跟读练习: Jane Eyre - Chapter 1 - 通过视频学习英语口语
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Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.
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Read by Juliet Stevenson.
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Chapter One There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.
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We had been wandering indeed in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning, but since dinner, Mrs. Reed, when there was no company,
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dined early, the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre and a rain so penetrating
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that further outdoor exercise was now out of the question.
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I was glad of it.
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I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons.
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Dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie,
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the nurse, and humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Georgiana read.
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The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round their mama in the drawing-room.
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She lay reclined on a sofa by the fireside, and with her darlings about her, for the time neither quarrelling nor crying, looked perfectly happy.
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Me she had dispensed from joining the group, saying she regretted to be under the necessity of keeping me at a distance,
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but that until she heard from Bessie and could discover by her own observation, that I was endeavouring in good earnest to acquire a more sociable and childlike disposition,
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a more attractive and sprightly manner, something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were.
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She really must exclude me from privileges intended only for contented, happy little children.
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What does Bessie say I've done?
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I asked.
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Jane, I don't like cavilers or questioners.
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Besides, there is something truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that manner.
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Be seated somewhere.
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and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent.
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A small breakfast room adjoined the drawing-room.
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I slipped in there.
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It contained a bookcase.
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I soon possessed myself of a volume, taking care that it should be one stored with pictures.
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I mounted into the window-seat.
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Gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged like a Turk, and having drawn the red marine curtain nearly close, I was shrined in double retirement.
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Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand, to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting but not separating me from the drear November day.
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At intervals, while turning over the leaves in my book, I studied the aspect of that winter afternoon.
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Afar it offered a pale blank of mist and cloud.
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Near, a scene of wet lawn and storm-beach shrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a long and lamentable blast.
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I returned to my book, Buick's History of British Birds.
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The letterpress thereof I cared little for, generally speaking, and yet there were certain introductory pages that, child as I was, I could not pass quite as a blank.
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They were those which treat of the haunts of sea-fowl, of the solitary rocks and promontories by them only inhabited, of the coast of Norway,
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studied with isles from its southern extremity, the Lindness, or Nays, to the North Cape, where the northern ocean in vast whirls boils round the naked,
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melancholy isles of farthest Thule, and the Atlantic surge pours in among the stormy Hebrides.
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Nor could I pass unnoticed the suggestion of the bleak shores of Lapland, Siberia, Spitsbergen, Nova Zembla, Iceland,
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Greenland, with the vast sweep of the Arctic zone and those forlorn regions of dreary space, that reservoir of frost and snow,
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where firm fields of ice, the accumulation of centuries of winters, glazed in alpine heights above heights,
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surround the pole, and can centre the multiplied rigours of extreme cold.
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Of these death-white realms I formed an idea of my own,
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shadowy, like all the half-notions that float dim through children's brains, but strangely impressive.
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The words in these introductory pages connected themselves with the succeeding vignettes, and gave significance to the rock standing up alone in a sea of billow in spray,
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to the broken boat, stranded on a desolate coast, to the cold and ghastly moon, glancing through bars of cloud at a wreck just sinking.
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I cannot tell what sentiment haunted the quite solitary churchyard with its inscribed headstone, its gate, its two trees,
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its low horizon, girdled by a broken wall, and its newly-risen crescent attesting the hour of eventide.
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The two ships, becalmed on a torpid sea, I believed to be marine phantoms.
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The fiend, pinning down the thief's pack behind him, I passed over quickly.
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It was an object of terror.
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So was the black, horned thing, seated aloof on a rock, surveying a distant crowd surrounding a gallows.
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Each picture told a story, mysterious often to my undeveloped understanding and imperfect feelings, yet ever profoundly interesting.
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as interesting as the tales Bessie sometimes narrated on winter evenings, when she chanced to be in a good humour, and when, having brought her ironing-table to the nursery hearth,
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she allowed us to sit about it, and while she got up Mrs. Reed's lace-frills and crimped her nightcap borders,
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fed our eager attention with passages of love and adventure, taken from old fairy-tales and older ballads, or, as at a later period I discovered,
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from the pages of Pamela and Henry Earl of Moorland.
