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梁遇春 《途中》
今天是个潇洒的秋天，飘着零雨，我坐在电车里，看到沿途店里的伙计们差不多都是懒洋洋地在那里谈天，看报，喝茶──喝茶的尤其多，因为今天实在有点冷起来了。还有些只是倚着柜头，望望天色。总之纷纷扰扰的十里洋场顿然现出闲暇悠然的气概，高楼大厦的商店好像都化做三间两舍的隐庐，里面那班平常替老板挣钱，向主顾陪笑的伙计们也居然感到了生活余裕的乐处，正在拉闲扯散地过日，仿佛全是古之隐君子了。路上的行人也只是稀稀的几个，连坐在电车里面上银行去办事的洋鬼子们也燃着烟斗，无聊赖地看报上的广告，平时的燥气全消，这大概是那件雨衣的效力罢！到了北站，换上去西乡的公共汽车，雨中的秋之田野是别有一种风味的。外面的蒙蒙细雨是看不见的，看得见的只是车窗上不断地来临的小雨点同河面上错杂得可喜的纤纤雨脚。此外还有粉般的小雨点从破了的玻璃窗进来，栖止在我的脸上。我虽然有些寒战，但是受了雨水的洗礼，精神变成格外地清醒。已撄肚网，醉生梦死久矣的我真不容易有这么清醒，这么气爽。再看外面的景色，既没有像春天那娇艳得使人们感到它的不能久留，也不像冬天那样树枯草死，好似世界是快毁灭了，却只是静默默地，一层轻轻的雨雾若隐若现地盖着，把大地美化了许多，我不禁微吟着乡前辈姜白石的诗句，真是“人生难得秋前雨”。忽然想到今天早上她皱着眉头说道：“这样凄风苦雨的天气，你也得跑那么远的路程，这真可厌呀！”我暗暗地微笑。她哪里晓得我正在凭窗赏玩沿途的风光呢？她或者以为我现在必定是哭丧着脸，像个到刑场的死囚，万不会想到我正流连着这叶尚未调，草已添黄的秋景。同情是难得的，就是错误的同情也是无妨，所以我就让她老是这样可怜着我的仆仆风尘罢；并且有时我有什么逆意的事情，脸上露出不豫的颜色，可以借路中的辛苦来遮掩，免得她一再追究，最后说出真话，使她凭添了无数的愁绪。
其实我是个最喜欢在十丈红尘里奔走道路的人。我现在每天在路上的时间差不多总在两点钟以上，这是已经有好几月了，我却一点也不生厌，天天走上电车，老是好像开始蜜月旅行一样。电车上和道路上的人们彼此多半是不相识的，所以大家都不大拿出假面孔来，比不得讲堂里，宴会上，衙门里的人们那样彼此拼命地一味敷衍。公园，影戏院，游戏场，馆子里面的来客个个都是眉花眼笑的，最少也装出那么样子，墓地，法庭，医院，药店的主顾全是眉头皱了几十纹的，这两下都未免太单调了，使我们感到人世的平庸无味。车子里面和路上的人们却具有万般色相，你坐在车里，可要从睁大眼睛不停地观察了卅分钟，你差不多可以在所见的人们脸上看出人世一切的苦乐感觉同人心的种种情调。你坐在位子上默默地鉴赏，同车的客人们老实地让你从他们的形色举止上去推测他们的生平同当下的心境，外面的行人一一现你眼前，你尽可恣意瞧着，他们并不会晓得，而且他们是这么不断地接连走过，你很可以拿他们来彼此比较，这种普通人的行列的确是比什么赛会都有趣得多，路上源源不绝的行人可说是上帝设计的赛会，当然胜过了我们佳节时红红绿绿的玩意儿了。并且在路途中我们的心境是最宜于静观的，最能吸收外界的刺激的。我们通常总是事干，正经事也好，歪事也好，我们的注意免不了特别集中在一点上，只有路途中，尤其走熟了的长路，在未到目的地以前，我们的方寸是悠然的，不专注于一物，却是无所不留神的，在匆匆忙忙的一生里，我们此时才得好好地看一看人生的真况。所以无论从那一方面说起，途中是认识人生最方便的地方。车中，船上同人行道可说是人生博览会的三张入场券，可惜许多人把它们当做废纸，空走了一生的路。我们有一句古话：“读万卷书，行万里路。”所谓行万里路自然是指走遍名山大川，通部大邑，但是我党换一个解释也是可以。一条的路你来往走了几万遍，凑成了万里这个数目，只要你真用了你的眼睛，你就可以算是懂得人生的人了。俗语说道：“秀才不出门，能知天下事”，我们不幸未得入泮，只好多走些路，来见见世面罢！对于人生有了清澈的观照，世上的荣辱祸福不足以扰乱内心的恬静，我们的心灵因此可以获到永久的自由，可见个个的路都是到自由的路，并不限于罗素先生所钦定的：所怕的就是面壁参禅，目不窥路的人们，他们自甘沦落，不肯上路，的确是无法可办。读书是间接地去了解人生，走路是直接地去了解人生，一落言诠，便非真谤，所以我觉得万卷书可以搁开不念，万里路非放步走去不可。
