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居里夫人的故事|THE story of Madame Curie

第八章　“我抓来太阳，随手又将它丢在一边……”|Chapter VIII　“I Take the Sun and Throw It...”

属类： 双语小说 【分类】儿童读物 -[作者: 王丈卜] 阅读：[5894]
作者是王丈卜。这本书主要介绍居里夫人伟大的一生以及艰苦条件下取得成果的故事。2020年4月，列入《教育部基础教育课程教材发展中心 中小学生阅读指导目录（2020年版）》
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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“我抓来太阳，随手又将它丢在一边……”玛妮雅看到这句话笑出了声。自己在哪儿？在巴黎的中心。一切有趣和自由的事情都有可能在这儿发生，而她伟大的老师保尔·阿佩尔也遵从自己的内心，想教什么就教什么，想怎么教就怎么教。如果他讲授真理，那么就会有大批的学生拥入课堂。

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玛妮雅很早就来上课，在巴黎大学圆形剧场式的教室里挑了一个前排位置坐下，将笔记本和笔盒整齐地摆在面前的课桌上。周围充斥着人群走进教室的喧闹声，但玛妮雅什么都听不到；她完全沉浸在自己的思考当中。教授走进来，教室瞬间安静了下来，在座的学生都是心潮澎湃的数学家，他们期待学术上的美妙碰撞。

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阿佩尔教授晃着他方方正正的脑袋，身穿一袭深黑色长袍，显得严肃庄重，他清楚地解释着为何行星会有规律地按照自身位置移动，而地球也要遵循规律运行。他玩转着数字和星星，带领着学生在广阔的宇宙间勇敢探索，大胆探知宇宙最深处的奥秘。他讲课简直就是行云流水、挥洒自如，刚好印证了那句话，“我抓来太阳，随手又将它丢在一边……”

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玛妮雅很高兴。怎么会有人觉得科学枯燥乏味？宇宙间亘古不变的规律多么精妙，而人类大脑能够理解这些规律又多么神奇。科学难道不比童话故事更奇幻，比探险书更扣人心弦吗？此刻能听到学界泰斗口中的那句话，就算吃再多年的苦也值：“我抓来太阳，随手又将它丢在一边……”

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不过玛妮雅在巴黎还有许许多多其他的收获！当她跳下火车来到烟雾弥漫、喧闹嘈杂的北站，她挺起胸膛贪婪地呼吸着外面的空气，丝毫没注意到烟雾。这是她第一次呼吸到一个自由国度的空气。车站外的一切都是那么不可思议。贫民区的孩子们率性地用自己的语言调侃着彼此；对于一个只能讲俄语的波兰孩子来说根本无法想象！书店可以自主卖书，世界各地的书籍随便挑，太不可思议了！

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玛妮雅跳上生平所乘的第一辆公交车，爬到顶层的廉价座位上，更令人振奋的是脚下这条路，它将把玛妮雅·斯克沃多夫斯卡送到一所向女性敞开大门的大学！而且还是一所知名大学！巴黎大学举世闻名。甚至那个德国人马丁·路德都曾说过，巴黎拥有全世界最著名的学府。学校正在重新修建，随处可见装修工人，到处都是烟尘和噪音。随着装修进度的改变，上课地点也不停变更。但这些对玛妮雅没有丝毫影响。她终于能学自己渴望已久的知识了。

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玛妮雅开始用法语书写自己的教名——玛丽。不过姓氏无法法语化。年轻的同学们觉得玛丽的姓氏发音太艰难，这也是她受到孤立的部分原因。在长长的走廊里，他们也会不时地回望这个穿着朴素、秀发飘逸、眼睛明亮的外来人。“她是谁呀？”一名同学问道。“就是那个名字古怪的外国人，”旁边的同学回答道，“听说她物理成绩总是数一数二，但不怎么爱说话。”

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玛丽必须奋发学习。她不知和同学比起来自己还是多么的无知。她的法语也不像自己想象的那样交流无碍。课堂上也有整句整句听不懂的时候。她发现自己的数学和物理还有很大的进步空间。她决心要努力学习以弥补自己的缺陷。

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刚开始寄居在布朗尼娅和卡西米尔家里的那段日子还算顺心。布朗尼娅简直就是居家达人，把一切打理得整齐舒适。她在巴黎郊外租了一间公寓，房租比市里便宜得多，借了些钱把房子装修了一番。她可不是那种会担心还不上借款的人。她还要在家里添置一些精致的家当，如绣着精美花边的窗帘、体面洋气的家具、钢琴，还有插着娇嫩鲜花的花瓶。在不大的厨房里，布朗尼娅能烹饪出精美的菜肴，烘烤出香浓的蛋糕，用从波兰运来的茶叶沏出沁香的茶水，因为她一直觉得总有些东西是巴黎无法出产的。

