Shubin scribbled7 below in pencil: ‘Don’t excite yourself, I’m not quite a sneak8 yet,’ and gave the note back to the man, and again began upon the book. But it soon slipped out of his hands. He looked at the reddening-sky, at the two mighty9 young pines standing10 apart from the other trees, thought ‘by day pines are bluish, but how magnificently green they are in the evening,’ and went out into the garden, in the secret hope of meeting Elena there. He was not mistaken. Before him on a path between the bushes he caught a glimpse of her dress. He went after her, and when he was abreast11 with her, remarked:
‘Don’t look in my direction, I’m not worth it.’
She gave him a cursory12 glance, smiled cursorily13, and walked on further into the depths of the garden. Shubin went after her.
‘I beg you not to look at me,’ he began, ‘and then I address you; flagrant contradiction. But what of that? it’s not the first time I’ve contradicted myself. I have just recollected14 that I have never begged your pardon as I ought for my stupid behaviour yesterday. You are not angry with me, Elena Nikolaevna, are you?’
She stood still and did not answer him at once — not because she was angry, but because her thoughts were far away.
‘No,’ she said at last, ‘I am not in the least angry.’ Shubin bit his lip.
‘What an absorbed . . . and what an indifferent face!’ he muttered. ‘Elena Nikolaevna,’ he continued, raising his voice, ‘allow me to tell you a little anecdote15. I had a friend, and this friend also had a friend, who at first conducted himself as befits a gentleman but afterwards took to drink. So one day early in the morning, my friend meets him in the street (and by that time, note, the acquaintance has been completely dropped) meets him and sees he is drunk. My friend went and turned his back on him. But he ran up and said, “I would not be angry,” says he, “if you refused to recognise me, but why should you turn your back on me? Perhaps I have been brought to this through grief. Peace to my ashes!”’
Shubin paused.
‘And is that all?’ inquired Elena.
‘Yes that’s all.’
‘I don’t understand you. What are you hinting at? You told me just now not to look your way.’
‘Yes, and now I have told you that it’s too bad to turn your back on me.’
‘But did I?’ began Elena.
‘Did you not?’
Elena flushed slightly and held out her hand to Shubin. He pressed it warmly.
‘Here you seem to have convicted me of a bad feeling,’ said Elena, ‘but your suspicion is unjust. I was not even thinking of Avoiding you.’
‘Granted, granted. But you must acknowledge that at that minute you had a thousand ideas in your head of which you would not confide16 one to me. Eh? I’ve spoken the truth, I’m quite sure?’
‘Perhaps so.’
‘And why is it? why?’
‘My ideas are not clear to myself,’ said Elena.
‘Then it’s just the time for confiding17 them to some one else,’ put in Shubin. ‘But I will tell you what it really is. You have a bad opinion of me.’
‘I?’
‘Yes you; you imagine that everything in me is half-humbug because I am an artist, that I am incapable18 not only of doing anything — in that you are very likely right — but even of any genuine deep feeling; you think that I am not capable even of weeping sincerely, that I’m a gossip and a slanderer19 — and all because I’m an artist. What luckless, God-forsaken wretches20 we artists are after that! You, for instance, I am ready to adore, and you don’t believe in my repentance21.’
‘No, Pavel Yakovlitch, I believe in your repentance and I believe in your tears. But it seems to me that even your repentance amuses you — yes and your tears too.’
Shubin shuddered22.
‘Well, I see this is, as the doctors say, a hopeless case, casus incurabilis. There is nothing left but to bow the head and submit. And meanwhile, good Heavens, can it be true, can I possibly be absorbed in my own egoism when there is a soul like this living at my side? And to know that one will never penetrate23 into that soul, never will know why it grieves and why it rejoices, what is working within it, what it desires — whither it is going . . . Tell me,’ he said after a short silence, ‘could you never under any circumstances love an artist?’
Elena looked straight into his eyes.
‘I don’t think so, Pavel Yakovlitch; no.’
‘Which was to be proved,’ said Shubin with comical dejection. ‘After which I suppose it would be more seemly for me not to intrude24 on your solitary25 walk. A professor would ask you on what data you founded your answer no. I’m not a professor though, but a baby according to your ideas; but one does not turn one’s back on a baby, remember. Good-bye! Peace to my ashes!’
Elena was on the point of stopping him, but after a moment’s thought she too said:
‘Good-bye.’
Shubin went out of the courtyard. At a short distance from the Stahov’s house he was met by Bersenyev. He was walking with hurried steps, his head bent26 and his hat pushed back on his neck.
‘Andrei Petrovitch!’ cried Shubin.
He stopped.
‘Go on, go on,’ continued Shubin, ‘I only shouted, I won’t detain you — and you’d better slip straight into the garden — you’ll find Elena there, I fancy she’s waiting for you . . . she’s waiting for some one anyway. . . . Do you understand the force of those words: she is waiting! And do you know, my dear boy, an astonishing circumstance? Imagine, it’s two years now that I have been living in the same house with her, I’m in love with her, and it’s only just now, this minute, that I’ve, not understood, but really seen her. I have seen her and I lifted up my hands in amazement27. Don’t look at me, please, with that sham28 sarcastic29 smile, which does not suit your sober features. Well, now, I suppose you want to remind me of Annushka. What of it? I don’t deny it. Annushkas are on my poor level. And long life to all Annushkas and Zoyas and even Augustina Christianovnas! You go to Elena now, and I will make my way to — Annushka, you fancy? No, my dear fellow, worse than that; to Prince Tchikurasov. He is a Maecenas of a Kazan-Tartar stock, after the style of Volgin. Do you see this note of invitation, these letters, R.S.V.P.? Even in the country there’s no peace for me. Addio!’ Bersenyev listened to Shubin’s tirade30 in silence, looking as though he were just a little ashamed of him. Then he went into the courtyard of the Stahovs’ house. And Shubin did really go to Prince Tchikurasov, to whom with the most cordial air he began saying the most insulting things. The Maecenas of the Tartars of Kazan chuckled31; the Maecenas’s guests laughed, but no one felt merry, and every one was in a bad temper when the party broke up. So two gentlemen slightly acquainted may be seen when they meet on the Nevsky Prospect32 suddenly grinning at one another and pursing up their eyes and noses and cheeks, and then, directly they have passed one another, they resume their former indifferent, often cross, and generally sickly, expression.
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1
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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2
triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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3
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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4
insignificance
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| n.不重要；无价值；无意义 | |
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5
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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6
repudiate
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| v.拒绝，拒付，拒绝履行 | |
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7
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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8
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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9
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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10
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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11
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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12
cursory
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| adj.粗略的；草率的；匆促的 | |
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13
cursorily
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| adv.粗糙地，疏忽地，马虎地 | |
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14
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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16
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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17
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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18
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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19
slanderer
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| 造谣中伤者 | |
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20
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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21
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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22
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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23
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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24
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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25
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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26
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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27
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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28
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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29
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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30
tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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31
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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