我认为，这正是弗罗斯特要追寻的婚姻形式，或者也可能是这样的婚姻在追逐弗罗斯特。许多年以前，在从纽约飞往底特律的航班上，我偶尔翻到一篇弗罗斯特的女儿发表在美国航空公司飞行杂志上的散文。莱斯莉·弗罗斯特在这篇散文中说，她的父母是高中同学，曾同时在毕业典礼上代表毕业生致词。她不记得她父亲当时讲话的题目了，但还记得母亲的发言标题。她母亲的发言题目是《交谈是一种生命力》(或为《交谈是一种生活力量》)。如果你们有朝一日真能像我期望的那样找到一本《波士顿以北》来读一读，你们就会理解埃莉诺·怀特那次发言的题目，概括地说，这个题目就是那部诗集的主要结构方式，因为《波士顿以北》中的大多数诗都是对话，即交谈。从这个意义上说，这里的《家葬》以及《波士顿以北》中的其他诗作都是爱情诗，或者如果你们同意的话，都是一些痴迷之诗：不是一个男人对一个女人的痴迷，而是争辩对抗辩的痴迷，即一个声音对另一个声音的痴迷。这话也可以用来形容独白，因为独自就是一个人与自己的争吵，比如“生存还是毁灭”。这也就是为什么诗人常常会去写剧本。最后，显而易见的是，并不是罗伯特·弗罗斯特在追求对话，而是相反，哪怕这仅仅是因为一旦脱离了彼此，两个声音本身是无足轻重的。但当它们结合为一体时，它们便启动另一种东西——鉴于我们找不到一个更好的词，我们就姑且称之为“生活”吧。《家葬》的结尾是一个破折号而非一个句号，原因就在于此。
<blockquote><blockquote>家葬</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>他从楼梯下向上看见了她，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>在她看见他之前。她开始下楼梯，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>却又回头望向一个可怕的东西。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>她犹豫地迈出一步，却收住了脚，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>她又站高了些，再一次地张望。他一边说</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>一边向她走来：“你看见了什么，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>总在上面张望？——我倒是想知道。”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>她转过身来，瘫坐在裙子上，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>她的表情从害怕变成了呆滞。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>他抢时间说道：“你看见了什么？”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>他向上爬，直到她蜷缩在他的脚下。
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“我要答案——你得告诉我，亲爱的。”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>她独自站着，拒绝给他帮助，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>稍稍梗了梗脖子，保持沉默。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>她让他看，但她确信他看不见，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>瞎眼的家伙，他根本看不见。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>但最后他低声说了“哦”，又说了声“哦”。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“那是什么？是什么？”她说。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“是我看见的东西。”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“你没看到，”她挑战道，“告诉我那是什么。”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“奇怪的是，我没有马上看见。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>我以前从未在这里注意到它。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>我大概是看习惯它了——就是这个原因。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>这小小的墓地埋着我们的亲人！</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>真小，从这窗框中可以看见它的全貌。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>它还没有一间卧室大呢，不是吗？</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>那里有三块青石和一块大理石，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>还有宽肩膀的小石板躺在阳光下，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>在山坡上。我们对这些不必介意。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>但是我知道：那不是一些石头，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>而是孩子的坟墓——”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“不，不，不，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>不，”她哭喊着。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>她向后退缩，从他搁在扶手上的胳膊下</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>退缩出来，然后滑下楼去。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>她用令人胆怯的目光直盯着他，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>他连说两遍才明白自己的意思：</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“难道男人就不能提他死去的孩子？”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“你不能！——哦，我的帽子呢？</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>哦，我并不需要它！我要出门。我要透口气。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>我不知道哪个男人有这个权利。”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“艾米！这个时候别去别人那里。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>听我说。我不会下楼的。”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>他坐下来，用两个拳头托着腮。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“有件事我想问问你，亲爱的。”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“你才不知该如何问。”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“那你就帮帮我。”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>她伸手推动门闩作为全部回答。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“我的话好像总是让你讨厌。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>我不知道该说些什么样的话</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>能让你开心。但是你可以教我，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>我想。我得说我不明白该怎么做。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>一个男人得部分放弃做个男人，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>面对女人。我们可以达成协议，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>我发誓往后决不去碰一碰</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>你讲明了你会介意的任何东西。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>虽然我并不喜欢爱人之间这样行事。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>不爱的人缺了这些无法生活在一起。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>相爱的人有了这些倒无法相守。”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>她稍稍移动了门闩。“不——别走。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>这一次别再去跟别人说了。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>跟我说吧，只要是心里的东西。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>让我分担你的痛苦。我与其他人</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>没什么两样，可你却站在那里，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>离我远远的。给我一个机会。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>我觉得，你也稍稍过分了一点。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>是什么使你老是想不开呢？
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>一个母亲失去了第一个孩子，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>就永远痛苦——即使在爱情面前？</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>你认为这样才是对他的怀念——”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“你在嘲笑我！”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“我没有，我没有！</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>你让我生气。我要下到你那里去。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>上帝啊，这女人！到了这个地步，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>一个男人不能提他死去的孩子。”“你就是不能，你根本不懂怎样提起。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>如果你也有感情，你怎么能</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>亲手去挖他的小坟；怎么能？</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>我从那个窗口看见你在那里，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>见你扬起沙土，扬向空中。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>扬啊扬，就像这样，土轻轻地</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>滚回来，落在坑边的土堆上。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>我想，那男人是谁？我不知是你。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>我走下楼梯，又爬上楼梯去，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>再看一遍，见你还在挥锹扬土。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>然后你进来了。我听见你的低音</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>在厨房外响起，我不知道为什么，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>但我走过去，要亲眼看一看，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>你正坐在那儿，鞋上污迹斑斑，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>那是你孩子坟墓上的新泥，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>然后你又讲起你那些琐碎事情。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>你把铁锹靠在外面的墙壁上，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>就在门口，我也看见了。”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“我想笑，笑出有生以来最苦的笑。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>我真苦！上帝，我真不信我的苦命。”