狄更斯雙語小說:《董貝父子》第55章Part4

Of morning, noon, and sunset; night, and the rising of an early moon. Of long roads temporarily left behind, and a rough pavement reached; of battering and clattering over it, and looking up, among house-roofs, at a great church-tower; of getting out and eating hastily, and drinking draughts of wine that had no cheering influence; of coming forth afoot, among a host of beggars - blind men with quivering eyelids, led by old women holding candles to their faces; idiot girls; the lame, the epileptic, and the palsied - of passing through the clamour, and looking from his seat at the upturned countenances and outstretched hands, with a hurried dread of recognising some pursuer pressing forward - of galloping away again, upon the long, long road, gathered up, dull and stunned, in his corner, or rising to see where the moon shone faintly on a patch of the same endless road miles away, or looking back to see who followed.
Of never sleeping, but sometimes dozing with unclosed eyes, and springing up with a start, and a reply aloud to an imaginary voice. Of cursing himself for being there, for having fled, for having let her go, for not having confronted and defied him. Of having a deadly quarrel with the whole world, but chiefly with himself. Of blighting everything with his black mood as he was carried on and away.
It was a fevered vision of things past and present all confounded together; of his life and journey blended into one. Of being madly hurried somewhere, whither he must go. Of old scenes starting up among the novelties through which he travelled. Of musing and brooding over what was past and distant, and seeming to take no notice of the actual objects he encountered, but with a wearisome exhausting consciousness of being bewildered by them, and having their images all crowded in his hot brain after they were gone.
A vision of change upon change, and still the same monotony of bells and wheels, and horses' feet, and no rest. Of town and country, postyards, horses, drivers, hill and valley, light and darkness, road and pavement, height and hollow, wet weather and dry, and still the same monotony of bells and wheels, and horses' feet, and no rest. A vision of tending on at last, towards the distant capital, by busier roads, and sweeping round, by old cathedrals, and dashing through small towns and villages, less thinly scattered on the road than formerly, and sitting shrouded in his corner, with his cloak up to his face, as people passing by looked at him.
Of rolling on and on, always postponing thought, and always racked with thinking; of being unable to reckon up the hours he had been upon the road, or to comprehend the points of time and place in his journey. Of being parched and giddy, and half mad. Of pressing on, in spite of all, as if he could not stop, and coming into Paris, where the turbid river held its swift course undisturbed, between two brawling streams of life and motion.
A troubled vision, then, of bridges, quays, interminable streets; of wine-shops, water-carriers, great crowds of people, soldiers, coaches, military drums, arcades. Of the monotony of bells and wheels and horses' feet being at length lost in the universal din and uproar. Of the gradual subsidence of that noise as he passed out in another carriage by a different barrier from that by which he had entered. Of the restoration, as he travelled on towards the seacoast, of the monotony of bells and wheels, and horses' feet, and no rest.
Of sunset once again, and nightfall. Of long roads again, and dead of night, and feeble lights in windows by the roadside; and still the old monotony of bells and wheels, and horses' feet, and no rest. Of dawn, and daybreak, and the rising of the sun. Of tolling slowly up a hill, and feeling on its top the fresh sea-breeze; and seeing the morning light upon the edges of the distant waves. Of coming down into a harbour when the tide was at its full, and seeing fishing-boats float on, and glad women and children waiting for them. Of nets and seamen's clothes spread out to dry upon the shore; of busy saIlors, and their voices high among ships' masts and rigging; of the buoyancy and brightness of the water, and the universal sparkling.

