艺文走廊 ✐2007-04-01


拿破崙颂

凌风 译

 

秤量汉尼拔〔的骨灰〕:你发现最伟大领袖有多少磅?
               --朱诺维尔,讽刺诗X

尼普司[西罗马]皇帝的品德和军事天才,受高度讚扬,元老院,意大利人,和高卢人,都认为他了不起;那些私人受过他好处的人,更以预言的语气谈到他的复位是人民的幸福...他为了多活几年,可恥的退位,成为在皇帝和难民之间的边际人物,直到—
               --吉朋,罗马帝国衰亡史

    I


拿破崙 Napoleon Bonaparte

定局了—昨日还称帝称王!
  率兵将与诸王爭雄逞強—
  现在你成为无名之物:
  那么低鄙—卻仍然健旺!
  岂是那千个宝座的人
  把敌他的屍骨散在我们的地上,
  他能夠存活着那样?
  他曾被误称为清晨之星,
  沒有人或魔鬼坠落得如此深长。

    II

谬妄的人!为何鞭笞同类
  他们曾卑躬屈膝?
  注视自己的光耀使你盲目,
  你教导別人能认识。
  有权威无可质疑—拯救的能力—
  给崇拜你的那些人
  坟墓是你唯一的恩赐;
  在他们灭亡前人怎得知
  野心连卑微都不及!

    III

多谢那功课—那将教导
  后面的战士们
  比高深的哲学更好,
  从前的教训徒劳。
  那要印进人的头脑
  破碎不能再完整,
  他们被引领崇拜的
  偶像会挥舞战刀,
  前胸是铜的,有泥土的双腳。

    IV

那凯旋,和那虛荣,
  那奋战的狂喜—
  胜利的声音震地,
  成为你的生命气息;
  刀剑,权杖,和支配
  顺从似是人受造的目的,
  因此声誉充斥—
  全都消逝!—幽暗的灵!那将是
  你疯狂的记忆!

    V

使人荒涼的成为荒涼!
  胜利者被打倒!
  裁決別人命运者
  自己向人求告!
  是否还有帝国的指望
  使你能平靜面对这样的风暴?
  或是孤独的惧怕死亡来到?
  死为王子—或活为奴隶—
  你的选择是最不光荣的自保!

    VI

古时有人劈开橡树,
  作梦也想不到它复合;
  被树榦夹住难以掙脫—
  何其孤单—四顾只自己一个?
  你,以你的威严和能力,
  也建立同样的工作,
  不幸的命运临到:
  成为林中豺狼的猎物;
  你将要椎心悔恨难过!

    VII

那罗马人,当他的內心激忿
  曾经使血溅罗马,
  丟下短剑—敢於离开,
  以残暴的英伟,退隐回家—
  他不畏极大的讥讽
  那些人服在他那样的重轭下,
  留给他如何的咒骂!
  他唯一的荣耀完全在於
  自制放下权威的一剎那。

    VIII

那西班牙人,当支配慾
  失去使人兴奋的魅力,
  丟棄冠冕換取玫瑰经,
  从帝国改为修道的靜室,
  严谨的数着他的念珠,
  精密的辩证信条析理,
  他的晚年安然度过:
  沒有谁比他更经历过
  独裁的宝座,或虔信者的庙祠。

    IX

可是你—吝惜的手
  曾掌握过雷电—
  迟延太久不肯放下政权
  你软弱的依恋;
  你所有的邪恶的灵,
  足夠使你的心悲惨
  愿见你自己松弦;
  思想神美好的世界
  腳凳竟有这样的卑贱;

    X

大地曾为他血流,
  他因此得以免於流血!
  君王们俯伏肢体颤抖
  感谢他赏赐宝座!
  美好的自由!我们珍视宝爱,
  是最強大的仇敌叫你惧怯
  以最谦卑的形像装作。
  噢!暴君不再有余地
  留下更动人的名字给人类述说!

    XI

你的恶行留下血渍斑斑,
  所有的纪录不至徒然—
  你的胜利不再述说你的名声,
  或是加深每一污染:
  如果你如荣誉死亡,
  这世界会再度蒙羞,
      可能有些个拿破崙新兴—
  但谁要像太阳一样高升,
  在如此无星的夜空?

