月亮与六便士【中英字幕】

The thought ofher suffering was intolerable. He had a sudden vision of her standing in thekitchen -- it was hardly larger than a cupboard -- washing the plates andglasses, the forks and spoons, giving the knives a rapid polish on theknife-board; and then putting everything away, giving the sink a scrub, andhanging the dish-cloth up to dry -- it was there still, a gray torn rag; thenlooking round to see that everything was clean and nice. He saw her roll downher sleeves and remove her apron -- the apron hung on a peg behind the door --and take the bottle of oxalic acid and go with it into the bedroom.

The agony of itdrove him up from the bed and out of the room. He went into the studio. It wasdark, for the curtains had been drawn over the great window, and he pulled themquickly back; but a sob broke from him as with a rapid glance he took in theplace where he had been so happy. Nothing was changed here, either. Stricklandwas indifferent to his surroundings, and he had lived in the other's studiowithout thinking of altering a thing. It was deliberately artistic. Itrepresented Stroeve's idea of the proper environment for an artist. There werebits of old brocade on the walls, and the piano was covered with a piece ofsilk, beautiful and tarnished; in one corner was a copy of the Venus of Milo,and in another of the Venus of the Medici. Here and there was an Italian cabinetsurmounted with Delft, and here and there a bas-relief. In a handsome goldframe was a copy of Velasquez' Innocent X. , that Stroeve had made in Rome, andplaced so as to make the most of their decorative effect were a number ofStroeve's pictures, all in splendid frames. Stroeve had always been very proudof his taste. He had never lost his appreciation for the romantic atmosphere ofa studio, and though now the sight of it was like a stab in his heart, withoutthinking what he was at, he changed slightly the position of a Louis XV. tablewhich was one of his treasures.

想到她受的那些罪孽，施特略夫简直无法忍受。他的脑子里忽然闪现出她的幻影：她正站在厨房里——一间比柜橱大不了多少的厨房——刷洗盘腕，擦拭刀叉，在刀架上把几把刀子飞快地蹭了几下，然后把餐具一一收拾起来。接着她把污水池擦洗了一下，把抹布挂起来——直到现在这块已经磨破的灰色抹布还在那里挂着。她向四边看了看，是否一切都已收拾整齐。他仿佛看见她把卷起的袖口放下来，摘下了围裙——围裙挂在门后边一个木栓上——，然后拿起了装草酸的瓶子，走进了卧室。

痛苦使他一下子从床上跳起来，冲出了屋子。他走进了画室。屋子里很黑，因为大玻璃窗上还挡着窗帘；他一把把窗帘拉开。但是当他把这间他在里面曾经感到那么幸福的房间飞快地看了一眼以后，不禁呜咽出声来。屋子一点也没有变样。思特里克兰德对环境漠不关心，他在别人的这间画室住着的时候从来没有想到把什么东西改换个位置。这间屋子经过施特略夫精心布置很富于艺术趣味，表现出施特略夫心目中艺术家应有的生活环境。墙上悬着几块织锦，钢琴上铺着一块美丽的但光泽已有些暗淡的丝织品，一个墙角摆着美洛斯的维纳斯①的复制品，另一个墙角摆着麦迪琪的维纳斯②复制品。这里立着一个意大利式的小柜橱，柜橱顶上摆着一个德尔夫特③的陶器；那里挂着一块浮雕美术品。一个很漂亮的金框子里镶着委拉斯凯兹的名画《天真的

X

》的描本，这是施特略夫在罗马的时候描下来的；另外，还有几张他自己的画作，嵌着精致的镜框，陈列得极富于装饰效果。施特略夫一向对自己的审美感非常自豪，对自己这间具有浪漫情调的画室他总是欣赏不够。虽然在目前这样一个时刻，这间屋子好象在他心头戳了一刀，他还是不由自主地把一张路易十五时代的桌子稍微挪动了一下。这张桌子是他的最珍爱的物品之一。

The apartmenthad no look of desertion. His wife's tidiness was one of the traits which hadso much pleased him; his own upbringing had given him a tender sympathy for thedelight in orderliness; and when he had seen her instinctive desire to put eachthing in its appointed place it had given him a little warm feeling in hisheart. The bedroom looked as though she had just left it: the brushes wereneatly placed on the toilet-table, one on each side of the comb; someone hadsmoothed down the bed on which she had spent her last night in the studio; andher nightdress in a little case lay on the pillow. It was impossible to believethat she would never come into that room again.

