‘AND of course Celia will have custody1 of the children.’
‘Of course.’
‘Then what about the Old Rectory? I don’t imagine you’ll want to settle down with Julia bang at our gates. The children look on it as their home, you know. Robin2’s got no place of his own till his uncle dies. After all, you never used the studio, did You? Robin was saying only the other day what a good playroom it would make - big enough for Badminton.’
‘Robin can have the Old Rectory.’
‘Now with regard to money, Celia and Robin naturally don’t want to accept anything for themselves, but there’s the question of the children’s education.’ ‘That will be all right. I’ll see the lawyers about it.’
‘Well, I think that’s everything,’ said Mulcaster. ‘You know, I’ve seen a few divorces in my time, and I’ve never known one work out so happily for all concerned. Almost always, however matey people are at the start, bad blood crops up when they get down to detail. Mind you, I don’t mind saying there have been times in the last two years when I thought you were treating Celia a bit rough. It’s hard to tell with one’s own sister, but I’ve always thought her a jolly attractive girl, the sort of girl any chap would be glad to have - artistic3, too, just down your street. But I must admit you’re a good picker. I’ve always had a soft spot for Julia. Anyway, as things have turned out everyone seems satisfied. Robin’s been mad about Celia for a year or more. D’you know him?’ ‘Vaguely. A half-baked, pimply4 youth as I remember him.’ ‘Oh, I wouldn’t quite say that. He’s rather young, of course, but the great thing is that Johnjohn and Caroline adore him. You’ve got two grand kids there, Charles. Remember me to Julia; wish her all the best for old times’ sake.’
‘So you’re being divorced,’ said my father. ‘Isn’t that rather unnecessary, after you’ve been happy together all these years?’
‘We weren’t particularly happy, you know.’
‘Weren’t you? Were you not? I distinctly remember last Christmas seeing you
together and thinking how happy you looked, and wondering why. You’ll find it very
disturbing, you know, starting off again. How old are you - thirty-four? That’s no age to be starting. You ought to be settling down. Have you made any plans?’ ‘Yes. I’m marrying again as soon as the divorce is through.’ ‘Well, I do call that a lot of nonsense. I can understand a man, wishing he hadn’t married and trying to get out of it - though I never felt anything of the kind myself - but to get rid of one wife and take up with another immediately, is beyond all reason. Celia was always perfectly5 civil to me. I had quite a liking6 for her, in a way. If you couldn’t be happy with her, why on earth should you expect to be happy with anyone else? Take my advice, my dear boy, and give up the whole idea.’
‘Why bring Julia and me into this?’ asked Rex. ‘If Celia wants to marry again, well and good; let her. That’s your business and hers. But I should have thought Julia and I were quite happy as we are. You can’t say I’ve been difficult. Lots of chaps would have cut up nasty. I hope I’m a man of the world. I’ve had my own fish to fry, too. But a divorce is a different thing altogether; I’ve never known a divorce do anyone any good.’ ‘That’s your affair and Julia’s.’
‘Oh, Julia’s set on it. What I hoped was, you might be able to talk her round. I’ve tried to keep out of the way as much as I could; if I’ve been around too much, just tell me; I shan’t mind. But there’s too much going on altogether at the moment, what with Bridey wanting me to clear out of the house; it’s disturbing, and I’ve got a lot on my mind.’ Rex’s public life was approaching a climacteric. Things had not gone as smoothly7 with him as he had planned. I knew nothing of finance, but I heard it said that his dealings were badly looked on by orthodox Conservatives; even his good qualities of geniality8 and impetuosity counted against him, for his parties at Brideshead got talked about. There was always too much about him in the papers; he was one with the Press lords and their sad-eyed, smiling hangers-on; in his speeches he said the sort of thing which ‘made a story’ in Fleet Street, and that did him no good with his party chiefs; only war could put Rex’s fortunes right and carry him into power. A divorce would do him no great harm; it was rather that with a big bank running he could not look up from the table.
‘If Julia insists on a divorce, I suppose she must have it,’ he said. ‘But she couldn’t have chosen a worse time. Tell her to hang on a bit, Charles, there’s a good fellow.’
‘Bridey’s widow said: “So you’re divorcing one divorced man and marrying another. It sounds rather complicated, but my dear” - she called me “my dear” about twenty times - “I’ve usually found every Catholic family has one lapsed9 member, and it’s often the nicest.” ‘ Julia had just returned from a luncheon10 party given by Lady Rosscommon in honour of Brideshead’s engagement.
‘What’s she like?’
‘Majestic and voluptuous11; common, of course; husky voice, big mouth, small eyes, dyed hair - I’ll tell you one thing, she’s lied to Bridey about her age. She’s a good forty-five. I don’t see her providing an heir. Bridey can’t take his eyes off her. He was gloating on her in the most revolting way all through luncheon.’ ‘Friendly?’
‘Goodness, yes, in a condescending12 way. You see, I imagine she’s been used to bossing things rather in naval13 circles, with flag-lieutenants trotting14 round and young officers on-the-make sucking up to her. Well, she clearly couldn’t do a great deal of bossing at Aunt Fanny’s, so it put her rather at ease to have me there as the black sheep.
She concentrated on me in fact, asked my advice about shops and things, said, rather pointedly15, she hoped to see me often in London. I think Bridey’s scruples16 only extend to her sleeping under the same roof with me. Apparently17 I can do her no serious harm in a hat-shop or hairdresser’s or lunching at the Ritz. The scruples are all on Bridey’s part, anyway; the widow is madly tough.’
‘Does she boss him?’
‘Not yet, much. He’s in an amorous18 stupor19, poor beast, and doesn’t quite know where he is. She’s just a good-hearted woman who wants a good home for her children and isn’t going to let anything get in her way. She’s playing up the religious stuff at the moment for all it’s worth. I daresay she’ll go easier when she’s settled.’
The divorces were much talked of among our friends; even in that summer of general alarm there were still corners where private affairs commanded first attention. My wife was able to make it understood that the business was at the same time a matter of congratulation for her and reproach for me; that she had behaved wonderfully, had stood it longer than anyone but she would have done. Robin was seven years younger and a little immature20 for his age, they whispered in their private corners, but he was absolutely devoted21 to poor Celia, and really she deserved it after all she had been through. As for Julia and me, that was an old story. ‘To put it crudely,’ said my cousin Jasper, as though he had ever in his life put anything otherwise: ‘I don’t see why you bother to marry.’
Summer passed; delirious22 crowds cheered Neville Chamberlain’s return from Munich; Rex made a rabid speech in the House of Commons which sealed his fate one way or the other; sealed it, as is sometimes done with naval orders, to be opened later at sea. Julia’s family lawyers, whose black, tin boxes, painted ‘Marquis of Marchmain’, seemed to fill a room, began the slow process of her divorce; my own, brisker firm, two doors down, were weeks ahead with my affairs. It was necessary for Rex and Julia to separate formally, and since, for the time being, Brideshead was still her home, she remained there and Rex removed his trunks and valet to their house in London. Evidence was taken against Julia and me in my flat. A date was fixed23 for Brideshead’s wedding, early in the Christmas holidays, so that his future step-children might take part.
