作品原文

茅盾 《雾》

雾遮没了正对着后窗的一带山峰。

我还不知道这些山峰叫什么名儿。我来此的第一夜就看见那最高的一座山的顶巅像钻石装成的宝冕似的灯火。那时我的房里还没有电灯，每晚上在暗中默坐，凝望这半空的一片光明，使我记起了儿时所读的童话。实在的呢，这排列得很整齐的依稀分为三层的火球，衬着黑魆魆的山峰的背景，无论如何，是会引起非人间的缥缈的思想的。

但在白天看来，却就平凡得很。并排的五六个山峰，差不多高低，就只最西的一峰戴着一簇房子，其余的仅只有树；中间最大的一峰竟还有濯濯地一大块，像是癞子头上的疮疤。

现在那照例的晨雾把什么都遮没了；就是稍远的电线杆也躲得毫无影踪。

渐渐地太阳光从浓雾中钻出来了。那也是可怜的太阳呢！光是那样的淡弱。随后它也躲开，让白茫茫的浓雾吞噬了一切，包围了大地。

我诅咒这抹煞一切的雾

我自然也讨厌寒风和冰雪。但和雾比较起来，我是宁愿后者呵！寒风和冰雪的天气能够杀人，但也刺激人们活动起来奋斗。雾，雾呀，只使你苦闷，使你颓唐阑珊，像陷在烂泥淖中，满心想挣扎，可是无从着力呢！

傍午的时候，雾变成了牛毛雨，像帘子似的老是挂在窗前。两三丈以外，便只见一片烟云——依然遮抹一切，只不是雾样的罢了。没有风。门前池中的残荷梗时时忽然急剧地动摇起来，接着便有红鲤鱼的活泼泼的跳跃划破了死一样平静的水面。

我不知道红鲤鱼的轨外行动是不是为了不堪沉闷的压迫？在我呢，既然没有杲杲的太阳，便宁愿有疾风大雨，很不耐这愁雾的后身的牛毛雨老是像帘子一样挂在窗前。

作品译文

Fog
Mao Dun

The mountain peaks directly facing the back window of my room were veiled in fog.

The names of these mountain peaks are still unknown to me. The first night when I was there I had seen the top of the highest mountain shining with lights like a precious crown set with diamond. As there was no electric light in my room, all I could do in the evening was sit quietly in the dark and fix my eyes on the midair radiance, which reminded me of the fairy tales I had read in my childhood. Indeed, the orderly array of lights shining in three indistinct tiers one above another against a background of dark mountain peaks could conjure up, without fail, visions of the ethereal.

In the daytime, however, it was all prosaic. The five or six peaks forming the front row were about the same height. The westernmost one had on top a cluster of houses while the rest were topped by nothing but trees. The highest one in the middle had on it a large piece of barren land, like the scar on a favus-infected human head.

Now, as usual, the morning fog had shut out everything completely, including the not-too-distant wire poles.

Gradually, however, the sun managed to show through the dense fog. Yet how pitifully pale it looked! And soon it disappeared altogether, leaving the white thick fog to engulf everything and shroud mother earth.
I hate the all-obliterating fog!

Of course I hate biting wind and icy snow too. But when they are compared with fog, I would rather have the former than the latter! Though biting wind and icy snow sometimes be a killer, yet they can also spur people on to greater efforts. O you fog! You plunge us into a state of depression and dejection, from which we struggle in vain to extricate ourselves as if we were bogged down in a mire.

About noon the fog turned into a fine misty rain like a curtain hanging still at the window. Some 30 feet away, a cloud of misty vapor prevailed, blotting out everything. The air was windless. Every now and then, the withered lotus stems in the pond in front of my door gave a sudden violent jerk as a red carp was seen splashing briskly out of the water to break the death-like silence.

I wonder if the red carp’s aberration was due to its impatience with the unbearably oppressive status quo. As for me, failing a bright sunshine, I would rather have a violent storm. I cannot endure the fine misty rain which came in the wake of the gloomy fog to linger like a curtain hanging still at the window.