巴黎圣母院

某位文学批评家曾说：“你不能读一本书，你只能重读一本书。”于是，多年之后，在图书馆I区寻觅到残损的蒙着尘土的《巴黎圣母院》，犹豫了一下还是抽出了这本不薄的书。陈敬容译本。虽然人民文学似乎不像上海译文那样来的让人放心，但陈前辈的地位撂在那里，诗人毕竟是诗人，还没有读，心里先敬畏三分。 以前总不太爱看圣母院。就像毁了一首歌的最好方法就是把其设置为起床闹铃一样，巴黎圣母院不幸位列考试必读篇目，一直都在心里留有淡淡的阴影。中学发的名著导读挥舞着镰刀和斧头规划出了整整齐齐的人物形象，用五号宋体篆刻在参考答案上，专治思想偏颇的考生各种不服，一代又一代。在被砍掉了所有的枝丫鲜血淋漓之后，终于记住：埃斯梅拉达纯洁美丽又善良；迦西莫多身残志坚外焦里嫩；副主教阴险狡诈内心丑恶；诗人不常考，没有存在感；弗比斯英俊潇洒没责任心，无奈这是个看脸的世界，长了皱纹和白发的出题人也甚少跟他过不去。 古往今来男作家一大特色，女主人公貌美如花胸大无脑（几乎），也许是时代相隔甚远，觉得人物形象太鲜明，好像记忆中的老照片突然调高了色相对比度。当然，如果非要揪着这个问题不放地读书，那选择余地就少之又少了。从一个陌生女人的来信到安娜卡列尼娜，一个爱你爱到死，生你的孩子养你的娃，不要名分不要钱不要你的感情，我就是这么爱你我乐意；一个是你必须爱我，你不爱我你大爷的我要卧轨。想要看到正常一些的女主好难得，19世纪之前不太敢指望了。男权话语社会太凶残，不过想必“正常”一些的女子也就没什么可读性了。走上维护女权的康庄大道，估计那些用生命前20年积淀的浅薄的文学记忆可以洗洗牌了。忽然想起上学期现当代的老师感慨，搞女权的女作家家庭似乎都不怎么幸福（也可能我记错了）。 所以说，看圣母院的时候已经带上了有色眼镜，埃斯梅拉达不再是名著导读上完美纯洁，天真善良的波西米亚女郎了。弗比斯几句甜言蜜语就骗的她打算以身相许，“'我爱你不爱！我生命的天使啊！'他半跪着喊道，'我的身体，我的血液，我的灵魂，完全是属于你的，完全是为着你的。我爱你，除了你我谁也没有爱过。' 这些话是队长在许多相似的场合下讲过多少遍的了，他准确无误地一口气和盘托出。”但是埃斯梅拉达毕竟不是我们这些看着宫斗戏的习惯于勾心斗角的21世纪妇女，还不具有判断一个男人是不是真心的基本技能。时代不同了，埃斯梅拉达那时侯也就十来岁，看见高大英俊黄金比例的弗比斯小鹿乱撞一下也无可厚非。 似乎现代人已经没有这种单一色调的模样了，于是乎副主教就变得可以让人理解。躲在阴暗的一隅，看心爱的人被骗的体无完肤，是怎样一种感觉。当迦西莫多在屋顶上缩成一团，就为了不要让自己丑陋的外表惹得姑娘不开心时，埃斯梅拉达几近癫狂地朝着远处的弗比斯呼喊，装模作样的骑士什么也没听见，可怜的聋子听得清清楚楚，双手的每一个指缝都有一撮自己的红发。 弗比斯咒骂着，用两个马刺踢那匹马，迦西莫多看着他钻进街上的雾里不见了，“啊，”可怜的聋子低声说道，“连这点事也要拒绝！” 他回到圣母院，点灯爬上了钟塔，正向他猜想的那样，那流浪姑娘还在原来的地方。 他远远地看见了他，就像他奔过去。 “只有你一个人呀！”他悲伤地握着她漂亮的双手说。 “我没有找着他。”迦西莫多冷静地回答。 “应该整夜的等着他呀！”她生气地说道。 他看见她生气的样子，明白那是在责怪他。“我下次好好地等候他吧，”他低下头说。 “走开！”她向他说道。 每次看到这里心里都很复杂。一开始只是认为埃斯梅拉达只是一个take everything for granted 的小姑娘罢了，现在却觉得不寒而栗，也许和最近降温有关吧。那从栏杆后面伸出的枯槁的手臂，老修女没能给埃斯梅拉达最迫切需要的教育，谁也救不了她。 似乎，深爱着埃斯梅拉达的，都是那些没法无动于衷看着她犯贱的人。最后都用生命，把自己沉重的命运和扭曲的爱，缝进了埃斯梅拉达单纯浅薄的灵魂里。 什么叫伟大的作品。想概括出一个装逼的结论，想卖弄一下对人物的心理分析，发现只是徒劳。可能是还太年轻，也可能错过了不加掩饰和矫情的阶段。 所以，我只能这样粗鄙地得出这样的结论： 那个在石墙上刻下“命运”的人， 最后摔死在圣母院脚下。 他用他的生命告诉我们： 不要在文物上乱刻乱画。

　　　这座慈母般的主教堂，他最热爱的要算那两座钟楼了：钟楼唤醒他的灵魂；钟楼使他的灵魂把不幸地收缩在洞穴中的翅膀展开飞翔；钟楼也有时使他感到欢乐。他热爱它们，抚摸它们，对它们说话，懂得它们的言语。从两翼交会处那尖塔的排钟直到门廊的那口大钟，他对它们都一一满怀深情。后殿交会处的那钟塔，两座主钟楼，他觉得好似三个大鸟笼，其中一只只鸟儿都由他喂养，只为他一个人歌唱。尽管正是这些钟使他成为聋子，但天下做母亲的总是最疼爱那最叫她头痛的孩子。诚然，那些钟的响声是他唯一还听得见的声音。唯其如此，那口大钟是他最心爱的。每逢节日，这些吵吵闹闹的少女在他身边欢蹦活跳，但在这家族中他最喜欢的还是这口大钟。这口大钟名叫玛丽，独自在南钟楼里，陪伴她的是其妹妹雅克莉娜，这口钟小一点，笼子也小一点，就摆在玛丽的笼子旁边。这口钟之所以取名为雅克莉娜，那是因为赠送这口钟给圣母院的让·德·蒙塔居主教的妻子叫这个名字的缘故—— 尽管如此，他后来还是逃脱不了身首异处上鹰山的结局。第二座钟楼里还有六口钟，最后，交会处钟塔另有六口更小的钟和一口木钟，只在复活节前的星期四晚饭后，直至复活节瞻礼前一日的清晨才敲这口木钟的。这样，卡齐莫多在其后宫里一共有十五口钟，其中最得宠的是大玛丽。　　　钟声轰鸣的日子里，卡齐莫多那兴高采烈的样子，真是难以想象。只要副主教一放他走，说声“去吧！“他便连忙爬上钟楼的螺旋形梯子，其速度比别人下楼梯还要快。