[美國]華盛頓·歐文/Washington Irving
華盛頓·歐文（1783-1859），享譽國際的文學家，也是19世紀最偉大的美國散文家之一。他生於紐約，在家中是11個孩子中最小的。歐文自幼聰穎，19歲攻讀法律。1804年至1806年間遊曆歐洲，回國後取得律師資格。但是，他對當律師並不感興趣，而且身體不太好。因此，他改變職業，以寫作謀生，並進入仕途，曾任駐西班牙公使，旅居歐洲長達17年。他的傑作《見聞劄記》就在這其間完成的，其中的《瑞普·凡·溫克爾》已成為婦孺皆知的故事。總之，華盛頓·歐文在世界文學史上有著不可或缺的地位。
On one of those sober and rather melancholy days, in the latter part of Autumn, when the shadows of morning and evening almost mingle together, and throw a gloom over the decline of the year, I passed several hours in rambling about Westminster Abbey. There was something congenial to the season in the mournful magnificence of the old pile;and, as I passed its threshold, seemed like stepping back into the regions of antiquity, and losing myself among the shades of former ages.
I entered from the inner court of Westminster School, through a long, low, vaulted passage, that had an almost subterranean look, being dimly lighted in one part by circular perforations in the massive walls. Through this dark avenue I had a distant view of the cloisters, with the figure of an old verger, in his black gown, moving along their shadowy vaults, and seeming like a spectre from one of the neighboring tombs. The approach to the abbey through these gloomy monastic remains prepares the mind for its solemn contemplation. The cloisters still retain something of the quiet and seclusion of former days. The gray walls are discolored by damps, and crumbling with age;a coat of hoary moss has gathered over the inscriptions of the mural monuments, and obscured the death's heads, and other funereal emblems. The sharp touches of the chisel are gone from the rich tracery of the arches;the roses which adorned the key-stones have lost their leafy beauty;everything bears marks of the gradual dilapidations of time, which yet has something touching and pleasing in its very decay.
The sun was pouring down a yellow autumnal ray into the square of the cloisters;beaming upon a scanty plot of grass in the center, and lighting up an angle of the vaulted passage with a kind of dusky splendor. From between the arcades, the eye glanced up to a bit of blue sky or a passing cloud, and beheld the sun-gilt pinnacles of the abbey towering into the azure heaven.
As I paced the cloisters, sometimes contemplating this mingled picture of glory and decay, and sometimes endeavoring to decipher the inscriptions on the tombstones, which formed the pavement beneath my feet, my eye was attracted to three figures, rudely carved in relief, but nearly worn away by the footsteps of many generations. They were the effigies of three of the early abbots;the epitaphs were entirely effaced;the names alone remained, having no doubt been renewed in later times.（Vitalis. Abbas.1082，and Gislebertus Crispinus. Abbas.1114，and Laurentius. Abbas.1176.）I remained some little while, musing over these casual relics of antiquity, thus left like wrecks upon this distant shore of time, telling no tale but that such beings had been, and had perished;teaching no moral but the futility of that pride which hopes still to exact homage in its ashes and to live in an inscription. A little longer, and even these faint records will be obliterated, and the monument will cease to be a memorial. Whilst I was yet looking down upon these gravestones, I was roused by the sound of the abbey clock, reverberating from buttress to buttress, and echoing among the cloisters. It is almost startling to hear this warning of departed time sounding among the tombs, and telling the lapse of the hour, which, like a billow, has rolled us onward towards the grave. I pursued my walk to an arched door opening to the interior of the abbey. On entering here, the magnitude of the building breaks fully upon the mind, contrasted with the vaults of the cloisters. The eyes gaze with wonder at clustered columns of gigantic dimensions, with arches springing from them to such an amazing height;and man wandering about their bases, shrunk into insignificance in comparison with his own handiwork. The spaciousness and gloom of this vast edifice produce a profound and mysterious awe. We step cautiously and softly about, as if fearful of disturbing the hallowed silence of the tomb;while every footfall whispers along the walls, and chatters among the sepulchers, making us more sensible of the quiet we have interrupted.
