丧钟为谁而鸣(精)/海明威文集 下载 pdf 百度网盘 epub 免费 2025 电子书 mobi 在线

美国青年罗伯特·乔丹志愿参加西班牙政府军，在敌后搞爆破活动。为配合反攻，他奉命和地方游击队联系，完成炸桥任务。在纷飞的战火中，他与被敌人糟蹋过的小姑娘玛丽亚坠入爱河，藉此抹平了玛丽亚心灵的创伤。在三天的时间里，罗伯特历经爱情与职责的冲突和生与死的考验，人性不断升华。在炸桥的撤退途中，他把生的希望让给别人，自己却被 弹炸断了大腿，独自留下阻击敌人， 终为西班牙人民献出了年轻的生命。《丧钟为谁而鸣》可以看做海明威的“二战回忆录”，大部分情节来自海明威的真实体验。小说以其深沉的人道主义力量感动了一代又一代人。

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欧内斯特·米勒·海明威（1899～1961），生于美国芝加哥市郊橡胶园小镇，是一名美国记者和作家，他被认为是20世纪 的小说家之一，也被认为是美利坚民族的精神丰碑。

   海明威的《老人与海》其实改编自一个真实的故事。1935年，一个老渔民告诉海明威自己曾经捕猎到一条大马林鱼，但是后来被鲨鱼吃掉。老渔民的这段传奇经历引起了海明威的兴趣，他决定把老渔民的经历写成小说介绍给读者。

   1950年圣诞节后不久，海明威在古巴哈瓦那开始动笔写《老人与海》（起初名为《现有的海》），结果在1951年2月23日就完成了初稿，前后仅用了八周时间。1951年4月份海明威把手稿送给友人传阅，博得了一致的赞美。

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章 他匍匐在树林里积着一层松针的褐色地面上，交叉的手臂支着下巴；高高的上空，风在松树树梢间刮着。他俯卧着的山坡不太陡，但往下却很陡峭，他能看到那条柏油路黑黑的，蜿蜒穿过山口。沿路有条小河，他看到山口远处的这条小河边有家锯木厂，拦水坝的泄水在夏天的阳光下白花花的。

     “那就是锯木厂？”他问。

     “是的。” “我不记得了。” “那是你离开这儿以后造的。老锯木厂在再过去一段路的地方，往下离山口很远。” 他在林地上摊开影印的军用地图，仔细端详。老头儿从他肩后看着。他是个结实的矮老头儿，身穿农民穿的黑罩衣和铁硬的灰色裤子，脚上穿着双绳底鞋。他刚爬了山，在沉重地喘气，一手搁在他们带着的两只沉重的背包的一只上面。

     “这么说从这儿没法望到那座桥了。” “是的，”老头儿说。“山口的这一带地势平坦，水流不急。下面，公路拐进林子就不见了，那儿地势突然低下去，有道挺深的峡谷_” “我记得。” “峡谷上面就是那座桥。” “敌人的哨所在哪儿？” “你看到的锯木厂那边有一个。” 这个正在仔细察看地形的年轻人，从他褪了色的黄褐色法兰绒衬衫口袋里掏出望远镜，用手帕擦擦镜片，转动目镜，直到锯木厂的板壁突然显得清晰，他看到门边的一条长板凳，还有安放圆锯的敞篷后面堆起的一大堆木屑和小河对岸山坡上把木材运下的滑槽的一段。小河在望远镜里显得清澈而平静，流水从拦水坝急转直下，下面的水花在风中飞溅。

     “没有岗哨。” “锯木房在冒烟，”老头儿说。“还有晾衣绳上挂着衣服。” “我见到这些，但不见岗哨。” “说不定他在背阴处，”老头儿解释说。“那儿现在挺热。他也许在我们看不到的背阴那头。” “可能。另一个哨所在哪儿？” “桥下方。在养路工的小屋边，离山口 处五公里的里程碑那儿。” “这儿有多少兵？”他指指锯木厂。

     “也许有四个，加上一个班长。” “下面呢？” “要多些。我可以去打听。” “那么桥头呢？” “总是两个。每边一个。” “我们需要一批人手，”他说。“你能搞到多少？” “你要多少我就能带来多少，”老头儿说。“这一带山里现在有不少人。”

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No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore, never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee

谁都不是一座岛屿，自成一体/ 每个人都是一个碎片，那广袤大陆的一部分/ 如果海浪冲掉一块土地，家园就小了一点/ 如果一座海岬，如果你朋友或你自己的庄园被冲掉/ 也是如此/ 任何人的死亡都使我受到损失/ 因为我包孕在人类之中/ 所以不必打听丧钟为谁鸣/ 丧钟为你鸣

