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Robert Louis Stevenson
The changes wrought by death are in themselves so sharp and final，and so terrible and melancholy in their consequences，that the thing stands alone in man's experience，and has no parallel upon earth. It outdoes all other accidents because it is the last of them.Sometimes it leaps suddenly upon its victims，like a thug；sometimes it lays a regular siege and creeps upon their citadel during a score of years.And when the business is done，there is sore havoc made in other people's lives，and a pin knocked out by which many subsidiary friendships hung together.There are empty chairs，solitary walks，and single beds at night. Again，in taking away our friends，death does not take them away utterly，but leaves behind a mocking，tragical，and soon intolerable residue，which must be hurriedly concealed.Hence a whole chapter of sights and customs striking to the mind，from the pyramids of Egypt to the gibbets and dule trees ② of mediæval Europe.The poorest persons have a bit of pageant going towards the tomb；memorial stones are set up over the least memorable；and，in order to preserve some show of respect for what remains of our old loves and friendships，we must accompany it with much grimly ludicrous ceremonial，and the hired undertaker parades before the door. All this，and much more of the same sort，accompanied by the eloquence of poets，has gone a great way to put humanity in error；nay，in many philosophies the error has been embodied and laid down with every circumstance of logic；although in real life the bustle and swiftness，in leaving people little time to think，have not left them time enough to go dangerously wrong in practice.
As a matter of fact，although few things are spoken of with more fearful whisperings than this prospect of death，few have less influence on conduct under healthy circumstances. We have all heard of cities in South America built upon the side of fiery mountains，and how，even in this tremendous neighborhood，the inhabitants are not a jot more impressed by the solemnity of mortal conditions than if they were delving gardens in the greenest corner of England. There are serenades and suppers and much gallantry among the myrtles overhead；and meanwhile the foundation shudders underfoot，the bowels of the mountain growl，and at any moment living ruin may leap sky-high into the moonlight，and tumble man and his merry-making in the dust. In the eyes of very young people，and very dull old ones， ③ there is something indescribably reckless and desperate in such a picture. It seems not credible that respectable married people，with umbrellas，should find appetite for a bit of supper within quite a long distance of a fiery mountain；ordinary life begins to smell of high-handed debauch when it is carried on so close to a catastrophe；and even cheese and salad，it seems，could hardly be relished in such circumstances without something like a defiance of the Creator. It should be a place for nobody but hermits dwelling in prayer and maceration，or mere born-devils drowning care in a perpetual carouse.
And yet，when one comes to think upon it calmly，the situation of these South American citizens forms only a very pale figure for the state of ordinary mankind. This world itself，travelling blindly and swiftly in over-crowded space，among a million other worlds travelling blindly and swiftly in contrary directions，may very well come by a knock that would set it into explosion like a penny squib. And what，pathologically looked at，is the human body with all its organs，but a mere bagful of petards？The least of these is as dangerous to the whole economy ④ as the ship's powder-magazine to the ship；and with every breath we breathe，and every meal we eat，we are putting one or more of them in peril. If we clung as devotedly as some philosophers pretend we do to the abstract idea of life，or were half as frightened as they make out we are，for the subversive accident that ends it all，the trumpets might sound by the hour and no one would follow them into battle — the blue-peter might fly at the truck ⑤ ，but who would climb into a sea-going ship？ ⑥ Think （if these philosophers were right）with what a preparation of spirit we should affront the daily peril of the dinner-table；a deadlier spot than any battle-field in history，where the far greater proportion of our ancestors have miserably left their bones！What woman would ever be lured into marriage，so much more dangerous than the wildest sea？And what would it be to grow old？For，after a certain distance，every step we take in life we find the ice growing thinner below our feet，and all around us and behind us we see our contemporaries going through. By the time a man gets well into the seventies，his continued existence is a mere miracle；and when he lays his old bones in bed for the night，there is an overwhelming probability that he will never see the day. Do the old men mind it，as a matter of fact？Why，no. They were never merrier；they have their grog at night，and tell the raciest stories；they hear of the death of people about their own age，or even younger，not as if it was a grisly warning，but with a simple childlike pleasure at having outlived some one else；and when a draught might puff them out like a guttering candle，or a bit of a stumble shatter them like so much glass，their old hearts keep sound and unaffrighted，and they go on，bubbling with laughter，through years of man's age compared to which the valley at Balaclava ⑦ was as safe and peaceful as a village cricket-green on Sunday. It may fairly be questioned （if we look to the peril only）whether it was a much more daring feat for Curtius ⑧ to plunge into the gulf，than for any old gentleman of ninety to doff his clothes and clamber into bed.
