双语·面纱 第六十六章

66

They sauntered along the causeway till they came to the top of the hill on which stood that archway, the memorial to a virtuous widow, which had occupied so large a part of Kitty's impression of the place. It was a symbol, but of what she scarcely knew; she could not tell why it bore a note of so sardonic irony.

“Shall we sit down a little? We haven't sat here for ages.” The plain was spread before her widely; it was tranquil and serene in the morning light. “It's only a few weeks that I've been here and it seems a lifetime.”

He did not answer and for a while she allowed her thoughts to wander. She gave a sigh.

“Do you think that the soul is immortal?” she asked.

He did not seem surprised at the question.

“How should I know?”

“Just now, when they'd washed Walter, before they put him into the coffin, I looked at him. He looked very young. Too young to die. Do you remember that beggar that we saw the first time you took me for a walk? I was frightened not because he was dead, but because he looked as though he'd never been a human being. He was just a dead animal. And now again, with Walter, it looked so like a machine that has run down. That's what is so frightening. And if it is only a machine how futile is all this suffering and the heart pains and the misery.”

He did not answer, but his eyes travelled over the landscape at their feet. The wide expanse on that gay and sunny morning filled the heart with exultation. The trim little rice-fields stretched as far as the eye could see and in many of them the blue-clad peasants with their buffaloes were working industriously. It was a peaceful and a happy scene. Kitty broke the silence.

“I can't tell you how deeply moved I've been by all I've seen at the convent. They're wonderful, those nuns, they make me feel utterly worthless. They give up everything, their home, their country, love, children, freedom; and all the little things which I sometimes think must be harder still to give up, flowers and green fields, going for a walk on an autumn day, books and music, comfort, everything they give up, everything. And they do it so that they may devote themselves to a life of sacrifice and poverty, obedience, killing work and prayer. To all of them this world is really and truly a place of exile. Life is a cross which they willingly bear, but in their hearts all the time is the desire--oh, it's so much stronger than desire, it's a longing, an eager, passionate longing for the death which shall lead them to life everlasting.”

Kitty clasped her hands and looked at him with anguish.

“Well?”

“Supposing there is no life everlasting? Think what it means if death is really the end of all things. They've given up all for nothing. They've been cheated. They're dupes.”

Waddington reflected for a little while.

“I wonder. I wonder if it matters that what they have aimed at is illusion. Their lives are in themselves beautiful. I have an idea that the only thing which makes it possible to regard this world we live in without disgust is the beauty which now and then men create out of the chaos. The pictures they paint, the music they compose, the books they write, and the lives they lead. Of all these the richest in beauty is the beautiful life. That is the perfect work of art.”

Kitty sighed. What he said seemed hard. She wanted more.

“Have you ever been to a symphony concert?” he continued.

“Yes,” she smiled. “I know nothing of music, but I'm rather fond of it.”

“Each member of the orchestra plays his own little instrument, and what do you think he knows of the complicated harmonies which unroll themselves on the indifferent air? He is concerned only with his own small share. But he knows that the symphony is lovely, and though there's none to hear it, it is lovely still, and he is content to play his part.”

“You spoke of Tao the other day,” said Kitty, after a pause. “Tell me what it is.”

Waddington gave her a little look, hesitated an instant, and then with a faint smile on his comic face answered:

“It is the Way and the Waygoer. It is the eternal road along which walk all beings, but no being made it, for itself is being. It is everything and nothing. From it all things spring, all things conform to it, and to it at last all things return. It is a square without angles, a sound which ears cannot hear, and an image without form. It is a vast net and though its meshes are as wide as the sea it lets nothing through. It is the sanctuary where all things find refuge. It is nowhere, but without looking out of the window you may see it. Desire not to desire, it teaches, and leave all things to take their course. He that humbles himself shall be preserved entire. He that bends shall be made straight. Failure is the foundation of success and success is the lurking-place of failure; but who can tell when the turning point will come? He who strives after tenderness can become even as a little child. Gentleness brings victory to him who attacks and safety to him who defends. Mighty is he who conquers himself.”

“Does it mean anything?”

“Sometimes, when I've had half a dozen whiskies and look at the stars, I think perhaps it does.”

Silence fell upon them and when it was broken it was again by Kitty.

