第 52 页

"I didn't," echoed Archer with a kind of solemnity.

"No: you date, you see, dear old boy. But mother said--"

"Your mother?"

"Yes: the day before she died. It was when she sent for me alone--you remember? She said she knew we were safe with you, and always would be, because once, when she asked you to, you'd given up the thing you most wanted."

Archer received this strange communication in silence. His eyes remained unseeingly fixed on the thronged sunlit square below the window. At length he said in a low voice: "She never asked me."

"No. I forgot. You never did ask each other anything, did you? And you never told each other anything. You just sat and watched each other, and guessed at what was going on underneath. A deaf-and-dumb asylum, in fact! Well, I back your generation for knowing more about each other's private thoughts than we ever have time to find out about our own.--I say, Dad," Dallas broke off, "you're not angry with me? If you are, let's make it up and go and lunch at Henri's. I've got to rush out to Versailles afterward."

Archer did not accompany his son to Versailles. He preferred to spend the afternoon in solitary roamings through Paris. He had to deal all at once with the packed regrets and stifled memories of an inarticulate lifetime.

After a little while he did not regret Dallas's indiscretion. It seemed to take an iron band from his heart to know that, after all, some one had guessed and pitied. . . . And that it should have been his wife moved him indescribably. Dallas, for all his affectionate insight, would not have understood that. To the boy, no doubt, the episode was only a pathetic instance of vain frustration, of wasted forces. But was it really no more? For a long time Archer sat on a bench in the Champs Elysees and wondered, while the stream of life rolled by. . . .

A few streets away, a few hours away, Ellen Olenska waited. She had never gone back to her husband, and when he had died, some years before, she had made no change in her way of living. There was nothing now to keep her and Archer apart--and that afternoon he was to see her.

He got up and walked across the Place de la Concorde and the Tuileries gardens to the Louvre. She had once told him that she often went there, and he had a fancy to spend the intervening time in a place where he could think of her as perhaps having lately been. For an hour or more he wandered from gallery to gallery through the dazzle of afternoon light, and one by one the pictures burst on him in their half-forgotten splendour, filling his soul with the long echoes of beauty. After all, his life had been too starved. . . .

Suddenly, before an effulgent Titian, he found himself saying: "But I'm only fifty-seven--" and then he turned away. For such summer dreams it was too late; but surely not for a quiet harvest of friendship, of comradeship, in the blessed hush of her nearness.

He went back to the hotel, where he and Dallas were to meet; and together they walked again across the Place de la Concorde and over the bridge that leads to the Chamber of Deputies.

Dallas, unconscious of what was going on in his father's mind, was talking excitedly and abundantly of Versailles. He had had but one previous glimpse of it, during a holiday trip in which he had tried to pack all the sights he had been deprived of when he had had to go with the family to Switzerland; and tumultuous enthusiasm and cock-sure criticism tripped each other up on his lips.

As Archer listened, his sense of inadequacy and inexpressiveness increased. The boy was not insensitive, he knew; but he had the facility and self-confidence that came of looking at fate not as a master but as an equal. "That's it: they feel equal to things--they know their way about," he mused, thinking of his son as the spokesman of the new generation which had swept away all the old landmarks, and with them the sign- posts and the danger-signal.

Suddenly Dallas stopped short, grasping his father's arm. "Oh, by Jove," he exclaimed.

They had come out into the great tree-planted space before the Invalides. The dome of Mansart floated ethereally above the budding trees and the long grey front of the building: drawing up into itself all the rays of afternoon light, it hung there like the visible symbol of the race's glory.

Archer knew that Madame Olenska lived in a square near one of the avenues radiating from the Invalides; and he had pictured the quarter as quiet and almost obscure, forgetting the central splendour that lit it up. Now, by some queer process of association, that golden light became for him the pervading illumination in which she lived. For nearly thirty years, her life--of which he knew so strangely little--had been spent in this rich atmosphere that he already felt to be too dense and yet too stimulating for his lungs. He thought of the theatres she must have been to, the pictures she must have looked at, the sober and splendid old houses she must have frequented, the people she must have talked with, the incessant stir of ideas, curiosities, images and associations thrown out by an intensely social race in a setting of immemorial manners; and suddenly he remembered the young Frenchman who had once said to him: "Ah, good conversation--there is nothing like it, is there?"