Indeed，it is a memorable subject for consideration，with what unconcern and gaiety mankind pricks on along the Valley of the Shadow of Death ⑨ . The whole way is one wilderness of snares，and the end of it，for those who fear the last pinch，is irrevocable ruin. And yet we go spinning through it all，like a party for the Derby ⑩ . Perhaps the reader remembers one of the humorous devices of the deified Caligula ⑪ ：how he encouraged a vast concourse of holiday-makers on to his bridge over Baiæ bay ⑫ ；and when they were in the height of their enjoyment，turned loose the Prætorian guards among the company，and had them tossed into the sea. This is no bad miniature of the dealings of nature with the transitory race of man. Only，what a chequered picnic we have of it，even while it lasts！and into what great waters，not to be crossed by any swimmer，God's pale Prætorian throws us over in the end！
We live the time that a match flickers；we pop the cork of a ginger-beer bottle，and the earthquake swallows us on the instant. Is it not odd，is it not incon-gruous，is it not，in the highest sense of human speech，incredible，that we should think so highly of the ginger-beer，and regard so little the devouring earth-quake？The love of Life and the fear of Death are two famous phrases that grow harder to understand the more we think about them. It is a well-known fact that an immense proportion of boat accidents would never happen if people held the sheet ⑬ in their hands instead of making it fast；and yet，unless it be some martinet ⑭ of a professional mariner or some landsman ⑮ with shattered nerves，every one of God's creatures makes it fast. A strange instance of man's unconcern and brazen boldness in the face of death！
We confound ourselves with metaphysical phrases，which we import into daily talk with noble inappropriateness. We have no idea of what death is，apart from its circumstances and some of its consequences to others；and although we have some experience of living there is not a man on earth who has flown so high into abstraction as to have any practical guess at the meaning of the word life . All literature，from Job and Omar Khayyám to Thomas Carlyle or Walt Whitman ⑯ ，is but an attempt to look upon the human state with such largeness of view as shall enable us to rise from the consideration of living to the Definition of Life. And our sages give us about the best satisfaction in their power when they say that it is a vapor，or a show，or made out of the same stuff with dreams ⑰ . Philosophy，in its more rigid sense，has been at the same work for ages；and after a myriad bald heads have wagged over the problem，and piles of words have been heaped one upon another into dry and cloudy volumes without end，philosophy has the honor of laying before us，with modest pride，her contribution towards the subject：that life is a Permanent Possibility of Sensation. Truly a fine result！A man may very well love beef，or hunting，or a woman；but surely，surely，not a Permanent Possibility of Sensation！He may be afraid of a precipice，or a dentist，or a large enemy with a club，or even an undertaker's man；but not certainly of abstract death. We may trick with the word life in its dozen senses until we are weary of tricking；we may argue in terms of all the philosophies on earth，but one fact remains true throughout — that we do not love life，in the sense that we are greatly preoccupied about its conservation；that we do not，properly speaking，love life at all，but living. Into the views of the least careful there will enter some degree of providence；no man's eyes are fixed entirely on the passing hour；but although we have some anticipation of good health，good weather，wine，active employment，love，and self-approval，the sum of these anticipations does not amount to anything like a general view of life's possibilities and issues；nor are those who cherish them most vividly at all the most scrupulous of their personal safety. To be deeply interested in the accidents of our existence，to enjoy keenly the mixed texture of human experience，rather leads a man to disregard precautions，and risk his neck against a straw. For surely the love of living is stronger in an Alpine climber roping over a peril，or a hunter riding merrily at a stiff fence，than in a creature who lives upon a diet and walks a measured distance in the interest of his constitution.
