麥克斯·畢爾勃姆/Max Beerbohm
麥克斯·畢爾勃姆（1872—1956），英國著名諷刺畫家、散文家和劇評家。曾就讀於牛津大學。除擅長繪畫外，他還寫過不少散文，並取得了較高的成就。後來繼蕭伯納任《星期六評論》劇評專欄作者達12年之久，晚年移居美國直到去世。
I am not good at it.To do it well seems to me one of the most diffi cult things in the world,and probably seems so to you,too.
To see a friend off from Waterloo to Vauxhall were easy enough.But we are never called on to perform that small feat.It is only when a fri end is going on a longish journey,and will be absent for a languish tim e,that we turn up at the railway station.The dearer the friend and the longer the journey,and the longer the likely absence,the earlier do we turn up,and the more lamentably do we fail.Our failure is in exact rat io to the seriousness of the occasion,and to the depth of our feeling.
In a room,or even on a doorstep,we can make the farewell quite wor thily.We can express in our faces the genuine sorrow we feel.Nor do wo rds fail us.There is no awkwardness,no restraint,on either side.The thread of our intimacy has not been snapped.The leave-taking is an idea l one.Why not,then,leave the leave-taking at that?Always,departing friends implore us not to bother to come to the railway station next mor ning.Always,we are deaf to these entreaties,knowing them to be not qu ite sincere.The departing friends would think it very odd of us if we t ook them at their word.Besides,they really do want to see us again.An d that wish is heartily reciprocated.We duly turn up.And then,oh then,what a gulf yawns!We stretch our arms vainly across it.We have utter ly lost touch.We have nothing at all to say.We gaze at each other as d umb animals gaze at human beings.We "make conversation"--and such conve rsation!We know that these friends are the friends from whom we parted overnight.They know that we have not altered.Yet,on the surface,ever ything is different;and the tension is such that we only long for the g uard to blow his whistle and put an end to the farce.
On a cold grey morning of last week I duly turned up at Euston,to s ee off an old friend who was starting for America.
Overnight,we had given him a farewell dinner,in which sadness was well mingled with festivity.Years probably would elapse before his retu rn.Some of us might never see him again.Not ignoring the shadow of the future,we gaily celebrated the past.We were as thankful to have known our guest as we were grieved to lose him;and both these emotions were m ade manifest.It was a perfect farewell.
And now,here we were,stiff and self-conscious on the platform;and framed in the window of the railway-carriage was the face of our friend;but it was as the face of a stranger--a stranger anxious to please,an a ppealing stranger,an awkward stranger."Have you got everything?" asked one of us,breaking a silence."Yes,everything," aid our friend,with a pleasant nod."Everything," he repeated,with the emphasis of an empty brain."You'll be able to lunch on the train," said I,though the prop hecy had already been made more than once."Oh,yes," he said with convi ction.He added that the train went straight through to Liverpool.This fact seemed to strike us as rather odd.We exchanged glances."Doesn't it stop at Crewe?" asked one of us."No," said our friend,briefly.He s eemed almost disagreeable.There was along pause.One of us,with a nod and a forced smile at the traveler,said "Well!" The nod,the smile and the unmeaning monosyllable,were returned conscientiously.Another pause was broken by one of us with a fit of coughing.It was an obviously assu med fit,but it served to pass the time.The bustle of the platform was unabated.There was no sign of the train's departure.Release--ours,an d our friend's--was not yet.
My wandering eye alighted on a rather portly middle-aged man who was talking earnestly from the platform to a young lady at the next window b ut one to ours.His fine profile was vaguely familiar to me.The young l ady was evidently American,and he was evidently English;otherwise I sh ould have guessed from his impressive air that he was her father.I wish ed I could hear what he was saying.I was sure he was giving the very be st advice;and the strong tenderness of his gaze was really beautiful.H e seemed magnetic,as he poured out his final injunctions.I could feel something of his magnetism even where I stood.And the magnetism,like t he profile,was vaguely familiar to me.Where had I experienced it?
