The weather was excellent and the snow-covered road smooth as a floor. They drove some seven miles out of town, and then stopped and consulted as to whether they should turn back or drive farther.
‘But where does this road lead to?’ asked Makovkina, the beautiful divorcee.
‘To Tambov, eight miles from here,’ replied one of the lawyers, who was having a flirtation3 with her.
‘And then where?’
‘Where that Father Sergius lives?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes.’
‘Mesdames et messieurs, let us drive on and see Kasatsky! We can stop at Tambov and have something to eat.’
‘But we shouldn’t get home to-night!’
‘Never mind, we will stay at Kasatsky’s.’
‘Well, there is a very good hostelry at the Monastery. I stayed there when I was defending Makhin.’
‘No, I shall spend the night at Kasatsky’s!’
‘Impossible! Even your omnipotence5 could not accomplish that!’
‘Impossible? Will you bet?’
‘All right! If you spend the night with him, the stake shall be whatever you like.’
‘A DISCRETION6!’
‘But on your side too!’
‘Yes, of course. Let us drive on.’
Vodka was handed to the drivers, and the party got out a box of pies, wine, and sweets for themselves. The ladies wrapped up in their white dogskins. The drivers disputed as to whose troyka should go ahead, and the youngest, seating himself sideways with a dashing air, swung his long knout and shouted to the horses. The troyka-bells tinkled7 and the sledge8-runners squeaked9 over the snow.
The sledge swayed hardly at all. The shaft-horse, with his tightly bound tail under his decorated breechband, galloped10 smoothly11 and briskly; the smooth road seemed to run rapidly backwards12, while the driver dashingly shook the reins13. One of the lawyers and the officer sitting opposite talked nonsense to Makovkina’s neighbour, but Makovkina herself sat motionless and in thought, tightly wrapped in her fur. ‘Always the same and always nasty! The same red shiny faces smelling of wine and cigars! The same talk, the same thoughts, and always about the same things! And they are all satisfied and confident that it should be so, and will go on living like that till they die. But I can’t. It bores me. I want something that would upset it all and turn it upside down. Suppose it happened to us as to those people—at Saratov was it?—who kept on driving and froze to death.... What would our people do? How would they behave? Basely, for certain. Each for himself. And I too should act badly. But I at any rate have beauty. They all know it. And how about that monk14? Is it possible that he has become indifferent to it? No! That is the one thing they all care for—like that cadet last autumn. What a fool he was!’
‘Ivan Nikolaevich!’ she said aloud.
‘What are your commands?’
‘How old is he?’
‘Who?’
‘Kasatsky.’
‘Over forty, I should think.’
‘And does he receive all visitors?’
‘Yes, everybody, but not always.’
‘Cover up my feet. Not like that—how clumsy you are! No! More, more—like that! But you need not squeeze them!’
So they came to the forest where the cell was.
Makovkina got out of the sledge, and told them to drive on. They tried to dissuade15 her, but she grew irritable16 and ordered them to go on.
When the sledges17 had gone she went up the path in her white dogskin coat. The lawyer got out and stopped to watch her.
It was Father Sergius’s sixth year as a recluse18, and he was now forty-nine. His life in solitude19 was hard—not on account of the fasts and the prayers (they were no hardship to him) but on account of an inner conflict he had not at all anticipated. The sources of that conflict were two: doubts, and the lust21 of the flesh. And these two enemies always appeared together. It seemed to him that they were two foes22, but in reality they were one and the same. As soon as doubt was gone so was the lustful23 desire. But thinking them to be two different fiends he fought them separately.
‘O my God, my God!’ thought he. ‘Why dost thou not grant me faith? There is lust, of course: even the saints had to fight that—Saint Anthony and others. But they had faith, while I have moments, hours, and days, when it is absent. Why does the whole world, with all its delights, exist if it is sinful and must be renounced24? Why hast Thou created this temptation? Temptation? Is it not rather a temptation that I wish to abandon all the joys of earth and prepare something for myself there where perhaps there is nothing?’ And he became horrified25 and filled with disgust at himself. ‘Vile creature! And it is you who wish to become a saint!’ he upbraided26 himself, and he began to pray. But as soon as he started to pray he saw himself vividly27 as he had been at the Monastery, in a majestic28 post in biretta and mantle29, and he shook his head. ‘No, that is not right. It is deception30. I may deceive others, but not myself or God. I am not a majestic man, but a pitiable and ridiculous one!’ And he threw back the folds of his cassock and smiled as he looked at his thin legs in their underclothing.
