IT was my wife’s idea to hold the private view on Friday. ‘We are out to catch the critics this time, I she said. ‘It’s high time they began to take you seriously, and they know it. This is their chance. If you open on Monday, they’ll most of them have just come up from the country, and they’ll dash off a few paragraphs before dinner - I’m only worrying about the weeklies of course. If we give them the week-end to think about it, we shall have them in an urbane1 Sunday-in-the-country mood. They’ll settle down after a good luncheon2, tuck up their cuffs3, and turn out a nice, leisurely4 full-length essay, which they’ll reprint later in a nice little book. Nothing less will do this time.’
She was up and down from the Old Rectory several times during the month of preparation, revising the list of invitations and helping5 with the hanging. On the morning of the private view I telephoned to Julia and said: ‘I’m sick of the pictures already and never want to see them again, but I suppose I shall have to put in an appearance.’
‘D’you want me to come?’
‘I’d much rather you didn’t.’
‘Celia sent a card with “Bring everyone” written across it in green ink. When do we meet?’
‘In the train. You might pick up my luggage.’
‘If you’ll have it packed soon I’ll pick you up, too, and drop you at the gallery. I’ve got a fitting next door at twelve.’
When I reached the gallery my wife was standing6 looking through the window to the street. Behind her half a dozen unknown picture-lovers were moving from canvas to canvas, catalogue in hand; they were people who had once bought a wood: cut and were consequently on the gallery’s list of patrons.
‘No one has come yet,’ said my wife. ‘I’ve been here since ten and it’s been very dull.
Whose car was that you came in?’
‘Julia’s.’
‘Julia’s? Why didn’t, you bring her in? Oddly enough, I’ve just been talking about Brideshead to a funny little man who seemed to know us very well. He said he was called Mr Samgrass. Apparently7 he’s one of Lord Copper’s middle-aged8 young men on the Daily Beast. I tried to feed him some paragraphs, but he seemed to know more about you than I do. He said he’d met me years ago at Brideshead. I wish Julia had come in; then we could have asked her about him.’
‘I remember him well.He’s a crook9.’
‘Yes, that stuck out a mile. He’s been talking all about what he calls the “’Brideshead set”, Apparently Rex Mottram has made the place a nest of party mutiny. Did you know? What would Teresa Marchmain have thought?’ ‘I’m going there tonight.’
‘Not tonight, Charles; you can’t go there tonight. You’re expected at home. You promised, as soon as the exhibition was ready, you’d come home. Johnjohn and Nanny have made a banner with “Welcome” on it. And you haven’t seen Caroline yet.’
‘I’m sorry, it’s all settled.’
‘Besides, Daddy will think it so odd. And Boy is home for Sunday. And you haven’t seen the new studio. You can’t go tonight. Did they ask me?’ ‘Of course; but I knew you wouldn’t be able to come.’ ‘I can’t now. I could have, if you’d let me know earlier. I should adore to see the “Brideshead set” at home. I do think you re perfectly10 beastly, but this is no time for a family rumpus. The Clarences promised to come in before luncheon; they may be here any minute.’
We were interrupted, however, not by royalty11, but by a woman reporter from one of the dailies, whom the manager of the gallery now led up to us. She had not come to see the pictures but to get a “human story” of the dangers of my journey. I left her to my wife, and next day read in her paper: ‘Charles “Stately Homes” Ryder steps off the map. That the snakes and vampires12 of the jungle have nothing on Mayfair is the opinion of socialite artist Ryder, who has, abandoned the houses of the great for the ruins of equatorial Africa...’
The rooms began to fill and I was soon busy being civil. My wife was everywhere, greeting people, introducing people, deftly13 transforming the crowd into a party. I saw her lead friends forward one after another to the subscription14 list that had been opened for the book of Ryder’s Latin America I heard her say: ‘No, darling, I’m not at all surprised, but you wouldn’t expect me to be, would you? You see Charles lives for one thing - Beauty. I think he got bored with finding it ready-made in England; he had to go and create it for himself. He wanted new worlds to conquer. After all, he has said the last word about country houses, hasn’t he? Not, I mean, that he’s given that up altogether. I’m sure he’ll always do one or two more for friends.’ A photographer brought us together, flashed a lamp in our faces, and let us part. Presently there was the slight hush15 and edging away which follows the entry of a royal party. I saw my wife curtsey and heard her say: ‘Oh, sir, you are sweet’; then I was led into the clearing and the Duke of Clarence said: ‘Pretty hot out there I should think.’ ‘It was, sir.’
‘Awfully clever the way you’ve hit off the impression of heat. Makes me feel quite uncomfortable in my greatcoat.’
‘Ha, ha.’
When they had gone my wife said: ‘Goodness, we’re late for lunch. Margot’s giving a party in your honour, and in the taxi she said: ‘I’ve just thought of something. Why don’t you write and ask the Duchess of Clarence’s permission to dedicate Latin America to her?’
‘Why should I?’
‘She’d love it so.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of dedicating it to anyone.’
‘There you are; that’s typical of you, Charles. Why miss an opportunity to give pleasure?’
There were a dozen at luncheon, and though it pleased my hostess and my wife to say that they were there in my honour, it was plain to me that half of them did not know of my exhibition and had come because they had been invited and had no other engagement. Throughout luncheon they talked, without stopping, of Mrs Simpson, but they all, or nearly all, came back with us to the gallery.
The hour after luncheon was the busiest time. There were representatives of the Tate Gallery and the National Art Collections Fund, who all promised to return shortly with colleagues and, in the meantime, reserved certain pictures for further consideration. The most influential16 critic, who in the past had dismissed me with a few wounding commendations, peered out at me from between his slouch hat and woollen muffler, gripped my arm, and said: ‘I knew you had it. I saw it there. I’ve been waiting for it.’ From fashionable and unfashionable lips alike I heard fragments of praise. ‘If you’d asked me to guess,’ I overheard, ‘Ryder’s is the last name would have occurred to me. They’re so virile17, so passionate18.’
