威廉·黑茲裏特/ William Hazlitt
威廉·黑茲利特（1778—1830），英國散文家，評論家，畫家。他曾從事過繪畫，但是在柯爾雷基的鼓勵下寫出《論人的行為準則》，隨後又寫了更多的散文作品。1812年在倫敦當記者，並為《愛丁堡評論》撰稿。從其作品來看，他熱衷於爭論，擅長撰寫警句，漫罵和諷刺性的文字。他最著名的散文集是《席間閑談》和《時代精神》。
Ace in the Hole
Understand these new phrases before you read this article.
1. brood upon：苦思
2. burst open:猛然打開
3. carry out:執行，實行；貫徹
4. cast down:使沮喪
One of the pleasantest things in the world is going a journey; but I like to go by myself. I can enjoy society in a room; but out of doors, nature is company enough for me. I am then never less alone than when alone.
“The fields his study, nature was his book.”
I cannot see the wit of walking and talking at the same time. When I am in the country I wish to vegetate like the country. I am not for criticizing hedge-rows and black cattle. I go out of town in order to forget the town and all that is in it. There are those who for this purpose go to watering-places, and carry the metropolis with them. I like more elbowroom and fewer incumbrance. I like solitude, when I give myselfup to it, for the sake of solitude; nor do I ask for“a friend in my retreat, Whom I may whisper solitude is sweet.”
The soul of a journey is liberty, perfect liberty, to think, feel, do, just as one pleases. We go a journey chiefly to be free of all impediments and of all inconveniences; to leave ourselves behind, much more to get rid of others. It is because I want a little breathing-space to muse on indifferent matters, where Contemplation“May plume her feathers and let grow her wings, That in the various bustle of resort Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired,”that I absent myself from the town for a while, without feeling at a loss the moment I am left by myself. Instead of a friend in a post-chaise or in a Tilbury, to exchange good things with, and vary the same stale topics over again, for once let me have a truce with impertinence. Give me the clear blue sky over my head, and the greenturf beneath my feet, a winding road before me, and three hours’march to dinner—and then to thinking! It is hard if I cannot start some game on these lone heaths. I laugh, I run, I leap, I sing for joy. From the point of yonder rolling cloud I plunge into my past being, and revel there, as the sun-burnt Indian plunges headlong into the wave that wafts him to his native shore. Then long-forgotten things, like“sunken wrack and sunless treasuries,”burst upon my eager sight, and I begin to feel, think, and be myself again. Instead of an awkward silence, broken by attempts at wit or dull common-places mine is that undisturbed silence of the heart which alone is prefect eloquence. No one likes puns, alliterations, antitheses, argument, and analysis better than I do; but I sometimes had rather be without them.“Leave, oh, leave me to my repose!”I have just now other business in hand, which would seem idle to you, but is with me“very stuff of the conscience.”Is not this wild rose sweet without a comment? Does not this daisy leap to my heart set in its coat of emerald? Yet if I were to explain to you the circumstance that has so endeared it to me, you would only smile. Had I not better then keep it to myself, and let it serve me to brood over, from here to yonder craggy point, and from thence onward to the far-distant horizon? I should be but bad company all that way, and therefore prefer being alone. I have heard it said that you may, when the moody fit comes on, walk or ride on by yourself, and indulge your receives. But this looks like a breach of manners, a neglect of others, and you are thinking all the time that you ought to rejoin your party.“Out upon such half-faced fellowship,”say I . I like to be either entirely to myself, or entirely at the disposal of others; to talk or be silent, to walk or sit still, to be sociable or solitary. I was pleased with an observation of Mr. Cobbett’s, that he thought“it a bad French custom to drink our wine with our meals, and that an Englishman ought to do only one thing at a time.”So I cannot talk and think, or indulge in melancholy musing and lively conversation by fits and starts.
