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| 2015/03/20 07:40:09瀏覽325｜回應0｜推薦8 | |
| Excerpt：《來自深淵的吶喊：王爾德獄中書》 書名：來自深淵的吶喊：王爾德獄中書 作者：王爾德 譯者：梁永安 出版社：漫步文化 原文：From “The Project Gutenberg eBook” 【Excerpt】 ...Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons. We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return. With us time itself does not progress. It revolves. It seems to circle round one centre of pain. The paralysing immobility of a life every circumstance of which is regulated after an unchangeable pattern, so that we eat and drink and lie down and pray, or kneel at least for prayer, according to the inflexible laws of an iron formula: this immobile quality, that makes each dreadful day in the very minutest detail like its brother, seems to communicate itself to those external forces the very essence of whose existence is ceaseless change. Of seed-time or harvest, of the reapers bending over the corn, or the grape gatherers threading through the vines, of the grass in the orchard made white with broken blossoms or strewn with fallen fruit: of these we know nothing and can know nothing. For us there is only one season, the season of sorrow. The very sun and moon seem taken from us. Outside, the day may be blue and gold, but the light that creeps down through the thickly-muffled glass of the small iron-barred window beneath which one sits is grey and niggard. It is always twilight in one's cell, as it is always twilight in one's heart. And in the sphere of thought, no less than in the sphere of time, motion is no more. The thing that you personally have long ago forgotten, or can easily forget, is happening to me now, and will happen to me again tomorrow. Remember this, and you will be able to understand a little of why I am writing, and in this manner writing. …痛苦是一個長長的瞬間。它不知道何謂季節。他只由種種心緒構成，而這些心緒總是迴環往復。在我們這種人，時間是不會向前進的。它只會旋轉，繞著一個痛苦中心打轉。監獄生活是一種停滯的生活，事無大小都受到一成不變的模式規範，所以我們不管是吃是喝、是坐是臥、是禱告還是下跪 (至少是為禱告而下跪)，都得遵循一些鐵律。這種讓人麻木的凝滯讓每天的每個細節都無比相似，而這種凝滯又會讓人不停想念外面那個以不停變化為本質的世界。我們想念播種時節，想念收割時節，想念農人在田裡插秧的情景，想念葡萄工採收葡萄的情景，想念果園被落花染白或果子撒了一地的情景。但我們對外面正在發生什麼一無所知，也無從得知。給我們這種人的季節只有一個：悲傷之季。太陽和月亮看似已從我們頭上挪走。哪怕外頭豔陽高照和萬里晴空，但能夠從小小鐵窗厚重玻璃漏進來的光線總是灰濛濛和只有一點點。一如我們的心總是處於午夜時分，牢房裡總是晨昏不辨。我們的腦袋就像我們的時間一樣，停止了運轉。你很多事情大概己忘到九霄雲外，但我卻正在身歷其境，到了明天還會再經歷一次。記住這個，你就會有點明白我何以要寫信給你，而且是用這種寫法。 I must say to myself that I ruined myself, and that nobody great or small can be ruined except by his own hand. I am quite ready to say so. I am trying to say so, though they may not think it at the present moment. This pitiless indictment I bring without pity against myself. Terrible as was what the world did to me, what I did to myself was far more terrible still. 我必須告訴自己，即便你或令尊比本來強大一千倍，也不可能毀得了我這樣一號人物；毀了我的是我自己；除了我自己雙手，沒有人 (不管大人物小人物) 毀得了我。我很願意這樣告訴自己。我正在努力如此，哪怕你目前可能看不出來。但請想想看，既然我能這麼毫不留情地指控於你，那我對自己的指控又會更是何等的毫不留情。你對我的加害固然可怕，但遠遠及不上我對自己的加害。 I was a man who stood in symbolic relations to the art and culture of my age. I had realised this for myself at the very dawn of my manhood, and had forced my age to realise it afterwards. Few men hold such a position in their own lifetime, and have it so acknowledged. It is usually discerned, if discerned at all, by the historian, or the critic, long after both the man and his age have passed away. With me it was different. I felt it myself, and made others feel it. Byron was a symbolic figure, but his relations were to the passion of his age and its weariness of passion. Mine were to something more noble, more permanent, of more vital issue, of larger scope. 