《四季隨筆》節(jié)選 - 春 12

《四季隨筆》是吉辛的散文代表作。其中對隱士賴克羅夫特醉心于書籍、自然景色與回憶過去生活的描述，其實是吉辛的自述，作者以此來抒發(fā)自己的情感，因而本書是一部富有自傳色彩的小品文集。

吉辛窮困的一生，對文學(xué)名著的愛好與追求，以及對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 12的內(nèi)容，讓我們一起來感受吉辛的四季吧!

As often as I survey my bookshelves I am reminded of Lamb's "ragged veterans." 5 Not that all my volumes came from the second-hand stall; many of them were neat enough in new covers, some were even stately in fragrant bindings, when they passed into my hands. But so often have I removed, so rough has been the treatment of my little library at each change of place, and, to tell the truth, so little care have I given to its well-being at normal times (for in all practical matters I am idle and inept), that even the comeliest of my books show the results of unfair usage. More than one has been foully injured by a great nail driven into a packing-case—this but the extreme instance of the wrongs they have undergone. Now that I have leisure and peace of mind, I find myself growing more careful—an illustration of the great truth that virtue is made easy by circumstance. But I confess that, so long as a volume hold together, I am not much troubled as to its outer appearance.

每當(dāng)目光掃過書架，我便會想起蘭姆所謂的“衣衫襤褸的老兵”，當(dāng)然不是說我所有的藏書都來自二手書攤。在它們落入我手時，許多書都是很干凈的，連封皮還是嶄新的，有一些裝訂甚至很考究，還散發(fā)著芳香。但是我搬家太頻繁，每換一次地方，我的小圖書館都要受到殘酷的虐待，而且老實說，平時我對它的照顧也很不周到（在一切實際事務(wù)中我都是懶惰和無能的），所以連最漂亮的書都顯出破損的模樣。由于在裝箱的時候需要釘釘子，好幾本書就這樣受了重傷—而這不過是它們受損的極端例子?，F(xiàn)在，我有空閑并且心情平靜，對待書細(xì)心多了—這是美德在順境下更容易踐行的又一例證。但是我得承認(rèn)，只要一本書還能連在一起，它的外表我是不太在意的。

I know men who say they had as lief read any book in a library copy as in one from their own shelf. To me that is unintelligible. For one thing, I know every book of mine by its SCENT, and I have but to put my nose between the pages to be reminded of all sorts of things. My Gibbon6, for example, my well-bound eight-volume Milman7 edition, which I have read and read and read again for more than thirty years—never do I open it but the scent of the noble page restores to me all the exultant happiness of that moment when I received it as a prize. Or my Shakespeare, the great Cambridge Shakespeare—it has an odour which carries me yet further back in life; for these volumes belonged to my father, and before I was old enough to read them with understanding, it was often permitted me, as a treat, to take down one of them from the bookcase, and reverently to turn the leaves. The volumes smell exactly as they did in that old time, and what a strange tenderness comes upon me when I hold one of them in hand. For that reason I do not often read Shakespeare in this edition. My eyes being good as ever, I take the Globe volume, which I bought in days when such a purchase was something more than an extravagance; wherefore I regard the book with that peculiar affection which results from sacrifice.

我知道有些人覺得讀圖書館的書和自己書架上的書沒什么分別。對此我無法理解。首先，我了解我的每一本書都有自己獨特的“味道”。只要把鼻子伸到書頁間，就會聯(lián)想起各種事情。比如，我的吉本文集，這套裝幀精良的米爾曼版八卷本，三十多年來我不知讀過多少遍—每次打開它，嗅到高貴的書頁散發(fā)的味道，就會憶起作為獎品初得此書時的狂喜。還有我劍橋版的莎士比亞文集—它有一股味道，總把我?guī)Щ鼐眠h(yuǎn)的歲月；這套藏書是父親的，小時候還讀不懂它時，我經(jīng)常獲準(zhǔn)從書架上取下一本，恭敬地翻看那些書頁。這些書的味道一點都沒變，每次取一本捧在手里，心里都會升起一種奇異的親切感。因為這個原因，我讀莎士比亞通常不用這個版本。因為視力和從前一樣好，我會用環(huán)球版本，當(dāng)時買它的時候我可是大出血。為此我對這本書有一種特殊的感情，因為犧牲太大的緣故吧。

