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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:俄语                                解密辅助语言:英语
              Language to be decoded:  Russian             Auxiliary Language :  English  

  
       
解密文本:     《乡村素描》   [俄] 屠格涅夫           
 
Деревня
автор Иван Тургенев

 

 The Country
by   Ivan Turgenev

       
俄汉对照(Russian & Chinese)                                  俄英对照(Russian & English)                               英汉对照(English & Chinese)


  

 

The last day of July; for a thousand versts around, Russia, our native land.

An unbroken blue flooding the whole sky; a single cloudlet upon it, half floating, half fading away. Windlessness, warmth ... air like new milk!

Larks are trilling; pouter-pigeons cooing; noiselessly the swallows dart to and fro; horses are neighing and munching; the dogs do not bark and stand peaceably wagging their tails.

A smell of smoke and of hay, and a little of tar, too, and a little of hides. The hemp, now in full bloom, sheds its heavy, pleasant fragrance.

A deep but sloping ravine. Along its sides willows in rows, with big heads above, trunks cleft below. Through the ravine runs a brook; the tiny pebbles at its bottom are all aquiver through its clear eddies. In the distance, on the border-line between earth and heaven, the bluish streak of a great river.

Along the ravine, on one side, tidy barns, little storehouses with close-shut doors; on the other side, five or six pinewood huts with boarded roofs. Above each roof, the high pole of a pigeon-house; over each entry a little short-maned horse of wrought iron. The window-panes of faulty glass shine with all the colours of the rainbow. Jugs of flowers are painted on the shutters. Before each door, a little bench stands prim and neat; on the mounds of earth, cats are basking, their transparent ears pricked up alert; beyond the high door-sills, is the cool dark of the outer rooms.

I lie on the very edge of the ravine, on an outspread horse-cloth; all about are whole stacks of fresh-cut hay, oppressively fragrant. The sagacious husbandmen have flung the hay about before the huts; let it get a bit drier in the baking sunshine; and then into the barn with it. It will be first-rate sleeping on it.

Curly, childish heads are sticking out of every haycock; crested hens are looking in the hay for flies and little beetles, and a white-lipped pup is rolling among the tangled stalks.

Flaxen-headed lads in clean smocks, belted low, in heavy boots, leaning over an unharnessed waggon, fling each other smart volleys of banter, with broad grins showing their white teeth.

A round-faced young woman peeps out of window; laughs at their words or at the romps of the children in the mounds of hay.

Another young woman with powerful arms draws a great wet bucket out of the well.... The bucket quivers and shakes, spilling long, glistening drops.

Before me stands an old woman in a new striped petticoat and new shoes.

Fat hollow beads are wound in three rows about her dark thin neck, her grey head is tied up in a yellow kerchief with red spots; it hangs low over her failing eyes.

But there is a smile of welcome in the aged eyes; a smile all over the wrinkled face. The old woman has reached, I dare say, her seventieth year ... and even now one can see she has been a beauty in her day.

With a twirl of her sunburnt finger, she holds in her right hand a bowl of cold milk, with the cream on it, fresh from the cellar; the sides of the bowl are covered with drops, like strings of pearls. In the palm of her left hand the old woman brings me a huge hunch of warm bread, as though to say, ‘Eat, and welcome, passing guest!’

A cock suddenly crows and fussily flaps his wings; he is slowly answered by the low of a calf, shut up in the stall.

‘My word, what oats!’ I hear my coachman saying....

Oh, the content, the quiet, the plenty of the Russian open country! Oh, the deep peace and well-being!

And the thought comes to me: what is it all to us here, the cross on the cupola of St. Sophia in Constantinople and all the rest that we are struggling for, we men of the town?

 

 

 

六月里的最后的一天。周围是俄罗斯的千里幅员——我亲爱的家乡。

整个天空一片蔚蓝。天上只有一朵云彩,似乎是在飘动,似乎是在消散。没有风,天气暖和……空气里仿佛弥漫着鲜牛奶似的东西!

