【導(dǎo)讀】約翰·博因頓·普里斯特利（1894—1984），英國小說家、批評家、戲劇家。生于約克郡布雷德福德的教師家庭。曾求學(xué)于劍橋，在英國文學(xué)、現(xiàn)代史及政治學(xué)方面成績優(yōu)異。1922年定居倫敦，為《星期六評論》（Saturday Review）等雜志寫評論。早期著作主要是文學(xué)傳記和評論集，代表作有《英國喜劇角色》（The English Comic Characters，1925）、《喬治·梅瑞狄斯》（George Meredith，1926）等;流浪漢小說代表作有《好伙伴》（The Good Companions，1929）;主要?jiǎng)”居小段ｋU(xiǎn)的角落》（Dangerous Corner，1932）、《巡官登門》（An Inspector Calls，1945）、《最后的假期》（Last Holiday，1950）。

“初雪”節(jié)選自普里斯特利的散文集《猿猴與天使：散文集》（Apes and Angels： A Book of Essays，1928）。作者用極其細(xì)膩的筆觸寫下了初雪降臨時(shí)的感受。與其他寫雪景的文章不同，此文既寫了作者的歡欣，也寫了他的不滿;既有對眼前的描寫，也有對過去的回憶;既有對所住之地的刻畫，也有對整個(gè)英格蘭乃至美洲的遐想;既見雪景的靜態(tài)描摹，也見雪景的動(dòng)態(tài)變化。一場初雪，引得思緒接天連地，目及八方，想象奇特，文辭瑰麗，真正美文！

When I got up this morning the world was a chilled hollow of dead white and faint blues. The light that came through the windows was very queer， and it contrived to make the familiar business of splashing and shaving and brushing and dressing very queer too. Then the sun came out， and by the time I had sat down to breakfast it was shining bravely and flushing the snow with delicate pinks. The dining-room window had been transformed into a lovely Japanese print. The little plum-tree outside， with the faintly flushed snow lining its boughs and artfully disposed along its trunk， stood in full sunlight. An hour or two later everything was a cold glitter of white and blue. The world had completely changed again. The little Japanese prints had all vanished. I looked out of my study window， over the garden， the meadow， to the low hills beyond， and the ground was one long glare， the sky was steely， and all the trees so many black and sinister shapes. There was indeed something curiously sinister about the whole prospect. It was as if our kindly country-side， closed to the very heart of England， had been turned into a cruel steppe. At any moment， it seemed， a body of horsemen might be seen breaking out from the black copse， so many instruments of tyranny， and shots might be heard and some distant patch of snow be reddened. It was that kind of landscape.

Now it has changed again. The glare has gone and no touch of the sinister remains. But the snow is falling heavily， in great soft flakes， so that you can hardly see across the shallow valley， and the roofs are thick and the trees all bending， and the weathercock of the village church， still to be seen through the grey loaded air， has become some creature out of Hans Andersen. From my study， which is apart from the house and faces it， I can see the children flattening their noses against the nursery window， and there is running through my head a jangle of rhyme I used to repeat when I was a child and flattened my nose against the cold window to watch the falling snow：

Snow， snow faster：

White alabaster！

Killing geese in Scotland，

Sending feathers here！

This morning， when I first caught sight of the unfamiliar whitened world， I could not help wishing that we had snow oftener， that English winters were more wintry. How delightful it would be， I thought， to have months of clean snow and a landscape sparkling with frost instead of innumerable grey featureless days of rain and raw winds. I began to envy my friends in such places as the Eastern States of America and Canada， who can count upon a solid winter every year and know that the snow will arrive by a certain date and will remain， without degenerating into black slush， until Spring is close at hand. To have snow and frost and yet a clear sunny sky and air as crisp as a biscuit—this seemed to me happiness indeed. And then I saw that it would never do for us. We should be sick of it in a week. After the first day the magic would be gone and there would be nothing left but the unchanging glare of the day and the bitter cruel nights. It is not the snow itself， the sight of the blanketed world， that is so enchanting， but the first coming of the snow， the sudden and silent change. Out of the relations， for ever shifting and unanticipated， of wind and water comes a magical event. Who would change this state of things for a steadily recurring round， an earth governed by the calendar？ It has been well said that while other countries have a climate， we alone in England have weather. There is nothing duller than climate， which can be converted into a topic only by scientists and hypochondriacs. But weather is our earths Cleopatra， and it is not to be wondered at that we， who must share her gigantic moods， should be for ever talking about her. Once we were settled in America， Siberia， Australia， where there is nothing but a steady pact between climate and the calendar， we should regret her very naughtinesses， her willful pranks， her gusts of rage， and sudden tears. Waking in a morning would no longer be an adventure. Our weather may be fickle but it is no more fickle than we are， and only matches our inconstancy with her changes. Sun， wind， snow， rain， how welcome they are at first and how soon we grow weary of them！ If this snow lasts a week I shall be heartily sick of it and glad to speed its going. But its coming has been an event. Today has had a quality， an atmosphere， quite different from that of yesterday， and I have moved through it feeling a slightly different person， as if I were staying with new friends or had suddenly arrived in Norway. A man might easily spend five hundred pounds trying to break the crust of indifference in his mind， and yet feel less than I did this morning.

