I had not visit Eton for many years,when one day passing from the Fellows' Library into the Gallery I caught sight of the portrait of my school-friend Digby Dolben hanging just without the door among the most distinguished contemporaries.I was wholly arrested,and as I was gazing on it,my companion asked me if I know who it was.I was thinking that,beyond a few whom I could name,I must be almost the only person who would know.Far memories of my boyhood were crowding freshly upon me:he was standing again beside me in the eager promise of his youth;I could hear his voice;nothing of him was changed;while I,wrapt from him in the confused mist of time,was wondering what he would think,could he know that at this actual moment he would have been dead thirty years,and that his memory would be thus preserved and honoured in the beloved school,where his delicate spirit had been so strangely troubled.
This portrait-gallery of old Etonians is very select:preeminent distinction of birth or merit may win you a place there,or again official connection with the school,which rightly loves to keep up an unbroken panorama of its teachers,and to vivify its annals with the faces and figures of the personalities who carried on its traditions.But how came Dolben there?It was because he is a poet,--that I knew;--and yet his poems were not known;they were jealously guarded by his family and a few friends:indeed such of his poems as could have come to the eyes of the authorities who sanctioned this memorial would not justify it.There was another reason;and the portrait bears its own credentials;for though you might not perhaps divine the poet in it,you can see the saint,the soul rapt in contemplation,the habit of stainless life,of devotion,of enthusiasm for high ideals.Such a being must have stood out conspicuously among his fellows;the facts of his life would have been the ground of the faith in his genius;and when his early death endeared and sanctified his memory,loving grief would generously grant him the laurels which he had never worn.
译文:
一副肖像
有很多年,我都未曾回伊顿看看了。那一天，从学员图书馆出来，路过陈列走廊，一眼就瞧见了学生时代的朋友迪格比杜本的肖像，他的肖像与当代那些名声显赫的名人肖像挂在一起，而且其间没有门的拦隔。我当时完全震惊了。我愣愣得看着，一旁的同伴问我，是否与他熟识。我当时就在想，除了几个我能记起名字来的人，我几乎是唯一认识他的人了。一时，儿时的记忆潮水般向我涌来，在我的脑海盘旋，往事历历在目：迪格比就站在我的身边，青春洋溢，踌躇满志；我甚至可以听见他的声音，他丝毫未变。时间的迷雾将我层层围困，我一直思索着，他会怎么想，他是否会想到在他去世三十年后的今天，此时此刻，他的记忆会得以保存，得以尊重，就在这所受人尊敬的学校里，在他那脆弱的灵魂一度被困扰的地方。
挂在老伊顿的这个肖像馆里的人物都是精心挑选出来的。他们要不就是出生显赫，要不就是圣贤之人，亦或是毕业后重新与学校有官方上的来往人士。正是他们，十分热爱着维持学校老师的全貌，每年都编写新的年报，记载那些让学校传统得以留传的人物的面貌和形象。但是为什么杜本的肖像也会在这里呢？因为他是个诗人？这个我是知道的，但是他的诗作都被家人或少数朋友很小心的保存起来了，外界很少有人知道。即使，负责挑选肖像的官员见到过他的这些少之又少的诗作，也并不足以让他名列其中。这其中还有另一个原因：这副肖像本身便有一种神圣感。也许，你并不觉得他是个诗人，然而你却能感受到一种圣人的威严，一个沉浸在思索中的灵魂。他的一生毫无污点，为了人生最高的理想，满腔热血，充满激情。如此之人，定是出类拔萃的，也正是这些成就了他的天才。而他的英年早逝更是加重了人们对他的追忆，使其越发神圣而受人爱戴。这充满爱意的悲伤赋予了他诗人的桂冠，即使他从未带过。