One afternoon in November Julia and I stood at a window in the drawing-room watching the wind at work stripping the lime trees, sweeping24 down the yellow leaves, sweeping them up and round and along the terrace and lawns, trailing them through puddles25 and over the wet grass, pasting them on walls and window-panes, leaving them at length in sodden26 piles against the stonework.
‘We shan’t see them in spring,’ said Julia; ‘perhaps never again.’
‘Once before,’ I said, ‘I went away, thinking I should never return.’
‘Perhaps years later, to what’s left of it, with what’s left of us...’ A door opened and shut in the darkling room behind us. Wilcox approached through the firelight into the dusk about the long windows.
‘A telephone message, my Lady, from Lady Cordelia.’
‘Lady Cordelia! -Where was she?’
‘In London, my Lady.’
‘Wilcox, how lovely! Is she coming home?’
‘She was just starting for the station. She will be here after dinner.’ ‘I haven’t seen her for twelve years,’ I said - not since the evening when we dined together and she spoke27 of being a nun28; the evening when I painted the drawing-room at Marchmain House. ‘She was an enchanting29 child.’
‘She’s had an odd life. First, the convent; then, when that was no good, the war in Spain. I’ve not seen her since then. The other girls, who went with the ambulance came back when the war was over; she stayed on, getting people back to their homes, helping30 in the prison-camps. An odd girl. She’s grown up quite plain, you know.’ ‘Does she know about us?’
‘Yes, she wrote me a sweet letter.’
It hurt to think of Cordelia growing up ‘quite plain’; to think of all that burning love spending itself on serum-injections and delousing powder. When she arrived, tired from her journey, rather shabby, moving in the manner of one who has no interest in pleasing, I thought her an ugly woman. It was odd, I thought, how the same ingredients, differently dispensed31, could produce Brideshead, Sebastian, Julia, and her. She was unmistakably their sister, without any of Julia’s or Sebastian’s grace, without Brideshead’s gravity. She seemed brisk and matter-of-fact, steeped in the atmosphere of camp and dressing-station, so accustomed to gross suffering as to lose the finer shades of pleasure. She looked more than her twenty-six years; hard living had roughened her; constant intercourse32 in a foreign tongue had worn away the nuances of speech; she straddled a little as she sat by the fire, and when she said, ‘It’s wonderful to be home,’ it sounded to my ears like the grunt33 of an animal returning to its basket. Those were the impressions of the first half hour, sharpened by the contrast with Julia’s white skin and silk and jewelled hair and with my memories of her as a child. ‘My job’s over in Spain,’ she said; ‘the authorities were very polite, thanked me for all I’d done, gave me a medal, and sent me packing. It ‘ looks as though there’ll be plenty of the same sort of work over here soon.’
Then she said: ‘Is it too late to see nanny?’
‘No, she sits up to all hours with her wireless34.’
We went up, all three together, to the old nursery. Julia and I always spent part -of our day there. Nanny Hawkins and my father were two people who seemed impervious35 to change, neither an hour older than when I first knew them. A wireless set had now been added to Nanny Hawkins’ small -assembly of pleasures - the rosary, the Peerage with its neat brown-paper wrapping protecting the red and gold covers, the photographs, and holiday souvenirs - on her table. When we broke it to her that Julia and I were to be married, she said: ‘Well, dear, I hope it’s all for the best,’ for it was not part of her religion to question the propriety36 of Julia’s actions.
Brideshead had never been a favourite with her; she greeted the news of his engagement with: ‘He’s certainly taken long enough to make up his mind,’ and, when the search through Debrett afforded no information about Mrs Muspratt’s connections:
‘She’s caught him, I daresay.’
We found her, as always in the evening, at the fireside with her teapot, and the wool rug she was making.
‘I knew you’d be up,’ she said. ‘Mr Wilcox sent to tell me you were coming.’
‘I brought you some lace.’
‘Well, dear, that is nice. Just like her poor Ladyship used to wear at mass. Though why they made it black I never did understand, seeing lace is white naturally. That is very welcome, I’m sure.’
‘May I turn off the wireless, nanny?’
‘Why, of course; I didn’t notice it was on, in the pleasure of’ seeing you. What have you done to your hair?’
‘I know it’s terrible. I must get all that put right now I’m back. Darling nanny.’ As we sat there talking, and I saw Cordelia’s fond eyes on all of us, I began to realize that she, too, had a beauty of her own.
‘I saw Sebastian last month.’
‘What a time he’s been gone! Was he quite well?’
‘Not very. That’s why I went. It’s quite near you know from Spain to Tunis. He’s with the monks37 there.’
‘I hope they look- after him properly. I expect they find him a regular handful. He always sends to me at Christmas, but it’s not the same as having him home. Why you must all always be going abroad I never did understand. Just like his Lordship. When there was that talk about going to war with Munich, I said to myself, “There’s Cordelia and Sebastian and his Lordship all abroad; that’ll be very awkward for them.” ‘ ‘I wanted him to come home with me, but he wouldn’t. He’s got a beard now, you know, and he’s very religious.’
‘That I won’t believe, not even if I see it. He was always a little heathen. Brideshead was one for church, not Sebastian. And a beard, only fancy; such a nice fair skin as he had; always looked clean though he’d not been near water all day, while Brideshead there was no doing anything with, scrub as you might.’
‘It’s frightening,’ Julia once said, ‘to think how completely you have forgotten Sebastian.’
‘He was the forerunner39.’
‘That’s what you said ‘in the storm. I’ve thought since, perhaps I am only a forerunner, too.’
‘Perhaps,’ I thought, while her words still hung in the air between us like a wisp of tobacco smoke - a thought to fade and vanish like, smoke without a trace - ‘perhaps all our loves are merely hints and symbols; vagabond-language scrawled41 on gate-posts and paving-stones along the weary road that other have tramped before us; perhaps you and I are types and this sadness which sometimes falls between us springs from disappointment in. our search, each straining through and beyond the other, snatching a glimpse now and then of the shadow which turns the corner always a pace or two ahead of us.’
I had not forgotten Sebastian. He was with me daily in Julia; or rather it was Julia I had known in him, in those distant Arcadian days.
‘That’s cold comfort for a girl,’ she said when I tried to explain. ‘How do I know I shan’t suddenly turn out to be somebody else? It’s an easy way to chuck.’ I had not forgotten Sebastian; every stone of the house had a memory of him, and hearing him spoken of by Cordelia as someone she had seen a month ago, my lost friend filled my thoughts. When we left the nursery, I said, ‘I want to hear all about Sebastian.’ ‘Tomorrow. It’s a long story.’
And next day, walking through the windswept park, she told me:
‘I heard he was dying, ‘ she said. ‘A journalist in Burgos told me, who’d just arrived from North Africa. A down-and-out called Flyte, who people said was an English lord, whom the fathers had found starving and taken in at a monastery42 near Carthage. That was how the story reached me. I knew it couldn’t be quite true - however little we did for Sebastian, he at least got his money sent him - but I started off at once.
