Chapter 17
第十七章
菲利普在接下来的两年里，生活虽说单凋，倒还算自在。比起另外一些个子同他相仿的学生来，也不见得受到更多的欺凌；他身有残疾，不能参加任何游戏活动，所以在外人眼里，有他没有他都无所谓，而菲利普也正求之不得。他默默无闻，形单影只。他在"瞌睡虫"先生的班上学了两个学期。这位"瞌睡虫"先生，成天耷拉着眼皮，一副没精打采的样子，似乎对一切都感到厌倦。他还算克尽职守，不过干什么都心不在焉。他心地善良，性情温和，就是有点迂拙。他对学生的品行很信得过；他认为，对教师来说，要使孩子们诚实可信，最要紧的是自己一刻也不该产生孩子可能会撒谎这种念头。他还引经据典地说："求豆者得豆，求瓜者得瓜。"在三年级高班里，日子着实好混。比如说，逢到解释课文，还未轮到自己，早就摸准了要解释哪几行，再加上作弊用的注释本又在学生手里传来递去，不消两分钟就可以查到所需要的东西。教师挨个儿提问时，学生可以把拉丁语语法书摊在自己的膝头上；即使在十几个学生的作业本上同时发现巧得令人难以置信的错误，"瞌睡虫"夫子也从不觉得这里面有何可疑之处。他不怎么相信考试，因为他注意到学生们考试起来成绩从不像平时在班上那么出色：这固然令人丧气，不过也无妨大局。到时候，学生们照样升级，他们虽然在学业上无甚长进，但是却学会了若无其事、厚着脸皮弄虚作假的本事，对于他们日后处世来说，这种本事说不定比识点拉丁文更管用呢。
随后，他们归"柏油"先生管教了。他真名叫特纳，在学校的老夫子中数他最富有生气。黝黑的肤色，五短身材，挺着个大肚子，下巴上的那一大把黑胡须已开始花白。他穿着那身牧师服，倒也真让人联想到柏油桶。平时要是无意听到有哪个孩子唤他的雅号，他就根据校规罚孩子抄五百行字，然而在教堂园地举行的聚餐会上，自己倒也常常拿这个雅号开几句玩笑。在教师中间，他最耽于世俗的享乐，外出赴宴比谁都勤。与之交往的人也不局限于牧师这个圈子。在学生们的眼里，他是个十足的无赖。一到了假期，这位夫子便脱去牧师服，有人曾看到他在瑞士穿了一套花里胡哨的粗呢服。他爱好杯中物，讲究口腹之欲。有一次，有人还看到他同一位女士--可能是他的一位近亲--在皇家餐馆对酌共餐。打这以后，好几代学生都认为此公耽于纵酒宴乐，这方面许多绘声绘色的详尽细节，足以证实人性堕落之说不容怀疑。
特纳先生估计，要改造这些在三年级高班呆过的学生，整饬他们的学风，得花整整一学期的工夫。他不时在学生面前狡黠地透点口风，表示对他同事班里的种种弊端洞悉无遗。面对这种情况，他倒也不恼火。在他看来，学生天生是些小痞子，只有在确信自己的谎言会露出马脚来的时候，他们才会稍许放老实些。他们有自己独特的荣誉感，而这种荣誉感在同教师打交道时完全不适用；等他们知道调皮捣蛋捞不到半点好处了，才能有所收敛。特纳先生颇为自己的班级感到自豪，尽管眼下已五十五岁了，可还是像初来学校执教时那样，热中于使自己班级的考试成绩胜过别的班级。他也像一般胖子那样，动辄发火，但火气来得快，消得也快；不多久，学生们就摸着了他的脾气，尽管他经常正言厉色，将他们痛加训斥，但是在他声色俱厉的表象下面，却自有一番亲切厚意。他对那些脑子不开窍的笨蛋很没有耐心，但是对于一些外表任性、内藏颖慧的淘气鬼，却能循循善诱，不厌其烦。他喜欢邀他们到自己房里用茶，尽管那些学生发誓说，同特纳先生一起喝茶时，从不见有蛋糕和松饼之类的点心--一般人总认为特纳先生如此发福，说明他饕餮贪食，而饕餮贪食则说明他肚里多了几条线虫--但他们还是真心乐意接受他的邀请的。
菲利普现在更惬意了：学校校舍并不宽舒，仅有的一些书室只供高年级学生享用。在这之前，他一直住在集体大宿舍里，学生们在里面吃饭，低年级学生还在那儿做功课，乱哄哄的，菲利普看了总有种说不出的滋味。同别人混在一起，常使他坐立不安，他渴望能让他一个人清静清静。他经常独个儿信步逛人乡间。那儿有条小溪，淙淙流过绿色的田野，小溪两岸耸立着一株株整了枝的大树。菲利普沿着河岸溜达，心里总觉着挺快乐，至于究竟乐在何处，他也说不出个所以然来。走累了，他就趴在岸边草地上，望着鲦鱼和蝌蚪在水里忙碌穿梭。在教堂园地里悠然漫步，给了他一种独特的满足之感。教堂园地中央有一片草地，夏天学生们在那儿练习打网球，而在其他季节，周围十分恬静。孩子们有时候手挽手地在草地上闲逛，间或有个别勤奋好学的孩子在那儿慢腾腾地踱步，眼睛里露出若有所思的神色，嘴里反复念叨着需要背熟的功课。一群白嘴鸦栖息在那几株参天榆树上，凄厉的哀鸣响彻长空。教堂矗立在草地的一侧，雄伟的中央塔楼刺破天穹。菲利普此时还不懂什么叫"美"，可是当他举目凝望教堂的时候，总是油然而生一股莫可名状的、令人困惑的喜悦之情。他搬进书室之后（那是一间俯视着贫民窟的四方斗室，由四个学生合住），买来一张大教堂的照片，把它钉在自己的书桌上方。有时他站在四年级教室里凭窗眺望，发觉从眼前的景色里自能领略到一番新的情趣。教室对面是一块块古色古香、保养得很好的草坪，其间错落着枝繁叶茂的葱郁树丛。这些景物给了菲利普某种奇怪的感受，说不清究竟是痛苦呢，还是喜悦。他心扉微开，第一回萌生出强烈的美感。与此同时，还出现了其他的变化。他的嗓音也开始变了，喉头不由自主地发出古怪的声调来。
