和平咖啡，玫瑰人生。我的午夜夢迴

巴黎女人浪漫的酸楚愁思最能用這首歌來重現：

今晚回憶起國中時初燃起當廣播DJ的心願，於是在成為痞客會員一個月之後，終於在澡盆中決定了往後人生將默默向陌生網友們自白的面貌。

選擇第一首在此播出的歌曲，簡單到，在起念間就決定了。

在30年代走紅的法國小麻雀皮雅芙La Môme Piaf - Edith Piaf ，以及她最膾炙人口的經典歌曲 “La Vie en Rose (玫瑰人生) "

即使不懂法文，也能感受曲意的濃情綿意、盪氣迴腸。

是的，韻味，是這年紀更在乎的標準了！

Wikipedia上Edith Piaf 的人生際遇

原文和中譯摘自http://www.oui-blog.com/zha/archives/002590.html

La Vie en Rose 玫瑰人生 ♪

Des yeux qui font baisser les miens 他的雙眼吻著我的雙眼
Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche 一抹笑意掠過他的嘴角
Voila le portrait sans retouche 這就是他最真切的形象
De l'homme auquel j'appartiens 這個男人，我屬於他

*Quand il me prend dans ses bras, 當他輕擁我入懷
Qu'il me parle tout bas 低聲對我說話
Je vois la vie en rose, 我眼前浮現了玫瑰色的人生
Il me dit des mots d'amour 他對我訴說情話綿綿
Des mots de tous les jours, 只用一些平凡的字眼
Et ça me fait quelque chose 卻讓我有所感觸
Il est entre dans mon coeur, 有一種幸福
Une part de bonheur 進入了我的心房
Dont je connais la cause, 我知道是為什麼
C'est lui(toi) pour moi,moi pour lui(toi) dans la vie 我們是為了對方存在的一對
Il me l'a dit, l'a jure pour la vie. 他對我這樣說，以生命起誓
Et des que je l'apercois 然後我一想到這些
Alors je sens en moi 我就感覺到
Mon coeur qui bat. 我的心一陣狂跳

Des nuits d'amour a plus finir 愛情的夜晚不會結束
Un grand bonheur qui prend sa place 幸福於是降臨
Des ennuis, des chagrins s'effacent 沒有煩惱，沒有焦慮
Heureux, heureux a en mourir 極樂，極樂至死

而巴黎多金才子的光影則濃縮在和平咖啡店Cafe de la Paix的座位上。

今年九約中二訪巴黎，兩整天的行程中不似旅客般重遊經典名勝，而是漫無目的地想植入所謂的巴黎情懷。

因此特地來到王爾德來巴黎時坐看眾生相的咖啡店Cafe de la Paix (和平咖啡店)。

1862年6月30日開幕，因為座落在歌劇院旁，吸引了上流社會的咖啡客包括 Jules Massenet, Émile Zola, Guy de Maupassant。

同時也成為加拿大詩人Robert Service的詩作 "The Absinthe Drinker" 場景。

在巴黎的美好年代( Belle Époque 1871年至1914年第一次世紀大戰爆發 )，這裡的熟客包括了Sergei Diaghilev,威爾斯王子(the Prince of Wales), 前任英國國王愛德華七世Edward VII。

在一百多年前的空間中努力捕捉文藝盛世的華麗。但回國後猛然想起，卻連塞納河都沒拍照。

在那個年代，咖啡披著貴族階層下放、來自東方的奢侈品外衣，而酒早已是文青或勞動階層的精神食糧。

前面提到的 Absinthe 是綠色的苦艾酒，文學史上給了這種酒一個浪漫的形象 la fée verte ( 綠色精靈 the green fairy )。

發源於十八世紀的瑞士，在十九和二十世紀初期成為巴黎藝術家和文學家喜愛的酒精飲料，包括美國作家海明威( Ernest Hemingway )、惡之華作者波特萊爾( Charles Baudelaire )、Paul Verlaine、Arthur Rimbaud、畫家羅德列克( Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec )、畫家莫德里尼 ( Amedeo Modigliani )、荷蘭畫家梵谷( Vincent van Gogh )、英國作家王爾德 (Oscar Wilde )、Aleister Crowley、Erik Satie、Alfred Jarry等，都是知名的Absinthe Drinkers。

詩人重現了某夜和平咖啡店裡酒客們樣貌 (日後持續翻譯此詩)：

The Absinthe Drinkers 飲酒作樂的人們

Robert Service (1874-1958)

He’s yonder, on the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix, 他就在和平咖啡店的外面
The little wizened Spanish man, I see him every day. 每天我都看見這位個小虛弱的西班牙人
He’s sitting with his Pernod on his customary chair;
He’s staring at the passers with his customary stare.
He never takes his piercing eyes from off that moving throng,
That current cosmopolitan meandering along:
Dark diplomats from Martinique, pale Rastas from Peru,
An Englishman from Bloomsbury, a Yank from Kalamazoo;
A poet from Montmartre’s heights, a dapper little Jap,
Exotic citizens of all the countries on the map;
A tourist horde from every land that’s underneath the sun—
That little wizened Spanish man, he misses never one.
Oh, foul or fair he’s always there, and many a drink he buys,
And there’s a fire of red desire within his hollow eyes.
And sipping of my Pernod, and a-knowing what I know,
Sometimes I want to shriek aloud and give away the show.
I’ve lost my nerve; he’s haunting me; he’s like a beast of prey,
That Spanish man that’s watching at the Cafe de la Paix.

