1《文学翻译》课程试卷

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开卷考试，完成作业，雷同卷一律打零分，严禁相互抄袭。

本试卷册和答题纸用A4纸分别打印输出，装订在一起上交，答题纸上写清个人信息和试题序号。

2013年10月10日统一上交纸质试卷和答题纸。延误或不交作业者无学分。 I Translate the following selections into Chinese. ( 35 points)

1 When a writer calls his work a Romance，it need hardly be observed that he wishes to claim a certain latitude，both as to its fashion and material，which he would not have felt himself entitled to assume had he professed to be writing a Novel. The latter form of composition is presumed to aim at a very minute fidelity，not merely to the possible，but to the probable and ordinary course of man's experience. The former——while，as a work of art，it must rigidly subject itself to laws， and while it sins unpardonably so far as it may swerve aside from the truth of the human heart——has fairly a right to present that truth under circumstances，to a great extent，of the writer's own choosing or creation. If he think fit，also，he may so manage his atmospherical medium as to bring out or mellow the lights and deepen and enrich the shadows of the picture. He will be wise，no doubt，to make a very moderate use of the privileges here stated，and， especially，to mingle the Marvelous rather as a slight，delicate，and evanescent flavor，than as any portion of the actual substance of the dish offered to the public. He can hardly be said，however， to commit a literary crime even if he disregard this caution.

In the present work，the author has proposed to himself——but with what success， fortunately，it is not for him to judge——to keep undeviatingly within his immunities. The point of view in which this tale comes under the Romantic definition lies in the attempt to connect a bygone time with the very present that is flitting away from us. It is a legend prolonging itself， from an epoch now gray in the distance，down into our own broad daylight，and bringing along with it some of its legendary mist，which the reader，according to his pleasure，may either disregard，or allow it to float almost imperceptibly about the characters and events for the sake of a picturesque effect. The narrative，it may be，is woven of so humble a texture as to require this advantage，and，at the same time，to render it the more difficult of attainment.. Many writers lay very great stress upon some definite moral purpose，at which they profess to aim their works. Not to be deficient in this particular，the author has provided himself with a moral，——the truth， namely， that the wrong-doing of one generation lives into the successive ones，and，divesting itself of every temporary advantage，becomes a pure and uncontrollable mischief；and he would feel it a singular gratification if this romance might effectually convince mankind——or，indeed，any one man——of the folly of tumbling down an avalanche of ill-gotten gold，or real estate，on the heads of an unfortunate posterity，thereby to maim and crush them， until the accumulated mass shall be scattered abroad in its original atoms. In good faith， however，he is not sufficiently imaginative to flatter himself with the slightest hope of this kind. When romances do really teach anything，or produce any effective operation，it is usually through a far more subtile process than the ostensible one. The author has considered it hardly worth his while，therefore，relentlessly to impale the story with its moral as with an iron rod，——or， rather，as by sticking a pin through a butterfly，——thus at once depriving it of life，and causing it to stiffen in an ungainly and unnatural attitude. A high truth，indeed，fairly，finely，and skillfully

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wrought out，brightening at every step，and crowning the final development of a work of fiction， may add an artistic glory，but is never any truer，and seldom any more evident，at the last page than at the first.

The reader may perhaps choose to assign an actual locality to the imaginary events of this narrative. If permitted by the historical connection，——which，though slight，was essential to his plan，——the author would very willingly have avoided anything of this nature. Not to speak of other objections，it exposes the romance to an inflexible and exceedingly dangerous species of criticism，by bringing his fancy-pictures almost into positive contact with the realities of the moment. It has been no part of his object，however，to describe local manners，nor in any way to meddle with the characteristics of a community for whom he cherishes a proper respect and a natural regard. He trusts not to be considered as unpardonably offending by laying out a street that infringes upon nobody's private rights，and appropriating a lot of land which had no visible owner，and building a house of materials long in use for constructing castles in the air. The personages of the tale——though they give themselves out to be of ancient stability and considerable prominence——are really of the author's own making，or at all events，of his own mixing； their virtues can shed no lustre， nor their defects redound， in the remotest degree，to the discredit of the venerable town of which they profess to be inhabitants. He would be glad， therefore，if-especially in the quarter to which he alludes-the book may be read strictly as a Romance，having a great deal more to do with the clouds overhead than with any portion of the actual soil of the County of Essex. （988words, 20 points）

2 A Grief Ago

A grief ago,

She who was who I hold, the fats and the flower, Or, water-lammed, from the scythe-sided thorn, Hell wind and sea,

A stem cementing, wrestled up the tower, Rose maid and male,

Or, master venus, through the paddler's bowl Sailed up the sun;

Who is my grief,

A chrysalis unwrinkling on the iron,

Wrenched by my fingerman, the leaden bud Shot through the leaf,

Was who was folded on the rod the aaron Road east to plague,

The horn and ball of water on the frog Housed in the side.

And she who lies,

Like exodus a chapter from the garden, Brand of the lily's anger on her ring,

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Tugged through the days

Her ropes of heritage, the wars of pardon, On field and sand

The twelve triangles of the cherub wind Engraving going.

Who then is she,

She holding me? The people's sea drives on her, Drives out the father from the caesared camp; The dens of shape

Shape all her whelps with the long voice of water, That she I have,

The country-handed grave boxed into love, Rise before dark.

