ON the first of February every year, St. Trifon’s day, there is an extraordinary commotion1 on the estate of Madame Zavzyatov, the widow of Trifon Lvovitch, the late marshal of the district. On that day, the nameday of the deceased marshal, the widow Lyubov Petrovna has a requiem2 service celebrated3 in his memory, and after the requiem a thanksgiving to the Lord. The whole district assembles for the service. There you will see Hrumov the present marshal, Marfutkin, the president of the Zemstvo, Potrashkov, the permanent member of the Rural Board, the two justices of the peace of the district, the police captain, Krinolinov, two police-superintendents, the district doctor, Dvornyagin, smelling of iodoform, all the landowners, great and small, and so on. There are about fifty people assembled in all.
Precisely4 at twelve o’clock, the visitors, with long faces, make their way from all the rooms to the big hall. There are carpets on the floor and their steps are noiseless, but the solemnity of the occasion makes them instinctively5 walk on tip-toe, holding out their hands to balance themselves. In the hall everything is already prepared. Father Yevmeny, a little old man in a high faded cap, puts on his black vestments. Konkordiev, the deacon, already in his vestments, and as red as a crab6, is noiselessly turning over the leaves of his missal and putting slips of paper in it. At the door leading to the vestibule, Luka, the sacristan, puffing7 out his cheeks and making round eyes, blows up the censer. The hall is gradually filled with bluish transparent8 smoke and the smell of incense9.
Gelikonsky, the elementary schoolmaster, a young man with big pimples10 on his frightened face, wearing a new greatcoat like a sack, carries round wax candles on a silver-plated tray. The hostess, Lyubov Petrovna, stands in the front by a little table with a dish of funeral rice on it, and holds her handkerchief in readiness to her face. There is a profound stillness, broken from time to time by sighs. Everybody has a long, solemn face. . . .
The requiem service begins. The blue smoke curls up from the censer and plays in the slanting11 sunbeams, the lighted candles faintly splutter. The singing, at first harsh and deafening12, soon becomes quiet and musical as the choir13 gradually adapt themselves to the acoustic14 conditions of the rooms. . . . The tunes15 are all mournful and sad. . . . The guests are gradually brought to a melancholy16 mood and grow pensive17. Thoughts of the brevity of human life, of mutability, of worldly vanity stray through their brains. . . . They recall the deceased Zavzyatov, a thick-set, red-cheeked man who used to drink off a bottle of champagne18 at one gulp19 and smash looking-glasses with his forehead. And when they sing “With Thy Saints, O Lord,” and the sobs20 of their hostess are audible, the guests shift uneasily from one foot to the other. The more emotional begin to feel a tickling21 in their throat and about their eyelids22. Marfutkin, the president of the Zemstvo, to stifle23 the unpleasant feeling, bends down to the police captain’s ear and whispers:
“I was at Ivan Fyodoritch’s yesterday. . . . Pyotr Petrovitch and I took all the tricks, playing no trumps24. . . . Yes, indeed. . . . Olga Andreyevna was so exasperated25 that her false tooth fell out of her mouth.”
But at last the “Eternal Memory” is sung. Gelikonsky respectfully takes away the candles, and the memorial service is over. Thereupon there follows a momentary26 commotion; there is a changing of vestments and a thanksgiving service. After the thanksgiving, while Father Yevmeny is disrobing, the visitors rub their hands and cough, while their hostess tells some anecdote27 of the good-heartedness of the deceased Trifon Lvovitch.
“Pray come to lunch, friends,” she says, concluding her story with a sigh.
The visitors, trying not to push or tread on each other’s feet, hasten into the dining-room. . . . There the luncheon28 is awaiting them. The repast is so magnificent that the deacon Konkordiev thinks it his duty every year to fling up his hands as he looks at it and, shaking his head in amazement29, say:
“Supernatural! It’s not so much like human fare, Father Yevmeny, as offerings to the gods.”
The lunch is certainly exceptional. Everything that the flora30 and fauna31 of the country can furnish is on the table, but the only thing supernatural about it, perhaps, is that on the table there is everything except . . . alcoholic32 beverages33. Lyubov Petrovna has taken a vow34 never to have in her house cards or spirituous liquors —the two sources of her husband’s ruin. And the only bottles contain oil and vinegar, as though in mockery and chastisement35 of the guests who are to a man desperately36 fond of the bottle, and given to tippling.
“Please help yourselves, gentlemen!” the marshal’s widow presses them. “Only you must excuse me, I have no vodka. . . . I have none in the house.”