在這夢幻中有早晨、中午和日落；有夜晚和新月的升起。在這夢幻中，漫長的道路暫時被拋在後面，馬車走上了一條凹凸不平的鋪石的道路，馬蹄敲打着它的路面，馬從上面跑過去；他擡頭仰望，看到一座巍峨的教堂鐘樓聳立在一些房屋的屋頂之上；他從馬車中出來，匆匆忙忙吃點東西，喝幾口酒，它卻不能使他快活起來；他從一羣乞丐中間徒步走過去--眼皮顫動的瞎子由老太婆領着走，她們舉着蠟燭照着他們的臉；他看到白癡的女孩子、跛子、癲癇病人、癱瘓病人--；在這夢幻中，他從嘈雜吵鬧的中間經過，並從座位上望出去；他看到仰望着他的臉孔和伸過來的胳膊，突然害怕認出一個追趕他的什麼人從他們當中擠出來；然後在這夢幻中，又是在漫長的道路上飛快地奔馳；他遲鈍、麻木地在馬車角落裏蜷縮着身體，或者站起身來，看一看月光正微弱地照耀着那條同樣無窮無盡、伸向許多許多英里以外的道路中的一段，或者往後看看，有誰跟隨而來。
在這夢幻中，他從來沒有睡去，而只是有時眼睛沒有合上，打個盹兒，然後突然間驚跳起來，大聲地回答着一個想象中的聲音。在這夢幻中，他咒罵自己到這裏來，咒罵自己逃走，咒罵自己讓她走掉了，咒罵自己沒有跟他見面，向他挑戰。在這夢幻中，他不共戴天地埋怨整個世界，但主要是埋怨他自己。在這夢幻中，當他被馬車向前拉去的時候，他灰心喪氣的情緒使周圍的一切事物都顯得黯然失色。
這是個狂熱的夢幻，過去的事物與當前的事物亂七八糟地混合在一起，他往日的生活與現在的逃亡攙合爲一體。在這個夢幻中，他正瘋狂地急忙趕往他應該前去的一個什麼地方。在這個夢幻中，舊時的情景突然跳進一路上穿行過的新鮮風光中。在這個夢幻中，當他沉思默想着過去和遙遠的事情的時候，他似乎沒有注意到他見到的現實的景物，而是厭倦不堪地感覺到，它們把他弄得糊里糊塗；在它們消失之後，它們的形象仍擁擠在他發熱的頭腦中。
這是個夢幻，在這個夢幻中，發生着一個接一個的變化，但卻仍然是那單調的鈴鐺聲，車輪聲和馬蹄聲；他得不到休息。城鎮和鄉村，馬，馬車伕，丘陵和河谷，光明和黑暗，大路和鋪石路，高地和山谷，雨天和晴天，但卻仍然是那單調的鈴鐺聲，車輪聲，馬蹄聲，他得不到休息。這是個夢幻，在這個夢幻中，馬車終於沿着行人較多的道路，往遙遠的首都跑去；它從古老的大教堂旁邊飛跑過去；從道路上的小城鎮和村子中間急穿過去，現在這些小城鎮不像先前那麼稀疏；當路過的行人看着他的時候，他隱蔽地坐在角落裏，斗篷蓋到臉上。
在這個夢幻中，馬車繼續向前奔跑，他總是把一些思想暫時擱置起來，往後推到將來去考慮，並總是因爲不斷地思索而苦惱；他不能計算他在路上跑了多少個鐘頭，或瞭解旅程中的時間與地點。在這個夢幻中，他口乾舌燥，眼花繚亂，近乎瘋狂，可是不管怎樣，他卻還是依舊奮力向前行進，彷彿他不能停下來似的，然後他進入了巴黎；在那裏，在生命與運動這兩股嘩嘩的激流中間，混濁的河流泰然自若地轉動着它的湍急的水流。
然後，是一個混亂的夢幻，在這個夢幻中，有橋樑、碼頭、沒有盡頭的街道；有酒店、運水的工人、熙熙攘攘的人羣、士兵、轎式馬車、軍鼓、拱廊。在這個夢幻中，單調的鈴鐺聲、車輪聲和馬蹄聲最終消失在四周一片喧囂聲與鼎沸的人聲之中了。他經過一個關口的時候，換乘了一輛馬車，在這之後，這種鬧音漸漸地平靜下來。當他前往海岸的時候，單調的鈴鐺聲、車輪聲和馬蹄聲又恢復了，他得不到休息。
然後在這個夢幻中，又是日落和黃昏。在這個夢幻中，又是漫長的道路，沉寂的深夜，路旁窗戶中微弱的燈光；然後依舊是單調的鈴鐺聲、車輪聲和馬蹄聲，他得不到休息。在這個夢幻中，有拂曉、黎明、日出。在這個夢幻中，馬車費勁地慢慢地上了一個山岡，在山岡頂上他感覺到新鮮的海風微微吹拂；他看見晨光在遠方海浪的邊際閃閃反射着。下了山岡，是一個海港，正好是漲潮的時候，可以看見漁船順潮返航，快活的女人和孩子正在等待着它們。漁網和漁人們的衣服攤曬在海岸上；船員們忙忙碌碌，在桅杆和索具當中高高的地方也能聽到他們的。活潑、明亮的海水，到處在閃閃發光。