They were preparing to celebrate the first of May. Leaflets appeared in the factory explaining the significance of this holiday, and even the young men not affected10 by the propaganda said, as they read them:
“Yes, we must arrange a holiday!”
Vyesovshchikov exclaimed with a sullen11 grin:
“It’s time! Time we stopped playing hide and seek!”
Fedya Mazin was in high spirits. He had grown very thin. With his nervous, jerky gestures, and the trepidation12 in his speech, he was like a caged lark13. He was always with Yakob Somov, taciturn and serious beyond his years.
Samoylov, who had grown still redder in prison, Vasily Gusev, curly-haired Dragunov, and a number of others argued that it was necessary to come out armed, but Pavel and the Little Russian, Somov, and others said it was not.
Yegor always came tired, perspiring14, short of breath, but always joking.
“The work of changing the present order of things, comrades, is a great work, but in order to advance it more rapidly, I must buy myself a pair of boots!” he said, pointing to his wet, torn shoes. “My overshoes, too, are torn beyond the hope of redemption, and I get my feet wet every day. I have no intention of migrating from the earth even to the nearest planet before we have publicly and openly renounced15 the old order of things; and I am therefore absolutely opposed to comrade Samoylov’s motion for an armed demonstration16. I amend17 the motion to read that I be armed with a pair of strong boots, inasmuch as I am profoundly convinced that this will be of greater service for the ultimate triumph of socialism than even a grand exhibition of fisticuffs and black eyes!”
In the same playfully pretentious18 language, he told the workingmen the story of how in various foreign countries the people strove to lighten the burden of their lives. The mother loved to listen to his tales, and carried away a strange impression from them. She conceived the shrewdest enemies of the people, those who deceived them most frequently and most cruelly, as little, big-bellied, red-faced creatures, unprincipled and greedy, cunning and heartless. When life was hard for them under the domination of the czars, they would incite19 the common people against the ruler; and when the people arose and wrested20 the power from him, these little creatures got it into their own hands by deceit, and drove the people off to their holes; and if the people remonstrated21, they killed them by the hundreds and thousands.
Once she summoned up courage and told him of the picture she had formed of life from his tales, and asked him:
“Is it so, Yegor Ivanovich?”
He burst into a guffaw22, turned up his eyes, gasped23 for breath, and rubbed his chest.
“Exactly, granny! You caught the idea to a dot! Yes, yes! You’ve placed some ornaments24 on the canvas of history, you’ve added some flourishes, but that does not interfere25 with the correctness of the whole. It’s these very little, pot-bellied creatures who are the chief sinners and deceivers and the most poisonous insects that harass26 the human race. The Frenchmen call them ‘bourgeois27.’ Remember that word, dear granny — bourgeois! Brr! How they chew us and grind us and suck the life out of us!”
“The rich, you mean?”
“Yes, the rich. And that’s their misfortune. You see, if you keep adding copper28 bit by bit to a child’s food, you prevent the growth of its bones, and he’ll be a dwarf29; and if from his youth up you poison a man with gold, you deaden his soul.”
Once, speaking about Yegor, Pavel said:
“Do you know, Andrey, the people whose hearts are always aching are the ones who joke most?”
The Little Russian was silent a while, and then answered, blinking his eyes:
“No, that’s not true. If it were, then the whole of Russia would split its sides with laughter.”
Natasha made her appearance again. She, too, had been in prison, in another city, but she had not changed. The mother noticed that in her presence the Little Russian grew more cheerful, was full of jokes, poked30 fun at everybody, and kept her laughing merrily. But after she had left he would whistle his endless songs sadly, and pace up and down the room for a long time, wearily dragging his feet along the floor.
Sashenka came running in frequently, always gloomy, always in haste, and for some reason more and more angular and stiff. Once when Pavel accompanied her out onto the porch, the mother overheard their abrupt31 conversation.
“Will you carry the banner?” the girl asked in a low voice.
“Yes.”
“Is it settled?”
“Yes, it’s my right.”
“To prison again?” Pavel was silent. “Is it not possible for you —” She stopped.
“What?”
“To give it up to somebody else?”
“No!” he said aloud.
“Think of it! You’re a man of such influence; you are so much liked — you and Nakhodka are the two foremost revolutionary workers here. Think how much you could accomplish for the cause of freedom! You know that for this they’ll send you off far, far, and for a long time!”
Nilovna thought she heard in the girl’s voice the familiar sound of fear and anguish32, and her words fell upon the mother’s heart like heavy, icy drops of water.
“No, I have made up my mind. Nothing can make me give it up!”
“Not even if I beg you — if I——”
Pavel suddenly began to speak rapidly with a peculiar33 sternness.
