Autumn, no matter where it happens, is always appealing, but autumn in
Northern China, especially, is less diluted, quieter, and more
melancholy. It is merely for the purpose of fully tasting these
“flavors”—the autumnal flavors of my old capital—that I braved the long
trip from Hangzhou to Qingdao and then to Peiping.
Autumn, of course, also happens in the south, but in a southern autumn,
the flora is slower to wither, the air is denser with moisture, the sky
is lighter in color, and it is more often rainy than windy. Muddling
along as a loner, engulfed among the residents of the near southern
cities like Suzhou, Shanghai, or Hangzhou, or the far southern ones like
Xiamen, Hong Kong, or Guangzhou, I can only feel a little bit of the
pureness and melancholy of autumn. There, I have never seen enough of
the views of autumn, tasted enough of flavors of autumn, or explored
enough of the poetic imagery of autumn. Autumn is neither a famous
flower nor a luscious wine. That state of half-blooming and
half-intoxication is not appropriate to the understanding of the season.
It has been more than a decade since I last experienced autumn in the
north. In the south, every year when autumn came, I would always miss
the reed catkins at the Joyous Pavilion, the willow silhouettes by the
Fishing Tower, the chirping of insects in the West Hills, the midnight
moon above the Jade Spring, and the chiming of the bells from the
Poolside Mulberry Temple. In Beijing, however, even though you stay at
home—say, you reside in a dilapidated rented house in the imperial city,
with a sea of inhabitants, and you get up in the morning, making a bowl
of strong tea, and sit in a spot facing the entire yard—you can also
see the azure color high in the sky and hear the noise the domesticated
pigeons make when they fly under the blue sky. From beneath a locust
tree, counting strip after strip of sunbeams dripping down from the east
through the foliage or quietly looking at the blue flowers of
trumpet-shaped morning glories rooted in the middle of a broken wall,
you will also automatically get a deep sense of autumn. Speaking of
morning glories, I think the blue or white flowers are the best, the
purple-blacks come next, and the light-reds rank last. If there are a
few long, thin autumn grasses loosely spread out under them to set them
off, so much the better.
The northern locust tree is yet another scenic element that would make
people think of autumn. When you get up in the morning, you will see
stamens and pistils—which look like flowers, but are actually not—all
over the ground. When you step on them, you don’t hear anything or smell
anything; you only have an extremely light and soft feeling of contact.
After the street cleaner sweeps the tree-shaded ground, you will see
strip after strip of sweeping marks on the earth. They look delicate and
inspire a sense of leisure, and your subconscious mind will even
register a little feeling of desolation. This is perhaps where lies the
profound meaning of the ancient poetic line that “A falling leaf from a
Chinese parasol manifests the arrival of autumn.”
The lingering, weak chirping of the autumnal harvest flies is even more
characteristic of the north. Because there are trees everywhere and the
houses are not very tall in Peiping, you can hear the harvest flies
wherever you go. But in the south, you won’t be able to hear anything
unless you go to the suburbs or take a trip into the hills. In Peiping,
harvest flies, which are as common as crickets or mice, are like house
pets for every family.
Don’t forget the autumnal rain! The autumnal rain in the north seems to
fall in a way more distinctive, more flavorsome, and more akin to rain
than that in the south.
Under the grey sky, after an abrupt cool wind comes the pitter-patter of
rain. Soon after the brisk rain is over, the clouds begin to slowly
roll to the west, the sky starts to turn blue again, and the sun pops
its face out once more. A tobacco pipe between his lips, a leisurely
townsman, clad in a thick lined jacket or a dark blue padded coat, would
step out of the shade of the rain-washed skew bridge and stand under a
bridgehead tree; when he sees someone he knows, he would let out a light
sigh and say, in a slow and leisurely tone,
“Gosh, it’sss really getting chilly—” (Emphasizing the progressive “s” by highly pitching and dragging it.)
“Exactly! Hence, the saying ‘Each burstr of autumnal rain adds a burstr of chilliness!’”
