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朱利安·赫胥黎

1963年8月，在我们回英国不久②，我们到希思罗机场③去接奥尔德斯。一见面我们就看出他生了大病；他脸色灰白，非常瘦俏，他的声音只有平时说话时的一半高。是的，他说，他非常疲劳，在斯德哥尔摩刚刚出席过一次知识届大会，正在试图找出让世界和平的办法。实际上，委员会根本没有提出明确方案，他因此而彻夜未眠，一直在起草着一项计划，另外，他还一直在感冒。他很快就会恢复了，他向我们保证，而现在他只想像往年一样在英国安静地度过一个月。
我们带他到庞德街④，把他安顿下来，但是不久我们便发现病情没有像他说的那样有所好转。实际上，朱丽叶⑤非常担忧，她在巴特医院安排了一次有最好的专家参与的会诊，宁可违背他的意愿，也带他去了。其实，他完全清楚自己的身体状况——他已经是癌症晚期了——但是他不想让我们知道；实际上，我们丝毫不曾觉察到这个可怕的事实。从巴特医院回来，他只告诉我们医生建议他静养一阵子，他的嗓子很快便会恢复正常。我们非常担心，但相信了他的话。
我们也认为他可能在心理上承受着失去他全部财产的痛苦，那是去年，在一场火灾中，他居住的好莱坞⑦山坡被烧毁。一根有故障的电线发出的火花点燃了一幢房子，风又将火苗吹起，大火很快蔓延至整个地区。消防队在电视采访车⑧之后到来，面对干燥易燃的现场他们也无能为力。起初奥尔德斯和劳拉以为他们的房子很安全，就飞奔到隔壁的朋友家——为了救一只猫！后来奥尔德斯注意到风向变了；他们又奔回家，发现火焰正吞噬着他们家屋顶；他们大约有20分钟时间可救出他们最想要的东西。奥尔德斯立刻归拢起《岛》的原稿，那是他最后一部小说，写了好多年；他还拿了几套衣服，而这时，劳拉则在这座美丽的房子周围徘徊，面对火焰映衬下还是原样的室内发呆。他们俩似乎被致命的咒语麻醉——想不起来他们还能救出一些必需品：奥尔德斯的笔记和手稿，装着很多有趣的人的来信的夹子，特别还有玛丽亚⑨记了许多年的珍贵日记。这是份无价的文献，以玛丽亚那种敏感迷人的风格写成，包含了他们一起生活的许多事情。它的丧失一下子摧毁了奥尔德斯可能写自传的全部希望——同时，也大大增加了他未来的传记作者西比尔·贝德福德的工作难度。
不到一小时，他们全部可触知的过去都消失了。
他们损失的规模慢慢地，渐渐地显现出来。起初，劳拉写道，更换这些简单的日常物品，比如牙刷、备用鞋，似乎都是件有趣的事儿——但那些不可更换的生活记录却不是轻易就能抛弃的。奥尔德斯虽从没抱怨过，但却悲哀地将自己比为一个丧失了过去，丧失了现在，也丧失了美好未来的根基的人。
我们觉得这场大祸的打击可能影响了他的健康。我们完全错了：奥尔德斯，用他惯常的镇静与刚毅，已经面对并征服了这次打击。然而不管他有多惊人的勇气，他无法征服他咽喉里的癌症萌芽。他已决定，为了我们大家的缘故，不告诉我们。
我们带他到达汀顿⑩住下，在那里艾尔姆赫斯特一家让我们度过了一段美好时光。花园美不胜收，达特摩尔的风景亦是如此。我将永远记住他在这片广阔的田野中的快乐，他深呼吸，感受风一般的自由。晚上，在大会堂举行的音乐会使我们心情恬静。一首协奏曲之后发生了一件令人愉快的事情，当时天才的青年小提琴手内尔·戈特考夫斯基正在极熟练地、充满灵感地演奏贝多芬的曲子。后来我们去到艺术家们的房间，多萝西·艾尔姆赫斯特为我们大家彼此做了介绍。在面对这么多陌生人的迷茫中，内尔·戈特考夫斯基忘记了他们的名字，但是正当我们离开时有人告诉她那个苍白的高个儿男人就是奥尔德斯·赫胥黎。她冲到他面前，气喘吁吁地诉说她和她母亲对他的钦佩。奥尔德斯向这个刚刚以她的演奏使我们陶醉的朝气蓬勃的年青人鞠躬，并在她对他表示衷心赞美时，带着愉快的微笑倾听，然后淡然离去。这是一个无法忘怀的瞬间。