Sacrifice—in no drawing-room sense of the word. Dozens of my books were purchased with money which ought to have been spent upon what are called the necessaries of life. Many a time I have stood before a stall, or a bookseller's window, torn by conflict of intellectual desire and bodily need. At the very hour of dinner, when my stomach clamoured for food, I have been stopped by sight of a volume so long coveted, and marked at so advantageous a price, that I COULD not let it go; yet to buy it meant pangs of famine. My Heyne's Tibullus8 was grasped at such a moment. It lay on the stall of the old book-shop in Goodge Street—a stall where now and then one found an excellent thing among quantities of rubbish. Sixpence was the price—sixpence! At that time I used to eat my midday meal (of course my dinner) at a coffee-shop in Oxford Street, one of the real old coffee-shops, such as now, I suppose, can hardly be found. Sixpence was all I had—yes, all I had in the world; it would purchase a plate of meat and vegetables. But I did not dare to hope that the Tibullus would wait until the morrow, when a certain small sum fell due to me. I paced the pavement, fingering the coppers in my pocket, eyeing the stall, two appetites at combat within me. The book was bought and I went home with it, and as I made a dinner of bread and butter I gloated over the pages.

這里的“犧牲”不是交際用語中的那層含義。我有幾十本書，當(dāng)時購買它們的錢本應(yīng)花在所謂的生活必需品上。好多次我站在書攤或書店櫥窗前，對知識的渴望和身體的需要在心里作著激烈的斗爭。到了晚飯時間，肚子餓得咕咕叫，而我卻拔不動腿，因為看到一本覬覦已久的書，而且價錢實惠，無論如何不能錯過；但是買書就意味著餓肚子。我那本海尼編輯的《提布盧斯詩集》就是在這種情況下買到手的。它躺在古德格街一家老店的書攤上—這里你偶爾能在一堆垃圾中找到一本好書。標(biāo)價是六便士—六便士！那時，我的午餐（當(dāng)然也算晚餐）通常在牛津街上一家咖啡店解決，那是一家非常古老的咖啡店，我想現(xiàn)在應(yīng)該找不到了。我身上就只有六便士—沒錯，六便士是我的全部資產(chǎn)，它可以買到一盤肉和一些蔬菜。雖然第二天我能拿到一點小錢，但我不敢奢望提布盧斯會等我到明天。我在街上踱來踱去，手在衣袋中捻著那幾個硬幣，眼睛盯著書攤，內(nèi)心里的兩種欲望不停地交鋒著。最后我買下書帶著它回家了，那天的晚飯是面包抹黃油，我邊吃邊在書里流連忘返。

In this Tibullus I found pencilled on the last page: "Perlegi, Oct. 4, 1792." Who was that possessor of the book, nearly a hundred years ago? There was no other inscription. I like to imagine some poor scholar, poor and eager as I myself, who bought the volume with drops of his blood, and enjoyed the reading of it even as I did. How much THAT was I could not easily say. Gentle-hearted Tibullus!—of whom there remains to us a poet's portrait9 more delightful, I think, than anything of the kind in Roman literature.

在《提布盧斯詩集》的最后一頁，我看到一行鉛筆字：“讀畢，1792年10月4日”。距今約一百年前的當(dāng)時，這本書的主人是誰？除了那行鉛筆字，再也找不到其他的標(biāo)記了。我愿意把他想象成一個窮文人—和我一樣貧窮但愛書的文人—他用血汗錢買下這本書，并和我一樣享受閱讀它的樂趣。具體程度如何不好說。心地仁慈的提布盧斯—在他的作品中可以看到一位詩人的自畫像，在我眼里，這要比羅馬文學(xué)中的所有事物都令人愉快。

An tacitum silvas inter reptare salubres,

或是在茂林中默然潛行，

Curantem quidquid dignum sapiente bonoque est?

