Chapter 7 "Name Day"-2

three After half an hour, all the guests flocked to the wooden posts on the shore to which several boats were tied.Everyone talked and laughed, and couldn't sit still in the boat because they were too busy.Three boats were already full of passengers, and two boats lay empty.But they didn't know where the keys of the two boats were. They kept sending people back to the yard from the river to look for the keys.Some said that the keys were in Grigory's hands, others that they were with the butler, and others suggested that the blacksmith should be called to break the locks.Everyone chattered and interrupted each other, trying to overwhelm the voices of others.Pyotr Dmitritch walked impatiently up and down the bank, shouting: "The devil knows what's going on! The keys should always be on the window-sill in the vestibule! Whoever takes them for himself Gone? If the housekeeper wants to use a boat, he can take his own boat!"

At last the key was found.Unexpectedly, everyone found that two pairs of oars were missing.Then another storm arose.Tired of walking, Pyotr Dmitritch jumped into a long, narrow canoe hewn from a poplar tree.He wobbled a bit, almost fell into the water, and the canoe pulled away.Amidst the loud laughter and screams of the ladies, the other boats drifted away with the canoe one after another. The white sky, the trees and reeds on the bank, the boats full of people and oars are all reflected on the mirror-like water surface; below the boats, far away in the depths of the river, in the bottomless abyss, there is another A sky and flying birds.The bank on which the estate stood was high and steep, and full of trees; the opposite bank was not high or steep, but a broad green, water-soaked meadow, with some gleaming puddles.The boat swam fifty yards away, and on the next gentle bank, from behind the willows drooping with melancholy branches, some farmhouses and cattle peeped out, singing, drunken shouts, accordions sounded.

Here and there on the river the boats of fishermen were dotted, casting their roll-nets for night fishing.In a small boat, a few drunken amateur musicians were playing violins and cellos they made themselves. Olga Mikhailovna sat at the helm.She smiled courteously, and said a great deal to entertain her guests, squinting at her husband. He rode in the canoe that ran ahead of all the boats, and he stood in the canoe and drew an oar.It was a light, pointed canoe, and all the guests called it a "canoe," but Pyotr Dmitritch called it a "Piangeraklia" for some reason.It drove fast, nimbly and menacingly, as if hating the difficult Pyotr Dmitritch and wishing for a convenient chance to slip under his feet.Olga Mikhailovna looked at her husband with disgust for his attractive handsome features, the back of his head, his posture, his intimacy with women.She hated all the women who sat in the canoe, she was jealous, and at the same time trembled every minute lest the unstable little canoe would capsize and cause disaster.

"Slow down, Peter!" she cried, her heart stopping with fear. "Come on board! If you don't, we'll believe you're brave!" Those who were on board with her also disturbed her mind.They are the normal kind of people who are not bad, and there are many people like this.But now, from her point of view, each of them was abnormal and evil.She saw nothing but deceit in everyone. "Look," she thought, "this sorrel-haired young man at the oars wears gold-rimmed spectacles and a handsome beard, is always loved by his mother, lives happily, is rich, eats well, Everyone thought he was a decent, free-thinking, progressive man. He came to the county after graduating from college, and he hadn't lived in the county for a year, and he had already said this about himself: "We are all Zemstvo Home'.But within a year he would be bored, like so many others, and set off for Petersburg, where, in order to justify his escape, he would be fooled by preaching the futility of Zemstvo.And his young wife, who was watching him from the other boat, really believed that he was a 'zemstvo activist', and a year from now would believe that Zemstvo was good for nothing.And there was the plump gentleman with the finely cropped beard, in the straw hat with the wide band, and smoking a costly cigar.This man likes to say: 'Now we should drop our illusions and get to work!' He kept Yorkshire pigs and Butleyrov bees, grew rapeseed and pineapples, ran oil mills and cheese makers, and used double-entry bookkeeping in Italy But every summer he sells his woods for felling and mortgages part of the land in order to live in the Crimea with his mistress in the fall. And my uncle Nikolai La Nikolaitch, he's angry with Pyotr Dmitritch, but for some reason he hasn't come home!"

Olga Mikhailovna looked at the other boats, and there, too, she saw only unpleasant eccentrics, posturing, or narrow-minded people.She thought of all the people she had known in the county, and she could never think of a single person who had anything good to say or think about.She feels that all people are mediocre, pale, closed, narrow, hypocritical, and ruthless. What everyone says is not what they think in their hearts, and what they do is not what they want to do.Boredom and despair made her breathless, and she wished she could suddenly put away her smile, jump up, and shout: "I hate you!" Then she jumped out of the boat and swam back to the shore.