我们也带他去洛福德庄园，同菲莉斯·尼科尔斯⑾在一起。这幢漂亮的房子位于堪斯特伯地区边界，那是一个愉快的周末，唤起了许多关于菲利普和罗伯特的回忆，唉，现在他们都已去世了。当他听说菲莉斯的儿子正患着失眠和忧郁症时，就努力去减轻这个年青人的痛苦，给他做轻度按摩，帮助他反省，不辞辛苦地告诉他自己珍藏在心中、关于生活这门最难的学科的宝贵经验，那是奥尔德斯的典型作风。
我们最后拜访了肯尼斯·克拉克⑿的索特伍德城堡。这座中世纪堡垒已经变成了一座极好的住宅，主要生活居住区都在现代化的高楼里，从那里，通过哥特式的窄窗可以看到围绕着雉堞墙的宽敞庭院。在庭院的远远尽头，肯在一座大塔里建了他的图书室，图书室还带一间小屋，他大多在那里写作。图书室是一个安静之地——以它的和谐与美丽，为它的学究气氛和这么多奥尔德斯喜爱的要素而让人震撼。这给他留下了深刻印象——就如同房子本身及它所拥有的现代的和古代的珍宝，如同它与过去历史的连续感一样。同我们不凡的主人们分享这一精彩的幕间表演是极大的荣幸，我将永远记住奥尔德斯，他高高的，如此苍白，在房间与庭园里来回徘徊，俯身去闻那芳香的玫瑰。
然而，他一直在承受着死亡的负担。他从没有过任何暗示或者低声抱怨让我们猜出他的命运。他已下定决心，不理它事情就会更简单——去打好最后这场战斗，同时不使我们苦恼，让事情顺其自然。我们最后见到他是在机场——他说再见，并打开他的公事皮包拿出来一些信件……
不久以后，寄来了下面这封信：
1963年9月29日，加利福尼亚
最亲爱的朱利安和朱丽叶：
我猜你们现在一定从非洲回来了——但同时汹涌而来的可怕热浪使我们这儿变成了非洲⒀，一天又一天，温度都在105度，晚上也有80度（译者注：我猜这里说的可能是华氏度）。我自己的情况是，气候一变就得发病，这是由于今年春天我不得不作的长期射线疗程带来的后果。过去我没有把这件讨厌的事告诉你们，因为它没有严重妨碍我的活动，而且散布不必要的忧虑似乎也是无用的。病情是从1960年舌头上的一个恶性肿瘤开始的。我去看的第一个外科医师想要把舌头切掉一半，这将使我或多或少不能说话。我和他一起去见我的老朋友马克斯·卡特勒医生……卡特勒建议采用镭磁针疗法，我去找圣弗兰西斯科医疗中心的加利福尼亚大学放射学与外科学的教授们看病，他们也这样建议。1960年的初夏，我进行了治疗，非常成功。舌头上的肿瘤被打掉了，而且没有任何复发的迹象。然而，像在这种情况中经常发生的那样，颈部的淋巴腺受到了感染。我在1962年去掉过一次，今年春天另一团又出现了。它接受了25次放射性钴照射，这是非常消耗体力的疗法，最后当我能够去斯德哥尔摩和伦敦旅行时，我刚刚恢复。自从我回来以后，继发性炎症⒁常常在间隔很长时间之后就发作一次，这与因射线疗法而衰弱的组织有很大关系。结果是：我不得不取消我的演讲旅行……另一个不便是我一直嘶哑的嗓音，这是由于支配右声带的神经被破坏了，它或者是因为恶性肿瘤的浸润，或者是因为辐射。我希望这哑嗓只是暂时的，但我有点担心我可能会带着它进坟墓。
未来将会怎样，人无从而知。一般来说这种在脖子和脑袋里的恶性肿瘤不大会转移。其间，我正试图结合一种疗法来增进抵抗力，这种疗法在蒙特利尔大学和马尼拉大学——多年来唯一一直在实验该疗法的公共机构——已经证实是相当成功的，而且都灵大学的盖代迪教授也对此作了详细说明，这位教授还曾在上两届分别于布宜诺斯艾利斯和莫斯科举行的国际癌症会议上宣读过他的研究论文。在都灵时我曾见过他，对他的一些病例印象深刻，现在在卡特勒的准许下，我们正在这里接受他的治疗法。估计在几周内这该死的炎症就会消失了，到时候，我希望恢复正常工作。而目前，我还只能用我正常能力的一小部分来工作。
挚爱你们夫妻的我们两人。
永远爱你们的
奥尔德斯
这封信是我们收到的第一个关于奥尔德斯真正病患的通告，我们非常震惊。而当劳拉写信说出了更可怕的真相时，我们甚至更为震惊，奥尔德斯实际上已是癌症晚期，根本没有痊愈的希望了……
