Mamma was sitting in the drawing-room and making tea. In one hand she was holding the tea-pot, while with the other one she was drawing water from the urn1 and letting it drip into the tray. Yet though she appeared to be noticing what she doing, in reality she noted2 neither this fact nor our entry.
However vivid be one's recollection of the past, any attempt to recall the features of a beloved being shows them to one's vision as through a mist of tears--dim and blurred3. Those tears are the tears of the imagination. When I try to recall Mamma as she was then, I see, true, her brown eyes, expressive4 always of love and kindness, the small mole5 on her neck below where the small hairs grow, her white embroidered6 collar, and the delicate, fresh hand which so often caressed7 me, and which I so often kissed; but her general appearance escapes me altogether.
To the left of the sofa stood an English piano, at which my dark- haired sister Lubotshka was sitting and playing with manifest effort (for her hands were rosy8 from a recent washing in cold water) Clementi's "Etudes." Then eleven years old, she was dressed in a short cotton frock and white lace-frilled trousers, and could take her octaves only in arpeggio. Beside her was sitting Maria Ivanovna, in a cap adorned9 with pink ribbons and a blue shawl, Her face was red and cross, and it assumed an expression even more severe when Karl Ivanitch entered the room. Looking angrily at him without answering his bow, she went on beating time with her foot and counting, " One, two, three--one, two, three," more loudly and commandingly than ever.
Karl Ivanitch paid no attention to this rudeness, but went, as usual, with German politeness to kiss Mamma's hand, She drew herself up, shook her head as though by the movement to chase away sad thoughts from her, and gave Karl her hand, kissing him on his wrinkled temple as he bent10 his head in salutation.
"I thank you, dear Karl Ivanitch," she said in German, and then, still using the same language asked him how we (the children) had slept. Karl Ivanitch was deaf in one ear, and the added noise of the piano now prevented him from hearing anything at all. He moved nearer to the sofa, and, leaning one hand upon the table and lifting his cap above his head, said with, a smile which in those days always seemed to me the perfection of politeness: "You, will excuse me, will you not, Natalia Nicolaevna?"
The reason for this was that, to avoid catching11 cold, Karl never took off his red cap, but invariably asked permission, on entering the drawing-room, to retain it on his head.
"Yes, pray replace it, Karl Ivanitch," said Mamma, bending towards him and raising her voice, "But I asked you whether the children had slept well? "
Still he did not hear, but, covering his bald head again with the red cap, went on smiling more than ever,
"Stop a moment, Mimi." said Mamma (now smiling also) to Maria Ivanovna. "It is impossible to hear anything."
How beautiful Mamma's face was when she smiled! It made her so infinitely12 more charming, and everything around her seemed to grow brighter! If in the more painful moments of my life I could have seen that smile before my eyes, I should never have known what grief is. In my opinion, it is in the smile of a face that the essence of what we call beauty lies. If the smile heightens the charm of the face, then the face is a beautiful one. If the smile does not alter the face, then the face is an ordinary one. But if the smile spoils the face, then the face is an ugly one indeed.
Mamma took my head between her hands, bent it gently backwards13, looked at me gravely, and said: "You have been crying this morning?"
I did not answer. She kissed my eyes, and said again in German:
"Why did you cry?"
When talking to us with particular intimacy14 she always used this language, which she knew to perfection.
"I cried about a dream, Mamma" I replied, remembering the invented vision, and trembling involuntarily at the recollection.
Karl Ivanitch confirmed my words, but said nothing as to the subject of the dream. Then, after a little conversation on the weather, in which Mimi also took part, Mamma laid some lumps of sugar on the tray for one or two of the more privileged servants, and crossed over to her embroidery15 frame, which stood near one of the windows.
"Go to Papa now, children," she said, "and ask him to come to me before he goes to the home farm."
