The Nightngale and the Rose 夜莺与玫瑰原文及译文.docx

The Nightngale and the Rose 夜莺与玫瑰 原文及译文The Nightingale and the Rose Oscar Wilde 1 "She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose." 2 From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered. 3 "No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched." 4 "Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow." 5 "The Prince gives a ball tomorrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break." 6 "Here indeed is the true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing of, he suffers - what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold." 7 "The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young Student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her" and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept. 8 "Why is he weeping?" asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air. 9 "Why, indeed?" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam. 10 "Why, indeed?" whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice. 11 "He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale. 12 "For a red rose?" they cried; "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright. 13 But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love. 14 Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden. 15 In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray. 16 "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." 17 But the Tree shook its head. 18 "My roses are white," it answered; "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want." 19 So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial. 20 "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." 21 But the Tree shook its head. 22 "My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want." 23 So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window. 24 "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." 25 But the Tree shook its head. 26 "My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year." 27 "One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?" 28 "There is a way," answered the Tree; "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you." 29 "Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid." 30 "If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine." 31 "Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?" 32 So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove. 33 The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes. 34 "Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense." 35 The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books. 36 But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches. 37 "Sing me one last song," he whispered; "I shall feel very lonely when you are gone." 38 So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar. 39 When she had finished her song the Student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket. 40 "She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove - "that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good." And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep. 41 And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her. 42 She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the top-most spray of the Tree. 43 But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished." 44 So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid. 45 And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a rose. 46 And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished." 