IT had long been dark when Arthur rang at the front door of the great house in the Via Borra. He remembered that he had been wandering about the streets; but where, or why, or for how long, he had no idea. Julia's page opened the door, yawning, and grinned significantly at the haggard, stony face. It seemed to him a prodigious joke to have the young master come home from jail like a "drunk and disorderly" beggar. Arthur went upstairs. On the first floor he met Gibbons coming down with an air of lofty and solemn disapproval. He tried to pass with a muttered "Good evening"; but Gibbons was no easy person to get past against his will.
"The gentlemen are out, sir," he said, looking critically at Arthur's rather neglected dress and hair. "They have gone with the mistress to an evening party, and will not be back till nearly twelve."
Arthur looked at his watch; it was nine o'clock. Oh, yes! he would have time--plenty of time------
"My mistress desired me to ask whether you would like any supper, sir; and to say that she hopes you will sit up for her, as she particularly wishes to speak to you this evening."
"I don't want anything, thank you; you can tell her I have not gone to bed."
He went up to his room. Nothing in it had been changed since his arrest; Montanelli's portrait was on the table where he had placed it, and the crucifix stood in the alcove as before. He paused a moment on the threshold, listening; but the house was quite still; evidently no one was coming to disturb him. He stepped softly into the room and locked the door.
And so he had come to the end. There was nothing to think or trouble about; an importunate and useless consciousness to get rid of--and nothing more. It seemed a stupid, aimless kind of thing, somehow.
He had not formed any resolve to commit suicide, nor indeed had he thought much about it; the thing was quite obvious and inevitable. He had even no definite idea as to what manner of death to choose; all that mattered was to be done with it quickly--to have it over and forget. He had no weapon in the room, not even a pocketknife; but that was of no consequence--a towel would do, or a sheet torn into strips.
There was a large nail just over the window. That would do; but it must be firm to bear his weight. He got up on a chair to feel the nail; it was not quite firm, and he stepped down again and took a hammer from a drawer. He knocked in the nail, and was about to pull a sheet off his bed, when he suddenly remembered that he had not said his prayers. Of course, one must pray before dying; every Christian does that. There are even special prayers for a departing soul.
He went into the alcove and knelt down before the crucifix. "Almighty and merciful God----" he began aloud; and with that broke off and said no more. Indeed, the world was grown so dull that there was nothing left to pray for--or against. And then, what did Christ know about a trouble of this kind--Christ, who had never suffered it? He had only been betrayed, like Bolla; He had never been tricked into betraying.
Arthur rose, crossing himself from old habit. Approaching the table, he saw lying upon it a letter addressed to him, in Montanelli's handwriting. It was in pencil:
"My Dear Boy: It is a great disappointment to me that I cannot see you on the day of your release; but I have been sent for to visit a dying man. I shall not get back till late at night. Come to me early to-morrow morning. In great haste,
"L. M."
He put down the letter with a sigh; it did seem hard on the Padre.
How the people had laughed and gossiped in the streets! Nothing was altered since the days when he had been alive. Not the least little one of all the daily trifles round him was changed because a human soul, a living human soul, had been struck down dead. It was all just the same as before. The water had plashed in the fountains; the sparrows had twittered under the eaves; just as they had done yesterday, just as they would do to-morrow. And as for him, he was dead--quite dead.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, crossed his arms along the foot-rail, and rested his forehead upon them. There was plenty of time; and his head ached so--the very middle of the brain seemed to ache; it was all so dull and stupid--so utterly meaningless----
. . . . .
The front-door bell rang sharply, and he started up in a breathless agony of terror, with both hands at his throat. They had come back--he had sat there dreaming, and let the precious time slip away--and now he must see their faces and hear their cruel tongues--their sneers and comments-- If only he had a knife------
He looked desperately round the room. His mother's work-basket stood in a little cupboard; surely there would be scissors; he might sever an artery. No; the sheet and nail were safer, if he had time.
He dragged the counterpane from his bed, and with frantic haste began tearing off a strip. The sound of footsteps came up the stairs. No; the strip was too wide; it would not tie firmly; and there must be a noose. He worked faster as the footsteps drew nearer; and the blood throbbed in his temples and roared in his ears. Quicker-- quicker! Oh, God! five minutes more!
There was a knock at the door. The strip of torn stuff dropped from his hands, and he sat quite still, holding his breath to listen. The handle of the door was tried; then Julia's voice called:
"Arthur!"
He stood up, panting.
"Arthur, open the door, please; we are waiting."
He gathered up the torn counterpane, threw it into a drawer, and hastily smoothed down the bed.
"Arthur!" This time it was James who called, and the door-handle was shaken impatiently. "Are you asleep?"
Arthur looked round the room, saw that everything was hidden, and unlocked the door.
"I should think you might at least have obeyed my express request that you should sit up for us, Arthur," said Julia, sweeping into the room in a towering passion. "You appear to think it the proper thing for us to dance attendance for half an hour at your door----"
"Four minutes, my dear," James mildly corrected, stepping into the room at the end of his wife's pink satin train. "I certainly think, Arthur, that it would have been more--becoming if----"
"What do you want?" Arthur interrupted. He was standing with his hand upon the door, glancing furtively from one to the other like a trapped animal. But James was too obtuse and Julia too angry to notice the look.
Mr. Burton placed a chair for his wife and sat down, carefully pulling up his new trousers at the knees. "Julia and I," he began, "feel it to be our duty to speak to you seriously about----"
"I can't listen to-night; I--I'm not well. My head aches--you must wait."
Arthur spoke in a strange, indistinct voice, with a confused and rambling manner. James looked round in surprise.
"Is there anything the matter with you?" he asked anxiously, suddenly remembering that Arthur had come from a very hotbed of infection. "I hope you're not sickening for anything. You look quite feverish."
"Nonsense!" Julia interrupted sharply. "It's only the usual theatricals, because he's ashamed to face us. Come here and sit down, Arthur." Arthur slowly crossed the room and sat down on the bed. "Yes?" he said wearily.
Mr. Burton coughed, cleared his throat, smoothed his already immaculate beard, and began the carefully prepared speech over again:
"I feel it to be my duty--my painful duty--to speak very seriously to you about your extraordinary behaviour in connecting yourself with--a-- law-breakers and incendiaries and--a--persons of disreputable character. I believe you to have been, perhaps, more foolish than depraved--a----"
He paused.
