Monday, May 25, 2015

人性的枷鎖(4)


人性的枷鎖OF HUMAN BONDAGE
BY W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM毛姆
1915
中譯Bill Lin

4章 適應

菲利浦艾瑪分手時還淚流不止,但是往布萊克斯泰勃的旅途使他感到很新奇,等他們到了目的地,他已適應愉快了。布萊克斯泰勃倫敦有六十哩。凱里先生把行李交給搬運工,同菲利浦一起往教區牧師樓走去;五分多鐘就到了,菲利浦馬上認得那扇大門。那是個紅色有五根欄柵的柵門:門的樞紐設計使它能輕易的裡外開闔,可以攀吊在柵門上前後擺動,但是不可以這樣子玩。
他們穿過花園來到正門。正門只有在客人來訪,或星期日,或特殊場合,正如牧師上去倫敦或回來時,才可使用。平時家裡進出都走邊門;還有一扇後門給園丁、乞丐和流浪漢使用。這是一幢很大的黃磚紅頂樓房,大約是在二十五年前蓋成有傳教士風格的建築物。正門像教堂的門廊,客廳的窗子是哥德式的。
凱里太太知道他們會搭乘哪班火車,所以在客廳裡等著,注意聽著開柵門的咔噠聲。她一聽到聲響,就去應門。
「那是路易莎伯母,」凱里先生瞧見凱里太太時對菲利浦說,「快去親她一下。」
菲利浦憋扭地拖著他那條瘸腿跑起來,跑了幾步後就停下來。凱里太太是個瘦小、乾癟的婦人,和她的丈夫同年,有個少見的佈滿深皺紋的臉,淡藍的眼睛。她的灰白頭髮,依舊是梳成她年輕時流行的一絡絡的小髮捲。她穿了件黑衣服,唯一的裝飾是條金鏈子,繫著一枚十字架。她神態羞怯,說話柔聲細氣。
「走路來的嗎,威廉?」她一邊親著丈夫,一邊帶著像是責備的口吻說。
「我可沒想到這點,」他回答說,看了他侄兒一眼。
「你走了腳疼不疼,菲利浦?」她問孩子。
「不疼。我都是用走的。」
菲利浦聽了他們的對話感到有點奇怪。路易莎伯母招呼他進去,走進門廳。門廳裡鋪著紅色和黃色的地磚,上面交替畫著希臘正十字和神的羔羊。氣勢宏偉的樓梯通向廳外,它是用磨亮的松木做的,有一股異香;當年教堂換裝座椅時,幸好剩下很多木料,於是就建造成了這道樓梯。樓梯欄杆上刻著四福音書的圖徽。
「我叫人把爐火生好了,我想經過這麼長的旅途後,你們一定是又累又冷的,」凱里太太說。
有個黑色的大火爐擺在門廳裡,只有碰到天氣很冷,再加上牧師感冒的日子才升火取暖。即使凱里太太感冒了,也不會點這個爐子的。因為煤太貴了。而且,女傭瑪麗安Mary Ann 也不喜歡整座屋子每個地方都生火取暖。如果他們要每個爐子都生火,就得再加個女傭。冬天,凱里夫婦都待在餐室裡,所以一個火爐就夠了。夏天他們也照樣,凱里先生只在星期日下午才去客廳睡個午覺。不過每個星期六,他要人在書房裡生個火,這樣他才能寫他的講道稿。
路易莎伯母帶菲利浦上樓,讓他看那間面朝車道的小臥房。窗前就有棵大樹;現在菲利浦記起來了,因為它的樹幹太低了,所以可以爬得很高。
