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  外语解密学习法 逆读法(Reverse Reading Method)   解读法(Decode-Reading Method)训练范文 ——                 

解密目标语言:法语                                解密辅助语言:汉语
              Language to be decoded:  French             Auxiliary Language :  Chinese  

  
         
解密文本:《绳子》  [法国] 莫泊桑 原著          
 
 La Ficelle
 par  Guy de Maupassant

 

               The Piece of  String            
                                                                         by  Guy de Maupassant     
                                                                

           法汉对照(French & Chinese)                             法英对照(French & English)                           英汉对照(English & Chinese)


  


      It was market-day, and from all the country round Goderville the peasants and their wives were coming toward the town. The men walked slowly, throwing the whole body forward at every step of their long, crooked legs. They were deformed from pushing the plough which makes the left- shoulder higher, and bends their figures side-ways; from reaping the grain, when they have to spread their legs so as to keep on their feet. Their starched blue blouses, glossy as though varnished, ornamented at collar and cuffs with a little embroidered design and blown out around their bony bodies, looked very much like balloons about to soar, whence issued two arms and two feet.

Some of these fellows dragged a cow or a calf at the end of a rope. And just behind the animal followed their wives beating it over the back with a leaf-covered branch to hasten its pace, and carrying large baskets out of which protruded the heads of chickens or ducks. These women walked more quickly and energetically than the men, with their erect, dried-up figures, adorned with scanty little shawls pinned over their flat bosoms, and their heads wrapped round with a white cloth, enclosing the hair and surmounted by a cap.

Now a char-a-banc passed by, jogging along behind a nag and shaking up strangely the two men on the seat, and the woman at the bottom of the cart who held fast to its sides to lessen the hard jolting.

In the market-place at Goderville was a great crowd, a mingled multitude of men and beasts. The horns of cattle, the high, long-napped hats of wealthy peasants, the headdresses of the women came to the surface of that sea. And the sharp, shrill, barking voices made a continuous, wild din, while above it occasionally rose a huge burst of laughter from the sturdy lungs of a merry peasant or a prolonged bellow from a cow tied fast to the wall of a house.

It all smelled of the stable, of milk, of hay and of perspiration, giving off that half-human, half-animal odor which is peculiar to country folks.

Maitre Hauchecorne, of Breaute, had just arrived at Goderville and was making his way toward the square when he perceived on the ground a little piece of string. Maitre Hauchecorne, economical as are all true Normans, reflected that everything was worth picking up which could be of any use, and he stooped down, but painfully, because he suffered from rheumatism. He took the bit of thin string from the ground and was carefully preparing to roll it up when he saw Maitre Malandain, the harness maker, on his doorstep staring at him. They had once had a quarrel about a halter, and they had borne each other malice ever since. Maitre Hauchecorne was overcome with a sort of shame at being seen by his enemy picking up a bit of string in the road. He quickly hid it beneath his blouse and then slipped it into his breeches, pocket, then pretended to be still looking for something on the ground which he did not discover and finally went off toward the market-place, his head bent forward and his body almost doubled in two by rheumatic pains.

He was at once lost in the crowd, which kept moving about slowly and noisily as it chaffered and bargained. The peasants examined the cows, went off, came back, always in doubt for fear of being cheated, never quite daring to decide, looking the seller square in the eye in the effort to discover the tricks of the man and the defect in the beast.

The women, having placed their great baskets at their feet, had taken out the poultry, which lay upon the ground, their legs tied together, with terrified eyes and scarlet combs.

They listened to propositions, maintaining their prices in a decided manner with an impassive face or perhaps deciding to accept the smaller price offered, suddenly calling out to the customer who was starting to go away:

"All right, I'll let you have them, Mait' Anthime."

Then, little by little, the square became empty, and when the Angelus struck midday those who lived at a distance poured into the inns.

At Jourdain's the great room was filled with eaters, just as the vast court was filled with vehicles of every sort -- wagons, gigs, chars-a- bancs, tilburies, innumerable vehicles which have no name, yellow with mud, misshapen, pieced together, raising their shafts to heaven like two arms, or it may be with their nose on the ground and their rear in the air.

