Chapter 11 eleven

I waited for Alroy.Keel, thinking about the past like this.Think of Edward.Driffield later had a very respectable social position, and I couldn't help laughing to myself when I thought about this very disgraceful incident when he was unknown.I don't know if it's because in my boyhood, those around me didn't think much of him as a writer, so that I never saw in him the amazing virtues that the later critics and opinions that praised him so much said. .For a long time he was thought to have written a bad language, and indeed his work seemed to you to have been written with the end of a bald pencil; comfortable; and the dialogue in his works hardly resembles the words that would come out of an ordinary person's mouth.Later in his creative career, when he wrote by dictation, his style took on the spontaneity of the spoken language and became clear; critics looking back at his mature novels at this time found a vigorous, Lively power, very commensurate with the theme of his works.In the heyday of his creation, it was the period when the flamboyant style of writing was popular, and many descriptive fragments in his works have been included in the anthology of all English prose.He is famous for his pages depicting the sea, spring in the Kent woods, and sunsets down the Thames.But when I read his works, I always feel uncomfortable, which really makes me feel very ashamed.

When I was young, Driffield's books did not sell well, and one or two were banned from libraries, but to appreciate him was a sign of culture.He was considered a bold realist; he was a good stick with which to beat the philistines.Some gentleman finds by inspiration that his sailors and peasants are Shakespearean; and the free-thinking huddle together and squeal with glee at the dry-faced buffoons and crude humor of his works.This is Edward.Something that Driffield could easily provide.However, whenever I see the sailboat's cabin or the hotel bar in his works, my heart sinks; I know that the next six or seven pages must be written in dialect about life, Ridiculous commentary on topics like ethics and immortality.I confess, however, that even Shakespeare's clowns have always seemed dull to me, and their innumerable descendants still more unbearable.

Driffield's strength clearly lies in his portrayal of the most varied classes of the farmer and farm hand, the shopkeeper and tavern clerk, the captain, mate, cook, and able sailor of a galleon, the class with which he is most familiar.However, when he portrays people of relatively high social status, I am afraid that even those who admire him most will feel a little uncomfortable; the perfect gentlemen in his works are too perfect to be believed, and in his books Ladies of high birth are also so good, pure, and noble that you will not be surprised to see them expressing their thoughts only in polysyllabic, elegant words.Most of the women he describes are lifeless.But here I must say that this is only my own opinion; the world and the most eminent critics agree that these women of his are the lively and lovely type of English women.Vibrant, heroic, and of high character, they are often compared to Shakespeare's heroines.Of course we know that women are usually constipated, but it seems to me that it is too much respect for women to write them in novels without a rectum.I am surprised that women would like to see themselves portrayed in this way.

Critics can often force the world to pay attention to a very mediocre writer, and the world can sometimes go crazy over a writer who has no redeeming qualities, but neither lasts long, so I can't help thinking that a If a writer does not have considerable talent, it is impossible to be like Edward.Driffield captivates readers so long.Those who excel often sneer at the popular popularity of a writer; they even regard it as mediocrity;Maybe a great masterpiece that should have been handed down for a long time died as soon as it was published, but posterity will never know; it is also possible that posterity discarded all the bestsellers of our time, but they still have to choose among these bestsellers in the end .Anyway, Edward.Driffield's reputation is still alive and well.His novels just happen to bore me, and I find them too long; he tries to interest the dull reader by his grotesque twists and turns, which I find dull; but he is undeniably sincere. of.There is a zest for life in some of his best books, and in every book you can find the author's elusive personality.In his early creative career, his realism was praised by some and condemned by others; critics praised him for realism and for vulgarity, according to their preferences.But realism is no longer a moot point, and library readers now easily cross barriers that the next generation still dreads.The cultured reader will here recall the important article Driffield published in the Literary Supplement of the Times at the time of his death.The author is Edward.Driffield's novel was the title of a critical essay that might well be called a hymn to beauty.Anyone who reads this article will be very impressed by the style in the article that reminds people of Jerami.Taylor's majestic prose was impressed by the splendor, the air of awe and piety, and all those noble sentiments, in short, in a style which expresses it all in a style which is beautiful without being excessive, and a tone which is melodious without Lack of masculinity.Therefore, this article itself is the embodiment of beauty.If someone points out Edward.Driffield was something of a humorist too, and if an occasional quip in this eulogy would have graced it, it would have been right to reply that it was a eulogy after all.Beauty, as everyone knows, does not welcome the timid overtures of friendliness that humor makes to her.Alroy.Keel, speaking to me the other day about Driffield, felt that whatever flaws he had were made up for in the beauty that overflowed his work.Looking back on the conversation now, I think it was Roy's line that annoyed me the most.