When northerners pronounce the word “burst,” it always sounds like
“burstr.” But, in terms of cadence, this distortion in pronunciation has
the benefit of creating an accidental rhyme.
When autumn comes, the fruit trees in the north also boast of an unusual
scene. The date trees should be the first kind. They grow
everywhere—around the corners of houses, on walls, by outhouses, next to
kitchen cabins. When the dates, like olives or pigeon eggs, begin to
show their light-green and light-yellow colors amid the small
oval-shaped leaves, the autumn season has reached its prime. By the time
the leaves have fallen and the dates themselves have finished turning
red, the northwest wind will start to blow, and this will then make the
north a dusty and muddy world. The best period of an undiluted autumn in
the north is at the transitional period between July and August, when
dates, persimmons, and grapes are almost completely ripe. These are the
golden days of the year.
Some critics say that all Chinese scholars, men of letters, and
especially poets, have a strong propensity for decadence and that’s why
quite a number of Chinese poems eulogize autumn. But don’t foreign poets
do the same? I have neither delved much into foreign poetry nor want to
make a list that will turn my pure prose into a piece of
quotation-riddled lyric prose about autumn, but if you flip through a
collection of poetry from Britain, Germany, France, Italy, etc. or
through a poetry anthology from each of these countries, you are bound
to see much eulogizing and bemoaning of the season.
The best-written and most exquisite parts of the voluminous idyllic
pastoral poetry or of the verses on the four seasons produced by famous
poets are those that describe autumn. This clearly reveals that all
sentient animals and appreciative humans share an identical mentality
toward the autumn season, which always gives them a deep, remote,
serious, serious, and melancholic feeling. I believe that when autumn
comes, not only poets, but even prison inmates, have deep,
uncontrollable emotions. When it comes to autumn, no differences exist
between nations, ethnicities or social classes. Since there is a term
“autumnal scholar” in the Chinese language and some popular “autumnal
verses” such as Ode to Autumnal Sounds by Ouyang Xiu and Ode to the Red
Cliff by Su Shi, one would feel that the Chinese literati have a more
profound relationship with autumn than their western counterparts. But
this profound flavor of autumn, especially the profound flavor of a
Chinese autumn, can only be tasted in the north.
Autumn in the south, of course, also has its special characteristics.
Take, for instance, the bright moon over the Twenty-fourth Bridge, the
autumnal tides in the Qiantang River, the cool mist on Mount Putuo, the
late lotus in the Litchi Fruit Bay, etc. But none of these is deep in
color, and none leaves a permanent aftertaste. Comparing a southern
autumn to a northern autumn is like comparing yellow wine to white
spirits, rice gruel to steamed bread, perch to big crab, or dogs to
camels.
If I could keep autumn—this autumn of northern China—from leaving, I
would trade two thirds of my lifetime for a life only a third as long
but spent entirely in autumn.
注释
1. 标题《故都的秋》”里的“故都” 意思是“我从前的京城”,这就象“故乡”的意思是“我从前的家乡” 一样,因此本文把这个标题译作Autumn in My Old Capital
2.
“秋天,无论在什么地方的秋天,总是好的”里的这个“好的”看似容易,其实很难译。用good,太笼统,因此难以捉摸;用endearing(惹人爱、
可爱的),太片面,秋不仅仅是endearing。本文用appealing(引发兴趣的)把这段文字译作Autumn, no matter
where it happens, is always appealing。
3. “可是啊,北国的秋,却特别地来得清,来得静,来得悲凉”这个句子是整篇散文的主题句(theme
line),它概括了整篇散文的主题思想,告诉读者本文将要叙述的就是概括在这里的这几点,即北国的秋特别清,特别静,特别悲凉,因此,这三个字的翻译至
关重要,译错了,整篇译文就不知所云。但这几个词不那么好译,因为常识告诉我们,北国的秋不可能比南国的秋来得“清”;再说,整篇散文,没有一处说北国的
秋是“清”
的!其实,这个“清”不是“清晰”或者“清澈”的意思,它是“清纯”、“不混杂”的意思,也就是说,北国的秋是真正的、地道的、标标准准的秋!事实上,这
点明了作者对故国之秋的这份感觉,正是他对故国之秋的感情,使他产生了这么执拗的感觉。所以,我们绝对不能把这个“清”译作clear或者limpid。
本文把它译作less diluted(相对南方来说更少混杂的,也即更地道的)。这个句子的译文是...but autumn in Northern
China, especially, is less diluted, quieter, and more melancholy.