他气喘吁吁，一头钻进那间四面悬空的大钟钟室，虔敬而又满怀爱意地把大钟端详了一会儿，柔声细气地对它说话，用手轻轻抚摸，仿佛它是一匹即将驰骋的骏马一般。他要劳驾它，感到心疼。这样爱抚之后，随即呼喊钟楼下一层的几只钟，命令它们先动起来。这几只钟都悬吊在缆绳上，绞盘轧轧作响，于是那帽盖状的巨钟便缓慢晃动起来。卡齐莫多，心突突直跳，两眼紧盯着大钟摆动。钟舌一撞着青铜钟壁，他爬上去所站着的木梁也随之微微震动。卡齐莫多随大钟一起颤抖起。　　　他纵声狂笑，喊叫道：“加油呀！”这时，这口声音低沉的巨钟加速摆动，随着它摆动的角度越来越大，卡齐莫多的眼睛也越瞪越大，闪闪发光，像火焰燃烧。末了，钟乐轰鸣，整座钟楼战栗了，从地基的木桩直至屋顶上的三叶草雕饰，梁木啦，铅皮啦，砌石啦，全一齐发出轰轰声响。这时候，卡齐莫多热血沸腾，白沫飞溅，跑来跑去，从头到脚跟着钟楼一起抖动。大钟像脱缰的野马，如癫似狂，左右来回晃动，青铜大口一会对着钟楼这边的侧壁，一会对着那边侧壁，发出暴风雨般的喘息声，方圆十几里远都听得见。卡齐莫多就站在这张开的钟口面前，随着大钟的来回摆动，忽而蹲下，忽而站起，呼吸着那令人丧胆的大钟气息，一会儿望了望他脚下足有两百尺深那人群蚁集的广场，一会儿又瞧了瞧那每秒钟都撞击着他耳膜的巨大铜舌。　　　这是他唯一能听见的话语，唯一能为他打破那万籁俱寂的声音。他心花怒放，宛如鸟儿沐浴着阳光。霍然间，巨钟的疯狂劲儿感染了他，他的目光变得异乎寻常，就像蜘蛛等待苍蝇那样，伺候着巨钟晃动过来，猛然纵身一跳，扑到巨钟上面。于是，他悬吊在深渊上空，随着大钟可怕的摆动被掷抛出去，遂牢牢抓住青铜巨怪的护耳，双膝紧夹着巨怪，用脚后跟猛踢，加上整个身子的冲击力和重量，巨钟益发响得更狠了。这时，钟楼震撼了；他，狂呼怒吼，牙齿咬得格格直响，棕色头发倒竖起来，胸腔里发出风箱般的响声，眼睛喷着火焰，而巨面钟在他驱策下气喘吁吁，如马嘶鸣。于是，圣母院的巨钟也罢，卡齐莫多也罢，全然不复存在了，而只成了梦幻，成了旋风，成了狂风暴雨，成了骑着音响驰骋而产生的眩晕，成了紧攥住飞马马背狂奔的幽灵，成了半人半钟的怪物，成了可怕的阿斯托夫，骑着活生生的鹰翅马身的青铜神奇怪兽飞奔。 有了这个非凡生灵的存在，整座主教堂才有了某种难以形容的生气。似乎从他身上—— 至少群众夸大其词的迷信说法是如此—— 散发出一种神秘的气息，圣母院所有大小石头方有了活力，这古老教堂的五脏六腑才悸动起来。只要知道他在那里，人们便即刻仿佛看见走廊里和大门上那成千上万雕像个个都活了起来，动了起来。确实，这大教堂宛如一个大活人，在他手下服服贴贴，唯命是从，他可以随心所欲，叫它随时放开大嗓门呼喊。卡齐莫多犹如一个常住圣母院的精灵，依附在它的身上，把整座教堂都充满了。由于他，这座宏伟的建筑物仿佛才喘息起来。他确实无处不在，一身化作许许多多卡齐莫多，密布于这座古迹的每寸地方。有时，人们惊恐万分，隐约看见钟楼的顶端有个奇形怪状的侏儒在攀登，在蠕动，在爬行，从钟楼外面坠下深渊，从一个突角跳跃到另一个突角，要钻到某个蛇发女魔雕像的肚皮里去掏什么东西：那是卡齐莫多在掏乌鸦的窝窠。有时，会在教堂某个阴暗角落里碰见某种活生生的喷火怪物，神色阴沉地蹲在那里：那是卡齐莫多在沉思。有时，又会看见钟楼下有个偌大的脑袋瓜和四只互不协调的手脚吊在一根绳索的末梢拼命摇晃：那是卡齐莫多在敲晚祷钟或祷告三钟夜间，时常在钟楼顶上那排环绕着半圆形后殿四周的不牢固的锯齿形栏杆上面，可以看见一个丑恶的形体游荡：那还是圣母院的驼子。于是，附近的女人都说，整座教堂显得颇为怪诞、神奇和可怖；这里那里都有张开的眼睛和嘴巴；那些伸着脖子、咧着大嘴，日夜守护在这可怕教堂周围的石犬、石蟒、石龙，吼声可闻；若是圣诞夜，大钟似乎在咆哮，召唤信徒们去参加热气腾腾的午夜弥撒，教堂阴森的正面上弥漫着某种气氛，就好像那高大的门廊把人群生吞了进去，也好像那花瓣格子窗睁着眼睛在注视着人群。而所有这一切都来自卡齐莫多。　　　古埃及人会把他当做这神庙的神；中世纪的人会以为他是这神庙的妖怪；其实，他是这神庙的灵魂。因此，那些知道有过卡齐莫多的人认为，今天的圣母院是凄凉的，了无生气，死气沉沉。人们感到有什么东西消失了。这个庞大的躯体已经空了，只剩下一副骷髅；灵魂已经离去，空留着它住过的地方，如此而已。这就好像一个头颅光有两只眼窝，目光却没有了。　　　【附二：原文摘录·英文版】　　　摘自：The Hunchback of Notre Dame，王若平等主编，航空工业出版社，2007年。　　　CHAPTER III. What he loved above all else in the maternal edifice, that which aroused his soul, and made it open its poor wings, which it kept so miserably folded in its cavern, that which sometimes rendered him even happy, was the bells. He loved them, fondled them, talked to them, and understood them. From the chime in the spire, over the intersection of the aisles and nave, to the great bell of the front, he cherished tenderness for them all. The central spire and the two towers were to