【Note】Jerami.Taylor (1613 | 1667): An Anglican priest, famous for his books The Rules and Customs of Holy Living Words and The Rules and Customs of Holy Death. Thirty years ago, God was the trendiest thing in literature.Belief in a God was the proper thing to do, and journalists used God to embellish a phrase or balance a sentence; then God fell out of fashion (and, oddly enough, cricket and beer went out, too) and Fauns came into fashion.In hundreds of novels his hoofprints are left on the grass; poets see him in London parks at dusk; in Surrey. ] and New England [Note: A region in the northeastern United States. ] the literati, the nymphs of the industrial age, miraculously sacrificed their virginity in his rude embrace.Since then they have undergone a complete change in spirit.However, Mu Shen was no longer popular, and Mei took his place.One sees it everywhere, sometimes in a phrase, sometimes in a sentence about a halibut, a dog, a certain day, a picture, an act, a dress.A number of young women (each of whom has written a very promising novel in which their talents are fully displayed) babble about feelings of beauty in various ways, some insinuating, some funny, some passionate, some charming. ; those young men who probably just came out of Oxford, but still carry the cloud of its glory, are always publishing articles in weekly magazines, telling us how to think about art, life, and the universe; Write the word "beautiful" everywhere.Poor is an overused word.Cough, they really struggle with this word!Ideals have various names, and beauty is just one of them.I don't know if this uproar is nothing more than the wailing of those who cannot adapt to our heroic machine world, and whether their love for little Nell in our humiliating age is nothing more than It's just sentimental.Perhaps our next generation is more attuned to the pressures of life and seeks inspiration not in escapism but in eager acceptance.

[Note] Little Nell: The beautiful, kind and sympathetic heroine in the novel "The Old Curiosity Shop" by Charles Dickens, a famous British novelist in the 19th century. I don't know if other people are like me, anyway, I don't think I can look at beauty for a long time.In my opinion, no poet has a line like Keats' Endymion. 】The first line is so false.Whenever that thing called beauty makes me feel its magic, my mind can't concentrate.I never quite believe people who tell me they can gaze at a landscape or a picture for hours on end.Beauty is an ecstasy, as simple as hunger; there really isn't much to say about it.It's like the scent of roses: you can smell it, but that's all.That is why all those reviews of art are tiresome, except that in this review there is no talk of beauty, and therefore no talk of art.Critics are talking about Titian [Note: Renaissance, Italian painter. ] "The Entombment of Jesus," which is perhaps the most purely beautiful of all paintings in the world, can tell you all you want to see for yourself.The rest he has to say is the history of the painting, the painter's biography, or something like that.But men add to beauty many other qualities nobility, humanity, tenderness, love, for beauty does not satisfy for long.Beauty is flawless, and anything flawless attracts us only for a while (such is human nature).Who watched "Feder" [Note: French writer Racine's tragedy. 】After asking Quest｜ce qvesa prouve? [Note: French: What the hell does this prove? ]'s mathematician is not such a fool as everyone thinks.No one can explain why Paestum is so beautiful unless some factors that have nothing to do with beauty are taken into account. 】The Temple of Doris is more beautiful than a glass of cold beer.Beauty is a dead end.It is like a mountain, once you climb to the top, you will find that there is nowhere to go.So we finally found El.El Greco [Note: Spanish painter. ] is more attractive than Titian's, and Shakespeare's imperfect achievements are more moving than Racine's perfection.There are so many articles about beauty, so I will add this little discussion.Beauty is something that satisfies people's aesthetic instinct.But who are the people who want to get this kind of satisfaction?Only those fools who regard fullness as a treasure.Let's face it: beauty is kind of boring.

