Last year at Christmas time my wife，three boys，and I were in France，on our way from Paris to Nice．For five wretched days everything had gone wrong．Our hotels were “tourist traps”；our rented car broke down；we were all restless and irritable¹ in the crowded car．On Christmas Eve，when we checked into a dingy² hotel in Nice，there was no Christmas spirit in our hearts．

去年，在圣诞节期间，我和我的妻子以及我们的三个孩子，从法国踏上由巴黎到尼斯的旅途。由于接连五天的恶劣天气，旅途上一切很不顺心。我们下榻的旅馆尽是些敲诈勒索旅客的“陷阱”；我们租用的那辆汽车老是发生故障，在拥挤不堪的车子上大家个个显得烦躁不安。圣诞节前夕，我们住进了尼斯的一家旅店，这家旅店又脏又暗，我们打心眼里感觉不到丝毫的节日气氛。

It was raining and cold when we went out to eat．We found a drab little joint³ shoddily decorated for the holiday．It smelled greasy．Only five tables in the restaurant were occupied．There were two German couples，two French families，and an American sailor，by himself．In the corner a piano player listlessly played Christmas music．

我们外出就餐时，天正下着小雨，天气寒冷。我们找到了一家死气沉沉的小餐馆。为点缀一下节日的气氛，这家餐馆刚刚做了番粗劣的装潢。一进门就闻到一股刺鼻的油污气味。整个餐厅只有五张桌子有人就餐：两对德国夫妇，两户法国家庭和一名孑然一身的美国水手。在餐厅的一个角落里，有位钢琴师在无精打采地弹奏着圣诞乐曲。

I was too stubborn and too tired and miserable⁵ to leave．I looked around and noticed that the other customers were eating in stony⁶ silence．The only person who seemed happy was the American sailor．While eating，he was writing a letter，and a half－smile lighted his face．

我情绪低落，加之疲惫不堪，执意不愿离开这儿去找别的餐馆了。我环顾四周，见这里的顾客一个个沉默不语，只顾吃着、喝着，唯独那位美国水手看上去兴高采烈。他一边吃着，一边写信，面带微笑，神采奕奕。

My wife ordered our meal in French．The waiter brought us the wrong thing．I scolded my wife for being stupid．She began to cry．The boys defended her，and I felt even worse．

我的妻子给我们叫来了法国式的饭菜，而服务员给我们端来的却是别的东西。我斥责妻子尽干些蠢事，她哭了起来。孩子们一个个都护着他们的妈妈，于是我的情绪变得更加糟糕。

Then，at the table with the French family on our left，the father slapped one of his children for some minor⁷ infraction，and the boy began to cry．On our right，the German wife began berating⁸ her husband．

继而，坐在我们左侧餐桌上的那家法国人父亲因为一点鸡毛蒜皮的小事动手打了他的一个孩子一记耳光，那个小男孩哇哇大哭起来。在我的右边，那个德国妇女不知因何缘故开始喋喋不休地数落、责骂起她的丈夫来。

All of us were interrupted by an unpleasant blast of old air．Through the front door came an old French flower woman．She wore a dripping，tattered overcoat，and shuffled⁹ in on wet，rundown shoes．Carrying her basket of flowers，she went from one table to the other．

我们大家都被一阵令人不快、死灰复燃的陈规陋习弄得心烦意乱。这时，从前门进来一个卖花的法国老妪。她浑身湿透，衣衫褴褛，脚穿一双水淋淋的破鞋，手里提着花篮，沿桌叫卖。

"Flowers，monsieur？Only one franc．"

“买花吗，先生？一束才一个法郎哩。”

No one bought any．

谁也没有答理她。

Wearily she sat down at a table between the sailor and us．To the waiter she said，"A bowl of soup．I haven't sold a flower all afternoon．" To the piano player she said hoarsely，"Can you imagine，Joseph， soup on Christmas Eve？"

她疲惫不堪，在水手和我们之间的那张餐桌旁边坐了下来，对服务员说："请来碗汤吧。整整一下午，我连一朵花也不曾脱手。"接着，她转向那位钢琴师，用嘶哑的声音问，"在圣诞节前夕喝碗汤，约瑟夫，你能设想这种滋味吗？"

He pointed¹⁰ to his empty "tipping plate"．

钢琴师指了指身旁的那只空空如也的"放小费的盘子"。

The young sailor finished his meal and got up to leave．Putting on his coat，he walked over to the flower woman's table．

那位年轻的海员已用罢晚餐，欠起身来准备离开餐馆。他披上外套，走到卖花老妪的桌前。