(单词翻译:单击)
听力文本
The Fall of the House of Usher. It was a dark and soundless day near the end of the year, and clouds were hanging low in the heavens. All day I had been riding on horseback through country with little life or beauty; and in the early evening, I came within view of the House of Usher. I do not know how it was — but, with my first sight of the building, a sense of heavy sadness filled my spirit. I looked at the scene before me — at the house itself — at the ground around it — at the cold stone walls of the building — at its empty eye-like windows — and at a few dead trees — I looked at this scene, I say, with a complete sadness of soul, which was no healthy, earthly feeling. There was a coldness, a sickening of the heart, in which I could discover nothing to lighten the weight I felt. What was it, I asked myself, what was it that was so fearful, so frightening in my view of the House of Usher? This was a question to which I could find no answer.
I stopped my horse beside the building, on the edge of a dark and quiet lake. There, I could see reflected in the water a clear picture of the dead trees, and of the house and its empty, eye-like windows. I was now going to spend several weeks in this house of sadness — this house of gloom. Its owner was named Roderick Usher. We had been friends when we were boys; but many years had passed since our last meeting. A letter from him had reached me; a wild letter, which demanded that I reply by coming to see him. He wrote of an illness of the body — of a sickness of the mind — and of a desire to see me — his best and, indeed, his only friend. It was the manner in which all this was said — it was the heart in it — which did not allow me to say no. Although as boys we had been together, I really knew little about my friend. I knew, however, that his family, a very old one, had long been famous for its understanding of all the arts, and for many quiet acts of kindness to the poor. I had learned, too, that the family had never been a large one, with many branches. The name had passed always from father to son, and when people spoke of the "House of Usher," they included both the family and the family home.
I again looked up from the picture of the house reflected in the lake to the house itself. A strange idea grew in my mind — an idea so strange that I tell it only to show the force of the feelings which laid their weight on me. I really believed that around the whole house, and the ground around it, the air itself was different. It was not the air of heaven. It rose from the dead, decaying trees, from the gray walls, and the quiet lake. It was a sickly, unhealthy air that I could see, slow-moving, heavy, and gray. Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream, I looked more carefully at the building itself. The most noticeable thing about it seemed to be its great age. None of the walls had fallen, yet the stones appeared to be in a condition of advanced decay. Perhaps the careful eye would have discovered the beginning of a break in the front of the building, a crack making its way from the top down the wall until it became lost in the dark waters of the lake.
I rode over a short bridge to the house. A man who worked in the house — a servant — took my horse, and I entered. Another servant, of quiet step, led me without a word through many dark turnings to the room of his master. Much that I met on the way added, I do not know how, to the strangeness of which I have already spoken. While the objects around me — the dark wall coverings, the blackness of the floors, and the things brought home from long forgotten wars — while these things were like the things I had known since I was a baby — while I admitted that all this was only what I had expected — I was still surprised at the strange ideas which grew in my mind from these simple things. The room I came into was very large and high. The windows were high, and pointed at the top, and so far above the black floor that they were quite out of reach. Only a little light, red in color, made its way through the glass, and served to lighten the nearer and larger objects. My eyes, however, tried and failed to see into the far, high corners of the room. Dark coverings hung upon the walls. The many chairs and tables had been used for a long, long time. Books lay around the room, but could give it no sense of life. I felt sadness hanging over everything. No escape from this deep, cold gloom seemed possible.
As I entered the room, Usher stood up from where he had been lying and met me with a warmth, which at first I could not believe was real. A look, however, at his face told me that every word he spoke was true. We sat down; and for some moments, while he said nothing, I looked at him with a feeling of sad surprise. Surely, no man had ever before changed as Roderick Usher had! Could this be the friend of my early years? It is true that his face had always been unusual. He had gray-white skin; eyes large and full of light; lips not bright in color, but of a beautiful shape; a well-shaped nose; hair of great softness — a face that was not easy to forget. And now the increase in this strangeness of his face had caused so great a change that I almost did not know him. The horrible white of his skin, and the strange light in his eyes, surprised me and even made me afraid. His hair had been allowed to grow, and in its softness it did not fall around his face, but seemed to lie upon the air. I could not, even with an effort, see in my friend the appearance of a simple human being.