‘It was all quite easy. I went to the consulate43 first and they knew all about him; he was in the infirmary of the head house of some missionary45 fathers. The consul44’s story was that Sebastian had turned up in Tunis one day in a motor bus from Algiers, and had applied46 to be taken on as a missionary lay-brother. The Fathers took one look at him and turned him down. Then he started drinking. He lived in a little hotel on the edge of the Arab quarter. I went to see the place later; it was a bar with a few rooms over it, kept by a Greek, smelling of hot oil and garlic and stale wine and old clothes, a place where the small Greek traders came and played draughts47 and listened to the wireless. He stayed there a month drinking Greek absinthe, occasionally wandering out, they didn’t know where, coming back and drinking again. They were afraid he would come to harm -and followed him sometimes, but he only went to the church or took a car to the monastery outside the town. They loved him there. He’s still loved, you see, wherever he goes, whatever condition he’s in. It’s a thing about him he’ll never lose. You should have heard the proprietor48 and his family talk of him, tears running down their cheeks; they’d clearly robbed him right and left, but they’d looked after him and tried to make him eat his food. That was the thing that shocked them about him; that he wouldn’t eat; there he was with all that money, so thin. Some of the clients of the place came in while we were talking in very peculiar’ French; they all had the same story; such a good man, they said, it made them unhappy to see him so low. They thought very ill of his family for leaving him like that; it couldn’t happen with their people, they said, and I daresay they’re right. ‘Anyway, that was later; after the consulate I went straight to the monastery and saw the Superior. He was a grim old Dutchman who had spent fifty years in Central Africa. He told me his part of the story; how Sebastian had turned up, just as the consul said, with his beard and a suitcase, and asked to be admitted as a lay brother. “He was very earnest,” the Superior said’ Cordelia imitated his-guttural tones; she had an aptitude49 for mimicry50, I remembered, in the schoolroom - ‘ “Please do not think there is any doubt of that - he is quite sane51 and -quite in earnest.” He wanted to go to the bush, as far away as he could get, among the simplest people, to the cannibals. The Superior said: “We have no cannibals in our missions.” He said, well, pygmies would do, or just a primitive52 village somewhere on a river, or lepers, lepers would do best of anything. The Superior said: “We have plenty of lepers, but they live in our settlements with doctors and nuns53. It is all very orderly.” He thought again, and said perhaps lepers were not what he wanted, was there not some small church by a river - he always wanted a river you see which he could look after when the priest was away. The Superior said: “Yes, there are such churches. Now tell me about yourself.” “Oh, I’m nothing,” he said. “We see some queer fish,” ‘ Cordelia lapsed again into mimicry; ‘ “he was a queer fish but he was very earnest.” The Superior told him about the novitiate and the training and said: “You are not a young man. You do not seem strong to me.” He said: “No, I don’t want to be trained. I don’t want to do things that need training.” The Superior said: “My friend, you need a missionary for yourself,” and he said: “Yes, of course.” Then he sent him away. ‘Next day he came back again. He had been drinking. He said he had decided54 to become a novice55 and be trained. “Well,” said the Superior, “there are certain things that are impossible for a man in the bush. One of them is drinking. It is not the worst thing, but it is nevertheless quite fatal. I sent him away.” Then he kept coming two or three times a week, always drunk, until the Superior gave orders that the porter was to keep him out. I said, “Oh dear, I’m afraid he was a terrible nuisance to you,” but of course that’s a thing they don’t understand in a place like that. The Superior simply said, “I did not think there was anything I could do to help him except pray.” He was a very holy old man and recognized it in others.’
‘Holiness?’
‘Oh yes, Charles, that’s what you’ve got to understand about Sebastian. ‘Well, finally one day they found Sebastian lying outside the main gate unconscious, he had walked out - usually he took a car - and fallen down and lain there all night. At first they thought he was merely drunk again; then they realized he was very ill, so they put him in the infirmary, where he’s been ever since.
‘I stayed a fortnight with him till he was over the worst of his illness. He looked terrible, any age, rather bald with a straggling beard, but he had his old sweet manner.
They’d given him a room to himself; it was barely more than a monk38’s cell with a bed and a crucifix and white walls. At first he couldn’t talk much and was not at all surprised to see me; then he was surprised and wouldn’t talk much, until just before I was going, when he told me all that had been happening to him. It was mostly about Kurt, his German friend. Well, you met him, so you know all about that. He sounds gruesome, but as long as Sebastian had him to look after, he was happy. He told me he’d practically given up drinking at one time while he and Kurt lived together. Kurt was ill and had a wound that wouldn’t heal. Sebastian saw him through that. Then they went to Greece when Kurt got well. You know how Germans sometimes seem to discover a sense of decency56 when they get to a classical country. It seems to have worked With Kurt. Sebastian says he became quite human in Athens. Then he got sent to prison; I couldn’t quite make out why; apparently it wasn’t particularly his fault - some brawl57 with an official. Once he was locked up the German authorities got at him. It was the time when they were rounding up all their nationals from all parts of the world to make them into Nazis58. Kurt didn’t want to leave Greece, but the Greeks didn’t want him, and he was marched straight from prison with a lot of other toughs into a German boat and shipped home.
‘Sebastian went after him, and for a year could find no trace. Then in the end he ran him to earth dressed as a storm-trooper in a provincial59 town. At first he wouldn’t have anything to do with Sebastian; spouted60 all the official jargon61 about the rebirth of his country, and his belonging to his country, and finding self-realization in the life of the race. But it was only skin deep with him. Six years of Sebastian had taught him more than a year of Hitler; eventually he chucked it, admitted he hated Germany, and wanted to get out. I don’t know how much it was simply the call of the easy life, sponging on Sebastian, bathing in the Mediterranean62, sitting about in cafés, having his shoes polished. Sebastian says it wasn’t entirely63 that; Kurt had just begun to grow up in Athens. It may be he’s right. Anyway, he decided to try and get out. But it didn’t work. He always got into trouble whatever he did, Sebastian said. They caught him and put him in a concentration camp. Sebastian couldn’t get near him or hear a word of him; he couldn’t even find what camp he was in; he hung about for nearly a year in Germany, drinking again, until one day in his cups he took up with a man who was just out of the camp where Kurt had been, and learned that he had hanged himself in his hut the first week.
‘So that was the end of Europe for Sebastian. He went back to Morocco, where he had been happy, and gradually drifted down the coast, from place to place, until one day when he had sobered up - his drinking goes in pretty regular bouts64 now - he conceived the idea of escaping to the savages65. And there he was.
‘I didn’t suggest his coming home. I knew he wouldn’t and he was too weak still to argue it out. He seemed quite happy by the time I left. He’ll never be able to go into the bush, of course, or join the order, but the Father Superior is going to take charge of him. They had the idea of making him a sort of under-porter; there are usually a few odd hangers-on in a religious house, you know; people who can’t quite fit in either to the world or the monastic rule. I suppose I’m something of the sort myself But as I don’t happen to drink, I’m more employable.’
