Chapter 18

第十八章

但是，菲利普不可能在山巅稀薄的空气中长久地生活下去。他上回沉浸在宗教热忱之中的那一幕，现在又再度重演了。因为他深切感受到信仰的魅力，因为自我牺牲的渴望之火在他胸中燃烧，迸射出宝石般的异彩，所以他显得有点力不从心。激情的猛烈冲动，把他的精力消耗一空。他的心灵突然像遇上一场百年未遇的大旱，完全干枯了。他开始把那位似乎无时不有、无处不在的上帝抛到了脑后。尽管他现在照样按时祈祷，做礼拜，但不过是摆摆样子，走走过场罢了。一上来，他还责备自己不该半途而废，再加上对于地狱之火的恐惧，曾一度驱使他振作起来。但是，热情已化为一堆灰烬，再说，生活中另外一些使他感兴趣的事，也逐渐分散了他的心思。

菲利普没有什么朋友。他酷爱读书的这一雅批癖，使他变得落落寡合。披卷破帙成了他生活的第一需要，他无论和谁呆在一块儿，不多一会便感到厌倦和烦躁；他自恃博览群书，学识丰富，不把旁人放在眼里；他思想敏捷，又不善于掩饰，对于同伴们的愚昧无知，轻蔑之情往往溢于言表。同窗学友抱怨他尾巴翘到了天上；在他们看来，菲利普又不是在什么了不起的事情上胜他们一筹，所以常反唇相讥，问他究竟凭什么这么目中无人。菲利普逐渐显示出辛辣的幽默感，自有一套挖苦人的功夫，一开口就能触到别人的痛处。对他来说，讲些调皮刻薄的话，无非是觉得有趣罢了，很少想到自己的话锋有多厉害，而等他发现被他挖苦过的人就此怀恨在心，他又自怨自艾起来。初进学校时所蒙受的种种屈辱，使他对那些同窗学友避之唯恐不及；他始终没法完全摆脱这种畏葸心理，始终那么忸怩腼腆，沉默寡言。其实，尽管他视同窗为异己，尽量敬而远之，然而心底里却渴望得到他们的拥戴，这对有些孩子来说，似乎易如反掌。他暗暗闪在一旁，对这些孩子崇拜得五体投地。虽说他讥讽起他们来往往更不留情面，而且常常当众取笑他们，可是他愿意拿自己的一切去换取他们的地位。说实在的，他心甘情愿做个全校脑子最不开窍的蠢学生，只要四肢健全就行。菲利普渐渐养成一种怪癖，常把自己想象成某个他特别为之着迷的孩子，也可以说，是把自己的灵魂倾注进那个孩子的躯体里，用那孩子的声音讲话，学那孩子的腔调嬉笑；想象自己是在做着那个孩子所做的一切。他想象得如此真切，一时间竟觉得自己真的变成了另一个人啦。他就是用这种办法，时而领略一番异想天开的欢乐。

行过坚信礼之后，学校放圣诞节假。节后新学期一开始，菲利普搬进了另一间书室。同室的孩子中，有个叫罗斯的，是菲利普的同班同学，菲利普对他既敬慕又忌妒。那孩子其貌不扬：他粗手大脚，腰宽肩阔，说明他将来准是个大高个儿。他长相粗笨，但那双眼睛倒是挺迷人的，每当他咧嘴一笑（他经常笑逐颜开），眼角周围的皮肤就皱编起来，样子挺有趣。罗斯这孩子谈不上聪明，也算不得尽笨，不过功课还不错，在游戏方面更是样样拿手。他是教师和同学心目中的宠儿，而他自己呢，也喜欢周围所有的人。

菲利普被安置在这间书室之后，一眼就注意到同室的其他人对自己相当冷淡。他们几个朝夕相处，已在一起住了三个学期。他颇感不安，觉得自己是个擅自闯入的异客。不过，他已学会了如何掩饰自己的情感，所以给人的印象是整天门声不响，挺安分守己的。菲利普同其他孩子一样，无法抵御罗斯的魅力，在罗斯面前越发显得羞涩、慌张。哪知正是这位罗斯，首先采取行动，把菲利普拉进了他们的生活圈子。至于罗斯为什么要这么做，是由于见到菲利普的扭妮、慌张，情不自禁地想在他身上试验一下自己的特殊魅力呢，还是纯粹出于一片好意，这就不得而知了。一天，他相当突然地问菲利普是否愿意同自己一起去足球场。菲利普涨红了脸。

"我走不快，跟不上你的，"他说。

"废话，走吧！"

他们正要动身，有个学生打书室门口探头进来。招呼罗斯同行。

"不行，"他回答说，"我已经答应了凯里。"

"别为我费心，"菲利普赶紧说，"我不会介意的。"

"废话，"罗斯说。

他用那双温厚的眼睛打量了菲利普一番，哈哈大笑起来。不知怎地，菲利普感到心头一阵颤动。

他俩就像一般男孩那样，说好就好，没多久，便成了一对形影不离的友伴。别的同学看到他俩突然这么热乎好生奇怪，有人问罗斯看中了菲利普哪一点。

"噢，我也不知道，"他回答说，"说真的，他这个人一点儿也不赖嘛。"

