作者：(法)罗曼·罗兰
出版社：辽宁人民出版社
格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT
约翰·克里斯朵夫.第三卷试读：
Is This Book for You?
用文字谱写的一部英雄交响乐——“最经典英语文库”第六辑之《约翰·克里斯朵夫》（第三卷 大结局）导读马爽1890年开始酝酿、规划，1903年起笔，1912年落笔。可以说，罗曼·罗兰创作《约翰·克里斯朵夫》，构思是——十三载思一事，写作是——十年磨一剑。
法国著名批判现实主义作家、音乐史学家罗曼·罗兰的长河式小说《约翰·克里斯朵夫》就是这样一部思路横亘20年、撰写耗费10年的鸿篇巨制。这部20世纪最伟大的小说之一，不但让罗兰实现了心中的夙愿——创造一种用文字谱写乐章的新型艺术，而且还帮助他荣获了1913年度法兰西学院文学奖和1915年诺贝尔文学奖。
罗曼·罗兰在50岁之前一直默默无闻、深居简出，虽然有思想、有才华、有追求，也写过戏剧、传记，办过杂志，但始终影响平平。罗兰生活的年代，欧洲社会矛盾日益激化，政治局面动荡不安。他的内心却一直努力保有远大理想，并试图保护自己的自由意志不受外界羁绊。然而时运不济——他事业受挫，友情遭疑，婚姻失败。这一连串重大打击，令他窒息。但是罗兰的过人之处便是他的理想和精神具有强大的抗打击性。在绝望的时刻，他想起了他崇拜敬仰的伟人，如贝多芬、瓦格纳等，他用他们的奋斗经历来调整自己的心态，想他们在遇到逆境和困难时，如何以行动战胜痛苦、以艺术战胜生活。于是，已过不惑之年的罗兰，做出了人生中的最重要决定——遁世隐居、埋头创作。为了写出多年梦想的《约翰·克里斯朵夫》，他毅然放弃了高等师范学校音乐史教授的职位，从世界隐退，而且这一隐就是十年！
遁世十年中，他虽身处巴黎市中心，却始终蜗居于两个破旧不堪的租用的小房间里，没有邻居，没有助手，只有堆得满满的书籍、几张朋友的照片和一尊贝多芬的半身像。除此之外，就是他用于写作的桌椅。那十年，他等于把自己囚禁其中，闭关隐居、与世隔绝——巴黎的喧嚣诱惑不了他，人心的浮躁打扰不到他。他每天要么埋头苦读、凝神思考，要么伏案创作、奋笔疾书。长时间的辛苦写作，加之睡眠不足、营养不良，他的脸色变得蜡黄、眼睑充血，额头很快爬满皱纹，头发也变得花白。但是，这些对他来说都无所谓。他脑子里装的尽是各种故事情节，各种人物关系，以及各种喜怒哀乐。多年下来，他身体的很多部位都在退化、衰老，可神奇的是，有两个器官却能大逆其道——心始终年轻、澎湃，充满了活力与激情；眼神一直炯炯有神，而且越来越光芒四射。所以，在创作接近尾声的时候，他整个人虽显得疲惫、衰弱，但精神强大。他瘦弱的身躯放射出神奇的力量，布满细碎褶皱的脸也显得魅力无限……
功夫不负有心人。《约翰·克里斯朵夫》一经问世，立即受到热捧，很快被翻译成十几种文字。令人感慨的是，1912年，罗兰在世界上，甚至在法国本土还是个无名小卒，到1914年就已经蜚声天下、誉满全球了。就这样，罗兰从黑暗走向光明，从默默无闻变得名声大噪，而且一发不可收拾。《约翰·克里斯朵夫》第三卷也是本部巨作的大结局，在这里，作者对克里斯朵夫这个英雄的塑造也更加完善。从第一卷到第三卷，这位音乐天才从少年到老年，一路走来，充满坎坷、艰辛与挑战，但他对生活的态度、对人类及生命的最大价值追求却支撑着他突破艰难险阻、踽踽独行、勇往直前。
