Yuki-Onna 雪女 小泉八云（拉夫卡迪奥·赫恩） Lafcadio Hearn (Koizumi Yakumo)（1850–1904） 1904 年 冷冻图书馆 · 开架书库 · S-009205 · https://coldlibrary.com/s/009205 权利：1904 年出版；小泉八云卒于 1904 年。已按澳大利亚、欧盟、英国、中国大陆和美国的规则核对（截至 2026 年 10 月 11 日）。仅供参考，不是法律意见。 来源：Project Gutenberg，https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/1210/pg1210.txt（取于 2026-10-11） 中文译文：Claude（AI），2026 · CC0 1.0 生成于 2026-10-14，来自 https://coldlibrary.com/open-stacks/hearn-yuki-onna ---- In a village of Musashi Province, there lived two woodcutters: Mosaku and Minokichi. At the time of which I am speaking, Mosaku was an old man; and Minokichi, his apprentice, was a lad of eighteen years. Every day they went together to a forest situated about five miles from their village. On the way to that forest there is a wide river to cross; and there is a ferry-boat. Several times a bridge was built where the ferry is; but the bridge was each time carried away by a flood. No common bridge can resist the current there when the river rises. Mosaku and Minokichi were on their way home, one very cold evening, when a great snowstorm overtook them. They reached the ferry; and they found that the boatman had gone away, leaving his boat on the other side of the river. It was no day for swimming; and the woodcutters took shelter in the ferryman’s hut,—thinking themselves lucky to find any shelter at all. There was no brazier in the hut, nor any place in which to make a fire: it was only a two-mat hut, with a single door, but no window. Mosaku and Minokichi fastened the door, and lay down to rest, with their straw rain-coats over them. At first they did not feel very cold; and they thought that the storm would soon be over. The old man almost immediately fell asleep; but the boy, Minokichi, lay awake a long time, listening to the awful wind, and the continual slashing of the snow against the door. The river was roaring; and the hut swayed and creaked like a junk at sea. It was a terrible storm; and the air was every moment becoming colder; and Minokichi shivered under his rain-coat. But at last, in spite of the cold, he too fell asleep. He was awakened by a showering of snow in his face. The door of the hut had been forced open; and, by the snow-light (*yuki-akari*), he saw a woman in the room,—a woman all in white. She was bending above Mosaku, and blowing her breath upon him;—and her breath was like a bright white smoke. Almost in the same moment she turned to Minokichi, and stooped over him. He tried to cry out, but found that he could not utter any sound. The white woman bent down over him, lower and lower, until her face almost touched him; and he saw that she was very beautiful,—though her eyes made him afraid. For a little time she continued to look at him;—then she smiled, and she whispered:—“I intended to treat you like the other man. But I cannot help feeling some pity for you,—because you are so young... You are a pretty boy, Minokichi; and I will not hurt you now. But, if you ever tell anybody—even your own mother—about what you have seen this night, I shall know it; and then I will kill you... Remember what I say!” With these words, she turned from him, and passed through the doorway. Then he found himself able to move; and he sprang up, and looked out. But the woman was nowhere to be seen; and the snow was driving furiously into the hut. Minokichi closed the door, and secured it by fixing several billets of wood against it. He wondered if the wind had blown it open;—he thought that he might have been only dreaming, and might have mistaken the gleam of the snow-light in the