高级英语Lesson 12 The Loons 课文内容

The Loons

Margarel Laurence

Just below Manawaka, where the Wachakwa River

ran brown and noisy over the pebbles , the scrub oak and grey-green willow and chokecherry bushes grew in a dense thicket . In a clearing at the centre of the thicket stood the Tonnerre family's shack. The basis at this dwelling was a small square cabin made of poplar poles and chinked with mud, which had been built by Jules Tonnerre some fifty years before, when he came back from Batoche with a bullet in his thigh, the year that Riel was hung and the voices of the Metis entered their long silence. Jules had only intended to stay the winter in the Wachakwa Valley, but the family was still there in the thirties, when I was a child. As the Tonnerres had increased, their settlement had been added to, until the clearing at the foot of the town hill was a chaos of lean-tos, wooden packing cases, warped lumber, discarded car types, ramshackle chicken coops , tangled strands of barbed wire and rusty tin cans.

The Tonnerres were French half breeds, and among themselves they spoke a patois that was neither Cree nor French. Their English was broken and full of obscenities . They did not belong among the Cree of the Galloping Mountain reservation, further north, and they did not belong among the Scots-Irish and Ukrainians of Manawaka, either. They were, as my Grandmother MacLeod would have put it, neither flesh, fowl, nor good salt herring . When their men were not working at odd jobs or as section hands on the C.P. R. they lived on relief. In the summers, one of the Tonnerre youngsters, with a face that seemed totally unfamiliar with laughter, would knock at the doors of the town's brick houses and offer for sale a lard -pail full of bruised wild strawberries, and if he got as much as a quarter he would grab the coin and run before the customer had time to change her mind. Sometimes old Jules, or his son Lazarus, would get mixed up in a Saturday-night brawl , and would hit out at whoever was nearest or howl drunkenly among the offended shoppers on Main Street, and then the Mountie would put them for the night in the barred cell underneath the Court House, and the next morning they would be quiet again.

Piquette Tonnerre, the daughter of Lazarus, was in

my class at school. She was older than I, but she had failed several grades, perhaps because her attendance had always been sporadic and her interest in schoolwork negligible . Part of the reason she had missed a lot of school was that she had had tuberculosis of the bone, and had once spent many months in hospital. I knew this because my father was the doctor who had looked after her. Her sickness was almost the only thing I knew about her, however. Otherwise, she existed for me only as a vaguely embarrassing presence, with her hoarse voice and her clumsy limping walk and her grimy cotton dresses that were always miles too long. I was neither friendly nor unfriendly towards her. She dwelt and moved somewhere within my scope of vision, but I did not actually notice her very much until that peculiar summer when I was eleven.

"I don't know what to do about that kid." my father said at dinner one evening. "Piquette Tonnerre, I mean. The damn bone's flared up again. I've had her in hospital for quite a while now, and it's under control all right, but I hate like the dickens to send her home again."

"Couldn't you explain to her mother that she has to rest a lot?" my mother said.

"The mother's not there" my father replied. "She took off a few years back. Can't say I blame her. Piquette cooks for them, and she says Lazarus would never do anything for himself as long as she's there. Anyway, I don't think she'd take much care of herself, once she got back. She's only thirteen, after all. Beth, I was thinking—What about taking her up to Diamond Lake with us this summer? A couple of months rest would give that bone a much better chance."

My mother looked stunned.

"But Ewen -- what about Roddie and Vanessa?"

"She's not contagious ," my father said. "And it would be company for Vanessa."

"Oh dear," my mother said in distress, "I'll bet anything she has nits in her hair."

"For Pete's sake," my father said crossly, "do you think Matron would let her stay in the hospital for all this time like that? Don't be silly, Beth. "

Grandmother MacLeod, her delicately featured face as rigid as a cameo , now brought her mauve -veined hands together as though she were about to begin prayer.

"Ewen, if that half breed youngster comes along to Diamond Lake, I'm not going," she announced. "I'll go to

Morag's for the summer."

I had trouble in stifling my urge to laugh, for my mother brightened visibly and quickly tried to hide it. If it came to a choice between Grandmother MacLeod and Piquette, Piquette would win hands down, nits or not.

