讀點好英文:Childhood 童年

Childhood 童年

Leo Tolstoy

Happy, happy, never-retuning time of childhood! How can we help loving and dwelling upon its recollections? They cheer and elevate the soul, and become to one a source of higher joys.

Sometimes, when dreaming of bygone days, fancy that, tired out with running about I have sat down in my high arm-chair by the tea-table. It is late, and I have long since drunk my cup of milk. My eyes are heavy with sleep as I sit there and listen. How could I not listen, seeing that Mamma is speaking to somebody, and that the sound of her voice is so melodious and kind? How much its echoes recall to my heart! With my eyes veiled with drowsiness I gaze at her wistfully. Suddenly she seems to grow smaller and smaller, and her face vanishes to a point; yet I can still see it — can still see her as she looks at me and smiles. Somehow it pleases me to see her grown so small. I blink and blink, yet she looks no larger than a boy reflected in the pupil of an eye. Then I rouse myself, and the picture fades. Once more I half-close my eyes, and cast about to try and recall the dream, but it has gone, I rise to my feet, only to fall back comfortably into the armchair.

There! You are falling asleep again, little Nicolas, says Mamma, "You had better go to by-by."

No, I won't go to sleep, Mamma, I reply, though almost inaudibly, for pleasant dreams are filling all my soul. The sound sleep of childhood is weighing my eyelids down, and for a few moments. I sink into slumber and oblivion until awakened by some one. I feel in my sleep as though a soft hand were caressing me. I know it by the touch, and, though still dreaming, I seize hold of it and press it to my lips. Every one else has gone to bed, and only one candle remains burning in the drawing-room. Mamma has said that she herself will wake me. She sits down on the arm of the chair in which I am asleep, with her soft hand stroking my hair, and I hear her beloved, well-known voice say in my ear, "Get up, my darling. It is time to go by-by."

No envious gaze sees her now. She is not afraid to shed upon me the whole of her tenderness and love. I do not wake up, yet I kiss and kiss her hand.

Get up, then, my angel.

She passes her other arm round my neck, and her fingers tickle me as they move across it. The room is quiet and in half-darkness, but the tickling has touched my nerves and I begin to awake. Mamma is sitting near me—that I can tell — and touching me; I can hear her voice and feel her presence. This at last rouses me to spring up, to throw my arms around her neck, to hide my head in her bosom, and to say with a sigh, "Ah, dear, darling Mamma, how much I love you!"

She smiles her sad, enchanting smile, takes my head between her two hands, kisses me on the forehead, and lifts me on to her lap. "Do you love me so much, then?" she says. Then, after a few moments' silence, she continues, "And you must love me always, and never forget me. If your Mamma should no longer be here, will you promise never to forget her — never, Nicolas?" and she kisses me more fondly than ever.

Oh, but you must not speak so, darling Mamma, my own darling Mamma! I exclaim as I clasp her knees, and tears of joy and love fall from my eyes.

How, after scenes like this! I would go upstairs, and stand before the icons, and say with a rapturous feeling, "God bless Papa and Mamma!" and repeat a prayer for my beloved mother which my childish lips had learnt to lisp—the love of God and other blending strangely in a single emotion!

After saying my prayers, I would wrap myself up in the bedclothes. My heart would feel light, peaceful, and happy, and one dream would follow another. Dreams of what? They were all of them vague, but all of them full of pure love and of a sort of expectation of happiness. Usually, also, there would be some favorite toy—a china dog or the bedarner into the bed-corner behind the pillow, and it would please me to think how warm and comfortable and well cared—for it was there. Also, I would pray God to make everyone happy, so that every one might be contented, and also to send fine weather tomorrow for our walk. Then I would turn myself over on to the other side, and thoughts and dreams would become jumbled and entangled together until at last I slept soundly and peacefully, though with a face wet with tears.

Do in after life the freshness and light-heartedness, the craving for love and for strength of faith, ever return which we experience in our childhood's years? What better time is there in our lives than when the two best of virtues—innocent gaiety and a boundless yearning for affection—are our sole objects of pursuit? Where now are our ardent prayers? Where now are our best gifts—the pure tears of emotion which a guardian angel dries with a smile as he sheds upon us lovely dreams of ineffable childish joy? Can it be that life has left such heavy traces upon one's heart that those tears and ecstasies are for ever vanished? Can it be that there remains to us only the recollection of them?

童年

［俄］列夫·托爾斯泰

幸福的，幸福的，一去不復返的童年時代??！怎能不愛惜、不珍重對童年的回憶呢？這些回憶使我精神舒爽，心情振奮，是我的無上樂趣的源泉。

有時，我會回憶起流逝的歲月。那時跑不動了，我就在茶桌旁那把高背安樂椅上安逸地坐下來；夜深了，我就喝光所有的牛奶，迷迷糊糊地合上眼睛，靜坐在那兒聆聽著媽媽在同什么人說話，她的聲音是那么婉轉(zhuǎn)優(yōu)美！那聲音不停地在我的心靈深處蕩漾，讓我想起那段美妙的時光。我用迷糊的睡眼渴望地看著媽媽的臉。忽然，媽媽的身影逐漸變小，她的面孔縮小成了一個小黑點；可是，我依然可以看到她，她笑瞇瞇地瞥了我一眼。不知什么緣故，我喜歡看見媽媽變得這么小的樣子。我眨了眨雙眼，她的樣子變得和瞳孔里的小孩兒一樣大了。后來我被驚醒了，畫面也不見了。我眨眨眼睛，舉目四望，努力想使夢中的景象再現(xiàn)，卻一點也想不起來了。我本想站起來，卻又馬上愜意地靠在安樂椅上。

