网站首页 (Homepage)                       欢   迎   访   问  谢  国  芳 (Roy  Xie) 的  个  人  主  页                    返回 (Return)
                    
Welcome to Roy  Xie's Homepage                   





                       ——
  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:英语
              Language to be decoded:  French             Auxiliary Language :  English  

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

 

                The Hand            
                                                                         by  Guy de Maupassant     
                                                                

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


  


      All were crowding around M. Bermutier, the judge, who was giving his opinion about the Saint-Cloud mystery. For a month this in explicable crime had been the talk of Paris. Nobody could make head or tail of it.

M. Bermutier, standing with his back to the fireplace, was talking, citing the evidence, discussing the various theories, but arriving at no conclusion. Some women had risen, in order to get nearer to him, and were standing with their eyes fastened on the clean-shaven face of the judge, who was saying such weighty things. They, were shaking and trembling, moved by fear and curiosity, and by the eager and insatiable desire for the horrible, which haunts the soul of every woman.

One of them, paler than the others, said during a pause:

"It's terrible. It verges on the supernatural. The truth will never be known."

The judge turned to her:

"True, madame, it is likely that the actual facts will never be discovered. As for the word 'supernatural' which you have just used, it has nothing to do with the matter. We are in the presence of a very cleverly conceived and executed crime, so well enshrouded in mystery that we cannot disentangle it from the involved circumstances which surround it. But once I had to take charge of an affair in which the uncanny seemed to play a part. In fact, the case became so confused that it had to be given up."

Several women exclaimed at once:

"Oh! Tell us about it!"

M. Bermutier smiled in a dignified manner, as a judge should, and went on:

"Do not think, however, that I, for one minute, ascribed anything in the case to supernatural influences. I believe only in normal causes. But if, instead of using the word 'supernatural' to express what we do not understand, we were simply to make use of the word 'inexplicable,' it would be much better. At any rate, in the affair of which I am about to tell you, it is especially the surrounding, preliminary circumstances which impressed me. Here are the facts:

"I was, at that time, a judge at Ajaccio, a little white city on the edge of a bay which is surrounded by high mountains.

"The majority of the cases which came up before me concerned vendettas. There are some that are superb, dramatic, ferocious, heroic. We find there the most beautiful causes for revenge of which one could dream, enmities hundreds of years old, quieted for a time but never extinguished; abominable stratagems, murders becoming massacres and almost deeds of glory. For two years I heard of nothing but the price of blood, of this terrible Corsican prejudice which compels revenge for insults meted out to the offending person and all his descendants and relatives. I had seen old men, children, cousins murdered; my head was full of these stories.

"One day I learned that an Englishman had just hired a little villa at the end of the bay for several years. He had brought with him a French servant, whom he had engaged on the way at Marseilles.

"Soon this peculiar person, living alone, only going out to hunt and fish, aroused a widespread interest. He never spoke to any one, never went to the town, and every morning he would practice for an hour or so with his revolver and rifle.

"Legends were built up around him. It was said that he was some high personage, fleeing from his fatherland for political reasons; then it was affirmed that he was in hiding after having committed some abominable crime. Some particularly horrible circumstances were even mentioned.

"In my judicial position I thought it necessary to get some information about this man, but it was impossible to learn anything. He called himself Sir John Rowell.

"I therefore had to be satisfied with watching him as closely as I could, but I could see nothing suspicious about his actions.

"However, as rumors about him were growing and becoming more widespread, I decided to try to see this stranger myself, and I began to hunt regularly in the neighborhood of his grounds.

"For a long time I watched without finding an opportunity. At last it came to me in the shape of a partridge which I shot and killed right in front of the Englishman. My dog fetched it for me, but, taking the bird, I went at once to Sir John Rowell and, begging his pardon, asked him to accept it.

"He was a big man, with red hair and beard, very tall, very broad, a kind of calm and polite Hercules. He had nothing of the so-called British stiffness, and in a broad English accent he thanked me warmly for my attention. At the end of a month we had had five or six conversations.

"One night, at last, as I was passing before his door, I saw him in the garden, seated astride a chair, smoking his pipe. I bowed and he invited me to come in and have a glass of beer. I needed no urging.

