LESSON 128

GOLDSMITH AND ADDISON

歌德斯密和艾迪生

William Makepeace Thackeray, 1811-1863, was born in Calcutta, and is one of the most popular of English novelists, essayists, and humorists. While a boy, he removed from India to England, where he was educated at the Charterhouse in London, and at Cambridge. When twenty-one years of age, he came into possession of about 20,000 Pounds. He rapidly dissipated his fortune, however, and was compelled to work for his living, first turning his attention to law and then to art, but finally choosing literature as his profession. He was for many years correspondent, under assumed names, at the “London Times,” “The New Monthly Magazine,” “Punch,” and “Fraser’s Magazine.” His first novel under his own name, “Vanity Fair,” appeared in monthly numbers during 1846-8, and is generally considered his finest production: although “Pendennis,” “Henry Esmond,” and “The Newcomes” are also much admired. His lectures on “English Humorists of the Eighteenth Century,” from which the following selections are taken, were delivered in England first in 1851, and afterwards in America, which he visited in 1852 and again in 1855-6. During the latter visit, he first delivered his course of lectures on “The Four Georges,” which were later repeated in England. At the close of 1859, Thackeray became editor of the “Cornhill Magazine,” and made it one of the most successful serials ever published.

Thackeray has been charged with cynicism in his writings, but he was noted for his happy temper and genial disposition towards all who came in contact with him.

Ⅰ. GOLDSMITH

To be the most beloved of English writers, what a title that is for a man! A wild youth, wayward, but full of tenderness and affection, quits the country village where his boyhood has been passed in happy musing, in idle shelter, in fond longing to see the great world out of doors, and achieve name and fortune—and after years of dire struggle, and neglect, and poverty, his heart turning back as fondly to his native place as it had longed eagerly for change when sheltered there, he writes a book and a poem, full of the recollections and feelings of home; he paints the friends and scenes of his youth, and peoples Auburn and Wakefield with the remembrances of Lissoy.

Wander he must, but he carries away a home relic with him, and dies with it on his breast. His nature is truant; in repose it longs for change: as on the journey it looks back for friends and quiet. He passes to-day in building an air castle for to-morrow, or in writing yesterday’s elegy; and he would flyaway this hour, but that a cage, necessity, keeps him. What is the charm of his verse, of his style, and humor? His sweet regrets, his delicate compassion, his soft smile, his tremulous sympathy, the weakness which he owns?

Your love for him is half pity. You come hot and tired from the day’s battle, and this sweet minstrel sings to you. Who could harm the kind vagrant harper? Whom did he ever hurt? He carries no weapon, save the harp on which he plays to you, and with which he delights great and humble, young and old, the captains in the tents, or the soldiers round the fire, or the women and children in the villages, at whose porches he stops and sings his simple songs of love and beauty. With that sweet story of “The Vicar of Wakefield” he has found entry into every castle and every hamlet in Europe. Not one of us, however busy or hard, but once or twice in our lives has passed an evening with him, and undergone the charm of his delightful music.

II. ADDISON

We love him for his vanities as much as his virtues. What is ridiculous is delightful in him; we are so fond of him because we laugh at him so. And out of that laughter, and out of that sweet weakness, and out of those harmless eccentricities and follies, and out of that touched brain, and out of that honest manhood and simplicity—we get a result of happiness, goodness, tenderness, pity, piety; such as doctors and divines but seldom have the fortune to inspire. And why not? Is the glory of Heaven to be sung only by gentlemen in black coats?

When this man looks from the world, whose weaknesses he describes so benevolently, up to the Heaven which shines over us all, I can hardly fancy a human face lighted up with a more serene rapture; a human intellect thrilling with a purer love and adoration than Joseph Addison’s. Listen to him: from your childhood you have known the verses; but who can hear their sacred music without love and awe?

“Soon as the evening shades prevail,

The moon takes up the wondrous tale,

And nightly to the listening earth

Repeats the story of her birth;

And all the stars that round her burn,

And all the planets in their turn,

Confirm the tidings as they roll,

And spread the truth from pole to pole.

“What though, in solemn silence, all

Move round this dark terrestrial ball;

What though no real voice nor sound

Among their radiant orbs be found;

In reason’s ear they all rejoice,

And utter forth a glorious voice,

Forever singing, as they shine,

The Hand that made us is divine.”

It seems to me those verses shine like the stars. They shine out of a great, deep calm. When he turns to Heaven, a Sabbath comes over that man’s mind; and his face lights up from it with a glory of thanks and prayers. His sense of religion stirs through his whole being. In the fields, in the town; looking at the birds in the trees; at the children in the streets; in the morning or in the moonlight; over his books in his own room; in a happy party at a country merrymaking or a town assembly, good will and peace to God’s creatures, and love and awe of Him who made them, fill his pure heart and shine from his kind face. If Swift’s life was the most wretched, I think Addison’s was one of the most enviable. A life prosperous and beautiful—a calm death—an immense fame and affection afterwards for his happy and spotless name.