“Let me have a companion of my way,”says Sterne,“Were it but to remark how the shadows lengthen as the sun declines.”It is beautifully said; but, in my opinion, this continual comparing of notes interferes with the involuntary impression of things upon the mind, and hurts the sentiment. If you only hint what you feel in a kind of dumb show, it is insipid; if you have to explain it, it is making a toil of a pleasure. You cannot read the book of nature without being perpetually put to the trouble of translating it for the benefit of others. I am for this synthetical method on a journey in preference to the analytical. I am content to lay in a stock of ideas then, and to examine and anatomise them afterwards. I want to see my vague notions float like the down of the thistle before the breeze, and not to have them entangled in the briars and thorns of controversy. For once, I like to have it all my own way; and this is impossible unless you are alone, or in such company as I do not covet. I have no objection to argue a point with any one for twenty miles of measured road, but not for pleasure. If you remark the scent of a bean field crossing the road, perhaps your fellow-traveller has no smell. If you point to a distant object, perhaps he is shortsighted, and has to take out his glass to look at it. There is a feeling in the air, a tone in the color of a cloud, which hits your fancy, but the effect of which you are unable to account for. There is then no sympathy, but an uneasy carving after it, andadissatisfactionwhich pursues you on the way, and in the end probably produces ill-humor. Now I never quarrel with myself, and take all my own conclusions for granted till I find it necessary to defend then against objections.
It is not merely that you may not be of accord on the objects and circumstances that present themselves before you—these may recall a number of objects, and lead to associations too delicate and refined to be possibly communicated to others. Yet these I love to cherish, and sometimes still fondly clutch them, when I can escape from the throng to do so. To give way to our feeling before company seems extravagance or affectation; and on the other hand, to have to unravel this mystery of our being at every turn, and to make others take an equal interest in it (otherwise the end is not answered), is a task to which few are competent. We must“give it an understanding, but no tongue.”My old friend Coleridge, however, could do both. He could go on in the most delightful explanatory way over hill and dale a summer’s day and convert a landscape into a didactic poem or a Pindaric ode.“He talked far above singing.”If I could so clothe my ideas in sounding and flowing words, I might perhaps wish to have some one with me to admire the swelling theme; or I could be more content, were it possible for me still to hear his echoing voice in the woods of All-Fox-den. They had“that fine madness in them which our first poets had”; and if they could have been caught by some rare instrument, would have breathed such stains as the following:
“Here be woods as green
As any, air likewise as fresh and sweet
As when smooth Zephyrus plays on the fleet
Face of the curled streams, with flowers' as many
As the young spring gives, and as choice as any;
Here be all new delights, cool stream and wells,
Arbours o’ergrown with woodbine, caves and dells;
Choose where thou wilt, whilst I sit by and sing,
Or gather rushes to make many a ring,
For the long fingers; tell thee tales of love,
How the pale Phoebe, hunting in a grove,
First saw the boy Endymion, from whose eyes
She took eternal fire that never dies;
How she convey’d him softly in a sleep
His temples bound with poppy, to the steep
Head of old Latmos, where she stoops each night,
Gilding the mountain with her brother’s light,
To kiss her sweetest.”
...