他死于1963年11月23日——一束光从我们的生活中消失了。

选自《回忆Ⅱ》

关于作者
朱利安·索莱尔·赫胥黎爵士（1887—1975），英国杰出生物学家、哲学家、教育家和作家。他是著名生物学家、进化论与达尔文主义的推广者托马斯·亨利·赫胥黎（1825—1895）的孙子，并是著名作家奥尔德斯·赫胥黎的哥哥。朱利安·赫胥黎从1946—48年任联合国教科文组织主席，并著有大量关于科学、旅行、宗教、政治、自然历史、地区规划的书籍及诗歌一卷。他于1958年被封为爵士。本文选自他的自传《回忆Ⅱ》（1973）中的一章。

注释：
①奥尔德斯·赫胥黎（1894—1963）：英国小说家、随笔作家和评论家，是朱利安·赫胥黎的弟弟。
②朱利安·赫胥黎和他的妻子刚刚访问完非洲归来。
③伦敦两个主要机场之一，另一个是盖茨威克，距南海岸较近。
④伦敦的一条街道，朱利安·赫胥黎与他的妻子生活在此。
⑤朱利安·赫胥黎妻子的名字。
⑥即圣巴索勒缪医院，伦敦一著名医院。
⑦洛杉矶城的一个区，是电影产业的中心。奥尔德斯·赫胥黎于1938年定居美国，并在这些年里生活在好莱坞，写书和电影剧本。
⑧即搬运车，其装有电视摄像机和其它为新闻事件的现场报道所用的电视设备。
⑨奥尔德斯·赫胥黎第一任妻子的名字。她于1955年死于癌症。他于同年再婚，他的第二任妻子是劳拉·阿切尔拉，前音乐会的小提琴手。
⑩达汀顿庄园，位于英国西南部达特摩尔的一座中世纪庄园，是他们的朋友伦纳德·艾尔姆赫斯特和多萝西·艾尔姆赫斯特的地产，他们两人是达汀顿庄园受托管理人的代表。
⑾罗伯特·尼科尔斯（1893—1944）的妻子。罗伯特是一位较次要的诗人，以一些优秀的战争诗和其他诗歌出名。他从1921年至1924年任东京大学的英国文学教授。洛福德庄园是他们的家。
⑿索特伍德的克拉克勋爵（1903—），英国艺术史家，著有许多关于艺术的书籍。他是大不列颠委员会的艺术会长（于1955—1960在任）。
⒀意思是：现在在加利福尼亚酷热难熬，就像在非洲。
⒁在这种情况中，出现组织的炎症是一种放射疗法的结果。

PS因本人水平有限，翻译错误在所难免，希望读者批评指正。最后，感谢爸爸帮助我修改此文。

以下是原文：
A Last Visit from Aldous

By Julian Huxley

In August 1963, not long after we got back to England, we met Aldous at Heathrow Airport. We knew at once that there was something terribly wrong with him; he was ashy-complexioned, very thin, and his voice had but half its usual volume. Yes, he said, he was very tired, having just been in Stockholm at a great meeting of intellectuals, trying to discover means to bring peace to the world. He had in fact sat up all night drafting some sort of plan, as nothing definite had been devised by the Committee, and in addition he had caught a cold. He would soon recover, he assured us, and just wanted to spend a quiet month in England, as he generally did each year.
