Elfriede Jelinek 艾芙烈‧葉利尼克

Elfriede Jelinek(艾芙烈‧葉利尼克),1946年10月20日生於奧地利的米爾茨楚施拉格一個有捷克猶太血統的家庭。自幼開始學習鋼琴、管風琴和長笛，後進入維也納音樂學院就讀。1964年畢業後，進入維也納大學學習戲劇和藝術史。1971年在維也納大學獲得管風琴碩士學位。70年代初，她輾轉柏林、羅馬等地。1974年與戈特弗裡德·許恩斯貝格結婚，居住在慕尼黑和維也納。耶利內克很早就開始寫詩，1967年出版詩集《麗莎的影子》。1970年發表諷刺小說《寶貝，我們是誘餌》。此後寫下了大量的小說、戲劇、散文和詩歌作品。代表作是帶有自傳成分的《鋼琴教師》。主要作品有長篇小說《女情人們》(1975)、《鋼琴教師》(1983)、《欲》(1989)、《美妙時光》(Wonderful, Wonderful Times)、《死者的孩子們》(1995)、《貪婪》(2000)，戲劇《克拉拉S》(1981)、《城堡戲劇》(1985)、《在阿爾卑斯山上》(2002)、《死亡與少女I—V》(2002)等。她先後獲得過海因利希·伯爾獎、施蒂利亞州文學獎、格奧爾格·畢希納獎等許多獎項，2004年榮膺諾貝爾文學獎。

像很多西方人一樣，狗是葉利尼克最鐘愛的寵物。葉利尼克因寵物而起筆，文字卻開始討論生命的意義，自在與他在的意義。葉利尼克認為自己對寵物的愛憐漸成一種“恐懼”，而她最寵愛的小狗弗洛皮對自己的依戀又讓這個小生命失去了自己的存在。葉利尼克以一個女性作家特有的柔情表達了自己對小狗的溫婉的愛憐。她曾這樣寫到：“這只動物是那麼的漂亮和柔軟，有了它，我每日的散步有了意義和目的，我一個人走在那條路上的時候，那麼像一位退休的老婦人。”

創作評價

艾芙烈‧葉利尼克的作品從自己獨特的視角出發，回顧歷史，尋找自我，發現自我，表現女性的人格和個性。她反對男權統治，男性話語禁錮了女性的發展，女性在兩性關系中總是處於受壓抑、被損害的地位。她的作品就是要揭露這種表面繁榮昌盛和美好下掩蓋的人性醜陋的一面，揭露在被壓抑，被禁錮狀態下人性的變態和扭曲。因為驚世駭俗的寫作使她成為媒體關注的人物，一再引起極大反響。她時而因為作品中太直接表現階級分析和唯物論觀點而被看作過於激進；時而因作品中的兩性關系描寫被指責為有傷風化。

她被媒體稱為激進的女權主義者，卻又不被一些女權主義人士認同。她除了小說外還寫了不少戲劇，但是有的劇作卻被維也納的劇院禁止上演，只是近年來才解禁，葉利尼克本人也成為引起劇壇重視的當前重要的劇作家之一。

《女鋼琴教師》一書又因其中的自傳性內容引起外界對她私人生活的興趣。葉利尼克並不否認自身的經歷與創作有密切關系，但是它又絕不是簡單的展露自我，更不同於當下某些庸俗低級的色情小說，為了追求賣點，加入赤裸裸的性描寫，追求感官刺激，甚至宣揚腐朽沒落的人生觀。耶利內克的小說並不是簡單的講一個聳人聽聞的故事，而是包含著強烈的社會批判和獨具匠心語言藝術追求，因而在國內外獲得了肯定和好評。葉利尼克的目光敏銳，她用鋒利的解剖刀，冷峻的語言，對摧殘人性的社會進行了微觀的社會學研究，以極端的姿態撕開了社會虛偽的“美的表像”。 她的小說被歸類為情色文學，甚至有「醜聞女作家」之稱。她毫不留情地批判祖國奧地利潛在的法西斯思想，揭穿天主教小民的偽善，惹來許多爭議。而患有密室恐懼症的她，更因而不願出席領取諾貝爾獎，她也曾因精神崩潰兩度入院治療……。

諾貝爾文學獎委員會的評語是「因為她在小說與劇作中，使用語音與反語音，美如音樂的流動，再加上超群的語文熱忱，來揭露社會老套因循的荒謬，以及它們壓抑人的力量。」雖然中譯本也許無法全然傳達德語中的音樂性，但整體而言，小說裡的簡潔、流暢，以及時而像短文般的互相詰問，也確實造成某種艾芙烈．葉利尼克極為獨特的個人風格。

A Hunger Artist 飢餓藝術家

by Franz Kafka

During these last decades the interest in professional fasting has markedly diminished. It used to pay very well to stage such great performances under one’s own management, but today that is quite impossible. We live in a different world now. At one time the whole town took a lively interest in the hunger artist; from day to day of his fast the excitement mounted; everybody wanted to see him at least once a day; there were people who bought season tickets for the last few days and sat from morning till night in front of his small barred cage; even in the nighttime there were visiting hours, when the whole effect was heightened by torch flares; on fine days the cage was set out in the open air, and then it was the children’s special treat to see the hunger artist; for their elders he was often just a joke that happened to be in fashion, but the children stood openmouthed, holding each other’s hands for greater security, marveling at him as he sat there pallid in black tights, with his ribs sticking out so prominently, not even on a seat but down among straw on the ground, sometimes giving a courteous nod, answering questions with a constrained smile, or perhaps stretching an arm through the bars so that one might feel how thin it was, and then again withdrawing deep into himself, paying no attention to anyone or anything, not even to the all-important striking of the clock that was the only piece of furniture in his cage, but merely staring into vacancy with half-shut eyes, now and then taking a sip from a tiny glass of water to moisten his lips. Besides casual onlookers there were also relays of permanent watchers selected by the public, usually butchers, strangely enough, and it was their task to watch the hunger artist day and night, three of them at a time, in case he should have some secret recourse to nourishment. This was nothing but a formality, instigated to reassure the masses, for the initiates knew well enough that during his fast the artist would never in any circumstances, not even under forcible compulsion, swallow the smallest morsel of food; the honor of his profession forbade it. Not every watcher, of course, was capable of understanding this, there were often groups of night watchers who were very lax in carrying out their duties and deliberately huddled together in a retired corner to play cards with great absorption, obviously intending to give the hunger artist the chance of a little refreshment, which they supposed he would draw from some private hoard. Nothing annoyed the artist more than these watchers; they made him miserable; they made his fast seem unendurable; sometimes he mastered his feebleness sufficiently to sing during their watch for as long as he could keep going, to show them how unjust their suspicions were. But that was of little use; they only wondered at his cleverness in being able to fill his mouth even while singing. Much more to his taste were the watchers who sat close up to the bars, who were not content with the dim night lighting of the hall but focused him in the full glare of the electric pocket torch given them by the impresario. The harsh light did not trouble him at all, in any case he could never sleep properly, and he could always drowse a little, whatever the light, at any hour, even when the hall was thronged with noisy onlookers. He was quite happy at the prospect of spending a sleepless night with such watchers; he was ready to exchange jokes with them, to tell them stories out of his nomadic life, anything at all to keep them awake and demonstrate to them again that he had no eatables in his cage and that he was fasting as not one of them could fast. But his happiest moment was when the morning came and an enormous breakfast was brought for them, at his expense, on which they flung themselves with the keen appetite of healthy men after a weary night of wakefulness. Of course there were people who argued that this breakfast was an unfair attempt to bribe the watchers, but that was going rather too far, and when they were invited to take on a night’s vigil without a breakfast, merely for the sake of the cause, they made themselves scarce, although they stuck stubbornly to their suspicions. Such suspicions, anyhow, were a necessary accompaniment to the profession of fasting. No one could possibly watch the hunger artist continuously, day and night, and so no one could produce first-hand evidence that the fast had really been rigorous and continuous; only the artist himself could know that, he was therefore bound to be the sole completely satisfied spectator of his own fast. Yet for other reasons he was never satisfied; it was not perhaps mere fasting that had brought him to such skeleton thinness that many people had regretfully to keep away from his exhibitions, because the sight of him was too much for them, perhaps it was dissatisfaction with himself that had worn him down. For he alone knew, what no other initiate knew, how easy it was to fast. It was the easiest thing in the world. He made no secret of this, yet people did not believe him, at best they set him down as modest, most of them, however, thought he was out for publicity or else was some kind of cheat who found it easy to fast because he had discovered a way of making it easy, and then had the impudence to admit the fact, more or less. He had to put up with all that, and in the course of time had got used to it, but his inner dissatisfaction always rankled, and never yet, after any term of fasting—this must be granted to his credit—had he left the cage of his own free will. The longest period of fasting was fixed by his impresario at forty days, beyond that term he was not allowed to go, not even in great cities, and there was good reason for it, too. Experience had proven that for about forty days the interest of the public could be stimulated by a steadily increasing pressure of advertisement, but after that the town began to lose interest, sympathetic support began notably to fall off; there were of course local variations as between one town and another or one country and another, but as a general rule forty days marked the limit. So on the fortieth day the flower-bedecked cage was opened, enthusiastic spectators filled the hall, a military band played, two doctors entered the cage to measure the results of the fast, which were announced through a megaphone, and finally two young ladies appeared, blissful at having been selected for the honor, to help the hunger artist down the few steps leading to a small table on which was spread a carefully chosen invalid repast. And at this very moment the artist always turned stubborn. True, he would entrust his bony arms to the outstretched helping hands of the ladies bending over him, but stand up he would not. Why stop fasting at this particular moment, after forty days of it? He had held out for a long time, an illimitably long time, why stop now, when he was in his best fasting form, or rather, not yet quite in is bet fasting form? Why should he be cheated of the fame he would get for fasting longer, for being not only the record hunger artist of all time, which presumably he was already, but for beating his own record by a performance beyond human imagination, since he felt that there were no limits to his capacity for fasting? His public pretended to admire him so much, why should it have so little patience with him; if he could endure fasting longer, why shouldn’t the public endure it? Besides, he was tired, he was comfortable sitting in the straw, and now he was supposed to lift himself to his full height and go down to a meal the very thought of which gave him a nausea that only the presence of the ladies kept him from betraying, and even that with an effort. And he looked up into the eyes of the ladies who were apparently so friendly and in reality so cruel, and shook his head, which felt too heavy on its strengthless neck. But then there happened again what always happened. The impresario came forward, without a word—for the band made speech impossible—lifted his arms in the air above the artist, as if inviting Heaven to look down upon this creature here in the straw, this suffering martyr, which indeed he was, although in quite another sense; grasped him around the emaciated waist, with exaggerated caution, so that the frail condition he was in might be appreciated; and committed him to the care of the blenching ladies, not without secretly giving him a shaking so that his legs and body tottered and swayed. The artist now submitted completely; his head lolled on his breast as if it had landed there by chance; his body was hollowed out; his legs in a spasm of self-preservation clung close to each other at the knees, yet scraped on the ground as if it were not really solid ground, as if they were only trying to find solid ground; and the whole weight of his body, a featherweight after all, relapsed onto one of the ladies, who, looking around for help and panting a little—this post of honor was not at all what she had expected it to be—first stretched her neck as far as she could to keep her face at least free from contact with the artist, then finding this impossible, and her more fortunate companion not coming to her aid but merely holding extended in her own trembling hand the little bunch of knucklebones that was the artist’s, to the great delight of the spectators burst into tears and had to be replaced by an attendant who had long been stationed in readiness. Then came the food, a little of which the impresario managed to get between the artist’s lips, while he sat in a kind of half-fainting trance, to the accompaniment of cheerful patter designed to distract to public’s attention for the artist’s condition; after that, a toast was drunk to the public, supposedly prompted by a whisper from the artist in the impresario’s ear; the band confirmed it with a mighty flourish, the spectators melted away, and no one had any cause to be dissatisfied with the proceedings, no one except the hunger artist himself, he only, as always. So he lived for many years, with small regular intervals of recuperation, in visible glory, honored by the world, yet in spite of that, troubled in spirit, and all the more troubled because no-one would take his trouble seriously. What comfort could he possibly need? What more could he possibly wish for? And if some good-natured person, feeling sorry for him, tried to console him by pointing out that his melancholy was probably caused by fasting, it could happen, especially when he had been fasting for some time, that he reacted with an outburst of fury and to the general alarm began to shake the bars of his cage like a wild animal. Yet the impresario had a way of punishing these outbreaks which he rather enjoyed putting into operation. He would apologize publicly for the artist’s behaviour, which was only to be excused, he admitted, because of the irritability caused by fasting; a condition hardly to be understood by well-fed people; then by natural transition he went on to mention the artist’s equally incomprehensible boast that he could fast for much longer than he was doing; he praised the high ambition, the good will, the great self-denial undoubtedly implicit in such a statement; and then quite simply countered it by bringing out photographs, which were also on sale to the public, showing the artist on the fortieth day of a fast lying in bed almost dead from exhaustion. This perversion of the truth, familiar to the artist though it was, always unnerved him afresh and proved too much for him. What was a consequence of the premature ending of his fast was here presented as the cause of it! To fight against this lack of understanding, against a whole world of non-understanding, was impossible. Time and again in good faith he stood by the bars listening to the impresario, but as soon as the photographs appeared he always let go and sank with a groan back onto his straw, and the reassured public could once more come close and gaze at him. A few years later when the witnesses of such scenes called them to mind, they often failed to understand themselves at all. For meanwhile the aforementioned change in public interest had set in; it seemed to happen almost overnight; there may have been profound causes for it, but who was going to bother about that; at any rate the pampered hunger artist suddenly found himself deserted on fine day by the amusement-seekers, who went streaming past him to other more-favored attractions. For the last time the impresario hurried him over half Europe to discover whether the old interest might still survive here and there; all in vain; everywhere, as if by secret agreement, a positive revulsion from professional fasting was in evidence. Of course it could not really have sprung up so suddenly as all that, and many premonitory symptoms which had not been sufficiently remarked or suppressed during the rush and glitter of success now came retrospectively to mind, but it was now too late to take any countermeasures. Fasting would surely come into fashion again at some future date, yet that was no comfort for those living in the present. What, then, was the hunger artist to do? He had been applauded by thousands in his time and could hardly come down to showing himself in a street booth at village fairs, and as for adopting another profession, he was not only too old for that but too fanatically devoted to fasting. So he took leave of the impresario, his partner in an unparalleled career, and hired himself to a large circus; in order to spare his own feelings he avoided reading the conditions of his contract. A large circus with its enormous traffic in replacing and recruiting men, animals, and apparatus can always find a use for people at any time, even for a hunger artist, provided of course that he does not ask too much, and in this particular case anyhow it was not only the artist who was taken on but his famous and long-known name as well, indeed considering the peculiar nature of his performance, which was not impaired by advancing age, it could not be objected that here was an artist past his prime, no longer at the height of his professional skill, seeking a refuge in some quiet corner of a circus; on the contrary, the hunger artist averred that he could fast as well as ever, which was entirely credible, he even alleged that if he were allowed to fast as he liked, and this was at once promised him without more ado, he could astound the world by establishing a record never yet achieved, a statement that certainly provoked a smile among the other professionals, since it left out of account the change in public opinion, which the hunger artist in his zeal conveniently forgot. He had not, however, actually lost his sense of the real situation and took it as a matter of course that he and his cage should be stationed, not in the middle of the ring as a main attraction, but outside, near the animal cages, on a site that was after all easily accessible. Large and gaily painted placards made a frame for the cage and announced what was to be seen inside it. When the public came thronging out in the intervals to see the animals, they could hardly avoid passing the hunger artist’s cage and stopping there for a moment, perhaps they might even have stayed longer, had not those pressing behind them behind them in the narrow gangway, who did not understand why they should be held up on their way towards the excitements of the menagerie, made it impossible for anyone to stand gazing for any length of time. And that was the reason why the hunger artist, who had of course been looking forward to these visiting hours as the main achievement of his life, began instead to shrink from them. At first he could hardly wait for the intervals; it was exhilarating to watch the crowds come streaming his way, until only too soon—not even the most obstinate self-deception, clung to almost consciously, could hold out against the fact—the conviction was borne in upon him that these people, most of them, to judge from their actions, again and again, without exception, were all on their way to the menagerie. And the first sight of them from a distance remained the best. For when they reached his cage he was at once deafened by the storm of shouting and abuse that arose from the two contending factions, which renewed themselves continuously, of those who wanted to stop and stare at him—he soon began to dislike them more than the others—not out of real interest but only out of obstinate self-assertiveness, and those who wanted to go straight on to the animals. When the first great rush was past, the stragglers came along, and these, whom nothing could have prevented from stopping to look at him as long as they had breath, raced past with long strides, hardly even glancing at him, in their haste to get to the menagerie in time. And all too rarely did it happen that he had a stroke of luck, when some father of a family fetched up before him with his children, pointed a finger at the hunger artist, and explained at length what the phenomenon meant, telling stories of earlier years when he himself had watched similar but much more thrilling performances, and the children, still rather uncomprehending, since neither inside or outside school had they been sufficiently prepared for this lesson—what did they care about fasting?—yet showed by the brightness of their intent eyes that new and better times might be coming. Perhaps, said the hunger artist to himself, many a time, things would be a little better if his cage were set not quite so near the menagerie. That made it too easy for people to make their choice, to say nothing of what he suffered from the stench of the menagerie, the animals’ restlessness by night, the carrying past of raw lumps of flesh for the beasts of prey, the roaring at feeding times, depressed him continually. But he did not dare to lodge a complaint with the management; after all, he had the animals to thank for the troops of people who passed his cage, among whom there might always be one here and there to take an interest in him, and who could tell where they might seclude him if he called attention to his existence and thereby to the fact that, strictly speaking, he was only an impediment on the way to the menagerie. A small impediment, to be sure, one that grew steadily less. People grew familiar with the strange idea that they could be expected, in times like these, to take an interest in a hunger artist, and with this familiarity the verdict went out against him. He might fast as much as he could, and he did so; but nothing could save him now, people passed him by. Just try to explain to anyone the art of fasting! Anyone who has no feeling for it cannot be made to understand it. The fine placards grew dirty and illegible, they were torn down; the little notice board showing the number of fast days achieved, which at first was changed carefully every day, had long stayed at the same figure, for after the first few weeks even this small task seemed pointless to the staff; and so the artist simply fasted on and on, as he had once dreamed of doing, and it was no trouble to him, just as he had always foretold, but no one counted the days, no one, not even the artist himself, knew what records he was already breaking, and his heart became heavy. And when once in a while some leisurely passer-by stopped, made merry over the old figure on the board and spoke of swindling, that was in its way the stupidest lie ever invented by indifference and inborn malice, since it was not the hunger artist who was cheating, he was working honestly, but the world was cheating him of his reward.
MANY MORE DAYS went by, however, and that too came to an end. An overseer’s eye fell on the cage one day and he asked the attendants why this perfectly good cage should be left standing there unused with dirty straw inside it; nobody knew, until one man, helped out by the notice board, remembered about the hunger artist. They poked into the straw with sticks and found him in it. “Are you still fasting?” asked the overseer, “when on earth do you mean to stop?” “Forgive me, everybody,” whispered the hunger artist; only the overseer, who had his ear to the bars, understood him. “Of course,” said the overseer, and tapped his forehead with a finger to let the attendants know what state the man was in, “we forgive you.” “I always wanted you to admire my fasting,” said the hunger artist. “We do admire it,” said the overseer, affably. “But you shouldn’t admire it,” said the hunger artist. “Well then we don’t admire it,” said the overseer, “but why shouldn’t we admire it?” “Because I have to fast, I can’t help it,” said the hunger artist. “What a fellow you are,” said the overseer, “and why can’t you help it?” “Because,” said the hunger artist, lifting his head a little and speaking, with his lips pursed, as if for a kiss, right into the overseer’s ear, so that no syllable might be lost, “because I couldn’t find the food I liked. If I had found it, believe me, I should have made no fuss and stuffed myself like you or anyone else.” These were his last words, but in his dimming eyes remained the firm though no longer proud persuasion that he was still continuing to fast. “Well, clear this out now!” said the overseer, and they buried the hunger artist, straw and all. Into the cage they put a young panther. Even the most insensitive felt it refreshing to see this wild creature leaping around the cage that had so long been dreary. The panther was all right. The food he liked was brought to him without hesitation by the attendants; he seemed not even to miss his freedom; his noble body, furnished almost to the bursting point with all that it needed, seemed to carry freedom around with it too; somewhere in his jaws it seemed to lurk; and the joy of life streamed with such ardent passion from his throat that for the onlookers it was not easy to stand the shock of it. But they braced themselves, crowded round the cage, and did not want ever to move away.


