狄更斯雙語小說:《董貝父子》第24章Part 3
There were some children staying in the house. Children who were as frank and happy with fathers and with mothers as those rosy faces opposite home. Children who had no restraint upon their love. and freely showed it. Florence sought to learn their secret; sought to find out what it was she had missed; what simple art they knew, and she knew not; how she could be taught by them to show her father that she loved him, and to win his love again.
Many a day did Florence thoughtfully observe these children. On many a bright morning did she leave her bed when the glorious sun rose, and walking up and down upon the river's bank' before anyone in the house was stirring, look up at the windows of their rooms, and think of them, asleep, so gently tended and affectionately thought of. Florence would feel more lonely then, than in the great house all alone; and would think sometimes that she was better there than here, and that there was greater peace in hiding herself than in mingling with others of her age, and finding how unlike them all she was. But attentive to her study, though it touched her to the quick at every little leaf she turned in the hard book, Florence remained among them, and tried with patient hope, to gain the knowledge that she wearied for.
Ah! how to gain it! how to know the charm in its beginning! There were daughters here, who rose up in the morning, and lay down to rest at night, possessed of fathers' hearts already. They had no repulse to overcome, no coldness to dread, no frown to smooth away. As the morning advanced, and the windows opened one by one, and the dew began to dry upon the flowers and and youthful feet began to move upon the lawn, Florence, glancing round at the bright faces, thought what was there she could learn from these children? It was too late to learn from them; each could approach her father fearlessly, and put up her lips to meet the ready kiss, and wind her arm about the neck that bent down to caress her. She could not begin by being so bold. Oh! could it be that there was less and less hope as she studied more and more!
She remembered well, that even the old woman who had robbed her when a little child - whose image and whose house, and all she had said and done, were stamped upon her recollection, with the enduring sharpness of a fearful impression made at that early period of life - had spoken fondly of her daughter, and how terribly even she had cried out in the pain of hopeless separation from her child But her own mother, she would think again, when she recalled this, had loved her well. Then, sometimes, when her thoughts reverted swiftly to the void between herself and her father, Florence would tremble, and the tears would start upon her face, as she pictured to herself her mother living on, and coming also to dislike her, because of her wanting the unknown grace that should conciliate that father naturally, and had never done so from her cradle She knew that this imagination did wrong to her mother's memory, and had no truth in it, or base to rest upon; and yet she tried so hard to justify him, and to find the wholeblame in herself, that she could not resist its passing, like a wild cloud, through the distance of her mind.
There came among the other visitors, soon after Florence, one beautiful girl, three or four years younger than she, who was an orphan child, and who was accompanied by her aunt, a grey-haired lady, who spoke much to Florence, and who greatly liked (but that they all did) to hear her sing of an evening, and would always sit near her at that time, with motherly interest. They had only been two days in the house, when Florence, being in an arbour in the garden one warm morning, musingly observant of a youthful group upon the turf, through some intervening boughs, - and wreathing flowers for the head of one little creature among them who was the pet and plaything of the rest, heard this same lady and her niece, in pacing up and down a sheltered nook close by, speak of herself.
'Is Florence an orphan like me, aunt?' said the child.