“你又睡著了，尼古拉斯，”媽媽對我說，“你還是上樓去睡比較好。”

“我不想睡，媽媽?！蔽译鼥V朧地叨念，我心里裝的都是那些迷幻而幸福的夢想。還是小孩的我抵擋不住那濃濃的睡意，眼皮慢慢合了起來，剎那間就來到了沉沉的夢鄉(xiāng)，直到最終被人喚醒。朦朧間，我覺得有人用手在輕輕地撫摩我，這種觸摸的感覺告訴我，是媽媽的手。睡夢中的我情不自禁地拉住那只手，把它牢牢地按在嘴唇上。所有的人都已經(jīng)離開，客廳里只剩下一根燃燒的蠟燭。媽媽說，她要自己叫醒我。媽媽坐在我睡的那張椅子扶手上，用她那溫暖的手撫摸著我的頭發(fā)，用我熟悉的、暖人的聲音在我耳邊說：“起來吧，我的乖寶貝，該去睡覺了?！?/p>

她不會因為任何人嫉妒的眼光而有絲毫猶疑，她根本不顧慮把她的全部溫柔和慈愛賦予我。我合著眼，只是一次又一次地親她的手。

“起來吧，我的天使！”

她的另外一只手摟住我的脖子。手指滑過我的脖子，讓我覺得很癢。房間里沒有一點兒聲音，光線忽明忽暗，但撓癢讓我精神振奮，睡意全無。此刻，媽媽就坐在我的身邊——這我感覺得到——充滿愛意地撫著我；我聽到她的聲音，真實地感覺到了她的氣息。我趕緊跳了起來，雙手抱住媽媽的脖頸，把頭鉆進她的懷里，嘆息了一聲說道：“噢，親愛的，親愛的媽媽，我多么愛你呀！”

媽媽露出憂郁而迷人的微笑，然后用雙手托住我的頭，親親我的前額，最后抱起來讓我坐在她的腿上。“這么說你十分愛我？”她停了片刻，隨后說，“記住，你一定要永遠愛我，永遠不要忘了我。如果媽媽不在人世了，你不會忘掉她吧？尼古拉斯，你不會忘記吧？”她更加輕柔地親我。

?“不，不要這么說，我親愛的媽媽，我最親愛的媽媽！”我喊了起來，使勁抱住她的雙腿，愛和狂喜的淚水止不住地往下流。

所有的事情都過去后，我回到樓上，虔誠地站在圣像前禱告：“主啊，求你祝福我的爸爸和媽媽?！边@一刻我的心情是多么美好??！幼稚的我重復著為親愛的媽媽的祈禱——我對她的愛和對上帝的愛神奇地融合在了一起。

說完祈禱詞后我爬進被窩，心情是又輕快，又平和，又快樂。美夢接二連三，我夢見了什么呢？它們大都不合邏輯，然而，純潔的愛和對幸福的向往卻充溢在我的夢里。隨后，我就把我寵愛的瓷玩具——一只小狗或者一只小兔——放到枕頭后面的床角，看著它們?nèi)绱税惨轀嘏靥稍谀抢?，我就感到心滿意足了。接著，我又祈禱，懇求上帝賜給大家幸福，讓人們都心想事成，還懇求上帝讓明天有個好天氣，那樣我們才能去散步；后來我翻了一下身，思緒和夢境交織混雜在一起；最后，我舒服地進入了夢鄉(xiāng)，臉上還留著濕漉漉的淚水。

只有童年時代才會有朝氣蓬勃、心無雜念的心情，對愛的向往和對信仰的堅定，在我們以后的人生歲月里真的還能得到嗎？當天真的喜悅和對愛的無限渴求——這兩種崇高的美德——成為生命中僅有的愿望，我們的生命中，還會有比這更美妙的事物嗎？那些衷心的祈禱現(xiàn)在在哪里？最珍貴的禮物——由情感激發(fā)的純潔淚水——現(xiàn)在又在哪里呢？守護天使曾降臨在我們周圍，微笑著拭去那些眼淚，指引我們進入那充滿無法形容的童真樂趣的甜蜜夢境。難道生活在我們的心頭劃過的傷痕，已經(jīng)讓那些淚水和歡樂永遠遠離我們了嗎？難道剩下的只是對昔日的留戀了嗎？

實戰(zhàn)提升

Practising & Exercise

導讀

列夫·托爾斯泰（Leo Tolstoy），19世紀末20世紀初俄國最偉大的批判現(xiàn)實主義作家，是世界文學史上最杰出的作家之一，他被稱為具有“最清醒的現(xiàn)實主義”的“天才藝術(shù)家”。他的主要作品有長篇小說《戰(zhàn)爭與和平》、《安娜·卡列尼娜》、《復活》等。

核心單詞

dwelling [?dweli?] n. 住處，住宅

bygone [?baiɡ?(?)n] adj. 過去的，已往的

melodious [mi?l?udj?s] adj. 旋律優(yōu)美的，悅耳動聽的

enchanting [in?t?ɑ?nti?] adj. 迷人的，使人著魔的

rapturous [?r?pt??r?s] adj. 著迷的；銷魂的

entangled [in?t??ɡld] adj. 卷入的；陷入的

gaiety [?ɡei?ti] n. 快樂，高興，喜慶

ineffable [in?ef?bl] adj. 說不出的；難以形容的

翻譯

Happy, happy, never-retuning time of childhood! How can we help loving and dwelling upon its recollections?

After saying my prayers, I would wrap myself up in the bedclothes.

Do in after life the freshness and light-heartedness, the craving for love and for strength of faith, ever return which we experience in our childhood's years?