文学作品翻译：《荷塘月色》

荷塘月色

朱自清

这几天心里颇不宁静。今晚在院子里坐着乘凉，忽然想起日日走过的荷塘，在这满月的光里，总该另有一番样子吧。月亮渐渐地升高了，墙外马路上孩子们的欢笑，已经听不见了;妻在屋里拍着闰儿，迷迷糊糊地哼着眠歌。我悄悄地披了大衫，带上门出去。

沿着荷塘，是一条曲折的小煤屑路。这是一条幽僻的路;白天也少人走，夜晚更加寂寞。荷塘四周，长着许多树，蓊蓊郁郁的。路的一旁，是些杨柳，和一些不知道名字的树。没有月光的晚上，这路上阴森森的，有些怕人。今晚却很好，虽然月光也还是淡淡的。

路上只我一个人，背着手踱着。这一片天地好像是我的;我也像超出了平常的自己，到了另一个世界里。我爱热闹，也爱冷静;爱群居，也爱独处。像今晚上，一个人在这苍茫的月下，什么都可以想，什么都可以不想，便觉是个自由的人。白天里一定要做的事，一定要说的话，现在都可不理。这是独处的妙处，我且受用这无边的荷香月色好了。

曲曲折折的荷塘上面，弥望的是田田的叶子。叶子出水很高，像亭亭的舞女的裙。层层的叶子中间，零星地点缀着些白花，有袅娜地开着的，有羞涩地打着朵儿的;正如一粒粒的明珠，又如碧天里的星星，又如刚出浴的美人。微风过处，送来缕缕清香，仿佛远处高楼上渺茫的歌声似的。这时候叶子与花也有一丝的颤动，像闪电般，霎时传过荷塘的那边去了。叶子本是肩并肩密密地挨着，这便宛然有了一道凝碧的波痕。叶子底下是脉脉的流水，遮住了，不能见一些颜色;而叶子却更见风致了。

月光如流水一般，静静地泻在这一片叶子和花上。薄薄的青雾浮起在荷塘里。叶子和花仿佛在牛乳中洗过一样;又像笼着轻纱的梦。虽然是满月，天上却有一层淡淡的云，所以不能朗照;但我以为这恰是到了好处——酣眠固不可少，小睡也别有风味的。月光是隔了树照过来的，高处丛生的灌木，落下参差的斑驳的黑影，峭楞楞如鬼一般;弯弯的杨柳的稀疏的倩影，却又像是画在荷叶上。塘中的月色并不均匀;但光与影有着和谐的旋律，如梵婀玲上奏着的名曲。

荷塘的四面，远远近近，高高低低都是树，而杨柳最多。这些树将一片荷塘重重围住;只在小路一旁，漏着几段空隙，像是特为月光留下的。树色一例是阴阴的，乍看像一团烟雾;但杨柳的丰姿，便在烟雾里也辨得出。树梢上隐隐约约的是一带远山，只有些大意罢了。树缝里也漏着一两点路灯光，没精打采的，是渴睡人的眼。这时候最热闹的，要数树上的蝉声与水里的蛙声;但热闹是他们的，我什么也没有。

忽然想起采莲的事情来了。采莲是江南的旧俗，似乎很早就有，而六朝时为盛;从诗歌里可以约略知道。采莲的是少年的女子，她们是荡着小船，唱着艳歌去的。采莲人不用说很多，还有看采莲的人。那是一个热闹的季节，也是一个风流的季节。梁元帝《采莲赋》里说得好：

于是妖童媛女，荡舟心许;鷁首徐回，兼传羽杯;欋将移而藻挂，船欲动而萍开。尔其纤腰束素，迁延顾步;夏始春余，叶嫩花初，恐沾裳而浅笑，畏倾船而敛裾。

可见当时嬉游的光景了。这真是有趣的事，可惜我们现在早已无福消受了。

于是又记起《西洲曲》里的句子：采莲南塘秋，莲花过人头;低头弄莲子，莲子清如水。

今晚若有采莲人，这儿的莲花也算得“过人头”了;只不见一些流水的影子，是不行的。这令我到底惦着江南了。——这样想着，猛一抬头，不觉已是自己的门前;轻轻地推门进去，什么声息也没有，妻已睡熟好久了。

参考翻译：

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.