The Piece of String

It was market-day, and from all the country round Goderville the peasants and their wives were coming toward the town. The men walked slowly, throwing the whole body forward at every step of their long, crooked legs. They were deformed from pushing the plough which makes the left-shoulder higher, and bends their figures side-ways; from reaping the grain, when they have to spread their legs so as to keep on their feet. Their starched blue blouses, glossy as though varnished, ornamented at collar and cuffs with a little embroidered design and blown out around their bony bodies, looked very much like balloons about to soar, whence issued two arms and two feet.

那天是集市日，戈德维尔周围乡下的农民和他们的妻子都朝着镇上赶来。男人们走得很慢，随着那双又长又弯的腿每迈一步，整个身子都往前一冲。他们因为长年推犁而变了形，左肩比右肩高，身子也歪向一边；又因为割麦时得叉开双腿才能站稳，身形也因此走了样。他们那浆得笔挺的蓝布罩衫，光亮得如同上了漆一般，领口和袖口绣着小巧的花纹，鼓胀地罩在他们瘦骨嶙峋的身躯外，看上去很像一只只即将升空的气球，从中伸出两条胳膊和两只脚来。

Some of these fellows dragged a cow or a calf at the end of a rope. And just behind the animal followed their wives beating it over the back with a leaf-covered branch to hasten its pace, and carrying large baskets out of which protruded the heads of chickens or ducks. These women walked more quickly and energetically than the men, with their erect, dried-up figures, adorned with scanty little shawls pinned over their flat bosoms, and their heads wrapped round with a white cloth, enclosing the hair and surmounted by a cap.

这些人里有几个用绳子牵着一头牛或一头小牛犊。就在牲口后面，跟着他们的妻子，用一根带叶的树枝抽打牛背催它快走，手里还提着大篮子，篮子里露出鸡鸭的脑袋。这些女人走起路来比男人更快、更有劲，身形挺直而干瘦，胸前平坦，别着一条条寒酸的小披肩，头上裹着白布，把头发包在里面，上面再戴一顶帽子。

Now a char-a-banc passed by, jogging along behind a nag and shaking up strangely the two men on the seat, and the woman at the bottom of the cart who held fast to its sides to lessen the hard jolting.

这时一辆双轮马车驶过，跟在一匹瘦马后面颠簸而行，车上坐着的两个男人被摇晃得东倒西歪，车厢底部的女人紧紧抓住车厢两侧，好减轻那颠簸带来的震动。

In the market-place at Goderville was a great crowd, a mingled multitude of men and beasts. The horns of cattle, the high, long-napped hats of wealthy peasants, the head-dresses of the women came to the surface of that sea. And the sharp, shrill, barking voices made a continuous, wild din, while above it occasionally rose a huge burst of laughter from the sturdy lungs of a merry peasant or a prolonged bellow from a cow tied fast to the wall of a house.

戈德维尔的集市广场上人潮汹涌，人畜混杂，挤成一片。牛角、富裕农民那顶顶长毛高帽、女人们的头巾，一样样都浮在那片人海的表面上。尖利刺耳的叫卖声汇成一片持续不断的喧嚣，其间不时冒出某个健壮农民从肺腑深处爆发出的一阵大笑，或是一头拴在屋墙上的牛拖长了声调的哞叫。

It all smelled of the stable, of milk, of hay and of perspiration, giving off that half-human, half-animal odor which is peculiar to country folks.

空气里满是牲口棚、牛奶、干草和汗水的气味，散发出一种乡下人特有的、半是人味半是兽味的气息。

Maitre Hauchecorne, of Breaute, had just arrived at Goderville and was making his way toward the square when he perceived on the ground a little piece of string. Maitre Hauchecorne, economical as are all true Normans, reflected that everything was worth picking up which could be of any use, and he stooped down, but painfully, because he suffered from rheumatism. He took the bit of thin string from the ground and was carefully preparing to roll it up when he saw Maitre Malandain, the harness maker, on his doorstep staring at him. They had once had a quarrel about a halter, and they had borne each other malice ever since.

