第7章 On the River 在河上

I had rented, last summer, a little country house on the banks of the Seine a few miles from Paris, and I used to go down there every night to sleep. In a few days I made the acquaintance of one of my neighbours, a man between thirty and forty, who was certainly the most curious type that I had ever met. He was an old rowing man, crazy about rowing, always near the water, always on the water, always in the water. He must have been born in a boot, and he would certainly die in a boot at last.

One night, while we were walking together along the Seine, I asked him to tell some stories about his life upon the river; and at that the good man suddenly became animated, transfigured, eloquent, almost poetical! In his heart there was one great passion, devouring and irresistible—the river.

“Ah!” said he to me, “how many memories I have of that river which is flowing there beside us. You people who live in streets, you don't know what the river is. But just listen to a fisherman simply pronouncing the word. For him it is the thing mysterious, the thing profound, unknown, the country of mirage and of phantasmagoria, where one sees, at night, things which do not exist, where one hears strange noises, where one trembles causelessly, as though crossing a graveyard. And it is, indeed, the most sinister of graveyards—a graveyard where are no tombstones.

“To the fisherman the land seems limited, but of dark nights, when there is no moon, the river seems limitless. Sailors have no such feeling for the sea. Hard she often is and wicked, the great Sea; but she cries, she shouts, she deals with you fairly, while the river is silent and treacherous. It never even mutters, it flows ever noiselessly, and this eternal flowing movement of water terrifies me far more than the high seas of ocean.

“Dreamers pretend that the Sea hides in her breast great blue regions where drowned men roll to and fro among the huge fish, in the midst of strange forests and in crystal grottos. The river has only black depths, where one rots in the slime. For all that it is beautiful when it glitters in the rising sun or swashes softly along between its banks where the reeds murmur.

“The poet says of the ocean:

“‘O seas, you know sad stories! Deep seas, feared by kneeling mothers, you tell the stories to one another at flood tides! And that is why you have such despairing voices when at night you come towards us nearer and nearer.’

“Well, I think that the stories murmured by the slender reeds with their little soft voices must be yet more sinister than the gloomy dramas told by the howling of the high seas.

“But, since you ask for some of my recollections, I will tell you a curious adventure which I had here about ten years ago.

“I then lived, as I still do, in the house of the old lady Lafon, and one of my best chums, Louis Bernet, who has now given up for the Civil Service his oars, his low shoes, and his sleeveless jersey, lived in the village of C—, two leagues farther down. We dined together every day—sometimes at his place, sometimes at mine.

“One evening as I was returning home alone and rather tired, wearily pulling my heavy boat, a twelve-footer, which I always used at night, I stopped a few seconds to take breath near the point where so many reeds grow, down that way, about two hundred meters before you come to the railroad bridge. It was a beautiful night; the moon was resplendent, the river glittered, the air was calm and soft. The tranquility of it all tempted me; I said to myself that to smoke a pipe just here would be extremely nice. Action followed upon the thought; I seized my anchor and threw it into the stream.

“The boat, which floated down again with the current, pulled the chain out to its full length, then stopped; and I seated myself in the stern on a sheepskin, as comfortable as possible. One heard no sound—no sound; only sometimes I thought I was aware of a low, almost insensible lapping of the water along the bank, and I made out some groups of reeds which, taller than their fellows, took on surprising shapes, and seemed from time to time to stir.

“The river was perfectly still, but I felt myself moved by the extraordinary silence which surrounded me. All the animals—the frogs and toads, those nocturnal singers of the marshes—were silent. Suddenly on my right, near me, a frog croaked; I started; it was silent; I heard nothing more, and I resolved to smoke a little by way of a distraction. But though I am, so to speak, a regular blackener of pipes, I could not smoke that night; after the second puff I sickened of it, and I stopped. I began to hum a tune; the sound of my voice was painful to me; so I stretched myself out in the bottom of the boat and contemplated the sky. For some time I remained quiet, but soon the slight movements of the boat began to make me uneasy. I thought that it was yawing tremendously, striking now this bank of the stream, and now that; then I thought that some Being or some invisible force was dragging it down gently to the bottom of the water, and then was lifting it up simply to let it fall again. I was tossed about as though in the midst of a storm; I heard noises all around me; with a sudden a sudden start I sat upright; the water sparkled, everything was calm.

