純真博物館

By+Orhan+Pamuk

伊斯坦布爾富商子弟公凱末爾（Kemal）與他的遠(yuǎn)房親戚、一個(gè)貧民少女芙頌（Füsun）相戀一個(gè)半月后便失去了她。339天后，他終于再次見(jiàn)到了已成他人之妻的芙頌。這之后的整整七年十個(gè)月里，凱末爾為了看望芙頌，曾1，593次去她家里吃晚飯，期間積攢了芙頌的4，213個(gè)煙頭。他還用15年的時(shí)間走完1，743個(gè)博物館，創(chuàng)造出獨(dú)一無(wú)二的“純真博物館”，把芙頌用過(guò)或碰觸過(guò)的鹽瓶、小狗擺設(shè)、頂針、筆、發(fā)卡、煙灰缸、耳墜、紙牌、鑰匙、扇子、香水瓶、手帕、胸針、煙頭等等放入自己的博物館，永久地慰藉自己那顆受創(chuàng)傷的心靈。

帕慕克用10年時(shí)間構(gòu)思創(chuàng)作了《純真博物館》，2008年出版之后，曾學(xué)建筑學(xué)的他又用了四年時(shí)間，在伊斯坦布爾創(chuàng)建了一座與小說(shuō)對(duì)應(yīng)的真實(shí)的博物館，以活生生的材料再現(xiàn)一本小說(shuō)。這也是世界上第一家完全以一部小說(shuō)為基礎(chǔ)的博物館，相信讀過(guò)此書(shū)的讀者會(huì)產(chǎn)生欲望親自參觀這座位于伊斯坦布爾老城區(qū)的鐵銹紅色的土耳其式三層小樓的純真博物館。一進(jìn)門(mén)，你看到的第一件展品就是一整面釘滿了煙蒂的墻壁—— 一 個(gè)男人在2，864天里承受痛苦的證明。