"Yes?" Arthur said again.
"Now, I do not wish to be hard on you," James went on, softening a little in spite of himself before the weary hopelessness of Arthur's manner. "I am quite willing to believe that you have been led away by bad companions, and to take into account your youth and inexperience and the--a-- a--imprudent and--a--impulsive character which you have, I fear, inherited from your mother."
Arthur's eyes wandered slowly to his mother's portrait and back again, but he did not speak.
"But you will, I feel sure, understand," James continued, "that it is quite impossible for me to keep any longer in my house a person who has brought public disgrace upon a name so highly respected as ours."
"Yes?" Arthur repeated once more.
"Well?" said Julia sharply, closing her fan with a snap and laying it across her knee. "Are you going to have the goodness to say anything but 'Yes,' Arthur?"
"You will do as you think best, of course," he answered slowly, without moving. "It doesn't matter much either way."
"Doesn't--matter?" James repeated, aghast; and his wife rose with a laugh.
"Oh, it doesn't matter, doesn't it? Well, James, I hope you understand now how much gratitude you may expect in that quarter. I told you what would come of showing charity to Papist adventuresses and their----"
"Hush, hush! Never mind that, my dear!"
"It's all nonsense, James; we've had more than enough of this sentimentality! A love-child setting himself up as a member of the family--it's quite time he did know what his mother was! Why should we be saddled with the child of a Popish priest's amourettes? There, then-- look!"
She pulled a crumpled sheet of paper out of her pocket and tossed it across the table to Arthur. He opened it; the writing was in his mother's hand, and was dated four months before his birth. It was a confession, addressed to her husband, and with two signatures.
Arthur's eyes travelled slowly down the page, past the unsteady letters in which her name was written, to the strong, familiar signature: "Lorenzo Montanelli." For a moment he stared at the writing; then, without a word, refolded the paper and laid it down. James rose and took his wife by the arm.
"There, Julia, that will do. Just go downstairs now; it's late, and I want to talk a little business with Arthur. It won't interest you."
She glanced up at her husband; then back at Arthur, who was silently staring at the floor.
"He seems half stupid," she whispered.
When she had gathered up her train and left the room, James carefully shut the door and went back to his chair beside the table. Arthur sat as before, perfectly motionless and silent.
"Arthur," James began in a milder tone, now Julia was not there to hear, "I am very sorry that this has come out. You might just as well not have known it. However, all that's over; and I am pleased to see that you can behave with such self-control. Julia is a--a little excited; ladies often--anyhow, I don't want to be too hard on you."
He stopped to see what effect the kindly words had produced; but Arthur was quite motionless.
"Of course, my dear boy," James went on after a moment, "this is a distressing story altogether, and the best thing we can do is to hold our tongues about it. My father was generous enough not to divorce your mother when she confessed her fall to him; he only demanded that the man who had led her astray should leave the country at once; and, as you know, he went to China as a missionary. For my part, I was very much against your having anything to do with him when he came back; but my father, just at the last, consented to let him teach you, on condition that he never attempted to see your mother. I must, in justice, acknowledge that I believe they both observed that condition faithfully to the end. It is a very deplorable business; but----"
Arthur looked up. All the life and expression had gone out of his face; it was like a waxen mask.
"D-don't you think," he said softly, with a curious stammering hesitation on the words, "th-that--all this--is--v-very--funny?"
"FUNNY?" James pushed his chair away from the table, and sat staring at him, too much petrified for anger. "Funny! Arthur, are you mad?"
Arthur suddenly threw back his head, and burst into a frantic fit of laughing.
"Arthur!" exclaimed the shipowner, rising with dignity, "I am amazed at your levity!"
There was no answer but peal after peal of laughter, so loud and boisterous that even James began to doubt whether there was not something more the matter here than levity.
"Just like a hysterical woman," he muttered, turning, with a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders, to tramp impatiently up and down the room. "Really, Arthur, you're worse than Julia; there, stop laughing! I can't wait about here all night."
He might as well have asked the crucifix to come down from its pedestal. Arthur was past caring for remonstrances or exhortations; he only laughed, and laughed, and laughed without end.
"This is absurd!" said James, stopping at last in his irritated pacing to and fro. "You are evidently too much excited to be reasonable to-night. I can't talk business with you if you're going on that way. Come to me to-morrow morning after breakfast. And now you had better go to bed. Good-night."
He went out, slamming the door. "Now for the hysterics downstairs," he muttered as he tramped noisily away. "I suppose it'll be tears there!"
. . . . .
The frenzied laughter died on Arthur's lips. He snatched up the hammer from the table and flung himself upon the crucifix.
With the crash that followed he came suddenly to his senses, standing before the empty pedestal, the hammer still in his hand, and the fragments of the broken image scattered on the floor about his feet.
He threw down the hammer. "So easy!" he said, and turned away. "And what an idiot I am!"
He sat down by the table, panting heavily for breath, and rested his forehead on both hands. Presently he rose, and, going to the wash-stand, poured a jugful of cold water over his head and face. He came back quite composed, and sat down to think.
And it was for such things as these--for these false and slavish people, these dumb and soulless gods--that he had suffered all these tortures of shame and passion and despair; had made a rope to hang himself, forsooth, because one priest was a liar. As if they were not all liars! Well, all that was done with; he was wiser now. He need only shake off these vermin and begin life afresh.
There were plenty of goods vessels in the docks; it would be an easy matter to stow himself away in one of them, and get across to Canada, Australia, Cape Colony--anywhere. It was no matter for the country, if only it was far enough; and, as for the life out there, he could see, and if it did not suit him he could try some other place.
He took out his purse. Only thirty-three paoli; but his watch was a good one. That would help him along a bit; and in any case it was of no consequence--he should pull through somehow. But they would search for him, all these people; they would be sure to make inquiries at the docks. No; he must put them on a false scent--make them believe him dead; then he should be quite free-- quite free. He laughed softly to himself at the thought of the Burtons searching for his corpse. What a farce the whole thing was!
Taking a sheet of paper, he wrote the first words that occurred to him:
"I believed in you as I believed in God. God is a thing made of clay, that I can smash with a hammer; and you have fooled me with a lie."