對適于聰明善良人的事加以深思？

So with many another book on the thronged shelves. To take them down is to recall, how vividly, a struggle and a triumph. In those days money represented nothing to me, nothing I cared to think about, but the acquisition of books. There were books of which I had passionate need, books more necessary to me than bodily nourishment. I could see them, of course, at the British Museum, but that was not at all the same thing as having and holding them, my own property, on my own shelf. Now and then I have bought a volume of the raggedest and wretchedest aspect, dishonoured with foolish scribbling, torn, blotted—no matter, I liked better to read out of that than out of a copy that was not mine. But I was guilty at times of mere self-indulgence; a book tempted me, a book which was not one of those for which I really craved, a luxury which prudence might bid me forego. As, for instance, my Jung-Stilling. It caught my eye in Holywell Street; the name was familiar to me in Wahrheit und Dichtung10, and curiosity grew as I glanced over the pages. But that day I resisted; in truth, I could not afford the eighteenpence, which means that just then I was poor indeed. Twice again did I pass, each time assuring myself that Jung-Stilling had found no purchaser. There came a day when I was in funds. I see myself hastening to Holywell Street (in those days my habitual pace was five miles an hour), I see the little grey old man with whom I transacted my business—what was his name?—the bookseller who had been, I believe, a Catholic priest, and still had a certain priestly dignity about him. He took the volume, opened it, mused for a moment, then, with a glance at me, said, as if thinking aloud: "Yes, I wish I had time to read it."

在擁擠的書架上，許多書都有相似的經(jīng)歷。把它們?nèi)∠聛?我的腦海里就會生動再現(xiàn)一場掙扎和一次勝利。在那些日子，對我來說，錢的唯一意義就在于能買到書，其他的我根本不在意。有些書讓我愛不釋手，比起營養(yǎng)豐富的食品，它們對我更是必需品。當(dāng)然，在大英博物館也可以看書，但這和把它們變成私有財產(chǎn)放在自己的書架上完全不是一回事。偶爾我會買一本破舊不堪的書，里面有愚蠢的涂鴉，扯爛的書頁，墨水漬—這些我都不在意，比起讀一本不是自己的書，我更愿意讀這樣的書。然而，有時我也會因為放縱自己而有負(fù)罪感。一本書吸引了我，一本我并不迫切需要而且價錢昂貴、慎重考慮之下可能就會放棄的書，比如那本《容-施蒂林集》。我在霍利韋爾街看到了它，在《文與質(zhì)》上我經(jīng)?？吹竭@個書名，隨手翻看時我的好奇心也增長了。但那一天我克制住了自己，老實說，我根本拿不出十八便士來，這也說明當(dāng)時的我的確窮得叮當(dāng)響。我兩次經(jīng)過書攤，每次都會確定一下《容-施蒂林集》是否已找到買主。有一天，我忽然得了些錢，便匆匆趕到霍利韋爾街（那時候我的正常步速是每小時五英里），和那位身材矮小的白發(fā)老頭進(jìn)行了交易—他叫什么名字來著？—我想這位書鋪老板應(yīng)該做過天主教神父，他的氣質(zhì)中還保留著某種神父的尊嚴(yán)。他拿起書來打開，沉思了一會兒后看了我一眼，好似自言自語地說道：“是啊，如果我有時間把它讀完就好了?！?/p>

Sometimes I added the labour of a porter to my fasting endured for the sake of books. At the little shop near Portland Road Station I came upon a first edition of Gibbon, the price an absurdity—I think it was a shilling a volume. To possess those clean-paged quartos I would have sold my coat. As it happened, I had not money enough with me, but sufficient at home. I was living at Islington. Having spoken with the bookseller, I walked home, took the cash, walked back again, and—carried the tomes from the west end of Euston Road to a street in Islington far beyond the Angel. I did it in two journeys—this being the only time in my life when I thought of Gibbon in avoirdupois. Twice—three times, reckoning the walk for the money—did I descend Euston Road and climb Pentonville on that occasion. Of the season and the weather I have no recollection; my joy in the purchase I had made drove out every other thought. Except, indeed, of the weight. I had infinite energy, but not much muscular strength, and the end of the last journey saw me upon a chair, perspiring, flaccid, aching—exultant!

