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济慈《圣亚尼节前夕 》

英国 星期一诗社 2024-01-10
济慈的作品中直接对生活中的冲突予以了表现,作者没有只顾着诉说自己的烦恼,而是将自己所处的那个充斥“疲劳、热病和焦躁”的世界表现在读者面前。作者怀着愤懑的情绪,勾勒出一卷萧索而悲凉的画面。世间的哀伤和夜莺的快乐构成了一组鲜明的对比,强有力地衬托出作者赞扬这永恒美的主旨,展现出他的人文倾向与观点。在其作品里,现实和理想交相融合,构成了他别具一格的创作风格。济慈终其一生都在追寻美,他任凭自己的想象在神秘中追寻,所以他自始至终都没有忘记自己应对整个社会负起的责任。济慈的很多作品都对生活中的惨剧予以深刻的表现,他痛斥社会,力图显现人性中恶的一面,表现出那个时期真实存在的悲剧。
在他早期的诗作《致乔治·济慈》《咏和平》中就有对现实的描写;在其中后期的作品《恩狄芒》《拉米亚》等,这种现实感就更加明显了。特别是在《夜莺颂》中,淋漓尽致地表现出了现实中的冲突与悲痛。该部作品里,济慈一开始描写主人公身处的洋溢着欢歌笑语的精彩世界。夜莺在大自然中无牵无挂快乐鸣叫,将生活的美妙用委婉的歌声来表达。听到鸟儿的歌唱,主人公一开始是喜出望外的心情,紧接着悲从中来。他被病魔折磨得苦不堪言,听到了夜莺快乐的歌唱,对比自己的处境难免心生悲伤。
在他的创作初期,《睡与诗》是其成功的作品之一。他凭借深刻的观察与极富深度的思考,展现出睡梦和写作这两者之间冲突又相关的关系。睡梦是人类大脑处在不受控制的状态,而创作诗歌是人有意识的高阶模式;这两者完全不同,看上去彼此之间没有任何关系。但是济慈从独特的角度把这两者当成是艺术创作中相互关联、密不可分的两个方面。在他看来,在睡梦中的想象力是超乎寻常的,可以当成诗歌来看。
在后期作品中,尤其是杰出的六篇“颂体诗”,将济慈的哲理观点表现得淋漓尽致,《忧郁颂》就是其中的一部。济慈用精辟独到的评论以及各种文学修辞手法,把自己的感悟自然而然地融入到诗篇中,让整部作品独具韵味,意蕴连绵,发人深省;在作品的末尾,他留下了与众不同而动人心弦的金玉良言:她与“美”共处—那注定凋零的“美”。作者运用拟人的方式,将“美”“欢愉”和“欣慰”这三种个性表现得活灵活现,使人赞叹不已;“欢愉”总会向人们作出一副告别的模样,和悲伤同存;“欣慰”和悲痛同存,所以“痛苦的欣然”。作者更进一步展现了人生的双重性—沉郁和快乐两者相依相存,只有一直努力地追寻美满幸福,同时具有不畏艰险的勇气与力量,才可以真正体悟到生活的真义。虽然该作品的结局带有悲观色彩—带着勇气去尝试“欢乐果”的人最后变成了“忧郁”的另一类人,但读者仍可以感受到作者的苦心:人的一生为什么如此珍贵,就是因为快乐和悲痛是同时存在,彼此不分的。



Narrative Poem 

The Eve of St. Agnes


I

   St. Agnes' Eve—ah, bitter chill it was!

   The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;

   The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass,

   And silent was the flock in woolly fold:

   Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told

   His rosary, and while his frosted breath,

   Like pious incense from a censer old,

   Seemed taking flight for heaven, without a death,

Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.

II

   His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;

   Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees,

   And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,

   Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:

   The sculptured dead, on each side, seem to freeze,

Imprisoned in black, purgatorial rails: 

   Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries,

   He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails

To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.

III

   Northward he turneth through a little door,

   And scarce three steps, ere music's golden tongue 

   Flattered to tears this aged man and poor;

   But no—already had his deathbell rung;

   The joys of all his life were said and sung:

   His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve:

   Another way he went, and soon among 

   Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve,

And all night kept awake for sinners' sake to grieve.

IV

   That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft;

   And so it chanced, for many a door was wide,

   From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft, 

   The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide:

   The level chambers, ready with their pride,

   Were glowing to receive a thousand guests:

   The carved angels, ever eager-eyed,

   Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests, 

With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts.

V

   At length burst in the argent revelry,

   With plume, tiara, and all rich array,

   Numerous as shadows haunting faerily

   The brain, new stuffed in youth, with triumphs gay 

   Of old romance. These let us wish away,

   And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there,

   Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day,

   On love, and winged St. Agnes' saintly care,

As she had heard old dames full many times declare.

VI

   They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,

   Young virgins might have visions of delight,

   And soft adorings from their loves receive

   Upon the honeyed middle of the night,

   If ceremonies due they did aright;0

   As, supperless to bed they must retire,

   And couch supine their beauties, lily white;

   Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require

Of heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.

VII

   Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline: 5

   The music, yearning like a God in pain,

   She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine,

   Fixed on the floor, saw many a sweeping train

   Pass by—she heeded not at all: in vain

   Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier, 

   And back retired; not cooled by high disdain,

   But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere:

She sighed for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year.

