飘（中文导读英文版）
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作者： （美）米切尔原著，王勋等编著
出 版 社： 清华大学出版社
出版时间： 2009-1-1字数：版次： 1页数： 全2部印刷时间：开本： 16开印次：纸张：I S B N ： 9787302190035包装： 平装内容简介
Gone with the Wind，中文译名为《飘》，是最经典的爱情巨著之一，它的作者是美国著名女作家马格丽特米切尔。故事讲述美国南北战争和战后重建时期，主人公郝思嘉曲折、哀婉的爱情与婚姻故事。美国南北战争前夕，生活在南方的少女郝思嘉，美貌而叛逆，她爱上了英俊的小伙子卫希礼，但卫希礼却选择了善良的媚兰。出于妒恨，郝思嘉嫁给了媚兰的哥哥查理。南北战争爆发后，卫希礼和查理应征入伍。查理不幸去世，郝思嘉成了寡妇。为了生活，战后的郝思嘉违心地同弗兰克结婚。不久之后，弗兰克去世，郝思嘉再次成为寡妇。郝思嘉不得已又和白瑞德结婚。不久，经过太多磨难的白瑞德对她已不太信任，下决心和她离婚。当爱离她而去时，郝思嘉才明白真爱自己和她所爱的人其实正是白瑞德。
该书自1936年出版以来，一直畅销至今，并被译成世界上几十种文字。根据小说改编的电影《乱世佳人》，曾一举夺得七项奥斯卡大奖，并成为电影史上最经典的名片之一。无论作为语言学习的课本，还是作为通俗的文学读本，本书对当代中国的青少年都将产生积极的影响。为了使读者能够了解英文故事概况，进而提高阅读速度和阅读水平，在每章的开始部分增加了中文导读。
作者简介
马格丽特米切尔，20世纪美困最伟大的作家之一。马格丽特于1926年开始创作长篇小说《飘》，历时10年。1936年该书一经出版，便成为当时美国最畅销的小说。1937年，她因该书获得美国普利策文学奖。《飘》是她唯一的一部文学作品，也是她的成名之作。根据小说改编而成的电影《乱世佳人》，曾一举夺得七项奥斯卡大奖，并成为电影史上最经典的名片之一。
目录
上 部
第一部分/PART ONE3
第一章/Chapter One4
第二章/Chapter Two26
第三章/Chapter Three47
第四章/Chapter Four72
第五章/Chapter Five86
第六章/Chapter Six107
第七章/Chapter Seven146
第二部分/PART TWO159
第八章/Chapter Eight160
第九章/Chapter Nine182
第十章/Chapter Ten221
第十一章/Chapter Eleven235
第十二章/Chapter Twelve244
第十三章/Chapter Thirteen266
第十四章/Chapter Fourteen284
第十五章/Chapter Fifteen298
第十六章/Chapter Sixteen314
第三部分/PART THREE325
第十七章/Chapter Seventeen326
第十八章/Chapter Eighteen352
第十九章/Chapter Nineteen370
第二十章/Chapter Twenty387
第二十一章/Chapter Twenty-one397
第二十二章/Chapter Twenty-Two415
第二十三章/Chapter Twenty-three423
第二十四章/Chapter Twenty-four445
第二十五章/Chapter Twenty-five478
第二十六章/Chapter Twenty-six494
第二十七章/Chapter Twenty-seven520
第二十八章/Chapter Twenty-eight535
第二十九章/Chapter Twenty-nine554
第三十章/Chapter Thirty569
下 部
第四部分/PART FOUR591
第三十一章/Chapter Thirty-one592
第三十二章/Chapter Thirty-two611
第三十三章/Chapter Thirty-three629
第三十四章/Chapter Thirty-four647
第三十五章/Chapter Thirty-five671
第三十六章/Chapter Thirty-six699
第三十七章/Chapter Thirty-seven735
第三十八章/Chapter Thirty-eight754
第三十九章/Chapter Thirty-nine785
第四十章/Chapter Forty805
第四十一章/Chapter Forty-one826
第四十二章/Chapter Forty-two854
第四十三章/Chapter Forty-three873
第四十四章/Chapter Forty-four890
第四十五章/Chapter Forty-five905
第四十六章/Chapter Forty-six930
第四十七章/Chapter Forty-seven941
第五部分/PART FIVE971
第四十八章/Chapter Forty-eight972
第四十九章/Chapter Forty-nine986
第五十章/Chapter Fifty1009
第五十一章/Chapter Fifty-one1022
