羅伯特·路易斯·史蒂文/Robert Louis Stevenson
羅伯特·路易斯·史蒂文（1850—1894），英國小說家、散文家。生於愛丁堡，畢業於愛丁堡大學法律係，一生為肺病所擾，周遊各地養病，期間發表大量短篇小說和散文遊記。主要作品有小說《金銀島》、《化身博士》、《綁架》等。他的作品情節奇妙浪漫，文筆優美雅致。
It seems as if a great deal were attainable in a world where there a re so many marriages and decisive battles,and where we all,at certain hours of the day,and with great gusto and dispatch,stow a portion of v ictuals finally and irretrievably into the bag which contains us.And it would seem also,on a hasty view,that the attainment of as much as poss ible was the one goal of man's contentious life.And yet,as regards th e spirit,this is but a semblance.We live in an ascending scale when we live happily,one thing leading to another in an endless series.There i s always a new horizon for onward-looking men,and although we dwell on a small planet,immersed in petty business and not enduring beyond a bri ef period of years,we are so constituted that our hopes are inaccessibl e,like stars,and the term of hoping is prolonged until the term of lif e.To be truly happy is a question of how we begin and not of how we end,of what we want and not of what we have.An aspiration is a joy foreve r,a possession as solid as a landed estate,a fortune which we can neve r exhaust and which gives us year by year a revenue of pleasurable activ ity.To have many of these is to be spiritually rich.To those who have neither art nor science,the world is a mere arrangement of colors,or a rough footway where they may very well break their shins.It is in virtu e of his own desires and curiosities that any man continues to exist wit h even patience,that he is charmed by the look of things and people,an d that he wakens every morning with a renewed appetite for work and plea sure.Desire and curiosity are the two eyes through which he sees the wo rld in the most enchanted colors:it is they that make women beautiful o r fossils interesting:and the man may squander his estate and come to b eggary,but if he keeps these two amulets he is still rich in the possib ilities of pleasure.Suppose he could take one meal so compact and compr ehensive that he should never hunger any more;suppose him,at a glance,to take in all the features of the world and allay the desire for knowle dge;suppose him to do the like in any province of experience--would not that man be in a poor way for amusement ever after?
One who goes touring on foot with a single volume in his knapsack re ads with circumspection,pausing often to reflect,and often laying the book down to contemplate the landscape or the prints in the inn parlour;for he fears to come to an end of his entertainment,and be left compani onless on the last stages of his journey.A young fellow recently finish ed the works of Thomas Carlyle,winding up,if we remember aright with t he ten note-books upon Frederick the Great."What!" cried the young fell ow,in consternation,"Is there not more Carlyle?Am I left to the daily papers?" A more celebrated instance is that of Alexander,who wept bitte rly because he had no mere worlds to subdue.And when Gibbon had finishe d the Decline and Fall,he had only a few moments of joy;and it was wit h a "sober melancholy" that he parted from his labours.
Happily we all shoot at the moon with ineffectual arrows;our hopes are set on inaccessible El Dorado;we come to an end of nothing here bel ow.Interests are only plucked up to sow themselves again,like mustard.You would think,when the child was born,there would be an end to troub le;and yet it is only the beginning of fresh anxieties;and when you ha ve seen it through its teething and its education,and at last its marri age,alas!It is only to have new fears,new quivering sensibilities,wi th every day;and the health of your children's children grows as touch ing a concern as that of your own.Again,when you have married your wif e,you would think you were got upon a hilltop,and might begin to go do wnward by an easy slope.But you have only ended courting to begin marri age.Falling in love and winning love are often difficult tasks to overb earing and rebellious spirits;but to keep in love is also a business of some importance,to which both man and wife must bring kindness and good will.The true love story commences at the altar,when there lies before the married pair a most beautiful contest of wisdom and generosity,and a lifelong struggle towards an unattainable ideal.Unattainable?Ay,sur ely unattainable,from the very fact that they are two instead of one.
"Of making books there is no end," complained the Preacher,and did not perceive how highly he was praising letters as an occupation.There is no end.Indeed,to making books or experiments,or to travel,or to g athering wealth.Problem gives rise to problem.We may study forever,an d we are never as learned as we would.We have never made a statue worth y of our dreams.And when we have discovered a continent,or crossed a c hain of mountains,it is only to find another ocean or another plain upo n the further side.In the infinite universe there is room for our swift est diligence and to spare.It is not like the works of Carlyle,which c an be read to an end.Even in a corner of it,in a private park,or in t he neighborhood of a single hamlet,the weather and the seasons keep so deftly changing that although we walk there for a lifetime there will be always something new to startle and delight us.
There is only one wish realizable on the earth;only one thing that can be perfectly attained:Death.And from a variety of circumstances we have no one to tell us whether it be worth attaining.
A strange picture we make on our way to our chimaeras,ceaselessly m arching,grudging ourselves the time for rest;indefatigable,adventurou s pioneers.It is true that we shall never reach the goal;it is even mo re than probable that there is no such place;and if we lived for centur ies and were endowed with the powers of a god,we should find ourselves not much nearer what we wanted at the end.O,toiling hands of mortals!O,unwearied feet,traveling ye know not whither!Soon,soon,it seems t o you,you must come forth on some conspicuous hilltop,and but a little way further,against the setting sun,descry the spires of El Dorado.Li ttle do ye know your own blessedness;for to travel hopefully is a bette r thing than to arrive,and the true success is to labour.
