夜莺与玫瑰中王尔德的矛盾性表现
王是英国作家、戏剧家人。
他生于都柏林业于牛津大学。
虽然要以成人作家而著称，但他的早期作品中有两本童话集：《快乐王子故事集》和《石榴之家》已载入英国儿童文学史册。
xRj+]Y 在王尔德的墓碑上，他被誉为“才子和戏剧家”。
的确，他是当之无愧的戏剧家。
在他事业的顶峰，最具代表的是他的几部大戏，如《温德摩尔夫人的扇子》、《理想的丈夫》等，都是一时绝唱。
说到“才子”，早在王尔德为世人所知之前，年仅二十四岁，他的诗作就荣获大奖；在他短短的创作生涯中(享年四十六岁)，行文演论，无处不是智趣横生。
然而他事业的起飞，风格的形成，可以说都源于童话，也正是他的第一部童话集问世之后，人们才真正将他视为有影响的作家。
英国《典雅》杂志将他和安徒生相提并论，说他的《自私的巨人》堪称“完美之作”，整本童话集更是纯正英语的结晶。
他的“为艺术而艺术”的美学观点影响颇广。
q^ 1885年和1886年，王尔德的两个儿子先后出生，当了父亲的王尔德在和儿子们耳鬓厮磨之中获得许多灵感。
他的儿子后来回忆说：“(父亲)有时会趴在育婴室的地上，轮番装成狮子、狼、马，平时的斯文形象一扫而空……玩累了时，他会让我们静静听他讲童话故事，讲冒险传说，他肚子里有讲不完的故事……”王尔德的这种童心正是他童话的源泉。
.i 王尔德追求语言的表达效果。
他的童话，讲述性的特点很强。
看他的童话，犹如听着琅琅上口的叙述，韵律无穷。
几乎所有和王尔德熟识的人在回忆他时，都会提到王尔德无以伦比的口才。
看他的童话，每每让人觉得，这位生活在19世纪维多利亚时代的伟大作家，依然在和我们娓娓交谈，而我们被他的谈吐折服了、迷惑了，像所有听过他讲话的人一样。
;YK 1888年5月，他的第一部童话集《快乐王子及其它》(包括《快乐王子》、《夜莺和玫瑰》、《自私的巨人》、《忠诚的朋友》和〈神奇的火箭》)出版了。
这本书立刻轰动一时，书的作者也成了人们注目的中心。
8 1891年12月，他的另一部童话集问世——《石榴之屋》，收有四部童话：《少年国王》、《小公主的生日》、《渔夫和他的灵魂》和《星孩》。
这部书并未像王尔德的第一本童话那样立即受到欢迎，而是渐渐地，特别是在王尔德死后，才成为家喻户晓的故事集。
L 这两部作品带有明显的安徒生作品的痕迹。
作品流露出消极、悲观的思想。
不过，它们所表现的快乐的幽默感和结构美使它们载入了英国儿童文学的史册。
oz 这两部童话集在许多方面有区别，体现了作者风格的转变。
第二部童话文体更趋华丽，《圣经》体的代名词出现得更为经常。
王尔德强调他的作品是以理想的而不是复写的方式来描写现实，也是对摹拟生活的当代艺术的反弹。
不过有时这种“反弹”稍嫌太过，使得故事节奏变慢，失去了应有的明快生动。
bJ } 王尔德最著名的童话故事是《快乐王子》和《自私的巨人》。
快乐王子的雕像耸立在城市上空，他看到城市的丑恶和穷苦，他的心虽然是铅的，也忍不住哭了。
在小燕子的帮助下，王子把身上所有的宝石施舍给穷苦的人们，然而，他和小燕子却落得个抛尸垃圾堆的悲惨命运。
《快乐王子故事集》至今依然是英国最著名的童话作品之一，多次再版。
《自私的巨人》在王尔德童话中，是篇幅最短的一篇，也是最富有优美、最富诗意的一篇。
]0z 机趣和戏剧性，几乎孪生于他所有的童话中，也是他童话最吸引人的地方。
王尔德善于用华丽的笔法和生动的比喻造成机趣的描写风格，而他每一篇童话所贯穿的善良与美丽形象所经历的变迁——心的破裂与死亡，以及其中的对抗和冲突所产生的戏剧性的效果———紧紧扣住读者的心弦。
王尔德将人性的至美归于至爱，像《快乐王子》个的王子和燕子；《夜莺与玫瑰》中的夜莺。
几乎每一个童话都有一个因为至爱而变得至美的形象，体现了王尔德追求理想艺术的初衷，无愧为这位“为艺术而艺术”之始祖的佳作。
一次，王尔德给儿子讲《自私的巨人》，竟然情不自禁哭了起来。
儿子问他为什么哭了，王尔德说，真正美丽的事物总会使他流下眼泪。
Sqc1 可是，有谁会想到，这位19世纪最伟大·的英国文学家，在临死的时候竟会一文不名，连房租都得由朋友代付?王尔德的一生经历了大起大伏，时而如日中天，时而一落千丈。
这位不齿于摹拟、生活，追求理想艺术的文学家，却发现自己的童话《快乐王子》惊人地预写了自己的一生。
无数后来的学者试图评价王尔德的功过，其中理查德·依曼的评作为：“他属于我们这个时代更多于属于维多利亚那个时代。
现在，远离了那些丑闻，岁月肯定了他最优秀的著述，他安静地来到我们面前，杰出而高大，讲着寓言和哲理，欢笑而又哭泣，如此娓娓不绝，如此风趣不俗，如此确凿不移。
王尔德的快乐王子与夜莺与玫瑰是当中的人物是怎样的人物形象
王尔德是一个哲学家，他笔下的人物都是那种，你不能说他是好人或者坏人，但是你在他的人物里面完全可以看到自己
王尔德的夜莺与玫瑰讲述了一个什么样的人物形象
尔德和其他的这个玫瑰讲述了一个动人的故事我把这个动人故事放在我的生活当中去的话我觉得这是很好的
如何看待王尔德的《夜莺与玫瑰》
THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses, cried the young Student, but in all my garden there is no red rose. From her nest in the oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves and wondered. No red rose in all my garden he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want (没有) of a red rose is my life made wretched. Here at last is a true lover, said the Nightingale. Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth(风)-- blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow. The Prince gives a ball (舞会) to-morrow night, murmured the young student, and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I should hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break. Here, indeed, is the true lover, said the Nightingale. What I sing of, he suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds (翡), and dearer than fine opals (蛋白石). Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold. The musicians will sit in their gallery, said the young Student, and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her: and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept. Why is he weeping? asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air. Why, indeed? said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam. Why, indeed? whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice. He is weeping for a red rose, said the Nightingale. For a red rose? they cried: how very ridiculous! and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic (愤世嫉俗者), laughed outright. But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love. Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow and like a shadow she sailed across the garden. In the center of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray. Give me a red rose, she cried, and I will sing you my sweetest song. But the Tree shook its head. My roses are white, it answered; as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial (一种玫瑰), and perhaps he will give you what you want. So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial. Give me a red rose, she cried, and I will sing you my sweetest song. But the Tree shook its head. My roses are yellow, it answered; as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden (美人鱼) who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil (黄水仙) that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student’s window (一种玫瑰), and perhaps he will give you what you