Ernest Hemingway

A Moveable Feast

流动的盛宴

欧内斯特·海明威（美）  著

外研社编译组  译

外语教学与研究出版社

FOREIGN LANGUAGE TEACHING AND RESEARCH PRESS

北京 Beijing

Chinese translation copyright © Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press.

本书版权由外语教学与研究出版社独家所有。如未获得该社书面同意，书中任何部分之文字及图片，不得用任何方式抄袭、节录、翻印或存储利用于任何数据库及检索系统等。

Published by Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press

No. 19 Xisanhuan Beilu

Beijing, China 100089

http://www.fltrp.com

目 录

- A Good Café On The Place St. Michel

圣米歇尔广场上一家不错的咖啡馆

- Miss Stein Instructs

斯泰因小姐的教诲

- "Une Génération Perdue"

“迷惘的一代”

- Shakespeare And Company

“莎士比亚之友”书店

- People Of The Seine

塞纳河畔的人们

- A False Spring

假想的春天

- The End Of An Avocation

一项业余爱好的结束

- Hunger Was Good Discipline

饥饿是可贵的锻炼

- Ford Madox Ford And The Devil'S Disciple

福特·马多克斯·福特和魔鬼的信徒

- Birth Of A New School

一个新学派的诞生

- With Pascin At The Déme

在圆顶咖啡馆和帕散在一起

- Ezra Pound And His Bel Esprit

埃兹拉·庞德和他的“才子”

- A Strange Enough Ending

一个很奇怪的结局

- The Man Who Was Marked For Death

一个带着死亡征兆的人

- Evan Shipman At The Lilas

丁香园咖啡馆里的埃文·希普曼

- An Agent Of Evil

邪恶的化身

- Scott Fitzgerald

司各特·菲茨杰拉德

- Hawks Do Not Share

老鹰不善分享

- A Matter Of Measurements

一个大小的问题

- There Is Never Any End To Paris

巴黎永不灭

A Good Café On The Place St. Michel

圣米歇尔广场上一家不错的咖啡馆

Then there was the bad weather. It would come in one day when the fall was over. We would have to shut the windows in the night against the rain and the cold wind would strip the leaves from the trees in the Place Contrescarpe[1]. The leaves lay sodden in the rain and wind drove the rain against the big green autobus at the terminal and the Café des Amateurs was crowded and the windows misted over from the heat and the smoke inside. It was a sad, evilly run café where the drunkards of the quarter crowded together and I kept away from it because of the smell of dirty bodies and the sour smell of drunkenness. The men and women who frequented the Amateurs stayed drunk all of the time, or all of the time they could afford it, mostly on wine which they bought by the half-liter or liter. Many strangely named apéritifs were advertised, but few people could afford them except as a foundation to build their wine drunks on. The women drunkards were called poivrottes which meant female rummies.

那会儿天气很糟。秋天一结束，这种天气在一天内就开始了。为了防雨，夜里我们只能关上窗户。寒风吹落了护墙广场上的树叶，落叶浸在雨中，风吹着雨，雨点打在终点站绿色的大公共汽车上。艾美特咖啡馆挤满了人，屋里的热气和烟雾模糊了窗户。这家令人伤心、经营不善的咖啡馆是这个区酒鬼聚集的地方。我不去那儿，因为那些人肮脏的身体恶臭难闻，醉酒后还发出一股酸味。经常出入艾美特的男男女女总是醉醺醺的，或者说他们总是有钱买醉，大多情况下他们喝的是葡萄酒，一买就是半升或一升。到处可见名字怪异的开胃酒在做广告，但很少人能买得起，除非他们要以此垫底，然后喝葡萄酒喝个大醉。人们把醉酒的女人叫做poivrottes，就是女酒鬼的意思。

The Café des Amateurs was the cesspool of the rue Mouffetard, that wonderful narrow crowded market street which led into the Place Contrescarpe. The squat toilets of the old apartment houses, one by the side of the stairs on each floor with the two cleated cement shoe-shaped elevations on each side of the aperture so a locataire would not slip, emptied into cesspools which were emptied by pumping into horse-drawn tank wagons at night. In the summer time, with all windows open, we would hear the pumping and the odor was very strong. The tank wagons were painted brown and saffron color and in the moonlight when they worked the rue Cardinal Lemoine their wheeled, horse-drawn cylinder looked like Braque[2] paintings. No one emptied the Café des Amateurs though, and its yellowed poster stating the terms and penalties of the law against public drunkenness was as flyblown and disregarded as its clients were constant and ill-smelling.

艾美特咖啡馆就是慕夫塔大街的污水坑，这条大街是通向护墙广场的一条出奇狭窄而拥挤的闹市街。那些古旧公寓每层楼梯旁都有一个蹲式厕所，蹲坑两边各有一个加固的鞋形水泥踩脚台，以防房客摔倒。这些蹲厕中的粪便会排入污水池中，夜里污水池会由马拉式粪罐车抽空。夏天，因为窗户开着，我们能听见粪罐车抽粪的声音，闻到阵阵恶臭。粪罐车漆成褐色和藏红色。在月色中，当这些粪罐车在勒穆瓦纳主教街工作的时候，装在轮子上的马拉圆筒粪罐看上去就像布拉克的油画。然而却没人为艾美特咖啡馆排污。咖啡馆里发黄的公告上写着禁止公众酗酒的法律条款与处罚条例，上面蝇屎斑斑，污秽不堪，但无人理会，就像咖啡馆的客人一样，一成不变，而且一身臭气。

All of the sadness of the city came suddenly with the first cold rains of winter, and there were no more tops to the high white houses as you walked but only the wet blackness of the street and the closed door of the small shops, the herb sellers, the stationary and the newspaper shops, the midwife—second class—and the hotel where Verlaine[3] had died where I had a room on the top floor where I worked.

这座城市的所有悲伤随着冬季的头几场冷雨骤然而至。散步时，再也看不见高高的白色房子的房顶，只看见湿漉漉的漆黑街道、关了门的小商铺、卖草药的小贩、文具店和报刊亭、助产士——二流的——还有一家旅馆，魏尔兰就是在那儿去世的，我也曾在旅馆顶层的一间房间里工作过。

It was either six or eight flights up to the top floor and it was very cold and I knew how much it would cost for a bundle of small twigs, three wire-wrapped packets of short, half-pencil length pieces of split pine to catch fire from the twigs, and then the bundle of half-dried lengths of hard wood that I must buy to make a fire that would warm the room. So I went to the far side of the street to look up at the roof in the rain and see if any chimneys were going, and how the smoke blew. There was no smoke and I thought about how the chimney would be cold and might not draw and of the room possibly filling with smoke, and the fuel wasted, and the money gone with it, and I walked on in the rain. I walked down past the Lycée Henri Quatre and the ancient church of St. Etienne-du-Mont to the windswept Place du Panthéon and cut in for shelter to the right and finally came out on the lee side of the Boulevard St. Michel and worked on down it past the Cluny and the Boulevard St. Germain until I came to a good café that I knew on the Place St. Michel.

到顶层要走六段或八段楼梯。屋里非常冷，我知道要生火让房间暖和需要买的东西得花多少钱：一捆小树枝，三小捆金属丝包捆好的半支铅笔那么短短一截长、用来从小树枝上取火的松木劈柴，还有一捆半干的硬木。所以我到街的远侧，仰望雨中的屋顶，看看是否有冒烟的烟囱，烟是如何升起的。没有烟。我想着烟囱为什么会变冷且无法通风，想着房间里可能烟雾弥漫，浪费了柴火，白白烧了那些钱。想着这些，我继续在雨中漫步。我经过了亨利四世中学、古老的圣埃德尼杜蒙教堂和寒风凛凛的先贤祠，从右边进去避避风雨，最后从圣米歇尔大街背风的一头出来，顺着街继续往前走，经过克鲁尼教堂和圣谢荷曼大街，一直走到圣米歇尔广场上我知道的一家不错的咖啡馆。

It was a pleasant café, warm and clean and friendly, and I hung up my old waterproof on the coat rack to dry and put my worn and weathered felt hat on the rack above the bench and ordered a café au lait. The waiter brought it and I took out a notebook from the pocket of the coat and a pencil and started to write. I was writing about up in Michigan and since it was a wild, cold, blowing day it was that sort of day in the story. I had already seen the end of fall come through boyhood, youth and young manhood, and in one place you could write about it better than in another. That was called transplanting yourself, I thought and it could be as necessary with people as with other sorts of growing things. But in the story the boys were drinking and this made me thirsty and I ordered a rum St. James. This tasted wonderful on the cold day and I kept on writing, feeling very well and feeling the good Martinique[4] rum warm me all through my body and my spirit.

这是一家舒适的咖啡馆，暖和、干净、亲切。我把那身旧雨衣挂在衣帽架上晾干，把我那磨损破旧的毡帽挂在长条凳上的架子上，要了一杯牛奶咖啡。侍者端来咖啡，我从外套口袋里拿出笔记本和铅笔，开始写作。故事里我描述的是发生在密歇根北部的事。因为当天刮着风，天气寒冷，故事里也是这样的天气。不管是孩童时代、少年时代还是青年时代，我都经历过这种暮秋的日子，而故事在一个地方可能比在另一个地方写得更好。我想这就是所谓的自我移植，这对人来说也许和对其他成长变化的东西一样都是必要的。不过，故事中，男孩们正喝着酒，这让我也感到口渴，于是叫了杯圣詹姆斯朗姆酒。这样一杯酒在大冷天里喝起来感觉棒极了。我继续写故事，感觉很好。品尝上好的马提尼克朗姆酒让我全身都暖和起来，也振奋了我的精神�

A girl came in the café and sat by herself at a table near the window. She was very pretty with a face fresh as a newly minted coin if they minted coins in smooth flesh with rain-freshened skin, and her hair was black as a crow's wing and cut sharply and diagonally across her cheek.

一个女孩走进咖啡馆，独自坐在一张靠窗的桌旁。她非常漂亮，一张清新的脸就像新铸造的钱币——如果人们真的在光滑的皮肉和雨后涣然一新的皮肤上铸币的话。她的头发像乌鸦的翅膀一样黑，修剪出清晰的轮廓，斜贴着她的脸颊。

I looked at her and she disturbed me and made me very excited. I wished I could put her in the story, or anywhere, but she had placed herself so she could watch the street and the entry and I knew she was waiting for someone. So I went on writing.

我看着她，她打断了我的思路，让我心潮澎湃。我希望能把她写入故事，或是别的什么作品。但是她已经坐在了一个能看见大街和入口的位置，我知道她在等人。于是我继续写作。

The story was writing itself and I was having a hard time keeping up with it. I ordered another rum St. James and I watched the girl whenever I looked up, or when I sharpened the pencil with a pencil sharpener with the shavings curling into the saucer under my drink.

故事信马由缰，我很难赶上它的步伐，于是又叫了一杯圣詹姆斯朗姆酒。每每抬头，或者用转笔刀削铅笔，我都注视着那个女孩，卷曲的铅笔花掉在朗姆酒杯下垫着的杯托上。

I've seen you, beauty, and you belong to me now, whoever you are waiting for and if I never see you again, I thought. You belong to me and all Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and this pencil.

我见到你了，美丽的女孩！我想不管你在等谁，即使我再也见不到你，此时你就属于我。你属于我，整个巴黎属于我，而我属于这个笔记本和这支铅笔。

Then I went back to writing and I entered far into the story and was lost in it. I was writing it now and it was not writing itself and I did not look up nor know anything about the time nor think where I was nor order any more rum St. James. I was tired of rum St. James without thinking about it. Then the story was finished and I was very tired. I read the last paragraph and then I looked up and looked for the girl and she had gone. I hope she's gone with a good man, I thought. But I felt sad.

然后我又继续写作，全神贯注地进入故事，忘我其中。现在是我在写故事，故事不再信马由缰，我也不再抬头看，忘了时间，不去想身在何处，也不再叫圣詹姆斯朗姆酒了。想都不用想，我已经喝腻了这酒。后来这篇故事写完了，我也累极了。读完最后一段，我抬头寻找那个女孩，她已经走了。但愿和她一起走的是个好男人，我想。但我还是觉得难过。

I closed up the story in the notebook and put it in my inside pocket and I asked the waiter for a dozen portugaises and a half-carafe of the dry white wine they had there. After writing a story I was always empty and both sad and happy, as though I had made love, and I was sure this was a very good story although I would not know truly how good until I read it over the next day.

我在笔记本中写完故事，把本子放入外套的内侧口袋，向侍者要了一打他们那里的葡萄牙牡蛎和半瓶干白葡萄酒。写完一个故事后我总是有一种被掏空的感觉，既忧愁又欢喜，就如同做完爱一样。我相信这是个很好的故事，尽管只有等第二天我将它通读一遍才能知道它究竟有多好。

As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and to make plans.

我吃着带有浓烈海腥味和些微金属味的牡蛎，喝冰镇白葡萄酒将这种金属味道冲淡，只留下海腥味和多汁的口感，然后啜吸每一个贝壳上冰凉的汁液，用清爽的白葡萄酒将之送入腹中，我于是没了那种被掏空的感觉，开始高兴起来，盘算着下一步计划。

Now that the bad weather had come, we could leave Paris for a while for a place where this rain would be snow coming down through the pines and covering the road and the high hillsides and at an altitude where we would hear it creak as we walked home at night. Below Les Avants[5] there was a chalet where the pension was wonderful and where we would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright. That was where we could go. Traveling third class on the train was not expensive. The pension cost very little more than we spent in Paris.

既然糟糕的天气已经来临，我们可以离开巴黎一阵，去一个下雪而不下这种雨的地方。在那里，雪从松枝上滑落，铺满路面和高高的山坡。在山上，夜里我们走路回家时还能听见积雪吱吱响的声音。莱扎旺山脚下有一座牧人小屋，食宿非常不错。我们可以一起去那儿，带上我们的书，晚上可以一起躺在暖和的被窝里，开着窗，看闪亮的星光。那就是我们可以去的地方。坐火车三等车厢并不贵。食宿开销也不比我们在巴黎多多少。

I would give up the room in the hotel where I wrote and there was only the rent of 74 rue Cardinal Lemoine which was nominal. I had written journalism for Toronto[6] and the checks for that were due. I could write that anywhere under any circumstances and we had money to make the trip.

我要退了在旅馆写作的房间，这样就只需付勒穆瓦纳主教街74号那微不足道的房租了。我为多伦多写过新闻报道，稿费的支票该到了。无论在何地，无论周遭的环境如何，我都可以写这种报道。因此我们有钱作这次旅行。

Maybe away from Paris I could write about Paris as in Paris I could write about Michigan. I did not know it was too early for that because I did not know Paris well enough. But that was how it worked out eventually. Anyway we would go if my wife wanted to, and I finished the oysters and the wine and paid my score in the café and made it the shortest way back up the Montagne Ste. Geneviéve through the rain, that was now only local weather and not something that changed your life, to the fl at at the top of the hill.

也许离开了巴黎，我就可以写写巴黎，就像在巴黎我能写写密歇根一样。我还不知道此时为时尚早，因为我对巴黎还了解得不够。但是巴黎最终就是这么写出来的。不管怎么说，只要妻子想去，我们就走。我吃完牡蛎，喝完酒，付了咖啡馆的账，抄了一条最近的路冒雨赶回圣热纳维埃弗山山顶的公寓。下雨只不过是当地的天气，并不是改变生活的什么东西。

"I think it would be wonderful, Tatie[7]," my wife said. She had a gently modeled face and her eyes and her smile lighted up at decisions as though they were rich presents. "When should we leave?"

“我觉得这个主意好极了，塔蒂。”我妻子说。她有一张线条优雅的脸。每次作出决定时，她眼睛会一亮，露出笑容，就像这些决定是丰厚的礼物。“我们什么时候走？”

"Whenever you want."

“你想什么时候就什么时候。”

"Oh, I want to right away. Didn't you know?"

“哦，我想马上就走。难道你不知道么？”

"Maybe it will be fine and clear when we come back. It can be very fine when it is clear and cold."

“等我们回来，也许这儿的天气就晴好了。晴朗的冷天，也是很不错的天气。”

"I'm sure it will be," she said. "Weren't you good to think of going, too."

“我相信天气一定会转好的。”她说，“你想到了去旅行不是也很好嘛。”

(1)护墙广场，位于左岸拉丁区，广场上有很多咖啡馆，是艺术家和作家经常去的地方。

(2)布拉克（1882—1963），法国画家、立体主义代表。

(3)魏尔兰（1844—1896），法国象征派诗人。

(4)马提尼克，岛屿名字，在向风群岛中部，是法国的海外省。

(5)莱扎旺山，位于瑞士的滑雪胜。

(6)该词这里指《多伦多星报》，当时作者任该报驻巴黎记者，后来辞职当专职作家。

(7)塔蒂，海明威给自己起的绰号。欧内斯特·海明威是以他的外祖父欧内斯特·霍尔的名字命名的。海明威很讨厌这个名字，将它与奥斯卡·王尔德的喜剧《认真的重要性》中那个天真得可愚的主人相联，所以他常常为自己起绰号，包括Wemedge,Taty,Stein,Hemingstein，最后他叫自己为德高望重、一家之主的Papa。

Miss Stein Instructs

斯泰因小姐的教诲

When we came back to Paris it was clear and cold and lovely. The city had accommodated itself to winter, there was good wood for sale at the wood and coal place across our street, and there were braziers outside of many of the good cafés so that you could keep warm on the terraces. Our own apartment was warm and cheerful. We burned boulets which were molded, egg-shaped lumps of coal dust, on the wood fire, and on the streets the winter light was beautiful. Now you were accustomed to see the bare trees against the sky and you walked on the fresh-washed gravel paths through the Luxembourg gardens in the clear sharp wind. The trees were sculpture without their leaves when you were reconciled to them, and the winter winds blew across the surfaces of the ponds and the fountains blew in the bright light. All the distances were short now since we had been in the mountains.

我们回到巴黎时天气晴朗，虽然很冷，但很舒服。这座城市已经适应了冬天。街对面卖柴禾木炭的地方能买到好柴禾。许多不错的咖啡馆外面生着火盆，你可以在台阶上取暖。我们自己的公寓温暖而令人愉悦。我们在柴火上烧煤灰压制的蛋形煤球，街道上，冬日的阳光异常美丽。现在你已经习惯了看光秃秃的树映衬着天空，在刺骨干爽的冷风中沿着冲刷一新的砾石路穿过卢森堡花园。当你习惯了它们，掉光了叶子的树就宛如雕塑。冬天的风拂过池塘水面，喷泉在灿烂的阳光中绽放。因为我们曾在山里呆过，所有的远景现在都变得很近。

Because of the change in altitude I did not notice the grade of the hills except with pleasure, and the climb up to the top floor of the hotel where I worked, in a room that looked across all the roofs and the chimneys of the high hill of the quarter, was a pleasure. The fireplace drew well in the room and it was warm and pleasant to work. I brought mandarines and roasted chestnuts to the room in paper packets and peeled and ate the small tangerine-like oranges and threw their skins and spat their seeds in the fire when I ate them and roasted chestnuts when I was hungry. I was always hungry with the walking and the cold and the working. Up in the room I had a bottle of kirsch that we had brought back from the mountains and I took a drink of kirsch when I would get toward the end of a story or toward the end of the day's work. When I was through working for the day I put away the notebook, or the paper, in the drawer of the table and put any mandarines that were left in my pocket. They would freeze if they were left in the room at night.

由于海拔的改变，我并没有注意到山的坡度，却是满心欢喜。爬上旅馆顶层我写作的房间，从那儿就能看到这个地区高山上的所有屋顶和烟囱，那是一件愉快的事。房间里壁炉通风好，写作时既暖和又舒服。我用纸袋装了些柑橘和烤栗子带到房间，剥开像丹吉尔红橘一样的橘子吃了，把橘子皮扔到火中，把籽儿也吐到火中，饿了我就吃烤栗子。走路、寒冷、写作总是让我感到饥饿。楼上房间里有一瓶我从山里带回来的樱桃酒。故事即将收尾，或者一天写作将要结束时，我就喝点儿樱桃酒。结束一天的写作，我就收起笔记本或者稿纸，放入桌子的抽屉里，把剩下的橘子装入口袋。夜里要是把这些橘子留在房间，它们会冻住的。

It was wonderful to walk down the long flights of stairs knowing that I'd had good luck working. I always worked until I had something done and I always stopped when I knew what was going to happen next. That way I could be sure of going on the next day. But sometimes when I was starting a new story and I could not get it going, I would sit in front of the fire and squeeze the peel of the little oranges into the edge of the f lame and watch the sputter of blue that they made. I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, "Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know." So finally I would write one true sentence, and then go on from there. It was easy then because there was always one true sentence that I knew or had seen or had heard someone say. If I started to write elaborately, or like someone introducing or presenting something, I found that I could cut that scrollwork or ornament out and throw it away and start with the first true simple declarative sentence I had written. Up in that room I decided that I would write one story about each thing that I knew about. I was trying to do this all the time I was writing, and it was good and severe discipline.

我顺着长长的楼梯往下走，想着当天写作进展顺利，真是一件美妙的事。我总是完成一部分写作才会停下，或者当我知道下一步会如何进展时，总是停笔，这样我就知道第二天该怎么写了。不过，有时候当我开始一个新故事却不知如何继续的时候，就会坐在壁炉边，把小橘子皮的汁挤到火苗边上，看着它们在蓝色的火光中噼啪作响。我会站在那儿，向外眺望巴黎的屋顶，心想：“别担心。你以前就一直写作，现在也能写。你要做的就是写出一句真实的句子。写出你了解的最真实的句子。”这样，最后我会写出一句真实的句子，然后从那儿接着往下写。这时就容易了，因为总有一句我知道或看过或听人说过的真实的句子。要是一开始就苦心经营，或者像有些人介绍或展示什么东西那样，我发现我会删除掉那些冗长的话或修饰语，而从已经写出的第一句真实简单的陈述句开始。在楼上那个房间，我下定决心要把我知道的每一件事都写成一个故事。写作的时候我一直努力这样做。这是有益而严格的锻炼。

It was in that room too that I learned not to think about anything that I was writing from the time I stopped writing until I started again the next day. That way my subconscious would be working on it and at the same time I would be listening to other people and noticing everything, I hoped; learning, I hoped; and I would read so that I would not think about my work and make myself impotent to do it. Going down the stairs when I had worked well, and that needed luck as well as disciple, was a wonderful feeling and I was free then to walk anywhere in Paris.

也就是在那个房间，我学会了从停笔到第二天重新动笔前不去想我正在写的任何东西。这样，我的潜意识会继续工作，同时我又能倾听别人，注意到每一件事，持续学习，我希望如此；为了不让自己净想着写作，以致无力再写下去，我会阅读。当写作进展顺利——当然这不仅需要训练，而且还要有点运气——我走下楼梯，那是一种美妙的感觉。那时我就可以在巴黎的任何地方自由自在地散步。

If I walked down by different streets to the Jardin du Luxembourg in the afternoon I could walk through the gardens and then go to the Musée du Luxembourg where the great paintings were that have now mostly been transferred to the Louvre and the Jeu de Paume. I went there nearly every day for the Cézannes and to see the Manets and the Monets and the other impressionism that I had first come to know about in the Art Institute at Chicago. I was learning something from the painting of Cézanne that made writing simple true sentences far from enough to make the stories have the dimensions that I was trying to put in them, I was learning very much from him but I was not articulate enough to explain it to anyone. Besides it was a secret. But if the light was gone in the Luxembourg I would walk up through the gardens and stop in at the studio apartment where Gertrude Stein[1] lived at 27 rue de Fleurus.

如果下午经由不同的大街走到卢森堡公园，我就可以穿过花园走到卢森堡博物馆。那儿的著名画作现在大多都已经转移到卢浮宫和网球场国家画廊了。我几乎每天都去那儿看塞尚、马奈、莫奈以及我最早在芝加哥艺术学院开始了解的其他印象派画家的画。那时我正从塞尚的画里学东西，那就是，要使故事具有我正努力达到的深度，写简单真实的句子还远远不够。我从他那儿学到了很多东西，但我不善表达，无法向任何人解释清楚。况且，这还是个秘密。如果卢森堡博物馆里的灯熄了，我就穿过公园，顺便拜访格特鲁德·斯泰因在花园街27号的工作室公寓。

My wife and I had called on Miss Stein, and she and the friend[2] who lived with her had been very cordial and friendly and we had loved the big studio with the great paintings. It was like one of the best rooms in the finest museum except there was a big fireplace and it was warm and comfortable and they gave you good things to eat and tea and natural distilled liqueurs made from purple plums, yellow plums or wild raspberries. These were fragrant, colorless alcohols served from cutglass carafes in small glasses and whether they were quetsche, mirabelle or framboise they all tasted like the fruits they came from, converted into a controlled fire on your tongue that warmed you and loosened it.

妻子和我曾经拜访过斯泰因小姐，她和与她一同居住的朋友都很热情友善。我们很喜欢那个挂着名画的大工作室，它就像最精美的博物馆里一间最精致的展室，不同的是这里有一个温暖舒适的大壁炉，主人还招待可口的食物和茶水，还有用紫梅、黄梅或野覆盆子酿造的天然蒸馏的利口酒。这些酒都醇香无色，喝的时候从刻花玻璃瓶倒入小玻璃酒杯。无论这酒是李子白兰地，布拉斯李酒或是木莓白兰地，味道都像用来酿酒的原果，在舌尖化成一簇小小的火焰，让你暖和起来，话也就多了起来。

Miss Stein was very big but not tall and was heavily built like a peasant woman. She had beautiful eyes and a strong German-Jewish face that also could have been Friulano and she reminded me of a northern Italian peasant woman with her clothes, her mobile face and her lovely, thick, alive immigrant hair which she wore put up in the same way she had probably worn it in college. She talked all the time and at first it was about people and places.

斯泰因小姐块头大，但个儿不高，体格壮实得如农妇一般。她的眼睛很漂亮，长着一张德国犹太人的坚毅的脸，也可能是弗留利人。她的衣着，表情丰富的脸，以及可爱、浓密、有生气的移民者的头发，梳着很可能还是她大学时才梳的样式，这些都让我联想到意大利北部的农妇。她一直在说话，且从人物和地方开始谈起。

Her companion had a very pleasant voice, was small, very dark, with her hair cut like Joan of Arc in the Boutet de Monvel[3] illustrations and had a very hooked nose. She was working on a piece of needlepoint when we first met them and she worked on this and saw to the food and drink and talked to my wife. She made one conversation and listened to two and often interrupted the one she was not making. Afterwards she explained to me that she always talked to the wives. The wives, my wife and I felt, were tolerated. But we liked Miss Stein and her friend, although the friend was frightening. The paintings and the cakes and the eau-de-vie were truly wonderful. They seemed to like us too and treated us as though we were very good, well mannered and promising children and I felt that they forgave us for being in love and being married—time would fix that—and when my wife invited them to tea, they accepted.

她的同伴声音非常悦耳，身材小巧玲珑，肤色很黑，头发修剪得像布特·德·蒙维插图中的圣女贞德一样，还长着一个很尖的鹰钩鼻。我们第一次和她们见面时，她正在做刺绣。她一边做着刺绣，一边关照着食物和饮料，还和我的妻子说着话。她和这边说着话，却同时听着那边两个人的谈话，还不时打断那边她没有参与的谈话。后来她向我解释，她总是和妻子们说话。妻子和我都感觉到，妻子们是可以被宽容的。不过我们都喜欢斯泰因小姐和她的朋友，虽然这个朋友令人心生畏惧。画作、蛋糕，还有白兰地，真是美妙极了。她们似乎也喜欢我们，对待我们就像我们是乖巧听话、彬彬有礼、前途光明的孩子一样。我觉得她们不介意我们相爱并且结了婚——时间会证明这一点的——我的妻子邀请她们来喝茶，她们答应了。

When they came to our flat they seemed to like us even more; but perhaps that was because the place was so small and we were much closer together. Miss Stein sat on the bed that was on the floor and asked to see the stories I had written and she said that she liked them except one called "Up in Michigan."

她们来我们公寓时似乎更加喜欢我们了，但也许那是因为地方太小，我们距离更近的缘故。斯泰因小姐坐在铺在地上的床垫上，提出要看我写的小说，说我写的故事她都喜欢，除了一个叫做《在密歇根州北部》的故事。

"It's good," she said. "That's not the question at all. But it is inaccrochable. That means it is like a picture that a painter paints and then he cannot hang it when he has a show and nobody will buy it because they cannot hang it either."

“故事不错，”她说，“这倒毫无疑问。但不能公之于众。就是说，就像一个画家画了幅画，办画展的时候却不能把它挂出来。没有人会买它，因为他们也不能挂出这幅画。”

"But what if it is not dirty but it is only that you are trying to use words that people would actually use? That are the only words that can make the story come true and that you must use them? You have to use them."

“但如果这不是脏话，你只是想用人们现实中会用的语言呢？只有这样的语言才能使故事真实，你必须用怎么办？你不得不用它们。”

"But you don't get the point at all," she said. "You mustn't write anything that is inaccrochable. There is no point in it. It's wrong and it's silly."

“你根本没有理解我的意思，”她说，“你一定不能写不能公之于众的东西。这么做没有意义。这是错误的，而且很愚蠢。”

She herself wanted to be published in the Atlantic Monthly[4], she told me, and she would be. She told me that I was not a good enough writer to be published there or in The Saturday Evening Post[5] but that I might be some new sort of writer in my own way but the first thing to remember was not to write stories that were inaccrochable. I did not argue about this nor try to explain again what I was trying to do about conversation. That was my own business and it was much more interesting to listen. That afternoon she told us, too, how to buy pictures.

她告诉我，她希望自己的作品能在《大西洋月刊》上发表，并且会发表的。她还告诉我，我还不是个够格的作家，在《大西洋月刊》或《星期六晚邮报》上还发表不了作品，但我可能会成为独具风格的新型作家，而我首先要牢记的就是不要写不能公之于众的小说。对此我没有争辩，也没有再去解释我想怎么处理人物对话。那是我自己的事，而且听别人说话更有意思。那天下午她还告诉我们如何买画。

"You can either buy clothes or buy pictures," she said. "It's that simple. No one who is not very rich can do both. Pay no attention to your clothes and no attention at all to the mode, and buy your clothes for comfort and durability, and you will have the clothes money to buy pictures."

“你要么买衣服，要么买画，”她说，“就是这么简单。不算很富裕的人不可能两者都买。不要花心思在衣服上，一点儿都不要在乎款式，就买舒服、耐穿的衣服，这样你就能把买衣服的钱用来买画了。”

"But even if I never bought any more clothing ever," I said, "I wouldn't have enough money to buy the Picassos that I want."

“可是即使我从不买新衣服，”我说，“我也没有足够的钱去买我想要的毕加索的画。”

"No. He's out of your range. You have to buy the people of your own age—of your own military service group. You'll know them. You'll meet them around the quarter. There are always good new serious painters. But it's not you buying clothes so much. It's your wife always. It's women's clothes that are expensive."

“是的，他不在你的购买范围里。你只能买同龄画家的画——和你在同一个兵团服役的画家。你会认识他们的。在这个区附近你就能碰见他们。画家中总是不乏认真的后起之秀。但是不是你买衣服多，买衣服的总是你妻子。贵的总是女人的衣服。”

I saw my wife trying not to look at the strange, steerage clothes that Miss Stein wore and she was successful. When they left we were still popular, I thought, and we were asked to come again to 27 rue de Fleurus.

我看出妻子尽量不去看斯泰因小姐那身怪异、不上档次的衣服，她做得很成功。她们离开的时候，我想，她们仍然喜欢我们，而且再次邀请我们去花园街27号。

It was later on that I was asked to come to the studio any time after five in the winter time. I had met Miss Stein in the Luxembourg. I cannot remember whether she was walking her dog or not, nor whether she had a dog then. I know that I was walking myself, since we could not afford a dog nor even a cat then, and the only cats I knew were in the cafés or small restaurants or the great cats that I admired in concierges' windows. Later I often met Miss Stein with her dog in the Luxembourg gardens; but I think this time was before she had one.

到后来冬天了，斯泰因小姐邀请我在五点以后的任何时候都可以去她的工作室。我在卢森堡公园偶遇过斯泰因小姐。我忘了她是否在遛狗，也不记得那会儿她是否养了狗。我只记得我是自己一个人散步，因为那会儿我们还养不起狗，甚至连只猫都养不起。我唯一认识的就是在咖啡馆或小餐馆的猫，或是门房窗户里让我羡慕不已的肥猫。之后我经常在卢森堡花园碰见斯泰因小姐遛狗，但我觉得这次碰见她时她还没养狗。

But I accepted her invitation, dog or no dog, and had taken to stopping in at the studio, and she always gave me the natural eau-de-vie, insisting on my refilling my glass, and I looked at the pictures and we talked. The pictures were exciting and the talk was very good. She talked, mostly, and she told me about modern pictures and about painters— more about them as people than as painters—and she talked about her work. She showed me the many volumes of manuscript that she had written and that her companion typed each day. Writing every day made her happy, but as I got to know her better I found that for her to keep happy it was necessary that this steady daily output, which varied with her energy, be published and that she receive recognition.

不过，不管养没养狗，我接受了她的邀请，并且习惯了顺道拜访她的工作室。她总是给我倒上天然的白兰地，并且执意要我续杯。我则欣赏着画，和她聊天。这些画很令人兴奋，而我们的谈话也很愉快。大多时候都是她在说话，她向我介绍现代油画和画家——更多的时候是把他们当作普通人而不是画家向我介绍——她也谈自己的作品，给我看她写的、由她的同伴每天打出来的好几卷手稿。每天的写作让她很高兴，但是当我进一步了解她之后，我发现，对她来说，保持愉快的必要条件是每天固定写出来的这些东西能够发表，她能得到认可，数量的多少视她的精力而异。

This had not become an acute situation when I first knew her, since she had published three stories that were intelligible to anyone. One of there stories, "Melanctha[6],'' was very good and good samples of her experimental writing had been published in book form and had been well praised by critics who had met her or known her. She had such a personality that when she wished to win anyone over to her side she would not be resisted, and critics who met her and saw her pictures took on trust writing of hers that they could not understand because of their enthusiasm for her as a person, and because of their confidence in her judgment. She had also discovered many truths about rhythms and the uses of words in repetition that were valid and valuable and she talked well about them.

我刚认识她的时候，这种情况并不严重，因为她已经发表了三篇人人都能读懂的小说。其中一篇以单行本形式发表的《梅兰克莎》写得非常好，是她实验性作品的范例，见过她或熟知她的评论家都给予了很高的评价。她是这样一个人：只要她想赢得谁的支持，别人总是抗拒不了，见过她、看过她的藏画的评论家都会对她的作品产生信任感，尽管他们看不懂，因为他们热衷于她这个人，因为他们相信她的判断力。她还探索了韵律的许多特点以及如何重复用词，这些都让人信服，而且颇具价值。对此她也讲得头头是道。

But she disliked the drudgery of revision and the obligation to make her writing intelligible, although she needed to have publication and official acceptance, especially for the unbelievably long book called The Making of Americans[7].

但是她不喜欢单调乏味的修改工作，也讨厌履行把作品写得简单易懂的义务，虽然她需要出版作品，需要得到官方的认可，尤其是那本《美国人的形成》，一本冗长得不可思议的书。

This book began magnificently, went on very well for a long way with great stretches of great brilliance and then went on endlessly in repetitions that a more conscientious and less lazy writer would have put in the waste basket. I came to know it very well as I got—forced, perhaps would be the word—Ford Madox Ford to publish it in The Transatlantic Review[8] serially, knowing that it would outrun the life of the review. For publication in the review I had to read all of Miss Stein's proof for her as this was a work which gave her no happiness.

这本书开篇精彩，接下来很长篇幅都很不错，文笔华丽，但随后就没完没了地重复，任何一个比她多点责任心又不像她那么懒的作家都会把这部分扔进垃圾桶。我让——也许应该说“逼迫”——福特·麦克多斯·福特在《跨大西洋评论》上连载这本书时终于明白了这一点，我知道刊载完这本书需要的时间可能比《评论》的寿命还要长。为了在《评论》上发表这本书，我不得不替斯泰因小姐阅读她所有的校对稿，因为这样的工作不能给她带来乐趣。

On this cold afternoon when I had come past the concierge's lodge and the cold courtyard to the warmth of the studio, all that was years ahead. On this day Miss Stein was instructing me about sex. By that time we liked each other very much and I had already learned that everything I did not understand probably had something to it. Miss Stein thought that I was too uneducated about sex and I must admit that I had certain prejudices against homosexuality since I knew its more primitive aspects. I knew it was why you carried a knife and would use it when you were in the company of tramps when you were a boy in the days when wolves was not a slang term for men obsessed by the pursuit of women. I knew many inaccrochable terms and phrases from Kansas City days[9] and the mores of different parts of that city, Chicago and the lake boats. Under questioning I tried to tell Miss Stein that when you were a boy and moved in the company of men, you had to be prepared to kill a man, know how to do it and really know that you would do it in order not to be interfered with. That term was accrochable. If you knew you would kill, other people sensed it very quickly and you were let alone; but there were certain situations you could not allow yourself to be forced into or trapped into. I could have expressed myself more vividly by using an inaccrochable phrase that wolves used on the lake boats, "Oh gash may be fine but one eye for mine." But I was always careful of my language with Miss Stein even when true phrases might have clarified or better expressed a prejudice.

在这个寒冷的下午，我经过门房处，穿过寒冷的院子，来到温暖的工作室，前面说的都是几年以后的事了。这天，斯泰因小姐向我灌输关于性的知识。那时候我们都很喜欢对方，我也已经明白，任何我不懂的东西可能都和这有点关系。斯泰因小姐认为我在性方面太无知了，而我必须承认，自从我了解了同性恋较为原始的方面以来，我就对同性恋抱有某种偏见。我知道这就是为什么当你还是个孩童时，当“色狼”还未用来作为对那些沉迷于追求女人的男人的俗称时，你就得随身准备一把小刀，在和一群流浪汉厮混时还会用上它。在堪萨斯城的日子里，我了解了很多有伤大雅的词语和短语以及该城市的不同地方、芝加哥和湖泊船只上的习俗。追问之下，我试图告诉斯泰因小姐，当你还是个孩童时，并且在一群男人中周旋，你不得不做好杀人的准备，懂得怎么杀人，并且真正明白为了防止被侵犯你会杀人的。那个词无伤大雅。如果你知道自己要杀人，别人很快就能察觉出来，这样你就不会被侵犯；不过有一些情况你是不能允许自己被逼入或被困于其中的。要是用色狼在湖泊船只上用的一句见不得人的话，我也许能表达得更加形象：“哦，也许有个裂缝就行，但我要有个眼儿。”可是在斯泰因小姐面前我总是谨言慎语，即使当真实的话语也许能澄清或更好地表达一种偏见时，我也是很小心。

"Yes, yes, Hemingway," she said. "But you were living in a milieu of criminals and perverts."

“没错，没错，海明威，”她说，“不过你那时生活在一群罪犯和堕落者中。”

I did not want to argue that, although I thought that I had lived in a world as it was and there were all kinds of people in it and I tried to understand them, although some of them I could not like and some I still hated.

我不想争辩，虽然我认为我曾经生活的世界是真实的，里面有各种各样的人，我努力去了解他们，尽管其中有些人我无法喜欢，有些人我仍然厌恶不已。

"But what about the old man with beautiful manners and a great name who came to the hospital in Italy and brought me a bottle of Marsala or Campari and behaved perfectly, and then one day I would have to tell the nurse never to let that man into the room again?" I asked.

“可是那位彬彬有礼、颇有声望的老人曾来意大利的医院看我，给我带了瓶马沙拉白葡萄酒或堪培利开胃酒，风度举止堪称完美，然后有一天我却不得不告诉护士别再让那个人进病房，你说这是怎么回事？”我问道。

"Those people are sick and cannot help themselves and you should pity them."

“那些人有病，控制不住自己，你应该可怜他们。”

"Should I pity so and so?" I asked. I gave his name but he delights so in giving it himself that I feel there is no need to give it for him.

“我应该可怜某某吗？”我问道。我说出了他的名字，但既然他乐意自报姓名，我觉得这里没有必要提他的名字。

"No. He's vicious. He's a corrupter and he's truly vicious."

“不。他道德败坏。他诱人堕落，真的很道德败坏。”

"But he's supposed to be a good writer."

“但他应该是个好作家。”

"He's not," she said. "He's just a showman and he corrupts for the pleasure of corruption and he leads people into other vicious practices as well. Drugs, for example."

“他不是。”她说，“他只不过是个爱卖弄的人，他诱人堕落是为了寻求堕落的快感，他还引人染上其他恶习，比如吸毒。”

"And in Milan the man I'm to pity was not trying to corrupt me?"

“可是在米兰，这个我应该可怜的人却没有设法诱我堕落啊？”

"Don't be silly. How could he hope to corrupt you? Do you corrupt a boy like you, who drinks alcohol, with a bottle of Marsala? No, he was a pitiful old man who could not help what he was doing. He was sick and he could not help it and you should pity him."

“别傻了。他怎么可能想诱使你堕落？你会拿一瓶马沙拉白葡萄酒去诱使像你这样一个喝烈酒的男孩堕落吗？不会的，他就是个可怜的老头，控制不住自己的所作所为。他有病，控制不住自己，你应该可怜他。”

"I did at the time," I said. "But I was disappointed because he had such beautiful manners."

“我那时真的同情他，”我说，“但我很失望，因为他是如此彬彬有礼。”

I took another sip of the eau-de-vie and pitied the old man and looked at Picasso's nude of the girl with the basket of flowers. I had not started the conversation and thought it had become a little dangerous. There were almost never any pauses in a conversation with Miss Stein, but we had paused and there was something she wanted to tell me and I filled my glass.

我又喝了一口白兰地，同情起那个老人，同时看着毕加索画中那个挎着一篮鲜花的裸体女孩。话题不是我开启的，我觉得谈话已经有点危险了。和斯泰因小姐交谈，中间几乎没有过任何停顿，但那次我们还是停下来了，她要告诉我一些事，于是我斟满了酒杯。

"You know nothing about any of this really, Hemingway," she said. "You've met known criminals and sick people and vicious people. The main thing is that the act male homosexuals commit is ugly and repugnant and afterwards they are disgusted with themselves. They drink and take drugs, to palliate this, but they are disgusted with the act and they are always changing partners and cannot be really happy."

“你真的对此一无所知，海明威。”她说，“你的确碰到过人尽皆知的罪犯、病态的人和邪恶的人。但问题主要是，男同性恋者的行为是丑陋的、令人反感的，事后他们会厌恶自己。他们喝酒、吸毒，以此来减轻痛苦，但他们厌恶这种行为，所以总是更换伴侣，却不能真正快乐起来。”

"I see."

“我明白。”

"In women it is the opposite. They do nothing that they are disgusted by and nothing that is repulsive and afterwards they are happy and they can lead happy lives together."

“女同性恋的情况却相反。她们不做任何让她们厌恶的事，也不做令人反感的事，事后她们很快乐，所以她们可以在一起幸福地生活。”

"I see," I said. "But what about so and so?"

“我明白，”我说，“可是某某呢？”

"She's vicious," Miss Stein said. "She's truly vicious, so she can never be happy except with new people. She corrupts people."

“她道德败坏。”斯泰因小姐说，“她真是道德败坏，所以她快乐不起来，除非和新的伴侣在一起。她诱使人堕落。”

"I understand."

“我明白了。”

"You're sure you understand?"

“你确定你明白了？”

There were so many things to understand in those days and I was glad when we talked about something else. The park was closed so I had to walk down along it to the rue de Vaugirard and around the lower end of the park. It was sad when the park was closed and locked and I was sad walking around it instead of through it and in a hurry to get home to the rue Cardinal Lemoine. The day had started out so brightly too. I would have to work hard tomorrow. Work could cure almost anything, I believed then, and I believe now. Then all I had to be cured of, I decided Miss Stein felt, was youth and loving my wife. I was not at all sad when I got home to the rue Cardinal Lemoine and told my newly acquired knowledge to my wife. In the night we were happy with our own knowledge we already had and other new knowledge we had acquired in the mountains.

那些日子要明白的事情真是太多了，所以当我们谈及别的话题时，我真的很高兴。公园已经关门了，我只好顺着公园走到沃日拉尔大街，绕过公园的低地。公园关闭、大门紧锁的时候真令人难过。不能穿过公园，我只好难过地绕过公园，匆匆走回位于勒穆瓦纳主教街上的家。这一天开始时也曾是那么阳光灿烂。明天我得努力写作。写作几乎能治愈一切，那时我是这么认为的，现在我依然这么认为。我确定斯泰因小姐觉察到了，我要治愈的正是青春和我对妻子的爱。回到位于勒穆瓦纳主教街上的家，把刚学的知识告诉妻子时，我一点也不难过了。晚上，对于我们已获得的知识和其他在山上学到的新知识，我们感到很高兴。

(1)格特鲁德·斯泰因（1874—1946），美国作家，1903年起旅居巴黎直至去世。19世纪20年代，她的工作室成为侨居巴黎的英美作家、艺术家会聚的中心之一。

(2)这里指的是艾丽斯·巴·托克拉斯（1877—1967），和斯泰因有同性恋关系。

(3)布特·德·蒙维（1851—1913），法国画家、儿童读物插图画家，其作品《圣女贞德》于1896年出版。

(4)《大西洋月刊》，赢得多个美国期刊奖项，两个世纪以来一直受到文学爱好者们的青睐。该期刊介绍生活的方方面面，包括文学、旅行、饮食等，对国内外事件、政治、财经、艺术、人物等方面的新闻报道视角独特。

(5)《星期六晚邮报》，美国一流文艺月刊，创刊于1821年，1969年倒闭，1971年恢复季刊。

(6)《梅兰克莎》，斯泰因创作的小说《三面夏娃》的第二部分，以女人公梅兰克莎命名。

(7)《美国人的形成》，故事讲的是一个美国家庭的发展变迁。

(8)《跨大西洋评》，由福特·麦克多斯·福特1924年于巴黎创办并主编的期刊。

(9)这里指的是海明威1917年10月至1918年4月担任著名报纸《堪萨斯城明星报》新闻记者的那段日子。

"Une Génération Perdue”

“迷惘的一代”

It was easy to get into the habit of stopping in at 27 rue de Fleurus late in the afternoon for the warmth and the great pictures and the conversation. Often Miss Stein would have no guests and she was always very friendly and for a long time she was affectionate. When I had come back from trips that I had made to the different political conferences or to the Near East or Germany for the Canadian paper and the news services that I worked for she wanted me to tell her about all the amusing details. There were funny parts always and she liked them and also what the Germans call gallowshumor stories. She wanted to know the gay part of how the world was going; never the real, never the bad.

为了取取暖、看看名画、聊聊天，我很容易就养成了一个习惯，即下午晚些时候会顺道拜访花园街27号。斯泰因小姐通常没有客人，她总是非常友好，甚至有很长一段时间还很热情。每当我代表自己就职的加拿大报社和其他新闻通讯社去参加各种政治会议或者从近东或德国回来，她就让我讲述所有趣事。总有一些好玩的事，她非常喜欢，还有德国人称作“大难临头时的幽默”那样的故事。她想了解的是世界欢乐的一面；从来不想了解其真实的一面，也从来不想了解其消极的一面。

I was young and not gloomy and there were always strange and comic things that happened in the worst time and Miss Stein liked to hear these. The other things I did not talk of and wrote by myself.

我还年轻，也不悲观，所以总能碰上在最不适宜的时间发生的稀奇古怪、令人捧腹的事情。斯泰因小姐就喜欢听这些。别的故事我就不谈了，我会自己写出来。

When I had not come back from any trips and would stop in at the rue de Fleurus after working I would try sometimes to get Miss Stein to talk about books. When I was writing, it was necessary for me to read after I had written. If you kept thinking about it, you would lose the thing that you were writing before you could go on with it the next day. It was necessary to get exercise, to be tired in the body, and it was very good to make love with whom you loved. That was better than anything. But afterwards, when you were empty, it was necessary to read in order not to think or worry about your work until you could do it again. I had learned already never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it.

如果不是从什么地方旅行回来，而是写作之余顺便拜访花园街，有时我就让斯泰因小姐谈谈书。写作期间，我写完一部分后必须要读一读。如果一直想着写作，你就会丢了正在写的东西的头绪，第二天就没法接着往下写。锻炼锻炼，让身体疲惫是必要的，和所爱的人做爱也非常有好处。这比别的办法都管用。但事后，当你被掏空后，就需要阅读，这样才能在再次动笔前不去想或担忧你的写作。我已经学会了决不让我的写作之井枯竭，趁井底还有东西的时候总是要停笔，让滋养它的泉水在夜里将它重新注满。

To keep my mind off writing sometimes after I had worked I would read writers who were writing then, such as Aldous Huxley[1], D. H. Lawrence[2] or any who had books published that I could get from Sylvia Beach's library or find along the quais.

有时写作结束后，为了让自己不再想写作的事，我会读一些当时也在写作的作家的作品，例如阿道斯·赫胥黎、D·H·劳伦斯，或者任何有作品发表的作家，只要我能从西尔维娅·比奇图书馆借到或在码头边上找到。

"Huxley is a dead man," Miss Stein said. "Why do you want to read a dead man? Can't you see he is dead?"

“赫胥黎是个死板的人。”斯泰因小姐说，“你为什么要读一个死板的人写的东西呢？难道你看不出他很死板吗？”

I could not see, then, that he was a dead man and I said that his books amused me and kept me from thinking.

那时我看不出他是个死板的人。我回答说他的书能让我放松，让我不去思考。

"You should only read what is truly good or what is frankly bad."

“你应该只看那些真正的好书或是显而易见的坏书。”

"I've been reading truly good books all winter and all last winter and I'll read them next winter, and I don't like frankly bad books."

“今年和去年的整个冬天我都在看真正的好书，明年冬天我还要看这样的书，我不喜欢显而易见的坏书。”

"Why do you read this trash? It is inflated trash, Hemingway. By a dead man."

“为什么读这样拙劣的作品？那是夸夸其谈的垃圾作品，海明威。是一个死板的人写的。”

"I like to see what they are writing," I said. "And it keeps my mind off me doing it."

“我想看看他们在写些什么。”我说，“它能让我打消写同样东西的念头。”

"Who else do you read now?"

“你现在还读谁的作品？”

"D. H. Lawrence," I said. "He wrote some very good short stories, one called 'The Prussian Officer.'"

"D·H·劳伦斯。”我回答，“他写了一些很好的短篇小说，有一篇叫《普鲁士军官》。”

"I tried to read his novels. He's impossible. He's pathetic and preposterous. He writes like a sick man."

“我试着读过他的小说。他真是让人受不了。可怜兮兮，又荒谬无理。写东西就像一个病态的人。”

"I liked Sons and Lovers and The White Peacock," I said. "Maybe that not so well. I couldn't read Women in Love."

“我喜欢《儿子与情人》，还有《白孔雀》。”我说，“也许那写得不怎么好。我读不了《恋爱中的女人》。”

"If you don't want to read what is bad, and want to read something that will hold your interest and is marvelous in its own way, you should read Marie Belloc Lowndes[3].”

“如果你不想读劣作，想读能让你感兴趣、本身又是一流的作品，那你就读读玛莉·贝洛克·朗兹。”

I had never heard of her, and Miss Stein loaned me The Lodger, that marvelous story of Jack the Ripper and another book about murder at a place outside Paris that could only be Enghienles Bains[4]. They were both splendid after-work books, the people credible and the action and the terror never false. They were perfect for reading after you had worked and I read all the Mrs. Belloc Lowndes that there was. But there was only so much and none as good as the first two and I never found anything as good for that empty time of day or night until the first fine Simenon[5] books came out.

我从未听说过这个女作家。斯泰因小姐借给我那本关于“开膛手”杰克的精彩小说《房客》和另外一本关于发生在巴黎以外某个地方的一起谋杀案的小说，这个地方只可能是翁吉安雷班。这两本书都是写作之余不错的读物，人物逼真，情节和恐怖的气氛也很真实。它们非常适合你在写作之余阅读。我读了所有能找到的贝洛克·朗兹夫人的书，不过也就这么多，而且没有一本像我最早读的那两本那么好，并且，我一直没有找到同样好的书来打发白天或黑夜空虚的时间，直到西默农最初一些优秀的书出版。

I think Miss Stein would have liked the good Simenons—the first one I read was either L'Ecluse Numéro 1, or La Maison du Canal—but I am not sure because when I knew Miss Stein she did not like to read French although she loved to speak it. Janet Flanner[6] gave me the first two Simenons I ever read. She loved to read French and she had read Simenon when he was a crime reporter.

我想斯泰因小姐会喜欢西默农写的好书——我读的第一本要么是《第一号船闸》，要么是《运河上的房子》——但我不确定，因为我认识斯泰因小姐时，虽然她很爱说法语，但并不喜欢读法语作品。我最早读的那两本西默农的书是珍妮特·弗兰纳给我的。她喜欢读法语作品，早在西默农还是报道犯罪案件的记者时，珍妮特就读过他的作品。

In the three or four years that we were good friends I cannot remember Gertrude Stein ever speaking well of any writer who had not written favorably about her work or done something to advance her career except for Ronald Firbank[7] and, later, Scott Fitzgerald[8]. When I first met her she did not speak of Sherwood Anderson[9] as a writer but spoke glowingly of him as a man and of his great, beautiful, warm Italian eyes and of his kindness and his charm. I did not care about his great beautiful warm Italian eyes but I liked some of his short stories very much. They were simply written and sometimes beautifully written and he knew the people he was writing about and cared deeply for them. Miss Stein did not want to talk about his stories but always about him as a person.

