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故都的秋
郁达夫
秋天，无论在什么地方的秋天，总是好的；可是啊，北国的秋，却特别地来得清，来得静，来得悲凉。我的不远千里，要从杭州赶上青岛，更要从青岛赶上北平来的理由，也不过想饱尝一尝这“秋”，这故都的秋味。
江南，秋当然也是有的；但草木雕得慢，空气来得润，天的颜色显得淡，并且又时常多雨而少风；一个人夹在苏州上海杭州，或厦门香港广州的市民中间，浑浑沌沌地过去，只能感到一点点清凉，秋的味，秋的色，秋的意境与姿态，总看不饱，尝不透，赏玩不到十足。秋并不是名花，也并不是美酒，那一种半开，半醉的状态，在领略秋的过程上，是不合适的。
不逢北国之秋，已将近十余年了。在南方每年到了秋天，总要想起陶然亭的芦花，钓鱼台的柳影，西山的虫唱，玉泉的夜月，潭柘寺的钟声。在北平即使不出门去罢，就是在皇城人海之中，租人家一椽破屋来住着，早晨起来，泡一碗浓茶、向院子一坐，你也能看得到很高很高的碧绿的天色，听得到青天下驯鸽的飞声。从槐树叶底，朝东细数着一丝一丝漏下来的日光，或在破壁腰中，静对着象喇叭似的牵牛花（朝荣）的蓝朵，自然而然地也能够感觉到十分的秋意。说到了牵牛花，我以为以蓝色或白色者为佳，紫黑色次之，淡红色最下。最好，还要在牵牛花底，教长着几根疏疏落落的尖细且长的秋草，使作陪衬。
北国的槐树，也是一种能使人联想起秋来的点缀。象花而又不是花的那一种落蕊，早晨起来，会铺得满地。脚踏上去，声音也没有，气味也没有，只能感出一点点极微细极柔软的触觉。扫街的在树影下一阵扫后，灰土上留下来的一条条扫帚的丝纹，看起来既觉得细腻，又觉得清闲，潜意识下并且还觉得有点儿落寞，古人所说的梧桐一叶而天下知秋的遥想，大约也就在这些深沈的地方。
秋蝉的衰弱的残声，更是北国的特产；因为北平处处全长着树，屋子又低，所以无论在什么地方，都听得见它们的啼唱。在南方是非要上郊外或山上去才听得到的。这秋蝉的嘶叫，在北平可和蟋蟀耗子一样，简直象是家家户户都养在家里的家虫。
还有秋雨哩，北方的秋雨，也似乎比南方的下得奇，下得有味，下得更象样。
在灰沈沈的天底下，忽而来一阵凉风，便息列索落地下起雨来了。一层雨过，云渐渐地卷向了西去，天又青了，太阳又露出脸来了；著着很厚的青布单衣或夹袄曲都市闲人，咬着烟管，在雨后的斜桥影里，上桥头树底下去一立，遇见熟人，便会用了缓慢悠闲的声调，微叹着互答着的说：
“唉，天可真凉了——”（这了字念得很高，拖得很长。）
“可不是么？一层秋雨一层凉了！”
北方人念阵字，总老象是层字，平平仄仄起来，这念错的歧韵，倒来得正好。
北方的果树，到秋来，也是一种奇景。第一是枣子树；屋角，墙头，茅房边上，灶房门口，它都会一株株地长大起来。象橄榄又象鸽蛋似的这枣子颗儿，在小椭圆形的细叶中间，显出淡绿微黄的颜色的时候，正是秋的全盛时期；等枣树叶落，枣子红完，西北风就要起来了，北方便是尘沙灰土的世界，只有这枣子、柿子、葡萄，成熟到八九分的七八月之交，是北国的清秋的佳日，是一年之中最好也没有的Golden Days。
有些批评家说，中国的文人学士，尤其是诗人，都带着很浓厚的颓废色彩，所以中国的诗文里，颂赞秋的文字特别的多。但外国的诗人，又何尝不然？我虽则外国诗文念得不多，也不想开出账来，做一篇秋的诗歌散文钞，但你若去一翻英德法意等诗人的集子，或各国的诗文的Anthology来，总能够看到许多关于秋的歌颂与悲啼。各著名的大诗人的长篇田园诗或四季诗里，也总以关于秋的部分。写得最出色而最有味。足见有感觉的动物，有情趣的人类，对于秋，总是一样的能特别引起深沈，幽远，严厉，萧索的感触来的。不单是诗人，就是被关闭在牢狱里的囚犯，到了秋天，我想也一定会感到一种不能自己的深情；秋之于人，何尝有国别，更何尝有人种阶级的区别呢？不过在中国，文字里有一个“秋士”的成语，读本里又有着很普遍的欧阳子的《秋声》与苏东坡的《赤壁赋》等，就觉得中国的文人，与秋的关系特别深了。可是这秋的深味，尤其是中国的秋的深味，非要在北方，才感受得到底。
南国之秋，当然是也有它的特异的地方的，比如廿四桥的明月，钱塘江的秋潮，普陀山的凉雾，荔枝湾的残荷等等，可是色彩不浓，回味不永。比起北国的秋来，正象是黄酒之与白干，稀饭之与馍馍，鲈鱼之与大蟹，黄犬之与骆驼。
秋天，这北国的秋天，若留得住的话，我愿把寿命的三分之二折去，换得一个三分之一的零头。
一九三四年八月，在北平
一、王椒升译文
Autumn in the Old Capital
Autumn is always pleasant no matter where it is. But autumn in the North is especially clear, especially serene, especially pathetic in its coolness. It was for no other purpose than to savour this “autumn” to the full, the taste of autumn in the old capital, that I went to the trouble of journeying a thousand li, from Hangzhou to Qingdao, and thence to Beiping.