We had reached the turn in our walk, the stone bridge at the foot of the last and smallest lake, under which the swollen66 waters fell in a cataract67 to the stream below; beyond, the path doubled back towards the house. We paused at the parapet looking down into the dark water.
‘I once had a governess who jumped off this bridge and drowned herself.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘How could you know?’
‘It was the first thing I ever heard about you - before I ever met you.’
‘How very odd...’
‘Have you told Julia this about Sebastian?’
‘The substance of it; not quite as I told you. She never loved him, you know, as we do.’
‘Do’. The word reproached me; there was no past tense in Cordelia’s verb ‘to love’.
‘Poor Sebastian!’ I said. ‘It’s too pitiful. How will it end?’ ‘I think I can tell you exactly, Charles. I’ve seen others like him, and I believe they are very near and dear to God. He’ll live on, half in, half out of, the community, a familiar figure pottering round with his broom and his bunch of keys. He’ll be a great favourite with the old fathers, something of a joke to the novices68. Everyone will know about his drinking; he’ll disappear for two or three days every month or so, and they’ll all nod and smile and say in their various accents, “Old Sebastian’s on the spree again,” and then he’ll come back dishevelled and shamefaced and be more devout69 for a day or two in the chapel70. He’ll probably have little hiding places about the garden where he keeps a bottle and takes a swig now and then on the sly. They’ll bring him forward to act as guide, whenever they have an English speaking visitor, and he will be completely charming so that before they go, they’ll ask about him and perhaps be given a hint that he has high connections at home. If he lives long enough, generations of missionaries71 in all kinds of remote places will think of him as a queer old character who was somehow part of the Home of their student days, and remember him in their masses. He’ll develop little eccentricities72 of devotion, intense personal cults73 of his own; he’ll be found in the chapel at odd times and missed when he’s expected. Then one morning, after one of his drinking bouts, he’ll be picked up at the gate dying, and show by a mere40 flicker74 of the eyelid75 that he is conscious when they give him the last sacraments. It’s not such a bad way of getting through one’s life.’
I thought of the youth with the teddy-bear under the flowering chestnuts76. ‘It’s not what one would have foretold,’ I said. ‘I suppose he doesn’t suffer?’ ‘Oh, yes, I think he does. One can have no idea what the suffering may be, to be maimed as he is - no dignity, no power of will. No one is ever holy without suffering. It’s taken that form with him...I’ve seen so much suffering in the last few years; there’s so much coming for everybody soon. It’s the spring of love...’ and then in condescension77 to my paganism, she added: ‘He’s in a very beautiful place you know by the sea - white cloisters78, a bell tower, rows of green vegetables, and a monk watering them when the sun is low.’
I laughed. ‘You knew I wouldn’t understand?’
‘You and Julia...’ she said. And then, as we moved on towards the house, ‘When you met me last night did you think, “Poor Cordelia, such an engaging child, grown up a plain and pious79 spinster, full of good works”? Did you think “thwarted80”?’ It was no time for prevarication81. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I did; I don’t now, so much.’ ‘It’s funny,’ she said, ‘that’s exactly the word I thought of for you and Julia. When we were up in the nursery with nanny. “Thwarted passion,” I thought.’ She spoke with that gentle, infinitesimal inflection of mockery which descended82 to her from her mother, but later that evening the words came back to me poignantly83.
