狄更斯双语小说:《董贝父子》第43章Part4

Susan was too much softened to express her private opinion on the probability of Mrs Dombey's being in attendance on her husband, and silently withdrew. Florence left alone, soon hid her head upon her hands as she had often done in other days, and did not restrain the tears from coursing down her face. The misery of this domestic discord and unhappiness; the withered hope she cherished now, if hope it could be called, of ever being taken to her father's heart; her doubts and fears between the two; the yearning of her innocent breast to both; the heavy disappointment and regret of such an end as this, to what had been a vision of bright hope and promise to her; all crowded on her mind and made her tears flow fast. Her mother and her brother dead, her father unmoved towards her, Edith opposed to him and casting him away, but loving her, and loved by her, it seemed as if her affection could never prosper, rest where it would. That weak thought was soon hushed, but the thoughts in which it had arisen were too true and strong to be dismissed with it; and they made the night desolate.
Among such reflections there rose up, as there had risen up all day, the image of her father, wounded and in pain, alone in his own room, untended by those who should be nearest to him, and passing the tardy hours in lonely suffering. A frightened thought which made her start and clasp her hands - though it was not a new one in her mind - that he might die, and never see her or pronounce her name, thrilled her whole frame. In her agitation she thought, and trembled while she thought, of once more stealing downstairs, and venturing to his door.
She listened at her own. The house was quiet, and all the lights were out. It was a long, long time, she thought, since she used to make her nightly pilgrimages to his door! It was a long, long time, she tried to think, since she had entered his room at midnight, and he had led her back to the stair-foot!
With the same child's heart within her, as of old: even with the child's sweet timid eyes and clustering hair: Florence, as strange to her father in her early maiden bloom, as in her nursery time, crept down the staircase listening as she went, and drew near to his room. No one was stirring in the house. The door was partly open to admit air; and all was so still within, that she could hear the burning of the fire, and count the ticking of the clock that stood upon the chimney-piece.
She looked in. In that room, the housekeeper wrapped in a blanket was fast asleep in an easy chair before the fire. The doors between it and the next were partly closed, and a screen was drawn before them; but there was a light there, and it shone upon the cornice of his bed. All was so very still that she could hear from his breathing that he was asleep. This gave her courage to pass round the screen, and look into his chamber.
It was as great a start to come upon his sleeping face as if she had not expected to see it. Florence stood arrested on the spot, and if he had awakened then, must have remained there.
There was a cut upon his forehead, and they had been wetting his hair, which lay bedabbled and entangled on the pillow. One of his arms, resting outside the bed, was bandaged up, and he was very white. But it was not this, that after the first quick glance, and first assurance of his sleeping quietly, held Florence rooted to the ground. It was something very different from this, and more than this, that made him look so solemn in her eye
She had never seen his face in all her life, but there had been upon it - or she fancied so - some disturbing consciousness of her. She had never seen his face in all her life, but hope had sunk within her, and her timid glance had dropped before its stern, unloving, and repelling harshness. As she looked upon it now, she saw it, for the first time, free from the cloud that had darkened her childhood. Calm, tranquil night was reigning in its stead. He might have gone to sleep, for anything she saw there, blessing her.
Awake, unkind father! Awake, now, sullen man! The time is flitting by; the hour is coming with an angry tread. Awake!

