“Where is he going?”
“To Paris or to London, I believe.”
“H’m. . . . Then he is a big-wig, I suppose?”
“The devil only knows.”
As he went home from the Town Hall and had his dinner, the mayor sank into thought again, and this time he went on thinking till the evening. The arrival of the distinguished2 Persian greatly intrigued3 him. It seemed to him that fate itself had sent him this Rahat-Helam, and that a favourable4 opportunity had come at last for realising his passionate5, secretly cherished dream. Kutsyn had already two medals, and the Stanislav of the third degree, the badge of the Red Cross, and the badge of the Society of Saving from Drowning, and in addition to these he had made himself a little gold gun crossed by a guitar, and this ornament6, hung from a buttonhole in his uniform, looked in the distance like something special, and delightfully7 resembled a badge of distinction. It is well known that the more orders and medals you have the more you want—and the mayor had long been desirous of receiving the Persian order of The Lion and the Sun; he desired it passionately8, madly. He knew very well that there was no need to fight, or to subscribe9 to an asylum10, or to serve on committees to obtain this order; all that was needed was a favourable opportunity. And now it seemed to him that this opportunity had come.
At noon on the following day he put on his chain and all his badges of distinction and went to the ‘Japan.’ Destiny favoured him. When he entered the distinguished Persian’s apartment the latter was alone and doing nothing. Rahat-Helam, an enormous Asiatic, with a long nose like the beak11 of a snipe, with prominent eyes, and with a fez on his head, was sitting on the floor rummaging12 in his portmanteau.
“I beg you to excuse my disturbing you,” began Kutsyn, smiling. “I have the honour to introduce myself, the hereditary13, honourable14 citizen and cavalier, Stepan Ivanovitch Kutsyn, mayor of this town. I regard it as my duty to honour, in the person of your Highness, so to say, the representative of a friendly and neighbourly state.”
The Persian turned and muttered something in very bad French, that sounded like tapping a board with a piece of wood.
“The frontiers of Persia”—Kutsyn continued the greeting he had previously15 learned by heart—“are in close contact with the borders of our spacious16 fatherland, and therefore mutual17 sympathies impel18 me, so to speak, to express my solidarity19 with you.”
The illustrious Persian got up and again muttered something in a wooden tongue. Kutsyn, who knew no foreign language, shook his head to show that he did not understand.
“Well, how am I to talk to him?” he thought. “It would be a good thing to send for an interpreter at once, but it is a delicate matter, I can’t talk before witnesses. The interpreter would be chattering20 all over the town afterwards.”
And Kutsyn tried to recall the foreign words he had picked up from the newspapers.
“I am the mayor of the town,” he muttered. “That is the lord mayor . . . municipalais . . . Vwee? Kompreney?”
He wanted to express his social position in words or in gesture, and did not know how. A picture hanging on the wall with an inscription21 in large letters, “The Town of Venice,” helped him out of his difficulties. He pointed22 with his finger at the town, then at his own head, and in that way obtained, as he imagined, the phrase: “I am the head of the town.” The Persian did not understand, but he gave a smile, and said:
“Goot, monsieur . . . goot . . . . .” Half-an-hour later the mayor was slapping the Persian, first on the knee and then on the shoulder, and saying:
“Kompreney? Vwee? As lord mayor and municipalais I suggest that you should take a little promenage . . . kompreney? Promenage.”
Kutsyn pointed at Venice, and with two fingers represented walking legs. Rahat-Helam who kept his eyes fixed23 on his medals, and was apparently24 guessing that this was the most important person in the town, understood the word promenage and grinned politely. Then they both put on their coats and went out of the room. Downstairs near the door leading to the restaurant of the ‘Japan,’ Kutsyn reflected that it would not be amiss to entertain the Persian. He stopped and indicating the tables, said:
“By Russian custom it wouldn’t be amiss . . . puree, entrekot, champagne25 and so on, kompreney.”
The illustrious visitor understood, and a little later they were both sitting in the very best room of the restaurant, eating, and drinking champagne.
“Let us drink to the prosperity of Persia!” said Kutsyn. “We Russians love the Persians. Though we are of another faith, yet there are common interests, mutual, so to say, sympathies . . . progress . . . Asiatic markets. . . . The campaigns of peace so to say. . . .”
The illustrious Persian ate and drank with an excellent appetite, he stuck his fork into a slice of smoked sturgeon, and wagging his head, enthusiastically said: “Goot, bien.”
“You like it?” said the mayor delighted. “Bien, that’s capital.” And turning to the waiter he said: “Luka, my lad, see that two pieces of smoked sturgeon, the best you have, are sent up to his Highness’s room!”
Then the mayor and the Persian magnate went to look at the menagerie. The townspeople saw their Stepan Ivanovitch, flushed with champagne, gay and very well pleased, leading the Persian about the principal streets and the bazaar26, showing him the points of interest of the town, and even taking him to the fire tower.
Among other things the townspeople saw him stop near some stone gates with lions on it, and point out to the Persian first the lion, then the sun overhead, and then his own breast; then again he pointed to the lion and to the sun while the Persian nodded his head as though in sign of assent27, and smiling showed his white teeth. In the evening they were sitting in the London Hotel listening to the harp-players, and where they spent the night is not known.
Next day the mayor was at the Town Hall in the morning; the officials there apparently already knew something and were making their conjectures28, for the secretary went up to him and said with an ironical29 smile:
“It is the custom of the Persians when an illustrious visitor comes to visit you, you must slaughter30 a sheep with your own hands.”
And a little later an envelope that had come by post was handed to him. The mayor tore it open and saw a caricature in it. It was a drawing of Rahat-Helam with the mayor on his knees before him, stretching out his hands and saying:
“To prove our Russian friendship
For Persia’s mighty31 realm,
And show respect for you, her envoy32,
Myself I’d slaughter like a lamb,
But, pardon me, for I’m a—donkey!”
The mayor was conscious of an unpleasant feeling like a gnawing33 in the pit of the stomach, but not for long. By midday he was again with the illustrious Persian, again he was regaling him and showing him the points of interest in the town. Again he led him to the stone gates, and again pointed to the lion, to the sun and to his own breast. They dined at the ‘Japan’; after dinner, with cigars in their teeth, both, flushed and blissful, again mounted the fire tower, and the mayor, evidently wishing to entertain the visitor with an unusual spectacle, shouted from the top to a sentry34 walking below:
“Sound the alarm!”
But the alarm was not sounded as the firemen were at the baths at the moment.
They supped at the ‘London’ and, after supper, the Persian departed. When he saw him off, Stepan Ivanovitch kissed him three times after the Russian fashion, and even grew tearful. And when the train started, he shouted:
“Give our greeting to Persia! Tell her that we love her!”
A year and four months had passed. There was a bitter frost, thirty-five degrees, and a piercing wind was blowing. Stepan Ivanovitch was walking along the street with his fur coat thrown open over his chest, and he was annoyed that he met no one to see the Lion and the Sun upon his breast. He walked about like this till evening with his fur coat open, was chilled to the bone, and at night tossed from side to side and could not get to sleep.
He felt heavy at heart.
There was a burning sensation inside him, and his heart throbbed35 uneasily; he had a longing36 now to get a Serbian order. It was a painful, passionate longing.
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1
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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7
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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12
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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15
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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16
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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impel
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| v.推动；激励，迫使 | |
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solidarity
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| n.团结；休戚相关 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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envoy
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| n.使节，使者，代表，公使 | |
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gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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35
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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