What the critics wrote about Edward.Driffield's articles are, of course, hoaxes.In fact, his most notable strength is neither the realism that animates his work, nor the beauty it possesses, nor his vivid portrayal of sailors, nor his vivid portrayal of salt marshes, storms, and Poetic descriptions of calm, windless weather and looming small villages, but his longevity.Respect for the aged is one of the most admired qualities of mankind, and I may safely say that it is more pronounced in our country than in any other.The awe and love of other nations for the elderly are often theoretical, but our awe and love for the elderly is real.Who but the Brits would pack the Covent Garden to hear an aged prima donna [note: Italian, opera actress. 】What about singing?Who but an Englishman would pay for a ticket to see a dancer dance with an old and frail dancer who can hardly keep his feet wide?These Brits would also say to each other during intermissions: My God!do you know sirHe was well past sixty.But compared to politicians and writers, these actors are still young lads.I often feel like a jeune premier [Note: French, an actor who plays a young male lead. ] had to be easy-going, so that he would not feel resentful at the thought that statesmen and writers were in the prime of their fame when they were seventy years old, and that he had to put an end to his acting career.A man who is a politician at forty will be a statesman when he is seventy.A man of that age is too old to be a clerk, a gardener, or a justice of the peace, but just right to govern the country.In fact, this is not surprising, you only need to consider that from a young age, the older generation repeatedly emphasizes to him that older people are always smarter than younger people, and when the young people finally find out this statement What absurdity, when they are old themselves, and feel that it will be to their advantage to carry on the deceit; besides, anyone who works in politics will find (if you can judge by the results) that ruling a country is not really It doesn't take much intelligence.But I have never been able to figure out why a writer should be respected more the older he gets.For a while, I wanted to praise writers who haven't written anything important in twenty years, mainly because the younger generation of writers no longer worry about such old writers competing with them, and feel that it is not right to praise their achievements. What a disservice to yourself; besides, we all know that praising a rival you don't fear is often a good way to thwart the success of your real competitor.But this kind of thinking is too bad for human nature, and I don't want to be accused of being a contemptible cynic.After much deliberation, I came to the conclusion that I understood that the reason why a writer who is older than the average person's lifespan is generally praised for comfort in this life is because all wise people don't read any books after the age of thirty.Thus, as they grow older, the books they read in their youth shine brightly; and as the years pass, they ascribe greater and greater merit to the authors who wrote them.The writer, of course, has to keep writing, and has to keep appearing to the public.He should not think that it is enough for him to write one or two masterpieces; he must write forty or fifty books of no particular importance as a basis for those one or two masterpieces.This takes time.His work should have the effect that if he fails to impress the reader with his charm, he should astound him with its weight.

If longevity is genius, as I think it is, there are very few people in our time like Edward.Driffield enjoyed this glory so conspicuously.When he was a young man of sixty (cultivated people had their own opinions about him and did not take them seriously), he had little place in the literary world; the best critics praised his works, but his words are moderate; younger people like to make jokes about his works.Everyone thought he was talented, but no one thought that he was a great glory of English literature.Then he celebrated his seventieth birthday; there was a feeling of trepidation in the literary world, like the ripples when sailing on the eastern seas and the threat of a typhoon in the distance; He is writing a great novelist, and none of us is aware of it.As a result, readers in various libraries suddenly rushed to borrow Driffield's works, hundreds of pens were busy in Bloomsbury, Chelsea and other places where literati and inkmen gathered, and countless comments were written on Driffield's novels , research, essays and writings.Some are short and to the point, kind and touching; some are eloquent and unrestrained.These articles were printed again and again, both complete and selected, some for one shilling and threepence, some for five shillings and sixpence, and some for twenty-one shillings.Some articles analyze his writing style, some study his philosophical thoughts, and some analyze his writing skills.Wait until Edward.When Driffield was seventy-five, everyone thought he was a genius.By the time he was eighty years old, he was the king of English literature.He enjoyed this exalted position until his death.

Now we look around and feel sadly that no one can take his place.A few septuagenarians straightened up in their seats and started to pay attention, apparently thinking they could easily fill the vacant seat.But they were clearly missing something. Although it took a long time to narrate these memories, they were only fleeting when they flashed through my mind.These recollections appeared in front of me in a disorderly manner, now of a certain event, and now of fragments of an earlier conversation; now, for the convenience of the reader, and because of my clarity of thought, I put these fragmentary recollections in the order in which they happened wrote it out.One thing I find strange is that although all that happened so far away, I can still clearly remember what people looked like at that time, even the gist of what they said, but I can't quite remember what clothes they were wearing at that time.Of course I know that forty years ago people, especially women, wore clothes that were very different from what they wear today.If I remember anything about their costumes, it's not from my life at the time, but from pictures and photographs I saw a long time later.

