In the evening when the wind had dropped a little, they went out on the groyne to see the steamer come in. There were a great many people walking about the harbour; they had gathered to welcome some one, bringing bouquets2. And two peculiarities3 of a well-dressed Yalta crowd were very conspicuous5: the elderly ladies were dressed like young ones, and there were great numbers of generals.
Owing to the roughness of the sea, the steamer arrived late, after the sun had set, and it was a long time turning about before it reached the groyne. Anna Sergeyevna looked through her lorgnette at the steamer and the passengers as though looking for acquaintances, and when she turned to Gurov her eyes were shining. She talked a great deal and asked disconnected questions, forgetting next moment what she had asked; then she dropped her lorgnette in the crush.
The festive6 crowd began to disperse7; it was too dark to see people's faces. The wind had completely dropped, but Gurov and Anna Sergeyevna still stood as though waiting to see some one else come from the steamer. Anna Sergeyevna was silent now, and sniffed8 the flowers without looking at Gurov.
"The weather is better this evening," he said. "Where shall we go now? Shall we drive somewhere?"
She made no answer.
Then he looked at her intently, and all at once put his arm round her and kissed her on the lips, and breathed in the moisture and the fragrance9 of the flowers; and he immediately looked round him, anxiously wondering whether any one had seen them.
"Let us go to your hotel," he said softly. And both walked quickly.
The room was close and smelt10 of the scent11 she had bought at the Japanese shop. Gurov looked at her and thought: "What different people one meets in the world!" From the past he preserved memories of careless, good-natured women, who loved cheerfully and were grateful to him for the happiness he gave them, however brief it might be; and of women like his wife who loved without any genuine feeling, with superfluous12 phrases, affectedly13, hysterically14, with an expression that suggested that it was not love nor passion, but something more significant; and of two or three others, very beautiful, cold women, on whose faces he had caught a glimpse of a rapacious15 expression—an obstinate16 desire to snatch from life more than it could give, and these were capricious, unreflecting, domineering, unintelligent women not in their first youth, and when Gurov grew cold to them their beauty excited his hatred17, and the lace on their linen18 seemed to him like scales.
But in this case there was still the diffidence, the angularity of inexperienced youth, an awkward feeling; and there was a sense of consternation19 as though some one had suddenly knocked at the door. The attitude of Anna Sergeyevna—"the lady with the dog"—to what had happened was somehow peculiar4, very grave, as though it were her fall—so it seemed, and it was strange and inappropriate. Her face dropped and faded, and on both sides of it her long hair hung down mournfully; she mused20 in a dejected attitude like "the woman who was a sinner" in an old-fashioned picture.
"It's wrong," she said. "You will be the first to despise me now."
There was a water-melon on the table. Gurov cut himself a slice and began eating it without haste. There followed at least half an hour of silence.
Anna Sergeyevna was touching21; there was about her the purity of a good, simple woman who had seen little of life. The solitary22 candle burning on the table threw a faint light on her face, yet it was clear that she was very unhappy.
"How could I despise you?" asked Gurov. "You don't know what you are saying."
"God forgive me," she said, and her eyes filled with tears. "It's awful."
"You seem to feel you need to be forgiven."
"Forgiven? No. I am a bad, low woman; I despise myself and don't attempt to justify23 myself. It's not my husband but myself I have deceived. And not only just now; I have been deceiving myself for a long time. My husband may be a good, honest man, but he is a flunkey! I don't know what he does there, what his work is, but I know he is a flunkey! I was twenty when I was married to him. I have been tormented24 by curiosity; I wanted something better. 'There must be a different sort of life,' I said to myself. I wanted to live! To live, to live!... I was fired by curiosity ... you don't understand it, but, I swear to God, I could not control myself; something happened to me: I could not be restrained. I told my husband I was ill, and came here.... And here I have been walking about as though I were dazed, like a mad creature; ... and now I have become a vulgar, contemptible25 woman whom any one may despise."
Gurov felt bored already, listening to her. He was irritated by the na?ve tone, by this remorse26, so unexpected and inopportune; but for the tears in her eyes, he might have thought she was jesting or playing a part.
"I don't understand," he said softly. "What is it you want?"
She hid her face on his breast and pressed close to him.
"Believe me, believe me, I beseech27 you ..." she said. "I love a pure, honest life, and sin is loathsome28 to me. I don't know what I am doing. Simple people say: 'The Evil One has beguiled29 me.' And I may say of myself now that the Evil One has beguiled me."
He looked at her fixed31, scared eyes, kissed her, talked softly and affectionately, and by degrees she was comforted, and her gaiety returned; they both began laughing.
Afterwards when they went out there was not a soul on the sea-front. The town with its cypresses32 had quite a deathlike air, but the sea still broke noisily on the shore; a single barge33 was rocking on the waves, and a lantern was blinking sleepily on it.
They found a cab and drove to Oreanda.