VIII

   She danced along with vague, regardless eyes,

   Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short:      65

   The hallowed hour was near at hand: she sighs

   Amid the timbrels and the thronged resort

   Of whisperers in anger, or in sport;

   'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn,

   Hoodwinked with faery fancy; all amort,      70

   Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn,

And all the bliss to be before tomorrow morn.

IX

   So, purposing each moment to retire,

   She lingered still. Meantime, across the moors,

   Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire      75

   For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,

   Buttressed from moonlight, stands he and implores

   All saints to give him sight of Madeline,

   But for one moment in the tedious hours,

   That he might gaze and worship all unseen;     80

Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss—in sooth such things have been.

X

   He ventures in: let no buzzed whisper tell:

   All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords

   Will storm his heart, love's feverous citadel:

   For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes,      85

   Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords,

   Whose very dogs would execrations howl

   Against his lineage: not one breast affords

   Him any mercy, in that mansion foul,

Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul.     90

XI

   Ah, happy chance! The aged creature came,

   Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand,

   To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame,

   Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond

   The sound of merriment and chorus bland:     95

   He startled her; but soon she knew his face,

   And grasped his fingers in her palsied hand,

   Saying,'Mercy, Porphyro! Hie thee from this place:

They are all here to-night, the whole blood-thirsty race!

XII

   Get hence! Get hence! There's dwarfish Hildebrand—0

   He had a fever late, and in the fit

   He cursed thee and thine, both house and land:

   Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit

   More tame for his gray hairs—Alas me! Flit,

   Flit like a ghost away!' 'Ah, gossip dear, 5

   We're safe enough; here in this arm-chair sit,

   And tell me how—' 'Good Saints! Not here, not here;

Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier.'

XIII

   He followed through a lowly arched way,

   Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume,      110

   And as she muttered, 'Well-a—well-a-day!'

   He found him in a little moonlight room,

   Pale, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb.

   'Now tell me where is Madeline,' said he,

   'Oh, tell me, Angela, by the holy loom      115

   Which none but secret sisterhood may see,

When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously.'

XIV

   'St. Agnes! Ah! It is St. Agnes' Eve—

   Yet men will murder upon holy days:

   Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve,      120

   And be liege-lord of all the elves and fays,

   To venture so: it fills me with amaze

   To see thee, Porphyro!—St. Agnes' Eve!

   God's help! My lady fair the conjuror plays

   This very night: Good angels her deceive!      125

But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time to grieve.'

XV

   Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon,

   While Porphyro upon her face doth look,

   Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone

   Who keepeth closed a wondrous riddle-book,      130

   As spectacled she sits in chimney nook.

   But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told

   His lady's purpose, and he scarce could brook

   Tears at the thought of those enchantments cold,

And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.     135

XVI

   Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,

   Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart

   Made purple riot: then doth he propose

   A stratagem that makes the beldame start:

   'A cruel man and impious thou art:      140

   Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream

   Alone with her good angels, far apart

   From wicked men like thee. Go, go! I deem

Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem.'

XVII

   'I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,'      145

   Quoth Porphyro: 'Oh, may I ne'er find grace

   When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer,

   If one of her soft ringlets I displace,

   Or look with ruffian passion in her face:

   Good Angela, believe me by these tears; 0

   Or I will, even in a moment's space,

   Awake with horrid shout my foemen's ears,

And beard them, though they be more fanged than wolves and bears.'

XVIII

   'Ah, why wilt thou affright a feeble soul?

   A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing, 5

   Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll;

   Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,

   Were never missed.' Thus plaining doth she bring

   A gentler speech from burning Porphyro,

   So woeful, and of such deep sorrowing,      160

   That Angela gives promise she will do

Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe.

XIX

   Which was to lead him, in close secrecy,

   Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide

   Him in a closet, of such privacy      165

   That he might see her beauty unespied,

   And win perhaps that night a peerless bride,

   While legioned faeries paced the coverlet

   And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed.

   Never on such a night have lovers met      170

Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous debt.

XX

   'It shall be as thou wishest,' said the Dame,

   'All cates and dainties shall be stored there

   Quickly on this feast-night; by the tambour frame

   Her own lute thou wilt see. No time to spare,      175

   For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare

   On such a catering trust my dizzy head.

   Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer

   The while: Ah! Thou must needs the lady wed,

Or may I never leave my grave among the dead.'     180

XXI

   So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear.

   The lover's endless minutes slowly passed;

   The dame returned, and whispered in his ear

   To follow her; with aged eyes aghast

   From fright of dim espial. Safe at last,      185

   Through many a dusky gallery, they gain

   The maiden's chamber, silken, hushed, and chaste;

   Where Porphyro took covert, pleased amain.

His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain.

XXII

   Her faltering hand upon the balustrade,      190

   Old Angela was feeling for the stair,

   When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid,

   Rose, like a missioned spirit, unaware:

   With silver taper's light, and pious care,

   She turned, and down the aged gossip led      195

   To a safe level matting. Now prepare,

   Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed—

She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove frayed and fled.

XXIII

   Out went the taper as she hurried in;

   Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died:0

   She closed the door, she panted, all akin

   To spirits of the air, and visions wide:

   No uttered syllable, or woe betide!

   But to her heart, her heart was voluble,

   Paining with eloquence her balmy side; 5

   As though a tongueless nightingale should swell

Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled,, in her dell.