Then he dropped the folds of the cassock again and began reading the prayers, making the sign of the cross and prostrating31 himself. ‘Can it be that this couch will be my bier?’ he read. And it seemed as if a devil whispered to him: ‘A solitary32 couch is itself a bier. Falsehood!’ And in imagination he saw the shoulders of a widow with whom he had lived. He shook himself, and went on reading. Having read the precepts33 he took up the Gospels, opened the book, and happened on a passage he often repeated and knew by heart: ‘Lord, I believe. Help thou my unbelief!’—and he put away all the doubts that had arisen. As one replaces an object of insecure equilibrium34, so he carefully replaced his belief on its shaky pedestal and carefully stepped back from it so as not to shake or upset it. The blinkers were adjusted again and he felt tranquillized, and repeating his childhood’s prayer: ‘Lord, receive me, receive me!’ he felt not merely at ease, but thrilled and joyful35. He crossed himself and lay down on the bedding on his narrow bench, tucking his summer cassock under his head. He fell asleep at once, and in his light slumber36 he seemed to hear the tinkling37 of sledge bells. He did not know whether he was dreaming or awake, but a knock at the door aroused him. He sat up, distrusting his senses, but the knock was repeated. Yes, it was a knock close at hand, at his door, and with it the sound of a woman’s voice.
‘My God! Can it be true, as I have read in the Lives of the Saints, that the devil takes on the form of a woman? Yes—it is a woman’s voice. And a tender, timid, pleasant voice. Phui!’ And he spat38 to exorcise the devil. ‘No, it was only my imagination,’ he assured himself, and he went to the corner where his lectern stood, falling on his knees in the regular and habitual39 manner which of itself gave him consolation40 and satisfaction. He sank down, his hair hanging over his face, and pressed his head, already going bald in front, to the cold damp strip of drugget on the draughty floor. He read the psalm41 old Father Pimon had told him warded42 off temptation. He easily raised his light and emaciated43 body on his strong sinewy44 legs and tried to continue saying his prayers, but instead of doing so he involuntarily strained his hearing. He wished to hear more. All was quiet. From the corner of the roof regular drops continued to fall into the tub below. Outside was a mist and fog eating into the snow that lay on the ground. It was still, very still. And suddenly there was a rustling45 at the window and a voice—that same tender, timid voice, which could only belong to an attractive woman—said:
‘Let me in, for Christ’s sake!’
It seemed as though his blood had all rushed to his heart and settled there. He could hardly breathe. ‘Let God arise and let his enemies be scattered46...’
‘But I am not a devil!’ It was obvious that the lips that uttered this were smiling. ‘I am not a devil, but only a sinful woman who has lost her way, not figuratively but literally47!’ She laughed. ‘I am frozen and beg for shelter.’
He pressed his face to the window, but the little icon48-lamp was reflected by it and shone on the whole pane49. He put his hands to both sides of his face and peered between them. Fog, mist, a tree, and—just opposite him—she herself. Yes, there, a few inches from him, was the sweet, kindly50 frightened face of a woman in a cap and a coat of long white fur, leaning towards him. Their eyes met with instant recognition: not that they had ever known one another, they had never met before, but by the look they exchanged they—and he particularly—felt that they knew and understood one another. After that glance to imagine her to be a devil and not a simple, kindly, sweet, timid woman, was impossible.
‘Who are you? Why have you come?’ he asked.
‘Do please open the door!’ she replied, with capricious authority. ‘I am frozen. I tell you I have lost my way.’
‘But I am a monk—a hermit.’
‘Oh, do please open the door—or do you wish me to freeze under your window while you say your prayers?’
‘But how have you...’
‘I shan’t eat you. For God’s sake let me in! I am quite frozen.’
She really did feel afraid, and said this in an almost tearful voice.
He stepped back from the window and looked at an icon of the Saviour51 in His crown of thorns. ‘Lord, help me! Lord, help me!’ he exclaimed, crossing himself and bowing low. Then he went to the door, and opening it into the tiny porch, felt for the hook that fastened the outer door and began to lift it. He heard steps outside. She was coming from the window to the door. ‘Ah!’ she suddenly exclaimed, and he understood that she had stepped into the puddle52 that the dripping from the roof had formed at the threshold. His hands trembled, and he could not raise the hook of the tightly closed door.
‘Oh, what are you doing? Let me in! I am all wet. I am frozen! You are thinking about saving your soul and are letting me freeze to death...’
He jerked the door towards him, raised the hook, and without considering what he was doing, pushed it open with such force that it struck her.
She smiled on hearing that PARDON. ‘He is not quite so terrible, after all,’ she thought. ‘It’s all right. It is you who must pardon me,’ she said, stepping past him. ‘I should never have ventured, but such an extraordinary circumstance...’
‘If you please!’ he uttered, and stood aside to let her pass him. A strong smell of fine scent54, which he had long not encountered, struck him. She went through the little porch into the cell where he lived. He closed the outer door without fastening the hook, and stepped in after her.
‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner! Lord, have mercy on me a sinner!’ he prayed unceasingly, not merely to himself but involuntarily moving his lips. ‘If you please!’ he said to her again. She stood in the middle of the room, moisture dripping from her to the floor as she looked him over. Her eyes were laughing.
