My mother thrusts a few copper1 coins upon me, and, instantly forgetting about me, runs into the kitchen with an iron that needs reheating. I know well that after confession2 I shall not be allowed to eat or drink, and so, before leaving the house, I force myself to eat a crust of white bread, and to drink two glasses of water. It is quite spring in the street. The roads are all covered with brownish slush, in which future paths are already beginning to show; the roofs and side-walks are dry; the fresh young green is piercing through the rotting grass of last year, under the fences. In the gutters4 there is the merry gurgling and foaming6 of dirty water, in which the sunbeams do not disdain7 to bathe. Chips, straws, the husks of sunflower seeds are carried rapidly along in the water, whirling round and sticking in the dirty foam5. Where, where are those chips swimming to? It may well be that from the gutter3 they may pass into the river, from the river into the sea, and from the sea into the ocean. I try to imagine to myself that long terrible journey, but my fancy stops short before reaching the sea.
A cabman drives by. He clicks to his horse, tugs8 at the reins9, and does not see that two street urchins10 are hanging on the back of his cab. I should like to join them, but think of confession, and the street urchins begin to seem to me great sinners.
“They will be asked on the day of judgment11: ‘Why did you play pranks12 and deceive the poor cabman?’” I think. “They will begin to defend themselves, but evil spirits will seize them, and drag them to fire everlasting13. But if they obey their parents, and give the beggars a kopeck each, or a roll, God will have pity on them, and will let them into Paradise.”
The church porch is dry and bathed in sunshine. There is not a soul in it. I open the door irresolutely14 and go into the church. Here, in the twilight15 which seems to me thick and gloomy as at no other time, I am overcome by the sense of sinfulness and insignificance16. What strikes the eye first of all is a huge crucifix, and on one side of it the Mother of God, and on the other, St. John the Divine. The candelabra and the candlestands are draped in black mourning covers, the lamps glimmer17 dimly and faintly, and the sun seems intentionally18 to pass by the church windows. The Mother of God and the beloved disciple19 of Jesus Christ, depicted20 in profile, gaze in silence at the insufferable agony and do not observe my presence; I feel that to them I am alien, superfluous21, unnoticed, that I can be no help to them by word or deed, that I am a loathsome22, dishonest boy, only capable of mischief23, rudeness, and tale-bearing. I think of all the people I know, and they all seem to me petty, stupid, and wicked, and incapable24 of bringing one drop of relief to that intolerable sorrow which I now behold25.
The twilight of the church grows darker and more gloomy. And the Mother of God and St. John look lonely and forlorn to me.
Prokofy Ignatitch, a veteran soldier, the church verger’s assistant, is standing26 behind the candle cupboard. Raising his eyebrows27 and stroking his beard he explains in a half-whisper to an old woman: “Matins will be in the evening to-day, directly after vespers. And they will ring for the ‘hours’ to-morrow between seven and eight. Do you understand? Between seven and eight.”
Between the two broad columns on the right, where the chapel28 of Varvara the Martyr29 begins, those who are going to confess stand beside the screen, awaiting their turn. And Mitka is there too— a ragged30 boy with his head hideously31 cropped, with ears that jut32 out, and little spiteful eyes. He is the son of Nastasya the charwoman, and is a bully33 and a ruffian who snatches apples from the women’s baskets, and has more than once carried off my knuckle-bones. He looks at me angrily, and I fancy takes a spiteful pleasure in the fact that he, not I, will first go behind the screen. I feel boiling over with resentment34, I try not to look at him, and, at the bottom of my heart, I am vexed35 that this wretched boy’s sins will soon be forgiven.
In front of him stands a grandly dressed, beautiful lady, wearing a hat with a white feather. She is noticeably agitated36, is waiting in strained suspense37, and one of her cheeks is flushed red with excitement.
I wait for five minutes, for ten. . . . A well-dressed young man with a long thin neck, and rubber goloshes, comes out from behind the screen. I begin dreaming how, when I am grown up, I will buy goloshes exactly like them. I certainly will! The lady shudders38 and goes behind the screen. It is her turn.
In the crack, between the two panels of the screen, I can see the lady go up to the lectern and bow down to the ground, then get up, and, without looking at the priest, bow her head in anticipation39. The priest stands with his back to the screen, and so I can only see his grey curly head, the chain of the cross on his chest, and his broad back. His face is not visible. Heaving a sigh, and not looking at the lady, he begins speaking rapidly, shaking his head, alternately raising and dropping his whispering voice. The lady listens meekly40 as though conscious of guilt41, answers meekly, and looks at the floor.
“In what way can she be sinful?” I wonder, looking reverently42 at her gentle, beautiful face. “God forgive her sins, God send her happiness.” But now the priest covers her head with the stole. “And I, unworthy priest . . .” I hear his voice, “. . . by His power given unto me, do forgive and absolve43 thee from all thy sins. . . .”
The lady bows down to the ground, kisses the cross, and comes back. Both her cheeks are flushed now, but her face is calm and serene44 and cheerful.
