2

But Holly was asleep, and lay like a miniature Madonna, of that type which the old painters could not tell from Venus, when they had completed her. Her long dark lashes clung to her cheeks; on her face was perfect peace—her little arrangements were evidently all right again. And old Jolyon, in the twilight of the room, stood adoring her! It was so charming, solemn, and loving—that little face. He had more than his share of the blessed capacity of living again in the young. They were to him his future life—all of a future life that his fundamental pagan sanity perhaps admitted. There she was with everything before her, and his blood—some of it—in her tiny veins. There she was, his little companion, to be made as happy as ever he could make her, so that she knew nothing but love. His heart swelled, and he went out, stilling the sound of his patent—leather boots. In the corridor an eccentric notion attacked him: To think that children should come to that which Irene had told him she was helping! Women who were all, once, little things like this one sleeping there! 'I must give her a cheque! ' he mused; 'Can't bear to think of them! ' They had never borne reflecting on, those poor outcasts; wounding too deeply the core of true refinement hidden under layers of conformity to the sense of property—wounding too grievously the deepest thing in him—a love of beauty which could give him, even now, a flutter of the heart, thinking of his evening in the society of a pretty woman. And he went downstairs, through the swinging doors, to the back regions. There, in the wine—cellar, was a hock worth at least two pounds a bottle, a Steinberg Cabinet, better than any Johannisberg that ever went down throat; a wine of perfect bouquet, sweet as a nectarine—nectar indeed! He got a bottle out, handling it like a baby, and holding it level to the light, to look. Enshrined in its coat of dust, that mellow coloured, slender—necked bottle gave him deep pleasure. Three years to settle down again since the move from Town—ought to be in prime condition! Thirty—five years ago he had bought it—thank God he had kept his palate, and earned the right to drink it. She would appreciate this; not a spice of acidity in a dozen. He wiped the bottle, drew the cork with his own hands, put his nose down, inhaled its perfume, and went back to the music room.

霍利已经睡着了，她躺在那里，像个小小的圣母玛利亚，就是那种连老画家完成这件作品后都无法区分这究竟是圣母还是维纳斯形象的效果。她纤长浓黑的睫毛贴在面颊上；脸上一片安详——她的小肠胃显然已经恢复了。老乔利恩站在灯光昏暗的房间里，就那样欣赏着她！这么迷人、神圣、惹人怜爱——这样一张小脸。能在后代人身上重新活过，这是一种福分，已经超出了他应得的份额。对他来说，他们就是自己未来的生命——整个未来的生命，这或许是他这个不信教、崇尚理性的人不得不承认的。她还有整段人生在等着她，而他的血液——部分血液——流淌在她细小的血管中。他会尽其所能，使这个小伙伴过得幸福，让她只享受爱，感受不到何疾苦。他的心充实起来，走出房间时，轻手轻脚地不让自己的漆皮靴发出声响。在走廊里，一个古怪的念头浮现在他的脑海中：要是孩子们沦落得和艾琳正在帮助的那些人一样，可怎么办。她们也曾经都是小女孩，像正在熟睡的霍利一样的小女孩！ “我必须给她张支票！” 他想着， “一想到那些人就难受！” 他从来不敢去想这些可怜的流浪者；因为这刺伤了他层层财产意识下埋藏的一种高尚情感；伤害了他内心深处对美的向往。即使现在，一想到今晚有一位漂亮女士相伴就心神荡漾的时刻，他依然感到了这种伤害。他走下楼，穿过弹簧门，走到后面。在酒窖里，他收藏了一种霍克酒，一瓶至少两英镑，属于施泰因贝格秘制酒，口感比任何约翰尼斯堡葡萄酒都好；气味醇香，味道如蜜桃般甘甜——简直就是花蜜！老乔利恩取了一瓶出来，好像对待婴儿一般捧在手里，横过来举到灯光下查看。色调深沉的细颈瓶包裹在一层神秘的灰尘中，圣物一般，给老乔利恩带来了深深的愉悦。从城中搬到这里已经三年了——应当到了最好喝的时候！三十五年前他买了这些酒——谢天谢地，他现在还能品酒，还有啜饮的资格。她会喜欢的；十瓶里也尝不出一丁点儿酸味。他擦了擦酒瓶，自己动手拔出软木塞，鼻子凑过去闻了闻酒香，回到琴房。

Irene was standing by the piano; she had taken off her hat and a lace scarf she had been wearing, so that her gold—coloured hair was visible, and the pallor of her neck. In her grey frock she made a pretty picture for old Jolyon, against the rosewood of the piano.

