雪

Snow

 

鲁迅

Lu Xun

（杨宪益、戴乃迭译）

 

暖国的雨，向来没有变过冰冷的坚硬的灿烂的雪花。

The rain of the south has never congealed into icy, glittering snowflakes.

博识的人们觉得他单调，他自己也以为不幸否耶？

Men who have seen the world consider this humdrum; does the rain, too, think it unfortunate?

江南的雪，可是滋润美艳之至了；那是还在隐约着的青春的消息，是极壮健的处子的皮肤。

The snow south of the Yangtze is extremely moist and pretty, like the first indefinable intimation of spring, or the bloom of a young girl radiant with health.

雪野中有血红的宝珠山茶，白中隐青的单瓣梅花，深黄的磬口的蜡梅花；雪下面还有冷绿的杂草。

In the snowy wilderness are blood-red camellias, pale, white plum blossom tinged with green, and the golden, bell-shaped flowers of the winter plum; while beneath the snow lurk cold green weeds.

胡蝶确乎没有；蜜蜂是否来采山茶花和梅花的蜜，我可记不真切了。

Butterflies there are certainly none, and whether or no bees come to gather honey from the camellias and plum blossom I cannot clearly remember.

但我的眼前仿佛看见冬花开在雪野中，有许多蜜蜂们忙碌地飞着，也听得他们嗡嗡地闹着。

But before my eyes I can see the wintry flowers in the snowy wilderness, with bees flying busily to and fro—I can hear their humming and droning.

孩子们呵着冻得通红，像紫芽姜一般的小手，七八个一齐来塑雪罗汉。

Seven or eight children, who have gathered to build a snow Buddha, are breathing on their little red fingers, frozen like crimson shoots of ginger.

因为不成功，谁的父亲也来帮忙了。

When they are not successful, somebody’s father comes to help.

罗汉就塑得比孩子们高得多，虽然不过是上小下大的一堆，终于分不清是壶卢还是罗汉；然而很洁白，很明艳，

The Buddha is higher than the children; and though it is only a pear-shaped mass which might be a gourd or might be a Buddha, it is beautifully white and dazzling.

以自身的滋润相粘结，整个地闪闪地生光。

Held together by its own moisture, the whole figure glitters and sparkles.

孩子们用龙眼核给他做眼珠，又从谁的母亲的脂粉奁中偷得胭脂来涂在嘴唇上。

The children use fruit stones for its eyes, and steal rouge from some mother’s vanity-case for its lips.

这回确是一个大阿罗汉了。

So now it is really a respectable Buddha.

他也就目光灼灼地嘴唇通红地坐在雪地里。

With gleaming eyes and scarlet lips, it sits on the snowy ground.

第二天还有几个孩子来访问他；

Some children come to visit it the next day.

对了他拍手，点头，嘻笑。

Clapping their hands before it, they nod their heads and laugh.

但他终于独自坐着了。

The Buddha just sits there alone.

晴天又来消释他的皮肤，寒夜又使他结一层冰，化作不透明的水晶模样；

A fine day melts its skin, but a cold night gives it another coat of ice, till it looks like opaque crystal.

连续的晴天又使他成为不知道算什么，而嘴上的胭脂也褪尽了。

Then a series of fine days makes it unrecognizable, and the rouge on its lips disappears.

但是，朔方的雪花在纷飞之后，却永远如粉，如沙，他们决不粘连，撒在屋上，地上，枯草上，就是这样。

But the snowflakes that fall in the north remain to the last like powder or sand never hold together, whether scattered on roofs, the ground or the withered grass.

屋上的雪是早已就有消化了的，因为屋里居人的火的温热。

The warmth from the stoves inside has melted some of the snow on the roofs.

别的，在晴天之下，旋风忽来，便蓬勃地奋飞，在日光中灿灿地生光，如包藏火焰的大雾，旋转而且升腾，弥漫太空；使太空旋转而且升腾地闪烁。

As for the rest, when a whirlwind springs up under a clear sky, it flies up wildly, glittering in the sunlight like thick mist around a flame, revolving and rising till it fills the sky, and the whole sky glitters as it whirls and rises.