The night is near,

A nitric shape that leaps her, time and acid; I tell her this: before the suncock cast Her bone to fire,

Let her inhale her dead, through seed and solid Draw in their seas,

So cross her hand with their grave gipsy eyes, And close her fist. （241words, 15 points）

II Translate the Following selections into English. (45 points)

1流言总是鄙陋的。它有着粗俗的内心，它难免是自甘下贱的。它是阴沟里的水，被人使用

过，污染过的。它是理不直气不壮，只能背地里窃窃喳喳的那种。它是没有责任感，不承担后果的，所以它便有些随心所欲，如水漫流。它均是经不起推敲，也没人有心去推敲的。它有些像言语的垃圾，不过，垃圾里有时也可淘出真货色的。它们是那些正经话的作了废的边角料，老黄叶片，米里边的稗子。它们往往有着不怎么正经的面目，坏事多，好事少，不干净，是个膀鹏货。它们其实是用最下等的材料制造出来的，这种下等材料，连上海西区公寓里的小姐都免不了堆积了一些的。但也唯独这些下等的见不得人的材料里，会有一些真东西。这些真东西是体面后头的东西，它们是说给自己也不敢听的，于是就拿来，制作流言了。要说流言的好，便也就在这真里面了。这真却有着假的面目；是在假里做真的，虚里做实，总有些改头换面，声东击西似的。这真里是有点做人的胆子的，是不怕丢脸的胆子，放着人不做却去做鬼的胆子，唱反调的胆子。这胆子里头则有着一些哀意了。这哀意是不遂心不称愿的哀，有些气在里面的，哀是哀，心却是好高骛远的，唯因这好高骛远，才带来了失落的哀意。因此，这哀意也是粗鄙的哀意，不是唐诗宋词式的，而是街头切口的一种。这哀意便可见出了重量，它是沉痛的，是哀意的积淀物，不是水面上的风花雪月。流言其实都是沉底的东西，不是手淘万洗，百炼千锤的，而是本来就有，后来也有，洗不净，炼不精的，是做人的一点韧，打断骨头连着筋，打碎牙齿咽下肚，死皮赖脸的那点韧。流言难免是虚张声势，危言耸听，鬼鬼祟祟一起来，它们闻风而动，随风而去，摸不到头，抓不到尾。然而，这城市里的真心，却唯有到流言里去找的。无论这城市的外表有多华美，心却是一颗粗鄙的心，

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那心是寄在流言里的，流言是寄在上海的弄堂里的。这东方巴黎遍布远东的神奇传说，剥开壳看，其实就是流言的芯子。就好像珍珠的芯子，其实是粗糙的沙粒，流言就是这颗沙粒一样的东西。（805words, 20 points）

2 以前我是个爱仰望天空的人，苍蓝的天壁总是给我求生的勇气，而现在我喜欢深邃的夜空，包容一切的黑暗和隐忍，流下的眼泪也没人看见。《彼岸花》里没有尽头的漂泊让我难过，也许一个人最好的样子就是平静一点，哪怕一个人生活，穿越一个又一个城市，走过一条又一条街道，仰望一片又一片天空，见证一场又一场的别离。生离死别都是别人的热闹，我有我自己的孤寂。有时候我站在夜晚空旷的操场上我就在想，我要的究竟是怎样的生活。我不喜欢说话却每天说最多的话，我不喜欢笑却总笑个不停。身边每个人都说我的生活好快乐，于是我也就认为自己真的快乐。可是为什么我会在一大群朋友中突然地就沉默，为什么在人群中看到个相似的背影就难过，看见秋天树木疯狂地掉叶子我就忘记了说话;看见天色渐晚路上暖黄色的灯火我就忘记了自己原来的方向?那个会预言的巫师呢?你在哪儿，请你告诉我。而最有意义的生活是什么，也请你告诉我。当爱丽丝丢失了通往仙境的钥匙，她是应该难过地往回走，还是蹲下来难过地哭泣?而我还是得继续走下去，而某个人的话必定成为我的信仰，我会胸中装着这样的信仰一个人独自地走下去，没有恐惧。那些在我的生命中绽放过的花朵，那些在我头顶飞逝而过的流星，那些曾经温暖的诺言和温和的笑容，那些明亮的眼神和善良的任性，一切成为我难以抚平的伤痕和无法忘却的纪念。（550words, 15 points） 3 距离

我们置身在极高的两座山脊上 遥遥的彼此不能相望

却能听见你温柔的声音传来 云雾缭绕峡谷陡峭

小心啊你说我们是置身在

一步都不可以走错的山脊上啊

所以即使是隔着那样远 那样远的距离

你也始终不肯纵容我始终守着 在那个年轻的夜里所定下的戒律

小心啊你说

我们一步都不可以走错 可是有的时候

严厉的你也会忽然忘记 也会回头来殷殷询问 荷花的消息和那年的 山月的踪迹

而我能怎样回答你呢 林火已熄悲风凛冽

我哽咽的心终于从高处坠落

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你还在叮咛还在说 小心啊我们

我们一步都不可以走错

所有的岁月都已变成 一篇虚幻的神话任它 绿草如茵花开似锦 也终于都要纷纷落下 在坠落的昏眩里

有谁能给我一句满意的解答

永别了啊

孤立在高高的山脊上的你 如果从开始就是一种 错误那么为什么

为什么它会错得那样的美丽 （314words, 10 points）

III Please write an essay of about 300 words on the topic of “untranslatability’’ in literary translation. In this essay, you are expected first of all to list some cases of “untranslatability’’ in literary translation, and give your translation strategy to deal with the difficulties. Please always support your viewpoints with examples and argue in logic. (20 points)

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