She walked up and down the room, sat at the window, looked out into the street, and walked away again with lowered eyebrows3. Every now and then she started, and looked about in an aimless search for something. She drank water, but could not slake4 her thirst, nor quench5 the smoldering6 fire of anguish7 and injury in her bosom8. The day was chopped in two. It began full of meaning and content, but now it dribbled9 away into a dismal10 waste, which stretched before her endlessly. The question swung to and fro in her barren, perplexed11 mind:
“What now?”
Korsunova came in. Waving her hands, she shouted, wept, and went into raptures12; stamped her feet, suggested this and that, made promises, and threw out threats against somebody. All this failed to impress the mother.
“Aha!” she heard the squeaking13 voice of Marya. “So the people have been stirred up! At last the whole factory has arisen! All have arisen!”
“Yes, yes!” said the mother in a low voice, shaking her head. Her eyes were fixed14 on something that had already fallen into the past, had departed from her along with Andrey and Pavel. She was unable to weep. Her heart was dried up, her lips, too, were dry, and her mouth was parched15. Her hands shook, and a cold, fine shiver ran down her back, setting her skin aquiver.
In the evening the gendarmes16 came. She met them without surprise and without fear. They entered noisily, with a peculiarly jaunty17 air, and with a look of gayety and satisfaction in their faces. The yellow-faced officer said, displaying his teeth:
“Well, how are you? The third time I have the honor, eh?”
She was silent, passing her dry tongue along her lips. The officer talked a great deal, delivering a homily to her. The mother realized what pleasure he derived18 from his words. But they did not reach her; they did not disturb her; they were like the insistent19 chirp20 of a cricket. It was only when he said: “It’s your own fault, little mother, that you weren’t able to inspire your son with reverence21 for God and the Czar,” that she answered dully, standing22 at the door and looking at him: “Yes, our children are our judges. They visit just punishment upon us for abandoning them on such a road.”
“Wha-at?” shouted the officer. “Louder!”
“I say, the children are our judges,” the mother repeated with a sigh.
He said something quickly and angrily, but his words buzzed around her without touching23 her. Marya Korsunova was a witness. She stood beside the mother, but did not look at her; and when the officer turned to her with a question, she invariably answered with a hasty, low bow: “I don’t know, your Honor. I am just a simple, ignorant woman. I make my living by peddling24, stupid as I am, and I know nothing.”
“Shut up, then!” commanded the officer.
She was ordered to search Vlasova. She blinked her eyes, then opened them wide on the officer, and said in fright:
“I can’t, your Honor!”
The officer stamped his feet and began to shout. Marya lowered her eyes, and pleaded with the mother softly:
“Well, what can be done? You have to submit, Pelagueya Nilovna.”
As she searched and felt the mother’s dress, the blood mounting to her face, she murmured:
“Oh, the dogs!”
“What are you jabbering25 about there?” the officer cried rudely, looking into the corner where she was making the search.
“It’s about women’s affairs, your Honor,” mumbled26 Marya, terrorized.
On his order to sign the search warrant the mother, with unskilled hand, traced on the paper in printed shining letters:
“Pelagueya Nilovna, widow of a workingman.”
They went away, and the mother remained standing at the window. With her hands folded over her breast, she gazed into vacancy27 without winking28, her eyebrows raised. Her lips were compressed, her jaws29 so tightly set that her teeth began to pain her. The oil burned down in the lamp, the light flared30 up for a moment, and then went out. She blew on it, and remained in the dark. She felt no malice31, she harbored no sense of injury in her heart. A dark, cold cloud of melancholy32 settled on her breast, and impeded33 the beating of her heart. Her mind was a void. She stood at the window a long time; her feet and eyes grew weary. She heard Marya stop at the window, and shout: “Are you asleep, Pelagueya? You unfortunate, suffering woman, sleep! They abuse everybody, the heretics!” At last she dropped into bed without undressing, and quickly fell into a heavy sleep, as if she had plunged34 into a deep abyss.
She dreamed she saw a yellow sandy mound35 beyond the marsh36 on the road to the city. At the edge, which descended37 perpendicularly38 to the ditch, from which sand was being taken, stood Pavel singing softly and sonorously39 with the voice of Andrey:
“Rise up, awake, you workingmen!”
