Chapter 23
第二十三章
菲利普偶尔也想到坎特伯雷皇家公学，而每当他回想起以前他们某时某刻正在干些什么的时候，就禁不住暗自发笑。他常常梦见自己还待在那儿，等他一觉醒来意识到自己是躺在角楼的小房间内，心里立刻感受到一种异乎寻常的满足。他从床头就可以望见飘浮在蓝天里的大团大团积云。他尽情享受着自由的乐趣。他愿意何时安寝就何时安寝，高兴何时起床就何时起床。再没有人在他面前发号施令，要他于这干那了。他忽然想到今后无需再违心撒谎了。
根据安排，由欧林教授教菲利普拉丁语和德语，一个法国人每天上门来给他上法语课；此外，教授夫人还推荐一位英国人教他数学。此人名叫沃顿，目前在海德堡大学攻读语言学，打算得个学位。菲利普每天早晨去他那儿。他住在一幢破房子的顶楼上，那房间又脏又乱，满屋子的刺鼻怪味，各种污物散发出五花八门的臭气。菲利普十点钟来到这儿的时候，他往往尚未起床，接着，他便一跃而起，披件邋里遗邋遢的睡衣，趿双毛毡拖鞋，一面吃着简单的早餐，一面就开始授课了。他矮矮的个儿，由于贪饮啤酒而变得大腹便便。一撮又浓又黑的小胡子，一头蓬蓬松松的乱发。他在德国待了五年，人乡随俗，已十足条顿化了。他得过剑桥的学位，但提起那所大学时，总是语带嘲讽；在海德堡大学取得博士学位之后，他将不得不返回英国，开始其教书匠的生涯；而在谈到这种生活前景时，又不胜惶恐。他很喜欢德国大学的生活，无拘无束，悠然自在，而有好友良朋朝夕相伴。他是Burschenschft的会员，答应几时带菲利普去参加Kneip。他手头非常拮据，对菲利普也直言不讳，说给他上课直接关系到自己的午餐是吃肉饱口腹呢，还是嚼面包和干酪充饥。有时，他一夜狂饮，第二天头疼欲裂，连杯咖啡也喝不下，教课时，自然是昏昏沉沉打不起精神。为了应付这种场合，他在床底下藏了几瓶啤酒，一杯酒外加一个烟，就可帮助他承受生活的重担。
"解酒还须杯中物，"他常常一面这么说着，一面小心翼翼地给自己斟酒，不让酒面泛起泡沫，耽误自己喝酒的工夫。
随后，他就对菲利普大谈起海德堡大学里的事儿来，什么学生联合会里的两派之争啦，什么决斗啦，还有这位、那位教授的功过是非啦，等等。菲利普从他那儿学到的人情世故要比学到的数学还多。有时候，沃顿向椅背上一靠，呵呵笑着说：
"瞧，今天咱们什么也没干，你不必付我上课费啦。"
"噢，没关系，"菲利普说。
沃顿讲的事儿既新鲜，又极有趣，菲利普感到这要比三角学更重要，说实在的，这门学科他怎么学也搞不懂。现在面前好似打开了一扇生活的窗户，他有机会凭窗向内窥视，而且一面偷看，一面心里还扑通扑通跳个不停。
"不行，还是把你的臭钱留着吧，"沃顿说。
"那你午餐吃什么呢？"菲利普微笑着说，因为他对这位老师的经济情况了如指掌。
沃顿甚至要求菲利普把每节课两先令的束脩，从每月一付改为每周一付，这样算起钱来可以少一点麻烦。
"哦噢，别管我吃些什么。喝瓶啤酒当饭，又不是第一遭。这么一来，头脑反而比任何时候更清醒。"
说罢，他一骨碌钻到床底下（床上的床单由于不常换洗，已经呈暗灰色），又提出一瓶啤酒来。菲利普年纪还轻，不知晓生活中的神仙事，硬是不肯同他把杯对饮，于是他继续独个儿自斟自酌。
"你打算在这儿待多久？"沃顿问道。
他和菲利普两人干脆把数学这块装门面的幌子扔在一边，越发畅所欲言了。
"噢，我也不知道，大概一年吧。家里人要我一年之后上牛津念书。"
沃顿一耸肩，满脸鄙夷之色。菲利普有生以来还是第一次看到有人竟然对那样一所堂堂学府如此大不敬。
