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雙語·流動(dòng)的盛宴 第九章 福特·馬多克斯·福特[1]和魔鬼的門徒

所屬教程:譯林版·流動(dòng)的盛宴

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2022年04月23日

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Ford Madox Ford and the Devil’s Disciple

The Closerie des Lilas was the nearest good café when we lived in the flat over the sawmill at 113 rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs, 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 D?me 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.

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 whom I had never read. But the only poet I ever saw there was Blaise Cendrars, 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 a café crème and wore the purple ribbon of the Palms of the Academy, which had nothing to do with the French Academy, and meant, we thought, that they were professors or instructors.

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.

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 also had the yellow and green of the Médaille Militaire, and I watched how well they were overcoming the handicap of the loss of 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 that 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.

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 flashy about his vanished arm. I was glad he had been in the Lilas early in the afternoon before the regular clients had arrived.

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.

“Oh here you are,” he said.

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.

“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.

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

“You told me,” I said.

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m quite sure.”

“Very odd. I’ve never told anyone in my life.”

“Will you have a drink?”

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.

“No. Make it a fine à l’eau,” Ford said.

“A fine à l’eau for Monsieur,” the waiter confirmed the order.

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.

“You’re very glum,” he said.

“No.”

“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.”

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

“How odd. Are you sure?”

“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.”

“I’ve never cared for flying,” 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.”

“It’s under 74 rue Cardinal Lemoine,” I said. “I lived on the third floor.”

“There’s no number,” Ford said. “But you’ll be able to find it if you can find the Place Contrescarpe.”

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.”

“It’s all right, Jean,” I said. “I’ll take the fine. Bring Monsieur what he orders now.”

“What I ordered,” corrected Ford.

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.

“Did you see me cut him?” Ford said. “Did you see me cut him?”

“No. Who did you cut?”

“Belloc,” Ford said. “Did I cut him!”

“I didn’t see it,” I said. “Why did you cut him?”

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

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.

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.

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

“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.

“Tell me why one cuts people,” I asked. Until then I had thought it was something only done in novels by Ouida. 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 editions of before the war. But I was sure, by some sixth sense, that people cut one another in her novels.

“A gentleman,” Ford explained, “will always cut a cad.”

I took a quick drink of brandy.

“Would he cut a bounder?” I asked.

“It would be impossible for a gentleman to know a bounder.”

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

“Naturally.”

“How would one ever meet a cad?”

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

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

“Not necessarily,” Ford said.

“Is Ezra a gentleman?” I asked.

“Of course not,” Ford said. “He’s an American.”

“Can’t an American be a gentleman?”

“Perhaps John Quinn,” Ford explained. “Certain of your ambassadors.”

“Myron T. Herrick?”

“Possibly.”

“Was Henry James a gentleman?”

“Very nearly.”

“Are you a gentleman?”

“Naturally. I have held His Majesty’s commission.”

“It’s very complicated,” I said. “Am I a gentleman?”

“Absolutely not,” Ford said.

“Then why are you drinking with me?”

“I’m drinking with you as a promising young writer. As a fellow writer in fact.”

“Good of you,” I said.

“You might be considered a gentleman in Italy,” Ford said mag-nanimously.

“But I’m not a cad?”

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

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

“Of course not.”

“You’re sure?”

“There might be two opinions. But not in mine.”

“Was Fielding? He was a judge.”

“Technically perhaps.”

“Marlowe?”

“Of course not.”

“John Donne?”

“He was a parson.”

“It’s fascinating,” I said.

“I’m glad you’re interested,” Ford said. “I’ll have a brandy and water with you before I go.”

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.

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

“Don’t be a silly ass,” my friend said. “That’s Aleister Crowley, the diabolist. He’s supposed to be the wickedest man in the world.”

“Sorry,” I said.