While I was still thinking about it, I suddenly heard the sound of a taxi stopping at the door, then the doorbell rang, and soon I heard Alroy.Keir's deep voice was telling my butler that he had an appointment with me.He came into the room, tall and direct and earnest; his exuberant energy broke down at once the flimsy supports I had built on the fading past.Like a March wind, he brought back to me that threatening, inescapable reality. I'm asking myself, I said, who is likely to succeed Edward.Driffield became the king of English literature, and you just came in to answer my question.

He laughed happily, but there was a look of suspicion in his eyes. I see no one to take over.He said. What about yourself? Oh man, I'm not even fifty yet.It will be another twenty-five years.He laughed again, but his eyes were fixed on mine.I never know when you're kidding me.He suddenly lowered his eyes. Of course, sometimes one cannot help but think about one's own future.Now the big men in our line of work are fifteen or twenty years older than me.They can't live forever, and when they are gone, who will be the new big man?Aldous, of course; he's much younger than me, but he's not physically fit, and I don't think he pays much attention to his body.If nothing else, I mean I don't see that in another twenty or twenty-five years I won't be alone in the literary world if some genius doesn't come out of nowhere and take the lead.It's just a matter of being persistent and outliving everyone else. Roy's muscular body dropped into one of my landlady's armchairs, and I offered him a whiskey and soda. No, I never drink hard liquor before six o'clock, he said.He looked around and saw that the place was nice. certainly.What do you want from me? I thought it best to speak to you personally about Mrs Driffield's invitation.I can't speak clearly on the phone.The thing is, I'm going to write a biography of Driffield. oh!Why didn't you tell me that day? I suddenly had a crush on Roy, and I'm glad I didn't misjudge him. That day when he invited me to dinner, I suspected that he didn't just want to be with me. I haven't quite made up my mind yet.Mrs. Driffield wanted me to write very much, and she was ready to help me as best she could, and gave me all her materials.She has collected this information for many years.It was no easy task to write such a book, and of course I had to write it well.If the job is done well, it is of course good for me.People respect a novelist much more if he writes now and then something serious.I have never regretted that my few critical works have cost me much attention, though they have had no market at all.For these books gave me a place in the literary world which, without them, I would not be where I am today. I don't think this plan is right.Most people in the past twenty years have not been as close as you have been with Driffield. Probably yes.But Driffield was in his early sixties when I first met him.I wrote him a letter at that time saying that I admired his work very much, and he invited me to see him.I know nothing of his early life.Mrs. Driffield often tried to get him to talk about the time, and she took many detailed notes, and took down what he said; there were also his diary entries here and there, and, of course, much of his novels apparently contained autobiographical.But the vacancy is still too great.I'll tell you what kind of book I want to write; it's about Driffield's personal life.There are many details that