菲利普开始到校长书斋里听校长上课，这是为给孩子们施坚信礼而设置的课程，时间在下午用过茶点之后。菲利普对上帝的虔敬热诚，没能经受住时间的考验，他早就丢掉了晚上念诵《圣经》的习惯。可是此时，在珀金斯先生的影响下，再加上身体内部所发生的使他如此心神不定的新变化，他旧情复萌了；他痛责自己虎头蛇尾，有始无终。他脑海里闪现出一幅地狱之火熊熊燃烧的图象。他的所作所为比起异教徒来，实在好不了多少，要是他此时此刻就咽气的话，一定会泯灭在地狱的怒火之中。他坚信永久苦难的存在，而就其程度来说，远远超过了对于永久幸福的笃信；他想到自己所冒的风险不免有点不寒而栗。
菲利普那天在班上当众受到最不堪忍受的凌辱之后，心里像针扎似地不住作痛，可就在这时，珀金斯先生却亲切地同菲利普谈了一席话，从此，菲利普便像家犬眷恋主人那样敬慕校长。他绞尽脑汁想讨好校长先生，可就是没门儿。出于校长之日的褒奖之词，哪怕是最微不足道的一言半语，他也视若珍宝。他来到校长住所参加那些非正式的小型聚会时，恨不得能扑倒在校长脚下。他端坐在那儿，目不转睛地望着珀金斯先生那对灼灼有光的眸子，嘴巴半张半闭，脑袋微微前倾，唯恐听漏一个字。学校的环境平淡无奇，这就使得他们谈论的内容分外扣人心弦。有时，甚至连校长本人也被自己奇妙的话题深深打动了，只见他将面前的书往前一推，十指交叉，紧贴在胸口，似乎是想遏制住心房的剧跳，醉眼陶然地讲述起扑朔迷离的宗教故事。有时菲利普并不理解，而他也不求领悟，他朦朦陇陵地觉得，只要能感觉到那种气氛就够了。在他看来，黑发蓬松、面容苍白的校长，此时酷似那些敢于直言申斥国王的以色列预言家；而当他想到基督耶稣时，又似乎看到耶稣也长着同样的黑眼睛和苍白面颊。
珀金斯先生承担这部分工作时，态度极其认真严肃。平时他谈吐幽默，妙语闪烁，致使学校的冬烘学究都疑心他生性轻浮，可是在上述场合，他总是容严心肃，不苟言笑。珀金斯先生从早忙到晚，事无巨细全都应付得过来，每隔一段时候，还能抽出一刻钟或二十分钟，分别接待那些准备受坚信礼的孩子。他要让他们意识到，这是他们在人生道路上自觉迈出的严肃的第一步。他力图在孩子们的心灵深处探索，把自己炽热的献身精神，灌注进孩子们的心灵。他觉得菲利普尽管外表羞怯，但内心却可能蕴藏着一股同自己不相上下的激情。在他看来，这孩子的气质，基本上是属于那种虔诚敬神的气质。有一天，他在同菲利普谈话时，猝然中断原来的话题，问道：
"你考虑过没有，自己长大了要干什么？"
"我大伯要我当牧师，"菲利普说。
"那你自己呢？"
菲利普转脸望着别处，他想说自己觉得不配侍奉上帝，却又羞于出口。
"我不知道世界上还有什么生活能像我们的生活这样充满幸福。但愿我能让你体会到，这是一种得天独厚的、了不起的荣幸。世人固然皆能以各种身分侍奉上帝，但我们离上帝更近。我并不想左右你的决定，不过，要是--噢，一旦--你拿定了主意，就一定会感受到那种永不消逝的欢乐和宽慰。"
菲利普没有回答，但是校长可以从菲利普的眼神里看出，这孩子对他这番话的寓意已心领神会。
"要是你能像现在这样刻苦攻读，持之以恒，要不了多久，你就会发现自己是全校首屈一指的高才生，这样，等你毕业时，就不愁拿不到奖学金。噢，你自己可有什么财产吗？"
"我大伯说，等我年满二十一岁，我每年可有一百镑的收入。"
"那你算得上是很阔绰的了。我那么大的时候可是两手空空，一无所有。"
校长沉吟了半晌，然后随手拿起一支铅笔，在面前的吸墨纸上漫不经心地画着线条，一面继续往下说：
"将来供你选择职业的余地，恐怕是相当有限呢。你自然没法从事任何需要体力的职业罗。"
菲利普的脸一直红到颈脖子，每逢有人稍一提及他的跛足，他总是这样。珀金斯先生神情严肃地望着他。
"不知道你对自己的不幸是否过于敏感了。你可曾想到过要为此感谢上帝？"
菲利普猛然抬起头来。他双唇紧闭，想着自己如何听信了别人的言词，一连好几个月，祈求上帝能像治愈麻风病人和盲人那样治愈自己的跛足。
"只要你在接受这种不幸时稍有违抗之意，那它就只能给你带来耻辱。要是你把它看作是上帝恩宠的表示，看作是因为见你双肩强壮，足以承受，才赐予你佩带的一枚十字架，那么它就不再是你痛苦的根由，而会成为你幸福的源泉。"
他看到这孩子不愿谈论此事，就让他走了。
