原文 Original text
繁體 Traditional
含詞賦 With rhapsody
嶺上艱行
The Hard Climb Over the Ridge
這嶺上，真個是：这岭上，真个是：
寒颯颯雨林風，響潺潺澗下水。寒飒飒雨林风，响潺潺涧下水。
香馥馥野花開，密叢叢亂石磊。香馥馥野花开，密丛丛乱石磊。
鬧嚷嚷鹿與猿，一隊隊獐和麂。闹嚷嚷鹿与猿，一队队獐和麂。
喧雜雜鳥聲多，靜悄悄人事靡。喧杂杂鸟声多，静悄悄人事靡。
那長老，戰兢兢心不寧；那长老，战兢兢心不宁；
這馬兒，力怯怯蹄難舉。这马儿，力怯怯蹄难举。
三藏捨身拚命，上了那峻嶺之間。行經半日，更不見個人煙村舍。一則腹中饑了，二則路又不平。正在危急之際，只見前面有兩隻猛虎咆哮，後邊有幾條長蛇盤繞。左有毒蟲，右有怪獸。三藏孤身無策，只得放下身心，聽天所命。又無奈那馬腰軟蹄彎，即便跪下，伏倒在地，打又打不起，牽又牽不動。苦得個法師襯身無地，真個有萬分悽楚，已自分必死，莫可奈何。三藏舍身拚命，上了那峻岭之间。行经半日，更不见个人烟村舍。一则腹中饥了，二则路又不平。正在危急之际，只见前面有两只猛虎咆哮，后边有几条长蛇盘绕。左有毒虫，右有怪兽。三藏孤身无策，只得放下身心，听天所命。又无奈那马腰软蹄弯，即便跪下，伏倒在地，打又打不起，牵又牵不动。苦得个法师衬身无地，真个有万分凄楚，已自分必死，莫可奈何。
逐句解 Line by line
這嶺上，真個是：
这岭上，真个是：
Upon this ridge, the sight was truly this:
The prose lead-in introduces the mountain rhapsody that follows.
寒颯颯雨林風，響潺潺澗下水。
寒飒飒雨林风，响潺潺涧下水。
Cold and soughing, the wind through the rain-swept woods; loud and rushing, the water down the ravine.
The rhapsody's every line opens with a reduplicative binome (颯颯, 潺潺, and so on), a sound-patterning the translation can only suggest — a chain of sensory impressions building the wildness of the place.
香馥馥野花開，密叢叢亂石磊。
香馥馥野花开，密丛丛乱石磊。
Fragrant and heavy, the wild flowers in bloom; dense and clustered, the tumbled rocks in heaps.
鬧嚷嚷鹿與猿，一隊隊獐和麂。
闹嚷嚷鹿与猿，一队队獐和麂。
Clamouring and noisy, the deer and the apes; in troop upon troop, the river-deer and the roe.
獐 (zhāng) and 麂 (jǐ) are the river-deer and the muntjac, small wild deer of the southern hills.
喧雜雜鳥聲多，靜悄悄人事靡。
喧杂杂鸟声多，静悄悄人事靡。
Clashing and jumbled, the many voices of birds; still and hushed, no trace of the doings of men.
那長老，戰兢兢心不寧；
那长老，战兢兢心不宁；
That elder — trembling and fearful, his heart ill at ease;
這馬兒，力怯怯蹄難舉。
这马儿，力怯怯蹄难举。
this horse of his — its strength failing and timid, its hooves scarce to be lifted.
The rhapsody closes by turning from the landscape to the two travellers, the pilgrim's fear and the horse's exhaustion set against the wild indifference of the mountain.
三藏捨身拚命，上了那峻嶺之間。行經半日，更不見個人煙村舍。一則腹中饑了，二則路又不平。正在危急之際，只見前面有兩隻猛虎咆哮，後邊有幾條長蛇盤繞。左有毒蟲，右有怪獸。三藏孤身無策，只得放下身心，聽天所命。又無奈那馬腰軟蹄彎，即便跪下，伏倒在地，打又打不起，牽又牽不動。苦得個法師襯身無地，真個有萬分悽楚，已自分必死，莫可奈何。
三藏舍身拚命，上了那峻岭之间。行经半日，更不见个人烟村舍。一则腹中饥了，二则路又不平。正在危急之际，只见前面有两只猛虎咆哮，后边有几条长蛇盘绕。左有毒虫，右有怪兽。三藏孤身无策，只得放下身心，听天所命。又无奈那马腰软蹄弯，即便跪下，伏倒在地，打又打不起，牵又牵不动。苦得个法师衬身无地，真个有万分凄楚，已自分必死，莫可奈何。
Sanzang, staking his very life, climbed up among those steep ranges. He had journeyed half a day, yet still saw not a single hearth-smoke or hamlet. For one thing, his belly was hungry; for another, the road was rough. Just at this moment of peril, he saw ahead of him two fierce tigers roaring, and behind him several long snakes coiling; on the left were venomous insects, on the right monstrous beasts. Sanzang, alone and at his wits' end, could only lay down all thought of himself and submit to the will of Heaven. And there was no help for it, for his horse, its loins gone weak and its hooves buckling, knelt down at once and lay prostrate on the ground: beat it as he might, it would not rise; pull it as he might, it would not stir. The poor Master had not an inch of ground to set himself, and in truth was in the bitterest of straits, having already given himself up for dead, past all remedy.
聽天所命, “submitting to the will of Heaven,” marks the pilgrim's characteristic helplessness: unarmed and without powers of his own, he can do nothing but resign himself — which is the very condition on which Heaven's aid arrives. 已自分必死 uses 分 (fèn) in the sense of “to reckon oneself,” to accept as one's lot: he had already accounted himself a dead man.
總評 Commentary
A set-piece of the wild sublime. The rhapsody piles up its reduplicative sound-words — cold wind, rushing water, fragrant flowers, tumbled rocks, clamouring beasts — to render a landscape at once beautiful and menacing, and then, in its last two lines, folds the human figures into the scene: the trembling monk, the failing horse. The prose that follows brings the peril to a crisis, ringing Sanzang about with tigers, snakes, insects, and beasts, and stripping him of every resource until his own horse collapses beneath him and he gives himself up for dead. This is the recurrent shape of the early pilgrimage: Sanzang, defenceless and alone, reduced to utter helplessness and “submitting to the will of Heaven” — a submission less passive than it looks, for it is precisely at the point of “no help for it” that deliverance, as the next passage shows, arrives.