现代大学英语精读第二版（第一册）学习笔记（原文及全文翻译）

The Nightingale and the Rose

Oscar Wilde

"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student, "but in all my garden there is no red rose."

From her nest in the Oak-tree the Nightingale heard him and she looked out through the leaves and wondered.

"No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose my life is made wretched."

"Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not and now I see him."

"The Prince gives a ball tomorrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be there. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely and my heart will break."

"Here, indeed, is the true lover," said the Nightingale. Surely love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds and dearer than fine opals.

"The musicians will sit in the gallery," said the young Student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin.

She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor. But with me she will not dance, for I have no rose to give her," and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.

"Why is he weeping?" asked a green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.

"Why, indeed?" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.

"Why, indeed?" whispered a Daisy to his neighbor, in a soft, low voice.

"He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale.

"For a red rose?" they cried, "How very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright. But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and sat silent in the Oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of love.

Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.

In the center of the grass-plot stood a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it. "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the tree shook its head.

"My roses are white," it answered, "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain.

But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head." My roses are yellow," it answered, "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree that is growing beneath the Student's window.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the doves, and redder than the great fans of coral. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year."

"One red rose is all that I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?"

"There is a way," answered the Tree, "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you."

"Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I'm not afraid."

"If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's blood.

You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine."

"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and life is very dear to all. Yet love is better than life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?"

So she spread her brown wings for flight and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.

The young Student was still lying on the grass, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes. "Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy, you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover."

The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him. But the Oak-tree understood and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale, who had built her nest in his branches. "Sing me one last song," he whispered, "I shall feel lonely when you are gone."

So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like the water bubbling from a silver jar.

When she had finished her song, the Student got up.

"She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove. "That cannot be denied. But has she got feeling? I'm afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists: she is all style without any sincerity." And he went to his room, and lay down on his bed, and after a time, fell asleep.

And when the Moon shone in the heavens, the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.

She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song.

But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to pierce closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.

And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride.

But the thorn had not yet reached her heart so the rose's heart remained white.

And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.

And the marvelous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.

But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.

Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The Red Rose heard it, and trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals in the cold morning air.

"Look, look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is finished now." But the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.

And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.

"Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!" he cried, "here is a red rose. I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name." And he leaned down and plucked it.

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's daughter with the Rose in his hand.

"You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose," cried the Student. "Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it tonight near your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you."

But the girl frowned.

"I'm afraid it will not go with my dress," she answered, "and besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost more than flowers."

"Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful," said the Student angrily, and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cartwheel went over it.

"What a silly thing Love is!" said the Student as he walked away. "It is not half as useful as logic. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything. I shall go back to Philosophy and study metaphysics."

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.

夜莺和玫瑰

奥斯卡·王尔德

“她说只要我送她红玫瑰，她就愿意和我跳舞，”那个年轻学生大声说，“可在我的花园里， 根本找不到红玫瑰。”

他的这番话让橡树巢里的夜莺听见了，她从绿叶丛中探出头来，向外张望着，思索着。

“我的花园里根本找不到红玫瑰！”他哭了，一双美丽的眼睛噙满了泪水。“唉！我读过了智者们所写的所有文章，知道了哲学的所有奥秘；可就因为缺少一朵红玫瑰，我的生活变得这样不愉快。”

“这儿终于有位真正的有情人了，”夜莺说，“虽然之前并未见到，但我夜复一夜地歌唱有情人，现在我总算见到他了。”

“明天晚上王子要开舞会，”年轻学生低声念叨，“我的心上人将要前往。假如我送她一朵红玫瑰，她就会陪我跳舞到天亮；我就能拥她在怀里，她也会把头靠在我的肩上，我们的手会紧握。但是我的花园里根本找不到红玫瑰，因此我将只能孤零零地坐着，听任心伤。”

“这的确是位真正的有情人，”夜莺说。爱情确实是一件奇妙的事情，它比绿宝石和蛋白石更珍贵。

“乐师们会在廊台弹奏弦乐器，”年轻学生说，“我的心上人将随着竖琴和小提琴的乐声翩翩起舞。

她的舞姿是那样轻盈，脚好像都离开了地板。然而她不会同我跳舞，因为我没有红玫瑰献给她。”说完他扑倒在草地上，双手捂着脸痛哭起来。

“他为什么哭啊？”一只绿色的小蜥蜴高高地翘起尾巴从他身旁跑过时，这样问道。

“就是啊，为什么呢？”一只正追着一缕阳光跳舞的蝴蝶说。

“就是啊，为什么呢？” 一朵雏菊用轻柔的声音对自己的邻居低声说道。

“他在为一朵红玫瑰而哭泣。”夜莺说。

“为一朵红玫瑰？”他们叫了起来，“真可笑！”那个有点愤世嫉俗的小蜥蜴大笑起来。但是夜莺了解学生悲伤的秘密，她默默无语地坐在橡树上，思考着爱情的真谛。

忽然她展开自己棕色的翅膀，朝天空飞去。她像个影子似地飞过了小树林，又像个影子似地飞越了花园。

在草地的中央长着一棵美丽的玫瑰树，夜莺看到那棵树后，就朝它飞过去。“给我一朵红玫瑰吧，”她大声说道，“我会为你唱我最甜美的歌。”