布罗特镇的欧什科纳师傅刚到戈德维尔，正往广场走去，忽然瞥见地上有一小段绳子。欧什科纳师傅像所有真正的诺曼底人一样节俭，心想凡是能派上用场的东西都值得捡起来，于是他弯下腰去——却弯得很吃力，因为他患有风湿病。他从地上捡起那段细细的绳子，正小心翼翼地准备把它卷起来，忽然看见马具匠马朗丹师傅站在自家门口盯着他看。他们俩早年曾为了一副马笼头闹过纠纷，从那以后便一直互相记恨。

Maitre Hauchecorne was overcome with a sort of shame at being seen by his enemy picking up a bit of string in the road. He quickly hid it beneath his blouse and then slipped it into his breeches, pocket, then pretended to be still looking for something on the ground which he did not discover and finally went off toward the market-place, his head bent forward and his body almost doubled in two by rheumatic pains.

欧什科纳师傅被自己的仇家撞见在路上捡一段绳子，顿时生出一种羞愧之感。他连忙把绳子藏进罩衫里，接着又塞进裤兜，然后假装还在地上找什么东西，装出一副没找到的样子，最后才朝集市走去，因风湿疼痛而低垂着头、几乎弯成两截地走着。

He was at once lost in the crowd, which kept moving about slowly and noisily as it chaffered and bargained. The peasants examined the cows, went off, came back, always in doubt for fear of being cheated, never quite daring to decide, looking the seller square in the eye in the effort to discover the tricks of the man and the defect in the beast.

他很快便消失在人群之中，人群一边讨价还价一边喧闹地缓缓移动着。农民们察看着那些牛，走开，又折回来，总是疑虑重重，生怕上当受骗，始终不敢下定决心，直勾勾地盯着卖主的眼睛，试图从中看出对方耍的花招，或者看出牲口的毛病。

The women, having placed their great baskets at their feet, had taken out the poultry, which lay upon the ground, their legs tied together, with terrified eyes and scarlet combs.

女人们把她们那大篮子放到脚边，把家禽都取了出来，任它们躺在地上，双腿被捆在一起，眼中满是惊恐，鸡冠通红。

They listened to propositions, maintaining their prices in a decided manner with an impassive face or perhaps deciding to accept the smaller price offered, suddenly calling out to the customer who was starting to go away:

她们听着买主开出的价钱，或是板着一张毫无表情的脸坚决维持原价，或是索性接受对方压低的价钱，忽而朝着正要转身离去的顾客喊道：

“All right, I'll let you have them, Mait' Anthime.”

“好吧，就这个价卖给你了，安蒂姆师傅。”

Then, little by little, the square became empty, and when the Angelus struck midday those who lived at a distance poured into the inns.

随后，广场渐渐空了下来，等到正午的祈祷钟声一响，住得远的人便都涌进了客栈。

At Jourdain's the great room was filled with eaters, just as the vast court was filled with vehicles of every sort—wagons, gigs, chars-a- bancs, tilburies, innumerable vehicles which have no name, yellow with mud, misshapen, pieced together, raising their shafts to heaven like two arms, or it may be with their nose on the ground and their rear in the air.

在茹尔丹家的客栈里，大厅早已挤满了用餐的人，就如同外面那宽阔的院子里也挤满了各式各样的车辆——大车、双轮小车、双轮马车、轻便马车，还有数不清叫不出名字的车子，个个溅满泥浆、变了形、七拼八凑，有的车辕高高翘向天空像两条胳膊，有的则车头朝地、车尾朝天。

Just opposite to where the diners were at table the huge fireplace, with its bright flame, gave out a burning heat on the backs of those who sat at the right. Three spits were turning, loaded with chickens, with pigeons and with joints of mutton, and a delectable odor of roast meat and of gravy flowing over crisp brown skin arose from the hearth, kindled merriment, caused mouths to water.

