月亮与六便士【中英字幕】

"But don'timagine to yourself that I make myself bad blood on that account. I took themto oblige Monsieur Stroeve, and I said I would sell them if I could. But really--" He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm interested in the young men, butvoyons, you yourself, Monsieur Stroeve, you don't think there's any talentthere. "

"I giveyou my word of honour, there's no one painting to-day in whose talent I am moreconvinced. Take my word for it, you are missing a good affair. Some day thosepictures will be worth more than all you have in your shop. Remember Monet, whocould not get anyone to buy his pictures for a hundred francs. What are theyworth now?"

"True. Butthere were a hundred as good painters as Monet who couldn't sell their picturesat that time, and their pictures are worth nothing still. How can one tell? Ismerit enough to bring success? Don't believe it. Du reste, it has still to beproved that this friend of yours has merit. No one claims it for him butMonsieur Stroeve. "

"And how, then,will you recognise merit?" asked Dirk, red in the face with anger.

"There isonly one way -- by success. "

"Philistine," cried Dirk.

"But thinkof the great artists of the past -- Raphael, Michael Angelo, Ingres, Delacroix-- they were all successful. "

"Let usgo, " said Stroeve to me, "or I shall kill this man. "

“不要认为我为这件事感到恼火。我接受他的画都是看在施特略夫先生的面上。我告诉他我尽量替他卖。但是说真的——”他耸了耸肩膀。“我对年轻人是有兴趣的，可是施待略夫先生，你自己也知道，你也并不认为他们中有什么天才。”

“我拿名誉向你担保，在所有这些画家里，再没有谁比他更有天才了。你相信我的话吧，一笔赚钱的买卖叫你白白糟蹋了。迟早有一天他的这几张画会比你铺子里所有的画加在一起还值钱。你还记得莫奈吗？当时他的一张画一百法郎都没人要。现在值多少钱了？”

“不错。但是当时还有一百个画家，一点也不次于莫奈，同样也卖不掉自己的画。现在这些人的画还是不值钱。谁知道这是怎么回事？是不是画家只要画得好就能成名呢？千万别相信这个。再说①，你的这位朋友究竟画得好不好也还没有证实。只有你施特略夫先生一个人夸奖他，我还没听见别人说他好呢。”

①原文为法语。

“那么你说说，怎样才知道一个人画得好不好？”戴尔克问道，脸都气红了。

“只有一个办法——出了名画得就好。”

“市侩，”戴尔克喊道。

“不妨想想过去的大艺术家——拉斐尔，米开朗基罗，安格尔②，德拉克罗瓦③，都是出了名的。”

②让·奥古斯特·多米尼克·安格尔（1780—1867），法国画家。

③费迪南·维克多·欧仁·德拉克罗瓦（1798—1863），法国画家。

“咱们走吧，”施特略夫对我说，“再不走的话我非把这个人宰了不可。”

But I thoughtthat was perhaps no more than a natural reserve accentuated by the verbosefrankness of her husband. Dirk never concealed anything. He discussed the mostintimate matters with a complete lack of self-consciousness. Sometimes heembarrassed his wife, and the only time I saw her put out of countenance waswhen he insisted on telling me that he had taken a purge, and went intosomewhat realistic details on the subject. The perfect seriousness with whichhe narrated his misfortunes convulsed me with laughter, and this added to Mrs.Stroeve's irritation.

"You seemto like making a fool of yourself, " she said.

His round eyesgrew rounder still, and his brow puckered in dismay as he saw that she wasangry.

"Sweetheart,have I vexed you? I'll never take another. It was only because I was bilious. Ilead a sedentary life. I don't take enough exercise. For three days I hadn't .. . "

"Forgoodness sake, hold your tongue, " she interrupted, tears of annoyance inher eyes.

His face fell,and he pouted his lips like a scolded child. He gave me a look of appeal, sothat I might put things right, but, unable to control myself, I shook withhelpless laughter.

We went one dayto the picture-dealer in whose shop Stroeve thought he could show me at leasttwo or three of Strickland's pictures, but when we arrived were told thatStrickland himself had taken them away. The dealer did not know why.

