“My best men were two of my colleagues, and Masha’s best men were Captain Polyansky and Lieutenant2 Gernet. The bishop’s choir3 sang superbly. The sputtering4 of the candles, the brilliant light, the gorgeous dresses, the officers, the numbers of gay, happy faces, and a special ethereal look in Masha, everything together — the surroundings and the words of the wedding prayers — moved me to tears and filled me with triumph. I thought how my life had blossomed, how poetically5 it was shaping itself! Two years ago I was still a student, I was living in cheap furnished rooms, without money, without relations, and, as I fancied then, with nothing to look forward to. Now I am a teacher in the high school in one of the best provincial6 towns, with a secure income, loved, spoiled. It is for my sake, I thought, this crowd is collected, for my sake three candelabra have been lighted, the deacon is booming, the choir is doing its best; and it’s for my sake that this young creature, whom I soon shall call my wife, is so young, so elegant, and so joyful7. I recalled our first meetings, our rides into the country, my declaration of love and the weather, which, as though expressly, was so exquisitely8 fine all the summer; and the happiness which at one time in my old rooms seemed to me possible only in novels and stories, I was now experiencing in reality — I was now, as it were, holding it in my hands.
“After the ceremony they all crowded in disorder9 round Masha and me, expressed their genuine pleasure, congratulated us and wished us joy. The brigadier-general, an old man of seventy, confined himself to congratulating Masha, and said to her in a squeaky, aged10 voice, so loud that it could be heard all over the church:
“‘I hope that even after you are married you may remain the rose you are now, my dear.’
“The officers, the director, and all the teachers smiled from politeness, and I was conscious of an agreeable artificial smile on my face, too. Dear Ippolit Ippolititch, the teacher of history and geography, who always says what every one has heard before, pressed my hand warmly and said with feeling:
“‘Hitherto you have been unmarried and have lived alone, and now you are married and no longer single.’
“From the church we went to a two-storied house which I am receiving as part of the dowry. Besides that house Masha is bringing me twenty thousand roubles, as well as a piece of waste land with a shanty11 on it, where I am told there are numbers of hens and ducks which are not looked after and are turning wild. When I got home from the church, I stretched myself at full length on the low sofa in my new study and began to smoke; I felt snug12, cosy13, and comfortable, as I never had in my life before. And meanwhile the wedding party were shouting ‘Hurrah!’ while a wretched band in the hall played flourishes and all sorts of trash. Varya, Masha’s sister, ran into the study with a wineglass in her hand, and with a queer, strained expression, as though her mouth were full of water; apparently14 she had meant to go on further, but she suddenly burst out laughing and sobbing15, and the wineglass crashed on the floor. We took her by the arms and led her away.
“‘Nobody can understand!’ she muttered afterwards, lying on the old nurse’s bed in a back room. ‘Nobody, nobody! My God, nobody can understand!’
“But every one understood very well that she was four years older than her sister Masha, and still unmarried, and that she was crying, not from envy, but from the melancholy16 consciousness that her time was passing, and perhaps had passed. When they danced the quadrille, she was back in the drawing-room with a tear-stained and heavily powdered face, and I saw Captain Polyansky holding a plate of ice before her while she ate it with a spoon.
“It is past five o’clock in the morning. I took up my diary to describe my complete and perfect happiness, and thought I would write a good six pages, and read it tomorrow to Masha; but, strange to say, everything is muddled17 in my head and as misty18 as a dream, and I can remember vividly19 nothing but that episode with Varya, and I want to write, ‘Poor Varya!’ I could go on sitting here and writing ‘Poor Varya!’ By the way, the trees have begun rustling20; it will rain. The crows are cawing, and my Masha, who has just gone to sleep, has for some reason a sorrowful face.”
For a long while afterwards Nikitin did not write his diary. At the beginning of August he had the school examinations, and after the fifteenth the classes began. As a rule he set off for school before nine in the morning, and before ten o’clock he was looking at his watch and pining for his Masha and his new house. In the lower forms he would set some boy to dictate21, and while the boys were writing, would sit in the window with his eyes shut, dreaming; whether he dreamed of the future or recalled the past, everything seemed to him equally delightful22, like a fairy tale. In the senior classes they were reading aloud Gogol or Pushkin’s prose works, and that made him sleepy; people, trees, fields, horses, rose before his imagination, and he would say with a sigh, as though fascinated by the author:
“How lovely!”