艾琳正站在钢琴边；她脱下了帽子和一直围着的蕾丝围巾，露出了金色发和苍白的脖颈。身穿灰色长裙的艾琳，配上紫檀木制的钢琴，在老乔利恩眼中是一幅绝美的图画。

He gave her his arm, and solemnly they went. The room, which had been designed to enable twenty—four people to dine in comfort, held now but a little round table. In his present solitude the big dining—table oppressed old Jolyon; he had caused it to be removed till his son came back. Here in the company of two really good copies of Raphael Madonnas he was wont to dine alone. It was the only disconsolate hour of his day, this summer weather. He had never been a large eater, like that great chap Swithin, or Sylvanus Heythorp, or Anthony Thornworthy, those cronies of past times; and to dine alone, overlooked by the Madonnas, was to him but a sorrowful occupation, which he got through quickly, that he might come to the more spiritual enjoyment of his coffee and cigar. But this evening was a different matter! His eyes twinkled at her across the little table and he spoke of Italy and Switzerland, telling her stories of his travels there, and other experiences which he could no longer recount to his son and grand—daughter because they knew them. This fresh audience was precious to him; he had never become one of those old men who ramble round and round the fields of reminiscence. Himself quickly fatigued by the insensitive, he instinctively avoided fatiguing others, and his natural flirtatiousness towards beauty guarded him specially in his relations with a woman. He would have liked to draw her out, but though she murmured and smiled and seemed to be enjoying what he told her, he remained conscious of that mysterious remoteness which constituted half her fascination. He could not bear women who threw their shoulders and eyes at you, and chattered away; or hard—mouthed women who laid down the law and knew more than you did. There was only one quality in a woman that appealed to him—charm; and the quieter it was, the more he liked it. And this one had charm, shadowy as afternoon sunlight on those Italian hills and valleys he had loved. The feeling, too, that she was, as it were, apart, cloistered, made her seem nearer to himself, a strangely desirable companion. When a man is very old and quite out of the running, he loves to feel secure from the rivalries of youth, for he would still be first in the heart of beauty. And he drank his hock, and watched her lips, and felt nearly young. But the dog Balthasar lay watching her lips too, and despising in his heart the interruptions of their talk, and the tilting of those greenish glasses full of a golden fluid which was distasteful to him.

