悲愴的形狀:帕拉斯胸像上的《烏鴉》



這個故事出自19世紀偉大的美國詩人愛倫·坡的敘事詩《烏鴉》。今天的《美物篇》我們就來欣賞四位藝術大師為這首詩所作的插圖。之所以這詩能觸動19-20世紀的傑出藝術家,是因為愛倫·坡在詩中幾乎完美地使用頭韻和句中韻,在形式上塑造出一種波濤滾滾的悲愴效果。如第二節:

馬奈繪製的插圖
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghostupon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; -vainly I had triedto borrow From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow forthe lost Lenore- For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angelsname Lenore- Nameless here for evermore
例如第五句中的rare and radiant就是頭韻,它們的首字母與讀音都相同,念起來十分優美悅耳。而在第一、三、四句中的remember – December;morrow – borrow;sorrow – sorrow則是句中韻,它像波浪席捲心頭,我們剛在第二句聽見些雜音,它又捲土重來,反覆提醒著我們,就好像痛苦連綿不絕地侵襲。

馬奈繪製的插圖
這首詩在結構上最精彩的地方,是每段結尾處的「-more」:nothing more、evermore和nevermore。前七節以nothing more和evermore結尾,表現出男人面對空房,一無所有的傷感與空洞;後十一節則以nevermore結尾,是烏鴉或男人內心話語的回蕩,好似迴音般引人痛苦連連。

詩中的烏鴉停在帕拉斯的胸像上這一情節,是整首詩的象徵中心。帕拉斯是古希臘神話中的一位泰坦,它和雅典娜一樣象徵著理性,而那隻荒誕的烏鴉卻高傲得停在他頭上,好似代替理性作出無人能解的回答:「永無復歸」。男人驅趕它,又怎麼也趕不走。搖曳的紫色窗帘、餘燼繚繞的室內,這些混亂的目光,游移波動的心思再一次印證了男人的痛苦。這不是感性與理性的戰爭,而是悲傷至極的精神錯亂。愛倫·坡以此讓我們一睹喪偶的幻覺。

在《烏鴉》諸多的插圖版中,要數法國畫家古斯塔夫·多雷的作品最深刻,他幾乎逐字逐句地為全這108行詩繪製黑白木板插圖,線條繁複錯綜,好像是在勾勒悲傷的模樣。英國插畫家埃德蒙·杜拉克的彩色插圖則極富象徵感,烏鴉和帕拉斯胸像投下的影子好比一隻展翼的蝙蝠,罩住苦苦思索的男人。拉斐爾前派創始人但丁·加百利·羅塞蒂、印象派創始人愛德華·馬奈,和以《愛麗絲夢遊仙境插圖本》聞名於世的約翰·坦尼爾也用自己的繪畫語言,為這首詩勾勒了精美的插圖。
下面,讓我們一起讀一下這首詩的中英兩個版本,並看看五位畫家的插圖作品。這裡我選擇愛倫·坡作品的翻譯專家曹明倫的版本:

烏鴉




哦,我清楚地記得那是在風凄雨冷的十二月,
每一團奄奄一息的餘燼都形成陰影伏在地板。


使我心中充滿前所未有的恐懼,我毛骨悚然;
為平息我心兒的悸跳.我站起身反覆念叨
「這是有客人想進屋,正在叩我房間的門環,
更深夜半有客人想進屋,正在叩我房間的門環, 惟此而已,別無他般。」
剛才我正睡意昏昏,而你敲門又敲得那麼輕,
你敲門又敲得那麼輕,輕輕叩我房間的門環,


可那未被打破的寂靜,沒顯示任何象徵,
「麗諾爾?」便是我囁嚅念叨的惟一字眼, 我念叨「麗諾爾」,回聲把這名字輕輕送還; 惟此而已,別無他般。


而是以紳士淑女的風度棲到我房門的上面,


「冠毛雖被剪除」,我說,「但你顯然不是懦夫,
你這幽靈般可怕的古鴉,漂泊來自夜的彼岸,
請告訴我你尊姓大名,在黑沉沉的冥府陰間!」 烏鴉答曰「永不復焉」。
曾如此有幸地看見一隻鳥棲在他房門的上面,
看見鳥或獸棲在他房門上方的半身雕像上面, 而且名叫「永不復焉」。
然後它便一聲不吭——也不把它的羽毛拍動,
直到我幾乎在喃喃自語「其他朋友早已離散, 明晨它也將離我而去,如同我的希望已消散。」 這時烏鴉說「永不復焉」。








Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrowFrom my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating"Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door—Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;This it is and nothing more."Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door;——Darkness there and nothing more.Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"—Merely this and nothing more.Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before."Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore—Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—Tis the wind and nothing more."Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Nights Plutonian shore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;For we cannot help agreeing that no living human beingEver yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,With such name as "Nevermore."But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered—Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."Then the bird said "Nevermore."Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and storeCaught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful DisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden boreOf Never—nevermore."But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yoreMeant in croaking "Nevermore."This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosoms core;This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningOn the cushions velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated oer,But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating oerShe shall press, ah, nevermore!Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor."Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent theeRespite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.""Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.""Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting—
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Nights Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;And his eyes have all the seeming of a demons that is dreamingAnd the lamp-light oer him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floorShall be lifted—nevermore!喜歡藝術的朋友,歡迎關注我的公眾號《幾冊》,搜索「幾冊」或「Jiceart」閱讀更多有趣的藝術故事哦~
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