白。”
“这儿放着什么？这是不会弄错的。”他意味深长地摸了摸胸前的兜。“你的信，还有你和那位乡绅——这是不会弄错的——有人希望那是个误会。”
“别把那件事扯进去。”莫瑞斯说，然而他并没生气。他突然想到，真怪，自己怎么一点儿也没生气。就连剑桥的克莱夫也失掉了神圣的不可侵犯性。
“霍尔先生——我猜想，要是有些事传出去了，对你可不大方便啊。”
莫瑞斯发现，自己正在试图探索这句话背后的意思。
他谨慎地继续说下去，以便牢牢地控制住莫瑞斯。“而且你为了自己找乐子，把我叫进你的屋子里之前，我一直是个体面的小伙子。一个绅士就这样把我的身体拖垮，好像一点儿也不公正。至少我哥是这么看的。”他是结结巴巴地说出最后这段话的：“当然喽，这会儿我哥在外边等着呢。他原先想要来当面跟你谈，他把我骂得狗血喷头。可是我说：‘不，弗雷德，霍尔先生是一位绅士。可以信得过他，会像个绅士那样来做人。所以你就听任我来对付他吧。’还说：．还有德拉姆先生，他也是一位绅士，一向就是，以后也一直是。”’
“关于德拉姆先生，”这日寸，莫瑞斯觉得应该插嘴了，就说：“我确实一度喜欢过他，他也喜欢过我。但是他变了，现在他再也不喜欢我，我也不喜欢他，结束了。”
“什么结束了？”
“我们的友情。”
“霍尔先生，你听见我说的话了吗？”
“你说的话，我句句都听见了。”莫瑞斯若有所思地回答，并用完全一样的语气继续说下去：“斯卡德，你为什么认为既喜欢女人又喜欢男人是‘自然’的事呢？你在信中是这么写的。对我来说，这并不自然。我确实不得不认为‘自然’只意味着自己。”
那个人好像很感兴趣。“那么，你不能有自己的孩子吗？”他粗鲁地问。
“为这事，我去找过两个大夫。两个都无济于事。”
“那么，你不行喽？”
“嗯，我不行。”
“想要一个吗？”他问，好像怀有敌意似的。
“想要，大概也没用吧。”
“我要是愿意的话，明天就有能力结婚。”他大言不惭地说。他边说边瞧见一头带翼的亚述公牛，脸上的表情变了，露出天真的惊奇之色。“他真够大的，不是吗？”他说。“他们准有一部奇妙的大机器，才造得出这么个东西。”
“我想是这样的。”莫瑞斯说，公牛也给他留下了深刻的印象。“我也说不清楚。这儿好像还有一头。”
“可以说是一对儿喽。这些是用来做装饰品的吗？”
“这一头有五条腿。”
“我这一头也是，古怪的主意。”两个人站在各自的怪兽旁边，相互望着，面泛微笑。他再度板起面孔来了，说：“不行，霍尔先生。我看破了你在耍花招儿，可我不会再一次上你的当。我告诉你，与其等着弗雷德出面，你还不如跟我亲密地谈一谈呢。你找了个乐子，就得付出代价。”他这么威胁的时候，显得很英俊，就连他那凶狠的眼神也包括在内。莫瑞斯温柔地然而目光锐利地凝视着他。他发泄了一通，没有见到任何成效。那些话语犹如干了的薄泥一般飘落下去。他边咕哝什么“你好好考虑一下吧”，边在一条长凳上坐下来。过了一会儿，莫瑞斯挨着他落座。就这样过了约二十分钟，他们仿佛寻找什么东西似的从一间屋子马不停蹄地踱到另一间。他们拿眼睛盯着一座女神像或花瓶，犹如商量好的那样，凭一时冲动离开。他们采取一致行动是不可思议的，因为表面上二人彼此不和。阿列克重新隐隐约约地进行起卑劣的恫吓，然而不知道为什么，停顿时候的沉寂并没有被感染。既没让莫瑞斯害怕，也没惹他生气，他只是由于一个人竟然陷入这样的困境而感到惋惜。当他愿意回答的时候，他们的目光就相遇，他的微笑有时招致对手也含笑了。他越来越相信，实际上他们是在玩弄障眼法——差不多是恶作剧——隐藏着两个人都渴望着的真正的东西。他继续站稳脚跟，既真诚又和蔼可亲。倘若他不曾采取攻势，那是由于他尚未激动起来。必须有外界的冲击才能开始行动，机缘凑巧，问题迎刃而解。
他在卫城的模型上面俯下身去，前额稍微皱起，咕哝着：“我明白了，我明白了，我明白了。”附近的一位绅士听见了他的声音．吃了一惊，透过深度近视眼镜盯着看他，并且说：“千真万确！我u能把长相忘掉，可绝不会忘掉嗓音。千真万确！你是我们学校的一个毕业生。”那是杜希先生。
莫瑞斯没有回答。阿列克悄悄地侧身挨过来凑热闹。
“你肯定在亚伯拉罕校长的学校里待过。且慢！且慢！别告诉我你的名字，我想要自己回忆出来，我会记起来的。你不是桑德，也不是吉布斯。我知道了，我知道了，你叫温布尔拜。”
居然把姓名搞错了，杜希先生从来就是这个样子！倘若叫出了他的姓，莫瑞斯会正正经经搭腔的，但是眼下他倾向于扯谎。他对于没完没了地被误会已经厌烦了，这使他吃尽了苦头。他回答说：“不，我姓斯卡德。”头一个浮现到脑际的假姓脱口而出，它好像早已准备成熟，只等着他来使用。当这个姓从嘴里冒出来的时候，他明白了个中原因。但就在他恍然大悟之际，阿列克本人发话了。“不对，”他对杜希先生说，“我要认认真真地控告这个绅士。”
“是啊，极其认真。”莫瑞斯说罢，将一只手搭在阿列克的肩上，于是手指头就触着了他的后颈。他仅仅是心血来潮，忘乎所以，没有别的原因。
杜希先生浑然不觉。他不是个多疑的人，只当这是在粗野地闹着玩儿呢。这位深色头发、绅士派头的小伙子既然说自己不是温布尔拜，那就决不是喽。他说：“我非常抱歉，先生，我是轻易不会弄错的。”接着，他决定显示一下自己并不是个老傻瓜，就跟这两个默不作声的入大谈大英博物馆。说它不仅收集了古董，人们还可以领着那些无知的人在这儿转来转去一呃——可不是嘛--这是个使人振奋的地方——甚至连学童的脑子里都会冒出各式各样的问题——我们就为他们解答——毫无疑问，不能胜任。这时，传来了一个有耐心的嗓音：“本，我们等着你呢。”杜希先生就回到他妻子身边去了。同时，阿列克猛地走开，悄声说：“一点儿不错……现在我不打搅你啦。”
“你要到哪儿去认认真真地控告？”莫瑞斯说，他的声调忽然变得令人生畏。
“这就很难说了。”他回头看了看。他的脸涨得通红，跟那些英雄形成鲜明的对照。他们尽管完美无瑕，然而苍白无生命，从未被弄得不知所措过，也没有过不光彩的行为。“你别着急——现在我决不损害你了——你的胆量太大，我算是服了。”
“让胆量见鬼去吧。”莫瑞斯说，他勃然大怒。
“决不再闹下去了——”他打了自己一个嘴巴。“我不知道自己究竟是怎么回事，霍尔先生。我不想损害你，我从来都没这么想过。”
“你讹诈我。”
“没有，先生，没有……”
“你就是这么做的。”
“莫瑞斯，听着，我只是……”
“叫我莫瑞斯吗？”
“你叫过我阿列克……我和你是一样的。”
“我不觉得你跟我一样！”莫瑞斯停顿了一下，这是风暴之前的一瞬。接着，他爆发了：“向上帝发誓，倘若你向杜希先生告密，我就会把你揍趴下。我可能得花费几百英镑，然而我出得起，而且警察一向给我这样的人撑腰，对付你这种人。你哪儿知道这些。我们会以讹诈罪让你去坐牢，这之后——我就用手枪打穿自己的脑袋。”
“把你自己杀了？死吗？”
“直到那时候我才知道我原是爱你的。太迟啦……凡事都总足太迟。”一排排古老的雕像摇摇欲坠，他听见自己补充道：“我说这些没有什么用意。咱们还是出去吧，在这儿没法谈话。”他们离开这座暖气烧过了头的大厦，从那个据说什么样的书籍都无所不藏的图书馆前走过去，寻找黑暗和雨。来到有圆柱的门廊里时，莫瑞斯停下脚步，用不痛快的口气问：“我忘了，你哥哥呢？”
“他在爹那儿呢——我哥什么都不知道——我不过是吓吓你——”
“——为的是讹诈。”
“你要是能明白就好了……”他把莫瑞斯所写的短笺拽了出来。“你愿意的话，就拿去吧……我不会利用它的……从来就没有过这样的打算……我猜想，这下完了。”
毫无疑问，并没有完。他们既分不了手，又不知道即将发生什么事，就怒气冲冲地阔步向前走，从肮脏的一天那最后一抹微弱的闪光中穿行。夜幕，永远一成不变的夜幕终于降临。莫瑞斯恢复了自制力，能够审视激情为他弄到手的这块崭新的料了。在一个空寂无人的方形广场，他们倚着圈起几棵树的栅栏而立，开始讨论自己面临的危机。
然而莫瑞斯越冷静下来，阿列克的感情就越变得强烈。杜希先生仿佛在他们二人之间设置了激怒人的不平衡，于是，莫瑞斯刚一累得打不下去了，阿列克就开始进攻。他凶猛地说：“在船库里，雨下得比这还大呢，冷得也更厉害。你为什么没来？”
“糊涂。”
“你这话是什么意思？”
“你要知道，我的头脑一年到头都是糊涂的。我没有到你那儿去，也没写信，因为我想逃避你，尽管这是违心的。你是不可能理解的。你一个劲儿地把我往后拖，我吓得要死。当我在大夫那儿试图睡一会儿的时候，也感觉到了你，你对我的吸引力太强烈了。我知道有个邪恶的东西，可又说不出所以然来，因此一直把它假想成是你。”
“那是什么呢？”
“唔——境遇。”
“我听不懂这个。你为什么没有到船库来？”
“我害怕——你也是由于害怕才烦恼的。自从板球赛以来，你就听任自己怕我。正因为如此，咱们两个人至今仍互相厌恶。”
“我连一个便士也不会向你讨，我决不伤你的一个小指头。”他咆哮道，并且“咯嗒咯嗒”地晃悠着将他和树丛隔开来的栅栏。
“但是你依然努力地试图伤我的心。”
“你为什么说你爱我？”
“你为什么管我叫莫瑞斯？”
“哦，咱们别再说下去了。喏——”于是他伸出手去。莫瑞斯攥住了这只手。此刻，他们赢得了普通人所能获得的最大的胜利。肉体之爱意味着反应，从本质上看，就是恐怖。莫瑞斯这时才明白，他们二人在彭杰的那次原始的放纵会导致危难，是何等自然的事。他们相互间了解得太少——而又太多。恐惧由此而来，残酷由此而来。通过他本人的丑事，他了解了阿列克的寡廉鲜耻，从而感到高兴。这不是第一次了，他窥视到潜藏于个人那备受折磨的灵魂中的天赋。他挺身而出，顶撞对方的恫吓之词，并非作为一名英雄，而是作为一个亲密的伙伴。他在恐吓背后发现了稚气，在稚气背后又发现了某种其他的东西。
少顷，阿列克开口了，一阵阵的自责与谢罪使他心平气和了，他仿佛是个扔掉毒品的人。于是，他抖擞起精神。他再也不感到难为情了，开始对朋友打开天窗说亮话。他谈到自己的三亲六眷……他身上也深深地打上了阶级的烙印。谁都不知道他在伦敦——彭杰那些人只当他在自己的爹那儿，他爹则以为他在彭杰——这事可难办了。这会儿他得回家去了——去见他哥哥。他将和回阿根廷去的哥哥同行，他哥哥是做生意的，还有他嫂嫂。其间还夹杂着几句自吹自擂的话。凡是没受过多少教育的人，非这么做不可。他重复说，自己出身于体面的家庭。他不向任何人低头，决不低头，他是个堂堂正正的人，事实上不比任何一个绅士差。然而他正吹牛的时候，已经和莫瑞斯相互挽起了手臂。对这样的爱抚，他们是受之无愧的——这是一种奇妙的感觉。话语渐渐消失了，出其不意地又重新开始，是阿列克冒昧地提出来的。
“跟我一起过夜吧。”
莫瑞斯转过身来，两个人拥抱了。目前他们已经有意识地相互爱着了。
“跟我睡一夜，我知道一个地方。”
“我不行，我有个约会。”莫瑞斯说，他的心剧烈地跳着。有个为公司拉生意的正式晚餐会等待着他，那是无论如何不能缺席的。他几乎忘记有这么个晚餐会了。“现在我得离开你，去换衣服。听着，阿列克，要讲道理。换个晚上再见面吧——随便哪一天都行。”
“我再也不能到伦敦来了——我爹或者艾尔斯先生会说的。”
“他们说，又有什么关系？”
“你的晚餐会又有什么要紧？”
他们又不吭声了。接着，莫瑞斯用亲切然而沮丧的语气说：”好的，让晚餐会见鬼去吧。”他们双双冒着雨走去。
Chapter 44
"Alec, wake up."
An arm twitched.
"Time we talked plans."
He snuggled closer, more awake than he pretended, warm, sinewy, happy. Happiness overwhelmed Maurice too. He moved, felt the answering grip, and forgot what he wanted to say. Light drifted in upon them from the outside world where it was still raining. A strange hotel, a casual refuge protected them from their enemies a little longer.
"Time to get up, boy. It's morning."
"Git up then."
"How can I the way you hold me!"
"Aren't yer a fidget, I'll learn you to fidget." He wasn't defer-ential any more. The British Museum had cured that. This was 'oliday, London with Maurice, all troubles over, and he wanted to drowse and waste time, and tease and make love.
Maurice wanted the same, what's pleasanter, but the oncoming future distracted him, the gathering light made cosiness unreal. Something had to be said and settled. O for the night that was ending, for the sleep and the wakefulness, the toughness and tenderness mixed, the sweet temper, the safety in darkness. Would such a night ever return?