At the midday recess23 Masha used to send him lunch in a snow-white napkin, and he would eat it slowly, with pauses, to prolong the enjoyment24 of it; and Ippolit Ippolititch, whose lunch as a rule consisted of nothing but bread, looked at him with respect and envy, and gave expression to some familiar fact, such as:
“Men cannot live without food.”
After school Nikitin went straight to give his private lessons, and when at last by six o’clock he got home, he felt excited and anxious, as though he had been away for a year. He would run upstairs breathless, find Masha, throw his arms round her, and kiss her and swear that he loved her, that he could not live without her, declare that he had missed her fearfully, and ask her in trepidation25 how she was and why she looked so depressed26. Then they would dine together. After dinner he would lie on the sofa in his study and smoke, while she sat beside him and talked in a low voice.
His happiest days now were Sundays and holidays, when he was at home from morning till evening. On those days he took part in the na?ve but extraordinarily27 pleasant life which reminded him of a pastoral idyl. He was never weary of watching how his sensible and practical Masha was arranging her nest, and anxious to show that he was of some use in the house, he would do something useless — for instance, bring the chaise out of the stable and look at it from every side. Masha had installed a regular dairy with three cows, and in her cellar she had many jugs28 of milk and pots of sour cream, and she kept it all for butter. Sometimes, by way of a joke, Nikitin would ask her for a glass of milk, and she would be quite upset because it was against her rules; but he would laugh and throw his arms round her, saying:
“There, there; I was joking, my darling! I was joking!”
Or he would laugh at her strictness when, finding in the cupboard some stale bit of cheese or sausage as hard as a stone, she would say seriously:
“They will eat that in the kitchen.”
He would observe that such a scrap29 was only fit for a mousetrap, and she would reply warmly that men knew nothing about housekeeping, and that it was just the same to the servants if you were to send down a hundredweight of savouries to the kitchen. He would agree, and embrace her enthusiastically. Everything that was just in what she said seemed to him extraordinary and amazing; and what did not fit in with his convictions seemed to him na?ve and touching30.
Sometimes he was in a philosophical31 mood, and he would begin to discuss some abstract subject while she listened and looked at his face with curiosity.
“I am immensely happy with you, my joy,” he used to say, playing with her fingers or plaiting and unplaiting her hair. “But I don’t look upon this happiness of mine as something that has come to me by chance, as though it had dropped from heaven. This happiness is a perfectly32 natural, consistent, logical consequence. I believe that man is the creator of his own happiness, and now I am enjoying just what I have myself created. Yes, I speak without false modesty33: I have created this happiness myself and I have a right to it. You know my past. My unhappy childhood, without father or mother; my depressing youth, poverty — all this was a struggle, all this was the path by which I made my way to happiness . . . .”
In October the school sustained a heavy loss: Ippolit Ippolititch was taken ill with erysipelas on the head and died. For two days before his death he was unconscious and delirious34, but even in his delirium35 he said nothing that was not perfectly well known to every one.
“The Volga flows into the Caspian Sea. . . . Horses eat oats and hay . . . .”
There were no lessons at the high school on the day of his funeral. His colleagues and pupils were the coffin-bearers, and the school choir sang all the way to the grave the anthem36 “Holy God.” Three priests, two deacons, all his pupils and the staff of the boys’ high school, and the bishop’s choir in their best kaftans, took part in the procession. And passers-by who met the solemn procession, crossed themselves and said:
“God grant us all such a death.”
Returning home from the cemetery37 much moved, Nikitin got out his diary from the table and wrote:
“We have just consigned38 to the tomb Ippolit Ippolititch Ryzhitsky. Peace to your ashes, modest worker! Masha, Varya, and all the women at the funeral, wept from genuine feeling, perhaps because they knew this uninteresting, humble39 man had never been loved by a woman. I wanted to say a warm word at my colleague’s grave, but I was warned that this might displease40 the director, as he did not like our poor friend. I believe that this is the first day since my marriage that my heart has been heavy.”
There was no other event of note in the scholastic41 year.