但是我也想过，这也许只是因为她生性拘谨，再加上她丈夫心直口快、过于饶舌的缘故。戴尔克心里有什么话都憋不住，就是最隐秘的事也毫无避讳地公开和你讨论。他的这种态度有时候叫他妻子感到很尴尬。我见到她恼羞成怒只有一次。那次施特略夫非要告诉我他服泻药的事不可，而且说得绘声绘色。在他给我描述这件灾祸时，他的脸色一本正经，结果我差点儿笑破了肚皮，而施特略夫太太则窘得无地自容，终于冒起火来。

“你好象愿意把自己当个傻瓜似的，”她说。

当他看到自己的老婆真的生起气来的时候，他的一对圆眼睛瞪得更圆了，眉毛也不知所措地皱了起来。

“亲爱的，你生我的气了吗？我再也不吃泻药了。这都是因为我肝火太旺的缘故。我整天坐着不动。我的运动不够。我有三天没有……”

“老天啊，你还不闭嘴！”她打断了他的话，因为气恼而迸出眼泪来。

他的脸耷拉下来，象是个挨了训的孩子似地撅起嘴来。他向我递了个恳求的眼色，希望我替他打个圆场，可是我却无法控制自己，笑得直不起腰来。

有一天我们一起到一个画商那里去，施特略夫认为他至少可以让我看到两三张思特里克兰德的画。但是在我们到了那里以后，画商却告诉我们，思特里克兰德已经把画取走了。画商也不知道他为什么要这样做。

I settled downin Paris and began to write a play. I led a very regular life, working in themorning, and in the afternoon lounging about the gardens of the Luxembourg orsauntering through the streets. I spent long hours in the Louvre, the mostfriendly of all galleries and the most convenient for meditation; or idled onthe quays, fingering second-hand books that I never meant to buy. I read a pagehere and there, and made acquaintance with a great many authors whom I wascontent to know thus desultorily. In the evenings I went to see my friends. Ilooked in often on the Stroeves, and sometimes shared their modest fare. DirkStroeve flattered himself on his skill in cooking Italian dishes, and I confessthat his spaghetti were very much better than his pictures. It was a dinner fora King when he brought in a huge dish of it, succulent with tomatoes, and weate it together with the good household bread and a bottle of red wine. I grewmore intimate with Blanche Stroeve, and I think, because I was English and sheknew few English people, she was glad to see me. She was pleasant and simple,but she remained always rather silent, and I knew not why, gave me theimpression that she was concealing something.

我在巴黎定居下来，开始写一个剧本。我的生活很有规律；早上工作，下午在卢森堡公园或者在大街上漫步。我把很多时间消磨在卢佛尔宫里，这是巴黎所有画廊中我感到最亲切的一个，也是最适于我冥想的地方。再不然我就在塞纳河边悠闲地打发时间，翻弄一些我从来不想买的旧书。我东读两页、西读两页，就这样熟悉了不少作家。对这些作家我有这种零星的知识也就完全够用了。晚饭后我去看朋友。我常常到施特略夫家去，有时候在他家吃一顿简便的晚饭。施特略夫认为做意大利菜是他的拿手，我也承认他做的意大利通心粉远比他画的画高明。当他端上来一大盘香喷喷的通心粉，配着西红柿，我们一边喝红葡萄酒，一边就着通心粉吃他家自己烘烤的面包的时候，这一顿饭简直抵得上皇上的御餐了。我同勃朗什·施特略夫逐渐熟起来。我想，可能因为我是英国人，而她在这里认识的英国人不多，所以她很高兴看到我。她心地单纯，人总是快快活活，但是她一般不太爱说话。不知道为什么，她给我一个印象，仿佛心里藏着什么东西似的。

"Let metell you. I imagine that for months the matter never comes into your head, andyou're able to persuade yourself that you've finished with it for good and all.You rejoice in your freedom, and you feel that at last you can call your soulyour own. You seem to walk with your head among the stars. And then, all of asudden you can't stand it any more, and you notice that all the time your feethave been walking in the mud. And you want to roll yourself in it. And you findsome woman, coarse and low and vulgar, some beastly creature in whom all thehorror of sex is blatant, and you fall upon her like a wild animal. You drinktill you're blind with rage. "

He stared at mewithout the slightest movement. I held his eyes with mine. I spoke very slowly.

"I'll tellyou what must seem strange, that when it's over you feel so extraordinarilypure. You feel like a disembodied spirit, immaterial; and you seem to be ableto touch beauty as though it were a palpable thing; and you feel an intimatecommunion with the breeze, and with the trees breaking into leaf, and with theiridescence of the river. You feel like God. Can you explain that to me?"

He kept hiseyes fixed on mine till I had finished, and then he turned away. There was onhis face a strange look, and I thought that so might a man look when he haddied under the torture. He was silent. I knew that our conversation was ended.

