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战争与和平　
War and Peace

英文中文双语对照双语交替

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CHAPTER XX	第二十章

MOSCOW meanwhile was empty. There was still people in the city; a fiftieth part of all the former inhabitants still remained in it, but it was empty.	莫斯科此时已成为一座空城。人还是有的，尚有五十分之一的先前的居民留了下来，它空空如也。它是空的，就像衰败的失去蜂王的蜂巢一样。
It was deserted as a dying, queenless hive is deserted.	失去蜂王的蜂巢里面已经没有生命，但从表面来看它仍是活的，像其余的蜂巢一样。
In a queenless hive there is no life left. Yet at a superficial glance it seems as much alive as other hives.	蜜蜂在正午炎热的阳光下，依然欢快地绕着失去蜂王的蜂巢飞舞，就像蜜蜂围绕其余的活蜂巢飞舞一样；它依然从远处散发着蜜糖的芬香，依然有蜜蜂飞进飞出。但是只要仔细地往里瞧瞧，便会明白，这座蜂巢里没有了生命。蜜蜂已不像在活的蜂巢的蜜蜂那样飞舞了，那种香气，那种声音已不再使养蜂人为之动容。养蜂人敲敲患病的蜂巢的外壁，回应他的不再是先前那种立即齐声的回应：数千只蜜蜂发出嗡嗡声，它们威武地收紧腹部，快速地鼓动双翼发出充满生命力的气浪声；而此刻回应他的则是支离破碎的，从空巢的一些地方发出的沉闷的嘶嘶声。不再像从前那样从出入孔散发醉人的蜜糖和毒液的浓郁的芬香，不再蒸发出腾腾的热气，而在蜜香中却混合着一股衰败腐朽的气味。出入孔旁，再也没有随时准备高翘尾椎发出警号拼死自卫的兵蜂。再也感觉不到均匀而平静的劳作的颤动——听不到那沸水冒气泡般的声音，听到的唯在无规律的散乱无序的嘈杂声。在出入孔胆怯而且狡猾地飞进飞出的，是黑色椭圆、粘满蜜糖的强盗蜂，它们不整人，遇危险便溜走。以前是带着花蜜飞进、空身飞出的蜜蜂，现在则带蜜飞出。养蜂人打开底巢向蜂箱底部张望。再不见从前一直悬垂至底部的一溜溜乌黑发亮、辛勤劳作的蜜蜂，它们彼此抱住腿，不间断地哼着劳动的歌，抽取着蜂蜡，相反，只见些昏昏欲睡的干瘪的蜜蜂，茫然地在底部和巢壁上爬来爬去。再不见涂了一层蜡并由蜂翅扇得干干净净的底板，在底板只有蜂房的碎块，粪便，半死的偶尔伸伸腿的蜜蜂及死后而来消除的蜜蜂。
In the hot rays of the midday sun the bees soar as gaily around the queenless hive as around other living hives; from a distance it smells of honey like the rest, and bees fly into and out of it just the same. Yet one has but to watch it a little to see that there is no life in the hive. The flight of the bees is not as in living hives, the smell and the sound that meet the beekeeper are changed.	养蜂人打开顶巢查看蜂箱的上端。本应有一排排密集的蜜蜂，紧贴蜂室为蜂蛹保暖，可是他所看到的精巧而复杂的蜂室的杰作，已没有蜂蛹存在时的清洁的样子。一切都是空荡荡的脏兮兮的。作为蜂贼的黑蜂，偷偷地迅速地在这些杰作上乱窜；自家的蜜蜂显得干瘪、短小、枯萎，像是衰老了，很慢地爬着，不去打扰谁，无所欲求，失去了生存意识。雄蜂、胡蜂、丸花蜂和蝴蝶徒劳地撞击着巢壁。在蜂蛹已死亡的巢础和蜜糖之间，偶尔可听到这里那里传来忿恨的嗫嚅声；某处又有两只蜜蜂照老习惯和凭记忆来清扫蜂巢，吃力地超负荷地把死蜂和丸花蜂拽出窝去，并不知道为什么要这们做。在另一个角落，另外两只老蜂动作迟缓地厮打着，或者清洗着身子，或者互相喂食，并不知道这样做是仇恨还是友爱。在第三处，一群蜜蜂互相挤压，向一个牺牲品进攻，打它，挤它，那只垂危或已死亡的蜜蜂像茸毛一样，从上面掉到蜜蜂尸体堆中去。养蜂人转动中间两格蜂室看看蜂窝。再也看不见一圈圈生气蓬勃的油黑的蜜蜂背靠背蹲在蜂室里，保守着生育的最高秘密，他看到的是凄凉的半死不活的睡着了的空壳般的蜜蜂。它们几乎全部死亡，只是不自觉而已，在它们守卫过而现已不复存在的圣地呆着。它们身上散发出腐烂的死亡的气息。它们当中，只有一些尚能动弹，直挺挺地立着，无力地飞翔，落在敌人手上，而无力一螫敌人而后死去，其余死亡了的，则像鱼鳞一样，轻轻飘落于窝底。养蜂人关上蜂桶，用粉笔作上记号，到时候砸毁它、烧掉它。
When the beekeeper strikes the wall of the sick hive, instead of the instant, unanimous response, the buzzing of tens of thousands of bees menacingly arching their backs, and by the rapid stroke of their wings making that whirring, living sound, he is greeted by a disconnected, droning hum from different parts of the deserted hive. From the alighting board comes not as of old the spirituous, fragrant smell of honey and bitterness, and the whiff of heat from the multitudes within. A smell of chill emptiness and decay mingles with the scent of honey. Around the entrance there is now no throng of guards, arching their backs and trumpeting the menace, ready to die in its defence. There is heard no more the low, even hum, the buzz of toil, like the singing of boiling water, but the broken, discordant uproar of disorder comes forth. The black, long-shaped, honey-smeared workers fly timidly and furtively in and out of the hive: they do not sting, but crawl away at the sight of danger. Of old they flew in only with their bags of honey, and flew out empty: now they fly out with their burdens.	莫斯科就是这样，空空荡荡的，这当儿疲乏而又烦躁的眉头紧锁的拿破仑，在度支部土墙旁来回走着，等候代表团的到来，一项他认为虽系表面文章却不可缺少的礼节——
