THE hunt was over, a cloth had been spread in the shade of some young birch-trees, and the whole party was disposed around it. The butler, Gabriel, had stamped down the surrounding grass, wiped the plates in readiness, and unpacked1 from a basket a quantity of plums and peaches wrapped in leaves.
Through the green branches of the young birch-trees the sun glittered and threw little glancing balls of light upon the pattern of my napkin, my legs, and the bald moist head of Gabriel. A soft breeze played in the leaves of the trees above us, and, breathing softly upon my hair and heated face, refreshed me beyond measure, When we had finished the fruit and ices, nothing remained to be done around the empty cloth, so, despite the oblique2, scorching3 rays of the sun, we rose and proceeded to play.
"Well, what shall it be?" said Lubotshka, blinking in the sunlight and skipping about the grass, "Suppose we play Robinson?"
"No, that's a tiresome4 game," objected Woloda, stretching himself lazily on the turf and gnawing5 some leaves, "Always Robinson! If you want to play at something, play at building a summerhouse."
Woloda was giving himself tremendous airs. Probably he was proud of having ridden the hunter, and so pretended to be very tired. Perhaps, also, he had too much hard-headedness and too little imagination fully6 to enjoy the game of Robinson. It was a game which consisted of performing various scenes from The Swiss Family Robinson, a book which we had recently been reading.
"Well, but be a good boy. Why not try and please us this time?" the girls answered. "You may be Charles or Ernest or the father, whichever you like best," added Katenka as she tried to raise him from the ground by pulling at his sleeve.
"No, I'm not going to; it's a tiresome game," said Woloda again, though smiling as if secretly pleased.
"It would be better to sit at home than not to play at ANYTHING," murmured Lubotshka, with tears in her eyes. She was a great weeper.
"Well, go on, then. Only, DON'T cry; I can't stand that sort of thing."
Woloda's condescension7 did not please us much. On the contrary, his lazy, tired expression took away all the fun of the game. When we sat on the ground and imagined that we were sitting in a boat and either fishing or rowing with all our might, Woloda persisted in sitting with folded hands or in anything but a fisherman's posture8. I made a remark about it, but he replied that, whether we moved our hands or not, we should neither gain nor lose ground--certainly not advance at all, and I was forced to agree with him. Again, when I pretended to go out hunting, and, with a stick over my shoulder, set off into the wood, Woloda only lay down on his back with his hands under his head, and said that he supposed it was all the same whether he went or not. Such behaviour and speeches cooled our ardour for the game and were very disagreeable--the more so since it was impossible not to confess to oneself that Woloda was right, I myself knew that it was not only impossible to kill birds with a stick, but to shoot at all with such a weapon. Still, it was the game, and if we were once to begin reasoning thus, it would become equally impossible for us to go for drives on chairs. I think that even Woloda himself cannot at that moment have forgotten how, in the long winter evenings, we had been used to cover an arm-chair with a shawl and make a carriage of it--one of us being the coachman, another one the footman, the two girls the passengers, and three other chairs the trio of horses abreast9. With what ceremony we used to set out, and with what adventures we used to meet on the way! How gaily10 and quickly those long winter evenings used to pass! If we were always to judge from reality, games would be nonsense; but if games were nonsense, what else would there be left to do?
打猎结束了。在小白桦树的阴影里铺了一块地毯,大家围成一圈坐到毯子上。厨师加夫列洛踩平了他周围多汁的青草,正在擦盘子,从盒子里拿出用叶片包着的李子和桃子。阳光透过小白桦树的青枝绿叶射进来,圆圆的光点在地毯的图案上、我的腿上、甚至在加夫列洛的汗漉漉的秃顶上颤动着。一阵微风吹过树叶,吹过我的头发和出汗的脸,我感到非常凉爽。
我们坐在地毯上,吃完自己的那份冰激凌和水果,就没有事可做了,尽管夕阳还很灼人,我们仍然站起来去做游戏。
“喂,玩什么呢?”柳博奇卡在草地上蹦来蹦去,阳光照得她眯缝着眼睛。“我们来玩鲁滨逊的游戏吧!”
“不……没意思,”活洛佳说,他懒洋洋地倒在草地上,嚼着草叶”“老玩鲁滨逊!如果一定要玩,我们顶好还是搭小亭子。”
活洛佳分明是在摆架子:想必是因为他是骑猪马来的,心里很得意,于是装出非常疲倦的样子。也可能是,他太理智,太缺乏想像力了,因而完全不欣赏鲁滨逊这种游戏。这种游戏是表演《Robinson Suisse》 ① 中的场面,不久以前我们看过这本书。
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①《Robinson Suisse》:法语《瑞士鲁滨逊》。该书作者是瑞士作家鲁道夫·威廉。
“哦,请来玩吧……你为什么不愿意让我们得到这种乐趣呢?”姑娘们老缠着他。“你可以扮演查理 ① ,或者爱尔涅斯特,或者父亲,随你挑,好不好?”卡简卡说,拽住他的衣袖,想把他从地上拉起来。
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①查理:和以下的爱尔涅斯特、父亲、都是书中的人物。
“我真不愿意玩,太无聊了!”沃洛佳说,伸伸懒腰,同时自负地笑了笑。
“如果谁也不想玩,那还不如待在家里好呢,”柳博奇卡眼泪汪汪地都囔说。
她是一个爱哭的孩子。
“哦,来玩吧,请你千万不要哭,我可受不了!”
沃洛佳那份屈尊迁就的态度并没有给我们什么乐趣;相反,他那副懒洋洋的、不耐烦的神气把游戏的全部魅力都破坏了。当我们坐到地上,想像我们是坐着船去钓鱼,拚命开始划桨的时候,沃洛佳却袖子坐在一边,神气根本不象个渔夫。我向他指出了这一点。但是他回答说,我们不论动不动胳臂,都不会因此有所得失,所正我们是走不远的。我不能不同意他这种看法。当我扛着一根棍子向树林走去想像自己是在去打猎的时候,沃洛佳却仰面朝天躺下来,把手枕到脑袋下边,对我说,就算是他也去了。这样的言语行动使我们大为扫兴,让人极不痛决。特别是,我们心里又不能不承认沃洛佳的举动是合情合理的。
我自己也知道,不但用棍子打不死鸟雀,而且根本不能射击。这不过是游戏。如果那么想,就不能坐在椅子上当骑马了;而沃洛佳,我想,他自己也记得,在漫长的冬夜里,我们曾把头巾盖在安乐椅上,拿它当四轮马车。一个人坐在前面当车夫,另一个人在后面当仆人,姑娘们坐在中间,三把椅子当作三匹马,于是我们就出发了。一路上经历了多少好玩的事情啊!那些冬夜过得多么愉快,多么迅速呀!……若是认真,就没有游戏了。要是没有游戏,那还有什么呢?……
1 unpacked | |
v.从(包裹等)中取出(所装的东西),打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 );拆包;解除…的负担;吐露(心事等) | |
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2 oblique | |
adj.斜的,倾斜的,无诚意的,不坦率的 | |
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3 scorching | |
adj. 灼热的 | |
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4 tiresome | |
adj.令人疲劳的,令人厌倦的 | |
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5 gnawing | |
a.痛苦的,折磨人的 | |
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6 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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7 condescension | |
n.自以为高人一等,贬低(别人) | |
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8 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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9 abreast | |
adv.并排地;跟上(时代)的步伐,与…并进地 | |
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10 gaily | |
adv.欢乐地,高兴地 | |
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