She walked past the mound along the road to the city, and putting her hand to her forehead looked at her son. His figure was clearly and sharply outlined against the sky. She could not make up her mind to go up to him. She was ashamed because she was pregnant. And she held an infant in her arms, besides. She walked farther on. Children were playing ball in the field. There were many of them, and the ball was a red one. The infant threw himself forward out of her arms toward them, and began to cry aloud. She gave him the breast, and turned back. Now soldiers were already at the mound, and they turned the bayonets against her. She ran quickly to the church standing in the middle of the field, the white, light church that seemed to be constructed out of clouds, and was immeasurably high. A funeral was going on there. The coffin40 was wide, black, and tightly covered with a lid. The priest and deacon walked around in white canonicals and sang:
“Christ has arisen from the dead.”
The deacon carried the incense41, bowed to her, and smiled. His hair was glaringly red, and his face jovial42, like Samoylov’s. From the top of the dome43 broad sunbeams descended to the ground. In both choirs44 the boys sang softly:
“Christ has arisen from the dead.”
“Arrest them!” the priest suddenly cried, standing up in the middle of the church. His vestments vanished from his body, and a gray, stern mustache appeared on his face. All the people started to run, and the deacon, flinging the censer aside, rushed forward, seizing his head in his hands like the Little Russian. The mother dropped the infant on the ground at the feet of the people. They ran to the side of her, timidly regarding the naked little body. She fell on her knees and shouted to them: “Don’t abandon the child! Take it with you!”
“Christ has arisen from the dead,” the Little Russian sang, holding his hands behind his back, and smiling. He bent45 down, took the child, and put it on the wagon46 loaded with timber, at the side of which Nikolay was walking slowly, shaking with laughter. He said:
“They have given me hard work.”
The street was muddy, the people thrust their faces from the windows of the houses, and whistled, shouted, waved their hands. The day was clear, the sun shone brightly, and there was not a single shadow anywhere.
“Sing, mother!” said the Little Russian. “Oh, what a life!”
And he sang, drowning all the other sounds with his kind, laughing voice. The mother walked behind him, and complained:
“Why does he make fun of me?”
But suddenly she stumbled and fell in a bottomless abyss. Fearful shrieks47 met her in her descent.
She awoke, shivering and yet perspiring48. She put her ear, as it were, to her own breast, and marveled at the emptiness that prevailed there. The whistle blew insistently49. From its sound she realized that it was already the second summons. The room was all in disorder50; the books and clothes lay about in confusion; everything was turned upside down, and dirt was trampled51 over the entire floor.
She arose, and without washing or praying began to set the room in order. In the kitchen she caught sight of the stick with the piece of red cloth. She seized it angrily, and was about to throw it away under the oven, but instead, with a sigh, removed the remnant of the flag from the pole, folded it carefully, and put it in her pocket. Then she began to wash the windows with cold water, next the floor, and finally herself; then dressed herself and prepared the samovar. She sat down at the window in the kitchen, and once more the question came to her:
“What now? What am I to do now?”
Recollecting53 that she had not yet said her prayers, she walked up to the images, and after standing before them for a few seconds, she sat down again. Her heart was empty.
The pendulum54, which always beat with an energy seeming to say: “I must get to the goal! I must get to the goal!” slackened its hasty ticking. The flies buzzed irresolutely55, as if pondering a certain plan of action.
Suddenly she recalled a picture she had once seen in the days of her youth. In the old park of the Zansaylovs, there was a large pond densely56 overgrown with water lilies. One gray day in the fall, while walking along the pond, she had seen a boat in the middle of it. The pond was dark and calm, and the boat seemed glued to the black water, thickly strewn with yellow leaves. Profound sadness and a vague sense of misfortune were wafted57 from that boat without a rower and without oars58, standing alone and motionless out there on the dull water amid the dead leaves. The mother had stood a long time at the edge of the pond meditating59 as to who had pushed the boat from the shore and why. Now it seemed to her that she herself was like that boat, which at the time had reminded her of a coffin waiting for its dead. In the evening of the same day she had learned that the wife of one of Zansaylov’s clerks had been drowned in the pond — a little woman with black disheveled hair, who always walked at a brisk gait.
The mother passed her hands over her eyes as if to rub her reminiscences away, and her thoughts fluttered like a varicolored ribbon. Overcome by her impressions of the day before, she sat for a long time, her eyes fixed upon the cup of tea grown cold. Gradually the desire came to see some wise, simple person, speak to him, and ask him many things.
As if in answer to her wish, Nikolay Ivanovich came in after dinner. When she saw him, however, she was suddenly seized with alarm, and failed to respond to his greeting.
