Venice is a world-famous water city, rivers criss cross, boat into the main means of transport, equal to the street car.
Venice boat is twenty or thirty feet long, narrow and deep, a bit like a canoe. The bow and stern up like new moon hanging in the sky, as if the action is agile, the ditch water snakes.
We sat in the cabin, as soft as general sofa leather cushion. A boat through different forms of stone. We opened the curtains, looked at the stands on both sides of the ancient buildings, to greet the traffic, have lots of fun.
The driving technology is particularly good. Sailing speed, ship a lot, he did not have an easy control in the matter, rush. No matter how crowded, he can always turn left turn right to push past. Have a very narrow place, he can smoothly pass through, and the speed is very fast, but also as a sharp turn. The buildings on both sides of the building generally backwards, our eyes are very busy, I do not know which one is good.
With a bag of goods merchant, hurried down the boat along the river to do business. A young woman in a boat to laugh loudly. Many children from the nanny with, sitting in a boat to the countryside to breathe the fresh air. The old man took a solemn family, holding the Bible, sitting in a boat to go to church to pray.
At midnight, the theatres, a large group of people hold out, go on their boat. Clustered together the boat soon spread, disappeared in the bend of the river, heard a voice laughing and farewell. On the surface of the water is gradually silent, I saw the moon's shadow shaking in the water. Tall stone buildings stand in the river, the old bridge across the water, large and small boats are parked on the pier. Silence enveloped the city on the water, the ancient Venice and fell asleep.
网页链接马克吐温公版书原文链接. 第二十三章。小学五年级课文是大概229页“THE Venetian gondola is as free and graceful, in its gliding movement, as a serpent”到第232页中间“...that stealthy quiet, that befits so well this old dreaming Venice” 的删改。谢谢网页链接另一个回答者”Maggie肚子疼“抛砖引玉，其他回答都是什么玩意呢
Innocents Abroad: CHAPTER XXIII.
THE Venetian gondola is as free and graceful, in its gliding movement, as a serpent. It is twenty or thirty feet long, and is narrow and deep, like a canoe; its sharp bow and stern sweep upward from the water like the horns of a crescent with the abruptness of the curve slightly modified.
The bow is ornamented with a steel comb with a battle-ax attachment which threatens to cut passing boats in two occasionally, but never does. The gondola is painted black because in the zenith of Venetian magnificence the gondolas became too gorgeous altogether, and the Senate decreed that all such display must cease, and a solemn, unembellished black be substituted. If the truth were known, it would doubtless appear that rich plebeians grew too prominent in their affectation of patrician show on the Grand Canal, and required a wholesome snubbing. Reverence for the hallowed Past and its traditions keeps the dismal fashion in force now that the compulsion exists no longer. So let it remain. It is the color of mourning. Venice mourns. The stern of the boat is decked over and the gondolier stands there. He uses a single oar--a long blade, of course, for he stands nearly erect. A wooden peg, a foot and a half high, with two slight crooks or curves in one side of it and one in the other, projects above the starboard gunwale. Against that peg the gondolier takes a purchase with his oar, changing it at intervals to the other side of the peg or dropping it into another of the crooks, as the steering of the craft may demand--and how in the world
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he can back and fill, shoot straight ahead, or flirt suddenly around a corner, and make the oar stay in those insignificant notches, is a problem to me and a never diminishing matter of interest. I am afraid I study the gondolier's marvelous skill more than I do the sculptured palaces we glide among. He cuts a corner so closely, now and then, or misses another gondola by such an imperceptible hair-breadth that I feel myself "scrooching," as the children say, just as one does when a buggy wheel grazes his elbow. But he makes all his calculations with the nicest precision, and goes darting in and out among a Broadway confusion of busy craft with the easy confidence of the educated hackman. He never makes a mistake.
Sometimes we go flying down the great canals at such a gait that we can get only the merest glimpses into front doors, and again, in obscure alleys in the suburbs, we put on a solemnity suited to the silence, the mildew, the stagnant waters, the clinging weeds, the deserted houses and the general lifelessness of the place, and move to the spirit of grave meditation.
The gondolier is a picturesque rascal for all he wears no satin harness, no plumed bonnet, no silken tights. His attitude is stately; he is lithe and supple; all his movements are full of grace. When his long canoe, and his fine figure, towering from its high perch on the stern, are cut against the evening sky, they make a picture that is very novel and striking to a foreign eye.