Julia wore the embroidered84 Chinese robe which she often used when we were dining alone at Brideshead; it was a robe whose weight and stiff folds stressed her repose85; her neck rose exquisitely86 from the plain gold circle at her throat; her hands lay still among the dragons in her lap. It was thus that I had rejoiced to see her nights without number, and that night, watching her as she sat between the firelight and the shaded lamp, unable to look away for love of her beauty, I suddenly thought, ‘When else have I seen her like this? Why am I reminded of another moment of vision?’ And it came back to me that this was how she had sat in the liner, before the storm; this was how she had looked, and I realized that s he had regained87 what I thought she had lost for ever, the magical sadness which had drawn88 me to her, the thwarted look that had seemed to say, ‘Surely I was made for some other purpose than this?’
That night I woke in the darkness and lay awake turning over in my mind the conversation with Cordelia. How I had said, ‘You knew I would not understand.’ How often, it seemed to me, I was brought up short, like a horse in full stride suddenly refusing an obstacle, backing against the spurs, too shy even to put his nose at it and look at the thing.
And another image came to me, of an arctic hut and a trapper alone with his furs and oil lamp and log fire; everything dry and ship-shape and warm inside, and outside the last blizzard89 of winter raging and the snow piling up against the door. Quite silently a great weight forming against the timber; the bolt straining in its socket90; minute by minute in the darkness outside the white heap sealing the door, until quite soon when the wind dropped and the sun came out on the ice ‘ slopes and the thaw91 set in a block would move, slide, and tumble, high above, gather weight, till the whole hillside seemed to be falling, and the little lighted place would open and splinter and disappear, rolling with the avalanche92 into the ravine.
“当然西莉娅会照管孩子们。”
“那当然。”
“那么，旧教区长的房子怎么办？我想你不会愿意和朱莉娅住在那里，还要乒乒乓乓地敲我们的门吧。你知道，孩子们把这里看成了自己的家。而且罗宾要到他叔叔死后才会有自己的住所。而且你毕竟从来也没有用过那间画室吧？罗宾前几天还说这间画室可以布置成一间很好的儿童游戏室——那里大得足够打羽毛球的。”
“罗宾可以买下旧教区长的房子嘛。”
“现在，关于钱的问题，西莉娅和罗宾本人自然不愿接受任何东西，可是孩子们的教育却是问题。”
“这些事都会安排妥当的。这件事我会找律师谈的。”
“好吧，我想那是最重要的事情，”马尔卡斯特说道，“你知道，我一生中看到过几起离婚案件，可是我还没有见到过一次离婚案件解决得令有关双方都高高兴兴的。几乎总是这样，不管两人开始时多么友好，可是一旦涉及具体问题，就会产生仇恨。请注意，我冒昧地说一句，在这两年的时间里，有几次我认为你对待西荔娅的态度是有点粗暴的。说到自己的妹妹人是很难讲什么的，不过我一向认为她是一个十分迷人的姑娘，任何一个小伙子都会愿意得到她的——又爱好艺术，正好和你趣味相投。我得承认你的眼力出众。我一直对朱莉娅有偏爱。无论如何，事情落到这样的结局似乎也皆大欢喜了。有一年或一年多的时间，罗宾一直狂热地迷恋着西莉娅。你认识他吗？”
“模模糊糊。就我记得的。大概是一个没有多少学问、满脸长着疙瘩的青年。”
“哦，我要说的并不完全是这个。他相当年轻，当然啦，关键的问题是约翰约翰和卡罗琳都很喜欢他。查尔斯，你那里还有两个漂亮的儿女呀。代我向朱莉娅问好吧；为了过去，祝她事事如意。”
“这么说，你正在办离婚啦，”我父亲说道，“你们在一起过了这么多年幸福的生活，离婚实在没有什么必要吧？”
“你知道，我们并不很幸福。”
“你们不幸福？你们不幸福？我清楚记得去年圣诞节看到你们在一起，而且我认为看起来你们很幸福哩，当时还纳闷为什么呢。你会发现，你知道一切都要从新开始，这种事会把人搞得焦头烂额。你有多大岁数啦？——三十四岁了吧？这决不是从新开始生活的年龄啦。你应该渐渐安顿下来。你有什么计划吗？”
“有。一等离婚办妥了我立刻就结婚。”
“哦，我说这可太荒唐啦。我能够理解一个人希望他没有结婚，因而企图摆脱婚姻——虽然我自己从来没有过这样的体验——可是甩掉一个妻子，又赶快娶另外一个，这完全没有道理。再说，西莉娅一向对我很好。我在某种程度上也十分喜欢她。如果你和她在一起都不能幸福的话，那么你到底怎么能指望和别的人就会幸福呢？听我的劝告吧，亲爱的孩子，抛掉整个的想法吧。”
“为什么把朱莉娅和我扯进来？”雷克斯问道，“如果西莉娅想要再结婚的话，好，那很好；让她结去吧。这是你和她的事。不过我觉得我和朱莉娅本来很幸福。你总不能说我这个人不好相处吧。许多家伙的脾气都乖张得很呢。而我相信自己是一个很通事故的人。我也有自己的事业。而离婚可不是一般的事情；我从来不知道离婚对什么人会有好处。”
“这是你和朱莉娅的事。”
“得啦，朱莉娅决心要这么干。我希望你能够说服朱莉娅，使她回心转意。我一直尽量不碍事；如果我在附近游荡得过多了，你尽管说；我不在意。可是就在这个时候，许多事情都凑到一起来了，一方面由于布赖德想要把我从这儿轰出去呢；真是焦头烂额，我心里的事就够多的了。”
雷克斯的社会生活正面临着危机。事情并没有如他计划的进行得那样顺顺当当。我对财政一窍不通，但是我听人说，他的交往遭到正统的保守党人的非议；甚至他那些好品性，如待人亲切和办事有魄力都对他不利，在布赖兹赫德的他那伙同党也引起了纷纷议论。而且报纸上关于他的消息一向也太多了；他这人和报界大亨们以及大亨们的那些眼神黯淡、微笑的的帮闲们过从太密。在他的讲演中说的话，都是舰队街能“制造新闻”的材料，这种情况对他同他那个党的头头们没有好处；只有战争才能使雷克斯的财产情况好转，并且使他上台。离婚对他的损害并不大；毋宁说，因为他在经营着一家大银行，他不能顾及旁的事情。
“如果朱莉娅坚持要离婚的话，我想她肯定可以离成。”他说，“但是她选择的时机实在太坏了。告诉她稍微拖延一下吧，查尔斯，你真是一个好人。”
“布赖德的寡妇说：‘这么说，你正和一个离过婚的男人离婚，而且还要个一个离过婚的男人结婚。这事听起来真够复杂的。不过我亲爱的’——她称呼我为‘我亲爱的’大约不下二十次了——‘我常常发现每一个天主教家庭里总有一个叛教的人，而且往往是最漂亮的那个。’”
朱莉娅刚参加了罗斯康芒夫人为庆祝布赖兹赫德订婚而举行的午餐会回来。
“她人长得怎么样？”
