描述
开 本: 32开纸 张: 纯质纸包 装: 精装是否套装: 否国际标准书号ISBN: 9787544785198丛书名: 有声双语经典
译林“有声双语经典”原版引进美国教育专家特为学生编写的英语名著，精选贴近中国学生英语习得水平的经典作品。丛书甄选优质中文译本，配以导读、作家作品简介和插图，并聘请资深高考听力卷主播朗读英语有声书。有声书播放平台操作便捷，只需扫描书中二维码，即可收听。丛书选目涵盖各国经典文学作品，让孩子在阅读中提高文学鉴赏能力和英语听读能力。著名儿童文学作家黄蓓佳长文导读推荐。
《王子与贫儿》是美国作家马克·吐温创作的一部历史小说，出版于1881年。故事背景设定于1547年的伦敦，主人公为生于贫民窟的汤姆·坎蒂，以及英格兰国王亨利八世的儿子爱德华·都铎。两个男孩在同一天出生，外貌也离奇地相似，他们在机缘巧合之下互换了身份，体验了彼此不同的人生。两个外貌一样的人，进入彼此天差地别的生活，决定命运的是外在环境还是内在心灵？这部作品探讨的善恶主题时至今日仍然引人深思。《王子与贫儿》是马克·吐温写给两个女儿的作品，出版以来已成为儿童文学的经典之作。
16世纪的伦敦城里，贫儿汤姆与王子爱德华出生在同一天，样貌也非常相像，但生活境遇却天差地别。汤姆以乞讨为生，食不果腹；爱德华王子则在皇宫里，预备成为王位继承人。两人相遇之后，对彼此产生了强烈的兴趣，机缘巧合之下体验了对方的生活。在经历曲折的冒险之后，爱德华王子立志做一位仁慈的君王，善良的汤姆也获得了丰厚的回报。
前言
第1章 王子与贫儿的诞生
第2章 汤姆与王子的会面
第3章 王子开始遭难
第4章 汤姆当上王子
第5章 受困的王子
第6章 王子和他的救星
第7章 “老王驾崩——新王万岁！”
第8章 疯子一世
第9章 王子成了囚犯
第10章 汤姆的进步
第11章 国王爱德华
Preface
CHAPTER 1 The Birth of the Prince and the Pauper
CHAPTER 2 Tom’s Meeting with the Prince
CHAPTER 3 The Prince’s Troubles Begin
CHAPTER 4 Tom as a Prince
CHAPTER 5 The Trapped Prince
CHAPTER 6 The Prince and His Deliverer
CHAPTER 7 “The King Is Dead—Long Live the King!”
CHAPTER 8 Foo-foo the First
CHAPTER 9 Down by Law
CHAPTER 10 Tom’s Progress
CHAPTER 11 Edward as King
每一个灯光漫溢的夜晚（黄蓓佳/文）
去年开始，图书商城的运营者们在网上做了一档很不错的栏目，叫作“大咖书单”，我记得是在第四期时，我为这份书单推荐了两本书，《杀死一只知更鸟》和《奇风岁月》，到第七期又推荐了两本，《老师，水缸破了！》和《天虹战队小学》。回过头一想，赫然惊觉，两次推荐的四本书，居然都是出自译林出版社。潜意识里我对这家出版社是有多偏爱啊，我那么自觉自愿地、一往无前地做了译林社的一名“吹鼓手”。
没有办法，喜欢就是喜欢，没有道理可讲。
喜欢译林出版社的书，其实是因为我喜欢外国文学作品。细究起来，我对外国文学的热爱，源自童年那个无书可读的时代。我在扬子江边一个小小的县城长大，我父母工作的学校是当地好的县中，县中图书馆多少有一些藏书，“文革”开始的那一年，书籍和老师们一同被揪出来示众，之后老师们游街，图书拉到操场一把火烧毁。图书馆主任“火中抢栗”，偷出一纸箱运回家中。主任的儿子跟我小学同班，因此我沾了他的光，把他父亲秘藏的小说书一本一本地搬运出来，在一双双黝黑的小手中辗转一圈之后，再神不知鬼不觉地偷放回去。那位图书馆主任可能比较“崇洋媚外”，弄回家的小说大都是世界名著，我对于外国文学的兴趣，便是从那时开始的。
那时年幼，读书不求甚解，又因为是背着大人们的“偷阅”，读书过程基本是囫囵吞枣。很多书传到我手里的时候缺头少尾，只剩下中间三分之二的篇幅，精彩之处戛然而止，急得我抓耳挠腮。页码齐全的书，抓到手里翻开就读，书名是什么，作者何人，很奇怪地忽略不计，一点儿不想知道。及至十年之后我上了大学，外国文学开禁，我在北大图书馆发疯一样地狂读名著时，时不时会在心里惊叫一声：这本书不是我小时候读过的吗？于是，嗅着书中陈年纸张散发的潮湿气味，心里涌出一种老朋友失而复得的狂喜。也有一些书，童年时候莫名其妙地读过了，却是踏破铁鞋无觅处。它们就这样永远地从我的生活中消失了，像无数消失在我生命旅途的朋友和家人。