Archer had not seen M. Riviere, or heard of him, for nearly thirty years; and that fact gave the measure of his ignorance of Madame Olenska's existence. More than half a lifetime divided them, and she had spent the long interval among people he did not know, in a society he but faintly guessed at, in conditions he would never wholly understand. During that time he had been living with his youthful memory of her; but she had doubtless had other and more tangible companionship. Perhaps she too had kept her memory of him as something apart; but if she had, it must have been like a relic in a small dim chapel, where there was not time to pray every day. . . .

They had crossed the Place des Invalides, and were walking down one of the thoroughfares flanking the building. It was a quiet quarter, after all, in spite of its splendour and its history; and the fact gave one an idea of the riches Paris had to draw on, since such scenes as this were left to the few and the indifferent.

The day was fading into a soft sun-shot haze, pricked here and there by a yellow electric light, and passers were rare in the little square into which they had turned. Dallas stopped again, and looked up.

"It must be here," he said, slipping his arm through his father's with a movement from which Archer's shyness did not shrink; and they stood together looking up at the house.

It was a modern building, without distinctive character, but many-windowed, and pleasantly balconied up its wide cream-coloured front. On one of the upper balconies, which hung well above the rounded tops of the horse-chestnuts in the square, the awnings were still lowered, as though the sun had just left it.

"I wonder which floor--?" Dallas conjectured; and moving toward the porte-cochere he put his head into the porter's lodge, and came back to say: "The fifth. It must be the one with the awnings."

Archer remained motionless, gazing at the upper windows as if the end of their pilgrimage had been attained.

"I say, you know, it's nearly six," his son at length reminded him.

The father glanced away at an empty bench under the trees.

"I believe I'll sit there a moment," he said.

"Why--aren't you well?" his son exclaimed.

"Oh, perfectly. But I should like you, please, to go up without me."

Dallas paused before him, visibly bewildered. "But, I say, Dad: do you mean you won't come up at all?"

"I don't know," said Archer slowly.

"If you don't she won't understand."

"Go, my boy; perhaps I shall follow you."

Dallas gave him a long look through the twilight.

"But what on earth shall I say?"

"My dear fellow, don't you always know what to say?" his father rejoined with a smile.

"Very well. I shall say you're old-fashioned, and prefer walking up the five flights because you don't like lifts."

His father smiled again. "Say I'm old-fashioned: that's enough."

Dallas looked at him again, and then, with an incredulous gesture, passed out of sight under the vaulted doorway.

Archer sat down on the bench and continued to gaze at the awninged balcony. He calculated the time it would take his son to be carried up in the lift to the fifth floor, to ring the bell, and be admitted to the hall, and then ushered into the drawing-room. He pictured Dallas entering that room with his quick assured step and his delightful smile, and wondered if the people were right who said that his boy "took after him."

Then he tried to see the persons already in the room--for probably at that sociable hour there would be more than one--and among them a dark lady, pale and dark, who would look up quickly, half rise, and hold out a long thin hand with three rings on it. . . . He thought she would be sitting in a sofa-corner near the fire, with azaleas banked behind her on a table.

"It's more real to me here than if I went up," he suddenly heard himself say; and the fear lest that last shadow of reality should lose its edge kept him rooted to his seat as the minutes succeeded each other.

He sat for a long time on the bench in the thickening dusk, his eyes never turning from the balcony. At length a light shone through the windows, and a moment later a man-servant came out on the balcony, drew up the awnings, and closed the shutters.

At that, as if it had been the signal he waited for, Newland Archer got up slowly and walked back alone to his hotel.

纽兰•阿切尔坐在东39街他的图书室的写字台前。

他刚刚参加了为大都会博物馆新展室落成典礼举办的官方大型招待会回来。那些宽敞的大展室里堆满历代收藏品，一大群时髦人物川流于一系列科学分类的宝藏中间——这一景观猛然揿动了一个已经生锈的记忆的弹簧。

“哎，这儿过去是一间塞兹诺拉的老展厅啊，”他听见有人说道。顷刻之间，他周围的一切都隐而不见了，剩下他一个人坐在靠暖气管的硬皮沙发椅上。同时，一个穿海豹皮长大衣的苗条身影沿着老博物馆简陋的狭长通道消逝在远处。

