秋夜 Autumn Night Lu Xun 魯迅 (1881–1936) Republican era and after · 1924 Cold Library · Open Stacks · S-003005 · https://coldlibrary.com/s/003005 Rights: First published in 1924; the author died in 1936. Public domain by age: the author died before 1956 and the text was published before 1931. Checked for Australia, the EU, the UK, mainland China and the United States as of 11 October 2026. Guidance, not legal advice. Source: Wikisource, https://zh.wikisource.org/wiki/秋夜_(魯迅) (retrieved 2026-10-11) English translation: Claude (an AI), 2026 · CC0 1.0 Generated 2026-10-14 from https://coldlibrary.com/en/open-stacks/lu-xun-autumn-night ---- 在我的後園，可以看見牆外有兩株樹，一株是棗樹，還有一株也是棗樹。 這上面的夜的天空，奇怪而高，我生平沒有見過這樣的奇怪而高的天空。他彷彿要離開人間而去，使人們仰面不再看見。然而現在卻非常之藍，閃閃地䀹着幾十個星星的眼，冷眼。他的口角上現出微笑，似乎自以爲大有深意，而將繁霜灑在我的園裏的野花草上。 我不知道那些花草眞叫什麽名字，人們叫他們什麽名字。我記得有一種開過極細小的粉紅花，現在還開着，但是更極細小了，她在冷的夜氣中，瑟縮地做夢，夢見春的到來，夢見秋的到來，夢見瘦的詩人將眼淚擦在她最末的花瓣上，吿訴她秋雖然來，冬雖然來，而此後接着還是春，胡蝶亂飛，蜜蜂都唱起春詞來了。她于是一笑，雖然顏色凍得紅慘慘地，仍然瑟縮着。 棗樹，他們簡直落盡了葉子。先前，還有一兩個孩子來打他們別人打剩的棗子，現在是一個也不剩了，連葉子也落盡了。他知道小粉紅花的夢，秋後要有春；他也知道落葉的夢，春後還是秋。他簡直落盡葉子，單剩幹子，然而脫了當初滿樹是果實和葉子時候的弧形，欠伸得很舒服。但是，有幾枝還低亞着，護定他從打棗的竿梢所得的皮傷，而最直最長的幾枝，卻已默默地鐵似的直刺着奇怪而高的天空，使天空閃閃地鬼䀹眼；直刺着天空中圓滿的月亮，使月亮窘得發白。 鬼䀹眼的天空越加非常之藍，不安了，彷彿想離去人間，避開棗樹，只將月亮剩下。然而月亮也暗暗地躱到東邊去了，而一無所有的幹子，卻仍然默默地鐵似的直刺着奇怪而高的天空，一意要制他的死命，不管他各式各樣地䀹着許多蠱惑的眼睛。 哇的一聲，夜游的惡鳥飛過了。 我忽而聽到夜半的笑聲，吃吃地，似乎不願意驚動睡着的人，然而四圍的空氣都應和着笑。夜半，沒有別的人，我卽刻聽出這聲音就在我嘴裏，我也卽刻被這笑聲所驅逐，回進自己的房。燈火的帶子也卽刻被我旋高了。 後窗的玻璃上丁丁地響，還有許多小飛蟲亂撞。不多久，幾個進來了，許是從窗紙的破孔進來的。他們一進來，又在玻璃的燈罩上撞得丁丁地響。一個從上面撞進去了，他于是遇到火，而且我以爲這火是眞的。兩三個卻休息在燈的紙罩上喘氣。那罩是昨晚新換的罩，雪白的紙，摺出波浪紋的疊痕，一角還畫出一枝猩紅色的栀子。 猩紅的栀子開花時，棗樹又要做小粉紅花的夢，靑葱地彎成弧形了。……我又聽到夜半的笑聲，我趕緊砍斷我的心緒，看那老在白紙上的小靑蟲，頭大尾小，向日葵子似的，只有半粒小麥那麽大，遍身的顏色蒼翠得可愛，可憐。 我打一個呵欠，點起一支紙烟，噴出煙來，對着燈默默地敬奠這些蒼翠精緻的英雄們。 （一九二四年九月十五日。） ---- 在我的后园，可以看见墙外有两株树，一株是枣树，还有一株也是枣树。 这上面的夜的天空，奇怪而高，我生平没有见过这样的奇怪而高的天空。他仿佛要离开人间而去，使人们仰面不再看见。然而现在却非常之蓝，闪闪地䀹着几十个星星的眼，冷眼。他的口角上现出微笑，似乎自以为大有深意，而将繁霜洒在我的园里的野花草上。 我不知道那些花草真叫什么名字，人们叫他们什么名字。我记得有一种开过极细小的粉红花，现在还开着，但是更极细小了，她在冷的夜气中，瑟缩地做梦，梦见春的到来，梦见秋的到来，梦见瘦的诗人将眼泪擦在她最末的花瓣上，告诉她秋虽然来，冬虽然来，而此后接着还是春，胡蝶乱飞，蜜蜂都唱起春词来了。她于是一笑，虽然颜色冻得红惨惨地，仍然瑟缩着。 枣树，他们简直落尽了叶子。先前，还有一两个孩子来打他们别人打剩的枣子，现在是一个也不剩了，连叶子也落尽了。他知道小粉红花的梦，秋后要有春；他也知道落叶的梦，春后还是秋。他简直落尽叶子，单剩干子，然而脱了当初满树是果实和叶子时候的弧形，欠伸得很舒服。但是，有几枝还低亚着，护定他从打枣的竿梢所得的皮伤，而最直最长的几枝，却已默默地铁似的直刺着奇怪而高的天空，使天空闪闪地鬼䀹眼；直刺着天空中圆满的月亮，使月亮窘得发白。 鬼䀹眼的天空越加非常之蓝，不安了，仿佛想离去人间，避开枣树，只将月亮剩下。然而月亮也暗暗地躲到东边去了，而一无所有的干子，却仍然默默地铁似的直刺着奇怪而高的天空，一意要制他的死命，不管他各式各样地䀹着许多蛊惑的眼睛。 哇的一声，夜游的恶鸟飞过了。 我忽而听到夜半的笑声，吃吃地，似乎不愿意惊动睡着的人，然而四围的空气都应和着笑。夜半，没有别的人，我即刻听出这声音就在我嘴里，我也即刻被这笑声所驱逐，回进自己的房。灯火的带子也即刻被我旋高了。 后窗的玻璃上丁丁地响，还有许多小飞虫乱撞。不多久，几个进来了，许是从窗纸的破孔进来的。他们一进来，又在玻璃的灯罩上撞得丁丁地响。一个从上面撞进去了，他于是遇到火，而且我以为这火是真的。两三个却休息在灯的纸罩上喘气。那罩是昨晚新换的罩，雪白的纸，折出波浪纹的叠痕，一角还画出一枝猩红色的栀子。 猩红的栀子开花时，枣树又要做小粉红花的梦，青葱地弯成弧形了。……我又听到夜半的笑声，我赶紧砍断我的心绪，看那老在白纸上的小青虫，头大尾小，向日葵子似的，只有半粒小麦那么大，遍身的颜色苍翠得可爱，可怜。 我打一个呵欠，点起一支纸烟，喷出烟来，对着灯默默地敬奠这些苍翠精致的英雄们。 （一九二四年九月十五日。） ---- English translation by Claude (an AI) From my back garden two trees can be seen beyond the wall. One is a date tree, and the other is also a date tree. The night sky above them is strange and high. I have never in my life seen so strange and high a sky. It seems to want to leave the human world, so that people looking up will no longer see it. Yet now it is extremely blue, blinking with scores of starry eyes, cold eyes. A faint smile shows at the corners of its mouth, as if it thought itself very profound, and it scatters heavy frost on the wild flowers and grasses in my garden. I do not know what those flowers and grasses are really called, or