"He received me with the most punctilious English courtesy, sang the praises of France and of Corsica, and declared that he was quite in love with this country.

"Then, with great caution and under the guise of a vivid interest, I asked him a few questions about his life and his plans. He answered without embarrassment, telling me that he had travelled a great deal in Africa, in the Indies, in America. He added, laughing:

"'I have had many adventures.'

"Then I turned the conversation on hunting, and he gave me the most curious details on hunting the hippopotamus, the tiger, the elephant and even the gorilla.

"I said:

"'Are all these animals dangerous?'

"He smiled:

"'Oh, no! Man is the worst.'

"And he laughed a good broad laugh, the wholesome laugh of a contented Englishman.

"'I have also frequently been man-hunting.'

"Then he began to talk about weapons, and he invited me to come in and see different makes of guns.

"His parlor was draped in black, black silk embroidered in gold. Big yellow flowers, as brilliant as fire, were worked on the dark material.

"He said:

"'It is a Japanese material.'

"But in the middle of the widest panel a strange thing attracted my attention. A black object stood out against a square of red velvet. I went up to it; it was a hand, a human hand. Not the clean white hand of a skeleton, but a dried black hand, with yellow nails, the muscles exposed and traces of old blood on the bones, which were cut off as clean as though it had been chopped off with an axe, near the middle of the forearm.

"Around the wrist, an enormous iron chain, riveted and soldered to this unclean member, fastened it to the wall by a ring, strong enough to hold an elephant in leash.

"I asked:

"'What is that?'

"The Englishman answered quietly:

"'That is my best enemy. It comes from America, too. The bones were severed by a sword and the skin cut off with a sharp stone and dried in the sun for a week.'

"I touched these human remains, which must have belonged to a giant. The uncommonly long fingers were attached by enormous tendons which still had pieces of skin hanging to them in places. This hand was terrible to see; it made one think of some savage vengeance.

"I said:

"'This man must have been very strong.'

"The Englishman answered quietly:

"'Yes, but I was stronger than he. I put on this chain to hold him.'

"I thought that he was joking. I said:

"'This chain is useless now, the hand won't run away.'

"Sir John Rowell answered seriously:

"'It always wants to go away. This chain is needed.'

"I glanced at him quickly, questioning his face, and I asked myself:

"'Is he an insane man or a practical joker?'

"But his face remained inscrutable, calm and friendly. I turned to other subjects, and admired his rifles.

"However, I noticed that he kept three loaded revolvers in the room, as though constantly in fear of some attack.

"I paid him several calls. Then I did not go any more. People had become used to his presence; everybody had lost interest in him.

"A whole year rolled by. One morning, toward the end of November, my servant awoke me and announced that Sir John Rowell had been murdered during the night.

"Half an hour later I entered the Englishman's house, together with the police commissioner and the captain of the gendarmes. The servant, bewildered and in despair, was crying before the door. At first I suspected this man, but he was innocent.

"The guilty party could never be found.

"On entering Sir John's parlor, I noticed the body, stretched out on its back, in the middle of the room.

"His vest was torn, the sleeve of his jacket had been pulled off, everything pointed to, a violent struggle.

"The Englishman had been strangled! His face was black, swollen and frightful, and seemed to express a terrible fear. He held something between his teeth, and his neck, pierced by five or six holes which looked as though they had been made by some iron instrument, was covered with blood.

"A physician joined us. He examined the finger marks on the neck for a long time and then made this strange announcement:

"'It looks as though he had been strangled by a skeleton.'

"A cold chill seemed to run down my back, and I looked over to where I had formerly seen the terrible hand. It was no longer there. The chain was hanging down, broken.

"I bent over the dead man and, in his contracted mouth, I found one of the fingers of this vanished hand, cut--or rather sawed off by the teeth down to the second knuckle.

"Then the investigation began. Nothing could be discovered. No door, window or piece of furniture had been forced. The two watch dogs had not been aroused from their sleep.

"Here, in a few words, is the testimony of the servant:

"For a month his master had seemed excited. He had received many letters, which he would immediately burn.

"Often, in a fit of passion which approached madness, he had taken a switch and struck wildly at this dried hand riveted to the wall, and which had disappeared, no one knows how, at the very hour of the crime.