有時，為了書我除了餓肚子外，還會當(dāng)一把搬運工。在波特蘭街車站附近的一家小書店，我看到了第一版的吉本文集，價錢貴得離譜—我記得是一個先令一本。要買這套干凈的四開本書籍，我得賣大衣才行。我當(dāng)時身上帶的錢不夠，但家里還有足夠的錢。那時候我住在伊斯靈頓。和店主打了招呼，我便步行回到家，取錢后又步行返回，搬著這些大部頭的書從尤斯頓路西頭一直走到距離天使酒店很遠(yuǎn)的伊斯靈頓的一條街上。這樣來回了兩趟才搬完—這是我生命中唯一一次將吉本與重量聯(lián)想在一起。那一天，為了這套書，我兩次—算上取錢那趟是三次—走下尤斯頓路又爬上本頓維爾街。我記不清那是什么季節(jié)什么天氣的事情了，買書的樂趣將其他想法都從頭腦中驅(qū)逐了出去，當(dāng)然，除了想著書的重量。我當(dāng)時有無窮的精力，但肌肉力量有限，把書搬回家后，我累得癱倒在椅子上，大汗淋漓，四肢發(fā)軟，肌肉酸痛—但內(nèi)心著實高興不已。

The well-to-do person would hear this story with astonishment. Why did I not get the bookseller to send me the volumes? Or, if I could not wait, was there no omnibus along that London highway? How could I make the well-to-do person understand that I did not feel able to afford, that day, one penny more than I had spent on the book? No, no, such labour-saving expenditure did not come within my scope; whatever I enjoyed I earned it, literally, by the sweat of my brow. In those days I hardly knew what it was to travel by omnibus. I have walked London streets for twelve and fifteen hours together without ever a thought of saving my legs, or my time, by paying for waftage. Being poor as poor can be, there were certain things I had to renounce, and this was one of them.

有錢人聽到這個故事可能會感到詫異。為什么我不讓店主送書上門呢？或者，假使我等不及，倫敦的街上不是有馬車嗎？我怎么才能讓有錢人們理解，那天在付完書款后，我感覺再花不起哪怕一個便士了？不，這種省力的花費不是我能負(fù)擔(dān)的。我享受到的都是我用汗水掙來的，這里的“汗水”可不是比喻。那時候，我?guī)缀醪恢莱笋R車趕路是怎么樣的。我在倫敦的街道上一連走了十二到十五個小時，根本沒想過花錢乘車來節(jié)省腿力和時間。因為貧窮不堪，我必須要放棄一些東西，這就是其中之一。

Years after, I sold my first edition of Gibbon for even less than it cost me; it went with a great many other fine books in folio and quarto, which I could not drag about with me in my constant removals; the man who bought them spoke of them as "tomb-stones." Why has Gibbon no market value? Often has my heart ached with regret for those quartos. The joy of reading the Decline and Fall in that fine type! The page was appropriate to the dignity of the subject; the mere sight of it tuned one's mind. I suppose I could easily get another copy now; but it would not be to me what that other was, with its memory of dust and toil.

多年以后，我把第一版的吉本文集賣掉了，價錢比我買進(jìn)的時候還便宜。同時賣掉的還有許多對開本和四開本的好書，因為經(jīng)常搬家，我無法帶著它們四處奔波。買書的人把它們叫做“墓碑”。為什么吉本沒有市場價值呢？我經(jīng)常為這些四開本書籍惋惜心痛。閱讀那種優(yōu)美字體印刷的《羅馬帝國衰亡史》曾給我?guī)矶啻蟮目鞓?！書頁也很切合主題的莊嚴(yán)，看到它心情就會變得肅然。我想現(xiàn)在買一套應(yīng)該很容易，但先前那一套帶著灰塵和辛苦的記憶，這新的又怎能和它相比？