「小孩住小房間,」凱里太太說:「你不會害怕自己睡吧?」
「哦,不。」
他上回來這兒,有保姆陪著,所以凱里太太不用為他操心。現在她看著他,有些手足無措。
「你會洗手嗎?要不要我幫你洗?」
「我自己能洗,」他回答得很肯定。
「嗯,等你下樓來用茶點時,我可要看一看,」凱里太太說。
她對小孩子的事一無所悉。在菲利浦應該來布萊克斯泰勃的事確定之後,凱里太太在應該如何對待他的這件事上考慮了很多;她急切地想盡她的義務;而現在他到了,她卻發現自己對那孩子正像那孩子對她自己一樣的羞怯不安。但願他不會喧鬧粗野,因為她的丈夫就不喜歡喧鬧粗野的孩子。凱里太太找了個藉口走了,留下菲利浦一人,可是一下子又回來敲門。在門外問他會不會自己倒水,然後下樓打鈴吩咐僕人準備茶點。
餐室大而適當,兩邊都有窗戶,垂著厚重的紅布窗簾;中間擺了一張大餐桌;餐室的一邊擺著很氣派的桃花心木有裡層鏡子的櫥櫃。一個角落裡擺著一台風琴。壁爐兩邊各擺著一張鋪著印花皮的皮椅,都有椅套。一張有扶手的,被稱為“丈夫”;另一張沒有扶手,被稱為“老婆”。凱里太太從來不坐那張有扶手的椅子:她說,她寧可坐不太舒適的椅子;總是有一大堆的事要做,要是她的椅子也有扶手,那她可能一坐就不想起來了。
菲利浦進來時,凱里先生正在添火。他指給侄子看那兩根撥火棒。那根又粗又亮,表面光滑,沒使用過的叫“牧師”;另一根細得多,顯然是常用來撥弄爐火的,叫“副牧師”。
「我們還等什麼呢?」凱里先生說。
「我吩咐瑪麗安給你煮個雞蛋。我想你走這一趟,大概餓壞了。」
倫敦布萊克斯泰勃,依凱里太太想是很累的。她自己難得出門,因為一年只有三百英鎊的年俸;每次丈夫要想去渡假,因為不夠兩個人花,只好讓他一個人去。凱里先生很喜歡參加特會,每年總要設法去倫敦一趟;他也去巴黎看過一次商展,還跑了兩三趟瑞士
瑪麗安把雞蛋端了進來,大家就座。菲利浦的椅子不夠高,凱里先生和他太太一時不知所措。
「我去拿幾本書來墊,」瑪麗安說。
她從風琴蓋上拿了一部大字版聖經和牧師經常用到的祈禱書,把它們放在菲利浦的椅子上。
「噢,威廉,他不可以坐在聖經上面,」凱里太太驚嚇地說。「你不能到書房去給他拿幾本書嗎?」
凱里先生想了一想。
瑪麗安,如果你把祈禱書擺到上面,我想沒啥關係,」他說。「這本《公禱書》,本來就是像我們這種人寫的,不算是什麼聖典。」
「我沒想到這一點,威廉,」路易莎伯母說。
菲利浦就坐在這些書上,牧師做完了謝恩禱告,就把雞蛋的頂頭切下來。
「這兒,」他說著,把切下的雞蛋頂頭遞給菲利浦,「你喜歡的話,可以把我的蛋頭吃了。」
菲利浦希望自己能享用整個蛋,但是沒給,只能有多少吃多少。
「我不在的時候,那些雞,蛋下得如何?」牧師問。
「噢,糟糕得很,一天一兩個。」
「蛋頭味道還好吧,菲利浦?」他的伯父問。
「很好,謝謝。」
「星期天下午你還可以吃一次。」
凱里先生星期天用茶點時總要吃個煮蛋,這樣才有力氣帶領晚上的敬拜。