Just opposite to where the diners were at table the huge fireplace, with its bright flame, gave out a burning heat on the backs of those who sat at the right. Three spits were turning, loaded with chickens, with pigeons and with joints of mutton, and a delectable odor of roast meat and of gravy flowing over crisp brown skin arose from the hearth, kindled merriment, caused mouths to water.

All the aristocracy of the plough were eating there at Mait' Jourdain's, the innkeeper's, a dealer in horses also and a sharp fellow who had made a great deal of money in his day.

The dishes were passed round, were emptied, as were the jugs of yellow cider. Every one told of his affairs, of his purchases and his sales. They exchanged news about the crops. The weather was good for greens, but too wet for grain.

Suddenly the drum began to beat in the courtyard before the house. Every one, except some of the most indifferent, was on their feet at once and ran to the door, to the windows, their mouths full and napkins in their hand.

When the public crier had finished his tattoo he called forth in a jerky voice, pausing in the wrong places:

"Be it known to the inhabitants of Goderville and in general to all persons present at the market that there has been lost this morning on the Beuzeville road, between nine and ten o'clock, a black leather pocketbook containing five hundred francs and business papers. You are requested to return it to the mayor's office at once or to Maitre Fortune Houlbreque, of Manneville. There will be twenty francs reward."

Then the man went away. They heard once more at a distance the dull beating of the drum and the faint voice of the crier. Then they all began to talk of this incident, reckoning up the chances which Maitre Houlbreque had of finding or of not finding his pocketbook again.

The meal went on. They were finishing their coffee when the corporal of gendarmes appeared on the threshold.

He asked:

"Is Maitre Hauchecorne, of Breaute, here?"

Maitre Hauchecorne, seated at the other end of the table answered:

"Here I am, here I am."

And he followed the corporal.

The mayor was waiting for him, seated in an armchair. He was the notary of the place, a tall, grave man of pompous speech.

"Maitre Hauchecorne," said he, "this morning on the Beuzeville road, you were seen to pick up the pocketbook lost by Maitre Houlbreque, of Manneville."

The countryman looked at the mayor in amazement frightened already at this suspicion which rested on him, he knew not why.

"I -- I picked up that pocketbook?"

"Yes, YOU."

"I swear I don't even know anything about it."

"You were seen."

"I was seen -- I? Who saw me?"

"M. Malandain, the harness-maker."

Then the old man remembered, understood, and, reddening with anger, said:

"Ah! he saw me, did he, the rascal? He saw me picking up this string here, M'sieu le Maire."

And fumbling at the bottom of his pocket, he pulled out of it the little end of string.

But the mayor incredulously shook his head:

"You will not make me believe, Maitre Hauchecorne, that M. Malandain, who is a man whose word can be relied on, has mistaken this string for a pocketbook."

The peasant, furious, raised his hand and spat on the ground beside him as if to attest his good faith, repeating:

"For all that, it is God's truth, M'sieu le Maire. There! On my soul's salvation, I repeat it."

The mayor continued:

"After you picked up the object in question, you even looked about for some time in the mud to see if a piece of money had not dropped out of it."

The good man was choking with indignation and fear.

"How can they tell -- how can they tell such lies as that to slander an honest man! How can they?"

His protestations were in vain; he was not believed.

He was confronted with M. Malandain, who repeated and sustained his testimony. They railed at one another for an hour. At his own request Maitre Hauchecorne was searched. Nothing was found on him.

At last the mayor, much perplexed, sent him away, warning him that he would inform the public prosecutor and ask for orders.

The news had spread. When he left the mayor's office the old man was surrounded, interrogated with a curiosity which was serious or mocking, as the case might be, but into which no indignation entered. And he began to tell the story of the string. They did not believe him. They laughed.

He passed on, buttonholed by every one, himself buttonholing his acquaintances, beginning over and over again his tale and his protestations, showing his pockets turned inside out to prove that he had nothing in them.

They said to him:

"You old rogue!"

He grew more and more angry, feverish, in despair at not being believed, and kept on telling his story.

The night came. It was time to go home. He left with three of his neighbors, to whom he pointed out the place where he had picked up the string, and all the way he talked of his adventure.

That evening he made the round of the village of Breaute for the purpose of telling every one. He met only unbelievers.

He brooded over it all night long.

