奥斯卡·王尔德(Oscar Wilde),英国唯美主义艺术运动的倡导者,爱尔兰著名剧作家、诗人、散文家,是19世纪与萧伯纳齐名的英国才子,也是才华横溢的学者。
王尔德1854年出生于爱尔兰的都柏林。他先后就读于都柏林的圣三一学院和牛津大学的莫德林学院,继而定居伦敦。1881年,王尔德出版了第一部诗歌作品集《诗集》(Poems),随后投身小说创作,先后完成了短篇小说集《快乐王子及其他童话》(The Happy Prince and Other Tales, 1888)、《石榴屋》(The House of Pomegranates, 1892)以及引起英国文坛巨大争议的长篇小说《道连·格雷的画像》(The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1891)。王尔德的文学成就主要集中在戏剧领域,《温德米尔夫人的扇子》(Lady Windermere’s Fan, 1892)、《理想丈夫》(An Ideal Husband, 1895)、《认真的重要》(The Importance of Being Earnest, 1895)等都已成为英国戏剧的经典。1900年,王尔德在巴黎去世。
The curiously carved mirror that Lord Henry had given to him, so many years ago now, was standing on the table, and the white-limbed Cupids laughed round it as of old1). He took it up, as he had done on that night of horror when he had first noted the change in the fatal picture, and with wild, tear-dimmed eyes looked into its polished shield. Once, someone who had terribly loved him had written to him a mad letter, ending with these idolatrous2) words: “The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history.” The phrases came back to his memory, and he repeated them over and over to himself. Then he loathed3) his own beauty, and flinging4) the mirror on the floor, crushed it into silver splinters5) beneath his heel. It was his beauty that had ruined him, his beauty and the youth that he had prayed for. But for those two things, his life might have been free from stain. His beauty had been to him but a mask, his youth but a mockery. What was youth at best? A green, an unripe time, a time of shallow moods, and sickly thoughts. Why had he worn its livery6)? Youth had spoiled him.
He took the lamp from the table and crept upstairs. As he unbarred the door, a smile of joy flitted across his strangely young-looking face and lingered for a moment about his lips. Yes, he would be good, and the hideous thing that he had hidden away would no longer be a terror to him. He felt as if the load had been lifted from him already.
He went in quietly, locking the door behind him, as was his custom, and dragged the purple hanging from the portrait. A cry of pain and indignation7) broke from him. He could see no change, save that in the eyes there was a look of cunning and in the mouth the curved wrinkle of the hypocrite. The thing was still loathsome—more loathsome, if possible, than before—and the scarlet dew that spotted the hand seemed brighter, and more like blood newly spilled. Then he trembled. Had it been merely vanity that had made him do his one good deed? Or the desire for a new sensation, as Lord Henry had hinted, with his mocking laugh? Or that passion to act a part that sometimes makes us do things finer than we are ourselves? Or, perhaps, all these? And why was the red stain larger than it had been? It seemed to have crept like a horrible disease over the wrinkled fingers. There was blood on the painted feet, as though the thing had dripped—blood even on the hand that had not held the knife. Confess? Did it mean that he was to confess? To give himself up and be put to death? He laughed. He felt that the idea was monstrous. Besides, even if he did confess, who would believe him? There was no trace of the murdered man anywhere. Everything belonging to him had been destroyed. He himself had burned what had been below-stairs. The world would simply say that he was mad. They would shut him up if he persisted in his story … Yet it was his duty to confess, to suffer public shame, and to make public atonement. There was a God who called upon men to tell their sins to earth as well as to heaven …
But this murder—was it to dog8) him all his life? Was he always to be burdened by his past? Was he really to confess? Never. There was only one bit of evidence left against him. The picture itself—that was evidence. He would destroy it. Why had he kept it so long? Once it had given him pleasure to watch it changing and growing old. Of late he had felt no such pleasure. It had kept him awake at night. When he had been away, he had been filled with terror lest other eyes should look upon it. It had brought melancholy across his passions. Its mere memory had marred many moments of joy. It had been like conscience to him. Yes, it had been conscience. He would destroy it.
He looked round and saw the knife that had stabbed Basil Hallward9). He had cleaned it many times, till there was no stain left upon it. It was bright, and glistened. As it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painter’s work, and all that that meant. It would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free. It would kill this monstrous soul-life, and without its hideous warnings, he would be at peace. He seized the thing, and stabbed the picture with it.
There was a cry heard, and a crash. The cry was so horrible in its agony that the frightened servants woke and crept out of their rooms … Old Mrs. Leaf10) was crying and wringing her hands. Francis11) was as pale as death. After about a quarter of an hour, he got the coachman and one of the footmen and crept upstairs. They knocked, but there was no reply. They called out. Everything was still. Finally, after vainly trying to force the door, they got on the roof and dropped down on to the balcony. The windows yielded easily—their bolts were old.
When they entered, they found hanging upon the wall a splendid portrait of their master as they had last seen him, in all the wonder of his exquisite youth and beauty. Lying on the floor was a dead man, in evening dress, with a knife in his heart. He was withered, wrinkled, and loathsome of visage12). It was not till they had examined the rings that they recognized who it was.