There is autumn also south of the Yangtze, of course. But there the grass and trees take more time to wither, the air is moist and the sky is pale. There is frequent rain and less wind. One who dwells among the citizens of Suzhou, Shanghai or Hangzhou, of Xiamen, Hong Kong or Guangzhou, spends his days listlessly, with but a vague feeling of coolness. As to the taste and colour of autumn, its particular significance and moods, it is impossible to have one’s fill of seeing, tasting or enjoying. Autumn is not a famous flower, nor a delicious wine. It is inappropriate while enjoying the pleasures of autumn to expect something in a state of half-open or half-tipsy.
It is almost ten-odd years since I last had occasion to see autumn in the North. In the South, the return of each autumn would bring memories of the Pavilion of Happiness nestling among red flowers, the Fishing Terrace canopied by the shadows of willows, the chirp of insects in the Western Hills, the glamour of moonlight over the Jade Springs, the chime of bells in the Tanzhesi Temple. Here in Beiping, suppose you are living amidst the city’s teeming millions in a ramshackle house that you have rented. On rising one early morning and seating yourself in the courtyard with a cup of strong tea before you, without even venturing out of doors you can see an azure sky high above, and hear homing pigeons whirring past under it. Facing the east, you count the rays of sunlight filtering through the leaves of scholar-trees. From a gap in some dilapidated wall, you brood silently over the blue trumpet-like petals of morning-glories. And a sense of the fullness of autumn will come upon you unawares. Speaking of morning-glories, the blue or white flowers seem to me best, those of dark-purple next and the pink ones last. And at the bottom of the morning-glories, to crown all, let there be a sprinkling of sparse, sharp-pointed long blades of autumn grass, to set off the flowers with.
The scholar-trees in North China are also an attraction that calls to mind the advent of autumn. You get up in the early morning, to find the ground carpeted all over with their fallen petals, which still have something of the look of flowers, though actually not flowers any longer. Tread on them, and you are conscious only of a very slight and soft sense of touch, with neither sound nor smell. The lines left on the dusty soil by scavengers in their round of sweeping under the shadows of trees give an impression of exquisiteness as well as serenity, so that subconsciously you still feel a suggestion of loneliness. It was probably something as profound as this that inspired the phantasy of the ancients that the fall of a single leaf from the parasol-tree intimates to all the world the arrival of autumn.
