marrakech課文翻譯

　　有些同學閱讀長篇英語課文可能有一定難度，以下是小編精心整理的marrakech課文翻譯，歡迎閱讀，希望大家能夠喜歡。

　　Marrakech

　　George Orwell

　　As the corpse went past the flies left the restaurant table in a cloud and rushed after it, but they came back a few minutes later.

　　The little crowd of mourners -- all men and boys, no women--threaded their way across the market place between the piles of pomegranates and the taxis and the camels, walling a short chant over and over again. What really appeals to the flies is that the corpses here are never put into coffins, they are merely wrapped in a piece of rag and carried on a rough wooden bier on the shoulders of four friends. When the friends get to the burying-ground they hack an oblong hole a foot or two deep, dump the body in it and fling over it a little of the dried-up, lumpy earth, which is like broken brick. No gravestone, no name, no identifying mark of any kind. The burying-ground is merely a huge waste of hummocky earth, like a derelict building-lot. After a month or two no one can even be certain where his own relatives are buried.

　　3 When you walk through a town like this -- two hundred thousand inhabitants of whom at least twenty thousand own literally nothing except the rags they stand up in-- when you see how the people live, and still more how easily they die, it is always difficult to believe that you are walking among human beings. All colonial empires are in reality founded upon this fact. The people have brown faces--besides, there are so many of them! Are they really the same flesh as your self? Do they even have names? Or are they merely a kind of undifferentiated brown stuff, about as individual as bees or coral insects? They rise out of the earth，they sweat and starve for a few years, and then they sink back into the nameless mounds of the graveyard and nobody notices that they are gone. And even the graves themselves soon fade back into the soil. Sometimes, out for a walk as you break your way through the prickly pear, you notice that it is rather bumpy underfoot, and only a certain regularity in the bumps tells you that you are walking over skeletons.

　　I was feeding one of the gazelles in the public gardens.

　　Gazelles are almost the only animals that look good to eat when they are still alive, in fact, one can hardly look at their hindquarters without thinking of a mint sauce. The gazelle I was feeding seemed to know that this thought was in my mind, for though it took the piece of bread I was holding out it obviously did not like me. It nibbled nibbled rapidly at the bread, then lowered its head and tried to butt me, then took another nibble and then butted again. Probably its idea was that if it could drive me away the bread would somehow remain hanging in mid-air.

　　An Arab navvy working on the path nearby lowered his heavy hoe and sidled slowly towards us. He looked from the gazelle to the bread and from the bread to the gazelle, with a sort of quiet amazement, as though he had never seen anything quite like this before. Finally he said shyly in French: "I could eat some of that bread."

　　I tore off a piece and he stowed it gratefully in some secret place under his rags. This man is an employee of the municipality.

　　When you go through the Jewish Quarters you gather some idea of what the medieval ghettoes were probably like. Under their Moorish rulers the Jews were only allowed to own land in certain restricted areas, and after centuries of this kind of treatment they have ceased to bother about overcrowding. Many of the streets are a good deal less than six feet wide, the houses are completely windowless, and sore-eyed children cluster everywhere in unbelievable numbers, like clouds of flies. Down the centre of the street there is generally running a little river of urine.

　　In the bazaar huge families of Jews, all dressed in the long black robe and little black skull-cap, are working in dark fly-infested booths that look like caves. A carpenter sits crosslegged at a prehistoric lathe, turning chairlegs at lightning speed. He works the lathe with a bow in his right hand and guides the chisel with his left foot, and thanks to a lifetime of sitting in this position his left leg is warped out of shape. At his side his grandson, aged six, is already starting on the simpler parts of the job.

　　I was just passing the coppersmiths booths when somebody noticed that I was lighting a cigarette. Instantly, from the dark holes all round, there was a frenzied rush of Jews, many of them old grandfathers with flowing grey beards, all clamouring for a cigarette. Even a blind man somewhere at the back of one of the booths heard a rumour of cigarettes and came crawling out, groping in the air with his hand. In about a minute I had used up the whole packet. None of these people, I suppose, works less than twelve hours a day, and every one of them looks on a cigarette as a more or less impossible luxury.