这一幻像引出了一大堆另外的联想。他坐在那儿以新的眼光看着这间图书室。30多年来，这里一直是他独自沉思及全家人闲聊的场所。

他一生大部分真实的事情都发生在这间屋子里。在这儿，大约26年前，他妻子向他透露了她要生孩子的消息，她红着脸，躲躲闪闪的样子会引得新一代年轻女子发笑。在这儿，他们的长子达拉斯因孱弱不能在隆冬季节带去教堂，由他们的朋友、纽约市主教施了洗礼仪式；那位高尚无比、独一无二的主教成为他主管的教区多年的骄傲与光彩。在这儿，达拉斯第一次学步，口中喊着“爹的”瞒哪走了起来，而梅与保姆则躲在门后开怀大笑。在这儿，他们的次女玛丽（她特别像她的妈妈）宣布了与里吉•奇弗斯那群儿子中最迟钝却最可靠的一位订婚。也是在这儿，阿切尔隔着婚纱吻了女儿，然后和她一起下楼坐汽车去了格雷斯教堂——在一个万事都从根本上发生了动摇的世界上，只有“格雷斯教堂的婚礼”还依然如故。

就是在这间图书室里，他和梅经常讨论子女们的前途问题：达拉斯与弟弟贝尔的学业，玛丽对“成就”不可救药的漠然及对运动与慈善事业的一往情深。对“艺术”的笼统爱好最终使好动、好奇的达拉斯进了一家新兴的纽约建筑事务所。

如今的年轻人正在摆脱法律业与商务的束缚，开始致力于各种各样的新事物。如果他们不热衷国家政务或市政改革，那么，他们很可能沉迷于中美洲的考古学、建筑或园林工程，或者对独立战争之前的本国建筑物发生强烈的学术兴趣，研究并改造乔治王朝时期的建筑风格，并且反对无意义地使用“殖民时期”这个词。除了郊区那些做食品杂货生意的百万富翁，如今已没有人拥有“殖民时期”的住宅了。

然而最重要的——阿切尔有时把它说成是最重要的——是在这间图书室里，纽约州州长有一天晚上从奥尔巴尼过来进餐并过夜的时候，咬着他的眼镜、握紧拳头敲着桌子，对着主人说：“去他的职业政治家吧！阿切尔，你才是国家需要的那种人。要想把马厩清理干净，像你这样的人必须伸出手来帮忙打扫。”

“像你这样的人——”阿切尔对这一措辞曾经何等得意！他曾经何等热情地奋起响应召唤！那简直如同内德•温塞特让他挽起袖子下泥沼的呼吁，不过这是由一位先做出榜样的人提出的，而且响应他的号召具有不可抗拒的魅力。

回首往事，阿切尔不敢肯定自己这样的人就是国家需要的人才，至少在西奥多•罗斯福所指示的积极尽职方面他算不上。他这样想实际上不无道理，因为他在州议会任职一年后没有被连选，谢天谢地又跌落下来，做一份如果说有用却没有名的市政工作，后来又一次降格，只偶尔为一份以驱散弥漫全国的冷漠情绪为宗旨的改革周刊写写文章。往事没有多少值得回顾的东西，不过当他想到他那一代与他同类的年轻人的追求时——赚钱、娱乐及社交界的俗套使他们视野狭窄——他觉得他对新秩序的些微贡献也还是有价值的，就像一块砖对于一堵墙的作用那样。他在公共生活中成就甚微，按性情他永远属于一名沉思者与浅尝者，然而他曾经沉思过重大的事情，值得高兴的重大事情，并且因为曾拥有一位大人物的友谊而引为自豪和力量源泉。

总之，他一直是个人们开始称之为“好公民”的人。在纽约，在过去的许多年间，每一项新的运动，不论是慈善性质的还是市政或艺术方面的，都曾考虑过他的意见，需要过他的名字。在开办第一所残疾儿童学校的时候，在改建艺术博物馆、建立格罗里埃俱乐部。创办新图书馆、组织室内音乐学会的时候——遇到难题，人们便说：“去问阿切尔。”他的岁月过得很充实，而且很体面。他以为这应是一个人的全部追求。

他知道他失落了一件东西：生命的花朵。不过现在他认为那是非常难以企及的事，为此而牢骚满腹不啻因为抽彩抓不到头奖而苦恼。彩票千千万万，头奖却只有一个，机缘分明一直与他作对。当他想到埃伦•奥兰斯卡的时候心情是平静的、超脱的，就像人们想到书中或电影里爱慕的人物那样。他所失落的一切都会聚在她的幻影里，这幻影尽管依稀缥缈，却阻止他去想念别的女人。他属于人们所说的忠诚丈夫，当梅突然病故时——她被传染性肺炎夺去了生命，生病期间正哺养着他们最小的孩子——他衷心地哀悼了她。他们多年的共同生活向他证明，只要婚姻能维持双方责任的尊严，即使它是一种枯燥的责任，也无关紧要。失去了责任的尊严，婚姻就仅仅是一场丑恶欲望的斗争。回首往事，他尊重自己的过去，同时也为之痛心。说到底，旧的生活方式也有它好的一面。