There is a great deal of very vile nonsense talked upon both sides of the matter：tearing divines reducing life to the dimensions of a mere funeral procession，so short as to be hardly decent，and melancholy unbelievers yearning for the tomb as if it were a world too far away. Both sides must feel a little ashamed of their performances now and again when they draw in their chairs to dinner. Indeed，a good meal and a bottle of wine is an answer to most standard works upon the question. When a man's heart warms to his viands，he forgets a great deal of sophistry，and soars into a rosy zone of contemplation. Death may be knocking at the door，like the Commander's statue ⑱ ；we have something else in hand ⑲ ，thank God，and let him knock. Passing bells are ringing all the world over. All the world over，and every hour，some one is parting company with all his aches and ecstasies. For us also the trap is laid. But we are so fond of life that we have no leisure to entertain the terror of death. It is a honeymoon with us all through，and none of the longest. Small blame to us if we give our whole hearts to this glowing bride of curs，to the appetites，to honor，to the hungry curiosity of the mind，to the pleasure of the eyes in nature，and the pride of our own nimble bodies.
We all of us appreciate the sensations；but as for caring about the Permanence of the Possibility，a man's head is generally very bald，and his senses very dull，before he comes to that. Whether we regard life as a lane leading to a dead wall — a mere bag's end，as the French say — or whether we think of it as a vestibule or gymnasium，where we wait our turn and prepare our faculties for some more noble destiny；whether we thunder in a pulpit，or pule in little atheistic poetry-books，about its vanity and brevity；whether we look justly for years of health and vigor，or are about to mount into a Bath-chair ⑳ ，as a step towards the hearse；in each and all of these views and situations there is but one conclusion possible：that a man should stop his ears against paralysing terror，and run the race that is set before him with a single mind. No one surely could have recoiled with more heartache and terror from the thought of death than our respected lexicographer ㉑ ；and yet we know how little it affected his conduct，how wisely and boldly he walked，and in what a fresh and lively vein he spoke of life. Already an old man，he ventured on his Highland ㉒ tour；and his heart，bound with triple brass ㉓ ，did not recoil before twenty-seven individual cups of tea ㉔ . As courage and intelligence are the two qualities best worth a good man's cultivation，so it is the first part of intelligence to recognize our precarious estate in life，and the first part of courage to be not at all abashed before the fact. A frank and somewhat headlong carriage，not looking too anxiously before，not dallying in maudlin regret over the past，stamps the man who is well armored for this world.
