《荷塘月色》五种英译

采莲人不用说很

多，还有看采莲的 人。那是一个热闹的季节，也是一个风流的季节。梁元帝《采莲赋》里说

得好：

于是妖童媛女，荡舟心许：

鷁

首徐回，兼传羽杯；

欋

将移而藻挂，船欲动而萍开。尔 其

纤腰束素，迁延顾步；夏始春余，叶嫩花初，恐沾裳而浅笑，畏倾船而敛裾。

可见当时嬉游的光景了。这真是有趣的事，可惜我们现在早已无福消受 了。

于是又记起《西州曲》里的句子：

采莲南塘秋，莲花过人头；低头弄莲子，莲子清如水。

今晚若有采莲人，

这儿的莲花也算得

“过人头 ”

了；

只不见一些流水的影子，

是不行 的。

这令我到底惦着江南了。

——这样想着，

< br>猛一抬头，

不觉已是自己的门前；

轻轻地推门进去，

什么声息也没有，妻已睡熟好久了。

一九二七年七月，北京清华园

译文一：

Moonlight Over the Lotus Pond

Tr. Zhu Chunshen

（朱纯深）

I have felt quite upset recently. Tonight, when I was sitting in the yard enjoying the cool, it

occurred to me that the Lotus Pond, which I pass by everyday, must assume quite a different look

in

such

moonlit

night.

A

full

moon

was

rising

high

in

the

sky;

the

laughter

of children

playing

outside

had

died

away;

in

the

room,

my wife was

patting

the

son,

Run-er, sleepily

humming

a

cradle song. Shrugging on an overcoat, quietly, I made my way out, closing the door behind me.

Alongside

the

Lotus

Pond runs

a

small

cinder footpath.

It

is

peaceful

and secluded

here,

a

place not frequented by pedestrians even in the daytime; now at night, it looks more solitary, in a

lush, shady ambience of trees all around the pond. On the side where the path is, there are willows,

interlaced with some others whose names I do not know. The foliage, which, in a moonless night,

would loom somewhat frighteningly dark, looks very nice tonight, although the moonlight is not

more than a thin, greyish veil.

I

am

on

my

own, strolling,

hands

behind

my

back.

This

bit

of the

universe

seems

in

my

possession now; and I myself seem to have been uplifted from my ordinary self into another world.

I

like

a

serene

and

peaceful

life,

as

much

as

a

busy

and

active

one; I

like

being

in

solitude,

as

much as in company. As it is tonight, basking in a misty moonshine all by myself. I feel I am a

free man, free to think of anything, or of nothing. All that one is obliged to do, or to say, in the

daytime, can be very well cast aside now. That is the beauty of being alone. For the moment, just

let me indulge in this profusion of moonlight and lotus fragrance.

All over this winding stretch of water, what meets the eye is a silken field of leaves, reaching

rather

high

above

the

surface,

like

the

skirts

of

dancing

girls

in

all

their

grace.

Here

and there,

layers of leaves are dotted with white lotus blossoms, some

in demure bloom, others in shy bud,

like scattering pearls, or twinkling stars, or beauties just out of the bath. A

breeze stirs, sending

over breaths of fragrance, like faint singing drifting from a distant building. At this moment, a tiny

thrill shoots through the leaves and flowers, like a streak of lightning, straight across the forest of

lotuses. The

leaves,

which

have

been

standing shoulder

to shoulder,

are

caught

trembling

in

an

emerald heave of the pond. Underneath, the exquisite water is covered from view, and none can

tell its colour; yet the leaves on top project themselves all the more attractively.

The moon sheds her liquid

light silently over the leaves and flowers, which, in the floating

transparency of a bluish haze from the pond, look as if they had just been bathed in milk, or like a

dream wrapped in a gauzy hood. Although it is a full moon, shining through a film of clouds, the

light is not at its brightest; it is, however, just right for me

—

a profound sleep is indispensable,

yet a snatched doze also has a savour of its own. The moonlight is streaming down through the

foliage, casting bushy shadows on the ground from high above, dark and checkered, like an army

of ghosts; whereas the benign figures of the drooping willows, here and there,

look like paintings

on the lotus leaves. The moonlight is not spread evenly over the pond, but rather in a harmonious

rhythm of light and shade, like a famous melody played on a violin.

