ฝึกพูดภาษาอังกฤษด้วยเทคนิค Shadowing จากวิดีโอ: 1984 Audiobook – Part 1, Chapter 1 | George Orwell

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Peachy Teo reading George Orwell's 1984

Part 1 Chapter 1

It was a bright, cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions,

though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.

The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats.

At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall.

It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a meter wide.

The face of a man of about forty -five, with a heavy black mustache and ruggedly handsome features.

Winston made for the stairs.

It was no use trying the lift.

Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours.

It was part of the economy drive in preparation for hate week.

The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty -nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle,

went slowly, resting several times on the way.

On each landing, opposite the lift shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall.

It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move.

Big brother is watching you, the caption beneath it ran.

Inside the flat, a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures

which had something to do with the production of pig iron.

The voice came from an oblong metal plaque, like a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the right -hand wall.

Winston turned a switch, and the voice sank somewhat, though the words were still distinguishable.

The instrument, the telescreen it was called, could be dimmed, but there was no way of shutting it off completely.

He moved over to the window,

a smallish, frail figure, the meagerness of his body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the party.

His hair was very fair, his face naturally sanguine, his skin roughened by coarse soap and blunt razor blades,

and the cold of the winter that had just ended.

Outside, even through the shut window pane, the world looked cold.

Down in the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into spirals,

and though the sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no color in anything,

except the posters that were plastered everywhere.

The black mustachioed face gazed down from every commanding corner.

There was one on the house front immediately opposite.

Big brother is watching you, the caption said while the dark eyes looked deep into Winston's own.

Down at street level, another poster, torn at one corner, flapped fitfully in the wind, alternately covering and uncovering the single word Ingsoc.

In the far distance, a helicopter skimmed down between the roofs, hovered for an instant like a blue bottle,

and darted away again with a curving flight.

It was the police patrol snooping into people's windows.

The patrols did not matter, however.

Only the thought police mattered.

Behind Winston's back the voice from the telescreen was still babbling away about pig -iron

and the over -fulfillment of the ninth three -year plan.

The telescreen received and transmitted simultaneously.

Any sound that Winston made, above the level of a very low whisper, would be picked up by it.

moreover so long as he remained within the field of vision

which the metal plaque commanded he could be seen as well as heard

there was of course no way of knowing whether you were being watched at any given moment how often

or in what system the thought police plugged in on any individual wire was guesswork

It was even conceivable that they watched everybody all the time.

But at any rate, they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted to.

You had to live, did live, from habit that became instinct, in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard,

and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinized.

Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen.

It was safer, though, as he well knew, even a back can be revealing.

a kilometre away the ministry of truth his place of work towered vast

and white above the grimy landscape this he thought with a sort of vague distaste

this was london chief city of airstrip one itself the third most populous of the provinces of oceania

He tried to squeeze out some childhood memory that should tell him whether London had always been quite like this.

Were there always these vistas of rotting 19th -century houses, their sides shored up with bulks of timber,

their windows patched with cardboard and their roofs with corrugated iron, their crazy garden walls sagging in all directions?

And the bomb sites where the plaster dust swirled in the air and the willow herbs straggled over the heaps of rubble.

and the places where the bombs had cleared a large patch

and there had sprung up sordid colonies of wooden dwellings like chicken -houses but it was no use he could not remember

Nothing remained of his childhood except a series of bright -lit tableaux occurring against no background and mostly unintelligible.

The Ministry of Truth, many true in Newspeak, was startlingly different from any other object in sight.

It was an enormous pyramidial structure of glittering white concrete soaring up, terrace after terrace, three hundred metres into the air.

From where Winston stood, it was just possible to read, picked out on its white face and elegant lettering, the three slogans of the party.

War is peace.

Freedom is slavery.

Ignorance is strength.

The Ministry of Truth contained, it was said, 3 ,000 rooms above ground level and corresponding ramifications below. So.

Scattered about London there were just three other buildings of similar appearance and size.

So completely did they dwarf the surrounding architecture

that from the roof of Victory mansions you could see all four of them simultaneously.

They were the homes of the four ministries between which the entire apparatus of government was divided.

The Ministry of Truth, which concerned itself with news, entertainment, education, and the Fine Arts,

the Ministry of Peace, which concerned itself with war, the Ministry of Love, which maintained law and order, and the Ministry of Plenty,

which was responsible for economic affairs.

Their names in Newspeak, many true, many max, many love, and many plenty.

The Ministry of Love was the really frightening one.

There were no windows in it at all.

Winston had never been inside the Ministry of Love, nor within half a kilometer of it.

It was a place impossible to enter except on official business, and then only by penetrating through a maze of barbed wire entanglements,

steel doors, and hidden machine gun nests.