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她们所住的街区在中世纪是专门为屠夫修盖的，于是杜鲁斯基医生的病人也大多是屠夫。他们在小书房里接诊，这间书房是专门腾出来给杜鲁斯基瞧病用的，每天都有固定的时间段。其他时间，布朗尼娅就在这间小书房里给屠夫们怀孕的妻子做检查。到了晚上，两位医生都将工作搁在一旁，并怂恿着初来巴黎的妹妹一同去参加各种娱乐活动。如果手里有点闲钱，他们就会买最便宜的票去剧院看戏；如果没钱了，就在家弹琴或者召集同样背井离乡的波兰朋友们开个茶话会，油灯旁充斥着交谈、欢笑和调侃，茶桌上摆着布朗尼娅烘焙的蛋糕。玛丽通常会早早地从聚会中抽出身来，回到房间继续学习，因为她总觉得自己根本没时间闲玩。

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“快出来吧，书虫小姐！”一天晚上，卡西米尔在门外喊道，“是波兰在呼唤你，这次你一定得去。快拿上帽子和大衣，快点！我可是拿到了音乐会的门票哦。”

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“可是……”

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“可是什么可是！就是我们之前说过的那个年轻的波兰人，没什么人买他的票。我们得去给他撑撑场。我还叫了自愿前往的人，我们可得去给他鼓掌捧场，让他觉得自己成功了。你不知道他钢琴弹得有多美！”

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卡西米尔的眼睛乌黑闪亮，玛丽根本无法拒绝自己面前这位快活巧言的姐夫。她急忙跑下楼，穿好衣服，冲上旧马车。她坐在一半座位都空着的音乐厅里，看着那个瘦瘦高高、面庞英俊、一头红发的年轻人走上舞台，打开琴盖。她认真地听着……他手指弹出美妙的音符，仿佛是李斯特、舒曼、肖邦再世。玛丽被深深地感动了。钢琴家穿着破旧的大衣，冲着空荡荡的观众席弹琴，但在玛丽看来他可不是什么无名小卒，而是国王，是几乎神一样的存在。

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杜鲁斯基邀请他到家中做客。他带着自己美丽的未婚妻欣然前往，他未婚妻和玛丽的妈妈碰巧还是旧相识。斯克沃多夫斯卡夫人过去曾提到过这个女孩，说她美丽动人，简直不敢带出门。有时，这个红头发的年轻人会走到杜鲁斯基的钢琴前，在他的演奏下，这件寻常物件立刻变得神圣庄重，响彻着天籁之音。这个演奏者是帕德雷夫斯基，将来某一天会成为世界名人，他起初只是一位钢琴家，随后成为自由波兰的总理。

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但那时离帕德雷夫斯基成为总理的日子还很遥远。1891年，玛丽旅居巴黎，周围是一群流亡法国的波兰人，他们建立起了一小片波兰区。他们年轻，他们活跃，他们贫穷。每逢节假日，这些人共同聚会，一切尽可能仿照波兰习俗。吃波兰蛋糕，玩波兰游戏，用波兰语打印活动项目，并用波兰的风景图来装饰：茫茫雪原上的村庄，志向高远的男孩在专心读书，圣诞老人在往烟囱里投递科学书籍，老鼠在啃空钱包。他们演话剧时，玛丽根本没时间去仔细了解人物；但在情景剧里，她有次要演绎“冲破枷锁的波兰”。穿着古代人穿的束腰外衣，裙边摇曳着波兰国旗的颜色，秀发勾勒着她斯拉夫民族的面庞，年轻人都觉得她就是波兰之光。

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但即使是在自由的巴黎，公开表达对波兰的爱国之情也是件危险的事。斯克沃多夫斯基先生苦口婆心地劝说玛丽不要再参加波兰的欢庆活动，因为这些活动很可能会见报。“你要知道，”他在信中写道，“有些人专门在巴黎记录那些参加波兰活动的人的名字，这可能会给你招来麻烦，影响你以后在波兰找工作。远离聚光灯才是明智之举。”

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玛丽其实不太需要父亲的提醒。她想全身心地投入工作中去，一个人住，远离钢琴，远离姐夫每晚喋喋不休的高谈阔论，远离朋友们的登门拜访。她还想住到学校附近，节省通勤时间和费用。

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于是在杜鲁斯基夫妇的陪伴下，玛丽略带忧伤地离开了姐姐家的舒适和友善，开始找工作的地方，也开始了自己的孤独之旅。

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她即将过上自己梦想中的生活，完全沉浸在学习中的生活。为了能过上这样的生活，她一周只有一镑，甚至更少的生活费。此外，还要负担房租、食物、衣服、稿纸、书籍和大学学费。能负担得起吗？这是个需要认真计算的数学问题，好在玛丽很擅长数学，但仍需要精打细算。“啊！”她想，“我可以少吃点！” 她没时间练厨艺。朋友们更经常打趣说她连汤里面该放什么都不知道。她是不知道，也根本没时间去了解。她无法想象要浪费研读物理的时间去准备一顿晚餐。于是她每天就吃些面包黄油、樱桃和茶水，偶尔吃个鸡蛋或一块巧克力。

