他从小就知道这座湖,当他进入冰冷的水中时,他不知道自己是想要洗干净还是想死,他在那里停留了一会,他将停止幻想,开始生活。“我想到了所有那些在觉醒之后,必须找到内在力量的人”。
He had known this lake since childhood. As he entered the cold water, he did not know if he wanted to cleanse himself or die. He stayed there for a moment. He would stop hoping and start living. "I think of all those who must find inner force after the time of disenchantment.”
想要完全成为一个作家,就要先体会所有,以避免强行加入自己的幻想。
To be a complete writer, one must experience everything before imposing one's own particular illusion.
吕西安为卡洛琳买不起墓地,墓地的价格令人望而却步,因为房地产投机甚至扩大到了墓地行业,即使永恒的安眠也是要钱的。
Lucien could not afford a tomb for Coralie. Cemetery plots had become prohibitive, for property speculation had extended even to graveyards. Even eternal rest had a price.
年轻的诗人把那座城市想象得如同一个异教女神,面对才华展开双臂,但他又知道巴黎什么呢?
The young poet imagined the city like a pagan goddess, open-armed, embracing talent and merit. But what did he know of Paris?
谦虚是一个有趣的品质,当你觉得自己有了这种品质时,你也就失去了这种品质。
Modesty's a funny virtue. Think you have it, it's gone.
世界已经变了,超出了吕西安的理解,人们想要忘记大革命、恐怖袭击和帝国的战争,这些都是王政复辟和宫廷贵族的时代,人们向往个人的成功与富有。年轻的外省人涌入巴黎,决心要创造自己的命运,就像拿破仑一样,只是要远离战场一些,另外,如果你注定要失败,那也最好在巴黎失败。
The world had changed and Lucien was out of his depth. People wanted to forget the Revolution, the Terror and the Empire wars. This was the time of the Restoration and Court nobility. People aspired to personal success and wealth. Young provincials flocked to the capital, determined to forge a destiny, as Napoleon did, only now, far from battlefields. Besides, if you were going to fail, may as well fail in Paris.
仅仅是第一印象就能显露出一个人的一生,在这个上流社会,众所周知,第一印象往往是对的,尤其是负面的第一印象。
One's whole life could hinge on a first impression in this high society. For as everyone knows, first impressions are often right, especially bad ones.
一个剧院会为好评,付钱给你,接着你向他的竞争者提供一篇差评,然后你提高赌注,无差别写一篇好评,一篇差评,署上不同的名字,如此这般...你就能财源滚滚。
A theater manager pays you for a good review. You then propose a nasty article to his competitor and you raise the stakes, writing good and bad indifferently under different names. And so on and so forth...and you rake it in.
如果你不能帮报纸的忙,你就不存在,如果没人怕你...就没有人对你感兴趣。而今...我曾经是个好人,和你一样有着纯粹的内心。
If you can't grant favors at a paper, you don't exist. If no one's afraid of you...no one's interested in you. And yet...I was good. I had a pure heart like you.
金钱就是新的王权,而没有人想掉脑袋
Money was the new royalty, and no one wanted to chop its head off.
近1500个可怜的女人在廊上揽客,每个人都有自己的花名、专长、工作时间和地点...她们被称作卖淫女、交际花、名妓和窑姐儿,那些专揽上流社会男人的被称作“半只海狸”,尽管我们不知道为什么。
Each one had her name, specialty, hours and spot...Up to 1,500 poor women plied their trade in the Galleries. They were called hussies, courtesans, Lorettes and grisettes. Those who collared men from upstairs were called "half-beavers.” Though we never knew why.
你可以买到任何东西,喝彩声,轻微的喝彩声,起立鼓掌,笑声,歇斯底里的笑声,抑或是口哨和嘘声,甚至是烂番茄和烂菜叶,你只消付钱就好。
You could buy anything. Applause, light applause, standing ovation, laughter, hysterical laughter. Or else whistles and boos, even rotten tomatoes and vegetables. You only had to pay.
