瓦尔登湖:Conclusion4
I live in the angle of a leaden wall， into whose composition was poured a little alloy of bell-metal. Often， in the repose of my mid-day， there reaches my ears a confused tintinnabulum from without. It is the noise of my contemporaries. My neighbors tell me of their adventures with famous gentlemen and ladies， what notabilities they met at the dinner-table； but I am no more interested in such things than in the contents of the Daily Times. The interest and the conversation are about costume and manners chiefly； but a goose is a goose still， dress it as you will. They tell me of California and Texas， of England and the Indies， of the Hon. Mr. ―― of Georgia or of Massachusetts， all transient and fleeting phenomena， till I am ready to leap from their court-yard like the Mameluke bey. I delight to come to my bearings ―― not walk in procession with pomp and parade， in a conspicuous place， but to walk even with the Builder of the universe， if I may ―― not to live in this restless， nervous， bustling， trivial Nineteenth Century， but stand or sit thoughtfully while it goes by. What are men celebrating？ They are all on a committee of arrangements， and hourly expect a speech from somebody. God is only the president of the day， and Webster is his orator. I love to weigh， to settle， to gravitate toward that which most strongly and rightfully attracts me ―― not hang by the beam of the scale and try to weigh less ―― not suppose a case， but take the case that is； to travel the only path I can， and that on which no power can resist me. It affords me no satisfaction to commerce to spring an arch before I have got a solid foundation. Let us not play at kittly-benders. There is a solid bottom everywhere. We read that the traveller asked the boy if the swamp before him had a hard bottom. The boy replied that it had. But presently the traveller's horse sank in up to the girths， and he observed to the boy， "I thought you said that this bog had a hard bottom." "So it has，" answered the latter， "but you have not got half way to it yet." So it is with the bogs and quicksands of society； but he is an old boy that knows it. Only what is thought，said， or done at a certain rare coincidence is good. I would not be one of those who will foolishly drive a nail into mere lath and plastering； such a deed would keep me awake nights. Give me a hammer， and let me feel for the furring. Do not depend on the putty. Drive a nail home and clinch it so faithfully that you can wake up in the night and think of your work with satisfaction ―― a work at which you would not be ashamed to invoke the Muse. So will help you God， and so only. Every nail driven should be as another rivet in the machine of the universe， you carrying on the work.
Rather than love， than money， than fame， give me truth. I sat at a table where were rich food and wine in abundance， and obsequious attendance， but sincerity and truth were not； and I went away hungry from the inhospitable board. The hospitality was as cold as the ices. I thought that there was no need of ice to freeze them. They talked to me of the age of the wine and the fame of the vintage； but I thought of an older， a newer， and purer wine， of a more glorious vintage， which they had not got， and could not buy. The style， the house and grounds and "entertainment" pass for nothing with me. I called on the king， but he made me wait in his hall， and conducted like a man incapacitated for hospitality. There was a man in my neighborhood who lived in a hollow tree. His manners were truly regal. I should have done better had I called on him.
How long shall we sit in our porticoes practising idle and musty virtues， which any work would make impertinent？ As if one were to begin the day with long-suffering， and hire a man to hoe his potatoes； and in the afternoon go forth to practise Christian meekness and charity with goodness aforethought！ Consider the China pride and stagnant self-complacency of mankind. This generation inclines a little to congratulate itself on being the last of an illustrious line； and in Boston and London and Paris and Rome，thinking of its long descent， it speaks of its progress in art and science and literature with satisfaction. There are the Records of the Philosophical Societies， and the public Eulogies of Great Men！
It is the good Adam contemplating his own virtue. "Yes， we have done great deeds， and sung divine songs， which shall never die" ――that is， as long as we can remember them. The learned societies and great men of Assyria ―― where are they？ What youthful philosophers and experimentalists we are！ There is not one of my readers who has yet lived a whole human life. These may be but the spring months in the life of the race. If we have had the seven-years' itch， we have not seen the seventeen-year locust yet in Concord. We are acquainted with a mere pellicle of the globe on which we live. Most have not delved six feet beneath the surface， nor leaped as many above it. We know not where we are. Beside， we are sound asleep nearly half our time. Yet we esteem ourselves wise， and have an established order on the surface. Truly， we are deep thinkers， we are ambitious spirits！ As I stand over the insect crawling amid the pine needles on the forest floor， and endeavoring to conceal itself from my sight， and ask myself why it will cherish those humble thoughts， and bide its head from me who might， perhaps， be its benefactor， and impart to its race some cheering information， I am reminded of the greater Benefactor and Intelligence that stands over me the human insect.