The chirping of cicadas in autumn, feeble and lingering, is another specialty of North China. In Beiping, everywhere are trees, and you can catch their singing anywhere, the houses being usually so low. In the South this would be an impossibility unless you went out of your way to get to the suburbs or the hills. In Beiping, the chirp of the autumn cicada is quite like the chirp of a cricket or the squeak of a mouse—domestic creatures to be found in every household.
Then there is the autumn rain. Somehow rain in autumn falls in the North more magically, as it were, than it does in the South—more tastefully, more becomingly.
A sudden gust of cool wind across a somber sky, and a patter of rain begins. When the rain subsides, the sun reappears in a blue sky, and the clouds drift slowly westward. At the end of the slanting bridge, silhouetted against its shadows after the rain, stand city idlers under the trees, pipe in mouth, in their thick unlined dress or lined coat of black cloth. And if they chance upon an acquaintance, something like the following dialogue might ensue, in a leisurely drawl punctuated by a low sigh.
“Yes, it’s getting cool really…”, with the last word raised to a high pitch and long-drawn-out.
“Yes, isn’t it? ‘A spatter of autumn rain, a spell of cool’ as the saying goes, you know.”
In a Northerner’s accents, the character for “spatter” and “spell” often sounds not unlike the character for “layer”. Judging by the tonal patterns in classical Chinese prosody, this mispronunciation seems to come in quite appropriately.
Another phenomenon in the North when a autumn arrives is the fruit-trees. To begin with, there is the date-tree, which flourishes anywhere in the corners of houses, against the walls, beside thatched huts, outside kitchen doors. When the dates grow to the size of olives or pigeon’s eggs, a light green or yellow set amidst small fine oval leaves, then autumn will be in all its glory. But the northwest wind will blow as soon as the trees shed their leaves and the dates have turned red. Then the whole of the North will become a world of dust and sand and grayish soil. So it is only when the dates, persimmons and grapes are ripe to about 80 or 90 percent, at the juncture of July and August, that autumn in the North is at its very best—the Golden Days of the year beyond compare.
In the opinion of some critics, men of letters and scholars in China, especially poets, have a strong tinge of decadence. That is why in Chinese poetry and prose writings in praise of autumn particularly abound. But then is this not the case also with the poets of other countries? Little as I have read of foreign poetry and prose, and not inclined either to make a list of titles for an anthology of poetry and prose about autumn, I feel sure that if you but take the trouble to leaf through the works of British, German, French and Italian poets, or the anthologies of verse and prose of various countries, you are bound to come across an abundance of encomiums and lamentations about autumn. And in the long pastoral poems as well as poems about the seasons by all celebrated poets, it is those with autumn as their theme that possess the greatest excellence and appeal. This shows that in all sensitive animals, and in all emotional human beings alike, autumn is capable particularly of arousing feelings that are deep and profound, serious and melancholy. Nor is this the case with poets only. When autumn comes, to my mind even prisoners in gaols must be stirred by a poignant emotion they cannot resist. In fact, with all human beings, what discrimination does autumn ever make as to their nationality, their race or class? Here in China, however, we have in our literature the term “autumn scholar”. And in our school textbooks, essays like Ouyang Xiu’s “Autumn Sounds” and Su Dongpo’s “A Visit to the Red Cliff” frequently appear. This cannot but lead us to the conclusion that men of letters in China are particularly attached to autumn. But this profound taste of autumn, especially this profound taste of autumn in China, can be enjoyed fully nowhere else than in the North China.
Autumn in the South, needless to say, has charms all its own. For example, the Twenty-four Bridges with its brilliant moonlight, the Autumn Bore on the Qiantang River, the Putuo Isles enshrouded in mist, the Lichee Bay strewn with fading lotuses. Yet none of these are strong enough in colour, or remain long enough in our recollection. Compared with autumn in the North, they are but as yellow wine to white spirit, rice gruel to steamed buns, the perch to the crab, the dog to the camel.
