HE certainly was really grieved in a way he had seldom been before. He had rushed in like a fool, and meddled1 in what? In a love-affair. “But what do I know about it? What can I tell about such things?” he repeated to himself for the hundredth time, flushing crimson2. “Oh, being ashamed would be nothing; shame is only the punishment I deserve. The trouble is I shall certainly have caused more unhappiness. . . . And Father Zossima sent me to reconcile and bring them together. Is this the way to bring them together?” Then he suddenly remembered how he had tried to join their hands, and he felt fearfully ashamed again. “Though I acted quite sincerely, I must be more sensible in the future,” he concluded suddenly, and did not even smile at his conclusion.
Katerina Ivanovna’s commission took him to Lake Street, and his brother Dmitri lived close by, in a turning out of Lake Street. Alyosha decided3 to go to him in any case before going to the captain, though he had a presentiment4 that he would not find his brother. He suspected that he would intentionally5 keep out of his way now, but he must find him anyhow. Time was passing: the thought of his dying elder had not left Alyosha for one minute from the time he set off from the monastery6.
There was one point which interested him particularly about Katerina Ivanovna’s commission; when she had mentioned the captain’s son, the little schoolboy who had run beside his father crying, the idea had at once struck Alyosha that this must be the schoolboy who had bitten his finger when he, Alyosha, asked him what he had done to hurt him. Now Alyosha felt practically certain of this, though he could not have said why. Thinking of another subject was a relief, and he resolved to think no more about the “mischief” he had done, and not to torture himself with remorse7, but to do what he had to do, let come what would. At that thought he was completely comforted. Turning to the street where Dmitri lodged8, he felt hungry, and taking out of his pocket the roll he had brought from his father’s, he ate it. It made him feel stronger.
Dmitri was not at home. The people of the house, an old cabinet-maker, his son, and his old wife, looked with positive suspicion at Alyosha. “He hasn’t slept here for the last three nights. Maybe he has gone away,” the old man said in answer to Alyosha’s persistent9 inquiries10. Alyosha saw that he was answering in accordance with instructions. When he asked whether he were not at Grushenka’s or in hiding at Foma’s (Alyosha spoke11 so freely on purpose), all three looked at him in alarm. “They are fond of him, they are doing their best for him,” thought Alyosha. “That’s good.”
At last he found the house in Lake Street. It was a decrepit12 little house, sunk on one side, with three windows looking into the street, and with a muddy yard, in the middle of which stood a solitary13 cow. He crossed the yard and found the door opening into the passage. On the left of the passage lived the old woman of the house with her old daughter. Both seemed to be deaf. In answer to his repeated inquiry14 for the captain, one of them at last understood that he was asking for their lodgers15, and pointed16 to a door across the passage. The captain’s lodging17 turned out to be a simple cottage room. Alyosha had his hand on the iron latch18 to open the door, when he was struck by the strange hush19 within. Yet he knew from Katerina Ivanovna’s words that the man had a family. “Either they are all asleep or perhaps they have heard me coming and are waiting for me to open the door. I’d better knock first,” and he knocked. An answer came, but not at once, after an interval20 of perhaps ten seconds.
“Who’s there?” shouted someone in a loud and very angry voice.
Then Alyosha opened the door and crossed the threshold. He found himself in a regular peasant’s room. Though it was large, it was cumbered up with domestic belongings21 of all sorts, and there were several people in it. On the left was a large Russian stove. From the stove to the window on the left was a string running across the room, and on it there were rags hanging. There was a bedstead against the wall on each side, right and left, covered with knitted quilts. On the one on the left was a pyramid of four print-covered pillows, each smaller than the one beneath. On the other there was only one very small pillow. The opposite corner was screened off by a curtain or a sheet hung on a string. Behind this curtain could be seen a bed made up on a bench and a chair. The rough square table of plain wood had been moved into the middle window. The three windows, which consisted each of four tiny greenish mildewy22 panes23, gave little light, and were close shut, so that the room was not very light and rather stuffy24. On the table was a frying pan with the remains25 of some fried eggs, a half-eaten piece of bread, and a small bottle with a few drops of vodka.