In his manner, I saw at once, changes came and went; and I soon found that this resulted from his attempt to quiet a very great nervousness. I had indeed been prepared for something like this, partly by his letter and partly by remembering him as a boy. His actions were first too quick and then too quiet. Sometimes his voice, slow and trembling with fear, quickly changed to a strong, heavy, carefully spaced, too perfectly controlled manner. It was in this manner that he spoke of the purpose of my visit, of his desire to see me, and of the deep delight and strength he expected me to give him. He told me what he believed to be the nature of his illness. It was, he said, a family sickness, and one from which he could not hope to grow better — but it was, he added at once, only a nervous illness, which would without doubt soon pass away. It showed itself in a number of strange feelings. Some of these, as he told me of them, interested me but were beyond my understanding; perhaps the way in which he told me of them added to their strangeness. He suffered much from a sickly increase in the feeling of all his senses; he could eat only the most tasteless food; all flowers smelled too strongly for his nose; his eyes were hurt by even a little light; and there were few sounds which did not fill him with horror. A certain kind of sick fear was completely his master. "I shall die," he said. "I shall die! I must die of this fool's sickness. In this way, this way and no other way, I shall be lost. I fear what will happen in the future, not for what happens, but for the result of what happens. I have, indeed, no fear of pain, but only fear of its result — of terror! I feel that my time will soon arrive when I must lose my life, and my mind, and my soul, together, in some last battle with that horrible enemy: fear!"
重点解析
1.look up 向上看；抬头看
He turned his face to look up at the sky in a carefree manner.
他仰首望着天，做出一副满不在乎的神气。
2.shake off 抖落；摆脱
He grabbed my arm. I shook him off.
他抓住了我的胳膊，我一把将他甩开了。
3.appear to 似乎；好像
Time would appear to be the significant factor in this whole drama.