“叫我来说吧。我猜想你是这样一种情况。一连几个月你脑子里一直不想这件事，你甚至可以使自己相信，你同这件事已经彻底绝缘了。你为自己获得了自由而高兴，你觉得终于成为自己灵魂的主人了。你好象昂首于星斗中漫步。但是突然间，你忍受不住了。你发觉你的双脚从来就没有从污泥里拔出过。你现在想索性全身躺在烂泥塘里翻滚。于是你就去找一个女人，一个粗野、低贱、俗不可耐的女人，一个性感毕露令人嫌恶的畜类般的女人。你象一个野兽似地扑到她身上。你拼命往肚里灌酒，你憎恨自己，简直快要发疯了。”

他凝视着我，身子一动也不动。我也目不转睛地盯着他的眼睛。我说得很慢。

“我现在要告诉你一件看来一定是很奇怪的事：等到那件事过去以后，你会感到自己出奇地洁净。你有一种灵魂把肉体甩脱掉的感觉，一种脱离形体的感觉。你好象一伸手就能触摸到美，倒仿佛‘美’是一件抚摸得到的实体一样。你好象同飒飒的微风、同绽露嫩叶的树木、同波光变幻的流水息息相通。你觉得自己就是上帝。你能够给我解释这是怎么回事吗？”

他一直盯着我的眼睛，直到我把话讲完。这以后他才转过脸去。他的脸上有一种奇怪的神情，我觉得一个死于酷刑折磨下的人可能会有这种神情的。他沉默不语。我知道我们这次谈话已经结束了。

He smileddryly, but said nothing. I wish I knew how to describe his smile. I do not knowthat it was attractive, but it lit up his face, changing the expression, whichwas generally sombre, and gave it a look of not ill-natured malice. It was aslow smile, starting and sometimes ending in the eyes; it was very sensual,neither cruel nor kindly, but suggested rather the inhuman glee of the satyr.It was his smile that made me ask him:

"Haven'tyou been in love since you came to Paris?"

"I haven'tgot time for that sort of nonsense. Life isn't long enough for love and art."

"Yourappearance doesn't suggest the anchorite. "

"All thatbusiness fills me with disgust. "

"Humannature is a nuisance, isn't it?" I said.

"Why areyou sniggering at me?"

"Because Idon't believe you. "

"Thenyou're a damned fool. "

I paused, and Ilooked at him searchingly.

"What'sthe good of trying to humbug me?" I said.

"I don'tknow what you mean. "

I smiled.

他只干笑了一下，没说什么。我真希望我能形容一下儿他笑的样子。我不敢说他的笑容多么好看，但是他一笑起来，脸就泛起光彩，使他平时总是阴沉着的面容改了样子，平添了某种刁钻刻薄的神情。他的笑容来得很慢，常常是从眼睛开始也就消失在眼梢上。另外，他的微笑给人以一种色欲感，既不是残忍的，也不是仁慈的，令人想到森林之神的那种兽性的喜悦。正是他的这种笑容使我提出一个问题。

“从你到巴黎以后闹过恋爱吗？”

“我没有时间干这种无聊的事。生命太短促了，没有时间既闹恋爱又搞艺术。”

“你可不象过隐士生活的样子。”

“这种事叫我作呕。”

“人性是个讨厌的累赘，对不对？”我说。

“你为什么对我傻笑？”

“因为我不相信你。”

“那你就是个大傻瓜。”

我没有马上答话；我用探索的目光盯着他。

“你骗我有什么用？”我说。

“我不知道你是什么意思。”

我笑了。

"I shouldhave thought sometimes you couldn't help thinking of the past. I don't mean thepast of seven or eight years ago, but further back still, when you first metyour wife, and loved her, and married her. Don't you remember the joy withwhich you first took her in your arms?"

"I don't thinkof the past. The only thing that matters is the everlasting present. "

I thought for amoment over this reply. It was obscure, perhaps, but I thought that I saw dimlyhis meaning.

"Are youhappy?" I asked.

"Yes."

I was silent. Ilooked at him reflectively. He held my stare, and presently a sardonic twinklelit up his eyes.

"I'mafraid you disapprove of me?"

"Nonsense," I answered promptly; "I don't disapprove of the boa-constrictor; onthe contrary, I'm interested in his mental processes. "

"It's apurely professional interest you take in me?"

"Purely."

"It's onlyright that you shouldn't disapprove of me. You have a despicable character."

"Perhapsthat's why you feel at home with me, " I retorted.