在我们成为好朋友的三四年中，除了罗纳德·弗班克和后来的司各特·菲茨杰拉德，我不记得格特鲁德·斯泰因对任何不曾撰文支持她的作品、或为推动她的事业做过什么的作家有过什么赞许之辞。我第一次和斯泰因小姐见面时，她并没有把舍伍德·安德森当作作家来谈论，而是把他当作一个男人，兴高采烈地谈及他神采奕奕、温情脉脉的意大利式眼睛，谈及他的善良和他的魅力。我对他神采奕奕、温情脉脉的意大利式眼睛没有兴趣，但我很喜欢他的一些短篇小说。这些小说很朴实，有时也写得很美，他了解他笔下的人物，从内心深处关心他们。但斯泰因小姐不愿意谈论他的小说，而总是以谈论一个人的方式说起他。

"What about his novels?" I asked her. She did not want to talk about Anderson's works any more than she would talk about Joyce[10] If you brought up Joyce twice, you would not be invited back. It was like mentioning one general favorably to another general. You learned not to do it the first time you made the mistake. You could always mention a general, though, that the general you were talking to had beaten. The general you were talking to would praise the beaten general greatly and go happily into detail on how he had beaten him.

“他的小说怎么样？”我问她。她不愿意谈论安德森的作品，就像她不愿意谈论乔伊斯一样。你要是两次提起乔伊斯，她就不会再邀请你去她那儿了。这就好比在一位将军面前赞许另一位将军。第一次犯这样的错时，你就知道以后不会再这么做了。不过，若你提及的一位将军是和你谈话的这位将军曾经的手下败将，你频频提及也无妨。和你谈话的这位将军会盛赞手下败将，然后得意洋洋地讲述他将对方打败的细节。

Anderson's stories were too good to make happy conversation. I was prepared to tell Miss Stein how strangely poor his novels were, but this would have been bad too because it was criticizing one of her most loyal supporters. When he wrote a novel finally called Dark Laughter, so terribly bad, silly and affected that I could not keep from criticizing it in a parody (The Torrents of Spring), Miss Stein was very angry. I had attacked someone that was a part of her apparatus. But for a long time before that she was not angry. She, herself, began to praise Sherwood lavishly after he had cracked up as a writer.

安德森的小说写得太好，因此不能作为一个令人愉快的话题。我本来准备告诉斯泰因小姐他的小说写得是多么不可思议地差，不过这样也不行，因为这就意味着批判一个她最忠实的支持者。他的一篇最后名为《阴险的笑声》的小说写得糟透了，又愚蠢又做作，所以我忍不住在一篇戏仿他作品的文章（《春潮》）中将之批判了一番，斯泰因小姐为此非常生气，因为我攻击的这个人属于她那个圈子。可是，在此之前很长一段时间她并没有生气。舍伍德成了一个失败的作家之后，她自己却开始毫不吝啬地赞扬他。

She was angry at Ezra Pound[11] because he had sat down too quickly on a small, fragile and, doubtless, uncomfortable chair, that it is quite possible he had been given on purpose, and had either cracked or broken it. That he was a great poet and a gentle and generous man and could have accommodated himself in a normal-size chair was not considered. The reasons for her dislike of Ezra, skillfully and maliciously put, were invented years later.

她对埃兹拉·庞德很不满，原因是他曾经在一把椅子上坐下得太快，结果不是把椅子坐裂了，就是坐坏了。这把椅子很小，又不结实，而且毫无疑问一点也不舒服，很可能是有意给他留的。她根本不想想，庞德是个伟大的诗人，性情温和、为人慷慨，完全能为自己找把大小合适的椅子。她不喜欢庞德的原因是多年以后才编造出来的，说得巧妙动听，其实心怀恶意。

It was when we had come back from Canada and were living in the rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs and Miss Stein and I were still good friends that Miss Stein made the remark about the lost generation. She had some ignition trouble with the old Model T Ford she then drove and the young man who worked in the garage and had served in the last year of the war had not been adept, or perhaps had not broken the priority of other vehicles, in repairing Miss Stein's Ford. Anyway he had not been sérieux and had been corrected severely by the patron of the garage after Miss Stein's protest. The patron had said to him, "You are all a génération perdue.”

斯泰因小姐对迷惘的一代加以评论，是我们从加拿大回来住在圣母院田园大街的时候，那时她和我还是好朋友。她当时开的福特老式T系列汽车的点火装置有点问题，汽车修理厂的那个年轻人在一战最后一年服过役，给斯泰因修理福特车时技术并不熟练，或者可能是死守着其他车先来先修的原则，总之，他态度不认真，在斯泰因的强烈抗议下，修车行的老板严厉纠正他的错误。老板对他说：“你们全是迷惘的一代。”

"That's what you are. That's what you all are," Miss Stein said. "All of you young people who served in the war. You are a lost generation."

“你就是那迷惘的一代。你们全都是。”斯泰因小姐说，“所有你们这些在战争中服过役的年轻人。你们是迷惘的一代。”

"Really?" I said.

“真的吗？”我问道。

"You are," she insisted. "You have no respect for anything. You drink yourselves to death...."

“当然。”她坚持道，“你们把什么都不放在眼里。你们醉生梦死……”

"Was the young mechanic drunk?" I asked.

“修车的那个年轻人喝醉了吗？”我问道。

"Of course not."

“当然没有。”

"Have you ever seen me drunk?"

“你见我喝醉过吗？”

"No. But your friends are drunk."

“没有。可你的朋友们喝醉过。”

"I've been drunk," I said. "But I don't come here drunk."

“我喝醉过，”我说，“但我没有喝得烂醉来你这儿。”

"Of course not. I didn't say that."

“当然没有。我没有这么说过。”

"The boy's patron was probably drunk by eleven o'clock in the morning," I said. "That's why he makes such lovely phrases."

“那个年轻人的老板很可能早上11点就喝醉了，”我说，“所以才说出那么有趣的话。”

"Don't argue with me, Hemingway," Miss Stein said. "It does no good at all. You're all a lost generation, exactly as the garage keeper said."

“不要和我争辩，海明威，”斯泰因小姐说，“这根本无济于事。你们都是迷惘的一代，和修车行老板说的一模一样。”

Later when I wrote my first novel I tried to balance Miss Stein's quotation from the garage keeper with one from Ecclesiastes[12]. But that night walking home I thought about the boy in the garage and if he had ever been hauled in one of those vehicles when they were converted to ambulances. I remembered how they used to burn out their brakes going down the mountain roads with a full load of wounded and braking in low and finally using the reverse, and how the last ones were driven over the mountainside empty, so they could be replaced by big Fiats with a good H-shift and metal-to-metal brakes. I thought of Miss Stein and Sherwood Anderson and egotism and mental laziness versus discipline and I thought who is calling who a lost generation? Then as I was getting up to the Closerie des Lilas with the light on my old friend, the statue of Marshal Ney[13] with his sword out and the shadows of the trees on the bronze, and he alone there and nobody behind him and what a fiasco he'd made of Waterloo, I thought that all generations were Lost by something and always had been and always would be and I stopped at the Lilas to keep the statue company and drank a cold beer before going home to the fl at over the sawmill. But sitting there with the beer, watching the statue and remembering how many days Ney had fought, personally, with the rear-guard on the retreat from Moscow that Napoleon had ridden away from in the coach with Caulaincourt[14], I thought of what a warm and affectionate friend Miss Stein had been and how beautifully she had spoken of Apollinaire[15] and of his death on the day of the Armistice in 1918 with the crowd shouting “à bas Guillaume[16], and Apollinaire, in his delirium, thinking they were crying against him, and I thought, I will do my best to serve her and see she gets justice for the good work she had done as long as I can, so help me God and Mike Ney. But the hell with her lost-generation talk and all the dirty, easy labels. When I got home and into the courtyard and upstairs and saw my wife and my son and his cat, F. Puss, all of them happy and a fire in the fireplace, I said to my wife, "You know, Gertrude is nice, anyway."

后来我写第一本小说时，我想拿斯泰因小姐引用修车行老板的那句话和《传道书》里的话比较。但是那天晚上走路回家，我想起了修车行的那个年轻人，想着当汽车改装成救护车时他是否被拉去开车。我记得他们是如何运送满满一车伤员顺着山路下山，慢慢刹车，最后只能用倒车挡，车闸总是被烧毁；我记得最后一批救护车在山坡上空车行驶，这样就能由装配有好用的H型变速换挡器和金属车闸的大型菲亚特车来替换。我想起了斯泰因小姐和舍伍德·安德森，想起了与自我约束相对照的自我主义和懒惰思想，我想，是谁管谁叫迷惘的一代？然后，我走到丁香园咖啡馆，灯光照在我的老朋友——拔剑而出的内伊元帅的雕像身上，树影打在铜像上，他孤身一人在那儿，后面没有追随者，他在滑铁卢那一战败得真是惨痛。我想，每一代人都因为某些事情经历过迷惘，历史一贯如此，以后也将继续如此。回锯木厂楼上的公寓前，我在丁香园咖啡馆驻足，与这尊铜像为伴，喝了一杯冰啤酒。然而坐在那儿喝着啤酒，看着铜像，想到拿破仑和考兰科特一起坐着马车从莫斯科撤退时内伊元帅亲自和后卫部队作战的日日夜夜，我想起斯泰因小姐曾经是多么温柔可亲的朋友，想起她是如何赞美阿波里耐，如何谈起阿波里耐在1918年休战那天呜呼丧命的。当人群高呼“打倒纪尧姆”时，精神错乱的阿波里耐以为他们高喊反对的是他自己。我想，我会尽我所能为她服务，尽量保证她的好作品得到公正的待遇。所以，保佑我吧，上帝和迈克·内伊。可是，她那些关于迷惘的一代的言论和所有怀有恶意的、随意乱贴的标签都见鬼去吧。当我回到家，走进院子上了楼，看见了妻子、儿子和他的小猫咪,F·普斯，他们都很高兴，壁炉里生着火，我对妻子说：“你知道，不管怎么说，格特鲁德非常好。”

"Of course, Tatie."

“当然，塔蒂。”

"But she does talk a lot of rot sometimes."

“但她有时候真的满口胡言。”

"I never hear her," my wife said. "I'm a wife. It's her friend that talks to me."

“我从不听她说话，”妻子说，“我是一个妻子。和我说话的是她的同伴。”

(1)阿道斯·赫胥黎（1894—1963），英国作家，《美丽新世界》的作者。

(2)D·H·劳伦斯(1885—1930),英国作家和诗人。

(3)玛莉·贝洛克·朗兹（1868—1947），英国小说家，擅长写犯罪心理小说，《房客》是其中影响最大的一部。

(4)翁吉安雷班，巴黎北部的郊区。

(5)西默农（1903—1989），比利时法语小说家，尤以其描写麦格雷探长案的侦破小说而闻名，作品有《列托人彼得奇案》和《麦格雷的回忆》。

(6)珍妮特·弗兰纳（1892—1978），美国作家和记者，1925—1975年为《纽约客》驻巴黎记者。

(7)罗纳德·弗班克（1886—1926），英国小说家。

(8)司各特·菲茨杰拉德(1986-1940)，美国小说家。

(9)舍伍德·安德森（1876—1941),美国作家。

(10)乔伊斯（1882-1941），爱尔兰小说家。

(11)埃兹拉·庞德(1885—1972），美国流亡诗人、评论家。

(12)《传道书》，基督教《圣经·旧约》中的一卷。

(13)内伊（1769—1815），法国元帅，拿破仑手下名将之一。

(14)考兰科特(1773—1827），法国将军、外交官，1802年开始担任拿破仑的侍从官。

(15)阿波里耐（1880—1918），法国诗人、作家、评论家，在一战中受伤，两年后死于流感。

(16)打倒纪尧姆，这里指的是德皇威廉二世，是德意志第二帝国皇帝和普鲁士国王，从1888年到1918年在位。“纪尧姆”是威廉在法语中拼法的读音，所以阿波里耐以为是在反对他。

Shakespeare And Company

“莎士比亚之友”书店

In those days there was no money to buy books. I borrowed books from the rental library of Shakespeare and Company, which was the library and bookstore of Sylvia Beach[1] at 12 rue de I'Odéon. On a cold windswept street, this was a warm, cheerful place with a big stove in winter, tables and shelves of books, new books in the window, and photographs on the wall of famous writers both dead and living. The photographs all looked like snapshots and even the dead writers looked as though they had really been alive. Sylvia had a lively, sharply sculptured face, brown eyes that were as alive as a small animal's and as gay as a young girl's, and wavy brown hair that was brushed back from her fine forehead and cut thick below her ears and at the line of the collar of the brown velvet jacket she wore. She had pretty legs and she was kind, cheerful and interested, and loved to make jokes and gossip. No one that I ever knew was nicer to me.

那些日子没有钱买书，我从“莎士比亚之友”租借图书馆借书。那是西尔维娅·比奇在奥岱翁大街12号的图书馆和书店。在寒风瑟瑟的街上，这是一个温暖惬意的去处：冬天生个大炉子，桌上、书架上都是书，橱窗里摆放着新书，墙上挂着已故或依然健在的著名作家的照片。所有照片看起来都像快照，即便是已经过世的作家，看起来也仿佛还真的活着。西尔维娅有一副生动、棱角分明的脸庞；一双褐色的眼睛像小动物的眼睛一般富有灵气，又像少女的眼睛一般欢快；棕色浓密的卷发从光滑的前额往后梳，留到齐耳长，正好到她穿的棕色天鹅绒外套的领口边；她还有迷人的双腿。西尔维娅善良、开朗，关心别人，喜欢开玩笑和闲聊。她是我认识的人里对我最好的。

I was very shy when I first went into the bookshop and I did not have enough money on me to join the rental library. She told me I could pay the deposit any time I had the money and made me out a card and said I could take as many books as I wished.

第一次走进书店时我还心存羞怯，因为身上的钱不够我成为租借图书馆的会员。她说可以等我有钱了再付押金，还给我制了张借书卡，说我想借多少书都可以。

There was no reason for her to trust me. She did not know me and the address I had given her, 74 rue Cardinal Lemoine, could not have been a poorer one. But she was delightful and charming and welcoming and behind her, as high as the wall and stretching out into the back room which gave onto the inner court of the building, were shelves and shelves of the wealth of the library.

她没有理由信任我。她和我素不相识，我给她的地址——勒穆瓦纳主教街74号——是个破得不能再破的地方了。但她是那么令人愉悦，那么可爱，那么热诚。她身后是一个个和墙一般高的书架，一直延伸到这座楼内侧院子的里屋。这些都是图书馆的珍藏。

I started with Turgenev and took the two volumes of A Sportsman's Sketches and an early book of D. H. Lawrence, I think it was Sons and Lovers, and Sylvia told me to take more books if I wanted. I chose the Constance Garnett edition of War and Peace, and The Gambler and Other Stories by Dostoyevsky.

我首先翻看的是屠格涅夫的作品，选了两卷本的《猎人笔记》和D·H·劳伦斯早期的一部作品，我想应该是《儿子与情人》。西尔维娅告诉我，如果我愿意的话，可以再多借几本。于是我又挑了康斯坦斯·加尼特翻译的《战争与和平》和陀思妥耶夫斯基的《赌徒和其他故事》。

"You won't be back very soon if you read all that," Sylvia said.

“要读完所有这些书的话你不会很快回来的。”西尔维娅说。

"I'll be back to pay," I said. "I have some money in the flat."

“我会回来付钱的。”我说，“我在公寓有些钱。”

"I didn't mean that," she said. "You pay whenever it's convenient."

“我不是那个意思。”她解释道。“你什么时候方便就什么时候付钱。”

"When does Joyce come in?" I asked.

“乔伊斯一般什么时候来？”我问道。

"If he comes in, it's usually very late in the afternoon," she said. "Haven't you ever seen him?"

“他要来的话，一般都到下午很晚了。”她说，“你没见过他吗？”

"We've seen him at Michaud's eating with his family," I said. "But it's not polite to look at people when they are eating, and Michaud's is expensive."

“我们在米肖餐厅碰见过他和家人在那儿吃饭，”我说，“但在别人吃饭的时候盯着他们看很不礼貌，况且是在米肖餐厅那种奢华昂贵的地方。”

"Do you eat at home?"

“你在家吃饭吗？”

"Mostly now," I said. "We have a good cook."

“现在基本上是，”我说，“我们有个好厨师。”

"There aren't any restaurants in your immediate quarter, are there?"

“你现在住的那个区没什么餐馆，对吧？”

"No. How did you know?"

“是的。你怎么知道？”

"Larbaud[2] lived there," she said. "He liked it very much except for that."

“拉尔博以前住那儿，”她说，“他非常喜欢那儿，除了没有餐馆这一点。”

"The nearest good cheap place to eat is over by the Panthéon.”

“最近的一家物美价廉的餐馆在先贤祠那边。”

"I don't know that quarter. We eat at home. You and your wife must come sometime."

“那个区我不了解。我们在家吃。你和你的妻子哪天一定要来。”

"Wait until you see if I pay you," I said. "But thank you very much."

“等我什么时候来付钱吧，”我说，“不过还是非常感谢你。”

"Don't read too fast," she said.

“书别看得太快了。”她说。

Home in the rue Cardinal Lemoine was a two-room flat that had no hot water and no inside toilet facilities except antiseptic container, not uncomfortable to anyone who was used to a Michigan outhouse. With a fine view and a good mattress and springs for a comfortable bed on the floor, and pictures we liked on the walls, it was a cheerful, gay fl at. When I got there with the books I told my wife about the wonderful place I had found.

位于勒穆瓦纳主教街的家是套两居室的公寓，没有热水，没有室内卫生间，只有一个消毒的便桶，对于一个习惯了密歇根室外洗手间的人来说倒也不会觉得不舒服。屋外景色宜人，地上铺一张上好的弹簧床垫就成了舒服的床，墙上挂着我们喜欢的画，这也算间敞亮、让人快乐的公寓。我抱着书回到家，告诉妻子我找到一个好地方。

"But Tatie, you must go by this afternoon and pay," she said.

“可是塔蒂，今天下午你必须去把钱付了。”她说。

"Sure I will," I said. "We'll both go. And then we'll walk down by the river and along the quais."

“我肯定会的。”我说，“我们俩都去，然后顺着河和码头散散步。”

"Let's walk down the rue de Seine and look in all the galleries and in the windows of the shops."

“我们顺着塞纳河大街散步，逛遍所有画廊，看看商店的橱窗。”

"Sure. We can walk anywhere and we can stop at some new café where we don't know anyone and nobody knows us and have a drink."

“好的。我们去哪儿散步都行。我们可以去一家没有我们认识的人，也没有人认识我们的新开的咖啡馆，在那呆一会儿，喝上一杯。”

"We can have two drinks."

“我们可以喝两杯。”

"Then we can eat somewhere."

“然后再找个地方吃饭。”

"No. Don't forget we have to pay the library."

“不行。别忘了我们还要去图书馆还钱。”

"We'll come home and eat here and we'll have a lovely meal and drink Beaune from the cooperative you can see right out of the window there with the price of the Beaune on the window. And afterwards we'll read and then go to bed and make love."

“那我们就回家吃。我们可以好好吃一顿，喝点从合作社买回来的波恩红葡萄酒。从窗户往外望，就能看见那家合作社，波恩红葡萄酒的价格标在橱窗里。然后我们就看看书，上床，做爱。”

"And we'll never love anyone else but each other. “

“我们只爱对方，永远不会再爱上别人。”

"No. Never."

“嗯，永远不会。”

"What a lovely afternoon and evening. Now we'd better have lunch."

“多么美好的一个下午和晚上啊。现在我们最好吃午饭吧。”

"I'm very hungry," I said. "I worked at the café on a café crème.”

“我真是饿坏了。”我说，“我在咖啡馆写东西只喝了一杯奶油咖啡。”

"How did it go, Tatie?"

“写得怎么样，塔蒂？”

"I think all right. I hope so. What do we have for lunch?"

“我觉得不错。但愿如此。午饭吃什么？”

"Little radishes, and good foie de veau with mashed potatoes and an endive salad. Apple tart."

“小红萝卜，上好的小牛肝加土豆泥，菊苣沙拉，还有苹果馅饼。”

"And we're going to have all the books in the world to read and when we go on trips we can take them."

“我们可以读世界上所有的书了，旅行时还能带上它们。”

"Would that be honest?"

“这样可以吗？”

"Sure."

“当然。”

"Does she have Henry James too?"

“她那儿也有亨利·詹姆斯的书吗？”

"Sure."

“当然。”

"My," she said. "We're lucky that you found the place."

“天哪，”她说，“你找到那个地方，我们真是太幸运了。”

"We're always lucky," I said and like a fool I did not knock on wood[3]. There was wood everywhere in that apartment to knock on too.

“我们一直很幸运。”我说，像个傻子似的，我没有敲敲木头。那个公寓里倒是到处都有木头可以敲。

(1)西尔维娅·比奇（1887—1962)，美国著名女书商，在巴黎文学界居重要地位，最大贡献是1922年出版了其他出版商拒绝出版的乔伊斯的《尤利西斯》。

(2)拉尔博（1881—1957），法国诗人、小说家、评论家。

(3)敲敲木头，这是西方一个典型的英语惯用语。在西方迷信中，认为敲敲木头或触摸木制的东西，可以防止已有的好运气跑掉。

People Of The Seine

塞纳河畔的人们

There were many ways of walking down to the river from top of the rue Cardinal Lemoine. The shortest one was straight down the street but it was steep and it brought you out, after you hit the f lat part and crossed the busy traffic of the beginning of the Boulevard St. Germain, onto a dull part where there was a bleak, windy stretch of river bank with the Halle aux Vins on your right. This was not like any other Paris market but was a sort of bonded warehouse where wine was stored against the payment of taxes and was as cheerless from the outside as a military depot or prison camp.

从勒穆瓦纳主教街尽头走到塞纳河边有很多条路，最近的一条就是沿着大街一直往前走，但这条路很陡。当你走过一段平坦的路，穿过圣日耳曼大街拥堵的车流，来到一个阴森的地方——那里是清冷孤寂的河岸，寒风萧瑟，右手边便是葡萄酒市场。不同于巴黎其他任何市场，这里是为了避税而用来储藏酒的一种保税仓库。从外面看，这儿就像军需库或战俘集中营一样阴郁。

Across the branch of the Seine was the Ile St. Louis with the narrow streets and the old, tall, beautiful houses, and you could go over there or you could turn left and walk along the quais with the length of the Ile St. Louis and then Notre-Dame and Ile de la Cité opposite as you walked.

塞纳河支流对面就是圣路易岛。那里街道狭窄，高耸着古老而漂亮的房子。你可以渡过河面去那儿，也可以向左拐，沿着和圣路易岛一样长的码头一直走，然后就到了巴黎圣母院和对面的西岱岛。

In the bookstalls, along the quais you could sometimes find American books that had just been published for sale very cheap. The Tour D'Argent restaurant had a few rooms above the restaurant that they rented in those days, giving the people who lived there a discount in the restaurant, and if the people who lived there left any books behind there was a bookstall not far along the quai where the valet de chambre sold them and you could buy them from the proprietress for a very few francs. She had no confidence in books written in English, paid almost nothing for them, and sold them for a small and quick profit.

在码头边的书摊上，有时你能找到刚刚出版、售价极低的美国书。那时的银塔餐馆楼上有一些房间用来出租，住在那儿的人用餐可以打点儿折扣。如果留宿的人落下一些书，旅馆的侍者就会卖给离码头不远的一个书摊，然后你就可以花很少的几个法郎从书摊女主人那儿买到那些书。女主人对用英语写的书没有信心，她几乎没花什么钱就将它们买下，然后以很低的利润很快卖出。

"Are they any good?" she asked me after we had become friends.

“这些书有没有哪一本写得好的？”我们成为朋友后她问我。

"Sometimes one is."

“有时候有那么一本好书。”

"How can anyone tell?"

“怎么判断呢？”

"I can tell when I read them."

“我读了就知道了。”

"But still it is a form of gambling. And how many people can read English?"

“可那还是一种冒险。又有多少人能看懂英语呢？”

"Save them for me and let me look them over."

“替我留着它们，让我看一遍。”

"No. I can't save them. You don't pass regularly. You stay away too long at a time. I have to sell them as soon as I can. No one can tell if they are worthless. If they turn out to be worthless, I would never sell them."

“不行。我不能留着它们。你又不是经常路过。你每次都要过很长一段时间才来。我得尽快把它们卖出去。谁也不知道它们是不是一文不值。要真是那样，它们就永远都卖不出去了。”

"How do you tell a valuable French book?"

“那你怎么判断一本法语书有没有价值呢？”

"First there are the pictures. Then it is a question of the quality of the pictures. Then it is the binding. If a book is good, the owner will have it bound properly. All books in English are bound, but bound badly. There is no way of judging them."

“首先里面要有图片。然后是插图的质量。然后是装订。如果是本好书，书的主人就会整整齐齐地把它装订起来。所有的英语书都有装订，但装订都很差。没有办法辨别它们的好坏。”

After that bookstall near the Tour D'Argent there were no others that sold American and English books until the quai des Grands Augustins. There were several from there on to beyond the quai Voltaire that sold books they bought from employees of the left bank hotels and especially the Hotel Voltaire which had a wealthier clientele than most. One day I asked another woman stall-keeper who was a friend of mine if the owners ever sold the books.

过了银塔餐馆附近的书摊，一直到大奥古斯丁码头都没有别的卖美国书和英国书的书摊了。从大奥古斯丁码头到伏尔泰码头有几家书摊，他们卖的是从塞纳河左岸旅馆的雇员那儿买来的书，尤其是伏尔泰旅馆，因为那儿的客人比别处的都有钱。一天，我问另一个成为朋友的书摊女主人那些书有没有书的主人卖的。

"No," she said. "They are all thrown away. That is why one knows they have no value."

“没有，”她回答。“那些书都是被扔掉的。这就是为什么我们知道它们没有价值。”

"Friends give them to them to read on the boats."

“书是朋友们给他们在船上看的。”

"Doubtless," she said. "They must leave many on the boats."

“毫无疑问，”她说，“他们肯定在船上落下了很多书。”

"They do," I said. "The line keeps them and binds them and they become the ships' libraries."

“的确是这样，”我说，“航运公司把这些书留下来装订好，它们就成了船上的藏书了。”

"That's intelligent," she said. "At least they are properly bound then. Now a book like that would have value."

“这很聪明，”她说，“那至少它们装订得比较像样了。像那样的书就有价值了。”

I would walk along the quais when I had finished work or when I was trying to think something out. It was easier to think if I was walking and doing something or seeing people doing something that they understood. At the head of the Ile de la Cité below the Pont Neuf where there was the statue of Henri Quatre, the island ended in a point like the sharp bow of a ship and there was a small park at the water's edge with fine chestnut trees, huge and spreading, and in the currents and back waters that the Seine made f lowing past, there were excellent places to fish. You went down a stairway to the park and watched the fishermen there and under the great bridge. The good spots to fish changed with the height of the river and the fishermen used long, jointed, cane poles but fished with very fine leaders and light gear and quill fl oats and expertly baited the piece of water that they fished. They always caught some fish, and often they made excellent catches of the dace-like fish that were called goujon. They were delicious fried whole and I could eat a plateful. They were plump and sweet-fleshed with a finer flavor than fresh sardines even, and were not at all oily, and we ate them bones and all.

当我写完东西或要努力思考些什么东西时我就会沿着码头散步。散着步，做点儿什么，或者看别人做他们擅长的事，这样更容易思考。西岱岛的顶端，新桥下面立着亨利四世的雕像，小岛的尽头像尖尖的船首，水边有个小小的公园，种着婀娜多姿的栗子树，树形硕大，枝繁叶茂。在塞纳河形成的急流和回流的流经之处有很多绝佳的垂钓之处。顺着梯道来到公园，能看到垂钓者在那儿和大桥下钓鱼。垂钓的好位置因塞纳河河床高度的变化而异。垂钓者用的虽然是拼接起来的长竿，但接钩绳很细，渔具轻便，浮标是用翎管做的，而且他们置诱饵于垂钓的水面上时动作十分娴熟，也很专业。他们总能钓着鱼，而且总能钓着一种长得像鲦鱼的鱼。这种鱼整条炸了非常好吃，我能吃下一整盘。这种鱼肉多味美，甚至比新鲜的沙丁鱼还要鲜美，而且一点儿也不油腻。我们连鱼骨头都全吃了。

One of the best places to eat them was at an open-air restaurant built out over the river at Bas Meudon[1] where we would go when we had money for a trip away from our quarter. It was called La Péche Miraculeuse and had a splendid white wine that was a sort of Muscadet. It was a place out of a Maupassant story with the view over the river as Sisley[2] had painted it. You did not have to go that far to eat goujon. You could get a very good friture on the Ile St. Louis.

吃这种鱼最好的去处之一就是建在塞纳河边的下默顿的露天餐厅。我们一有钱能离开我们住的那个区去旅行时，就会去那儿。这家餐厅叫“神奇渔场”，供应一种属于麝香白葡萄酒的上好白葡萄酒。莫泊桑的小说里写到过这个地方，河上的风景就像西斯莱画中的一样。你不用去那么远的地方吃鱼。圣路易岛上就能吃上非常美味的油炸鱼。

I knew several of the men who fished the fruitful parts of the Seine between the Ile St. Louis and the Place du Verte Galente and sometimes, if the day was bright, I would buy a liter of wine and a piece of bread and some sausage and sit in the sun and read one of the books I had bought and watch the fishing.

我认识几个在圣路易岛和绿骑士广场间鱼多的塞纳河河段钓鱼的人。如果天气晴朗，有时候我会买上一升酒、一块面包和一些香肠，坐在太阳底下读着买来的书，看他们钓鱼。

Travel writers wrote about the men fishing in the Seine as though they were crazy and never caught anything; but it was serious and productive fishing. Most of the fishermen were men who had small pensions, which they did not know then would become worthless with inflation, or keen fishermen who fished on their days or half-days off from work. There was better fishing at Charenton[3], where the Marne came into the Seine, and on either side of Paris, but there was very good fishing in Paris itself. I did not fish because I did not have the tackle and I preferred to save my money to fish in Spain. Then too I never knew when I would be through working, nor when I would have to be away, and I did not want to become involved in the fishing which had its good times and its slack times. But I followed it closely and it was interesting and good to know about, and it always made me happy that there were men fishing in the city itself, having sound, serious fishing and taking a few fritures home to their families.

游记作家笔下塞纳河边的垂钓者似乎都很疯狂却从来一无所获，但这里的垂钓是认真的而且收获颇丰。大多垂钓者都是领着微薄养老金的人，他们那时并不知道那点儿钱会因为通货膨胀变得一文不值，还有就是利用一天或半天假期来钓鱼的垂钓爱好者。马恩河与塞纳河的交汇处的沙朗通以及巴黎两侧都有更适宜垂钓的地方，但巴黎城里就能找到很好的垂钓去处。我不钓鱼是因为我没有钓鱼的装备，而且我宁愿省下钱去西班牙钓鱼。那时我也不知道什么时候能写完东西，什么时候不得不离开，而且我不想被有旺季和淡季之分的垂钓所牵绊。但我还是密切地关注它。垂钓很有趣，了解一下也不错。这座城市里就有人钓鱼，这总是让我高兴。他们认真而有效地钓鱼，然后给家人带回一些成果做油炸鱼。

With the fishermen and the life on the river, the beautiful barges with their own life on board, the tugs with their smokestacks that folded back to pass under the bridges, pulling a tow of barges, the great elms on the stone banks of the river, the plane trees and in some places the poplars, I could never be lonely along the river. With so many trees in the city, you could see the spring coming each day until a night of warm wind would bring it suddenly in one morning. Sometimes the heavy cold rains would beat it back so that it would seem that it would never come and that you were losing a season out of your life. This was the only truly sad time in Paris because it was unnatural. You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason.

有了垂钓者和塞纳河上人们的陪伴，有了美丽的驳船和船上乘客的陪伴，有了折叠起烟囱以便从桥下穿过的拖船及其拖着的一列驳船的陪伴，有了河边石岸上的大榆树、悬铃树，还有在一些地方能看见的白杨树的陪伴，我在塞纳河边从不感到寂寞。这座城市有那么多树，每天你都能看见春天要来了；终于有一天清晨，一夜暖风将春天忽然送至。有时候几场寒冷的大雨又将春天赶回去，以至于春天似乎永远也来不了了，而你就要在生命中失去一个季节。这是在巴黎唯一令人真正难过的时候，因为这不符合自然规律。你曾以为秋天才会伤感。每年当叶子从树上掉落，光秃秃的枝干在寒风中映照着冬日凄冷的阳光，你身体的一部分就死亡了。但是你知道春天总会来的，正如你知道河水结冰后会重新潺潺流淌一样。当冷雨绵延不断，扼杀了春天，就好像一个年轻人毫无理由就英年早逝了。

In those days, though, the spring always came finally but it was frightening that it had nearly failed.

可是，那些日子里，春天最终总会来临，只是一想到春天差点儿来不了就令人不免心有余悸。

(1)默顿，位于巴黎西郊上塞纳省的南部，以其宁静的环境而著名。

(2)西斯莱（1839—1899），印象派风景画家，大部分时间生活在法国。

(3)查尔顿，位于法国东南部郊区。

A False Spring

假想的春天

When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.

春天来临的时候，即使是假想的春天，除了去什么地方能度过最快乐的时光，别的都不成问题。唯一会扫了春日雅兴的就是人，所以你如果能不约见别人，那每一天都会无拘无束的。人往往会使快乐受到限制，除了极少数能和春天媲美的人。

In the spring mornings I would work early while my wife still slept. The windows were open wide and the cobbles of the street were drying after the rain. The sun was drying the wet faces of the houses that faced the window. The shops were still shuttered. The goatherd came up the street blowing his pipes and a woman who lived on the floor above us came out onto the sidewalk with a big pot. The goatherd chose one of the heavy-bagged, black milk-goats and milked her into the pot while his dog pushed the others onto the sidewalk. The goats looked around, turning their necks like sight-seers. The goatherd took the money from the woman and thanked her and went on up the street piping and the dog herded the goats on ahead, their horns bobbing. I went back to writing and the woman came up the stairs with the goat milk. She wore her felt-soled cleaning shoes and I only heard her breathing as she stopped on the stairs outside our door and then the shutting of her door. She was the only customer for goat milk in our building.

春日的清晨，当妻子仍在梦乡，我已经一早开始写作了。窗户敞开着，雨后街上的鹅卵石逐渐变干。在太阳的照耀下，窗户对面那些房子湿漉漉的表层也干了。商店还关着门。牧羊人吹着风笛顺着大街走来。住在我们楼上的女人捧着一个大罐子出来，走上人行道。牧羊人挑了一只乳房饱满的黑山羊，把奶挤到罐中，而他的狗则把其他羊赶到人行道上。羊群四处张望，像观光客一样转动着脖子。牧羊人从女人那儿接过钱，谢过她，便吹着风笛沿街继续往前走。牧羊狗领着羊群走在前面，羊角上下摆动。我接着写作。那个女人端着羊奶上楼。她穿的是打扫卫生时穿的毡底鞋，所以当她在我们门外的楼梯停步时，我只听见她的呼吸声，接着是她关门的声音。她是我们楼里唯一买山羊奶的人。

I decided to go down and buy a morning racing paper. There was no quarter too poor to have at least one copy of a racing paper but you had to buy it early on a day like this. I found one in the rue Descartes at the corner of the Place Contrescarpe. The goats were going down the rue Descartes and I breathed the air in and walked back fast to climb the stairs and get my work done. I had been tempted to stay out and follow the goats down the early morning street. But before I started work again I looked at the paper. They were running at Enghien, the small, pretty and larcenous track that was the home of the outsider.

我决定下楼去买份赛马晨报。一个区哪怕再破落，也至少有一份赛马报，但是像这样的日子，你得一早就去买。我在护墙广场拐角的笛卡尔大街上买到一份。羊群正顺着笛卡尔大街走，我吸着清晨的空气，快步走回家，上楼将作品完成。我曾非常想呆在外面，跟着羊群沿着清晨的街道散步。但是在继续写作前，我看了看报纸。赛马的地点在昂吉安，那里的马场赛道虽小却很漂亮，常有偷窃之事发生，是圈外人的聚集之所。

So that day after I had finished work we would go racing. Some money had come from the Toronto paper that I did newspaper work for and we wanted a long shot if we could fi nd one. My wife had a horse one time at Auteuil[1] named Chèvre d'Or that was a hundred and twenty to one and leading by twenty lengths when he fell at the last jump with enough savings on him to keep us six months. We tried never to think of that. We were ahead on that year until Chèvre d'Or.

所以，那天等我写作完成后我们要去赛马。我为一家多伦多报社做新闻工作，他们给我汇了一些钱。如果能找到合适的马，我们想赌上一把。我的妻子在欧特伊曾经有一匹叫“金山羊奶酪”的马，赔率是一百二十比一。那匹马领先二十个身长，最后一次跳栏却摔倒了，结果输了我们压在它身上的足以维持我们六个月生活的积蓄。我们尽量永远不去想这件事。“金山羊奶酪”那事儿前，那年我们一直在赚钱。

"Do we have enough money to really bet, Tatie?" my wife asked.

“我们真的有那么多钱去赌马吗，塔蒂？”妻子问道。

"No. We'll just figure to spend what we take. Is there something else you'd rather spend it for?"

“没有。我们只能考虑把挣来的钱花了。你更愿意把钱花在别的什么地方吗？”

"Well," she said.

“嗯。”她说。

"I know. It's been terribly hard and I've been tight and mean about money."

“我知道。日子过得一直很拮据，我一直都很节俭，对钱也一直很吝啬。”

"No," she said. "But—”

“不，”她说，“可是——”

I knew how severe I had been and how bad things had been. The one who is doing his work and getting satisfaction from it is not the one the poverty bothers. I thought of bathtubs and showers and toilets that flushed as things that inferior people to us had or that you enjoyed when you made trips, which we often made. There was always the public bathhouse down at the foot of the street by the river. My wife had never complained once about these things any more than she cried about Chèvre d'Or when he fell. She had cried for the horse, I remembered, but not for the money. I had been stupid when she needed a grey lamb jacket and had loved it once she had bought it. I had been stupid about other things too. It was all part of the fight against poverty that you never win except by not spending. Especially if you buy pictures instead of clothes. But then we did not think ever of ourselves as poor. We did not accept it. We thought we were superior people and other people that we looked down on and rightly mistrusted were rich. It had never seemed strange to me to wear sweatshirts for underwear to keep warm. It only seemed odd to the rich. We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and loved each other.

我知道我一向多么苛刻，事态有多么糟糕。一个把注意力放在写作上并从中得到满足的人是不为贫穷所困扰的。我把浴缸、淋浴和抽水马桶想成是身份比我们低的人才拥有的东西，或是只有旅行时才会享用的——我们是经常去旅行的。河畔那条街的尽头总有公共浴室。对于这些，妻子的怨言从未比“金山羊奶酪”摔倒时她的哭诉来得更多。她曾经因为这马而哭过，我记得，但并不是因为钱。她需要一件灰色羔羊皮夹克，对此我却愚钝无知，她买来之后我却爱不释手。其他方面我也很愚钝。这都是和贫困之间的斗争，一场你永远赢不了的战争，除非你分文不花，尤其是如果你买的是画而不是衣服。可是那时我们从不觉得自己穷困。我们不承认穷困。我们自认高人一等，而那些我们瞧不起、理所当然不信任的却是有钱人。为了保暖将运动衫当作内衣打底穿，这对我来说一点也不稀奇，但对有钱人来说却不伦不类。我们吃得又好又便宜，我们喝得又好又便宜，我们一起睡得又香又暖和，我们彼此相爱。

"I think we ought to go," my wife said. "We haven't been for such a long time. We'll take a lunch and some wine. I'll make good sandwiches."

“我想我们应该去赌马，”妻子说，“我们好长时间都没去了。我们可以带上午餐，再带点儿酒。我来做好吃的三明治。”

"We'll go on the train and it's cheap that way. But let's not go if you don't think we should. Anything we'd do today would be fun. It's a wonderful day."

“我们可以坐火车去，这样就很便宜。但是如果你觉得我们不该去，我们就不去。我们今天无论做什么都会好玩的。这么美好的一天！”

"I think we should go."

“我想我们应该去。”

"You wouldn't rather spend it some other way?"

“你不想把钱花在别的地方吗？”

"No," she said arrogantly. She had the lovely high cheekbones for arrogance. "Who are we anyway?"

“不。”她傲慢地说。她那高高的颧骨带着一股傲气，非常可爱。“我们是谁啊？”

So we went out by the train from the Gare du Nord through the dirtiest and saddest part of town and walked from the siding to the oasis of the track. It was early and we sat on my raincoat on the fresh cropped grass bank and had our lunch and drank from the wine bottle and looked at the old grandstand, the brown wooden betting booths, the green of the track, the darker green of the hurdles, and the brown shine of the water jumps and the whitewashed stone walls and white posts and rails, the paddock under the new leafed trees and the first horses being walked to the paddock. We drank more wine and studied the form in the paper and my wife lay down on the raincoat to sleep with the sun on her face. I went over and found someone I knew from the old days at San Siro in Milano. He gave me two horses.

我们从北站乘火车出发，穿过城里最肮脏、最糟糕的地方，从铁路侧线走到马场赛道的绿地。时间还早，我们在刚修剪过的草地边铺上我的雨衣，坐在上面吃午餐，用酒瓶喝酒，看着陈旧的大看台、棕色的木制赌马亭、绿色的赛道、深绿色的跳栏、泛着棕色光的障碍水沟、刷白的石墙、白色的布告栏和围栏、刚冒出新叶的树下面的围场，还有被赶到围场里的第一组马。我们又喝了点儿酒，研究了一下报纸上的赛马秩序表。妻子躺在雨衣上睡着了，阳光正好照在她脸上。我走过去，发现有个过去在米兰圣西罗认识的人。他向我介绍了两匹马。

"Mind, they're no investment. But don't let the price put you off."

“记住，它们挣不了什么钱。但别因为价格不下赌注。”

We won the first with half of the money that we had to spend and he paid twelve to one, jumping beautifully, taking command on the far side of the course and coming in four lengths ahead. We saved half of the money and put it away and bet the other half on the second horse who broke ahead, led all the way over the hurdles and on the fl at just lasted to the finish line with the favorite gaining on him with every jump and the two whips fl ailing.

我们用一半的钱作为赌注下在第一匹马上，赢了。这匹马的赔率是十二比一，跳跃动作非常漂亮，在赛场的另一端遥遥领先，跑近时领先四个身位。我们留下一半钱，把它收好，用另一半作为赌注下在第二匹马上。这匹马向前直冲，跃过一道道跨栏，一路领先，而平地赛上，每一次跳跃，每两下鞭打都让大伙儿看好的那匹马步步逼近，最后刚刚领先一点到达终点线。

We went to have a glass of champagne at the bar under the stand and wait for the prices to go up.

我们去看台下的酒吧喝了杯香槟酒，等着赔率上涨。

"My, but racing is very hard on people," my wife said. "Did you see that horse come up on him?"

“天哪，赛马对人来说真是煎熬，”妻子说，“你看见紧跟着它的那匹马了吗？”

"I can still feel it inside me."

“我心里还能感觉到那种紧张。”

"What will he pay?"

“能挣多少钱？”

"The cote was eighteen to one. But they may have bet him at the last."

“赔率是十八比一。不过他们可能最后把赌注压在这匹马上了。”

The horses came by, ours wet, with his nostrils working wide to breathe, the jockey patting him.

马匹从我们身边经过，我们的那匹马湿透了，鼻孔大张着喘气，骑师轻轻地拍着它。

"Poor him," my wife said. "We just bet."

“可怜的马，”妻子叹道，“我们只不过下了点儿赌注而已。”

We watched them go on by and had another glass of champagne and then the winning price came up: 85. That meant he paid eighty-five francs for ten.

我们看着马匹走过，又喝了杯香槟酒，然后胜利的赔率就出来了：八十五。这意味着那匹马的赔率是八十五法郎比十。

"They must have put a lot of money on at the end," I said.

“他们肯定最后在它身上下了一大笔赌注。”我说。

But we had made plenty of money, big money for us, and now we had spring and money too. I thought that was all we needed. A day like that one, if you split the winnings one quarter for each to spend, left a half for racing capital. I kept the racing capital secret and apart from all other capital.

但我们已经挣了很多钱，对我们来说是一大笔钱，现在我们既有了春天，也有了钱。我想这就是我们需要的一切。像那样的一天，可以把赢来的钱分成四份，一人花一份，剩下的另一半留作赛马的本金。我悄悄留着这笔赛马本金，将它和其他的钱分开放。

Another day later that year when we had come back from one of our voyages and had good luck at some track again we stopped at Pruniers on the way home, going in to sit at the bar after looking at all the clearly priced wonders in the window. We had oysters and crabe Mexicaine with glasses of Sancerre. We walked back through the Tuileries in the dark and stood and looked through the Arc du Carrousel up across the dark gardens with the lights of the Concorde behind the formal darkness and then the long rise of lights toward the Arc de Triomphe. Then we looked back toward the dark of the Louvre and I said, "Do you really think that the three arches are in line? These two and the Sermione in Milano?"

那年后来有一天，我们有一次旅行回来，又在一家赛马场上撞了好运，因此回家的路上，我们在普吕涅饭店门口停下来，看完橱窗里标明价格的所有美味佳肴，就走进酒吧坐下。我们吃了牡蛎和墨西哥螃蟹，喝了几杯桑赛尔白葡萄酒。黑暗中我们穿过杜伊勒利公园走路回家，站在那儿，目光越过小凯旋门，抬头眺望夜色中的公园，公园那一片漆黑后是协和广场的灯光，然后是朝凯旋门远远投射的灯光。接着我们回头朝黑暗中的卢浮宫的方向望去。我问妻子，“你真的认为这三扇拱门在一条直线上吗？这两扇和米兰的西米欧尼拱门？”

"I don't know, Tatie. They say so and they ought to know. Do you remember when we came out into the spring on the Italian side of the St. Bernard[2] after the climb in the snow, and you and Chink[3] and I walked down all day in the spring to Aosta[4]?”

“我不知道，塔蒂。人们是这么说的，他们应该知道的。你还记得吗，我们出来踏春，在雪地中攀登之后来到意大利那一侧的圣伯纳德山，春天里，你、钦克，还有我步行一整天去奥斯塔？”

"Chink called it 'across the St. Bernard in street shoes.' Remember your shoes?"

“钦克管那叫‘穿着上街的鞋爬过圣伯纳德山’。还记得你的鞋吗？”

"My poor shoes. Do you remember us having fruit cup at Biffi 's in the Galleria with Capri and fresh peaches and wild strawberries in a tall glass pitcher with ice?"

“我可怜的鞋。你记得我们在商业拱廊的比菲餐厅吃什锦水果杯吗？加了冰块的高脚玻璃大水杯里盛着卡普里白葡萄酒、鲜桃、野草莓？”

"That time was what made me wonder about the three arches. "

“就是那次让我想到了三座拱门。”

"I remember the Sermione. It's like this arch."

“我记得西米欧尼拱门，它就像这座拱门。”

"Do you remember the inn at Aigle[5] where you and Chink sat in the garden that day and read while I fished?”

“你还记得那天在艾格勒镇上的小旅馆，我钓着鱼，你和钦克坐在花园里看书吗？”

"Yes, Tatie."

“记得，塔蒂。”

I remembered the Rhéne[6], narrow and grey and full of snow water and the two trout streams on either side, the Stockalper and the Rhéne canal. The Stockalper was really clear that day and the Rhéne canal was still murky.

我记得河道窄小、水面灰暗的罗讷河，河里都是积雪融化的水，河的两岸各有一条多鳟鱼的河沟，分别是斯托卡佩河和罗讷河运河。那天斯托卡佩河真的很清澈，可是罗讷河却仍然很浑浊。

"Do you remember when the horse-chestnut trees were in bloom and how I tried to remember a story that Jim Gamble[7], I think, had told me about a wisteria vine and I couldn't remember it?"

“你还记得吗，七叶树开花的时候，我试图回想起好像是吉姆·甘博给我讲过的一种紫藤的故事，却怎么也想不起来？”

"Yes Tatie, and you and Chink always talking about how to make things true, writing them, and put them rightly and not describe. I remember everything. Sometimes he was right and sometimes you were right. I remember the lights and textures and the shapes you argued about."

“记得，塔蒂。你和钦克老是谈怎么还原事物的真实面貌，把它们写下来，恰当地表达而非描绘。每一件事我都记得。有时候他对了，有时候是你对。我记得你们还争论过灯光、质地和形状。”

Now we had come out of the gateway through the Louvre and crossed the street outside and were standing on the bridge leaning on the stone and looking down at the river.

这时我们已经穿过卢浮宫走出大门口，穿过外面的大街，站在桥上倚靠着石栏，俯瞰塞纳河。

"We all three argued about everything and always specific things and we made fun of each other. I remember everything we ever did and everything we ever said on the whole trip," Hadley said. "I do really. About everything. When you and Chink talked I was included. It wasn't like being a wife at Miss Stein's."

“我们三个什么都争论，还总是争论细节的问题，我们还互相开玩笑。我记得整个旅行中我们做过的每一件事，说过的每一句话，”哈德莉说，“我真的记得。每一件事。你和钦克谈话时，我也参与进去了。不像在斯泰因小姐家做妻子那样。”

"I wish I could remember the story about the wisteria vine."

“我多希望我能想起紫藤的故事。”

"It wasn't important. It was the vine that was important, Tatie."

“那不重要。重要的是紫藤，塔蒂。”

"Do you remember I brought some wine from Aigle home to the chalet? They sold it to us at the inn. They said it should go with the trout. We brought it wrapped in copies of La Gazette de Lausanne, I think."

“你记得我从艾格勒镇的小旅馆带了点酒到寄宿小木屋吗？我们在旅馆买的，他们告诉我们这酒应该就着鳟鱼喝。我还记得我们是用《洛桑日报》的报纸包着酒带去的。”

"The Sion wine was even better. Do you remember how Mrs. Gangeswisch cooked the trout au bleu when we got back to the chalet? They were such wonderful trout, Tatie, and we drank the Sion wine and ate out on the porch with the mountainside dropping off below and we could look across the lake and see the Dent du Midi[8] with the snow half down it and the trees at the mouth of the Rhône where it flowed into the lake.”

“锡安酒更好。你记得我们回到寄宿小木屋时冈斯维斯奇夫人是怎么做奶汁鳟鱼的吗？塔蒂，那些鳟鱼真是太好吃了，我们在门廊外喝锡安酒、吃鱼。山坡往下倾斜，隔着日内瓦湖，我们可以看到从半山腰往下还覆盖着积雪的正午峰，还能看到罗讷河汇入日内瓦湖的河口的树。”

"We always miss Chink in the winter and the spring."

“冬天和春天的时候我们总是很想念钦克。”

"Always. And I miss him now when it is gone."

“是啊，总是这样。虽然那是过去的事了，我现在还很想念他。”

Chink was a professional soldier and had gone out to Mons[9] from Sandhurst[10]. I had met him first in Italy and he had been my best friend and then our best friend for a long time. He spent his leaves with us then.

钦克是个职业军人，从桑赫斯特毕业后去了蒙斯城。我第一次遇见他是在意大利，后来他就成了我最好的朋友，之后很长一段时间都是我和妻子最好的朋友。那时他和我们一起共度假期。

"He's going to try to get leave this next spring. He wrote last week from Cologne."

“明年春天他想休假。上周他从科隆来过信。”

"I know. We should live in this time now and have every minute of it."

“我知道。现在我们要好好享受眼前的生活，不放过每一分钟。”

"We're watching the water now as it hits this buttress. Look what we can see when we look up the river."

“现在我们正看着河水拍打着扶壁。抬头看看上游，看我们能瞧见什么。”

We looked and there it all was: our river and our city and the island of our city.

我们顺势看去，一切尽在眼前：我们的塞纳河，我们的城市，还有我们这座城市所在的岛屿。

"We're too lucky," she said. "I hope Chink will come. He takes care of us."

“我们太幸运了，”她说，“我希望钦克能来。他总是照顾我们。”

"He doesn't think so."

“他可不这么认为。”

"Of course not."

“当然不会。”

"He thinks we explore together."

“他认为我们是在一起探索。”

"We do. But it depends on what you explore."

“我们的确如此。但这要看你探索的是什么。”

We walked across the bridge and were on our own side of the river.

我们走过桥，来到塞纳河我们住的那一边。

"Are you hungry again?" I said. "Us. Talking and walking. "

“你又饿了吗？”我问道。“我们说了那么多话，走了那么远的路。”

"Of course, Tatie. Aren't you?"

“当然，塔蒂。你不饿吗？”

"Let's go to a wonderful place and have a truly grand dinner."

“我们找个好地方去吃顿真正的大餐。”

"Where?"

“去哪儿？”

"Michaud's?"

“米肖餐厅？”

"That's perfect and it's so close."

“太好了，而且也很近。”

So we walked up the rue des Saints-Peres to the corner of the rue Jacob stopping and looking in the windows at pictures and at furniture. We stood outside of Michaud's restaurant reading the posted menu. Michaud's was crowded and we waited for people to come out, watching the tables where people already had their coffee.

于是我们顺着教皇大街往前走，在雅各布大街街角停下，看着橱窗里的画和家具。我们站在米肖餐厅门口看张贴出来的菜单。米肖餐厅人很多，我们等着客人出来，张望着哪张桌子的客人已经喝完了咖啡。

We were hungry again from walking and Michaud's was an exciting and expensive restaurant for us. It was where Joyce ate with his family then, he and his wife against the wall, Joyce peering at the menu through his thick glasses holding the menu up in one hand; Nora by him, a hearty but delicate eater; Giorgio thin, foppish, sleek-headed from the back; Lucia with heavy curly hair, a girl not quite yet grown; all of them talking Italian.

