BUT Kolya did not hear her. At last he could go out. As he went out at the gate he looked round him, shrugged1 up his shoulders, and saying “It is freezing,” went straight along the street and turned off to the right towards the market-place. When he reached the last house but one before the market-place he stopped at the gate, pulled a whistle out of his pocket, and whistled with all his might as though giving a signal. He had not to wait more than a minute before a rosy-cheeked boy of about eleven, wearing a warm, neat and even stylish2 coat, darted3 out to meet him. This was Smurov, a boy in the preparatory class (two classes below Kolya Krassotkin), son of a well-to-do official. Apparently4 he was forbidden by his parents to associate with Krassotkin, who was well known to be a desperately5 naughty boy, so Smurov was obviously slipping out on the sly. He was — if the reader has not forgotten one of the group of boys who two months before had thrown stones at Ilusha. He was the one who told Alyosha about Ilusha.
“I’ve been waiting for you for the last hour, Krassotkin,” said Smurov stolidly6, and the boys strode towards the market-place.
“I am late,” answered Krassotkin. “I was detained by circumstances. You won’t be thrashed for coming with me?”
“Come, I say, I’m never thrashed! And you’ve got Perezvon with you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re taking him, too?”
“Yes.”
“Ah! if it were only Zhutchka!”
“That’s impossible. Zhutchka’s non-existent. Zhutchka is lost in the mists of obscurity.”
“Ah! couldn’t we do this?” Smurov suddenly stood still. “You see Ilusha says that Zhutchka was a shaggy, greyish, smoky-looking dog like Perezvon. Couldn’t you tell him this is Zhutchka, and he might believe you?”
“Boy, shun7 a lie, that’s one thing; even with a good object — that’s another. Above all, I hope you’ve not told them anything about my coming.”
“Heaven forbid! I know what I am about. But you won’t comfort him with Perezvon,” said Smurov, with a sigh. “You know his father, the captain, ‘the wisp of tow,’ told us that he was going to bring him a real mastiff pup, with a black nose, to-day. He thinks that would comfort Ilusha; but I doubt it.”
“And how is Ilusha?”
“Ah, he is bad, very bad! I believe he’s in consumption: he is quite conscious, but his breathing! His breathing’s gone wrong. The other day he asked to have his boots on to be led round the room. He tried to walk, but he couldn’t stand. ‘Ah, I told you before, father,’ he said, ‘that those boots were no good. I could never walk properly in them.’ He fancied it was his boots that made him stagger, but it was simply weakness, really. He won’t live another week. Herzenstube is looking after him. Now they are rich again — they’ve got heaps of money.
“Who are rogues?”
“Doctors and the whole crew of quacks9 collectively, and also, of course, individually. I don’t believe in medicine. It’s a useless institution. I mean to go into all that. But what’s that sentimentality you’ve got up there? The whole class seems to be there every day.”
“Not the whole class: it’s only ten of our fellows who go to see him every day. There’s nothing in that.”
“What I don’t understand in all this is the part that Alexey Karamazov is taking in it. His brother’s going to be tried to-morrow or next day for such a crime, and yet he has so much time to spend on sentimentality with boys.”
“There’s no sentimentality about it. You are going yourself now to make it up with Ilusha.”
“Make it up with him? What an absurd expression! But I allow no one to analyse my actions.”
“And how pleased Ilusha will be to see you! He has no idea that you are coming. Why was it, why was it you wouldn’t come all this time?” Smurov cried with sudden warmth.
“My dear boy, that’s my business, not yours.
I am going of myself because I choose to, but you’ve all been hauled there by Alexey Karamazov — there’s a difference, you know. And how do you know? I may not be going to make it up at all. It’s a stupid expression.”
“It’s not Karamazov at all; it’s not his doing. Our fellows began going there of themselves. Of course, they went with Karamazov at first. And there’s been nothing of that sort of silliness. First one went, and then another. His father was awfully10 pleased to see us. You know he will simply go out of his mind if Ilusha dies. He sees that Ilusha’s dying. And he seems so glad we’ve made it up with Ilusha. Ilusha asked after you, that was all. He just asks and says no more. His father will go out of his mind or hang himself. He behaved like a madman before. You know he is a very decent man. We made a mistake then. It’s all the fault of that murderer who beat him then.”