　　As the Jews live in self-contained communities they follow the same trades as the Arabs, except for agriculture. Fruitsellers, potters, silversmiths, blacksmiths, butchers, leather-workers, tailors, water-carriers, beggars, porters -- whichever way you look you see nothing but Jews. As a matter of fact there are thirteen thousand of them, all living in the space of a few acres. A good job Hitlet wasnt here. Perhaps he was on his way, however. You hear the usual dark rumours about Jews, not only from the Arabs but from the poorer Europeans.

　　"Yes mon vieux, they took my job away from me and gave it to a Jew. The Jews! They re the real rulers of this country, you know. They’ve got all the money. They control the banks, finance -- everything."

　　"But", I said, "isnt it a fact that the average Jew is a labourer working for about a penny an hour?"

　　"Ah, thats only for show! They re all money lenders really. They re cunning, the Jews."

　　In just the same way, a couple of hundred years ago, poor old women used to be burned for witchcraft when they could not even work enough magic to get themselves a square meal. square meal

　　All people who work with their hands are partly invisible, and the more important the work they do, the less visible they are. Still, a white skin is always fairly conspicuous. In northern Europe, when you see a labourer ploughing a field, you probably give him a second glance. In a hot country, anywhere south of Gibraltar or east of Suez, the chances are that you dont even see him. I have noticed this again and again. In a tropical landscape ones eye takes in everything except the human beings. It takes in the dried-up soil, the prickly pear, the palm tree and the distant mountain, but it always misses the peasant hoeing at his patch. He is the same colour as the earth, and a great deal less interesting to look at.

　　It is only because of this that the starved countries of Asia and Africa are accepted as tourist resorts. No one would think of running cheap trips to the Distressed Areas. But where the human beings have brown skins their poverty is simply not noticed. What does Morocco mean to a Frenchman? An orange grove or a job in Government service. Or to an Englishman? Camels, castles, palm trees, Foreign Legionnaires, brass trays, and bandits. One could probably live there for years without noticing that for nine-tenths of the people the reality of life is an endless back-breaking struggle to wring a little food out of an eroded soil.

　　Most of Morocco is so desolate that no wild animal bigger than a hare can live on it. Huge areas which were once covered with forest have turned into a treeless waste where the soil is exactly like broken-up brick. Nevertheless a good deal of it is cultivated, with frightful labour. Everything is done by hand. Long lines of women, bent double like inverted capital Ls, work their way slowly across the fields, tearing up the prickly weeds with their hands, and the peasant gathering lucerne for fodder pulls it up stalk by stalk instead of reaping it, thus saving an inch or two on each stalk. The plough is a wretched wooden thing, so frail that one can easily carry it on ones shoulder, and fitted underneath with a rough iron spike which stirs the soil to a depth of about four inches. This is as much as the strength of the animals is equal to. It is usual to plough with a cow and a donkey yoked together. Two donkeys would not be quite strong enough, but on the other hand two cows would cost a little more to feed. The peasants possess no harrows, they merely plough the soil several times over in different directions, finally leaving it in rough furrows, after which the whole field has to be shaped with hoes into small oblong patches to conserve water. Except for a day or two after the rare rainstorms there is never enough water. A long the edges of the fields channels are hacked out to a depth of thirty or forty feet to get at the tiny trickles which run through the subsoil.

　　Every afternoon a file of very old women passes down the road outside my house, each carrying a load of firewood. All of them are mummified with age and the sun, and all of them are tiny. It seems to be generally the case in primitive communities that the women, when they get beyond a certain age, shrink to the size of children. One day poor creature who could not have been more than four feet tall crept past me under a vast load of wood. I stopped her and put a five-sou piece ( a little more than a farthing ) into her hand. She answered with a shrill wail, almost a scream, which was partly gratitude but mainly surprise. I suppose that from her point of view, by taking any notice of her, I seemed almost to be violating a law of nature. She accepted her status as an old woman, that is to say as a beast of burden. When a family is travelling it is quite usual to see a father and a grown-up son riding ahead on donkeys, and an old woman following on foot, carrying the baggage.