"You all right, Maurice?"—for he had sighed. "You comfort-able? Rest your head on me more, the way you like more . . . that's it more, and Don't You Worry. You're With Me. Don't Worry."
Yes, he was in luck, no doubt of it. Scudder had proved honest and kind. He was lovely to be with, a treasure, a charmer, a find in a thousand, the longed-for dream. But was he brave?
"Nice you and me like this ..." the lips so close now that it was scarcely speech. "Who'd have thought.... First time I ever seed you I thought, "Wish I and that one...' just like that... 'wouldn't I and him ...' and it is so."
"Yes, and that's why we've got to fight."
"Who wants to fight?" He sounded annoyed. "There's bin enough fighting."
"All the world's against us. We've got to pull ourselves to-gether and make plans, while we can."
"What d'you want to go and say a thing like that for, and spoil it all?"
"Because it has to be said. We can't allow things to go wrong and hurt us again the way they did down at Penge."
Alec suddenly scrubbed at him with the sun-roughened back of a hand and said, "That hurt, didn't it, or oughter. That's howI fight." It did hurt a little, and stealing into the foolery was a sort of resentment. "Don't talk to me about Penge," he went on. "Oo! Mah! Penge where I was always a servant and Scudder do this and Scudder do that and the old lady, what do you think she once said? She said, 'Oh would you most kindly of your good-ness post this letter for me, what's your name?' What's yer name! Every day for six months I come up to Clive's bloody front porch door for orders, and his mother don't know my name. She's a bitch. I said to 'er, "What's yer name? Fuck yer name.' I nearly did too. Wish I 'ad too. Maurice, you wouldn't believe how serv-ants get spoken to. It's too shocking for words. That Archie Lon-don you're so set on is just as bad, and so are you, so are you. 'Haw my man' and all that. You've no idea how you nearly missed getting me. Near as nothing I never climbed that ladder when
you called, he don't want me really, and I went flaming mad when you didn't turn up at the boathouse as I ordered. Too grand! We'll see. Boathouse was a place I always fancied. I'd go down for a smoke before I'd ever heard of you, unlock it easy, got the key on me still as a matter of fact... boathouse, looking over the pond from the boathouse, very quiet, now and then a fish jump and cushions the way I arrange them."
He was silent, having chattered himself out. He had begun rough and gay and somehow factitious, then his voice had died away into sadness as though truth had risen to the surface of the water and was unbearable.
"We'll meet in your boathouse yet," Maurice said.
"No, we won't." He pushed him away, then heaved, pulled him close, put forth violence, and embraced as if the world was ending. "You'll remember that anyway." He got out and looked down out of the grayness, his arms hanging empty. It was as if he wished to be remembered thus. "I could easy have killed you."
"Or I you."
"Where's my clothes and that gone?" He seemed dazed. "It's so late. I h'aint got a razor even, I didn't reckon staying the night. ... I ought—I got to catch a train at once or Fred'll be thinking things."
"Let him."
"My goodness if Fred seed you and me just now."
"Well, he didn't."
"Well, he might have—what I mean is, tomorrow's Thursday isn't it, Friday's the packing, Saturday theNormannia sails from Southampton, so it's goodbye to Old England."
"You mean that you and I shan't meet again after now."
"That's right. You've got it quite correct."
And if it wasn't still raining! Wet morning after yesterday's downpour, wet on the roofs and the Museum, at home and on
the greenwood. Controlling himself and choosing his words very carefully, Maurice said, "This is just what I want to talk about. Why don't we arrange so as we do meet again?"
"How do you mean?"
"Why don't you stay on in England?"
Alec whizzed round, terrified. Half naked, he seemed also half human. "Stay?" he snarled. "Miss my boat, are you daft? Of all the bloody rubbish I ever heard. Ordering me about again, eh, you would."
"It's a chance in a thousand we've met, we'll never have the chance again and you know it. Stay with me. We love each other."
'1 dessay, but that's no excuse to act silly. Stay with you and how and where? What'd your Ma say if she saw me all rough and ugly the way I am?"
"She never will see you. I shan't live at my home."
"Where will you live?"
"With you."
"Oh, will you? No thank you. My people wouldn't take to you one bit and I don't blame them. And how'd you run your job, I'd like to know?"
"I shall chuck it."
"Your job in the city what gives you your money and position? You can't chuck a job."
"You can when you mean to," said Maurice gently. "You can do anything once you know what it is." He gazed at the grayish light that was becoming yellowish. Nothing surprised him in this talk. What he could not conjecture was its outcome. "I shall get work with you," he brought out: the moment to announce this had now come.
"What work?"
"We'll find out."
"Find out and starve out."
"No. There'll be enough money to keep us while we have a look round. I'm not a fool, nor are you. We won't be starving. I've thought out that much, while I was awake in the night and you weren't."
There was a pause. Alec went on more politely: "Wouldn't work, Maurice. Ruin of us both, can't you see, you same as my-self."