But he feltthirsty, and went into the kitchen to get himself some water. Here, too, wasorder. On a rack were the plates that she had used for dinner on the night ofher quarrel with Strickland, and they had been carefully washed. The knives andforks were put away in a drawer. Under a cover were the remains of a piece ofcheese, and in a tin box was a crust of bread. She had done her marketing fromday to day, buying only what was strictly needful, so that nothing was leftover from one day to the next. Stroeve knew from the enquiries made by thepolice that Strickland had walked out of the house immediately after dinner,and the fact that Blanche had washed up the things as usual gave him a littlethrill of horror. Her methodicalness made her suicide more deliberate. Herself-possession was frightening. A sudden pang seized him, and his knees feltso weak that he almost fell. He went back into the bedroom and threw himself onthe bed. He cried out her name.

"Blanche.Blanche. "

房间不象没人住的样子。勃朗什习性整洁，施特略夫非常喜次她这一点。他小时候的教养使他对别人爱好整洁的习惯极富同感。当他看到勃朗什出于天性样样东西都放得井井有条，他心里有一种热呼呼的感觉。卧室看上去象是她离开没有多久的样子：几把刷子整整齐齐地摆在梳妆台上，每一把放在一只梳子旁边；她在画室里最后一夜睡过的床铺不知有谁整理过，铺得平平整整；她的睡衣放在一个小盒子里，摆在枕头上面。真不能相信，她永远也不回这间屋子里来了。

他感到口渴，走进厨房去给自己弄一点水喝。厨房也整齐有序。她同思特里克兰德吵嘴的那天晚上，晚饭使用的餐具已经摆好在碗架上，而且洗得干干净净。刀叉收好在一只抽屉里。吃剩的一块干酪用一件什么器皿扣起来，一个洋铁盒里放着一块面包。她总是每天上街采购，只买当天最需要的东西，因此从来没有什么东西留到第二天。从进行调查的警察那里施特略夫了解到，那天晚上思特里克兰德一吃过晚饭就离开了这所房子，而勃朗什居然还象通常一样洗碟子刷碗，这真叫人不寒而栗。勃朗什临死以前还这样有条有理地做家务活儿，这说明了她的自杀是周密计划的。她的自制能力让人觉得可怕。突然间，施特略夫感到心如刀绞，两膝发软，几乎跌倒在地上。他回到卧室，一头扎在床上，大声地呼唤着她的名字：

“勃朗什！勃朗什！”

When I lefthim, after we had buried poor Blanche, Stroeve walked into the house with aheavy heart. Something impelled him to go to the studio, some obscure desirefor self-torture, and yet he dreaded the anguish that he foresaw. He draggedhimself up the stairs; his feet seemed unwilling to carry him; and outside thedoor he lingered for a long time, trying to summon up courage to go in. He felthorribly sick. He had an impulse to run down the stairs after me and beg me togo in with him; he had a feeling that there was somebody in the studio. Heremembered how often he had waited for a minute or two on the landing to gethis breath after the ascent, and how absurdly his impatience to see Blanche hadtaken it away again. To see her was a delight that never staled, and eventhough he had not been out an hour he was as excited at the prospect as if theyhad been parted for a month. Suddenly he could not believe that she was dead.What had happened could only be a dream, a frightful dream; and when he turnedthe key and opened the door, he would see her bending slightly over the tablein the gracious attitude of the woman in Chardin's Benedicite, which alwaysseemed to him so exquisite. Hurriedly he took the key out of his pocket,opened, and walked in.