And not only well armored for himself，but a good friend and a good citizen to boot. We do not go to cowards for tender dealing；there is nothing so cruel as panic；the man who has least fear for his own carcass，has most time to consider others. That eminent chemist who took his walks abroad in tin shoes，and subsisted wholly upon tepid milk，had all his work cut out for him in considerate dealings with his own digestion. So soon as prudence has begun to grow up in the brain，like a dismal fungus，it finds its first expression in a paralysis of generous acts. The victim begins to shrink spiritually；he develops a fancy for parlors with a regulated temperature，and takes his morality on the principle of tin shoes and tepid milk. The care of one important body or soul becomes so engrossing，that all the noises of the outer world begin to come thin and faint into the parlor with the regulated temperature；and the tin shoes go equably forward over blood and rain. To be otherwise is to ossify；and the scruple-monger ends by standing stockstill. Now the man who has his heart on his sleeve，and a good whirling weathercock of a brain，who reckons his life as a thing to be dashingly used and cheerfully hazarded，makes a very different acquaintance of the world，keeps all his pulses going true and fast，and gathers impetus as he runs，until，if he be running towards anything better than wildfire，he may shoot up and become a constellation in the end. Lord，look after his health，Lord，have a care of his soul，says he；and he has at ㉕ the key of the position，and smashes through incongruity and peril towards his aim. Death is on all sides of him with pointed batteries，as he is on all sides of all of us；unfortunate surprises gird him round；mim-mouthed friends and relations hold up their hands in quite a little elegiacal synod about his path：and what cares he for all this？Being a true lover of living，a fellow with something pushing and spontaneous in his inside，he must，like any other soldier，in any other stirring，deadly warfare，push on at his best pace until he touch the goal. “A peerage or Westminster Abbey！” cried Nelson ㉖ in his bright，boyish，heroic manner. These are great incentives；not for any of these，but for the plain satisfaction of living，of being about their business in some sort or other，do the brave，serviceable men of every nation tread down the nettle danger，and pass flyingly over all the stumbling-blocks of prudence. Think of the heroism of Johnson，think of that superb indifference to mortal limitation that set him upon his dictionary，and carried him through triumphantly until the end！Who，if he were wisely considerate of things at large，would ever embark upon any work much more considerable than a half-penny post-card？Who would project a serial novel，after Thackeray and Dickens had each fallen in mid-course？Who would find heart enough to begin to live，if he dallied with the consideration of death？