“I saw that my nerves were unsettled, and I decided to go. I pulled in the chain; the boat moved; then I was conscious of resistance; I pulled harder; the anchor did not come up, it had caught on something at the bottom of the river and I could not lift it. I pulled again—in vain. With my oars I got the boat round up-stream in order to change the position of the anchor. It was no use; the anchor was still held. I grew angry, and in a rage I shook the chain. Nothing moved. There was no hope of breaking the chain, or of getting it loose from my craft, because it was very heavy, and riveted at the bow into a bar of wood thicker than my arm; but since the weather continued fine, I reflected that I should not have to wait long before meeting some fisherman, who would come to my rescue. My mishap had calmed me; I sat down, and I was now able to smoke my pipe. I had a flask of brandy with me;I drank two or three glasses, and my situation made me laugh. It was very hot, so that, if needs must, I could pass the night under the stars without inconvenience.

“Suddenly a little knock sounded against the side. I started, and a cold perspiration froze me from head to foot. The noise came, no doubt, from some bit of wood drawn along by the current, but it was enough, and I felt myself again overpowered by a strange nervous agitation. I seized the chain, and I stiffened myself in a desperate effort. The anchor held. I sat down exhausted.

“But, little by little, the river had covered itself with a very thick white mist, which crept low over the water, so that, standing up, I could no longer see either the stream or my feet or my boat, and saw only the tips of the reeds, and then, beyond them, the plain, all pale in the moonlight, and with great black stains which rose towards heaven, and which were made by clumps of Italian poplars. I was as though wrapped to the waist in a cotton sheet of a strange whiteness, and there began to come to me weird imaginations. I imagined that some one was trying to climb into my boat, since I could no longer see it, and that the river, hidden by this opaque mist, must be full of strange creatures swimming about me. I experienced a horrible uneasiness, I had a tightening at the temples, my heart beat to suffocation; and, losing my head, I thought of escaping by swimming; then in an instant the very idea made me shiver with fright. I saw myself lost, drifting hither and thither in this impenetrable mist, struggling among the long grass and the reeds which I should not be able to avoid, with a rattle in my throat from fear, not seeing the shore, not finding my boat. And it seemed to me as though I felt myself being drawn by the feet down to the bottom of this black water.

“In fact, since I should have had to swim up stream at least five hundred meters before finding a point clear of rushes and reeds, where I could get a footing, there were nine chances to one that, however good a swimmer I might be, I should lose my bearings in the fog and drown.

“I tried to reason with myself. I realized that my will was firmly enough resolved against fear; but there was something in me beside my will, and it was this which felt afraid. I asked myself what it could be that I dreaded; that part of me which was courageous railed at that part of me which was cowardly; and I never had comprehended so well before the opposition between those two beings which exist within us, the one willing, the other resisting, and each in turn getting the mastery.

“This stupid and inexplicable fear grew until it became terror. I remained motionless, my eyes wide open, with a strained and expectant ear. Expecting—what? I did not know save that it would be something terrible. I believe that if a fish, as often happens, had taken it into his head to jump out of the water, it would have needed only that to make me fall stark on my back into a faint.

“And yet, finally, by a violent effort, I very nearly recovered the reason which had been escaping me. I again took my brandy-flask, and out of it I drank great draughts. Then an idea struck me, and I began to shout with all my might, turning in succession towards all four quarters of the horizon. When my throat was completely paralyzed, I listened. A dog howled, a long way off.

“Again I drank; and I lay down on my back in the bottom of the boat. So I remained for one hour, perhaps for two, sleepless, my eyes wide-open, with nightmares all about me. I did not dare to sit up, and yet I had a wild desire to do so; I kept putting it off from minute to minute. I would say to myself: ‘Come! Get up! ' and I was afraid to make a movement. At last I raised myself with infinite precaution, as if life depended on my making not the slightest sound, and I peered over the edge of the boat.

“I was dazzled by the most marvelous, the most astonishing spectacle that it can be possible to see. It was one of those phantasmagoria from fairy-land; it was one of those visions described by travelers returned out of far countries, and which we hear without believing.

“The mist, which two hours before was floating over the water, had gradually withdrawn and piled itself upon the banks. Leaving the river absolutely clear, it had formed, along each shore, long low hills about six or seven meters high, which glittered under the moon with the brilliancy of snow, so that one saw nothing except this river of fire coming down these two white mountains; and there, high above my head, a great, luminous moon, full and large, displayed herself upon a blue and milky sky.

