第十九章|Chapter XIX
我事先没告诉斯特罗伊夫我要到巴黎来，当我按响他画室的门铃后，他本人过来开的门，他没有马上认出我来。随后，他惊喜地喊叫起来，一把把我拉进了屋里。受到如此热切的欢迎是件很开心的事。他的妻子坐在炉子边做着针线活，当我进来时，她站起身来。斯特罗伊夫向她介绍我。
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I had not announced my arrival to Stroeve, and when I rang the bell of his studio, on opening the door himself, for a moment he did not know me. Then he gave a cry of delighted surprise and drew me in.It was charming to be welcomed with so much eagerness.His wife was seated near the stove at her sewing, and she rose as I came in.He introduced me.
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“你不记得了吗？”他对她说，“我以前经常跟你谈起他。”随后又转向我：“你干吗不提前告诉我你要来这儿？你来这儿多久了？打算待到什么时候？为什么你不早来一个小时，我们一起吃晚饭？”
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“Don’t you remember？”he said to her.“I’ve talked to you about him often.”And then to me：“But why didn’t you let me know you were coming？How long have you been here？How long are you going to stay？Why didn’t you come an hour earlier, and we would have dined together？”
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他连珠炮似的向我发问，把我安顿到一把椅子上，不住地拍打我的肩膀，好像我是个坐垫一样，把雪茄塞到我手上，又是让我吃小点心，又是让我喝葡萄酒。他一刻也不让我得闲。因为发现家里没有威士忌酒了，他难过得不得了，又想着给我煮咖啡，绞尽脑汁想尽可能地为我做点什么。他容光焕发，满脸是笑，仿佛每个汗毛孔都洋溢着快乐。
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He bombarded me with questions. He sat me down in a chair, patting me as though I were a cushion, pressed cigars upon me, cakes, wine.He could not leave me alone.He was heart-broken because he had no whisky, wanted to make coffee for me, racked his brain for something he could possibly do for me, and beamed and laughed, and in the exuberance of his delight sweated at every pore.
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“你一点儿没变。”我边打量着他，边笑着说。
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“You haven’t changed，”I said, smiling, as I looked at him.
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他还是我记忆中的那副可笑的模样。他是个矮胖的男人，两条小短腿，还是很年轻——他可能还不到三十岁——但是过早地秃顶了。他的脸滚圆，面色红润，皮肤很白，脸颊红通通，双唇也很红，眼睛也是又蓝又圆。他戴着一副大的金边眼镜，眉毛很淡，以至于都看不见它们。他的形象使你想到了鲁本斯画笔下快乐的肥胖商人。
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He had the same absurd appearance that I remembered. He was a fat little man, with short legs, young still-he could not have been more than thirty-but prematurely bald.His face was perfectly round, and he had a very high colour, a white skin, red cheeks, and red lips.His eyes were blue and round too, he wore large gold-rimmed spectacles, and his eyebrows were so fair that you could not see them.He reminded you of those jolly, fat merchants that Rubens painted.
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我告诉他我打算在巴黎住上一段时间，已经租了一间小公寓。他狠狠地责怪了我一番，说为什么不早点儿告诉他，也许他自己会帮我找一间更好的公寓，还可以借给我家居用品——难道我真的花了一大笔冤枉钱去买这些东西了吗？——而且他还可以帮我搬家。
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When I told him that I meant to live in Paris for a while, and had taken an apartment, he reproached me bitterly for not having let him know. He would have found me an apartment himself, and lent me furniture-did I really mean that I had gone to the expense of buying it？-and he would have helped me to move in.
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他真的觉得我不够意思，因为我没有给他机会让他来帮一下我。与此同时，斯特罗伊夫太太坐在那儿安安静静地补袜子，一句话也没说，嘴角上挂着静静的微笑，在听斯特罗伊夫滔滔不绝地唠叨着。
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He really looked upon it as unfriendly that I had not given him the opportunity of making himself useful to me.Meanwhile, Mrs.Stroeve sat quietly mending her stockings, without talking, and she listened to all he said with a quiet smile on her lips.
