剑桥风云

　　对于政治和战争的感觉就是，老年人谈话，年轻人流血。

　　这是偶然看见的一句话，转过来。


　　我很喜欢那个英国人在窗口凝望时候的那种忧愁，没有家恨，却有国仇，或者说国愁。他看着大英帝国的腐化堕落，觉得新兴的苏联是可以带领世界走向光明的力量，或者说，他只是希望作为一种新的力量的使用者或者说，创造者。

　　当他渴望新的力量冉冉而生的时候，我想，这就是少年的通病了：天地微尘，我将使得星辰逆转。

　　贺衷寒何尝不是想 少年的中国没有学校，他的学校是山川和大地

　　近藤勇带着众家儿郎在黑夜中逆风拔刀，他们何尝不是想 我以我血荐轩辕 呢

　　金乌沉暗，我们有的是炽热滚烫的鲜血染红他！

　　可是呢。

　　这里我要提一下我非常喜欢那个他们之前的苏联方面的联络人：

　　Marcel Iures，完全陌生的演员，但我觉得他有那么种文艺气质，可以演洛丽塔里那个孱弱的作家，可以演流亡华沙的钢琴家，岁月已经完全洗去了他的火气，只留下了沧桑变成一种嘲笑的遗迹。

　　我随意搜索了一下，我不佩服自己都不行了，果然，他就是《战略专家》里那个钢琴家。

　　那是个美国沙文主义可笑到极点的片子，可是他在开头演了一个钢琴家，演一个被美国人炸得一片废墟失去家人的钢琴家，有个细节，他教授钢琴的时候，说：

　　你要弹出艺术的感觉就一定要懂得忧伤，那种非常沉重的忧伤。

　　这个里面，当某人兴奋地说要为苏联人打倒希特勒做什么的事情，他微微摇着头流露出不为人知的苦笑，之后他怯懦于刺杀弗朗哥的任务的时候，他惆怅地说：

　　你我都知道被召回莫斯科意味着什么？那个任务是可笑的，不过，别去想他了，总得有人为之承担后果。

　　跳看了结尾，只看了上半部，看着三个少年跳入冰冷的河流，他们的身体里咆哮着烈火战车。

　　这个是个男同片，大把白花花的男人屁股，玩女人的部分拍的很简略，诅咒这个有同性恋传统的学府啊，不过好像类似这种集团：三青团，新选组都是男风炽烈 的地方，为什么不玩女人呢，女人多好玩。

　

      恍惚间以为自己在看一部纪录片，戏剧化了的，或许也是经过美化的。有追求、有怯弱、有矛盾、有友谊、有爱情、有尊严、有妥协……有很多很多，只是没有英雄和自由。

      看这部剧，是出于好奇，好奇于锦衣玉食之中诞生的共产主义思想（或许 只是反法西斯？）。

      马克思告诉我们，物质决定意识。但人世间的奇妙就在于：总有别样的人，选择别样的路，让历史没法儿评说~

      我信仰，信仰却不能排除万难。整部剧一直在纠结呀纠结，就像钱钟书先生的那本书名：《写在人生边上》。

      他们行走在悬崖边上，风起云涌之际，不知前路何方~

如果BBC想感动你，你就很难装酷......

很多哲学家美学家都讨论过贵族精神。俺对英国文化不熟悉，也没有被牛津剑桥的等级含义逼疯过。但看完这片子，抓着头发想一想，俺的一点理解是：

1.他们看起来缺乏野心，或者贪婪。在英国，雄心壮志是一个尴尬的字眼。所以会有Effortlessly Fabulous这个词。

2.他们甚至缺乏专注的兴趣

3.他们不需要工作。所以他们可以做自己喜欢的事。但如果做，就一定要做的很好。

4.他们不能缺乏坚定的信仰。信仰黑白与否无关紧要，但一定要有勇气有能力来维护之。

5.永远不能离开Gentleman's Club.请注意这是绅士俱乐部，不是功利至上的社交网络。这是个传统问题，和道德无关。

6.可以失去生命，但要挽回尊严。


俺想，虽然俺们一辈子都需要工作，养家糊口，但俺按照这些规矩做人，大概也能体味到一点所谓的贵族精神。

同时期的德国，却是贵族体制被摧毁的大变革时期。无论贵族精神与否，贵族和平民中都有令人感叹的故事。世界和历史是多么奇妙。

这片子里对美国人的态度，是不屑一顾，极端鄙视的。

第一集Burgess从剑桥毕业时站在桥上的speech:
"I love this country, this scepter'd fucking isle, this wonderful, foolish England."
摘自Richard II 第二幕第一场
John of Gaunt:
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
[最著名的赞美英格兰的文学段落之一]

第四集Philby背诵的段落：
（摘自Henry V Act IV Prologue. 阿金库尔战役前夜）
The poor condemnèd English,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
Sit patiently and inly ruminate
The morning’s danger; and their gesture sad,
Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon
So many horrid ghosts.