第九章 福特·馬多克斯·福特[1]和魔鬼的門徒

當(dāng)我們住在圣母院大街113號(hào)靠近鋸木廠的那幢公寓時(shí),離我們最近的、最好的咖啡館是丁香園咖啡館,這兒也是巴黎最好的咖啡館之一。冬天這兒暖洋洋的,春秋季則可以坐在外邊喝咖啡——在人行道的樹蔭下擺幾張桌子(桌子是清一色的方桌,沿林蔭大道一字排開,頭頂是碩大的遮陽傘),旁邊就是內(nèi)伊元帥的雕像,真是別具一番情調(diào)。這家咖啡館有兩個(gè)侍者和我們成了好朋友。圓亭咖啡館和勞特爾多咖啡館[2]的顧客是絕對(duì)不會(huì)來這種地方的,因?yàn)閬磉@兒不會(huì)有人認(rèn)識(shí)他們,也不會(huì)有人關(guān)注他們。那年頭,人們對(duì)位于蒙帕納斯林蔭大道和拉斯帕伊林蔭大道交接處的那兩家咖啡館趨之若鶩,都想在那兒露露面,在某種程度上是想讓專欄記者報(bào)道他們,以一日的顯赫博得萬古美名。

丁香園咖啡館曾經(jīng)一度是詩(shī)人們定期聚會(huì)的場(chǎng)所,而最后一位露面的巨匠是詩(shī)人保羅·福爾[3](可惜他的作品我從未拜讀過)。而現(xiàn)在,我唯一能見到的詩(shī)人只有布萊斯·桑德拉爾[4]了,臉上傷痕累累,像是拳擊場(chǎng)上留下的,一只空袖子挽起并用別針別著,抽煙時(shí)用那只剩下的完好的手卷煙絲。在沒有喝高的情況下,他可以成為你很好的伙伴。一喝高,他就信口雌黃、謊話連篇,即便如此也比許多不撒謊的人風(fēng)趣。到丁香園來的詩(shī)人只有他一個(gè)了,我卻在這兒僅見過他一次。如今,來丁香園的多為老者,留著大胡子,穿著褪了色的衣服,或帶妻子,或帶情婦,有的在衣服的翻領(lǐng)上佩有榮譽(yù)軍團(tuán)的細(xì)條紅綬帶。我們懷著良好的愿望將他們視為科學(xué)家或?qū)W者——他們會(huì)要一杯開胃酒坐在那兒消磨時(shí)光,幾乎跟那些衣著比較寒酸、胸前掛著法蘭西科學(xué)院的榮譽(yù)紫色綬帶、帶了妻子或情婦來喝牛奶咖啡的人坐的時(shí)間一樣長(zhǎng)(我們覺得他們掛綬帶并不意味著他們就是院士,而可能是大學(xué)里的教授或講師)。

由于這些人的到來,丁香園咖啡館成了一個(gè)充滿了溫馨情調(diào)的地方,因?yàn)樗麄兿嗷リP(guān)心,只對(duì)美酒、咖啡和自制飲料,以及那些夾在報(bào)架上的報(bào)紙感興趣,無人想出風(fēng)頭吸引別人的眼球。

丁香園咖啡館另外還有一些別的顧客,他們有的上衣翻領(lǐng)上佩著軍功十字章,有的則佩戴黃綠兩色的獎(jiǎng)?wù)隆_@些顧客是傷殘軍人:有的缺胳膊少腿,生活中需要克服由此而帶來的不便;有的失去了眼睛,換上了假眼;有的臉部受傷,做了整容手術(shù)——大換臉后,他們的面部總會(huì)留下紅紅的、發(fā)亮的痕跡,就像滑雪板在雪地上壓出的印跡。我留心觀察著這個(gè)人群,觀察他們的一舉一動(dòng),觀察他們假眼的質(zhì)量以及臉部手術(shù)的效果。對(duì)他們,我們深懷敬意,甚于對(duì)那些學(xué)者或教授的尊敬——學(xué)者或教授可能也有過沖鋒陷陣的經(jīng)歷,但他們畢竟沒有致殘。

那年頭,我們對(duì)沒有打過仗的人一概缺乏好感,但也不是對(duì)每一個(gè)打過仗的人都有好感。對(duì)桑德拉爾我們就頗不以為然,覺得他雖然失去了一條胳膊,也不該那般炫耀。這天下午,他來丁香園來得早,那些常客尚未露面,這叫我感到高興。

黃昏時(shí)分,我坐在丁香園外面的一張桌子旁,觀察著樹木和房屋上光影的變化,觀察著遠(yuǎn)處幾匹馬在林蔭大道上慢慢行走。就在這時(shí),我身后右側(cè)咖啡館的門開了,一個(gè)人出了咖啡館,來到了我跟前。