正对着食客们用餐的地方，是一个巨大的壁炉，炉火熊熊，烤得坐在右边的人后背发烫。三根烤肉铁扦正转动着，串着鸡肉、鸽子和羊肉块，烤肉那诱人的香气混着淌过焦脆表皮的油汁香，从炉边弥漫开来，撩得人食欲大振，惹得众人口水直流。

All the aristocracy of the plough were eating there at Mait' Jourdain's, the innkeeper's, a dealer in horses also and a sharp fellow who had made a great deal of money in his day.

坐在茹尔丹师傅这家客栈里用餐的，都是农耕界的贵族，而这位茹尔丹师傅本人则是客栈老板，兼做马匹买卖，是个精明的家伙，这些年赚了不少钱。

The dishes were passed round, were emptied, as were the jugs of yellow cider. Every one told of his affairs, of his purchases and his sales. They exchanged news about the crops. The weather was good for greens, but too wet for grain.

菜盘一道道传递下去，一道道见了底，黄澄澄的苹果酒也是一壶壶倒空。人人都在谈论自己的事情，说着自己买了什么、卖了什么。大家交换着庄稼的消息。这天气种蔬菜正合适，可对谷子来说却太潮湿了些。

Suddenly the drum began to beat in the courtyard before the house. Every one, except some of the most indifferent, was on their feet at once and ran to the door, to the windows, their mouths full and napkins in their hand.

忽然，屋前的院子里响起了鼓声。除了少数几个满不在乎的人，几乎所有人都立刻站起身来，冲向门口和窗户，嘴里还嚼着食物，手里攥着餐巾。

When the public crier had finished his tattoo he called forth in a jerky voice, pausing in the wrong places:

等那位公众通告员敲完鼓点，便用一种断断续续、时常停顿在不该停的地方的嗓音高声宣告道：

“Be it known to the inhabitants of Goderville and in general to all persons present at the market that there has been lost this morning on the Beuzeville road, between nine and ten o'clock, a black leather pocketbook containing five hundred francs and business papers. You are requested to return it to the mayor's office at once or to Maitre Fortune Houlbreque, of Manneville. There will be twenty francs reward.”

“兹通告戈德维尔全体居民，以及今日在集市上的各位人等：今晨九点至十点之间，在布兹维尔大道上，有人遗失了一只黑皮夹，内有五百法郎现金及若干文件。请拾获者立即送交市政厅，或送交曼纳维尔的福尔蒂纳·乌尔布雷克师傅。悬赏二十法郎。”

Then the man went away. They heard once more at a distance the dull beating of the drum and the faint voice of the crier. Then they all began to talk of this incident, reckoning up the chances which Maitre Houlbreque had of finding or of not finding his pocketbook again.

说完，那人便走开了。人们又一次听见那沉闷的鼓声和通告员愈发微弱的嗓音渐渐远去。于是大家都议论起这件事来，盘算着乌尔布雷克师傅找回那皮夹的可能性有多大，找不回的可能性又有多大。

The meal went on. They were finishing their coffee when the corporal of gendarmes appeared on the threshold.

这顿饭继续吃着。大家正喝着咖啡，这时宪兵队的班长出现在了门口。

He asked:

他问道：

“Is Maitre Hauchecorne, of Breaute, here?”

“布罗特镇的欧什科纳师傅在这儿吗？”

Maitre Hauchecorne, seated at the other end of the table answered:

坐在桌子另一头的欧什科纳师傅答道：

“Here I am, here I am.”

“在这儿，我在这儿。”

And he followed the corporal.

于是他跟着班长走了。

The mayor was waiting for him, seated in an armchair. He was the notary of the place, a tall, grave man of pompous speech.

镇长正坐在扶手椅里等着他。镇长同时也是当地的公证人，是个身材高大、说话一本正经的人。

“Maitre Hauchecorne,” said he, “this morning on the Beuzeville road, you were seen to pick up the pocketbook lost by Maitre Houlbreque, of Manneville.”