We brought him to Pond Street and settled him down, but soon saw that the promised improvement was failing to occur. In fact Juliette got so worried that she arranged a consultation with the best specialists at Bart's Hospital and took him there, rather against his will. The fact was that he knew perfectly well what was the matter with him -- he was dying of cancer -- but did not want us to know; indeed, we never had the slightest susplcion of the terrible reality. He merely told us on returning from Bart's that the doctors had advised a quiet spell, and that his voice would soon be normal. We were only too anxious to believe him.
We also thought that he might be suffering psychologically from the loss of all his possessions the previous year, in the fire that destroyed the hill-side of Hollywood where he lived. A spark from a faulty wire had set one house ablaze, and the wind fanning it soon spread the fire all over the area. The fire-brigade arrived after the TV vans, and anyway could do nothing in that tinder-dry landscape. Aldous and Laura had thought their house safe, and drove next door to a friend's home -- to rescue a kitten! Then Aldous noticed that the wind had changed; they rushed back, to find the flames licking their roof: they had some twenty minutes to rescue what they most wanted. Aldous at once collected the manuscript of Island, his last novel, on which he had been working for years; he also took a few suits, while Laura was wandering round the pretty house, admiring the effect of the flames on the yet untouched interior. They both seemed to have been paralysed as by a fateful spell--unable to think of the essentials which they still could have saved: Aldous's notes and manuscripts, files of letters from so many interesting people, and especially the precious Journal which Maria had kept for many years. This was an invaluable document, written in Maria's perceptive and enchanting style, covering most of their lives together. Its loss destroyed at one blow all the hopes Aldous may have had of writing his autobiography--and incidentally also made the labour of his future biographer, Sybille Bedford, infinitely harder.
In less than an hour, all their tangible past had vanished.
The scope of their loss made itself apparent slowly and gradually. At first, Laura wrote, it seemed almost amusing to replace such simple, everyday articles as tooth-brushes and spare shoes--but the irreplaceable records of a life-time are not so easily dismissed. Aldous never complained, but ruefully compared himself with a man who, having lost his past, had also lost his present and the basis for a planned future.
We felt it possible that the shock of this catastrophe had affected his health. We were entirely wrong: Aldous, with his usual philosophical fortitude, had faced and conquered it. What he could not conquer, in spite of his incredible courage, was the seed of cancer which he carried in his throat. He had decided, for all our sakes, not to tell us.
We took him to stay at Dartington, where the Elmhirsts gave us a wonderful time. The gardens were at their best and so were the sights of Dartmoor. I shall always remember his
delight in its vast panorama, as he took deep breaths of its windy freedom. At night, the Music Festival in the Great Hall filled us all with joyful peace. There was a delightful incident after one of the concerts, when Nell Gotkowsky, the gifted young violinist, had been playing Beethoven with inspired perfection. We went to the artists' room afterwards, and Dorothy Elmhirst introduced us all to each other. In the confusion of so many new people, Nell Gotkowsky missed their names, but someone told her just as we were leaving that the tall pale man was Aldous Huxley. She rushed out after him and breathlessly poured out her--and her mother's--admiration for him. Aldous, stooping above the fresh young creature who had just enchanted us with her playing, listened with a smile of pleasure, moved under his apparent remoteness, as she gave him her heart's praise. It was an unforgettable moment.