Even the streets leading up to its outer barriers were roamed by guerrilla -faced guards in black uniforms, armed with jointed truncheons.

Winston turned round abruptly.

He had set his features into the expression of quiet optimism, which it was advisable to wear when facing the telescreen.

He crossed the room into the tiny kitchen.

By leaving the ministry at this time of day, he had sacrificed his lunch in the canteen,

and he was aware that there was no food in the kitchen except a hunk of dark -coloured bread,

which had got to be saved for tomorrow's breakfast.

He took down from the shelf a bottle of colourless liquid with a plain white label marked Victory Gin.

It gave off a sickly, oily smell, as of Chinese rice spirit.

Winston poured out nearly a teacupful, nerved himself for a shock, and gulped it down like a dose of medicine.

Instantly his face turned scarlet and the water ran out of his eyes.

The stuff was like nitric acid,

and moreover, in swallowing it one had the sensation of being hit on the back of the head with a rubber club.

The next moment, however, the burning in his belly died down and the world began to look more cheerful.

He took a cigarette from a crumpled packet marked

100

Victory Cigarettes and incautiously held it upright, whereupon the tobacco fell out onto the floor.

101

With the next he was more successful.

102

He went back to the living room and sat down at a table that stood to the left of the telescreen.

103

From the table drawer he took out a penholder,

104

a bottle of ink, and a thick quattro -sized blank book with a red back and a marbled cover.

105

for some reason the telescreen in the living room was in

106

an unusual position instead of being placed as was normal in

107

the end wall where it could command the whole room it was in the longer wall opposite the window

108

to one side of it there was a shallow alcove in

109

which winston was now sitting and which

110

when the flats were built had probably been intended to hold bookshelves by sitting in the alcove

111

and keeping well back winston was able to remain outside the range of the telescreen so far as sight went

112

He could be heard, of course, but so long as he stayed in his present position, he could not be seen.

113

It was partly the unusual geography of the room

114

that had suggested to him the thing that he was now about to do.

115

But it had also been suggested by the book that he had just taken out of the drawer.

116

It was a peculiarly beautiful book.

117

Its smooth, creamy paper, a little yellowed by age, was of a kind that had not been manufactured for at least forty years past.

118

He could guess, however, that the book was much older than that.

119

He had seen it lying in the window of a frowsy little junk shop in a slummy quarter of the town,

120

just what quarter he did not now remember, and had been stricken immediately by an overwhelming desire to possess it.

121

Party members were supposed not to go into ordinary shops, dealing on the free market it was called, but the rule was not strictly kept,

122

because there were various things such as shoelaces and razor blades

123

which it was impossible to get hold of in any other way.

124

He had given a quick glance up and down the street

125

and then had slipped inside and bought the book for $2 .50.

126

At the time he was not conscious of wanting it for any particular purpose.

127

He had carried it guiltily home in his briefcase.

128

Even with nothing written in it, it was a compromising possession.

129

The thing that he was about to do was to open a diary.

130

This was not illegal.

131

Nothing was illegal, since there were no longer any laws.

132

But if detected, it was reasonably certain that it would be punished by death.

133

Or at least by twenty -five years in a forced labour camp.

134

Winston fitted a nib into the pen holder and sucked it to get the grease off.

135

The pen was an archaic instrument, seldom used even for signatures, and he had procured one furtively and with some difficulty, simply because of a feeling

136

that the beautiful creamy paper deserved to be written on with a real nib instead of being scratched with an ink pencil.

137

Actually, he was not used to writing by hand.

138

Apart from very short notes, it was usual to dictate everything into the speakwrite, which was of course impossible for his present purpose.

139

He dipped the pen into the ink and then faltered for just a second.

140

A tremor had gone through his bowels.

141

To mark the paper was the decisive act.

142

In small, clumsy letters he wrote, April 4th, 1984.

143

He sat back.

144

A sense of complete helplessness had descended upon him.

145

To begin with, he did not know with any certainty that this was 1984.

146

It must be around that date, since he was fairly sure that his age was 39,

147

and he believed that he had been born in 1944 or 1945,

148

but it was never possible nowadays to pin down any date within a year or two.

149

For whom it suddenly occurred to him to wonder was he writing this diary?

150

For the future?

151

For the unborn?

152

His mind hovered for a moment around the doubtful date on the page

153

and then fetched up with a bump against the new -speak word doublethink.

154

For the first time the magnitude of what he had undertaken came home to him.

155

How could you communicate with the future?

156

It was of its nature impossible.

157

Either the future would resemble the present, in which case it would not listen to him,

158

or it would be different from it and his predicament would be meaningless.

159

For some time he sat gazing stupidly at the paper.

160

The telescreen had changed over to strident military music.