莎士比亚的历史剧四部曲——理查二世，亨利四世上下（两部），亨利五世。第一集和第四集分别摘录了第一部和第四部的段落，奇妙地呼应起来了。

印象深刻的片段：
Philby在公园长椅上对着Litzi Friedman的背影一遍遍重复“I don't love you.” 与其是拒绝，不如说是自我说服。（Philby可以为了信仰放弃家庭，但是Maclean却很难过这个坎儿。四个人的特点非常鲜明，而且很大程度上是对立的。Philby老辣沉稳，Maclean则受情感控制，Blunt行事谨慎，悄然抽身，Burgess则放浪形骸，被命运推到了莫斯科。）
Blunt提出要帮Burgess买一件大衣，暗示他去的地方将会很冷。

用一段亨利五世在阿金库尔战役前夕发表的讲话来概括这四个人的friendship(comradeship):
St Crispin's Day Speech
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian."
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

P.S. Philby的美国学徒是Endeavour试播集里面的Special Branch Agent,长了一张特工脸==

关于剑桥的故事太多太多, 从此地走出的名人也载满史册。一直没有想起去英国前看了一半的《剑桥风云》。那时候迷迷糊糊地下了这四集片，满心期待，也算是为行程做准备吧。十分钟之后发现是政治片，虽然情节吸引人，但还是到半即废，现在想想确实符合自己性格……

直到有那么一个晴朗凉爽的日子，穿过国王学院，踏上旁边草地石刻《再别康桥》的某座不起眼的石桥，听人提起，这就是Guy Burgess, Philby那帮人当年"裸蹦"之桥，才金光回闪，顿有种神奇的穿越感……

Goodbye, Cambridge! Goodbye old life!

       红彤彤的理想，真正能实现的又有多少人?这部英剧间接告诉我们，因为历史和现实的残酷，答案是很少。但是这不能磨灭埋没在历史洪流中这些勇士的贡献。

    即便是剑桥五杰这样相对有名的人，我们也对其真正生活了解甚少，一些迷题争论也无从考究。感谢这样一部严谨认真的剧，给我们或多或少展示了故事的一面……

    四个面相姣好的演员中，我最爱饰演Guy Burgess的Tom Hollander。虽然媒体评论大多是类似于“他是由于身高原因不得不将戏路限制在搞笑这一特质之上”，我还得为此人叫冤，像Guy这种人物，虽然幽默讨喜，终究还是悲剧性结局……第二，除去舞台剧表演经验，对于伯吉斯的演绎也是Hollander的成名作之一吧？

    说回剧本身，如果说Philby一行人牺牲之物都浮于水面，那么Burgess的牺牲和痛苦则是更深沉而抽象的。他牺牲的也许就是自己又爱又恨的英格兰和宁静的后半生吧。苏联浑浑噩噩，疾病缠身的结局让人慨叹命运的不公。神秘放浪、口无遮拦、忠于同伴和深爱的人（他从来没忘记Julian），四人中感情最丰富，同时也最理智清醒的他没有像Philby那样得到实在的结果，船上对祖国的告别是他能得到的最后一点慰藉。那一刻，真正是对年轻、对自己的根、对无所作为的告别。

    我常想，如果将guy在苏联的后半生拍成一部富有浪漫主义色彩的悲剧，也未尝不可。多少伟大的灵魂不是在郁郁寡欢中化为灰烬？但是理想主义留下了不能磨灭的遗产，它成了一种氛围，几乎随处可见。

    过了两天，又经此桥，看到一人站在桥上，面对剑桥一片夏日的绿色，满对清冽的River Cam，脱了上衣大喊一声：Goodbye, Cambridge! Goodbye Old Life! 随后一跃而进，旁人欢呼。这也是当初四人跃下桥的回响吧。

“许多人可能会说，自杀可能是"光荣的"出路……但我认为，恰恰相反，那是一种懦弱的解决方式。”
------ Blunt回忆录

在1930年代中期
对于我和当时的很多人来说
共产主义俄国是
反对法西斯主义的唯一堡垒
在那时
西方国家对德国采取了暧昧的
妥协的立场
我被Guy说服
为了反对法西斯主义
我加入了他的苏联间谍组织
这是一个出于良知的决定
反对的是纳粹
我选择了良心
------ Blunt回忆录



--------------------------------华丽丽的分割线-------------------------------

 

英语底子好的同学可以看这个


 

The True Memoirs of Anthony Blunt
 

Summary:
A year after Guy's death, Anthony remembers his friend - and their folly - as best he can.


 

Notes:
Inspired by slowascent's Yuletide Letter and her love of the seven deadly sins, especially the sin of pride.