1. as of old:依旧
2. idolatrous [aI5dClEtrEs] adj. 崇拜偶像的,盲目崇拜的
3. loathe [lEuT] vt. 厌恶,憎恶
4. fling [flIN] vt. 猛投,抛,掷
5. splinter [5splIntE] n. 裂片,碎片
6. livery [5lIvErI] n.〈喻〉服装,装束
7. indignation [7IndI^5neIFEn] n. 愤慨,义愤
8. dog [dC^] vt. 跟踪,尾随
9. Basil Hallward:贝泽尔·霍尔渥德,一位画家,他是道连的朋友,小说中道连的画像即是此人所画。
10. Mrs. Leaf:黎甫夫人,道连的女管家
11. Francis:弗兰西斯,道连的侍从
12. visage [5vIzIdV] n.〈书〉面貌,容貌
作品赏析
莎士比亚在著名的第18首十四行诗中曾经写道:“每一种美都终究会凋残零落/或见弃于机缘,或受挫于天道无常。”(And every fair from fair sometime declines/By chance or nature’s changing course untrimmed.)人无法抗拒自然的规律,明亮的眼睛变得黯淡,光洁的容颜被刻上皱纹,两鬓染上霜华,这是时间的流逝在人的生命中雕刻下的痕迹。然而,《道连·格雷的画像》却讲述了一则试图将美永存的童话。小说中,道连·格雷为了抗拒时间所具有的侵蚀性力量,为了将美丽的容颜停驻在青春最艳丽的时刻,付出了出卖灵魂的代价。
在王尔德的笔下,年轻时的道连·格雷是美的化身:“他确实美得出奇:鲜红的嘴唇轮廓雅致,湛蓝的眼睛目光坦然,还长着一头金色的鬈发。他的眉宇间有一股叫人一下子就信得过的吸引力。青春的率真、纯洁的热情一览无余。”道连继承了外祖父的财产,20岁时进入英国上层社会,结识了画家贝泽尔·霍尔渥德和贵族亨利·沃登勋爵。贝泽尔为道连画了一幅画像,用画笔将道连的美封存在了青春盛放的顶点。亨利勋爵却对道连施以负面影响,让道连意识到画像将永远美丽,而他将变得又老又丑。出于恐惧,道连许下了心愿:“如果我能够永葆青春,而让这幅画像去变老,要什么我都给!……我愿意拿我的灵魂换青春!”果然,他的心愿得以实现:现实中的道连不仅不会随着年龄衰老,而且无论他做了什么邪恶的事情,外貌始终纯洁如天使;画像则代替道连承受了时间的重创和非道德生活的腐蚀,每当道连做了一件坏事,画像就会丑陋一分。
在小说中,随着故事情节的发展,原本单纯善良的道连在亨利勋爵的影响下,变得虚荣、世故,不断放纵自己的欲望,行事毫无道德顾忌:他抛弃了初恋女友西碧儿,令后者心碎自杀;他用匕首刺死了知道画像秘密的贝泽尔,并毁尸灭迹;他留恋于声色场所,放纵欲望;他隐藏在穷街陋巷的地下会所,吸食鸦片。18年过去,道连依然英俊,而藏在阁楼密室里的肖像却变得越来越狰狞可怖。终于有一天,道连体会到了良心的谴责,他决定毁掉画像,结束自己与画像之间的秘密契约。诡异的是当他把匕首戳向画像,某种神秘的力量却让匕首插进了他的身体。当仆人们听到尖叫,打开阁楼房门,看到画像上的道连和18年前一样“容光焕发”,而地上则躺着一位形容枯槁、面目可憎的老人。只有从他手上的戒指,才能辨认出他就是道连本人。本文英文节选部分描述的即是道连来密室毁掉画像的情节。
《道连·格雷的画像》用神秘主义和哥特式恐怖小说的笔法写出了美,也写出了将美作为衡量人好坏的唯一标准可能造就的悲剧。小说于1890年在英国杂志《利平科特月刊》上发表,随即便在社会上引起了轩然大波。同时代读者用严厉的措辞抨击小说将美放在了道德之上,引人堕落,应该“被投进火堆”。王尔德本人却认为,这部小说充满了道德的含义,说明了美应具有道德内涵。小说中,贝泽尔过于崇拜外在之美,死在了只有外在美而内心邪恶的道连之手;亨利勋爵只愿意做美的旁观者,不肯体验生活,到晚年却发现这样的人生缺乏意义;道连追求享乐,想要杀死象征自己道德良心的画像,结果却杀死了自己。画像的变化说明了美与道德之间存在隐秘的联系:罔顾道德,画像的美悄然变质,成为令人作呕的丑,“邪恶的菌体通过画像内在活动的某些微妙的刺激作用对它不断进行蚕食”。
为美的事物所吸引、所打动,这似乎是人的本能。我们不需要理由,便会爱上夏日盛放的玫瑰、群星闪烁的夜空、面容娇媚的红颜。美自有一种魔性,它召唤着我们的灵魂。在《道连·格雷的画像》中,西碧儿受到了这种魔性的引诱,爱上了道连,落得伤心自杀;贝泽尔受到了这种魔性的感召,崇拜道连,被道连谋杀;道连本人也是受到了这种魔性的蛊惑,不顾一切许下誓言,将灵魂变卖,好让美存续。然而,美一旦脱离了道德的约束,就会成为一剂毒药。道连在临死前反思人生,发现“正是他的美貌毁了他,正是他祈求得来的美貌和青春葬送了他。要不是这两者,他的一生可以不沾上一个污点。事实上,他的美貌不过是一张面具,青春则成了笑柄”。
不过,《道连·格雷的画像》又在隐隐中诉说出了王尔德对美与道德复杂关系的含混态度。小说的结尾可以解读为一出道德剧:象征道连良知的画像毫发无损,道连本人则受到了惩罚,他邪恶的一生走到了尽头。然而,同样的结局也可以解读为美凌驾于道德之上,并不受道德判断的干扰:现实中的道连死去,画像却“洋溢着奇妙的青春和罕见的美”,道连的堕落与邪恶,对存在于美的领域中的画像,终究没有造成任何负面影响。画像就像是吸血的魔鬼,吸干了道连·格雷的生命,用鲜血涂染出它无辜而明艳的色彩。 文/陈榕
当我们向美追问道德
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