文學(xué)作品翻譯：《荷塘月色》

荷塘月色

朱自清

這幾天心里頗不寧靜。今晚在院子里坐著乘涼，忽然想起日日走過的荷塘，在這滿月的光里，總該另有一番樣子吧。月亮漸漸地升高了，墻外馬路上孩子們的歡笑，已經(jīng)聽不見了;妻在屋里拍著閏兒，迷迷糊糊地哼著眠歌。我悄悄地披了大衫，帶上門出去。

沿著荷塘，是一條曲折的小煤屑路。這是一條幽僻的路;白天也少人走，夜晚更加寂寞。荷塘四周，長著許多樹，蓊蓊郁郁的。路的一旁，是些楊柳，和一些不知道名字的樹。沒有月光的晚上，這路上陰森森的，有些怕人。今晚卻很好，雖然月光也還是淡淡的。

路上只我一個人，背著手踱著。這一片天地好像是我的;我也像超出了平常的自己，到了另一個世界里。我愛熱鬧，也愛冷靜;愛群居，也愛獨處。像今晚上，一個人在這蒼茫的月下，什么都可以想，什么都可以不想，便覺是個自由的人。白天里一定要做的事，一定要說的話，現(xiàn)在都可不理。這是獨處的妙處，我且受用這無邊的荷香月色好了。

曲曲折折的荷塘上面，彌望的是田田的葉子。葉子出水很高，像亭亭的舞女的裙。層層的葉子中間，零星地點綴著些白花，有裊娜地開著的，有羞澀地打著朵兒的;正如一粒粒的明珠，又如碧天里的星星，又如剛出浴的美人。微風(fēng)過處，送來縷縷清香，仿佛遠(yuǎn)處高樓上渺茫的歌聲似的。這時候葉子與花也有一絲的顫動，像閃電般，霎時傳過荷塘的那邊去了。葉子本是肩并肩密密地挨著，這便宛然有了一道凝碧的波痕。葉子底下是脈脈的流水，遮住了，不能見一些顏色;而葉子卻更見風(fēng)致了。

月光如流水一般，靜靜地瀉在這一片葉子和花上。薄薄的青霧浮起在荷塘里。葉子和花仿佛在牛乳中洗過一樣;又像籠著輕紗的夢。雖然是滿月，天上卻有一層淡淡的云，所以不能朗照;但我以為這恰是到了好處——酣眠固不可少，小睡也別有風(fēng)味的。月光是隔了樹照過來的，高處叢生的灌木，落下參差的斑駁的黑影，峭楞楞如鬼一般;彎彎的楊柳的稀疏的倩影，卻又像是畫在荷葉上。塘中的月色并不均勻;但光與影有著和諧的旋律，如梵婀玲上奏著的名曲。

荷塘的四面，遠(yuǎn)遠(yuǎn)近近，高高低低都是樹，而楊柳最多。這些樹將一片荷塘重重圍住;只在小路一旁，漏著幾段空隙，像是特為月光留下的。樹色一例是陰陰的，乍看像一團(tuán)煙霧;但楊柳的豐姿，便在煙霧里也辨得出。樹梢上隱隱約約的是一帶遠(yuǎn)山，只有些大意罷了。樹縫里也漏著一兩點路燈光，沒精打采的，是渴睡人的眼。這時候最熱鬧的，要數(shù)樹上的蟬聲與水里的蛙聲;但熱鬧是他們的，我什么也沒有。

忽然想起采蓮的事情來了。采蓮是江南的舊俗，似乎很早就有，而六朝時為盛;從詩歌里可以約略知道。采蓮的是少年的女子，她們是蕩著小船，唱著艷歌去的。采蓮人不用說很多，還有看采蓮的人。那是一個熱鬧的季節(jié)，也是一個風(fēng)流的季節(jié)。梁元帝《采蓮賦》里說得好：

于是妖童媛女，蕩舟心許;鷁首徐回，兼?zhèn)饔鸨?欋將移而藻掛，船欲動而萍開。爾其纖腰束素，遷延顧步;夏始春余，葉嫩花初，恐沾裳而淺笑，畏傾船而斂裾。

可見當(dāng)時嬉游的光景了。這真是有趣的事，可惜我們現(xiàn)在早已無福消受了。

于是又記起《西洲曲》里的句子：采蓮南塘秋，蓮花過人頭;低頭弄蓮子，蓮子清如水。

今晚若有采蓮人，這兒的蓮花也算得“過人頭”了;只不見一些流水的影子，是不行的。這令我到底惦著江南了。——這樣想著，猛一抬頭，不覺已是自己的門前;輕輕地推門進(jìn)去，什么聲息也沒有，妻已睡熟好久了。

參考翻譯：

The Moonlit Lotus Pond

Zhu Ziqing

These past few days I have been exceedingly restless. This evening, as I sat in my courtyard enjoying the cool night air, I suddenly thought of the lotus pond along which I was used to taking daily walks, and I imagined that it must look quite different under the light of this full moon. Slowly the moon climbed in the sky, and beyond the wall the laughter of children playing on the road could no longer be heard. My wife was inside patting Run’er* as she hummed a faint lullaby. I gently threw a wrap over my shoulders and walked out, closing the gate behind me.