XXIV

   A casement high and triple-arched there was,

   All garlanded with carven imageries

   Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,     210

   And diamonded with panes of quaint device

   Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes,

   As are the tiger-moth's deep-damasked wings;

   And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,

   And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,      215

A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood of queens and kings.

XXV

   Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,

   And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast,

   As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon;

   Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together pressed,      220

   And on her silver cross soft amethyst,

   And on her hair a glory, like a saint:

   She seemed a splendid angel, newly dressed,

   Save wings, for Heaven:— Porphyro grew faint:

She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.     225

XXVI

   Anon his heart revives: her vespers done,

   Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;

   Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;

   Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees

   Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees:      230

   Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,

   Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,

   In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,

But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.

XXVII

   Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,      235

   In sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed she lay,

   Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppressed

   Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away;

   Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day;

   Blissfully havened both from joy and pain;     240

   Clasped like a missal where swart Paynims pray;

   Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain,

As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.

XXVIII

   Stolen to this paradise, and so entranced,

   Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,      245

   And listened to her breathing, if it chanced

   To wake into slumberous tenderness;

   Which when he heard, that minute did he bless,

   And breathed himself: then from the closet crept,

   Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness,0

   And over the hushed carpet, silent, stepped,

And 'tween the curtains peeped, where, lo!—how fast she slept.

XXIX

   Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon

   Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set

   A table and, half anguished, threw thereon5

   A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet:—

   Oh, for some drowsy Morphean amulet!

   The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion,

   The kettle-drum and far-heard clarionet:

   Affray his ears, though but in dying tone:—     260

The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone.

XXX

   And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,

   In blanched linen, smooth and lavendered,

   While he from forth the closet brought a heap

   Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd;      265

   With jellies soother than the creamy curd,

   And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon;

   Manna and dates, in argosy transferred

   From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one,

From silken Samarcand to cedared Lebanon.     270

XXXI

   These delicates he heaped with glowing hand

   On golden dishes and in baskets bright

   Of wreathed silver; sumptuous they stand

   In the retired quiet of the night,

   Filling the chilly room with perfume light.—      275

   'And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake!

   Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite:

   Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake,

Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.'

XXXII

   Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm      280

   Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream

   By the dusk curtains:— 'twas a midnight charm

   Impossible to melt as iced stream:

   The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam;

   Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies:      285

   It seemed he never, never could redeem

   From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes;

So mused awhile, entoiled in woofed phantasies.

XXXIII

   Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,

   Tumultuous, and, in chords that tenderest be,      290

   He played an ancient ditty, long since mute,

   In Provence called, 'La belle dame sans mercy':

   Close to her ear touching the melody:—

   Wherewith disturbed, she uttered a soft moan:

   He ceased—she panted quick—and suddenly      295

   Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone:

Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone.

XXXIV

   Her eyes were open, but she still beheld,

   Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep:

   There was a painful change, that nigh expelled 0

   The blisses of her dream so pure and deep.

   At which fair Madeline began to weep,

   And moan forth witless words with many a sigh;

   While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep;

   Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, 5

Fearing to move or speak, she looked so dreamingly.

XXXV

   'Ah, Porphyro!' said she, 'but even now

   Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,

   Made tuneable with every sweetest vow;

   And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear:     310

   How changed thou art! How pallid, chill, and drear!

   Give me that voice again, my Porphyro,

   Those looks immortal, those complainings dear!

   Oh, leave me not in this eternal woe,

For if thou diest, my love, I know not where to go.'     315

XXXVI

   Beyond a mortal man impassioned far

   At these voluptuous accents, he arose,

   Ethereal, flushed, and like a throbbing star

   Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose;

   Into her dream he melted, as the rose      320

   Blendeth its odour with the violet,—

   Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows

   Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet

Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set.

XXXVII

   'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet:     325

   'This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!'

   'Tis dark; the iced gusts still rave and beat:

   'No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine!

   Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine.—

   Cruel! What traitor could thee hither bring?      330

   I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine,

   Though thou forsakest a deceived thing;—

A dove forlorn and lost with sick, unpruned wing.'

XXXVIII

   'My Madeline! Sweet dreamer! Lovely bride!

   Say, may I be for ay thy vassal blest?      335

   Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil dyed?

   Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest

   After so many hours of toil and quest,

   A famished pilgrim—saved by miracle.

   Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest      340

   Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well

To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.

XXXIX

   Hark! 'Tis an elfin-storm from faery land,

   Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed;

   Arise—arise! The morning is at hand;—     345

   The bloated wassailers will never heed:—

   Let us away, my love, with happy speed;

   There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,

   Drowned all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead:

   Awake! Arise! My love, and fearless be, 0

For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.'

XL

   She hurried at his words, beset with fears,

   For there were sleeping dragons all around,

   At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears—

   Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found. 5

   In all the house was heard no human sound.

   A chain-drooped lamp was flickering by each door;

   The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound,

   Fluttered in the besieging wind's uproar;

And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.     360

XLI

   They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall;

   Like phantoms, to the iron porch they glide;

   Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl,

   With a huge empty flagon by his side:

   The wakeful bloodhound rose and shook his hide,      365

   But his sagacious eye an inmate owns:

   By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide;—

   The chains lie silent on the footworn stones;—

The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans.

XLII

   And they are gone—aye, ages long ago      370

   These lovers fled away into the storm.

