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德伯家的苔丝|Tess of the D‘Urbervilles

第54章|Chapter 53

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 托马斯-哈代] 阅读：[31931]
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不到一刻钟，克莱尔就离开了牧师住宅，他的母亲在家里望着他，看见他瘦弱的身影慢慢地在街道上消失了。他谢绝了把父亲那匹老母马借给他的建议，因为他知道家里也需要它。他到客栈里去租了一辆小马车，急不可耐地等着把车套好。不一会儿，他就坐着马车上了山，出了小镇，就在今年三四个月以前，苔丝也曾满怀着希望从这条路上下山，后来又怀着破碎的心情从这条路上上山。

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不久，本维尔篱路就出现在他的面前了，只见两旁的树篱和树木，都已经长出了紫色的新芽；但是克莱尔无心去观赏风景，他只是需要回忆这些景物，不要让自己把路走错了，在走了不到一个半钟头的时候，他就走到了王室新托克产业的南端，向山上手形十字柱那个孤独的地方走去。就在那根罪恶的石柱旁边，阿历克·德贝维尔曾经因为要改过自新的一种冲动，逼着苔丝发了一个奇怪的誓言，说她永远也不故意去诱惑他。去年剩下的灰白色的荨麻的残茬，现在还光秃秃地留在山坡上，今年春天新的绿色尊麻正在从它们的根部长出来。

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因此他就沿着俯视另外那个新托克的高地的边缘走，然后向后转弯，进入空气凉爽的燧石山的石灰质地区，在苔丝写给他的信中，有一封就是从这儿寄出的，因此他认为这儿就是苔丝母亲提到的苔丝现在暂住的地方。他在这儿当然找不到苔丝；而且使他更为沮丧的是，他发现无论这儿的农户还是农场主自己，虽然都非常熟悉苔丝的教名苔丝，但是他们从来都没有听说过“克莱尔夫人”。自从他们分离以后，显然苔丝从来没有用过他的名字。苔丝是一个自尊的人，她认为他们的分离就是完全脱离关系，所以她就放弃了夫家的姓，宁肯选择受苦受难（他是第一次听说她受苦受难的事），也不愿去向他的父亲伸手要钱。

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他们告诉他说，苔丝没有正式通知雇主就离开了这儿，已经回黑荒原谷她父母家去了，因此，他必须去找德北菲尔德太太。德北菲尔德太太在信中告诉他，现在她已经不住在马洛特村，但奇怪的是她对自己的真实地址避而不谈，现在唯一能做的事只有到马洛特村去打听了。那个曾经对苔丝粗暴无礼的农场主，对克莱尔不断说着好听的话，还借给他一匹马，派人驾车送他去马洛特村，他到这儿来的时候租的马车，走够了一天的路程，现在已经回爱敏寺去了。

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克莱尔坐着农场主的车走到黑荒原谷的外面，他就下了车，打发送他的车夫把车赶回去，自己住进了一个客栈。第二天，他步行走进黑荒原谷，找到了他亲爱的苔丝出生的地点。当时的季节还早，花园和树叶不见浓郁的春色；所谓的春天只不过是冬天覆上了一层薄薄的青绿罢了。这儿正是他所期望的地方。

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在这座屋子里，苔丝度过了她幼年的时代，但是里面现在住的是另一家人，一点儿也不知道苔丝。屋子里新住的人正在花园里，一心做自己的事，仿佛那家人从来就没有想过，这座屋子最重要的历史是同别人的历史联系在一起的，除了他们自己而外，那些历史只不过是一个痴人说的故事罢了。他们走在花园的小路上，想的完全是自己最关心的事情，他们每一时刻的活动，都同从前住在这儿的人的幻影没有和谐，只有冲突；他们说笑着，仿佛苔丝从的住在这儿的时光里，就没有发生过比现在更叫人激动的事情。即使在他们头上啼叫的春天飞鸟，也仿佛不曾觉得少了一个特别的人似的。

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问过这些宝贵的一无所知的人，才知道他们甚至连以前这儿住户的名字也不记得了。克莱尔一打听，才知道约翰·德北菲尔德已经去世，他的遗孀和孩子们也离开马洛特村了，说是要到金斯伯尔去住，但是后来又没有到那儿去，而是去了另外一个地方；他们把那个地方的名字告诉了克莱尔。既然苔丝没有住在这座屋子里，克莱尔就痛恨起这座屋子来，急忙离开他现在开始讨厌的这个地方，头也不回地走了。