"I don't know. Might be. Mightn't. 'Class.' I don't know. I know what we do today. We clear out of here and get a decent breakfast and we go down to Penge or whatever you want and see that Fred of yours. You tell him you've changed your mind about emigrating and are taking a job with Mr Hall instead. I'll come with you. I don't care. I'll see anyone, face anything. If they want to guess, let them. I'm fed up. Tell Fred to cancel your ticket, I'll repay for it and that's our start of getting free. Then we'll do the next thing. It's a risk, so's everything else, and we'll only live once."
Alec laughed cynically and continued to dress. His manner resembled yesterday's, though he didn't blackmail. "Yours is the talk of someone who's never had to earn his living," he said. "You sort of trap me with I love you or whatever it is and then offer to spoil my career. Do you realize I've got a definite job awaiting me in the Argentine? Same as you've got here. Pity theNormannids leaving Saturday, still facts is facts isn't it, all my kit bought as well as my ticket and Fred and wife expecting me."
Maurice saw through the brassiness to the misery behind it, but this time what was the use of insight? No amount of insight would prevent theNormannia from sailing. He had lost. Suffer-ing was certain for him, though it might soon end for Alec; when he got out to his new life he would forget his escapade with a
gentleman and in time he would marry. Shrewd working-class youngster who knew where his interests lay, he had already crammed his graceful body into his hideous blue suit. His face stuck out of it red, his hands brown. He plastered his hair flat. "Well, I'm off," he said, and as if that wasn't enough said, "Pity we ever met really if you come to think of it."
"That's all right too," said Maurice, looking away from him as he unbolted the door.
"You paid for this room in advance, didn't you, so they won't stop me downstairs? I don't want no unpleasantness to finish with."
"That's all right too." He heard the door shut and he was alone. He waited for the beloved to return. Inevitable that wait. Then his eyes began to smart, and he knew from experience what was coming. Presently he could control himself. He got up and went out, did some telephoning and explanations, placated his mother, apologized to his host, got himself shaved and trimmed up, and attended the office as usual. Masses of work awaited him. Nothing had changed in his life. Nothing remained in it. He was back with his loneliness as it had been before Clive, as it was after Clive, and would now be for ever. He had failed, and that wasn't the saddest: he had seen Alec fail. In a way they were one person. Love had failed. Love was an emotion through which you occasionally enjoyed yourself. It could not do things.
“阿列克，起来。”
一只胳膊颤动了一下。
“咱们该谈谈今后的打算了。”
他越发紧紧地偎依着，比他所假装的要清醒，浑身热乎乎的，肌肉发达，感到幸福。莫瑞斯也沉浸在幸福的感觉中。他动弹了一下，发觉对方作为回应用手使劲攥着他，于是忘掉自己想说什么了。外面还在下雨，一片光从那儿飘浮到他们上面来。一家陌生的旅店，临时的避难所，为了免遭敌人伤害，暂且把他们保护起来。
“该起来了，小伙子，到了早晨了。”
“那就起来吧。”
“你这样攥着我，我怎么起来呀！”
“好个急性子，我教你别这么急性子。”他对莫瑞斯不再表示敬意了，大英博物馆治好了他的自卑感。这是个假日，在伦敦与莫瑞斯相处，摆脱了一切烦恼，他想要打盹儿、浪费光阴、戏弄、做爱。
莫瑞斯又何尝不想这样做，那更惬意一些。然而逼近的未来使他精神涣散。出现了一抹曙光，温暖舒适更加显得不真实。总得说点儿什么，安排妥当。哦，即将结束的夜晚，人眠与睡醒的时候，强壮与体贴混杂在一起，美好的心情，黑暗中的平安，还能再迎来这样的夜晚吗？
“你不要紧吗，莫瑞斯？”——因为他叹了口气。“你觉得舒服吗？把你的脑袋再往我身上靠，照你更喜欢的那个样子……就这样再靠。你别着急，你跟我在一起，着什么急。”
是啊，他交了好运，这是毫无疑问的。斯卡德显示出是个正直、厚道的人。与他共处，感到愉快。他是个宝贝，使人着迷，一千个人当中才能发现这么一个，是他渴望多年的梦幻。然而，他勇敢吗？
“多好哇，你和我像这样……”两个人的嘴唇挨得那么近，几乎不是在说话了。“谁能想得到呢……我第一次看见你的时候，我就有了个念头：‘但愿我能跟那个主儿……’就是这么想的……‘我跟他能不能……’于是就这样了。”
“是啊，因此咱们就得战斗。”
“谁愿意战斗呢？”他用厌烦的声调说，“已经打够啦。”
“全世界都与咱们为敌，咱们得同心协力，趁着还做得到的时候，定出计划来。”
“你为什么说这样的话，真叫人扫兴！”
“因为非说不可。咱们不能眼看着情况越变越糟，就像在彭杰那次似的，再一次伤害咱们的感情。”
阿列克突然伸出被太阳晒得粗糙不堪的手背，在莫瑞斯的身上蹭来蹭去，并且说：“疼吧？不疼才怪呢。我要是战斗，就这么干。”确实有点儿疼，这种愚蠢的行为还带有怨恨的意味。“别跟我谈彭杰的事。”他接下去说。“哼！呸！在彭杰，我从来就是个仆人。斯卡德，干这个；斯卡德，干那个。还有那个老太太，你知道有一次她说什么吗？她说：‘劳驾啦，请你为我寄这封信。你叫什么名字呀7．你叫什么名字呀！半年来，我每天走到克莱夫家那该死的正面门廊外面听候使唤，他母亲却不知道我的名字。她是个婊子。我想对她说：‘你叫什么名字呀？×你的名字。’我差点儿这么说出口。我要是说给她听就好了。莫瑞斯，你不能相信人们是怎样跟仆人说话的。粗鲁透顶，简直说不出口。那个阿尔赤•伦敦，你挺买他的账，可他跟你一样坏。你也这么坏，你也这么坏，张嘴就是：‘喂，来人哪！’你想不到吧，你差点儿失掉了把我弄到手的机会。你呼唤的时候，我几乎打消了爬那梯子的念头。我心里嘀咕：‘他不是真正想要我。’你没有按照我说的那样到船库来，把我气疯了，火冒三丈。架子太大啦！咱们等着瞧吧。我一直喜欢船库这个地方。从压根儿没听说过你的时候，我就经常到那儿去抽上一支烟。很容易就能把锁打开，当然，直到现在，我手里还有钥匙呢……船库，从船库向池塘望去，安静极了，有时候会蹿上一条鱼。我在地板上摆了好几个靠垫。”
他聊累了，就默然无语了。起初他的口气粗里粗气、快快活活的，有点儿做作，随后嗓音变得有气无力，悲伤地消失了。仿佛事实真相浮现到表面上来，使他承受不住似的。
“咱们还可以在你的船库里见面。”莫瑞斯说。
“不，咱们见不着面了。”阿列克把莫瑞斯推开，接着吃力地发出呻吟声，猛烈地紧紧拽过莫瑞斯来，好像世界末日到了一般地拥抱他。“不管怎样，你记住这个吧。”他溜出被窝，透过灰色的曙光俯视着，双臂空空，耷拉下来，好像希望让莫瑞斯记住他这个姿势似的。“我很容易地就能杀掉你。”
“我也能杀掉你。”
“我的衣服都跑到哪儿去啦？”他好像迷迷糊糊的。“都这么晚了，我连刮胡刀都没带。我没想到会在外面过夜……我必须——我得马上去赶火车，不然的话，弗雷德指不定会想什么呢。”
“爱想什么想什么。”
“天哪，要是现在弗雷德看见了咱俩这副样子。”
“他没看见，不就结了。”
“他有可能看见呀。我的意思是说，明天不是星期四吗？星期五捆行李，星期六诺曼尼亚号从南安普敦（译注：英格兰汉普郡的一座城市，英吉利海峡港口。l980年跃居英国第二大港。）起航，这就跟古老的英国告别了。”
“你的意思是说，咱们两个人从此就再也见不着了。”
“可不是嘛，你说得完全正确。”
要是雨停了该有多好！在昨天的倾盆大雨之后，又迎来了下雨的早晨，不论是万家屋顶还是博物馆，抑或自己的家以及绿林，统统是湿漉漉的。莫瑞斯抑制着自己的感情，非常谨慎地选择用词，说道：“我要谈的正是这个。我们为什么不安排好再一次见面的事呢？”
“你打算怎么见面？”
“你为什么不留在英国？”
阿列克吓得魂不附体，飕地转过身来。他半裸着身子，活脱脱像个未完全开化的人。
“留下来？”他怒吼道，“不坐船啦？你疯了吗？我从来没听说过这样荒唐的废话。再支使我干这干那，啊，你会这么做的。”
“我们两个人相遇，这是千载难逢的好机会。你也清楚，我们永远也不会再有这样的机缘了。留在我身边吧，我们相互爱慕。”
“当然，但是这不能成为做蠢事的借口。留在你身边，怎么留？待在哪儿？我就是这个样儿，又粗俗又丑陋，你妈要是看见了我，会说什么？”
“她永远也见不到你，我不在自己家里住。”
“你要住在哪儿？”
“跟你同住。”
“哦，同住吗？谢谢，可是不行啊。我家里的人一点儿也不会对你产生好感，我决不怪他们。我倒是想知道，你的工作怎么办？”
“我辞职。”
“你在城里的那份差事能给你金钱和地位，怎能辞职呢？你不能辞职。”
“当你不想干了的时候，你就能辞职。”莫瑞斯温柔地说．“一旦了解了其性质，任何工作你都能胜任。”他凝视那从发灰变得发黄的曙光。这些话，没有一句使他吃惊，然而他无法预测今后将怎么样。“我会找到一份跟你一起干的工作。”他明确地说，到了吐露实情的时刻了。
“什么工作？”
“咱们找找。”
“找着找着就饿死了。”
“不会的。找工作的期间，咱们有足够的钱来糊口。我不足个傻子，你也不傻，咱们不会挨饿。昨天晚上你睡着了以后-我一直醒着，琢磨这些问题。”
停顿了片刻。接着，阿列克用斯文一些的口吻说：“行不通，莫瑞斯。会把咱俩都毁了，难道你不明白吗？你也罢，我也罢。”
“我不知道，也许是这样，也许不是这样。‘阶级’，我不明白，我知道今天我们该怎么办。咱们离开这儿，吃上一顿像样儿的早饭。然后到彭杰去，或者你愿意到哪儿就到哪儿，见你那位弗雷德。你告诉他，你改变了主意，不移居海外了，改为跟霍尔先生一起就业。我会跟你同往，我才不在乎呢。我可以见任何人，什么事都敢正视。他们如果愿意猜想，就听之任之，我已经感到厌烦了。告诉弗雷德把你那张船票退掉，所受的损失，由我来补偿。这，是我们获得自由的第一步，随后我们再做第二件事。要担风险，其他的也都得担风险。而不论是谁，只有一条命。”
阿列克讥诮地笑了，继续穿衣服。他的态度跟昨天的相似，不过，没有进行恫吓。“你这一套是从来也用不着自食其力的人说的话。”他说，“你用‘我爱你’等等让我上了圈套，这会儿又想要毁掉我的前程。你难道不知道，在阿根廷有一份可靠的差事在等着我吗？就跟你在这里有个职业一样。真可惜！诺曼尼亚号星期六就起航了。不过，事实就是事实，不是吗？我的行装都已经打点好了，船票也买了，弗雷德和我嫂子正眼巴巴地等着我呢。”
莫瑞斯透过阿列克这番粗鄙的言语看出了隐藏在背后的悲哀。然而，事到如今，洞察力又有什么用呢？多么了不起的洞察力也无法阻挡诺曼尼亚号起航。他失败了，苦恼不可避免地等待他。至于阿列克呢，这种苦恼可能即将结束。离开此地进入新生活之后，他就忘掉了与一位绅士之间的这些越轨行为，迟早会结婚的。属于工人阶级的这个精明的小伙子明白自己的利益所在。他已经把那优美的肉体塞进了丑陋的蓝色三件套礼服，红脸蛋儿和褐色的手从衣服里伸了出来，头发梳平了。“好啦，我走了。”他说。随后，好像意犹未尽．又补上一句：“想想看，我们俩真的还不如不见面呢。”
“这也没有什么。”莫瑞斯说。当阿列克拨开门闩的时候，莫瑞斯把脸转了过去。
“你已经预付房费了，对吧？下楼后，他们不会拦住我吧？我可不愿意最后弄得不愉快。”
“你就放心好了。”他听见关门的声音，就剩下他一个人了。他等待心上人回来，他不得不等待。接着，两眼痛起来了。根据经验，他知道会发生什么事。过一会儿他就能克制自己的感情了。他起床，走出去，打了几个电话，解释一番。安抚了母亲，向昨天晚上的东道主道歉。他刮胡子，修边幅，照常去上班。大量的工作等着他，他的人生丝毫也没有变，什么东西也没留下。他又回到孤寂中了，犹如跟克莱夫之间有过那些事以前，以及事后的孤寂。这样的孤寂将来还会永远延续下去。他失败了。然而最使他难过的是，他眼睁睁地看着阿列克败下阵去。在某种意义上，他们俩是一个人。爱吃了败仗，爱是一种感情，通过爱，你能偶尔享受乐趣。爱是成不了什么气候的。
Chapter 45
When the Saturday came he went down to South-ampton to see theNormannia off.
It was a fantastic decision, useless, undignified, risky, and he had not the least intention of going when he left home. But when he reached London the hunger that tormented him nightly came into the open and demanded its prey, he forgot everything ex-cept Alec's face and body, and took the only means of seeing them. He did not want to speak to his lover or to hear his voice or to touch him—all that part was over—only to recapture his image before it vanished for ever. Poor wretched Alec! Who could blame him, how could he have acted differently? But oh, the wretchedness it was causing them both.