飢餓表演近幾十年來明顯地被冷落了。早些時候，大家饒有興致地自發舉辦這類大型表演，收入也還不錯。可是今天，這些都已毫無可能。那時的情形同現在相比確實大相逕庭。當時，全城的人都在為飢餓表演忙忙碌碌，觀眾與日俱增，人人都渴望每天至少觀看一次飢餓藝術家的表演。臨近表演後期，不少人買了長期票，天天坐在小鐵籠子跟前，就是晚上，觀眾也絡繹不絕。為了看得不失效果，人們舉著火把。天氣晴朗的時候，大家就把籠子挪到露天，這樣做是為了孩子，他們對飢餓藝術家有著特殊的興趣。大人們看主要是圖個消遣、趕趕時髦，可孩子們卻截然不同，他們看到這位身穿黑色緊身服、臉色蒼白、瘦骨嶙峋的飢餓藝術家時神情緊張，目瞪口呆，為了壯膽，他們互相把手拉得緊緊的。飢餓藝術家甚至連椅子都不屑一顧，只是一屁股坐在亂鋪在籠子裡的乾草上。他時而有禮貌地向大家點頭打個招呼，時而用力微笑著回答大家的問題。他還時不時把胳膊伸出柵欄，讓人摸摸瞧瞧，以感覺到他是多麼乾瘦。隨後又深深陷入沉思，任何人對他都變得不復存在，連籠子裡那對他至關重要的鐘錶（籠子裡唯一的東西）發出的響聲也充耳不聞，只是那雙幾乎閉著的眼睛愣神地看著前方，偶爾呷一口小玻璃杯裡的水潤一潤嘴唇。 　　除了熙熙攘攘、川流不息的觀眾外，還有被大伙推舉出來的固定的監督人員守在那兒。奇怪的是，這些看守一般都是屠夫，他們總是三人一班，日夜盯著飢餓藝術家，防止他用什麼秘密手段偷吃東西。其實，這不過是安慰大伙的一種形式而已，因為行家都曉得，飢餓藝術家在飢餓表演期間是絕對不吃東西的，即使有人強迫他吃，他也會無動於衷。他的藝術的榮譽不允許他這麼做。當然，不是每個看守都能理解這一點。有些值夜班的看守就很馬虎，他們坐在遠離飢餓藝術家的某個角落裡埋頭玩牌，故意給他一個進食的機會，他們總認為，飢餓藝術家絕對有妙招搞點存貨填填肚子。碰到這樣的看守，飢餓藝術家真是苦不堪言，這幫人使他情緒低落，給他的飢餓表演帶來很多困難。有時，他不顧虛弱，盡量在他們做看守時大聲唱歌，以便向這幫人表明，他們的懷疑對自己是多麼的不公道。但這無濟於事。這些看守更是佩服他人靈藝高，竟在唱歌時也能吃東西。所以，飢餓藝術家特別喜歡那些「秉公執法」的看守人員，他們靠近鐵柵坐在一起，嫌大廳燈光太暗而舉起演出經理提供的手電筒把自己照得通明。刺眼的光線對他毫無影響，反正他根本睡不成覺，但是無論什麼光線，也不管什麼時候，就是大廳裡人山人海，喧鬧嘈雜，打個盹兒他總是做得到的。他非常樂意徹夜不眠和這樣的看守共度通宵，喜歡同他們逗樂取笑，給他們講述自己的流浪生活，然後再悉聽他們的奇聞趣事。所有這些，都是為了使看守們保持清醒，讓他們始終看清，他的籠子裡壓根兒就沒有吃的東西，他在挨餓，不論哪個看守都沒有這個本事。而最令他興奮的是早晨自己掏腰包，請看守們美餐一頓讓人送來的早飯。這些壯漢子們在艱難地熬了一個通宵之後個個像餓狼撲食，胃口大開。然而，有些人卻認為請客吃飯有賄賂之嫌疑，這純屬無稽之談，當別人問到他們是否願意兢兢業業值一夜班而拒吃早餐時，這些人卻溜之大吉了，可要讓他們消除疑心並不容易。 　　諸如此類種種猜疑，飢餓藝術家似乎也難於擺脫。任何一位看守也做不到夜以繼日、絲毫不間斷地守在飢餓藝術家身邊，因此無人親眼目睹過，他是否確實持續不斷地挨餓。只有飢餓藝術家自己心裡最清楚，只有他才算得上是對自己的飢餓表演最為滿意的觀眾。但是由於另一種原因，他又從未滿意過。或許他乾瘦如柴的軀體根本就不是由於飢餓所造成的，而是對自己不滿所致，以致於有些人出自於對他的同情而不來觀看飢餓表演，因為這些人不忍心看他那被折磨的樣子。其實他自己明白，飢餓表演極為簡單，是世上最容易做的事，這一點恐怕連行家也不清楚。對此，飢餓藝術家直言不諱，但人們死活就是不信。善意的說法還好，說他謙虛，可大部分人認為他自吹自擂，更有甚者說他是個騙子手，他當然覺得挨餓是件輕鬆的事，因為他懂得如何能使挨餓變得輕鬆，而他竟然厚顏無恥，不肯百分之百地道出實情。所有這一切，飢餓藝術家都得忍受著。天長日久他也習以為常，然而內心深處的不快總攪得他不得安寧。每當一輪飢餓表演結束時，飢餓藝術家沒有一次是自願離開籠子的，這一點，人們一定要為他作證。演出經理規定每輪表演最高期限為四十天，期限過後，他絕不讓飢餓藝術家再繼續挨餓，即使在世界大城市裡也是如此。經理這樣做不無道理，因為根據以往經驗，全城人的興趣會通過四十天裡越來越火的廣告充分被激發出來，而四十天後，觀眾就會感到疲倦，看表演的人數隨之銳減。在這一點上城市和鄉村當然有些小小的區別，可是四十天最高期限已經成了一條通用的規律。在第四十天，籠子的門被打開，籠子四周插滿鮮花，半圓形露天劇場裡人海如潮，觀眾興高采烈，軍樂隊奏著樂曲。兩個醫生走進籠子為飢餓藝術家作必要的檢測，檢測結果通過高音喇叭傳遍劇場。隨後，兩位女士走上前來，她們樂滋滋的，慶幸自己能被選中去攙扶飢餓藝術家離開籠子走下前面的台階。台階前的小桌子上早已擺好了精心準備好的病號飯。在這種時刻，飢餓藝術家總是加以拒絕，雖然他還是自願地把自己皮包骨頭的手臂遞向前來幫忙的女士，但是他不願站立起來。為什麼剛到四十天就停止表演呢？他本來能長期地、無休止地餓下去，為什麼恰恰要在他表演最緊要的關頭停下來呢？他還沒有真正精彩地表演過一回哩！他還能繼續餓下去，他不僅能成為空前最偉大的飢餓藝術家（他或許已經是了），而且還要超越自我，達到不可思議的境界，因為他感到自己的飢餓表演能力永無止境。可是人們為什麼要奪走他繼續挨餓的榮譽呢？為什麼這些對他佩服得五體投地的人多一點耐心都沒有呢？他都能堅持繼續飢餓表演，為什麼這些人連耐心當觀眾都做不到呢？唉，他也累了，本該坐在乾草上好好歇一會兒，可現在他得立起他那又高又細的身軀去吃飯。他一想到吃就感到噁心，只是想到女士在自己旁邊才把要說的話嚥了下去，他抬頭看了看表面上和藹其實殘忍的兩位女士的眼睛，搖了搖耷在他無力的脖子上那過於沉重的腦袋。緊接著，老一套又來了。演出經理登場，他像啞巴一樣，一句話也不說（其實是音樂聲吵得他沒法講話），雙手舉到飢餓藝術家的頭上，好像在邀請老天爺下凡，參觀他那坐在蓬亂乾草上的作品——這位頗值憐憫的殉道士。說實在的，飢餓藝術家確實是個殉道士，只是在另外一層意義上罷了。經理雙手卡住飢餓藝術家的細腰，有些過分小心翼翼，他的動作神情使人聯想到，他手中不是一個活人，而是一件極易破碎的物品。這時經理或許暗中輕輕碰了一下飢餓藝術家，以致於他的雙腳和上身左右搖擺不停。緊接著經理把他交給了兩位臉色早已嚇得蒼白的女士，飢餓藝術家任其擺佈，他腦袋聾拉在胸前，好像它是不聽使喚地滾到那裡，然後又莫名其妙地一動不動。他的身體已經掏空，雙腿出於自衛本能緊緊和膝蓋貼在一起，雙腳卻擦著地面，似乎那不是真正的地面，它們好像正在尋找真正的可以著落的地方。他全部的、其實已經很輕的身體重量傾斜在其中一個女士身上。她喘著粗氣，左顧右盼，尋求援助，她真沒想到，這件光榮的差事竟會是這樣，她先是盡量伸長脖子，這樣自己的花容月貌起碼可以免遭「災難」，可是她卻沒有辦到。而她的那位幸運些的夥伴只是顫顫悠悠，高高地扯著飢餓藝術家的手——其實只是一把骨頭——往前走，一點忙也不幫，氣得這位倒楣姑娘在大庭廣眾的起哄聲中哇地一聲大哭起來，早已侍候在一旁的僕人不得不把她替換下來。隨後開始吃飯，經理先給處於昏厥狀態、半醒半睡的飢餓藝術家餵了幾勺湯水，順便說了幾句逗樂的話，以便分散眾人觀察飢餓藝術家身體狀況的注意力。接著，他提議為觀眾乾杯，據說此舉是由飢餓藝術家給經理耳語出的點子，樂隊憋足了勁演奏。隨後大家各自散去，沒有人對眼前發生的一切不感到滿意，只有一個人例外，那就是飢餓藝術家自己，他總是不滿。 　　就這樣，表演、休息；休息、表演，他過了一年又一年，表面上光彩照人，受人尊敬，而實際上陰鬱的心情經常纏繞著他。由於得不到任何人的真正理解，他的情緒變得越來越壞。人們該怎樣安慰他呢？他還有什麼渴求呢？如果同情他的某個好心人告訴他，他的悲哀可能是飢餓所致，那麼他就會勃然大怒（特別是在飢餓表演進行了一段時間以後），像一隻兇猛的野獸嚇人地搖晃著柵欄。但對於這種狀況，演出經理自有一套他喜歡採用的懲罰手段。他當眾為飢餓藝術家辯解並且表明，飢餓藝術家的行為可以原諒，因為這種由於飢餓引起的反常的易怒心態是正常人根本無法理解的。接著他就開始大講飢餓藝術家自己的需要加以解釋的觀點，說他實際能夠挨餓的時間比他現在做的飢餓表演的時間要長得多，經理大為讚賞他的執著追求、良好心願以及偉大的自我克制精神，這些當然也包括在飢餓藝術家的說法之中。