From Stepan we heard that Moisey was Madame Tcheprakov’s lover. I noticed that when people came to her to borrow money they addressed themselves first to Moisey, and once I saw a peasant, black from head to foot—he must have been a coalheaver—bow down at Moisey’s feet. Sometimes, after a little whispering, he gave out money himself, without consulting his mistress, from which I concluded that he did a little business on his own account.
He used to shoot in our garden under our windows, carried off victuals2 from our cellar, borrowed our horses without asking permission, and we were indignant and began to feel as though Dubetchnya were not ours, and Masha would say, turning pale:
“Can we really have to go on living with these reptiles3 another eighteen months?”
Madame Tcheprakov’s son, Ivan, was serving as a guard on our railway-line. He had grown much thinner and feebler during the winter, so that a single glass was enough to make him drunk, and he shivered out of the sunshine. He wore the guard’s uniform with aversion and was ashamed of it, but considered his post a good one, as he could steal the candles and sell them. My new position excited in him a mixed feeling of wonder, envy, and a vague hope that something of the same sort might happen to him. He used to watch Masha with ecstatic eyes, ask me what I had for dinner now, and his lean and ugly face wore a sad and sweetish expression, and he moved his fingers as though he were feeling my happiness with them.
“Listen, Better-than-nothing,” he said fussily4, relighting his cigarette at every instant; there was always a litter where he stood, for he wasted dozens of matches, lighting5 one cigarette. “Listen, my life now is the nastiest possible. The worst of it is any subaltern can shout: ‘Hi, there, guard!’ I have overheard all sorts of things in the train, my boy, and do you know, I have learned that life’s a beastly thing! My mother has been the ruin of me! A doctor in the train told me that if parents are immoral6, their children are drunkards or criminals. Think of that!”
Once he came into the yard, staggering; his eyes gazed about blankly, his breathing was laboured; he laughed and cried and babbled7 as though in a high fever, and the only words I could catch in his muddled8 talk were, “My mother! Where’s my mother?” which he uttered with a wail9 like a child who has lost his mother in a crowd. I led him into our garden and laid him down under a tree, and Masha and I took turns to sit by him all that day and all night. He was very sick, and Masha looked with aversion at his pale, wet face, and said:
“Is it possible these reptiles will go on living another year and a half in our yard? It’s awful! it’s awful!”
And how many mortifications the peasants caused us! How many bitter disappointments in those early days in the spring months, when we so longed to be happy. My wife built a school. I drew a plan of a school for sixty boys, and the Zemstvo Board approved of it, but advised us to build the school at Kurilovka the big village which was only two miles from us. Moreover, the school at Kurilovka in which children—from four villages, our Dubetchnya being one of the number—were taught, was old and too small, and the floor was scarcely safe to walk upon. At the end of March at Masha’s wish, she was appointed guardian10 of the Kurilovka school, and at the beginning of April we three times summoned the village assembly, and tried to persuade the peasants that their school was old and overcrowded, and that it was essential to build a new one. A member of the Zemstvo Board and the Inspector11 of Peasant Schools came, and they, too, tried to persuade them. After each meeting the peasants surrounded us, begging for a bucket of vodka; we were hot in the crowd; we were soon exhausted12, and returned home dissatisfied and a little ill at ease. In the end the peasants set apart a plot of ground for the school, and were obliged to bring all the building material from the town with their own horses. And the very first Sunday after the spring corn was sown carts set off from Kurilovka and Dubetchnya to fetch bricks for the foundations. They set off as soon as it was light, and came back late in the evening; the peasants were drunk, and said they were worn out.
As ill-luck would have it, the rain and the cold persisted all through May. The road was in an awful state: it was deep in mud. The carts usually drove into our yard when they came back from the town—and what a horrible ordeal13 it was. A potbellied horse would appear at the gate, setting its front legs wide apart; it would stumble forward before coming into the yard; a beam, nine yards long, wet and slimy-looking, crept in on a waggon14. Beside it, muffled15 up against the rain, strode a peasant with the skirts of his coat tucked up in his belt, not looking where he was going, but stepping through the puddles16. Another cart would appear with boards, then a third with a beam, a fourth . . . and the space before our house was gradually crowded up with horses, beams, and planks17. Men and women, with their heads muffled and their skirts tucked up, would stare angrily at our windows, make an uproar18, and clamour for the mistress to come out to them; coarse oaths were audible. Meanwhile Moisey stood at one side, and we fancied he was enjoying our discomfiture19.
“We are not going to cart any more,” the peasants would shout. “We are worn out! Let her go and get the stuff herself.”
Masha, pale and flustered20, expecting every minute that they would break into the house, would send them out a half-pail of vodka; after that the noise would subside21 and the long beams, one after another, would crawl slowly out of the yard.
When I was setting off to see the building my wife was worried and said:
“The peasants are spiteful; I only hope they won’t do you a mischief22. Wait a minute, I’ll come with you.”