He got down to the boat in a dream, and awoke there to a new sort of discomfort: Alec was nowhere in sight, the stewards were busy, and it was some time before they brought him to Mr Scudder, an unattractive middle-aged man, a tradesman, a cad —brother Fred: with him was a bearded elder—presumably the butcher from Osmington. Alec's main charm was the fresh colouring that surged against the cliff of his hair: Fred, facially the same, was sandy and foxlike, and greasiness had replaced the sun's caress. Fred thought highly of himself, as did Alec, but his was the conceit that comes with commercial success and despises manual labour. He did not like having a brother who had chanced to grow up rough, and he thought that Mr Hall, of
whom he had never heard, was out to patronize. This made him insolent. "Licky's not aboard yet, but his kit is," he said. "Inter-ested to see his kit?" The father said, "Plenty of time yet," and looked at his watch. The mother said with compressed lips, "He won't be late. When Licky says a thing Licky means it." Fred said, "He can be late if he likes. If I lose his company I can bear it, but he needn't expect me to help him again. What he's cost me..."
"This is where Alec belongs," Maurice reflected. "These people will make him happier than I could have." He filled a pipe with the tobacco that he had smoked for the last six years, and watched Romance wither. Alec was not a hero or god, but a man embedded in society like himself, for whom sea and woodland and the freshening breeze and the sun were preparing no apoth-eosis. They ought not to have spent that night together in the hotel. It had now raised hopes that were too high. They should have parted with that handshake in the rain.
A morbid fascination kept him among the Scudders, listening to their vulgarity, and tracing the gestures of his friend in theirs. He tried to be pleasant and ingratiate himself, and failed, for his self-confidence had gone. As he brooded a quiet voice said, "Good afternoon, Mr Hall." He could not reply. The surprise was too complete. It was Mr Borenius. And both of them remem-bered that initial silence of his, and his frightened gaze, and the quick movement with which he removed his pipe from his lips, as if smoking were forbidden by the clergy.
Mr Borenius introduced himself gently to the company; he had come to see his young parishioner off, since the distance was not great from Penge. They discussed which route Alec would arrive by—there seemed some uncertainty—and Maurice tried to slip off, for the situation had become equivocal. But Mr Borenius checked him. "Going on deck?" he inquired; "I too. I
too." They returned to the air and sunlight; the shallows of Southampton Water stretched golden around them, edged by the New Forest. To Maurice the beauty of the evening seemed ominous of disaster.
"Now this is very kind of you," said the clergyman, beginning at once. He spoke as one social worker to another, but Maurice thought there was a veil over his voice. He tried to reply—two or three normal sentences would save him—but no words would come, and his underlip trembled like an unhappy boy's. "And the more kind because if I remember rightly you disapprove of young Scudder. You told me when we dined at Penge that he was 'a bit of a swine'—an expression that, as applied to a fellow creature, struck me. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw you among his friends down here. Believe me, Mr Hall, he will value the attention though he may not appear to. Men like that are more impressionable than the outsider supposes. For good and for evil."
Maurice tried to stop him by saying, "Well . . . what about you?"
"I?Why have I come? You will only laugh. I have come to bring him a letter of introduction to an Anglican priest at Buenos Aires in the hope that he will get confirmed after landing. Absurd, is it not? But being neither a helleriist nor an atheist I hold that conduct is dependent on faith, and that if a man is a ``bit of a swine' the cause is to be found in some misapprehension of God. Where there is heresy, immorality will sooner or later ensue. But you—how came you to know so precisely when his boat sailed?"
"It... it was advertised." The trembling spread all over his body, and his clothes stuck to him. He seemed to be back at school, defenceless. He was certain that the rector had guessed, or rather that a wave of recognition had passed. A man of the world would have suspected nothing—Mr Ducie hadn't—but
this man had a special sense, being spiritual, and could scent out invisible emotions. Asceticism and piety have their practical side. They can generate insight, as Maurice realized too late. He had assumed at Penge that a white-faced parson in a cassock could never have conceived of masculine love, but he knew now that there is no secret of humanity which, from a wrong angle, orthodoxy has not viewed, that religion is far more acute than science, and if it only added judgement to insight would be the greatest thing in the world. Destitute of the religious sense him-self, he never yet encountered it in another, and the shock was terrific. He feared and hated Mr Borenius, he wanted to kill him.
And Alec—when he arrived, he would be flung into the trap too; they were small people, who could take no risk—far smaller, for instance, than Clive and Anne—and Mr Borenius knew this, and would punish them by the only means in his power.
The voice continued; it had paused for a moment in case the victim chose to reply.
"Yes. To speak frankly, I am far from easy about young Scudder. When he left Penge last Tuesday to go to his parents as he told me, though he never reached them till Wednesday— I had a most unsatisfactory interview with him. He was hard. He resisted me. When I spoke of Confirmation he sneered. The fact being— I could not mention this to you if it weren't for your charitable interest in him—the fact being that he has been guilty of sensuality." There was a pause. "With women. In time, Mr Hall, one gets to recognize that sneer, that hardness, for fornica-tion extends far beyond the actual deed. Were it a deed only, I for one would not hold it anathema. But when the nations went a whoring they invariably ended by denying God, I think, and until all sexual irregularities and not some of them are penal the Church will never reconquer England. I have reason to believe that he spent that missing night in London. But surely—that must be his train."
He went below, and Maurice, utterly to pieces, followed him. He heard voices, but did not understand them; one of them might have been Alec's for all it mattered to him. "This too has gone wrong" began flitting through his brain, like a bat that returns at twilight. He was back in the smoking-room at home with Clive, who said, "I don't love you any more; I'm sorry," and he felt that his life would revolve in cycles of a year, always to the same eclipse. "Like the sun... it takes a year..." He thought his grandfather was speaking to him; then the haze cleared, and it was Alec's mother. "It's not like Licky," she gibbered, and vanished.