他让她挽起自己的胳膊，两人庄重地走向餐室。这间餐室原来的设计足以供二十四人舒适地就餐，现在却只放了一张小圆桌。目前独居的状态，让老乔利恩不大习惯一张大餐桌；他于是让人把它搬走，等儿子回来后再做打算。他之前常常一个人就餐；只有两幅堪称精品的拉斐尔圣母像与他相伴。在这初夏时节，这会儿是他一天中唯一难熬的时刻。他一向吃得很少，不像大家伙斯威辛，或者西尔韦纳斯·黑多普，还有安东尼·多恩华绥，他的旧友们；在圣母玛利亚的注视中独自进餐，对他来说实在难受，于是他总是草草解决，然后泡杯咖啡，点根雪茄，享受它们带来的精神愉悦。但今晚不一样！他望着小桌对面的艾琳，讲起自己在意大利和瑞士的旅行见闻，眼睛闪着亮光；他还讲了些不能再和儿子和孙女讲起的经历，因为他们都已经听过了。这个新听众对他来说很难得；他从来不像有的老人一样，只沉浸在回忆里。他自己就很厌倦那些迟钝的人，所以会本能地避免令人生厌；天生对美色的敏感使他在与女性交往中格外注意这一点。他本想引她畅所欲言，但她只是低语了几句，笑了笑，仿佛听他谈话就很开心，可他仍旧能感觉到她那种神秘的疏离感，她之所以迷人，这恐怕占了一半的原因。他受不了女人秋波频传，喋喋不休，也受不了女人牙尖嘴利，自以为是，比你懂得还多。女人身上只有一种特质能够吸引他——妩媚；而且越是不动声色的妩媚，他越是喜欢。而眼前这位就很妩媚，梦幻得像他钟情的意大利丘陵和山谷上的午后阳光。她身上淡淡的、不食人间烟火的气息，倒似乎使她与自己更加亲近，这正是他想要的伴侣。一个男人年事已高、凡事没有胜算时，就不愿再与年轻人一争高下，因为只有这样，他才能在美人的心里仍然占据首要位置。他品着酒，凝视着她的嘴唇，感觉自己都年轻了。小狗巴尔萨泽也趴在那里看她的嘴唇，两人谈话中断时，它就会觉得很讨厌；它还讨厌他们举起绿色玻璃杯，里面盛满了它觉得难喝的黄水。

The light was just failing when they went back into the music—room. And, cigar in mouth, old Jolyon said:

他们回到音乐室时，天色刚刚开始暗下来。老乔利恩咬着只雪茄，说道：

"Play me some Chopin. "

“弹支肖邦吧。”

By the cigars they smoke, and the composers they love, ye shall know the texture of men's souls. Old Jolyon could not bear a strong cigar or Wagner's music. He loved Beethoven and Mozart, Handel and Gluck, and Schumann, and, for some occult reason, the operas of Meyerbeer; but of late years he had been seduced by Chopin, just as in painting he had succumbed to Botticelli. In yielding to these tastes he had been conscious of divergence from the standard of the Golden Age. Their poetry was not that of Milton and Byron and Tennyson; of Raphael and Titian; Mozart and Beethoven. It was, as it were, behind a veil; their poetry hit no one in the face, but slipped its fingers under the ribs and turned and twisted, and melted up the heart. And, never certain that this was healthy, he did not care a rap so long as he could see the pictures of the one or hear the music of the other.

从男人抽的雪茄和喜欢的作曲家，你能够看到他们灵魂的本质。老乔利恩抽不惯烈性雪茄，也听不惯瓦格纳的音乐。他喜欢贝多芬和莫扎特、汉德尔和格鲁克以及舒曼，不知道为什么，他还喜欢梅耶贝尔的歌剧；但到了晚年，他开始痴迷于肖邦，正如他曾经被波提切利的油画所折服一样。他意识到，沦于如此品位的自己已经偏离了黄金时代的格调。他们的意蕴不像弥尔顿、拜伦和丁尼生，不像拉斐尔和提香，也不像莫扎特和贝多芬。这些意蕴似乎隔着一层纱；它们从不直扑面门，而是悄然将手指伸到你的肋骨下面，来回翻腾，让心跌宕起伏。他不能确定这些东西是否有益，但是只要能欣赏波提切利的油画，聆听肖邦的音乐，他就毫不在意了。

Irene sat down at the piano under the electric lamp festooned with pearl—grey, and old Jolyon, in an armchair, whence he could see her, crossed his legs and drew slowly at his cigar. She sat a few moments with her hands on the keys, evidently searching her mind for what to give him. Then she began and within old Jolyon there arose a sorrowful pleasure, not quite like anything else in the world. He fell slowly into a trance, interrupted only by the movements of taking the cigar out of his mouth at long intervals, and replacing it. She was there, and the hock within him, and the scent of tobacco; but there, too, was a world of sunshine lingering into moonlight, and pools with storks upon them, and bluish trees above, glowing with blurs of wine—red roses, and fields of lavender where milk—white cows were grazing, and a woman all shadowy, with dark eyes and a white neck, smiled, holding out her arms; and through air which was like music a star dropped and was caught on a cow's horn. He opened his eyes. Beautiful piece; she played well—the touch of an angel! And he closed them again. He felt miraculously sad and happy, as one does, standing under a lime—tree in full honey flower. Not live one's own life again, but just stand there and bask in the smile of a woman's eyes, and enjoy the bouquet! And he jerked his hand; the dog Balthasar had reached up and licked it.