We sit in the cushioned carriage-body of a cabin, with the curtains drawn, and smoke, or read, or look out upon the passing boats, the houses, the bridges, the people, and enjoy ourselves much more than we could in a buggy jolting over our cobble-stone pavements at home. This is the gentlest, pleasantest locomotion we have ever known.
But it seems queer--ever so queer--to see a boat doing
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duty as a private carriage. We see business men come to the front door, step into a gondola, instead of a street car, and go off down town to the counting-room.
We see visiting young ladies stand on the stoop, and laugh, and kiss good-bye, and flirt their fans and say "Come soon--now do--you've been just as mean as ever you can be--mother's dying to see you--and we've moved into the new house, O such a love of a place!--so convenient to the post office and the church, and the Young Men's Christian Association; and we do have such fishing, and such carrying on,
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and such swimming-matches in the back yard--Oh, you must come--no distance at all, and if you go down through by St. Mark's and the Bridge of Sighs, and cut through the alley and come up by the church of Santa Maria dei Frari, and into the Grand Canal, there isn't a bit of current--now do come, Sally Maria--by-bye!" and then the little humbug trips down the steps, jumps into the gondola, says, under her breath, "Disagreeable old thing, I hope she won't!" goes skimming away, round the corner; and the other girl slams the street door and says, "Well, that infliction's over, any way,--but I suppose I've got to go and see her--tiresome stuck-up thing!" Human nature appears to be just the same, all over the world. We see the diffident young man, mild of moustache, affluent of hair, indigent of brain, elegant of costume, drive up to her father's mansion, tell his hackman to bail out and wait, start fearfully up the steps and meet "the old gentleman" right on the threshold!--hear him ask what street the new British Bank is in--as if that were what he came for--and then bounce into his boat and skurry away with his coward heart in his boots!--see him come sneaking around the corner again, directly, with a crack of the curtain open toward the old gentleman's disappearing gondola, and out scampers his Susan with a flock of little Italian endearments fluttering from her lips, and goes to drive with him in the watery avenues down toward the Rialto.
We see the ladies go out shopping, in the most natural way, and flit from street to street and from store to store, just in the good old fashion, except that they leave the gondola, instead of a private carriage, waiting at the curbstone a couple of hours for them,--waiting while they make the nice young clerks pull down tons and tons of silks and velvets and moire antiques and those things; and then they buy a paper of pins and go paddling away to confer the rest of their disastrous patronage on some other firm. And they always have their purchases sent home just in the good old way. Human nature is very much the same all over the world; and it is so like my dear native home to see a Venetian lady go into a
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store and buy ten cents' worth of blue ribbon and have it sent home in a scow. Ah, it is these little touches of nature that move one to tears in these far-off foreign lands.
We see little girls and boys go out in gondolas with their nurses, for an airing. We see staid families, with prayer-book and beads, enter the gondola dressed in their Sunday best, and float away to church. And at midnight we see the theatre break up and discharge its swarm of hilarious youth and beauty; we hear the cries of the hackman-gondoliers, and behold the struggling crowd jump aboard, and the black multitude of boats go skimming down the moonlit avenues; we see them separate here and there, and disappear up divergent streets; we hear the faint sounds of laughter and of shouted farewells floating up out of the distance; and then, the strange pageant being gone, we have lonely stretches of glittering water--of stately buildings--of blotting shadows--of weird stone faces creeping into the moonlight--of deserted bridges--of motionless boats at anchor. And over all broods that mysterious stillness, that stealthy quiet, that befits so well this old dreaming Venice.
The Venetian gondola is as free and graceful, in its gliding movement, as a serpent. It is twenty or thirty feet long, and is narrow and deep, like a canoe; its sharp bow and stern sweep upward from the water like the horns of a crescent with the abruptness of the curve slightly modified.