了解自然，便是非走路不可。但是我觉得有意的旅行倒不如通常的走路那样能与自然更见亲密。旅行的人们心中只惦着他的目的地，精神是紧张的。实在不宜于裕然地接受自然的美景。并且天下的风光是活的，并不拘泥于一谷一溪，一洞一岩，旅行的人们所看的却多半是这些名闻四海的死景，人人莫名其妙地照例赞美的胜地。旅行的人们也只得依样葫芦一番，做了万古不移的传统的奴隶。这又何苦呢？并且只有自己发现出的美景对着我们才会有贴心的亲切感觉，才会感动了整个心灵，而这些好景却大抵是得之偶然的，绝不能强求。所以有时因公外出，在火车中所瞥见的田舍风光会深印在我们的心坎里，而花了盘川，告了病假去赏玩的名胜倒只是如烟如雾地浮动在记忆的海里。今年的春天同秋天，我都去了一趟杭州，每天不是坐在划子里听着舟子的调度，就是跑山，恭敬地聆着车夫的命令，一本薄薄的指南隐隐地含有无上的威权，等到把所谓胜景一一领略过了，重上火车，我的心好似去了重担。当我再继续过着我通常的机械生活，天天自由地东瞧西看，再也不怕受了舟子，车夫，游侣的责备，再也没有什么应该非看不可的东西，我真快乐得几乎发狂。西泠的景色自然是渐渐消失得无影无迹，可惜消失得太慢，起先还做了我几个噩梦的背境。当我梦到无私的车夫，带我走着崎岖难行的宝石山或者光滑不能住足的往龙井的石路，不管我怎样求免，总是要迫我去看烟霞洞的烟霞同龙井的龙角。谢谢上帝，西湖已经不再浮现在我的梦中了。而我生平所最赏心的许多美景是从到西乡的公共汽车的玻璃窗得来的。我坐在车里，任它一上一下，一左一右地跳荡，看着老看不完的十八世纪长篇小说，有时闭着书随便望一望外面天气，忽然觉得青翠迎人，遍地散着香花，晴天现出不可描摹的蓝色。我顿然感到春天已到大地，这时我真是神魂飞在九霄云外了。再去细看一下，好景早已过去，剩下的是闸北污秽的街道，明天再走到原地，一切虽然仍旧，总觉得有所不足，与昨天是不同的，于是乎那天的景色永留在我的心里。甜蜜的东西看得太久了也会厌烦，真真的好景都该这样一瞬即逝，永不重来。婚姻制度的最大毛病也就是在于日夕聚首：将一切好处都因为太熟而化成坏处了。此外在热狂的夏天，风雪载途的冬季我也常常出乎意料地获到不可名言的妙境，滋润着我的心田。会心不远，真是陆放翁所谓的“何处楼台无月明”。自己培养有一个易感的心境，那么走路的确是了解自然的捷径。
作品译文
On the Road
It is a nonchalant autumn day, with flurries of cold rain. I sit in the train and see the assistants in the shops lining the route are almost all languidly talking, reading the papers, and drinking tea—especially drinking tea, because there is really a nip in the air today. There are some, too, just draped over the counter, looking at the weather. In sum the teeming streets of the foreign concession have suddenly taken on a relaxed and casual air. The towering commercial palaces all seem to have been transformed into small country huts, and the staff of assistants who normally are busy making money for the boss and buttering up the customers have actually become aware of the pleasures of affluence, and pass the time in idle badinage, just like the retired scholars of old. There are very few pedestrians in the streets, and even the foreign devils on the tram, on their way to the bank, are smoking their pipes and reading the adverts in their newspapers for something to do, with no sign of their usual irritability. That probably attests to the effectiveness of their raincoats!
