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SUNDAY BEFORE THE WAR （斋主译文）
(2006-10-29 14:41:10)| 分类： 译作 |
Sunday Before The War
By A. Clutton-Brock (1868-1924)
On Sunday, in a remote valley in
the West of England, where the people are few and scattered and
placid, there was no more sign among them than among the quiet
hills of the anxiety that holds the world. They had no news and
seemed to want none. The postmaster had been ordered to stay all
day in his little post-office, and that was something unusual that
interested them, but only because it affected the
postmaster.
It rained in the morning, but
the afternoon was clear and glorious and shining, with all the
distances revealed far into the heart of Wales and to the high
ridges of the Welsh mountains. The cottages of that valley are not
gathered into villages, but two or three together or lonely among
their fruit-trees on the hillside; and the cottagers who are always
courteous and friendly, said a word or two as one went by, but just
what they would have said on any other day and without any question
about the war. Indeed, they seemed to know, or to wish to know, as
little about that as the earth itself, which, beautiful there at
any time, seemed that afternoon to wear an extreme and pathetic
beauty. The country, more than any other in England, has the secret
of peace. It is not wild, though it looks into the wildness of
Wales; but all its cultivation, its orchards and hopyards and
fields of golden wheat, seem to have the beauty of time upon them,
as if men there had long lived happily upon the earth with no
desire for change nor fear of decay. It is not the sad beauty of a
past cut off from the present, but a mellowness that the present
inherits from the past; and in the mellowness all the hillside
seems a garden to the spacious farmhouses and little cottages; each
led up to by its own narrow, flowery lane. There the meadows are
all lawns with the lustrous green of spring even in August, and
often over-shadowed by old, fruit-trees - cherry, or apple, or
pear; and on Sunday after the rain there was an April glory and
freshness added to the quiet of the later summer.
Nowhere and never in the world
can there have been a deeper peace; and the bells from the little
red church down by the river seemed to be the music of it, as the
song of birds is the music of spring. There one saw how beautiful
the life of man can be, and how men by the innocent labours of many
generations can give to the earth a beauty it has never known in
its wildness. And all this peace, one knew, was threatened; and the
threat came into one's mind as if it were a soundless message from
over the great eastward plain; and with it the beauty seemed
unsubstantial and strange, as if it were sinking away into the
past, as if it were only a memory of childhood.
So it is always when the mind is
troubled among happy things, and then one almost wishes they could
share one's troubles and become more real with it. It seemed on
that Sunday that a golden age had lasted till yesterday, and that
the earth had still to learn the news of its ending. And this
change had come, not by the will of God, not even by the will of
man, but because some few men far away were afraid to be open and
generous with each other. There was a power in their hands so great
that it frightened them. There was a spring that they knew they
must not touch, and, like mischievous and nervous children, they
had touched it at last, and now all the world was to suffer for
their mischief.
So the next morning one saw a
reservist in his uniform saying goodbye to his wife and children at
his cottage-gate and then walking up the hill that leads out of the
valley with a cheerful smile still on his face. There was the first
open sign of trouble, a very little one, and he made the least of
it; and, after all, this valley is very far from any possible war,
and its harvest and its vintage of perry and cider will surely be
gathered in peace.
But what happiness can there be
in that peace, or what security in the mind of man, when the
madness of war is let loose in so many other valleys? Here there is
a beauty inherited from the past, and added to the earth by man's
will; but the men here are of the same nature and subject to the
same madness as those who are gathering to fight on the frontiers.
We are all men with the same power of making and destroying, with
the same divine foresight mocked by the same animal blindness. We
ourselves may not be in fault to-day, but it is human beings in no
way different from us who are doing what we abhor and they abhor
even while they do it. There is a fate, coming from the beast in
our own past, that the present man in us has not yet mastered, and
for the moment that fate seems a malignity in the nature of the
universe that mocks us even in the beauty of these lonely hills.
But it is not so, for we are not separate and indifferent like the
beasts; and if one nation for the moment forgets our common
humanity and its future, then another must take over that sacred
charge and guard it without hatred or fear until the madness is
passed. May that be our task now, so that we may wage war only for
the future peace of the world and with the lasting courage that
needs no stimulant of hate.