云雀在鸣啭,大脖子鸽群咕咕叫着,燕子无声地飞翔,马儿打着响鼻、嚼着草,狗儿没有吠叫,温驯地摇尾站着。

空气里蒸腾着一种烟味,还有草香,并且混杂一点儿松焦油和皮革的气味。大麻已经长得很茂盛,散发出它那浓郁的、好闻的气味。

一条坡度和缓的深谷。山谷两侧各栽植数行柳树,它们的树冠连成一片,下面的树干已经皲裂。一条小溪在山谷中流淌。透过清澈的涟漪,溪底的碎石子仿佛在颤动。远处,天地相交的地方,依稀可见一条大河的碧波。

沿着山谷,一侧是整齐的小粮库、紧闭门户的小仓房;另一侧,散落着五六家薄板屋顶的松木农舍。家家屋顶上,竖着一根装上椋鸟巢的长竿子;家家门檐上,饰着一匹铁铸的扬鬃奔马。粗糙不平的窗玻璃,辉映出彩虹的颜色。护窗板上,涂画着插有花束的陶罐。家家农舍前,端端正正摆着一条结实的长凳。猫儿警惕地竖起耳朵,在土台上蜷缩成一团。高高的门槛后面,清凉的前室里一片幽暗。

我把毛毯铺开,躺在山谷的边缘。周围是整堆整堆刚刚割下、香得使人困倦的干草。机灵的农民,把干草铺散在木屋前面:只要再稍稍晒干一点,就可以藏到草棚里去!这样,将来睡在上面有多舒服!

孩子们长着卷发的小脑袋,从每一堆干草后面钻出来。母鸡晃动着鸡冠,在干草里寻觅着各种小虫。白唇的小狗,在乱草堆里翻滚。

留着淡褐色卷发的小伙子们,穿着下摆束上腰带的干净衬衣,蹬着沉重的镶边皮靴,胸脯靠在卸掉了牲口的牛车上,彼此兴致勃勃地谈天、逗笑。

圆脸的少妇从窗子里探出身来。不知是由于听到了小伙子们说的话,还是因为看到了干草堆上孩子们的嬉闹,她笑了。

另一个少妇伸出粗壮的胳膊,从井里提上一只湿淋淋的大桶……水桶在绳子上抖动着,摇晃着,滴下一滴滴闪光的水珠。

我面前站着一个年老的农妇,她穿着新的方格子布裙子,登着新鞋子。

在她黝黑、精瘦的脖子上,绕着三圈空心的大串珠。花白头发上系着一条带小红点儿的黄头巾。头巾一直遮到已失去神采的眼睛上面。

但老人的眼睛有礼貌地笑着,布满皱纹的脸上也堆着笑意。也许,老妇已有60多岁年纪了……就是现在也可以看得出来:当年她可是个美人啊!

她张开晒黑的右手五指,托着一罐刚从地窖里拿出来的、没有脱脂的冷牛奶,罐壁上蒙着许多玻璃珠子似的水汽;左手掌心里,老妇拿给我一大块还冒着热气的面包。她说:“为了健康,吃吧,远方来的客人!”

雄鸡忽然啼鸣起来,忙碌地拍打着翅膀;拴在圈里的小牛犊和它呼应着,不慌不忙地发出哞哞的叫声。

“瞧这片燕麦!”传来我马车夫的声音。

啊,俄罗斯自由之乡的满足、安逸、富饶!啊,宁静和美好!

于是我想到:皇城里圣索菲亚教堂圆顶上的十字架以及我们城里人正孜孜以求的一切,算得了什么呢?

          俄语(Russian Only)                                                 英语(English Only)                                               汉语(Chinese Only)


 

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    Categories:  Xie's Multilingual Corpus >> Russian-English >> Turgenev >> Short Novel                                                  
    

 

 



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