人活一世，渴望得到的東西好像很多：不勝枚舉的婚姻和決戰等；無論身居何方，每天固定的時刻，我們都不可避免地將一份食物津津有味並且迅速地吞入腹中。粗看一下，傾盡所能去獲取就是人紛擾一生唯一的目的。然而從精神層麵上說，這隻是一個假象。如果我們生活幸福，我們就如登梯，步步高升，沒有終結。眼光長遠的人，天地自然寬。雖然我們蝸居在這顆小行星上，整日為瑣事而忙，生命短暫，但我們生來就心比天高，生命不息，奮鬥不止。真正的幸福就在於怎樣開始而不是怎樣結束，是想擁有什麽，而不是得到了什麽。渴望是一種永恒的幸福，它是一筆財富，猶如房地產一樣踏實，用之不竭、年年受益、幸福一生。精神的富有和這些渴望是成正比的。對於既沒有藝術細胞也沒有科學細胞的人們而言，世界隻是顏色的混合體，或者是一條崎嶇的小路，一不小心就會摔傷小腿。正是這些渴望和好奇，吸引人們充滿耐心地生活著，形形色色的人和物吸引著你我，促使我們每天醒來可以興致盎然地工作和娛樂。渴望和好奇是人們打量這個五彩世界的一雙眼睛：女人因它而美麗，化石因它而有趣。隻要有這兩道護身符，即使這個人揮霍無度淪為乞丐，他仍能笑口常開。假設一個人一頓飯吃得緊湊而豐盛，他將不會再餓；假設他把這世間萬象看了個明明白白，便不再有求知欲；假設他在每個經驗領域中都如此——你覺得他的人生還有樂趣嗎？
一個徒步旅行的人，隨身隻帶了一本書，他會精心研讀，不時地思考一下，還會合上書本凝視風景或者玩賞小酒館雅間中的畫。他害怕書讀完了，樂趣也隨著消失，剩下的旅程將無以為藉。最近一個年輕人拜讀完托馬斯·卡萊爾的著作。如果我沒記錯的話，他把有關腓特列大帝的筆記整整做了十本。“什麽？”這個年輕人驚訝地叫道：“卡萊爾的書都看完了？那我隻能天天看報紙了？”最典型的例子是亞曆山大，因為已無國家供他征服，他號啕大哭。吉本寫完《羅馬帝國衰亡史》時也隻興奮了一時，他帶著一種“清醒而又悲涼的心情”與以往的勞動果實辭別。
我們高興地把箭射向月亮，卻總是毫無效果；我們總是將希望寄托在遙不可及的黃金國上，我們好像什麽也沒完成。就像芥菜一樣，興趣的收獲隻是為了下次的耕種。你會想當然地以為孩子出生了，什麽麻煩都沒了，其實這隻是新麻煩的開始。你看著他長大，入學，結婚生子，唉！每天都有新問題、新的感情撞擊，你孫兒輩的健康將像你的健康一樣牽動著你的心。當你步入婚姻殿堂時，你認為已經到頂了，可以輕鬆地往下走了。但這隻是戀愛的終結，婚姻的開始。對於桀驁不馴或者反叛的人來說，墜入愛河和獲得愛情都很困難，但維持愛情也很重要，夫妻之間應該相敬如賓。真正的愛情故事從聖壇開始，在每對夫婦麵前都有一場關於智慧和慷慨的壯觀競爭，他們要為不可能實現的理想終生奮鬥。不可能？啊，當然不可能，因為他們不是一個人，而是兩個人。
傳道者哀歎“著書無止境”，卻沒有覺察到它已高度評價了作家這一職業。確實，世界上有很多事是無止境的，例如著書立說、旅行、試驗、獲取財富等。一個問題會引發另一問題。我們必須活到老學到老，我們的學習永遠得不到滿足。我們從未雕刻出符合我們夢想的塑像。我們發現一個新大陸，經過一座山脈時，總會看到遠方還有未曾涉足的海洋和大陸。宇宙浩渺，不像卡萊爾的著作可以讀完。即使在其一角，一個私人花園，一個農莊附近，盡管在那裏生活一輩子，天氣和季節的無常變化也令我們有常看常新的感覺。
世界上隻有一種願望可以實現，也僅有一種事物絕對能得到，那就是死亡。死的方式很多，但沒有人知道是否能死得其所。
當我們不作休息，不停地走向幻想時，一幅奇異的畫麵展現出來：不知疲倦、勇於冒險的先鋒。是的，我們永遠不會達到目標，甚至目的地根本就不存在。即使活上幾百年，具有神的力量，我們也會覺得沒有接近目標多少。啊，辛苦的雙手！啊，不知疲倦的雙腳，並不知道走向何方！你總是覺得，一定能登上某個光輝的山頂，在夕陽下，看到不遠的前方黃金國那尖尖的塔。你是處於幸福當中卻沒有察覺，奮鬥勝過得到，真正的成功就是奮鬥。