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，，，内容来源于互联网或由网友上传。版权归作者李天狼所有。如果您发现有任何侵犯您版权的情况，请联系我们，我们将支付稿酬或者删除。谢谢！Part1 Chapter1　　　　It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.　　　　四月的一天晴朗冰冷，钟敲着十三点。温斯顿.史密斯在寒风中紧紧缩着脖子，快速溜进胜利大厦的玻璃门，却仍不够利索，被一阵旋风挟裹着沙子尾随而入。　　
楼主发言：1次 发图：0张 | 更多
　　The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran. 　　楼内弥漫着煮包菜和破抹布的气味。楼道一头的墙上钉着彩色宣传画，画幅太大，不适合室内张贴。画中只有一张巨脸，一米多宽：大约四十五岁的男子，浓黑的八字胡，面容粗犷英俊。温斯顿径直朝楼梯走去，电梯根本不用试，日子最好过的时候它都不怎么运行，何况现在白天停电，为迎接“仇恨周”而厉行节约。温斯顿住七楼，他三十九岁，右脚踝患静脉曲张，只好缓慢向上爬，一路歇好几次。每上一层楼，电梯间对面的墙上都有那张巨脸凝视着你，好像目光会追着人移动。画面底部有大写字母的文字说明：老大哥正看着你。　　
　　Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures which had something to do with the
production of pig-iron. The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch and the voice sank somewhat, though the words were still distinguishable. The instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed, but there was no way of shutting it off completely. He moved over to the
window: a smallish, frail figure, the meagreness of his body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the party. His hair was very fair, his face naturally sanguine, his skin roughened by coarse soap and blunt razor blades and the cold of the winter that had just ended. 　　进入室内，一个洪亮的嗓音正在念成串的数字，关于生铁产量什么的。声音来自右手边墙上的长方形金属板，这块板像一片模糊的玻璃，与墙壁浑然一体。温斯顿拧了拧开关，声音低了些，但说的内容仍清晰入耳。这件人称“监视屏”的设备能调暗，但没法彻底关掉。他挪到窗口，窗上映出那矮小瘦削的影子，蓝色的党员制服把他的身体衬托得更加虚弱单薄。他头发亮黄，脸色天生发红，皮肤久经粗肥皂和钝剃刀的打磨，加之刚刚经过了寒冬，变得粗糙不堪。　　
　　翻完了？牛人！　　先赞一个：）　　　　四月的一天晴朗冰冷，钟敲着十三点。温斯顿.史密斯在寒风中紧紧缩着脖子，快速溜进胜利大厦的玻璃门，却仍不够利索，被一阵旋风挟裹着沙子尾随而入。　　
四月的一天（，）晴朗冰冷，（脚步）仍不够利索，去“被”“着”。　　
　　此书是读了一遍又一遍，忍不住冲动，就动笔翻了：）　　边翻边贴，还没仔细斟酌字句，多谢你的意见！！
　　Outside, even through the shut window-pane,
the world looked cold. Down in the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the
sun was shining
sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no colour in anything, except
the posters that were plastered everywhere. The black-moustachio’d face gazed down from every commanding
There was one on the house-front immediately opposite.
BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption said, while the dark eyes looked deep
into Winston’s
own. Down at streetlevel another poster, torn at one corner,
flapped fitfully in the wind, alternately covering and
uncovering
the single word INGSOC. In the far distance a helicopter
skimmed down between the roofs, hovered for an instant like a bluebottle, and darted away again with a curving flight. It was the police patrol,
into people’s windows. The
did not matter, however. Only the Thought Police mattered.　　即使透过紧闭的窗格，外面的世界也看起来一片冰冷。街面上一股股旋风把灰尘和碎纸吹得直打转。虽然阳光刺眼天空湛蓝，但一切都好似淡然无色，只有到处张贴的宣传画除外。蓄着八字胡的面孔，从每个关键位置往下凝视。正对面的墙上就有一幅，“老大哥正看着你”，大写字母如是说。那双黑眼睛正死死盯着温斯顿。下面街边有另一张宣传画，扯破了一个角儿，在风中左右扑打；宣传画上仅有的那个单词“英社”，一会儿被遮住，一会儿又露出来。远远地一架直升机掠过屋顶，像绿头苍蝇般盘旋稍许，一转弯突然冲走了。那是巡警机，在窥探人们的窗户。但巡警不要紧，思想警察才真要命。　　
　　Behind Winston’s back the voice from the telescreen was still babbling away about pig-iron and the overfulfilment of the Ninth
Three-Year Plan. The tele- screen received and transmitted simultaneously. Any sound that Winston
made, above the level of a very low whisper, would be picked up by it, moreover, so long as he remained within the field of vision which the metal plaque commanded, he could be seen as well as heard. There was of course no way of knowing whether you were being watched at any given moment.
How often, or on what system, the
Thought Police
plugged in on any
individual wire was guesswork. It was even conceivable that they watched everybody
But at any
rate they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted to. You had to live — did live, from habit that became instinct — in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinized.　　温斯顿的背后，监视屏仍在无休无止地唠叨生铁和第九个三年计划的超额完成。这屏幕能同时接收和传送信号，温斯顿发出的任何声响，只要比极轻的耳语稍高，就能被捕捉到，而且只要他待在金属板的视野内，他就能既被人听到又被人看到。当然，无论何时你都没法知道自己是否正在被监控，思想警察接通你这条线路的频率和规矩，完全秘不可测。也许他们始终监视每个人，反正他们能随心所欲接上你的线路。你必须习惯性地假设自己每点声音都有人监听、除非身在暗处否则一举一动都有人监视，这种习惯已经成为本能，生活早已如此。　　
　　Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen. It was safer, though, as he well knew, even a back can be revealing. A kilometre away the Ministry of Truth, his place of work, towered vast and
white above
he grimy landscape. This, he thought with a sort of vague distaste — this was London, chief city of Airstrip One, itself
the third most
populous of the provinces of Oceania. He tried to squeeze out some childhood memory that should tell him whether London had always been quite like this. Were there always these vistas of rotting nineteenth-century houses, their
sides shored up with baulks of timber, their windows patched with cardboard and their roofs with corrugated iron, their crazy garden walls sagging in all directions? And the bombed sites where the plaster dust swirled in the air and the willow-herb straggled over and the places where the bombs had cleared a larger patch and there had sprung up sordid colonies of wooden dwellings like chicken-houses? But it was no use, he could not remember: nothing remained of his childhood except a series of bright-lit tableaux occurring against no background and mostly unintelligible. 　　温斯顿仍背对着监屏，这样稍安全些，虽然他心里明白，连背影也会暴露心思。一公里外是他工作的地方真理部，一座巨大的白色建筑，高耸在污浊的城市中。他隐隐嫌恶地想，这就是伦敦，一号跑道的大都会，而一号跑道是大洋国人口第三多的省份。他竭力想挤出些童年记忆，看伦敦是不是一直都这样。这片破败的十九世纪宅区，墙壁用木桩撑着，窗户用纸板挡着，房顶用波纹铁皮盖着，胡拼乱凑的栅栏东倒西歪，一直都这样吗？那炮弹轰过的地方，石灰在风中飞旋，柳草在瓦砾堆蔓生，炸开的大片空地迅速涌出鸡窝般的肮脏木棚群，一直都这样吗？可惜完全徒劳，关于童年他什么都记不起来，只剩一串幻觉般的静态造型，像摆在刺眼的灯光下，看不到背景，诡异莫名。　　
　　译的文笔不错，这是肯定的。　　但是我感觉这已经属于意译的范畴了，原文的信息，原作者的思想，英语的文化，被去势了，变成了中国的东西。也可能大部分的中文译者都是这么干的吧。如果是我翻译第一段，我宁肯如此：　　　　It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.　　　四月的一天晴朗冰冷，钟敲着十三点。温斯顿.史密斯在寒风中紧紧缩着脖子，快速溜进胜利大厦的玻璃门，却仍不够利索，被一阵旋风挟裹着沙子尾随而入。　　-------------------------------------------------------------------　　-------------------------------------------------------------------　　那是四月明亮、寒冷的一天，时钟正敲响十三点。温斯顿-斯密斯——他的下巴已缩到了胸前以躲避讨厌的风——快速地溜进维克多里大厦，然而还不够快到足以防止一阵裹挟着沙子的旋风尾随而入。　　---------------------------------------------------　　呵呵，这或许会被很多人说这样的译文太拗口了。但是什么是正常的中文，我想即使中文也可以学着像英文一样思维吧。楼主的译文漂亮，但是丢失了太多原有的信息。
　　“监视屏”，还是叫“电幕”好。　　“老大哥”和“电幕”已经耳熟能详。
　　莱特_福克斯_让：　　　　你的眼睛很明亮哦：）　　关于丢失原文信息，我承认。有的地方，一时想不出顺畅的中文表达方式，我会在文档上做个高亮标记，偷偷懒溜过去，以免在一个死结纠缠太久打断思路。但如果是严肃文件的定稿，我肯定会宁愿别扭些也要保证忠于原文的。只会在像这样的交流场合如此处理，毕竟是随翻随贴的初稿，以后想到更好的表达方式能兼顾准确性和流畅性，再修正，慢慢改进吧。　　　　　　海歌2000：　　　　我还没读别人的中译版，没听说过电幕。　　也许前译很优秀，我译完后再拜读，以免在翻译过程中受先入为主的影响。　　　　谢谢两位关注@！　　　　另：思想警察，以后简称“思警”　　
监视屏，以后简称“监屏”　　　　　　　　
　　The Ministry of Truth — Minitrue, in Newspeak* — was startlingly different from any other
object in sight. It was an enormous pyramidal structure of glittering white
concrete, soaring up, terrace
terrace, 300 metres into the air.
