the witch and other stories-第12节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


never　been；　it　was　like　a　dream　or　a　fairy…tale。

They　trudged　along；　tired　out；　and　mused　as　they　went。　。　。　。　In
their　village；　they　mused；　the　people　were　good；　quiet；　sensible；
fearing　God；　and　Elena　Ivanovna；　too；　was　quiet；　kind；　and
gentle；　it　made　one　sad　to　look　at　her；　but　why　had　they　not　got
on　together？　Why　had　they　parted　like　enemies？　How　was　it　that
some　mist　had　shrouded　from　their　eyes　what　mattered　most；　and
had　let　them　see　nothing　but　damage　done　by　cattle；　bridles；
pincers；　and　all　those　trivial　things　which　now；　as　they
remembered　them；　seemed　so　nonsensical？　How　was　it　that　with　the
new　owner　they　lived　in　peace；　and　yet　had　been　on　bad　terms　with
the　engineer？

And　not　knowing　what　answer　to　make　to　these　questions　they　were
all　silent　except　Volodka；　who　muttered　something。

〃What　is　it？〃　Rodion　asked。

〃We　lived　without　a　bridge　。　。　。〃　said　Volodka　gloomily。　〃We
lived　without　a　bridge；　and　did　not　ask　for　one　。　。　。　and　we
don't　want　it。　。　。　。〃

No　one　answered　him　and　they　walked　on　in　silence　with　drooping
heads。


DREAMS

Two　peasant　constables　　one　a　stubby；　black…bearded　individual
with　such　exceptionally　short　legs　that　if　you　looked　at　him　from
behind　it　seemed　as　though　his　legs　began　much　lower　down　than　in
other　people；　the　other；　long；　thin；　and　straight　as　a　stick；
with　a　scanty　beard　of　dark　reddish　colour　　were　escorting　to
the　district　town　a　tramp　who　refused　to　remember　his　name。　The
first　waddled　along；　looking　from　side　to　side；　chewing　now　a
straw；　now　his　own　sleeve；　slapping　himself　on　the　haunches　and
humming；　and　altogether　had　a　careless　and　frivolous　air；　the
other；　in　spite　of　his　lean　face　and　narrow　shoulders；　looked
solid；　grave；　and　substantial；　in　the　lines　and　expression　of　his
whole　figure　he　was　like　the　priests　among　the　Old　Believers；　or
the　warriors　who　are　painted　on　old…fashioned　ikons。　〃For　his
wisdom　God　had　added　to　his　forehead〃　　that　is；　he　was　bald　
which　increased　the　resemblance　referred　to。　The　first　was　called
Andrey　Ptaha；　the　second　Nikandr　Sapozhnikov。

The　man　they　were　escorting　did　not　in　the　least　correspond　with
the　conception　everyone　has　of　a　tramp。　He　was　a　frail　little
man；　weak　and　sickly…looking；　with　small；　colourless；　and
extremely　indefinite　features。　His　eyebrows　were　scanty；　his
expression　mild　and　submissive；　he　had　scarcely　a　trace　of　a
moustache；　though　he　was　over　thirty。　He　walked　along　timidly；
bent　forward；　with　his　hands　thrust　into　his　sleeves。　The　collar
of　his　shabby　cloth　overcoat；　which　did　not　look　like　a
peasant's；　was　turned　up　to　the　very　brim　of　his　cap；　so　that
only　his　little　red　nose　ventured　to　peep　out　into　the　light　of
day。　He　spoke　in　an　ingratiating　tenor；　continually　coughing。　It
was　very；　very　difficult　to　believe　that　he　was　a　tramp
concealing　his　surname。　He　was　more　like　an　unsuccessful　priest's
son；　stricken　by　God　and　reduced　to　beggary；　a　clerk　discharged
for　drunkenness；　a　merchant's　son　or　nephew　who　had　tried　his
feeble　powers　in　a　theatrical　career；　and　was　now　going　home　to
play　the　last　act　in　the　parable　of　the　prodigal　son；　perhaps；
judging　by　the　dull　patience　with　which　he　struggled　with　the
hopeless　autumn　mud；　he　might　have　been　a　fanatical　monk；
wandering　from　one　Russian　monastery　to　another；　continually
seeking　〃a　peaceful　life；　free　from　sin；〃　and　not　finding　it。　。　。
。

