The weather was magnificent, but on our way back we heard a peal2 of thunder, and saw an angry black storm-cloud which was coming straight towards us. The storm-cloud was approaching us and we were approaching it.
Against the background of it our house and church looked white and the tall poplars shone like silver. There was a scent3 of rain and mown hay. My companion was in high spirits. He kept laughing and talking all sorts of nonsense. He said it would be nice if we could suddenly come upon a medieval castle with turreted4 towers, with moss5 on it and owls6, in which we could take shelter from the rain and in the end be killed by a thunderbolt....
Then the first wave raced through the rye and a field of oats, there was a gust7 of wind, and the dust flew round and round in the air. Pyotr Sergeyitch laughed and spurred on his horse.
“It’s fine!” he cried, “it’s splendid!”
Infected by his gaiety, I too began laughing at the thought that in a minute I should be drenched8 to the skin and might be struck by lightning.
Riding swiftly in a hurricane when one is breathless with the wind, and feels like a bird, thrills one and puts one’s heart in a flutter. By the time we rode into our courtyard the wind had gone down, and big drops of rain were pattering on the grass and on the roofs. There was not a soul near the stable.
Pyotr Sergeyitch himself took the bridles9 off, and led the horses to their stalls. I stood in the doorway10 waiting for him to finish, and watching the slanting11 streaks12 of rain; the sweetish, exciting scent of hay was even stronger here than in the fields; the storm-clouds and the rain made it almost twilight13.
“What a crash!” said Pyotr Sergeyitch, coming up to me after a very loud rolling peal of thunder when it seemed as though the sky were split in two. “What do you say to that?”
He stood beside me in the doorway and, still breathless from his rapid ride, looked at me. I could see that he was admiring me.
“Natalya Vladimirovna,” he said, “I would give anything only to stay here a little longer and look at you. You are lovely to-day.”
His eyes looked at me with delight and supplication14, his face was pale. On his beard and mustache were glittering raindrops, and they, too, seemed to be looking at me with love.
“I love you,” he said. “I love you, and I am happy at seeing you. I know you cannot be my wife, but I want nothing, I ask nothing; only know that I love you. Be silent, do not answer me, take no notice of it, but only know that you are dear to me and let me look at you.”
His rapture15 affected16 me too; I looked at his enthusiastic face, listened to his voice which mingled17 with the patter of the rain, and stood as though spellbound, unable to stir.
I longed to go on endlessly looking at his shining eyes and listening.
“You say nothing, and that is splendid,” said Pyotr Sergeyitch. “Go on being silent.”
I felt happy. I laughed with delight and ran through the drenching18 rain to the house; he laughed too, and, leaping as he went, ran after me.
Both drenched, panting, noisily clattering19 up the stairs like children, we dashed into the room. My father and brother, who were not used to seeing me laughing and light-hearted, looked at me in surprise and began laughing too.
The storm-clouds had passed over and the thunder had ceased, but the raindrops still glittered on Pyotr Sergeyitch’s beard. The whole evening till supper-time he was singing, whistling, playing noisily with the dog and racing20 about the room after it, so that he nearly upset the servant with the samovar. And at supper he ate a great deal, talked nonsense, and maintained that when one eats fresh cucumbers in winter there is the fragrance21 of spring in one’s mouth.
When I went to bed I lighted a candle and threw my window wide open, and an undefined feeling took possession of my soul. I remembered that I was free and healthy, that I had rank and wealth, that I was beloved; above all, that I had rank and wealth, rank and wealth, my God! how nice that was!... Then, huddling22 up in bed at a touch of cold which reached me from the garden with the dew, I tried to discover whether I loved Pyotr Sergeyitch or not,... and fell asleep unable to reach any conclusion.
And when in the morning I saw quivering patches of sunlight and the shadows of the lime trees on my bed, what had happened yesterday rose vividly23 in my memory. Life seemed to me rich, varied24, full of charm. Humming, I dressed quickly and went out into the garden....