克里斯朵夫出生于音乐世家，从小就显示出音乐天赋，在祖父的指导下，小克里斯朵夫很快成了远近闻名的音乐神童。十一岁时已成为宫廷乐队小提琴手。十四岁时，父亲因酗酒被解雇，克里斯朵夫成了一家之主，开始为生活疲于奔波。由于不甘平庸，他大胆表露了对艺术的看法，却遭到众口一词的攻击，小小的克里斯朵夫以顽强的毅力与命运抗争着。经历了少年时期的磨难后，一方面为了避难，另一方面为了寻求适合自己的发展环境，他来到法国。在儿童时期，克里斯朵夫要征服的是物质世界；在青年时期，他要征服的是精神世界。他为了精神的自由而丧失了物质上的一切依傍。他呼唤着法国，那是他向往已久的自由国度。虽然光怪陆离的法国艺术界使他失望，但没有削弱他巨大的创作热情。一大批优秀的作品从他脑海里、指尖上喷涌而出，不断地冲击着欧洲音乐界。不过，任性、盲目的他只能从音乐中享受生活激情，却不被世人所接受。后来他受好友奥里维思想的影响，开始逐渐了解法国民众。他终于明白，唯有接地气的艺术才有生命力……
后来，奥里维因救人而死，克里斯朵夫因打死警察而亡命瑞士。他要动用自己的一切力量去战胜黑暗，从此，克里斯朵夫隐遁山林十年之久，陶醉在与青年时期的好友葛拉齐亚的爱情之中。约翰·克里斯朵夫把他的体验融入到创作之中。当克里斯朵夫重返巴黎时，他已步入晚年，那时他的声名已誉满欧洲。但直到最后，他也无法与相爱的葛拉齐亚结合。
如果说整部小说是一个生活的交响乐，那么第三卷开头部分相当于交响乐的“行板”章节，富含浓浓的抒情氛围，非常柔美。这一卷的内容和第二卷的奔放、憎恨形成强烈的对比，从而展现温婉、静谧、柔情的意境，以烘托纯洁的友谊和唯美的爱情。在急风暴雨过后，几乎所有的一切都被摧毁，但最终所有的一切都会过去，向着高远澄明之境发展，并流露出黎明的光辉。
在经历太多的人生磨难后，他的心情趋于平静。克里斯朵夫在“我曾经奋斗过，曾经痛苦过，曾经流浪过，曾经创造过，有一天，我将为了新的战斗而再生”的内心独白中死去。
这位气贯长虹的英雄，就像一条奔腾了许久的河流，就要投入大海。“于是，汹涌澎湃的江河，奔腾咆哮的江河，都和他同声歌唱——你会得到新生的，现在，安息吧！一切都只是一颗心，都是日和夜交织的微笑，都是爱与恨融合而成的庄严和谐。我要歌颂有左右两翼的上帝。歌颂生命！歌颂死亡！”
在整个交响乐的终曲中，一切的一切都趋于和谐，克里斯朵夫内心的暴风雨早已散去，他走入了宁静的精神世界，整部小说也在一片和谐、悠远、静谧、安详、超脱的氛围中，画上了完美的句号。
Romain Rolland
Romain Rolland (29 January 1866-30 December 1944) was a French dramatist, novelist, essayist, art historian and mystic who was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1915 “as a tribute to the lofty idealism of his literary production and to the sympathy and love of truth with which he has described different types of human beings”.
Jean-Christophe (1904‒1912) is the novel in ten volumes by for which Romain Rolland received the Prix Femina in 1905 the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1915.
The first four volumes are sometimes grouped as Jean-Christophe, the next three as Jean-Christophe à Paris, and the last three as La fin du voyage (“Journey’s End”).