"It might be quite nice for you, at that," she mused. "You haven't seen Morag for over a year, and you might enjoy being in the city for a while. Well, Ewen dear, you do what you think best. If you think it would do Piquette some good, then we' II be glad to have her, as long as she behaves herself."

So it happened that several weeks later, when we all piled into my father's old Nash, surrounded by suitcases and boxes of provisions and toys for my ten-month-old brother, Piquette was with us and Grandmother MacLeod, miraculously, was not. My father would only be staying at the cottage for a couple of weeks, for he had to get back to his practice, but the rest of us would stay at Diamond Lake until the end of August.

Our cottage was not named, as many were, "Dew Drop Inn" or "Bide-a-Wee," or "Bonnie Doon”. The sign on the roadway bore in austere letters only our name, MacLeod. It was not a large cottage, but it was on the lakefront. You could look out the windows and see, through the filigree of the spruce trees, the water glistening greenly as the sun caught it. All around the cottage were ferns, and sharp-branched raspberry bushes, and moss that had grown over fallen tree trunks, If you looked carefully among the weeds and grass, you could find wild strawberry plants which were in white flower now and in another month would bear fruit, the fragrant globes hanging like miniature scarlet lanterns on the thin hairy stems. The two grey squirrels were still there, gossiping at us from the tall spruce beside the cottage, and by the end of the summer they would again be tame enough to take pieces of crust from my hands. The broad moose antlers that hung above the back door were a little more bleached and fissured after the winter, but otherwise everything was the same. I raced joyfully around my kingdom, greeting all the places I had not seen for a year. My brother, Roderick, who had not been born when we were here last summer, sat on the car rug in the sunshine and examined a brown spruce cone, meticulously turning it round and round in his small and curious hands. My mother and father toted the luggage from car to cottage, exclaiming over how well the place had wintered, no broken windows, thank goodness, no apparent damage from storm felled branches or

snow.

Only after I had finished looking around did I notice Piquette. She was sitting on the swing her lame leg held stiffly out, and her other foot scuffing the ground as she swung slowly back and forth. Her long hair hung black and straight around her shoulders, and her broad coarse-featured face bore no expression -- it was blank, as though she no longer dwelt within her own skull, as though she had gone elsewhere.

I approached her very hesitantly.

"Want to come and play?"

Piquette looked at me with a sudden flash of scorn.

"I ain't a kid," she said.

Wounded, I stamped angrily away, swearing I would not speak to her for the rest of the summer. In the days that followed, however, Piquette began to interest me, and l began to want to interest her. My reasons did not appear bizarre to me. Unlikely as it may seem, I had only just realised that the Tonnerre family, whom I had always heard Called half breeds, were actually Indians, or as near as made no difference. My acquaintance with Indians was not expensive. I did not remember ever having seen a real Indian, and my new awareness that Piquette sprang from the people of Big Bear and Poundmaker, of Tecumseh, of the Iroquois who had eaten Father Brébeuf's heart--all this gave her an instant attraction in my eyes. I was devoted reader of Pauline Johnson at this age, and sometimes would orate aloud and in an exalted voice, West Wind, blow from your prairie nest, Blow from the mountains, blow from the west--and so on. It seemed to me that Piquette must be in some way a daughter of the forest, a kind of junior prophetess of the wilds, who might impart to me, if I took the right approach, some of the secrets which she undoubtedly knew --where the whippoorwill made her nest, how the coyote reared her young, or whatever it was that it said in Hiawatha.

I set about gaining Piquette's trust. She was not allowed to go swimming, with her bad leg, but I managed to lure her down to the beach-- or rather, she came because there was nothing else to do. The water was always icy, for the lake was fed by springs, but I swam like a dog, thrashing my arms and legs around at such speed and with such an output of energy that I never grew cold. Finally, when I had enough, I came out and sat beside Piquette on the sand. When she saw me approaching, her hands squashed flat the sand castle she had been building, and she looked at me sullenly, without

"Do you like this place?" I asked, after a while, intending to lead on from there into the question of forest lore .

Piquette shrugged. "It's okay. Good as anywhere."

"I love it, "1 said. "We come here every summer."

"So what?" Her voice was distant, and I glanced at her uncertainly, wondering what I could have said wrong.