 

 

 

Work Text:
August 30th, 1964

Guy went mad a bit, after Julian died. Perhaps I should have seen it then. It was the sort of madness that was too easy to dismiss, and it might have been that I wanted to dismiss it. We four friends had spent many years making excuses for one another, but I had known Guy the longest and excused the most. Friends since the beginning, I suppose I found it harder than most to admit he might be going so terribly wrong. He'd always had his excesses, little foibles and quirks. It is how things begin, isn't it? With Guy it was always matter of degrees, each action seems less harsh in the light of what came before. I wanted to believe that he wasn't off the rails, that it was simply more of his usual. More fool myself, and that is something not easily admitted.

He'd always been a bit madcap, hadn't he? We were so different, he and I, for all that our lives and upbringings had been so similar. It was likely what drew us together, at least it was why I noticed him at Cambridge. When you moved in the same circles as Guy, it was hard not to notice him. Loud and flamboyant, the sort to speak his mind - no, not speak it, for the word speak implies some sort of decorum. Guy shouted it from rooftops and pulpits. Discretion was not his friend. Whereas things in my life were so careful and controlled, compartmentalised, Jackie said the same thing to me so many years later. That I had boxes and found it all too easy to simply shut something away. Shouldn't I have? My compartmentalisation kept us safe, so many times. When Guy went off on his tangents - even when we were both Apostles - I was the one that stood sure and true. I was the one that remained calm when so many simply reacted and acted. The mark of an English gentleman, that deep-rooted stoicism, wasn't it? I epitomised that very thing and always had. I couldn't be any other way. Even when Guy told others he was a friend of Stalin whilst drunk at parties, I would be the one smiling benignly at Guy's little joke. I was always able to pretend it was a joke, but guy never was. He always felt things so strongly. He threw himself into all of it, holding nothing of himself back. I warned him of the danger of it, but Guy was never the sort to listen to such advice.

Julian was the first warning, or he should have been. He'd almost gone to him, after that party we were at. Raining. It was already raining Julian had said, the crowd having gone quiet in that convenient way that it did. Inconvenient, actually, where Julian was concerned. That night Guy had been drunker than most nights. An accomplishment when one thinks about it seriously. He'd been so determined to leave the house, to find Julian. To explain to him privately that we hadn't changed. That we were working for Moscow and our rejection of socialism was part of the cover.

I stopped him. I was the one that wouldn't let him go. Perhaps I was the one that made it so hard for Guy when Julian died. Had I let him go that night... There's little time for regret in our lives, if any. I refuse to doubt my decisions then. At the time they were the right ones. Guy couldn't have let Julian know any more than we could have let anyone know. It was the point of it, wasn't it? Distancing ourselves from the movement in order to have more use.

It wasn't a friendship without troubles, even when we were at Cambridge. Guy was brilliant, and if I were utterly and brutally honest, I'd say he was smarter than I was. Yet he squandered it shamefully throwing away a brilliance in a way that always bothered me. There was so much he could have done. There was no doubt he'd have been that much more valuable an asset had he not drank and caroused so. It wasn't like anyone could have altered that. When we were still in school it was the norm, just a bit of boys being boys. Once we had graduated, well, there was never any stopping Guy, nor changing Guy.

I realise now I couldn't have. I never thought it at the time, I thought I had him under control. Yes, he said things no one should, especially one in our position. Guy would get drunk and say the most obscene things. Few ever paid them any mind. He was known as a bit of a drinker and if he declared himself a spy at a party, who would think his words the truth?

Should I have noticed it then? I told myself there was nothing to notice. Guy would be Guy, I excused it over and over, always taking note but doing little. I would say a word here and there, nothing more than suggestions or mild admonishments. They were laughed off. Why wouldn't they be laughed off? I never could have seriously admonished Guy and somehow he knew that.. Too many things we laughed off and brushed away. Pride is such a funny thing, isn't it? Not that I would have called my perceived control of Guy pride, I still have issues with referring to it as such. It seemed so reasonable then. We were friends, friends before anything else, before everything else. Shouldn't a man be capable of keeping an eye on his friends, be capable of keeping them in line? A better friend might have seen that it wasn't the simple thing I told myself it was/ Frankly, Guy was out of control long before I cared to admit it.

So many at school knew what we were, even if I'd never been as open as he was. I refer to the communism, that is, not the homosexuality -- though I am sure many knew that as well, such an ill-kept secret as it was in those days. There was no shame in being a communist, not as a student. Being an anti-fascist was a point of pride for many, and later in life it was seen as a sort of undergraduate rash. It was an ailment that one had the good sense to recover from. We were Apostles the, an informal fellowship of students who gathered for many reasons. Many of us homosexuals, all of us anti-fascists, that sort of movement was nearly expected when we were students. Just as it was expected we would move on from it after college to join the establishment. Only, we never did recover from it, we only seemed to. It was all part of the master plan. One couldn't be an effective spy if one was known to have socialist tendencies. It was logical, sensible, the most useful thing that we could have done: distance ourselves from our own pasts. But it hurt Guy deeply, having to pretend that he'd rejected Communism, especially to Julian.