Like whom? Bells were ringing, a whistle blew. Maurice ran up on deck; his faculties had returned, and he could see with extraordinary distinctness the masses of men sorting themselves, those to stop in England, those to go, and he knew that Alec was stopping. The afternoon had broken into glory. White clouds sailed over the golden waters and woods. In the midst of the pageant Fred Scudder was raving because his unreliable brother had missed the last train, and the women were protesting while they were hustled up the gangways, and Mr Borenius and old Scudder were lamenting to the officials. How negligible they had all become, beside the beautiful weather and fresh air.
Maurice went ashore, drunk with excitement and happiness. He watched the steamer move, and suddenly she reminded him of the Viking's funeral that had thrilled him as a boy. The paral-lel was false, yet she was heroic, she was carrying away death. She warped out from the quay, Fred yapping, she swung into the channel to the sound of cheers, she was off at last, a sacrifice, a splendour, leaving smoke that thinned into the sunset, and ripples that died against the wooded shores. For a long time he gazed after her, then turned to England. His journey was nearly over. He was bound for his new home. He had brought out the
man in Alec, and now it was Alec's turn to bring out the hero in him. He knew what the call was, and what his answer must be. They must live outside class, without relations or money; they must work and stick to each other till death. But England be-longed to them. That, besides companionship, was their reward. Her air and sky were theirs, not the timorous millions' who own stuffy little boxes, but never their own souls.
He faced Mr Borenius, who had lost all grasp of events. Alec had completely routed him. Mr Borenius assumed that love be-tween two men must be ignoble, and so could not interpret what had happened. He became an ordinary person at once, his irony vanished. In a straightforward and rather silly way he discussed what could have befallen young Scudder and then repaired to visit friends in Southampton. Maurice called after him, "Mr. Borenius do look at the sky—it's gone all on fire," but the rector had no use for the sky when on fire, and disappeared.
In his excitement he felt that Alec was close to him. He wasn't, couldn't be, he was elsewhere in the splendour and had to be found, and without a moment's hesitation he set out for Boat-house, Penge. Those words had got into his blood, they were part of Alec's yearnings and blackmailings, and of his own promise in that last desperate embrace. They were all he had to go by. He left Southampton as he had come to it—instinctively—and he felt that not merely things wouldn't go wrong this time but that they daren't, and that the universe had been put in its place. A little local train did its duty, a gorgeous horizon still glowed, and inflamed cloudlets which flared when the main glory faded, and there was even enough light for him to walk up from the station at Penge through quiet fields.
He entered the estate at its lower end, through a gap in the hedge, and it struck him once more how derelict it was, how un-fit to set standards or control the future. Night was approaching,
a bird called, animals scuttled, he hurried on until he saw the pond glimmering, and black against it the trysting place, and heard the water sipping.
He was here, or almost here. Still confident, he lifted up his voice and called Alec.
There was no answer.
He called again.
Silence and the advancing night. He had miscalculated.
"Likely enough," he thought, and instantly took himself in hand. Whatever happened he must not collapse. He had done that enough over Clive, and to no effect, and to collapse in this graying wilderness might mean going mad. To be strong, to keep calm, and to trust—they were still the one hope.. But the sudden disappointment revealed to him how exhausted he was physi-cally. He had been on the run ever since early morning, ravaged by every sort of emotion, and he was ready to drop. In a little while he would decide what next should be done, but now his head was splitting, every bit of him ached or was useless and he must rest.
The boathouse offered itself convenientlyfor that purpose. He went in and found his lover asleep. Alec lay upon piled up cushions, just visible in the last dying of the day. When he woke he did not seem excited or disturbed and fondled Maurice's arm between his hands before he spoke. "So you got the wire," he said.
"What wire?"
"The wire I sent off this morning to your house, telling you ..." He yawned, "Excuse me, I'm a bit tired, one thing and another . . . telling you to come here without fail." And since Maurice did not speak, indeed could not, he added, "Andnow we shan't be parted no more, and that's finished."
到了星期六，他赴南安普敦，送诺曼尼亚号起航。
这是个异想天开的决定，无济于事，有损尊严，很危险。当他离开家的时候，丝毫没有这个打算。然而抵达伦敦后，夜夜折磨他的饥饿明目张胆地向他索取猎获物。除了阿列克的脸和身子，他把一切都抛在脑后，就采取了可以见到他们的惟一手段。他并不想跟自己的情人说话，或者听他的声音，要么就摸摸他——这一切均已成为过去—一只想在阿列克的身影永远消逝之前，重新看一遍。可怜的、倒霉的阿列克！谁能责备他呢？他除了这么行事，还能有什么办法呢？然而，哦，他们两个人都一样倒霉。
莫瑞斯像做梦似的上了船。他在那儿清醒过来，一种新的不安袭上心头。阿列克无影无踪，轮船服务员忙得不可开交，过了一会儿，才把他领到斯卡德先生——阿列克的哥哥弗雷德跟前去。这是个粗鄙无礼、枯燥乏味的中年生意人。他身旁那位胡子拉碴的长者想必是奥斯敏顿的屠夫。阿列克主要的魅力是闪现在发际、充满青春活力的红润光泽。弗雷德长得像弟弟，但皮肤是沙色的，令人联想到狐狸。他脸上油腻腻的，取代了弟弟脸上那太阳的爱抚。弗雷德跟阿列克一样，自视甚高。他的自负起因于商业上取得的成功。他瞧不起体力劳动，不料弟弟竟长成了个粗人，他觉得丢面子。他从未听说过霍尔先生的事，就认为此人一定会对他们以恩赐者自居。于是，他摆出一副傲慢的态度。“利基（译注：利基是阿列克的昵称）还没上船呢，可他的行李已经在这儿了。”他说，“你有兴趣看看他的行李吗？”他的父亲说：“时间还蛮充裕。”并瞧了瞧自己的手表。他的母亲把嘴一抿，说：“他不会迟到的，利基说话是算数的。”弗雷德说：“他要是愿意迟到，就随他去吧。他不跟我走，我也经得起。可是他就别指望我再帮助他了，为了他，我花了太多的钱……”