高二那年，妹妹的同学借了我一套肖洛霍夫的《静静的顿河》。在我的生命中，那是一次飞跃，此后的这么多年我以文学为生，应该与那一次的阅读震撼有关。书中的那个哥萨克人格利高里，很长时间中成为我欣赏男性的标准。书中描写的顿河风光，至今都在我的脑子里鲜活和闪亮。
十九岁，我在农场插队。一个飘雪的冬夜，农场宣传队在场部排练节目时，电突然停了，礼堂里一片漆黑。一个只读了三年小学的农场工人对我们说：“我来讲个故事吧。”他讲的那个故事叫《茶花女》。一直到今天我都觉得那个晚上的情景像梦。在那个不准读书的年代，那个没有文化的乡村，初小没有毕业的农民居然讲出法国作家小仲马的名著。那个漆黑凄美的冬夜，从此也深深刻印到我的记忆之中。那是我次领略悲剧作品的魅力。几年之后，时代剧变，我买到了《茶花女》的小说，听过了《茶花女》的歌剧，看过了同名电影，我从一切形式的《茶花女》中寻找那个雪夜的感觉，然而再不可能，好的都是的。
一九七八年初春进入北大，那一年外国文学还没有开禁，北大图书馆里辟出很小的一个房间作为“外国文学阅览室”，每星期三的下午，允许中文系文学专业的学生，凭学生证进入阅读。我的印象中，那间阅览室只能容纳十几二十几个学生，每次开放，排在前面的同学才有机会被老师放进门去。于是那一年的“星期三”成了我们的排队日，匆忙吃过午饭，碗都来不及洗，拔脚往图书馆飞奔，一行人安静地在阅览室门外排队，等待两点钟开门放人。除却寒暑假、节日、有课的日子、有重要活动的日子，剩下的“星期三”并不是很多，所以每一次的阅读时间弥足珍贵。一书在手，全身心地扑上去吞食，每每到五点钟闭馆交书，站起身来，头晕目眩，虚脱的感觉。那种阅读，耗出去的不仅仅是脑力，还有巨大的体力。
一九七八年，人民文学出版社开始重印外国文学名著。刚开始的时候人多书少，全班同学轮流着到海淀新华书店通宵排队购书。那时年轻，通宵不眠为了买一本书，丝毫不觉辛苦。慢慢地书越出越多，时常到书店转悠，冷不丁地就碰上新书上架。排长队是不必了，痛切的感觉是口袋里钱太少。那时发下的心愿是哪一天发了财，可以把书店里的新书都掳回来。转眼三十年过去，谈不上发大财，买书是可以不计价钱了，可是看着书店里铺天盖地的图书，想到书架上还有很多书不及阅读，解囊的兴致少了许多，挑挑拣拣，带个一两本回家，心中并没有太多欣喜。人生的悲哀真正是无处不在。
还是回到一九七九年。印象之中，《世界文学》《外国文艺》《译林》这些杂志都是在那时候陆续复刊和创刊的。这些刊物着重介绍外国现当代文学，并且以中短篇幅的为主，对于习惯了阅读古典长篇的我们，眼前似乎又打开了另外一个世界。我非常清楚地记得，同班同学陈建功有一次读到格雷厄姆·格林的短篇《永远占有》，佩服得五体投地，双眼发光地跑来跟我们说：“我真想跪在格林面前向他致敬！”
童年的阅读实在重要，它奠定了一个人终生的阅读口味。检点我书架上的书籍，百分之八十是外国文学作品。我曾经订阅过的刊物，有《世界文学》《外国文艺》《译林》《译文》《世界电影》……统统跟外国文学有关。几十年中，每一个灯光漫溢的夜晚，阅读这些缤纷华彩的文字，感觉世界离我很近。文字中写到的每一个角落，都是我心灵去过的地方。我占有了这些作品，我就占有了这个世界。
在我的印象中，译林社出的每一本书，无论是社科类的，还是人文类的，都值得读者收藏。而在译林社所出的文学类图书中，外国儿童文学作品又属精品中的精品，比之国内大多数专业少儿社所出的图书，译林社的视野更宽，选择标准更高，口味也更纯粹。很敬佩译林社的众多编辑们，他们敬业而又专业，总是能从全世界浩如烟海的各类书籍中挑选出值得国人阅读的那一部分，延请好的翻译家、好的画家和设计师，做出一本又一本端庄而精致的图书，送到读者的面前。每次徜徉在灯光明亮的书店，或者打开手机上网搜索，译林社的新书总是我中意的目标，我信赖译林社的出品，而且基本上不会失望。
翻开这套“有声双语经典”的书目，里面的作家和作品都是我熟悉的名字。有些书是在童年和少年时代各种侥幸落入我的手中的，有些是读大学时列入书单需要细读的，还有一些，比如《小王子》，比如《绿山墙的安妮》，少年和青年时代居然都错失了它们，是我在人到中年之后才补读完成。更有一部分，年轻时读过，花甲之年又重新捧起，是为了重温之后可以为我的小外孙女们详细讲解。在此我愿意把这些书目推荐给小读者们，是因为这样的一套书当之无愧地应该成为你们好的朋友，会帮助你们更加优雅地长大。
