雙語散文|郁達(dá)夫——故都的秋
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故都的秋
秋天，無論在什么地方的秋天，總是好的；可是啊，北國的秋，卻特別地來得清，來得靜，來得悲涼。我的不遠(yuǎn)千里，要從杭州趕上青島，更要從青島趕上北平來的理由，也不過想飽嘗一嘗這“秋”，這故都的秋味。江南，秋當(dāng)然也是有的；但草木凋得慢，空氣來得潤，天的顏色顯得談，并且又時常多雨而少風(fēng)；一個人夾在蘇州上海杭州，或廈門香港廣州的市民中間，渾渾沌沌地過去，只能感到一點點清涼，秋的味，秋的色，秋的意境與姿態(tài)，總看不飽，嘗不透，賞玩不到十足。秋并不是名花，也并不是美酒，那一種半開，半醉的狀態(tài)，在領(lǐng)略秋的過程上，是不合適的。
不逢北國之秋，已將近十余年了。在南方每年到了秋天，總要想起陶然亭的蘆花，釣魚臺的柳影，西山的蟲唱，玉泉的夜月，潭柘寺的鐘聲。在北平即使不出門去罷，就是在皇城人海之中，租人家一椽破屋來住著，早晨起來，泡一碗濃茶，向院子一坐，你也能看得到很高很高的碧綠的天色，聽得到青天下馴鴿的飛聲。從槐樹葉底，朝東細(xì)數(shù)著一絲一絲漏下來的日光，或在破壁腰中，靜對著像喇叭似的牽牛花（朝榮）的藍(lán)朵，自然而然地也能夠感覺到十分的秋意。說到了牽?；?，我以為以藍(lán)色或白色者為佳，紫黑色次之，淡紅色最下。最好，還要在牽?；ǖ捉涕L著幾根疏疏落落的尖細(xì)且長的秋草，使作陪襯。
北國的槐樹，也是一種能使人聯(lián)想起秋來的點綴。像花而又不是花的那一種落蕊，早晨起來，會鋪得滿地。腳踏上去，聲音也沒有，氣味也沒有，只能感出一點點極微細(xì)極柔軟的觸覺。掃街的在樹影下一陣掃后，灰土上留下來的一條條掃帚的絲紋，看起來既覺得細(xì)膩，又覺得清閑，潛意識下并且還覺得有點兒落寞，古人所說的梧桐一葉而天下知秋的遙想，大約也就在這些深沉的地方。
秋蟬的衰弱的殘聲，更是北國的特產(chǎn)；因為北平處處全長著樹，屋子又低，所以無論在什么地方，都聽得見它們的啼唱。在南方是非要上郊外或山上去才聽得到的。這秋蟬的嘶叫，在北平可和蟋蟀耗子一樣，簡直像是家家戶戶都養(yǎng)在家里的家蟲。
還有秋雨哩，北方的秋雨，也似乎比南方的下得奇，下得有味，下得更像樣。
在灰沉沉的天底下，忽而來一陣涼風(fēng)，便息列索落地下起雨來了。一層雨過，云漸漸地卷向了西去，天又青了，太陽又露出臉來了；著著很厚的青布單衣或夾襖的都市閑人，咬著煙管，在雨后的斜橋影里，上橋頭樹底下去一立，遇見熟人，便會用了緩慢悠閑的聲調(diào)，微嘆著互答著的說：
“唉，天可真涼了——”
“可不是么？一層秋雨一層涼了！”
北方的果樹，到秋來，也是一種奇景。第一是棗子樹；屋角，墻頭，茅房邊上，灶房門口，它都會一株株地長大起來。像橄欖又像鴿蛋似的這棗子顆兒，在小橢圓形的細(xì)葉中間，顯出淡綠微黃的顏色的時候，正是秋的全盛時期；等棗樹葉落，棗子紅完，西北風(fēng)就要起來了，北方便是塵沙灰土的世界，只有這棗子、柿子、葡萄，成熟到八九分的七八月之交，是北國的清秋的佳日，是一年之中最好也沒有的golden days。
有些批評家說，中國的文人學(xué)士，尤其是詩人，都帶著很濃重的頹廢色彩，所以中國的詩文里，頌贊秋的文字特別的多。但外國的詩人，又何嘗不然？我雖則外國詩文念得不多，也不想開出賬來，做一篇秋的詩歌散文鈔，但你若去一翻英德法意等詩人的集子，或各國的詩文的anthology來，總能夠看到許多關(guān)于秋的歌頌與悲啼。各著名的大詩人的長篇田園詩或四季詩里，也總以關(guān)于秋的部分，寫得最出色而最有味。足見有感覺的動物，有情趣的人類，對于秋，總是一樣的能特別引起深沉，幽遠(yuǎn)，嚴(yán)厲，蕭索的感觸來的。不單是詩人，就是被關(guān)閉在牢獄里的囚犯，到了秋天，我想也一定會感到一種不能自已的深情；秋之于人，何嘗有國別，更何嘗有人種階級的區(qū)別呢？不過在中國，文字里有一個“秋士”的成語，讀本里又有著很普通的歐陽子的秋聲與蘇東坡的《赤壁賦》等，就覺得中國的文人，與秋的關(guān)系特別深了。可是這秋的深味，尤其是中國的秋的深味，非要在北方，才感受得到底。
南國之秋，當(dāng)然是也有它的特異的地方的，比如廿四橋的明月，錢塘江的秋潮，普陀山的涼霧，荔枝灣的殘荷等等，可是色彩不濃，回味不永。比起北國的秋來，正像是黃酒之與白干，稀飯之與饃饃，鱸魚之與大蟹，黃犬之與駱駝。
秋天，這北國的秋天，若留得住的話，我愿把壽命的三分之二折去，換得一個三分之一的零頭。
Autumn in Peiping