him as three great cages, whose birds, reared by him, and sang for him alone. Yet it was these very bells which had made him deaf; but mothers often love best that child which has caused them the most suffering. It is true that their voice was the only one which he could still hear. On this score, the big bell was his beloved. It was she whom he preferred out of all that family of noisy girls which bustled above him, on festival days. This bell was named Marie. She was alone in the southern tower, with her sister Jacqueline, a bell of lesser size, shut up in a smaller cage beside hers. This Jacqueline was so called from the name of the wife of Jean Montague, who had given it to the church, which had not prevented his going and figuring without his head at Montfauçon. In the second tower there were six other bells, and, finally, six smaller ones inhabited the belfry over the crossing, with the wooden bell, which rang only between after dinner on Good Friday and the morning of the day before Easter. So Quasimodo had fifteen bells in his seraglio; but big Marie was his favorite. No idea can be formed of his delight on days when the grand peal was sounded. At the moment when the archdeacon dismissed him, and said, "Go!" he mounted the spiral staircase of the clock tower faster than any one else could have descended it. He entered perfectly breathless into the aerial chamber of the great bell; he gazed at her a moment, devoutly and lovingly; then he gently addressed her and patted her with his hand, like a good horse, which is about to set out on a long journey. He pitied her for the trouble that she was about to suffer. After these first caresses, he shouted to his assistants, placed in the lower story of the tower, to begin. They grasped the ropes, the wheel creaked, the enormous capsule of metal started slowly into motion. Quasimodo followed it with his glance and trembled. The first shock of the clapper and the brazen wall made the framework upon which it was mounted quiver. Quasimodo vibrated with the bell. "Vah!" he cried, with a senseless burst of laughter. However, the movement of the bass was accelerated, and, in proportion as it described a wider angle, Quasimodo's eye opened also more and more widely, phosphoric and flaming. At length the grand peal began; the whole tower trembled; woodwork, leads, cut stones, all groaned