而隨後，他又拿出一疊照片（照片也用於出售），輕而易舉就把藝術家的說法駁倒。因為從照片上人們可以看到，飢餓藝術家在第四十天的時候躺在床上虛弱不堪，奄奄一息。這些雖是老生常談，卻又不斷使飢餓藝術家難以忍受。他氣憤的是這種歪曲事實的做法，明擺著是提前結束飢餓表演的結果，人們卻要把它說成是不得不停止表演的原因。同愚昧抗爭，同這個愚昧的世界抗爭是徒勞的。他總是虔誠地、如饑似渴地抓著柵欄認真地聽經理說的每一句話，但當經理展示照片時，他每次都放開柵欄，唉聲歎氣地坐回草堆。於是，受到撫慰的觀眾又重新圍過來看他表演。 　　數年之後，每當這一場面的見證人回憶起這一幕時，連他們自己都弄不明白這是怎麼一回事，因為這期間發生了那個被提及的事變。這變化來的極其突然，它或許有更複雜的原因，但有誰去深究呢？無論如何，這個曾受大家喜歡的飢餓藝術家有一天發現自己被那些熱鬧上癮的觀眾忘卻了，他們紛紛湧向其它演出場所。演出經理領著他又一次跋涉了半個歐洲，他們想看看，是否能在某個地方重新找回逝去的狂熱和興趣，然而他們一無所獲。好像人們私下達成了某種默契，到處都籠罩著厭惡飢餓表演的氣氛。當然，這種情緒絕非一朝一日形成的，只怪當時人們過分陶醉於勝利的喜悅之中，沒有引起足夠的重視，也未加防範，而現在採取對策為時已晚。儘管肯定有一天，飢餓表演定會再次紅火起來，但這對於活著的人毫無慰藉。眼下，飢餓藝術家該去做什麼呢？成千上萬觀眾曾為之歡呼的飢餓藝術家如今去集市上的簡陋戲台上演出未免太慘了些，改做其它行當吧，他不僅年紀太大，而更主要的是他對飢餓表演有著如癡如狂的追求。最終，他告別了經理——這位人生旅途上無與倫比的夥伴，受聘於一家龐大的馬戲團。為了避免再受刺激，他甚至連合同條件都沒瞥上一眼。 　　馬戲團確實很大，數不清的人、動物、器械隨處可見，他們需要不斷更新和補充，不論什麼人才，任何時候都能在馬戲團派上用場，當然飢餓表演者也不例外，只要條件不苛刻。另外，他之所以受聘當屬特殊情況，這不單單是聘用一個藝術家本身，而更重要的是他當年的赫赫大名。其實，飢餓表演的技藝根本不會隨著年齡的增長而黯然失色，單憑這一點，人們起碼不能說，一個老得不中用的、再也不能站在技藝巔峰表演的飢餓藝術家想躲到馬戲團某個安靜的位置上去混日子。恰恰相反，飢餓藝術家向人保證，他的飢餓藝術不減當年，這是絕對可信的。他甚至還宣稱，只要人們准許他按自己的想法行事（人們馬上答應了他的這一要求），他要真正地震撼世界，達到前所未有的轟動效應。飢餓藝術家一激動起來，早把當今形勢忘得一乾二淨，他的話只引起懂行的人付之一笑。 　　然而，飢餓藝術家到底還是沒有忘記著眼於現實。人們把他和籠子沒有作為精彩節目放在馬戲團的中心地段，而是安插在一個交通路口，他也認為這是理所當然的事。籠子四周掛滿了標語，那些花花綠綠的大字在告訴人們那裡可以看到什麼東西。若是觀眾在其它演出休息的時候湧向獸場的話，總要從飢餓藝術家跟前走過並在那兒停留片刻。假如不是道窄人擠，後面的人又能夠理解前面的觀眾為什麼不急著去看野獸而停留下來，人們或許能在他面前多呆一會兒，慢慢欣賞他的表演。這就是飢餓藝術家看到觀眾馬上要向他走來時不往顫抖的原因。他以人們觀看自己為生活目的，自然盼望這種時刻。起初，他急不可待地盼著演出休息，眼看一群群觀眾朝自己蜂擁而來，他激動得欣喜若狂，可是他很快就看出，觀眾的本意是去看野獸，每次如此，幾乎無一例外，就是最固執的、故意自欺欺人的人也不得不承認這一事實。但是不管怎麼說，看著遠處的觀眾朝自己走來是令他最為高興的事，人們湧過來時，持續不斷的呼喊聲和叫罵聲亂成一片，一些人慢悠悠地看他表演，不是出於對他的理解（這些人使飢餓藝術家甚感痛苦），而是故意和後面催他們的人過不去，而另一些人則是心急火燎地想去獸場。大批人過後，剩下的是一些姍姍來遲者，沒人催趕他們，只要他們有興趣，滿可以在他面前多呆一會，但是這些人大步流星，目不斜視，直奔獸場。不過，飢餓藝術家偶爾也能碰到幸運的時刻。有時父親領著孩子來到他面前，父親一邊指，一邊詳細地講述這是怎麼一回事，他講到過去的年代，說他曾經看過類似的表演，但那時盛況空前。可是孩子們無論在學校還是在生活中都沒有經歷過這些事情，所以，他們始終不能理解大人的話，這也難怪，他們怎麼能懂得什麼叫飢餓呢？但是，從他們那探究性閃閃發光的眼睛裡流露出一種嶄新的、屬於未來的、更為仁慈的東西。飢餓藝術家有時悄然思忖，假如自己的表演場地離獸場稍遠一點，或許情況會好起來，而現在離獸場這麼近，人們很容易選擇去看野獸，更不用說獸場散發的臭味、動物夜間的鬧騰、給野獸送生肉時人走動的響聲以及投食時動物的狂嘶亂叫攪得他不得安寧，使他長期憂鬱消沉。但是，他又沒有膽量向馬戲團的頭頭們去說。他還得感謝那些野獸們，沒有它們，哪能引來那麼多觀眾？況且眾人當中還能找到某位真的是衝著他而來的呢。如果他要提醒人們注意自己的存在，那麼人們馬上就會聯想到，他——確切地說——只不過是通往獸場的一個障礙，誰知道人家會把他塞到哪個角落。 　　當然只是一個小小的障礙，而且會越變越小。人們在當今時代還要為一個飢餓藝術家耗神費力，這簡直是個怪事，可是人們對奇怪現象已習以為常，而正是這種習慣宣判了他的命運。他想使出最大能力做好飢餓表演，他也確實這麼做了，然而這一切都挽救不了他的命運。觀眾個個如匆匆過客飛快地從他面前掠過。去試試給人講飢餓藝術吧！但是誰對飢餓藝術沒有親身感受，就根本不可能心領神會。漂亮的彩色大字已經被弄髒，變得模糊不清，它們被撕了下來，沒有有想到換上新的。用於計算飢餓表演天數的小牌子上的數字當初每天都有新的記錄，現在卻無人問津，數字多日不變，因為數周之後，連記錄員自己都對這項單調的工作感到厭膩。雖然飢餓藝術家不停地做飢餓表演，這是他過去夢寐以求的事，也是他曾經誇過的海口，現在，他可以任意獨行其事了，但是，沒有人為他記錄表演天數，沒有人，甚至連他本人也搞不清楚自己的成果究竟達到了何種程度，他的心情變得沉重起來。假如某個時候來了一個游手好閒的傢伙，用那個舊數字逗笑取樂，說這是騙人的鬼把戲，那麼，他的話才真正是最愚蠢的、能編製冷漠和惡意的謊言。因為，飢餓藝術家誠實地勞動，他沒有欺騙別人，倒是這個世界騙取了他的工錢。 　　又過了許多日子，表演告終了。有一天，那只籠子引起了一位看管人的注意，他問僕人們，為什麼把一個好端端的籠子閒置不用，裡邊的谷草已經發霉變味，對此無人知曉，直到其中一位看見了記數的小牌子，他才猛然想起飢餓藝術家。人們用棍子撥開腐草，在裡邊找到了他。「你還一直不吃東西？」看管人問道，「你究竟什麼時候才算完呢？」「諸位，請多多原諒。」飢餓藝術家有氣無力地低聲細語，只有看管人才能聽清他說的話，因為他把耳朵貼在柵欄上，「當然，當然。」看管人一邊點頭，一邊把手指向額頭，以此來暗示其他人，說明飢餓藝術家的身體狀況非常危險，「我們當然會原諒你。」「我一直在想著，你們能讚賞我的飢餓表演，」飢餓藝術家說。 　　「我們確實也挺讚賞的，」看管人熱情地說。「可是你們不應該讚賞，」飢餓藝術家說。「那麼我們就不讚賞，」看管人說，「為什麼我們不應該讚賞呢？」「因為我只能忍饑挨餓，我也沒有其他辦法。」飢餓藝術家說。「你們瞧，太怪了不是，」看管人說，「你為什麼沒有其他辦法呢？」「因為我，」飢餓藝術家說著，小腦袋微微抬起，嘴唇像要吻看管人似的，直貼在他的耳根，生怕露掉一個字，「因為我找不到適合我胃口的食物。假如我找到這樣的食物，請相信我，我不會招人參觀，若人顯眼，並像你，像大夥一樣，吃得飽飽的。」這是飢餓藝術家最後的幾句話，然而，從他那瞳孔已經放大的眼睛裡還流露出一種不再是自豪、而是堅定的信念：他還要繼續餓下去。 　　「好了，大伙整整吧！」看管人說。飢餓藝術家連同腐草一起被埋掉了。籠子裡放進了一隻年輕的美洲豹子。即使是感覺最遲鈍的人，看到這隻野獸在閒置長久的籠子裡活蹦亂跳時，他也會覺得這是一種舒服的休息。這只豹子什麼也不缺，可口的食物看守人員無須長時間考慮就會送來。失去自由對它似乎都無所謂，這個高貴的軀體應有盡有，不僅帶著利爪，而且連自由好像也帶在身邊，自由似乎就藏在它利齒的某個地方。它生命的歡樂總是同它大口裡發出的強烈吼叫而一起到來。觀眾從它的歡樂中很難享受到輕鬆，可是他們克制住自己，擠在籠子周圍，絲毫不肯離去。