161

It was curious that he seemed not merely to have lost the power of expressing himself,

162

but even to have forgotten what it was that he had originally intended to say.

163

For weeks past he had been making ready for this moment, and it had never crossed his mind that anything would be needed except courage.

164

The actual writing would be easy.

165

All he had to do was to transfer to paper the interminable, restless monologue that had been running inside his head literally for years.

166

At this moment, however, even the monologue had dried up.

167

Moreover, his varicose ulcer had begun itching unbearably.

168

He dared not scratch it, because if he did so, it always became inflamed.

169

The seconds were ticking by.

170

He was conscious of nothing except the blankness of the page in front of him, the itching of the skin above his ankle,

171

the blaring of the music and a slight booziness caused by the gin.

172

suddenly he began writing in sheer panic only imperfectly aware of what he was settling down his small

173

but childish handwriting straggled up and down the page shedding first its capital letters and finally even its full stops April 4th,

174

1984 Last Night to the Flicks, all war films.

175

One very good one of a ship full of refugees being bombed somewhere in the Mediterranean.

176

Audience much amused by shots of a great huge fat man trying to swim away with a helicopter after him.

177

First you saw him wallowing along the water like a porpoise.

178

Then you saw him through the helicopter's gun sights.

179

Then he was full of holes, and the sea round him turned pink,

180

and he sank as suddenly as though the holes had let in the water, audience shouting with laughter when he sank.

181

Then you saw a lifeboat full of children with a helicopter hovering over it.

182

There was a middle -aged woman, might have been a Jewess,

183

sitting up in the bow with a little boy about three years old in her arms.

184

Little boy screaming with fright and hiding his head between her breasts, as if he was trying to burrow right into her.

185

and the woman putting her arms round him

186

and comforting him although she was blue with fright herself all

187

the time covering him up as much as possible as if she thought her arms would keep the bullets off him

188

Then the helicopter planted a twenty -kilo bomb in among them.

189

Terrific flash, and the boat went all to matchwood.

190

Then there was a wonderful shot of a child's arm going up, up, up, right up into the air.

191

A helicopter with a camera in its nose must have followed it up there, and there was a lot of applause from the party seats.

192

But a woman down in the prole, part of the house, suddenly started kicking up a fuss and shouting, They didn't ought to have showed it,

193

not in front of kids.

194

They didn't.

195

It ain't right.

196

Not in front of kids.

197

It ain't until the police turned her, turned her out.

198

I don't suppose anything happened to her.

199

Nobody cares what the proles say.

200

Typical prole reaction.

201

They never— Winston stopped writing.

202

Partly because he was suffering from cramp.

203

He did not know what had made him pour out this stream of rubbish.

204

But the curious thing was that while he was doing so,

205

a totally different memory had clarified itself in his mind to the point where he almost felt equal to writing it down.

206

It was, he now realized, because of this other incident, that he had suddenly decided to come home and begin the diary today.

207

It had happened that morning at the ministry, if anything so nebulous could be said to happen.

208

It was nearly eleven hundred, and in the records department where Winston worked,

209

they were dragging the chairs out of the cubicles and grouping them in the centre of the hall,

210

opposite the big telescreen, in preparation for the two minutes' hate.

211

Winston was just taking his place in one of the middle rows when two people whom he knew by sight, but had never spoken to,

212

came unexpectedly into the room.

213

One of them was a girl whom he often passed in the corridors.

214

He did not know her name, but he knew that she worked in the fiction department.

215

Presumably, since he had sometimes seen her with oily hands and carrying a spanner, she had some mechanical job on one of the novel writing machines.

216

She was a bold -looking girl, of about twenty -seven, with thick dark hair, a freckled face, and swift athletic movements.

217

A narrow scarlet sash emblem of the junior anti -sex league was wound several times round the waist of her overalls,

218

just tightly enough to bring out the shapeliness of her hips.

219

Winston had disliked her from the very moment of seeing her.

220

He knew the reason.

221

It was because of the atmosphere of hockey fields and cold baths

222

and community hikes and general clean -mindedness which she managed to carry about with her.

223

He disliked nearly all women, and especially the young and pretty ones.

224

It was always the women, and above all the young ones, who were the most bigoted adherents of the party, the swallowers of the slogans,

225

the amateur spies and nosers out of unorthodoxy.

226

But this particular girl gave him the impression of being more dangerous than most.

227

Once when they passed in the corridor, she had given him a quick sidelong glance which seemed to pierce right into him,

228

and for a moment had filled him with black terror.

229

The idea had even crossed his mind that she might be an agent of the thought police.

230

That, it was true, was very unlikely.

231

Still, he continued to feel a peculiar uneasiness, which had fear mixed up in it as well as hostility, whenever she was anywhere near him.