“这就是阿列克所属于的世界。”莫瑞斯仔细考虑道。“这些人比我更能够使他幸福。”他把已经抽了六年的烟丝塞进烟斗，观看着这件风流韵事的破灭。阿列克既不是英雄，也不是神，只不过是跟他一样被社会束缚得一筹莫展的凡人。海洋和森林也罢，使人感到清爽的微风与太阳也罢，都不准备把他神化。他们两个人不该在旅店里共度一夜，这样就萌发了难以企及的希望。他们应该在雨里握完手就分道扬镳。
一种病态的好奇心把他留在斯卡德一家人当中。他倾听他们那粗俗的交谈，从他们的一举一动中寻觅朋友的姿态。他设法快快活活地巴结他们，然而归于失败，因为他没有自信了。他正郁闷地沉思，一个安详的嗓音传到耳际：“你好，霍尔先生。”他吃惊到极点，无言以对。那是博雷尼乌斯先生。他们两个人都不会忘记，起初他怎样默不作声，他那充满了恐惧的眼神，以及他如何飞快地将烟斗从嘴里拔出来，就好像这位教区长禁止他吸烟似的。
博雷尼乌斯先生温和地向斯卡德一家人做了自我介绍。彭杰离这里不远，他为这位年轻的教区居民送行来了。他们谈论着阿列克会沿着哪条路走来——好像有点儿拿不准——莫瑞斯试图溜掉，因为他弄不清该不该在这儿待下去，然而博雷尼乌斯先生拦住了他：“你要到甲板上去吗？”教区长问，“我也去，我奉陪。”他们两个人回到新鲜空气和阳光中来了。南安普敦港的浅滩在他们周围展开，一片金黄色，尽头绵延着新福里斯特（译注：汉普郡一区，范围包括新福里斯特及其沿南安普敦湾和索伦特海峡的城市化的沿海地区，加上该郡西部灵伍德和福丁布里奇周围的农业区）。对莫瑞斯而言，傍晚的美景似乎预示着大祸即将临头。
“谢谢你的好意。”教区长立即开口说。他的口气仿佛是一个社会福利工作者在跟另一个交谈，然而莫瑞斯觉得他是在旁敲侧击。莫瑞斯试图回答——两三句普普通通的话就能救他--但他一句话也说不出来。下嘴唇发颤，就像一个哭丧着脸的少年似的。“假若我没记错的话，你对小斯卡德是感到不满意的，所以你的一片好意就更难能可贵了。咱们在彭杰吃饭的时候，你对我说，他是个‘贪鄙下流的家伙’——竟这样来形容一位同胞，使我吃了一惊。当我在下面瞧见你跟他的亲人们待在一起的时候，我几乎不敢相信自己的眼睛。相信我吧，霍尔先生，他会珍重你对他的关怀，尽管他可能不显露出来。像他那样的人，比局外人所想象的要容易被感动，好也罢，坏也罢。”
莫瑞斯竭力打断他的话说：“那么……你呢？”
“我？我为什么要来呢？你只会笑话我。我给他送来了一封写给布宜诺斯艾利斯的英国国教会牧师的信，希望他上岸之后，就给他施坚振礼。荒唐可笑，对吗？可我既不是古希腊文化的崇拜者，也不是无神论者。我相信人的行动取决于信仰。倘若某人是个‘贪鄙下流的家伙’，归根结底是由于对神有所误解造成的。凡是有异端邪说的地方，迟早会滋生伤风败俗的行为。可是你——究竟是怎样准确地知道他这艘船起航的时间呢？”
“这……这登了广告。”他浑身打起哆嗦来，衣服紧紧地裹在他身上了。他好像重新变成了学童，毫无防备的能力。他确信这位教区长猜出来了，或者毋宁说是灵机一动，明察秋毫。凡人什么也不会怀疑——杜希先生就浑然不觉——然而这位先生却有特殊的感觉。由于他是个神职人员，竟嗅得出肉眼看不见的感情。禁欲主义与虔诚有着实用的一面，它们能够导致洞察力。莫瑞斯领悟到这一点的时候，已经太迟了。在彭杰，他曾认为，像这样一个身穿黑色法衣、脸色苍白的教区长，绝不可能懂得男子之间的同性爱。但现在他知道了，即便是从不公正的角度也罢，反正正统的宗教对人性的任何秘密都曾加以探讨。宗教比科学敏锐厉害得多，倘若除了洞察力，再补充上判断力，宗教就无敌于天下了。莫瑞斯本人是被信仰抛弃了的，他从未跟这样一股力量对峙过，他受到了极度的打击。他对博雷尼乌斯先生恐惧与憎恶交加，恨不得将这个教区长杀掉。
至于阿列克呢——如果这时候到了，也会被丢进陷阱。他们足小人物，担不起风险——比方说，远比克莱夫和安妮弱小得多．博雷尼乌斯先生知道这一点，打算用自己的权力范围内的惟一手段来惩罚他们。
为了给没有还手之力的对方回答的机会，那个声音停顿了一会儿，现在又继续下去了。
“是啊，老实说，关于小斯卡德，我非常不放心。星期二他离开了彭杰，对我说是要到他的父母那儿去。可是他拖到星期三才到家。他动身之前，我跟他面谈过一次，使我不满意到极点。他冷酷无情，他反抗我，当我谈到坚振礼的时候，他嘲笑我。事实上——要不是你对他有着慈悲为怀的兴趣，我是不会跟你提起这件事的——事实上，他犯了淫荡罪。”他顿了一下，“跟女人们。到了一定的时候，霍尔先生，那种嘲笑，那种冷酷无情，就会被识破。因为通奸会发展成比实际行为严重得多的罪恶。倘若这仅仅是个别人的行为，我不会考虑用诅咒将他逐出教会。然而，我认为一旦世界各国人民都道德败坏，最后他们一定会否定神。除非一切不正当的性行为统统受到刑罚，而不是只有其中几桩，教会是永远不能重新征服英国的。我有理由相信，他下落不明的那个晚上是在伦敦度过的。是的，没错儿——他准在这列火车里。”
他走下去了。莫瑞斯的神经受了撼动，跟随着他。他听见了讲话声，然而听不懂。其中的一个嗓音也许是阿列克的，这又与他何干。“又搞糟了。”他浮想联翩，犹如薄暮时分飞回来的蝙蝠。他重返家里的吸烟室，跟克莱夫待在一起。克莱夫说：“我再也不爱你了，请原谅。”他觉得自己的人生每年自转一周，最后总是黯然无光。“跟太阳一样……要花一年工夫……”他觉得外祖父在跟他这么念叨。随后，雾消散了，阿列克的母亲就在跟前。“这简直不像是利基。”她急促不安地说完，无影无踪了。
那么，像谁呢？起航的锣响了，汽笛一声长鸣。莫瑞斯飞奔到甲板上去了。他的感觉和意识恢复了，他能够异常清晰地看到成群的人分为两批-一批留在英国，一批出发。他明白阿列克将留下来。这个下午突然变得光辉灿烂，朵朵白云在金黄色的水和森林上空飘浮。在这场露天表演中，弗雷德‘斯卡德正大发脾气，因为他那个不可信赖的弟弟误了最后一班火车，女人们一面被推推搡搡地催逼着走上舷梯，一面抗议。博雷尼乌斯先生和老斯卡德则向官员哀叹着。天气这么好，空气这么清新，其他的一切都变得无足轻重了。
莫瑞斯上岸了，如醉如痴地沉浸在兴奋与幸福之中。他看着那艘轮船出航。突然，此船使他记起少年时代曾让他心里怦怦直跳的瓦伊金的葬礼。二者没有相似之处，然而该船英姿潇洒，它正把死亡运走。它被缆索牵引到固定的位置后驶出码头，弗雷德大喊大叫着。在一片欢送声中，船急速转向海峡，终于驶到海面上去了。它是个牺牲品，何等壮丽，留下一股烟，越来越淡，逐渐融人到落日的余晖中。还有那些细浪，冲上树木繁茂的海岸，化为乌有。他目送轮船良久，然后把目光转向英国。他的旅程快结束了，他的目的地是那个新家。他把阿列克内部的男子汉亮出来了，现在轮到阿列克来亮出他内部的英雄。他知道什么在召唤自己，也知道自己该怎样回答。他们必须打破阶级的畛域来生活，没有亲属，囊空如洗。他们必须劳动，至兀相依为命。然而英国是属于他们的，结为终身伴侣，这乃是他们所获得的奖赏。英国的空气和天空是属于他们的，却不属于好几百万个胆小鬼。那些人拥有空气混浊的小室，但从未有过自己的灵魂。
他来到博雷尼乌斯先生面前。这位教区长被弄蒙了，阿列克把他彻底击败了。博雷尼乌斯先生认为两个男人相爱必然是可耻的，因而对目前发生的这件事丝毫不能理解。转瞬之间他就变成一个普普通通的人了，他的讥讽消失了。他用一种坦率而相当愚蠢的口吻谈论着小斯卡德到底出了什么事呢？接着就举步去探望南安普敦的一些朋友。莫瑞斯朝着他的背景呼唤：“博雷尼乌斯先生，务必看看天空吧——整个儿着起火来啦。”然而教区长不需要熊熊燃烧的天空，他的踪影消失了。
他兴奋不已，觉得阿列克就在离自己不远的地方。阿列克不在附近，不可能在附近，却在这片辉煌的另外一处，非找到他不可。莫瑞斯片刻也没迟疑，立即赶赴彭杰的船库。“彭杰的船库”已渗入他的血液，阿列克既用它来倾诉思慕，又用它来进行讹诈。当他们最后一次不顾一切地拥抱的时候，莫瑞斯本人也做出过涉及此词的许诺。此词成了他惟一的依靠。他就像来的时候那样，凭着直觉离开了南安普敦——他确信，这次事情不仅不能搞糟，还一点儿差错也不能出。宇宙回到正常的位置上来了。莫瑞斯是乘小小的慢车去的，鲜艳夺目的地平线依然燃烧着，日没后，微云闪出火苗，天空染成一片红。甚至他在彭杰的车站下车，穿过寂静的田野走去的时候，光线还很足。
他从较低的那一头进入这座庄园，是从篱笆的裂缝钻过去的。他再度突然想到这片地何等荒芜，多么不宜把人分成等级，或规定将由谁支配未来。夜幕即将降临，一只鸟儿叫了，一些动物在慌慌张张地窜来窜去。他加快了脚步，一直走到瞧见池面发出微光为止。以池子为背景，幽会场所黑乎乎地映入眼帘，他听见了汩汩的水声。
他抵达这儿了，或者不啻抵达了。他依然充满信心，放声呼唤阿列克。
没有回答。
他又呼唤了一遍。
一片寂静，夜晚逼近了。他判断错了。
“这样的事是完全可能的。”他想道，然而刹那间抑制住了自己。不论发生了什么事，他也绝不能垮掉。克莱夫那次，他已尝够了滋味，徒劳无功。在这片越来越灰暗的荒野中垮掉，意味着会发疯。意志要坚强，保持冷静的头脑，并信任对方——他把最后的一线希望仍寄托于此。但是突然袭上心头的失望感告诉他，自己的身体已吃不消了。大清早以来他就东奔西走，被各种各样的感情蹂躏着，眼看着就要支撑不住了。过一会儿他就决定下一步该做什么，不过，现在他头痛欲裂，浑身酸疼，像散了架似的，他非休息不可。
船库是个方便的安歇处。他踱进去，发现自己的情人正在酣睡。阿列克睡在一摞靠垫上，在最后一抹暮色中，依稀可见。他醒来后，好像既不激动，也不烦闷，用两只手爱抚了一会儿莫瑞斯的胳膊，这才说：“那么，你收到电报啦。”
“什么电报？”
“我给你往家里发了一封电报，告诉你……”他打了个呵欠，“对不起，我有点儿累啦，这呀那呀的……告诉你，务必到这儿来。”莫瑞斯没有吭声，他实在什么也说不出来。于是阿列克补充了一句：“现在咱们再也用不着分手了，就这么决定了。”
Chapter 46
Dissatisfied with his printed appeal to the electors— it struck him as too patronizing for these times— Clive was trying to alter the proofs when Simcox announced, "Mr Hall." The hour was extremely late, and the night dark; all traces of a magnificent sunset had disappeared from the sky. He could see nothing from the porch though he heard abundant noises; his friend, who had refused to come in, was kicking up the gravel, and throwing pebbles against the shrubs and walls.
"Hullo Maurice, come in. Why this thusness?" He asked, a little annoyed, and not troubling to smile since his face was in shadow. "Good to see you back, hope you're better. Unluckily I'm a bit occupied, but the Russet Room's not. Come in and sleep here as before. So glad to see you."
"I've only a few minutes, Clive."
"Look here man, that's fantastic." He advanced into the dark-ness hospitably, still holding his proof sheets. "Anne'll be furious with me if you don't stay. It's awfully nice you turning up like this. Excuse me if I work at unimportancies for a bit now." Then he detected a core of blackness in the surrounding gloom, and, suddenly uneasy, exclaimed,"Ihope nothing's wrong."
"Pretty well everything . . . what you'd call."
