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陷坑与钟摆|The Pit and the Pendulum

椭圆形的画像|The Oval Portrait

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 埃德加 -爱伦-坡] 阅读：[3860]
一个人躺在托莱多的狱中。他心里害怕——不，不止害怕，他充满了恐惧，因为他知道宗教法庭的狱中有五花八门的“惊喜”。很快，他就会看到下方的陷坑…… 这个人并不是书中唯一一个满怀恐惧的人。当福尔图纳托正高高兴兴地要去参加狂欢节聚会时，他遇到了老朋友蒙特雷索。蒙特雷索想要聊聊阿蒙提拉多酒的事情，于是福尔图纳托发现自己身处蒙特雷索家房子下面阴冷潮湿的地窖之中。恐惧很快随之袭来……
一个害怕被活埋的人永远无法摆脱恐惧;一对年轻恋人的密会使很多人陷入恐惧之中;画家年轻貌美的妻子端坐在那里，一直微笑着——然而她心中充满了恐惧。
死亡和恐惧，恐惧和死亡，两者在这些故事中总是牵手相伴。请你在白天，选一个洒满阳光的房间，并在朋友的陪伴下阅读这些故事吧!
A man is lying in a prison in Toledo. He is afraid – no, he is more than afraid, he is full of terror, because he knows that the Inquisition has many surprises in its prisons. Very soon he will look down into the pit...
And he is not the only person in these stories to be full of terror. When Fortunato meets his old friend Montresor, he is a happy man, on his way to a carnival party. But Montresor wants to talk about some Amontillado, and Fortunato finds himself in the cold damp vaults below Montresor’s house. Terror soon follows...
The man who fears burial alive is never free from terror; a meeting of young lovers brings terror to many people; and the beautiful young wife of a painter sits smiling, smiling, smiling – but with terror in her heart.
Death and Terror, Terror and Death, walk hand in hand through these stories. Read them by daylight, in a bright sunny room, with friends around you!
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我身处意大利的群山之中，却从马上掉下来，受了伤。我需要休息，可是在那人迹罕至的蛮荒之地只有一座房子。那是一座颇为精美的老房子，房子很大，但是阴暗且空荡荡的。我的仆人佩德罗把门锁撬开，扶我走了进去。

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我打量着四周的家具、地毯和画作。“住在这里的人，”我想，“是不久前才离开的。”

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我们占用了房子偏远角落的一个小房间。墙上挂着很多现代画作，房间黑暗的角落里还有更多的画。天色渐暗，佩德罗点亮了我床边桌子上高高的蜡烛。桌上摆着一本书，我开始读了起来。书里描述的都是墙上一幅幅画作的故事。

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午夜来而复去，我把蜡烛向自己这边挪了挪，好让光线更亮一些，便于读书。而烛光也落在了房间一个比较黑暗的角落里——在那儿，我初次看见了一幅年轻美人的椭圆形画像，画像上只有她的头部和肩膀。那幅画笔触精细，但与此同时也让人感觉有些不一样，有些奇怪，有些……我不知道是哪里不对劲，但我无法把目光从画像上移开。我坐在床上盯着画像，看了大概有一个小时。

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最后我终于发现了它的秘密。秘密就在她的脸上，在她的眼睛里。“她简直就像……活的一样。”我想，“她看上去栩栩如生。那双眼睛……”

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突然我感到浑身发冷，心里充满了巨大的恐惧。我的双手开始发抖，我赶紧把目光移开。

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小心翼翼地，我再次挪动蜡烛，直到烛光再也照不到那个角落，那幅肖像又回到黑暗之中。我在书中翻到了讲述这幅椭圆形画像的故事之处，便开始读了起来。

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她是位美若天仙的年轻女子，她一笑，那种美丽就更增添几分。

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一个黑暗的日子里，她与一位画家相遇、相爱，并结为了夫妻。这位画家当时已因画作闻名，他总是在学习和作画。他生命中的至爱就是他的工作，他的画。

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他年轻美丽的妻子天性活泼，充满朝气，开朗爱笑，像孩子一样快乐，对一切都充满了爱。可是她学会了害怕，学会了憎恨一切跟画画有关的事。她丈夫的工作是她的敌人，因为工作使他连续好几个小时不能与她在一起。

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所以，那个提议——他说他想给她画幅肖像——对她来说实在是件可怕的事。但是她同意了，因为她爱他，想要让他高兴。

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长达好几周的时间里，她坐在一个高顶的暗室里，灯光从顶上照射到画作和她的身上。日复一日，她静静地坐着，一动不动，一声不吭。但她一直微笑着，因为她看到画家是如此热爱他的工作。