“She is happy now,” I think to myself, looking first at her and then at the priest who had forgiven her sins. “But how happy the man must be who has the right to forgive sins!”
Now it is Mitka’s turn, but a feeling of hatred45 for that young ruffian suddenly boils up in me. I want to go behind the screen before him, I want to be the first. Noticing my movement he hits me on the head with his candle, I respond by doing the same, and, for half a minute, there is a sound of panting, and, as it were, of someone breaking candles. . . . We are separated. My foe46 goes timidly up to the lectern, and bows down to the floor without bending his knees, but I do not see what happens after that; the thought that my turn is coming after Mitka’s makes everything grow blurred47 and confused before my eyes; Mitka’s protruding48 ears grow large, and melt into his dark head, the priest sways, the floor seems to be undulating. . . .
The priest’s voice is audible: “And I, unworthy priest . . .”
Now I too move behind the screen. I do not feel the ground under my feet, it is as though I were walking on air. . . . I go up to the lectern which is taller than I am. For a minute I have a glimpse of the indifferent, exhausted49 face of the priest. But after that I see nothing but his sleeve with its blue lining50, the cross, and the edge of the lectern. I am conscious of the close proximity51 of the priest, the smell of his cassock; I hear his stern voice, and my cheek turned towards him begins to burn. . . . I am so troubled that I miss a great deal that he says, but I answer his questions sincerely in an unnatural52 voice, not my own. I think of the forlorn figures of the Holy Mother and St. John the Divine, the crucifix, my mother, and I want to cry and beg forgiveness.
“What is your name?” the priest asks me, covering my head with the soft stole.
How light-hearted I am now, with joy in my soul!
I have no sins now, I am holy, I have the right to enter Paradise! I fancy that I already smell like the cassock. I go from behind the screen to the deacon to enter my name, and sniff53 at my sleeves. The dusk of the church no longer seems gloomy, and I look indifferently, without malice54, at Mitka.
“What is your name?” the deacon asks.
“Fedya.”
“And your name from your father?”
“I don’t know.”
“What is your papa’s name?”
“Ivan Petrovitch.”
“And your surname?”
I make no answer.
“How old are you?”
“Nearly nine.”
When I get home I go to bed quickly, that I may not see them eating supper; and, shutting my eyes, dream of how fine it would be to endure martyrdom at the hands of some Herod or Dioskorus, to live in the desert, and, like St. Serafim, feed the bears, live in a cell, and eat nothing but holy bread, give my property to the poor, go on a pilgrimage to Kiev. I hear them laying the table in the dining-room—they are going to have supper, they will eat salad, cabbage pies, fried and baked fish. How hungry I am! I would consent to endure any martyrdom, to live in the desert without my mother, to feed bears out of my own hands, if only I might first eat just one cabbage pie!
“Lord, purify me a sinner,” I pray, covering my head over. “Guardian angel, save me from the unclean spirit.”
The next day, Thursday, I wake up with my heart as pure and clean as a fine spring day. I go gaily55 and boldly into the church, feeling that I am a communicant, that I have a splendid and expensive shirt on, made out of a silk dress left by my grandmother. In the church everything has an air of joy, happiness, and spring. The faces of the Mother of God and St. John the Divine are not so sorrowful as yesterday. The faces of the communicants are radiant with hope, and it seems as though all the past is forgotten, all is forgiven. Mitka, too, has combed his hair, and is dressed in his best. I look gaily at his protruding ears, and to show that I have nothing against him, I say:
“You look nice to-day, and if your hair did not stand up so, and you weren’t so poorly dressed, everybody would think that your mother was not a washerwoman but a lady. Come to me at Easter, we will play knuckle-bones.”
Mitka looks at me mistrustfully, and shakes his fist at me on the sly.
And the lady I saw yesterday looks lovely. She is wearing a light blue dress, and a big sparkling brooch in the shape of a horse-shoe. I admire her, and think that, when I am grown-up, I will certainly marry a woman like that, but remembering that getting married is shameful56, I leave off thinking about it, and go into the choir57 where the deacon is already reading the “hours.”
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1
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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2
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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3
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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4
gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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5
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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6
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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7
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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8
tugs
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| n.猛拉( tug的名词复数 )；猛拖；拖船v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的第三人称单数 ) | |
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9
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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10
urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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11
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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12
pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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13
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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14
irresolutely
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| adv.优柔寡断地 | |
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15
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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16
insignificance
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| n.不重要；无价值；无意义 | |
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17
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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18
intentionally
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| ad.故意地，有意地 | |
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19
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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20
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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21
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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22
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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23
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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24
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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25
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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26
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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27
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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28
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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29
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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30
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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31
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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32
jut
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| v.突出；n.突出，突出物 | |
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33
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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34
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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35
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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36
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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37
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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38
shudders
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| n.颤动，打颤，战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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39
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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40
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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41
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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42
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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43
absolve
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| v.赦免，解除（责任等） | |
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44
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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45
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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46
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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47
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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48
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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49
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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50
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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51
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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52
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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53
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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54
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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55
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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56
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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57
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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