"Do you want to come for a walk?" I asked her. "We wouldn't need to go far. If you walk just around the point there, you come to a bay where great big reeds grow in the water, and all kinds of fish hang around there. Want to? Come on."

She shook her head.

"Your dad said I ain't supposed to do no more walking than I got to." I tried another line.

"I bet you know a lot about the woods and all that, eh?" I began respectfully.

Piquette looked at me from her large dark unsmiling eyes.

"I don't know what in hell you're talkin' about," she replied. "You nuts or somethin'? If you mean where my old man, and me, and all them live, you better shut up, by Jesus, you hear?"

I was startled and my feelings were hurt, but I had a kind of dogged perseverance. I ignored her rebuff.

"You know something, Piquette? There's loons here, on this lake. You can see their nests just up the shore there, behind those logs. At night, you can hear them even from the cottage, but it's better to listen from the beach. My dad says we should listen and try to remember how they sound, because in a few years when more cottages are built at Diamond Lake and more people come in, the loons will go away."

Piquette was picking up stones and snail shells and then dropping them again.

"Who gives a good goddamn?" she said.

It became increasingly obvious that, as an Indian, Piquette was a dead loss. That evening I went out by myself, scrambling through the bushes that overhung the steep path, my feet slipping on the fallen spruce needles that covered the ground. When I reached the shore, I walked along the firm damp sand to the small pier that my father had built, and sat down there. I heard someone else crashing through the undergrowth and the bracken, and for a moment I thought Piquette had changed her mind, but it turned out to be my father. He sat beside me on the pier and we waited, without

At night the lake was like black glass with a streak of amber which was the path of the moon. All around, the spruce trees grew tall and close-set, branches blackly sharp against the sky, which was lightened by a cold flickering of stars. Then the loons began their calling. They rose like phantom birds from the nests on the shore, and flew out onto the dark still surface of the water.

No one can ever describe that ululating sound, the crying of the loons, and no one who has heard it can ever forget it. Plaintive , and yet with a quality of chilling mockery , those voices belonged to a world separated by aeon from our neat world of summer cottages and the lighted lamps of home.

"They must have sounded just like that," my father remarked, "before any person ever set foot here." Then he laughed. "You could say the same, of course, about sparrows or chipmunk, but somehow it only strikes you that way with the loons."

"I know," I said.

Neither of us suspected that this would be the last time we would ever sit here together on the shore, listening. We stayed for perhaps half an hour, and then we went back to the cottage. My mother was reading beside the fireplace. Piquette was looking at the burning birch log, and not doing anything.

"You should have come along," I said, although in fact I was glad she had not.

"Not me", Piquette said. "You wouldn’ catch me walkin' way down there jus' for a bunch of squawkin' birds."

Piquette and I remained ill at ease with one another. felt I had somehow failed my father, but I did not know what was the matter, nor why she Would not or could not respond when I suggested exploring the woods or Playing house. I thought it was probably her slow and difficult walking that held her back. She stayed most of the time in the cottage with my mother, helping her with the dishes or with Roddie, but hardly ever talking. Then the Duncans arrived at their cottage, and I spent my days with Mavis, who was my best friend. I could not reach Piquette at all, and I soon lost interest in trying. But all that summer she remained as both a reproach and a mystery to me.

That winter my father died of pneumonia, after less than a week's illness. For some time I saw nothing around me, being completely immersed in my own pain and my mother's. When I looked outward once more, I scarcely noticed that

Piquette Tonnerre was no longer at school. I do not remember seeing her at all until four years later, one Saturday night when Mavis and I were having Cokes in the Regal Café. The jukebox was booming like tuneful thunder, and beside it, leaning lightly on its chrome and its rainbow glass, was a girl.

Piquette must have been seventeen then, although she looked about twenty. I stared at her, astounded that anyone could have changed so much. Her face, so stolid and expressionless before, was animated now with a gaiety that was almost violent. She laughed and talked very loudly with the boys around her. Her lipstick was bright carmine, and her hair was cut Short and frizzily permed . She had not been pretty as a child, and she was not pretty now, for her features were still heavy and blunt. But her dark and slightly slanted eyes were beautiful, and her skin-tight skirt and orange sweater displayed to enviable advantage a soft and slender body.

She saw me, and walked over. She teetered a little, but it was not due to her once-tubercular leg, for her limp was almost gone.

