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| 【書摘】在斯萬家那邊—巴爾貝克 (Balbec) 9 Si ma santé s’affermissait et que mes parents me permissent, sinon d’aller séjourner à Balbec, du moins de prendre une fois, pour faire connaissance avec l’architecture et les paysages de (Éditions Gallimard, 1987) 如果我身體日漸健壯，父母親即使不答應我上巴爾貝克住些日子，至少同意我登上我在想像中曾多次搭乘的一點二十二分那班火車去見識見識諾曼底或者布列塔尼的建築和景色的話，我就想在那最美的幾個城市下車；然而我無法將它們加以比較，無法挑選，正如在並非可以互換的人們中間無法選取一樣，譬如說吧，貝葉以它的尊貴的紅色花邊而顯得如此高聳，它的巔頂閃耀著它最後一個音節的古老的金光；維特萊末了那個閉音符給古老的玻璃窗鑲上了菱形的窗欞；悅目的朗巴爾，它那一片白中卻也包含著從蛋殼黃到珍珠灰的各種色調；古當斯這個諾曼第的大教堂，它那結尾的二合元音沉濁而發黃，頂上是一座奶油鐘樓；朗尼翁在村莊的寂靜之中卻也傳出在蒼蠅追隨下的馬車的聲響；蓋斯當貝和邦多松都是天真幼稚到可笑的地步，那是沿著這些富於詩意的河濱市鎮的路上散佈的白色羽毛和黃色鳥喙；貝諾岱，這個名字彷彿是剛用纜繩繫住，河水就要把它沖到水藻叢中；阿方橋，那是映照在運河碧綠的水中顫動著的一頂輕盈的女帽之翼的白中帶粉的騰飛；甘貝萊則是自從中世紀以來就緊緊地依著於那幾條小溪，在溪中汩汩作響，在跟化為銀灰色的鈍點的陽光透過玻璃窗上的蛛網映照出來的灰色圖形相似的背景上，把條條小溪似的珍珠連綴成串。 (p.421 追憶似水年華 I 在斯萬家那邊 聯經版 1992) 要是我的身體情況好些，父母親即使不讓我上巴爾貝克去小住一陣，至少也會同意讓我坐一回我巳經在想像中乘過好多次的那列一點二十二分的火車，去領略一番諾曼底、布列塔尼的建築和景色，到那時我當然要在一些最美麗的城市下車囉；可是我縱然比來比去，又怎麼能夠挑出哪些城市是最美的呢，這簡直要比從一群各領風騷的佳麗中間挑選一個絕色美女還困難。貝葉高高地聳立於精致典雅的淡紅色城堞之上，頂端沐浴在後一個音節放出的亙古金光中；維特雷的那個閉口音符，猶如用黑木把古色古香的玻璃隔板分成了許多菱形小格；輕柔的朗巴爾，在那片乳白色的基調中，包含著從蛋殼黃到珍珠灰的各種色調；庫唐斯這諾曼底的大教堂，它後面的那個二合元音沉甸甸、黃澄澄的，宛如把一座黃油的塔樓安在了教堂的頂上；拉尼翁，那是在鄉村的寧謐中響起的馬車和尾隨其後的蜜蜂的聲音；凱斯唐貝爾，篷托爾松，既可笑又天真，讓人想起沿了兩個河網交錯、詩意盎然的地帶一路散布鵝群鴨群的白羽毛和黃扁嘴；貝諾代這個名宇，彷彿用纜繩都快要繫不住了，河水一個勁地要把它曳進水草叢中去；蓬達偉納，那是一朵蘚帽的翼瓣，顫巍巍地在綠瑩瑩的運河水面映出輕盈的身影，然後閃著粉白粉紅的光斑飛颺而去；坎佩萊，則從中世紀以來就沉潛於那些溪流之中，淙淙作聲地濺起珍珠似的水點，組成一幅生動的單色畫，猶如燦然的陽光透過彩繪玻璃窗上的蜘蛛網，減弱成縷縷銀光勾勒出的圖景。這麼許多城市，讓我怎麼選呢？ (p.431~432 追尋逝去的時光 I 去斯萬家那邊 上海譯文版 周克希譯 2004) Had my health definitely improved, had my parents allowed me, if not actually to go down to stay at Balbec, at least to take, just once, so as to become acquainted with the architecture and landscapes of Normandy or of Brittany, that one twenty-two train into which I had so often clambered in imagination, I should have preferred to stop, and to alight from it, at the most beautiful of its towns; but in vain might I compare and contrast them; how was one to choose, any more than between individual people, who are not interchangeable, between Bayeux, so lofty in its noble coronet of rusty lace, whose highest point caught the light of the old gold of its second syllable; Vitré, whose acute accent barred its ancient glass with wooden lozenges; gentle Lamballe, whose whiteness ranged from egg-shell yellow to a pearly grey; Coutances, a Norman Cathedral, which its final consonants, rich and yellowing, crowned with a tower of butter; Lannion with the rumble and buzz, in the silence of its village street, of the fly on the wheel of the coach; Questambert, Pontorson, ridiculously silly and simple, white feathers and yellow beaks strewn along the road to those well-watered and poetic spots; Benodet, a name scarcely moored that seemed to be striving to draw the river down into the tangle of its seaweeds; Pont-Aven, the snowy, rosy flight of the wing of a lightly poised coif, tremulously reflected in the greenish waters of a canal; Quimperlé, more firmly attached, this, and since the Middle Ages, among the rivulets with which it babbled, threading their pearls upon a grey background, like the pattern made, through the cobwebs upon a window, by rays of sunlight changed into blunt points of tarnished silver? (Translated by C. K. Scott Moncrieff ) If my health improved and my parents allowed me, if not to go stay in Balbec, at least to take just once, in order to acquaint myself with the architecture and landscapes of Normandy or Brittany, that one-twenty-two train which I had boarded so many times in my imagination, I would have wished by preference to stop in the most beautiful towns; but compare them as I might, how could I choose, any more than between individual people, who are not interchangeable, between Bayeux, so lofty in its noble red-tinged lace, its summit illuminated by the old gold of its last syllable; Vitré, whose acute accent barred its ancient glass with black wood lozenges; gentle Lamballe, whose whiteness goes from eggshell yellow to pearl gray; Coutances, a Norman cathedral, which its final, fat, yellowing diphthong crowns with a tower of butter; Lannion with the sound, in its village silence, of the coach followed by the fly; Questambert, Pontorson, naive and ridiculous, white feathers and yellow beaks scattered along the road to those poetic river spots; Benodet, a name scarcely moored, which the river seems to want to carry away among its algae; Pont-Aven, a pink-and-white flight of the wing of a lightly poised coil reflected trembling in the greeny waters of a canal; Quimperlé, more firmly attached, ever since the Middle Ages, among the streams about which it babbles as they bead it with a pearly grisaille like that which is sketched, through the spiderwebs of a stained-glass window, by rays of sunlight which have turned into blunted points of burnished silver? (Translated by |
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| ( 知識學習｜隨堂筆記 ) |
