百年萊卡：它改變了攝影

萊卡相機如今是高端和尊貴的象征，但在誕生之初，它也曾被嗤之以鼻。在百年的發展歷程中，萊卡相機見證了戰爭與和平，見證了時代的變遷，它以輕巧的機身、精密的制作、不變的面孔和深厚的底蘊穩居相機王國的頂尖地位。它不僅僅是一件工具，更是一種文化。

It was the beginning of photography as we know it. A few months before the outbreak of the First World War， an engineer called Oskar Barnack， who had defected1） from the rival German optical company of Zeiss to head the experimental department at Leitz， put the finishing touches2） to a new invention. He called it the Micro Lilliput3） camera. “Micro Lilliput camera with cine film ready，” he noted in his work log in March 1914. The following month he wrote， “Lilliput camera pat. Reg.”—the idea was patented， secure from imitation.

Further refinement had to wait for the return of peace. When the new camera hit the shops in 1925， first and briefly marketed as Barnack before becoming the first Leica （Leitz + camera）， it was the beginning of a new age—the age we are still living in today. It was a camera you could carry in your pocket， and pull out to shoot whenever the fancy took you. It was almost silent， so it could be used with maximum discretion4）. It was so simple any amateur could master it， but its simplicity was the product of great engineering sophistication and ingenuity. In all these ways， it was a small revolution.

Of course there were no semiconductors5） in the first Leica， but in its conception of what the modern consumer desired， it anticipated every neat， elegant and high-tech product of our own age， including the latest iPhone.

With its simplicity and compactness， it paved the way for all modern photography that benefited from speed， silence and agility： photojournalism， in particular， with war photography as a speciality， but subsequently genres such as fashion， too， when the taboos against less formal photographic styles began to fall.

To mark a century since its invention， Leitz has now published a huge book that includes within its covers the work of hundreds of the photographers who have used their Leica as， in the words of Henri Cartier-Bresson6）， an “optical extension of the eye”： from grainy snaps of Barnack himself taken with his primitive prototypes， right up to the harsh and tormented full-colour portraits of Bruce Gilden7）， by way of Cartier-Bresson， Elliott Erwitt8）， Sebastiao Salgado9）， William Eggleston10）， and dozens of the greatest war photographers.

An early advertising slogan for Leica was “Die Kamera der Zeit”—“The camera of the time”—and when it was first released after the First World War it was， indeed， right in the heart of the zeitgeist11）. Europe was exhausted and nauseated by war and suffering. The horrors of the conflict contaminated all the culture that had come down through the ages， robbing it of charm and appeal. As one writer in the new book notes， “For the Germans， the past had lost all attraction. They focused their attention on the present and the near-future.”

Until the Leica， cameras were clunky great boxes with plates you pushed in and pulled out， black cloths to drape over the head， tripods to keep them steady for the long duration of each exposure. Photography was an art that froze what was already frozen， as the subjects waited patiently for the required time of exposure to elapse12）； an art that mimicked portrait or still-life or landscape painting in the quest for timelessness， that strove to be taken as seriously as the classical arts by doing the same things as well or better.

But there was a completely different destiny in store for the camera—and it took Oskar Barnack to unlock it.

Miniaturisation13） was on many inventors’ minds. As Hans-Michael Koetzle writes in the book， “Leica … was not the first efficiently functioning compact camera. It was not even the first one to use reeled cine film.” After the First World War， there was “a multitude of new designs which … aimed at miniaturization … [but] the vast majority of the compact cameras brought to market maturity in the 1920s suffered either from combining too many functions”—an example is the Swiss camera Sico， which boasted of recording， copying， enlarging and projecting functions—“or from simply trying to be too small， without coming up with the necessary precision.” The Leica， by contrast， was both precise and winningly simple.

Its launch in 1925 coincided with the moment that key modern movements got into gear14）： modern architecture and design in the creation of the Bauhaus15） and the work of Walter Gropius； the release of Eisenstein16）’s masterpiece Battleship Potemkin； the flourishing of the Surrealists； the opening of the great Paris design expo of 1925. And it quickly found a central place—persuading the Surrealist Cartier-Bresson， for example， to forsake17） the easel18） in favour of the camera.

For photographers in the classical tradition， the Leica was a trivial novelty. “Professional photography … accustomed to perfect staging， elaborate light control， large plates， and the option to touch up negatives19）， saw in the Leica little more than a toy，” a German journalist noted in 1929. And 10 years after its launch， its reputation had not improved： Heinrich Kühn， a leading Austrian photographer in the old mould， wrote， “I have now seen a ‘Leica’ exhibition of 100 pictures. Terrible！”

But amateurs and the people who catered to them saw the camera’s point immediately. Leica was “the apogee20） of clever design，” wrote a trade magazine soon after the launch， “a completely new model in the camera’s design history.” Another writer totted up21） its advantages. “A Leica with 40 24 × 36 mm shots weighs 500g， a normal 9 × 12 camera with only 20 filled cassettes 4，000g. The 40 Leica shots cost 1? marks， an equal number of 9 × 12 plates 12 marks.”