他环视这间屋子——它已被达拉斯重新装修过，换上了英国的楼板、切宾代尔式的摆设柜，几枚精选的蓝白色小装饰，光线舒适的电灯——目光又回到那张他一直不愿舍弃的旧东湖书桌上，回到他得到的梅的第一张照片上——它依然占据着墨水台旁边的位置。

她站在那儿，高高的个子，丰满的胸部，苗条的身材，穿一身浆过的棉布服装，戴一顶帽边下垂的宽边草帽，就像他在教区花园桔树底下见到她时那样。后来，她就一直保持着他那天见到她的那副样子，没有长进，也没有退步。她慷慨大度，忠心耿耿，不知疲倦；但却特别缺乏想像力，特别难有长进，以致她青年时代的那个世界分崩离析又进行了重塑，她都没有觉察。这种视而不见的状态显然会使她的见解一成不变。由于她不能认清时代的变化，结果孩子们也跟阿切尔一样向她隐瞒自己的观点。这事从一开始就存在一种共同的借口，一种家人间并无恶意的虚伪，不知不觉地把父亲与孩子们联合了起来。她去世时依然认为人世间是个好地方，到处是像她自己家那样可爱和睦的家庭。她顺从地离开了人间，确信不管发生什么事，阿切尔都会向达拉斯灌输塑造他父母生命的那些准则与成见，而达拉斯（等阿切尔随她而去）也会将这一神圣的信赖转达给小比尔。至于玛丽，她对她就像对自己那样有把握。于是，在死亡的边缘保住了小比尔之后，她便精殚力竭地撒手而去，心满意足地到圣马克墓地阿切尔家的墓穴中归位。而阿切尔太太早已安然躺在那儿，避开了她儿媳甚至都没察觉到的可怕的“潮流”。

在梅的照片对面，还立着她女儿的一张。玛丽•奇弗斯跟母亲一样高，一样漂亮，不过她腰身粗壮，胸部扁平，略显疲态，符合已经变化了的时尚的要求。假如她的腰只有20英寸，能用梅•阿切尔那根天蓝色腰带束腰，玛丽•奇弗斯非凡的运动才能就无从发挥了。母女间的这一差别颇具象征意义，母亲的一生犹如她的形体那样受到了严紧的束缚。玛丽一样地传统，也并不比母亲聪明，然而她的生活却更为开阔，观念更加宽容。看来，新秩序也有它好的一面。

电话铃嘀嘀地响了，阿切尔从两张照片上移开目光，转过身摘下旁边的话机。他们离开那些日子多么遥远了——那时候，穿铜纽扣衣服的信差的两条腿是快速通讯的惟一工具。

“芝加哥有人要和你通话。”

啊——一定是达拉斯来的长途，他被公司派往芝加哥，去谈判他们为一位有见地的年轻富翁修建湖畔宅邸的计划。公司经常派达拉斯执行这类任务。

“喂，爸——是的，我是达拉斯，我说——星期三航行一趟你觉得怎样？去毛里塔尼亚，对，就是下周三。我们的顾客想让我先看几个意大利花园再做决定。要我赶紧乘下一班船过去，我必须在6月1日回来——”他的话音突然变成得意的笑声——“所以我们必须抓紧，我说爸，我需要你的帮助，你来吧。”

达拉斯好像就在屋子里讲话，他的声音那样近，那样真切，仿佛他就懒洋洋地倚在炉边他最喜爱的那张扶手椅里。若不是长途电话已经变得跟电灯和5天横渡大西洋一样司空见惯，这件事准得让阿切尔惊得非同小可。不过这笑声还是让他吓了一跳，他依然感到非常奇妙：隔着这么遥远的疆域——森林、江河、山脉、草原、喧嚣的城市与数百万忙碌的局外人——达拉斯的笑声竟能向他表示：“当然了，不管发生什么事，我必须在1号回来。因为我和范妮•博福特要在5号结婚。”

耳机里又响起儿子的声音：“考虑考虑？不行，先生。一分钟也不行，你现在就得答应。为什么不？我想问一问。假如你能提出一条理由——不行，这我知道。那就一言为定？因为我料想你明天第一件事就是去摁丘纳德办公室的门铃。还有，你最好订一张到马赛的往返船票。我说爸，这将是我们最后一次一起旅行了——以这种方式。啊——太好了！我早知道你会的。”

