Two days later I was dismissed. And in this way I have, during the years I have been regarded as grown up, lost nine situations, to the great mortification4 of my father, the architect of our town. I have served in various departments, but all these nine jobs have been as alike as one drop of water is to another: I had to sit, write, listen to rude or stupid observations, and go on doing so till I was dismissed.
When I came in to my father he was sitting buried in a low arm-chair with his eyes closed. His dry, emaciated5 face, with a shade of dark blue where it was shaved (he looked like an old Catholic organist), expressed meekness6 and resignation. Without responding to my greeting or opening his eyes, he said:
“If my dear wife and your mother were living, your life would have been a source of continual distress7 to her. I see the Divine Providence8 in her premature9 death. I beg you, unhappy boy,” he continued, opening his eyes, “tell me: what am I to do with you?”
In the past when I was younger my friends and relations had known what to do with me: some of them used to advise me to volunteer for the army, others to get a job in a pharmacy10, and others in the telegraph department; now that I am over twenty-five, that grey hairs are beginning to show on my temples, and that I have been already in the army, and in a pharmacy, and in the telegraph department, it would seem that all earthly possibilities have been exhausted11, and people have given up advising me, and merely sigh or shake their heads.
“What do you think about yourself?” my father went on. “By the time they are your age, young men have a secure social position, while look at you: you are a proletarian, a beggar, a burden on your father!”
And as usual he proceeded to declare that the young people of today were on the road to perdition through infidelity, materialism12, and self-conceit, and that amateur theatricals13 ought to be prohibited, because they seduced14 young people from religion and their duties.
“To-morrow we shall go together, and you shall apologize to the superintendent, and promise him to work conscientiously,” he said in conclusion. “You ought not to remain one single day with no regular position in society.”
“I beg you to listen to me,” I said sullenly15, expecting nothing good from this conversation. “What you call a position in society is the privilege of capital and education. Those who have neither wealth nor education earn their daily bread by manual labour, and I see no grounds for my being an exception.”
“When you begin talking about manual labour it is always stupid and vulgar!” said my father with irritation16. “Understand, you dense17 fellow—understand, you addle-pate, that besides coarse physical strength you have the divine spirit, a spark of the holy fire, which distinguishes you in the most striking way from the ass3 or the reptile18, and brings you nearer to the Deity19! This fire is the fruit of the efforts of the best of mankind during thousands of years. Your great-grandfather Poloznev, the general, fought at Borodino; your grandfather was a poet, an orator20, and a Marshal of Nobility; your uncle is a schoolmaster; and lastly, I, your father, am an architect! All the Poloznevs have guarded the sacred fire for you to put it out!”
“One must be just,” I said. “Millions of people put up with manual labour.”
“And let them put up with it! They don’t know how to do anything else! Anybody, even the most abject21 fool or criminal, is capable of manual labour; such labour is the distinguishing mark of the slave and the barbarian22, while the holy fire is vouchsafed23 only to a few!”
To continue this conversation was unprofitable. My father worshipped himself, and nothing was convincing to him but what he said himself. Besides, I knew perfectly24 well that the disdain25 with which he talked of physical toil26 was founded not so much on reverence27 for the sacred fire as on a secret dread28 that I should become a workman, and should set the whole town talking about me; what was worse, all my contemporaries had long ago taken their degrees and were getting on well, and the son of the manager of the State Bank was already a collegiate assessor, while I, his only son, was nothing! To continue the conversation was unprofitable and unpleasant, but I still sat on and feebly retorted, hoping that I might at last be understood. The whole question, of course, was clear and simple, and only concerned with the means of my earning my living; but the simplicity29 of it was not seen, and I was talked to in mawkishly30 rounded phrases of Borodino, of the sacred fire, of my uncle a forgotten poet, who had once written poor and artificial verses; I was rudely called an addlepate and a dense fellow. And how I longed to be understood! In spite of everything, I loved my father and my sister and it had been my habit from childhood to consult them— a habit so deeply rooted that I doubt whether I could ever have got rid of it; whether I were in the right or the wrong, I was in constant dread of wounding them, constantly afraid that my father’s thin neck would turn crimson31 and that he would have a stroke.
“To sit in a stuffy32 room,” I began, “to copy, to compete with a typewriter, is shameful33 and humiliating for a man of my age. What can the sacred fire have to do with it?”
“It’s intellectual work, anyway,” said my father. “But that’s enough; let us cut short this conversation, and in any case I warn you: if you don’t go back to your work again, but follow your contemptible35 propensities36, then my daughter and I will banish37 you from our hearts. I shall strike you out of my will, I swear by the living God!”
With perfect sincerity38 to prove the purity of the motives39 by which I wanted to be guided in all my doings, I said:
“The question of inheritance does not seem very important to me. I shall renounce40 it all beforehand.”
For some reason or other, quite to my surprise, these words were deeply resented by my father. He turned crimson.