at once, from the piles of the foundation to the trefoils of its summit. Then Quasimodo boiled and frothed; he went and came; he trembled from head to foot with the tower. The bell, furious, running riot, presented to the two walls of the tower alternately its brazen throat, whence escaped that tempestuous breath, which is audible leagues away. Quasimodo stationed himself in front of this open throat; he crouched and rose with the oscillations of the bell, breathed in this overwhelming breath, gazed by turns at the deep place, which swarmed with people, two hundred feet below him, and at that enormous, brazen tongue which came, second after second, to howl in his ear. It was the only speech which he understood, the only sound which broke for him the universal silence. He swelled out in it as a bird does in the sun. All of a sudden, the frenzy of the bell seized upon him; his look became extraordinary; he lay in wait for the great bell as it passed, as a spider lies in wait for a fly, and flung himself abruptly upon it, with might and main. Then, suspended above the abyss, borne to and fro by the formidable swinging of the bell, he seized the brazen monster by the ear-laps, pressed it between both knees, spurred it on with his heels, and redoubled the fury of the peal with the whole shock and weight of his body. Meanwhile, the tower trembled; he shrieked and gnashed his teeth, his red hair rose erect, his breast heaving like a bellows, his eye flashed flames, the monstrous bell neighed, panting, beneath him; and then it was no longer the great bell of Notre- Dame nor Quasimodo: it was a dream, a whirlwind, a tempest, dizziness mounted astride of noise; a spirit clinging to a flying crupper, a strange centaur, half man, half bell; a sort of horrible Astolphus, borne away upon a prodigious hippogriff of living bronze. The presence of this extraordinary being caused, as it were, a breath of life to circulate throughout the entire cathedral. It seemed as though there escaped from him, at least according to the growing superstitions of the crowd, a mysterious emanation which animated all the stones of Notre-Dame, and made the deep bowels of the ancient church to palpitate. It sufficed for people to know that he was there, to make them believe that they beheld the thousand statues of the galleries and the fronts in motion. And the