    XII

被称在天平里,英雄灰尘
  与低贱的泥土並无分別;
  会死的人啊!你的衡量
  对一切人都公平无邪:
  不过我想活着的伟人
  会发动更高的火花
  使人目眩或竟幻灭:
  不能有蔑视而因此欢笑
  那些地面上的征服者。

    XIII

她,仍然是你的皇后,
  骄傲的奧地利之花可哀可怜;
  她胸怀怎忍受那考验的时刻?
  她仍然紧贴在你的身边?
  她岂也要屈从,也要分担
  长久失望,你的悔改太晚,
  你失去宝座的杀人犯?
  若她依然爱你,保守那珍宝,—
  那值得你消失的皇冠!

    XIV

赶快去你阴沉的海岛,
  注视那海水悠悠;
  大自然会向你微笑—
  从来不曾被你羁留!
  或用你全然空閒的手
  逍遙的让沙粒微流
  现在这大地也自由!
  如今那哥林多的教师
  把他的丑名转到你的眉头。

    XV

你帖木儿!在他俘虏的笼里
  你可有什么心思,
  在筹画着你监禁的忿激?
  只一个—“这世界原是我的!”
  除非,像巴比伦王,
  所有理性和权杖一併消逝,
  生命将不再受禁制
  遂心所欲那么宽广无际—
  长久顺从—何等微小的价值!

    XVI

或像天上盜火的贼,
  那震惊你可承受得起?
  你可与他同担永不得赦免,
  他的巨石和他的鹰鸷!
  受神预定的惩罚—被人咒诅,
  那最后的行动,虽不是你最坏的,
  卻是魔鬼最大的讥刺;
  他堕落卻得把自尊保持,
  如果是必死的人,也该傲然崩逝!

    XVII

曾有那一天—曾有那一时,
  大地属於高卢—高卢属你—
  当时那无限的权力
  若及早退位放棄
  那行动是更清高的荣誉
  胜於留恋在玛崙郭的伟绩
  使你如光辉的落日,
  在漫长的苍茫暮色里
  虽然有些浮云飘过的罪跡。

    XVIII

可是你命定必作王
  穿着那紫色的外套,
  任那愚昧的长袍
  绞扭着记忆从你的胸抱。
  哪里是你褪色的服装?哪里是
  你喜欢配戴的虛华珍宝
  那星,那绳,那冠上的羽毛?
  帝国虛荣刚愎的孩子!说,
  你所有的玩具可都被夺掉?

    XIX

疲劳的眼将在哪里停息
  当巡视着英雄群;
  哪里沒有罪咎的光荣,
  也沒有污跡可寻?
  是的—一位—最先的—最后的—最好的—
  西方的辛森那徒,
  只羨妒不敢恨他,
  名垂宇宙的华盛顿,
  使丈夫赧颜的唯此一人!

註:

拿破崙(Napoleon Buonaparte, 1769-1821),生於科西嘉(Corsica),由军曹洊升将军(1793),称霸法国,而雄踞欧洲。1804年称帝。1912年,征俄失败。1814年,战败后退守巴黎。四月六日,Fontainebleau和约退位,被放逐至厄尔巴(Elba)岛。1815年,逃返巴黎,复位百日,重建军爭雄;六月十八日,遭联军击败於滑铁卢(Waterloo),再度退位,被放逐圣海伦娜岛(St. Helena),由英国管制。1821年三月五日崩逝。

诗人拜伦(Lord George Gordon Byron, 1788-1824)为英国浪漫诗人中最著名者,像当时许多人一样,对拿破崙有既崇拜又恨的复杂感情;比之对华盛顿,则只有羨慕而无恨意(见XIX)。