The next day, about one in the afternoon, Marius Paumelle, a farm hand of Maitre Breton, the market gardener at Ymauville, returned the pocketbook and its contents to Maitre Holbreque, of Manneville.

This man said, indeed, that he had found it on the road, but not knowing how to read, he had carried it home and given it to his master.

The news spread to the environs. Maitre Hauchecorne was informed. He started off at once and began to relate his story with the denoument. He was triumphant.

"What grieved me," said he, "was not the thing itself, do you understand, but it was being accused of lying. Nothing does you so much harm as being in disgrace for lying."

All day he talked of his adventure. He told it on the roads to the people who passed, at the cabaret to the people who drank and next Sunday when they came out of church. He even stopped strangers to tell them about it. He was easy now, and yet something worried him without his knowing exactly what it was. People had a joking manner while they listened. They did not seem convinced. He seemed to feel their remarks behind his back.

On Tuesday of the following week he went to market at Goderville, prompted solely by the need of telling his story.

Malandain, standing on his doorstep, began to laugh as he saw him pass. Why?

He accosted a farmer of Criquetot, who did not let hire finish, and giving him a punch in the pit of the stomach cried in his face: "Oh, you great rogue!" Then he turned his heel upon him.

Maitre Hauchecorne remained speechless and grew more and more uneasy. Why had they called him "great rogue"?

When seated at table in Jourdain's tavern he began again to explain the whole affair.

A horse dealer of Montivilliers shouted at him:

"Get out, get out, you old scamp! I know all about your old string."

Hauchecorne stammered:

"But since they found it again, the pocketbook!"

But the other continued:

"Hold your tongue, daddy; there's one who finds it and there's another who returns it. And no one the wiser."

The farmer was speechless. He understood at last. They accused him of having had the pocketbook brought back by an accomplice, by a confederate.

He tried to protest. The whole table began to laugh.

He could not finish his dinner, and went away amid a chorus of jeers.

He went home indignant, choking with rage, with confusion, the more cast down since with his Norman craftiness he was, perhaps, capable of having done what they accused him of and even of boasting of it as a good trick. He was dimly conscious that it was impossible to prove his innocence, his craftiness being so well known. He felt himself struck to the heart by the injustice of the suspicion.

He began anew to tell his tale, lengthening his recital every day, each day adding new proofs, more energetic declarations and more sacred oaths, which he thought of, which he prepared in his hours of solitude, for his mind was entirely occupied with the story of the string. The more he denied it, the more artful his arguments, the less he was believed.

"Those are liars proofs," they said behind his back.

He felt this. It preyed upon him and he exhausted himself in useless efforts.

He was visibly wasting away.

Jokers would make him tell the story of "the piece of string" to amuse them, just as you make a soldier who has been on a campaign tell his story of the battle. His mind kept growing weaker and about the end of December he took to his bed.

He passed away early in January, and, in the ravings of death agony, he protested his innocence, repeating:

"A little bit of string -- a little bit of string. See, here it is, M'sieu le Maire."

 


