王尔德吧 关注:11,341贴子:38,987

夜莺与玫瑰 王尔德

只看楼主收藏回复

夜莺与玫瑰
作者 王尔德
译者 顾怀瑾


1楼2012-07-19 15:39回复
    “她说过只要我送她一朵红玫瑰,她就愿意作我的舞伴,”一个少年学生大声说,“可是我在花园里,连一朵红玫瑰也没有看到。”
    少年的话被在圣栎树上巢中的夜莺听见了,他从绿叶丛中探出头来,循声张望着。
    “我在花园里哪儿都找不到红玫瑰,”少年沮丧地说,那双美丽的眼睛充盈了泪水。“唉,难道幸福竟依赖于这种渺小的东西!我读过智者们写的许多文章,知识的一切奥秘也都装在我的头脑中,然而就因缺少一朵红玫瑰,我却要忍受这样的痛苦。”
    “这儿总算有一位真正痴情的恋人了,”夜莺对自己说,“虽然我不认识他,但我会每夜每夜地为他歌唱,我还会每夜每夜地把他的故事讲给星星听。现在我看见他了,他的头发像风信子花一样黑,他的嘴唇就像他想要的玫瑰那样红;但是感情的折磨使他脸色苍白如象牙,忧伤的印迹也爬上了他的眉梢。”
    “王子明天晚上要开一场舞会,”年青的学生喃喃自语地说,“我所爱的人将要前往。假如我送她一朵红玫瑰,她就会同我跳舞直到天明;假如我送她一朵红玫瑰,我就能幸福地搂着她的腰,她也会把头靠在我的肩上,她的手将捏在我的手心里。可是我的花园里却没有红玫瑰,我只能孤零零地坐在那边,看着她与别人一起从我身旁经过。她不会注意到我。哦!天哪……我的心会碎的……”
    “这的确是位真正痴情的恋人,”夜莺说,“我所为之歌唱的也正是他所遭受的痛苦,我所为之快乐的东西,对他却是痛苦。爱情真是一件奇妙无比的事情,它比绿宝石更珍贵,比猫眼石更稀奇。用珍珠和石榴都换不来,是市场上买不到的,是从商人那儿换不来的,更无法用黄金来衡量它的珍贵。”
    “音乐家们会聚集在那华丽的廊厅中,”年青的学生说,“弹奏起美妙的弦乐器。我心爱的人将在竖琴和小提琴的音乐声中动人地翩翩起舞。她跳得那样活泼欢快,脚跟都不蹭地板似的。那些身着华丽服饰的臣仆们都围在她身旁。然而她就是不会同我跳舞,因为我没有红色的玫瑰献给她……”说着,少年扑倒在草地上,双手捂着脸放声痛哭起来。
    “他为什么哭呢?”一条绿色的小蜥蜴高高地翘着尾巴从他身旁跑过时,这样问道。
    “是啊,倒底为什么?”一只蝴蝶说,她正追着一缕阳光舞动着翅膀。
    “是啊,倒底为什么?”一朵雏菊低缓的声音对自已的邻居轻声说道。
    “他在为一朵红玫瑰而哭泣。”夜莺告诉大家。
    “为了一朵红玫瑰?”他们都惊讶地叫了起来;“真是好笑!”小蜥蜴说,它是个爱嘲讽别人的人,忍不住笑了出来。
    只有夜莺理解少年的忧伤,他默默地坐在橡树上,想象着爱情的神秘莫测。
    突然,他展开自己棕色的翅膀,朝空中飞去。影子似的飞过了小树林,又影子似的飞越了花园。
    在一块草坪的中央,长着一株美丽的玫瑰,夜莺看见那棵树后就朝它飞过去,落在一梢枝头上。
    “给我一朵红玫瑰,”他大声说道,“我会为你吟唱我最美妙的歌。”
    可是玫瑰摇了摇头。
    “我的玫瑰是白色的,”她回答说,“白得就像大海的浪花,白得胜过高山上的积雪。但你可以去找我那长在古日晷器旁边的姐姐,或许她能满足你的需要。”
    于是夜莺朝那棵生长在古日晷器旁的玫瑰飞去了。
    “给我-朵红玫瑰,”他大声说,“我会为你吟唱我最美妙的歌。”
    可是这株玫瑰也摇了摇头。
    “我的玫瑰是黄色的,”它回答说,“黄得就像坐在琥珀宝座上的美人鱼的头发,黄得超过拿着镰刀的割草人来过之前在草坪上盛开的水仙花。但你可以去找我那长在少年窗下的妹妹,或许她能满足你的需要。”
    于是夜莺朝那棵生长在学生窗下的玫瑰飞去了。
    “给我一朵红玫瑰,”他大声说,“我会为你吟唱我最美妙的歌。”
    可是这株玫瑰又摇了摇头。
    “我的玫瑰是红色的,”她回答说,“红得就像鸽子的脚,红得胜过在海洋洞穴中飘动的珊瑚扇。但是冬天的寒冷已经冻僵了我的血管,霜雪已经摧残了我的花蕾,风暴已经吹折了我的枝叶,今年我不会再有玫瑰花了。”
    