And，after all，what sorry and pitiful quibbling ㉗ all this is！To forego all the issues of living in a parlor with a regulated temperature — as if that were not to die a hundred times over，and for ten years at a stretch！As if it were not to die in one's own lifetime，and without even the sad immunities of death！As if it were not to die，and yet be the patient spectators of our own pitiable change！The Permanent Possibility is preserved，but the sensations carefully held at arm's length，as if one kept a photographic plate in a dark chamber. It is better to lose health like a spendthrift than to waste it like a miser. It is better to live and be done with it，than to die daily in the sick-room. By all means begin your folio；even if the doctor does not give you a year，even if he hesitates about a month，make one brave push and see what can be accomplished in a week. It is not only in finished undertakings that we ought to honor useful labor. A spirit goes out of the man who means execution，which outlives the most untimely ending. All who have meant good work with their whole hearts，have done good work，although they may die before they have the time to sign it. Every heart that has beat strong and cheerfully has left a hopeful impulse behind it in the world，and bettered the tradition of mankind. And even if death catch people，like an open pitfall，and in mid-career，laying out vast projects ㉘ ，and planning monstrous foundations，flushed with hope，and their mouths full of boastful language，they should be at once tripped up and silenced ㉙ ：is there not something brave and spirited in such a termination？and does not life go down with a better grace，foaming in full body over a precipice，than miserably straggling to an end in sandy deltas？When the Greeks made their fine saying that those whom the gods love die young，I cannot help believing they had this sort of death also in their eye ㉚ . For surely，at whatever age it overtake the man，this is to die young. Death has not been suffered to take so much as an illusion from his heart. In the hot-fit of life，a-tiptoe on the highest point of being，he passes at a bound on to the other side. The noise of the mallet and chisel ㉛ is scarcely quenched，the trumpets are hardly done blowing，when，trailing with him clouds of glory，this happy-starred，full-blooded spirit shoots into the spiritual land. ㉜
【注释】
① Æs Triplex（拉丁文），意为三重（或层）黄铜（triple brass），但因此词曾被用以修饰过铠甲，而取得三重（黄）铜甲的意思，甚至被简化译成这里的“三重甲”。此词典出古罗马诗人贺拉修（Horace）的《颂歌》（ Odes ）1章3节，大意为古罗马的某创始人曾用橡木与黄铜像铠甲那样地护住心脏而大胆出没于惊涛骇浪之中。揆此文作者用此拉丁语之本意，可能在强调对生命的热爱即是战胜对死亡之恐惧的最有力的手段。或者说，积极、乐观、无畏即是抵制甚至战胜死亡的三重铜甲。
② dule trees：这里拙译作“刑架”。dule，即柏树，墓地所植，欧洲中世纪时常用作吊死人的刑具（a tree as a gallows）。
③ In the eyes ... dull old ones：作者所以这么说是因为他认为那些中年人早已对危险等麻木不仁。
④ economy：人的机体（constitution）。
⑤ the blue-peter，the truck等：the blue-peter，启航时挂出的蓝色旗；the truck，旗（桅）杆顶端穿绳索的小木冠；fly at，这里fly at除有其一般的意义（在……上飘动）外，另具恼怒、斥责、攻击等含意。