“高大，肉感；当然，相貌平常；哑嗓子，大嘴巴，小眼睛，染过的头发——有一件事我可要告诉你，关于她的年龄，她可骗了布赖德了。她足足有四十五岁。我看她连一个继承人也没有供养。布赖德始终注视着她。在整个午餐时间垂涎欲滴地紧盯着她，令人十分厌恶。”
“她友好吗？”
“谢天谢地，还可以，是那种屈尊迁就的友好方式。你知道，我想她以前在海军的圈子里一定是颐指气使惯了的，有一帮子将军副官围着她团团转，还有一堆想往上爬的青年军官对她献殷勤。嘿，她在范妮舅妈的午餐会上明明不能太盛气凌人，有我这个害群之马在场，倒使她轻松自在了。实际上她尽力和我周旋，征求我对商店和一些事情的意见，并且说，相当直截了当地，她希望在伦敦常常看到我。我想布赖德的顾忌只是怕她和我睡在一个房间里。很明显，在女帽店里、美容店里、或者是在利兹饭店午餐，我都不能给她带来什么严重的损害。所谓顾忌，横竖都是布赖德这方面的，那个寡妇可蛮横极了。”
“她指挥他吗？”
“眼下还没有，还不厉害。他掉进了情网昏了头，可怜的家伙，简直不知道他身在何处了。她只是个心地善良的女人，一心想让她的孩子们有一个好的家，不愿意让任何人妨碍她。目前，她拼命地大肆宣传起宗教那套废话来了。我想她一旦安顿下来，就会变得随和一点了。”
这两起离婚在朋友中间引起纷纷议论；即使在这个普通恐慌的夏天，有些地方还是有人把别人的私事放在第一位。我的妻子有能耐让人们相信，离婚的事对于她颇值得庆贺，同时却使我声名狼藉；而且还让人觉得她表现得很好，只有她才忍受了这么长的时间。人们在背地里议论，罗宾比她小七岁，以他的年龄而论，他还有点不够成熟，但是他对可怜的西莉娅十分忠诚，而且在她经历了许多痛苦以后，她的确理该得到这爱情。至于说到我和朱莉娅，还是老一套了。“冒昧地问一句，”我的堂兄贾斯珀说，那口气就仿佛在他的一生里就不曾用别种方式说过话，“我实在不明白你为什么费那么大劲儿去结婚。”
夏天过去了；疯狂的民众欢呼内维尔·张伯伦从慕尼黑归来；雷克斯在下院发表了一通狂热的演说，这通演说却这样或那样地决定了他以后的命运；它所决定的，就像有时海军任命的情形一样，为日后在海上任职铺平了道路。朱莉娅的家庭律师们开始办理她的离婚的缓慢的诉讼手续，他们的包着铁皮的红色文件箱上都画着“马奇梅因侯爵”的字样，多到似乎能塞满一个房间；而我的更兴旺的事务所，就在过去两个门的地方，几个星期以前就着手办理我的案子了。对于雷克斯和朱莉娅，他们必须正式分居，而眼下他的行李和贴身男仆都转移到了他们在伦敦的家里。显然朱莉娅不能和我住在我的寓所。布赖兹赫德举行婚礼的日期定了下来，在圣诞节一开始就办，这样他那些继子们也就可能参加了。
十一月的一个下午，我和朱莉娅站在客厅窗前向外眺望，看寒风把橙树的叶子吹落，刮下枯黄的树叶，然后又把枯叶卷起来，吹得团团打转，后来又吹过阳台和草坪，又把树叶卷过水洼，吹到潮湿的草地上，又贴在墙上和窗玻璃上，最后树叶就湿漉漉地堆集在石砌的房基旁边。
“看来到春天我们不会再看见这些了，”朱莉娅说，“或许永远不会了。”
“以前有一次，”我说，“我离开的时候想，我再也不会回来了。”
“也许好多年以后，会回来旧地重游，看看这里的遗迹，回忆我们的往事……”
在这间黑洞洞的房间里，我们身后一扇门打开又关上了。威尔科克斯穿过壁炉的火光走进落地窗户附近的暮色里。
“有一个电话留下话，小姐，是科迪莉娅小姐打来的。”
“科迪莉娅小姐！她在哪儿？”
“在伦敦，小姐。”
“威尔科克斯，太好啦！她要回家来吗？”
“她刚动身去火车站。晚饭后她就会到这儿。”
“我已经有十二年没有见到她了。”我说道——不是从那晚上，当时我们在一起吃的晚饭，她说起要当修女的时候算起，而是从我在马奇梅因公馆画那间客厅的傍晚算起。“她过去是一个迷人的女孩。”
“她过着奇怪的生活。起初，在修道院；后来遇到战争，那里不行了，就去了西班牙。从那时我就再也没有看到她了。仗打完了，战地救护队其他的姑娘们都回来了；她却留下了，协助人们回到自己的家园，还在战俘营里帮过忙。多么奇怪的姑娘。她长大后相貌很平常，你知道。”
“她知道我们的情况吗？”
“知道，她还给我写过一封很亲切的信呢。”
想到科迪莉娅长大了“相貌平常”，这真叫人痛心；只消想想她全部炽烈的感情都耗费在血浆注射和除虱粉上面，真叫人难受。她到家时，由于旅途劳顿而疲惫不堪，而且衣衫褴褛，神情举止似乎无意取悦别人，我觉得她是个难看的女人。说来也奇怪，我想，同样的遗传因子，经过不同的排列和组合，怎么就会产生出布赖兹赫德、塞巴斯蒂安、朱莉娅和她这样不同的人来。她毫无疑问是他们的妹妹，既没有朱莉娅或塞巴斯蒂安身上的优雅，也没有布赖兹赫德的庄严持重。她显得生气勃勃，而又注重实际，浑身都浸透了战俘营和裹伤站的气味，由于习惯了大苦大难，她没有了各种优美的快乐表情。她看起来要比二十六岁大，而且艰苦的生活也使她变得粗糙了。经年累月使用外语和人交往使得她把语言音调的细微差别都消磨殆尽了；她坐在壁炉边稍微叉着双腿，说了一声“回大家来真是太美啦”。这话听起来好像是一头野兽回到巢穴时发出的呼噜呼噜的声音。
由于同朱莉娅的白皙皮肤、丝绸般柔软、满头钻石的头发对比，同留在我记忆中科迪莉娅少女时代的模样对比，最初半个小时她给我的印象就显得更加突出了。
“我在西班牙的工作已经结束了，”她说，“当局对我很客气，对我做了的一切表示了感谢，还奖给我一枚奖章，然后就打发我回来了。看样子这里好像不久也会有同样性质的工作了。”
接着她又说：“现在太晚了，没法去看保姆了吧？”
“不晚，她一直坐着听她的收音机呢。”
我们三人一起上楼去，到了过去的育婴室。我和朱莉娅每天总要在这儿消磨一段时间。霍金斯保姆和我父亲都是那种似乎永远不变的人，他们的样子比我最初看到他们时一点都没有显老。在霍金斯保姆桌子上那寥寥几件爱物中—一串念珠，一部《英国贵族名录》，一张干净的棕色纸包裹着这部名录的红色烫金的封面，还有几张照片和几件节日礼物——现在又添了一架收音机。当我们突如其来向她透露我和朱莉娅要结婚的时候，她说：“啊，亲爱的，我希望一切都吉祥如意。”她的宗教使她不好询问朱莉娅的行为是否合适。
她一直不喜欢布赖兹赫德。听到他订婚的消息时她说：“他肯定费了好长的时间才拿定主意的。”后来她查《英国贵族名录》，查不到马斯普拉特夫人的亲戚中有任何贵族关系，又说道，“我想，她把他攥在手心里了。”
我们看到她时，她就像平时傍晚的样子，坐在壁炉旁，身边还有她的茶壶和一块她正在编织的羊毛小地毯。
“我知道你们会上来的，”她说道，“威尔科克斯先生派人来告诉我说你们要来。”
“我给你带来一些花边。”
“哦，亲爱的，真好啊。这跟可怜的夫人望弥撒时常穿的衣服花边差不多。不过我始终不明白人们为什么要把花边做成黑色的，要知道花边本来是白色的嘛。我相信，这件东西真招人爱。”
“奶妈，我可以把收音机关掉吗？”
“当然，可以可以；我没注意它还开着呢，见到你看我这高兴劲儿。你把头发梳成个什么样子了？”
“我知道它难看极了。现在我回来了，得好好地拾掇拾掇了，亲爱的奶妈。”
我们坐着谈话，而且我注意到科迪莉娅的温情眼光盯在我们几个人身上时，我才开始发现她也有她自己的美。
“上个月我见到塞巴斯蒂安了。”
“他走了多么久啦！他还好吗？”
“不太好。这也正是我去那儿的原因。你知道西班牙离突尼斯很近。他在那里和修道士在一起。”
“我希望他们会好好照料他。我料到他们会觉得他是个很难对付的人。每逢圣诞节，他总是给我寄贺年片，不过这和他在家里总不一样。为什么你们总要到国外去呢，我可始终不明白。就像爵爷一样。那阵子都说要跟慕尼黑打仗了，我就自言自语说，‘科迪莉娅和塞巴斯蒂安，还有爵爷，他们全都在国外呢；这下他们可要受罪了。’”
“我想让他跟我一块回家来，可是他不愿意。现在他蓄起了胡子，你知道，而且虔诚地信教了。”
“这我可不信，即使亲眼看见也不信。他一向有些异教味儿。布赖兹赫德倒是个适合进教会的人，塞巴斯蒂安可不是的。再说，还有什么胡子，只是幻想罢了；他的皮肤那么白，总是显得那么清洁，尽管他一天不洗还是那么干净，可是尽管你给布赖兹赫德怎样擦洗，他也白净不了。”
“多可怕啊，”朱莉娅有一次说道，“想想你怎么把塞巴斯蒂安完全忘记了。”
“他是一个‘序幕’。”
“这是你在那场暴风雨中说过的话。从那时起，我就一直想，也许我也不过是个‘序幕’罢了。”
“也许，”我想，同时她的话还在我们之间的空气中飘荡，就像烟草的一缕青烟——一个将要像一缕青烟一样变淡、又消失得无影无踪的念头——“也许我们的全部爱情只是些暗示和象征罢了；这是涂写在门柱上和前面已经有人走过的疲倦的路上随便涂写的文字罢了；也许你和我是典型的人物，那时落在我俩中间的哀伤是由于我们在寻求中感到失望而产生的，每人都在努力你追我赶，不时瞥见对方的影子，而那影子总是在我们前面一两步就拐过了街角。”
我没有忘掉塞巴斯蒂安。他在朱莉娅身上每天都和我在一起，或者毋宁说，在遥远的田园牧歌式的日子里，我在他身上认识了朱莉娅。
“对一个姑娘来说，这是一种冷冰冰的安慰。”当我试着解释时她说道，“我怎么能知道我不会突然变成另外一个人呢？这道是个糊弄人的好方法。”
我没有忘掉塞巴斯蒂安；这所房子的每一块石头都勾引起对他的回忆，听到科迪莉娅说起她在一个月以前看到了他本人的时候，萦绕在我脑中的全都是我这位失踪的朋友。当我们离开育婴室的时候，我说道：“我要听听关于塞巴斯蒂安的全部情况。”
“明天吧。说起来话长呢。”
到第二天，我们在寒风呼啸的园林里散步时，她告诉我说：