A woman of genteel appearance, wearing a cotton gown, was sitting on a chair by the bed on the left. Her face was thin and yellow, and her sunken cheeks betrayed at the first glance that she was ill. But what struck Alyosha most was the expression in the poor woman’s eyes — a look of surprised inquiry and yet of haughty26 pride. And while he was talking to her husband, her big brown eyes moved from one speaker to the other with the same haughty and questioning expression. Beside her at the window stood a young girl, rather plain, with scanty27 reddish hair, poorly but very neatly28 dressed. She looked disdainfully at Alyosha as he came in. Beside the other bed was sitting another female figure. She was a very sad sight, a young girl of about twenty, but hunchback and crippled “with withered29 legs,” as Alyosha was told afterwards. Her crutches30 stood in the corner close by. The strikingly beautiful and gentle eyes of this poor girl looked with mild serenity31 at Alyosha. A man of forty-five was sitting at the table, finishing the fried eggs. He was spare, small, and weakly built. He had reddish hair and a scanty light-coloured beard, very much like a wisp of tow (this comparison and the phrase “a wisp of tow” flashed at once into Alyosha’s mind for some reason, he remembered it afterwards). It was obviously this gentleman who had shouted to him, as there was no other man in the room. But when Alyosha went in, he leapt up from the bench on which he was sitting, and, hastily wiping his mouth with a ragged32 napkin, darted33 up to Alyosha.
“It’s a monk34 come to beg for the monastery. A nice place to come to!” the girl standing35 in the left corner said aloud. The man spun36 round instantly towards her and answered her in an excited and breaking voice:
“No, Varvara, you are wrong. Allow me to ask,” he turned again to Alyosha, “what has brought you to our retreat?”
Alyosha looked attentively37 at him. It was the first time he had seen him. There was something angular, flurried and irritable38 about him. Though he had obviously just been drinking, he was not drunk. There was extraordinary impudence39 in his expression, and yet, strange to say, at the same time there was fear. He looked like a man who had long been kept in subjection and had submitted to it, and now had suddenly turned and was trying to assert himself. Or, better still, like a man who wants dreadfully to hit you but is horribly afraid you will hit him. In his words and in the intonation40 of his shrill41 voice there was a sort of crazy humour, at times spiteful and at times cringing42, and continually shifting from one tone to another. The question about “our retreat” he had asked, as it were, quivering all over, rolling his eyes, and skipping up so close to Alyosha that he instinctively43 drew back a step. He was dressed in a very shabby dark cotton coat, patched and spotted44. He wore checked trousers of an extremely light colour, long out of fashion, and of very thin material. They were so crumpled45 and so short that he looked as though he had grown out of them like a boy.
“I am Alexey Karamazov,” Alyosha began in reply.
“I quite understand that, sir,” the gentleman snapped out at once to assure him that he knew who he was already. “I am Captain Snegiryov, sir, but I am still desirous to know precisely46 what has led you — ”
“Oh, I’ve come for nothing special. I wanted to have a word with you — if only you allow me.”
“In that case, here is a chair, sir; kindly47 be seated. That’s what they used to say in the old comedies, ‘kindly be seated,’” and with a rapid gesture he seized an empty chair (it was a rough wooden chair, not upholstered) and set it for him almost in the middle of the room; then, taking another similar chair for himself, he sat down facing Alyosha, so close to him that their knees almost touched.
“Nikolay Ilyitch Snegiryov, sir, formerly48 a captain in the Russian infantry49, put to shame for his vices50, but still a captain. Though I might not be one now for the way I talk; for the last half of my life I’ve learnt to say ‘sir.’ It’s a word you use when you’ve come down in the world.”
“That’s very true,” smiled Alyosha. “But is it used involuntarily or on purpose?”
“As God’s above, it’s involuntary, and I usen’t to use it! I didn’t use the word ‘sir’ all my life, but as soon as I sank into low water I began to say ‘sir.’ It’s the work of a higher power. I see you are interested in contemporary questions, but how can I have excited your curiosity, living as I do in surroundings impossible for the exercise of hospitality?”
“I’ve come — about that business.”
“About what business?” the captain interrupted impatiently.
“About your meeting with my brother Dmitri Fyodorovitch,” Alyosha blurted51 out awkwardly.