"Hi, Vanessa," Her voice still had the same hoarseness . "Long time no see, eh?"

"Hi," I said "Where've you been keeping yourself, Piquette?"

"Oh, I been around," she said. "I been away almost two years now. Been all over the place--Winnipeg, Regina, Saskatoon. Jesus, what I could tell you! I come back this summer, but I ain't stayin'. You kids go in to the dance?"

"No," I said abruptly, for this was a sore point with me. I was fifteen, and thought I was old enough to go to the Saturday-night dances at the Flamingo. My mother, however, thought otherwise.

"Y'oughta come," Piquette said. "I never miss one. It's just about the on'y thing in this jerkwater

town that's any fun. Boy, you couldn' catch me stayin' here. I don' give a shit about this place. It stinks."

She sat down beside me, and I caught the harsh

over-sweetness of her perfume.

"Listen, you wanna know something, Vanessa?" she confided , her voice only slightly blurred. "Your dad was the only person in Manawaka that ever done anything good to me."

I nodded speechlessly. I was certain she was speaking the truth. I knew a little more than I had that summer at

Diamond Lake, but I could not reach her now any more than I had then, I was ashamed, ashamed of my own timidity, the frightened tendency to look the other way. Yet I felt no real warmth towards her-- I only felt that I ought to, because of that distant summer and because my father had hoped she would be company for me, or perhaps that I would be for her, but it had not happened that way. At this moment, meeting her again, I had to admit that she repelled and embarrassed me, and I could not help despising the self-pity in her voice. I wished she would go away. I did not want to see her did not know what to say to her. It seemed that we had nothing to say to one another.

"I'll tell you something else," Piquette went on. "All the old bitches an' biddies in this town will sure be surprised. I'm gettin' married this fall -- my boy friend, he's an English fella, works in the stockyards in the city there, a very tall guy, got blond wavy hair. Gee, is he ever handsome. Got this real Hiroshima name. Alvin Gerald Cummings--some handle, eh? They call him Al."

For the merest instant, then I saw her. I really did see her, for the first and only time in all the years we had both lived in the same town. Her defiant face, momentarily, became unguarded and unmasked, and in her eyes there was a terrifying hope.

"Gee, Piquette --" I burst out awkwardly, "that's swell. That's really wonderful. Congratulations—good luck--I hope you'll be happy--"

As l mouthed the conventional phrases, I could only guess how great her need must have been, that she had been forced to seek the very things she so bitterly rejected.

When I was eighteen, I left Manawaka and went away to college. At the end of my first year, I came back home for the summer. I spent the first few days in talking non-stop with my mother, as we exchanged all the news that somehow had not found its way into letters-- what had happened in my life and what had happened here in Manawaka while I was away. My mother searched her memory for events that concerned people I knew.

"Did I ever write you about Piquette Tonnerre, Vanessa?" she asked one morning.

"No, I don't think so," I replied. "Last I heard of her, she was going to marry some guy in the city. Is she still there?"

My mother looked Hiroshima , and it was a moment before she spoke, as though she did not know how to express

what she had to tell and wished she did not need to try.

"She's dead," she said at last. Then, as I stared at her, "Oh, Vanessa, when it happened, I couldn't help thinking of her as she was that summer--so sullen and gauche and badly dressed. I couldn't help wondering if we could have done something more at that time--but what could we do? She used to be around in the cottage there with me all day, and honestly it was all I could do to get a word out of her. She didn't even talk to your father very much, although I think she liked him in her way."

"What happened?" I asked.

"Either her husband left her, or she left him," my mother said. "I don't know which. Anyway, she came back here with two youngsters, both only babies--they must have been born very close together. She kept house, I guess, for Lazarus and her brothers, down in the valley there, in the old Tonnerre place. I used to see her on the street sometimes, but she never spoke to me. She'd put on an awful lot of weight, and she looked a mess, to tell you the truth, a real slattern , dressed any old how. She was up in court a couple of times--drunk and disorderly, of course. One Saturday night last winter, during the coldest weather, Piquette was alone in the shack with the children. The Tonnerres made home brew all the time, so I've heard, and Lazarus said later she'd been drinking most of the day when he and the boys went out that evening. They had an old woodstove there--you know the kind, with exposed pipes. The shack caught fire. Piquette didn't get out, and neither did the children."