    2楼2012-07-19 15:43
    回复
      这时玫瑰树又焦急地叫夜莺顶得更紧些,“再顶紧些,小夜莺,”玫瑰树儿大声喊到,“不然,玫瑰没绽放开来天就要亮了。”
      于是夜莺就把玫瑰刺顶得更紧了,一下子刺进他的心里,刺穿了夜莺的心脏。一阵剧烈的痛楚袭遍了他的全身。锥心的痛越来越厉害,他的歌声也越来越激烈,因为他歌唱着以生命为代价培育的爱情,歌唱着在坟墓中也不朽的——至死不渝的爱情。
        终于这朵非凡亮丽的玫瑰被浸染成了深深的红色,就像黎明时分东方天际那火一般的朝霞,花瓣的外环是鲜红色的,花心更红得好似一块红宝石。
        不过夜莺的歌声却越来越弱了,他的一双小翅膀开始扑打起来,一层雾膜封上了他的双眼。他的歌声变得很弱了,他觉得仿佛喉咙给什么东西堵住了。
       这时他奋力唱出了最后一曲。月亮听着他的歌声,竟然忘记了黎明,只顾在天空中徘徊。那朵红玫瑰听到了他的歌声,更是欣喜若狂,绽开了所有的花瓣迎接清凉的晨风。晨风把歌声带到了山中的紫色洞穴中,把酣睡的牧童从梦乡中唤醒。歌声辗转到了河中的芦苇头上,芦苇丛又把歌声传给了大海。
        “快看,快看哪!”红玫瑰树叫了起来,“玫瑰花已经完全绽开了……”……可是听不到夜莺的回答,他已经躺在长长的草坪中死去了、心口上扎着那根刺……
       中午时分,年青的学生打开窗户朝外看去。
        “啊,多好的运气呀!我几乎不敢相信!”他惊喜地嚷道,“这儿竟有一朵极其鲜艳的红玫瑰!这样亮丽的玫瑰我一生也未曾见过!它太美了,我敢说它应该有一个高贵的的拉丁语名字。”少年俯下身去把红玫瑰摘了下来。
       随即他戴上帽子,捧着玫瑰,朝教授的家跑去。
        教授的女儿正坐在门口,欣赏着手中的一串项链上镶着的蓝色钻石,她的名贵小狗躺在她的脚旁。
      “你说过只要我送你一朵红玫瑰,你就愿意作我的舞伴,”学生兴奋地高声说道,“这是全世界最美丽的一朵红玫瑰。你今晚就把它戴在你的胸口上,我们一起跳舞的时候,它会告诉你我是多么地爱你。”
      然而少女却皱起了眉头。
      “我担心它与我的衣服不相配,”她回答说,“再说,宫廷大臣的侄儿已经送给我许多珍贵的珠宝,人人都知道珠宝比花更加值钱。”
      “噢!我要说,你是个薄情寡义的人!”学生愤怒地说。一子下把玫瑰扔到了大街上,玫瑰落入了阴沟里,随即一辆马车从它身上碾了过去。
      “薄情寡义?!”少女不屑地说,“我告诉你吧,你太无礼;再说,你是什么?只是个平凡的年轻学生而已。哼,在我看来,你永远不会像宫廷大臣的侄儿那样,鞋子上都缀有华丽的银扣。”说完她就从椅子上站起来朝屋里走去了。
      “爱情是多么愚蠢啊!”学生一边走一边悲叹,“它不及逻辑学一半管用,因为它什么都证明不了,而却总是告诉人们一些不会实现的美好憧憬,而且还让人相信一些不真实的可笑童话。说实话,它一点都不实用,在这个年代,一切都要讲究实际。我要回到经济学中去,去学经世致用的东西。”
      于是他回到了自己的屋子里,拿出满是尘土的大书,读了起来。
      


      4楼2012-07-19 15:45
      收起回复
        这个译本是我偶然在网上找到的,我个人觉得它文从字顺,甚至比我手里的巴金老先生和林微因美人的译本更流畅一些。
        希望有童鞋会喜欢。