我们那天埋葬了可怜的勃朗什，分手以后，施特略夫怀着一颗沉重的心走进自己的房子。他被什么驱使着向画室走去，也许是被某种想折磨自己的模糊的愿望，尽管他非常害怕他必将感到的剧烈痛苦。他拖着双脚走上楼梯，他的两只脚好象很不愿意往那地方移动。他在画室外面站了很久很久，拼命鼓起勇气来推门进去。他觉得一阵阵地犯恶心，想要呕吐。他几乎禁不住自己要跑下楼梯去把我追回来，求我陪着一起进去。他有一种感觉，仿佛画室里有人似的。他记得过去气喘吁吁地走上楼梯，总要在楼梯口站一两分钟，让呼吸平静一些再进屋子，可是又由于迫不及待想见到勃朗什（心情那么急切多么可笑！）呼吸总是平静不下来。每次见到勃朗什都使他喜不自禁，哪怕出门还不到一个钟头，一想到同她会面也兴奋得无法自持，就象分别了一月之久似的。突然间他不能相信她已经死了。所发生的事只应是一个梦，一个噩梦；当他转动钥匙打开门以后，他会看到她的身躯微俯在桌子上面，同夏尔丹的名画《饭前祷告》里面那个妇女的身姿一样优美。施特略夫一向觉得这幅画精美绝伦。他急忙从口袋里掏出钥匙，把门打开，走了进去。

"The dearsoul thought she was doing a wonderful thing for me when she made me an artist,but perhaps, after all, it would have been better for me if my father's willhad prevailed and I were now but an honest carpenter. "

"Now thatyou know what art can offer, would you change your life? Would you have missedall the delight it has given you?"

"Art isthe greatest thing in the world, " he answered, after a pause.

He looked at mefor a minute reflectively; he seemed to hesitate; then he said:

"Did youknow that I had been to see Strickland?"

"You?"

I wasastonished. I should have thought he could not bear to set eyes on him. Stroevesmiled faintly.

"You knowalready that I have no proper pride. "

"What doyou mean by that?"

He told me asingular story.

“我那可怜的母亲认为她把我培养成一个艺术家是干了一件了不起的事，但是说不定要是父亲的想法得以实现，我如今只不过是个老老实实的木匠，对我说来倒更好一些。”

“现在你已经了解了艺术会给人们带来些什么。你还愿意改变你的生活吗？你肯放弃艺术给与你的所有那些快感吗？”

“艺术是世界上最伟大的东西。”他沉吟了片刻说。

他沉思地看了我一会儿，好象对一件什么事拿不定主意。最后，他开口说：

“你知道我去看思特里克兰德了吗？”

“你？”

我吃了一惊。我本来以为他非常恨他，决不会同他见面的。施特略夫的脸浮起一丝笑容。

“你已经知道我这人是没有自尊心的。”

“这话是什么意思？”

他给我说了一个奇异的故事。

To me it washis broken spirit that expressed itself, and I rebelled against hisrenunciation. But I kept my own counsel.

"What madeyou think of being a painter?" I asked.

He shrugged hisshoulders.

"Ithappened that I had a knack for drawing. I got prizes for it at school. My poormother was very proud of my gift, and she gave me a box of water-colours as apresent. She showed my sketches to the pastor and the doctor and the judge. Andthey sent me to Amsterdam to try for a scholarship, and I won it. Poor soul,she was so proud; and though it nearly broke her heart to part from me, shesmiled, and would not show me her grief. She was pleased that her son should bean artist. They pinched and saved so that I should have enough to live on, andwhen my first picture was exhibited they came to Amsterdam to see it, my fatherand mother and my sister, and my mother cried when she looked at it. " Hiskind eyes glistened. "And now on every wall of the old house there is oneof my pictures in a beautiful gold frame. "

He glowed withhappy pride. I thought of those cold scenes of his, with their picturesquepeasants and cypresses and olive-trees. They must look queer in their garishframes on the walls of the peasant house.

