BENEATH AN UMBRELLA
(the Part 2 of excerpts)
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
When eve has fairly set in, therefore, I sally forth, tightly buttoning my shaggy overcoat, and hoisting my umbrella, the silken dome of which immediately resounds with the heavy drumming of the invisible rain-drops. Pausing on the lowest doorstep, I contrast the warmth and cheerfulness of my deserted fireside with the drear obscurity and chill discomfort into which I am about to plunge. Now come fearful auguries, innumerable as the drops of rain. Did not my manhood cry shame upon me, I should turn back within doors, resume my elbow-chair, my slippers, and my book, pass such an evening of sluggish enjoyment as the day has been, and go to bed inglorious. The same shivering reluctance, no doubt, has quelled, for a moment, the adventurous spirit of many a traveller, when his feet, which were destined to measure the earth around, were leaving their last tracks in the home-paths.
In my own case, poor human nature may be allowed a few misgivings. I
look upward, and discern no sky, not even an unfathomable void, but
only a black, impenetrable nothingness, as though heaven and all its
lights were blotted from the system of the universe. It is as if
nature were dead, and the world had put on black, and the clouds were
weeping for her. With their tears upon my cheek, I turn my eyes
earthward, but find little consolation here below. A lamp is burning
dimly at the distant corner, and throws just enough of light along the
street, to show, and exaggerate by so faintly showing, the perils and
difficulties which beset my path.
Yonder dingily white remnant of a huge snow-bank,--which will yet cumber the sidewalk till the latter days of March,--over or through that wintry waste must I stride onward. Beyond, lies a certain Slough of Despond, a concoction of mud and liquid filth, ankle-deep, leg-deep, neck-deep,--in a word, of unknown bottom, on which the lamplight does not even glimmer, but which I have occasionally watched, in the gradual growth of its horrors, from morn till nightfall. Should I flounder into its depths, farewell to upper earth! And hark! how roughly resounds the roaring of a stream, the turbulent career of which is partially reddened by the gleam of the lamp, but elsewhere brawls noisily through the densest
gloom. O, should I be swept away in fording that impetuous and
unclean torrent, the coroner will have a job with an unfortunate
gentleman, who would fain end his troubles anywhere but in a mud-puddle!
伞下（节选二）
作者：纳撒尼尔.霍桑
傍晚来临，所以我要突围出去，把我起球的大衣再次扣紧，把雨伞打起，那个丝滑的伞顶，看不见的雨滴打在上面，立即发出鼓点般的回响。我在台阶上停驻，我将我的废弃火炉边温暖、高兴，与我将要陷入的阴郁灰暗和寒冷的不舒适相比较。现在，一种令人害怕的预兆，不计其数的雨滴，扑面而来。我的大丈夫气慨责难我的哭泣,我应该回到屋里去，恢复之前坐在扶手椅上，穿上拖鞋、还有我的书，度过这个萧条的夜晚，当白天已到来，可耻地回到床上。那种一样的不可控制地颤抖，毫无疑问，已经停息了，过一会儿，很多旅行者的冒险精神，当他的脚，这双脚意图要走遍全世界，将最后的足迹放在回家的途中。
在我看来，贫穷的人们可能会允许一点担忧。我向上看，关辨别不了天空，也看不到深不可深的空间，但是，只有一片漆黑，不可穿透的虚无，就像天堂一样，所有的光都被宇宙的污点遮住了。这就像是自然已死，世界回到了黑暗，云因为这个原因（自然已死）而哭泣。而它们的眼泪滴到我的脸上，我低下头，看到一点安慰。在远处的转角，有一盏灯发着阴郁的光，却向街道上投下了足够的光，而且被那种雾蒙蒙的投射进一步扩大了（光照范围）。我的道路上充满了危险和困难。
远处一个大的雪堆的朦胧的白色残余---在三月的后半月还堆放在人行道上---我必须大跨步地跳过那堆白雪。另外，躺在失望的泥潭里，各种泥污混合在一起，还有污水，（那些肮脏的东西）没过了我的脚踝、没过腿、没过脖子---一句话，在未知的根部，甚至灯光都不曾闪过，但是（这个根部）是我不时地看到了不断增加的恐惧，从早到晚。我是不是应该在这个根部的深处挣扎，应该告别地球的上部!听！水流咆哮的回声是多么粗犷，这个水流的混乱部分被灯的微光映成红色，但是在其它那些最密集的昏暗中，还在喧嚣地争吵着。我会不会被这个鲁莽的、不净的流水冲走？那个验尸官将和那个不幸的绅士有一份工作，那个绅士将很乐意去终结他在别处麻烦而不是在一个泥潭中。
