My Library1我的书房

When I moved into a new house a few weeks ago， my books， as was natural， moved with me. Strong， perspiring men shovelled them into packing-cases， and staggered with them to the van， cursing Caxton2 as they went. On arrival at this end， they staggered with them into the room selected for my library， heaved off the lids of the cases， and awaited orders. The immediate need was for an emptier room. Together we hurried the books into the new white shelves which awaited them， the order in which they stood being of no matter so long as they were off the floor. Armful after armful was hastily stacked， the only pause being when （in the curious way in which these things happen） my own name suddenly caught the eye of the foreman. “Did you write this one， sir？” he asked. I admitted it. “H’m，” he said noncommittally. He glanced along the names of every armful after that， and appeared a little surprised at the number of books， which I hadn’t written. An easy-going profession， evidently.

几个星期前我迁居新房，我的书自然也随我一起搬走。几个壮汉大汗淋漓地忙活着，他们把书胡乱塞进包装箱，踉踉跄跄地将箱子搬上货车，一边走一边诅咒卡克斯顿。到达这边的新居后，他们又踉踉跄跄地把书搬入我选定的书房，掀开箱盖，等候我的指令。眼下急需在屋里腾出一些地方。我们一起匆匆把书放入待用的白色新书架，无所谓摆成什么顺序，只要将它们搬离地板即可。一摞摞的书迅速堆积起来，其间唯一的停顿（这种事不知怎的就发生了），是在我的名字蓦然攫住工头的目光之际。“这书是你写的吗，先生？”他问道。我承认了。“哼嗯……”他含糊地应了一声，但之后每搬一摞书都要扫一眼署名，发现那么多书都不是我写的，显得有些惊讶。这显然是一个做事不慌不忙的职业。

So we got the books up at last， and there they are still. I told myself that when a wet afternoon came along I would arrange them properly. When the wet afternoon came， I told myself that I would arrange them one of these fine mornings. As they are now， I have to look along every shelf in the search for the book which I want. To come to Keats is no guarantee that we are on the road to Shelley. Shelley， if he did not drop out on the way， is probably next to How to be a Golfer though Middle-aged.

于是我们终于把所有的书都放上了书架，它们一直原样儿摆放在那里。我告诉自己，等到哪个午后阴雨天，我再将它们收拾整齐。可是那个午后阴雨天到来时，我却对自个儿说，还是等到哪个晴朗的早晨再整理它们吧。按照它们如今的样子，我得逐排扫视所有的书架，才能寻找到所需之书。找到济慈不能确保我随即看见雪莱。雪莱，如果没有走失的话，大概挨着那本《中年高尔夫进阶》。

Having written as far as this， I had to get up and see where Shelley really was. It is worse than I thought. He is between Geometrical Optics and Studies in New Zealand Scenery. Ella Wheeler Wilcox3， whom I find myself to be entertaining unawares， sits beside Anarchy or Order， which was apparently “sent in the hope that you will become a member of the Duty and Discipline Movement”—a vain hope， it would seem， for I have not yet paid my subscription. What I Found Out， by an English Governess， shares a corner with The Recreations of a Country Parson; they are followed by Villette and Baedeker’s Switzerland4. Something will have to be done about it.

走笔至此，我得起身去看看雪莱到底在哪儿。比我想象的还糟，他置身于《几何光学》和《新西兰风景绘画习作》之间。艾拉·惠勒·威尔科克斯，我无意中用以消遣的读物，眼下位于《无政府或秩序》旁边，显然，他们“寄赠此书，希望您能成为责任与纪律运动这一组织的成员”——这一希望似乎落空了，因为我迄今尚未支付会费。英格兰家庭女教师所写的《亲眼所见》，与《乡村牧师自娱有方》共据一个角落，紧随其后的是《维莱特》和《瑞士旅行指南》。我确实得为此做点什么了。

But I am wondering what is to be done. If I gave you the impression that my books were precisely arranged in their old shelves， I misled you. They were arranged in the order known as “all anyhow.” Possibly they were a little less “anyhow” than they are now， in that the volumes of any particular work were at least together， but that is all that can be claimed for them. For years I put off the business of tidying them up， just as I am putting it off now. It is not laziness; it is simply that I don’t know how to begin.

但我不知道到底该做点什么。如果我让你觉得，搬家之前我的书摆放得井然有序，那是受了我的误导。当初放置它们，是按照一种名曰“混乱不堪”的顺序，其混乱程度相较如今大概稍有不及，毕竟当时每一部作品是成套摆放的，但也就这一点可取之处。这些书多少年我始终拖着不加整理，现如今依旧如此。并非懒惰所致，只是我不知道该如何着手。

Let us suppose that we decide to have all the poetry together. It sounds reasonable. But then Byron is eleven inches high （my tallest poet）， And Beattie5 （my shortest） is just over four inches. How foolish they will look standing side by side. Perhaps you don’t know Beattie， but I assure you that he was a poet. He wrote those majestic lines：

不妨假设我们决定把所有的诗集放在一起。此言听似有理，但是拜伦足足高达11英寸（我最高的诗人），而贝蒂（我最矮的诗人）只有4英寸出头，让他俩并排而立是何等荒唐。也许你不认识贝蒂，但我向你担保他是诗人无疑。他曾写下那些雄浑的诗句：

“The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made

“我先前提到的那位牧羊郎，

On Scotia’s mountains fed his little flock;

在斯科舍群山间喂养他的一小群羊；

The sickle， scythe or plough he never swayed——

既不挥镰也不扶犁——

An honest heart was almost all his stock.”

一颗真心几乎是他的全部宝藏。”

Of course， one would hardly expect a shepherd to sway a plough in the ordinary way， but Beattie was quite right to remind us that Edwin didn’t either. Edwin was the name of the shepherd-swain. “And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy，” we are told a little further on in a line that should live. Well， having satisfied you that Beattie was really a poet， I can now return to my argument that an eleven-inch Byron cannot stand next to a four-inch Beattie， and be followed by an eight-inch Cowper6， without making the shelf look silly. Yet how can I discard Beattie—Beattie who wrote：

当然，人们一般不会指望一个牧羊人扶犁耕地，好在贝蒂相当明智，他提醒我们埃德温也不会这么做。埃德温是牧羊郎的名字。“然而可怜的埃德温绝非粗笨小伙”，诗人在稍后本应永久流传的一行诗里这样告诉我们。好了，已经向你们证明贝蒂果真是诗人，且容我回归刚才的话题：如果将11英寸高的拜伦放在4英寸高的贝蒂旁，随后再摆上8英寸高的柯珀，整个书架势必显得不伦不类。可我岂能抛弃贝蒂——贝蒂还曾写下——

“And now the downy cheek and deepened voice