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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 urn and letting it drip into the tray. Yet though she appeared to be noticing what she doing, in reality she noted neither this fact nor our entry.
母亲正坐在客厅里沏茶。她一手扶着茶壶，另一手正从茶壶里往外倒水，让水溢到了托盘里。虽然她似乎正专注于手上的活，但她并没注意到水溢出来了，也没注意到我们进来。
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 blurred. Those tears are the tears of the imagination. When I try to recall Mamma as she was then, I see, true, her brown eyes, expressive always of love and kindness, the small mole on her neck below where the small hairs grow, her white embroidered collar, and the delicate, fresh hand which so often caressed me, and which I so often kissed; but her general appearance escapes me altogether.
不管一个人对于过去的回忆多么鲜活，对于至亲的回忆却像透过眼泪看到的景象一样——暗淡而模糊。那些是想象的眼泪。我试着去回忆那时候的母亲，棕色的眼睛总是流露出关爱和慈善，脖子上、短短的发髻下有颗小痣，白色的绣花领，还有那双纤细柔软的双手，那双常常爱抚我、我也常常亲吻的手。但是，我总是无法记起母亲的整体形象。
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 rosy 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 adorned 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.
在沙发的右边有一架英国钢琴，我那黑头发的姐姐露博奇卡坐在那里，很努力地弹奏着克莱门蒂的练习曲（因为她的手刚在凉水中浸过，所以呈现出玫瑰红色）。她那时十一岁，穿着一件短的棉罩衫和带蕾丝花边的白裤子，只能用琵音弹奏八度音。她旁边坐着玛利亚•伊万诺芙娜，戴着装饰有粉色缎带的帽子，围着蓝色的围巾。她的脸色通红，满是怒气。卡尔•伊万内奇进来后，她脸上的表情就更严肃了。她生气地看着他，也不理会他的鞠躬，而是继续用脚打着拍子，一边数着：一、二、三——一、二、三。声音比以往更响亮，更专横。
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 bent 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? "
卡尔•伊万内奇并不理会她的粗鲁，而是照常用德国式的礼节去亲吻母亲的手。母亲站起身，摇了摇头，似乎这样就能驱走那些忧伤的想法，她向卡尔•伊万内奇伸出手，在卡尔弯下腰的时候吻了吻他布满皱纹的额角。谢谢你，亲爱的卡尔•伊万内奇。母亲用德语说。然后，她又用同一种语言询问我们（孩子们）睡得如何。卡尔•伊万内奇一只耳朵不灵光，而钢琴的声音更是让他什么都听不见了。他走近沙发，一手扶着桌子，一手举起头上的帽子，带着一种那些日子里我一直觉得礼貌得无懈可击的微笑说道：纳塔莉娅•尼古拉耶芙娜，你会原谅我吧，对吗？
The reason for this was that, to avoid catching cold, Karl never took off his red cap, but invariably asked permission, on entering the drawing—room, to retain it on his head.
他这样说是因为，为了避免感冒，卡尔从不拿掉他的红帽子，所以他每次进客厅都会毫无例外地请求允许他戴着帽子。
"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? "
没事，戴着吧，卡尔•伊万内奇。母亲说着，向他弯下腰，并提高了声音，不过我问你孩子们睡得好不好？
Still he did not hear, but, covering his bald head again with the red cap, went on smiling more than ever.
但他还是没听见，而是重新在秃头上戴上了帽子，笑容更加灿烂了。
"Stop a moment, Mimi. " said Mamma (now smiling also) to Maria Ivanovna. "It is impossible to hear anything. "
停一下，米米。母亲仍然笑着，对玛利亚•伊万诺芙娜说道，这样根本什么都听不清。
How beautiful Mamma's face was when she smiled! It made her so infinitely 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.
母亲微笑着的时候，她的脸庞是那么美丽！她的笑容使得她更加迷人了，她身边的一切也似乎更加明亮！如果我在生命中那些痛苦的时刻能看到这样的笑容，大概就不会知道什么是悲伤了。我想，我们常说的美丽就在于人们的笑容。如果笑容使得这张脸更有魅力，那么这就是一张美丽的脸。如果笑容并没有使脸发生变化，那么这就是一张普通的脸。但如果笑容破坏了这张脸，那么这的确是张丑陋的脸了。
Mamma took my head between her hands, bent it gently backwards, looked at me gravely, and said: "You have been crying this morning? "
母亲双手捧起我的头，温柔地将其后仰，她仔细地看了看我，问：今天早上你哭过了吗？
I did not answer. She kissed my eyes, and said again in German: "Why did you cry? "
我没有回答。她吻了吻我的眼睛，又用德语说道：你为什么哭呢？
When talking to us with particular intimacy she always used this language, which she knew to perfection.
当她跟我们亲密交谈的时候，就会用这门她十分精通的语言。
"I cried about a dream, Mamma" I replied, remembering the invented vision, and trembling involuntarily at the recollection.
我为了一个梦而哭，母亲。我回答道。想起今天早上想象出的场景，不由地颤抖起来。
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 embroidery frame, which stood near one of the windows.
卡尔•伊万内奇证实了我的话，但对于梦的内容什么都没说。然后，大家又谈了会儿天气，米米也参与了。母亲在托盘上放了几块糖给那一两个受到优待的仆人，接着穿过客厅走向她那立在窗边的刺绣架。
"Go to Papa now, children, " she said, "and ask him to come to me before he goes to the home farm. "
去父亲那里吧，孩子们。她说，让他在去家庭农场前来我这里一趟。
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.
接着音乐、拍子，以及米米严厉的目光又回来了，我们离开了这里，去见父亲。穿过那个自爷爷那时起就作为储藏室的房间，我们进了书房。
CHAPTER III PAPA