   That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe,

   And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form

   Of witch and demon, and large coffin-worm,

   Were long be-nightmared. Angela the old      375

   Died palsy-twitched, with meagre face deform;

   The Beadsman, after thousand aves told,

For ay unsought for slept among his ashes cold.

Jan.—Feb. 1819




圣亚尼节前夕


I

   圣亚尼节前夕——啊,彻骨的凛冽!

   猫头鹰披着厚羽也周身寒冷;

   野兔颤抖着拐过冰冻的草叶,

   羊群拥挤在羊栏里,寂静无声:

    祈福人数着念珠的手指已经  

   冻僵,他呼出的热气凝成白雾,

   像古铜炉里敬神的香烟上升,

   没一刻停滞,向天空袅袅飞去,

飘过圣母的画像——他不断把祷辞念出。

II

   这个耐心的祈福人做完祷告;

   提起油灯,从跪着的地方起身,

   他回头走去,清癯,赤足,又疲劳,

   沿着教堂的夹道,缓缓地行进:

   两旁死者的塑像似已冻成冰,

   似在黑色炼狱的围栏里坐牢:

   骑士和贵妇,默默地祈求神灵,

   他从旁经过;神志疲弱,想不到

冷的头巾和铠甲把他们冻得受不了。

III

   穿过了一扇小门,他转身向北,

   还没走三步,传来了音乐悠扬,

   可怜的老人听了便流下喜泪;

   但是呵,且慢——丧钟已为他敲响:

   他此生的欢乐已被说完,唱光:

   在圣亚尼节前夕,他该去忏悔:

   于是他走向另一个地方,马上

   坐进了灰堆,为他的灵魂赎罪,

他整夜没睡,为众生之罪而痛苦伤悲。

IV

   祈福的老人听到柔婉的序曲;

   因为恰好有许多人来来往往,

   门都敞开了。立刻,直飘向高处,

   清亮、狂放的号角一声声震响:

   一排房间射出了璀璨的灯光,

   已做好准备来迎接嘉宾成千:

   飞檐下站着一群天使的雕像,

   他们永远睁大着凝望的两眼,

头发向后飘,一双双翅膀交叠在胸前。

V

   终于在银灯之下掀起了狂欢,

   攒聚着羽饰,花冠,耀眼的盛装,

   像无数幻象影影绰绰地涌现

   在少年心头,这里还不断传扬

   古代传奇的故事。这些且不讲,

   让我们来专心叙述一位少女,

   在这严寒的冬日,她一心向往

   爱情,神驰于亚尼圣洁的关注,

因为她已听到过老妈妈多次的讲述。

VI

   老妈妈讲过,在圣亚尼节前夕,

   年轻姑娘能见到爱人的影像,

   能接受情郎缠绵的柔情蜜意,

   在这节日前欢悦的午夜时光,

   只要姑娘们谨守着仪式规章;0

   例如,必定要不进晚餐就上床,

   让白如百合的身体仰天平躺;

   不准后顾或旁视,只准对天堂

仰视,求上苍来满足她们的一切热望。

VII

   沉思的梅黛琳心中充满幻想:5

   音乐声声,像天神在痛苦呻唤,

   她没听见:她纯洁虔诚的目光

   向下看,见仕女裙裾扫过地板,

   熙来攘往,她毫不在意:美少年,

   多情的骑士,踮脚走到她身旁,

   失望而退去;不是她无礼傲慢,

   是她没看见:她心向别的地方:

渴望着亚尼会赐给幸福,甜蜜的梦乡。

VIII

   她舞在堂前,对别人无心关注,

   她嘴唇焦渴,呼吸紧张而急促:     65

   神圣的时刻近了:四周是铃鼓

   脆响,客人们簇拥着来来去去,

   悄声说笑,或吐出愤懑的低语,

   脸上有爱怜,轻蔑,挑衅和厌恶,

   蒙在幻境里;这些她全然不顾,     70

    只把圣亚尼和她的羔羊记住,  

憧憬着天亮前能够得到至高的幸福。

IX

   这样,她每时每刻准备去上床,

   却还在徘徊。这时候,越过旷原,

   青年波菲罗来了,心头火正旺,     75

   为了梅黛琳。他站在大门旁边,

   躲开明亮的月光,他发出祈愿——

   愿天使给他机会一睹梅黛琳,

   在他耐心久等后给一个瞬间,

   让他悄悄凝视她,倾注爱慕心;     80

也许能说话,屈膝,或亲吻——后来都成真。

X

   他大胆进门:要防止传言流行:

   要蒙住人眼,否则万剑如闪电

   会劈他的心——热烈的爱的卫城:

   对他来说,房间里是一伙蛮汉,     85

   阴狠的敌人,脾气暴躁的大官,

   他们的狼狗也对他龇牙诅咒,

   厉声狂吠:没有人给他一丁点

   善意,在这座可憎的楼屋里头,

只有一个身心俱衰的老妈妈与他为友。     90

XI

   啊,事情真凑巧!老妈妈已出现,

   她手中拄着象牙头饰的拐杖,

   蹒跚着挨近,他躲过火炬光焰,

   站在大厅的圆柱后,避开笑浪,

   远离欢声和没精打采的合唱:     95

   他使她一惊;她很快认出面庞,

   紧握他的手,用她颤抖的手掌,

   她说,“天!波菲罗,快离开这地方:

他们整夜在这里,这一帮喝血的豺狼!

