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笑语宫
一个秋千，一次旋转，一个射击场——这些是普通人的娱乐。敏锐的才智，反映的本质偏爱这笑语宫。它高尚而秘密的意图，就是要为我们作最坏的准备。这里，在一面镜子中，我们那从轮子上取下来的身体得到了展示——碎骨的一只变形的麻袋，在另一只麻袋里，是我们那在空气中漫长地晾干后，从肉钩上取下来的身体。
拜访笑语宫。拜访笑语宫。这是生活的门厅，这是苦难的接待室。
THE PALACE OF LAUGHTER
A swing， a whirlabout， a shooting gallery —— these are the amusements of common people. Subtle intellects， reflective natures prefer the Palace of Laughter. Its lofty and secret purpose is to prepare us for the worst. Here in one mirror is shown our body taken down from the wheel —— a misshapen sack of broken bones， in another our body taken down from the meat-hook after a long dry distillation in the air.
Visit the Palace of Laughter. Visit the Palace of Laughter. This is the vestibule of life， the anteroom of torture.
一个战士的生平
他站在房间的门槛上，屋里，躺着他那像一条蚕裹在蜡一般的沉默中死去的父亲。
他依附于咆哮，在咆哮上面攀登得越来越高，因为他知道沉默意味着死亡。有着平头钉的靴子的节奏，桥上的马蹄声—— 一个轻骑兵的蓝色绑腿。当火枪手行军进入一片烟云时，鼓声的雷霆—— 一个军官的银剑。大炮的咆哮，大地像一面鼓呻吟—— 一个陆军元帅的三角形军帽。
因此，当他死去，他的士兵想要他通过喧哗的梯子登天。一百座钟塔摇动镇子。在镇子荡到最接近天空的时刻，炮手们开火。但他们不能削下足够的蓝色的釉，悄悄塞进那配着剑和三角形军帽的陆军元帅。
现在，他再次松弛而坠落到大地的脸上。他忠实的士兵们把他拾起来，再次对天空开火。
LIFE OF A WARRIOR
He stood on the threshold of the room in which lay his dead father wrapped like a silkworm in waxen silence —— and shouted. That’s how it began.
He clung to the roar and climbed upon it higher and higher， for he knew that silence means death. Rhythm of hob-nailed boots， hoof-beats on a bridge —— blue galligaskins of a hussar. Thunder of drums as musketeers march into a cloud of smoke —— silver sword of an officer. Roar of cannon， the earth groans like a drum —— triangular shako of a field-marshal.
Thus， when he died， his faithful soldiers want him to ascend to heaven by the ladder of tumult. A hundred bell-towers rocked the town. At the moment when the town swings closest to the sky， the gunners fire. But they are unable to chip off enough blue glaze to slip in the field-marshal complete with his sword and triangular shako.
Now he comes loose again and falls on the face of the earth. His faithful soldiers pick him up and once again fire at the sky.
絞衣机
审问官就在我们当中。他们生活在巨大的经济公寓地下室里，只有那“绞衣机在此”的商店招牌泄露他们的存在。
有着曲折的青铜色肌肉的桌子，有力的滚筒，缓慢然而准确地挤压，一只主动轮，不知道怜悯——在等待我们。
他们从绞衣店拿出来的床单，就像女巫和异教徒那空荡荡的尸体。
WRINGER
The inquisitors are in our midst. They live in the basements of huge tenement houses and only the shop-sign W R I N G E R H E RE betrays their presence.
Tables with fexed bronze muscles， powerful rollers， crushing slowly but with precin， a driving wheel， which knows no mercy —— are waiting for us. The bed-sheets which they carry out of the wringer shop， are like empty bodies of witches and heretics.
出自泪水的技术
在我们的知识目前的状态中，只有虚假的泪水适合于处理和有规律的生产。真正的泪水是热的，因为这个缘故，很难把它们从面庞上移走。在它们缩小成固体状态后，就证明了它们极其脆弱。商业性开发真正的泪水的问题，就成了技术人员真正的头痛。
既然虚假的泪水本质不纯，那么它们在迅速冻结前就被提交给蒸馏过程，而且随着对纯洁的尊重而被缩小成一种状态，在那种状态之中，它们几乎不亚于真正的泪水。它们非常坚硬，非常耐用，因此不仅适合于装饰品，而且还适合于切割玻璃。
FROM THE TECHNOLOGY OF TEARS
In our present state of knowledge only false tears are suitable for treatment and regular production. Genuine tears are hot， for which reason it is very difficult to remove them from the face. After their reduction to a solid state， they have proved to be extremely fragile. The problem of commercially exploiting genuine tears is a real headache for technologists.
False tears before being quick-frozen are submitted to a process of distillation， since they are by nature impure， and they are reduced to a state in which， with respect to purity， they are hardly inferior to genuine tears. They are very hard， very durable and thus are suitable not only for ornamentation but also for cutting glass.