I have no objection to go to see ruins, aqueducts, pictures, in company with a friend or a party, but rather the contrary, for the former reason reserved. They are intelligible matters, and will bear talking about. The sentiment here is not tacit, but communicable and overt.Salisbury Plain is barren of criticism, but Stonehenge will bear a discussion antiquarian, picturesque, and philosophical. In setting out on a party of pleasure, the first consideration always is where we shall go to, in taking a solitary ramble, the question is what we shall meet with by the way.“The mind is its own place”; nor are we anxious to arrive at the end of our journey. I can myself do the honours indifferently well to works of art and curiosity. I once took a party to Oxford with no meanéclat—showed them that seat of the Muses at a distance,“With glistering spires and pinnacles adorn’d—”descanted on the learned air that breathes from the grassy quadrangles and stone walls of halls and colleges—was at home in the Bodleian; And at Blenheim quite superseded the powdered Cicerone that attended us, and that pointed in vain with his wand to commonplace beauties in matchless pictures. As another exception to the above reasoning, I should not feel confident in venturing on a journey in a foreign country without a companion. I should want at intervals to hear the sound of my own language. There is an involuntary antipathy in the mind of an Englishman to foreign manners and notions that requires the assistance of social sympathy to carry it off. As the distance from home increases, this relief, which was at first a luxury, becomes a passion and an appetite. A person would almost feel stifled to find himself in the deserts of Arabia without friends and countrymen there must be allowed to be something in the view of Athens or old Rome that claims the utterance of speech; and I own that the Pyramids are too mighty for any single contemplation. In such situations, so opposite to all one’s ordinary train of ideas, one seems a species by one’s self, a limb torn off from society, unless one can meet with instant fellowship and support.