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德伯家的苔丝|Tess of the D‘Urbervilles
第56章|Chapter 55
属类：
双语小说
【分类】世界名著
-[作者: 托马斯-哈代]
阅读：[31851]
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布鲁克斯太太，这个苍鹭的房主和主妇，全部豪华家具的主人，并不是一个特别好管闲事的人。这个可怜的女人，长期以来一直把自己束缚在赚钱或赔钱这些数字魔鬼的身上，以至于被物质化了，除了怎样从她的房客口袋里掏出钱来而外，对其它的事情已经没有多大兴趣了。尽管如此，安琪尔·克莱尔对她的两个阔绰的房客德贝维尔先生和夫人——她是这样认为的——的拜访，从时间上和态度上看都很不寻常，这就引发了她的女人的好奇心，本来她一直抑制着这种女人的好奇心，因为她认为这种好奇心除了对出租业务发挥作用而外，是没有用处的。
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苔丝是站在门口和她的丈夫说话的，没有走到饭厅里去，布鲁克斯太太站在她自己的起居室里，起居室的门半开着，因此她能够听见两个悲伤灵魂之间谈话的一句半句——也不知道那场谈话是不是可以称作谈话。她听见苔丝从楼梯上回到了楼上，也听见克莱尔起身出了门，听见他出门时把前门关上了。接着，她听见楼上的房门关了，知道那是苔丝走进了自己的房问。因为这个年轻的夫人还没有完全把衣服穿好，因此布鲁克斯太太知道，苔丝一时半刻不会下楼。
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因此她轻轻地走到楼上，站在前面那个房间的门口，前面的房间是作客厅用的，在它的后面按通常的方法安置了折门，和另外一个房间（这个房间是作卧室用的）连接在一起。布鲁克斯太太最好的套间就在楼上，现在被德贝维尔接礼拜租住。现在后屋静悄悄的，不过前屋有声音传来。
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她最初能够分辨出来的只是一个音节，用一种低声呻吟的调子不断重复着，仿佛是绑在伊克西翁火轮①上的灵魂发出的声音——
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①伊克西翁火轮（Ixionian wheel），希腊神话中说，拉庇泰人的国王伊克西翁，自称曾与天后赫拉私通，因此被罚下地狱受苦，被绑在一个火轮上永转不停。
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“哦——哦——哦！”
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接着停了一会儿，然后又听到一声沉重的叹息，跟着又是——
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“哦——哦——哦！”
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房东从钥匙孔中看进去。她只能看见室内很小一部分，但是在看见的那一小部分里，早餐桌的一角露了出来，桌子上的早餐已经摆好了，旁边摆着两把椅子。从苔丝的姿势看她正跪在椅子前面，头伏在椅子座上；她的两只手抱着头，身上穿的晨衣的下摆和睡衣的花边拖在身后的地板上，两只脚伸在地毯上，上面没有穿补袜子，拖鞋也脱掉了。那种无法说出来的绝望的嘟哝声就是从她的嘴里发出来的。
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接着紧邻的卧室里有一个男人的声音传出来——
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“你怎么啦？”
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她没有回答，只是继续呻吟着，呻吟的腔调与其说是解释，不如说是自言自语。与其说是自言自语，不如说是衷鸣。布鲁克斯太太只能听出一部分：
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“现在我那亲爱的亲爱的丈夫回来找我了……我却一点也不知道呐！……都是你残酷地欺骗了我……你欺骗我的话从来都没有停止过——没有——你没有停止过欺骗我！我的弟弟妹妹，还有我的母亲，他们需要帮助——你就靠这些来打动我……你说我的丈夫永远也不会回来的——永远不会的；你还嘲笑我，说我多么傻，老等着他！……后来我相信你了，听了你的啦！……可是刚才他回来了！现在他又走了，第二次走了，现在我是永远失去他了……从现在起，他是一丝一毫也不会再爱我了——只会恨我了！啊，是啊，我现在又失去他了，就是因为——你！”她在椅子上痛苦地扭动着，把头朝向了门口，布鲁克斯太太看见了她脸上的痛苦表情；她的嘴唇已经被牙咬出了血，看见她闭着眼睛，长长的睫毛被泪水打湿了，沾在脸上。她又继续说：“他快要死了——他看起来快要死了！……我的罪孽没有要了我的命，却要了他的命了！……啊，你把我的生命彻底毁了……我哀求过你，要你可怜我，不要毁了我，可你还是把我毁了！……我真正的丈夫永远永远也不会——啊，上帝啊——我受不了啦——我受不了啦！”
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卧室里的男人说了许多难听的话；接着就是一阵衣裙的响声；苔丝跳了起来。布鲁克斯太太以为苔丝要冲出门来，就急忙回到楼下去了。
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但是苔丝没有冲出门来，因为起居室的门没有打开。不过布鲁克斯太太觉得再到楼梯口去偷看不保险，就回到楼下自己的起居室去了。
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虽然她在楼下注意听着，但是她什么也听不见，因此她就进厨房去把刚才没有吃完的早餐吃完。不久她又出了厨房，来到一楼前面的房间做一些针线活，一边等着房客打铃让她去收拾桌子，因为她想自己去，看看究竟发生了什么事。她坐在那儿，听见头顶的楼板有轻微的吱吱响声，仿佛有人在上面走动，不久，楼上的动静有了解释，因为她听见了一阵衣裙擦在楼梯栏杆上的声音，听见了前门打开又关上的声音，接着就看见苔丝走出了栅栏门，朝街上走去。她现在的穿戴和来的时候一样，完全是富家小姐出门时的一身穿戴，仅有的不同只是她的帽子和黑色羽毛上的面纱拉下来罩住了脸。
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布鲁克斯太太也没有听见她的两个房客在门口说什么告别的话，无论是暂别还是久别的话都没有说。他们可能吵架了，或者德贝维尔先生还在睡觉，因为他不是一个早起的人。