在无边的旷野上，在凛冽的天宇下，闪闪地旋转升腾着的是雨的精魂……

On the boundless, under heaven’s chilly vault, this glittering, spiraling wraith is the ghost of rain.

是的，那是孤独的雪，是死掉的雨，是雨的精魂。

Yes, it is lonely snow, dead rain, the ghost of rain.

一九二五年一月十八日。

January 18, 1925

下雪的季节

The Season of Snow

 

周领顺

Zhou Lingshun

 

下雪的季节，稀罕的，也就是那个雪哟！

 

For the season of snow, a most welcome sight for the eyes is the snow itself.

 

“千里冰封，万里雪飘”的世界晶莹剔透，银装素裹；“山舞银蛇，原驰蜡象”的大地玉洁冰清，清爽而浪漫。

 

Ice-bound and snow-covered, the vast landscape is a crystal white with all colors drained away from it, and the undulating plain a romantic purity of icy powder with white mountains meandering their way across it.

 

我喜欢下雪，喜欢看那悄无声息、飘然而至的漫天飞舞的大雪；喜欢在飞雪中傻站着，看自己转眼间变成须发皆白的耄耋老翁；喜欢看棱角分明的雪花飘落于掌心又转瞬消融的踪影；喜欢看雪天在白皑皑一望无垠的原野上村庄房屋被大雪“淹没”而露出的只是冒烟的烟囱。大雪纷飞里，总能瞥见人们堆雪人找鼻子、装眼睛忙碌的身影，老远就能听到大人小孩借东讨西的那份激情。春节了，还能看到雪帘中通红的春联透出的那份喜庆，正月里最好看的，是远处雪地里走亲串友在雪白的背景上游动的点点绿红。我喜欢走在雪地里，感受那咯吱咯吱的响声；喜欢看小鸟成群结队飘落而至匆忙觅食转眼间又扑棱棱飞走的身形……。抓一把雪，揉成蛋儿，塞入同伴的衣领；邀同学于树下，朝树身上跺一脚，看雪面儿抖落的壮观，听人家数落还要提防对方的“报复”行动。农民盼下雪呀，盼它个“正月十五雪打灯”、“瑞雪兆丰年”；城里人盼下雪呀，盼它增加湿润、减少疾病。孩子们盼下雪，盼的可能是雪地里的嬉戏；青年人盼下雪，玉树下相机里留下的是芳姿倩影。

 

I love snow. I love to watch fluffy snowflakes swirling and twirling down gently and silently from the heavens. I love to stand in the fluttering snow and to be dusted white shortly over the hair and beard like an old man. I love to catch pointed snowflakes on the palm and see them melt instantly. I love to gaze upon the village houses that are submerged in a white mantle of snow, with only their smoking chimneys being distinctly visible. Amid snow flurries there are always people who are busily immersed in building a snowman, adding a nose here, putting eyes there, or are loudly enthusiastic in borrowing items from one household to another. Shining through the fringes of snowy icicles hanging off the cave is the festivity of the red couplets pasted on the front door for celebrating the Chinese Spring Festival. The most pleasing sight for the Chinese lunar January is the tiny human figures of different colors moving about in the distant snow. I also appreciate the crunchy protest of the snow beneath the boots, or the sight of little birds that land on the ground in flocks in a hurried forage for food and then flap away in a rush of wings. And the snow tricks, too. One scoops up some snow, shapes it into a ball and slips it into the collar of a playmate. Or one induces a pal to go under a snow-covered tree, and stomps at its trunk, sending snow cascading down onto the victim; while he is enjoying the spectacular scene, he is bombarded with complaints from his adversary and at the same time has to watch out for a counterstroke. Snow is a blessing, expected by farmers for the bountiful harvest it can herald for the coming autumn, by urban people for a moistened air and a reduced spread of diseases, by children for play and games in the snow, and by young people for the pictures they can take of themselves against snow-laden trees.

 

（周领顺、Lus Shih 译）

 

The First Snowflakes

Gilean Douglas吉琳·道格拉斯

One evening I look out the window of my secluded cabin, and there are soft languid flakes falling in the golden lamplight. They fall all night, while the voice of the Teal River becomes more and more hushed and the noises of the forest die away. By dawn, the whole world of stream and wood and mountain has been kindled to a white flame of beauty.