“当时我听说他快要死了。”她说道，“这是布尔戈斯一位刚从北非来的新闻记者告诉我的。说那儿有个穷困潦倒的人，叫弗莱特，大家都说是一位英国勋爵，神父们发现他的时候他快饿死了，于是就把他收留在迦太基附近一家修道院里了。我就这样听到这个消息的。当时我知道这个消息不可能十分准确——尽管我们为塞巴斯蒂安做的事很有限，可是他起码有寄给他的钱吧——可是我还是立刻动身了。
“说起来简单。我先去了领事馆，他们对他的情况很清楚。他正在传教神父总部的医院里。按照领事的说法，塞巴斯蒂安是某一天坐着一辆从阿尔及尔开来的公共汽车到突尼斯来的，后来他请求雇佣他当一名教会的杂役僧侣。神父们看了他一眼，就拒绝了。后来他又开始喝酒。他住在阿拉伯人居住区边上的一家小客店里。后来我去看了看那地方，那是个酒吧间，上边有几间住房，由一个希腊人经营，里面散发着热油、大蒜、走了味的葡萄酒和旧衣服的气味。一些希腊小商人到这地方来，玩玩西洋跳棋，听听收音机。他在那儿住了一个月，喝的是希腊艾酒，还不时出去溜达，他们都不知道他去的地方，回来后又喝开酒了。人们怕他会出事，有时候就在后面尾随他，可是他只是到教堂去，再不就是搭辆汽车去城外的修道院。那里的人全都喜欢他。不管他到了什么地方，也不管他的境遇如何，他总是挺招人喜欢的。他身上招人喜欢的东西是永远不会失掉的。你们真该听听那个旅馆老板和他一家人是怎样谈到他的，他们一个劲儿地流眼泪；那些人分明是到处抢劫了他，不过他们倒也照看他，想方设法让他吃上饭。可是让他们吃惊不小的是，他不愿吃饭；而且他随身带着那么些钱，却那么瘦。当我们用很特别的发育谈着话的时候，又进来几个住在这地方的人；他们说的情形全都一样。多么好的人呀，他们说，看到他这么潦倒他们都十分难过。由于让他落到了这步田地，他们对他的家庭很有恶感。他们说，他们的人就不会发生这样的事，我相信他们说得很对。
“无论如何，这是以后的事情了。从领事馆出来，我径直去那所修道院，见到了院长。他是一个严峻的丹麦老头，在中非洲待了五十年。他对我讲了他了解的那一部分情况；塞巴斯蒂安如何被发现的，像领事说的一样，他蓄着胡须，拿着小提箱，要求收留下来当一名打杂的僧侣。‘他诚恳极了，’那位院长说”——科迪莉娅模仿着他那奇怪的腔调；我记得她上学的时候就有一种模仿的本领——“‘请不要以为这里面有什么可疑的地方——他的神智完全正常，而且也十分诚恳。’他希望到未开垦的丛林中去，走得越远越好，到最单纯的人们当中去，到吃人生番中去。院长说道：‘我们的教区里可没有吃人生番啊。’他说，好吧，俾格米人就行，或者只是河边的原始村落，再不就是麻风病人住的地方，麻风病人是他求之不得的了。院长说：‘我们倒是有不少麻风病人，可是他们全住在有医生和修女的居留地里，那里一切都是井井有条的。’他又想想，然后说也许他所希望的并不是麻风病人，是不是有一座靠着河边的小教堂——你看，他总是要一条河——当神父走了以后，这座教堂可以由他来照管。院长说：‘不错，像这样的教堂倒是有的。现在你给我讲讲你自己的情况吧。’‘咳，我是微不足道的。’他说道。‘我们看出他是个怪人，’”科迪莉娅又模仿起院长的调子来，“‘他是个怪人，不过倒是十分诚恳。’院长给他讲入院以前要经过一个见习期和训练时期，然后又说，‘你不算年轻了。我看你身子骨也不太壮实。’他说道：‘不，我可不想受训练。我想干那种需要训练的事情。’院长说：‘我的朋友，你自己倒是需要一位传教士来管你，’他说：‘是的，当然啰。’于是院长把他打发走了。
“第二天他又回来了。他又喝了酒。他说他已经决定当一个见习修道士，并且愿意接受训练。‘好啦，’院长说，‘有些事情是去丛林里工作的人不许做的。其中一项就是喝酒。喝酒虽然不是最糟糕的事，但却是很致命的。我又把他打发走了。’以后每个星期他都要来两三次，总是喝得醉醺醺的，以至后来院长吩咐门房不许他再进来。我说：‘噢，亲爱的，恐怕他让你很厌烦吧，’当然啦，这是那种地方的人不会理解的事情。那位院长只是说：‘除了为他祈祷外，我认为我对他再也没有办法帮助了。’院长是一个非常圣洁的老人，并且在别人身上也看得出圣洁来。”
“圣洁吗？”
“是啊，查尔斯，这就是你们必须理解塞巴斯蒂安的道理。
“嗯，最后有一天他们发现塞巴斯蒂安躺在大门外不省人事，原来他步行出去——平常他总是搭一辆汽车——后来就摔倒了，在那儿躺了一夜。起初他们还以为他不过是又喝醉了；后来他们才明白原来他病得十分厉害，这样他们就把他送进医院里，打那以后他就一直待在那儿了。
“我陪着他待了半个月，直到他度过了病情最严重的时期。他的样子很可怕，说不上有多大岁数，头顶秃得厉害，胡须蓬乱，不过他的举止还像平时那样亲切可爱。他们让他住一个单间；这房间比修道士的秘室只强一点儿，一张床，一个十字架，四周是白墙壁。最初他连话都不能多说，看到我一点也不觉得奇怪；后来他感到奇怪了，但不愿多说话，直到我要离开的时候，他才把他的遭遇全都告诉我了。他讲的几乎大部分都是关于他的德国朋友库尔特的事。对啦，你见到过库尔特，看来你也明白一切了。库尔特这人的事听起来让人很厌恶，不过只要塞巴斯蒂安有他照看，倒是很愉快的。他告诉我，当他和库尔特住在一起时，他几乎一度戒了酒。库尔特有病，还带着治不好的伤。塞巴斯蒂安照看他脱离苦难。后来库尔特的身体好了，他们就去了希腊。你知道当德国人到了一个古雅的国家时，他就会发现一种正派的感觉。这种情形似乎也在库尔特身上发生了作用。塞巴斯蒂安说库尔特在雅典变得非常通人情。后来他给送进监狱；我不十分了解是什么原因；显然不完全是他的过错——是同一个军官吵了架。他一旦被拘留起来，德国当局就抓住他了。当时德国当局正在围捕国外的侨民，让他们都参加纳粹组织。库尔特不愿意离开希腊，而希腊人却不需要他，于是他和一大群流氓一起被直接从监狱押上一只德国船，运回德国去了。
“塞巴斯蒂安寻找他，寻了一年也没有见踪影。后来他终于在一个外省城市里追查到他，这时他已经穿上纳粹冲锋队员的服装。起初，他不愿和塞巴斯蒂安有什么往来，后来却滔滔不绝地讲起德国官方的术语来，什么复兴祖国啦，他属于他的祖国啦，什么在他那种族的生活里可以充分发挥自己的才能啦。其实这不过是些表面文章。塞巴斯蒂安六年对他的影响毕竟比希特勒一年对他影响要大；最后，他丢弃了这些表面的话，承认他恨德国，想逃出去。我不知道他想离开的原因在多大程度上是由于贪图安闲的生活；依赖塞巴斯蒂安过日子，在地中海游泳，在咖啡馆里闲坐，让人把他的皮鞋擦得锃亮。塞巴斯蒂安说完全不是这么回事；他在雅典就已经开始成熟了。也许塞巴斯蒂安说得对。不管怎样，他决定逃跑。可是他的决定并没有实现。不管他做什么，总是要倒大霉，塞巴斯蒂安说。他们抓住了库尔特，把他投进集中营。塞巴斯蒂安无法接近他，也得不到关于他的一点儿消息；甚至连他给关在哪一个集中营他都听不出来；他在德国游荡了快一年，又喝开了酒，后来有一天在他喝醉的时候，交上了一位朋友，恰好这个人是刚从库尔特曾经待过的集中营里出来的，这才知道库尔特在第一个星期就在他的牢房里自缢死了。
“这样塞巴斯蒂安的欧洲之行就结束了。他又回到摩洛哥，他在那里一度过得很快活，他沿地中海岸坐着船停停走走，从一个地方到另一个地方，直到有一天他清醒过来了——现在他已经到了经常酗酒的地步了——他就产生了要逃避到野蛮人中间去的想法。以后他就在那里了。
“我没有提出要求他回家。我知道他不愿意回来的，再说他的身体也太虚弱了，也无法说服他打消这个念头。我离开的时候他似乎相当高兴。他永远不可能去丛林地区了，当然也不可能担任什么神职，不过那位修道院长将要照管他的；他们打算让他当一个下级勤杂工。你知道，在一个宗教性的组织里，总有几个吃闲饭的人，这些人既不适合过世俗生活又不适应寺院的清规。我想我自己就是这种人。不过碰巧由于我不喝酒，所以我更适于人家雇用。”
我们已转到道路转弯的地方，这是最后也是最小的一个水塘尽头的石桥边，桥下漫涨的池水瀑布般地落下来，注入下面的溪流里；在远处，小路折转过来，回到宅邸那里。我们在桥栏杆边停住脚，凝视着下面黑黝黝的池水。
“我过去有个女教师，她从这个桥上跳下去自杀了。”
“嗯，我知道。”
“你怎么知道的？”
“这是我听说的关于你的第一件事——是在我见到你以前。”
“多么奇怪……”
“你跟朱莉娅谈过关于塞巴斯蒂安的这些情况吗？”
“大体上说了说；不大像我对你讲的。你知道，她从来不爱他，像我们现在这样爱他。”
“像现在这样。”她用现在时态责备我；在科迪莉娅用动词“爱”时，没有过去时态。
“可怜的塞巴斯蒂安！”我说，“太可怜了。以后可怎么收场呢？”
“查尔斯，我想我能够确切地告诉你。我曾经见过像他这样的人，我相信他们更接近上帝，而且更爱上帝。他的生活会半是超群出世，半是涉足红尘，是我们都熟悉的一个带着一把扫帚和一串钥匙游游荡荡的人物。他会是老神父的大宠儿，也是见习修道士们开玩笑的对象。大家都会知道他喝酒的事；他每个月都会失踪两三天，大家就会摇摇头，会心一笑，异口同声地说：‘老塞巴斯蒂安又狂欢了。’后来，他回来时邋里邋遢，满面羞惭，一两天之内他在小教堂里会显得更虔诚。他也许在花园附近还有几处小小的储藏处，藏着一瓶酒，不时地偷偷大口大口喝一通。每逢有一位讲英语的客人来访，他们就会请他当向导，而他会表现得十分可爱，这样在他们临走时，他们会问起他自己的事，他也许会隐隐约约地向他们暗示他在国内还有一些很有名望的亲戚呢。如果他活的岁数够大，一代又一代从远方各处来的传教士会把他看作一个奇怪的老人，是他们学生时代的家乡的一部分，他们做弥撒的时候会想起他来。他还形成了笃信宗教的种种怪癖，以及他自己热烈崇拜上帝的仪式。他偶尔也会在小教堂里出现，可是当他没来时，人们会想念他。然后有一天早晨在他狂饮了一通之后，他会在大门口被人抱起来，奄奄一息，当他们给他举行最后圣礼的时候，只是由于眼睑眨动而表明他还有点知觉。这样度过一生也不能算太坏了。”
