追憶似水年華

法國著名作家馬塞爾·普魯斯特的名作《追憶似水年華》，是一本與遺忘作斗爭的書。普魯斯特就是為了怕自己忘掉一些鮮活的感覺而寫了這本書。書中，因為喝了一口帶有瑪德琳蛋糕渣的暖茶，勾起了作者對過去的無限回憶……這里節選了其中幾段文字，閱讀時要留意大量長句的運用。

Many years had 1)elapsed during which nothing of 2)Combray， save what was comprised in the theatre and the drama of my going to bed there， had any existence for me， when one day in winter， as I came home， my mother， seeing that I was cold， offered me some tea， a thing I did not ordinarily take. I declined at first， and then， for no particular reason， changed my mind. She sent out for one of those short， plump little cakes called “3)petites

4)madeleines，” which look as though they had been 5)moulded in the 6)fluted 7)scallop of a pilgrim’s shell. And soon， mechanically， weary after a dull day with the prospect of a depressing morrow， I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid， and the crumbs with it， touched my 8)palate， a shudder ran through my whole body， and I stopped， 9)intent upon the extraordinary changes that were taking place. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses， but individual， detached， with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the 10)vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me， its disasters 11)innocuous， its brevity illusory—this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me， it was myself. I had ceased now to feel mediocre， 12)accidental， 13)mortal. Whence could it have come to me， this all-powerful joy? I was conscious that it was connected with the taste of tea and cake， but that it infinitely transcended those savours， could not， indeed， be of the same nature as theirs. Whence did it come? What did it signify? How could I seize upon and define it?

I drink a second mouthful， in which I find nothing more than in the first， a third， which gives me rather less than the second. It is time to stop; the 14)potion is losing its magic. It is plain that the object of my quest， the truth， lies not in the cup but in myself. The tea has called up in me， but does not itself understand， and can only repeat indefinitely with a gradual loss of strength， the same testimony; which I， too， cannot interpret， though I hope at least to be able to call upon the tea for it again and to find it there presently，

15)intact and 16)at my disposal， for my final enlightenment. I put down my cup and examine my own mind. It is for it to discover the truth. But how? What an 17)abyss of uncertainty whenever the mind feels that some part of it has 18)strayed beyond its own borders; when it， the seeker， is at once the dark region through which it must go seeking， where all its equipment will avail it nothing. Seek? More than that: create. It is face to face with something which does not so far exist， to which it alone can give reality and substance， which it alone can bring into the light of day.

…

Undoubtedly what is thus 19)palpitating in the depths of my being must be the image， the visual memory which， being linked to that taste， has tried to follow it into my conscious mind. But its struggles are too far off， too much confused; scarcely can I perceive the colorless reflection in which are blended the uncapturable whirling 20)medley of radiant 21)hues， and I cannot distinguish its form， cannot invite it， as the one possible interpreter， to translate to me the evidence of its contemporary， its inseparable 22)paramour， the taste of cake soaked in tea; cannot ask it to inform me what special circumstance is in question， of what period in my past life.

Will it ultimately reach the clear surface of my consciousness， this memory， this old， dead moment which the magnetism of an identical moment has traveled so far to

23)importune， to disturb， to raise up out of the very depths of my being? I cannot tell. Now that I feel nothing， it has stopped， has perhaps gone down again into its darkness， from which who can say whether it will ever rise? Ten times over I must 24)essay the task， must lean down over the abyss. And each time the natural laziness which deters us from every difficult enterprise， every work of importance， has urged me to leave the thing alone， to drink my tea and to think merely of the worries of today and of my hopes for tomorrow， which let themselves be 25)pondered over without effort or distress of mind.

And suddenly the memory returns. The taste was that of the little crumb of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before church-time)， when I went to say 26)good day to her in her bedroom， my aunt Léonie used to give me， dipping it first in her own cup of real or of 27)lime-flower tea. The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it; perhaps because I had so often seen such things in the interval， without tasting them， on the trays in 28)pastry-cooks’ windows， that their

image had dissociated itself from those Combray days to take its place among others more recent; perhaps because of those memories， so long abandoned and put out of mind， nothing now survived， everything was scattered; the forms of things， including that of the little scallop-shell of pastry， so richly sensual

under its severe， religious folds， were either 29)oblite-rated or had been so long 30)dormant as to have lost the power of expansion which would have allowed them to resume their place in my consciousness. But when from a long-distant past nothing 31)subsists， after the people are dead， after the things are broken and scattered， still， alone， more fragile， but with more vitality， more unsubstantial， more persistent， more faithful， the smell and taste of things remain 32)poised a long time， like souls， ready to remind us， waiting and hoping for their moment， amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unfaltering， in the tiny and almost 33)impalpable 34)drop of their essence， the vast structure of recollection.

這已經是很多很多年前的事了，除了同我上床睡覺有關的一些情節和場景外，貢布雷的其他往事對我來說早已化為烏有。可是有一年冬天，我回到家里，母親見我冷成那樣，便讓我喝點茶暖暖身子，而我平常并不喝茶。于是我先說不喝，后來不知怎么又改變了主意。母親叫人拿來一塊點心，是那種又矮又圓的名叫“小瑪德琳”的小蛋糕，看起來像是用朝圣者的扇形貝殼那樣的點心模子做出來的。那天天色陰沉，而且第二天也不見得會轉晴，我的心情很壓抑，機械地舀了一勺茶送到嘴邊，起先我已把一小口瑪德琳蛋糕浸泡在那勺茶里。帶著蛋糕渣的那一勺暖茶碰到我的上腭，我頓時混身一震，定住了。我感覺到自己身上正發生著非同小可的變化，一種舒坦的快感傳遍全身，我感到超塵脫俗，卻不知出自何因。我忽然覺得人生一世，榮辱得失都清淡如水，災難不幸亦無甚大礙，所謂人生短促，不過是一時幻覺；這種全新的感覺對于我的影響好比戀愛發生的作用，它以一種可貴的精神充實了我。也許，這感覺并不在我心間，而原本就是我的一部分。我不再感到平庸、不重要、平凡。