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她租的房子很便宜——一周四先令六便士。不过就是间屋顶的阁楼，有面斜窗能透点亮光，没暖气，没煤气，也没自来水。屋子里唯一的家具就是一张可折叠的架子床和从波兰带来的床垫，一个炉子，一张松木桌，一把厨房椅，一个盥洗盆，一盏昏暗的油灯，一个能到一楼提水用的水桶，一盏做饭用的酒精灯，两个盘子，一副刀叉，一个汤匙，一个茶杯，一口平底锅，一把茶壶和三个茶杯。如果有来客，她的大木箱子上还能坐两个人。

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一年需要用两袋木炭，玛丽在大街上买到木炭，然后一桶一桶地提上六楼，尽其所能地为自己提供温暖。但对于光亮，她一点办法都没有。夜幕一降临，她就去圣杰纳维夫图书馆读书，胳膊肘支在长桌上，双手撑着头，直到晚上十点闭馆。回到家，她就点上油灯，学习到深夜两点才上床睡觉。

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食物、住所、取暖和照明的问题都解决了。至于衣服，玛丽能缝会补，她打算通过勤缝补、勤清洗让衣服干净整洁，这样就不用再添置新衣服。租屋的水池里就能洗衣服，不过是费点肥皂。

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这就是她给自己规划的简朴生活，任何事情都不能打扰她学习。但女孩的身体总有反映自己的问题的方法。看完书后她经常会觉得晕眩，对此她也很诧异。有时还没躺到床上就在半路晕倒了。恢复意识后，她自觉生病了；但即便如此，她也不太在意，简单地认为自己很快就会好转。

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玛丽做医生的姐夫说她看上去像生病了，她推托说自己只是太忙了，并把话题转移到外甥身上。她特别宠爱布朗尼娅刚出生的孩子，并把注意力集中在小家伙身上。

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不过有一天，玛丽当众晕倒了，有个姑娘请来了姐夫卡西米尔。他赶到时，玛丽已经苏醒过来，但卡西米尔还是坚持给她做了检查。他一言未发，起身巡视房间里的一切。他问食橱在哪？但玛丽家根本就没这东西。屋子里没有一丝食物的痕迹，只有一包茶能证明玛丽喝过东西。

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“你今天吃的什么？”医生问道。

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“今天？……我不知道……我中午吃了……”

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“吃的什么？”

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“樱桃……还有，其他各种东西……”

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最后，玛丽不得不坦白从昨天到现在，她只吃了一小捆萝卜和半磅樱桃。她工作到凌晨三点，只睡了四个小时。

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医生勃然大怒，看着眼前的这个小傻瓜就气不打一处来，而她一双灰色的大眼睛还闪耀着愉悦的光芒，显得无辜又可怜，更气的是自己竟没发现妻妹在某些方面是这样执拗，容易犯傻。

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他板起脸，要求玛丽收拾好一周的生活用品跟他走。他怒火难消，一路上一言不发。回到家，布朗尼娅出去买回牛排，他们要求玛丽就着香醇的肉汁和清脆的土豆片将牛排全部吃掉。不到一周，她就又变回了刚从华沙来时的那个健康女孩。

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由于玛丽还有考试要准备，暂时获许回到阁楼，但前提是她必须好好吃饭。不过第二天，她就又开始有了上顿没下顿的凑合生活。

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工作！……工作！…… 玛丽感觉自己的大脑在快速成长，双手也变得越来越灵巧。很快，利普曼教授就因为一份独自完成的研究实验而对她颇为赏识，玛丽也赢得了能够展示自己才华和创造力的机会。每天六点，玛丽就穿着粗糙的实验服，站在巴黎大学神圣的物理实验室的橡木桌旁，仔细观察着眼前精密的仪器，注视着某些沸腾着的化学物质。她周围还站着一些同学，大部分都是男性，实验室里一片沉静，因为大家眼前着手在做的事可比闲聊有意思得多。

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不过实验结束后，男同学们望向玛丽，有时站在门边同她说上几句话，一个接一个地凑到她身边跟她交个朋友。她也没之前那么冷淡了。有时候男孩们想和她结伴而行的愿望表达得太过强烈，她的好朋友迪都斯卡小姐就不得不用遮阳伞把这些男孩轰走。玛丽根本没时间交朋友。怀着坚定的意志，以追求卓越的狂热和难以想象的执着，她全身心地投入到工作中去。

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1893年，她顺利拿到物理学学位，1894年拿到了数学学位，物理学成绩名列榜首，数学成绩屈居第二。同时，她还在努力提高法语水平，想尽办法去掉波兰口音；她想把法语讲得像法国人一样好，只是发 “r”音的时候带一点卷舌，虽然她不是有意为之，但这反而增加了她的独特魅力。