232

The other person was a man named O 'Brien, a member of the inner party and holder of some post

233

so important and remote that Winston had only a dim idea of its nature.

234

A momentary hush passed over the group of people round the

235

chairs as they saw the black overalls of an inner party member approaching.

236

O 'Brien was a large, burly man with a thick neck and coarse, humorous, brutal face.

237

In spite of his formidable appearance, he had a certain charm of manner.

238

He had a trick of resettling his spectacles on his nose, which was curiously disarming, in some indefinable way, curiously civilized.

239

It was a gesture which, if anyone had still thought in such terms, might have recalled an eighteenth -century nobleman offering his snuff -box.

240

Winston had seen O 'Brien perhaps a dozen times in almost as many years.

241

He felt deeply drawn to him, and not solely because he was intrigued by the contrast between O 'Brien's urbane manner and his prize -fighter's physique.

242

Much more, it was because of a secretly held belief—or perhaps not even a belief, merely hope, that O 'Brien's political orthodoxy was not perfect.

243

Something in his face suggested it irresistibly.

244

And again, perhaps it was not even unorthodoxy that was written on his face, but simply intelligence.

245

But at any rate, he had the appearance of being a person

246

that you could talk to if somehow you could cheat the telescreen and get him alone.

247

Winston had never made the smallest effort to verify this guess.

248

Indeed, there was no way of doing so.

249

At this moment O 'Brien glanced at his wristwatch, saw that it was nearly eleven hundred,

250

and evidently decided to stay in the records department until the two minutes' hate was over.

251

He took a chair in the same row as Winston, a couple of places away.

252

A small sandy -haired woman who worked in the next cubicle to Winston was between them.

253

The girl with dark hair was sitting immediately behind.

254

The next moment a hideous, grinding speech, as of some monstrous machine running without oil, burst from the big telescreen at the end of the room.

255

It was a noise that set one's teeth on edge, and bristled the hair at the back of one's neck.

256

The hate had started.

257

As usual, the face of Emmanuel Goldstein, the enemy of the people, had flashed onto the screen.

258

There were hisses here and there among the audience.

259

The little sandy -haired woman gave a squeak of mingled fear and disgust.

260

Goldstein was the renegade and backslider who once long ago—how long ago, nobody quite remembered—had been one of the leading figures of the party,

261

almost on a level with Big Brother himself, and then had engaged in counter -revolutionary activities, had been condemned to death,

262

and had mysteriously escaped and disappeared.

263

The programs of the Two Minutes Hate varied from day to day, but there was none in which Goldstein was not the principal figure.

264

He was the primal traitor, the earliest defiler of the party's purity.

265

All subsequent crimes against the party, all treacheries, acts of sabotage, heresies, deviations, sprang directly out of his teaching.

266

Somewhere or other he was still alive and hatching his conspiracies—perhaps somewhere beyond the sea,

267

under the protection of his foreign paymasters—perhaps even, so it was occasionally rumoured, in some hiding place in Oceania itself.

268

Winston's diaphragm was constricted.

269

He could never see the face of Goldstein without a painful mixture of emotions.

270

It was a lean

271

Jewish face, with a great fuzzy aureole of white hair and a small goatee beard.

272

A clever face, and yet somehow inherently despicable,

273

with a kind of senile silliness in the long thin nose near the end of which a pair of spectacles was perched.

274

It resembled the face of a sheep, and the voice, too, had a sheep -like quality.

275

Goldstein was delivering his usual venomous attacks on the doctrines of the party,

276

an attack so exaggerated and perverse that a child should have been able to see through it,

277

and yet just plausible enough to fill one with an alarmed feeling that other people, less level -headed than oneself, might be taken in by it.

278

He was abusing Big Brother.

279

He was denouncing the dictatorship of the party.

280

He was demanding the immediate conclusion of peace with eurasia

281

he was advocating freedom of speech freedom of the press freedom of assembly freedom of thought he was crying hysterically

282

that the revolution had been betrayed

283

and all this in rapid polysyllabic speech

284

which was a sort of parody of the habitual style of the orators of the party

285

and even contained newspeak words more newspeak words indeed than any party member would normally use in real life

286

and all the while lest one should be in any doubt as to the reality

287

which goldstein's spacious claptrap covered behind his head on the telescreen

288

there marched the endless columns of the eurasian army row after

289

row of solid -looking men with expressionless asiatic faces who swam up to the surface of the screen

290

and vanished to be replaced by others exactly similar the dull

291

rhythmic tramp of the soldiers boots formed the back ground to Goldstein's bleeding voice.

292

Before the hate had proceeded for thirty seconds, uncontrollable exclamations of rage were breaking out from half the people in the room.

293

The self -satisfied sheep -like face on the screen

294

and the terrifying power of the Eurasian army behind it were too much to be borne.