‘Forgive me for having disturbed your solitude. But you see what a position I am in. It all came about from our starting from town for a sledge-drive, and my making a bet that I would walk back by myself from the Vorobevka to the town. But then I lost my way, and if I had not happened to come upon your cell...’ She began lying, but his face confused her so that she could not continue, but became silent. She had not expected him to be at all such as he was. He was not as handsome as she had imagined, but was nevertheless beautiful in her eyes: his greyish hair and beard, slightly curling, his fine, regular nose, and his eyes like glowing coal when he looked at her, made a strong impression on her.
He saw that she was lying.
‘Yes... so,’ said he, looking at her and again lowering his eyes. ‘I will go in there, and this place is at your disposal.’
And taking down the little lamp, he lit a candle, and bowing low to her went into the small cell beyond the partition, and she heard him begin to move something about there. ‘Probably he is barricading55 himself in from me!’ she thought with a smile, and throwing off her white dogskin cloak she tried to take off her cap, which had become entangled56 in her hair and in the woven kerchief she was wearing under it. She had not got at all wet when standing57 under the window, and had said so only as a pretext58 to get him to let her in. But she really had stepped into the puddle at the door, and her left foot was wet up to the ankle and her overshoe full of water. She sat down on his bed—a bench only covered by a bit of carpet—and began to take off her boots. The little cell seemed to her charming. The narrow little room, some seven feet by nine, was as clean as glass. There was nothing in it but the bench on which she was sitting, the book-shelf above it, and a lectern in the corner. A sheepskin coat and a cassock hung on nails by the door. Above the lectern was the little lamp and an icon of Christ in His crown of thorns. The room smelt59 strangely of perspiration60 and of earth. It all pleased her—even that smell. Her wet feet, especially one of them, were uncomfortable, and she quickly began to take off her boots and stockings without ceasing to smile, pleased not so much at having achieved her object as because she perceived that she had abashed61 that charming, strange, striking, and attractive man. ‘He did not respond, but what of that?’ she said to herself.
‘Father Sergius! Father Sergius! Or how does one call you?’
‘What do you want?’ replied a quiet voice.
‘Please forgive me for disturbing your solitude, but really I could not help it. I should simply have fallen ill. And I don’t know that I shan’t now. I am all wet and my feet are like ice.’
‘Pardon me,’ replied the quiet voice. ‘I cannot be of any assistance to you.’
‘I would not have disturbed you if I could have helped it. I am only here till daybreak.’
He did not reply and she heard him muttering something, probably his prayers.
‘You will not be coming in here?’ she asked, smiling. ‘For I must undress to dry myself.’
He did not reply, but continued to read his prayers.
‘Yes, that is a man!’ thought she, getting her dripping boot off with difficulty. She tugged62 at it, but could not get it off. The absurdity63 of it struck her and she began to laugh almost inaudibly. But knowing that he would hear her laughter and would be moved by it just as she wished him to be, she laughed louder, and her laughter—gay, natural, and kindly—really acted on him just in the way she wished.
‘Yes, I could love a man like that—such eyes and such a simple noble face, and passionate64 too despite all the prayers he mutters!’ thought she. ‘You can’t deceive a woman in these things. As soon as he put his face to the window and saw me, he understood and knew. The glimmer65 of it was in his eyes and remained there. He began to love me and desired me. Yes—desired!’ said she, getting her overshoe and her boot off at last and starting to take off her stockings. To remove those long stockings fastened with elastic66 it was necessary to raise her skirts. She felt embarrassed and said:
‘Don’t come in!’
But there was no reply from the other side of the wall. The steady muttering continued and also a sound of moving.
‘He is prostrating himself to the ground, no doubt,’ thought she. ‘But he won’t bow himself out of it. He is thinking of me just as I am thinking of him. He is thinking of these feet of mine with the same feeling that I have!’ And she pulled off her wet stockings and put her feet up on the bench, pressing them under her. She sat a while like that with her arms round her knees and looking pensively67 before her. ‘But it is a desert, here in this silence. No one would ever know....’
She rose, took her stockings over to the stove, and hung them on the damper. It was a queer damper, and she turned it about, and then, stepping lightly on her bare feet, returned to the bench and sat down there again with her feet up.
There was complete silence on the other side of the partition. She looked at the tiny watch that hung round her neck. It was two o’clock. ‘Our party should return about three!’ She had not more than an hour before her. ‘Well, am I to sit like this all alone? What nonsense! I don’t want to. I will call him at once.’
‘Father Sergius, Father Sergius! Sergey Dmitrich! Prince Kasatsky!’
Beyond the partition all was silent.