They all thought they had found something new. It had not been thus at my last exhibition in these same rooms, shortly before my going abroad. Then there had been an unmistakable note of weariness. Then the talk had been less of me than of the houses, anecdotes19 of their owners. That same woman, it came back to me, who now applauded my virility20 and passion, had stood quite near me, before a painfully laboured canvas, and said, ‘So facile.’
I remembered the exhibition, too, for another reason; it was the week I detected my wife in adultery. Then, as now, she was, a tireless hostess, and I heard her say:
‘Whenever I see anything lovely nowadays - a building or a piece of scenery - I think to myself, “that’s by Charles”. I see everything through his eyes. He is England to me.’ I heard her say that; it was the sort of thing she had the habit of saying. Throughout our married life, again and again, I had felt my bowels21 shrivel within me at the things she said. But that day, in this gallery, I heard her unmoved, and suddenly realized that she was powerless to hurt me any more; I was a free man; she had given me my manumission in that brief, sly lapse23 of hers; my cuckold’s horns made me lord of the forest.
At the end of the day my wife said: ‘Darling, I must go. It’s been a terrific success, hasn’t it? I’ll think of something to tell them at home, but I wish it hadn’t got to happen quite this way.’
‘So she knows,’ I thought. ‘She’s a sharp one. She’s had her nose down since luncheon and picked up the scent24.’
I let her get clear of the place and was about to follow - the rooms were nearly empty - when I heard a voice at the turnstile I had not heard for many years, an unforgettable self-taught stammer25, a sharp cadence26 of remonstration27. ‘No. I have not brought a card of invitation. I do not even know whether I received one. I have not come to a social function- I do not seek to scrape acquaintance with Lady Celia; I do not want my photograph in the Tatler; I have not come to exhibit myself. I have come to see the pictures. Perhaps you are unaware28 that there are any pictures here. I happen to have a personal interest in the artist - if that word has any meaning for you.’
‘Antoine’ I said, ‘come in.’
‘My dear, there is a g-g-gorgon here who thinks I am g-g-gate-crashing. I only arrived in London yesterday, and heard quite by chance at luncheon that you were having an exhibition, so, of course I dashed impetuously to the shrine29 to pay homage30. Have I changed? Would you recognize me? Where are, the pictures? Let me explain them to you.’
Anthony Blanche had not changed from when I last saw him; not, indeed, from when I first saw him. He swept lightly across the room to the most prominent canvas - a jungle landscape paused a moment, his head cocked like a knowing terrier, and asked:
‘Where, my dear Charles, did you find this sumptuous31 greenery? The comer of a hothouse at T-t-rent or T-t-tring? What gorgeous usurer nurture32.d these fronds33 for your pleasure?’ Then he made a tour of the two rooms; once or twice he sighed deeply, otherwise he kept silence. When he came to the end he sighed once more, more deeply than ever, and said: ‘But they tell me, My dear, you are happy in love. That is everything, is it not, or nearly everything?’
‘Are they as bad as that?’
Anthony dropped his voice to a piercing whisper: ‘My dear, let us not expose your little imposture34 before these good, plain people’ - he gave a conspiratorial35 glance to the last remnants of the crowd - ‘let us not spoil their innocent pleasure. We know, you and I, that this is all t-t-terrible t-t-tripe. Let us go, before we offend the connoisseurs36. I know of a louche little bar quite near here. Let us go there and talk of your other c-c-conquests.’
It needed this voice from the past to recall me; the indiscriminate chatter37 of praise all that crowded day had worked on me like a succession of advertisement hoardings on a long road, kilometre after kilometre between the poplars, commanding one to stay at some new hotel, so that when at the end of the drive, stiff and dusty, one arrives at the destination, it seems inevitable38 to turn into the yard under the name that had first bored, then angered one, and finally become an inseparable part of one’s fatigue39. Anthony led me from the gallery and down a side street to a door between a disreputable newsagent and a disreputable chemist, painted with the words ‘Blue Grotto40 Club. Members only.’
‘Not quite your milieu41, my dear, but mine, I assure you. After all, you have been in your milieu all day.’
He led me downstairs, from a smell of cats to a smell of gin and cigarette-ends and the sound of a wireless42.
‘I was given the address by a dirty old man in the Boeuf sur le Toit. I am most grateful to him. I have been out of England so long, and really sympathetic little joints43 like this change so fast. I presented myself here for the first time yesterday evening, and already I feel quite at home. Good evening, Cyril.’
‘ ‘Lo, Toni, back again?’ said the youth behind the bar.
‘We will take our drinks and sit in a comer. You must remember, my dear, that here you are just as conspicuous45 and, may I say, abnormal, my dear, as I should be in B-b-bratt’s.’
The place was painted cobalt; there was cobalt lineoleum on the floor. Fishes of silver and gold paper had been pasted haphazard46 on ceiling and walls. Half a dozen youths were drinking and playing with the slot-machines; an older, natty47, crapulous-looking man seemed to be in control; there was some sniggering round the fruit-gum machine; then one of the youths came up to us and said, ‘Would your friend care to rhumba?’ ‘No, Tom, he would not, and I’m not going to give you a drink; not yet, anyway.
That’s a very impudent48 boy, a regular little gold-digger, my dear.’ ‘Well,’ I said, affecting an ease I was far from feeling in that den22, what have you been up to all these years?’