He folded up the paper, directed it to Montanelli, and, taking another sheet, wrote across it: "Look for my body in Darsena." Then he put on his hat and went out of the room. Passing his mother's portrait, he looked up with a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders. She, too, had lied to him.
He crept softly along the corridor, and, slipping back the door-bolts, went out on to the great, dark, echoing marble staircase. It seemed to yawn beneath him like a black pit as he descended.
He crossed the courtyard, treading cautiously for fear of waking Gian Battista, who slept on the ground floor. In the wood-cellar at the back was a little grated window, opening on the canal and not more than four feet from the ground. He remembered that the rusty grating had broken away on one side; by pushing a little he could make an aperture wide enough to climb out by.
The grating was strong, and he grazed his hands badly and tore the sleeve of his coat; but that was no matter. He looked up and down the street; there was no one in sight, and the canal lay black and silent, an ugly trench between two straight and slimy walls. The untried universe might prove a dismal hole, but it could hardly be more flat and sordid than the corner which he was leaving behind him. There was nothing to regret; nothing to look back upon. It had been a pestilent little stagnant world, full of squalid lies and clumsy cheats and foul-smelling ditches that were not even deep enough to drown a man.
He walked along the canal bank, and came out upon the tiny square by the Medici palace. It was here that Gemma had run up to him with her vivid face, her outstretched hands. Here was the little flight of wet stone steps leading down to the moat; and there the fortress scowling across the strip of dirty water. He had never noticed before how squat and mean it looked.
Passing through the narrow streets he reached the Darsena shipping-basin, where he took off his hat and flung it into the water. It would be found, of course, when they dragged for his body. Then he walked on along the water's edge, considering perplexedly what to do next. He must contrive to hide on some ship; but it was a difficult thing to do. His only chance would be to get on to the huge old Medici breakwater and walk along to the further end of it. There was a low-class tavern on the point; probably he should find some sailor there who could be bribed.
But the dock gates were closed. How should he get past them, and past the customs officials? His stock of money would not furnish the high bribe that they would demand for letting him through at night and without a passport. Besides they might recognize him.
As he passed the bronze statue of the "Four Moors," a man's figure emerged from an old house on the opposite side of the shipping basin and approached the bridge. Arthur slipped at once into the deep shadow behind the group of statuary and crouched down in the darkness, peeping cautiously round the corner of the pedestal.
It was a soft spring night, warm and starlit. The water lapped against the stone walls of the basin and swirled in gentle eddies round the steps with a sound as of low laughter. Somewhere near a chain creaked, swinging slowly to and fro. A huge iron crane towered up, tall and melancholy in the dimness. Black on a shimmering expanse of starry sky and pearly cloud-wreaths, the figures of the fettered, struggling slaves stood out in vain and vehement protest against a merciless doom.
The man approached unsteadily along the water side, shouting an English street song. He was evidently a sailor returning from a carouse at some tavern. No one else was within sight. As he drew near, Arthur stood up and stepped into the middle of the roadway. The sailor broke off in his song with an oath, and stopped short.
"I want to speak to you," Arthur said in Italian. "Do you understand me?"
The man shook his head. "It's no use talking that patter to me," he said; then, plunging into bad French, asked sullenly: "What do you want? Why can't you let me pass?"
"Just come out of the light here a minute; I want to speak to you."
"Ah! wouldn't you like it? Out of the light! Got a knife anywhere about you?"
"No, no, man! Can't you see I only want your help? I'll pay you for it?"
"Eh? What? And dressed like a swell, too------" The sailor had relapsed into English. He now moved into the shadow and leaned against the railing of the pedestal.
"Well," he said, returning to his atrocious French; "and what is it you want?"
"I want to get away from here----"
"Aha! Stowaway! Want me to hide you? Been up to something, I suppose. Stuck a knife into somebody, eh? Just like these foreigners! And where might you be wanting to go? Not to the police station, I fancy?"
He laughed in his tipsy way, and winked one eye.
"What vessel do you belong to?"
"Carlotta--Leghorn to Buenos Ayres; shipping oil one way and hides the other. She's over there"--pointing in the direction of the breakwater --"beastly old hulk!"
"Buenos Ayres--yes! Can you hide me anywhere on board?"
"How much can you give?"
"Not very much; I have only a few paoli."
"No. Can't do it under fifty--and cheap at that, too--a swell like you."
"What do you mean by a swell? If you like my clothes you may change with me, but I can't give you more money than I have got."
"You have a watch there. Hand it over."
Arthur took out a lady's gold watch, delicately chased and enamelled, with the initials "G. B." on the back. It had been his mother's--but what did that matter now?
"Ah!" remarked the sailor with a quick glance at it. "Stolen, of course! Let me look!"
Arthur drew his hand away. "No," he said. "I will give you the watch when we are on board; not before."
"You're not such a fool as you look, after all! I'll bet it's your first scrape, though, eh?"
"That is my business. Ah! there comes the watchman."
They crouched down behind the group of statuary and waited till the watchman had passed. Then the sailor rose, and, telling Arthur to follow him, walked on, laughing foolishly to himself. Arthur followed in silence.
The sailor led him back to the little irregular square by the Medici palace; and, stopping in a dark corner, mumbled in what was intended for a cautious whisper:
"Wait here; those soldier fellows will see you if you come further."
"What are you going to do?"
"Get you some clothes. I'm not going to take you on board with that bloody coatsleeve."
Arthur glanced down at the sleeve which had been torn by the window grating. A little blood from the grazed hand had fallen upon it. Evidently the man thought him a murderer. Well, it was of no consequence what people thought.
After some time the sailor came back, triumphant, with a bundle under his arm.
"Change," he whispered; "and make haste about it. I must get back, and that old Jew has kept me bargaining and haggling for half an hour."
Arthur obeyed, shrinking with instinctive disgust at the first touch of second-hand clothes. Fortunately these, though rough and coarse, were fairly clean. When he stepped into the light in his new attire, the sailor looked at him with tipsy solemnity and gravely nodded his approval.