I 定局了:指和约签订,拿破崙退位。此诗作於1814年四月十日,隐名发表於四月十六日。
VI 橡树:据传,希腊运动家弥娄(Milo, c. 6th cen. BC)企图用手分开劈裂的橡树,不意楔子坠落,树榦复合,夹住了他的手臂,无法掙脫,为林中的群狼所噬。
VII 那罗马人:索拉(Felix Lucius Cornelius Sulla, c. 138-78 BC)罗马名将,政治家独裁者。
VIII 那西班牙人:神圣罗马帝国皇帝查理五世(Charles V, 1500-1558),退位隐於修院。
XIII 皇后:拿破崙的第二妻子玛莉(Marie Louise, 1791-1847),於拿破崙退位后,挈其子至维也纳。
XIV 海岛:拿破崙被放逐的厄尔巴岛。
哥林多的教师:迪昂逸修(Dionysius the Younger, c. 397-343 BC)西里求斯和西西里的统治者,曾两被放逐;公元前343年,退到哥林多,设学授徒。
XV 帖木儿:帖木儿(Timur,译名Tamerlane,或Taimur, 1336-1405)率蒙古军西征,於1402年征服鄂图曼(Ottoman),擒其苏丹巴哈则(Bajazet I,c.1347-1403)囚於木笼中。曾征服欧洲及於地中海,欧人畏惧,称为“天之刑鞭”。拿破崙曾被视为欧洲的帖木儿,今竟然被囚。
巴比伦:指巴比伦王尼布甲尼撒(但四:28-37)因狂傲而一度精神失常。
XVI 天上盜火贼:希腊神话,普罗米修斯(Prometheus),因从天上盜火给人间,被宙斯(Zeus)处罚,绑在高加索山的石上,巨鹰每天来啄食他的肉。
XVII 高卢(Gaul):欧洲西部古国,包括法国,比利时,荷兰,德国,意大利北部,及瑞士。亦用指法国。
玛崙郭(Marengo):1800年六月,拿破崙大败奧地利军於此。
XIX 辛森那徒(Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus, c.519-439 BC):罗马将领及政治家,有品德,躬耕於小农庄,简朴,英明,善战,而坚主共和。

 

Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte

Expende Annibalem:—quot libras in duce summo Invenies?”—
Juvenal, Sat. X

“The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, by the Italians, and by the Provincials of Gaul; his moral virtues, and military talents, were loudly celebrated; and those who derived any private benefit from his government announced in prophetic strains the restoration of public felicity... By the shameful abdication, he protracted his life a few years, in a very ambiguous state, between an Emperor and an Exile, till—”
Gibbon's Decline and Fall

    I

'Tis done— but yesterday a King!
  And armed with Kings to strive—
And now thou art a nameless thing:
  So abject—yet alive!
Is this the man of thousand thrones
Who strewed our earth with hostile bones,
  And can he thus survive?
Since he, miscalled the Morning Star,
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far.

    II

Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind
  Who bowed so low the knee?
By gazing on thyself grown blind,
  Thou taught’st the rest to see.
With might unquestioned,— power to save,—
Thine only gift hath been the grave
  To those that worshipped thee;
Nor till thy fall could mortals guess
Ambition’s less than littleness!

    III

Thanks for that lesson— it will teach
  To after-warriors more
Than high Philosophy can preach,
  And vainly preached before.
That spell upon the minds of men
Breaks never to unite again,
  That led them to adore
Those Pagod things of sabre-sway,
With fronts of brass, and feet of clay.

    IV

The triumph, and the vanity,
  The rapture of the strife—
The earthquake-voice of Victory,
  To thee the breath of life;
The sword, the sceptre, and that sway
Which man seemed made but to obey,
  Wherewith renown was rife—
All quelled!— Dark Spirit! what must be
The madness of thy memory!

    V

The Desolator desolate!
  The Victor overthrown!
The Arbiter of others’ fate
  A Suppliant for his own!
Is it some yet imperial hope
That with such change can calmly cope?
  Or dread of death alone?
To die a Prince—or live a slave—
Thy choice is most ignobly brave!

    VI

He who are old would rend the oak,
  Dreamed not of rebound;
Chained by the trunk he vainly broke—
  Alone—how looked he round?
Thou, in the sternness of thy strength,
An equal deed hast done at length,
  And darker fate hast found:
He fell, the forest prowler’s prey;
But thou must eat thy heart away!