第五十二章/Chapter Fifty-two1029
第五十三章/Chapter Fifty-three1049
第五十四章/Chapter Fifty-four1068
第五十五章/Chapter Fifty-five1084
第五十六章/Chapter Fifty-six1094
第五十七章/Chapter Fifty-seven1108
第五十八章/Chapter Fifty-eight1124
第五十九章/Chapter Fifty-nine1132
第六十章/Chapter Sixty1146
第六十一章/Chapter Sixty-one1153
第六十二章/Chapter Sixty-two1168
第六十三章/Chapter Sixty-three1175
书摘插图
第一章
Chapter One
郝思嘉融合了父母的优点——爱尔兰和法兰西血统的混合，淡绿色的眼睛、尖尖的下巴，洁白的皮肤使得男生经常被她迷住。
一天下午，塔尔顿兄弟俩斯图尔特、布伦特与郝思嘉一起在花园里聊天。郝思嘉身穿一件绿色花布长裙，脚登平跟拖鞋，纤细的腰身和丰满的胸部让她更加迷人。表面上的温文尔雅掩盖了她内心的叛逆和任性；斯图尔特与布伦特身材高挑，身穿骑士服，俊美傲慢。他们两人在马术、枪法和行为举止方面特别优秀，但是在学习方面却在两年内四次被逐出学校。他们的两个哥哥汤姆和博伊德也被连累退学。塔尔顿兄弟说即使不退学也会由于战争的原因回家，这让郝思嘉很不耐烦。她特别讨厌“战争”。在家里，她爸爸一天到晚都在谈论这些，而男孩子们似乎也只谈战争。虽然她很不耐烦，脸上却依然挂着微笑，欢快地眨着眼睛，这让男孩子们更着迷了。话题再次回到退学事件，塔尔顿兄弟的妈妈昨晚一直忙着驯服刚送的新马，而今天一大早兄弟俩就都逃离出来，只剩哥哥博伊德在家。
放眼望去，雨后的佐治亚州一片火红，种植园种满了棉花，周围一片片茂密的林地，即使天气多么炎热，那里总是隐蔽凉爽。太阳渐渐下山，农忙归来人们的脚步声、谈笑声混杂在一起。思嘉的母亲已吩咐给归来的人们分发食物，管家已开始准备晚餐。塔尔顿兄弟俩意识到该回家了，心里期待着思嘉能够留他们吃晚饭。
兄弟俩和思嘉谈论起明天卫家的野餐会和舞会，他们说只要思嘉能够陪他们跳舞，他们便会告诉思嘉一个秘密：卫家决定明天舞会上宣布卫希礼和查理的妹妹媚兰的订婚消息。思嘉听到后脸色煞白，眼光呆滞。兄弟俩再次提出让思嘉陪他们明晚一起吃晚饭，思嘉马上就答应了。兄弟俩异常兴奋，同时也觉得有些奇怪，以往思嘉都会不停推托，今天竟然这么爽快地答应了。他们继续聊着明天晚会以及婚礼的事情，但发现思嘉一言不发，也没有留他们吃晚饭。又聊了一会儿，他们只好叫上仆人吉姆斯，极不情愿地骑马离去。但两人仍在为思嘉没有留他们吃晚饭而疑惑，并且在回想到底是什么话语惹恼了思嘉。布伦特让仆人吉姆斯说说看，吉姆斯告诉他们思嘉是在听到卫希礼和媚兰要订婚的消息时，变得默默无语的。兄弟俩却还认为可能是希礼作为朋友没有提前告诉思嘉而使她生气的。他们徘徊游荡着，仍然不想回家。布伦特提议去卫家，但斯图尔特建议别去，因为人家正忙着准备明天的野餐会，而事实上他是因为内心愧疚。以前他追求过卫家的莫蒂，全县人都只认为二人会结婚，但遇到郝思嘉之后，斯图尔特便受不了诱惑转而追求郝思嘉；同样布伦特也放弃追求芒罗，兄弟俩喜欢上同一女孩，但他们的母亲却对郝思嘉没有好感。
他们又想到凯德卡尔福特家去，可以听他讲讲萨姆特堡的消息，但是他们却不能容忍凯德的继母。兄弟俩经过多番讨论，最终决定去埃布尔温德那儿，听听有关骑兵连的消息。但吉姆斯反对，温德家里的厨子过世，晚饭现在由一个做饭最糟糕的黑人负责。吉姆显然瞧不起只有少数黑奴的农场主，斯图尔特呵斥他不许说温德的坏话。
由于塔尔顿家的男孩酗酒打架，方丹家的又脾气太暴躁，卫希礼被选为骑兵连上尉，雷福德卡尔福特和埃布尔温德为中尉。骑兵连最初只招募种植园主的儿子，属于中产阶层，每两周集训一次，但经常会发生打架事件。兄弟俩决定让吉姆斯回家告诉母亲他们俩不回家吃晚饭了，这让吉姆斯异常恐惧。吉姆斯说会躺在树林里，宁可让巡逻队抓去也不愿回家。兄弟俩没办法，只好带着他一起去埃布尔家，同时警告他不许目中无人。一行人骑着马在山沟里走着，兄弟俩还在讨论思嘉为什么没有留他们吃晚饭的问题。
carlett O'hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended the delicate features of her mother, a Coast aristocrat of French descent, and the heavy ones of her florid Irish father. But it was an arresting face, pointed of chin, square of jaw. Her eyes were pale green without a touch of hazel, starred with bristly black lashes and slightly tilted at the ends. Above them, her thick black brows slanted upward, cutting a startling oblique line in her magnolia-white skin—that skin so prized by Southern women and so carefully guarded with bonnets, veils and mittens against hot Georgia suns.