“欧什科纳师傅，”他说道，“今天早上在布兹维尔大道上，有人看见你捡起了曼纳维尔的乌尔布雷克师傅遗失的那只皮夹。”

The countryman looked at the mayor in amazement frightened already at this suspicion which rested on him, he knew not why.

这位乡下人惊愕地望着镇长，被这莫名其妙落到自己头上的怀疑给吓住了，他不知道究竟是为什么。

“I—I picked up that pocketbook?”

“我——我捡了那只皮夹？”

“Yes, YOU.”

“是的，就是你。”

“I swear I don't even know anything about it.”

“我发誓，我压根不知道这回事。”

“You were seen.”

“有人看见了。”

“I was seen—I? Who saw me?”

“有人看见我？我？谁看见我了？”

“M. Malandain, the harness-maker.”

“马具匠马朗丹先生。”

Then the old man remembered, understood, and, reddening with anger, said:

于是这位老人想了起来，明白了过来，气得涨红了脸，说道：

“Ah! he saw me, did he, the rascal? He saw me picking up this string here, M'sieu le Maire.”

“啊！是他看见我的，是吧，这个坏东西？他看见我捡的是这段绳子，市长先生。”

And fumbling at the bottom of his pocket, he pulled out of it the little end of string.

说着，他在裤兜底部摸索了一阵，掏出了那截小小的绳头。

But the mayor incredulously shook his head:

可镇长却不以为然地摇了摇头：

“You will not make me believe, Maitre Hauchecorne, that M. Malandain, who is a man whose word can be relied on, has mistaken this string for a pocketbook.”

“欧什科纳师傅，你休想让我相信，马朗丹先生这样一个说话靠得住的人，会把这段绳子错看成一只皮夹。”

The peasant, furious, raised his hand and spat on the ground beside him as if to attest his good faith, repeating:

这农民气得发狂，扬起手来，朝身边地上啐了一口，仿佛以此证明自己的清白，一边反复说道：

“For all that, it is God's truth, M'sieu le Maire. There! On my soul's salvation, I repeat it.”

“不管怎么说，这是千真万确的事，市长先生。真的！我以灵魂的救赎起誓，我再说一遍。”

The mayor continued:

镇长接着说道：

“After you picked up the object in question, you even looked about for some time in the mud to see if a piece of money had not dropped out of it.”

“你捡起那件东西之后，还在泥地里找了好一会儿，看看是不是有什么钱币从里面掉出来了。”

The good man was choking with indignation and fear.

这位老实人又是气愤又是害怕，几乎喘不过气来。

“How can they tell—how can they tell such lies as that to slander an honest man! How can they?”

“他们怎么能——他们怎么能编出这样的谎话来诽谤一个诚实的人！他们怎么能这样！”

His protestations were in vain; he was not believed.

他的抗议毫无用处；没有人相信他。

He was confronted with M. Malandain, who repeated and sustained his testimony. They railed at one another for an hour. At his own request Maitre Hauchecorne was searched. Nothing was found on him.

他被带去和马朗丹先生对质，马朗丹重申并坚持了自己的证词。两人互相责骂了一个钟头。应欧什科纳师傅自己的要求，人们对他进行了搜身。可什么也没搜出来。

At last the mayor, much perplexed, sent him away, warning him that he would inform the public prosecutor and ask for orders.

最后，镇长十分为难，把他打发走了，并警告他说，自己将把此事上报检察官，请示如何处理。

The news had spread. When he left the mayor's office the old man was surrounded, interrogated with a curiosity which was serious or mocking, as the case might be, but into which no indignation entered. And he began to tell the story of the string. They did not believe him. They laughed.

消息已经传开了。这位老人一走出镇公所，便立刻被人团团围住，人们带着或认真或戏谑的好奇心追问他，不过这好奇心里倒没有掺杂什么愤慨。他便开始讲起绳子的事来。可没人相信他。人们都笑了。

He passed on, buttonholed by every one, himself buttonholing his acquaintances, beginning over and over again his tale and his protestations, showing his pockets turned inside out to prove that he had nothing in them.

