狄更斯双语小说:《董贝父子》第24章Part 3

There were some children staying in the house. Children who were as frank and happy with fathers and with mothers as those rosy faces opposite home. Children who had no restraint upon their love. and freely showed it. Florence sought to learn their secret; sought to find out what it was she had missed; what simple art they knew, and she knew not; how she could be taught by them to show her father that she loved him, and to win his love again.
Many a day did Florence thoughtfully observe these children. On many a bright morning did she leave her bed when the glorious sun rose, and walking up and down upon the river's bank' before anyone in the house was stirring, look up at the windows of their rooms, and think of them, asleep, so gently tended and affectionately thought of. Florence would feel more lonely then, than in the great house all alone; and would think sometimes that she was better there than here, and that there was greater peace in hiding herself than in mingling with others of her age, and finding how unlike them all she was. But attentive to her study, though it touched her to the quick at every little leaf she turned in the hard book, Florence remained among them, and tried with patient hope, to gain the knowledge that she wearied for.
Ah! how to gain it! how to know the charm in its beginning! There were daughters here, who rose up in the morning, and lay down to rest at night, possessed of fathers' hearts already. They had no repulse to overcome, no coldness to dread, no frown to smooth away. As the morning advanced, and the windows opened one by one, and the dew began to dry upon the flowers and and youthful feet began to move upon the lawn, Florence, glancing round at the bright faces, thought what was there she could learn from these children? It was too late to learn from them; each could approach her father fearlessly, and put up her lips to meet the ready kiss, and wind her arm about the neck that bent down to caress her. She could not begin by being so bold. Oh! could it be that there was less and less hope as she studied more and more!
She remembered well, that even the old woman who had robbed her when a little child - whose image and whose house, and all she had said and done, were stamped upon her recollection, with the enduring sharpness of a fearful impression made at that early period of life - had spoken fondly of her daughter, and how terribly even she had cried out in the pain of hopeless separation from her child But her own mother, she would think again, when she recalled this, had loved her well. Then, sometimes, when her thoughts reverted swiftly to the void between herself and her father, Florence would tremble, and the tears would start upon her face, as she pictured to herself her mother living on, and coming also to dislike her, because of her wanting the unknown grace that should conciliate that father naturally, and had never done so from her cradle She knew that this imagination did wrong to her mother's memory, and had no truth in it, or base to rest upon; and yet she tried so hard to justify him, and to find the wholeblame in herself, that she could not resist its passing, like a wild cloud, through the distance of her mind.
There came among the other visitors, soon after Florence, one beautiful girl, three or four years younger than she, who was an orphan child, and who was accompanied by her aunt, a grey-haired lady, who spoke much to Florence, and who greatly liked (but that they all did) to hear her sing of an evening, and would always sit near her at that time, with motherly interest. They had only been two days in the house, when Florence, being in an arbour in the garden one warm morning, musingly observant of a youthful group upon the turf, through some intervening boughs, - and wreathing flowers for the head of one little creature among them who was the pet and plaything of the rest, heard this same lady and her niece, in pacing up and down a sheltered nook close by, speak of herself.
'Is Florence an orphan like me, aunt?' said the child.

有几个孩子住在这个屋子里。这些孩子们跟他们的父母在一起的时候，真挚坦率，快快活活，就跟她家对面那些脸色红润的女孩子们一样。这些孩子们毫不抑制他们的爱，而是随心随意地把它表露出来。弗洛伦斯想要探索他们的秘密，想要找出她所缺少的是什么；他们懂得什么简单的技巧而她却不懂；她怎样从他们那里吸取智慧，去向她的父亲表示她爱他，并重新赢得他的爱。
弗洛伦斯好多天若有所思地观察着这些孩子。好多个晴朗的早晨，当灿烂的太阳升起的时候，屋子中还没有任何人起身，她就离开了床，在河边来回散步，仰望着他们的窗子，想着他们正在熟睡之中，受到父母细心的照料和亲切的关怀。这时候弗洛伦斯感到比独自一人住在自己家宏伟的宅第中更为孤独；有时她觉得在家里反比在这里更好，把自己隐藏起来比混杂在和她年龄相仿的其他孩子们中间，看到她和他们很不一样的时候，心中能够得到更大的安宁。虽然这本难念的书每翻过小小的一页都使她心中产生剧烈的痛苦，但是弗洛伦斯还是全神贯注地进行着研究；她留在他们中间，耐心地怀着希望，设法得到她渴望得到的知识。
唉！怎样才能得到它呢？怎样才能在那能获得父亲喜爱的魅力刚刚产生的时候就知道它呢？这里有些做女儿的，早上从床上起来，晚上躺下休息，早已掌握了父亲的心。她们不需要克服父亲对她们的嫌恶，不需要畏惧父亲对她们的冷淡，不需要抚平父亲对她们的皱眉。当早晨来临，窗子一个一个地打开，花草上的露珠开始干枯，年轻的脚开始在草坪上走动的时候，弗洛伦斯望着这些喜气洋洋的脸孔，心想她能从这些女孩子们身上学到什么呢？向她们学习已经太晚了。每个女孩子都能毫无畏惧地走近父亲身边，凑上嘴唇迎接那喜悦的亲吻，伸出胳膊搂住那低下来抚爱她的脖子。她不能这样大胆地开始。啊，她研究得愈来愈深，希望就显得愈来愈少，这是可能的吗？
她清楚地记得，当她还是个小女孩的时候，甚至连那个曾经拐骗过她的老太婆——她的形象，她的住所，她所说所做的一切，都以童年时期恐怖印象所具有的那种经久不灭的鲜明性，深深地印刻在她的记忆中——，也曾怀着亲切的感情谈到她的女儿，甚至连她也由于和她的孩子绝望地分离而十分可怕地痛苦哭泣。可是当弗洛伦斯回想到这一点的时候，她又会这样想：她自己的母亲也曾经热爱过她。于是，有时当她的思想迅速地返回到她和父亲之间空旷的深渊时，她在面前呈现出一幅图景：她的母亲还活着，也不喜欢起她来了，因为她缺乏那种自然一定会获得父亲欢心的还不知道的魅力（她打从躺在摇篮里的时候起直到现在，从来不曾获得过父亲的这种欢心），这时候弗洛伦斯的身子会颤抖，眼泪会流到脸上。她知道，这样的臆想对不起对她的母亲的回忆，一点也不真实，也没有一点根据，可是她是多么处心积虑地想要证明父亲是正确的，并把一切过失都归到她自己身上，因此她不能抗拒这个念头像雷雨时的乌云一样地掠过她的心头。
弗洛伦斯来后不久，又来了其他一些客人；其中有一位漂亮的女孩，比她小三、四岁，是个孤儿，由她的姑妈陪伴；这位姑妈是一位头发斑白的夫人，她跟弗洛伦斯谈了不少的话，还非常喜欢（不过，他们全都喜欢）听她在晚上唱歌，那时候她常常怀着母亲般的关心，坐在她的身旁。在一个温暖的上午，她们到这屋子里来刚只两天，弗洛伦斯坐在花园里的一个小藤架中，通过挡在中间的一些树枝，沉思地观看着草地上的一群孩子，同时在编织一个花冠，这是准备给这些孩子当中的一个小家伙戴的，他是大家最喜爱的宝贝和逗乐的对象。这时候，她听到这位夫人和她的侄女在附近一个被树荫遮蔽住的偏僻角落里走来走去时谈到了她。
“姑妈，弗洛伦斯是不是跟我一样，也是个孤儿？”女孩子问道。