姐,我要。。。
轻松的小说阅读环境
巴黎圣母院英文版 - BOOK SIXTH CHAPTER II.THE RAT-HOLE.
繁体
恢复默认
返回目录【键盘操作】左右光标键:上下章节;回车键:目录;双击鼠标:停止/启动自动滚动;滚动时上下光标键调节滚动速度。
  The reader must permit us to take him back to the place de Grève, which we quitted yesterday with Gringoire, in order to follow la Esmeralda.It is ten o'clock in the morning; everything is indicative of the day after a festival.The pavement is covered with rubbish; ribbons, rags, feathers from tufts of plumes, drops of wax from the torches, crumbs of the public feast.A goodly number of bourgeois are "sauntering," as we say, here and there, turning over with their feet the extinct brands of the bonfire, going into raptures in front of the pillar House, over the memory of the fine hangings of the day before, and to-day staring at the nails that secured them a last pleasure. The venders of cider and beer are rolling their barrels among the groups.Some busy passers-by come and go.The merchants converse and call to each other from the thresholds of their shops.The festival, the ambassadors, Coppenole, the pope of the Fools, are in all mouths; they vie with each other, each trying to criticise it best and laugh the most. And, meanwhile, four mounted sergeants, who have just posted themselves at the four sides of the pillory, have already concentrated around themselves a goodly proportion of the populace scattered on the place, who condemn themselves to immobility and fatigue in the hope of a small execution.If the reader, after having contemplated this lively and noisy scene which is being enacted in all parts of the place, will now transfer his gaze towards that ancient demi-Gothic, demi-Romanesque house of the Tour-Roland, which forms the corner on the quay to the west, he will observe, at the angle of the fa?ade, a large public breviary, with rich illuminations, protected from the rain by a little penthouse, and from thieves by a small grating, which, however, permits of the leaves being turned.Beside this breviary is a narrow, arched window, closed by two iron bars in the form of a cross, and looking on the square; the only opening which admits a small quantity of light and air to a little cell without a door, constructed on the ground-floor, in the thickness of the walls of the old house, and filled with a peace all the more profound, with a silence all the more gloomy, because a public place, the most populous and most noisy in paris swarms and shrieks around it.This little cell had been celebrated in paris for nearly three centuries, ever since Madame Rolande de la Tour-Roland, in mourning for her father who died in the Crusades, had caused it to be hollowed out in the wall of her own house, in order to immure herself there forever, keeping of all her palace only this lodging whose door was walled up, and whose window stood open, winter and summer, giving all the rest to the poor and to God.The afflicted damsel had, in fact, waited twenty years for death in this premature tomb, praying night and day for the soul of her father, sleeping in ashes, without even a stone for a pillow, clothed in a black sack, and subsisting on the bread and water which the compassion of the passers-by led them to deposit on the ledge of her window, thus receiving charity after having bestowed it.At her death, at the moment when she was passing to the other sepulchre, she had bequeathed this one in perpetuity to afflicted women, mothers, widows, or maidens, who should wish to pray much for others or for themselves, and who should desire to inter themselves alive in a great grief or a great penance.The poor of her day had made her a fine funeral, with tears and benedictions; but, to their great regret, the pious maid had not been canonized, for lack of influence.Those among them who were a little inclined to impiety, had hoped that the matter might be accomplished in paradise