狄更斯双语小说:《董贝父子》第34章Part1

In an ugly and dark room, an old woman, ugly and dark too, sat listening to the wind and rain, and crouching over a meagre fire. More constant to the last-named occupation than the first, she never changed her attitude, unless, when any stray drops of rain fell hissing on the smouldering embers, to raise her head with an awakened attention to the whistling and pattering outside, and gradually to let it fall again lower and lower and lower as she sunk into a brooding state of thought, in which the noises of the night were as indistinctly regarded as is the monotonous rolling of a sea by one who sits in contemplation on its shore.
There was no light in the room save that which the fire afforded. Glaring sullenly from time to time like the eye of a fierce beast half asleep, it revealed no objects that needed to be jealous of a better display. A heap of rags, a heap of bones, a wretched bed, two or three mutilated chairs or stools, the black walls and blacker ceiling, were all its winking brightness shone upon. As the old woman, with a gigantic and distorted image of herself thrown half upon the wall behind her, half upon the roof above, sat bending over the few loose bricks within which it was pent, on the damp hearth of the chimney - for there was no stove - she looked as if she were watching at some witch's altar for a favourable token; and but that the movement of her chattering jaws and trembling chin was too frequent and too fast for the slow flickering of the fire, it would have seemed an illusion wrought by the light, as it came and went, upon a face as motionless as the form to which it belonged.
If Florence could have stood within the room and looked upon the original of the shadow thrown upon the wall and roof as it cowered thus over the fire, a glance might have sufficed to recall the figure of Good Mrs Brown; notwithstanding that her childish recollection of that terrible old woman was as grotesque and exaggerated a presentment of the truth, perhaps, as the shadow on the wall. But Florence was not there to look on; and Good Mrs Brown remained unrecognised, and sat staring at her fire, unobserved.
Attracted by a louder sputtering than usual, as the rain came hissing down the chimney in a little stream, the old woman raised her head, impatiently, to listen afresh. And this time she did not drop it again; for there was a hand upon the door, and a footstep in the room.
'Who's that?' she said, looking over her shoulder.
'One who brings you news, was the answer, in a woman's voice.
'News? Where from?'
'From abroad.'

在一间丑陋和黑黑的房间里，一位也是丑陋和黑黑的老太婆坐在那里，一边听着风雨的，一边蜷曲着身子，在微弱的炉火旁边取暖。她对取暖比对听风雨专心，从不改变她的姿势，除非偶尔掉下的雨点在闪燃着的灰烬上发出嘶嘶的时，她才抬起头，重新注意到外面呼啸的风声和嗒嗒地下着的雨声，然后又让头低垂着，低垂着，低垂着，陷入沉思的状态中；这时候她对夜间嘈杂的，就像一个坐在海边沉思的人对海浪滚滚的单调一样，并没有清楚地听进耳朵里去。
房间里除了炉火的光之外，没有别的光。炉火像一头半睡着的猛兽的眼睛一样，不时不乐意地闪一闪亮光，映照出了一些决不需要更好照出的物品。一堆破布，一堆骨头，一张破烂的床，两、三条破损的椅子或凳子，乌黑的墙和更加乌黑的天花板--这就是炉火闪烁的亮光所能照射到的一切。老太婆的巨大的、扭曲了的影子一半投射在她身后的墙上，一半投射在头顶的天花板上；这里没有壁炉；而只有烟囱；当她这样弯曲着身子坐在那里，面对着圈围着炉火的潮湿的烟囱炉膛上的几块松动的砖头时，她看去就仿佛是在女巫的祭坛前面期待着得到一个吉利的征兆似的；跟火焰徐缓的闪烁比较起来，她的牙齿发出卡嗒卡嗒响声的嘴巴和颤抖的下巴如果不是动作得太频繁和太快的话，人们本可能会以为，这只不过是那一亮一灭的光线照射在那张跟身体一样一动不动的脸上所产生的幻影罢了。
如果弗洛伦斯这时站在这间房间里，注视着这位在炉火旁边缩着身子、把影子投射到墙上和天花板上的人的话，那么她只需看一眼，就能回想起善良的布朗太太，尽管她对这位可怕的老太婆的回忆是一个孩子的回忆，它也许就像墙上的影子一样奇异，一样夸张，不符合真实的情景。可是弗洛伦斯不在这里，善良的布朗太太仍然没有被认出来；她坐在那里，凝视着炉火，谁也没有注意到她。
雨水的细流发出嘶嘶的，沿着烟囱流下来；老太婆被一声比平时更响的爆裂声所惊起，不耐烦地抬起头来，重新听着。这一次她没有把头再低下来；因为有谁轻轻地推开门，房间里听到了走进的脚步声。
“是谁？”她回过头去问道。
“给您捎消息来的人，”一个女人的回答道。
“消息？哪里来的消息？”
“外国来的。”