        5楼2012-07-19 15:47
        回复
          《荷马墓上的一朵玫瑰》
          安徒生《诗人的集市》
          (注:荷马(Homer)是公元前1000年希腊的一个伟大诗人。他的两部驰名的史诗《依里亚特》(Iliad)和《奥德赛》(Odyssey)是描写希腊人远征特洛伊城(Troy)的故事。此城在小亚细亚的西北部。)
          东方所有的歌曲都歌诵着夜莺对玫瑰花的爱情。在星星闪耀着的静夜里,这只有翼的歌手就为他芬芳的花儿唱一支情歌。
          离士麦那(注:士麦那(Smyrna)是土耳其西部的一个海口。)不远,在一株高大的梧桐树下,商人赶着一群驮着东西的骆驼。这群牲口骄傲地昂其它们的长脖子,笨重地在这神圣的土地上行进。我看到开满了花的玫瑰树所组成的篱笆。野鸽子在高大的树枝间飞翔。当太阳射到它们身上的时候,它们的翅膀发着光,像珍珠一样。
          玫瑰树篱笆上有一朵花,一朵所有的鲜花中最美丽的花。夜莺对它唱出他的爱情的悲愁。但是这朵玫瑰一句话也不讲,它的叶子上连一颗作为同情的眼泪的露珠都没有。它只是面对着几块大石头垂下枝子。
          “这儿躺着世界上一个最伟大的歌手!”玫瑰花说。“我在他的墓上散发出香气;当暴风雨袭来的时候,我的花瓣落到它身上,这位《依里亚特》的歌唱者变成了这块土地中的尘土,我从这尘土中发芽和生长!我是荷马墓上长出的一朵玫瑰。我是太神圣了,我不能为一个平凡的夜莺开出花来。”
          于是夜莺就一直歌唱到死。
          赶骆驼的商人带着驮着东西的牲口和黑奴走来了。他的小儿子看到了这只死鸟。他把这只小小的歌手埋到伟大的荷马的墓里。那朵玫瑰花在风中发着抖。黄昏到来了。玫瑰花紧紧地收敛其它的花瓣,做了一个梦。
          它梦见一个美丽的、阳光普照的日子。一群异国人——佛兰克人——来参拜荷马的坟墓。在这些异国人之中有一位歌手;他来自北国,来自云块和北极光的故乡(注:指丹麦、挪威和瑞典。)。他摘下这朵玫瑰,把它夹在一本书里,然后把它带到世界的另一部分——他的辽远的祖国里来。这朵玫瑰在悲哀中萎谢了,静静地躺在这本小书里。他在家里把这本书打开,说:“这是从荷马的墓上摘下的一朵玫瑰。”
          这就是这朵花做的一个梦。她惊醒起来,在风中发抖。于是一颗露珠从她的花瓣上滚到这位歌手的墓上去。太阳升起来了,天气渐渐温暖起来,玫瑰花开得比以前还要美丽。她是生长在温暖的亚洲。这时有脚步声音响起来了。玫瑰花在梦里所见到的那群佛兰克人来了;在这些异国人中有一位北国的诗人:他摘下这朵玫瑰,在它新鲜的嘴唇上吻了一下,然后把它带到云块和北极光的故乡去。
          这朵花的躯体像木乃伊一样,现在躺在他的《依里亚特》里面。它像在做梦一样,听到他打开这本书,说:“这是荷马墓上的一朵玫瑰。”

          


          6楼2012-07-19 16:07
          回复
            啊,突然发现夜莺和玫瑰已经有童鞋贴过了。。。。
            为了弥补我粗心大意的错误,就只有把安徒生的关于夜莺与玫瑰的故事当赠品。。。。
            依然是爱情主题,关于爱情的阴差阳错。。。。


