狄更斯雙語小說:《董貝父子》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.'

在一間醜陋和黑黑的房間裏，一位也是醜陋和黑黑的老太婆坐在那裏，一邊聽着風雨的，一邊蜷曲着身子，在微弱的爐火旁邊取暖。她對取暖比對聽風雨專心，從不改變她的姿勢，除非偶爾掉下的雨點在閃燃着的灰燼上發出嘶嘶的時，她才擡起頭，重新注意到外面呼嘯的風聲和嗒嗒地下着的雨聲，然後又讓頭低垂着，低垂着，低垂着，陷入沉思的狀態中；這時候她對夜間嘈雜的，就像一個坐在海邊沉思的人對海浪滾滾的單調一樣，並沒有清楚地聽進耳朵裏去。
房間裏除了爐火的光之外，沒有別的光。爐火像一頭半睡着的猛獸的眼睛一樣，不時不樂意地閃一閃亮光，映照出了一些決不需要更好照出的物品。一堆破布，一堆骨頭，一張破爛的牀，兩、三條破損的椅子或凳子，烏黑的牆和更加烏黑的天花板--這就是爐火閃爍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後的牆上，一半投射在頭頂的天花板上；這裏沒有壁爐；而只有煙囪；當她這樣彎曲着身子坐在那裏，面對着圈圍着爐火的潮溼的煙囪爐膛上的幾塊鬆動的磚頭時，她看去就彷彿是在女巫的祭壇前面期待着得到一個吉利的徵兆似的；跟火焰徐緩的閃爍比較起來，她的牙齒髮出卡嗒卡嗒響聲的嘴巴和顫抖的下巴如果不是動作得太頻繁和太快的話，人們本可能會以爲，這只不過是那一亮一滅的光線照射在那張跟身體一樣一動不動的臉上所產生的幻影罷了。
如果弗洛倫斯這時站在這間房間裏，注視着這位在爐火旁邊縮着身子、把影子投射到牆上和天花板上的人的話，那麼她只需看一眼，就能回想起善良的布朗太太，儘管她對這位可怕的老太婆的回憶是一個孩子的回憶，它也許就像牆上的影子一樣奇異，一樣誇張，不符合真實的情景。可是弗洛倫斯不在這裏，善良的布朗太太仍然沒有被認出來；她坐在那裏，凝視着爐火，誰也沒有注意到她。
雨水的細流發出嘶嘶的，沿着煙囪流下來；老太婆被一聲比平時更響的爆裂聲所驚起，不耐煩地擡起頭來，重新聽着。這一次她沒有把頭再低下來；因爲有誰輕輕地推開門，房間裏聽到了走進的腳步聲。
“是誰？”她回過頭去問道。
“給您捎消息來的人，”一個女人的回答道。
“消息？哪裏來的消息？”
“外國來的。”