這是六七年前的事了，當時我住在Ｔ省某縣地主別洛庫羅夫的庄園里。別洛庫羅夫這個年輕人，黎明即起，穿一件緊腰長外衣，每天晚上要喝啤酒，老 跟我抱怨，說他在任何地方都得不到任何人的同情。他住在花園里的廂房里，我則住在地主老宅的大廳里。這個大廳有許多圓柱，除了我睡的一張寬大的長沙發以及 我擺紙牌作卦的一張桌子外，再沒有別的家具。里面的几個舊式的阿莫索夫壁爐１里老是嗡嗡作響，哪怕晴和的天气也是這樣。遇上大雷雨，整座房子便震顫起來， 似乎轟的一聲就要土崩瓦解。特別在夜里，當十扇大窗霍地被閃電照亮時，那才真有點嚇人呢。
--------
１由Ｈ·Ａ·阿莫索夫（一七八七－－一八六八）設計的一种气動式爐子。
我這人生性懶散，這一回干脆什么事都不做。一連几個小時，我望著窗外的天空、飛鳥和林蔭道，閱讀給我寄來的書報，要不就睡覺。有時我走出家門，在某個地方徘徊游蕩，直到很晚才回來。
有一天，在回家的路上，我無意中走進一處陌生的庄園。這時太陽已經落山，黃昏的陰影在揚花的黑麥地里延伸開去。兩行又高又密的老云杉，像兩面 連綿不斷的牆，營造出一條幽暗而美麗的林蔭道。我輕松地越過一道柵欄，順著這條林蔭道走去，地上舖著一俄寸２厚的針葉，走起來有點打滑。四周寂靜而幽暗， 只有在高高的樹梢上，不時閃動著一片明亮的金光，一些蜘蛛网上變幻出虹霓般的色彩，針葉的气味濃烈得讓人透不過气來。后來我拐彎，走上一條長長的鍛樹林蔭 道。這里同樣荒涼而古老。隔年的樹葉在腳下悲哀地沙沙作響，暮色中的樹木中間隱藏著無數陰影。右側的一座古老的果園里，一只黃鶯懶洋洋地細聲細气在歌唱， 想必它也上了年紀啦。后來，椴樹林蔭道總算到頭了，我經過一幢白色的帶涼台和閣樓的房子，眼前忽地展現出一座庄園的院落和一個水面寬闊的池塘。池塘四周綠 柳成蔭，有一座洗澡棚子。池塘對岸有個村庄，還有一座又高又窄的鐘樓，在夕陽的映照下，那上面的十字架金光閃閃。一時間，一种親切而又熟悉的感覺讓我心曠 神怕，似乎眼前這番景象我早已在儿時見過。
--------
２一俄寸等于四·四厘米。
一道白色的磚砌大門由院落通向田野，這大門古老而結實，兩側有一對石獅子。大門口站著兩個姑娘。其中一個年長些，身材苗條，臉色蒼白，十分漂 亮，長一頭濃密的栗色頭發，一張小嘴輪廓分明，神態嚴厲，對我似乎不屑一顧。另一個還很年輕，頂多十六八歲，同樣苗條而蒼白，嘴巴大些，一雙大眼睛吃惊地 望著我打一旁走過，說了一句英語，又扭怩起來。我仿佛覺得這兩張可愛的臉儿也早已熟悉的。我興致勃勃地回到住處，恍如做了一場好夢。
此后不久，有一天中午，我和別洛庫羅夫在屋外散步，忽听得草地上沙沙作響，一輛帶彈簧座的四輪馬車駛進院子，車上坐著那位年長的姑娘。她為遭 受火災的鄉民募捐而來，隨身帶著認捐的單子。她不正眼看我們，极其嚴肅而詳盡地對我們講起西亞諾沃村燒了多少家房子，有多少男女和儿童無家可歸，以及救災 委員會初步打算采取什么措施－－她現在就是這個委員會的成員。她讓我們認捐簽字，收起單子后立即告辭。
“您完全把我們忘了，彼得·彼得羅維奇，”她對別洛庫羅夫說，向他伸出手去，“您來吧，如果某某先生１（她說出我的姓）光臨舍下，想看一看崇拜他天才的人是怎樣生活的，那么媽媽和我將十分榮幸。”
--------
１原文為法文。
我鞠躬致謝。
她走之后，彼得·彼得羅維奇就講起她家的情況。据他說，這個姑娘是好人家出身，叫莉季婭·沃爾恰尼諾夫娜，她和母親、妹妹居住的庄園，連同池 塘對岸的村子，都叫舍爾科夫卡。她的父親當年在莫斯科地位顯赫，去世時已是三品文官。盡管廣有資財，沃爾恰尼諾夫的家人一直住在鄉間，不論夏天冬天從不外 出。莉季婭在舍爾科夫卡的地方自治會開辦的小學２任教，每月領二十五盧布薪水。她自己的花銷就靠這筆收入，她為能自食其力而感到自豪。
--------
２舊俄鄉村小學，學制三－－四年，由地方自治會開辦。
“這是一個有趣的家庭，”別洛庫羅夫說，“好吧，我們哪天去看看她們。她們會歡迎您的。”
一個節日的午后，我們想起了沃爾恰尼諾夫一家人，便動身到舍爾科夫卡去看望她們。母親和兩個女儿都在家。母親葉卡捷琳娜·帕夫洛夫娜當初想必 是個美人儿，不過現在身体虛胖，顯得比實際年齡要大，還害著哮喘病。她神色憂郁，一副漫不經心的樣子，為了引起我的興趣，盡量談些繪畫方面的話題。她從女 儿那里得知，我可能會去舍爾科夫卡，她倉促間想起了在莫斯科的畫展上曾見過我的兩幅風景畫。現在她就問我，在這些畫里我想表現什么。莉季婭，家里人都叫她 麗達，大部分時間在跟別洛庫羅夫交談，很少跟我說話。她神態嚴肅，不苟言笑，問他為什么不到地方自治机關任職，為什么他至今一次也沒有參加過地方自治會的 會議。１
--------
１舊俄省、縣地方自治机關，一八六四－－一九一四年問設置，負責地方教育、衛 生、道路修建等事宜。經三种選民（縣土地占有者、城市不動產所有者和村社代表）選舉出的地方議員組成地方自治會，在貴族會議首腦的主持下每年召開會議。地 方自治會每三年選舉一次地方自治執行机關－－地方自治局。
“這樣不好，彼得·彼得羅維奇，”她責備說，“不好。該慚愧啊。”
“說得對，麗達說得對，”母親附和道，“這樣不好。”
“我們全縣都掌握在巴拉金的手里，”麗達轉向我接著說，“他本人是縣地方自治局執行委員會主席，他把縣里的所有職位都分給了他的那些侄儿和女 婿，自己一意孤行，為所欲為。應當斗爭才是。青年人應當組成強有力的派別，可是您看到了，我們這儿的青年人是怎么樣的。該慚愧啊，彼得·彼得羅維奇！”
大家談論地方自治局的時候，妹妹任妮亞一直默不作聲。她向來不參加嚴肅的談話。家里人還不把她當作大人看待，由于她小，大家叫她蜜修２斯，這 是因為她小時候稱呼她的家庭女教師為蜜斯的緣故。她一直好奇地望著我，當我翻看照相本時，她不時為我說明：“這是叔叔……這是教父”，還用纖細的手指點著 相片。這時她像孩子般把肩頭貼著我，我便在近處看到她那柔弱的尚未發育的胸脯，消瘦的肩膀，發辮和緊束著腰帶的苗條的身子。
--------
２“蜜斯”是英語ｍｉｓｓ（小姐）的音譯。“蜜修斯”為“蜜斯”的昵稱。
我們玩槌球，打网球３，在花園里散步，喝茶，然后在晚餐時消磨了很長時間。在住慣了又大又空的圓柱大廳之后，來到這幢不大卻很舒适的房子里一 時還有點不适應。這里的四壁沒有粗劣的石版畫，這里對仆人以“您”相稱，這里因為有了麗達和蜜修斯一切都顯得年輕而純洁，到處都呈現出上流社會的氛圍。晚 餐桌上，麗達又跟別洛庫羅夫談起縣地方自治局、布拉金和學校圖書館的話題。這是一位富有朝气的、真誠的、有主見的姑娘，听她講話很有意思，盡管她說得大 多，聲音響亮－－這大概是她講課養成的習慣。可是我的那位彼得·彼得羅維奇，從上大學起，就有個把話題引向爭論的習慣，而且講起話來枯燥無味、拖沓冗長， 總想炫耀自己是個有頭腦的進步人士。他做手勢的時候，袖子帶翻了一碗調味汁，弄得桌布上一灘油漬，可是除了我，好像誰也沒有看見。
--------
３原文為英語。
我們動身回去的時候，天色已黑，四下里一片寂靜。
“良好的教養不在于你不弄翻調味汁、弄髒桌布，而在于別人弄翻了你只當沒看見，”別洛庫羅夫說完歎了一口气，“是啊，這是個极好的、有教養的家庭。我跟這些高尚的人很少聯系了，真是很少聯系了！成天忙忙碌碌！忙忙碌碌！”
他講到，如果你想把農業經營得极好，就必須付出許多辛勞。而我卻想：他這人多么遲鈍、懶散！每當他談起什么正經事，就故意拖長聲調，哎呀哎 的，干起事來，跟說話一樣－－慢慢騰騰，總是拖拖拉拉，錯過了期限。我對他的辦事認真已經不大信服，因為我曾托他去郵局發几封信，才知他一連几個星期把信 揣在自己的口袋里。
“最難以忍受的是，”他跟我并排走著，嘟噥道，“最難以忍受的是，你辛辛苦苦地工作，卻得不到任何人的同情。一絲一毫的同情都沒有！”
從此我經常去沃爾恰尼諾夫家。通常我坐在涼台最下一級的台階上。我心情苦悶，對自己不滿，惋惜我的生活匆匆流逝，而且沒有趣味。我老想，我的 心變得如此沉重，真該把它從胸腔里挖出來才好。這時候涼台上有人說話，響起衣裙的客牽聲，翻書聲。不久我就習慣了麗達的活動：白天她給病人看病，分發書 本，經常不戴帽子、打著傘到村子里去，晚上則大聲談論著地方自治局和學校的事。這個苗條而漂亮、神態永遠嚴肅、小嘴輪廓分明的姑娘，只要一談起正經話題， 總是冷冷地對我說：
“您對這种事是不會感興趣的。”
她對我沒有好感。她之所以不喜歡我，是因為我是風景畫家，在我的那些畫里不反映人民的困苦，而且她覺得，我對她堅信不疑的事業是漠不關心的。 我不由得記起一件往事，一次我路過貝加爾湖畔，遇到一個騎在馬上、穿一身藍布褲褂的布里亞特族１姑娘。我問她，可否把她的煙袋賣給我。我們說話的時候，她 一直輕蔑地看著我這張歐洲人的臉和我的帽子，不一會儿就懶得答理我。她一聲叱喝，便策馬而去。麗達也是這樣蔑視我，似乎把我當成了异族人。當然，她在外表 上絕不表露出她對我的不滿，但我能感覺出來，因此，每當我坐在涼台最下一級的台階上，總是生著悶气，數落道：自己不是醫生卻給農民看病，無异于欺騙他們， 再者一個人擁有兩千俄畝２土地，做個慈善家那還不容易。
--------
１俄國境內少數民族，系蒙古族的一支。
２一俄畝等于一·０九公頃。
她的妹妹蜜修斯，沒有任何要操心的事，跟我一樣，完全過著閒散的生活。早上起床后，她立即拿過一本書，坐在涼台上深深的圈椅里讀起來，兩條腿 剛夠著地。有時她帶著書躲到极樹林蔭道里，或者干脆跑出大門到田野里去。她整天看書，全神貫注地閱讀著。有時她的眼睛看累了，目光變得呆滯，臉色十分蒼 白，憑著這些跡象才能推測到，這种閱讀使她的腦子多么疲勞。每逢我上她的家，她一看到我就有點臉紅，放下書，兩只大眼睛盯著我的臉，興致勃勃地向我講起家 里發生的事，比如說下房里的煙囪起火了，或是有個雇工在池塘里捉到一條大魚。平時她總穿淺色的上衣和深色的裙子。我們一道散步，摘櫻桃做果醬用，划船。每 當她跳起來夠櫻桃或划槳時，從她那寬大的袖口里就露出她細弱的胳膊。有時我寫生，她則站在旁邊，看著我作畫，連聲贊揚。
七月末的一個星期日，早上九點多鐘我就來到沃爾恰尼諾夫家。我先在花園里一邊散步，越走离正房越遠，一邊尋找白蘑菇。那年夏天這种蘑菇多极 了，我在一旁插上標記，等著以后同任妮亞一道來采。和風習習。我看到任妮亞和她的母親身穿淺色的節日衣裙，從教堂里回來，任妮亞一手壓著帽子，大概怕被風 刮掉。后來我听到她們在涼台上喝茶。
我這人無牽無挂，而且總想為自己的閒散生活找點借口，所以夏天我們庄園里的節日早晨總是格外誘人。這時郁郁蔥蔥的花園里空气濕潤，露珠晶瑩， 在晨曦的照耀下，万物都熠熠生輝，顯得喜气洋洋；這時房子附近彌漫著木犀花和夾竹桃的香味，年輕人剛從教堂里歸來，在花園里喝著茶；這時人人都穿得漂漂亮 亮，個個都興高采烈；這時你再知道，所有這些健康、飽足、漂亮的人，在這漫長的夏日可以什么事都不干－－在這种時刻，你不由得想道：但愿一輩子都能過上這 种生活。此刻我一邊這么想著，一邊在花園里漫步，准備照這樣無所事事地、毫無目的地走上一整天，走上一個夏季。
任妮亞提著籃子來了。看她臉上的那副表情，仿佛她早知道或者預感到會在花園里找到我。我們一塊儿采蘑菇，聊天。當她想間我什么時，就朝前走几步，這樣好看清我的臉。
“昨天我們村里出了奇跡，”她說，“瘸腿的佩拉吉婭病了整整一年，什么樣的醫生和藥都不管事，可是昨天有個老太婆嘀咕了一陣，她病就好了。”
“這算不了什么，”我說，“不應當在病人和老太婆身上尋找奇跡。難道健康不是奇跡？難道生命本身不是奇跡？凡是不可理解的東西，都是奇跡。”
“可是，對那些不可理解的東西，您不覺得可怕嗎？”
“不怕。對那些我不理解的現象，我總是精神抖擻地迎上去，不向它們屈服。我比它們高明。人應當意識到，他比獅子、老虎、猩猩要高明，比自然界的一切生靈和万物都要高明，甚至比那些不可理解、被奉為奇跡的東西還要高明，否則他就不能算人，而是那种見什么都怕的老鼠。”
任妮亞以為，我既然是畫家，知道的東西一定很多，即使有些事情不知道，多半也能琢磨出來。她一心想讓我把她領進那個永恒而美妙的天地里，領進 那個崇高的世界，照她看來，在那個世界里我是自己人，她可以跟我談上帝，談永生，談奇跡。而我不認為我和我的思想在我死后將不复存在，便回答說：“是的， 人是不朽的，”“是的，我們將永生。”她听著，相信了，并不要求什么論證。
我們朝房子走去，她突然站住了，說：
“我們的麗達是個了不起的人，不是嗎？我熱烈地愛她，隨時都可以為她犧牲我的生命。可是請您告訴我，”任妮亞伸出手指碰碰我的袖子，“您說說為什么老跟她爭論？為什么您動不動就生气？”
“因為她是不對的。”
任妮亞搖搖頭表示不同意，眼睛里閃著淚花。
“真是不可理解！”她說。
這時，麗達剛好從什么地方回來，手里拿一根馬鞭站在台階附近，在陽光的照耀下更顯得苗條而漂亮。她正對雇工吩咐些什么。她匆匆忙忙，大聲說 話，接待了兩三個病人，之后一臉認真、操心的神色走遍所有的房間，一會儿打開這個立柜，一會儿又打開另一個立柜，最后到閣樓上去了。大家找了她好久，叫她 吃午飯。等她來時，我們已經喝完湯了，所有這些細節不知為什么我至今都記得清清楚楚。整個這一夭雖然沒有發生什么特別的事，回憶起來卻栩栩如生，令人歡 欣。午飯后，任妮亞埋進深深的圈椅里又看起書來，我又坐到台階的最下一級。大家都不說話。天空烏云密布，下起稀疏的細雨。天气悶熱，風早就停了，仿佛這一 天永遠不會結束。葉卡捷琳娜·巴夫洛夫娜也到涼台上來了，她一副睡眼惺忪的樣子，手里拿著扇子。
“啊，媽媽，”任妮亞說，吻她的手，“白天睡覺對你的健康是有害的。”
她倆相親相愛。一人去了花園，另一人必定站在涼台上，望著樹林呼喚：“喂，任妮亞！”或是“媽媽，你在哪儿呢？”她倆經常在一起祈禱，兩人同 樣篤信上帝，即使不說話，彼此也能心領神會。她倆對人的態度也一樣。葉卡捷琳娜·巴夫洛夫娜很快就跟我處熟，喜歡我，只要我兩三天不去，她就會打發人來探 問，我是不是病了。跟蜜修斯一樣，她也贊賞地觀看我的畫稿，絮絮叨叨地、毫無顧忌地告訴我發生的事，甚至把一些家庭秘密也透露給我。
她崇拜自己的大女儿。麗達向來不對人表示親熱，只說正經的事。她過著自己獨特的生活，在母親和妹妹的眼里，是個神圣而又帶几分神秘的人，誠如水兵們眼里的海軍上將，總是坐在艦長室里，叫人難以接近。
“我們的麗達是個了不起的人，”母親也常常這樣說，“不是嗎？”
這時下著細雨，我們談到了麗達。
“她是個了不起的人，”母親說，然后戰戰兢兢地四下里看看，壓低嗓子，鬼鬼祟祟地補充說：“這种人白天打著燈籠也難找。不過，您知道嗎，我開 始有點擔心了。學校啦，藥房啦，書本啦，這些都很好，可是何苦走极端呢？她都二十四歲啦，早該認真想想自己的事了。老這樣為書本和藥房的事忙忙碌碌，不知 不覺中大好年華就要過去了……她該出嫁了。”
任妮亞看書看得臉色發白，頭發散亂，她抬起頭來，望著母親，像是自言自語地說：
“媽媽，一切有賴于上帝的旨意。”
說完，又埋頭看書去了。
別洛庫羅夫來了，他穿著緊腰長外衣和繡花襯衫。我們玩槌球，打网球。后來天黑了，大家吃晚飯，又消磨了很長時間。麗達又講起學校的事和那個把 全縣都抓在手里的拉巴金。這天晚上我离開沃爾恰尼諾夫家時，帶走了這漫長而又閒散的一天那美好的印象，同時又悲哀地意識到：這世上的一切，不管它多么長 久，總有結束的時候。任妮亞把我們送到大門口，也許是因為她從早到晚伴我度過了一天，這時我感到，离開她似乎有些寂寞，這可愛的一家人對我來說已十分親 切。人夏以來我頭一次產主了作畫的愿望。