“You ought not to speak that way. Why you? You ought not!”
“I am a human being!” she said in an undertone.
“A good human being, too!” he said also in an undertone, and in a peculiar voice, as if unable to catch his breath. “You are a dear human being to me, yes! And that’s why — why you mustn’t talk that way!”
“Good-by!” said the girl.
The mother heard the sound of her departing footsteps, and knew that she was walking away very fast, nay34, almost running. Pavel followed her into the yard.
A heavy oppressive fear fell like a load on the mother’s breast. She did not understand what they had been talking about, but she felt that a new misfortune was in store for her, a great and sad misfortune. And her thoughts halted at the question, “What does he want to do?” Her thoughts halted, and were driven into her brain like a nail. She stood in the kitchen by the oven, and looked through the window into the profound, starry35 heaven.
Pavel walked in from the yard with Andrey, and the Little Russian said, shaking his head:
“Oh, Isay, Isay! What’s to be done with him?”
“We must advise him to give up his project,” said Pavel glumly36.
“Then he’ll hand over those who speak to him to the authorities,” said the Little Russian, flinging his hat away in a corner.
“Pasha, what do you want to do?” asked the mother, drooping37 her head.
“When? Now?”
“The first of May — the first of May.”
“Aha!” exclaimed Pavel, lowering his voice. “You heard! I am going to carry our banner. I will march with it at the head of the procession. I suppose they’ll put me in prison for it again.”
The mother’s eyes began to burn. An unpleasant, dry feeling came into her mouth. Pavel took her hand and stroked it.
“I must do it! Please understand me! It is my happiness!”
“I’m not saying anything,” she answered, slowly raising her head; but when her eyes met the resolute38 gleam in his, she again lowered it. He released her hand, and with a sigh said reproachfully:
“You oughtn’t to be grieved. You ought to feel rejoiced. When are we going to have mothers who will rejoice in sending their children even to death?”
“Hopp! Hopp!” mumbled39 the Little Russian. “How you gallop40 away!”
“Why; do I say anything to you?” the mother repeated. “I don’t interfere with you. And if I’m sorry for you — well, that’s a mother’s way.”
Pavel drew away from her, and she heard his sharp, harsh words:
“There is a love that interferes41 with a man’s very life.”
She began to tremble, and fearing that he might deal another blow at her heart by saying something stern, she rejoined quickly:
“Don’t, Pasha! Why should you? I understand. You can’t act otherwise, you must do it for your comrades.”
“No!” he replied. “I am doing it for myself. For their sake I can go without carrying the banner, but I’m going to do it!”
Andrey stationed himself in the doorway42. It was too low for him, and he had to bend his knees oddly. He stood there as in a frame, one shoulder leaning against the jamb, his head and other shoulder thrust forward.
“I wish you would stop palavering, my dear sir,” he said with a frown, fixing his protuberant43 eyes on Pavel’s face. He looked like a lizard44 in the crevice45 of a stone wall.
The mother was overcome with a desire to weep, but she did not want her son to see her tears, and suddenly mumbled: “Oh, dear! — I forgot —” and walked out to the porch. There, her head in a corner, she wept noiselessly; and her copious46 tears weakened her, as though blood oozed47 from her heart along with them.
Through the door standing48 ajar the hollow sound of disputing voices reached her ear.
“Well, do you admire yourself for having tortured her?”
“You have no right to speak like that!” shouted Pavel.
“A fine comrade I’d be to you if I kept quiet when I see you making a fool of yourself. Why did you say all that to your mother?”
“A man must always speak firmly and without equivocation49. He must be clear and definite when he says ‘Yes.’ He must be clear and definite when he says ‘No.’”
“To her — to her must you speak that way?”
“To everybody! I want no love, I want no friendship which gets between my feet and holds me back.”
“Bravo! You’re a hero! Go say all this to Sashenka. You should have said that to her.”
“I have!”
“You have! The way you spoke50 to your mother? You have not! To her you spoke softly; you spoke gently and tenderly to her. I did not hear you, but I know it! But you trot51 out your heroism52 before your mother. Of course! Your heroism is not worth a cent.”
Vlasova began to wipe the tears from her face in haste. For fear a serious quarrel should break out between the Little Russian and Pavel, she quickly opened the door and entered the kitchen, shivering, terrified, and distressed53.
“Ugh! How cold! And it’s spring, too!”
She aimlessly removed various things in the kitchen from one place to another, and in order to drown the subdued54 voices in the room, she continued in a louder voice:
“Everything’s changed. People have grown hotter and the weather colder. At this time of the year it used to get warm; the sky would clear, and the sun would be out.”