我曾是這時代的藝術文化象徵。我剛成年便意識到這一點，後來又逼使我的時代意識到這一點，並受到如此大的公認。一個不凡人物的不凡即使被人看出，也通常是由後來世代的歷史學家或評論家看出，其時，那人及其時代早已遠去。我卻不同。我體會到自己的不凡，後來又叫別人體會到。拜倫也是其時代的象徵人物，但他象徵的是該時代的激情和這種激情的萎頓。我象徵的事情要更為崇高、更為恆久、更為事關重大，範圍也更為廣闊。 I have lain in prison for nearly two years. Out of my nature has come wild despair; an abandonment to grief that was piteous even to look at; terrible and impotent rage; bitterness and scorn; anguish that wept aloud; misery that could find no voice; sorrow that was dumb. I have passed through every possible mood of suffering. Better than Wordsworth himself I know what Wordsworth meant when he said-- 'Suffering is permanent, obscure, and dark And has the nature of infinity.' But while there were times when I rejoiced in the idea that my sufferings were to be endless, I could not bear them to be without meaning. Now I find hidden somewhere away in my nature something that tells me that nothing in the whole world is meaningless, and suffering least of all. That something hidden away in my nature, like a treasure in a field, is Humility. 我被關在牢裡快兩年了。出於熱愛自由的天性，鐵窗生涯讓我陷入狂亂的絕望，讓我被慘不忍睹的悲苦淹沒，讓我狂怒又無計可施，讓我怨天怨地，讓我痛苦得大哭但有時又會憂傷到發不出聲音。因為嚐遍了人間每種可能的苦澀情緒，我比華茲華斯本人對他這兩句詩還要體會更深： 這痛苦恆久、模糊而暗黑 直像無邊無際。 我固然有時會覺得受這無邊痛苦是活該，並為此痛快，卻無法忍受它們毫無意義。然後，我慢慢發現我心性裡藏著某種東西，並由此得知，普天下沒有無意義的事情——更不用說的是痛苦。那東西就像藏在野地裡的一個寶藏，深深潛藏在我的本性裡。它就是謙卑。 It is the last thing left in me, and the best: the ultimate discovery at which I have arrived, the starting-point for a fresh development. It has come to me right out of myself, so I know that it has come at the proper time. It could not have come before, nor later. Had any one told me of it, I would have rejected it. Had it been brought to me, I would have refused it. As I found it, I want to keep it. I must do so. It is the one thing that has in it the elements of life, of a new life, _Vita Nuova_ for me. Of all things it is the strangest. One cannot acquire it, except by surrendering everything that one has. It is only when one has lost all things, that one knows that one possesses it. 這是我唯一還留下的財產，也是最美好的一項財產：它既是我已得到的終極發現，又是一倒嶄新發展的開端。因為它是直接來自我自己，所以我知道它來到的時間恰恰好。它不可能早點便來，或是晚點才來。如果它是由別人告訴我，我會拒絕接受。但既然它是我自己找到，我就想保有它。我必須如此。這東西包含著生命的要素，可以帶給我新生 (Vita Nuoua)。天地萬有就數它最為奇特。它既是你給不了別人，也是別人無法從你那兒拿走。想要得到它，唯一辦法是把你擁有的一切通通割捨。失去一切之後，你自會知道自己擁有它。 I now see that sorrow, being the supreme emotion of which man is capable, is at once the type and test of all great art. What the artist is always looking for is the mode of existence in which soul and body are one and indivisible: in which the outward is expressive of the inward: in which form reveals. Of such modes of existence there are not a few: youth and the arts preoccupied with youth may serve as a model for us at one moment: at another we may like to think that, in its subtlety and sensitiveness of impression, its suggestion of a spirit dwelling in external things and making its raiment of earth and air, of mist and city alike, and in its morbid sympathy of its moods, and tones, and colours, modern landscape art is realising for us pictorially what was realised in such plastic perfection by the Greeks. Music, in which all subject is absorbed in expression and cannot be separated from it, is a complex example, and a flower or a child a simple example, of what I mean; but sorrow is the ultimate type both in life and art. 