因为走路我们又饿了。米肖餐厅对我们来说是一家既让人兴奋、又价格不菲的餐厅。那时乔伊斯和他的家人就是在这家餐厅吃饭的。他和妻子靠墙坐着。乔伊斯一手举着菜单，透过厚厚的镜片凝视着；挨着他的诺拉胃口很好，但吃相优雅；乔治从后面看起来瘦瘦的，头发光滑油亮，像个纨绔子弟；露西娅留着一头浓密的卷发，还是个没有发育成熟的女孩；他们全都用意大利语交谈。

Standing there I wondered how much of what we had felt on the bridge was just hunger. I asked my wife and she said, "I don't know, Tatie. There are so many sorts of hunger. In the spring there are more. But that's gone now. Memory is hunger."

站在那儿，我寻思着我们在桥上时，有多少时候感觉到的只是饥饿。我问妻子，她回答说，“我不知道，塔蒂。饥饿有很多种。春天，饥饿的种类就更多了。但现在已经没有饥饿感了。记忆就是饥饿。”

I was being stupid, and looking in the window and seeing two tournedos being served I knew I was hungry in a simple way.

我真蠢。往橱窗里看去，看见正端上桌的两块小圆菲利牛扒，我明白了我只是单纯地饿了。

"You said we were lucky today. Of course we were. But we had very good advice and information."

“你说我们今天很幸运。我们当然很幸运。不过我们得到了很好的建议和消息。”

She laughed.

她笑了。

"I didn't mean about the racing. You're such a literal boy. I meant lucky other ways."

“我说的可不是赛马。你真是个死脑筋的小子。我说的幸运，是指别的方面。”

"I don't think Chink cares for racing," I said compounding my stupidity.

“我觉得钦克不喜欢赛马，”我这么说，愈发显出我的傻气。

"No. He'd only care for it if he were riding."

“是的。他只有自己骑马的时候才喜欢。”

"Don't you want to go racing any more?"

“你不想再去赛马吗？”

"Of course. And now we can go whenever we want again."

“当然想去。现在我们又可以什么时候想去就去了。”

"But you really want to go?"

“但是你真的想去吗？”

"Of course. You do, don't you?"

“当然。你也想去，对吧？”

It was a wonderful meal at Michaud's after we got in; but when we had finished and there was no question of hunger any more the feeling that had been like hunger when we were on the bridge was still there when we caught the bus home. It was there when we came in the room and after we had gone to bed and made love in the dark, it was there. When I woke with the windows open and the moonlight on the roofs of the tall houses, it was there. I put my face away from the moonlight into the shadow but I could not sleep and lay awake thinking about it. We had both wakened twice in the night and my wife slept sweetly now with the moonlight on her face. I had to try to think it out and I was too stupid. Life had seemed so simple that morning when I had wakened and found the false spring and heard the pipes of the man with his herd of goats and gone out and bought the racing paper.

我们走进米肖餐馆美餐了一顿。吃完后，虽然不再有饥饿的问题了，可是当我们乘公共汽车回家时，那种在桥上类似饥饿的感觉却仍然还在。我们走进房间，那种感觉还在。我们上床、在黑暗中做完爱，那种感觉还在。一觉醒来，窗户开着，月光倾泻在高高的房子的屋顶上，那种感觉还在。我把脸转到暗处，背着月光，却无法入睡，醒着躺在那儿想这个问题。夜里我们俩都醒过两次。这会儿妻子睡得正香，月光洒在她脸上。我得试着想出这是怎么回事，我真是太笨了。那天早上醒来我误以为春天来了，听到牧羊人吹着风笛赶着羊群，然后出门去买赛马报，生活似乎是那么的简单。

But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.

可是巴黎是个非常古老的城市，而我们却很年轻，因此没有什么是简单的，甚至连贫穷、意外之财、月光、对与错和月光下躺在你身边的人的呼吸，都不是简单的。

(1)奥特伊，位于塞纳河和布伦园林区之间的城镇。

(2)圣伯纳德山，东北西南延伸并横跨阿尔卑斯山。

(3)钦克，原名是埃里克·爱德华·多尔曼-史密斯，海明威在米兰休养所结识了他。

(4)奥斯塔，意大利西北部一个多山的城市。

(5)艾格勒镇，瑞士沃州的一个小镇。

(6)罗讷河,源头在瑞士，流经法国东南部，注入地中海。

(7)吉姆·甘博（1882—1958），海明威在意大利北部当志愿兵时的红十字会的上司。

(8)正午峰，位于瑞士境内的阿尔卑斯山脉，海拔3,257米。

(9)蒙斯城，比利时西南部的城市。

(10)桑赫斯特，英国陆军军官学校所在地。

The End Of An Avocation

一项业余爱好的结束

We went racing together many more times that year and other years after I had worked in the early mornings, and Hadley enjoyed it and sometimes she loved it. But it was not the climbs in the high mountain meadows above the last forest, nor nights coming home to the chalet, nor was it climbing with Chink, our best friend, over a high pass into new country. It was not really racing either. It was gambling on horses. But we called it racing.

那年，还有后来的几年，我一大早完成写作后，我们曾一起去赛了好几次马。哈德莉喜欢赛马，有时候还非常痴迷。不过，那并不是攀登最后一片森林上方的高山牧场，不是回到我们寄宿小木屋的夜晚，也不是和我们最好的朋友钦克一起越过高险的关隘进入另一个国家。那也不是真正的赛马。那只不过是赌马。不过，我们把它称之为赛马。

Racing never came between us, only people could do that; but for a long time it stayed close to us like a demanding friend. That was a generous way to think of it. I, the one who was so righteous about people and their destructiveness, tolerated this friend that was the falsest, most beautiful, most exciting, vicious, and demanding because she could be profitable. To make it profitable was more than a fulltime job and I had no time for that. But I justified it to myself because I wrote it, even though in the end, when everything I had written was lost, there was only one racing story that survived, because it was out in the mails.

赛马从未使我们疏离，能使人疏离的只有人；但是有很长一段时间它就像一个苛求的朋友，和我们形影不离。这么想是非常大度的。对于人和人的破坏性持有正义感的我却容忍了这位最虚假、最漂亮、最让人激动、最邪恶、也最苛求的朋友，因为她可能有利可图。可是要从中获利比做一份全职工作还费功夫，而我并没有那么多时间。不过，我还是为自己找了正当理由，因为我要写赛马的故事，尽管最后我写的故事都丢了，只有一篇赛马的小说因为被我寄出去了而幸存了下来。

I was going to races alone more now and I was involved in them and getting too mixed up with them. I worked two tracks in their season when I could, Auteuil and Enghien. It took full-time work to try to handicap intelligently and you could make no money that way. That was just how it worked out on paper. You could buy a newspaper that gave you that.

现在我更多的是独自一人去赛马。我沉迷于赛马，并深陷其中。到了赛季，如果可能，我就去欧特伊和昂吉安这两个赛马场。要想巧妙地赢得障碍赛就得全身心投入，即便这样也可能赢不了钱。那只不过是纸上谈兵。你可以买份报纸，从那能得到点儿信息。

You had to watch a jumping race from the top of the stands at Auteuil and it was a fast climb up to see what each horse did and see the horse that might have won and did not, and see why or maybe how he did not do what he could have done. You watched the prices and all the shifts of odds each time a horse you were following would start, and you had to know how he was working and finally get to know when the stable would try with him. He always might be beaten when he tried; but you should know by then what his chances were. It was hard work but at Auteuil it was beautiful to watch each day they raced when you could be there and see the honest races with the great horses, and you got to know the course as well as any place you had ever known. You knew many people finally, jockeys and trainers and owners and too many horses and too many things.

你得从欧特伊的看台顶部观看障碍赛。要很快地爬到看台上面，才能看到每一匹马的表现，看看哪匹马本可能赢得比赛却输了，看看哪匹马为什么没有发挥应有的水平或是如何没发挥好的。每当你看好的马要开始比赛，你都要关注价格以及赔率的变化，你要了解这匹马表现如何，最后还得了解驯马员什么时候要试赛。马试赛的时候总是有可能被打败，不过那时你就会知道这匹马的胜算有多大。这是件苦差事，但只要你能去，每天在欧特伊看赛马、看那些骏马公平地比赛是件很惬意的事。你逐渐了解了赛马场，了解得就像你已熟悉的任何一个地方。最后你还认识了很多人，骑师、驯马员、马的主人，还有很多马和很多事儿。

In principle I only bet when I had a horse to bet on but I sometimes found horses that nobody believed in except the men who trained and rode them that won race after race with me betting on them. I stopped finally because it took too much time, I was getting too involved and I knew too much about what went on at Enghien and at the fl at racing tracks too.

基本上，我只在看准了一匹马能赢的时候才下赌注，但有时候我发现有些马除了驯马员和骑师以外没人看好，可我在它们身上下赌注时却一场接一场地赢。我最终还是不赌了，因为它太耗费时间，而且我太投入了，也太了解在昂吉安和平地赛马场跑道上发生的一切了。

When I stopped working on the races I was glad but it left an emptiness. By then I knew that everything good and bad left an emptiness when it stopped. But if it was bad, the emptiness filled up by itself. If it was good you could only fill it by finding something better. I put the racing capital back into the general funds and I felt relaxed and good.

我很高兴自己罢手不再赛马了，但感到空虚。那时我明白了，所有事情，无论好坏，结束的时候都会感到空虚。但如果是坏事，空虚感自然而然就会被填补。如果是好事，你就只能找更好的东西来填补。我把赛马的本金和所有的钱放回到一起，感觉轻松愉快。

The day I gave up racing I went over to the other side of the river and met my friend Mike Ward at the travel desk in the Guaranty Trust which was then at the corner of the rue des Italiens on the Boulevard des Italiens. I was depositing the racing capital but I did not tell that to anyone. I didn't put it in the checkbook though I still kept it in my head.

放弃赛马的那天我去塞纳河对岸，在担保信托公司兑换旅行汇票台前碰见了我的朋友迈克·沃德。那时担保信托公司在意大利大道上意大利街道的拐角处。我正在存赛马的本钱，但没有告诉任何人。我没有把它放入支票簿，不过我脑子里记着这笔钱。

"Want to go to lunch?" I asked Mike.

“想去吃午饭吗？”我问迈克。

"Sure, kid. Yeah I can do it. What's the matter? Aren't you going to the track?"

“当然，老兄。我们可以一起去。怎么了？你不去赛马场吗？”

"No."

“不去了。”

We had lunch at the square Louvois at a very good, plain bistro with a wonderful white wine. Across the square was the Bibliothéque Nationale.

我们在卢瓦广场上一家朴素但非常好的小餐馆吃的午饭，喝了一杯很不错的白葡萄酒。广场对面就是国家图书馆。

"You never went to the track much, Mike," I said.

“你不怎么去赛马场，迈克。”我说。

"No. Not for quite a long time."

“是的，很久没去了。”

"Why did you lay off it?"

“为什么不去了呢？”

"I don't know," Mike said. "Yes. Sure I do. Anything you have to bet on to get a kick isn't worth seeing."

“不知道，”迈克回答。“是啊，我当然知道。任何你得下赌注才能获得快感的事都不值一看。”

"Don't you ever go out?"

“你现在一次都不去了吗？”

"Sometimes to see a big race. One with great horses."

“有时候去看一场重要的比赛。有好马的比赛。”

We spread pété on the good bistro bread and drank the white wine.

我们把肉酱抹在小餐馆烤的上好的面包上，喝着白葡萄酒。

"Did you follow them a lot, Mike?"

“你以前很关注赛马吗，迈克？”

"Oh yes."

“哦，是的。”

"What do you see that's better?"

“你认为什么事儿更好点儿呢？”

"Bicycle racing."

“自行车比赛。”

"Really?"

“真的吗？”

"You don't have to bet on it. You'll see."

“你用不着下赌注。你会明白的。”

"That track takes a lot of time."

“赛马场要花费一个人很多时间。”

"Too much time. Takes all your time. I don't like the people."

“太多时间了。你得搭上所有时间。我不喜欢那儿的人。”

"I was very interested."

“我过去很感兴趣。”

"Sure. You make out all right?"

“当然。你现在过得还好吗？”

"All right."

“还好。”

"Good thing to stop," Mike said.

“放弃是件好事。”迈克说。

"I've stopped."

“我已经放弃了。”

"Hard to do. Listen kid, we'll go to the bike races sometime."

“这样做不容易啊。听着，老兄，什么时候我们一起去看自行车比赛。”

That was a new and fine thing that I knew little about. But we did not start it right away. That came later. It came to be a big part of our lives later when the first part of Paris was broken up.

那是一件新鲜好玩的事，我对它几乎一无所知。但是我们没有马上就去。去看自行车比赛是后来的事。后来，在巴黎的第一段生活支离破碎后，那成了我们生活中重要的一部分。

But for a long time it was enough just to be back in our part of Paris and away from the track and to bet on our own life and work, and on the painters that you knew and not try to make your living gambling and call it by some other name. I have started many stories about bicycle racing but have never written one that is as good as the races are both on the indoor and outdoor tracks and on the roads. But I will get the Vélodrome d'Hiver with the smoky light of the afternoon and the high-banked wooden track and the whirring sound the tires made on the wood as the riders passed, the effort and the tactics as the riders climbed and plunged, each one a part of his machine; I will get the magic of the demi-fond, the noise of the motors with their rollers set out behind them that the entraîneurs rode, wearing their heavy crash helmets and leaning backward in their ponderous leather suits, to shelter the riders who followed them from the air resistance, the riders in their lighter crash helmets bent low over their handlebars their legs turning the huge gear sprockets and the small front wheels touching the roller behind the machine that gave them shelter to ride in, and the duels that were more exciting than anything, the put-puting of the motorcycles and the riders elbow to elbow and wheel to wheel up and down and around at deadly speed until one man could not hold the pace and broke away and the solid wall of air that he had been sheltered against hit him.

但是有很长一段时间，回到巴黎中我们的那个区，远离赛马场，把赌注下在我们自己的生活和写作上，下在你了解的画家身上，不靠赌博谋生并冠之以美名，这样我们就很满足了。我已经开始写很多关于自行车比赛的小说，但从来没写过一个那样奇妙的比赛，它既能在室内和室外的赛道上进行又能在公路上开展。不过我会写午后烟雾弥漫的光线下的“冬日室内自行车场”，写高高倾斜的木质赛车道和骑手经过时轮胎在木质赛道上发出的“呼呼”的声音，写赛手爬坡和俯冲的拼劲和策略，每个赛手都融为自行车的一部分；我要写中距离赛事的魅力，写先于赛手出发的领骑员骑的摩托车发出的喧闹声：领骑员戴着沉重的头盔，穿着笨重的皮外套，身体后倾，为紧随其后的赛手减小空气阻力；赛手戴着更轻便的头盔，弯腰低伏在手把上，两腿蹬着巨大的链轮，小前轮几乎紧贴着为它提供庇护的摩托车后面的滚轮；我要写最扣人心弦的对决：摩托车的“噗噗”声，赛手几乎胳膊肘碰胳膊肘、轮子挨着轮子上下飞速绕着赛车场转，直到有人跟不上，掉队了，被原来由于领路员的庇护而无法击到他的那堵牢不可破的气墙击中。

There were so many kinds of racing. The straight sprints raced in heats or in match races where the two riders would balance for long seconds on their machines for the advantage of making the other rider take the lead and then the slow circling and the fi nal plunge into the driving purity of speed. There were the programs of the team races of two hours, with a series of pure sprints in their heats to fill the afternoon, the lonely absolute speed events of one man racing an hour against the clock, the terribly dangerous and beautiful races of one hundred kilometers on the big banked wooden five-hundred-meter bowl of the Stade Buffalo, the outdoor stadium at Montrouge where they raced behind big motorcycles, Linart, the great Belgian champion that they called "the Sioux[1]" for his profile, dropping his head to suck up cherry brandy from a rubber tube that connected with a hot water bottle under his racing shirt when he needed it toward the end as he increased his savage speed, and the championships of France behind big motors of the six-hundred-and-sixty-meter cement track of the Parc du Prince near Auteuil, the wickedest track of all where we saw that great rider Ganay fall and heard his skull crumple under the crash helmet as you crack an hard-boiled egg against a stone to peel it on a picnic. I must write the strange world of the six-day races and the marvels of the road-racing in the mountains. French is the only language it has ever been written in properly and the terms are all French and that is what makes it hard to write. Mike was right about it, there is no need to bet. But that comes at another time in Paris.

比赛的形式丰富多彩。以分组赛或两两对抗赛形式进行的短距离冲刺赛中，两位赛手先是在自行车上保持平衡不动好几秒，让对方领先，以取得优势，然后慢慢地环绕自行车场，直到最后以最快的速度冲刺。还有两小时的团体赛，整个下午全是一轮接一轮的短距离冲刺分组赛，这是纯粹对速度的比拼，孤零零一个人骑一个小时自行车，和时间赛跑。在宽敞的有点坡度的布法罗体育场五百米长的椭圆形木质赛道上的十万米比赛惊险刺激、精彩纷呈。布法罗体育场是位于蒙鲁日的露天体育场，比赛继大型摩托车赛之后开始。著名比利时冠军林纳特因为脸部轮廓的缘故被称作“苏族人”。快到终点时他疯狂加速，需要时他会低头从赛服下面和热水瓶相连的橡皮管吸一口樱桃白兰地。大型摩托车比赛后还有在欧特伊附近王子公园六百六十米的水泥赛道上举行的法国冠军赛。那是最差的赛道，我们甚至见过著名车手加奈在那儿摔倒，还听到头盔下头骨破裂的声音，就像野餐时为了要剥开煮熟的鸡蛋把它敲打在石头上一样。我一定要写为期六天的比赛的奇异世界和山地自行车比赛的精彩胜况。唯一一种准确描写过这项运动的语言就是法语。所有的术语都是法语，所以很难写。迈克说对了，没有必要下赌注。但那是在巴黎的另一段时光了。

(1)苏族人，美国北部和加拿大南部的印第安人，即达科他人。

Hunger Was Good Discipline

饥饿是可贵的锻炼

You got very hungry when you did not eat enough in Paris because all the bakery shops had such good things in the windows and people ate outside at tables on the sidewalk so that you saw and smelled the food. When you had given up journalism and were writing nothing that anyone in America would buy, explaining at home that you were lunching out with someone, the best place to go was the Luxembourg gardens where you saw and smelled nothing to eat all the way from the Place de 1'Observatoire to the rue de Vaugirard. There you could always go into the Luxembourg museum and all the paintings were sharpened and clearer and more beautiful if you were belly-empty, hollow-hungry. I learned to understand Cézanne much better and to see truly how he made landscapes when I was hungry. I used to wonder if he were hungry too when he painted; but I thought possibly it was only that he had forgotten to eat. It was one of those unsound but illuminating thoughts you have when you have been sleepless or hungry. Later I thought Cézanne was probably hungry in a different way.

在巴黎如果吃不饱你会感到尤为饥饿，因为所有面包店的橱窗里都陈列着如此诱人的东西，人们又都坐在外面人行道旁的桌边吃喝，所以你不仅能看见食物，还能闻到诱人的香味。当你放弃了新闻写作，并且写不出在美国有人买的作品，还要向家人谎称说要和别人在外面共进午餐时，那么最好的去处就是卢森堡公园。从天文台广场到沃日拉尔大街，一路你看不到任何食物也闻不到食物的芳香。在那儿你总能走进卢森堡博物馆。当你肚子空空、饥肠辘辘时，所有画都会变得更敏锐清晰，更加赏心悦目。饥饿的时候我学会了更好地欣赏塞尚，真正明白了他是如何画风景的。我过去常常想，他画画的时候是不是也饿着肚子；但我想他很可能只是忘了吃饭。这是你失眠或饥饿时产生的不合逻辑但具有启发性的想法之一。后来我想，塞尚感受到的饥饿感很可能是另一种形式的饥饿。

After you came out of the Luxembourg you could walk down the narrow rue Férou to the Place St. Sulpice and there were still no restaurants, only the quiet square with its benches and trees. There was a fountain with lions, and pigeons walked on the pavement and perched on the statues of the bishops. There was the church and there were shops selling religious objects and vestments on the north side of the square.

从卢森堡公园出来你可以沿着狭窄的费罗街走到圣索毕斯广场，那儿也没有餐馆，只有安静的广场和长椅、树丛。广场上有一个用狮子雕像装饰的喷泉。鸽子在人行道上踱步，时而飞落在那些主教的雕像上。那儿有教堂，广场北边还有几家卖宗教用品和祭祀法衣的商店。

From this square you could not go further toward the river without passing shops selling fruits, vegetables, wines, or bakery and pastry shops. But by choosing your way carefully you could walk to your right around the grey and white stone church and reach the rue de I'Odéon and turn up to your right toward Sylvia Beach's bookshop and on your way you did not pass too many places where things to eat were sold. The rue de I'Odéon was bare of eating places until you reached the square where there were three restaurants.

从这个广场去塞纳河，你必须经过卖水果、蔬菜、酒、或者面包和蛋糕的商店。不过，如果细心选择路线，你可以从右边绕过灰白色石头建造的教堂，来到奥岱翁大街，然后右拐前往西尔维娅·比奇书店，这一路上你不会经过多少卖食物的地方。在你来到广场看到三家餐馆前，奥岱翁大街上没有吃饭的地方。

By the time you reached 12 rue de I'Odéon your hunger was contained but all of your perceptions were heightened again. The photographs looked different and you saw books that you had never seen before.

到了奥岱翁大街12号时，你已经克制住饥饿感，不过所有的感官又再次活跃起来。照片看上去不一样了，而且你还看到了以前从未发现的书。

"You're too thin, Hemingway," Sylvia would say. "Are you eating enough?"

“你太瘦了，海明威，”塞尔维娅会说，“你能吃饱吗？”

"Sure. "

“当然。”

"What did you eat for lunch?"

“午饭吃什么了？”

My stomach would turn over and I would say, "I'm going home for lunch now."

我的胃要翻江倒海了，不过我还是说：“我现在回家吃午饭。”

"At three o'clock?"

“下午三点吃午饭？”

"I didn't know it was that late."

“我不知道已经这么晚了。”

"Adrienne[1] said the other night she wanted to have you and Hadley for dinner. We'd ask Fargue[2]. You like Fargue, don't you? Or Larbaud. You like him. I know you like him. Or anyone you really like. Will you speak to Hadley?"

“有天晚上艾德丽安说想要邀请你和哈德莉一起吃晚饭。我们想邀请法尔格。你喜欢法尔格，对吧？或者请拉尔博。你喜欢他。我知道你喜欢他。或者你喜欢谁就邀请谁。你告诉哈德莉一声，好吗？”

"I know she'd love to come."

“我知道她愿意来。”

"I'll send her a pneu. Don't you work so hard now that yon don't eat properly."

“我会给她发一封询问函。你都不好好吃饭，工作别太拼命了。”

"I won't."

“我不会的。”

"Get home now before it's too late for lunch."

“现在就回家吧，太晚就吃不上午饭了。”

"They'll save it."

“他们会给我留着的。”

"Don't eat cold food either. Eat a good hot lunch."

“别吃凉的。好好吃顿热乎的午饭。”

"Did I have any mail?"

“有我的信吗？”

"I don't think so. But let me look."

“没有吧。让我看看。”

She looked and found a note and looked up happily and then opened a closed door in her desk.

她看了看，找到一份通知单，高兴地抬起头，然后打开写字台上一扇关着的门。

"This came while I was out," she said. It was a letter and it felt as though it had money in it. "Wedderkop," Sylvia said.

“这是我出去时送来的。”她说。那是一封信，摸起来好像里面有钱。“韦德尔科普先生寄来的。”西尔维娅说。

"It must be from Det Querschnitt[3]. Did you see Wedderkop?”

“一定是《横截面》寄来的。你见过韦德尔科普吗？”

"No. But he was here with George. He'll see you. Don't worry. Perhaps he wanted to pay you first."

“没有。但他曾经和乔治一起来过这儿。他会见你的。别担心。也许他是想先付你钱。”

"It's six hundred franca. He says there will be more."

“六百法郎。他说还会给更多的钱。”

"I'm awfully glad you reminded me to look. Dear Mr. Awfully Nice."

“真感谢你提醒我看一眼，亲爱的大好人先生。”

"It's damned funny that Germany is the only place I can sell anything. To him and the Frankfurter Zeitung[4].”

“真滑稽，德国竟然是唯一有人买我作品的地方。买主是他和《法兰克福汇报》。”

"Isn't it? But don't you worry ever. Yon can sell stories to Ford," she teased me.

“是吗？不过你不用担心。你可以把小说卖给福特。”她开玩笑说。

"Thirty francs a page. Say one story every three months in The Transatlantic. Story five pages long make one hundred and fifty francs a quarter. Six hundred francs a year."

“三十法郎一页。假设每三个月在《跨大西洋评论》上发表一篇小说，三个月写五页长的故事也只能挣一百五十法郎，一年六百法郎。”

"But, Hemingway, don't worry about what they bring now. The point is that you can write them."

“不过，海明威，别担心现在它们能挣多少钱。关键是你能写小说。”

"I know. I can write them. But nobody will buy them. There is no money coming in since I quit journalism."

“我知道。我能写。可是没有人愿意买。我不写新闻报道以来就没有收入。”

"They will sell. Look. You have the money for one right there."

“会有人买的。瞧，这不就是你的一篇小说挣来的钱嘛。”

"I'm sorry, Sylvia. Forgive me for speaking about it."

“对不起，西尔维娅。原谅我说起这些。”

"Forgive you for what? Always talk about it or about anything. Don't you know all writers ever talk about is their troubles? But promise me you won't worry and that you'll eat enough."

“原谅你什么？不管什么事都尽管说吧。难道你不知道所有作家谈的就是他们的烦心事吗？但是，答应我你不会担心，还要吃得饱饱的。”

"I promise."

“我答应你。”

"Then get home now and have lunch."

“现在回家吃午饭吧。”

Outside on the rue de 1'Odéon I was disgusted with myself for having complained about things. I was doing what I did of my own free will and I was doing it stupidly. I should have bought a large piece of bread and eaten it instead of skipping a meal. I could taste the brown lovely crust. But it is dry in your mouth without something to drink. You God damn complainer. You dirty phony saint and martyr, I said to myself. You quit journalism of your own accord. You have credit and Sylvia would have loaned you money. She has plenty of times. Sure. And then the next thing you would be compromising on something else. Hunger is healthy and the pictures do look better when you are hungry. Eating is wonderful too and do you know where you are going to eat right now?

出了书店走在奥岱翁大街上，我对自己牢骚满腹感到厌恶。我正在做的是我心甘情愿做的事，可却做得愚蠢之极。我本该买个大面包吃，而不应该不吃饭。我可以尝尝诱人的棕色面包皮。可是如果没喝的，嚼在嘴里只觉得干干的。你这个该死的抱怨狂。你这个道貌岸然的假圣人和殉道者，我对自己说。你自愿放弃了新闻报道。你讲信用，西尔维娅会愿意借钱给你。她多次慷慨相助。当然了。可接下来你又妥协于别的事。饥饿是有利于健康的，那些图片饥饿时看起来的确更漂亮。吃饭也很美妙，可是你知道现在去哪儿吃饭吗？

Lipp's is where you are going to eat and drink too.

利普咖啡馆就是你要去吃喝的地方。

It was a quick walk to Lipp's and every place I passed that my stomach noticed as quickly as my eyes or my nose made the walk an added pleasure. There were few people in the brasserie and when I sat down on the bench against the wall with the mirror in back and a table in front and the waiter asked if I wanted beer I asked for a distingué, the big glass mug that held a liter, and for potato salad.

很快就到了利普咖啡馆。每路过一个地方，我的胃立马就和眼睛或鼻子一样注意到了，这增添了走路的乐趣。啤酒店里几乎没人，我在墙边的长椅上坐下，长椅后面挂着镜子，前面摆着桌子。侍者问我要不要啤酒，我要了一杯一升容量的大玻璃杯啤酒，还要了土豆沙拉。

The beer was very cold and wonderful to drink. The pommes à l'buile were firm and marinated and the olive oil delicious. I ground black pepper over the potatoes and moistened the bread in the olive oil. After the first heavy draft of beer I drank and ate very slowly. When the pommes à l'buile were gone I ordered another serving and a cervelas. This was a sausage like a heavy, wide frankfurter split in two and covered with a special mustard sauce.

啤酒很冰，喝起来很过瘾。土豆沙拉在调味汁里浸泡过，已经凝结了，橄榄油也非常美味。我往土豆泥上加了点黑胡椒粉，将面包在橄榄油里蘸湿。我先喝了一大口啤酒，然后开始慢慢地喝酒、吃东西。土豆沙拉吃完后，我又要了一份，还叫了份熏香肠，这很像一根又粗又宽的法兰克福香肠，切成了两半，上面抹了点儿特制酸辣芥末酱。

I mopped up all the oil and all of the sauce with bread and drank the beer slowly until it began to lose its coldness and then I finished it and ordered a demi and watched it drawn. It seemed colder than the distingué and I drank half of it.

我用面包抹净所有橄榄油和调味酱，慢慢喝着啤酒，直到啤酒已经不冰了，我才一口喝完，然后又叫了半杯，看着侍者将啤酒注入杯子。半杯的似乎比大杯的更冰，我一口喝了一半。

I had not been worrying, I thought. I knew the stories were good and someone would publish them finally at home. When I stopped doing newspaper work I was sure the stories were going to be published. But every one I sent out came back. What had made me so confident was Edward O'Brien's taking the "My Old Man" story for the Best Short Stories book and then dedicating the book for that year to me. Then I laughed and drank some more beer. The story had never been published in a magazine and he had broken all his rules to take it for the book. I laughed again and the waiter glanced at me. It was funny because, after all that, he had spelled the name wrong. It was one of two stories I had left when everything I had written was stolen in Hadley's suitcase that time at the Gare de Lyon when she was bringing the manuscripts down to me to Lausanne as a surprise, so I could work on them on our holidays in the mountains. She had put in the originals, the typescripts and the carbons, all in manila folders. The only reason I had the one story was that Lincoln Steffens[5] had sent it out to some editor who sent it back. It was in the mail while everything else was stolen. The other story that I had was the one called "Up in Michigan" written before Miss Stein had come to our fl at. I had never had it copied because she said it was inaccrochable. It had been in a drawer somewhere.

我并没有一直在担心，我想。我知道我写的小说很好，最终会有人在国内出版。我放弃新闻工作时就确信小说会发表的。可是我投出的每一篇都被退回来了。让我如此自信的是，爱德华·奥布莱恩将《我的老人》这篇小说收入《最佳短篇小说选》一书，并把当年那本书献给我。想到这儿我就笑了，又喝了点儿啤酒。那篇小说从来没有在杂志上发表过，他破例将它收入书中。我又笑了，侍者看了我一眼。事情很滑稽，因为他最后把名字拼错了。那次在里昂车站，哈德莉的行李箱失窃，装在里面的所有作品都丢了。我也只剩下两篇小说，那是其中的一篇。哈德莉本想把手稿带到洛桑给我一个惊喜，让我度假的时候在雪山上也能继续写作。她放在箱子里的有原稿、机打的手稿、复写稿，都放在马尼拉文件夹里。我能留下这篇小说的唯一原因是林肯·斯蒂芬斯将它寄给一个编辑，后来这个编辑又把它退了回来。其他稿件被偷的时候这篇小说还在邮寄途中。另一篇留下的小说是斯泰因小姐来我们公寓前写的《在密歇根州北部》。这篇小说从来没有抄写过，因为她说“有伤大雅”。小说就放在某个抽屉里。

So after we had left Lausanne and gone down to Italy I showed the racing story to O'Brien, a gentle, shy man, pale, with pale blue eyes, and straight lanky hair he cut himself, who lived then as a boarder on a monastery up above Rapallo[6]. It was a bad time and I did not think I could write any more then, and I showed the story to him as a curiosity, as you might show, stupidly, the binnacle of a ship you had lost in some incredible way, or as you might pick up your booted foot and make some joke about it if it had been amputated after a crash. Then, when he read the story, I saw he was hurt far more than I was. I had never seen anyone hurt by a thing other than death or unbearable suffering except Hadley when she told me about the things being gone. She had cried and cried and could not tell me. I told her that no matter what the dreadful thing was that had happened nothing could be that bad, and whatever it was, it was all right and not to worry. We would work it out. Then, finally, she told me. I was sure she could not have brought the carbons too and I hired someone to cover for me on my newspaper job. I was making good money then at journalism, and took the train for Paris. It was true all right and I remember what I did in the night after I let myself into the fl at and found it was true. That was over now and Chink had taught me never to discuss casualties; so I told O'Brien not to feel so bad. It was probably good for me to lose early work and I told him all that stuff you feed the troops. I was going to start writing stories again I said and, as I said it, only trying to lie so that he would not feel so bad, I knew that it was true.

我们离开洛桑到意大利后，我把那篇赛马的小说给奥布莱恩看。奥布莱恩是个温文尔雅、话不多的人，他脸色苍白，有一双淡蓝色的眼睛，留着自己修剪的细长直发。他那时寄宿在拉帕洛的一家修道院里。那段日子很艰难，我以为再也不可能写作了，所以把那篇小说当作一件珍品似地给他看，就像你可能会愚蠢地拿出莫名其妙丢失的船上的罗盘箱，或者就像飞机失事截肢后，你可能会拾起穿着靴子的假肢，拿它开玩笑。当时，他看小说的时候，我看得出他受到的伤害比我还深。我从没见过谁因为死亡或者无法忍受的痛苦以外的原因而伤心，除了哈德莉告诉我稿件丢失的时候。她一直哭，一直哭，哭得说不出到底发生了什么事。我告诉她，无论发生多么可怕的事，事情顶多也就糟到这样了，无论发生什么都没关系，不要担心。我们会有办法的。然后，她终于告诉我了。我确信她不可能带上复写稿，于是雇人替我写新闻报道——那时我还在写新闻报道，挣钱不少——然后自己坐火车去巴黎。确实是真的。我还记得当那天晚上走进房间发现一切都是真的以后，我都做了些什么。现在这都过去了，钦克曾经教过我不要去争辩前因后果；所以我告诉奥布莱恩不要太难过。也许丢失早先的作品对我来说是件好事，我跟他说了所有用来鼓舞军队士气的话。我还说我会重新开始写小说。尽管这么说，其实只是想撒个谎让他不觉得那么难过，我知道这是真的。

Then I started to think in Lipp's about when I had first been able to write a story after losing everything. It was up in Cortina d'Ampezzo[7] when I had come back to join Hadley there after the spring skiing which I had to interrupt to go on assignment to the Rhineland and the Ruhr. It was a very simple story called "Out of Season" and I had omitted the real end of it which was that the old man hanged himself. This was omitted on my new theory that you could omit anything if you knew that you omitted and the omitted part would strengthen the story and make people feel something more than they understood.

然后，在利普咖啡馆我开始想，在失掉一切之后我是什么时候开始有能力写小说的。那是我回到科尔蒂纳丹佩佐和哈德莉团聚的时候，因为被派往莱茵地区和鲁尔区执行任务，我不得不中断了春季的滑雪活动回来。这个故事非常简单，叫《不合时令》，我删去了故事的真实结局：那个老人自缢了。删除的依据就是我的新理论：只要你清楚要删节，而且删节的部分能增强故事的感染力，让人们在理解之外还有所触动，任何东西你都能删除。

Well, I thought, now I have them so they do not understand them. There cannot be much doubt about that. There is most certainly no demand for them. But they will understand the same way that they always do in painting. It only takes time and it only needs confidence.

可是，我想，我现在这么写，他们都看不懂了。这没什么疑问。肯定没人想看。但是他们会看懂的，就像他们一直以来欣赏画作一样。只是需要时间和信心。

It is necessary to handle yourself better when you have to cut down on food so you will not get too much hunger-thinking. Hunger is good discipline and you learn from it. And as long as they do not understand it you are ahead of them. Oh sure, I thought, I'm so far ahead of them now that I can't afford to eat regularly. It would not be bad if they caught up a little.

如果你不得不节食，那就得更好地控制自己，这样才不会冒出太多饥饿时才产生的想法。饥饿是很好的锻练，从中你有所收获。只要他们不理解这一点，你就领先于他们。噢，当然，我想，既然我没钱，不能定点儿吃饭，就已经遥遥领先于他们了。被他们追上一点儿也不算坏。

I knew I must write a novel. But it seemed an impossible thing to do when I had been trying with great difficulty to write paragraphs that would be the distillation of what made a novel. It was necessary to write longer stories now as you would train for a longer race. When I had written a novel before, the one that had been lost in the bag stolen at the Gare de Lyon, I still had the lyric facility of boyhood that was as perishable and as deceptive as youth was. I knew it was probably a good thing that it was lost, but I knew too that I must write a novel. I would put it off though until I could not help doing it. I was damned if I would write one because it was what I should do if we were to eat regularly. When I had to write it, then it would be the only thing to do and there would be no choice. Let the pressure build. In the meantime I would write a long story about whatever I knew best.

我知道我必须写出一篇小说。这似乎是不可能的，尤其是当我想要写构成小说精髓的几段话，但却非常困难的时候。现在必须要写长一点儿的故事，就像为了参加长跑比赛要训练一样。以前我写完一篇小说——就是装在包里在里昂车站被偷的那篇小说——我仍然还怀有少年时代像青春一样易逝和难以琢磨的抒情情怀。我知道手稿丢失很可能是件好事，但我也知道我必须写出一篇小说来。不过我总是一直推延，直到我抑制不住自己，一定要把它写出来。对我来说，如果写一篇小说是为了能定点儿吃上饭而必须这样做，那真是该死。当我不得不写作了，那这就是我唯一能做的事了，而且别无选择。管它压力有多大。同时，我要以我最熟悉的故事为题材写一部长篇小说。

By this time I had paid the check and gone out and turned to the right and crossed the rue de Rennes so that I would not go to the Deux-Magots for coffee and was walking up the rue Bonaparte on the shortest way home.

这时我已经付完账走出餐厅，右拐穿过雷恩大街，这样我就不会去双偶咖啡馆喝咖啡。我顺着波拿巴大街走，选了最近的一条路回家。

What did I know best that I had not written about and lost? What did I know about truly and care for the most? There was no choice at all. There was only the choice of streets to take you back fastest to where you worked. I went up Bonaparte to Guynemer, then to the rue d'Assas, up the rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs to the Closerie des Lilas.

我最熟悉但还没有写过或已经丢失的是什么？我真正了解而且最关心的是什么？根本没有选择。唯一可以选择的就是走哪条路能最快地回到写作的地方。我从波拿巴大街走到盖尼梅大街，然后来到阿萨斯大街，又从圣母院田园大街走到丁香园咖啡馆。

I sat in a corner with the afternoon light coming in over my shoulder and wrote in the notebook. The waiter brought me a café créme and I drank half of it when it cooled and left it on the table while I wrote. When I stopped writing I did not want to leave the river where I could see the trout in the pool, its surface pushing and swelling smooth against the resistance of the log-driven piles of the bridge. The story was about coming back from the war but there was no mention of the war in it.

我坐在一个角落里，在笔记本上写着东西。午后的阳光正好照进来，洒落在我的肩上。侍者给我端来一杯奶油咖啡。等咖啡凉了，我喝了一半，然后把它放回桌上，继续写作。等我停笔，我还不想离开那条河。在那儿我能看见池塘里的鳟鱼，水面在木桥墩的反作用力下流动，缓缓涨起。小说写的是战后归来的故事，但里面只字未提战争。

But in the morning the river would be there and I must make it and the country and all that would happen. There were days ahead to be doing that each day. No other thing mattered. In my pocket was the money from Germany so there was no problem. When that was gone some other money would come in.

可是早晨这条河依然在那儿，我必须写这条河，写那个乡村，写所有可能发生的故事。以后还有时间每天写作。别的什么都不重要。我口袋里有从德国寄来的钱，所以没有生活问题。这笔钱花完后，其他钱还会到手的。

All I must do now was stay sound and good in my head until morning when I would start to work again.

我现在必须做的就是保持头脑清醒，等到早上我又会开始写作。

(1)艾德丽安·里齐（1929—），美国诗人、散文家、女性主义作家。

(2)法尔格（1876—1947），法国抒情诗人。

(3)《横截面》，德语报纸。

(4)《法兰克福汇报》，德语报纸（1856—1943）。

(5)林肯·斯蒂芬斯（1866—1936），美国记者、杂志编辑。

(6)拉帕洛，意大利热那亚省的一个地区。

(7)科尔蒂纳丹佩佐，位于意大利威尼托区布鲁诺省的小镇，滑雪胜地。

Ford Madox Ford And The Devil'S Disciple

福特·马多克斯·福特和魔鬼的信徒

The Closerie des Lilas was the nearest good café when we lived in the f lat over the sawmill at 113 rue Notre-Dame-desChamps, and it was one of the best cafés in Paris. It was warm inside in the winter and in the spring and fall it was very fine outside with the tables under the shade of the trees on the side where the statue of Marshal Ney was, and the square, regular tables under the big awnings along the boulevard. Two of the waiters were our good friends. People from the Déme and the Rotonde never came to the Lilas. There was no one there they knew, and no one would have stared at them if they came. In those days many people went to the cafés at the corner of the Boulevard Montparnasse and the Boulevard Raspail to be seen publicly and in a way such places anticipated the columnists as the daily substitutes for immortality.

我们住在圣母院田园大街113号锯木厂楼上的公寓时，丁香园咖啡馆是最近的一家比较不错的咖啡馆，也是巴黎最好的咖啡馆之一：冬天里面很暖和，春天和秋天坐在外面很舒服。矗立着米歇尔·内伊元帅铜像的那一边街道，树阴下摆着餐桌；广场那边沿街的大遮阳蓬下也整齐地摆着正方形餐桌。咖啡馆有两个侍者是我们的好朋友。去圆顶咖啡馆和圆亭咖啡馆的人是不会来丁香园的。这儿没有他们认识的人，即使他们进来，也没人会盯着他们看。那时候很多人都去蒙帕纳斯大街和拉斯帕伊大街街角的咖啡馆抛头露面。从某种意义上来说，这些地方期待专栏作家来，成为他们所盼求之不朽声望的日常替代品。

The Closerie des Lilas had once been a café where poets met more or less regularly and the last principal poet had been Paul Fort[1] whom I had never read. But the only poet I ever saw there was Blaise Cendrars[2], with his broken boxer's face and his pinned-up empty sleeve, rolling a cigarette with his one good hand. He was a good companion until he drank too much and, at that time, when he was lying, he was more interesting than many men telling a story truly. But he was the only poet who came to the Lilas then and I only saw him there once. Most of the clients were elderly bearded men in well worn clothes who came with their wives or their mistresses and wore or did not wear thin red Legion of Honor ribbons in their lapels. We thought of them all hopefully as scientists or savants and they sat almost as long over an apéritif as the men in shabbier clothes who sat with their wives or mistresses over café crème and wore the purple ribbon of the Palms of the Academy, which had nothing to do with the French Academy[3], and meant, we thought, that they were professors or instructors.

丁香园咖啡馆曾经是诗人定期不定期聚会的地方。最近去那儿的主要诗人是保尔·福尔，我从来没有读过他的诗。我在那儿唯一见过的诗人是布莱斯·桑德拉尔，一张破相的拳击手的脸，一只用别针别着的空袖管，那只健全的手卷着烟。他没喝多的时候是个很好的伙伴，那时他说起谎来比很多真在讲故事的人还风趣。但他是那时唯一来丁香园的诗人，我也只在那儿见过他一次。大多数顾客都是蓄着胡子、穿着十分破旧衣服的上了年纪的人，他们带着妻子或情人，有的衣服翻领上还别着红色的“退伍军人荣誉”勋带。我们都满怀希望以为他们是科学家或学者。他们坐下喝开胃酒的时间跟那些衣着更加破旧、戴着紫色“学院棕榈”丝带的人和妻子或情人坐在一起喝奶油咖啡的时间几乎一样长。紫色丝带和法语学院毫无关系，我们猜想，那表明他们是教授或讲师。

These people made it a comfortable café since they were all interested in each other and in their drinks or coffees, or infusions, and in the papers and periodicals which were fastened to rods, and no one was on exhibition.

这些人使丁香园成了一家舒适的咖啡馆，因为他们都只对彼此、对他们的饮料或咖啡或加入饮料的浸剂、对夹在报夹杆上的报纸和期刊感兴趣，而且没有人是在故作姿态。

There were other people too who lived in the quarter and came to the Lilas, and some of them wore Croix de Guerre ribbons in their lapels and others ado had the yellow and green of the Médaille Militaire, and I watched how well they were overcoming the handicap of the limbs, and saw the quality of their artificial eyes and the degree of skill with which their faces had been reconstructed. There was always an almost iridescent shiny cast about the considerably reconstructed face, rather like of a well packed ski run, and we respected these clients more than we did the savants or the professors, although the latter might well have done their military service too without experiencing mutilation.

也有其他一些住在本街区的人来丁香园，有些人在衣服翻领上佩戴着军功十字章勋带，另一些则戴着黄绿色的军队勋章，我仔细观察他们如何灵活地克服缺胳膊少腿的困难，还见识了他们的人造眼球的质量和重塑他们面部的精湛技艺。这些经过大幅重塑的脸上总是泛着一种几近灿烂的光芒，宛如厚实的滑雪道。比起那些学者或教授来，我们更尊敬这些客人，虽然前者很可能也服过役，只是他们没有受伤。

In those days we did not trust anyone who had not been in the war, but we did not completely trust anyone, and there was a strong feeling that Cendrars might well be a little less fl ashy about his vanished arm. I was glad he had been in the Lilas early in the afternoon before the regular clients had arrived.

在那些日子，我们不相信任何没有参加过战争的人，但也不是完全相信任何参加过的人。大家有一种强烈的感觉，那就是，桑德拉尔最好还是不要那么炫耀他那只已经失去的胳膊。我很高兴那天下午在丁香园的常客到来之前，他很早就来了。

On this evening I was sitting at a table outside of the Lilas watching the light change on the trees and the buildings and the passage of the great slow horses of the outer boulevards. The door of the café opened behind me and to my right, and a man came out and walked to my table.

那天傍晚，我坐在丁香园外面的一张桌旁，看着树上和建筑上光线的变化，还有外面林阴大道上慢慢走过的漂亮马匹。身后咖啡馆的门开了，一个人从我右边走出，朝我的桌子这边走来。

"Oh here you are," he said.

“啊，原来你在这。”他说。

It was Ford Madox Ford, as he called himself then, and he was breathing heavily through a heavy, stained mustache and holding himself as upright as an ambulatory, well clothed, up-ended hogshead.

是福特·麦克多斯·福特，他当时就是这么称呼自己的。他透过浓密的花白胡须喘着粗气，身子挺得板直，就像一只能四处走动、衣着得体、倒立着的木桶。

"May I sit with you?" he asked, sitting down, and his eyes which were a washed-out blue under colorless lids and eyebrows looked out at the boulevard.

“我能坐你旁边吗？”他坐下时问道，无精打采的眼皮和眉毛下一双褪色的蓝眼睛往外看着林阴大道。

"I spent good years of my life that those beasts should be slaughtered humanely," he said.

“我生命中的大部分年月都在倡导应该用人性的方法屠宰那些牲畜。”他说。

"You told me," I said.

“你跟我说过。”我说。

"I don't think so."

“我想没有。”

"I'm quite sure."

“我非常肯定。”

"Very odd. I've never told anyone in my life."

“真奇怪。我这辈子从没告诉过任何人。”

"Will you have a drink?"

“喝一杯吗？”

The waiter stood there and Ford told him he would have a Chambéry Cassis. The waiter, who was tall and thin and bald on the top of his head with hair slicked over and who wore a heavy old-style dragoon mustache, repeated the order.

侍者站在那儿，于是福特告诉他要一杯黑醋栗酒。那个侍者又高又瘦，头发疏得油光可鉴，掩盖着秃了的头顶，还蓄着浓密的老式骑兵胡子。他重复了一遍福特要的酒。

"No. Make it a fine à l'eau," Ford said.

“不。换成兑苏打水的白兰地吧。”福特说。

"A fine à1'eau for Monsieur," the waiter confirmed the order.

“一杯兑苏打水的白兰地。”侍者确认了一遍。

I had always avoided looking at Ford when I could and I always held my breath when I was near him in a closed room, but this was the open air and the fallen leaves blew along the sidewalks from my side of the table past his, so I took a good look at him, repented, and looked across the boulevard. The light was changed again and I had missed the change. I took a drink to see if his coming had fouled it, but it still tasted good.

如果可以的话我总是避开不去看福特，要是同在一间关闭的房间里，离他很近时，我总是屏住呼吸。但这次是在室外，人行道上的落叶从我坐的桌子这边吹到他那边，所以我仔细看了他一眼，后悔了，又转而看对面的林阴大道。光线又变了，但我错过了变化的过程。我喝了一口酒，想看看他的到来是否破坏了酒的味道，可是酒却仍然很好喝。

"You're very glum," he said.

“你闷闷不乐。”他说。

"No."

“没有。”

"Yes you are. You need to get out more. I stopped by to ask you to the little evenings we're giving in that amusing Bal Musette near the Place Contrescarpe on the rue Cardinal Lemoine."

“是的，你闷闷不乐。你应该多出来。我顺道过来，是想邀请你去我们在大众舞厅举办的小型晚会，就在勒穆瓦纳主教街上护墙广场附近。”

"I lived above it for two years before you came to Paris this last time."

“你最近这次来巴黎前，我在那家舞厅的楼上住了两年。”

"How odd. Are you sure?"

“怪事儿。你肯定吗？”

"Yes," I said. "I'm sure. The man who owned it had a taxi and when I had to get a plane he'd take me out to the field, and we'd stop at the zinc bar of the Bal and drink a glass of white wine in the dark before we'd start for the airfield."

“是的，”我说，“我肯定。舞厅的主人有一辆出租车，我要赶飞机时他就送我去机场。出发去机场前我们会在舞厅镀锌的吧台边呆一会儿，在黑暗中喝杯白葡萄酒。”

"I've never cared for f lying," Ford said. "You and your wife plan to come to the Bal Musette Saturday night. It's quite gay. I'll draw you a map so you can find it. I stumbled on it quite by chance."

“我从不喜欢坐飞机，”福特说，“周六晚上你和你的妻子都来舞会吧。很好玩的。我给你画张地图，你就能找到了。我是一个偶然机会才发现这个地方的。”

"It's under 74. rue Cardinal Lemoine," I said. "I lived on the third floor."

“就在勒穆瓦纳主教街74号的楼下，”我说，“我当时住在三楼。”

"There's no number," Ford said. "But you'll be able to find it if you can fi nd the Place Contrescarpe."

“没有门牌号，”福特说，“但只要能找到护墙广场你就能找到它。”

I took another long drink. The waiter had brought Ford's drink and Ford was correcting him. "It wasn't a brandy and soda," he said helpfully but severely. "I ordered a Chambéry vermouth and Cassis.”

我又喝了一大口酒。侍者端来福特要的酒，然后福特开始纠正。“不是白兰地加苏打水，”他善意地说道，但又非常严厉，“我要的是苦艾酒和黑醋栗酒。”

"It's all right, Jean," I said. "I'll take the fine. Bring Monsieur what he orders now."

“没关系，吉恩，”我说，“我喝这杯白兰地。再给这位先生来杯他现在点的。”

"What I ordered," corrected Ford.

“是我刚才要的。”福特纠正说。

At that moment a rather gaunt man wearing a cape passed on the sidewalk. He was with a tall woman and he glanced at our table and then away and went on his way down the boulevard.

这时，一个披着斗篷、面容憔悴的人从人行道上走过。他和一个高个儿女人一起。他往我们桌子这边看了一眼，然后移开了目光，顺着林阴大道继续往前走。

"Did you see me cut him?" Ford said. "Did you see me cut him?"

“你看见我不理他了吗？”福特问道。“你看见了吗？”

"No. Who did you cut?"

“没有。你不理谁？”

"Belloc[4]," Ford said. " Did I cut him!"

“贝洛克，”福特说，“我就是不理他！”

"I didn't see it," I said. "Why did you cut him?"

“我没看见，”我说，“你为什么不理他？”

"For every good reason in the world," Ford said. "Did I cut him though!"

“因为世界上所有充分的理由，”福特说，“我就是不理他！”

He was thoroughly and completely happy. I had never seen Belloc and I did not believe he had seen us. He looked like a man who had been thinking of something and had glanced at the table almost automatically. I felt badly that Ford had been rude to him, as, being a young man who was commencing his education, I had a high regard for him as an older writer. This is not understandable now but in those days it was a common occurrence.

他兴高采烈。我从没见过贝洛克，也不相信他注意到我们。他看上去像是一个正在思考什么问题的人，几乎是无意识地朝桌子这边看了一眼。福特这么粗鲁地对他，我感到很不舒服，毕竟，作为一个刚开始接受教育的年轻人，我对这位年长的作家怀有很高的敬意。这在现在是令人费解的，但在那时却是很平常的事。

I thought it would have been pleasant if Belloc had stopped at the table and I might have met him. The afternoon had been spoiled by seeing Ford but I thought Belloc might have made it better.

我想，要是贝洛克在桌前停下该有多好，那样我就能和他结识了。那天下午因为遇见福特已经很扫兴了，但我想贝洛克可能会让我感觉好点。

"What are you drinking brandy for?" Ford asked me. "Don't you know it's fatal for a young writer to start drinking brandy?"

“你为什么要喝白兰地？”福特问我，“难道你不知道年轻作家一开始喝白兰地就要完蛋了吗？”

"I don't drink it very often," I said. I was trying to remember what Ezra Pound had told me about Ford, that I must never be rude to him, that I must remember that he only lied when he was very tired, that he was really a good writer and that he had been through very bad domestic troubles. I tried hard to think of these things but the heavy, wheezing, ignoble presence of Ford himself, only touching-distance away, made it difficult. But I tried.