want. So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student’s window. Give me a red rose, she cried, and I will sing you my sweetest song. But the Tree shook its head. My roses are red, it answered, as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped (摧残) my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year. One red rose is all I want, cried the Nightingale, only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it? There is a way, answered the Tree; but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you. Tell it to me, said the Nightingale, I am not afraid. If you want a red rose, said the Tree, you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart’s blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into me veins, and become mine. Death is a great price to pay for a red rose, cried the Nightingale, and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot (战车) of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man? So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove. The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes. Be happy, cried the Nightingale, be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart’s blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy (哲学), though he is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as homey, and his breath is like frankincense. The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books. But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale, who had built her nest in his branches. Sing me one last song, he whispered; I shall feel lonely when you are gone. So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar. When she had finished her song, the Student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket. She had form, her said to himself, as he walked away through the grove—that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good! And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep. And when the moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang, with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her. She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river—pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree. But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. Press closer, little Nightingale, cried the Tree, or the Day will come before the rose is finished. So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid. And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose’s heart remained white, for only a Nightingale’s heart’s blood can crimson the heart of a rose. And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. Press closer, little Nightingale, cried the Tree, or the Day will come before the rose is finished. So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb. And the marvelous rose became crimson (猩红), like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby (红宝石) was the heart. But the Nightingale’ voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat. Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea. Look, look! cried the Tree, the rose is finished now; but the Nightingale made not answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart. And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out. Why, what a wonderful piece of luck! He cried; here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name; and he leaned down and plucked it. Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor’s house with the rose in his hand. The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet. You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose, cried the Student. Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you. But he girl frowned. I am afraid it will not go with my dress, she answered; and, besides, the Chamberlain’s nephew had sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers. Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful, said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose onto he street, where it fell into the gutter (阴沟), and a cartwheel went over it. Ungrateful! said the girl. I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I dont believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain’s nephew has; and she got up from her chair and went into the house. What a silly thing Love is! said the Student as he walked away. It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics (玄学). So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.
你觉得王尔德《夜莺与玫瑰》哪个译本最好
林徽因的翻译有比较浓厚的时代特征，通俗易懂，而且特别简洁正因为这点对比后面几篇的翻译行文过于流畅，让人忍不住产生了怀疑【这都是林徽因翻的么
】。
我是比较喜欢这个译本的。