一天晚上，我从隐居的小屋窗户向外望去，只见轻柔的雪花飘落在昏黄的灯光下。雪下了一整夜，梯尔河沉寂了下来，森林的喧嚣也褪去了。破晓时分，这个由小溪、树林和大山构成的世界已经被白雪覆盖，散发出美丽的白色光芒。

I go out in the early morning and there is such silence that even breath is a profanation. The mountain to the north has a steel-blue light on it, and to the west the sky still holds something of the darkness of the night. To the east and the south a faint pink is spreading. I look up and see the morning star keeping white watch over a white world.

我早早地起了床，发现周围是如此安静，以至于连呼吸都会破坏这份静谧。北边的大山披着一层蓝色的光，西边的天空还是黑乎乎的一片，东边和南边呈现出淡淡的粉红色，而且还在继续蔓延。我抬头望向天空，发现闪亮的晨星散发着白色的光，俯瞰着这个银装素裹的世界。

After heavy snowfalls, it is the evergreens that are the loveliest, with their great white branches weighted down until they are almost parallel with the trunks. They seem like giant birds with their wings folded against the cold.

大雪过后，最美的就是常青树了，它们的树枝上覆盖上了厚厚的一层白雪，树枝被压弯了，差不多和树干平行了。它们看上去就像巨大的鸟，为了抵御严寒而合拢了翅膀。

The sky is clear blue now and the sun has flung diamonds down on meadow and bank and wood. The silence is dense and deep. Even the squirrels have stopped their chattering. And faint snowbird whisperings seems to emphasize the stillness.

这时天空已经一片蔚蓝。草地上，河岸边和树林里，到处洒满了阳光，如钻石一般闪闪发亮。这静谧是如此地浓厚深沉，就连松鼠也不再发出吱吱的叫声，而雪鸟微弱的啼鸣似乎更是凸显了这份宁静。

Night comes, and the silence holds. There is a feeling about this season that is in no other—a sense of snugness, security and solitude. It is good to be out in the bracing cold, which clears the mind and invigorate the heart. Blanket, fire is a first-rate companion. The coffee is full-bodied and fragrant; shadows dance on the walls and the world outside my windows is very still. I am more than content to begin and end a day like this amid all the calm clarity of wintered earth.

夜幕降临，静谧依然。在这个季节里，我感受到了一种在其他任何季节都不曾感受到的舒适、安全和清静。走出房门，欣然沉浸在这严寒之中，让头脑变得清醒，让心灵为之振奋，这实在是美事一桩。待回到屋里，有毯子和炉火相伴，感觉亦是十分舒服。咖啡浓香四溢，光影在墙上翩翩起舞，窗外的世界依然宁静。能在这种清静的冬日中开始和结束一天，我感觉再满足不过了。

The first snow

初雪

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

享利•沃兹沃思•朗费罗

张白桦译

 

The first snow came. How beautiful it was, falling so silently all day long, all night long, on the mountains, on the meadows, on the roofs of the living, on the graves of the dead!

初雪翩然而至，美轮美奂。夜以继日，无声无息，落在高山之巅，落在低洼草原，落在生者的屋顶，落在逝者的坟茔！

 

All white save the river, that marked its course by a winding black line across the landscape; and the leafless trees, that against the leaden sky now revealed more fully the wonderful beauty and intricacies of their branches. What silence, too, came with the snow, and what seclusion!

天地皆白，惟有河流曲折蜿蜒，为雪景增墨线；枯藤老树，枝丫盘错，为灰色天际添美颜！雪静安，万籁俱寂，若绝世出尘！

 

Every sound was muffled, every noise changed to something soft and musical. No more tramping hoofs, no more rattling wheels! Only the chiming of sleigh-bells, beating as swift and merrily as the hearts of children.