      戈代维尔周围的每一条大路上,都有农民带着妻子朝这个镇走来,因为这一天是赶集的日子。男人们迈着不慌不忙的步伐,长长的罗圈腿跨一步,整个上身就向前探一探。他们的腿所以会变成畸形是因为劳动很艰苦:压犁的时候,左肩耸起,同时身子要歪着;割麦的时候,为了要站稳,保持平衡,两膝要分开,总之是因为那些既慢而吃力的田间活儿。他们的蓝布罩衫,浆得又硬又亮,好像上了一层清漆,领口和袖口还用白线绣着花纹,罩在他们瘦骨嶙峋的上半身上鼓得圆圆的,活像一个要飞上天空的气球,只多了露在外面的一个脑袋,两条胳膊和两只脚。
  有的人牵着一头母牛或者一头小牛。他们的妻子跟在牲口后面,用一根还带着叶子的树枝抽打牲口的腰部,催牲口快走。她们胳膊上挎着个大篮子,从篮子里这边钻出几个雏鸡的头,那边钻出几个鸭子的脑袋。她们走路,步子比男人们的步子小,但是急促,干瘪的身子挺得笔直,披着一块又窄又小的披肩,用别针别在扁平的胸脯上;头上贴发裹着块白布,上面再戴一顶软便帽。
  一辆带长凳的载人大车过去,拉车的那匹小马一颠一蹦地紧跑着,颠得两个并排坐着的男人和一个坐在车后面的女人东倒西歪,那个女人为了减轻猛烈的颠簸,紧紧地抓着车沿。
  戈代维尔的广场上,人和牲口混夹在一起,十分拥挤。只见牛的犄角,富裕农民的长毛绒高帽子和乡下女人的便帽在集市上攒动。尖锐刺耳的喊叫声形成一片持续不断的喧哗,在这片喧哗声上偶尔可以听见一个心情快乐的乡下汉从健壮的胸膛里发出的大笑声,或者是拴在一所房子墙脚下的母牛发出的一声长鸣。
  这儿的一切都带着牛圈、牛奶、厩肥、干草和汗水的气味,并且散发着人体和牲口身上,特别是庄稼汉身上冒出来那种难闻的酸臭味儿。
  布雷奥泰村的奥什科纳老爹刚刚来到戈代维尔,他正向广场走去,忽然看见地上有一小段细绳子。作为道地的诺曼底人,他十分节俭,认为凡是有用的东西都应该拾起来。他很吃力地弯下腰去,因为他有风湿病。他从地上捡起了那段细绳子,正预备仔细地缠起来,看见马具皮件商玛朗丹站在店门口望着他。他们过去曾经为了一根笼头吵过架,两个人都是记仇的人,至今也没有言归于好。偏偏让仇人看见自己在烂泥里捡一根绳子,奥什科纳老爹觉得很丢脸,连忙把捡到的东西藏在罩衫下面,紧跟着又藏进裤子口袋;后来又假装在地下找寻什么东西,找来找去没有找到,就伛偻着害风湿病的腰,脑袋向前冲着,朝市场走去。
  一忽儿工夫他就夹在人群里不见了。赶集的人你喊我叫,缓缓移动,因为永无休止的讨价还价而变得十分激动。那些乡下人拿手摸摸母牛,走了以后又回来,三心两意,老是怕受骗上当,一直不敢决定,偷偷地注意卖主的眼神,不断地想要识破卖主的诡计,找出牲口的毛病。
  女人们把大篮子放在脚边,从篮子里掏出眼神慌张、冠子通红、捆住脚的家禽,搁在地上。
  她们听了还的价钱,不动声色,冷冰冰地坚持卖原价;或者突然间决定同意还的价钱,向那个正在慢慢走开的买主喊道:
  “就这么样吧,昂蒂姆大爷,我卖给你了。”
  广场上人渐渐少了,教堂敲响午祷的钟声,家离着太远的人分散到各家客店里去。
  茹尔丹开的那家客店的大厅里挤满了吃饭的人,宽阔的院子里也停满各式各样的车子,有平板车,有两轮篷车,有带长凳的坐人的四轮车,有轻便车,还有一些叫不出名堂的车子,沾满黄泥,变了形,走了样,而且东贴一块,西补一块,有的车辕像两条胳膊似的朝天举着,有的鼻子挨地,屁股朝天。
  吃饭的人都已经坐下,壁炉离着很近,明亮的炉火,把尽右面坐着的那排客人的脊背烤得暖烘烘的。三根烤肉铁扦在火上转着,每根扦子上都叉满小鸡、鸽子和羊腿;烤肉的香味和烤焦了的皮上淌着油汁的香味,从炉膛飞出来,使得人们心情愉快,馋涎欲滴。
  那些庄稼人中间的大亨们都在茹尔丹老板这儿吃饭,茹尔丹又开客店又当马贩子,是个颇有 几文的机灵人物。
  菜一盘一盘地端过来,一盘一盘地吃光,黄色的苹果酒也一罐跟着一罐喝尽。每个人都要谈一谈自己的生意,谈谈买进卖出的东西。他们也打听庄稼收成的情形。天气对草料来说不算坏,对麦子来说可就差一点了。
