讀點好英文:The Story of an Hour 一個小時的故事

The Story of an Hour 一個小時的故事

[美]凱特·肖邦（Kate Chopin）

《一個小時的故事》精練地概述了在一個小時里，瑪拉德夫人對一偶發(fā)事件的反應。故事的主人公瑪拉德夫人患有心臟病，當她聽到丈夫在一場車禍中喪生之后，先是痛不欲生，失聲痛哭，但獨自回到房間后，她竟很快從悲痛中恢復了過來，有了“自由”的喜悅。等她再從房間里走出來的時候，她感受到了新生。但此時，逃過一劫的瑪拉德先生出現在門口，瑪拉德夫人心臟病突發(fā)，倒地猝死。

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.

It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences;veiled hints that revealed in half concealing.

Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received;with Brently Maitard's name leading the list of“killed.”He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.

She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms.When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone.She would have no one follow her.

There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.

She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air.

In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which someone was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.

There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.

She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.

She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky.It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.

There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it?She did not know;it was too subtle and elusive to name.But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air.

Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will—as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been.

When she abandoned herself, a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath:“free, free, fre e!”The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes.They stayed keen and bright.Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.

She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous Joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial.

She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death;the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely.And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.

There would be no one to live for her during those coming years;she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow creature.A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.

And yet she had loved him—sometimes. Often she had not.What did it matte r!What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her bein g!“Fre e!Body and soul fre e!”she kept whispering.

Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhole, imploring for admission.“Louise, open the doo r!I beg;open the door—you will make yourself. What are you doing, Louise?For heaven's sake open the door.”

“Go away. I am not making myself.”No;she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.

Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own.She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long.It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long.

She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory.She clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs.Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom.

Someone was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his gripsack and umbrella.He had been far from the scene of accident, and did not know there had been one.He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry;at Richards's quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.

But Richards was too late.

When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease—of joy that kills.

因為知道瑪拉德太太的心臟有毛病，所以人們盡可能婉轉地告知她她丈夫的死訊。

是她姐姐約瑟芬吞吞吐吐、半遮半掩地暗示了她。

她丈夫的朋友理查德也在場，就在她旁邊。當火車事故的消息傳來時，他正在報館里，而布蘭特里·瑪拉德的名字就列在“死亡”名單的第一個。緊接其后的電報，使他在最短的時間里確認了消息的真實性，他急忙趕來，力圖趕在那些朋友之前。

她沒有像別的女人那樣，帶著麻木的神情接受這個消息。她立刻就哭了起來，近似絕望地撲到她姐姐的懷里。當這暴風雨般的悲傷過后，她獨自回到自己的房間里，不讓任何人跟著她。

窗戶是開著的，對面放著一把舒服寬大的扶手椅。她筋疲力盡地坐了下來，這種疲憊不僅折磨著她的身體，似乎也侵入了她的靈魂。

透過窗戶，她看到屋前廣場上的樹梢在新春的氣息中隨風搖擺?？諝庵袕浡曳嫉挠甑臍庀ⅰ?/p>

一個小販在下面的街道上叫賣著他的貨物。遠處傳來縹緲的歌聲，還有無數的麻雀在房檐上嘰嘰喳喳地叫個不停。

對著窗口的西邊的天空上，朵朵白云層層疊疊地堆積著，間或露出一片片蔚藍的天空。

她把頭靠在椅背上，非常平靜。偶爾也會嗚咽一兩聲，就像小孩子哭著睡著了，但在夢中還會繼續(xù)嗚咽一樣。

她還很年輕，有著一張姣好平靜的臉，臉上的表情顯示著一種壓抑，甚至是一種力量。但是現在，她的目光有些陰郁，呆呆地凝望著遠處白云間的片片藍天。這并不是匆匆的一瞥，而是一種長久的深思熟慮。

有種東西正向她靠近，而她正恐懼地等待著。那是什么？她不知道。那東西太微妙太難以捉摸了，她說不清楚。但是她能感覺得到，它正在空中蔓延，穿過彌漫于空氣中的聲音、氣味和顏色，慢慢地向她靠近。

