From these data I, as a child, had arrived at the clear and assured conviction that the Epifanovs were foemen of ours who would at any time stab or strangle both Papa and his sons if they should ever come across them, as well as that they were “black people”, in the literal sense of the term. Consequently, when, in the year that Mamma died, I chanced to catch sight of Avdotia (“La Belle1 Flamande”) on the occasion of a visit which she paid to my mother, I found it hard to believe that she did not come of a family of negroes. All the same, I had the lowest possible opinion of the family, and, for all that we saw much of them that summer, continued to be strongly prejudiced against them. As a matter of fact, their household only consisted of the mother (a widow of fifty, but a very well-preserved, cheery old woman), a beautiful daughter named Avdotia, and a son, Peter, who was a stammerer2, unmarried, and of very serious disposition3.
For the last twenty years before her husband’s death, Madame Epifanov had lived apart from him — sometimes in St. Petersburg, where she had relatives, but more frequently at her village of Mitishtchi, which stood some three versts from ours. Yet the neighbourhood had taken to circulating such horrible tales concerning her mode of life that Messalina was, by comparison, a blameless child: which was why my mother had requested her name never to be mentioned. As a matter of fact, not one-tenth part of the most cruel of all gossip — the gossip of country-houses — is worthy4 of credence5; and although, when I first made Madame’s acquaintance, she had living with her in the house a clerk named Mitusha, who had been promoted from a serf, and who, curled, pomaded, and dressed in a frockcoat of Circassian pattern, always stood behind his mistress’s chair at luncheon6, while from time to time she invited her guests to admire his handsome eyes and mouth, there was nothing for gossip to take hold of. I believe, too, that since the time — ten years earlier — when she had recalled her dutiful son Peter from the service, she had wholly changed her mode of living. It seems her property had never been a large one — merely a hundred souls or so —[This refers, of course, to the days of serfdom.]and that during her previous life of gaiety she had spent a great deal. Consequently, when, some ten years ago, those portions of the property which had been mortgaged and re- mortgaged had been foreclosed upon and compulsorily7 sold by auction8, she had come to the conclusion that all these unpleasant details of distress9 upon and valuation of her property had been due not so much to failure to pay the interest as to the fact that she was a woman: wherefore she had written to her son (then serving with his regiment) to come and save his mother from her embarrassments10, and he, like a dutiful son — conceiving that his first duty was to comfort his mother in her old age — had straightway resigned his commission (for all that he had been doing well in his profession, and was hoping soon to become independent), and had come to join her in the country.
Despite his plain face, uncouth11 demeanour, and fault of stuttering, Peter was a man of unswerving principles and of the most extraordinary good sense. Somehow — by small borrowings, sundry12 strokes of business, petitions for grace, and promises to repay — he contrived13 to carry on the property, and, making himself overseer, donned his father’s greatcoat (still preserved in a drawer), dispensed14 with horses and carriages, discouraged guests from calling at Mitishtchi, fashioned his own sleighs, increased his arable15 land and curtailed16 that of the serfs, felled his own timber, sold his produce in person, and saw to matters generally. Indeed, he swore, and kept his oath, that, until all outstanding debts were paid, he would never wear any clothes than his father’s greatcoat and a corduroy jacket which he had made for himself, nor yet ride in aught but a country waggon17, drawn18 by peasants’ horses. This stoical mode of life he sought to apply also to his family, so far as the sympathetic respect which he conceived to be his mother’s due would allow of; so that, although, in the drawing-room, he would show her only stuttering servility, and fulfil all her wishes, and blame any one who did not do precisely19 as she bid them, in his study or his office he would overhaul20 the cook if she had served up so much as a duck without his orders, or any one responsible for sending a serf (even though at Madame’s own bidding) to inquire after a neighbour’s health or for despatching the peasant girls into the wood to gather wild raspberries instead of setting them to weed the kitchen-garden.