There is an incessant influx of novelty into the world， and yet we tolerate incredible dulness. I need only suggest what kind of sermons are still listened to in the most enlightened countries. There are such words as joy and sorrow， but they are only the burden of a psalm， sung with a nasal twang， while we believe in the ordinary and mean. We think that we can change our clothes only. It is said that the British Empire is very large and respectable，and that the United States are a first-rate power. We do not believe that a tide rises and falls behind every man which can float the British Empire like a chip， if he should ever harbor it in his mind. Who knows what sort of seventeen-year locust will next come out of the ground？ The government of the world I live in was not framed， like that of Britain， in after-dinner conversations over the wine.
The life in us is like the water in the river. It may rise this year higher than man has ever known it， and flood the parched uplands； even this may be the eventful year， which will drown out all our muskrats. It was not always dry land where we dwell. I see far inland the banks which the stream anciently washed， before science began to record its freshets. Every one has heard the story which has gone the rounds of New England， of a strong and beautiful bug which came out of the dry leaf of an old table of apple-tree wood， which had stood in a farmer's kitchen for sixty years， first in Connecticut， and afterward in Massachusetts ―― from an egg deposited in the living tree many years earlier still， as appeared by counting the annual layers beyond it； which was heard gnawing out for several weeks， hatched perchance by the heat of an urn. Who does not feel his faith in a resurrection and immortality strengthened by hearing of this？ Who knows what beautiful and winged life， whose egg has been buried for ages under many concentric layers of woodenness in the dead dry life of society，deposited at first in the alburnum of the green and living tree，which has been gradually converted into the semblance of its well-seasoned tomb ―― heard perchance gnawing out now for years by the astonished family of man， as they sat round the festive board ――may unexpectedly come forth from amidst society's most trivial and handselled furniture， to enjoy its perfect summer life at last！
I do not say that John or Jonathan will realize all this； but such is the character of that morrow which mere lapse of time can never make to dawn. The light which puts out our eyes is darkness to us. Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.