4. “我的不远千里,要从杭州赶上青岛,更要从青岛赶上北平来的理由,也不过想饱尝一尝这“秋”,这故都的秋味”译作It is
merely for the purpose of fully tasting these “flavors”—the autumnal
flavors of my old capital—that I braved the long trip from Hangzhou to
Qingdao and then to
Peiping。注意,原文里的“这故都的秋味”是对前面那个“秋”的特意重复,修辞上叫Amplification(扩大)。
Amplification修辞手法是通过扩大来加强某个字、某个词或者某个短语的意思,这里是要加强“秋”这个字,因此,我们在翻译时不宜把这两个
“秋”合在一起来译,从而弱化了原文特意要加强的意思。所以,本译文在flavors后面用破折号重复了这个flavors,即--the
autumnal flavors of my old capital。
5.
“一个人夹在苏州上海杭州,或厦门香港广州的市民中间,浑浑沌沌地过去,只能感到一点点清凉”这个句子是通过对南方诸城市的对比来重申和加强文章的主题
思想的,即南方的秋天不纯,不地道,在那里“只能感到一点点清凉”。言下之意,北方的秋天就是地地道道的秋天。因为这个句子是对整篇文章主题思想的重复,
所以对其中的关键字“一点点清凉”的处理就必须准确。我们把这个句子译作Muddling along as a loner, engulfed
among the residents of the near southern cities like Suzhou, Shanghai,
or Hangzhou, or the far southern ones like Xiamen, Hong Kong, or
Guangzhou, I can only feel a little bit of the pureness and melancholy
of autumn。注意,译文没有象处理上面那个主题句那样用less diluted(见注解3),而用了a little bit of the
pureness。这是因为,一般情况下英语忌讳同词重复,特别是在比较临近的地方。因此,这里改用了pureness。
另外注意译文在罗列Suzhou, Shanghai, or Hangzhou前增译了the near southern
cities,在罗列Xiamen, Hong Kong, or Guangzhou前增译了the far southern
ones。这样处理,是因为原文是写给中国人看的,中国人一般都知道作者为什么要把“苏州上海杭州”跟“厦门香港广州”分开来说,会自然理解将这六个城市
分而列之是因为它们的地理位置不同,前者属于near southern cities,后者属于far southern
cities。而译文是要给英语读者看的,他们可能完全不知道其中的奥秘,故有必要点明。如不点明,对英语读者来说,这样分而言之就有点莫名其妙了。
6. 把“不逢北国之秋,已将近十余年了”译成It has been almost more than a decade since I
last saw autumn in the north没有译作 It has been almost more than a decade
since I last experienced autumn in the
north好,因为autumn是季节,是无形的,是视之不能见的,能见的只是它的景象,而不是它本身,故不能用saw。
7. 把“最好,还要在牵牛花底,教长着几根疏疏落落的尖细且长的秋草,使作陪衬”的“最好”译成it is better或者 it is
desirable等没有译作so much the better来得好。So much the
better的意思是“如果那样,就更好了”。这里,作者并不是一定要牵牛花下有稀疏的秋草来陪衬,但如果有,那就更好了。本文把这段文字译作If
there are a few long, thin autumn grasses loosely spread out under them
to set them off, so much the better.
8.