“請告訴我，您為什么生活得這么枯燥，毫無色彩？”我和別洛庫羅夫一道回家時，問他，“我的生活枯燥，沉悶，單調，這是因為我是畫家，我是怪 人，從少年時代起我在精神上就備受折磨：嫉妒別人，對自己不滿，對事業缺乏信心，我向來貧窮，到處漂泊；可是您呢，您是健康正常的人，是地主，是老爺－－ 您為什么生活得這么乏味？為什么您從生活中獲取的東西那么少？為什么，比如說吧，您至今沒有愛上麗達或者任妮亞？”
“您忘了我愛著另一個女人。”別洛庫羅夫回答。
他這是指他的女友，和他一起住在廂房里的柳博芙·伊凡諾夫娜。我每天都能見到這位女士在花園里散步。她長得极其丰滿，肥胖，舉止傲慢，活像一 只養肥的母鵝，穿一套俄式衣裙，戴著項鏈，經常打一把小陽傘。仆人不時喊她回去吃飯或喝茶。三年前她租了一間廂房當別墅，從此就在別洛庫羅夫家住下，看樣 子永遠不會走了。她比他大十歲，把他管束得很嚴，以至他每次出門，都要征得她的許可。她經常扯著男人般的嗓子大哭大叫，遇到這种時候，我就打發人去對她 說，如果她再哭下去，我就立即搬家，她這才止住了。
我們回到家里，別洛庫羅夫坐到沙發上，皺起眉頭想著心事，我則在大廳里來回踱步，像個墮人情网的人，感受著內心的激動和歡欣。我不由得想談談沃爾恰尼諾夫一家人。
“麗達只會愛上地方議員，而且像她一樣，還得熱心辦醫院和學校，”我說，“啊，為了這樣的姑娘，不但可以參加地方自治會的工作，而且像童話里說的那樣，穿破鐵鞋也心甘情愿。還有那個蜜修斯，她是多么可愛呀！”
別洛庫羅夫慢慢騰騰地大談時代病－－悲觀主義。他說得振振有詞，那种口气就好像我在跟他辯論似的。要是一個人坐在那里，高談闊論，又不知道他什么時候才走，這時你的心情遠比穿過几百俄里荒涼、單調、干枯的草原還要煩悶。
“問題不在悲觀主義還是樂觀主義，”我惱怒地說，“問題在于一百個人當中倒有九十九個沒有頭腦！”
別洛庫羅夫認為這話是說他的，一气之下就走了。
“公爵在瑪洛焦莫沃村作客，他向你問候，”麗達不知從哪儿回來，脫著手套，對母親說，“他講到了許多有趣的事情……他答應在省地方自治局代表 會議上再一次提出在瑪洛焦莫沃村設立醫務所的問題。不過他又說希望不大。”這時她轉身對我說：“對不起，我又忘了，您對這种事是不會感興趣的。”
我感到气憤。
“為什么不感興趣？”我問，聳聳肩膀，“您不樂意知道我的看法，但我敢向您保證，這個問題我倒是很感興趣。”
“是嗎？”
“是的。依我看，瑪洛焦莫沃村完全不需要醫務所。”
我的气憤傳到她身上。她看我一眼，眯起眼睛，問道：
“那么需要什么呢？風景畫嗎？”
“風景畫也不需要。那里什么都不需要。”
她脫掉手套后拿起一份郵差剛送來的報紙。過一會儿，她顯然克制住自己，小聲說：
“上星期安娜難產死了，如果附近有醫務所的話，她就會活下來。我以為，風景畫家先生們對此應有明确的看法。”
“我對此有十分明确的看法，請您相信，”我回答說，但她用報紙擋住我的視線，似乎不愿听我的，“依我看，醫務所、學校、圖書館、藥房等等，在 現有的條件下只有利于奴役。人民被一條巨大的鎖鏈捆住了手腳，而您不去析斷這條鎖鏈，反而給它增加許多新的環節－－這就是我的看法。”
她抬頭看我一眼，嘲諷地一笑。我繼續說下去，竭力抓住我的主要思想：
“問題不在于安娜死于難產，而在于所有這些安娜、瑪芙拉和佩拉吉婭從早到晚彎著腰干活，力不胜任的勞動害得她們老是生病，她們一輩子為挨餓和 生病的孩子擔心，一輩子害怕死亡和疾病，一輩子求醫看病，未老先衰，面容憔悴，在污穢和臭气中死去。她們的孩子長大了，又重复這老一套。几百年就這樣過去 了，千千万万的人過著豬狗不如的生活－－只為了一塊面包，成天擔惊受怕。他們的處境之所以可怕，還在于他們沒有工夫考慮自己的靈魂，顧不上自己的形象和面 貌。饑餓、寒冷、本能的恐懼，繁重的勞動，像雪崩一樣堵住了他們精神生活的道路。而只有精神生活，才是人區別于動物的標志，才是他唯一的人生追求。您到他 們中間去，用醫院和學校幫助他們，但您這樣做并不能使他們擺脫束縛，恰恰相反，您卻進一步奴役他們，因為您給他們的生活增加了新的偏見，您擴大了他們的需 求范圍，且不說為了買斑螫膏藥和書本，他們就得給地方自治會付錢，這就是說，他們得更辛苦地干活才成。”
“我不想跟您爭論，”麗達放下報紙說，“這一套我早听過了。我只想對您說一句：不要袖手旁觀。的确，我們并不能拯救人類，而且在許多方面可能 犯錯誤，但是我們在做力所能及的事情，所以我們是正确的。一個有文化的人最崇高最神圣的使命是為周圍的人們服務，所以我們盡我們的能力這樣做。您不喜歡這 個，不過一個人做事本來就無法叫人人都滿意的。”
“說得對，麗達說得對，”母親附和道。
有麗達在場她總有點膽怯，一面說話，一面不安地察看她的臉色，生怕說出多余的或者不恰當的話。她也從來不反對她的意見，總是隨聲附和：“說得對，麗達說得對。”
“教農民讀書識字，散發充滿可怜的說教和民間俗語的書本，設立醫務所，這一切既不能消除愚昧，也不能降低死亡率，這正如你們家里的燈光不能照 亮窗外的大花園一樣。”我說，“您并沒有給他們任何東西，您干預他們的生活，其結果只能使這些人生出新的需求，為此付出更多的勞動，”
“哎呀，我的天哪，可是人總得干些事情！”麗達惱火地說，听她的語气可以知道，她認為我的議論毫無道理，她鄙視它們。
“必須讓人們從沉重的体力勞動中解放出來，”我說，“必須減輕他們的重負，給他們喘息的時間，使他們不致于一輩子都守著爐台和洗衣盆，或者在 田野里干活，使他們也有時間來考慮靈魂和上帝，能夠更廣泛地發揮出他們精神上的才能。每一個人在精神活動中的使命是探求真理和生活的意義。一旦您使他們那 种笨重的牲口般的勞動成為不必要，一旦您讓他們感到自己的自由，到那時您將看到，您的那些書本和藥房其實是一种嘲弄。既然人意識到自己真正的使命，那么能 夠滿足他們的只有宗教、科學和藝術，而不是這些無聊的東西。”
“從勞動中解放出來！”麗達冷笑道，“難道這是可能的？”
“可能的。您可以分擔他們的部分勞動。如果我們，全体城鄉居民，無一例外地同意分擔他們旨在滿足全人類物質需要的勞動，那么分到我們每個人頭 上的可能一天不超過兩三小時。請您設想一下，如果我們，全体富人和窮人，一天只工作三小時，那么其余的時間我們都空閒了。請再設想一下，為了更少地依靠我 們的体力，為了減輕勞動，我們發明各种代替勞動的机器，并且盡量把我們的需求減少到最低限度。我們鍛煉自己，鍛煉我們的孩子，讓他們不怕饑餓和寒冷，到時 候我們就不會像安娜、瑪芙拉和佩拉吉婭那樣，成天為孩子們的健康擔惊受怕了。您想一想，我們不看病，不開藥房、煙厂和酒厂－－最后我們會剩下多少富裕的時 間啊！讓我們大家共同把這閒暇的時間獻給科學和藝術。就像農民有時全体出動去修路一樣，我們大家也全体出動，去探求真理和生活的意義，那么－－對此我深信 不疑－－真理會很快被揭示出來，人們就可以擺脫那种經常折磨人、壓抑人的恐懼感，甚至擺脫死亡本身。”
“不過，您是自相矛盾的，”麗達說，“您口口聲聲‘科學’，‘科學’，可您又否定識字教育。”
“在人們只能讀到酒店的招牌、偶爾看到几本讀不懂的書本的情況下，識字教育又能怎么樣？這樣的識字教育早從留里克１時代起就延續下來，果戈理 筆下的彼得魯什卡早就會讀書認字了，可是農村呢，留里克時代是什么樣子，現在還是什么樣子。我們需要的不是識字教育，而是廣泛地發揮精神才能的自由，需要 的不是小學，而是大學。”
--------
１据編年史記載，留里克為公元九世紀的諾夫哥羅德大公，留里克王朝的奠基人。
“您連醫學也反對。”
“是的。醫學只有在把疾病當作自然現象加以研究，而不是為了治療的情況下，才是必需的。如果要治療的話，那也不是治病，而是根治病因，只要消 除体力勞動這一主要的病因，那就不會有病。我不承認有什么治病的科學，”我激動地繼續道，“一切真正的科學和藝術所追求的不是暫時的局部的目標，而是永恒 的整体的目標－－它們尋求真理和生活的意義，探索上帝和心靈。如果把它們同當前的需要和迫切問題拉扯在一起，那么它們只能使生活變得更加复雜、更加沉重。 我們有許多醫生、藥劑師、律師，識字的人很多，可是沒有一個生物學家、數學家、哲學家和侍人。全部聰明才智和精神力量，都耗費在滿足暫時的、轉眼即逝的需 要上……我們的學者們、作家們和藝術家們在辛勤工作，多虧他們的努力，人們的生活條件一天比一天舒适，人們的物質需求不斷增長，与此同時，离真理卻十分遙 遠，人依舊是最貪婪凶殘、最卑鄙齷齪的動物。事物發展的趨向是，人類的大多數將退化，并永遠喪失一切生活能力。在這樣的條件下，藝術家的生活是沒有意義 的，他越是有才能，他的作用就越令人奇怪、不可理解，因為實際上他的工作不過是供凶殘卑鄙的禽魯消遣，是維護現行制度的。所以我現在不想工作，將來也不工 作……什么都不需要，讓地球毀滅去吧！”
“蜜修斯，你出去，”麗達對妹妹說，顯然認為我的言論對這樣年輕的姑娘是有害的。
任妮亞不悅地看看姐姐和母親，走了出去。
“有些人想為自己的冷漠辯解，總是發表這類妙論。”麗達說，“否定醫院和學校，比給人治病和教書容易得多。”
“說得對，麗達說得對，”母親附和道。
“您威脅說不再工作，”麗達接下去說，“顯然您把自己的工作估計得很高。我們別爭論了，反正我們永遠談不到一塊儿去，因為您剛才那么鄙薄地談 到的圖書館和藥房，即使很不完備，我也認為它們高出于世界上所有的風景畫。”說到這里，她立即對著母親，用完全不同的語气說：“公爵自從离開我們家后，人 瘦了許多，模樣大變了。家里人要把他送到維希１去。”
--------
１法國療養城市。
她對母親談起公爵的情況，顯然是不想跟我說話。她滿臉通紅，為了掩飾自己的激動，她像個近視眼似的，把頭低低地湊到桌子跟前，裝作看報的樣子。我的在場使人難堪。于是我告辭回家。
外面很靜。池塘對岸的村子已經人睡，看不到一絲燈光，只有水面上朦朦朧朧地倒映著暗淡的星空。任妮亞一動不動地站在大門前的石獅旁，等著我，想送送我。
“村里人都睡了，”我對她說，竭力想在黑暗中看清她的臉，卻看到一雙憂傷的黑眼睛定定地望著我，“連酒店掌柜和盜馬賊都安然入睡了，我們這些上流人卻在互相嘔气，爭論不休。”
這是一個凄涼的八月之夜，之所以凄涼，困為已經透出秋意。蒙著紫气的月亮慢慢升起，朦朧的月光照著大路和大路兩側黑沉沉的冬麥地。不時有流星墜落下去。任妮亞和我并排走在路上，她竭力不看天空，免得看到流星，不知為什么她感到害怕。
“我覺得您是對的，”她說，在夜間的潮气中打著冷顫，“如果人們同心協力，獻身于精神活動，那么他們很快就會明了一切。”
“當然。我們是万物之靈。如果我們當真能認識到人類天才的全部力量，而且只為崇高的目的而生活，那么我們最終會變成神。然而這永遠是不可能的：人類將退化，連天才也不會留下痕跡。”
大門已經看不見，任妮亞站住了，急匆匆跟我握手。
“晚安，”她打著哆嗦說，她只穿一件襯衫，冷得瑟縮著，“明天您再來。”
想到只剩下我一個人，生著悶气，對己對人都不滿意，我不禁感到害怕。我也竭力不去看天上的流星。
“再跟我待一會儿，”我說，“求求您了。”
我愛任妮亞。我愛她也許是因為她總來迎我，送我，因為她總是溫柔而欣喜地望著我。她那蒼白的臉，嬌嫩的脖頸，纖細的手，她的柔弱，閒散，她的 書，是多么美妙而動人！那么，智慧呢？我怀疑她有杰出的才能，但我贊賞她的眼界開闊，也許這是因為她的許多想法跟嚴肅、漂亮、卻不喜歡我的麗達完全不同。 任妮亞喜歡我這個畫家，我的才能征服了她的心。我也一心只想為她作畫，在我的幻想中，她是我嬌小的皇后，她跟我共同擁有這些樹林、田野、霧召和朝霞，擁有 這美麗迷人的大自然，盡管在這里我至今仍感到极其孤獨，像個多余的人。
“再待一會儿，”我央求道，“求求您了。”
我脫下大衣，披到她冰涼的肩上。她怕穿著男人的大衣可笑、難看，便笑起來，把大衣甩掉了。趁這時我把她摟在怀里，連連吻她的臉、肩膀和手。
“明天見！”她悄聲說，然后小心翼翼地擁抱我，似乎怕打破這夜的宁靜，“我們家彼此不保守秘密，我現在應當把一切都告訴媽媽和姐姐……這是多么可怕！媽媽倒沒什么，媽媽也喜歡您，可是麗達……”
她朝大門跑去。
“再見！”她喊了一聲。
之后有兩分鐘時間我听到她在奔跑。我己不想回家，再說也沒有必要急著回去。我猶豫地站了片刻，然后緩步走回去，想再看一眼她居住的那幢可愛、 朴素、古老的房子，它那閣樓上的兩扇窗子，像眼睛似地望著我，似乎什么都知道了。我走過涼台，在网球場旁邊的長椅上坐下。我處在老榆樹的蔭影中，從那里瞧 著房子。只見蜜修斯住的閣樓上，窗子亮了一下，隨后漾出柔和的綠光－－這是因為燈上罩著罩子。人影搖曳……我的內心充溢著柔情和恬靜，我滿意自己，滿意我 還能夠有所眷戀，能夠愛人。可是轉念一想，此刻在离我几步遠的這幢房子的某個房間里，住著那個并不愛我、可能還恨我的麗達，我又感到很不痛快。我坐在那 里，一直等著任妮亞會不會走出來，我凝神細听，似乎覺得閣樓里有人在說話。
大約過了一個小時，綠色的燈光熄滅了，人影也看不見了。月亮已經高高地挂在房子上空，照耀著沉睡的花園和小路。屋前花壇里的大麗花和玫瑰清晰可見，好像都是一种顏色。天气變得很冷。我走出花園，在路上揀起我的大衣，不慌不忙地回去了。
第二天午后，我又來到沃爾恰尼諾夫家。通往花園的玻璃門敞開著。我坐在涼台上，等著任妮亞會突然從花壇后面走到球場上來，或者從一條林蔭道里 走出來，或者能听到她從房間里傳來的聲音。后來我走進客廳和飯廳。那里一個人也沒有。我從飯廳里出來，經過一條長長的走廊，來到前廳，然后又返回來。走廊 里有好几扇門，從一間房里傳來麗達的聲音。
“上帝……送給……烏鴉……”她拖長聲音大聲念道，大概在給學生听寫，“上帝送給烏鴉……一小塊奶酪……誰在外面？”她听到我的腳步聲，突然喊了一聲。
“是我。”
“哦！對不起，我現在不能出來見您，我正在教達莎功課。”
“葉卡捷琳娜·巴夫洛夫娜可在花園里？”
“不在，她跟我妹妹今天一早動身去奔薩省我姨媽家了。冬天她們可能到國外去……”她沉吟一下這樣補充說。“上帝……送給烏鴉……一小塊奶酪……你寫完了嗎？”
我走進前廳，万念俱灰地站在那里，望著池塘，望著村子，耳邊又傳來麗達的聲音：
“一小塊奶酪……上帝給烏鴉送來一小塊奶酪……”
我离開庄園，走的是頭一次來的路，不過方向相反：先從院子進入花園，經過一幢房子，然后是一條极樹林蔭道……這時一個男孩追上我，交給我一張字條。我展開念道：
我把一切都告訴姐姐了，她要求我跟您分手。我無法不服從她而讓她傷心。愿上帝賜給您幸福，請原諒我。但愿您能知道我和媽媽怎樣傷心落淚。
然后是那條幽暗的云杉林蔭道，一道倒塌的柵欄……在田野上，當初黑麥正揚花，鵪鶉聲聲啼叫，此刻只有母牛和絆腿的馬儿在游蕩。那些山坡上，東 一處西一處露出綠油油的冬麥地。我又回到平常那种冷靜的心境，想起在沃爾恰尼諾大家講的那席話不禁感到羞愧，跟從前一樣我又過起枯燥乏味的生活。回到住 處，我收拾一下行李，當天晚上就動身回彼得堡去了。
