［翻译］伍尔夫――Time Passes（Chapter 5）

As she lurched (for she rolled like a ship at sea) and leered (for her eyes fell on nothing directly, but with a sidelong glance that deprecated the scorn and anger of the world—she was witless, she knew it), as she clutched the banisters and hauled herself upstairs and rolled from room to room, she sang. 她步履蹒跚（像只颠簸的小船），双目斜睨（她从没正眼看东西, 总是用斜斜的目光来回敬世界对她的藐视和愤恨――这很蠢，她是知道的。），紧握住楼梯的栏杆，吃力地爬到楼上去，哼着小曲从这间踉跄到那间。Rubbing the glass of the long looking-glass and leering sideways at her swinging figure a sound issued from her lips—something that had been gay twenty years before on the stage perhaps, had been hummed and danced to, but now, coming from the toothless, bonneted, care-taking woman, was robbed of meaning, was like the voice of witlessness, humour, persistency itself, trodden down but springing up again, so that as she lurched, dusting, wiping, she seemed to say how it was one long sorrow and trouble, how it was getting up and going to bed again, and bringing things out and putting them away again. 她擦着穿衣镜修长的镜面，余光注意到镜子里晃动的身体，唇间发着一种声音。二十年前这声音是欢快灵动的（可能还在舞台上被歌唱着），人们边哼着它边起舞。但现在被一个牙齿都掉光的清洁老婆子唱着，它失去了意义。现在它就是愚蠢和固执，被人弃置了却又主动冒出来。她吃力地挪到这扫尘，挪到那擦窗，好像在抱怨这费时费力的苦活，抱怨着起床后又得去睡觉，抱怨着把东西拿出来后又得放回去。It was not easy or snug this world she had known for close on seventy years. 将近七十年了，这个世界从未让她感到舒适。Bowed down she was with weariness. 疲劳已经压弯她的腰。How long, she asked, creaking and groaning on her knees under the bed, dusting the boards, how long shall it endure? but hobbled to her feet again, pulled herself up, and again with her sidelong leer which slipped and turned aside even from her own face, and her own sorrows, stood and gaped in the glass, aimlessly smiling, and began again the old amble and hobble, taking up mats, putting down china, looking sideways in the glass, as if, after all, she had her consolations, as if indeed there twined about her dirge some incorrigible hope.她钻到床下打扫地板，脚关节在咔咔呻吟。多久，她问着，这床还能保存多久？她艰难起身，喘了几口气，站在镜子前用斜斜的眼光（它刚刚从自己的脸庞和忧伤上溜过）呆望着自己，打了个哈欠，也不知为何就笑了。一会之后又开始慢慢挪动――掀起地毯，取下瓷器。同时又斜斜地瞥着镜子，好像能从里面求得安慰, 好像在镜子里她的悲歌还缠绕着丝缕希望。Visions of joy there must have been at the wash- tub, say with her children (yet two had been base-born and one had deserted her), at the public-house, drinking; turning over scraps in her drawers. 水盆边必定遗留着她和两个孩子过去幸福的景象。他们是私生子，一个已弃她而去。在酒馆里饮醉，没钱了就在她抽屉里乱翻一通。Some cleavage of the dark there must have been, some channel in the depths of obscurity through which light enough issued to twist her face grinning in the glass and make her, turning to her job again, mumble out the old music hall song. 无边黑暗里会有裂缝，无底深渊下会有河流。光线穿过这些小道扭曲了她镜子中呆咧着的脸。她继续打扫，瘪着嘴低唱演艺场里陈旧的曲调。The mystic, the visionary, walking the beach on a fine night, stirring a puddle, looking at a stone, asking themselves "What am I," "What is this?" had suddenly an answer vouchsafed them: (they could not say what it was) so that they were warm in the frost and had comfort in the desert. But Mrs McNab continued to drink and gossip as before.曾有于夜晚在海边漫步的神秘幻影。他们搅动着泥坑，注视着小石头，问着自己“我是什么，”“这一切又是什么？”。这一刻，造物主突然赐予他们答案。他们说不出那是什么，但能感受到。那是冷雾里的温暖，荒凉中的慰藉。管家麦克纳布夫人继续喝这小酒，絮絮叨叨。