—Yet I did not feel this want or craving very pressing once, when I first set my foot on the laughing shores of France. Calais was peopled with novelty and delight. The confuse, busy murmur of the place was like oil and wine poured into my ears; nor did the mariners’hymn, which was sung from the top of an old crazy vessel in the harbour, as the sun went down, send an alien sound into my soul. I only breathed the air of general humanity. I walked over“the vine-covered hills and gay regions of France,”erect and satisfied; for the image of man was not cast down and chained to the foot of arbitrary thrones: I was at no loss for language, for that of all the great schools of painting was open to me. The whole is vanished like a shade. Pictures, heroes, glory, freedoms, all are fled, nothing remains but the Bourbons and the French people!—There is undoubtedly a sensation in travelling into foreign parts that is to be had nowhere else, but it is more pleasing at the time than lasting. It is too remote from our habitual associations to be a common topic of discourse or reference, and, like a dream or another state of existence, does not piece into our daily modes of life. It is an animated but a momentary hallucination. It demands an effort to exchange our actual for our ideal identity; and to feel the pulse of our old transports revive very keenly, we must“jump”all our present comforts and connexions. Our romantic and itinerant character is not to be domesticated. Dr. Johnson remarked how little foreign travel added to the facilities of conversation in those who had been abroad. In fact, the time we have spent there is both delightful, and in one sense instructive; but it appears to be cut out of our substantial downright existence, and never to join kindly on to it. We are not the same, but another, and perhaps more enviable individual, all the time we are out of our own country. We are lost to ourselves, as well as our friend. So the poet somewhat quaintly sings,“Out of my country and myself I go.”Those who wish to forget painful thoughts, do well to absent themselves for a while from the ties and objects that recall them; but we can be said only to fulfill our destiny in the place that gave us birth. I should on this account like well enough to spend the whole of my life in traveling abroad, if I could anywhere borrow another life to spend afterwards at home!
參考譯文
這世上最快樂的事情之一就是旅行，不過我喜歡獨自出門。在房間裏，我享受的是社會生活，但是在室外，大自然就是我最好的夥伴。雖然我是一個人，但我從不感到孤獨。
“田野是書房，自然是書籍。”
我不認為邊走邊談有多明智。置身於鄉村田野，我希望自己像草木一樣複得自然。我不是來挑剔灌木叢和黑牛的，我走出城市是為了忘卻城市和城市中的一切。有的人或許也是因為這個目的來到海濱，卻又隨身帶去了城市的喧鬧。我向往世界有著博大的空間而沒有世俗的牽絆。我喜歡獨處，身在其中獨享其樂，而不會去要求“於僻遠處覓友，共話獨居之樂”。