One cold and rainy day， while walking through the galleries of the Helsinki（赫爾辛基，芬蘭首都）City Museum， I happened on just the sort of medicine bottles Id found in Tarik Beys drawers. Prowling（徘徊于）the mildewy（發(fā)霉的）rooms of a museum in the small city of Cazelles（卡澤勒）， near Lyon（里昂）in France [a converted（改建的）former hat factory with no visitors but me]， I saw hats exactly like those my mother and father had once worn. As I was viewing the playing cards， rings， necklaces， chess sets， and oil paintings of the State Museum of Württemberg（德國(guó)符騰堡國(guó)家博物館）， located in a tower of the old castle in Stuttgart（斯圖加特）， I was inspired by the belief that the Keskins（凱斯金一家，指芙頌和她父母）possessions（like my love for Füsun） deserved display in comparable splendor（輝煌）. The smallest detail demanded the most exacting investigation： I spent an entire day in the Musée International de la Parfumerie（國(guó)際香水博物館）in the South of France， some distance from the Mediterranean， in Grasse（格拉斯，香水之都）， the world capital of perfume， struggling to identify Füsuns scent. At Munichs Alte Pinakothek（慕尼黑老繪畫(huà)陳列館）（whose stairs would serve as a model for those in my own museum） the sight of Rembrandts（倫勃朗，荷蘭著名畫(huà)家）masterpiece The Sacrifice of Abraham1 reminded me of having told Füsun this story many years earlier， and of the moral of giving up the thing most precious to us while expecting nothing in return. I gazed at length at George Sands（喬治·桑，法國(guó)女作家）lighter（打火機(jī)）， her jewels， her earrings， and locks（縷）of her hair， which were stapled（釘?。﹖o a piece of paper， until there， in the Musée de la Vie Romantique（羅曼蒂克博物館）in Paris， I shivered. It was in Treiste（的里雅斯特，意大利東北部港市）， where the Civico Museo del Mare（海洋城市博物館）is housed in an old prison， that I first realized what many other museums would remind me of： being awash with（淹沒(méi)于）memories of Füsun， the Bosphorus ferries（博斯普魯斯海峽里的渡輪）would need to be represented by some model alongside other totems（圖騰）of my obsession. In Honduras（洪都拉斯，中美洲國(guó)家）， for which I had a hard time acquiring a visa， the Museum of Insects and Butterflies in La Ceiba（拉塞瓦）， where I walked among tourists in shorts， led me to imagine that I could display all the butterfly barrettes（條狀發(fā)夾）Id bought for Füsun over the years as if they were real butterflies； and that， by extension， I could organize and show all the mosquitoes， blackflies， horseflies， and other insects from the Keskin household. In the Chinese city of Hangzhou， in the Museum of Chinese Medicine， I felt that I had come face-to-face with one of Tarik Beys very own medicine boxes. I would note with pride at the Musée du Tabac（煙草博物館）， just opened in Paris， that its collection was not nearly as extensive as the one I had bought up over eight years. One bright spring day in Aix-en-Provence（普羅旺斯地區(qū)艾克斯，法國(guó)城市）， I remember gazing with boundless happiness and admiration upon the shelves of pots and pans and other objects in the sun-drenched（沐浴在陽(yáng)光里的）rooms of the Musée de lAtelier da Paul Cézanne（保羅·塞尚畫(huà)室博物館）. But still I wonder if I could ever have learned to appreciate my own collection in the Merhamet Apartments（凱末爾和芙頌曾經(jīng)的愛(ài)巢）， let alone nurtured（培育）any hope of showing it proudly to others， had I not first gone to Vienna to see the Sigmund Freud Museum（弗洛伊德博物館）， crammed（塞滿的）with the statues and the furniture of the famous pyscho-analyst（心理分析師）. Was a visit to the old barbershop in the Museum of London on every London trip during my first traveling years merely an expression of nostalgia（懷舊之情）for my Istanbul barbers， Basri and Cevat the Chatterbox（喋喋不休的人）， or something more？ At the Florence Nightingale Museum（弗洛倫斯·南丁格爾博物館）， housed in a London hospital， I was hoping to find a painting or an object that the famous nurse had brought back from Istanbul， where shed run a hospital during the Crimean War2， but the memento（紀(jì)念品）I found was not just from Istanbul—it was a barrette identical to one of Füsuns. In the Musée de Temps（時(shí)間博物館）in Besan？on（貝桑松）， France， formerly a palace， as I wandered among the clocks， listening to the deep silence， I thought about museums and time. In Holland， gazing at the minerals， fossils， medals， coins， and old utensils（炊具）in the old wood-framed display cupboards， amid the silence of the Teylers Museum（泰勒斯博物館）in Haarlem（哈勒姆，荷蘭西部城市）， I had an intimation that I would be able to say what it was that gave life meaning， and offered me the greatest solace（安慰）， but as with the first blush of love， I couldnt at first express what bound me to such places. But it was not until I visited the Museum der Dinge（物品博物館）in Berlin， once accommodated（安置于）in the Martin Gropius Building（馬丁·格羅皮烏斯大樓）and later made homeless， that I saw this truth another way： One could gather up anything and everything， with wit and acumen（敏銳）， out of a positive need to collect all objects connecting us to our most beloved， every aspect of their being， and even in the absence of a house， a proper museum， the poetry of our collection would be home enough for its objects. Every time I went to London I visited Sir John Soanes Museum（約翰·索恩爵士博物館）； after walking through its gorgeously cluttered（華美而凌亂的）， crowded rooms and admiring his arrangement of the paintings， I would sit alone in a corner， listening for many hours to the noise of the city， thinking that one day I would exhibit Füsuns things in just this way， and that when I did， she would smile down on me from the realm of the angels. But not until I found myself in the sentimental collection which was on the top floor of the Museu Frederic Marès（弗雷德里克·馬雷博物館）in Barcelona（巴塞羅那）， perusing（仔細(xì)觀看）its romantic assortment of barrettes， pins， earrings， playing cards， keys， fans， perfume bottles， handkerchiefs， brooches， necklaces， handbags， and bracelets（手鐲）， did I realize at last what I could do with Füsuns things. And on my first tour of America—where I spent more than five months visiting 273 museums—I recalled that same emotional experience while visiting New Yorks Glove Museum. Then at the Museum of Jurassic Technology（侏羅紀(jì)科技博物館）in Culver City（卡爾弗城，位于洛杉磯西部）， California， I remembered again why some museums had the power to make me shudder： They induced the feeling that I had become suspended in one age while the rest of humanity lived in another. In the town of Smithfield， North Carolina， at the Ava Gardner Museum（艾娃·加德納博物館；艾娃：美國(guó)著名性感女影星）， from which I stole a charming exhibition plaque（匾）reproducing a tableware advertisement in which she appeared， at the sight of Avas yearbook picture， her night-gowns， her mittens（連指手套）， and her boots， I so ached for my lost Füsun that I very nearly aborted my journey and returned to Istanbul. As it happens， I had by then concluded that the true collectors only home is his own museum.