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她又走回了后面的那个房间，坐在自己的那个房间里继续做针线活。那个女房客没有回来，那个男房客也没有打铃。布鲁克斯太太想着他还没有起床的原因，想着今天一大早来这儿的那个人同楼上的那一对儿是什么关系。她想着想着，就向后靠在椅子上。
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在她向后靠去的时候，她的眼睛不经意地往天花板上看去，被白色天花板中间一个她以前没有看到过的小点吸引住了。她刚看见那个小点的时候，它还只有一块饼干大小，但是它迅速扩大了，变得有她的手掌那么大了，接着她还看出它是红色的。在长方形的白色天花板中间，有一个红色的小点出现在上面，看上去就像一张巨大的红桃A。
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布鲁克斯太太感到奇怪，心里怀疑起来。她站到桌子上，用她的手指头摸了摸天花板上的那个红点。那个红点是湿的，她的感觉像是血迹。
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她下了桌子，走出起居室，上了楼，想进入客厅后面那间用作卧室的房间里去看看。但是，她现在已经变成了一个胆怯的女人，怎么也不敢去转动门上的把手。她又听了听，房间里只有一种有规律的滴答声，除此而外一点儿动静也没有。
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滴答，滴答，滴答。
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布鲁克斯太太急忙下了楼，打开前门，跑到街上。这时有一个男人路过，这个男人在邻近的别墅里干过活，所以她认识这个人。她请求那个男人进屋去，和她一块儿上楼。因为她担心在她的房客中，有一个发生了什么事。那个工人就跟着她上了楼梯口。
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她把客厅的门打开，站在一边，让那个工人进去了，她才跟在他的后面走进去。客厅里是空的，早餐还摆在桌子上，有咖啡、鸡蛋、冷火腿，但是早餐一动也没有动，和她刚摆上去时一样，只是那把切肉的餐刀不见了。于是她请那个工人从折门进入紧邻的卧室去看看。
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他把折门打开，走了一两步，立刻就神色紧张地退了回来。“我的天啊，睡在床上的那个人已经死了！我想他是被人用餐刀杀死的——血在地板上流得到处都是。”
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他们立刻报了警，于是近来一直非常宁静的这座别墅，里面响起了嘈杂的脚步声，在那一群人前面，有一个外科医生。伤口虽然不大，但是刀尖已经刺着了死者的心脏，死者仰面躺在床上，脸色苍白，身体僵硬，已经死了，仿佛他在被刺了一刀以后几乎就没有动过。一刻钟以后，一个暂时到这个城市来玩的人在床上被人杀死的消息，就传遍了这个时髦城市的所有街道和别墅了。
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At eleven o’clock that night, having secured a bed at one of the hotels and telegraphed his address to his father immediately on his arrival, he walked out into the streets of Sandbourne. It was too late to call on or inquire for any one, and he reluctantly postponed his purpose till the morning. But he could not retire to rest just yet.
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This fashionable watering-place, with its eastern and its western stations, its piers, its groves of pines, its promenades, and its covered gardens, was, to Angel Clare, like a fairy place suddenly created by the stroke of a wand, and allowed to get a little dusty. An outlying eastern tract of the enormous Egdon Waste was close at hand, yet on the very verge of that tawny piece of antiquity such a glittering novelty as this pleasure city had chosen to spring up. Within the space of a mile from its outskirts every irregularity of the soil was prehistoric, every channel an undisturbed British trackway; not a sod having been turned there since the days of the Czars. Yet the exotic had grown here, suddenly as the prophet’s gourd; and had drawn hither Tess.
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By the midnight lamps he went up and down the winding ways of this new world in an old one, and could discern between the trees and against the stars the lofty roofs, chimneys, gazebos, and towers of the numerous fanciful residences of which the place was composed. It was a city of detached mansions; a Mediterranean lounging-place on the English Channel; and as seen now by night it seemed even more imposing than it was.
