1857：看啊，我在門前輕叩此門

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奧里弗拉姆(Oriflamme)的第五號(hào)拍品，1857年五月五日拍賣。從斯特拉斯克尼先生的私人圖書館的廢墟中發(fā)現(xiàn)的“帕西法爾”筆記本碎片，嚴(yán)重焚毀，已得到部分修復(fù)。

“M.,

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在此，我記錄一下我在高貴之舉社團(tuán)的經(jīng)歷，我在倉促中寫下這些文字，因而可能不甚清晰。隨你的喜好使用它。

在為牡鹿之門的謎語作準(zhǔn)備時(shí)（我會(huì)在后面解釋），入夢(mèng)者需要多次穿過純白之門。純白之門古時(shí)又名白骨之門,象牙之門。言語無法穿過純白之門，入夢(mèng)者從此踏入居屋時(shí)，聲音都會(huì)被留在其外。

純白之門是變化無常的。那晚我已經(jīng)備好了適當(dāng)?shù)乃幉荩⑶矣邢Ｍ诋?dāng)晚進(jìn)入其中。要知道，一旦進(jìn)入漫宿，記憶就會(huì)叫人心潮澎湃，直到淚流滿面。醒來后回憶起它的臺(tái)階、畫廊和自窗中透出的燈光，就像一個(gè)晴朗的秋日清晨時(shí)那半夢(mèng)半醒間的記憶一樣……我發(fā)現(xiàn)，我每晚進(jìn)行入睡的準(zhǔn)備時(shí)，心情就好似是在等待著一個(gè)反復(fù)無常的情人，的確，睡眠確實(shí)是反復(fù)無常的……

但最終我還是又走到了漫宿外圍，我們稱之為“邊境”的地方，我們相信它在林地之上。邊境無休止的呼吸與變化著——有人說，他們是居屋的肢體——但我從不贊同那些將居屋視作有機(jī)體的觀點(diǎn)。它們的確不是石頭，但相比于血肉，它們或許更像石頭一些。那晚，邊境染上了在我們社團(tuán)里被稱為“危險(xiǎn)之色”的顏色。因此，在到達(dá)純白之門之前，我就已經(jīng)有了一種相當(dāng)大的憂慮——今晚或許不是一個(gè)探索太陽之居屋的恰當(dāng)時(shí)間。但即使純白之門也不能讓人輕易放棄，何況那晚我對(duì)穿過牡鹿之門抱有很大的期望……因此我決定繼續(xù)前進(jìn)。

我繞過被稱為轉(zhuǎn)輪之寺的高大巖石，純白之門映入眼前。門前聚集著一群亡者。即使隔著這樣遠(yuǎn)的距離，也能清晰辨認(rèn)出它們。你可能會(huì)意識(shí)到，那些亡者穿過純白之門——它們的話語也被從其身上奪走——就像入夢(mèng)者一樣，這就是為什么我們?cè)诼拗杏龅降耐稣叱３１３殖聊?。然而我很快發(fā)現(xiàn)，它們的動(dòng)作完全不像亡者。

那里有——

我想說有一條河從門中流出。不過它不是河流，也不是膿液，然而也不是任何讓人歡欣的事物。但當(dāng)我試圖更具體的描述它時(shí)，我的筆在我手中折斷了。夫人，我很抱歉這些語義不詳?shù)氖÷?，但我不想招致那個(gè)司辰入夢(mèng)。扶搖蜘蛛意欲統(tǒng)治，而戴冠之孳只意在感染與嬗變。我不相信邊境是居屋的肢體，但我敢斷言那晚遇見的亡者已經(jīng)盡數(shù)變成了戴冠之孳的肢體。如果您遇到了它們，請(qǐng)切勿讓它們觸碰到您——甚至不要看它們的臉——哪怕一眼。我要為了雙角斧，漆黑亞麻和其他更古老的司辰而感謝太陽。我想要不是它們，或許我們現(xiàn)在也全部變成了那孳生之物的一部分。