此后我再也沒有見到沃爾恰尼諾夫一家人。不久前的一天，我去克里米亞，在火車上遇見了別洛庫羅夫。他依舊穿著緊腰長外衣和繡花襯衫。當我問到 他的健康狀況，他回答說：“托您的福了。”我們交談起來。他把原先的田庄賣了，用柳博芙·伊凡諾夫娜的名義又買了一處小一點的田庄。關于沃爾恰尼諾夫一家 人，他談得不多。据他說，麗達依舊住在舍爾科夫卡，在小學里教孩子們讀書。漸漸地她在自己周圍聚集了一群同情她的人，他們結成一個強有力的派別，在最近一 次地方自治會的選舉中“打垮了”一直把持全縣的拉巴金。關于任妮亞，別洛庫羅夫只提到，她不在老家住，不知她如今在什么地方。
那幢帶閣樓的房子我早已開始淡忘，只偶爾在作畫和讀書的時候，忽然無緣無故地記起了閣樓窗口那片綠色的燈光，記起了我那天夜里走在田野上的腳 步聲，當時我沉醉于愛情的歡欣，不慌不忙地走回家去，冷得我不斷地搓手。有時－－這种時刻更少－－當我孤獨難耐、心情郁悶的時候，我也會模模糊糊地記起這 段往事，而且不知什么緣故，我漸漸地覺得，有人也在想念我，等待我，有朝一日我們會再相逢的……
蜜修斯，你在哪儿？
一八九六年四月
------------------
(A PAINTER'S STORY) It happened nigh on seven years ago, when I was living in one of the districts of the J. province, on the estate of Bielokurov, a landowner, a young man who used to get up early, dress himself in a long overcoat, drink beer in the evenings, and all the while complain to me that he could nowhere find any one in sympathy with his ideas. He lived in a little house in the orchard, and I lived in the old manor-house, in a huge pillared hall where there was no furniture except a large divan, on which I slept, and a table at which I used to play patience. Even in calm weather there was always a moaning in the chimney, and in a storm the whole house would rock and seem as though it must split, and it was quite terrifying, especially at night, when all the ten great windows were suddenly lit up by a flash of lightning. Doomed by fate to permanent idleness, I did positively nothing. For hours together I would sit and look through the windows at the sky, the birds, the trees and read my letters over and over again, and then for hours together I would sleep. Sometimes I would go out and wander aimlessly until evening. Once on my way home I came unexpectedly on a strange farmhouse. The sun was already setting, and the lengthening shadows were thrown over the ripening corn. Two rows of closely planted tall fir-trees stood like two thick walls, forming a sombre, magnificent avenue. I climbed the fence and walked up the avenue, slipping on the fir needles which lay two inches thick on the ground. It was still, dark, and only here and there in the tops of the trees shimmered a bright gold light casting the colours of the rainbow on a spider's web. The smell of the firs was almost suffocating. Then I turned into an avenue of limes. And here too were desolation and decay; the dead leaves rustled mournfully beneath my feet, and there were lurking shadows among the trees. To the right, in an old orchard, a goldhammer sang a faint reluctant song, and he too must have been old. The lime-trees soon came to an end and I came to a white house with a terrace and a mezzanine, and suddenly a vista opened upon a farmyard with a pond and a bathing-shed, and a row of green willows, with a village beyond, and above it stood a tall, slender belfry, on which glowed a cross catching the light of the setting sun. For a moment I was possessed with a sense of enchantment, intimate, particular, as though I had seen the scene before in my childhood. By the white-stone gate surmounted with stone lions, which led from the yard into the field, stood two girls. One of them, the elder, thin, pale, very handsome, with masses of chestnut hair and a little stubborn mouth, looked rather prim and scarcely glanced at me; the other, who was quite young--seventeen or eighteen, no more, also thin and pale, with a big mouth and big eyes, looked at me in surprise, as I passed, said something in English and looked confused, and it seemed to me that I had always known their dear faces. And I returned home feeling as though I had awoke from a pleasant dream. Soon after that, one afternoon, when Bielokurov and I were walking near the house, suddenly there came into the yard a spring-carriage in which sat one of the two girls, the elder. She had come to ask for subscriptions to a fund for those who had suffered in a recent fire. Without looking at us, she told us very seriously how many houses had been burned down in Sianov, how many men, women, and children had been left without shelter, and what had been done by the committee of which she was a member. She gave us the list for us to write our names, put it away, and began to say good-bye. "You have completely forgotten us, Piotr Petrovich," she said to Bielokurov, as she gave him her hand. "Come and see us, and if Mr. N. (she said my name) would like to see how the admirers of his talent live and would care to come and see us, then mother and I would be very pleased." I bowed. When she had gone Piotr Petrovich began to tell me about her. The girl, he said, was of a good family and her name was Lydia Volchaninov, and the estate, on which she lived with her mother and sister, was called, like the village on the other side of the pond, Sholkovka. Her father had once occupied an eminent position in Moscow and died a privy councillor. Notwithstanding their large means, the Volchaninovs always lived in the village, summer and winter, and Lydia was a teacher in the Zemstvo School at Sholkovka and earned twenty-five roubles a month. She only spent what she earned on herself and was proud of her independence. "They are an interesting family," said Bielokurov. "We ought to go and see them. They will be very glad to see you." One afternoon, during a holiday, we remembered the Volchaninovs and went over to Sholkovka. They were all at home. The mother, Ekaterina Pavlovna, had obviously once been handsome, but now she was stouter than her age warranted, suffered from asthma, was melancholy and absent-minded as she tried to entertain me with talk about painting. When she heard from her daughter that I might perhaps come over to Sholkovka, she hurriedly called to mind a few of my landscapes which she had seen in exhibitions in Moscow, and now she asked what I had tried to express in them. Lydia, or as she was called at home, Lyda, talked more to Bielokurov than to me. Seriously and without a smile, she asked him why he did not work for the Zemstvo and why up till now he had never been to a Zemstvo meeting. "It is not right of you, Piotr Petrovich," she said reproachfully. "It is not right. It is a shame." "True, Lyda, true," said her mother. "It is not right." "All our district is in Balaguin's hands," Lyda went on, turning to me. "He is the chairman of the council and all the jobs in the district are given to his nephews and brothers-in-law, and he does exactly as he likes. We ought to fight him. The young people ought to form a strong party; but you see what our young