“我不经常喝。”我说。我试着想起埃兹拉·庞德跟我说过的关于福特的那些话，他说我一定不能对他无礼，我必须牢记他只有在极其疲惫的情况下才会撒谎，而且他真的是一个优秀的作家，经历了很严重的家庭问题。我努力回想这些事，但是近在眼前的福特本人沉闷乏味、呼哧喘气、形容卑微，这让我难以做到。但我还是尽力而为。

"Tell me why one cuts people," I asked. Until then I had thought it was something only done in novels by Ouida[5]. I had never been able to read a novel by Ouida, not even at some skiing place in Switzerland where reading matter had run out when the wet south wind had come and there were only the left-behind Tauchnitz[6] editions of before the war. But I was sure, by some sixth sense, that people cut one another in her novels.

“告诉我人为什么不理人。”我问道。在此之前我一直以为这只会出现在韦达的小说里。我从来读不下韦达的小说，即使在瑞士的某个滑雪胜地，当湿冷的南风来袭，可看的东西都已经看完，只剩下别人落下的有关战前故事的陶赫尼茨版的书，我也看不下她的书。但某种第六感让我肯定，在她的小说里，人们互不理睬。

"A gentleman," Ford explained, "will always cut a cad."

“绅士，”福特解释道，“总是不理无赖。”

I took a quick drink of brandy.

我很快地喝了一口白兰地。

"Would he cut a bounder?" I asked.

“绅士会不理一个粗鲁的人吗？”我问道。

"It would be impossible for a gentleman to know a bounder."

“绅士不可能认识粗鲁的人。”

"Then you can only cut someone you have known on terms of equality?" I pursued.

“那你只能不理一个你认识的品性与你同等的人？”我追问道。

"Naturally."

“那是自然。”

"How would one ever meet a cad?"

“绅士怎么会认识无赖呢？”

"You might not know it, or the fellow could have become a cad."

“你当时可能不知道，或者这个人可能是后来才变成无赖的。”

"What is a cad?" I asked. "Isn't he someone that one has to thrash within an inch of his life?"

“无赖是什么样的？”我问道，“难道不是一个人人见了都会喊打的人吗？”

"Not necessarily," Ford said.

“不一定。”福特说。

"Is Ezra a gentleman?" I asked.

“埃兹拉是绅士吗？”我问。

"Of course not," Ford said. "He's an American."

“当然不是，”福特说，“他是美国人。”

"Can't an American be a gentleman?"

“美国人就不能是绅士吗？”

"Perhaps John Quinn[7]," Ford explained. "Certain of your ambassadors."

“约翰·奎因可能是，”福特解释说，“他是你们的一个大使。”

"Myron T. Herrick[8]?”

“迈伦·T·赫里克呢？”

"Possibly."

“可能是。”

"Was Henry James[9] a gentleman?”

“那亨利·詹姆斯是绅士吗？”

"Very nearly."

“很接近了。”

"Are you a gentleman?"

“你是绅士吗？”

"Naturally. I have held His Majesty's commission."

“当然是。我肩负着陛下的使命。”

"It's very complicated," I said. "Am I a gentleman?"

“真复杂，”我说，“那我是绅士吗？”

"Absolutely not," Ford said.

“绝对不是。”福特说。

"Then why are you drinking with me?"

“那你为什么和我一起喝酒？”

"I'm drinking with you as a promising young writer. As a fellow writer in fact."

“我和你喝酒，是因为你是个有前途的年轻作家。实际上是因为你是我的同道作家。”

"Good of you," I said.

“谢谢夸奖。”我说。

"You might be considered a gentleman in Italy," Ford said magnanimously.

“在意大利你可能会被认为是绅士。”福特宽宏大量地说。

"But I'm not a cad?"

“但我不是无赖吗？”

"Of course not, dear boy. Who ever said such a thing?"

“当然不是，亲爱的小家伙。谁这么说的？”

"I might become one," I said sadly. "Drinking brandy and all. That was what did for Lord Harry Hotspur in Trollope[10]. Tell me, was Trollope a gentleman?”

“我可能会变成无赖，”我难过地说，“喝白兰地，诸如此类。这就是特罗洛普作品里亨利·豪斯伯勋爵的下场。告诉我，特罗洛普是绅士吗？”

"Of course not."

“当然不是。”

"You're sure?"

“你确定？”

"There might be two opinions. But not in mine."

“可能有两种观点。但我认为不是。”

"Was Fielding[11]? He was a judge.”

“菲尔丁是吗？他是个法官。”

"Technically perhaps."

“理论上说，可能是。”

"Marlowe[12]?”

“马洛呢？”

"Of course not. "

“当然不是。”

"John Donne[13]?”

“约翰·多恩呢？”

"He was a parson."

“他是个牧师。”

"It's fascinating," I said.

“真有意思。”我说。

"I'm glad you're interested," Ford said. "I'll have a brandy and water with you before I go."

“很高兴你对此感兴趣，”福特说，“我走之前要和你喝一杯白兰地加水。”

After Ford left it was dark and I walked over to the kiosque and bought a Paris-Sport Complet, the final edition of the afternoon racing paper with the results at Auteuil, and the line on the next day's meeting at Enghien. The waiter Emile, who had replaced Jean on duty, came to the table to see the results of the last race at Auteuil. A great friend of mine who rarely came to the Lilas came over to the table and sat down, and just then as my friend was ordering a drink from Emile the gaunt man in the cape with the tall woman passed us on the sidewalk. His glance drifted toward the table and then away.

福特离开后天已经黑了。我走到报亭，买了一份《巴黎体育全报》，这是最后一版午后赛马报，上面有奥特伊赛马场的比赛结果，还有第二天昂吉安赛马的消息。侍者吉恩的替班埃米尔走到桌旁来看奥特伊最后一场比赛的结果。我的一个极好的朋友走到我桌边坐了下来，他很少光顾丁香园。就在这个朋友向埃米尔点酒的时候，那个披着斗篷、面容憔悴的人和那个高个儿女人在人行道上从我们身边走过。他的眼神不经意地朝桌子这边看过来，然后又移开了。

"That's Hilaire Belloc," I said to my friend. "Ford was here this afternoon and cut him dead. “

“那是希莱尔·贝洛克，”我对朋友说，“福特下午在这儿，对他完全不理不睬。”

"Don't be a silly ass," my friend said. "That's Alestair Crowley, the diabolist. He's supposed to be the wickedest man in the world."

“别犯傻了，”我的朋友说，“那是埃莱斯戴尔·克劳利，练魔法的，他堪称是世界上最邪恶的人。”

"Sorry," I said.

“真抱歉。”我说。

(1)保尔·福尔（1872—1960），法国诗人，被誉为“法国的诗人王子”。

(2)布莱斯·桑德拉尔（1887—1961），瑞士法语诗人。喜欢写国外文化，1961年获巴黎文学奖。

(3)法语学院，成立于1635年，是法兰西学院五个学院中历史最悠久的一个。

(4)贝洛克（1870—1953），生于法国，1902年移民至英国，20世纪早期英国最多产的作家。

(5)韦达（1839—1908），英国女作家，以写上流社会生活的传奇作品闻名。

(6)陶赫尼茨（1761—1836），德国人，于1796年在莱比锡建立印刷厂，印刷出版古典文学作品，后由其子继承，刊行英文版的英美作家丛书，这里指的即是书店印的廉价本英语书籍。

(7)约翰·奎因（1839—1903），美国政治家。

(8)迈伦·T·赫里克（1854—1929），美国俄亥俄州共和党政治家，1912年起任驻法大使。

(9)亨利·詹姆斯（1843—1916），美国作家，出身于纽约上层知识分子家庭，长期旅居欧洲。

(10)特罗洛普（1815—1882），英国小说家，以虚构的巴塞特郡小说著称。

(11)亨利·菲尔丁（1707—1754），英国作家，在执法历史方面有重要贡献。英国现实主义小说奠基人之一。

(12)马洛·克里斯托弗（1564—1593），英国剧作家和诗人，发展无韵诗体，革新中世纪戏剧，为莎士比亚和詹姆斯王朝的剧作家开辟了道路，主要剧作有《贴木儿》、《爱德华三世等》。

(13)约翰·多恩（1572—1631），英国玄学派诗人和神学家。

Birth Of A New School

一个新学派的诞生

The blue-backed notebooks, the two pencils and the pencil sharpener (a pocket knife was too wasteful), the marble-topped tables, the smell of early morning, sweeping out and mopping, and luck were all you needed. For luck you carried a horse chestnut and a rabbit's foot[1] in your right pocket. The fur had been worn off the rabbit's foot long ago and the bones and the sinews were polished by wear. The claws scratched in the lining of your pocket and you knew your luck was still there.

蓝色滚边笔记本、两支铅笔、铅笔刀（随身小折刀就太浪费了）、大理石面的桌子、清晨的芳香、打扫干净的地板，还有运气，这就是你需要的一切。为了能有好运气，你会在右边口袋里装上一颗七叶树果实和一只兔子后腿。兔子后腿的毛早就褪去了，骨头和肌腱也已经磨得光亮，爪子刮蹭着口袋的内衬，你知道自己还是很走运。

Some days it went so well that you could make the country so that you could walk into it through the timber to come out into the clearing and walk up onto the high ground and see the hills beyond the arm of the lake. A pencil-lead might break off in the conical nose of the pencil sharpener and you would use the small blade of the pen knife to clear it or else sharpen the pencil carefully with the sharp blade and then slip your arm through the sweat-salted leather of your pack strap to lift the pack again, get the other arm through and feel the weight settle on your back and feel the pine needles under your moccasins as you started down for the lake.

有几天写作进展得非常顺利，你甚至可以写到那个乡村，走进去，穿过树林，来到一片空旷地，爬上高地，就看到湖周围的群山。笔芯可能会在钻笔刀圆锥形的笔孔里断裂，你得用铅笔刀的小刀片来清理笔孔，要不就用锋利的刀片小心地削铅笔。然后，一只手臂穿过汗水浸透的背包皮质背带，把背包再往上抬一抬，另一只手臂也同样穿过，感觉一下背上的重量。出发下山去湖边时，你能感觉到鹿皮鞋下的松针。

Then you would hear someone say, "Hi, Hem[2]. What are you trying to do? Write in a café?”

这时你会听见有人说：“嗨，海姆。你要干嘛？在咖啡馆写作？”

Your luck had run out and you shut the notebook. This was the worst thing that could happen. If you could keep your temper it would be better but I was not good at keeping mine then and said, "You rotten son of a bitch what are you doing in here off your filthy beat?"

好运到此为止，你只好把笔记本合上。这是可能发生的最糟糕的事。如果你能克制住不发脾气，情况可能会好点儿。但那时我还不善于克制，于是说：“你这没用的狗娘养的，从你那脏兮兮的狗窝里跑出来干什么？”

"Don't be insulting just because you want to act like an eccentric."

“别因为你想做个怪人就出口骂人。”

"Take your dirty camping mouth out of here."

“闭上你肮脏下流的臭嘴，滚蛋。”

"It's a public café. I've just as much right here as you have."

“这是大家的咖啡馆。我和你一样有权利来这儿。”

"Why don't you go up to the Petite Chaumière where you belong?”

“你干嘛不去属于你的小茅屋咖啡馆？”

"Oh dear. Don't be so tiresome."

“哦，天哪。别这么烦人。”

Now you could get out and hope it was an accidental visit and that the visitor had only come in by chance and there was not going to be an infestation. There were other good cafés to work in but they were a long walk away and this was my home café. It was bad to be driven out of the Closerie des Lilas. I had to make a stand or move. It was probably wiser to move but the anger started to come and I said, "Listen. A bitch like yon has plenty of places to go. Why do you have to come here and louse a decent café?”

这时你可以离开，希望这是个偶遇，这个不速之客只不过是碰巧进来，不会出现闹哄哄的场面。也有别的咖啡馆可以写作，但都要走很远，这个咖啡馆是我的大本营。被赶出丁香园咖啡馆实在太窝囊了。我只好留下与之对抗，或者走人。离开可能更明智些，但我开始怒火中烧，于是说，“听着。像你这样的狗杂种有很多地方可以去。为什么非得来这儿搅了这么好的咖啡馆？”

"I just came in to have a drink. What's wrong with that?"

“我只是进来喝杯酒，这有什么错吗？”

"At home they'd serve you and then break the glass."

“在家有人伺候你，喝完了还能摔杯子。”

"Where's home? It sounds like a charming place."

“家在哪儿？听起来是个好地方。”

He was sitting at the next table, a tall fat young man with spectacles. He had ordered a beer. I thought I would ignore him and see if I could write. So I ignored him and wrote two sentences.

他坐在邻桌，是个又高又胖、戴眼镜的年轻人。他要了杯啤酒。我想我可以不理他，看看能否写出东西。所以我就不再理会他，写出了两句话。

"All I did was speak to you."

“我只不过和你说说话。”

I went on and wrote another sentence. It dies hard when it is really going and you are into it.

我又继续写了一句话。当写作顺利并且专心致志的时候，你就很难罢手了。

"I suppose you've gotten so great nobody can speak to you."

“想必你太了不起了，没人能和你说话。”

I wrote another sentence that ended the paragraph and read it over. It was still all right and I wrote the first sentence of the next paragraph.

我又写了一句，结束了那段话，然后通读了一遍。进展还不错，我开始写下一段的第一句话。

"You never think about anyone else or that they may have problems too."

“你从来不考虑别人，从来不认为他们可能也有问题。”

I had heard complaining all my life. I found I could go on writing and that it was no worse than other noises, certainly better than Ezra learning to play the bassoon.

我这辈子一直在听人抱怨。我发现自己能继续写作。这个噪音和别的噪音相比也坏不到哪儿去，当然比埃兹拉学吹低音管的噪音好多了。

"Suppose you wanted to be a writer and felt it in every part of your body and it just wouldn't come."

“假如你想成为一个作家，身体的每一部分都感觉到这一点，可就是写不出东西。”

I went on writing and I was beginning to have luck now as well as the other thing.

我继续写。除了写作该有的能力，我现在开始还有了运气。

"Suppose once it had come like an irresistible torrent and then it left you mute and silent."

“假如写作的灵感一度像势不可挡的潮水涌来，然后却静无声息地离你而去。”

Better than mute and noisy, I thought, and went on writing. He was in full cry now and the unbelievable sentences were soothing as the noise of a plank being violated in the sawmill.

我想那也总比沉默或吵吵嚷嚷好，于是继续写作。他现在絮叨开了，而我写出的令人难以置信的好句子真让人感到安慰，就像锯木厂锯木板的噪音被打断了一样。

"We went to Greece," I heard him say later. I had not heard him for some time except as noise. I was ahead now and I could leave it and go on tomorrow.

“我们去了希腊。”后来我听见他说。除了嘈杂声，我已经有一会儿没听见他说话了。现在已经超前完成了进度，我可以停笔，明天接着写。

"You say you used it or you went there?"

“你说你用过它还是你去过那儿？”

"Don't be vulgar," he said. "Don't you want me to tell you the rest?"

“别那么粗俗，”他说，“难道你不想让我告诉你接下来的故事吗？”

"No," I said. I closed the notebook and put it in my pocket.

“不想。”我说。我合上笔记本，放入口袋。

"Don't you care how it came out?"

“难道你不关心结果怎样吗？”

"No."

“不关心。”

"Don't you care about life and the suffering of a fellow human being?"

“难道你不在乎生命，不在乎你的同伴遭受的痛苦吗？”

"Not you."

“反正不在乎你的痛苦。”

"You're beastly."

“你真残忍。”

"Yes."

“是的。”

"I thought you could help me, Hem."

“我原以为你能帮我一把，海姆。”

"I'd be glad to shoot you."

“我倒很乐意给你一枪。”

"Would you?"

“你会吗？”

"No. There's a law against it."

“不会。法律不允许。”

"I'd do anything for you."

“我愿意为你做任何事。”

"Would you?"

“是吗？”

"Of course I would."

“当然。”

"Then keep the hell away from this café. Start with that.”

“那就从这个咖啡馆滚蛋。从这个做起啊。”

I stood up and the waiter came over and I paid.

我站起来，侍者走过来，我付了钱。

"Can I walk down to the sawmill with you, Hem?"

“我能和你一起走到锯木厂吗，海姆？”

"No."

“不行。”

"Well I'll see you some other time."

“好吧，那就改天再见。”

"Not here."

“别在这儿。”

"That's perfectly right," he said. "I promised."

“对极了，”他说，“我答应你。”

What are you writing?" I made a mistake and asked.

“你在写什么？”我这么问真是犯了个错。

"I'm writing the best I can. Just as you do. But it's so terribly difficult."

“我在写我最擅长的。就像你那样。但实在太难了。”

"You shouldn't write if you can't write. What do you have to cry about it for? Go home. Get a job. Hang yourself. Only don't talk about it. You could never write."

“如果写不出东西就别写。为什么要抱怨？回家去。找份工作。把自己了结了。就是不要谈写作了。你写不出东西。”

"Why do you say that?"

“为什么这么说？”

"Did you ever hear yourself talk?"

“你听过自己说话吗？”

"It's writing I'm talking about."

“我说的是写作。”

"Then shut up. "

“那就闭嘴。”

"You're just cruel," he said. "Everybody always said you were cruel and heartless and conceited. I always defended you. But not any more."

“你太残忍了。”他说，“大家一直说你很残忍，没心没肺，自以为是。我总是为你辩护。但以后不会了。”

"Good. "

“很好。”

"How can you be so cruel to a fellow human being?"

“你怎么能对一个同样是人类的同伴如此残忍呢？”

"I don't know," I said. "Look, if you can't write why don't you learn to write criticism?"

“不知道，”我说，“听着，如果你写不出东西，为什么不学着写评论呢？”

"Do you think I should?"

“你觉得我应该写评论吗？”

"It would be fine," I told him. "Then you can always write. Yon won't ever have to worry about it not coming nor being mute and silent. People will read it and respect it."

“应该没问题，”我告诉他，“那样你就总能写出东西了，不用担心灵感会不会来，也不用担心会静无声息。人们会看评论，并且尊敬它。”

"Do you think I could be a good critic?"

“你认为我能成为一个优秀的评论家吗？”

"I don't know how good. But you could be a critic .There will always be people who will help you and you can help your own people."

“我不知道会有多优秀，但你可以成为一个评论家。总会有人帮你，你也可以帮你的人。”

"What do you mean my own people?"

“我的人是什么意思？”

"The ones you go around with."

“和你一起混的人。”

"Oh them. They have their critics."

“哦，他们。他们有自己的评论家。”

"You don't have to criticize books," I said. "There's pictures, plays, ballet, the cinema—”

“你不一定要评论书籍，”我说，“也可以评论画作、戏剧、芭蕾、电影……”

"You make it sound fascinating, Hem. Thank you so much. It's so exciting. It's creative too."

“听你一说，还真让人动心，海姆。非常感谢你。真令人激动，也很有创意。”

"Creation's probably overrated. After all, God made the world in only six days and rested on the seventh."

“说有创意可能就高估了。毕竟，上帝只用六天就创造了世界，第七天已经开始休息了。”

"Of course there's nothing to prevent me doing creative writing too."

“当然也没有什么能阻止我进行有创意的写作。”

"Not a thing. Except you may set yourself impossibly high standards by your criticism."

“没有。除非你在自己的评论文章里给自己定出高不可攀的标准。”

"They'll be high. You can count on that."

“标准会很高的。这你大可放心。”

"I'm sure they will be."

“我确信会很高的。”

He was a critic already so I asked him if he would have a drink and he accepted.

他俨然是评论家了。所以我问他是否愿意喝一杯，他同意了。

"Hem," he said, and I knew he was a critic now since, in conversation, they put your name at the beginning of a sentence rather than at the end, "I have to tell you I find your work just a little too stark."

“海姆，”他说，我知道他从这会儿开始就是评论家了，评论家说话的时候会把你的名字放在句首，而不是句尾，“我得告诉你，我觉得你的作品有点太刻板了。”

"Too bad," I said.

“太遗憾了。”我说。

"Hem it's too stripped, too lean."

“海姆，它太精悍，太单薄了。”

"Bad luck."

“运气不佳啊。”

"Hem too stark, too stripped, too lean, too sinewy."

“海姆，太刻板，太精悍，太单薄，太刚劲了。”

I felt the rabbit's foot in my pocket guiltily. "I'll try to fatten it up a little."

我摸了摸口袋里的兔子后腿，心感内疚。“我会尽量让它丰满一点儿。”

"Mind, I don't want it obese."

“注意，我不是想看到它过胖。”

"Hal," I said, practicing speaking like a critic, "I'll avoid that as long as I can."

“哈尔，”我试着像评论家那么说话，“我会尽我所能避免的。”

"Glad we see eye to eye," he said manfully.

“很高兴我们英雄所见略同。”他颇有男子气概地说。

"You'll remember about not coming here when I'm working? "

“你还记得我在这儿写作的时候别来这儿吧？”

"Naturally, Hem. Of course. I'll have my own café now.”

“当然，海姆。当然。我马上会去自己的咖啡馆的。”

"You're very kind."

“你真好。”

"I try to be," he said.

“我争取做到。”他说。

It would be interesting and instructive if the young man had turned out to be a famous critic but it did not turn out that way although I had high hopes for a while.

这个年轻人要是能成为一个著名的评论家，那会很有意思也很有启示性，但结果并不是这样，尽管有段时间我曾对此抱以很高的期望。

I did not think that he would come back the next day but I did not want to take chances and I decided to give the Closerie a day's rest. So the next morning I woke early, boiled the rubber nipples and the bottles, made the formula, finished the bottling, gave Mr. Bumby[3] a bottle and worked on the dining-room table before anyone but he, F. Puss the cat, and I were awake. The two of them were quiet and good company and I worked better than I had ever done. In those days you did not really need anything, not even the rabbit's foot, but it was good to feel it in your pocket.

我想第二天他不会来了，但我不想冒险，所以决定给丁香园放一天假。第二天早上我一早起来，用开水烫过橡胶奶嘴和奶瓶，泡上配方奶粉，灌入奶瓶，给了邦比先生一瓶，然后趁别人还没醒，屋里只有他、宠物猫和我的时候在餐厅的桌子上写作。他们俩是安静的好伴侣，我比以前写得更顺利。那些日子，你真的不需要任何东西，甚至不需要兔子后腿，不过在口袋里能摸到它总是让我感到很踏实。

(1)西方认为身上带着这两样东西能逢凶化吉、时来运转。

(2)海姆，海明威的简称。

(3)邦比，海明威和第一任妻子哈德莉的儿子。

With Pascin[1] At The Déme

在圆顶咖啡馆和帕散在一起

It was a lovely evening and I had worked hard all day and left the fl at over the sawmill and walked out through the courtyard with the stacked lumber, closed the door, crossed the street and went into the back door of the bakery that fronted on the Boulevard Montparnasse and out through the good bread smells of the ovens and the shop to the street. The lights were on in the bakery and outside it was the end of the day and I walked in the early dusk up the street and stopped outside the terrace of the Négre de Toulouse restaurant where our red and white checkered napkins were in the wooden napkin rings in the napkin rack waiting for us to come to dinner. I read the menu mimeographed in purple ink and saw that the plat du jour was cassoulet. It made me hungry to read the name.

这是个美丽的傍晚。辛苦工作一整天后，我离开锯木厂楼上的公寓，穿过堆放着木材的院子走出来，关上门，穿过大街，走进面包房朝蒙帕纳斯大街开的后门，在烤箱散发出的扑鼻的面包香味中穿过商店来到大街上。面包房已经亮起了灯，屋外白天也已结束。我走在初暮的大街上，在图卢兹黑人餐厅的露台外停下脚步。餐厅里红白色方格餐巾套在餐巾架上的木环里，等着我们进去享用晚餐。我看了看用紫色墨水油印的菜单，上面写的“当日推荐”是什锦砂锅。看到菜名我就饿了。

Mr. Lavigne, the proprietor, asked me how my work had gone and I said it had gone very well. He said he had seen me working on the terrace of the Closerie des Lilas early in the morning but he had not spoken to me because I was so occupied.

餐厅老板拉维格尼先生问我写作进展如何，我回答说非常顺利。他说他一大早看见我在丁香园咖啡馆的露台上写作，但看我很专注，就没有和我说话。

"You had the air of a man alone in the jungle," he said.

“你看上去像个只身陷入丛林的人。”他说。

"I am like a blind pig when I work."

“我写作的时候像一头瞎眼的猪。”

"But were you not in the jungle, Monsieur?"

“你不是在丛林里吗，先生？”

"In the bush," I said.

“在灌木丛里。”我说。

I went on up the street looking in the windows and happy with the spring evening and the people coming past. In the three principal cafés I saw people that I knew by sight and others that I knew to speak to. But there were always much nicer-looking people that I did not know that, in the evening with the lights just coming on, were hurrying to some place to drink together, to eat together and then to make love. The people in the principal cafés might do the same thing or they might just sit and drink and talk and love to be seen by others. The people that I liked and had not met went to the big cafés because they were lost in them and no one noticed them and they could be alone in them and be together. The big cafés were cheap then too, and all had good beer and the apéritifs cost reasonable prices that were clearly marked on the saucers that were served with them.

我继续顺着大街走，向橱窗里望，为春天的傍晚和身旁经过的人们感到欣喜。在三家主要的咖啡馆里，我看见一些面熟的人和一些认识并可以聊天的人。但总是有长得更俊俏可我却不认识的人，在华灯初上的傍晚，匆匆赶往某个地方一起喝酒、一起吃饭，然后做爱。在这些主要的咖啡馆里的人可能也做同样的事，或者他们也许只是坐坐，喝喝酒，聊聊天，喜欢让别人看见。我喜欢但却从未谋面的人去的是大咖啡馆，因为他们可以隐匿其中，没有人会注意他们，他们可以在人群里独处，也可以和别人相聚。那时的大咖啡馆也很便宜，都能买到好啤酒，开胃酒价格公道，而且价格清楚地标在一同端上来的杯垫上。

On this evening I was thinking these wholesome but not original thoughts and feeling extraordinarily virtuous because I had worked well and hard on a day when I had wanted to go out to the races very badly. But at this time I could not afford to go to the races, even though there was money to be made there if you worked at it. It was before the days of saliva tests and other methods of detecting artificially encouraged horses and doping was very extensively practiced. But handicapping beasts that are receiving stimulants, and detecting the symptoms in the paddock and acting on your perceptions, which sometimes bordered on the extrasensory, then backing them with money you cannot afford to lose, is not the way for a young man supporting a wife and child to get ahead in the full-time job of learning to write prose.

这个傍晚，我一直在想着这些有益于健康但没有创意的想法，觉得自己无比高尚，因为尽管那天我非常想去赛马场，可我还是辛苦写作，并且进展顺利。不过现在我也没钱去赛马场，虽然如果用心的话也可以在那儿挣点儿钱。那会儿还没有唾液试验和其他检测人为激励赛马的方法，因此兴奋剂被广泛使用。但是，给服用过兴奋剂的牲畜设置障碍，在草地围场里检测症状，凭感觉行事，有时几乎是凭超感觉行事，然后拿你输不起的钱在它们身上下赌注，这可不是一个年轻人养活妻儿、在全身心学习散文写作中取得进展的可取之道。

By any standards we were still very poor and I still made such small economies as saying that I had been asked out for lunch and then spending two hours walking in the Luxembourg gardens and coming back to describe the marvelous lunch to my wife. When you are twenty-five and are a natural heavyweight, missing a meal makes you very hungry. But it also sharpens all of your perceptions, and I found that many of the people I wrote about had very strong appetites and a great taste and desire for food, and most of them were looking forward to having a drink.

不管以什么标准来看，我们仍然很穷。我仍然谎称别人请我在外面吃午饭，然后花两个小时在卢森堡公园散步，回来向妻子描述午餐有多么丰盛，通过这种方式来省点儿钱。你要是二十五岁，天生又是个大块头，少吃一顿就会让你感到特别饥饿，但这也会使你的所有感官敏锐起来。我发现我笔下的很多角色胃口都很好，对食物有很高的要求和很强的欲望，他们大多都渴望喝酒。

At the Négre de Toulouse we drank the good Cahors wine from the quarter, the half, or the full carafe, usually diluting it about one-third with water. At home, over the sawmill, we had a Corsican wine that had great authority and a low price. It was a very Corsican wine and you could dilute it by half with water and still receive its message. In Paris, then, you could live very well on almost nothing and by skipping meals occasionally and never buying any new clothes, you could save and have luxuries.

我们在图卢兹黑人餐厅喝过上好的卡奥尔葡萄酒，通常在四分之一杯或半杯或一整杯酒里兑上约三分之一的水。在锯木厂楼上的家里，我们有一瓶很有名气但很便宜的科西嘉酒。那是非常地道的科西嘉酒，兑上半杯水你仍能品出它的味道。那时在巴黎，即使什么都没有你也可以生活得很好，偶尔不吃饭，从不买新衣服，你可以省下很多，来拥有奢侈品。

Coming back from The Select now where I had sheered off at the sight of Harold Stearns[2] who I knew would want to talk horses, those animals I was thinking of righteously and light-heartedly as the beasts that I had just foresworn. Full of my evening virtue I passed the collection of inmates at the Rotonde and, scorning vice and the collective instinct, crossed the boulevard to the Déme. The Déme was crowded too, but there were people there who had worked.

这会儿我正从精英咖啡馆回来。在那儿，我一看到哈罗德·斯特恩斯就避开了。我知道他准会和我谈论赛马，而我正理直气壮、轻松自得地认为已经和这些动物毫无瓜葛了。傍晚时分我满怀着独善其身的美德，经过聚集在罗桐多咖啡馆的本地人群，对他们的恶习和共有的本能感到不屑，然后穿过大街来到圆顶咖啡馆。圆顶咖啡馆里人也很多，但那里有些人是刚刚结束工作才来的。

There were models who had worked and there were painters who had worked until the light was gone and there were writers who had finished a day's work for better or for worse, and there were drinkers and characters, some of whom I knew and some that were only decoration.

有刚刚结束工作的模特，有工作到天黑的画家，有不论好坏完成了一天写作的作家，有喝酒的人和知名人士，他们中有些我认识，有些只是点缀而已。

I went over and sat down at a table with Pascin and two models who were sisters. Pascin had waved to me while I had stood on the sidewalk on the rue Delambre side wondering whether to stop and have a drink or not. Pascin was a very good painter and he was drunk; steady, purposefully drunk and making good sense. The two models were young and pretty. One was very dark, small, beautifully built with a falsely fragile depravity. The other was childlike and dull but very pretty in a perishable childish way. She was not as well built as her sister, but neither was anyone else that spring.

我走过去，在帕散和两个模特姐妹的那张桌子边坐下。我站在德朗布尔大街人行道上正想着要不要停下喝一杯时，帕散就向我招手了。帕散是个非常出色的画家，他已经喝醉了；一脸沉静，是故意喝醉的，头脑还很清醒。两个模特既年轻又漂亮。一个肤色很黑，娇小玲珑，虽然看上去弱不禁风又放荡不羁，但身材很好。另一个稚气未脱，无精打采的样子，但有一种因童真易逝而愈显珍贵的那种美。她身材没有姐姐那么好，但那个春天，无论谁都比不上那个姐姐的身材。

"The good and the bad sisters," Pascin said. "I have money. What will you drink?"

“集善良和邪恶于一身的姐妹。”帕散说，“我有钱，想喝点儿什么？”

"Une demi-blonde," I said to the waiter.

“来半升黄啤。”我对侍者说。

"Have a whisky. I have money."

“来杯威士忌吧，我有钱。”

"I like beer."

“我喜欢啤酒。”

"If you really liked beer, you'd be at Lipp's. I suppose you've been working."

“你要是真喜欢啤酒，就该去利普咖啡馆。我想你一直在写作吧。”

"Yes."

“是的。”

"It goes?"

“有进展吗？”

"I hope so."

“希望如此。”

"Good. I'm glad. And everything still tastes good? "

“好。我很高兴。一切都还有滋有味吧？”

"Yes."

“是的。”

"How old are you?"

“你多大了？”

"Twenty-five.”

“二十五岁。”

"Do you want to bang her?" He looked toward the dark sister and smiled. "She needs it."

“想干她吗？”他笑着看了看肤色黑的姐姐,“她需要。”

"You probably banged her enough today."

“你今天可能已经把她干够了。”

She smiled at me with her lips open. "He's wicked," she said. "But he's nice."

她咧嘴冲我一笑。“他坏透了，”她说，“但人不错。”

"You can take her over to the studio."

“你可以把她带到画室。”

"Don't make piggishness," the blonde sister said.

“别这么贪心。”金发的妹妹说。

"Who spoke to you?" Pascin asked her.

“谁在和你说话？”帕散问她。

"Nobody. But I said it."

“没人。但我就是说了。”

"Let's be comfortable," Pascin said. "The serious young writer and the friendly wise old painter and the two beautiful young girls with all of life before them."

“我们自在点，”帕散说，“严肃的年轻作家，友好而有智慧的老画家，两个年轻漂亮的姑娘，风华正茂。”

We sat there and the girls sipped at their drinks and Pascin drank another fi ne à l'eau and I drank the beer; but no one was comfortable except Pascin. The dark girl was restless and she sat on display turning her profile and letting the light strike the concave planes of her face and showing me her breasts under the hold of the black sweater. Her hair was cropped short and was sleek and dark as an oriental's.

我们坐在那儿，两个女孩啜饮着饮料，帕散又喝了一杯白兰地加苏打水，我喝着啤酒。可是除了帕散，谁也没觉得自在。肤色黑的那个女孩坐立不安。她坐在那儿，侧过身子，让光线照在她脸部凹下去的部分，炫耀她的轮廓，向我卖弄她黑色毛衣紧裹的胸部。她的头发剪得短短的，像东方人的头发一样光滑乌黑。

"You've posed all day," Pascin said to her. "Do you have to model that sweater now at the café?”

你已经摆弄一天了，”帕散对她说，“有必要这会儿在咖啡馆还要展示那件毛衣吗？”

"It pleases me," she said.

“我乐意。”她回答。

"You look like a Javanese toy," he said.

“你看上去像个爪哇玩偶。”他说。

"Not the eyes," she said. "It's more complicated than that."

“眼睛不像,”她说，“比那复杂难懂多了。”

"You look like a poor perverted little poupée.”

“你看上去像个变态可怜的小玩偶。”

"Perhaps," she said. "But alive. That's more than you."

“也许。”她说，“但我可是活生生的。比你有生气。”

"We'll see about that."

“等着瞧。”

"Good," she said. "I like proofs."

“很好，”她说，“我喜欢证据。”

"You didn't have any today?"

“你今天没得到什么证据吗？”

"Oh that," she said and turned to catch the last evening light on her face. "You were just excited about your work. He's in love with canvases," she said to me. "There's always some kind of dirtiness."

“别提了。”她说着，转过身让傍晚最后一抹光线照在她脸上。“你只对你的画感兴趣。他爱上了油画布,”她对我说，“那上面总是脏兮兮的。”

"You want me to paint you and pay you and bang you to keep my head clear, and be in love with you too," Pascin said. "You poor little doll."

“你想要我给你画像，付钱给你，干你，让我保持头脑清醒，还要爱上你。”帕散说，“你这可怜的小玩偶。”

"You like me, don't you, Monsieur?" she asked me.

“你喜欢我，是吧，先生？”她问我。

"Very much."

“很喜欢。”

"But you're too big," she said sadly.

“但你块头太大了。”她难过地说。

"Everyone is the same size in bed."

“在床上大家的块头都一样。”

"It's not true," her sister said. "And I'm tired of this talk."

“这可不对。”她的妹妹说，“我听腻了这样的话。”

"Look," Pascin said. "If you think I'm in love with canvases, I'll paint you tomorrow in water colors."

“听着,”帕散说，“你要是觉得我爱上了油画布，明天我就用水彩给你画像。”

"When do we eat?" her sister asked. "And where?"

“我们什么时候吃饭？”她的妹妹问,“去哪儿吃？”

"Will you eat with us?" the dark girl asked.

“你和我们一起吃饭吗？”肤色黑的那个女孩问。

"No. I go to eat with my légitime." That was what they said then. Now they say "my régulière." ”

“不。我要和我的合法妻子一起吃。”那会儿他们这么说。现在他们说“我固定的妻子”了。

"You have to go?"

“你非要走吗？”

"Have to and want to."

“是的，而且我想走。”

"Go on, then," Pascin said. "And don't fall in love with typewriting paper."

“那就走吧。”帕散说，“别爱上打字机纸了。”

"If I do, I'll write with a pencil."

“要是那样，我就用铅笔写。”

"Water colors tomorrow," he said. "All right, my children, I will drink another and then we eat where you wish."

“明天画水彩画。”他说，“好吧，姑娘们，我再喝一杯，然后咱们就去你们想去的地方吃饭。”

"Chez Viking," the dark girl said.

“去北欧海盗餐厅。”肤色黑的女孩说。

"Me too," her sister urged.

“我也想去。”她的妹妹催促道。

"All right," Pascin agreed. "Good night, jeune homme. Sleep well."

“好吧。”帕散同意道。“晚安，年轻人。睡个好觉。”

"You too."

“你也一样。”

"They keep me awake," he said. "I never sleep."

“她们可不让我睡。”他说，“我从不睡觉。”

"Sleep tonight."

“今晚睡吧。”

"After Chez Les Vikings?" He grinned with his hat on the back of his head. He looked more like a Broadway character of the Nineties than the lovely painter that he was, and afterwards, when he had hanged himself, I liked to remember him as he was that night at the Dôme. They say the seeds of what we will do are in all of us, but it always seemed to me that in those who make jokes in life the seeds are covered with better soil and with a higher grade of manure.

“在北欧海盗吃完饭？”他把帽子往后脑勺一扣，咧嘴笑了笑。他看上去更像上个世纪九十年代百老汇的一个角色，而不像平时那个可爱的画家。后来他上吊自杀后，我喜欢把那天晚上圆顶咖啡馆的那个他保留在我的记忆中。人们说，我们将来会做什么，种子就植于我们自身，但我似乎总是觉得，对那些笑对人生的人来说，种子却深埋在更加肥沃的土壤中，享用着更好的肥料。

(1)帕散（1885—1930），保加利亚画家。

(2)哈罗德·斯特恩斯（1891—1943），美国作家，当时也侨居巴黎，发表过《美国和青年知识分子》和《美国文明：三十个美国人的调查报告》。

Ezra Pound And His Bel Esprit

埃兹拉·庞德和他的“才子”

Ezra Pound was always a good friend and he was always doing things for people. The studio where he lived with his wife Dorothy on the rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs was as poor as Gertrude Stein's studio was rich. It had very good light and was heated by a stove and it had paintings by Japanese artists that Ezra knew. They were all noblemen where they came from and wore their hair cut long. Their hair glistened black and swung forward when they bowed and I was very impressed by them but I did not like their paintings. I did not understand them but they did not have any mystery, and when I understood them they meant nothing to me. I was sorry about this but there was nothing I could do about it.

埃兹拉·庞德一直都是个很好的朋友，他总是帮助别人。他和妻子多萝西住在圣母院田园大街上的工作室，那里破旧不堪，正好和格特鲁德·斯泰因小姐富丽堂皇的工作室形成鲜明的对比。不过工作室光线很好，还有一个炉子取暖，陈列着埃兹拉认识的日本艺术家们的画。他们全是日本贵族，留着长长的头发；头发黑得发亮，鞠躬时头发就会向前甩。我对他们印象深刻，但却不喜欢他们的画。我无法理解这些画，不过它们也没有什么神秘感；等我理解了，对我来说它们也就毫无意义了。对此我感到很遗憾，但也无能为力。

Dorothy's paintings I liked very much and I thought Dorothy was very beautiful and built wonderfully. I also liked the head of Ezra by Gaudier- Brzeska[1] and I liked all of the photographs of this sculptor's work that Ezra showed me and that were in Ezra's book about him. Ezra also liked Picabia's[2] painting but I thought then that it was worthless. I also disliked Wyndham Lewis's[3] painting which Ezra liked very much. He liked the works of his friends, which is beautiful as loyalty but can be disastrous as judgment. We never argued about these things because I kept my mouth shut about things I did not like. If a man liked his friends' painting or writing, I thought it was probably like those people who like their families, and it was not polite to criticize them. Sometimes you can go quite a long time before you criticize families, your own or those by marriage, but it is easier with bad painters because they do not do terrible things and make intimate harm as families can do. With bad painters all you need to do is not look at them. But even when you have learned not to look at families nor listen to them and have learned not to answer letters, families have many ways of being dangerous. Ezra was kinder and more Christian about people than I was. His own writing, when he would hit it right, was so perfect, and he was so sincere in his mistakes and so enamored of his errors, and so kind to people that I always thought of him as a sort of saint. He was also irascible but so perhaps have been many saints.

多萝西的画我倒很喜欢，而且我觉得多萝西非常漂亮，身材很好。我还喜欢戈迪埃-布尔泽斯卡创作的埃兹拉头像雕塑，我喜欢埃兹拉给我看的这位雕塑家所有作品的照片，这些照片都附在埃兹拉介绍他的书里。埃兹拉还喜欢毕卡贝尔的画，但那时我认为它毫无价值。埃兹拉非常喜欢温德姆·路易斯的画，我照样不喜欢。他喜欢朋友的作品，从忠诚的角度来说是好事，但从鉴赏力的角度来说却可能是毁灭性的。我们从来没有因为这些事儿争论过，因为对不喜欢的东西我总是闭口不谈。如果一个人喜欢他朋友的画作或著作，我想很可能就像那些深爱家人的人，去批评他们的家人是不礼貌的。有时候你能忍受很长一段时间才去批评你自己的或是爱人的家人，但对蹩脚的画家这却容易得多，因为他们不会像普通的家庭成员那样，会做出可怕的事，伤害亲情。对于蹩脚的画家，你需要做的就是不看他们。但对于家人，即使你已经学会了不看他们，不听他们说话，不回信，他们也有很多办法对你构成威胁。与我相比，埃兹拉待人更和善，也更友好。他自己的作品，如果他能找对路数，是非常完美的，而他对自己的错误是如此坦率，对自己的过失是如此迷恋，对人是如此和善，以至于我总是把他当作某种圣人。他也易发脾气，但也许很多圣人都是这样的吧。

Ezra wanted me to teach him to box and it was while we were sparring late one afternoon in his studio that I fi rst met Wyndham Lewis. Ezra had not been boxing very long and was embarrassed at having him work in front of anyone he knew, and I tried to make him look as good as possible. But it was not very good because he knew how to fence and I was still working to make his left into his boxing hand and move his left foot forward always and bring his right foot up parallel with it. It was just basic moves. I was never able to teach him to throw a left hook and to teach him to shorten his right was something for the future.

埃兹拉想让我教他打拳击。我和温德姆·路易斯的第一次会面就是在一天下午很晚的时候，当时我们在埃兹拉的工作室里练拳击。埃兹拉练拳击没多长时间，要他在任何认识的人面前打拳击都会令他尴尬，所以我尽量让他看起来打得不错。但这并不奏效，因为他知道如何防守，而我却还在让他用左手出拳，让他的左脚一直向前移动，抬起右脚和左脚平行。这些都只是基本动作。我一直没能教会他打左勾拳，要教会他减小右手的出击力量只能留待以后再说了。

Wyndham Lewis wore a wide black hat, like a character in the quarter, and was dressed like someone out of La Bohème[4]. He had a face that reminded me of a frog, not a bullfrog but just any frog, and Paris was too big a puddle for him. At that time we believed that any writer or painter could wear any clothes he owned and there was no official uniform for the artist; but Lewis wore the uniform of a prewar artist. It was embarrassing to see him and he watched superciliously while I slipped Ezra's left leads or blocked them with an open right glove.

温德姆·路易斯戴一顶宽沿的黑色帽子，有拉丁区人们的特点，穿着则像《波西米亚人》里的角色。他的脸让我想到青蛙，不是牛蛙，就是那种普通的青蛙，而巴黎这个池塘对他来说实在太大了。那时我们相信任何作家和画家都可以穿他们自己的任何服装，艺术家没有正式的制服，但路易斯却穿着战前艺术家的制服。我们看见他，感到很尴尬，而他则傲慢地看着我躲过埃兹拉左手的进攻或张开右手挡住他的拳头。

I wanted us to stop but Lewis insisted we go on, and I could see that, knowing nothing about what was going on, he was waiting, hoping to see Ezra hurt. Nothing happened. I never countered but kept Ezra moving after me sticking out his left hand and throwing a few right hands and then said we were through and washed down with a pitcher of water and toweled off and put on my sweatshirt.

我希望我们能停下，但路易斯坚持要我们继续。我看得出，他不知道会发生什么，他在等待，希望看见埃兹拉受伤。结果什么也没发生。我从不还击，只是让埃兹拉跟着我移动，打出他的左拳，再抛出几记右拳。然后我说就到这儿吧，接着用一罐水冲了个澡，拿毛巾擦干，穿上我的运动衫。

We had a drink of something and I listened while Ezra and Lewis talked about people in London and Paris. I watched Lewis carefully without seeming to look at him, as you do when you are boxing, and I do not think I had ever seen a nastier-looking man. Some people show evil as great race horse shows breeding. They have the dignity of a hard chancre. Lewis did not show evil; he just looked nasty.

我们喝了点儿东西，埃兹拉和路易斯谈论着伦敦和巴黎的人们，我在一旁听着。我仔细地观察路易斯，但装作没有看他，就像你打拳的时候一样。我想我从没见过相貌如此恶心的人。有些人看起来邪恶，就好比一匹上乘的赛马能让人看出血统一样。他们都具有硬汉的尊严。路易斯看起来并不邪恶，他就是看上去让人厌恶。

Walking home I tried to think what he reminded me of and there were various things. They were all medical except toe-jam and that was a slang word. I tried to break his face down and describe it but I could only get the eyes. Under the black hat, when I had first seen them, the eyes had been those of an unsuccessful rapist.

走路回家的路上，我试着琢磨他让我联想到什么，结果我想到了各种各样的东西。它们都跟医学有关，除了“脚趾间的污垢”——这是一个俚语。我试着将他的脸分解成各个部分来形容，但我只能形容他的眼睛。在黑色的帽子下面，当我第一次看见这双眼睛时，就感觉像是强奸未遂者的一双眼睛。

"I met the nastiest man I've ever seen today," I told my wife.

“我今天碰见了我见过的最恶心的人。”我告诉妻子。

"Tatie, don't tell me about him," she said. "Please don't tell me about him. We're just going to have dinner."

“塔蒂，别跟我说这个人，”她说，“别告诉我任何他的事。我们要吃晚饭了。”

About a week afterwards I met Miss Stein and told her I'd met Wyndham Lewis and asked her if she had ever met him.

大约过了一个星期，我见到斯泰因小姐，告诉她我和温德姆·路易斯见过面，并问她有没有见过他。

"I call him 'the Measuring Worm,'" she said. "He comes over from London and he sees a good picture and takes a pencil out of his pocket and you watch him measuring it on the pencil with his thumb. Sighting on it and measuring it and seeing exactly how it is done. Then he goes back to London and does it and it doesn't come out right. He's missed what it's all about."

“我管他叫‘尺蠼’，”她说，“他大老远从伦敦来，看见一幅好画，就从口袋里掏出一支铅笔，然后你就看他用拇指在铅笔上测量那幅画的比例。他先目测，然后测量尺度，看那幅画究竟是怎么画的。后来他回到伦敦，依葫芦画瓢，结果却不是那么回事。他没抓住画的实质。”

So I thought of him as the Measuring Worm. It was a kinder and more Christian term than what I had thought about him myself. Later I tried to like him and to be friends with him as I did with nearly all of Ezra's friends when he explained them to me. But this was how he seemed to me on the first day I ever met him in Ezra's studio.

所以我就把他当作“尺蠼”。这个称呼比我自己曾经对他的看法更和善，也更友好。后来我试着喜欢他，和他做朋友，埃兹拉向我介绍他的朋友们时，我几乎都是这么做的。但这就是我在埃兹拉工作室第一天见到他时他给我留下的印象。

Ezra was the most generous writer I have ever known and the most disinterested. He helped poets, painters, sculptors and prose writers that he believed in and he would help anyone whether he believed in them or not if they were in trouble. He worried about everyone and in the time when I first knew him he was most worried about T. S. Eliot who, Ezra told me, had to work in a bank in London and so had insufficient time and bad hours to function as a poet.

埃兹拉是我认识的最慷慨的作家，也是最无私的一个。他帮助他信任的诗人、画家、雕塑家、散文家。任何人只要身处困境，不管信不信任他们，埃兹拉都会伸出援手。他为每个人操心。我最早认识他的时候，他最担心的是T·S·艾略特。埃兹拉告诉我，艾略特不得不在伦敦的一家银行上班，所以没有足够的时间写诗，也没有很好的时间让他行使诗人的职责。

Ezra founded something called Bel Esprit with Miss Natalie Barney[5] who was a rich American woman and a patroness of the arts. Miss Barney had been a friend of Rémy de Gourmont[6] who was before my time and she had a salon at her house on regular dates and a small Greek temple in her garden. Many American and French women with money enough had salons and I figured very early that they were excellent places for me to stay away from, but Miss Barney, I believe, was the only one that had a small Greek temple in her garden.

埃兹拉和有钱的美国女人、艺术赞助人纳塔莉·巴尼小姐成立了一个叫“才子”的什么基金会。巴尼小姐曾经是我的前辈雷米·德·古尔蒙的朋友。她在自己的住所定期举办沙龙，她的花园里还有一个希腊小神殿。很多足够有钱的美国女人和法国女人都举办沙龙。我早就知道这些沙龙绝对是我该远离的地方，但我相信巴尼小姐是唯一在花园里设希腊小神殿的人。

Ezra showed me the brochure for Bel Esprit and Miss Barney had allowed him to use the small Greek temple on the brochure. The idea of Bel Esprit was that we would all contribute a part of whatever we earned to provide a fund to get Mr. Eliot out of the bank so he would have money to write poetry. This seemed like a good idea to me and after we had got Mr. Eliot out of the bank Ezra figured we would go right straight along and fix up everybody.

埃兹拉给我看宣传“才子”的宣传册，巴尼小姐允许他在宣传册上用希腊小神殿的照片。“才子”的想法是，我们无论收入多少，都拿出一部分筹集一笔基金以帮助艾略特先生，这样他就能辞去银行的工作，并且有钱去写诗了。我觉得这好像是个不错的主意。我们帮助艾略特先生辞去银行的工作后，埃兹拉认为我们可以一鼓作气、如法炮制去帮助所有人。

I mixed things up a little by always referring to Eliot as Major Eliot pretending to confuse him with Major Douglas an economist about whose ideas Ezra was very enthusiastic. But Ezra understood that my heart was in the right place and that I was full of Bel Esprit even though it would annoy Ezra when I would solicit funds from my friends to get Major Eliot out of the bank and someone would say what was a Major[7] doing in a bank anyway and if he had been axed by the military establishment did he not have a pension or at least some gratuity?

我有点儿弄混了，总是把艾略特称作梅杰·艾略特，假装把他和经济学家梅杰·道格拉斯混淆了，埃兹拉总是热情拥护这位经济学家的观点。不过埃兹拉明白我是出于好意，我身上满是“才子”，虽然我从朋友那儿筹钱帮助梅杰·艾略特辞去银行的工作时，有人会说，少校大人在银行干什么，他要是被军队除名了，难道没有退休金或退伍金吗？这总是让埃兹拉很恼怒。

In such cases I would explain to my friends that this was all beside the point. Either you had Bel Esprit or you did not have it. If you had it you would subscribe to get the Major out of the bank. If you didn't it was too bad. Didn't they understand the significance of the small Greek temple? No? I thought so. Too bad, Mac. Keep your money. We wouldn't touch it.

碰到这种情况，我会向朋友解释说这都不是问题的关键。你要么有“才子”，要么没有。如果有，你就会同意帮助梅杰摆脱银行工作。如果没有，那真是太遗憾了。难道他们不明白希腊小神殿的意义吗？不明白？我想是这样。太遗憾了，老兄。收好你的钱。我们不会碰它的。

As a member of Bel Esprit I campaigned energetically and my happiest dreams in those days were of seeing the Major stride out of the bank a free man. I cannot remember how Bel Esprit finally cracked up but I think it had something to do with the publication of The Waste Land which won the Major the Dial[8] award and not long after a lady of title backed a review for Eliot called The Criterion[9] and Ezra and I did not have to worry about him any more. The small Greek temple is, I believe, still in the garden. It was always a disappointment to me that we had not been able to get the Major out of the bank by Bel Esprit alone, as in my dreams I had pictured him as coming, perhaps, to live in the small Greek temple and that maybe I could go with Ezra when we would drop in to crown him with laurel, I knew where there was fi ne laurel that I could gather, riding out on my bicycle to get it, and I thought we could crown him any time he felt lonesome or any time Ezra had gone over the manuscript or the proofs of another big poem like The Waste Land. The whole thing turned out badly for me morally, as so many things have, because the money that I had earmarked for getting the Major out of the bank I took out to Enghien and bet on jumping horses that raced under the influence of stimulants. At two meetings the stimulated horses that I was backing outraced the unstimulated or insufficiently stimulated beasts except for one race in which our fancy had been overstimulated to such a point that before the start he threw his jockey and breaking away completed a full circuit of the steeplechase course jumping beautifully by himself the way one can sometimes jump in dreams. Caught up and remounted he started the race and figured honorably, as the French racing phrase has it, but was out of the money.

