The great table in the middle of the room, with its books and work, waits only for the lighting of the evening lamp,
房間中央的那張大桌上擺摞著書籍及物件,默默等待夜晚降臨的燈光。
to see a return to its stores of embroidery and of story.
唯有置身在這熟悉的光影流瀉里,才能恍然依稀回到昔日塵囂。
Upon a little stand under the mirror, which catches now and then a flicker of the fire light,
一個矮小身影站著鏡子下,眼光不時荒唐地追逐鏡面里亮光閃爍,那團(tuán)映射到天花板上的搖曳火苗,
and makes it play, as if in wanton, upon the ceiling, lies that big book, reverenced of your New England parents—the Family Bible.
曾是你自尋其樂的玩耍;翻動家庭《圣經(jīng)》,那本遷居新大陸后父母敬畏的經(jīng)書。
It is a ponderous, square volume, with heavy silver clasps,
那本圣經(jīng)笨重,方形版面裝幀,配有厚實(shí)的銀色搭扣,
that you have often pressed open for a look at its quaint, old pictures, for a study of those prettily bordered pages,
你經(jīng)常將大書輕輕攤開,饒有興致地翻閱書中趣聞,瀏覽那些古老泛黃的畫面,好奇地琢磨鑲有彩框的書頁,
which lie between the Testaments, and which hold the Family Record.
鑲嵌在整套《新約全書》中的彩色插圖,以及家族傳承的相關(guān)記載。
There are the Births;—your father's and your mother's; it seems as if they were born a long time ago;
上面記錄著家族成員的出生日期——包括你父母誕日,他們來到這個世界的日子仿佛那么久遠(yuǎn),
and even your own date of birth appears an almost incredible distance back.
接著你又找到自己生辰,幾乎難以相信的遙遠(yuǎn)昨天。
Then there are the Marriages;—only one as yet;
書中還記有家庭婚姻——不過僅僅一次,
and your mother's name looks oddly to you: it is hard to think of her as anyone else than your doting parent.
母親名字在你眼里顯得頗為古怪,除去那副極為慈愛的面孔,很難想象母親的其他模樣。
Last of all come the Deaths;—only one. Poor Charlie!
所有人最終都離開了這個世界,唯獨(dú)一人屬于非正常死亡,可憐的查理!
How it looks!—“ Died, 12 September, 18—, Charles Henry, aged four years.”
這究竟怎么回事?家庭圣經(jīng)里記載:“查理·亨利卒于18xx年,9月12日,時年4歲。”
You know just how it looks. You have turned to it often; there you seem to be joined to him, though only by the turning of a leaf.
你只知道世事無常,當(dāng)年還時常翻動那本《圣經(jīng)》,不過輕輕將書翻動一頁,似乎也隨早殤的查理而去。
And over your thoughts, as you look at that page of the Record, there sometimes wanders a vague, shadowy fear,
翻閱瀏覽著家庭記載,你的思緒翻騰不安,模糊可怖的陰影不時無端闖入
which will come,—that your own name may soon be there.
很快,你的名字將會赫然出現(xiàn)在那本書上。