翻译天堂  2016-09-12

陆地尽头的旅行者

W. H. 哈德逊

There were days at the headland when I observed a goodish number of elderly men among the pilgrims, some very old, and this at first surprised me, but by-and-by it began to seem only natural. I was particularly impressed one day at noon in early spring in clear but cold weather with a biting north-east wind, when I found six or seven aged men sitting about on the rocks that lie scattered over the green slope behind the famous promontory. They were too old or feeble to venture down on the rough headland: their companions had strayed away, some to the fishing cove, others along the higher cliffs, and left them there to rest. 有几天，我在海岬上注意到旅游者当中有相当多的老年人，有的已经很老了，起初，我很惊讶，但渐渐觉得这不过是很自然的事情。早春的一天中午，天气晴朗，但是很冷，刮着刺骨的东北风，在那个著名的海岬后面一块绿草茵茵的斜坡上，我看见六、七个上年纪的人坐在散落的岩石上，这情景给我留下特别深的印象。他们因为年纪太大或身体太弱，不敢下到那个高低不平的海岬上去：同伴们都走了，有的去小湾钓鱼，还有的上了更高的悬崖上，剩下他们在那里休息。

They were in great-coats with scarves and comforters round their necks, and hats or caps drawn well down; and they sat mostly in dejected attitudes, bending forward, their hands resting on the handles of their sticks, some with their chins on their hands, but all gazed in one direction over the cold grey sea. Strangers to each other, unlike in life and character, coming from widely separated places, some probably from countries beyond the ocean, yet all here, silently gazing in one direction beyond that rocky foreland, with the same look of infinite weariness on their grey faces and in their dim sad eyes, as if one thought and feeling and motive had drawn them to this spot. Can it be that the sentiment or fancy which is sown in our minds in childhood and lies asleep and forgotten in us through most of our years, revives and acquires towards the end a new and strange significance when we have entered upon our second childhood? The period, I mean, when we recover our ancient mental possessions ─ the heirlooms which cannot be alienated or lost, which have descended to us from our remotest progenitors through centuries and thousands of years. 他们穿着大衣，脖子上围着围巾，帽檐拉得很低；坐在那里，神情忧郁，弓着腰，手搭在拐杖上，有的双手托着下巴，但全都把目光投向寒冷的灰蒙蒙的大海，凝视着同一个方向。他们素不相识，身世和性格各不相同，又来自天南海北，有的也许来自大洋彼岸的国度，然而，都来到这里，默默凝视着遍布岩石的海岬外面的同一个方向，苍白的脸上和黯然忧郁的眼睛里透露着极度疲惫的神情，似乎同样的想法、同样的情感和目的把他们带到这个地方。会不会是幼时播种于我们心中的情感或幻想，在后来多数年月里陷入沉睡并被忘记，当我们进入“第二个孩童时期”又苏醒过来，在晚年获得了某种新奇的意义呢？这一时期，我是说，我们重新获得了远古的精神财富——那是不能疏远或失去的传家宝，那是千百年来我们的远祖留传给我们的。

These old men cannot see the objects which appear to younger eyes ─ the distant passing ships, and the land ─ that dim, broken line, as of a low cloud on the horizon, of the islands: their sight is altered from what it was, yet is, perhaps, now able to discern things invisible to us ─ other islands, uncharted, not the Cassiterides. What are they, these other islands, and what do we know of them? Nothing at all; indeed, nothing can be known to the generality; only these life ─ weary ancients, sitting on rocks and gazing at vacancy, might enlighten us if they would. Undoubtedly there are differences of sight among them which would make their descriptions vary, but they would probably all agree in affirming that the scene before them has no resemblance to the earlier vision. This grey-faced very old man with his chin on his hands, who looks as if he had not smiled these many years, would perhaps smile now if he were to recall that former vision, which came by teaching and served well enough during his hot youth and strenuous middle age. 这些老人看不见年轻人能看见的东西——远方经过的船只，还有陆地——那模糊的断断续续的轮廓，有如低垂于地平线上的云，又仿佛是座座岛屿：他们的视力已经变了，然而，现在，他们也许能够看清我们看不见的东西——海图上未标明的别的岛屿，并非锡岛。这些别的岛屿是什么呢，我们对它们了解多少呢？一点也不了解；的确，一般人是无法了解的；只有这些坐在岩石上茫然远望、对生活感到疲倦的老人，假如他们愿意的话，也许能告诉我们。毋庸置疑，他们看到的景象不同，而他们的描述也各异，但他们也许会一致肯定，眼前看见的一切与他们早先所看见的景象已是不可同日而语。这个双手托着下巴神情忧郁的老者，看上去似乎多年不曾露过一丝笑容，假如他回想起往日的憧憬——通过学习而产生的并帮助他度过激荡的青春时代和艰辛的中年岁月的憧憬——他也许就会微笑了。