doorway for the figure of a white woman: but he could not be sure. He called to Mosaku, and was frightened because the old man did not answer. He put out his hand in the dark, and touched Mosaku’s face, and found that it was ice! Mosaku was stark and dead... By dawn the storm was over; and when the ferryman returned to his station, a little after sunrise, he found Minokichi lying senseless beside the frozen body of Mosaku. Minokichi was promptly cared for, and soon came to himself; but he remained a long time ill from the effects of the cold of that terrible night. He had been greatly frightened also by the old man’s death; but he said nothing about the vision of the woman in white. As soon as he got well again, he returned to his calling,—going alone every morning to the forest, and coming back at nightfall with his bundles of wood, which his mother helped him to sell. One evening, in the winter of the following year, as he was on his way home, he overtook a girl who happened to be traveling by the same road. She was a tall, slim girl, very good-looking; and she answered Minokichi’s greeting in a voice as pleasant to the ear as the voice of a song-bird. Then he walked beside her; and they began to talk. The girl said that her name was O-Yuki; that she had lately lost both of her parents; and that she was going to Yedo, where she happened to have some poor relations, who might help her to find a situation as servant. Minokichi soon felt charmed by this strange girl; and the more that he looked at her, the handsomer she appeared to be. He asked her whether she was yet betrothed; and she answered, laughingly, that she was free. Then, in her turn, she asked Minokichi whether he was married, or pledged to marry; and he told her that, although he had only a widowed mother to support, the question of an “honorable daughter-in-law” had not yet been considered, as he was very young... After these confidences, they walked on for a long while without speaking; but, as the proverb declares, *Ki ga aréba, mé mo kuchi hodo ni mono wo iu:* “When the wish is there, the eyes can say as much as the mouth.” By the time they reached the village, they had become very much pleased with each other; and then Minokichi asked O-Yuki to rest awhile at his house. After some shy hesitation, she went there with him; and his mother made her welcome, and prepared a warm meal for her. O-Yuki behaved so nicely that Minokichi’s mother took a sudden fancy to her, and persuaded her to delay her journey to Yedo. And the natural end of the matter was that Yuki never went to Yedo at all. She remained in the house, as an “honorable daughter-in-law.” O-Yuki proved a very good daughter-in-law. When Minokichi’s mother came to die,—some five years later,—her last words were words of affection and praise for the wife of her son. And O-Yuki bore Minokichi ten children, boys and girls,—handsome children all of them, and very fair of skin. The country-folk thought O-Yuki a wonderful person, by nature different from themselves. Most of the peasant-women age early; but O-Yuki, even after having become the mother of ten children, looked as young and fresh as on the day when she had first come to the village. One night, after the children had gone to sleep, O-Yuki was sewing by the light of a paper lamp; and Minokichi, watching her, said:— “To see you sewing there, with the light on your face, makes me think of a strange thing that happened when I was a lad of eighteen. I then saw somebody as beautiful and white as you are now—indeed, she was very like you.”