但是树儿摇了摇头。

“我的玫瑰是白色的，”它回答说，“白得就像大海的浪花，白得超过山顶的积雪。

但你可以去找我那长在古日晷旁的兄弟，或许他会满足你的要求。”

于是夜莺就朝着那棵长在古日晷旁的玫瑰树飞去了。

“给我一朵红玫瑰吧，”她大声说道，“我会为你唱我最甜美的歌。”但是树儿摇了摇头。“我的玫瑰是黄色的，”它回答说，“黄得就像美人鱼的发丝，黄得超过草地上盛开的水仙花。但是你可以去找我那长在学生窗下的兄弟，或许他会满足你的要求。”

于是夜莺就朝着长在学生窗下的玫瑰树飞去了。

“给我一朵红玫瑰吧她大声说道，“我会为你唱我最甜美的歌。”但是树儿摇了摇头。

“我的玫瑰是红色的，”它回答说，“红得就像鸽子的脚，红得超过大大的珊瑚扇。但是寒冬已经冻僵了我的血管，霜雪已经摧残了我的花蕾，风暴已经吹折了我的枝叶，今年我一朵玫瑰也不会开了。”

“我只要一朵红玫瑰，”夜莺大声说道，“就一朵！难道就没有办法让我得到它吗？”

“办法倒是有一个，”树儿回答说，“但就是太可怕了，我都不敢告诉你。”

“告诉我吧，”夜莺说，“我不怕。”

“如果你想要一朵红玫瑰，”树儿说，“你必须在月光下用音乐来塑造它，然后用你胸中的鲜血来染红它。你唱歌给我听的时候，你的胸膛必须抵着一根刺。

你要为我唱上整整一夜，那根刺一定要穿透你的心脏，你的鲜血也一定要流进我的血管，变成我的血。”

“拿死亡来换一朵红玫瑰，这代价实在太高了，”夜莺大声叫道，“生命对每一个生物来说都是很宝贵的。然而爱情胜过生命；再说鸟的心怎么能和人的心相比呢？”

于是她展开自己棕色的翅膀，朝天空飞去。她像个影子似的飞过了花园，又像个影子似的飞越了小树林。

年轻的学生仍然躺在草地上，美丽的眼睛里泪水还没有干。“高兴起来吧，”夜莺大声叫道， “高兴起来吧，你会得到红玫瑰的。我将在月光下用音乐塑造它，然后用我胸中的鲜血来染红它。我要求你报答我的只有一件事，就是你要做个真正的有情人。”

学生从草地上抬头仰望着，并且侧耳倾听，但他听不懂夜莺在对他说什么。但是那棵橡树听懂了，他感到很伤心，因为他非常喜爱这只在他的树枝间做窝的小夜莺。“给我唱最后一支歌吧，”他轻声说，“你这一走，我会觉得很孤独的。”

于是夜莺给橡树唱起了歌，她的声音就像银罐里汩汩流淌的水声。

等她的歌声一停，那个学生便从草地上站了起来。

“她的样子真好看，”他自言自语道，说着就走开了。“那是不能否认的。但是她有情感吗？ 我想她恐怕没有。事实上，她就跟大多数艺术家一样，只讲究形式，没有什么诚意可言。”他走进房间，躺在床上，不一会儿就进入了梦乡。

当月亮升上了天空时，夜莺朝那棵红玫瑰树飞去并用胸膛顶住了刺。她就这样唱了整整一夜，连冰凉如水晶的月亮也俯下身来倾听。整整一夜，她唱个不停，刺在她的胸口上越扎越深，她体内的鲜血也快要流光了。

她先歌唱男孩和女孩心中的爱意初萌。玫瑰树顶端的枝头上开出了一朵奇妙的玫瑰花，歌儿唱了一首又一首，花瓣也一片接一片地绽开了。

然而这时树儿大声地叫，让夜莺把剌顶得再紧一些。“顶得紧点，小夜鸾，”树大叫道，“要不然玫瑰花还未完成，天就要亮了。”

