英文全本典藏-双城记
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作者(英) 查尔斯·狄更斯
出版社吉林大学出版社
ISBN9787567782822
出版时间2016-11
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开本32开
纸张轻型纸
页数441页
定价28元
货号934067
上书时间2024-05-06
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【书 名】 英文全本典藏-双城记
【书 号】 9787567782822
【出 版 社】 吉林大学出版社
【作 者】 (英) 查尔斯·狄更斯
【出版日期】 2016-11-01
【版 次】 1
【开 本】 32开
【页 码】 441
【定 价】 28.00元
【内容简介】
《双城记(英文版)》是英国作家查尔斯·狄更斯所著的一部以法国大革命为背景所写成的长篇历史小说，情节感人肺腑，是世界文学经典名著之一，故事中将巴黎、伦敦两个大城市连结起来，围绕着曼马内特医生一家和以德法日夫妇为首的圣安东尼区展开故事。小说里描写了贵族如何败坏、如何残害百姓，人民心中积压对贵族的刻骨仇恨，导致了不可避免的法国大革命，《双城记(英文版)》的主要思想是为了爱而自我牺牲。书名中的”双城”指的是巴黎与伦敦。
【目录】
BooktheFirst：RecalledtoLife
Chapter1ThePeriod
Chapter2TheMail
Chapter3TheNightShadows
Chapter4ThePreparation
Chapter5TheWineshop
Chapter6TheShoemaker
BooktheSecond：TheGoldenThread
Chapter1FiveYearsLater
Chapter2ASight
Chapter3ADisappointment
Chapter4Congratulatory
Chapter5TheJackal
Chapter6HundredsofPeople
Chapter7MonseigneurinTown
Chapter8MonseigneurintheCountry
Chapter9TheGorgon'sHead
Chapter10TwoPromises
Chapter11ACompanionPicture
Chapter12TheFellowofDelicacy
Chapter13TheFellowofNoDelicacy
Chapter14TheHonestTradesman
Chapter15Knitting
Chapter16StillKnitting
Chapter17OneNight
Chapter18NineDays
Chapter19AnOpinion
Chapter20APlea
Chapter21EchoingFootsteps
Chapter22TheSeaStillRises
Chapter23FireRises
Chapter24DrawntotheLoadstoneRock
BooktheThird：TheTrackofaStorm
Chapter1InSecret
Chapter2TheGrindstone
Chapter3TheShadow
Chapter4CalminStorm
Chapter5TheWood—sawyer
Chapter6Triumph
Chapter7AKnockattheDoor
Chapter8AHandatCards
Chapter9TheGameMade
Chapter10TheSubstanceoftheShadow
Chapter11Dusk
Chapter12Darkness
Chapter13Fifty—two
Chapter14TheKnittingDone
Chapter15TheFootstepsDieOutforEver
【文摘】
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
There were a king with a large jaw, and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventyfive. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her fiveandtwentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cocklane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cocklane brood.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, be spattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, for as much as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.
In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to justify much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and highway robberies, took place in the capital itself every night; families were publicly cautioned not to go out of town without removing their furniture to upholsterers' warehouses for security; the highwayman in the dark was a City tradesman in the light, and, being recognised and challenged by his fellowtradesman whom he stopped in his character of "the Captain," gallantly shot him through the head and rode away; the mail was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard shot three dead, and then got shot dead himself by the other four,"in consequence of the failure of his ammunition" after which the mail was robbed in peace; that magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand and deliver on Turnham Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the illustrious creature insight of all his retinue; prisoners in London gaols fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law fired blunderbusses in among them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball; thieves snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords at Court drawingrooms; musketeers went into St.Giles's, to search for contraband goods, and the mob fired on the musketeers, and the musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of these occurrences much out of the common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy and ever worse than useless, was in constant requisition; now, stringing up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a housebreaker on Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning people in the hand at Newgate by the dozen, and now, burning pamphlets at the door of Westminster Hall; today, taking the life of an atrocious murderer, and tomorrow of a wretched pilferer who had robbed a farmer's boy of sixpence.
All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close upon the dear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventyfive. Environed by them, while the Woodman and the Farmer worked unheeded, those two of the large jaws, and those other two of the plain and the fair faces, trod with stir enough, and carried their divine rights with a high hand. Thus did the year one thousand seven hundred and seventyfive conduct their Greatnesses, and myriads of small creatures—the creatures of this chronicle among the rest—along the roads that lay before them.
Chapter 2The Mail
It was the Dover road that lay, on a Friday night late in November, before the first of the persons with whom this history has business. The Dover road lay, as to him, beyond the Dover mail, as it lumbered up Shooter's Hill. He walked uphill in the mire by the side of the mail, as the rest of the passengers did; not because they had the least relish for walking exercise, under the circumstances, but because the hill, and the harness, and the mud, and the mail, were all so heavy, that the horses had three times already come to a stop, besides once drawing the coach across the road, with the mutinous intent of taking it back to Blackheath. Reins and whip and coachman and guard, however, in combination, had read that article of war which forbade a purpose otherwise strongly in favour of the argument, that some brute animals are endued with Reason; and the team had capitulated and returned to their duty.
With drooping heads and tremulous tails, they mashed their way through the thick mud, floundering and stumbling between whiles, as if they were falling to pieces at the larger joints. As often as the driver rested them and brought them to a stand, with a wary"Woho! Sohothen!"the near leader violently shook his head and everything upon it—like an unusually emphatic horse, denying that the coach could be got up the hill. Whenever the leader made this rattle, the passenger started, as a nervous passenger might, and was disturbed in mind.
There was a steaming mist in all the hollows, and it had roamed in its forlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none. A clammy and intensely cold mist, made its slow way through the air in ripples that visibly followed and overspread on
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