“Don’t dare to talk to me like that, stupid!” he shouted in a thin, shrill41 voice. “Wastrel!” and with a rapid, skilful42, and habitual43 movement he slapped me twice in the face. “You are forgetting yourself.”
When my father beat me as a child I had to stand up straight, with my hands held stiffly to my trouser seams, and look him straight in the face. And now when he hit me I was utterly44 overwhelmed, and, as though I were still a child, drew myself up and tried to look him in the face. My father was old and very thin but his delicate muscles must have been as strong as leather, for his blows hurt a good deal.
I staggered back into the passage, and there he snatched up his umbrella, and with it hit me several times on the head and shoulders; at that moment my sister opened the drawing-room door to find out what the noise was, but at once turned away with a look of horror and pity without uttering a word in my defence.
My determination not to return to the Government office, but to begin a new life of toil, was not to be shaken. All that was left for me to do was to fix upon the special employment, and there was no particular difficulty about that, as it seemed to me that I was very strong and fitted for the very heaviest labour. I was faced with a monotonous45 life of toil in the midst of hunger, coarseness, and stench, continually preoccupied46 with earning my daily bread. And—who knows?—as I returned from my work along Great Dvoryansky Street, I might very likely envy Dolzhikov the, engineer, who lived by intellectual work, but, at the moment, thinking over all my future hardships made me light-hearted. At times I had dreamed of spiritual activity, imagining myself a teacher, a doctor, or a writer, but these dreams remained dreams. The taste for intellectual pleasures—for the theatre, for instance, and for reading—was a passion with me, but whether I had any ability for intellectual work I don’t know. At school I had had an unconquerable aversion for Greek, so that I was only in the fourth class when they had to take me from school. For a long while I had coaches preparing me for the fifth class. Then I served in various Government offices, spending the greater part of the day in complete idleness, and I was told that was intellectual work. My activity in the scholastic47 and official sphere had required neither mental application nor talent, nor special qualifications, nor creative impulse; it was mechanical. Such intellectual work I put on a lower level than physical toil; I despise it, and I don’t think that for one moment it could serve as a justification48 for an idle, careless life, as it is indeed nothing but a sham34, one of the forms of that same idleness. Real intellectual work I have in all probability never known.
Evening came on. We lived in Great Dvoryansky Street; it was the principal street in the town, and in the absence of decent public gardens our beau monde used to use it as a promenade49 in the evenings. This charming street did to some extent take the place of a public garden, as on each side of it there was a row of poplars which smelt50 sweet, particularly after rain, and acacias, tall bushes of lilac, wild-cherries and apple-trees hung over the fences and palings. The May twilight51, the tender young greenery with its shifting shades, the scent52 of the lilac, the buzzing of the insects, the stillness, the warmth—how fresh and marvellous it all is, though spring is repeated every year! I stood at the garden gate and watched the passers-by. With most of them I had grown up and at one time played pranks53; now they might have been disconcerted by my being near them, for I was poorly and unfashionably dressed, and they used to say of my very narrow trousers and huge, clumsy boots that they were like sticks of macaroni stuck in boats. Besides, I had a bad reputation in the town because I had no decent social position, and used often to play billiards54 in cheap taverns55, and also, perhaps, because I had on two occasions been hauled up before an officer of the police, though I had done nothing whatever to account for this.
In the big house opposite someone was playing the piano at Dolzhikov’s. It was beginning to get dark, and stars were twinkling in the sky. Here my father, in an old top-hat with wide upturned brim, walked slowly by with my sister on his arm, bowing in response to greetings.
“Look up,” he said to my sister, pointing to the sky with the same umbrella with which he had beaten me that afternoon. “Look up at the sky! Even the tiniest stars are all worlds! How insignificant56 is man in comparison with the universe!”
And he said this in a tone that suggested that it was particularly agreeable and flattering to him that he was so insignificant. How absolutely devoid57 of talent and imagination he was! Sad to say, he was the only architect in the town, and in the fifteen to twenty years that I could remember not one single decent house had been built in it. When any one asked him to plan a house, he usually drew first the reception hall and drawing-room: just as in old days the boarding-school misses always started from the stove when they danced, so his artistic58 ideas could only begin and develop from the hall and drawing-room. To them he tacked59 on a dining-room, a nursery, a study, linking the rooms together with doors, and so they all inevitably60 turned into passages, and every one of them had two or even three unnecessary doors. His imagination must have been lacking in clearness, extremely muddled62, curtailed63. As though feeling that something was lacking, he invariably had recourse to all sorts of outbuildings, planting one beside another; and I can see now the narrow entries, the poky little passages, the crooked64 staircases leading to half-landings where one could not stand upright, and where, instead of a floor, there were three huge steps like the shelves of a bath-house; and the kitchen was invariably in the basement with a brick floor and vaulted65 ceilings. The front of the house had a harsh, stubborn expression; the lines of it were stiff and timid; the roof was low-pitched and, as it were, squashed down; and the fat, well-fed-looking chimneys were invariably crowned by wire caps with squeaking66 black cowls. And for some reason all these houses, built by my father exactly like one another, vaguely67 reminded me of his top-hat and the back of his head, stiff and stubborn-looking. In the course of years they have grown used in the town to the poverty of my father’s imagination. It has taken root and become our local style.