XII

   “快走!快走!矮个子希尔德布兰0

   最近得了场热病,病中他诅咒

   你以及你的宗族、土地和家园:

   还有莫里斯勋爵,尽管白了头,

   却没有半点慈悲心——唉!赶快走!

   逃个没影儿!”——“亲爱的老妈妈,哦!5

   咱挺安全;请坐在安乐椅里头,

   对我细说。”——“老天爷!这里不能说;

跟我来,要不这石头会成了你的棺椁。”

XIII

   他跟她走过矮矮的穹顶甬道,

   头上高高的羽饰扫过蜘蛛网,     110

   老妈妈咕哝着,“唉呀,真正苦恼!”

   他走进一间小屋,洒满了月光,

   银白,有窗格,凄清,静得像坟场。

   “告诉我梅黛琳现在哪里,”他讲,

   “说吧,安吉拉,看在织机的分上——     115

   神圣的织机只有修女知其详,

她们为了圣亚尼虔诚地把羊毛细纺。”

XIV

   “圣亚尼!啊!今晚,圣亚尼节前夕——

   可就在神圣节日,恶人会谋杀:

    你得像巫婆把水装在筛子里,       120

   你得把妖魔鬼怪都加以管辖,

   才好进来:见到你我多么惊诧,

   啊,波菲罗!——今晚,圣亚尼节前夕!

   求上帝保佑!小姐要尝试魔法,

   在今天夜里:愿天使教她着迷!     125

让我笑一笑,我有足够的时间去哀泣。”

XV

   淡淡的月光下,她的笑容微弱,

   波菲罗仔细注视着她的面庞,

   像顽童好奇,望着龙钟老太婆——

   她的谜语书没打开,拿在手上,     130

   她戴着老花眼镜,坐在壁炉旁。

   但当她说出小姐的心愿,立即

   他两眼发光;止不住眼泪流淌,

   想到寒夜里会有怎样的奇迹,

梅黛琳要按照古代的传说上床安憩。     135

XVI

   突然来了个念头,像玫瑰绽开,

   他面额绯红,在他痛苦的心中

   掀起紫色骚动:他壮胆提出来

   一个设想,老妈妈却大吃一惊:

   “没想到你敢这样地放肆,不恭:     140

   该让好姑娘祈祷,入睡,在梦里

   跟她的天使在一起,像你这种

   狂徒绝不能接近她。去!快离去!

我只觉得你不是我想象中的那个你。”

XVII

   “凭圣徒发誓,我不惊动她,决不!”     145

   波菲罗说道:“哪怕临终向苍天

   竭力做祈祷,我仍将万劫不复,

   只要我动一动她的半绺发鬈,

   或带着贪欲去观看她的容颜:

   安吉拉,凭我的眼泪你该放心;0

   要不然,我会发出惊人的叫喊,

   就在此刻,把我的敌人们喊醒,

向他们挑战,哪怕他们比豺狼更凶狠。”

XVIII

   “啊呀!你何苦吓唬衰迈的魂灵?

   我是半瘫的、快进墓园的废物,5

   不用到半夜,丧钟会为我而鸣;

   我为你向上苍祈祷,朝朝暮暮,

   哪天疏漏过!”——听了她这番倾诉,

   热情如炽的波菲罗变缓口气,

   说他真烦恼,深陷相思的痛苦;     160

   安吉拉终于向他许诺,她愿意

为他出把力,是福还是祸都在所不计。

XIX

   计划是,要她偷偷地给他带路,

   进入梅黛琳的卧房,把他藏在

   一间壁橱里,他可以声色不露,     165

   看到梅黛琳窈窕美丽的体态,

   只要有许多仙子在衾面往来,

   用魔法使她合上眼沉入睡眠,

   今夜或许能赢得新娘的青睐。

    自从墨林把巨债向魔鬼偿还,       170

从来没有情人们相会在这样的夜间。

XX

   “你可以如愿以偿,”老妈妈说道,

   “今儿是饮宴之夜,我立刻给您

   准备好美味佳肴:你将会看到

   刺绣架旁她的琴:时间要抓紧,     175

   因为我又老又迟钝,头脑发晕,

   我敢把操办饮宴这事当儿戏!

   耐心等一等,孩子;跪下求神明:

   啊!你必定能够跟小姐结伉俪,

否则我灵魂难升天,永远住在坟墓里。”     180

XXI

   说完了,她蹒跚而去,不胜惊惧。

   情人的时间过得慢,像没尽头;

   老妈妈回来了,在他耳边低语:

   “你跟我来”;她老眼昏花,却依旧

   惶恐地察看动静。见没人,然后,     185

   他们走过一道道黝黑的长廊,

   来到小姐的绣房,纯净而清幽;

   波菲罗满心欢喜,在室内隐藏。

他的领路人忙退下,心里还带着慌张。

XXII

   她的手颤颤巍巍把栏杆扶住,     190

   老妈妈安吉拉摸黑走下楼梯,

   这时梅黛琳,亚尼护佑的少女,

   正上楼,像负有使命去赴佳期:

   她手拿银烛,虔敬地,小心翼翼,

   回房去,借着烛光老妈妈下楼,     195

   踏到平地草垫上。准备好,注意,

   年轻人波菲罗!你看那边床头,

她来了,来了,像受惊飞来的一只斑鸠。

XXIII

   她进房走得匆匆,使蜡烛熄灭;

   一缕轻烟溶化入苍白的月光:0

   她关上房门,喘口气,一心迎接

   冥冥之中的精灵和万千幻象:

    不能出点声,否则,就祸从天降!  