"Gentlemen, let's tow Pyotr Dmitritch's boat!" someone cried. "Hold him! Hold him!" someone else responded. "Olga Mikhailovna, you dragged your husband's boat!" Olga Mikhailovna, sitting at the helm, in order to hold her husband's boat, had to see just the right moment, and deftly pulled the chain on the prow of his "Pangeraklia".When she stooped to grab the chain, Pyotr Dmitritch looked at her frowning. "You just sit there so you don't catch a cold!" he said. "If you are worried about me and the child, why are you torturing me?" Olga Mihailovna thought to herself.

Pyotr Dmitritch admitted that he was defeated, but he did not want to sit on the tugboat, so he jumped from the "Panjraclia" to the boat already full of people, and he jumped so casually that he lost his mind. The boat tilted suddenly, and everyone screamed in fright. "He dances like this to make the women like him," thought Olga Mihailovna. "He knows he dances beautifully. . . . " Her arms and legs began to tremble, and she thought it was because she was upset, she was distressed because she was trying to smile, because she was not feeling well all over.In order to hide her trembling from the guests, she tried to speak loudly, laugh, and move around. ... "If I burst into tears," she thought, "I'll just say I have a toothache. ..." But the boats landed at last on the Isle of Good Hope.Everyone calls this place "Island of Good Hope," but in fact it is a peninsula formed by a sharp bend in the river, covered with ancient woods, including birches, oaks, willows, and poplars.Tables were already set under the shade of the trees, the samovar was smoking, and Vasily and Grigory, in tailcoats and white knitted gloves, were already busily busy by the tea sets.On the opposite bank of Haowang Island, a food cart was parked.Baskets and sacks of food were sent from the wagon to a little canoe that looked like a "Piangeraklia," and they were carried across the river to the island.The footmen, the coachmen, even the peasants in their little canoes had that name-day beaming look on their faces that only children and servants have.

Olga Mikhailovna started to make tea and poured it into the first cups, while the guests were busy drinking and eating sweets.Then began the commotion which was customary at tea-time at picnics, much to the tedium and weariness of the hostess.No sooner had Grigory and Vasily distributed the cups of tea to the guests than many hands with empty cups were stretched out in front of Olga Mikhailovna.Some people asked not to put sugar in the tea, some people asked for stronger tea, some people asked for lighter tea, and some people thanked them and said they didn't want to drink any more.Olga Mikhailovna would have to remember all these requests, and then call: "Ivan Petrovitch, is it you who wants no sugar?" or: "Gentlemen, who wants weaker tea?" Huh?" But at this time, the person who wanted to drink weak tea or no sugar no longer remembered his request, and focused on the pleasant conversation, and took the teacup he touched casually.Not far from the table shadows of sullen people strolled about, pretending to be looking for fungus in the grass or reading the labels on boxes, people who hadn't got their teacups. "Have you had your tea?" asked Olga Mikhailovna, and the person in question asked her not to worry, saying: "I'll wait a while," but for the hostess, the guest Don't wait, drink the tea quickly, it will save a lot of trouble.

Some, busy with conversation, drank their tea slowly, leaving their cups in their hands for half an hour.Some people, especially those who drank a great deal at dinner, never left the table, and drank one glass after another, so that Olga Mihailovna had no time to pour tea.There was a joking young man who drank tea while biting candy, and kept saying, "I, a guilty man, just like to let myself enjoy the delicacy of Chinese plants①." He sighed from time to time and demanded: "Please pour me a little more!" He drank a lot of tea and chewed the sugar loudly, thinking that it would be funny and unique, and imitated the businessman.No one realized that such trifles were toils for the mistress, and it was difficult indeed, because Olga Mihailovna was always smiling obligingly and saying perfunctory words.

But she didn't feel well. . . . The many people, the laughter, the questions, the joking youths, the dazed and exhausted footmen, the children running around the tables, all displeased her, and Vada She looked so much like Nata, and Kolya so like Mitya, that it was difficult to tell who had drunk tea and who hadn't, which also annoyed her.She felt that her forcedly ingratiating smile was turning into an expression of anger, and at any moment she felt that she would cry out. "Gentlemen, it's raining!" someone shouted. Everyone looked up at the sky. "Yes, it's really raining . . . " confirmed Pyotr Dmitritch, wiping his face.