作为“才子”基金会的一员，我积极参加筹钱活动。那些日子让我最快乐的梦想就是看着梅杰阔步走出银行，成为一个自由人。我不记得“才子”最后是怎么解散的，但我想它和为梅杰赢得“日晷奖”的《荒原》的出版是有关系的。不久之后，一位颇有来头的女士资助了艾略特的评论杂志《标准》，所以埃兹拉和我就不用再为他担心了。至于希腊小神殿，我相信依然还在花园里。一直让我觉得失望的是，我们没能单靠“才子”帮助梅杰摆脱银行的羁绊。在梦中，我曾设想他或许住进了希腊小神殿，我和埃兹拉前去拜访，为他戴上桂冠。我知道骑上自行车去哪儿能采集到优良品种的月桂。而且我以为，无论什么时候当他感到孤独，或是埃兹拉看完另一篇像《荒原》那样大手笔的诗歌的手稿或校对稿时，我们都可以为他戴上桂冠。就像很多事情一样，整件事情让我在道德上变得很被动，因为我把帮助梅杰摆脱银行的钱拿去昂吉安作为赌注，下在障碍赛中服用过兴奋剂的赛马身上了。两场比赛中，我支持的服用过兴奋剂的赛马都赢了没有服用过兴奋剂或服用剂量不足的赛马，除了一场比赛，我们的马过度兴奋，结果比赛还没开始那匹马就把骑师扔了出去，脱缰而出，自己在障碍赛赛道上漂亮地跳跃着跑完了一整圈，那样的跳跃动作只会间或在梦中出现。骑师拦下这匹马，重新骑上，比赛开始了，赛马步伐优雅，就像法语中形容赛马的词语那样，但钱已经输光了。

I would have been happier if the amount of the wager had gone to Bel Esprit which was no longer existent. But I comforted myself that with those wagers which had prospered I could have contributed much more to Bel Esprit than was my original intention.

如果这些赌注捐给了“才子”，我会更高兴，虽然它已经不存在了。但我安慰自己：等到这些赌注赚到更多的钱，我捐给“才子”的钱会比原来想捐的多得多。

(1)戈迪埃-布尔泽斯卡（1891—1915），法国抽象派雕塑家，“旋涡主义”运动的著名倡导者。

(2)毕卡贝尔（1879—1953），法国画家、诗人。

(3)温德姆·路易斯（1882—1957），英国画家、作家，旋涡画派创始人。138外研社双语读库

(4)《波西米亚人》，普契尼创作的意大利歌剧，改编自法国小说家亨利·穆杰（1822—1861）的法语小说。

(5)纳塔莉·巴尼（1876—1972），美国女作家，20世纪巴黎著名文学沙龙“星期五沙龙”的女主人。

(6)雷米·德·古尔蒙（1858—1915），法国象征派诗人、小说家、评论家。

(7)梅杰的英文名Major也有陆军少校的意思，因此被误解了。

(8)《日晷》（TheDial），发行于1840—1929的美国杂志，初期发表先验主义的作品，后来发表政治文章，1920年后成为现代英语文学的重要期刊。

(9)《标准》，T·S·艾略特创办的文学评论杂志，于1922至1939年间发行，基本上是季刊，只有1927—1928年期间为月刊。

A Strange Enough Ending

一个很奇怪的结局

The way it ended with Gertrude Stein was strange enough. We had become very good friends and I had done a number of practical things for her such as getting her long book started as a serial with Ford and helping type the manuscript and reading her proof and we were getting to be better friends than I could ever wish to be. There is not much future in men being friends with great women although it can be pleasant enough before it gets better or worse, and there is usually even less future with truly ambitious women writers. One time when I gave the excuse for not having stopped in at 27 rue de Fleurus for some time that I did not know whether Miss Stein would be at home, she said, "But Hemingway, you have the run of the place. Don't you know that? I mean it truly. Come in any time and the maidservant"—she used her name but I have forgotten it —"will look after you and you must make yourself at home until I come."

和格特鲁德·斯泰因之间的友谊结束得太离奇了。此前我们已经是非常好的朋友，我为她做了很多实实在在的事，比如和福特一起将她的长篇巨作连载刊出，帮她打出手稿，阅读她的校对稿，我们渐渐变成比我预想的还要亲密的朋友。男人和伟大的女人做朋友没什么前途，尽管在事情变好或变坏前那可能挺愉快的，和一个真正雄心勃勃的女作家做朋友就更没什么前途了。一次，有一阵子没去花园街27号了，我借口说不知道斯泰因小姐在不在家，于是她说，“可是，海明威，你随时都可以来这儿，难道你不知道吗？我是说真的。什么时候来都行，而且女仆”——她说的是女仆的名字，但我已经忘了——“会照顾你，你一定要像在自己家一样随意，等我回来。”

I did not abuse this but sometimes I would stop in and the maidservant would give me a drink and I would look at the pictures and if Miss Stein did not turn up I would thank the maidservant and leave a message and go away. Miss Stein and a companion were getting ready to go south in Miss Stein's car and on this day Miss Stein had asked me to come by in the forenoon to say good-by. She had asked us to come and visit, Hadley and I staying at a hotel, but Hadley and I had other plans and other places where we wanted to go. Naturally you say nothing about this, but you can still hope to go and then it is impossible. I knew a little about the system of not visiting people. I had to learn it. Much later Picasso told me that he always promised the rich to come when they asked him because it made them so happy and then something would happen and he would be unable to appear. But that had nothing to do with Miss Stein and he said it about other people.

我并没有滥用这个权利，但有时候我会顺便拜访，女仆会给我倒杯喝的，我就看看画。如果斯泰因小姐没有露面，我谢过女仆，留下口信就离开了。斯泰因小姐和一个同伴准备开斯泰因小姐的车去南方。那天她让我中午前去她那儿道别。她叫我们俩都去。哈德莉和我当时住在一家旅馆，但我们有别的安排，要去别的地方。自然，你对此什么也不会说，但你仍然能够抱着去的希望，结果却还是去不了。我知道些婉拒拜访的方法。我不得不学点儿。很久之后毕加索告诉我，当有钱人邀请他前去拜访时，他总是答应去，因为这会让他们很高兴。可是后来总是发生点儿别的事，他就去不了了。但这和斯泰因小姐无关，他说的是别人。

It was a lovely spring day and I walked down from the Place de 1'Observatoire through the little Luxembourg. The horse-chestnut trees were in blossom and there were many children playing on the graveled walks with their nurses sitting on the benches, and I saw wood pigeons in the trees and heard others that I could not see.

那是一个明媚的春日，我从观象台广场穿过小卢森堡花园。七叶树开花了，很多小孩在铺着砾石的人行道上玩耍，他们的保姆坐在长椅上。我还看见树上有些斑鸠，另外一些斑鸠我只闻其声，未见其影。

The maidservant opened the door before I rang and told me to come in and to wait. Miss Stein would be down at any moment. It was before noon but the maidservant poured me a glass of eau-de-vie, put it in my hand and winked happily. The colorless alcohol felt good on my tongue and it was still in my month when I heard someone speaking to Miss Stein as I had never heard one person speak to another; never, anywhere, ever.

没等我摁门铃女仆就开门了，她叫我进来等候。斯泰因小姐随时会下楼。还不到正午，女仆却给我倒了杯白兰地，递到我手里，高兴地眨眨眼。无色的白兰地在舌尖的感觉好极了。酒还在嘴中，我就听见有人正和斯泰因小姐说话。我从没听过一个人对另一个人那么说话；从来没有，无论在什么地方，什么时候。

Then Miss Stein's voice came pleading and begging, saying, "Don't, pussy. Don't. Don't, please don't. I'll do anything, pussy, but please don't do it. Please don't. Please don't, pussy."

接着传来斯泰因小姐的声音，她恳求甚至乞求道，“别，小猫咪。别这样。别，求求你别这样。我什么都可以做，小猫咪，就是别这样。请别这样。求求你别这样，小猫咪。”

I swallowed the drink and put the glass down on the table and started for the door. The maidservant shook her finger at me and whispered, "Don't go. She'll be right down."

我吞下那口酒，把酒杯放回桌上，走向门口。女仆朝我摆摆手指，小声说：“别走。她马上就下来了。”

"I have to go," I said and tried not to hear any more as I left but it was still going on and the only way I could not hear it was to be gone. It was bad to hear and the answers were worse.

“我得走了。”我说，尽量在离开时不要再听到什么，但说话声仍在继续。唯一听不到的办法就是离开。听到这样的话声让人很不自在，听到那些回答就更令人尴尬了。

In the courtyard I said to the maidservant, "Please say I came to the courtyard and met you. That I could not wait because a friend is sick. Say bon voyage for me. I will write."

在院子里我对女仆说，“请告诉她我到院子里见着你了，我不能等是因为一个朋友病了。代我祝她旅途愉快。我会写信的。”

"C'est entendu, Monsieur. What a shame you cannot wait."

“好的，先生。真遗憾，您不能等了。”

"Yes," I said. "What a shame."

“是的，”我说，“真遗憾。”

That was the way it finished for me, stupidly enough, although I still did the small jobs, made the necessary appearances, brought people that were asked for and waited dismissal with most of the other men friends when that epoch came and the new friends moved in. It was sad to see new worthless pictures hung in with the great pictures but it made no difference any more. Not to me it didn't. She quarreled with nearly all of us that were fond of her except Juan Gris[1] and she couldn't quarrel with him because he was dead. I am not sure that he would have cared because he was past caring and it showed in his paintings.

我想我们之间的友谊就是这么结束的，真是够愚蠢的。尽管我仍然帮点儿小忙，必要时露露面，带她邀请的人过去，和其他大多男性朋友一样到时候了就等着被打发，然后新朋友进来。看见又有毫无价值的新画和杰出的画挂在一起很是难过，但这已经无关紧要了。对我来说就是无关紧要了。除了胡安·格里斯，她几乎和我们当中所有喜欢她的人都争吵过。她不能和他争吵，因为他死了。我不确定他是否会在乎，他过去是在乎的，这从他的画里就能看出来。

Finally she even quarreled with the new friends but none of us followed it any more. She got to look like a Roman emperor and that was fine if you liked your women to look like Roman emperors. But Picasso had painted her, and I could remember her when she looked like a woman from Friuli.

最后她甚至和新朋友也争吵，但我们已经不再关注了。她变得看上去像一个罗马皇帝，要是你喜欢你的女人看上去像罗马皇帝，那就没事。但毕加索给她画过像，我也还记得她看起来像弗留利女人的样子。

In the end everyone, or not quite everyone, made friends again in order not to be stuffy or righteous. I did too. But I could never make friends again truly, neither in my heart nor in my head. When yon cannot make friends any more in your head is the worst. But it was more complicated than that.

最后，每个人，或几乎每个人，为了不显得自以为是或正义凛然，又和她成了朋友。我也是。但我无法再和她成为真正的朋友，无论从情感上还是理智上来说都不可能。理智上无法和一个人做朋友，那是最糟的。但事情要比那复杂。

(1)胡安·格里斯(1887—1927），西班牙画家、雕塑家。

The Man Who Was Marked For Death

一个带着死亡征兆的人

The afternoon I met Ernest Walsh, the poet, in Ezra's studio, he was with two girls in long mink coats and there was a long, shiny, hired car from Claridge's[1] outside in the street with a uniformed chauffeur. The girls were blondes and they had crossed on the same ship with Walsh. The ship had arrived the day before and he had brought them with him to visit Ezra.

在埃兹拉的工作室遇见诗人欧内斯特·沃尔什的那天下午，他正和两个穿着长长的貂皮大衣的女孩在一起，外面的街上停着一辆从克莱里奇饭店租来的锃亮的加长车，车上坐着一位穿制服的司机。那两个金发女孩和沃尔什坐同一艘船漂洋过海来到巴黎。那艘船前天就到了，沃尔什带着她们俩拜访过埃兹拉。

Ernest Walsh was dark, intense, faultlessly Irish, poetic and clearly marked for death as a character is marked for death in a motion picture. He was talking to Ezra and I talked with the girls who asked me if I had read Mr. Walsh's poems. I had not and one of them brought out a green-covered copy of Harriet Monroe's[2] Poetry, A Magazine of Verse and showed me poems by Walsh in it.

欧内斯特·沃尔什肤色很黑，人很热情，是个不折不扣的爱尔兰人，富有诗意，但却像电影里要死的人一样明显呈现出死亡的征兆。他和埃兹拉谈着话，而我就和那两个女孩聊了起来。她们问我有没有读过沃尔什先生的诗，我说没有，于是一个女孩拿出一本由哈利特·门罗主编的绿色封面的《诗歌》杂志，给我看沃尔什在上面发表的诗作。

"He gets twelve hundred dollars apiece," she said.

“他发表一首诗就能挣一千二百美元。”她说。

"For each poem," the other girl said.

“是每一首诗。”另一个女孩说道。

My recollection was that I received twelve dollars a page, if that, from the same magazine. "He must be a very great poet," I said. "It's more than Eddie Guest[3] gets," the first girl told me.

在我记忆中，在同一本杂志上，我要是投稿的话，稿酬是十二美元一页。“他一定是个非常出色的诗人。”我说。

"It's more than who's that other poet gets. You know."

“他的稿酬比埃迪·格斯特还高。”给我看诗的那个女孩说。“比那个诗人的稿酬都高，他叫什么来着？你知道的。”

"Kipling[4]," her friend said.

“吉卜林。”她的同伴说。

"It's more than anybody gets ever," the first girl said.

“反正比谁的稿酬都高。”给我看诗的那个女孩说。

"Are you staying in Paris very long?" I asked them.

“你们会在巴黎呆很长时间吗？”我问她们。

"Well no. Not really. We're with a group of friends."

“不会，不会的。我们和一群朋友一起。”

"We came over on this boat, you know. But there wasn't anyone on it really. Mr. Wa[1]sh was on it of course.”

“我们坐这艘船来的，你知道。但船上其实没什么人。当然，沃尔什先生也坐这艘船。”

"Doesn't he play cards?" I asked.

“他不玩牌吗？”我问。

She looked at me in a disappointed but understanding way.

她用失望但表示理解的眼光看着我。

"No. He doesn't have to. Not writing poetry the way he can write it."

“不，他用不着玩牌。他能那样写诗，但他不这样。”

"What ship are you going back on?"

“你们坐什么船回去？”

"Well that depends. It depends on the boats and on a lot of things. Are you going back?"

“这得看情况。看有什么船，还得看很多情况。你回去吗？”

"No. I'm getting by all right."

“不，我在这儿挺好的。”

"This is sort of the poor quarter over here, isn't it?"

“这个区有点儿穷，对吧？”

"Yes. But it's pretty good. I work the cafés and I'm out at the track."

“是的，但还不错。我在咖啡馆写作，还去赛马场转转。”

"Can you go out to the track in those clothes?"

“穿这样的衣服能去赛马场吗？”

"No. This is my café outfit.”

“不行。这是我去咖啡馆穿的。”

"It's kind of cute," one of the girls said. "I'd like to see some of that café life. Wouldn't you, dear?"

“挺可爱的，”其中一个女孩说，“我想看看咖啡馆的生活。你想吗，亲爱的？”

"I would," the other girl said. I wrote their names down in my address book and promised to call them at Claridge's. They were nice girls and I said good-bye to them and to Walsh and to Ezra. Walsh was still talking to Ezra with great intensity.

“我也想。”另一个女孩回答。我在通讯本上写下她们的名字，答应到克莱里奇饭店给她们打电话。她们是不错的女孩。我分别和两个女孩、沃尔什、埃兹拉道别。沃尔什还在热切地和埃兹拉谈话。

"Don't forget," the taller one of the girls said.

“别忘了。”高个的那个女孩说。

"How could I?" I told her and shook hands with them both again.

“我怎么会忘呢？”我告诉她，再次和她们俩握手。

The next I heard from Ezra about Wa[1]sh was that he had been bailed out of Claridge's by some lady admirers of poetry and of young poets who were marked for death, and the next thing, some time after that, was that he had financial backing from another source and was going to start a new magazine in the quarter as a co-editor.

后来听埃兹拉说起沃尔什就是他得到了一些爱好诗歌的女士和带着死亡征兆的年轻诗人的资助，离开了克莱里奇饭店。再后来就是他又从别处得到资助，正准备在拉丁区和别人合编一本新杂志。

At the time the Dial, an American literary magazine edited by Scofield Thayer[5], gave an annual award of, I believe, a thousand dollars for excellence in the practice of letters by a contributor. This was a huge sum for any straight writer to receive in those days, in addition to the prestige, and the award had gone to various people, all deserving, naturally. Two people, then, could live comfortably and well in Europe on five dollars a day and could travel.

那时，斯科菲尔德·塞耶主编的美国文学杂志《日晷》颁发一项年度奖金，授予在文学创作方面有杰出表现的撰稿人，我想，奖金应该是一千美元。这对当时任何一个正直的作家而言都是一笔可观的数目，更别说由此带来的声望了。很多人都获得了这份奖金，当然，所有获奖人都名副其实。那时候，两个人一天花五美元就可以在欧洲过上舒服惬意的生活，还可以去旅行。

This quarterly, of which Walsh was one of the editors, was alleged to be going to award a very substantial sum to the contributor whose work should be judged the best at the end of the first four issues.

沃尔什是这本季刊的编辑之一。据称杂志在头四期刊出后将给最杰出的撰稿人发一笔数目可观的奖金。

If the news was passed around by gossip or rumor, or if it was a matter of personal confidence, cannot be said. Let us hope and believe always that it was completely honorable in every way. Certainly nothing could ever be said or imputed against Walsh's co-editor.

这是小道消息还是谣言，或者是否事关个人信心，那就无从可说了。让我们希望并且一直相信，此举在各个方面都是完全值得尊敬的。当然，沃尔什的合编者永远都不会被诋毁或怪罪。

It was not long after I heard rumors of this alleged award that Walsh asked me to lunch one day at a restaurant that was the best and the most expensive in the Boulevard St.Michel quarter and after the oysters, expensive fl at faintly coppery marennes, not the familiar, deep, inexpensive portugaises, and a bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé, began to lead up to it delicately. He appeared to be conning me as he had conned the shills from the boat—if they were shills and if he had conned them, of course—and when he asked me if I would like another dozen of the fl at oysters as he called them, I said I would like them very much. He did not bother to look marked for death with me and this was a relief. He knew I knew he had the con, not the kind you con with but the kind you died of then and how bad it was, and he did not bother to have to cough, and I was grateful for this at the table. I was wondering if he ate the fl at oysters in the same way the whores in Kansas City, who were marked for death and practically everything else, always wished to swallow semen as a sovereign remedy against the con; but I did not ask him. I began my second dozen of the fl at oysters, picking them from their bed of crushed ice on the silver plate, watching their unbelievably delicate brown edges react and cringe as I squeezed lemon juice on them and separated the holding muscle from the shell and lifted them to chew them carefully.

我听到这份奖金的传闻不久，有一天沃尔什就邀请我去圣米歇尔大街上最好最昂贵的一家餐厅吃午饭。吃完牡蛎——是那种价格不菲、扁平、浅古铜色、产自法国马雷纳地区的牡蛎，不是那种常见的、肥厚的廉价葡萄牙牡蛎——我们又喝了一瓶布利·弗斯白葡萄酒，然后不知不觉就谈到了那个话题。他似乎在骗我，就像他骗船上的那两个托儿似的——当然，如果她们真是托儿，而且他骗过她们的话——他问我想不想再来一打他所称的扁牡蛎，我告诉他非常想要。和我一起时，他根本没有表现出死亡的征兆，这真是令人宽慰。他清楚我知道他得了肺病，这可不是你能用来诓骗别人的肺病，是到时候会要了你的命的肺病。我知道这有多难受，而他连一声都没有咳嗽，在餐桌上他能这么做我真是心存感激。我琢磨着，他吃扁牡蛎的方式是不是和堪萨斯城的妓女一样，她们也带着死亡的征兆，其实别的什么征兆都有，总想拿精液当作治愈肺病的灵丹妙药一口吞下；但我没有问他。我开始吃第二打扁牡蛎，从银制餐碟上的碎冰中挑出牡蛎，一边往上面挤上柠檬汁，一边看着它们细嫩得不可思议的棕色唇边卷缩起来，然后把肉质从贝壳上分开，放入嘴中，细细品嚼。

"Ezra's a great, great poet," Walsh said, looking at me with his own dark poet's eyes.

“埃兹拉是个非常非常伟大的诗人。”沃尔什说，用他那双深沉的诗人的眼睛看着我。

"Yes," I said. "And a fine man."

“是的，”我说，“而且是个高尚的人。”

"Noble," Walsh said. "Truly noble." We ate and drank in silence as a tribute to Ezra's nobility. I missed Ezra and wished he were there. He could not afford marennes either.

“高贵，”沃尔什说，“真真正正的高贵。”我们在沉默中吃着东西喝着酒，算是对埃兹拉的高尚品格表示敬意。我想念埃兹拉，真希望他就在那儿。他也吃不起马雷纳的牡蛎。

"Joyce is great," Walsh said. "Great. Great."

“乔伊斯真了不起，”沃尔什说，“了不起。了不起。”

"Great," I said. "And a good friend." We had become friends in his wonderful period after the finishing of Ulysses and before starting what was called for a long time "Work in Progress"[6]. I thought of Joyce and remembered many things.

“了不起，”我说，“而且是一个很好的朋友。”在他事业的巅峰期我们成了好朋友，那时他已经写完《尤利西斯》，还没开始写那本很长时间一直被称作“正在写的作品”的小说。我想起了乔伊斯，还记起了很多事。

"I wish his eyes were better," Walsh said.

“希望他的眼睛好点儿了。”沃尔什说。

"So does he," I said.

“他也希望如此。”我说。

"It is the tragedy of our time," Walsh told me.

“这是我们这个时代的悲剧。”沃尔什告诉我。

"Everybody has something wrong with them," I said, trying to cheer up the lunch.

“每个人都会有点儿病痛，”我说道，尽量让午餐的气氛活跃起来。

"You haven't." He gave me all his charm and more, and then he marked himself for death.

“你就没有。”他向我展示出全部的魅力，甚至还不止是魅力，然后又呈现出死亡的征兆。

"You mean I am not marked for death?" I asked. I could not help it.

“你是说我还没有死亡的征兆？”我问道。我忍不住这么问。

"No. You're marked for Life." He capitalized the word.

“是的，你呈现的是生命。”他强调了一下“生命”二字。

"Give me time," I said.

“为时尚早。”我说。

He wanted a good steak, rare, and I ordered two tournedos with sauce Béarnaise. I figured the butter would be good for him.

他要了一份上等牛排，半熟的，我点了两份加蛋黄酱沙司的腓里牛排。我猜想黄油对他有好处。

"What about a red wine?" he asked. The sommelier came and I ordered a Châteauneuf du Pape. I would walk it off afterwards along the quais. He could sleep it off, or do what he wanted to. I might take mine someplace, I thought.

“来瓶红酒怎么样？”他问道。斟酒侍者走过来，我点了一瓶“教皇新堡”。待会儿喝完了我要去码头边走走，把它消化掉。他可以睡一觉来消化掉，或者做点儿他想做的。我想我可能会找个地方睡我的觉去。

It came as we finished the steak and french-fried potatoes and were twothirds through the Chéteauneuf du Pape which is not a luncheon wine.

我们吃完了牛排、法式薯条，喝完了三分之二其实并不适合午餐饮用的“教皇新堡”，终于说到那个话题。

"There's no use beating around the bush," he said. "You know you're to get the award, don't you?"

“兜圈子没用，”他说，“你知道你会获得奖金，对吧？”

"Am I?" I said. "Why?"

“是吗？”我反问道，“为什么？”

"You're to get it," he said. He started to talk about my writing and I stopped listening. It made me feel sick for people to talk about my writing to my face, and I looked at him and his marked-for-death look and I thought, you con man conning me with your con. I've seen a battalion in the dust on the road, a third of them for death or worse and no special marks on them, the dust for all, and you and your marked for death look, you con man, making a living out of your death. Now you will con me. Con not, that thou be not conned. Death was not conning with him. It was coming all right.

“你注定会得到它的。”他说。他开始谈论起我的作品，我就不听他说话了。别人当着我的面谈论我的作品让我觉得恶心。我看着他，看着他脸上注定要死的神情，我想，你这个肺痨病鬼，居然拿你的肺病来骗我。我看过路上尘土中的士兵，三分之一即将死去，甚至更严重，他们身上没有什么特别的征兆，所有人都要化为尘土。你和你那面带死亡征兆的神情，你这个肺痨鬼，拿你自己的死来苟且偷生。现在居然要骗我。别再欺骗人了，那样你就不会被骗的。死亡是不会骗他的。它就在眼前。

"I don't think I deserve it, Ernest," I said, enjoying using my own name that I hated, to him. "Besides, Ernest, it would not be ethical, Ernest."

“我觉得我不配，欧内斯特，”我说。我很喜欢用自己的名字来叫他。我讨厌那个名字。“另外，欧内斯特，这也不符合职业道德，欧内斯特。”

"It's strange we have the same name, isn't it?"

“我们名字一样，真奇怪，是不是？”

"Yes, Ernest," I said. "It's a name we must both live up to. You see what I mean, don't you, Ernest?"

“是的，欧内斯特，”我说，“我们一定不能辜负了这个名字。你明白我的意思，对吧，欧内斯特？”

"Yes, Ernest," he said. He gave me complete, sad Irish understanding and the charm.

“是的，欧内斯特，”他回答道，并以爱尔兰人的方式伤感地向我示以充分的理解和魅力。

So I was always very nice to him and to his magazine and when he had his hemorrhages and left Paris asking me to see his magazine through the printers, who did not read English, I did that. I had seen one of the hemorrhages, it was very legitimate, and I knew that he would die all right, and it pleased me at that time, which was a difficult time in my life, to be extremely nice to him, as it pleased me to call him Ernest. Also, I liked and admired his co-editor. She had not promised me any award. She only wished to build a good magazine and pay her contributors well.

所以我对他和他的杂志一直很好。他吐血后离开巴黎时要我帮不懂英语的印刷商打理他的杂志，我照他说的做了。我有一次看到他吐血，这很合乎情理，我知道他很快就会死的。那段时间我很窘困，但我很乐意对他极其好，就像我高兴叫他欧内斯特一样。而且，我喜欢甚至崇拜他的合编者。她没有向我许诺任何奖金。她只想创办一本好杂志，给撰稿人丰厚的稿酬。

One day, much, later, I met Joyce who was walking along the Boulevard St.Germain after having been to a matinée alone. He liked to listen to the actors, although he could not see them. He asked me to have a drink with him and we went to the Deux-Magots and ordered dry sherry although you will always read that he drank only Swiss white wine.

过了很长一段时间，有一天我遇见乔伊斯正沿着圣谢荷曼大街散步。他刚刚独自一人去看了一部日场戏。虽然他看不见演员，但喜欢听他们对话。他邀请我一起去喝一杯，我们便去了双偶咖啡馆，点了无甜味的雪利酒，虽然你可能总是在书里读到他只喝瑞士白酒。

"How about Walsh?" Joyce said.

“沃尔什怎么样？”乔伊斯问道。

"A such and such alive is a such and such dead," I said.

“活成那样和死了没什么区别了。”我说。

"Did he promise you that award?" Joyce asked.

“他承诺过给你那份奖金吗？”乔伊斯问。

"Yes."

“是的。”

"I thought so," Joyce said.

“我想也是。”乔伊斯说。

"Did he promise it to you?"

“他也承诺你了？”

"Yes," Joyce said. After a time he asked, "Do you think he promised it to Pound?"

“是的。”乔伊斯说。过了一会儿他又问，“你觉得他向庞德也承诺过吗？”

"I don't know."

“我不知道。”

"Best not to ask him," Joyce said. We left it at that. I told Joyce of my first meeting with him in Ezra's studio with the girls in the long fur coats and it made him happy to hear the story.

“最好别问他。”乔伊斯说。这个话题我们就谈到这儿。我告诉乔伊斯第一次遇见沃尔什是在埃兹拉的工作室，当时他和两个穿着貂皮长大衣的女孩在一起。乔伊斯听到这个故事很高兴。

(1)克拉里奇饭店，伦敦西区中心的酒店。

(2)哈丽特·门罗（1860—1936），美国《诗歌》杂志创办人，女主编。

(3)埃德加·格斯特(1881-1959)，美国新闻记者和诗人，作品以母亲、家庭、劳动美德等为主题，第一部诗集《久居》为畅销书。文中Eddie为Edgar（埃德加）的昵称。

(4)吉卜林（1865—1936），英国作家，1907年获诺贝尔文学奖。

(5)斯科菲尔德·塞耶（1889—1982），美国诗人、出版商。

(6)"WorkinProgress"，指的是乔伊斯的最后一部小说《为芬尼艮守灵》，1927年起在Transition杂志上连载，1939年出版。

Evan Shipman[1] At The Lilas

丁香园咖啡馆里的埃文·希普曼

From the day I had found Sylvia Beach's library I had read all of Turgenev, what had been published in English of Gogol, the Constance Garnett translations of Tolstoi and the English translations of Chekov. In Toronto, before we had ever come to Paris, I had been told Katherine Mansfield[2] was a good short-story writer, even a great short-story writer, but trying to read her after Chekov was like hearing the carefully artificial tales of a young old-maid compared to those of an articulate and knowing physician who was a good and simple writer. Mansfield was like near-beer. It was better to drink water. But Chekov was not water except for the clarity. There were some stories that seemed to be only journalism. But there were wonderful ones too.

自从我找到西尔维娅·比奇的图书馆的那天起，我已经读了所有果戈里翻译的屠格涅夫作品的英译版和康斯坦斯·加尼特翻译的托尔斯泰作品和契诃夫作品的英译版。在多伦多，我们来巴黎之前，我就听别人说凯瑟琳·曼斯菲尔德是优秀甚至是伟大的短篇小说作家。但要是读过契诃夫的作品再去读她的小说，就好像听完一位善于表达、见多识广的医生同时又是语言简练的优秀作家讲故事后，再听一个年轻的老处女讲她精心编造的故事一样有差别。曼斯菲尔德就好比是淡啤酒，看她的书还不如喝水。但契诃夫虽然清澈但绝不是水。有一些小说似乎只是新闻报道，但也有一些绝妙佳作。

In Dostoyevsky there were things believable and not to be believed, but some so true they changed you as you read them; frailty and madness, wickedness and saintliness, and the insanity of gambling were there to know as you knew the landscape and the roads in Turgenev, and the movement of troops, the terrain and the officers and the men and the fighting in Tolstoi. Tolstoi made the writing of Stephen Crane[3] on the Civil War seem like the brilliant imagining of a sick boy who had never seen war but had only read the battles and chronicles and seen the Brady[4] photographs that I had read and seen at my grandparents' house. Until I read the Chartreuse de Parme by Stendhal I had never read of war as it was except in Tolstoi, and the wonderful Waterloo account by Stendhal was an accidental piece in a book that had much dullness. To have come on all this new world of writing, with time to read in a city like Paris where there was a way of living well and working, no matter how poor you were, was like having a great treasure given to you. You could take your treasure with you when you traveled too, and in the mountains where we lived in Switzerland and Italy, until we found Schruns in the high valley in the Vorarlberg in Austria, there were always the books, so that you lived in the new world you had found, the snow and the forests and the glaciers and their winter problems and your high shelter in the Hotel Taube in the village in the day time, and at night you could live in the other wonderful world the Russian writers were giving you. At first there were the Russians; then there were all the others. But for a long time there were the Russians.

陀思妥也夫斯基的作品里有些东西可信，也有些东西不可信，但有些东西是那么真实，你读着读着就为之改变了；作品里有你要了解的脆弱和疯狂，邪恶和圣洁，还有赌博的疯狂，正如你知道屠格涅夫的作品里有风景和道路，托尔斯泰的作品里有军队的行动、地形、军官、男人和战争一样。托尔斯泰的作品让史蒂芬·克莱恩关于内战的作品仿佛出自一个从未亲眼见过战争的病恹恹的男孩产生的五彩斑斓的想象——他只看过我在祖父母家也看过的有关战争的报道和纪录，只见过我在祖父母家也见过的布罗迪拍的照片。看司汤达的《帕尔玛修道院》之前，除了在托尔斯泰的作品里，我从没读过真实的战争，而司汤达记述的滑铁卢战役精彩的片段也只是某本相当枯燥无味的书中偶尔出现的一笔。发现作品里的新世界，并且有时间在像巴黎这样一个无论你多穷都可以惬意地生活工作的城市阅读，就像拥有一座属于你的珍贵宝藏。你旅行时也可以带上你的宝藏。我们住在瑞士和意大利的山区，在发现奥地利福拉尔贝格州高处山谷中的施伦斯乡村前，我们总是有书看。你可以生活在你发现的这个新世界里，那里有积雪、森林、冰川，还有过冬的种种困难，白天躲在乡村高高的陶布旅馆里，晚上可以生活在俄罗斯作家给你创造的另一个精彩世界里。开始我只读俄罗斯作家的作品；接着也读其他作家的作品。但很长一段时间我都读俄罗斯作家的作品。

I remember asking Ezra once when we had walked home from playing tennis out on the Boulevard Arago, and he had asked me into his studio for a drink, what he really thought about Dostoyevsky.

记得有一次和埃兹拉在阿拉戈林阴大道打完网球走路回家，他邀请我上他工作室喝一杯，我问起他到底是怎么看陀思妥耶夫斯基的。

"To tell you the truth, Hem," Ezra said, "I've never read the Rooshians."

“说实话，海姆，”埃兹拉说，“我从没读过俄国佬写的东西。”

It was a straight answer and Ezra had never given me any other kind verbally, but I felt very bad because here was the man I liked and trusted the most as a critic then, the man who believed in the mot juste—the one and only correct word to use—the man who had taught me to distrust adjectives as I would later learn to distrust certain people in certain situations; and I wanted his opinion on a man who almost never used the mot juste and yet had made his people come alive at times, as almost no one else did.

这个回答很直接。尽管埃兹拉在言辞上从没对我用过任何别的方式，我还是感到很难过，因为面前这位是我喜欢的人，是那时我最信任的评论家，一个相信“精准用词”——有且仅有的唯一一个准确的词——的人，一个教过我不要相信形容词——就像我后来学会了在某些情况下不信任某些人一样；我想知道他对一个几乎从不用“精准用词”却能不时让他作品中的人物活灵活现的人——几乎没有别人做到过——是怎么看的。

"Keep to the French," Ezra said. "You've plenty to learn there."

“坚持看法语作品吧，”埃兹拉说，“那儿有很多你要学的东西。”

"I know it," I said. "I've plenty to learn everywhere."

“我知道，”我说，“到处都有很多我要学的东西。”

Later after leaving Ezra's studio and walking along the street to the sawmill, looking down the high-sided street to the opening at the end where the bare trees showed and behind them the far facade of the Bal Bullier across the width of the Boulevard St.-Michel, I opened the gate and went in past the fresh-sawn lumber and left my racket in its press beside the stairs that led to the top floor of the pavilion. I called up the stairs but there was no one home.

离开埃兹拉的工作室后，我沿街走回锯木厂，顺着两边高楼林立的街道望去，街的尽头是一片空地，空地上能看见光秃秃的树，后面是远远对着圣米歇尔大街的蒲利耶舞厅的正面。我打开大门进去，从刚锯好的木材旁边走过，把网球拍装起来放在通向阁楼顶层的楼梯后面，然后朝楼上喊了几声，但家里没人。

"Madame has gone out and the bonne and the baby too," the wife of the sawmill owner told me. She was a difficult woman, over-plump, with brassy hair, and I thanked her.

“夫人和保姆、小孩都出去了。”锯木厂厂主的妻子告诉我。她是个不好对付的女人，体态偏胖，一头黄铜色的头发。我谢过她。

"There was a young man to see you," she said, using the term jeune homme instead of monsieur. "He said he would be at the Lilas."

“有个年轻人来找过你。”她说。她说的不是“先生”，而是“年轻人”。“他说在丁香园咖啡馆等你。”

"Thank you very much," I said. "If Madame comes in, please tell her I am at the Lilas."

“非常感谢，”我说，“夫人回来的话，请告诉她我去丁香园咖啡馆了。”

"She went out with friends," the wife said and gathering her purple dress gown about her went on high heels into the doorway of her own domaine without closing the door.

“她和朋友们出去了，”锯木厂厂主的妻子说，然后裹紧她那身紫色的睡袍，踩着高跟鞋进了她自己的房间，但没有把门关上。

I walked down the street between the high, stained and streaked white houses and turned to the right at the open, sunny end and went into the sun-striped dusk of the Lilas.

我沿街走在斑驳褪色的高高的白房子间，在洒满阳光的开阔的街道尽头往右拐，走进薄暮中阳光斑驳的丁香园咖啡馆。

There was no one there I knew and I went outside onto the terrace and found Evan Shipman waiting. He was a fine poet and he knew and cared about horses, writing and painting. He rose and I saw him tall and pale and thin, his white shirt dirty and worn at the collar, his tie carefully knotted, his worn and wrinkled grey suit, his fingers stained darker than his hair, his nails dirty and his loving, deprecatory smile that he held tightly not to show his bad teeth.

里面没有我认识的人，于是我出来走到露台上，看见埃文·希普曼在那儿等人。他是一个杰出的诗人，而且了解并喜欢马、写作和绘画。他站起身，我看出他个子高高的，脸色苍白，身材很瘦。他穿的白色衬衫领子脏了，而且还有点儿破损，领结却打得很别致，一身灰色的旧西服皱皱巴巴，手指比头发还黑，指甲脏兮兮的，露出友好、自嘲的笑，却尽力克制着不露出他的坏牙。

"It's good to see you, Hem," he said.

“见到你真高兴，海姆。”他说。

"How are you, Evan?" I asked.

“你还好吗，埃文？”我问道。

"A little down," he said. "I think I have the 'Mazeppa[5]' licked though. Have you been going well?"

“有点儿不好，”他回答。“不过我想我已经让‘马泽帕’吃饱喝足了。你还好吧？”

"I hope so," I said. "I was out playing tennis with Ezra when you came by."

“但愿如此，”我说，“你到我那儿时我和埃兹拉出去打网球了。”

"Is Ezra well?"

“埃兹拉好吗？”

"Very."

“很好。”

"I'm so glad. Hem, you know I don't think that owner's wife where you live likes me. She wouldn't let me wait upstairs for you."

“我真高兴。海姆，你知道吗，我觉得锯木厂厂主的妻子不喜欢我。她不让我在楼上等你。”

"I'll tell her," I said.

“我会跟她说的。”我说。

"Don't bother. I can always wait here. It's very pleasant in the sun now, isn't it?"

“不用了。我总可以在这儿等。现在阳光下面很舒服，不是吗？”

"It's fall now," I said. "I don't think you dress warmly enough."

“现在是秋天了，”我说，“我觉得你穿得不够暖和。”

"It's only cool in the evening," Evan said. "I'll wear my coat."

“只有晚上才有点儿冷。”埃文说，“我会穿上大衣的。”

"Do you know where it is?"

“你知道你的大衣在哪儿吗？”

"No. But it's somewhere safe."

“不知道，但一定在一个安全的地方。”

"How do you know?"

“你怎么知道？”

"Because I left the poem in it." He laughed heartily holding his lips tightly over the teeth. "Have a whisky with me, please, Hem."

“因为我把诗放在里面了。”他发自内心地笑了，但仍然抿着双唇掩饰牙齿。“和我一起喝杯威士忌吧，海姆。”

"All right."

“好吧。”

"Jean," Evan got up and called the waiter. "Two whiskies please."

“让，”埃文站起来叫侍者。“请上两杯威士忌。”

Jean brought the bottle and the glasses and two ten-franc saucers with the syphon. He used no measuring glass and poured the whisky until the glasses were more than three-quartets full. Jean loved Evan who often went out and worked with him at his garden in Montrouge, out beyond the Porte d'Orléans, on Jean's day off.

让端来一瓶威士忌和酒杯，两个十法郎的杯碟，还有吸管。他没有用量杯而是直接倒威士忌，一直倒到多出酒杯的四分之三满。让喜欢埃文。让休假时，埃文经常和他一起出去游玩，和他一起打理让在蒙鲁日奥尔良港口的花园。

"You mustn't exaggerate," Evan said to the tall old waiter.

“你别倒太多了，”埃文对高个的老侍者说。

"They are two whiskies, aren't they?" the waiter asked.

“这是两杯威士忌，不是吗？”侍者反诘道。

We added water and Evan said, "Take the first sip very carefully, Hem. Properly handled, they will hold us for some time."

我们加了水，埃文说，“第一口要细心品味，海姆。掌握适量的话，能喝好一阵子呢。”

"Are you taking any care of yourself ?" I asked.

“你现在自己照顾自己吗？”我问。

"Yes, truly, Hem. Let's talk about something else, should we?"

“是啊，真的，海姆。我们谈点儿别的，好吗？”

There was no one sitting on the terrace and the whisky was warming us both although I was better dressed for the fall than Evan as I wore a sweatshirt for underwear and then a shirt and a blue wool French sailor's sweater over the shirt.

露台上没有别人。威士忌让我们俩都暖和起来，尽管我因为秋天而穿得比埃文多。我穿了一件汗衫打底，然后是衬衣，衬衣外面是蓝色羊毛质地的法国水手衫。

"I've been wondering about Dostoyevsky," I said. "How can a man write so badly, so unbelievably badly, and make you feel so deeply?"

“我一直搞不懂陀思妥也夫斯基。”我说，“一个人怎么能写得如此糟糕，糟糕得不可思议，却又能让你感受深刻？”

"It can't be the translation," Evan said. "She makes the Tolstoi come out well written."

“不可能是翻译的问题，”埃文说，“她翻托尔斯泰的作品就翻得很好。”

"I know. I remember how many times I tried to read War and Peace until I got the Constance Garnett translation."

“我知道。我记得曾经多少次试着读《战争与和平》，最后才找到康斯坦斯·加尼特的译本。”

"They say it can be improved on," Evan said. "I'm sure it can although I don't know Russian. But we both know translations. But it comes out as a hell of a novel, the greatest I suppose, and you can read it over and over."

“他们说可以翻得更好，”埃文说，“我相信可以，虽然我不懂俄语。但我们俩都能看懂译本。不过它就是好得不得了的小说，我想应该是最棒的，你可以一遍又一遍地看。”

"I know," I said. "But you can't read Dostoyevsky over and over. I had Crime and Punishment on a trip when we ran out of books down at Schruns, and I couldn't read it again when we had nothing to read. I read the Austrian papers and studied German until we found some Trollope in Tauchnitz."

“我知道，”我说，“但你不可能一遍又一遍地读陀思妥耶夫斯基。有一次去旅行我们带上了《罪与罚》，在施伦斯我们看完了所有的书，但即使没书可看了，我也不能把它再看上一遍。我看奥地利报纸、学德语，直到找到陶赫尼次版特罗洛普的小说。”

"God bless Tauchnitz," Evan said. The whisky had lost its burning quality and was now, when water was added, simply much too strong.

“上帝保佑陶赫尼次版，”埃文说。威士忌已经失去了灼热的口感，现在加过水后，只是变得更强劲了。

"Dostoyevsky was a shit, Hem," Evan went on. "He was best on shits and saints. He makes wonderful saints. It's a shame we can't reread him."

“陀思妥耶夫斯基是狗屁，海姆，”埃文继续说道。“他最擅长写狗屁和圣人。他写了很多大圣人。只可惜他写的东西我们不会看第二遍。”

"I'm going to try The Brothers again. It was probably my fault."

“我想试着再看看《卡拉马佐夫兄弟》。也许是我错了。”

"You can read some of it again. Most of it. But then it will start to make you angry, no matter how great it is."

“有些部分你可以再读一遍。大部分。但之后它会激起你的愤怒，无论写得有多好。”

"Well, we were lucky to have had it to read the first time and maybe there will be a better translation."

“好吧，庆幸我们是第一次读，也许以后会有更好的译本。”

"But don't let it tempt you, Hem."

“别被它迷惑了，海姆。”

"I won't. I'm trying to do it so it will make it without you knowing it, and so the more you read it, the more there will be."

“不会的。我只是试着读一读，这样不知不觉就读完了。读得越多，领悟得就越多。”

"Well I'm backing you in Jean's whisky," Evan said.

“好吧，借让的威士忌为你加油。”埃文说。

"He'll get in trouble doing that," I said.

“他那么做会惹麻烦的。”我说。

"He's in trouble already, "Evan said.

“他已经惹上麻烦了。”埃文说。

"How?"

“怎么回事？”

"They're changing the management," Evan said. "The new owners want to have a different clientele that will spend some money and they are going to put in an American bar. The waiters are going to be in white jackets, Hem, and they have been ordered to be ready to shave off their mustaches."

“他们在变动管理层，”埃文说，“新店主希望招来一批愿意花钱的新顾客，他们准备加设一个美国式酒吧。侍者要穿白色上衣，海姆，他们还接到命令要做好准备剃掉胡子。”

"They can't do that to André and Jean.”

“他们不能这样对安德烈和让。”

"They shouldn't be able to, but they will."

“他们不该，但他们会的。”

"Jean has had a mustache all his life. That's a dragoon's mustache. He served in a cavalry regiment."

“让的胡子留了一辈子了。那可是龙骑兵的胡子。他在骑兵团服过役。”

"He's going to have to cut it off."

“他会把它剪了。”

I drank the last of the whisky.

我喝完最后一口威士忌。

"Another whisky, Monsieur?" Jean asked. "A whisky, Monsieur Shipman?" His heavy drooping mustache was a part of his thin, kind face, and the bald top of his head glistened under the strands of hair that were slicked across it.

“先生，再来一杯威士忌？”让问道，“再来一杯威士忌，希普曼先生？”他下垂的浓密胡子已经是他那张瘦削、和善的脸的一部分，光秃的头顶在几缕梳理整齐盖过脑门的头发下闪闪发光。

"Don't do it, Jean," I said. "Don't take a chance."

“别这么做，让，”我说，“不要冒险。”

"There is no chance," he said, softly to us. "There is much confusion. Many are leaving. Entendu, Messieurs," he said aloud. He went into the café and came out carrying the bottle of whisky, two large glasses, two ten-franc gold-rimmed saucers and a seltzer bottle.

“没什么险可冒，”他轻声对我们说，“这里乱得很。很多人要走了。知道了，先生，”他大声说道，走进咖啡馆，出来时端着一瓶威士忌、两个大玻璃杯、两个十法郎的金边杯碟，还有一瓶苏打水。

"No, Jean," I said.

“别这么做，让。”我说。

He put the glasses down on the saucers and filled them almost to the brim with whisky and took the remains of the bottle back into the café. Evan and I squirted a little seltzer into the glasses.

他把玻璃杯放在杯碟上，倒上威士忌，几乎满到杯沿，然后把瓶子里剩下的威士忌端回咖啡馆。伊凡和我往杯子里加了点苏打水。

"It was a good thing Dostoyevsky didn't know Jean," Evan said. "He might have died of drink."

“陀思妥也夫斯基不认识让真是件好事，”埃文说，“不然他可能会喝得醉死过去。”

"What are we going to do with these?"

“这两杯酒怎么办？”

"Drink them," Evan said. "It's a protest. It's direct action."

“喝了，”埃文说，“这是一种抗议，一种直接的行动。”

On the following Monday when I went to the Lilas to work in the morning, André served me a bovril, which is a cup of beef extract and water. He was short and blond and where his stubby mustache had been, his lip was as bare as a priest's. He was wearing a white American barman's coat.

接下来的那个周一，早上我去丁香园咖啡馆写作，安德烈给我端上一杯保卫尔牛肉汁，那是一杯加了水的浓缩肉汁。他个子不高，金色头发，原来留着浓密短粗胡子的地方，现在像牧师一样露出嘴唇。他穿着一件美国酒吧招待员的白色上衣。

"And Jean?"

“让呢？”

"He won't be in until tomorrow."

“他明天才来。”

"How is he?"

“他好吗？”

"It took him longer to reconcile himself. He was in a heavy cavalry regiment throughout the war. He had the Croix de Guerre and the Médaille Militaire.”

“他还需要一点时间才能使自己接受这个变化。战争期间他在重装甲骑兵团服役。他得过军功十字章和军功章。”

"I did not know he was so badly wounded. "

“我不知道他受过那么重的伤。”

"No. He was wounded of course but it was the other sort of Médaille Militaire he has. For gallantry. ”

“不是的。当然，他受过伤，但他得的是另一种军功章。是授予那些英勇作战的将士的。”

"Tell him I asked for him."

“告诉他我向他问好。”

"Of course," André said. "I hope it will not take him too long to reconcile himself."

“一定，”安德烈说，“希望不久他就能使自己接受这一切。”

"Please give him Mr. Shipman's greeting too."

“也带上希普曼先生的问候。”

"Mr. Shipman is with him," André said. "They are gardening together."

“希普曼先生和他在一起，”安德烈说，“他们在一起打理花园。”

(1)埃文·希普曼（1904—1957），美国诗人、散文作家。

(2)凯瑟琳·曼斯菲尔德（1888—1923），新西兰最优秀的小说家之一。

(3)斯蒂芬·克莱恩（1871—1900），美国作家，作品包括《红色英勇勋章》（1895），《海上扁舟》（1897）。

(4)布罗迪（1823—1896），美国摄影先驱，因其肖像摄影而闻名，在1861年美国内战中被指定为官方摄影协会成员。

(5)马泽帕，是柴可夫斯基创作的歌剧之一，主人公叫IvanStapanovichMazeppa，和埃文·希普曼的名字相近，所以埃文开玩笑那么说。

An Agent Of Evil

邪恶的化身

The last thing Ezra said to me before he left the rue Notre-Dame-des- Champs to go to Rapallo was, "Hem, I want you to keep this jar of opium and give it to Dunning only when he needs it."

埃兹拉离开圣母院田园大街去意大利拉帕洛前对我说的最后一件事是，“海姆，我要你保管这罐鸦片，只有邓宁需要时才能给他。”

It was a large cold-cream jar and when I unscrewed the top the content was dark and sticky and it had the smell of very raw opium. Ezra had bought it from an Indian chief, he said, on the avenue de [1]'Opéra near the Boulevard des Italiens and it had been very expensive. I thought it must have come from the old Hole in the Wall bar which was a hangout for deserters and for dope peddlers during and after the first war. The Hole in the Wall was a very narrow bar with a red-painted facade, little more than a passageway, on the rue des Italiens. At one time it had a rear exit into the sewers of Paris from which yon were supposed to be able to reach the catacombs. Dunning was Ralph Cheever Dunning1, a poet who smoked opium and forgot to eat. When he was smoking too much he could only drink milk and he wrote in terza riruce[2] which endeared him to Ezra who also found fine qualities in his poetry. He lived in the same courtyard where Ezra had his studio and Ezra had called me in to help him when Dunning was dying a few weeks before Ezra was to leave Paris.

这是一个装着膏状物的大罐子。旋开罐口，里面的东西黑乎乎的、黏黏的，散发着一股很重的生鸦片味。埃兹拉说，这罐鸦片是他从一个印度首领那儿买来的，就在离意大利大街很近的歌剧大街上，非常贵。我想这准是从古老的“墙洞”酒吧里买的，那儿是一战期间和战后逃亡者还有毒贩出没的地方。“墙洞”在意大利大街上，是一个非常小的酒吧，只比过道稍微宽一点儿，正面漆成红色。过去酒吧有个后门通向巴黎的下水道，据说可以从那儿直达地下墓穴。我们说的这个邓宁是拉尔夫·奇弗·邓宁，一个抽鸦片忘了吃饭的诗人。如果吸食了太多鸦片，他就只能喝牛奶。他写的三行诗节使他深受埃兹拉的喜爱，埃兹拉就此发现了他诗歌的魅力。邓宁就住在埃兹拉工作室的那个院子里。埃兹拉离开巴黎的前几个星期邓宁生命垂危，那时他曾请我过去帮忙。

"Dunning is dying," Ezra's message said. "Please come at once."

“邓宁危在旦夕，”埃兹拉留言道，“请马上来。”

Dunning looked like a skeleton as he lay on the mattress and he would certainly have eventually died of malnutrition but I finally convinced Ezra that few people ever died while speaking in well rounded phrases and that I had never known any man to die while speaking in terza riruce and that I doubted even if Dante could do it. Ezra said he was not talking in terza riruce and I said that perhaps it only sounded like terza riruce because I had been asleep when he had sent for me. Finally after a night with Dunning waiting for death to come, the matter was put in the hands of a physician and Dunning was taken to a private clinic to be disintoxicated. Ezra guaranteed his bills and enlisted the aid of I do not know which lovers of poetry on Dunning's behalf. Only the delivery of the opium in any true emergency was left to me. It was a sacred charge coming from Ezra and I only hoped I could live up to it and determine the state of a true emergency. It came when Ezra's concierge arrived one Sunday morning at the sawmill yard and shouted up to the open window when I was studying the racing form, "Monsieur Dunning est monté sur 1e toit et refuse catégoriquement de descendre.”

邓宁躺在床垫上，看上去像具骷髅。他最终肯定会因为营养不良死去，但我最后还是使埃兹拉相信，没有人在说着有头有尾的话的时候会呜呼丧命，我更没见过一个垂死的人还能说出三行诗节，我怀疑即使但丁也做不到。埃兹拉说邓宁说的不是三行诗节，我说也许只是听起来像，因为他叫我来的时候我已经睡着了。最后，和邓宁一起等待了一夜的死亡后，事情交给一个医生处理，邓宁被送到一家私人诊所去解毒。埃兹拉为他的费用作担保，并且召集了一些我不认识的诗歌爱好者来帮助邓宁，而留给我做的只是在发生真正紧急情况的时候把鸦片给他。这是埃兹拉交付给我的神圣使命，我只希望我能做到，能判断出什么是真正紧急的情况。这种情况终于发生了。一个星期天的早上，我正在屋里研究赛马秩序表，埃兹拉的门房跑到锯木厂的院子，用法语朝我那个房间开着的窗户喊道，“邓宁先生爬上屋顶死活不肯下来了。”

Dunning having climbed to the roof of the studio and refusing categorically to come down seemed a valid emergency and I found the opium jar and walked up the street with the concierge who was a small and intense woman very excited by the situation.