"He would go to bed very late and carefully lock himself in. He always kept weapons within reach. Often at night he would talk loudly, as though he were quarrelling with some one.

"That night, somehow, he had made no noise, and it was only on going to open the windows that the servant had found Sir John murdered. He suspected no one.

"I communicated what I knew of the dead man to the judges and public officials. Throughout the whole island a minute investigation was carried on. Nothing could be found out.

"One night, about three months after the crime, I had a terrible nightmare. I seemed to see the horrible hand running over my curtains and walls like an immense scorpion or spider. Three times I awoke, three times I went to sleep again; three times I saw the hideous object galloping round my room and moving its fingers like legs.

"The following day the hand was brought me, found in the cemetery, on the grave of Sir John Rowell, who had been buried there because we had been unable to find his family. The first finger was missing.

"Ladies, there is my story. I know nothing more."

The women, deeply stirred, were pale and trembling. One of them exclaimed:

"But that is neither a climax nor an explanation! We will be unable to sleep unless you give us your opinion of what had occurred."

The judge smiled severely:

"Oh! Ladies, I shall certainly spoil your terrible dreams. I simply believe that the legitimate owner of the hand was not dead, that he came to get it with his remaining one. But I don't know how. It was a kind of vendetta."

One of the women murmured:

"No, it can't be that."

And the judge, still smiling, said:

"Didn't I tell you that my explanation would not satisfy you?"


 


      蒙塞尔身边围了一小圈人,这位地方检察官正在向他们陈述他自己对神秘的圣.克劳特事件的看法。几个月来,这件悬而未决的案件成为巴黎人议论的焦点。谁也解释不清到底是怎么回事。

蒙塞尔背对壁炉站着讲话,有几个妇女离开椅子向前靠了靠,保持站姿,眼睛紧紧的盯住检察官刮得干干净净的嘴,仿佛从他嘴里出来的话字字重千斤。他们一边听,一边不住的颤栗。与其说是一种少有的恐惧感,不如说是一种希望被惊吓的好奇心紧紧抓住了他们,像饥饿感一样绞缠他们,扰动他们。

暂时出现了宁静。一位面色稍微苍白的妇女打破了宁静。“真是太恐惧了!”她说,“这里面有种超乎自然的东西。在我看来,真正发生了什么是我们是不可能知道的。”检察官转向她。“这是非常可能的,女士。但我告诉你,你刚才用超乎自然这个词对这个案件是不合适的。我们调查的这个案子是精心策划的,并且干得非常巧妙,伪装得极为神秘,我们甚至想去伪存真都束手无策。但有次我经手的一个案子还就真的有这种离奇的超自然因素。当时不得不因为缺少证据而放弃。”几个妇女异口同声的要求:“啊,那就讲给我们听听结果吧!”蒙塞尔说:“事情发生在一个叫阿雅克肖的小镇上,当时我在镇子上任检察官。小镇坐落在四面环山的美丽的海湾里。我当时最关心的问题是解决种族之间的血仇。这种私人战争由来已久,极富戏剧性,充满各种英勇、激烈的事件。它给我们提供了难以想象的、极其丰富的复仇故事----一代接一代结下的仇恨,平息一时,但却从未了结;骇人听闻的恐怖情节,堪称血腥的野蛮屠杀,还有无数可歌可泣的英雄壮举。…………

“有一天我听说有一个英国人在海湾的最头上租了一栋房子,租期好几十年。他随身带着一个法国仆人,是他在路过马赛时雇来的。不久,整个镇子上都对他怪癖的性格议论纷纷。他整天一个人呆在房子里,大门不出,二门不迈,只是偶尔出来打猎或钓鱼。它从不和任何人讲话,从来不进城,每天早上都花一到两个小时时间练习左轮手枪和卡宾枪。他成为许多传说的主题。有人说他出身于名门贵族,出于政治原因逃离他的祖国;还有人说他犯了事,在躲避处罚。人们说得有鼻子有眼,有些事还让人听了毛骨悚然。