Bordering the pond is a meandering little cinder path. It is a secluded path; during the day few people use it, and at night it is even lonelier. There are great numbers of trees growing on all sides of the lotus pond, lush and fertile. On one side of the path there are some willow trees and several varieties of trees whose names I do not know. On moonless nights this path is dark and forbidding, giving one an eerie feeling. But this evening it was quite nice, even though the rays of the moon were pale. Finding myself alone on the path, I folded my hands behind me and strolled along. The stretch of land and sky that spread out before me seemed to belong to me, and I could transcend my own experience and enter another world. I love noise, but I also love quiet; I love crowds, but I also love seclusion. On a night like tonight, all alone under this vast expanse of moonlight, I can think whatever I wish, or think of nothing if I wish. I feel myself to be a truly free man. The things I must do and the words I must say during the daytime I need not concern myself with now; this is an exquisite secluded spot, a place where I can enjoy the limitless fragrance of the lotuses and the light of the moon.

On the surface of the winding and twisting lotus pond floated an immense field of leaves. The leaves lay high in the water, rising up like the skirts of a dancing girl. Amid the layers of leaves white blossoms adorned the vista, some beguilingly open and others bashfully holding their petals in. Just like a string of bright pearls or stars in a blue sky, or like lovely maidens just emerging from their bath. A gentle breeze floated by, bringing with it waves of a crisp fragrance like strains of a vague melody sent over from distant towering buildings. When that happened, the leaves and blossoms trembled briefly, as though a bolt of lightning had streaked across the lotus pond. The leaves themselves were densely crowded together, pushing back and forth, and they seemed to be a cresting wave of solid green. Beneath the leaves restrained currents of water flowed, imprisoned beneath them, the color forever hidden, while the stirrings of the leaves were even more pronounced.

The moon’s rays were like flowing waters, gently depositing their moisture on the layer of leaves and blossoms. A light green mist floated just above the lotus pond. The leaves and blossoms looked as though they had been bathed in milk, or like a blurred dream swathed in airy gauze. Although the moon was full, a light covering of clouds in the sky prevented it from shining brightly; yet I had the pleasant feeling that I had come to a fine spot. For just as one cannot do without deep slumber, still a light sleep has its own delights. The moon’s rays filtered down through the trees, and dark, uneven shadows of varying shades were cast by the dense foliage on the high ground, perilously dark and spooky. The bewitching shadows cast by the sparse, twisted willow trees seemed to be painted on the lotus leaves. The moonlight on the pond was spread unevenly, but the rays and the shadows were a concert of harmony, like a celebrated tune played on a violin.

On all sides of the lotus pond, far and near, on high ground and low, there are trees, most of them willows. These trees completely envelop the whole of the lotus pond; only by the side of the path are there gaps, here and there showing through, seemingly left there just so the moon can shine in. The colors of the trees are uniformly dark. At first glance, they resemble a bank of fog and mist, but the slender, graceful forms of the willows can still be distinguished in that fog and mist. Above the treetops a row of mountains can be seen ever so indistinctly, just the hint of their shapes, while one or two faint glimmers of roadside lamps seep through the openings of the branches, appearing like the weary eyes of a tired man. Now the spot was at its noisiest, if you count the chirping of cicadas in the trees and the croaking of frogs in the water. But the noise was theirs alone; I added nothing to it.

All of a sudden, I was reminded of lotus gathering. The gathering of lotuses is an old custom south of the Yangtze, whose origins probably date from very early on but that flourished during the Six Dynasty period. This we know from the poems and ballads of the time. The lotus gatherers were young maidens who drifted in small boats and sang their songs of love. It goes without saying that there were great numbers of lotus gatherers as well as those who came to watch them, for that was a festive and a romantic occasion. "The Lotus Gatherers" by Emperor Yuan of the Liang Dynasty tells it well:

Princely lads and alluring maidens

Adrift in a boat, their hearts in accord;

The boat’s prow describes a slow turn

As they exchange wine cups;

The oars become intertwined,

And the boat moves across the floating duckweed;

The maidens with their slender waists simply bound

Cast glances behind them.

Summer begins where the spring leaves off;

The leaves are tender, the flowers in bloom.

Protecting their dresses from the dampness, smiles adorning their faces,

They gather up their skirts, taking care not to capsize the boat.

This paints for us a picture of the pleasant excursions of those days. They must have been truly memorable events; it is a pity that we can no longer enjoy such pastimes.

I then recalled the lines from

"Tune of the West Isle".

Gathering lotuses at Nantang in the fall,

The lotus blossoms rise above our heads.

Bending over to pluck the lotus seeds,

Lotus seeds as transparent as the water.

If tonight there were lotus gatherers, the lotus blossoms here too would "rise above their heads." But it is not enough to have before me only these rippling shadows. All of this stirred up in me a sense of longing for the South. With these thoughts in my mind, I suddenly raised my head and found that my steps had carried me to my own gate; I softly pushed it open and entered. I was greeted by complete silence; my wife had long since fallen fast asleep.