men are like. It is a shame, Piotr Petrovich." The younger sister, Genya, was silent during the conversation about the Zemstvo. She did not take part in serious conversations, for by the family she was not considered grown-up, and they gave her her baby-name, Missyuss, because as a child she used to call her English governess that. All the time she examined me curiously and when I looked at the photograph-album she explained: "This is my uncle.... That is my godfather," and fingered the portraits, and at the same time touched me with her shoulder in a childlike way, and I could see her small, undeveloped bosom, her thin shoulders, her long, slim waist tightly drawn in by a belt. We played croquet and lawn-tennis, walked in the garden, had tea, and then a large supper. After the huge pillared hall, I felt out of tune in the small cosy house, where there were no oleographs on the walls and the servants were treated considerately, and everything seemed to me young and pure, through the presence of Lyda and Missyuss, and everything was decent and orderly. At supper Lyda again talked to Bielokurov about the Zemstvo, about Balaguin, about school libraries. She was a lively, sincere, serious girl, and it was interesting to listen to her, though she spoke at length and in a loud voice--perhaps because she was used to holding forth at school. On the other hand, Piotr Petrovich, who from his university days had retained the habit of reducing any conversation to a discussion, spoke tediously, slowly, and deliberately, with an obvious desire to be taken for a clever and progressive man. He gesticulated and upset the sauce with his sleeve and it made a large pool on the table-cloth, though nobody but myself seemed to notice it. When we returned home the night was dark and still. "I call it good breeding," said Bielokurov, with a sigh, "not so much not to upset the sauce on the table, as not to notice it when some one else has done it. Yes. An admirable intellectual family. I'm rather out of touch with nice people. Ah! terribly. And all through business, business, business!" He went on to say what hard work being a good farmer meant. And I thought: What a stupid, lazy lout! When we talked seriously he would drag it out with his awful drawl--er, er, er--and he works just as he talks--slowly, always behindhand, never up to time; and as for his being businesslike, I don't believe it, for he often keeps letters given him to post for weeks in his pocket. "The worst of it is," he murmured as he walked along by my side, "the worst of it is that you go working away and never get any sympathy from anybody." II I began to frequent the Volchaninovs' house. Usually I sat on the bottom step of the veranda. I was filled with dissatisfaction, vague discontent with my life, which had passed so quickly and uninterestingly, and I thought all the while how good it would be to tear out of my breast my heart which had grown so weary. There would be talk going on on the terrace, the rustling of dresses, the fluttering of the pages of a book. I soon got used to Lyda receiving the sick all day long, and distributing books, and I used often to go with her to the village, bareheaded, under an umbrella. And in the evening she would hold forth about the Zemstvo and schools. She was very handsome, subtle, correct, and her lips were thin and sensitive, and whenever a serious conversation started she would say to me drily: "This won't interest you." I was not sympathetic to her. She did not like me because I was a landscape-painter, and in my pictures did not paint the suffering of the masses, and I seemed to her indifferent to what she believed in. I remember once driving along the shore of the Baikal and I met a Bouryat girl, in shirt and trousers of Chinese cotton, on horseback: I asked her if she would sell me her pipe and, while we were talking, she looked with scorn at my European face and hat, and in a moment she got bored with talking to me, whooped and galloped away. And in exactly the same way Lyda despised me as a stranger. Outwardly she never showed her dislike of me, but I felt it, and, as I sat on the bottom step of the terrace, I had a certain irritation and said that treating the peasants without being a doctor meant deceiving them, and that it is easy to be a benefactor when one owns four thousand acres. Her sister, Missyuss, had no such cares and spent her time in complete idleness, like myself. As soon as she got up in the morning she would take a book and read it on the terrace, sitting far back in a lounge chair so that her feet hardly touched the ground, or she would hide herself with her book in the lime-walk, or she would go through the gate into the field. She would read all day long, eagerly poring over the book, and only through her looking fatigued, dizzy, and pale sometimes, was it possible to guess how much her reading exhausted her. When she saw me come she would blush a little and leave her book, and, looking into my face with her big eyes, she would tell me of things that had happened, how the chimney in the servants' room had caught fire, or how the labourer had caught a large fish in the pond. On week-days she usually wore a bright-coloured blouse and a dark-blue skirt. We used to go out together and pluck cherries for jam, in the boat, and when she jumped to reach a cherry, or pulled the oars, her thin, round arms would shine through her wide sleeves. Or I would make a sketch and she would stand and watch me breathlessly. One Sunday, at the end of June, I went over to the Volchaninovs in the morning about nine o'clock. I walked through the park, avoiding the house, looking for mushrooms, which were very plentiful that summer, and marking them so as to pick them later with Genya. A warm wind was blowing. I met Genya and her mother, both in bright Sunday dresses, going home from church, and Genya was holding her hat against the wind. They told me they were going to have tea on the terrace. As a man without a care in the world, seeking somehow to justify his constant idleness, I have always found such festive mornings in a country house universally attractive. When the green garden, still moist with dew, shines in the sun and seems happy, and when the terrace smells of mignonette and oleander, and the young people have just returned from church and drink tea in the