苏珊的心情已经变得十分温柔，所以对董贝夫人是不是可能在照料她的丈夫，她不想说出她的看法，于是就一声不响地离开了。当弗洛伦斯独自留下的时候，她立刻像在其他日子里时常做的那样，用手捂着脸，让眼泪任情地流下来。家庭不和睦和不幸福带来了不幸；她曾经怀着希望（如果这可以称为希望的话），有朝一日能赢得她父亲的喜爱，如今这希望已经破灭了；她对她父亲和伊迪丝之间的关系怀着怀疑与恐惧；她纯洁的心胸同时向往着他们两人；过去在她心中曾经展现过一幅光明的希望与前途的美景，如今这样的结局又在她心中产生了沉痛的失望与惋惜；所有这一切都一齐涌集到她的心头，使她的眼泪簌簌地流了下来。她的母亲和弟弟死了；她的父亲对她漠不关心；伊迪丝反对和抛弃她的父亲，但却爱她并被她所爱；她觉得，她的爱不论落在什么地方，似乎都不会给她带来幸福。这个淡弱的思想很快就被她压了下去，但是产生这个思想的其它思想是太真实、太强烈了，要驱除它们是不可能的，这些思想使夜变得凄凉。
她父亲的形象在这些思念中间出现了，就像整天都曾出现过的那样；他受了伤，身上疼痛，现在躺在他自己的房间里，在孤独寂寞中，忍受着痛苦，度过缓慢的时光；那些应该是对他最亲近的人却没有他身旁照料他。一个使她害怕的思想--他可能死去，再也看不到她，再也不喊她的名字了--使她惊惧，并使她把手紧紧握着；虽然它并不是第一次出现在她心中，但它使她浑身震颤。她在激动的心情中想到再一次偷偷地跑下楼去，并大胆地走到他的门口，当她想到这一点的时候，她哆嗦着。
她在她自己的房间门口听着。公馆里静悄悄的，所有的灯光都熄灭了。她想到，自从她过去常到他房门口去作夜间的参拜以来，到现在已经是很久很久的时间了！她又想到，自从她在半夜里走进他的房间，他把她送到楼梯底以来，到现在已经是很久很久的时间了！
弗洛伦斯现在是豆蔻年华的美丽少女，但是与她父亲仍和幼儿时代一样生疏；现在她怀着一颗和过去同样的孩子的心，甚至带着同一双孩子的可爱的、胆怯的眼睛，披着同样散开的头发，边走边听，偷偷地下了楼，走近他的房间。公馆中没有一个人在走动。为了让空气进去，房门半开着；房间里面十分寂静，她可以听到炉火的燃烧声，还可以数出壁炉架上时钟的嘀嗒声。
她往里面探望。房间里，女管家用一条毯子裹着身子，正在壁炉前的一张安乐椅里熟睡。隔壁房间的门半掩着，门前立着一座屏风；可是那里有灯光，照射在他的床的靠背上。一切都很寂静，她可以从他的呼吸声中知道他睡着了。这使她鼓起勇气，绕过屏风，往他的卧室里探望。
她看到那睡着的脸孔时，大大地吃了一惊，仿佛她事前没有预料到会看到它似的。弗洛伦斯被吸引住，就地站在那里一动不动；如果他这时醒过来的话，那么她也一定会继续站在那里的。
他的前额上有一个伤口，他们把他的头发沾湿了，头发肮脏、错乱地披散在枕头上。他的一条胳膊搁在被子外面，用绷带包扎着。他的脸色十分苍白。可是，弗洛伦斯迅速地看了他一眼，确信他安静地睡着之后，使她站着不动的，并不是这些景象。在她的眼中，使他看去那么庄严的，是与这完全不同、比这具有更多意义的某种东西。
她一生中没有一次看到他的脸时，他的脸上不是因为知道有她在跟前而表露出（或是她想象那样表露出）烦恼不安的神色的；她一生中没有一次看到他的脸时，她的希望不在心中消沉的；在他脸孔那严厉的、毫无爱意的、令人望而生畏的生硬神色面前，她的胆怯的眼光没有一次不低垂下来的。现在当她看着他的时候，她第一次看到他的脸上不再笼罩着那块使她的童年暗淡无光的阴云。寂静的、安宁的夜代替了它。她看到这脸上的一切表情，心想，他可能已睡去了，同时还在祝福她呢。
醒来吧，冷酷的父亲！醒来吧，怏怏不乐的人！时间正在飞逝，钟点正踏着怒气冲冲的步伐来临了。醒来吧！