这一番话我听着象是他意志消沉的自白，我不同意他这种自暴自弃的态度。但是我也不想同他争辩，宣讲我的处世方针。

“是什么使你想起当画家来呢？”我问他道。

他耸了耸肩膀。

“我凑巧有点儿绘画的才能。在学校读书的时候画图画得过奖。我的可怜的母亲很为我这种本领感到自豪，买了一盒水彩送给我。她还把我的图画拿给牧师、医生和法官去看。后来这些人把我送到阿姆斯特丹，让我试一试能不能考取奖学金入大学。我考取了。可怜的母亲，她骄傲得了不得。尽管同我分开使她非常难过，她还是强颜欢笑，不叫我看出她的伤心来。她非常高兴，自己的儿子能成为个艺术家。他们老两口省吃俭用，好叫我能够维持生活。当我的第一幅绘画参加展出的时候，他们到阿姆斯特丹看来了，我的父亲、母亲和妹妹都来了。我的母亲看见我的图画，眼泪都流出来了。”说到这里，施特略夫自己的眼睛也挂上了泪花。“现在老家的屋子四壁都挂着我的一张张画，镶在漂亮的金框子里。”

他的一张脸因为幸福的骄傲而闪闪发亮。我又想起来他画的那些毫无生气的景物，穿得花花绿绿的农民啊、丝柏树啊、橄榄树啊什么的。这些画镶着很讲究的金框子，挂在一家村舍的墙上是多么不伦不类呀！

"My fatherwished me to become a carpenter like himself. For five generations we'vecarried on the same trade, from father to son. Perhaps that is the wisdom oflife, to tread in your father's steps, and look neither to the right nor to theleft. When I was a little boy I said I would marry the daughter of theharness-maker who lived next door. She was a little girl with blue eyes and aflaxen pigtail. She would have kept my house like a new pin, and I should havehad a son to carry on the business after me. "

Stroeve sigheda little and was silent. His thoughts dwelt among pictures of what might havebeen, and the safety of the life he had refused filled him with longing.

"The worldis hard and cruel. We are here none knows why, and we go none knows whither. Wemust be very humble. We must see the beauty of quietness. We must go throughlife so inconspicuously that Fate does not notice us. And let us seek the loveof simple, ignorant people. Their ignorance is better than all our knowledge.Let us be silent, content in our little corner, meek and gentle like them. Thatis the wisdom of life. "

“我父亲希望我象他一样做个木匠。我们家五代人都是干的这个行业，总是父一代子一代地传下去。也许这就是生活的智慧——永远踩着父亲的脚印走下去，既不左顾也不右盼。小的时候我对别人说我要同隔壁一家做马具人家的女儿结婚。她是一个蓝眼睛的小女孩，亚麻色的头发梳着一根小辫。要是同这个人结了婚，她也会把我的家收拾得井井有条，还会给我生个孩子接替我的行业。”

施特略夫轻轻叹了一口气，沉默了一会儿。他的思想萦回在可能发生的这些图景上，他自动放弃的这种安全稳定的生活使他无限眷恋。

“世界是无情的、残酷的。我们生到人世间没有人知道为了什么，我们死后没有人知道到何处去。我们必须自甘卑屈。我们必须看到冷清寂寥的美妙。在生活中我们一定不要出风头、露头角，惹起命运对我们注目。让我们去寻求那些淳朴、敦厚的人的爱情吧。他们的愚昧远比我们的知识更为可贵。让我们保持着沉默，满足于自己小小的天地，象他们一样平易温顺吧。这就是生活的智慧。”

He was sore andbruised, and his thoughts went back to the tenderness of his mother's love. Theridicule he had endured for years seemed now to weigh him down, and the finalblow of Blanche's treachery had robbed him of the resiliency which had made himtake it so gaily. He could no longer laugh with those who laughed at him. Hewas an outcast. He told me of his childhood in the tidy brick house, and of hismother's passionate orderliness. Her kitchen was a miracle of clean brightness.Everything was always in its place, and no where could you see a speck of dust.Cleanliness, indeed, was a mania with her. I saw a neat little old woman, withcheeks like apples, toiling away from morning to night, through the long years,to keep her house trim and spruce. His father was a spare old man, his handsgnarled after the work of a lifetime, silent and upright; in the evening he readthe paper aloud, while his wife and daughter (now married to the captain of afishing smack), unwilling to lose a moment, bent over their sewing. Nothingever happened in that little town, left behind by the advance of civilisation,and one year followed the next till death came, like a friend, to give rest tothose who had laboured so diligently.