It seems as if the awful nature of the place presses down upon the soul, and hushes the beholder into noiseless reverence. We feel that we are surrounded by the congregated bones of the great men of past times, who have filled history with their deeds, and the earth with their renown.
And yet it almost provokes a smile at the vanity of human ambition, to see how they are crowded together and jostled in the dust;what parsimony is observed in doling out a scanty nook, a gloomy corner, a little portion of earth, to those, whom, when alive, kingdoms could not satisfy;and how many shapes, and forms, and artifices are devised to catch the casual notice of the passenger, and save from forgetfulness, for a few short years, a name which once aspired to occupy ages of the world's thought and admiration.
……
I continued in this way to move from tomb to tomb, and from chapel to chapel. The day was gradually wearing away;the distant tread of loiterers about the abbey grew less and less frequent;the sweet-tongued bell was summoning to evening prayers;and I saw at a distance the choristers, in their white surplices, crossing the aisle and entering the choir. I stood before the entrance to Henry the Seventh's chapel. A flight of steps lead up to it, through a deep and gloomy, but magnificent arch. Great gates of brass, richly and delicately wrought, turn heavily upon their hinges, as if proudly reluctant to admit the feet of common mortals into this most gorgeous of sepulchres.
On entering, the eye is astonished by the pomp of architecture, and the elaborate beauty of sculptured detail. The very walls are wrought into universal ornament, incrusted with tracery, and scooped into niches, crowded with the statutes of saints and martyrs. Stone seems, by the cunning labor of the chisel, to have been robbed of its weight and density, suspended aloft, as if by magic, and the fretted roof achieved with the wonderful minuteness and airy security of a cobweb.
Along the sides of the chapel are the lofty stalls of the Knights of the Bath, richly carved of oak, though with the grotesque decorations of Gothic architecture. On the pinnacles of the stalls are affixed the helmets and crests of the knights, with their scarfs and swords;and above them are suspended their banners, emblazoned with armorial bearings, and contrasting the splendor of gold and purple and crimson with the cold gray fretwork of the roof. In the midst of this grand mausoleum stands the sepulchre of its founder,-his effigy, with that of his queen, extended on a sumptuous tomb, and the whole surrounded by a superbly wrought brazen railing.
There is a sad dreariness in this magnificence:this strange mixture of tombs and trophies;these emblems of living and aspiring ambition, close beside mementos which show the dust and oblivion in which all must sooner or later terminate. Nothing impresses the mind with a deeper feeling of loneliness than to tread the silent and deserted scene of former throng and pageant. On looking round on the vacant stalls of the knights and their esquires, and on the rows of dusty but gorgeous banners that were once borne before them, my imagination conjured up the scene when this hall was bright with the valor and beauty of the land;glittering with the splendor of jeweled rank and military array;alive with the tread of many feet and the hum of an admiring multitude. All had passed away;the silence of death had settled again upon the which had found their way into the chapel, and built their nests among its friezes and pendants-sure sign of solitariness and desertion.
When I read the names inscribed on the banners, they were those of men scattered far and wide about the world;some tossing upon distant seas;some under arms in distant lands;same mingling in the busy intrigues of courts and cabinets;all seeking to deserve one more distinction in this mansion of shadowy honors:the melancholy reward of a monument.
Two small aisles on each side of this chapel present a touching instance of the equality of the graves;which brings down the oppressor to a level with the oppressed, and mingles the dust of the bitterest enemies together. In one is the sepulchre of the haughty Elizabeth;in the other is that of her victim, the lovely and unfortunate Mary. Not an hour in the day but some ejaculation of pity is uttered over the fate of the latter, mingled with indignation at her oppressor. The walls of Elizabeth's sepulchre continually echo with the sighs of sympathy heaved at the grave of her rival.
A peculiar melancholy reigns over the aisle where Mary lies buried. The light struggles dimly through windows darkened by dust. The greater part of the place is in deep shadow, and the walls are stained and tinted by time and weather. A marble figure of Mary is stretched upon the tomb, round which is an iron railing, much corroded, bearing her national emblem-the thistle. I was weary with wandering, and sat down to rest myself by the monument, revolving in my mind the checked and disastrous story of poor Mary.
