Now the war has come, bringing with it a new attitude. Youth has turned to gods we of an earlier day knew not, and it is possible to see already the direction in which those who come after us will move. The younger generation, conscious of strength and tumultuous, have done with knocking at the door; they have burst in and seated themselves in our seats. The air is noisy with their shouts. Of their elders some, by imitating the antics of youth, strive to persuade themselves that their day is not yet over; they shout with the lustiest, but the war cry sounds hollow in their mouth; they are like poor wantons attempting with pencil, paint and powder, with shrill gaiety, to recover the illusion of their spring. The wiser go their way with a decent grace. In their chastened smile is an indulgent mockery. They remember that they too trod down a sated generation, with just such clamor and with just such scorn, and they foresee that these brave torch-bearers will presently yield their place also. There is no last word. The new evangel was old when Nineveh reared her greatness to the sky. These gallant words which seem so novel to those that speak them were said in accents scarcely changed a hundred times before. The pendulum swings backwards and forwards. The circle is ever travelled anew.
Sometimes a man survives a considerable time from an era in which he had his place into one which is strange to him, and then the curious are offered one of the most singular spectacles in the human comedy. Who now, for example, thinks of George Crabbe? He was a famous poet in his day, and the world recognised his genius with a unanimity which the greater complexity of modern life has rendered infrequent. He had learnt his craft at the school of Alexander Pope, and he wrote moral stories in rhymed couplets. Then came the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars, and the poets sang new songs. Mr. Crabbe continued to write moral stories in rhymed couplets. I think he must have read the verse of these young men who were making so great a stir in the world, and I fancy he found it poor stuff. Of course, much of it was. But the odes of Keats and of Wordsworth, a poem or two by Coleridge, a few more by Shelley, discovered vast realms of the spirit that none had explored before. Mr. Crabbe was as dead as mutton, but Mr. Crabbe continued to write moral stories in rhymed couplets. I have read desultorily the writings of the younger generation. It may be that among them a more fervid Keats, a more ethereal Shelley, has already published numbers the world will willingly remember. I cannot tell. I admire their polish—their youth is already so accomplished that it seems absurd to speak of promise—I marvel at the felicity of their style; but with all their copiousness (their vocabulary suggests that they fingered Roget's Thesaurus in their cradles) they say nothing to me: to my mind they know too much and feel too obviously; I cannot stomach the heartiness with which they slap me on the back or the emotion with which they hurl themselves on my bosom; their passion seems to me a little anaemic and their dreams a trifle dull. I do not like them. I am on the shelf. I will continue to write moral stories in rhymed couplets. But I should be thrice a fool if I did it for aught but my own entertainment.
原文的影响比较大,所以中译文难免读起来不是很通常。徐译比较自由,但其中有许多地方译文不够准确,甚至有不少错译。另外还有台湾的陈逸轩的译文,也值得一读,不过误译难免,正如毛姆对本书的主人公所说的那样,His faults are accepted as the necessary complement to his merits.这句其实并不大好译,我把这几个版本列出,请比较。
傅译:他的瑕疵在世人的眼中已经成为他的优点的必不可少的派生物。
徐译:他的缺点,被当作他的优点的必要补充而被接受。
陈译:他的缺点已为人所接受,被当成形成他有点的必然条件。
拙译:他的缺陷被人们所接受,和他的优点相映成趣,必不可少。
毛姆的文章不大好译,稍微不注意就会译错,比如以下这句:
he lays before you also the greater gift of himself.
Now the war has come, bringing with it a new attitude. Youth has turned to gods we of an earlier day knew not, and it is possible to see already the direction in which those who come after us will move. The younger generation, conscious of strength and tumultuous, have done with knocking at the door; they have burst in and seated themselves in our seats. The air is noisy with their shouts. Of their elders some, by imitating the antics of youth, strive to persuade themselves that their day is not yet over; they shout with the lustiest, but the war cry sounds hollow in their mouth; they are like poor wantons attempting with pencil, paint and powder, with shrill gaiety, to recover the illusion of their spring. The wiser go their way with a decent grace. In their chastened smile is an indulgent mockery. They remember that they too trod down a sated generation, with just such clamor and with just such scorn, and they foresee that these brave torch-bearers will presently yield their place also. There is no last word. The new evangel was old when Nineveh reared her greatness to the sky. These gallant words which seem so novel to those that speak them were said in accents scarcely changed a hundred times before. The pendulum swings backwards and forwards. The circle is ever travelled anew.