We drove to Kurilovka together, and there the carpenters asked us for a drink. The framework of the house was ready. It was time to lay the foundation, but the masons had not come; this caused delay, and the carpenters complained. And when at last the masons did come, it appeared that there was no sand; it had been somehow overlooked that it would be needed. Taking advantage of our helpless position, the peasants demanded thirty kopecks for each cartload, though the distance from the building to the river where they got the sand was less than a quarter of a mile, and more than five hundred cartloads were found to be necessary. There was no end to the misunderstandings, swearing, and importunity23; my wife was indignant, and the foreman of the masons, Tit Petrov, an old man of seventy, took her by the arm, and said:
“You look here! You look here! You only bring me the sand; I set ten men on at once, and in two days it will be done! You look here!”
But they brought the sand and two days passed, and four, and a week, and instead of the promised foundations there was still a yawning hole.
“It’s enough to drive one out of one’s senses,” said my wife, in distress24. “What people! What people!”
In the midst of these disorderly doings the engineer arrived; he brought with him parcels of wine and savouries, and after a prolonged meal lay down for a nap in the verandah and snored so loudly that the labourers shook their heads and said: “Well!”
Masha was not pleased at his coming, she did not trust him, though at the same time she asked his advice. When, after sleeping too long after dinner, he got up in a bad humour and said unpleasant things about our management of the place, or expressed regret that he had bought Dubetchnya, which had already been a loss to him, poor Masha’s face wore an expression of misery25. She would complain to him, and he would yawn and say that the peasants ought to be flogged.
He called our marriage and our life a farce26, and said it was a caprice, a whim27.
“She has done something of the sort before,” he said about Masha. “She once fancied herself a great opera singer and left me; I was looking for her for two months, and, my dear soul, I spent a thousand roubles on telegrams alone.”
He no longer called me a dissenter28 or Mr. Painter, and did not as in the past express approval of my living like a workman, but said:
“You are a strange person! You are not a normal person! I won’t venture to prophesy29, but you will come to a bad end!”
And Masha slept badly at night, and was always sitting at our bedroom window thinking. There was no laughter at supper now, no charming grimaces30. I was wretched, and when it rained, every drop that fell seemed to pierce my heart, like small shot, and I felt ready to fall on my knees before Masha and apologize for the weather. When the peasants made a noise in the yard I felt guilty also. For hours at a time I sat still in one place, thinking of nothing but what a splendid person Masha was, what a wonderful person. I loved her passionately31, and I was fascinated by everything she did, everything she said. She had a bent32 for quiet, studious pursuits; she was fond of reading for hours together, of studying. Although her knowledge of farming was only from books she surprised us all by what she knew; and every piece of advice she gave was of value; not one was ever thrown away; and, with all that, what nobility, what taste, what graciousness, that graciousness which is only found in well-educated people.
To this woman, with her sound, practical intelligence, the disorderly surroundings with petty cares and sordid33 anxieties in which we were living now were an agony: I saw that and could not sleep at night; my brain worked feverishly34 and I had a lump in my throat. I rushed about not knowing what to do.
I galloped35 to the town and brought Masha books, newspapers, sweets, flowers; with Stepan I caught fish, wading36 for hours up to my neck in the cold water in the rain to catch eel-pout to vary our fare; I demeaned myself to beg the peasants not to make a noise; I plied37 them with vodka, bought them off, made all sorts of promises. And how many other foolish things I did!
At last the rain ceased, the earth dried. One would get up at four o’clock in the morning; one would go out into the garden—where there was dew sparkling on the flowers, the twitter of birds, the hum of insects, not one cloud in the sky; and the garden, the meadows, and the river were so lovely, yet there were memories of the peasants, of their carts, of the engineer. Masha and I drove out together in the racing38 droshky to the fields to look at the oats. She used to drive, I sat behind; her shoulders were raised and the wind played with her hair.
“Keep to the right!” she shouted to those she met.
“You are like a sledge-driver,” I said to her one day.
“Maybe! Why, my grandfather, the engineer’s father, was a sledge-driver. Didn’t you know that?” she asked, turning to me, and at once she mimicked39 the way sledge-drivers shout and sing.
“And thank God for that,” I thought as I listened to her. “Thank God.”
And again memories of the peasants, of the carts, of the engineer . . . .
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1
impudently
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2
victuals
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| n.食物；食品 | |
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reptiles
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| n.爬行动物，爬虫( reptile的名词复数 ) | |
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fussily
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| adv.无事空扰地，大惊小怪地，小题大做地 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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6
immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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7
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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8
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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9
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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10
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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12
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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13
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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14
waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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15
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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16
puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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18
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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19
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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20
flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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21
subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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23
importunity
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| n.硬要，强求 | |
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24
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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25
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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26
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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27
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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28
dissenter
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| n.反对者 | |
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29
prophesy
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| v.预言；预示 | |
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30
grimaces
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| n.（表蔑视、厌恶等）面部扭曲，鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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31
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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32
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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33
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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34
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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35
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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36
wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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37
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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38
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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39
mimicked
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 )；酷似 | |
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