施特略夫现在遍体鳞伤，他的思想又让他回去寻找慈母的温情慰抚。多少年来他忍受的挪揄嘲笑现在好象已经把他压倒，勃朗什对他的背叛给他带来了最后一次打击，使他失去了以笑脸承受讥嘲的韧性。他不能再同那些嘲笑他的人一起放声大笑了。他已经成了一个摈弃于社会之外的人。他对我讲他在一所整洁有序的砖房子里消磨掉的童年。他的母亲生性爱好整洁，厨房收拾得干干净净、锃光瓦亮，简直是个奇迹。锅碗瓢盆都放得有条不紊，任何地方也找不出一星灰尘。说实在的，他母亲爱好清洁简直有些过头了。我仿佛看到了一个干净利落的小老太太，生着红里透白的面颊，从早到晚手脚不停闲，终生劬劳，把屋子收拾得井井有条，一尘不染。施特略夫的父亲是个瘦削的老人，因为终生劳动，两手骨节扭结，不言不语，诚实耿直。晚饭后他大声读着报纸，妻子和女儿（现在已经嫁给一个小渔船船长了）珍惜时间，埋头做针线活。文明日新月异，这个小城却好象被抛在后面，永远也不会发生什么事情，如此年复一年，直到死亡最后来临，象个老友似地给那些勤苦劳动一生的人带来永久的安息。

I did not seehim again for nearly a week. Then he fetched me soon after seven one eveningand took me out to dinner. He was dressed in the deepest mourning, and on hisbowler was a broad black band. He had even a black border to his handkerchief.His garb of woe suggested that he had lost in one catastrophe every relation hehad in the world, even to cousins by marriage twice removed. His plumpness andhis red, fat cheeks made his mourning not a little incongruous. It was cruelthat his extreme unhappiness should have in it something of buffoonery.

He told me hehad made up his mind to go away, though not to Italy, as I had suggested, butto Holland.

"I'mstarting to-morrow. This is perhaps the last time we shall ever meet. "

I made anappropriate rejoinder, and he smiled wanly.

"I haven'tbeen home for five years. I think I'd forgotten it all; I seemed to have comeso far away from my father's house that I was shy at the idea of revisiting it;but now I feel it's my only refuge. "

又有将近一个星期我没有再看到他。一天晚上刚过七点他来找我，约我出去吃晚饭。他身服重孝，圆顶硬礼帽上系着一条很宽的黑带子，连使用的手帕也镶着黑边。他的这身丧服说明在一次灾祸中他已经失去了世界上的一切亲属，甚至连姨表远亲也没有了。他的肥胖的身躯、又红又胖的面颊同身上的孝服很不协调。老天也真是残忍，竟让他这种无限凄怆悲惨带上某种滑稽可笑的成分。

他告诉我他已打定主意要到外国去，但并不是去我所建议的意大利，而是荷兰。

“我明天就动身。这也许是我们最后一次见面了。”

我说了一句适当的答话，他勉强地笑了笑。

“我已经有五年没回老家了。我想家里的情况我都忘记了。我好象离开祖传的老屋那么遥远，甚至都不好意思再回去探望它了。但是现在我觉得这是我唯一的栖身之地。”

Again he madeno reply, but the driver of our carriage came to my rescue. Slackening his pacefor a moment, he leaned over and spoke. I could not hear what he said, so I putmy head out of the window. he wanted to know where we wished to be set down. Itold him to wait a minute.

"You'dbetter come and have lunch with me, " I said to Dirk. "I'll tell himto drop us in the Place Pigalle. "

"I'drather not. I want to go to the studio. "

I hesitated amoment.

