Chapter 38 Chapter Thirty-eight

At the end of the year, there are a lot of bills to deal with.Philip traveled around with a clerk named Thompson, doing one thing invariably from morning to night: report all the expenditure items in the ledger to the clerk for checking, and sometimes had to send the account pages to the clerk. The long string of numbers above adds up.He was born with no mathematical talent, so he could only add strokes slowly.Thompson couldn't help but get angry when he saw that he was making many mistakes.The colleague was a thin, slender man, about forty years old, with a sallow face, black hair, a shaggy beard, sunken cheeks, deep grooves on both sides of his nose, and deep wrinkles.He doesn't like Philip because he's a trainee.Just because this kid can afford three hundred guineas, he can spend five years leisurely here, and maybe he will have a chance to make a fortune in the future; as for himself, although he has experience and ability, he can only be a professional for the rest of his life. A petty clerk earning thirty-five shillings a month never sees his way.He had many children and was overwhelmed by the burdens of life, so he developed a fiery temper and was prone to anger.He felt that he detected a kind of arrogance in Philip, and he felt a little unfair. He often responded with sarcasm because Philip had studied a few years more than himself.He laughed at Philip's pronunciation; he couldn't forgive Philip for not having a Cockney accent, so he pronounced the h very loudly when he was speaking to him.At first, his attitude was merely blunt and offensive.But as soon as he discovered that Philip had no aptitude for an accountant, he took pleasure in making a fool of him.His attack was rough and clumsy, but it was enough to hurt Philip's pride; Philip, against his own nature, assumed an air of self-importance in self-defence.

"Did you take a shower this morning?" Thompson asked one day when Philip was late for work.Now Philip was no longer as punctual as he had been earlier. "Yes, how about you?" "No, I'm not a gentleman, just a clerk. I only take a bath on Saturday nights." "I suppose that's why you're more of a nuisance than usual on Mondays." "May I trouble you today to simply add up the sums? I am afraid this is too demanding for a gentleman who knows Latin and Greek." "You're trying to make a sarcasm, but it's not very clever."

But Philip himself knew that those poorly paid and rude clerks were better and more useful than their own.Once or twice even Mr. Goodworthy lost his composure. "You ought to be a little better by now," he said. "You're not even as clever as that laborer." Philip listened sullenly.He doesn't like to be blamed.Sometimes Mr. Goodworthy was dissatisfied with the accounts he had copied and asked someone else to copy them again, which made him feel uncomfortable.At first, because the job was new, it was passable, but now it was getting more and more annoying, and he found that he didn't have the talent in this field, so he couldn't help hating the job.He often put aside the errands assigned to him, sketching and drawing on the office's letterhead, wasting time in vain.He drew sketches for Watson in various poses, and Watson was deeply impressed by his drawing ability.One day Watson took these paintings home on a whim, and when he went to work the next day, he brought the praises of his whole family.

"I wonder why you didn't become a painter," he said. "Speaking of which, of course you can't make a fortune with this stuff." Two or three days later, Mr. Carter happened to have dinner at Watson's house, and he showed these paintings to him.Next morning he called Philip to him.Philip saw him seldom, and was rather afraid of him. "Look, young man, I don't care what you do after get off work, but I've seen those pictures of yours, they're all on office letterhead, and Mr. Goodworthy says you're a bit of a fool now. .As a trainee accountant, you're not going to make a name for yourself if you don't work hard. It's a respectable business, and we're getting some talented people in, but to do it you have to... ..." He wanted to find a more appropriate word to end his conversation, but he couldn't find it for a while, so he had to end hastily: "If you want to be in this line of work, you have to flatter."

If it hadn't been for the original contract--if he didn't like the job, he could leave after a year and get back half of the contract fee--maybe he would have to bite the bullet and go on.He felt that he was suitable for doing some more promising work, rather than always doing calculations all day long.It's really embarrassing to say.Such a lowly thing is done so badly.He was even more disturbed by the angry bickering with Thompson.In March, Watson's one-year apprenticeship at the firm expired. Although Philip didn't like this man very much, he felt a little sorry to see him go.The other clerks in the firm did not like either of them because they belonged to a slightly higher class than they did, a fact that bound them together invisibly.Philip's heart shuddered when he thought that he would have to deal with these muddleheaded fellows for four years.He thought that he would live a prosperous life in London, but in the end he found nothing.Now he hated the city.He has no relatives, knows no one, and doesn't know how to make friends with others.He was tired of wandering around by himself.Gradually he felt that this life could no longer be endured.At night he lay in bed thinking how happy he would be to never see that filthy office again, never see the fellows in it, and leave this stagnant place forever.