295

Besides, the sight or even the thought of Goldstein produced fear and anger automatically.

296

He was an object of hatred more constant than either Eurasia or East Asia,

297

since when Oceania was at war with one of these powers it was generally at peace with the other.

298

But what was strange was that although Goldstein was hated and despised by everybody, although every day and a thousand times a day,

299

on platforms, on telescreen, in newspapers, in books, his theories were refuted,

300

smashed, ridiculed, held up to the general gaze for the pitiful rubbish that they were, in spite of all this,

301

his influence never seemed to grow less.

302

Always there were fresh dupes waiting to be seduced by him.

303

A day never passed when spies and saboteurs acting under his directions were not unmasked by the thought police.

304

He was the commander of a vast shadowy army, an underground network of conspirators dedicated to the overthrow of the state.

305

The Brotherhood, its name was supposed to be.

306

There were also whispered stories of a terrible book, a compendium of all the heresies of which Goldstein was the author,

307

and which circulated clandestinely here and there.

308

It was a book without a title.

309

People referred to it, if at all, simply as the book.

310

But one knew of such things only through vague rumors.

311

Neither the Brotherhood nor the book was a subject

312

that any ordinary party member would mention if there was a way of avoiding it.

313

In its second minute the hate rose to a frenzy.

314

People were leaping up and down in their places

315

and shouting at the tops of their voices in an effort to drown the maddening, bleeding voice that came from the screen.

316

The little sandy -haired woman had turned bright pink, and her mouth was opening and shutting like that of a landed fish.

317

Even O 'Brien's heavy face was flushed.

318

He was sitting very straight in his chair, his powerful chest swelling and quivering as though he were standing up to the assault of a wave.

319

The dark -haired girl behind Winston had begun crying out, Swine!

320

Swine!

321

Swine!

322

And suddenly she picked up a heavy Newspeak dictionary and flung it at the screen.

323

It struck Goldstein's nose and bounced off.

324

The voice continued inexorably.

325

In a lucid moment, Winston found that he was shouting with the others

326

and kicking his heel violently against the rung of his chair.

327

The horrible thing about the two minutes' hate was not that one was obliged to act a part,

328

but, on the contrary, that it was impossible to avoid joining in.

329

Within thirty seconds any pretense was always unnecessary.

330

A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, a desire to kill, to torture, to smash faces in with a sledgehammer.

331

seemed to flow through the whole group of people like an

332

electric current turning one even against one's will into a grimacing screaming lunatic

333

and yet the rage that one felt was an abstract undirected emotion

334

which could be switched from one object to another like the flame of a blow -lamp

335

Thus, at one moment, Winston's hatred was not turned against Goldstein at all, but on the contrary against

336

Big Brother, the party, and the thought police.

337

And at such moments his heart went out to the lonely, derided heretic on the street,

338

sole guardian of truth and sanity in a world of lies.

339

And yet the very next instant he was at one with the people about him,

340

and all that was said of Goldstein seemed to him to be true.

341

At those moments his secret loathing of Big Brother changed into adoration, and Big Brother seemed to tower up an invincible,

342

fearless protector, standing like a rock against the hordes of Asia, and Goldstein, in spite of his isolation,

343

his helplessness and the doubt that hung about his very existence, seemed like some sinister enchanter,

344

capable by the mere power of his voice of wrecking the structure of civilization.

345

It was even possible at moments to switch one's hatred this way or that by a voluntary act.

346

Suddenly, by the sort of violent effort with which one wrenches one's head away from the pillow in a nightmare,

347

Winston succeeded in transferring his hatred from the face on the screen to the dark -haired girl behind him.

348

Vivid, beautiful hallucinations flashed through his mind.

349

He would flog her to death with a rubber truncheon he would tie her naked to a stake

350

and shoot her full of arrows like saint sebastian he would ravish her

351

and cut her throat at the moment of climax better than before moreover he realized why it was

352

that he hated her he hated her because she was young and pretty and sexless

353

because he wanted to go to bed with her

354

and would never do so because round her sweet supple waist

355

which seemed to ask you to encircle it with your arm there was only the odious scarlet sash aggressive symbol of chastity

356

The hate rose to its climax.

357

The voice of Goldstein had become an actual sheep's bleat, and for an instant the face changed into that of a sheep.

358

Then the sheep face melted into the figure of a Eurasian soldier, who seemed to be advancing, huge and terrible, his submachine gun roaring,

359

and seeming to spring out of the surface of the screen,

360

so that some of the people in the front row actually flinched backwards in their seats.

361

But in the same moment, drawing a deep sigh of relief from everybody, the hostile figure melted into the face of Big Brother,

362

black -haired, black -mustachioed, full of power and mysterious calm, and so vast that it almost filled up the screen.

