On Catching the Train1赶火车

Thank Heaven！ I have caught it… I am in a corner seat， the compartment is not crowded， the train is about to start， and for an hour and a half， while we rattle towards that haven of solitude2 on the hill that I have written of aforetime， I can read， or think， or smoke， or sleep， or talk， or write as I choose. I think I will write， for I am in the humour for writing. Do you know what it is to be in the humour for writing—to feel that there is a head of stream3 that must blow off？ It isn’t so much that you have something you want to say as that you must say something. And， after all， what does the subject matter？ Any peg will do to hang your hat on.4 The hat is the thing5. That saying of Rameau6 fits the idea to perfection. Some one was asking that great composer if he did not find difficulty in selecting a subject. “Difficulty？ A subject？” said Rameau. “Not at all. One subject is as good as another. Here， bring me the Dutch Gazette.”

谢天谢地！我总算赶上它了……我坐在角落里的一个座位上，车厢内并不拥挤，火车即将开动，载着我们哐啷哐啷地驶向我此前写到的山上的世外桃源。在一个半小时的行程中，我可以阅读、思考、吸烟、睡觉、聊天或是写作，悉凭己愿。我认为我会写作，因为我有心思写作。你可知道怎样才是有心思写作——觉得身上哪儿憋着一股诉诸笔墨的冲动，必欲宣泄一通吗？与其说你有什么事想说，不如说是有什么事非说不可。再者，说到底，主题又有什么关系？凡钉皆可挂帽，帽即为欲说之事。拉莫说的一番话完全契合此意。有人询问这位伟大的作曲家选择主题时是否感到困难。“困难？主题？”拉莫说道，“一点也不。随便哪个主题都一样很好。喏，把《荷兰公报》递给我吧。”

That is how I feel now， as the lights of London fade in our wake and the fresh air of the country blows in at the window. Subject？ Difficulty？ Here bring me the Dutch Gazette. But while any subject would serve there is one of particular interest to me at this moment. It came into my mind as I ran along the platform just now. It is the really important subject of catching trains. There are some people who make nothing of7 catching trains. They can catch trains with as miraculous an ease as Cinquevalli8 catches half-a-dozen billiard-balls. I believe they could catch trains in their sleep. They are never too early and never too late. They leave home or office with a quiet certainty of doing the thing that is simply stupefying. Whether they walk， or take a bus， or call a taxi， it is the same： they do not hurry， they do not worry， and when they find they are in time and that there’s plenty of room they manifest no surprise.

这正是我此时的感觉，我们身后伦敦的万家灯火渐渐消失，乡野的新鲜空气飘进车窗。主题？困难？且把《荷兰公报》递给我吧。然而，虽说任何一个主题都很合适，眼下却有一个我特别感兴趣的。刚才我沿着月台奔跑时，它倏地钻入我脑子。那就是有关赶火车的重大话题。有些人不把赶火车当回事。他们赶火车时，能像辛克瓦利连续接住六个台球那样，自有一种不可思议的从容气度。我相信他们能在睡梦中赶上火车。他们从来不会过早或过迟。他们离开自家或办公室时，带着平静而笃定的神态， 像是准备做一件只会令人惊愕的事。他们无论步行，乘公交车，抑或叫出租车，全都一样：不匆忙，也不担心，及至发现时间恰好，车上还有足够的位置时，也不面露惊讶的表情。

I have in mind a man with whom I once went walking among the mountains on the French-Italian border. He was enormously particular about trains and arrangements the day or the week before we needed them， and he was wonderfully efficient at the job. But as the time approached for catching a train he became exasperatingly calm and leisured. He began to take his time over everything and to concern himself with the arrangements of the next day or the next week， as though he had forgotten all about the train that was imminent， or was careless whether he caught it or not. And when at last he had got to the train， he began to remember things. He would stroll off to get a time-table or to buy a book， or to look at the engine—especially to look at the engine. And the nearer the minute for starting the more absorbed he became in the mechanism of the thing， and the more animated was his explanation of the relative merits of the P.L.M. Engine and the North-Western engine. He was always given up as lost， and yet always stepped in as the train was on the move， his manner aggravatingly unruffled， his talk pursuing the quiet tenor of his thought about engines or about what we should do the week after next.9

我想起一个人，我曾与他一起在法意边境的群山之间徜徉。对于我们一天或一周后需要乘坐的火车及各项准备工作，他做得格外谨慎细致，办事效率之高堪称神奇。但随着乘车时间的日益临近，他却冷静从容到恼人的地步。他开始不慌不忙地做每件事，开始关注次日或下周的事务，仿佛他已全然忘却即将乘坐的火车，或者根本不在乎是否能赶上这班车。终于来到车旁的时候，他开始想起一些事情。只见他信步走开，去取一份列车时刻表，或是买一本书，或是察看机车——尤其是察看机车。开车的时间越近，他就越发专注于机车的构造，越发热切地解释P.L.M.公司和西北公司机车各自的优点。我们总以为他会错过了车，上不来了，他却总是在列车启动的瞬间步入车厢，一派镇定自若的风度令人恼怒，开口说话时，也循着考虑机车或下下周应做之事时那种沉稳的思路。

Now I am different. I have been catching trains all my life， and all my life I have been afraid I shouldn’t catch them. Familiarity with the habits of trains cannot get rid of a secret conviction that their aim is to give me the slip10 if it can be done. No faith in my own watch can affect my doubts as to the reliability of the watch of the guard or the station clock or whatever deceitful signal the engine-driver obeys. Moreover， I am oppressed with the possibilities of delay on the road to the station. They crowd in on me like the ghosts into the tent of King Richard11. There may be a block in the streets， the bus may break down， the taxi-driver may be drunk or not know the way， or think I don’t know the way， and take me round and round the squares as Tony Lumpkin12 drove his mother round and round the pond， or—in fact， anything may happen， and it is never until I am safely inside （as I am now） that I feel really happy.