“All the denizens of the water had awaked; the bullfrogs croaked furiously, while, from instant to instant, now on my right, now on my left, I heard those short, mournful, monotonous notes which the brassy voices of the marsh-frogs give forth to the stars. Strangely enough, I was no longer afraid; I was in the midst of such an extraordinary landscape that the most curious things could not have astonished me.

“How long the sight lasted I do not know, because at last I had grown drowsy. When I again opened my eyes the moon had set, the heaven was full of clouds. The water lashed mournfully, the wind whispered, it grew cold, the darkness was profound.

“I drank all the brandy I had left; then I listened shiveringly to the rustling of the reeds and to the sinister noise of the river. I tried to see, but I could not make out the boat nor even my own hands, though I raised them close to my eyes.

“However, little by little the density of the blackness diminished. Suddenly I thought I felt a shadow slipping along near by me; I uttered a cry; a voice replied—it was a fisherman. I hailed him; he approached, and I told him of my mishap. He pulled his boat alongside, and both together we heaved at the chain. The anchor did not budge. The day came on—somber, gray, rainy, cold—one of those days which bring always a sorrow and a misfortune. I made out another craft; we hailed it. The man aboard of it joined his efforts to ours, then, little by little, the anchor yielded. It came up, but slowly, slowly, and weighted down by something very heavy. At last we perceived a black mass, and we pulled it alongside.

“It was the corpse of an old woman with a great stone round her neck.”

去年夏天，我租了一间乡下小房子—房子位于距离巴黎几英里的塞纳河的河岸上。我常常每天夜里去那里睡觉，不到几天就结识了一个邻居——一个三四十岁的男子，他无疑是我见过的最好奇的那种人。他是一名老船工，对划船非常痴迷，始终是不在水边，就在水上，要么是在水里。他一定是出生在一条船里，而且最终必定是死在一条船里。

一天夜里，当我们沿着塞纳河一起散步时，我请他告诉我他在河上生活的一些故事。听了我的话，这个不错的人顿时来了精神，像变了一个人似的，口若悬河，滔滔不绝，简直具有诗人的气质！他心中有一股巨大的热情，一股吞没一切、无法抗拒的激情——那就是这条河。

“啊！”他对我说，“我对在我们身边流淌的这条河有多少回忆啊！你们这些生活在城市的人，不知道河是什么。请听一个打鱼人简单说说这个词吧。对他来说，它就是神秘的事物，这东西深奥莫测，不为人知，是虚幻缥缈、变化无常的地方。在那里，一个人夜里会看到不存在的东西；在那里，一个人会听到奇怪的声音；在那里，一个人会无缘无故地颤抖，就像穿过一座坟墓那样。而它的确是最凶险的坟墓——一个没有墓碑的坟墓。

“对打鱼人来说，陆地好像是有限的。但是，在没有月亮的黑夜，河流似乎是无限的。水手们对大海没有这样的感觉。大海，尽管她常常冷酷无情又邪恶，但她叫，她喊，她公平待你；而这河却寂静无声，充满了危险，甚至从不喃喃自语，流淌起来也从来是无声无息。永远流淌不息的河水要比激情澎湃的海洋使我恐惧得多。

“空想家们佯称大海将巨大的蓝色区域藏在她的怀里，那里淹死的男人们在巨大的鱼中、在奇异的森林里和水晶宫里中翻来滚去。河流反而有凶恶的深渊，一个人会在那里的淤泥里沤烂。虽然如此，但它在升起的阳光下波光粼粼，或者轻轻地荡漾在沙沙作响的芦苇岸之间，漂亮极了。

“诗人赞扬大海说：

“‘噢，大海，你经历了如此多忧伤的故事！深沉的大海啊，你让下跪的母亲们畏惧，每逢涨潮，你就对另一个人述说这些故事！这就是夜晚你走向我们靠得越来越近时你会有那样绝望声音的原因。’

“噢，我想，河岸上那些纤细修长的芦苇，用细小轻柔的喃喃声娓娓道出的故事，一定比公海咆哮着演讲的悲伤故事险恶得多。

“不过，既然你要求听我的一些回忆，我将告诉你一次稀罕的冒险经历，那是大约十年前我经历的事儿。

“那时，像现在一样，我住在拉芳老太太的房子里。我最要好的朋友路易斯·伯内特——他现在已经放弃给国民服务社提供船桨、短帮胶鞋和无袖运动衫了——当时住两里格远一个叫C的村子里。我们每天都在一起吃饭——有时在他那里，有时在我这里。