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“你瞧，我结婚了，”他突然说，“你觉得我太太怎么样？”
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“So, you see, I’m married，”he said suddenly；“what do you think of my wife？”
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他笑容满面地看着她，推了推鼻梁上的眼镜，汗水使它不停地往下滑。
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He beamed at her, and settled his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. The sweat made them constantly slip down.
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“你叫我怎么回答你的问题呢？”我笑着说。
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“What on earth do you expect me to say to that？”I laughed.
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“可不是嘛，迪尔柯。”斯特罗伊夫太太笑着插话道。
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“Really, Dirk，”put in Mrs. Stroeve, smiling.
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“可是你不觉得她太棒了吗？我告诉你，老朋友，别再耽误了，也赶紧结婚吧。我现在是世界上最幸福的人了。你看她坐在那儿，这难道不就是幅活生生的画吗？像不像夏尔丹的画啊？我见过世界上所有的漂亮女人，可从来没见过哪个女人比迪尔柯·斯特罗伊夫太太更美丽。”
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“But isn’t she wonderful？I tell you, my boy, lose no time；get married as soon as ever you can. I’m the happiest man alive.Look at her sitting there.Doesn’t she make a picture？Chardin, eh？I’ve seen all the most beautiful women in the world；I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful than Madame Dirk Stroeve.”
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“如果你还不住嘴，我可要走了。”
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“If you don’t be quiet, Dirk, I shall go away.”
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“我的小乖乖。”他说道。
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“Mon petit chou，”he said.
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她有点脸红了，为他语气中的激情而难为情。斯特罗伊夫曾在他的多封信中告诉我，他非常爱他的妻子。现在我也能看出他的目光几乎片刻不离她的左右。我不能确定她是否爱他。这个可怜的傻瓜，他不是个能激起女人爱情的人，但是在她眼里的微笑是含着爱意的，也可能她的矜持掩盖了她深深的感情。
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She flushed a little, embarrassed by the passion in his tone. His letters had told me that he was very much in love with his wife, and I saw that he could hardly take his eyes off her.I could not tell if she loved him.Poor pantaloon, he was not an object to excite love, but the smile in her eyes was affectionate, and it was possible that her reserve concealed a very deep feeling.
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她不是倾国倾城的美女，可他就是情人眼里出西施，但是她却有一种端庄的秀美。她的个头不低，一身剪裁得体的朴素衣衫掩盖不住她美丽的身段。她的这种身材可能对雕塑家比服装商更有吸引力。
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She was not the ravishing creature that his love-sick fancy saw, but she had a grave comeliness.She was rather tall, and her gray dress, simple and quite well-cut, did not hide the fact that her figure was beautiful.It was a figure that might have appealed more to the sculptor than to the costumier.
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她的头发是褐色的，而且很浓密，发式很简单；她的脸色很苍白，五官周正而不是那么惊艳；她有一双灰色的眼睛。她差一点就与美貌失之交臂，也许就是差这么一点儿，连漂亮也称不上了。
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Her hair, brown and abundant, was plainly done, her face was very pale, and her features were good without being distinguished.She had quiet grey eyes.She just missed being beautiful, and in missing it was not even pretty.
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但是，斯特罗伊夫把她比作夏尔丹画笔下的人物也并非没有道理，她让我好奇地想起了那位伟大画家笔下不朽的人物形象——欢快的家庭主妇戴着女式帽子，腰间围着围裙。
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But when Stroeve spoke of Chardin it was not without reason, and she reminded me curiously of that pleasant housewife in her mob-cap and apron whom the great painter has immortalized.
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我能想象她安静地在锅碗瓢盆中忙碌着，像执行仪式一般做着家务，从而赋予这些家务一种崇高意义。我不认为她聪明或者活泼有趣，但是在她庄重与专注的神情里有某种说不上的东西，激起了我的兴趣，她的矜持中也有一种神秘感。
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I could imagine her sedately busy among her pots and pans, making a ritual of her household duties, so that they acquired a moral signifcance；I did not suppose that she was clever or could ever be amusing, but there was something in her grave intentness which excited my interest.Her reserve was not without mystery.