"You'll do," he said. "This way, and don't make a noise." Arthur, carrying his discarded clothes, followed him through a labyrinth of winding canals and dark narrow alleys; the mediaeval slum quarter which the people of Leghorn call "New Venice." Here and there a gloomy old palace, solitary among the squalid houses and filthy courts, stood between two noisome ditches, with a forlorn air of trying to preserve its ancient dignity and yet of knowing the effort to be a hopeless one. Some of the alleys, he knew, were notorious dens of thieves, cut-throats, and smugglers; others were merely wretched and poverty-stricken.
Beside one of the little bridges the sailor stopped, and, looking round to see that they were not observed, descended a flight of stone steps to a narrow landing stage. Under the bridge was a dirty, crazy old boat. Sharply ordering Arthur to jump in and lie down, he seated himself in the boat and began rowing towards the harbour's mouth. Arthur lay still on the wet and leaky planks, hidden by the clothes which the man had thrown over him, and peeping out from under them at the familiar streets and houses.
Presently they passed under a bridge and entered that part of the canal which forms a moat for the fortress. The massive walls rose out of the water, broad at the base and narrowing upward to the frowning turrets. How strong, how threatening they had seemed to him a few hours ago! And now----
He laughed softly as he lay in the bottom of the boat.
"Hold your noise," the sailor whispered, "and keep your head covered! We're close to the custom house."
Arthur drew the clothes over his head. A few yards further on the boat stopped before a row of masts chained together, which lay across the surface of the canal, blocking the narrow waterway between the custom house and the fortress wall. A sleepy official came out yawning and bent over the water's edge with a lantern in his hand.
"Passports, please."
The sailor handed up his official papers. Arthur, half stifled under the clothes, held his breath, listening.
"A nice time of night to come back to your ship!" grumbled the customs official. "Been out on the spree, I suppose. What's in your boat?"
"Old clothes. Got them cheap." He held up the waistcoat for inspection. The official, lowering his lantern, bent over, straining his eyes to see.
"It's all right, I suppose. You can pass."
He lifted the barrier and the boat moved slowly out into the dark, heaving water. At a little distance Arthur sat up and threw off the clothes.
"Here she is," the sailor whispered, after rowing for some time in silence. "Keep close behind me and hold your tongue."