363

Nobody heard what

364

Big Brother was saying.

365

It was merely a few words of encouragement, the sort of words that are uttered in the din of battle,

366

not distinguishable individually, but restoring confidence by the fact of being spoken.

367

Then the face of Big Brother faded away, and instead the three slogans of the party stood out in bold capitals.

368

War is peace.

369

Freedom is slavery.

370

Ignorance is strength.

371

But the face of Big Brother seemed to persist for several seconds on the screen,

372

as though the impact that it had made on everyone's eyeballs was too vivid to wear off immediately.

373

The little sand -haired woman had flung herself forward over the back of the chair in front of her.

374

With a tremulous murmur that sounded like, My Savior, she extended her arms towards the screen.

375

Then she buried her face into her hands.

376

It was apparent that she was uttering a prayer.

377

At this moment, the entire group of people broke into a deep, slow, rhythmic chant of B,

378

B, B, B, B, B,

379

B, over and over again, very slowly, with a long pause between the first B and the second.

380

A heavy, murmurous sound, somehow curiously savage in the background of

381

which one seemed to hear the stamp of naked feet and the throbbing of tom -toms.

382

For perhaps as much as thirty seconds they kept it up.

383

It was a refrain that was often heard in moments of overwhelming emotion.

384

Partly it was a sort of hymn to the wisdom and majesty of Big Brother, but still more it was an act of self -hypnosis,

385

a deliberate drowning of consciousness by means of rhythmic noise.

386

Winston's entrails seemed to grow cold.

387

In the two minutes' hate, he could not help sharing in the general delirium,

388

but this subhuman chanting of BEE!

389

BEE!

390

BEE!

391

BEE!

392

always filled him with horror.

393

Of course he chanted with the rest.

394

It was impossible to do otherwise eyes.

395

To dissemble your feelings, to control your face, to do what everyone else was doing, was an instinctive reaction.

396

But there was a space of a couple of seconds during which the expression in his eyes might conceivably have betrayed him,

397

and it was exactly at this moment that the significant thing happened.

398

If indeed it did happen.

399

Momentarily he caught O 'Brien's eye.

400

O 'Brien had stood up.

401

He had taken off his spectacles and was in the act of resettling them on his nose with his characteristic gesture.

402

But there was a fraction of a second where their eyes met, and for as long as it took to happen Winston knew,

403

yes, he knew, that O 'Brien was thinking the same thing as himself.

404

An unmistakable message had passed.

405

It was as though their two minds had opened and the thoughts were flowing from one into the other through their eyes.

406

I am with you, O 'Brien seemed to be saying to him.

407

I know precisely what you are feeling.

408

I know all about your contempt, your hatred, your disgust.

409

But don't worry, I am on your side.

410

And then the flash of intelligence was gone, and O 'Brien's face was as inscrutable as everybody else's.

411

That was all, and he was already uncertain whether it had happened.

412

Such incidents never had any sequel.

413

All that they did was to keep alive in him the belief, or hope, that others besides himself were the enemies of the party.

414

Perhaps the rumors of vast underground conspiracies were true after all.

415

Perhaps the Brotherhood really existed.

416

It was impossible, in spite of the endless arrests and confessions and executions, to be sure that the Brotherhood was not simply a myth.

417

Some days he believed in it, some days not.

418

There was no evidence, only fleeting glimpses that might mean anything or nothing.

419

Snatches of overheard conversations, faint scribbles on laboratory walls.

420

Once, even when two strangers met, a small movement of the hand, which had looked as though it might be a signal of recognition.

421

It was all guesswork.

422

Very likely he had imagined everything.

423

He'd gone back to his cubicle without looking at O 'Brien again.

424

The idea of following up their momentary contact hardly crossed his mind.

425

It would have been inconceivably dangerous, even if he had known how to set about doing it.

426

For a second, two seconds, they had exchanged an equivocal glance, and that was the end of the story.

427

But even that was a memorable event in the locked loneliness in which one had to live.

428

Winston roused himself and sat up straighter.

429

He let out a belch.

430

The gin was rising from his stomach.

431

His eyes refocused on the page.

432

He discovered that while he sat helplessly musing, he had also been writing, as though by automatic action.

433

And it was no longer the same cramped, awkward handwriting as before.

434

His pen had slid voluptuously over the smooth paper, printing in large, neat capitals.

435

Down with Big Brother.

436

Down with Big Brother.

437

Down with Big Brother.

438

Down with Big Brother.

439

Down with Big Brother.

440

Over and over again, filling half a page.

441

He could not help feeling a twinge of panic.

442

It was absurd, since the writing of those particular words was not more dangerous than the initial act of opening the diary.