“我能想象得出，有时候你还是会不由自主地想起过去的。我不是说想起六七年以前的事，我是说更早以前，你和你妻子刚刚认识的时候，你爱她，同她结了婚。你难道就忘了第一次把她抱在怀里的时候你感到的喜悦？”

“我不想过去。对我说来，最重要的是永恒的现在。”

我想了想他这句答话的意思。也许他的语义很隐晦，但是我想我还是懂得他大概指的是什么了。

“你快活吗？”我问。

“当然了。”

我没有说什么。我沉思地凝视着他。他也目不转睛地望着我，没过一会儿他的眼睛又闪烁起讥笑的光芒。

“我想你对我有点儿意见吧？”

“你这话问得没意义，”我马上接口说，“我对蟒蛇的习性并不反对，相反地我对它的心理活动倒很感兴趣。”

“这么说来，你纯粹是从职业的角度对我发生兴趣啰？”

“纯粹是这样。”

“你不反对我是理所当然的，你的性格也实在讨厌。”

“也许这正是你同我在一起感到很自然的原故，”我反唇相讥说。

Strickland didnot speak for a long time, but his eyes shone strangely, as though he sawsomething that kindled his soul to ecstasy.

"SometimesI've thought of an island lost in a boundless sea, where I could live in somehidden valley, among strange trees, in silence. There I think I could find whatI want. "

He did notexpress himself quite like this. He used gestures instead of adjectives, and hehalted. I have put into my own words what I think he wanted to say.

"Lookingback on the last five years, do you think it was worth it?" I asked.

He looked atme, and I saw that he did not know what I meant. I explained.

"You gaveup a comfortable home and a life as happy as the average. You were fairlyprosperous. You seem to have had a rotten time in Paris. If you had your timeover again would you do what you did?"

"Rather."

"Do youknow that you haven't asked anything about your wife or children? Do you neverthink of them?"

"No."

"I wishyou weren't so damned monosyllabic. Have you never had a moment's regret forall the unhappiness you caused them?"

His lips brokeinto a smile, and he shook his head.

思特里克兰德很久很久没有作声。但是他的眼睛却闪着一种奇异的光辉，仿佛看到了某种点燃起他的灵魂、使他心醉神驰的东西。

“有些时候我就想到一个包围在无边无际的大海中的小岛，我可以住在岛上一个幽僻的山谷里，四周都是不知名的树木，我寂静安闲地生活在那里。我想在那样一个地方，我就能找到我需要的东西了。”

这不是他的原话。他用的是手势而不是形容的词藻，而且结结巴巴没有一句话说得完整。我现在是用自己的话把我认为他想要表达的重新说出来。

“回顾一下过去的五年，你认为你这样做值得吗？”我问他道。

他看着我，我知道他没有明白我的意思，就解释说：“你丢掉了舒适的家庭，放弃一般人过的那种幸福生活。你本来过得很不错。可是你现在在巴黎大概连饭都吃不饱。再叫你从头儿选择，你还愿意走这条路吗？”

“还是这样。”

“你知道，你根本没有打听过你的老婆和孩子。难道你从来没有想过他们吗？”

“没有。”

“我希望你别他妈的老说一个字。你给他们带来这么多不幸，难道你就一分钟也没有后悔过？”

他咧开嘴笑了，摇了摇头。

"Why don'tyou ever send your work to exhibitions?" I asked. "I should havethought you'd like to know what people thought about it. "

"Wouldyou?"

I cannotdescribe the unmeasurable contempt he put into the two words.

"Don't youwant fame? It's something that most artists haven't been indifferent to. "

"Children.How can you care for the opinion of the crowd, when you don't care twopence forthe opinion of the individual?"

"We're notall reasonable beings, " I laughed.

"Who makesfame? Critics, writers, stockbrokers, women. "

"Wouldn'tit give you a rather pleasing sensation to think of people you don’t know andhad never seen receiving emotions, subtle and passionate, from the work of yourhands? Everyone likes power. I can't imagine a more wonderful exercise of itthan to move the souls of men to pity or terror. "

"Melodrama."

"Why doyou mind if you paint well or badly?"

"I don't.I only want to paint what I see. "

"I wonderif I could write on a desert island, with the certainty that no eyes but minewould ever see what I had written. "

“为什么你不把自己的画送到展览会上去呢？”我问他说，“我想你会愿意听听别人的意见的。”

“你愿意听吗？”

他说这句话时那种鄙夷不屑劲儿我简直无法形容。

“你不想成名吗？大多数画家对这一点还是不能无动于衷的。”

“真幼稚。如果你不在乎某一个人对你的看法，一群人对你有什么意见又有什么关系？”

“我们并不是人人都是理性动物啊！”我笑着说。

“成名的是哪些人？是评论家、作家、证券经纪人、女人。”

“想到那些你从来不认识、从来没见过的人被你的画笔打动，或者泛起种种遐思，或者感情激荡，难道你不感到欣慰吗？每个人都喜爱权力。如果你能打动人们的灵魂，或者叫他们凄怆哀悯，或者叫他们惊惧恐慌，这不也是一种奇妙的行使权力的方法吗？”