“What meeting, sir? You don’t mean that meeting? About my ‘wisp of tow,’ then?” He moved closer so that his knees positively52 knocked against Alyosha. His lips were strangely compressed like a thread.
“What wisp of tow?” muttered Alyosha.
“He is come to complain of me, father!” cried a voice familiar to Alyosha — the voice of the schoolboy — from behind the curtain. “I bit his finger just now.” The curtain was pulled, and Alyosha saw his assailant lying on a little bed made up on the bench and the chair in the corner under the ikons. The boy lay covered by his coat and an old wadded quilt. He was evidently unwell, and, judging by his glittering eyes, he was in a fever. He looked at Alyosha without fear, as though he felt he was at home and could not be touched.
“What! Did he bite your finger?” The captain jumped up from his chair. “Was it your finger he bit?”
“Yes. He was throwing stones with other schoolboys. There were six of them against him alone. I went up to him, and he threw a stone at me and then another at my head. I asked him what I had done to him. And then he rushed at me and bit my finger badly, I don’t know why.”
“I’ll thrash him, sir, at once — this minute!” The captain jumped up from his seat.
“But I am not complaining at all, I am simply telling you. . . . I don’t want him to be thrashed. Besides, he seems to be ill.”
“And do you suppose I’d thrash him? That I’d take my Ilusha and thrash him before you for your satisfaction? Would you like it done at once, sir?” said the captain, suddenly turning to Alyosha, as though he were going to attack him. “I am sorry about your finger, sir; but instead of thrashing Ilusha, would you like me to chop off my four fingers with this knife here before your eyes to satisfy your just wrath53? I should think four fingers would be enough to satisfy your thirst for vengeance54. You won’t ask for the fifth one too?” He stopped short with a catch in his throat. Every feature in his face was twitching55 and working; he looked extremely defiant56. He was in a sort of frenzy57.
“I think I understand it all now,” said Alyosha gently and sorrowfully, still keeping his seat. “So your boy is a good boy, he loves his father, and he attacked me as the brother of your assailant. . . . Now I understand it,” he repeated thoughtfully. “But my brother Dmitri Fyodorovitch regrets his action, I know that, and if only it is possible for him to come to you, or better still, to meet you in that same place, he will ask your forgiveness before everyone — if you wish it.”
“After pulling out my beard, you mean, he will ask my forgiveness? And he thinks that will be a satisfactory finish, doesn’t he?”
“Oh, no! On the contrary, he will do anything you like and in any way you like.”
“So if I were to ask his highness to go down on his knees before me in that very tavern58 — ‘The Metropolis’ it’s called — or in the marketplace, he would do it?”
“Yes, he would even go down on his knees.”
“You’ve pierced me to the heart, sir. Touched me to tears and pierced me to the heart! I am only too sensible of your brother’s generosity59. Allow me to introduce my family, my two daughters and my son — my litter. If I die, who will care for them, and while I live who but they will care for a wretch60 like me? That’s a great thing the Lord has ordained61 for every man of my sort, sir. For there must be someone able to love even a man like me.”
“Ah, that’s perfectly62 true!” exclaimed Alyosha.
“Oh, do leave off playing the fool! Some idiot comes in, and you put us to shame!” cried the girl by the window, suddenly turning to her father with a disdainful and contemptuous air.
“Wait a little, Varvara!” cried her father, speaking peremptorily63 but looking at them quite approvingly. “That’s her character,” he said, addressing Alyosha again.
“And in all nature there was naught64
That could find favour in his eyes —
or rather in the feminine — that could find favour in her eyes — . But now let me present you to my wife, Arina Petrovna. She is crippled, she is forty-three; she can move, but very little. She is of humble65 origin. Arina Petrovna, compose your countenance66. This is Alexey Fyodorovitch Karamazov. Get up, Alexey Fyodorovitch.” He took him by the hand and with unexpected force pulled him up. “You must stand up to be introduced to a lady. It’s not the Karamazov, mamma, who . . . h’m . . . etcetera, but his brother, radiant with modest virtues67. Come, Arina Petrovna, come, mamma, first your hand to be kissed.”