　　But what is strange about these people is their invisibility. For several weeks, always at about the same time of day, the file of old women had hobbled past the house with their firewood, and though they had registered themselves on my eyeballs I cannot truly say that I had seen them. Firewood was passing -- that was how I saw it. It was only that one day I happened to be walking behind them, and the curious up-and-down motion of a load of wood drew my attention to the human being beneath it. Then for the first time I noticed the poor old earth-coloured bodies, bodies reduced to bones and leathery skin, bent double under the crushing weight. Yet I suppose I had not been five minutes on Moroccan soil before I noticed the overloading of the donkeys and was infuriated by it. There is no question that the donkeys are damnably treated. The Moroccan donkey is hardly bigger than a St. Bernard dog, it carries a load which in the British Army would be considered too much for a fifteen-hands mule, and very often its packsaddle is not taken off its back for weeks together. But what is peculiarly pitiful is that it is the most willing creature on earth, it follows its master like a dog and does not need either bridle or halter . After a dozen years of devoted work it suddenly drops dead, whereupon its master tips it into the ditch and the village dogs have torn its guts out before it is cold.

　　This kind of thing makes ones blood boil, whereas-- on the whole -- the plight of the human beings does not. I am not commenting, merely pointing to a fact. People with brown skins are next door to invisible. Anyone can be sorry for the donkey with its galled back, but it is generally owing to some kind of accident if one even notices the old woman under her load of sticks.

　　As the storks flew northward the Negroes were marching southward -- a long, dusty column, infantry , screw-gun batteries, and then more infantry, four or five thousand men in all, winding up the road with a clumping of boots and a clatter of iron wheels.

　　They were Senegalese, the blackest Negroes in Africa, so black that sometimes it is difficult to see whereabouts on their necks the hair begins. Their splendid bodies were hidden in reach-me-down khaki uniforms, their feet squashed into boots that looked like blocks of wood, and every tin hat seemed to be a couple of sizes too small. It was very hot and the men had marched a long way. They slumped under the weight of their packs and the curiously sensitive black faces were glistening with sweat.

　　As they went past, a tall, very young Negro turned and caught my eye. But the look he gave me was not in the least the kind of look you might expect. Not hostile, not contemptuous, not sullen, not even inquisitive. It was the shy, wide-eyed Negro look, which actually is a look of profound respect. I saw how it was. This wretched boy, who is a French citizen and has therefore been dragged from the forest to scrub floors and catch syphilis in garrison towns, actually has feelings of reverence before a white skin. He has been taught that the white race are his masters, and he still believes it.

　　But there is one thought which every white man (and in this connection it doesnt matter twopence if he calls himself a socialist) thinks when he sees a black army marching past. "How much longer can we go on kidding these people? How long before they turn their guns in the other direction?"

　　It was curious really. Every white man there had this thought stowed somewhere or other in his mind. I had it, so had the other onlookers, so had the officers on their sweating chargers and the white N. C. Os marching in the ranks. It was a kind of secret which we all knew and were too clever to tell; only the Negroes didnt know it. And really it was like watching a flock of cattle to see the long column, a mile or two miles of armed men, flowing peacefully up the road, while the great white birds drifted over them in the opposite direction, glittering like scraps of Paper.

　　(from Reading for Rhetoric, by Caroline Shrodes,Clifford A. Josephson, and James R. Wilson)

　　馬拉喀什見聞

　　喬治·奧威爾

　　一具尸體抬過，成群的蒼蠅從飯館的餐桌上甕嗡嗡而起追逐過去，但幾分鐘過后又非了回來。

　　一支人數不多的送葬隊伍--其中老少盡皆男性，沒有一個女的--沿著集貿市場，從一堆堆石榴攤子以及出租汽車和駱駝中間擠道而行，一邊走著一邊悲痛地重復著一支短促的哀歌。蒼蠅之所以群起追逐是因為在這個地方死人的尸首從不裝進棺木，只是用一塊破布裹著放在一個草草做成的木頭架子上，有四個朋友抬著送葬。朋友們到了安葬場后，便在地上挖出一個一二英尺深的長方形坑，將尸首往坑里一倒。再扔一些像碎磚頭一樣的日、干土塊。不立墓碑，不留姓名，什么識別標志都沒有。墳場只不過是一片土丘林立的荒野，恰似一片已廢棄不用的建筑場地。一兩個月過后，就誰也說不準自己的親人葬于何處了。

