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| 2018/06/10 05:38:21瀏覽769｜回應0｜推薦14 | |
| 【書摘】女囚—睡眠的世界 (the world of Sleep) 3 Ô miracle ! Françoise n’avait pu soupçonner la mer d’irréel qui me baignait encore tout entier et à travers laquelle j’avais eu l’énergie de faire passer mon étrange question. Elle me répondait en effet : « Il est dix heures dix. » Ce qui me donnait une apparence raisonnable et me permettait de ne pas laisser apercevoir les conversations bizarres qui m’avaient interminablement bercé, les jours où ce n’était pas une montagne de néant qui m’avait retiré la vie. À force de volonté, je m’étais réintégré dans le réel. Je jouissais encore des débris du sommeil, c’est-à-dire de la seule invention, du seul renouvellement qui existe dans la manière de conter, toutes les narrations à l’état de veille, fussent-elles embellies par la littérature, ne comportant pas ces mystérieuses différences d’où dérive la beauté. (l’édition Gallimard, Paris, 1946-47) 啊，奇跡！弗朗索瓦絲居然沒有猜測出我全身心沉湎其中的那個不真實的海洋，我有能力讓我那奇怪的問題穿越這個海洋。她果然回答我說：「已經十點十分了，」這就賦予我一種理性的表象，而且使別人無法覺察出無止無休地侵擾我的那些古怪的談話 (在那些並不是一座虛無縹緲的山峰奪走我的生活的日子裡)。我憑藉毅力重新介入現實。我仍然玩味著睡眠的碎片，這就是唯一的創造，唯一存在於敘述材料之中的更新，所有處於清醒狀態的敘述都被文學所美化，不包含這些神秘的差異，而美就是從這些差異派生出來的。 (p.129 追憶似水年華 V 女囚 聯經版 1992) 哦，真是奇跡！弗朗索瓦茲根本沒猜到有那麼一片虛擬的海洋，我直到此刻仍然整個兒沉溺其中，用盡力氣才讓那兩句奇怪的話穿透海水說了出來。她果然回答我說：“都十點十分了。”這樣一來，我的一舉一動就都顯得很正常，我入睡前翻來覆去唸叨個沒完的 (每當生活沒有被一座虛無的大山壓垮的日子，都是如此) 奇怪的對話，也就沒人會發現了。我憑著意志，重新回到現實中來。我兀自玩味著睡眠的碎片，亦即我如此這般對讀者講述的方式中所僅有的那點新意，僅有的那點新鮮勁兒。在清醒狀態下的任何敘述，無論多有文采，總是少了這麼一點神秘的東西一而美感正是從中而來的。 (p.120 追尋逝去的時光 第五卷‧女囚 周克希譯 2012) Oh, the miracle! Françoise could have had no suspicion of the sea of unreality in which I was still wholly immersed and through which I had had the energy to make my strange question pass. Her answer was: “It is ten past ten.” Which made my remark appear quite reasonable, and enabled me not to let her perceive the fantastic conversations by which I had been interminably beguiled, on days when it was not a mountain of non-existence that had crushed all life out of me. By strength of will, I had reinstated myself in life. I was still enjoying the last shreds of sleep, that is to say of the only inventiveness, the only novelty that exists in story-telling, since none of our narrations in the waking state, even though they be adorned with literary graces, admit those mysterious differences from which beauty derives. (Translated by C. K. Scott Moncrieff) Wonders! Françoise could not have guessed at the sea of unreality in which I was still submerged, and through which I had managed to utter my strange question. For she answered, ‘It’s ten past,’ which made me sound reasonable, and allowed me to keep hidden the strange conversations in which I had been so long caught up (on the days when it was not a mountain of nothingness that had swept my life away). By force of will, I had rejoined the world of reality. I was still enjoying the last remains of sleep, that is to say the only originality, the only novelty which exists in the telling of stories, since all waking narratives, even those embellished by literature, lack the mysterious incongruities which are the true source of beauty. (Translated by Carol Clark) |
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| ( 知識學習｜隨堂筆記 ) |