"Would youlike me to come with you?" I asked then.

"No; Ishould prefer to be alone. "

"Allright. "

I gave thedriver the necessary direction, and in renewed silence we drove on. Dirk hadnot been to the studio since the wretched morning on which they had takenBlanche to the hospital. I was glad he did not want me to accompany him, andwhen I left him at the door I walked away with relief. I took a new pleasure inthe streets of Paris, and I looked with smiling eyes at the people who hurriedto and fro. The day was fine and sunny, and I felt in myself a more acutedelight in life. I could not help it; I put Stroeve and his sorrows out of mymind. I wanted to enjoy.

他还是没有回答，这时我们的马车夫把我从窘境里解救了出来。他把速度降低了一些，俯过身来同我讲了一句什么。我听不清他说的是什么，只好把头伸出窗口去；他想知道我们在什么地方下车。我叫他稍微等一会儿。

“你还是来同我一起吃午饭吧，”我对戴尔克说，“我告诉马车夫在皮卡尔广场停车好不好？”

“我不想去了。我要回我的画室去。”

我犹豫了一会儿。

“你要我同你一起去吗？”我说。

“不要。我还是愿意独自回去。”

“好吧。”

我告诉车夫应该走的方向，马车继续往前走，我们两人又重新沉默起来。戴尔克自从勃朗什被送进医院那个倒霉的早上起就再也没回画室去。我很高兴他没有叫我陪伴他，我在他的门口同他分了手，如释重负地独自走开。巴黎的街道给了我新的喜悦，我满心欢喜地看着街头匆忙来往的行人。这一天天气很好，阳光灿烂，我感到我的心头洋溢着对生活的欢悦，这种感情比以往任何时候都更加强烈。我一点也由不得自己；我把施特略夫同他的烦恼完全抛在脑后。我要享受生活。

Thecircumstances of Blanche Stroeve's death necessitated all manner of dreadfulformalities, but at last we were allowed to bury her. Dirk and I alone followedthe hearse to the cemetery. We went at a foot-pace, but on the way back wetrotted, and there was something to my mind singularly horrible in the way thedriver of the hearse whipped up his horses. It seemed to dismiss the dead witha shrug of the shoulders. Now and then I caught sight of the swaying hearse infront of us, and our own driver urged his pair so that we might not remainbehind. I felt in myself, too, the desire to get the whole thing out of mymind. I was beginning to be bored with a tragedy that did not really concernme, and pretending to myself that I spoke in order to distract Stroeve, Iturned with relief to other subjects.

"Don't youthink you'd better go away for a bit?" I said. "There can be no objectin your staying in Paris now. "

He did notanswer, but I went on ruthlessly:

"Have youmade any plans for the immediate future?"

"No."

"You musttry and gather together the threads again. Why don't you go down to Italy andstart working?"

勃朗什·施特略夫死后因为情况复杂需要一关一关地办理许多道手续，但是最后我们还是取得了殡葬的许可证。跟随柩车到墓地去送葬的只有我同戴尔克两个人。去的时候走得很慢，回来的路上马车却小跑起来，柩车的车夫不断挥鞭抽打辕马，在我心上引起一种奇怪的恐怖感，仿佛是马车夫耸耸肩膀想赶快把死亡甩在后面似的。我坐在后面一辆马车上不时地看到前边摇摇摆摆的柩车；我们的马车夫也不断加鞭，不让自己的车辆落后。我感到我自己也有一种赶快把这件事从心里甩掉的愿望。对这件实际上与我毫不相干的悲剧我已开始厌烦了，我找了另外一些话题同施特略夫谈起来；虽然我这样做是为了解除自己的烦闷，却骗自己说是为了给施特略夫分一分神。

“你是不是觉得还是到别的地方去走一走的好？”我说，“现在再待在巴黎对你说毫无意义了。”

他没有回答我，我却紧追不舍地问下去：

“你对于今后这一段日子有什么安排吗？”

“没有。”

“你一定得重新振作起来。为什么不到意大利去重新开始画画儿呢？”