“Karamazov’s a riddle11 to me all the same. I might have made his acquaintance long ago, but I like to have a proper pride in some cases. Besides, I have a theory about him which I must work out and verify.”
Kolya subsided12 into dignified13 silence. Smurov, too, was silent. Smurov, of course, worshipped Krassotkin and never dreamed of putting himself on a level with him. Now he was tremendously interested at Kolya’s saying that he was “going of himself” to see Ilusha. He felt that there must be some mystery in Kolya’s suddenly taking it into his head to go to him that day. They crossed the market-place, in which at that hour were many loaded wagons14 from the country and a great number of live fowls16. The market women were selling rolls, cottons and threads, etc., in their booths. These Sunday markets were naively17 called “fairs” in the town, and there were many such fairs in the year.
Perezvon ran about in the wildest spirits, sniffing18 about first one side, then the other. When he met other dogs they zealously20 smelt21 each other over according to the rules of canine22 etiquette23.
“I like to watch such realistic scenes, Smurov,” said Kolya suddenly. “Have you noticed how dogs sniff19 at one another when they meet? It seems to be a law of their nature.”
“Yes; it’s a funny habit.”
“No, it’s not funny; you are wrong there. There’s nothing funny in nature, however funny it may seem to man with his prejudices. If dogs could reason and criticise24 us they’d be sure to find just as much that would be funny to them, if not far more, in the social relations of men, their masters — far more, indeed. I repeat that, because I am convinced that there is far more foolishness among us. That’s Rakitin’s idea — a remarkable25 idea. I am a Socialist26, Smurov.”
“And what is a Socialist?” asked Smurov.
“That’s when all are equal and all have property in common, there are no marriages, and everyone has any religion and laws he likes best, and all the rest of it. You are not old enough to understand that yet. It’s cold, though.”
“Yes, twelve degrees of frost. Father looked at the thermometer just now.”
“Have you noticed, Smurov, that in the middle of winter we don’t feel so cold even when there are fifteen or eighteen degrees of frost as we do now, in the beginning of winter, when there is a sudden frost of twelve degrees, especially when there is not much snow. It’s because people are not used to it. Everything is habit with men, everything even in their social and political relations. Habit is the great motive-power. What a funny-looking peasant!”
Kolya pointed27 to a tall peasant, with a good-natured countenance28 in a long sheepskin coat, who was standing29 by his wagon15, clapping together his hands, in their shapeless leather gloves, to warm them. His long fair beard was all white with frost.
“That peasant’s beard’s frozen,” Kolya cried in a loud provocative30 voice as he passed him.
“Lots of people’s beards are frozen,” the peasant replied, calmly and sententiously.
“Don’t provoke him,” observed Smurov.
“It’s all right; he won’t be cross; he’s a nice fellow. Good-bye, Matvey.”
“Good-bye.”
“Is your name Matvey?”
“Yes. Didn’t you know?”
“No, I didn’t. It was a guess.”
“You don’t say so! You are a schoolboy, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“You get whipped, I expect?”
“Nothing to speak of — sometimes.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Well, yes, it does.”
“Ech, what a life!” The peasant heaved a sigh from the bottom of his heart.
“Good-bye, Matvey.”
“Good-bye. You are a nice chap, that you are.”
The boys went on.
“That was a nice peasant,” Kolya observed to Smurov. “I like talking to the peasants, and am always glad to do them justice.”
“Why did you tell a lie, pretending we are thrashed?” asked Smurov.
“I had to say that to please him.”
“How do you mean?”
“You know, Smurov, I don’t like being asked the same thing twice. I like people to understand at the first word. Some things can’t be explained. According to a peasant’s notions, schoolboys are whipped, and must be whipped. What would a schoolboy be if he were not whipped? And if I were to tell him we are not, he’d be disappointed. But you don’t understand that. One has to know how to talk to the peasants.”
