The Old Manse in Autumn古宅之秋

纳撒尼尔·霍桑 兰秀娟

【導读】纳撒尼尔·霍桑（1804—1864），美国著名浪漫主义小说家，出生于美国马萨诸塞州，毕业于波登大学。著有长篇小说《红字》《七角楼房》，短篇小说《重讲一遍的故事》《古屋苔痕》等，其中《红字》已成为世界文学经典，也奠定了他在美国文坛的地位。诗人、批评家T. S. 艾略特曾评价道：“霍桑具有纯正艺术家所必备的铁石心肠、真诚而严厉的冷静头脑。”

本文节选自霍桑短篇小说《古屋苔痕》的序文，描写的是爱默生的祖父威廉·爱默生牧师于1765年建造的一座古屋。这座古屋后来被转给普利牧师，普利牧师死后就转售给了霍桑。古屋见证了历史的变迁和四季的更迭，也承载了霍桑生命中很多重要的记忆。本选段描绘了秋色中的古屋。在描写景物时，霍桑将自己关于人生哲理的思考注入其中，凸显其深邃的智慧。

If ever my readers should decide to give up civilized life， cities， houses， and whatever moral or material enormities1， in addition to these， the perverted ingenuity of our race has contrived2， —let it be in the early autumn. Then， Nature will love him better than at any other season， and will take him to her bosom with a more motherly tenderness. I could scarcely endure the roof of the old house above me， in those first autumnal days. How early in the summer， too， the prophecy of autumn comes！ —earlier in some years than in others， —sometimes， even in the first weeks of July. There is no other feeling like what is caused by this faint， doubtful， yet real perception， if it be not rather a foreboding3， of the year’s decay—so blessedly sweet and sad， in the same breath.

Did I say that there was no feeling like it？ Ah， but there is a half-acknowledged melancholy4， like to this， when we stand in the perfected vigor of our life， and feel that Time has now given us all his flowers， and that the next work of his never idle fingers must be—to steal them， one by one， away！

I have forgotten whether the song of the cricket be not as early a token of autumn’s approach， as any other; —that song， which may be called an audible stillness; for， though very loud and heard afar， yet the mind does not take note of it as a sound; so completely is its individual existence merged among the accompanying characteristics of the season. Alas， for the pleasant summer-time！ In August， the grass is still verdant5 on the hills and in the vallies; the foliage of the trees is as dense6 as ever， and as green; the flowers gleam forth in richer abundance along the margin of the river， and by the stone-walls， and deep among the woods; the days， too， are as fervid7 now as they were a month ago;—and yet， in every breath of wind， and in every beam of sunshine， we hear the whispered farewell， and behold the parting smile， of a dear friend.

There is a coolness amid all the heat; a mildness in the blazing noon. Not a breeze can stir， but it thrills us with the breath of autumn. A pensive8 glory is seen in the far， golden gleams， among the shadows of the trees. The flowers—even the brightest of them， and they are the most gorgeous of the year—have this gentle sadness wedded to their pomp9， and typify the character of the delicious time， each within itself. The brilliant cardinal-flower has never seemed gay to me.

Still later in the season， Nature’s tenderness waxes stronger. It is impossible not to be fond of our Mother now; for she is so fond of us！ At other periods， she does not make this impression on me， or only at rare intervals; but， in these genial days of autumn， when she has perfected her harvests， and accomplished every needful thing that was given her to do， then she overflows with a blessed superfluity10 of love. She has leisure to caress her children now. It is good to be alive， at such times. Thank heaven for breath！—yes， for mere breath！—when it is made up of a heavenly breeze like this！ It comes with a real kiss upon our cheeks; it would linger fondly around us， if it might; but， since it must be gone， it embraces us with its whole kindly heart， and passes onward， to embrace likewise the next thing that it meets.

A blessing is flung abroad， and scattered far and wide over the earth， to be gathered up by all who choose. I recline upon the still unwithered grass， and whisper to myself：—‘Oh， perfect day！—Oh， beautiful world！—Oh， beneficent God！’ And it is the promise of a blissful Eternity; for our Creator would never have made such lovely days， and have given us the deep hearts to enjoy them， above and beyond all thought， unless we were meant to be immortal. This sunshine is the golden pledge thereof. It beams through the gates of Paradise， and shows us glimpses far inward.

By-and-by—in a little time—the outward world puts on a drear11 austerity12. On some October morning， there is a heavy hoar-frost on the grass， and along the tops of the fences; and， at sunrise， the leaves fall from the trees of our avenue without a breath of wind， quietly descending by their own weight. All summer long， they have murmured like the noise of waters; they have roared loudly， while the branches were wrestling with the thunder-gust; they have made music， both glad and solemn; they have attuned13 my thoughts by their quiet sound， as I paced to-and-fro beneath the arch of intermingling14 boughs. Now， they can only rustle under my feet.