  忽然前面院子里,响起了冬冬的鼓声。除了少数几个漠不关心的人以外,大家都立刻站起来,向门口或者窗口奔去,嘴里塞得满满的,手里拿着餐巾。
  宣读公告的差役敲了一阵鼓以后,就胡乱地读着破句,断断续续地宣读:
  “兹特通知戈代维尔居民,以及所有……前来赶集的人,有人在伯兹维尔的大路上,于……九、十点钟之间,遗失黑色皮夹子一只,内装五百法郎及商业票据。如有捡得者,请立即送交……镇政府或玛纳维尔的福蒂内 乌尔布雷格先生。当致酬金二十法郎。”
  说完,这个人就走了。不久,从远处还隐隐约约传来了一次低沉的鼓声和他的叫喊声。
  于是大家开始议论这件事,推测乌尔布雷格先生有没有机会找回他的皮夹。
  午餐吃完了。
  大家正喝最后一口咖啡,门前出现了宪兵班长。
  他问道:
  “布雷奥泰的奥什科纳先生在这儿吗?”
  坐在桌子那一头的奥什科纳先生应道:
  “我在这里。”
  班长说:
  “奥什科纳先生,请您跟我到镇政府去一趟,镇长有话要跟您谈谈。”
  这个乡下人感到惊讶和不安,一口喝完了他那一小杯酒,站起身来,腰比早上弯得厉害,因为每次休息以后,迈头几步特别困难。他一边走,一边重复说道:
  “我在这里,我在这里。”
  他跟在班长后面走了。
  镇长坐在靠背椅里等他。镇长是当地的公证人,身体肥胖,很严肃,说起话来喜欢夸大其词。
  “奥什科纳先生,”他说,“有人看见你今天早晨在伯兹维尔的大路上,拾到玛纳维尔的乌尔布雷格先生遗失的皮夹。”
  这个乡下人目瞪口呆地望着镇长,这个莫名其妙落在他头上的嫌疑把他怔住了。
  “我,我,我捡到了这个皮夹?”
  “是的,就是你本人。”
  “我以人格担保,我连看都没有看见过。”
  “有人看见你捡的。”
  “有人看见我捡的?是谁,谁看见的?”
  “马具皮件商玛朗丹先生。”
  这时候老人才想起来了,明白了,气得脸通红:
  “啊!是这个坏家伙看见我捡的!他看见我捡的是这根绳子,您看,就是这一根,镇长先生。”
  他在口袋里摸了半天,掏出了那一段细绳子。
  不过镇长摇摇头不相信:
  “奥什科纳先生,玛朗丹先生是一个可以信赖的人,你没法使我相信他会把这根绳子当成一个皮夹。”
  这个乡下人气极了,举起了手,向旁边吐了一口唾沫,表示以他的人格起誓,他又说了一遍:
  “这可是千真万确,镇长先生,一点不假呀。我可以拿我的灵魂和我灵魂的得救再起一遍誓。”
  镇长又说道:
  “在捡起以后,你甚至还在烂泥里寻找了好久,看看还有没有掉出来的钱。”
  这个老头又是生气又是害怕,简直透不过气来了。
  “怎么可以说……怎么可以说……这种谎话,来诬赖一个老实人!怎么可以说……”
  他抗议也没有用,对方不相信。
  后来让玛朗丹先生来和他对质。玛朗丹先生把他的证词重述了一遍,并且一口咬定。他们两人对骂了一个钟头。根据奥什科纳先生自己的要求,在他身上搜了一遍。什么也没有搜出来。
  镇长也很为难,最后只好把他打发走,不过通知他这个案子要报告检察院,听候命令再做处理。
  这时,新闻已经传开了。老头儿一走出镇政府,立刻就被人围住,问长问短,有的确实是出于好奇,有的则带着嘲弄的意思,但是没有一个人替他抱不平。他把绳子的故事讲了一遍。谁也不信。大家都觉得好笑。
  一路上,他不是被人截住,就是截住他认识的人,一遍又一遍讲他的故事,提出他的抗议,并且把衣袋翻过来叫人看,证明他什么也没有。
  那些人对他说:
  “老滑头,算了吧!”
  他生气,发火,因为没有人相信他而激动、伤心,他也不知道该怎么办才好,只得一个劲儿地讲他的故事。
  天黑下来该回家了。他跟三个乡邻一起往回走,路过捡到绳子的地方,他指给他们看那个地方,一路上不停地谈他的这个遭遇。
  晚上,他在布雷奥泰村绕了个圈,把他的遭遇讲给大家听,他遇见的人都不信。
  他心里难受了一整夜。
