English Original
Observe a child; any one will do. You will see that not a day passes in which he does not find something to make him happy, though he may be in tears the next moment. Then look at a man; any one of us will do. You will notice that weeks and months can pass in which each day is greeted with nothing more than resignation and endured with polite indifference. Indeed, most men are as miserable as sinners, though too bored to sin—perhaps their sin is their indifference. They smile so seldom that when they do, we barely recognize their face, so distorted is it from the fixed mask we take for granted. And even then, a man cannot smile like a child, for a child smiles with his eyes, whereas a man smiles with his lips alone. It is not a smile, but a grin; something to do with humor, but little to do with happiness. Yet, there comes a point when a man becomes old, and then he will smile again.
It would seem that happiness has something to do with simplicity—the ability to extract pleasure from the simplest things, such as a peach stone.
It is obvious that happiness is nothing to do with success. Sir Henry Stewart was certainly successful. Twenty years ago, he came from London to our village, bought a couple of old cottages and combined them into one as a weekend refuge. He was a barrister, and the village followed his brilliant career with something almost amounting to paternal pride.
I remember about ten years ago when he was made a King's Counsel. Amos and I went to congratulate him as he got off the London train. We grinned with pleasure; he merely looked as miserable as if he'd received a penal sentence. It was the same when he was knighted; he never smiled, nor did he bother to celebrate. He took his success as a child takes medicine. Not one of his achievements brought even a ghost of a smile to his tired eyes.
Soon after he had retired to potter about his garden, I asked him what it was like to achieve all one's ambitions. He looked down at his roses, continued watering them, and said, "The only value in achieving one's ambition is that you then realize they are not worth achieving." Then he quickly moved the conversation to the weather. That was two years ago.
I recalled this incident yesterday when I was passing his house. I had drawn up my cart just outside his garden wall to let a bus pass. As I sat there filling my pipe, I suddenly heard a shout of sheer joy from the other side of the wall.
I peered over. There stood Sir Henry doing nothing less than a tribal war dance of sheer, unashamed ecstasy. Even when he saw my bewildered face staring over the wall, he was not put out or embarrassed, but shouted for me to climb over.
"Come and see, Jan. Look! I have done it at last! I have done it at last!"
He was holding a small box of earth in his hand. I observed three tiny shoots coming out of it.
"And there were only three!" he said, his eyes laughing to heaven.
"Three what?" I asked.
"Peach stones," he replied. "I've always wanted to make peach stones grow, ever since I was a child. I used to take them home after a party or a banquet, plant them, and then forget where I planted them. But now at last I have done it, and what's more, I had only three stones, and there you are—one, two, three shoots."
And Sir Henry ran off, calling for his wife to come and see his achievement—his achievement of simplicity.
中文翻译
观察一个孩子，任何一个都行。你会发现，没有一天他找不到让自己开心的事情，尽管下一刻他可能就会哭泣。然后看看一个成年人，我们中的任何一个都行。你会注意到，数周甚至数月过去，每一天都是以听天由命的态度迎接，以礼貌的漠然忍受。的确，大多数人都像罪人一样痛苦，尽管他们无聊到懒得去犯罪——或许他们的罪就是这种漠然。他们笑得如此之少，以至于当他们笑时，我们几乎认不出他们的脸，因为它与我们习以为常的固定面具相去甚远。即便如此，成年人也无法像孩子那样微笑，因为孩子用眼睛笑，而成年人只用嘴唇笑。那不是微笑，而是咧嘴；与幽默有关，却与幸福无关。然而，当一个人变老时，他会再次微笑。
幸福似乎与简单有关——一种从最简单的事物中汲取快乐的能力，比如一颗桃核。
显然，幸福与成功无关。亨利·斯图尔特爵士无疑是成功的。二十年前，他从伦敦来到我们村庄，买了两间旧农舍，把它们打通成一间，作为周末的休憩之所。他是一名律师，村里人几乎带着一种慈父般的自豪关注着他辉煌的职业生涯。
我记得大约十年前，他被任命为御用大律师。阿莫斯和我看到他走下伦敦来的火车，便去祝贺他。我们高兴地咧嘴笑；他却只是看起来像被判了刑罚一样痛苦。他被封为爵士时也是如此；他一点没笑，甚至懒得在“蓝狐”酒吧请大家喝一轮庆祝。他对待成功就像孩子吃药一样。他的任何一项成就，都没能给他疲惫的眼睛带来一丝微笑的影子。
在他退休不久，开始在花园里闲逛时，有一天我问他，实现了所有雄心壮志是什么感觉。他低头看着他的玫瑰，继续浇着水，说道：“实现雄心的唯一价值在于，你随后会意识到它们并不值得实现。”然后他迅速将话题转到了更实际的层面，我们立刻回到了关于天气的安全讨论。那是两年前的事了。
昨天我经过他家时想起了这件事。我把马车停在他花园墙外，只是为了给一辆公交车让路。当我坐在那里装烟斗时，突然听到墙那边传来一声纯粹的喜悦呼喊。
我探头望去。只见亨利爵士站在那里，跳着一种纯粹、毫不羞怯的狂喜的部落战舞。即使他看到我困惑的脸从墙头盯着他，他也没有不安或尴尬，反而喊我爬过去。
“快来看，简。看！我终于做到了！我终于做到了！”
他手里拿着一个小土盒。我看到里面冒出了三株细小的嫩芽。
“而且只有三颗！”他说，眼睛笑望着天空。
“三颗什么？”我问。
“桃核，”他回答。“我一直想让桃核发芽，从小时候起就这样。我过去常在聚会或宴会后把它们带回家，种下，然后忘了种在哪里。但现在我终于做到了，而且，更重要的是，我只有三颗桃核，你看——一、二、三株嫩芽。”
亨利爵士跑开了，叫他的妻子来看他的成就——他简单的成就。