From where Winston stood
it was just possible to read, picked out on its white face in elegant lettering, the three slogans of the Party: 　　WAR IS PEACE 　　FREEDOM IS SLAVERY　　IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH 　　　　真理部，用新话讲就是“真部”，跟视野内任何东西都迥然不同。这是座金字塔形的庞然大物，白色水泥外墙闪闪发亮，一层层叠次向上直刺三百米的高空。从温斯顿站的地方，正好能看到白墙上用优雅的字体写着党的三句口号：　　　　战争即和平　　自由即奴役　　无知即力量　　
　　The Ministry of Truth contained, it was said,
three thousand rooms above ground level, and corresponding
ramifications
below. Scattered about
London there
other buildings of similar
appearance and size.
So com&pletely did they dwarf the surrounding architecture that from the roof of Victory Mansions you could see all four of them simultaneously.
They were the homes of the
four Ministries between which the
apparatus of government was divided.
The Ministry of Truth, which concerned
itself with
news, entertain-ment, education, and the fine arts.
The Ministry of Peace, which concerned itself with
of Love, which maintained law and
order. And the Ministry of Plenty, which was responsible for economic affairs. Their names, in Newspeak: Minitrue, Minipax,
Miniluv, and Miniplenty. 　　据说真理部有三千个地上房间，地下对应有相同结构。除此之外，只有三个形状和大小相仿的大楼稀落落地散布在伦敦，让周围所有建筑都彻底相形见绌，在胜利大厦顶部能同时看见这四者。整个政府分为四个部门，分别驻在这四座楼内。真理部负责新闻、娱乐、教育和艺术，和平部负责战争，爱心部维持法律秩序，而富裕部主管经济事务。四个部门用新话讲分别是真部、和部、爱部、富部。
　　The Ministry of Love was the really frightening
one. There were no windows in it at all.
Winston had never been inside the Ministry of Love, nor within half a kilometre of it. It was a place impossible to enter except on official business, and then only by penetrating through a maze of barbed-wire entanglements, steel doors,
and hidden machine-gun nests. Even the
leading up to its outer barriers were roamed
by gorilla-faced
guards in black uniforms, armed with jointed truncheons.　　真正骇人的是爱心部，整座楼连窗户都没有。温斯顿从没进去过，连它半公里以内的地带都没去过。这地方除非因公不得入内，要进还必须穿过一片迷宫般的毛刺铁丝网阵，数道钢门，而且被暗处的机枪瞄准。连通向爱心部外层关卡的街道都有大猩猩般粗壮的警卫巡逻把守，他们身穿黑制服，手持双节警棍。　　
　　Winston turned round abruptly. He had set his features into the expression of quiet
optimism which it was advisable to wear when facing the telescreen. He crossed the room into the tiny kitchen. By leaving the Ministry at this time of day he had sacrificed his lunch in the canteen,
and he was aware that there was no food in the kitchen except a hunk of dark-coloured bread
which had got to be saved for tomorrow’s breakfast. He took down from the shelf a bottle of colourless liquid with a plain white label marked VICTORY GIN. It gave off a sickly, oily smell, as of Chinese rice-spirit. Winston poured out nearly a teacupful, nerved himself for a shock, and gulped it down like a dose of medicine.　　温斯顿猛地转过身来。他已经换上一副安然乐观的表情，面对监屏最好摆这种脸孔。他穿过房间，走进狭小的厨房。这个点儿离开部里他就吃不了餐厅的午饭，也明知自己厨房没什么吃的，只有一块黑乎乎的面包，得留作明天的早餐。他从厨架上拿了瓶无色液体，瓶身上一块纯白标签写着“胜利牌琴酒”。这酒泛着恶心、油腻的气味，跟中国米酒似的。温斯顿倒了快一茶杯，硬起头皮，像喝药般一饮而尽。　　
　　Instantly his face turned scarlet
and the water
ran out of his eyes. The stuff was like nitric acid, and moreover, in swallowing it one had the sensation of being hit on the
back of the
head with a rubber club. The next moment, however, the burning in his belly died down and the world began to look more cheerful. He took a cigarette from a crumpled
marked VICTORY CIGARETTES and incautiously held it upright, whereupon
the tobacco fell out on to the floor. With the next he was more successful. He went back to the living-room and sat down at a small table that stood
left of the telescreen. From the table drawer he took out a penholder, a bottle of ink, and a thick, quarto-sized blank book with a red back and a marbled cover.　　他的脸立刻变得通红，眼睛呛出水来。这东西像硝酸般刺激，吞下去感觉后脑勺像挨了一闷棍。不过他胃里的灼烧感很快消退，整个世界都好像更美好了。他从皱巴巴的胜利牌烟盒里抽出一支烟，不小心竖着拎了，烟丝就撒到地上。下一支拿得很好，于是他折回客厅，坐在监屏左边的小桌旁，从抽屉里取出一个笔架、一瓶墨水，还有本厚厚的四开本空白簿子，红色书背大理石花纹封面。　　
　　For some reason the telescreen in the living-room was in an unusual position. Instead of being placed, as was normal, in the end wall, where it could command the whole room, it was in the longer wall, opposite the window. To one side of it there was a shallow alcove in which Winston was now sitting, and which, when the flats were built, had probably been intended to hold bookshelves. By sitting in the alcove, and keeping well back, Winston was able to remain outside the range of the telescreen, so far as sight went. He could be heard, of course, but so long as he stayed in his present position he could not be seen. It was partly the unusual geography of the room that had suggested to him the thing that he was now about to do. 　　　　不知什么缘故，客厅的监屏位置很特别，不是像平常那样装在端墙以便俯视整个房间，而是装在侧墙上，正对着窗户。监屏的一侧有个浅浅的凹穴，估计建房时打算用来摆书架的，此刻温斯顿就坐在里面，在这个位置小心退缩着，能躲到监屏的视野范围外。他当然能被听见，但只要他保持现在的姿势，就不会被看见。他之所以想做下面这件事，部分原因就在于这间房的特殊格局。　　
　　But it had also been suggested by the book that he had just taken
out of the drawer. It was a peculiarly beautiful book. Its smooth
creamy paper, a little yellowed by age, was of a kind that had not been manufactured for at least forty years past.
He could guess, however, that the
book was much older than that. He had seen it lying in the window
of a frowsy little junk-shop in a slummy quarter of the town (just what quarter he did not now remember) and had been stricken immediately by an overwhelming desire to possess it. Party members were supposed not to go into ordinary shops (’dealing on the free market’,
it was called),
but the rule
was not strictly kept,
because there were various things, such as shoelaces and razor blades, which it was impossible to get hold of in any other way. He had
given a quick glance up and
down the street and then had slipped inside and bought the book for two dollars fifty. At the time he was not conscious of wanting it for any
particular purpose.
carried it guiltily home in his briefcase.
Even with nothing written in it, it was a compromising possession　　但还有部分原因是他刚刚从抽屉拿出的笔记本。这本子精美无比，奶油般光洁滑腻的纸张，因年代久远而微微泛黄，是那种至少四十年前才出产的东西，但他觉得远远不止四十年。他路过伦敦某贫民区一个邋遢的小旧货铺时发现它正躺在橱窗里，具体哪个区记不起来了，只记得自己刹那间涌起无法抑制的欲望，一心想拥有它。按规矩党员不该进普通商店做所谓的“自由市场买卖”，但这条规矩并不严，因为总有些杂物，比如鞋带剃刀什么的，不去那种地方根本搞不到。他迅速朝街道两头一瞥，猛地溜进铺里，花两块五毛钱买下了它。当时还没想到买来干什么，只是忐忑不安地把它藏在公文包里带回家。哪怕什么都不写，仅私藏这本子就是险事一桩。　　
　　The thing that he was about to do was to open a diary. This was not illegal (nothing was illegal, since there were no longer any laws), but if detected it was reasonably
that it would be punished by death, or at least by twenty-five years in a forced-labour camp. Winston fitted a nib into
the penholder and sucked it to get the grease off. The pen was an archaic instrument, seldom used even for signatures, and
procured one,
furtively and with some difficulty, simply because of a feeling that the beautiful creamy paper deserved to be written on with a real nib instead of being scratched with an ink-pencil. Actually he was not used to writing by hand.
