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西班牙内战期间，美国青年罗伯特•乔丹志愿参加西班牙政府军，在敌后搞爆破活动。为配合反攻，他奉命和山区的地方游击队联系，执行一次炸桥任务。尽管屡屡受到已丧失斗志的游击队队长巴勃罗的阻挠，罗伯特还是争取到了巴勃罗的妻子比拉尔和其他队员的拥护与支持，并和被敌人糟蹋过的姑娘玛丽娅坠入爱河。在短短的三天时间里，罗伯特经历了爱情与职责的冲突和生与死的考验，人性不断升华。成功炸桥后，罗伯特不幸受伤，为掩护其他人安全撤退，他选择独自留下阻击敌人，最终为西班牙人民献出了年轻的生命。

《丧钟为谁而鸣》出版于一九四〇年，是海明威流传最广的长篇小说之一。

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欧内斯特•米勒尔•海明威（Ernest Miller Hemingway，1899－1961），美国小说家。出生于美国伊利诺伊州，晚年在爱达荷州的家中自杀身亡。海明威的代表作有《老人与海》《太阳照常升起》《永别了，武器》《丧钟为谁而鸣》等，《老人与海》奠定了他在世界文学的地位，为他获得普利策奖（1953年）和诺贝尔文学奖（1954年）起了决定性作用。海明威被誉为美利坚民族的精神丰碑，他的写作风格以简洁著称，是“新闻体”小说的创始人，人称“文坛硬汉”。他对美国文学及二十世纪文学的发展有着极深远的影响。

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No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore, never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee

谁都不是一座岛屿，自成一体/ 每个人都是一个碎片，那广袤大陆的一部分/ 如果海浪冲掉一块土地，家园就小了一点/ 如果一座海岬，如果你朋友或你自己的庄园被冲掉/ 也是如此/ 任何人的死亡都使我受到损失/ 因为我包孕在人类之中/ 所以不必打听丧钟为谁鸣/ 丧钟为你鸣

Robert Jordan pushed the cup toward him. It was a milky yellow now with the water and he hoped the gypsy would not take more than a swallow. There was very little of it left and one cup of it took the place of the evening papers, of all the old evenings in cafe, of all chestnut trees that would be in bloom now in this month, of the great slow horses of the outer boulevards, of book shops, of kiosques, and of galleries, of the Parc Montsouris, of the Stade Buffalo, and of the Butte Chaumont, of the Guaranty Trust Company and the Ile de la Cite, of Foyot's old hotel, and of being able to read and relax in the evening; of all the things he had enjoyed and forgotten and that came back to him when he tasted that opaque, bitter, tongue-numbing, brain-warming, stomach-warming, idea-changing liqu...

How many times had he heard this? How many times had he watched people say it with difficulty? How many times had he seen their eyes fill and their throats harden with the difficulty of saying my father, or my brother, or my mother, or my sister? He could not remember how many times he had heard them mention their dead in this way. Nearly always they spoke as this boy did now; suddenly and apropos of the mention of the town and always you said, "What barbarians."

You only heard the statement of the loss. You did not see the father fall as Pilar made him see the fascists die in that story she had told by the stream. You knew the father died in some courtyard, or against some wall, or in some field or orchard, or at night, in the lights of a truck, beside some road. You had seen the lights...

1They were walking through the heather of the mountain meadow and Robert Jordan felt the brushing of the heather against his legs, felt the weight of his pistol in its holster against his thigh, felt the sun on his head, felt the breeze from the snow of the mountain peaks cool on his back and, in his hand, he felt the girl's hand firm and strong, the fingers locked in his. From it, from the palm of her hand against the palm of his, from their fingers locked together, and from her wrist across his wrist something came from her hand, her fingers and her wrist to his that was as fresh as the first light air that moving toward you over the sea barely wrinkles the glassy surface of a calm, as light as a feather moved across one's lip, or a leaf falling when there is no breeze; so light that it ...

Now that his rage was gone he was excited by this storm as he was always by all storms. In a blizzard, a gale, a sudden line squall, a tropical storm, or a summer thunder shower in the mountains there was an excitement that came to him from no other thing. It was like the excitement of battle except that it was clean. There is a wind that blows through battle but that was a hot wind; hot and dry as your mouth; and it blew heavily; hot and dirtily; and it rose and died away with the fortunes of the day. He knew that wind well.

But a snowstorm was the opposite of all of that. In the snowstorm you came close to wild animals and they were not afraid. They travelled across country not knowing where they were and the deer stood sometimes in the lee of the cabin. In a snowstorm you rode up to a...

The night was clear and his head felt as clear and cold as the air. He smelled the odor of the pine boughs under him, the piney smell of the crushed needles and the sharper odor of the resinous sap from the cut limbs. Pilar, he thought. Pilar and the smell of death. This is the smell I love. This and fresh-cut clover, the crushed sage as you ride after cattle, wood-smoke and the burning leaves of autumn. That must be the odor of nostalgia, the smell of the smoke from the piles of raked leaves burning in the streets in the fall in Missoula. Which would you rather smell? Sweet grass the Indians used in their baskets? Smoked leather? The odor of the ground in the spring after rain? The smell of the sea as you walk through the gorse on a headland in Galicia? Or the wind from the land as you c...

书籍介绍

西班牙内战期间，美国青年罗伯特•乔丹志愿参加西班牙政府军，在敌后搞爆破活动。为配合反攻，他奉命和山区的地方游击队联系，执行一次炸桥任务。尽管屡屡受到已丧失斗志的游击队队长巴勃罗的阻挠，罗伯特还是争取到了巴勃罗的妻子比拉尔和其他队员的拥护与支持，并和被敌人糟蹋过的姑娘玛丽娅坠入爱河。在短短的三天时间里，罗伯特经历了爱情与职责的冲突和生与死的考验，人性不断升华。成功炸桥后，罗伯特不幸受伤，为掩护其他人安全撤退，他选择独自留下阻击敌人，最终为西班牙人民献出了年轻的生命。

《丧钟为谁而鸣》出版于一九四〇年，是海明威流传最广的长篇小说之一。