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“我能重复你那时说的每一个字：</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>‘三个多雾的早晨和一个阴雨天，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>建得最好的栅栏也会烂掉。’</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>想一想，这个时候还这样谈话！</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>一根桦木腐烂需要多长时间，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>这与昏暗客厅里的东西有什么关系？</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>你根本不在乎！亲友们可以</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>陪伴任何一个人共赴黄泉路，但却言行不一如斯，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>他们还是不要陪的好。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>不，当一个人要死的时候，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>他孤独，他死的时候更孤独。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>朋友们假装都来到他的墓地，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>可棺木尚未入土，他们的想法已变，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>想他们如何返回自己的生活，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>和活人一起，办他们熟悉的事情。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>世界邪恶。如果我能改变世界，</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>我就不会这么悲伤。唉，如果，如果！”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“瞧，你说出来了，你会好受些的。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>你现在不会走了。你在哭。关上门！</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>你的心已飞走，身体何必还要追随？</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>艾米！大路上走来了一个人！”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“你——哦，你认为我说说就了事了。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>我要走，离开这个家。我怎能让你——”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“你——敢！”她把门开得更大了。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“你要去哪里？先得告诉我。</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>我会跟着你，把你拉回来。我会的！——”</blockquote></blockquote>
HOME BURIAL
<blockquote><blockquote>He saw her from the bottom of the stairs</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Before she saw him. She was starting down,
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Looking back over her shoulders at some fear.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>She took a doubtful step and then undid it</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>To raise herself and look again. He spoke</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Advancing toward her：“What is it you see</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>From up there always？ — for I want to know.”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>She turned and sank upon her skirts at that,</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>And her face changed from terrified to dull.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>He said to gain time：“What is it you see？”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Mounting until she cowered under him.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“I will find out now — you must tell me, dear.”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>She, in her place, refused him any help,</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>With the least stiffening of her neck and silence.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>She let him look, sure that he wouldn't see,</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Blind creature; and awhile he didn't see.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>But at last he murmured. “Oh,” and again, “Oh.”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“What is it — what？” she said.</blockquote></blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote>“Just that I see.”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“You don't,” she challenged. “Tell me what it is.”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“The wonder is I didn't see at once.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>I never noticed it from here before.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>I must be wonted to it — that's the reason.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>The little graveyard where my people are！</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>So small the window frames the whole of it.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Not so much larger than a bedroom, is it？</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>There are three stones of slate and one of marble,</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Broadshouldered little slabs there in the sunlight</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>On the sidehill. We haven't to mind those.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>But I understand：it is not the stones,</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>But the child's mound —”</blockquote></blockquote>
“Don't, don't, don't,
<blockquote><blockquote>don't.” she cried.</blockquote></blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote>She withdrew, shrinking from beneath his arm</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>That rested on the banister, and slid downstairs;</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>And turned on him with such a daunting look,</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>He said twice over before he knew himself:</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“Can't a man speak of his own child he's lost？”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“Not you！ — Oh, where's my hat？ Oh, I don't need it！</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>I must get out of here. I must get air. —</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>I don't know rightly whether any man can.”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“Amy！ Don't go to someone else this time.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Listen to me. I won't come down the stairs.”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>He sat and fixed his chin between his fists.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“There's something I should like to ask you, dear.”</blockquote></blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote>“You don't know how to ask it.”</blockquote></blockquote>
“Help me then.”
<blockquote><blockquote>Her fingers moved the latch for all reply.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“My words are nearly always an offense.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>I don't know how to speak of anything</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>So as to please you. But I might be taught,</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>I should suppose. I can't say I see how.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>A man must partly give up being a man</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>With womenfolk. We could have some arrangement</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>By which I'd bind myself to keep hand off</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Anything special you're amind to name.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Though I don't like such things' twixt those that love.