   但在她心里涌动着万语千言,

   尽管这会使她的芳心憋得慌;5

   正如喑哑的夜莺把歌喉鸣啭

却不能发声,心中窒闷,殒灭在山谷间。

XXIV

   卧室有三重拱形高大的窗扇,

   框边雕刻着花纹,精巧的图像,

   果实和花朵交叠,两耳草铺垫,     210

   窗玻璃设计得别致,晶莹灿亮,

   五彩缤纷的板块,交错着嵌镶,

   仿佛豹灯蛾斑斓似锦的双翅;

   窗子上四面拼绘着图案纹章,

   依稀的圣徒形象,蒙眬的花饰,     215

中央是盾牌,染着帝后们暗红的血渍。

XXV

   冬日的月光照进了这片窗棂,

   把暖的红色映上梅黛琳胸膛,

   这时她跪着感谢上天的施恩;

   玫瑰红染上合着的素手一双,     220

   银色十字架变作紫水晶炫亮,

   光环罩发丝,使她像圣徒:又似

   光辉的天使,着新装,只待插上

   翅膀飞向天:——波菲罗如醉如痴:

她跪着,如此纯洁,没尘世的一点瑕疵。     225

XXVI

   他的心重又跳动:她做完晚祷,

   把她发上成环的珠玉解下来;

   卸除一颗颗沾着体温的珍宝;

   又把溢满着体香的胸衣松开;

   一件件绣衣窸窣地滑下膝盖:     230

   像条美人鱼半裸在海藻下面,

   她沉思片刻,睁着眼做梦,就在

   幻想中见到圣亚尼与她同眠,

她不敢回头看,否则魔法会烟消云散。

XXVII

   很快地,她半醒半醉,心神茫然,     235

   微颤着躺在冰凉柔软的窝里,

   直到睡眠的暖意如罂粟熏染

   松软的四肢,她觉得心劳神疲;

   像一缕情思飞去迎晨光升起;

   幸福地睡着,全不知忧喜苦乐;     240

   仿佛异教徒用的祈祷书紧闭;

   不感到丽日当空或大雨滂沱,

就像能闭拢又能再开的玫瑰花一朵。

XXVIII

   偷进了这样的天国,心醉神迷,

   波菲罗看着她身上脱下的衣裳,     245

   倾听着她的鼻息,也许那呼吸

   已经苏醒在睡梦的温柔之乡;

   终于听到了,祝福这片刻时光,

   他松了口气:蹑足从壁橱出来,

   悄没声,仿佛恐惧地经过蛮荒,0

   踏上无声的地毯,他步子轻迈,

透过帐缝去窥视,瞧她呀,多酣的睡态!

XXIX

   在她的绣床旁边,暗淡的月亮

   洒下蒙眬的银光,他轻手轻足

   摆好了桌子,忐忑不安地铺上5

   有朱红、金黄、彩墨花纹的桌布:——

    哦,但愿能挂上摩耳甫斯护符!  

   以避开夜宴笑闹,嘹亮的号角,

   远处吹奏的竖笛,猛敲的铜鼓:

   他感到刺耳,尽管喧嚣声渐消:——     260

这时厅门又关上,一切复归于静悄悄。

XXX

   眼睑上映着青光,她依然酣眠,

   盖着纯白亚麻被,柔滑,熏了香,

   他从壁橱里拿出一盘又一盘

   苹果脯,榅桲,李子,南瓜的甜瓤;     265

   胜过奶油酥酪的各色果子酱,

   澄明的蜜露,肉桂的香味渗透,

   仙浆,海枣,鲜美的菜肴和羹汤;

   这些全是用海船运来:桌上 有

来自非斯、撒马罕、黎巴嫩等地的珍馐。       270

XXXI

   他以激动的双手把这些美馔

   盛在金盘里,装在用银丝镶边、

   闪闪发亮的篮子里;一席华筵

   置备在这幽僻而安谧的房间,

   冷的夜气里飘着一丝丝香甜。——     275

   “亲爱的,我的美丽的天使,醒来!

    我是你的崇拜者,你是我的天:  

   为了圣亚尼,请你把眼睛睁开,

要不然我就会晕在你身旁,心痛难耐。”

XXXII

   低语时,他把温暖乏力的手臂     280

   落到她的绣枕上。幽昧的帏帐

   罩着她的梦:——这是午夜的魔力,

   似冰川,不可能立即融化,消亡:

   晶莹的杯盘反射月亮的幽光;

   地毯上织着宽阔的金色花边:     285

   看来他永远、永远无法使姑娘

   从这强力的魔法中复苏,睁眼;

他默想片刻,竟也沉入了交织的梦幻。

XXXIII

   他醒来,拿起了她的弧形诗琴,

   弹奏出一支久已不弹的古曲,     290

   响亮地,——扬起万般温柔的和音,

    在普罗旺斯,人称《冷酷的妖女》:  

   琤琤的琴声紧绕着她的耳际;——

   受到触动,她发出轻微的喟叹:

