Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
幸福的家庭都是相似的；每个不幸的家庭都有各自的不幸之处。

Everything was in confusion in the Oblonskys’ house. —
奥布隆斯基家的房子一片混乱。 —

The wife had discovered that the husband was carrying on an intrigue with a French girl, who had been a governess in their family, and she had announced to her husband that she could not go on living in the same house with him. —
妻子发现丈夫和一个法国女孩有染，这个女孩曾是他们家庭的家庭教师，于是她向丈夫宣布不能继续和他住在同一个屋檐下。 —

This position of affairs had now lasted three days, and not only the husband and wife themselves, but all the members of their family and household, were painfully conscious of it. —
这种情况已经持续了三天，不仅夫妻俩自己，而且他们整个家庭和佣人都痛苦地意识到了这一点。 —

Every person in the house felt that there was so sense in their living together, and that the stray people brought together by chance in any inn had more in common with one another than they, the members of the family and household of the Oblonskys. —
屋中的每个人都感到他们住在一起毫无意义，而在任何旅馆里凑巧相遇的陌生人之间，更有共同之处，比他们奥布隆斯基家庭的成员还要多。 —

The wife did not leave her own room, the husband had not been at home for three days. —
妻子没有离开自己的房间，丈夫已经三天没有回家了。 —

The children ran wild all over the house; —
孩子们在房子里到处乱跑。 —

the English governess quarreled with the housekeeper, and wrote to a friend asking her to look out for a new situation for her; —
英国家庭女教师与女管家吵了起来，并写信给一位朋友，要求她帮忙找一份新工作； —

the man-cook had walked off the day before just at dinner time; —
那位男厨师在前一天晚餐时走掉了； —

the kitchen-maid, and the coachman had given warning.
厨房女佣和马车夫都已经提出辞职；

Three days after the quarrel, Prince Stepan Arkadyevitch Oblonsky–Stiva, as he was called in the fashionable world– woke up at his usual hour, that is, at eight o’clock in the morning, not in his wife’s bedroom, but on the leather-covered sofa in his study. —
在争吵发生三天后，斯捷潘·阿尔卡季耶维奇·奥博洛茨基——他在时尚界被称为斯蒂瓦——在早上八点钟的正常时间醒来，但并不是在妻子的卧室里，而是在他的书房里的皮质沙发上； —

He turned over his stout, well-cared-for person on the springy sofa, as though he would sink into a long sleep again; —
他在有弹性的沙发上翻了个身，仿佛要再次进入长时间的睡眠中； —

he vigorously embraced the pillow on the other side and buried his face in it; —
他有力地拥抱着另一侧的枕头，把脸埋在其中； —

but all at once he jumped up, sat up on the sofa, and opened his eyes.
但突然间，他跳了起来，坐在沙发上，睁开了眼睛；

“Yes, yes, how was it now?” he thought, going over his dream. “Now, how was it? To be sure! —
“对，对，现在怎么了？”他想着，回想着他的梦。“现在，怎么了？没错！” —

Alabin was giving a dinner at Darmstadt; no, not Darmstadt, but something American. —
阿拉宾在达姆施塔特举办了一场晚宴；不，不是达姆施塔特，是某个美国城市。 —

Yes, but then, Darmstadt was in America. —
是的，但那时候达姆施塔特是在美国。 —

Yes, Alabin was giving a dinner on glass tables, and the tables sang, Il mio tesoro–not Il mio tesoro though, but something better, and there were some sort of little decanters on the table, and they were women, too,” he remembered.
是的，阿拉宾在玻璃桌子上设宴，桌子唱着“我的宝贝”——虽然不完全是“我的宝贝”，但更好，桌子上还摆放着一些小瓶子，它们也是女人。

Stepan Arkadyevitch’s eyes twinkled gaily, and he pondered with a smile. —
斯捷潘·阿卡季耶维奇眼睛闪烁着快乐的光芒，他带着微笑思索着。 —

“Yes, it was nice, very nice. There was a great deal more that was delightful, only there’s no putting it into words, or even expressing it in one’s thoughts awake.” —
是的，很美好，非常美好。还有更多令人愉悦的事情，只是无法用言语表达，甚至在清醒时也无法表达出来。 —

And noticing a gleam of light peeping in beside one of the serge curtains, he cheerfully dropped his feet over the edge of the sofa, and felt about with them for his slippers, a present on his last birthday, worked for him by his wife on gold-colored morocco. —
他注意到一束光透过一张绒布窗帘的缝隙照射进来，他高兴地把脚从沙发的边缘放了下来，用脚摸索着他的拖鞋，这是妻子在他上个生日时为他制作的，用金色软皮制成。 —