He does not see before him a beautiful blessed land bright with fadeless flowers, nor a great multitude of people in shining garments and garlands who will come down to the shore to welcome him with sounds of shouting and singing and playing on instruments of divers forms, and who will lead him in triumph to the gardens of everlasting delight and to mansions of crystal with emerald and amethyst colonnades and opal domes and turrets and pinnacles. Those glories and populous realms of joy have quite vanished: he sees now only what his heart desires ─ a silent land of rest. No person will greet him there; he will land and go up alone into that empty and solitary place, a still grey wilderness extending inland and upward hundreds of leagues, and immeasurable distance, into infinity, and rising to mountain ridges compared with which the Himalayas are but molehills. The sky in that still land is always pale grey-blue in color, and the earth, too, is grey like the rocks, and the trees have a grey ─ green foliage ─ trees more ancient in appearance than the worn granite hills, with gnarled and buttressed trunks like vast towers and immense horizontal branches, casting a slight shade over many acres of ground. 他再看不见眼前被永不凋谢的鲜花映得分外明媚的美丽的福地，也再看不见穿着华丽服饰戴着美丽花环的人群来到海滨欢迎他，他们欢呼、唱歌、演奏各种乐器，领他风风光光来到永乐花园和水晶宫，水晶宫周围有镶有翡翠和紫色水晶的柱廊环绕着，上面矗立着镶有猫眼石的圆顶，塔楼和尖顶。那些荣光和纷至沓来的喜悦已经烟消云散：他现在看见的只是心之所盼——一块宁静的安息之地。在那里，不会有人欢迎他，他将独自走进那空旷孤寂的地方——一块静静的灰暗的荒野，向内陆绵延而上，至千里之高，达无限之遥，然后高高耸起，直逼群山，与之相比，连喜马拉雅山脉也变得只有小丘一般。那块静寂陆地的上天空总是淡淡的灰蓝色，土地也是岩石般的灰色，树木长着灰绿色的枝叶，看上去比风化的花岗岩小丘还要古老，长满节瘤的加固的树干有如硕大的塔，向外水平伸展的巨大树枝，将斑驳的荫影撒向数英亩的地上。

Onwards and upwards, with eyes downcast, he will slowly take his devious way to the interior, feeling the earth with his staff, in search of a suitable last resting-place. And when he has travelled many, many leagues and has found it ─ a spot not too sunny nor too deeply shaded, where the old fallen dead leaves and dry moss have formed a thick soft couch to recline on and a grey exposed root winding over the earth offers a rest to his back-there at length he will settle himself. There he will remain motionless and contented forever in that remote desert land where there is no sound of singing bird nor of running water nor of rain or wind in the grey ancient trees: waking and sleeping he will rest there, dreaming little and thinking less, while year by year and age by age the memory of the world of passion and striving of which he was so unutterably tired grows fainter and fainter in his mind. 那老人眼睛看着地面，继续向前走，向上爬，沿着曲折的小路向内陆慢慢走着，用手杖探路，寻找着一块合适的最后安息之地。当他经过长途跋涉找到那块地方——一个阳光柔和、树荫轻疏的地方，陈年的落叶和干燥的苔藓铺成厚厚的一片，像柔软的床，可以躺在上面安歇，裸露的灰色树根在地面上迂回蜿蜒，可以倚着休息——他终于要在那里落脚了。他将静静地、心满意足地永远留在那块遥远的荒芜土地上；在那片古老的树林里，没有鸟儿啼鸣，没有流水潺潺，没有雨声，没有风声：不管是睡着还是醒着，他都将在那里休息，很少做梦，想的更少，同时，一年年，一岁岁，对于激情世界的记忆，以及他为之而进行的奋斗（对此他已完全厌倦），在他心中已经越来越模糊。

And he will have neither joy nor sorrow, nor love nor hate, nor wish to know them anymore; and when he remembers his fellow-men it will comfort him to think that his peace will never be broken by the sight of human face or the sound of human speech, since never by any chance will any wanderer from the world discover him in that illimitable wilderness.   他将不再有快乐，不再有悲伤，不再有爱，不再有恨，也不再想过问这些；当他记起同胞时，想到他的宁静再也不会被别人的面孔或声音打扰，他便感到慰藉，因为外面世界的人不会在那个无边无际的荒野上发现他。

刘世聪、卞建华 译