Seated with Stuart and Brent Tarleton in the cool shade of the porch of Tara, her father's plantation, that bright April afternoon of 1861, she made a pretty picture. Her new green flowered-muslin dress spread its twelve yards of billowing material over her hoops and exactly matched the fiat-heeled green morocco slippers her father had recently brought her from Atlanta. The dress set off to perfection the seventeen-inch waist, the smallest in three counties, and the tightly fitting basque showed breasts well matured for her sixteen years. But for all the modesty of her spreading skirts, the demureness of hair netted smoothly into a chignon and the quietness of small white hands folded in her lap, her true self was poorly concealed. The green eyes in the carefully sweet face were turbulent, willful, lusty with life, distinctly at variance with her decorous demeanor. Her manners had been imposed upon her by her mother's gentle admonitions and the sterner discipline of her mammy; her eyes were her own.
On either side of her, the twins lounged easily in their chairs, squinting at the sunlight through tall mint-garnished glasses as they laughed and talked, their long legs, booted to the knee and thick with saddle muscles, crossed negligently. Nineteen years old, six feet two inches tall, long of bone and hard of muscle, with sunburned faces and deep auburn hair, their eyes merry and arrogant, their bodies clothed in identical blue coats and mustard-colored breeches, they were as much alike as two bolls of cotton.
Outside, the late afternoon sun slanted down in the yard, throwing into gleaming brightness the dogwood trees that were solid masses of white blossoms against the background of new green. The twins' horses were hitched in the driveway, big animals, red as their masters' hair; and around the horses' legs quarreled the pack of lean, nervous possum hounds that accompanied Stuart and Brent wherever they went. A little aloof, as became an aristocrat, lay a black-spotted carriage dog, muzzle on paws, patiently waiting for the boys to go home to supper.
