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真爱是什么?--读《简爱》聊真爱

真爱是什么?--读《简爱》聊真爱

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虽然以前是学洋文的,但是从里到外自知自己其实是个很"土"的人,连《简爱》这样的小说都没有读过(读书时应该是读过简写本),《简爱》拍成电影据说全世界有十六个不同语言版本,我好像也不记得看没看过。
 
不过现在读也不晚,到了这个年纪,很多东西的理解会更深刻些。昨天星期六紧赶慢赶将500多页的小说读完了,前后只花了一个多星期,三个版本轮番上阵。纸版的在家光线好时看,电子免费版的晚上老眼昏花时看,白天上班,还下载在公司电脑word上,见缝插针地看。读起来速度时快时慢,读不太懂的地方为了不影响整体阅读跳过了,不过纸书和word里面到处是我highlight的痕迹。应该说,小说写得好的,虽然文字不是那么平铺直叙,一句简单的话到英国作家嘴里绕几绕再表达,显得很复杂,读时感觉自己就像没文化的在仰头看贵妇人文绉绉地咬文嚼字,但是读后又觉得值得再细细咀嚼一番。作家勃朗特的语言挥洒自如,结构很随意,用了大量的倒装句,和类似中文里的排比句,细腻真实的心理叙述、对话把人物写得栩栩如生。小说里处处金句闪闪,无愧是大家,是名著。有时想,这样的名著我年轻时读不下去是有原因,她的文字太高深了些。
 
故事情节想必大家比我都熟悉。简单概括,就是18岁的简爱离开孤儿院,到一个大庄园里做家庭教师,爱上了大她20岁的庄园主罗切斯特,两人在准备踏入婚姻殿堂时,被人揭露罗切斯特是一个已婚男子,家里有一个精神病太太,整天被锁在不见天日的三楼密室里。简爱得知之后,毅然决然离开了他,走之前没有带走罗切斯特的一文钱财。她流落荒野,在濒临绝境之际叩门求一家人收留。 无巧不成书的是,收留她的是她姑姑家的小孩。就这样,她遇见了她的堂兄 St John。 John仪表堂堂,玉树临风,是一个十分虔诚的牧师。他为了自己传道事业,向简爱求婚(估计那时还没有反对近亲结婚一说)。简爱应允了他,但是内心深处极度不安,放不下罗切斯特,第二天又长途跋涉去寻找曾经的庄园。找到的罗切斯特已经是个残疾人,右手臂断了,双眼瞎了。面对这样的情形,简爱选择留下来照顾她,两人结婚生子, 从此幸福地生活在一起。
 
几天前的饭后,我拿着读了2/3的《简爱》,和斜靠床边的某人聊起了这本小说。这个最近看我读书劲头足,常常要泼泼冷水,叫嚣文学的作用是overrated的某人,却自称这英文版的小说他大学时就读过了,只是不记得了,在我把内容简单复述给他听时,只听他抛出一句,真爱如何define后,竟然昏昏睡去,留下我一个人思考着这个问题。
 
是啊,什么是真爱?不同的人有不同的回答,或许同一个人在不同阶段的答案也不一样。一见钟情是真爱,日久生情是真爱。为真爱人们走进婚姻,又为真爱走出婚姻。中国古代有"问世间情为何物,直教人生死相许"的诗句,有凄美的梁祝故事; 十九世纪英国,在勃朗特这部《简爱》小说里,同样也演绎着一个真爱故事。简爱不为钱财,不为地位,不顾罗切斯特最后是残疾的事实,义无反顾地嫁给他,从此不离不弃。
 
那么今天呢? 在社会进入到二十一世纪,真爱是越来越多了,还是越来越少了呢? 为什么人们在物质丰富、婚姻自由后,离婚率却越来越高? 难道真爱本身就是有时间性,阶段性, 不能持续太久,它会随着岁月的流逝变质的? 以前的人可能一辈子就爱一个人,现在的人可能一辈子不止只爱一个人,因为这世界太繁花似锦,太让人眼花缭乱了。人们可以今天是出于真爱,明天就不是了。 当然,这种现象又是可以理解的,因为人在变,有人进步,有人退步。人的年龄的增长,阅历的加深,接触到的事物和人的不同,都让人的情感起变化。 问题是,如果碰见一个比年轻时的真爱还要合拍的真爱时,怎么办? 是奋不顾身冲破一切追求你的新真爱,还是为了道德舆论守住曾经的旧爱? 是付出一切代价,去拥有真爱,还是望而却步?
 
