Rite of Spring--Arthur Miller

课文阅读

I have never understood why we keep a garden and why over 36 years ago when I bought my first house in the country, I started digging up a patch for vegetables before doing anything else. When you think how easy and cheap, relatively, it is to buy a bunch of carrots or beets, why raise them? And root crops especially are hard to tell apart, when store-bought, from our own. There is a human instinct at work here, a kind of back-breaking make-believe that has no reality. Besides, I don't particularly like eating vegetables. I'd much rather eat something juicy and fat. Like hot dogs.

Now, if you could raise hot dogs outside your window, you'd really have something you could justify without a second's hesitation. As it is, though, I cannot deny that when April comes I find myself going out to lean on the fence and look at that miserable plot of land, resolving with all my rational powers not to plant it again. But inevitably a morning arrives when, just as I am awakening, a scent wafts through the window, something like earth-as-air, a scent that seems to come up from the very center of this planet. And the sun means business, suddenly, and has a different, deeper yellow in its beams on the carpet. The birds begin screaming hysterically, thinking what I am thinking—the worms are deliciously worming their way through the melting soil.

It is not only pleasure sending me back to stare at that plot of soil, it is really conflict. The question is the same each year—what method should we use? The last few years we put 36-inch-wide black plastic between the rows, and it worked perfectly, keeping the soil moist in dry times and weed-free.

But black plastic looks so industrial, so unromantic, that I have gradually moved over to hay mulch. We cut a lot of hay and, as it rots, it does improve the soil's Composition. Besides, it looks lovely, and comes to us free.

Keeping a garden makes you aware of how delicate, bountiful, and easily ruined the surface of this little planet is. In that 50-by-70-foot patch there must be a dozen different types of soil. Tomato won't grow in one part but loves another, and the same goes for the other crops. I suppose if you loaded the soil with chemical fertilizer these differences would be less noticeable, but I use it sparingly and only in rows right where seeds are planted rather than broadcast over the whole area. I'm not sure why I do this beyond the saving in fertilizer and my unwillingness to aid the weeds.

The attractions of gardening, I think, at least for a certain number of gardeners, are neurotic and moral. Whenever life seems pointless and difficult to grasp, you can always get out in the garden and get something done. Also, your paternal or maternal instincts come into play because helpless living things are depending on you, require training and encouragement and protection from enemies. In some cases, as with beans and cucumbers, your children—as it were—begin to turn upon you in massive numbers, growing more and more each morning and threatening to follow you into the house to strangle you in their vines.

Gardening is a moral occupation, as well, because you always start in spring resolved to keep it looking neat this year, just like the pictures in the catalogues. But by July, you once again face the chaos of unthinned carrots, lettuce and beets. This is when my wife becomes—openly now—mistress of the garden. A consumer of vast quantities of vegetables, she does the thinning and hand-cultivating of the tiny plants. Squatting, she patiently moves down each row selecting which plants shall live and which she will cast aside.

At about this time, my wife's 86-year-old mother, a botanist, makes her first visit to the garden. She looks about skeptically. Her favorite task is binding the tomato plants to stakes. She is an outspoken, truthful woman, or she was until she learned better. Now, instead of saying, "You have planted the tomatoes in the damp part of the garden," she waits until October when she makes her annual trip to her home in Europe; then she gives me my good-by kiss and says casually," Tomatoes in damp soil tend more to get fungi," and walks away to her plane. But by October nothing in the garden matters, so sure am I that I will never plant it again.

I garden, I suppose, because I must. It would be intolerable to have to pass an unplanted fenced garden a few times a day. There are also certain compensations, and these must be what annually turn my mind toward all that work. There are few sights quite as beautiful as a vegetable garden glistening in the sun, all dewy and glittering with a dozen shades of green at seven in the morning. Far lovelier, in fact, than rows of hot dogs. In some pocket of the mind there may even be a tendency to change this vision into a personal reassurance that all this healthy growth, this orderliness and thrusting life must somehow reflect similar movements in one's own spirit. Without a garden to till and plant I would not know what April was for.