After the beginning of spring, something disappointed him greatly.Heyward had said he was going to spend his time in London, and Philip was eager to see him at once.He has read a lot of books recently and thought a lot, his head is full of all kinds of ideas, and he really wants to talk to someone, but no one he knows is interested in abstract things.He thought that soon a bosom friend would come to have a heart-to-heart chat with him, as if he liked it for something.Unexpectedly, Hayward wrote to say that Italy has a beautiful spring this year, and it is more lovely than ever, and I really don't want to run away from there.It was like pouring cold water on Philip's head.He also asked Philip why he didn't come to Italy.Seeing the beauty of the world, shut yourself in an office, and study the road of youth, why bother?The letter continued:

I can't figure out how you can stand that kind of life.Just thinking of Fleet Street and the Lincoln Hotel now makes me shiver with nausea.There are only two things in the world that make our life worth living, and that is love and art.I can't imagine that you can hide in the office and bury your head in the books.Are you still wearing a top hat, holding an umbrella and a small black bag?I've always felt that you and I should take life as an adventure and keep the jewel-like fire burning in our breasts.To be a man is to take risks, to go through fire and water, and to take risks like a barf.Why don't you go to Paris and study art?I always thought you were artistically talented.

This possibility had been in Philip's mind for some time lately, and Hayward's proposal coincided with his considerations.The thought really startled him at first, but he couldn't help thinking about it.After much reflection, he felt that this was the only way out of his present deplorable situation.They all thought he was talented: in Heidelberg, people praised his watercolor paintings; Miss Wilkinson was full of praise, saying that his paintings were very cute; Impressed by the sketch. The "Bohemian Life Divination Book" left a deep impression on him.He also brought this book to London. When he was extremely depressed, he only needed to read a few pages, and all his worries and thoughts disappeared, and he was in those ecstasy attics. There singing, dancing, and making love.He began to long for Paris as he had longed for London, unafraid of a second disillusionment.He yearns for a romantic life, beauty and love, all of which seem to be available in Paris.He loves to paint, why can't he paint as well as everyone else?He wrote to Miss Wilkinson to find out how much he would need to live in Paris.She wrote back that eighty pounds a year would be enough.She enthusiastically supported his plan, saying that he was too talented to be buried in an office.She said quite dramatically: Who is willing to be a small clerk for a lifetime who can obviously become a great artist?She begged Philip to be confident, that was all that mattered.However, Philip was cautious by nature.Heyward talked a great deal about risking a man, and he could certainly say so, for his gilt-edged shares yielded him three hundred pounds a year in interest, and Philip's whole fortune, at best, was no more than a thousand. Eight hundred pounds.He is undecided.

It so happened that one day Mr. Goodworthy asked him suddenly if he wanted to go to Paris.The office kept the accounts of a hotel in the Quarter of Saint-Honoré, which was kept by an English company, and to which Mr. Goodworthy and a clerk went twice a year.The clerk who often went there happened to fall ill, and the work in the office was very tense, and no other staff could be spared for a while.Mr. Goodworthy thought of Philip, because he made no difference here, and besides the contract entitles him to ask for a job which best reflects the pleasure of the trade.Philip was naturally overjoyed.

"It's a busy day," said Mr. Goodworthy, "but at night you're free. Paris is Paris, after all." He smiled slyly. "The people in the hotel are very kind to us, and we don't take a penny for three meals a day, and we don't have to spend a penny. So I like Paris--letting others pay for us." When he arrived at Calais, Philip saw a throng of porters gesticulating, and his heart skipped a beat. "This is real life," he said to himself. He stared out the window intently as the train sped across country fields.He liked the undulating sand dunes very much, and the color of the sand dunes seemed more pleasing to the eye than anything he had ever seen in his life; Bewitched.They got out of the Gare du Nord in Paris, and they bumped on the gravel road in a battered, creaking cab.The foreign air seemed to be mellow, and Philip breathed in it one after another, so lost in emotion that he almost couldn't help shouting.When they came to the hotel, they saw that the manager was already waiting on the door day.The manager is fat and thick, with a friendly face and speaks decent English.He was an old friend of Mr. Goodworthy, and his greetings were very warm.He invited them to dine in the manager's private dining room, accompanied by the manager's wife.The table was full of delicious food and wine. Philip seemed to have never tasted such delicious dishes as beefsteak aux pommes, nor had he ever drank such mellow and fragrant wines as vin ordinaire.