“作为检察官,我当然有义务尽可能地了解这个人的情况。但是想要了解得更详细些也不是一件容易的事。他叫约翰.罗威尔。我只尽我所能密切注意观察他的一举一动,但是却没有发现他的行为有什么值得怀疑的地方。然而,谣言还在继续传播,而且越传越凶,越传越广,我认为有必要对这个外地人进行一次私人接触。怀着这个目的,我开始经常在他家周围的地方打猎,等候合适的机会。时机终于来了。有一天我打了一枝鹧鸪,正好掉在他院子里。我的猎狗找到了它,我立即走了过去。我手里提着鹧鸪,为自己的失礼儿赔礼道歉,并请约翰收下我的猎物。他身材魁梧,长着红头发红胡子,个子高高的,肩膀很宽,可以说是文静的大力士。他身上一点也没有传统的英国人的刻板劲儿,他对我的客气再三表示感谢。他的法语点口音,无疑是英吉利海峡那一边带来的。一个月的时间里,我们在一起聊天有五六次。有一天晚上,我碰巧从他家的门前走过,看见他在花园里两脚分开叉坐在在一把椅子上,嘴上叼着一个烟斗。我摘掉帽子,他邀请我进去喝啤酒。不用说,这当然正中我的下怀。他用拘泥的英国式礼节接待我,对法国和科西嘉大声称赞,并声称他已经爱上了这个国家和这段海峡。我装作饶有兴趣的样子,小心翼翼的询问起他的身世和他的打算。他没有一点尴尬的样子,笑着告诉我说他曾经在非洲,印度和美国做过长时间的旅游。

“我把整个世界都周游了个够。”

我开始和他聊打猎,他给我讲了许多它的奇特经历,比如猎河马、老虎、大象,甚至还有大猩猩。“那都是很危险的动物”,我说。他微微笑了笑:“但是再危险也没有人危险。”

突然他放声大笑起来,那是一个殷实满足的英国人的笑声。“我还杀了许许多多的人。”接着,他把话题转到火器上,他把我请进他的房子里看他搜集的各种枪支。他起居室里挂着的是黑颜色的……绣着金黄色图案的黑色丝绸。黑色的料子上布满了黄色的大花图案,像一团团火焰在耀眼的燃烧。“这是日本布料。”他说。但是在最大的一面墙中间,一个奇异的东西映入我的眼帘。在一块红色的天鹅绒上醒目的摆放着一个黑色的东西,我走进了才看清,那是一只手,一只真人手,不是一只白而干净的骨骼手,而是一只长着黄黄的指甲、皱缩枯萎的黑黑的手。肌肉都暴露在外表面,骨头上面有血痂一样的干血的痕迹,一望就知道是从小臂的一半处剁下来的。腕子上有一个巨大的铁链,它被铆在不堪入目的肢体上,并被钉在了墙上。它看上去非常结实,能拴住一头大象。那是什么?我说到。 英国人毫不隐瞒地回答说:“它属于我最恨的敌人。它来自美国——是用军刀剁下来的,那上面的皮是用尖锐的石头剥下来的。在太阳底下暴晒了整整八天。可以说把它弄到手算我走运。”

我摸了一下那只可怖的手,它一定属于一个身材高大的人。手指出奇的长,指头上连着肌腱,上面还附着一些皮。由于是用尖锐的石头剥下来的,手的模样全非,它似乎是墨中残酷的复仇的行动的活生生的见证。我说:“这个人一定很强壮。”他非常平静地说:“是的,他是很强壮,但是我比他更强壮。我用那个链子把它制住了。”我以为他跟我开玩笑,就说:“不过现在已经没有必要用那个链子了。那个手还能自己跑了不成?”约翰.罗威尔用非常认真的口吻说:“它随时都想跑掉,我必须用链子把它拴住。”

我以询问的眼光迅速扫了他一眼,我不明白,他到底是一个疯子,还是一个爱开玩笑的人?但是他的脸始终显得那么不可思议,那么平静自若,却又那么慈祥宽厚。我话头一转,欣赏起他搜集的枪来。然而,我注意到有三只左轮手枪在不同的地方,似乎他生活在一种紧张的气氛中,时时警惕有人对他进行袭击。后来我又去拜访了他几次,以后就再也没去。当地老百姓逐渐对他习惯了,没有人在那么注意他了。