但是事后，菲利普仔细回味了校长的每一句话，他顿时杂念全无，尽是想着即将面临的坚信礼仪，沉浸在神秘的、如醉如痴的狂喜之中。他的灵魂似乎挣脱了肉体的羁绊，他仿佛已开始了一种全新的生活；他全部身心的热情都被激发了起来，热切希望自己能进入尽善至美的境地。他要将整个身心奉献给上帝。他已经铁了心，要就圣职，当牧师。当这个伟大的日子终于来到时，他惊喜交加，几乎无法自持；他所作的一切准备，他所研读过的所有书籍，尤其是校长的一番令人折服的教诲，深深地感化了他的灵魂。有一个念头一直在折磨着他。他知道，他得独个儿穿过圣坛，他害怕在众目睽睽之下暴露自己一瘸一拐的步态，不光是暴露在参加仪式的全校师生面前，而且还暴露在本城人士或者特来参加儿子受坚信礼的学生家长这样一些陌生人面前。然而，临到最后一刻，他突然觉得自己完全可以带着欢愉的心情来承受这种屈屏。于是，菲利普瘸着腿，一步一步走向圣坛，他的身影在大教堂气势巍然的拱顶下，显得那么渺小，那么微不足道，他有意识地将自己的残疾作为一份祭品，奉献给怜爱他的上帝。
Chapter 17
Philip passed the next two years with comfortable monotony. He was not bullied more than other boys of his size; and his deformity, withdrawing him from games, acquired for him an insignificance for which he was grateful. He was not popular, and he was very lonely. He spent a couple of terms with Winks in the Upper Third. Winks, with his weary manner and his drooping eyelids, looked infinitely bored. He did his duty, but he did it with an abstracted mind. He was kind, gentle, and foolish. He had a great belief in the honour of boys; he felt that the first thing to make them truthful was not to let it enter your head for a moment that it was possible for them to lie. ‘Ask much,’ he quoted, ‘and much shall be given to you.’ Life was easy in the Upper Third. You knew exactly what lines would come to your turn to construe, and with the crib that passed from hand to hand you could find out all you wanted in two minutes; you could hold a Latin Grammar open on your knees while questions were passing round; and Winks never noticed anything odd in the fact that the same incredible mistake was to be found in a dozen different exercises. He had no great faith in examinations, for he noticed that boys never did so well in them as in form: it was disappointing, but not significant. In due course they were moved up, having learned little but a cheerful effrontery in the distortion of truth, which was possibly of greater service to them in after life than an ability to read Latin at sight.