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No. I always walk."

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, no."

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

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

"I can wash myself," he answered firmly.

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

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

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

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

"What are we waiting for?" said Mr. Carey.

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

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

"I'll put some books under him," said Mary Ann.

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

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

Mr. Carey considered the question for an instant.

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

"I hadn't thought of that, William," said Aunt Louisa.

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

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

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

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

"Oh, they've been dreadful, only one or two a day."

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

"Very much, thank you."

"You shall have another one on Sunday afternoon."

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

Saturday, May 23, 2015

人性的枷鎖(3)


人性的枷鎖OF HUMAN BONDAGE(3)
BY W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM毛姆
1915

中譯Bill Lin

3章 託孤

凱里太太去世時住的房子,坐落在肯辛頓Kensington 區一條落寞卻頗體面的街上,位於諾丁山門Notting Hill Gate 高街High Street 之間。他們到了以後,艾瑪就把菲利浦領進客廳。他的伯父正在給送花圈的親友寫謝函。有個花圈送遲了,沒趕上葬禮,還裝在紙盒裡,擱在門廳的桌子上。
菲利浦少爺來了,」艾瑪說。
凱里先生慢吞吞地站起身來同小孩握手;想了一下,接著又彎下身親了孩子的額頭。他的個子不高,身子開始發福。留長髮,往上梳來蓋住他的禿頂。鬍子刮得很乾淨,五官端正,可以想像,他年輕時是英俊的。他的錶鏈上掛著一個金的十字架。
菲利浦,從現在起你要跟我一起過日子了,」凱里先生說,「你喜歡嗎?」
菲利浦兩年前出水痘時,曾被送到這位牧師家裡待了一陣子;但現在能想得起來的,只剩一間閣樓和大花園,而對於他的伯父伯母都沒有什麼印象。
「是的。」
「你得把我和你的路易莎Louisa 伯母當成自己的父母。」
孩子的嘴唇動了一下,臉紅了,但是沒作聲。
「你親愛的母親要我照料你。」
凱里先生不善於表達自己。他一得到弟媳病危的消息,立即趕來倫敦。他一路上沒想別的,只擔心要是弟媳死了,逼得他得照顧她兒子,他日子就難過了。他已年逾半百,結婚三十年的妻子沒生過孩子;到了這把年紀,他從未樂見家裡多了個小男孩,說不定是又吵又鬧。而且,他對這位弟媳從來沒有太多的好感。
