讀點(diǎn)好英文:Ulysses 尤利西斯

Ulysses 尤利西斯

[愛爾蘭]詹姆斯·喬伊斯（James Joyce）

小說以時(shí)間為順序，描述了苦悶彷徨的都柏林小市民、廣告推銷員利奧波德·布盧姆于1904年6月16日一晝夜之內(nèi)在都柏林的日常經(jīng)歷。喬伊斯將布盧姆在都柏林街頭的一日游蕩比作奧德修斯海外十年的漂泊，同時(shí)刻畫了他不忠誠的妻子摩莉以及斯蒂芬尋找精神上的父親的心理。

Stately, plump Buck Mullingan came from the stainhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressing gown, ungirdled, was sustained gently-behind him by the mild morning air.He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

Introibo ad altare Dei.

Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called up coarsely:

“Come up, Kinch. Come up, you fearful jesuit.”

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding country and the awaking mountains.Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head.Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.

“Back to barracks.”he said sternly.

He added in a preacher's tone:

“For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine:body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please.Shut your eyes, gents.One moment.A little trouble about those white corpuscles.Silence, all.”

He peered sideways up and gave a long low whistle of call, then paused a while in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos.Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.

“Thanks, old chap,”he cried briskly.“That will do nicely. Switch off the current, will you?”

He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages.A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.

“The mockery of it.”he said gaily.“Your absurd name, an ancient Greek.”

He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily half way and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as he propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and lathered cheeks and neck.

Buck Mulligan's gay voice went on.

“My name is absurd too Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has a Hellenic ring, hasn't it?Tripping and sunny like the buck himself.We must go to Athens.Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?”

He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:

“Will he come?The jejune jesuit.”

Ceasing, he began to shave with care.

“Tell me, Mulligan.”Stephen said quietly.

“Yes, my love?”

“How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?”

Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.

“God, isn't he dreadful?”he said frankly.“A ponderous Saxon. He thinks you're not a gentleman God, these bloody English.Bursting with money and indigestion.Because he comes from Oxford.You know, Dedalus;you have the real Oxford manner.He can't make you out.O, my name for you is the best.Kinch, the knife-blade.”

He shaved warily over his chin.

“He was raving all night about a black panther,”Stephen said.“Where is his guncase?”

“A woful lunati c!”Mulligan said.“Were you in a funk?”

“I was,”Stephen said with energy and growing fear.“Out here in the dark with a man I don't know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a black panther. You saved men from drowning.I'm not a hero, however.If he stays on here I am off.”

Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.

“Scutter,”he cried thickly.

He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen's upper pocket, said:

“Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.”

Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly.Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:

“The bard's noserag. A new art colour for our Irish poets:snotgreen.You can almost taste it, can't you?”

He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair oak-pale hair stirring slightly.

“God,”he said quietly.“Isn't the sea what Algy calls it:a great sweet mother?The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea.Epi oinopa ponton.Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks.I must teach you.You must read them in the original.Thalatt a!Thalatt a!She is our great sweet mother.Come and look.”

Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he looked down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbour mouth of Kingstown.

“Our mighty mother.”Buck Mulligan said.

He turned abruptly his great searching eyes from the sea to Stephen's face.

“The aunt thinks you killed your mother,”he said.“That's why she won't let me have anything to do with you.”

“Someone killed her,”Stephen said gloomily.

“You could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when your dying mother asked you,”Buck Mulligan said.“I'm hyperborean as much as you. But to think of your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down and pray for her.And you refused.There is something sinister in you.”

He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek. A tolerant smile curled his lips.

“But a lovely mummer,”he murmured to himself.“Kinch, the loveliest mummer of them all.”

He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously.

Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of his shiny black coat-sleeve. Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart.Silently, in a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its loose brown grave-clothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes.Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a great sweet mother by the well-fed voice beside him.The ring of bay and skyline held a dull green mass of liquid.A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had torn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.

體態(tài)豐滿而有風(fēng)度的勃克·穆利根在樓梯口出現(xiàn)。他手里托著一缽肥皂沫，上面交叉放了一面鏡子和一把剃胡刀。他沒系腰帶，淡黃色浴衣被習(xí)習(xí)晨風(fēng)吹得稍微向后蓬著。他把那只缽高高舉起，吟誦道：