Ninety years on and the boot is on the other foot22）. Today it is the Leica that is staggeringly expensive—￡5，000-plus， and thousands more for the lenses. Professionals reel off23） the limitations and drawbacks of some recent models， including flaky electronics， no through-the-lens flash metering and still no autofocus， and although they accept that the company has now mastered digital photography， the costs alone put it out of consideration. “It’s jewellery to hang round the neck，” they say， “only fit for rock stars and bankers”—even while they grudgingly agree that a Leica is still beautiful to use， that it feels just right， that it is a machine you can trust， that its build quality is second to none.

Let’s leave the last word to Cartier-Bresson， who could never be persuaded to betray his first love： “The Leica feels like a big warm kiss， like a shot from a revolver24）， like the psychoanalyst’s couch.”

以下是我們所了解的攝影的發端。在第一次世界大戰爆發前幾個月，一位名叫奧斯卡·巴納克的工程師完成了一項新發明最后的完善工作，巴納克是萊茨公司實驗部門的主管，在跳槽來這里之前，他在萊茨的競爭對手德國蔡司光學儀器公司工作。巴納克把這項發明稱作“微型小人國相機”。他在1914年3月的工作日志中寫道：“使用電影膠片的微型小人國相機準備就緒。”第二個月他又寫道：“小人國相機已注冊專利。”發明取得了專利權，不必擔心被他人仿造了。

對這項發明的進一步完善要等到恢復和平之后。1925年，這種新型相機上市銷售，最初曾用“巴納克”作為商品名短暫銷售過一陣，后成為第一代“萊卡”（單詞Leitz與camera的結合）。它開啟了一個新的時代，一個我們至今仍然身處其中的時代。你可以把這部相機放在兜里，一有靈感就隨時拿出來拍照。它幾乎沒有聲音，因此用起來自由度最大。它非常簡單，任何一個業余愛好者都能掌握其用法，但它的簡單正是極為精密的工程技術和高超的聰明才智的產物。從所有這些方面來看，它不啻為一場小型革命。

當然，最早的萊卡相機里并沒有半導體元件，但是它對于現代消費者需求的設想，卻為我們這個時代每一樣巧妙、精致和高科技的產品都做了準備，包括最新型號的iPhone在內。

憑借其自身的簡單、輕巧，萊卡相機為所有受益于速度、靜音和靈活度的現代攝影奠定了基礎：這其中以新聞攝影（戰地攝影是其特殊門類）最為顯著，但也包括后來出現的時尚攝影這樣的攝影類別—當時對較隨意攝影風格的禁忌開始消除。

為了紀念萊卡相機發明一百周年，萊茨公司目前出版了一本大部頭的書，其中匯集了數百位攝影師的作品。用亨利·卡蒂埃-布列松的話說，這些攝影師將萊卡相機當做了“眼睛的光學延伸”。書中的作品從巴納克本人使用最初的樣機拍攝的畫質粗糙的快照開始，一直到布魯斯·吉爾登拍攝的帶著粗糲感和苦惱神情的全彩人像，中間還包括卡蒂埃-布列松、艾略特·厄維特、塞巴斯蒂昂·薩爾加多、威廉·埃格爾斯頓以及數十位最優秀戰地攝影師的作品。

萊卡的一句早期廣告語是“這個時代的相機”。在一戰后首次面世時，它確實正中時代精神的核心。戰爭和苦難已經讓歐洲感到疲憊和厭倦。沖突的恐怖使歷代傳承下來的所有文化都蒙受污染，奪去了它的魅力和吸引力。正如這本新書中的一位作家所言：“對德國人而言，過去已失卻了全部的吸引力。他們的注意力集中在當下和不久的將來。”

在萊卡相機出現之前，照相機是笨重的大匣子，使用的是需要推進抽出的感光板，拍攝時要用黑布蒙在頭上，還要使用三腳架，使機身在每次長時間的曝光過程中保持平穩。當時的攝影是一門將業已凝固不動的事物定格的藝術，因為拍攝對象需要耐心等待所需的曝光時間過去；那是一門模仿肖像畫、靜物畫或風景畫以追求永恒價值的藝術，力圖通過將同樣的事情做得同等出色或更加出色而受到與古典藝術同樣的重視。

但于相機而言，有一種完全不同的命運在等待著它—開啟這一命運的正是奧斯卡·巴納克。

許多發明家都有將自己的發明小型化的想法。正如漢斯-邁克爾·克茨勒在書中所言：“萊卡……不是第一臺能夠有效發揮作用的袖珍相機，甚至也不是第一臺使用卷筒電影膠片的相機。”第一次世界大戰后，出現了“大量新設計……以小型化為目標……（但是）絕大多數在20世紀20年代能夠作為成熟產品投放市場的袖珍相機要么是集過多功能于一身”—例如號稱擁有錄制、復制、放大和投影功能的瑞士Sico牌相機—“要么是過于追求小巧而不能提供必要的精確度”。相形之下，萊卡相機不僅精密，而且簡單得讓人愛不釋手。

