醉翁亭记翻译和译文 醉翁亭记翻译和原文 醉翁楼记原文及译文( 四 )


When the sun rises, the atmosphere in the woods clears up. When the clouds come home, the mountain caves grow dark. This coming of brightness and darkness spells the arrival of morning and evening respectively in the mountains. Now the wild grass emits a refreshing perfume; now exquisite trees grow luxuriantly and cast a deep shade; now wind and frost, high and pure, go their rounds; now the water becomes clear and the pebbles are exposed to view. These are the four seasons in the mountains. If we make our outings in the morning and come back in the evening, the landscapes of the four seasons are different and the pleasures they afford are unlimited.
People carrying burdens sing as they go, travelers pause to rest under the trees, those walking in front give a shout and those following behind respond. The travelers, with their backs bent, carry their children and come and go incessantly. These are the people of Chuchow journeying on the road. When angle in the deep brook, we catch fat fish. When we make wine with the sweet spring water, it is clear and smooth to the palate. Other mountain food and wild vegetable are assembled with these and set on the table before us when the Prefect gives his feast. Even without wind or stringed instruments, the revelries become intense with arrow-throwing and chess, with drinking and wine games. Now seated, now standing up, the guests utter loud noises, and have a marvelous time. Little by little, the Prefect, sitting in the center with his wrinkled face and gray hair, is seen drooping under the effect of the wine.
Shortly after, the sun sets over the mountains, the shadows of the revelers are scattered around and the guests follow the Prefect as he returns home. A pall of darkness covers the trees, while the birds warble here and there as the guests leave. However, while the birds know the delights of mountains and trees, they do not know those of men; and while men know the delights of traveling with the Prefect, they do not know how the Prefect enjoys their pleasures. It is the Prefect who can share their pleasures while drunk and write about them while sober. Who is the Prefect? It is none other than Ou-yang Hsiu from Luling.
(刘师舜 译)
The Old Drunkard’s Arbour
Ou-Yang Shiou
The district of Ch’u is entirely surrounded by hills, and the peaks to the south-west are clothed with a dense and beautiful growth of trees, over which the eye wanders in rapture away to the confines of Shantung.
A walk of two or three miles on those hills brings one within earshot of the sound of falling water which gushes forth from a ravine, and is known as the Wine-Fountain; while hard by in a nook at a bend in the road stands a kiosque, commonly spoken of as the Old Drunkard’s Arbour.
It was built by a Buddhist priest, called Deathless Wisdom, who lived among these hills; and who received the above name from the Governor himself. For the latter used to bring his friends hither to take wine; and as he personally was incapacitated by a very few cups, and was, moreover, well stricken in years, he gave himself the sobriquet of the Old Drunkard.
But it was not wine that attracted him to this spot; it was the charming scenery which wine enabled him to enjoy.
The sun’s rays, peeping at dawn through the trees, by-and-by to be obscured behind gathering clouds, leaving naught but gloom around, give to this spot the alternations of morning and night.
The wild flowers that exhale their perfume from the darkness of some shady dell; the luxuriant foliage of the dense forest of beautiful trees; the clear frosty wind; and the naked boulders of the lessening torrent;—these are the indications of spring, summer, autumn, and winter.
Morning is the time to go thither, returning with the shades off night; and although the place presents a different aspect with the changes of the season, its charms are subject to no interruption, but continue always.
Burden-carriers sing their way along the road, travellers rest awhile under the trees; shouts from one, responses from another; old people hobbling along; children in arms, children dragged along by hand; backwards and forwards all day long without a break;—these are the people of Ch’u.
A cast in the stream, and a fine fish taken from some spot where the eddying pools begin to deepen; a draught of cool wine from the fountain; and a few such dishes of meats and fruits as the hills are able to provide;—these, nicely spread out beforehand, constitute the Governor’s feast.
And in the revelry of the banquet hour there is no thought of toil or trouble. Every archer hits his mark, and every player wins his partie; goblets flash from hand to hand, and a buzz of conversation is heard as the guests move unconstrainedly about. Among them is an old man with white hair, bald at the top of his head. This is the drunken Governor, who, when the evening sun kisses the tips of the hills, and the falling shadows are drawn out and blurred, bends his steps homewards in company with his friends. Then in the growing darkness are heard sounds above and below: the beasts of the field and the birds of the air are rejoicing at the departure of man. They, too, can rejoice in hills and trees, but they cannot rejoice as man rejoices.