John Ford

 

I day by day frequented silent groves

And solitary walks. One morning early

This accident encounter’d me: I heard

The sweetest and most ravishing contention

That art and nature ever were at strife in.

A sound of music touch’d mine ears, or rather

Indeed entranced my soul; as I stole nearer,

Invited by the melody, I saw

This youth, this fai-faced youth, upon his lute

With strains of strange variety and harmony

Proclaiming, as it seem’d, so bold a challenge

To the clear choristers of the woods, the birds,

That as they flock’d about him, all stood silent,

Wondering at what they heard. I wonder’d too.

A nightingale,

Nature’s best skill’d musician, undertakes

The challenge; and for every several strain

The well-shaped youth could touch, she sang him down.

He could not run divisions with more art

Upon his quaking instrument than she,

The nightingale, did with her various notes

Reply to.

Some time thus spent, the young man grew at last

Into a pretty anger, that a vbird,

Whom art had never taught cliffs, moods, or notes

Should vie with him for mastery, sshose study

Had busied many hours to perfect practice.

To end the controversy, in a rapture

Upon his instrument he plays so swiftly,

So many voluntaries, and so quick,

That there was curiosity and cunning,

Concord in discord, lines of differing method

Meeting in one full centre of delight.

The bird (ordain’d to be

Music’s first martyr) strove to imitate

These several sounds; which when her warbling throat

Fail’d in, for grief down dropt she on his lute,

And brake her heart. It was the quaintest sadness

To see the conqueror upon her hearse

To weep a funeral elegy of tears.

He look’d upon the trophies of his art,

Then sigh’d, they wiped his eyes; then sigh’d, and cry’d

“Alas! Poor creature, I will soon revenge

This cruelty upon the author of it.

Henceforth this lute, guilty of innocent blood,

Shall never more betray a harmless peace

To an untimely end:” and in that sorrow,

As he as pashing it against a tree,

I suddenly stept in.

 

[英] 约翰·福特 作/ 吴刚 译

 

——我每天都会光顾寂静的小树林

和阒寂无人的散步小径。

一天早晨，我遇到了奇事一桩：

我听到了一场最甜最美的竞赛，

发生在艺术与自然之间。

一缕美妙的乐声落入我耳中，

甚至可说是迷住了我的灵魂；

在动人旋律的唤引下，

我悄悄地走近，

看见一位姿容俊雅的青年，

正在弹奏着鲁特琴，

曲调新奇而又和谐，

似乎是在向树林中的鸟儿，

那些鸣声清亮的合唱者们，

发出勇敢的挑战，

鸟儿们齐聚在他的周围，

静静地站着，

惊讶于听到的美妙乐音，

我也一样。

这时，一只夜莺，

大自然里最富技巧的歌手，

接受了青年的挑战。

每当英俊的青年奏完几段后，

她便用歌声将他盖过。

青年用他那颤动的乐器，

演奏了一曲又一曲，

却一直无法在技艺上盖过

那用不同乐音予以应和的夜莺。

如此过去了一段时间之后，

青年不禁有些羞恼，

想那鸟儿

从不曾学过乐理与乐音，

竟敢和他来较量技艺，

为了完善自己的演奏

他可是耗费了许多的时光。

为了要决出胜负，

他在一阵迷狂中，

飞快地弹奏着自己的乐器，

许多乐句完全是即兴所致，

速度之快，

令乐曲显得奇特而又灵巧，

嘈杂中透出和谐，

一句句不同的音乐语汇，

融合到一起，

带给人无尽的愉悦。

那夜莺（它注定

要成为音乐的第一个牺牲）

使出浑身的解数，

模仿这些各不相同的声音，

当她那婉转啼鸣的歌喉

再也无力为继时，

满含忧伤地跌落在了他的琴上，

心儿停止了跳动。

你看，那取得了胜利的人，

居然对着她的遗体

洒下了串串热泪，

有如葬礼上的一阕挽歌。

这是何等怪异的景象，

让人看了满怀悲伤。

他望着自己的技艺

为他带来的奖品，

发出一声叹息，抹了抹眼睛；

然后又叹了一声，哭着说道，

‘唉！可怜的小东西，

我马上会为你报仇，

对那做出这等残忍之事的人。

从今以后，

这架沾染了无辜之血的鲁特琴，

将再也不会打破祥和的宁静，

直到那遥不可见的时间尽头。’

悲伤之下，

他将鲁特琴一下下朝树干砸去,

我急忙冲了过去——

 

　　约翰·福特（1586~1639）　英国戏剧家。查理一世统治时期声名最为卓著，有《埃德蒙顿的女巫》、《太阳的情人》等十余部剧作传世。本诗选自福特创作于1628年的浪漫喜剧《情人的悲哀》，是剧中人以素体诗讲述的一段艺术英雄的故事，诗中，夜莺以天赋来对抗青年的技艺，一人一鸟在对抗中都达到了忘我的境界，超越了自我，为艺术作出了牺牲。文学翻译家也是运用文字的艺术家，诗中这种忘我投身艺术的英雄精神同样激励从事文学翻译工作者们磨砺技能、突破自我，不断追求更高、更新、更美的艺术境界。

 

　　吴刚　上海外国语大学高翻学院副院长、教授，上海翻译家协会理事，从事英文翻译，主要译著有《美与孽》、《莎乐美》、《霍比特人》、《勇敢的船长》和《拉合尔茶馆的陌生人》等，另有《远离芝加哥的地方》等外国儿童文学作品多种。