“一天傍晚，我独自回家，相当累，疲惫地拖着我那条沉重的船，那是一条十二英尺长的船，我夜里总是用它。我停了几秒钟，歇了口气。那附近长着许许多多芦苇，沿着那条路走到铁路桥大约有两百米。那是一个美丽的夜晚；月光如华，河水闪闪发亮，空气平静柔和。河的那种宁静完全吸引了我；我对自己说，在这里抽袋烟必定非常惬意。一想到就立马行动；我抓起锚，将它抛进了水流里。

“那条船再次顺流而下，将锚链拉到最大长度，停了下来。我尽可能舒服地在船尾的一张羊皮上坐下来。什么声音也听不到——一点声音都没有；只是偶尔我想我能感觉到河水拍打河岸那种几乎察觉不到的微弱声响，能辨认出几丛形态怪异的芦苇，好像在不时地摇曳摆动，这些芦苇要比其他芦苇高。

“河一片寂静，但我感到自己被这种包围在自己四周的异常寂静打动了。所有动物——青蛙和蟾蜍，沼泽里的夜间歌手——都悄无声息。突然，在我右边不远处，一只青蛙呱地叫了一声；我吓了一跳；它静下来；我再也没有听到什么声音。我决定抽点烟，分散一下自己的注意力。尽管可以说我是一个十足的烟鬼，但那天夜里，我抽不进去；抽过第二口，我就感到恶心，便停住，哼起了曲子；嗓音使我厌烦；于是，我舒展身体躺在船底，凝望起天空。我静静地躺了一段时间，但很快船微微晃动，使我心神不安起来。我以为那是船在颤动，现在不时地拍打河岸；接着，我想某个人或某种看不见的力量在把它向下拉着，轻轻地把它拉到水底，然后又把它托起，再让它落下。我被颠来颠去，就像在暴风雨中那样；我听到四周到处都是声音，猛地一惊，坐直身体；河水闪动，一切都静了下来。

“我看到自己心神不宁，就决定离开。我慢慢地收进锚链；船动了；随后，我意识到了阻力，就加把劲拉。锚没有上来，挂在了河底的某个东西上，我拽不起来，又拉了一次还是无济于事。我用船桨让船转向上游，以便改变锚的位置。那也不顶用；锚仍紧紧地卡在那里。我气愤不已，狂怒地摇晃锚链，它依然纹丝不动。我没有希望挣断锚链，也没有希望把它从我的船上松开，因为它很沉，并铆接在船头一根比我的胳膊还粗的木杠上；不过，既然天气仍然很好，我想不会等很久，就会有某个打鱼人来救我。这个不幸事故使我镇静了下来；我坐下来，此刻也能抽进烟了。我随身带有一瓶白兰地，喝了两三杯，当时的处境使我发笑。天很热，如有必要，我就可以在星空下过夜，没有什么不便。

“突然，船舷侧面响起了一小声敲击。我吃了一惊，从头到脚出了一身冷汗。响声毫无疑问来自某块被水流冲来的木头，但那已足够了，我感到自己再次被一种莫名其妙的焦虑不安牢牢占据了。我飞快地抓起锚链，拼尽全力，绷直身体。还是一动不动。我筋疲力尽，坐了下来。

“但是，渐渐地，河上铺起了一层厚厚的白雾，慢慢地向水面漂浮下来。即使我站起来，无论水流，还是我的两只脚或船都已不可见，只能看到芦苇梢；再往芦苇那边，平展的水面在月光下一片惨白，只有几大块黑色颜料般的东西向天空耸立着——那是意大利白杨树丛的身影。我好像被裹在一个齐腰深、格外白的棉布单里。由此，奇异的想象袭上了我的心头。我想象到某个人正在设法爬进我的船，因为我不再能看得到船，我还想象到，被混沌的雾遮盖的河中一定在我身边游满了好多奇怪的动物。我体验到了一种可怕的不安，太阳穴发紧，跳得几近窒息；我不知所措，想到了游着逃开。随即，这个特别的想法吓得我不由颤抖。我看到自己迷了路，在这浓不可透的雾中随波逐流，在深草和芦苇中挣扎，就是难以脱身，恐惧得喉咙发出了咯咯声，看不到河岸，也找不到自己的船，感觉自己好像被拽住脚拽向了漆黑的河底。