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他要走的路从他第一次看见苔丝跳舞的那块地里经过。他像痛恨那座屋子一样痛恨那块地，甚至还要痛恨些。他从教堂的墓地里穿过去，在新竖立的一些墓碑中间，他看见一块比其它的墓碑设计得更加精美的墓碑。墓碑刻着的碑文如下：

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故约翰·德北菲尔德，本姓德贝维尔，当年显赫世家，著名家系嫡传子孙，远祖始于征服者威廉王御前骑士帕根·德北菲尔德爵士。卒于一八一一年三月十日。

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英雄千古

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有一个显然是教堂执事的人看见克莱尔站在那儿，就走到他的跟前说：“啊，先生，死的这个人本来不想埋在这儿，而是想埋在金斯伯尔，因为他的祖坟在那儿。”

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“那么他们为什么不尊重他的意愿呢？”

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“啊——他们没有钱啊。上帝保佑你，先生，唉——跟你说了吧，在别处我是不会说——是这块墓碑，别看它上面写得冠冕堂皇，刻墓碑的钱都还没有付呢。”

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“是谁刻的墓碑？”

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教堂执事把村子里那个石匠的名字告诉了克莱尔，克莱尔就离开教堂墓地，到了石匠的家里。他一问，教堂执事说的话果然是真的，就把钱付了，他办完了这件事，就转身朝苔丝一家新搬的地方走去。

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那个地方太远，不能走到那儿去，但是克莱尔很想一个人走，所以起初没有雇马车，也没有坐火车，尽管坐火车要绕道儿，但是最终也可以到达那个地方。不过他走到沙斯屯后就走不动了，觉得非雇车不可了；他雇了车，路上不好走，一直到晚上七点钟到达琼住的地方，从马洛特村到这儿，他已经走了二十多英里了。

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村子很小，他毫无困难就找到了德北菲尔德太太租住的房子，只见那房子在一个带围墙的园子中间，离开大路很远，德北菲尔德太太把她那些笨重的家具都尽量塞在房子里。很明显，她不想见他一定是有原因的，因此他觉得他这次拜访实在有些唐突。德北菲尔德太太到门口来见他，傍晚的夕阳落在她的脸上。

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这是克莱尔第一次见到她，不过他心事重重，没有细加注意，只见她是一个漂亮女人，穿着很体面的寡妇长袍。他只好向她解释说，他是苔丝的丈夫，又说明了他到这儿来的目的，他说话的时候感到非常难堪。“我希望能立即见到她，”他又说。“你说你再给我写信，可是你没有写。”

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“因为她没有回家呀！”琼说。

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“你知道她还好吧？”

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“我不知道。可是你应该知道呀，先生！”她说。

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“你说得对。她现在住在哪儿呢？”

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从开始谈话的时候起，琼就露出难为情的神色，用一只手扶着自己的脸。

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“我——她住什么地方，我也不太清楚。”她回答说。“她从前——不过——”

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“她从前住在哪儿？”

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“啊，她不在那儿住了。”

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她说话闪烁其词，又住口不说了；这时候，有几个小孩子走到门口，用手拉看母亲的裙子，其中最小的一个嘟哝着说——

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“要和苔丝结婚的是不是这位先生呀？”

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“他已经和苔丝结婚了！”琼小声说。“进屋去。”

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克莱尔看见她尽力不想告诉他，就问——

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“你认为苔丝希望不希望我去找她？如果她不希望我去找她，当然——”

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“我想她不希望你去找她。”

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“你敢肯定吗？”

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“我敢肯定她不希望你去找她。”

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他转身正要走开，又想起苔丝写给他的那封深情的信来。

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“我敢肯定她希望我去找她！”他激动地反驳说。“我比你还要了解她。”

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“那是很有可能的，先生；因为我从来就没有把事情弄清楚呢。”

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“请你告诉我她住的地方吧，德北菲尔德太太，可怜一个孤苦的伤心的人吧！”