In a flash I remembered.The man was Hubert Le Ros.But how changed since last I saw him!That was seven or eight years ago,in the Strand.He was then(as usual)out of an engagement,and borrowed half-a-crown.It seemed a privilege to lend anything to him.He was always magnetic.And why his magnetism had never made him successful on the London stage was always a mystery to me.He was an excellent actor,and a man of sober ha bit.But,like many others of his kind,Hubert Le Ros (I do not,of cour se,give the actual name by which he was known) drifted speedily away in to the provinces;and I,like every one else,ceased to remember him.
It was strange to see him,after all these years,here on the platfo rm of Euston,looking so prosperous and solid.It was not only the flesh that he had put on,but also the clothes,that made him hard to recogniz e.In the old days,an imitation fur coat had seemed to be as integral a part of him as were his ill-shorn lantern jaws.But now his costume was a model of rich and somber moderation,drawing,not calling,attention t o itself.He looked like a banker.Any one could have been proud to be s een off by him.
"Stand back,please!" he train was about to start,and I waved farew ell to my friend.Le Ros did not stand back.He stood clasping in both h ands the hands of the young American."Stand back,sir,please!" he obeye d,but quickly darted forward again to whisper some final word.I think there were tears in her eyes.There certainly were tears in his when,at length,having watched the train out of sight,he turned round.He seeme d,nevertheless,delighted to see me.He asked me where I had been hidin g all these years;and simultaneously repaid me the half-crown as though it had been borrowed yesterday.He linked his arm in mine,and walked wi th me slowly along the platform,saying with what pleasure he read my dr amatic criticisms every Saturday.
I told him,in return,how much he was missed on the stage."Ah,yes," he said,"I never acton the stage nowadays." He laid some emphasis on the word"stage." and I asked him where,then,he did act."On the platf orm," he answered."You mean," said I,"that you recite at concerts?" He smiled."This," he whispered,striking his stick on the ground,"is the p latform I mean." Had his mysterious prosperity unhinged him?He looked q uite sane.I begged him to be more explicit.
"I suppose," he said presently,giving me a light for the cigar whic h he had offered me,"You have been seeing a friend off?I assented.He asked me what I supposed he had been doing.I said that I had watched hi m doing the same thing."No," he said gravely."That lady was not a frie nd of mine.I met her for the first time this morning,less than half an hour ago,here." and again he struck the platform with his stick.
I confessed that I was bewildered.He smiled."You may," he said,"h ave heard of the Anglo-American Social Bureau?I had not.He explained t o me that of the thousands of Americans who annually pass through Englan d there are many hundreds who have no English friends.In the old days t hey used to bring letters of introduction.But the English are so inhosp itable that these letters are hardly worth the paper they are written on."Thus," aid Le Ros,"the A.A.S.B.supplies a long-felt want.Americans are a sociable people,and most of them have plenty of money to spend.T he A.A.S.B.supplies them with English friends.Fifty percent of the fee s is paid over to the friends.The other fifty is retained by the A.A.S.B.I am not,alas!A director.If I were,I should be a very rich man in deed.I am only an employee.But even so I do very well.I am one of the seers-off."
Again I asked for enlightenment."Many Americans," he said,"cannot afford to keep friends in England.But they can all afford to be seen of f.The fee is only five pounds(twenty-five dollars)for a single travelle r;and eight pounds (forty dollars) for a party of two or more.They sen d that in to the Bureau,giving the date of their departure,and a descr iption by which the seer-off can identify them on the platform.And then--well,then they are seen off."