make the reader feel familiar, and intertwined with these details is a very comprehensive review of his literary works, certainly not dull tirades, but sympathetic but deep and incisive reviews.A book like this would of course take work, but Mrs Driffield seemed to think I was up to it. Of course you can do it.I interrupted. I think it should be possible.Roy said, I am a critic and a novelist.Obviously I still have some qualifications in literature.But I can only do it if people who can help me are willing to help me. I'm starting to see my errands in all of this.I pretended not to notice anything on my face.Roy leaned forward. I asked you the other day if you yourself intended to write something about Driffield, and you said you did not.Can this be taken as your unmistakable answer? certainly. Then let me use your information, you don't object, do you? Old man, I have nothing. Hey, bullshit, said Roy cheerfully, sounding like a doctor trying to convince a child to open his mouth and let him examine his throat.You must have seen him a lot when he lived in Blacktown. I was a child then. But you must have been impressed by this unusual experience.Anyway, Fan and Edward.It was impossible to spend half an hour with Driffield without being impressed by his unique personality.Even to a boy of sixteen this must have been obvious, and you probably have sharper eyes and keener senses than the average child of your age. If it weren't for his fame, I don't know if his personality would be unique.Do you think that if you went, as Mr. Atkins, Chartered Accountant, to a spa in the West of England to cure your liver disease with mineral water, you would impress the people there as a man of peculiar character? I think they will soon find out that I am not an ordinary chartered accountant.Roy said with a slight smile that kept his words from being arrogant. Well, all I can tell you is that the thing that made me most uncomfortable about Driffield at the time was how flashy his knickerbocker outfit was.We used to ride together a lot, and I was always a little nervous about being seen. It sounds funny now.What did he talk to you about then? I do not remember, and did not talk about anything.He is very interested in architecture and loves to talk about crop work; if there is a tavern on the roadside that looks good, he will suggest that we rest for five minutes and go in for a glass of bitter; while drinking, he will talk to the tavern owner about the fields. such things as crops and the price of coal. I could see the disappointment on Roy's face, but I kept going.He just listened, but was a little bored.I suddenly noticed that he was grumpy when he was bored.While I don't recall Driffield saying anything significant during our long bike rides together, I can vividly recall how it felt.There is something unique about this place in Black Pond, that although it is close to the sea, with a long sandy beach and marshes behind it, you only have to walk half a mile inland and you will come to Kent. The most typical rural area of ​​the county.The road winds and turns, and is bordered on either side by large fertile green fields and clumps of tall elms; the trees are strong and unpretentious, and look like those good old farmer's wives of Kentish lords; They were rosy-faced and strong-bodied, fattened by the best butter, home-made bread, butter, and fresh eggs.Sometimes there is only a path in front of you, with thick hawthorn hedges on either side, and above