The guests approach the table and hesitatingly attack the pie. But the progress with eating is slow. In the plying37 of forks, in the cutting up and munching38, there is a certain sloth39 and apathy40. . . . Evidently something is wanting.
“I feel as though I had lost something,” one of the justices of the peace whispers to the other. “I feel as I did when my wife ran away with the engineer. . . . I can’t eat.”
Marfutkin, before beginning to eat, fumbles41 for a long time in his pocket and looks for his handkerchief.
“Oh, my handkerchief must be in my greatcoat,” he recalls in a loud voice, “and here I am looking for it,” and he goes into the vestibule where the fur coats are hanging up.
“I say, it’s horrid44 munching away with a dry mouth, isn’t it?” he whispers to Father Yevmeny. “Go into the vestibule, Father. There’s a bottle there in my fur coat. . . . Only mind you are careful; don’t make a clatter45 with the bottle.”
Father Yevmeny recollects46 that he has some direction to give to Luka, and trips off to the vestibule.
“Father, a couple of words in confidence,” says Dvornyagin, overtaking him.
“You should see the fur coat I’ve bought myself, gentlemen,” Hrumov boasts. “It’s worth a thousand, and I gave . . . you won’t believe it . . . two hundred and fifty! Not a farthing more.”
At any other time the guests would have greeted this information with indifference47, but now they display surprise and incredulity. In the end they all troop out into the vestibule to look at the fur coat, and go on looking at it till the doctor’s man Mikeshka carries five empty bottles out on the sly. When the steamed sturgeon is served, Marfutkin remembers that he has left his cigar case in his sledge48 and goes to the stable. That he may not be lonely on this expedition, he takes with him the deacon, who appropriately feels it necessary to have a look at his horse. . . .
On the evening of the same day, Lyubov Petrovna is sitting in her study, writing a letter to an old friend in Petersburg:
“To-day, as in past years,” she writes among other things, “I had a memorial service for my dear husband. All my neighbours came to the service. They are a simple, rough set, but what hearts! I gave them a splendid lunch, but of course, as in previous years, without a drop of alcoholic liquor. Ever since he died from excessive drinking I have vowed49 to establish temperance in this district and thereby50 to expiate51 his sins. I have begun the campaign for temperance at my own house. Father Yevmeny is delighted with my efforts, and helps me both in word and deed. Oh, ma chère, if you knew how fond my bears are of me! The president of the Zemstvo, Marfutkin, kissed my hand after lunch, held it a long while to his lips, and, wagging his head in an absurd way, burst into tears: so much feeling but no words! Father Yevmeny, that delightful52 little old man, sat down by me, and looking tearfully at me kept babbling53 something like a child. I did not understand what he said, but I know how to understand true feeling. The police captain, the handsome man of whom I wrote to you, went down on his knees to me, tried to read me some verses of his own composition (he is a poet), but . . . his feelings were too much for him, he lurched and fell over . . . that huge giant went into hysterics, you can imagine my delight! The day did not pass without a hitch54, however. Poor Alalykin, the president of the judges’ assembly, a stout and apoplectic55 man, was overcome by illness and lay on the sofa in a state of unconsciousness for two hours. We had to pour water on him. . . . I am thankful to Doctor Dvornyagin: he had brought a bottle of brandy from his dispensary and he moistened the patient’s temples, which quickly revived him, and he was able to be moved. . . .”
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1
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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requiem
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| n.安魂曲，安灵曲 | |
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3
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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pimples
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| n.丘疹，粉刺，小脓疱( pimple的名词复数 ) | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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13
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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acoustic
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| adj.听觉的，声音的；(乐器)原声的 | |
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15
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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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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pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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21
tickling
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| 反馈，回授，自旋挠痒法 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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24
trumps
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| abbr.trumpets 喇叭；小号；喇叭形状的东西；喇叭筒v.（牌戏）出王牌赢（一牌或一墩）( trump的过去式 )；吹号公告，吹号庆祝；吹喇叭；捏造 | |
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25
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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28
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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29
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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fauna
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| n.(一个地区或时代的)所有动物，动物区系 | |
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alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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beverages
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| n.饮料( beverage的名词复数 ) | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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chastisement
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| n.惩罚 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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38
munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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39
sloth
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| n.[动]树懒；懒惰，懒散 | |
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40
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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41
fumbles
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| 摸索，笨拙的处理( fumble的名词复数 ) | |
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42
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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43
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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44
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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45
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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46
recollects
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的第三人称单数 ) | |
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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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48
sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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49
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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50
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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51
expiate
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| v.抵补，赎罪 | |
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52
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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53
babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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54
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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apoplectic
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| adj.中风的；愤怒的；n.中风患者 | |
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