Sunday, October 25, 2020

17.2 沿路她無欣賞風景

17.2 Iân-lō͘ yi bô him-sióng hong-kéng
Tī Paris, siōng-bô yi iáu kám-kak chi̍t-sut-á bah-kám. M̄-koh he sī ià-siān, phî-lô, soe-pāi ê bah-kám. In-ūi bô un-jiû, só͘-í soe-pāi. Oh! Paris teh siong-sim. Siōng-kài siong-sim ê siâⁿ-chhī chi it: ià-siān hiān-chāi ê ki-khì-hòa bah-kám, ià-siān chîⁿ, chîⁿ, chîⁿ ê kín-tiuⁿ, sīm-chì ià-siān oàn-hūn kap chū-tōa, ià-siān kah boeh-sí, iáu-sī bô-kàu Bí-kok-hòa a̍h London-hòa thang kā ià-siān chhàng tī ki-khì-hòa ê jig-jig-jig bú-khek tiong-kan! Ah, chia ê cha-po͘ chhio kiak-kiak, ài tī ke-lō͘ lōa-lōa sô, khòaⁿ tio̍h cha-bó͘ ba̍k bui-bui, hèng chia̍h hó-liāu kek ko-kùi! In lóng chiâⁿ ià-siān! in-ūi bô un-jiû thang hō͘ lâng, thang tit-tio̍h, tō ià-siān koh soe-pāi. Khiàng-kha, ū-sî mā bê-lâng ê cha-bó͘ lóng lio̍h-khóa chai-iáⁿ bah-kám ê hiān-si̍t: yin pí chhia̍k-chhia̍k-tiô ê Eng-kok chí-mōe khah láu-liān. M̄-koh yin tùi un-jiû chai khah chió. Ta-sò, hit-chióng ì-chì bô-chīn ta-sò ê kín-tiuⁿ, hō͘ yin mā lóng soe-pāi ah. Kui-ê jîn-lūi ê sè-kài lóng teh soe-pāi. Hoān-sè sè-kài ē hiong-kông húi-pāi. Piàn-sêng bô chèng-hú chōng-thài! Clifford hām i he pó-siú ê bô chèng-hú chōng-thài! Hoān-sè koh pó-siú mā bô kú ah. Hoān-sè ē hoat-tián sêng kek-chìn ê bô chèng-hú chōng-thài.
Connie kám-kak ka-tī tò-kiu, kiaⁿ chit-ê sè-kài. Ū-sî tī Tōa-ke (Boulevards), tī Tōa-chhiū-nâ (Bois), a̍h-sī tī Luxembourg Kong-hn̂g, yi mā ū chi̍t-sî sió-sió ê khoài-lo̍k. M̄-koh Paris í-keng chhiong-móa Bí-kok lâng kap Eng-kok lâng, kî-koài ê Bí-kok lâng chhēng koài-koài ê hok-chong, koh ū pêng-siông nā chhut-kok tō hō͘ lâng thó-ià ê Eng-kok lâng.
Yi chin hoaⁿ-hí lī-khui Paris kè-sio̍k yin ê lí-tô͘. Thiⁿ-khì hut-jiân piàn joa̍h, só͘-tì Hilda boeh keng-kòe Suise, keng-iû Brenner soaⁿ-koan, jiân-āu ùi Dolomiti soaⁿ-khu lo̍h-khì Venice. Hilda kah-ì só͘-ū ê an-pâi kap sái-chhia, sū-sū lóng iû yi chò-chú. Ē-tit chheng-êng, Connie mā kám-kak chin boán-chiok.
Chit-chōa lō͘ si̍t-chāi chin chán. Chí-sī, Connie put-chū mn̄g ka-tī: Sī án-chóaⁿ góa bô chin-chiàⁿ koan-sim! Sī án-chóaⁿ góa bô chin-chiàⁿ thiòng-lo̍k? Chiâⁿ khó-phà, góa bô koh koan-sim hong-kéng! Góa bô. Che chiâⁿ khó-phà. Góa tō ná Saint Bernard, i chē-chûn kòe Lucerne Ô͘, kin-pún bô chù-ì tio̍h ū chheⁿ-soaⁿ, ū le̍k-chúi. Góa kin-pún mā bô koh koan-sim hong-kéng. Sī án-chóaⁿ tio̍h khì khòaⁿ hiah-ê? Ū siáⁿ hó khòaⁿ? Góa bô-ài khòaⁿ.