And, as he had done every day for the last nine years, he stretched out his hand, without getting up, towards the place where his dressing-gown always hung in his bedroom. —
就像他过去九年来每天做的那样，他伸出手，不用起床，朝着他卧室里常挂着他的晨衣的地方摸去。 —

And thereupon he suddenly remembered that he was not sleeping in his wife’s room, but in his study, and why: —
然后他突然想起他并不是在他妻子的房间里睡觉，而是在他的书房，以及为什么： —

the smile vanished from his face, he knitted his brows.
笑容从他的脸上消失了，他皱起了眉头。

“Ah, ah, ah! Oo!…” he muttered, recalling everything that had happened. —
“啊，啊，啊！哦！”他喃喃自语，回忆起发生的一切。 —

And again every detail of his quarrel with his wife was present to his imagination, all the hopelessness of his position, and worst of all, his own fault.
他的和妻子争吵的每一个细节再次在他的想象中出现，他处境的无望，最糟糕的是，他自己的过错。

“Yes, she won’t forgive me, and she can’t forgive me. —
“是的，她不会原谅我，她也不能原谅我。 —

And the most awful thing about it is that it’s all my fault–all my fault, though I’m not to blame. —
最可怕的是，这一切都是我的错 - 都是我的错，尽管我不应该为此负责。 —

That’s the point of the whole situation,” he reflected. “Oh, oh, oh!” —
这就是整个情况的要点，”他反思道。“哦，哦，哦！” —

he kept repeating in despair, as he remembered the acutely painful sensations caused him by this quarrel.
他绝望地重复着，回忆起这场争吵给他带来的剧烈痛苦的感觉。

Most unpleasant of all was the first minute when, on coming, happy and good-humored, from the theater, with a huge pear in his hand for his wife, he had not found his wife in the drawing-room, to his surprise had not found her in the study either, and saw her at last in her bedroom with the unlucky letter that revealed everything in her hand.
最令人不快的是当他从剧院快乐而幽默地回来时，手中拿着一个巨大的梨给妻子，却惊讶地发现她不在客厅，也不在书房，最后在卧室里看到她手中拿着那封不幸的信，上面揭示了一切。

She, his Dolly, forever fussing and worrying over household details, and limited in her ideas, as he considered, was sitting perfectly still with the letter in her hand, looking at him with an expression of horror, despair, and indignation.
她，他的多莉，总是为家务事忙忙碌碌，受限于她的思想，他认为，她却静静地坐着，手中拿着那封信，用一种恐惧、绝望和愤怒的表情看着他。

“What’s this? this?” she asked, pointing to the letter.
“这是什么？”她问，指着那封信。

And at this recollection, Stepan Arkadyevitch, as is so often the case, was not so much annoyed at the fact itself as at the way in which he had met his wife’s words.
想起这一切，斯捷潘·阿尔卡季耶维奇并不是因为事实本身而烦恼，而是因为他对妻子的话作出了怎样的回应。

There happened to him at that instant what does happen to people when they are unexpectedly caught in something very disgraceful. —
在那一瞬间，他经历了人们在被意外地陷入非常丢脸的事情时经历的情绪。 —

He did not succeed in adapting his face to the position in which he was placed towards his wife by the discovery of his fault. —
他没有成功地将自己的脸适应于他对妻子的位置所引起的发现他的过错。 —

Instead of being hurt, denying, defending himself, begging forgiveness, instead of remaining indifferent even–anything would have been better than what he did do–his face utterly involuntarily (reflex spinal action, reflected Stepan Arkadyevitch, who was fond of physiology)–utterly involuntarily assumed its habitual, good-humored, and therefore idiotic smile.
与其受伤、否认、为自己辩护、请求宽恕，与其保持冷漠——任何事情都比他实际做的更好——他的脸完全出于本能地（脊髓反射动作，斯捷潘·阿尔卡季耶维奇这样想，他喜欢生理学）完全出于本能地呈现出他习以为常的、好心情而因此又愚蠢的微笑。

This idiotic smile he could not forgive himself. —
他无法原谅自己那个愚蠢的微笑。 —

Catching sight of that smile, Dolly shuddered as though at physical pain, broke out with her characteristic heat into a flood of cruel words, and rushed out of the room. —
看到那个微笑，多利仿佛被强烈的疼痛刺激了一样，愤怒地说出了一连串残酷的话语，然后冲出了房间。 —

Since then she had refused to see her husband.
从那以后，她拒绝见丈夫。

“It’s that idiotic smile that’s to blame for it all,” thought Stepan Arkadyevitch.
“都怪那个愚蠢的微笑，一切都是它的错。”斯捷潘·阿尔卡季耶维奇想到。

“But what’s to be done? What’s to be done?” he said to himself in despair, and found no answer
“可怎么办啊？可怎么办？”他绝望地自言自语，却找不到答案。