I would that I could give up two-thirds of my life for an autumn one-third its length, should it be possible to make autumn stay—this autumn in the North of China.
二、张培基译文。
Autumn in Peiping
Autumn, wherever it is, always has something to recommend itself. In North China, however, it is particularly limpid, serene and melancholy. To enjoy its atmosphere to the full in the onetime capital, I have, therefore, made light of travelling a long distance from Hanghou to Qingdao, and thence to Peiping.
There is of course autumn in the South too, but over there plants wither slowly, the air is moist, the sky pallid, and it is more often rainy than windy. While muddling along all by myself among the urban dwellers of Suzhou, Shanghai, Xianmen, Hong Kong or Guangzhou, I feel nothing but a little chill in the air, without ever relishing to my heart’s content the flavour, colour, mood and style of the season. Unlike famous flowers which are most attractive when half opening, good wine which is most tempting when one is half drunk, autumn, however, is best appreciated in its entirety.
It is more than a decade since I last saw autumn in North. When I am in the South, the arrival of each autumn will put me in mind of Peiping’s Tao Ran Ting with its reed catkins, Diao Yu Tai with its shady willow trees, Western Hills with their chirping insects, Yu Quan Shan Mountain on a moonlight evening and Tan Zhe Si with its reverberating bell. Suppose you put up in a humble rented house inside the bustling imperial city, you can, on getting up at dawn, sit in your courtyard sipping a cup of strong tea, leisurely watch the high azure skies and listen to pigeons circling overhead. Saunter eastward under locust trees to closely observe streaks of sunlight filtering through their foliage, or quietly watch the trumpet-shaped blue flowers of morning glories climbing half way up a dilapidated wall, and an intense feeling of autumn will of itself well up inside you. As to morning glories, I like their blue or white flowers best, dark purple ones second best, and pink ones third best. It will be most desirable to have them set off by some tall thin grass planted underneath here and there. Locust trees in the North, as a decorative embellishment of nature, also associate us with autumn. On getting up early in the morning, you will find the ground strewn all over with flower-like pistils fallen from locust trees. Quiet and smellless, they feel tiny and soft underfoot. After a street cleaner has done the sweeping under the shade of the trees, you will discover countless lines left by his broom in the dust, which look so fine and quiet that somehow a feeling of forlornness will begin to creep up on you. The same depth of implication is found in the ancient saying that a single fallen leaf from the wutong tree is more than enough to inform the world of autumn’s presence.
The sporadic feeble chirping of cicadas is especially characteristic of autumn in the North. Due to the abundance of trees and the low altitude of dwellings in Peiping, cicadas are audible in every nook and cranny of the city. In the South, however, one cannot hear them unless in suburbs or hills. Because of their ubiquitous shrill noise, these insects in Peiping seem to be living off every household like crickets or mice.
As for autumn rains in the North, they also seem to differ from those in the South, being more appealing, more temperate.
A sudden gust of cool wind under the slaty sky, and raindrops will start pitter-pattering. Soon when the rain is over, the clouds begin gradually to roll towards the west and the sun comes out in the blue sky. Some idle townsfolk, wearing lined or unlined clothing made of thick cloth, will come out pipe in mouth and, loitering under a tree by the end of a bridge, exchange leisurely conversation with acquaintances with a slight touch of regret at the passing of time:
“Oh, real nice and cool—“
“Sure! Getting cooler with each autumn shower!”
Fruit trees in the North also make a wonderful sight in autumn. Take jujube tree for example. They grow everywhere—around the corner of a house, at the foot of a wall, by the side of a latrine or outside a kitchen door. It is at the height of autumn that jujubes, shaped like dates or pigeon eggs, make their appearance in a light yellowish-green amongst tiny elliptic leaves. By the time when they have turned ruddy and the leaves fallen, the north-westerly wind will begin to reign supreme and make a dusty world of the North. Only at the turn of July and August when jujubes, persimmons, grapes are 80-90 percent ripe will the North have the best of autumn—the golden days in a year.