Then they fell into the hands of Tar. His name was Turner; he was the most vivacious of the old masters, a short man with an immense belly, a black beard turning now to gray, and a swarthy skin. In his clerical dress there was indeed something in him to suggest the tar-barrel; and though on principle he gave five hundred lines to any boy on whose lips he overheard his nickname, at dinner-parties in the precincts he often made little jokes about it. He was the most worldly of the masters; he dined out more frequently than any of the others, and the society he kept was not so exclusively clerical. The boys looked upon him as rather a dog. He left off his clerical attire during the holidays and had been seen in Switzerland in gay tweeds. He liked a bottle of wine and a good dinner, and having once been seen at the Cafe Royal with a lady who was very probably a near relation, was thenceforward supposed by generations of schoolboys to indulge in orgies the circumstantial details of which pointed to an unbounded belief in human depravity.
Mr. Turner reckoned that it took him a term to lick boys into shape after they had been in the Upper Third; and now and then he let fall a sly hint, which showed that he knew perfectly what went on in his colleague’s form. He took it good-humouredly. He looked upon boys as young ruffians who were more apt to be truthful if it was quite certain a lie would be found out, whose sense of honour was peculiar to themselves and did not apply to dealings with masters, and who were least likely to be troublesome when they learned that it did not pay. He was proud of his form and as eager at fifty-five that it should do better in examinations than any of the others as he had been when he first came to the school. He had the choler of the obese, easily roused and as easily calmed, and his boys soon discovered that there was much kindliness beneath the invective with which he constantly assailed them. He had no patience with fools, but was willing to take much trouble with boys whom he suspected of concealing intelligence behind their wilfulness. He was fond of inviting them to tea; and, though vowing they never got a look in with him at the cakes and muffins, for it was the fashion to believe that his corpulence pointed to a voracious appetite, and his voracious appetite to tapeworms, they accepted his invitations with real pleasure.
Philip was now more comfortable, for space was so limited that there were only studies for boys in the upper school, and till then he had lived in the great hall in which they all ate and in which the lower forms did preparation in a promiscuity which was vaguely distasteful to him. Now and then it made him restless to be with people and he wanted urgently to be alone. He set out for solitary walks into the country. There was a little stream, with pollards on both sides of it, that ran through green fields, and it made him happy, he knew not why, to wander along its banks. When he was tired he lay face-downward on the grass and watched the eager scurrying of minnows and of tadpoles. It gave him a peculiar satisfaction to saunter round the precincts. On the green in the middle they practised at nets in the summer, but during the rest of the year it was quiet: boys used to wander round sometimes arm in arm, or a studious fellow with abstracted gaze walked slowly, repeating to himself something he had to learn by heart. There was a colony of rooks in the great elms, and they filled the air with melancholy cries. Along one side lay the Cathedral with its great central tower, and Philip, who knew as yet nothing of beauty, felt when he looked at it a troubling delight which he could not understand. When he had a study (it was a little square room looking on a slum, and four boys shared it), he bought a photograph of that view of the Cathedral, and pinned it up over his desk. And he found himself taking a new interest in what he saw from the window of the Fourth Form room. It looked on to old lawns, carefully tended, and fine trees with foliage dense and rich. It gave him an odd feeling in his heart, and he did not know if it was pain or pleasure. It was the first dawn of the aesthetic emotion. It accompanied other changes. His voice broke. It was no longer quite under his control, and queer sounds issued from his throat.
Then he began to go to the classes which were held in the headmaster’s study, immediately after tea, to prepare boys for confirmation. Philip’s piety had not stood the test of time, and he had long since given up his nightly reading of the Bible; but now, under the influence of Mr. Perkins, with this new condition of the body which made him so restless, his old feelings revived, and he reproached himself bitterly for his backsliding. The fires of Hell burned fiercely before his mind’s eye. If he had died during that time when he was little better than an infidel he would have been lost; he believed implicitly in pain everlasting, he believed in it much more than in eternal happiness; and he shuddered at the dangers he had run.