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我很好奇她为什么会嫁给了迪尔柯·斯特罗伊夫，虽说她是英国人，但我无法确切地给她定位，她出身于怎样的社会阶层，有什么样的教养，或者在婚前她的生活状态是什么样的，这些都不是很明显。她的话不多，可一旦说起话来，声音很悦耳，举止也很自然。
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I wondered why she had married Dirk Stroeve. Though she was English, I could not exactly place her, and it was not obvious from what rank in society she sprang, what had been her upbringing, or how she had lived before her marriage.She was very silent, but when she spoke it was with a pleasant voice, and her manners were natural.
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我问斯特罗伊夫现在是否还在画画。
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I asked Stroeve if he was working.
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“画画？我现在画得可比以前好多了。”
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“Working？I’m painting better than I’ve ever painted before.”
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我们正坐在画室里，他手一挥，让我看画架上一幅尚未完成的画作。我有点吃惊，他正在画一组意大利的农民，他们穿着坎帕尼亚大区传统的服装，在罗马教堂的台阶上懒洋洋地斜躺着。
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We sat in the studio, and he waved his hand to an unfinished picture on an easel. I gave a little start.He was painting a group of Italian peasants, in the costume of the Campagna, lounging on the steps of a Roman church.
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“这是你现在正在画的？”我问道。
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“Is that what you’re doing now？”I asked.
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“是的，我在这儿也跟在罗马一样能找到模特儿。”
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“Yes. I can get my models here just as well as in Rome.”
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“你难道不认为他画得很美吗？”斯特罗伊夫太太问道。
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“Don’t you think it’s very beautiful？”said Mrs. Stroeve.
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“我的傻夫人认为我是个了不起的艺术家。”他说道。
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“This foolish wife of mine thinks I’m a great artist，”said he.
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他表示歉意的笑声掩饰不住内心的喜悦。他的目光停留在自己的画上。当斯特罗伊夫评价别人的作品时，他批判性的感觉非常准确和不拘一格，而对自己的作品，尽管陈腐平凡，俗不可耐，他却自鸣得意，沾沾自喜，这真叫人不可思议。
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His apologetic laugh did not disguise the pleasure that he felt. His eyes lingered on his picture.It was strange that his critical sense, so accurate and unconventional when he dealt with the work of others, should be satisfied in himself with what was hackneyed and vulgar beyond belief.
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“把你更多的画作给他看看吧。”她说道。
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“Show him some more of your pictures，”she said.
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“我要拿出来吗？”
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“Shall I？”
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虽然迪尔柯·斯特罗伊夫遭受了那么多来自他朋友们的讽刺挖苦，但还是渴望别人的赞许和有着很幼稚的自我满足，无法抑制展示他作品的冲动。他又拿出了一幅画，画上两个卷毛头发的意大利顽童正在玩弹子游戏。
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Though he had suffered so much from the ridicule of his friends, Dirk Stroeve, eager for praise and na?vely self-satisfied, could never resist displaying his work.He brought out a picture of two curly-headed Italian urchins playing marbles.
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“他们不是很可爱吗？”斯特罗伊夫问道。
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“Aren’t they sweet？”said Mrs. Stroeve.
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接下来，他又给我看了更多的画。我发现即使在巴黎，他也还是一直在画那些陈腐不堪、花里胡哨的画，和他多年前在罗马时画的别无二致。这些画看上去都很虚假、缺乏真诚、劣质鄙俗，但是从做人上，没有谁能比得上迪尔柯·斯特罗伊夫那样的诚实、真挚和直率。世上有谁能解决得了这种矛盾呢？
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And then he showed me more. I discovered that in Paris he had been painting just the same stale, obviously picturesque things that he had painted for years in Rome.It was all false, insincere, shoddy；and yet no one was more honest, sincere, and frank than Dirk Stroeve.Who could resolve the contradiction？
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我不知道为什么脑子里突然冒出了一个问题，于是问道：
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I do not know what put it into my head to ask：
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“我说，你是否碰巧遇到过一个叫查尔斯·斯特里克兰的画家？”
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“I say, have you by any chance run across a painter called Charles Strickland？”
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“你的意思不是说你认识他吧？”斯特罗伊夫喊道。
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“You don’t mean to say you know him？”cried Stroeve.
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“那人是个畜生。”他的妻子说道。
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“Beast，”said his wife.