战前星期天
星期天，忧虑笼罩着世界，而英格兰西部一个人烟稀少、宁静偏僻的山谷却一如静静的群山，毫无不安之兆。山民不闻时事，似乎也不问时事。邮政局长接到命令，要他一整天呆在小小的办公室里，这倒使山民觉得新鲜，却只因事关邮政局长而已。
早上有雨，午后放晴，景色灿烂辉煌。极目远眺，直可望见威尔士腹地，还有威尔士山脉那高高的山脊。山谷里的农舍没有聚成村落，而是三三两两或孤零零地座落在山坡上的果树丛中。农舍主人向来谦和友好，有人经过时便搭讪两句，却只是些平日里的家常话，决不问及打仗的事。对于打仗，他们一无所知，或者干脆不闻不问，就像脚下的大地。这片大地美丽常驻，而那天下午却蒙上了一层哀伤，仿佛美到了极致。英格兰不少地方都深得安详平和其中三昧，而此地尤甚。尽管可以望见威尔士的荒凉之地，这里却不显得蛮荒，其土地的耕作、果园、啤酒花园、金灿灿的麦田，都似乎带有历时久远之美，仿佛此地的居民已经在大地上幸福生活了很久，既不愿意改变，也不畏惧凋敝。这种美，不是昨日之日不可留的忧伤之美，而是今日从昨日继承而来的醇厚韵味。这韵味把整个山坡变成了农家大屋和小小农舍的花园，每幢房屋门前，都有条山花烂漫的小径。片片草地都像是修整过的草坪，直到八月，春天的浓绿依旧，不少地方还掩映在桃树、苹果树、梨树等苍老果树的浓荫下。星期天一场雨后，季夏的静谧中，又多了四月的绚烂与清新。
如此深沉的宁静，唯独属于此时此地。如果说鸟儿的歌声是春天的音乐，那么河边红色小教堂里传来的钟声便仿佛是这宁静的旋律。到了这里，你就会明白，人的生活原来可以有多美，经过世世代代淳朴的劳作，人可以使大地焕发出蛮荒时代不曾有过的美。然而你也知道，这宁静受到了威胁，这威胁如同向东延伸的大平原上传来的无声讯息，深入你的脑海，让这片土地的美显得飘渺而陌生，仿佛正退回往昔，仿佛只是儿时的回忆。
每当人身在乐土而心怀忧虑时，总会顿生此感。这时，人简直希望周围的快乐能将这忧思分担一二，也好由此而变得真实一些。那个星期天让人觉得黄金时代已于昨日终结，而大地还不知道好日子已经到头。剧变降临了，不是出自神的意旨，甚至也并非人之所愿，只是因为遥远地方的少数人不敢开诚布公，而偏要锱铢必较。他们手握权柄，其沉重却让他们战栗，明知有个弹簧机关无论如何不能触碰，却像顽劣而又胆怯的孩童一样，最终还是碰了，他们这一胡闹，全世界都要遭罪了。
于是，次日早晨，你会看到一名身着戎装的预备役士兵，在家门口辞别妻儿，踏上山岗，向山谷外走去，脸上依然挂着快乐的微笑。灾祸初现端倪，不过还很微弱，士兵也不事声张。况且不论打什么仗，这山谷毕竟僻远的很，一定能平静地收割庄稼，采收梨子、苹果酿酒。
然而，别处那么多山谷里，战争的疯狂已然肆虐，此处的平静中又能有几分欢愉，人心中又能有几多安稳呢？不错，此地富有自往昔承继而来的美，人的意志赋予大地这种美，可是，这里的人同奔赴前线准备开战的人相比，人性并无不同，又受到同样的疯狂本能支配。我们都是人，都同样能创造也能破坏，同样时而料事如神，时而蒙昧如兽。今天，我们自己或许是无辜的，但做坏事的人也是人，跟我们毫无二致，他们做的事不仅我们憎恶，他们也同样憎恶。人类曾经是野兽，至今人性也未能驯服兽性，人的宿命即根源于此。此时此刻，这宿命仿佛宇宙本性中的恶，即使在这美丽而孤独的群山中，也露出它嘲弄的狞笑。但其实不然，因为我们不像野兽那样彼此隔绝，相互冷漠。如果一个民族暂时忘却了我们共同的人性，忘却了人性的未来，那么另一个民族就必须接过这神圣的使命，不怀仇恨、无所畏惧地保卫着它，直到疯狂平息。但愿我们现在就肩负起这一职责，这样我们就将仅仅为世界和平而战，怀着无尽的勇气而战，这勇气是不需要仇恨来激励的。