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她还会抽空去欣赏巴黎的春景和鲜花。她从未忘却自己是个波兰乡民，属于田间地头。她在乡下过周末，谈论的话题是盛开的丁香花和果树之花，以及充满花香的空气。

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当炙热的七月来临时，她又迎来了另一场考试。玛丽很紧张。她和其他三十名学生坐在空气凝重的教室里，她盯着试卷，卷子上的字符在眼前闪烁跳跃。她定了定神，继续答题。玛丽和其他人一起，怀着沉重忐忑的心情等待出成绩的那一天。真到了那天，她溜进半圆形大教室的一角，紧张地等待着宣布结果，在满满一教室的学生和家长中，她显得毫不起眼，确信自己考砸了。

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主考官拿着名单走进教室，谈话的嘈杂声和熙熙攘攘的人群瞬间安静了。玛丽根本还没准备好，就听到主考官念出了第一名的名字：

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玛丽·斯克沃多夫斯卡。

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随后放暑假，玛丽满怀喜悦带着考试结果回到波兰的家中。她还有其他东西一同带回去——给家人的礼物！这次，她可以花光自己的积蓄，是的，花光所有，花光每一分钱。她可以给父亲、给约瑟夫、给海拉买礼物，还要给自己两千公里的旅程准备食物。每个在外的波兰人都要身无一文、满载礼物地回到家乡，这是项不可打破的习俗。

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在漫长的暑假里，遍布波兰的亲戚热情地款待了玛丽。不过一直萦绕她心头的问题是：秋天该怎么办？去哪里，怎么赚钱才能支付起自己另一学年一周一镑的生活费？迪都斯卡小姐再次打着她的遮阳伞出现了。没人知道这次她会用遮阳伞赶走谁，但她成功说服了华沙的专家给玛丽授予一项奖学金，理由是玛丽将为这座城市带来荣誉。好消息是，玛丽可以获得六十英镑的亚历山德洛维奇奖学金。这可是一年的学费。她精打细算，尽可能节省。在她能自己挣钱后，她竭力攒钱还上了奖学金，这样其他穷学生就能体味到和她一样的快乐。数年后，奖学金管理处的秘书在收到寄回的钱时大为震惊，之前从未有学生想过要返还奖学金。

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她重新开始工作，但这次的工作可不是什么苦差事，而是她毕生所爱、全身心投入的事业。这是她最钟爱的人生环节，她艰难的求学生涯，在贫穷与孤独中奋发向上，带着年轻人的活力与冲劲，做回最真实的自己。她被称为“永远的模范生”——老牌大学古老传说中的那群人：年轻、穷困、渴求知识，相信天降大任于己，并不惜一切代价达成目标。

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在旧油灯下辛勤工作的玛丽，深知自己身处一群伟大的科学家之中，人类的辛勤工作者。她没什么生活来源，但却活得十分快乐积极，心无旁骛，简单幸福。寻求真理是她的日常乐趣，这种乐趣偶尔会被一双穿破了的旧鞋破坏。买一双新鞋会花掉她好几周的生活费；她也要为此忍受更多的饥寒交迫。一天晚上，她冻得实在受不了，就把箱子里的衣服都拿出来，盖在床上。但她还是冻得瑟瑟发抖，不过家里除了一把椅子已经没什么能搭在身上了。于是玛丽小心地拖来椅子搭在被子上，一整晚都一动不动，担心用来取暖的旧椅子随时会掉。

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水壶里的水放到清晨早就冰凉，但她仍然热爱那时的穷苦生活，甚至写了首纪念的小诗：

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求学生活举步维艰

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周围青年享乐安逸

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享受多么容易，享乐多么常见

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独自一人，日复一日

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内心坚定，充满欢乐

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时光飞逝，逐渐远离

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知识与艺术的原野

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生活不易

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内心常叹阁楼时光

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安静工作的场景再次浮现

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满满都是人生回忆

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“I TAKE the Sun and throw it…” Manya laughed with joy at the words. Where was she? In the heart of Paris where joyous, free things happened, where in lightness of heart her great teacher, Paul Appell, could teach what he pleased, how he pleased; and, if he taught truth, crowds would flock to his teaching.

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Manya had arrived early for the lecture and chosen a front seat in the great amphitheatre of the Sorbonne. She put her notebooks and her penholder neatly on the desk in front of her. All around her was the noise of the crowd getting into their places, but Manya did not hear them; she was absorbed in thought. Suddenly there was silence, for the master had come in and, as all his students were ardent mathematicians, they expected a treat.