我住在一个铅墙的角隅中，那里已倒人了一点钟铜的合金。常常在我正午休息的时候，一种混乱的叮叮之声从外面传到了我的耳鼓中。这是我同时代人的声音。我的邻居在告诉我他们同那些著名的绅士淑女的奇遇，在夜宴桌上，他们遇见的那一些贵族；我对这些，正如我对《每日时报》的内容，同样不发生兴趣。一般的趣味和谈话资料总是关于服装和礼貌，可是笨鹅总归是笨鹅，随便你怎么打扮它。他们告诉我加利福尼亚和得克萨斯，英国和印度，佐治亚州或马萨诸塞州的某某大人，全是短暂的、瞬息即逝的现象，我几乎要像马穆鲁克的省长一样从他们的庭院中逃走。我愿我行我素，不愿涂脂抹粉，招摇过市，引人注目，即使我可以跟这个宇宙的建筑大师携手共行，我也不愿，――我不愿生活在这个不安的、神经质的、忙乱的。琐细的十九世纪生活中，宁可或立或坐，沉思着，听任这十九世纪过去。人们在庆祝些什么呢？他们都参加了某个事业的筹备委员会，随时预备听人家演说。上帝只是今天的主席，韦勃斯特是他的演说家。那些强烈地合理地吸引我的事物，我爱衡量它们的分量，处理它们，向它们转移；――决不拉住磅秤的横杆，来减少重量，――不假设一个情况，而是按照这个情况的实际来行事；旅行在我能够旅行的唯一的路上，在那里没有一种力量可以阻止我。我不会在奠定坚实基础以前先造拱门而自满自足。我们不要玩冒险的把戏。什么都得有个结实的基础。
我们读到过一个旅行家问一个孩子，他面前的这个沼泽有没有一个坚固的底。孩子说有的。可是，旅行家的马立刻就陷了下去，陷到肚带了，他对孩子说，“我听你说的是这个沼泽有一个坚固的底。”“是有啊，”后者回答，“可是你还没有到达它的一半深呢。”
社会的泥泽和流沙也如此。要知道这一点，却非年老的孩子不可。也只有在很难得，很凑巧之中，所想的，所说的那一些事才是好的。我不愿做一个在只有板条和灰浆的墙中钉入一只钉子的人，要是这样做了，那到半夜里我还会睡不着觉。给我一个锤子，让我来摸一摸钉板条。不要依赖表面上涂着的灰浆。锤入一只钉子，让它真真实实地钉紧，那我半夜里醒来了想想都很满意呢，――这样的工作，便是你召唤了文艺女神来看看，也毫无愧色的。这样做上帝才会帮你的忙，也只有这样做你的忙他才帮。每一个锤入的钉子应该作为宇宙大机器中的一部分。你这才是在继续这一个工作。
不必给我爱，不必给我钱，不必给我名誉，给我真理吧。我坐在一张放满了山珍海味的食桌前，受到奉承的招待，可是那里没有真理和诚意；宴罢之后，从这冷淡的桌上归来，我饥饿难当。这种招待冷得像冰。我想不必再用冰来冰冻它们了，他们告诉我酒的年代和美名；可是我想到了一种更古，却又更新、更纯粹、更光荣的饮料，但他们没有，要买也买不到。式样，建筑，庭园和“娱乐”，在我看来，有等于无。我去访问一个国王，他吩咐我在客厅里等他，像一个好客的人。我邻居中有一个人住在树洞里。他的行为才真有王者之风。我要是去访问他，结果一定会好得多。
我们还要有多久坐在走廊中，实行这些无聊的陈规陋习，弄得任何工作都荒诞不堪，还要有多久呢？好像一个人，每天一早就要苦修，还雇了一个人来给他种土豆；到下午，抱着预先想好的善心出去实行基督教徒的温柔与爱心！请想想中国的自大和那种人类的凝滞的自满。这一世代庆幸自己为一个光荣传统的最后一代；而在波士顿、伦敦、巴黎、罗马，想想它们历史多么悠久，它们还在说它们的文学、艺术和科学多么进步而沾沾自喜。有的是哲学学会的记录，对于伟人公开的赞美文章！好一个亚当，在夸耀他自己的美德了。“是的，我们做了伟大的事业了，唱出了神圣的歌了，它们是不朽的，”――在我们能记得它们的时候，自然是不朽的罗。可是古代亚述的有学问的团体和他们的伟人，――请问现在何在？我们是何等年轻的哲学家和实验家啊！我的读者之中，还没有一个人生活过整个人生。这些也许只是在人类的春天的几个月里。即便我们患了七年才治好的癣疥，我们也并没有看见康科德受过的十六年蝗灾。我们只晓得我们所生活的地球上的一张薄膜。大多数人没有深入过水下六英尺，也没有跳高到六英尺以上。我们不知在哪里。况且有差不多一半的时间，我们是沉睡的。可是我们却自以为聪明，自以为在地球上建立了秩序。真的，我们倒是很深刻的思想家，而且我们是有志气的人！我站在林中，看这森林地上的松针之中，蠕蠕爬行着的一只昆虫，看到它企图避开我的视线，自己去藏起来，我便问我自己，为什么它有这样谦逊的思想，要藏起它的头避开我，而我，也许可以帮助它，可以给它这个族类若干可喜的消息，这时我禁不住想起我们更伟大的施恩者，大智慧者，他也在俯视着我们这些宛如虫豸的人。
新奇的事物正在无穷尽地注入这个世界来，而我们却忍受着不可思议的愚蠢。我只要提起，在最开明的国土上，我们还在听怎样的说教就够了。现在还有快乐啊，悲哀啊，这种字眼，但这些都只是用鼻音唱出的赞美诗的叠句，实际上我们所信仰的还是平庸而卑下的。我们以为我们只要换换衣服就行了。据说大英帝国很大，很可敬，而美利坚合众国是一等强国。我们不知道每一个人背后都有潮起潮落，这浪潮可以把大英帝国像小木片一样浮起来，如果他有决心记住这个。谁知道下一次还会发生什么样的十七年蝗灾？
我所生活在内的那个世界的政府，并不像英国政府那样，不是在夜宴之后，喝喝美酒并谈谈说说就建立起来的。
我们身体内的生命像河中的水。它可以今年涨得高，高得空前，洪水涨上枯焦的高地；甚至这样的一年也可能是多事之年，把我们所有的麝鼠都淹死。我们生活的地方不一定总是干燥的土地。我看到远远地，在内陆就有些河岸，远在科学还没有记录它们的泛滥之前，就曾受过江河的冲激。大家都听到过新英格兰传说的这个故事，有一只强壮而美丽的爬虫，它从一只古老的苹果木桌子的干燥的活动桌板中爬了出来，那桌于放在一个农夫的厨房中间已经六十年了，先是在康涅狄格州，后来搬到了马萨诸塞州来，那卵还比六十年前更早几年，当苹果树还活着的时候就下在里面了，因为这是可以根据它外面的年轮判断的；好几个星期来，已经听到它在里面咬着了，它大约是受到一只钵头的热气才孵化的。听到了这样的故事之后，谁能不感到增强了复活的信心与不朽的信心呢？这卵已几世代地埋在好几层的、一圈圈围住的木头中间，放在枯燥的社会生活之中，起先在青青的有生命的白木质之间，后来这东西渐渐成了一个风干得很好的坟墓了，――也许它已经咬了几年之久，使那坐在这欢宴的餐桌前的一家子听到声音惊惶失措，――谁知道何等美丽的、有翅膀的生命突然从社会中最不值钱的、人家送的家具中，一下子跳了出来，终于享受了它完美的生命的夏天！
我并不是说约翰或者约纳森这些普通人可以理解所有的这一切；可是时间尽管流逝，而黎明始终不来的那个明天，它具备着这样的特性。使我们失去视觉的那种光明，对于我们是黑暗。只有我们睁开眼睛醒过来的那一天，天才亮了。天亮的日子多着呢。太阳不过是一个晓星。
英语 文学 散文本文地址：http://www.dioenglish.com/writing/essay/48369.html