‘My dear, it is what you have been up to that we are here to talk about. I’ve been watching you, my dear. I’m a faithful old body and I’ve kept my eye on you.’ As he spoke49 the bar and the bar-tender, the blue wicker furniture, the gambling-machines, the gramophone, the couple of youths dancing on the oilcloth, the youths sniggenng round the slots,. the purple-veined, stiffly-, dressed elderly man drinking in the corner opposite us, the whole drab and furtive50 joint44 seemed to fade, and I was back in Oxford51 looking out over Christ Church meadow through a window of Ruskin-Gothic. ‘I went to your first exhibition,’ said Anthony; ‘I found it - charming. There was an interior of Marchmain House, very English, very correct, but quite delicious. “Charles has done something,” I said; “not all he will do, not all he can do, but something.”
‘Even then, my dear, I wondered a little. It seemed to me that there was something a little gentlemanly about your painting. You must remember I am not English; I cannot understand this keen zest52 to be well-bred. English snobbery53 is more macabre54 to me even than English morals. However, I said, “Charles has done something delicious. What will he do next?”
‘The next thing I saw was your very handsome volume “Village and Provincial55 Architecture”, was it called? Quite a tome, my dear, and what did I find? Charm again. “Not quite my cup of tea,” I thought; “this is too English.” I have the fancy for rather spicy56 things, you know, not for the shade of the cedar57 tree, the cucumber sandwich, the silver cream-jug, the English girl dressed in whatever English girls do wear for tennis - not that, not Jane Austen, not M-m-miss M-m-mitford. Then, to be frank, dear Charles, I despaired of you. “I am a degenerate58 old d-d-dago,” I said “and Charles - I speak of your art, my dear - is a dean’s daughter in flowered muslin.” ‘Imagine then my excitement at luncheon today. Everyone was talking about you. My hostess was a friend of my mother’s, a Mrs Stuyvesant Oglander; a friend of yours, too, my dear. Such a frump! Not at all the society I imagined you to keep. However, they, had all been to your exhibition, but it was you they talked of, how you had broke away, my dear, gone to the tropics, become a Gauguin, a Rimbaud. You can imagine how my old heart leaped.
‘ “Poor Celia,” they said, “after all she’s done for him.” “He owes everything to her. It’s too bad.” “And with Julia,” they said, “after the way she behaved in America.” “Just as she was going back to Rex.”
‘ “But the pictures,” I said; “Tell me about them.”
‘Oh, the pictures,” they said; “they’re most peculiar59.” “Not at all what he usually does.” “Very forceful.” “Quite barbaric.” “I call them downright unhealthy,” said Mrs Stuyvesant Oglander.
‘My dear, I could hardly keep still in my chair. I wanted to dash out of the house and leap in a taxi and say, “Take me to Charles’s unhealthy pictures.” Well, I went, but the gallery after luncheon was so full of absurd women in the sort of hats they should be made to eat, that I rested a little - I rested here with Cyril and Tom and these saucy60 boys. Then I came back at the unfashionable time of five o’clock, all agog61, my dear; and what did I find? I found, my dear, a very naughty and very successful practical joke. It reminded me of dear Sebastian when he liked so much to dress up in false whiskers. It was charm again, my dear, simple, creamy English charm, playing tigers.’ ‘You’re-quite right,’ I said.
‘My dear, of course I’m right. I was right years ago - more years, I am happy to say, than either of us shows - when I warned you. I took you out to dinner to warn you of charm. I warned you expressly and in great detail of the Flyte family. Charm is the great English blight62. It does not exist outside these damp islands. It spots and kills anything it touches. It kills love; it kills art; I greatly fear, my dear Charles, it has killed you.’ The youth called Tom approached us again. ‘Don’t be a tease, Toni; buy me a drink.’ I remembered my train and left Anthony with him.
As I stood on the platform by the restaurant-car I saw my luggage and Julia’s go past with Julia’s sour-faced maid strutting63 beside the porter. They had begun shutting the carriage doors when Julia arrived, unhurried, and took her place in front of me. I had a table for two. This was a very convenient train; there was half an hour before, dinner and half and hour after it; then, instead of changing to the branch line, as had been the rule in Lady Marchmain’s day, we were met at the junction64. It was night as we drew out of Paddington, and the glow of the town gave place first to the scattered65 lights of the suburbs, then to the darkness of the fields.
‘It seems days since I saw you,’ I said.
‘Six hours; and we were together all yesterday. You look worn out.’
‘It’s been a day of nightmare - crowds, critics, the Clarences, a luncheon party at Margot’s, ending up with half an hour’s well-reasoned abuse of my pictures in a pansy bar...I think Celia knows about us.’
‘Well, she had to know some time.’
‘Everyone seems to know. My pansy friend had not been in London twenty-four hours before he’d heard.’
‘Damn everybody.’
‘What about Rex?’
‘Rex isn’t anybody at all,’ said Julia; ‘he just doesn’t exist.’ The knives and forks jingled67 on the table as we sped through the darkness; the little- circle of gin and vermouth in the glasses lengthened68 to oval, contracted again, with the sway of the carriage, touched the lip, lapped back again, never spilt; I was leaving the day behind me. Julia pulled off her hat and tossed it into the rack above her, and shook her night-dark hair with a little sigh of ease - a sigh fit for the pillow, the sinking firelight, and a bedroom window open to the stars and the whisper of bare trees.
‘It’s great to have you back, Charles; like the old days.’
‘Like the old days?’ I thought.
Rex, in his early forties, had grown heavy and ruddy; he had lost his Canadian accent and acquired instead the hoarse69, loud tone that was common to all his friends, as though their voices were perpetually strained to make themselves heard above a crowd, as though, with youth forsaking70 them, there was no time to wait the opportunity to speak, no time to listen, no time to reply; time for a laugh - a throaty mirthless laugh, the base currency of goodwill71.
