brideshead+revisited-第10部分

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e；　are　not　exquisite；　but　not　at　all　Artists　are　not　exquisite。　I　am；　Sebastian；　in　a　kind　of　way；　is　exquisite；　but　the　artist　is　an　eternal　type；　solid；　purposeful；　observant　…　and；　beneath　it　all；　p…p…passionate；　eh；　Charles？
　　　　'But　who　recognizes　you？　The　other　day　I　was　speaking　to　Sebastian　about　you；　and　I　said；　〃But　you　know　Charles　is　an　artist。　He　draws　like　a　young　Ingres；〃　and　do　you　know　what　Sebastian　said？　…　〃Yes；　Aloysius　draws　very　prettily；　too；　but　of　course　he's　rather　more　modern。'　So　charming；　so　amusing。
　　　　'Of　course　those　that　have　charm　don't　really　need　brains。　Stefanie　de　Vincennes　really　tickled　me　four　years　ago。　My　dear；　I　even　used　the　same　coloured　varnish　for　my　toe…nails。　I　used　her　words　and　lit　my　cigarette　in　the　same　way　and　spoke　with　her　tone　on　the　telephone　so　that　the　duke　used　to　carry　on　long　and　intimate　conversations　with　me；　thinking　that　I　was　her。　It　was　largely　that　which　put　his　mind　on　pistol　and　sabres　in　such　an　old…fashioned　manner。　My　step…father　thought　it　an　excellent　education　for　me。　He　thought　it　would　make　me　grow　out　of　what　he　calls　my　〃English　habits〃。　Poor　man；　he　is　very　South　American。。。I　never　heard　anyone　speak　an　ill　word　of　Stefanie；　except…the　Duke：　and　she；　my　dear；　is　positively　cretinous。'
　　　　Anthony　had　lost　his　stammer　in　the　deep　waters　of　his　old　romance。　It　came　floating　back　to　him；　momentarily；　with　the　coffee　and　liqueurs。　'Real　G…g…green　Chartreuse；　made　before　the　expulsion　of　the　monks。　There　are　five　distinct　tastes　as　it　trickles　over　the　tongue。　It　is　like　swallowing　a　sp…spectrum。　Do　you　wish　Sebastian　was　with　us？　Of　course　you　do。　Do　I？　I　wonder。　How　our　thoughts　do　run　on　that　little　bundle　of　charm　to　be　sure。　I　think　you　must　be　mesmerizing　me；　Charles。　I　bring　you　here；　at　very　considerable　expense；　my　dear；　simply　to　talk　about　myself；　and　I　find　I　talk　of　no　one　except　Sebastian。　It's　odd　because　there's　really　no　mystery　about　him　except　how　he　came　to　be　born　of　such　a　very　sinister　family。
　　　　'I　forget　if　you　know　his　family。　I　don't　suppose　he'll　ever　let　you　meet　them。　He's　far　too　clever。　They're　quite；　quite　gruesome。　Do　you　ever　feel　there　is　something　a　teeny　bit　gruesome　about　Sebastian？　No？　Perhaps　I　imagine　it；　it's　simply　that　he　looks　so　like　the　rest　of　them；　sometimes。
　　　　'There's　Brideshead　who's　something　archaic；　out　of　a　cave　that's　been　sealed　for　centuries。　He　has　the　face　as　though　an　Aztec　sculptor　had　attempted　a　portrait　of　Sebastian；　he's　a　learned　bigot；　a　ceremonious　barbarian；　a　snow…bound　lama。。。Well；　anything　you　like。　And　Julia；　you　know　what　she　looks　like。　Who　could　help　it？　Her　photograph　appears　as　regularly　in　the　illustrated　papers　as　the　advertisements　for　Beecham's　Pills。　A　face　of　flawless　Florentine　quattrocento　beauty；　almost　anyone　else　with　those　looks　would　have　been　tempted　to　bee　artistic；　not　Lady　Julia；　she's　as　smart　as　…　well；　as　smart　as　Stefanie。　Nothing　greenery…yallery　about　her。　So　gay；　so　correct；　so　unaffected。　I　wonder　if　she's　incestuous。　I　doubt　it；　all　she　wants　is　power。　There　ought　to　be　an　Inquisition　especially　set　up　to　burn　her。　There's　another　sister；　too；　I　believe；　in　the　schoolroom。　Nothing　is　known　of　her　yet　except　that　her　governess　went　mad　and　drowned　herself　not　long　ago。　I'm　sure　she's　abominable。　So　you　see　there　was　really　very　little　left　for　poor　Sebastian　to　do　except　be　sweet　and　charming。