Apart from very short notes, it was usual to dictate everything into the speak-write
which was of course impossible for his present purpose. He dipped the pen into the ink and
then faltered for just a second. A tremor had
gone through his bowels. To mark the paper was the decisive act.
In small clumsy letters
he wrote: 　　April 4th, 1984. 　　他要做的是开始写日记。这也不违法（什么都不违法，因为法律已经不存在），但如果被察觉，就很可能被处以死刑或至少二十五年的集中营强制劳役。温斯顿把钢笔尖插进笔架，吸掉上面的腻污。钢笔是很过时的文具，连签名都很少用，他好不容易偷偷买了一支，只因他感觉这光洁精美的纸张上应该用真正的钢笔写字，而不是拿圆珠笔随便涂划。其实他不习惯用手写字，除了很短的便条之外，一般东西都是对着录话器口述，而日记肯定不能这样录。他把钢笔蘸了墨水，稍稍一怔，腹部掠过一阵抽搐。往纸上落笔是致命一步。他用细小笨拙的字体写下：　　日　　
　　He sat back. A sense of complete helplessness had descended
upon him. To begin with, he did not know with any certainty that this was 1984. It must be round about that date, since he was fairly sure that his age was thirty-nine, and he believed that he had been born in 1944 or 1945; but it was never
possible nowadays to pin down any date within a year or two. 　　他跌靠到椅背上，沉浸在全然无助中。首先，他不确定今年是不是1984年。应该是这个年代前后，因为他很肯定自己现年三十九岁，而他大概出生于年。然而，如今想把日期说准到不差一两年，是根本不可能的。　　
　　For whom,
it suddenly
to him to wonder, was he writing this di-ary? For the future,
for the unborn. His mind hovered
for a moment round the
doubtful date on the page,
then fetched
up with a bump against the Newspeak word doublethink.
first time
magnitude of what he had undertaken came home to him. How could you communicate with the
future? It was of its nature impossible. Either
the future
would resemble the present, in which case it would not listen to him: or it would be different from it, and his predicament would be meaningless. 　　他忽然自忖：这日记写给谁？给未来，给后代。他的思绪萦绕着纸页上那靠不住的日期，脑中忽然冒出一个新话用词：双重思想。他这才首次意识到自己想做的事多么艰巨。怎可能和未来沟通？根本不可能。未来要么和现在一样，对他的话置之不理；要么有所改观，他这般困苦挣扎就没有必要。　　
　　谢谢。　　　　等待。
　　斫轮翁:　　谢谢关注，热烈欢迎：）　　　　　=======　　For
he sat gazing stupidly
paper. The telescreen had changed over to strident military music. It was curious that he seemed
not merely to have lost the power of expressing himself, but even to have forgotten what it was that he had originally intended to say. For weeks past he had been making ready for this moment, and it had never crossed his mind that anything would be needed except courage.
The actual
writing would be easy. All he had to do was to
transfer to
interminable restless
monologue that had been running inside his head, literally
for years.
At this moment, however, even the
Moreover his varicose ulcer
itching unbearably.
He dared not scratch it, because
always became inflamed. The seconds were ticking by.
He was conscious of nothing except the blankness
of the page in front of him, the itching of the skin above his ankle, the blaring of the music, and a slight booziness caused by the gin. 　　他盯着空纸呆坐了好一会儿。监屏已经改放刺耳的军乐。真是莫名其妙，他好像不仅丧失了自我表达能力，甚至还忘了最初想表达的内容。为了此刻，他已经足足准备了几星期，总以为鼓起勇气即可，别无所需；总以为动笔书写很容易，只需把脑中没完没了地回荡了数年的独白誊到纸上就行。然而此刻，连独白也枯竭了。而且他腿上的静脉曲张溃疡开始揪心蚀骨地发痒，他却不敢挠，一挠就会发炎。时间一秒秒嘀嗒而过，他的意识一片空白，只知道面前放着白纸，脚踝皮肤奇痒，军乐高亢激扬，还有琴酒残留的微晕迷茫。　　
　　Suddenly he began
only imperfectly aware of what he was setting
His small but childish handwriting straggled up and down the page, shedding first its capital
letters and finally even its full stops: 　　他突然抓狂般写起来，写的是什么他自己都不怎么清楚。那细小幼稚的字串在页面忽上忽下地爬行，他很快就忘了字母大写，最后甚至忘了句号：　　
4th, 1984.
Last night to the
All war films. One very good one of a ship full of refugees being bombed somewhere in the Mediterranean. Audience much amused by shots
of a great
huge fat man
trying to swim away with a helicopter
after him, first you saw him wallowing along in the water like a porpoise, then you saw him through the helicopters
gunsights, then he was full of holes and the sea round him turned pink and he sank as suddenly as though the
let in the
audience shouting with laughter when he sank. then you saw a lifeboat full of children with a helicopter hovering over it. there was a middle-aged woman might have been a jewess sitting up in the bow with a little
three years old in her arms.
little boy screaming with fright and hiding his head between her breasts
as if he was trying to burrow right into her and
woman putting her arms round him and
comforting him although she was blue with fright herself, all the time covering him up as much as possible as if she thought her arms
could keep the bullets
off him. then the helicopter planted a 20 kilo bomb
them terrific
boat went all to matchwood. then there
was a wonderful shot of a child’s arm going up up up right up into the
air a helicopter
with a camera
in its nose must have followed it up and there was a lot of applause from the party seats but a woman down in the prole part of the house suddenly started kicking up a fuss and shouting they didnt oughter of showed it not in front of kids they didnt it aint right not in front of kids it aint until the police turned her turned her out i dont suppose anything happened to her nobody
cares what
proles say typical prole reaction they never—　　日。昨晚看电影。全是战争片。有一部很好，讲满满一船难民在地中海什么地方遭轰炸。一个大胖子被直升机追着死命往前游，把观众逗乐了，你先是看到他跟海豚似的在水里扑腾，然后你透过直升机机枪瞄准器看他，然后他就被打成蜂窝，把周围的海水都染红了，他忽然沉下去好像身上的枪眼会漏水似的，观众看他下沉就哄笑叫好。接着你看见一条装满小孩的救生艇，空中有架直升机在盘旋。有个中年女人好像是犹太人吧坐在船头怀里抱着个三岁左右的小男孩。小男孩吓得哇哇大哭把脑袋埋到她怀里好像要钻进她身子似的女人双手搂着他哄他虽然她自己也吓得脸色发青，一直拼命掩护他好像她的胳膊能给他挡子弹似的。然后直升机朝他们投了枚20公斤的炸弹一道炫目白光救生艇炸得粉碎，接着有个很精彩的镜头一根小孩胳膊往上飞飞飞直飞到天上准是直升机头部装着摄像机追拍的党员席爆出热烈的掌声但平民席有个妇女忽然大吵大闹起来高声嘶喊他们不该放这个不该当着孩子们的面怎么可以啊不该让孩子看不该啊然后警察就抓她抓她出去了我觉得她不会出什么事平民的话谁会在乎典型的无产者反应他们绝不——　　
　　各位，我想请教prole这个词的译法。　　奥威尔笔下的prole“free as animals”，不像D员那样受严格控制，他们的宅区不装监屏，因为他们反正什么都不懂，他们不会意识到自己被利用，自己是逆来顺受的廉价劳力。他们的功能很简单：干活、生育。他们只关心家长里短、邻里斗嘴，电影足球，啤酒彩票。。。哪个中文词语可以恰当称呼这样的人呢？平民？贱民？群众？群氓？　　暂译为“平民”或“无产者”。谁有什么好建议？　　
　　Winston stopped writing,
partly because he was suffering from cramp. He did not know what had made
pour out this stream of rubbish. But the curious thing was that while he was doing
so a totally different memory had clarified itself in his mind, to the point where he almost
felt equal
to writing it down. It was,
he now realized,
of this other incident that he had suddenly decided to come home and begin the diary today. 　　温斯顿停了笔，部分是由于抽筋的痛楚。他不明白自己为何倾出这堆废话，但奇怪的是，他写着写着完全不搭界的另一件事忽然在脑中清晰浮现，几乎蹦到笔尖。他现在才发觉，正是由于这件事他今天突然回来开始写日记。　　　　It had happened that morning at the Ministry, if anything so nebulous could be said to happen. 　　如此飘忽的情节，若算作一件事，那它发生在今天早上，在部里。　　
　　It was nearly eleven hundred, and in the
Records Department, where Winston
they were dragging
out of the cubicles and
grouping them in the centre
of the hall
big telescreen, in preparation for the Two Minutes
Hate. Winston was just taking his place in one of the middle rows when two people whom he knew by sight, but had never spoken to, came unexpectedly into the room.
of them was a girl whom he often passed in the corridors. He did not know her name, but he knew that she worked in the Fiction Department.