There were half a dozen of these friends in the Tapestry72 Hall: politicians; ‘young Conservatives’ in the early forties, with sparse73 hair and high blood-pressure; a Socialist74 from the coal-mines who had already caught their clear accents, whose cigars came to pieces on his lips, whose hand shook when he poured himself out a drink; a financier older than the rest, and, one might guess from the way they treated him, richer; a love-sick columnist75, who alone was silent, gloating sombrely on the only woman of the party; a woman they called ‘Grizel’, a knowing rake whom, in their hearts, they all feared a little.
They all feared Julia, too, Grizel included. She greeted them and apologized for not being there to welcome them, with a formality which hushed there for a minute; then she came and sat with me near the fire, and the storm of talk arose once more and whirled about our ears.
‘Of course, he can marry her and make her queen tomorrow.’ ‘We had our chance in October. Why didn’t we send the Italian fleet to the bottom of Mare66 Nostrum76? Why didn’t we blow Spezia to blazes? Why didn’t we land on Pantelleria?’
‘Franco’s simply a German agent. They tried to put him in to prepare air bases to bomb France. That bluff77 has been called, anyway.’
‘It would make the monarchy78 stronger than it’s been since Tudor times. The people are with him.’
‘The Press are with him.’
‘I’m with him.’
‘Who cares about divorce now except a few old maids who aren’t married, anyway?’
‘If he has a show-down with the old gang, they’ll just disappear like, like...’
‘Why didn’t we close the canal? Why didn’t we bomb Rome?’
‘It wouldn’t have been necessary. One firm note...’
‘One firm speech.’
‘One show-down.’
‘Anyway, Franco will soon be skipping back to Morocco. Chap I come from Barcelona...’
‘...Chap just come from Fort Belvedere...’
‘...Chap just come from the Palazzo Venezia... ‘
‘All we want is a show-down.’
‘A show-down with Baldwin.’
‘A show-down with Hitler.’
‘A show-down with the Old Gang.’
‘...That I should live to see my country, the land of Clive and Nelson...’
‘...My country of Hawkins and Drake.’
‘...My country of Palmerston... ‘ saw today just
‘Would you very much mind not doing that?’ said Grizel to the columnist, who had been attempting in a maudlin79 manner to twist her wrist; ‘I don’t happen to enjoy it.’
‘I wonder which is the more horrible,’ I said, ‘Celia’s Art and Fashion or Rex’s Politics and Money.’
‘Why worry about them?’
‘Oh, my darling, why is it that love makes me hate the world? It’s supposed to have quite the opposite effect. I feel as though all mankind, and God, too, were in a conspiracy80 against us.’
‘They are, they are.’
‘But we’ve got our happiness in spite of them; here and now, we’ve taken possession of it. They can’t hurt us, can they?’
‘Not tonight; not now.’
‘Not for how many nights?’
在星期五举行一次预展，这主意是我妻子出的。
“趁这个机会我们可以出来听听批评家的意见，”她说，“该是他们认真对待你的时候了。他们也知道这一点，这是他们的好机会。如果你在星期一预展的话，那时侯他们大多数人刚刚从乡下回来，就会在晚饭前匆匆忙忙写上几行评论——我担心的当然是几家周刊了。如果我们让他们在周末进行思考，我们就可以使他们有一种温文尔雅的假日心情。他们吃过一顿丰盛的午餐以后就会静下心来，挽起袖口，撰写一篇洋洋洒洒的优美文章来，这种文章他们以后还会重印在精美的小册子里呢。这个时间的好处可不少啦。”
在筹备画展的那个月里，她往返奔波于老教区和伦敦之间，重新审订了邀请的客人名单，并且帮助布置画展。
预展那天早晨，我打电话给朱莉娅，说道：“我对那些画早就腻味了，再也不想着见它们了，不过我不得不露面。”
“你希望我去吗？”
“我希望你千万别来。”
“西莉娅寄来了一张请贴，还用绿墨水写着‘可携带朋友’的字样呢。我们什么时候见面呢。”
“在火车上。你可以把我的行李捎来。”
“如果你早点收拾好行装的话，我还可以让你搭车，然后让你在画廊下车。十二点时我要在隔壁试衣服样子。”
当我到达画廊的时候，我妻子正站在窗户前向大街上张望。她身后有五六个不知名的绘画爱好者正在一幅画一幅画地观看，手里都拿着目录；这些人都是曾经在画廊里买过一幅木刻画，因而被登进画廊赞助人名录里的人。
“还没有来一个人呢，”我的妻子说，“我从十点钟就到这儿了，很无聊。你坐谁的车子来的？”
“朱莉娅的。”