一早起來，只見世界白茫茫一片，寒冷、虛空、死寂，淡淡的藍(lán)色在空氣中流轉(zhuǎn)。從窗口透進(jìn)來的光顯得很怪異，它使原本熟悉的沖水、刮臉、洗漱、更衣諸事也變得非常怪異。繼而太陽升起，到了我坐下用早餐的工夫，陽光已顯威力，給雪地抹上了柔和的粉紅。餐廳的窗戶已變得像一幅日本版畫，煞是可愛。窗外的小李樹，整個(gè)挺立在陽光下，淡紅的雪包裹著枝丫，把主干也裝點(diǎn)得分外妖嬈。一兩小時(shí)后，周遭全籠罩在一片白藍(lán)交織的冷光之中。整個(gè)世界又全變了。日本版畫都不見了。我從書齋的窗戶向外望去，目光越過花園、草地，一直投向遠(yuǎn)處的小山丘。地面上灑下一片長長的刺眼的陽光，天空肅殺，所有的樹木都成了黑黢黢陰森森的影子。真的，眼前所見都帶有某種莫名的兇險(xiǎn)。我們這片緊靠英格蘭中心地帶的可愛鄉(xiāng)村，似乎一下變成了殘忍的干草原。好像隨時(shí)都可能看到一群騎兵殺出黑色的灌木叢，受暴政擺布之人如此之多;好像還能聽到幾聲槍響，遠(yuǎn)處的某塊雪地被染成紅色。就是類似這樣的景象。

現(xiàn)在又變了。耀眼的陽光退了下去，險(xiǎn)惡的光景一絲不留。然而雪花柔柔卻漫天紛飛，以致幾乎看不清對面淺淺的山谷。房頂蓋上了厚厚的雪，樹被雪壓彎了腰，村子教堂上的風(fēng)向標(biāo)透過灰蒙蒙的天空倒也依稀可見，但卻好像變成了安徒生童話里的生靈。我的書齋與房子是分開的，但就在房子對面。我可以看到小孩子們鼻子貼著育兒室的窗戶往外看，這勾起了我的回憶，想到我小時(shí)候也是一邊把鼻子貼著冰冷的窗戶，看著窗外的雪飄飄而下，一邊唱著童謠：

雪呀雪呀快快下，

輕柔潔白啦啦啦，

宰了蘇格蘭的鵝嘎嘎，

鵝毛飄飄送我家。

今天早上，當(dāng)我第一眼看到這個(gè)有些陌生的白色世界時(shí)，不禁希望雪要勤著點(diǎn)兒下才好，希望英國的冬天更有冬天味兒。我想，如果數(shù)月都有潔白的雪，四處的景致閃著霜雪的銀光，而不是數(shù)不清的雨水漣漣，陰風(fēng)怒號，到處灰蒙蒙的樣子，那該有多好。美國東部各州和加拿大便是如此，我開始羨慕在那里生活的朋友們了，他們每年總會有實(shí)實(shí)在在的冬天，知道何時(shí)開始下雪，雪能保持多久而不化成污泥濁水，直到春天即將來臨。霜雪天，天朗氣清，像餅干似的嘣脆，對我來說就是真正的幸福。然而我發(fā)現(xiàn)，這樣萬萬不行。不到一周，我們就會感到厭倦。第一天一過，這些魔力便會煙消云散，絲毫不留，只剩下白天不變的耀眼陽光和夜晚的凄清。如此迷人的不是雪本身，不是鋪天蓋地的雪景，而是初雪的到來，是這悄然的突變。風(fēng)與水，總是流動(dòng)不居，難以捉摸。這兩種元素在一起會引發(fā)神奇的事件。誰愿意舍棄這樣的神秘莫測而選擇大地之上一成不變、周而復(fù)始的寒來暑往？人常說，別的國家有氣候，唯我英格蘭有天氣，誠哉斯言。枯燥無趣，莫過于“氣候”，只有科學(xué)家和疑病患者會對這個(gè)話題津津樂道。但“天氣”卻是我們地球的絕世佳人。也難怪我們這些想必也有她那樣乖戾脾氣的人總是對她談?wù)摬恍?。我們既已在美洲、西伯利亞、澳大利亞安了家，就只能后悔沒有了她調(diào)皮搗蛋、任性胡鬧，看不到她時(shí)而怒氣沖天、忽又淚眼婆娑。那些地方除了氣候和日歷之間有份一成不變的協(xié)議，其他一無所有。早晨醒來不再是一場冒險(xiǎn)。我們的天氣也許變化無常，但哪能與人類的善變相比，她只是用自己的變化配合我們的無常。晴、雨、雪、風(fēng)，初來時(shí)我們都熱情以待，但倏忽間就覺得了無趣味了！如果這場雪下上一周，我肯定會從骨子里厭煩，恨不得它馬上離去。但它的降臨卻已是一件大事。今天有今天的品格、今天的氣氛，與昨日截然不同。我度過今天，就感覺自己又有所不同，好比結(jié)交到新的朋友，或者突然到了挪威。一個(gè)心中冷漠的人或許會輕而易舉掏出500英鎊來找刺激，得到的卻還不如我今天早晨的這般感受。