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| Excerpt：切斯瓦夫‧米沃什的《歐洲故土》 https://www.sanmin.com.tw/product/index/012581171 書名：歐洲故土 作者：切斯瓦夫‧米沃什 出版社：廣西師範大學出版社 出版日：2023/07/01 本書是1980年諾貝爾文學獎獲得者切斯瓦夫·米沃什出版於1959年的散文集，彼時米沃什依然待在法國，並即將赴美。在這本帶有尋根性質的自傳散文中，米沃什不僅關注祖國的社會歷史，而且將“故土”這一概念延展至歐洲這一覆蓋更廣，更具包容性的層次，並在這一層面上反思了二十世紀的歐洲。這是米沃什早期的重要作品，作為散文大家，米沃什在這本文集裡展示了自己細膩深刻而又充滿詩意的寫作魅力，讀者可從他的文字中了解不一樣的另一維度的歐洲。 【Excerpt】 〈間奏曲〉（Intermezzo） 那年十一月，我們沿著一條空曠的公路散步，只聽見風在電報線間刺耳的呼嘯聲和鴉群的尖叫聲。地面完全空曠——平坦的田野一直延伸到模糊的地平線。徒步了十英里後，我們來到靠近鐵路的一個小鎮，或者說至少來到一個定居點的標誌：幾棵高樹。那些樹，它們赤裸地站立著，因積滿死水的黏土礦坑而發黑，看起來讓我如此恐懼，我不禁再次轉身將它們定格在我的記憶中。沒有什麼更好地反映這片土地的寂寞和人的不設防。它們並非自然的一部分，它們呈現出無人關心的跡象：它們只是從光禿禿的地面長出來，似乎石化了，伸入蒼白的天空。如果它們有過生長，必定是山羊啃光了它們的樹皮，必定是厭倦了那個不適合樹木存活的省份。它們站得如此分散，如此與萬物隔絕，似乎它們有意充當所有那些在這裡被處死的人看見的最後形象。 IN NOVEMBER OF THAT YEAR, as we walked along the empty highway, we heard only a shrill wind singing in the telegraph wires and the screeching of crows. The landscape was perfectly empty-flat fields as far as the hazy horizon line. After a tenmile hike, we came to a little town near a railroad, or at least to the signs of a settlement: a few tall trees. Those trees, which stood naked and black over clay pits filled with lifeless water, seemed so terrifying to me that I turned around once more to fix them in my memory. Nothing mirrored better the loneliness of that land and the defenselessness of man. They were not a piece of nature, they showed no sign of human care: they simply rose up from the bare ground, as if petrified, into a colorless sky. If they had ever grown, it must have been in spite of the goats biting off their bark, in spite of the boredom of that province where trees were out of place. They stood so apart, so cut off from everything, as if they had been meant to serve as a last image seen by all those who had been executed here. …… 過去和未來對我都無用，即使我多次思考它們。穿著節日盛裝的人成群結隊地穿過草地，向有尖塔的小教堂走去，木制長椅因長時間使用變得光滑，巨大的祈禱書——此刻它們被放在一個新時代，比拿破侖和其他壯舉更可觸摸。但這個村子和像它這樣的所有其他村子都是不能自衛的。並且他們的不幸可追溯到炸彈和飛機出現之前。因為我盡力觸及這種災難的根源，我，像一個幽靈的巫師，持續與災難之前的世紀——十七世紀交流。教堂裡巴洛克風格的天使，或許我手中的鋤頭也是巴洛克風格的。華沙被我從思想中放逐：一片大平原確實滑入峽谷，埋葬了人和建築物。 The past and the furore were useless to me, even though I thought about them a great deal. The Sunday clothes and clusters of people heading over the meadows toward the little church with its steeple, the wooden benches polished by long use, the big prayer books-they were placed now in a new time, more tangible than the Napoleonic and other epics. But that village and all others like it were defenseless. And their misfortune dated back much further than bombs and airplanes. Because I tried to reach to the roots of that calamity, I, like a conjurer of spirits, continually communed with the seventeenth century-the century before the disaster. Baroque angels in church, and baroque, perhaps, the hoe in my hands. Warsaw I outlawed from my thoughts: a large piece of plain had simply slid into a chasm, burying people and buildings. …… 空曠的公路，黑色的樹木，一個小鎮鋪得糟糕的街道上的水坑——突然感到一陣絕望，這是我在基堯家工作時忘記的。這不僅是因為戴頭盔的警察和納粹分子搜捕行動的危險。在這個國家，只有鄉村還擁有某種形式，根據需要和四季的任務來定義。另一方面，城鎮顯然是一團糟。（我不在乎少數大城市；而且，除了冒煙的廢墟外，沒留下什麼重要的東西。）當想象可以抓住一片遍布人類居所的領土，每個居民區都以似乎適宜居住的方式組織起來的時候，一個人就獲得腳踏實地的感覺，被支持的感覺。但是這裡——破敗不堪的柵欄，一輛農夫的馬車接近時驚飛的雞群，猶太人被帶走徹底消滅後留下的公寓房，這一切虛無和衰敗令人目瞪口呆。它讓我難受。廢墟連著廢墟形成一座荒原，我感到手足無措。我的熱血反抗著草率和怠慢的那種慣性。 