1. L’Aube (“Dawn”, 1904)
2. Le Matin (“Morning”, 1904)
3. L’Adolescent (“Youth”, 1904)
4. La Révolte (“Revolt”, 1905)
5. La Foire sur la place (“The Marketplace”, 1908)
6. Antoinette (1908)
7. Dans la maison (“The House”, 1908)
8. Les Amies (“Love and Friendship”, 1910)
9. Le Buisson ardent (“The Burning Bush”, 1911)
10. La Nouvelle Journée (“The New Dawn”, 1912)
The English translations appeared between 1911 and 1913.
General Preface
Millions of Chinese are learning English to acquire knowledge and skills for communication in a world where English has become the primary language for international discourse. Yet not many learners have come to realize that the command of the English language also enables them to have an easy access to the world literary classics such as Shakespeare's plays, Shelley's poems, mark Twain's novels and Nietzsche's works which are an important part of liberal-arts education. The most important goals of universities are not vocational, that is, not merely the giving of knowledge and the training of skills.
In a broad sense, education aims at broadening young people's mental horizon, cultivating virtues and shaping their character. Lincoln, Mao Zedong and many other great leaders and personages of distinction declared how they drew immense inspiration and strength from literary works. As a matter of fact, many of them had aspired to become writers in their young age. Alexander the Great (356-323 B.C.) is said to take along with him two things, waking or sleeping: a book and a dagger, and the book is Iliad, a literary classic, by Homer. He would put these two much treasured things under his pillow when he went to bed.
Today, we face an unprecedented complex and changing world. To cope with this rapid changing world requires not only communication skills, but also adequate knowledge of cultures other than our own home culture. Among the most important developments in present-day global culture is the ever increasing cultural exchanges and understanding between different nations and peoples. And one of the best ways to know foreign cultures is to read their literary works, particularly their literary classics, the soul of a country's culture. They also give you the best language and the feeling of sublimity.
Liaoning People's Publishing House is to be congratulated for its foresight and courage in making a new series of world literary classics available to the reading public. It is hoped that people with an adequate command of the English language will read them, like them and keep them as their lifetime companions.
I am convinced that the series will make an important contribution to the literary education of the young people in China. At a time when the whole country is emphasizing "spiritual civilization", it is certainly a very timely venture to put out the series of literary classics for literary and cultural education.Zhang ZhongzaiProfessorBeijing Foreign Studies UniversityJuly, 2013 Beijing
总序
经典名著的语言无疑是最凝练、最优美、最有审美价值的。雪莱的那句“如冬已来临，春天还会远吗？”让多少陷于绝望的人重新燃起希望之火，鼓起勇气，迎接严冬过后的春天。徐志摩一句“悄悄的我走了，正如我悄悄的来；我挥一挥衣袖，不带走一片云彩”又让多少人陶醉。尼采的那句“上帝死了”，又给多少人以振聋发聩的启迪作用。
读经典名著，尤其阅读原汁原味作品，可以怡情养性，增长知识，加添才干，丰富情感，开阔视野。所谓“经典”，其实就是作者所属的那个民族的文化积淀，是那个民族的灵魂缩影。英国戏剧泰斗莎士比亚的《哈姆雷特》和《麦克白》等、“意大利语言之父”的但丁的《神曲》之《地狱篇》《炼狱篇》及《天堂篇》、爱尔兰世界一流作家詹姆斯·乔伊斯的《尤利西斯》及《一个艺术家的肖像》等、美国风趣而笔法超一流的著名小说家马克·吐温的《哈克历险记》以及《汤姆索亚历险记》等，德国著名哲学家尼采的《查拉图斯特拉如是说》及《快乐的科学》等等，都为塑造自己民族的文化积淀，做出了永恒的贡献，也同时向世界展示了他们所属的民族的优美剪影。
很多著名领袖如林肯、毛泽东等伟大人物，也都曾从经典名著中汲取力量，甚至获得治国理念。耶鲁大学教授查尔斯·希尔曾在题为《经典与治国理念》的文章，阐述了读书与治国之间的绝妙关系。他这样写道：“在几乎所有经典名著中，都可以找到让人叹为观止、深藏其中的治国艺术原则。”
经典名著，不仅仅有治国理念，更具提升读者审美情趣的功能。世界上不同时代、不同地域的优秀经典作品，都存在一个共同属性：歌颂赞美人间的真善美，揭露抨击世间的假恶丑。
