I was sixteen then. It happened in the summer of 1833.
I lived in Moscow with my parents. They had taken a country house for the summer near the Kalouga gate, facing the Neskutchny gardens. I was preparing for the university, but did not work much and was in no hurry.
No one interfered1 with my freedom. I did what I liked, especially after parting with my last tutor, a Frenchman who had never been able to get used to the idea that he had fallen ‘like a bomb’ (comme une bombe) into Russia, and would lie sluggishly2 in bed with an expression of exasperation3 on his face for days together. My father treated me with careless kindness; my mother scarcely noticed me, though she had no children except me; other cares completely absorbed her. My father, a man still young and very handsome, had married her from mercenary considerations; she was ten years older than he. My mother led a melancholy4 life; she was for ever agitated5, jealous and angry, but not in my father’s presence; she was very much afraid of him, and he was severe, cold, and distant in his behaviour. . . . I have never seen a man more elaborately serene6, self-confident, and commanding.
I shall never forget the first weeks I spent at the country house. The weather was magnificent; we left town on the 9th of May, on St. Nicholas’s day. I used to walk about in our garden, in the Neskutchny gardens, and beyond the town gates; I would take some book with me — Keidanov’s Course, for instance — but I rarely looked into it, and more often than anything declaimed verses aloud; I knew a great deal of poetry by heart; my blood was in a ferment7 and my heart ached — so sweetly and absurdly; I was all hope and anticipation8, was a little frightened of something, and full of wonder at everything, and was on the tiptoe of expectation; my imagination played continually, fluttering rapidly about the same fancies, like martins about a bell-tower at dawn; I dreamed, was sad, even wept; but through the tears and through the sadness, inspired by a musical verse, or the beauty of evening, shot up like grass in spring the delicious sense of youth and effervescent life.
I had a horse to ride; I used to saddle it myself and set off alone for long rides, break into a rapid gallop9 and fancy myself a knight10 at a tournament. How gaily11 the wind whistled in my ears! or turning my face towards the sky, I would absorb its shining radiance and blue into my soul, that opened wide to welcome it.
I remember that at that time the image of woman, the vision of love, scarcely ever arose in definite shape in my brain; but in all I thought, in all I felt, lay hidden a half-conscious, shamefaced presentiment12 of something new, unutterably sweet, feminine. . . .
This presentiment, this expectation, permeated13 my whole being; I breathed in it, it coursed through my veins14 with every drop of blood . . . it was destined15 to be soon fulfilled.
The place, where we settled for the summer, consisted of a wooden manor-house with columns and two small lodges16; in the lodge17 on the left there was a tiny factory for the manufacture of cheap wall-papers. . . . I had more than once strolled that way to look at about a dozen thin and dishevelled boys with greasy18 smocks and worn faces, who were perpetually jumping on to wooden levers, that pressed down the square blocks of the press, and so by the weight of their feeble bodies struck off the variegated19 patterns of the wall-papers. The lodge on the right stood empty, and was to let. One day — three weeks after the 9th of May — the blinds in the windows of this lodge were drawn20 up, women’s faces appeared at them — some family had installed themselves in it. I remember the same day at dinner, my mother inquired of the butler who were our new neighbours, and hearing the name of the Princess Zasyekin, first observed with some respect, ‘Ah! a princess!’ . . . and then added, ‘A poor one, I suppose?’
‘They arrived in three hired flies,’ the butler remarked deferentially21, as he handed a dish: ‘they don’t keep their own carriage, and the furniture’s of the poorest.’
‘Ah,’ replied my mother, ‘so much the better.’
My father gave her a chilly22 glance; she was silent.
Certainly the Princess Zasyekin could not be a rich woman; the lodge she had taken was so dilapidated and small and low-pitched that people, even moderately well-off in the world, would hardly have consented to occupy it. At the time, however, all this went in at one ear and out at the other. The princely title had very little effect on me; I had just been reading Schiller’s Robbers.
1 interfered | |
v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 );调停;妨碍;干涉 | |
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2 sluggishly | |
adv.懒惰地;缓慢地 | |
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3 exasperation | |
n.愤慨 | |
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4 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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5 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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6 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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7 ferment | |
vt.使发酵;n./vt.(使)激动,(使)动乱 | |
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8 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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9 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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10 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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11 gaily | |
adv.欢乐地,高兴地 | |
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12 presentiment | |
n.预感,预觉 | |
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13 permeated | |
弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 ); 遍布; 渗入; 渗透 | |
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14 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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15 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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16 lodges | |
v.存放( lodge的第三人称单数 );暂住;埋入;(权利、权威等)归属 | |
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17 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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18 greasy | |
adj. 多脂的,油脂的 | |
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19 variegated | |
adj.斑驳的,杂色的 | |
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20 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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21 deferentially | |
adv.表示敬意地,谦恭地 | |
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22 chilly | |
adj.凉快的,寒冷的 | |
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