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The sea was near at hand, but not intrusive; it murmured, and he thought it was the pines; the pines murmured in precisely the same tones, and he thought they were the sea.
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Where could Tess possibly be, a cottage-girl, his young wife, amidst all this wealth and fashion? The more he pondered the more was he puzzled. Were there any cows to milk here? There certainly were no fields to till. She was most probably engaged to do something in one of these large houses; and he sauntered along, looking at the chamber-windows and their lights going out one by one; and wondered which of them might be hers.
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Conjecture was useless, and just after twelve o’clock he entered and went to bed. Before putting out his light he re-read Tess’s impassioned letter. Sleep, however, he could not, - so near her, yet so far from her - and he continually lifted the window-blind and regarded the backs of the opposite houses, and wondered behind which of the sashes she reposed at that moment.
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He might almost as well have sat up all night. In the morning he arose at seven, and shortly after went out, taking the direction of the chief post-office. At the door he met an intelligent postman coming out with letters for the morning delivery.
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`Do you know the address of a Mrs Clare?’ asked Angel.
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The postman shook his head.
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Then, remembering that she would have been likely to continue the use of her maiden name, Clare said--
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`Or a Miss Durbeyfield?
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`Durbeyfield?’
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This also was strange to the postman addressed.
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`There’s visitors coming and going every day, as you know, sir,’ he said; `and without the name of the house ’tis impossible to find ’em.’
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One of his comrades hastening out at that moment, the name was repeated to him.
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`I know no name of Durbeyfield; but there is the name of d’Urberville at The Herons,’ said the second.
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`That’s it!’ cried Clare, pleased to think that she had reverted to the real pronunciation. `What place is The Herons?’
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`A stylish lodging-house. ’Tis all lodging-houses here, bless ’ee.’
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Clare received directions how to find the house, and hastened thither, arriving with the milkman. The Herons, though an ordinary villa, stood in its own grounds, and was certainly the last place in which one would have expected to find lodgings, so private was its appearance. If poor Tess was a servant here, as he feared, she would go to the back-door to that milkman, and he was inclined to go thither also. However, in his doubts he turned to the front, and rang.
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The hour being early the landlady herself opened the door.
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Clare inquired for Teresa d’Urberville or Durbeyfield.
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`Mrs d’Urberville?’
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`Yes.’
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Tess, then, passed as a married woman, and he felt glad, even though she had not adopted his name.
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`Will you kindly tell her that a relative is anxious to see her?’
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`It is rather early. What name shall I give, sir?’
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`Angel.’
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`Mr Angel?’
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`No; Angel. It is my Christian name. She’ll understand.’
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`I’ll see if she is awake.’
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He was shown into the front room - the dining-room - and looked out through the spring curtains at the little lawn, and the rhododendrons and other shrubs upon it. Obviously her position was by no means so bad as he had feared, and it crossed his mind that she must somehow have claimed and sold the jewels to attain it. He did not blame her for one moment. Soon his sharpened ear detected footsteps upon the stairs, at which his heart thumped so painfully that he could hardly stand firm. `Dear me! what will she think of me, so altered as I am!’ he said to himself; and the door opened.
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Tess appeared on the threshold - not at all as he had expected to see her - bewilderingly otherwise, indeed. Her great natural beauty was, if not heightened, rendered more obvious by her attire. She was loosely wrapped in a cashmere dressing-gown of gray-white, embroidered in half-mourning tints, and she wore slippers of the same hue. Her neck rose out of a frill of down, and her well-remembered cable of dark-brown hair was partially coiled up in a mass at the back of her head and partly hanging on her shoulder - the evident result of haste.
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He had held out his arms, but they had fallen again to his side; for she had not come forward, remaining still in the opening of the doorway. Mere yellow skeleton that he was now he felt the contrast between them, and thought his appearance distasteful to her.
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`Tess!’ he said huskily, `can you forgive me for going away? Can’t you - come to me? How do you get to be - like this?’
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`It is too late,’ said she, her voice sounding hard through the room, her eyes shining unnaturally.
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`I did not think rightly of you - I did not see you as you were!’ he continued to plead. `I have learnt to since, dearest Tessy mine!’
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`Too late, too late!’ she said, waving her hand in the impatience of a person whose tortures cause every instant to seem an hour. `Don’t come close to me, Angel! No - you must not. Keep away.’
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`But don’t you love me, my dear wife, because I have been so pulled down by illness? You are not so fickle - I am come on purpose for you - my mother and father will welcome you now!’
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`Yes - O, yes, yes! But I say, I say it is too late.’ She seemed to feel like a fugitive in a dream, who tries to move away, but cannot. `Don’t you know all - don’t you know it? Yet how do you come here if you do not know?’
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`I inquired here and there, and I found the way.’
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Clare looked at her keenly, then, gathering her meaning, flagged like one plague-stricken, and his glance sank; it fell on her hands, which, once rosy, were now white and more delicate.
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She continued--
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