"But is it worth"?I exclaimed."Of course it is worth it," said Le Ros."It prevents them from feeling 'Out of it.'It earns them the respe ct of the guard.It saves them from being despised by their fellow-passe ngers--the people who are going to be on the boat.It gives them a footi ng for the whole voyage.Besides,it is a great pleasure in itself.You saw me seeing that young lady off.Didn't you think I did it beautifull y?" "Beautifully," I admitted."I envied you.There was I--" "Yes,I can imagine.There were you,shuffling from head to foot,staring blankly at your friend,trying to make conversation.I know.That's how I used to be myself,before I studied,and went into the thing professionally.I d on't say I'm perfect yet.I'm still a martyr to platform fright.A ra ilway station is the most difficult of all places to act in,as you have discovered for yourself." "But," I said with resentment,"I wasn't tryi ng to act.I really felt." "so did I,my boy," aid Le Ros."You can't a ct without feeling.What's-his-name,the Frenchman--Diderot,yes--said you could;but what did he know about it?Don't you see those tears in m y eyes when the train started?I hadn't forced them.I tell you I was m oved.So were you,I dare say.But you couldn't have pumped up a tear t o prove it.You can't express your feelings.In other words,you can't act.At any rate,"he added kindly," not in a railway station." "Teach m e!" cried.He looked thoughtfully at me."Well," he said at length,"th e seeing-off season is practically over.Yes,I'll give you a course.I have a good many pupils on hand already;but yes," he said,consulting a n ornate notebook,"I could give you an hour on Tuesdays and Fridays."
His terms,I confess,are rather high.But I don't grudge the inves tment.
我不會送行。它可是我所認為世上最難做好的事情之一，對此，你大概也心有同感。