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Appell, with his square head, in his dark severe gown, explained so clearly that the very stars seemed to move obediently into their places as he spoke and the earth seemed at his mercy. He adventured boldly into the furthest regions of space, he juggled with figures and with stars. He said perfectly naturally and fitting the action to the word: “I take the Sun and throw it…”

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Manya was happy. How could anyone find science dull? She thought how exquisite were the unchanging laws of the universe and how still more wonderful it was that the human mind could understand them. Was not Science stranger than a fairy tale, more delicious that a book of adventure? It was worth years of suffering she felt just to hear that phrase uttered by a savant: “I take the Sun and throw it…”

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But how much else Manya had found in Paris! When she had first jumped from the train in the smoky, noisy North Station, she had thrown back her shoulders and breathed deep, not noticing the smoke. For the first time she was breathing the air of a free land. Outside the station everything seemed to her a miracle. The children in the gutter teased one another in the tongue they wanted to speak; what a miracle for the Polish girl who had had to speak Russian! The book shops sold the books they wanted to sell, the books of all the world; what a miracle!

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But most miraculous of all, that road where she jumped on her first omnibus and scrambled to the cheap seats on top, was taking her, Manya Sklodovska, to a university that opened its doors to women! And what a university! The Sorbonne was the most famous university in the world. Even Luther, the German, had confessed that Paris had the most famous school in the whole world. The university was being rebuilt; workmen were everywhere; dust and noise were everywhere; classes moved from room to room as the workmen took possession. But that mattered nothing to Manya. At last she could learn what she wanted.

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From that time on, she began to write her Christian name in French—Marie. With her surname she could do nothing. Her young associates found it too difficult to pronounce and a little on account of it left her alone. In the long corridors they turned to glance back at the simply, poorly-dressed stranger with the airy, fairy hair and intense eyes. “Who is she?” asked one. “A foreigner with an impossible name,” answered another. “They say she is always among the first in Physics, but she doesn’t talk.”

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Marie had to work very hard. She had had no idea how ignorant she would find herself in comparison with her companions. Her French turned out not to be as useful as she had expected. She missed whole phrases in a lecture. She found great chasms in her mathematics and physics. She set to work to correct all her defects.

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It was well for her that in those first days she lived with Bronia and Casimir. Bronia was a genius for making things comfortable. She had taken a flat outside Paris where flats were cheaper and had furnished it with borrowed money. She was not the sort of person who lived just anyhow for fear of the risk of not being able to pay back. She had to have pretty things in her home, nicely draped curtains, graceful furniture, a piano and a few bright flowers in a vase. In her little kitchen she cooked exquisitely well-flavoured dishes and cakes, or made tea with tea sent especially from Poland, because she felt that there were some things Paris could not produce.

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The quarter where she lived was, as in medieval times, almost reserved for butchers, and Doctor Dluski’s patients were mostly sick butchers. They interviewed him in the little study which was set apart for his use during certain hours of the day. At other times it was Bronia’s consulting room where she saw the butcher’s wives about their babies. In the evenings work was strictly set aside and the two doctors tried to entice their newly arrived sister to all the fun of the fair. If there was a little money to spend they took her to a cheap seat at the theatre; if there wasn’t, they gathered round their own piano or gave a tea party to their exiled Polish friends, when talk and laughter and teasing went on around the oil lamp and the tea-table set with Bronia’s homemade cakes. Manya often withdrew early from those parties to work alone in her room, because she felt she had no time to play.

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“Come out, Miss Bookworm!” called Casimir one evening; “it is Poland that calls; you have got to come this time. Hat and coat, quick! I’ve got complimentary tickets for a concert.”

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“But . . .”

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“But me no buts! It’s that young Pole we were talking of and very few people have taken seats. We must go to fill the hall. I’ve got some volunteers and we are going to clap our hands off to give him the feeling of success. If you only knew how beautifully he plays!”

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Marie could not resist her gay brother-in-law with his dark, sparkling eyes. Downstairs she hastened, dressing as she went, and ran to catch the old horse bus. She sat in the half-empty hall and watched the tall, thin man with the wonderful face and shock of copper-red hair walk up the platform and open the piano. She listened… Liszt, Schumann, Chopin lived again under his marvellous fingers. Marie was passionately moved. The pianist in his threadbare coat, playing to empty benches, did not seem to her an obscure beginner, but a king, almost a god.

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The Dluskis asked him to their home. He went, taking with him his beautiful future wife whom Manya’s mother had known. Mrs. Sklodovska used to say of the girl that she could never take her out because she was too beautiful. Sometimes the fiery-haired young man would go to the Dluski’s piano, and at his touch, the common thing became sublime with heavenly music; for he who played was Paderewski, someday to be world famous, first as a pianist and then as President of a free Poland.