我現已明白，悲傷既是人類所能企及的最高境界情感，也是所有偉大藝術的本質和試金石。藝術家一直努力追求的，都是這樣一種存在方式：在其中，靈魂與肉體渾然一體，不可分割；在其中，外在乃是內在的表述；在其中，形式可以帶來悟明。這種「存在方式」為數不少：有一陣子，青春和關注青春的藝術可以做為其一個典範；又有另一陣子，我們會覺得現代風景畫 (以其對印象的善感和觀察入微，以其暗示外界事物寄寓著精神，以其心緒、調子和色澤的別具寓意) 用畫圖方式體現出古希臘人那些完美雕像所體現的精神。音樂是這種「存在方式」一個複雜的例子，而一朵花或一個小孩則是它的一個簡單例子。但不管是在人生還是在藝術，悲傷都是終極的本質。 Behind joy and laughter there may be a temperament, coarse, hard and callous. But behind sorrow there is always sorrow. Pain, unlike pleasure, wears no mask. Truth in art is not any correspondence between the essential idea and the accidental existence; it is not the resemblance of shape to shadow, or of the form mirrored in the crystal to the form itself; it is no echo coming from a hollow hill, any more than it is a silver well of water in the valley that shows the moon to the moon and Narcissus to Narcissus. Truth in art is the unity of a thing with itself: the outward rendered expressive of the inward: the soul made incarnate: the body instinct with spirit. For this reason there is no truth comparable to sorrow. There are times when sorrow seems to me to be the only truth. Other things may be illusions of the eye or the appetite, made to blind the one and cloy the other, but out of sorrow have the worlds been built, and at the birth of a child or a star there is pain. 歡樂與笑聲的背後可能潛藏著急躁、粗俗、刻薄和麻木不仁，但悲傷的背後總是只有悲傷。與快樂不同，痛苦是從不戴面具的。藝術真理不繫於本質觀念與偶然存有之間的符合：它不是影與形的相似，不是空谷回聲，更不是水中月之於月亮本身，或水中納西瑟斯之於納西瑟斯本人。藝術真理繫於一物與自身的統一：繫於以外在表達內在，繫於靈魂的肉身化，繫於精神充滿於肉體。基於這個理由，沒有真理要比悲傷更真。有時候我甚至覺得，悲傷是唯一真理。其他事物有時只是眼睛或口腹的幻覺，唯一作用只在蒙蔽前者和飽壞後者。但悲傷卻是天地萬象的建材：不管是一個小孩或是一顆星星的誕生，總是有痛楚伴隨。 I hear in much modern Art the cry of Marsyas. It is bitter in Baudelaire, sweet and plaintive in Lamartine, mystic in Verlaine. It is in the deferred resolutions of Chopin's music. It is in the discontent that haunts Burne-Jones's women. Even Matthew Arnold, whose song of Callicles tells of 'the triumph of the sweet persuasive lyre,' and the 'famous final victory,' in such a clear note of lyrical beauty, has not a little of it; in the troubled undertone of doubt and distress that haunts his verses, neither Goethe nor Wordsworth could help him, though he followed each in turn, and when he seeks to mourn for _Thyrsis_ or to sing of the _Scholar Gipsy_, it is the reed that he has to take for the rendering of his strain. But whether or not the Phrygian Faun was silent, I cannot be. Expression is as necessary to me as leaf and blossoms are to the black branches of the trees that show themselves above the prison walls and are so restless in the wind. Between my art and the world there is now a wide gulf, but between art and myself there is none. I hope at least that there is none. 我在很多現代藝術作品裡都聽得到瑪耳緒阿斯的歌聲。這歌聲在波特萊爾表現為苦澀，在拉馬丁表現為甜美和憂傷，在魏倫表現為神祕玄奧。它在蕭邦的音樂裡表現為和弦的延遲解決，在伯恩瓊斯的女性畫像中表現為揮之不去的不滿足情緒。即使是阿德諾，他雖然借卡利克斯來歌頌「甜美動人七弦琴聲的勝利」，但狐疑和焦慮的泛音仍溢於言表，透露出不少瑪耳緒阿斯的歌聲。阿德諾先後追隨過歌德與華茲華斯，但這兩位大詩人都無法真正療癒他，所以，當他為「塞西斯」哀悼或為「吉卜賽學者」而歌時，他用以傳達自己矛盾心情的樂器正是蘆笛。但姑且勿論瑪耳緒阿斯是否已經止聲，我都不允許自己沉默。發聲於我是一種必須，一如樹木的花葉必然會在風中搖曳。我的藝術與世界之間橫著一條鴻溝，但我與藝術之間卻沒有任何間隙——至少我是這樣希望。 |
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| ( 知識學習｜隨堂筆記 ) |
