[英]罗伯特路易斯史蒂文森Robert Louis Stevenson
偶尔穿过林中空地，一缕微风袭来，我感到这不像是一股气流，倒更像一阵流动的凉意。由于这流动的凉意，即便在我这么宽敞的卧室里，空气整晚也都不停地流动。一想起切斯雷德的那个小旅馆和睡帽云集的场景，我便感到恐惧；我还害怕职员和学生们夜间吵闹的威力，害怕那热气熏天的剧院，害怕万能钥匙和密集的客房。我很少自己待在这般安详静谧的环境中，也很少超脱于物欲世界之外。屋外的世界——尽管我们从野外钻回各自的家——最终却还像个温暖舒适的住处；上帝在旷野中维护着一间敞开的房屋，一夜又一夜，铺好了床，期待着人们的光临。我想自己又体会到了一个真理，一个野蛮人知道但不为政治经济学家所知的真理：至少我找到了一种新的自我娱乐。然而在我兴高采烈地享受寂寞独处的同时，又感到一种莫名其妙的缺憾。在这星空下，我希望有位伴侣陪伴在我身边，默然相对。要知道，有一种相随，比孤独还要来得平静，如果正确地理解，那就是孤独创造完美。在各种各样的生活方式中，最完整、最自由的生活就是与自己心爱的女人在野外生活。
我静静地躺在地上，沉浸在满足和渴望之中。这时，隐约一阵声响从松林间传来。最初，我猜想是远处农庄的鸡鸣或犬吠。但这声音有规律地传入我的耳朵，最终我明白了，那是山谷公路上一个赶路人在高声歌唱。他唱歌不是为了显示他歌声的婉转，而是为了表露出内心的美好情感。他底气十足，声音嘹亮，歌声围着山梁，回荡在草木茂盛的幽谷间。以前在城市里，我也曾在深夜时，听过人们路过的声音，记得其中一些人也唱歌，有个人把风笛吹得婉转动听。还有一次，我静静地躺在床上，在数小时的沉静后，不知是一辆马车还是大车忽然驶过，绝尘而去，隆隆的声音不绝于耳。懂得浪漫的人才会在黑夜里独自外出，出于兴奋和好奇，我们常常去猜测他们的行踪。但这种浪漫有着双重含义：一方面是指这个欢快的夜行人，由于体内酒精燃烧的作用，在黑夜里引吭高歌；另一方面，是关于我自己，结结实实地把自己裹在睡袋里，在星空下四五千英尺的地方，我独自在松林里惬意地抽着烟。
A faint wind more like a moving coolness than a stream of air，passed down the glade from time to time；so that even in my great chamber the air was being renewed all night long.I thought with horror of the inn at Chasserades and the congregated nightcaps；with horror of the nocturnal prowesses of clerks and students，of hot theatres and pass-keys and close rooms.I have not often enjoyed a more serene possession of myself，nor felt more independent of material aids.The outer world，from which we cower into our houses，seemed after all a gentle habitable place；and night after night a man’s bed，it seemed，was laid and waiting for him in the fields，where God keeps an open house.I thought I had rediscovered one of those truths which are revealed to savages and hid from political economists：at the least，I had discovered a new pleasure for myself.And yet even while I was exulting in my solitude I became aware of a strange lack.I wished a companion to lie near me in the starlight，silent and not moving，but ever within touch.For there is a fellowship more quiet even than solitude，and which，rightly understood，is solitude made perfect.And to live out of doors with the woman a man loves is of all lives the most complete and free.
As I thus lay，between content and longing，a faint noise stole towards me through the pines.I thought，at first，it was the crowing of cocks or the barking of dogs at some very distant farm；but steadily and gradually it took articulate shape in my ears，until I became aware that a passenger was going by upon the highroad in the valley，and singing loudly as he went.There was more of good-will than grace in his performance；but he trolled with ample lungs；and the sound of his voice took hold upon the hillside and set the air shaking in the leafy glens.I have heardpeople passing by night in sleeping cities；some of them sang；one，I remember，played loudly on the bagpipes.I have heard the rattle of a cart or carriage spring up suddenly after hours of stillness，and pass，for some minutes，within the range of my hearing as I lay abed.There is a romance about all who are abroad in the black hours，and with something of a thrill we try to guess their business.But here the romance was double：first，this glad passenger，lit internally with wine，who sent up his voice in music through the night；and then I，on the other hand，buckled into my sack，and smoking alone in the pine-woods between four and five thousand feet towards the stars.
