第6章 我灵魂的深处埋着一个秘密（4）

她媚眼不厌千万遍的瞻恋，

此中涵有无限的温情绻缱。

这是我宝物的宝物，我说，

她不久即长埋在墓庭之侧；

若不及早去把那小盒取出，

岂非留在她胸前，永远埋没。

Nobody else， in the country place

All round， that knew of my loss beside，

But the good young Priest with the Raphael-face

Who confess'd her when she died.

That good young Priest is of gentle nerve，

And my grief had moved him beyond controul ；

For his lip grew white， as I could observe，

When he speeded her parting soul.

I sat by the dreary hearth alone：

I thought of the pleasant days of yore

I said " the staff' of my life is gone：

The woman I love is no more.

" Gem-clasp'd， on her bosom my portrait lies，

Which next to her heart she used to wear

It is steep'd in the light of her loving eyes，

And the sweets of her bosom and hair."

And I said "the thing is precious to me：

They will bury her soon in the churchyard clay

It lies on her heart， and lost must be，

If I do not take it away."

我从死焰里点起一盏油灯，

爬上楼梯，级级在怖惧颤震，

我悄步地掩入了死者之房，

我爱人遍体白衣，僵卧在床。

月光临照在她衣衾之上，

惨白的尸身，无声静偃，

她足旁燃有小白烛七支，

她头边也有七烛燃点。

我展臂向前，深深的呼吸，

转身将床前的帐幔揭开；

我不敢直视死者之面，

我探手摸索她心窝所在。

我手下落在她胸前，啊！

莫非她芳魂的生命，一度回还，

我敢誓言，我手觉着温暖，

而且悚悚的在动弹。

I lighted my lamp at the dying flame，

And crept up the stairs that creak'd for fright，

Till into the chamber of death I came，

Where she lay all in white.

The moon shone over her winding sheet.

There， stark she lay on her carvcn bed ：

Seven burning tapers about her feet，

And seven about her head.

As I stretch'd my hand， I held my breath ；

I turn'd， as I drew the curtains apart：

I dared not look on the face of death：

I knew where to find her heart.

I thought， at first， as my touch fell there，

It had warm'd that heart to life， with love；

For the thing I touch'd was warm， I swear，

And I could feel it move.

那是只男子的手，从床的那边，

缓缓的也在死者胸前移转；

吓得我冷汗在眉额间直渖，

我嚷一声“谁在行窃尸身？”

面对我，烛光分明的照出，

我的好友，伴我度夜的好友，

站立在尸身之畔，形容惨变；——

彼此不期的互视，相与惊骇。

“你干什么来，我的朋友？”

他先望望我，再望望尸身。

他说，“这里有一个肖像。”

“不错，有的，”我说，“那是我的。”

“不错，你的，”我的好友说，

“那肖像原是你的，一月以前，

但已仙去的安琪儿，早已取出，

我知道她把我的小影放入。”

“这妇人爱我是真的，”我说，

“爱你，”他说，“一月以前，也许。”

“哪有的事，”我说，“你分明谎说，”

他答，“好，我们来看个明白。”

'Twas the hand of a man， that was moving slow

O'er the heart of the dead， from the other side

And at once the sweat broke over my brow，

"Who is robbing the corpse？ " I cried.

Opposite me， by the tapers' light，

The friend of my bosom， the man I loved，

Stood over the corpse， and all as white，

And neither of us moved.

"What do you here， my friend？"…The man

Look'd first at me， and then at the dead.

" There is a portrait here …" he began ；

" There is. It is mine，" I said.

Said the friend of my bosom， "yours， no doubt，

The portrait was， till a month ago，

When this suffering angel took that out，

And placed mine there， I know."

" This woman， she loved me well，" said I.

" A month ago，" said my friend to me：

" And in your throat，" I groan 'd， "you lie

He answer'd ， "let us see."

得了，我说，让死的来判决，

这照相是谁的就是谁的，

如其恋爱的心意改变，

你我谁也不能怨谁。

那相盒果然还在死者的胸前，

我们在烛光下把盒子打开，

盒内宝石的镶嵌，依然无改，

但只肖像却变成非我非他的谁。

“这钉赶出那钉，真是的！

这不是你也不是我，”我嚷道——

“却是那貌似拉斐尔的少年牧师，

他独自伴着她离生入死。”

" Enough ！ " I return'd， "let the dead decide ：

And whose soever the portrait prove，

His shall it be， when the cause is tried，

Where Death is arraign'd by Love."

