translation 1.doc

Passage 1: Novel translationThe studio was filled with the rich odor of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn. From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-colored blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flame-like as theirs. And now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect,，and making him think of those pallid jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive, and the dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ. In the centre of the room，clamped to an upright easel，stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty，and in front of it，some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused，at the time，such public excitement，and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.As he looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art， a smile of pleasure passed across his face，and seemed about to linger there. But he suddenly started up, and，closing his eyes，placed his fingers upon the lids， as though he sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake.It is your best work, Basil，the best thing you have ever done, said Lord Henry，languidly. You must certainly send it next year to the Grosvenor. The Academy is too large and too vulgar. The Grosvenor is the only place. I dont think I will send it anywhere， he answered, tossing his head back in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at Oxford. No, I wont send it anywhere. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde1 小说翻译1工作室中洋溢着浓郁的玫瑰芬芳，当轻柔的夏风在园中的树丛拂过，沁人心脾的紫丁花香和柔和的粉色荆棘花香透过窗子扑鼻而来。2从波斯咖啡店的墙角看去，他正躺在鞍袋上，吞吐着香烟，好像是他的习惯，无数支香烟，农场亨利沃顿能够恰巧抓捕到金链花甜美艳丽的花开瞬间，它那战栗的枝干看起来似乎承受住它那如火一般的美丽。时而会有飞行中的鸟儿的影子在大窗户前的伸展着的蚕丝窗帘上掠过，产生一种瞬间的日式风情，不禁使他想起东京的那些面色苍白、面容憔悴的油漆工，他们透过这些必然不变的媒介，尝试去表达敏捷性和移动性。蜜蜂的嗡嗡地在疯长的未修整的草丛中寻找方向，或是单调地坚持绕着四散的忍冬树蔓镀金的小喇叭转圈，看似要使静止更加沉重，伦敦城迷离的喧闹就像遥远的手风琴的低音音符。3在房间的中央，夹着一个垂直的画架，站着一个具有独特个性美的年轻人全长的半身雕塑像，在雕塑像前方不远处，艺术家巴兹尔霍尔沃德独自坐在那里，很多年前他突然的消失引起了当时的公众刺激，也激起了许多奇怪的猜想。4当他注视着那在他的艺术中娴熟地反射出的清秀雅致的形态时，他的脸上露出了满意的微笑，仿佛沉浸在其中。但是，他闭着眼睛突然站起，将手指放在唇边，仿佛他试图在大脑中监禁一些在梦中他担忧自己会醒来的离奇的梦5“这是你最优秀的作品，巴兹尔，这是从未你完成过的最好的事，”农场主亨利倦怠地说，“你明年一定要将它寄给罗戈夫那。那个研究院规模宏大、十分本土化。罗戈夫那是唯一的地方。”6“我认为我不会把它寄去任何一个地方，”他用他过去在牛津常令朋友们取笑的古怪的方式，摇晃着转过头回答说，“不，我绝不会把它寄到任何一个地方。”道林格雷的画像 奥斯卡王尔德Passage 2: Essay translationEducation is the harmonious development of all our faculties. It begins in the nursery, and goes on at school, but does not end there. It continues through life, whether we will or not. The only question is whether what we learn in after life is wisely chosen or picked up haphazard. “Every person,” says Gibbon, “has two educations, one which he receives from others, and one more important, which he gives himself.” What we teach ourselves must indeed always be more useful than what we learn of others. “Nobody,” said Locke, “ever went far in knowledge, or became eminent in any of the Sciences, by the discipline and restraint of a Master. ” Those who have not distinguished themselves at school need not on that account be discouraged. The greatest minds do not necessarily ripen the quickest. If indeed, you have not taken pains, then, though I will not say that you should be discouraged, still you should be ashamed; but if you have done your best, you have only to persevere; for many of those who have never been able to distinguish themselves at school, have been very successful in after life. We are told that Wellington and Napoleon were both dull boys, and the same is said to have been the case with Sir Isaac Newton, Dean Swift, Clive, Sir Walter Scott, Sheridan, and many other eminent men. Evidently then it does not follow that those who have distinguished themselves least at school have benefited least. Genius has been described as “an infinite capacity for taking pains,” which is not very far from the truth. As Lily quaintly says, “If Nature plays not her part, in vain is Labour; yet if Studie be not employed, in vain is Nature.” On the other hand, many brilliant and clever boys, for want of health, industry, or character, have unfortunately been failures in after life, and Goethe said, “like plants which bear double flowers, but no fruit”; and have sunk to driving a cab, shearing sheep in Austria, or writing for a bare subsistence; while the comparatively slow but industrious and high-principled boys have steadily risen and filled honourable positions with credit to themselves and advantage to their country. Extracts from “Self-education” by John Lubbock2.文章翻译 1教育是我们所有才能中最和谐的发展。它始于托儿所，发展于学校，但是并没有终结于此。它在生命中持续，无论我们是否同意。唯一的问题在于，在生活之余所学到的东西是否是被明智地选择和随意地习得。“每一个人”吉本说道，“都有两种教育，一是他从别人那里接收