At North Station I change to a bus going to the western country district. The autumn countryside has a special quality in the rain. You can’t actually see the thin drizzle falling, you can only see the little raindrops turning up on the window panes, and the faint footprints of rain that skitter attractively across the surface of the river. Then there are the powdery raindrops that puff in through the broken pane and come to rest on my face. I feel like shivering, but the baptism of rainwater makes me wonderfully refreshed. Having long been caught up in the toils of mundane life, and habitually peering out on life through bleary eyes, it is rare for me to experience such freshness and clear-headedness. Looking again at the scenery, it has neither the delicate sheen of spring, which makes one feel it must soon pass, nor the dieback of winter, which suggests the end of the world is nigh; it is just quiet and patient. The fine haze of rain, now lifting, now closing, covers the land and enhances its beauty. I cannot help reciting to myself the line of the Song poet Jiang Baishi, my fellow countryman: how true it is that “One of best things in life is the rain that heralds autumn.”
I suddenly recall her beetling her brows this morning and saying, “Look at this weather, all wet and windy, and you’ve got to go such a long way. It’s really too bad!” I have a little laugh to myself: it wouldn’t occur to her that I am looking out of the bus window enjoying some nice scenery, would it? I guess she thinks I am feeling as miserable as sin, like a condemned man riding in his tumbrel, when in fact I am enthusing over this spectacle of autumn grasses turning yellow, autumn leaves still on the trees. One should be grateful for all sympathy, even misdirected sympathy, so I let her go on pitying me as weary and stained from battling against the elements. Besides, if something disagreeable happens to me, and my displeasure unintentionally shows itself on my face, I can always blame it on the strain of my journey. In that way she doesn’t have to keep probing until I tell her the truth, which will just add to her worries for nothing.
Actually I am very fond of taking to the road. At present my daily travel time is almost always over two hours. This has been going on for quite a few months, but I am not in the least fed up with it. Every day when I board the tram it is like starting a honeymoon journey. The people on the tram and the people on the street are mostly unacquainted with each other, so they don’t put on false faces. There is no comparison with lecture halls, banquets, and government offices, where everyone is so intent on going through the prescribed motions. In parks, playhouses, amusement parks, and restaurants the visitors brim over with jollity, at least they pretend to, while in cemeteries, law courts, hospitals and druggists, the patrons all have deeply furrowed brows. Monotony prevails in both respects, and leaves us with a depressing sense of staleness. In contrast, people in the street and on buses and trams display a whole kaleidoscope of visages. You only need to sit on a tram and keep your eyes peeled for thirty minutes to discover on the faces of the people you see practically all the expressions of joy and sorrow in the human repertory, as well as every mood. You sit quietly in your getting on with your appraisal, and the other passengers are good enough to let you infer from their appearance and behavior their life story and their present state of mind. The pedestrians outside enter your field of vision one after another, and you are quite free to observe them impudently, for they will not know you are doing so. What is more, they pass by in a steady stream, which means you can compare one with another. These ranks of ordinary people are a lot more interesting, I’m sure, than any carnival procession. Indeed the continuously renewed passage of pedestrians may be described as God’s own carnival, and as such is of course far superior to the garish entertainments of our festivals.
Another thing is that our mental state while travelling is best adapted to detached observation, most receptive to external stimuli. We normally have some business in hand, either proper or improper, so our attention is inevitably concentrated on one object. It is only while travelling, particularly in the course of a long, familiar journey, that our mind is untrammeled, not preoccupied, and therefore occupied with everything. This is about the only opportunity we have in the midst of our rushing and scurrying to get a good eyeful of life in its true colors. Whichever way you look at it, then, travelling is our best chance to get to know life. The tram, bus, boat and pavement are as it were admission tickets to the grand exhibition of life. Sad to say, many people look on them as waste paper, and take their life’s journey in vain.