He clambered up the side of a huge black monster, swearing under his breath at the clumsiness of the landsman, though Arthur's natural agility rendered him less awkward than most people would have been in his place. Once safely on board, they crept cautiously between dark masses of rigging and machinery, and came at last to a hatchway, which the sailor softly raised.
"Down here!" he whispered. "I'll be back in a minute."
The hold was not only damp and dark, but intolerably foul. At first Arthur instinctively drew back, half choked by the stench of raw hides and rancid oil. Then he remembered the "punishment cell," and descended the ladder, shrugging his shoulders. Life is pretty much the same everywhere, it seemed; ugly, putrid, infested with vermin, full of shameful secrets and dark corners. Still, life is life, and he must make the best of it.
In a few minutes the sailor came back with something in his hands which Arthur could not distinctly see for the darkness.
"Now, give me the watch and money. Make haste!"
Taking advantage of the darkness, Arthur succeeded in keeping back a few coins.
"You must get me something to eat," he said; "I am half starved."
"I've brought it. Here you are." The sailor handed him a pitcher, some hard biscuit, and a piece of salt pork. "Now mind, you must hide in this empty barrel, here, when the customs officers come to examine to-morrow morning. Keep as still as a mouse till we're right out at sea. I'll let you know when to come out. And won't you just catch it when the captain sees you--that's all! Got the drink safe? Good-night!"
The hatchway closed, and Arthur, setting the precious "drink" in a safe place, climbed on to an oil barrel to eat his pork and biscuit. Then he curled himself up on the dirty floor; and, for the first time since his babyhood, settled himself to sleep without a prayer. The rats scurried round him in the darkness; but neither their persistent noise nor the swaying of the ship, nor the nauseating stench of oil, nor the prospect of to-morrow's sea-sickness, could keep him awake. He cared no more for them all than for the broken and dishonoured idols that only yesterday had been the gods of his adoration.
当亚瑟按响维亚·波拉大街那座豪华住宅的门铃时，天早已黑了下来。他想起自己一直是在街上游荡。但是在哪儿游荡，为什么，或者游荡了多长时间，他一无所知。朱丽亚的小厮打开了门，呵欠连天，看见他这张憔悴而无表情的脸，他意味深长地咧嘴笑笑。少爷从监狱回到了家里，竟像一个“烂醉如泥、衣衫不整”的乞丐，在他看来是个天大的笑话。
亚瑟走到楼上。他在二楼遇见走下来的吉朋斯，他板着脸儿，摆出一副高深莫测、不以为然的神态。他试图低声道上一句“晚安”，然后从一旁走过去。但是吉朋斯这个人要是觉得你不顺他的心，你要想从他身边经过他可是不依不饶。
“先生们都已出去了，先生。”他说，同时带着挑剔的目光打量亚瑟零乱的衣服和头发，“他们和女主人一起参加一场晚会去了，大约要到十二点才回来。”
亚瑟看看手表，现在是九点钟。噢，行啊！他还有时间——有的是时间……
“我的女主人要我问你是否愿意吃点晚饭，先生。还说她希望你能等她，因为她特别希望今晚和你谈谈。”
“我什么也不想吃，谢谢你。你可以告诉她我没有上床。”
他走进自己的房间。自他被捕以后，里面的一切都没变化。蒙泰尼里的画像还是他那天放在桌上的，十字架还像以前那样立在神龛里。他在门口站了一会儿，侧耳倾听。但是宅子里静悄悄的。显然没有人前来打扰他。他轻手轻脚地走进房间，然后锁上了门。
他就这样走到了人生的尽头。没有什么可想的，也没有什么使他操心的事情。只是泯灭一个讨厌而又无用的意识，此外再也没有别的事情可做。可是看来还有一件愚蠢而又盲目的事情。
他还没有下定自杀的决心，而且对此也没有想得太多。这是一件显而易见、无可避免的事情。他甚至没有明确地想过挑选什么方法自杀，要紧的是把这一切尽快了结——做完之后忘得一干二净。他的房间没有什么武器，甚至连小刀都没有。但是这不要紧——一条毛巾就行，或者把床单撕成碎片也行。