The　travellers　had　been　a　long　while　on　their　way；　but　they
seemed　to　be　always　on　the　same　small　patch　of　ground。　In　front
of　them　there　stretched　thirty　feet　of　muddy　black…brown　mud；
behind　them　the　same；　and　wherever　one　looked　further；　an
impenetrable　wall　of　white　fog。　They　went　on　and　on；　but　the
ground　remained　the　same；　the　wall　was　no　nearer；　and　the　patch
on　which　they　walked　seemed　still　the　same　patch。　They　got　a
glimpse　of　a　white；　clumsy…looking　stone；　a　small　ravine；　or　a
bundle　of　hay　dropped　by　a　passer…by；　the　brief　glimmer　of　a
great　muddy　puddle；　or；　suddenly；　a　shadow　with　vague　outlines
would　come　into　view　ahead　of　them；　the　nearer　they　got　to　it　the
smaller　and　darker　it　became；　nearer　still；　and　there　stood　up
before　the　wayfarers　a　slanting　milestone　with　the　number　rubbed
off；　or　a　wretched　birch…tree　drenched　and　bare　like　a　wayside
beggar。　The　birch…tree　would　whisper　something　with　what　remained
of　its　yellow　leaves；　one　leaf　would　break　off　and　float　lazily
to　the　ground。　。　。　。　And　then　again　fog；　mud；　the　brown　grass　at
the　edges　of　the　road。　On　the　grass　hung　dingy；　unfriendly　tears。
They　were　not　the　tears　of　soft　joy　such　as　the　earth　weeps　at
welcoming　the　summer　sun　and　parting　from　it；　and　such　as　she
gives　to　drink　at　dawn　to　the　corncrakes；　quails；　and　graceful；
long…beaked　crested　snipes。　The　travellers'　feet　stuck　in　the
heavy；　clinging　mud。　Every　step　cost　an　effort。

Andrey　Ptaha　was　somewhat　excited。　He　kept　looking　round　at　the
tramp　and　trying　to　understand　how　a　live；　sober　man　could　fail
to　remember　his　name。

〃You　are　an　orthodox　Christian；　aren't　you？〃　he　asked。

〃Yes；〃　the　tramp　answered　mildly。

〃H'm。　。　。　then　you've　been　christened？〃

〃Why；　to　be　sure！　I'm　not　a　Turk。　I　go　to　church　and　to　the
sacrament；　and　do　not　eat　meat　when　it　is　forbidden。　And　I
observe　my　religious　duties　punctually。　。　。　。〃

〃Well；　what　are　you　called；　then？〃

〃Call　me　what　you　like；　good　man。〃

Ptaha　shrugged　his　shoulders　and　slapped　himself　on　the　haunches
in　extreme　perplexity。　The　other　constable；　Nikandr　Sapozhnikov；
maintained　a　staid　silence。　He　was　not　so　naive　as　Ptaha；　and
apparently　knew　very　well　the　reasons　which　might　induce　an
orthodox　Christian　to　conceal　his　name　from　other　people。　His
expressive　face　was　cold　and　stern。　He　walked　apart　and　did　not
condescend　to　idle　chatter　with　his　companions；　but；　as　it　were；
tried　to　show　everyone；　even　the　fog；　his　sedateness　and
discretion。

〃God　knows　what　to　make　of　you；〃　Ptaha　persisted　in　addressing
the　tramp。　〃Peasant　you　are　not；　and　gentleman　you　are　not；　but
some　sort　of　a　thing　between。　。　。　。　The　other　day　I　was　washing　a
sieve　in　the　pond　and　caught　a　reptile　　see；　as　long　as　a
finger；　with　gills　and　a　tail。　The　first　minute　I　thought　it　was
a　fish；　then　I　looked　　and；　blow　it！　if　it　hadn't　paws。　It　was
not　a　fish；　it　was　a　viper；　and　the　deuce　only　knows　what　it　was。
。　。　。　So　that's　like　you。　。　。　。　What's　your　calling？〃