如今战火已经燃起,社会上也出现了一种新的生活态度。年轻人供奉各路神灵,作为他们的长辈,我们过去对此并不甚了解,而我们已经可以看得出这些后辈们将来的走向了。年轻一代意识到自己精力旺盛,喧闹不已,进入他人房间之前早就免了敲门之礼。他们直接闯入房间,端坐在本该属于我们的位置之上,空气中弥漫着他们的大呼小叫,甚嚣尘上。某些长辈模仿年轻人的古怪滑稽动作,硬要相信自己气数未尽;他们跟着精力最充沛的年轻人一起叫喊,但他们嘴里发出的声音只不过空洞的作战口号而已;他们如同一群楚楚可怜的青楼女子,试图通过描眉画眼、涂脂抹粉、叽叽喳喳、轻浮浪荡,以便重现自己花样年华的幻象。聪明一点的长辈则摆出一副体面端庄的姿态。他们忍俊不禁的微笑中带有一种宽容的蔑视之态。他们记起了自己也是把令人生厌的长辈踩在脚下,也是这样喧闹不止,这样不屑一顾;他们预见到这些高举火把的勇士在不久的将来也要让出自己的位置。在这个世上,谁也没有最终发言权。当尼尼微城的伟大光芒直冲云霄时,新福音书早已过时。前人曾经重复过上百次的豪言壮语,对于那些如今还在说着同样言语的人们而言,好像听起来新颖别致,然而就连他们说话的腔调几乎都和前人没什么两样。时钟的钟摆晃来荡去,时针转过一圈之后,新的一圈又会重新开始。
Sometimes a man survives a considerable time from an era in which he had his place into one which is strange to him, and then the curious are offered one of the most singular spectacles in the human comedy. Who now, for example, thinks of George Crabbe? He was a famous poet in his day, and the world recognised his genius with a unanimity which the greater complexity of modern life has rendered infrequent. He had learnt his craft at the school of Alexander Pope, and he wrote moral stories in rhymed couplets. Then came the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars, and the poets sang new songs. Mr. Crabbe continued to write moral stories in rhymed couplets. I think he must have read the verse of these young men who were making so great a stir in the world, and I fancy he found it poor stuff. Of course, much of it was. But the odes of Keats and of Wordsworth, a poem or two by Coleridge, a few more by Shelley, discovered vast realms of the spirit that none had explored before. Mr. Crabbe was as dead as mutton, but Mr. Crabbe continued to write moral stories in rhymed couplets. I have read desultorily the writings of the younger generation. It may be that among them a more fervid Keats, a more ethereal Shelley, has already published numbers the world will willingly remember. I cannot tell. I admire their polish—their youth is already so accomplished that it seems absurd to speak of promise—I marvel at the felicity of their style; but with all their copiousness (their vocabulary suggests that they fingered Roget's Thesaurus in their cradles) they say nothing to me: to my mind they know too much and feel too obviously; I cannot stomach the heartiness with which they slap me on the back or the emotion with which they hurl themselves on my bosom; their passion seems to me a little anaemic and their dreams a trifle dull. I do not like them. I am on the shelf. I will continue to write moral stories in rhymed couplets. But I should be thrice a fool if I did it for aught but my own entertainment.
有时候,一个人在某个时代享有一定的地位,结果他活得超过了那个时代相当长的一段时间,便进入了一个陌生时代,此时猎奇好事者的面前便会出现人类喜剧中最为独特的其中一幕景象。比如说,现在还有谁会想起柯昭芝?在他生活的那个年代,他曾经是位有名的诗人,全世界公认他的天赋才华,但由于现代生活的特点更为复杂,这种现象就不那么多见了。他从亚历山大●蒲柏派那里学习作诗技巧,用合辙押韵的对偶句编写道德诗。接着法国大革命和拿破仑战争先后爆发,诗人们吟唱起了新的诗歌。柯昭芝先生继续用合辙押韵的对偶句编写道德诗。我想他一定读过这些年轻一代的诗歌,他们将这个世界搅得天翻地覆,我可以想象柯昭芝一定会发现这些诗歌质量低劣,不忍卒读。当然,多数新诗固然如此。但是济慈和华兹华斯的颂诗、柯勒律治的一两首诗歌、雪莱更多的几首诗歌,却发掘出了广袤的精神王国,而在此之前人类从未探索过这些王国。柯昭芝的诗歌已经变得陈旧腐朽,但他仍继续用合辙押韵的对偶句作道德诗。我零零星星地读过年轻一代的诗作,其中或许有些人比济慈更炙热,有些人比雪莱更飘逸,这些人出版颇丰,而且世人心甘情愿地记住这些诗作。对于这一点,我无法断言。我佩服他们的文字洗练——他们这样年轻就已经学有所成,如果说他们前途无量,就显得有些荒唐可笑了——我对他们措辞贴切的文笔表示赞叹折服;但对于他们所采用的丰富词汇(从词汇量可以看出,他们好像在摇篮中吃奶时就已经翻阅《罗氏词汇宝典》了),对我而言等于什么也没说:在我看来,他们懂得太多,感受过于显而易见;他们拍打我的腰背与我套近乎的那股子亲热劲,或是将自身全身投入我的怀抱时的那种激动神情,我都吃不消;他们的激情对我而言似乎显得毫无,他们的梦想显得琐碎无聊。我并不喜欢他们。我被束置高阁。我继续用对偶句作道德诗。但是如果我写作除了自娱自乐以外,还抱有其他任何非分之想的话,那我就是个十足的大傻瓜。
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原文的影响比较大,所以中译文难免读起来不是很通常。徐译比较自由,但其中有许多地方译文不够准确,甚至有不少错译。另外还有台湾的陈逸轩的译文,也值得一读,不过误译难免,正如毛姆对本书的主人公所说的那样,His faults are accepted as the necessary complement to his merits.这句其实并不大好译,我把这几个版本列出,请比较。
傅译:他的瑕疵在世人的眼中已经成为他的优点的必不可少的派生物。
徐译:他的缺点,被当作他的优点的必要补充而被接受。
陈译:他的缺点已为人所接受,被当成形成他有点的必然条件。
拙译:他的缺陷被人们所接受,和他的优点相映成趣,必不可少。
毛姆的文章不大好译,稍微不注意就会译错,比如以下这句:
he lays before you also the greater gift of himself.
正确的译文应该是:他也把一份更伟大的礼物——他自己——摆放在你面前。
上周我贴的译文就是没有把gift理解对,所以译错了。