Franz Kafka 卡夫卡

弗蘭茨‧卡夫卡（1883-1924），他是一位用德語寫作的業余作家，國籍屬奧匈帝國。他與法國作家馬賽爾‧普魯斯特，愛爾蘭作家詹姆斯‧喬伊斯並稱為西方現代主義文學的先驅和大師。卡夫卡生前默默無聞，孤獨地奮斗，隨¨時間的流逝，他的價值才逐漸為人們所認識，作品引起了世界的震動，並在世界范圍內形成一股“卡夫卡”熱，經久不衰。
　　卡夫卡一生的作品並不多，但對後世文學的影響卻是極為深遠的。美國詩人奧登認為：“他與我們時代的關系最近似但丁、莎士比亞、歌德與他們時代的關系。”卡夫卡的小說揭示了一種荒誕的充滿非理性色彩的景象，個人式的、懮郁的、孤獨的情緒，運用的是象征式的手法。後世的許多現代主義文學流派如“荒誕派戲劇”、法國的“新小說”等都把卡夫卡奉為自己的鼻祖。
　　卡夫卡出生在布拉格的一個猶太商人家庭，他的父親粗暴、專制，對兒子的學習、生活不聞不問，只是偶爾指手畫腳地訓斥一通──他想把兒子培養成為性格堅強而又干的年輕人，但結果是適得其反，卡夫卡內心中一直對父親存有無法消除的畏懼心理。由此而培養的敏感、怯懦的性格和孤僻、懮郁的氣質使卡夫卡其人其書成為那個時代資本主義社會的精神寫照：異化現象，難以排遣的孤獨和危機感，無法克服的荒誕和恐懼。
　　卡夫卡的《變形記》中，由于沉重的肉體和精神上的壓迫，使人失去了自己的本質，異化為非人。另一部短篇小說《飢餓藝術家》描述了經理把絕食表演者關在鐵籠內進行表演，時間長達四十天。表演結束時，絕食者已經骨瘦如柴，不能支持。後來他被一個馬戲團聘去，把關他的籠子放在離獸場很近的道口，為的是游客去看野獸時能順便看到他。可是人們忘了更換記日牌，絕食者無限期地絕食下去，終于餓死。這里的飢餓藝術家實際上已經異化為動物了。
　　另外一些小說是揭示現實世界的荒誕與非理性的，如《判決》和名篇《鄉村醫生》，這里，現實和非現實的因素交織，透過這些荒誕的細節和神秘的迷霧，這里寓意¨：人類患了十分嚴重的病，已經使肌體無可救藥。人類社會的一些病症是醫生醫治不了的，這里的醫生最後也變成了流浪者。
　　卡夫卡的長篇小說《美國》和《地洞》等揭示的是人類現實生活中的困境和困惑感﹔而《審判》、《在流放地》以及《萬里長城建造時》則揭示了現代國家機器的殘酷和其中的腐朽。短篇小說《萬里長城建造時》中寫到：中國老百姓被驅趕去建造並無多大實用價值的長城，他們連哪個皇帝當朝都不知道，許多年前的戰役他們剛剛得知，仿佛是新聞一般奔走相告。“皇帝身邊雲集¨一批能干而來歷不明的廷臣，他們以侍從和友人的身份掩蓋¨艱險的用心。”　“那些皇妃們靡費無度，與奸刁的廷臣們勾勾搭搭，野心勃勃，貪得無厭，縱欲恣肆，惡德暴行就像家常便飯。”他還寫出了表現民主主義思想的一句話：“在我看來，恰恰是有關帝國的問題應該去問一問老百姓，因為他們才是帝國的最後支柱呢。”
　　馬克斯‧布羅德的這部《卡夫卡傳》，敘述了卡夫卡的文學經歷、成果、風格和思想，演繹並詮釋了卡夫卡其人其文，從文學評判的角度來看這位世界公認的大師：弗蘭茨‧卡夫卡。
　　卡夫卡的日記中這樣寫道：
　　不要絕望，甚至對你並不感到絕望這一點也不要絕望。恰恰在似乎一切都完了的時候，新的力量畢竟來臨，給你以幫助，而這正表明你是活¨的。
　　我依舊能從像《鄉村醫生》這類作品中感到短暫的滿足。但是只有當我一旦能把世界提升到純粹的、真實的、不可改變的境界之時，我才感到幸福。
　　一場傾盆大雨。站立¨面對這場大雨吧！讓它的鋼鐵般的光芒刺穿你。你在那想把你沖走的雨水中飄浮，但你還是要堅持，昂首屹立，等待那即將來臨的無窮無盡的陽光的照耀。

Das Stunden-buch (The Book of Hours) 時辰祈禱

詩集的題目Das Standenbuch，原係中世紀天主教（或東正教）教會內的一個專有名詞，指供普通教徒或俗人採用的定時（早中晚）祈禱書，為一般辭書所不載。英譯一般作book of hours，英語讀者大都懂得，這是指breviary，即a book　containing the daily service of the R. C. Church，漢語讀者不熟悉天主教風習，此詞如按英譯字面譯作「時間之書」或「時辰之書」，恐易引起誤解。這部詩集作於一八九九─一九○三年，是詩人偕女友Lou AndreasSalone ★兩度訪俄的產品。全詩假託一位從事繪畫神像的俄國僧侶所撰。所有篇什均為無題詩，自成體系，共分三部分︰一、關於僧侶生活（一八九九，第一次訪俄期間）；二、關於參詣聖地（一九○一，第二次訪俄期間）；三、關於貧窮與死亡（一九○三）。細讀可知，詩中僧侶所奉之神，不是基督教的上帝，而是詩人早年崇尚的心靈純樸的人格化，由此見出詩人的藝術宗教的開端，只有這種宗教才能使詩人心靈臻於完善。


Da neigt sich die Stunde und rührt mich an

Da neigt sich die Stunde und ruehrt mich an
mit klarem, metallenem Schlag:
mir zittern die Sinne. Ich fuehle: ich kann –
und ich fasse den plastischen Tag.
　　
Nichts war noch vollendet, eh ich es erschaut,
ein jedes Werden stand still.
Meine Blicke sind reif, und wie eine Braut
kommt jedem das Ding, das er will.
　　
Nichts ist mir zu klein und ich lieb es trotzdem
und mal es auf Goldgrund und gross,
und halte es hoch, und ich weiss nicht wem
loest es die Seele los...

英譯

The hour is striking so close above me,
so clear and sharp,
that all my senses ring with it.
I feel it now: there’s a power in me
to grasp and give shape to my world.

I know that nothing has ever been real
without my beholding it.
All becoming has needed me.
My looking ripens things
and they come toward me, to meet and be met.

No thing is too small for me to cherish
and paint in gold, as if it were an icon
that could bless us,
though I'll not know who else among us
will feel this blessing.


中譯
1
禱事將盡（註一），並動我以
清亮金屬敲擊聲的時候（註二）
我的感官都戰慄起來。我覺我能──
我能抓住這造形的白晝。
　　
在我目睹之前，每種成長均已
停頓，無物得以完成。（註三）
我的目光成熟，每望一次所盼見
之物乃如新娘姍姍來臨。
　　
萬物皆不覺其小，我反愛它
並將它畫大於金色之背景（註四）
並把它高舉起來（註五），卻不知
誰的靈魂將脫體而飛升……
　　
註一︰原文die Stunde此處轉意為「禱課」、「禱事」；一般作「課時」解。
註二︰第一句原文Da neigt sich die Stunde und ruhrt mich an……係時間狀語從句，修飾主句「我的感官戰慄起來」。其中neigt sich是德語慣用的修辭格，其完整意義為sich zum Ende neigen（＝英語draws to a close，或is on the wane，或is nearing the end等；相當於漢語中更漏、世界將盡、將完結之意），故不宜如英譯直譯為bows down★ bows down在英語中並無neigt sich在德語中所有的修辭作用，即沒有「將完結」的意思，如照英譯字面譯成漢語，勢必引出種種誤會。又，neigt sich是個不及物動詞，與後文的mich（＝me）無關，故不論「我俯向時間」或「時辰俯向我」，均非作者原意。
註三︰虛擬作者是個畫神像的僧侶，故前句用plastisch（＝plastic）來形容他將「抓住」（從事工作）的Tag(Day) ，此處則用erschaut（目睹）來點明繪畫之初。英譯作Perceived似不切。
註四︰「金色背景」為中古或拜占廷宗教畫常用背景。
註五︰神像畫成，就應「高舉」起來。英譯 I prized it亦不甚切。從以上註文可見，原作各行的遣詞造句，共同表示了那位僧侶虔敬繪畫神像的全部過程。

2
時光俯下軀身，輕撫我
以清澈、金屬質的敲擊聲。
這感覺令我顫慄。我感到：我能夠——
且領會到形象化的日子。

虛無依然完美，在我覺察之前，
每一個進程都靜靜凝立。
我的目光成熟如同一個新娘，
落在每一個渴望她的物上。

虛無於我雖然微渺，我卻依然愛它，
巨大地，畫它在金色的背景上。
高擎著它，我不知道誰
靈魂因它而離散……


當時刻（時光）就要結束，時光（時刻）俯下身軀，以清澈（清晰）的、金屬質的叩擊輕觸我，我的感官開始顫慄。我感到，我開始能夠（有能力）去把握，並且我已經開始在把握形象化的日子（「秒、分、時、日」之日）。
在我用感官體察之前，萬物沒有什麼已經被完成，完成中的每一個進程都靜靜佇立（靜靜地停止著）。我的目光在成熟，每道目光所渴望的「物」，彷彿新娘，出現在每道目光之前。
對我而言，萬物沒有什麼太微小，但是我喜愛萬物，我將萬物畫在金色背景下，巨大地畫下，我將萬物（的畫）高高舉起，我不知道，萬物讓誰與自己的靈魂分開……



Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen

Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen,
die sich über die Dinge ziehn.
Ich werde den letzten vielleicht nicht vollbringen,
aber versuchen will ich ihn.

Ich kreise um Gott, um den uralten Turm,
und ich kreise jahrtausendelang;
und ich weiß noch nicht: bin ich ein Falke, ein Sturm
oder ein großer Gesang.


英譯

I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I give myself to it.

I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I've been circling for thousands of years
and I still don't know: am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?


我生活我的生活在生長的圓裡，
圓在物之上伸張。
或許我無法最終完成，
但我願將之試嘗。

圍繞著上帝，圍繞著古老的鐘樓，
我旋轉了千年；
而我依然不知道：我是鷹，是風暴
抑或是一首宏大的詩篇。



Ich habe viele Brüder in Sutanen

Ich habe viele Brüder in Sutanen
Im Süden, wo in Klöstern Lorbeer steht.
Ich weiß, wie menschlich sie Madonnen planen,
und träume oft von jungen Tizianen,
durch die der Gott in Gluten geht.