Then the music, the counting, and the wrathful looks from Mimi began again, and we went off to see Papa. Passing through the room which had been known ever since Grandpapa's time as "the pantry," we entered the study,
妈妈正坐在客厅里斟茶。她一只手轻轻扶着茶壶,另一只按着茶炊的龙头,龙头里流出来的水漫过茶壶口,溢到托盘里。她虽然目不转睛地望着,却没有注意到这种情况,也没有注意到我们进来。
当你努力追忆一个亲人的容貌时,总有许许多多往事一齐涌上心头,要透过这些回忆来看它,就象透过泪眼看它一样,总是模糊不清。这是想象的眼泪。因此在我极力回忆妈妈当年的音容笑貌时,我只能想象出她那流露着始终如一的慈爱的棕色眼睛,她那颗长在短短的发鬈下面的脖子上的黑痣,她那雪白的绣花衣领和那常常爱抚我、常常让我亲吻的、细嫩纤瘦的手,但是她的整个神态却总是从我的记忆里滑掉。
沙发左边摆着一架古老的英国大钢琴,大钢琴前面坐着我那黑头发、黑皮肤的小姐姐柳博奇卡 ① ,她用刚在冷水里洗过的玫瑰色手指显然很紧张地在弹克莱曼蒂的练习曲 ② 。她十一岁了,穿着一件麻布短衣,一条雪白的、镶花边的衬裤,只能用arpeggio弹八度音 ③ 。她旁边侧身坐着玛丽雅·伊凡诺芙娜。玛丽雅·伊凡诺芙娜戴着有红缎带的包发帽,身穿天蓝色的敞胸短上衣,脸色通红,怒气冲冲;卡尔·伊就内奇一进来,她更加板起脸来了。她威严地望一望他,也不答礼,用脚踏着拍子,继续数着:Un,deux,trois,un,deux,trois” ④ ,声音比以前更响,更专横。
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①柳博奇卡:柳博芙的小名。
②克莱曼蒂(1752-1832):意大利钢琴家和作曲家。
③arPeggio:意大利语“琶音”。和弦中的各个组成音不是同时而是顺序奏出。
④“Un,deux,trois,un,deux,trois”:法语“一,二,三,一,二,三”
卡尔·伊凡内奇好象丝毫没有注意到这点,还是按照德国的敬礼方式,一直走到我母亲跟前,吻她的小手。她醒悟过来了,摇摇头,仿佛想借此驱散忧思。她把手伸给卡尔·伊凡内奇,当他吻她的手的时候,她吻了吻他那满是皱纹的鬓角。
“Ich danke,lieber卡尔·伊凡内奇 ① !”她仍旧用德语问道:“孩子们睡得好吗?”
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①Ich danke,lieber:德语“谢谢您,亲爱的”。
卡尔·伊凡内奇本来一只耳朵就聋,现在由于弹钢琴的声音,什么都听不见了。他弯下腰,更靠近沙发一些,一只手扶着桌子,单腿站着,带着一种当时我觉得是最文雅的笑容,把小帽往头上稍微一举,说:
“您原谅我吗,娜达丽雅·尼古拉耶芙娜?”
卡尔·伊凡内奇怕他的秃头着凉,从来不摘掉他那顶小红帽,但是每次走进客厅里来,他都请求人家许他这样。
“戴上吧,卡尔·伊凡内奇……我在问您,孩子们睡得好不好?’”妈妈向他稍微靠近一些说,声音相当响亮。
但是他还是什么也没有听见,用小红帽盖上秃头,笑得更和蔼了。
“你停一下,米米 ① !”妈妈笑着对玛丽雅·伊就诺芙娜说,“什么都听不见了。”
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①米米:玛丽雅的小名。
妈妈的容貌本来就非常俊秀,当她微笑的时候,就更加美丽无比,周围的一切也仿佛喜气洋溢了。如果我在自己一生中痛苦的时刻能看一眼这种笑容,我就会不晓得什么是悲哀了。我觉得人的美貌就在于一笑:如果这一笑增加了脸上的魅力,这脸就是美的;如果这一笑不使它发生变化,这就是平平常常的;如果这一笑损害了它,它就是丑的。
妈妈同我打过招呼以后,就用双手抱着我的头,使它仰起来,然后,聚精会神地看了我一眼说:
“你今天哭了吗?”
我没有回答。她吻吻我的眼睛,用德语问道:
“你为什么哭啊?”
当她同我们亲切交谈的时候,她总是用她熟诸的这种语言说话的。
“我是在梦里哭的,妈妈,”我说。我回想起虚构的梦境的详情细节,不禁颤抖起来。
卡尔·伊凡内奇证实了我的话,但是对于梦里的事只字未提。大家又谈到天气,米米也参加了谈话。然后,妈妈往托盘里放了六块糖给几个可敬的仆人,就站起身来,走近摆在窗口的刺绣架。
“喂,孩子们,现在到爸爸那里去吧,你们告诉他,他去打谷场以前,一定要到我这里来一趟。”
又是音乐、数拍子,又是严厉的目光。我们到爸爸那里去了。穿过从祖父的时代就保留着“仆从室”这个名称的房间,我们走进了书房。
1 urn | |
n.(有座脚的)瓮;坟墓;骨灰瓮 | |
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2 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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3 blurred | |
v.(使)变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 );(使)难以区分;模模糊糊;迷离 | |
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4 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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5 mole | |
n.胎块;痣;克分子 | |
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6 embroidered | |
adj.绣花的 | |
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7 caressed | |
爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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9 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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10 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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11 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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12 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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13 backwards | |
adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
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14 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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15 embroidery | |
n.绣花,刺绣;绣制品 | |
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