“Only don’t tease them, please, or you’ll get into another scrape as you did about that goose.”
“So you’re afraid?”
“Don’t laugh, Kolya. Of course I’m afraid. My father would be awfully cross. I am strictly31 forbidden to go out with you.”
“Don’t be uneasy, nothing will happen this time. Hallo, Natasha!” he shouted to a market woman in one of the booths.
“Call me Natasha! What next! My name is Marya,” the middle-aged32 marketwoman shouted at him.
“I am so glad it’s Marya. Good-bye!”
“Ah, you young rascal33! A brat34 like you to carry on so!”
“I’m in a hurry. I can’t stay now. You shall tell me next Sunday.” Kolya waved his hand at her, as though she had attacked him and not he her.
“I’ve nothing to tell you next Sunday. You set upon me, you impudent35 young monkey. I didn’t say anything,” bawled36 Marya. “You want a whipping, that’s what you want, you saucy37 jackanapes!”
There was a roar of laughter among the other market women round her. Suddenly a man in a violent rage darted out from the arcade38 of shops close by. He was a young man, not a native of the town, with dark, curly hair and a long, pale face, marked with smallpox39. He wore a long blue coat and a peaked cap, and looked like a merchant’s clerk. He was in a state of stupid excitement and brandished40 his fist at Kolya.
“I know you!” he cried angrily, “I know you!”
Kolya stared at him. He could not recall when he could have had a row with the man. But he had been in so many rows in the street that he could hardly remember them all.
“Do you?” he asked sarcastically41.
“I know you! I know you!” the man repeated idiotically.
So much the better for you. Well, it’s time I was going. Good-bye!”
“You are at your saucy pranks42 again?” cried the man. “You are at your saucy pranks again? I know, you are at it again!”
“It’s not your business, brother, if I am at my saucy pranks again,” said Kolya, standing still and scanning him.
“Not my business?”
“No; it’s not your business.”
“Whose then? Whose then? Whose then?”
“It’s Trifon Nikititch’s business, not yours.”
“What Trifon Nikititch?” asked the youth, staring with loutish43 amazement44 at Kolya, but still as angry as ever.
Kolya scanned him gravely.
“Have you been to the Church of the Ascension?” he suddenly asked him, with stern emphasis.
“What Church of Ascension? What for? No, I haven’t,” said the young man, somewhat taken aback.
“Do you know Sabaneyev?” Kolya went on even more emphatically and even more severely45.
“What Sabaneyev? No, I don’t know him.”
“Well then you can go to the devil,” said Kolya, cutting short the conversation; and turning sharply to the right he strode quickly on his way as though he disdained46 further conversation with a dolt47 who did not even know Sabaneyev.
“Stop, heigh! What Sabaneyev?” the young man recovered from his momentary48 stupefaction and was as excited as before. “What did he say?” He turned to the market women with a silly stare.
The women laughed.
“You can never tell what he’s after,” said one of them.
“What Sabaneyev is it he’s talking about?” the young man repeated, still furious and brandishing49 his right arm.
“It must be a Sabaneyev who worked for the Kuzmitchovs, that’s who it must be,” one of the women suggested.
The young man stared at her wildly.
“For the Kuzmitchovs?” repeated another woman. “But his name wasn’t Trifon. His name’s Kuzma, not Trifon; but the boy said Trifon Nikititch, so it can’t be the same.”
“His name is not Trifon and not Sabaneyev, it’s Tchizhov,” put in suddenly a third woman, who had hitherto been silent, listening gravely. “Alexey Ivanitch is his name. Tchizhov, Alexey Ivanitch.”
“Not a doubt about it, it’s Tchizhov,” a fourth woman emphatically confirmed the statement.
The bewildered youth gazed from one to another.
“But what did he ask for, what did he ask for, good people?” he cried almost in desperation.” ‘Do you know Sabaneyev?’ says he. And who the devil’s to know who is Sabaneyev?”
“You’re a senseless fellow. I tell you it’s not Sabaneyev, but Tchizhov, Alexey Ivanitch Tchizhov, that’s who it is!” one of the women shouted at him impressively.