艾琳已经在钢琴前坐好，头顶是盏带有珠灰色花饰的灯；老乔利恩坐在扶手椅上——这里可以看见她——翘着腿，缓缓地抽着雪茄。艾琳把双手放在琴键上，坐了一会儿，显然是在思索该给他弹哪首曲子。然后她开始弹琴；老乔利恩心里涌起一阵悲伤的快乐，这种情绪与世间别种都截然不同。他渐渐陷入一阵恍惚，隔好大一会儿，才把雪茄从嘴里拿出，再放回去，每每此时，他才暂时回过神来。这里有她、腹内的霍克酒，还有烟草的味道。可这里似乎还有另外一番景象：日光渐黯，月亮升起，水塘中静立着许多鹳鸟，淡蓝色的树下，摇曳着酒红色玫瑰的朦胧花影；熏衣草的田野里，乳白色的牛正在吃草，还有一位身影朦胧女士，她眼睛乌黑，脖颈雪白，微笑着，伸出双手。一颗星星坠落下来，透过音乐般美妙的空气，落在了牛角上。他睁开双眼。优美的乐曲；演奏得也精彩——简直如天使弹奏一般！他又闭上了眼。哀愁与欢愉在他心里神奇地融合在一起，如同一个人站在椴树下，闻到满树的花香。不再重复以往的生活，而是站在那里，沐浴在一个女人含笑的目光中，享受着鲜花的香味！他不禁抬起手；巴尔萨泽凑过来舔了几下。

"Beautiful! " He said: "Go on—more Chopin! "

“太美了！” 他说： “接着弹——多弹些肖邦！”

She began to play again. This time the resemblance between her and 'Chopin' struck him. The swaying he had noticed in her walk was in her playing too, and the Nocturne she had chosen and the soft darkness of her eyes, the light on her hair, as of moonlight from a golden moon. Seductive, yes; but nothing of Delilah in her or in that music. A long blue spiral from his cigar ascended and dispersed. 'So we go out! ' he thought. 'No more beauty! Nothing? '

她又继续弹了下去。这一次，他惊讶地发现她和肖邦曲如此契合。他曾留意过她走路时身姿摇曳，此刻的演奏中也有这样的摇曳；她选择的夜曲、她眼里的温柔暗影、她秀发上跃动的华彩，就如同金色月亮洒下的月光。的确，很诱人；但是她和她所弹奏的曲子却不带丝毫情色的诱惑。一缕青色的烟从他的雪茄上盘旋上升，又消散开来。 “我们就这样消失了！” 他想， “再也看不到美人！什么都没了？”

Again Irene stopped.

艾琳又停下来。

"Would you like some Gluck? He used to write his music in a sunlit garden, with a bottle of Rhine wine beside him. "

“您想听听格鲁克吗？他过去常在阳光下的花园里谱曲，边上少不了一瓶莱茵白葡萄酒。”

"Ah! yes. Let's have 'Orfeo. ' " Round about him now were fields of gold and silver flowers, white forms swaying in the sunlight, bright birds flying to and fro. All was summer. Lingering waves of sweetness and regret flooded his soul. Some cigar ash dropped, and taking out a silk handkerchief to brush it off, he inhaled a mingled scent as of snuff and eau de Cologne. 'Ah! ' he thought, 'Indian summer—that's all! ' and he said: "You haven't played me 'Che faro. ' "