“朱莉娅的？你怎么不带她进来呢？太怪了，我刚才跟一个很滑稽的小个子男人谈到了布赖兹赫德，他好像很了解我们似的。他说他叫桑格拉斯先生。他显然是科泊勋爵在《每日兽报》上提到过的一个已进入中年的年轻人。我本来想给他讲一讲，可是他似乎比我还熟悉你。他说许多年以前曾经在布赖兹赫德见过你。我希望朱莉娅来，那样我们就可以问问她有关他的情况了。”
“我对他可是记得很清楚。他是个江湖骗子。”
“没错，那是一目了然的。他一直谈论他称作‘布赖兹赫德的一伙人’的那些事情。显然雷克斯·莫特拉姆已经把这个地方变成了阴谋造反分子的巢穴了。你听说了吗？特里萨·马奇梅因要是知道会怎么想呢？”
“今天晚上我要去那里。”
“今天晚上别去，查尔斯；你今天晚上不能去那儿，家里人都盼着你回去呢。你答应过，一等展览会准备停当你就回家来的。约翰约翰和保姆还做了一面有‘欢迎’两个字的旗子。而且你还没有见过卡罗琳呢。”
“我很抱歉，已经都安排好了。”
“再说，爸爸也会觉得太蹊跷了。而且博伊也要去家里过星期日的。你还没有见过那个新画室呢。今天晚上你不能去。他们邀请我了吗？”
“当然邀请了。不过我知道你不能去。”
“我现在不能。如果你早点告诉我的话，我是可以去的。我倒很愿意在家里会见‘布赖兹赫德一伙人’的。我觉得你真够狠心的，不过现在不是闹家庭纠纷的时候。克拉伦斯夫妇答应了午饭前来的；他们随时都可能到。”
我们被打断了，不过倒不是由于什么皇亲国戚莅临，而是由于一家日报的女记者来访，这时画廊的经理人把她带到我们跟前。她不是来看绘画的，而是要采访关于我在旅行的艰难危险中的“人性的故事”。我把她交给了我的妻子，第二天她的那家报纸这样写道：“查尔斯·‘华厦’·赖德旅行。密林丛莽的毒蛇和吸血蝙蝠在五月花区没有什么关系，这就是社会名流艺术家赖德的看法，他放弃了伟大人物的华厦，而去追求赤道非洲的颓垣断壁……”
几间展室渐渐挤满了人，我马上就忙着殷勤招待他们。我的妻子四处出现，欢迎这些人，给一些人介绍，再不就是机智地把来宾们变成一个聚会。我还看见她把那些朋友一个接一个地带到打开让人订购《赖德的拉丁美洲》的签名簿面前；我听见她说：“不，亲爱的，我并不惊讶，不过你也不会希望我惊讶的，是不是？你知道查尔斯只为一件事活着——那就是美。我认为他对在英国发现美感到腻烦了；他只好出去，为自己创造美。他希望征服新的领域。他对乡间别墅毕竟做了权威性的结论，是不是？不，我的意思是说他已经把那项工作完全抛弃。我相信为了朋友们，他总会再画一两幅的。”
一位摄影师把我们带到一起，闪光灯朝我们的脸上一闪，这才让我们分散。
不久，人群中稍微安静了一下，随着皇家客人进来，人们慢慢走开。我看见我的妻子行了一个屈膝礼，听见她说：“啊，阁下，您真让人高兴。”随后我就被带进人们给贵宾空出来的地方，克拉伦斯公爵说道：“我想那边相当热。”
“是的，阁下。”
“你把那种炎热的印象画得很逼真，手法妙极了。使我都觉得穿着这件大衣很难受。”
“哈！哈！”
他们走了以后，我的妻子说：“哦唷，我们吃午饭要晚了。马戈特夫妇要举行一次午餐会来向你祝贺。”她在出租汽车里说，“我刚刚想起一件事来。你为什么不给克拉伦斯公爵夫人写信，请她允许把《拉丁美洲》奉献给她呢？”
“我为什么要奉献给她？”
“她很喜欢这本画册嘛。”
“我没有考虑把这本书奉献给任何人。”
“你瞧，这本书是你的代表性作品，查尔斯，为什么要错过一个让人高兴的机会呢？”
午餐会有十几个人，他们来这儿是为了向我祝贺，这话尽管说起来会使我的女主人和妻子高兴，不过很明显他们当中有一半人并没有听说过我的画展，他们之所以来，只是因为他们接到邀请，而且没有别的约会。午餐时他们一直谈着辛普森夫人，不过后来他们全体，或者说几乎是全体都和我们一起回到了画廊。
午饭后这段时间忙得不亦乐乎。在场的有塔特美术馆的代理人和国家艺术收藏品基金会的代理人，他们全都答应不久要和同事们再来，同时他们还保留了几幅油画进一步考虑购买。还有那个最有影响的评论家，过去曾经用寥寥几句令人不快的赞许就把我打发掉了，而现在，他的眼睛从阔边软呢帽和毛围巾的缝隙间凝视着我，他抓住我的胳膊说：“我过去就知道你有才气的。我在你过去的作品中看出来了。我一直等待着呢。”
我从时髦的和旧派人的言谈中都听到了一些恭维话，“如果你要我猜的话，”我无意中听到，“我再也想不到是赖德画的。那些画非常雄浑，非常热情。”
他们全都认为自己发现了什么新的东西。在我出国前不久，就在这几间展览室里我的最后一次画展上情形却不是这样。那时出现了一种明显的厌倦迹象。随后就不怎么谈论我而是热烈的谈论起画中的房屋以及房主的轶事来。我回忆起来，还是那个女人，刚才对我的绘画的雄浑和热情大加称赞，过去却曾站在我的一幅呕心沥血画成的油画面前，在我身边说：“画得多么不费力啊。”
我回忆到那次展览当然还有另外的原因，就是在画展的那个星期我侦察到我妻子的奸情。当时她也像现在这样是一个不知疲倦的女主人，而且我听到她说：“不论什么时候，如今我一看到什么可爱的东西——比如说一座建筑啦或是一幅风景啦——我心里就想：‘这是查尔斯画的。’我看任何东西都是通过他的眼睛来看的。对于我来说，他就是英格兰。”
我听见她说这番话；这是她说惯了的话，在我们整个婚后生活中，我一次又一次地感到我对她的话已经无动于衷了。可是这一天，在这家画廊里，我无动于衷地听她说着，突然意识到，她再也无力伤害我了；我是个自由的人了；由于她短时的偷偷摸摸有失检点的行为，她使我获得了解放。而我那绿帽子的双角使我成了森林之王。
这一天结束时我的妻子说：“亲爱的，我得走了。展览非常成功，不是吗？我会想出什么话回家告诉他们的，不过我希望情形不曾变成这个样子。”
“这么说她知道了，”我想，“她很机灵。从吃午饭的时候她开始警觉起来，并且嗅出气味。”
我让她离开这地方，而且我正要跟着她出去的时候——几个展室里几乎没有人了——这时我听到在旋转栅门那儿有一个多年没有听到的嗓音，是一种令人难忘的自己学来的结巴声音，一种尖声的抗议。
“不，我没有带请帖。而且我甚至不知道是否收到过。我没有参加过那次盛大的集会；我并不是企图硬和西莉娅小姐交朋友；我不想让自己的照片登在《闲话报》上；我不是来展览自己的；我是来看绘画的。大概你还不知道这儿有个绘画展出吧。我个人凑巧对这位艺术家有些兴趣——如果对你来说有任何意义的话。”
“安东尼，”我说，“请进啊。”
“我亲爱的，这儿有一位丑——丑——丑婆娘，她以为我是没——没——没有请帖硬要来的呢。我昨天刚到伦敦，吃午饭的时候凑巧听说你正在举办画展，一听这话，我当然性急地冲到这个神殿来表示敬意。我变样了没有？你还认得出我吗？画在什么地方？让我向你解释解释。”
安东尼·布兰奇和我上次见到他时没有什么改变；甚至和我最初看到他时都没有什么改变。他正掠过展室，走到那张最醒目的油画面前——这是一张丛林风景画——停了片刻，他扬着头，活像一只机警的小猎狗，然后问道：“亲爱的查尔斯，你在什么地方发现这片繁盛葱茏的草木的？是在特——特——特伦特，要不然是在德——德——德灵的温室的旮旯里发现的吧？那位讨人喜欢的高利贷者竟培育出这些蕨类植物让你来享乐？”
接着他又浏览了两间展室；有一两次他深深地叹了口气，要不然就保持沉默。当他走到画室尽头，他比以前更深长地叹了口气，说：“可是这些画让我看出，亲爱的，你陶醉在恋爱中啦。这就是一切，或者差不多是一切，是不是？”
“我的画坏到这种程度？”
安东尼把声音放低成一种尖锐的耳语声：“亲爱的，让我们别在这些善良而又平凡的人们面前揭露你的小小的欺骗行为吧”——他怀着鬼胎向最后几个观众扫了一眼——“让我们不要败坏他们天真的乐趣吧。我们，也就是你和我都知道，这完全是一堆糟——糟——糟糕透顶的破——破——破烂货，咱们走吧，免得我们惹恼了收藏家。我知道一家不正经的小酒吧，就在附近。我们还是去那地方，谈谈这一次被你征——征——征服的女人吧。”
要使我回忆往事，就需要这种来自过去的声音；在这乱哄哄的一整天里，那些一味恭维的话在我身上起的作用，就像一条漫长的道路上不断出现的广告牌一样，一公里接一公里，钉在白杨树上，指示行人去住某家新开的旅馆，因此当他把车开到了车路的尽头，身体僵直，满面灰尘，这时他到了目的地，似乎必然会把车开进那家旅馆的院子里，这个名字起初使他厌烦，接着使他愤怒，最后，这家旅馆的名字终于和他身上的疲劳不可分地联成了一体。
安东尼带着我走出画廊，走到一条小街，来到一家破烂的报刊经售店和一家破烂不堪的药店之间的一扇门前，上面用油漆写着：“蓝穴俱乐部。非会员免进。”
“可不大像你那种环境了，亲爱的，而是我的环境了，的确如此。话说回来，你已经在你那个环境里待了一整天了。”