  第二天,午后一点钟左右,在依莫维尔的布雷东先生的农庄里当长工的马里于斯 波梅尔把皮夹连同里面装的东西一齐送还给玛纳维尔的乌尔布雷格先生。
  据这个长工说,他确实是在大路上拾到的,因为不识字,他就带回去交给了东家。
  这个消息传到了四乡。奥什科纳老大爷也听说了。他立刻到各处转悠,把他那个有了结局的故事讲给大家听。他胜利了。
  “叫我痛心的,”他说,“倒不是事情本身,明白吗,而是那胡说八道的谎话。再没有比谎话更害人的了,它害得你受到公众的指责。”
  这一整天,他都谈论他这件意外遭遇,他在大路上讲给来往的行人听,他在酒馆里讲给喝酒的人听;到了星期日,他还到教堂门口讲给望罢弥撒的人听。就是不认识的人,他也会拦住他们,讲给他们听。现在他算是放下心了,不过总还有点不知什么东西使他感到别扭。听他讲故事的人,脸上总带着开玩笑的神色,看上去好像不相信。他还似乎觉得背后总有人在嘀嘀咕咕。
  下一个星期二,他需要把他的事解释解释清楚,特地到戈代维尔去赶集。
  玛朗丹站在自己门口,看见他走过,就笑了起来。这是为什么呢?
  他找克里格托的一个农庄主人说,可是那个人不容他说完,就在他心口上拍了一下,冲着他的脸喊道:“老滑头,算了吧!”然后就转过身子走了。
  奥什科纳先生目瞪口呆,并且越来越感到不安了。为什么叫他“老滑头”?
  他到了茹尔丹客店,落了座以后,他又开始解释他的事。
  蒙蒂列埃的一个马贩子对他大声喊道:
  “得了!得了!老狐狸,你那根绳子我早就知道了。”
  奥什科纳结结巴巴地说:
  “那个皮夹不是已经找着了吗。”
  那个人又说:
  “别往下说了,我的老大爷,捡的是一个人,送还的是另一个人。神不知,鬼不觉嘛。”
  这个庄稼人憋得透不出气来。他终于恍然大悟。原来他们认为他支使一个伙伴,一个同谋者把皮夹交了回去。
  他还想辩驳,座上的人都大笑起来。
  他没法吃完他的这顿饭,在一片嘲笑声中走了。
  他回到家,又羞又气,怒火和羞耻锁住了他的喉咙,憋得透不出气;使他特别感到苦恼的是,他具有诺曼底人的狡猾,人家指责他的事,他是做得出来的,甚至还会自鸣得意,夸耀自己手段高明呢。他模模糊糊地觉得他的清白无罪是无法证明的了,因为自己的机灵奸巧是无人不知的。他觉得蒙了这种不白之冤,简直像当胸挨了一刀。
  他于是又讲他的遭遇,每天都要把故事拉长一点,每次都要增加一些新的理由、一些更有 力的声明、一些更庄严的誓词,这些都是他独自一个人的时候琢磨出来、预备好的,因为现在他的脑子里只有绳子这一件事了。他的辩解越是复杂,理由越是巧妙,大家越是不相信他。
  他一转身,人们就说:“这些都是胡诌出来的理由。”
  他感觉到这一切,心里跟油煎似的难受,他仍旧作种种的努力,但白白耗费了精力。
  眼看着他一天天憔悴了。
  现在那些好耍笑的人为了取乐,反倒要求他讲绳子的故事了,正如人们请士兵讲打仗一样。在彻底的打击下,他的精神衰退了。
  十二月底,他病倒在床上。
  他死在正月初,临终说胡话的时候还在证明自己是清白无罪的人,不住念叨:
  “一根绳子……一根绳子……瞧,就在这儿呢,镇长先生。”

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          分类:              国芳多语对照文库 >> 法语-英语-汉语 >> 莫泊桑 >> 短篇小说      
    Categories:  Xie's Multilingual Corpus >> French-English-Chinese >> Maupassant  >>  Short Novel               
                                        
    

 

 



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