我想起了在繁花似锦的栗子树下带着玩具熊的那个青年。“谁要不会预料到这样的光景，”我说，“我想他没有受苦吧？”
“嗯，他受了苦，我想他受了苦。像他那样受到很大的损害——失去了尊严，失去了意志力，人根本想象不出他痛苦到何等地步。可是人不受苦就不能成圣。这就是他的痛苦的形式……近几年来我目睹的苦难太多了。不久，每个人还要受更多的苦难。
收听单词发音 |
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custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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pimply
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| adj.肿泡的；有疙瘩的；多粉刺的；有丘疹的 | |
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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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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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immature
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| adj.未成熟的，发育未全的，未充分发展的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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puddles
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sodden
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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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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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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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dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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impervious
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| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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forerunner
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| n.前身，先驱（者），预兆，祖先 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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consulate
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| n.领事馆 | |
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consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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mimicry
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| n.（生物）拟态，模仿 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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brawl
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| n.大声争吵，喧嚷；v.吵架，对骂 | |
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Nazis
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| n.（德国的）纳粹党员( Nazi的名词复数 )；纳粹主义 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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spouted
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| adj.装有嘴的v.（指液体）喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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bouts
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| n.拳击（或摔跤）比赛( bout的名词复数 )；一段（工作）；（尤指坏事的）一通；（疾病的）发作 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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novices
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| n.新手( novice的名词复数 )；初学修士（或修女）；（修会等的）初学生；尚未赢过大赛的赛马 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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cults
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| n.迷信( cult的名词复数 )；狂热的崇拜；（有极端宗教信仰的）异教团体 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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prevarication
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| n.支吾；搪塞；说谎；有枝有叶 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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poignantly
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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