　　當你穿行也這樣的城鎮(zhèn)--其居民20萬中至少有2萬是除開一身聊以蔽體的破衣爛衫之外完全一無所有--當你看到那些人是如何生活，又如何動輒死亡時，你永遠難以相信自己是行走在人類之中。實際上，這是所有的殖民帝國賴以建立的基礎。這里的人都有一張褐色的臉，而且，人數書如此之多！他們真的和你意義同屬人類嗎？難道他們也會有名有姓嗎？也許他們只是像彼此之間難以區(qū)分的蜜蜂或珊瑚蟲一樣的東西。他們從泥土里長出來，受哭受累，忍饑挨餓過上幾年，然后有被埋在那一個個無名的小墳丘里。誰也不會注意到他們的離去。就是那些小墳丘本身也過不了很久便會變成平地。有時當你外出散步，穿過仙人掌叢時，你會感覺到地上有些絆腳的東西，只是在經過多次以后，摸清了其一般規(guī)律時，你才會知道你腳下踩的是死人的骷髏。

　　我正在公園里給一只瞪羚喂食。

　　動物中也恐怕只有瞪羚還活著時就讓人覺得是美味佳肴。事實上，人們只要看到它們那兩條后腿就會聯(lián)想到薄荷醬。我現在喂著的這只瞪羚好象已經看透了我的心思。它雖然叼走了拿在手上的一塊面包，但顯然不喜歡我這個人。它一面啃食著面包，一面頭一低向我頂過來，再啃一下面包又頂過來一次。它大概還因為把我趕開之后那塊面包仍會懸在空中。

　　一個正在附近小道上干活的阿拉伯挖土工放下笨重的鋤頭，羞怯地側著身子慢慢朝我們走過來。他把目光從瞪羚身上移向面包，又從面包轉回到瞪羚身上，帶著一點驚訝的神色，似乎以前從未建國這種情景。終于，他怯生生的用法語說道："那面包讓我吃一點吧。"

　　我撕下一塊面包，他感激地把面包放進破衣裳貼身的地方。這人是市政當局的雇工。

　　當你走過這兒的猶太人聚居區(qū)時，你就會知道中世紀猶太人區(qū)大概是個什么樣子。在摩爾人的統(tǒng)治下，猶太人只能在劃定的一些地區(qū)內保有土地。受這樣的待遇經過了好幾個世紀后，他們已經不再為擁擠不堪而煩擾了。這兒很多街道的寬度遠遠不足六英尺，房屋根本沒有窗戶，眼睛紅腫的孩子隨處可見，多的像一群群蒼蠅，數也數不清。街上往往是尿流成河。

　　在集市上，一大家一大家的猶太人，全都身著黑色長袍，頭戴黑色便帽，在看起來像洞窟一般陰暗無光，蒼蠅麋集的攤篷里干活。一個木匠兩腳交叉坐在一架老掉牙的車床旁，正以飛快的速度旋制椅子腿。他右手握弓開動車床，左腳引動旋刀。由于長期保持著種姿勢，左腳已經彎翹變形了。他的一個年僅六歲的小孫子竟也在一旁開始幫著干一些簡單的活計了。

　　我正要走過一個銅匠鋪子時，突然有人發(fā)現我點著一支香煙。這一下子那些猶太人從四面八方的一個個黑洞窟里發(fā)瘋四地圍上來，其中有很多白胡子老漢，都吵著要討支煙抽。甚至連一個盲人聽到這討煙的吵嚷聲也從一個攤篷后面爬出來。伸手在空中亂摸。一分鐘光景，我那一包香煙全分完了。我想這些人一天的工時誰都不回少于十二小時，可是他們個個都把一支香煙看成是一見十分難得的奢侈品。

　　猶太人生活在一個自給自足的社會里，他們從事阿拉伯人所從事的行業(yè)，只是沒有農業(yè)。他們中有買水果的，有陶工、銀匠、鐵匠、屠夫、皮匠、裁縫、運水工，還有乞丐、腳夫--放眼四顧，到處是猶太人。事實上，在這不過幾英畝的空間內居住著的猶太人就足足有一萬三千之多。也算這些猶太人好運氣，希特勒未曾光顧這里。不過，他也許曾經準備來的。你常聽到的有關猶太人的風言風語，不僅可以從阿拉伯人那里聽到，而且還可以從較窮的歐洲人那里聽到。

　　"我的老兄啊，他們把我的飯碗奪走給了猶太人。想必你也知道這些猶太人吧，他們才是這個國家真正的主宰。我們的錢都進了他們的腰包。銀行、財政--一切都被他們控制住了。"

　　"可是，"我說道，"到多數普通猶太人不也是為了一點微薄的工錢而辛勤勞作的苦力嗎？"

　　"噢！那不過是做出樣子來給人看的。事實上他們都是些放債獲利的富豪。這些猶太人就是鬼得很。"