Between the hounds and the horses and the twins there was a kinship deeper than that of their constant companionship. They were all healthy, thoughtless young animals, sleek, graceful, high-spirited, the boys as mettlesome as the horses they rode, mettlesome and dangerous but, withal, sweet-tempered to those who knew how to handle them.
Although born to the ease of plantation life, waited on hand and foot since infancy, the faces of the three on the porch were neither slack nor soft. They had the vigor and alertness of country people who have spent all their lives in the open and troubled their heads very little with dull things in books. Life in the north Georgia county of Clayton was still new and, according to the standards of Augusta, Savannah and Charleston, a little crude. The more sedate and older sections of the South looked down their noses at the up-country Georgians, but here in north Georgia, a lack of the niceties of classical education carried no shame, provided a man was smart in the things that mattered. And raising good cotton, riding well, shooting straight, dancing lightly, squiring the ladies with elegance and carrying one's liquor like a gentleman were the things that mattered.
In these accomplishments the twins excelled, and they were equally outstanding in their notorious inability to learn anything contained between the covers of books. Their family had more money, more horses, more slaves than any one else in the County, but the boys had less grammar than most of their poor Cracker neighbors.
It was for this precise reason that Stuart and Brent were idling on the porch of Tara this April afternoon. They had just been expelled from the University of Georgia, the fourth university that had thrown them out in two years; and their older brothers, Tom and Boyd, had come home with them, because they refused to remain at an institution where the twins were not welcome. Stuart and Brent considered their latest expulsion a fine joke, and Scarlett, who had not willingly opened a book since leaving the Fayetteville Female Academy the year before, thought it just as amusing as they did.
"I know you two don't care about being expelled, or Tom either," she said. "But what about Boyd? He's kind of set on getting an education, and you two have pulled him out of the University of Virginia and Alabama and South Carolina and now Georgia. He'll never get finished at this rate."
"Oh, he can read law in Judge Parmalee's office over in Fayetteville," answered Brent carelessly. "Besides, it don't matter much. We'd have had to come home before the term was out anyway."
"Why?"
"The war, goose! The war's going to start any day, and you don't suppose any of us would stay in college with a war going on, do you?"
"You know there isn't going to be any war," said Scarlett, bored. "It's all just talk. Why, Ashley Wilkes and his father told Pa just last week that our commissioners in Washington would come to—to—an—amicable agreement with Mr. Lincoln about the Confederacy. And anyway, the Yankees are too scared of us to fight. There won't be any war, and I'm tired of hearing about it."
"Not going to be any war!" cried the twins indignantly, as though they had been defrauded.
"Why, honey, of course there's going to be a war," said Stuart. "The Yankees may be scared of us, but after the way General Beauregard shelled them out of Fort Sumter day before yesterday, they'll have to fight or stand branded as cowards before the whole world. Why, the Confederacy—"
Scarlett made a mouth of bored impatience.
"If you say 'war' just once more, I'll go in the house and shut the door. I've never gotten so tired of any one word in my life as 'war,' unless it's 'secession.' Pa talks war morning, noon and night, and all the gentlemen who come to see him shout about Fort Sumter and States' Rights and Abe Lincoln till I get so bored I could scream! And that's all the boys talk about, too, that and their old Troop. There hasn't been any fun at any party this spring because the boys can't talk about anything else. I'm mighty glad Georgia waited till after Christmas before it seceded or it would have ruined the Christmas parties, too. If you say 'war' again, I'll go in the house."
She meant what she said, for she could never long endure any conversation of which she was not the chief subject. But she smiled when she spoke, consciously deepening her dimple and fluttering her bristly black lashes as swiftly as butterflies' wings. The boys were enchanted, as she had intended them to be, and they hastened to apologize for boring her. They thought none the less of her for her lack of interest. Indeed, they thought more. War was men's business, not ladies', and they took her attitude as evidence of her femininity.
