October Lake 十月湖景

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October Lake

Herbert Ernest Bates

The October leaves have fallen on the lake. On bright, calm days they lie in thousands on the now darkening water, mostly yellow flotillas of poplar, floating continuously down from great trees that themselves shake in the windless air with the sound of falling water, but on rainy days or after rain they seem to swim or be driven away, and nothing remains to break the surface except the last of the olive—yellow lily pads that in high summer covered every inch of water like emerald porcelain. The lilies have gone too, the yellow small—headed kind that in bud are like swimming snakes, and the great reeds are going, woven by wind and frost into untidy basket islands under which coot and moorhen skid for cover at the sound of strangers.

All summer in this world of water —lilies, the coot and moorhen lived a bewildered life. There was no place where they could swim and all day they could be seen walking daintily, heads slightly aside and slightly down, across the lily-hidden water, as bemused by the world of leaves as they had been in winter by the world of ice. In the clearer water they are more active. The lake is long and unbroken except for two small islands. The birds, as the fit takes them, dash madly up and down it, taking off and touching down it, taking off and touching down like small fussy black sea-planes. Beside them the arrival of the wild duck, at much higher speed, is almost majestic. They plane down, the necks of the drakes shining like royal green satin, with the air of squadrons coming in after long flights from home.

It was not until late summer that fishing was possible. The water was so low and clear after drought that fish could be seen in great dark shoals, sunning themselves, shy, impossible to catch. Only in the evening, as the air cooled and the water darkened, and the surface was broken with the silver dances of the rising shoals, would you perhaps get a bite or two, a baby perch sucking at the worm, a roach no bigger than a sardine. All the time, on bright hot mornings especially, great pike would lie out in the middle of the lake in shoals of ten or even twenty, like black torpedoes, transfixed, never moving except in sudden immense rises that rocked the water-surface with rings.

It is curious, but all the life on and about water seems to belong to water. Except for a solitary wren fidgeting delicately about the bands under the alder trees, or a robin singing in the October afternoons across the water from the islands, all the bird—life is that of water—birds. Rooks never seem to come here, nor starlings; an occasional pigeon flaps across to the woods; even the sea-gulls belong to the ploughed land. But wild swans come back to nest in the piles of fawn coloured reeds in the spring, and two great herons stalk the water-meadows everyday, struggling ponderously upwards at the sound of voices. Snipe whirl away across the tussocks of brown-quilled sedge on the adjacent marshland, and a solitary kingfisher breaks with magic electric streaks the dark enclosures under the alders that span the narrowest water. But sometimes and for long periods, there is no life and no sound at all. The water is slowly stilled after the last fish have broken it, the coots are silent, the leaves cease their shaking and falling in the dead October air. The crimson float comes to rest on water that seems to have on it a skin of oil.

On such still clear days the colour is wonderful. From the south bank of the water polar and alder and ash and horse—chestnut let fall high liquid curtains of lemon and bronze. Orchards of cherry and pear smoulder with drooping orange flames beyond the light wall of almost naked willows. The oaks are still green, but the beeches in the distance stand like red mountains. And on the lake itself unexpected colour springs up: an island of quince trees, still green, but hung with many ripe lanterns of bright fruit that no one gathers.

October Lake 十月湖景

参考译文

十月湖上

赫伯特·欧内斯特·贝慈

十月时树叶已飘落湖上。在晴朗无风的日子里,树叶成千上万地攒聚在此刻已经色泽转暗的水面,这黄色小舟般的落叶——大多为白杨树叶——纷纷不停地从那些即使无风天气也颤抖不已的高树之上飘落下来,淅淅沥沥,仿佛水声;但是遇上雨天或雨后,它们又被飘得无影无踪,于是,除了那在盛夏时节宛如盏盏翠盘把湖面盖个满当而如今色作橄榄黄的睡莲残叶之外,这时湖上是一片利落。这连睡莲——一种在其蓓蕾时期有如浪里金蛇似的色黄头细的睡莲——也已不在,另外茂密的芦苇也稀疏起来,它们被风霜编织成了许多凌乱的蓝篓似的汀渚,这里的大鷭鸟和松鸡一听见什么陌生人的响动便溜进那底下去躲避。

长夏之际,在这片处处睡莲的世界里,大鷭和松鸡过着一种困惑迷惘的日子。它们找不到可以自由游泳的地方,于是整天整天可以看到它们在这片为睡莲盖满的水面之间小心翼翼地徐图前进,不时把头歪歪低低,对这片绿叶世界感到不胜惶惑,正如在冬天时候对冰天雪地感到的那样。遇到稍清净的水面,它们马上就活跃多了。湖面很长,除其中两处小岛外,大体连成一片。湖上的鸟儿兴致来时往往发狂般地参差其羽,翻飞水上,那起飞降落恍若无数细小激动的黑色水上飞机。相比之下,那野鸭飞来时的样子,而且速度也快得多,便几乎颇形威武。它们着陆时——一些雄鸭脖颈处闪耀着色如浓绿缎面的光泽,那神气大有飞机中队于其长期国外飞行之后初次返回本土之势。

钓鱼一事则要等待时序进入夏末才有可能。久旱之后,水面浅而清,深黝黝的游鱼可以成批看见,这是出来晒太阳的,但羞怯易惊,不好捕捉。只有等到晚间,当天气已经转凉,水色变暗,湖面也为露水鱼群的银色舞蹈不断划破时,这当儿,才有可能钓着几条,这时一条初生的鲈鱼,或比沙丁还小的石斑,也许会噙上钩。整个这段时期,特别是在晴朗炎燠的早晨,个大的梭子鱼往往会露出湖心,一二十条一群,状若黑色鯆,着迷般地呆在那里,只是偶尔才大动一下,在水面漾起丝丝涟漪。

说来奇怪,但是这里一切水上和水周围的生活似乎都和水有关。除了那个在湖畔赤杨树下踧踖不安的孤零鹪鹩,或在十月午后从岛上横掠湖面引颈长鸣的知更鸟以外,这里的鸟类生活都属于水鸟生活。白嘴鸭似乎很少到这里来,燕八哥也是如此;偶尔一只鸽子从水上鼓翼而过,飞入林中;甚至连海鸥也属于田畴上的禽类。但野天鹅春天时却常回到淡黄色的芦苇丛中来筑巢,另外有两只高大大苍鹭每天好在这表面积有浅水的草地上往来踱着,一遇声响则奋力把头翘起。鹬鸟常翩跹于附近沼泽中色状如棕褐翎羽的苔丛之间,有时一只翠鸟也以魔术闪电般的快速啄着横过最狭窄水面的赤杨影下的阴暗树篱。但也有时候,而且还时间不短,这里又既无生命,也无声息。湖面上慢慢静下来,再没有鱼跃来打破这种沉默,大鷭不再啼叫,连树叶在这死寂的十月天空中也停止摇落。猩红的浮子开始停留在这看上去腻滑如脂的水面之上。

在这种宁静晴和的日子里,湖上的色泽真是绚丽极了。湖底南岸,白杨、赤杨、槐木、七叶树等漠漠一片,氤氲溟濛,作橄榄黄间青铜色,恍如水帘高悬。樱桃梨子繁茂的果园一团火红,那低垂的橙黄光焰早已颎颎透出一带几乎光净的秋柳之外。橡树依然苍绿,但那挺住在远处的山毛榉树却赪如赤峰。至于湖面之上,更是奇颜异彩,姿媚跃出:岛上生满温桲树,虽仍郁郁青青,但树间嘉实累累,恍若千万盏金灯,只是无人前来采撷罢了。

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