他一路走去，被一个个人拉住问话，自己也拉住一个个熟人，一遍又一遍地重复着自己的故事和辩白，把口袋翻出来给人看，证明里面什么也没有。

They said to him:

有人对他说：

“You old rogue!”

“你这个老滑头！”

He grew more and more angry, feverish, in despair at not being believed, and kept on telling his story.

他越来越气恼，越来越焦躁，因为没人相信而绝望不已，却还是不停地讲着自己的事。

The night came. It was time to go home. He left with three of his neighbors, to whom he pointed out the place where he had picked up the string, and all the way he talked of his adventure.

夜幕降临了。该回家了。他和三个邻居一同上路，指给他们看自己捡到绳子的那个地方，一路上都在讲述自己遇到的这桩怪事。

That evening he made the round of the village of Breaute for the purpose of telling every one. He met only unbelievers.

那天晚上，他又到布罗特村里转了一圈，逢人便讲。可他遇到的都是不肯相信的人。

He brooded over it all night long.

他一整夜都为此事苦恼不已。

The next day, about one in the afternoon, Marius Paumelle, a farm hand of Maitre Breton, the market gardener at Ymauville, returned the pocketbook and its contents to Maitre Holbreque, of Manneville.

第二天，大约下午一点钟，伊莫维尔的菜农布勒东师傅家的雇工马里于斯·波梅尔，把那只皮夹连同里面的东西还给了曼纳维尔的乌尔布雷克师傅。

This man said, indeed, that he had found it on the road, but not knowing how to read, he had carried it home and given it to his master.

这人说，他的确是在路上捡到的，只是自己不识字，便把它带回了家，交给了自己的东家。

The news spread to the environs. Maitre Hauchecorne was informed. He started off at once and began to relate his story with the denoument. He was triumphant.

消息传遍了四邻八乡。欧什科纳师傅也得了信儿。他立刻动身，开始把这段结局也讲给大家听。他得意极了。

“What grieved me,” said he, “was not the thing itself, do you understand, but it was being accused of lying. Nothing does you so much harm as being in disgrace for lying.”

“让我伤心的，”他说道，“你们要明白，并不是这件事本身，而是被人诬赖成撒谎的人。名声毁在‘说谎’这两个字上，再没有比这更害人的了。”

All day he talked of his adventure. He told it on the roads to the people who passed, at the cabaret to the people who drank and next Sunday when they came out of church. He even stopped strangers to tell them about it. He was easy now, and yet something worried him without his knowing exactly what it was. People had a joking manner while they listened. They did not seem convinced. He seemed to feel their remarks behind his back.

他一整天都在讲述这桩奇事。他在路上讲给过路的人听，在小酒馆里讲给喝酒的人听，到了下星期天，又讲给从教堂里出来的人听。他甚至拦住陌生人，向他们讲述这件事。他如今心里踏实了，可总有什么东西让他不安，他自己也说不清究竟是什么。人们听他讲的时候，总带着一种开玩笑的神情，看上去并不信服。他总觉得，人们在他背后议论纷纷。

On Tuesday of the following week he went to market at Goderville, prompted solely by the need of telling his story.

到了下一个星期二，他去戈德维尔赶集，唯一的念头就是想再讲讲自己的故事。

Malandain, standing on his doorstep, began to laugh as he saw him pass. Why?

马朗丹站在自家门口，一看见他走过便笑了起来。为什么呢？

He accosted a farmer of Criquetot, who did not let him finish, and giving him a punch in the pit of the stomach cried in his face: “Oh, you great rogue!” Then he turned his heel upon him.

他上前招呼一个克里克托的农民，那人还没等他说完，便朝他肚子上狠狠一拳，冲着他的脸喊道：“哦，你这个大滑头！”说完转身就走了。

Maitre Hauchecorne remained speechless and grew more and more uneasy. Why had they called him “great rogue”?