An old saying of ours refers to “reading ten thousand books, travelling ten thousand miles.” Of course, the bit about ten thousand miles means seeing famous mountains and majestic rivers and visiting great cities, but I prefer to put another interpretation on it. You can notch up you ten thousand miles by travelling the same stretch of road ten thousand times, and as long as you really use your eyes, I guarantee you will equally count as someone who has seen the world. The adage says “The scholar can know the affairs of the world without leaving his gate.” Unfortunately the halls of learning of the scholars of old are closed to us, so we had better hit the road, and look about us!
Once we have a clear-sighted view of life, the accidence of reputation and fortune will be unable to disturb our inner serenity, and our souls will thereby gain eternal freedom, for many are the roads that lead to freedom, not just the one ordained by Mr. Bertrand Russell. The people we have to fear are those who ponder questions with their fact to a wall, not giving the road outside a glance: there is really nothing you can do with them, for they condemn themselves by their own inertia. Reading books is an indirect way of understanding life, taking the road is a direct way of understanding life. Truth is lot when committed to words, which is why I feel that the ten thousand books can be put aside unread, but the ten thousand miles require you to get up and go.
To understand nature there is no alternative to getting out and about, but I think that planned travel does not give you as close as feel for nature as ordinary walking about. The tourist is always intent on where he is going, and so is under pressure, which is surely not the right frame of mind if you are to receive the beauties of nature in your own good time. Furthermore, a scene is a living thing: it can by no means be reduced to a valley, a stream, a cave, or a cliff. Yet what tourists mostly see is indeed these dead scenes of nationwide fame, famous sights which everyone automatically praises, for some unknown reason. The tourists, stuck in the same groove, become new prisoners to a tradition of unchallengeable antiquity. Is it worth the trouble? You might well ask. They ought to realize that only the fine views that we ourselves discover have close attachments for us, can reach into our souls, and these fine sights are mostly come upon by accident, they cannot be had on demand. So it is that vistas of fields and cottages we might glimpse from the train window on a business trip can imprint themselves deeply on our heart, whereas the beauty spots we apply for sick leave to visit, at our own expense, only float like mist or smoke in our store of memories.
I took a trip to Hangzhou this spring and autumn, and every day I either sat in a rowing boat following the directions of the boatman, or was driven round the hills, respectfully obeying the orders of the drivers. A slim little guidebook insidiously exerted supreme authority. When I had gone the round of all the famous sights and got back on the train for home, I felt relieved of a heavy burden. And when I resumed my quotidian mechanical existence, looking freely to left and right, no longer in fear of the boatman’s, driver’s or travelling companions’ remonstrances, on longer obliged to see things that had to be seen, I was so happy I could have cried. The West Lake scenery had naturally dissolved, leaving not a rack behind. The trouble is, it dissolved too slowly. At first it still formed the backdrop to several nightmares of mine. Whenever I dreamed of our selfless driver leading us over the rugged rocks of Jewel Mountain or along the slippery stone path to Dragon Well, no matter how I pleaded with him he would always force me to go and see the roseate clouds of Roseate Cloud Cavern and the dragon’s horn of Dragon Well. Thank the Lord, the West Lake no longer appears in my dreams.
As I said, many of the fine scenes that have meant most to me in my life have been got through the windows of the bus that goes to the western country district. I sit in the bus, being bumped up and down and jolted right and left, reading an interminable 18th-century novel. Sometimes I close the book and glance casually out at the weather, and suddenly get this impression of emerald green, fragrant flowers all over the place, and a cloudless sky of indescribable blue. Shocked awake to the coming of spring, my soul truly takes leave of my body and flies up to cloud nine. When next I look again, the good scenery is far behind us, and what is left of the journey is the mucky streets of Zhabei. The next day I pass the same spot again, and everything is as before, yet I can’t help feeling that something is missing, something has changed. Thereupon that day’s scene remains forever in my mind. Sweet things when looked on too long will cloy; genuinely fine scenes should fleet past like that, and never return. The worst thing about marriage is that you are together night and day; this turns all good things into bad things through overfamiliarity.
At other times, on madly hot summer days, in snowbound winter, I also come across unforeseen sights of unspeakable fascination: they are water to the dry fields of my heart. Soulmates are not hard to find: did not Lu You write “There are no places where a tower does not catch the light of the moon? To those who make themselves susceptible, taking the road is without doubt a short cut to understanding nature.