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But those days were still far away. In 1891 Marie lived in Paris among a group of Polish exiles who seemed to make a little Polish island in the French city. They were young; they were gay; they were poor. On the fête days of the year, they met for parties in which everything was as Polish as they could make it. They ate Polish cakes, they acted Polish plays, they printed their programmes in Polish and decorated them with Polish scenes: a cottage in an expanse of snow, a dreamy boy bending over books, a Father Christmas throwing scientific textbooks down a chimney, an empty purse that rats had gnawed. When they acted plays, Marie was too busy to learn a part; but in a tableau, she once represented “Poland breatking her chains” Dressed in a long tunic such as the ancients wore, the colours of the Polish flag draped round her and her fair hair framing her Slav face, she was greeted by all the young people as a very vision of Poland.

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Yet to show love for Poland, even in free Paris, was a dangerous thing. Mr. Sklodovski begged Manya not to be seen again in a Polish festivity which could get into the newspapers. “You know,” he wrote, “that there are people in Paris noting the names of those who take any part in Polish affairs and this might be a trouble to you and prevent you getting a post later on in Poland. It is wiser to keep out of the limelight.”

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Marie scarcely needed that hint from her father. She wanted to give all her time to work, to live alone, free from the interruption of the piano, of her brother-in-law’s evening chatter, of fiends dropping in. And she wanted to live nearer to the university to save her bus fares and the time the bus took.

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Sadly, accompanied by both the Dluskis, she left the comfort and friendliness of her sister’s home and set out to find her own work place, her own utter solitude.

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She was going to live the life of her dreams, a life entirely given up to study. She would have to do it on one pound a week or rather less. Out of that she would have to pay for her room, her food, her clothes, her paper, her books and her university fees. Could it be done? That was her mathematical problem and, fortunately, she was good at mathematics, but that particular problem would take some doing. “Ah!” she thought, “I needn’t eat much!” She had never had time to learn to cook. Her friends said that she didn’t even know what went into soup. She didn’t know and she hadn’t time. She would never dream of taking time from physics to prepare a dinner. So she lived on bread and butter, cherries and tea, with an occasional egg or a piece of chocolate.

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Her room was cheap—4s. 6d. a week. It was just an attic under the roof, lit by a sloping window, unheated, with no gas and no water. Her only furniture was a folding iron bedstead with her Polish mattress, a stove, a deal table, a kitchen chair, a washing basin, an oil lamp with a penny shade, a water bucket which she had to fill at the common tap on the landing, a spirit lamp to cook her food, two plates, one knife, a fork, a spoon, a cup, a saucepan, a kettle and three glasses for tea. When visitors came, her trunk was seat enough for two.

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Two sacks a year of charcoal, which she bought on the street and carried up, bucket by bucket, all the six storey’s, gave her all the warmth she allowed herself. Light she could almost do without. As soon as it began to get dark, she went to the St. Geneviève library and read there, her head in her hands, her elbows on the long table, till closing time at ten at night. After that she only needed oil in her lamp to last her till two in the morning, when she went to bed.

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That was food, house, warmth and light settled. As to clothes, Marie could sew and brush and she meant to keep herself neat by brushing and mending, not by buying. She could do her own washing in her basin at the cost of a little soap.

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That was a deliciously cheap life she planned in which nothing should interrupt her learning. But girls’ bodies have a way of having something to say on their own account. Marie was surprised that often, when she left her books, she turned giddy. She even fainted sometimes on her way to bed before she had time to lie down. When she returned to consciousness, she told herself that she must be ill; but even of that she took no notice, merely thinking she would soon be better.

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When her doctor brother-in-law told her she looked ill, she replied that she had been working and turned the conversation with a request for the baby. She had begun to make a great pet of Bronia’s new baby and liked to turn attention from herself.

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But luckily, one day, Marie fainted in public and the girl who saw it fetched Casimir. By the time he arrived, Marie was well again, but Casimir insisted on examining her. Then without a word he examined the room. Where, he asked, was the food cupboard? Manya hadn’t got such a thing. Nowhere was there anything that showed any sign of eating and only a packet of tea to suggest that Marie drank anything.

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“What have you eaten to-day?” asked the doctor.

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“To-day?... I don’t know... I lunched...”

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“What did you eat?”

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“’Cherries…Oh, all sorts of things…”

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In the end Marie had to confess that since yesterday she had eaten a bunch of radishes and half a pound of cherries. She had worked till three in the morning and she had slept only four hours.

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The doctor was furious, furious with the little fool, looking at him with innocent, cheerful grey eyes and more furious with himself for not having seen that his clever sister-in-law was a great silly in some things.

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Sternly he ordered her to collect what she would want for a week and to come with him. He was so angry he wouldn’t talk. At home, Bronia was sent out to buy beefsteak and Marie was ordered to eat it properly underdone in its red gravy and with its crisp potatoes. In less than a week she was again the healthy girl who had so lately come from Warsaw.

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Because she was worried about her examination, she was allowed to go back to her attic on condition that she would feed herself sensibly. But alas, the very next day she was living on the air that blows.