邓宁爬上了工作室的屋顶，坚决不肯下来，这似乎是可以成立的紧急情况。我找出鸦片罐子，和门房一起沿街走去。门房是一个小个子的热心女人，发生这样的事令她激动不已。

"Monsieur has what is needed?" she asked me.

“先生带上需要的东西了吗？”她问我。

"Absolutely," I said. "There will be no difficulty."

“当然，”我说，“不会有什么问题的。”

"Monsieur Pound thinks of everything," she said. "He is kindness personified."

“庞德先生考虑得真周到，”她说，“他就是慈善的化身。”

"He is indeed," I said. "And I miss him every day."

“他的确是，”我说，“我每天都想念他。”

"Let us hope that Monsieur Dunning will be reasonable."

“希望邓宁先生能通情达理一点儿。”

"I have what it takes," I assured her.

“我带上了需要的东西。”我向她担保。

When we reached the courtyard where the studios were the concierge said, "He's come down."

我们到了工作室的那个院子，门房说，“他已经下来了。”

"He must have known I was coming," I said.

“他一定已经知道我要来了。”我说。

I climbed the outside stairway that led to Dunning's place and knocked. He opened the door. He was gaunt and seemed unusually tall.

我爬上通向邓宁住所的外侧楼梯，敲了敲门。他打开门，一脸憔悴，看上去出奇地高。

"Ezra asked me to bring you this," I said and handed him the jar. "He said you would know what it was."

“埃兹拉让我给你送来这个，”我说着把罐子递给他。“他说你知道这是什么。”

He took the jar and looked at it. Then he threw it at me. It struck me on the chest or the shoulder and rolled down the stairs.

他接过罐子看了看，然后冲我扔过来。罐子打在我的胸口，或者是肩膀，然后滚下了楼梯。

"You son of a bitch," he said. "You bastard."

“你这个狗娘养的，”他破口大骂，“你这个混蛋。”

Ezra said you might need it," I said. He countered that by throwing a milk bottle.

“埃兹拉说你可能需要它。”我说。他扔过来一个牛奶瓶算是还击。

"You are sure you don't need it?" I asked.

“你确定不需要它吗？”我问。

He threw another milk bottle. I retreated and he hit me with yet another milk bottle in the back. Then he shut the door.

他又扔了一个牛奶瓶。我往后退，他冲我背上又扔了一个牛奶瓶，然后就关上了门。

I picked up the jar which was only slightly cracked and put it in my pocket.

我捡起稍稍有点儿裂的罐子，把它装入口袋。

"He did not seem to want the gift of Monsieur Pound," I said to the concierge.

“他好像不想要庞德先生的礼物。”我对门房说。

"Perhaps he will be tranquil now," she said.

“也许他现在想静一会儿。”她说。

"Perhaps he has some of his own," I said.

“也许他自己就有一些。”我说。

"Poor Monsieur Dunning," she said.

“可怜的邓宁先生。”她说。

The lovers of poetry that Ezra had organized rallied to Dunning's aid again eventually. My own intervention and that of the concierge had been unsuccessful. The jar of alleged opium which had been cracked I stored wrapped in waxed paper and carefully tied in one of an old pair of riding boots. When Evan Shipman and I were removing my personal effects from that apartment some years later the boots were still there but the jar was gone. I do not know why Dunning threw the milk bottles at me unless he remembered my lack of credulity the night of his first dying, or whether it was only an innate dislike of my personality. But I remember the happiness that the phrase "Monsieur Dunning est monté sur 1e toit et refuse catégoriquement de descendre" gave to Evan Shipman. He believed there was something symbolic about it. I would not know. Perhaps Dunning took me for an agent of evil or of the police. I only know that Ezra tried to be kind to Dunning as he was kind to so many people and I always hoped Dunning was as fine a poet as Ezra believed him to be. For a poet he threw a very accurate milk bottle. But Ezra, who was a very great poet, played a good game of tennis too. Evan Shipman, who was a very fine poet and who truly did not care if his poems were ever published, felt that it should remain a mystery.

最后，埃兹拉组织的诗歌爱好者又聚集起来帮助邓宁。我和门房的介入以失败告终。至于那个据称装有鸦片的、已经破裂的罐子，我用蜡纸包好，小心翼翼地系在一只旧马靴里。几年后，埃文·希普曼和我将我的私人物品搬离那所公寓时，那双马靴还在，但罐子不见了。我琢磨不透邓宁为什么朝我扔牛奶瓶，除非他还记得第一次生命垂危的那个晚上我将信将疑，或者那只是对我的性格固有的一种厌恶。但我仍然记得，埃文·希普曼被“邓宁先生爬上屋顶死活不肯下来了”那句话逗乐了。他认为其中必有某种象征意义。我无从得知。也许邓宁把我当成邪恶或警察的化身。我只知道埃兹拉想对邓宁好，就像他对很多人好一样。我一直希望邓宁如埃兹拉相信的那样是一位优秀的诗人。作为一个诗人，他扔牛奶瓶倒是百发百中。不过话说回来，埃兹拉，一个如此伟大的诗人，网球也打得很好。而埃文·希普曼，一个真正不在乎他的诗歌能否发表的优秀诗人，觉得这应该留作一个谜。

"We need more true mystery in our lives, Hem," he once said to me. "The completely unambitious writer and the really good unpublished poem are the things we lack most at this time. There is, of course, the problem of sustenance."

“我们在生活中需要更多真实的谜，海姆，”他曾经对我说，“毫无雄心的作家和真正写得好却未发表的诗是我们现在最缺的。当然，还存在生计的问题。”

(1)拉尔夫·奇弗·邓宁（1878—1930），美国诗人，1905年到巴黎，20年代在巴黎小有名气了一阵。他不在乎诗作是否发表。在埃兹拉的影响下，他的《四面风》在《诗歌》杂志和《跨大西洋评论》上发表。

(2)三行诗节，意大利的一种抑扬格五音步诗体，三行为一个诗节，诗节的第一行与第三行押韵，第二行与下一节的一、三行押韵，所以也叫三行连环韵诗。但丁的《神曲》就是以三行诗节体写的。

Scott Fitzgerald

司各特·菲茨杰拉德

His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fl y any more because the love of f light was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.

他的才华是与生俱来的，就像蝴蝶翅膀上粉末的图案是天生的一样。曾经，他和蝴蝶一样对此毫无所知，不知何时逝去何时受伤。后来，等他意识到受伤的翅膀和翅膀的构造，学会了思考，却再也飞不起来了，因为对飞翔的热爱已经不再，他只能回忆轻松飞翔的那段时光。

The first time I ever met Scott Fitzgerald a very strange thing happened. Many strange things happened with Scott but this one I was never able to forget. He had come into the Dingo bar in the rue Delambre where I was sitting with some completely worthless characters, had introduced himself and introduced a tall, pleasant man who was with him as Dunc Chaplin, the famous pitcher. I had not followed Princeton baseball and had never heard of Dunc Chaplin but he was extraordinarily nice, unworried, relaxed and friendly and I much preferred him to Scott.

第一次和司各特·菲茨杰拉德见面就发生了一件蹊跷的事。和他一起时发生过很多蹊跷的事，但这一件我永远忘不了。当时我正和一些无足轻重的人坐在德朗布尔大街的丁戈酒吧里，他走进来，先作了自我介绍，然后又介绍了和他一起来的邓克·查普林。邓克是著名的棒球投手，高高的个子，很讨人喜欢。我之前并不关注普林斯顿棒球赛，所以从未听说过邓克·卓别林，但他特别优雅、镇定自若、随和，而且友好。比起司各特，我更喜欢他。

Scott was a man then who looked like a boy with a face between handsome and pretty. He had very fair wavy hair, a high forehead, excited and friendly eyes and a delicate long-lipped Irish mouth that, on a girl, would have been the mouth of a beauty. His chin was well built and he had good ears and a handsome, almost beautiful, unmarked nose. This should not have added up to a pretty face, but that came from the coloring, the very fair hair and the mouth. The mouth worried you until you knew him and then it worried you more.

司各特那时看起来还像个男孩，长着一张介乎英俊和漂亮之间的脸。他留着金色的卷发，前额高高的，眼神兴奋而友好，长长的唇线勾勒出一张爱尔兰式的精致嘴唇，女孩要是长这么一张嘴，那就是大美人了。他的下颚轮廓很漂亮，还有一双好看的耳朵，一只英俊、几乎称得上漂亮无瑕的鼻子。不过这还不足以构成一张漂亮的脸，关键还有色彩的搭配：金色的头发和那张嘴。你不认识他之前，那张嘴一直让你躁动不安；认识他后，它更让你躁动不安。

I was very curious to see him and I had been working very hard all day and it seemed quite wonderful that here should be Scott Fitzgerald and the great Dunc Chaplin whom I had never heard of but who was now my friend. Scott did not stop talking and since I was embarrassed by what he said—it was all about my writing and how great it was—I kept on looking at him closely and noticed instead of listening. We still went under the system, then, that praise to the face was open disgrace. Scott had ordered champagne and he and Dunc Chaplin and I drank it together with, I think, some of the worthless characters. I do not think that Dunc or I followed the speech very closely, for it was a speech and I kept on observing Scott. He was lightly built and did not look in awfully good shape, his face being faintly puffy. His Brooks Brothers clothes fitted him well and he wore a white shirt with a buttoned-down collar and a Guard's tie. I thought I ought to tell him about the tie, maybe, because they did have British in Paris and one might come into the Dingo—there were two there at the time—but then I thought the hell with it and I looked at him some more. It turned out later he had bought the tie in Rome.

那时我很想认识他。在我努力写了一整天东西后，居然在这儿遇见司各特·菲茨杰拉德，还有这位虽然从未听说但现在已经成为好朋友的著名的邓克·查普林，这真是相当的奇妙。司各特一直不停地说话，他说的让我感到尴尬——他一直在谈论我的作品以及这些作品有多好——所以我只好一直近距离地看着他，观察他的脸，而不去听他说什么。那时候我们仍然有这么一条不成文的传统，认为当面赞扬就是公开的羞辱。司各特要了香槟，他、邓克·查普林、还有我，和一些我认为无足轻重的人一起喝。我想邓克和我都没有好好听讲话，因为那真是场长篇大论，然后我继续观察司各特。他身子单薄，看上去身体并不是很好，脸稍微有点儿浮肿。他那布克兄弟牌的衣服很合身，他还穿着一件衣领上带扣的白色衬衣，打着一条英国火车列车员的领带。我想也许我应该跟他说说领带，因为巴黎的确有英国人，而且可能也会来丁戈酒吧——当时那儿就有两个——但我又想，管它呢，于是继续看着他。后来才知道那条领带是他在罗马买的。

I wasn't learning very much from looking at him now except that he had well shaped, capable-looking hands, not too small, and when he sat down on one of the bar stools I saw that he had very short legs. With normal legs he would have been perhaps two inches taller. We had finished the first bottle of champagne and started on the second and the speech was beginning to run down.

除了那双形状漂亮、看起来很灵巧但不是太小的手，现在看着他我也看不出什么了。他坐在酒吧高脚凳上时，我发现他的腿很短。如果腿长正常的话，他也许还能高出两英寸。我们喝完一瓶香槟，开始喝第二瓶的时候，他的讲话开始收尾了。

Both Dunc and I were beginning to feel even better than we had felt before the champagne and it was nice to have the speech ending. Until then I had felt that what a great writer I was had been carefully kept secret between myself and my wife and only those people we knew well enough to speak to. I was glad Scott had come to the same happy conclusion as to this possible greatness, but I was also glad he was beginning to run out of the speech. But after the speech came the question period. You could study him and neglect to follow the speech, but the questions were inescapable. Scott, I was to find, believed that the novelist could find out what he needed to know by direct questioning of his friends and acquaintances. The interrogation was direct.

邓克和我都开始觉得这样比喝香槟前的感觉更好。长篇大论接近尾声，这真是令人高兴。此前我一直觉得自己是个非常伟大的作家,这只是我自己和我妻子还有我们互相熟知的那些人之间小心保守的秘密。关于这一伟大的潜能，司各特作出了同样乐观的论断，对此我很高兴，不过我也很高兴他的演讲开始讲不下去了。但是长篇大论后却又进入了提问阶段。你可以仔细观察他，不去听他的长篇大论，但问题是无法逃避的。我就要发现的是，司各特认为，通过直接向朋友和熟人提问，小说家就可以探究出他所需要知道的。提问单刀直入。

"Ernest," he said. "You don't mind if I call you Ernest, do you?"

“欧内斯特，”他说，“你不介意我叫你欧内斯特吧？”

"Ask Dunc," I said.

“那得问问邓克。”我说。

"Don't be silly. This is serious. Tell me, did you and your wife sleep together before you were married?"

“别傻了。我是认真的。告诉我，你和你的妻子结婚前就睡在一起了吗？”

"I don't know."

“我不知道。”

"What do you mean you don't know?"

“你不知道是什么意思？”

"I don't remember."

“我不记得了。”

"But how can you not remember something of such importance?"

“可这么重要的事，你怎么会不记得呢？”

"I don't know," I said. "It is odd, isn't it?"

“我不知道，”我说，“很奇怪，是吗？”

"It's worse than odd," Scott said. "You must be able to remember."

“何止是奇怪，”司各特说，“你一定能想起来。”

"I'm sorry. It's a pity, isn't it?"

“很抱歉。真是遗憾，是吧？”

"Don't talk like some limey," he said. "Try to be serious and remember."

“别像英国佬那么说话，”他说，“认真点儿，你再想想。”

"Nope," I said. "It's hopeless."

“不行啊，”我说，“没用的。”

"You could make an honest effort to remember."

“诚心努力，你就能想起来。”

The speech comes pretty high, I thought. I wondered if he gave everyone the speech, but I didn't think so because I had watched him sweat while he was making it. The sweat had come out on his long, perfect Irish upper lip in tiny drops, and that was when I had looked down away from his face and checked on the length of his legs, drawn up as he sat on the bar stool. Now I looked back at his face again and it was then that the strange thing happened.

我想，他的这些话倒还挺让人振奋的。我怀疑他是否对每个人都说这些话，但我想不会的，因为我看见他说话时一直在流汗。我的目光从他脸上移开，低头看他坐在酒吧高脚凳上时收起的腿到底有多长，这时他那完美的爱尔兰式的长长的上嘴唇上渗出了微小的汗珠。现在，我的目光又回到他的脸上，蹊跷的事情就在这时发生了。

As he sat there at the bar holding the glass of champagne the skin seemed to tighten over his face until all the puffiness was gone and then it drew tighter until the face was like a death's head. The eyes sank and began to look dead and the lips were drawn tight and the color left the face so that it was the color of used candle wax. This was not my imagination. His face became a true death's head, or death mask, in front of my eyes.

他在酒吧里坐着，举着香槟酒杯，脸上的皮肤似乎在收紧，直至浮肿消失，然后越收越紧，直到那张脸变得就像骷髅头。他双眼深陷，开始看上去呆板无神，嘴唇紧缩，脸上血色全无，就像用过的白蜡一样。这可不是我想象出来的。他的脸在我眼前变成了一个真正的骷髅头，或者一张死人的面具。

"Scott," I said. "Are you all right?"

“司各特，”我叫道，“你没事吧？”

He did not answer and his face looked more drawn than ever.

他没有回答，脸看上去收得更紧了。

"We'd better get him to a first aid station," I said to Dunc Chaplin.

“我们最好把他送到急救站。”我对邓克·查普林说。

"No. He's all right."

“不用。他没事。”

"He looks like he is dying."

“他看上去就要死了。”

"No. That's the way it takes him."

“不会的。他喝了酒就是这样。”

We got him into a taxi and I was very worried but Dunc said he was all right and not to worry about him. "He'll probably be all right by the time he gets home," he said.

我们把他扶到一辆出租车里。我很是担心，但邓克说司各特没事，不用替他担心。“他很可能到家的时候就没事了。”他说。

He must have been because, when I met him at the Closerie des Lilas a few days later, I said that I was sorry the stuff had hit him that way and that maybe we had drunk it too fast while we were talking.

后来一定是这样的，因为几天后在丁香园咖啡馆碰见他，我说，很抱歉那天的酒把他弄成那样，可能是我们边说话边喝酒，喝得太急了。

"What do you mean you are sorry? What stuff hit me what way? What are you talking about, Ernest?"

“你很抱歉是什么意思？什么东西把我弄成什么样了？你说什么呢，欧内斯特？”

"I meant the other night at the Dingo."

“我是说那天晚上在丁戈酒吧。”

"There was nothing wrong with me at the Dingo. I simply got tired of those absolutely bloody British you were with and went home."

“在丁戈酒吧那天我挺好的。我只是烦透了和你一起的那些该死的英国人，所以就回家了。”

"There weren't any British there when you were there. Only the bartender."

“你在那儿时根本没有英国人。只有那个酒吧招待是。”

"Don't try to make a mystery of it. You know the ones I mean."

“别故弄玄虚了。你知道我说的是谁。”

"Oh," I said. He had gone back to the Dingo later. Or he'd gone there another time. No, I remembered, there had been two British there. It was true. I remembered who they were. They had been there all right.

“哦。”我说。他后来又回丁戈酒吧了，或者他又去了一次。不对，我想起来了，那儿的确有两个英国人。没错。我想起来是谁了。他们确实在那儿。

"Yes," I said. "Of course."

“是的，”我说，“当然。”

"That gir[1] with the phony title who was so rude and that silly drunk with her. They said they were friends of yours.”

“那个用假头衔、粗鲁无礼的女孩，还有和她一起的那个笨蛋醉鬼。她们说是你的朋友。”

"They are. And she is very rude sometimes."

“是的。她有时的确很粗鲁。”

"You see. There's no use to make mysteries simply because one has drunk a few glasses of wine. Why did you want to make the mysteries? It isn't the sort of thing I thought you would do."

“你看，用不着只因为有人喝了几杯酒就故弄玄虚。你为什么要故弄玄虚呢？我以为你是不会做这种事的。”

"I don't know." I wanted to drop it. Then I thought of something. "Were they rude about your tie?" I asked.

“我不知道。”我想就此打住。然后我突然想起了一件事。“她们冒犯你的领带了吗？”我问。

"Why should they have been rude about my tie? I was wearing a plain black knitted tie with a white polo shirt."

“她们为什么要冒犯我的领带呢？我当时系的是条普通的黑色针织领带，配一件白色马球衬衫。”

I gave up then and he asked me why I liked this café and I told him about it in the old days and he began to try to like it too and we sat there, me liking it and he trying to like it, and he asked questions and told me about writers and publishers and agents and critic and George Horace Lorimer[1], and the gossip and economics of being a successful writer, and he was cynical and funny and very jolly and charming and endearing, even if you were careful about anyone becoming endearing. He spoke slightingly but without bitterness of everything he had written, and I knew his new book must be very good for him to speak, without bitterness, of the faults of past books. He wanted me to read the new book, The Great Gatsby, as soon as he could get his last and only copy back from someone he had loaned it to. To hear him talk of it, you would never know how very good it was, except that he had the shyness about it that all non-conceited writers have when they have done something very fine, and I hoped he would get the book quickly so that I might read it.

我没再追问下去，然后他问我为什么喜欢这家咖啡馆。我告诉他这家咖啡馆的故事，于是他也试着喜欢上它。我们坐在那儿，我喜欢丁香园，而他正在努力喜欢丁香园。他问我问题，给我讲作家、出版商、代理人、评论家，还有乔治·霍内斯·洛里默的事，告诉我一个成功作家将会招致的流言蜚语和面对的经济情况。他愤世嫉俗，却又风趣幽默，快乐而有魅力，很讨人喜爱，尽管你对慢慢讨人喜爱的人会存有戒心。他说起自己写的所有东西时，语气中都带着轻视，却没有一丝苦涩。我知道他的新作一定写得很好，这样他才能不带丝毫苦涩地谈起过去作品中存在的不足。他希望我看看他的新作《了不起的盖茨比》，他把他手中最后也是唯一的一册借给了别人，只要书一还回来他就会马上给我。光是听他说，你永远无法知道这本书有多好，只知道他对此还流露着所有谦虚的作家写了很好的书才会有的那种羞涩之情。我希望他能尽快取回书，这样我就可以拜读了。

Scott told me that he had heard from Maxwell Perkins[2] that the book was not selling well but that it had very fine reviews. I do not remember whether it was that day, or much later, that he showed me a review by Gilbert Seldes[3] that could not have been better. It could only have been better if Gilbert Seldes had been better. Scott was puzzled and hurt that the book was not selling well but, as I said, he was not at all bitter then and he was both shy and happy about the book's quality.

司各特告诉我他从马克斯韦尔·珀金斯写给他的信中得知他那本书卖得不好，但却得到了极好的评论。我不记得是当天还是很久以后，他给我看了一篇吉尔伯特·塞尔迪斯写的好得不能再好的评论。若要写出更好的评论，除非吉尔伯特·塞尔迪斯本人能写出更好的东西。书卖得不好，司各特感到困惑，并且受到打击。但正如我说的，他那时一点也不觉得痛苦。对于这本书的质量，他是既羞涩又喜悦。

On this day as we sat outside on the terrace of the Lilas and watched it get dusk and the people passing on the sidewalk and the grey light of the evening changing, there was no chemical change in him from the two whisky and sodas that we drank. I watched carefully for it, but it did not come and he asked no shameless questions, did nothing embarrassing, made no speeches, and acted as a normal, intelligent and charming person.

这天，我们坐在丁香园咖啡馆外面的露台上，看着薄暮降临，人行道上来来往往的人流，还有傍晚灰暗光线的变化。我们喝过两杯威士忌和苏打水后，他还没有发生化学变化。我仔细观察着，但始终没有变化。他没有问有失体面的问题，没有做出让人难堪的事，也没有长篇大论，一举一动和一个正常人并无两样，充满智慧，颇有魅力。

He told me that he and Zelda, his wife, had been compelled to abandon their small Renault motor car in Lyon because of bad weather and he asked me if I would go down to Lyon with him on the train to pick up the car and drive up with him to Paris. The Fitzgeralds had rented a furnished flat at 14 rue de Tilsitt not far from the Etoile. It was late spring now and I thought the country would be at its best and we could have an excellent trip. Scott seemed so nice and so reasonable, and I had watched him drink two good solid whiskies and nothing happened, and his charm and his seeming good sense made the other night at the Dingo seem like an unpleasant dream. So I said I would like to go down to Lyon with him and when did he want to leave.

他告诉我，因为天气不好，他和妻子塞尔达不得不把他们的雷诺小车留在里昂。他问我是否愿意和他一起坐火车去里昂取了汽车然后把汽车开回巴黎。菲茨杰拉德夫妇在离星形广场不远的提尔希特大街14号租了一套带家具的公寓。现在已是暮春，我想这会儿的乡村该是最漂亮的了，我们可以有一次美妙的旅行。司各特看起来这么友善，这么理智，我已经看他喝了整整两杯不加水的威士忌，却什么事也没有，他的魅力和看似正常的理智让丁戈酒吧的那天晚上宛如一场噩梦。于是我说我愿意和他一起去里昂，并问他想什么时候启程。

We agreed to meet the next day and we then arranged to leave for Lyon on the express train that left in the morning. This train left at a convenient hour and was very fast. It made only one stop, as I recall, at Dijon. We planned to get into Lyon, have the car checked and in good shape, have an excellent dinner and get an early-morning start back towards Paris.

我们说好第二天碰面，然后打算坐早上的快速列车前往里昂。这趟列车出发时间合适，而且车速很快，我记得中途只在第戎停了一站。我们打算到里昂后先检修一下汽车，如果一切正常，我们就美美吃一顿晚餐，然后第二天一早就出发返回巴黎。

I was enthusiastic about the trip. I would have the company of an older and successful writer, and in the time we would have to talk in the car I would certainly learn much that it would be useful to know. It is strange now to remember thinking of Scott as an older writer, but at the time, since I had not yet read The Great Gatsby, I thought of him as a much older writer. I thought he wrote Saturday Evening Post stories that had been readable three years before but I never thought of him as a serious writer. He had told me at the Closerie des Lilas how he wrote what he thought were good stories, and which really were good stories for the Post, and then changed them for submission, knowing exactly how he must make the twists that made them into salable magazine stories. I had been shocked at this and I said I thought it was whoring. He said it was whoring but that he had to do it as he made his money from the magazines to have money ahead to write decent books. I said that I did not believe anyone could write any way except the very best he could write without destroying his talent. Since he wrote the real story fi rst, he said, the destruction and changing of it that he did at the end did him no harm. I could not believe this and I wanted to argue him out of it but I needed a novel to back up my faith and to show him and convince him, and I had not yet written any such novel. Since I had started to break down all my writing and get rid of all facility and try to make instead of describe, writing had been wonderful to do. But it was very difficult, and I did not know how I would ever write anything as long as a novel. It often took me a full morning of work to write a paragraph.

我对这次旅行充满热情。我就要与一个年长的成功作家结伴同游，那时我们可以在车里交谈，我肯定能学到很多有用的东西。现在想起来觉得挺别扭的，我当时竟然把司各特看作年长的作家，但当时，因为还没看过《了不起的盖茨比》，我于是认为他是年长很多的作家。我想三年前他就在《星期六晚邮报》写了脍炙人口的小说，但那时我还从未把他当成一个真正的作家。他曾在丁香园咖啡馆告诉我是怎么写出那些他自认为写得好、而且对《星期六晚邮报》来说的确也是佳作的小说，然后修改修改就投稿了，他十分清楚怎么样对他的书作必要的歪曲，以调整成畅销杂志需要的小说。我对此非常震惊，告诉他我认为这是在出卖自我。他承认那样的确是在出卖自我，但他不得不这么做，因为他要从杂志那儿挣了钱才能继续写像样的书。我说我不认为有谁能随心所欲地写作，作家只能以他最擅长的方式写作，这样才能不毁掉自己的才华。他说，因为开始写的是真实的故事，所以最后所作的破坏和修改对他没有什么坏处。我不能相信这一点，而且想说服他别那么做，但我需要一部小说来证明我的观点，给他看，让他信服，可是我还没写出这样的小说。自从我开始打破自己所有的写作模式，摒弃所有写作技巧，努力创作而不是描述故事，写作就成了一件奇妙的事。但这非常困难，我不知道怎么才能写出一篇像小说那么长的东西。我经常花一整个上午却只写出一段话。

My wife, Hadley, was happy for me to make the trip, though she did not take seriously the writing of Scott's that she had read. Her idea of a good writer was Henry James. But she thought it was a good idea for me to take a rest from work and make the trip, although we both wished that we had enough money to have a car and were making the trip ourselves. But that was something I never had any idea would happen. I had received an advance of two hundred dollars from Boni and Liveright[4] for a first book of short stories to be published in America that fall, and I was selling stories to the Frankfurter Zeitung and to Der Querschnitt in Berlin and to This Quarter and The Transatlantic Review in Paris and we were living with great economy and not spending any money except for necessities in order to save money to go down to the feria at Pamplona[5] in July and to Madrid and to the feria in Valencia[6] afterwards.

妻子哈德莉为我的这趟旅行感到高兴，尽管她并没有拿她读过的司各特的作品当回事。她心目中的好作家是亨利·詹姆斯。但她认为把写作放一放、去旅行休息一下对我来说是个好主意，尽管我们俩都希望有足够的钱买辆车，以便可以自己去旅行。但我永远不知道这能不能实现。我已经从博奈与利夫莱特出版社那收到了那年秋天将在美国出版的第一本短篇小说集的两百美元预付款，我正要把小说卖给柏林的《法兰克福日报》和《横截面》，还有巴黎的《本季》和《跨大西洋评论》。我们精打细算地过日子，除了生活必需品外不花任何钱，那样就可以省下钱去参加潘普洛纳七月份的宗教节日，以及随后的马德里和巴伦西亚的宗教节日。

On the morning we were to leave from the Gare de Lyon I arrived in plenty of time and waited outside the train gates for Scott. He was bringing the tickets. When it got close to the time for the train to leave and he had not arrived, I bought an entry ticket to the track and walked along the side of the train looking for him. I did not see him and as the long train was about to pull out I got aboard and walked through the train hoping only that he would be aboard. It was a long train and he was not on it. I explained the situation to the conductor, paid for a ticket, second class—there was no third—and asked the conductor for the name of the best hotel in Lyon. There was nothing to do but wire Scott from Dijon giving him the address of the hotel where I would wait for him in Lyon. He would not get it before he left, but his wife would be presumed to wire it on to him. I had never heard, then, of a grown man missing a train; but on this trip I was to learn many new things.

我们准备从里昂火车站出发的那天早上，我提前很久就到了，在火车站门口外面等司各特。车票在他那儿。火车就要发车了，可他还没到，于是我买了一张站台票进入车站，沿着火车的一侧找他。我没有看见他。长长的火车就要出站了，我上了火车，穿过每一节车厢，只希望他已经上了车。火车很长，他不在车上。我向列车长说明了情况，买了一张车票，是二等车厢——没有三等车厢——向列车长打听里昂最好的酒店。我只能到第戎后给司各特发电报，告诉他我在里昂的哪个酒店等他，此外再没有别的办法了。他出发前不可能收到电报，但他的妻子应该会再发电报告诉他。我那时还从未听说一个成年人会错过火车，但这次旅行我要学的新鲜事儿还多着呢。

In those days I had a very bad, quick temper, but by the time we were through Montereau it had quieted down and I was not too angry to watch and enjoy the countryside and at noon I had a good lunch in the dining car and drank a bottle of St. Emilion and thought that even if I had been a damned fool to accept an invitation for a trip that was to be paid for by someone else, and was spending money on it that we needed to go to Spain, it was a good lesson for me. I had never before accepted an invitation to go on any trip that was paid for, instead of the cost split, and in this one I had insisted that we split the cost of the hotels and meals. But now I did not know whether Fitzgerald would even show up. While I had been angry I had demoted him from Scott to Fitzgerald. Later I was delighted that I had used up the anger at the start and gotten it over with. It was not a trip designed for a man easy to anger.

那些天我脾气不好，非常急躁，但是等我们穿过蒙特罗时，我已经平静下来，不再那么生气了，可以平心静气地欣赏沿途乡村的美景了。中午我在餐车吃了一顿美味的午餐，喝了一瓶圣艾米利翁红酒。我想，尽管我像傻子似地接受邀请去了原本由别人付钱的旅行，而且还把我们自己去西班牙的钱花了，然而这对我来说是个很好的教训。我以前从没接受邀请去做由别人付钱、而不是费用均摊的旅行。这一次，我已经坚持平分住宿和餐饮费用了。但现在我连菲茨杰拉德是否会露面都不知道。生气这会儿，我已经将他从司各特降级成菲茨杰拉德了。后来，我庆幸自己一开始就把气生完，释然了。这次旅行可不是为容易生气的人准备的。

In Lyon I learned that Scott left Paris for Lyon but had left no word as to where he was staying. I confirmed my address there and the servant said she would let him know if he called. Madame was not well and was still sleeping. I called all the name hotels and left messages but could not locate Scott and then I went out to a café to have an apéritif and read the papers. At the café I met a man who ate fire for a living and also bent coins which he held in his toothless jaws with his thumb and forefinger. His gums were sore but firm to the eye as he exhibited them and he said it was not a bad métier. I asked him to have a drink and he was pleased. He had a fine dark face that glowed and shone when he ate the fi re. He said there was no money in eating fire nor in feats of strength with fingers and jaws in Lyon. False fire-eaters had ruined the métier and would continue to ruin it wherever they were allowed to practice. He had been eating fire all evening, he said, and did not have enough money on him to eat anything else that night. I asked him to have another drink, to wash away the petrol taste of the fire-eating, and said we could have dinner together if he knew a good place that was cheap enough. He said he knew an excellent place.

我在里昂得知司各特离开巴黎来里昂了，但没有留话告知他住哪儿。我确认了我的地址，仆人说如果司各特打电话回去她会告诉他的。司各特的妻子身体不舒服，还在睡觉。我给所有著名酒店都打过电话留了言，但还是没有找到司各特。后来我出去到一家咖啡馆喝杯开胃酒，看看报纸。在咖啡馆，我遇见一个靠吞火谋生的人，他还用大拇指和食指把他那没牙的嘴里衔着的硬币折弯了。他的牙床发炎了，但他给大家看的时候似乎还很坚固。他说这个行当不错。我请他去喝一杯，他很高兴。他的脸轮廓精细，肤色黝黑，吞火时泛着光亮。他说在里昂吞火、用手指和下巴卖弄力气都挣不了钱。伪装吞火的那些人毁了这个行当，无论允许他们在哪儿卖艺都会继续毁了它。他说，他整个晚上都在吞火，但那天晚上他身上连吃点儿别的东西的钱都不够。我又请他喝了一杯，冲淡吞火的汽油味，然后说如果他知道一个又好又便宜的地方我们可以一起去吃晚饭。他说他知道一个绝好的去处。

We ate very cheaply in an Algerian restaurant and I liked the food and the Algerian wine. The fire-eater was a nice man and it was interesting to see him eat, as he could chew with his gums as well as most people can with their teeth. He asked me what I did to make a living and I told him that I was starting in as a writer. He asked what sort of writing and I told him stories. He said he knew many stories, some of them more horrible and incredible than anything that had ever been written. He could tell them to me and I would write them and then if they made any money I would give him whatever I thought fair. Better still we could go to North Africa together and he would take me to the country of the Blue Sultan[7] where I could get stories such as no man had ever heard.

我们在一家阿尔及利亚餐厅吃了一顿很便宜的晚饭，我喜欢那儿的食物和阿尔及利亚酒。这个玩吞火的人挺不错，看他吃饭很有意思，因为他能用牙床嚼东西，就像大多数人能用牙齿嚼东西一样。他问我靠什么谋生，我告诉他我正开始写作。他又问我写什么，我告诉他是小说。他说他知道很多故事，有一些故事比任何已经写过的都更令人毛骨悚然、难以置信。他说可以给我讲讲那些故事，然后我把它们写出来，如果这些故事能挣钱，我觉得给他多少钱合适就给多少。最好是我们能一起去北非，他可以带我去蓝色苏丹的国度，在那儿我可以挖掘到从来没人听过的故事。

I asked him what sort of stories and he said battles, executions, tortures, violations, fearful customs, unbelievable practices, debaucheries; anything I needed. It was getting time for me to get back to the hotel and check on Scott again, so I paid for the meal and said we would certainly be running into each other again. He said he was working down toward Marseilles and I said sooner or later we would meet somewhere and it was a pleasure to have dined together. I left him straightening out bent coins and stacking them on the table and walked back to the hotel.

我问他是哪类故事，他说有战争的、死刑的、酷刑的、违反清规戒律的、骇人习俗的、不可思议的行为的、淫逸放荡的，需要什么就有什么。差不多我该回酒店看看有没有司各特的消息了。于是我付了饭钱，说我们肯定还会碰面的。他说他准备一路卖艺到马赛，我说我们早晚会在什么地方再见面的，并说和他一起吃饭很高兴。我留下他，然后走回酒店，离开的时候，他正将那些折弯的硬币弄直，叠放在桌上。

Lyon was not a very cheerful town at night. It was a big, heavy, solidmoney town, probably fine if you had money and liked that sort of town. For years I had heard about the wonderful chicken in the restaurants there, but we had eaten mutton instead. The mutton had been excellent.

夜晚的里昂并不十分热闹。这是一个沉闷、纸醉金迷的大城市，如果你有钱而且喜欢那样的城市，这可能是个不错的地方。好几年前我就听说过这里餐厅的美味鸡肉，但我们吃的是羊肉。那羊肉很棒。

There was no word from Scott at the hotel and I went to bed in the unaccustomed luxury of the hotel and read a copy of the first volume of A Sportsman's Sketches by Turgenev that I had borrowed from Sylvia Beach's library. I had not been in the luxury of a big hotel for three years and I opened the windows wide and rolled up the pillows under my shoulders and head and was happy being with Turgenev in Russia until I was asleep while still reading. I was shaving in the morning getting ready to go out for breakfast when they called from the desk saying a gentleman was downstairs to see me.

酒店里没有司各特的消息。这是个奢华得不同寻常的酒店，我爬上床，看我从西尔维娅·比奇图书馆借来的屠格涅夫《猎人笔记》的第一卷。我已经三年没有住过这么奢华的大酒店了。我打开窗户，卷起枕头垫在头部和肩膀后面，我很高兴能和屠格涅夫相伴同游俄国，看着看着书我就睡着了。第二天早上我正刮着胡子准备出去吃早餐，服务台打来电话，说楼下有一位先生要见我。

"Ask him to come up, please," I said and went on shaving, listening to the town which had come heavily alive since early morning.

“请他上来吧。”我一边说一边继续刮着胡子，倾听着这个一早开始就极为活跃的城市。

Scott did not come up and I met him down at the desk.

司各特没有上来，我在楼下的服务台见到了他。

"I'm terribly sorry there was this mix-up," he said. "If I had only known what hotel you were going to it would have been simple."

“事情搞得这么糟，我万分抱歉，”他说，“我要是知道你会住哪个酒店，事情就简单了。”

"That's all right," I said. We were going to have a long ride and I was all for peace. "What train did you come down on?"

“没关系。”我说。我们还要开很长时间的车，我只求份安宁。“你坐哪趟火车来的？”

"One not long after the one you took. It was a very comfortable train and we might just as well have come down together."

“你走后不久的一趟。是一列非常舒服的火车，我们要是一起来就好了。”

"Have you had breakfast?"

“吃过早餐了吗？”

"Not yet. I've been hunting all over the town for you."

“还没有。我搜遍了全城想找到你。”

"That's a shame," I said. "Didn't they tell you at home that I was here?"

“真遗憾，”我说，“家里人没告诉你我在这儿吗？”

"No. Zelda wasn't feeling well and I probably shouldn't have come. The whole trip has been disastrous so far."

“没有。塞尔达身体不舒服，可能我都不应该来。到目前为止，这次旅行真是糟糕透了。”

"Let's get some breakfast and find the car and roll," I said.

“我们去吃点儿早餐，然后找到车就回去。”我说。

"That's fine. Should we have breakfast here?"

“好的。我们在这儿吃早餐吗？”

"It would be quicker in a café.”

“在咖啡馆吃会快些。”

"But we're sure to get a good breakfast here."

“但在这儿我们一定能吃上一顿美味的早餐。”

"All right."

“好吧。”

It was a big American breakfast with ham and eggs and it was very good. But by the time we had ordered it, waited for it, eaten it, and waited to pay for it, close to an hour had been lost. It was not until the waiter came with the bill that Scott decided that we have the hotel make us a picnic lunch. I tried to argue him out of this as I was sure we could get a bottle of Mécon in Mécon and we could buy something to make sandwiches in a charcuterie. Or, if things were closed when we went through, there would be any number of restaurants where we could stop on our way. But he said I had told him that the chicken was wonderful in Lyon and that we should certainly take one with us. So the hotel made us a lunch that could not have cost us very much more than four or five times what it would have cost us if we had bought it ourselves.

这是一顿丰盛的美式早餐，有火腿和鸡蛋，很好吃。但等我们点完餐、等来早餐、吃完、再等着付完账，已经过去将近一个小时了。侍者拿着账单过来时，司各特才决定让酒店给我们准备一顿外带午餐。我想说服他放弃这个想法，因为我确信我们在马孔那儿能买到一瓶马孔白葡萄酒，然后在熟食店再买点儿东西做三明治。或者，如果我们路过时商店都关门了，沿路也会有很多餐馆，我们可以停下用餐。但他说，我告诉过他里昂的鸡肉很好吃，因此我们理所当然应该带上一只。于是酒店给我们做了一顿午餐，花了我们自己买午餐四五倍的钱。

Scott had obviously been drinking before I met him and, as he looked as though he needed a drink, I asked him if he did not want one in the bar before we set out. He told me he was not a morning drinker and asked if I was. I told him it depended entirely on how I felt and what I had to do and he said that if I felt that I needed a drink, he would keep me company so I would not have to drink alone. So we had a whisky and Perrier in the bar while we waited for the lunch and both felt much better.

司各特在我见到他之前显然喝过酒，而且他看上去似乎需要喝一杯，所以我问他出发前是否想到酒吧喝一杯。他告诉我他早上不喝酒，问我喝不喝。我告诉他这完全取决于我的感觉如何以及接下来要做什么。他说如果我觉得需要喝一杯的话，他愿意陪我共饮，这样我就不用一人独饮了。所以趁着等午餐的这会儿工夫，我们在酒吧喝了一杯威士忌加毕雷矿泉水，两人都感觉好多了。

I paid for the hotel room and the bar, although Scott wanted to pay for everything. Since the start of the trip I had felt a little complicated about it emotionally and I found I felt much better the more things I could pay for. I was using up the money we had saved for Spain, but I knew I had good credit with Sylvia Beach and could borrow and repay whatever I was wasting now.

尽管司各特想付所有的钱，我还是付了酒店的房费和酒吧的餐费。这次旅行一开始我情绪上就觉得有点儿复杂，但我发现我能付钱的东西越多心里就越舒服。眼看我就要把我们为去西班牙省下的钱都花光了，但我知道西尔维娅·比奇信任我，所以无论我现在怎么挥霍，我都可以先借再还。

At the garage where Scott had left the car, I was astonished to find that the small Renault had no top. The top had been damaged in unloading the car in Marseilles, or it had been damaged in Marseilles in some manner and Zelda had ordered it cut away and refused to have it replaced. His wife hated car tops, Scott told me, and without the top they had driven as far as Lyon where they were halted by the rain. The car was in fair shape otherwise and Scott paid the bill after disputing several charges for washing, greasing, and for adding two liters of oil. The garage man explained to me that the car needed new piston rings and had evidently been run without sufficient oil and water. He showed me how it had heated up and burned the paint off the motor. He said if I could persuade Monsieur to have a ring job done in Paris, the car, which was a good little car, would be able to give the service it was built for.

在司各特存放那辆车的汽修厂，我惊讶地发现这辆小雷诺没有顶篷。顶篷要不是在马赛卸车的时候弄坏了，就是在马赛因为别的原因弄坏了。塞尔达让人卸了顶篷，却拒绝换上新的。司各特告诉我，他的妻子讨厌顶篷。他们曾开着没有顶篷的车，一路到了里昂，后来因为下雨了他们才不得不停下。除此之外，车的状况都很好。经过一番讨价还价，司各特付了洗车、加润滑油和加两升汽油的钱。汽修厂的人告诉我这辆车需要换活塞环，车显然在汽油和水不足的情况下行驶过。他指给我看，因为活塞环升温，发动机上的漆都烧掉了。他说如果我能说服先生到巴黎把活塞环换了，这辆不错的小车就能恢复它该有的性能。

"Monsieur would not let me replace the top."

“先生不让我换顶篷。”

"No?"

“是吗？”

"One has an obligation to a vehicle."

“人对车是有责任的。”

"One has."

“是啊。”

"You gentlemen have no waterproofs?"

“两位先生都没有雨衣吗？”

"No," I said. "I did not know about the top."

“没有，”我说，“我事先不知道没有顶篷。”

"Try and make Monsieur be serious," he said pleadingly. "At least about the vehicle."

“想办法让先生认真点儿，”他请求道，“至少对车认真点儿。”

"Ah," I said.

“啊。”我应道。

We were halted by rain about an hour north of Lyon.

因为下雨，我们在里昂北部耽搁了大约一个小时。

In that day we were halted by rain possibly ten times. They were passing showers and some of them were longer than others. If we had waterproof coats it would have been pleasant enough to drive in that spring rain. As it was we sought the shelter of trees or halted at cafés alongside the road. We had a marvelous lunch from the hotel at Lyon, an excellent truffled roast chicken, delicious bread and white Mécon wine and Scott was very happy when we drank the white Méconnais at each of our stops. At Mécon I had bought four more bottles of excellent wine which I uncorked as we needed them.

那天因为下雨我们大概停下来十次。都是阵雨，有的下的时间长一些。要是我们穿着雨衣，在春雨中驾车应该是挺惬意的。而事实却是，我们找树避雨，或者在沿途的咖啡馆停下。我们吃了里昂酒店做的美味午餐：一只棒极了的块菌填馅烤鸡、可口的面包和马孔白葡萄酒。我们每次停车避雨喝马孔白葡萄酒时，司各特都非常高兴。在马孔，我又买了四瓶上乘好酒，想喝的时候就开瓶畅饮。

I am not sure Scott had ever drunk wine from a bottle before and it was exciting to him as though he were slumming or as a girl might be excited by going swimming for the first time without a bathing suit. But, by early afternoon, he had begun to worry about his health. He told me about two people who had died of congestion of the lungs recently. Both of them had died in Italy and he had been deeply impressed.

我不知道司各特以前是否用酒瓶喝过酒，他为此很兴奋，仿佛要去贫民窟一样，或者好比一个女孩可能会因为第一次不穿泳衣去游泳而兴奋不已。可是，刚过中午，他就开始担心起他的健康状况。他告诉我最近有两个人死于肺充血。这两个人都死于意大利，他颇受震动。

I told him that congestion of the lungs was an old-fashioned term for pneumonia, and he told me that I knew nothing about it and was absolutely wrong. Congestion of the lungs was a malady which was indigenous to Europe and I could not possibly know anything about it even if I had read my father's medical books, since they dealt with diseases that were strictly American. I said that my father had studied in Europe too. But Scott explained that congestion of the lungs had only appeared in Europe recently and that my father could not possibly have known anything about it. He also explained that diseases were different in different parts of America, and if my father had practiced medicine in New York instead of in the Middle West, he would have known an entirely different gamut of diseases. He used the word gamut.

我告诉他肺充血是肺炎的一种老式说法，而他说我对此一无所知，绝对是我弄错了。肺充血是欧洲当地的一种疾病，即使我读过我父亲的医书，也不可能对它有什么了解，因为那些医书上只记录了美国出现的疾病。我说我的父亲也在欧洲作过研究。但司各特解释说，肺充血最近才在欧洲出现，我的父亲不可能了解情况。他还解释说美国不同地区出现的疾病也不一样，如果我的父亲在纽约而不是中西部行医，他了解的也会是完全不同领域的疾病。他用了“领域”这个词。

I said that he had a good point in the prevalence of certain diseases in one part of the United States and their absence in others and cited the amount of leprosy in New Orleans and its low incidence, then, in Chicago. But I said that doctors had a system of exchange of knowledge and information among themselves and now that I remembered it after he had brought it up, I had read the authoritative article on congestion of the lungs in Europe in the Journal of the American Medical Association which traced its history back to Hippocrates himself. This held him for a while and I urged him to take another drink of Mécon, since a good white wine, moderately full bodied but with a low alcoholic content, was almost a specific against the disease.

我说他说得很对，有些病在美国某个地方盛行，在别的地方却不会出现。我还举了当时在新奥尔良发病率高、但在芝加哥发病率却很低的麻风病作为例子。不过我说，医生之间有他们自己交流知识和信息的方式。他提起这个话题，倒让我想起来，我曾在《美国医学会杂志》上看过这么一篇有关欧洲肺充血的权威文章，这种病的历史可追溯到医学之父希波克拉底的年代。这让他愣了一会儿。我劝他再喝一杯马孔葡萄酒，因为好的白葡萄酒浓郁适中，酒精含量较低，几乎是治疗疾病的特效药。

Scott cheered a little after this but he began to fail again shortly and asked me if we would make a big town before the onset of the fever and delirium by which, I had told him, the true congestion of the lungs, European, announced itself. I was now translating from an article which I had read in a French medical journal on the same malady while waiting at the American Hospital in Neuilly[8] to have my throat cauterized, I told him. A word like cauterized had a comforting effect on Scott. But he wanted to know when we would make the town. I said if we pushed on we should make it in twenty-five minutes to an hour.

之后司各特的情绪高涨了一些，但没多久情绪又低落了。他问我，我们能不能在他开始发烧和神志不清前走完整个大城市，我曾告诉他那是欧洲真正肺充血开始发病的症状。现在我只得将我在讷伊一所美国医院等着做喉咙烧灼手术时，从一本法语医学杂志上读过的一篇介绍同样关于肺充血的文章翻译给他听。“烧灼手术”这样的字眼让司各特平静了下来。但他还是想知道我们什么时候能走完这个城市。我说如果我们继续向前，二十五分钟到一个小时我们就能走完。

Scott then asked me if I were afraid to die and I said more at some times than at others.

接着，司各特问我是否害怕死亡，我说有时候很害怕，有时候也不怎么怕。

It now began to rain really heavily and we took refuge in the next village at a café. I cannot remember all the details of that afternoon but when we were finally in a hotel at what must have been Chélonsur- Saéne, it was so late that the drug stores were close. Scott had undressed and gone to bed as soon as we reached the hotel. He did not mind dying of congestion of the lungs, he said. It was only the question of who was to look after Zelda and young Scotty. I did not see very well how I could look after them since I was having a healthily rough time looking after my wife Hadley and young son Bumby, but I said I would do my best and Scott thanked me. I must see that Zelda did not drink and that Scotty should have an English governess.

这会儿雨真的开始大起来，我们在下一个村庄的咖啡馆避雨。我不记得那个下午的所有细节，但我们最后应该是来到索恩河畔沙隆小镇的一家旅馆。已经很晚了，药店都已经关了门。我们一到旅馆，司各特就脱下衣服上了床。他说，他不在乎因为肺充血而死去，唯一的问题是谁来照顾塞尔达和小司各特。我并不太清楚我能怎样照顾他们，因为我自己正举步维艰地照料妻子哈德莉和儿子小邦比，不过我还是说我会尽我所能帮助他，司各特对我很是感谢。我必须确保塞尔达不喝酒，还应该给小司各特请一个英国女教师家庭。

We had sent our clothes to be dried and were in our pajamas. It was still raining outside but it was cheerful in the room with the electric light on. Scott was lying in bed to conserve his strength for his battle against the disease. I had taken his pulse, which was seventy-two, and had felt his forehead which was cool. I had listened to his chest and had him breathe deeply, and his chest sounded all right.

衣服送去烘干了，我们穿着睡衣。外面还在下雨，但房间里因为开着电灯而暖意融融。司各特躺在床上养精蓄锐，准备与疾病斗争。我把了把他的脉搏，每分钟72次，又摸了摸他的额头，是凉的。我还听了听他的胸部，让他深呼吸，他的胸部听起来很正常。

"Look, Scott," I said. "You're perfectly O.K. If you want to do the best thing to keep from catching cold, just stay in bed and I'll order us each a lemonade and a whisky and you take an aspirin with yours and you'll feel fine and won't even get a cold in your head."

“听着，司各特，”我说，“你一切正常。如果你想尽量不得感冒，就呆在床上，我会给咱俩各要一份柠檬水和威士忌，你就着水吃一片阿司匹林就没事了，连脑袋都不会受凉。”

"Those old wives' remedies," Scott said.

“都是老太婆的疗方。”司各特说。

"You haven't any temperature. How the hell are you going to have congestion of the lungs without a temperature?"

“你没有发烧。不发烧你怎么可能会得肺充血？”

"Don't swear at me," Scott said. "How do you know I haven't a temperature?"

“别诅咒我。”司各特说，“你怎么知道我没有发烧？”

"Your pulse is normal and you haven't any fever to the touch."

“你的脉搏正常，摸起来也没有发热。”

"To the touch," Scott said bitterly. "If you're a real friend, get me a thermometer."

“摸起来，”司各特嘲讽道，“你要真是朋友，就给我找支体温计。”

"I'm in pajamas."

“我穿着睡衣呢。”

"Send for one."

“叫人送一支来。”

I rang for the waiter. He didn't come and I rang again and then went down the hallway to look for him. Scott was lying with his eyes closed, breathing slowly and carefully and, with his waxy color and his perfect features, he looked like a little dead crusader. I was getting tired of the literary life, if this was the literary life that I was leading, and already I missed not working and I felt the death loneliness that comes at the end of every day that is wasted in your life. I was very tired of Scott and of this silly comedy, but I found the waiter and gave him money to buy a thermometer and a tube of aspirin, and ordered two citron pressés and two double whiskies. I tried to order a bottle of whisky but they would only sell it by the drink.

我打电话叫侍者来。侍者没来，我又打了一次，然后顺着走廊去找他。司各特闭着眼睛躺在床上，小心翼翼地慢慢呼吸，脸色蜡白，五官俊俏，看上去像一个死去的小十字军战士。我开始厌倦这样的文学生活，如果这就是我所过的文学生活。我已经不再想念写作，每一天都在浪费生命，每一天结束的时候我都能感受到一种致命的孤独。我烦透了司各特和这次愚蠢可笑的经历，但我还是找到侍者，给他钱让他去买一支体温计和一管阿司匹林，还点了两份法国鲜榨柠檬汁和两杯双份的威士忌。我想要一瓶威士忌，但他们只论杯卖。

Back in the room Scott was still lying as though on his tomb, sculpted as a monument to himself, his eyes closed and breathing with exemplary dignity.

回到房间，司各特仍然躺在床上，就像躺在他的坟墓上，那样子仿佛是给自己立的一座纪念碑雕塑。他闭着眼睛，呼吸中带着典型的高贵。

Hearing me come in the room, he spoke. "Did you get the thermometer?"

听见我走进房间，他开口说道：“你找到体温计了吗？”

I went over and put my hand on his forehead. It was not as cold as the tomb. But it was cool and not clammy.

我走过去，把手放在他额头上，那里不像坟墓那么冰冷，但凉凉的，却没有汗湿。

"Nope," I said.

“没有。”我回答。

"I thought you'd brought it."

“我以为你已经拿来了。”

"I sent out for it."

“我派人去买了。”

"It's not the same thing."