47 So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb. 48 And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart. 49 But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat. 50 Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea. 51 "Look, look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is finished now" but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart. 52 And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out. 53 "Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!" he cried; "here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name" and he leaned down and plucked it. 54 Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand. 55 The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet. 56 "You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose," cried the Student. "Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it tonight next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you." 57 But the girl frowned. 58 "I am afraid it will not go with my dress," she answered; "and, besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers." 59 "Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful," said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it. 60 "Ungrateful!" said the girl. "I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has" and she got up from her chair and went into the house. 61 "What a silly thing Love is," said the Student as he walked away. "It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics." 62 So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read. 夜莺与玫瑰 奥斯卡·王尔德 著，俊 译 “她说过，只要我送她红玫瑰，她便会当我的舞伴。”那个年轻人嗟怨着，“但整个花园中就独独少了那么一朵红玫瑰啊。” 一只在栎树上筑巢起居的夜莺听到年轻人的嗟叹，好奇地从树叶缝里张看。 年轻人继续叹道：“独独少了那么一朵红玫瑰！”泪水此刻充盈他双眼，“告诉我，所谓幸福，究竟是什么！读懂了孔孟之道，探讨过生与死的奥秘又如何？就是独独少了那么一朵红玫瑰，我的人生完全是悲哀的！” “真正懂得去爱的人，看来我终于找到了，”夜莺自语，“为了找到明白爱之真缔的人，我夜夜高唱。就算我不知道去哪里寻，我还是为他高唱。每一晚每一晚，与星星对话，编造真爱的故事，为的是找到一个真正懂爱的人。现在，他就在这里。啊，乌黑的发丝，风信子一般的；啊，红润的嘴唇，红玫瑰一般的。然而看啊，他内心的炽热反倒让他的脸苍白无血色；他的忧伤感觉更使他眉梢紧锁。” “明天晚上，王子舞会上，”年轻人还是在自怨自艾，“我爱的人会如期前往。假使我送她红玫瑰，她便成了我一夜的舞伴；假使我送她红玫瑰，我便一手把她抱住，她也会把头落在我的肩上，她的手牵着我的手。不过，独独少了那么一朵红玫瑰，我只好一夜独坐，就算与她擦身而过，也只会失之交臂。心，很痛！” “他真正懂得爱情，”夜莺说，“爱情，是我所唱的主题，也正是他的苦恼；爱情，是我所喜悦的，也正是他的痛苦。啊，爱情，多么微妙的东西。绿宝石、猫眼石都不及它珍贵。珍珠、石榴石自然是换不来，它本身也没有市价。商人自然没法出售，它本身也不能用金子去掂量。” “这时，乐师自然会各就各位，”年轻人说道，“他们的手指娴熟地拨弄着琴弦。就在竖琴与提琴奏出的乐声中，我爱的人翩翩起舞。她轻盈的舞步踏着音符在空中旋转，身穿华丽服式的臣仆们将她围住。但我不能跟她起舞，只因独独少了一朵红玫瑰。”说罢，年轻人把自己埋在草地里，双手掩脸，低声饮泣。 “那人怎么哭了？”不谙世事的蜥蜴问道，它把尾巴翘得高高的，从年轻人身旁走过。 “嗯，怎么了？”一只蝴蝶说道，它正在日光下漫舞。 “就是啊，怎么了？”一朵小雏菊反问那只小蜥蜴，那声音又甜又细。 “他是因为一朵红玫瑰而抽泣。”夜莺答道。 小蜥蜴和小雏菊听了很惊奇：“只是为了一朵红玫瑰？用不着吧！”小蜥蜴这时笑得合不拢嘴。 然而，夜莺完全明白年轻人伤心的缘故，她再也没说话了，静静地立在栎树枝上，思考着爱情的奥秘。 突然，她张开褐黄色的双翅，在天空上滑翔。她扫过小花园，像风一般地；又像风一般地，她掠过小草丛。 在草地的中央，立着一颗美丽的玫瑰树，夜莺看见它了，便飞到它的树枝上。 “给我一朵红玫瑰，”夜莺嚷着，“我可以为你唱最甜美的歌。” 玫瑰摇了摇头。 “我的玫瑰是白色的，”那玫瑰树答道，“就像海里的白头浪一样白；比雪山上终年的积雪还要白。你去我的弟兄那里吧，它住在古老的日晷广场那里，或许你会得到你想要的。” 这样，夜莺就飞到日晷广场上，找到了那里的玫瑰树。 “给我一朵红玫瑰，”夜莺嚷着，“我可以为你唱最甜美的歌。” 玫瑰摇了摇头。 “我的玫瑰是黄色的，”那玫瑰树答道，“就像美人鱼秀发的颜色一样黄，她坐在琥珀宝座上，这种黄使她优雅；比草丛上盛开的水仙花还要黄，割草人就是因为惊异于这种黄而用镰刀把它割走据为己有。你去我的弟兄那里吧，它住在一个年轻人房子的窗台下，或许你会得到你想要的。” 于是，夜莺又飞到年轻人房子的窗台下。 “给我一朵红玫瑰，”夜莺嚷着，“我可以为你唱最甜美的歌。” 玫瑰摇了摇头。 “我的玫瑰是红色的，”那玫瑰树答道，“就像小鸽子的小爪一样红；比那深海中珊瑚扇还要红，它们靠着那种红在海洋的深处招摇。可是在这种天里，寒冬正冻着我每处经脉，霜雪掐去了我每个花蕾，风暴又折断我的枝叶，看来这一年我也长不出一朵玫瑰来了。” “我缺的仅仅是一朵红玫瑰啊，”夜莺又大嚷起来，“仅仅是一朵红玫瑰！一朵！就只一朵，没有任何办法吗！” “有”玫瑰树又道，“一个办法，但太恐怖了，我不好说” “说啊！”夜莺道，“我受得住！” “你定要得到红玫瑰的话，”玫瑰树道，“你必要在月光下用你的歌声去成就它，而且，要用你的鲜血去染红它。你要给我唱歌，并同时把你的胸膛靠向我的一枝刺上。你给我唱尽整晚的歌，我的刺将刺穿你的心房，吸走你的鲜血。你的血流经我每处经络，成了我的。” “死，为着换取一朵红玫瑰，是一个极大的代价啊！”夜莺嗟叹道，“毫无疑问，生命要比什么都重要。生命是什么？它是绿林中闲适的快乐，我们用这种快乐的心情来赞美金黄战车里太阳神的英姿，来欣赏深蓝画舫里月亮女神的美态；它又是山楂飘来的香甜，甜得让我们想起山谷里的风铃草，想起小山丘上的石楠花。但是爱情，爱情及得上生命，而且，对于一颗懂爱的心，一只小鸟的生命又算是什么！” 于是，她张开褐黄色的双翅，在天空上滑翔。她扫过小花园，像风一般地；像风一般地，她又掠过小草丛。 那失意的年轻人仍旧躺在原处，泪水仍旧在它双眸里淌着。 “高兴点，”夜莺叫着，“高兴点吧，你会得到红玫瑰的。我将会在月光下用我甜美的歌声，用我身体的温血去成就它。我只希望你用你的真爱去报答我。啊，对！用你的真爱。在我看来，再精明的哲学、再伟大的力量，也敌不过真爱。啊，你懂得真爱，所以你的双臂是火辣辣的，火辣辣的还有你的真心；你的嘴唇甜似蜜饯，你的身体也香如膏药。” 躺在草丛中的年轻人寻着