“象花而又不是花的那一种落蕊,早晨起来,会铺得满地”里的“落蕊”不能仅译成pistils。Pistil仅指雌性的花蕊,仅用pistil未免有些
偏狭,我们还得补上stamen(雄性花蕊),因为下落的花蕊未必都是雌的。本文把这段文字译作When you get up in the
morning, you will see stamens and pistils—which look like flowers, but
are actually not—all over the ground。
9. 我们把“秋蝉的衰弱的残声,更是北国的特产”译作The lingering, weak chirping of the
autumnal harvest flies is even more characteristic of the
north。注意译文里增加的autumnal一字。Harvest
flies本身就已经表示“秋蝉”的意思了,为什么还要画蛇添足地增加一个autumnal呢?这个增译是至关重要的,而要了解它的重要性,我们首先必须
要读懂原文,了解原文的写作思路。原文在其首段里用“可是啊,北国的秋,却特别地来得清,来得静,来得悲凉”一句来点名全文的主题思想,告诉读者,本文要
说的是:北国的秋天特别象秋天,特别清净,特别悲凉”。在接下来的第二段里,作者又通过“一个人夹在苏州上海杭州,或厦门香港广州的市民中间,浑浑沌沌地
过去,只能感到一点点清凉,秋的味,秋的色,秋的意境与姿态,总看不饱,尝不透,赏玩不到十足”这段话来加强上面所说的那个主题思想。接下来的一段,也就
是第三段,说他十多年住在南方是多么地怀念北方的秋天。这告诉我们,北国的秋天究竟是不是象他所说的那样属于纯秋,清净,悲凉并不重要,重要的是他思乡情
急。从第四段开始,每一段都以话题句(topic
sentence)开头,每个话题句里的都有一个“秋”字,都跟“秋”有关,以此来加强作者在开篇第一段里所说的主题思想,即北国的秋特别地清(无参杂,
属地道的秋),特别地静,特别的悲凉。因此,这些话题句(topic
sentence)的翻译也就必须要带有“秋”这个字,不然,读者就可能看不出其中的关系。
我们把第四段的话题句“国的槐树,也是一种能使人联想起秋来的点缀”译作The northern locust tree is yet
another scenic element that would make people think of
autumn,译文带“秋”,跟主题有关;
我们把第六段的话题句“还有秋雨哩,北方的秋雨,也似乎比南方的下得奇,下得有味,下得更象样”译作Don’t forget the autumnal
rain! The autumnal rain in the north seems to fall in a way more
distinctive, more flavorsome, and more similar to rain than that in the
south,译文带“秋”,跟主题有关,
等等。
而第五段的话题句“秋蝉的衰弱的残声,更是北国的特产”里的“秋蝉”英语是harvest fly,如果我们就这么把整个话题译成The
lingering, weak chirping of the harvest flies is even more
characteristic of the
north,译文里没有一个文字明确地提到“秋”,那么译文跟主题的关系就不那么分明了,这就影响了译文的明澈性。故我们增加了autumnal一词,
把这个话题句译作The lingering, weak chirping of the harvest flies is even more
characteristic of the north。
10. 本文把“遇见熟人,便会用了缓慢悠闲的声调,微叹着互答着的说”译作When he sees someone he knows,
he would let out a light sigh and say, in a slow and leisurely
tone。注意,译文没有把原文里的“说”译成say,而用了let out。这里用let
out比say要形象,因为say只表达了一个“说”字,而let out则给人以“那话早就含在嘴里了,所以他一看到熟人那话就蹦了出来”的感觉。
“Gosh, it’sss really getting chilly—” (Emphasizing the progressive “s” by highly pitching and dragging it.)
“Exactly! Hence, the saying ‘Each burstr of autumnal rain adds a burstr of chilliness!’”
When northerners pronounce the word “burst,” it always sounds like
“burstr.” But, in terms of cadence, this distortion in pronunciation has
the benefit of creating an accidental rhyme.
12. “茅房”即厕所。本文没有把这个“厕所”译成表示厕所的英文字bathroom,restroom等等,而译作thatched
huts。这里用的是“委婉语”(euphemism)修辞法。所谓“委婉语”,就是把某东西说得好听些。比如把school说成academy,把
fat说成 chubby或者plump,把homeless说成 on the
streets等等。译文在这里采取委婉语是不想把枣子这种水果跟厕所联系起来,从而给读者一个不雅的联想。