Presumably — since he had sometimes seen her with oily hands
and carrying
she had some mechanical job on one of the novel-writing
machines. She
a bold-looking girl,
of about twenty-seven, with thick hair, a freckled face, and swift, athletic movements. A narrow scarlet sash, emblem of the Junior Anti-Sex
League, was wound
several times round the waist of her overalls, just tightly enough to bring out the shapeliness of her hips.
Winston had
disliked her from the very first moment of seeing her.　　那时将近十一点，在温斯顿工作的档案局，大家纷纷从格子间拽出椅子，摆到大厅中心，面对着大屏幕，准备举行“两分钟仇恨”仪式。温斯顿刚刚坐进中间一排，就愕然发现两个面熟却从未搭话的人走进来。一个是经常在走廊碰到的女孩，温斯顿不知道她的名字，但知道她在创作局工作。有时发现她拿着扳手，满手油污，估计她是修理小说写作机的技工。这女孩子看起来很野，大约27岁，头发浓密，雀斑脸蛋，举止敏捷活跃。一条细细的猩红饰带绕了几圈缠在她腰部制服上，这是青年反性爱联盟的标志，不松不紧恰好勾勒出她臀部的优美线条。温斯顿从看她第一眼就不喜欢。
　　He knew the
It was because
of the atmosphere of hockey-fields and cold baths
and community hikes and
general clean-mindedness which she managed to carry about with her.
He disliked nearly all women, and especially the young and pretty ones. It was always the women, and
above all the
young ones, who were the most bigoted
adherents of the Party, the
swallowers
of slogans, the amateur spies and nosers-out of unorthodoxy. But this particular girl gave him the impression of being more dangerous
than most.
Once when they passed
in the corridor she gave him a quick sidelong glance which seemed to pierce right into him and for a moment had filled him with black terror. The idea had even crossed his mind that she might be an agent of the Thought Police. That, it was true, was very unlikely. Still, he continued
to feel a peculiar uneasiness, which had fear mixed up in it as well as hostility, whenever she was anywhere near him.　　原因他很明白，因为她总泛着曲棍球场、冷水沐浴、集体远足的气息，还故作一副思想纯洁的姿态。他几乎厌恶所有女人，尤其是年轻漂亮的女人。最冥顽不化的党徒、不长脑子的口号狂、业余探子和非正统思想探测员，大都是女人，尤其是年轻女人。而这个女孩给他的感觉是格外阴险。有次他们在走廊擦肩而过，她乜斜着瞟了他一眼，好像彻底看穿了他，刹那间让他恐惧欲狂。他脑中甚至掠过一个念头：她也许是思想警察的耳目。虽然这很不可能，但她一接近，他就仍感到莫名的不安，混杂着恐惧和敌意。　　
　　The other person was a man named
O’Brien, a member
of the Inner Party and holder of some post so important and remote that Winston
a dim idea
nature. A momentary hush passed
the group of people round the chairs
black overalls of an Inner
Party member ap-proaching.
O’Brien was
large, burly
man with a thick neck and a coarse, humorous, brutal face. In spite
of his formidable
appearance he had
a certain charm of manner. He had
of resettling his spectacles on his nose which was curiously disarming — in some indefinable way, curiously civilized. It was a gesture
which, if anyone had still thought in such terms, might have recalled an eighteenth-century nobleman
offering his snuffbox. Winston
seen O’Brien perhaps
a dozen times
in almost as many years. He felt deeply drawn to him, and not solely because he was intrigued by the contrast between O’Brien’s urbane manner and his prize-fighter’s physique. Much more it was because of a secretly held belief — or perhaps not
even a belief, merely a hope — that O’Brien’s political orthodoxy was not perfect.
Something in his face suggested it irresistibly. And again, perhaps it was not even unorthodoxy that was written in his face, but simply intelligence. But at any rate
the appearance of being a person that you could talk to if somehow you could cheat the telescreen and get him alone.
never made the smallest effort to verify this guess: indeed, there was no way of doing so.
moment O’Brien glanced at his wrist-watch, saw that it was nearly eleven hundred, and evidently decided to stay in the
Department until
the Two Minutes Hate was over. He took a chair
same row as Winston, a couple
of places away.
A small, sandy-haired woman
who worked in the next cubicle to Winston
was between them.
The girl with dark hair was sitting
immediately behind.　　另一位不速之客是奥博恩，一个身居要职的核心党员，地位之高让温斯顿感觉遥不可及，只是模模糊糊地意识到他的分量。椅子周围的人一看见核心党员的黑制服走近，便不约而同噤了声。奥博恩高大魁梧，脖颈粗壮，面孔粗糙、机智又冷酷。虽然外表让人畏惧，但他的举止有一种独特魅力。他有个小招术就是端端鼻梁上的眼镜，能莫名地使人放松，而且显得优雅有礼。这姿态可能让人怀想十八世纪绅士向别人敬鼻烟的样子，如果还有人用这些词语思考的话。多年以来，温斯顿可能只见过奥博恩十来次，却被他深深吸引，不只是着迷他那文雅举止和拳击手体格之间的反差，更重要是由于他暗自相信——也许算不上相信，只是希望而已，即奥博恩的政治立场并非完全正统。他脸上有一种无法掩饰的迹象，类似地，也许这不是非正统，只是智力迹象而已。但无论如何他看起来像个可以交流的人，如果你能设法躲过监屏和他独处的话。温斯顿从未做丝毫尝试来验证这个猜想，本来就根本无法验证。此刻奥博恩瞥了一眼手表，见快要十一点了，显然是决心待在档案局等两分钟仇恨结束。他坐到温斯顿这排，跟他隔几个位置，俩人之间坐着一个棕黄头发的小个子女人，她工作的格子间和温斯顿挨着。黑发女孩就坐在他身后。　　
　　The next moment a hideous, grinding speech, as of some monstrous machine running without oil, burst from the big telescreen at the end of the
It was a noise that set one’s teeth on edge and bristled
hair at the
back of one’s neck. The Hate had started. 　　接下来，墙上的大监屏突然爆发恐怖刺耳的怪叫，像巨型机械缺了润滑油强行运转，是那种让人咬牙切齿汗毛倒立的噪音。仇恨仪式开始了。　　
　　As usual,
face of Emmanuel Goldstein, the
had flashed
on to the screen.
There were hisses here and there among the audience. The little sandy-haired woman gave a squeak of mingled fear and disgust. Goldstein was the
renegade and
backslider
who once, long ago (how long ago, nobody quite remembered), had been
one of the
leading figures of the Party, almost on a level with Big Brother
himself, and then had engaged in counter-revolutionary activities, had been condemned
to death, and had mysteriously escaped and disappeared.
The programmes
of the Two
Hate varied from day to day, but there was none in which Goldstein was not the principal figure. He was the
traitor, the
earliest defiler of the Party’s purity. All subsequent crimes against
the Party, all treacheries, acts of sabotage, heresies, deviations, sprang directly out of his teaching.
