The days passed by. Zina?da became stranger and stranger, and more and more incomprehensible. One day I went over to her, and saw her sitting in a basket-chair, her head pressed to the sharp edge of the table. She drew herself up . . . her whole face was wet with tears.
‘Ah, you!’ she said with a cruel smile. ‘Come here.’
I went up to her. She put her hand on my head, and suddenly catching1 hold of my hair, began pulling it.
‘It hurts me,’ I said at last.
‘Ah! does it? And do you suppose nothing hurts me?’ she replied.
‘Ai!’ she cried suddenly, seeing she had pulled a little tuft of hair out. ‘What have I done? Poor M’sieu Voldemar!’
She carefully smoothed the hair she had torn out, stroked it round her finger, and twisted it into a ring.
‘I shall put your hair in a locket and wear it round my neck,’ she said, while the tears still glittered in her eyes. ‘That will be some small consolation2 to you, perhaps . . . and now good-bye.’
I went home, and found an unpleasant state of things there. My mother was having a scene with my father; she was reproaching him with something, while he, as his habit was, maintained a polite and chilly3 silence, and soon left her. I could not hear what my mother was talking of, and indeed I had no thought to spare for the subject; I only remember that when the interview was over, she sent for me to her room, and referred with great displeasure to the frequent visits I paid the princess, who was, in her words, une femme capable de tout4. I kissed her hand (this was what I always did when I wanted to cut short a conversation) and went off to my room. Zina?da’s tears had completely overwhelmed me; I positively5 did not know what to think, and was ready to cry myself; I was a child after all, in spite of my sixteen years. I had now given up thinking about Malevsky, though Byelovzorov looked more and more threatening every day, and glared at the wily count like a wolf at a sheep; but I thought of nothing and of no one. I was lost in imaginings, and was always seeking seclusion6 and solitude7. I was particularly fond of the ruined greenhouse. I would climb up on the high wall, and perch8 myself, and sit there, such an unhappy, lonely, and melancholy9 youth, that I felt sorry for myself — and how consolatory10 where those mournful sensations, how I revelled11 in them! . . .
One day I was sitting on the wall looking into the distance and listening to the ringing of the bells. . . . Suddenly something floated up to me — not a breath of wind and not a shiver, but as it were a whiff of fragrance12 — as it were, a sense of some one’s being near. . . . I looked down. Below, on the path, in a light greyish gown, with a pink parasol on her shoulder, was Zina?da, hurrying along. She caught sight of me, stopped, and pushing back the brim of her straw hat, she raised her velvety13 eyes to me.
‘What are you doing up there at such a height?’ she asked me with a rather queer smile. ‘Come,’ she went on, ‘you always declare you love me; jump down into the road to me if you really do love me.’
Zina?da had hardly uttered those words when I flew down, just as though some one had given me a violent push from behind. The wall was about fourteen feet high. I reached the ground on my feet, but the shock was so great that I could not keep my footing; I fell down, and for an instant fainted away. When I came to myself again, without opening my eyes, I felt Zina?da beside me. ‘My dear boy,’ she was saying, bending over me, and there was a note of alarmed tenderness in her voice, ‘how could you do it, dear; how could you obey? . . . You know I love you. . . . Get up.’
Her bosom14 was heaving close to me, her hands were caressing15 my head, and suddenly — what were my emotions at that moment — her soft, fresh lips began covering my face with kisses . . . they touched my lips. . . . But then Zina?da probably guessed by the expression of my face that I had regained16 consciousness, though I still kept my eyes closed, and rising rapidly to her feet, she said: ‘Come, get up, naughty boy, silly, why are you lying in the dust?’ I got up. ‘Give me my parasol,’ said Zina?da, ‘I threw it down somewhere, and don’t stare at me like that . . . what ridiculous nonsense! you’re not hurt, are you? stung by the nettles17, I daresay? Don’t stare at me, I tell you. . . . But he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t answer,’ she added, as though to herself. . . . ‘Go home, M’sieu’ Voldemar, brush yourself, and don’t dare to follow me, or I shall be angry, and never again . . . ’
She did not finish her sentence, but walked rapidly away, while I sat down by the side of the road . . . my legs would not support me. The nettles had stung my hands, my back ached, and my head was giddy; but the feeling of rapture18 I experienced then has never come a second time in my life. It turned to a sweet ache in all my limbs and found expression at last in joyful19 hops20 and skips and shouts. Yes, I was still a child.
收听单词发音 |
1
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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2
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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3
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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4
tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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5
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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6
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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7
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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8
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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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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10
consolatory
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| adj.慰问的，可藉慰的 | |
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11
revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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12
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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13
velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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14
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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15
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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16
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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17
nettles
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| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
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18
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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19
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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20
hops
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| 跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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