The winter was mild, with wet snow and no frost; on Epiphany Eve, for instance, the wind howled all night as though it were autumn, and water trickled42 off the roofs; and in the morning, at the ceremony of the blessing43 of the water, the police allowed no one to go on the river, because they said the ice was swelling44 up and looked dark. But in spite of bad weather Nikitin’s life was as happy as in summer. And, indeed, he acquired another source of pleasure; he learned to play vint. Only one thing troubled him, moved him to anger, and seemed to prevent him from being perfectly happy: the cats and dogs which formed part of his wife’s dowry. The rooms, especially in the morning, always smelt45 like a menagerie, and nothing could destroy the odour; the cats frequently fought with the dogs. The spiteful beast Mushka was fed a dozen times a day; she still refused to recognize Nikitin and growled47 at him: “Rrr . . . nga-nga-nga!”
One night in Lent he was returning home from the club where he had been playing cards. It was dark, raining, and muddy. Nikitin had an unpleasant feeling at the bottom of his heart and could not account for it. He did not know whether it was because he had lost twelve roubles at cards, or whether because one of the players, when they were settling up, had said that of course Nikitin had pots of money, with obvious reference to his wife’s portion. He did not regret the twelve roubles, and there was nothing offensive in what had been said; but, still, there was the unpleasant feeling. He did not even feel a desire to go home.
“Foo, how horrid48!” he said, standing49 still at a lamp-post.
It occurred to him that he did not regret the twelve roubles because he got them for nothing. If he had been a working man he would have known the value of every farthing, and would not have been so careless whether he lost or won. And his good-fortune had all, he reflected, come to him by chance, for nothing, and really was as superfluous50 for him as medicine for the healthy. If, like the vast majority of people, he had been harassed51 by anxiety for his daily bread, had been struggling for existence, if his back and chest had ached from work, then supper, a warm snug home, and domestic happiness, would have been the necessity, the compensation, the crown of his life; as it was, all this had a strange, indefinite significance for him.
“Foo, how horrid!” he repeated, knowing perfectly well that these reflections were in themselves a bad sign.
When he got home Masha was in bed: she was breathing evenly and smiling, and was evidently sleeping with great enjoyment. Near her the white cat lay curled up, purring. While Nikitin lit the candle and lighted his cigarette, Masha woke up and greedily drank a glass of water.
“I ate too many sweets,” she said, and laughed. “Have you been home?” she asked after a pause.
“No.”
Nikitin knew already that Captain Polyansky, on whom Varya had been building great hopes of late, was being transferred to one of the western provinces, and was already making his farewell visits in the town, and so it was depressing at his father-in-law’s.
“Varya looked in this evening,” said Masha, sitting up. “She did not say anything, but one could see from her face how wretched she is, poor darling! I can’t bear Polyansky. He is fat and bloated, and when he walks or dances his cheeks shake. . . . He is not a man I would choose. But, still, I did think he was a decent person.”
“I think he is a decent person now,” said Nikitin.
“Then why has he treated Varya so badly?”
“Why badly?” asked Nikitin, beginning to feel irritation52 against the white cat, who was stretching and arching its back. “As far as I know, he has made no proposal and has given her no promises.”
“Then why was he so often at the house? If he didn’t mean to marry her, he oughtn’t to have come.”
Nikitin put out the candle and got into bed. But he felt disinclined to lie down and to sleep. He felt as though his head were immense and empty as a barn, and that new, peculiar53 thoughts were wandering about in it like tall shadows. He thought that, apart from the soft light of the ikon lamp, that beamed upon their quiet domestic happiness, that apart from this little world in which he and this cat lived so peacefully and happily, there was another world. . . . And he had a passionate54, poignant55 longing56 to be in that other world, to work himself at some factory or big workshop, to address big audiences, to write, to publish, to raise a stir, to exhaust himself, to suffer. . . . He wanted something that would engross57 him till he forgot himself, ceased to care for the personal happiness which yielded him only sensations so monotonous58. And suddenly there rose vividly before his imagination the figure of Shebaldin with his clean-shaven face, saying to him with horror: “You haven’t even read Lessing! You are quite behind the times! How you have gone to seed!”
Masha woke up and again drank some water. He glanced at her neck, at her plump shoulders and throat, and remembered the word the brigadier-general had used in church —“rose.”
“Rose,” he muttered, and laughed.
His laugh was answered by a sleepy growl46 from Mushka under the bed: “Rrr . . . nga-nga-nga . . .!”
