“Another spring in my life,” he said, breathing deep and peering up at the heavens through his spectacles. Andersen was rather given to sentimental3 poetising. He walked with his hands folded behind him, dangling4 his cane5.
He had gone but a few paces when he noticed a group of soldiers and horses on the road beyond the garden rail. Their drab uniforms stood out dully against the white of the snow, but their swords and horses’ coats tossed back the light. Their bowed cavalry6 legs moved awkwardly on the snow. Andersen wondered what they were doing there. Suddenly the nature of their business flashed upon him. It was an ugly errand they were upon, an instinct rather that his reason told him. Something unusual and terrible was to happen. And the same instinct told him he must conceal7 himself from the soldiers. He turned to the left quickly, dropped on his knees, and crawled on the soft, thawing8, crackling snow to a low haystack, from behind which, by craning his neck, he could watch what the soldiers were doing.
There were twelve of them, one a stocky young officer in a grey cloak caught in prettily9 at the waist by a silver belt. His face was so red that even at that distance Andersen caught the odd, whitish gleam of his light protruding10 moustache and eyebrows11 against the vivid colour of his skin. The broken tones of his raucous12 voice reached distinctly to where the teacher, listening intently, lay hidden.
“I know what I am about. I don’t need anybody’s advice,” the officer cried. He clapped his arms akimbo and looked down at some one among the group of bustling13 soldiers. “I’ll show you how to be a rebel, you damned skunk14.”
Andersen’s heart beat fast. “Good heavens!” he thought. “Is it possible?” His head grew chill as if struck by a cold wave.
“Officer,” a quiet, restrained, yet distinct voice came from among the soldiers, “you have no right—It’s for the court to decide—you aren’t a judge—it’s plain murder, not—” “Silence!” thundered the officer, his voice choking with rage. “I’ll give you a court. Ivanov, go ahead.”
He put the spurs to his horse and rode away. Gabriel Andersen mechanically observed how carefully the horse picked its way, placing its feet daintily as if for the steps of a minuet. Its ears were pricked16 to catch every sound. There was momentary17 bustle18 and excitement among the soldiers. Then they dispersed19 in different directions, leaving three persons in black behind, two tall men and one very short and frail20. Andersen could see the hair of the short one’s head. It was very light. And he saw his rosy21 ears sticking out on each side.
Now he fully15 understood what was to happen. But it was a thing so out of the ordinary, so horrible, that he fancied he was dreaming.
“It’s so bright, so beautiful—the snow, the field, the woods, the sky. The breath of spring is upon everything. Yet people are going to be killed. How can it be? Impossible!” So his thoughts ran in confusion. He had the sensation of a man suddenly gone insane, who finds he sees, hears and feels what he is not accustomed to, and ought not hear, see and feel.
The three men in black stood next to one another hard by the railing, two quite close together, the short one some distance away.
“Officer!” one of them cried in a desperate voice—Andersen could not see which it was—“God sees us! Officer!”
Eight soldiers dismounted quickly, their spurs and sabres catching22 awkwardly. Evidently they were in a hurry, as if doing a thief’s job.
Several seconds passed in silence until the soldiers placed themselves in a row a few feet from the black figures and levelled their guns. In doing so one soldier knocked his cap from his head. He picked it up and put it on again without brushing off the wet snow.
The officer’s mount still kept dancing on one spot with his ears pricked, while the other horses, also with sharp ears erect23 to catch every sound, stood motionless looking at the men in black, their long wise heads inclined to one side.
“Spare the boy at least!” another voice suddenly pierced the air. “Why kill a child, damn you! What has the child done?”
“Ivanov, do what I told you to do,” thundered the officer, drowning the other voice. His face turned as scarlet24 as a piece of red flannel25.
There followed a scene savage26 and repulsive27 in its gruesomeness. The short figure in black, with the light hair and the rosy ears, uttered a wild shriek28 in a shrill29 child’s tones and reeled to one side. Instantly it was caught up by two or three soldiers. But the boy began to struggle, and two more soldiers ran up.