Only a few raindrops fell from the sky, and the real rain had not yet come, but the guests left their teacups and hurried away.Everyone wanted to take the carriage at first, but changed their minds and went to the boat.Olga Mikhailovna, on the pretext that she must arrange supper quickly, begged to be allowed to go alone, and drove home in a carriage. She got into the carriage, first let her face put away the smile, and take a rest.She walked through the village with an angry face, and with an angry face she saluted the peasants who met her on the road and bowed to her.When she got home, she went into the bedroom by the back door and slept in her husband's bed. "Lord, my God," she whispered, "what is this drudgery for? Why are these people talking here and pretending to be jovial? Why am I pretending to be smiling? I don't I understand, I don't understand!" There were footsteps and voices outside.This is where the guests come back. "Let them go," thought Olga Mikhailovna. "I'm going to lie down a little longer." But a maid came into the bedroom and said: "Madame, Marya Grigorevna is leaving!" Olga Mikhailovna jumped out of bed, straightened her hair, and hurried out of the bedroom. "Maria Grigorevna, what's the matter?" she said in an aggrieved tone, going up to Marya Grigorevna. "Where are you going in such a hurry?" "It can't be helped, dear, it can't be helped. I've sat too long to go now. My children are waiting for me at home." "You're so wrong! Why didn't you come with your child?" "My dear, if you will allow me, I will take them to play on an ordinary day from now on, but today..." "Well, please bring it yourself," interrupted Olga Mikhailovna , "I will be very happy! Your children are so cute! You kiss them one by one for me. . . . But, seriously, you make me unhappy!Why go in such a hurry, I don't understand! " "It can't be helped, it can't be helped. ... Goodbye, dear. You have to take care of yourself. You know, you are pregnant at the moment..." They kissed each other.After seeing the guests into the carriage, Olga Mikhailovna went into the drawing-room to see the ladies.The lamps were already lit there, and the gentlemen were already sitting down to play with vinter. "Notes" ① refers to tea. Four After dinner, at about a quarter past twelve, the guests took their leave.Olga Mikhailovna saw the visitor out, stood on the porch, and said: "Really, you should wear a shawl! It's getting colder. God help you, don't catch cold!" "Don't worry, Olga Mikhailovna!" replied the guests, getting into their carriages. "Okay, goodbye! You have to remember, we are looking forward to your coming! Don't lie to us!" "Ah, ah!" shouted the coachman, reining in his horse. "Come on, Denis! Good-bye, Olga Mihailovna!" "Kiss your children for me!" The carriage drove away, and immediately disappeared into the darkness.In the circle of red light cast by the doorway on the avenue, a new double or triplex carriage appeared, the horses were impatient, and the coachman stretched out his arms.The host and guest start kissing again, followed by scolding, and then ask to come back later or wear a shawl.Pyotr Dmitritch ran out of the hall and helped the ladies into the carriage. "Now you must drive towards Yevremovshina," he said, pointing to the coachman. "Crossing Mangino is nearer, but it's a rough road. It might overturn. . . . Farewell, my beauty. Give your artist mille compli-ments for me!" "Good-bye, dear Olga Mikhailovna! Go back in, or you'll catch cold! It's damp outside!" "Hey! You naughty horse!" "What are your horses?" asked Pyotr Dmitritch. "Bought it at Haidarov during Lent," replied the coachman. "Nice horse..." Peter Dmitlich patted the harnessed horse on the back. "Okay, let's drive! Have a good trip!" Finally the last guest left too.The circle of red light on the boulevard flickered, floated in all directions, shrunk, and went out, because Vasily had taken the lamp from the porch.In the old days, after seeing off the guests, Pyotr Dmitritch and Olga Mikhailovna would dance across the hall, clap their hands, and sing: "They're gone! They're gone!" They're gone!" But Olga Mikhailovna was in no mood for such things now.She went into the bedroom, took off her clothes, and lay down on the bed. She thought she would fall asleep at once, and sleep soundly.Her legs and shoulders were unnaturally sore, she talked too much, her head was heavy, and she still felt uncomfortable.She pulled the quilt over her head and lay there for about three minutes, then she stuck her head out from under the quilt, looked at the small lamp in front of the statue, and smiled slightly as she experienced the peaceful atmosphere. "This is the best, this is the best..." She whispered, curling up her legs, she felt as if they had walked too much and had grown longer. "Sleep, sleep. ..." Her legs were uncomfortable, and her whole body felt uncomfortable, so she turned over.In the dormitory, a big fly was buzzing and bumping