Within four years every debt had been repaid, and Peter had gone to Moscow and returned thence in a new jacket and tarantass. [A two-wheeled carriage.] Yet, despite this flourishing position of affairs, he still preserved the stoical tendencies in which, to tell the truth, he took a certain vague pride before his family and strangers, since he would frequently say with a stutter: “Any one who REALLY wishes to see me will be glad to see me even in my dressing-gown, and to eat nothing but shtchi [Cabbage-soup.] and kasha [Buckwheat gruel21.] at my table.” “That is what I eat myself,” he would add. In his every word and movement spoke22 pride based upon a consciousness of having sacrificed himself for his mother and redeemed23 the property, as well as contempt for any one who had not done something of the same kind.
The mother and daughter were altogether different characters from Peter, as well as altogether different from one another. The former was one of the most agreeable, uniformly good-tempered, and cheerful women whom one could possibly meet. Anything attractive and genuinely happy delighted her. Even the faculty24 of being pleased with the sight of young people enjoying themselves (it is only in the best-natured of elderly folk that one meets with that TRAIT) she possessed25 to the full. On the other hand, her daughter was of a grave turn of mind. Rather, she was of that peculiarly careless, absent-minded, gratuitously26 distant bearing which commonly distinguishes unmarried beauties. Whenever she tried to be gay, her gaiety somehow seemed to be unnatural27 to her, so that she always appeared to be laughing either at herself or at the persons to whom she was speaking or at the world in general — a thing which, possibly, she had no real intention of doing. Often I asked myself in astonishment28 what she could mean when she said something like, “Yes, I know how terribly good- looking I am,” or, “Of course every one is in love with me,” and so forth29. Her mother was a person always busy, since she had a passion for housekeeping, gardening, flowers, canaries, and pretty trinkets. Her rooms and garden, it is true, were small and poorly fitted-up, yet everything in them was so neat and methodical, and bore such a general air of that gentle gaiety which one hears expressed in a waltz or polka, that the word “toy” by which guests often expressed their praise of it all exactly suited her surroundings. She herself was a “toy”— being petite, slender, fresh-coloured, small, and pretty-handed, and invariably gay and well-dressed. The only fault in her was that a slight over-prominence of the dark-blue veins30 on her little hands rather marred31 the general effect of her appearance. On the other hand, her daughter scarcely ever did anything at all. Not only had she no love for trifling32 with flowers and trinkets, but she neglected her personal exterior33, and only troubled to dress herself well when guests happened to call. Yet, on returning to the room in society costume, she always looked extremely handsome — save for that cold, uniform expression of eyes and smile which is common to all beauties. In fact, her strictly34 regular, beautiful face and symmetrical figure always seemed to be saying to you, “Yes, you may look at me.”
At the same time, for all the mother’s liveliness of disposition and the daughter’s air of indifference35 and abstraction, something told one that the former was incapable36 of feeling affection for anything that was not pretty and gay, but that Avdotia, on the contrary, was one of those natures which, once they love, are willing to sacrifice their whole life for the man they adore.
点击收听单词发音
1 belle | |
n.靓女 | |
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2 stammerer | |
n.口吃的人;结巴 | |
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3 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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4 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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5 credence | |
n.信用,祭器台,供桌,凭证 | |
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6 luncheon | |
n.午宴,午餐,便宴 | |
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7 compulsorily | |
强迫地,强制地 | |
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8 auction | |
n.拍卖;拍卖会;vt.拍卖 | |
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9 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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10 embarrassments | |
n.尴尬( embarrassment的名词复数 );难堪;局促不安;令人难堪或耻辱的事 | |
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11 uncouth | |
adj.无教养的,粗鲁的 | |
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12 sundry | |
adj.各式各样的,种种的 | |
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13 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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14 dispensed | |
v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 );施与;配(药) | |
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15 arable | |
adj.可耕的,适合种植的 | |
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16 curtailed | |
v.截断,缩短( curtail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17 waggon | |
n.运货马车,运货车;敞篷车箱 | |
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18 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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19 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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20 overhaul | |
v./n.大修,仔细检查 | |
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21 gruel | |
n.稀饭,粥 | |
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22 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 | |
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23 redeemed | |
adj. 可赎回的,可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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24 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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25 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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26 gratuitously | |
平白 | |
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27 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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28 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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29 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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30 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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31 marred | |
adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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32 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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33 exterior | |
adj.外部的,外在的;表面的 | |
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34 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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35 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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36 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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