他是否还在人间？
I was spending the month of March 1892 at Mentone， in the Riviera. At this retired spotspot n.斑点， 污点， 地点， 场所， 现场 v.玷污， 弄脏，侦察 vt.认出， 发现 one has all the advantages， privately， which are to be had publicly at Monte Carlo and Nice， a few miles farther along. That is to say， one has the flooding sunshine， the balmybalmy adj.芳香的， 温和的， 止痛的， （空气）温和的 air and the brilliant blue sea， without the marring additions of human powwow and fuss and feathers and display. Mentone is quiet， simple， restful， unpretentious， the rich and the gaudygaudy adj.华而不实的 do not come there. As a rule， I mean， the rich do not come there. Now and then a rich man comes， and I presently got acquainted with one of these. Partially to disguisedisguise v.假装， 伪装， 掩饰 n.伪装 him I will call him Smith. One day， in the Hotel des Anglais， at the second breakfast， he exclaimed： “Quick！ Cast your eye on the man going out at the door. Take in every detail of him.”
1892年3月间，我在里维埃拉区的门多涅游玩。在这个幽静的地方，你可以单独享受几英里外的蒙特卡洛和尼斯所能和大家共同享受的一切好处。这就是说，那儿有灿烂的阳光，清新的空气和闪耀的、蔚蓝的海，而没有那煞风景的喧嚣、扰攘，以及奇装异服和浮华的炫耀。门多涅是个清静、淳朴、安闲而不讲究排场的地方；阔人和浮华的人物都不到那儿去。我是说，一般而论，阔人是不到那儿去的。偶尔也会有阔人来，我不久就结识了其中的一位。我姑且把他叫做斯密士吧——这多少是有些替他保守秘密的意思。有一天，在英格兰旅馆里，我们用第二道早餐的时候，他忽然大声喊道：“快点！你注意看门里出去的那个人。你仔细把他看清楚。”
“Why？”
“为什么？”
“Do you know who he is？”
“你知道他是谁吗？”
“Yes. He spent several days here before you came. He is an old， retired， and very rich silk manufacturer from Lyons， they say， and I guess he is alone in the world， for he always looks sad and dreamydreamy adj.空幻的， 梦想的， 多梦的， and doesnt talk with anybody. His name is Theophile Magnan.”
“知道。你还没有来，他就在这儿住过好几天了。听说他是里昂一个很阔的绸缎厂老板，现在年老不干了。我看他简直是孤单得很，因为他老是显得那么苦闷的样子，无精打采，从不跟谁谈谈话。他的名字叫做席奥斐尔·麦格南。”
I supposed that Smith would now proceed to justify the large interest which he had shown in Monsieur Magnan， but， instead， he dropped into a brown study， and was apparently lost to me and to the rest of the world during some minutes. Now and then he passed his fingers through his flossyflossy adj.丝绵似的， 迷人的， 轻软的 white hair， to assist his thinking， and meantime he allowed his breakfast to go on cooling. At last he said： “No， its gone， I cant call it back.”
我以为这下子斯密士就要继续说下去，把他对这位麦格南先生所表示的绝大兴趣说出个所以然来。但是他却没有说什么，反而转入沉思，并且他经过几分钟之久，显然把我和其他一切都完全忘到九霄云外去了。他时而伸手搔一搔他那轻柔的白发，帮助他的思路，同时让他的早餐冷掉也不管。后来他才说：“哎，忘了。我怎么也想不起了。”
“Cant call what back？”
“想不起什么事呀？”
“Its one of Hans Andersens beautiful little stories. But its gone fro me. Part of it is like this： A child has a caged bird， which it loves but thoughtlessly neglects. The bird pourspour v.灌注， 倾泻， 涌入， 流， 倾盆大雨 out its song unheard and unheeded， but， in time， hunger and thirst assail the creature， and its song grows plaintive and feeble and finally ceases—the bird dies. The child comes， and is smitten to the heart with remorse： then， with bitter tears and lamentations， it calls its mates， and they bury the bird with elaborateelaborate adj.精心制作的， 详细阐述的， 精细 vt.精心制作，详细阐述 v.详细描述 pomp and the tenderest grief， without knowing， poor things， that it isnt children only who starvestarve vt.使饿死 vi.饿得要死 poets to death and then spend enough on their funerals and monuments to have kept them alive and made them easy and comfortable. Now—”