Silence ensued in the room. The mother stood waiting in the middle of the floor.
“Did you hear?” came the low sound of the Little Russian’s voice. “You must understand it, the devil take it! That’s richer than yours.”
“Will you have some tea?” the mother called with a trembling voice, and without waiting for an answer she exclaimed, in order to excuse the tremor55 in her voice:
“How cold I am!”
Pavel came up slowly to her, looking at her from the corners of his eyes, a guilty smile quivering on his lips.
“Forgive me, mother!” he said softly. “I am still a boy, a fool.”
“You mustn’t hurt me!” she cried in a sorrowful voice, pressing his head to her bosom56. “Say nothing! God be with you. Your life is your own! But don’t wound my heart. How can a mother help sorrowing for her son? Impossible! I am sorry for all of you. You are all dear to me as my own flesh and blood; you are all such good people! And who will be sorry for you if I am not? You go and others follow you. They have all left everything behind them, Pasha, and gone into this thing. It’s just like a sacred procession.”
A great ardent57 thought burned in her bosom, animating58 her heart with an exalted59 feeling of sad, tormenting60 joy; but she could find no words, and she waved her hands with the pang61 of muteness. She looked into her son’s face with eyes in which a bright, sharp pain had lit its fires.
“Very well, mother! Forgive me. I see all now!” he muttered, lowering his head. Glancing at her with a light smile, he added, embarrassed but happy: “I will not forget this, mother, upon my word.”
She pushed him from her, and looking into the room she said to Andrey in a good-natured tone of entreaty62:
“Andriusha, please don’t you shout at him so! Of course, you are older than he, and so you ——”
The Little Russian was standing with his back toward her. He sang out drolly63 without turning around to face her:
“Oh, oh, oh! I’ll bawl64 at him, be sure! And I’ll beat him some day, too.”
She walked up slowly to him, with outstretched hand, and said:
“My dear, dear man!”
The Little Russian turned around, bent65 his head like an ox, and folding his hands behind his back walked past her into the kitchen. Thence his voice issued in a tone of mock sullenness66:
“You had better go away, Pavel, so I shan’t bite your head off! I am only joking, mother; don’t believe it! I want to prepare the samovar. What coals these are! Wet, the devil take them!”
He became silent, and when the mother walked into the kitchen he was sitting on the floor, blowing the coals in the samovar. Without looking at her the Little Russian began again:
“Yes, mother, don’t be afraid. I won’t touch him. You know, I’m a good-natured chap, soft as a stewed67 turnip68. And then — you hero out there, don’t listen — I love him! But I don’t like the waistcoat he wears. You see, he has put on a new waistcoat, and he likes it very much, so he goes strutting69 about, and pushes everybody, crying: ‘See, see what a waistcoat I have on!’ It’s true, it’s a fine waistcoat. But what’s the use of pushing people? It’s hot enough for us without it.”
Pavel smiled and asked:
“How long do you mean to keep up your jabbering70? You gave me one thrashing with your tongue. That’s enough!”
Sitting on the floor, the Little Russian spread his legs around the samovar, and regarded Pavel. The mother stood at the door, and fixed71 a sad, affectionate gaze at Andrey’s long, bent neck and the round back of his head. He threw his body back, supporting himself with his hands on the floor, looked at the mother and at the son with his slightly reddened and blinking eyes, and said in a low, hearty72 voice:
“You are good people, yes, you are!”
Pavel bent down and grasped his hand.
“Don’t pull my hand,” said the Little Russian gruffly. “You’ll let go and I’ll fall. Go away!”
“Why are you so shy?” the mother said pensively73. “You’d better embrace and kiss. Press hard, hard!”
“Do you want to?” asked Pavel softly.
“We — ell, why not?” answered the Little Russian, rising.
Pavel dropped on his knees, and grasping each other firmly, they sank for a moment into each other’s embrace — two bodies and one soul passionately74 and evenly burning with a profound feeling of friendship.
Tears ran down the mother’s face, but this time they were easy tears. Drying them she said in embarrassment75:
“A woman likes to cry. She cries when she is in sorrow,; she cries when she is in joy!”
The Little Russian pushed Pavel away, and with a light movement, also wiping his eyes with his fingers, he said:
“Enough! When the calves76 have had their frolic, they must go to the shambles77. What beastly coal this is! I blew and blew on it, and got some of the dust in my eyes.”
Pavel sat at the window with bent head, and said mildly:
“You needn’t be ashamed of such tears.”
The mother walked up to him, and sat down beside him. Her heart was wrapped in a soft, warm, daring feeling. She felt sad, but pleasant and at ease.