garden, and when they are all so gaily dressed and so merry, and when you know that all these healthy, satisfied, beautiful people will do nothing all day long, then you long for all life to be like that. So I thought then as I walked through the garden, quite prepared to drift like that without occupation or purpose, all through the day, all through the summer. Genya carried a basket and she looked as though she knew that she would find me there. We gathered mushrooms and talked, and whenever she asked me a question she stood in front of me to see my face. "Yesterday," she said, "a miracle happened in our village. Pelagueya, the cripple, has been ill for a whole year, and no doctors or medicines were any good, but yesterday an old woman muttered over her and she got better." "That's nothing," I said. "One should not go to sick people and old women for miracles. Is not health a miracle? And life itself? A miracle is something incomprehensible." "And you are not afraid of the incomprehensible?" "No. I like to face things I do not understand and I do not submit to them. I am superior to them. Man must think himself higher than lions, tigers, stars, higher than anything in nature, even higher than that which seems incomprehensible and miraculous. Otherwise he is not a man, but a mouse which is afraid of everything." Genya thought that I, as an artist, knew a great deal and could guess what I did not know. She wanted me to lead her into the region of the eternal and the beautiful, into the highest world, with which, as she thought, I was perfectly familiar, and she talked to me of God, of eternal life, of the miraculous. And I, who did not admit that I and my imagination would perish for ever, would reply: "Yes. Men are immortal. Yes, eternal life awaits us." And she would listen and believe me and never asked for proof. As we approached the house she suddenly stopped and said: "Our Lyda is a remarkable person, isn't she? I love her dearly and would gladly sacrifice my life for her at any time. But tell me"--Genya touched my sleeve with her finger--"but tell me, why do you argue with her all the time? Why are you so irritated?" "Because she is not right." Genya shook her head and tears came to her eyes. "How incomprehensible!" she muttered. At that moment Lyda came out, and she stood by the balcony with a riding-whip in her hand, and looked very fine and pretty in the sunlight as she gave some orders to a farm-hand. Bustling about and talking loudly, she tended two or three of her patients, and then with a businesslike, preoccupied look she walked through the house, opening one cupboard after another, and at last went off to the attic; it took some time to find her for dinner and she did not come until we had finished the soup. Somehow I remember all these, little details and love to dwell on them, and I remember the whole of that day vividly, though nothing particular happened. After dinner Genya read, lying in her lounge chair, and I sat on the bottom step of the terrace. We were silent. The sky was overcast and a thin fine rain began to fall. It was hot, the wind had dropped, and it seemed the day would never end. Ekaterina Pavlovna came out on to the terrace with a fan, looking very sleepy. "O, mamma," said Genya, kissing her hand. "It is not good for you to sleep during the day." They adored each other. When one went into the garden, the other would stand on the terrace and look at the trees and call: "Hello!" "Genya!" or "Mamma, dear, where are you?" They always prayed together and shared the same faith, and they understood each other very well, even when they were silent. And they treated other people in exactly the same way. Ekaterina Pavlovna also soon got used to me and became attached to me, and when I did not turn up for a few days she would send to inquire if I was well. And she too used to look admiringly at my sketches, and with the same frank loquacity she would tell me things that happened, and she would confide her domestic secrets to me. She revered her elder daughter. Lyda never came to her for caresses, and only talked about serious things: she went her own way and to her mother and sister she was as sacred and enigmatic as the admiral, sitting in his cabin, to his sailors. "Our Lyda is a remarkable person," her mother would often say; "isn't she?" And, now, as the soft rain fell, we spoke of Lyda: "She is a remarkable woman," said her mother, and added in a low voice like a conspirator's as she looked round, "such as she have to be looked for with a lamp in broad daylight, though you know, I am beginning to be anxious. The school, pharmacies, books--all very well, but why go to such extremes? She is twenty-three and it is time for her to think seriously about herself. If she goes on with her books and her pharmacies she won't know how life has passed.... She ought to marry." Genya, pale with reading, and with her hair ruffled, looked up and said, as if to herself, as she glanced at her mother: "Mamma, dear, everything depends on the will of God." And once more she plunged into her book. Bielokurov came over in a _poddiovka_, wearing an embroidered shirt. We played croquet and lawn-tennis, and when it grew dark we had a long supper, and Lyda once more spoke of her schools and Balaguin, who had got the whole district into his own hands. As I left the Volchaninovs that night I carried away an impression of a long, long idle day, with a sad consciousness that everything ends, however long it may be. Genya took me to the gate, and perhaps, because she had spent the whole day with me from the beginning to end, I felt somehow lonely without her, and the whole kindly family was dear to me: and for the first time during the whole of that summer I had a desire to work. "Tell me why you lead such a monotonous life," I asked Bielokurov, as we went home. "My life is tedious, dull, monotonous, because I am a painter, a queer fish, and have been worried all my life with envy, discontent, disbelief in my work: I am always poor, I am a vagabond, but you are a wealthy, normal man, a landowner, a gentleman--why do you live so tamely and take so little from life? Why, for instance, haven't you fallen in love with Lyda or Genya?" "You forget that I love another woman," answered Bielokurov. He meant his mistress, Lyabor Ivanovna, who lived with him in the orchard