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苔丝的母亲看见他难过的样子，又开始心神不安地用一只手一上一下地摸她的脸，终于小声地告诉他说——

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“她住在桑德波恩。”

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“啊——桑德波恩在哪儿？他们说桑德波恩已经变成了一个大地方了。”

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“除了我说的桑德波恩外，更详细的我就不知道了。因为我自己从来也没有去过那儿。”

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很明显，琼说的话是真的，所以他也就没有再追问她。

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“你们现在缺少什么吗？”他关心地问。

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“不缺什么，先生，”她回答说，“我们过得还是相当不错的。”

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克莱尔没有进门就转身走了。前面三英里的地方有一个火车站，他就把坐马车的钱付了，步行着向火车站走去。开向桑德波恩的火车不久就开了，克莱尔就坐在火车上。

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It was evening at Emminster Vicarage. The two customary candles were burning under their green shades in the Vicar’s study, but he had not been sitting there. Occasionally he came in, stirred the small fire which sufficed for the increasing mildness of the spring, and went out again; sometimes pausing at the front door, going on to the drawing-room, then returning again to the front door.

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It faced westward, and though gloom prevailed inside, there was still light enough without to see with distinctness. Mrs Clare, who had been sitting in the drawing-room, followed him hither.

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`Plenty of time yet,’ said the Vicar. `He doesn’t reach Chalk-Newton till six, even if the train should be punctual, and ten miles of country-road, five of them in Crimmercrock Lane, are not jogged over in a hurry by our old horse.’

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`But he has done it in an hour with us, my dear.’

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`Years ago.’

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Thus they passed the minutes, each well knowing that this was only waste of breath, the one essential being simply to wait.

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At length there was a slight noise in the lane, and the old pony-chaise appeared indeed outside the railings. They saw alight therefrom a form which they affected to recognize, but would actually have passed by in the street without identifying had he not got out of their carriage at the particular moment when a particular person was due.

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Mrs Clare rushed through the dark passage to the door, and her husband came more slowly after her.

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The new arrival, who was just about to enter, saw their anxious faces in the doorway and the gleam of the west in their spectacles because they confronted the last rays of day; but they could only see his shape against the light.

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`O, my boy, my boy - home again at last!’ cried Mrs Clare, who cared no more at that moment for the stains of heterodoxy which had caused all this separation than for the dust upon his clothes. What woman, indeed, among the most faithful adherents of the truth, believes the promises and threats of the Word in the sense in which she believes in her own children, or would not throw her theology to the wind if weighed against their happiness? As soon as they reached the room where the candies were lighted she looked at his face.

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`O, it is not Angel - not my son - the Angel who went away!’ she cried in all the irony of sorrow, as she turned herself aside.

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His father, too, was shocked to see him, so reduced was that figure from its former contours by worry and the bad season that Clare had experienced, in the climate to which he had so rashly hurried in his first aversion to the mockery of events at home. You could see the skeleton behind the man, and almost the ghost behind the skeleton. He matched Crivelli’s dead Christus. His sunken eye-pits were of morbid hue, and the light in his eyes had waned. The angular hollows and lines of his aged ancestors had succeeded to their reign in his face twenty years before their time.

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`I was ill over there, you know,’ he said. `I am all right now.’

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As if, however, to falsify this assertion, his legs seemed to give way, and he suddenly sat down to save himself from falling. It was only a slight attack of faintness, resulting from the tedious day’s journey, and the excitement of arrival.

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`Has any letter come for me lately?’ he asked. `I received the last you sent on by the merest chance, and after considerable delay through being inland; or I might have come sooner.’

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`It was from your wife, we supposed?’

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`It was.’

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Only one other had recently come. They had not sent it on to him, knowing he would start for home so soon.

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He hastily opened the letter produced, and was much disturbed to read in Tess’s handwriting the sentiments expressed in her last hurried scrawl to him.

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O why have you treated me so monstrously, Angel! I do not deserve it. I have thought it all over carefully, and I can never, never forgive you! You know that I did not intend to wrong you - why have you so wronged me? You are cruel, cruel indeed! I will try to forget you. It is all injustice I have received at your hands. T.

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`It is quite true!’ said Angel, throwing down the letter. `Perhaps she will never be reconciled to me!’