Bô, yi bô hoat-hiān tio̍h siáⁿ oa̍h-thiàu ê mi̍h-kiāⁿ tī Franse, a̍h Suise a̍h Tyrol a̍h Italia. Yi chí-sī hông chāi leh keng-kòe chiah-ê. Che lóng bô Wragby chin-si̍t. Pí khó-phà ê Wragby khah bô chin-si̍t! Yi kám-kak yi nā mài koh khòaⁿ tio̍h Franse a̍h Suise a̍h Italia, yi mā bē kòa-ì. In tō sī hit-lō khoán. Wragby khah chin-si̍t.
Iah lâng neh! lâng lóng kāng-khoán, chha-pia̍t bô chē. In lóng siūⁿ boeh thàn lí ê chîⁿ: a̍h sī kóng, ká-sú in sī iû-kheh, in tiāⁿ-tio̍h siūⁿ boeh hiáng-siū, tō ná-chhiūⁿ boeh kā chio̍h-thâu tēⁿ kah chhut hoeh. Khó-liân ê soaⁿ! khó-liân ê hong-kéng! in lóng tio̍h hông tēⁿ, koh tēⁿ, koh tēⁿ, tio̍h ài hō͘ lâng thiòng, hō͘ lâng hiáng-siū. Chiah-ê kan-ta koat-sim boeh hiáng-siū ê lâng, tàu-té sī siáⁿ ì-sù ah?
Bô! Connie tùi ka-tī kóng. Góa lêng-goān lâu tī Wrabgy, tī hia góa ē-tàng sì-kè khì, mā ē-tàng tiām-tiām, m̄-bián khòaⁿ siáⁿ, mā m̄-bián piáu-hiān siáⁿ. Iû-kheh chit-chióng hiáng-siū ka-tī ê piáu-hiān, si̍t-chāi siuⁿ kiàn-siàu: Che sī chi̍t-chióng sit-pāi.
Yi siūⁿ boeh tńg-khì Wragby, tńg chhōe Clifford, sīm-chì hit-ê khó-liân chân-hùi ê Clifford. Siōng-bô, i bô chhiūⁿ chiah-ê e-e kheh-kheh teh tō͘-ká ê gōng-á.
M̄-koh, tī sim-lāi, yi sī teh su-liām lēng-gōa hit ê lâng. Yi bē-tàng pàng-tiāu kap i ê liân-hē: oh, yi bē-sái pàng-khui, nā bô, yi tō ē bê-sit, ē bê-sit tī chit-ê hūn-cha̍p tio̍h ū-chîⁿ lâng kap hiáng-siū ti ê sè-kài. Oh, hiah-ê ài hiáng-siū ê ti ah! Oh, "chū-ngó͘ hiáng-siū"! Che sī lēng-gōa chi̍t-chióng hiān-tāi pēⁿ.
Yin kā chhia lâu tī Mestre ê chi̍t-keng siu-chhia hâng, chē tēng-kî ê chûn-pang khì Venice. He sī chi̍t-ê chin súi ê joa̍h-thiⁿ ē-tàu, chhián-ô͘ sió-khóa khí-éng, Venice tī chúi hit-pêng, hē sī i ê āu-piah bīn, tī tōa ji̍t-thâu ē-bīn khòaⁿ tio̍h àm-àm. Kàu bé-thâu, yi ōaⁿ chē gondola sió-chûn, kā chū-chí hō͘ chûn-hu. He sī chi̍t-ê phó͘-thong ê chûn-hu, chhēng nâ-phòe-pe̍h ê gōa-saⁿ, bô kóng iân-tâu, bô siáⁿ-mih te̍k-pia̍t.
"Sī! Esmeralda Pia̍t-chong! Sī! Góa chai hia! Góa bat chài kòe chi̍t-ê sin-sū khì hia. M̄-koh, lī chia put-chí-á hn̄g!"
I khòaⁿ sī chi̍t-ê gín-á sèng, kip-sèng ê lâng. I iōng bó͘-chióng kòe-thâu ê kip-sèng kò-chûn, keng-kòe àm-sàm sió-ūn-hô, nn̄g-pêng sī khó-phà, liâm thí-thí chheⁿ-thî ê piah, koh keng-kòe sàn-chhiah-lâng ê tē-khu, téng-koân ū sé hó ê saⁿ-khò͘ nê tī soh-á, koh put-sî ē phīⁿ tio̍h pâi-chui-kau ê pháiⁿ-bī.
