童年Childhood（1/2）
列夫·托尔斯泰/ Leo Tolstoy
列夫·托尔斯泰(1828—1910)，19世纪俄国最伟大的作家。托尔斯泰以自传体小说《童年》《少年》《青年》一举成名。长篇小说《战争与和平》是托尔斯泰创作历程中的第一座里程碑，是一部具有史诗和编年史特色的鸿篇巨制。长篇小说《安娜·卡列尼娜》是托尔斯泰第二部里程碑式的巨著，他的晚期作品中最著名的长篇小说《复活》也是世界文学宝库中的不朽名著之一。
Practicg for Better Learng
Thk about the question before you read this article.
Do you reber o happened beeen you and your other that ipressed you deeplyyour childhood? Share it with your friends.
Happy, happy, never-returng ti of childhood! Howwe help lovg and dwellg upon its relles? They cheer and elevate the soul, ao one a source of higher joys.
Sotis, when dreag of bygone days, fancy that, tired out with runng about, I have sat downy high ar-chair by the tea-table. It is te, and I have long sce drunk y cup of ilk. My eyes are heavy with sleep as I sit there and listen. How uld I not listehat Maa is speakg to sobody, and that the sound of her voice is so lodio and kd? How uch its echoes recall to y heart! With y eyes veiled with drowsess I gaze at her wistfully. Suddenly she sees to grow saller and saller, and her face vao a pot; yet Istill see it— still see her as she looks atand siles. Sohow it pleasesto see her grown so sall. I blk and blk, yet she looks han a boy reflectedthe pupil of ahen I roe yself, and the picture fades. Once ore I half-close y eyes, and cast about to try and recall the drea, but it has gone, I rise to y feet, only to fall back fortably to the archair.
“There!You are fallg asleep aga, little Nis,”says Maa.“You had better go to by-by.”
“No, I won’t go to sleep, Maa,”I reply, though alost audibly, for pleasant dreas are fillg all y soul. The sound sleep of childhood is weighg y eyelids down, and for a few onts. I sk to sber and oblivion until awakened by so one. I feely sleep as though a soft hand were caressg . I know it by the touch, and, though still dreag, I seize hold of it and press it to y lips. Every one else has goo bed, and only one dle reas burngthe drag-roo. Maa has said that she herself will wake . She sits down on the ar of the chairwhich I a asleep, with her soft hand strokg y hair, and I hear her beloved, well-known voice sayy ear:“Get up, y darlg. It is ti to go by-by.”
No envio gaze sees her now. She is not afraid to shed uponthe whole of her tenderness and love. I do not wake up, yet I kiss and kiss her hand.
“Get up, then, y angel.”
She passes her other ar round y neck, and her fgers tickleas they ove across it. The roo is quiet andhalf-darkness, but the ticklg has touched y nerves and I beg to awake. Maa is sittg near —that Itell—and touchg ; Ihear her void feel her presehis at st roest up, to throw y ars around her neck, to hide y headher boso, and to say with a sigh:
“Ah, dear, darlg Maa, how uch I love you!”
She siles her sad, entg sile, takes y head beeen her o hands, kisseson the forehead, and liftson to her p.
“Do you loveso uch, then?”she says. Then, after a few onts’silence, she ntues:“And you t lovealways, and never fet . If your Maa should no longer be here, will you proise o fet her—never, Nilka?”and she kissesore fondly than ever.
“Oh, but you t not speak so, darlg Maa, y own darlg Maa!”I exci as I csp her knees, and tears of joy and love fall fro y eyes.
How, after ses like this!I would go upstairs, and stand before the s, and say with a rapturo feelg,“God bless Papa and Maa!”a a prayer for y beloved other which y childish lips had learnt to lisp—the love of God and other blendg strangelya sgle eotion!
After sayg y prayers I wouldyself upthe bedclothes. My heart would feel light, peaceful, and happy, and one drea would follow another. Dreas of what? They were all of the vague, but all of the full of pure love and of a sort of expectation of happess. Usually, also, there would be so favorite toy—a cha dog or hare stuck to the bed-rner behd the pillow, and it would pleaseto thk how war and fortable and well cared—for it was there. Also, I would pray God to ake everyone happy, so that every one ight be ed, and also to send fe weather toorrow for our walk. Then I would turn yself over on to the other side, and thoughts and dreas would bee jubled aaogether until at st I slept soundly and peacefully, though with a face wet with tears.
Doafter life the freshness and light-heartedness, the hildhood’s years? What better ti is thereour lives thahe o best of virtues— gaiety and a boundless yearng for affe—are our sole objects of pursuit?
Where now are our ardent prayers? Where now are our best gifts—the pure tears of eotion which a guardian angel dries with a sile as he sheds uponlovely dreas of effable childish joy?it be that life has left such heavy traces upon one’s heart that those tears aasies are for ever vanished?it be that there reas toonly the relle of the?
参考译文
快乐的，快乐的，不再回来的童年时代啊！怎能不让我热爱和珍视对你的回忆呢？这些回忆让我精神亢奋、心灵欢快，是我无限乐趣的源泉。
有时，我会回忆起流逝的岁月。那时跑不动了，我就在茶桌旁那把高背安乐椅上安逸地坐下来；夜深了，我早就喝光我杯里的牛奶，迷迷糊糊地合上眼睛，静坐在那儿聆听妈妈在同什么人说话，她的声音是那么婉转优美！那声音不停地在我的心灵深处**漾，让我想起那段美妙的时光。我用迷糊的睡眼渴望地看着妈妈的脸。忽然，妈妈的身影逐渐变小，她的面孔缩小成了一个小点。可是，我依然可以看到她，她笑眯眯地瞥了我一眼。不知什么缘故，我喜欢看见妈妈变得这么小的样子。我眨了眨双眼，她的样子变得和瞳人里的小孩儿一样大了。后来我被惊醒了，画面也不见了。我半眯着眼睛，举目四望，努力想使梦中的景象再现，却一点儿也想不起来了。我站起来，又马上惬意地躺回安乐椅上。
“你又睡着了，小尼古拉斯，”妈妈对我说，“你还是上楼去睡比较好。”
“我不想睡，妈妈，”我朦朦胧胧地念叨，我心里装的都是那些迷幻而幸福的梦想。还是小孩的我抵挡不住那浓浓的睡意，眼皮慢慢合了起来，刹那间就进入了沉沉的梦乡，直到最终被人唤醒。朦胧间，我觉得有人用手在轻轻地抚摩我，这种触摸的感觉告诉我，是妈妈的手。睡梦中的我情不自禁地握住那只手，把它牢牢地按在嘴唇上。所有的人都已经离开，客厅里只剩下一根燃烧的蜡烛。妈妈说，她要自己叫醒我。妈妈坐在我睡的那张椅子的扶手上，用她那温暖的手抚摸着我的头发，用我熟悉的、暖人的声音在我耳边说：“起来吧，我的乖宝贝，该去睡觉了。”
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