⑥ 自If we clung至a sea-going ship？一段：这几个句子的意思较为复杂，现说明如下：1. 所声称与所断言几句的基本意思是，人们对抽象人生的热爱既不像某些哲学家所声称的那么虔诚，对死亡的恐惧也不如另一些哲学家所断言的那么厉害，因而到头来在确有灾难发生时（仅饮食呼吸也可致人死命！），他们也必将迟迟不会有所作为；2. 在形象的使用上，作者在这里的做法是复杂的——这即是，将一般灾难与圣经上的世界末日浩劫混搅在一起；将为响应正义的呼唤而有所作为与为跟随末日的号角而出战混搅在一起；又将士兵的听令于号角而进行出征与响应末日号角的召唤混搅在一起（而其实圣经上也就根本无此描写——而只提到一切人出来聆听上帝的最后审判），最后又将为国出征与为正义而战混搅在一起，因而在理解上确实会发生一定的麻烦！但即使是这样，译者认为，仍将不致妨碍对全篇大意的一个总的把握；3. 这里面的一切“动作”都只是纯想象性的、譬喻性的，而非实际上发生过的。
⑦ Balaclava：地名，位于东南欧克里米亚半岛，1854年克里米亚战争时英俄双方曾激战于此。
⑧ Curtius：罗马传说中英雄。据说罗马市中心曾出现断裂处，有预言说，唯有英雄人物跳入，裂口方能重合，Curtius乃毅然投入，裂缝果然重合，终于给该市重新带来安宁。
⑨ the Valley of the Shadow of Death：意为extreme affliction，特指人死前弥留之际的痛苦；在本文中作者仅是泛用其意，不仅限于前述之有限时刻。这个语句出自《圣经·诗篇》23首。
⑩ the Derby：每年在英国中部德比市的Epsom downs镇照例举行之赛马会。
⑪ the deified Caligula：罗马十二帝中之第三帝，在位期间37—41 A. D. 。他是有名的罗马暴君，性乖张狂妄至于疯癫程度，生前即为自己立生祠，着民众礼拜，并自封为神，卒为部下所杀。
⑫ Baiæ bay：即意大利那不勒斯海湾。
⑬ the sheet：帆脚索。过去帆船时代船帆底部用以变化其张力与位置的绳索。
⑭ martinet：军纪官。
⑮ landsman：non-sailor。未出过海的人或对海上航行外行的人。
⑯ Job，Omar Khayyám，Thomas Carlyle，Walt Whitman：Job，约伯，圣经中人物，一生灾难重重，茹苦含辛而仍对上帝忠坚不贰的宗教领袖，旧约中有《约伯书》一卷记载其事。Omar Khayyám，峩默·卡耶姆（1048—1122），波斯诗人、数学家与天文学家，所著《鲁拜集》为世界名著。Thomas Carlyle （1795—1881），英国作家、历史学家。Walt Whitman （1819—1892），美国诗人，《草叶集》作者。
⑰ vapor，show，same stuff with dreams：vapor见《新约·雅各书》4章14节。show见《旧约·传道书》中的一些章节。same stuff with dreams见莎士比亚《暴风雨》4幕1场。
⑱ the Commander's statue：一军人雕像的故事出自西班牙中世纪民间传说，较完整地载录于法国大喜剧作家莫里哀的《唐璜》。大致内容为：剧中主人公唐璜为传统故事中的风流贵族，罪孽恶少，平日奸骗少女的无数勾当且不说，另外还不敬神。一日过某广场，对其中一军人雕像复有嘲弄行为，戏请雕像去其家赴宴。当夜，雕像果然前往叩其门，致使唐璜惊悸而死。
⑲ We have something else in hand：这里的something else指的是——爱生、勇敢、乐观、积极、向上等等，而有了这些，一个人也就不怕死神的叩门。
⑳ Bath-chair：巴斯疗养院所用的一种轮椅。巴斯为英国西南部一城市名，其地以温泉著名，为疗养与避寒胜地。
㉑ our respected lexicographer：即英国18世纪大文豪与辞典家Samuel Johnson。
㉒ Highland：指苏格兰。
㉓ bound with triple brass，这是此词第一次（也是唯一的一次）在本文中出现。关于这点请参阅前面第一条注释，不另注。
㉔ twenty-seven individual cups of tea：二十七杯茶水似不难理解，无非指一天之中去的地方极多，致出现敬茶的杯数与次数也均极多！这里值得稍注意的是individual这个词，所以译文这里出现的是——“那一杯杯的…”的译法。
㉕ and he has at：have at，意为attack；即在向着…进攻，对…发起进攻。
㉖ “A peerage or Westminster Abbey！” cried Nelson：这句话是英国海军统帅纳尔逊在与法军在尼罗河上作战前一日与其部下军官们讲的，说话时纳尔逊还仅是子爵。事见英诗人罗伯特·骚塞所著《纳尔逊传》第五章。
㉗ quibbling：作者指他上面所写文字，显属自嘲性语言。
㉘ And even if death catch people，... laying out vast projects ...：这里句子的关键是catch people laying，它的结构是catch+代词（宾格）+动词原型+ing（甚至可再加这个动词原型的很长的宾语，如本句），而它的意思则是，“你肯定抓不到我会干……”。这个结构甚至可简化至“catch me！”，意为“no fear of my doing that”。一般来说，只有知道并记住这个，这类英文句子才能得到正确理解。但这里的复杂性在于，作者Stevenson此处竟故意 实用其字面意思 ！并且在laying后又用了那么长的宾语，这样便容易把人头脑搅糊涂。
㉙ they should be at once tripped up and silenced：这里有两点该注意：（1）they前应读入and therefore；（2）这一小段话的口吻仍是“死亡”或死神的。
㉚ had this sort of ... in their eye：即拙译中的“自指”的意思。
㉛ the mallet and chisel：指下葬前钉棺木时所用的工具。
㉜ 全文的这最后一大段的确是从各个方面讲都十分奇特和不平凡的一个段落：它是奇语警句连续不断精彩迭出纷呈的文字，是豪情胜慨雄心壮志毫不掩饰的文字，是思想感情异常激动的文字，同时更是自涉最多的自我写照，极其生动而形象地预示了自己的未来；它是自白、自述、自况、自喻，也是自期、自许、自是、自雄（“顾盼自雄”中的那个自雄），但这一切让人读来却并无丝毫夸张造作的感觉，原因是这一切都是据其生平实况而写成，字字句句都是真实不假的血泪所写成。在作者全部的十六七年的写作生涯当中，疾苦病痛甚至缠绵病榻的时间即占了不下十三四年，这样的艰苦写作经历在整个文学史上也是罕见的。
19世纪后期，英国散文进入了它的低潮，质量呈现颓势，文风上也往往欠佳，不是写得过于累赘臃肿，缺乏剪裁意识，就是太嫌简单平直，忽略形式自觉。正是针对这种倒退，Stevenson作了力矫其失的努力，目的在使形式的重要性重新得到人们的认识，并以其具体实践为英语的写作树立了榜样，至少在散文方面使之具有更多的艺术性与形式美，这些在上述的那个末段中可说得到了最典型的体现。另外在表现手段上也显得更繁复多样，新奇丰富了。