“那可不是一回事。”

"No. It isn't, is it?"

“是啊，谁说是一回事呢？”

You could not be angry with Scott any more than you could be angry with someone who was crazy, but I was getting angry with myself for having become involved in the whole silliness. He did have a point though, and I knew it very well. Most drunkards in those days died of pneumonia, a disease which has now been almost eliminated. But it was hard to accept him as a drunkard, since he was affected by such small quantities of alcohol.

你不能对司各特生气，就像你不能对任何一个疯子生气一样，但我开始为卷入这整个愚蠢的闹剧生自己的气。不过他也有一定的道理，这点我很清楚。那时候很多酒鬼都死于肺炎，如今这种病已经基本绝迹了。但我很难相信他是个酒鬼，因为他只喝了那么一丁点儿酒。

In Europe then we thought of wine as something as healthy and normal as food and also as a great giver of happiness and well being and delight. Drinking wine was not a snobbism nor a sign of sophistication nor a cult; it was as natural as eating and to me as necessary, and I would not have thought of eating a meal without drinking either wine or cider or beer. I loved all wines except sweet or sweetish wines and wines that were too heavy, and it had never occurred to me that sharing a few bottles of fairly light, dry, white Mécon could cause chemical changes in Scott that would turn him into a fool. There had been the whisky and Perrier in the morning but, in my ignorance of alcoholics then, I could not imagine one whisky harming anyone who was driving in an open car in the rain. The alcohol should have been oxidized in a very short time.

那时候在欧洲，我们认为酒就像食物一样，是有益于健康、再寻常不过的，它还能带来幸福、安康和快乐。喝酒不是势利的表现，也不代表世故老道，更不是什么时尚；它就和吃饭一样再自然不过了，对我来说就是必需品，我无法想象一顿饭要是没有葡萄酒或苹果酒或啤酒会是什么样。我喜欢所有的酒，除了甜酒或微甜的酒，还有太烈的酒。我从没见过有人因为和别人一起喝了几瓶度数相当低的淡味马孔干白葡萄酒会产生司各特这样的化学反应，那点儿酒都要把他变成傻子了。早上我们是喝了威士忌加毕雷矿泉水，但即使我那时对酒一无所知，也无法想象一瓶威士忌会伤害一个在雨中开着敞篷车的人。那酒精应该在短时间内就氧化了。

While waiting for the waiter to bring the various things I sat and read a paper and finished one of the bottles of Mécon that had been uncorked at the last stop. There are always some splendid crimes in the newspapers that you follow from day to day, when you live in France. These crimes read like continued stories and it is necessary to have read the opening chapters, since there are no summaries provided as there are in American serial stories and, anyway, no serial is as good in an American periodical unless you have read the all-important first chapter. When you are traveling through France the papers are disappointing because you miss the continuity of the different crimes, affajres, or scandales, and you miss much of the pleasure to be derived from reading about them in a café. Tonight I would have much preferred to be in a café where I might read the morning editions of the Paris papers and watch the people and drink something a little more authoritative than the Mécon in preparation for dinner. But I was riding herd on Scott so I enjoyed myself where I was.

我一边等着侍者送来各种东西，一边坐着看报纸，喝完了上次躲雨时开启的一瓶马孔葡萄酒。如果你住在法国，报上总是有精彩的犯罪报道，你可以一天一天地关注。它们读起来就像连载小说，开头的几章必须要读，因为那不像美国系列小说一样有故事梗概，总之就是，没有一个系列能比得上美国期刊上的系列故事，除非你读了至关重要的第一章。如果你在法国旅行，报纸就很令人失望了，因为你会错过不同犯罪故事、风流韵事或丑闻的连载，无法享受在咖啡馆阅读这些的乐趣。今晚，我宁愿坐在咖啡馆看晨版巴黎报纸，看人来人往，晚餐前喝一点儿比马孔葡萄酒更地道的酒。可我却正在照料司各特，所以只能在此自娱自乐。

When the waiter arrived with the two glasses with the pressed lemon juice and ice, the whiskies, and the bottle of Perrier water, he told me that the pharmacy was closed and he could not get a thermometer. He had borrowed some aspirin. I asked him to see if he could borrow a thermometer. Scott opened his eyes and gave a baleful Irish look at the waiter.

侍者端来两杯加冰的鲜榨柠檬汁、威士忌和一瓶毕雷矿泉水，告诉我药店关门了，他没有买到体温计。不过他借到了几片阿司匹林。我让他看看能不能借一支体温计。司各特睁开眼睛，用怀恨的爱尔兰式眼神看了侍者一眼。

"Have you told him how serious it is?" he asked.

“你告诉他问题有多严重了吗？”他问道。

"I think he understands."

“我想他明白的。”

"Please try to make it clear."

“请你说清楚一点。”

I tried to make it clear and the waiter said, "I'll bring what I can."

我尽力把事情解释得清楚了，侍者就说，“我会尽力找来的。”

"Did you tip him enough to do any good? They only work for tips. "

“你给他足够的小费让他跑腿了吗？他们只为小费效劳。”

"I didn't know that," I said. "I thought the hotel paid them something on the side."

“我事先不知道，”我说，“我以为旅馆另外给他们钱了。”

"I mean they will only do something for you for a substantial tip. Most of them are rotten clean through."

“我是说给了一笔可观的小费他们才会为你做事。他们大多坏透了。”

I thought of Evan Shipman and I thought of the waiter at the Closerie des Lilas who had been forced to cut his mustache when they made the American bar at the Closerie, and how Evan had been working out at his garden in Montrouge long before I had met Scott, and what good friends we all were and had been for a long time at the Lilas and of all of the moves that had been made and what they meant to all of us. I thought of telling Scott about this whole problem of the Lilas, although I had probably mentioned it to him before, but I knew he did not care about waiters nor their problems nor their great kindnesses and affections. At that time Scott hated the French, and since almost the only French he met with regularly were waiters whom he did not understand, taxi-drivers, garage employees and landlords, he had many opportunities to insult and abuse them.

我想起了埃文·希普曼，想起了丁香园咖啡馆的侍者——咖啡馆要改造成美式酒吧时他被迫剪去了胡子，想起了早在我遇见司各特很久以前埃文就在蒙鲁日打理他的花园，想起了我们是多么好的朋友，一起在丁香园咖啡馆度过了那么长的一段时间，想起了发生的所有变迁，这些变迁对我们意味着什么。我想告诉司各特丁香园咖啡馆的所有问题，虽然我可能以前向他提起过，但我知道他不在乎侍者，不在乎他们的问题，也不在乎他们极大的善良和友情。司各特那时憎恶法国人，因为他唯独经常遇见的法国人几乎都是他不了解的侍者、出租车司机、汽车修理员和房东，他有的是机会责骂和羞辱他们。

He hated the Italians even more than the French and could not talk about them calmly even when he was sober. The English he often hated but he sometimes tolerated them and occasionally looked up to them. I do not know how he felt about the Germans and the Austrians. I do not know whether he had ever met any then or any Swiss.

比起法国人，他更加憎恶的是意大利人，即使冷静时他也无法心平静气地谈论他们。他常常讨厌英国人，但有时候还能容忍他们，偶尔还尊敬他们。我不知道他是怎么看德国人和奥地利人的，不知道他那时有没有碰到过这两国的人或瑞士人。

On this evening in the hotel I was delighted that he was being so calm. I had mixed the lemonade and whisky and given it to him with two aspirins and he had swallowed the aspirins without protest and with admirable calm and was sipping his drink. His eyes were open now and were looking far away. I was reading the crime in the inside of the paper and was quite happy, too happy it seemed.

那天晚上在旅馆，我很高兴他表现得如此平静。我把柠檬汁和威士忌混在一起，递给他，还给了他两片阿司匹林。他没有反对，极其平静地服下阿司匹林，然后啜饮着饮料。他的眼睛这会儿睁开了，看着远处。我正看着报纸内页的犯罪报道，非常高兴，似乎是高兴过了头。

"You're a cold one, aren't you?" Scott asked and looking at him I saw that I had been wrong in my prescription, if not in my diagnosis, and that the whisky was working against us.

“你是个冷酷无情的人，对吧？”司各特问道。看着他，我明白自己用错药方了，如果不是诊断有误的话，威士忌起反作用了。

"How do you mean, Scott?"

“你什么意思，司各特？”

"You can sit there and read that dirty French rag of a paper and it doesn't mean a thing to you that I am dying."

“你居然还能坐在那儿看那恶心的法国破报纸，我要死了你却无动于衷。”

"Do you want me to call a doctor?"

“你要我叫医生吗？”

"No. I don't want a dirty French provincial doctor."

“不。我不需要恶心的法国外省医生。”

"What do you want?"

“那你想要什么？”

"I want my temperature taken. Then I want my clothes dried and for us to get on an express train for Paris and to go to the American hospital at Neuilly."

“我要量体温。我还想要我烘干的衣服，然后我们俩坐上快速列车回巴黎，去讷伊的美国医院。”

"Our clothes won't be dry until morning and there aren't any express trains," I said. "Why don't you rest and have some dinner in bed?"

“我们的衣服明天早晨才能烘干，这里也没有快速列车。”我说，“你为什么不休息休息，在床上吃点儿东西呢？”

"I want my temperature taken."

“我要量体温。”

After this went on for a long time the waiter brought a thermometer.

这样的对话持续了很久，侍者终于送来了体温计。

"Is this the only one you could get?" I asked. Scott had shut his eyes when the waiter came in and he did look at least as far gone as Camille. I have never seen a man who lost the blood from his face so fast and I wondered where it went.

“你只能找到这一支吗？”我问。侍者进来时司各特已经闭上了眼睛，看上去至少真的像奄奄一息的茶花女一样。我从未见过谁脸上的血色消失得如此之快，真纳闷血色到哪儿去了。

"It is the only one in the hotel," the waiter said and handed me the thermometer. It was a bath thermometer with a wooden back and enough metal to sink it in the bath. I took a quick gulp of the whisky sour and opened the window a moment to look out at the rain. When I turned Scott was watching me.

“旅馆里只能找到这一支。”侍者答道，并把温度计递给我。这是一个浴缸温度计，木质的背面和金属材质足以使它能够沉入浴缸。我快速地吞下一口威士忌酸酒，开了一会儿窗看看外面下着的雨。等我转过身来，司各特正看着我。

I shook the thermometer down professionally and said, "You're lucky it's not a rectal thermometer."

我非常专业地甩了甩温度计，然后说，“你真走运，这不是肛门体温计。”

"Where does this kind go?"

“这种温度计放在哪儿？”

"Under the arm," I told him and tucked it under my arm.

“腋下。”我告诉他，示范性地把温度计放在我自己的腋下。

"Don't upset the temperature," Scott said. I shook the thermometer again with a single sharp downward twitch and unbuttoned his pajama jacket and put the instrument under his armpit while I felt his cool forehead and then took his pulse again. He stared straight ahead. The pulse was seventy-two. I kept the thermometer in for four minutes.

“别折腾温度计了。”司各特说。我又用力向下甩了一下温度计，然后解开他的睡袍，把温度计放在他的腋窝下。我摸了摸他凉凉的前额，然后又把了把他的脉搏。他直视着前方。脉搏是每分钟72次。我让温度计在他的腋下呆了四分钟。

"I thought they only kept them in for one minute," Scott said.

“我以为放一分钟就够了。”司各特说。

"This is a big thermometer," I explained. "You multiply by the square of the size of the thermometer. It's a centigrade thermometer."

“这个温度计大，”我解释说，“你得用乘方来算温度计的面积。还是个摄氏温度计。”

Finally I took the thermometer out and carried it over by the reading light.

最后我取出温度计，拿到台灯下看度数。

"What is it?"

“多少度？”

"Thirty-seven and six-tenths.”

“三十七点六度。”

"What's normal?"

“正常体温是多少？”

"That's normal"

“这就是正常体温。”

"Are you sure?"

“肯定吗？”

"Sure."

“当然。”

"Try it on yourself. I have to be sure."

“在你自己身上试试。我要确认清楚。”

I shook the thermometer down and opened my pajamas and put the thermometer in my armpit and held it there while I watched the time. Then I looked at it.

我向下甩了甩温度计，解开睡衣，把温度计放在腋窝下，一边看着时间。然后我取出来看了看。

"What is it?" I studied it.

“多少度？”我仔细看着刻度。

"Exactly the same."

“完全一样。”

"How do you feel?"

“你感觉怎么样？”

"Splendid," I said. I was trying to remember whether thirty seven six was really normal or not. It did not matter, for the thermometer, unaffected, was steady at thirty.

“好极了。”我说。我试着回忆三十七度六到底是不是正常体温。不过这也没关系，温度计并没有受影响，它稳稳地显示着三十度。

Scott was a little suspicious so I asked if he wanted me to make another test.

司各特有点儿将信将疑，我问他是不是要我再测一次。

"No," he said. "We can be happy it cleared up so quickly. I've always had great recuperative power."

“不用了，”他说，“这么快就弄清楚了，我们可以高兴了。我的康复能力向来很强。”

"You're fine," I said. "But I think it would be just as well if you stayed in bed and had a light supper, and then we can start early in the morning." I had planned to buy us raincoats but I would have to borrow money from him for that and I did not want to start arguing about that now.

“你很好，”我说，“不过我觉得你最好还是呆在床上，稍微吃点儿晚饭，我们可以明天一早出发。”我原想去买两件雨衣，但那样我就得向他借钱，我现在可不想为此跟他争吵。

Scott did not want to stay in bed. He wanted to get up and get dressed and go downstairs and call Zelda so she would know he was all right.

司各特不想呆在床上。他想起来穿上衣服，下楼去给塞尔达打电话，这样她就知道他安然无恙。

"Why would she think you weren't all right?"

“她为什么会认为你身体不适呢？”

"This is the first night I have ever slept away from her since we were married and I have to talk to her. You can see what it means to us both, can't you?"

“这是结婚以来头一次晚上我不在家睡，我得和她说说话。你明白这对我们俩意味着什么，对吧？”

I could, but I could not see how he and Zelda could have slept together on the night just past; but it was nothing to argue about. Scott drank the whisky sour down very fast now and asked me to order another. I found the waiter and returned the thermometer and asked him how our cloches were coming along. He thought they might be dry in an hour or so. "Have the valet press them and that will dry them. It doesn't matter that they should be bone-dry.”

我能理解，但我不明白昨天晚上他怎么可能和塞尔达睡在一起；不过这没什么好争论的。司各特这会儿很快就喝完了威士忌酸酒，让我再叫一杯。我找到侍者，还了温度计，问他我们的衣服怎么样了。他估计大概再有一个小时就烘干了。“让洗烫工把衣服熨一下，那样可以烘干衣服。干没干透没关系。”

The waiter brought the two drinks against catching cold and I sipped mine and urged Scott to sip his slowly. I was worried now he might catch cold and I could see by now that if he ever had anything as definitely bad as a cold he would probably have to be hospitalized. But the drink made him feel wonderful for a while and he was happy with the tragic implications of this being Zelda's and his first night of separation since their marriage. Finally he could not wait longer to call her and put on his dressing gown and went down to put the call through.

侍者端来两杯预防感冒的酒，我喝着我的那杯，并提醒司各特慢点儿喝他的那杯。我现在担心他可能会感冒，如今我已经看出他一旦得上什么像感冒这样严重的病，他都很可能要住院。但是这酒却令他一时相当愉悦，对这个自结婚以来塞尔达和他分离的第一个晚上暗含的不祥寓意他也不介意了。最后他还是等不及要给她打电话，于是披上睡袍，下楼去接通电话。

It would take some time for the call and shortly after he came up, the waiter appeared with two more double whisky sours. This was the most I had ever seen Scott drink until then, but they had no effect on him except to make him more animated and talkative, and he started to tell me the outline of his life with Zelda. He told me how he had first met her during the war and then lost her and won her back, and about their marriage and then about something tragic that had happened to them at St.-Raphaél about a year ago. This first version that he told me of Zelda and a French naval aviator falling in love was truly a sad story and I believe it was a true story. Later he told me other versions of it as though trying them for use in a novel, but none was as sad as this first one and I always believed the first one, although any of them might have been true. They were better told each time; but they never hurt you the same way the first one did.

接通电话需要一点儿时间。等他上楼后不一会儿，侍者又端来两杯双份的威士忌酸酒。直到那时，这是我看到司各特喝得最多的一次，但这些酒除了让他更加生气勃勃、话更多之外，对他完全没任何影响。他开始跟我说他和塞尔达之间的故事的来龙去脉，告诉我如何在一战期间和她第一次相遇，然后失去了她，之后又如何赢回了她的爱。他跟我谈起他们的婚姻，还告诉我大约一年前在圣拉斐尔时他们之间发生的不快。他第一次跟我讲塞尔达和一个法国海军飞行员坠入爱河的故事真是催人泪下，我相信这是真实的故事。后来他又跟我讲了好几个版本，就好像在尝试能否把它们用作小说的素材，但都没有第一次讲得那么伤感。我一直相信第一个版本，尽管任何一个版本都有可能是真的。故事一次比一次讲得好，但都没有像第一个版本那样让你心碎。

Scott was very articulate and told a story well. He did not have to spell the words nor attempt to punctuate and you did not have the feeling of reading an illiterate that his letters gave you before they had been corrected. I knew him for two years before he could spell my name; but then it was a long name to spell and perhaps it became harder to spell all of the time, and I give him great credit for spelling it correctly finally. He learned to spell more important things and he tried to think straight about many more.

司各特非常善于表达，很会讲故事。他用不着会拼写单词，也用不着会断句，即便这样，你也不会感觉像在读一个文盲写的未经别人修改的文字。我认识他两年后他才学会拼写我的名字，不过我的名字拼起来确实很长，而且总是要拼写这样长的名字也许更加困难。所以他最终能拼对我的名字时，我对他大加赞赏。他学会了拼写更多重要的单词，而且还想着要学更多。

On this night though he wanted me to know and understand and appreciate what it was that had happened at St.-Raphael and I saw it so clearly that I could see the single seater seaplane buzzing the diving raft and the color of the sea and the shape of the pontoons and the shadow chat they cast and Zelda's tan and Scott's tan and the dark blonde and the light blond of their hair and the darkly tanned face of the boy that was in love with Zelda. I could not ask the question that was in my mind, how, if this story was true and it had all happened, could Scott have slept each night in the same bed with Zelda? But maybe that was what had made it sadder than any story anyone had ever told me then, and, too, maybe he did not remember, as he did not remember last night.

而这天晚上，他想要我知道、理解和重视在圣拉斐尔到底发生的是什么。其实我已经了解得一清二楚，我甚至能想象出单座水上飞机嗡嗡飞过跳水艇、海的颜色、浮桥的形状和倒影，还有塞尔达和司各特晒黑的皮肤、他们深棕色和浅棕色的头发，以及爱上塞尔达的那个男孩那张黝黑的脸。我心里有个疑问却不好提出来：如果这个故事是真实的，如果它真的发生过，司各特又怎么可能每天晚上都和塞尔达睡在同一张床上？不过，也许这就是这个故事比别人给我讲过的任何一个故事都更令人伤感的原因，也有可能他不记得了，就像他记不起昨天晚上一样。

Our clothes came before the call did and we dressed and went downstairs to have dinner. Scott was a little unsteady now and he looked at people out of the side of his eyes with a certain belligerency. We had very good snails, with a carafe of Fleurie to start with and while we were about halfway through them Scott's call came. He was gone about an hour and I ate his snails finally, dipping up the butter, garlic and parsley sauce with broken bits of bread, and drank the carafe of Fleurie. When he came back I said I would get him some more snails but he said he did not want any. He wanted something simple. He did not want a steak, nor liver and bacon, nor an omelette. He would take chicken. We had eaten very good cold chicken at noon but this was still famous chicken country, so we had poularde de Bresse and a bottle of Montagny, a light, pleasant white wine of the neighborhood. Scott ate very little and sipped at one glass of the wine. He passed out at the table with his head on his hands. It was natural and there was no theater about it and it even looked as though he were careful not to spill nor break things. The waiter and I got him up to his room and laid him on the bed and I undressed him to his underwear, hung his clothes up, and then stripped the covers off the bed and spread them over him. I opened the window and saw it was clear outside and left the window open.

不等电话接通，衣服就送来了。我们穿上衣服，下楼去吃晚餐。司各特这会儿有点步履蹒跚，带着些许好战的目光用眼角斜视着周围的人。我们点了非常美味的蜗牛，和一瓶弗留利红葡萄酒做开胃酒。等晚餐差不多进行到一半时，司各特的电话来了。他离开将近一个小时，最后我把他的蜗牛也吃了，用面包碎块蘸着吃光了黄油、大蒜、欧芹调味料，把那瓶弗留利红葡萄酒都喝光了。等他回来，我说再给他要点儿蜗牛，他却说不想要了，只想吃点儿简单的。他既不想要牛排、熏肝或熏肉，也不想要煎鸡蛋。他想吃鸡肉。我们中午已经吃过非常美味的冷鸡肉，但既然这个地方的鸡肉这么有名，我们又要了布雷斯鸡和一瓶蒙塔尼白葡萄酒——邻近地区出产的一种清淡好喝的白葡萄酒。司各特吃得很少，慢慢呷着他那杯酒，然后他双手托着脑袋在饭桌上昏倒了。一切都很自然，没有戏剧般的轩然大波，他看上去甚至还小心翼翼，生怕洒了酒或打碎东西。侍者和我把他扶上楼进了房间，将他放到床上。我帮他脱去外衣，把他的衣服挂起来，然后掀开床罩，给他盖上。我打开窗户，看见外面夜空晴朗，于是就让窗户开着。

Downstairs I finished my dinner and thought about Scott. It was obvious he should not drink anything and I had not been taking good care of him. Anything that he drank seemed to stimulate him too much and then to poison him and I planned on the next day to cut all drinking to the minimum. I would tell him that we were getting back to Paris now and that I had to train in order to write. This was not true. My training was never to drink after dinner nor before I wrote nor while I was writing. I went upstairs and opened all the windows wide and undressed and was asleep almost as soon as I was in bed.

我回到楼下吃完晚餐，不禁想起司各特。他显然不该喝酒，是我没有照顾好他。无论他喝什么，对他似乎都太过刺激，然后使他中毒，所以我打算第二天尽量少喝酒。我该告诉他我们得马上回巴黎，我得练习写作。这并非真话。我要训练的是饭后不喝酒，不管写作前还是写作时都绝不喝酒。我上楼打开所有的窗户，脱下衣服，几乎一上床就睡着了。

The next day we drove to Paris on a beautiful day up through the Côte d'Or with the air freshly washed and the hills and the fields and the vineyards all new, and Scott was very cheerful and happy and healthy and told me the plots of each and every one of Michael Arlen's[9] books. Michael Arlen, he said, was the man you had to watch and he and I could both learn much from him. I said I could not read the books. He said I did not have to. He would tell me the plots and describe the characters. He gave me a sort of oral Ph.D. thesis on Michael Arlen.

第二天我们驱车穿过科多尔省前往巴黎。天气晴朗，空气清新如洗，山坡、田野、葡萄园全都焕然一新，司各特也兴致盎然，健康快活，还跟我讲起了迈克尔·阿伦每一部书里的情节。他说，迈克尔·阿伦是一定要关注的作家，我们都可以从他那儿学到很多东西。我说我读不懂这些书。他说我不一定要读，他可以告诉我情节，给我描述里面的人物。他几乎向我口述了一篇介绍迈克尔·阿伦的博士论文。

I asked him if he had good connection on the phone when he talked to Zelda and he said that it was not bad and that they had many things to talk about. At meals I ordered one bottle of the lightest wine I could locate and told Scott he would do me a great favor if he would not let me order any more as I had to train before I wrote and should not under any circumstances drink more than half a bottle. He co-operated wonderfully and when he saw me looking nervous toward the end of a single bottle, gave me some of his share.

我问他和塞尔达的电话通话是否顺利。他说还不错，他们谈了很多事情。吃饭的时候我点了一瓶据我所知最清淡的酒，并告诉司各特，如果他不让我再点酒了，那就是帮了我一个很大的忙，因为写作前我需要练习，所以无论如何都不能喝酒超过半瓶。他配合得很好，而且当他看我不安地看着这唯一一瓶酒最后剩下的一点儿，他还分了一点儿自己的酒给我。

When I had left him at his home and taken a taxi back to the sawmill, it was wonderful to see my wife and we went up to the Closerie des Lilas to have a drink. We were happy the way children are who have been separated and are together again and I told her about the trip.

我把他送回家，然后乘出租车回到了锯木厂。见到妻子的时候我真的很愉快，于是我们去丁香园咖啡馆喝了一杯，高兴得就像分离又相聚的两个孩子似的。我告诉了她这次旅行的经历。

"But didn't you have any fun or learn anything, Tatie?" she asked.

“可是难道没什么好玩的或学到什么东西吗，塔蒂？”她问。

"I learned about Michael Arlen, if I would have listened, and I learned things I haven't sorted out."

“我了解了迈克尔·阿伦，如果我认真听了的话，我还学到了一些东西，只是还没来得及理出头绪。”

"Isn't Scott happy at all?"

“司各特一点也不高兴吗？”

"Maybe."

“也许吧。”

"Poor man."

“可怜的人。”

"I learned one thing."

“我学会了一件事。”

"What?"

“什么？”

"Never to go on trips with anyone you do not love."

“永远不要和你不爱的人去旅行。”

"Isn't that fine?"

“那不挺好吗？”

"Yes. And we're going to Spain."

“不好。我们去西班牙吧。”

"Yes. Now it's less than six weeks before we go. And this year we won't let anyone spoil it, will we?"

“好。还有不到六周我们就要去西班牙了。今年我们不会让任何人毁了它，对吧？”

"No. And after Pamplona we'll go to Madrid and to Valencia".

“是的。去完潘普洛纳，我们还要去马德里，再去巴伦西亚。”

"M-m-m-m," she said softly, like a cat.

“嗯——。”她轻声说，就像一只小猫。

"Poor Scott," I said.

“可怜的司各特。”我说。

"Poor everybody," Hadley said. "Rich feather cats with no money."

“人人都很可怜，”哈德莉说，“翎毛丰厚的猫儿却穷得响叮当。”

"We're awfully lucky."

“我们真是太幸运了。”

"We'll have to be good and hold it."

“我们一定要好好珍惜，好好把握住它。”

We both touched wood on the café table and the waiter came to see what it was we wanted. But what we wanted not he, nor anyone else, nor knocking on wood or on marble, as this café table-top was, could ever bring us. But we did not know it that night and we were very happy.

我们俩都敲了敲咖啡桌的木头桌面。侍者过来问我们要点什么，但我们需要的不是他，不是别人，也不是敲打像这里的咖啡桌桌面这样的木头或大理石能给我们带来的东西。然而那天晚上我们并不知道这一点儿，我们就是很高兴。

A day or two after the trip Scott brought his book over. It had a garish dust jacket and I remember being embarrassed by the violence, bad taste and slippery look of it. It looked the book jacket for a book of bad science fiction. Scott told me not to be put off by it, that it had to do with a billboard along a highway in Long Island that was important in the story. He said he had liked the jacket and now he didn't like it. I took it off to read the book.

旅行回来一两天后，司各特拿着他的书来了。书的封套花哨俗气，我还记得那看起来咄咄逼人、品味低俗、滑滑的封套让我感到很不舒服，它看上去就像一部蹩脚的科幻小说的封套。司各特告诉我不要因为封套感到厌恶，那和长岛高速公路上的一个广告牌有关，而那在小说里很重要。他说他曾经很喜欢这个封套，不过现在也不喜欢了。我除去封套，开始读小说。

When I had finished the book I knew that no matter what Scott did, nor how he behaved, I must know it was like a sickness and be of any help I could to him and try to be a good friend. He had many good, good friends, more than anyone I knew. But I enlisted as one more, whether I could be of any use to him or not. If he could write a book as fine as The Great Gatsby I was sure that he could write an even better one. I did not know Zelda yet, and so I did not know the terrible odds that were against him. But we were to find them out soon enough.

当我读完小说，我明白无论司各特做什么，也不管他行为举止如何，我必须知道那就像一种弊病，我必须尽我所能帮助他，尽力做一个好朋友。他有很多很好的朋友，是我认识的人中交友最多的人。我也是其中一个，不管我对他有用与否。既然他能写出《了不起的盖茨比》这样的好书，我肯定他能写出更好的作品。当时我还不认识塞尔达，所以不知道阻碍他的可怕厄运。但我们很快就会知道的。

(1)乔治·霍内斯·洛里默（1869—1937），《星期六晚邮报》总编（1899—1936）。

(2)马克斯韦尔·珀金斯（1884—1947），美国编辑，帮助大批作家施展了他们的才华。

(3)吉尔伯特·塞尔迪斯（1893—1970），美国作家和文化评论家，《日晷》杂志的编辑和戏剧评论家，最知名的著作是他1924年发表的《七种流行艺术》。

(4)博奈与利夫莱特，美国出版商。

(5)潘普洛纳，西班牙北部城市。

(6)巴伦西亚，西班牙港口城市。

(7)苏丹，某些伊斯兰国家最高统治者的称号。

(8)讷伊，法国中北部的一个城市，巴黎城郊居民区和工业区。

(9)迈克尔·阿伦（1895—1956），出生于保加利亚的亚美尼亚散文家、短篇小说作家、剧作家。

Hawks Do Not Share

老鹰不善分享

Scott Fitzgerald invited us to have lunch with his wife Zelda and his little daughter at the furnished fl at they had rented at 14 rue de Tilsitt. I cannot remember much about the fl at except that it was gloomy and airless and that there was nothing in it that seemed to belong to them except Scott's first books bound in light blue leather with the titles in gold. Scott also showed us a large ledger with all of the stories he had published listed in it year after year with the prices he had received for them and also the amounts received for any motion picture sales, and the sales and royalties of his books. They were all noted as carefully as the log of a ship and Scott showed them to both of us with impersonal pride as though he were the curator of a museum. Scott was nervous and hospitable and he showed us his accounts of his earnings as though they had been the view. There was no view.

司各特·菲茨杰拉德邀请我们去他们租的公寓与他的妻子塞尔达和小女儿共进午餐。公寓在提尔希特街14号，里面配有家具。我已经不大记得他们的公寓是什么样了，只记得公寓很阴暗，也不通风，除了司各特早期那些淡蓝色皮面装订、金色书名的书，里面似乎没有任何属于他们的东西。司各特还给我们看一本很厚的分类账，上面列着所有他每年出版的小说、出版这些小说挣得的钱、根据这些小说改编的电影挣得的钱，还有小说的销售情况和版税数目。这些账目就像航海日志一样记得认真细致。司各特给我们俩看这些时带着一种不带个人情感的自豪，就好像他是一家博物馆的馆长。司各特有点儿紧张，但很热情，他给我们看他的收入账目，仿佛那曾是一道风景。可惜那没有风景。

Zelda had a very bad hangover. They had been up on Montmartre[1] the night before and had quarreled because Scott did not want to get drunk. He had decided, he told me, to work hard and not to drink and Zelda was treating him as though he were a kill-joy or a spoilsport. Those were the two words she used to him and there was recrimination and Zelda would say, "I did not. I did no such thing. It's not true, Scott." Later she would seem to recall something and would laugh happily.

塞尔达前一天晚上喝了个烂醉。前一晚，他们去了蒙马特尔，还吵了一架，原因就是司各特不想喝醉。他告诉我，他已经下定决心努力写作，不喝酒了。塞尔达却认为他大煞风景，是个扫兴鬼。这是她用在他身上的两个词。如果遭到反驳，塞尔达又会说，“我没有。我没做过这样的事。这不是真的，司各特。”之后她又会似乎想起了什么，然后会高兴地大笑。

On this day Zelda did not look her best. Her beautiful dark blonde hair had been ruined temporarily by a bad permanent she had gotten in Lyon, when the rain had made them abandon their car, and her eyes were tired and her face was too taut and drawn.

那天塞尔达看上去状态不佳。在里昂时，他们因为下雨丢下小车，她在那儿烫发失败，那头漂亮的深金色头发也因此一时被毁了。她的眼睛很疲惫，脸也紧绷着，面容憔悴。

She was formally pleasant to Hadley and me but a big part of her seemed not to be present but to still be on the party she had come home from that morning. She and Scott both seemed to feel that Scott and I had enjoyed a great and wonderful time on the trip up from Lyon and she was jealous about it.

她看上去对哈德莉和我都很友善，但大半个人却似乎没在那儿，好像还在那天早上她刚离开的聚会上。她和司各特似乎都觉得司各特和我的里昂之行很愉快，她对此心生嫉妒。

"When you two can go off and have such simply wonderful times together, it only seems fair that I should have just a little fun with our good friends here in Paris," she said to Scott.

“你们俩可以一起出去玩得那么痛快，我在巴黎和好朋友找点乐子也是天经地义的。”她对司各特说。

Scott was being the perfect host and we ate a very bad lunch that the wine cheered a little but not much. The little girl was blonde, chubby-faced, well built, and very healthy looking and spoke English with a strong Cockney accent. Scott explained that she had an English nanny because he wanted her to speak like Lady Diana Manners[2] when she grew up.

司各特是个热情周到的主人，但这顿午饭我们吃得糟透了。酒缓和了一点儿气氛，但不是很明显。他的小女儿一头金发，脸胖嘟嘟的，身体挺结实，看上去非常健康，还说着一口伦敦腔很重的英语。司各特解释说小姑娘有个英国保姆，因为他想让她长大后像黛安娜·曼纳斯小姐那样说话。

Zelda had hawk's eyes and a thin mouth and deep-south manners and accent. Watching her face you could see her mind leave the table and go to the night's party and return with her eyes blank as a cat's and then pleased, and the pleasure would show along the thin line of her lips and then be gone. Scott was being the good cheerful host and Zelda looked at him and she smiled happily with her eyes and her mouth too as he drank the wine. I learned to know that smile very well. It meant she knew Scott would not be able to write.

塞尔达有一双老鹰般的眼睛，薄薄的嘴唇，行为举止和口音都是南部腹地风格。看着她的脸，你能看出她的心离开了饭桌，飞到昨晚的聚会上，然后又带着一双空洞得像猫眼一样的眼睛回来了，接着高兴起来，快乐就显露在薄薄的唇线上，然后又消失了。司各特兴高采烈地待客，塞尔达看着他，当司各特一喝酒，她的眼睛和嘴都满足地微笑起来。我十分了解了这个微笑的含义。那意味着她知道司各特不能写作了。

Zelda was jealous of Scott's work and as we got to know them, this fell into a regular pattern. Scott would resolve not to go on all-night drinking parties and to get some exercise each day and work regularly. He would start to work and as soon as he was working well Zelda would begin complaining about how bored she was and get him off on another drunken party. They would quarrel and then make up and he would sweat out the alcohol on long walks with me, and make up his mind that this time he would really work, and would start off well. Then it would start all over again.

塞尔达嫉妒司各特写作。随着我们对他们的了解，这已经成了固定模式。司各特总是下定决心不去那种通宵喝酒的聚会，每天锻炼锻炼，有规律地写作。他会开始写作，可是每当他一进入写作状态，塞尔达就会开始抱怨她是多么地无聊，又会拉他去另一场醉酒的聚会。他们总会争吵，然后言归于好。司各特总会和我一起散步很长时间，出一身汗把酒精排出体外，然后下定决心这次他真的要好好写作了，而且会有个不错的开始。然后这样的事周而复始。

Scott was very much in love with Zelda and he was very jealous of her. He told me many times on our walks of how she had fallen in love with the French navy pilot. But she had never made him really jealous with another man since. This spring she was making him jealous with other women and on the Montmartre parties he was afraid to pass out and he was afraid to have her pass out. Becoming unconscious when they drank had always been their great defense. They went to sleep on drinking an amount of liquor or champagne that would have little effect on a person accustomed to drinking, and they would go to sleep like children. I have seen them become unconscious not as though they were drunk but as though they had been anesthetized and their friends, or sometimes a taxi-driver, would get them to bed, and when they woke they would be fresh and happy, not having taken enough alcohol to damage their bodies before it made them unconscious.

司各特非常爱塞尔达，而且经常吃她的醋。我们一起散步时，他曾多次告诉我她是怎么爱上那个法国海军飞行员的。可自那以后她从没让他因为别的男人吃醋。这年春天她却开始让他吃其他女人的醋。在蒙马特尔的聚会上他担心自己会昏倒，也很担心塞尔达会昏倒。醉得人事不省一直是他们很好的防卫方式。他们喝一点儿酒或香槟就去睡觉，那点儿酒对一个喝酒已是家常便饭的人来说根本没什么影响，可他们却会睡得像孩子般香甜。我看过他们醉得不省人事的样子，好像不是喝醉的，而是被麻醉了似的。他们的朋友，有时候是出租车司机，会把他们扶上床。他们醒来后又容光焕发、心情愉悦，不省人事前喝的那点儿酒还不足以对他们的身体造成任何伤害。

Now they had lost this natural defense. At this time Zelda could drink more than Scott could and Scott was afraid for her to pass out in the company they kept that spring and the places they went to. Scott did not like the places nor the people and he had to drink more than he could drink and be in any control of himself, to stand the people and the places, and then he began to have to drink to keep awake after he would usually have passed out. Finally he had few intervals of work at all.

现在他们失去了这种天然的防御。这时塞尔达比司各特更能喝，司各特很担心她会昏倒在他们那年春天的同伴面前，昏倒在他们去的那些地方。司各特不喜欢那些地方，也不喜欢那些人，可是他不得不拼命地喝酒，喝完还要控制自己，以忍受那些人和那些地方，然后在他通常将要昏倒前又不得不开始喝，以保持清醒。直到最后他根本没有写作的空当。

He was always trying to work. Each day he would try and fail. He laid the failure to Paris, the town best organized for a writer to write in that there is, and he thought always that there would be someplace where he and Zelda could have a good life together again. He thought of the Riviera, as it was then before it had all been built up, with the lovely stretches of blue sea and the sand beaches and the stretches of pine woods and the mountains of the Esterel going out into the sea. He remembered it as it was when he and Zelda had first found it before people went there for the summer.

他一直在设法写作。每天他都在努力，然后又失败。他把失败归罪于巴黎，而巴黎本是一个组织得最好的、最适合作家写作的城市。他总是认为有这么个地方，他和塞尔达可以一起在那儿重新开始好好生活。他想到了里维埃拉，想到那时这座城市还未完全建成的样子，有浩瀚美丽的蓝色海洋和沙滩，有成片的松林和延伸到海边的埃斯特雷尔山。他记得的这座城市，还是人们开始在夏天来这儿度假前，他和塞尔达第一次见到这座城市时的样子。

Scott told me about the Riviera and how my wife and I must come there the next summer and how we would go there and how he would find a place for us that was not expensive and we would both work hard every day and swim and lie on the beach and be brown and only have a single apéritif before Lunch and one before dinner. Zelda would be happy there, he said. She loved to swim and was a beautiful diver and she was happy with that life and would want him to work and everything would be disciplined. He and Zelda and their daughter were going to go there that summer.

司各特给我介绍里维埃拉，还说我和妻子明年夏天无论如何都必须去那儿，说到我们该如何去那儿，而且他会为我们找个不贵的地方，然后我们俩每天都可以一起努力写作、一起游泳、一起躺在海滩上把皮肤晒成褐色，只在午餐和晚餐前喝一杯开胃酒。他说塞尔达在那儿会很高兴的。她喜欢游泳，潜水也很拿手，等她对那样的生活满意了，她就会让他写作，然后一切都井然有序了。他和塞尔达还有他们的女儿准备那年夏天去那儿。

I was trying to get him to write his stories as well as he could and not trick them to conform to any formula, as he had explained that he did.

我一直试着让他尽自己所能写自己的小说，不要用什么技巧去迎合什么套路，就像他曾经说他做过的那样。

"You've written a fine novel now," I told him. "And you mustn't write slop."

“你已经写了一部很好的小说，”我告诉他，“你一定不能写乌七八糟的东西。”

"The novel isn't selling," he said. "I must write stories and they have to be stories that will sell."

“那个小说卖得不好，”他说，“我一定要写小说，而且必须是畅销的小说。”

"Write the best story that you can and write it as straight as you can."

“尽你所能写最好的小说，尽可能真诚地写。”

"I'm going to," he said.

“我会的。”他说。

But the way things were going, he was lucky to get any work done at all. Zelda did not encourage the people who were chasing her and she had nothing to do with them, she said. But it amused her and it made Scott jealous and he had to go with her to the places. It destroyed his work, and she was more jealous of his work than anything.

但是事情的结果是，他能写完点儿东西就很走运了。塞尔达并没有给追求她的人太多希望，她说她和他们没什么关系。但这让她觉得好玩，并且能让司各特嫉妒不已，这样，他就得和她一起去那些地方。这就破坏了他的写作，而她最嫉妒的就是他的写作。

All that late spring and early summer Scott fought to work but he could only work in snatches. When I saw him he was always cheerful, sometimes desperately cheerful, and he made good jokes and was a good companion. When he had very bad times, I listened to him about them and tried to make him know that if he could hold onto himself he would write as he was made to write, and that only death was irrevocable. He would make fun of himself then, and as long as he could do that I thought that he was safe. Through all of this he wrote one good story, "The Rich Boy," and I was sure that he could write better than that as he did later.

那年从春末到夏初，司各特一直在为写作而作斗争，但只能断断续续地写。我看见他时，他总是很高兴，有时候是极其高兴。他很擅长说笑话，是个很好的伙伴。当他日子过得糟糕时，我就听他倾诉他们的故事，并试着让他明白，如果他能坚持自我，他就会写出好的作品，因为他是为写作而生的，而只有死亡才是不可挽回的。这时他总是自我嘲笑一番——只要他还能那么做，我就觉得他没有大碍。经历了这一切，他写出了一个好故事，名为《富家子弟》。我相信他能写出更好的作品，正如他后来做到的那样。

During the summer we were in Spain and I started the first draft of a novel and finished it back in Paris in September. Scott and Zelda had been at Cap d'Antibes, and that fall when I saw him in Paris he was very changed. He had not done any sobering up on the Riviera and he was drunk now in the day time as well as nights. It did not make any difference any more to him that anyone was working and he would come to 113 rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs any time he was drunk either in the day time or at night. He had begun to be very rude to his inferiors or anyone he considered his inferior.

那个夏天我们在西班牙，我开始写一部小说的初稿，并于九月份回到巴黎后将其完成。司各特和塞尔达去了昂蒂布角，那年秋天我在巴黎见到他时，他变化很大。他不但没有去里维埃拉使自己清醒起来，现在反而不论白天晚上都喝得烂醉。谁在写作对他来说已经不再重要了。无论是白天还是黑夜，他一喝醉就会去圣母院田园大街113号。他开始对地位比他低的人或任何他认为比自己地位低的人非常粗鲁。

One time he came in through the sawmill gate with his small daughter— it was the English nurse's day off and Scott was caring for the child—and at the foot of the stairs she told him she needed to go to the bathroom. Scott started to undress her and the proprietor, who lived on the floor below us, came in and said, "Monsieur, there is a cabinet de toilette just ahead of you to the left of the stairs."

有一次他带着小女儿从锯木厂的大门进来——那天英国保姆休息，由司各特照顾孩子——在楼梯脚下，小姑娘对他说想去洗手间，于是司各特开始给她脱裤子。这时，住在我们楼下的房主走进来说，“先生，你前面楼梯左边就有洗手间。”

"Yes, and I'll put your head in it too, if you're not careful," Scott told him.

“好的，我会把你的头也塞到里面去的，如果你不多加小心的话。”司各特对他说。

He was very difficult all that fall but he had begun to work on a novel when he was sober. I saw him rarely when he was sober, but when he was sober he was always pleasant and he still made jokes and sometimes he would still make jokes about himself. But when he was drunk he would usually come to find me and, drunk, he took almost as much pleasure interfering with my work as Zelda did interfering with his. This continued for years but, for years too, I had no more loyal friend than Scott when he was sober.

那年一整个秋天他都很难相处,但他在清醒的时候已经开始写一部小说了。我很少在他清醒时看见他，不过他清醒时倒总是很讨人喜欢。他仍然会开玩笑，有时还拿自己开玩笑。但他喝醉了通常都会来找我，醉醺醺的他总是喜欢打扰我写作，就像塞尔达喜欢打扰他写作一样。这样的情况持续了好几年，不过，那几年我也没有比清醒时的司各特更忠诚的朋友。

That fall of 1925 he was upset because I would not show him the manuscript of the first draft of The Sun Also Rises. I explained to him that it would mean nothing until I had gone over it and rewritten it and that I did not want to discuss it or show it to anyone first. We were going down to Schruns in the Vorarlberg in Austria as soon as the first snowfall there.

1925年秋天他很恼火，因为我不给他看《太阳照常升起》初稿的手稿。我跟他解释说，在我润色修改前给他看没有任何意义，我也不想先和别人讨论或给别人看。我们准备在奥地利福拉尔贝格州的施伦斯山村下第一场雪时就去那儿。

I rewrote the first half of the manuscript there, finished it in January, I think. I took it to New York and showed it to Max Perkins of Scribners[3] and then went back to Schruns and finished rewriting the book. Scott did not see it until after the completed rewritten and cut manuscript had been sent to Scribners at the end of April. I remembered joking with him about it and him being worried and anxious to help as always once a thing was done. But I did not want his help while I was rewriting.

我在那儿修改了手稿的前半部分，我记得是一月份完成的。我把手稿带到纽约，给斯克里布纳出版社的马克斯·珀金斯看，然后回到施伦斯，完成了全书的修改。直到四月底我把完成修改和删节的手稿送至斯克里布纳出版社后，司各特才看到手稿。我还记得拿这个和他开玩笑，笑他就像往常一样，一旦事情做完就很担心，急着想帮忙。但我修改文稿时不需要他帮忙。

While we were living in the Vorarlberg and I was finishing rewriting the novel Scott and his wife and child had left Paris for a watering place in the lower Pyrénées. Zelda had been ill with that familiar intestinal complaint that too much champagne produces and which was then diagnosed as colitis. Scott was not drinking, and starting to work and he wanted us to come to Juan-les-Pins[4] in June. They would find an inexpensive villa for us and this time he would not drink and it would be like the old good days and we would swim and be healthy and brown and have one aperitif before lunch and one before dinner. Zelda was well again and they were both fine and his novel was going wonderfully. He had money coming in from a dramatization of The Great Gatsby which was running well and it would sell to the movies and he had no worries. Zelda was really fine and everything was going to be disciplined.

我们住在福拉尔贝格时，我快要完成小说的修改了，而司各特和他的妻子、孩子已经离开巴黎去下比利牛斯山的一个矿泉疗养地了。塞尔达因为喝了太多香槟得了很常见的那种肠胃病，当时诊断为大肠炎。司各特不喝酒，并开始写作了，他希望我们六月份去瑞昂莱潘镇。他们会为我们找一个不贵的别墅，而且这次他不会喝酒了，就像以前的好时光那样，我们可以去游泳，过健康的生活，把皮肤晒成褐色，午餐和晚餐前还可以喝一杯开胃酒。塞尔达恢复健康了，他们俩都很好，他的小说也进展得非常顺利。根据《了不起的盖茨比》改编的戏剧上座率不错，他因此有点儿收入。书还会改编成电影，所以他不用发愁。塞尔达真的好了，一切都将步入正轨。

I had been down in Madrid in May working by myself and I came by train from Bayonne[5] to Juan-les-Pins third class and quite hungry because I had run out of money stupidly and had eaten last in Hendaye at the French-Spanish frontier. It was a nice villa and Scott had a very fine house not far away and I was very happy to see my wife who had the villa running beautifully, and our friends, and the single apéritif before lunch was very good and we had several more. That night there was a party to welcome us at the Casino, just a small party, the MacLeishes[6], the Murphys[7], the Fitzgeralds and we who were living at the villa. No one drank anything stronger than champagne and it was very gay and obviously a splendid place to write. There was going to be everything that a man needed to write except to be alone.

五月份我去了马德里，一个人在那儿写作。我从巴约讷坐火车三等车厢到瑞昂莱潘。我饿着肚子，因为我非常愚蠢地把钱都花光了，最后一顿是在法国西班牙边界的昂代镇吃的。司各特找的别墅很舒服，而且他有一座很不错的房子离这儿不远。我很高兴看到我的妻子——她把别墅布置得漂漂亮亮——还有我们的朋友。午餐前的那杯开胃酒很好喝，所以我们又喝了几杯。那天晚上在娱乐场有一个为我们接风洗尘的晚会，只是一个小聚会，有麦克利什夫妇、墨菲夫妇、菲茨杰拉德夫妇，还有住在别墅的我们。没有人喝比香槟更烈的酒，气氛很欢乐，这显然是个写作的绝佳地方。这儿有一个人写作需要的一切，除了不能独自一人呆着。

Zelda was very beautiful and was tanned a lovely gold color and her hair was a beautiful dark gold and she was very friendly. Her hawk's eyes were clear and calm. I knew everything was all right and was going to turn out well in the end when she leaned forward and said to me, telling me her great secret, "Ernest, don't you think Al Jolson[8] is greater than Jesus?”

塞尔达美极了。她的皮肤晒成了迷人的金色，头发是漂亮的深金色，人也非常友好。她那老鹰般的眼睛清澈而平静。我知道一切都进展顺利，结局最终会完满的。就在这时她靠过身来告诉我一个她的大秘密，“欧内斯特，你不觉得阿尔·乔尔森比耶稣还伟大吗？”

Nobody thought anything of it at the time. It was only Zelda's secret that she shared with me, as a hawk might share something with a man. But hawks do not share. Scott did not write anything any more that was good until after he knew that she was insane.

那时谁也没细想。这只是塞尔达和我分享的她的一个秘密，就像老鹰可能会和人分享点儿什么一样。但老鹰是不善分享的。司各特再也没写过什么好作品，直到他知道她疯了。

(1)蒙马特尔，巴黎北部一座小山和一个区，位于塞纳河右岸。

(2)黛安娜·曼纳斯小姐（1892—1986），英国女演员，拉特兰公爵七世的孙女，英国政治家和外交官艾尔弗雷德·塔夫·库珀的夫人。

(3)查尔斯·斯克里布纳之子出版社，以出版很多美国著名作家的著作而闻名。

(4)朱昂莱班，昂蒂市的一个小镇，位于法国东南部的阿尔卑斯海域。

(5)巴约讷，法国西南部的一个城镇，位于比斯开湾和西班牙边界附近。

(6)麦克利什（1892—1982），美国诗人，曾任美国国会图书馆馆长和助理国务卿。曾三次获普利策奖。

(7)墨菲（1888—1964），美国画家，20年代和妻子萨拉在法国过着奢华的生活。

(8)阿尔·乔尔森（1886—1950），美国著名歌手、喜剧演员，1927年曾主演《爵士歌手》红极一时。

A Matter Of Measurements

一个大小的问题

Much later, in the time after Zelda had what was then called her first nervous breakdown and we happened to be in Paris at the same time, Scott asked me to have lunch with him at Michaud's restaurant on the corner of the rue Jacob and the rue des Saints-Pères. He said he had something very important to ask me that meant more than anything in the world to him and that I must answer absolutely truly. I said that I would do the best that I could. When he would ask me to tell him something absolutely truly, which is very difficult to do, and I would try it, what I said would make him angry, often not when I said it but afterwards, and sometimes long afterwards when he had brooded on it. My words would become something that would have to be destroyed and sometimes, if possible, me with them.

过了很久，在塞尔达发生被称为第一次神经崩溃以后的那段时间，我们恰巧也在巴黎，司各特邀请我去雅各布大街和教皇大街拐角的米肖餐厅和他共进午餐。他说有很重要的事要问我，这事对他来说比世界上任何事情都重要，我必须绝对地如实回答。我说我会尽力而为。每当他要我绝对如实地告诉他什么，虽然这实在令人为难，但我总是尽力而为，可是我说的总是让他生气，并且往往不是在我说的时候，而是在我说完之后，有时候过后很久他还对其念念不忘。我的话总是变成必须要被毁灭的东西，而且有时候，如果可能的话，我也该和那些话同归于尽。

He drank wine at the lunch but it did not affect him and he had not prepared for the lunch by drinking before it. We talked about our work and about people and he asked me about people that we had not seen lately. I knew that he was writing something good and that he was having great trouble with it for many reasons but that was not what he wanted to talk about. I kept waiting for it to come, the thing that I had to tell the absolute truth about; but he would not bring it up until the end of the meal, as though we were having a business lunch.

午饭时他喝了酒，但这对他没有影响，他并没有准备在午饭前喝酒。我们谈写作，谈周围的人，他向我问起我们最近没有见过的人。我知道他正在写一部很好的作品，由于很多原因他遇上了极大的困难，但那并不是他想说的。我一直等着他提出那个问题，那个我必须绝对如实回答的问题；但直到午饭快吃完时他才和盘托出，就像我们吃的是工作午餐。

Finally when we were eating the cherry tart and had a last carafe of wine he said, "You know I never slept with anyone except Zelda."

终于，我们正吃着樱桃馅饼，喝完了最后一瓶酒，他说：“你知道，除了塞尔达我从没和别人睡过觉。”

"No, I didn't."

“不，我不知道。”

"I thought I had told you."

“我以为我告诉过你。”

"No. You told me a lot of things but not that."

“没有。你告诉过我很多事，但没有这个。”

"That is what I have to ask you about."

“这就是我要问你的事。”

"Good. Go on."

“很好。继续说。”

"Zelda said that the way I was built I could never make any woman happy and that was what upset her originally. She said it was a matter of measurements. I have never felt the same since she said that and I have to know truly."

“塞尔达说，就凭我的身材，我永远也不能让女人快乐，这是让她心烦的根本原因。她说是大小的问题。她那么说之后我的感觉就不一样了，我必须知道这是不是真的。”

"Come out to the office," I said.

