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| 2018/08/10 05:21:13瀏覽739｜回應0｜推薦8 | |
| 【書摘】女囚—貝戈特之死 (the death of Bergotte) 2 Il passa devant plusieurs tableaux et eut l’impression de la sécheresse et de l’inutilité d’un art si factice, et qui ne valait pas les courants d’air et de soleil d’un palazzo de Venise, ou d’une simple maison au bord de la mer. Enfin il fut devant le Ver Meer, qu’il se rappelait plus éclatant, plus différent de tout ce qu’il connaissait, mais où, grâce à l’article du critique, il remarqua pour la première fois des petits personnages en bleu, que le sable était rose, et enfin la précieuse matière du tout petit pan de mur jaune. Ses étourdissements augmentaient ; il attachait son regard, comme un enfant à un papillon jaune qu’il veut saisir, au précieux petit pan de mur. « C’est ainsi que j’aurais dû écrire, disait-il. Mes derniers livres sont trop secs, il aurait fallu passer plusieurs couches de couleur, rendre ma phrase en elle-même précieuse, comme ce petit pan de mur jaune. » Cependant la gravité de ses étourdissements ne lui échappait pas. Dans une céleste balance lui apparaissait, chargeant l’un des plateaux, sa propre vie, tandis que l’autre contenait le petit pan de mur si bien peint en jaune. Il sentait qu’il avait imprudemment donné le premier pour le second. (l’édition Gallimard, Paris, 1946-47) 他從幾幅畫前面走過，感到如此虛假的藝術實在枯燥無味而且毫無用處，還比不上威尼斯的宮殿或者海邊簡樸的房屋的新鮮空氣和陽光。最後，他來到弗美爾的畫前，他記得這幅畫比他熟悉的其它畫更有光彩更不一般，然而，由於批評家的文章，他第一次注意到一些穿藍衣服的小人物，沙子是玫瑰紅的，最後是那一小塊黃色牆面的珍貴材料。他頭暈得更加厲害；他目不轉睛地緊盯住這一小塊珍貴的黃色牆面，猶如小孩盯住他想捉住的一隻黃蝴蝶看。「我也該這樣寫，」他說，「我最後幾本書太枯燥了，應該塗上幾層色彩，好讓我的句子本身變得珍貴，就像這一小塊黃色的牆面。」這時，嚴重的暈眩並沒有過去。在天國的磅秤上一端的秤盤盛著他自己的一生，另一端則裝著被如此優美地畫成黃色的一小塊牆面。他感到自己不小心把前一個天平托盤誤認為後一個了。 (p.194 追憶似水年華 V 女囚 聯經版 1992) 看了幾幅畫，只覺得這些矯揉造作的畫幅枯燥乏味，實在是辜負了威尼斯官殿或海邊簡樸小屋的清新空氣和陽光。終於來到了弗美爾的油畫跟前，這幅畫似乎不如他記憶中的那麼明亮，跟他見過的其他畫作的區別似乎也不那麼顯而易見，但這回由於讀過那篇評論文章，他第一次注意到了那幾個藍色的小人兒和玫瑰色的沙子，還有，那一小塊異常珍貴的黃色牆面。眩暈加劇了；他的目光直勾勾地盯在這一小塊珍貴的牆面上，就像一個孩子盯住一隻黃色的蝴蝶，想要抓住它一樣。“我應該像這樣來寫，”他心想，“前幾本書寫得太枯燥了，其實應該多塗上幾層顏色，讓筆下的句子變得本身就很珍貴，有如這一小塊黃色的牆面。”然而他的頭暈得愈來愈厲害。他彷彿看見一具天國的天平一端的秤盤上，放著自己的一生，而另一端則是那塊用黃色畫得如此美妙的牆面。他覺得自己剛才過於倉促地把前者獻給了後者。 (p.185~186 追尋逝去的時光 第五卷‧女囚 周克希譯 2012) He passed in front of several pictures and was struck by the stiffness and futility of so artificial a school, nothing of which equalled the fresh air and sunshine of a Venetian palazzo, or of an ordinary house by the sea. At last he came to the Vermeer which he remembered as more striking, more different from anything else that he knew, but in which, thanks to the critic’s article, he remarked for the first time some small figures in blue, that the ground was pink, and finally the precious substance of the tiny patch of yellow wall. His giddiness increased; he fixed his eyes, like a child upon a yellow butterfly which it is trying to catch, upon the precious little patch of wall. “That is how I ought to have written,” he said. “My last books are too dry, I ought to have gone over them with several coats of paint, made my language exquisite in itself, like this little patch of yellow wall.” Meanwhile he was not unconscious of the gravity of his condition. In a celestial balance there appeared to him, upon one of its scales, his own life, while the other contained the little patch of wall so beautifully painted in yellow. He felt that he had rashly surrendered the former for the latter. (Translated by C. K. Scott Moncrieff) He passed several paintings and had an impression of the sterility and uselessness of such an artificial form, and how inferior it was to the outdoor breezes and sunlight of a palazzo in Venice, or even an ordinary house at the seaside. Finally he stood in front of the Vermeer, which he remembered as having been more brilliant, more different from everything else he knew, but in which, thanks to the critic¡¦s article, he now noticed for the first time little figures in blue, the pinkness of the sand, and finally the precious substance of the tiny area of wall. His head spun faster, he fixed his gaze, as a child does on a yellow butterfly he wants to catch, on the precious little patch of wall. ‘That is how I should have written, he said to himself. My last books are too dry, I should have applied several layers of colour, made my sentences precious in themselves, like that little patch of yellow wall.’ He knew how serious his dizziness was. In a heavenly scales he could see, weighing down one of the pans, his own life, while the other contained the Little patch of wall so beautifully painted in yellow. He could feel that he had rashly given the first for the second. (Translated by Carol Clark) |
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| ( 知識學習｜隨堂筆記 ) |
