欧阳修·《醉翁亭记》英译

The Arbour of the Drunken Graybeard

Ouyang Xiu

Surrounding Chu Prefecture are all mountains. Those standing in the southwest with wooded peaks and valleys are the most sublime. The one that commands a view of luxuriant forests, imparting a sense of seclusion and veiled beauty, is Mount Langya. A walk of six or seven li along the mountain trail brings one within earshot of gurgling water, which announces Niang Spring gushing out between two peaks. The path twists and the peak gives a changed aspect. Then one comes in sight of an arbour soaring like a bird spreading its wings over the spring. This is namely the Arbour of the Drunken Graybeard. Who set up the arbour? The monk of the mountains called Zhi Xian. Who gave it the name? His Excellency the prefect. The prefect and his guests often come here to drink. Even with a few sips, the former would become intoxicated, and being the oldest, styled himself the Drunken Graybeard. The Drunken Graybeard does not aim at wine, but at the splendid scenery. The delight it bestows is acquired by heart but deposited in wine.

The sun rises, the fog in the forests dissipates, and the stone caves become obscured as clouds are vanishing—the shift of light to darkness marks the passage of time from dawn till dusk. And then the wild flowers blossom, emitting their delicate fragrance, the woods are clad with lush foliage. Again, nature is hoary with rime and stones stand out in the shallow stream—all this shows the changes of the four seasons in the mountains. Setting out from morn and returning at eve, one perceives the different views in different seasons and the joy of admiring nature’s beauty is simply infinite.

As for the carriers singing on the way, the ramblers resting in the trees’ shade, the men walking ahead calling and being answered by those trailing behind, and the senile trudging with bowed bodies or the adults leading their children by the hand, all forming an uninterrupted passage of people to and fro—it is the Chu folks sauntering on the mountain. Angling in the deep stream teeming with fat fish, brewing aromatic wine with Niang Spring water, hunting for game and gathering wild edible plants—all this is for the preparation of a miscellaneous feast in honour of the prefect. The jocundity of the feast does not find expression in music. You can see the contestants shooting their arrows into the pots for prizes, the chess players winning their games, cups and goblets scatters in confusion, and people roistering in standing or sitting postures —it is the guests revelling. And the white-haired old man, stricken in years, lying prostrate in their midst —it is the prefect being inebriated.

Then the sun is setting down the mountain ridges, and the excursionists are dispersing in different directions. The prefect is going home, followed by his guests. Under the canopy of leaves, birds are warbling everywhere, for they are glad of the departure of the intruders. However, the fowls know the joy of wooded mountains, but they are beyond the knowledge of man’s happiness. And the folks know how to make merry in the company of the prefect, but they have no idea how His Excellency enjoys himself. The one who is able to share the common mirth when intoxicated and put it down in refined description when sobered is none other than the prefect. Who is the prefect? Ouyang Xiu of Luling.

（谢百魁 译）