"你上那儿去干啥？无非是到那儿混混，镀一层金罢了。干吗不在这儿上大学呢？一年时间不管用，得花个五年时间。要知道，生活中有两件宝：思想自由和行动自由。在法国，你有行动的自由，你爱干什么就干什么，没人会出面干预，但是你的思想必须同他人一致。在德国，你的行动必须同他人一致，可是你爱怎么想就怎么想。这两件东西都很可贵。就我个人来说，更喜欢思想上的无拘无束。然而在英国，什么自由也没有：被陈规陋习压得透不过气来，既不能无拘无束地思想，也不能随心所欲地行动。这就因为它是个民主国家。我看美国的情况更糟。"
他小心翼翼地往后靠，因为他坐的那把椅子一条腿已有点晃悠，要是在他高谈阔论、妙语连珠的当儿，猛然一屁股摔倒在地，岂不大杀风景。
"年内我得回英国去，但要是我能积蓄点钱，勉勉强强凑合得过去，我就在这儿再待上一年。以后，我无论如何得回去，不得不和这儿的一切分手啦。"他伸出条胳臂朝那间肮脏的顶室四下一挥。屋子里，被褥凌乱，衣服散落了一地，靠墙是一排空啤酒瓶，哪个墙角落里都堆着断脊缺面的破书。"到外省的某个大学去，设法混个语言学教授的教席。到时候我还要打打网球，参加参加茶会。"他忽地收住话头，用疑惑的目光看了菲利普一眼。菲利普穿戴整齐，衣领一尘不染，头发梳得漂漂亮亮。"哟，我的上帝，我得洗把脸了。"
菲利普觉得自己的穿戴整齐竞受到了不能宽容的责备，顿时飞红了脸。他最近也开始注意起打扮来，还从英国带来了几条经过精心挑选的漂亮领带。
夏天偶然以征服者的姿态来到了人间。每天都是丽日当空的晴朗大气。湛蓝的天空透出一股傲气，像踢马刺一样刺痛人的神经。街心花园内的那一片青葱翠绿，浓烈粗犷，咄咄逼人；还有那一排排房屋，在阳光的照晒下，反射出令人眼花缭乱的白光，刺激着你的感官，最终使你无法忍受。有时，菲利普从沃顿那里出来，半路上就在街心花园的婆娑树影下找张条凳坐下歇凉，观赏着璀璨的阳光透过繁枝茂叶在地面交织成的一幅幅金色图案。他的心灵也像阳光那样欢快雀跃。他沉醉在这种忙里偷闲的欢乐之中。有时，菲利普在这座古老城市的街头信步漫游。他用敬爱的目光瞧着那些属于大学生联合会的学生，他们脸上划开了一道道日子，血迹斑斑，头上戴着五颜六色的帽子，在街上高视阔步。午后，他常同教授太太公寓里的女孩子们一道沿山麓闲逛。有时候，他们顺着河岸向上游走去，在浓荫蔽日的露天啤酒店里用茶点。晚上，他们在Stadtgarten里转悠，聆听小乐队的演奏。
菲利普不久就了解到这幢屋子里各人所关切的问题。教授的长女特克拉小姐同一个英国人订了婚，他曾在这座寓所里待过一年，专门学习德语，后来回国了。婚礼原定于今年年底举行，不料那个年轻人来信说，他父亲-一一个住在斯劳的橡胶商--不同意这门亲事，所以特克拉小姐常常偷洒相思泪。有时候，可以看到母女俩厉目圆睁，嘴巴抿得紧紧的，细嚼细咽地读着那位勉为其难的情人的来信。特克拉善画水彩画，她偶尔也同菲利普，再加上另一位姑娘的陪同，一起到户外去写生画意。俊俏的赫德威格小姐也有爱情方面的烦恼。她是柏林一个商人的女儿。有位风流倜傥的轻骑兵军官堕入了她的情网。他还是个"冯"哩。但是，轻骑兵军官的双亲反对儿子同一个像她这种身分的女子缔结亲事，于是她被送到海德堡来，好让她把对方忘掉。可是她呢，即使海枯了，石烂了，也没法将他忘掉的；她不断同他通信，而那位情郎也施出浑身解数，诱劝他那气冲牛斗的父亲回心转意。她红着脸，把这一切全告诉了菲利普，一边说一边妩媚地连声叹息，还把那个风流中尉的照片拿出来给菲利普看。