We found the portrait， there in its place ：

We open'd it by the tapers' shine：

The gems were all unchanged ： the face

Was neither his nor mine.

"One nail drives out another， at least ！

The portrait is not ours，" I cried，

"But our friend's， the Raphael-faced young Priest，

Who confess'd her when she died."

窥镜

[英]托马斯·哈代

我向着镜里端详，思忖，

镜里反映出我消瘦的身影，

我说，“但愿仰上帝的慈恩，

使了我的心，变成一般的瘦损！”

因为枯萎了的心，不再感受

人们渐次疏淡我的寒冰，

我自此可以化石似的镇定，

孤独地，静待最后的安宁。

但不仁善的，磨难我的光阴，

消耗了我的身，却留着我的心；

鼓动着干潮般的脉搏与血运，

在昏夜里狂撼我消瘦了的身影。

I Look into my Glass

Thomas Hardy

I LOOK into my glass，

And view my wasting skin，

And say， “Would God it came to pass

My heart had shrunk as thin！”

For then， I， undistrest

By hearts grown cold to me，

Could lonely wait my endless rest

With equanimity.

But Time， to make me grieve，

Part steals， lets part abide；

And shakes this fragile frame at eve

With throbbings of noontide.

她的名字

[英]托马斯·哈代

在一本诗人的书叶上

我画着她芳名的字形；

她像是光艳的思想的部分，

曾经灵感那歌吟者的欢欣。

如今我又翻着那张书叶，

诗歌里依旧闪耀着光彩，

但她的名字的鲜艳，

却已随着过去的时光消淡。

Her Initials

Thomas Hardy

Upon a poet’s page I wrote

Of old two letters of her name；

Part seemed she of the effulgent thought

Whence that high singer’s rapture came.

—When now I turn the leaf the same

Immortal light illumes the lay

But from the letters of her name

The radiance has died away.

伤痕

[英]托马斯·哈代

我爬登了山顶，

回望西天的光景，

太阳在雾彩里，

宛似一个血殷的伤痕；

宛似我自身的伤痕，

知道的没有一个人，

因为我不曾袒露隐秘，

谁知伤痕透过我的心！

The Wound

Thomas Hardy

I climbed to the crest，

And， fog-festooned，

The sun lay west

Like a crimson wound：

Like that wound of mine

Of which none knew，

For I'd given no sign

That it pierced me through.

分离

[英]托马斯·哈代

急雨打着窗，震响的门枢，

大风呼呼的，狂扫过青草地，

在这里的我，在那里的你，

中间隔离着途程百里！

假如我们的离异，我爱，

只是这深夜的风与雨，

只是这间隔着的百余里，

我心中许还有微笑的生机。

但在你我间的那个离异，我爱，

不比那可以缩短的距离，

不比那可以消歇的风雨，

更不比那不尽的光明，窈远无期！

The Division

Thomas Hardy

Rain on the windows， creaking doors，

With blasts that besom the green，

And I am here， and you are there，

And a hundred miles between！

O were it but the weather， Dear，

O were it but the miles

That summed up all our severance，

There might be room for smiles.

But that thwart thing betwixt us twain，

Which nothing cleaves or clears，

Is more than distance， Dear， or rain，

And longer than the years！

公园里的座椅

[英]托马斯·哈代

褪色了，斑驳了，这园里的座椅，

原先站得稳稳的，现在陷落在土里；

早晚就会凭空倒下去的，

早晚就会凭空倒下去的。

在夜里大红的花朵看似黑的，

曾经在此坐过的又回来坐地：

他们坐着，满满的一排全是的，

他们坐着，满满的一排全是的。

他们坐着这椅座可不往下沉，

冬天冻不着他们洪水也冲不了他们

因为他们的身子是空气似的轻，

他们的身子是像空气似的轻。

The Garden Seat

Thomas Hardy

Its former green is blue and thin，

And its once firm legs sink in and in；

Soon it will break down unaware，

Soon it will break down unaware.

At night when reddest flowers are black

Those who once sat thereon come back；

Quite a row of them sitting there，

Quite a row of them sitting there.

With them the seat does not break down，

Nor winter freeze them， nor floods drown，

For they are as light as upper air，

They are as light as upper air！

我打死的那个人

[英]托马斯·哈代

要是我与他在那儿

老饭店里碰头，

彼此还不是朋友，

一同喝茶，一起喝酒。

但是碰巧彼此当兵

他对着我瞄准，

我对着他放枪，——

我结果了他的性命。

我打死他为的是

为他是我的敌人，