“Like a thief in the night,” said Father Kuzma, a grey-headed little priest in a lilac cassock. “And when he does come the place will be crowded with the nobility and other high gentry2. All the neighbours will flock here. Mind now, do your best, Alexey Alexeitch. . . . I beg you most earnestly.”
“You need not trouble about me,” said Alexey Alexeitch, frowning. “I know my business. If only my enemy intones the litany in the right key. He may . . . out of sheer spite. . . .”
“There, there. . . . I’ll persuade the deacon. . . I’ll persuade him.”
Alexey Alexeitch was the sacristan of the Yefremovo church. He also taught the schoolboys church and secular3 singing, for which he received sixty roubles a year from the revenues of the Count’s estate. The schoolboys were bound to sing in church in return for their teaching. Alexey Alexeitch was a tall, thick-set man of dignified4 deportment, with a fat, clean-shaven face that reminded one of a cow’s udder. His imposing5 figure and double chin made him look like a man occupying an important position in the secular hierarchy6 rather than a sacristan. It was strange to see him, so dignified and imposing, flop7 to the ground before the bishop8 and, on one occasion, after too loud a squabble with the deacon Yevlampy Avdiessov, remain on his knees for two hours by order of the head priest of the district. Grandeur9 was more in keeping with his figure than humiliation10.
On account of the rumours11 of the Count’s approaching visit he had a choir12 practice every day, morning and evening. The choir practice was held at the school. It did not interfere13 much with the school work. During the practice the schoolmaster, Sergey Makaritch, set the children writing copies while he joined the tenors14 as an amateur.
This is how the choir practice was conducted. Alexey Alexeitch would come into the school-room, slamming the door and blowing his nose. The trebles and altos extricated16 themselves noisily from the school-tables. The tenors and basses18, who had been waiting for some time in the yard, came in, tramping like horses. They all took their places. Alexey Alexeitch drew himself up, made a sign to enforce silence, and struck a note with the tuning19 fork.
“To-to-li-to-tom . . . Do-mi-sol-do!”
“Adagio20, adagio. . . . Once more.”
After the “Amen” there followed “Lord have mercy upon us” from the Great Litany. All this had been learned long ago, sung a thousand times and thoroughly21 digested, and it was gone through simply as a formality. It was sung indolently, unconsciously. Alexey Alexeitch waved his arms calmly and chimed in now in a tenor15, now in a bass17 voice. It was all slow, there was nothing interesting. . . . But before the “Cherubim” hymn22 the whole choir suddenly began blowing their noses, coughing and zealously23 turning the pages of their music. The sacristan turned his back on the choir and with a mysterious expression on his face began tuning his violin. The preparations lasted a couple of minutes.
“Take your places. Look at your music carefully. . . . Basses, don’t overdo24 it . . . rather softly.”
Bortnyansky’s “Cherubim” hymn, No. 7, was selected. At a given signal silence prevailed. All eyes were fastened on the music, the trebles opened their mouths. Alexey Alexeitch softly lowered his arm.
“Piano . . . piano. . . . You see ‘piano’ is written there. . . . More lightly, more lightly.”
When they had to sing “piano” an expression of benevolence25 and amiability26 overspread Alexey Alexeitch’s face, as though he was dreaming of a dainty morsel27.
“Forte28 . . . forte! Hold it!”
And when they had to sing “forte” the sacristan’s fat face expressed alarm and even horror.
The “Cherubim” hymn was sung well, so well that the school-children abandoned their copies and fell to watching the movements of Alexey Alexeitch. People stood under the windows. The school-watchman, Vassily, came in wearing an apron29 and carrying a dinner-knife in his hand and stood listening. Father Kuzma, with an anxious face appeared suddenly as though he had sprung from out of the earth. . . . After ‘Let us lay aside all earthly cares’ Alexey Alexeitch wiped the sweat off his brow and went up to Father Kuzma in excitement.
“It puzzles me, Father Kuzma,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “why is it that the Russian people have no understanding? It puzzles me, may the Lord chastise30 me! Such an uncultured people that you really cannot tell whether they have a windpipe in their throats or some other sort of internal arrangement. Were you choking, or what?” he asked, addressing the bass Gennady Semitchov, the innkeeper’s brother.
“Why?”
“What is your voice like? It rattles31 like a saucepan. I bet you were boozing yesterday! That’s what it is! Your breath smells like a tavern32. . . . E-ech! You are a clodhopper, brother! You are a lout33! How can you be a chorister if you keep company with peasants in the tavern? Ech, you are an ass1, brother!”
“It’s a sin, it’s a sin, brother,” muttered Father Kuzma. “God sees everything . . . through and through . . . .”
“That’s why you have no idea of singing—because you care more for vodka than for godliness, you fool.”
“Don’t work yourself up,” said Father Kuzma. “Don’t be cross. . . . I will persuade him.”
Father Kuzma went up to Gennady Semitchov and began “persuading” him: “What do you do it for? Try and put your mind to it. A man who sings ought to restrain himself, because his throat is . . . er . . tender.”
Gennady scratched his neck and looked sideways towards the window as though the words did not apply to him.
After the “Cherubim” hymn they sang the Creed34, then “It is meet and right”; they sang smoothly35 and with feeling, and so right on to “Our Father.”
“To my mind, Father Kuzma,” said the sacristan, “the old ‘Our Father’ is better than the modern. That’s what we ought to sing before the Count.”
“No, no. . . . Sing the modern one. For the Count hears nothing but modern music when he goes to Mass in Petersburg or Moscow. . . . In the churches there, I imagine . . . there’s very different sort of music there, brother!”