Henceforth， the gray parsonage15 begins to assume a larger importance， and draws to its fireside—for the abomination16 of the air-tight stove is reserved till wintry weather—draws closer and closer to its fireside the vagrant17 impulses， that had gone wandering about， through the summer.

假如我的讀者们决定逃离文明生活，离开城市和住所，放弃任何精神或物质上的罪行，也舍弃我们人类种种过头的聪明，那么，初秋便是最好的时候了。那时候，大自然会比任何时候都更爱他，会以更慈爱的温柔将他拥入怀中。在初秋的日子里，待在古宅里简直令我不堪忍受。夏日未央，秋意便随之而来！有些年来得比往年早，甚至在七月初。没有什么比得上这种感觉，淡淡的，令人生疑，却显真实，即使不算是一种不祥的预感，即预示着这一年衰落的开始——如此充满幸福与甜蜜，却又夹杂着哀愁。

我是否说过这是种特别的感觉？啊，但是有一种似真非真的忧郁，就像这样，当我们处于盛年，感受着时间将所有的花朵赐予我们，而他的手指从不停歇，他的下一个工作必定是——一朵接一朵地把花偷走！

我已经忘了，蟋蟀的奏鸣曲是否如同其他鸣叫声一样，早早便预示秋天的来临;蟋蟀之歌可以被称作一种能听见的静谧;声音虽大，传至八方，却让人感觉不到这鸣叫声的特别存在;它早已与秋天的其他特色融为一体。唉，多么美好的夏天啊！八月，山上和山谷里的青草依然翠绿，树上的枝叶茂密、青翠一如往常，花儿在河畔、石墙边和丛林深处熠熠生辉，天儿还是和一个月前一样热——但是，在每一丝风的气息里，在每一缕阳光中，我们都听到一位亲爱的朋友的低声告别，也看到他临别时的微笑。

股股热浪中透出一丝凉爽;炎热的正午也不再灼热逼人。微风势力尚弱，但已經携着让我们为之欣喜的秋意了。远处的树荫间金光闪耀，灿烂中显现出一股哀愁。这些花——即使是最鲜艳的，一年中最绚丽的——都在开得正盛时满含这种淡淡的忧伤，每一朵都是这一宜人时节的代表。这朵红花半边莲开得那样灿烂耀眼，我却觉得它从来都不快乐。

秋意渐浓，大自然的温柔也与日俱增。大自然爱人类如子，我们也不可能不爱这位母亲！在其他的季节，她不会给我留下这样的印象，或者只是偶尔给我留下这样的印象;但是，在这和煦的秋日里，当她完成了丰收，做完每一件需要她做的事情时，她就将满溢祝福的爱倾注于人类。她现在有空爱抚她的孩子了。在这样的时刻，活着真好。感谢上天赐予气息！——是的，就因这气息而感谢！——如同这从天而降的微风，亲吻我们的脸颊;如果能够驻足停留，它会深情地萦绕在我们身旁;但是，它必须离开，它竭尽善意地拥抱了我们，然后继续前行，像这样去拥抱下一个遇到的东西。

秋风将祝福播撒于广阔的天地，任何人都可以将它的赏赐拾起。青草尚未干枯，我躺在草地上，自言自语道：“哦，完美的一天！——哦，美丽的世界！——哦，仁慈的上帝！”这是一个极乐的永恒的希望;除非我们注定是永生的，否则造物主永远不会创造出如此美好的日子，并使我们超乎一切思考，得以从内心深处享受它们。这金色的阳光便是它的誓言。它从天堂之门照射到人间，让我们得以瞥见天堂深处。

不久后，渐渐地，天地之间便呈现一片肃杀之气。在十月的某个早晨，草地上和篱笆顶上都结了厚厚的白霜;日出时，叶子从林荫道旁的树上纷纷落下，没有一丝风，它们只是因为自身的重量而飘落下来，悄无声息。回想起整个夏天，树叶像流水一样喃喃低语;当树枝与雷雨搏斗的时候，它们也发出咆哮之声;它们奏起音乐，时而欢快，时而庄重;地上的枝杈纵横交错，成了拱形，当我在这些枝杈下来回踱步时，树叶那轻轻的声音使我的思绪与它们和谐一致了。现在，它们只能在我的脚下沙沙作响了。

自此，那幢灰色的牧师住宅就显得更为重要，它将我一整个夏天四处游荡的心都收了回来，拉近火炉，越来越近——在冬天来临之前，那个可憎的密封炉都派不上用场。     □

（译者单位：北京语言大学）