“Oh, my friend,” she said softly, “there was no use for you to come here. If they arrest you here, too, then that will be the end of Pasha altogether. It’s very careless of you! They’ll take you without fail if they see you here.”
He clasped her hand tightly, adjusted his glasses on his nose, and bending his face close to her, explained to her in haste:
“I made an agreement with Pavel and Andrey, that if they were arrested, I must see that you move over to the city the very next day.” He spoke60 kindly61, but with a troubled air. “Did they make a search in your house?”
“They did. They rummaged62, searched, and nosed around. Those people have no shame, no conscience!” exclaimed the mother indignantly.
“What do they need shame for?” said Nikolay with a shrug63 of his shoulders, and explained to her the necessity of her going to the city.
His friendly, solicitous64 talk moved and agitated65 her. She looked at him with a pale smile, and wondered at the kindly feeling of confidence he inspired in her.
“If Pasha wants it, and I’ll be no inconvenience to you ——”
“Don’t be uneasy on that score. I live all alone; my sister comes over only rarely.”
“I’m not going to eat my head off for nothing,” she said, thinking aloud.
“If you want to work, you’ll find something to do.” Her conception of work was now indissolubly connected with the work that her son, Andrey, and their comrades were doing. She moved a little toward Nikolay, and looking in his eyes, asked:
“Yes? You say work will be found for me?”
“My household is a small one, I am a bachelor ——”
“I’m not talking about that, not about housework,” she said quietly. “I mean world work.”
And she heaved a melancholy sigh, stung and repelled66 by his failure to understand her. He rose, and bending toward her, with a smile in his nearsighted eyes, he said thoughtfully, “You’ll find a place for yourself in the work world, too, if you want it.”
Her mind quickly formulated67 the simple and clear thought: “Once I was able to help Pavel; perhaps I will succeed again. The greater the number of those who work for his cause, the clearer will his truth come out before the people.”
But these thoughts did not fully52 express the whole force and complexity68 of her desire.
“What could I do?” she asked quietly.
He thought a while, and then began to explain the technical details of the revolutionary work. Among other things, he said:
“If, when you go to see Pavel in prison, you tried to find out from him the address of the peasant who asked for a newspaper ——”
“I know it!” exclaimed the mother in delight. “I know where they are, and who they are. Give me the papers, I’ll deliver them. I’ll find the peasants, and do everything just as you say. Who will think that I carry illegal books? I carried books to the factory. I smuggled69 in more than a hundred pounds, Heaven be praised!”
The desire came upon her to travel along the road, through forests and villages, with a birch-bark sack over her shoulders, and a staff in her hand.
“Now, you dear, dear man, you just arrange it for me, arrange it so that I can work in this movement. I’ll go everywhere for you! I’ll keep going summer and winter, down to my very grave, a pilgrim for the sake of truth. Why, isn’t that a splendid lot for a woman like me? The wanderer’s life is a good life. He goes about through the world, he has nothing, he needs nothing except bread, no one abuses him, and so quietly, unnoticed, he roves over the earth. And so I’ll go, too; I’ll go to Andrey, to Pasha, wherever they live.”
She was seized with sadness when she saw herself homeless, begging for alms, in the name of Christ, at the windows of the village cottages.
Nikolay took her hand gently, and stroked it with his warm hand. Then, looking at the watch, he said:
“We’ll speak about that later. You are taking a dangerous burden upon your shoulders. You must consider very carefully what you intend doing.”
“My dear man, what have I to consider? What have I to live for if not for this cause? Of what use am I to anybody? A tree grows, it gives shade; it’s split into wood, and it warms people. Even a mere70 dumb tree is helpful to life, and I am a human being. The children, the best blood of man, the best there is of our hearts, give up their liberty and their lives, perish without pity for themselves! And I, a mother — am I to stand by and do nothing?”
The picture of her son marching at the head of the crowd with the banner in his hands flashed before her mind.
“Why should I lie idle when my son gives up his life for the sake of truth? I know now — I know that he is working for the truth. It’s the fifth year now that I live beside the woodpile. My heart has melted and begun to burn. I understand what you are striving for. I see what a burden you all carry on your shoulders. Take me to you, too, for the sake of Christ, that I may be able to help my son! Take me to you!”
Nikolay’s face grew pale; he heaved a deep sigh, and smiling, said, looking at her with sympathetic attention:
“This is the first time I’ve heard such words.”