“我说的是安徒生的一篇很妙的小故事。可是我把它忘了。这故事有一部分大致是这样的：有个小孩，他有一只养在笼子里的小鸟，他很爱它，可是又不知道当心招呼它。这鸟儿唱出歌来，可是没有人听，没有人理会；后来这个小把戏肚子也饿了，口也渴了，于是它的歌声就变得凄凉而微弱，最后终于停止了——鸟儿死了。小孩过来一看，简直伤心得要命，懊悔不及；他只好含着伤心的眼泪，唉声叹气地把他的伙伴们叫来，大家怀着极深切的悲恸，给这小鸟儿举行了隆重的葬仪，可是这些小家伙可不知道并不光是孩子们让诗人们饿死，然后花许多钱给他们办丧事和立纪念碑，这些钱如果花在他们生前，那是足够养活他们的，还可以让他们过舒服日子哩。那么……”
But here we were interrupted. About ten that evening I ran across Smith， and he asked me up to his parlourparlour n.营业室 to help him smoke and drink hot Scotch. It was a cosy place， with its comfortable chairs， its cheerful lamps， and its friendly open fire of seasoned olivewood. To make everything perfect， there was a muffled booming of the surf outside. After the second Scotch and much lazy and contented chat， Smith said： “Now we are properly primed—I to tell a curious history and you to listen to it. It has been a secret for many years—a secret between me and three others， but I am going to break the seal now. Are you comfortable？”
但是这时候我们的谈话被打断了。那天晚上十点钟左右，我又碰到斯密士，他邀我上楼去，到他的会客室里陪他抽烟，喝热的苏格兰威士忌。那个房间是个很惬意的地方，里面摆着舒适的椅子，装着喜气洋洋的灯，还有那壁炉里和善可亲的火，燃烧着干硬的橄榄木柴。再加上外面那低沉的海涛澎湃声，更使一切达到了美满的境界。我们喝完了第二杯威士忌，谈了许多随意的、称心的闲话之后，斯密士说：“现在我们喝得兴致很够了——我正好趁此讲一个稀奇的故事，你正好听我讲。这事情是个保守了多年的秘密——这秘密只有我和另外三个人知道；现在我可要拆穿这个西洋镜了。你现在兴致好吗？”
“Perfectly. Go on.”
“好极了。你往下说吧。”
Here follows what he told me：下面就是他给我说的故事：
“A long time ago I was a young artist—a very young artist， in fact—and I wandered about the country parts of France， sketching here and sketching there， and was presently joined by a couple of darling young Frenchmen who were at the same kind of thing that I was doing. We were as happy as we were poor， or as poor as we were happy—phrase it to suit yourself. Claude Frere and Carl Boulanger—these are the names of those boys； dear， dear fellows， and the sunniest spirits that ever laughed at poverty and had a noble good time in all weathers.
“多年以前，我是个年轻的画家——实在是个非常年轻的画家——我在法国的乡村随意漫游，到处写生，不久就和两个可爱的法国青年凑到一起了，他们也和我干着一样的事情。我们那股快活劲儿就像那股穷劲儿一样，也可以说，那股穷劲儿就像那股快活劲儿一样——你爱怎么说就怎么说吧。克劳德·弗雷尔和卡尔·包兰日尔——这就是那两个小伙子的名字；真是可爱的两个小伙子，太可爱了，老是兴致勃勃的，简直就和贫穷开玩笑，不管风霜雨雪，日子老是过得怪有劲的。
“At last we ran hard aground in a Breton village， and an artist as poor as ourselves took us in and literally saved us from starving—Francois Millet—”
“后来我们在一个布勒敦的乡村里，简直穷得走投无路。碰巧有一个和我们一样穷的画家把我们收留下来了，这下子可简直是救了我们的命——法朗斯瓦·米勒——”
“What！ the great Francois Millet？”
“怎么！就是那伟大的法朗斯瓦·米勒吗？”
“Great？ He wasnt any greater than we were， then. He hadnt any fame， even in his own village， and he was so poor that he hadnt anything to feed us on but turnipsturnip n.[植］萝卜，芜箐， 芜箐甘蓝， and even the turnips failed us sometimes. We four became fast friends， doting friends， inseparables. We painted away together with all our might， piling up stock， piling up stock， but very seldom getting rid of any of it. We had lovely times together， but， O my soul！ how we were pinched now and then！
“伟大？那时候他也并不见得比我们伟大到哪儿去哩。就连在他自己那个村子里，他也没有什么名气。他简直穷得不像话，除了萝卜，他就没有什么可以给我们吃的，并且连萝卜也有时候接不上气。我们四个人成了忠实可靠、互相疼爱的朋友，简直是难分难舍。我们在一起拼命地画呀画的，作品是越堆越多，越堆越多，可就是很难得卖掉一件。我们大伙儿过的日子真是痛快极了；可是，也实在可怜！我们有时候简直是受活罪！