“滑稽戏。”

“那么你为什么对于画得好或不好还是很介意呢？”

“我并不介意。我只不过想把我所见到的画下来。”

“如果我置身于一个荒岛上，确切地知道除了我自己的眼睛以外再没有别人能看到我写出来的东西，我很怀疑我还能不能写作下去。”

Meanwhile hehad never ceased to work at his art; but, soon tiring of the studios, entirelyby himself. He had never been so poor that he could not buy canvas and paint,and really he needed nothing else. So far as I could make out, he painted withgreat difficulty, and in his unwillingness to accept help from anyone lost muchtime in finding out for himself the solution of technical problems whichpreceding generations had already worked out one by one. He was aiming atsomething, I knew not what, and perhaps he hardly knew himself; and I got againmore strongly the impression of a man possessed. He did not seem quite sane. Itseemed to me that he would not show his pictures because he was really notinterested in them. He lived in a dream, and the reality meant nothing to him.I had the feeling that he worked on a canvas with all the force of his violentpersonality, oblivious of everything in his effort to get what he saw with themind's eye; and then, having finished, not the picture perhaps, for I had anidea that he seldom brought anything to completion, but the passion that firedhim, he lost all care for it. He was never satisfied with what he had done; itseemed to him of no consequence compared with the vision that obsessed hismind.

在所有这些日子里，他的艺术活动一直没有停止过。但是不久他就没有兴致到画室去了；他只关在屋子里一个人埋头苦干。因为一文不名，有时他连画布和颜料都买不起，而这两样东西恰好是他最需要的。从他的谈话里我了解到，他在绘画上遇到的困难很大，因为他不愿意接受别人指点，不得不浪费许多时间摸索一些技巧上的问题，其实这些问题过去的画家早已逐一解决了。他在追求一种我不太清楚的东西，或许连他自己也知道得并不清楚。过去我有过的那种印象这一次变得更加强烈了：他象是一个被什么迷住了的人，他的心智好象不很正常。他不肯把自己的画拿给别人看，我觉得这是因为他对这些画实在不感兴趣。他生活在幻梦里，现实对他一点儿意义也没有。我有一种感觉，他好象把自己的强烈个性全部倾注在一张画布上，在奋力创造自己心灵所见到的景象时，他把周围的一切事物全都忘记了。而一旦绘画的过程结束——或许并不是画幅本身，因为据我猜想，他是很少把一张画画完的，我是说他把一阵燃烧着他心灵的激情发泄完毕以后，他对自己画出来的东西就再也不关心了。他对自己的画儿从来也不满意；同缠住他心灵的幻景相比，他觉得这些画实在太没有意义了。

When the smallsum of money which he brought with him from London came to an end he sufferedfrom no dismay. He sold no pictures; I think he made little attempt to sellany; he set about finding some way to make a bit of money. He told me with grimhumour of the time he had spent acting as guide to Cockneys who wanted to seethe night side of life in Paris; it was an occupation that appealed to hissardonic temper and somehow or other he had acquired a wide acquaintance withthe more disreputable quarters of the city. He told me of the long hours hespent walking about the Boulevard de la Madeleine on the look-out forEnglishmen, preferably the worse for liquor, who desired to see things whichthe law forbade. When in luck he was able to make a tidy sum; but theshabbiness of his clothes at last frightened the sight-seers, and he could notfind people adventurous enough to trust themselves to him. Then he happened ona job to translate the advertisements of patent medicines which were sentbroadcast to the medical profession in England. During a strike he had beenemployed as a house-painter.

当他把从伦敦带来的一点钱花完以后，他也没有沮丧气馁。他没有出卖自己的画作，我想他在这方面并没有怎么努力。他开始寻找一些挣钱的门径。他用自我解嘲的语气告诉我，有一段日子他曾经给那些想领略巴黎夜生活的伦敦人当向导。由于他惯爱嘲讽挖苦，这倒是一个投合他脾气的职业。他对这座城市的那些不体面的地区逐渐都熟悉起来。他告诉我他如何在马德莲大马路走来走去，希望遇到个想看看法律所不允许的事物的英国老乡，最好是个带有几分醉意的人。如果运气好他就能赚一笔钱。但是后来他那身破烂衣服把想观光的人都吓跑了，他找不到敢于把自己交到他手里的冒险家了。这时由于偶然的机会他找到了一个翻译专卖药广告的工作，这些药要在英国医药界推销，需要英语说明。有一次赶上罢工，他甚至还当过粉刷房屋的油漆匠。