I did not remain for long in Istanbul. Following ？etins directions， I drove to the garage owned by Sevket Usta， who specialized in Chevrolets（美國(guó)雪佛蘭牌汽車(chē)）， in the streets behind Maslak（馬斯拉克，位于伊斯坦布爾）； in the empty lot（小塊地）behind the garage one look at our 56 Chevrolet， a sizable market as most of the citys taxis were now the same model. When I poked（伸出）my head into the wreck， to peer at where the fuel gauge（燃油表）and the speedometer had once lodged in（停留在）mint（嶄新的）condition， and the radio knobs， and the steering wheel， I caught the scent of leather rising from the seat coverings in the gentle heat of the sun， and my head began to swim. By instinct， I touched the steering wheel， which seemed almost as old as I was. And soon the intensity of the memories compressed into these remains overwhelmed me and I broke down.

For the first time since Füsuns death， Id been on the brink of（瀕于）crying in public. A boy apprentice（學(xué)徒）， sooty（沾滿煤灰的）as a coal digger and covered in axle grease（車(chē)軸潤(rùn)滑脂）， but with immaculately（潔凈無(wú)瑕地）clean hands， brought us tea on a tray with the logo CYPRUS TURK（塞浦路斯的土耳其人）（I record this by force of habit； visitors should not waste time looking for it in the Museum of Innocence）； as we drank our teas， after a bit of bargaining， we bought back my fathers car.

“So where are we going to put this， Kemal Bey？” asked？etin Efendi.

“I want to spend the rest of my life under the same roof with this car，” I said with a smile， but ？etin Efendi understood at once that I was earnest， and unlike the others， he did not say， “Oh， please， Kemal Bey， life must go on—you cant die with the dead.” Had he done so， I would have explained that the Museum of Innocence was to be a place where one could live with the dead. Though I had prepared this answer in advance， the words now stuck in my throat： Prompted by pride， I said something altogether different.

“There are lots of things stored in the Merhamet Apartments. I want to bring them together under one roof and spend the rest of my days among them.

I had many heroes in mind， who， during the last years of their lives， like Gustave Moreau（古斯塔夫·莫羅，法國(guó)象征主義畫(huà)家）， had arranged for their homes to be turned into museums posthumously（于死后）. I loved the museums theyd created， and so I continued my travels， revisiting the hundreds Id come to know and cherish and going to the thousands of others I still longed to see.

1. 《亞伯拉罕獻(xiàn)祭》，取材于《圣經(jīng)·舊約》中的故事，描繪的是亞拉伯罕舉刀準(zhǔn)備殺他兒子時(shí)被天使攔下的場(chǎng)景。

2. 克里米亞戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)（1853—1856），因爭(zhēng)奪巴爾干半島的控制權(quán)而在歐洲大陸爆發(fā)的一場(chǎng)戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)，奧斯曼帝國(guó)、英國(guó)、法國(guó)、撒丁王國(guó)等先后向俄羅斯帝國(guó)宣戰(zhàn)，以俄國(guó)的失敗而告終，從而引發(fā)了國(guó)內(nèi)的革命斗爭(zhēng)。