To Diana Trilling致黛安娜·特里林

【导读】莱昂纳尔·特里林（1907—1975），20世纪美国著名的文学与社会文化批评家。虽出身犹太裔移民家庭，他却能摆脱身份限制，持有世界主义价值观，主张文化多元。作为公共知识分子，他以“独特的道德视角”和“优雅的批评风格”影响了美国的青年一代，成为其思想导师。他著有大量的批评作品，代表作有《自由的想象》（The Liberal Imagination）、《诚与真》（Sincerity and Authenticity）、《对立的自我》（The Opposing Self）、《超越文化》（Beyond Culture）等。

本文选自《文化中的生活——莱昂纳尔·特里林书信集》（Life in Culture： Selected Letters of Lionel Trilling，2018）中的第7封信，该信是特里林写给当时的恋人黛安娜的（黛安娜·特里林，原名黛安娜·鲁宾，作家、批评家，纽约知识分子；她与特里林相识于1927年，1929年6月结婚）。尽管致信恋人，作者并非一味倾吐相思，交代近况时谈及的反倒是恋人分隔两地的好处。全信大多时候都在谈文学和写作，且富有见地。通过此信，文人特里林的精神生活可见一斑。

January 2， 1928

Dearest，

1928年1月2日

最亲爱的：

It has been a mean little January day， very suited and comfortable to be in bed in， and passing very quickly and unnoticed. I am not going out tonight to teach having run two degrees of fever， but I feel far better than last night. At present I smell like a tongue sandwich， having just had a mustard plaster. Did you arrive safely？ And I hope you are settled and comfortable by now. Is it nice country？

平淡无奇的一月天，非常适合舒舒服服地窝在床上，一天不知不觉中很快过去了。今晚我不去教课了，还在发烧，体温比正常高出两度，不过感觉比昨晚好多了。此刻，我闻起来像是牛舌三明治，因为刚刚抹了芥末膏。你平安抵达了吧？但愿此时你已安顿好，感觉惬意。那是个不错的地方吧？

I puttered at my story. There are some things in it still weak and unresolved but tomorrow if my nose does not attempt to imitate the glacier descending North America I shall adjust them and type it. Tentatively I call it “Round Trip” from these lines of Hardy1：

我的小说写得有些拖拉，还有些薄弱处未及处理。明日若是我的鼻子不再像北美南流的冰河，我会调整这些地方，把稿子打出来。我暂时起了个名字“往返”，是受哈代这几行诗的启发：

I travel on by barren farms，

And gulls glint out like silver flecks

Against a cloud that speaks of wrecks，

And bellies down with black alarms.

I say： “Thus from my lady’s arms

I go; those arms I love the best！”

The wind replies from dip and rise，

“Nay; toward her arms thou journeyest.”

I should like to give you the end of the story which for some reason I like though I do not find it exceptional.

我游走在贫瘠的农田边，

海鸥闪现，宛如银色的光斑

为诉说破碎的云朵所映衬，

肚腹朝下，伴着黑色的警报。

我说：“从我夫人的怀抱中

我离去；那我最爱的怀抱！”

风自低洼和高处回应，

“不；朝向她的怀抱，你启程。”

我想告诉你小说的结尾，尽管没什么特别，我却莫名地喜欢。

...2 “He felt not happy， not eager， not sternly strong， but complete. He was complete not as a story is complete that a writer sends to the printer， but as the idea for that story becomes complete in the mind of the writer over many months; for the idea will come to the writer perhaps as a bald little sentence or a mere static situation， and as it rests in his mind it begins to take on little additions of significance， of which it drops some and cultivates others， growing and forming itself until the writer finds it sufficiently full to begin to translate upon paper. But as the writer sits down to the paper， he knows and is afraid that， however complete and promising seemed the idea， words will perhaps betray it， will probably expose it cruelly， will certainly change it， and so he writes with the probability of failure on his pencil. But as he sits down， though he is not elated， nor happy， nor has he time for any posture of heroism in the face of this fear， he knows that his thus sitting down and beginning his first paragraph is the only thing he can do and the best moment of his life.”