万籁声咽，尘嚣化天籁，声声软。不闻马蹄得得，不闻车轮辚辚，惟闻雪橇铃儿响叮当，宛若童心搏动疾且欢。

 

First Snow

初雪

 

John Boynton Priestley

约翰·波以顿·普里斯特莱

When I got up this morning, the world was a chilled hollow of dead white and faint blues. The light that came through the windows was very queer, and it contrived to make the familiar business of splashing and shaving and brushing and dressing very queer too. Then the sun came out, and by the time I had sat down to breakfast, it was shining bravely and flushing the snow with delicate pinks. The dining-room window had been transformed into a lovely Japanese print. The little plum-tree outside, with the faintly flushed snow lining its boughs and artfully disposed along its trunk, stood in full sunlight. An hour or two later, everything was a cold glitter of white and blue. The world had completely changed again. The little Japanese prints had all vanished. I looked out of my study window, over the garden, the meadow, to the low hills beyond, and the ground was one long glare, the sky was steely, and all the trees so many black and sinister shapes. There was indeed something curiously sinister about the whole prospect. It was as if our kindly countryside, closed to the very heart of England, had been turned into a cruel steppe. At any moment, it seemed, a body of horsemen might be seen breaking out from the black copse, so many instruments of tyranny, and shots might be heard and some distant patch of snow be reddened. It was that kind of landscape.

 

今早我起来时,整个世界简直成了一座冰窟，颜色死白缥青。透入窗内的光线颇呈异状，于是连泼水、洗漱、刷牙、穿衣等这些日常举动也都一概带上异状。继而日出，待我用早膳时，艳美的阳光把雪映得绯红。餐室的窗户已被幻变为一幅迷人的日本花布。窗外幼小的梅树一株，正粲粲于满眼晴光之下，枝柯覆雪，风致绝佳。一二小时之后，一切已化作寒光一片，白里透青。周围世界景物顿殊。适才的日本印花布等已不复可见。我探头窗外，向书斋前面的花园、草地以及更远的低丘眺望，但觉大地光晶耀目，不可逼视，高天寒气凛冽，色作铁青，周围的一切树木也都呈现阴森可怖之状。真的，周围的整个景象的确有一种难以名状的可怖气氛。仿佛我们这块近在京畿的可爱郊原竟霎时变成一片严酷的旷野。仿佛随时随刻都能瞥见一批批武夫作为暴政的工具从那黑魆的丛林背后跃马杀出，都能听到枪杀之声，而远处一片土地上白雪遂被染作殷红。此时周围正是这种景象。

Now it has changed again. The glare has gone and no touch of the sinister remains. But the snow is falling heavily, in great soft flakes, so that you can hardly see across the shallow valley, and the roofs are thick and the trees all bending, and the weathercock of the village church, still to be seen through the grey loaded air, has become some creature out of Hans Andersen. From my study, which is apart from the house and faces it, I can see the children flattening their noses against the nursery window, and there is running through my head a jangle of rhyme I used to repeat when I was a child and flattened my nose against the cold window to watch the falling snow:

 

现在景色又变了。刺目的炫光已不在了，恐怖的色调也不见痕迹。但雪却下得很大，大片大片，纷纷不止，因而浅谷的那边已看不清楚，屋顶积雪很厚，树木都压弯了，村里教堂顶上的风标此时从阴霾翳翳的空中虽依然可见，早已成了安徒生童话里的事物。从我的书房（书房在家中房屋对面）我看见孩子们正把他们的鼻尖压在窗户玻璃上，这时一首儿歌遂又萦回于我的脑际，因为这歌正是我小时把鼻尖压在冰冷的窗户上来观雪时所常唱的。歌词是：

 

Snow, snow faster:

White alabaster!

Killing geese in Scotland,

Sending feathers here!

 

