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SHAZADPUR. June 1891.
1891年6月，沙乍德
From the bank to which the boat is tied a kind of scent rises out of the grass, and the heat of the ground, given off in gasps, actually touches my body. I feel that the warm, living Earth is breathing upon me, and that she, also, must feel my breath.
我们停船的岸边草地上散发着清香，地上的热气一阵一阵地向我袭来，是那么地真切。我觉得那是大地温暖而充满生机的鼻息，而她也一定能感受到我的呼吸。
The young shoots of rice are waving in the breeze, and the ducks are in turn thrusting their heads beneath the water and preening their feathers. There is no sound save the faint, mournful creaking of the gangway against the boat, as she imperceptibly swings to and fro in the current.
稻苗在微风中摇曳，鸭子们时而把头伸进水中，时而整理着羽毛。小船随着水波微微荡漾，除了跳板搭在船弦上隐约发出哀伤的吱嘎声外，万籁俱寂。
Not far off there is a ferry. A motley crowd has assembled under the banyan tree awaiting the boat’s return; and as soon as it arrives, they eagerly scramble in. I enjoy watching this for hours together. It is market-day in the village on the other bank; that is why the ferry is so busy. Some carry bundles of hay, some baskets, some sacks; some are going to the market, others coming from it. Thus, in this silent noonday, the stream of human activity slowly flows across the river between two villages.
离此不远的地方有一个渡口，只见人群斑驳站在菩提树下等着船返回。船一靠岸，他们就急忙挤了上去。这样的情景我看上几个小时都乐此不疲。今天是对岸小村子的集日，所以渡船才会那么繁忙。有些人扛着一捆捆的稻草，有的挎着篮子，有的背着麻袋；有的人正赶往集市，有的则从集市归来。就这样，在这个寂静无声的中午，忙碌的人流在两村之间的河流上缓慢穿行。
I sat wondering: Why is there always this deep shade of melancholy over the fields, river banks, the sky and the sunshine of our country? And I came to the conclusion that it is because with us Nature is obviously the more important thing. The sky is free, the fields limitless; and the sun merges them into one blazing whole. In the midst of this, man seems so trivial. He comes and goes, like the ferry-boat, from this shore to the other; the 1babbling hum of his talk, the fitful echo of his song, is heard; the slight movement of his pursuit of his own petty desires is seen in the world’s market-places: but how feeble, how temporary, how tragically meaningless it all seems amidst the immense aloofness of the Universe!
我坐在那里，不禁想到：我们国家的田野、河岸、天空以及阳光为什么都笼罩着这种深沉的忧郁之色？我的结论是，那是因为对我们来说，大自然显然是更重要的东西。天空是自由的，田野是无垠的，阳光把它们融合成一个辉煌的整体。在这个整体中，人类显得如此微不足道。他就像一条渡船，在两岸之间往来，虽然他嗡嗡的话语、回荡的歌声断续可闻，他在这个凡世的集市上为自己那些琐碎愿望奔走的情形依稀可见，可在这个广漠超然的世界里，那些是多么软弱无力、多么转瞬即逝、多么可悲无聊啊！
The contrast between the beautiful, broad, unalloyed peace of Nature—calm, passive, silent, unfathomable—and our own everyday worries—paltry, sorrow-laden, strife-tormented—puts me beside myself as I keep staring at the hazy, distant, blue line of trees which fringe the fields across the river.
当我看着对岸田野边缘那一线朦胧而遥远的青色树林时，大自然的美丽、辽阔和纯净平和，它的沉静、消极、缄默和深邃与我们每天那些鸡毛蒜皮、忧心忡忡和尔虞我诈的烦恼形成了鲜明对照，我整个人都看出神了。
Where Nature is ever hidden and cowers under mist and cloud, snow and darkness, there man feels himself master; he regards his desires, his works, as permanent; he wants to perpetuate them, he looks towards posterity, he raises monuments, he writes biographies; he even goes the length of erecting tombstones over the dead. So busy is he that he has not time to consider how many monuments crumble, how often names are forgotten!
大自然隐而不见，藏在云雾、白雪和黑暗之中，人类觉得自己就是主人，他把自己的愿望、工作当作永恒，要使其不朽，他寄望于子孙后代，他修碑立传，甚至还不辞辛劳地替死人修建墓碑。他忙得都没有时间去想一想，多少纪念碑早已崩塌无存，多少虚名亦长埋黄土！
SHELIDAH, 3rd July 1893.
1893年7月3日，谢丽达
All last night the wind howled like a stray dog, and the rain still pours on without a break. The water from the fields is rushing in numberless, purling streams to the river. The dripping ryots are crossing the river in the ferryboat, some with their bamboo hat, others with yam leaves held over their heads. Big cargo-boats are gliding along, the boatman sitting drenched at his helm, the crew straining at the tow ropes through the rain. The birds remain gloomily confined to their nests, but the sons of men fare forth, for in spite of the weather the world’s work must go on.
