保正版！圣诞颂歌/有声双语经典/(英国)查尔斯.狄更斯9787544775915江苏译林出版有限公司（英国）查尔斯·狄更斯
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作者（英国）查尔斯·狄更斯
出版社江苏译林出版有限公司
ISBN9787544775915
出版时间2019-02
装帧精装
开本32开
定价32元
货号1201844379
上书时间2024-04-03
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作者简介
【作者简介】
查尔斯？狄更斯（Charles Dickens，1812—1870）
有名英国作家，代表作有《大卫？科波菲尔》《匹克威克外传》《雾都孤儿》《圣诞颂歌》等。狄更斯擅长描写生活在英国社会底层的“小人物”的生活遭遇，深刻反映了当时英国复杂的社会现实，是英国批判现实主义文学的领航者。他勇于开拓，其作品风格对英国文学的发展产生了深远的影响，为世界文学做出了很好的贡献。
目录
目录
章 马利的鬼魂
第2章 三幽灵之一
第3章 三幽灵之二
第4章 最后一个幽灵
第5章 尾声
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1 Marley’s Ghost
CHAPTER 2 The First of the Three Spirits
CHAPTER 3 The Second of the Three Spirits
CHAPTER 4 The Last of the Spirits
CHAPTER 5 The End of It
内容摘要
富有的斯克鲁奇为人吝啬，一毛不拔，是远近闻名的“铁公鸡”。他漠视一切，甚至对圣诞节日充满了不屑。然而，随着三个幽灵的造访，一幕幕过去、现在、未来的影像显现，这个顽固偏执的老头渐渐被感化了，他变成一个乐善好施、充满爱心的人，并从中得到了真正的快乐。那句祝福语“圣诞快乐”终于从他的嘴里自然而真挚地说了出来。《圣诞颂歌》是查尔斯？狄更斯于1843年创作的小说，狄更斯因为这部作品被读者称作“发明圣诞节的人”。
主编推荐
译林“有声双语经典”原版引进美国教育专家特为学生编写的英语名著，精选贴近中国学生英语习得水平的经典作品。丛书甄选优质中文译本，配以导读、作家作品简介和插图，并聘请资深高考听力卷主播朗读英语有声书。有声书播放平台操作便捷，只需扫描书中二维码，即可收听、下载。丛书选目涵盖各国经典文学作品，让孩子在阅读中提高文学鉴赏能力和英语听读能力。有名儿童文学作家黄蓓佳长文导读推荐。《圣诞颂歌》是查尔斯？狄更斯的经典代表作品之一，该书深受全世界文学爱好者的喜爱，书中塑造了斯克鲁奇这一经典的文学人物形象，向全社会宣传人人互助、慷慨奉献的人道主义情怀，对西方一些信奉基督教的国家而言，可谓影响深远。而狄更斯本人更是因为这部作品被读者称作“发明圣诞节的人”，那句有名的圣诞祝福语“圣诞快乐”经由本书风靡全世界。
精彩内容
【文摘】
章
马利的鬼魂
马利死了。这点确凿无疑。他葬礼的登记表上，牧师、办事员、葬礼承办人和主要送葬人都签了字。就连斯克鲁奇也签了字。
老马利真的死了，这是板上钉钉的事实。
斯克鲁奇知道他死了么？当然，他是一清二楚。他哪能不知道呢？斯克鲁奇和他合伙做生意都不知道有多少年了。斯克鲁奇是他唯一的财产管理人。他唯一的朋友。他唯一的送葬人。但是，就连斯克鲁奇也不为马利的丧事感到悲伤。
提到马利的丧事，我就得跟你从头说起了。马利真的死了。你要是不相信这点的话，我下面要说的故事就不会精彩了。