Now Clive put politics aside, for he knew that it must be the love affair, and he prepared to sympathize, though he wished the appeal had come when he was less busy. His sense of proportion supported him. He led the way to the deserted alley behind the laurels, where evening primroses gleamed, and em-bossed with faint yellow the walls of night. Here they would be most solitary. Feeling for a bench, he reclined full length on it, put his hands behind his head, and said, "I'm at your service, but my advice is sleep the night here, and consult Anne in the morning."
"I don't want your advice."
"Well, as you like of course there, but you've been so friendly in telling us about your hopes, and where a woman is in ques-tion I would always consult another woman, particularly where she has Anne's almost uncanny insight."
The blossoms opposite disappeared and reappeared, and again Clive felt that his friend, swaying to and fro in front of them, was essential night. A voice said, "It's miles worse for you than that; I'm in love with your gamekeeper"—a remark so un-expected and meaningless to him that he said, "Mrs Ayres?" and sat up stupidly.
"No. Scudder."
"Look out," cried Clive, with a glance at darkness. Reassured, he said stiffly, "What a grotesque announcement."
"Most grotesque," the voice echoed, "but I felt after all I owe you I ought to come and tell you about Alec."
Clive had only grasped the minimum. He supposed "Scudder" was ajagon de parler, as one might say "Ganymede", for inti-macy with any social inferior was unthinkable to him. As it was, he felt depressed, and offended, for he had assumed Maurice was normal during the last fortnight, and so encouraged Anne's intimacy. "We did anything we could," he said, "and if you want to repay what you 'owe' us, as you call it, you won't dally with morbid thoughts. I'm so disappointed to hear you talk of yourself like that. You gave me to understand that the land
through the looking-glass was behind you at last, when we thrashed out the subject that night in the Russet Room."
"When you brought yourself to kiss my hand," added Mau-rice, with deliberate bitterness.
"Don't allude to that," he flashed, not for the first and last time, and for a moment causing the outlaw to love him. Then he relapsed into intellectualism. "Maurice—oh, I'm more sorry for you than I can possibly say, and I do, do beg you to resist the return of this obsession. It'll leave you for good if you do. Occupation, fresh air, your friends. ..."
"As I said before, I'm not here to get advice, nor to talk about thoughts and ideas either. I'm flesh and blood, if you'll con-descend to such low things—"
"Yes, quite right; I'm a frightful theorist, I know."
"—and'll mention Alec by his name."
It recalled to both of them the situation of a year back, but it was Clive who winced at the example now. "If Alec is Scud-der, he is in point of fact no longer in my service or even in Eng-land. He sailed for Buenos Aires this very day. Go on though. I'm reconciled to reopening the subject if I can be of the least help."
Maurice blew out his cheeks, and began picking the flowerets off a tall stalk. They vanished one after another, like candles that the night has extinguished. "I have shared with Alec," he said after deep thought.
"Shared what?"
"All I have. Which includes my body."
Clive sprang up with a whimper of disgust. He wanted to smite the monster, and flee, but he was civilized, and wanted it feebly. After all, they were Cambridge men ... pillars of society both; he must not show violence. And he did not; he remained quiet and helpful to the very end. But his thin, sour disapproval,
his dogmatism, the stupidity of his heart, revolted Maurice, who could only have respected hatred.
"I put it offensively," he went on, "but I must make sure you understand. Alec slept with me in the Russet Room that night when you and Anne were away."
"Maurice—oh, good God!"
"Also in town. Also—" here he stopped.
Even in his nausea Clive turned to a generalization—it was part of the mental vagueness induced by his marriage. "But surely—the sole excuse for any relationship between men is that it remain purely platonic."
"I don't know. I've come to tell you what I did." Yes, that was the reason of his visit. It was the closing of a book that would never be read again, and better close such a book than leave it ling about to get dirtied. The volume of their past must be re-stored to its shelf, and here, here was the place, amid darkness and perishing flowers. He owed it to Alec also. He could suffer no mixing of the old in the new. All compromise was perilous, because furtive, and, having finished his confession, he must dis-appear from the world that had brought him up. "I must tell you too what he did," he went on, trying to keep down his joy. "He's sacrificed his career for my sake . . . without a guarantee I'll give up anything for him . . . and I shouldn't have earlier. . . . I'm always slow at seeing. I don't know whether that's pla-tonic of him or not, but it's what he did."
"How sacrifice?"
"I've just been to see him off—he wasn't there—"
"Scudder missed his boat?" cried the squire with indignation. "These people are impossible." Then he stopped, faced by the future. "Maurice, Maurice," he said with some tenderness. "Maurice, quo vadis? You're going mad. You've lost all sense of—May I ask whether you intend—"
"No, you may not ask," interrupted the other. "You belong to the past. I'll tell you everything up to this moment—not a word beyond."
"Maurice, Maurice, I care a little bit for you, you know, or I wouldn't stand what you have told me."
Maurice opened his hand. Luminous petals appeared in it. "You care for me a little bit, I do think," he admitted, "but I can't hang all my life on a little bit. You don't. You hang yours on Anne. You don't worry whether your relation with her is pla-tonic or not, you only know it's big enough to hang a life on. I can't hang mine on to the five minutes you spare me from her and politics. You'll do anything for me except see me. That's been it for this whole year of Hell. You'll make me free of the house, and take endless bother to marry me off, because that puts me off your hands. You do care a little for me, I know"— for Clive had protested—"but nothing to speak of, and you don't love me. I was yours once till death if you'd cared to keep me, but I'm someone else's now—I can't hang about whining for ever—and he's mine in a way that shocks you, but why don't you stop being shocked, and attend to your own happiness?"
"Who taught you to talk like this?" Clive gasped.
"You, if anyone."
"I? It's appalling you should attribute such thoughts to me," pursued Clive. Had he corrupted an inferior's intellect? He could not realize that he and Maurice were alike descended from the Clive of two years ago, the one by respectability, the other by rebellion, nor that they must differentiate further. It was a cesspool, and one breath from it at the election would ruin him. But he must not shrink from his duty. He must rescue his old friend. A feeling of heroism stole over him; and he began to wonder how Scudder could be silenced and whether he would prove extortionate. It was too late to discuss ways and means
now, so he invited Maurice to dine with him the following week in his club up in town.
A laugh answered. He had always liked his friend's laugh, and at such a moment the soft rumble of it reassured him; it sug-gested happiness and security. "That's right," he said, and went so far as to stretch his hand into a bush of laurels. "That's better than making me a long set speech, which convinces neither yourself nor me." His last words were "Next Wednesday, say at 7.45. Dinner-jacket's enough, as you know."
They were his last words, because Maurice had disappeared thereabouts, leaving no trace of his presence except a little pile of the petals of the evening primrose, which mourned from the ground like an expiring fire. To the end of his life Clive was not sure of the exact moment of departure, and with the approach of old age he grew uncertain whether the moment had yet oc-curred. The Blue Room would glimmer, ferns undulate. Out of some external Cambridge his friend began beckoning to him, clothed in the sun, and shaking out the scents and sounds of the May term.
But at the time he was merely offended at a discourtesy, and compared it with similar lapses in the past. He did not realize that this was the end, without twilight or compromise, that he should never cross Maurice's track again, nor speak to those who had seen him. He waited for a little in the alley, then re-turned to the house, to correct his proofs and to devise some method of concealing the truth from Anne.