“Ow-ow-ow-ow!” the boy cried. “Let me go, let me go! Ow-ow!”
His shrill voice cut the air like the yell of a stuck porkling not quite done to death. Suddenly he grew quiet. Some one must have struck him. An unexpected, oppressive silence ensued. The boy was being pushed forward. Then there came a deafening30 report. Andersen started back all in a tremble. He saw distinctly, yet vaguely31 as in a dream, the dropping of two dark bodies, the flash of pale sparks, and a light smoke rising in the clean, bright atmosphere. He saw the soldiers hastily mounting their horses without even glancing at the bodies. He saw them galloping32 along the muddy road, their arms clanking, their horses’ hoofs33 clattering34.
He saw all this, himself now standing35 in the middle of the road, not knowing when and why he had jumped from behind the haystack. He was deathly pale. His face was covered with dank sweat, his body was aquiver. A physical sadness smote36 and tortured him. He could not make out the nature of the feeling. It was akin37 to extreme sickness, though far more nauseating38 and terrible.
After the soldiers had disappeared beyond the bend toward the woods, people came hurrying to the spot of the shooting, though till then not a soul had been in sight.
The bodies lay at the roadside on the other side of the railing, where the snow was clean, brittle39 and untrampled and glistened cheerfully in the bright atmosphere. There were three dead bodies, two men and a boy. The boy lay with his long soft neck stretched on the snow. The face of the man next to the boy was invisible. He had fallen face downward in a pool of blood. The third was a big man with a black beard and huge, muscular arms. He lay stretched out to the full length of his big body, his arms extended over a large area of blood-stained snow.
The three men who had been shot lay black against the white snow, motionless. From afar no one could have told the terror that was in their immobility as they lay there at the edge of the narrow road crowded with people.
That night Gabriel Andersen in his little room in the schoolhouse did not write poems as usual. He stood at the window and looked at the distant pale disk of the moon in the misty40 blue sky, and thought. And his thoughts were confused, gloomy, and heavy as if a cloud had descended41 upon his brain.
Indistinctly outlined in the dull moonlight he saw the dark railing, the trees, the empty garden. It seemed to him that he beheld42 them—the three men who had been shot, two grown up, one a child. They were lying there now at the roadside, in the empty, silent field, looking at the far-off cold moon with their dead, white eyes as he with his living eyes.
“The time will come some day,” he thought, “when the killing43 of people by others will be an utter impossibility. The time will come when even the soldiers and officers who killed these three men will realise what they have done and will understand that what they killed them for is just as necessary, important, and dear to them—to the officers and soldiers—as to those whom they killed.”
“Yes,” he said aloud and solemnly, his eyes moistening, “that time will come. They will understand.” And the pale disk of the moon was blotted44 out by the moisture in his eyes.
A large pity pierced his heart for the three victims whose eyes looked at the moon, sad and unseeing. A feeling of rage cut him as with a sharp knife and took possession of him.
But Gabriel Andersen quieted his heart, whispering softly, “They know not what they do.” And this old and ready phrase gave him the strength to stifle45 his rage and indignation.
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1
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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2
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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4
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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5
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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7
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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thawing
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| n.熔化，融化v.（气候）解冻( thaw的现在分词 )；（态度、感情等）缓和；（冰、雪及冷冻食物）溶化；软化 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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10
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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11
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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12
raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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13
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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14
skunk
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| n.臭鼬，黄鼠狼；v.使惨败，使得零分；烂醉如泥 | |
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15
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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24
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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26
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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29
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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30
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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31
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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32
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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33
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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34
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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35
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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36
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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38
nauseating
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| adj.令人恶心的，使人厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的现在分词 ) | |
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39
brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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40
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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41
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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42
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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43
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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44
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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45
stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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