Doch wie ich mich auch in mich selber neige:
Mein Gott ist dunkel und wie ein Gewebe
Von hundert Wurzeln, welche schweigsam trinken.
Nur, dass ich mich aus seiner Wärme hebe,
mehr weiß ich nicht, weil alle meine Zweige
tief unten ruhn und nur im Winde winken.


英

I have many brothers in the South
who move, handsome in their vestments,
through cloister gardens.
The Madonnas they make are so human,
and I dream often of their Titians,
where God becomes an ardent flame.

But when I lean over the chasm of myself –
it seems
my God is dark
and like a web: a hundred roots
silently drinking.

This is the ferment I grow out of.

More I don’t know, because my branches
rest in deep silence, stirred only by the wind.



我的許多身穿長袍的兄弟
在南方，修道院裡桂影婆娑。
我知道，他們在怎樣人性地構畫聖母，
我時常夢見這些年輕的提香，
藉著他們的手，神在霞光中顯現。

而當我也俯向自己的內心：
我的天主暗昧如一匹布，
有著千百條根，在無聲地吸吮。
我僅僅知道，我浮沉在
他的溫暖裡，因為我所有的枝條
靜靜低垂，只在風來時輕搖。


Wir dürfen dich nicht eigenmächtig malen

Wir dürfen dich nicht eigenmächtig malen,
du Dämmernde, aus der der Morgen stieg.
Wir holen aus den alten Farbenschalen
die gleichen Striche und die gleichen Strahlen,
mit denen dich der Heilige verschwieg.

Wir bauen Bilder vor dir auf wie Wände;
so daß schon tausend Mauern um dich stehn.
Denn dich verhüllen unsre frommen Hände,
so oft dich unsre Herzen offen sehn.


英譯

We must not portray you in king’s robes
You drifting mist that brought forth the morning.

Once again from the old paintboxes
we take the same gold for sceptre and crown
that has disguised you through the ages.

Piously we produce images of you
till they stand around you like a thousand walls.
And when our hearts would simply open
Our fervent hands hide you.


中譯

我們不敢擅自將你繪畫，
你啊晨光，黎明從中升起。
我們從古老的調色盤中揀選
聖者用以隱藏你的
相同的筆觸、相同的線條。

我們豎起畫像在你的面前，如牆，
因此千道圍牆矗立在你的身邊。
每當我們心扉開敞將你看見，
我們就用虔敬的雙手將你遮掩。


Ich liebe meines Wesens Dunkelstunden

Ich liebe meines Wesens Dunkelstunden,
in welchen meine Sinne sich vertiefen;
in ihnen hab ich, wie in alten Briefen,
mein täglich Leben schon gelebt gefunden
und wie Legende weit und überwunden.

Aus ihnen kommt mir Wissen, daß ich Raum
zu einem zweiten zeitlos breiten Leben habe.
Und manchmal bin ich wie der Baum,
der, reif und rauschend, über einem Grabe
den Traum erfüllt, den der vergangne Knabe
(um den sich seine warmen Wurzeln drängen)
verlor in Traurigkeiten und Gesängen.


英譯

I love the dark hours of my being.
My mind deepens into them.
There I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life, already lived,
and held like a legend, and understood.

Then the knowing comes: I can open
to another life that's wide and timeless.

So I am sometimes like a tree
rustling over a gravesite
and making real the dream
of the one its living roots
embrace:

a dream once lost
among sorrows and songs.


中譯

我愛我生命中的晦冥時分，
那一刻我的感官漸漸深沉。
那一刻，彷彿在舊日的信箋中，
我發現，平淡的生活已然度過，
如傳說一樣遙遠而神奇。

那一刻裡，我省悟，我擁有
通往第二個永恆悠長生命的空間。
時而我恰如那棵樹，

枝繁葉茂、樹影婆娑，在墳塋之上
充滿幻夢（溫暖的根須簇擁
在夢的周圍），那個昔日少年
在傷悲與琴聲中失去的夢。

Du, Nachbar Gott, wenn ich dich manches Mal

Du, Nachbar Gott, wenn ich dich manches Mal
in langer Nacht mit hartem Klopfen störe, -
so ist's, weil ich dich selten atmen höre
und weiß: Du bist allein im Saal.
Und wenn du etwas brauchst, ist keiner da,
um deinem Tasten einen Trank zu reichen:
Ich horche immer. Gib ein kleines Zeichen.
Ich bin ganz nah.

Nur eine schmale Wand ist zwischen uns,
durch Zufall; denn es könnte sein:
ein Rufen deines oder meines Munds -
und sie bricht ein
ganz ohne Lärm und Laut.

Aus deinen Bildern ist sie aufgebaut.

Und deine Bilder stehn vor dir wie Namen.
Und wenn einmal das Licht in mir entbrennt,
mit welchem meine Tiefe dich erkennt,
vergeudet sichs als Glanz auf ihren Rahmen.

Und meine Sinne, welche schnell erlahmen,
sind ohne Heimat und von dir getrennt.

英譯

You, God, who live next door--

If at times, through the long night, I trouble you
with my urgent knocking--
this is why: I hear you breathe so seldom.
I know you're all alone in that room.
If you should be thirsty, there's no one
to get you a glass of water.
I wait listening, always. Just give me a sign!
I'm right here.

As it happens, the wall between us
is very thin. Why couldn't a cry
from one of us
break it down? It would crumble
easily,

it would barely make a sound.

中譯

你，我的天主，當我多次在漫漫長夜
以劇烈的心跳將你煩擾，——
你我便結成比鄰，因為我難得地聽見你的呼吸，
且知道：你獨自在空空的大廳裡。
而當你需要什麼，那裡卻無人
為你奉上一杯飲料：
我始終在傾聽。請顯現一個微小的朕兆吧。
我就在你的近旁。

僅僅一道薄牆隔在你我之間，
不斷地崩塌著；因為可能：
你的或我的口中一聲呼喚——
於是牆崩塌
全無喧囂與喧嘩。

牆被構畫在你的畫像之上。

你的畫像矗立在你面前如名。
我心深處用以明認你的光，
在我體內燃燒，
灰飛如畫框上的光輝。

我的感官，驟然倦怠，
沒有故鄉，與你隔絕。

Wenn es nur einmal so ganz stille wäre


Wenn es nur einmal so ganz stille wäre.
Wenn das Zufällige und Ungefähre
verstummte und das nachbarliche Lachen,
wenn das Geräusch, das meine Sinne machen,
mich nicht so sehr verhinderte am Wachen -:

Dann könnte ich in einem tausendfachen
Gedanken bis an deinen Rand dich denken
und dich besitzen (nur ein Lächeln lang),
um dich an alles Leben zu verschenken
wie einen Dank.



If only for once it were still.
If the not quite right and the why this
could be muted, and the neighbor's laughter,
and the static my senses make —
if all of it didn't keep me from coming awake —

Then in one vast thousandfold thought
I could think you up to where thinking ends.

I could possess you,
even for the brevity of a smile,
to offer you
to all that lives,
in gladness.


假如曾經僅有一次這樣靜謐。
假如意外和偶然
以及鄰人的訕笑平靜下來，
假如，我的感官產生的雜音
不曾這樣強烈地妨礙我清醒：

我將能夠在千種
思想中思想你直自你的衣邊，
擁有你（僅僅談笑間），
只為將你贈與眾生
如同感恩。


Ich lebe grad, da das Jahrhundert geht

Ich lebe grad, da das Jahrhundert geht.
Man fühlt den Wind von einem großen Blatt,
das Gott und du und ich beschrieben hat
und das sich hoch in fremden Händen dreht.

Man fühlt den Glanz von einer neuen Seite,
auf der noch alles werden kann.

Die stillen Kräfte prüfen ihre Breite
und sehn einander dunkel an.



I'm living just as the century ends.

A great leaf, that God and you and I
Have covered with writing
Turns now, overhead, in strange hands.
We feel the sweep of it like a wind.

We see the brightness of a new page
Where everything yet can happen.

Unmoved by us, the fates take its measure
And look at one another, saying nothing.


我活著適逢世紀之交。
人們在一枚巨大的樹葉上感受到風，
那樹葉，上主與你與我曾在上面書寫，
那樹葉，高高旋轉在陌生的掌心。

人們在一張新的書頁感受到光輝，
書頁上一切依然可能發生。

沉靜的力檢視著彼此的距離，
互相暗自打量。


Ich lese es heraus aus deinem Wort


Ich lese es heraus aus deinem Wort,
aus der Geschichte der Gebärden,
mit welchen deine Hände um das Werden
sich rundeten, begrenzend, warm und weise.
Du sagtest leben laut und sterben leise
und wiederholtest immer wieder: Sein.
Doch vor dem ersten Tode kam der Mord.
Da ging ein Riß durch deine reifen Kreise
und ging ein Schrein
und riß die Stimmen fort,
die eben erst sich sammelten,
um dich zu sagen,
um dich zu tragen
alles Abgrunds Brücke -

Und was sie seither stammelten,
sind Stücke
deines alten Namens.



I read it here in your very word,
in the story of the gestures
with which your hands cupped themselves
around our becoming - limiting, warm.

You said live out loud, and die you said lightly,
and over and over again you said be.

But before the first death came murder.
A fracture broke across the rings you'd ripened.
A screaming shattered the voices

that had come together to speak you,
to make of you a bridge
over the chasm of everything.

And what they have stammered ever since
are fragments
of your ancient name.


我從你的話語中讀出它，
從手勢的往事，
你的手因之在成長中
合攏，輪廓漸成，熱情而賢明。
你高聲言說著生，低聲言說著死，
一次又一次地重複著：存在。
但謀殺發生在最初的死亡之前。
一道罅隙穿過你成熟的圓，
更有一聲驚叫穿過，
撕裂聲音，
那剛剛聚___集的聲音
為你而述說，
為你而支撐起
所有深淵上的橋——

它們從此囁嚅著的，
是你的
古老的名的片斷。


Der blasse Abelknabe spricht

Der blasse Abelknabe spricht:

Ich bin nicht. Der Bruder hat mir was getan,
was meine Augen nicht sahn.
Er hat mir das Licht verhängt.
Er hat mein Gesicht verdrängt
mit seinem Gesicht.
Er ist jetzt allein.
Ich denke, er muß noch sein.
Denn ihm tut niemand, wie er mir getan.
Es gingen alle meine Bahn,
kommen alle vor seinen Zorn,
gehen alle an ihm verloren.

Ich glaube, mein großer Bruder wacht
wie ein Gericht.
An mich hat die Nacht gedacht;
an ihn nicht.


英譯

(Abel speaks)

I am not. The brother did something to me
that my eyes didn't see.
He veiled the light.
He hid my face with his face.
Now he is alone.
I think he must still exist,
for no one does to him what he did to me.
All have gone the same way:
all are met with his rage,
beside him all are lost.

I sense my brother lies awake
as if accused.
Night offers itself to me,
not to him.


蒼白的少年亞伯說：

我已不在人世。我兄長對我做下的，
我的雙眼不曾看見。
他遮蔽了照耀我的光。
他排擠了我的面孔
用他的面龐。
此刻他孑然一身。
我想，他將不得不孤獨下去。
因為無人待他，像他待我一樣。
所有人都重蹈我的舊路，
所有人都令他惱怒，
所有人都因他而逝去。

我相信，我的兄長清醒
如一個審判者。
黑夜思念著我；
而不是他。

Du Dunkelheit, aus der ich stamme

Du Dunkelheit, aus der ich stamme,
ich liebe dich mehr als die Flamme,
welche die Welt begrenzt,
indem sie glänzt
für irgend einen Kreis,
aus dem heraus kein Wesen von ihr weiß.

Aber die Dunkelheit hält alles an sich:
Gestalten und Flammen, Tiere und mich,
wie sie's errafft,
Menschen und Mächte -

Und es kann sein: eine große Kraft
rührt sich in meiner Nachbarschaft.

Ich glaube an Nächte.


英譯

You, darkness, of whom I am born–

I love you more that the flame
that limits the world
to the circle it illuminates
and excludes all the rest.

But the dark embraces everything:
shapes and shadows, creatures and me,
people, nations–just as they are.

It let’s me imagine
a great presence stirring beside me.

I believe in the night.


中譯

黑暗呵，我出生於你，
我愛你更甚於愛火焰，
世界以火焰為界，
世界中火焰閃耀著
圍繞著某一個圓，
無人知曉它的本質。

而黑暗卻籠罩著一切：
形態與火焰，動物和我，
當黑暗攫取，
人類與權力——

就將有：一股巨大的力
跳動在我的周圍。

我信奉黑夜。


Ich glaube an alles noch nie Gesagte

Ich glaube an alles noch nie Gesagte.
Ich will meine frömmsten Gefühle befrein.
Was noch keiner zu wollen wagte,
wird mir einmal unwillkürlich sein.

Ist das vermessen, mein Gott, vergib.
Aber ich will dir damit nur sagen:
Meine beste Kraft soll sein wie ein Trieb,
so ohne Zürnen und ohne Zagen;
so haben dich ja die Kinder lieb.

Mit diesem Hinfluten, mit diesem Münden
in breiten Armen ins offene Meer,
mit dieser wachsenden Wiederkehr
will ich dich bekennen, will ich dich verkünden
wie keiner vorher.

