狄更斯的小说特点 狄更斯双语小说:《董贝父子》第40章Part1

狄更斯双语小说:《董贝父子》第40章Part1  

It was not in the nature of things that a man of Mr Dombey's mood
opposed to such a spirit as he had raised against himself
should be softened in the imperious asperity of his temper; or that the cold hard armour of pride in which he lived encased
should be made more flexible by constant collision with haughty scorn and defiance. It is the curse of such a nature - it is a main part of the heavy retribution on itself it bears within itself - that while deference and concession swell its evil qualities
and are the food it grows upon
resistance and a questioning of its exacting claims
foster it too
no less. The evil that is in it finds equally its means of growth and propagation in opposites. It draws support and life from sweets and bitters; bowed down before
or unacknowledged
it still enslaves the breast in which it has its throne; and
worshipped or rejected
is as hard a master as the Devil in dark fables.
Towards his first wife
Mr Dombey
in his cold and lofty arrogance
had borne himself like the removed Being he almost conceived himself to be. He had been 'Mr Dombey' with her when she first saw him
and he was 'Mr Dombey' when she died. He had asserted his greatness during their whole married life
and she had meekly recognised it. He had kept his distant seat of state on the top of his throne
and she her humble station on its lowest step; and much good it had done him
so to live in solitary bondage to his one idea. He had imagined that the proud character of his second wife would have been added to his own - would have merged into it
and exalted his greatness. He had pictured himself haughtier than ever
with Edith's haughtiness subservient to his. He had never entertained the possibility of its arraying itself against him. And now
when he found it rising in his path at every step and turn of his daily life
fixing its cold
defiant
and contemptuous face upon him
this pride of his
instead of withering
or hanging down its head beneath the shock
put forth new shoots
became more concentrated and intense
more gloomy
sullen
irksome
and unyielding
than it had ever been before.
Who wears such armour
too
bears with him ever another heavy retribution. It is of proof against conciliation
love
and confidence; against all gentle sympathy from without
all trust
all tenderness
all soft emotion; but to deep stabs in the self-love
it is as vulnerable as the bare breast to steel; and such tormenting festers rankle there
as follow on no other wounds
no
though dealt with the mailed hand of Pride itself
on weaker pride
disarmed and thrown down.
Such wounds were his. He felt them sharply
in the solitude of his old rooms; whither he now began often to retire again
and pass long solitary hours. It seemed his fate to be ever proud and powerful; ever humbled and powerless where he would be most strong. Who seemed fated to work out that doom?
Who? Who was it who could win his wife as she had won his boy? Who was it who had shown him that new victory
as he sat in the dark corner? Who was it whose least word did what his utmost means could not? Who was it who
unaided by his love
regard or notice
thrived and grew beautiful when those so aided died? Who could it be
but the same child at whom he had often glanced uneasily in her motherless infancy
with a kind of dread
lest he might e to hate her; and of whom his foreboding was fulfilled
for he DID hate her in his heart?