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Two that don't love can't live together without them.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>But two that do can't live together with them.”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>She moved the latch a little. “Don't — don't go.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Don't carry it to someone else this time.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Tell me about it if it's something human.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Let me into your grief. I'm not so much</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>UnIike other folks as your standing there</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Apart would make me out. Give me my chance.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>I do think, though, you overdo it a little.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>What was it brought you up to think it the thing</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>To take your motherloss of a first child</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>So inconsolably — in the face of love.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>You'd think his memory might be satisfied —”</blockquote></blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote>“There you go sneering now！”</blockquote></blockquote>
“I'm not. I'm not！
<blockquote><blockquote>You make me angry. I'll come down to you.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>God, what a woman！ And it's come to this,</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>A man can't speak of his own child that's dead.”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“You can't because you don't know how to speak.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>If you had any feelings, you that dug</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>With your own hand — how could you？ — his little grave;</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>I saw you from that very window there,</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Making the gravel leap and leap in air,</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Leap up, like that, like that, and land so lightly</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>And roll back down the mound beside the hole.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>I thought, Who is that man？ I didn't know you.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>And I crept down the stairs and up the stairs</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>To look again, and still your spade kept lifting.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Then you came in. I heard your rumbling voice</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Out in the kitchen, and I don't know why,</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>But I went near to see with my own eyes.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>You could sit there with the stains on your shoes</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Of the fresh earth from your own baby's grave</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>And talk about your everyday concerns.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>You had stood the spade up against the wall</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Outside there in the entry, for I saw it.”</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“I shall laugh the worst laugh I ever laughed.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>I'm cursed. God, if I don't believe I'm cursed.”</blockquote></blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote>“I can repeat the very words you were saying:</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>‘three foggy mornings and one rainy day</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Will rot the best birch fence a man can build.’</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Think of it, talk like that at such a time！</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>What had how long it takes a birch to rot</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>To do with what was in the darkened parlor？</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>You couldn't care！ The nearest friends can go</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>With anyone to death, comes so far short</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>They might as well not try to go at all</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>No, from the time when one is sick to death,</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>One is alone, and he dies more alone.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Friends make pretense of following to the grave,</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>But before one is in it, their minds are turned</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>And making the best of their way back to life</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>And living people, and things they understand.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>But the world's evil. I won't have grief so
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>If I can change it. Oh, I won't. I won't！”</blockquote></blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote>“There, you have said it all and you feel better.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>You won't go now. You're crying. Close the door.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>The heart's gone out of it：why keep it up？</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Amy！ There's someone coming down the road！”</blockquote></blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote>“You — oh, you think the talk is all. I must go —</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>Somewhere out of this house. How can I make you —”</blockquote></blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote>“If — you — do！” She was opening the door wider.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>“Where do you mean to go？ First tell me that.</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>I'll follow and bring you back by force. I will —”</blockquote></blockquote>
如果说这首诗是阴郁的，那么其创作者的思想则更为忧郁，这位创作者扮演了仅有的三个角色：男人、女人和叙述者。单看他们每个人或将他们合起来看都很真实，但这一真实依然比不上此诗作者的真实。因为《家葬》只是他诸多诗作中的一首。当然，他的自主之价值就在于此诗的色彩，也许，你们从这首诗中最终获得的不是故事本身，而是其达到终极自主状态的创造者的洞察力。诗中的人物和叙述者将作者推出了人们喜闻乐见的语境：他站在外面，无法再次进入，也许他也完全不想进去。这是对话的结果，或者说是一种生命力量的结果。这种特殊的姿态，这种完全的自主，在我看来完全是美国式的。这位诗人的单音调诗句和他的五音步迟缓正是由此而来：一个从远方的电台发来的信号。可以将他比做一艘宇宙飞船，当万有引力减弱时，他会发现自己依然受到一个不同引力的影响：一种向外的引力。然而，燃料还是一成不变的，即悲伤和理智。对我的这个比喻构成挑战的唯一事实就是，美国的太空飞船常常是能够返回地面的。
一九九四年
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[1] 此文原题为“On Grief and Reason”，首刊于《纽约客》(New Yorker)1994年9月26日。俄文版题为“О скорби и разуме”。
[2] 特里林(1905—1975)。
[3] “既成事实”用的是法语“fait accompli”。
[4] 由于后文关于此诗有详尽分析，为方便读者理解作者的分析，特附上英文；为呼应作者的分析，这里的译诗也多为逐字逐句的“硬译”。
[5] “幽暗的森林”用的是意大利语“selva oscura”，这是但丁《神曲·地狱篇》的第二句：“我发现我已经迷失了正路，走进了一座幽暗的森林。”(田德望译文)
[6] 美国民歌。
[7] 但丁《神曲》的三个篇章均以对星辰的描写作为结束。
[8] 约指希区柯克电影中常常出现的那种楼梯。
[9] 皮格马利翁是希腊神话中的塞浦路斯王，善雕刻，热恋自己雕刻出的伽拉忒亚，爱神被他感动，赐雕像以生命，使两人结合。
[10] “仿芭蕾双人舞”用的法语“faux pas de deux”。
[11] 作者大约是指，“家葬”(Home burial)不仅是“家庭的葬礼”，同时也可能成为“家庭的被埋葬”，甚至还可能暗示，家即坟墓。
[12] 这里的“死亡象征”用的是拉丁语“memento mori”。