斯克鲁奇一直没把马利的姓名涂掉。很多年过去了，它还是一直在那儿，悬在仓库的大门顶上：斯克鲁奇和马利商行。有时刚入行的人看见斯克鲁奇会喊他本名，有时会叫他马利。这倒无所谓。听到这两个名字，他都会作答。对他来说这并没有什么不同。
噢！但斯克鲁奇对于他的工作可是紧抓不松手的。他是个精于搜刮、巧取豪夺、贪得无厌的老坏蛋。深藏于他心底的冷酷把他的五官都冻住了。他的尖鼻子冻坏了，他的脸颊也起皱了。他步履僵硬。他双眼通红，嘴唇青紫。
他的头上、眉毛上和下颚上都挂着冰霜。他走到哪儿，就把冰冷的气场带到哪儿。在大暑天里，他把自己的办公室冰封起来，直到圣诞节那寒气儿也是丝毫不减。
没有什么温暖可以暖得了斯克鲁奇，也没有什么寒冷能冻得住他。没有什么飓风比他更加凶狠。斯克鲁奇比最糟糕的天气还要糟糕。
在街上，没有人会迎上前用欢乐的声音跟他打招呼：“亲爱的斯克鲁奇，你好吗？你什么时候来我这儿做客？”也没有乞丐会向他请求施舍。没有孩子会问他时间。甚至盲人的狗都认得他。它们看见他走过来，都拖着主人往门口钻。但斯克鲁奇在乎这些吗？这种情形他还求之不得哩。
故事要从圣诞前夕讲起了，老斯克鲁奇正坐在他的账房里。屋外寒冷刺骨，他能听见外面院子里人们在石板地上跺着脚取暖。
虽然才三点钟，天色已经黑了下来。这一整天都是天光昏暗、阴冷潮湿。烛火在窗里摇曳。浓雾弥漫，甚至连街对面的房子也望不大清楚。它们看起来鬼影森森的。
斯克鲁奇账房的门开着。他要盯着他的职员工作。斯克鲁奇面前生着很小的一堆火，但是职员的火堆还要小得多。那火是那么小，小到都快灭了。
那职员也没办法加一块煤进去，因为老斯克鲁奇把煤盒收在自己的房间里。职员除了披上自己的白围巾，点一支蜡烛取取暖之外又能有什么办法呢？
“圣诞快乐啊，舅舅，上帝保佑您！”一个欢乐的声音响起。说话的是斯克鲁奇的外甥。
“呸！”斯克鲁奇说道，“真是胡闹！”
“您不会真是这意思吧，舅舅。”他的外甥说道。
“我就是这意思！”斯克鲁奇说道，“还圣诞快乐？有什么好快乐的？你都够穷的了。”
“别这样啦。”外甥开心地说道，“您凭什么还这么闷闷不乐。您已经很富有了。”
斯克鲁奇只能想出一句回应的话来：“呸，瞎胡闹！”
“别生气啦，舅舅。”
“跟一帮傻蛋生活在一起，我还能怎么着？圣诞快乐！圣诞节不就是一个没钱付账的日子吗？不就是一个你发现自己老了一岁的日子吗？不就是一个把账都结清了的日子吗？我要有办法的话，我一定把那些喊着圣诞快乐的傻瓜蛋放在他们自个儿的布丁里煮一煮，再当胸给他们插上一根冬青树枝，都埋到地底下去。”
“舅舅啊！”外甥恳求道。
“外甥哎！”斯克鲁奇一嗓子喊回去了，“你过你的圣诞节，也让我以我自己的方式过节。圣诞节对你有什么好？”
“过节？”斯克鲁奇的外甥重复道，“可是您从不过节啊。”
“那么就让我继续不过节吧。”斯克鲁奇说道。
“圣诞节是个好日子。一个友好、宽恕、仁慈、快乐的日子。那是我所知道的一年里唯一一天，无论男女都会敞开心扉，帮助比自己卑微的人。虽然这个日子并不会让我的口袋里多上什么金银财宝，但我确信它对我是有益的，它也将继续有益于我。对此我要说声，上帝保佑！”
职员为此鼓掌。当他察觉到斯克鲁奇的不满时，就去拨弄那炉火，把最后一丝小火苗也弄熄灭了。
斯克鲁奇盯着他的职员。“我只要再听到你多说一句话，你就会永远丢了这份工作。”他转向他的外甥。“你倒是个厉害的演说家呢。你怎么不去议会工作啊。
CHAPTER 1
Marley’s Ghost
Marley was dead. There is no doubt about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Even Scrooge had signed it.
