《四季隨筆》節(jié)選 - 春 01

《四季隨筆》是吉辛的散文代表作。其中敘述對隱士賴克羅夫特醉心于書籍、自然景色與回憶過去的生活，其實是吉辛通過賴克羅夫特的自述，來抒發(fā)自己的感情，剖析自己的內(nèi)心世界。因而本書是一部最富自傳色彩的小品文集。

吉辛自己窮困的一生，他對文學(xué)名著的愛好與追求，對于大自然恬靜生活的向往，在書中均有充分的反映。本書分為春、夏、秋、冬四個部分，文筆優(yōu)美，行文流暢，是英國文學(xué)中小品文的珍品之一。

以下是由網(wǎng)友分享的《四季隨筆》節(jié)選 - 春 01的內(nèi)容，讓我們一起來感受吉辛的四季吧!

For more than a week my pen has lain untouched. I have written nothing for seven whole days, not even a letter. Except during one or two bouts of illness, such a thing never happened in my life before. In my life; the life, that is, which had to be supported by anxious toil; the life which was not lived for living's sake, as all life should be, but under the goad of fear. The earning of money should be a means to an end; for more than thirty years—I began to support myself at sixteen—I had to regard it as the end itself.

已經(jīng)一個多星期沒提筆了。整整七天，我什么也沒寫，連封信都沒有寫。除了一兩次發(fā)病時，這樣的事從沒在我的生活中發(fā)生過。我的生活，是怎樣的生活啊，靠著焦慮的勞作才得以維持;我的生活不像本來應(yīng)該的那樣—為了生活本身，而總要受著恐懼的驅(qū)策。掙錢應(yīng)該是達到目的的手段，而三十多年來—我十六歲開始自立—我卻不得不將掙錢當作終極目標。

I could imagine that my old penholder feels reproachfully towards me. Has it not served me well? Why do I, in my happiness, let it lie there neglected, gathering dust? The same penholder that has lain against my forefinger day after day, for—how many years? Twenty, at least; I remember buying it at a shop in Tottenham Court Road. By the same token I bought that day a paper-weight, which cost me a whole shilling—an extravagance which made me tremble. The penholder shone with its new varnish, now it is plain brown wood from end to end. On my forefinger it has made a callosity.

我可以想象舊筆桿對我心懷怨氣。它待我不夠好嗎?我怎么可以只顧自己享樂，把它冷落在角落里蒙塵。這個曾經(jīng)日復(fù)一日倚在我食指上的筆桿陪伴我多久了?至少二十年了吧。記得我是在托特納姆法院路上的一家商店買到它的。那天我還買了一個鎮(zhèn)紙，花了一個先令，如此的奢侈讓我自己都有些發(fā)抖。剛買的時候筆桿閃著清漆的亮光，現(xiàn)在它渾身上下只剩下樸素的棕黑木色了。我的食指上還留有它磨起的一層老繭。

Old companion, yet old enemy! How many a time have I taken it up, loathing the necessity, heavy in head and heart, my hand shaking, my eyes sick-dazzled! How I dreaded the white page I had to foul with ink! Above all, on days such as this, when the blue eyes of Spring laughed from between rosy clouds, when the sunlight shimmered upon my table and made me long, long all but to madness, for the scent of the flowering earth, for the green of hillside larches, for the singing of the skylark above the downs. There was a time—it seems further away than childhood—when I took up my pen with eagerness; if my hand trembled it was with hope. But a hope that fooled me, for never a page of my writing deserved to live. I can say that now without bitterness. It was youthful error, and only the force of circumstance prolonged it. The world has done me no injustice; thank Heaven I have grown wise enough not to rail at it for this! And why should any man who writes, even if he writes things immortal, nurse anger at the world's neglect? Who asked him to publish? Who promised him a hearing? Who has broken faith with him? If my shoemaker turns me out an excellent pair of boots, and I, in some mood of cantankerous unreason, throw them back upon his hands, the man has just cause of complaint. But your poem, your novel, who bargained with you for it? If it is honest journeywork, yet lacks purchasers, at most you may call yourself a hapless tradesman. If it comes from on high, with what decency do you fret and fume because it is not paid for in heavy cash? For the work of man's mind there is one test, and one alone, the judgment of generations yet unborn. If you have written a great book, the world to come will know of it. But you don't care for posthumous glory. You want to enjoy fame in a comfortable armchair. Ah, that is quite another thing. Have the courage of your desire. Admit yourself a merchant, and protest to gods and men that the merchandise you offer is of better quality than much which sells for a high price. You may be right, and indeed it is hard upon you that Fashion does not turn to your stall.

老伙計，也是老對頭!多少次我拿起它，那種寫作的緊迫感令我憎惡，感覺心情沉重，頭昏目眩，手不住地顫抖。我多么懼怕那張擺在面前等著我用墨水來玷污的白紙!尤其像今天這樣的天氣，春天的碧眼在玫瑰色的云朵間笑意盈盈，陽光在我的書桌上閃爍，我渴望大地上鮮花盛開的芬芳，山坡落葉松的翠綠，和高地上空歌唱的云雀，我心旌神蕩，幾欲癲狂。曾幾何時，似乎是比童年更早的時候，我提起筆時，還存著一顆熱切的心。如果我的手顫抖，那是因為心中充滿了希望。但這希望愚弄了我，因為我寫的東西沒有一頁值得留存世間。我現(xiàn)在這樣說，心中毫無憤懣之感。它是年少輕狂的錯誤，而際遇所迫又讓這錯誤延續(xù)下去。世界待我不可謂不厚，感謝老天，我現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)足夠睿智，不會為此問責世界。一個寫作的人，即使是不朽作品的著者，又有什么理由因為世界的冷落而惱怒?誰要你出版了?誰向你允諾會有讀者?誰又對你食言了?如果鞋匠給我做了一雙不錯的靴子，而我僅僅因為心情暴躁，無緣無故把靴子扔回他的手上，那他就有正當?shù)睦碛杀г埂５愕脑?，你的小說，誰和你討價還價說要買下了?如果你的作品果然是認真創(chuàng)作的成果，卻沒有買家問津，那你頂多算是個不走運的商販。如果作品來自上天賜予的靈感，你又怎好因為沒人出天價購買而惱怒發(fā)火呢?要知道，人類的智力成果有且只有一個檢驗標準，那就是未出生的后來人的評價。如果你確實創(chuàng)作了一部偉大的著作，將來世界會知道它。然而你對身后榮譽根本不感興趣，你只想坐在舒服的沙發(fā)上享受現(xiàn)世名譽加身。哈，這就完全是另外一回事了。鼓起欲望帶給你的勇氣，承認自己是一名商人，向上帝和人們大聲疾呼，你的貨物比那些高價商品質(zhì)量更好。你也許是對的，但如果潮流不照顧你的貨攤，那你的日子可不會好過。