it the green branches of elms stretching out on both sides, and you look up and see only a line of blue sky peeping in the middle.When you ride in this warm, hot air, it feels like the world stands still and life goes on forever.Although you're pedaling hard, you have a sweet, languid feeling.At this time, you and your partner are not talking to each other, and you are very happy.If any one of them shakes his spirits, suddenly picks up speed, and rushes forward; it is he who is joking, and everyone is amused.Then you'll be pedaling like crazy for several minutes on end.We joked innocently with each other, giggling at our own humor.Sometimes you will ride past little farmhouses with a front garden where hollyhocks and tiger lilies grow; Fields of hops, where ripe hops hang like garlands.The hotels along the roads make you feel homely, casual, and look like farmhouses, often with honeysuckle climbing up the porches.The names of the hotels are also commonplace, such as the merry sailor, the merry farmer, the crown and anchor, the red lion and so on. But of course none of this mattered to Roy, who interrupted me. Did he never talk about literature?he asked. No.He's not that kind of writer.I think he's thinking about his writing, but he never mentions it.At that time he often lent books to the curate.One winter, during the Christmas holidays, I went to his house for tea almost every afternoon; sometimes he and the curate talked about books, but we always told them both to shut up. Do you remember nothing at all about what he said? I only remember one thing.That's because I hadn't seen the works he talked about before, and it was his words that prompted me to watch them.He said it was after Shakespeare retired to Stratford-upon-Avon. ] When he was a respectable man, if he still thought of the plays he wrote, there were probably only two works that interested him most, and that was Measure for Measure and Troilus and Cressida. I don't think this is particularly instructive.Did he ever talk about a writer a little more modern than Shakespeare? Well, I don't think he talked about it back then.But some years ago, when I was having lunch with the Driffields, I happened to overhear him talking about Henry.James was so fond of describing the chatter at tea parties in English country houses that he ignored one of the greatest events in world history, the rise of the United States.Driffield called it il gzan rifinto. 】.I was surprised to hear the old man speak a word of Italian, and I was amused, because only a tall and strong duchess knew what he was talking about.He said at the time: "Poor Henry, who circles endlessly round and round a stately garden, where people are drinking tea within the garden walls, is too far away to hear what the countess is saying. Roy listened intently to my little story.After listening, he shook his head thoughtfully. I'm afraid I can't use this information.If it is used, those Henry.James' admirers would lash out at me. What do you guys usually do at night? Oh, we played whist, and Driffield read the books he was asked to review, and he used to sing to everybody. This is very interesting.said Roy, leaning forward eagerly, do you remember what song he sang? I totally remember. "All Just To Fall in Love with a Private Soldier" and "Wine Is Not Expensive Here" are his favorites. oh! I could see Roy was disappointed. Do you expect him to sing Schumann [Note: German composer. ] song?I asked. Why not?In that case, it