And everything that was said at the time was uninteresting, unjust, and stupid; he felt irritated and disturbed, but held his tongue, and, because he sat glumly5 silent and looked at his plate, he was nicknamed in the town "the haughty6 Pole," though he never had been a Pole.
All such entertainments as theatres and concerts he declined, but he played vint every evening for three hours with enjoyment7. He had another diversion to which he took imperceptibly, little by little: in the evening he would take out of his pockets the notes he had gained by his practice, and sometimes there were stuffed in his pockets notes—yellow and green, and smelling of scent8 and vinegar and incense9 and fish oil—up to the value of seventy roubles; and when they amounted to some hundreds he took them to the Mutual10 Credit Bank and deposited the money there to his account.
He was only twice at the Turkins' in the course of the four years after Ekaterina Ivanovna had gone away, on each occasion at the invitation of Vera Iosifovna, who was still undergoing treatment for migraine. Every summer Ekaterina Ivanovna came to stay with her parents, but he did not once see her; it somehow never happened.
But now four years had passed. One still, warm morning a letter was brought to the hospital. Vera Iosifovna wrote to Dmitri Ionitch that she was missing him very much, and begged him to come and see them, and to relieve her sufferings; and, by the way, it was her birthday. Below was a postscript11: "I join in mother's request.—K."
Startsev considered, and in the evening he went to the Turkins'.
"How do you do, if you please?" Ivan Petrovitch met him, smiling with his eyes only. "Bongjour."
Vera Iosifovna, white-haired and looking much older, shook Startsev's hand, sighed affectedly12, and said:
"You don't care to pay attentions to me, doctor. You never come and see us; I am too old for you. But now some one young has come; perhaps she will be more fortunate."
And Kitten? She had grown thinner, paler, had grown handsomer and more graceful13; but now she was Ekaterina Ivanovna, not Kitten; she had lost the freshness and look of childish na?veté. And in her expression and manners there was something new—guilty and diffident, as though she did not feel herself at home here in the Turkins' house.
"How many summers, how many winters!" she said, giving Startsev her hand, and he could see that her heart was beating with excitement; and looking at him intently and curiously14, she went on: "How much stouter you are! You look sunburnt and more manly15, but on the whole you have changed very little."
Now, too, he thought her attractive, very attractive, but there was something lacking in her, or else something superfluous—he could not himself have said exactly what it was, but something prevented him from feeling as before. He did not like her pallor, her new expression, her faint smile, her voice, and soon afterwards he disliked her clothes, too, the low chair in which she was sitting; he disliked something in the past when he had almost married her. He thought of his love, of the dreams and the hopes which had troubled him four years before—and he felt awkward.
They had tea with cakes. Then Vera Iosifovna read aloud a novel; she read of things that never happen in real life, and Startsev listened, looked at her handsome grey head, and waited for her to finish.
"People are not stupid because they can't write novels, but because they can't conceal16 it when they do," he thought.
"Not badsome," said Ivan Petrovitch.
Then Ekaterina Ivanovna played long and noisily on the piano, and when she finished she was profusely17 thanked and warmly praised.
"It's a good thing I did not marry her," thought Startsev.
She looked at him, and evidently expected him to ask her to go into the garden, but he remained silent.
"Let us have a talk," she said, going up to him. "How are you getting on? What are you doing? How are things? I have been thinking about you all these days," she went on nervously18. "I wanted to write to you, wanted to come myself to see you at Dyalizh. I quite made up my mind to go, but afterwards I thought better of it. God knows what your attitude is towards me now; I have been looking forward to seeing you to-day with such emotion. For goodness' sake let us go into the garden."
They went into the garden and sat down on the seat under the old maple19, just as they had done four years before. It was dark.
"How are you getting on?" asked Ekaterina Ivanovna.
"Oh, all right; I am jogging along," answered Startsev.
And he could think of nothing more. They were silent.
"I feel so excited!" said Ekaterina Ivanovna, and she hid her face in her hands. "But don't pay attention to it. I am so happy to be at home; I am so glad to see every one. I can't get used to it. So many memories! I thought we should talk without stopping till morning."
Now he saw her face near, her shining eyes, and in the darkness she looked younger than in the room, and even her old childish expression seemed to have come back to her. And indeed she was looking at him with na?ve curiosity, as though she wanted to get a closer view and understanding of the man who had loved her so ardently20, with such tenderness, and so unsuccessfully; her eyes thanked him for that love. And he remembered all that had been, every minute detail; how he had wandered about the cemetery21, how he had returned home in the morning exhausted22, and he suddenly felt sad and regretted the past. A warmth began glowing in his heart.