            7楼2012-07-19 16:10
            回复
              我比较喜欢林徽因的译本


              9楼2012-07-19 18:08
              收起回复
                好吧,楼楼你辛苦的发了,我就辛苦的顶一下吧


                10楼2012-07-19 20:19
                收起回复
                  The Nightingale and the Rose
                  By Oscar Wilde
                  (01)
                  "She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,"
                  cried the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose."
                  From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.
                  'No red rose in all my garden!' he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with
                  tears. 'Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want
                  of a red rose is my life made wretched.'
                  'Here at last is a true lover,' said the Nightingale. 'Night after night have I
                  sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to
                  the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his lace like pale
                  Ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.'
                  'The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,' murmured the young Student, 'and my
                  love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me
                  till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there
                  is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.'
                  'Here indeed is the true lover,' said the Nightingale. 'What I sing of he
                  suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and
                  pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. it may not be purchased of the merchants, 'or can it be weighed out in the balance for
                  gold.'
                  'The musicians will sit in their gallery,' said the young Student, 'and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and
                  the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will
                  not dance, for I have no red rose to give her;' and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.
                  (02)
                  'Why is he weeping?' asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his
                  tail in the air.
                  'Why, indeed?' said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.
                  'Why, indeed?' whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.
                  'He is weeping for a red rose,' said the Nightingale.
                  'For a red rose!' they cried; 'how very ridiculous!' and the little Lizard, who
                  was something of a cynic, laughed outright.
                  But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat
                  silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.
                  Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the
                  


                  11楼2012-07-20 11:16
                  回复
                    garden.
                    In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it, she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.
                    'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'
                    But the Tree shook its head.
                    'My roses are white,' it answered; 'as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter
                    than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old
                    sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want.'
                    So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old
                    sun-dial.
                    'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'
                    But the Tree shook its head.
                    'My roses are yellow,' it answered; 'as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who
                    sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the
                    meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows
                    beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want.'
                    So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the
                    Student's window.
                    'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'
                    But the Tree shook its head.
                    'My roses are red,' it answered, 'as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter
                    has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.'
                    (03)
                    'One red rose is all I want,' cried the Nightingale, 'only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?'
                    'There is a way,' answered the Tree; 'but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.'
                    'Tell it to me,' said the Nightingale, 'I am not afraid.'
                    'If you want a red rose,' said the Tree, 'you must build it out of music by
                    moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to me with
                    your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn
                    must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become
                    mine.'
                    'Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,' cried the Nightingale, 'and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the
                    Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the
                    scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?'
                    So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.
                    The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the
                    tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.
                    'Be happy,' cried the Nightingale, 'be happy; you shall have your red rose. I
                    will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is
                    


                    12楼2012-07-20 11:16
                    回复
                      wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His
                      lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.'
                      The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand
                      what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are
                      written down in books.
                      (04)
                      But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little
                      Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.
                      'Sing me one last song,' he whispered; 'I shall feel very lonely when you are
                      gone.'
                      So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling
                      from a silver jar.
                      When she had finished her song the Student got lip, and pulled a note-book and
                      a lead-pencil out of his pocket.
                      'She has form,' he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove - 'that
                      cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not
                      sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows
                      that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any
                      practical good.' And he went into his room, and lay down on his little
                      pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.
                      And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood
                      ebbed away from her.
                      She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Yale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a
                      water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.
                      But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. 'Press
                      closer, little Nightingale,' cried the Tree, 'or the Day will come before the
                      rose is finished.' (05)
                      So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew
                      her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.
                      And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn
                      had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a
                      Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.
                      


                      13楼2012-07-20 11:16
                      回复
                        顺便把原文也放在一起了。喜欢有童鞋会看。篇幅不长的。
                        啊啊啊啊,想到暑假已经过了两个多星期,我还什么正事都还没干,真想唾弃我自己啊。。。
                        干脆把这篇原文背下来算了,这倒是一个不错的目标,为了亲爱的王尔德,我爬下去努力一把。。。


                        15楼2012-07-20 11:21
                        收起回复
                          我表弟找我补英语 我让他看王尔德的童话


                          16楼2012-07-20 16:18
                          收起回复

                            王尔德的童话被誉为世界上最美的童话,但这个故事我总觉得它作为童话还是有些太残酷了,把长长的尖尖的刺刺进心脏,在剧痛中歌唱,这是爱的姿态,这简直是在说,爱就是痛,爱就是死。
                            但是最让人难过的却并非疼痛和死亡,而是,爱未被珍视。爱,只被践踏。
                            这实在是个凄美的故事,因为它,我爱上了夜莺,虽然在现实里,我从没有听过一只夜莺的歌唱,但在我的想象里,那只夜莺永远活着,在每一个月光皎洁的夜晚,在密林深处,她都会唱起她那宛转悠扬的永恒的恋歌。
                            短暂而美丽的昙花似乎会在这样的夜晚开放,在夜风传来的,夜莺隐隐约约的歌声里开放。那么洁白,那么美,转瞬即逝,如同世间真正的美好,无人知晓。
                            而这个世界,已再无玫瑰。


                            17楼2012-07-21 10:49
                            回复
                              True love suffers , and is silent.
                              真爱是痛苦的,并且缄默。
                              这也是王尔德说的。


                              18楼2012-07-21 10:53
                              回复