我喜欢马克·吐温——谁会不喜欢他呢？即使是上帝，亦会钟爱他，赋予其智慧，并于其心灵里绘画出一道爱与信仰的彩虹。
——美国作家、教育家，海伦·凯勒
马克·吐温是真正的美国作家，我们都是继承他而来。
——美国作家、诺贝尔文学奖得主，威廉·福克纳
第1章
王子与贫儿的诞生
在古老的伦敦城里，十六世纪第二个二十五年中的一个秋天，一个小男孩出生在一户姓坎蒂的贫穷人家，这家人并不欢迎这个孩子。就在同一天，在姓都铎的大富之家，另一个英国男孩也出生了，这家人可非常欢迎他。全英国都很欢迎他。人们对这个男孩的降生都期待已久了，对他寄予厚望，向上帝祷告他的诞生。现在，他来到了这个世界，人们欢天喜地地为他庆祝。整个英国，上自达官显贵，下至平民百姓，所有人都放了假，日日夜夜举行宴会，载歌载舞。白天，伦敦城好看极了。家家户户的阳台和屋顶都飘舞着彩旗，华丽的游行队伍在街上穿行。到了夜间，盛况依旧，每个角落都燃起篝火，人们成群结队，围着篝火狂欢作乐。整个英国现在只有一个话题，那就是这个刚出生的孩子——爱德华·都铎，威尔士亲王。他正躺在绸缎制成的襁褓里。至于汤姆·坎蒂，他被包裹在破布片儿里，除了他那贫穷的家人，没有人谈起过他。而他的出生对这家人来说就是个麻烦。
我们跳过几年，讲讲以后的事情。伦敦城已有一千五百年的历史了，对于那个时代来说，它是座伟大的城市。这里的街道狭窄、弯曲、肮脏，尤其是汤姆· 坎蒂居住的地方。他住在伦敦桥附近，那一带的房子是木头建造的，二楼的地板延伸到一楼的墙壁之外，三楼的建筑更是旁逸斜出。狭小的窗户嵌着菱形玻璃，像门一样装着铰链，朝外开着。汤姆父亲的住所在布丁巷外一个肮脏的死胡同里，那儿被称作垃圾大院。狭窄破旧的院子里住满了贫穷破落的 家庭。坎蒂一家住在三楼的一间房子里。父亲和母亲在角落里有一张不像样的破床；而汤姆和他的奶奶，还有他的两个姐姐贝特和南，只能在地板上找地方睡。他们有一两条破旧不堪的毯子，几捆旧稻草，勉强可以算是“床铺”。早晨，这些东西被踢成一堆；到了晚上，又被拉出来使用。贝特和南是一对十五岁的双胞胎姐妹。她们心地善良，但是模样脏兮兮的，穿得破破烂烂，没受过教育。她们的母亲也是这样的人。可是，父亲和奶奶却是一对魔鬼。他们只要有机会就喝得酩酊大醉，然后互相打架，如果谁挡了他们的道儿，也会挨一顿揍。他们总是骂骂咧咧的。约翰·坎蒂是一个小偷，他的母亲是一个乞丐。他们把孩子们都教成了叫花子，但没能把他们训练成小偷。附近的邻居里有一位善良的老神父，他常常把孩子们叫过去，私下教他们一些正当的道理。安德鲁神父还教会汤姆一些拉丁文，还有读书写字。整个垃圾大院的情况和坎蒂一家差不多，日日夜夜都有人酗酒、打斗。但小汤姆并没有因此不开心。他的日子过得很苦，可他并不自知。垃圾大院里的男孩们过的都是这样的生活，因此，他便以为一切都是理所当然的。当他乞讨了一天，两手空空回到家的时候，他知道父亲会咒骂他、鞭打他。等父亲发泄完了，奶奶又会重来一遍。夜深人静的时候，忍饥挨饿的母亲会把自己省下来的一口食物给汤姆吃。夏天，汤姆的乞讨所得只能填饱自己的肚子，因为禁止乞讨的法律很严格，刑罚也很沉重。于是他便有很多时间去听善良的安德鲁神父讲那些有趣的传奇故事，关于巨人、仙女、矮人、精灵和神秘的城堡，还有贤明的国王和王子。他的脑袋里装满了这些精彩的故事，在许多个夜晚，他又累又饿地躺在草铺上，忍着鞭打留下的疼痛，让自己进入天马行空的想象世界。他在脑海中想象自己变成了王子，王宫里的生活幸福极了，不一会儿他便忘记了疼痛。有一个念头在他的脑海里日日夜夜挥之不去——他想亲眼见一见真正的王子。汤姆曾经跟垃圾大院里的几个伙伴说起这个愿望，但他遭到了狠狠的嘲笑和挖苦。从那以后，他便把这个梦想深埋在自己心中。汤姆照例每天穿着破烂的衣服出门乞讨。他讨到的钱财很少，吃少得可怜的面包屑，一如既往地遭受虐待。到了晚上，他睡在那一小片稻草垫子上，继续做那场宏大的美梦。他想亲眼见一见真正的王子，哪怕只看一眼，这个愿望在他心中越发强烈。一天又一天，一个礼拜又一个礼拜，终，他心里其他的愿望都被吸走了，这成了他生命中的愿望。一月的一个雨天，汤姆又去乞讨了。他步伐沉重，光着脚走了好几个小时，觉得冷极了。他向商店的橱窗里张望，很想吃一块猪肉馅饼，还有里面陈列的其他食物——他认为那些食物是专为天使准备的——他是根据气味猜测 的，因为他从来不曾幸运地享用过那些美味。 那天晚上，汤姆浑身湿漉漉地回到家，又累又饿，就连爸爸和奶奶看到他的样子，也不能不表示同情——用他们独特的方式。于是他们立即揍了汤姆一顿，叫他去睡觉。有好一阵工夫，汤姆又痛又饿，楼里的咒骂声和打斗声不绝于耳，让他难以入眠。不过，后来他的思绪飘荡到了遥远浪漫的地方，接着他便坠入梦乡。在梦中，他同一些披金戴银的王子们为伴，仆人们向他们鞠躬行礼，或是跑来跑去执行他们的命令。一如既往，他梦见他是一位王子。然而，清晨醒来的时候，当他看清自己悲惨的境遇， 夜晚的美梦便如往常一般，使得他所处的贫困环境显得更糟糕了。他感到痛苦、伤心，流下了眼泪。
CHAPTER 1 The Birth of the Prince and the Pauper
In the ancient city of London, on a certain fall day in the second quarter of the sixteenth century, a boy was born to a poor family of the name of Canty, who did not want him. On the same day another English child was born to a rich family of the name of Tudor, who did want him. All England wanted him too. England had so longed for him, and hoped for him, and prayed God for him, that, now that he was really come, the people went nearly mad for joy. Everybody took a holiday, and high and low, rich and poor, feasted and danced and sang; and they kept this up for days and nights together. By day, London was a sight to see, with bright banners waving from every balcony and house-top, and splendid parades. By night, it was again a sight to see, with its great bonfires at every corner, and its troops making merry around them. There was no talk in all England but of the new baby, Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales, who lay covered in silks and satins. But there was no talk about the other baby, Tom Canty, covered in his poor rags, except among the family of paupers whom he had just come to trouble with his presence. Let us skip a number of years. London was fifteen hundred years old, and was a great town—for that day. The streets were narrow, and crooked, and dirty, especially in the part where Tom Canty lived, which was not far from London Bridge. The houses were of wood, with the second story reaching out over the first, and the third sticking its elbows out beyond the second. The windows were small, with little diamond-shaped panes, and they opened outward, on hinges, like doors.