house. I used to see the lady every day, very stout, podgy, pompous, like a fatted goose, walking in the garden in a Russian head-dress, always with a sunshade, and the servants used to call her to meals or tea. Three years ago she rented a part of his house for the summer, and stayed on to live with Bielokurov, apparently for ever. She was ten years older than he and managed him very strictly, so that he had to ask her permission to go out. She would often sob and make horrible noises like a man with a cold, and then I used to send and tell her that I'm if she did not stop I would go away. Then she would stop. When we reached home, Bielokurov sat down on the divan and frowned and brooded, and I began to pace up and down the hall, feeling a sweet stirring in me, exactly like the stirring of love. I wanted to talk about the Volchaninovs. "Lyda could only fall in love with a Zemstvo worker like herself, some one who is run off his legs with hospitals and schools," I said. "For the sake of a girl like that a man might not only become a Zemstvo worker, but might even become worn out, like the tale of the iron boots. And Missyuss? How charming Missyuss is!" Bielokurov began to talk at length and with his drawling er-er-ers of the disease of the century--pessimism. He spoke confidently and argumentatively. Hundreds of miles of deserted, monotonous, blackened steppe could not so forcibly depress the mind as a man like that, sitting and talking and showing no signs of going away. "The point is neither pessimism nor optimism," I said irritably, "but that ninety-nine out of a hundred have no sense." Bielokurov took this to mean himself, was offended, and went away. III "The Prince is on a visit to Malozyomov and sends you his regards," said Lyda to her mother, as she came in and took off her gloves. "He told me many interesting things. He promised to bring forward in the Zemstvo Council the question of a medical station at Malozyomov, but he says there is little hope." And turning to me, she said: "Forgive me, I keep forgetting that you are not interested." I felt irritated. "Why not?" I asked and shrugged my shoulders. "You don't care about my opinion, but I assure you, the question greatly interests me." "Yes?" "In my opinion there is absolutely no need for a medical station at Malozyomov." My irritation affected her: she gave a glance at me, half closed her eyes and said: "What is wanted then? Landscapes?" "Not landscapes either. Nothing is wanted there." She finished taking off her gloves and took up a newspaper which had just come by post; a moment later, she said quietly, apparently controlling herself: "Last week Anna died in childbirth, and if a medical man had been available she would have lived. However, I suppose landscape-painters are entitled to their opinions." "I have a very definite opinion, I assure you," said I, and she took refuge behind the newspaper, as though she did not wish to listen. "In my opinion medical stations, schools, libraries, pharmacies, under existing conditions, only lead to slavery. The masses are caught in a vast chain: you do not cut it but only add new links to it. That is my opinion." She looked at me and smiled mockingly, and I went on, striving to catch the thread of my ideas. "It does not matter that Anna should die in childbirth, but it does matter that all these Annas, Mavras, Pelagueyas, from dawn to sunset should be grinding away, ill from overwork, all their lives worried about their starving sickly children; all their lives they are afraid of death and disease, and have to be looking after themselves; they fade in youth, grow old very early, and die in filth and dirt; their children as they grow up go the same way and hundreds of years slip by and millions of people live worse than animals--in constant dread of never having a crust to eat; but the horror of their position is that they have no time to think of their souls, no time to remember that they are made in the likeness of God; hunger, cold, animal fear, incessant work, like drifts of snow block all the ways to spiritual activity, to the very thing that distinguishes man from the animals, and is the only thing indeed that makes life worth living. You come to their assistance with hospitals and schools, but you do not free them from their fetters; on the contrary, you enslave them even more, since by introducing new prejudices into their lives, you increase the number of their demands, not to mention the fact that they have to pay the Zemstvo for their drugs and pamphlets, and therefore, have to work harder than ever." "I will not argue with you," said Lyda. "I have heard all that." She put down her paper. "I will only tell you one thing, it is no good sitting with folded hands. It is true, we do not save mankind, and perhaps we do make mistakes, but we do what we can and we are right. The highest and most sacred truth for an educated being--is to help his neighbours, and we do what we can to help. You do not like it, but it is impossible to please everybody." "True, Lyda, true," said her mother. In Lyda's presence her courage always failed her, and as she talked she would look timidly at her, for she was afraid of saying something foolish or out of place: and she never contradicted, but would always agree: "True, Lyda, true." "Teaching peasants to read and write, giving them little moral pamphlets and medical assistance, cannot decrease either ignorance or mortality, just as the light from your windows cannot illuminate this huge garden," I said. "You give nothing by your interference in the lives of these people. You only create new demands, and a new compulsion to work." "Ah! My God, but we must do something!" said Lyda exasperatedly, and I could tell by her voice that she thought my opinions negligible and despised me. "It is necessary," I said, "to free people from hard physical work. It is necessary to relieve them of their yoke, to give them breathing space, to save them from spending their whole lives in the kitchen or the byre, in the fields; they should have time to take thought of their souls, of God and to develop their spiritual capacities. Every human being's salvation lies in spiritual activity--in his continual search for truth and the meaning of life. Give them some relief from rough, animal labour, let them feel free, then you will see how