“Tell me, is the dog it was that died, a quotation?”

Waddington's lips outlined a smile and he was ready with his answer. But perhaps at that moment his sensibilities were abnormally acute. Kitty was not looking at him, but there was something about her expression which made him change his mind.

“If it is I don't know it,” he answered warily. “Why?”

“Nothing. It crossed my mind. It had a familiar ring.”

There was another silence.

“When you were alone with your husband,” said Waddington presently, “I had a talk with the regimental surgeon. I thought we ought to have some details.”

“Well?”

“He was in a very hysterical state. I couldn't really quite understand what he meant. So far as I can make out your husband got infected during the course of experiments he was making.”

“He was always experimenting. He wasn't really a doctor, he was a bacteriologist; that is why he was so anxious to come here.”

“But I can't quite make out from the surgeon's statements whether he was infected accidentally or whether he was actually experimenting on himself.”

Kitty grew very pale. The suggestion made her shudder. Waddington took her hand.

“Forgive me for talking about this again,” he said gently, “but I thought it might comfort you--I know how frightfully difficult it is on these occasions to say anything that is of the least use--I thought it might mean something to you that Walter died a martyr to science and to his duty.”

Kitty shrugged her shoulders with a suspicion of impatience.

“Walter died of a broken heart,” she said.

Waddington did not answer. She turned and looked at him slowly. Her face was white and set.

“What did he mean by saying: the dog it was that died? What is it?”

“It's the last line of Goldsmith's Elegy”.

第六十六章

他们沿着山间小路慢慢走着，一直走到山顶，来到牌坊矗立的地方。这个致敬忠贞寡妇的纪念碑占据了凯蒂对此地的大部分印象，它是一个象征，但象征什么她又不知道，也说不出为什么她感觉它有种讽刺挖苦的意味。

“我们能在这儿坐一会儿吗？我们有好长时间没来这儿了。”山下的平地在她眼前延绵开阔，在上午的阳光下显得恬静和安详，“距离上次来这儿也就有几周的时间，可好像过了一辈子那样长。”

他没有回答，过了一会儿她继续让她的思绪漫游，然后叹了口气。

“你是不是认为灵魂是不朽的？”她问道。

对这个问题，他似乎毫不奇怪。

“我怎么知道？”

“就在刚才，当他们给沃尔特擦洗身子，在他们把他放入棺材之前，我看着他。他看上去非常年轻，可惜这么早就死了。你还记得你第一次带我散步时，我们见到的那个死去的乞丐吗？我很害怕倒不是因为他已经死去，而是因为他看上去都没有人形了，像是一个死去的动物。现在，我再一次见证死亡落到了沃尔特身上，他就像个机器突然停摆了，这才是吓人的地方。但如果是机器倒好了，所有的痛苦、酸楚、悲伤都不算什么了。”

他没有回答，但他的眼睛四下浏览眺望着脚下的风景，景色在欢快、阳光灿烂的上午绵延着，让人心花怒放。整齐划一的小块稻田伸展到目光所能到达的远方，在田里，穿着蓝色布衣的农民赶着水牛在勤劳地耕作。这是一片和平、幸福的景象。凯蒂打破了沉默。

“我无法告诉你我在修道院里看到的一切是多么让我感动。她们真是太棒了，那些修女，她们让我觉得自己是多么的渺小。她们放弃了一切，家庭、国家、爱人、孩子、自由，还有所有其他的小东西，我有时想想，这些小东西可能更难放弃，花朵、绿色的田野、秋日里的漫步、书籍和音乐、舒服的生活，她们放弃了一切，所有的东西。而她们为之投入的又是什么呢？牺牲、贫穷、听从吩咐、繁重的工作、祈祷。对于她们所有人来说，这个世界确确实实是个流放之地，生活是她们愿意忍受的十字架，但是在她们的心中，一直都有一个愿望——哦，比愿望要更为强烈，那是一种向往，一种渴望的、充满激情的向往，向往着死亡会引导她们走向永恒的生活。”

凯蒂握紧双手，痛苦地望着他。

“怎么啦？”

“假如没有永恒的生活呢？试想如果死亡真的是万事的终结，那还有什么意义。她们放弃了一切去追求虚无，她们被骗了，她们都上当了。”

