《故都的秋》的三个译本

的凉雾，荔枝湾的残荷等等，可是色彩不浓，回味不永。比起北国的秋来，正象是黄酒之与

白干，稀饭之与馍馍，鲈鱼之与大蟹，黄犬之与骆驼。

秋天，

这北国的秋天，若留得住的话，我愿把寿命的三分之二折去，换得一个三分之一

的零头。

一九三四年八月，在北平

作者简介：郁达夫

名文，字达夫，< /p>

1896

年

12

月

7

日出生于富阳满洲弄（今达夫弄）

的一个知识分子家庭。幼年贫困的生活促使发愤读书，成绩斐然。

1913

年

9

月随长兄赴日

本留学，

毕业于东京帝国大学经济学部。

郁达夫是著名的新文学团体

“

创造社

”

的发起 人之一，

他的第一本也是我国现代文学史上的第一本小说集《沉沦》

，被公认是震世骇俗的作品，他

的散文、旧体诗词、文艺评论和杂文政论也都自成一 家，不同凡响。

一、王椒升译文

Autumn in the Old Capital

Autumn is always pleasant no matter where it is. But autumn in the North is especially

clear, especially serene, especially pathetic in its coolness. It was for no other purpose

than to savour this “autumn”

to the full, the taste of autumn in the old capital, that I went to

the trouble of journeying a thousand li, from Hangzhou to Qingdao, and thence to Beiping.

There is autumn also south of the Yangtze, of course. But there the grass and trees take

more time to wither, the air is moist and the sky is pale. There is frequent rain and less

wind. One who dwells among the citizens of Suzhou, Shanghai or Hangzhou, of Xiamen,

Hong Kong or Guangzhou, spends his days listlessly, with but a vague feeling of coolness.

As to the taste and colour of autumn, its particular significance and moods, it is impossible

to

have

one?s

fill

of

seeing,

tasting

or

enjoying.

Autumn

is

not

a

famous

flower,

nor

a

delicious

wine.

It

is

inappropriate

while

enjoying

the

pleasures

of

autumn

to

expect

something in a state of half-open or half-tipsy.

It is almost ten-odd

years since I last had occasion

to

see

autumn in

the North. In

the

South,

the

return

of

each

autumn

would

bring

memories

of

the

Pavilion

of

Happiness

nestling among red flowers, the Fishing Terrace canopied by the shadows of willows, the

chirp of insects in the Western Hills, the glamour of moonlight over the Jade Springs, the

chime of bells in the Tanzhesi T

emple. Here in Beiping, suppose you are living amidst the

city?s tee

ming millions in a ramshackle house that you have rented. On rising one early

morning and seating yourself in the courtyard with a cup of strong tea before you, without

even

venturing

out

of

doors

you

can

see

an

azure

sky

high

above,

and

hear

homing

pigeons

whirring

past

under

it.

Facing

the

east,

you

count

the

rays

of

sunlight

filtering

through

the

leaves

of

scholar-trees.

From

a

gap

in

some

dilapidated

wall,

you

brood

silently over the blue trumpet-like petals of morning-glories. And a sense of the fullness of

autumn

will

come

upon

you

unawares.

Speaking

of

morning-glories,

the

blue

or

white

flowers seem to me

best, those

of dark-purple next and

the

pink ones last. And at the

bottom

of

the

morning-glories,

to

crown

all,

let

there

be

a

sprinkling

of

sparse,

sharp-pointed long blades of autumn grass, to set off the flowers with.

The scholar-trees in North China are also an attraction that calls to mind the advent of

autumn. You get up in the early morning, to find the ground carpeted all over with their

fallen petals, which still have something of the look of flowers, though actually not flowers

any longer. Tread on them, and you are conscious only of a very slight and soft sense of

touch, with neither sound nor smell. The lines left on the dusty soil by scavengers in their

round of sweeping under the shadows of trees give an impression of exquisiteness as well

as

serenity,

so

that

subconsciously

you

still

feel

a

suggestion

of

loneliness.

It

was

probably something as profound as this that inspired the phantasy of the ancients that the

fall of a single leaf from the parasol-tree intimates to all the world the arrival of autumn.

The

chirping

of

cicadas

in

autumn,

feeble

and

lingering,

is

another

specialty

of

North

China. In Beiping, everywhere are trees, and you can catch their singing anywhere, the

houses being usually so low. In the South this would be an impossibility unless you went

out of your way to get to the suburbs or the hills. In Beiping, the chirp of the autumn cicada

is quite like the chirp of a cricket or the squeak of a mouse

—

domestic creatures to be

found in every household.