more easily than at Rome, and had frankly besought God, instead of the pope, in behalf of the deceased.The majority had contented themselves with holding the memory of Rolande sacred, and converting her rags into relics.The city, on its side, had founded in honor of the damoiselle, a public breviary, which had been fastened near the window of the cell, in order that passers-by might halt there from time to time, were it only to pray; that prayer might remind them of alms, and that the poor recluses, heiresses of Madame Rolande's vault, might not die outright of hunger and forgetfulness.Moreover, this sort of tomb was not so very rare a thing in the cities of the Middle Ages.One often encountered in the most frequented street, in the most crowded and noisy market, in the very middle, under the feet of the horses, under the wheels of the carts, as it were, a cellar, a well, a tiny walled and grated cabin, at the bottom of which a human being prayed night and day, voluntarily devoted to some eternal lamentation, to some great expiation.And all the reflections which that strange spectacle would awaken in us to-day; that horrible cell, a sort of intermediary link between a house and the tomb, the cemetery and the city; that living being cut off from the human community, and thenceforth reckoned among the dead; that lamp consuming its last drop of oil in the darkness; that remnant of life flickering in the grave; that breath, that voice, that eternal prayer in a box of stone; that face forever turned towards the other world; that eye already illuminated with another sun; that ear pressed to the walls of a tomb; that soul a prisoner in that body; that body a prisoner in that dungeon cell, and beneath that double envelope of flesh and granite, the murmur of that soul in pain;--nothing of all this was perceived by the crowd. The piety of that age, not very subtle nor much given to reasoning, did not see so many facets in an act of religion. It took the thing in the block, honored, venerated, hallowed the sacrifice at need, but did not analyze the sufferings, and felt but moderate pity for them.It brought some pittance to the miserable penitent from time to time, looked through the hole to see whether he were still living, forgot his name, hardly knew how many years ago he had begun to die, and to the stranger, who questioned them about the living skeleton who was perishing in that cellar, the neighbors replied simply, "It is the recluse."Everything was then viewed without metaphysics, without exaggeration, without magnifying glass, with the naked eye. The microscope had not yet been invented, either for things of matter or for things of the mind.Moreover, although people were but little surprised by it, the examples of this sort of cloistration in the hearts of cities were in truth frequent, as we have just said.There were in paris a considerable number of these cells, for praying to God and doing penance; they were nearly all occupied.It is true that the clergy did not like to have them empty, since that implied lukewarmness in believers, and that lepers were put into them when there were no penitents on hand.Besides the cell on the Grève, there was one at Montfau?on, one at the Charnier des Innocents, another I hardly know where,--at the Clichon House, I think; others still at many spots where traces of them are found in traditions, in default of memorials. The University had also its own.On Mount Sainte-Geneviève a sort of Job of the Middle Ages, for the space of thirty years, chanted the seven penitential psalms on a dunghill at the bottom of a cistern, beginning anew when he had finished, singing loudest at night, ~magna voce per umbras~, and to-day, the antiquary fancies that he hears his voice as he enters the Rue du puits-qui-parle--the street of the "Speaking Well."To confine ourselves to