We also took him to stay at Lawford Hall, with Phyllis Nichols. This fine house is at the edge of Constable country, and it was a happy week-end which revived many memories of Philip and of Robert, now alas both dead. It was typical of Aldous that when he heard that Phyllis's son was suffering from sleeplessness and depression, he endeavoured to relieve the young man by gentle massage and help in meditation, spending himself in giving of his hoarded treasure in this most difficult of all arts--the art of living.
Our last visit was to Saltwood Castle, with Kenneth Clark. This medieval fortress had been made into a wondrous place, the main living quarters being in the modernized keep, from which narrow Gothic windows open on a wide courtyard surrounded by a battlemented wall. At the further end of the courtyard, K. had established his library in a large tower, with a smaller room attached, where he does most of his writing. The library was a place of silence--striking in its harmony and beauty, its scholarly atmosphere and the essence of so much that Aldous loved. It made a deep impression on him--as did the house itself, with all its modern and ancient treasures, and the feeling of continuity with its historical past. It was a great privilege to share this wonderful interlude with our remarkable hosts, and I shall always remember Aldous, tall and so pale, wandering round the rooms and grounds, and stooping to smell the scented roses.
Yet all the time, he was carrying this heavy burden of doom. He never by any hint or murmur allowed us to guess his fate. He had made up his mind that it would be simpler just to ignore it--to fight this last battle without distressing us,to let things come as they would. The last we saw of him was at the airport--he said goodbye, and opened his brief-case to take out some papers ...
Soon afterwards the following letter arrived:
California. 29 September, 1963
Dearest Julian and Juliette,
You must be back from Africa, I imagine,by now--but meanwhile Africa has come to us, with a vengeance, in a frightful heat wave with temperatures day after day of 105, and 80 degrees at night. In my own case, meteorology has been compounded by a spell of ill-health, due to the after-effects of a long course of radiation which I had to take this spring. I hadn't told you of this trouble before, since it hadn't seriously interfered with my activities and there seemed to be no point in spreading unnecessary apprehensions. It started in 1960, with a malignant tumour on the tongue. The first surgeon I went to wanted to cut out half the tongue and leave me more or less speechless. I went with him to my old friend, Dr Max Cutler ... Cutler recommended treatment with radium needles and so did the Professors or Radiology and Surgery at the U. of Cal. Medical Centre at San Francisco, whom I consulted. I took the treatment in the early summer of 1960, and it was remarkably successful. The tumour on the tongue was knocked out and has shown no signs of returning. However, as generally happens in these cases, the lymph-glands of the neck became involved. I had one taken out in 1962, and this spring another mass appeared. This was subjected to twenty-five exposures of radio-active cobalt, an extremely exhausting treatment from which I was just recovering when at last I was able to make the trip to Stockholm and London. Since my return there has been a flare-up of secondary inflammation, to which tissues weakened by radiation are peculiarly liable, often after considerable intervals. Result: I have had to cancel my lecture tour ... Another handicap is my persistent hoarseness, due to the nerve that supplies the right-hand vocal cord having been knocked out, either by an infiltration of the malignancy, or by the radiation. I hope this hoarseness may be only temporary, but rather fear I may carry it to the grave.
What the future holds, one doesn't know. In general these malignancies in the neck and head don't do much metastasizing. Meanwhile I am trying to build up resistance with the combination of a treatment which has proved rather successful at the University of Montreal and the U. of Manila--the only institutions where it has been tried out over a period of years--and which has been elaborated upon by Professor Guidetti, of the University of Turin, who has read papers on his work at the last two International Cancer Congresses, at Buenos Aires and Moscow. I saw Guidetti while in Turin and was impressed by some of his case-histories, and with Cutler's approval we are carrying out his treatment here. When this damned inflammation dies down, which it may be expected to do in a few weeks, I hope to get back to regular work. For the present I am functioning at only a fraction of normal capacity.
Much love to you both from both of us.
Ever your affectionate
Aldous
This letter was the first intimation we had of Aldous's real trouble, and we were deeply shocked. We were even more so when Laura wrote the further terrible truth that Aldous really had terminal cancer and that there was no hope of his recovery ...
He died on 23 November 1963--and a light went out of our lives.
-- From Memories II