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Work!…Work! ... Marie was feeling her own brain growing. Her hands were getting cleverer. Soon Professor Lippman trusted her with a piece of original research and she had won her opportunity to show her skill and the originality of her mind. Any day of six she could be seen, in her coarse science overall, standing before an oak table in the lofty physical laboratory of the Sorbonne watching some delicate piece of apparatus or gazing at the steady boiling of some fascinating substance. Other similar workers were round her, men for the most part, utterly silent, doing a thing that was more absorbing than talk.

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But when the experiments had come out, the boys looked at the girl, said a word at the door, pressed round her to make friends. She was growing a little less standoffish. Once the boys’ eagerness to walk with her became so eager that her friend Mademoiselle Dydyuska had to shoo them away with her parasol. Marie had no time for friendship. With an iron will, a mad love for perfection and an incredible stubbornness she stuck to her work.

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She won her licence in Physics in 1893 and in Mathematics in 1894, being top of the list in Physics and second in Mathematics. She was also working for perfection in French, refusing to allow any Polish accent to remain on her tongue; she intended to speak French like the French with only a little rolling of the “r,” which, though she did not intend it, only added to her charm.

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She was not too busy to take note of flowers and springtime in Paris. She never forgot that she was a Polish peasant belonging to the fields. She spent Sunday in the country and talked of the lilacs and fruit trees in bloom and the air which was scented with flowers.

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When the scorching days of July came, there was another examination. Marie was nervous. With thirty others shut into an airless room she gazed at the paper whose words danced and glimmered before her eyes. She pulled herself together and wrote. She waited, as so many others have done, with a sinking heart for the day of the result. When it came, she crept to listen to the announcement into a corner of the great amphi-theatre where she felt very insignificant in the crowd of students and their parents, for she was sure she had done badly.

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The noise of talk and of a moving crowd suddenly became silence. The examiner had entered with his list. Marie had no time to listen. The examiner had already spoken the first name:

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Marie Sklodovska.

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So the holidays had come and Marie had the joy of taking home to Poland her wonderful result. She had other things to take home— presents! For this time she could spend all the money she had left, yes, everything, every penny. She could buy presents for her father, for Joseph, for Hela, and food for her 2,000 mile journey. It was the unbreakable custom with every Pole to arrive home penniless and laden with presents.

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In the long summer, all over Poland, her relations feasted and fêted her. But the question that was eating at her heart was: what should she do about the autumn? Where and how could she raise a pound a week for another year at the university? Once more Mademoiselle Dydyuska turned up with her parasol. Whom she used it against this time, nobody knew, but she persuaded the authorities in Warsaw to grant a scholarship to the girl, who, she told them, would bring glory to their city. The great news came to Marie that she would have the Alexandrowitch bursary of ￡60. It meant another year’s learning. Carefully she saved to make the bursary go as far as possible; carefully, after she was able to earn money for herself, she saved to return the bursary money, so that some other poor student might know the joy she had known. When, years after, the bursary secretary received the returned money he was greatly astonished, for no other student had ever thought of making such a return.

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So back to work she went, to that work which was no drudgery, but the great love of her whole passionate being. That was the part of Marie’s life she loved best, her hard student days, when, working in poverty and alone, with all the power of her youth, she was most herself. She has been called “the eternal student”—one of those people we meet in all the ancient stories of all the old universities: young, poor, greedy for knowledge, believing themselves gifted for some great purpose and driven to attain that purpose at any cost under high heaven.

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Marie, working under her old oil lamp, knew herself one with the great scientists, the helpers of men. She had little to live on, but she lived greatly, gaily, thoughtlessly, rejoicingly. Truth was her daily fun, spoilt occasionally by a tragedy such as the final falling to pieces of a pair of shoes. to get a new pair would upset her spending for weeks; she would have to be hungrier than ever and colder. One night she was so cold that she took all her clothes out of her trunk and piled them on her bed. But she was still cold and there was nothing else movable to heap on her except the chair. So she dragged that on top and had to keep very still till morning lest her odd, warming scaffolding should fall off.

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The water in her water jug might be ice in the mornings, but she loved those days so much that she wrote a verse about them:

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Harsh and hard she lived to learn.

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Round her swirled the young who seek

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Pleasures easy, pleasures stern.

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She alone, long week by week,

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Happy, gay, made great her heart.

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When fleeting time took her away

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From lands of knowledge and of art

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To earn her bread on life’s gray way,

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Oft times her spirit sighed to know

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Again the attic corner strait,

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Still scene of silent labour slow,

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So filled with memory of fate.