我要走上主的祭臺。

他停下腳步，朝那昏暗的螺旋狀樓梯下邊瞥了一眼，粗聲粗氣地喊道：

“上來，金赤。上來，你這敬畏天主的耶穌會(huì)士?！?/p>

他莊嚴(yán)地向前走去，登上圓形的炮座。他朝四下里望望，肅穆地對這座塔和周圍的田野以及逐漸蘇醒著的群山祝福了三遍。他一瞧見斯蒂芬·迪達(dá)勒斯就朝他彎下身去，在空中迅速地畫了好幾個(gè)十字，喉嚨里還發(fā)出咯咯聲，搖著頭。斯蒂芬·迪達(dá)勒斯氣惱而昏昏欲睡，雙臂倚在樓梯欄桿上，冷冰冰地瞅著一邊搖頭一邊發(fā)出咯咯聲向他祝福的那張馬臉，以及那頂并未剃光、色澤和紋理都像是淺色橡木的淡黃色頭發(fā)。

勃克·穆利根朝鏡下瞅了一眼，趕快合上缽。

“回到營房去。”他厲聲說。

接著又用布道人的腔調(diào)說：

“啊，親愛的人們，這是真正的克里斯廷：肉體和靈魂，血和傷痕。請把音樂放慢一點(diǎn)。閉上眼睛，先生們。等一下。這些白血球有點(diǎn)不消停。請大家肅靜。”

他朝上方斜睨，悠長地低聲吹了下呼喚的口哨，隨后停下來，全神貫注地傾聽著。他那口潔白齊整的牙齒有些地方閃耀著金光。克里索斯托兩聲尖銳有力的口哨劃破寂靜回應(yīng)了他。

“謝謝啦，老伙計(jì)，”他精神抖擻地大聲說，“蠻好，請你關(guān)上電門，好嗎？”

他從炮座上跳下來，神色莊重地望著那個(gè)觀看他的人，并將浴衣那寬松的下擺攏在小腿上。他那郁郁寡歡的胖臉和陰沉的橢圓形下頜，令人聯(lián)想到中世紀(jì)作為藝術(shù)保護(hù)者的高僧。他的唇邊徐徐地綻出了愉快的笑意。

“多可笑?！彼旎畹卣f，“你這姓名太荒唐了，一個(gè)古希臘人?！?/p>

他友善而打趣地指了一下，暗自笑著走到炮座那兒。斯蒂芬·迪達(dá)勒斯爬上塔頂，無精打采地跟著他走了幾步，就在炮座邊上坐了下來，靜靜地望著他怎樣把鏡子靠在炮座上，將刷子在缽里浸了浸，往面頰和脖頸上涂起皂沫。

勃克·穆利根用愉快的聲調(diào)繼續(xù)講下去。

“我的姓名也荒唐，瑪拉基·穆利根，兩個(gè)揚(yáng)抑抑格?？伤鼛┕畔ＥD味道，對不？輕盈快活得像只公鹿。咱們總得去趟雅典。要是姑媽肯給我們20鎊，你要一道去嗎？”

他把刷子撂在一邊，開心地大聲笑著說：

“他去嗎，那位枯燥乏味的耶穌會(huì)士？”

他閉上嘴，仔細(xì)地刮起臉來。

“告訴我，穆利根?！彼沟俜逸p聲說。

“嗯？乖乖?！?/p>

“海恩斯還要在這座塔里住多久？”

勃克·穆利根從右肩側(cè)過他那半邊刮好的臉。

“老天啊，那小子真是討人嫌！”他坦率地說，“這種笨頭笨腦的撒克遜人，他就沒把你看作一位有身份的人。天哪，那幫混賬的英國人，腰纏萬貫，腦滿腸肥。因?yàn)樗桥＝虺錾韱h。喏，迪達(dá)勒斯，你才真正有牛津派頭呢。他捉摸不透你。哦，我給你起的名字再好不過啦：利刃金赤?！?/p>

他小心翼翼地刮著下巴。

“他整夜都在說著關(guān)于一只什么黑豹的夢話，”斯蒂芬說，“他的獵槍套在哪兒？”

“一個(gè)可憫可悲的瘋子！”穆利根說，“你害怕了吧？”

“是啊，”斯蒂芬越來越感到恐怖，熱切地說，“黑咕隆咚的在郊外，跟一個(gè)滿口胡話、哼哼唧唧要射殺一只黑豹的陌生人待在一塊兒。你曾救過快要淹死的人?？晌也皇怯⑿?。要是他繼續(xù)待在這兒，那我就走?！?/p>

勃克·穆利根朝著剃胡刀上的肥皂沫皺了皺眉，從坐著的地方跳了下來，慌忙地在褲兜里摸索。

“糟了！”他甕聲甕氣地嚷道。

他來到炮座跟前，把手伸進(jìn)斯蒂芬的胸兜，說：

“把你那塊鼻涕布借咱使一下，擦擦剃胡刀。”