　　與此恰恰相似的是，幾百年前，常常也有些苦命的老太婆被當成巫婆給活活燒死，然而事實上她們就連為自己變出一頓象樣飯菜的巫術都沒有。

　　所有靠自己的雙手干活的人一般都有點不太引人注目，他們所干的活兒越是重要，就越不為人所注目。不過，白皮膚總是比較顯眼的。在北歐，若是發(fā)現田里有一個工人在耕地，你多半會再看他一眼。而在一個熱帶國家，直布羅陀以南或蘇伊士運河以東的任何一個地方，你就可能看不到田里耕作的人。這種情形我已經注意到多次了。在熱帶的景色總，萬物皆可一目了然，惟獨看不見人。那干巴巴的土壤、仙人掌、棕櫚樹和遠方的山嶺都可以盡收眼底，但那在地理耕作的農夫卻往往每人看見。他們的膚色就和地里的土壤顏色一樣，而且遠不及土壤中看。

　　正因如此，貧窮至極的亞非國家反倒成了旅游觀光的勝地。沒有誰會有興趣到本地的貧困地區(qū)去作依次毫無價值的旅行。但在那些居住著褐色皮膚的人的地方，他們的貧困卻根本沒有人能注意大批。摩洛哥對于一個法國人來說意味著什么呢？無非是一個能買到橘子圓或者謀取一份政府差使的地方。對于一個英國人呢？不過是駱駝、城堡、棕櫚樹、外籍兵團、黃銅盤子和匪徒等富于浪漫色彩的字眼而已。就算是在那兒呆過多年的人也未必會注意得到，對于當地百分之九十的居民來說，現實生活只意味著永無休止、勞累至極的斗爭，其目的是從貧瘠的土壤中費力地弄出點吃的來。

　　摩洛哥的土地大半是一片荒涼，賴以生存的走獸至大者莫如野兔。原先曾有的森林覆蓋著的土地如今已成為光禿禿的荒漠，土壤跟碎磚頭一般。盡管如此，仍有大片大片的土地被人們開墾，勞動強度十分驚人。一切活兒全靠手工完成。排著長隊的婦女們彎著腰像一個個倒過來的大寫字母L一樣，以便慢慢地在地里移動著身子往前走，一邊用手去拔除帶刺的野草。農民采集苜蓿喂牲口時，不是用刀去割而是用手將一棵棵苜蓿連根拔起，免得割剩下來的一兩寸的根茬白白浪費掉。犁是用木頭做的劣貨，一點也不結實，一個人可以毫不費力的扛在肩上。犁的底部安著一個粗劣的鐵尖子，只能犁進地里4英寸來深。拉犁的牲口的力氣也只有這么大。通常是用一頭牛和一頭驢子套在一起拉犁。這是因為兩頭驢子拉不動，而如用兩頭牛，耗費的飼料有太多。農民們都沒有耙地的耙，他們指示順著不同的方向犁上幾遍，弄出一道道壟溝來，然后再用鋤頭把整塊田地做成一塊塊長條形的小畦，以利蓄水。除了較為罕見的暴雨之后緊接著的那一兩天外，這地方總是缺水。農民們在地邊上挖出一道道深達三十至四十英尺的溝渠以便把土層深處的涓涓細流匯集起來。

　　每天下午都有一對年邁的婦女背著柴草從我屋外的路上走過。由于上了年紀而又飽經日曬，他們一個個都變得想木乃伊似的干癟，而且身軀都是那么瘦小。在原始社會里，婦女超過了一定的年紀便萎縮得如孩子般大小，這似乎是一種普遍的現象。一天，一個身高不過四英尺的可憐人扛著老大的一捆柴草從我身邊蹣跚而過。我叫住她，往她手上塞了一枚面值五個蘇的錢幣（略多于1/4個舊便士）。她的反應竟是一聲近乎尖叫的哭喊，這喊叫含有感激的成分，主要還是出于驚訝。我想，在她看來，我雖然會注意她，似乎是違反了自然法則。對于自己作為一個老婦人，即作為一匹馱獸的地位，她是早已接受了的。每當一家人出門遠行時，往往可以看到父親和已經成年的兒子騎著驢子在前邊走，而一個老太婆則背著包袱步行跟在后面。