假消息有一个特定的术语:“鸭翼”或者“鸭子”,可能是因为轰动一时的假新闻,就如同野鸭互相追逐,为了引起轰动,一家报纸可以刊印任何传闻,无论真假,不会有人在意这些细节,这些人懂得,一篇假新闻和它的辟谣是两件事,唯一重要的真相,就是销售量。
There was a specific term for a false information: a "canard” or duck. Maybe because fake sensational news was like a wild duck chase. To create an event, a paper could print any rumor. True or false, no one dwelled on such details. These men had understood, a fake news and its denial were two events. The only truth that mattered, were sales figures.
报社如今变成了商店,向公众出售他们想听的,报纸不再开明,而是煽动意见,或是创造意见,新闻,辩论和观点都变成了商品,用来哄骗订阅者,记者们变成了语言的零售商,词语贩子,艺术家和公众之间的经纪人。
The paper was now a shop that sold the public what they wanted to hear. One no longer enlightened, one flattered opinions. Or created them. News, debate and ideas had become goods to palm off on subscribers. Journalists became retailers of phrases, wheelers and dealers of words, brokers between artists and the public.
文学对于很多人来说都很重要,它是一种世界观,爱美之心…哪怕只对很少一部分读者而言是这样,甚至一个读者。
Literature is important to many people. A world view, love of beauty...If only for a few readers. One single reader.
一本书很感人?就说它故作感伤,很古典?就说它匠气。有趣?就说肤浅。很有智慧?就说它做作。如果它很有启发,那就说它哗众取宠好了。诸如此类。结构好?就说它老套。作者有自己的风格?就说他言之无物。你可以从长度上去挑毛病,向来是机智的做法,那些书总是写得太长,你可以说它令人困惑,作者没把握好。有什么意义?
A book is moving? Call it sentimental. Classic? It's academic. Funny? Superficial. Intelligent? It's pretentious. If it's inspired, call it sensationalism. And so on. Well-constructed? It's predictable. The author has style? He has nothing to say. You can criticize the length. That always smarts. It's always too long. Confused, not controlled. What's the point?
献给她爱
祈祷
和歌
这就是我的所有
在凡人所渴望的世间所有美好之中
在我告别之时,我毫无遗憾
毫无遗憾,飞向天空的
炙热的的叹息
七弦琴的狂喜,或心中永不忘却的
无言的爱
轻抚琴弦,聆听美人的足音
从一个音符到另一个音符,极度的甜美
强有力的回应
刺激着她令人着迷的胸膛
画下她眼中狂喜的泪水
如西风的叹息
穿过饱满,弯曲的花,扫过清晨的露珠
For her.
Love,
prayer
and song, to me existence gave.
Of all the earthly good that mortals crave,
In this my farewell hour I nought regret.
Nought, save the burning sighs
that soar above, The lyre's full ecstasy, or wordless love Of hearts that ne'er forget. To sweep the lyre at listening beauty's feet,
To mark from note to note the transport sweet,
Thrill her rapt bosom
with responsive power
To draw tears of rapture from her eyes
As morning dews are swept
by zephyrs' sighs From the full, bending flower.
露易丝
你在我心中激起的爱意既是虚妄,也是禁忌
禁忌
如同一切终将取得胜利的事物一样
每个字都让您的双唇愈加靠近
我读的每本书仿佛写的都是你
自那个可怕的下午开始,我满心只有你
只有你,独自在了无生气的墙壁所投下的阴影中
没有诗歌,没有爱情
在这世间
只有爱是最为重要的
而爱就像风......
它会将我们带离
献给你,露易丝
Louise.
Such a love as you have made me feel, I thought both utopic and forbidden.
Forbidden,
like all which must in the end triumph. Each word brings your lips closer,
each book I read seems to speak of you. Since this dreadful afternoon, I've thought only of you. Of you, alone in the shadows of those lifeless walls,
loveless and without poesy. Nothing but love matters in this world.
And love is like the wind... it will carry us away. For you, Louise.