Some literary critics say that Chinese literati, especially poets, are mostly disposed to be decadent, which accounts for predominance of Chinese works singing the praises of autumn. Well, the same is true of foreign poets, isn’t it? I haven’t read much of foreign poetry and prose, nor do I want to enumerate autumn-related poems and essays in foreign literature. But, if you browse through collected works of English, German, French or Italian poets, or various countries’ anthologies of poetry or prose, you can always comes across a great many literary pieces eulogizing or lamenting autumn. Long pastoral poems or songs about the four seasons by renowned poets are mostly distinguished by beautiful moving lines on autumn. All that goes to show that all live creatures and sensitive humans alike are prone to the feeling of depth, remoteness, severity and bleakness. Not only poets, even convicts in prison, I suppose, have deep sentiments in autumn in spite of themselves. Autumn treats all humans alike, regardless of nationality, race or class. However, judging from Chinese idiom qiushi (autumn scholar, meaning and aged scholar grieving over frustrations in his life) and frequent selection in textbooks of Ouyang Xiu’s On the Autumn Sough and Su Dongpo’s On the Red Cliff, Chinese men of letters seem to be particularly autumn-minded. But, to know the real flavour of autumn, especially China’s autumn, one has to visit the North.
Autumn in the South also has its unique features, such as the moonlit Ershisi Bridge in Yangzhou, the flowing sea tide at the Qiantangjiang River, the mist-shrouded Putuo Mountain and lotuses at the Lizhiwan Bay. But they all lack strong colour and lingering flavour. Southern autumn is to Northern autumn what yellow rice wine is to kaoliang wine, congee to steamed buns, perches to crabs, yellow dogs to camels.
Autumn, I mean Northern autumn, if only it could be made to last forever! I would be more than willing to keep but one-third of my life-span and have two-thirds of it bartered for the prolonged stay of the season!
三、张梦井译文，选自《中国名家散文精译》（青岛出版社,1999）
Autumn in the Old Capital City
Autumn is always beautiful no matter where it is. However, the autumn in northern China is exceptionally clear, calm and solitary. I made light of travelling a thousand li from Hangzhou to Qingdao and from Qingdao to Beijing for no special purpose other than to taste autumn to the fullest, the autumn in the old capital city.
There is also autumn in the south but the grass there fades rather slowly and the air is moist. The sky seems pale there and it rains quite often and the wind seldom blows. A man living listlessly among the civilians of Suzhou, Shanghai, Hangzhou, Xiamen, Hong Kong or Guangzhou can only have a simple sensation of a bit of coolness. The sights and flavour of autumn in the south can not make him taste and enjoy autumn to the fullest. Autumn is not a famous flower, nor is it a delicious wine. I can not fully appreciate a state when a flower is but half open or a wine but half intoxicating.
I have not seen autumn in the north for over ten years. In the south, the return of autumn each year often reminds me of the catkin reeds at the Fishing Platform, the insects' chirp on the West Hills, the night moon over the Jadepool Hill, and the bell ringing at the Tanzhe Temple. In Beijing, suppose you are living amongst the millions of civilians in the imperial city in a rented dilapidated house, after getting up in the morning, you can still enjoy the azure sky in the courtyard with a cup of tea in hand and listen to the domestic pigeons sweeping across the blue sky. When you carefully count, one by one, the sunbeams filtering through the foliage of the Chinese scholartrees in the east or examine the blue flowers of the Morning Glories on a broken wall, you will instantly feel the sense of perfect autumn. Talking about morning glories, I believe the red or white flowers are the best, the violet brown ones are secondary and the pink ones are the last. And it's better to have some thin autumn grass growing under the morning glories as a set off.
