The owner of eighty-two serfs, whom he set free before his death, an old Gottingen student, and disciple5 of the ‘Illuminati,’ the author of a manuscript work on ‘transformations or typifications of the spirit in the world’— a work in which Schelling’s philosophy, Swedenborgianism and republicanism were mingled6 in the most original fashion — Bersenyev’s father brought him, while still a boy, to Moscow immediately after his mother’s death, and at once himself undertook his education. He prepared himself for each lesson, exerted himself with extraordinary conscientiousness7 and absolute lack of success: he was a dreamer, a bookworm, and a mystic; he spoke8 in a dull, hesitating voice, used obscure and roundabout expressions, metaphorical9 by preference, and was shy even of his son, whom he loved passionately10. It was not surprising that his son was simply bewildered at his lessons, and did not advance in the least. The old man (he was almost fifty, he had married late in life) surmised11 at last that things were not going quite right, and he placed his Andrei in a school. Andrei began to learn, but he was not removed from his father’s supervision12; his father visited him unceasingly, wearying the schoolmaster to death with his instructions and conversation; the teachers, too, were bored by his uninvited visits; he was for ever bringing them some, as they said, far-fetched books on education. Even the schoolboys were embarrassed at the sight of the old man’s swarthy, pockmarked face, his lank13 figure, invariably clothed in a sort of scanty14 grey dresscoat. The boys did not suspect then that this grim, unsmiling old gentleman, with his crane-like gait and his long nose, was at heart troubling and yearning15 over each one of them almost as over his own son. He once conceived the idea of talking to them about Washington: ‘My young nurslings,’ he began, but at the first sounds of his strange voice the young nurslings ran away. The good old Gottingen student did not lie on a bed of roses; he was for ever weighed down by the march of history, by questions and ideas of every kind. When young Bersenyev entered the university, his father used to drive with him to the lectures, but his health was already beginning to break up. The events of the year 1848 shook him to the foundation (it necessitated16 the re-writing of his whole book), and he died in the winter of 1853, before his son’s time at the university was over, but he was able beforehand to congratulate him on his degree, and to consecrate17 him to the service of science. ‘I pass on the torch to you,’ he said to him two hours before his death. ‘I held it while I could; you, too, must not let the light grow dim before the end.’
Bersenyev talked a long while to Elena of his father. The embarrassment18 he had felt in her presence disappeared, and his lisp was less marked. The conversation passed on to the university.
‘Tell me,’ Elena asked him, ‘were there any remarkable19 men among your comrades?’
Bersenyev was again reminded of Shubin’s words.
‘No, Elena Nikolaevna, to tell you the truth, there was not a single remarkable man among us. And, indeed, where are such to be found! There was, they say, a good time once in the Moscow university! But not now. Now it’s a school, not a university. I was not happy with my comrades,’ he added, dropping his voice.
‘Not happy,’ murmured Elena.
‘But I ought,’ continued Bersenyev, ‘to make an exception. I know one student — it’s true he is not in the same faculty20 — he is certainly a remarkable man.’
‘What is his name?’ Elena inquired with interest.
‘Insarov Dmitri Nikanorovitch. He is a Bulgarian.’
‘Not a Russian?’
‘No, he is not a Russian,’
‘Why is he living in Moscow, then?’
‘He came here to study. And do you know with what aim he is studying? He has a single idea: the liberation of his country. And his story is an exceptional one. His father was a fairly well-to-do merchant; he came from Tirnova. Tirnova is now a small town, but it was the capital of Bulgaria in the old days when Bulgaria was still an independent state. He traded with Sophia, and had relations with Russia; his sister, Insarov’s aunt, is still living in Kiev, married to a senior history teacher in the gymnasium there. In 1835, that is to say eighteen years ago, a terrible crime was committed; Insarov’s mother suddenly disappeared without leaving a trace behind; a week later she was found murdered.’
Elena shuddered21. Bersenyev stopped.
‘Go on, go on,’ she said.
‘There were rumours22 that she had been outraged23 and murdered by a Turkish aga; her husband, Insarov’s father, found out the truth, tried to avenge24 her, but only succeeded in wounding the aga with his poniard. . . . He was shot.’
‘Shot, and without a trial?’
‘Yes. Insarov was just eight years old at the time. He remained in the hands of neighbours. The sister heard of the fate of her brother’s family, and wanted to take the nephew to live with her. They got him to Odessa, and from there to Kiev. At Kiev he lived twelve whole years. That’s how it is he speaks Russian so well.’