Around the pond, far and near, high and low, are trees. Most of them are willows. Only on the

path side can two or three gaps be seen through the heavy fringe, as if specially reserved for the

moon. The shadowy shapes of the leafage at first sight seem diffused into a mass of mist, against

which, however, the charm of those willow trees is still discernible. Over the trees appear some

distant

mountains,

but

merely

in

sketchy

silhouette.

Through the

branches

are

also

a couple

of

2

lamps,

as

listless

as

sleepy

eyes.

The most

lively

creatures

here,

for

the

moment,

must

be

the

cicadas in the trees and the frogs in the pond. But the liveliness is theirs, I have nothing.

Suddenly, something like lotus-gathering crosses my mind. It used to be celebrated as a folk

festival

in the South, probably dating very far back in history, most popular in the period of Six

Dynasties. We can pick up some outlines of this activity in the poetry. It was young girls who went

gathering lotuses, in sampans and singing love songs. Needless to say, there were a great number

of

them

doing

the

gathering,

apart

from

those

who

were

watching.

It

was

a

lively

season,

brimming

with

vitality,

and

romance.

A

brilliant

description

can

be

found

in

Lotus

Gathering

written by the Y

uan Emperor of the Liang Dynasty:

So those charming youngsters

row their sampans, heart buoyant with tacit love, pass on to

each other cups of wine while their bird-shaped prows drift around. From time to time their oars

are caught in dangling algae, and duckweed float apart the moment their boats are about to move

on. Their slender figures, girdled with plain silk, tread watchfully on board. This is the time when

spring

is

growing

into

summer

,

the

leaves

a

tender

green

and

the flowers

blooming,

—

among

which the girls are giggling when evading an outreaching stem, their shirts tucked in for fear that

the sampan might tilt.

That

is

a

glimpse

of

those

merrymaking

scenes.

It

must

have

been

fascinating;

but

unfortunately we have long been denied such a delight.

Then I recall those lines in

Ballad of Xizhou Island

:

Gathering

the

lotus, I

am

in

the

South

Pond,

/

The lilies

in

autumn

reach

over

my

head;

/

Lowering my head I toy with the lotus seed, / Look, they are as fresh as the water underneath.

If there were somebody gathering lotuses tonight, she could tell that the lilies here are high

enough

to

reach

over

her

head;

but,

one

would

certainly

miss

the

sight

of

the

water.

So

my

memories drift back to the South after all.

Deep in my thoughts, I looked up, just to find myself at the door of my own house. Gently I

pushed

the

door

open

and walked

in.

Not

a

sound

inside,

my wife

had

been

asleep

for

quite

a

while.

Qinghua Campus, Beiiing

July, 1927

译文二：

The Lotus Pond by Moonlight

T

r. David E. Pollard

The last few days I have been quite troubled in my mind. Tonight as I sat in the yard enjoying

the cool of evening I suddenly thought of the lotus pond I passed every day: it must surely look

different

now

in

the

light

of

the

full

moon.

The

moon was

mounting

high

in

the

sky,

and

the

sounds of the children at play in the road outside had died away. Indoors my wife was putting our

little

Runer

to sleep,

drowsily

humming

a

lullaby.

I

quietly

slipped

on

my

gown

and went

out,

pulling the gate to behind me.

At the edge of the pond is a winding narrow cinder path. This path, being out of the way

, is

little

used

even

in

the

daytime,

and

at

night

is

all

the

more

deserted.

All

around

the

pond

grow

many trees, lush and dense, while on one side of the path there are some willows, and other trees

whose names are unknown to me. On moonless nights the path is overcast and gloomy, somewhat

eerie. But tonight all was well, even though the moonlight was only dim.

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