The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas中英对照

The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city Omelas, bright-towered by the sea. The rigging of the boats in harbor sparkled with flags. In the streets between houses with red roofs and painted walls, between old moss-grown gardens and under avenues of trees, past great parks and public buildings, processions moved. Some were decorous: old people in long stiff robes of mauve and grey, grave master workmen, quiet, merry women carrying their babies and chatting as they walked. In other streets the music beat faster, a shimmering of gong and tambourine, and the people went dancing, the procession was a dance. Children dodged in and out, their high calls rising like the swallows’ crossing flights over the music and the singing. All the processions wound towards the north side of the city, where on the great water-meadow called the Green Fields boys and girls, naked in the bright air, with mud-stained feet and ankles and long, lithe arms, exercised their restive horses before the race. The horses wore no gear at all but a halter without bit. Their manes were braided with streamers of silver, gold, and green. They flared their nostrils and pranced and boasted to one another; they were vastly excited, the horse being the only animal who has adopted our ceremonies as his own. Far off to the north and west the mountains stood up half encircling Omelas on her bay. The air of morning was so clear that the snow still crowning the Eighteen Peaks burned with white-gold fire across the miles of sunlit air, under the dark blue of the sky. There was just enough wind to make the banners that marked the racecourse snap and flutter now and then. In the silence of the broad green meadows one could hear the music winding through the city streets, farther and nearer and ever approaching, a cheerful faint sweetness of the air that from time to time trembled and gathered together and broke out into the great joyous clanging of the bells. 随着一阵响彻云霄的钟声的敲响,一群燕子惊得展翅高翔,白塔映日的海滨城市奥米勒斯迎来了她的夏庆节。港湾里停泊的船只的缆索上都飘扬着鲜艳夺目的彩旗。市区的大街小巷上,一支支游行队伍穿过街道两旁那一排排红顶彩漆墙面的房屋,穿过一座座长满青苔的古老庭园,走过一条条林荫大道,一座座公园和公共建筑,迤逦而行。游行队伍有的显得十分文雅庄重,其参加者或是一些身着紫衣灰袍的老者,或是一些沉郁肃穆的工人师傅,或是一些文文静静、欢欢喜喜的妇女,她们抱着孩子,边走边聊天。另外一些游行队伍的情形却迥然不同:那儿奏着欢快的音乐,锣鼓喧天,游行的人们一路上载歌载舞。成群的小孩在队伍中兴高采烈地穿来穿去,他们的欢叫声像高翔于空中的燕子的呜叫声一样,盖过游行队伍的鼓乐声和歌唱声。所有游行队伍都沿着蜿蜒曲折的街道迤逦向北行进,来到一个称作绿野的大草坪上。草坪上早有一些光着身子、脚踝沾满泥巴、手臂长大而灵活的青年男女在那儿对他们的劣马进行赛前训练。那些马都没有上鞍具,只套了一根不带嚼子的缰绳。马的鬃毛上扎着一些银色、金色和绿色饰带。那些马都扬着鼻子,欢腾跳跃相互炫耀;它们都兴奋异常,因为马是唯一将人的喜庆活动看作自己的喜庆活动的动物。城外较远处,环绕奥米勒斯西面和北面的是一道半圆形的山脉。早晨的天空晴明如镜,湛蓝的天幕下积雪未化的十八座峰顶上,白雪映着阳光,犹如燃烧的火焰,发出冲天的金光。赛马跑道上插着的彩旗在微风吹拂下呼啦啦地飘摆。置身于一片寂静的大草坪上,人们就可以听到城区街道上的鼓乐声由远及近,犹如阵阵醉人的香风迎面扑来。鼓乐声时而微弱下去,时而响亮起来,直至最后融入一片欢乐喧闹的钟声之中。Joyous! How is one to tell about joy? How describe the citizens of Omelas? They were not simple folk, you see, though they were happy. But we do not say the words of cheer much any more. All smiles have become archaic. Given a description such as this one tends to make certain assumptions. Given a description such as this one tends to look next for the King, mounted on a splendid stallion and surrounded by his noble knights, or perhaps in a golden litter borne by great-muscled slaves. But there was no king. They did not use swords, or keep slaves. They were not barbarians. I do not know the rules and laws of their society, but I suspect that they were singularly few. As they did without monarchy and slavery, so they also got on without the stock exchange, the advertisement, the secret police, and the bomb. Yet I repeat that these were not simple folk, not dulcet shepherds, noble savages, bland utopians. They were not less complex than us. The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can’t

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