“事实上，既然我必须得向上游游至少五百米，然后才能摆脱灯心草和芦苇，找到一个落脚点，那我只有九分之一的希望，无论我可能游得多么好，我都会在雾水茫茫中迷失方向，最后被淹死。

“我尽力说服自己。我了解自己意志坚定，足以抵制恐惧；但是，我内心的这种东西与意志无关，而正是那个让人感到害怕。我问自己害怕的可能是什么；我的勇敢严厉责骂我的懦弱；之前，我对人的两面性从来没有理解得这样透彻：一边心甘情愿，一边又去对抗，轮番占据上风。

“这种难以名状的愚蠢恐惧渐渐地变成了恐怖。我保持一动不动，两只眼睛瞪得溜圆，满含期待地紧张倾听。期待——什么呢？我不知道，只知道会是可怕的东西。我相信，即使一条鱼突发奇想从水里跳出来，这种情况虽然时有发生，也必定会让我仰面倒地晕过去。

“然而，最后我猛一使劲，好不容易才算恢复了被遗忘的理智。我又一次拿出白兰地酒瓶，大口大口地喝了一通。我突然有了主意，开始拼命大声喊叫，相继朝着地平线的四个方向，直喊得喉咙完全喊不声来，我侧耳倾听。有一条狗叫，离得好远好远。

“我又喝了一口，随后在船底仰躺下来，就那样躺了一个小时，也许两个小时，没有睡觉，眼睛瞪得大大的，四周到处都是可怕的东西。我不敢坐起来。可是，我非常想坐起来；我拖了一分钟又一分钟，一直都没有坐起来。我总是在对自己说：‘快点！起来！’不过，我就是不敢动。最后，我小心翼翼地抬起身体，好像发出哪怕最细微的声响就会丧命似的。隔着船的边缘，我小心窥探，越过船边望出去。

“眼前出现的可能是我见过的最神奇、最惊人的景象，我眼花缭乱。那是童话王国里才有的虚幻东西；那是旅行者从遥远的国度回来后描述的景象，我们只听不信的情景。

“两小时前漂浮在水面上的雾已经渐渐退去，聚积在了河岸上。河面已经完全清晰明朗，雾沿河两岸形成了大约六七米高的连绵小山，在月光下闪着雪一般的光辉，人只看到这条顺着两座白山而来的亮闪闪的河；一轮又圆又大的明月悬在我的头上，呈现在乳蓝色的天空上。

“水中所有的居民都已经苏醒了；牛蛙呱呱狂叫着；与此同时，我听到沼泽里青蛙迎着繁星发出的铜管乐般的叫声，那叫声忽左忽右，旋律短促、哀婉、单调。奇怪得很，我不再害怕了；置身于这般奇特的美景，再稀奇古怪的事儿也难以让我惊讶。

“那景象持续了多长时间我不知道，因为最后我渐渐昏昏欲睡。当我再次睁开眼睛时，月亮已经落下，天空乌云密布。河水呜咽翻滚，风儿飒飒作响，天冷了起来，黑沉沉的。

“我把剩下的白兰地一饮而尽；我瑟瑟发抖，聆听着芦苇的沙沙声和河水汹涌的咆哮声。我努力去看，却分辨不出自己的船，即使我将手举到眼前，甚至也看不清自己的双手。

“不过，渐渐地，黑得不是那么浓了。突然，我感到一个阴影悄悄地向我滑近；我发出了一声叫喊；一个声音做出了回答——是一个打鱼人。我招呼他；他靠上前来，我把自己的不幸遭遇告诉了他。他将自己的船划过来和我的船并排，我们俩一起拽那根锚链。锚还是一动不动。天空渐渐变得昏沉沉、灰蒙蒙、雨淋淋、冷飕飕——这种天气总是给人带来悲哀和不幸。我又看到了一条船；我们赶忙招呼。船上的男子也加入进来，跟我们一起用劲；渐渐地，锚松动了。锚被拽得升了上来，但很慢很慢，而且被某种的东西往下坠着。最后，我们发觉是一团黑黑的东西，我们把它拽到跟前。

“是一个老女人的尸体，脖子上绑着一块大石头。”