克莱夫正试着在致选民的呼吁书的校样上进行加工。因为排成铅字后．他突然感到文章中带着一股居高临下的傲气，不符合时下的潮流。这时，西姆科克斯通报说：“霍尔先生。”夜深了，黑咕隆咚的。天空中，壮丽的晚霞的痕迹已荡然无存。他从门廊里什么也看不见，各种噪声却不断地传到耳际。他的朋友不肯进屋，正在踢小石头子儿，还朝着灌木丛和墙壁掷卵石。
“喂，莫瑞斯，进来吧。你在搞什么名堂？”他问道，心里有点儿烦。既然站在暗处，也就不必费神去装出一副笑脸了。“多好啊，看到你回来了。希望你好一些了。不巧我没有空，赤褐屋刚好空着。进来吧，像以前那样睡在这儿。很高兴见到你。”
“我只耽搁几分钟，克莱夫。”
“嘿，老弟，哪里有那么荒唐的事。”为了表示殷勤好客，他朝着那片黑暗走去，手里仍拿着那几页校样。“假若你不在这儿过夜，安妮会对我大发雷霆。你这样上门来，真是好极了。现在我要做手头的一些琐事，还得请你原谅。”接着，他在周围的幽暗中发觉了漆黑的一团儿，猝然间感到忧虑不安起来，不禁惊叫道：“但愿没出什么不好的事。”
“一切都顺顺当当……可以这么说。”
现在克莱夫把政治撇开了。因为他知道，这必然是恋爱事件，于是准备表示一下同情。不过，他认为如果莫瑞斯没赶在他这么忙的时候来向他求助就好了。平衡感支撑着他。他把莫瑞斯领到月桂树丛后面的荒僻的小路上，这里闪烁着月见草，用淡黄色浮雕图案装饰起夜墙。在这儿，他们可以享受到绝对的安静。克莱夫摸索着找到一条长凳，仰面躺下来，头枕着双手，说：“我愿意为你效劳。不过，我劝你在这里睡一宿，明天早晨跟安妮商量。”
“我不需要你的劝告。”
“啊，当然悉听尊便。但是你十分友善，把你的种种期望告诉了我们。既然这是关于一个女人的问题，如果是我的话，就一定会去跟另一个女人商量，尤其是像安妮这样一位具有几乎是超人的洞察力的女子。”
对面的花儿忽隐忽现。克莱夫再度觉得，他这个在花前摇摆着身躯的朋友，就是夜晚本身。一个声音传到他的耳际：“对你而言，情况比这糟糕得多。我和你的猎场看守相爱了。”这句话太唐突，他听上去毫无意义。于是他傻呵呵地问：“是艾尔斯大嫂吗？”随即坐了起来。
“不，是斯卡德。”
“留神。”他边朝暗处扫了一眼边叫喊。知道没有外人，就放心了，生硬地说：“多么怪诞的声明。”
“怪诞到了极点。”那个嗓音随声附和道。“但是我认为，既然欠了你的情，就应该专程来告诉你阿列克的事。”
克莱夫只理解了最起码的一点。他料想，莫瑞斯仅仅是把“斯卡德”当作个比喻，就像提到“该尼墨得斯”（译注：据希腊传说，他是特洛伊国王特洛斯的儿子。由于美貌非凡，被诸神或化作鹰的宙斯掠去做侍酒童子。）似的。因为对他来说，跟任何一个社会阶层低于自己的人亲近，简直是难以想象的。事实上，他感到沮丧、生气，因为他原以为近两个星期莫瑞斯身心健康了，从而鼓励安妮跟他友好。“凡是我们能为你做的，我们都做了。”他说，“倘若你由于‘欠了情’——用你自己的话来说——想要回报，你就不会总想那些令人十分厌恶的事。我听到你这么谈论自己，失望极了。那天晚上咱们在赤褐屋反复研究这个问题的时候，你使我觉得不正常的时期终于结束了。”
“当时你竟然吻了我的手。”莫瑞斯故意讥讽了他一句。
“别提这个。”他勃然发怒了，既不是第一次也不是最后一次。于是，莫瑞斯这个不法分子就对他产生了短暂的爱。接着，克莱夫恢复了惟理智论者的本色。“莫瑞斯——我简直说不出替你有多么难过。求求你啦，求求你抵制这种迷住心窍的念头，别让它再缠住你。倘若你有心抵制，这个念头就会永远消失。工作、新鲜空气。你的朋友们……”
“刚才我已经说过，我不是到这儿来接受你的劝告的，也不是来谈论思想和概念的。我是个有血有肉的人。假如你肯屈尊，对这些非上品的东西表示兴趣——”
“对，非常对。我知道自己是个令人厌烦的理论家。”
“你要是肯提到阿列克这个名字的话。”
这使他们想起一年前的那件事。然而，如今轮到克莱夫一听到这个名字心里就发怵。“如果阿列克就是斯卡德的话，事实上他已经不再在我这儿干活，甚至已不在英国了。就在今天，他乘船前往布宜诺斯艾利斯了。不过，你说下去吧。只要能多少帮助你的话，我甘愿旧话重提。”
莫瑞斯鼓起腮帮子，吐出一口气，然后着手从高高的茎上一朵朵地掐小黄花。它们接连消失了，犹如夜晚将烛光熄灭掉似的。“我跟阿列克共享了。”他在深思熟虑后说。
“共享了什么？”
“我所有的一切，包括我的肉体。”
克莱夫厌恶地哀叫一声，一跃而起。他恨不得把这个怪物猛揍一顿，撒腿跑掉。但他是个有教养的人，懂得克制自己的感情。他们毕竟是剑桥出身的人……两个人都是社会的中坚分子。他决不能使用暴力手段，他确实没有诉诸于暴力。他自始至终保持冷静，乐于助一臂之力。然而他这种浅薄空洞、尖酸刻薄的责难，他的固执己见，感情的愚钝，使莫瑞斯十分反感。莫瑞斯只能对憎恶表示敬意。
“我这番话会冒犯你，”他继续说下去，“然而我非让你十分理解不可。当你和安妮不在家的那个夜晚，阿列克和我在赤褐屋里睡觉来着。”
“莫瑞斯——哦，天哪！”
“还在伦敦。还在——”说到这里，莫瑞斯把下面的话咽回去了。
即使在感到极度厌恶的时候，克莱夫也设法把事情一般化．作为逃避的手段。这种把事情置于漠然状态的倾向，是婚姻给他带来的现象之一。“不过，毫无疑问——把男人之间的关系正当化的惟一的理由，是它终属纯粹的精神恋爱。”
“我不了解。我是来告诉你我做了什么。”对，这就是他来拜访的原因。他从而合上了一本书，永远也不会再去读它了。与其把此书撂在那儿弄脏，不如合上算了。必须将他们的过去这本书放回到它原先的书架上。这里，在黑暗和枯死的花儿中，就是那个场所。他还欠着阿列克一份恩情。他决不允许把旧的掺杂到新的里面。一切妥协都是敷衍了事，因而是危险的。坦白完，他就必须从将他养育成人的这个世界消失踪影。“我还得告诉你他做了什么。”他竭力按捺住内心的喜悦。“为了我的缘故，他牺牲了自己的前途……他并没有得到我会为他放弃任何东西的保证……原来的我确实是什么也不会放弃的……我总是很迟才能看透。我不知道这算不算是精神恋爱，反正他就这么做了。”
“怎样牺牲的？”
“我去为他送行——他不在那儿——”
“斯卡德误了船吗？”乡绅愤怒地大声叫喊。“这些家伙简直不可救药。”接着他住了口，未来出现在他面前。“莫瑞斯，莫瑞斯，”他用多少有点儿亲切的口吻说。“莫瑞斯，你往何处去？（译注：原文为拉丁文，语出波兰作家显克维奇（1846-1916）的同名小说。《你往何处去》描写暴君尼禄焚烧罗马城后嫁祸于基督教徒，对他们进行迫害一事。耶稣的使徒在逃亡的路上遇见耶稣，问他：“主啊，你往何处去?”耶稣答道：“我要回罗马。让他们把我再度钉在十字架上。”使徒幡然悔悟。显克维奇由于此作而获得1905年度诺贝尔文学奖。）你快要疯了，你完全丧失了理智。我能不能问一声，你是否打算——”
“不，你不能问，”对方打断了他的话，“你属于过去。到此刻为止的一切，我向你和盘托出——今后的事，一个字也不能告诉你。”
“莫瑞斯，莫瑞斯，你知道，我还是有点儿关心你。不然的话，我是无法忍受你刚才告诉我的那番话的。”
莫瑞斯张开了手，露出光彩熠熠的花瓣儿。“我确实认为你有点儿关心我，”他承认，“然而我不可能把自己的整个人生寄托在这一点点上。你不是这样的。你把自己的人生寄托在安妮身上。你不必为自己和她的关系是否精神恋爱而苦恼。你只知道它的身价很高，值得把自己的人生寄托在上面。你只能从她和政治上匀出短短的五分钟给我，我可不能把自己的人生寄托在这上面啊。什么事你都肯为我做，就是拒绝见我。整整一年啊，我在地狱里受尽煎熬。你留我在你家里住，逍遥自得。你还费尽心机打发我结婚，以便甩掉我这个包袱。”——这时克莱夫抗议了，莫瑞斯就顿了一下说，“我知道，你确实有点儿关心我。可是不值得一提，因为你并不爱我。倘若你愿意保持跟我的关系，我会至死属于你。然而，我总不能永远哭哭啼啼地缠住不放呀，所以现在我已属于另外一个人了——那个人也以使你毛骨悚然的方式属于我。你别再给弄得毛骨悚然了，还是专心致力于自己的幸福如何？”
“是谁教给你这么说话的？”克莱夫上气不接下气地说。
“倘若有人教过我的话，那就是你。”
“我？你把这样的思想归因于我，真是骇人听闻。”克莱夫继续说下去。难道他破坏了这个比自己低劣的人的思维能力吗？他没认识到，他和莫瑞斯同样是以两年前的克莱夫为起点，一直走到现在这个地方来的。一个凭借社会地位，另一个通过反叛。他更不曾想到，今后他们之间的分歧必然越来越大。他面对着一个污水坑，选举之际哪怕只发出一点点臭味儿，他的前程就会被断送掉。然而，这是他应尽的义务，决不能畏缩不前，他非拯救老友不可。当英雄的感觉悄悄地袭上心头，他开始琢磨怎样才能封住斯卡德的嘴，心里直嘀咕斯卡德会不会敲竹杠。现在已是深夜，来不及讨论该采取什么办法和手段了。于是他邀请莫瑞斯下周到他那坐落在伦敦的俱乐部来共进晚餐。
莫瑞斯用笑声来回答他。克莱夫一向喜欢他这个朋友的笑声。此刻轻柔的呵呵声让人联想到幸福与安全，于是他心里一块石头落了地。“好。”他说。由于放了心，他甚至把手伸进月桂树丛里去了。“这比对我发表老一套的冗长演说强，既不能使你本人也不能使我信服。”他的最后一句话是：“下星期三，就定在七点四十五分吧。照例只穿无尾晚礼服。”
这就是他最后的一句话，因为大概这时候莫瑞斯就无影无踪了。他留下一小堆月见草的花瓣儿，作为他曾在这儿待过的惟一的痕迹。这堆花瓣儿犹如余烬似的奄奄一息地趴在地上。克莱夫终生不清楚莫瑞斯离去的准确时间。随着进入暮年，对于是否确实发生过此等事，他开始拿不准了。蓝屋发出微光，羊齿丛摇曳着。他的朋友在剑桥校园里朝他招起手来。朋友沐浴在阳光下，散发出五月这个学期的花香与喧哗。
然而，当时他仅仅是对朋友的失礼感到不快而已。他想起从前莫瑞斯也曾像这样失于检点，并与之比较了一下。他不曾领悟到这是终结，既没有黄昏，也没有妥协。更料想不到今后再也不会跟莫瑞斯相遇了，甚至没跟那些看见了莫瑞斯的人说过话。他在小路上等待了一会儿，随后回家去了，不但修改校样，还得想方设法向安妮隐瞒真相。