Robert Jordan pushed the cup toward him. It was a milky yellow now with the water and he hoped the gypsy would not take more than a swallow. There was very little of it left and one cup of it took the place of the evening papers, of all the old evenings in cafe, of all chestnut trees that would be in bloom now in this month, of the great slow horses of the outer boulevards, of book shops, of kiosques, and of galleries, of the Parc Montsouris, of the Stade Buffalo, and of the Butte Chaumont, of the Guaranty Trust Company and the Ile de la Cite, of Foyot's old hotel, and of being able to read and relax in the evening; of all the things he had enjoyed and forgotten and that came back to him when he tasted that opaque, bitter, tongue-numbing, brain-warming, stomach-warming, idea-changing liqu...

How many times had he heard this? How many times had he watched people say it with difficulty? How many times had he seen their eyes fill and their throats harden with the difficulty of saying my father, or my brother, or my mother, or my sister? He could not remember how many times he had heard them mention their dead in this way. Nearly always they spoke as this boy did now; suddenly and apropos of the mention of the town and always you said, "What barbarians."

You only heard the statement of the loss. You did not see the father fall as Pilar made him see the fascists die in that story she had told by the stream. You knew the father died in some courtyard, or against some wall, or in some field or orchard, or at night, in the lights of a truck, beside some road. You had seen the lights...

1They were walking through the heather of the mountain meadow and Robert Jordan felt the brushing of the heather against his legs, felt the weight of his pistol in its holster against his thigh, felt the sun on his head, felt the breeze from the snow of the mountain peaks cool on his back and, in his hand, he felt the girl's hand firm and strong, the fingers locked in his. From it, from the palm of her hand against the palm of his, from their fingers locked together, and from her wrist across his wrist something came from her hand, her fingers and her wrist to his that was as fresh as the first light air that moving toward you over the sea barely wrinkles the glassy surface of a calm, as light as a feather moved across one's lip, or a leaf falling when there is no breeze; so light that it ...

Now that his rage was gone he was excited by this storm as he was always by all storms. In a blizzard, a gale, a sudden line squall, a tropical storm, or a summer thunder shower in the mountains there was an excitement that came to him from no other thing. It was like the excitement of battle except that it was clean. There is a wind that blows through battle but that was a hot wind; hot and dry as your mouth; and it blew heavily; hot and dirtily; and it rose and died away with the fortunes of the day. He knew that wind well.

But a snowstorm was the opposite of all of that. In the snowstorm you came close to wild animals and they were not afraid. They travelled across country not knowing where they were and the deer stood sometimes in the lee of the cabin. In a snowstorm you rode up to a...

The night was clear and his head felt as clear and cold as the air. He smelled the odor of the pine boughs under him, the piney smell of the crushed needles and the sharper odor of the resinous sap from the cut limbs. Pilar, he thought. Pilar and the smell of death. This is the smell I love. This and fresh-cut clover, the crushed sage as you ride after cattle, wood-smoke and the burning leaves of autumn. That must be the odor of nostalgia, the smell of the smoke from the piles of raked leaves burning in the streets in the fall in Missoula. Which would you rather smell? Sweet grass the Indians used in their baskets? Smoked leather? The odor of the ground in the spring after rain? The smell of the sea as you walk through the gorse on a headland in Galicia? Or the wind from the land as you c...

书籍介绍

★ 海明威诞辰120周年 名家名译

★ 海明威的“二战回忆录”

★ 西班牙独立战争的史诗绝唱

《丧钟为谁而鸣》是海明威的主要作品之一。美国青年罗伯特•乔丹志愿参加西班牙政府军，在敌后搞爆破活动。为配合反攻，他奉命和地方游击队联系，完成炸桥任务。在纷飞的战火中，他与被敌人糟蹋过的 小姑娘玛丽 亚坠入 爱河，藉此抹平了玛丽亚心灵的创伤。在三天的时间里，罗伯特历经爱情与职责 的冲突和生与死的考验，人性不断升华。在炸桥的撤退途中，他把生的希望让给别人，自己却被炮弹炸断了大腿，独自留下阻击敌人，最终为西班牙人民献出了年轻的生命。《丧钟为谁而鸣》可以看做海明威的“二战回忆录”，大部分情节来自海明威的真实体验。小说以其深沉的人道主义力量感动了一代又一代人。