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| 2018/09/18 04:42:49瀏覽795｜回應0｜推薦15 | |
| Excerpt：普魯斯特的〈歡樂與時日〉 體驗人生不如夢幻人生，儘管體驗人生無異於夢幻人生…… ——普魯斯特，《歡樂與節日》 https://www.books.com.tw/products/CN11382193 偏見 作者：（法）馬賽爾·普魯斯特 出版社：上海文藝出版社 出版日期：2016/10/01 語言：簡體中文 緣起於自己發現 FB 某個粉絲專頁上貼了一句書摘： 任何一樣東西，你渴望擁有它，它就盛開。一旦你擁有它，它就凋謝。 ——普魯斯特，《追憶似水年華》 這段文字對於一個普魯斯特迷來說竟然毫無印象，儘管《追憶似水年華》卷帙浩繁，翻譯版本各有巧妙，歉疚之意還是不禁油然而生…… 先是查找和比對這幾年自己整理的 800 多篇書摘，卻一無所獲；但幸運地，後來找到這句書摘的英譯版本，問題也就迎刃而解； 原來，這是出自於普魯斯特的第一部作品——1896 年出版的散文集 Les Plaisirs et les Jours (Pleasure and Days)； 然後，再重新細讀這一整篇文章，還是就只能對普魯斯特這位作家再次佩服到五體投地，一句「體驗人生不如夢幻人生」鑲崁著一個簡短的男孩女孩相愛的故事，彷彿有種令人痛徹心扉的悟道啊！ 〈歡樂與時日〉 六 雄心壯志比榮耀名譽更加令人心醉；欲望帶來繁榮昌盛，占有欲讓萬物凋零；體驗人生不如夢幻人生，儘管體驗人生無異於夢幻人生，然而，一個模糊而又沉重的夢既不那麼神秘，也不那麼明確，就像正在反芻的動物微弱的意識中離散的夢。在室內觀賞莎士比亞的戲劇要比在劇場觀看演出更加精彩。創造了痴情女子的不朽形象的詩人往往只熟悉平庸的客棧女僕，而最令人羨慕的情神卻根本不知道如何設計由他們支配的生活，確切地說是支配他們的生活——我認識一個體質孱弱、想像力早熟的十歲男孩，他曾經許願要把一種純屬臆想的愛獻給一個比他大的女孩子。他一連幾個小時等在窗前看她經過，看不見她男孩會哭，看見她男孩也會哭，而且哭得更厲害。他與女孩一起的時間很少很短。他不睡覺，不吃飯。一天，他從自己家的窗口跳了下去。一開始，人們以為促使他去死的原因是永遠無法接近女友讓他感到絕望。事實恰好相反，他剛剛跟女孩交談了很久：女孩對他非常友善。於是人們又推測，他之所以放棄他平庸乏味的有生之日是因為他唯恐這樣的歡情不會重演。從前他經常對一位朋友傾訴衷腸，從中可以推斷，每次看見夢中的主宰，他都會感到失望；可女孩一離開，他那豐富的想像就全部集中在走掉的小女孩身上，於是，他重又盼望見到她。每一次他都試圖從不盡人意的情景中尋找令他失望的偶然原因。最後一次會面之後，他那熟悉的異想天開把女友引向了性質可疑的完美巔峰，他將這種不盡人意的完美與他體驗到並且為之去死的絕對完美相比較，絕望之下，他就跳了窗。從此以後，他變成了痴呆而且活了很久，他被摔得失去了記憶，女友的心靈，思想和言談都被他忘得一乾二淨，遇到女友他也視而不見。然而，女孩卻不顧別人的懇求和威脅，毅然嫁給了他，她後來變得面目全非，讓人無法辨識，又過了幾年，她也死了——生活就像這個小女友。我們對生活充滿夢想，我們熱衷於夢想生活。試著去體驗生活大可不必：糊塗起來我們就會往下跳，就像這個小男孩，不過這一切不是瞬間發生的，因為生活中的一切是在不知不覺之中潛移默化地蛻變的。十年之後，我們不再記得甚至否認自己的夢，我們就像一頭牛那樣為了當下的牧草而活著。既然我們都會與死神締結姻緣，天曉得我們會不會因此萌生永生不死的念頭？ (中譯：張小魯 / 《偏見》) Pleasure and Days Nostalgia－Daydreams under Changing Skies 6 Ambition intoxicates more than fame; desire makes all things blossom, and possession makes them wither away; it is better to dream your life than to live it, even though living it is still dreaming it, albeit less mysteriously and less clearly, in a dark, heavy dream, like the dream diffused through the dim awareness of ruminating beasts. Shakespeare’s plays are more beautiful when viewed in a study than when put on in the theatre. The poets who have created imperishable women in love have often only ever known humdrum servant girls from taverns, while the most envied voluptuaries are unable to grasp fully the life they lead, or rather the life which leads them. I knew a young boy of ten, of sickly disposition and precocious imagination, who had developed a purely cerebral love for an older girl. He would stay at his window for hours on end to see her walk by, wept if he didn’t see her, wept even more if he did. He spent moments with her that were very few and far between. He stopped sleeping and eating. One day, he threw himself out of his window. People thought at first that despair at never getting close to his lady friend had filled him with the resolve to die. They learnt that, on the contrary, he had just had a long conversation with her: she had been extremely nice to him. Then people supposed that he had renounced the insipid days he still had to live, after this intoxication that he might never be able to experience again. Frequent remarks he had previously made to one of his friends finally led people to deduce that he was filled with disappointment every time he saw the sovereign lady of his dreams; but as soon as she had left, his fertile imagination restored all her power to the absent girl, and he would start to long for her again. Each time, he would try to find an accidental reason for his disappointment in the imperfect nature of the circumstances. After that final interview in which he had, in his already active and inventive fantasy, raised his lady friend to the high perfection of which her nature was capable, and been filled with despair when he compared that imperfect perfection to the absolute perfection on which he lived and from which he was dying, he threw himself out of the window. Subsequently, having been reduced to idiocy, he lived for a long time, since his fall had left him with no memory of his soul, his mind or the words of his lady friend, whom he now met without seeing her. In spite of supplications and threats, she married him, and died several years later, without having managed to make him recognize her. Life is like this girl. We dream of it, and we love what we have dreamt up. We must not try to live it: we throw ourselves, like that boy, into a state of stupidity - hut not all at once: everything in life deteriorates by imperceptible degrees. Within ten years, we do not recognize our dreams, we deny them, we live, like an ox, for the grass we graze on moment by moment. And from our marriage with death, who knows if we will arise as conscious, immortal beings? (Translated by Andrew Brown) |
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| ( 知識學習｜隨堂筆記 ) |