一个俄罗斯故事
我们的小父亲沙皇已经老了，很老了。他现在甚至都不能用手绞死一只鸽子。他坐在王位上，显得金光灿灿而又呆板。只有他的胡子生长，更远地生长到下面的地板上。
然后，某个别的人来统治，不知道是谁。好奇的民众透过窗户窥视宫里，但克里沃诺索夫用绞刑架挡住窗户。因此只有被绞死的人才能看见一切。
最后沙皇我们的小父亲永远死了。丧钟敲了又敲。然而他们并没有把他的尸体抬出来。我们的沙皇与王位融为一体。王位的腿与沙皇的腿完全融为一体，他的手臂与扶手融为一体。不可能把他扯下来了。就把沙皇与黄金王位一起埋葬吧——多遗憾啊。
A RUSSIAN TALE
The tsar our little father had grown old， very old. Now he could not even strangle a dove with his own hands. Sitting on his throne he was golden and frigid. Only his beard grew， down to the floor and farther.
Then someone else ruled， it was not known who. Curious folk peeped into the palace through the windows but Krivonosov screened the windows with gibbets. Thus only the hanged saw anything.
In the end the tsar our little father died for good. The bells rang and rang， yet they did not bring his body out. Our tsar bad grown into the throne. The legs of the throne had become all mixed up with the legs of the tsar. His arm and the armrest were one. It was impossible to tear him loose. And to bury the tsar along with the golden throne —— what a shame.
皇帝的夢
一道裂缝！皇帝在睡梦中大叫，鸵鸟的羽毛篷冠颤抖。在走廊上来对踱步的士兵拔剑出鞘，相信皇帝梦见了一场围困。他刚才看见了墙上有一道裂缝，想要他们闯入堡垒。
实际上，皇帝现在是一只地鳖，快速掠过地板，寻找残汤剩羹。突然，他看见头上有一只巨大的脚正要踏碎它。皇帝寻找一道裂缝挤进去。地板平坦而滑溜。
是的。皇帝们的梦再普通不过了。
THE EMPEROR’S DREAM
A crevice！ shouts the Emperor in his sleep， and the canopy of ostrich plumes trembles. The soldiers who pace the corridors with unsheathed swords believe the Emperor dreams about a siege. Just now he saw a fissure in the wall and wants them to break into the fortress.
In fact the Emperor is now a wood-louse who scurries across the floor， seeking remnants of food. Suddenly he sees overhead an immense foot about to crush him. The Emperor hunts for a crevice in which to squeeze. The floor is smooth and slippery.
Yes. Nothing is more ordinary than the dreams of Emperors.
一个秋千，一次旋转，一个射击场——这些是普通人的娱乐。敏锐的才智，反映的本质偏爱这笑语宫。它高尚而秘密的意图，就是要为我们作最坏的准备。这里，在一面镜子中，我们那从轮子上取下来的身体得到了展示——碎骨的一只变形的麻袋，在另一只麻袋里，是我们那在空气中漫长地晾干后，从肉钩上取下来的身体。
拜访笑语宫。拜访笑语宫。这是生活的门厅，这是苦难的接待室。
THE PALACE OF LAUGHTER
A swing， a whirlabout， a shooting gallery —— these are the amusements of common people. Subtle intellects， reflective natures prefer the Palace of Laughter. Its lofty and secret purpose is to prepare us for the worst. Here in one mirror is shown our body taken down from the wheel —— a misshapen sack of broken bones， in another our body taken down from the meat-hook after a long dry distillation in the air.
Visit the Palace of Laughter. Visit the Palace of Laughter. This is the vestibule of life， the anteroom of torture.
一个战士的生平
他站在房间的门槛上，屋里，躺着他那像一条蚕裹在蜡一般的沉默中死去的父亲。
他依附于咆哮，在咆哮上面攀登得越来越高，因为他知道沉默意味着死亡。有着平头钉的靴子的节奏，桥上的马蹄声—— 一个轻骑兵的蓝色绑腿。当火枪手行军进入一片烟云时，鼓声的雷霆—— 一个军官的银剑。大炮的咆哮，大地像一面鼓呻吟—— 一个陆军元帅的三角形军帽。
因此，当他死去，他的士兵想要他通过喧哗的梯子登天。一百座钟塔摇动镇子。在镇子荡到最接近天空的时刻，炮手们开火。但他们不能削下足够的蓝色的釉，悄悄塞进那配着剑和三角形军帽的陆军元帅。
现在，他再次松弛而坠落到大地的脸上。他忠实的士兵们把他拾起来，再次对天空开火。
LIFE OF A WARRIOR
He stood on the threshold of the room in which lay his dead father wrapped like a silkworm in waxen silence —— and shouted. That’s how it began.
He clung to the roar and climbed upon it higher and higher， for he knew that silence means death. Rhythm of hob-nailed boots， hoof-beats on a bridge —— blue galligaskins of a hussar. Thunder of drums as musketeers march into a cloud of smoke —— silver sword of an officer. Roar of cannon， the earth groans like a drum —— triangular shako of a field-marshal.