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斯特罗伊夫笑了笑。
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Stroeve laughed.
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“我可怜的宝贝。”他走到她的身边，拿起她的双手吻了一下。“她不喜欢他。你竟然认识斯特里克兰，这是多么奇怪的事呀！”
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“Ma pauvre chérie.”He went over to her and kissed both her hands.“She doesn’t like him.How strange that you should know Strickland！”
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“我就是不喜欢不懂礼貌的人。”斯特罗伊夫太太说道。
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“I don’t like bad manners，”said Mrs. Stroeve.
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迪尔柯仍然在笑着，转过身对我解释说：
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Dirk, laughing still, turned to me to explain.
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“你知道，有一天我请他来这儿，想给他看看我的画。他来了，我给他看了我所有的画。”
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“You see, I asked him to come here one day and look at my pictures. Well, he came, and I showed him everything I had.”
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斯特罗伊夫尴尬地迟疑了一会儿，我不知道为什么他又开始讲述让他难堪的往事了；他觉得很难为情地讲完了它。“他看了看我的画作，什么也没说。我以为他要保留他的判断直到看完所有的才说。最后，我说：‘瞧，就是这些了！’他却说：‘我来是想让你借我二十法郎。’”
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Stroeve hesitated a moment with embarrassment.I do not know why he had begun the story against himself；he felt an awkwardness at finishing it.“He looked at-at my pictures, and he didn’t say anything.I thought he was reserving his judgement till the end.And at last I said：‘There, that’s the lot！’He said：‘I came to ask you to lend me twenty francs.’”
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“迪尔柯还真就给他了。”他的妻子愤怒地说。
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“And Dirk actually gave it him，”said his wife indignantly.
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“我被吓了一跳，我不喜欢拒绝别人。他把钱放进兜里，仅仅点了点头，说了声‘谢谢！’，然后就走了。”
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“I was so taken aback. I didn’t like to refuse.He put the money in his pocket, just nodded, said‘Thanks，’and walked out.”
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迪尔柯·斯特罗伊夫在讲这件事的时候，他那圆圆的、傻里傻气的脸上挂着茫然而惊诧的神情，由不得你不想笑出声来。
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Dirk Stroeve, telling the story, had such a look of blank astonishment on his round, foolish face that it was almost impossible not to laugh.
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“如果他说我的画不好，我不会介意的，可他什么也没说——一个字都没说。”
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“I shouldn’t have minded if he’d said my pictures were bad, but he said nothing-nothing.”
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“你还有脸说这事，迪尔柯。”他的妻子说道。
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“And you will tell the story, Dirk，”Said his wife.
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可悲的是，无论是谁听了这个故事，都会被这个荷兰人所扮演的滑稽可笑的人物逗乐，而不会对斯特里克兰对待他的粗暴行为生气。
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It was lamentable that one was more amused by the ridiculous figure cut by the Dutchman than outraged by Strickland’s brutal treatment of him.
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“我希望我一辈子也不会再见到他。”斯特罗伊夫太太说道。
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“I hope I shall never see him again，”said Mrs. Stroeve.
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斯特罗伊夫笑起来，耸了耸肩膀。他已经恢复了好脾气。
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Stroeve smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He had already recovered his good-humour.
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“事实上他是个了不起的艺术家，一个非常伟大的艺术家。”
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“The fact remains that he’s a great artist, a very great artist.”
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“你是说斯特里克兰吗？”我叫道，“我们说的一定不是同一个人。”
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“Strickland？”I exclaimed.“It can’t be the same man.”
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“身材高大，留着红胡须，查尔斯·斯特里克兰，一个英国佬。”
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“A big fellow with a red beard. Charles Strickland.An English-man.”
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“当我认识他时，他还没有胡须，但如果留起了胡须，那一定会是红色的。我正在谈到的这个人仅仅在五年前才开始画画。”
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“He had no beard when I knew him, but if he has grown one it might well be red. The man I’m thinking of only began painting five years ago.”
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“那就对了，他是个伟大的艺术家。”
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“That’s it. He’s a great artist.”
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“不可能。”
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“Impossible.”