The beekeeper opens the lower partition and peeps into the lower half of the hive. Instead of the clusters of black, sleek bees, clinging on each other's legs, hanging to the lower side of the partition, and with an unbroken hum of toil building at the wax, drowsy, withered bees wander listlessly about over the roof and walls of the hive. Instead of the cleanly glued-up floor, swept by the bees' wings, there are now bits of wax, excrement, dying bees feebly kicking, and dead bees lying not cleared away on the floor.	在莫斯科各个角落，仍有人在不理智地蝇营狗苟一如往昔，而且不知其所为何事。
The beekeeper opens the upper door and examines the super of the hive. In place of close rows of bees, sealing up every gap left in the combs and fostering the brood, he sees only the skilful, complex, edifice of combs, and even in this the virginal purity of old days is gone. All is forsaken; and soiled, black, stranger bees scurry swiftly and stealthily about the combs in search of plunder; while the dried-up, shrunken, listless, old-looking bees of the hive wander slowly about, doing nothing to hinder them, having lost every desire and sense of life. Drones, gadflies, wasps and butterflies flutter about aimlessly, brushing their wings against the walls of the hive. Here and there, between the cells full of dead brood and honey, is heard an angry buzz; here and there a couple of bees from old habit and custom, though they know not why they do it, are cleaning the hive, painfully dragging away a dead bee or a wasp, a task beyond their strength. In another corner two other old bees are languidly fighting or cleaning themselves or feeding one another, themselves unaware whether with friendly or hostile intent. Elsewhere a crowd of bees, squeezing one another, is falling upon some victim, beating and crushing it; and the killed or enfeebled bee drops slowly, light as a feather, on to the heap of corpses. The beekeeper parts the two centre partitions to look at the nursery.	当有人以十足的小心呈报拿破仑，说莫斯科已变成一座空城的时候，他生气地看了一眼禀告人，背转身去继续沉默地来回地走着，
Instead of the dense, black rings of thousands of bees, sitting back to back, watching the high mysteries of the work of generation, he sees hundreds of dejected, lifeless, and slumbering wrecks of bees. Almost all have died, unconscious of their coming end, sitting in the holy place, which they had watched—now no more. They reek of death and corruption. But a few of them still stir, rise up, fly languidly and settle on the hand of the foe, without the spirit to die stinging him; the rest are dead and as easily brushed aside as fishes' scales. The beekeeper closes the partition, chalks a mark on the hive, and choosing his own time, breaks it up and burns it.	“马车。”地说，同值日副官一道乘上轿式马车向郊区驶去。
So was Moscow deserted, as Napoleon, weary, uneasy and frowning, paced up and down at the Kamerkolezhsky wall awaiting that merely external, but still to his mind essential observance of the proprieties—a deputation.	“Moscon　déserte．Quel　événement　invraisemBblable！”①他自言自语。
Some few men were still astir in odd corners of Moscow, aimlessly following their old habits, with no understanding of what they were doing.	他没有进城，驻跸于多罗戈米洛夫郊区一家旅舍。
When, with due circumspectness, Napoleon was informed that Moscow was deserted, he looked wrathfully at his informant, and turning his back on him, went on pacing up and down in silence.	Le　coup　de　thèǎtre　avait　raté②．
“My carriage,” he said. He sat down in his carriage beside the adjutant on duty, and drove into the suburbs.	①莫斯科空了。这事太不可能！
“Moscow deserted! What an incredible event!” he said to himself.	②这场戏的结局演得不成功。
He did not drive right into the town, but put up for the night at an inn in the Dorogomilov suburb. The dramatic scene had not come off.