那晚我沒能穿過純白之門，我流著淚跑進(jìn)了黑夜，蜷縮在林地的根系與葉片之間。我將我與飛蛾的緊密聯(lián)系歸功于這段經(jīng)歷。

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PS1:倒數(shù)第二段關(guān)于純白之門前場(chǎng)景的描述的翻譯引自灰機(jī)wiki中扶搖蜘蛛和戴冠之孳界面，稍作修改。

PS2: 突然意識(shí)到大概率已經(jīng)有人做過了這些文本的翻譯，不過我在網(wǎng)上暫時(shí)還沒找到完整的翻譯，所以暫且只能自力更生-_-

PS3: Weather Factory似乎對(duì)設(shè)定進(jìn)行了一些更改。這個(gè)文本在2017年被放出來時(shí)，標(biāo)題是“Around 1890s, in the Third History, the Crowned Growth coulde be perceived through the White Door”,然而在這次的Boh附帶的文本合集里，事件發(fā)生的時(shí)間被提前到了1857年甚至更早。

原文

1857: Behold I Stand At the Door and Knock?

Oriflamme’s, Lot 5, Auction 5th May ’57. Fragments of the notebooks of ‘Parsival’, recovered from the wreck of Mr Strathcoyne’s private library. Extensive fire-damage, reconstructed in part.

“M.,

Herein I have set down my recollections of my time with the Society of the Noble Endeavour. I write in haste & may be lacking clarity. Make what you will of it.?

In preparation for the Riddle of the Stag Door (which I will describe later) a dreamer passes through the White Door, not once but many times. The White Door was known anciently as the Bone Door or the Ivory Door. Speech may not pass its valves, and dreamers are mute when they enter the House

The White Door is fickle. I had prepared the proper tisanes & I had some hope of entrance that night. You should know that once one has entered the Mansus, the memory of it hooks & tears. One recalls its stairs and galleries and the light of its windows with a sentiment like that of half-waking memories on clear autumn mornings… I found then that I prepared my limbs for sleep with the trembling anticipation of one who awaits a fickle lover, and that sleep, indeed, was fickle…?

But at length I walked again in the outer precincts of the Mansus, that place we call the Bounds, which we dare to believe above the Wood. The Bounds breathe & change – they are some say the limbs of the House – but I have never subscribed to the notion that the House is an organism. It is not stone, but it is more like stone than flesh. That night they were hued with what we in the Society called the perilous colour. I had a considerable apprehension, before I ever saw the door, that this was not a night to be abroad in the precincts of the House of the Sun. But one does not surrender easily even the White Door, and I had high hopes that year of passing the Stag Door early… so on I went.

I rounded the high rock that is called the Temple of the Wheel, and the White Door came into view. There was a crowd of the Dead before it. Even at that distance, it was clear that is what they were. You may be aware that some Dead pass the White Door – their speech is taken from them, as the speech of dreamers, and that is why the Dead we meet in the Mansus are so often mute. But their movements, I quickly saw, were not the movements of the Dead.

There was –?

I shall say there was a river flowing through the door. It was not a river, and neither was it pus, nor joy, but when I tried to articulate it better, my pen snapped in my hand. I apologise for the apophatic ellipsis, Madame, but I have no wish to tempt that Hour into my dreams. The Rising Spider wishes dominion, but the Growth wishes only to infect and become. I do not believe the Bounds are the limbs of the House, but I must aver that the Dead that night had become the limbs of the Crowned Growth. Should you meet them, do not permit them to touch you. Do not even look upon their faces. I thank the Sun for the Horned Axe, the Black-Flax, the other older Hours. Without them I wonder whether we might not all be the Growth.

I did not pass the White Door that night. I ran crying into the night and I recollected myself only curled among the roots and blades of the Wood. To that episode, I ascribe my affinity with the Moth…”