cathedral did indeed seem a docile and obedient creature beneath his hand; it waited on his will to raise its great voice; it was possessed and filled with Quasimodo, as with a familiar spirit. One would have said that he made the immense edifice breathe. He was everywhere about it; in fact, he multiplied himself on all points of the structure. Now one perceived with affright at the very top of one of the towers, a fantastic dwarf climbing, writhing, crawling on all fours, descending outside above the abyss, leaping from projection to projection, and going to ransack the belly of some sculptured gorgon; it was Quasimodo dislodging the crows. Again, in some obscure corner of the church one came in contact with a sort of living chimera, crouching and scowling; it was Quasimodo engaged in thought. Sometimes one caught sight, upon a bell tower, of an enormous head and a bundle of disordered limbs swinging furiously at the end of a rope; it was Quasimodo ringing vespers or the Angelus. Often at night a hideous form was seen wandering along the frail balustrade of carved lacework, which crowns the towers and borders the circumference of the apse; again it was the hunchback of Notre-Dame. Then, said the women of the neighborhood, the whole church took on something fantastic, supernatural, horrible; eyes and mouths were opened, here and there; one heard the dogs, the monsters, and the gargoyles of stone, which keep watch night and day, with outstretched neck and open jaws, around the monstrous cathedral, barking. And, if it was a Christmas Eve, while the great bell, which seemed to emit the death rattle, summoned the faithful to the midnight mass, such an air was spread over the sombre façade that one would have declared that the grand portal was devouring the throng, and that the rose window was watching it. And all this came from Quasimodo. Egypt would have taken him for the god of this temple; the Middle Ages believed him to be its demon: he was in fact its soul. To such an extent was this disease that for those who know that Quasimodo has existed, Notre-Dame is to-day deserted, inanimate, and dead. One feels that something has disappeared from it. That immense body is empty; it is a skeleton; the spirit has quitted it, one sees its place and that is all. It is like a skull which still has holes for the eyes, but no longer sight.