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“我可曾有过看走眼的时候？”迪尔柯问我，“我告诉你他是个天才，我对此深信不疑，一百年之后如果还有人能记起你和我，那完全是因为我们认识查尔斯·斯特里克兰的缘故。”
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“Have I ever been mistaken？”Dirk asked me.“I tell you he has genius. I’m convinced of it.In a hundred years, if you and I are remembered at all, it will be because we knew Charles Strickland.”
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我很吃惊，与此同时，我又万分激动，我突然回忆起了我最后一次和他谈话时的情景。
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I was astonished, and at the same time I was very much excited. I remembered suddenly my last talk with him.
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“从哪儿可以看到他的作品？”我问，“他出了名没有？他现在住在哪儿？”
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“Where can one see his work？”I asked.“Is he having any success？Where is he living？”
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“不，他还没出名。我认为他还没卖出过一张画。当你同别人说起他时，他们只会嘲笑他。不过我知道他是个伟大的艺术家。毕竟，他们还嘲笑过马奈呢。柯罗也是一张画没卖掉过。我不知道他住在哪里，但我能带你见到他，每天晚上七点钟，他都会到克里舍大街的一家咖啡馆去。如果你愿意，我们明天可以去那里。”
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“No；he has no success. I don’t think he’s ever sold a picture.When you speak to men about him they only laugh.But I know he’s a great artist.After all, they laughed at Manet.Corot never sold a picture.I don’t know where he lives, but I can take you to see him.He goes to a café in the Avenue de Clichy at seven o’clock every evening.If you like we’ll go there tomorrow.”
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“我不敢肯定他是否愿意见我，我想我会让他记起一段他更愿意忘记的时光。但我还是会去的。有没有可能见到他的任何画作呢？”
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“I’m not sure if he’ll wish to see me. I think I may remind him of a time he prefers to forget.But I’ll come all the same.Is there any chance of seeing any of his pictures？”
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“从他那儿不太可能。他不会给你看的。有一个我认识的小画商，他那儿有那么两三幅。但必须由我陪你去才行，要不你不会理解他的画的，我必须亲自给你讲解一下。”
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“Not from him. He won’t show you a thing.There’s a little dealer I know who has two or three.But you mustn’t go without me；you wouldn’t understand.I must show them to you myself.”
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“迪尔柯，你简直让我没耐心了，”斯特罗伊夫太太说，“他那么对待你，你怎么还这样谈论他的画作？”她又转向我说：“你知道吗，当一些荷兰人来这儿要买迪尔柯的画时，他总劝说他们去买斯特里克兰的画。他还坚持把斯特里克兰的画弄到这儿来给他们展示。”
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“Dirk, you make me impatient，”said Mrs. Stroeve.“How can you talk like that about his pictures when he treated you as he did？”She turned to me.“Do you know, when some Dutch people came here to buy Dirk’s pictures he tried to persuade them to buy Strickland’s？He insisted on bringing them here to show.”
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“那你又是怎么看待斯特里克兰的画的？”我笑着问她。
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“What did you think of them？”I asked her, smiling.
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“那些画糟糕透顶。”
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“They were awful.”
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“啊，亲爱的，你不懂。”
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“Ah, sweetheart, you don’t understand.”
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“那好，可你的那些荷兰同胞都对你大为光火，他们认为你正在跟他们开玩笑。”
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“Well, your Dutch people were furious with you. They thought you were having a joke with them.”
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迪尔柯·斯特罗伊夫摘下了眼镜，把它们擦干净，他的红脸膛因为激动而发光。
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Dirk Stroeve took off his spectacles and wiped them. His fushed face was shining with excitement.
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“为什么你认为美——世界上最珍贵的东西——就像岸边的石头一样，让漫不经心的路人随随便便就能捡起来呢？美是一种绝妙和奇异的东西，艺术家通过心灵的折磨，在世界的一片混乱中才能找出来。
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“Why should you think that beauty, which is the most precious thing in the world, lies like a stone on the beach for the careless passer-by to pick up idly？Beauty is something wonderful and strange that the artist fashions out of the chaos of the world in the torment of his soul.