Somewhere or other
he was still alive and hatching his conspiracies:
somewhere beyond
the sea, under the protection of his foreign paymasters, perhaps
even — so it was occasionally rumoured — in some hiding-place in Oceania itself. 　　人民公敌以马利.葛斯登的脸照例闪烁在监屏上。观众的嘘声此起彼伏，棕黄发的小个子女人发出惊恐又嫌恶的尖叫。葛斯登是个变节的反动派，很久以前（究竟多久没人记得清）他曾是党的领袖之一，几乎跟老大哥平起平坐，后来竟从事反革命活动，被判处死刑，却又神秘逃脱，从此下落不明。两分钟仇恨的内容每天不同，但无不以葛斯登为主角。他是头号叛徒，第一个玷污党性纯洁的恶棍。后来的所有反党罪行，所有叛国谋乱、阴谋颠覆、异端邪说和离经叛道之举，皆由他直接唆使。不知在什么地方反正他还活着，策划着阴谋诡计。可能在海外某地，由豢养他的外国主子庇护着；偶尔还有传言说，他甚至可能就躲在大洋国境内某个隐匿处。　　
　　作者：DaredevilTT　回复日期：　08:19:21　
　　　　Suddenly he began writing in sheer panic, only imperfectly aware of what he was setting down. His small but childish handwriting straggled up and down the page, shedding first its capital letters and finally even its full stops:　　　　他突然抓狂般写起来，写的是什么他自己都不怎么清楚。那细小幼稚的字串在页面忽上忽下地爬行，他很快就忘了字母大写，最后甚至忘了句号：　　-----------------------　　抓狂？网络用词都带进来了……
　　wosygb：　　谢谢你这么仔细地看译文！　　抓狂的确是被网络用烂的词。我译到这里，读着原文脑中立即蹦出来的就是这个词，所以顺了直觉把它用上了。一直没刻意回避网络用词或什么标签的用词，觉得表达最有力就采用。　　也许是我的脑袋先入为主被它占住了，如果你想到更好的词，请赐教。只要有更有力更恰切的译法，我愿意改进：）　　再次感谢！！！　　　　
　　Winston’s diaphragm was constricted. He could never see the face of Gold-stein without a painful
mixture of emotions. It was a lean Jewish
face, with a great fuzzy aureole of white hair and a small goatee beard — a clever face, and yet somehow inherently despicable, with a kind of senile silliness in the long thin nose, near
the end of which a pair of spectacles was perched. It resembled the face of a sheep, and the voice, too, had
a sheep-like quality. Goldstein
was de-livering his usual venomous attack upon the doctrines of the Party — an attack so exaggerated and perverse that a child should have been able to see through it, and yet just plausible
enough to fill one with
an alarmed
feeling that other people, less level-headed than oneself, might be taken in by it.　　温斯顿的胸腔一阵抽搐。每当看到葛斯登的面孔，他就会禁不住涌起百感交集的痛楚。那瘦削的犹太脸，头顶一大圈毛茸茸的白发，颌下一小缕山羊胡，看起来很机灵，但不知为何又显得生就可鄙；鼻子细长，尖端架着眼镜，一副年老昏聩相。整张脸看起来跟绵羊似的，连他的声音都是绵羊腔。葛斯登照常恶毒地攻击党的教义，言辞夸张荒谬，连小孩都能看穿他的意图；然而又貌似有理，让你感觉必须提高警惕：有些人觉悟没你这么高，可能会上当受蛊。　　
　　He was abusing Big Brother, he was denouncing the dictatorship of the Party, he was demand-ing the immediate
conclusion of peace with Eurasia, he was advocating freedom of speech, freedom of the Press, freedom
of assembly,
freedom of thought, he was crying
hysterically
revolution
had been betrayed — and all this in rapid
polysyllabic
speech which was a sort of parody of the habitual style of the orators of the Party, and even contained Newspeak words: more Newspeak words, indeed, than any Party member
would normally
use in real life. And all the
while, lest one should
doubt as to the reality which Goldstein’s specious claptrap covered, behind
his head on the telescreen there marched
the endless columns of the Eurasian army — row after row of solid-looking men with expressionless Asiatic faces, who swam up to the surface of the screen and vanished, to be replaced
similar. The dull rhythmic tramp of the soldiers’ boots formed the background to Goldstein’s bleating voice.　　他辱骂老大哥，他谴责党的专政，他要求立即与欧亚国讲和，他鼓吹言论、出版、集会和思想的自由，他竭斯底里地嚷着革命已经变质——全是拿腔捏调地飞快说出来，而且刻意使用多音节词，明显是恶搞党内宣传人员的习惯讲话风格；他甚至还使用新话词语，比党员在日常生活中使用的还多。同时，监屏一直播放葛斯登脑袋后跨出欧亚国军队的画面，一列列粗壮的士兵源源不断地向前挺进，那毫无表情的亚洲脸孔膨胀着充斥整个荧屏，然后消失，接着浮现另一批完全相同的脸，无休无止，让人无法怀疑葛斯登摇唇鼓舌背后的残酷事实。军靴重重踏出机械的节奏，衬托着葛斯登的嗥叫。　　
　　谢谢，欢迎萝卜大侠：）
　　Before the Hate had
proceeded for thirty seconds,
uncontrollable exclama&tions of rage
were breaking
out from half the
people in the
The self-satisfied sheep-like face on the screen, and the terrifying power of the Eurasian army behind it, were too much to be borne: besides, the sight or even the thought of Goldstein
fear and anger automatically. He was an object of hatred more constant than either Eurasia or Eastasia, since when Oceania was at
one of these
it was generally
at peace with the other. But
strange was that although Goldstein was
and despised by everybody, although every
a thousand times a day, on platforms, on the telescreen, in newspapers,
in books, his theories were refuted,
smashed, ridiculed, held up to the general gaze for the
rubbish that they
were in spite
of all this, his influence
never seemed to grow less. Always there were fresh dupes waiting to be seduced by him. 　　仇恨会还没进行三十秒，室内一半人就爆发出无法遏制的怒吼。监屏上那张自鸣得意的绵羊脸，羊脸后咄咄逼人的欧亚国军队，让大家忍无可忍；实际上，一瞧见葛斯登的模样，甚至一想到他这个人，恐惧和愤怒就会油然而生。与欧亚国和东亚国相比，葛斯登是更常见的仇恨对象，因为大洋国跟两列强之一开战时，通常跟另一个相安无事。而奇怪的是，虽然葛斯登千人唾万人恨，虽然他的论调每天都在讲台、监屏、报纸、书籍上被驳斥、抨击和嘲弄千万遍，作为毫无意义的废话示众，但他的影响从不减弱。总有新鲜出炉的蠢蛋被他哄骗，思想警察没有一天不揪出受他指使的间谍和破坏分子。他统领着一支庞大的隐形部队，这是个执意推翻国家的地下阴谋家网络，据说叫兄弟会。传言还有一本邪书，是所有异端邪说的大汇编，是葛斯登写的，私底下到处流传；此书无名，如要提及，人们就干脆称“那本书”。但这都只是影影绰绰的传闻。不管是兄弟会还是“那本书”，普通党员都尽可能避而不谈。　　
　　我手头有一本孙仲旭的译本，有些地方楼主的更好些，赞一个
　　温斯顿径直朝楼梯走去~~~~他三十九岁，右脚踝患静脉曲张，只好缓慢向上爬，一路歇好几次。　　——————————————————————　　　　径直，一般来说用于描写脚力比较健壮的人为好，同一句话里，最后介绍他有静脉曲张，歇了好几次，前后看起来稍微突兀了一些。干脆把径直去掉如何？　　我不懂英文，只从译过的文字提一点意见。　　
　　这酒泛着恶心、油腻的气味，跟中国米酒似的。　　——————————————————————　　估计是指这个单词：Chinese rice-spirit。奥威尔应该喝过它，否则不会这么说，但这说明他喝的一定不是正宗的东西，我不记得有什么米酒闻起来会有油腻的味道？
　　温斯顿的胸腔一阵抽搐。每当看到葛斯登的面孔，他就会禁不住涌起百感交集的痛楚。那瘦削的犹太脸，头顶一大圈毛茸茸的白发，颌下一小缕山羊胡，看起来很机灵，但不知为何又显得生就可鄙；鼻子细长，尖端架着眼镜，一副年老昏聩相。整张脸看起来跟绵羊似的，连他的声音都是绵羊腔。葛斯登照常恶毒地攻击党的教义，言辞夸张荒谬，连小孩都能看穿他的意图；然而又貌似有理，让你感觉必须提高警惕：有些人觉悟没你这么高，可能会上当受蛊。　　————————————————————————————　　　　这段翻译得很经典！
　　文鉴春秋:　　　　谢谢你的鼓励。　　　　孙仲旭的译本，我也听说过。如果你有兴趣，欢迎对不同译本进行比较研究，指出我应该改进的地方。无尽感谢：）　　　　除了孙仲旭版本外，据我所知，《1984》的中译本还有以下几种：　　　　董乐山，花城出版社1985年版；　　
刘绍铭，北京十月文艺出版社2010年4月版；　　
周静，长江文艺出版社2010年9月版。　　　　这些版本我在译完全书之前不会读，以免受别人影响，形成先入为主的印象。但手头有译本的诸位，欢迎及时指出我的错误。　　　　再次感谢：）　　
　　作者：要命一条　回复日期：　15:09:47　
　　　　　　温斯顿径直朝楼梯走去~~~~他三十九岁，右脚踝患静脉曲张，只好缓慢向上爬，一路歇好几次。　　　　——————————————————————　　　　　　　　径直，一般来说用于描写脚力比较健壮的人为好，同一句话里，最后介绍他有静脉曲张，歇了好几次，前后看起来稍微突兀了一些。干脆把径直去掉如何？　　　　我不懂英文，只从译过的文字提一点意见。　　=========　　我对“径直”一词的印象就是直接朝某个方向去，毫不犹豫；问了身边的人，也觉得它指方向坚定，与力量无关。看来同一词会给人造成不同感觉：）　　　　作者：要命一条　回复日期：　15:36:04　