I did not say anything. As so often with Piquette, there did not seem to be anything to say. There was a kind of silence around the image in my mind of the fire and the snow, and I wished I could put from my memory the look that I had seen once in Piquette's eyes.

I went up to Diamond Lake for a few days that summer, with Mavis and her family. The MacLeod cottage had been sold after my father's death, and I did not even go to look at it, not wanting to witness my long-ago kingdom possessed now by strangers. But one evening I went clown to the shore by myself.

The small pier which my father had built was gone, and in its place there was a large and solid pier built by the government, for Galloping Mountain was now a national park, and Diamond Lake had been re-named Lake Wapakata, for it was felt that an Indian name would have a greater appeal to

tourists. The one store had become several dozen, and the settlement had all the attributes of a flourishing resort--hotels, a dance-hall, cafes with neon signs, the penetrating odours of potato chips and hot dogs.

I sat on the government pier and looked out across the water. At night the lake at least was the same as it had always been, darkly shining and bearing within its black glass the streak of amber that was the path of the moon. There was no wind that evening, and everything was quiet all around me. It seemed too quiet, and then I realized that the loons were no longer here. I listened for some time, to make sure, but never once did I hear that long-drawn call, half mocking and half plaintive, spearing through the stillness across the lake.

I did not know what had happened to the birds. Perhaps they had gone away to some far place of belonging. Perhaps they had been unable to find such a place, and had simply died out, having ceased to care any longer whether they lived or not. I remembered how Piquette had scorned to come along, when my father and I sat there and listened to the lake birds. It seemed to me now that in some unconscious and totally unrecognized way, Piquette might have been the only one, after all, who had heard the crying of the loons.

NOTES

1) Margaret Laurence: Born in Neepawa, Manitoba in Canada in 1926.Her publications include This Side of Jordan (1960), The Stone Angle(1964), A Jest of God (1966), The First Dwellers (1969), and The Diviners (1974).

2) Rid: Louis Rid (1844-85) led two rebellions of Indians and Metis (people of mixed French and Indian blood) in 1869-70 and 1884-85.The latter rebellion was crushed in the battle of Batoehe, Manitoba, and Riel was executed.

3) patois: dialect

4) broken English: English that is imperfectly spoken with mistakes in grammar and syntax

5) neither flesh, fowl, nor good salt herring; also 'neither fish, flesh, nor fowl' meaning 'not anything definite or recognizable'

6) C. P. R. : Canadian Pacific Railroad

7) Mountie: a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police

8) Nash: a former make of automobiles

9) Big Bear and Poundmaker: leaders of the Cree

10) Tecumseh (1768-1813): chief of the Shawnee

11) Father Brebeuf: Jean de Brebeuf (1593-1649), Jesuit missionary to the Hurons

12) Hurons, Shawnee, Cree and Troquois: Indian tribes

13)West Wind ...the west: the first two lines from "The Song My Pad die Sings" by Pauline Johnson (1861-1913), Canadian poet who was the daughter of an English woman and a Mohawk chief

14) Hiawatha: romantic poem about Indians by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

15) Cokes: a popular shortened form for Coca-Cola, a carbonated soft drink manufactured in the U. S.

16) I don't give a shit: once taboo but now a colloquial slang, meaning' I don't care a bit'

综合英语课文重点讲解(Unit 4)