The house which Tom’s father lived in was up a foul little pocket called Offal Court, off Pudding Lane. It was small and rickety, but it was packed full of very poor families. Canty’s tribe occupied a room on the third floor. The mother and father had a sort of bed in the corner; but Tom, his grandmother, and his two sisters, Bet and Nan, had all the floor to themselves, and might sleep where they chose. There were the remains of a blanket or two, and some bundles of old straw, but these could not rightly be called beds; they were kicked into a general pile, mornings, and selections made from the mass at night. Bet and Nan were fifteen years old—twins. They were good-hearted girls, unclean, clothed in rags, and ignorant. Their mother was like them. But the father and grandmother were a couple of fiends. They got drunk whenever they could; then they fought each other or anybody else who came in the way; they cursed and swore always; John Canty was a thief, and his mother, a beggar. They made beggars of the children, but failed to make thieves of them. Among the people that inhabited the house was a good old priest, and he used to get the children aside and teach them right ways secretly. Father Andrew also taught Tom a little Latin, and how to read and write. All Offal Court was just such another hive as Canty’s house. Drunkenness and brawling were the order every night and nearly all night long. Yet little Tom was not unhappy. He had a hard time of it, but did not know it. It was the sort of time all the Offal Court boys had, therefore he supposed it was the correct and comfortable thing. When he came home empty-handed at night after a day of begging, he knew his father would curse him and thrash him, and that when he was done the grandmother would do it all over again; and that in the night his starving mother would slip to him any scrap or crust she had been able to save for him. In summer, Tom only begged just enough to save himself, for the laws against begging were harsh, and the penalties heavy; so he put in a good deal of his time listening to good Father Andrew’s charming old tales and legends about giants and fairies, dwarfs, genii, and enchanted castles, and gorgeous kings and princes. His head grew to be full of these wonderful things, and many a night as he lay in the dark on his straw, tired, hungry, smarting from a thrashing, he let go his imagination and soon forgot his aches in picturings to himself of the charmed life of a prince in a palace. One desire came to haunt him day and night; it was to see a real prince, with his own eyes. He spoke of it once to some of his Offal Court comrades; but they jeered him and scoffed at him so much that he kept his dream to himself after that. Each day he would go forth in his rags and beg a few farthings, eat his poor crust, take his customary abuse, and then stretch himself upon his handful of straw, and begin again his grand dreams. His desire to look just once upon a real prince, in the flesh, grew upon him, day by day, and week by week, until at last it absorbed all other desires, and became the one passion of his life. One rainy January day, on his usual begging tour, he tramped up and down, hour after hour, barefooted and cold, looking in at shop windows and longing for the pork-pies and other items displayed there—for to him these were foods fit for the angels; that is, judging by the smell, they were—for it had never been his good luck to own and eat one. That night Tom reached home so wet and tired and hungry that it was not possible for his father and grandmother to see his condition and not be moved— after their fashion; so they gave him a beating at once and sent him to bed. For a long time his pain and hunger, and the swearing and the fighting going on in the building, kept him awake; but at last his thoughts drifted away to far, romantic lands, and he fell asleep in the company of jewelled and gilded princelings who lived in great palaces, and had servants bowing before them or flying to carry out their orders. And then, as usual, he dreamed he was a princeling himself. But when he awoke in the morning and looked upon the wretchedness about him, his dream had its usual effect—it made worse the poverty of his surroundings. Then came bitterness, and heartbreak, and tears.
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