Say! Listen and I’ll tell you all . . . the day was growing dim,
And I was with my Pernod at the table next to him;
And he was sitting soberly as if he were asleep,
When suddenly he seemed to tense, like tiger for a leap.
And then he swung around to me, his hand went to his hip,
My heart was beating like a gong—my arm was in his grip;
His eyes were glaring into mine; aye, though I shrank with fear,
His fetid breath was on my face, his voice was in my ear:
“Excuse my brusquerie,” he hissed; “but, sir, do you suppose—
That portly man who passed us had a wen upon his nose?”

And then at last it dawned on me, the fellow must be mad;
And when I soothingly replied: “I do not think he had,”
The little wizened Spanish man subsided in his chair,
And shrouded in his raven cloak resumed his owlish stare.
But when I tried to slip away he turned and glared at me,
And oh, that fishlike face of his was sinister to see:
“Forgive me if I startled you; of course you think I’m queer;
No doubt you wonder who I am, so solitary here;
You question why the passers-by I piercingly review . . .
Well, listen, my bibacious friend, I’ll tell my tale to you.

“It happened twenty years ago, and in another land:
A maiden young and beautiful, two suitors for her hand.
My rival was the lucky one; I vowed I would repay;
Revenge has mellowed in my heart, it’s rotten ripe to-day.
My happy rival skipped away, vamoosed, he left no trace;
And so I’m waiting, waiting here to meet him face to face;
For has it not been ever said that all the world one day
Will pass in pilgrimage before the Cafe de la Paix?”

“But, sir,” I made remonstrance, “if it’s twenty years ago,
You’d scarcely recognize him now, he must have altered so.”
The little wizened Spanish man he laughed a hideous laugh,
And from his cloak he quickly drew a faded photograph.
“You’re right,” said he, “but there are traits (oh, this you must allow)
That never change; Lopez was fat, he must be fatter now.
His paunch is senatorial, he cannot see his toes,
I’m sure of it; and then, behold! that wen upon his nose.
I’m looking for a man like that. I’ll wait and wait until . . .”
“What will you do?” I sharply cried; he answered me: “Why, kill!
He robbed me of my happiness—nay, stranger, do not start;
I’ll firmly and politely put—a bullet in his heart.”

And then that little Spanish man, with big cigar alight, 那位矮小的西班牙人，抽著一根大雪茄
Uprose and shook my trembling hand and vanished in the night. 起身握過我顫抖的手，消失在黑夜中
And I went home and thought of him and had a dreadful dream
Of portly men with each a wen, and woke up with a scream.
And sure enough, next morning, as I prowled the Boulevard,
A portly man with wenny nose roamed into my regard;
Then like a flash I ran to him and clutched him by the arm:
“Oh, sir,” said I, “I do not wish to see you come to harm;
But if your life you value aught, I beg, entreat and pray—
Don’t pass before the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix.”
That portly man he looked at me with such a startled air,
Then bolted like a rabbit down the rue Michaudière.
“Ha! ha! I’ve saved a life,” I thought; and laughed in my relief,
And straightway joined the Spanish man o’er his apéritif.
And thus each day I dodged about and kept the strictest guard
For portly men with each a wen upon the Boulevard.
And then I hailed my Spanish pal, and sitting in the sun,
We ordered many Pernods and we drank them every one.
And sternly he would stare and stare until my hand would shake,
And grimly he would glare and glare until my heart would quake.
And I would say: “Alphonso, lad, I must expostulate;
Why keep alive for twenty years the furnace of your hate?
Perhaps his wedded life was hell; and you, at least, are free . . .”
“That’s where you’ve got it wrong,” he snarled; “the fool she took was me.
My rival sneaked, threw up the sponge, betrayed himself a churl:
’Twas he who got the happiness, I only got—the girl.”
With that he looked so devil-like he made me creep and shrink,
And there was nothing else to do but buy another drink.

Now yonder like a blot of ink he sits across the way,
Upon the smiling terrace of the Cafe de la Paix;
That little wizened Spanish man, his face is ghastly white,
His eyes are staring, staring like a tiger’s in the night.
I know within his evil heart the fires of hate are fanned,
I know his automatic’s ready waiting to his hand.
I know a tragedy is near. I dread, I have no peace . . .
Oh, don’t you think I ought to go and call upon the police?
Look there . . . he’s rising up . . . my God!
He leaps from out his place . . .
Yon millionaire from Argentine . . . the two are face to face . . .
A shot! A shriek! A heavy fall! A huddled heap! Oh, see
The little wizened Spanish man is dancing in his glee. . . .
I’m sick . . . I’m faint . . . I’m going mad. . . . 吐出幾個字：我病了、我昏了、我要發瘋了
Oh, please take me away . . . 帶我走吧
There’s BLOOD upon the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix. . . . 於是和平咖啡店的地上有這麼一攤血