Having maneuvered them away from the boring subject of war, she went back with interest to their immediate situation.
"What did your mother say about you two being expelled again?"
The boys looked uncomfortable, recalling their mother's conduct three months ago when they had come home, by request, from the University of Virginia.
"Well," said Stuart, "she hasn't had a chance to say anything yet. Tom and us left home early this morning before she got up, and Tom's laying out over at the Fontaines' while we came over here."
"Didn't she say anything when you got home last night?"
"We were in luck last night. Just before we got home that new stallion Ma got in Kentucky last month was brought in, and the place was in a stew. The big brute —he's a grand horse, Scarlett; you must tell your pa to come over and see him right away—he'd already bitten a hunk out of his groom on the way down here and he'd trampled two of Ma's darkies who met the train at Jonesboro. And just before we got home, he'd about kicked the stable down and half-killed Strawberry, Ma's old stallion. When we got home, Ma was out in the stable with a sackful of sugar smoothing him down and doing it mighty well, too. The darkies were hanging from the rafters, popeyed, they were so scared, but Ma was talking to the horse like he was folks and he was eating out of her hand. There ain't nobody like Ma with a horse. And when she saw us she said: 'In Heaven's name, what are you four doing home again? You're worse than the plagues of Egypt!' And then the horse began snorting and rearing and she said: 'Get out of here! Can't you see he's nervous, the big darling? I'll tend to you four in the morning!' So we went to bed, and this morning we got away before she could catch us and left Boyd to handle her."
"Do you suppose she'll hit Boyd?" Scarlett, like the rest of the County, could never get used to the way small Mrs. Tarleton bullied her grown sons and laid her riding crop on their backs if the occasion seemed to warrant it.
Beatrice Tarleton was a busy woman, having on her hands not only a large cotton plantation, a hundred negroes and eight children, but the largest horsebreeding farm in the state as well. She was hot-tempered and easily plagued by the frequent scrapes of her four sons, and while no one was permitted to whip a horse or a slave, she felt that a lick now and then didn't do the boys any harm.
"Of course she won't hit Boyd. She never did beat Boyd much because he's the oldest and besides he's the runt of the litter," said Stuart, proud of his six feet two. "That's why we left him at home to explain things to her. God'lmighty, Ma ought to stop licking us! We're nineteen and Tom's twenty-one, and she acts like we're six years old."
"Will your mother ride the new horse to the Wilkes barbecue tomorrow?"
"She wants to, but Pa says he's too dangerous. And, anyway, the girls won't let her. They said they were going to have her go to one party at least like a lady, riding in the carriage."
"I hope it doesn't rain tomorrow," said Scarlett. "It's rained nearly every day for a week. There's nothing worse than a barbecue turned into an indoor picnic."
"Oh, it'll be clear tomorrow and hot as June," said Stuart. "Look at that sunset. I never saw one redder. You can always tell weather by sunsets."
They looked out across the endless acres of Gerald O'Hara's newly plowed cotton fields toward the red horizon. Now that the sun was setting in a welter of crimson behind the hills across the Flint River, the warmth of the April day was ebbing into a faint but balmy chill.
Spring had come early that year, with warm quick rains and sudden frothing of pink peach blossoms and dogwood dappling with white stars the dark river swamp and far-off hills. Already the plowing was nearly finished, and the bloody glory of the sunset colored the fresh-cut furrows of red Georgia clay to even redder hues. The moist hungry earth, waiting upturned for the cotton seeds, showed pinkish on the sandy tops of furrows, vermilion and scarlet and maroon where shadows lay along the sides of the trenches. The whitewashed brick plantation house seemed an island set in a wild red sea, a sea of spiraling, curving, crescent billows petrified suddenly at the moment when the pink-tipped waves were breaking into surf. For here were no long, straight furrows, such as could be seen in the yellow clay fields of the fiat middle Georgia country or in the lush black earth of the coastal plantations. The rolling foothill country of north Georgia was plowed in a million curves to keep the rich earth from washing down into the river bottoms.
