字體：小 中 大 |
|
|
|
| 2018/12/22 05:25:59瀏覽332｜回應0｜推薦8 | |
| 【書摘】女囚—凡德伊的樂曲 (the phrase of Vinteuil) 2-1 Vinteuil était mort depuis nombre d’années ; mais, au milieu de ces instruments qu’il avait animés, il lui avait été donné de poursuivre, pour un temps illimité, une part au moins de sa vie. De sa vie d’homme seulement ? Si l’art n’était vraiment qu’un prolongement de la vie, valait-il de lui rien sacrifier ? n’était-il pas aussi irréel qu’elle-même ? À mieux écouter ce septuor, je ne le pouvais pas penser. Sans doute le rougeoyant septuor différait singulièrement de la blanche sonate ; la timide interrogation, à laquelle répondait la petite phrase, de la supplication haletante pour trouver l’accomplissement de l’étrange promesse qui avait retenti, si aigre, si surnaturelle, si brève, faisant vibrer la rougeur encore inerte du ciel matinal, au-dessus de la mer. (l’édition Gallimard, Paris, 1946-47) 凡德伊去世已有多年。但是，他曾有幸用無限的時間，至少將部分生活泡度在他所喜愛的樂器中間。他泡度的是否僅僅是他人生的一部分？如果藝術真的僅僅是生命的一種延續，那是否還值得為它作出什麼犧牲呢？難道生命本身不也是不真實的嗎？仔細聽這七重奏，我則不能這麼認為。誠然，粉紅色的七重奏與白色的奏鳴曲是截然不同的；樂句所回答的那種膽怯的探問跟旨在使奇特的希望——這個希望如此尖銳、如此超凡、如此短促，但是卻震撼了靜寂粉紅的海上晨空——獲得實現而提出的那種急切的懇求，這兩者也是迥然相異的。 (p.268 追憶似水年華 V 女囚 聯經版 1992) 凡特伊己經去世多年；但在他當年心愛的那些樂器中間，他的生命至少有一部分仍在繼續，不因時光流逝而終止。那僅僅是他作為一個個人的生命嗎？如果說藝術其實只是生命的一種延續而已，那麼為藝術奉獻出一切還值得嗎，藝術豈不就跟生命本身一樣虛幻嗎？越是往下聽這首七重奏，我越是感到這樣想是不對的。誠然，粉紅色的七重奏全然不同於那首純白色的奏鳴曲；小樂句所回應的那聲羞怯的詢問，全然不同於那種企求兌現許諾的熱切懇求，我們在七重奏里聽到的這聲奇特的許諾，尖利、短促而不可思議，使大海上方粉紅、沉寂的晨空震顫了起來。 (p.259 追尋逝去的時光 第五卷‧女囚 周克希譯 2012) Vinteuil had been dead for many years; but in the sound of these instruments which he had animated, it had been given him to prolong, for an unlimited time, a part at least of his life. Of his life as a man merely? If art was indeed but a prolongation of life, was it worth while to sacrifice anything to it, was it not as unreal as life itself? If I was to listen properly to this septet, I could not pause to consider the question. No doubt the glowing septet differed singularly from the candid sonata; the timid question to which the little phrase replied, from the breathless supplication to find the fulfilment of the strange promise that had resounded, so harsh, so supernatural, so brief, setting athrob the still inert crimson of the morning sky, above the sea. (Translated by C. K. Scott Moncrieff) Vinteuil had been dead for many years now; but in the midst of these instruments he had loved, he had been allowed to pursue, without limit of time, at least one part of his life. Of his human life only? If art was indeed only an extension of life, was it worth sacrificing anything for, was it not as unreal as life itself? The more I listened to the septet, the less I could believe so. No doubt the flaming red septet was singularly different from the white sonata; the timid questioning answered by the little phrase from the breathless insistence on finding the fulfilment of the strange promise which had sounded forth so sharply, so briefly, vibrating so uncannily in the still, motionless red light of the morning sky over the sea. (Translated by Carol Clark) |
|
| ( 知識學習｜隨堂筆記 ) |