would be worth writing about.But I actually thought he'd sing some seaman's ditty or some old England country folk song, the kind they used to sing in the fairs with the blind fiddler playing, country boys and girls in the threshing floor Dancing and things like that.If he sang those songs, I could write a pretty paragraph about it, but I just can't imagine Edward.Driffield sang vaudeville songs.Don't forget, if you want to make a portrait of a person, you have to set the lightness and darkness of the picture.If you put in things that are completely out of tune, it will only give the impression of confusion. You know that shortly thereafter he ran away in the dark and deceived everyone. Roy didn't speak for a full minute, just looking down at the carpet thoughtfully. Yes, I know some unpleasant things happened then, Mrs Driffield mentioned.I heard he paid off all his debts before finally buying the Fern mansion and settling in the area.I do not think it necessary to dwell on such an insignificant incident in his development, which is, at any rate, nearly forty years now.You know, there's something very queer about the old man's character.Most people would think that after such a shameful scandal, he would never choose Heitang Town as the place to live in his later years. At that time, he had already become famous, but Heitang Town happened to be the place of his humble birth ; but he didn't seem to care at all.He also seemed to think it was a good joke.Mrs. Driffield was greatly embarrassed that he should be able to tell the story to his luncheon guests.I hope you learn more about Amy.She is an amazing woman.Of course, the old man did not know her at all when he wrote all his great books; but no one can deny that during the last twenty-five years of his life, the stately image he had in the world's eyes was entirely the result of Egypt. The creation of rice.She was very frank with me.It was not an easy job for her.Old Driffield had some very queer habits, and she had to resort to many devices to make his manners appear proper.The old man was so stubborn about some things that I thought she'd lose her confidence if she hadn't had Amy's personality.For instance, he had a habit, which poor Amy took a lot of trouble to get out of him, of breaking off a piece of bread, wiping the plate after every meal of meat and vegetables, and eating the piece of bread. . Do you know what that means?I said that this meant that he had not had enough to eat for a long time in the past, so he was reluctant to waste the food he got. Well, that may be so; but it is not a good habit of a famous writer.Also, he wasn't really a heavy drinker, but he liked to go to the Bear and Key inn in Black Shed to have a few pints of beer in the bar, which didn't hurt, of course.But he did stand out there, especially in the summer, when the inn was full of tourists.He didn't care a bit who he was talking to.他好像並沒有意識到他應當保持自己的身分。有時候許多知名人士，比如像愛德蒙．戈斯【註：英國文學史家、評論家、翻譯家。 】和寇松勳爵【註：英國駐印度總督，後任外交大臣。 】上他們家來吃午飯，而他過後竟會跑到一家酒店去對那些渠道工、麵包師傅和衛生檢查員談論他對這些名流的印象；你不能不承認他這種做法實在令人難堪。當然這也可以解釋得過去。你可以說這是他追求地方色彩，對各種典型人物感興趣。不過他的有些習慣實在叫人難以接受。do you know?Amy.德里菲爾德要叫他洗個澡簡直難如登天。 在他出生的那個年代，人們認為澡洗得太多有害健康。我想在他五十歲以前，他大概從來沒有住過帶浴室的房子。 嗨，他說他從來都是一個星期洗一次澡，他不明白為什麼到了這個年紀還得改變自己的習慣。於是埃米要他每天換內衣，可是他對此也不同意。他說他的汗衫和內褲一向要穿一個星期才換，每天換洗完全沒有道理。洗得太勤，只會把這些汗衫和內褲洗破。德里菲爾德太太挖空心思地想哄他每天洗澡，在水裡放了浴鹽和香料，可是不管什麼辦法他都不為所動。後來他年紀越來越大，連一個星期洗一次都不肯了。埃米告訴我說在他活著的最後三年裡，他連一次澡都沒有洗。所有這些事當然只是我們私下說說。我把這一切告訴你只是想讓你知道，在撰寫他的傳記的時候，我不得不使用許多婉轉巧妙的手法。