〃I　am　a　peasant　and　of　peasant　family；〃　sighed　the　tramp。　〃My
mamma　was　a　house　serf。　I　don't　look　like　a　peasant；　that's　true；
for　such　has　been　my　lot；　good　man。　My　mamma　was　a　nurse　with　the
gentry；　and　had　every　comfort；　and　as　I　was　of　her　flesh　and
blood；　I　lived　with　her　in　the　master's　house。　She　petted　and
spoiled　me；　and　did　her　best　to　take　me　out　of　my　humble　class
and　make　a　gentleman　of　me。　I　slept　in　a　bed；　every　day　I　ate　a
real　dinner；　I　wore　breeches　and　shoes　like　a　gentleman's　child。
What　my　mamma　ate　I　was　fed　on；　too；　they　gave　her　stuffs　as　a
present；　and　she　dressed　me　up　in　them。　。　。　。　We　lived　well！　I
ate　so　many　sweets　and　cakes　in　my　childish　years　that　if　they
could　be　sold　now　it　would　be　enough　to　　buy　a　goo　d　horse。　Mamma
taught　me　to　read　and　write；　she　instilled　the　fear　of　God　in　me
from　my　earliest　years；　and　she　so　trained　me　that　now　I　can't
bring　myself　to　utter　an　unrefined　peasant　word。　And　I　don't
drink　vodka；　my　lad；　and　am　neat　in　my　dress；　and　know　how　to
behave　with　decorum　in　good　society。　If　she　is　still　living；　God
give　her　health；　and　if　she　is　dead；　then；　O　Lord；　give　her　soul
peace　in　Thy　Kingdom；　wherein　the　just　are　at　rest。〃

The　tramp　bared　his　head　with　the　scanty　hair　standing　up　like　a
brush　on　it；　turned　his　eyes　upward　and　crossed　himself　twice。

〃Grant　her；　O　Lord；　a　verdant　and　peaceful　resting…place；〃　he
said　in　a　drawling　voice；　more　like　an　old　woman's　than　a　man's。
〃Teach　Thy　servant　Xenia　Thy　justifications；　O　Lord！　If　it　had
not　been　for　my　beloved　mamma　I　should　have　been　a　peasant　with
no　sort　of　understanding！　Now；　young　man；　ask　me　about　anything
and　I　understand　it　all：　the　holy　Scriptures　and　profane
writings；　and　every　prayer　and　catechism。　I　live　according　to　the
Scriptures。　。　。　。　I　don't　injure　anyone；　I　keep　my　flesh　in
purity　and　continence；　I　observe　the　fasts；　I　eat　at　fitting
times。　Another　man　will　take　no　pleasure　in　anything　but　vodka
and　lewd　talk；　but　when　I　have　time　I　sit　in　a　corner　and　read　a
book。　I　read　and　I　weep　and　weep。〃

〃What　do　you　weep　for？〃

〃They　write　so　patheticallyl　For　some　books　one　gives　but　a
five…kopeck　piece；　and　yet　one　weeps　and　sighs　exceedingly　over
it。〃

〃Is　your　father　dead？〃　asked　Ptaha。

〃I　don't　know；　good　man。　I　don't　know　my　parent；　it　is　no　use
concealing　it。　I　judge　that　I　was　mamma's　illegitimate　son。　My
mamma　lived　all　her　life　with　the　gentry；　and　did　not　want　to
marry　a　simple　peasant。　。　。　。〃

〃And　so　she　fell　into　the　master's　hands；〃　laughed　Ptaha。

〃She　did　transgress；　that's　true。　She　was　pious；　God…fearing；　but
she　did　not　keep　her　maiden　purity。　It　is　a　sin；　of　course；　a
great　sin；　there's　no　doubt　about　it；　but　to　make　up　for　it　there
is；　maybe；　noble　blood　in　me。　Maybe　I　am　only　a　peasant　by　class；
but