瓦尔登湖:The Ponds10
Flint's Pond！ Such is the poverty of our nomenclature. What right had the unclean and stupid farmer， whose farm abutted on this sky water， whose shores he has ruthlessly laid bare， to give his name to it？ Some skin-flint， who loved better the reflecting surface of a dollar， or a bright cent， in which he could see his own brazen face； who regarded even the wild ducks which settled in it as trespassers； his fingers grown into crooked and bony talons from the long habit of grasping harpy-like； ―― so it is not named for me. I go not there to see him nor to hear of him； who never saw it， who never bathed in it， who never loved it， who never protected it， who never spoke a good word for it， nor thanked God that He had made it. Rather let it be named from the fishes that swim in it， the wild fowl or quadrupeds which frequent it， the wild flowers which grow by its shores， or some wild man or child the thread of whose history is interwoven with its own； not from him who could show no title to it but the deed which a like-minded neighbor or legislature gave him ――him who thought only of its money value； whose presence perchance cursed all the shores； who exhausted the land around it， and would fain have exhausted the waters within it； who regretted only that it was not English hay or cranberry meadow ―― there was nothing to redeem it， forsooth， in his eyes ―― and would have drained and sold it for the mud at its bottom. It did not turn his mill， and it was no privilege to him to behold it. I respect not his labors， his farm where everything has its price， who would carry the landscape，who would carry his God， to market， if he could get anything for him； who goes to market for his god as it is； on whose farm nothing grows free， whose fields bear no crops， whose meadows no flowers，whose trees no fruits， but dollars； who loves not the beauty of his fruits， whose fruits are not ripe for him till they are turned to dollars. Give me the poverty that enjoys true wealth. Farmers are respectable and interesting to me in proportion as they are poor ――poor farmers. A model farm！ where the house stands like a fungus in a muckheap， chambers for men horses， oxen， and swine， cleansed and uncleansed， all contiguous to one another！ Stocked with men！ A great grease-spot， redolent of manures and buttermilk！ Under a high state of cultivation， being manured with the hearts and brains of men！ As if you were to raise your potatoes in the churchyard！ Such is a model farm.
No， no； if the fairest features of the landscape are to be named after men， let them be the noblest and worthiest men alone. Let our lakes receive as true names at least as the Icarian Sea， where "still the shore" a "brave attempt resounds."
Goose Pond， of small extent， is on my way to Flint's； Fair Haven， an expansion of Concord River， said to contain some seventy acres， is a mile southwest； and White Pond， of about forty acres， is a mile and a half beyond Fair Haven. This is my lake country. These， with Concord River， are my water privileges； and night and day， year in year out， they grind such grist as I carry to them.
Since the wood-cutters， and the railroad， and I myself have profaned Walden， perhaps the most attractive， if not the most beautiful， of all our lakes， the gem of the woods， is White Pond； ――a poor name from its commonness， whether derived from the remarkable purity of its waters or the color of its sands. In these as in other respects， however， it is a lesser twin of Walden. They are so much alike that you would say they must be connected under ground. It has the same stony shore， and its waters are of the same hue. As at Walden， in sultry dog-day weather， looking down through the woods on some of its bays which are not so deep but that the reflection from the bottom tinges them， its waters are of a misty bluish-green or glaucous color. Many years since I used to go there to collect the sand by cartloads， to make sandpaper with， and I have continued to visit it ever since. One who frequents it proposes to call it Virid Lake. Perhaps it might be called Yellow Pine Lake， from the following circumstance. About fifteen years ago you could see the top of a pitch pine， of the kind called yellow pine hereabouts，though it is not a distinct species， projecting above the surface in deep water， many rods from the shore. It was even supposed by some that the pond had sunk， and this was one of the primitive forest that formerly stood there. I find that even so long ago as 1792， in a "Topographical Description of the Town of Concord，" by one of its citizens， in the Collections of the Massachusetts Historical Society， the author， after speaking of Walden and White Ponds， adds，"In the middle of the latter may be seen， when the water is very low， a tree which appears as if it grew in the place where it now stands， although the roots are fifty feet below the surface of the water； the top of this tree is broken off， and at that place measures fourteen inches in diameter." In the spring of '49 I talked with the man who lives nearest the pond in Sudbury， who told me that it was he who got out this tree ten or fifteen years before. As near as he could remember， it stood twelve or fifteen rods from the shore， where the water was thirty or forty feet deep. It was in the winter， and he had been getting out ice in the forenoon， and had resolved that in the afternoon， with the aid of his neighbors， he would take out the old yellow pine. He sawed a channel in the ice toward the shore， and hauled it over and along and out on to the ice with oxen； but， before he had gone far in his work， he was surprised to find that it was wrong end upward， with the stumps of the branches pointing down， and the small end firmly fastened in the sandy bottom. It was about a foot in diameter at the big end， and he had expected to get a good saw-log， but it was so rotten as to be fit only for fuel， if for that. He had some of it in his shed then. There were marks of an axe and of woodpeckers on the butt. He thought that it might have been a dead tree on the shore， but was finally blown over into the pond， and after the top had become water-logged， while the butt-end was still dry and light， had drifted out and sunk wrong end up. His father， eighty years old，could not remember when it was not there. Several pretty large logs may still be seen lying on the bottom， where， owing to the undulation of the surface， they look like huge water snakes in motion.
