A Word for Autumn.doc

A Word for Autumn
秋日私语
By A. A. Milne

This is the sort of urbane pleasantry in which British essayists are prolific and graceful. Alan Alexander Milne was born in 1882, went to Trinity College, Cambridge; was editor of The Granta (the leading undergraduate publication at Cambridge at that time) and plunged into the great whirlpool of London journalism. He was on the staff of Punch, 1906–14. He has now collected several volumes of charming essays, and has had considerable success as a playwright: his comedy, Mr. Pim Passes By, recently played a prosperous run in New York. “A Word for Autumn” is from his volume Not That It Matters.
英国散文家善用优雅的笔触描绘恬淡的城市乐趣。阿伦·亚历山大·米尔纳出生于1882年，并在剑桥大学三一学院就读。当时他是《格兰塔》（当时剑桥大学本科生出版物的佼佼者）的编辑，并在英国媒体报业摸爬滚打。1906到1914年间，他曾就职于《笨拙》报社。而今，他也集有几部散文集，风格迤逦，引人入胜。作为一名剧作家，他也卓有成就，著有喜剧《皮姆先生过去了》。近期，纽约上演了他的几部剧作。《秋日私语》一文选自他的散文集《无可厚非》。
LAST night the waiter put the celery on with the cheese, and I knew that summer was indeed dead. Other signs of autumn there may be—the reddening leaf, the chill in the early-morning air, the misty evenings—but none of these comes home to me so truly. There may be cool mornings in July; in a year of drought the leaves may change before their time; it is only with the first celery that summer is over.
昨夜，服务员给我端上来一盘芹菜奶酪。我知道，夏季确乎是逝去了。红彤彤的树叶、冷清清的晨风、雾蒙蒙的深夜都预示着秋的到来。可我的心却不愿意相信。七月里也会有凉爽的清晨呀；干旱的年头里树叶也会提前掉落呀；仅仅第一棵芹菜便宣告了夏季的逝去。
I knew all along that it would not last. Even in April I was saying that winter would soon be here. Yet somehow it had begun to seem possible lately that a miracle might happen, that summer might drift on and on through the months—a final upheaval to crown a wonderful year. The celery settled that. Last night with the celery autumn came into its own.
从一开始我便知道，没有永恒的季节。刚进四月份，我就说，冬天很快就到了。不知为什么，我竟然相信，奇迹会发生：夏季会一直绵延下去最终，芹菜的预言动荡了一年的精彩：秋季进入了自己的节奏，扰乱了我的世界。
There is a crispness about celery that is of the essence of October. It is as fresh and clean as a rainy day after a spell of heat. It crackles pleasantly in the mouth. Moreover it is excellent, I am told, for the complexion. One is always hearing of things which are good for the complexion, but there is no doubt that celery stands high on the list. After the burns and freckles of summer one is in need of something. How good that celery should be there at one’s elbow.
芹菜给我一种十月独有的清爽感觉，就像是灼热被大雨洗刷过后那般清新、凉爽。咬在嘴中，清爽怡人。有人告诉我，芹菜可以改善人的气色。人们也很愿意听一些好消息，让自己开心。毋庸置疑，芹菜就是首当其冲的。经过夏季的炙烤，我们更需要某种东西。如果，我们身边恰好有一棵芹菜，那该多好啊！
A week ago—(“A little more cheese, waiter”)—a week ago I grieved for the dying summer. I wondered how I could possibly bear the waiting—the eight long months till May. In vain to comfort myself with the thought that I could get through more work in the winter undistracted by thoughts of cricket grounds and country houses. In vain, equally, to tell myself that I could stay in bed later in the mornings. Even the thought of after-breakfast pipes in front of the fire left me cold. But now, suddenly, I am reconciled to autumn. I see quite clearly that all good things must come to an end. The summer has been splendid, but it has lasted long enough. This morning I welcomed the chill in the air; this morning I viewed the falling leaves with cheerfulness; and this morning I said to myself, “Why, of course, I’ll have celery for lunch.” (“More bread, waiter.”)
一星期前——（服务员，再来点儿奶酪）——一星期前，我还在为即将逝去的夏季而哀伤，还在想自己怎么可能忍受长达八个月等待的煎熬——还有八个月才是夏季呀！冬天里，我可以做更多工作，可以玩板球，可以享受乡村生活，还可以很晚起床——这只是我的一厢情愿，情绪依旧低落。甚至，早餐后在壁炉边抽着大烟斗的悠闲也无法带来一丝欢愉。倏忽间，我与秋季妥协了。我很清楚，一切美好都会逝去。夏季固然美好至极，再怎样，也有一段时间了。今晨，我迎接秋的凉意；今晨，我观赏飘落的树叶；今晨，我告诉自己：“吁，好吧，今天中午吃芹菜。”（“再来些面包，服务员。”）
“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,” said Keats, not actually picking out celery in so many words, but plainly including it in the general blessings of the autumn. Yet what an opportunity he missed by not concentrating on that precious root. Apples, grapes, nuts, and vegetable marrows he mentions specially—and how poor a selection! For apples and grapes are not typical of any month, so ubiquitous are they, vegetable marrows are vegetables pour rire and have no place in any serious consideration of the seasons, while as for nuts, have we not a national song which asserts distinctly, “Here we go gathering nuts in May”? Season of mists and mellow celery, then let it be. A pat of butter underneath the bough, a wedge of cheese, a loaf of bread and—Thou.
“雾气迷蒙的季节，到处都是可人的果子，”济慈吟道，字里行间竟没有提到芹菜，只是饱含秋季的祝福。他遗失了，遗失了多么美好的块根蔬菜啊！他只提及了苹果、葡萄、坚果和西葫芦——他的选择太过单调、太过平淡！苹果和葡萄在任何季节都过于普通；西葫芦像些卖笑的妓女，平淡得异乎寻常；那么坚果呢？我们的国歌不是这么唱的，“五月里，我们一起来这儿收获坚果”？雾气迷蒙的季节，到处都是可人的芹菜，我默然。一小块黄油，一根芹菜，一角奶酪，一片面包，还有你——宜人的秋色。
Yet, I can face the winter with calm. I suppose I had forgotten what it was really like. I had been thinking of the winter as a horrid wet, dreary time fit only for professional football. Now I can see other things—crisp and sparkling days, long pleasant evenings, cheery fires. Good work shall be done this winter. Life shall be lived well. The end of the summer is not the end of the world. Here’s to October—and, waiter, some more celery.
面对冬季，我终于不再心烦意乱。想必我早已忘却它的真实模样了。曾经一度，我还极为厌烦潮湿阴沉的冬日，认为只有职业足球运动员才会喜欢。如今，心中却有另外一番景象：清凉醒目的白昼、漫长欢愉的黑夜，还有跃动着笑靥的炉火。今次，冬日不再单调：更多的工作、更好的生活。夏天结束，时空依旧。献给十月——服务员，再来些芹菜。