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他连续几个小时画着画，一句话也不说，心里想的只有他的画。那些看到肖像的人都边观赏边轻声说：“这是你最好的作品。噢，你是那么爱她！我们能从肖像上看出来。”

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的确如此。可现在他不再看她了。他继续画着，越来越痴狂，心里想的、晚上梦的只有那幅肖像，没有他的妻子。日复一日，她看上去越来越不开心，可是他没有看出来。她的脸庞和身体变得瘦削，可是他没有看出来。他从她脸上取走了温暖的色彩，把它画到了肖像里的那张脸庞上——可是他没有看出来，也不想看出来。

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数周之后，他完成了画作。最后给嘴唇点上一抹颜色，给眼睛涂上一抹颜色……

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画家后退几步，看着他妻子的肖像。它是多么美妙呀！可就在他凝视肖像时，他开始浑身发抖，脸色也变得苍白。然后，他大声喊了起来：“这就是生命！她活在这幅肖像里！”然后，他突然转身去看他爱的那个女人。她已经死了！

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I was in the Italian mountains when I fell from my horse and hurt myself. I needed to rest but in that wild, lonely place there was only one house. It was a fine old building, very big, but dark and empty. My servant, Pedro, broke the lock on a door and helped me inside.

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I looked around at the furniture, the carpets, the paintings.’The people who lived here,’ I thought, ’left only a short time ago.’

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We used one of the smaller rooms in a far corner of the building. There were a great many modern paintings on the walls, and more in the dark corners of the room. It was getting dark and Pedro lit the tall candles on the table by my bed. There was a book on the table, and I began reading it. It described and told the story of each of the pictures on the walls.

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Midnight came and went, and I moved the candles closer to me, to give a better light for reading. But the light also fell on one of the darker corners of the room – and there I saw for the first time an oval portrait of a beautiful young woman, just her head and shoulders. It was a very fine painting, but there was also something different about it, something strange, something... I did not know what it was, but I could not take my eyes away from that portrait. For about an hour I sat in the bed, staring at it.

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It was a very fine painting, but there was also something strange about it.

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And at last I found its secret. It was in her face, in her eyes.’She could easily be... alive,’ I thought. ’She looks alive. Those eyes...’

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Suddenly I felt cold, and a great fear filled me. My hands began to shake, and I had to look away.

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Carefully, I moved the candles again until the light no longer fell in that corner, and the portrait went back into darkness. I found the place in the book which told the story of the oval portrait, and began to read.

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She was a young woman of great beauty, and even more beautiful when she was smiling and laughing.

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It was a dark day when she saw, and loved, and married the painter. He was already famous for his art, and was always studying and working. The great love of his life was his work, his painting.

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His beautiful young wife was playful, full of life and light and smiles, as happy and as loving as a child. But she learned to fear and then to hate everything about painting. Her husband’s work was her enemy, because it kept him away from her, hour after hour.

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So it was a terrible thing for her when he said he wanted to paint her portrait. But she agreed because she loved him and wanted to please him.

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For many weeks she sat in a dark high room where the light from above fell onto the painting and onto her. Day after day, she sat still and silent, not moving, not speaking. But she went on smiling and smiling because she saw that the painter loved his work so much.

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He painted hour after hour, not speaking a word, thinking only of his work. Those who saw the portrait looked and said softly, ’It is your finest work. Oh, you do love her dearly! We can see this in the portrait.’

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And it was true. But he did not look at her now. He went on working, more and more wildly, thinking and dreaming only of the portrait and never of his wife. Day by day she looked more and more unhappy, but he did not see it. Her face and body were now thin, but he did not see it. He took the warm colour from her face, and painted it into the face in his portrait – but he could not, he would not see it.

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He painted hour after hour, not speaking a word, thinking only of his work.

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After many weeks, he finished. One last touch of paint on the mouth, a last touch to the eye...

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The painter stood back and looked at the portrait of his wife. How wonderful it was! But while he stared, he began to shake and his face went white. Then he cried out with a loud voice, ’This is LIFE itself! She LIVES in this portrait!’ and he turned suddenly to look at the woman he loved. She was dead!

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序号 英文/音标 中文解释 更多操作

told

[təʊld]

v.告诉;吩咐;讲述

felted

[’feltɪd]

v. 把 ... 制成毡(使 ... 粘结)

playful

[’pleɪfl]

adj.爱玩耍的;嬉戏的;开玩笑的

dearly

[’dɪəli]

adv.深深地;真挚地;昂贵地

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