The empty highway, the black trees, the puddles in the badly paved streets of a little town-and suddenly a wave of despair such as I had forgotten while working at Kijos. It was not only because of the helmeted policemen and the danger of Nazi manhunts. In this country it was only the village that had some kind of form, defined by need and the tasks of the four seasons. The towns, on the other hand, were clearly a botch. (I cared less about the few larger cities; besides, nothing much was left of the principal one except smoking ruins.) One gets a feeling of having ones feet on the ground, of being supported, when the imagination can cling to a piece of territory filled with human settlements arranged in such a way that each of them appears livable. But here-tumbledown fences, chickens flying off in a panic at the approach of a peasant cart, apartment houses from which the Jews had been taken to be exterminated-it all gaped with nothingness and decay. It was hateful to me. Ruins multiplied by ruins made a desert, and I felt that I had no place to lay my head. My hot blood revolted against that inertia of bungling and neglect. 然而，不言而喻，如果我們的環境與我們成為積極的現代浮士德的激情之間的衝突太劇烈的話，一個反作用就會出現：翻身的渴望。革命？革命是好的，但它改變不了這裡的任何事情，因為如果我們按照東方模式，這種被踐踏的戰場通常供應一些巨大事業必需的血液。這個地方的混亂只是開始，是牆體開裂和屋頂漏水——這些小細節的預示。當我走在街上，既警惕又緊張，數年和數十年前描繪了一個完全無效的前景。在基堯家短暫休息（出於自衛？）時，我再次感到能勝任的一切開始積累並壓迫我，以致我準備宣佈——我公開承認它——一種災禍籠罩著這片特殊的歐洲，沒有什麼可以應付它。如果給我機會，也許我會把這個國家炸成碎片，以便母親不再為她死於街壘的十七歲子女哭泣，以便野草不再叢生於特雷布林卡和馬伊達內克和奧斯威辛①的骨灰上，以便在一棵扭曲的松樹下演奏的口琴的音符不再飄浮在城市郊區噩夢似的深坑和沙丘上。因為有一種憐憫難以忍受。所以一個人把它全部炸毀，至少在心裡；也就是說，一個人被唯一一個願望纏住：不去看。 It goes without saying, however, that if our environment clashes too violently with our passion for being modern and constructive Fausts, an opposite reaction will occur: a desire to turn our backs. Revolution? Revolution is fine, but it would change nothing here because, if we go by its Eastern model, such trampled fields usually supplied the lifeblood for a few gigantic enterprises. The disorder of the place thus was simply an introduction, a foretaste of cracking walls and leaking roofs -minor details. As I walked down the street, alert and tense, the years and decades ahead presented a prospect of complete futility. Once again, everything I had been feeling up to that brief respite (in self-defense?) at Kijos began to accumulate and oppress me so that I was ready to declare-I admit it openlythat a curse hangs over this panicular piece of Europe and nothing can be done about it. Had I been given the chance, perhaps I would have blown the country to bits, so that mothers would no longer cry over their seventeen-year-old sons and daughters who died on the barricades, so that the grass would no longer grow over the ashes of Treblinka and Maidanek and Auschwitz, so that the notes of a harmonica played under a gnarled pine tree would no longer float over the nightmarish pits and dunes on the city outskins. Because there is a kind of pity that is unbearable. And so one blows it all up, at least in ones mind; that is, one is possessed by a single desire: not to look. (Translated by Catherine S. Leach) ①特雷布林卡，波蘭東部一個村莊。一九四二年初納粹在此修建滅絕營，約八十七萬猶太人遇害。馬伊達內克集中營位於波蘭盧布林城東南部，建於一九四一年，囚禁過二十六個國家的五十萬難民，死難者達三十六萬人，其中包括十七萬蘇聯戰俘。奧斯威辛集中營建於一九四○年，約一百一十萬人（百分之九十為猶太人）在此遇害。 |
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| ( 知識學習｜隨堂筆記 ) |