一年过去了。11月底的一个早晨,我的仆人把我叫醒了,告诉我一个消息:约翰.罗威尔在夜里被人杀了。我和警长康斯特布尔以及警官吉达姆斯来到英国人的家。它的男仆正在门前伤心的哭,他目光茫然,精神萎靡。我立刻对他表示怀疑,但是后来证明,他是无罪的。凶手的证明始终也没有确立。一走进起居室,我就看见约翰的尸体躺在中间。他的马甲被撕开,一只衣服袖子被扯下来。很明显曾有过一番激烈的搏斗。英国人是被勒死的。他的脸肿着,呈铁青色,惨不忍睹,眼睛里流露出及其恐怖的目光。它的牙关还紧咬着什么东西,脖子上有五处被尖锐的器具刺入,鲜血淋淋。跟我们同来的有一个法医,他对死者脖子上的手印作了相当长时间的检查,然后说了一句奇怪的话:“我觉得他好像是被一具骷髅勒死的!”我的背上一阵发麻。我看了一眼曾经放哪支可怕的手的地方。那只可怕的手已经不知去向。铁链被打破,晃晃荡荡的挂在墙上。我弯腰对着尸体看了看,英国人牙齿咬着的东西是那个失去的手的一个手指,与其说是被咬断的,不如说是在第二个关节处被撅断的。进行了检查,但是却没有发现任何证据。门窗家具什么的都没有留下任何搏斗的痕迹。事情发生时那两只狗似乎都在睡大觉。那个仆人提供了一下简单的情况:他说,“几个月来,他的主人好像心神不宁,忐忑不安。他收到一大堆信,都是他刚一到这里时就扔了的。他经常去打猎,脾气粗暴而狂躁。他还经常茫然的盯着墙上的那只皱缩的手。奇怪的是那只手在出事的时候不翼而飞了,谁也说不清楚是什么回事。他每天都睡得很晚,睡觉前总要把所有的门窗都锁上。他手头总备着几把枪。他在夜里总好大声说话好像在和什么吵架。出事的那天晚上,他没出一点声,只是当仆人走进他的房间打开百叶窗时才发现他被谋杀了。他实在想不出有什么可疑点。

我把我所知道的关于死者的一切都向当地政府和警察作了报告。整个岛屿全被搜索了一遍,但还是没有任何结果。这件事过去三个月后,有一天晚上我作了一个极其可怕的噩梦。梦见那只可怖的手像蝎子或蜘蛛一沿着我的房间的墙和窗帘飞快的爬。我惊醒了三次,又睡过去三次,三次看见那个阴森可怕的手围着屋子飞跑,手指像腿一样运动。第二早上有人把那之手送到了我这儿。它是埋葬在约翰.罗威尔的墓地里被发现的-----因为据我所知约翰.罗威尔在此地没有任何亲戚朋友,他的尸体被就地埋葬。可是那只手上却少了食指。好了,女士们,这就是我要讲的。这件事我只知道那么多。”

女士们都被吓得一个个面色苍白,浑身哆嗦。其中的一个女士感叹道:可是你还没有给我们这到底是怎么回事,你还没有解释这个故事的秘密呢!我相信除非你告诉我们这到底发生了什么,至少是你以为发生了什么,否则,我们今天晚上谁也睡不着了。”

检察官笑了,他的眼睛仍然是那么严厉。“考虑到你们会做噩梦,我得让你们扫兴一回。我认为这非常简单,也就是说那只手的主人根本没死,而是回来找他的手来了。他究竟干了什么,我不得而知,但是我却认为这整个这件事和种族间的血仇有关。“

“不,”一个女人说,“这么解释可不行!”

检察官人仍笑着说:“我说过你们对我的说法不会满意的。”

 只看法语(French Only)                                                                       只看英语(English Only)                                                         只看汉语(Chinese Only)


网站首页 (Homepage)                                   前页(Previous Page)                                             下页(Next Page                                     返回 (Return)

 

 

 

          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               
                                        
    

 

 



                              Copyright 2001-2012 by Guofang Xie.    All Rights Reserved. 

                   谢国芳(Roy Xie)版权所有  2001-2012.   一切权利保留。
浙ICP备11050697号