Unit 4 An unusual job 课文重点讲解： 1) It’s all in a day’s work when you’re a stuntwoman. all in a/the day’s work: (colloquial) not unusual; as expected 家常便饭,不足为奇 e.g. (1) Coping with the paparazzi at any time is all in a day’s work for the celebrity.对于明星来说，随时应对狗仔队已经成为家常便饭。 (2) When the machine broke down, Mary said it was all in a day’s work. 2)it’s a profession that badly lacks female participation lack 的用法：可以做动词(及物和不及物)，也可以做名词 e.g. a lack (n.)of money; the lack (n.)of time You will not lack (vi)in support from me.你将得到我的帮助。 The plant died because it lacked (vt.) moisture. 这株植物因为缺乏水分而死。 3) A stuntperson is a man or woman who does all the hair-raisingly dangerous bits of acting work in films or on TV. "hair-raisingly": n. + adv.的复合词形式 ,意思是: 令人毛骨悚然的 e.g. heart-breakingly bad news bone-bitingly cold wind ear-deafeningly loud noise bits: small pieces 少许,少量 4) This can be anything from a relatively simple fall into a swimming pool, to tripping off the top of a skyscraper building. 本句中最主要的结构是:from …to…需要用平行结构,from 后面用的是名词a fall, 那么to 后面也要用名词,动名词或者名词词组, 这里tripped off是动名词词组. trip off: jump from 从…跳离 5) It sounds like a crazy profession that only the crazy would attempt, but it’s actually a job that many people think about -few people actually go through with it. the crazy: 定冠词+形容词表示一类人. e.g. the weak the ordinary the young the rich think about: consider doing 考虑 e.g. I would like to think about your suggestion before I give a definite reply. go through with: to complete or pursue (sth. which has been agreed or planned) to the end (often with difficulties)完成, 把...进行到底

高级英语下lesson13课文翻译

Lesson Thirteen Work 工作 究竟工作是幸福还是痛苦的源泉，这可能是一个难以回答的问题。 Whether work should be placed among the causes of happiness or among the causes of unhappiness may perhaps be regarded as a doubtful question. 毫无疑问有许多工作是非常令人厌烦的，而且过多的工作总是十分痛苦的事。 There is certainly much work which is exceedingly irksome, and an excess of work is always very painful. 然而我认为，只要不过量，对多数人来说即使是最枯燥的工作也比终日无所事事要好些。 I think, however, that, provided work is not excessive in amount, even the dullest work is to most people less painful than idleness. 工作给人的愉快的程度多种多样，从仅仅是消烦解闷到产生巨大的快乐，这会随工作的性质和工 作者的能力而异。 There are in work all grades, from mere relief of tedium up to the profoundest delights, according to the nature of the work and the abilities of the worker. 大多数人不得不从事的工作本身大都无乐趣可言，但即使是这样的工作也有一些很大的好处。Most of the work that most people have to do is not in itself interesting, but even such work has certain great advantages. 首先，工作可将一天的许多时间占满，人们不必再费神来决定应干些什么，大多数人在可以自由地按自己的愿望打发时间时，常常会不知所措，想不起有什么令人愉快的事值得去做。 To begin with, it fills a good many hours of the day without the need of deciding what one shall do. Most people, when they are left free to fill their own time according to their own choice, are at a loss to think of anything sufficiently pleasant to be worth doing. 而他们的决定又总是受到干扰，觉得干别的什么事也许会更令人愉快。 And whatever they decide on, they are troubled by the feeling that something else would have been pleasanter. 能够有意义地利用闲暇时间是文明发展到最高阶段的结果，而目前很少有人能达到这一层次。To be able to fill leisure intelligently is the last product of civilization, and at present very few people have reached this level. 何况作出选择本身就是件令人厌烦的事。 Moreover the exercise of choice is in itself tiresome. 除了那些具有非凡主动性的人，其他的人肯定有人乐于被告诉一天中的每时每刻该做什么， 当然命令他们做的事不能太令人厌烦。 Except to people with unusual initiative it is positively agreeable to be told what to do at each hour of the day, provided the orders are not too unpleasant. 多数无所事事的阔佬免遭从事单调乏味工作之苦，但代价是莫名其妙的无聊。 Most of the idle rich suffer unspeakable boredom as the price of their freedom from drudgery. 有时他们去非洲猎取巨兽或环绕世界飞行来解闷，但这类刺激的数量有限，尤其到了中年以后更 是如此。 At times they may find relief by hunting big game in Africa, or by flying round the world, but the number of such sensations is limited, especially after youth is past. 因此较为明智的阔佬们工作起来几乎像穷人一样卖力，而有钱的女人则大多忙于她们自以为