443

But for a moment he was tempted to tear out the spoiled pages and abandon the enterprise altogether.

444

He did not do so, however, because he knew that it was useless.

445

Whether he wrote down with Big Brother, or whether he refrained from writing, it made no difference.

446

Whether he went on with the diary, or whether he did not go on with it, made no difference.

447

The thought police would get him just the same.

448

He had committed, would still have committed even if he had never set pen to paper, the essential crime that contained all others in itself.

449

Thought crime, they called it.

450

Thought crime was not a thing that could be concealed forever.

451

You might dodge successfully for a while, even for years, but sooner or later they were bound to get you.

452

It was always at night.

453

The arrests invariably happened at night.

454

The sudden jerk out of sleep, the rough hand shaking your shoulder, the lights glaring in your eyes, the ring of hard faces round your bed.

455

In the vast majority of cases, there was no trial, no report of the arrest.

456

People simply disappeared, always during the night.

457

Your name was removed from the registers, every record of everything you had ever done was wiped out,

458

your one -time existence was denied and then forgotten.

459

You were abolished, annihilated.

460

Vaporized was the usual word.

461

For a moment he was seized by a kind of hysteria.

462

He began writing in a hurried, untidy scrawl.

463

They'll shoot me.

464

I don't care.

465

They'll shoot me in the back of the neck.

466

I don't care.

467

Down with big brother.

468

They always shoot you in the back of the neck.

469

I don't care.

470

Down with big brother.

471

He sat back in his chair, slightly ashamed of himself, and laid down the pen.

472

The next moment he stared violently.

473

There was a knocking at the door.

474

Already?

475

He sat as still as a mouse in the futile hope that whoever it was might go away after a single attempt.

476

But no, the knocking was repeated.

477

The worst thing of all would be delay.

478

His heart was thumping like a drum, but his face from long habit was probably expressionless.

479

He got up and moved heavily towards the door.

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Shadowing British English | 1984 by George Orwell – Part 1 | RP Pronunciation Practice

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คำศัพท์และข้อสังเกตด้านการพูดสำหรับบทเรียนนี้

บทเรียนฝึกพูดนี้ใช้วิดีโอ “1984 Audiobook – Part 1, Chapter 1” เป็นสื่อ วิดีโอนี้มี 479 ประโยค และ 6323 คำ สำหรับฝึกพูดตาม ช่วงที่มีเสียงพูดยาว 39:03 ผู้พูดพูดด้วยความเร็วเป็นธรรมชาติ ประมาณ 162 คำต่อนาที ใกล้เคียงกับบทสนทนาในชีวิตประจำวัน มีเพียง 79% ของคำที่อยู่ใน 3,000 คำที่ใช้บ่อยที่สุดในภาษาอังกฤษ คำศัพท์จึงค่อนข้างยาก

คำศัพท์สำคัญในวิดีโอนี้

คำที่ควรเรียนรู้ 15 คำจากวิดีโอ พร้อมคำอ่านและความหมาย:

คำศัพท์	คำอ่าน	ความหมาย
vast คำคุณศัพท์	/væst/	ว้างเวิ้ง, ไพศาล
sheep คำนาม	/ˈʃiːp/	แกะ
helicopter คำนาม	/ˈheliːˌkɔptə(ɹ)/	เฮลิคอปเตอร์
diary คำนาม	/ˈdaɪ.ə.ɹi/	อนุทิน, ไดอารี
hatred คำนาม	/ˈheɪtɹɪd/	ความเกลียด, ความชัง
shout คำกริยา	/ʃaʊt/	ตะโกน, กระโชก
thick คำคุณศัพท์	/θɪk/	หนา
wire คำนาม	/ˈwaɪɚ/	ลวด, สาย
dust คำนาม	/dʌst/	ฝุ่น, ผง
tear คำกริยา	/tɛɹ/	ฉีก
enormous คำคุณศัพท์	/ɪˈnɔː.məs/	มหึมา
sink คำกริยา	/ˈsɪŋk/	จม
emotion คำนาม	/ɪˈməʊ.ʃən/	อารมณ์
poster คำนาม	/ˈpoʊstɚ/	โปสเตอร์
glance คำกริยา	/ɡlæns/	ชำเลือง, เหลือบ

กริยาวลีที่คุณจะได้ยิน

คำศัพท์	ความหมาย
pick up คำกริยา	ยก, หยิบ
die down คำกริยา	สงบตัวลง
get up คำกริยา	ลุก

ประโยคที่ควรฝึกพูดซ้ำ

ประโยคสั้น ๆ ที่สมบูรณ์จากวิดีโอ ซึ่งนำไปใช้ในบทสนทนาประจำวันได้:

How could you communicate with the future?
I don't suppose anything happened to her.
They'll shoot me in the back of the neck.