I would swear it all changed when Julian died. I'd rather not use the word died, it sounds so innocuous, as if he were elderly and passed on in his sleep. Julian was killed, yet another death at the hands of those same fascists we all hated. There were times that it seemed Julian had the simpler and easier task. There was elegance in our roles – an excitement - that didn't exist in Julian's open devotion to the cause. I told myself that. We all did, I'm sure, that we were fighting the longer fight, the more important one. What would have changed for us if we could have done what he did? If we could have been open in our fight against the forces that tried to devour Europe?

He knew, you know. He knew that Julian and I had been together. I knew of his affection for Julian but it didn't stop me. Guy never saw how they would have been the end of each other, fanned flames burning too quickly. Their passion, however different and sometimes misguided, would have been the end of them both. That isn't to say there was anything noble about my affair with Julian. I was fond of him, yes, but never in love. Love was such a dangerous thing. As dangerous as happiness, moreso when they came together. The four of us - any spies really - couldn't afford such luxuries, not and perform our chosen task and be safe.

I should have seen it. I should have seen it after Julian's death but I wouldn't allow myself to. Pride, hubris, call it what you will. Perhaps even something so much simpler: the loyalty of four friends to one another. Beyond any cause or any devotion, those friends were the things that I had to keep safe and that I held to be most important. Do you know I believed it? I believed that I, Anthony Blunt, could keep us safe. I thought that I could protect each of us against the world. What an utter fool I was. There was nothing and no one that could protect us from ourselves, we were always our own worst enemies. Guy and Donald were both problems, but it was Guy that mattered most to me. Kim and Donald; Guy and myself. It was how things had always been and how they would always be.

I never knew if he was hurt by Jackie's defection, as it might have been called. Jackie wasn't as important to Guy as Julian had been. I always felt that he was more a distraction to Guy, something to keep him occupied when he couldn't be bothered venturing out to one of his less than reputable locales. Perhaps that alone should have warned me away. Once his distraction was gone - once his distraction was mine - he became ever the more on edge. I've said already how brilliant he was. Brilliant and mad -- no, lost is a better word then mad. Guy needed our cause, he needed to believe. Julian, to him, had been an ideal, the personification of a concept and a belief. Not only someone he loved, but his beacon in an otherwise dark world. What Guy felt he should be and how he should be. When Julian was killed it all changed. He clung to the cause, wrapping himself in it as one would a blanket on the coldest of nights.

I should have seen. I should have seen and I should have stopped it, long before I became so tired. There is a part of me that believes, still, this end could have been avoided. If I had acted earlier or made more of an effort that we could have all been safe. Guy deserved more than a warm coat and a sad life lived out away from the country he loved so. I never wrote him once he'd been exiled. The letters might have been intercepted after all. I couldn't have, and maintained my own secrets. Sad that those secrets that in the end were made public. In the end, we were all betrayed. When we became agents at Cambridge, we were such idealists, and we believed. It was exciting. Did I ever say that? There was this whiff of adventure that came with being a spy. It was a life that I could never have imagined otherwise. A life I could never have had otherwise. When did it stop being such an adventure? When did watching over my friends become such a task and a trial? The years took their toll. I would say that it was inevitable, but I am not fond of admitting inevitability. I'm not fond of admitting my own faults, nor am I fond of admitting my own part in our downfall. Yet fond or not, it is there. My hubris led us as much to our downfall as their excess did.

Silly, isn't it? To think that we shared secrets that changed the world, and yet it was the simplest things that affected us. Julian's death. Jackie. Stalin making a pact with Hitler in order to buy himself time. The last... Were it not for Kim and myself, I think we would have lost Guy then. He would have self-destructed or done something truly foolish. He was always on the edge, you realise. When I heard of what he did in Washington, driving drunk, appearing at that dinner at Kim's house, I knew just how far Guy had gone. That he'd lost his belief in some way, and had gone over the edge, seeking his own downfall. Only his self-destruction would pull in those associated with him. It would pull in Donald, Kim and myself.

Or it may have been that he was already gone long before Washington and that even to this day I'm fooling myself. I'm letting that same pride colour my memories. It's a difficult thing see things clearly that are in the past. Our visions are filtered to show the events in the light they find most favourable. In some ways our memories are like paintings. They are creations of our own mind that relates to the world but does not truly reflect it. We see that world in the painting through the filter of the artist with our own perceptions layered atop that. A difficult thing to consider when it's something as personal as our own own past. Am I remembering correctly, interpreting the events the way they occurred? Or have my perceptions shaped my very memories? Do I remember things the way I wish them to be? I can no longer tell.