現在，她的內心騷動不安。她開始認識到那種向她步步逼近并漸漸控制她的感覺是什么了。她掙扎著想靠自己的意志把它擊退——可這意志卻和她那白皙纖弱的雙手一樣軟弱無力。

她放棄了反抗，從她微微張開的雙唇間喃喃地溢出了一個詞，她屏住呼吸一遍又一遍地重復著：“自由，自由，自由！”曾經茫然的目光和恐懼的眼神已經逐漸退去。現在，她的目光透著機敏，炯炯有神。她的心跳加快，沸騰的熱血溫暖了身體的每一個部位，使她感覺到身心完全地放松了。

她沒有停下來問自己，是不是有一種邪惡的快感在控制著她。一種清清楚楚的、興奮的感覺讓她根本無暇顧及此事。

她知道，當她看到丈夫那雙溫柔親切的雙手變得僵硬，那張從不會對她吝嗇愛意的臉變得毫無表情、灰白如紙的時候，她肯定還會哭的。但在這痛苦之外，她看到了長遠的未來，那些只屬于她自己的歲月。而她張開雙臂迎接那些歲月的到來。

在未來的歲月里，她不再為別人而活著，而只為她自己。那時，她不必再盲目地屈從于任何專橫的意志。人們總是認為他們有權把個人的意志強加于他人。無論其動機是善良的還是殘酷的，她突然感到這種做法絕不亞于犯罪。

當然，她是愛過他的——有時候是愛他的。但更多的時候她不愛他。那又有什么關系呢！有了獨立的意志——她突然意識到這是她身上最強烈的一種沖動。在這種自信面前，愛情，那未解的謎團，算得了什么！“自由了！身心都自由了！”她不停地低聲說。

約瑟芬跪在緊閉的門外，嘴唇對著鑰匙孔，苦苦地哀求著讓她進去?！奥兑捉z，開開門！求求你啦，開開門——你這樣會得病的。你干什么呢，露易絲？看在上帝的分兒上，開開門吧！”

“走開。我不會讓自己生病的?！辈粫?，她正陶醉在窗外那不息的生命里。

她的想象像脫韁的野馬一樣狂奔著。她想象著未來的日子，春天，夏天，那些所有屬于她自己的日子。她飛快地輕聲向上帝祈禱著讓生命長一點。而就在昨天，她還覺得生命太長了。

最后，她終于在姐姐的一再請求下，打開了門。她眼神里充滿了勝利的激情，她絲毫沒有意識到自己表現得就像一位勝利女神。她緊摟著姐姐的腰，一起走下樓去。理查德正站在樓下等著她們。

有人用鑰匙打開大門。進來的是布蘭特里·瑪拉德，雖略顯旅途勞頓，但泰然自若地提著他的大旅行包和傘。事發(fā)當時他離現場很遠，根本就不知道發(fā)生了車禍。他驚愕地站在那里，聽著約瑟芬的尖叫，看著理查德飛快地移動著，想擋住他，不讓他妻子看見他。

但是理查德還是太晚了。

醫(yī)生來了，他們說她死于心臟病——說她是死于極度高興。

For man is man and master of his fate.

——Alfred Tennyson

人就是人，是自己命運的主人。

——阿爾弗雷德·丁尼生

實戰(zhàn)提升

作者介紹

凱特·肖邦（1851—1904）出生于美國圣路易斯。她在快40歲的時候出版了第一本小說。主要作品有《一雙絲襪》《覺醒》等。在19世紀末，肖邦試圖直白地描寫女性與男性、兒童的關系及她們本身性欲中的感受和情緒。這一點被認為是冒犯了當時上流社會的讀者。那些挑戰(zhàn)傳統社會行為的作品，如《一個小時的故事》，常常遭到雜志編輯的拒絕。然而半個多世紀后，女權主義評論家卻大力提倡。

單詞注解

intelligence[in5telidVEns]n.智能；智慧；理解力

delicious[di5liFEs]adj.美味的；香噴噴的

faintly[5feintli]adv.微弱地；暗淡地；模糊地

absolutely[5AbsElu:tli]adv.絕對地，完全地

unwittingly[7Qn5witiNli]adv.無意地；不經意地；不知不覺地

名句大搜索

那東西太微妙太難以捉摸了，她說不清楚。

她屏住呼吸一遍又一遍地重復著：“自由，自由，自由！”曾經茫然的目光和恐懼的眼神已經逐漸退去。

那時，她不必再盲目地屈從于任何專橫的意志。人們總是認為他們有權把個人的意志強加于他人。