人性的枷鎖(13)

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人性的枷鎖OF HUMAN BONDAGE

BY W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM毛姆

1915

中譯Bill Lin

第13章 個性

兩年過去，菲利浦也快十二歲了。現在他已升入第一班，都是班裡的前兩三名，過聖誕節以後，有幾個學生要升到高中部，他就成了班頭。他已拿到了一大堆獎品，都是些紙張質地差又沒價值的書本，，裝潢倒很講究，還鐫有學校的徽誌；他的地位使得他不再被人欺負，而他也不再鬱鬱寡歡了。因為他的殘疾，同學們並不怎麼在乎他的成就。

「總之，他要拿獎品是很容易的，」他們說，「不過他也只能唸書罷了！」

他不再像早先那樣的怕華生先生。他已經習慣了他的大嗓門，而且每當校長的手掌沉重地按在他的肩上時，他依稀可以分辨出這是出於一種愛的意圖。他有很好的記性，這對學術成就比對精神力量有助益，他知道華生先生希望他在預校畢業時能拿到獎學金。

可是他養成很有自覺性。新生嬰兒意識不到他的軀體更有甚於周遭的物體，是自身的一部分，他會玩弄他的腳趾頭，像玩弄身邊的手搖鈴一樣，並不覺得這些腳趾頭是他自己的一部份；只有經由不同程度的疼痛，他才了解到自己肉體存在的事實。

對一個人要變得有自覺性，有這類的經驗是必要的，但是這裡有個不同點：雖然每個人都變得同樣的感覺到他自己是個獨立而完整的有機體，但並非每個人都會有同樣感覺到自己是個獨立而完整的個性。

與人有格格不入的的感覺，大多發自於青春期，但是這種感覺並不致於發展到明顯地與他的同夥們不同的地步。只有像蜂巢裡的一隻蜜蜂，越少自我意識，才活得越幸福，因為他們最有可能獲得幸福是出於：他們同進同出，歡樂與共；我們可以看到人們在聖靈降臨節那天，在漢普斯特德．希斯公園 Hampstead Heath 跳舞，在足球比賽中加油，或是從頗爾‧美爾Pall Mall 大道的俱樂部窗口揮手向皇家遊行歡呼。正因為有這些舉止，人類才被認為是社會動物。

菲利浦由於翻掌腳的被人嘲諷，使得他從孩提的天真，進入了淒苦的自我覺醒。他的境遇特殊到無法用對普通問題綽綽有餘的現成的法則來應付，他被逼得只好自己去想辦法。他從看過的許多書裡得到各種想法，因為他對那些想法只有一知半解，使得他有更大的想像空間。在他痛苦的愐腆底下，某些東西在他的裡面逐漸長大，朦朧中他意識到了自己的個性。不過有時他自己的個性會讓他出奇地驚訝；他做了某些事，都不知所以然，事後回想起來，更像自己漂浮在大海迷失方向。

有個叫盧阿得 Luard 的男孩，和菲利浦成了朋友。有一天，他們在教室裡一塊兒玩，盧阿得拿了菲利浦的黑檀木筆桿變起戲法。

「別亂搞了，」菲利浦說，「你會把筆折斷的。」

「不會。」

但是沒等那孩子說完，筆桿已折成兩段。盧阿得沮喪地看著菲利浦。

「啊啊，我很對不起。」

眼淚順著菲利浦的面頰滾下來，但他不做聲。

「是怎麼啦？」盧阿得吃了一驚，「我會賠你一根一模一樣的。」

「我不在乎筆桿，」菲利浦語聲顫抖地說，「只不過那是我母親臨終時給我的。」

「噢，凱里，我很對不起。」

「算了，我不怪你。」

菲利浦凝視著手裡那斷成兩截的筆桿。他嘗試不讓哽咽出聲。他感到極度悲慘。然而他說不出個所以然，因為他明知這支筆桿是他上回在布萊克斯泰勃度假時，花了一兩個便士買來的。他一點也不知道為什麼要編出這個可憐的故事，可是他卻像是真的一樣，十分感傷。

在牧師樓的敬虔氣氛，還有學校裡的宗教色彩，使菲利浦對自己的良心很敏感；他不知不覺地吸收了這種對自己的感覺──魔鬼無時無刻都在巡查要攫取他的不滅的靈魂；雖然他不比大多數的孩子更可信賴，但是每撒了謊總會悔恨不已。

他把這件事整個想過之後，感到很不安，決定要去找盧阿得，告訴他那故事是無中生有的。但是他害怕丟臉更甚於世上的任一件事，所以有兩三天，他慶幸能以羞辱自己來增添神的榮耀的想法來安慰自己。但是他從未再往前一步。他採取了更自在的方法，只向大能的神表示了他的懺悔，來滿足自己的良心。

但是他不明白，他為什麼真的會被自己捏造的故事所感動。那沿著邋遢的面頰滾落的淚珠可是真的。過後，經由一些湊巧的關聯，令他回想到艾瑪向自己透露母親去世的消息時，他雖然泣不成聲，還是堅持要進屋裡去向兩位瓦特津小姐告別，好讓她們看到自己的哀慟而憐憫他。

**********

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't play the giddy ox," said Philip. "You'll only break it."

"I shan't."

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

"Oh, I say, I'm awfully sorry."

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

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

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

"I say, I'm awfully sorry, Carey."

"It doesn't matter. It wasn't your fault."

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