And what happened afterwards? Why—nothing. In the winter when we lived in town Pyotr Sergeyitch came to see us from time to time. Country acquaintances are charming only in the country and in summer; in the town and in winter they lose their charm. When you pour out tea for them in the town it seems as though they are wearing other people’s coats, and as though they stirred their tea too long. In the town, too, Pyotr Sergeyitch spoke25 sometimes of love, but the effect was not at all the same as in the country. In the town we were more vividly conscious of the wall that stood between us. I had rank and wealth, while he was poor, and he was not even a nobleman, but only the son of a deacon and a deputy public prosecutor; we both of us—I through my youth and he for some unknown reason—thought of that wall as very high and thick, and when he was with us in the town he would criticize aristocratic society with a forced smile, and maintain a sullen26 silence when there was anyone else in the drawing-room. There is no wall that cannot be broken through, but the heroes of the modern romance, so far as I know them, are too timid, spiritless, lazy, and oversensitive, and are too ready to resign themselves to the thought that they are doomed27 to failure, that personal life has disappointed them; instead of struggling they merely criticize, calling the world vulgar and forgetting that their criticism passes little by little into vulgarity.
I was loved, happiness was not far away, and seemed to be almost touching28 me; I went on living in careless ease without trying to understand myself, not knowing what I expected or what I wanted from life, and time went on and on.... People passed by me with their love, bright days and warm nights flashed by, the nightingales sang, the hay smelt29 fragrant30, and all this, sweet and overwhelming in remembrance, passed with me as with everyone rapidly, leaving no trace, was not prized, and vanished like mist.... Where is it all?
My father is dead, I have grown older; everything that delighted me, caressed31 me, gave me hope—the patter of the rain, the rolling of the thunder, thoughts of happiness, talk of love—all that has become nothing but a memory, and I see before me a flat desert distance; on the plain not one living soul, and out there on the horizon it is dark and terrible....
A ring at the bell.... It is Pyotr Sergeyitch. When in the winter I see the trees and remember how green they were for me in the summer I whisper:
“Oh, my darlings!”
And when I see people with whom I spent my spring-time, I feel sorrowful and warm and whisper the same thing.
He has long ago by my father’s good offices been transferred to town. He looks a little older, a little fallen away. He has long given up declaring his love, has left off talking nonsense, dislikes his official work, is ill in some way and disillusioned32; he has given up trying to get anything out of life, and takes no interest in living. Now he has sat down by the hearth33 and looks in silence at the fire....
Not knowing what to say I ask him:
“Well, what have you to tell me?”
“Nothing,” he answers.
And silence again. The red glow of the fire plays about his melancholy34 face.
I thought of the past, and all at once my shoulders began quivering, my head dropped, and I began weeping bitterly. I felt unbearably35 sorry for myself and for this man, and passionately36 longed for what had passed away and what life refused us now. And now I did not think about rank and wealth.
I broke into loud sobs37, pressing my temples, and muttered:
“My God! my God! my life is wasted!”
And he sat and was silent, and did not say to me: “Don’t weep.” He understood that I must weep, and that the time for this had come.
I saw from his eyes that he was sorry for me; and I was sorry for him, too, and vexed38 with this timid, unsuccessful man who could not make a life for me, nor for himself.
When I saw him to the door, he was, I fancied, purposely a long while putting on his coat. Twice he kissed my hand without a word, and looked a long while into my tear-stained face. I believe at that moment he recalled the storm, the streaks of rain, our laughter, my face that day; he longed to say something to me, and he would have been glad to say it; but he said nothing, he merely shook his head and pressed my hand. God help him!
After seeing him out, I went back to my study and again sat on the carpet before the fireplace; the red embers were covered with ash and began to grow dim. The frost tapped still more angrily at the windows, and the wind droned in the chimney.
The maid came in and, thinking I was asleep, called my name.
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1
prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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2
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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turreted
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| a.(像炮塔般)旋转式的 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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8
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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9
bridles
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| 约束( bridle的名词复数 )； 限动器； 马笼头； 系带 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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12
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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13
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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14
supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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15
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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drenching
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| n.湿透v.使湿透( drench的现在分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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22
huddling
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| n. 杂乱一团, 混乱, 拥挤 v. 推挤, 乱堆, 草率了事 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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26
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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31
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
disillusioned
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| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
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33
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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unbearably
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| adv.不能忍受地，无法容忍地；慌 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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37
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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38
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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