“嗬,你在這里坐著呢?!彼蛘泻粽f。

來者是福特·馬多克斯·福特(他當(dāng)時(shí)用的是這個(gè)名字),他喘著粗氣,嘴上的八字胡又濃又密,染了顏色,身子挺得筆直,像一個(gè)能走動(dòng)的、包裝得很好的倒置的大酒桶。

“我能坐在這兒?jiǎn)幔俊彼贿呎f著一邊坐了下來,眼球是淡藍(lán)色的,眼皮和眉毛淡而無色,目光投向遠(yuǎn)處的林蔭大道。

“我這一輩子不知用了多少年致力于一件事——宰豬殺羊也應(yīng)該講人道?!?/p>

“這話聽你說過。”我說。

“我想我沒對(duì)你說過?!?/p>

“你百分之百說過。”

“這就非常怪啦。我絕對(duì)沒告訴過任何人。”

“喝一杯好嗎?”

侍者正站在跟前,于是福特對(duì)他說要一杯香百麗黑醋栗酒。那位侍者瘦高瘦高的,頭頂已禿,用旁邊的頭發(fā)虛掩在上面,留一簇濃密的老式龍騎兵胡子。他聽后,又重復(fù)了一遍福特要的酒。

“不要香百麗酒了。還是來一杯兌水的白蘭地吧?!备L卣f。

和福特在一起,我總不愿正眼看他。要是在密閉的房間里,我會(huì)屏住呼吸,怕聞他的氣息。不過,此時(shí)我們是在室外,人行道上的落葉是從我這邊被風(fēng)吹向他那邊的。于是我就直視了他一眼,結(jié)果馬上就后悔了,便將目光移向了林蔭大道那邊。光影又發(fā)生了變化,而我卻未能看到那一幕。我懷疑由于他的到來,連酒的味道都變?cè)懔?,于是便嘗了一口,但發(fā)現(xiàn)酒味仍香醇如初。

“你好像心情不好。”他說。

“哪里的話?!?/p>

“是的,的確如此。你應(yīng)該多出來散散心。我來是想邀請(qǐng)你參加一個(gè)小型晚會(huì),地點(diǎn)在勒穆瓦納主教街的小風(fēng)笛歌舞廳,離康特斯卡普廣場(chǎng)不遠(yuǎn)?!?/p>

“你這次來巴黎之前我就住在那兒,住了兩年?!?/p>

“這就怪了。你敢肯定嗎?”

“敢肯定,”我說,“沒一點(diǎn)錯(cuò)。歌舞廳的老板還兼開出租車。我到機(jī)場(chǎng),他就送我去。出發(fā)之前,我們會(huì)摸黑到歌舞廳的吧臺(tái)去,在那兒喝上一杯白葡萄酒,然后再走?!?/p>

“我可從來不喜歡乘飛機(jī)。”福特說,“你和你的妻子準(zhǔn)備好星期六晚上去小風(fēng)笛歌舞廳吧。我給你畫一張地圖,這樣你就能找到了。那地方是我路過時(shí)偶然發(fā)現(xiàn)的?!?/p>

“那家歌舞廳就在勒穆瓦納主教街74號(hào)的樓下,”我說,“我當(dāng)時(shí)住在三樓。”

“歌舞廳沒有門牌,”福特說,“不過,你能找到康特斯卡普廣場(chǎng),就能找到它?!?/p>

我又喝了一大口酒。侍者送來了福特要的酒,可是福特卻對(duì)他說:“我要的不是白蘭地加蘇打水,而是香百麗黑醋栗酒?!彼f話的語氣不惱不怒,但很嚴(yán)厲。

“沒關(guān)系,讓,”我對(duì)侍者說,“這杯酒我要了。先生現(xiàn)在點(diǎn)什么你就給他送什么來吧。”

“不是現(xiàn)在點(diǎn)的,而是剛才點(diǎn)的?!备L丶m正道。

這時(shí),有個(gè)面色頗為憔悴的男子披著斗篷從人行道上走過去,身旁是一個(gè)高個(gè)子女人。他朝我們這兒瞥了一眼,然后轉(zhuǎn)過眼去,沿著林蔭大道走遠(yuǎn)了。

“我對(duì)他視而不見,你看到了吧?”福特說,“我對(duì)他視而不見,你看到了吧?”

“沒注意。你在說誰呀?”

“我在說貝洛克[5]。”福特說,“對(duì)于他,我視而不見!”

“我沒注意到?!蔽艺f,“你為什么要那樣做呢?”