The bow is ornamented with a steel comb with a battle-ax attachment which threatens to cut passing boats in two occasionally, but never does. The gondola is painted black because in the zenith of Venetian magnificence the gondolas became too gorgeous altogether, and the Senate decreed that all such display must cease, and a solemn, unembellished black be substituted. If the truth were known, it would doubtless appear that rich plebeians grew too prominent in their affectation of patrician show on the Grand Canal, and required a wholesome snubbing. Reverence for the hallowed Past and its traditions keeps the dismal fashion in force now that the compulsion exists no longer. So let it remain. It is the color of mourning. Venice mourns. The stern of the boat is decked over and the gondolier stands there. He uses a single oar–a long blade, of course, for he stands nearly erect. A wooden peg, a foot and a half high, with two slight crooks or curves in one side of it and one in the other, projects above the starboard gunwale. Against that peg the gondolier takes a purchase with his oar, changing it at intervals to the other side of the peg or dropping it into another of the crooks, as the steering of the craft may demand–and how in the world he can back and fill, shoot straight ahead, or flirt suddenly around a corner, and make the oar stay in those insignificant notches, is a problem to me and a never diminishing matter of interest. I am afraid I study the gondolier’s marvelous skill more than I do the sculptured palaces we glide among. He cuts a corner so closely, now and then, or misses another gondola by such an imperceptible hair-breadth that I feel myself “scrooching,” as the children say, just as one does when a buggy wheel grazes his elbow. But he makes all his calculations with the nicest precision, and goes darting in and out among a Broadway confusion of busy craft with the easy confidence of the educated hackman. He never makes a mistake.
Venice is a world-famous water city, rivers criss cross, boat into the main means of transport, equal to the street car.
Venice boat is twenty or thirty feet long, narrow and deep, a bit like a canoe. The bow and stern up like new moon hanging in the sky, as if the action is agile, the ditch water snakes.
We sat in the cabin, as soft as general sofa leather cushion. A boat through different forms of stone. We opened the curtains, looked at the stands on both sides of the ancient buildings, to greet the traffic, have lots of fun.
The driving technology is particularly good. Sailing speed, ship a lot, he did not have an easy control in the matter, rush. No matter how crowded, he can always turn left turn right to push past. Have a very narrow place, he can smoothly pass through, and the speed is very fast, but also as a sharp turn. The buildings on both sides of the building generally backwards, our eyes are very busy, I do not know which one is good.
With a bag of goods merchant, hurried down the boat along the river to do business. A young woman in a boat to laugh loudly. Many children from the nanny with, sitting in a boat to the countryside to breathe the fresh air. The old man took a solemn family, holding the Bible, sitting in a boat to go to church to pray.
At midnight, the theatres, a large group of people hold out, go on their boat. Clustered together the boat soon spread, disappeared in the bend of the river, heard a voice laughing and farewell. On the surface of the water is gradually silent, I saw the moon's shadow shaking in the water. Tall stone buildings stand in the river, the old bridge across the water, large and small boats are parked on the pier. Silence enveloped the city on the water, the ancient Venice and fell asleep.
威尼斯是世界闻名的水上城市，河道纵横交叉，小艇成了主要的交通工具，等于大街上的汽车。
威尼斯的小艇有二三十英尺长，又窄又深，有点像独木舟。船头和船艄向上翘起，像挂在天边的新月，行动轻快灵活，仿佛田沟里的水蛇。
我们坐在船舱里，皮垫子软软的像沙发一般。小艇穿过一座座形式不同的石桥。我们打开窗帘，望望耸立在两岸的古建筑，跟来往的船只打招呼，有说不完的情趣。
船夫的驾驶技术特别好。行船的速度极快，来往船只很多，他操纵自如，毫不手忙脚乱。不管怎么拥挤，他总能左拐右拐地挤过去。遇到极窄的地方，他总能平稳地穿过，而且速度非常快，还能作急转弯。两边的建筑飞一般地往后倒退，我们的眼睛忙极了，不知看哪一处好。
商人夹了大包的货物，匆匆地走下小艇，沿河做生意。青年妇女在小艇里高声谈笑。许多孩子由保姆伴着，坐着小艇到郊外去呼吸新鲜的空气。庄严的老人带了全家，夹着圣经，坐着小艇上教堂去做祷告。
半夜，戏院散场了，一大群人拥出来，走上了各自雇定的小艇。簇拥在一起的小艇一会儿就散开了，消失在弯曲的河道中，传来一片哗笑和告别的声音。水面上渐渐沉寂，只见月亮的影子在水中摇晃。高大的石头建筑耸立在河边，古老的桥梁横在水上，大大小小的船都停泊在码头上。静寂笼罩着这座水上城市，古老的威尼斯又沉沉地入睡了。
这个是汉语，英语的叫Riverboat，有点长，18页，可以直接购买书籍查看。