灵特的湖！我们的命名就这样子的贫困！在这个水天之中耕作，又强暴地糟蹋了湖岸的一个污秽愚昧的农夫，他有什么资格用他自己的姓名来称呼这一个湖呢？很可能是一个悭吝的人，他更爱一块大洋或一只光亮的角子的反光，从中他可以看到自己那无耻的厚脸；连野鸭飞来，他也认为它们是擅入者；他习惯于残忍贪婪地攫取东西，手指已经像弯曲的鹰爪，这个湖的命名不合我的意。我到那里去，决不是看这个 灵特去，也决不是去听人家说起他；他从没有看见这个湖，从没有在里面游泳过，从没有爱过它，从没有保护过它，从没有说过它一个好字眼儿，也从没有因为上帝创造了它而感谢过上帝。这个湖还不如用在湖里游泳的那些鱼的名字，用常到这湖上来的飞禽或走兽的名字，用生长在湖岸上的野花的名字，或者用什么野人或野孩子的名字，他们的生命曾经和这个湖交织在一起的；而不要用他的名字，除了同他志趣相投的邻人和法律给他的契据以外，他对湖没有什么所有权，――他只想到金钱的价值；他的存在就诅咒了全部的湖岸，他竭尽了湖边的土地，大约还要竭泽而渔呢；他正在抱怨的只是这里不是生长英吉利于草或蔓越橘的牧场，――在他看来，这确实是无法补偿的，――他甚至为了湖底的污泥可以卖钱，宁愿淘干湖水。湖水又不能替他转动磨子，他不觉得欣赏风景是一种权利。
我一点不敬重他的劳动，他的田园处处都标明了价格，他可以把风景，甚至可以把上帝都拿到市场上去拍卖，如果这些可以给予他一些利益；他到市场上去就是为了他那个上帝；在他的田园上，没有一样东西是自由地生长的，他的田里没有生长五谷，他的牧场上没有开花，他的果树上也没有结果，都只生长了金钱；他不爱他的水果的美，他认为非到他的水果变成了金钱时，那些水果才算成熟。让我来过那真正富有的贫困生活吧。
越是贫困的农夫们，越能得到我的敬意与关切！居然是个模范农场！那里的田舍像粪坑上的菌子一样耸立着，人，马，牛，猪都有清洁的或不洁的房间，彼此相互地传染！人像畜生一样住在里面！一个大油渍，粪和奶酪的气味混在一起！在一个高度的文明底下，人的心和人的脑子变成了粪便似的肥料！仿佛你要在坟场上种上豆！这样便是所谓的模范农场！
不成，不成；如果最美的风景应以人名称呼，那就用最高贵、最有价值的人的名字吧。我们的湖至少应该用伊卡洛斯海这样的真正的名字，在那里，“海上的涛声依然传颂着一次勇敢的尝试”呢。
鹅湖较小，在我去 灵特湖的中途；美港，是康科德河的一个尾闾，面积有七十英亩，在西南面一英里之处；白湖，大约四十英亩面积，在美港过去一英里半之处。这便是我的湖区。这些，再加上康科德河，是我的湖区；日以继夜，年复一年，他们碾压着我送去的米粮。
自从樵夫、铁路和我自己玷辱了瓦尔登以后，所有这些湖中最动人的，即使不是最美丽的，要算白湖了，它是林中之珠宝；由于它太平凡了，也很可怜，那命名大约是来源于水的纯洁，或许由于沙粒的颜色。这些方面同其他方面一样，和瓦尔登湖相比，很像孪生兄弟，但略逊一筹。它们俩是这样地相似，你会说它俩一定是在地下接连的。同样的圆石的湖岸，水色亦同。正如在瓦尔登，在酷热的大伏天穿过森林望一些不是顶深的湖湾的时候那样，湖底的反映给水波一种雾蒙蒙的青蓝色，或者说海蓝色的色彩。许多年前，我常到那里去，一车车地运口沙子来制成沙纸，后来我还一直前去游玩。常去游玩的人就想称它为新绿湖。由于下面的情况，也许还可以称它为黄松湖。大约在十五年之前，你去那儿还可以看到一株苍松的华盖，这一种松树虽不是显赫的植物，但在附近这一带有人是称之为黄松的。这株松树伸出在湖的深水之上，离岸有几杆。所以，甚至有人说这个湖下沉过，这一棵松树还是以前在这地方的原始森林的残遗，这话远在一七九二年就有人说起，在马萨诸塞州历史学会藏书库中，有一个该州的公民写过一部《康科德镇志》，在那里面，作者谈到了瓦尔登和白湖之后，接着说，“在白湖之中，水位降低之后，可以看到一棵树，好像它原来就是生长在这里的，虽然它的根是在水面之下五十英尺之深处，这棵树的树顶早已折断，没有了，这折断的地方直径计十四英寸”。
一八四九年春天我跟一个住在萨德伯里，最靠近这湖沼的人谈过一次话，他告诉我十年或十五年之前把这棵树拿走的正是他自己。据他所能记得的是，这树离湖岸十二至十五杆，那里的水有三、四十英尺深。这是冬天，上午他去取冰，决定下午由他的邻居来帮助，把这老黄松取去。他锯去了一长条冰，直锯到岸边，然后动用了牛来拖树，打算把它拔起，拖到冰上；可是还没有进行得很久，他惊异地发现，拔起的是相反的一头，那些残枝都是向下的，而小的一头却紧紧地抓住了沙的湖底。大的一端直径有一英尺，原来他希望得到一些可以锯开的木料，可是树干已经腐烂得只能当柴火，这是说如果要拿它当柴火的话。那时候，他家里还留着一点，在底部还有斧痕和啄木鸟啄过的痕迹。他以为这是湖岸上的一棵死树，后来给风吹到湖里，树顶浸满了水，底部还是干燥的，因此比较轻，倒入水中之后就颠倒过来了。他的八十岁的父亲都不记得这棵黄松是什么时候不见的。湖底还可以见到一些很大的木料，却因为水面的波动，它们看上去像一些婉蜒的巨大的水蛇。
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