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17.2 沿路她無欣賞風景
Tī Paris, 上無她猶感覺一屑仔肉感. M̄-koh 彼是厭僐, 疲勞, 衰敗 ê 肉感. 因為無溫柔, 所以衰敗. Oh! Paris teh 傷心. 上蓋傷心 ê 城市之一: 厭僐現在 ê 機器化肉感, 厭僐錢, , ê 緊張, 甚至厭僐怨恨 kap 自大, 厭僐 kah 欲死, 猶是無夠美國化抑 London 化通 厭僐藏 機器化 ê jig-jig-jig 舞曲中間! Ah, ê 查埔 chhio kiak-kiak, 街路 lōa-lōa , 看著查某目 bui-bui, 興食好料激高貴! In 攏誠厭僐! 因為無溫柔通予人, 通得著, tō 厭僐 koh 衰敗. Khiàng , 有時 迷人 ê 查某攏略可知影肉感 ê 現實: 姻chhia̍k-chhia̍k ê 英國姊妹較老練. M̄-koh 姻對溫柔知較少. 焦燥, 彼種意志無盡焦燥 ê 緊張, 予姻 mā 攏衰敗 ah. 規个人類 ê 世界攏 teh 衰敗. 凡勢世界會兇狂毀敗. 變成無政府狀態! Clifford 和伊彼保守 ê 無政府狀態! 凡勢 koh 保守 無久 ah. 凡勢會發展成激進 ê 無政府狀態.
Connie 感覺家己倒勼, 驚這个世界. 有時 大街 (Boulevards), tī 大樹林 (Bois), 抑是 tī Luxembourg 公園, 有一時小小 ê 快樂. M̄-koh Paris 已經充滿美國人 kap 英國人, 奇怪 ê 美國人穿怪怪 ê 服裝, koh 有平常若出國 予人討厭 ê 英國人.
她真歡喜離開 Paris 繼續姻 ê 旅途. 天氣忽然變熱, 所致 Hilda 欲經過 Suise, 經由 Brenner 山關, 然後 ùi Dolomiti 山區落去 Venice. Hilda 佮意所有 ê 安排 kap 駛車, 事事攏由她做主. 會得清閒, Connie mā 感覺真滿足.
這逝路實在真讚. 只是, Connie 不住問家己: 是按怎我無真正關心! 是按怎我無真正暢樂? 誠可怕, 我無 koh 關心風景! 我無. 這誠可怕. tō ná Saint Bernard, 伊坐船過 Lucerne , 根本無注意著有青山, 有綠水. 我根本 koh 關心風景. 是按怎著去看 hiah-ê? 有啥好看? 我無愛看.
, 她無發現著啥活跳 ê 物件 tī Franse, Suise Tyrol Italia. 她只是 hông leh 經過 chiah-ê. 這攏無 Wragby 真實. 比可怕 ê Wragby 較無真實! 她感覺她若莫 koh 看著 Franse Suise Italia, 袂掛意. In tō hit-lō . Wragby 較真實.
Iah neh! 人攏仝款, 差別無濟. In 攏想欲趁你 ê : 抑是講, 假使 in 是遊客, in 定著想欲享受, tō ná 像欲 石頭捏 kah 出血. 可憐 ê ! 可憐 ê 風景! in 攏著 hông , koh , koh , 著愛予人暢, 予人享受. Chiah-ê 干焦決心欲享受 ê , 到底是啥意思 ah?
! Connie 對家己講. 我寧願留 tī Wragby, tī 遐我會當四界去, mā 會當恬恬, 毋免看啥, mā 毋免表現啥. 遊客這種享受家己 ê 表現, 實在 siuⁿ 見笑: 這是一種失敗.
她想欲轉去 Wragby, 轉揣 Clifford, 甚至彼个可憐殘廢 ê Clifford. 上無, 伊無像 chiah-ê e-e kheh-kheh teh 渡假 ê 戇仔.
M̄-koh, tī 心內, 她是 teh 思念另外彼个人. 她袂當放掉 kap ê 連繫: oh, 她袂使放開, 若無, 會迷失, 會迷失 這个混雜著有錢 kap 享受ê 世界. Oh, hiah-ê 愛享受 ê ah! Oh, "自我享受"! 這是另外一種現代病.
姻 kā 車留 tī Mestre ê 一間修車行, 坐定期 ê 船幫去 Venice. 彼是一个真媠 ê 熱天下晝, 淺湖小可起湧, Venice tī 水彼爿, 彼是伊 ê 後壁面, tī 大日頭下面看著暗暗. 到碼頭, 她換坐 gondola 小船, kā 住址予船夫. 彼是一个普通 ê 船夫, 穿藍配白 ê 外衫, 無講緣投, 無啥物特別.