"Do you remember how I took you to the dance at the club?" he asked. "It was dark and rainy then ..."
The warmth was glowing now in his heart, and he longed to talk, to rail at life....
"Ech!" he said with a sigh. "You ask how I am living. How do we live here? Why, not at all. We grow old, we grow stout, we grow slack. Day after day passes; life slips by without colour, without expressions, without thoughts.... In the daytime working for gain, and in the evening the club, the company of card-players, alcoholic23, raucous-voiced gentlemen whom I can't endure. What is there nice in it?"
"Well, you have work—a noble object in life. You used to be so fond of talking of your hospital. I was such a queer girl then; I imagined myself such a great pianist. Nowadays all young ladies play the piano, and I played, too, like everybody else, and there was nothing special about me. I am just such a pianist as my mother is an authoress. And of course I didn't understand you then, but afterwards in Moscow I often thought of you. I thought of no one but you. What happiness to be a district doctor; to help the suffering; to be serving the people! What happiness!" Ekaterina Ivanovna repeated with enthusiasm. "When I thought of you in Moscow, you seemed to me so ideal, so lofty...."
Startsev thought of the notes he used to take out of his pockets in the evening with such pleasure, and the glow in his heart was quenched24.
He got up to go into the house. She took his arm.
"You are the best man I've known in my life," she went on. "We will see each other and talk, won't we? Promise me. I am not a pianist; I am not in error about myself now, and I will not play before you or talk of music."
When they had gone into the house, and when Startsev saw in the lamplight her face, and her sad, grateful, searching eyes fixed25 upon him, he felt uneasy and thought again:
"It's a good thing I did not marry her then."
He began taking leave.
"You have no human right to go before supper," said Ivan Petrovitch as he saw him off. "It's extremely perpendicular26 on your part. Well, now, perform!" he added, addressing Pava in the hall.
Pava, no longer a boy, but a young man with moustaches, threw himself into an attitude, flung up his arm, and said in a tragic27 voice:
"Unhappy woman, die!"
All this irritated Startsev. Getting into his carriage, and looking at the dark house and garden which had once been so precious and so dear, he thought of everything at once—Vera Iosifovna's novels and Kitten's noisy playing, and Ivan Petrovitch's jokes and Pava's tragic posturing28, and thought if the most talented people in the town were so futile29, what must the town be?
Three days later Pava brought a letter from Ekaterina Ivanovna.
"You don't come and see us—why?" she wrote to him. "I am afraid that you have changed towards us. I am afraid, and I am terrified at the very thought of it. Reassure30 me; come and tell me that everything is well.
"I must talk to you.—Your E. I."
He read this letter, thought a moment, and said to Pava:
"Tell them, my good fellow, that I can't come to-day; I am very busy. Say I will come in three days or so."
But three days passed, a week passed; he still did not go. Happening once to drive past the Turkins' house, he thought he must go in, if only for a moment, but on second thoughts ... did not go in.
And he never went to the Turkins' again.
点击收听单词发音
1 stouter | |
粗壮的( stout的比较级 ); 结实的; 坚固的; 坚定的 | |
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3 expound | |
v.详述;解释;阐述 | |
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4 dispense | |
vt.分配,分发;配(药),发(药);实施 | |
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5 glumly | |
adv.忧郁地,闷闷不乐地;阴郁地 | |
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6 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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7 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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8 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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9 incense | |
v.激怒;n.香,焚香时的烟,香气 | |
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10 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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11 postscript | |
n.附言,又及;(正文后的)补充说明 | |
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12 affectedly | |
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13 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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14 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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15 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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16 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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17 profusely | |
ad.abundantly | |
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18 nervously | |
adv.神情激动地,不安地 | |
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19 maple | |
n.槭树,枫树,槭木 | |
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20 ardently | |
adv.热心地,热烈地 | |
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21 cemetery | |
n.坟墓,墓地,坟场 | |
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22 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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23 alcoholic | |
adj.(含)酒精的,由酒精引起的;n.酗酒者 | |
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24 quenched | |
解(渴)( quench的过去式和过去分词 ); 终止(某事物); (用水)扑灭(火焰等); 将(热物体)放入水中急速冷却 | |
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25 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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26 perpendicular | |
adj.垂直的,直立的;n.垂直线,垂直的位置 | |
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27 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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28 posturing | |
做出某种姿势( posture的现在分词 ) | |
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29 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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30 reassure | |
v.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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