    VII

The Roman, when his burning heart
  Was slaked with blood of Rome,
Threw down the dagger—dared depart,
  In savage grandeur, home.—
He dared depart in utter scorn
Of men that such a yoke had borne,
  Yet left him such a doom!
His only glory was that hour
Of self-upheld abandoned power.

    VIII

The Spaniard, when the lust of sway
  Has lost its quickening spell,
Cast crowns for rosaries away,
  An empire for a cell,
A strict accountant of his beard,
A subtle disputant on creeds,
  His dotage trifled well:
Yet better had he neither known
A bigot’s shrine, nor despot’s throne.

    IX

But thou— from thy reluctant hand
  The thunderbolt is wrung—
Too late thou leav’st the high command
  To which thy weakness clung;
All Evil Spirit as thou art,
It is enough to grieve the heart
  To see thine own unstrung;
To think that God’s fair world hath been
The footstool of a thing so mean;

    X

And Earth hath spilt her blood for him,
  Who thus can hoard his own!
And Monarchs bowed the trembling limb,
  And thanked him for a throne!
Fair Freedom! we may hold thee dear,
When thus thy mightiest foes their fear
  In humblest guise have shown.
Oh! ne’er may tyrant leave behind
A brighter name to lure mankind!

    XI

Thine evil deeds are writ in gore,
  Nor written thus in vain—
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more,
  Or deepen every stain:
If thou hadst died as Honour dies,
Some new Napoleon might rise,
  To shame the world again—
But who would soar the solar height,
To set in such a starless night?

    XII

Weigh’d in the balance, hero dust
  Is vile as vulgar clay;
Thy scales, Mortality! are just
  To all that pass away:
But yet methought the living great
Some higher sparks should animate
  To dazzle and dismay:
Nor deem’d Contempt could thus make mirth
Of these, the Conquerors of the earth.

    XIII

And she, proud Austria’s mournful flower,
  Thy still imperial bride;
How bears her breast the torturing hour?
  Still clings she to thy side?
Must she too bend, must she too share
Thy late repentance, long despair,
  Thou throneless Homicide?
If still she loves thee, hoard that gem,—
  ’Tis worth thy vanished diadem!

    XIV

Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle,
  And gaze upon the sea;
That element may meet thy smile—
  It ne’er was ruled by thee!
Or trace with thine all idle hand
In loitering mood upon the sand
  That Earth is now as free!
That Corinth’s pedagogue hath now
Transferred his by-word to thy brow.

    XV

Thou Timour! in his captive’s cage
  What thought will there be thine,
While brooding in thy prisoned rage?
  But one—“The world was mine!”
Unless, like he of Babylon,
All sense with thy sceptre gone,
  Life will not long confine
That spirit poured so widely forth—
So long obeyed—so little worth!

    XVI

Or, like the thief of fire from heaven,
  Wilt thou withstand the shock?
And share with him, the unforgiven,
  His vulture and his rock!
Foredoomed by God—by man accurst,
And that last act, though not thy worst,
  The very Fiend’s arch mock;
He in his fall preserved his pride,
And, if a mortal, had as proudly died!

    XVII

There was a day—there was an hour,
  While earth was Gaul’s—Gaul thine—
When that immeasurable power
  Unsated to resign
Had been an act of purer fame
Than gathers round Marengo’s name
  And gilded thy decline,
Through the long twilight of all time,
Despite some passing clouds of crime.

    XVIII

But thou forsooth must be a King
  And don the purple vest,
As that foolish robe could wring
  Remembrance from thy breast.
Where is that faded garment? where
The gewgaws thou wert fond to wear,
  The star, the string, the crest?
Vain froward child of Empire! say,
Are all thy playthings snatched away?

    XIX

Where may the wearied eye repose
  When gazing on the Great;
Where neither guilty glory glows,
  Nor despicable state?
Yes—One—the first—the last—the best—
The Cincinnatus of the West,
  Whom Envy dared not hate,
Bequeathed the name of Washington,
To make man blush there was but one!
  1814


Lord George Gordon Byron
  (1785-1824)

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