"I found out your surname in the hall just now: it was written on the board—Von Diderits," said Gurov. "Is your husband a German?"
"No; I believe his grandfather was a German, but he is an Orthodox Russian himself."
At Oreanda they sat on a seat not far from the church, looked down at the sea, and were silent. Yalta was hardly visible through the morning mist; white clouds stood motionless on the mountain-tops. The leaves did not stir on the trees, grasshoppers34 chirruped, and the monotonous35 hollow sound of the sea rising up from below, spoke36 of the peace, of the eternal sleep awaiting us. So it must have sounded when there was no Yalta, no Oreanda here; so it sounds now, and it will sound as indifferently and monotonously37 when we are all no more. And in this constancy, in this complete indifference38 to the life and death of each of us, there lies hid, perhaps, a pledge of our eternal salvation39, of the unceasing movement of life upon earth, of unceasing progress towards perfection. Sitting beside a young woman who in the dawn seemed so lovely, soothed40 and spellbound in these magical surroundings—the sea, mountains, clouds, the open sky—Gurov thought how in reality everything is beautiful in this world when one reflects: everything except what we think or do ourselves when we forget our human dignity and the higher aims of our existence.
A man walked up to them—probably a keeper—looked at them and walked away. And this detail seemed mysterious and beautiful, too. They saw a steamer come from Theodosia, with its lights out in the glow of dawn.
"There is dew on the grass," said Anna Sergeyevna, after a silence.
"Yes. It's time to go home."
They went back to the town.
Then they met every day at twelve o'clock on the sea-front, lunched and dined together, went for walks, admired the sea. She complained that she slept badly, that her heart throbbed41 violently; asked the same questions, troubled now by jealousy42 and now by the fear that he did not respect her sufficiently43. And often in the square or gardens, when there was no one near them, he suddenly drew her to him and kissed her passionately44. Complete idleness, these kisses in broad daylight while he looked round in dread46 of some one's seeing them, the heat, the smell of the sea, and the continual passing to and fro before him of idle, well-dressed, well-fed people, made a new man of him; he told Anna Sergeyevna how beautiful she was, how fascinating. He was impatiently passionate45, he would not move a step away from her, while she was often pensive47 and continually urged him to confess that he did not respect her, did not love her in the least, and thought of her as nothing but a common woman. Rather late almost every evening they drove somewhere out of town, to Oreanda or to the waterfall; and the expedition was always a success, the scenery invariably impressed them as grand and beautiful.
They were expecting her husband to come, but a letter came from him, saying that there was something wrong with his eyes, and he entreated48 his wife to come home as quickly as possible. Anna Sergeyevna made haste to go.
"It's a good thing I am going away," she said to Gurov. "It's the finger of destiny!"
She went by coach and he went with her. They were driving the whole day. When she had got into a compartment49 of the express, and when the second bell had rung, she said:
"Let me look at you once more ... look at you once again. That's right."
She did not shed tears, but was so sad that she seemed ill, and her face was quivering.
"I shall remember you ... think of you," she said. "God be with you; be happy. Don't remember evil against me. We are parting forever—it must be so, for we ought never to have met. Well, God be with you."
The train moved off rapidly, its lights soon vanished from sight, and a minute later there was no sound of it, as though everything had conspired50 together to end as quickly as possible that sweet delirium51, that madness. Left alone on the platform, and gazing into the dark distance, Gurov listened to the chirrup of the grasshoppers and the hum of the telegraph wires, feeling as though he had only just waked up. And he thought, musing52, that there had been another episode or adventure in his life, and it, too, was at an end, and nothing was left of it but a memory.... He was moved, sad, and conscious of a slight remorse. This young woman whom he would never meet again had not been happy with him; he was genuinely warm and affectionate with her, but yet in his manner, his tone, and his caresses53 there had been a shade of light irony54, the coarse condescension55 of a happy man who was, besides, almost twice her age. All the time she had called him kind, exceptional, lofty; obviously he had seemed to her different from what he really was, so he had unintentionally deceived her....
Here at the station was already a scent of autumn; it was a cold evening.
"It's time for me to go north," thought Gurov as he left the platform. "High time!"
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1
syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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2
bouquets
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| n.花束( bouquet的名词复数 )；（酒的）芳香 | |
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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8
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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9
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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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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11
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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affectedly
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hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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rapacious
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| adj.贪婪的，强夺的 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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18
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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19
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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21
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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22
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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28
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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29
beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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30
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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31
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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32
cypresses
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| n.柏属植物，柏树( cypress的名词复数 ) | |
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33
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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34
grasshoppers
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| n.蚱蜢( grasshopper的名词复数 )；蝗虫；蚂蚱；（孩子）矮小的 | |
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35
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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36
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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monotonously
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| adv.单调地，无变化地 | |
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38
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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39
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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40
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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41
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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42
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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43
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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44
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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45
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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46
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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47
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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48
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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50
conspired
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| 密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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51
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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52
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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53
caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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54
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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55
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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