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| 2014/03/19 20:02:38瀏覽198｜回應0｜推薦5 | |
| 【書摘】在斯萬家那邊—斯萬的愛情 (Swann in love) 10 Mais le concert recommença et Swann comprit qu’il ne pourrait pas s’en aller avant la fin de ce nouveau numéro du programme. Il souffrait de rester enfermé au milieu de ces gens dont la bêtise et les ridicules le frappaient d’autant plus douloureusement qu’ignorant son amour, incapables, s’ils l’avaient connu, de s’y intéresser et de faire autre chose que d’en sourire comme d’un enfantillage ou de le déplorer comme une folie, ils le lui faisaient apparaître sous l’aspect d’un état subjectif qui n’existait que pour lui, dont rien d’extérieur ne lui affirmait la réalité ; il souffrait surtout, et au point que même le son des instruments lui donnait envie de crier, de prolonger son exil dans ce lieu où Odette ne viendrait jamais, où personne, où rien ne la connaissait, d’où elle était entièrement absente. Mais tout à coup ce fut comme si elle était entrée, et cette apparition lui fut une si déchirante souffrance qu’il dut porter la main à son coeur. C’est que le violon était monté à des notes hautes où il restait comme pour une attente, une attente qui se prolongeait sans qu’il cessât de les tenir, dans l’exaltation où il était d’apercevoir déjà l’objet de son attente qui s’approchait, et avec un effort désespéré pour tâcher de durer jusqu’à son arrivée, de l’accueillir avant d’expirer, de lui maintenir encore un moment de toutes ses dernières forces le chemin ouvert pour qu’il pût passer, comme on soutient une porte qui sans cela retomberait. Et avant que Swann eût eu le temps de comprendre, et de se dire : « C’est la petite phrase de la sonate de Vinteuil, n’écoutons pas ! » tous ses souvenirs du temps où Odette était éprise de lui, et qu’il avait réussi jusqu’à ce jour à maintenir invisibles dans les profondeurs de son être, trompés par ce brusque rayon du temps d’amour qu’ils crurent revenu, s’étaient réveillés et, à tire d’aile, étaient remontés lui chanter éperdument, sans pitié pour son infortune présente, les refrains oubliés du bonheur. (p.339, Éditions Gallimard, 1987) 音樂會繼續進行，斯萬知道他在這個新節目沒有結束以前是脫不了身的。跟這些人一起被囚禁在這間屋裡，他感到痛苦，他們的愚蠢和可笑刺痛著他的心，更何況他們不知道他在愛著一個人，而且即使知道，也不會感到興趣，只能是笑他幼稚，惋惜他做出這等傻事；他們把他的那份愛情表現為只為他一個人存在的主觀狀態，缺乏任何外在的東西向他證明這是一個客觀存在；他特別感到痛苦的是，他的奧黛特決不可能來到，所有的人和所有的東西對她都一概陌生，她完全不能涉足的這個地方，而他還要持續流放下去，以至於樂器的聲音簡直要使他叫喊起來。 突然間。奧黛特彷彿進來了；看到她的出現，他簡直肝腸寸斷，不由得把手捂住心口。原來小提琴奏出了高音，連綿繚繞，仿佛若有所待，這等待在繼續下去，懷著已經瞥見它等待的物件從遠處走將過來的激奮維繫著那高亢的樂音，同時作出最大的努力持續到它的到達，在自身消失以前接待它的光臨，竭盡全部餘力為它敞開大路，讓它過來，就好像我們用雙手撐著一扇大門，阻止它自行關閉似的。斯萬還沒有來得及明白過來，還沒有來得及對自己說「這是凡德伊的奏鳴曲中那小樂句，別聽了」這句話時，直到那晚之前還得以掩埋在他心靈深處的對往昔奧黛特還愛著他的那些日子的回憶，卻上了突然射出的一道光芒的當，以為愛情的季節已經回來，在他的心中又甦醒過來，振翅飛翔，向他縱情高唱已被忘卻的幸福之歌，全然不憐憫他當前的不幸。 (p.373 追憶似水年華 I 在斯萬家那邊 聯經版 1992) 正在這時，演奏又開始了，斯萬馬上明白在聽完臨時加演的這首曲子之前，自己是不會離開了。被圍困在這些人中間，他感到很痛苦，他們的愚蠢可笑使他誰以忍受，況且這些人根本不知道他的愛情，即使知道也不可能對它感興趣，他們所能做的，除了把它作為話柄取笑他的傻氣，就是把它看作發瘋為他惋惜，他們會讓他的這份愛顯得是僅僅對他來說才存在的一種主觀臆想，往何外界事物都無從證實它的現實性；尤其使他感到痛苦，以至於聽到樂器的聲響恨不能放聲大叫的，是這種流放還得繼續，他還得在一個奧黛特不可能來的，一個誰也不認識她，讓人根本無法感受到她的存在的地方繼續待下去。 然而，驀然間彷彿奧黛特飄然而入，斯萬感到一陣揪心裂肺的疼痛，不由得把手緊捂在胸口上。原來小提琴的樂聲行進到高音區後，盤旋於幾個高音彷彿在等待，那是一種居高不下的持續綿延的等待，而當瞥見等待的對象趨近時，琴聲變得異常激昂，以一種近於絕望的努力，盡量要延續到它來臨的時刻，在停歇之前迎到它，竭盡全力再維持一小會兒道路的暢達讓它通過，就好比我們撐住一扇門不讓門關上。還沒等斯萬明白過來，沒等他來得及想到：“這是凡特伊奏嗚曲裡的那個小樂句，快別聽！”回憶的閘門一下子打開了，從前奧黛特熱戀他的那段時光的回憶，一直被他藏在心底不曾露面，此刻卻為儼然就是去而復返的愛情時光驟然射出的亮光所迷惑，猛地衝出閘門，全然不顧憐他眼下的不幸，對著他狂熱地唱起忘川中歡樂的老調。 (p.381~382 追尋逝去的時光 I 去斯萬家那邊 上海譯文版 周克希譯 2004) Meanwhile the concert had begun again, and Swann saw that he could not now go before the end of the new number. He suffered greatly from being shut up among all these people whose stupidity and absurdities wounded him all the more cruelly since, being ignorant of his love, incapable, had they known of it, of taking any interest, or of doing more than smile at it as at some childish joke, or deplore it as an act of insanity, they made it appear to him in the aspect of a subjective state which existed for himself alone, whose reality there was nothing external to confirm; he suffered overwhelmingly, to the point at which even the sound of the instruments made him want to cry, from having to prolong his exile in this place to which Odette would never come, in which no one, nothing was aware of her existence, from which she was entirely absent. But suddenly it was as though she had entered, and this apparition tore him with such anguish that his hand rose impulsively to his heart. What had happened was that the violin had risen to a series of high notes, on which it rested as though expecting something, an expectancy which it prolonged without ceasing to hold on to the notes, in the exaltation with which it already saw the expected object approaching, and with a desperate effort to continue until its arrival, to welcome it before itself expired, to keep the way open for a moment longer, with all its remaining strength, that the stranger might enter in, as one holds a door open that would otherwise automatically close. And before Swann had had time to understand what was happening, to think:“It is the little phrase from Vinteuil’s sonata. I mustn’t listen!”, all his memories of the days when Odette had been in love with him, which he had succeeded, up till that evening, in keeping invisible in the depths of his being, deceived by this sudden reflection of a season of love, whose sun, they supposed, had dawned again, had awakened from their slumber, had taken wing and risen to sing maddeningly in his ears, without pity for his present desolation, the forgotten strains of happiness. (Translated by C. K. Scott Moncrieff ) But the concert was beginning again and Swann realized he would not be able to leave before the end of this new number. He was suffering at having to remain shut up among these people whose stupidity and absurd habits struck him all the more painfully since, being unaware of his love, incapable, had they known about it, of taking any interest in it or doing more than smile at it as at some childish nonsense or deplore it as utter madness, they made it appear to him as a subjective state which existed only for him, whose reality was Confirmed for him by nothing outside himself; he suffered most of all, to the point where even the sound of the instruments made him want to cry out, from prolonging his exile in this place to which Odette would never come, where no one, where nothing knew her, from which she was entirely absent. But suddenly it was as though she had appeared in the room, and this apparition caused him such harrowing pain that he had to put his hand on his heart. What had happened was that the violin had risen to a series of high notes on which it lingered as though waiting for something, holding on to them in a prolonged expectancy, in the exaltation of already seeing the object of its expectation approaching, and with a desperate effort to try to endure until it arrived, to welcome it before expiring, to keep the way open for it another moment with a last bit of strength so that it could come through, as one holds up a trapdoor that would otherwise fall back. And before Swarm had time to understand, and say to himself: “it’s the little phrase from the sonata by Vinteuil; don’t listen!” all his memories of the time when Odette was in love with him, which he had managed until now to keep out of sight in the deepest part of himself, deceived by this sudden beam of light from the time of love which they believed had returned, had awoken and flown swiftly back up to sing madly to him, with no pity for his present misfortune, the forgotten refrains of happiness. (Translated by Lydia Davis) |
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| ( 知識學習｜隨堂筆記 ) |