Old Marley was dead as a doornail.
Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course, he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for I don’t know how many years. Scrooge was his sole administrator. His sole friend. His sole mourner. But, even Scrooge wasn’t sad at Marley’s funeral.
The mention of Marley’s funeral brings me back to the beginning. Marley was dead. If you don’t believe that, then nothing wonderful can come of the story I am about to tell.
Scrooge never painted over Marley’s name. There it stood, years afterward, above the warehouse door: Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge Scrooge. Sometimes they called him Marley. It didn’t matter. He’d answer to both names. It was all the same to him.
Oh! But Scrooge was a tightfisted hand at work. He was a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, clutching old sinner. The cold within him froze his old features. It nipped his pointed nose and shriveled his cheek. It stiffened his gait. It made his eyes red and his thin lips blue.
A frosty ice was on his head, eyebrows, and wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature about with him. He iced his office in the dog days and didn’t thaw it one degree at Christmas.
No warmth could warm him. No wintry weather could chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he. Scrooge was fouler than the foulest weather.
Nobody ever stopped him in the street to ask in happy voices, “My dear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me?” No beggars asked him for anything. No children asked the time. Even the blind men’s dogs appeared to know him. When they saw him coming, they tugged their owners into doorways. But what did Scrooge care? It was the very thing he liked.
Once upon a time, on Christmas Eve, old Scrooge sat in his countinghouse. It was bitter outside. He could hear people in the outside court stamping their feet upon the pavement to get warm.
Although it was only three o’clock, it was already dark. The entire day had been dark and dank. Candles flickered in the windows. The fog was so thick that you couldn’t make out the houses across the street. They were mere phantoms.
The door of Scrooge’s countinghouse was open. He wanted to keep an eye on his clerk. Scrooge had a small fire but the clerk’s fire was much smaller. It was so much smaller that it was almost out.
The clerk couldn’t replenish his fire because Scrooge kept the coal box in his own room. What choice did the clerk have but to put on his white comforter and try to warm himself with a candle?
“A merry Christmas, Uncle! God save you!” cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge’s nephew.
“Bah!” said Scrooge. “Humbug!”
“You don’t mean that, Uncle,” said his nephew.
“I do!” said Scrooge. “Merry Christmas? What right have you to be merry? You’re poor enough.”
“Come then,” said the nephew happily. “What right do you have to be so dismal? You’re rich enough.”
Scrooge had the only answer he could think of. “Bah, humbug!”
“Don’t be angry, Uncle.”
“What else can I be when I live in a world of fools? Merry Christmas! What’s Christmas to you but a time for paying bills without money? A time for finding yourself a year older. A time for balancing the books. If I had my way, everyone who wished a merry Christmas would be boiled in his or her own pudding. Then he’d be buried with a stake of holly through his heart.”
“Uncle!” pleaded the nephew.
“Nephew!” Scrooge shot back. “Keep Christmas in your own way and let me keep it in mine. What good has Christmas ever done you?”
“Keep it?” repeated Scrooge’s nephew. “But you don’t keep it.”
“Let me leave it alone, then,” said Scrooge.
“Christmas is a good time. A kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time. The only time I know of all year when men and women open their hearts freely and help those below them. Although it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe it has done me good. It will do me good. I say, God bless it!”
The clerk applauded. When he sensed Scrooge’s disgust, he poked the fire and extinguished the last frail spark forever.
Scrooge glared at the clerk. “Let me hear one more word from you and you’ll lose your job forever.” He turned toward his nephew. “You are quite a powerful speaker. I wonder why you don’t go into Parliament.”
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