窗户的上面正好有一枚大钉子。这就行了，但是它必须坚固，能够经受住他的重量。他站在一把椅子上试了试钉子，钉子并不十分坚固。他又跳下椅子，从抽屉里拿来一把锤子。
他敲了几下钉子，然后正要从床上撕下一块床单。这时他突然想起来他没有祈祷。一个人在死前当然要作祈祷，每一个基督徒在死前都作祈祷。对于一个行将死去的人，还有特别的祈祷文呢。
他走进神龛，在十字架前跪了下来。“万能而慈悲的上帝——”他朗声祈祷。说到这里他停了下来，不再往下说了。这个世界的确变得越来越无聊了，没有什么值得祈祷或者诅咒。
基督对这种麻烦又知道什么呢？从来没有遭受这种麻烦的基督知道什么呢？他只是被出卖了，就像波拉一样。他并不曾因为被骗而出卖别人。
亚瑟站起身来，仍旧习惯地在胸前画了十字。他走到桌子跟前，看见上面放着一封信。信是蒙泰尼里的笔迹，是写给他的。信是用铅笔写的：
我亲爱的孩子：在你释放的这一天不能见你，对我来说实在让我感到莫大的失望。可是我被请去看望一个快要过世的人。我要到很晚才能回来。明天一早过来看我。急草。劳·蒙。
他叹息一声放下信来，看来这件事对Padre打击确实很大。
街上的人们笑得多么开心，聊得多么畅怀！自他出生以后一切都没有变化。至少他周围那些日常繁琐的小事不会因为一个人、一个活人死去而变化。一切都像从前那样。喷水池的水还在溅荡，屋檐下的麻雀还在叽叽喳喳地叫着。昨天是这样，明天还是这样。对他来说，他已经死了——一了百了地死了。
他坐在床边，双手交叉抓住床头的栏杆，额头枕在胳膊上。时间还多的是。而且他的头还疼得厉害——大脑中央好像疼得很。一切都是那么乏味，那么愚蠢——真是一点意思都没有……
前门的铃声急促地响了起来，他吃了一惊，简直喘不过气来。他用双手扼住了喉咙。他们已经回来了——他坐在这里想入非非，任由宝贵的时间流逝——现在他必须看到他们的面孔，听到他们冷酷的声音——他们会嗤之以鼻，大发议论——要是他有把刀子该有多好……
他绝望地环视四周。他母亲做针线的篮子就在小柜子里，篮子里当然会有剪子。他可以绞断一根动脉。不，床单和钉子更安全，如果他有时间的话。
他从床上掀下床罩，发疯似的撕下一条布来。楼梯里响起了脚步声。不，这条布太宽了。用它打结会不牢的，而且一定要留出一个套索。随着脚步声越来越近，他的动作也越来越快。血液撞击着他的太阳穴，并在他的耳朵里嗡嗡作响。
快点——快点！噢，上帝啊！再给五分钟的时间吧！
门上响起了敲门声。那条撕下的布条从他手中掉了下来，他坐在那里一动也不动。他屏住呼吸听着。有人扭动了门把，然后朱丽亚扯着嗓门叫道：“亚瑟！”
他站了起来，喘着粗气。
“亚瑟，请把门给打开。我们在等着呢。”
他捡起撕坏的床罩，把它塞进抽屉里，然后匆忙把床抚平。
“亚瑟！”这一次是杰姆斯在喊门，而且有人在不耐烦地扭动门把。“你睡着了吗？”
亚瑟环视屋子，看见一切都已藏了起来，然后打开了房门。
“亚瑟，我可是有话在先。你至少应该遵照我的要求，坐等我们回来吧。”朱丽亚闯进屋里，怒气冲冲地说道，“你看来是认为我们合该在门口恭候半个小时——”
“我亲爱的，是四分钟。”杰姆斯温和地予以纠正。他尾随妻子的粉缎长裙走进屋里。“我当然认为，亚瑟，你这样做不大——不大成体统——”
“你们想干什么？”亚瑟打断了他的话。他站在那里，手扶着房门。他就像是一只被困的动物，偷偷看看这个，然后又偷偷看看那个。但是杰姆斯反应迟钝，朱丽亚又在气头上，所以他们都没有注意到他脸上的表情。
伯顿先生为他妻子拉过一把椅子，自己也坐了下来。他小心翼翼地在膝盖处扯直他那条新裤子。“我和朱丽亚，”他开口说道，“觉得我们有责任跟你严肃地谈谈——”
“今天晚上不行，我——我不大舒服。我头疼——你们必须等一等。”
亚瑟的声音有些异样，含含糊糊的。他神情恍惚，说话前言不搭后语。杰姆斯吃了一惊，四下里看了一下。
“你怎么啦？”他着急地问道，突然想起了亚瑟来自那个传染病的温床。“我希望你不是得了什么病。你看上去很像是在发烧。”
“胡说八道！”朱丽亚厉声打断了他的话。“他只是在装腔作势，因为他羞于面对我们。过来坐下，亚瑟。”
亚瑟慢慢地走过去，坐在床上。“嗯？”他疲惫地说道。
伯顿先生咳嗽了几下，清了清喉咙，捋了捋他那已够整洁的胡子，然后再次开始道出那番经过准备的话来：“我觉得我有责任——我负有痛苦的责任——跟你严肃地谈谈你这种离经叛道的行为，结交——呃——那些无法无天、杀人越货之徒，以及——嗯——那些品行不端的人。我相信你，也许只是糊里糊涂，而不是已经堕落了——呃——”
他停了下来。
“嗯？”亚瑟又这么说道。
“哎，我不希望难为你。”杰姆斯接着说道，看到亚瑟那副疲倦的绝望神态，他不由自主地缓和了一下语气。“我十分愿意相信你是被坏伙伴引入了歧途，因为你年纪轻轻，缺乏经验，还有——呃——鲁莽，以及——呃——你具有一种轻率的性格，我怕是从你母亲那里继承下来的。”
亚瑟的眼光缓缓转到母亲的画像上，然后又收回眼光，但是他没有说话。
“但是我相信你会明白的，”杰姆斯继续说道，“我们这是一个为人推崇的家庭，要我收留一个在大庭广众之下辱其门风的人是绝对不可能的。”
“嗯？”亚瑟又重复了一遍。
“那好，”朱丽亚厉声说道。她啪的一声合上了扇子，然后把它放在膝盖上。“亚瑟，除了‘嗯’这么一下，你就不能行行好，说点别的什么吗？”
“当然了，你们认为怎么合适就怎么做。”他慢吞吞地说道，身体一动不动。“不管怎样都没有关系的。”
“没有——关系？”杰姆斯重复说道，惊得目瞪口呆。他的妻子哈哈大笑，并且站起身来。
“噢，没有关系，是吗？那好，杰姆斯，我希望你现在明白了你能从这个人那里指望得到多少报答。我告诉过你好心得不到好报，对一个投机钻营的女天主教徒和他们的——”
“嘘，嘘！亲爱的，不要计较这事！”
“别胡说八道了，杰姆斯。不要感情用事了，我们已经受够了！一个孽种竟然充作这个家庭的成员——他该知道他的母亲是个什么东西了！我们为什么要负担一个天主教教士一时风流而养下的孩子呢？这儿，瞅瞅！”
她从口袋里扯出一张业已揉皱的纸来，隔着桌子朝亚瑟扔了过来。亚瑟把它摊开，上面的字是她母亲的笔迹，署名的日期是他出生前四个月。这是一封写给她丈夫的忏悔书，落有两个签名。
亚瑟的眼光缓慢地移到这张纸的下端，绕过拼成她名字的潦草字母，看到那个遒劲而又熟悉的签名：“劳伦佐·蒙泰尼里”。他凝视这张忏悔书，看了好一会儿。然后他一言不发，折起这张纸，把它放下来。杰姆斯站起身来，挽起了他的妻子。
“行了，朱丽亚，就这么着吧。现在下楼去吧。时候不早了，我想和亚瑟谈点小事。你不会感兴趣的。”
她抬眼看看他的丈夫，然后又看看亚瑟。亚瑟正默默地凝视着地板。
“我看他有些犯傻。”她小声说道。
当她撩起裙子的后摆走出房间以后，杰姆斯小心翼翼地关上门，然后走回到桌旁他那把椅子跟前。亚瑟仍旧坐在那里，一动也不动，一声也不吭。