【中文阅读】

1.歌德斯密

成为最受爱戴的英国作家，对一个人而言是，这个头衔的分量有多重啊！一个有野心的青年人刚愎自用，但是充满亲切感和爱，离开这个国家的乡村，在那里一个简陋的小屋里他度过了快乐而好沉思的童年，他渴望去看看外面的大世界，获取功名和财富——经过若干年的艰苦奋斗，仍旧籍籍无名，一贫如洗，于是他的心又像幼时住在小屋里急切地渴望改变一样，天真地回到自己的故乡。他写了一本书和一本诗集，倾诉对家乡的向往。在书中，他描绘了昔日的朋友和青春年少时的情景，还有在《奥本》和《威克菲外传》中怀念利索伊的人们。

他必定要在外边漫游，但他从家中带走了遗物，要放在胸前随他一起安葬。他的本性是懒散的，在安静时渴望改变。在途中他回忆与朋友交往的情景。他走过今天，为明天搭建了一个空中楼阁，或者书写昨日的挽歌。他会逃离正在经历的事情，对他而言那是笼子，必须逃离。他的诗篇、他的风格和幽默中吸引人的东西是什么？他那伤感的悔恨，他那精致的怜悯，他那轻柔的微笑，他那敏感的同情，还有他自己的懦弱？

你对他的爱有一半的怜惜。你兴冲冲而来，却被白天的战争弄得身心疲惫，于是，这位温和的吟游诗人为你歌唱。谁会伤害亲切的流浪竖琴师呢？他曾经伤害过谁吗？除了为你弹奏的竖琴外，他身上没有携带武器，他用这把竖琴给大人物和卑微的人、年轻人和老人，住在帐篷里的军官或围着篝火取暖的士兵，以及村庄里的妇女和孩子带来了欢乐。不论在哪家门口驻足，他都会吟唱那朴素的赞美爱和美之歌，凭借《威克菲外传》过分伤感的故事，他可以随便进入欧洲每一个城堡和每一个小村庄。然而，我们当中没有一个人忙得或者脾气坏得拒他于千里之外，我们总有一两个晚上和他一起度过，领略他那快乐歌谣的魅力。

2.艾迪生

我们对他自负的喜欢程度同他的美德一样强烈。他的快乐是多么可笑啊。我们之所以喜欢他，是因为我们都嘲笑他。源于嘲笑者，源于可爱的偏好，源于那些无伤大雅的古怪行为和愚行，源于受到感动的大脑，源于诚实的男子气概和率直——我们得到的是幸福、善意、亲切、怜悯和虔敬。诸如医生和神则很少有受到启迪的幸福感。为什么不呢？难道上帝的荣耀只是由那些穿黑衣服的绅士们来歌颂的吗？

当这个人以世俗的眼光看世界时，他如此仁慈地形容这个世界的弱点，一切取决于光耀我们所有人的上帝。我很难想象一个人脸上因为更平静的极度狂喜而神采奕奕的样子，一个睿智的人因为纯洁的爱和崇拜而战栗的无过于艾迪生的了。听听他怎么说的：从你孩提时起，你就熟稔诗歌；但是没有爱和敬畏的话，谁能听到那神圣的音乐呢？

随着暮色很快漫开，

月亮继续讲奇妙的传说，

夜夜向谛听的地球

重复她出生的故事；

所有星星都围着她烁烁发光，

所有星球都在自己的轨道上，

在他们转动时也确认那消息，

从一极到另一极传播真理。

尽管在肃穆的沉寂中，所有天体

都围着这个黑魆魆的地球运转；

在他们发光的圆形物中间

没有声音又有何关系；

他们全都欣喜真是明智，

发出非常愉快的声音，

他们照耀，永远歌唱，

创造我们的上帝之手真实神妙！

我觉得那些诗行像群星一样闪耀着光辉。他们从里面照出一个很大很深的静谧的光团。当那人面向上帝时，安息日便被他理解并接受了。他脸上充满了感恩和祈祷者才有的光彩，他的宗教情怀在他整个身心激荡。在田野，在城里，无处不在。瞧树上栖息的鸟儿时也有了异样的感受；在乡下参加一场充满欢乐的派对，或者参加一场城镇集会，都能感受到源自上帝的善意与祥和，对创造了人类的上帝的爱和敬畏，充满了他纯净的心田，他亲切的脸上熠熠生辉。假如说斯威夫特的生活极为不幸的话，我想艾迪生的生活则令人羡煞。富足和美好的人生——平静地迈入天国——在他快乐和毫无瑕疵的名字后面，传诸后世的是巨大的声望和对他的喜爱。