... Without lifting her eyes from her work, O-Yuki responded:— “Tell me about her... Where did you see her?” Then Minokichi told her about the terrible night in the ferryman’s hut,—and about the White Woman that had stooped above him, smiling and whispering,—and about the silent death of old Mosaku. And he said:— “Asleep or awake, that was the only time that I saw a being as beautiful as you. Of course, she was not a human being; and I was afraid of her,—very much afraid,—but she was so white!... Indeed, I have never been sure whether it was a dream that I saw, or the Woman of the Snow.”... O-Yuki flung down her sewing, and arose, and bowed above Minokichi where he sat, and shrieked into his face:— “It was I—I—I! Yuki it was! And I told you then that I would kill you if you ever said one word about it!... But for those children asleep there, I would kill you this moment! And now you had better take very, very good care of them; for if ever they have reason to complain of you, I will treat you as you deserve!”... Even as she screamed, her voice became thin, like a crying of wind;—then she melted into a bright white mist that spired to the roof-beams, and shuddered away through the smoke-hole.... Never again was she seen. ---- 中文译文 · Claude（AI）译 在武藏国的一个村子里，住着两个樵夫：茂作和巳之吉。我讲的那个时候，茂作已经是个老人了；巳之吉是他的徒弟，是个十八岁的少年。他们每天一起到离村子大约五英里的一片树林里去。去那片树林的路上，要渡过一条宽阔的河，河上有一条渡船。在渡口的地方曾经架过好几次桥，可是每一次都被洪水冲走了。河水上涨的时候，普通的桥抵挡不住那里的激流。 一个非常寒冷的傍晚，茂作和巳之吉正在回家的路上，一场大风雪向他们袭来。他们到了渡口，发现船夫已经走了，把船留在了河对岸。这可不是能游过去的天气；两个樵夫就躲进了船夫的小屋，心想能找到一个躲避的地方就算走运了。小屋里没有火盆，也没有地方可以生火：那只是一间两张草席大的小屋，只有一扇门，没有窗子。茂作和巳之吉把门拴好，盖着草编的蓑衣躺下来休息。起初他们并不觉得太冷，以为风雪很快就会过去。 老人几乎马上就睡着了；可是少年巳之吉却醒着躺了很久，听着可怕的风声，听着雪不停地抽打着门。河水在咆哮；小屋像海上的一只帆船那样摇晃、吱吱作响。这是一场可怕的风雪；空气每一刻都在变得更冷；巳之吉在蓑衣底下发抖。可是到后来，他也不顾寒冷，睡着了。 一阵扑到脸上的雪把他惊醒了。小屋的门被冲开了；借着雪光（*yuki-akari*），他看见屋里有一个女人——一个浑身雪白的女人。她俯身在茂作上方，向他吹气；她的气息像一股明亮的白烟。几乎就在同一时刻，她转向巳之吉，向他弯下腰来。他想喊叫，却发觉自己发不出一点声音。那个白衣女人向他俯下身来，越来越低，直到她的脸几乎碰到了他；他看出她非常美丽，虽然她的眼睛使他害怕。她又这样看了他一会儿，然后笑了笑，低声说道：“我本来想像对待那个人一样对待你。可是我不由得有点可怜你，因为你还这样年轻……你是个好看的孩子，巳之吉；我现在不害你。可是，要是你把今夜看到的事告诉任何人，哪怕是你的母亲，我都会知道的；那时我就要杀了你……记住我的话！” 说完这些话，她转身离开他，从门口出去了。这时他发现自己能动了，就一跃而起，向外张望。可是哪里也看不见那个女人；雪正猛烈地往屋里灌。巳之吉关上门，用几根木柴顶住，把门牢牢地挡上。他怀疑是不是风把门吹开的；他想自己也许只是在做梦，也许把门口雪光的闪烁错当成了一个白衣女人的身影：可是他拿不准。他喊茂作，老人不回答，他害怕起来。他在黑暗中伸出手去，摸到了茂作的脸，发现那是冰冷的！茂作已经僵硬，死了…… 天亮时风雪停了；日出后不久，船夫回到渡口，发现巳之吉昏倒在茂作冻僵的尸体旁边。人们立刻照料巳之吉，他很快就苏醒过来；可是那个可怕的夜晚的寒冷让他病了很久。老人的死也使他受了很大的惊吓；但关于那个白衣女人的幻影，他什么也没有说。病一好，他就重操旧业，每天早晨独自到树林里去，傍晚背着一捆捆柴回来，由他的母亲帮着去卖。 第二年冬天的一个傍晚，他在回家的路上，赶上了一个恰好同路的姑娘。她是个高挑苗条的姑娘，长得很好看；她回答巳之吉的问候，声音像鸣禽的歌声一样悦耳。于是他就走在她身边，两人攀谈起来。姑娘说她名叫阿雪；说她不久前死了父母；说她要到江户去，那里恰好有几个穷亲戚，或许能帮她找个当女佣的活计。巳之吉很快就被这个陌生的姑娘迷住了；他越看她，越觉得她好看。他问她是否已经许了人家；她笑着回答说，她还是自由的。接着她也问巳之吉，是不是已经成了亲，或者订了婚；他告诉她，虽然他只有一个守寡的母亲要奉养，可因为他还很年轻，“娶个好媳妇”的事还没有考虑过……说过这些知心话之后，他们默默地走了很久；可是，正如谚语所说，*Ki ga aréba, mé mo kuchi hodo ni mono wo iu*：“有了心意，眼睛也能像嘴一样说话。”等他们到了村子，两人已经彼此十分中意了；这时巳之吉请阿雪到他家里歇一歇。她羞涩地犹豫了一下，就跟他去了；他的母亲热情地招待她，给她做了一顿热饭。阿雪举止那么可爱，巳之吉的母亲一下子就喜欢上了她，劝她推迟去江户的行程。事情自然而然的结局是，阿雪根本没有去江户。她留在了这个家里，做了“好媳妇”。 阿雪果然是个很好的儿媳。大约五年以后，巳之吉的母亲临终的时候，最后的话是对儿媳的疼爱和称赞。阿雪给巳之吉生了十个孩子，有男有女，个个都很好看，皮肤都非常白。 乡下人都觉得阿雪是个奇妙的人，天生和他们不一样。大多数农家妇女老得很早；可是阿雪即使做了十个孩子的母亲，看上去还是像她初来村子的那一天一样年轻娇嫩。 一天夜里，孩子们都睡了，阿雪在纸罩灯的光下做针线；巳之吉看着她，说道： “看你坐在那里做针线，灯光照在你的脸上，让我想起我十八岁时遇到的一件怪事。那时我见过一个和现在的你一样美丽、一样白的人——说真的，她很像你。”…… 阿雪没有从针线活上抬起眼睛，回答道： “讲给我听听她的事……你是在哪里见到她的？” 于是巳之吉把船夫小屋里那个可怕的夜晚，那个俯身在他上方、微笑着低声说话的白衣女人，还有老茂作无声无息的死，都讲给她听了。他又说： “不管是睡着还是醒着，只有那一次，我见到过像你一样美丽的人。当然，她不是人；我怕她——非常怕——可她是那么白！……说真的，我一直拿不准，我看到的是一场梦，还是雪女。”…… 阿雪扔下针线，站起身来，俯身在坐着的巳之吉上方，冲着他的脸尖叫道： “那就是我——我——我！那就是雪！我那时就告诉过你，要是你说出一个字，我就要杀了你！……要不是为了睡在那边的孩子们，我这会儿就杀了你！现在你最好非常、非常好地照顾他们；因为要是他们有一天有理由抱怨你，我会给你应得的报应！”…… 就在她尖叫的时候，她的声音变细了，像风的呜咽；接着她化成一团明亮的白雾，盘旋着升到屋梁，颤抖着从烟孔里飘散了……从此再也没有人见过她。