破譯法國人的談話法則

破譯法國人的談話法則

MY kids have recently picked up a worrying French slang word: bim (pronounced “beam”). It’s what children say in the schoolyard here after they’ve proved someone wrong, or skewered him with a biting remark. English equivalents like “gotcha” or “booyah” don’t carry the same sense of gleeful vanquish, and I doubt British or American kids use them quite as often.

我的孩子們最近學(xué)會了一個令人擔(dān)心的法語俚語詞：bim(發(fā)音與英語的“beam”相似)。孩子們在校園里證明別人犯了錯，或者用尖刻的話把對方駁得體無完膚時，就會說“bim”。英語里類似的詞語“gotcha”或者“booyah”并沒有完全傳達(dá)出那種碾壓別人的喜悅。而且我也懷疑，英國和美國的孩子說這些詞并沒有那么頻繁。

As an American married to an Englishman and living in France, I’ve spent much of my adult life trying to decode the rules of conversation in three countries. Paradoxically, these rules are almost always unspoken. So much bubbles beneath what’s said, it’s often hard to know what anyone means.

作為一個嫁給英國人、目前生活在法國的美國人，我成年后的大把時間，都在努力破譯這三個國家語言交流的規(guī)則。可矛盾的是，這些規(guī)則幾乎總是心照不宣的。人們說出的話里有太多掩飾，常常很難明白真實(shí)的用意。

I had a breakthrough on French conversation recently, when a French sociologist suggested I watch “Ridicule,” a 1996 French movie (it won the César award for best film) about aristocrats at the court of Versailles, on the eve of the French Revolution.

在理解法國式對話方面，我最近取得了重大進(jìn)展。一位法國社會學(xué)家建議我看一看1996年的法國電影《荒謬無稽》(Ridicule)。這部片子贏得了凱撒獎的最佳影片獎項，講述了法國大革命前夕凡爾賽宮廷里貴族的故事。

Life at Versailles was apparently a protracted battle of wits. You gained status if you showed “esprit” — clever, erudite and often caustic wit, aimed at making rivals look ridiculous. The king himself kept abreast of the sharpest remarks, and granted audiences to those who made them. “Wit opens every door,” one courtier explained.

凡爾賽宮的生活似乎就是漫長的唇槍舌劍，如果能展示出“esprit”——聰明、博學(xué)且時常很尖刻的機(jī)鋒，并讓其他人顯得可笑——那么你就能贏得地位。國王本人也時刻關(guān)注著最犀利的言辭，而說出這種話的人會得到接見。一位侍臣解釋道，“機(jī)智能打開每一扇門。”

If you lacked “esprit” — or suffered from “l’esprit de l’escalier” (thinking of a comeback only once you had reached the bottom of the staircase) — you’d look ridiculous yourself.

但是，如果你缺乏“esprit”，或者遭遇“l’esprit de l’escalier”(走到樓梯最下面，才想起如何反擊)，那么你自己就會顯得十分可笑。

Granted, France has changed a bit since Versailles. But many modern-day conversations — including the schoolyard cries of “Bim!” — make more sense once you realize that everyone around you is in a competition not to look ridiculous. When my daughter complained that a boy had insulted her during recess, I counseled her to forget about it. She said that just wouldn’t do: To save face, she had to humiliate him.

誠然，法國比起凡爾賽的時代已經(jīng)發(fā)生了一些變化。但是當(dāng)你意識到，周圍的所有人都在為了不顯得可笑而奮力競爭，那么當(dāng)代的很多對話，包括校園里高呼的“Bim!”，就都顯得合理了。我的女兒抱怨，一個男孩課間欺負(fù)了她，我建議她別在意這件事。但她說那是不行的：要想挽回面子，就必須羞辱回去。

Many children train for this at home. Where Americans might coo over a child’s most inane remark, to boost his confidence, middle-class French parents teach their kids to be concise and amusing, to keep everyone listening. “I force him or her to discover the best ways of retaining my attention,” the anthropologist Raymonde Carroll wrote in her 1987 book “Cultural Misunderstandings: The French-American Experience.”

許多孩子在家就接受了這種訓(xùn)練。為了激發(fā)孩子的信心，美國人對子女最愚蠢的言論或許都會柔聲贊許，但是法國中產(chǎn)階級父母卻會教導(dǎo)孩子要講話簡潔風(fēng)趣，好讓所有人都愿意聽。“我會強(qiáng)迫他或她，想方設(shè)法地吸引我的注意力，”人類學(xué)家雷蒙德·卡羅(Raymonde Carroll)在她1987年出版的《文化誤解：法國和美國的經(jīng)驗》(Cultural Misunderstandings: The French-American Experience)一書中寫道。

This is probably worse in Paris, and among the professional classes. But a lot of French TV involves round-table discussions in which well-dressed people attempt to land zingers on one another. Practically every time I speak up at a school conference, a political event or my apartment building association’s annual meeting, I’m met with a display of someone else’s superior intelligence. (Adults don’t actually say “bim,” they just flash you a satisfied smile.) Jean-Benoît Nadeau, a Canadian who co-wrote a forthcoming book on French conversation, told me that the penchant for saying “no” or “it’s not possible” is often a cover for the potential humiliation of seeming not to know something. Only once you trust someone can you turn down the wit and reveal your weaknesses, he said. (I think the French obsession with protecting private life comes from the belief that everyone’s entitled to a humiliation-free zone.)