读欧美自但丁以来的经典名著，你会看到，西方无论是在漫长的黑暗时期，抑或进入现代进程时期，总有经典作品问世，对世间的负面，进行冷峻的批判。与此同时，也有更多的大家作品问世，热情讴歌人间的真诚与善良，使读者不由自主地沉浸于经典作品的审美情感之中。
英语经典名著，显然是除了汉语经典名著以外，人类整个进程中至关重要的文化遗产的一部分。从历史上看，英语是全世界经典阅读作品中，使用得最广泛的国际性语言。这一事实，没有产生根本性变化。本世纪相当长一段时间，这一事实也似乎不会发生任何变化。而要更深入地了解并切身感受英语经典名著的风采，阅读原汁原味的英语经典作品的过程，显然是必不可少的。
辽宁人民出版社及时并隆重推出“最经典英语文库”系列丛书，是具有远见与卓识的出版行为。我相信，这套既可供阅读，同时也具收藏价值的英语原版经典作品系列丛书，在帮助人们了解什么才是经典作品的同时，也一定会成为广大英语爱好者、大中学生以及学生家长们挚爱的“最经典英语文库”。北京外国语大学英语学院北外公共外交研究中心欧美文学研究中心主任全国英国文学学会名誉会长张中载 教授2013年7月于北京
LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP
In spite of the success which was beginning to materialize outside France, the two friends found their financial position very slow in mending. Every now and then there recurred moments of penury when they were obliged to go without food. They made up for it by eating twice as much as they needed when they had money. But, on the whole, it was a trying existence.
For the time being they were in the period of the lean kine. Christophe had stayed up half the night to finish a dull piece of musical transcription for Hecht: he did not get to bed until dawn, and slept like a log to make up for lost time. Olivier had gone out early: he had a lecture to give at the other end of Paris. About eight o'clock the porter came with the letters, and rang the bell. As a rule he did not wait for them to come, but just slipped the letters under the door. This morning he went on knocking. Only half awake, Christophe went to the door growling: he paid no attention to what the smiling, loquacious porter was saying about an article in the paper, but just took the letters without looking at them, pushed the door to without closing it, went to bed, and was soon fast asleep once more.
An hour later he woke up with a start on hearing some one in his room: and he was amazed to see a strange face at the foot of his bed, a complete stranger bowing gravely to him. It was a journalist, who, finding the door open, had entered without ceremony. Christophe was furious, and jumped out of bed:
"What the devil are you doing here?" he shouted.
He grabbed his pillow to hurl it at the intruder, who skipped back. He explained himself. A reporter of the Nation wished to interview M. Krafft about the article which had appeared in the Grand Journal.
"What article?"
"Haven't you read it?"
The reporter began to tell him what it was about.
Christophe went to bed again. If he had not been so sleepy he would have kicked the fellow out: but it was less trouble to let him talk. He curled himself up in the bed, closed his eyes, and pretended to be asleep. And very soon he would really have been off, but the reporter stuck to his guns, and in a loud voice read the beginning of the article. At the very first words Christophe pricked up his ears. M. Krafft was referred to as the greatest musical genius of the age. Christophe forgot that he was pretending to be asleep, swore in astonishment, sat up in bed, and said:
"They are mad! Who has been pulling their legs?"
The reporter seized the opportunity, and stopped reading to ply Christophe with a series of questions, which he answered unthinkingly. He had picked up the paper, and was gazing in utter amazement at his own portrait, which was printed as large as life on the front page: but he had no time to read the article, for another journalist entered the room. This time Christophe was really angry. He told them to get out: but they did not comply until they had made hurried notes of the furniture in the room, and the photographs on the wall, and the features of the strange being who, between laughter and anger, thrust them out of the room, and, in his nightgown, took them to the door and bolted it after them.