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With Buick on my knee, I was then happy, happy at least in my way.
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I feared nothing but interruption, and that came too soon.
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A breakfast-room door was opened.
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"'Bo, Madam Mope!' cried the voice of John Reed.
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Then he paused.
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He found the room apparently empty.
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"'Where the Dickens is she?' he continued.
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"'Lizzy!
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Georgie!' calling to his sisters.
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"'Jane's not here.
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Tell Mama she's run out into the rain, bad animal!' "'It is well I drew the curtain,' thought I,
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and I wished fervently he might not discover my hiding-place.
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Nor would John Reed have found it out himself.
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He was not quick, either of vision or conception.
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But Eliza just put her head in at the door, and said at once, "'She's in the window-seat, to be sure, Jack.' And I came out immediately,
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for I trembled at the idea of being dragged forth by the said Jack.
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"'What do you want?' I asked with awkward diffidence.
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"'Say, what do you want, Master Reed?' was the answer.
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"'I want you to come here.' and seating himself in an armchair, he intimated by a gesture that I was to approach and stand before him.
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John Reed was a schoolboy of fourteen years old, four years older than I, for I was but ten, large and stout for his age,
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with a dingy and unwholesome skin, thick lineaments in a spacious visage, heavy limbs and large extremities.
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He gorged himself habitually at table, which made him bilious, and gave him a dim and bleared eye with flabby cheeks.
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He ought now to have been at school, but his mama had taken him home for a month or two, on account of his delicate health.
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Mr. Miles, the master, affirmed that he would do very well if he had fewer cakes and sweetmeat sent him from home, but the mother's heart turned from an opinion so harsh,
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and inclined rather to the more refined idea that John's sallowness was owing to over-application, and perhaps to pining after home.
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John had not much affection for his mother and sisters, and an antipathy to me.
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He bullied and punished me, not two or three times in the week, nor once or twice in a day, but continually.
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Every nerve I had feared him, and every morsel of flesh on my bones shrank when he came near.
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There were moments when I was bewildered by the terror he inspired, because I had no appeal whatever against either his menaces or his inflictions.
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The servants did not like to offend their young master by taking my part against him, and Mrs. Reed was blind and deaf on the subject.
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She never saw him strike or heard him abuse me, though he did both, now and then, in her very presence, more frequently, however, behind her back.
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Habitually obedient to John, I came up to his chair.
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He spent some three minutes in thrusting out his tongue at me as far as he could without damaging the roots.
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I knew he would soon strike, and while dreading the blow, I mused on the disgusting and ugly appearance of him who would presently deal it.
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I wonder if he read that notion in my face, for all at once, without speaking, he struck suddenly and strongly.
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I tottered, and on regaining my equilibrium, retired back a step or two from his chair.
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"'That is for your impudence in answering Mama a while since, said he, and for your sneaking way of getting behind curtains,
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and for the look you had in your eyes two minutes since, you rat.
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Accustomed to John Reed's abuse, I never had an idea of replying to it.
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My care was how to endure the blow which would certainly follow the insult.
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What were you doing behind the curtain? he asked.
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I was reading.
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Show the book.
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I returned to the window and fetched it thence.
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You have no business to take our books.
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You are a dependent, Mama says.
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You have no money.
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Your father left you none.
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You ought to beg and not to live here with gentlemen's children like us, and eat the same meals we do, and wear clothes at our Mama's expense.
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Now I'll teach you to rummage my bookshelves, for they are mine.
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All the house belongs to me, or will do in a few years.
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Go and stand by the door, out of the way of the mirror and the windows.' I did so, not at first aware what was his intention,
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but when I saw him lift and poise the book and stand in act to hurl it, I instinctively started aside with a cry of alarm.
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Not soon enough, however, the volume was flung, it hit me, and I fell, striking my head against the door and cutting it.
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The cut bled.
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The pain was sharp.
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My terror had passed its climax.
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Other feelings succeeded.
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"'Wicked and cruel, boy!' I said.
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"'You're like a murderer.
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You're like a slave-driver.