ridiculous at bottom your pamphlets and pharmacies are. Once a human being is aware of his vocation, then he can only be satisfied with religion, service, art, and not with trifles like that." "Free them from work?" Lyda gave a smile. "Is that possible?" "Yes.... Take upon yourself a part of their work. If we all, in town and country, without exception, agreed to share the work which is being spent by mankind in the satisfaction of physical demands, then none of us would have to work more than two or three hours a day. If all of us, rich and poor, worked three hours a day the rest of our time would be free. And then to be still less dependent on our bodies, we should invent machines to do the work and we should try to reduce our demands to the minimum. We should toughen ourselves and our children should not be afraid of hunger and cold, and we should not be anxious about their health, as Anna, Maria, Pelagueya were anxious. Then supposing we did not bother about doctors and pharmacies, and did away with tobacco factories and distilleries--what a lot of free time we should have! We should give our leisure to service and the arts. Just as peasants all work together to repair the roads, so the whole community would work together to seek truth and the meaning of life, and, I am sure of it--truth would be found very soon, man would get rid of his continual, poignant, depressing fear of death and even of death itself." "But you contradict yourself," said Lyda. "You talk about service and deny education." "I deny the education of a man who can only use it to read the signs on the public houses and possibly a pamphlet which he is incapable of understanding--the kind of education we have had from the time of Riurik: and village life has remained exactly as it was then. Not education is wanted but freedom for the full development of spiritual capacities. Not schools are wanted but universities." "You deny medicine too." "Yes. It should only be used for the investigation of diseases, as natural phenomenon, not for their cure. It is no good curing diseases if you don't cure their causes. Remove the chief cause--physical labour, and there will be no diseases. I don't acknowledge the science which cures," I went on excitedly. "Science and art, when they are true, are directed not to temporary or private purposes, but to the eternal and the general--they seek the truth and the meaning of life, they seek God, the soul, and when they are harnessed to passing needs and activities, like pharmacies and libraries, then they only complicate and encumber life. We have any number of doctors, pharmacists, lawyers, and highly educated people, but we have no biologists, mathematicians, philosophers, poets. All our intellectual and spiritual energy is wasted on temporary passing needs.... Scientists, writers, painters work and work, and thanks to them the comforts of life grow greater every day, the demands of the body multiply, but we are still a long way from the truth and man still remains the most rapacious and unseemly of animals, and everything tends to make the majority of mankind degenerate and more and more lacking in vitality. Under such conditions the life of an artist has no meaning and the more talented he is, the more strange and incomprehensible his position is, since it only amounts to his working for the amusement of the predatory, disgusting animal, man, and supporting the existing state of things. And I don't want to work and will not.... Nothing is wanted, so let the world go to hell." "Missyuss, go away," said Lyda to her sister, evidently thinking my words dangerous to so young a girl. Genya looked sadly at her sister and mother and went out. "People generally talk like that," said Lyda, "when they want to excuse their indifference. It is easier to deny hospitals and schools than to come and teach." "True, Lyda, true," her mother agreed. "You say you will not work," Lyda went on. "Apparently you set a high price on your work, but do stop arguing. We shall never agree, since I value the most imperfect library or pharmacy, of which you spoke so scornfully just now, more than all the landscapes in the world." And at once she turned to her mother and began to talk in quite a different tone: "The Prince has got very thin, and is much changed since the last time he was here. The doctors are sending him to Vichy." She talked to her mother about the Prince to avoid talking to me. Her face was burning, and, in order to conceal her agitation, she bent over the table as if she were short-sighted and made a show of reading the newspaper. My presence was distasteful to her. I took my leave and went home. IV All was quiet outside: the village on the other side of the pond was already asleep, not a single light was to be seen, and on the pond there was only the faint reflection of the stars. By the gate with the stone lions stood Genya, waiting to accompany me. "The village is asleep," I said, trying to see her face in the darkness, and I could see her dark sad eyes fixed on me. "The innkeeper and the horse-stealers are sleeping quietly, and decent people like ourselves quarrel and irritate each other." It was a melancholy August night--melancholy because it already smelled of the autumn: the moon rose behind a purple cloud and hardly lighted the road and the dark fields of winter corn on either side. Stars fell frequently, Genya walked beside me on the road and tried not to look at the sky, to avoid seeing the falling stars, which somehow frightened her. "I believe you are right," she said, trembling in the evening chill. "If people could give themselves to spiritual activity, they would soon burst everything." "Certainly. We are superior beings, and if we really knew all the power of the human genius and lived only for higher purposes then we should become like gods. But this will never be. Mankind will degenerate and of their genius not a trace will be left." When the gate was out of sight Genya stopped and hurriedly shook my hand. "Good night," she said, trembling; her shoulders were covered only with a thin blouse and she was shivering with cold. "Come to-morrow." I was filled with a sudden dread of being left alone with my inevitable dissatisfaction with myself and people, and I, too, tried not to see the falling stars. "Stay with me a little longer," I said. "Please." I