大约五年多前读的《巴黎圣母院》，下面的这一段成为了我印象中最深的一段。下载TXT电子书，凭借「石头」这个记忆中的线索找了出来。对我而言，重点并不在于文面上的对建筑的赞美，重要的，是他描述了一个事物从诞生，到零散地发展，再到组合、汇聚，最终筑成庞大宏伟的体系的过程。语言、音乐、建筑、科学，很多东西都是这样的。在建筑与语言的类比性中不断前进、共鸣、发展的这段文字，也不可不谓壮美。

其实，自开天辟古直至基督纪元十五世纪（包括十五世纪在内），建筑艺术向来就是人类最伟大的书，是人类在其力量或者才智发展的不同阶段的主要表达手段。随着最初的人感到记忆力负担过重，随着人类各种记忆的包袱变得太混杂、太沉重，以至于光凭直接和飘忽的言词就有可能在传递的途中丧失一部分的时候，人们就以最经久、最显现、最自然的方式，把各种记忆记载在地面上。每种传统都凝结成为一座纪念物。早先的纪念物是一堆堆石头，就象摩西所说的，尚未被铁触及过。建筑艺术也像任何文字一样，先从字母开始：竖起一块石头，就成了一个字母；每个字母是个象形，每个象形承受一组意念，好象圆柱承受着柱头一般。原始部落在全世界地面上到处都同时这样做的。在亚洲的西伯利亚，在美洲的潘帕斯草原，都可见到凯尔特人的那种擎天石。而后造出一个个词。把石头垒石头，把花岗岩音节加以连结，进行言词某种组合的尝试。克尔特人的平石坟和独石垣，伊特鲁立亚人的古冢，希伯来人的墓穴，这些全都是词。其中有些是专有名词，尤其是古墓。有时候有的地方的石头又多又宽广，人们就书写一个句子。卡尔纳克的广大石堆群，就已是一个完整的语句了。最后才写出书来。传统滋生象征，反面被象征淹没了，这好像树干被树叶渐渐遮住一样。所有这一切为人类所崇奉的象征，随着岁月的变迁，愈来愈繁多，愈来愈增加，愈来愈交错，越来愈复杂，早期的纪念物再也没法容纳了，遂从四面八方泛溢开来。早期的那种纪念物勉强还能表达原始传统，由于原始传统如同其纪念物一样，纯朴，简单，匍匐在地面上。象征需要在建筑物上得到充分发展。这样，建筑艺术随着人类思想的发展而突飞猛进，变成千首千臂的巨人，用一种永不磨灭、看得见，摸得着的形式，把这整个飘忽不定的象征主义全固定下来。当力量的化身代达洛斯忙着测量，正当智慧的奥尔浦斯放声歌唱一样，此时作为字母的支柱，作为音节的拱廊，作为单词的金字塔，在几何规则和诗律的双重作用下，都活动起来了，聚集、组合、交融、升降、在地面上层层重叠、层层迭起高入云霄，直到在某一时代总观念的授意下，写出了那些令人叹止的奇书，就是座座奇妙的建筑物：埃克林加塔，埃及的朗塞伊翁陵墓，所罗门的神庙。……

1. 没有面包，没有住处，发现自己所需要的一切全都没有，他便加倍的觉得需要它们。他早已发现了这个真理：朱庇特是在一阵厌恶的情绪中创造了人类的。哲人的一生，他的命运老是攻击他的哲学。至于他，他从来没有遭到过这样全面的封锁。他听见自己的胃乱响一通，非常惶惑的发现恶运用饥饿战胜了他的哲学。2. 我发现自己却缺少干任何事情的才干，看到自己做什么都不行，我就决定去当一个诗人。3. 时间盲目，人类愚蠢。4. 国王不等到人民造反是不肯开恩的，这是一个亘古不变的规律。“对于帝王的忠诚，虽然多次为叛乱所破坏，仍然使市民们得到了很多权利。5. 人民，尤其是中世纪的人民，在社会上就像孩子们在家庭里一样，他们长久停留在原始的无知状态里，停留在道德与智力的幼稚阶段，可以用形容儿童的话来形容他们： 在这种年纪是没有怜悯心的。6. 当”公诉“执行完毕，就轮到千万种私人的报复了。在这里就像在大厅里一样，妇女们特别起劲，她们全都对他怀着某种憎恨，有的恨他奸诈，有的恨他丑陋，而以后一种人的憎恨最为厉害。7. 极端的痛苦，象极端的欢乐一样不会经久，因为它过于猛烈。人的心不可能长久停留在任何一个极端。8. 这种感情愈是盲目，就愈加顽强，这真是不可理解的事。在毫无道理的时候反倒是最最坚决。9. 这就是生活呀，使我们摔交的往往是我们的朋友。10. 路易十一那一类国王，在每次屠杀后总要留心把道路洗刷干净的。