“啊！对。弹首《奥菲欧》吧。” 此刻，他如同置身于金银色的花朵竞相开放的田野之中，白色的轮廓在阳光下摇曳，色彩明艳的鸟儿在空中飞翔。一切都是夏天的景象。甜蜜和悲叹如潮水般徘徊不去，淹没了他的灵魂。一些烟灰落了下来，老乔利恩拿出丝帕把它擦干净时，闻到了一股像是鼻烟和古龙水混合起来的香味。 “哦！” 他想， “印第安之夏——这就是了！” 他说： “你还没给我弹《我可怎么办》呢。”

She did not answer; did not move. He was conscious of something—some strange upset. Suddenly he saw her rise and turn away, and a pang of remorse shot through him. What a clumsy chap! Like Orpheus, she of course—she too was looking for her lost one in the hall of memory! And disturbed to the heart, he got up from his chair. She had gone to the great window at the far end. Gingerly he followed. Her hands were folded over her breast; he could just see her cheek, very white. And, quite emotionalized, he said:

她没有回应，也没有动。老乔利恩察觉到了什么——一丝奇怪的难过。突然，他看见她站起来，转过身去，一阵懊悔顿时涌上心头。你这个蠢老头啊！和俄耳甫斯一样，她当然也正在这记忆的厅堂里苦苦寻觅失去的情人啊！他从椅子上站起来，心里还在为刚才的失言而懊恼。她已经走到房间尽头的大窗户前。他小心翼翼地跟了上去。她双手交叠在胸前；他只能看见她的脸颊，非常苍白。他动情地说：

"There, there, my love! " The words had escaped him mechanically, for they were those he used to Holly when she had a pain, but their effect was instantaneously distressing. She raised her arms, covered her face with them, and wept.

“好了，好了，乖乖。” 这话是不假思索地说出的，因为霍利弄疼了的时候，他常常这样安慰她，可是这些话用在此时却是适得其反。艾琳抬起手臂，遮住脸，眼泪掉了下来。

Old Jolyon stood gazing at her with eyes very deep from age. The passionate shame she seemed feeling at her abandonment, so unlike the control and quietude of her whole presence was as if she had never before broken down in the presence of another being.

老乔利恩站在她面前，用一双凹陷的老眼凝视着她。她的情绪失控与她一贯沉静矜持的仪态极为不符，她似乎为此感到非常羞愧，好像之前还从未在人前这样无法自持过。

"There, there—there, there! " he murmured, and putting his hand out reverently, touched her. She turned, and leaned the arms which covered her face against him. Old Jolyon stood very still, keeping one thin hand on her shoulder. Let her cry her heart out—it would do her good.

“好了，好了——好了，好了！” 他喃喃地说着，小心翼翼地伸出手，碰了碰她。她转过身，把两只遮着脸的胳膊靠在他身上。老乔利恩静静地站着，一只很瘦的手一直放在她肩膀上。让她尽情地哭出来吧——这样她会好受些。

And the dog Balthasar, puzzled, sat down on his stern to examine them.

小狗巴尔萨泽一脸茫然，坐起来注视着他们。

The window was still open, the curtains had not been drawn, the last of daylight from without mingled with faint intrusion from the lamp within; there was a scent of new—mown grass. With the wisdom of a long life old Jolyon did not speak. Even grief sobbed itself out in time; only Time was good for sorrow—Time who saw the passing of each mood, each emotion in turn; Time the layer—to—rest. There came into his mind the words: 'As panteth the hart after cooling streams' —but they were of no use to him. Then, conscious of a scent of violets, he knew she was drying her eyes. He put his chin forward, pressed his moustache against her forehead, and felt her shake with a quivering of her whole body, as of a tree which shakes itself free of raindrops. She put his hand to her lips, as if saying: All over now! Forgive me!