“What Tchizhov? Who is he? Tell me, if you know.”
“That tall, snivelling fellow who used to sit in the market in the summer.”
“And what’s your Tchizhov to do with me, good people, eh?”
“How can I tell what he’s to do with you?” put in another. “You ought to know yourself what you want with him, if you make such a clamour about him. He spoke50 to you, he did not speak to us, you stupid. Don’t you really know him?”
“Know whom?”
“Tchizhov.”
“The devil take Tchizhov and you with him. I’ll give him a hiding, that I will. He was laughing at me!”
“Will give Tchizhov a hiding! More likely he will give you one. You are a fool, that’s what you are!”
“Not Tchizhov, not Tchizhov, you spiteful, mischievous51 woman. I’ll give the boy a hiding. Catch him, catch him, he was laughing at me
The woman guffawed52. But Kolya was by now a long way off, marching along with a triumphant53 air. Smurov walked beside him, looking round at the shouting group far behind. He too was in high spirits, though he was still afraid of getting into some scrape in Kolya’s company.
“What Sabaneyev did you mean?” he asked Kolya, foreseeing what his answer would be.
“How do I know? Now there’ll be a hubbub54 among them all day. I like to stir up fools in every class of society. There’s another blockhead, that peasant there. You know, they say ‘there’s no one stupider than a stupid Frenchman,’ but a stupid Russian shows it in his face just as much. Can’t you see it all over his face that he is a fool, that peasant, eh?”
“Let him alone, Kolya. Let’s go on.”
“Nothing could stop me, now I am once off. Hey, good morning, peasant!”
A sturdy-looking peasant, with a round, simple face and grizzled beard, who was walking by, raised his head and looked at the boy. He seemed not quite sober.
“Good morning, if you are not laughing at me,” he said deliberately55 in reply.
“And if I am?” laughed Kolya.
“Well, a joke’s a joke. Laugh away. I don’t mind. There’s no harm in a joke.”
“I beg your pardon, brother, it was a joke.”
“Well, God forgive you!”
“Do you forgive me, too?”
“I quite forgive you. Go along.”
“I say, you seem a clever peasant.”
“Cleverer than you,” the peasant answered unexpectedly, with the same gravity.
“I doubt it,” said Kolya, somewhat taken aback.
“It’s true, though.”
“Perhaps it is.”
“It is, brother.”
“Good-bye, peasant!”
“Good-bye!”
“There are all sorts of peasants,” Kolya observed to Smurov after a brief silence. “How could I tell I had hit on a clever one? I am always ready to recognise intelligence in the peasantry.”
In the distance the cathedral clock struck half-past eleven. The boys made haste and they walked as far as Captain Snegiryov’s lodging56, a considerable distance, quickly and almost in silence. Twenty paces from the house Kolya stopped and told Smurov to go on ahead and ask Karamazov to come out to him.
“One must sniff round a bit first,” he observed to Smurov.
“Why ask him to come out?” Smurov protested. “You go in; they will be awfully glad to see you. What’s the sense of making friends in the frost out here?”
“I know why I want to see him out here in the frost,” Kolya cut him short in the despotic tone he was fond of adopting with “small boys,” and Smurov ran to do his bidding.
收听单词发音 |
1
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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stylish
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| adj.流行的，时髦的；漂亮的，气派的 | |
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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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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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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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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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shun
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| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
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rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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quacks
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| abbr.quacksalvers 庸医，骗子(16世纪习惯用水银或汞治疗梅毒的人)n.江湖医生( quack的名词复数 )；江湖郎中；（鸭子的）呱呱声v.（鸭子）发出嘎嘎声( quack的第三人称单数 ) | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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naively
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| adv. 天真地 | |
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sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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zealously
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| adv.热心地；热情地；积极地；狂热地 | |
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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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canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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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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provocative
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| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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brat
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| n.孩子；顽童 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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smallpox
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| n.天花 | |
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brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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loutish
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| adj.粗鲁的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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dolt
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| n.傻瓜 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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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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51
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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guffawed
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| v.大笑，狂笑( guffaw的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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54
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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55
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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56
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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