“亚瑟。”杰姆斯温和地说道，现在朱丽亚已经不在这里，听不到她说些什么了。“事情弄到这个地步，我感到非常遗憾。
也许你还是不知道它要好些。可是，一切都已过去了。我感到高兴的是你表现得这样克制。朱丽亚有——有点激动，女人总是——反正我不想太难为你。”
他打住话头，看看他的好言好语产生了什么效果。但是亚瑟仍旧纹丝不动。
“当然了，我亲爱的孩子，”杰姆斯停顿了片刻接着说道，“这样的事情让大家都感到不愉快，我们对此只能保持缄默。
我的父亲非常慷慨，在她承认失身以后并没有和她离婚。他只是要求那个勾引她误入歧途的男人立即离开这个国家。你也知道，他去了中国当了一名传教士。就我来说，我是反对你在他回来后和他来往的。但是我的父亲最后还是同意让他来教你，条件是他永远也别企图看望你的母亲。说句公道话，我必须承认他俩始终都忠实地执行了这个条件。这是一件让人引以为憾的事情，但是——”
亚瑟抬起了头。他的脸上已经失去了所有生气和表情，看上去就像是一张蜡制的面具。
“你、你不认为，”他轻声说道，奇怪的是他说话支支吾吾的，有些口吃，“这、这——一切——非、非常——好笑吗？”
“好笑？”杰姆斯把他的椅子从桌边挪开，坐在那里瞪眼看着他。他吓得发不出火来。“好笑？亚瑟，你发疯了吗？”
亚瑟突然仰起头来，爆发出一阵神经质的狂笑。
“亚瑟！”船运老板大声叫道，因为气愤而抬高了嗓门，“你竟然这样轻浮，这使我感到很意外。”
没有回答，只是一阵接着一阵的大笑，笑得那么响亮，笑得那么有力，以至于杰姆斯开始怀疑这里是否有比轻浮更严重的事情。
“活像个歇斯底里的女人。”他喃喃地说道，随即转过身去，鄙夷地耸了耸肩膀，并在屋子里不耐烦地踱来踱去。“真的，亚瑟，你比朱丽亚还不如。好了，别笑了！我可不能在这里等上一整夜。”
他也许还不如请求十字架从底座上下来。亚瑟对于抗议或者规劝不再顾忌了，他只是放声大笑，不停地笑着。
“岂有此理！”杰姆斯说道，他终于停止了气急败坏的踱步。“你显然是激动过分，今晚已经失去了理智。如果你这样下去，我就没有办法和你谈事。明天早晨吃过早餐以后找我。
现在你最好还是上床睡觉吧。晚安。”
他走了出去，随手关上了房门。“现在还要面对楼下那个歇斯底里的人。”他喃喃地说道，随即迈着沉重的脚步走开。
“我看那儿又会哭开了！”
疯狂的笑声从亚瑟的嘴唇上消失了。他从桌上抓起锤子，然后扑向十字架。
随着轰隆一声巨响，他突然清醒了过来。他站在空荡荡的底座前面，手里仍然拿着锤子，破碎的塑像散落在他的脚边。
他扔下锤子。“这么容易！”说罢转过身去。“我真是一个白痴！”
他坐在桌边喘着粗气，额头伏在双手里。他随即站了起来，走到盥洗池跟前，端起一壶冷水浇到他的头上。他走了回来，十分镇静，并且坐下来考虑问题。
就是为了这些东西——为了这些虚伪而又奴性的人们，这些愚昧而又没有灵魂的神灵——他受尽了羞辱、激情和绝望的种种煎熬。他准备用一根绳子吊死自己，当真，因为一个教士是个骗子。他现在聪明多了。他只需抖掉这些毒虫，重新开始生活。
码头有许多货船，很容易就能藏在其中的一艘货船里，偷偷乘船逃走，到达澳大利亚、加拿大、好望角——不管什么地方。随便到哪个国家，只要远在天边。至于那里的生活，他可以看看再说，如果不适合他，他可以再到别的地方。
他拿出钱包。只有三十三个玻里，但是他的手表还是值点钱的。这就能帮他挨过一段时间，不管怎样都没有什么要紧的——反正他都要挺下去。但是他们会找他的，所有这些人都会找他的。他们当然会到码头查询。不，他必须给他们布下疑阵——使他们相信他死了。然后他就自由自在——自由自在。一想到伯顿一家将会寻找他的尸体，他不禁暗自笑了起来。那会是一场多么好笑的闹剧啊！
他拿过一张纸来，随手写下了所想到的几句话：
我相信过您，正如我曾相信过上帝一样。上帝是一个泥塑的东西，我可以用锤子将它砸碎。您却用一个谎言欺骗了我。
他折起这张纸，写上蒙泰尼里亲启的字样。然后他又拿过另一张纸，写下了一排字：“去达赛纳码头找我的尸体。”然后他戴上帽子，走出了房间。当他经过母亲的画像时，他抬头哈哈一笑，耸了耸肩膀。她也欺骗了他。
他轻手轻脚地经过了走廊，拉开了门闩，走到大理石楼梯上。楼梯又大又黑，能够发出回声。在他往下走时，楼梯好像张开了大口，像是一个阴暗的陷阱。
他走过庭院，谨慎地放轻脚步，以免惊醒吉安·巴蒂斯塔。他就睡在一楼。后面堆藏木柴的地窖有一扇装着栅栏的小窗，对着运河，离地面不过四英尺。他想起生锈的栅栏已经断裂，只要稍微一推就能弄出一个豁口，然后钻出去。
栅栏很坚固，他的手擦破了，外套的袖子也扯坏了。但是这没有什么关系。他上下打量了一下街道，没有看见一个人。黑漆漆的运河没有一点动静，这条丑恶的壕沟两边是笔直细长的堤岸。未曾体验过的世界也许是一个令人扫兴的黑洞，但是它根本就不可能比他丢开的这一角更加沉闷和丑陋。
没有什么可遗憾的，没有什么值得留恋的。这是一个讨厌的小天地，死水一潭，充满了谎言和拙劣的欺骗，以及臭气熏天的阴沟，阴沟浅得连人都淹不死。
他沿着运河堤岸走着，然后来到梅狄契宫旁的小广场上。
就是在这个地方，琼玛伸出双臂，绽开那张楚楚动人的面容跑到他跟前。这里有一段潮湿的石阶通往护城河，阴森森的城堡就在这条污浊的小河对面。他在以前从来没有注意到这条小河是多么粗俗和平庸。
他穿过狭窄的街道，到达了达赛纳船坞。他在那里脱下帽子，把它扔进水里。在他们打捞他的尸体时，他们当然会发现它。然后他沿着河边往前走去，愁眉不展地考虑下一步该怎么办。他必须设法溜到某一艘船上，但是这样做很难。他唯一的机会是走到那道巨大而又古老的梅狄契防波堤上，然后走到防波堤的尽头。在那个尖角处有一家下等的酒馆，他很可能在那里发现某个可以行贿的水手。
但是码头大门关着。他怎样才能过去，并且混过海关官员呢？他没有护照，他们放他过去就会索要高额的贿赂，可是他身边的钱是远远不够的。此外，他们也许会认出他来。
当他经过“摩尔四人”的铜像时，有个人影从船坞对面的一所老房子里钻了出来，并往桥这边走过来。亚瑟立即溜到铜像的阴影之中，然后蹲在暗处，从底座的拐角谨慎地向外窥望。
这是春天里的一个夜晚，夜色柔和而又温馨，天上布满了星星。河水拍打着船坞的石堤，并在台阶周围形成平缓的漩涡，发出的声音像是低低的笑声。附近的某个地方，一条铁链缓缓地晃动着，吱吱作响。一架巨大的铁起重机隐约地耸立在那里，高大而又凄凉。在星光灿烂的天空和浅蓝灰色的云彩下，映出了漆黑的奴隶身影。他们带着锁链，站在那里徒劳地挣扎，并且恶毒地诅咒悲惨的命运。
那人摇摇晃晃地沿着河边走来，并且扯着嗓子唱着一支英国小曲。他显然是个水手，从某个酒馆痛饮一顿以后往回走。看不出周围还有别的人。当他走近时，亚瑟站起身来，走到了路中间。那个水手止住歌声，骂了一句，并且停下脚步。
