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　　階前看不見一莖綠草，窗外望不見一只蝴蝶，誰說是鵓鴿箱里的生活，鵓鴿未必這樣趣味干燥呢。秋天來了，記憶就輕輕提示道，“凄凄切切的秋蟲又要響起來了?！笨墒且稽c(diǎn)影響也沒有，鄰舍兒啼人鬧，弦歌雜作的深夜，街上輪震石響，邪許并起的清晨，無論你靠著枕兒聽，憑著窗沿聽，甚至貼著墻角聽，總聽不到一絲秋蟲的聲息。并不是被那些歡樂的勞困的宏大的清亮的聲音淹沒了，以致聽不出來，乃是這里本沒有秋蟲這東西。啊，不容留秋蟲的地方！秋蟲所不屑居留的地方！

　　Not a single blade of green grass beyond the doorsteps, nor a single butterfly outside the window. It is a place even more dry and dull than a pigeon house. The advent of autumn has vaguely reminded me of the season’s insects once again chirping plaintively. However, so far none of it is heard. All I hear late at night is the din from the houses in the neighborhood—crying of babies, hubbub of grown-ups and confused noise of music and song. All I hear in the morning is the rumble of the vehicles on the stone pavements and the simultaneous yo-ho of laborers on the streets. You hear no insects chirping however you try, by leaning your head on the pillow, over the window or even against the wall. Not because, drowned by the overwhelming din of merry-making or suffering, it has thus become inaudible, but because this place is utterly devoid of autumn insects. O a place leaving no room for autumn insects! Or rather a place where the insects themselves disdain to stay!

　　若是在鄙野的鄉(xiāng)間，這時(shí)令滿耳是蟲聲了。白天與夜間一樣地安閑；一切人物或動(dòng)或靜，都有自得之趣；嫩暖的陽光或者輕淡的云影覆蓋在場上，到夜呢，明耀的星月或者徐緩的涼風(fēng)看守著整夜，在這境界這時(shí)間唯一足以感動(dòng)心情的就是蟲兒們的合奏。它們高、低、宏、細(xì)、疾、徐、作、歇，仿佛曾經(jīng)過樂師的精心訓(xùn)練，所以這樣地?zé)o可批評(píng)，躊躇滿志。其實(shí)它們每一個(gè)都是神妙的樂師；眾妙畢集，各抒靈趣，那有不成人間絕響的呢。雖然這些蟲聲會(huì)引起勞人的感嘆，秋士的傷懷，獨(dú)客的微喟，思婦的低泣；但是這正是無上的美的境界，絕好的自然詩篇，不獨(dú)是旁人最歡喜吟味的，就是當(dāng)境者也感受一種酸酸的麻麻的味道，這種味道在另一方面是非常雋永的。

　　At a time like this, if I were in the lowly countryside, I would hear insects all around me. There peace and tranquility prevail day and night. All living beings, whether moving or at rest, stand to enjoy life in their own way. In the daytime, the sun shining warm and cozy with thin clouds floating over the fields, while during the night, the moon and stars hanging bright in the sky with soft breezes cooling the air. The only thing capable of affecting our mood then and there is the chorus by insects. Their performance, with a voice high or low, sonorous or piping, quick or slow, sustained or suspended, is flawless and skilful, as if they had undergone through training under a music master. In fact, each and every one of them is a consummate music master all by itself. A constellation of fine artists, they each give full play to their unique talent. No wonder their performance has reached the peak of artistic perfection. It makes toilers sigh with feeling, old forgotten scholars grieve over the luckless past, lonely travelers murmur moodily and solitary women weep silent tears. All that makes for the highest state of beauty on earth and natural poetry of super excellence. Not only does it intrigue onlookers, but also brings a bitter feeling to the party concerned. Such a feeling, to a certain extent, of profound significance.

　　大概我們所蘄求的不在于某種味道，只要時(shí)時(shí)有點(diǎn)兒味道嘗嘗，就自詡為生活不空虛了。假若這味道是甜美的，我們固然含著笑意來體味它；若是酸苦的，我們也要皺著眉頭來辨嘗它；這總比淡漠無味勝過百倍。我們以為最難堪而亟欲逃避的，惟有這一個(gè)淡漠無味！

　　Perhaps what we seek for is not a specific feeling, but a bit of any feeling now and then, so that we can praise ourselves for living a life free from spiritual barrenness. If it happens to be a bitter feeling, let’s savour it with a smile. If it happens to be a bitter feeling, we should still try to taste it, albeit with knitted brows, for it is a hundred times better than absence of any feeling, which is most unbearable and should be avoided by all means.

　　所以心如槁木不如工愁多感，迷蒙的醒不如熱烈的夢(mèng)，一口苦水勝于一盞白湯，一場痛哭勝于哀樂兩忘。這里并不是說愉快樂觀是要不得的，清健的醒是不必求的，甜湯是罪惡的，狂笑是魔道的。這里只是說有味總比淡漠遠(yuǎn)勝罷了。

　　Therefore, being sentimental is better than apathetic, having a warm dream is better than becoming a living corpse, drinking a bitter cup is better than a cup of insipid water, having a good cry is better than being insensitive to both sorrow and happiness. This does not mean, however, that happiness and optimism are no good, healthy wakefulness is undesirable, sweets of life are evil and hearty laughter is vicious. What I mean here is that susceptibility is always preferable to insensibility.

　　所以蟲聲終于是足系戀念的東西。又況勞人、秋士、獨(dú)客、思婦以外還有無量的人，他們當(dāng)然也是酷嗜味道的，當(dāng)這涼意微逗的時(shí)候，誰能不憶起那妙美的秋之音樂？

　　Hence, the insects’ song is something we always long for. In addition to the above-mentioned toilers, old forgotten scholars, lonely travelers and solitary women, innumerable other people are equally susceptible. With a chill in the air, who would not think of the beautiful music of autumn?

　　可是沒有，絕對(duì)沒有！井底似的庭院，鉛色的水門汀地，秋蟲早已避去惟恐不速了。而我們沒有它們的翅膀與大腿，不能飛又不能跳，還是死守在這里。想到“井底”與“鉛色”，覺得象征的意味豐富極了。

　　But none of it exists. Absolutely none! The courtyard is as still as the bottom of a well, the cement ground is leaden. Insects have long been keeping clear of a place like this. Without their wings and legs, we cannot fly or leap as they do. We have to stick to this place. How pregnant with meaning are the two expressions—“the bottom of a well” and “l(fā)eaden”!