有幾個孩子住在這個屋子裏。這些孩子們跟他們的父母在一起的時候，真摯坦率，快快活活，就跟她家對面那些臉色紅潤的女孩子們一樣。這些孩子們毫不抑制他們的愛，而是隨心隨意地把它表露出來。弗洛倫斯想要探索他們的祕密，想要找出她所缺少的是什麼；他們懂得什麼簡單的技巧而她卻不懂；她怎樣從他們那裏吸取智慧，去向她的父親表示她愛他，並重新贏得他的愛。
弗洛倫斯好多天若有所思地觀察着這些孩子。好多個晴朗的早晨，當燦爛的太陽升起的時候，屋子中還沒有任何人起身，她就離開了牀，在河邊來回散步，仰望着他們的窗子，想着他們正在熟睡之中，受到父母細心的照料和親切的關懷。這時候弗洛倫斯感到比獨自一人住在自己家宏偉的宅第中更爲孤獨；有時她覺得在家裏反比在這裏更好，把自己隱藏起來比混雜在和她年齡相仿的其他孩子們中間，看到她和他們很不一樣的時候，心中能夠得到更大的安寧。雖然這本難唸的書每翻過小小的一頁都使她心中產生劇烈的痛苦，但是弗洛倫斯還是全神貫注地進行着研究；她留在他們中間，耐心地懷着希望，設法得到她渴望得到的知識。
唉！怎樣才能得到它呢？怎樣才能在那能獲得父親喜愛的魅力剛剛產生的時候就知道它呢？這裏有些做女兒的，早上從牀上起來，晚上躺下休息，早已掌握了父親的心。她們不需要克服父親對她們的嫌惡，不需要畏懼父親對她們的冷淡，不需要撫平父親對她們的皺眉。當早晨來臨，窗子一個一個地打開，花草上的露珠開始乾枯，年輕的腳開始在草坪上走動的時候，弗洛倫斯望着這些喜氣洋洋的臉孔，心想她能從這些女孩子們身上學到什麼呢？向她們學習已經太晚了。每個女孩子都能毫無畏懼地走近父親身邊，湊上嘴脣迎接那喜悅的親吻，伸出胳膊摟住那低下來撫愛她的脖子。她不能這樣大膽地開始。啊，她研究得愈來愈深，希望就顯得愈來愈少，這是可能的嗎？
她清楚地記得，當她還是個小女孩的時候，甚至連那個曾經拐騙過她的老太婆——她的形象，她的住所，她所說所做的一切，都以童年時期恐怖印象所具有的那種經久不滅的鮮明性，深深地印刻在她的記憶中——，也曾懷着親切的感情談到她的女兒，甚至連她也由於和她的孩子絕望地分離而十分可怕地痛苦哭泣。可是當弗洛倫斯回想到這一點的時候，她又會這樣想：她自己的母親也曾經熱愛過她。於是，有時當她的思想迅速地返回到她和父親之間空曠的深淵時，她在面前呈現出一幅圖景：她的母親還活着，也不喜歡起她來了，因爲她缺乏那種自然一定會獲得父親歡心的還不知道的魅力（她打從躺在搖籃裏的時候起直到現在，從來不曾獲得過父親的這種歡心），這時候弗洛倫斯的身子會顫抖，眼淚會流到臉上。她知道，這樣的臆想對不起對她的母親的回憶，一點也不真實，也沒有一點根據，可是她是多麼處心積慮地想要證明父親是正確的，並把一切過失都歸到她自己身上，因此她不能抗拒這個念頭像雷雨時的烏雲一樣地掠過她的心頭。
弗洛倫斯來後不久，又來了其他一些客人；其中有一位漂亮的女孩，比她小三、四歲，是個孤兒，由她的姑媽陪伴；這位姑媽是一位頭髮斑白的夫人，她跟弗洛倫斯談了不少的話，還非常喜歡（不過，他們全都喜歡）聽她在晚上唱歌，那時候她常常懷着母親般的關心，坐在她的身旁。在一個溫暖的上午，她們到這屋子裏來剛只兩天，弗洛倫斯坐在花園裏的一個小藤架中，通過擋在中間的一些樹枝，沉思地觀看着草地上的一羣孩子，同時在編織一個花冠，這是準備給這些孩子當中的一個小傢伙戴的，他是大家最喜愛的寶貝和逗樂的對象。這時候，她聽到這位夫人和她的侄女在附近一個被樹蔭遮蔽住的偏僻角落裏走來走去時談到了她。
“姑媽，弗洛倫斯是不是跟我一樣，也是個孤兒？”女孩子問道。