于是夜莺把刺顶得更紧了，她的歌声也越来越响亮了，因为她歌唱着一对成年男女内心诞生的激情。

一抹淡淡的红晕爬上了玫瑰花瓣，就跟新郎亲吻新娘时脸上泛起的红晕一样。

但是刺还未到达她的心脏，所以玫瑰的心还是白的。

这时树又大声叫夜莺顶得再紧一些。“顶得再紧点，小夜莺，”树高声喊着，“不然，玫瑰还未完成，天就要亮了。”

于是夜莺把刺顶得更紧了，刺扎到了她的心脏，一阵剧烈的痛楚袭遍了她的全身。痛得越来越厉害，歌声也越来越激昂，因为她歌唱着因死亡而完美的爱情，歌唱着在坟墓中也不朽的爱情。

最后这朵绝妙的玫瑰变成了深红色，就像东方天际的玫瑰色。花瓣的外环是深红色的，花心更是红得好像一块红宝石。

不过夜莺的歌声却越来越弱了，一层薄膜遮住了她的双眼。她的歌声变得更弱了，她觉得喉咙给什么东西堵住了。

这时她唱出了最后一曲。皎洁的月亮听着歌声，竟然忘记了黎明，只顾在天空中徘徊。那朵红玫瑰听到歌声，更是欣喜若狂地颤抖，在寒冷的早晨张开了所有的花瓣。

“看啊，快看！”树儿大声叫了起来，“玫瑰已经长好了。”可是夜莺没有回答，因为她已躺在长长的草丛中死去了，心口上还扎着那根刺。

中午时分，那个学生打开窗户朝外望去。

“啊！多好的运气呀！”他大声嚷道，“这儿有朵红玫瑰，是我见过的最红艳的玫瑰了。它太美了，我坚信它一定有个长长的拉丁名字。”他弯下身子，摘下玫瑰。

随即他戴上帽子，手里拿着玫瑰，朝教授的家跑去。

“你说过只要我送你一朵红玫瑰，你就会同我跳舞，”学生高声说道，“这是全世界最红的一朵玫瑰。今天晚上你就可以把它戴在你的胸口上，我们一起跳舞的时候，它会告诉你我是多么爱你。”

然而，少女却皱起眉头。

“我担心它与我的裙子不相配，”她回答道，“再说，内侍总管的侄儿已经送给我一些珍贵的珠宝，人人都知道珠宝比花更值钱。”

“哎呀！你是个忘恩负义的人，”学生愤怒地说。说完他把玫瑰一下子扔到了街上，玫瑰掉进了臭水沟里，马车轮从它身上辗过。

“爱情是多么愚昧啊！”学生一边走一边说，“它比不上逻辑学一半的用途。说实话，它一点儿也不实用，而在这个年代，一切都讲究实际。我要回到哲学中去，学习玄学。”

于是他便回到了自己的房间，拿出一本布满灰尘的大书，读了起来。

Key Words:

shoulder ['ʃəuldə] 

n. 肩膀，肩部

v. 扛，肩负，承担，(用肩

violin      [.vaiə'lin]

n. 小提琴

precious ['preʃəs] 

adj. 宝贵的，珍贵的，矫揉造作的

gallery    ['gæləri] 

n. 美术馆，画廊，顶层楼座，狭长的房间

flight       [flait]      

n. 飞行，航班

n. 奇思妙想，一段楼

lizard      ['lizəd]    

n. 蜥蜴，蜥蜴皮

butterfly  ['bʌtəflai]

n. 蝴蝶，蝶状物，蝶泳

vt. (烹饪时把鱼

spread    [spred]   

v. 伸展，展开，传播，散布，铺开，涂撒

ridiculous       [ri'dikjuləs]    

adj. 荒谬的，可笑的

grove     [grəuv]   

n. 小树林，果树园

shadow  ['ʃædəu] 

n. 阴影，影子，荫，阴暗，暗处

vt. 投阴

cynic       ['sinik]    

n. 愤世嫉俗者，犬儒主义者，好挖苦的人

mystery  ['mistəri] 

n. 神秘，秘密，奥秘，神秘的人或事物

stain              [stein]    

n. 污点，瑕疵，染料，着色剂

v. 玷污，弄

meadow ['medəu]

n. 草地，牧场

spread    [spred]   

v. 伸展，展开，传播，散布，铺开，涂撒

jar   [dʒɑ:]     

n. 不和谐，刺耳声，震动，震惊，广口瓶

thorn      [θɔ:n]     

n. 刺，荆棘

grove     [grəuv]   

n. 小树林，果树园

understand    [.ʌndə'stænd]

vt. 理解，懂，听说，获悉，将 ... 理解为，认为