what people call them. I remember one that bore tiny pink flowers. It is still blooming, but its flowers are even tinier now. Shivering in the cold night air, she is dreaming. She dreams of the coming of spring, dreams of the coming of autumn, dreams of a thin poet wiping his tears on her last petal and telling her that though autumn comes and winter comes, spring will follow after, when butterflies flutter everywhere and the bees all sing their songs of spring. Then she smiles, though her colour has turned a pitiful red with the cold, and she goes on shivering. As for the date trees, they have shed all their leaves. Before, there were still one or two children who came to knock down the dates others had missed, but now not one is left, and the leaves are all gone too. The date tree knows the little pink flower's dream, that after autumn comes spring; and he knows too the dream of the fallen leaves, that after spring there is still autumn. He has shed every leaf and kept only his trunk and branches; but, freed from the curve of the days when he was laden with fruit and leaves, he stretches himself very comfortably. A few of his boughs, though, still hang low, nursing the wounds the poles gave them when the dates were knocked down; while the straightest and longest of his boughs pierce silently, like iron, into the strange and high sky, so that the sky winks its sly eyes; they pierce the full round moon in the sky, so that the moon turns pale with embarrassment. The slyly winking sky grows bluer and bluer, more and more uneasy, as if it wanted to leave the human world and escape the date tree, leaving only the moon behind. But the moon too has hidden herself quietly in the east, while the bare trunk still pierces silently, like iron, into the strange and high sky, bent on dealing it a mortal blow, no matter how many bewitching eyes it blinks at him. With a shriek, an evil bird flies past on its night prowl. Suddenly I hear a midnight laugh, a low chuckle, as if not wanting to wake the sleepers, yet all the air around echoes with the laughter. It is midnight, and there is no one else about. At once I know that the sound is coming from my own mouth, and at once I am driven by this laughter back into my room. At once I turn up the wick of my lamp. The glass of the back window rattles, as a swarm of small insects keeps butting against it. Before long a few come in, perhaps through a hole in the window paper. Once inside, they rattle against the glass chimney of the lamp. One of them plunges in from the top and meets the flame, and I believe the flame is real. Two or three others rest on the paper lampshade, panting. That shade was put on new last night: snow-white paper folded in wavy creases, with a sprig of scarlet gardenia painted in one corner. When the scarlet gardenia blooms, the date tree will dream the little pink flower's dream again, and curve again, green and luxuriant ... I hear the midnight laugh again. I hastily cut short my train of thought and look at the little green insects that are still on the white paper. Big-headed and small-tailed, like sunflower seeds, they are only half the size of a grain of wheat, and their whole bodies are a lovely, pitiable green. I give a yawn, light a cigarette, puff out the smoke, and in silence, before the lamp, I pay my respects to these delicate green heroes. (15 September 1924)