初雪

【導读】约翰·博因顿·普里斯特利（1894—1984），英国小说家、批评家、戏剧家。生于约克郡布雷德福德的教师家庭。曾求学于剑桥，在英国文学、现代史及政治学方面成绩优异。1922年定居伦敦，为《星期六评论》（Saturday Review）等杂志写评论。早期著作主要是文学传记和评论集，代表作有《英国喜剧角色》（The English Comic Characters，1925）、《乔治·梅瑞狄斯》（George Meredith，1926）等;流浪汉小说代表作有《好伙伴》（The Good Companions，1929）;主要剧本有《危险的角落》（Dangerous Corner，1932）、《巡官登门》（An Inspector Calls，1945）、《最后的假期》（Last Holiday，1950）。

“初雪”节选自普里斯特利的散文集《猿猴与天使：散文集》（Apes and Angels： A Book of Essays，1928）。作者用极其细腻的笔触写下了初雪降临时的感受。与其他写雪景的文章不同，此文既写了作者的欢欣，也写了他的不满;既有对眼前的描写，也有对过去的回忆;既有对所住之地的刻画，也有对整个英格兰乃至美洲的遐想;既见雪景的静态描摹，也见雪景的动态变化。一场初雪，引得思绪接天连地，目及八方，想象奇特，文辞瑰丽，真正美文！

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 country-side， 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.

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：

Snow， snow faster：

White alabaster！

Killing geese in Scotland，

Sending feathers here！

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 earths 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.

一早起来，只见世界白茫茫一片，寒冷、虚空、死寂，淡淡的蓝色在空气中流转。从窗口透进来的光显得很怪异，它使原本熟悉的冲水、刮脸、洗漱、更衣诸事也变得非常怪异。继而太阳升起，到了我坐下用早餐的工夫，阳光已显威力，给雪地抹上了柔和的粉红。餐厅的窗户已变得像一幅日本版画，煞是可爱。窗外的小李树，整个挺立在阳光下，淡红的雪包裹着枝丫，把主干也装点得分外妖娆。一两小时后，周遭全笼罩在一片白蓝交织的冷光之中。整个世界又全变了。日本版画都不见了。我从书斋的窗户向外望去，目光越过花园、草地，一直投向远处的小山丘。地面上洒下一片长长的刺眼的阳光，天空肃杀，所有的树木都成了黑黢黢阴森森的影子。真的，眼前所见都带有某种莫名的凶险。我们这片紧靠英格兰中心地带的可爱乡村，似乎一下变成了残忍的干草原。好像随时都可能看到一群骑兵杀出黑色的灌木丛，受暴政摆布之人如此之多;好像还能听到几声枪响，远处的某块雪地被染成红色。就是类似这样的景象。

现在又变了。耀眼的阳光退了下去，险恶的光景一丝不留。然而雪花柔柔却漫天纷飞，以致几乎看不清对面浅浅的山谷。房顶盖上了厚厚的雪，树被雪压弯了腰，村子教堂上的风向标透过灰蒙蒙的天空倒也依稀可见，但却好像变成了安徒生童话里的生灵。我的书斋与房子是分开的，但就在房子对面。我可以看到小孩子们鼻子贴着育儿室的窗户往外看，这勾起了我的回忆，想到我小时候也是一边把鼻子贴着冰冷的窗户，看着窗外的雪飘飘而下，一边唱着童谣：

雪呀雪呀快快下，

轻柔洁白啦啦啦，

宰了苏格兰的鹅嘎嘎，

鹅毛飘飘送我家。

今天早上，当我第一眼看到这个有些陌生的白色世界时，不禁希望雪要勤着点儿下才好，希望英国的冬天更有冬天味儿。我想，如果数月都有洁白的雪，四处的景致闪着霜雪的银光，而不是数不清的雨水涟涟，阴风怒号，到处灰蒙蒙的样子，那该有多好。美国东部各州和加拿大便是如此，我开始羡慕在那里生活的朋友们了，他们每年总会有实实在在的冬天，知道何时开始下雪，雪能保持多久而不化成污泥浊水，直到春天即将来临。霜雪天，天朗气清，像饼干似的嘣脆，对我来说就是真正的幸福。然而我发现，这样万万不行。不到一周，我们就会感到厌倦。第一天一过，这些魔力便会烟消云散，丝毫不留，只剩下白天不变的耀眼阳光和夜晚的凄清。如此迷人的不是雪本身，不是铺天盖地的雪景，而是初雪的到来，是这悄然的突变。风与水，总是流动不居，难以捉摸。这两种元素在一起会引发神奇的事件。谁愿意舍弃这样的神秘莫测而选择大地之上一成不变、周而复始的寒来暑往？人常说，别的国家有气候，唯我英格兰有天气，诚哉斯言。枯燥无趣，莫过于“气候”，只有科学家和疑病患者会对这个话题津津乐道。但“天气”却是我们地球的绝世佳人。也难怪我们这些想必也有她那样乖戾脾气的人总是对她谈论不休。我们既已在美洲、西伯利亚、澳大利亚安了家，就只能后悔没有了她调皮捣蛋、任性胡闹，看不到她时而怒气冲天、忽又泪眼婆娑。那些地方除了气候和日历之间有份一成不变的协议，其他一无所有。早晨醒来不再是一场冒险。我们的天气也许变化无常，但哪能与人类的善变相比，她只是用自己的变化配合我们的无常。晴、雨、雪、风，初来时我们都热情以待，但倏忽间就觉得了无趣味了！如果这场雪下上一周，我肯定會从骨子里厌烦，恨不得它马上离去。但它的降临却已是一件大事。今天有今天的品格、今天的气氛，与昨日截然不同。我度过今天，就感觉自己又有所不同，好比结交到新的朋友，或者突然到了挪威。一个心中冷漠的人或许会轻而易举掏出500英镑来找刺激，得到的却还不如我今天早晨的这般感受。