Thus， when he died， his faithful soldiers want him to ascend to heaven by the ladder of tumult. A hundred bell-towers rocked the town. At the moment when the town swings closest to the sky， the gunners fire. But they are unable to chip off enough blue glaze to slip in the field-marshal complete with his sword and triangular shako.
Now he comes loose again and falls on the face of the earth. His faithful soldiers pick him up and once again fire at the sky.
絞衣机
审问官就在我们当中。他们生活在巨大的经济公寓地下室里，只有那“绞衣机在此”的商店招牌泄露他们的存在。
有着曲折的青铜色肌肉的桌子，有力的滚筒，缓慢然而准确地挤压，一只主动轮，不知道怜悯——在等待我们。
他们从绞衣店拿出来的床单，就像女巫和异教徒那空荡荡的尸体。
WRINGER
The inquisitors are in our midst. They live in the basements of huge tenement houses and only the shop-sign W R I N G E R H E RE betrays their presence.
Tables with fexed bronze muscles， powerful rollers， crushing slowly but with precin， a driving wheel， which knows no mercy —— are waiting for us. The bed-sheets which they carry out of the wringer shop， are like empty bodies of witches and heretics.
出自泪水的技术
在我们的知识目前的状态中，只有虚假的泪水适合于处理和有规律的生产。真正的泪水是热的，因为这个缘故，很难把它们从面庞上移走。在它们缩小成固体状态后，就证明了它们极其脆弱。商业性开发真正的泪水的问题，就成了技术人员真正的头痛。
既然虚假的泪水本质不纯，那么它们在迅速冻结前就被提交给蒸馏过程，而且随着对纯洁的尊重而被缩小成一种状态，在那种状态之中，它们几乎不亚于真正的泪水。它们非常坚硬，非常耐用，因此不仅适合于装饰品，而且还适合于切割玻璃。
FROM THE TECHNOLOGY OF TEARS
In our present state of knowledge only false tears are suitable for treatment and regular production. Genuine tears are hot， for which reason it is very difficult to remove them from the face. After their reduction to a solid state， they have proved to be extremely fragile. The problem of commercially exploiting genuine tears is a real headache for technologists.
False tears before being quick-frozen are submitted to a process of distillation， since they are by nature impure， and they are reduced to a state in which， with respect to purity， they are hardly inferior to genuine tears. They are very hard， very durable and thus are suitable not only for ornamentation but also for cutting glass.
一个俄罗斯故事
我们的小父亲沙皇已经老了，很老了。他现在甚至都不能用手绞死一只鸽子。他坐在王位上，显得金光灿灿而又呆板。只有他的胡子生长，更远地生长到下面的地板上。
然后，某个别的人来统治，不知道是谁。好奇的民众透过窗户窥视宫里，但克里沃诺索夫用绞刑架挡住窗户。因此只有被绞死的人才能看见一切。
最后沙皇我们的小父亲永远死了。丧钟敲了又敲。然而他们并没有把他的尸体抬出来。我们的沙皇与王位融为一体。王位的腿与沙皇的腿完全融为一体，他的手臂与扶手融为一体。不可能把他扯下来了。就把沙皇与黄金王位一起埋葬吧——多遗憾啊。
A RUSSIAN TALE
The tsar our little father had grown old， very old. Now he could not even strangle a dove with his own hands. Sitting on his throne he was golden and frigid. Only his beard grew， down to the floor and farther.
Then someone else ruled， it was not known who. Curious folk peeped into the palace through the windows but Krivonosov screened the windows with gibbets. Thus only the hanged saw anything.
In the end the tsar our little father died for good. The bells rang and rang， yet they did not bring his body out. Our tsar bad grown into the throne. The legs of the throne had become all mixed up with the legs of the tsar. His arm and the armrest were one. It was impossible to tear him loose. And to bury the tsar along with the golden throne —— what a shame.
皇帝的夢
一道裂缝！皇帝在睡梦中大叫，鸵鸟的羽毛篷冠颤抖。在走廊上来对踱步的士兵拔剑出鞘，相信皇帝梦见了一场围困。他刚才看见了墙上有一道裂缝，想要他们闯入堡垒。
实际上，皇帝现在是一只地鳖，快速掠过地板，寻找残汤剩羹。突然，他看见头上有一只巨大的脚正要踏碎它。皇帝寻找一道裂缝挤进去。地板平坦而滑溜。
是的。皇帝们的梦再普通不过了。
THE EMPEROR’S DREAM
A crevice！ shouts the Emperor in his sleep， and the canopy of ostrich plumes trembles. The soldiers who pace the corridors with unsheathed swords believe the Emperor dreams about a siege. Just now he saw a fissure in the wall and wants them to break into the fortress.
In fact the Emperor is now a wood-louse who scurries across the floor， seeking remnants of food. Suddenly he sees overhead an immense foot about to crush him. The Emperor hunts for a crevice in which to squeeze. The floor is smooth and slippery.
Yes. Nothing is more ordinary than the dreams of Emperors.