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当他把美创造出来以后，并非所有的人都能知道它。如果你想辨别出它，你必须重复艺术家的冒险。他歌唱给你的是美的旋律，你的内心若想再次听到它，就需要有知识、敏感和想象。”
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And when he has made it, it is not given to all to know it.To recognize it you must repeat the adventure of the artist.It is a melody that he sings to you, and to hear it again in your own heart you want knowledge and sensitiveness and imagination.”
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“那为什么我总是认为你的画作是美的，迪尔柯？正是当我第一次看到它们时，我就深深地喜爱上它们了。”
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“Why did I always think your pictures beautiful, Dirk？I admired them the very frst time I saw them.”
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斯特罗伊夫的嘴唇颤动了一下。
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Stroeve’s lips trembled a little.
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“去睡吧，我亲爱的，我要陪我的朋友出去走走，随后我就回来。”
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“Go to bed, my precious. I will walk a few steps with our friend, and then I will come back.”
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eagerness [’iːgənɪs] |
n.渴望;热心 |
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sewing [’səʊɪŋ] |
n.缝纫;缝制物, |
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earlier [’ɜːlɪə] |
adj.早的;初期的 |
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dine [daɪn] |
v.用正餐;进餐 |
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bombard [bɒm’bɑːd] |
v.炮轰;攻击;【核】以高速粒子撞击 |
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Pat [pæt] |
n.轻拍;轻打;小块 |
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cushion [’kʊʃn] |
n.垫子 |
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whiskey [’wɪskɪ] |
n.威士忌酒. |
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rack [ræk] |
①饲料架，(牲畜)槽; |
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pore [pɔː(r)] |
n.毛孔;小孔 |
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jolly [’dʒɒli] |
a. 欢乐的；兴高采烈的；快活的; |
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bitterly [’bɪtəli] |
adv.残酷地;痛苦地 |
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unfriendly [ʌn’frendli] |
adj.不友好的;不利的 |
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spectacle [’spektəkl] |
n.景象;场面;奇观;壮观;公开展示;表相，假相 |
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Dirk [dɜːk] |
n.短剑;匕首 |
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Madame [’mædəm] |
n.夫人 |
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petit [’petiː] |
adj.小的;次要的;琐碎的 |
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affectionate [ə’fekʃənət] |
adj.充满感情的;示爱的 |
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fancy [’fænsi] |
n. 【C】设想；幻想；空想; |
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appeal [ə’piːl] |
①[U][C]呼吁，要求; |
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costumer [kɒs’tjuːmə] |
n.做服装的人;服装商 |
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apron [’eɪprən] |
n.围裙;停机坪;台口;遮挡板 |
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immortalize [ɪ’mɔːtəlaɪz] |
vt.使不朽;使名垂千古 |
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sedate [sɪ’deɪt] |
adj.安静的;镇静的 |
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excite [ɪk’saɪt] |
vt.使兴奋;使激动;刺激;激起 |
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upbringing [’ʌpbrɪŋɪŋ] |
n.教养;抚养;培养 |
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lounge [laʊndʒ] |
n.休息室;候机室;起居室 |
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vulgar [’vʌlɡə(r)] |
adj.通俗的;粗俗的;乡土的 |
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urchin [’ɜːtʃɪn] |
n.顽童;【动】海胆;刺猬 |
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felted [’feltɪd] |
v. 把 ... 制成毡(使 ... 粘结) |
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franc [fræŋk] |
n.法郎 |
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indignant [ɪn’dɪɡnənt] |
adj.愤慨的;愤愤不平的 |
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aback [ə’bæk] |
adv.吃惊地;向后地;后退地 |
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astonishment [ə’stɒnɪʃmənt] |
n.惊讶;令人惊讶的事物 |
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outrage [’aʊtreɪdʒ] |
n.暴行;愤怒;义愤 |
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impatient [ɪm’peɪʃnt] |
adj.不耐烦的;急躁的 |
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sweetheart [’swiːthɑːt] |
n.心上人;甜心 |
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furious [’fjʊəriəs] |
adj.狂怒的;猛烈的 |
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torment [’tɔːment] |
n.苦痛;拷问;折磨;烦恼 |
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melody [’melədi] |
n.旋律;曲子;曲调;美妙的音乐 |
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sensitiveness [’sensɪtɪvnɪs] |
n.易感知;神经过敏 |
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