瓦尔泽作品

罗伯特·瓦尔泽（Robert Walser，1878-1956），瑞士著名作家、诗人，20世纪德语文学大师。他生于比尔，14岁时放弃学业，转而学习会计学，还试图成为演员，但未成功，后来先后当过职员、助理图书管理员和书商，1905年移居柏林，1913年回到瑞士后患上精神疾病，此后长期住在精神病院，直至去世。其作品主要有小说《唐纳兄妹》（1906）、《助手》（1908）、《雅各布·冯·贡滕》（1909）等，还有若干散文集。尽管他的作品影响过卡夫卡、穆齐尔和卡内蒂等人，但他对德语文学的贡献长期被低估忽视，因此，有评论家认为他是“克莱斯特和卡夫卡之间缺失的那一环”。

秋日午后

我还记得我曾经度过的一个美丽的下午。我嘴里舒适地衔着半截雪茄走过乡间。阳光照耀在那个绿色的地区上面。田野上，男人、儿童和女人们在劳动，我的左侧，一条金色的运河淙淙流淌;我的右侧，我看见了一片农田。我磨磨蹭蹭地前行。一辆面包房的送货车飞也似的轰鸣而过。奇怪的是，我如此清晰地回想起每一个细节，仿佛那是财宝。我的记忆中肯定有强大的力量，我如此幸福。记忆就是生命。然后，我继续前行，经过很多座让人颇为兴奋的富裕的农舍。一个农妇嘘住她那只想冲着步行而过的陌生路人吠叫的狗。令人愉快的是，安静而悠然地走过这片土地上，接受严肃、健壮的乡下妇女友好的问候。这样的问候就像不朽的念头，对人有益。当人们相互善待，一个天堂就会打开。这个下午，还有即将来临的黄昏的太阳，把清澈的爱和奇想的黄金洒在这条路上，使得它闪发出淡淡的红色。万物上面都有一点点蓝紫色，但那只是一种微弱、几乎看不见的色泽。联想，没有那种要去抓住的粗壮如手指的东西，却四处摸索，就像一种不祥的闪烁、声调、感觉，在那个看得见和看不见的整体之上盘旋。我路过一家客栈，没有进去，我认为自己以后可以进入。我迈着舒舒服服的步子，闲庭信步，很像是平静、温和的牧师，或教师，或信使。很多人类的眼睛好奇地看着我，以便解密我可能是谁。在奇妙地回响的乡间，一切都变得越来越美。每一步都在引进另一种美好的事物。仿佛我在写作、做梦、幻想。一个苍白、美丽、黑眼睛的农家少女，面庞被太阳美好地晒黑，用闪烁在眼里的神秘魅力探询地看着我，道了声“晚上好”。我回应她的问候，继续前行，进入一个果园，那里密集地悬晃着乐园的红色和金色果实。透过叶片的深绿色，黄昏的太阳奇妙地照亮那些美丽的苹果，翠绿的田野上空，温暖、轻快、和谐的钟声响起。对面，在那延伸到下面银色的运河边的葱翠草甸上，那些褐色、白色和黑色的壮丽的牛，一群群到处躺着、站着。我看不够那里的一切景象，也听不够那里的一切声音。视觉和听觉汇集成一种快乐，整个宽阔的绿色和金色的风景回响——钟声、枞树林、动物、人们。这就像一位大师用魔法变幻出来的油画。山毛榉林子呈现出褐色和黄色，绿色、黄色、红色和蓝色创造出音乐。色彩流淌成声音，而声音逗弄那些美丽得神圣的色彩，就像男朋友逗弄温柔的女朋友，就像男神逗弄女神。在浅蓝色下面与绿色和褐色之间，我仅仅缓慢地前行，天色逐渐暗了下来。几个牧羊的男孩走向我，想知道几点钟了。随后，在村里，我经过一座古老而庄重的教区长的大住宅。有人在那座房子里面歌唱、弹奏。那些声音令人十分愉快，至少我这么想象。在黄昏静悄悄地散步时，多么容易想象美好的事物。一个小时后就是夜晚了，天空闪烁着黑色。月亮和星星显出。

AUTUMN AFTERNOON

I remember a beautiful afternoon I once had. I walked over the country with the stump of a cigar snug in my mouth. Sunlight beamed over the green region. In the fields men， children， and women were working; on my left flowed a golden canal and on my right I had a view of farmland. I dawdled along. A bakery truck blasted past. It’s strange that I recall so clearly every detail as if it were a treasure. There must be a great strength within my memory， I’m so happy. Memories are life. Then I continued on past many considerably cheerful and prosperous farmhouses; a farm woman shushed her dog that had the idea of barking at the strange pedestrian passing by. It’s delightful to walk quietly and leisurely over the land and be greeted friendlily by solemn， sturdy country women. Such a greeting does one good， like the thought of immortality. A heaven opens when people are kind to one another. The afternoon and soon evening sun strew liquid love and fantasy gold over the road， and it glowed reddish. On everything was a touch of violet， but only a delicate， barely visible tint. A suggestion has nothing as thick as a finger to grip， but gropes around and hovers just above the visible and invisible totality as an ominous shimmer， tone， sensation. I went by a tavern without entering; I thought I might do that later. At a comfortable pace I strolled on， not unlike a calm， gentle pastor or teacher or messenger. Many a human eye looked upon me curiously in order to unriddle who I might be. In the wonderfully resounding countryside， everything became more and more beautiful. Each step led into another loveliness. It was as if I were writing， dreaming， fantasizing. A pale， beautiful， dark-eyed farm girl， whose face had been sweetly tanned by the sun， looked at me questioningly with the sparkling dark magic of her eyes and said good evening. I returned her greeting and went on into an orchard whose trees thickly dangled with the red and golden fruit of paradise. Through the dark green of the leaves the beautiful apples were wonderfully lit by the evening sun， and over the verdant fields rang the warm buoyant chiming of bells. Magnificent cows， brown， white， and black， lay and stood about in graceful groups scattered across lush meadows stretching down to a silver canal. I didn’t have eyes enough to look at all there was to see， nor ears enough to hear it all. Looking and hearing joined to make one pleasure， the entire wide green and golden landscape resounded—the bells， the fir forest， the animals， and the people. It was like a painting conjured up by one of the masters. The beech forest was brown and yellow; the green and the yellow and the red and the blue made music. Colors flowed into sound， and sound played with the divinely beautiful colors like boyfriends with sweet girlfriends， like gods with goddesses. I walked forward only slowly under the light blue and between the green and brown， and gradually it turned dark. Several shepherd boys came up to me wanting to know the time. Later， in the village， I went past an old， large， venerable rectory. Someone was singing and playing in the house. They were glorious sounds， at least so I imagined. How easy it is to imagine something beautiful on a quiet evening walk. An hour later it was night， the sky glittered black. Moon and stars came out.