Und ist das Hoffart, so laß mich hoffärtig sein
für mein Gebet,
das so ernst und allein
vor deiner wolkigen Stirne steht.

英譯

I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.
I want to free what waits within me
so that what no one has dared to wish for

may for once spring clear
without my contriving.

If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.

Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing you as no one ever has,

streaming through widening channels
into the open sea.


我信奉尚未說出的一切。
我願將我最虔誠的情感釋放。
那依舊無人膽敢渴望的，
終將為我而不由自主地存在。

如果這是放肆，我主，請寬恕。
而我只願對你說：
我最好的力量恰如一種本能，
無怨無悔；
恰如孩子們對你的愛。

以這海潮翻漲，以這江流奔騰，
穿過寬廣的堤岸，湧入開敞的大海，
以這增長著的回歸
我願將你明認，我願將你傳佈
捨我其誰。

如果這是傲慢，就讓我
為我的祈禱傲慢，
我的祈禱誠摯而孤寂，
兀立在你雲翳的額前。



Ich bin auf der Welt zu allein und doch nicht allein genug

Ich bin auf der Welt zu allein und doch nicht allein genug,
um jede Stunde zu weihn.
Ich bin auf der Welt zu gering und doch nicht klein genug,
um vor dir zu sein wie ein Ding,
dunkel und klug.
Ich will meinen Willen und will meinen Willen begleiten
die Wege zur Tat;
und will in stillen, irgendwie zögernden Zeiten,
wenn etwas naht,
unter den Wissenden sein
oder allein.
Ich will dich immer spiegeln in ganzer Gestalt,
und will niemals blind sein oder zu alt,
um dein schweres schwankendes Bild zu halten.
Ich will mich entfalten.
Nirgends will ich gebogen bleiben,
denn dort bin ich gelogen, wo ich gebogen bin.
Und ich will meinen Sinn
wahr vor dir. Ich will mich beschreiben
wie ein Bild, das ich sah,
lange und nah,
wie ein Wort, das ich begriff,
wie meinen täglichen Krug,
wie meiner Mutter Gesicht,
wie ein Schiff,
das mich trug
durch den tödlichsten Sturm.


英譯

I'm too alone in the world, yet not alone enough
to make each hour holy.
I'm too small in the world, yet not small enough
to be simply in your presence, like a thing --
just as it is.

I want to know my own will
and to move with it.
And I want, in the hushed moments
when the nameless draws near,
to be among the wise ones --
or alone.

I want to mirror your immensity.
I want never to be too weak or too old
to bear the heavy, lurching image of you.

I want to unfold.
Let no place in me hold itself closed,
for where I am closed, I am false.
I want to stay clear in your sight.

I would describe myself
like a landscape I've studied
at length, in detail;
like a word I'm coming to understand;
like a pitcher I pour from at mealtime;
like my mother's face;
like a ship that carried me
when the waters raged.


中譯

我在世間十分孤獨，但尚未孤獨得足以
淨化每一寸光陰。
我在世間十分卑微，但尚未卑微得足以
在你面前像一個事物，
昏黑而聰敏。
我渴望我的渴望，渴望我的渴望伴隨著
行動之路；
渴望在寧靜、無論怎樣躊躇的時分，
當某物臨近，
置身智者之中
或者孤獨。

我渴望始終映照出你全部的形象，
渴望從未盲眇或蒼老得
無法支撐你沉重、搖擺著的畫像。
我渴望展現自己，
無論何地，我渴望保持著鞠躬，
因為哪裡我鞠躬，哪裡我被欺騙。
我渴望我的感覺
真實展現於你面前。我渴望將自己描畫得
像我看見的一幅畫，
長久而臨近，
像我領會的一句話，
像我日用的水罐，
像我母親的臉，
像一艘船，
負載著我
穿過最凶險的風暴。

Rainer Maria Rilke 萊納·瑪利亞·里爾克

Rainer Maria Rilke (1875－1926)是一位重要的德語詩人，除了創作德語詩歌外還攥寫小說、劇本以及一些雜文和法語詩歌，其書信集也是里爾克文學作品的一個重要組成部分。對19世紀末的詩歌裁體和風格以及歐洲頹廢派文學都有深厚的影響。

1875-1896: 詩人的孩提時代
里爾克1875年12月出生於布拉格這個波希米亞地區大都會，這裡當時屬於的奧地利，（因為奧匈帝國於1918年解體，分為奧地利和匈牙利）。里爾克的童年生活是缺少樂趣和歡笑的。詩人原名是充滿法國氣息的勒內（René Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke）。

父親約瑟夫·里爾克（1838-1906），是個身體虛弱而脾氣暴躁的人，仕途不順後退伍謀得一份鐵路局小吏的工作。

母親索菲亞·菲婭·恩特茲（1851-1931）是一個為上流社會生活所著迷的女人，婚前生活在布拉格一個中產的製造業家庭。在她因為婚姻無法滿足她過上流的奢華生活而忍無可忍時於1884年與丈夫離婚。而期間的種種不滿導致了夫妻關係不合，也對詩人的幼年心靈留下了深刻的烙印。

詩人母親與兒子的關係並不和睦，因為比里爾克更早一年出生的女兒剛出世便夭折了。菲婭給兒子起名René便有「天生」（Re Born）的意思，也是為了紀念早夭的女兒。一直到6歲菲婭都將里爾克當作女孩來教育，留長捲髮、穿女式洋裝以及提供布制玩偶作為玩具。這也成為了詩人日後創作中的一個重要主題（《杜伊諾哀歌》第四首哀歌〈玩偶〉）等作品都有提及。

1885年裡爾克被父親約瑟夫送往聖波爾藤（St.Pölten）的一家軍事學校，而一系列體力化的訓練令里爾克不堪重負。終於在1891年因病離開了軍事學校，轉向一家商校。1892年至1895年大概是里爾克的一個重要轉折點，因為在這段時間裡詩人在準備進入大學所必須的中學畢業考試，並決定了此後從事文學創作的目標。並於1895年首先就讀於布拉格大學，而後於1896年轉往慕尼黑大學。期間一直主修都是哲學，文學和藝術史。

在里爾克離開布拉格之後，遇到了一個重要的女性露·安德烈亞斯·莎樂美（Lou Andreas-Salomé），她是里爾克一生中重要的朋友。並在1896年他將自己的名字勒內（René）改為萊納（Rainer）。

1897-1902: 詩人進步的數年
1897年裡爾克在慕尼黑遇到了那個聰慧異常且對文學有著過人見解的露·安德烈斯·莎勒美後不久便深深的愛上了她。雖然莎勒美是一個已婚的女人，卻也愛上了里爾克，於是乎兩人就將這樣曖昧的關係一直保持到了1900年。在兩人分開後，莎勒美也被證明是里爾克最為重要的良師益友。在里爾克困惑的時候經常予以幫助和提點。他們這樣的關係在1912年至1913年的一次心理學精神分析會上被標上俄狄浦斯情結（因為莎勒美比里爾克年齡大15歲），這樣的理論是由弗洛伊德提出的。

「...在他（指里爾克）無助、困惑的時候，她變成了他的貼心的知己、慈祥的母親。」 （弗洛伊德悼念露·安德烈斯·莎勒美的文章,1937）
里爾克與莎勒美在1897年秋天確定了關係，隨後兩人住在柏林郊區的一棟複式公寓里。1898年兩人第一次海外旅行的目的地是義大利，兩人共渡了好幾個星期的時間。隨後里爾克兩次隨莎勒美和她的丈夫安德烈斯前往俄國，並於1899年在莫斯科遇到了文學泰斗托爾斯泰。1900年（5月8日）里爾克又單獨同莎勒美遊歷俄國，這次去到了莫斯科和聖彼得堡。

在1900年秋天，莎勒美決定和里爾克分手，於是里爾克來到了不萊梅附近的一個叫做沃爾波斯維德的地方。並結識了畫家海因里希·沃格勒（Heinrich Vogeler），經過沃格勒的引見里爾克認識了奧托·莫德索恩（Otto Modersohn）和妻子保拉·莫德索恩-貝克爾（Paula Modersohn-Becker）以及卡爾·霍普特曼（Carl Hauptmann ）當然還有最重要的－雕塑家克拉拉·威斯特霍夫（1878-1954）。在1901年4月里爾克與克拉拉結婚並於同年12月誕下一女露絲（1901-1972）。1902年夏天裡爾克接到一份專題論文的工作而來到巴黎，這部論文的主題是關於大師級雕塑家羅丹（Auguste Rodin 1840-1917），而作品也就是後來的羅丹論。因為克拉拉曾經師從於羅丹的關係，所以里爾克得以順利與羅丹會面並完成作品。

在這段時間裡里爾克在朋友的幫助下對於藝術有了新的見解，而結識文學家托爾斯泰、畫家列昂尼德·帕斯捷爾奈克（即《日瓦格醫生》作者之父）、雕塑家羅丹、特魯勃茨科依（Paul Trubezkoi）等人，這對其日後創作幫助良多。羅丹在其中尤其重要，里爾克時常在書信里向人提及羅丹的名言Il faut travailler！（必須得幹活！）

1902-1910: 第一個創作高峰

第一次來到巴黎的日子並不順利，因為這個「奇怪」的大都市對里爾克來說還有許多未知。可這些經歷對里爾克後來編寫《布里格手記》（全稱《馬爾特·勞里茲·布里格手記》（Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurids Brigge））時幫助良多。這段時間裡爾克與羅丹的密切交往，而後與另一位知名畫家塞尚（Paul Cezanne 1839-1906）也有著頻繁的來往。巴黎也變成對詩人越來越重要的地方，在1905年到1906年期間里爾克一度擔任羅丹的私人秘書。而後因為詩人的父親在1906年5月去世；羅丹對里爾克越發信任工作量也有所增加，而詩人自己又需要極大的時間、空間去完成自己的創作。因為這樣種種理由里爾克與羅丹的雇傭關係就這樣解除了。

因為在巴黎的這段時間裡而誕生的作品有《新詩集》（Neue Gedichte）（1907年）以及《續新詩》（Der neuen Gedichte anderer Teil》（1908年）、《安魂曲》 （Requiem）（1909年）和在1904年開始創作的小說《布里格手記》（1910年）。

1910-1919: 詩人蛻變的內外
在一個長達十年的歲月里（1912至1922年2月）里爾克的生命就是《杜伊諾哀歌》（Duineser Elegien），而《杜伊諾哀歌》的起因是因為伯爵夫人瑪利亞·馮·圖勒恩和塔克西（Marie von Thurn und Taxis）這位里爾克忠實的讀者盛情邀請詩人前往杜伊諾城堡（Schloss Duineser）作客。而杜伊諾哀歌正是瑪利亞為了讓里爾克專心寫作而讓他獨自居住在杜伊諾城堡時，靈光閃現的產物。

隨後第一次世界大戰爆發了，因為身在德國的詩人多年來唯一的固定居所在法國，交戰關係令里爾克不能回到巴黎。所以在整個一戰詩人流離於德國和奧地利。而巴黎的居所也因為無法交納租金而被政府發付處理，裡面連同里爾克大量的資料和文件。1916年里爾克被迫應徵入伍，可幸運的是里爾克在他的貴族朋友幫助並沒有被派往前線，而只留在慕尼黑和做文書工作。

1919-1926: 詩人最後的日子
1919年6月11日里爾克從慕尼黑來到了瑞士蘇黎世。表面上看來是應蘇黎士地方邀請前往講學，實際上則是里爾克想逃脫戰後的混亂以及離棄這個耽誤他多年寫作工作的地方，重新開始《杜伊諾哀歌》的創作。然而找尋一個合適的住所是困難的，起先里爾克蘇黎士附近的伊爾舍勒河畔（Irchel），而後在1921年裡爾克發現了一個叫做慕佐（Muzot）位於瓦萊州（Wallis）謝爾（Sierre）地區的小城堡。隨後在1922年5月里爾克的朋友萊茵哈特（Werner Reinhart 1884-1951）將這座城堡為里爾克租下而後買下贈與詩人。

1922年二月在短短的幾個星期內里爾克靈感迸發，完成了長達十年的《杜伊諾哀歌》的創作，並且在這段時間裡爾克還完成了另一部巨著《致奧爾弗斯的十四行詩》（Sonette an Orpheus）。這兩部作品也是里爾克一生中最重要及富影響力的創作。

因為創作耗費大量的精力、體力，1923年裡爾克不得不在療養院度日。隨後的兩年時間一直在法國和瑞士逗留，直到1925年8月。這時的里爾克已經虛弱不堪無法擺脫病魔的束縛。終於在1926年裡爾克再次身體情況惡化，進入療養院。

終於在1926年12月29日，里爾克與世長辭。醫生診斷為肝臟功能衰竭及白血病。1927年1月里爾克被埋葬在瓦萊西邊的小鎮Visp,在平滑的墓碑上寫著里爾克生前為自己所作的墓志銘（因里爾剋死於白血病，一說是由於玫瑰針刺感染。所以在墓志銘中提到了謀殺偉大詩人的兇手－玫瑰）：

Rose, oh reiner Widerspruch, Lust,
Niemandes Schlaf zu sein unter soviel
Lidern.