　　然而這些人的真正奇特之處還在于他們的隱身的特性。一連幾個星期，每天幾乎在同一時候總有一隊老嫗扛著柴草從我房前蹣跚走過。雖然他們的身影以映入我的眼簾，但老實說，我并不曾看見她們。我所看見的是一捆捆的柴草從屋外掠過。直到有一天我碰巧走在她們身后時，堆柴草奇異的起伏動作才使我注意到原來下面有人。這才第一次看見那些與泥土同色的可憐老嫗的軀體--枯瘦的只剩下皮包骨頭、被沉重的負荷壓得彎腰駝背的軀體。然而，我踏上摩洛哥國土還不到五分鐘就已注意到驢子的負荷過重，并為此感到憤怒。驢子遭到荷虐，這是無疑的事實。摩洛哥的驢子不過如一只瑞士雪山救人犬一般大小，可它馱負的貨物重量在英國軍隊里讓一頭五英尺高的大騾子來馱都嫌過重。而且，它還常常是一連幾個星期不卸馱鞍。尤其讓人覺得可悲的是，它是世上最馴服聽話的牲畜。不需要鞍轡會僵繩。它便會像狗一樣更隨著自己的主人。為主人拼命干上十幾年活后，它便猝然倒地死去，這時，主人就把它仍進溝里，尸體未寒，其五臟六腑便被村狗扒出來吃掉。

　　這種事情當然令人發(fā)指，可是，一般說來，人的苦難卻沒人理會。我并非在亂發(fā)議論，只不過是指出一個事實而已。這種人簡直就是一種無影無行之物。一頭背上被磨得皮破肉爛的驢子人人見了都會同情，而那馱著大捆柴草的老婦人則往往要有某種偶然因素才會受到注意。

　　白鸛鼓翼被去時，黑人正行軍南下--一列長長的滿身征塵的隊伍：步兵，炮隊，接著又是更多的步兵，總共大約四五千人，正靴聲橐橐，車聲轔轔地蜿蜒前行。

　　他們是塞內加爾人，是非洲膚色最黑的人--黑得簡直難以看清他們頸項上的頭發(fā)從何處生起。他們健碩的身軀罩在舊的卡其布制服里面，腳上套著一雙看上去像塊木板似的靴子，每個人頭上戴著的鋼盔似乎都小了一兩號。天氣正熱,隊伍已經走了很長一段路，士兵們都被沉重的包袱壓得疲憊不堪，敏感得出奇的黑臉頰上汗水閃閃發(fā)光。

　　當他們走過時，一個身體欣長，年紀很輕的黑人回頭后顧，和我的目光相遇。他的那種目光完全超出人們意料之外。既不帶敵意，又不含輕蔑，也沒有慍怒，甚至連好奇的成分都沒有。那是一種羞怯的，瞪圓雙眼的黑人的目光，實際上就是一種表示深厚敬意的目光。這種情況我是了解的。這可憐的小伙子，因為成了法國公民，所以被從森林里拉出來送到軍隊駐扎的城鎮(zhèn)去擦洗地板，并染上了梅毒。他對于白種人的確是滿懷敬意的。過去別人教導他說白種人是他的主人，對此他至今深信不疑。

　　然而，無論哪一個白人（哪怕是那些自稱為社會主義者的人也不例外），當他望著一支黑人軍隊從身邊開過時，都會想到同一樁事："我們還能愚弄他們多久？他們倒戈相向的日子離現在還有多遠？"

　　真是怪有意思的。在場的每一個白人心里都有著這樣一個共同的心思。我有，其他旁觀者也有，騎在汗涔涔的戰(zhàn)馬上的軍官們有，走在隊伍中的白人軍士也有。這是大家心里都明白而有彼此心照不宣的秘密，只有那些黑人對此尚茫然不知。看著這列一兩英里長的隊伍靜靜地向前開進，真好像看著一群牛羊一樣，而那掠過它們頭頂、朝著相反方向高翔的大白鸛恰似片片碎紙在空中泛著點點銀光。

　　(摘自卡羅林·什羅茨等合編《修辭讀物》)

【marrakech課文翻譯】相關文章：

勸學的課文翻譯10-15

岳飛課文翻譯01-05

詠雪課文翻譯10-11

離騷課文翻譯03-25

勸學課文翻譯09-18

離騷課文翻譯06-02

《杞人憂天》課文翻譯11-30

《塞翁失馬》的課文翻譯08-07

《童趣》的課文翻譯02-03