Then there is the autumn rain. Somehow rain in autumn falls in the North more magically,

as it were, than it does in the South

—

more tastefully, more becomingly.

A sudden gust of cool wind across a somber sky, and a patter of rain begins. When the

rain subsides, the sun reappears in a blue sky, and the clouds drift slowly westward. At the

end of the slanting bridge, silhouetted against its shadows after the rain, stand city idlers

under the trees, pipe in mouth, in their thick unlined dress or lined coat of black cloth. And

if they chance upon an acquaintance, something like the following dialogue might ensue,

in a leisurely drawl punctuated by a low sigh.

“Yes, it?s getting cool really…”, with the last word raised to a high pitch and long

-drawn-out.

“Yes, isn?t it? ?A spatter of autumn rain, a spell of cool? as the saying goes, you know.”

In a Northerner?s accents, the character for “spatter” and “spell” often sounds not unli

ke

the character for “layer”. Judging by the tonal patterns in classical Chinese prosody, this

mispronunciation seems to come in quite appropriately.

Another phenomenon in the North when a autumn arrives is the fruit-trees. T

o begin with,

there is the

date-tree, which flourishes anywhere in

the

corners of houses, against the

walls, beside thatched huts, outside kitchen doors. When the dates grow to the size of

olives

or

pigeon?s eggs, a

light

green

or

yellow set

amidst

small fine

oval leaves,

then

autumn will be in all its glory. But the northwest wind will blow as soon as the trees shed

their leaves and the dates have turned red. Then the whole of the North will become a

world of dust and sand and grayish soil. So it is only when the dates, persimmons and

grapes are ripe to about 80 or 90 percent, at the juncture of July and August, that autumn

in the North is at its very best

—

the Golden Days of the year beyond compare.

In the opinion of some critics, men of letters and scholars in China, especially poets, have

a strong tinge of decadence. That is why in Chinese poetry and prose writings in praise of

autumn

particularly

abound.

But

then

is

this

not

the

case

also

with

the

poets

of

other

countries?

Little

as

I

have

read

of

foreign

poetry

and

prose,

and

not

inclined

either

to

make a list of titles for an anthology of poetry and prose about autumn, I feel sure that if

you but take the trouble to leaf through the works of British, German, French and Italian

poets, or the anthologies of verse and prose of various countries, you are bound to come

across

an

abundance

of

encomiums

and

lamentations

about

autumn.

And

in

the

long

pastoral poems as well as poems about the seasons by all celebrated poets, it is those

with autumn as their theme that possess the greatest excellence and appeal. This shows

that in all sensitive animals, and in all emotional human beings alike, autumn is capable

particularly of arousing feelings that are deep and profound, serious and melancholy. Nor

is this the case with poets only. When autumn comes, to my mind even prisoners in gaols

must be stirred by a poignant emotion they cannot resist. In fact, with all human beings,

what discrimination does autumn ever make as to their nationality, their race

or class?

Here in China, however, we have in

our literature the term “autumn scholar”. And in our

school textbooks, essays like Ouyang Xiu?s “Autumn Sounds” and Su Dongpo?s “A Visit to

the Red Cliff” frequently appear. This cannot but lead us to the conclusion that men of

letters in China

are particularly attached to autumn. But this profound

taste

of autumn,

especially this profound taste of autumn in China, can be enjoyed fully nowhere else than

in the North China.

Autumn

in

the

South,

needless

to

say,

has

charms

all

its

own.

For

example,

the

Twenty-four Bridges with its brilliant moonlight, the Autumn Bore on the Qiantang River,

the Putuo Isles enshrouded in mist, the Lichee Bay strewn with fading lotuses. Yet none of

these are strong enough in colour, or remain long enough in our recollection. Compared

with autumn in the North, they are but as yellow wine to white spirit, rice gruel to steamed

buns, the perch to the crab, the dog to the camel.

I would that I could give up two-thirds of my life for an autumn one-third its length, should it

be possible to make autumn stay

—

this autumn in the North of China.

二、张培基译文。

Autumn in Peiping

Autumn,

wherever

it

is,

always

has

something

to

recommend

itself.

In

North

China,

however, it is particularly limpid, serene and melancholy. To enjoy its atmosphere to the

full in the onetime capital, I have, therefore, made light of travelling a long distance from