欧什科纳师傅一时说不出话来，心里越来越不安。他们为什么要叫他“大滑头”？

When seated at table in Jourdain's tavern he began again to explain the whole affair.

在茹尔丹的客栈里坐下之后，他又开始把整件事讲了一遍。

A horse dealer of Montivilliers shouted at him:

蒙蒂维利耶的一个马贩子朝他喊道：

“Get out, get out, you old scamp! I know all about your old string.”

“得了吧，得了吧，你这个老骗子！你那段绳子的事，我可全都知道。”

Hauchecorne stammered:

欧什科纳结结巴巴地说：

“But since they found it again, the pocketbook!”

“可是他们后来不是又找到了吗，那只皮夹！”

But the other continued:

可对方接着说道：

“Hold your tongue, daddy; there's one who finds it and there's another who returns it. And no one the wiser.”

“闭嘴吧，老家伙；捡到的是一个人，送回去的又是另一个人。谁也说不准是不是同一伙的。”

The farmer was speechless. He understood at last. They accused him of having had the pocketbook brought back by an accomplice, by a confederate.

这农民一时哑口无言。他终于明白了过来。他们是在怀疑他找了同伙，让人把那只皮夹送回去的。

He tried to protest. The whole table began to laugh.

他试图辩解。满桌子的人都哄笑起来。

He could not finish his dinner, and went away amid a chorus of jeers.

他没能吃完自己的这顿饭，便在一片嘲笑声中离开了。

He went home indignant, choking with rage, with confusion, the more cast down since with his Norman craftiness he was, perhaps, capable of having done what they accused him of and even of boasting of it as a good trick. He was dimly conscious that it was impossible to prove his innocence, his craftiness being so well known. He felt himself struck to the heart by the injustice of the suspicion.

他愤愤不平地回到家中，又是恼怒，又是委屈，几乎喘不过气来，心情更是低落，因为凭他那诺曼底人的精明，他自己也觉得，说不定自己真会干出他们所指控的那种事来，甚至还会把它当作一桩得意的把戏拿来夸耀。他隐隐意识到，要证明自己的清白根本不可能，因为他那份精明早就出了名。他感到自己的心被这不公的猜疑深深刺伤了。

He began anew to tell his tale, lengthening his recital every day, each day adding new proofs, more energetic declarations and more sacred oaths, which he thought of, which he prepared in his hours of solitude, for his mind was entirely occupied with the story of the string. The more he denied it, the more artful his arguments, the less he was believed.

他又开始一遍遍讲述自己的故事，一天比一天讲得更长，每天都添上新的证据、更激动的辩白、更庄严的誓言，这些都是他在独处的时候想出来、准备好的，因为他满脑子想的都是这段绳子的事。可他越是极力否认，论证越是巧妙，人们就越发不肯相信他。

“Those are liars proofs,” they said behind his back.

“那些都是撒谎的人惯用的伎俩，”人们在他背后这样议论道。

He felt this. It preyed upon him and he exhausted himself in useless efforts.

他察觉到了这一点。这件事折磨着他，而他自己也在这徒劳的辩解中把自己拖垮了。

He was visibly wasting away.

他明显日渐消瘦下去。

Jokers would make him tell the story of “the piece of string” to amuse them, just as you make a soldier who has been on a campaign tell his story of the battle. His mind kept growing weaker and about the end of December he took to his bed.

一些爱开玩笑的人会撺掇他讲讲“那段绳子”的故事来取乐，就像人们让一个上过战场的士兵一遍遍讲述自己打仗的经历一样。他的心智渐渐衰弱下去，到了十二月底，他便病倒在床上了。

He passed away early in January, and, in the ravings of death agony, he protested his innocence, repeating:

他在次年一月初便去世了，临终弥留、神志昏乱之际，仍在申诉自己的清白，反复说道：

“A little bit of string—a little bit of string. See, here it is, M'sieu le Maire.”

“一小段绳子——一小段绳子。瞧，就在这儿，市长先生。”