   他停止弹奏——她急速喘息——忽地     295

   她完全睁开带惊的蓝色双眼:

他屈膝跪下来,像一尊雕像,苍白,无言。

XXXIV

   她睁着眼睛,已完全清醒,可是

   仍然见到酣睡时出现的景象:

   她感到痛苦,因为她似已丧失0

   梦里的幸福,那样的纯洁,酣畅,

   佳人梅黛琳为此而流泪,哀伤,

   吐出些懵懂的话语,连连叹气;

   这时她依然朝着波菲罗凝望;

   他眼含恳求,抱着拳,跪地不起,5

不敢动,不敢说话;她看着,还像在梦里。

XXXV

   “啊,波菲罗!”她说道,“刚才在睡乡

   我听到你的声音是那么甜蜜,

   你向我发誓,每句都像是歌唱;

   你这双眼睛又惆怅,又神采奕奕:     310

   怎么你变了!竟这样苍白,忧悒!

   把你原来的嗓音给我,我的爱,

   给我亲密的倾诉,不变的风姿!

   把我从无限苦恼中拯救出来,

假如你死了,我不知生命的目的何在。”     315

XXXVI

   被她情深意切的话语所激动,

   他站起身来,仿佛已超凡脱俗,

   飘逸,兴奋,像一颗搏动的亮星

   升起在深蓝天空静谧的深处;

   他完全溶入她的幻梦中,有如     320

   玫瑰把温馨揉进紫罗兰芳馥——

   甜蜜的交融:这时候霜风发怒,

   像警告情侣,猛吹一阵阵冻雨

敲击窗户;圣亚尼的月亮已经落下去。

XXXVII

   天昏黑:风吹冻雨猛叩着门窗:     325

   “这不是梦啊,我的新娘,梅黛琳!”

   天昏黑:暴风紧裹着冰雪猖狂:

   “不是梦,可悲!可悲呀!我真不幸!

   波菲罗会离去,使我憔悴,伶仃。——

   狠心呵!哪个坏蛋引你来这里?     330

   我不抱怨,我心已投入你的心,

   尽管你会把受骗的人儿抛弃;——

我是只迷途的鸽子,只有稚弱的羽翼。”

XXXVIII

   “梅黛琳!你真会做梦!我的新娘!

   我能否永远做你幸运的奴隶?     335

   做你的盾牌,涂上朱红,像心脏?

   你银色圣殿,我要在里面休息,

   我是饥饿的朝圣者,经过长期

   艰苦的跋涉,——终于见到了奇迹。

   到了你的香巢,我要的只是你,     340

   我不偷别的东西;但愿你同意,

我来供奉你,别信异教徒原始的献祭。

XXXIX

   “听!小精灵从仙国吹来了狂飙,

   它虽然暴烈,对我们却是恩典:

   起身啊——起身!看天色快要破晓;——     345

   食客们酒足饭饱,早松了防范:——

   亲爱的,我们逃走吧,快马加鞭;

   他们的耳朵已聋,眼睛也已瞎,——

   美酒和佳肴使他们烂醉似瘫:

   醒来呀!起身!我的爱,不用害怕,0

跨过南面的旷野,我为你安了一个家。”

XL

   她一听,急忙起身,害怕得发抖,

   因为凶恶的人们就歇在周遭,

   说不定正虎视眈眈,刀枪在手——

   他俩摸着黑寻路走下了楼道。5

   整个宅院里没一点人声听到。

   每一重门口吊灯闪烁着微光;

   画帏上骑马人奔驰,鹰飞,狗叫,

   随着呼啸的朔风而飘舞癫狂;

长长的地毯被风吹得起伏在地板上。     360

XLI

   他俩幽灵般潜入宽大的厅堂;

   幽灵般,他俩走近铁铸的大门;

   司阍正摊开四肢躺在大门旁,

   身边是一只喝空了的大酒瓶:

   警醒的猛犬跳起来,抖动全身,     365

   它眼睛敏锐,认出是主人来到:

   门闩一个个抽出,没一点声音:——

   铁链躺在踏石上,一片静悄悄;——

钥匙转动了,大门的铰链嘎吱地一叫。

XLII

   他们俩永远去了,在很久以前,     370

   这对恋人逃入了暴风雪之中。

   那一夜男爵梦见了许多灾变,

   好斗的宾客也都整夜做噩梦,

   梦见了妖巫,恶魔,啃棺的蠕虫,

   不断的鬼影憧憧。安吉拉老人     375

   因瘫痪亡故,临终时变了面容;