窗户依然开着，窗帘还没有拉上，窗外最后的暮光照进来，和房间里幽暗的灯光融合在一起；青草新割过的气息飘了过来。深谙世事的老乔利恩此刻一言不发。即便痛苦也有完结的时候，时间是治愈痛苦的唯一良药——时间见证了每段心境与每份情怀的一一流逝；时间是一切的安葬者。他脑海里忽然浮现出： “如鹿切慕溪水” 那句诗——可惜这句对他没用。接着，他嗅到一丝紫罗兰的香气，知道她在擦眼泪。他扬起下巴，用胡子抵住她的额头，只觉她浑身都战栗了一下，就像一棵树在抖掉身上的雨滴。她捧起他的手吻了一下，好像在说： “没事了！对不起！”

The kiss filled him with a strange comfort; he led her back to where she had been so upset. And the dog Balthasar, following, laid the bone of one of the cutlets they had eaten at their feet.

这一吻给了他莫名的安慰；他带她回到之前她感到不悦的座位上。小狗巴尔萨泽也跟着，把他们刚才吃剩的一块肉骨头叼到他们脚下。

Anxious to obliterate the memory of that emotion, he could think of nothing better than china; and moving with her slowly from cabinet to cabinet, he kept taking up bits of Dresden and Lowestoft and Chelsea, turning them round and round with his thin, veined hands, whose skin, faintly freckled, had such an aged look.

他急切地想让她忘掉刚才那场不快——似乎没有什么比鉴赏瓷器更好的了；他们一个橱柜接一个慢慢看过来，他一会儿拿起这件德累斯顿，一会儿拿那件洛斯托夫特，又拿起一件切尔西，一双瘦削而青筋暴露的手把瓷器颠来倒去，隐隐看得见皮肤上的雀斑——老态尽显。

"I bought this at Jobson's, " he would say; "cost me thirty pounds. It's very old. That dog leaves his bones all over the place. This old 'ship—bowl' I picked up at the sale when that precious rip, the Marquis, came to grief.

“这件是我在乔布森家买的，” 他说，花了我三十镑。很古老。狗把骨头丢得哪儿都是。这件旧 ‘船形碗’ 是我在那个侯爵——活宝似的人物——出了事之后，从拍卖会上弄来的。

But you don't remember. Here's a nice piece of Chelsea. Now, what would you say this was? "And he was comforted, feeling that, with her taste, she was taking a real interest in these things; for, after all, nothing better composes the nerves than a doubtful piece of china.

可你不记得了。这件切尔西是好东西。你看，这是一件什么瓷器？他觉得宽慰了些，认为她这样品位不俗的人，定是真心对这些东西感兴趣；毕竟，没有什么比一件诱人猜度的瓷器更能让人安定心神了。

When the crunch of the carriage wheels was heard at last, he said:

终于听到马车轮子隆隆的声音了，他说：

"You must come again; you must come to lunch, then I can show you these by daylight, and my little sweet—she's a dear little thing. This dog seems to have taken a fancy to you. "

“你一定要再来；一定要来吃午饭，到时候我就能在白天拿这些东西给你看了，你还能见见我的小甜心——她是个惹人爱的小家伙。这狗好像很喜欢你。”

For Balthasar, feeling that she was about to leave, was rubbing his side against her leg. Going out under the porch with her, he said:

巴尔萨泽觉得她要走了，正拿身子蹭她的腿。他陪她一同走到门廊，说道：

"He'll get you up in an hour and a quarter. Take this for your protegees, " and he slipped a cheque for fifty pounds into her hand. He saw her brightened eyes, and heard her murmur: "Oh! Uncle Jolyon! " and a real throb of pleasure went through him. That meant one or two poor creatures helped a little, and it meant that she would come again. He put his hand in at the window and grasped hers once more. The carriage rolled away. He stood looking at the moon and the shadows of the trees, and thought: 'A sweet night! She...! '

“车夫一小时零一刻钟就能送你到家。替那些你救助的人收下吧。” 他说着将一张五十镑的支票塞到她手里。他看见她眼睛一亮，嘴里喃喃道： “哎呀！乔利恩伯伯！” 他顿时感到一股喜悦涌遍全身。那意味着一两个可怜人会得到扶助，也意味着她会再来。他把手伸进车窗，又握了一下她的手。马车开走了。他站在那儿望着月亮和树影，心想：多么美好的夜晚！她……!