"! Esmeralda 別莊! ! 我知遐! bat 載過一个紳士去遐. M̄-koh, 離遮不止仔遠!"
伊看是一个囡仔性, 急性 ê . 伊用某種過頭 ê 急性划船, 經過暗毿小運河, 兩爿是可怕, thí-thí 青苔 ê , koh 經過散赤人 ê 地區, 頂懸有洗好 ê 衫褲 nê tī 索仔, koh 不時會鼻著排水溝 ê 歹味.
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17.2
In Paris at any rate she felt a bit of sensuality still. But what a weary, tired, worn-out sensuality. Worn-out for lack of tenderness. Oh! Paris was sad. One of the saddest towns: weary of its now-mechanical sensuality, weary of the tension of money, money, money, weary even of resentment and conceit, just weary to death, and still not sufficiently Americanized or Londonized to hide the weariness under a mechanical jig-jig-jig! Ah, these manly he-men, these FLANEURS, the oglers, these eaters of good dinners! How weary they were! weary, worn-out for lack of a little tenderness, given and taken. The efficient, sometimes charming women knew a thing or two about the sensual realities: they had that pull over their jigging English sisters. But they knew even less of tenderness. Dry, with the endless dry tension of will, they too were wearing out. The human world was just getting worn out. Perhaps it would turn fiercely destructive. A sort of anarchy! Clifford and his conservative anarchy! Perhaps it wouldn’t be conservative much longer. Perhaps it would develop into a very radical anarchy.
Connie found herself shrinking and afraid of the world. Sometimes she was happy for a little while in the Boulevards or in the Bois or the Luxembourg Gardens. But already Paris was full of Americans and English, strange Americans in the oddest uniforms, and the usual dreary English that are so hopeless abroad.
She was glad to drive on. It was suddenly hot weather, so Hilda was going through Switzerland and over the Brenner, then through the Dolomites down to Venice. Hilda loved all the managing and the driving and being mistress of the show. Connie was quite content to keep quiet.
And the trip was really quite nice. Only Connie kept saying to herself: Why don’t I really care! Why am I never really thrilled? How awful, that I don’t really care about the landscape any more! But I don’t. It’s rather awful. I’m like Saint Bernard, who could sail down the lake of Lucerne without ever noticing that there were even mountain and green water. I just don’t care for landscape any more. Why should one stare at it? Why should one? I refuse to.
No, she found nothing vital in France or Switzerland or the Tyrol or Italy. She just was carted through it all. And it was all less real than Wragby. Less real than the awful Wragby! She felt she didn’t care if she never saw France or Switzerland or Italy again. They’d keep. Wragby was more real.
As for people! people were all alike, with very little difference. They all wanted to get money out of you: or, if they were travellers, they wanted to get enjoyment, perforce, like squeezing blood out of a stone. Poor mountains! poor landscape! it all had to be squeezed and squeezed and squeezed again, to provide a thrill, to provide enjoyment. What did people mean, with their simply determined enjoying of themselves?
No! said Connie to herself. I’d rather be at Wragby, where I can go about and be still, and not stare at anything or do any performing of any sort. This tourist performance of enjoying oneself is too hopelessly humiliating: it’s such a failure.
She wanted to go back to Wragby, even to Clifford, even to poor crippled Clifford. He wasn’t such a fool as this swarming holidaying lot, anyhow.
But in her inner consciousness she was keeping touch with the other man. She mustn’t let her connexion with him go: oh, she mustn’t let it go, or she was lost, lost utterly in this world of riff-raffy expensive people and joy-hogs. Oh, the joy-hogs! Oh ‘enjoying oneself’! Another modern form of sickness.

They left the car in Mestre, in a garage, and took the regular steamer over to Venice. It was a lovely summer afternoon, the shallow lagoon rippled, the full sunshine made Venice, turning its back to them across the water, look dim. At the station quay they changed to a gondola, giving the man the address. He was a regular gondolier in a white-and-blue blouse, not very good-looking, not at all impressive.
’Yes! The Villa Esmeralda! Yes! I know it! I have been the gondolier for a gentleman there. But a fair distance out!’
He seemed a rather childish, impetuous fellow. He rowed with a certain exaggerated impetuosity, through the dark side-canals with the horrible, slimy green walls, the canals that go through the poorer quarters, where the washing hangs high up on ropes, and there is a slight, or strong, odour of sewage.
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