Autumn, wherever it is, always has something to recommend itself. In North China, however, it is particularly limpid, serene and melancholy. To enjoy its atmosphere to the full in the onetime capital, I have, therefore, made light of travelling a long distance from Hangzhou to Qingdao, and thence to Peiping.There is of course autumn in the South too, but over there plants wither slowly, the air is moist, the sky pallid, and it is more often rainy than windy. While muddling along all by myself among the urban dwellers of Suzhou, Shanghai, Xiamen, Hong Kong or Guangzhou, I feel nothing but a little chill in the air, without ever relishing to my heart's content the flavour, colour, mood and style of the season. Unlike famous flowers which are most attractive when half opening, or good wine which is most tempting when one is half drunk, autumn, however, is best appreciated in its entirety.
It is more than a decade since I last saw autumn in the North. When I am in the South, the arrival of each autumn will put me in mind of Peiping's Tao Ran Ting with its reed catkins, Diao Yu Tai with its shady willow trees, Western Hills with their chirping insects, Yu Quan Shan Mountain on a moonlight evening and Tan Zhe Si with its reverberating bell. Suppose you put up in a humble rented house inside the bustling imperial city, you can, on getting up at dawn, sit in your courtyard sipping a cup of strong tea, leisurely watch the high azure skies and listen to pigeons circling overhead. Turn eastward under locust trees to closely observe streaks of sunlight filtering through their foliage, or quietly watch the trumpet-shaped blue flowers of morning glories climbing half way up a dilapidated wall, and an intense feeling of autumn will of itself well up inside you. As to morning glories, I like their blue or white flowers best, dark purple ones second best, and pink ones third best. It will be most desirable to have them set off by some tall thin grass planted underneath here and there.
