酷兔英语
    当前位置:
  1. 首页
  2. 文章
  3. 娱乐英语
  4. 原版小说
  5. 正文

Selected Writings-Part8_Guy De Maupassant(1850-1893)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

0 收藏 0 分享 0 赞

章节正文
文章总共2页
"Nothing is truer, I am sorry to say. For I really have wished to



have the revenge which I have dreamed of, and which I thought so

easy. Exasperated by that bad woman's insolence and confidence in



her own safety, I have several times made up my mind to kill her,

and have exerted all my energy and all my skill to make my knives



fly aside when I threw them to make a border round her neck. I

have tried with all my might to make them deviate half an inch,



just enough to cut her throat. I wanted to, and I have never

succeeded, never. And always the slut's horrible laugh makes fun



of me, always, always."

And with a deluge of tears, with something like a roar of



unsatiated and muzzled rage, he ground his teeth as he wound up:

"She knows me, the jade; she is in the secret of my work, of my



patience, of my trick, routine, whatever you may call it! She

lives in my innermost being, and sees into it more closely than



you do, or than I do myself. She knows what a faultless machine I

have become, the machine of which she makes fun, the machine



which is too well wound up, the machine which cannot get out of

order--and she knows that I CANNOT make a mistake."



THE HORLA

MAY 8. What a lovely day! I have spent all the morning lying on



the grass in front of my house, under the enormous plantain tree

which covers and shades and shelters the whole of it. I like this



part of the country; I am fond of living here because I am

attached to it by deep roots, the profound and delicate roots



which attach a man to the soil on which his ancestors were born

and died, to their traditions, their usages, their food, the



local expressions, the peculiar language of the peasants, the

smell of the soil, the hamlets, and to the atmosphere itself.



I love the house in which I grew up. From my windows I can see

the Seine, which flows by the side of my garden, on the other



side of the road, almost through my grounds, the great and wide

Seine, which goes to Rouen and Havre, and which is covered with



boats passing to and fro.

On the left, down yonder, lies Rouen, populous Rouen with its



blue roofs massing under pointed, Gothic towers. Innumerable are

they, delicate or broad, dominated by the spire of the cathedral,



full of bells which sound through the blue air on fine mornings,

sending their sweet and distant iron clang to me, their metallic



sounds, now stronger and now weaker, according as the wind is

strong or light.



What a delicious morning it was! About eleven o'clock, a long

line of boats drawn by a steam-tug, as big a fly, and which



scarcely puffed while emitting its thick smoke, passed my gate.

After two English schooners, whose red flags fluttered toward the



sky, there came a magnificent Brazilian three-master; it was

perfectly white and wonderfully clean and shining. I saluted it,



I hardly know why, except that the sight of the vessel gave me

great pleasure.



May 12. I have had a slight feverish attack for the last few

days, and I feel ill, or rather I feel low-spirited.



Whence come those mysterious influences which change our

happiness into discouragement, and our self-confidence into



diffidence? One might almost say that the air, the invisible air,

is full of unknowable Forces, whose mysterious presence we have



to endure. I wake up in the best of spirits, with an inclination

to sing in my heart. Why? I go down by the side of the water, and



suddenly, after walking a short distance, I return home wretched,

as if some misfortune were awaiting me there. Why? Is it a cold



shiver which, passing over my skin, has upset my nerves and given

me a fit of low spirits? Is it the form of the clouds, or the



tints of the sky, or the colors of the surrounding objects which

are so change-able, which have troubled my thoughts as they



passed before my eyes? Who can tell? Everything that surrounds

us, everything that we see without looking at it, everything that



we touch without knowing it, everything that we handle without

feeling it, everything that we meet without clearly



distinguishing it, has a rapid, surprising, and inexplicable

effect upon us and upon our organs, and through them on our ideas



and on our being itself.

How profound that mystery of the Invisible is! We cannot fathom



it with our miserable senses: our eyes are unable to perceive

what is either too small or too great, too near to or too far



from us; we can see neither the inhabitants of a star nor of a

drop of water; our ears deceive us, for they transmit to us the



vibrations of the air in sonorous notes. Our senses are fairies




文章总共2页
文章标签:翻译  译文  翻译文  

章节正文
Copyright © 2023 Qeto All rights reserved.
商务合作 | 联系我们 | 关于我们 | 版权声明 | 隐私条款 | 如果智培

京ICP备05059198号-1 京公网安备 11011202003401号