目 录 上一节 
在拉雪兹神甫公墓里，靠近普通墓穴的旁边，远离这墓园中幽雅的地区，远离那些希奇古怪的在永恒面前还要展示死后时兴式样的丑墓，就在一个荒僻的角落里，靠着一堵旧墙，在一棵爬着牵牛花的大水杉下面，在茅草和青苔之中，有一块石板，这块石板和别的石板一样，日子一久也剥落得斑斑点点，发了霉，长着苔藓，堆着鸟粪。雨水使它发绿，空气使它变黑。它不在任何路旁，人们不爱到这边来，因为野草太高，使脚立刻浸湿。当少许太阳露面时，壁虎会出现，四周还有野燕麦围着沙沙作响，春天红雀在树上欢唱。 This stone is perfectly plain. In cutting it the only thought was the requirements of the tomb, and no other care was taken than to make the stone long enough and narrow enough to cover a man. 这块石板是光秃秃的，凿石的人只想到这是筑墓石所需，除了使它够长够宽能盖住一个人之外，就没有考虑过其他方面。 No name is to be read there. 上面没有名字。 Only, many years ago, a hand wrote upon it in pencil these four lines, which have become gradually illegible beneath the rain and the dust, and which are, to-day, probably effaced: 但是多年前，有只手用铅笔在上面写了四句诗，在雨露和尘土的洗刷下已慢慢地看不清楚了，而今天大概已经消失了： He sleeps. Although his fate was very strange, he lived. He died when he had no longer his angel. The thing came to pass simply, of itself, as the night comes when day is gone. 他安息了。尽管命运多舛，他仍偷生。失去了他的天使他就丧生；事情是自然而然地发生， | 