旅行的意義在於享受自由，無拘無束的自由。一個人讓思想馳騁飛翔，盡情地做讓自己愉快的事情。出行的目的就是擺脫困擾和擔憂，放鬆自我，不再因為他人而顧慮重重。我需要放鬆一下自己，靜靜地思考一些事情。讓思緒“插上健壯的翅膀自由放飛，在嘈雜的人群中，它們曾經受到傷害，變得淩亂”。於是我暫時把我自己從城市中解脫出來，即使獨自一人也不覺得失落。比起與那些朋友寒暄，為某些陳舊的話題喋喋不休地談論，我像這樣一個人坐在驛車或輕便的馬車裏，頭頂湛藍的天空，腳踏翠綠的田野，悠然地行駛在蜿蜒的小路上，真的很愉快。飯前我有三個小時的時間可以散步，順便思考一些問題！獨自享受這些美好的東西，我的心中強烈地湧動著一股喜悅。我情不自禁地大笑，愉快地奔跑，縱情高歌。天邊雲層翻滾，我陷入對往事的回憶之中，我是多麽欣喜呀，就像久經烈日烤曬的印第安人一頭紮進浪濤裏，讓大浪帶他回到故鄉的海岸。多少塵封往事，猶如“沉沒的船隻和無數的寶藏”湧現在我熱切的眼中。我重溫那時的所感所想，似乎回到兒時。我所說的沉默不是死氣沉沉，不需要時不時刻意地加點喧鬧的氣氛，而是一種能抵禦外界幹擾的內心的安寧。這沉默本身就是最有力的雄辯。沒有人比我更喜歡使用雙關語、頭韻、對仗、辯論和分析，但有時我寧願撇開它們。“啊，別打擾我，讓我獨自享受寧靜吧！”此時我還有其他事情要做，也許這些事情對你來說無關緊要，但卻是我“所期待已久的”。一朵野玫瑰難道隻有得到人們的稱讚才能證明它有芳香嗎？這朵翠綠的雛菊不已經植入我的心底了嗎？我對你們解釋這些在我看來值得珍惜的事物時，你們可能會笑話我，因此我把這一切掩埋在我心裏，供我平日裏冥想，讓思緒從這裏飛到遠處的懸崖峭壁，再從那裏飛向更遙遠的地平線的另一端，不是更美妙嗎？也許我不是某種意義上的好旅伴，因此我還是願意獨自旅行。我聽說當你悶悶不樂時，也會獨自出門或策馬前行，沉浸在想象之中。但是你卻認為這樣做是違背禮節的，很沒有禮貌，因此你總在想要不要回到朋友當中，而我卻要說：“不要再偽裝這種虛假的友誼了。”我喜歡要麽完全是自己支配自己，要麽完全由別人來支配自己；要麽高談闊論，要麽沉默不語；要麽散步或靜坐，要麽活躍或獨處。我很同意考柏特先生的見解，他認為“法國人的一個壞習慣是一邊吃飯一邊喝酒，而英國人則應該在一個時間裏專注於做一件事情。”因此我不能邊談話邊思考，或因為太放縱自己的情緒導致時而憂心忡忡，時而情緒激昂、滔滔不絕。
“讓我有個同行的伴，”斯特恩說，“哪怕隻是聊聊太陽下山時影子怎麽拉長也行。”這是一種很完美的說法，但我的觀點是，反複地交換意見會破壞我們對事物最初最本質的印象，從而讓思維變得很雜亂，假如你用一種啞語的方式表達自己的感受，那就真的是索然無味；假如你不得不解釋一番，那麽本要來享受的事物就變成了苦差。在閱讀“自然”這本書時，為了使別人能弄明白，你不得不經常翻譯它，給自己帶來很多麻煩。所以，對於旅行，我傾向於用綜合法而不是分析法，我喜歡儲存一大堆想法，然後慢慢地解析研究。我希望能看著那些不清晰的想法像花絮一樣飛舞在空中，而不是在一群矛盾的荊棘叢中糾纏不清。這一次，我要按照自己的方式做事情。這種情況隻有獨自一人時才能實現，或者是和我並不奢求在一起的一些人合作。我並不反對與朋友算好二十英裏路程，然後邊走邊聊，但這麽做絕不是興趣所在。你對同伴說路旁的豆田散發著撲鼻的香氣，可是他的嗅覺不太靈敏；當你評論遠處的美景時，你的朋友或許是個近視眼，他得先戴上眼鏡；當你感覺空氣中蘊涵著某種情調，雲朵的顏色很別致，所有這些讓你陶醉，而這種感覺卻無法對他言傳。因此你們無法產生共鳴，而最後以至於你興致大跌，隻剩下一種幻想達成共鳴的渴望和不滿的情緒。我現在已經不再和自己爭吵，並且把我所有的結論都看做是理所當然，除非有人提出反對意見，這時我才認為有必要為我的觀點辯護。
這不僅僅是因為你們對眼前的事物或環境持有不同的意見，而且是因為它們會引起你對很多往事的回憶，引起一些隻能意會無法言傳的奇思妙想。然而我卻很珍愛它們，當我遠離人群時，我甚至會深情地擁抱它們。讓我們的感情在老朋友麵前放縱顯得有些牽強，同時，隨時隨地向人們披露這一人類的奇異，並引發他人的興趣（否則就沒有達到目的），這項艱巨的工作很難有人能承擔。我們應該“領悟它，但是別說出來”。但是，我的老朋友柯勒律治能同時做到這兩點。夏天在山林裏漫步，他可以一邊興奮地口若懸河，滔滔不絕，一邊又能把這種美景寫進一篇有教育意義的詩歌中，或者寫成一篇樸實無華的頌歌。“他說出來比唱出來都好聽。”假如我也能夠流利而又有文采地表達自己的想法，隻怕我也希望身邊也有一個同伴來和我一起頌揚那剛剛展開的話題。又或者說，隻要我能聽到他那依舊回**在山林中的聲音我就會更加心滿意足。這些詩人身上都含有“我們早期的詩人才有的純樸的狂妄”，如果把他們的詩歌用一種稀有
的樂器演奏出來，他們就會吟唱如下的旋律：
“願此處的樹林
與別處一般翠綠，空氣也是這樣甜美，
像是有微風輕撫，微波**漾；
河麵流水匆匆，花開遍野，
猶如初春時那樣茂盛豔麗；
這裏生機勃勃，流淌著清澈的小溪與山泉，
忍冬花爬滿了涼亭，岩洞和山澗；
你可以隨處停歇，我就在你身邊歌唱，
或者我來采摘燈芯草為你編一枚戒指，
戴在你修長的手指上，為你講述愛情的傳說。容光μ然的月亮女神在林中狩獵，
一眼瞥見少年恩底彌翁，他的雙眼
從此點燃了她心中生生不熄的愛火。
在他熟睡之際，她把罌粟花貼在他的雙鬢上，
把它帶到古老的阿特莫斯山陡峭的巔峰，
每當夜色降臨，她便用太陽的光芒，
裝點山脈，然後俯下身來，
親吻她的心上人。”
……