‘He speaks Russian?’
‘Just as we do. When he was twenty (that was at the beginning of the year 1848) he began to want to return to his country. He stayed in Sophia and Tirnova, and travelled through the length and breadth of Bulgaria, spending two years there, and learning his mother tongue over again. The Turkish Government persecuted25 him, and he was certainly exposed to great dangers during those two years; I once caught sight of a broad scar on his neck, from a wound, no doubt; but he does not like to talk about it. He is reserved, too, in his own way. I have tried to question him about everything, but I could get nothing out of him. He answers by generalities. He’s awfully26 obstinate27. He returned to Russia again in 1850, to Moscow, with the intention of educating himself thoroughly28, getting intimate with Russians, and then when he leaves the university ——’
‘What then?’ broke in Elena.
‘What God wills. It’s hard to forecast the future.’
For a while Elena did not take her eyes off Bersenyev.
‘You have greatly interested me by what you have told me,’ she said. ‘What is he like, this friend of yours; what did you call him, Insarov?’
‘What shall I say? To my mind, he’s good-looking. But you will see him for yourself.’
‘How so?’
‘I will bring him here to see you. He is coming to our little village the day after tomorrow, and is going to live with me in the same lodging29.’
‘Really? But will he care to come to see us?’
‘I should think so. He will be delighted.’
‘He isn’t proud, then?’
‘Not the least. That’s to say, he is proud if you like, only not in the sense you mean. He will never, for instance, borrow money from any one.’
‘Is he poor?’
‘Yes, he isn’t rich. When he went to Bulgaria he collected some relics30 left of his father’s property, and his aunt helps him; but it all comes to very little.’
‘He must have a great deal of character,’ observed Elena.
‘Yes. He is a man of iron. And at the same time you will see there is something childlike and frank, with all his concentration and even his reserve. It’s true, his frankness is not our poor sort of frankness — the frankness of people who have absolutely nothing to conceal31. . . . But there, I will bring him to see you; wait a little.’
‘And isn’t he shy?’ asked Elena again.
‘No, he’s not shy. It’s only vain people who are shy.’
‘Why, are you vain?’
He was confused and made a vague gesture with his hands.
‘You excite my curiosity,’ pursued Elena. ‘But tell me, has he not taken vengeance32 on that Turkish aga?’
Bersenyev smiled
‘Revenge is only to be found in novels, Elena Nikolaevna; and, besides, in twelve years that aga may well be dead.’
‘Mr. Insarov has never said anything, though, to you about it?’
‘No, never.’
‘Why did he go to Sophia?’
‘His father used to live there.’
Elena grew thoughtful.
‘To liberate33 one’s country!’ she said. ‘It is terrible even to utter those words, they are so grand.’
At that instant Anna Vassilyevna came into the room, and the conversation stopped.
Bersenyev was stirred by strange emotions when he returned home that evening. He did not regret his plan of making Elena acquainted with Insarov, he felt the deep impression made on her by his account of the young Bulgarian very natural . . . had he not himself tried to deepen that impression! But a vague, unfathomable emotion lurked34 secretly in his heart; he was sad with a sadness that had nothing noble in it. This sadness did not prevent him, however, from setting to work on the History of the Hohenstaufen, and beginning to read it at the very page at which he had left off the evening before.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
reposing
|
|
| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
attic
|
|
| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
divan
|
|
| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
disciple
|
|
| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
mingled
|
|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
conscientiousness
|
|
| 责任心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
metaphorical
|
|
| a.隐喻的，比喻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
passionately
|
|
| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
surmised
|
|
| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
supervision
|
|
| n.监督，管理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
lank
|
|
| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
scanty
|
|
| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
yearning
|
|
| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
necessitated
|
|
| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
consecrate
|
|
| v.使圣化，奉…为神圣；尊崇；奉献 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
embarrassment
|
|
| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
faculty
|
|
| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
shuddered
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
rumours
|
|
| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
outraged
|
|
| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
avenge
|
|
| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
persecuted
|
|
| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
awfully
|
|
| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
obstinate
|
|
| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
lodging
|
|
| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
relics
|
|
| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
vengeance
|
|
| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
liberate
|
|
| v.解放，使获得自由，释出，放出；vt.解放，使获自由 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
lurked
|
|
| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |