罗伯特·路易斯·史蒂文/Robert Louis Stevenson

罗伯特·路易斯·史蒂文（1850—1894），英国小说家、散文家。生于爱丁堡，毕业于爱丁堡大学法律系，一生为肺病所扰，周游各地养病，期间发表大量短篇小说和散文游记。主要作品有小说《金银岛》、《化身博士》、《绑架》等。他的作品情节奇妙浪漫，文笔优美雅致。

It seems as if a great deal were attainable in a world where there a re so many marriages and decisive battles,and where we all,at certain hours of the day,and with great gusto and dispatch,stow a portion of v ictuals finally and irretrievably into the bag which contains us.And it would seem also,on a hasty view,that the attainment of as much as poss ible was the one goal of man's contentious life.And yet,as regards th e spirit,this is but a semblance.We live in an ascending scale when we live happily,one thing leading to another in an endless series.There i s always a new horizon for onward-looking men,and although we dwell on a small planet,immersed in petty business and not enduring beyond a bri ef period of years,we are so constituted that our hopes are inaccessibl e,like stars,and the term of hoping is prolonged until the term of lif e.To be truly happy is a question of how we begin and not of how we end,of what we want and not of what we have.An aspiration is a joy foreve r,a possession as solid as a landed estate,a fortune which we can neve r exhaust and which gives us year by year a revenue of pleasurable activ ity.To have many of these is to be spiritually rich.To those who have neither art nor science,the world is a mere arrangement of colors,or a rough footway where they may very well break their shins.It is in virtu e of his own desires and curiosities that any man continues to exist wit h even patience,that he is charmed by the look of things and people,an d that he wakens every morning with a renewed appetite for work and plea sure.Desire and curiosity are the two eyes through which he sees the wo rld in the most enchanted colors:it is they that make women beautiful o r fossils interesting:and the man may squander his estate and come to b eggary,but if he keeps these two amulets he is still rich in the possib ilities of pleasure.Suppose he could take one meal so compact and compr ehensive that he should never hunger any more;suppose him,at a glance,to take in all the features of the world and allay the desire for knowle dge;suppose him to do the like in any province of experience--would not that man be in a poor way for amusement ever after?

One who goes touring on foot with a single volume in his knapsack re ads with circumspection,pausing often to reflect,and often laying the book down to contemplate the landscape or the prints in the inn parlour;for he fears to come to an end of his entertainment,and be left compani onless on the last stages of his journey.A young fellow recently finish ed the works of Thomas Carlyle,winding up,if we remember aright with t he ten note-books upon Frederick the Great."What!" cried the young fell ow,in consternation,"Is there not more Carlyle?Am I left to the daily papers?" A more celebrated instance is that of Alexander,who wept bitte rly because he had no mere worlds to subdue.And when Gibbon had finishe d the Decline and Fall,he had only a few moments of joy;and it was wit h a "sober melancholy" that he parted from his labours.

Happily we all shoot at the moon with ineffectual arrows;our hopes are set on inaccessible El Dorado;we come to an end of nothing here bel ow.Interests are only plucked up to sow themselves again,like mustard.You would think,when the child was born,there would be an end to troub le;and yet it is only the beginning of fresh anxieties;and when you ha ve seen it through its teething and its education,and at last its marri age,alas!It is only to have new fears,new quivering sensibilities,wi th every day;and the health of your children's children grows as touch ing a concern as that of your own.Again,when you have married your wif e,you would think you were got upon a hilltop,and might begin to go do wnward by an easy slope.But you have only ended courting to begin marri age.Falling in love and winning love are often difficult tasks to overb earing and rebellious spirits;but to keep in love is also a business of some importance,to which both man and wife must bring kindness and good will.The true love story commences at the altar,when there lies before the married pair a most beautiful contest of wisdom and generosity,and a lifelong struggle towards an unattainable ideal.Unattainable?Ay,sur ely unattainable,from the very fact that they are two instead of one.

"Of making books there is no end," complained the Preacher,and did not perceive how highly he was praising letters as an occupation.There is no end.Indeed,to making books or experiments,or to travel,or to g athering wealth.Problem gives rise to problem.We may study forever,an d we are never as learned as we would.We have never made a statue worth y of our dreams.And when we have discovered a continent,or crossed a c hain of mountains,it is only to find another ocean or another plain upo n the further side.In the infinite universe there is room for our swift est diligence and to spare.It is not like the works of Carlyle,which c an be read to an end.Even in a corner of it,in a private park,or in t he neighborhood of a single hamlet,the weather and the seasons keep so deftly changing that although we walk there for a lifetime there will be always something new to startle and delight us.

There is only one wish realizable on the earth;only one thing that can be perfectly attained:Death.And from a variety of circumstances we have no one to tell us whether it be worth attaining.

A strange picture we make on our way to our chimaeras,ceaselessly m arching,grudging ourselves the time for rest;indefatigable,adventurou s pioneers.It is true that we shall never reach the goal;it is even mo re than probable that there is no such place;and if we lived for centur ies and were endowed with the powers of a god,we should find ourselves not much nearer what we wanted at the end.O,toiling hands of mortals!O,unwearied feet,traveling ye know not whither!Soon,soon,it seems t o you,you must come forth on some conspicuous hilltop,and but a little way further,against the setting sun,descry the spires of El Dorado.Li ttle do ye know your own blessedness;for to travel hopefully is a bette r thing than to arrive,and the true success is to labour.

人活一世，渴望得到的东西好像很多：不胜枚举的婚姻和决战等；无论身居何方，每天固定的时刻，我们都不可避免地将一份食物津津有味并且迅速地吞入腹中。粗看一下，倾尽所能去获取就是人纷扰一生唯一的目的。然而从精神层面上说，这只是一个假象。如果我们生活幸福，我们就如登梯，步步高升，没有终结。眼光长远的人，天地自然宽。虽然我们蜗居在这颗小行星上，整日为琐事而忙，生命短暂，但我们生来就心比天高，生命不息，奋斗不止。真正的幸福就在于怎样开始而不是怎样结束，是想拥有什么，而不是得到了什么。渴望是一种永恒的幸福，它是一笔财富，犹如房地产一样踏实，用之不竭、年年受益、幸福一生。精神的富有和这些渴望是成正比的。对于既没有艺术细胞也没有科学细胞的人们而言，世界只是颜色的混合体，或者是一条崎岖的小路，一不小心就会摔伤小腿。正是这些渴望和好奇，吸引人们充满耐心地生活着，形形色色的人和物吸引着你我，促使我们每天醒来可以兴致盎然地工作和娱乐。渴望和好奇是人们打量这个五彩世界的一双眼睛：女人因它而美丽，化石因它而有趣。只要有这两道护身符，即使这个人挥霍无度沦为乞丐，他仍能笑口常开。假设一个人一顿饭吃得紧凑而丰盛，他将不会再饿；假设他把这世间万象看了个明明白白，便不再有求知欲；假设他在每个经验领域中都如此——你觉得他的人生还有乐趣吗？

一个徒步旅行的人，随身只带了一本书，他会精心研读，不时地思考一下，还会合上书本凝视风景或者玩赏小酒馆雅间中的画。他害怕书读完了，乐趣也随着消失，剩下的旅程将无以为藉。最近一个年轻人拜读完托马斯·卡莱尔的著作。如果我没记错的话，他把有关腓特列大帝的笔记整整做了十本。“什么？”这个年轻人惊讶地叫道：“卡莱尔的书都看完了？那我只能天天看报纸了？”最典型的例子是亚历山大，因为已无国家供他征服，他号啕大哭。吉本写完《罗马帝国衰亡史》时也只兴奋了一时，他带着一种“清醒而又悲凉的心情”与以往的劳动果实辞别。

我们高兴地把箭射向月亮，却总是毫无效果；我们总是将希望寄托在遥不可及的黄金国上，我们好像什么也没完成。就像芥菜一样，兴趣的收获只是为了下次的耕种。你会想当然地以为孩子出生了，什么麻烦都没了，其实这只是新麻烦的开始。你看着他长大，入学，结婚生子，唉！每天都有新问题、新的感情撞击，你孙儿辈的健康将像你的健康一样牵动着你的心。当你步入婚姻殿堂时，你认为已经到顶了，可以轻松地往下走了。但这只是恋爱的终结，婚姻的开始。对于桀骜不驯或者反叛的人来说，坠入爱河和获得爱情都很困难，但维持爱情也很重要，夫妻之间应该相敬如宾。真正的爱情故事从圣坛开始，在每对夫妇面前都有一场关于智慧和慷慨的壮观竞争，他们要为不可能实现的理想终生奋斗。不可能？啊，当然不可能，因为他们不是一个人，而是两个人。

传道者哀叹“著书无止境”，却没有觉察到它已高度评价了作家这一职业。确实，世界上有很多事是无止境的，例如著书立说、旅行、试验、获取财富等。一个问题会引发另一问题。我们必须活到老学到老，我们的学习永远得不到满足。我们从未雕刻出符合我们梦想的塑像。我们发现一个新大陆，经过一座山脉时，总会看到远方还有未曾涉足的海洋和大陆。宇宙浩渺，不像卡莱尔的著作可以读完。即使在其一角，一个私人花园，一个农庄附近，尽管在那里生活一辈子，天气和季节的无常变化也令我们有常看常新的感觉。

世界上只有一种愿望可以实现，也仅有一种事物绝对能得到，那就是死亡。死的方式很多，但没有人知道是否能死得其所。

当我们不作休息，不停地走向幻想时，一幅奇异的画面展现出来：不知疲倦、勇于冒险的先锋。是的，我们永远不会达到目标，甚至目的地根本就不存在。即使活上几百年，具有神的力量，我们也会觉得没有接近目标多少。啊，辛苦的双手！啊，不知疲倦的双脚，并不知道走向何方！你总是觉得，一定能登上某个光辉的山顶，在夕阳下，看到不远的前方黄金国那尖尖的塔。你是处于幸福当中却没有察觉，奋斗胜过得到，真正的成功就是奋斗。