斯蒂芬聽任他拽出那條皺巴巴的臟手絹，捏著一角，把它抖落開來。勃克·穆利根干凈利索地擦完剃胡刀，望著手絹說：

“‘大詩人’的鼻涕布。屬于咱們愛爾蘭詩人的一種新的藝術(shù)色彩，鼻涕。簡直可以嘗得出它的滋味，對嗎？”

他又跨上炮座，眺望著都柏林灣。他那淺橡木色的黃頭發(fā)微微飄動(dòng)著。

“喏！”他安詳?shù)卣f，“這海不就是阿爾杰所說的嗎：一位偉大可愛的母親！鼻涕的海，使人睪丸緊縮的海。到葡萄紫的大海上去。喂，迪達(dá)勒斯，那些希臘人啊。我得教給你。你非用原文來讀不可。海！海！她是我們偉大可愛的母親。過來瞧瞧。”

斯蒂芬站起來，走到炮座跟前。他倚著炮座，俯瞰水面和正在駛出國王鎮(zhèn)港口的郵輪。

“我們強(qiáng)有力的母親?！辈恕つ吕f。

他那雙目光銳利的灰色眼睛猛地從海洋移到斯蒂芬的臉上。

“姑媽認(rèn)為你母親死在你手里，”他說，“所以她不讓我跟你有任何往來。”

“是有人害的她?！彼沟俜疑裆幱舻卣f。

“該死，金赤，當(dāng)你那位奄奄一息的母親央求你跪下來的時(shí)候，你總應(yīng)該照辦呀，”勃克·穆利根說，“我跟你一樣是個(gè)冷血?jiǎng)游铩？赡阆胂肟矗隳俏豢煅蕷獾哪赣H懇求你跪下來為她禱告。而你拒絕了。你身上有股邪氣……”

他忽然打住，又往另一邊面頰上輕輕涂起肥皂沫來。一抹寬厚的笑容使他撇起了嘴唇。

“然而卻是個(gè)可愛的啞劇演員，”他自言自語著，“金赤是所有的啞劇演員當(dāng)中最可愛的一個(gè)。”

他仔細(xì)地刮著臉，默默地，專心致志地。

斯蒂芬一只肘支在坑洼不平的花崗石上，手心扶額頭，凝視著自己發(fā)亮的黑上衣袖子那磨破了的袖口。痛苦——還說不上是愛的痛苦——煎熬著他的心。她去世之后，曾在夢中悄悄地來找過他，她那枯槁的身軀裹在寬松的褐色衣袋里，散發(fā)出蠟和黃檀的氣味；當(dāng)她帶著微嗔一聲不響地朝他俯下身來時(shí)，依稀能聞到一股淡淡的濕灰氣味。隔著襤褸的袖口，他瞥見被身旁那個(gè)吃得很好的人稱作偉大可愛的母親的海洋。海灣與天際構(gòu)成環(huán)形，盛著大量的暗綠色液體。母親彌留之際，床頭曾放著一只白瓷缽，里邊盛著黏糊糊的綠色膽汁，那是伴著她一陣陣的高聲呻吟，撕裂她那腐爛了的肝臟吐出來的。

All I am, or can be, I owe to my angel mother.

——Abraham Lincoln

我之所有，我之所能，都?xì)w功于我天使般的母親。

——美國前總統(tǒng) 林肯

實(shí)戰(zhàn)提升

作者介紹

詹姆斯·喬伊斯（1882—1941），生于都柏林信奉天主教的家庭。他的作品有長篇小說《青年藝術(shù)家畫像》《尤利西斯》《芬尼根守夜人》，還有詩集《室內(nèi)樂集》和劇本《流亡者》等。詹姆斯·喬伊斯是20世紀(jì)最偉大的作家之一，他的作品及“意識流”手法對全世界產(chǎn)生了巨大的影響。

單詞注解

blessed[5blesid]adj.神圣的；受祝福的

glisten[5^lisn]v.閃耀；反光

wearily[5wirili]adv.疲倦地，困乏地；消沉地

frankly[5frANkli]adv.率直地；坦白地

hastily[5heistili]adv.匆忙地，倉促地

original[E5ridVEnEl]adj.最初的，本來的；原始的

gloomily[5glu:mili]adv.陰暗地；陰沉地

fretted[5fretid]adj.焦躁的；腐蝕的

名句大搜索

他朝上方斜睨，悠長地低聲吹了下呼喚的口哨，隨后停下來，全神貫注地傾聽著。他那口潔白齊整的牙齒有些地方閃耀著金光。

他那郁郁寡歡的胖臉和陰沉的橢圓形下頜，令人聯(lián)想到中世紀(jì)作為藝術(shù)保護(hù)者的高僧。

海灣與天際構(gòu)成環(huán)形，盛著大量的暗綠色液體。