這種現(xiàn)象在巴黎，在專業(yè)階層當(dāng)中或許更嚴(yán)重。不過，法國的很多電視節(jié)目都有圓桌討論的情形，讓衣著考究的嘉賓用尖刻的口吻相互嘲弄。在學(xué)校會議、政治活動，或者公寓樓居民協(xié)會的年會上發(fā)言時，我?guī)缀趺看味紩龅絼e人炫耀高超的智力。(成年人并不會真的說出“bim”，只是臉上閃現(xiàn)出一絲滿意的微笑而已。)加拿大人讓-貝努阿·納多(Jean-Benoît Nadeau)與人合著了一本關(guān)于法國式談話的書，即將出版。他告訴我，愛說“不”、“不可能”的習(xí)慣，常常是為了避免因為看起來不知道某事而可能受到的羞辱。他說，只有當(dāng)你信任某人時，才能不必那么機(jī)智，袒露自己的弱點(diǎn)。(我想，法國人對保護(hù)私生活的偏執(zhí)，源于他們認(rèn)為每個人都有權(quán)得到一個免受羞辱的空間。)

At least it’s not boring. Even among friends, being dull is almost criminal. A French entrepreneur told me her rules for dinner-party topics: no kids, no jobs, no real estate. Provocative opinions are practically required. “You must be a little bit mean but also a little bit vulnerable,” she said.

至少這樣聊天不會無聊。即使是在朋友之間，表現(xiàn)得無趣幾乎也是犯罪行為。一名法國企業(yè)家告訴我，她為聚餐話題立下的規(guī)矩是：不談孩子、不談工作、不談房地產(chǎn)。這實(shí)際上就需要提出爭議性的意見。她說，“必須要有一些惡毒，但也要有一些脆弱。”

It’s dizzying to switch to the British conversational mode, in which everyone’s trying to show they don’t take themselves seriously. The result is lots of self-deprecation and ironic banter. I’ve sat through two-hour lunches in London waiting for everyone to stop exchanging quips so the real conversation could begin. But “real things aren’t supposed to come up,” my husband said. “Banter can be the only mode of conversation you ever have with someone.”

切換到英國式的交談模式則會令人不知所措。在這種模式里，人人都努力表現(xiàn)得不把自己當(dāng)回事，結(jié)果就是大量的自嘲和諷刺性的調(diào)侃。在倫敦，我曾好幾次耐著性子堅持到兩個小時的午餐結(jié)束，一直等著所有人停止相互打趣，這樣才能開始真正的交談。但“可別以為一定會談什么實(shí)質(zhì)內(nèi)容，”我丈夫說。“和有的人，只存在戲謔這一種談話模式。”

Earnestness makes British people gag. Viewers respond to the “gushy, tearful” speeches of American actors at the Oscars with a “finger-down-throat ‘I’m going to be sick’ gesture,” writes Kate Fox, author of “Watching the English.” Moralizing politicians get this, too.

真誠會讓英國人嗆著。《觀察英國人》(Watching the English)的作者凱特·?？怂?Kate Fox)寫道，對美國演員在奧斯卡頒獎禮上“含淚發(fā)表的煽情”感言，英國觀眾會做出“把手指塞進(jìn)喉嚨里，表示‘我要吐了’的動作”。面對愛說教的政客，他們也不會客氣。

Even British courtships can be conducted ironically. “ ‘You’re just not my type,’ uttered in the right tone and in the context of banter, can be tantamount to a proposal of marriage,” Ms. Fox writes.

就連英國式的求愛，也可以在冷嘲熱諷中展開。“在戲謔語境下用恰當(dāng)?shù)恼Z調(diào)說出‘你決不是我喜歡的類型’，簡直無異于求婚，”?？怂箤懙?。

Being ridiculous is sometimes required. The classic British hen night — a bachelor party for brides — involves groups of women wearing feather boas to a bar, then daring one another to “kiss a bald man” or “remove your bra without leaving the room.” Stumbling around drunk with friends — then recounting your misadventures for months afterward — is a standard bonding ritual.

有時候，表現(xiàn)得滑稽可笑是必須的。在傳統(tǒng)的英國女子婚前單身派對上，會有很多姑娘戴著羽毛圍巾前往酒吧，然后用激將法攛掇彼此“親吻一個禿頂男人” 或是“當(dāng)場脫掉內(nèi)衣”。醉醺醺地和朋友一起出丑——然后在接下來的幾個月里一直回顧自己當(dāng)時做的糗事——是建立友情的標(biāo)準(zhǔn)儀式。

After being besieged by British irony and French wit, I sometimes yearn for the familiar comfort of American conversations, where there are no stupid questions. Among friends, I merely have to provide reassurance and mirroring: No, you don’t look fat, and anyway, I look worse.

被英國式的嘲諷和法國式的機(jī)智包圍后，我時不時會渴望美國式談話給人帶來的那種熟悉的舒適感。這種談話里沒有問題會被認(rèn)為是愚蠢的。在朋友之間，我只需要寬慰對方，并拿自己做參照：不，你看起來不胖，而且不管怎樣，我看上去更遭。