我知道誰都無法否認他在金錢上有那麼點兒冒失；他身上還有一種怪癖，出奇地喜歡和社會地位比他低的人待在一起。他的一些個人生活習慣也叫人很不喜歡，不過我覺得所有這些都不是他生活中最重要的方面。我不想寫任何不真實的事情，可是我確實覺得有相當一部分關於他的事情最好別寫進去。 你不覺得如果你放手徹底地把他身上的一切都如實寫出來會更加有趣嗎？ 噢，那可不行。要是我那麼寫的話，埃米．德里菲爾德就再也不會理我了。她請我執筆寫這本書正是因為她相信我下筆嚴謹。我可不能辱沒自己的紳士身分。 看來一個人既要做紳士又要當作家，是很不容易的。 那倒不見得。此外，你知道那些評論家是些什麼樣的人。如果你說出真實情況，他們只會說你憤世嫉俗，而一個作家得到憤世嫉俗的名聲可沒有什麼好處。當然囉，我承認如果我毫無顧忌地放開手來寫的話，這本書準會引起轟動。要是我把這個人身上所有矛盾的兩個方面都展示出來：他對美的熱切追求和他對自己責任的輕率態度，他的優美的文體和他個人對水和肥皂的厭惡，他的理想主義和他在那些下等的客店裡的痛飲，那會相當有趣。可是說實在的，這樣做值得嗎？他們只會說我在效法利頓．斯特雷奇【註：英國傳記作家，著《維多利亞女王時代四名人傳》和《維多利亞女王傳》而聞名。 】.不，我覺得用含蓄、美妙相當靈巧的寫法可以做得更好，你知道我說的那種方式，而且還要親切。我認為一個作家在動手寫一本書之前就應該在自己的腦海中看到這本書的樣子。我看到的這本書很像凡．戴克【註：英王查理一世的宮廷畫師。 】的一幅肖像畫。有很強的感染力，頗為莊嚴，表現一種高貴的氣派。Do you get me?我想寫八萬字左右。 羅伊一時完全陶醉在對美的冥想之中。在他的腦海中浮現出了這麼一本書，是八開本，拿在手裡又薄又輕，頁邊的空白留得很寬，紙張精美，字體清晰好看。大概他連書的裝幀都見到了，書皮是平滑的黑色布面配著金邊和燙金的字樣。不過阿爾羅伊．基爾畢竟是個凡人，所以就像我在上文所說的，他不可能一直陶醉在對美的嚮往中。他坦率地對我笑了笑。 可是我到底怎樣來處理第一位德里菲爾德太太呢？ 這是家醜。I muttered. 她真是一個棘手的問題。她和德里菲爾德結婚多年。埃米在這個問題上的看法非常明確，可是我實在不知道怎麼樣才能達到她的要求。你想，她的意見是羅西．德里菲爾德對她丈夫起了極其有害的影響，她盡力想從精神上、身體上和經濟上把他毀了；她無論哪方面都不如她丈夫，至少在智力和心靈上是如此，而德里菲爾德只是因為精力充沛，元氣旺盛，才沒有給搞垮。當然他們之間的婚姻是很不幸的。她也確實已經去世多年，再把過去的那些醜聞抖摟出來，讓好些不光彩的事出現在公眾面前，看上去似乎令人遺憾；然而事實是沒法改變的，德里菲爾德的所有最偉大的作品都是在他和他第一個妻子共同生活時寫成的。我自然很欣賞他的後期作品，誰也不像我那樣意識到他後期作品中所體現出的純真的美，它們還表現出一種含蓄和一種古典式的嚴謹，這些都很值得欽佩，但是儘管如此，我仍然不得不承認這些作品沒有他早期作品中的那種風味、活力和喧鬧的生活氣息。我確實感到不能完全忽視他每一個妻子對他作品的影響。 So what are you going to do?I asked. 我覺得他整個這部分的生活還是可以用力所能及的最含蓄和巧妙的筆法來加以處理，這樣就既不觸及最敏感的地方，同時又顯出一種很有男子漢氣概的坦率，不知你是否明白我的意思，要是做到這一點，那會很動人的。 聽起來這是一件很難辦的事情。 我認為沒有必要一絲不苟地詳細敘述。這只是一個下筆寫得恰到好處的問題。能省略的地方我絕不多費筆墨，不過我還是會指出一些最關鍵的事實讓讀者去領會。你知道，不管你的主題多麼粗俗，只要你用莊重的態度加以處理，就可以衝淡那種令人不快的色彩。不過我只有掌握了全部事實才能做到這點。 巧婦難為無米之炊嘛。 羅伊講起話來流暢自然，這表明他是一個很好的演講人。我真希望：一、我能這麼富有說服力地恰當地表達我的思想，從來不會找不到需要的字眼，每個句子都可以毫不躊躇地說出口來；二、由我這麼一個渺小的無足輕重的人來代表那些羅伊生來就能應付的很有欣賞能力的廣大聽眾，我不會覺得如此難以勝任。可是這時他住口不說了。在他那張因為洋溢著熱情而泛紅、因為天熱而滲出汗水的臉上露出了親切友好的神情，他那雙帶著咄咄逼人的光芒注視著我的眼睛也變得柔和起來，露出了一絲笑意。 這就是你得出力的地方了，老夥計。他和氣地說道。 我一直發現在你無話可說的時候就別說話，在你不知如何回答別人的話的時候就保持沉默，這是生活中一個很好的策略。這時候我沒有開口，也和顏悅色地看著羅伊。 你比誰都了解他在黑馬廄鎮的生活。 Maybe not.那時候在黑馬廄鎮肯定有些人和我一樣經常見到他。 說不定是這樣，不過他們大概都是一些無足輕重的人，我覺得他們並不重要。 Oh, I see.你認為我是唯一可以向你洩露底細的人。 我大致就是這個意思，要是你一定想說得詼諧一點的話。 我看出羅伊並不覺得我的話風趣。我也沒有生氣，因為我早就習慣了別人不對我開的玩笑作出什麼反應。我常常覺得，藝術家中最純真的典型就是那些說了笑話自己獨自發笑的詼諧的人。 好像後來你在倫敦也經常見到他。 Yes. 那是他住在下貝爾格萊維亞某處一套公寓裡的時候。 哦，那是在皮姆利科租的房子。 羅伊冷冷地笑了笑。 咱們不用為他確切住在倫敦哪個地區爭吵。你那會兒和他關係很密切吧。 相當密切。 你們這種關係持續了有多久？ 大概有兩三年吧。 你那時候有多大？ twenty years old. 你聽我說，我想請你幫我一個大忙。這並不會花費你多少時間，可是對我卻有極大的用處。我想請你把回想到的有關德里菲爾德的一切和你記得的有關他妻子的所有情況以及他們之間的關係等等，包括你和他們在黑馬廄鎮和倫敦這兩段時間的交往盡量詳細地寫出來。 喲，老朋友，你這要求可太高了。我手頭正有一大堆事要做呢。 這不需要花費你多少時間。我是說你可以粗枝大葉地寫出來。你不必為文體或諸如此類的問題花費心思，我會用適當的文體加工潤飾的。我所要的就是事實。不管怎麼說，只有你了解他們，別人都不清楚。我並不想顯出自命不凡或類似於此的神氣，不過德里菲爾德是一個偉大的人物，為了紀念他，同時為了英國文學，你也應該義不容辭地把你所了解的一切都寫出來。我本不會對你提出這個要求，可是那天你告訴我說你自己不準備寫什麼關於他的東西。你手裡掌握著一大批資料卻又根本不想使用，這豈不是損人不利己嗎？ 羅伊就這麼既想喚起我的責任感，又責怪我懶散，一會兒要我慷慨大度，一會兒又要我正直無私。 可是德里菲爾德太太幹嘛要請我到弗恩大宅去住呢？I asked. 噢，她和我談過這件事。那是一幢很舒服的房子，她待客又很周到，現在正是鄉間特別美的時候。她認為如果你願意在那兒寫下你的回憶的話，那是一個非常美好、安靜的環境。當然，我跟她說我並不能保證你會接受她的邀請，不過她那兒離黑馬廄鎮那麼近，自然會有助於你想起各種各樣你本來可能忘了的事情。再說，住在德里菲爾德的舊居，置身於他生前的書籍和用品之間，以往的一切就會顯得更為真實。我們可以一起談談他，你知道在熱烈的交談中就會想起以前的事兒。埃米十分聰明伶俐。她好多年來已經養成了把德里菲爾德的講話記錄下來的習慣，別忘了很可能你會一時衝動，說出一些你不想寫出來的東西，而她事後卻可以記下。除此以外，我們還可以打打網球，游游泳。 我不大喜歡住在人家家裡，我說，我很討厭早上九點鐘起來去吃一頓我不想吃的早飯。我不喜歡散步，我對別人家裡的閒事也不感興趣。 她現在很孤獨。你去了，既是對她的幫助，也是對我的幫助。 I thought about it. 我來告訴你我想怎麼做吧。我去黑馬廄鎮，但是我要獨自前去。我住在熊與鑰匙客店，然後你在德里菲爾德太太家停留的時候我就去看她。你們倆可以一個勁兒不停地談論愛德華．德里菲爾德，可是我要聽膩了就能隨時離開。 羅伊和氣地笑了。 All right.Just do it.那麼你肯把你想起來覺得對我有用的資料寫下來嗎？ I'll give it a try. When are you coming?我打算星期五去那兒。 要是你答應在火車上不跟我嘮叨，我就和你一塊走。 All right.五點十分那班車最合適。要我來接你嗎？ 我自己能去維多利亞車站，咱們就在月臺上碰頭吧。 我不知道羅伊是不是害怕我改變主意，他聽我說完後立刻站起身，熱情地和我握了握手，就走了。臨走前還要我千萬別忘了帶網球拍和游泳衣。