我越想越迷惑,我想我是想不清楚这个问题的。或许这世界上还有人一辈子都没有遇到过真爱,在他们眼里真爱或许根本不存在呢。
 
写这篇文章时,又问了某人,他眼里的真爱是什么? 理工科出身的,灵机一动胡编出了什么partner compatibility index, 简称PCI, 说所谓的真爱就是两个人是否compatible, 这种所谓的指数,可以将真爱科学化,定量化,将一个人的外貌,性情,性能力综合打分(weighted)。还抛砖引玉地问了我一个类似的问题,如果A和B的真爱指数是0.5, 过几年后,A碰见了C, 两人的指数上升到0.9, 怎么办? 两人一阵嘻哈,说有待日后深化研究。
 
其实,人是感情动物,最微妙的变化可以让人一天之内翻手为云,覆手为雨地不可琢磨。如果真有一天,一个人的感情,一个人的真爱可以发展到像机器人似进行综合评判,那倒也简单省事了。
 
写下这些有点凌乱的文章,跟《简爱》有点扯不上边,就算是七月里的随笔记录吧。
 
小说的金句太多了,只抄一点点在下面,勃朗特的文字、结构(只抄了一句倒装句,小说里太多了)可见一斑。
 
 

Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you?  Do you think I am an automaton?—a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup?  Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless?  You think wrong!—I have as much soul as you,—and full as much heart!  And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you.  I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh;—it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God’s feet, equal,—as we are!”

The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter—often an unconscious, but still a truthful interpreter—in the eye.  My eye rose to his; and while I looked in his fierce face I gave an involuntary sigh; his gripe was painful, and my over-taxed strength almost exhausted.


The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself. 

“You will not come?  You will not be my comforter, my rescuer?  My deep love, my wild woe, my frantic prayer, are all nothing to you?”

“Little Jane’s love would have been my best reward,” he answered; “without it, my heart is broken.  But Jane will give me her love: yes—nobly, generously.”


Up the blood rushed to his face; forth flashed the fire from his eyes; erect he sprang; he held his arms out; but I evaded the embrace, and at once quitted the room.


“Farewell!” was the cry of my heart as I left him.  Despair added, “Farewell for ever!”
The grace and harmony of beauty are quite wanting in those features.”

Prejudices, it is well known, are most difficult to eradicate from the heart whose soil has never been loosened or fertilised by education: they grow there, firm as weeds among stones.

the pleasure arising from perfect congeniality of tastes, sentiments, and principles.

Whether is it better, I ask, to be a slave in a fool’s paradise at Marseilles—fevered with delusive bliss one hour—suffocating with the bitterest tears of remorse and shame the next—or to be a village-schoolmistress, free and honest, in a breezy mountain nook in the healthy heart of England?

God has given us, in a measure, the power to make our own fate; and when our energies seem to demand a sustenance they cannot get—when our will strains after a path we may not follow—we need neither starve from inanition, nor stand still in despair: we have but to seek another nourishment for the mind, as strong as the forbidden food it longed to taste—and perhaps purer; and to hew out for the adventurous foot a road as direct and broad as the one Fortune has blocked up against us, if rougher than it.


as sweet features as ever the temperate clime of Albion moulded; as pure hues of rose and lily as ever her humid gales and vapoury skies generated and screened, justified, in this instance, the term.  No charm was wanting, no defect was perceptible; the young girl had regular and delicate lineaments; eyes shaped and coloured as we see them in lovely pictures, large, and dark, and full; the long and shadowy eyelash which encircles a fine eye with so soft a fascination; the pencilled brow which gives such clearness; the white smooth forehead, which adds such repose to the livelier beauties of tint and ray; the cheek oval, fresh, and smooth; the lips, fresh too, ruddy, healthy, sweetly formed; the even and gleaming teeth without flaw; the small dimpled chin; the ornament of rich, plenteous tresses—all advantages, in short, which, combined, realise the ideal of beauty, were fully hers.  I wondered, as I looked at this fair creature: I admired her with my whole heart.  Nature had surely formed her in a partial mood; and, forgetting her usual stinted step-mother dole of gifts, had endowed this, her darling, with a grand-dame’s bounty.


As she patted the dog’s head, bending with native grace before his young and austere master, I saw a glow rise to that master’s face.  I saw his solemn eye melt with sudden fire, and flicker with resistless emotion.  Flushed and kindled thus, he looked nearly as beautiful for a man as she for a woman.  His chest heaved once, as if his large heart, weary of despotic constriction, had expanded, despite the will, and made a vigorous bound for the attainment of liberty.  But he curbed it, I think, as a resolute rider would curb a rearing steed.  He responded neither by word nor movement to the gentle advances made him.

 
 
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来源: 文学城-暖冬cool夏
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