不久同学们也习惯了：他们经常看到他俩手挽手地上教堂，或是在教堂园地里漫步交谈；不管在哪儿，只要发现其中一个，另一个也必定在场。凡是有事找罗斯的，都会托凯里传个口信，似乎是承认罗斯已是非他莫属。起初，菲利普还颇有几分节制，不让自己因喜从天降而忘乎所以；但是没多久，他对命运的怀疑在如醉似狂的幸福面前涣然冰释了。他认为罗斯是他生平遇到的最了不起的人物。他爱不释手的那些书籍，现在也变得微不足道，可有可无的了；还有某些不知重要多少倍的事有待于他去做呢，岂能死捧书本不放！罗斯的朋友们无事可干的时候，常常到他书室来喝茶、闲坐--罗斯生性爱热闹，从不放过逗乐的机会--他们觉得菲利普是个挺正派的人。菲利普自然是满心喜欢。

转眼已是学期的最后一天，他和罗斯筹划假满返校时该乘哪一趟班车，这样他们就可以在此地车站碰头，一起在城里用茶点，然后再回学校。菲利普郁郁不乐地回到家里，整个假期，没有一天不在思念罗斯，脑瓜里浮想联翩，已在想象着下学期他俩会在一块儿做些什么了。他在牧师公馆里都待得发腻了。到了假期的最后一天，他大伯照例用那种开玩笑的口吻问他那个老问题：

"嗯，要回学校去罗，心里可高兴？"

菲利普快活地应了一声：

"那还用说！"

原来已讲好什么时候在车站碰头，但为万全起见，菲利普特地改乘早一班车提前来了。他在月台附近等了一个小时。等那趟从法弗沙姆开来的班车进站时，菲利普激动得随着火车奔跑起来，他知道罗斯一定得在法弗沙姆换车的。但是罗斯没乘这班车来。菲利普向搬运夫打听了下班火车什么时候到站，又继续等下去，然而再次大失所望。他又冷又饿，只得穿小巷，经贫民窟抄近路走回学校。哪知罗斯人已在书室里了，只见他两只脚搁在壁炉架上，同六七个同学海阔天空地闲扯，那些同学东一个西一个到处乱坐着。罗斯很热情地同菲利普握手，菲利普却拉长了脸。他明白，罗斯早把约定好要在车站碰头的事忘了个精光。

"嘿，你怎么到这时候才来啊！"罗斯说，"我还以为你永远不来了呢。"

"你四点半就到火车站了，"另一个同学说道，"我来的时候看见你的。"

菲利普的脸微微泛起红晕。他不想让罗斯知道自己竟像个傻瓜似地候在车站上。

"我得照顾家里的一个朋友，"罗斯随口编了套词儿，"他们要我送她一程

不管怎么说，朋友的爽约使他有点悻然。他一声不吭坐着，有人同他说话，他只是哼哼哈哈地勉强应付。菲利普打定主意，要等自己同罗斯单独在一起时，再向他兴师问罪。但是，等别人陆续离去之后，罗斯马上走到他跟前，菲利普则懒洋洋地靠在椅背上。罗斯一屁股坐在那把椅子的扶手上。

"嘿，我好高兴哪，咱俩这学期又是住在同一间书室里。真带劲，不是吗？"

见到菲利普他似乎真是打心眼里感到高兴，这一来菲利普肚子里一股怒气顿时烟消云散了。他俩就像分手还不满五分钟似的，又津津有味地谈起他们感兴趣的千百桩事儿来。
 

Chapter 18

But Philip could not live long in the rarefied air of the hilltops. What had happened to him when first he was seized by the religious emotion happened to him now. Because he felt so keenly the beauty of faith, because the desire for self-sacrifice burned in his heart with such a gem-like glow, his strength seemed inadequate to his ambition. He was tired out by the violence of his passion. His soul was filled on a sudden with a singular aridity. He began to forget the presence of God which had seemed so surrounding; and his religious exercises, still very punctually performed, grew merely formal. At first he blamed himself for this falling away, and the fear of hell-fire urged him to renewed vehemence; but the passion was dead, and gradually other interests distracted his thoughts.