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You're like the Roman emperors.' I had read Goldsmith's History of Rome, and had formed my opinion of Nero,
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Caligula, etc. Also I had drawn parallels in silence, which I never thought thus to have declared aloud.
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"'What?
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What?' he cried.
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"'Did she say that to me?
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Did you hear her, Eliza and Georgiana?
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Won't I tell Mama, but first?' He ran headlong at me.
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I felt him grasp my hair and my shoulder.
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He had closed with a desperate thing.
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I really saw in him a tyrant, a murderer.
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I felt a drop or two of blood from my head trickle down my neck, and was sensible of somewhat pungent suffering.
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These sensations for the time predominated over fear, and I received him in frantic sort.
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I don't very well know what I did with my hands, but he called me, Rat!
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Rat! and bellowed out aloud.
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Aid was near him.
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Eliza and Georgiana had run for Mrs. Reed, who was gone upstairs.
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She now came upon the scene, followed by Bessie and her maid, Abbott.
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We were parted.
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I heard the words, Dear, dear, what a fury to fly at Master John!
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Did ever anybody see such a picture of passion?
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Then Mrs. Reed subjoined, Take her away to the Red Room, and lock her in there.
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Four hands were immediately laid upon me, and I was born upstairs.
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Thank you.
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背景与上下文
《简·爱》是夏洛蒂·勃朗特创作的一部经典小说，其故事围绕女主角简·爱成长的经历展开。在第一章中，简面对冷冷的冬天和家庭中的排斥感，她感到孤独与悲伤。通过这段叙述，我们能够感受到简对家庭的渴望与她内心的敏感，同时也引发我们对人际关系的思考。
日常交流常用的五个短语
- 我不喜欢长时间的散步。 (I don’t like long walks.)
- 你能让我待在这里吗？ (Can you let me stay here?)
- 我感到很孤独。 (I feel very lonely.)
- 你能告诉我发生了什么吗？ (Can you tell me what happened?)
- 我想要一个更快乐的生活。 (I want a happier life.)
逐步模仿（Shadowing）指南
为了帮助学习者提高英语发音，以下是针对《简·爱》第一章的逐步模仿练习指南。通过该练习，您可以更深入地理解叙述者的情感，以及在沟通中传达的语调与情感。
- 第一步：先仔细阅读这一章节，熟悉故事情节和角色之间的互动，理解简所面临的挑战。
- 第二步：播放该章节的录音，注意叙述者的发音与语调。这对于提高你的英语发音至关重要。
- 第三步：选择一些你在第一部分学习到的短语，尝试跟读，模仿其中的语音语调。这就是所谓的“shadow speak”。
- 第四步：放慢录音的速度，甚至暂停，随时进行重复，帮助您更好地记忆和掌握这些短语。
- 第五步：尝试不看文本，仅凭记忆来复述该段落，这将大大提高您的听力及口语能力，同时也激励更多积极的思考。
通过运用这种“shadowing”的技术来深入理解文本，学习者将能够更有效地提高英语发音及表达能力。在我们这个“shadowing site”上，继续实践并运用这些技巧，您将发现自己的英语能力逐步提升。
视频中的语法
说话人最常用的结构，并附上视频中的原话：
| 结构 | 视频中的用法 |
|---|---|
| 被动语态 be + 过去分词 — 强调发生了什么，而不是谁做的 | were now clustered · Be seated · was shrined |
| 现在完成时 have/has + 过去分词 — 过去发生但与现在仍有关联的事 | I've done · have found |
什么是跟读法？
跟读法 (Shadowing) 是一种有科学依据的语言学习技巧，最初开发用于专业口译员的培训，并由多语言者Alexander Arguelles博士普及。这个方法简单而强大：您在听英语母语原声的同时立即大声重复——就像是一个延迟1-2秒紧跟说话者的影子。与被动听力或语法练习不同，跟读法强迫您的大脑和口腔肌肉同时处理并模仿真实的讲话模式。研究表明它能显着提高发音准确性，语调，节奏，连读，听力理解和口语流利度——使其成为雅思口语备考和真实英语交流最有效的方法之一。