萊卡相機在1925年推向市場時，恰逢重要的現代運動發生之時：以包豪斯學校的創立和瓦爾特·格羅皮烏斯的作品為標志的現代建筑和設計誕生，愛森斯坦的代表作《戰艦波將金號》上映，超現實主義藝術繁榮興旺，1925年盛大的巴黎設計博覽會召開。萊卡相機很快就取得了中心地位，例如，它促使超現實主義藝術家卡蒂埃-布列松丟下畫架，拿起了相機。

在承襲古典傳統的攝影師眼中，萊卡是個微不足道的新鮮玩意。“專業攝影……習慣于使用完美的布景、精密的燈光控制和大型感光板，還要能夠修底片。在他們看來，萊卡相機無異于一件玩具。”一位德國記者在1929年寫道。在上市十年后，萊卡相機的名聲也未見好轉。頂尖的奧地利傳統派攝影師海因里希·屈恩寫道：“我剛剛見識了‘萊卡’的百幅攝影展，真是糟透了！”

然而，攝影業余愛好者和投其所好的人們立刻發現了這種相機的優點。萊卡相機是“巧妙設計的極致”，一本行業雜志在萊卡上市后不久這樣寫道，“是相機設計史上的全新典范”。另一位作者則總結出了它的優點：“一臺能夠拍攝40張24 × 36毫米照片的萊卡相機重500克，而一臺普通的僅帶有20個膠片盒的9 × 12厘米相機重4000克。萊卡相機照40張照片的花費為1.25馬克，而同樣數量的9 × 12厘米感光板需花費12馬克。”

90年過去了，情況與當初剛好相反。如今是萊卡相機貴得出奇—售價5000多英鎊，鏡頭還要再加數千英鎊。專業人士可以一口氣說出最近幾款機型的局限和缺點，比如電子器件性能不穩定，沒有鏡后測光，依然不能自動對焦。雖然他們承認萊茨公司現在已經掌握了數碼照相技術，但僅是價格一項就將其排除在考慮范圍之外。“它就像是戴在脖子上的珠寶首飾，只有搖滾明星和銀行家才適合。”他們說。盡管他們也不情愿地承認，萊卡相機用起來還是那么得心應手，感覺恰到好處，是一部信得過的相機，而且做工無與倫比。

讓我們用卡蒂埃-布列松的話作為結語吧，沒有人能說服他背叛自己的“初戀”：“萊卡相機感覺就像一個熱情的長吻，像左輪手槍打出的一發子彈，像精神分析師的長榻。”

1.defect [d??fekt] vi. 逃跑；背叛，叛變

2.finishing touch：最后的修飾，最后的潤色

3.Lilliput：小人國，英國作家喬納森·斯威夫特（Jonathan Swift， 1667～1745）在小說《格列佛游記》（Gulliver’s Travels）中虛構的國家，居民身高只有六英寸（約15厘米）。

4.discretion [d??skre?（?）n] n. 斟酌處理（或決定、選擇）的自由（或權限）

5.semiconductor [?semik?n?d?kt?（r）] n. [物]半導體

6.Henri Cartier-Bresson：亨利·卡蒂埃-布列松（1908～2004），世界著名的人文攝影家，“決定性瞬間”理論的創立者與實踐者，被譽為“現代新聞攝影之父”。

7.Bruce Gilden：布魯斯·吉爾登（1946～），街頭攝影家，以在紐約街頭抓拍人臉特寫而聞名。

8.Elliott Erwitt：艾略特·厄維特（1928～），紀實攝影師，擅長捕捉生活中諷刺而有幽默感的畫面。

9.Sebastiao Salgado：塞巴斯蒂昂·薩爾加多（1944～），巴西著名的社會紀實攝影師

10.William Eggleston：威廉·埃格爾斯頓（1939～），美國攝影師，被譽為“彩色攝影之父”。

11.zeitgeist [?za?t?ɡa?st] n.〈德〉時代精神，時代思潮

12.elapse [??l?ps] vi. （時間）消逝，過去

13.miniaturisation [?m?n?t??ra??ze??（?）n] n. 小型化，微型化

14.get into gear：投入（或著手）工作

15.Bauhaus：包豪斯，德國魏瑪市的公立包豪斯學校（Staatliches Bauhaus）的簡稱，是世界上第一所完全為發展現代設計教育而建立的學院，其成立標志著現代設計的誕生。下文提到的瓦爾特·格羅皮烏斯（1883～1969）是該校的創辦人，也是德國現代建筑師和建筑教育家。

16.Eisenstein：即謝爾蓋·愛森斯坦（Sergei Eisenstein， 1898～1948），蘇聯電影導演，電影藝術理論家、教育家，創立了蒙太奇理論。下文提到的影片《戰艦波將金號》（Battleship Potemkin）運用了豐富的蒙太奇手法，是世界電影史上的經典之作。

17.forsake [f?（r）?se?k] vt. 遺棄，拋棄

18.easel [?i?z（?）l] n. 畫架

19.negative [?neɡ?t?v] n. 底片，底板

20.apogee [??p?d?i?] n.〈喻〉最高點；極點

21.tot up：計算總和

22.the boot is on the other foot：情況正好相反

23.reel off：一口氣報出；一下子說出（或寫出）

24.revolver [r??v?lv?（r）] n. 左輪手槍