Since the day on which Mr. Perkins had spoken kindly to him, when he was smarting under the particular form of abuse which he could least bear, Philip had conceived for his headmaster a dog-like adoration. He racked his brains vainly for some way to please him. He treasured the smallest word of commendation which by chance fell from his lips. And when he came to the quiet little meetings in his house he was prepared to surrender himself entirely. He kept his eyes fixed on Mr. Perkins’ shining eyes, and sat with mouth half open, his head a little thrown forward so as to miss no word. The ordinariness of the surroundings made the matters they dealt with extraordinarily moving. And often the master, seized himself by the wonder of his subject, would push back the book in front of him, and with his hands clasped together over his heart, as though to still the beating, would talk of the mysteries of their religion. Sometimes Philip did not understand, but he did not want to understand, he felt vaguely that it was enough to feel. It seemed to him then that the headmaster, with his black, straggling hair and his pale face, was like those prophets of Israel who feared not to take kings to task; and when he thought of the Redeemer he saw Him only with the same dark eyes and those wan cheeks.
Mr. Perkins took this part of his work with great seriousness. There was never here any of that flashing humour which made the other masters suspect him of flippancy. Finding time for everything in his busy day, he was able at certain intervals to take separately for a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes the boys whom he was preparing for confirmation. He wanted to make them feel that this was the first consciously serious step in their lives; he tried to grope into the depths of their souls; he wanted to instil in them his own vehement devotion. In Philip, notwithstanding his shyness, he felt the possibility of a passion equal to his own. The boy’s temperament seemed to him essentially religious. One day he broke off suddenly from the subject on which he had been talking.
‘Have you thought at all what you’re going to be when you grow up?’ he asked.
‘My uncle wants me to be ordained,’ said Philip.
‘And you?’
Philip looked away. He was ashamed to answer that he felt himself unworthy.
‘I don’t know any life that’s so full of happiness as ours. I wish I could make you feel what a wonderful privilege it is. One can serve God in every walk, but we stand nearer to Him. I don’t want to influence you, but if you made up your mind—oh, at once—you couldn’t help feeling that joy and relief which never desert one again.’
Philip did not answer, but the headmaster read in his eyes that he realised already something of what he tried to indicate.
‘If you go on as you are now you’ll find yourself head of the school one of these days, and you ought to be pretty safe for a scholarship when you leave. Have you got anything of your own?’
‘My uncle says I shall have a hundred a year when I’m twenty-one.’
‘You’ll be rich. I had nothing.’
The headmaster hesitated a moment, and then, idly drawing lines with a pencil on the blotting paper in front of him, went on.
‘I’m afraid your choice of professions will be rather limited. You naturally couldn’t go in for anything that required physical activity.’
Philip reddened to the roots of his hair, as he always did when any reference was made to his club-foot. Mr. Perkins looked at him gravely.
‘I wonder if you’re not oversensitive about your misfortune. Has it ever struck you to thank God for it?’
Philip looked up quickly. His lips tightened. He remembered how for months, trusting in what they told him, he had implored God to heal him as He had healed the Leper and made the Blind to see.
‘As long as you accept it rebelliously it can only cause you shame. But if you looked upon it as a cross that was given you to bear only because your shoulders were strong enough to bear it, a sign of God’s favour, then it would be a source of happiness to you instead of misery.’
He saw that the boy hated to discuss the matter and he let him go.
But Philip thought over all that the headmaster had said, and presently, his mind taken up entirely with the ceremony that was before him, a mystical rapture seized him. His spirit seemed to free itself from the bonds of the flesh and he seemed to be living a new life. He aspired to perfection with all the passion that was in him. He wanted to surrender himself entirely to the service of God, and he made up his mind definitely that he would be ordained. When the great day arrived, his soul deeply moved by all the preparation, by the books he had studied and above all by the overwhelming influence of the head, he could hardly contain himself for fear and joy. One thought had tormented him. He knew that he would have to walk alone through the chancel, and he dreaded showing his limp thus obviously, not only to the whole school, who were attending the service, but also to the strangers, people from the city or parents who had come to see their sons confirmed. But when the time came he felt suddenly that he could accept the humiliation joyfully; and as he limped up the chancel, very small and insignificant beneath the lofty vaulting of the Cathedral, he offered consciously his deformity as a sacrifice to the God who loved him.
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