【書摘】在斯萬家那邊—貢布雷的風光 (Combray) 13
Certes quand approchait le matin, il y avait bien longtemps qu’était dissipée la brève incertitude de mon réveil. Je savais dans quelle chambre je me trouvais effectivement, je l’avais reconstruite autour de moi dans l’obscurité, et – soit en m’orientant par la seule mémoire, soit en m’aidant, comme indication, d’une faible lueur aperçue, au pied de laquelle je plaçais les rideaux de la croisée – je l’avais reconstruite tout entière et meublée comme un architecte et un tapissier qui gardent leur ouverture primitive aux fenêtres et aux portes, j’avais reposé les glaces et remis la commode à sa place habituelle. Mais à peine le jour – et non plus le reflet d’une dernière braise sur une tringle de cuivre que j’avais pris pour lui – traçait-il dans l’obscurité, et comme à la craie, sa première raie blanche et rectificative, que la fenêtre avec ses rideaux quittait le cadre de la porte où je l’avais située par erreur, tandis que pour lui faire place, le bureau que ma mémoire avait maladroitement installé là se sauvait à toute vitesse, poussant devant lui la cheminée et écartant le mur mitoyen du couloir ; une courette régnait à l’endroit où il y a un instant encore s’étendait le cabinet de toilette, et la demeure que j’avais rebâtie dans les ténèbres était allée rejoindre les demeures entrevues dans le tourbillon du réveil, mise en fuite par ce pâle signe qu’avait tracé au-dessus des rideaux le doigt levé du jour.
(Éditions Gallimard, 1987)

當然，當天色徐明時，我似醒非醒的短暫的朦朧早已經消散。我知道我果然躺在某一間屋子裡，因為在夜猶未央時我已經把這房間照原樣設想過一番了；僅僅靠我的回憶，或者憑我放在窗帘下的一盞微弱的油燈提示，我已經像維持窗門原始布局的建築師和裝璜匠那樣地把整間屋子裡的格局和傢具設置都照原樣想像得各在其位了。我把鏡子架在原處，把櫃子也放在它通常佔據的地點。但是，陽光已不是我起初誤以為的陽光，其實是黃銅帘杆上炭火餘燼的反光了。當陽光像用粉筆在黑暗中剛劃下第一道更正的白線時，原先被我錯放進門框的窗戶立刻帶著窗帘脫框而跑；被我的記憶放錯地方的書桌為了給窗帘讓路也連忙把壁爐往前推，同時把過道那邊的牆壁撥到一旁；一個小庭院穩穩當當地在一刹那之前為盥洗室所佔據的地盤上落腳，而我在昏暗中所重建的那個寓所，被曙光伸出的手指在窗帘上方劃下的那道蒼白的記號趕得倉皇逃竄，擠進了我初醒時在回憶的漩渦中泛起的其他寓所的行列之中。
(p.202 追憶似水年華 I 在斯萬家那邊 聯經版 1992)

誠然，清晨臨近之時，我那短暫的似醒非醒的狀態早已消失。我知道自己眼下身在哪個房間，儘管夜間我曾在自己周圍將它重建，將整個房間——或僅憑回憶來辨認方向，或借助於一道隱約可見的微光，在它下面安上窗帘——完全重新布局，重新安置家具，而我既是建築師，又是裝潢師，剛安上的門窗都是赤裸的，後來才裝上玻璃，並隨手把衣櫃安頓在老位置上。但曙光——不是曾被我誤認為晨曦的最後一塊火炭映在銅杆上的反光——剛穿破黑暗，一如用粉筆畫出了第一道校正的白線，窗子連同窗帘立即撤離我將它們錯放在那兒的門框，而被我的記憶擱置不當的書桌，則趕緊為窗子讓出位置，忙不迭地把壁爐推到自己跟前，讓靠走廊的牆壁挨一邊去；剛才還是盥洗間的地方，一轉眼儼然就是一座小院落，我在夜幕下構建的住所，和醒來時分在回憶的漩渦中看不分明的眾多住所匯合後，按著窗帘頂端透進來的黎明豎起手指作出的魚肚白信號匆匆逃遁。
(p.204 追尋逝去的時光 I 去斯萬家那邊 上海譯文版 周克希譯 2004)

It is true that, when morning drew near, I would long have settled the brief uncertainty of my waking dream, I would know in what room I was actually lying, would have reconstructed it round about me in the darkness, and—fixing my orientation by memory alone, or with the assistance of a feeble glimmer of light at the foot of which I placed the curtains and the window—would have reconstructed it complete and with its furniture, as an architect and an upholsterer might do, working upon an original, discarded plan of the doors and windows; would have replaced the mirrors and set the chest-of-drawers on its accustomed site. ‘But scarcely had daylight itself—and no longer the gleam from a last, dying ember on a brass curtain-rod, which I had mistaken for daylight—traced across the darkness, as with a stroke of chalk across a blackboard, its first white correcting ray, when the window, with its curtains, would leave the frame of the doorway, in which I had erroneously placed it, while, to make room for it, the writing-table, which my memory had clumsily fixed where the window ought to be, would hurry off at full speed, thrusting before it the mantelpiece, and sweeping aside the wall of the passage; the well of the courtyard would be enthroned on the spot where, a moment earlier, my dressing-room had lain, and the dwelling-place which I had built up for myself in the darkness would have gone to join all those other dwellings of which I had caught glimpses from the whirlpool of awakening; put to flight by that pale sign traced above my window-curtains by the uplifted forefinger of day.
(Translated by C. K. Scott Moncrieff )

Of course by the time morning approached, the brief uncertainty of my waking would long since have dissipated. I knew which room I was actually in, I had reconstructed it around me in the darkness and–either by orienting myself with memory alone, or by making use, as a clue, of a faint glimmer that I perceived, under which I placed the casement curtains–I had reconstructed it entirely and furnished it like an architect and a decorator who retain the original openings of the windows and doors, I had put back the mirrors arid restored the chest of drawers to its usual place. But scarcely bad the daylight–and no longer the reflection of a last ember on the brass curtain rod which I had mistaken for it–traced on the darkness, as though in chalk, its first white, correcting ray, than the window along with its curtains would leave the doorframe in which I had mistakenly placed it, while, to make room for it, the desk which my memory had clumsily moved there would fly off at top speed, pushing the fireplace before it and thrusting aside the wall of the passageway; a small courtyard would extend in the spot where only a moment before the dressing room had been, and the dwelling I had rebuilt in the darkness 0uld have gone off to join the dwellings glimpsed in the maelstrom 0f my awakening, put o flight by the pale sign traced above the curtains by the raised finger of the dawn.
(Translated by Lydia Davis)