我並不反對在參觀古跡、地下渠道和欣賞名畫時，身邊有一個朋友或遊伴同行。剛好與前麵所說的理由相反，這些事情都與知識和智力有關，有值得深入探討的價值。這個時候，情感的表達不應該模糊不清，而應該坦**利落，能夠交流。索爾茲伯裏平原沒有什麽值得談論的，但是人們可以懷念草原上的巨石圈，可以從藝術和哲學的角度研究它。和一群人出去遊玩時，首先需要考慮的事情是該到什麽地方，而獨自一個人出遊，想到的問題則是路上會遇見什麽人。“人的心靈便是旅程的終點站。”我們不必急於到達目的地，我們可以恰如其分地像當地的主人那樣介紹藝術品。我曾經帶朋友參觀牛津，而且比較成功——遠遠地，我就把那座藝術的殿堂指給他們看，隻見“閃閃發光的頂峰和豪華的塔尖”。我讚頌著，院裏綠草茵茵，大廳被石牆包圍，一股濃鬱的博學氣息從學院與大廳之間散發出來。——在鮑得裏安樓裏暢所欲言；在布倫海姆，我的講解令我們那位頭戴用白粉裝飾成假發的導遊相形見絀，他用小棍在那些美妙絕倫的圖畫中隻點出來一些平凡無奇的地方。對於上麵提到的各種理由有一個例外，那就是在國外旅遊時，如果沒有人陪同，我會覺得有點不踏實。我需要時不時地聽點家鄉話，英國人有一種思想，就是不由自主地排斥其他國家的風俗和思想，因此要有人與之共鳴才能克服這種不好的習慣。離家越遠，這種慰藉就會由原來的奢求慢慢地變成一種渴求與欲望。獨行在阿拉伯沙漠，遠離親人和朋友，人們會感到沉悶窒息，看見雅典和古羅馬時，不得不承認心中有很多感慨想傾訴，我也不得不承認金字塔真的是宏偉壯觀，一個簡潔的概念實在不足以描繪。在這種情況下，一切都好像與人平時的觀念背道而馳，自己一個人就似乎是一個種族，就像是從社會的軀體上卸下的一隻臂膀，除非這時能獲得友情和支持——然而有一次我並沒有這種迫切的需求與渴望，那是我第一次來到法國，踏上那到處洋溢著歡笑的海濱。加來這個城市充滿了新奇和快樂，連那裏亂七八糟混雜在一起的聲音都很好聽。在夕陽的餘暉中，港口停靠著一隻破舊的船，聽著水手們輕輕地歌唱，我絲毫沒有覺得是在異國他鄉，我隻嗅到了人類共有的氣息。我漫步在“法蘭西滿是葡萄藤的山區和飄**著笑聲的平原”，頓時精神大振，心情爽朗，我沒有目睹人民被鎖在專製的王家寶座下、遭受壓迫的情形，語言的不同也沒有令我手足無措，因為我能領悟所有大畫派的語言。但是所有這些都像幻影一樣化為烏有了，繪畫、英雄、榮耀與自由，所有這些都消失了，隻剩下波旁王朝統治下的法蘭西人民！——在國外旅行，能感受到在別的地方沒有的興奮，這一點是確定無疑的，雖然這種感覺不能持久，但在當時卻讓人心情愉快。這種情感與我們普通的日常生活截然不同，因此不能作為交談或討論的話題，而且就像夢境和其他某種生存狀態一樣，它也無法融入我們的日常生活。這是一種生動卻轉眼即逝的幻覺，我們隻有通過努力，才能把正處於現實中的自己變成我們理想中的那樣，為了再現那些曾經激動人心的時刻，我們就必須“跳出”現在安逸的生活和千絲萬縷的各種關係。人類浪跡天涯的浪漫個性是不能被馴化的。約翰遜博士在談到曾到國外旅行的人的時候說過，出國旅行並沒有提高他們的社交能力。事實上，我們在國外確實度過了一些很美好的時光，從某種意義上講也很能教育人，可是與我們本質的生活狀態卻背道而馳，這兩者永遠無法結合。當我出國旅行時，我們就不再是我們自己，而是也許會變成另外一個更讓人羨慕的人。我們離開了朋友，離開了自我。於是詩人才吟唱出如此優雅的詩句：“離開祖國，離開自我。”如果想遺忘那些讓人痛苦的思索，最好的辦法是暫時離開那能觸景傷情的事物以及與之相關的聯係，然而隻有生養我們的故鄉才是我們安身立命的地方。因此，如果我可以再活一次，我就要用今生的時間巡遊世界，而在來生，我將永遠守候在我的故鄉！
心靈小語
生活有了旅行就多姿多彩。如果說快樂是生活的畫板，那麽旅遊就是畫板的顏料，生活是快樂的，**的，夢想的。沒有好的顏色，生活就會失去很多樂趣，讓我們放飛心情，在旅行中體味人生，體味自然，體味自己的心境。
Seize Your Time
According to the article, match each of the following words with its synonym.
(1) vegetatea. an idea or feeling that someone expresses in words
(2) solitudeb. to hold it tightly
(3) sentimentc. to replace something
(4) clutchd. the state of being alone
(5) gloriouse. to spend their time doing boring or worthless things
Practicing for Better Learning
Do the following statements agree with the information in the reading text?
Write
TRUEif the statement agrees with the information
FALSEif the statement contradicts the information
______ (1) The British people are so concentrated as the French while eating.
______ (2) It is suggested to travel aboard if you want to improve social ability.
Now a Try
Translate the following sentences into English.
1.母愛是世界上最偉大的愛。
_____________________________________________________________________________
2.我每天至少步行兩個小時。
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3.他興奮地敘述著剛看完的電影。