And he kissed his wife’s hand respectfully and even tenderly. The girl at the window turned her back indignantly on the scene; an expression of extraordinary cordiality came over the haughtily68 inquiring face of the woman.
“Good morning! Sit down, Mr. Tchernomazov,” she said.
“Karamazov, mamma, Karamazov. We are of humble origin,” he whispered again.
“Well, Karamazov, or whatever it is, but I always think of Tchermomazov. . . . Sit down. Why has he pulled you up? He calls me crippled, but I am not, only my legs are swollen69 like barrels, and I am shrivelled up myself. Once I used to be so fat, but now it’s as though I had swallowed a needle.”
“We are of humble origin,” the captain muttered again.
“Oh, father, father!” the hunchback girl, who had till then been silent on her chair, said suddenly, and she hid her eyes in her handkerchief.
“Buffoon!” blurted out the girl at the window.
“Have you heard our news?” said the mother, pointing at her daughters. “It’s like clouds coming over; the clouds pass and we have music again. When we were with the army, we used to have many such guests. I don’t mean to make any comparisons; everyone to their taste. The deacon’s wife used to come then and say, ‘Alexandr Alexandrovitch is a man of the noblest heart, but Nastasya Petrovna,’ she would say, ‘is of the brood of hell.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘that’s a matter of taste; but you are a little spitfire.’ ‘And you want keeping in your place;’ says she. ‘You black sword,’ said I, ‘who asked you to teach me?’ ‘But my breath,’ says she, ‘is clean, and yours is unclean.’ ‘You ask all the officers whether my breath is unclean.’ And ever since then I had it in my mind. Not long ago I was sitting here as I am now, when I saw that very general come in who came here for Easter, and I asked him: ‘Your Excellency,’ said I, ‘can a lady’s breath be unpleasant?’ ‘Yes,’ he answered; ‘you ought to open a window-pane or open the door, for the air is not fresh here.’ And they all go on like that! And what is my breath to them? The dead smell worse still!. ‘I won’t spoil the air,’ said I, ‘I’ll order some slippers70 and go away.’ My darlings, don’t blame your own mother! Nikolay Ilyitch, how is it I can’t please you? There’s only Ilusha who comes home from school and loves me. Yesterday he brought me an apple. Forgive your own mother — forgive a poor lonely creature! Why has my breath become unpleasant to you?”
And the poor mad woman broke into sobs71, and tears streamed down her cheeks. The captain rushed up to her.
“Mamma, mamma, my dear, give over! You are not lonely. Everyone loves you, everyone adores you.” He began kissing both her hands again and tenderly stroking her face; taking the dinner-napkin, he began wiping away her tears. Alyosha fancied that he too had tears in his eyes. “There, you see, you hear?” he turned with a sort of fury to Alyosha, pointing to the poor imbecile.
“I see and hear,” muttered Alyosha.
“Father, father, how can you — with him! Let him alone!” cried the boy, sitting up in his bed and gazing at his father with glowing eyes.
“Do give over fooling, showing off your silly antics which never lead to anything! shouted Varvara, stamping her foot with passion.
“Your anger is quite just this time, Varvara, and I’ll make haste to satisfy you. Come, put on your cap, Alexey Fyodorovitch, and I’ll put on mine. We will go out. I have a word to say to you in earnest, but not within these walls. This girl sitting here is my daughter Nina; I forgot to introduce her to you. She is a heavenly angel incarnate72 . . . who has flown down to us mortals, . . . if you can understand.”
“There he is shaking all over, as though he is in convulsions!” Varvara went on indignantly.
“And she there stamping her foot at me and calling me a fool just now, she is a heavenly angel incarnate too, and she has good reason to call me so. Come along, Alexey Fyodorovitch, we must make an end.”
And, snatching Alyosha’s hand, he drew him out of the room into the street.
收听单词发音 |
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meddled
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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intentionally
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| ad.故意地，有意地 | |
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monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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spoke
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| 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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decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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mildewy
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| adj.发霉的 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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29
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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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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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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41
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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45
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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46
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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49
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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50
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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51
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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53
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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54
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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55
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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56
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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59
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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61
ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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65
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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66
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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67
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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69
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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71
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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