But it was ordained that he should not be left in peace that day. He had not finished dressing when there came another knock at the door, a prearranged knock which was only known to a few of their friends. Christophe opened the door, and found himself face to face with yet another stranger, whom he was just about to dismiss in a summary fashion, when the man protested that he was the author of the article.... How are you to get rid of a man who regards you as a genius! Christophe had grumpily to submit to his admirer's effusions. He was amazed at the sudden notoriety which had come like a bolt from the blue, and he wondered if, without knowing it, he had had a masterpiece produced the evening before. But he had no time to find out. The journalist had come to drag him, whether he liked it or not, there and then, to the offices of the paper where the editor, the great Arsène Gamache himself, wished to see him: the car was waiting downstairs. Christophe tried to get out of it: but, in spite of himself, he was so naïvely responsive to the journalist's friendly protestations that in the end he gave way.
Ten minutes later he was introduced to a potentate in whose presence all men trembled. He was a sturdy little man, about fifty, short and stout, with a big round head, gray hair brushed up, a red face, a masterful way of speaking, a thick, affected accent, and every now and then he would break out into a choppy sort of volubility. He had forced himself on Paris by his enormous self-confidence. A business man, with a knowledge of men, naïve and deep, passionate, full of himself, he identified his business with the business of France, and even with the affairs of humanity. His own interests, the prosperity of his paper, and the salus publica, all seemed to him to be of equal importance and to be narrowly associated. He had no doubt that any man who wronged him, wronged France also: and to crush an adversary, he would in perfectly good faith have overthrown the Government. However, he was by no means incapable of generosity. He was an idealist of the after-dinner order, and loved to be a sort of God Almighty, and to lift some poor devil or other out of the mire, by way of demonstrating the greatness of his power, whereby he could make something out of nothing, make and unmake Ministers, and, if he had cared to, make and unmake Kings. His sphere was the universe. He would make men of genius, too, if it so pleased him.
That day he had just "made" Christophe.
It was Olivier who in all innocence had belled the cat.
Olivier, who could do nothing to advance his own interests, and had a horror of notoriety, and avoided journalists like the plague, took quite another view of these things where his friend was in question. He was like those loving mothers, the right-living women of the middle-class, those irreproachable wives, who would sell themselves to procure any advantage for their rascally young sons.
Writing for the reviews, and finding himself in touch with a number of critics and dilettanti, Olivier never let slip an opportunity of talking about Christophe: and for some time past he had been surprised to find that they listened to him. He could feel a sort of current of curiosity, a mysterious rumor flying about literary and polite circles. What was its origin? Were there echoes of newspaper opinion, following on the recent performances of Christophe's work in England and Germany? It seemed impossible to trace it to any definite source. It was one of those frequent phenomena of those men who sniff the air of Paris, and can tell the day before, more exactly than the meteorological observatory of the tower of Saint-Jacques, what wind is blowing up for the morrow, and what it will bring with it. In that great city of nerves, through which electric vibrations pass, there are invisible currents of fame, a latent celebrity which precedes the actuality, the vague gossip of the drawing-rooms, the nescio quid majus nascitur Iliade, which, at a given moment, bursts out in a puffing article, the blare of the trumpet which drives the name of the new idol into the thickest heads. Sometimes that trumpet-blast alienates the first and best friends of the man whose glory it proclaims. And yet they are responsible for it.
So Olivier had a share in the article in the Grand Journal. He had taken advantage of the interest displayed in Christophe, and had carefully stoked it up with adroitly worded information. He had been careful not to bring Christophe directly into touch with the journalists, for he was afraid of an outburst. But at the request of the Grand Journal he had slyly introduced Christophe to a reporter in a café without his having any suspicion. All these precautions only pricked curiosity, and made Christophe more interesting. Olivier had never had anything to do with publicity before: he had not stopped to consider that he was setting in motion a machine which, once it got going, it was impossible to direct or control.