the cell in the Tour-Roland, we must say that it had never lacked recluses.After the death of Madame Roland, it had stood vacant for a year or two, though rarely.Many women had come thither to mourn, until their death, for relatives, lovers, faults.parisian malice, which thrusts its finger into everything, even into things which concern it the least, affirmed that it had beheld but few widows there.In accordance with the fashion of the epoch, a Latin inscription on the wall indicated to the learned passer-by the pious purpose of this cell.The custom was retained until the middle of the sixteenth century of explaining an edifice by a brief device inscribed above the door.Thus, one still reads in France, above the wicket of the prison in the seignorial mansion of Tourville, ~Sileto et spera~; in Ireland, beneath the armorial bearings which surmount the grand door to Fortescue Castle, ~Forte scutum, salus ducum~; in England, over the principal entrance to the hospitable mansion of the Earls Cowper: ~Tuum est~.At that time every edifice was a thought.As there was no door to the walled cell of the Tour-Roland, these two words had been carved in large Roman capitals over the window,--TU, ORA.And this caused the people, whose good sense does not perceive so much refinement in things, and likes to translate _Ludovico Magno_ by "porte Saint-Denis," to give to this dark, gloomy, damp cavity, the name of "The Rat-Hole."An explanation less sublime, perhaps, than the other; but, on the other hand, more picturesque.
或许您还会喜欢:
1Q84 BOOK1
作者:佚名
章节:35 人气:2
摘要:&nbs;A.今年年初,日本著名作家村上春树凭借着《海边的卡夫卡》入选美国“2005年十大最佳图书”。而后,他又获得了有“诺贝尔文学奖前奏”之称的“弗朗茨·卡夫卡”奖。风头正健的村上春树,前不久在中国出版了新书《东京奇谭集》。 [点击阅读]
廊桥遗梦
作者:佚名
章节:47 人气:2
摘要:《廊桥遗梦》向我们描述了一段柏拉图式的经典爱情,再现了一段真挚的情感纠葛,是一部社会化和本地化思维很强的力作,《廊桥遗梦》之所以让人震惊,大概是它提出了爱情的本质问题之一——人们对于性爱的态度。 [点击阅读]
乞力马扎罗的雪
作者:佚名
章节:7 人气:3
摘要:乞力马扎罗是一座海拔一万九千七百一十英尺的长年积雪的高山,据说它是非洲最高的一座山。西高峰叫马塞人①的“鄂阿奇—鄂阿伊”,即上帝的庙殿。在西高峰的近旁,有一具已经风干冻僵的豹子的尸体。豹子到这样高寒的地方来寻找什么,没有人作过解释。“奇怪的是它一点也不痛,”他说。“你知道,开始的时候它就是这样。”“真是这样吗?”“千真万确。可我感到非常抱歉,这股气味准叫你受不了啦。”“别这么说!请你别这么说。 [点击阅读]
别相信任何人
作者:佚名
章节:66 人气:2
摘要:如果你怀疑,身边最亲近的人为你虚构了一个人生,你还能相信谁?你看到的世界,不是真实的,更何况是别人要你看的。20年来,克丽丝的记忆只能保持一天。每天早上醒来,她都会完全忘了昨天的事——包皮括她的身份、她的过往,甚至她爱的人。克丽丝的丈夫叫本,是她在这个世界里唯一的支柱,关于她生命中的一切,都只能由本告知。但是有一天,克丽丝找到了自己的日记,发现第一页赫然写着:不要相信本。 [点击阅读]
雪地上的女尸
作者:佚名
章节:6 人气:3
摘要:1“非常抱歉……”赫尔克里-波洛先生答道。他还没说完就被打断了。打断得不鲁莽,很委婉且富有技巧性,确切他说是说服,而不是制造矛盾与不和的打断。“请不要马上拒绝,波洛先生。这件事事关重大,对你的合作我们将感激不尽。”“你大热情了。 [点击阅读]
墓中人
作者:佚名
章节:6 人气:3
摘要:春日的午后,温暖的阳光透过浓密的树丛,斑驳地落在大牟田子爵家府评的西式客厅里,大牟田敏清子爵的遗孀瑙璃子慵懒地靠在沙发上,她是位鲜花般的美人,陪伴在旁的是已故子爵的好友川村义雄先生。漂亮的子爵府位于九州S市的风景秀丽的小山上,从府邸明亮的大客厅的阳台上,可以俯瞰S市那美丽的港口。 [点击阅读]
癌病船
作者:佚名
章节:27 人气:2
摘要:第一章处女航一父母及幼小的弟弟、妹妹,四个人正围着一个在梳妆的少女淌眼泪。这是一套两间的公寓住房。父母住一间,三个孩子住一间。当然不可能让每个人都有一张桌子。孩子们每天在这狭小的房间里埋头苦读。大女儿夕雨子,已经十三岁了。但她却无法继续学习下去。她得了白血病。开始时觉得浑身无力,低烧不退。父母整天忙于自身的工作,无暇顾及自己孩子。父亲大月雄三,是个出租汽车司机。 [点击阅读]
荡魂
作者:佚名
章节:8 人气:2
摘要:由霸空港起飞的定期航班,于午后四时抵达东京羽田机场,羽田机场一片嘈杂,寺田绫子找到了机场大厅的公用电话亭。绫子身上带着拍摄完毕的胶卷,这种胶卷为深海摄影专用的胶卷,目前,只能在东洋冲印所冲印,绫子要找的冲洗师正巧不在,她只得提上行李朝单轨电车站走去。赶回调布市的私宅已是夜间了,这是一栋小巧别致的商品住宅。绫子走进房间后,立即打开所有的窗户,房间已紧闭了十来天,里面残留着夏天的湿气。 [点击阅读]
谍海
作者:佚名
章节:16 人气:2
摘要:一唐密·毕赐福在公寓过厅里把外套脱下,相当小心的挂在衣架上。他的动作很慢,帽子也很小心的挂在旁边的钩子上。他的妻子正在起居间坐着,用土黄色的毛线织一顶登山帽,他端端肩膀,换上一脸果敢的笑容,走了进去。毕赐福太太迅速的瞥他一眼,然后,又拼命的织起来。过了一两分钟,她说:“晚报上有什么消息吗?”唐密说:“闪电战来了,万岁!法国的情况不妙。”“目前的国际局势非常沉闷。”秋蓬这样说。 [点击阅读]
劳伦斯短篇小说集
作者:佚名
章节:20 人气:2
摘要:今年是20世纪英国最有成就、也是最有争议的作家之一——劳伦斯诞生!”!”0周年。这位不朽的文学大师在他近20年的创作生涯中为世人留下了!”0多部小说、3本游记、3卷短篇小说集、数本诗集、散文集、书信集,另有多幅美术作品,不愧为著作等身的一代文豪。戴维·赫伯特·劳伦斯(DavidHerbertLawrence)!”885年9月!”!”日出生在英国诺丁汉郡伊斯特伍德矿区。 [点击阅读]
厄兆
作者:佚名
章节:15 人气:2
摘要:从前,但不是很久以前,有一个恶魔来到了缅因州的小镇罗克堡。他在1970年杀死了一个名叫爱尔玛·弗莱彻特的女服务员;在1971年,一个名叫波琳·图塔克尔的女人和一个叫切瑞尔·穆迪的初中生;1974年,一个叫卡洛尔·杜巴戈的可爱的小女孩;1975年,一个名叫艾塔·林戈得的教师;最后,在同一年的早冬,一个叫玛丽·凯特·汉德拉森的小学生。 [点击阅读]
心是孤独的猎手
作者:佚名
章节:16 人气:2
摘要:《心是孤独的猎手》曾被评为百部最佳同性恋小说之一,在榜单上名列17,据翻译陈笑黎介绍,这是麦卡勒斯的第一部长篇小说,也是她一举成名的作品,出版于1940年她23岁之时。故事的背景类似于《伤心咖啡馆之歌》中炎热的南方小镇。她说:“小说中两个聋哑男子的同性之爱令人感动,而同性之恋又是若有若无的,时而激烈,时而沉默。 [点击阅读]