After “Our Father” there was again a great blowing of noses, coughing and turning over of pages. The most difficult part of the performance came next: the “concert.” Alexey Alexeitch was practising two pieces, “Who is the God of glory” and “Universal Praise.” Whichever the choir learned best would be sung before the Count. During the “concert” the sacristan rose to a pitch of enthusiasm. The expression of benevolence was continually alternating with one of alarm.
“Forte!” he muttered. “Andante! let yourselves go! Sing, you image! Tenors, you don’t bring it off! To-to-ti-to-tom. . . . Sol . . . si . . . sol, I tell you, you blockhead! Glory! Basses, glo . . . o . . . ry.”
His bow travelled over the heads and shoulders of the erring36 trebles and altos. His left hand was continually pulling the ears of the young singers. On one occasion, carried away by his feelings he flipped37 the bass Gennady under the chin with his bent38 thumb. But the choristers were not moved to tears or to anger at his blows: they realised the full gravity of their task.
After the “concert” came a minute of silence. Alexey Alexeitch, red, perspiring39 and exhausted40, sat down on the window-sill, and turned upon the company lustreless41, wearied, but triumphant42 eyes. In the listening crowd he observed to his immense annoyance43 the deacon Avdiessov. The deacon, a tall thick-set man with a red pock-marked face, and straw in his hair, stood leaning against the stove and grinning contemptuously.
“That’s right, sing away! Perform your music!” he muttered in a deep bass. “Much the Count will care for your singing! He doesn’t care whether you sing with music or without. . . . For he is an atheist44.”
Father Kuzma looked round in a scared way and twiddled his fingers.
“Come, come,” he muttered. “Hush, deacon, I beg.”
After the “concert” they sang “May our lips be filled with praise,” and the choir practice was over. The choir broke up to reassemble in the evening for another practice. And so it went on every day.
One month passed and then a second. . . . The steward45, too, had by then received a notice that the Count would soon be coming. At last the dusty sun-blinds were taken off the windows of the big house, and Yefremovo heard the strains of the broken-down, out-of-tune piano. Father Kuzma was pining, though he could not himself have said why, or whether it was from delight or alarm. . . . The deacon went about grinning.
The following Saturday evening Father Kuzma went to the sacristan’s lodgings46. His face was pale, his shoulders drooped47, the lilac of his cassock looked faded.
“I have just been at his Excellency’s,” he said to the sacristan, stammering48. “He is a cultivated gentleman with refined ideas. But . . . er . . . it’s mortifying49, brother. . . . ‘At what o’clock, your Excellency, do you desire us to ring for Mass to-morrow?’ And he said: ‘As you think best. Only, couldn’t it be as short and quick as possible without a choir.’ Without a choir! Er . . . do you understand, without, without a choir. . . .”
Alexey Alexeitch turned crimson50. He would rather have spent two hours on his knees again than have heard those words! He did not sleep all night. He was not so much mortified51 at the waste of his labours as at the fact that the deacon would give him no peace now with his jeers52. The deacon was delighted at his discomfiture53. Next day all through the service he was casting disdainful glances towards the choir where Alexey Alexeitch was booming responses in solitude54. When he passed by the choir with the censer he muttered:
“Perform your music! Do your utmost! The Count will give a ten-rouble note to the choir!”
After the service the sacristan went home, crushed and ill with mortification55. At the gate he was overtaken by the red-faced deacon.
“Stop a minute, Alyosha!” said the deacon. “Stop a minute, silly, don’t be cross! You are not the only one, I am in for it too! Immediately after the Mass Father Kuzma went up to the Count and asked: ‘And what did you think of the deacon’s voice, your Excellency. He has a deep bass, hasn’t he?’ And the Count—do you know what he answered by way of compliment? ‘Anyone can bawl,’ he said. ‘A man’s voice is not as important as his brains.’ A learned gentleman from Petersburg! An atheist is an atheist, and that’s all about it! Come, brother in misfortune, let us go and have a drop to drown our troubles!”
And the enemies went out of the gate arm-in-arm.
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1
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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hierarchy
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| n.等级制度；统治集团，领导层 | |
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flop
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| n.失败(者)，扑通一声；vi.笨重地行动，沉重地落下 | |
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8
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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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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13
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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14
tenors
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| n.男高音( tenor的名词复数 )；大意；男高音歌唱家；（文件的）抄本 | |
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15
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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16
extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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basses
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| 低音歌唱家，低音乐器( bass的名词复数 ) | |
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19
tuning
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| n.调谐，调整，调音v.调音( tune的现在分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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adagio
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| adj.缓慢的；n.柔板；慢板；adv.缓慢地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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zealously
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| adv.热心地；热情地；积极地；狂热地 | |
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overdo
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| vt.把...做得过头，演得过火 | |
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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forte
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| n.长处，擅长；adj.(音乐)强音的 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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chastise
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| vt.责骂，严惩 | |
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31
rattles
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| （使）发出格格的响声， （使）作嘎嘎声( rattle的第三人称单数 )； 喋喋不休地说话； 迅速而嘎嘎作响地移动，堕下或走动； 使紧张，使恐惧 | |
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32
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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33
lout
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| n.粗鄙的人；举止粗鲁的人 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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erring
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| 做错事的，错误的 | |
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flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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38
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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39
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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40
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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41
lustreless
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| adj.无光泽的，无光彩的，平淡乏味的 | |
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42
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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43
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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44
atheist
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| n.无神论者 | |
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45
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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47
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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49
mortifying
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| adj.抑制的，苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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50
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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51
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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52
jeers
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| n.操纵帆桁下部（使其上下的）索具；嘲讽( jeer的名词复数 )v.嘲笑( jeer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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53
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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54
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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55
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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