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`Don’t, Angel, be so anxious about a mere child of the soil!’ said his mother.

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Child of the soil! Well, we all are children of the soil. I wish she were so in the sense you mean; but let me now explain to you what I have never explained before, that her father is a descendant in the male line of one of the oldest Norman houses, like a good many others who lead obscure agricultural lives in our villages, and are dubbed "sons of the soil".’

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He soon retired to bed; and the next morning, feeling exceedingly unwell, he remained in his room pondering. The circumstances amid which he had left Tess were such that though, while on the south of the Equator and just in receipt of her loving epistle, it had seemed the easiest thing in the world to rush back into her arms the moment he chose to forgive her, now that he had arrived it was not so easy as it had seemed. She was passionate, and her present letter, showing that her estimate of him had changed under his delay - too justly changed, he sadly owned, - made him ask himself if it would be wise to confront her unannounced in the presence of her parents. Supposing that her love had indeed turned to dislike during the last weeks of separation, a sudden meeting might lead to bitter words.

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Clare therefore thought it would be best to prepare Tess and her family by sending a line to Marlott announcing his return, and his hope that she was still living with them there, as he had arranged for her to do when he left England. He despatched the inquiry that very day, and before the week was out there came a short reply from Mrs Durbeyfield which did not remove his embarrassment, for it bore no address, though to his surprise it was not written from Marlott.

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SIR I write these few lines to say that my Daughter is away from me at present, and I am not sure when she will return, but I will let you know as Soon as she do. I do not feel at liberty to tell you Where she is temperly biding. I should say that me and my Family have left Marlott for some Time.

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Yours, J. DURBEYFIELD.

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It was such a relief to Clare to learn that Tess was at least apparently well that her mother’s stiff reticence as to her whereabouts did not long distress him. They were all angry with him, evidently. He would wait till Mrs Durbeyfield could inform him of Tess’s return, which her letter implied to be soon. He deserved no more. His had been a love `which alters when it alteration finds’. He had undergone some strange experiences in his absence; he had seen the virtual Faustina in the literal Cornelia, a spiritual Lucretia in a corporeal Phryne; he had thought of the woman taken and set in the midst as one deserving to be stoned, and of the wife of Uriah being made a queen; and he had asked himself why he had not judged Tess constructively rather than biographically, by the will rather than by the deed?

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A day or two passed while he waited at his father’s house for the promised second note from Joan Durbeyfield, and indirectly to recover a little more strength. The strength showed signs of coming back, but there was no sign of Joan’s letter. Then he hunted up the old letter sent on to him in Brazil, which Tess had written from Flintcomb-Ash, and re-read it. The sentences touched him now as much as when he had first perused them.

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I must cry to you in my trouble - I have no one else... . I think I must die if you do not come soon, or tell me to come to you... . Please, please not to be just; only a little kind to me!... If you would come I could die in your arms! I would be well content to do that if so be you had forgiven me!... If you will send me one little line and say, I am coming soon, I will bide on, Angel, O so cheerfully!... Think how it do hurt my heart not to see you ever, ever! Ah, if I could only make your dear heart ache one little minute of each day as mine does every day and all day long, it might lead you to show pity to your poor lonely one... . I would be content, ay, glad, to live with you as your servant, if I may not as your wife; so that I could only be near you, and get glimpses of you, and think of you as mine... . I long for only one thing in heaven, or earth, or under the earth, to meet you, my own dear! Come to me, come to me, and save me from what threatens me.

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Clare determined that he would no longer believe in her more recent and severer regard of him; but would go and find her immediately. He asked his father if she had applied for any money during his absence. His father returned a negative, and then for the first time it occurred to Angel that her pride had stood in her way, and that she had suffered privation. From his remarks his parents now gathered the real reason of the separation; and their Christianity was such that, reprobates being their especial care, the tenderness towards Tess which her blood, her simplicity, even her poverty, had not engendered, was instantly excited by her sin.

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Whilst he was hastily packing together a few articles for his journey he glanced over a poor plain missive also lately come to hand - the one from Marian and Izz Huett, beginning--

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`HONOUR’D SIR - Look to your Wife if you do love her as much as she do love you’, and signed, `FROM TWO WELL-WISHERS’.

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