送一位朋友從滑鐵盧去渥克斯廳可以說是一件相當簡單的事。但你從來就接不到這種輕鬆活兒。我們隻有當朋友要遠行，離去的時間又比較長時，才被召喚親赴車站送行。朋友交情越好，送的路程越遠，朋友離去的時間越長，我們就越早到達車站，相應的，我們遭遇的失敗也就越為慘烈。這種失敗的程度恰恰與場合的正式以及感情的深厚程度成正比。
屋內話別已十分體麵，甚至在門前台階也不錯。我們臉上的表情書寫著真切的憂傷，言語裏透出戀戀不舍之情，主客雙方不覺尷尬或拘謹，親密友誼更是絲毫無損。如此的送別真可謂完美。可我們怎麽就不懂到了這種程度就應該罷休呢？通常情況下，即將遠行的友人們總是懇求我們次日早晨不要再趕到車站。但我們知道那不一定是真心話，便也就不聽信那勸說的話，還是奔向車站。假若真的聽信了朋友們的話，並且照著做了，他們說不定心裏還會責怪呢。何況，他們也確實希望能再見上我們一麵。於是我們也就按時到達，真誠地去回應朋友的願望。但結果卻，結果卻，陡然生出一道鴻溝！我們伸手，可怎麽也無法超越，也夠不著。我們啞口無言，像愚笨的動物癡望人類一樣麵麵相覷。我們“找些話題來說”——但哪裏有什麽話好說的！大家都心知肚明離別之景昨夜就已上演了一遍。人還是昨晚的那些人，但從表麵上看，所有的又都變了，氣氛是如此緊張，我們都盼望著列車員趕緊鳴笛，及早結束這場鬧劇。
上周一個冷清陰沉的早晨，我準點趕到奧斯頓送一位去美國的朋友。
頭一天晚上，我們已經擺設筵席為他餞行，席間分手的離情和聚會的喜慶糅合得恰到好處。他這一去可能就是多年，席上有些人恐怕今世也難得再見他麵。雖然說不上完全不受未來所投下的陰影的影響，可我們還是興高采烈，暢敘了往日情誼。我們既為認識這位朋友而感謝命運，同時又因他的行將離別而遺憾不已。此兩種情懷欣然體現，昨晚的離別真是完美！
可現在呢，我們在站台上，行為僵硬，極不自然，友人的麵孔嵌在車廂窗框中，卻宛如一個陌生人——一個急於討人歡心的陌生人，一個情意真切但卻又舉止笨拙的陌生人。“東西都帶齊了吧？”送行的人中有一個打破了沉默。“對，都帶齊了。”我們的朋友愉快地點了點頭，答道“都齊了。”緊接著的這再次重複更加明顯地暴露出此刻他頭腦的空空如也。“那你得在火車上吃午飯了，”我說道，盡管這個預言遠非第一次被提出。“啊，是的。”他用確定的語氣回答，然後又告訴大家，列車將中途不停直達利物浦。這句新加上的話可似乎就帶來了驚訝。我們彼此對視。“在克魯也不停嗎？”一個人問道。“不停。”朋友回答得簡短，甚至都有些不悅了。較長一陣時間的停頓過後，有個人對我們的朋友回了句“行！”，與此同時還點著頭，作強顏歡笑狀。車內的朋友無意識地重複著點頭，微笑和“行”這個單音節詞。沉默再次接踵而至，多虧我們中的一位幹咳了幾聲打破這沉悶的寂靜——那咳嗽當然是假裝出來的，但它們卻恰到好處地拖延了時間。列車似乎沒有立即出發的跡象，站台上還是亂哄哄的。關於解除送別緊張的氣氛——無論於送客的，還是於被送的——這個時刻還沒有到來。
我的目光四處遊弋，移到一個中年人身上的時候眼前突然一亮，他體格頗為健壯，站在站台上，正同我們旁邊第三個窗口裏的一名年輕女郎親切話別。他良好的體型於我似乎並不陌生。那女郎顯然是個美國人，而他作為英國人的特征也十分明顯。如果不注意這點，單從他娓娓而談的神態判斷，我定會把他們當成一對父女。我熱切地想聽到他說話的內容，十分確定他此時正提供著最寶貴的建議；而他又是那般溫柔地凝視著他的傾聽者，真是活脫脫的一個美男子。末了，他又叮嚀幾句，更是魅力懾人了，連站在那麽遠之外的我都能感受到。而這魅力，就好比他的身材，隱隱約約為我所熟悉。但我在哪見到過呢？
我猛地想起來了。他是休伯特·勒·羅斯。可是，比起最後一次見麵，他發生了多大的改變呀！那都是七八年前在濱河路的事了。當時他正失業（失業對他而言再正常不過了），來找我借半克朗。他是如此魅力非凡，借他點東西都能讓人受寵若驚。但憑著那樣的魅力，他竟也一直沒在倫敦舞台紅起來，其中道理我是猜不透的。他滴酒不沾，是一個優秀的演員。可他也遊走到外地了，像其他許許多多休伯特·勒·羅斯一樣（當然，我在這所寫下的並非他的真名）。於是我也就像別人一樣，沒過多少時日就把他遺忘了。