loved Genya, and she must have loved me, because she used to meet me and walk with me, and because she looked at me with tender admiration. How thrillingly beautiful her pale face was, her thin nose, her arms, her slenderness, her idleness, her constant reading. And her mind? I suspected her of having an unusual intellect: I was fascinated by the breadth of her views, perhaps because she thought differently from the strong, handsome Lyda, who did not love me. Genya liked me as a painter, I had conquered her heart by my talent, and I longed passionately to paint only for her, and I dreamed of her as my little queen, who would one day possess with me the trees, the fields, the river, the dawn, all Nature, wonderful and fascinating, with whom, as with them, I have felt helpless and useless. "Stay with me a moment longer," I called. "I implore you." I took off my overcoat and covered her childish shoulders. Fearing that she would look queer and ugly in a man's coat, she began to laugh and threw it off, and as she did so, I embraced her and began to cover her face, her shoulders, her arms with kisses. "Till to-morrow," she whispered timidly as though she was afraid to break the stillness of the night. She embraced me: "We have no secrets from one another. I must tell mamma and my sister.... Is it so terrible? Mamma will be pleased. Mamma loves you, but Lyda!" She ran to the gates. "Good-bye," she called out. For a couple of minutes I stood and heard her running. I had no desire to go home, there was nothing there to go for. I stood for a while lost in thought, and then quietly dragged myself back, to have one more look at the house in which she lived, the dear, simple, old house, which seemed to look at me with the windows of the mezzanine for eyes, and to understand everything. I walked past the terrace, sat down on a bench by the lawn-tennis court, in the darkness under an old elm-tree, and looked at the house. In the windows of the mezzanine, where Missyuss had her room, shone a bright light, and then a faint green glow. The lamp had been covered with a shade. Shadows began to move.... I was filled with tenderness and a calm satisfaction, to think that I could let myself be carried away and fall in love, and at the same time I felt uneasy at the thought that only a few yards away in one of the rooms of the house lay Lyda who did not love me, and perhaps hated me. I sat and waited to see if Genya would come out. I listened attentively and it seemed to me they were sitting in the mezzanine. An hour passed. The green light went out, and the shadows were no longer visible. The moon hung high above the house and lit the sleeping garden and the avenues: I could distinctly see the dahlias and roses in the flower-bed in front of the house, and all seemed to be of one colour. It was very cold. I left the garden, picked up my overcoat in the road, and walked slowly home. Next day after dinner when I went to the Volchaninovs', the glass door was wide open. I sat down on the terrace expecting Genya to come from behind the flower-bed or from one of the avenues, or to hear her voice come from out of the rooms; then I went into the drawing-room and the dining-room. There was not a soul to be seen. From the dining-room I went down a long passage into the hall, and then back again. There were several doors in the passage and behind one of them I could hear Lyda's voice: "To the crow somewhere ... God ..."--she spoke slowly and distinctly, and was probably dictating--" ... God sent a piece of cheese.... To the crow ... somewhere.... Who is there?" she called out suddenly as she heard my footsteps. "It is I." "Oh! excuse me. I can't come out just now. I am teaching Masha." "Is Ekaterina Pavlovna in the garden?" "No. She and my sister left to-day for my Aunt's in Penga, and in the winter they are probably going abroad." She added after a short silence: "To the crow somewhere God sent a pi-ece of cheese. Have you got that?" I went out into the hall, and, without a thought in my head, stood and looked out at the pond and the village, and still I heard: "A piece of cheese.... To the crow somewhere God sent a piece of cheese." And I left the house by the way I had come the first time, only reversing the order, from the yard into the garden, past the house, then along the lime-walk. Here a boy overtook me and handed me a note: "I have told my sister everything and she insists on my parting from you," I read. "I could not hurt her by disobeying. God will give you happiness. If you knew how bitterly mamma and I have cried." Then through the fir avenue and the rotten fence. ...Over the fields where the corn was ripening and the quails screamed, cows and shackled horses now were browsing. Here and there on the hills the winter corn was already showing green. A sober, workaday mood possessed me and I was ashamed of all I had said at the Volchaninovs', and once more it became tedious to go on living. I went home, packed my things, and left that evening for Petersburg. * * * I never saw the Volchaninovs again. Lately on my way to the Crimea I met Bielokurov at a station. As of old he was in a _poddiovka_, wearing an embroidered shirt, and when I asked after his health, he replied: "Quite well, thanks be to God." He began to talk. He had sold his estate and bought another, smaller one in the name of Lyabov Ivanovna. He told me a little about the Volchaninovs. Lyda, he said, still lived at Sholkovka and taught the children in the school; little by little she succeeded in gathering round herself a circle of sympathetic people, who formed a strong party, and at the last Zemstvo election they drove out Balaguin, who up till then had had the whole district in his hands. Of Genya Bielokurov said that she did not live at home and he did not know where she was. I have already begun to forget about the house with the mezzanine, and only now and then, when I am working or reading, suddenly--without rhyme or reason--I remember the green light in the window, and the sound of my own footsteps as I walked through the fields that night, when I was in love, rubbing my hands to keep them warm. And even more rarely, when I am sad and lonely, I begin already to recollect and it seems to me that I, too, am being remembered and waited for, and that we shall meet.... Missyuss, where are you? [The end]
沒有留言:
張貼留言