芝加哥那边挂断了，阿切尔站起来，开始在屋里来回踱步。

这将是他们最后一次以这种方式一起旅行了：孩子说得对。达拉斯婚后他们还会有另外“很多次”一起旅行，父亲对此深信不疑，因为他们俩天生地志同道合，而范妮•博福特，不论人们对她有何看法，似乎不可能会干涉父子间的亲密关系。相反，根据他对她的观察，他倒认为她会很自然地被吸引到这种关系中来。然而变化终归是变化，差别依然是差别。尽管他对未来的儿媳颇有好感，但单独跟儿子一起的最后机会对他也很有诱惑力。

除了他已失去旅行的习惯这一深层原因之外，他没有任何理由不抓住这次机会。梅一直不爱活动，除非有正当的理由，譬如带孩子们到海边或山里去，否则她想不出还有别的原因要离开39街的家，或者离开纽波特韦兰家他们那舒适的住处。达拉斯取得学位之后，她认为出去旅游6个月是她应尽的职责。全家人到英国。瑞典和意大利作了一次老式的旅行。因为时间有限（谁也不知为什么），他们只得略去了法国，阿切尔还记得，在要求达拉斯考虑布朗峰而不去兰斯与沙特尔时儿子那副激怒的样子。但玛丽和比尔想要爬山，而且在游览英国那些大教堂的路上，他俩早就跟在达拉斯后面打呵欠了。梅对孩子们一贯持公平态度，坚决维持他们运动爱好与艺术爱好之间的平衡。她确实曾提议，让丈夫去巴黎呆上两周，等他们“进行”完瑞士，再到意大利湖畔与他们汇合。但阿切尔拒绝了，“我们要始终在一起，”他说。见他为达拉斯树立了榜样，梅脸上露出了喜色。

她去世快两年了，自那以后，他没有理由继续恪守原有的常规了。孩子们曾劝他去旅游，玛丽•奇弗斯坚信，到国外去“看看画展”，肯定对他大有益处。那种治疗方法的神秘性使她愈发相信其功效。然而，阿切尔发觉自己被习惯、回忆以及对新事物的惊惧紧紧束缚住了。

此刻，在他回首往事的时候，他看清了自己是多么墨守成规。尽义务最不幸的后果，是使人变得对其他事情明显不适应了。至少这是他那一代男人所持的观点。对与错、诚实与虚伪、高尚与卑鄙，这些界限太分明了，对预料之外的情况不留半点余地。容易受环境压抑的想像力，有时候会突然超越平日的水平，去审视命运漫长曲折的行程。阿切尔呆坐在那儿，感慨着……

他成长于其中的那个小小天地——是它的准则压制并束缚了他——现在还剩下了什么呢？他记起浅薄的劳伦斯•莱弗茨就在这屋子里说过的一句嘲讽的预言：“假如世态照这种速度发展，我们的下一代就会与博福特家的杂种结亲。”

这正是阿切尔的长子——他一生的骄傲——准备要做的事，而且没有人感到奇怪，没有人有所非难。就连孩子的姑妈詹尼——她看起来还跟她成了大龄青年的时候一模一样——也从粉红的棉絮中取出她母亲的绿宝石与小粒珍珠，用她那双颤抖的手捧着送给了未来的新娘。而范妮•博福特非但没有因为没有收到巴黎珠宝商定做的手饰而露出失望的表情，反而大声称赞其老样式的精美，并说等她戴上之后，会觉得自己像一幅伊萨贝的小画像。

范妮•博福特双亲去世以后，于18岁那年在纽约社交界露面，她像30年前奥兰斯卡夫人那样赢得了它的爱。上流社会非但没有不信任她或惧怕她，反而高高兴兴接纳了她。她漂亮、有趣，并且多才多艺：谁还再需要什么呢？没有人那样心胸狭窄，再去翻她父亲的历史和她出身的老账。那些事已经被淡忘了，只有上年纪的人还依稀记得纽约生意场上博福特破产的事件；或者记得他在妻子死后悄悄娶了那位名声不好的范妮•琳，带着他的新婚妻子和一个继承了她的美貌的小女孩离开了这个国家。后来人们听说他到了君士坦丁堡，再后来又去了俄国。十几年以后，美国的旅行者在布宜诺斯艾利斯受到了他慷慨热情的款待，他在那儿代理一家保险机构。他和妻子在鼎盛时期在那儿离开了人世。有一天他们的孤女来到了纽约，她受梅•阿切尔的弟媳杰克•韦兰太太的照管，后者的丈夫被指定为姑娘的监护人。这一事实差不多使她与纽兰•阿切尔的孩子们成了表姊妹的关系，所以在宣布达拉斯的订婚消息时没有人感到意外。