星期天，忧虑笼罩着世界，而英格兰西部一个人烟稀少、宁静偏僻的山谷却一如静静的群山，毫无不安之兆。山民不闻时事，似乎也不问时事。邮政局长接到命令，要他一整天呆在小小的办公室里，这倒使山民觉得新鲜，却只因事关邮政局长而已。
早上有雨，午后放晴，景色灿烂辉煌。极目远眺，直可望见威尔士腹地，还有威尔士山脉那高高的山脊。山谷里的农舍没有聚成村落，而是三三两两或孤零零地座落在山坡上的果树丛中。农舍主人向来谦和友好，有人经过时便搭讪两句，却只是些平日里的家常话，决不问及打仗的事。对于打仗，他们一无所知，或者干脆不闻不问，就像脚下的大地。这片大地美丽常驻，而那天下午却蒙上了一层哀伤，仿佛美到了极致。英格兰不少地方都深得安详平和其中三昧，而此地尤甚。尽管可以望见威尔士的荒凉之地，这里却不显得蛮荒，其土地的耕作、果园、啤酒花园、金灿灿的麦田，都似乎带有历时久远之美，仿佛此地的居民已经在大地上幸福生活了很久，既不愿意改变，也不畏惧凋敝。这种美，不是昨日之日不可留的忧伤之美，而是今日从昨日继承而来的醇厚韵味。这韵味把整个山坡变成了农家大屋和小小农舍的花园，每幢房屋门前，都有条山花烂漫的小径。片片草地都像是修整过的草坪，直到八月，春天的浓绿依旧，不少地方还掩映在桃树、苹果树、梨树等苍老果树的浓荫下。星期天一场雨后，季夏的静谧中，又多了四月的绚烂与清新。
如此深沉的宁静，唯独属于此时此地。如果说鸟儿的歌声是春天的音乐，那么河边红色小教堂里传来的钟声便仿佛是这宁静的旋律。到了这里，你就会明白，人的生活原来可以有多美，经过世世代代淳朴的劳作，人可以使大地焕发出蛮荒时代不曾有过的美。然而你也知道，这宁静受到了威胁，这威胁如同向东延伸的大平原上传来的无声讯息，深入你的脑海，让这片土地的美显得飘渺而陌生，仿佛正退回往昔，仿佛只是儿时的回忆。
每当人身在乐土而心怀忧虑时，总会顿生此感。这时，人简直希望周围的快乐能将这忧思分担一二，也好由此而变得真实一些。那个星期天让人觉得黄金时代已于昨日终结，而大地还不知道好日子已经到头。剧变降临了，不是出自神的意旨，甚至也并非人之所愿，只是因为遥远地方的少数人不敢开诚布公，而偏要锱铢必较。他们手握权柄，其沉重却让他们战栗，明知有个弹簧机关无论如何不能触碰，却像顽劣而又胆怯的孩童一样，最终还是碰了，他们这一胡闹，全世界都要遭罪了。
于是，次日早晨，你会看到一名身着戎装的预备役士兵，在家门口辞别妻儿，踏上山岗，向山谷外走去，脸上依然挂着快乐的微笑。灾祸初现端倪，不过还很微弱，士兵也不事声张。况且不论打什么仗，这山谷毕竟僻远的很，一定能平静地收割庄稼，采收梨子、苹果酿酒。
然而，别处那么多山谷里，战争的疯狂已然肆虐，此处的平静中又能有几分欢愉，人心中又能有几多安稳呢？不错，此地富有自往昔承继而来的美，人的意志赋予大地这种美，可是，这里的人同奔赴前线准备开战的人相比，人性并无不同，又受到同样的疯狂本能支配。我们都是人，都同样能创造也能破坏，同样时而料事如神，时而蒙昧如兽。今天，我们自己或许是无辜的，但做坏事的人也是人，跟我们毫无二致，他们做的事不仅我们憎恶，他们也同样憎恶。人类曾经是野兽，至今人性也未能驯服兽性，人的宿命即根源于此。此时此刻，这宿命仿佛宇宙本性中的恶，即使在这美丽而孤独的群山中，也露出它嘲弄的狞笑。但其实不然，因为我们不像野兽那样彼此隔绝，相互冷漠。如果一个民族暂时忘却了我们共同的人性，忘却了人性的未来，那么另一个民族就必须接过这神圣的使命，不怀仇恨、无所畏惧地保卫着它，直到疯狂平息。但愿我们现在就肩负起这一职责，这样我们就将仅仅为世界和平而战，怀着无尽的勇气而战，这勇气是不需要仇恨来激励的。
原文是英国散文名篇。杨自伍编的《英国散文名篇欣赏》里有陆谷孙先生的译文。
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