This same style my father had brought into my sister’s life also, beginning with christening her Kleopatra (just as he had named me Misail). When she was a little girl he scared her by references to the stars, to the sages61 of ancient times, to our ancestors, and discoursed68 at length on the nature of life and duty; and now, when she was twenty-six, he kept up the same habits, allowing her to walk arm in arm with no one but himself, and imagining for some reason that sooner or later a suitable young man would be sure to appear, and to desire to enter into matrimony with her from respect for his personal qualities. She adored my father, feared him, and believed in his exceptional intelligence.
It was quite dark, and gradually the street grew empty. The music had ceased in the house opposite; the gate was thrown wide open, and a team with three horses trotted69 frolicking along our street with a soft tinkle70 of little bells. That was the engineer going for a drive with his daughter. It was bedtime.
I had my own room in the house, but I lived in a shed in the yard, under the same roof as a brick barn which had been built some time or other, probably to keep harness in; great hooks were driven into the wall. Now it was not wanted, and for the last thirty years my father had stowed away in it his newspapers, which for some reason he had bound in half-yearly volumes and allowed nobody to touch. Living here, I was less liable to be seen by my father and his visitors, and I fancied that if I did not live in a real room, and did not go into the house every day to dinner, my father’s words that I was a burden upon him did not sound so offensive.
My sister was waiting for me. Unseen by my father, she had brought me some supper: not a very large slice of cold veal71 and a piece of bread. In our house such sayings as: “A penny saved is a penny gained,” and “Take care of the pence and the pounds will take care of themselves,” and so on, were frequently repeated, and my sister, weighed down by these vulgar maxims72, did her utmost to cut down the expenses, and so we fared badly. Putting the plate on the table, she sat down on my bed and began to cry.
“Misail,” she said, “what a way to treat us!”
She did not cover her face; her tears dropped on her bosom73 and hands, and there was a look of distress on her face. She fell back on the pillow, and abandoned herself to her tears, sobbing74 and quivering all over.
“You have left the service again . . .” she articulated. “Oh, how awful it is!”
“But do understand, sister, do understand . . . .” I said, and I was overcome with despair because she was crying.
As ill-luck would have it, the kerosene75 in my little lamp was exhausted; it began to smoke, and was on the point of going out, and the old hooks on the walls looked down sullenly, and their shadows flickered76.
“Have mercy on us,” said my sister, sitting up. “Father is in terrible distress and I am ill; I shall go out of my mind. What will become of you?” she said, sobbing and stretching out her arms to me. “I beg you, I implore77 you, for our dear mother’s sake, I beg you to go back to the office!”
“I can’t, Kleopatra!” I said, feeling that a little more and I should give way. “I cannot!”
“Why not?” my sister went on. “Why not? Well, if you can’t get on with the Head, look out for another post. Why shouldn’t you get a situation on the railway, for instance? I have just been talking to Anyuta Blagovo; she declares they would take you on the railway-line, and even promised to try and get a post for you. For God’s sake, Misail, think a little! Think a little, I implore you.”
We talked a little longer and I gave way. I said that the thought of a job on the railway that was being constructed had never occurred to me, and that if she liked I was ready to try it.
She smiled joyfully78 through her tears and squeezed my hand, and then went on crying because she could not stop, while I went to the kitchen for some kerosene.
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收听单词发音
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1
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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8
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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pharmacy
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| n.药房，药剂学，制药业，配药业，一批备用药品 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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materialism
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| n.［哲］唯物主义，唯物论；物质至上 | |
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theatricals
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| n.（业余性的）戏剧演出，舞台表演艺术；职业演员；戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 )；剧场的；炫耀的；戏剧性的 | |
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14
seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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23
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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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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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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27
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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28
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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mawkishly
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| adv.mawkish（淡而无味的）的变形 | |
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31
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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32
stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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40
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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41
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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42
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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43
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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44
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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45
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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46
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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47
scholastic
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| adj.学校的，学院的，学术上的 | |
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48
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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49
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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50
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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51
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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52
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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53
pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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54
billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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55
taverns
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| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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56
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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57
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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58
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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59
tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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60
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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61
sages
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| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
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62
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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63
curtailed
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| v.截断，缩短( curtail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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65
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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66
squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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67
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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68
discoursed
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| 演说（discourse的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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69
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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70
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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71
veal
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| n.小牛肉 | |
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72
maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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73
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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74
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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75
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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76
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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78
joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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