The sound of casual footsteps had ceased from the abbey. I could only hear, now and then, the distant voice of the priest repeating the evening service, and the faint responses of the choir, these paused for a time, and all was hushed. The stillness, the desertion and obscurity that were gradually prevailing around, gave a deeper and more solemn interest to the place.
For in the silent grave no conversation,
No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers,
No careful father's counsel-nothing's heard,
For nothing is, but all oblivion,
Dust and an endless darkness.
正值深秋時節，這時的天氣讓人感覺冷清而憂鬱，早晨的陰影幾乎和傍晚的相接，這更給歲末衰落的氣氛籠罩了一層灰蒙蒙的色彩。就是在這樣的一天，我一個人在威斯敏斯特教堂走了幾個小時。在這古老的建築群中，有一種淒涼的感覺與這個季節的色調剛好吻合。我跨進門檻，似乎一腳邁進了古老的年代，將自己融入久遠之前的夜色中。
我是從威斯敏斯特學校的內庭進去的，穿過一道低矮的有著弧頂的長廊，感覺像是在隧道裏。周圍是厚厚的牆壁，牆上的小孔透出絲絲光線，這裏反而顯得更加幽暗了。穿過這道長廊，我可以遠遠地望見前方的拱廊，一個上了年紀的教堂司事，身著黑色長袍，正從陰影裏走過，那模樣就像是一個剛剛從附近墓中爬出來的幽靈。這條路正是古修道院的遺址，景色分外淒涼，我的思緒因此陷入了莊嚴的沉思默想之中。這條道路一如既往地寂靜，與世隔絕。灰色的牆壁因為受到潮濕空氣的侵蝕，早已褪了色，而且由於年代久遠，也逐漸呈現出衰敗的跡象。牆壁上覆蓋了一層灰白的苔衣，讓人無法辨認清楚上麵的碑文、骷髏像和各種喪葬的標誌。弧頂上本來雕刻有華麗富貴的花紋，如今早已不見那些斧鑿的痕跡；當年拱石頂上枝繁葉茂的玫瑰花也不見了昔日的風采。這裏所有的事物都刻上了歲月的痕跡，然而就是在這樣的頹廢之中，依然有一種讓人怦然心動、歡喜愉悅的感覺。
一道金秋的陽光從拱廊的廣場上空傾瀉下來，照耀著中間稀稀拉拉的小草，也給拱廊的一角披上一層微暗的光線。從拱廊中間抬頭遠望，可以看見一小片藍天或時而飄過的白雲，還有那鋪滿了金子般陽光的塔尖正筆直地向藍天延伸。
我緩緩地走在拱廊上，時而思索著這融合了輝煌與頹敗的景象，時而又力求辨析我腳下墓石上的碑文。這時，三座雕塑工藝粗糙的浮像吸引了我的目光，經過幾代人在上麵來來回回的行踏，它們幾乎很難辨認清楚了。這是這座寺院早期三位住持的浮雕像，上麵的墓誌銘已經全被磨掉了，隻剩下三個名字——很明顯這也是經過後人重新修整的。（泰裏斯住持，1082年；吉斯勃塔斯·克裏斯賓諾斯住持，1114年；勞倫修斯住持，1176年）我在這裏停留片刻，默默地看著這些殘缺不全的古人遺跡。它們就像幾艘拋了錨的破船，停靠在悠悠歲月的岸邊，唯一能說給人們聽的就是這幾個人曾經活著，而現在已經不複存在了。它們所蘊涵的道德意義，不過是告誡那些企圖死後還想受人敬仰的人，要依靠墓誌銘得以永生簡直是癡心妄想。