   祈福人向圣母诵过千遍祷文,

在一堆冰冷的灰烬里物化,长眠不醒。

屠 岸 译





梁宗岱《诗·诗人·批评家》

"古之学者为已,今之学者为人。"--不独学者有"为已""为人"的分别,诗人亦然。一个受自己强烈的感觉,印象,甚或异象所驱使不得不写,只知努力去表现自己,-个目的却在讨好或求知于人,不惜抹煞自己去迁就一般人底口味和理解力,或者,更彻底地说,压根儿就不知道有"自己"。因此,前者往往发前人所末发,使我们读后耳目一新;后者却永远滞留在平凡,浅薄,庸俗的圈套里。
而最大的讽刺是:努力表现自己的很少自觉满足;亟亟求知于他人的却往往抱着自己的丑陋矜矜自喜:自赞和自赏。
一切艺术底创造和欣赏都建立在两种关系上:物与物底关系,和我与物底关系,--在某一意义上,后者尤为重要。
无疑地,所谓一件艺术品底美就是它本身各部分之间,或推而至于它与环绕着它的各事物之间的匀称,均衡与和谐。但是如果我们底感官,譬如,视觉和听觉,比较现在的更锋锐更发达,我们所要求的物体上的匀称,均衡与和谐也必定更精微更复杂更准确。一颗具有深入的透视力和广博的理解力的心灵断不能容忍一件粗糙简陋的作品或一些浅薄浮泛的思想。
有些人底头脑根本是"加减式"或"算术式"的。他们所能了解的道理,所能想象和欣赏的诗文,自然只限于一加一减,至多也不过是一乘一除而已。你和他们谈代数,谈几何,谈微积分不独等于"对牛弹琴",并且他们很少不目你为"痴人说梦"的,--这才是人底不幸最可悯的部分。
一首伟大的有生命的诗底创造同时也必定是诗人底自我和人格底创造。
作者在执笔前和搁笔后判若两人。
现代的读者偏爱一切亲密的文学--日记和书信--的倾向如其是不可鼓励的,至少是可解释的。一封信或一页日记只要随笔写出来便很容易有我底面目,就是说,读者很容易在其中接触着一个"人"。对于一首诗或其他完成的艺术品我们却在"人"之外,还要求"艺术"。
这所谓"艺术",并非傅在"我"面上的脂粉,而是给它以至高的表现,把它扩大,发展到一个普遍的程度。所以一首好诗必定同时具有"最永久的普遍"和"最内在的亲切";一首坏诗--或因艺术底火候未纯青,或因误以脂粉当艺术--却连"我"也被掩没或丧失了。
在另一方面呢,要理解和欣赏一件经过更长的火候和更强烈的集中创造出来的艺术品必定需要更久的注意和更大的努力--两者都不是我们现在一般读者所能供给的。
大我和小我--一切有生命的作品所必具的两极端:写大我须有小我底亲切;写小我须有大我底普遍。
我们对于事物的评价常因它底品类而或严或宽。我们常常觉得某些作家底散文或散文诗比他们自己的诗更富于诗意便基于一种"品类上的混乱"。因为我们读散文或散文诗时只把它当散文看,只要它略具诗成分便觉得异常丰富了;读一首"诗"时我们眼光和判断力便无形中增加它底要求:期望内容和形式上一个更高度的强烈与稠密。
批评家和诗人之间的鸿沟也许永无联接的希望。一个真正的诗人永远是"绝对"与"纯粹"底追求者,企图去创造一些现世所未有或已有而未达到完美的东西;批评家却是一个循谨的(往往并且是诚恳的)守成者,只知道援已往的成例来绳新生的现象,或站在岸上指责诗人没入海底的探求。--诗人兼批评家或批评家而具有诗人底禀质的自然是例外。
批评家说:"诗和散文并非截然分离的:他们之间自有一种由浅入深,或由深入浅的边界或过渡区域,正如光之与影一样。要创造绝对或纯粹的诗岂非痴妄?"
诗人答道:"我并非不知道这个。但已成的事实用不着我;我用武的场所正是那一无所有的空虚,在那里我要创出那只靠我底努力或牺牲而存在的东西来。"
批评的文章不难于发挥得淋漓尽致,而难于说得中肯;不难于说得中肯,而难于应用得准确。
我知道有些批评家阐发原理时娓娓动听;等到他引用一句或一首诗来做例证时,却显出多么可怜的趣味!于是我可以对那批评家说:"你这番议论,任你怎样善于掩饰,并非你自己的而是借来的--至少你并不了解你自己所说的话,或不认识你所讨论的东西。"
还有些谈到名家底杰作时头头是道;试把一首无名的诗放在他面前,他便茫然若失了。
瑞典神秘哲学家士威敦波尔氏(Sweden borg)说:"一个人理解力底明证并不是能够自圆他所喜欢说的;而能够分辨真的是真,假的是假,才是智慧底记号和表征。"
应用到文艺上,我们可以说,批评底极致--虽然这仿佛只是第一步工夫--是能够认出好的是好,坏的是坏。投合和专反大众底趣味都是缺乏判断力底证据。多少批评家,因为急于站在时代底前头,把"晦涩"认为杰作底记号,"乖僻"认为天才底表征!--虽然这比那些顽固守旧,毫无好奇心的已经高一着了。
同样,在创作上,我们可以说,最理想的艺术是说其所当说,不说其所不当说:理想,因为做得到的实在太少了。一般作者姑勿论,就是以文章名世的,有多少个不词浮于意?我们往往忘记最高的骑术并非纵横驰骋于平原上,而是能够临崖勒马。
你想说服我,得先说服你自己;想感动我,得先感动你自己。
你得受你底题材那么深澈地渗透,那么完全地占有,以致忘记了一切:忘记了读者,忘记了你自己,尤其是你底虚荣心,你底聪明,而只一心一德去听从题材底指引和支配。然后你底声音才变成一股精诚,一团温热,一片纯辉。
否则你在执笔的时候刻刻忘不了对读者说:"看我多聪明!看我多精巧!"任你花枪掉得多么高明,终不免是个没有灵魂的卖艺者,至多亦不过博得门外汉底-阵喝采而已。




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