教授太太寓所里的所有姑娘中，菲利普最喜欢她，出外散步时总是想法子挨在她身边。当别人开玩笑说他不该如此明显地厚此薄彼时，他的脸红到了耳根。菲利普在赫德威格小姐面前，破天荒第一次向异性吐露了心声，可惜纯粹是出于偶然罢了。事情的经过是这样的：姑娘们如果平时不出门，就在铺满绿天鹅绒的客厅里唱唱小曲，那位一向以助人为乐的安娜小姐，卖力地为她们弹琴伴唱。赫德威格小姐最喜欢唱的一支歌叫《Ich Liebe dieh》（《我爱你》）。一天晚上，她唱完了这首歌，来到阳台上，菲利普则站在她身边，抬头仰望满天星斗，忽然想到要就这首歌子谈一下自己的感受。他开口说：
"Ich Liebe dieh．"
他讲起德语来，结结巴巴，一边还搜索枯肠找自己需要的词儿。他真正只停顿了一刹那的工夫，可就在他要往下说的时候，赫德威格小姐却接过了话茬：
"Ach，Hers Carey Sle mussen mlr nleht'du' sagen"（不许您用第二人称单数这样对我说话）。
菲利普感到浑身一阵燥热，其实他根本没有勇气在少女面前这样亲昵放肆，可他一时怎么也想不出话来辩解。要是对她解释说，他并非在表示自己的想法，只是随口提到一首歌的歌名罢了，这未免有失骑士风度。
"Entschnldipen Sie，"（请您原谅）他说。
"没关系，"她悄声儿说。
她嫣然一笑，悄悄地抓住菲利普的手，紧紧一握，然后返身回进客厅。
翌日，菲利普在她面前窘得什么似的，一句话也讲不出来。出于羞愧，菲利普尽可能躲着她点。姑娘们像往日那样邀他出外散步，他推托有事，婉言谢绝了。可是赫德威格小姐瞅准了个机会，趁没有他人在场的当儿对菲利普说：
"您干吗要这样呢？"她和颜悦色地说，"您知道，我并没因您昨晚讲的话而生您的气呀。您要是爱上我，那也是没办法的嘛。我很高兴呢。话得说回来，虽说我还没有同赫尔曼正式订婚，但我决不会再爱别人了，我已把自己看作他的新娘啦。"
菲利普脸又红了，但这次他倒俨然摆出一副求爱遭到拒绝的神情。
"但愿您非常幸福，"他说。
Chapter 23
Philip thought occasionally of the King’s School at Tercanbury, and laughed to himself as he remembered what at some particular moment of the day they were doing. Now and then he dreamed that he was there still, and it gave him an extraordinary satisfaction, on awaking, to realise that he was in his little room in the turret. From his bed he could see the great cumulus clouds that hung in the blue sky. He revelled in his freedom. He could go to bed when he chose and get up when the fancy took him. There was no one to order him about. It struck him that he need not tell any more lies.