‘Listen! This is cruel. I would not call you if it were not necessary. I am ill. I don’t know what is the matter with me!’ she exclaimed in a tone of suffering. ‘Oh! Oh!’ she groaned68, falling back on the bench. And strange to say she really felt that her strength was failing, that she was becoming faint, that everything in her ached, and that she was shivering with fever.
‘Listen! Help me! I don’t know what is the matter with me. Oh! Oh!’ She unfastened her dress, exposing her breast, and lifted her arms, bare to the elbow. ‘Oh! Oh!’
All this time he stood on the other side of the partition and prayed. Having finished all the evening prayers, he now stood motionless, his eyes looking at the end of his nose, and mentally repeated with all his soul: ‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy upon me!’
But he had heard everything. He had heard how the silk rustled69 when she took off her dress, how she stepped with bare feet on the floor, and had heard how she rubbed her feet with her hand. He felt his own weakness, and that he might be lost at any moment. That was why he prayed unceasingly. He felt rather as the hero in the fairy-tale must have felt when he had to go on and on without looking round. So Sergius heard and felt that danger and destruction were there, hovering70 above and around him, and that he could only save himself by not looking in that direction for an instant. But suddenly the desire to look seized him. At the same instant she said:
‘Yes, I will go to her, but like the Saint who laid one hand on the adulteress and thrust his other into the brazier. But there is no brazier here.’ He looked round. The lamp! He put his finger over the flame and frowned, preparing himself to suffer. And for a rather long time, as it seemed to him, there was no sensation, but suddenly—he had not yet decided72 whether it was painful enough—he writhed73 all over, jerked his hand away, and waved it in the air. ‘No, I can’t stand that!’
‘For God’s sake come to me! I am dying! Oh!’
‘Well—shall I perish? No, not so!’
‘I will come to you directly,’ he said, and having opened his door, he went without looking at her through the cell into the porch where he used to chop wood. There he felt for the block and for an axe74 which leant against the wall.
‘Immediately!’ he said, and taking up the axe with his right hand he laid the forefinger75 of his left hand on the block, swung the axe, and struck with it below the second joint76. The finger flew off more lightly than a stick of similar thickness, and bounding up, turned over on the edge of the block and then fell to the floor.
He heard it fall before he felt any pain, but before he had time to be surprised he felt a burning pain and the warmth of flowing blood. He hastily wrapped the stump77 in the skirt of his cassock, and pressing it to his hip20 went back into the room, and standing in front of the woman, lowered his eyes and asked in a low voice: ‘What do you want?’
She looked at his pale face and his quivering left cheek, and suddenly felt ashamed. She jumped up, seized her fur cloak, and throwing it round her shoulders, wrapped herself up in it.
‘I was in pain... I have caught cold... I... Father Sergius... I...’
He let his eyes, shining with a quiet light of joy, rest upon her, and said:
‘Dear sister, why did you wish to ruin your immortal78 soul? Temptations must come into the world, but woe79 to him by whom temptation comes. Pray that God may forgive us!’
She listened and looked at him. Suddenly she heard the sound of something dripping. She looked down and saw that blood was flowing from his hand and down his cassock.
‘What have you done to your hand?’ She remembered the sound she had heard, and seizing the little lamp ran out into the porch. There on the floor she saw the bloody80 finger. She returned with her face paler than his and was about to speak to him, but he silently passed into the back cell and fastened the door.
‘Go away.’
‘Let me tie up your hand.’
‘Go away from here.’
She dressed hurriedly and silently, and when ready sat waiting in her furs. The sledge-bells were heard outside.
‘Father Sergius, forgive me!’
‘Go away. God will forgive.’
‘Go away.’
‘In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost!’—she heard his voice from behind the partition. ‘Go!’
‘Well, I see I have lost the bet. It can’t be helped. Where will you sit?’
‘It is all the same to me.’
She took a seat in the sledge, and did not utter a word all the way home.
A year later she entered a convent as a novice85, and lived a strict life under the direction of the hermit Arseny, who wrote letters to her at long intervals86.
该作者的其它作品
《Anna Karenina安娜·卡列尼娜》
《童年 Childhood》《Anna Karenina安娜·卡列尼娜》
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1
carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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omnipotence
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| n.全能，万能，无限威力 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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7
tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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squeaked
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的过去式和过去分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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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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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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sledges
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| n.雪橇，雪车( sledge的名词复数 )v.乘雪橇( sledge的第三人称单数 )；用雪橇运载 | |
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recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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lustful
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| a.贪婪的；渴望的 | |
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renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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upbraided
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| v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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prostrating
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的现在分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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warded
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| 有锁孔的，有钥匙榫槽的 | |
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emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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icon
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| n.偶像，崇拜的对象，画像 | |
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pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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52
puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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53
reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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54
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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barricading
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的现在分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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65
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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69
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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81
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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82
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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83
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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84
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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85
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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86
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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