　　　　　　这酒泛着恶心、油腻的气味，跟中国米酒似的。　　　　——————————————————————　　　　估计是指这个单词：Chinese rice-spirit。奥威尔应该喝过它，否则不会这么说，但这说明他喝的一定不是正宗的东西，我不记得有什么米酒闻起来会有油腻的味道？　　==========　　为了rice spirit，我在google上泡过半天，也没弄明白欧美人所指的Chinese rice spirit到底是什么。有的像是说黄酒，有的像是说料酒，还有一条最接近的解释“Spirit is the actual term for liqour which in turn is not what you drink but half of the beverage. Chinese rice spirit would be fermented rice that is used to make ethenol. this is then distilled to make liquor. The chinese rice spirit is used to make Victory Gin”，其中直接提到《1984》中的“胜利牌琴酒”，说Chinese rice spirit 是发酵的大米、制作胜利琴酒的原材料,好像就是我们常说的米酒，但何来油腻的气味，我也弄不明白。也许正如你所说，他们喝到的米酒是不正宗的粗制滥造货，加工米酒的厨具不洁净，败坏了中国米酒的名声。　　　　 　　作者：要命一条　回复日期：　15:37:45　
　　　　　　温斯顿的胸腔一阵抽搐。每当看到葛斯登的面孔，他就会禁不住涌起百感交集的痛楚。那瘦削的犹太脸，头顶一大圈毛茸茸的白发，颌下一小缕山羊胡，看起来很机灵，但不知为何又显得生就可鄙；鼻子细长，尖端架着眼镜，一副年老昏聩相。整张脸看起来跟绵羊似的，连他的声音都是绵羊腔。葛斯登照常恶毒地攻击党的教义，言辞夸张荒谬，连小孩都能看穿他的意图；然而又貌似有理，让你感觉必须提高警惕：有些人觉悟没你这么高，可能会上当受蛊。　　　　————————————————————————————　　　　　　　　这段翻译得很经典　　=====　　感谢你的鼓励：）　　　　　　
　　作者：要命一条　回复日期：　15:09:47　 　　　　　　　　　　温斯顿径直朝楼梯走去~~~~他三十九岁，右脚踝患静脉曲张，只好缓慢向上爬，一路歇好几次。　　　　　　——————————————————————　　　　　　　　　　　　径直，一般来说用于描写脚力比较健壮的人为好，同一句话里，最后介绍他有静脉曲张，歇了好几次，前后看起来稍微突兀了一些。干脆把径直去掉如何？　　　　　　我不懂英文，只从译过的文字提一点意见。　　===================　　　　去掉也行，影响不大。之所以用这个词，是因为想突出温斯顿连试试电梯的念头都没有，他知道电梯向来都是摆设，因此根本不对这种公共设施抱任何幻想。　　至于脚力，温斯顿的确不是健壮的猛男，呵呵。但只是由于粗劣的生活条件和不能及时医治的疾病，才让他显得孱弱；其实像他这年龄的人，如果生活在正常环境下，应该能享受美好强健的生命。后文中他那虽悲哀但足够狂野的爱情，也说明他的身体还没有差到脆弱不堪的地步。你觉得呢？
　　这书刚度过，顶一个
　　　　　　呵呵，我是正宗的品酒行家，中国米酒肯定没有加油的，米酒怎么会有油腻味道嘛。无罪推定的话，那就只有他喝到假货这一个结果了。　　　　
　　prole：　　　　小老百姓　　怎么样？
　　卡夫卡李:　　谢谢，欢迎常来。　　　　要命：　　品酒行家呀，致敬！如你所说，正宗米酒肯定不会故意加油；估计是他们总喝到加工时不卫生的劣货，酿酒器具兼用来做中餐，平时洗刷不彻底，留有油渍，影响了酒的品质。　　　　斫轮翁：　　感谢你再次光临！“小老百姓”不错，原文想表达的大概是这个意思。不过还有两个小问题：一，从音韵角度考虑，prole是“proletariat ”的简写，在书中多次出现，我想把它译成两个中文字的短词，以确保译文整体的简洁流畅；二，从意义上讲，prole是三个社会阶层（核心d员、外围d员、prole）之一，占全国人口的绝大多数，不怎么受教育，像动物般自由，像动物般只有劳作和生育功能。。。却不像印度贱民那样明显地贴着卑贱标签，所以不便直接译成“贱民”；事实上又犹如human cattle，“群众、平民、贫民、百姓”等政治意味比较淡然中性的词语，又会在一定程度上柔化原著中prole的低下姿态。所以我觉得“贱民”过于浓烈，“百姓”又力度不足，不知哪个词能恰到好处地填充中间位置。纠缠甚久。　　后来有位liulaoshi建议译成“普罗”或“下民”，挺有意思的。你觉得怎样？如果你想到别的妙词，请一定继续指教。真的非常感谢：）：）　　
　　忽然觉得，prole很像我们平时说的P民、屁民。不过狠、不过弱，恰好这个程度。可惜这个词太网络了，语体色彩不很搭调：（
　　学到了很多；谢谢。　　　　　　草民；下民。
　　斫轮翁：　　“草民”也很恰切，谢谢！
　　In its
second minute
Hate rose to a frenzy.
People were leaping up and down in their
places and
shouting at the tops of their voices in an effort to drown the
maddening bleating voice that came from the
The little sandy-haired woman
had turned bright pink,
and her mouth
was opening and shutting like that of a landed
fish. Even O’Brien’s heavy
face was flushed. He was sitting very straight in his chair, his powerful chest swelling and quivering as though he were standing up to the assault of a wave. The dark-haired girl behind Winston had begun crying out ’Swine! Swine! Swine!’
and suddenly she picked up a heavy Newspeak dictionary and flung it at the screen.
It struck Goldstein’s no the voice continued
inexorably.
In a lucid moment Winston found
that he was shouting with the
kicking his heel violently
rung of his chair.
thing about the
Two Minutes
Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but, on the contrary, that it was impossible to avoid joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretence was always unnecessary. 　　仇恨会第二分钟就达到癫狂状态。人们在座位上蹿下跳，扯着嗓子拼命嘶喊，一心要压倒监屏上那令人发狂的嗥叫。小个子的黄发女人面色通红，嘴巴一张一合，像条搁浅的鱼。连奥博恩那凝重的脸都涨红了，他直挺挺坐在椅子上，胸膛有力地起伏颤抖，好像在经受巨浪的冲击。温斯顿身后的黑发女孩开始大吼“贱猪！贱猪！贱猪！”她忽然抄起一本厚厚的新话词典，狠狠朝监屏掷去，砸到葛斯登的鼻子，弹到地上，而他的声音仍不为所动地顽响。在神志清醒的一刹，温斯顿发现自己正在随别人一起叫喊，脚跟还暴烈地踹着椅子横档。两分钟仇恨的恐怖之处，不是你被迫装模作样，恰恰相反，是你注定会全情投入。不到三十秒，你就根本用不着伪装了。　　
　　A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, a desire to kill,
to torture, to smash
faces in with a sledge-hammer, seemed
to flow through the
whole group of people
like an electric current, turning one even against one’s will into a grimacing, screaming lunatic. And
rage that one felt was an abstract, undirected emotion which could be switched
from one object to another like the flame of a blowlamp.
Thus, at one moment Winston’s hatred was not turned against
Goldstein at all, but, on the contrary, against Big Brother, the Party, and the Thought P and at such moments his heart went out to the lonely, derided heretic on the screen, sole guardian of truth and sanity in a world of lies. And yet the very next instant he was at one with the people about him, and all that was said of Goldstein seemed to him to be true. At those
his secret loathing of Big Brother
changed into adoration, and Big Brother seemed to tower up, an invincible, fearless protector, standing like a rock against
the hordes of Asia, and Goldstein,
of his isolation, his helplessness, and the doubt that hung about his very existence, seemed like some sinister enchanter, capable by the mere power of his voice of wrecking the structure of civilization. 　　一阵恐惧和报复欲混杂的可怕快意，一阵杀戮、拷打、挥大锤砸人脸的渴望，像电流般击穿整个人群，把他们变成面目狰狞、死命嚎叫的疯子，不管他们是否情愿。但这种愤怒抽象又盲目不定，可以像喷灯火焰那样随意切换目标。于是有一刻，温斯顿的憎恶根本没针对葛斯登，而是反过来指向老大哥、党和思警；这时，他满心向着监屏上那备受嘲弄的孤独异端，感觉在这疯狂的谎言世界中，此人是真相和理智的唯一守护人。然而，一转眼他又和周围的人同仇敌忾，觉得对葛斯登的所有指责都千真万确；这时，他对老大哥的窃恨就变成了敬慕，老大哥的形象就顶天立地，变成所向披靡、英勇无畏的守护神，像巨石般抵挡着从亚洲蜂拥而来的暴徒；而葛斯登虽然孤立无援，连是否存在都说不定，却好像是个阴险狡诈的妖人，动动嘴就能摧毁整个世界文明。　　
　　又翻了一段。
　　嗯。要命大人好：）　　刚刚拜读《被小龙女迷奸的少年和他的八十年代》。
　　It was even possible,
at moments,
to switch one’s hatred this
way or that by a voluntary act. Suddenly, by the sort of violent effort with which one wrenches one’s head away from the pillow in a nightmare, Winston succeeded in transferring his hatred from the face on the screen to the dark-haired girl behind him. Vivid, beautiful hallucinations flashed through his mind. He would flog her to death with a rubber
truncheon.