It had been arranged that Professor Erlin should teach him Latin and German; a Frenchman came every day to give him lessons in French; and the Frau Professor had recommended for mathematics an Englishman who was taking a philological degree at the university. This was a man named Wharton. Philip went to him every morning. He lived in one room on the top floor of a shabby house. It was dirty and untidy, and it was filled with a pungent odour made up of many different stinks. He was generally in bed when Philip arrived at ten o’clock, and he jumped out, put on a filthy dressing-gown and felt slippers, and, while he gave instruction, ate his simple breakfast. He was a short man, stout from excessive beer drinking, with a heavy moustache and long, unkempt hair. He had been in Germany for five years and was become very Teutonic. He spoke with scorn of Cambridge where he had taken his degree and with horror of the life which awaited him when, having taken his doctorate in Heidelberg, he must return to England and a pedagogic career. He adored the life of the German university with its happy freedom and its jolly companionships. He was a member of a Burschenschaft, and promised to take Philip to a Kneipe. He was very poor and made no secret that the lessons he was giving Philip meant the difference between meat for his dinner and bread and cheese. Sometimes after a heavy night he had such a headache that he could not drink his coffee, and he gave his lesson with heaviness of spirit. For these occasions he kept a few bottles of beer under the bed, and one of these and a pipe would help him to bear the burden of life.
‘A hair of the dog that bit him,’ he would say as he poured out the beer, carefully so that the foam should not make him wait too long to drink.
Then he would talk to Philip of the university, the quarrels between rival corps, the duels, and the merits of this and that professor. Philip learnt more of life from him than of mathematics. Sometimes Wharton would sit back with a laugh and say:
‘Look here, we’ve not done anything today. You needn’t pay me for the lesson.’
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter,’ said Philip.
This was something new and very interesting, and he felt that it was of greater import than trigonometry, which he never could understand. It was like a window on life that he had a chance of peeping through, and he looked with a wildly beating heart.
‘No, you can keep your dirty money,’ said Wharton.
‘But how about your dinner?’ said Philip, with a smile, for he knew exactly how his master’s finances stood.
Wharton had even asked him to pay him the two shillings which the lesson cost once a week rather than once a month, since it made things less complicated.
‘Oh, never mind my dinner. It won’t be the first time I’ve dined off a bottle of beer, and my mind’s never clearer than when I do.’
He dived under the bed (the sheets were gray with want of washing), and fished out another bottle. Philip, who was young and did not know the good things of life, refused to share it with him, so he drank alone.
‘How long are you going to stay here?’ asked Wharton.
Both he and Philip had given up with relief the pretence of mathematics.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I suppose about a year. Then my people want me to go to Oxford.’
Wharton gave a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders. It was a new experience for Philip to learn that there were persons who did not look upon that seat of learning with awe.
‘What d’you want to go there for? You’ll only be a glorified schoolboy. Why don’t you matriculate here? A year’s no good. Spend five years here. You know, there are two good things in life, freedom of thought and freedom of action. In France you get freedom of action: you can do what you like and nobody bothers, but you must think like everybody else. In Germany you must do what everybody else does, but you may think as you choose. They’re both very good things. I personally prefer freedom of thought. But in England you get neither: you’re ground down by convention. You can’t think as you like and you can’t act as you like. That’s because it’s a democratic nation. I expect America’s worse.’
He leaned back cautiously, for the chair on which he sat had a ricketty leg, and it was disconcerting when a rhetorical flourish was interrupted by a sudden fall to the floor.
‘I ought to go back to England this year, but if I can scrape together enough to keep body and soul on speaking terms I shall stay another twelve months. But then I shall have to go. And I must leave all this’—he waved his arm round the dirty garret, with its unmade bed, the clothes lying on the floor, a row of empty beer bottles against the wall, piles of unbound, ragged books in every corner—‘for some provincial university where I shall try and get a chair of philology. And I shall play tennis and go to tea-parties.’ He interrupted himself and gave Philip, very neatly dressed, with a clean collar on and his hair well-brushed, a quizzical look. ‘And, my God! I shall have to wash.’