As it is, April is for getting irritated all over again at this pointless, time-consuming hobby. I do not understand people who claim to "love" gardening. A garden is an extension of oneself—or selves—and so it has to be an arena where striving does not cease, but continues by other means. As an example: you simply have to face the moment when you must admit that the lettuce was planted too deep or was not watered enough, cease hoping it will show itself tomorrow, and dig up the row again. But you will feel better for not standing on your dignity. And that's what gardening is all about—character building. Which is why Adam was a gardener. (And all know where it got him, too.)

But is it conceivable that the father of us all should have been a weaver, shoemaker, or anything but a gardener? Of course not. Only the gardener is capable of endlessly reviving so much hope that this year, regardless of drought, flood, typhoon, or his own stupidity, this year he is going to do it right! Leave it to God to have picked the proper occupation for his only creature capable of such self-delusion.

I suppose it should be added, for honesty's sake, that the above was written on one of the coldest days in December.

参考译文

春之祭--亚瑟.米勒

我从来都不明白我家为什么会开辟一方菜园，也不明白为什么36年前我在乡下买下有生以来的第一处房屋后，我所做的第一件事是开垦一块地来种菜。相对来说，买把胡萝卜或甜菜容易且便宜，这我是知道的，但是为什么还要种菜呢？尤其是块根蔬菜，商店里买的和自己种的并没什么区别。人的本能是想做点什么事，这是一种从祖先那里遗传来的本能，让我愿意不辞辛劳地着迷于劳作。另外，我并不是很喜欢吃蔬菜，更愿意吃多汁油腻的东西，比如热狗。

现在，如果可以在窗外种些热狗，我当然毫不犹豫地托出其正当的理由来。然而，不可否认的是，每当四月来临，我会不自觉地倚在篱笆上看着这片可怜的菜地，用尽所有理性的力量去劝说自己不要再种了。但是有个早上不可避免地来了，那天我刚醒，就闻到窗外飘进的一缕香气，空气中有种泥土的气息，这香气仿佛从地球的最核心的地方飘来。突然，太阳异样的深黄色的光照到毯子上，我感到是该种点什么的时候了。小鸟开始歇斯底里地鸣叫着，她们跟我都想到了--蚯蚓正在松散的泥土里津津有味地掘土。

我欣喜地看着这块土地，但是心里也充满了矛盾。每年的难题都一样---用什么方式种呢？前几年我用的是36寸宽的黑色塑料膜，成效不错，干旱的时候土壤仍能保持水分，不生杂草。

但是黑色塑料膜看起来太工业化、太不浪漫了，我开始慢慢用杂草来覆盖。我们收割了很多干草，干草腐烂后确实能改良土壤成分，而且看上去也很可爱，而且不用花钱。

照顾菜园可以让人意识到如何精巧、慷慨、容易地糟踏这个小星球的表面。这块50英寸宽、70英寸长的田地必须得有十几种不同的土壤。西红柿不能在只有一种土壤的田地生长，也需要别的土壤，别的作物也是这样。如果施以化肥，我想这种区别就不那么明显了，但是我用化肥很节俭，只是在播种种子的那些行列，而不是播撒在整片地里。我这样不是为了节省化肥，也不是不愿意帮助杂草，我不明白自己为什么这么做。

我觉得，至少对于一定的园艺者来说，园艺的乐趣是神经和精神方面的。不管什么时候，当你感到生活没有意义，很难把握，你就可以走进菜园做些什么；无助的生命依赖你，需要你的调理和鼓励，需要你的保护以免受敌人的攻击，这时你心中的父爱或母爱的本能就会自然流露。有时候，菜豆和黄瓜会像孩子一样，大量地出现在你面前，每天早上都会结出越来越多的果实来，跟着你、威胁着用它们的藤蔓勒着你。

园艺也是项精神性的工作，你总是从春天开始就想办法让它在这一年里都看起来干净整齐，像排列整齐的图画那样。但是到了七月，你再一次看到了热闹景象：丰腴的胡萝卜、莴苣和甜菜。这个时候，我的妻子---菜园的女主人露面了。她喜欢吃大量的蔬菜，她剔除掉多余的幼苗，用手耕作着。她耐心地蹲在那里，决定着哪棵应该长着、哪棵应该扔到一边。

