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| 2013/11/04 07:54:56瀏覽363｜回應0｜推薦6 | |
| 【書摘】在斯萬家那邊—瑪德萊娜 (Madeleine) 8 Et tout d’un coup le souvenir m’est apparu. Ce goût, c’était celui du petit morceau de madeleine que le dimanche matin à Combray (parce que ce jour-là je ne sortais pas avant l’heure de la messe), quand j’allais lui dire bonjour dans sa chambre, ma tante Léonie m’offrait après l’avoir trempé dans son infusion de thé ou de tilleul. La vue de la petite madeleine ne m’avait rien rappelé avant que je n’y eusse goûté ; peut-être parce que, en ayant souvent aperçu depuis, sans en manger, sur les tablettes des pâtissiers, leur image avait quitté ces jours de Combray pour se lier à d’autres plus récents ; peut-être parce que, de ces souvenirs abandonnés si longtemps hors de la mémoire, rien ne survivait, tout s’était désagrégé ; les formes – et celle aussi du petit coquillage de pâtisserie, si grassement sensuel sous son plissage sévère et dévot – s’étaient abolies, ou, ensommeillées, avaient perdu la force d’expansion qui leur eût permis de rejoindre (éditions Gallimard, 1987) 然而，回憶卻突然出現了：那點心的滋味就是我在貢布雷時某一個星期天早晨吃到過的「小瑪德萊娜」的滋味（因為那天我在做彌撒前沒有出門），我到萊奧妮姨媽的房內去請安，她把一塊「小瑪德萊娜」放到不知是茶葉泡的還是椴花泡的茶水中去浸過之後送給我吃。見到那種點心，我還想不起這件往事，等我嘗到味道，往事才浮上心頭；也許因為那種點心我常在點心盤中見過，並沒有拿來嘗嘗，它們的形象早已與貢布雷的日日夜夜脫離，倒是與眼下的日子更關係密切；也許因為貢布雷的往事被拋卻在記憶之外太久，已經陳跡依稀，影消形散；凡形狀，一旦消褪或者一旦黯然，便失去足以與意識會合的擴張能力，連扇貝形的小點心也不例外，雖然它的模樣豐滿肥腴、令人垂涎，雖然點心的四周還有那麼規整、那麼一絲不苟的縐褶。但是氣味和滋味卻會在形銷之後長期存在，即使人亡物毀，久遠的往事了無陳跡，唯獨氣味和滋味雖說更脆弱卻更有生命力；雖說更虛幻卻更經久不散，更忠貞不矢，它們仍然對依稀往事寄託著回憶、期待和希望，它們以幾乎無從辨認的蛛絲馬跡，堅強不屈地支撐起整座回憶的巨廈。 (p.52-53 追憶似水年華 I 在斯萬家那邊 聯經版 1992) 驟然間，回憶浮現在眼前。這味道，就是小塊的瑪德萊娜的味道呀，在貢布雷，每逢星期天 (因為這一天我在望彌撒以前不出門) 我到萊奧妮姑媽屋裡去給她道早安時，她總會掰一小塊瑪德萊娜，在紅茶或椴花茶裡浸一浸．然後遞給我。剛看見小瑪德萊娜，嘗到它的味道之前，我還什麼也沒想起來。也許是由於後來我雖說沒再吃過，卻常在糕點鋪的貨架上瞥見它們，它們的形象就脫離了貢布雷，而與更近的其他時日聯繫在了一起。也許是由於這些被拋出記憶如此之久的回憶，全都沒能幸存，一併煙消雲散了。物體的形狀——糕點鋪裡那儘管褶子規規整整，卻依然那麼豐腴性感的貝殼狀小點心——會變得無跡可循，會由於沉匿日久，失去迎接意識的活力。但是，即使物毀人亡，即使往日的歲月了無痕跡，氣息和味道 (唯有它們) 卻在，它們更柔弱，卻更有生氣，更形而上，更恆久，更忠誠，它們就像那些靈魂，有待我們在殘存的廢墟上去想念，去等候，去盼望，以它們那不可觸知的氤氳，不折不撓地支撐起記憶的巨廈。 (p.51~52 追尋逝去的時光 I 去斯萬家那邊 上海譯文版 周克希譯 2004) And suddenly the memory returns. The taste was that of the little crumb of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before church-time), when I went to say good day to her in her bedroom, my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of real or of lime-flower tea. The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it; perhaps because I had so often seen such things in the interval, without tasting them, on the trays in pastry-cooks’ windows, that their image had dissociated itself from those Combray days to take its place among others more recent; perhaps because of those memories, so long abandoned and put out of mind, nothing now survived, everything was scattered; the forms of things, including that of the little scallop-shell of pastry, so richly sensual under its severe, religious folds, were either obliterated or had been so long dormant as to have lost the power of expansion which would have allowed them to resume their place in my consciousness. But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, still, alone, more fragile, but with more vitality, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unfaltering, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection. (Translated by C. K. Scott Moncrieff ) And suddenly the memory appeared. That taste was the taste of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because that day I did not go out before it was time for Mass), when went to say good morning to her in her bedroom, my aunt Léonie would give me alter dipping it in her infusion of tea or lime blossom. The sight of the little madeleine had not reminded me of anything before I tasted it; perhaps because I had often seen them since, without eating them, on the shelves of the pastry shops, and their image had therefore left those days of Combray and attached itself to others more recent; perhaps because of these recollections abandoned so long outside my memory, nothing survived, everything had come apart; the forms and the form, too, of the little shell made of cake, so fatly sensual within its severe and pious pleating-had been destroyed, or, still half asleep, had lost the force of expansion that would have allowed them to rejoin my consciousness. But, when nothing subsists of an old past, after the death of people, after the destruction of things, alone, frailer but more enduring, more immaterial, more persistent, more faithful, smell and taste still remain for a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, upon the ruins of all the rest, bearing without giving way, on their almost impalpable droplet, the immense edifice of memory. (Translated by Lydia Davis) |
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| ( 知識學習｜隨堂筆記 ) |