Philip reddened, feeling his own spruceness an intolerable reproach; for of late he had begun to pay some attention to his toilet, and he had come out from England with a pretty selection of ties.
The summer came upon the country like a conqueror. Each day was beautiful. The sky had an arrogant blue which goaded the nerves like a spur. The green of the trees in the Anlage was violent and crude; and the houses, when the sun caught them, had a dazzling white which stimulated till it hurt. Sometimes on his way back from Wharton Philip would sit in the shade on one of the benches in the Anlage, enjoying the coolness and watching the patterns of light which the sun, shining through the leaves, made on the ground. His soul danced with delight as gaily as the sunbeams. He revelled in those moments of idleness stolen from his work. Sometimes he sauntered through the streets of the old town. He looked with awe at the students of the corps, their cheeks gashed and red, who swaggered about in their coloured caps. In the afternoons he wandered about the hills with the girls in the Frau Professor’s house, and sometimes they went up the river and had tea in a leafy beer-garden. In the evenings they walked round and round the Stadtgarten, listening to the band.
Philip soon learned the various interests of the household. Fraulein Thekla, the professor’s elder daughter, was engaged to a man in England who had spent twelve months in the house to learn German, and their marriage was to take place at the end of the year. But the young man wrote that his father, an india-rubber merchant who lived in Slough, did not approve of the union, and Fraulein Thekla was often in tears. Sometimes she and her mother might be seen, with stern eyes and determined mouths, looking over the letters of the reluctant lover. Thekla painted in water colour, and occasionally she and Philip, with another of the girls to keep them company, would go out and paint little pictures. The pretty Fraulein Hedwig had amorous troubles too. She was the daughter of a merchant in Berlin and a dashing hussar had fallen in love with her, a von if you please: but his parents opposed a marriage with a person of her condition, and she had been sent to Heidelberg to forget him. She could never, never do this, and corresponded with him continually, and he was making every effort to induce an exasperating father to change his mind. She told all this to Philip with pretty sighs and becoming blushes, and showed him the photograph of the gay lieutenant. Philip liked her best of all the girls at the Frau Professor’s, and on their walks always tried to get by her side. He blushed a great deal when the others chaffed him for his obvious preference. He made the first declaration in his life to Fraulein Hedwig, but unfortunately it was an accident, and it happened in this manner. In the evenings when they did not go out, the young women sang little songs in the green velvet drawing-room, while Fraulein Anna, who always made herself useful, industriously accompanied. Fraulein Hedwig’s favourite song was called Ich liebe dich, I love you; and one evening after she had sung this, when Philip was standing with her on the balcony, looking at the stars, it occurred to him to make some remark about it. He began:
‘Ich liebe dich.’
His German was halting, and he looked about for the word he wanted. The pause was infinitesimal, but before he could go on Fraulein Hedwig said:
‘Ach, Herr Carey, Sie mussen mir nicht du sagen—you mustn’t talk to me in the second person singular.’
Philip felt himself grow hot all over, for he would never have dared to do anything so familiar, and he could think of nothing on earth to say. It would be ungallant to explain that he was not making an observation, but merely mentioning the title of a song.
‘Entschuldigen Sie,’ he said. ‘I beg your pardon.’
‘It does not matter,’ she whispered.
She smiled pleasantly, quietly took his hand and pressed it, then turned back into the drawing-room.
Next day he was so embarrassed that he could not speak to her, and in his shyness did all that was possible to avoid her. When he was asked to go for the usual walk he refused because, he said, he had work to do. But Fraulein Hedwig seized an opportunity to speak to him alone.
‘Why are you behaving in this way?’ she said kindly. ‘You know, I’m not angry with you for what you said last night. You can’t help it if you love me. I’m flattered. But although I’m not exactly engaged to Hermann I can never love anyone else, and I look upon myself as his bride.’
Philip blushed again, but he put on quite the expression of a rejected lover.
‘I hope you’ll be very happy,’ he said.