“我想和你谈谈，”亚瑟用意大利语说道，“你能听懂我的话吗？”
那人摇了摇头。“跟我讲这种鬼话没用的。”他说。接着他转而说起蹩脚的法语，生气地问道：“你想干什么？你为什么不让我过去？”
“从亮处到这儿来一下，我想和你谈谈。”
“啊！换了你愿意吗？从亮处过来！你带着刀子吗？”
“没有，没有，伙计！你看不出我只想得到你的帮助吗？我会付钱的。”
“嗯？什么？装得倒像个公子哥儿，还——”那个水手不由自主地说起了英语。他现在挪到了暗处，靠在铜像底座的栏杆上。
“那好，”他说，重又操起他那难听的法语。“你想干什么？”
“我想离开这个地方——”
“啊哈！偷渡！想让我把你藏起来吗？我看是出了事吧。
对人动了刀子，呃？就像这些外国人一样！那么你想去什么地方呢？我想总不是想上警察局吧？”
他醉醺醺地大笑起来，并且眨巴着一只眼睛。
“你是哪条船上的？”
“卡尔洛塔号——从里窝那开往布宜诺斯艾利斯，运油去，再运皮革回来。它就停在那里，”——他用手指着防波堤的方向——“一条破败不堪的旧船！”
“布宜诺斯艾利斯——行啊！你能偷偷把我带上船吗？”
“你能给我多少钱？”
“不多，我只有几个玻里。”
“那不行。少于五十不行——这还算是便宜的——像你这样的公子哥儿。”
“你说公子哥儿是什么意思？如果你喜欢我的衣服，你可以跟我换，但是我身上就这么多钱，拿不出更多的了。”
“你那儿还有一只手表。递过来。”亚瑟取出一只女式金表，磨刻的花纹和镶嵌的珐琅都很精致，背后雕有“格·伯”两个字母。这是他母亲的表——但是现在又有什么关系呢？
“啊！”那个水手迅速瞥了一眼，发出了一声惊叹。“这当然是偷的！让我看看！”
亚瑟缩回了手。“不，”他说，“等我们上了船，我会给你的。在这之前，我是不会给你的。”
“这么说来，看来你还不傻！我敢打赌，这是你第一次落难，呃？”
“那是我的事情。哟！巡查来了。”
他们在群像后面蹲了下来，直到巡查走了过去。然后那个水手站起身来，告诉亚瑟跟着他，继续往前走，一边傻乎乎地暗自笑着。亚瑟默默地跟在后面。
那个水手领他回到梅狄契宫附近那个不大规则的小广场，然后停在一个阴暗的角落。他原本因为谨慎而想小声说话，可是说出的话却含糊不清。
“等在这里，如果你再往前走，那些当兵的会看见你的。”
“你要去干什么？”
“给你找点衣服。你这外套袖子上血迹斑斑，我可不能带你上船。”
亚瑟低头看看被窗户栅栏拉破的袖子。手给擦破了，流出的血滴到了上面。那人显然把他当成了杀人犯。哎，人家怎么想没有什么关系。
过了一会儿，那个水手昂然走了回来，胳膊下夹着一个包裹。
“换上，”他小声说道，“动作快点。我必须回去，那个犹太老头没完没了，一个劲儿跟我讨价还价，耽误了我半个小时。”
亚瑟遵命照办。刚一碰到旧衣服，他就本能地觉得恶心，不免有些缩手缩脚。所幸的是这些衣服虽然粗糙，但却相当干净。当他穿上这套新装束走进亮处以后，那个水手醉眼醺醺地打量着他，神情很是庄重。他煞有介事地点头表示赞许。
“你这就行了，”他说，“就这样，不要做声。”亚瑟带着换下的衣服，跟着他穿过迷宫似的弯曲运河和漆黑的狭窄小巷。这里是中世纪遗留下来的贫民窟，里窝那人把这叫做“新威尼斯”。几座阴森森的古老宫殿孤零零地立在那里，夹在嘈杂的邋遢的房舍和肮脏的庭院中间。这些宫殿两边各有一条污秽的水沟，凄惨惨地想要保持昔日的尊严，尽管知道这样是徒劳无益的。他知道有些小巷是劣迹昭著的黑窝，里面藏着小偷、亡命徒和走私犯，其他的小巷只是穷困潦倒之人的居所。
那个水手在一座小桥旁停下了脚步，四下看了看，发现没人注意到他们。然后他们走下石砌的台阶，来到一个狭窄的码头上。桥下有一只肮脏破旧的小船。他厉声地命令亚瑟跳进去躺下，随后他自己坐在船上，开始摇着小船划向港口。
亚瑟静静地躺在潮湿漏水的船板上，身上盖着那人扔来的衣服。他从里面往外窥视那些熟悉的街道和房屋。
他们很快就过了桥，然后进入了一段运河，这里就是城堡的护城河。巨大的城墙耸立在水边，墙基很宽，越往上越窄，顶部是肃穆的塔楼。几个小时以前，塔楼在他看来是多么强大，多么可怕！现在——
他躺在船底，轻声地笑了笑。
“别出声，”那个水手小声说道，“把头给盖住！我们快到海关了。”
亚瑟拉过衣服盖在头上。再往前划了几码，小船停在用链子锁在一起的一排桅杆前。这排桅杆横在运河上，挡住了海关和城堡墙壁之间的那条狭窄水道。一位睡眼惺忪的官员打着呵欠走了出来，他提着灯笼在河边俯下身。
“请出示护照。”
那个水手递上他的正式证件。亚瑟在衣服下面憋得难受极了，他屏住呼吸侧耳倾听。
“你是挑着夜晚的好时间回船啊！”那位海关官员不满地说。“我看是出去狂欢了一阵吧。你的船上装着什么？”
“旧衣服。买的便宜货。”他拿起那件马甲给他看。那位官员放下灯笼，俯下身体，睁大眼睛看个究竟。
“我看没事了。你可以过去了。”
他抬起栅栏，小船缓慢地划进漆黑动荡的海水里。划了一段距离，亚瑟坐了起来，推开了衣服。
“船就在那里。”那个水手默默地划了一程，然后小声说道。“靠近我，别说话。”
他爬上那艘巨大的黑色货船侧舷。看到这位不谙水性的人这么笨手笨脚，水手心里不禁暗自骂了起来。尽管亚瑟天生敏捷，如果处在他这个位置，大多数人都会比他更加笨拙。
平安地上了船后，他们小心翼翼，从黑乎乎的巨大缆索和机器之间爬了过去，然后到达一个舱口前。那个水手轻轻地掀起舱盖。
“下去！”他小声说道。“我马上就回来。”
底舱不仅潮湿阴暗，而且散发出一种恶臭，让人难以忍受。亚瑟起先本能地直往后退，生皮和脂油的恶臭呛得他透不过气来。这时他想起了“惩戒室”，然后走下了梯子，耸了耸肩膀。看来不管到了哪里，生活都是一样的，丑陋，腐朽，毒虫遍地，充满了可耻的秘密和阴暗的角落。生活还是生活，而他必须设法过得好一些。
过了几分钟，那个水手走了回来，手里拿着东西。因为光线很暗，所以亚瑟看不清是些什么。
“现在把表和钱给我。快点！”
亚瑟趁黑成功地留下了几枚硬币。
“你必须给我弄点吃的，”他说，“我快饿死了。”
“我已经给你带来了，就在这儿。”那个水手递给他一只水壶、一些饼干和一块咸肉。“现在记住，明天早晨海关官员前来检查时，你必须藏在这只空桶里，就在这里。在我们开到公海上之前，你给我像只老鼠一样静静地待在这里。到了可以出来的时候，我会告诉你的。要是让船长看到了，那你就完蛋了——就这些！把喝的放好了吗？晚安！”
舱盖合上了，亚瑟把宝贵的“喝的”放在一个安全的地方，爬上一个油桶吃着肉和饼干。完了他缩成一团，睡在肮脏的地板上，生平他这是第一次不作祈祷而睡觉。黑暗之中，老鼠在他周围跑来跑去。但是老鼠持续发出的噪音、货船的颠簸和令人作呕的油臭，以及明天可能晕船的担心，全都没有让他睡不着觉。他毫不在乎这一切，就像他毫不在乎那些名誉扫地的破碎偶像。只是在昨天，它们还是他崇拜的神灵。
（第一部完）