To Mr. Goodworthy, an orderly and sanctimonious head of state, the French capital was a haven for carnal pleasures.The next morning he asked the manager if there was anything "tasty" to feast his eyes on right now.He enjoyed his visits to Paris, saying that a visit here now and then would keep his brain from "rusting."In the evening, when the day's work was over, and after dinner, he took Philip to the Moulin Rouge and the Lovers' Playground.When he captured those obscene scenes, those small eyes flickered and lit up, and the corner of his mouth couldn't help a sly smile.He went to all those pleasure-seeking places specially arranged for foreigners.Afterwards, he sighed again: If a dignified country indulges in such things, it will not have good results in the end.Once at a vaudeville, where a nearly naked actress appeared on the stage, he nudged Philip lightly, and then pointed out to him the plump, tall women who swaggered about the theater. Paris courtesans.What he showed Philip was a vulgar and low-class Paris, but Philip looked at this confusing city with eyes blinded by hallucinations.Early in the morning, he hurried out of the hotel and came to the Avenue des Elysees, standing on the edge of the Place de la Concorde.It was June, the air was fresh and soft, and the whole of Paris was as clear and bright as if it had been coated with silver powder.Philip felt his heart go out into the crowd.He thought, this is the romantic hometown he dreamed of. They had been in Paris for almost a week and left on Sunday.When Philip returned late at night to Barnes's gloomy apartment, he had made up his mind.He will terminate the contract and go to Paris to study painting.But in order not to make people think that he is unreasonable, he decided to stay in the firm for a year before leaving.He had a fortnight's vacation until the middle of August, and before he left he was to make it clear to Herbert Carter that he had no intention of returning to the office.Although Philip could force himself to go to the office to work every day, he couldn't make himself interested in work, even if it was just for appearances.The future was always on his mind.After July and a half, work began to relax. He used the excuse that he had to take the first exam and had to attend business lectures, so he often did not go to work.He used the time to run the National Gallery.He read various books on Paris and painting, immersed himself in Ruskin's treatises, and also read many biographies of painters written by Vasari.He especially admired Gourigio's life experience; he imagined himself standing before some immortal masterpiece and crying: Anchio sonpittore.Now he is no longer vacillating, convinced that he is a material to be a great painter. "At this point, I can only try my luck," he said to himself. "Life is all about taking risks." The middle of August finally arrived.Mr. Carter spends the summer in Scotland this month, and all affairs in the institute are handled by the supervisor.Since the trip to Paris, Mr. Goodworthy seemed to have taken a liking to Philip, and Philip, considering that he was going to go away soon anyway, always put up with this ridiculous little old man and didn't care too much. "You're going on vacation tomorrow, Carey?" Mr. Goodworthy said to him as he left work in the evening. All day Philip kept saying to himself that this was the last time he would sit in this hateful office. "Yeah, I'm done with my first year apprenticeship." "I'm afraid you haven't done very well. Mr. Carter is very displeased with you." "I'm even less pleased with Mr. Carter," retorted Philip easily. "Kerry, I don't think you should speak in that tone." "I'm not going to come back. We have an appointment, and if I don't like the accountant's work, Mr. Carter is willing to refund me half of the apprenticeship contract fee I paid, and I can quit after only one year." "I advise you to think twice before making such a hasty decision." "Ten months ago I hated everything here, the work here, the office. I hated London. I'd rather sweep the streets than hang out here any longer." "Well, to be honest, I also don't think you are suitable for the job of an accountant." "Good-bye," said Philip, holding out his hand. "I have to thank you for your concern. Please forgive me if I give you trouble. I knew almost from the beginning that I was no good." "Well, if you really make up your mind, then goodbye. I don't know what you plan to do in the future. If you get a chance to be here, please come and see us." Philip chuckled. "I'm afraid I don't like what I say, but to tell you the truth, I really hope I don't see any of you again."