The Chinese scholartree is another thing that reminds us of the embellishment of autumn. In the morning you will find the ground completely covered with the flower stamens. when you step on them, you just have the slightest sense of touching something very soft with neither sound nor smell. In the shadows of the trees, the street sweepers have left traces of their big brooms on the dusty ground. They look both fine and clean but you will feel a sense of loneliness deep within. the old saying, \"The fall of a Chinese parasol leaf will make the whole world know the coming of autumn\" may lie in this deep concealed place.
The feeble chirp of cicadae in autumn is still a special product of the north. Trees are found everywhere in Beijing for the many shrubs that hug the houses are alive with the chirp of cicadae. In the south, it is only in the suburbs or in the hills that one can hear their chirp. Their chirp in Beijing is like the chirp of crickets and the squeak of rats fed nearly in every household.
There is also the autumn rain. The autumn rain in the north appears much more strange, more flavorous than in the south.
Under a grey sky, a sudden gust of cool wind will rise and the pitter-patter of rain will be heard. After a shower, the clouds gradually roll to the west, the sky becomes blue again and the sun appears. After the rain the city idlers bundle up with thick layers of warmth would go to the bridge head under the tree in the slanting bridge shadow, pipe in mouth. When meeting with acquaintances, they would sigh and exchange remarks in a slow and leisurely way.
\"Ai, it's really becoming col——d.\" (This last word lasts a very, very long time.)
\"Yes, it is! A smell of autumn rain and a change in the weather.\"
To the people in the north, \"spell\" is often pronounced as \"smell\". Talking about tonal patterns in classical Chinese poetry, this misread rhyme is quite appropriate.
The fruit trees in the north are also a strange sight in late autumn. The first is the date tree. It can grow in corners, on walls, by huts, and right by the kitchen door. they spring up one after another. When the dates, which look like Chinese olives or a pigeon eggs, show a light green and soft yellow colour amongst the oval leaves, it is the heyday period in autumn. After the date trees have shed their leaves and the dates have become red, the northwest wind starts blowing. The north will soon become a sandy and dusty world. It is only between the seventh and eighth month of the lunar year when the dates, persimmons and grapes are nearly ripe that is the clear autumn in the north, the Golden Day of the year.
Some critics say that Chinese men of letters, especially poets, display a thick decadent colour in their writings. Therefore, there are many poems and articles dedicated to the praise of the autumn season. But isn't it also so among foreign poets? I haven't read many poems or literary compositions. Nor do I want to list these writings to compose a collection of poems and prose about autumn. However, should you thumb through the poem collections of Britain, Germany, France, Italy, or the Anthology of all the countries, you will surely find an abundance of songs and grievances about the autumn season. Among the long pastoral poetry or the four season poetry written by every famous poet, the best and the most flavorous parts are about autumn. The just proves that sensible animals including man, with their varied temperaments and interests can possess a sensation about autumn which can bring about a very deep, secluded and intense desolate sense. When autumn comes, not just poets even prisoners in jail feel an uncontrollable deep emotion. To man, how can it be enclosed within a boundary and still less of the difference between the human race and its classes? In Chinese characters there is a phrase, \"Autumn Scholars\". In Quyang Zi's textbooks \"Autumn Tune: and Su Dongpo's \"Ode to Chibi\", we can find that Chinese scholars have a special and deep relationship with autumn. The deep flavour of autumn in China can be especially felt in no other area than in the north.
Autumn in north, of course, has its special highlights, such as the bright moon above the Twenty-four Bridge, the autumn tide in the Qiantang River, the cool mist on the Putuo Mountain, the residue lotus by the Lizhi Bend, etc. Mind you, the colours are not deep enough and the aftertaste is not so long. Compared with autumn in the north, it is just like millet wine to white spirit, porridge to steamed bread, perch to crab, and a yellow dog to a camel.
Autumn in the north, if I could ask it to stay, I would be only too willing to deduct two-thirds of my life for that change. |
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发表于 2009-11-12 16:01:04
谢谢，对翻译研究有用！