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序号 英文/音标 中文解释 更多操作

lightness

[’laɪtnɪs]

n.光亮度;颜色浅淡;轻;动作轻松迅速;举止优雅;无忧虑;轻浮;精巧

amphitheater

[ˌæmfɪ’θɪətə]

n. 圆形剧场; 圆形凹地; 阶梯式座位区

gown

[ɡaʊn]

n.长袍;长外衣

obedient

[ə’biːdiənt]

adj.服从的;顺从的

mercy

[’mɜːsi]

n.仁慈;怜悯;恩惠;宽恕

juggle

[’dʒʌɡl]

v.玩杂耍;同时做;纂改;欺骗

exquisite

[ɪk’skwɪzɪt]

adj.精挑细选的;精致的;细腻的;强烈的

unchanging

[ʌn’tʃeɪndʒɪŋ]

adj.不变的

fairy

[’feəri]

n.仙女;小精灵

delicious

[dɪ’lɪʃəs]

adj.美味的;可口的

felted

[’feltɪd]

v. 把 ... 制成毡(使 ... 粘结)

utter

[’ʌtə(r)]

adj.完全的;全然的;绝对的

noisy

[’nɔɪzi]

adj.喧闹的;嘈杂的;吵闹的

Paris

[’pærɪs]

n.巴黎;重楼(百合科植物);帕里斯(姓氏)

chasm

[’kæzəm]

n.分歧;深坑;裂口

drape

[dreɪp]

n.布帘;褶皱

graceful

[’ɡreɪsfl]

adj.优雅的;得体的

vase

[vɑːz]

n.花瓶

medieval

[ˌmedi’iːvl]

adj.中世纪的

butcher

[’bʊtʃə(r)]

n.屠夫;刽子手;肉商;小贩

entice

[ɪn’taɪs]

v.诱使;引诱

theatre

[ˈθɪətə]

n.戏院,剧场,电影院

exile

[’eksaɪl]

n.放逐;流放;被放逐者

tease

[tiːz]

n.揶揄者;戏弄

complimentary

[ˌkɒmplɪ’mentri]

adj.问候的;称赞的;免费赠送的

clap

[klæp]

v.拍手;轻拍;鼓掌;啪地关上

Downstairs

[ˌdaʊn’steəz]

adj.楼下的

hasten

[’heɪsn]

v.催促;赶快;加速

passionate

[’pæʃənət]

adj.热情的;激情的;易怒的

heavenly

[’hevnli]

adj.天上的;天国似的

programme

[ˈprəʊgræm]

n.电视台播放的各种电视节目

gnaw

[nɔː]

v.咬;折磨;侵蚀

limelight

[’laɪmlaɪt]

n.众人注目的中心;聚光灯;以灰光灯照射的舞台

scarcely

[’skeəsli]

adv.几乎不;简直不;刚刚;决不

chatter

[’tʃætə(r)]

vt. 喋喋(不休)；饶舌;

fiend

[fiːnd]

n.魔鬼;邪神

mathematical

[ˌmæθə’mætɪkl]

adj.数学的

fortunate

[’fɔːtʃənət]

adj.幸运的;侥幸的;带来幸运的

mattress

[’mætrəs]

n.床垫

basin

[’beɪsn]

n.脸盆;水池

penny

[’peni]

n.便士;【美】分

charcoal

[’tʃɑːkəʊl]

n.木炭;炭笔

Delicious

[dɪ’lɪʃəs]

adj.美味的;可口的

conversation

[ˌkɒnvə’seɪʃn]

n.谈话;会话

packet

[’pækɪt]

n.小袋

radish

[’rædɪʃ]

n.(小)萝卜

furious

[’fjʊəriəs]

adj.狂怒的;猛烈的

stern

[stɜːn]

adj.严厉的;严峻的;苛刻的;坚决的

crisp

[krisp]

a. 脆的；酥的；松脆的;

alas

[ə’læs]

int.唉;哎呀(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等)

coarse

[kɔːs]

adj.粗糙的;粗俗的

lofty

[’lɒfti]

adj.高的;崇高的;高尚的;傲慢的

utterly

[’ʌtəli:]

adv.完全;全然;绝对

eagerness

[’iːgənɪs]

n.渴望;热心

lilac

[’laɪlək]

n.紫丁香;淡紫色

scorch

[skɔːtʃ]

v.(使)烧焦;变焦;(使)枯萎

airless

[’eələs]

adj.不通风的;缺少新鲜空气的

glimmer

[’ɡlɪmə(r)]

n.微光;少许

creep

[kriːp]

vi.蹑手蹑脚地走;爬

insignificant

[ˌɪnsɪɡ’nɪfɪkənt]

adj.无关紧要的;可忽略的;不重要的;无用的

examiner

[ɪɡ’zæmɪnə(r)]

n.主考者;审查员

autumn

[’ɔːtəm]

n.秋季

eternal

[ɪ’tɜːnl]

adj.永久的;永恒的

movable

[’muːvəbl]

adj.可动的;动产的;不定的

heap

[hiːp]

n.堆;许多;破车

verse

[vɜːs]

n.诗;韵文;诗节

swirl

[swɜːl]

n.漩涡;涡状形

strait

[streɪt]

n.海峡;困境

labour

[ˈleɪbə]

n. 劳动;劳动力

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