“It’s all the same!” she thought, stroking her son’s hand. “It can’t be helped; it must be so!”
She recalled other such commonplace words, to which she had been accustomed for a long time; but they did not give adequate expression to all she had lived through that moment.
“I’ll put the dishes on the table; you stay where you are, mother,” said the Little Russian, rising from the floor, and going into the room. “Rest a while. Your heart has been worn out with such blows!”
And from the room his singing voice, raised to a higher pitch, was heard.
“It’s not a nice thing to boast of, yet I must say we tasted the right life just now, real, human, loving life. It does us good.”
“Yes,” said Pavel, looking at the mother.
“It’s all different now,” she returned. “The sorrow is different, and the joy is different. I do not know anything, of course! I do not understand what it is I live by — and I can’t express my feelings in words!”
“This is the way it ought to be!” said the Little Russian, returning. “Because, mark you, mother dear, a new heart is coming into existence, a new heart is growing up in life. All hearts are smitten78 in the conflict of interests, all are consumed with a blind greed, eaten up with envy, stricken, wounded, and dripping with filth79, falsehood, and cowardice80. All people are sick; they are afraid to live; they wander about as in a mist. Everyone feels only his own toothache. But lo, and behold81! Here is a Man coming and illuminating82 life with the light of reason, and he shouts: ‘Oh, ho! you straying roaches! It’s time, high time, for you to understand that all your interests are one, that everyone has the need to live, everyone has the desire to grow!’ The Man who shouts this is alone, and therefore he cries aloud; he needs comrades, he feels dreary83 in his loneliness, dreary and cold. And at his call the stanch84 hearts unite into one great, strong heart, deep and sensitive as a silver bell not yet cast. And hark! This bell rings forth85 the message: ‘Men of all countries, unite into one family! Love is the mother of life, not hate!’ My brothers! I hear this message sounding through the world!”
“And I do, too!” cried Pavel.
The mother compressed her lips to keep them from trembling, and shut her eyes tight so as not to cry.
“When I lie in bed at night or am out walking alone — everywhere I hear this sound, and my heart rejoices. And the earth, too — I know it — weary of injustice86 and sorrow, rings out like a bell, responding to the call, and trembles benignly87, greeting the new sun arising in the breast of Man.”
Pavel rose, lifted his hand, and was about to say something, but the mother took his other hand, and pulling him down whispered in his ear:
“Don’t disturb him!”
“Do you know?” said the Little Russian, standing in the doorway, his eyes aglow88 with a bright flame, “there is still much suffering in store for the people, much of their blood will yet flow, squeezed out by the hands of greed; but all that — all my suffering, all my blood, is a small price for that which is already stirring in my breast, in my mind, in the marrow89 of my bones! I am already rich, as a star is rich in golden rays. And I will bear all, I will suffer all, because there is within me a joy which no one, which nothing can ever stifle90! In this joy there is a world of strength!”
They drank tea and sat around the table until midnight, and conversed91 heart to heart and harmoniously92 about life, about people, and about the future.
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收听单词发音
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1
soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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monotonously
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| adv.单调地，无变化地 | |
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emanated
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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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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5
brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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6
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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7
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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8
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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9
caressingly
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| 爱抚地，亲切地 | |
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10
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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14
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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15
renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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16
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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amend
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| vt.修改，修订，改进；n.[pl.]赔罪，赔偿 | |
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pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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incite
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| v.引起，激动，煽动 | |
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wrested
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| （用力）拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 )； 费力取得； （从…）攫取； （ 从… ） 强行取去… | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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22
guffaw
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| n.哄笑；突然的大笑 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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harass
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| vt.使烦恼，折磨，骚扰 | |
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bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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30
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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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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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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glumly
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| adv.忧郁地，闷闷不乐地；阴郁地 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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39
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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41
interferes
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| vi. 妨碍，冲突，干涉 | |
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42
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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43
protuberant
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| adj.突出的，隆起的 | |
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44
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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45
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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46
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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47
oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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48
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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49
equivocation
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| n.模棱两可的话，含糊话 | |
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50
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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51
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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52
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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53
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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animating
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| v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 )；驱动；使栩栩如生地动作；赋予…以生命 | |
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59
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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drolly
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| adv.古里古怪地；滑稽地；幽默地；诙谐地 | |
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bawl
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| v.大喊大叫，大声地喊，咆哮 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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sullenness
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| n. 愠怒, 沉闷, 情绪消沉 | |
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stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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jabbering
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| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的现在分词 )；急促兴奋地说话；结结巴巴 | |
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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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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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benignly
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| adv.仁慈地，亲切地 | |
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aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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harmoniously
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| 和谐地，调和地 | |
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