时间似乎是整部剧中一个举足轻重的因素。
4.stand up 站起来；起立
I tried to stand up, but I was completely exhausted.
我企图站起来，可是已经筋疲力尽了。
参考译文
厄舍古屋的倒塌。秋冬时节，一个昏暗、寂静的日子，乌云低垂。整整一天，我都骑在马上，驰过乡间一片无比萧索的旷野。傍晚时分，厄舍古屋出现在我的视野之中。我也说不清是怎么回事，一瞥见那座建筑，心中就满是忧伤。我望着眼前的府邸，府邸所在的庄园，冰冷的石墙，空洞的眼睛一样的窗户，几株枯木。我看着这一切，心中愁苦至极。那是种寒冷、令人作呕的感觉，感觉身体越来越沉。我问自己，是什么让我对厄舍古屋如此恐惧？这是个破解不了的谜。
我把马停在古屋旁边，古屋就建在一个黑暗、寂静的的湖边。湖中清晰地倒映着枯树、古屋和那些空洞洞的窗户的影子。我要在这个阴暗又充满悲伤氛围的房子里度过几个星期。这所古屋的主人叫罗德里克·厄舍，他是我儿时的好友，我们有好多年没见过面了。他给我写了一封信，提到自己患病，精神备受折磨，真的很想见到我这个最好的朋友，也是他唯一的知己。全信写了这些内容，他的请求出于一片真心，让我无法回绝。我们虽然是童年时代的密友，但我对这位朋友确实知之甚少。然而，我知道他来自一个古老的家族，长期以来以其对艺术的理解和默默为穷人所做的很多善举而闻名。我也知道那不是一个大家族，没有许多旁系支亲，姓氏总是祖孙相传。当人们说起“厄舍府”时，这个名字中既包括了这个家族，又包括这座府邸。
我再次从湖面上古屋的倒映望向这座古宅府邸时，心里产生了一个奇怪的想法，这个想法如此离奇，我提到它是想说明种种思绪有着何其强大的威力。我竟然真的相信，整个府邸和整片庄园都弥散着一种迥然不同的气息。这气息与天空中的大气不同，而是从枯树、灰墙和宁静的湖面上飘散而出，那是一种让人不舒服的气息，它缓慢移动，沉重而灰暗。我抖落掉心中那些只能说是梦幻的念头，更仔细地端详这座府邸。它最引人注目的地方在于年代极为古远，没有一堵墙倒塌，但石头却碎裂了。仔细观察，兴许会发现古屋正面开始出现裂痕，从屋顶一直延伸到阴暗的湖水中。
我骑在马上，沿着一座短桥来到府邸门口。一个仆人牵走了我的马，我走进古屋。另一个仆人，迈着安静的步子，一言不发地带我穿过许多昏暗的回廊，来到主人的房间。不知道为什么，一路上看到的景物，竟使我上面提及的愁绪变本加厉。周遭的一切——深色的墙纸、黑暗的地板以及从那些被遗忘已久的战争中带回家的物品——这些我在幼时就已经看惯了。我承认这一切都非常熟悉，可我还是很惊讶，这些普通的物件，怎么就激起了那么陌生的幻想。我走进一个房间，它极高，也很宽大。窗户很高，尖尖的耸着，离漆黑的地板老高，伸手根本触不到。几缕微弱的红光穿过玻璃，把四下里显眼的物件照得清清楚楚。然而，房间远处的角落，却无论怎样也看不清。墙壁上挂着深色的帷幔，还有用过很久的桌椅。四处散布着书籍，却并没有给房间增添一份生机。我嗅到了悲伤的气息，周遭一切都笼罩着阴沉、寒冷、无可救赎的忧郁之气。
当我走进房间时，厄舍正躺着，他见我进去就站起来，热情地迎接我。起初，我简直不敢相信这是真的。可瞥了一眼他的面容，我就知道他说的每句话都出于一片真诚。我们坐了下来，有一阵子，他一语不发。我望着他，心里既是悲伤，由满是惊奇。相信没有一个人像罗德里克·厄舍那样，变化这么大。这是我儿时的朋友吗？不过他的面容一直不同寻常。他面如死灰；眼睛大而明亮；唇色暗淡，但轮廓非常漂亮；鼻形精致；头发柔软至极，那容貌真是令人过目不忘。如今与他同处一室，我却生出了对面不相识的感觉。他那苍白得可怕的肤色，眼睛里奇异的光芒，都让我吃惊，甚至吓到了我。他的头发已经变长了，与其说是披拂在脸上，倒不如说是飘逸在空中。任我怎么努力，也无法从他的神情里找到正常人的影子。
我立刻看出他的一举一动很不协调；很快我就发现，这是因为他的神经极度紧张。我早就有思想准备，一是因为他写的信，二呢，我还记得他少年时代的某些秉性。他的动作开始时飞快，然后就安静了。有时，声音由于恐惧而缓慢颤抖，下一刻立马就变得干脆有力、不急不缓的吐字，镇定。他就这样谈着请我来的目的，说他盼望见到我，以及希望我能给他带来喜悦和力量。他告诉我他所患病症的性质，说这是一种家族遗传，病情不可能好转了。但他又马上补充了一句，这只是种神经疾病，很快就会过去了。这种病的症状，从他诸多反常的情绪中可以看得出。有些话我听了后，既感兴趣，又觉得迷惑。也许是他说话的方式增加了怪异的感觉。神经过敏把他折磨得不轻，只吃得下寡淡无味的饭菜，所有鲜花的香味都难以忍受，即便是微弱的光线，也会刺痛眼睛，几乎所有声音都会让他感到惊骇。反常的恐惧已经把他牢牢攥住。“我要死了，”他说，“我要死了！我肯定是死在这可悲的蠢病上。是的，就是这样死去，没有别的选择。我害怕将要发生的一切，不是怕事情本身，而是结果。我并不害怕痛苦，只害怕痛苦的结果——恐惧！我觉得自己的时限马上就到了，在与那个可怕的敌人“恐惧”，决一死战之时，我将死去，而我的思想和灵魂也将消失殆尽。