大约这个时候，我妻子86岁的老母亲--一位植物学家--首次造访菜园。她怀疑地四下看看。她最喜欢做的工作就是把西红柿苗绑到木桩上。这是个直率、真诚的妇人，或者说了解

真相后是这样。这会儿，她没有说，“你们把西红柿种在菜园的潮湿处了，”她会等到十月，这时候她会开始每年一次回欧洲家乡的旅行，她会向我吻别，并不经意地说，“种在湿地的西红柿容易感染真菌，”然后走上飞机。但是直到十月菜园里一点儿问题都没有，我坚信我以后再也不会种它了。

我想，我种菜是因为我必须要这么做。每天几次都得走过荒芜的用篱笆围住的菜园，这是件难以忍受的事。做这件事是可以得到补偿的，让我每年都将注意力倾注在劳动上。早上七点钟，阳光下的菜园闪闪发光，一切都湿湿的、闪耀着，丛中一片片的荫影，没有什么场景能与之媲美。事实上，这比一排排的热狗可爱多了。内心孤独的一隅甚至用这一景象来自我安慰，所有这一切都健康地生长着，这秩序井然、蓬勃的生命一定不自觉地反映了人的内在精神。没有这么个菜园来经营、种植，我不知道四月份有什么意义。

四月意味着再一次在这种无意义又耗时的爱好上惹自己生气，我不理解那些声称“喜欢”园艺的人。菜园是一个人自我的延伸，是以别的方式奋斗不止的竞技场。比如，你必须得面对这个时刻：必须承认莴苣被种得太深，或是没有浇够水，不要希望明天它自己就会长出来的，要再挖出来才行。你会为没有鄙视体力劳动而感觉良好。这就是园艺的全部意义---性格培养。这就是为什么亚当就是一名园丁。

但是，可以想象的是，我们的祖先都曾是织工、鞋匠或其他什么的，但是，会是园丁吗？当然不会，只有园丁可以不断地唤回这么多希望，无论干旱、台风或是自己的愚蠢，今年他会做得好！把这种上帝给它唯一的创造物挑选的自欺欺人的工作留给上帝自己吧！

为诚实起见，我想应该补充的一点是，上面的文字是在12月最冷的一天写的。

词汇释义

1.patch n. 片,补绽,碎片

例句：
a patch of beans
一块豌豆田

2.store-bought adj. 店里买的,现成的

3.fence n. 围墙,剑术

例句：
Mary talked with me across the garden fence.
玛丽和我隔着花园篱笆交谈。

4.unromantic adj. 平淡无奇的, 平庸的

例句：
How will metropolis elites of the modern society stick in the mud and be willing to live unromantic living?
作为现代社会中坚力量的都市精英岂能墨守陈规、甘于平淡的生活？

5.paternal adj. 父亲的,似父亲的,得自父亲的

例句：
The employees resented the bosses' paternal attitude.
雇员们讨厌老板家长式的管理态度。

6.maternal adj. 母亲的,母系的,母方的

例句：
Your maternal instincts go deeper than you think.
你的母性本能远比你想像的强.

7.occupation n. 职业

例句：
He is a merchant in occupation.
他的职业是经商。

8.Squat v. 蹲下,坐

例句：
The old man squatted down by the fire.
老人蹲在炉火旁。

9.botanist n. 植物学家

10.glistening adj. 闪耀的(反光的)

例句：
Her eyes glistened with tears.
她眼中的泪水在闪烁。

11.tendency n. 趋势,倾向

例句：
There is a growing tendency for people to work at home instead of in offices.
人们在家里而不是在办公室里工作的趋势日益增长。

12.orderliness n. 整齐状态?

词组解释
1.dig up v.掘起, 挖出, 发现, 开垦

例句：
We dug up the rose bushes and planted some cabbages.
我们把玫瑰丛挖出来，然后种了一些卷心菜。

2.a bunch of 很多,一束

例句：
I received a bunch of red roses on my birthday.
生日那天，我收到一束红玫瑰。

3.lean on 靠在...上,倚在...上

例句：
Don't lean on the table or it'll tip up.
别倚桌子, 不然就倚倒了.

4.leave to 留某事给...处理

例句：
Leave it to me.
交给我吧。