他带我走下楼去，从散发着猫的气味的地方走到散发着杜松子酒和烟蒂气味，还有收音机声音的地方。
“是屋顶爵士乐队演奏期间一个脏老头给了我这个地址的。我很感激他。我离开英国那么久了，像这种可人心意的小酒吧变化真快。昨天晚上我头一次光临这个地方，就已经颇有宾至如归的感觉了。晚上好，西里尔。”
“哟，托尼，又回来啦？”柜台后面的一个青年说道。
“我们要喝几杯，挑个角落坐坐。你该还记得，亲爱的，在这儿你可够显眼和不正常的，请允许我冒昧地说，正如我在布——布——布拉特俱乐部那样。”
房间里四壁涂了蓝色颜料；地板上铺着蓝色油布。天花板上墙壁杂乱无章地贴着银色和金色的鱼形花纸；五六个小伙子一边饮酒，一边赌着“吃角子老虎”；一个衣冠整洁，但显得酗酒过度的上了岁数的人看样子像是主事的；水果胶姆糖出售机那儿围着几个人在叽叽喳喳地说笑着；这时那群青年中有一个人到我们跟前说：“你的这位朋友愿意跳伦巴舞吗？”
“不跳，汤姆，他不愿跳，我也不愿给你酒喝了；无论如何，现在还不给。这是个不要脸的家伙，一个十足的骗人钱财的小白脸，亲爱的。”
“喂，”我说道，并且装出一副轻松自如的样子，其实在这个贼窝里我是绝对不感到轻松的，“这些年来你干了些什么？”
“亲爱的，我们到这儿来要谈的是你干了些什么。我一直注意着你呢，亲爱的。我可是个讲义气的老伙计，一直密切注意看你呢。”在他讲话的时候，那个柜台，那个酒吧间的招待员，那种蓝色的柳条家具，那架赌博机器，那架留声机，那在漆布上跳舞的一对青年，那些围着自动售货机器叽叽喳喳的年轻人，那个坐在我们对面角落里穿着紫纹笔挺衣服喝着酒的老头，总之整个这个死气沉沉鬼影憧憧的下流地方，似乎都已经隐去，我仿佛回到了牛津，从罗斯金的哥特式建筑的一扇窗户眺望着基督教会学院的草地。“我看过你的第一次画展，”安东尼说，“我觉得这个画展——很迷人。有张画是马奇梅因公馆的内部，英国味很足，非常准确，可是十分美妙。‘查尔斯已经干出点事来了，’我说，‘不是他要做的一切也不是他能做的一切，但是做了一些成绩。’
“亲爱的，即使在当时我还有点不解。我觉得你的绘画中多少有点绅士派头。谅必你会说我并不是英国人，我真不能理解这种想受‘良好教养’的热衷。对我来说，英国人的势利眼甚至比英国人的道德观更可怕。但是我还是说了，‘查尔斯已经搞了些美的东西。下回他会干些什么呢？’
“我看到的你的下一件东西是漂亮极了的一巨册——《乡村和外省建筑》，是这么个名字吧？的确是一巨册，亲爱的，我在里面发现什么呢？又是魅力。‘不十分对我的胃口，’我想，‘这些也太富于英国风味了。’我喜欢有味儿的东西，你知道，我可不喜欢什么雪松和树阴啦，什么黄瓜三明治啦，银质奶油杯啦，也不喜欢穿着英格兰姑娘打网球时穿的那种服装的英国姑娘——我喜欢的不是这些，也不喜欢简·奥斯汀，米——米——米特福德小姐。跟你坦白地说了吧，亲爱的查尔斯，我对你感到失望。‘我是一个血统不纯的老德——德——德戈，’我说，‘而查尔斯呢——我指的是你的艺术，亲爱的——却是一位穿着绣花细纱衣服的教长的女儿。’
“想想今天我午餐时的惊讶吧。所有的人都在谈论你。我的女主人是我母亲的一位朋友，一位施托伊弗桑特·奥格兰德夫人；也是你的一位朋友，亲爱的。那么一个老顽固！完全不是我想象的和你来往的人。但是，他们全都看过你的展览，他们谈论的也全是你，说你是怎么逃掉啦，亲爱的，逃到热带地区去，又是怎么成了一位高更，一位兰波，如此等等。你可以想象我这颗衰老的心是怎么怦怦乱跳的吧。
“‘可怜的西莉娅，’他们说，‘她毕竟为赖德做了事。’‘他的一切都归功于她，这太糟了。’‘竟然和朱莉娅在一起，’他们说，‘在她在美国表现得那样之后。’‘正当她要回到雷克斯那里去的时候。’
“‘可是绘画怎么样呢，’我说，‘还是跟我谈谈那些画吧。’
“‘噢，那些画啊，’他们说，‘这些画可是不同凡响。’什么‘跟他以往的画完全两样’啦，什么‘很有力量’啦，‘十分野蛮’啦，‘我简直认为这些画完全不健康，’施托伊弗桑特·奥格兰德这么说。
“亲爱的，我在椅子上几乎都坐不住啦。我真想冲出屋子，跳上一辆出租汽车，说：‘把我拉到查尔斯的不健康的画展去。’我到了那儿，可是午饭后的画廊挤满了一大堆荒唐的女人，戴着鬼知道是什么样的帽子。我先歇息了一下——我就在这儿休息，和西里尔，汤姆，还有一些漂亮的小家伙们一起在这儿休息。后来我在不合时宜的五点钟又回转去，那个轰动劲儿，亲爱的；可是我发现了什么呢？我发现，亲爱的，一场调皮透顶、十分成功的恶作剧。我一下子就想到了亲爱的塞巴斯蒂安，当时他非常喜欢戴假颊须。又是一种魅力，我亲爱的，是那种简单的、奶油般的、英国式的魅力，装得神气活现。”
“你说得太对了。”我说。
“亲爱的，当然我是对的。多少年以前我就说对了——说起来我很高兴，比我们俩显出的年纪都要久——当时我警告过你。我那次带你出去吃晚餐，我警告你要提防魅力。我明确而详尽地警告过你要提防弗莱特家的人。魅力是一种损害伟大英格兰的疾病。这种疾病在潮湿的英伦三岛之外是不存在的。凡是让它碰上的，都得被玷污扼杀。它扼杀爱情；扼杀艺术；我很担心，亲爱的查尔斯，它也把你扼杀了。”
那个叫做汤姆的青年又走近我们。“别戏弄人，托尼，给我买杯酒吧。”我想起来我还要上火车，就丢下安东尼和他纠缠去了。
当我站在靠着餐车的月台上的时候，我看到我的行李和朱莉娅的行李正从眼前经过，朱莉娅那个一脸愠怒的女仆大摇大摆地在搬运工旁边走着。朱莉娅在快要关上车厢门的时候才到，她不慌不忙地在我前边就了座。我的这张桌子是两个人用的。这趟列车十分方便；晚餐前半小时开车，晚餐后半小时到达；后来，我们没有照当年马奇梅因夫人在世时的规矩换乘支线火车，而是在联轨车站我们会合到一起。火车开出帕丁顿站的时候天已经黑了，灯火辉煌的城市先让位于灯火零落的郊区，以后又让位于黑沉沉的田野。
“我们好像好多天没见了。”我说。
“才六个小时；昨天一整天我们都在一起。你看起来疲倦得很。”
“这是一天的噩梦——观众啦，批评家啦，克拉伦斯公爵夫妇啦，又是马戈特家的午餐会，最后以在一家搞同性恋的酒吧间里让我的画受了半小时合理的责骂才算完事……我觉得西莉娅知道咱们的事了。”
“噢，她总有一天得知道的。”
“而且好像大家都知道了。我那位搞同性恋的朋友到伦敦还不到二十四小时就已经听说了。”
“他们都该死。”
“雷克斯怎么样？”
“雷克斯根本就不算什么，”朱莉娅说，“他简直就不存在。”
火车加快速度，冲过黑暗，这时桌子上的刀叉发出丁丁当当的响声，玻璃杯里杜松子酒和苦艾酒形成的小圆圈，拉长成椭圆，又缩成圆形，随着车厢的晃动，酒凑到唇边，又流回去，没有洒溅出来。我把这一天抛到脑后。朱莉娅把帽子摘下来，丢到了她头顶上的架子上，然后又抖了抖她那黑夜般漆黑的头发，轻松地叹了口气——这叹息适合在枕边，在将熄灭的炉火旁，在可以看到星星的和光秃秃的树林发出飒飒声的卧室的敞开的窗边听到。
“查尔斯，要你回来可真妙极了；就像往日一样了。”
“就像往日一样？”我想。
雷克斯刚刚四十出头，就已经变得笨重讨厌了；他的加拿大口音已经没有了，反而有了他所有的朋友共有的沙哑的大嗓门，好像为了让观众听到他们的声音而不停地大声嘶叫，好像青春一去不复返，没有时间等待说话的机会，也没有时间去倾听，没有时间去回答；只有哈哈一笑的时间——笑声沙哑而沉闷，表达出卑鄙的好意来。
挂毯大厅里有五六个朋友：政客们；都是四十刚出头的年轻的保守党人，头发稀疏，患高血压病；一位从煤矿来的社会主义者，他已经掌握住他们那种发音清晰的语言，他嘴唇上的雪茄烟都嚼成碎末，在往酒杯里倒酒的时候他的手发抖；一位比其余人岁数都大的金融家，从人家对待他的态度来看，可以猜出他比别人有钱；一位害着相思病的专栏作家，他一个人默默无言，阴沉地死死盯住在座的唯一的一个女人，这个女人大家管她叫“格里泽尔”，这是个老练的放荡女人，大家在心里都有点怕她。
他们，包括格里泽尔在内，都怕朱莉娅。她冲他们打了声招呼，道歉说她没有在这儿欢迎他们，彬彬有礼的样子使他们一时都说不出话来；然后她过来和我坐在壁炉旁边，轰轰的谈话声又一次爆发，在我们耳边轰鸣。
“当然啦，他可以娶她，第二天就使她成为王后。”
“我们在十月会有机会。我们为什么不把意大利舰队打发到属于一国或多国的海底去呢？我们为什么不把斯培西亚炸成一片火海呢？我们为什么不在潘特莱里亚岛登陆呢？”
“佛朗哥不过是个德国间谍，他们试图让他上台，好准备建立轰炸法国的空军基地。不管怎样，已经摊牌了。”
“这将使英国的君主制比都铎王朝以来的任何时期都更强大。人民是拥护它的。”
“新闻界是拥护它的。”