　　　　'It's　when　one　gets　to　the　parents　that　a　bottomless　pit　opens。　My　dear；　such　a　pair。　How　does　Lady　Marchmain　manage　it？　It　is　one　of　the　questions　of　　the　Age。　You　have　seen　her？　Very；　very　beautiful；　no　artifice　her　hair　just　turning　grey　in　elegant　silvery　streaks；　no　rouge　very　pale；　huge…eyed　…　it　is　extraordinary　how　large　those　eyes　look　and　how　the　lids　are　veined　blue　where　anyone　else　would　have　touched　them　with　a　finger…tip　of　paint；　pearls　and　a　few　great　starlike　jewels；　heirlooms；　in　ancient　settings；　a　voice　as　quiet　as　a　prayer；　and　as　powerful。　And　Lord。　Marchmain；　well；　a　little　fleshy　perhaps；　but　very　handsome；　a　magnifico；　a　voluptuary；　Byronic；　bored；　infectiously　slothful；　not　at　all　the　sort　of　man　you　would　expect　to　see　easily　put　down。　And　that　Reinhardt　nun；　my　dear；　has　destroyed　him　but　utterly。　He　daren't　show　his　great　purple　face　anywhere。　He　is　the　last；　historic；　authentic　case　of　someone　being　hounded　out　of　society。　Brideshead　won't　see　him；　the　girls　mayn't；　Sebastian　does；　of　course；　because　he's；　so　charming。　No　one　else　goes　near　him。　Why；　last　September　Lady　Marchmain　was　in　Venice　staying　at　the　Palazzo　Fogliere。　To　tell　you　the　truth　she　was　just　a　teeny　bit　ridiculous　in　Venice。　She　never　went　near　the　Lido；　of　course；　but　she　was　always　drifting　about　the　canals　in　a　gondola　with　Sir　Adrian　Porson　…　such　attitudes；　my　dear；　like　Madame　R閏amier；　once　I　passed　them　and　I　caught　the　eye　of　the　Fogliere　gondolier；　whom；　of　course；　I　knew；　and；　my　dear；　he　gave　me　such　a　wink。　She　came　to　all　the　parties　in　a　sort　of　cocoon　of　gossamer；　my　dear；　as　though　she　were　part　of　some　Celtic　play　or　a　heroine　from　Maeterlinck；　and　she　would　go　to　church。　Well；　as　you　know；　Venice　is　the　one　town　in　Italy　where　no　one　ever　has　gone　to　church。　Anyway；　she　was　rather　a　figure　of　fun　that　year；　and　then　who；　should　turn　up；　in　the　Maltons'　yacht；　but　poor　Lord　Marchmain。　He'd　taken　a　little　palace　there；　but　was　he　allowed　in？　Lord　Malton　put　him　and　his　valet　into　a　dinghy；　my　dear；　and　transhipped　him　there　and　then　into　the　steamer　for　Trieste。　He　hadn't　even　his　mistress　with　him。　It　was　her　yearly　holiday。　No　one　ever　knew　how　they　heard　Lady　Marchmain　was　there。　And；　do　you　know；　for　a　week　Lord　Malton　slunk　about　as　if　he　was　in　disgrace？　And　he　was　in　disgrace。　The　Principessa　Fogliere　gave　a　ball　and　Lord　Malton　was　not　asked　nor　anyone　from　his　yacht　…　even　the　de　Pa駉ses。　How　does　Lady　Marchmain　do　it？　She　has　convinced　the　world　that　Lord　Marchmain　is　a　monster。　And　what　is　the　truth？　They　were　married　for　fifteen　years　or　so　and　then　Lord　Marchmain　went　to　the　war；　he　never　came　back　but　formed　a　connection　with　a　highly　talented　dancer。　There　are　a　thousand　such　cases。　She　refuses　to　divorce　him　because　she　is　so　pious。　Well；　there　have　been　cases　of　that　before。　Usually；　it　arouses　sympathy　for　the　adulterer；　not　for　Lord　Marchmain　though。　You　would　think　that　the　old　reprobate　had　tortured　her；　stolen　her　patrimony；　flung　her　out　of　doors；　roasted；　stuffed；　and　eaten　his　children；　and　gone　frolicking　about　wreathed　in　all　the　flowers　of　Sodom　and　Gomorrah；　instead　of　what？　Begetting　four　splendid　children　by　her；　handing　over　to　her　Brideshead　and　Marchmain　House　in　St　James's　and　all　the　money　she　can　possibly　want　to　spend；　while　he　sits　with　a　snowy　shirt　front　at　Larue's　with　a　personable；　middle…aged　lady　of　the　theatre；　in　most　conventional　Edwardian　style。　