“有一千條一萬條的理由?!备L卣f,“總算給了他個(gè)下馬威。”

他沾沾自喜,有點(diǎn)飄然若仙。我從未見過貝洛克,也不認(rèn)為他剛才看到了我們——他剛才經(jīng)過時(shí)好像在想心事,瞥我們那一眼幾乎是無意識(shí)的。福特對(duì)他如此無禮,這叫我覺得不舒服。我是一個(gè)在事業(yè)上剛起步的年輕人,對(duì)前輩有著崇高的敬意。如今這讓人無法理解,那年頭卻是司空見慣的現(xiàn)象。

我當(dāng)時(shí)心想:如果貝洛克在我們桌前留住腳步,那該是一件多么令人高興的事情,那樣我就可以結(jié)識(shí)他了。這一下午算是叫福特給毀了,貝洛克如果停下來,情況也許會(huì)好些。

“你為什么要喝白蘭地呢?”福特問我,“難道你不知道染上白蘭地的酒癮對(duì)一個(gè)年輕作家是致命的嗎?”

“這種酒我是不常喝的?!蔽抑岬?。此時(shí)的我正在努力回憶埃茲拉·龐德對(duì)我說過的話——他叮嚀我千萬不可對(duì)福特說出格的話。讓我記?。焊L刂挥性谑制>氲臅r(shí)候才撒謊;福特是一個(gè)真正的優(yōu)秀作家,只是禍起蕭墻,使他備受磨難。龐德的叮嚀言猶在耳,可是現(xiàn)在福特就在我眼皮底下,離我咫尺之遙,呼哧呼哧喘著粗氣,言行令人作嘔,這就叫我受不了了。不過,我仍竭力克制著自己。

“請(qǐng)問,一個(gè)人為什么要對(duì)他人視而不見呢?”我問道。這之前,我以為只有在奧維達(dá)[6]的小說里才有這樣的情節(jié)。其實(shí),奧維達(dá)的小說我連一本都沒有看過。即使在瑞士的一個(gè)滑雪勝地,當(dāng)潮濕的南風(fēng)刮起,讀物已經(jīng)看完,只剩下一些戰(zhàn)前的泰赫尼茨版[7]的書籍時(shí),我也沒看她的書。但根據(jù)第六感,我斷定她小說里的主人公彼此視而不見,互相不理睬。

“一個(gè)有教養(yǎng)的人遇見無賴,一般都會(huì)視而不見?!备L亟忉屨f。

我咕咚喝了一口白蘭地,問道:“遇見一個(gè)粗漢,他也會(huì)這樣嗎?”

“一個(gè)有教養(yǎng)的人是不可能跟粗漢打交道的。”

“如此看,你只對(duì)和自己地位平等的熟人視而不見嘍?”我追問道。

“這是自然的?!?/p>

“一個(gè)有教養(yǎng)的人怎么會(huì)結(jié)識(shí)一個(gè)無賴呢?”

“你也許不知道他是個(gè)無賴,或者說他后來變成了無賴?!?/p>

“什么樣的人才是無賴呢?”我問道,“是不是人見人恨,恨不得食其肉寢其皮的那種人?”

“那倒不一定?!备L卣f。

“埃茲拉是個(gè)有教養(yǎng)的人嗎?”我問。

“當(dāng)然不是,”福特說,“因?yàn)樗莻€(gè)美國(guó)人嘛。”

“難道美國(guó)人成不了有教養(yǎng)的人?”

“也許約翰·奎恩算得上是個(gè)有教養(yǎng)的人,”福特解釋說,“他是你們的一個(gè)大使?!?/p>

“麥倫·特·赫里克[8]是不是?”

“大概是吧?!?/p>

“亨利·詹姆斯[9]是個(gè)有教養(yǎng)的人嗎?”

“差不多吧?!?/p>

“你是個(gè)有教養(yǎng)的人嗎?”

“當(dāng)然是嘍。我持有英王陛下的委任狀[10]?!?/p>

“這是一個(gè)非常復(fù)雜的問題呦?!蔽艺f,“你看我是不是個(gè)有教養(yǎng)的人?”

“絕對(duì)不是?!备L卣f。

“那你為什么跟我在一起喝酒?”