再過些時日，甚至連這些模糊不清的記錄都將消失，而所謂的紀念碑也不再是什麽紀念物了。就在我俯視這些墓碑時，突然被大寺的鍾聲喚醒，鍾聲在牆壁之間回**，刹那間整個拱廊都產生了共鳴。從墳墓裏傳出來的鍾聲，真是讓人不寒而栗，它向人們提示時光的消逝，好似巨大的浪潮，不斷地把我們推向墳墓。我繼續向前走，到了一扇通向大寺裏麵的拱門前。走進大門，隻見在拱門的襯托下，裏麵的建築物顯得更加雄偉壯麗。我瞪大了雙眼，看著那一根根巨大的圓柱，圓柱上橫架著一根根拱梁，它們那麽高，真讓人驚歎不已。站在柱腳下，人們不禁會想到，與人類的建築比起來，人類自己是如此渺小。這座空曠幽暗的大寺，頓時讓人產生一種神秘的敬畏之情。我們小心謹慎地走過，生怕打破了墓地的肅靜；而每當四周的牆壁傳出腳步聲時，墳墓間也作出了低沉的回應，我們更加深刻地感受到四周的寧靜，隻是此時的寧靜已被我們破壞了。
也許是寺院本身莊嚴肅穆的氣氛壓抑著遊客的心靈，我們大家都肅然起敬，並且壓低了所有的聲音。我們感覺周身都被古代偉人的遺骸包圍著，他們的豐功偉績載滿史冊，聲名遍譽世界。
但是，想到人類所謂的宏偉抱負到頭來不過是虛幻一場，我不禁要嘲笑他們：如今這些英雄七零八落地擠在這塵土之中，想當初他們在世時，整個帝國都不曾讓他們滿足，而死後隻是在這個吝嗇的地方一個陰暗的角落，分得了一點點貧瘠的土地。過去，他們試圖讓人們永遠銘記他們的名字，並世世代代瞻仰他們，如今人們卻在他們的墳墓上想方設法地雕刻出各種形狀和花紋——而這麽做隻是為了吸引遊客們不經意瞥來的目光，免得人們過不了幾年就把他們顯赫一時的名字拋到腦後了。
……
我仍然順著這條路走過一座座墳墓、一所所禮拜堂。天色慢慢地暗了下來，從遠處傳來的遊客的腳步聲也越來越稀少了。動聽的鈴聲提醒著人們晚禱的時間到了，我遠遠就能看見唱詩班的人們穿著白色的法衣穿過走廊紛紛就位。我站在亨利七世禮拜堂的入口處，走過大堂前的幾層台階，然後穿過一道昏暗卻雄偉的長拱門。巨大的銅門上雕滿了精細華麗的花紋，門上的鉸鏈發出沉重的響聲，一副傲氣十足的樣子，似乎是不讓這些凡夫俗子進入這最豪華的靈堂。
進入大堂內，裏麵華麗的建築和精美的雕刻簡直讓人目不暇接。牆上每一個地方都布滿了精巧的裝飾，裏麵鑲嵌著雕花窗格，拚成一座座壁龕，其中塞滿了聖人和殉難者的雕像。爐火純青的雕鑿技術把石頭雕刻得幾乎看不出它本來的重量和密度，像被施了魔法似的吊在半空中。還有那屋頂，裝飾著無比精巧美麗的花紋，好像是一張牢不可破的蛛網那樣懸在半空中。
在禮拜堂的兩側，設有巴斯武士高大的坐席，它們全部用橡木雕鑿得富貴華麗，上麵還有哥特式建築的怪異裝飾。武士的頭盔、綬帶和佩劍被擺放在坐席的頂端。在這些物品的上方懸掛著武士的旗幟，上麵裝飾著紋章，這些金色、紫色和大紅色耀眼奪目，與精雕細鑿的灰暗屋頂形成鮮明的對比。在這個宏偉大廳的正中間，就是這座陵墓的主人——亨利七世的墳墓，他和皇後的雕像躺在一塊豪華的墓石上，周圍環繞著鑄煉精細的黃銅柵欄。
這種奢華瑰麗的氣氛，卻讓人有種陰沉壓抑的感覺：這是一個混合了墳墓和戰利品的怪異場合，這些標誌象征著朝氣蓬勃和雄心壯誌，如今卻被擺放在滿是灰塵和被人遺忘的紀念物中間，而所有的一切最終也會消逝在這些塵埃和遺忘之中。走在這個曾經熱鬧繁華而如今孤寂蒼涼的地方，心中湧起一種無法言說的落寞感受。環視周圍武士和他們的侍從們空空如也的座位，看著飄揚在他們麵前的一排排布滿了灰塵卻依然錦繡華麗的軍旗，我不禁想象昔日的盛況：全國上下的英雄和美人都雲集在這寬敞明亮的大廳裏，這裏因為有了這些珠光寶氣的仕女和英武的武士行列而璀璨生輝；不絕於耳的腳步聲和讚揚聲在整個大廳回**。而這一切突然就消失不見了，重新恢複到這死氣沉沉的寂靜，除了偶爾幾聲小鳥的鳴叫。連鳥兒都駐紮在這所禮拜堂，並把它們的巢穴建造在梁柱之間——由此可見，這裏是多麽的荒涼和寂寞。