(完整版)高级英语第二册课文翻译

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Text B Little Sister of the Poor 1.Mother Teresa (1910~1997) Mother Teresa, a Roman Catholic nun, was born to Albanian parents in Yugoslavia. She is known as “the Saint of the Gutters” for bringing comfort and dignity to the destitute贫穷的. She founded an order (Missionaries of Charity) which is noted for its work among the poor and the dying in Calcutta, India, and throughout the world. Mother Teresa was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979. 2. Roman Catholic Church The Roman Catholic Church, also called the Catholic Church or the Church of Rome, is the Christian Church with administrative headquarters in the Vatican, of which the pope, or the Bishop of Rome is the supreme head. 3.John Paul II (1920~) John Paul II is the first non-Italian Polish Pope in the history of the Roman Catholic church. He was elected pope on Oct. 16, 1978. John Paul II is a conservative pope who firmly holds traditional Catholic views. 4. Chernobyl The world’s worst nuclear-reactor accident occurred at the Chernobyl (Ukraine) nuclear power plant on Apr. 26, 1986. The accident caused the immediate death of 31 people, while many others suffered radioactive contamination污染. 6. the Nobel Prize Any of the prizes (five in number until 1969, when a sixth was added) that are awarded annually by four institutions (three Swedish and one Norwegian) from a fund established under the will of Alfred Bernhard Nobel. Distribution was begun on Dec. 10, 1901, the fifth anniversary of the death of the founder, whose will specified that the awards should annually be made “to those who, during the preceding year, shall have conferred the greatest benefit on mankind.” The five prizes established by his will are: the Nobel Prize for Physics; the Nobel Prize for Chemistry; the Nobel Prize for Physiology or Medicine; the Nobel Prize for Literature; and the Nobel Prize for Peace. An additional award, the Prize for Economic Sciences in Memory of Alfred Nobel, was set up in 1968 by the Bank of Sweden, and the first award was given in 1969. Text Analysis: Part I (Para 1-3) death of the Mother Teresa and the public response 1.(para.1) Mother Teresa served the dying and desperate all over the world. 2.(para.2) Mother Teresa died of illness and many people felt personal grief over her death. 3.(para.3) Mother Teresa was regarded as a living saint and what she did transcended the boundaries of religion and nationality. Part II(para.4~8) The development of Mother Teresa’s cause and countless acts of mercy Part III(para.9~11) Mother Teresa gained fame and honor as well as criticism. Her act will be remembered by people. Words & Expressions: 1. Hospitalize vt. (usu. pass.) put (a person) into hospital [常被动] 送…进医院治疗 He hospitalizes patients for minor ailments. 他把只有小病的患者也送进医院。 Mrs Smith seriously ill already hospitalize. 史密斯夫人病重已住院。 You must hospitalize right now. 你必须立即住院。

大学高级英语下册翻译

Lesson One 1. This picture brings back many pleasant memories of her Spanish holiday. 2. News and weather forecasts reports are staples of radio programmes. 3. By mere accident Tom met in a bar his long-lost brother who was thought to have been killed in action during the war. 4. Bill intuited something criminal in their plan. 5. They think that obsessive tidiness in factory is a bad sign . 6. Yesterday his mother sold several years’ worth of paper and magazines. 7. His heartening speech impelled us to (work with) greater efforts. 8. Those who enjoy pulling off a miracle often fail. 9. As language students we should have a sense of nuances of plain words and expressions. 10. The rude behavior of Mrs. Taylor’s adopted son is driving her into a nervous breakdown. 11. I like to see films in general, and American Western and horrors in particular. 12. In some sense Mary saw in her aunt a surrogate of her mother. 13. My father never equivocated, and he always gave some brief but poignant opinions. 14. Though he disabled, he never tries of helping people. 15. In any country, those who are remiss in their duty must be severely punished. 16. Awareness of the fact that the child was in danger impelled the policeman to action. Lesson 2 1. A. The chances are that they will be held up by traffic on their way to the airport. B. the plane takes off at 6:35. It would be a pity if they couldn’t make it. 2. Another popular notion which is in fact a misconception is that expensive clothes invariably raise one’s status. 3. Can you imagine what kind of life a man has lived who aspires to excellence and abhors mediocrity 4. A copy of our latest product catalogue will be sent free of charge if you will fill up the form on the reverse of this card and post it. 5. It will be an absurdity, if not a catastrophe. If half of the population of this city abandons their posts and goes in for business. 6. Because they want their kids to be somebodies, some well-intentioned parents exercise enormous pressures on their children and the results all too often prove the reverse. 7. The revered professor predicted that these brilliant young people would surely make their way in the scientific-technical realm in a few years.