“我是拥护它的。”
“除了几个没结婚的老处女，无论如何，谁还会操心离婚不离婚呢？”
“如果他还要和那帮老家伙摊牌的话，那他们就会消失得像……像……”
“我们为什么不封锁运河呢？我们为什么不轰炸罗马呢？”
“可没有那个必要。只消一次强硬的照会……”
“只消一次强硬的演说。”
“一次摊牌。”
“无论如何，佛朗哥会很快回到摩洛哥的。我今天看到查普刚从巴塞罗那回来……”
“查普是刚从贝尔维迪尔堡回来的……”
“查普刚从威尼斯宫回来……”
“我们的全部要求就是摊牌。”
“和鲍德温摊牌。”
“和希特勒摊牌。”
“和那帮歹徒摊牌。”
“……但愿我能看到我的祖国，克莱夫和纳尔逊的土地……”
“……我的霍金斯和德雷克的祖国。”
“……我的帕麦斯顿的祖国……”
“请你别这样做好吗？”格里泽尔对那个专栏作家说，他一直颇为伤感地想要拧她的手腕，“我不喜欢这样。”
“我也不知道哪种东西更可怕，”我说，“是西莉娅的策略和时装呢，还是雷克斯的政治和金钱。”
“干吗为他们操心？”
“噢，亲爱的，为什么爱情竟使我仇恨起世界来？应该具有一种完全相反的效果。我觉得好像整个人类，还有上帝都在阴谋暗算我们。”
“他们正在暗算，正在暗算。”
“尽管他们暗算，我们还是得到了幸福；此时此地我们拥有幸福；他们无法伤害我们，对吗？”
“今天晚上不会，现在不会。”
“有多少个夜晚不会伤害我们呢？”
收听单词发音 |
1
urbane
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| adj.温文尔雅的，懂礼的 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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vampires
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| n.吸血鬼( vampire的名词复数 )；吸血蝠；高利贷者；（舞台上的）活板门 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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15
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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virility
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| n.雄劲，丈夫气 | |
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bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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24
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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remonstration
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| n.抗议，规劝 | |
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28
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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29
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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30
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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31
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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32
nurture
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| n.养育，照顾，教育；滋养，营养品；vt.养育，给与营养物，教养，扶持 | |
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33
fronds
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| n.蕨类或棕榈类植物的叶子( frond的名词复数 ) | |
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34
imposture
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| n.冒名顶替，欺骗 | |
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conspiratorial
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| adj.阴谋的，阴谋者的 | |
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connoisseurs
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| n.鉴赏家，鉴定家，行家( connoisseur的名词复数 ) | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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38
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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milieu
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| n.环境；出身背景；(个人所处的)社会环境 | |
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wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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46
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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natty
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| adj.整洁的，漂亮的 | |
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48
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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49
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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50
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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51
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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52
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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53
snobbery
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| n. 充绅士气派, 俗不可耐的性格 | |
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54
macabre
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| adj.骇人的，可怖的 | |
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55
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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56
spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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57
cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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58
degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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59
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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60
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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61
agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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62
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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63
strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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64
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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65
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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66
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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67
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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68
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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70
forsaking
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| 放弃( forsake的现在分词 )； 弃绝； 抛弃； 摒弃 | |
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71
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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72
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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73
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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74
socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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75
columnist
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| n.专栏作家 | |
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76
nostrum
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| n.秘方；妙策 | |
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77
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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78
monarchy
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| n.君主，最高统治者；君主政体，君主国 | |
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maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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80
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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