He would tie her naked to a stake and shoot
her full of arrows like Saint Sebastian. He would ravish
cut her throat at the moment of climax. Better than
before, moreover, he realized why it was that he hated
her. He hated
her because she was young and pretty and sexless, because he wanted to go to bed with her and would never do so, because round
her sweet supple waist, which seemed to ask you to encircle it with your arm, there was only the odious scarlet
sash, aggressive symbol of chastity. 　　有时候，你甚至能刻意切换自己的仇恨对象。忽然间，温斯顿把仇恨从监屏上那张脸转到背后的黑发女孩身上，就像梦魇时猛力从枕上挺起脑袋那样。一连串美好逼真的幻象闪过他脑海。他拿橡皮警棍活活抽死她。他把她脱光了绑在木桩上，把她射得像圣色巴斯*那样满身乱箭。他强暴她，在高潮一刻割断她喉管。他还更清楚地意识到自己为何恨她。他恨她，因为她年轻漂亮却性冷淡，因为他想和她上床却永远无望，因为她那窈窕柔美的腰肢像故意诱人伸胳膊搂抱，却单单缠了条可恶的红腰带，那刺目的贞洁标志。　　　　（*译注：Saint Sebastian，基督教圣徒，文艺作品通常把他刻画成赤身被缚在木桩上、全身射满箭矢的形象）　　
　　The Hate rose to its climax.
voice of Goldstein had become an actual sheep’s bleat, and for an instant the face changed into that of a sheep. Then the sheep-face melted into the figure of a Eurasian soldier who seemed to be ad-vancing,
huge and terrible,
his sub-machine gun roaring,
and seeming to spring out of the
of the screen, so that some of the people
front row actually
flinched backwards
in their seats.
in the same moment, drawing a deep sigh of relief from everybody, the hostile figure melted into the face of Big Brother,
black-haired, black-moustachio’d, full of power and mysterious calm, and so vast that it almost filled up the screen. Nobody heard
what Big Brother was saying. It was merely a few words of encouragement, the sort of words that are uttered in the din of battle, not distinguishable individually
restoring confidence by the fact of being spoken. Then the face of Big Brother
faded away again, and instead
the three slogans of the Party stood out in bold capitals:　　WAR IS PEACE 　　FREEDOM IS SLAVERY 　　IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH 　　 　　仇恨达到了高潮。葛斯登的声音变成真正的绵羊咩咩叫，一刹间他的脸也变成了绵羊脸，接着羊脸又幻化成一个欧亚国士兵，庞大凶悍的躯体仿佛在大踏步前进，他的冲锋枪突突轰鸣，好像要捅破监屏冲出来，直吓得前排有人龟缩到椅背上。但就在此时，那恶毒的身影幻化成老大哥的脸，黑发黑髭须，充满威力和神秘的安详感，而且大得几乎占满监屏，让每个人都长长舒了口气。没人听清老大哥在说什么，不外乎几句鼓励话，是那种喧嚣战斗中的呼号，无法听得字字分明，但喊出来就能重振信心。然后老大哥的脸淡化了，党的三句口号以粗体大写凸显出来：　　战争即和平　　自由即奴役　　无知即力量　　
　　But the face of Big Brother
to persist for several seconds on the screen, as though the impact
that it had made
on everyone’s eyeballs was too vivid to wear off immediately. The little sandy-haired woman had flung herself forward
back of the chair in front of her. With a tremulous murmur that sounded
like ’My Saviour!’ she extended her arms towards the screen. Then she buried
her face in her hands. It was apparent that she was uttering a prayer. 　　At this
moment the entire
of people broke into a deep, slow, rhyth-mical chant of ’B-B! ... B-B!’ — over and
over again,
very slowly, with a long pause
between the first ’B’ and the second-a
heavy, murmurous sound,
some-how curiously savage, in the background of which one seemed to hear the stamp of naked feet and the
throbbing of tom-toms.
as thirty seconds they kept it up. It was a refrain that was often
heard in moments of overwhelming emotion. Partly it was a sort of hymn to the wisdom and majesty of Big Brother, but still more it was an act of self-hypnosis, a deliberate drown-ing of consciousness by means of rhythmic noise.
Winston’s
seemed to grow cold.　　而老大哥的脸仿佛在监屏上停留了好几秒，好像在大家视网膜上形成的印象太过鲜明，无法骤然消失。小个子棕发女人一头扑到她前面的椅背上，双臂伸向监屏，颤着嗓子轻唤“恩主啊！”什么的，接着把脸深埋到双掌里，显然是在祈祷。这时，整群人都爆发低沉、缓慢而极富节奏的吟唱：“大-哥！……大-哥！”，一遍接一遍，非常迟缓，“大”字和“哥”字之间停顿许久。这深沉的喃喃声，透着莫名的野蛮，还恍惚伴着赤脚顿地和手鼓咚咚的背景音。他们大约吟了三十秒之久，像那种激情澎湃时常唱的迭句。这是对老大哥英明威严的赞颂，但更是自我催眠，是刻意用有节奏的闹嚷将意识麻痹。　　
　　At this
moment the entire
of people broke into a deep, slow, rhyth-mical chant of ’B-B! ... B-B!’ — over and
over again,
very slowly, with a long pause
between the first ’B’ and the second-a
heavy, murmurous sound,
some-how curiously savage, in the background of which one seemed to hear the stamp of naked feet and the
throbbing of tom-toms.
as thirty seconds they kept it up. It was a refrain that was often
heard in moments of overwhelming emotion. Partly it was a sort of hymn to the wisdom and majesty of Big Brother, but still more it was an act of self-hypnosis, a deliberate drown-ing of consciousness by means of rhythmic noise.
　　这时，整群人都爆发低沉、缓慢而极富节奏的吟唱：“大-哥！……大-哥！”，一遍接一遍，非常迟缓，“大”字和“哥”字之间停顿许久。这深沉的喃喃声，透着莫名的野蛮，还恍惚伴着赤脚顿地和手鼓咚咚的背景音。他们大约吟了三十秒之久，像那种激情澎湃时常唱的迭句。这是对老大哥英明威严的赞颂，但更是自我催眠，是刻意用有节奏的闹嚷将意识麻痹。　　
　　（上面小半段发重了，请忽略）　　　　Winston’s
seemed to grow cold.In the
Two Minutes
Hate he could not
help sharing in the general delirium, but this sub-human chanting of ’B-B! ... B-B!’ always filled him with horror.
Of course he chanted with the
rest: it was impossible to do otherwise. To dissemble
feelings, to control your face, to do what everyone
else was doing, was an instinctive reaction.
was a space of a couple of seconds during which the expression of his eyes might conceivably
have betrayed him. And it
was exactly
moment that the
significant thing
happened — if, indeed, it did happen. 　　温斯顿只觉五脏六腑都凉了。在两分钟仇恨中，他会情不自禁跟大家一起谵妄迷狂；但这野人才会哼的“大-哥！……大-哥”声，总让他毛骨悚然。他当然跟别人一起哼，此外别无选择。掩饰内心感受、控制面部表情、随大家的一举一动照做，已经是本能反应。但也许有几秒钟的时间裂缝，他可能被自己的眼神暴露了心思。恰在这电光石火的一瞬，那件大事发生了——假如真有这么回事的话。　　
　　学习了！
　　波涛上的舞者:　　欢迎常来：）　　　　　　　Momentarily he caught O’Brien’s eye. O’Brien had stood up. He had taken off his spectacles and was in the
act of resettling them on his nose with his characteristic gesture. But there was a fraction of a second when their eyes met, and for as long as it took
to happen Winston knew — yes, he knew! — that O’Brien was thinking the same thing as himself. An unmistakable message had passed. It was as though their two minds had opened and the thoughts were flowing from one into
through their eyes. ’I am with
you,’ O’Brien seemed to be saying to him. ’I know precisely what
you are feeling.
I know all about
your contempt, your hatred, your disgust. But don’t worry, I am on your side!’
flash of intelligence
was gone, and O’Brien’s face was as inscrutable as everybody else’s. 　　他忽然看到奥博恩的眼神。奥博恩已经站起来，摘了眼镜，正在用招牌动作把它在鼻梁上端一端。但就在这电光石火的刹那，他们四目相碰，温斯顿立即明白——没错，他明白！奥博恩的想法和他一样。他们交换的讯息无可置疑，犹如两人双双打开心门，这念头顺着他们的眼神流到对方心里。奥博恩似乎对他说：“我跟你一伙。我完全明白你的感受。你的轻蔑、你的憎恨、你的嫌恶，我都清楚。但不用怕，我跟你一伙！”然而这心念一闪即逝，奥博恩的脸立即跟大家一样无可捉摸了。　　
　　That was all, and he was already uncertain whether it had happened. Such incidents
had any sequel. All that they did was
to keep alive in him the belief, or hope, that others
besides himself were the enemies of the Party. Perhaps the
of vast underground conspiracies
were true after all — perhaps the Brotherhood really existed! It was impossible, in spite of the endless arrests and confessions and
executions,
to be sure that the
Brotherhood was not simply a myth.