……“他不开心、不热切、不十分强硬，却觉着圆满。说圆满，不是作家写完故事付梓的那种圆满，而是讲故事的念头在作家脑中酝酿数月最终成型的圆满：起念也许仅为干巴巴的一个短句，或只是一种静态情境，随着这个念头于作家的脑中停驻，开始增加点滴的意义，其间会丢掉一些，又孕育出另一些，自发生长成型，直到作家发现其足够丰满，始将其转化于纸上。可是，一旦作家坐下准备动笔，他便会有所意识和担心——不管那个念头看起来多么圆满和前景美好，文字或许会背离它，可能会残酷地暴露它，当然也会改变它——因此，他的写作伴着笔不能书的可能。但当他坐下了，尽管不那么欢欣鼓舞或满心欢愉，也没有时间在面对这种恐惧时摆出某种英雄姿态，可他知道，这样坐下来开始他的第一段写作，是他唯一可做之事，也是他生命中的至善时刻。”

There is something like an inaccuracy here for “he” becomes both the “idea” and the “writer，” but perhaps you will not have noticed it. I did not notice it until just now and perhaps it will have to be changed but I think not. But do you like it？

这里似乎有不够准确之处，“他”既是“念头”又是“作家”，不过也许你不会觉察到这个。我也是刚才注意到，也许此处得修改，但我认为不必。你觉得怎么样？

I have been wondering for a good part of the day why I find so much satisfaction in your being away： when I woke at ten this morning and remembered that you were gone I was very pleased， immediately. And I think I have the reason. It is that for a few weeks now we have not been alone but have been submitting to company， to scrutiny， to appraisal. This submission I can find necessities for， even interesting necessities， but this does not lessen my resentment. I resent even such a thing as Henry’s or Rachel’s3 approval of us and their liking for you. Now that it has largely gone I find our first secrecy precious for it seemed to conserve us in a dark strange way. Your being away removes you again and makes you again solitary and complete. Perhaps subconsciously that is why I wanted you to go away. Had I not so thick a head now I could tell you more of this; and I will， later， if you care to know. But now I am so completely loggish， and the thing is delicate， interesting， and， I think， important.

今天大半天时间我都在琢磨，为什么你的离开让我那么高兴：今早十点醒时，想起你走了，我一下子觉得很开心。我认为我有理由。这几个礼拜，我们并非独处，而是有人陪伴、有人审视、有人品头论足，我可以为这种强迫行为找到若干条非做不可的理由，甚至这些理由都很有意思，但这无法消除我的反感。我甚至厌恶亨利或瑞秋对我们的认可以及他们对你的好感。如今这种情形基本已不存在，我发现我俩最初的心照不宣殊为宝贵，因为它似乎以某种不可名状的神秘方式保护了我们。你的离开再次让你得以躲避，你又独自一人且圆满了。也许那就是为什么我下意识地想让你离开。若不是我此刻脑袋很沉，对此我还有很多想法可以说与你听；以后我会谈起，如果你想知道的话。可现在我的脑子完全转不动了，这个话题微妙、有趣，我觉得还很重要。

Today I read in D. H. Lawrence and was strangely encouraged by myself. For there are， for me， four transcendently great novelists： Dostoevski， Proust， Cervantes， and Dickens. （I omit Rabelais for his book is perhaps not rightly a novel.） Dostoevski has always depressed me by seeming to be scarcely human; Middleton Murry4 says， rather preciously， that by several tests he does not write novels but something beyond. At present Dostoevski has no applicable meaning for me and I do not read him， but his power I remember as something never again to be attained by anyone and as making effort futile， for somehow， though temporarily I have rejected him， his seems the greatest sort of thing to do. Proust I can see at work; I understand him pretty completely and so can control my feelings about him; but he， in fertility and strength， can too discourage me. （We never understand enough the tremendous originality and courage of his method.）