雪花快飘，

白如石膏，

高地宰鹅，

这里飞毛！

This morning, when I first caught sight of the unfamiliar whitened world, I could not help wishing that we had snow oftener, that English winters were more wintry. How delightful it would be, I thought, to have months of clean snow and a landscape sparkling with frost instead of innumerable grey featureless days of rain and raw winds. I began to envy my friends in such places as the Eastern States of America and Canada, who can count upon a solid winter every year and know that the snow will arrive by a certain date and will remain, without degenerating into black slush, until Spring is close at hand. To have snow and frost and yet a clear sunny sky and air as crisp as a biscuit – this seemed to me happiness indeed. And then I saw that it would never do for us. We should be sick of it in a week. After the first day, the magic would be gone and there would be nothing left but the unchanging glare of the day and the bitter cruel nights. It is not the snow itself, the sight of the blanketed world, that is so enchanting, but the first coming of the snow, the sudden and silent change. Out of the relations, for ever shifting and unanticipated, of wind and water comes a magical event. Who would change this state of things for a steadily recurring round, an earth governed by the calendar? It has been well said that while other countries have a climate, we alone in England have weather. There is nothing duller than climate, which can be converted into a topic only by scientists and hypochondriacs. But weather is our earth’s Cleopatra, and it is not to be wondered at that we, who must share her gigantic moods, should be for ever talking about her. Once we were settled in America, Siberia, Australia, where there is nothing but a steady pact between climate and the calendar, we should regret her very naughtinesses, her willful pranks, her gusts of rage, and sudden tears. Waking in a morning would no longer be an adventure. Our weather may be fickle, but it is no more fickle than we are, and only matches our inconstancy with her changes. Sun, wind, snow, rain, how welcome they are at first and how soon we grow weary of them! If this snow lasts a week, I shall be heartily sick of it and glad to speed its going. But its coming has been an event. Today has had a quality, an atmosphere, quite different from that of yesterday, and I have moved through it feeling a slightly different person, as if I were staying with new friends or had suddenly arrived in Norway. A man might easily spend five hundred pounds trying to break the crust of indifference in his mind, and yet feel less than I did this morning.

 

所以今天早上我初次望见这个不很常见的银白世界时，我不禁衷心希望这里的雪能多下几场，这样我们英国的冬天才能更增添几分冬天味道。我想，如果我们这里经常是个冰雪积月、霜华璀璨的景象，而不是像现在这种苦雨凄风永无尽期的阴沉而乏特色的日子，那该多么令人喜悦啊！我于是羡慕起我那些居住在美国东部各州和加拿大的友人来了，他们那里年年都能指望上一个像样的冬天，都能说得出降雪的准确日期，并能保证，直至大地春回之前，那里的雪绝无退化为黑色泥浆的可能。既有霜雪，又有晴朗温煦的天空，而且空气又非常凉爽清新——这在我看来实在是很大的快乐。但马上我又觉得这样还是不行。不消一周人们就会对它感到厌烦。甚至一两天后魔力便会消失，剩下的唯有白昼那种永无变化的耀眼阳光与刺骨严寒和凄凉的夜晚。看来真正迷人的地方并不在雪的本身，不在这个冰雪覆盖的景象，而在它的初降，在这突然而静悄的变化。正是从风风雨雨这类变幻无常和难以预期的关系之中才会出现这种以降雪为奇迹的情形。谁又肯把眼前这般景色拿去换上一个永远周而复始的单调局面，一个全由年历来控制的大地。有一句说的好，别的国家都有气候，唯有英国才有天气。其实天下再没有比气候更枯燥乏味的了，或许只有科学家和疑病症患者才会把它当作话题。但是天气却是我们这块土地上的克里奥佩特拉，因而毫不奇怪，人们为它巨大情绪变化所左右，总不免要对她窃窃私议。假如一旦我们定居于亚美利加、西伯利亚或澳大利亚――而那里气候与年历之间早已有成约在先，我们即使仅仅因为失去她的调皮，她的胡闹，她的狂忿盛怒与涕泣涟涟也会深感遗憾。那时早晨醒来将不再成其为一种历险。我们的天气也许有点反复无常，但我们自己也未必比它好多少，实际上我们的反复与她的无常恰好相配。谈起日、风、雪、雨，它们起初是多么受人欢迎，但是曾几何时，我们便对它们产生厌倦。如果这场雪下上一周，我肯定会对它厌烦得要死，巴不得它能早些离开才好。但它的降临却是一件大事。今天这一天即具有着一种风味，一种气氛，全然不同于昨天，而我活动其中，也使我感到自己与此前略有不同，恍如与新朋相晤，又恍如忽抵挪威。一个人尽可以为了打破一下心头的郁结而所费不赀，但论及感受，恐仍不如我今日午前感受之深。

 

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