And　she　meanwhile　keeps　a　small　gang　of　enslaved　and　emaciated　prisoners　for　her　exclusive　enjoyment。　She　sucks　their　blood。　You　can　see　the　tooth　marks　all　Adrian　Porson's　shoulders　when　he　is　bathing　。　And　he；　my　dear；　was　the　greatest；　the　only；　poet　of　our　time。　He's　bled　dry；　there's　nothing　left　of　him。　There　are　five　or　is　others　of　all　ages　and　sexes；　like　wraiths　following　her　around。　They　never　escape　once　she's　had　her　teeth　into　them。　It　is　　withcraft。　There's　no　other　explanation。
　　　　'So　you　see　we　mustn't　blame　Sebastian　if　at　times　he　seems　a　little　insipid　…　but　then　you　don't　blame　him；　do　you；　Charles？　With　that　very　murky　background；　what　could　he　do　except　set　up　as　being　simple　and　charming；　particularly　as　he　isn't　very　well　endowed　in　the　Top　Storey。　We　couldn't　claim　that　for　him；　could　we；　much　as　we　love　him？
　　　　'Tell　me　candidly；　have　you　ever　heard　Sebastian　say　anything　you　have　remembered　for　five　minutes？　You　know；　when　I　hear　him　talk；　I　am　reminded　of　that　in　some　ways　nauseating　picture　of　〃Bubbles〃。　Conversation　should　be　like　juggling；　up　go　the　balls　and　the　plates；　up　and　over；　in　and　out；　good　solid　objects　that　glitter　in　the　footlights　'and　fall　with　a　bang　if　you　miss　them。　But　when　dear　Sebastian　speaks　it　is　like　a　little　sphere　of　soapsud　drifting　off　the　end　of　an　old　clay　pipe；　anywhere；　full　of　rainbow　light　for　a　second　and　then　phut！　vanished；　with　nothing　left　at　all；　nothing。'
　　　　And　then　Anthony　spoke　of　the　proper　experiences　of　an　artist；　of　the　appreciation　and　criticism　and　stimulus　he　should　expect　from　his　friends；　of　the　hazards　he　should　take　in　the　pursuit　of　emotion；　of　one　thing　and　another　while　I　fell　drowsy　and　let　my　mind　wander　a　little。　So　we　drove　home；　but　his　words；　as　we　swung　over　Magdalen　Bridge；　recalled　the　central　theme　of　our　dinner。　'Well；　my　dear；　I've　no　doubt　that　first　thing　tomorrow　you'll　trot　round　to　Sebastian　and　tell　him　everything　　I've　said　about　him。　And；　I　will　tell　you　two　things；　one；　that　it　will　not　make　the　slightest　difference　to　Sebastian's　feeling　for　me　and　secondly；　my　dear　…　and　I　beg　you　to　remember　this　though　I　have　plainly　bored　you　into　condition　of　a；　…　that　he　will　immediately　start　talking　about　that　amusing　bear　of　his。　Good　night。　Sleep　innocently。'

　　　　But　I　slept　ill。　Within　an　hour　of　tumbling　drowsily　to　bed　I　was　awake　again；　thirsty；　restless；　hot　and　cold　by　turns；　and　unnaturally　excited。　I　had　drunk　a　lot；　but　neither　the　mixture　nor　the　Chartreuse；　nor　the　Mavrodaphne　Trifle　nor　even　the　fact　that　I　had　sat　immobile　and　almost　silent　throughout　the　evening　instead　of　clearing　the　fumes；　as　we　normally　did；　in　puppyish　romps　and　tumbles；　explains　the　distress　of　that　hagridden　night。　No　dream　distorted　the　images　of　the　evening　into　horrific　shapes。　I　lay　awake　and　clear…headed。　I　repeated　to　myself　Anthony's　words；　catching　his　accent；　soundlessly；　and　the　stress　and　cadence　of　his　speech；　while　under　my　closed　lids　I　saw　his　pale；　candle…lit　face　as　it　had　fronted　me　across　the　dinner　table。　Once　during　the　hours　of　darkness　I　brought　to　light　the　drawings　in　my　sitting…room　and　sat　at　the　open　window；　turning　them　over。　Everything　was　black　and　dead…still　in　the　quadrangle；　only　at　the　quarter…hours　the　bells　awoke　and　sang　over　the　gables。　I　drank　soda…Water　and　smoked　and　fretted；　until　light　began　to　break　and　the