昨晚，风如丧家之犬般咆哮了一夜，雨也下个不停。田野里无数的水流汇聚到河里。浑身湿淋淋的农夫坐着渡船过河，有的人戴着斗笠，有的人拿着片山药叶子遮在头上。大货船继续滑行，坐在舵旁的水手被淋了个透湿，其他船员在雨中使劲地拽着拖绳。鸟儿们郁郁寡欢地呆在窝里，但是人类的儿子们却继续前行，因为不论天气如何，活儿还是要继续干的。
Two cowherd lads are grazing their cattle just in front of my boat. The cows are munching away with great gusto, their noses plunged into the lush grass, their tails incessantly busy flicking off the flies. The raindrops and the sticks of the cowherd boys fall on their backs with the same unreasonable persistency, and they bear both with equally uncritical resignation, steadily going on with their munch, munch, munch. These cows have such mild, affectionate, mournful eyes.
两位牧童正在我所乘船只的前方放牧。牛群把鼻子伸进青葱的草丛中，兴致盎然地吃着草，同时不停摆尾驱赶蝇虫。雨滴和牧童的棍子不可理喻地持续落在它们的背上，而它们却顺从地听之任之，只是埋头吃草，吃草，吃草。这些牛的眼睛是那么地温柔、和蔼而哀伤。
The river is rising daily. What I could see yesterday only from the upper deck, I can now see from my cabin windows. Every morning I awake to find my field of vision growing larger. Not long since, only the tree-tops near those distant villages used to appear, like dark green clouds. Today the whole of the wood is visible.
河水一天比一天涨高。昨天在上甲板才能看到的东西现在从船舱的窗口就能看到了。每天早上起来，我都发现自己的视野变得开阔了。不久以前还只能看到远处村庄附近如绿云一般的树林顶部。今天整个树林都能看见了。
Land and water are gradually approaching each other like two bashful lovers. The limit of their shyness has nearly been reached—their arms will soon be round each other’s necks. I shall enjoy my trip along this brimful river at the height of the rains. I am fidgeting to give the order to cast.
大地和水像是害羞的恋人们一般一天比一天靠近彼此。他们的羞怯即将褪去，他们的双手很快就会搂住彼此的脖颈了。我应该在滂沱大雨中，在这条满溢的河上享受我的旅程。我正犹豫着要不要下令靠岸抛锚呢。
PATISAR, 30th March 1894.
1894年3月30日，帕提萨
Sometimes when I realize that Life’s journey is long, and that the sorrows to be encountered are many and inevitable, a supreme effort is required to keep up my strength of mind. Some evenings, as I sit alone staring at the flame of the lamp on the table, I vow I will live as a brave man should—unmoved, silent, uncomplaining. The resolve puffs me up, and for the moment I mistake myself for a very, very brave person indeed. But as soon as the thorns on the road worry my feet, I writhe and begin to feel serious misgivings as to the future. The path of life again seems long, and my strength inadequate.
有时当我意识到人生的旅途漫长，忧愁很多而且不可避免时，就必须付出极大的努力来给自己打气。有些夜晚独坐在桌旁，我会盯着灯焰发誓要像勇士那样活着——坚定、沉静、不埋怨。这决心让我自信满满，好像自己真的是一位勇者。可是在路上遇到满途荆棘，我又苦恼不安，开始为前途满心担忧起来。人生的道路似乎又变得漫长起来，我感到力有不逮。
But this last conclusion cannot be the true one, for it is these petty thorns which are the most difficult to bear. The household of the mind is a thrifty one, and only so much is spent as is necessary. There is no squandering on trifles, and its wealth of strength is saved up with miserly strictness to meet the really big calamities. So any amount of weeping and wailing over the lesser griefs fails to evoke a charitable response. But when sorrow is deepest there is no stint of effort. Then the surface crust is pierced, and consolation wells up, and all the forces of patience and courage are banded together to do their duty. Thus great suffering brings with it the power of great endurance.
但是这最后的结论不会是真的，因为正是那些细小的荆棘最是难忍。打理思想的家园必须节俭，需要花多少才花多少，决不在小事上浪费。它的力量靠精打细算地积攒起来，用以应对真正的巨大灾难。因此，为小事哭泣流泪无法唤起同情。但当忧伤最深时，心力付出可以毫不吝啬。那时候，外面的硬皮被戳穿了，安慰喷涌而出，所有的忍耐和勇气都被释放出来全力以赴去承担它们的责任。就这样，巨大的苦难孕育了强大的忍耐力。
One side of man’s nature has the desire for pleasure—there is another side which desires self-sacrifice. When the former meets with disappointment, the latter gains strength, and on its thus finding fuller scope a grand enthusiasm fills the soul. So while we are cowards before petty troubles, great sorrows make us brave by rousing our truer manhood. And in these, therefore, there is a joy.
人的本性有追求享乐的一面，又有向往自我牺牲的另一面。当前者遇到失望时，后者就得到力量；在寻觅到这样一个更广阔的领域后，灵魂充满了一种崇高的热情。因此我们在面对微小的困难时是个懦夫，而巨大的不幸却能激起我们更真实的勇气，使我们勇敢起来。所以，在这里面有一种快乐。
It is not an empty paradox to say that there is joy in sorrow, just as, on the other hand, it is true that there is a dissatisfaction in pleasure. It is not difficult to understand why this should be so.
人们常说，悲伤之中有喜悦，这种说法并不是无谓的矛盾；反过来说，愉悦之中有缺憾，这同样不假。为什么会这样，这点不难理解。