A heavy anger sank like a cold weight on his heart, and he felt tempted59 to say something rude to Masha, and even to jump up and hit her; his heart began throbbing60.
“So then,” he asked, restraining himself, “since I went to your house, I was bound in duty to marry you?”
“Of course. You know that very well.”
“That’s nice.” And a minute later he repeated: “That’s nice.”
To relieve the throbbing of his heart, and to avoid saying too much, Nikitin went to his study and lay down on the sofa, without a pillow; then he lay on the floor on the carpet.
“What nonsense it is!” he said to reassure61 himself. “You are a teacher, you are working in the noblest of callings. . . . What need have you of any other world? What rubbish!”
But almost immediately he told himself with conviction that he was not a real teacher, but simply a government employé, as commonplace and mediocre62 as the Czech who taught Greek. He had never had a vocation63 for teaching, he knew nothing of the theory of teaching, and never had been interested in the subject; he did not know how to treat children; he did not understand the significance of what he taught, and perhaps did not teach the right things. Poor Ippolit Ippolititch had been frankly64 stupid, and all the boys, as well as his colleagues, knew what he was and what to expect from him; but he, Nikitin, like the Czech, knew how to conceal65 his stupidity and cleverly deceived every one by pretending that, thank God, his teaching was a success. These new ideas frightened Nikitin; he rejected them, called them stupid, and believed that all this was due to his nerves, that he would laugh at himself.
And he did, in fact, by the morning laugh at himself and call himself an old woman; but it was clear to him that his peace of mind was lost, perhaps, for ever, and that in that little two-story house happiness was henceforth impossible for him. He realized that the illusion had evaporated, and that a new life of unrest and clear sight was beginning which was incompatible66 with peace and personal happiness.
Next day, which was Sunday, he was at the school chapel67, and there met his colleagues and the director. It seemed to him that they were entirely68 preoccupied69 with concealing70 their ignorance and discontent with life, and he, too, to conceal his uneasiness, smiled affably and talked of trivialities. Then he went to the station and saw the mail train come in and go out, and it was agreeable to him to be alone and not to have to talk to any one.
At home he found Varya and his father-in-law, who had come to dinner. Varya’s eyes were red with crying, and she complained of a headache, while Shelestov ate a great deal, saying that young men nowadays were unreliable, and that there was very little gentlemanly feeling among them.
“It’s loutishness71!” he said. “I shall tell him so to his face: ‘It’s loutishness, sir,’ I shall say.”
Nikitin smiled affably and helped Masha to look after their guests, but after dinner he went to his study and shut the door.
The March sun was shining brightly in at the windows and shedding its warm rays on the table. It was only the twentieth of the month, but already the cabmen were driving with wheels, and the starlings were noisy in the garden. It was just the weather in which Masha would come in, put one arm round his neck, tell him the horses were saddled or the chaise was at the door, and ask him what she should put on to keep warm. Spring was beginning as exquisitely as last spring, and it promised the same joys. . . . But Nikitin was thinking that it would be nice to take a holiday and go to Moscow, and stay at his old lodgings72 there. In the next room they were drinking coffee and talking of Captain Polyansky, while he tried not to listen and wrote in his diary: “Where am I, my God? I am surrounded by vulgarity and vulgarity. Wearisome, insignificant73 people, pots of sour cream, jugs of milk, cockroaches74, stupid women. . . . There is nothing more terrible, mortifying75, and distressing76 than vulgarity. I must escape from here, I must escape today, or I shall go out of my mind!”
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1
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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poetically
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| adv.有诗意地，用韵文 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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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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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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sobbing
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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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muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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misty
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vividly
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rustling
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dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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delightful
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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enjoyment
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trepidation
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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extraordinarily
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jugs
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| （有柄及小口的）水壶( jug的名词复数 ) | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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touching
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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perfectly
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modesty
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delirious
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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anthem
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| n.圣歌，赞美诗，颂歌 | |
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cemetery
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consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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displease
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| vt.使不高兴，惹怒；n.不悦，不满，生气 | |
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scholastic
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| adj.学校的，学院的，学术上的 | |
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trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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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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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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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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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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engross
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| v.使全神贯注 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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mediocre
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| adj.平常的，普通的 | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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loutishness
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| Loutishness | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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cockroaches
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| n.蟑螂( cockroach的名词复数 ) | |
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mortifying
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| adj.抑制的，苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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