「我明天就帶你去布萊克斯泰勃Blackstable,」他說。
艾瑪也一起去?」
孩子將手伸進艾瑪的手掌,艾瑪將它緊緊捏著。
「恐怕艾瑪得離開了,」凱里先生說。
「但是我要艾瑪跟我一起去。」
菲利浦哭將起來,保姆也忍不住掉淚。凱里先生一籌莫展地望著他們。
「我想,妳最好讓我單獨同菲利浦少爺談。」
「好的,先生。」
雖然菲利浦扒著她,她還是徐徐地讓孩子鬆了手。凱里先生把孩子抱到膝上,用胳臂勾著他。
「你不可以哭,」他說。「你現在大到不該再有保姆啦。我們要準備讓你上學。」
「我要艾瑪跟我走,」孩子又說了一遍。
「這樣開銷太大了,菲利浦。你爸爸沒留下多少錢,我也不知道還剩多少。我們必須省著用。」
前天,凱里先生走訪了家庭律師。菲利浦的父親是位高明的外科醫生。從他在醫院裡擔任的職務可知他在醫界是有一席之地。所以,當他猝死於血中毒症,人們知道他留給未亡人的遺產,除了人壽保險金,以及在布魯頓Bruton 街的房租外,竟然只剩一點點錢,都感到十分意外。那是六個月以前的狀況;當時凱里太太健康已經出了問題,又發覺自己懷了孩子,所以一有人要租那房子,就隨便地答應了。她把家具收在倉庫。為了在孩子出世前能安穩地過日子,自己再租了一幢有全套家具的房子,賃期一年,以牧師的眼光看來,租金簡直太貴了。但是她從未習慣於當家理財,也不會量入為出,適應境遇的變遷。那一點點錢,就從她的指縫裡漏掉了;到目前,一切開銷付清之後,只剩不過兩千英鎊多一點,當孩子在獨立謀生之前的生活費。這一切跟菲利浦都說不通的,何況這孩子還在一直不停的噓。
「你還是去找艾瑪吧,」凱里先生說,他覺得只有艾瑪能好好地安慰這孩子。
二話不說,菲利浦從伯父的膝蓋上溜了下來,但凱里先生一把把他攔住。
「我們明天就必須動身,因為週末我得準備講道。你要告訴艾瑪今天就把行李收拾好。你可以把玩具都帶走,假如想要父母的遺物作紀念,只可以各留下一件。其他的東西全都要賣掉。」
孩子悄悄地離開了房間。凱里先生通常是不工作的,所以他心不甘情不願的去回信。書桌的一頭,擺著一疊帳單,這些帳單使他看了就火大。有一張特別荒謬的:凱里太太一嚥氣,艾瑪馬上向花店訂購了大批白花,來佈置死者的房間;完全是浪費錢。艾瑪不知分寸,自作主張。即使沒有財務上的考量,他也要把她辭掉。
但是菲利浦卻跑去找她,把頭埋在她懷裡,哭得很傷心。菲利浦出世一個月後就交由艾瑪照顧,她也把他當親生兒子看待;她細語哄勸,答應以後有空就來看他,絕不把他給忘了;她描述他所要去的那個地方,又講了自己德文郡老家──她父親在看守通往埃克塞特Exeter大路的關卡;家裡的豬圈養了好多豬;還有一頭母牛,才生下一頭牛犢──直到菲利浦忘掉了傷心事,而且一想到這趟旅行就興奮起來。她把他放下來,因為還有好多事該做;他幫她把自己的衣服拿出來放在床上。她叫他到幼兒室去收拾他的玩具,沒一下子,他就玩得很高興了。
最後,他自個兒玩膩了,又回到臥室,艾瑪正忙著把他的衣物用品收進大皮箱裡。這時,菲利浦想起伯父說過他可以拿一樣父母親的遺物留作紀念。他告訴艾瑪,還問她應該挑選什麼。
「你可以到客廳去看看有什麼你要的。」
「伯父在那兒咧。」
「沒關係,那些都還是你的東西。」
菲利浦緩步下樓,看到房門開著;凱里先生不在了。菲利浦慢慢地繞了一圈。他們住進來不久,屋子裡沒什麼東西使他特感興趣。這是別人的房子,裡面沒有使他心怡的東西;但是他知道哪些是母親的,哪些是房東的。這時,他看上了一只小時鐘,他曾聽母親說:她很喜歡它。
他拿著小鐘悶悶不樂地上樓。在母親的臥室門外,他停下來細聽。雖然沒有人不准他進去,但他覺得是不該進去;他有點害怕,心跳得很不舒服;同時又有些說不出的感覺,驅使他去扭動門把。他輕輕地旋轉門把,生怕被裡面的人聽見,隨後慢慢地把門推開。他在門檻上站了一陣子才鼓足勇氣走進去。現在他不怕了,只覺得怪怪的。他帶上門。
在一月午後清冷的日光下,百葉窗放下了,房間是陰暗的。梳妝臺上放著凱里太太的梳子和手鏡。一隻小盤裡有幾支髮夾。壁爐架上擺著一張菲利浦的照片,還有一張父親的照片。他經常趁母親不在的時候進這兒來;但是現在人事全非。那些椅子就是看不順眼。床鋪整理得就像晚上會有人來就寢似的。枕頭套上還放著一件睡衣。
菲利浦打開一個掛滿了衣服的大櫥櫃,走了進去,張開手臂盡可能地滿抱著一堆衣服,把臉埋在裡面,每件都聞到了他母親的香味。然後,他拉開了擺滿母親東西的抽屜,仔細端詳:衣巾裡有幾袋薰衣草,有著悅人的清香。房間裡的奇怪氣氛不見了,他覺得母親只是才出去散步,一下子就會回來,而且會上樓到幼兒室來和他一起用茶點;好像還感覺到了母親給他的親吻。
說他再也見不著母親是錯的,說這簡直是不可能也是錯的。他爬上床,把頭擱在枕頭上,躺在那兒動也不動。

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

"Here's Master Philip," said Emma.

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

"Your dear mother left you in my charge."

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

"I'm going to take you down to Blackstable tomorrow," he said.

"With Emma?"

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

"I'm afraid Emma must go away," said Mr. Carey.

"But I want Emma to come with me."

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

"I think you'd better leave me alone with Master Philip for a moment."

"Very good, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You'd better go into the drawing-room and see what you fancy."

"Uncle William's there."

"Never mind that. They're your own things now."

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

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

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

Monday, May 18, 2015

人性的枷鎖(2)


人性的枷鎖OF HUMAN BONDAGE
BY W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM毛姆
1915
中譯Bill Lin

2章 孤兒


一個星期以後,菲利浦坐在瓦特津小姐那座落於翁斯洛Onslow 花園區房子的客廳地板上。他是個獨生子,已習慣於自得其樂。客廳裡擺滿了大件傢俱,每張沙發上都有三個大靠墊。每張扶手椅上也各有一個椅墊。他把這些軟墊全抓過來,藉著幾張輕巧而易於挪動的鍍金雕花便椅,精心地搭成個洞穴。藏在理面,就可以躲開那些匿藏在帷幔後面的印第安紅人。他把耳朵貼近地板,凝神諦聽野牛群狂奔過草原。這時候,他聽見門打開了,趕緊屏住呼吸,不想被人發現;但是,有一隻手猛地拖開了一把椅子,軟墊全掉下來。
「你這調皮鬼,瓦特津小姐要生氣啦。」
「嘿!艾瑪Emma!」他說。
保姆彎腰吻了他,然後把墊子的一一抖好,放回原位。
「我該回家了吧?」他問道。
「是的,我就是來帶你回去的。」
「你穿了件新衣服。」那是1885年,所以她穿著撐裙;黑絲絨裙袍,窄袖削肩,裙子上有三條寬荷葉邊;戴了一頂綁著絲絨帶的黑色蘇格蘭帽。
她猶豫了一下;原先準備的答話無從出口,因為孩子沒提出她預想的問題。
「你不想問你媽媽身體好嗎?」她只好自己提了。
「噢,我忘了。我媽媽身體好嗎?」
這下子,她有準備了。
「你媽媽身體很好,也很快活。」
「哦,我很高興。」
「你媽媽去逝了,你再也見不著她了。」菲利浦沒聽懂她的意思。
「為什麼?」
「你媽媽在天國裡了。」
她哭將起來,而菲利浦雖不太了解是怎麼一回事,也跟著哭起來。艾瑪是個高挑、寬骨架的婦人,金髮,眉目鮮明。她來自德文郡Devonshire ,儘管在倫敦幫傭多年,還是鄉音未改。她這麼一哭可牽動了真情, 只好把孩子緊摟在懷裡。想到這可憐的孩子被剝奪了他在世上唯一的愛,她心頭依稀有一股憐憫無私的愛。想到非得把他交到陌生人手裡,是有點恐怖。但是過一會兒,她就恢復了。
「你的威廉William 伯父正等著見你呢,」她說,「我們去跟瓦特津小姐說再見,說我們要回家了。」
「我不要去說再見,」他回答。他內心很不想讓人看到自己的掉淚。
「好吧,那就快上樓去拿帽子。」
菲利浦拿了帽子,回到樓下,艾瑪在大廳裡等著。他聽到餐室後面的書房裡有說話的聲音。他停下來。他知道是瓦特津小姐和她姐姐在同朋友交談;他這個九歲的孩子似乎感到,假如自己走了進去,她們會為他難過。
「我想我要去跟瓦特津小姐說再見。」
「還是去說一聲的好,」艾瑪說。
「那妳先進去說我來了,」他說。
他希望能充分把握他的機會。艾瑪敲敲門,走了進去。他聽見她說:
「小姐,菲利浦少爺來向您告別。」
話聲戛然而止,菲利浦拐著進來。亨利耶妲瓦特津Henrietta Watkin 是個身材豐盈的婦女,臉色紅潤,染了髮。在那個年頭,染髮招惹話題,記得當他的教母頭髮變了顏色時,菲利浦在自己家裡就聽過不少閒話。瓦特津小姐和姐姐住在一起。她的姐姐養老退休了。還有兩位菲利浦不認識的太太也在這兒,她們好奇的看著菲利浦
「我可憐的孩子。」瓦特津小姐說著張開了雙臂。
她哭將起來。菲利浦現在終於明白,為什麼她剛才沒在家吃午飯,而且為什麼她要穿一身黑衣。她哭得說不出話來。
「我得回家了,」菲利浦最後這麼說。
菲利浦脫開了瓦特津小姐的懷抱;她再次親了他。然後,他走到她的姐姐跟前,也對她說了再見。陌生太太中的一位問:是否也可以讓她吻一下,他很正式地表示可以。雖在流淚,但是他對於眼前這種由自己引起的感傷場面,倒蠻享受的。若非感到她們巴不得自己走掉,他還很樂意再多待一會,讓她們在自己身上發洩個痛快;所以只好說艾瑪在等他,走出了書房。艾瑪已經在樓下地下室同她的女友話家常;他只得在樓梯口等她。他還聽到了亨利耶妲瓦特津的說話聲。
「他母親是我最要好的朋友。我一想到她死了,心裡真受不了。」
「你本來就不該去參加葬禮,亨利耶妲,」她姐姐說,「我知道你去了會很難過。」
一位陌生女客接著說:「可憐的小男孩,世上就剩他一個人,怪悽慘的。我看他有點瘸腿!」
「是呀,他天生一隻翻掌腳。這是他母親的傷痛。」
這時,艾瑪上來了。他們叫了一輛馬車,她告訴車夫往哪兒走。