Some days he believed in it, some days not. There was no evidence, only fleeting glimpses that might mean anything or nothing: snatches of overheard conversation, faint scribbles on lavatory walls — once, even, when two strangers met,
a small movement of the
hand which had looked as though it might be a signal of recognition.
It was all guesswork:
likely he had imagined everything. He had gone back to his cubicle without looking at O’Brien again. The
idea of following up
their momentary contact hardly crossed his mind.
It would have been inconceivably dangerous even if he had known how to set about
doing it. For a second, two seconds, they had exchanged an equivocal glance, and that was the end of the story. But even that was a memorable event, in the locked loneliness in which one had to live. 　　这就是事件的全部经过，他已经开始怀疑到底是不是真的。这种小意外绝不会有下文，唯一的作用是让他坚持信念，或者说希望，即除他之外还有别人与党为敌。关于大型地下阴谋集团的传言，也许是实话——也许真的有兄弟会！虽然逮捕、招供和处决没完没了，但谁都无法断言兄弟会是个纯粹的神话。有些日子他相信，有些日子不信。没有证据，只有飘渺的眼神，也许意味深长，也许空无一物；无意间听到的只言片语、厕所墙上若隐若现的涂划，甚至有时候两个陌生人相遇，一个小小的手部动作都像是打招呼的暗号。这全凭猜测，很可能一切都是他的幻想。他回到格子间，一眼都没再看奥博恩。瞬间的接触已结束，他没什么后续行动的念头。这种事，哪怕他知道如何着手，也危险得不可思议。就那一两秒，他们交换了含糊的眼神，仅此而已。然而，无奈存活在牢不可破的孤独中，连这小插曲都算重大事件了。　　
　　That was all, and he was already uncertain whether it had happened. Such incidents
had any sequel. All that they did was
to keep alive in him the belief, or hope, that others
besides himself were the enemies of the Party. Perhaps the
of vast underground conspiracies
were true after all — perhaps the Brotherhood really existed! It was impossible, in spite of the endless arrests and confessions and
executions,
to be sure that the
Brotherhood was not simply a myth.
Some days he believed in it, some days not. There was no evidence, only fleeting glimpses that might mean anything or nothing: snatches of overheard conversation, faint scribbles on lavatory walls — once, even, when two strangers met,
a small movement of the
hand which had looked as though it might be a signal of recognition.
It was all guesswork:
likely he had imagined everything. He had gone back to his cubicle without looking at O’Brien again. The
idea of following up
their momentary contact hardly crossed his mind.
It would have been inconceivably dangerous even if he had known how to set about
doing it. For a second, two seconds, they had exchanged an equivocal glance, and that was the end of the story. But even that was a memorable event, in the locked loneliness in which one had to live. 　　这就是事件的全部经过，他已经开始怀疑到底是不是真的。这种小意外绝不会有下文，唯一的作用是让他坚持信念，或者说希望，即除他之外还有别人与党为敌。关于大型地下阴谋集团的传言，也许是实话——也许真的有兄弟会！虽然逮捕、招供和处决没完没了，但谁都无法断言兄弟会是个纯粹的神话。有些日子他相信，有些日子不信。没有证据，只有飘渺的眼神，也许意味深长，也许空无一物；无意间听到的只言片语、厕所墙上若隐若现的涂划，甚至有时候两个陌生人相遇，一个小小的手部动作都像是打招呼的暗号。这全凭猜测，很可能一切都是他的幻想。他回到格子间，一眼都没再看奥博恩。瞬间的接触已结束，他没什么后续行动的念头。这种事，哪怕他知道如何着手，也危险得不可思议。就那一两秒，他们交换了含糊的眼神，仅此而已。然而，无奈存活在牢不可破的孤独中，连这小插曲都算重大事件了。　　
　　速度很快啊，　　有些跟不上啦
　　谢谢LZ，只看过中文版的这次来学习学习　　经典著作，建议和动物农场结合起来看
　　翁美人：　　忽然想这样叫你，呵呵。烟花放得开心吧？今晚真欢：）　　有两次不小心发重了，是不是形成了速度很快的错觉呢？小预告：第一章刚译完，马上整体梳理下，去掉英文部分一股脑贴上来，供痛快阅读。　　　　ninja_zxh：　　谢谢，欢迎多来。你读着气不顺意不达的地方，请一定指出。正需要没看原著的人，从纯中文角度帮忙挑挑毛病呢，多谢啦。　　嗯，动物农场！一下子读完，几乎是目瞪口呆，然后翻1984，竟然更呆……
　　Winston roused
himself and
sat up straighter. He let out
a belch. The
gin was rising from his stomach. 　　温斯一激灵，坐直了身子。他打了个嗝，琴酒的劲头正从胃里泛起。　　　　His eyes re-focused on the
He discovered that while he sat helplessly musing he had
also been writing,
as though by automatic action. And
it was no longer the same cramped, awkward handwriting as before. His pen had slid voluptuously over the smooth
printing in large neat capitals 　　DOWN
WITH BIG BROTHER 　　DOWN
WITH BIG BROTHER 　　DOWN
WITH BIG BROTHER 　　DOWN
WITH BIG BROTHER 　　DOWN
WITH BIG BROTHER 　　over and over again, filling half a page.　　他再定睛看那张纸，发现自己刚才无助地坐着沉思时，手一直在写，像机械动作般。写出的字，也不再像原先那样笨拙难辨。他的钢笔快意十足地滑过光洁的纸面，整整齐齐地用大写印刷体字母写下大字，一遍接一遍，半张纸都写满了：　　打倒老大哥　　打倒老大哥　　打倒老大哥　　打倒老大哥　　打倒老大哥　　
　　（谢谢孙旭诞大哥，请多多指教）　　　　He could not help feeling a twinge of panic.
It was absurd,
since the writing of those particular words was not more dangerous than the initial act of opening the
diary, but for a moment he was tempted to tear
spoiled pages and abandon
the enterprise altogether. 　　他不禁感到刺痛般恐慌。倒也荒唐，因为写这些字句，并不比开写日记本身危险多少；可是有一会儿，他真想撕掉这写坏的几页，再不写什么日记了。　　　　　　He did not do so, however, because
he knew that it was useless. Whether he wrote DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER, or whether he refrained from writing it, made no difference. Whether he went on with the
diary, or whether he did not go on with it, made no difference. The Thought Police would get him just the same.
committed — would
still have committed, even if he had never set pen to paper
— the essential
crime that contained
all others in itself. Thoughtcrime, they called it. Thoughtcrime was not a thing that could be concealed for ever. You might dodge successfully for a while, even for years, but sooner or later they
were bound to get you. 　　但他没有这么做，因为他知道没用。他写了“打倒老大哥”也罢，忍住没写也罢，结局都一样。他继续写日记也罢，停下不写也罢，结局都一样。思想警察照样会拿下他。他已经犯下弥天大罪，这包含一切罪过；即使他从未动笔，也有同等罪责。这就是他们所谓的思想罪。思想罪无法永远隐藏。你也许能瞒一阵子，甚至瞒几年，但他们迟早会逮住你。　　
　　It was always at night — the arrests invariably happened at night.
The sudden jerk out of sleep, the rough hand shaking your shoulder, the lights glaring in your eyes, the ring of hard faces round the bed. In the vast majority of cases there was no trial, no report of the arrest.
simply disappeared, always during the
night. Your
name was removed from the
registers, every record of everything you had ever done was wiped out, your one-time existence was denied and then forgotten.
You were abolished, annihilated:
was the usual word. 　　总是深夜，逮捕总发生在深夜里。忽然从睡梦中惊醒，有粗手推搡你肩膀，强光刺痛你眼睛，一圈阴沉的人脸围在床边。绝大多数情况下，不经审判，也没有抓捕记录，人就这么活活消失了，而且总是在夜里。你的名字从户籍册抹去，你所有的档案一扫而光，你一度的存在也被否认，接着被遗忘。你就这样被消除、湮灭，这就是通常所谓的蒸发。　　　　　　For a moment he was seized by a kind of hysteria. He began writing in a hurried untidy scrawl: 　　theyll
me i don’t
care theyll
shoot me in the
back of the neck i dont care down with big brother they always shoot you in the back of the neck i dont care down with big brother 　　突然间他竭斯底里无以自持，急促又潦草地狂写起来：　　他们会毙了我我无所谓他们会从后脑勺给我一枪我无所谓打倒老大哥他们总朝你后脑勺开枪我无所谓打倒老大哥　　
　　He sa