時光流逝，在奧斯頓的站台上再度見到他，真有些陌生感，尤其是他現在如此地闊氣殷實。把他給認出來可真不容易，其一是幾乎令他麵目全非發福了的身材，其二更是他今非昔比的衣著。多年前，他兩頰清瘦，胡子拉碴，一件人造毛皮大衣是唯一能讓他拋頭露麵的皮囊。但如今，他的穿戴典型地透出富貴而內斂的風格。他無須去引人注目，人們自然而然就會被他所吸引。有他這樣一位具備銀行家氣質的人前來送行，被送的人都會甚感榮幸。
“請後退，請後退！”列車就要開了，我也揮手向朋友告別。可勒·羅斯並沒有動，依舊站在那兒握著那美國女郎的雙手。“請後退，先生！”他照做了一下，但立即又衝了回去，上前耳語了最後一句珍重之辭。我猜，當時女郎一定淚眼汪汪了吧。而最終當他目送列車駛出視線，轉過身時，他眼裏也噙滿了淚。不過，見到我時他還是表現得很高興。他一邊詢問這些年來我都隱匿在什麽地方，一邊還給我那半克朗，仿佛這錢他昨天才剛剛借去。他說每星期六我發表的那些劇評是如何賞心悅目，同時還把我的手挽起，沿著站台一路緩緩地走。
作為回敬，我告訴他由於他的離去令倫敦舞台失色不少。“啊，的確，”他答道，“我如今不再在舞台上演戲了。”他說這話時對“舞台”這個詞特別強調，我便問，那現在他又在何處演戲。“站台上。”他回答道。“你的意思是，”我又問，“你在音樂會上作朗誦？”他笑笑，說：“就這兒，”還用手杖敲著地麵，“我說的站台就是這兒。”他神奇的發跡是不是攪亂了他的神經？可他看上去十分理智啊！我於是請他把話講明白。
“我想，”他一邊向我遞過一支雪茄並點上，一邊說道，“你剛才在給一位朋友送行吧？”我表示同意。接著他又問那我認為他剛才在做什麽。我回答說我看見他也在送朋友。“不，”他嚴肅地說，“那位女士並不是我的朋友。我今天早上才第一次見她，不到半個小時前，就在這兒。”說著他又用手杖敲了敲站台。
我承認自己被他弄得摸不著頭腦了。他笑笑：“你大概聽說過英美社會局吧？”我說沒有。他便解釋道，每年前來英國旅行的美國人成千上萬，可其中不少人沒有英國朋友。以前他們往往攜帶介紹信來這裏。但英國人素來就太落漠了，這些信寫是寫了，可連張廢紙都不如。“所以，”勒·羅斯說，“英美社會局便應運而生，以滿足這項長期而迫切的需要。美國人喜好社交，多數人又囊中殷實。社會局便向他們提供英國朋友。所得費用，做朋友的和社會局五五分成。唉，我混不上個局長，沒福發大財。我就是一個雇員罷了。不過也還算湊合，現在算是個送行人員吧。”
我要求他做進一步說明。“不少美國人，”他接著道，“負擔不起在英國交朋結友，但花錢請人為他們送送行還是沒問題的。單送一個人收款五鎊（相當二十五美元），兩位或兩位以上的團體費也不過是八鎊（相當四十美元）。他們到局裏提前付好錢，留下出發日期以及相貌特征，以便送行人員辨認他們。然後——到時候就有人為他們送行了。”
“可這值得嗎？”我不禁叫了起來。“當然啦，”勒·羅斯回答道。“這不至於讓他們自覺是‘他鄉客’。列車員會因此敬重他們，而其他乘客也不會瞧不起他們——他們不久就要一同登上輪船的。這能為他們贏得整個航行中的地位。再說，事情本身就很有意思。你剛才看到了我送那位女郎吧。不覺得我身手不錯嗎？”“的確不凡，”我承認道。“我真羨慕你。你看看我站在那兒——”“是的，我能想象。你在那兒，從頭到腳哪都不對勁，呆呆地望著你的朋友，搜腸刮肚地找著話題。我完全理解。以前我也是這樣的，隻不過後來專門研習，幹起了這行，才表現得像模像樣起來。我現在的技術還沒有登峰造極，登上站台後不免總有些怯場。這火車站的戲可最難演，這點你一定也有切身體會。”“可是，”我有些生氣了，“我沒有演戲，我可是在真心實意地感覺——”“我也是的，夥計，”勒·羅斯又說，“沒有真情實感是演不了戲的。那人叫什麽來著，那個法國人——狄德羅，對了——他說過可以，可他都懂得些什麽？你沒看見火車開時我眼睛裏湧出的淚水嗎？告訴你吧，我確確實實受了感動，我的眼淚不是硬擠出來的。我敢說剛才你也一樣，隻不過你做不到用眼淚來證明你的感動罷了。你不會表達你的感情，也就是說，你演不了戲。退一步說，”他說得稍微委婉些，“至少你在火車站演不了戲。”“那請賜教！”我放開了嗓門請求。他定定地看著我，斟酌片刻，終於說“好”，答應了下來，“實際上送行的旺季也快過去了。我可以給你上幾堂課。目前我的門下子弟還真不少，不過還是這樣吧，”說著，他查了查他那漂亮的記事簿，“定為每周四和每周五，一次一小時。”
他開出的學費，坦白說，實在是不低的。但既然是學點本領，我也就不會嫌貴。