ไวยากรณ์ในวิดีโอนี้

โครงสร้างที่ผู้พูดใช้บ่อยที่สุด พร้อมคำพูดจริงจากวิดีโอ:

โครงสร้าง	ในวิดีโอ
Passive voice be + กริยาช่อง 3 — เน้นสิ่งที่เกิดขึ้น ไม่ใช่ผู้กระทำ	had been tacked · was cut · was called
Relative clauses who / which + อนุประโยค — ข้อมูลเพิ่มเติมเกี่ยวกับคนหรือสิ่งของ	pictures which are · overalls which were · speakwrite, which was

การออกเสียงที่ควรระวัง

ผู้พูดใช้รูปย่อและรูปลดเสียง 12 ครั้ง เช่น don't, ain't, didn't ให้พูดแบบสั้นตามที่ได้ยิน

เสียง “th”: thirty /ˈθɝti/, thick /θɪk/, smooth /smuːð/, thin /ˈθɪn/, rhythmic /ˈɹɪð.mɪk/
เสียง “sh” และ “zh”: sheep /ˈʃiːp/, flash /flæʃ/, shout /ʃaʊt/, emotion /ɪˈməʊ.ʃən/, unusual /ʌnˈjuːʒ(u)əl/
คำยาว — ลงเสียงหนักให้ถูกพยางค์: helicopter /ˈheliːˌkɔptə(ɹ)/, unusual /ʌnˈjuːʒ(u)əl/, ordinary /ˈɔɹdɪnɛɹi/, preparation /ˌpɹɛpəˈɹeɪʃ(ə)n/, conspiracy /kənˈspɪɹəsi/

เสียงที่คนไทยมักออกเสียงยาก:

เสียงท้ายคำ — ออกเสียงให้ครบ ไม่เปลี่ยนเป็นตัวสะกดแบบไทย: flash /flæʃ/, belief /bɪˈliːf/, enormous /ɪˈnɔː.məs/, glance /ɡlæns/, curious /ˈkjʊɹ.i.əs/
/v/ — ไม่ใช่ /w/ ให้ฟันบนแตะริมฝีปากล่าง: vast /væst/, moreover /mɔːˈɹəʊ.və/, slavery /ˈsleɪvəɹi/, eleven /əˈlɛv.ən/, vague /veɪɡ/
/z/ — เสียงก้อง ไม่ใช่ /s/: razor /ˈɹeɪzɚ/, gaze /ɡeɪz/, enterprise /ˈɛntəˌpɹaɪz/, possession /pəˈzɛʃn̩/, overalls /ˈoʊvəɹɔːlz/

วิธีฝึกกับวิดีโอนี้

ฟังวิดีโอให้จบหนึ่งรอบโดยยังไม่ต้องพูด แล้วจดคำที่ยังไม่รู้จัก
เริ่มที่ความเร็ว 0.75× พูดตามทีละประโยค แล้วกลับไปใช้ความเร็วปกติเมื่อเริ่มคล่อง
อัดเสียงตัวเองแล้วเทียบกับต้นฉบับ โดยสังเกตคำอย่าง vast, sheep, helicopter เป็นพิเศษ

เทคนิค Shadowing คืออะไร?

Shadowing เป็นเทคนิคการเรียนรู้ภาษาที่ได้รับการรับรองทางวิทยาศาสตร์ พัฒนาขึ้นสำหรับการฝึกนักแปลมืออาชีพ วิธีการนี้เรียบง่ายแต่ทรงพลัง: คุณฟังเสียงภาษาอังกฤษจากเจ้าของภาษาและพูดตามทันที — เหมือนเงาที่ตามผู้พูดด้วยช่วงเวลาห่าง 1-2 วินาที การวิจัยแสดงว่าเทคนิคนี้ปรับปรุงความแม่นยำในการออกเสียง ทำนองเสียง จังหวะ การเชื่อมเสียง การฟังเข้าใจ และความคล่องแคล่วในการพูดได้อย่างมีนัยสำคัญ

เทคนิค shadowing: อ่านคู่มือฉบับเต็มทีละขั้นตอน →

ฝึกพูดภาษาอังกฤษด้วยเทคนิค Shadowing จากวิดีโอ: 1984 Audiobook – Part 1, Chapter 1 | George Orwell

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คำศัพท์และข้อสังเกตด้านการพูดสำหรับบทเรียนนี้

คำศัพท์สำคัญในวิดีโอนี้

กริยาวลีที่คุณจะได้ยิน

ประโยคที่ควรฝึกพูดซ้ำ

ไวยากรณ์ในวิดีโอนี้

การออกเสียงที่ควรระวัง

วิธีฝึกกับวิดีโอนี้

เทคนิค Shadowing คืออะไร?