我讀著旗子上刺繡的人名，這些人曾經被派駐到各個地方，有的遠渡重洋，有的征戰他鄉，有的在宮廷與內閣的陰謀中糾纏，但他們有個共同的願望——使自己的名聲在這所陰暗的墓堂中得到更多的表彰——也就是一塊陰鬱的紀念碑。
在禮拜堂的兩側設有小型的側堂——這樣做的目的是為了明示這座墓地的平等觀念：它把壓迫者和被壓迫者放在同一個地位，讓世代夙敵的遺骸相聚在一起。其中的一個側堂是那位傲慢的伊麗莎白之墓，而另外一個則是那可愛又可憐的被她殺死了的瑪麗之墓。對於後者，每一天裏的每個時刻都會有人來悲憐歎息她淒慘的命運，在這聲聲歎息中也包含了對前者的憤怒。於是，在伊麗莎白墓地周圍的牆壁上，就經常回**著人們同情瑪麗的聲音。
一種怪異陰鬱的氣氛籠罩在埋葬著瑪麗的那個側堂之上。陽光透過布滿灰塵的窗戶照射進來，一切都是這麽幽暗，大部分地方都被黑暗的陰影籠罩著，歲月和氣候在牆壁上留下了痕跡。一座瑪麗的大理石雕像躺在碑石上麵，四周的鐵柵欄鏽跡斑斑，上麵還雕刻著她的國徽——蘇格蘭的薊花。我已經走得有點兒累了，於是坐在紀念碑下歇息，腦海裏便不由自主地想起瑪麗坎坷不幸的一生。
教堂裏零零落落的腳步聲漸漸地消失了，我的耳邊偶爾傳來遠處修士們的晚禱聲和唱詩班輕柔的應答聲。當所有這些聲音都平息後，整個教堂也沉靜下來。平靜、荒涼和幽暗慢慢地靠近，使人們對這個地方產生了一種更加深邃和莊嚴的感情。
在寂靜的墓地裏沒有說話的聲音，
沒有朋友們輕快的腳步聲，沒有情侶們呼喚的聲音，
也沒有細心的父親忠誠的告誡——什麽都聽不到，
因為一切都是虛無，一切都被遺忘，
隻有塵土和無際的黑暗。
詞匯筆記
melancholy['mel?nk?li]adj.憂鬱的，使人悲傷的，愁思的
A funeral is a melancholy occasion.
葬儀是令人悲傷的場合。
threshold['θre?h?uld]n.極限，門檻，入口，開端
The treaty will be the threshold of lasting peace.
這個條約將成為持久和平的開端。
approach[?'pr?ut?]n.途徑，方法，靠近，臨近
Which is the right approach?
哪一個是正確的方法？
provoke[pr?'v?uk]v.激怒，惹起，驅使
His speech provoke the crowd and cause a riot.
他的演說激怒了群眾，且引起一陣**。
小試身手
從墳墓裏傳出來的鍾聲，真是讓人不寒而栗，它向人們提示時光的消逝，好似巨大的浪潮，不斷地把我們推向墳墓。
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進入大堂內，裏麵華麗的建築和精美的雕刻簡直讓人目不暇接。
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而這一切突然就消失不見了，重新恢複到這死氣沉沉的寂靜，除了偶爾幾聲小鳥的鳴叫。
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短語家族
Which brings down the oppressor.
bring down：拿下，打落，使倒下，（使）減少
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A peculiar melancholy reigns over the aisle.
reign over：統治，盛行
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