玫瑰，噢純粹的矛盾，欲願，
是這許多眼瞼下無人有過的
睡眠。


藝術的影響

對於里爾克的藝術叔本華和尼采都有著很深的影響，並且開始在很早的時候，這也是里爾克一直醉心於古典文學時仍不放棄哲學的原因之一。

年輕的里爾克傳記開始在無家可歸後開始，寂寥這是里爾克一生的桎梏。從那首被修飾後出現在1896年發行的詩集《祭神》中的〈家〉（Heimat）可見一斑。表達了里爾克對家鄉布拉格的情結。

小記: 布拉格和文學
布拉格是波斯米亞地區最大的城市，而為世界所知的是他們在德意志帝國中獲得了第一所大學稱號。在1900年左右布拉格大學就像一座溫室孕育著牠的學生們，而後逐漸的形成了三個詩文派系的競爭圈子：布洛德（Max Brod）和他的好友卡夫卡，魏爾什（Felix Weltsch）和鮑姆（Otto Baum）。這更加促進了布拉格文化圈的形成。而"Wefa"協會中包括了許多作家，像阿德勒（z. B. Friederich Adler）、里爾克、麥林克（Gustav Meyrink）以及在布拉格工作的年輕作家魏菲爾（Franz Werfel）形成了年輕人間的文化圈。在詩集《夢想之冠》的不少篇章中詩人提及了對生活的感慨，這很大程度上都來自「Wefa」的影響。
里爾克的早期創作很受詩歌體裁的控制，且並沒有系統的創作。可自《夢想之冠》和《到來》以及隨後的《祝福我》（1897/1889）發表后里爾克第一次真正受到世界的注視。而與《祝福我》幾乎同時完成的作品"祝福你"則因涉及較多與莎勒美的私隱而無法公諸於世。之後的《時辰祈禱》（3部，完成於1899-1903年）以及一些宗教題材的抒情詩，牠們形成了里爾克生命中第一個創作高潮。而後里爾克逐漸形成了自己獨特的創作風格，為了證明自己並不需要依靠教會的力量而放棄了宗教題材抒情詩的攥寫。

尼採的哲學理論也通過里爾克的親密好友莎勒美，體現在詩人身上並對他形成了巨大的影響。現實的世界根本無法接受兩人之間的感情關係，這些大眾間嚴守的道德操守使得里爾克走向孤獨，而形成了自己的「內部世界」。

1910年至1912年之間里爾克完成了對其以後詩歌及寫作有著很深影響的兩部作品-《新詩集》、《布里格手記》。這是里爾克創作類型轉變的開端，從唯物（類似豹之類的描述事物外表的詩）詩向唯心詩創作的轉變。這些變化逐漸形成了里爾克在《杜伊諾哀歌》中的表現手法。

里爾克人生最後一個創作高峰發生在1912年至1922年之間，由《杜伊諾哀歌》和《致奧爾甫斯的十四行詩》構成了這個創作的高峰。然而這兩部詩歌表達的意境卻截然不同，"杜伊諾哀歌"中更多的描述苦難與死亡；而《致奧爾甫斯的十四行詩》中則是歌頌、歌頌著世間萬物。

里爾克的文學創作不僅在文學圈發酵，1998年英國前衛詩人Anne Clark與樂手Martyn Bate攜手製作的音樂劇《日落之後》(Just after Sunset)，將詩人一系列的英譯詩作透過吟唱、朗誦與表演的形式搬到舞台上，簡要介紹詩人的一生。

A country doctor 鄉村醫生

Short story by Franz Kafka

I was in great difficulty. An urgent journey was facing me. A seriously ill man was waiting for me in a village ten miles distant. A severe snowstorm filled the space between him and me. I had a carriage—a light one, with large wheels, entirely suitable for our country roads. Wrapped up in furs with the bag of instruments in my hand, I was already standing in the courtyard ready for the journey; but the horse was missing—the horse. My own horse had died the previous night, as a result of over exertion in this icy winter. My servant girl was at that very moment running around the village to see if she could borrow a horse, but it was hopeless—I knew that—and I stood there useless, increasingly covered with snow, becoming all the time more immobile. The girl appeared at the gate, alone. She was swinging the lantern. Of course, who is now going to lend her his horse for such a journey? I walked once again across the courtyard. I couldn’t see what to do. Distracted and tormented, I kicked my foot against the cracked door of the pig sty which had not been used for years. The door opened and banged to and fro on its hinges. A warmth and smell as if from horses came out. A dim stall lantern on a rope swayed inside. A man huddled down in the stall below showed his open blue-eyed face. “Shall I hitch up?” he asked, crawling out on all fours. I didn’t know what to say and bent down to see what was still in the stall. The servant girl stood beside me. “One doesn’t know the sorts of things one has stored in one’s own house,” she said, and we both laughed. “Hey, Brother, hey Sister,” the groom cried out, and two horses, powerful animals with strong flanks, shoved their way one behind the other, legs close to the bodies, lowering their well-formed heads like camels, and getting through the door space, which they completely filled, only through the powerful movements of their rumps. But right away they stood up straight, long legged, with thick steaming bodies. “Help him,” I said, and the girl obediently hurried to hand the wagon harness to the groom. But as soon as she was beside him, the groom puts his arms around her and pushes his face against hers. She screams out and runs over to me. On the girl’s cheek were red marks from two rows of teeth. “You brute,” I cry out in fury, “do you want the whip?”. But I immediately remember that he is a stranger, that I don’t know where he comes from, and that he’s helping me out of his own free will, when everyone else is refusing to. As if he knows what I was thinking, he takes no offence at my threat, but turns around to me once more, still busy with the horses. Then he says, “Climb in,” and, in fact, everything is ready. I notice that I have never before traveled with such a beautiful team of horses, and I climb in happily. “But I’ll take the reins.
You don’t know the way,” I say. “Of course,” he says; “I’m not going with you. I’m staying with Rosa.” “No,” screams Rosa and runs into the house, with an accurate premonition of the inevitability of her fate. I hear the door chain rattling as she sets it in place. I hear the lock click. I see how in addition she runs down the corridor and through the rooms putting out all the lights in order to make herself impossible to find. “You’re coming with me,” I say to the groom, "or I’ll give up the journey, no matter how urgent it is. It’s not my intention to give you the girl as the price of the trip.” “Giddy up,” he says and claps his hands. The carriage is torn away, like a piece of wood in a current. I still hear how the door of my house is breaking down and splitting apart under the groom’s onslaught, and then my eyes and ears are filled with a roaring sound which overwhelms all my senses at once. But only for a moment. Then I am already there, as if the farm yard of my invalid opens up immediately in front of my courtyard gate. The horses stand quietly. The snowfall has stopped, moonlight all around. The sick man’s parents rush out of the house, his sister behind them. They almost lift me out of the carriage. I get nothing from their confused talking. In the sick room one can hardly breathe the air. The neglected cooking stove is smoking. I want to push open the window, but first I’ll look at the sick man. Thin, without fever, not cold, not warm, with empty eyes, without a shirt, the young man under the stuffed quilt heaves himself up, hangs around my throat, and whispers in my ear, “Doctor, let me die.” I look around. No one has heard. The parents stand silently, leaning forward, and wait for my opinion. The sister has brought a stool for my handbag. I open the bag and look among my instruments. The young man constantly gropes at me from the bed to remind me of his request. I take some tweezers, test them in the candle light, and put them back. “Yes,” I think blasphemously, “in such cases the gods do help. They send the missing horse, even add a second one because it’s urgent, and even throw in a groom as a bonus.” Now for the first time I think once more of Rosa. What am I doing? How am I saving her? How do I pull her out from under this groom, ten miles away from her, with uncontrollable horses in the front of my carriage? These horses, who have somehow loosened their straps, are pushing open the window from outside, I don’t know how. Each one is sticking its head through a window and, unmoved by the crying of the family, is observing the invalid. “I’ll go back right away,” I think, as if the horses were ordering me to journey back, but I allow the sister, who thinks I am in a daze because of the heat, to take off my fur coat. A glass of rum is prepared for me. The old man claps me on the shoulder; the sacrifice of his treasure justifies this familiarity. I shake my head.
In the narrow circle of the old man’s thinking I was not well; that’s the only reason I refuse to drink. The mother stands by the bed and entices me over. I follow and, as a horse neighs loudly at the ceiling, lay my head on the young man’s chest, which trembles under my wet beard. That confirms what I know: the young man is healthy. His circulation is a little off, saturated with coffee by his caring mother, but he’s healthy and best pushed out of bed with a shove. I’m no improver of the world and let him lie there. I am employed by the district and do my duty to the full, right to the point where it’s almost too much. Badly paid, but I’m generous and ready to help the poor. I still have to look after Rosa, and then the young man may have his way, and I want to die too. What am I doing here in this endless winter! My horse is dead, and there is no one in the village who’ll lend me his. I have to drag my team out of the pig sty. If they hadn’t happened to be horses, I’d have had to travel with pigs. That’s the way it is. And I nod to the family. They know nothing about it, and if they did know, they wouldn’t believe it. Incidentally, it’s easy to write prescriptions, but difficult to come to an understanding with people. Now, at this point my visit might have come to an end—they have once more called for my help unnecessarily. I’m used to that. With the help of my night bell the entire region torments me, but that this time I had to sacrifice Rosa as well, this beautiful girl, who lives in my house all year long and whom I scarcely notice—this sacrifice is too great, and I must somehow in my own head subtly rationalize it away for the moment, in order not to let loose at this family who cannot, even with their best will, give me Rosa back again. But as I am closing up by hand bag and calling for my fur coat, the family is standing together, the father sniffing the glass of rum in his hand, the mother, probably disappointed in me—what more do these people expect?—tearfully biting her lips, and the sister flapping a very bloody hand towel, I am somehow ready, in the circumstances, to concede that the young man is perhaps nonetheless sick. I go to him. He smiles up at me, as if I was bringing him the most nourishing kind of soup—ah, now both horses are whinnying, the noise is probably supposed to come from higher regions in order to illuminate my examination—and now I find out that, yes indeed, the young man is ill. On his right side, in the region of the hip, a wound the size of the palm of one’s hand has opened up. Rose coloured, in many different shadings, dark in the depths, brighter on the edges, delicately grained, with uneven patches of blood, open to the light like a mine. That’s what it looks like from a distance. Close up a complication is apparent.
Who can look at that without whistling softly? Worms, as thick and long as my little finger, themselves rose coloured and also spattered with blood, are wriggling their white bodies with many limbs from their stronghold in the inner of the wound towards the light. Poor young man, there’s no helping you. I have found out your great wound. You are dying from this flower on your side. The family is happy; they see me doing something. The sister says that to the mother, the mother tells the father, the father tells a few guests who are coming in on tip toe through the moonlight of the open door, balancing themselves with outstretched arms. “Will you save me?” whispers the young man, sobbing, quite blinded by the life inside his wound. That’s how people are in my region. Always demanding the impossible from the doctor. They have lost the old faith. The priest sits at home and tears his religious robes to pieces, one after the other. But the doctor is supposed to achieve everything with his delicate surgeon’s hand. Well, it’s what they like to think. I have not offered myself. If they use me for sacred purposes, I let that happen to me as well. What more do I want, an old country doctor, robbed of my servant girl! And they come, the families and the village elders, and take my clothes off. A choir of school children with the teacher at the head stands in front of the house and sings an extremely simple melody with the words
Take his clothes off, then he’ll heal,
and if he doesn’t cure, then kill him.
It’s only a doctor; it’s only a doctor.
Then I am stripped of my clothes and, with my fingers in my beard and my head tilted to one side, I look at the people quietly. I am completely calm and clear about everything and stay that way, too, although it is not helping me at all, for they are now taking me by the head and feet and dragging me into bed. They lay me against the wall on the side of wound. Then they all go out of the room. The door is shut. The singing stops. Clouds move in front of the moon. The bedclothes lie warmly around me. In the open space of the windows the horses’ heads sway like shadows. “Do you know,” I hear someone saying in my ear, “my confidence in you is very small. You were shaken out from somewhere. You don’t come on your own feet. Instead of helping, you give me less room on my deathbed. The best thing would be if I scratch your eyes out.” “Right,” I say, “it’s a disgrace. But now I’m a doctor. What am I supposed to do? Believe me, things are not easy for me either.” “Should I be satisfied with this excuse? Alas, I’ll probably have to be. I always have to make do. I came into the world with a beautiful wound; that was all I was furnished with.” “Young friend,” I say, “your mistake is that you have no perspective. I’ve already been in all the sick rooms, far and wide, and I tell you your wound is not so bad. Made in a tight corner with two blows from an axe.
Many people offer their side and hardly hear the axe in the forest, to say nothing of the fact that it’s coming closer to them.” “Is that really so, or are you deceiving me in my fever?” “It is truly so. Take the word of honour of a medical doctor.” He took my word and grew still. But now it was time to think about my escape. The horses were still standing loyally in place. Clothes, fur coat, and bag were quickly snatched up. I didn’t want to delay by getting dressed; if the horses rushed as they had on the journey out, I should, in fact, be springing out of that bed into my own, as it were. One horse obediently pulled back from the window. I threw the bundle into the carriage. The fur coat flew too far and was caught on a hook by only one arm. Good enough. I swung myself up onto the horse. The reins dragging loosely, one horse barely harnessed to the other, the carriage swaying behind, last of all the fur coat in the snow. “Giddy up,” I said, but there was no giddying up about it. We dragged through the snowy desert like old men; for a long time the fresh but inaccurate singing of the children resounded behind us:
Enjoy yourselves, you patients.
The doctor’s laid in bed with you.
I’ll never come home at this rate. My flourishing practice is lost. A successor is robbing me, but to no avail, for he cannot replace me. In my house the disgusting groom is wreaking havoc. Rosa is his victim. I will not think it through. Naked, abandoned to the frost of this unhappy age, with an earthly carriage and unearthly horses, I drive around by myself, an old man. My fur coat hangs behind the wagon, but I cannot reach it, and no one from the nimble rabble of patients lifts a finger. Betrayed! Betrayed! Once one responds to a false alarm on the night bell, there’s no making it good again—not ever