He was in despair when, on his way to his lecture, he read the article in the Grand Journal. He had not foreseen such a calamity. Above all, he had not expected it to come so soon. He had reckoned on the paper waiting to make sure and verify its facts before it published anything. He was too naïve. If a newspaper takes the trouble to discover a new celebrity, it is, of course, for its own sake, so that its rivals may not have the honor of the discovery. It must lose no time, even if it means knowing nothing whatever about the person in question. But an author very rarely complains: if he is admired, he has quite as much understanding as he wants.
The Grand Journal, after setting out a few ridiculous stories about Christophe's struggles, representing him as a victim of German despotism, an apostle of liberty, forced to fly from Imperial Germany and take refuge in France, the home and shelter of free men,—(a fine pretext for a Chauvinesque tirade!)—plunged into lumbering praise of his genius, of which it knew nothing,—nothing except a few tame melodies, dating from Christophe's early days in Germany, which Christophe, who was ashamed of them, would have liked to have seen destroyed. But if the author of the article knew nothing at all about Christophe's work, he made up for it in his knowledge of his plans—or rather such plans as he invented for him. A few words let fall by Christophe or Olivier, or even by Goujart, who pretended to be well-informed, had been enough for him to construct a fanciful Jean-Christophe, "a Republican genius,—the great musician of democracy." He seized the opportunity to decry various contemporary French musicians, especially the most original and independent among them, who set very little store by democracy. He only excepted one or two composers, whose electoral opinions were excellent in his eyes. It was annoying that their music was not better. But that was a detail. And besides, his eulogy of these men, and even his praise of Christophe, was of not nearly so much account as his criticism of the rest. In Paris, when you read an article eulogizing a man's work, it is always as well to ask yourself:
"Whom is he decrying?"
Olivier went hot with shame as he read the paper, and said to himself:
"A fine thing I've done!"
He could hardly get through his lecture. As soon as he had finished he hurried home. What was his consternation to find that Christophe had already gone out with the journalists! He delayed lunch for him. Christophe did not return. Hours passed, and Olivier grew more and more anxious and thought:
"What a lot of foolish things they will make him say!"
About three o'clock Christophe came home quite lively. He had had lunch with Arsène Gamache, and his head was a little muzzy with the champagne he had drunk. He could not understand Olivier's anxiety, who asked him in fear and trembling what he had said and done.
"What have I been doing? I've had a splendid lunch. I haven't had such a good feed for a long time."
He began to recount the menu.
"And wine.... I had wine of every color."
Olivier interrupted him to ask who was there.
"Who was there?... I don't know. There was Gamache, a little round man, true as gold: Clodomir, the writer of the article, a charming fellow: three or four journalists whom I didn't know, very jolly, all very nice and charming to me—the cream of good fellows."
Olivier did not seem to be convinced. Christophe was astonished at his small enthusiasm.
"Haven't you read the article?"
"Yes. I have. Have you read it?"
"Yes.... That is to say, I just glanced at it. I haven't had time."
"Well: read it."
Christophe took it up. At the first words he spluttered.
"Oh! The idiot!" he said.
He roared with laughter.
"Bah!" he went on. "These critics are all alike. They know nothing at all about it."
But as he read farther he began to lose his temper: it was too stupid, it made him look ridiculous. What did they mean by calling him "a Republican musician"; it did not mean anything.... Well, let the fib pass.... But when they set his "Republican" art against the "sacristy art" of the masters who had preceded him,—(he whose soul was nourished by the souls of those great men),—it was too much....
"The swine! They're trying to make me out an idiot!..."
And then, what was the sense of using him as a cudgel to thwack talented French musicians, whom he loved more or less,—(though rather less than more),—though they knew their trade, and honored it? And—worst of all—with an incredible want of tact he was credited with odious sentiments about his country!... No, that, that was beyond endurance....
"I shall write and tell them so," said Christophe.
Olivier intervened.
"No, no," he said, "not now! You are too excited. Tomorrow, when you are cooler...."
Christophe stuck to it. When he had anything to say he could not wait until the morrow. He promised Olivier to show him his letter. The
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