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

"You naughty boy, Miss Watkin will be cross with you."

"Hulloa, Emma!" he said.

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

"Am I to come home?" he asked.

"Yes, I've come to fetch you."

"You've got a new dress on."

It was in 1885, and she wore a bustle. Her gown was of black velvet, with tight sleeves and sloping shoulders, and the skirt had three large flounces. She wore a black bonnet with velvet strings. She hesitated. The question she had expected did not come, and so she could not give the answer she had prepared.

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

"Oh, I forgot. How is mamma?"

Now she was ready.

"Your mamma is quite well and happy."

"Oh, I am glad."

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

"Why not?"

"Your mamma's in heaven."

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

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

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

"Very well, run upstairs and get your hat."

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

"I think I'll go and say good-bye to Miss Watkin."

"I think you'd better," said Emma.

"Go in and tell them I'm coming," he said.

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

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

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

"My poor child," said Miss Watkin, opening her arms.

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

"I've got to go home," said Philip, at last.

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

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

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

Then one of the strangers spoke.

"Poor little boy, it's dreadful to think of him quite alone in the world.
I see he limps."
"Yes, he's got a club-foot. It was such a grief to his mother."

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

Sunday, May 17, 2015

人性的枷鎖(1)


人性的枷鎖OF HUMAN BONDAGE
BY W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM毛姆
1915

中譯Bill Lin

1生離

破曉天色陰沉沉的;烏雲密佈,刺骨的寒風,像要下雪了。房間裡睡著個小孩,一名女僕走進來,拉開窗簾。無意識地朝對面那幢有廊柱的灰泥房子望了一眼,然後走到孩子床邊……
「醒醒,菲利浦Philip,」她說。
她掀開被子,抱起了孩子,帶他下樓;孩子還是半睡半醒的。
「你媽媽找你,」她說。
她走下一層樓,推開房門,將小孩抱到床前。床上躺著一位婦人,是孩子的母親。她張開雙臂,讓孩子依偎在自己身邊。孩子沒問為什麼要把他叫醒。婦人吻吻孩子的眼睛,並用那雙纖弱的手,透過孩子的白絨布睡衣,感受到他溫暖的身子。她緊緊的抱住他。
「還想睡嗎,寶貝?」她說。
她的聲音虛弱無力,彷彿是來自遙遠的地方。孩子沒有回應,只愜意地笑;他很高興躺在這暖和的大床上,又被溫柔的雙臂摟著。孩子緊偎著母親,蜷起身子,想把自己縮得更小些;他睡惺惺地吻著母親。不一會,闔上眼皮,酣然入睡了。醫生走過來,站在床前。
「噢,不要這麼快把他抱走,」婦人有氣無力地說。
醫生沒有答話,只是嚴肅地望著她。婦人再次親著孩子,她心裡明白醫生不會讓孩子在她身邊待多久的;她的手順著孩子的身體下滑,一直到他的腳;她把右腳捏在手裡,摸到了小腳趾。然後慢慢地把手移到左腳上。她哭了出來。
「怎麼啦?」醫生說,「你累了吧。」
她搖搖頭,哽咽著說不出話來,眼淚沿著雙頰撲簌而下。醫生彎下身子。
「讓我來抱他。」
她衰弱到無法違拗醫生的意思,只得任他抱走了孩子。醫生把孩子交還給保姆。
「最好把孩子擺回自己的床上去。」
「好的,先生。」仍在呼呼熟睡的孩子被抱開了。他的母親這時更是心碎了,低聲嗚咽起來。
「可憐的孩子,他以後要怎麼辦才好?」
幫做月子的看護在一旁好言勸慰,想讓她平靜下來。隔了一會,她哭到沒力氣就停了。醫生走到房間另側的一張桌前,桌上有具剛生下的死嬰,用毛巾蓋著。他掀開毛巾看了看。雖然醫生的身子被屏風遮住,但床上的產婦還是猜著了他在幹什麼。
「是女的還是男的?」她低聲問看護。
「也是男孩。」
婦人不做聲。不一會,孩子的保姆回來了。她走到床頭前。
菲利浦少爺還沒醒,」她說。沉默了一陣子;醫生再給病人量一次脈搏。
「我想這會兒沒我的事了,」他說。「我早餐後再來。」
「讓我領您出去,」孩子的保姆說。
他們默默地步下樓梯。到了門廊,醫生停下來。
「你們有去請凱里Carey太太的大伯了,是嗎?」
「是的,先生。」
「妳知道他什麼時候會到?」
「不知道,先生,我正在等電報。」
「那小孩呢?我覺得最好不要讓他待在這兒。」
瓦特津Watkin小姐說她會照顧他,先生。」
「她是誰?」
「是孩子的教母,先生。您認為凱里太太的病會好嗎,先生?」
醫生搖搖頭。

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

"Wake up, Philip," she said.

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

"Your mother wants you," she said.

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

"Are you sleepy, darling?" she said.

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

"Oh, don't take him away yet," she moaned.

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

"What's the matter?" said the doctor. "You're tired."

She shook her head, unable to speak, and the tears rolled down her cheeks.
The doctor bent down.
"Let me take him."

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

"You'd better put him back in his own bed."

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

"What will happen to him, poor child?"

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

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

"Another boy."

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

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

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

"I'll show you out, sir," said the child's nurse.

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

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

"Yes, sir."

"D'you know at what time he'll be here?"

"No, sir, I'm expecting a telegram."

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

"Miss Watkin said she'd take him, sir."

"Who's she?"

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

The doctor shook his head.