Philip had few friends. His habit of reading isolated him: it became such a need that after being in company for some time he grew tired and restless; he was vain of the wider knowledge he had acquired from the perusal of so many books, his mind was alert, and he had not the skill to hide his contempt for his companions’ stupidity. They complained that he was conceited; and, since he excelled only in matters which to them were unimportant, they asked satirically what he had to be conceited about. He was developing a sense of humour, and found that he had a knack of saying bitter things, which caught people on the raw; he said them because they amused him, hardly realising how much they hurt, and was much offended when he found that his victims regarded him with active dislike. The humiliations he suffered when first he went to school had caused in him a shrinking from his fellows which he could never entirely overcome; he remained shy and silent. But though he did everything to alienate the sympathy of other boys he longed with all his heart for the popularity which to some was so easily accorded. These from his distance he admired extravagantly; and though he was inclined to be more sarcastic with them than with others, though he made little jokes at their expense, he would have given anything to change places with them. Indeed he would gladly have changed places with the dullest boy in the school who was whole of limb. He took to a singular habit. He would imagine that he was some boy whom he had a particular fancy for; he would throw his soul, as it were, into the other’s body, talk with his voice and laugh with his heart; he would imagine himself doing all the things the other did. It was so vivid that he seemed for a moment really to be no longer himself. In this way he enjoyed many intervals of fantastic happiness.

At the beginning of the Christmas term which followed on his confirmation Philip found himself moved into another study. One of the boys who shared it was called Rose. He was in the same form as Philip, and Philip had always looked upon him with envious admiration. He was not good-looking; though his large hands and big bones suggested that he would be a tall man, he was clumsily made; but his eyes were charming, and when he laughed (he was constantly laughing) his face wrinkled all round them in a jolly way. He was neither clever nor stupid, but good enough at his work and better at games. He was a favourite with masters and boys, and he in his turn liked everyone.

When Philip was put in the study he could not help seeing that the others, who had been together for three terms, welcomed him coldly. It made him nervous to feel himself an intruder; but he had learned to hide his feelings, and they found him quiet and unobtrusive. With Rose, because he was as little able as anyone else to resist his charm, Philip was even more than usually shy and abrupt; and whether on account of this, unconsciously bent upon exerting the fascination he knew was his only by the results, or whether from sheer kindness of heart, it was Rose who first took Philip into the circle. One day, quite suddenly, he asked Philip if he would walk to the football field with him. Philip flushed.

‘I can’t walk fast enough for you,’ he said.

‘Rot. Come on.’

And just before they were setting out some boy put his head in the study-door and asked Rose to go with him.

‘I can’t,’ he answered. ‘I’ve already promised Carey.’

‘Don’t bother about me,’ said Philip quickly. ‘I shan’t mind.’

‘Rot,’ said Rose.

He looked at Philip with those good-natured eyes of his and laughed. Philip felt a curious tremor in his heart.

In a little while, their friendship growing with boyish rapidity, the pair were inseparable. Other fellows wondered at the sudden intimacy, and Rose was asked what he saw in Philip.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘He’s not half a bad chap really.’

Soon they grew accustomed to the two walking into chapel arm in arm or strolling round the precincts in conversation; wherever one was the other could be found also, and, as though acknowledging his proprietorship, boys who wanted Rose would leave messages with Carey. Philip at first was reserved. He would not let himself yield entirely to the proud joy that filled him; but presently his distrust of the fates gave way before a wild happiness. He thought Rose the most wonderful fellow he had ever seen. His books now were insignificant; he could not bother about them when there was something infinitely more important to occupy him. Rose’s friends used to come in to tea in the study sometimes or sit about when there was nothing better to do—Rose liked a crowd and the chance of a rag—and they found that Philip was quite a decent fellow. Philip was happy.

When the last day of term came he and Rose arranged by which train they should come back, so that they might meet at the station and have tea in the town before returning to school. Philip went home with a heavy heart. He thought of Rose all through the holidays, and his fancy was active with the things they would do together next term. He was bored at the vicarage, and when on the last day his uncle put him the usual question in the usual facetious tone:

‘Well, are you glad to be going back to school?’

Philip answered joyfully.

‘Rather.’

In order to be sure of meeting Rose at the station he took an earlier train than he usually did, and he waited about the platform for an hour. When the train came in from Faversham, where he knew Rose had to change, he ran along it excitedly. But Rose was not there. He got a porter to tell him when another train was due, and he waited; but again he was disappointed; and he was cold and hungry, so he walked, through side-streets and slums, by a short cut to the school. He found Rose in the study, with his feet on the chimney-piece, talking eighteen to the dozen with half a dozen boys who were sitting on whatever there was to sit on. He shook hands with Philip enthusiastically, but Philip’s face fell, for he realised that Rose had forgotten all about their appointment.

‘I say, why are you so late?’ said Rose. ‘I thought you were never coming.’

‘You were at the station at half-past four,’ said another boy. ‘I saw you when I came.’

Philip blushed a little. He did not want Rose to know that he had been such a fool as to wait for him.

‘I had to see about a friend of my people’s,’ he invented readily. ‘I was asked to see her off.’

But his disappointment made him a little sulky. He sat in silence, and when spoken to answered in monosyllables. He was making up his mind to have it out with Rose when they were alone. But when the others had gone Rose at once came over and sat on the arm of the chair in which Philip was lounging.

‘I say, I’m jolly glad we’re in the same study this term. Ripping, isn’t it?’

He seemed so genuinely pleased to see Philip that Philip’s annoyance vanished. They began as if they had not been separated for five minutes to talk eagerly of the thousand things that interested them.