“走，去办公室。”我说。

"Where is the office?"

“办公室在哪儿？”

"Le water," I said.

“洗手间。”我说。

We came back into the room and sat down at the table.

我们回到餐厅，在餐桌边坐下。

"You're perfectly fine," I said. "You are O.K. There's nothing wrong with you. You look at yourself from above and you look foreshortened. Go over to the Louvre and look at the people in the statues and then go home and look at yourself in the mirror in profile."

“你完全正常，”我说，“你很好。什么毛病都没有。你从上面看，所以看上去就透视缩短了。你去卢浮宫，看看雕像，然后回家照镜子，从侧面看看自己。”

"Those statues may not be accurate."

“那些雕像可能不精确。”

"They are pretty good. Most people would settle for them."

“他们很标准。很多人都会为他们而停留。”

"But why would she say it?"

“可是她为什么会这么说？”

"To put you out of business. That's the oldest way in the world of putting people out of business. Scott, you asked me to tell you the truth and I can tell you a lot more but this is the absolute truth and all you need. You could have gone to see a doctor."

“为了不让你干正事。这是世界上不让人干正事的最古老的办法。司各特，你要我跟你说实话，我还能跟你说更多，但这是绝对的实话，也是你所需要的全部实话。你本可以去看看医生。”

"I didn't want to. I wanted you to tell me truly."

“我不想去。我想让你告诉我真相。”

"Now do you believe me?"

“那你现在相信我吗？”

"I don't know," he said.

“我不知道。”他说。

"Come on over to the Louvre," I said. "It's just down the street and across the river."

“走，去卢浮宫吧，”我说，“就沿着这条街走，河对面就是。”

We went over to the Louvre and he looked at the statues but still he was doubtful about himself.

我们去了卢浮宫，他看着雕像，但仍然对自己抱着疑惑。

"It is not basically a question of the size in repose," I said. "It is the size that it becomes. It is also a question of angle." I explained to him about using a pillow and a few other things that might be useful for him to know.

“这主要不是它休息时有多大的问题，”我说，“而是它能变多大的问题。这也是一个角度的问题。”我向他解释怎么用枕头和一些别的东西，这些可能有助于他弄明白。

"There is one gir[1]," he said, "who has been very nice to me. But after what Zelda said —”

“有一个女孩，”他说，“对我一直非常好。但塞尔达这么说之后——”

"Forget what Zelda said," I told him. "Zelda is crazy. There's nothing wrong with you. Just have confidence and do what the girl wants. Zelda just wants to destroy you."

“别管塞尔达怎么说。”我告诉他，“塞尔达疯了。你什么毛病都没有。自信点儿，那个女孩要做什么你就做什么。塞尔达就是想把你毁了。”

"You don't know anything about Zelda."

“你一点也不了解塞尔达。”

"All right," I said. "Let it go at that. But you came to lunch to ask me a question and I've tried to give you an honest answer."

“好吧，”我说，“就到这儿吧。但是你来和我共进午餐，问我问题，我已经尽力诚实地回答了。”

But he was still doubtful.

可是，他还是一脸疑惑。

"Should we go and see some pictures?" I asked. "Have you ever seen anything in here except the Mona Lisa?"

“我们去看看画吧？”我问道，“除了《蒙娜丽莎》，你在这儿还看过别的吗？”

"I'm not in the mood for looking at pictures," he said. "I promised to meet some people at the Ritz bar."

“我现在没心情看画，”他回答，“我答应了要去里兹酒吧见一些人。”

Many years later at the Ritz bar, long after the end of the World WarⅡ, Georges, who is the bar chief now and who was the chasseur when Scott lived in Paris, asked me, "Papa[1], who was this Monsieur Fitzgerald that everyone asks me about?”

多年以后在里兹酒吧，那时二战已经结束了很久，司各特住在巴黎时还只是酒吧侍者、而现在已是酒吧主管的乔治斯问我：“爸爸，谁是菲茨杰拉德先生？人人都向我打听他。”

"Didn't yon know him?"

“你不认识他吗？”

"No. I remember all of the people of that time. But now they ask me only about him."

“不认识。我记得那时所有的人。但现在他们只向我问起他。”

"What do you tell them?"

“你怎么跟他们说的？”

"Anything interesting that they wish to hear. What will please them. But tell me, who was he?"

“任何他们想听的有趣的事。让他们高兴的事。不过，告诉我，他是谁？”

"He was an American writer of the early Twenties and later who lived some time in Paris and abroad."

“他是20年代初的一位美国作家，后来在巴黎和其他国家生活过一段时间。”

"But why would I not remember him? Was he a good writer?"

“可为什么我不记得他？他是个优秀的作家吗？”

"He wrote two very good books and one which was not completed which those who know his writing best say would have been very good. He also wrote some good short stories."

“他写了两本非常好的书，还有一本书没写完，但最了解他作品的那些人都说那会是一部很好的作品。他还写了一些很好的短篇小说。”

"Did he frequent the bar much?"

“他以前经常来这家酒吧吗？”

"I believe so."

“我想是的。”

"But you did not come to the bar in the early Twenties. I know that you were poor then and lived in a different quarter."

“但20年代初你不来这家酒吧。我知道你那时很穷，住在另一个区。”

"When I had money I went to the Crillon."

“那时我有钱的时候就去克里伦酒吧。”

"I know that too. I remember very well when we first met."

“我也知道那儿。我清楚地记得我们的第一次见面。”

"So do I."

“我也记得。”

"It is strange that I have no memory of him," Georges said.

“很奇怪我完全不记得他。”乔治斯说。

"All those people are dead."

“那些人都死了。”

"Still one does not forget people because they are dead and people keep asking me about him. You must tell me something about him for my memoirs."

“但是人们没有因为他们死了就忘了他们，相反，人们还不停地向我问起他。你一定要告诉我有关他的一些事，我要写回忆录。”

"I will."

“我会的。”

"I remember you and the Baron von Blixen[2] arriving one night—in what year?" He smiled.

“我记得你和冯·布利克森男爵有天晚上来这儿了——那是哪年来着？”他笑着问道。

"He is dead too. "

“他也死了。”

"Yes. But one does not forget him. You see what I mean?"

“是啊。但人们没有忘了他。你知道我的意思吧？”

"His first wife wrote very beautifully," I said. "She wrote perhaps the best book about Africa that I ever read. Except Sir Samuel Baker's[3] book on the Nile tributaries of Abyssinia[4]. Put that in your memoirs. Since you are interested in writers now.”

“他的第一任妻子文笔极佳，”我说，“她写的关于非洲的书可能是我读过的书中写得最好的。塞缪尔·贝克爵士描写尼罗河支流上的阿比西尼亚的书除外。把那写入你的回忆录，既然你现在对作家感兴趣。”

"Good," said Georges. "The Baron was not a man that you forget. And the name of the book?"

“好，”乔治斯说，“男爵不是个你忘得了的人。书名是什么？”

"Out o f Africa," I said. "Blickie was always very proud of his first wife's writing. But we knew each other long before she had written that book."

“《走出非洲》，”我说，“布利克森一直为他第一任妻子的作品感到骄傲。但她写那本书很早以前我们就互相认识了。”

"But Monsieur Fitzgerald that they keep asking me about?"

“那他们一直向我问起的菲茨杰拉德先生呢？”

"He was in Frank's time."

“他是在弗兰克当头儿时来的。”

"Yes. But I was the chasseur. You know what a chasseur is."

“没错。但那时我是个侍者。你知道侍者是干什么的吧。”

"I am going to write something about him in a book that I will write about the early days in Paris. I promised myself that I would write it."

“我要在一本关于早些年在巴黎生活的书里写写他。我想过要写这么一本书的。”

Good," said Georges.

“好啊。”乔治斯说。

"I will put him in exactly as I remember him the first time that I met him."

“我会完全按照第一次见到他的记忆来写他。”

"Good," said Georges. "Then, if he came here, I will remember him. After all one does not forget people."

“太好了，”乔治斯说，“那样，如果他来过这儿，我就能记起他。毕竟，大家是不会忘记这些人的。”

"Tourists?"

“游客呢？”

"Naturally. But you say he came here very much?"

“那是自然。不过你说他经常来这儿？”

"It meant very much to him."

“对他来说是经常。”

"You write about him as you remember him and then if he came here I will remember him."

“你就照你对他的记忆来写他，这样如果他来过这儿，我就会记起他。”

"We will see," I said.

“到时候就知道了。”我说。

(1)爸爸，海明威的众多绰号之一。

(2)冯·布利克森男爵（1886—1946），瑞典男爵、作家、非洲王牌猎人，1913年与其丹麦的表妹结婚，即《走出非洲》（1937）的作者伊萨克·迪内森，之后两人移居肯尼亚。

(3)塞缪尔·贝克爵士（1821—1893），英国探险家，曾在埃塞俄比亚考查尼罗河支流，发现艾伯特湖，任尼罗河赤道地区总督。

(4)阿比西尼亚，东非国家埃塞俄比亚的旧称。

There Is Never Any End To Paris

巴黎永不灭

When there were the three of us instead of just the two, it was the cold and the weather that finally drove us out of Paris in the winter time. Alone there was no problem when you got used to it. I could always go to a café to write and could work all morning over a café crème while the waiters cleaned and swept out the café and it gradually grew warmer. My wife could go to work at the piano in a cold place and with enough sweaters keep warm playing and come home to nurse Bumby. It was wrong to take a baby to a café in the winter though; even a baby that never cried and watched everything that happened and was never bored. There were no baby-sitters then and Bumby would stay happy in his tall cage bed with his big, loving cat named F. Puss. There were people who said that it was dangerous to leave a cat with a baby. The most ignorant and prejudiced said that a cat would suck a baby's breath and kill him. Others said that a cat would lie on a baby and the cat's weight would smother him. F. Puss lay beside Bumby in the tall cage bed and watched the door with his big yellow eyes, and would let no one come near him when we were out and Marie, the femme de ménage, had to be away. There was no need for baby-sitters. F. Puss was the baby-sitter.

当我们由两个人变成三个人，最终是寒冷而恶劣的天气迫使我们在冬天离开了巴黎。要是习惯了，一个人在那儿也没什么问题。我总会到一家咖啡馆写作，在侍者清理打扫咖啡馆时，我可以点一杯牛奶咖啡写上一整个上午，然后天气就慢慢暖和起来。我的妻子会去一个冷一点儿的地方教钢琴，多穿几件毛衣，弹琴的时候才能保暖，然后回家照看邦比。不过，冬天带着孩子去咖啡馆是不行的；即使孩子不吵不闹，就只看着周围发生的一切并且从不觉得乏味。那时候还没有临时保姆，邦比很乐意呆在他那高高的婴儿床里，和他的那只叫做F·普斯的可爱大猫咪呆在一起。有人说让猫和孩子呆在一起很危险。最蒙昧无知、最有偏见的人说猫会吸掉孩子的气息，要了他的命。其他人则说猫会压在孩子身上，猫的重量会让他窒息。F·普斯挨着邦比躺在高高的婴儿床里，用黄色的大眼睛看着门，我们出去了而女仆玛丽又不得不离开的时候不让任何人走近他。因此我们没有必要请临时保姆。F·普斯就是临时保姆。

But when you are poor, and we were really poor when I had given up all journalism when we came back from Canada, and could sell no stories at all, it was too rough with a baby in Paris in the winter. At three months Mr. Bumby had crossed the North Atlantic on a twelve-day small Cunarder[1] that sailed from New York via Halifax[2] in January. He never cried on the trip and laughed happily when he would be barricaded in a bunk so he could not fall out when we were in heavy weather. But our Paris was too cold for him.

但当你没钱时——我们从加拿大回来时我就已放弃了所有的新闻工作，我们当时真的很穷，而且小说根本卖不出去——带着孩子在巴黎过冬真是太难了。小邦比三个月大时就乘坐航行长达十二天的丘纳德小邮轮横渡北大西洋，这艘邮轮一月份从纽约出发途经哈利法克斯。他一路上从没哭闹过；天气不好时，我们为了不让他摔下来就把他放在用隔板挡着的铺位上，他就乐呵呵地笑起来。但我们的巴黎对他来说实在是太冷了。

We went to Schruns[3] in the Vorarlberg in Austria. After going through Switzerland you came to the Austrian frontier at Feldkirch. The train went through Liechtenstein[4] and stopped at Bludenz where there was a small branch line that ran along a pebbly trout river through a valley of farms and forest to Schruns, which was a sunny market town with sawmills, stores, inns and a good, year-around hotel called the Taube where we lived.

我们去了奥地利福拉尔贝格州的施伦斯。穿过瑞士，就来到奥地利边界的费尔德基希。火车经过列支敦士登，在布卢登茨城停靠，一条小支线沿着能看见鹅卵石和鳟鱼的河流，穿过山谷的农场和森林，就到了施伦斯，一个阳光灿烂的集镇，这里有锯木厂、商店、小旅馆，还有我们住的那家名为的“陶布”的旅馆，挺不错的，全年都营业。

The rooms at the Taube were large and comfortable with big stoves, big windows and big beds with good blankets and feather coverlets. The meals were simple and excellent and the dining room and the wood-planked public bar were well heated and friendly. The valley was wide and open so there was good sun. The pension was about two dollars a day for the three of us, and as the Austrian schilling went down with inflation, our room and food were less all the time. There was no desperate inflation and poverty as there had been in Germany. The schilling went up and down, but its longer course was down.

陶布旅馆的房间宽敞而舒适，配有大炉子、大窗户、铺着质地很好的毯子和羽绒被单的大床。饭菜简单好吃，餐厅和木板装修的公众酒吧非常暖和舒适。山谷大而开阔，所以阳光也很好。我们三个一天的膳宿费用大概是两美元。而且随着奥地利先令因通货膨胀而贬值，我们的食宿费用也一直在降低。那儿的通货膨胀和贫困情况还不像德国那么严重。先令的币值上下浮动，但从长期来看是在走低。

There were no ski lifts from Schruns and no funiculars, but there were logging trails and cattle trails that led up different mountain valleys to the high mountain country. You climbed on foot carrying your skis and higher up, where the snow was too deep, you climbed on seal skins that you attached to the bottoms of the skis. At the tops of mountain valleys there were the big Alpine Club huts for summer climbers where you could sleep and leave payment for any wood you used. In some you had to pack up your own wood, or if you were going on a long tour in the high mountains and the glaciers, you hired someone to pack wood and supplies up with you, and established a base. The most famous of these high base huts were the Lindauer-Hétte, the Madlener-Haus and the Wiesbadener-Hétte.

从施伦斯出发没有滑雪缆车，也没有索道，但有伐木小径和牛踩出的小径，从各个山谷一直通向海拔较高的山村。扛着滑雪板徒步登山，再往上走，雪太深的地方，登山就要借助粘在滑雪板下面的海豹皮。山谷顶部是为夏季登山者准备的阿尔卑斯山俱乐部的一些大木屋，你可以在那儿睡一觉，付一点儿柴火钱。有些地方你得自己带上柴火，或者，要是在高山或冰川地区长途跋涉的话，就得雇人为你打点柴火和供给品，然后搭建一个扎营据点。这些高山地区的据点小屋中最有名的是林道尔小屋、玛德朗尔小屋和维兹巴登尔小屋。

In back of the Taube there was a sort of practice slope where you ran through orchards and fields and there was another good slope behind Tschagguns across the valley where there was a beautiful inn with an excellent collection of chamois horns on the walls of the drinking room. It was from behind the lumber village of Tschagguns, which was on the far edge of the valley, that the good skiing went all the way up until you could eventually cross the mountains and get over the Silvretta[5] into the Klosters[6] area.

陶布旅馆后面是练习滑道，你可以从那儿滑着穿过果园和田野。山谷对面的察贡斯村后面是另一条优质滑道，那儿还有一个漂亮的小旅馆，酒吧间的墙上挂着一组精美的岩羚羊角。正是从山谷深处盛产木材的察贡斯村后面，美妙的滑雪旅程开始了，你一路向上，直到最后穿过山脉，越过锡尔夫雷塔山，进入克洛斯特斯地区。

Schruns was a healthy place for Bumby who had a dark-haired beautiful girl to take him out in the sun in his sleigh and look after him, and Hadley and I had all the new country to learn and the new villages, and the people of the town were very friendly. Herr Walther Lent who was a pioneer high-mountain skier and at one time had been a partner with Hannes Schneider, the great Arlberg[7]skier, making ski waxes for climbing and all snow conditions, was starting a school for Alpine skiing and we both enrolled. Walther Lent's system was to get his pupils off the practice slopes as soon as possible and into the high mountains on trips. Skiing was not the way it is now, the spiral fracture had not become common then, and no one could afford a broken leg. There were no ski patrols. Anything you ran down from, yon had to climb up. That gave you legs that were fit to run down with.

施伦斯对邦比来说是个有利于健康的地方。有个黑发的漂亮女孩带他坐着雪橇出去晒太阳，照看着他。哈德莉和我可以体验整片新奇的乡村风景，还有一些新奇的村庄，镇上的人们也非常友好。高山滑雪先锋沃尔瑟·伦特先生开了一家阿尔卑斯山滑雪学校，我们俩都报了名。他曾经和著名的阿尔贝格山滑雪者汉尼斯·施耐德合伙制作登山滑雪板蜡和各种滑雪设备。沃尔瑟·伦特的做法就是让他的学生尽快脱离练习滑道，进入高山区旅行。那时的滑雪和现在不一样，那时骨折还不常见，没人敢拿自己的腿冒险。也没有滑雪巡逻队。不管你从哪儿滑下去，都得爬上来。这就让你练就了一双适于往下滑的腿。

Walther Lent believed the fun of skiing was to get up into the highest mountain country where there was no one else and where the snow was untracked and then travel from one high Alpine Club hut to another over the top passes and glaciers of the Alps. You must not have a binding[8] that could break your leg if you fell. The ski should come off before it broke your leg. What he really loved was unroped glacier skiing, but for that we had to wait until spring when the crevasses were sufficiently covered.

沃尔瑟·伦特认为，滑雪的乐趣就是到海拔最高、荒芜人迹、雪地尚未被人踩踏的山村，然后越过阿尔卑斯山顶的隘口和冰川，从阿尔卑斯山俱乐部的一个小屋到另一个小屋。你千万不能用皮靴固定装置，否则要是摔倒，腿就会摔折了。要让滑雪板脱落下来，免得弄折了腿。他真正深爱的是解开绳索在冰川上滑雪，但那得等到春天冰川裂隙被完全覆盖的时候。

Hadley and I had loved skiing since we had first tried it together in Switzerland and later at Cortina d'Ampezzo in the Dolomites when Bumby was going to be born and the doctor in Milan had given her permission to continue to ski if I would promise that she would not fall down. This took a very careful selection of terrain and of runs and absolutely controlled running, but she had beautiful, wonderfully strong legs and fine control of her skis, and she did not fall. We all knew the different snow conditions and everyone knew how to run in deep powder snow.

自从哈德莉和我第一次在瑞士尝试滑雪，我们就爱上了它。后来邦比出生前，米兰的医生同意哈德莉继续滑雪，只要我保证她不会摔跤，我们又在多洛米蒂山的科尔蒂纳丹佩佐滑雪。这就得精心挑选地形和滑道，滑行一定要有所控制，但她的腿不但漂亮而且十分矫健有力，能很好地控制滑雪板，她没有摔倒。我们都了解不同的雪地情况，知道怎么在深深的粉状雪上滑行。

We loved the Vorarlberg and we loved Schruns. We would go there about Thanksgiving time and stay until nearly Easter. There was always skiing even though Schruns was not high enough for a ski resort except in a winter of heavy snow. But climbing was fun and no one minded it in those days. You set a certain pace well under the speed at which you could climb, and it was easy and your heart felt good and you were proud of the weight of your rucksack. Part of the climb up to the Madlener-Haus was steep and very tough. But the second time you made that climb it was easier, and finally you made it easily with double the weight you had carried at first.

我们非常喜欢福拉尔贝格，也非常喜欢施伦斯。感恩节前后，我们就去那儿，一直呆到复活节临近。施伦斯海拔并不够高，除了冬天雪多的时候，并不适宜作为滑雪胜地，但总是有人来滑雪。登山是一件好玩的事，那时大家都不介意是否适合滑雪。把步伐调控在比登山慢很多的速度，这样就会很轻松，心脏也会觉得舒服，你还会因为帆布背包的重量感到自豪。登上玛德朗尔小屋有一段路非常陡峭，难度很大，但第二次攀登就轻松多了，最后你背的重量是最初的两倍却也能轻松地攀登。

We were always hungry and every meal time was a great event. We drank light or dark beer and new wines and wines that were a year old sometimes. The white wines were the best. For other drinks there was kirsch made in the valley and Enzian Schnapps distilled from mountain gentian. Sometimes for dinner there would be jugged hare with a rich red wine sauce, and sometimes venison with chestnut sauce. We would drink red wine with these even though it was more expensive than white wine, and the very best cost twenty cents a liter. Ordinary red wine was much cheaper and we packed it up in kegs to the Madlener-Haus.

我们总是感到饥饿，因此每一次就餐都是件大事。我们喝的是淡啤酒或黑啤，还有新酿的葡萄酒，有时是一年的陈葡萄酒。白葡萄酒是最佳的选择。其他的饮品有山谷当地酿造的樱桃酒和山上的龙胆根酿造的杜松子酒。有时候晚餐可以吃上浇着浓香红酒酱汁的瓦罐炖野兔肉，有时候是浇着栗子酱汁的鹿肉。享用这些美味时，我们选择喝红酒，尽管红酒比白酒贵，最好的红酒要二十美分一升。普通红酒要便宜得多，我们会用小酒桶装上一些带到玛德朗尔小屋。

We had a store of books that Sylvia Beach had let us take for the winter and we could bowl with the people of the town in the alley that gave onto the summer garden of the hotel. Once or twice a week there was a poker game in the dining room of the hotel with all the windows shuttered and the door locked. Gambling was forbidden in Austria then and I played with Herr Nels, the hotel keeper, Herr Lent of the Alpine ski school, a banker of the town, the public prosecutor and the captain of Gendarmerie. It was a stiff game and they were all good poker players except that Herr Lent played too wildly because the ski school was not making any money. The captain of Gendarmerie would raise his finger to his ear when he would hear the pair of gendarmes stop outside the door when they made their rounds, and we would be silent until they had gone on.

我们有很多书，是西尔维娅·比奇借给我们在这个冬天看的。我们还可以和镇上的人在通向旅馆避暑花园的小巷里玩滚球。旅馆的餐厅每周有一两次扑克游戏，那时所有的窗户都会关上，门也锁上。那时赌博在奥地利是被禁止的，我和旅馆老板内尔斯先生、阿尔卑斯山滑雪学校的兰特先生、镇上的一个银行家、检察官和宪兵队队长一起玩。这是一种挺费劲的游戏，但他们都玩得很好，但是兰特先生打得太疯狂了，因为滑雪学校一分钱也不挣。如果听到两个巡逻的宪兵在门外停下，宪兵队队长就举起手指贴在耳边，我们就不再作声，直到宪兵离去。

In the cold of the morning as soon as it was light the maid would come into the room and shut the windows and make a fire in the big porcelain stove. Then the room was warm, there was breakfast of fresh bread or toast with delicious fruit preserves and big bowls of coffee, fresh eggs and good ham if yon wanted it. There was a dog named Schnauz that slept on the foot of the bed who loved to go on ski trips and to ride on my back or over my shoulder when I ran down hill. He was Mr. Bumby's friend too and would go for walks with him and his nurse beside the small sleigh.

寒冷的清晨，天一亮女佣就会进房间，关上窗户，在大瓷炉里生起火，然后房间就暖和起来了。早餐是新鲜的面包或吐司，还有可口的水果蜜饯和大碗咖啡、新鲜的鸡蛋，如果需要的话还有上好的火腿。有一只叫施劳兹的狗睡在床脚边，他非常喜欢去滑雪，我滑下山的时候他喜欢骑在我背上或肩上。他也是邦比先生的朋友，总是跟在小雪橇旁边和他还有保姆一起去散步。

Schruns was a good place to work. I know because I did the most difficult job of rewriting I have ever done there in the winter of 1925 and 1926, when I had to take the first draft of The Sun Also Rises which I had written in one sprint of six weeks, and make it into a novel. I cannot remember what stories I wrote there. There were several though that turned out well.

施伦斯是个适合写作的好地方。我之所以知道这一点，是因为1925年和1926年冬天我在那儿完成了我所做过最难的修改工作，当时我不得不带上短短六周内匆匆写完的《太阳照常升起》的初稿，把它修改成小说。我不记得在那儿写了哪些小说，不过有几篇后来证明还不错。

I remember the snow on the road to the village squeaking at night when we walked home in the cold with our skis and ski poles on our shoulders, watching the lights and then finally seeing the buildings, and how everyone on the road said, "Grüss Gott." There were always country men in the Weinstube with nailed boots and mountain clothes and the air was smoky and the wooden floors were scarred by the nails. Many of the young men had served in Austrian Alpine regiments and one named Hans, who worked in the sawmill, was a famous hunter and we were good friends because we had been in the same part of the mountains in Italy. We drank together and we all sang mountain songs.

我记得晚上回村庄的路上，积雪咯吱咯吱地响。我们冒着严寒走路回家，肩上扛着滑雪板和滑雪杖，一路望着灯光，最后终于看到房屋。我还记得路上的每个人都说：“向上帝问好。”酒馆里总是有村里的人，他们穿着鞋底有齿钉的长靴和山地服，空气中弥漫着烟雾，木地板也被鞋钉划出一道道划痕。其中有很多年轻人曾经在奥地利阿尔卑斯山军团服过役，有一个叫汉斯的在锯木厂工作，是个鼎鼎有名的猎人。我们是好朋友，因为我们曾到过意大利境内的同一片山区。我们曾一起喝酒，而且我们都会唱山歌。

I remember the trails up through the orchards and the fields of the hillside farms above the village and the warm farm houses with their great stoves and the huge wood piles in the snow. The women worked in the kitchens carding and spinning wool into grey and black yarn. The spinning wheels worked by a foot treadle and the yarn was not dyed. The black yarn was from the wool of black sheep. The wool was natural and the fat had not been removed, and the caps and sweaters and long scarves that Hadley knitted from it never became wet in the snow.

我记得沿小径上行，穿过村子上方山坡农场的果园和田地，还有生着大火炉的温暖农屋，以及雪地上堆积的大堆木材。女人在厨房里忙活，把羊毛梳理好纺成灰色和黑色的纱线。手纺车是脚踏的，纱线也没被染色。黑色的纱线是用黑绵羊的毛纺的。羊毛是纯天然的，连油脂都没有剔除，哈德莉用它织的帽子、毛衣、长围巾在雪中从未打湿过。

One Christmas there was a play by Hans Sachs[9] that the school master directed. It was a good play and I wrote a review of it for the provincial paper that the hotel keeper translated. Another year a former German naval officer with a shaven head and scars came to give a lecture on the Battle of Jutland[10]. The lantern slides showed the movements of the two battle fleets and the naval officer used a billiard cue for a pointer when he pointed out the cowardice of Jellicoe[11] and sometimes he became so angry that his voice broke. The school master was afraid that he would stab the billiard cue through the screen. Afterwards the former naval officer could not quiet himself down and everyone was ill at ease in the Weinstube. Only the public prosecutor and the banker drank with him, and they were at a separate table. Herr Lent, who was a Rhinelander, would not attend the lecture. There was a couple from Vienna who had come for the skiing but who did not want to go to the high mountains and so were leaving for Zurs[12] where, I heard, they were killed in an avalanche. The man said the lecturer was the type of swine who had ruined Germany and in twenty years they would do it again. The woman with him told him to shut up in French and said this is a small place and you never know.

有一年圣诞节上演了一出由校长导演的汉斯·萨克斯的戏剧。这是一个很不错的戏剧，我还在当地的报纸上写了一篇剧评，由旅馆老板翻译出来。还有一年，一个剃着光头、带着伤疤的德国前海军军官来作了一个有关日德兰半岛战役的讲座。他用幻灯片展示了两支战舰是如何行动的，那位海军军官用台球棍当教鞭，指出杰利科的怯懦之处，有时他愤怒得连声音都变调了。校长担心他会拿台球棍把屏幕给戳穿。讲完之后，这位前海军军官还是无法平静下来，酒馆里的每个人都觉得局促不安。只有检察官和银行家和他喝酒，他们单独坐一张桌子。伦特先生是莱茵兰德人，他不愿参加这次讲座。有一对从维也纳来滑雪的夫妇，却不想去高山，所以离开这里，去了祖尔斯。我听说他们在那儿的一次雪崩中丧了命。那个男的说演讲者就是毁了德国的蠢猪，二十年后他们还会重蹈覆辙。同他在一起的那个女的用法语让他闭嘴，她说这是个小地方，世事难料。

That was the year that so many people were killed in avalanches. The first big loss was over the mountains from our valley in Lech in the Arlberg. A party of Germans wanted to come and ski with Herr Lent on their Christmas vacations. Snow was late that year and the hills and mountain slopes were still warm from the sun when a great snowfall came. The snow was deep and powdery and it was not bound to the earth at all. Conditions for skiing could not be more dangerous and Herr Lent had wired the Berliners not to come. But it was their vacation time and they were ignorant and had no fear of avalanches. They arrived at Lech and Herr Lent refused to take them out. One man called him a coward and they said they would ski by themselves. Finally he took them to the safest slope he could find. He crossed it himself and then they followed and the whole hillside came down in a rush, rising over them as a tidal wave rises. Thirteen were dug out and nine of them were dead. The Alpine ski school had not prospered before this, and afterwards we were almost the only members. We became great students of avalanches, the different types of avalanches, how to avoid them and how to behave if you were caught in one. Most of the writing that I did that year was in avalanche time.

就在那年，很多人都在雪崩中丧了命。第一次重大伤亡发生在阿尔贝格的莱希镇，就在我们所在那个山谷的山上。一群德国人想在圣诞节假期来和伦特先生滑雪。那年的雪下得晚，小山丘和大山坡在太阳的照耀下下仍然很暖和，就在那时一场大雪降临了。雪很深，但还是粉末状，完全没有与地面粘合到一起。这样的滑雪条件最危险不过了。伦特先生已经发电报让那些柏林人别来了，但那会儿正赶上他们的假期，他们对雪崩一无所知，也无所畏惧。他们到了莱希镇，但伦特先生拒绝带他们出去。其中一个人骂他懦夫，他们说要自己去滑雪。最后，伦特先生把他们带到他能找到的最安全的山坡。他自己越过山坡，他们随后跟上，整座山坡顷刻间崩塌，像涨潮一般汹涌而至，将他们淹没。十三个人被挖了出来，其中九个死了。发生雪崩之前阿尔卑斯山滑雪学校生意就不红火，发生雪崩之后我们几乎成了唯一的学员。我们成了研究雪崩的出色的学生，研究不同类型的雪崩，如何避免雪崩，还有遇上雪崩该怎么办。那年我的大部分作品都是在雪崩期间写的。

The worst thing I remember of that avalanche winter was one man who was dug out. He had squatted down and made a box with his arms in front of his head, as we had been taught to do, so that there would be air to breathe as the snow rose up over you. It was a huge avalanche and it took a long time to dig everyone out, and this man was the last to be found. He had not been dead long and his neck was worn through so that the tendons and the bone were visible. He had been turning his head from side to side against the pressure of the snow. In this avalanche there must have been some old, packed snow mixed in with the new light snow that had slipped. We could not decide whether he had done it on purpose or if he had been out of his head. He was refused burial in consecrated ground by the local priest anyway, since there was no proof he was a Catholic.

关于那年冬天的雪崩之灾我记得其中最悲惨的就是一个被挖出的男子。他死前曾蹲下，双臂环抱在头部前方形成一个箱状的空间，就像我们学的那样。这样积雪高过头时，就还有呼吸的空气。那是一场很大的雪崩，每挖出一个人来都花了很长时间，这个男子是最后才发现的。他刚断气不久，脖子折了，露出肌腱和骨头。在积雪的重压下，他曾不停地转动头部。这次雪崩中一定还有之前的一些积雪，混在刚刚下完滑落下来的轻薄的新雪中。我们无法确定他是有意这么扭头还是失去了理智。当地的牧师无论如何都拒绝将他埋在神圣的公墓，因为没有证据证明他是天主教教徒。

When we lived in Schruns we used to make a long trip up the valley to the inn where we slept before setting out on the climb to the Madlener- Haus. It was a very beautiful old inn and the wood of the walls of the room where we ate and drank were silky with the years of polishing. So were the table and chairs. We slept close together in the big bed under the feather quilt with the window open and the stars close and very bright. In the morning after breakfast we all loaded to go up the road and started the climb in the dark with the stars close and very bright, carrying our skis on our shoulders. The porters' skis were short and they carried heavy loads. We competed among ourselves as to who could climb with the heaviest loads, but no one could compete with the porters, squat sullen peasants who spoke only Montafon dialect, climbed steadily like pack horses and at the top, where the Alpine Club hut was built on a shelf beside the snow-covered glacier, shed their loads against the stone wall of the hut, asked for more money than the agreed price, and, when they had obtained a compromise, shot down and away on their short skis like gnomes.

我们住在施伦斯时经常长途跋涉登上山谷到一家客栈，在那儿睡一觉，然后出发登山前往玛德朗尔小屋。这是一家非常漂亮的老客栈，我们吃饭喝酒的那间屋子的木墙，经过年复一年的磨擦，已经变得如丝般光滑。桌椅也是这样。我们紧挨着睡在一张大床上，盖着羽绒被，窗户开着，星星离我们很近，非常明亮。早上吃完早饭，我们俩都背上装备上路，肩上扛着滑雪板，开始在黑暗中登山，星星离我们很近，非常明亮。搬运工的滑雪板很短，背的东西很沉。我们自己互相比赛，看谁能背着最重的东西登山，但没人能比得过搬运工。这些矮胖沉闷的农民只会说蒙塔丰方言，登山稳健得像驮马一样。到了山顶，阿尔卑斯山俱乐部小屋就建在积雪覆盖的冰川旁的一块大陆架上，他们靠着小屋的石墙卸下担子，开口索要比原先说好的价格更高的报酬，拿到一个折中价后，他们就踏上短滑雪板，像土地神一样箭一般地滑下山。

One of our friends was a German girl who skied with us. She was a great mountain skier, small and beautifully built, who could carry as heavy a rucksack as I could and carry it longer.

我们的朋友中有一个德国姑娘，她和我们一起滑雪。她是个出色的高山滑雪者，个子娇小，身材很好，能和我背起一样重的帆布背包，而且比我能背更长的时间。

"Those porters always look at us as though they looked forward to bringing us down as bodies," she said. "They set the price for the climb and I've never known them not to ask for more."

“那些搬运工看我们的眼神，总是像他们想背着我们的尸体下山，”她说，“他们定登山的价钱，可我从没听说他们不会再抬价了。”

In the winter in Schruns I wore a beard against the sun that burned my face so badly on the high snow, and did not bother having a haircut. Late one evening running on skis down the logging trails Herr Lent told me that peasants I passed on those roads above Schruns called me "the Black Christ." He said some, when they came to the Weinstube, called me "the Black Kirsch-drinking Christ." But to the peasants at the far upper end of the Montafon where we hired porters to go up to the Madlener-Haus, we were all foreign devils who went into the high mountains when people should stay out of them. That we started before daylight in order not to pass avalanche places when the sun could make them dangerous was not to our credit. It only proved we were tricky as all foreign devils are.

冬天在施伦斯，为了防止在高山的雪地上让阳光把脸灼伤，我蓄起了胡子，也不理发。一天傍晚很晚了，踩着滑雪板滑下伐木小道时，伦特先生告诉我，在施伦斯高处那些路上碰到的农民都管我叫“黑耶稣”。他说来酒馆的一些人还管我叫“喝樱桃酒的黑耶稣”。但是在蒙塔丰河谷顶上游的尽头，在我们雇来协助登上玛德朗尔小屋的搬运工看来，我们全是外国魔鬼，偏要在人们该远离高山区的时候还去那儿。为了在太阳可能使雪崩地段变得更危险时不从那儿经过，天还没亮我们就出发，可是这并没有赢得他们的赞扬，只是证明了我们和所有外国魔鬼一样诡计多端。

I remember the smell of the pines and the sleeping on the mattresses of beech leaves in the woodcutters' huts and the skiing through the forest following the tracks of hares and of foxes. In the high mountains above the tree line I remember following the track of a fox until I came in sight of him and watching him stand with his right forefoot raised and then go carefully to stop and then pounce, and the whiteness and the clutter of a ptarmigan bursting out of the snow and flying away and over the ridge.

我记得松树的芳香，记得睡在伐木工小屋里山毛榉树叶铺的床垫上，记得在森林中顺着野兔和狐狸踩出的小径滑雪。我还记得在林木线上方的高山上追寻一只狐狸的足迹，直到它闯入我的视野，看见它抬起右前腿站起来，然后小心翼翼地往前走，又停下，然后一个猛扑，只听一阵声，一只白色的松鸡突然飞窜出雪堆，越过山脊飞走了。

I remember all the kinds of snow that the wind could make and their different treacheries when you were on skis. Then there were the blizzards when you were in the high Alpine hut and the strange world that they would make where we had to make our route as carefully as though we had never seen the country. We had not, either, as it all was new. Finally towards spring there was the great glacier run, smooth and straight, forever straight if our legs could hold it, our ankles locked, we running so low, leaning into the speed, dropping forever and forever in the silent hiss of the crisp powder. It was better than any flying or anything else, and we built the ability to do it and to have it with the long climbs carrying the heavy rucksacks. We could not buy the trip up nor take a ticket to the top. It was the end we worked for all winter, and all the winter built to make it possible.

我记得风能吹成的各种形状的积雪，记得滑雪时它们带来的各种危险。在高高的阿尔卑斯山小屋时你还会赶上几场大风雪。在大风雪造成的陌生世界里，我们只好小心安排路线，就好像我们从未见过这个乡村一样。我们的确也没见过，因为它全变了。最后临近春天时，冰川滑道棒极了，既光滑又笔直。如果双腿能坚持住，脚踝不动，滑道就一直是笔直的。我们俯身滑行，倾身加快速度，在松脆的粉末积雪静谧的嘶嘶声中一直往下滑。这比任何飞行或别的什么都过瘾，而且锻炼了滑雪技能，也锻炼了我们背着沉重的帆布包长途登山的能力。我们不能花钱完成攀爬的旅程，也不能买票到达山顶。整个冬天我们所做的努力就是为了这个目的，而这一整个冬天也使它变得可能。

During our last year in the mountains new people came deep into our lives and nothing was ever the same again. The winter of the avalanches was like a happy and innocent winter in childhood compared to the next winter, a nightmare winter disguised as the greatest fun of all, and the murderous summer that was to follow. It was that year that the rich[13] showed up.

在山区的最后一年，一些新朋友走进了我们的生活，一切都变了。和第二年冬天相比，发生雪崩的那个冬天就像童年时快乐、天真的冬天。然而看似最好玩的第二年冬天，其实是一场噩梦，随之而来的还有那个凶险的夏天。正是那年，有钱人出现了。

The rich have a sort of pilot fish[14] who goes ahead of them, sometimes a little deaf, sometimes a little blind, but always smelling affable and hesitant ahead of them. The pilot fish talks like this: "Well I don't know. No, sof course not really. But I like them. I like them both. Yes, by God, Hem; I do like them. I see what you mean but I do like them truly and there's something damned fine about her." (He gives her name and pronounces it lovingly.) "No, Hem, don't be silly and don't be difficult. I like them truly. Both of them I swear it. You'll like him (using his baby-talk nickname) when you know him. I like them both, truly.”

有钱人由“引水鱼”引领而至。“引水鱼”有时有点儿聋，有时有点儿瞎，又有点儿犹豫不决地走在他们前面，但看起来总是和蔼可亲。“引水鱼”总是这么说：“这个……我不知道。不，当然不是真的不知道。但我喜欢他们。喜欢他们俩。是的，以上帝的名义，海姆；我确实喜欢他们。我知道你的意思，但我真的喜欢他们，她身上有种很美的气质。”（他说出了她的名字，念得可亲切了。）“不，海姆，别犯傻，也别难为我。我真的喜欢他们。我发誓，是他们俩。你了解他后也会喜欢他的（用的是他咿呀学语时的昵称）。我喜欢他们俩，真的。”

Then you have the rich and nothing is ever as it was again. The pilot fish leaves of course. He is always going somewhere, or coming from somewhere, and he is never around for very long. He enters and leaves politics or the theater in the same way he enters and leaves countries and people's lives in his early days. He is never caught and he is not caught by the rich. Nothing ever catches him and it is only those who trust him who are caught and killed. He has the irreplaceable early training of the bastard and a latent and long denied love of money. He ends up rich himself, having moved one dollar's width to the right with every dollar that he made.

接着你就认识了有钱人，然后一切都变了。“引水鱼”当然走了。他总是奔赴某个地方或从某个地方赶来，从不呆很长时间。他出入政界和戏剧界，就像他早年往来于各国和出入人们的生活一样。他从不会上当受骗，当然也从不上有钱人的当。谁也骗不了他，只有那些信任他的人才会上他的当，被他害惨了。他接受的早期训练教会他如何做一个卑鄙小人，以及如何一直掩饰对金钱的喜爱。他每挣一美元，就在正确的道路上前进一步，最后他发迹了。

These rich loved and trusted him because he was shy, comic, elusive, already in production, and because he was an unerring pilot fish.

有钱人不仅喜欢他，而且信任他，因为他腼腆、风趣、难以捉摸，已经有所作为，还因为他是从不出错的“引水鱼”。

When you have two people who love each other, are happy and gay and really good work is being done by one or both of them, people are drawn to them as surely as migrating birds are drawn at night to a powerful beacon. If the two people were as solidly constructed as the beacon there would be little damage except to the birds. Those who attract people by their happiness and their performance are usually inexperienced. They do not know how not to be overrun and how to go away. They do not always learn about the good, the attractive, the charming, the soon-beloved, the generous, the understanding rich who have no bad qualities and who give each day the quality of a festival and who, when they have passed and taken the nourishment they needed, leave everything deader than the roots of any grass Attila's[15] horses' hooves have ever scoured.

对于两个彼此相爱、幸福快乐的人，他们中的一个人或两个人都正创作着真正优秀的作品，人们肯定会被他们吸引，就像候鸟在夜间被明亮的灯塔吸引一样。如果这两个人关系稳固得像灯塔一般，除了候鸟会受到伤害，也不会造成别的什么伤害。那些以自己的幸福和成就来吸引别人的人通常是缺乏经验的。他们不知道如何避免超出限度，以及如何脱身。他们并不是向来就了解善良、迷人、很快就深受喜爱、慷慨大方、善解人意的有钱人，这些有钱人没有坏毛病，每天都过得像节日一样，他们途经某处汲取了所需的养分，留下的东西比阿提拉的马蹄踩踏过的草根更了无生气。

The rich came led by the pilot fish. A year before they would never have come. There was no certainty then. The work was as good and the happiness was greater but no novel had been written, so they could not be sure. They never wasted their time nor their charm on something that was not sure. Why should they? Picasso was sure and of course had been before they had ever heard of painting. They were very sure of another painter. Many others. But this year they were sure and they had the word from the pilot fish who turned up too so we would not feel that they were outlanders and that I would not be difficult. The pilot fish was our friend of course.

有钱人由“引水鱼”带来了。一年前他们是不会来的。那时候一切都还不确定。写作进展不错，幸福感也更强，但小说还没有写出来，所以他们无法确定。他们从不对不确定的事枉费时间和魅力。他们为什么要枉费心机呢？毕加索是确定的，而且当然在他们听说油画前就是确定的。他们非常确定的还有另一位画家。还有其他很多画家。但今年他们非常确定，他们从同时露面的“引水鱼”那儿得到担保，这样我们就不会觉得他们是局外人，我也不会为难他们了。当然“引水鱼”是我们的朋友。

In those days I trusted the pilot fish as I would trust the Corrected Hydrographic Office Sailing Directions for the Mediterranean, say, or the tables in Brown's Nautical Almanac. Under the charm of these rich I was as trusting and as stupid as a bird dog who wants to go out with any man with a gun, or a trained pig in circus who has finally found someone who loves and appreciates him for himself alone. That every day should be a fiesta seemed to me a marvelous discovery. I even read aloud the part of the novel that I had rewritten, which is about as low as a writer can get and much more dangerous for him as a writer than glacier skiing unroped before the full winter snowfall has set over the crevices.

那些日子，我非常相信“引水鱼”，就像我相信《水文局地中海航行指南修正本》或《布朗航海年鉴》一样。在这些有钱人的魅力的影响下，我轻信他人、愚蠢至极，就像一只猎犬一样，愿意跟任何一个拿着枪的人出去，或者像马戏团一头受训的猪终于找到了一个爱他并欣赏他的人一样。每天都应该过得像节日一样，这在我看来似乎是个不可思议的发现。我甚至大声朗读修改完的小说，这几乎是一个作家可能做的最低俗的事情，而对于一个作家而言，这比在整个冬天的降雪还未盖上冰面裂隙之前就不系绳索在冰川上滑雪还危险。

When they said, "It's great, Ernest. Truly it's great. You cannot know the thing it has," I wagged my tail in pleasure and plunged into the fiesta concept of life to see if I could not bring some fine attractive stick back, instead of thinking, "If these bastards like it what is wrong with it?" That was what I would think if I had been functioning as a professional although, if I had been functioning as a professional, I would never have read it to them.

当他们说“好极了，欧内斯特。真的好极了。你可不知道它的价值”，我就得意洋洋地摇着尾巴，一头扎入节日般的生活意境之中，看看能否带回一些肉多诱人的骨头，而根本不想想“如果这些家伙喜欢它，是出什么问题了呢？”如果我像职业作家那么工作的话，这就是我该想到的，尽管我要是真像职业作家那么工作的话，我就根本不会读给他们听了。

Before these rich had come we had already been infiltrated by another rich using the oldest trick there is. It is that an unmarried young woman[16] becomes the temporary best friend of another young woman who is married, goes to live with the husband and wife and then unknowingly, innocently and unrelentingly sets out to marry the husband. When the husband is a writer and doing difficult work so that he is occupied much of the time and is not a good companion or partner to his wife for a big part of the day, the arrangement has advantages until you know how it works out. The husband has two attractive girls around when he has finished work. One is new, and strange and if he has bad luck he gets to love them both.

有钱人到来之前，另一个有钱人已经通过最古老的伎俩混入了我们当中。就这样，一个未婚年轻女子暂时成了另一个已婚年轻女子最好的朋友，和夫妇俩住在一起，然后不知不觉地、天真又无情地计划着和这位丈夫结婚。作为作家的丈夫正在艰难地写东西，因此时间大多被写作给占据了，一天当中大部分时间都不能好好陪着妻子或作一个好伴侣。这样的安排有些好处，直到你发现这样做的后果：完成作品后，丈夫身边有两个迷人的女孩。一个是刚认识的、陌生的，如果运气不佳，她们两个他都会爱。

Then, instead of the two of them and their child, there are three of them. First it is stimulating and fun and it goes on that way for a while. All things truly wicked start from an innocence. So you live day by day and enjoy what you have and do not worry. You lie and hate it and it destroys you and every day is more dangerous, but you live day to day as in a war.

然后，就成了他们三个人加一个孩子，而不是他们夫妇俩和他们的孩子。开始的时候很刺激很好玩，这样持续了一段时间。所有真正邪恶的事都始于无知。你一天天过着日子，享受着拥有的一切，无忧无虑。你谎话连天，厌恶这样的生活，因为它把你毁了，而且一天比一天危险，你日复一日就像生活在战争中一样。

It was necessary that I leave Schruns and go to New York to rearrange publishers. I did my business in New York and when I got back to Paris I should have caught the first train from the Gare de l'Est that would take me down to Austria. But the girl I was in love with was in Paris then, and I did not take the first train, or the second or the third.

我必须要离开施伦斯，到纽约更换出版商。在纽约办完了事，回到巴黎，我本该从火车东站坐第一班火车去奥地利，但我爱上的那个女孩当时在巴黎，所以我没有坐第一班火车，也没有坐第二班或第三班。

When I saw my wife again standing by the tracks as the train came in by the piled logs at the station, I wished I had died before I ever loved anyone but her. She was smiling, the sun on her lovely face tanned by the snow and sun, beautifully built, her hair red gold in the sun, grown out all winter awkwardly and beautifully, and Mr. Bumby standing with her, blond and chunky and with winter cheeks looking like a good Vorarlberg boy.

火车进站经过原木堆，我再次见到了妻子，她就站在铁轨旁。我真希望我已经死去，并且在死前除了她没有爱上过别人。她微笑着，阳光照在她那张被雪地阳光晒成麦色的可爱的脸，美丽的身段，好不容易留了一整个冬天的漂亮头发在阳光下呈金红色。小邦比站在她身旁，金色的头发，结实的身体，冬天使他的脸蛋看起来像个福拉尔贝格男孩。

"Oh Tatie," she said, when I was holding her in my arms, "you're back and you made such a fine successful trip. I love you and we've missed you so."

我把她拥入怀中。“哦，塔蒂，”她说，“你一路顺利，终于回来了。我爱你，我们一直很想你。”

I loved her and I loved no one else and we had a lovely magic time while we were alone. I worked well and we made great trips, and I thought we were invulnerable again, and it wasn't until we were out of the mountains in late spring, and back in Paris that the other thing started again.

我爱她，我没有爱过别人，我们单独在一起的时候度过了一段无比美好的时光。我努力写作，我们一起到处旅行。我以为我们的关系再次牢不可破了，但这只维系到暮春我们离开山区。回到巴黎，另一件事又开始了。

That was the end of the first part of Paris. Paris was never to be the same again although it was always Paris and you changed as it changed. We never went back to the Vorarlberg and neither did the rich.

这就是巴黎第一段生活的结束。巴黎不再一样了，虽然她永远是巴黎。她变了，你也变了。我们再也没有回过福拉尔贝格，有钱人也没有。

There is never any ending to Paris and the memory of each person who has lived in it differs from that of any other. We always returned to it no matter who we were or how it was changed or with what difficulties, or ease, it could be reached. Paris was always worth it and you received return for whatever you brought to it. But this is how Paris was in the early days when we were very poor and very happy.

巴黎永远不会结束。每个在此生活过的人都有着和别人不一样的记忆。无论我们是谁，巴黎如何改变，无论身处何种困境，或生活多么安逸，我们都会回去，她是可以触摸得到的。巴黎永远值得你回去，无论你给她带来什么，你都会有所回报。但这是早年我们非常穷困却无比快乐时巴黎的样子。

(1)丘纳德，英国船主塞缪尔·丘纳德（1787—1865）创立的以自己名字命名的轮船公司，他参与建立了大西洋第一条定期客运航运线。

(2)哈利法克斯，加拿大新斯科舍省省会，大西洋沿岸港口城市。

(3)施伦斯，位于奥地利福拉尔贝格州布登茨的一个村庄。

(4)列支敦士登，阿尔卑斯山脉瑞士和奥地利之间的独立小公国，官方语言德语。

(5)锡尔夫雷塔山，阿尔卑斯山脉中东部的山脉，跨越瑞士蒂罗尔州和瑞典格劳宾登州。

(6)克洛斯特斯，瑞士东部阿尔卑斯山冬季运动胜地，紧邻奥地利的边界。

(7)阿尔贝格山，跨越奥地利福拉尔贝格州和蒂罗尔州的山脉。

(8)为使滑雪靴牢固而在雪橇上设置的扣拴。

(9)汉斯·萨克斯（1494—1576），德国诗人、剧作家。他的某些诗赞美路德，促进了新教事业。

(10)日德兰半岛，欧洲西北部半岛，构成丹麦的大陆部分和德国北部的石勒苏益格荷尔斯泰因州。

(11)杰利科（1859—1935)，英国海军上将，日德兰战役中主舰队的总指挥。

(12)祖尔斯，奥地利福拉尔贝格州滑雪胜地。

(13)指前文提到过的墨菲夫妇。

(14)引水鱼，一种小且细长的海水鱼，也叫舟，常成群地随着大鱼游，特别是鲨鱼和蝠鲼鱼。这里指的是作家多斯·帕多斯，他把墨菲夫妇介绍给海明威认识，海明威将后来他和哈德莉婚姻的破裂归罪于他。

(15)阿提拉（约406—453），匈奴国王（434—453在位），劫掠了莱茵河与里海之间的大片土地，451年在沙隆被罗马与西哥特人的联合军队击败。

(16)指《时尚》杂志的编辑波琳，海明威的第二任妻子。

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Table of Contents

A Good Café On The Place St. Michel

圣米歇尔广场上一家不错的咖啡馆

Miss Stein Instructs

斯泰因小姐的教诲

"Une Génération Perdue"

“迷惘的一代”

Shakespeare And Company

“莎士比亚之友”书店

People Of The Seine

塞纳河畔的人们

A False Spring

假想的春天

The End Of An Avocation

一项业余爱好的结束

Hunger Was Good Discipline

饥饿是可贵的锻炼

Ford Madox Ford And The Devil'S Disciple

福特·马多克斯·福特和魔鬼的信徒

Birth Of A New School

一个新学派的诞生

With Pascin At The Déme

在圆顶咖啡馆和帕散在一起

Ezra Pound And His Bel Esprit

埃兹拉·庞德和他的“才子”

A Strange Enough Ending

一个很奇怪的结局

The Man Who Was Marked For Death

一个带着死亡征兆的人

Evan Shipman At The Lilas

丁香园咖啡馆里的埃文·希普曼

An Agent Of Evil

邪恶的化身

Scott Fitzgerald

司各特·菲茨杰拉德

Hawks Do Not Share

老鹰不善分享

A Matter Of Measurements

一个大小的问题

There Is Never Any End To Paris

巴黎永不灭