威廷顿思索了一会儿。

“我想搞明白，我怀疑她们所追求的东西是否都是镜花水月。她们的生活本身是美丽的。我有一种想法，能够使我们生活的这个世界有可能看上去美丽，而没有任何厌恶的东西，唯一能做的事情就是人们时不时地要在混乱中创造出美的事物，他们画的画，创作的音乐，写的书，以及过的生活。其中最为丰富的美就是美丽的生活，那是完美的艺术作品。”

凯蒂叹了一口气，他的话似乎很晦涩，但她还想听下去。

“你听过交响乐的音乐会吗？”他继续说道。

“是的。”她笑着说，“我对音乐一窍不通，但我还是很喜欢的。”

“乐队的每位成员都在演奏自己的乐器，你认为他们知道在互不关心的气氛中音乐逐渐展开时各部分复杂的和谐吗？他们其实只关心自己那部分，但是他们知道整首交响乐是动听的，即便没人注意听，但它依然是动听的，所以他们只需心满意足地演奏自己的部分就行了。”

“你在有一天曾经谈到了‘道’。”停顿了一会儿，凯蒂说道，“告诉我什么是‘道’。”

威廷顿看了她一眼，犹豫了片刻，随后在他充满喜剧色彩的脸上露出淡淡的微笑，他回答道：

“道就是路和行路人。它是永恒的道路，万物都在沿着它运行，但是，道不是被创造出来的，因为它本身就存在于万物之中。道是一切，又是虚无。从道中万物萌生，万物又顺从道的规律，而且万物最终归于道。它是方形但没有棱角，它是一种声音但耳朵又听不见，它是一种形象但没有形式。道是一张巨大的网，虽然它的网孔像大海一样宽阔，但它不会让任何东西通过它。道是圣殿，在这里万物都可以得到庇护。道是乌有乡，但不用向窗外看，你就能看见它。不管是否愿意，道在教人，让万物按照既定的轨道行进。道把自己变得谦卑，但能够容纳全部。道先弯曲，然后才能变直。失败是成功的基础，成功是失败的蛰伏之地。但谁能说得清不定什么时候转折点就会到来呢？力求温和的人可能会平和如孩童。不卑不亢能够使进攻的人获胜，使防守的人安全。能够征服自己的人才是最强有力的人。”

“道意味着一切吗？”

“有时候是，当我有半打威士忌，边喝边仰望星空时，我认为它或许就意味着一切。”

他们俩又沉默了，还是凯蒂再次打破了沉默。

“告诉我，‘死的是那条狗’，这句话有出处吗？”

威廷顿的嘴角上扬，他已经准备好了答案。但是也许就在那一刻，他有点儿神经过敏，凯蒂没有看他，但她表情中的某些东西使得他改变了主意。

“如果有出处我也不知道。”他小心谨慎地答道，“你为什么这么问？”

“没什么，它突然掠过我的脑海，听起来有点儿耳熟。”

接下来又是一阵沉默。

“当你单独和你丈夫一起的时候。”威廷顿很快说道，“我和军医聊了一会儿，我想我们应该知道更多的细节。”

“什么细节？”

“那名军医处于歇斯底里的状态，我不太明白他的意思，但我能了解到的是，你丈夫是在做实验时被感染的。”

“他总是在做实验。他不是正宗的医生，他是个细菌学家。这也是他急于来这儿的原因。”

“从军医的话中我没有搞清楚的是，他到底是意外被传染上的，还是故意拿自己做实验。”

凯蒂的脸变得刷白，这种说法让她浑身颤抖。威廷顿握住了她的手。

“原谅我再次谈到这个。”他温柔地说道，“但是我以为这会使你得到安慰——我知道在这种场合下，说任何事都是于事无补的——我想这可能对你来说有些意义，沃尔特是为科学牺牲的，是一个以身殉职的烈士。”

凯蒂似乎有些不耐烦地耸了耸肩。

“沃尔特是心碎而死的。”她说道。

威廷顿没有回答，她慢慢地转过身，看着他。她的脸煞白，表情十分坚定。

“他这么说是什么意思，‘死的是条狗’？到底是什么呢？”

“这是戈德史密斯的《挽歌》中的最后一句。”