中譯

作者：卡夫卡
　　我陷於極大的窘境：我必須立刻啟程到十里之外的一個村子看望一位重病人，但狂風大雪阻塞了我與他之間的茫茫原野。我有一輛馬車，輕便，大輪子，很適合在我們鄉間道路上行駛。我穿上皮大衣，提上出診包，站在院子裡準備啟程，但是，沒有馬，馬沒有啦，我自己的馬在昨天嚴寒的冬夜裡勞累過度而死了。我的女傭現在滿村子裡跑東跑西，想借到一匹馬，然而我知道這純屬徒勞。雪越積越厚，行走越來越困難，我茫然地站在那裡。這時那姑娘出現在門口，獨自一人，搖晃著馬燈。當然，有誰在這種時候會借他的馬給別人跑這差事？我又在院子裡踱來踱去，不知所措。我心煩意亂，苦惱不堪，用腳踢了一下那已經多年不用的豬圈的破門。門開了，擺來擺去拍得門樞啪啪直響。一股熱氣和類似馬的氣味撲面而來，裡面一根繩子上一盞廄燈晃來晃去；低矮的棚圈裡有個人蜷曲蹲在那裡，臉上睜著一雙藍眼睛。他葡匐著爬過來，問道：「要我套馬嗎？」我不知道該說什麼，只是彎下腰，想看看這圈裡還有沒有其他什麼東西。女傭站在我身旁，說道：「人們都不知道自己家裡有什麼東西。」我們兩個都笑了。「喂，兄弟！喂，姑娘！」馬伕喊著，於是兩匹健壯的膘馬相擁而現，它們的腿緊貼著身體，漂亮的馬頭像駱駝一樣低垂著，僅靠著軀體運動的力量從與它們差不多大小的門洞裡一匹跟著一匹擠了出來，但馬上它們都站直了，長長的四肢，渾身散發著熱氣。「去幫幫他，」我說，聽話的女傭便急忙過去給馬伕遞挽具。可是，不等她走近，馬伕就抱住了她，把臉貼向她的臉。她驚叫起來，跑到我身邊，臉頰上深深地留下兩道紅紅的牙印。「畜生！」我憤怒地喊道：「你想挨鞭子嗎？」但轉念又想，他是個陌生人，我不知道他從哪裡來，而且在大家拒絕我的時候自願來幫助我。他好像知道我在想什麼，所以並不計較我的威脅，只是向我轉了一下身體，手裡不停地套著馬車。「上車吧，」他說。一點不假，一切已準備就緒。我發現這套馬車非常漂亮，我還從來沒坐過這麼漂亮的馬車呢。我高興地上了車，說道：「不過，車我來駕，因為你不認識路。」「那當然，」他說，「我壓根就不跟你去，我留在羅莎這裡。」「不！」羅莎直喊，然後，預感到無法逃避的厄運的降臨，跑進屋裡。隨後，我聽到她拴上門鏈發出的叮鐺響聲，又聽見鎖子被鎖上；我看見她還關掉了走廊的燈，又迅速穿過好幾個房間，關滅了所有的燈，以使自己不被人找見。「你跟我一起走，」我對馬伕說，「否則我不去了，不論怎樣急迫。我不能想像為此行而把那姑娘送給你作為代價。」「駕！」他吆喝一聲，又拍拍手，頓時，馬車就像激流之中的木塊一樣奔出。我聽到馬伕衝進我家裡時屋門震裂的聲音，然後，我的眼睛、耳朵以及所有感官只覺得一陣呼嘯風馳電掣般掠過，但這瞬間即逝，因為，那病人家的院子就好像緊挨著我家的院門，我已經到達了。馬兒靜靜地站在那兒，雪也不下了，只有月光撒滿大地。病人的父母急匆匆迎出來，後面跟著他姐姐。我幾乎是被從車裡抬出來的。他們七嘴八舌，而我卻不知所云。病人房間裡空氣污濁，令人無法呼吸，廢舊的爐子冒著煙。我想推開窗戶，但首先我要看看病人。他消瘦、不發燒、不冷、也不熱，兩眼無神。小伙子沒穿襯衣，蓋著羽絨被。他坐起身來，抱住我的脖子，對著我的耳朵悄聲說道：「醫生，讓我死吧。」我看了一下四周，發現沒人聽見這話。病人的父母躬著身子呆站在一旁，等候著我的診斷。他姐姐搬來一把椅子讓我放下診包。我打開包，尋找工具。小伙子不斷地從被窩裡向我爬過來，提醒我別忘了他的請求。我抓出一把鑷子，在燭光下試了試，然後又放回去。「是啊，」我瀆神地想：「在這種情況下眾神相助，送來了需要的馬匹，又因為事情緊迫而送來第二匹，更甚者，還送來了馬伕——」這時，我才又想起了羅莎。距她十里之遙，而拉車之馬又無法駕馭，在這種情況下，怎樣才能救她，怎樣才能把她從馬伕身下拉出來呢？現在，那兩匹馬不知怎麼已經鬆開了韁繩，又不知怎麼把窗戶從外邊頂開了，每匹都把頭伸進一扇窗戶，不受那家人的干擾，觀察著病人。「我要立刻返回去。」我想，好像馬兒也在催我動身。但我卻任憑他姐姐脫掉我的皮大衣，她以為我熱得腦脹。老人給我端來一杯郎姆酒，並拍了拍我的肩膀。獻出心愛的東西表明他對我的信任。我搖了搖頭，在老人狹隘的思想裡我感到不適，僅鑒於此我拒絕喝那酒。他母親站在床邊叫我過去，我走過去，把頭貼在小伙子胸口上，他在我潮濕的鬍鬚下顫抖起來。那邊，一匹馬對著屋頂大聲嘶叫。我知道的事已被證實：小伙子是健康的，只不過是有點供血不足，他那憂心忡忡的母親給他喝了過多的咖啡。然而他卻是健康的，最好乾脆把他從床上趕下來。我並不是救世主，讓他躺著吧。我供職於區上，忠於職守，甚至於過分；我薪俸微薄，但卻慷慨大方，樂於幫助窮人，另外，我還要負擔羅莎的生活。如此看來，小伙子也許是對的，我也想去死。在這漫長的冬日裡，我在這裡幹什麼呀！我的馬死了，而且村子裡又沒人借給我一匹。我得從豬圈裡拉出馬來，如果不是意外得馬，我就要用豬拉車了。事情就是這樣。我向這家人點點頭。他們對此一無所知，即使知道，他們也不會相信的。開個藥方是輕而易舉的，但是與這些人互相交流溝通，卻是件難事。現在，我的探診也該結束了。人們又一次讓我白跑一趟，對此，我已習慣了。這個區的人總是在夜裡來按門鈴，使我備受折磨。然而這次卻還要搭上羅莎。這個漂亮的姑娘，多年來生活在我家裡而沒有得到我多少關心——這個代價太大了。我必須馬上認真考慮一下，以克制自己，不致對這家人發火，雖然他們不管怎樣也不會把羅莎還給我。但當我收拾起診包，把手伸向我的皮大衣時，這家人站在一起，父親嗅了嗅手裡那杯朗姆酒，母親可能對我深感失望——是啊，大家到底想要什麼呢？——她滿眼淚水，緊咬嘴唇；他姐姐擺弄著一塊血跡斑斑的手帕，於是我準備在必要的時候承認這小伙子也許真的病了。我向他走過去，他對我微笑著，好像我給他端來了最美味的湯——啊，這時兩匹馬都叫了起來，這叫聲一定是上面所安排，用以幫助我檢查病人——而這時我發現：的確，這小伙子是病了。在他身體右側靠近臀部的地方發現了一個手掌大小的傷口，玫瑰紅色，有許多暗點，深處呈黑色，周邊泛淺，如同嫩軟的顆粒，不均勻地出現淤血，像露天煤礦一樣張開著。這是遠看的情況，近看則更為嚴重。誰會見此而不驚叫呢？在傷口的深處，有許多和我小手指一樣大小的蟲蛹，身體紫紅，同時又沾滿血污，它們正用白色的小頭和無數小腿蠕動著爬向亮處。可憐的小伙子，你已經無可救藥。我找到了你碩大的傷口，你身上這朵花送你走向死亡。這家人都很高興，他們看著我忙這忙那，姐姐把這情況告訴母親，母親告訴父親，父親又告訴一些客人。這些人正踮著腳尖，張開雙臂以保持平衡，從月光下走進敞開的門。「你會救我嗎？」小伙子如泣如訴地悄聲問我，傷口中蠕動的生命弄得他頭暈目眩。我們這裡的人就是這樣，總是向醫生要求不可能的事情。他們已經喪失了舊有的信仰，牧師閒居家中，一件接著一件撕爛他們的法衣，而卻要求醫生妙手回春，拯救萬物。那麼，隨他們的便吧：我並非不請自到，如果你們要我擔任聖職，我也就只得順從。我一個年邁的鄉村醫生，女傭被人搶去了，我還能企望什麼更好的事情呢！此時，這家人以及村子裡的老者一齊走過來脫掉了我的衣服；一個學生合唱隊在老師的帶領下站在屋前，用極簡單的聲調唱著這樣的歌詞：「脫掉他的衣，他就能醫，若他不醫，就致他於死地！他只是個醫生，他只是個醫生。」然後，我被脫光了衣服，用手指捋著鬍子，側頭靜觀著眾人。我鎮定自若，勝過所有的人，儘管我孤立無援，被他們抱住頭、抓住腳、按倒在床上，但我仍然這樣。他們把我朝牆放下，挨著病人的傷口，然後，都退出小屋，並關上了門；歌聲也嘎然而止，雲塊遮住了月亮，暖暖的被子裹著我，馬頭在窗洞裡忽隱忽現地晃動著。「你知道，」我聽見有人在耳邊說，「我對你缺乏信任，你也不過是在某個地方被人拋棄了而不能自救。你沒有幫我，反倒使我的病榻更小。我恨不得把你的眼睛挖出來。」「不錯，」我說，「這是一種恥辱。但我現在是個醫生，你要我怎樣呢？相信我，事情對我也不容易。」「難道這樣的道歉就會使我滿足嗎？哎，也許我只能這樣，我一向都很知足。帶著一個美麗的傷口我來到人世，這是我的全部嫁妝。」「年輕的朋友，」我說道，「你的缺點是不能總攬全局。我這個人去過附近所有的病房，我告訴你，你的傷並不那麼可怕。傷口比較深，是被斧子砍了兩下所致。許多人將半個身子置於樹林中，卻幾乎聽不到林中斧子的聲音，更不用說斧子向他們逼近。」「事情真是這樣嗎？還是你趁我發燒在欺騙我？」「確實如此。請帶著一個工職醫生用名譽擔保的話去吧。」他相信了，安靜下來不再做聲。然而，現在是我考慮自我解救的時候了。馬匹依然忠實地站在原位，我很快收集起衣服、皮大衣和出診包，也顧不上去穿衣服。馬兒如果還像來時那樣神速，那麼在某種程度上我就是從這張床上一下就跳上我的床。一匹馬馴服地把頭從窗戶中退回去。我把我那包東西扔進車裡，皮大衣丟得好遠，只一個袖子緊緊掛在一個鉤子上。這樣就可以啦。我飛身上馬。韁繩鬆弛下來，馬匹也沒有互相套在一起，而馬車則晃晃悠悠地跟在後面，再後面皮大衣也拖在雪地裡。「駕！」我喊道，但馬並沒有奔馳起來，我們像老人似的慢慢地駛過雪原，耳後久久地迴響著孩子門那新而謬誤的歌：「歡樂吧，病人門，醫生已被放倒在你們的床上！」我從未這樣走進家門。我丟掉了興旺發達的行醫工作，一個後繼者搶走了它。但無濟於事，因為他無法取代我。在我家裡那可憎的馬伕正在施行暴虐，羅莎是他的犧牲品。我不忍再往下想。在這最不幸時代的嚴冬裡，我一個老人赤身裸體，坐在人間的車子上，而駕著非人間的馬，四處奔波，飽受嚴寒的折磨。我的皮大衣掛在馬車後面，而我卻夠不著它，那伙手腳靈活的病人呢，也不肯動一動指頭幫我一把。受騙了！受騙了！只要被夜間的鈴聲捉弄一次——這永遠不可挽回。