Locust trees in the North, as a decorative embellishment of nature, also associate us with autumn. On getting up early in the morning, you will find the ground strewn all over with flower-like pistils fallen from locust trees. Quiet and smelless, they feel tiny and soft underfoot. After a street cleaner has done the sweeping under the shade of the trees, you will discover countless lines left by his broom in the dust, which look so fine and quiet that somehow a feeling of forlornness will begin to creep up on you. The same depth of implication is found in the ancient saying that a single fallen leaf from the wutong tree is more than enough to inform the world of autumn's presence.
The sporadic feeble chirping of cicadas is especially characteristic of autumn in the North. Due to the abundance of trees and the low altitude of dwellings in Peiping, cicadas are audible in every nook and cranny of the city. In the South, however, one cannot hear them unless in suburbs or hills. Because of their ubiquitous shrill noise, these insects in Peiping seem to be living off every household like crickets or mice.
As for autumn rains in the North, they also seem to differ from those in the South, being more appealing, more temperate.
A sudden gust of cool wind under the slaty sky, and raindrops will start pitter-pattering. Soon when the rain is over, the clouds begin gradually to roll towards the west and the sun comes out in the blue sky. Some idle townsfolk, wearing lined or unlined clothing made of thick black cloth, will come out pipe in mouth and, loitering under a tree by the end of a bridge, exchange leisurely conversation with acquaintances with a slight touch of regret at the passing of time:
Oh, real nice and cool —
Sure! Getting cooler with each autumn shower!
Fruit trees in the North also make a wonderful sight in autumn. Take jujube trees for example. They grow everywhere — around the corner of a house, at the foot of a wall, by the side of a latrine or outside a kitchen door. It is at the height of autumn that jujubes, shaped like dates or pigeon eggs, make their appearance in a light yellowish-green amongst tiny elliptic leaves. By the time when they have turned ruddy and the leaves fallen, the northwesterly wind will begin to reign supreme and make a dusty world of the North. Only at the turn of July and August when jujubes, persimmons, grapes are 80-90 percent ripe will the North have the best of autumn — the golden days in a year.
Some literary critics say that Chinese literati, especially poets, are mostly disposed to be decadent, which accounts for predominance of Chinese works singing the praises of autumn. Well, the same is true of foreign poets, isn't it? I haven't read much of foreign poetry and prose, nor do I want to enumerate autumn-related poems and essays in foreign literature. But, if you browse through collected works of English, German, French or Italian poets, or various countries' anthologies of poetry or prose, you can always come across a great many literary pieces eulogizing or lamenting autumn. Long pastoral poems or songs about the four seasons by renowned poets are mostly distinguished by beautiful moving lines on autumn. All that goes to show that all live creatures and sensitive humans alike are prone to the feeling of depth, remoteness, severity and bleakness. Not only poets, even convicts in prison, I suppose, have deep sentiments in autumn in spite of themselves. Autumn treats all humans alike, regardless of nationality, race or class. However, judging from the Chinese idiom qiushi (autumn scholar, meaning an aged scholar grieving over frustrations in his life) and the frequent selection in textbooks of Ouyang Xiu's On the Autumn Sough and Su Dongpo's On the Red Cliff, Chinese men of letters seem to be particularly autumn-minded. But, to know the real flavour of autumn, especially China's autumn, one has to visit the North.
Autumn in the South also has its unique features, such as the moon-lit Ershisi Bridge in Yangzhou, the flowing sea tide at the Qiantangjiang River, the mist-shrouded Putuo Mountain and lotuses at the Lizhiwan Bay. But they all lack strong colour and lingering flavour. Southern autumn is to Northern autumn what yellow rice wine is to kaoliang wine, congee to steamed buns, perches to crabs, yellow dogs to camels.
Autumn, I mean Northern autumn, if only it could be made to last forever! I would be more than willing to keep but one-third of my life-span and have two-thirds of it bartered for the prolonged stay of the season!
《故都的秋》是郁達(dá)夫（1896—1945）的名篇，1934年8月寫于北平。文章通過對北國特有風(fēng)物的細(xì)膩描繪，抒發(fā)作者對故都之秋的無比眷戀之情。