“What can I say?” she replied, shaking her head sadly, and spreading her hands in a gesture of impotence. “If I had the words to express my mother’s heart —” She arose, lifted by the power that waxed in her breast, intoxicated71 her, and gave her the words to express her indignation. “Then many and many a one would weep, and even the wicked, the men without conscience would tremble! I would make them taste gall72, even as they made Christ drink of the cup of bitterness, and as they now do our children. They have bruised73 a mother’s heart!”
Nikolay rose, and pulling his little beard with trembling fingers, he said slowly in an unfamiliar74 tone of voice:
“Some day you will speak to them, I think!”
He started, looked at his watch again, and asked in a hurry:
“So it’s settled? You’ll come over to me in the city?”
She silently nodded her head.
“When? Try to do it as soon as possible.” And he added in a tender voice: “I’ll be anxious for you; yes, indeed!”
She looked at him in surprise. What was she to him? With bent head, smiling in embarrassment75, he stood before her, dressed in a simple black jacket, stooping, nearsighted.
“Have you money?” he asked, dropping his eyes.
“No.”
He quickly whipped his purse out of his pocket, opened it, and handed it to her.
“Here, please take some.”
She smiled involuntarily, and shaking her head, observed:
“Everything about all of you is different from other people. Even money has no value for you. People do anything to get money; they kill their souls for it. But for you money is so many little pieces of paper, little bits of copper76. You seem to keep it by you just out of kindness to people.”
Nikolay Ivanovich laughed softly.
“It’s an awfully77 bothersome article, money is. Both to take it and to give it is embarrassing.”
He caught her hand, pressed it warmly, and asked again:
“So you will try to come soon, won’t you?”
And he walked away quietly, as was his wont78.
She got herself ready to go to him on the fourth day after his visit. When the cart with her two trunks rolled out of the village into the open country, she turned her head back, and suddenly had the feeling that she was leaving the place forever — the place where she had passed the darkest and most burdensome period of her life, the place where that other varied79 life had begun, in which the next day swallowed up the day before, and each was filled by an abundance of new sorrows and new joys, new thoughts and new feelings.
The factory spread itself like a huge, clumsy, dark-red, spider, raising its lofty smokestacks high up into the sky. The small one-storied houses pressed against it, gray, flattened80 out on the soot-covered ground, and crowded up in close clusters on the edge of the marsh. They looked sorrowfully at one another with their little dull windows. Above them rose the church, also dark red like the factory. The belfry, it seemed to her, was lower than the factory chimneys.
The mother sighed, and adjusted the collar of her dress, which choked her. She felt sad, but it was a dry sadness like the dust of the hot day.
“Gee!” mumbled the driver, shaking the reins81 over the horse. He was a bow-legged man of uncertain height, with sparse82, faded hair on his face and head, and faded eyes. Swinging from side to side he walked alongside the wagon. It was evidently a matter of indifference83 to him whether he went to the right or the left.
“Gee!” he called in a colorless voice, with a comical forward stride of his crooked84 legs clothed in heavy boots, to which clods of mud were clinging. The mother looked around. The country was as bleak85 and dreary86 as her soul.
“You’ll never escape want, no matter where you go, auntie,” the driver said dully. “There’s no road leading away from poverty; all roads lead to it, and none out of it.”
Shaking its head dejectedly the horse sank its feet heavily into the deep sun-dried sand, which crackled softly under its tread. The rickety wagon creaked for lack of greasing.
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1
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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2
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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3
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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4
slake
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| v.解渴，使平息 | |
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quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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smoldering
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
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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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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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9
dribbled
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| v.流口水( dribble的过去式和过去分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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raptures
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| 极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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13
squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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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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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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chirp
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| v.(尤指鸟)唧唧喳喳的叫 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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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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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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peddling
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| 忙于琐事的，无关紧要的 | |
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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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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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vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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perpendicularly
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| adv. 垂直地, 笔直地, 纵向地 | |
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sonorously
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| adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；堂皇地；朗朗地 | |
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40
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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41
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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42
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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43
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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44
choirs
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| n.教堂的唱诗班( choir的名词复数 )；唱诗队；公开表演的合唱团；（教堂）唱经楼 | |
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45
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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47
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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48
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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pendulum
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| n.摆，钟摆 | |
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irresolutely
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| adv.优柔寡断地 | |
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densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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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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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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formulated
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| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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gall
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| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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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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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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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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