“我跟你一起喝酒是因?yàn)槟闶且粋€(gè)有前途的青年作家。事實(shí)上,我把你看作一個(gè)同行?!?/p>

“承蒙你看得起?!蔽艺f。

“在意大利,你也許會(huì)被視為一個(gè)有教養(yǎng)的人?!备L貙捄甏蠖鹊卣f。

“在這里,總不能將我看作無賴吧?”

“當(dāng)然不會(huì)的,親愛的老弟。誰說過這樣的話?”

“我以后也許會(huì)變成一個(gè)無賴的,”我沮喪地說,“因?yàn)槲液劝滋m地,什么酒都喝。特羅洛普[11]小說里的哈里·霍特斯珀勛爵就是這樣給毀掉的。請(qǐng)問,特羅洛普是個(gè)有教養(yǎng)的人嗎?”

“當(dāng)然不是?!?/p>

“你敢肯定嗎?”

“別人對(duì)他可能有兩種看法,而我的看法只有一種?!?/p>

“菲爾丁[12]是嗎?他可是當(dāng)過法官的?!?/p>

“技術(shù)上說或許是吧?!?/p>

“馬洛[13]呢?”

“當(dāng)然不是?!?/p>

“約翰·鄧恩[14]呢?”

“他是一個(gè)教士,而非有教養(yǎng)的人?!?/p>

“你的話太有意思了。”我說。

“很高興你能感興趣。”福特說,“最后陪你喝一杯兌水的白蘭地,然后我就走了?!?/p>

福特離開后,天已經(jīng)黑了。我走到書報(bào)亭去買了一份《巴黎賽事概況》,那是午后出版的賽馬報(bào)的最后一版,報(bào)道歐特伊賽馬場(chǎng)的比賽結(jié)果以及關(guān)于次日在昂吉安比賽的預(yù)告。侍者埃米爾已經(jīng)接替了讓的班,此刻來到我的桌子跟前,想了解歐特伊最后一場(chǎng)賽馬的結(jié)果。這時(shí),我的一位密友(此人很少來丁香園咖啡館)走了過來,在我身旁坐了下來。正當(dāng)他向埃米爾點(diǎn)酒水時(shí),那個(gè)面色憔悴、披著斗篷的男子跟那位高個(gè)子女人沿著人行道從我們的跟前走了過去。男子朝我們掃了一眼,然后就把目光移開了。

“那是希拉里·貝洛克。”我對(duì)密友說,“福特今天下午就坐在這里,給了他個(gè)‘視而不見’?!?/p>

“別犯傻了,”我的密友說,“那是阿萊斯特·克勞利[15],一個(gè)會(huì)施妖術(shù)魔法的人。他堪稱是世間最邪惡的人?!?/p>

“噢,對(duì)不起?!蔽艺f道。

注釋:

[1] 英國(guó)小說家、評(píng)論家、編輯。

[2] 這兩家咖啡館在國(guó)際上享有盛名,是名人雅士常來常往之地。

[3] 法國(guó)詩(shī)人,被稱為“象征派詩(shī)王”。

[4] 瑞士出生的小說家和詩(shī)人,于1916年入籍法國(guó)。他是歐洲現(xiàn)代主義運(yùn)動(dòng)中頗具影響力的作家。

[5] 20世紀(jì)初英國(guó)最多產(chǎn)的作家之一。

[6] 英國(guó)女小說家。

[7] 泰赫尼茨是德國(guó)打印機(jī)和出版商家族的名字。他們?cè)谟?guó)以外的歐洲大陸出版英文文學(xué)作品。

[8] 美國(guó)外交家,曾擔(dān)任美國(guó)駐法國(guó)大使。在巴黎第八區(qū)設(shè)有一條以他的名字命名的街道。

[9] 19世紀(jì)美國(guó)繼霍桑、麥爾維爾之后最偉大的小說家。

[10] 福特·馬多克斯·福特曾持有英王的特別委任狀,第一次世界大戰(zhàn)中在法國(guó)打過仗。

[11] 英國(guó)作家。

[12] 英國(guó)作家,其代表作是《棄兒湯姆·瓊斯》。

[13] 英國(guó)詩(shī)人。

[14] 17世紀(jì)英國(guó)玄學(xué)派詩(shī)人、教士。

[15] 英國(guó)的神秘學(xué)學(xué)者,但更多人稱呼他是“野獸之王”或是“啟示錄之獸”,更有人稱他是“世上最邪惡的人”。

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