against the ceiling anxiously.Grigory and Vasily could also be heard walking carefully in the hall, clearing the tables.Olga Mikhailovna felt that she would not fall asleep, would feel comfortable until the sounds had died down.She turned anxiously again. Her husband's voice came from the living room.Somebody must have stayed over for the night, for Pyotr Dmitritch was speaking loudly to someone: "I don't want to say that Count Alexey Petrovitch is a hypocrite. But he can't help being because you, gentlemen, are trying to see in him something different from what he really is. His religious zeal is seen as a peculiar intelligence, his intimacy is seen as good. Heart, his utter lack of opinion is called Conservative. Let him be a Conservative of the 1884 brand. But, after all, what is Conservatism?" Pyotr Dmitritch was angry with Count Alexei Petrovitch, with his guests, with himself, and was whining at the moment.He scolded the count, scolded the guests, hated himself, and was ready to express his opinion and make his own opinions.After seeing off the guests, he walked from corner to corner in the living room, passed through the dining room, walked down the corridor, entered his study, and then passed through the living room and into the bedroom.Olga Mikhailovna lay on her back, covered only to her waist with the quilt (she was already feeling hot), and stared angrily at the flies hitting the ceiling. "Is anyone staying the night?" she asked. "It's Yegorov." Pyotr Dmitritch undressed and lay down on his bed.He silently lit a cigarette and began to look at the fly.His eyes were hard and restless.Olga Mihailovna watched his handsome profile in silence for about five minutes. For some reason she felt that if her husband suddenly turned to her and said: "Olya, I feel bad," she would cry, or laugh, and her heart would be relieved.She thought that her legs were hurting and her whole body was uncomfortable because she was too nervous. "Peter, what are you thinking?" she asked. "Oh, nothing, . . . " replied her husband. "You've been keeping something on your mind from me lately. It's not good." "Why is that not good?" said Pyotr Dmitritch coldly, after a moment's thought. "Each of us has a personal life, so we have to have our own thoughts." "Personal life, my own thoughts, . "Since your heart is heavy, why do you hide it from me? Why do you think it is more appropriate to speak your heart to an irrelevant woman than to your own wife? No, I heard everything you confide to Liubachka at the apiary today. " "Oh, then I congratulate you. I'm glad you heard that." This means: You allow me to be quiet, don't hinder my thinking!Olga Mikhailovna was angry.On this day, the annoyance, hatred, and anger smoldering in her heart suddenly seemed to stir up.She did not want to put it off till tomorrow, but she wanted to tell her husband the whole story at once, to insult him, to take revenge on him. ... She suppressed herself hard, so as not to shout, and said: "You have to understand, this kind of thing is hateful, hateful, hateful! I hated you all day today, and it was all caused by you!" Peter Dmitritch also got up and sat down. "Damn, hate, hate!" continued Olga Mikhailovna, and began to tremble all over. "No need to congratulate me! You'd better congratulate yourself! Shame, disgrace! You're so hypocritical that you're ashamed to be in the same room with your wife! You hypocrite! I see through you, understand you Every step of the way!" "Olya, whenever you are in a bad mood, please tell me in advance. Then I can go to sleep in the study." Having said this, Pyotr Dmitritch picked up the pillow and left the bedroom. Olga Mikhailovna did not expect this.She stared at the door by which her husband had come out, and, with parted mouth, trembling all over, she remained silent for a few minutes, trying to understand what it meant.Is this a method used by hypocritical people who know they are wronged in an argument, or is it deliberately designed to hurt her self-esteem?How should we understand it?Olga Mikhailovna thought of her cousin, an officer, a jovial fellow, and used to tell her with a smile that every evening when his "wife started nagging" him, he always But he picked up the pillow and went whistling to his own study, leaving his wife in a foolish situation.The officer married a rich daughter, a wayward and stupid woman, whom he did not respect, but only put off. Olga Mikhailovna jumped out of bed.As far as she could tell, there was only one thing for her to do now, and that was to get dressed as quickly as possible, and get out of this house, never to return.The house was her own, and that would embarrass Pyotr Dmitritch all the more.She did not consider whether she should do this, but ran quickly to her study to inform her husband of her decision ("Woman's logic!" the thought crossed her mind), and to add some insults at parting. His mean words. . . . Pyotr Dmitritch was lying on the couch, pretending to be reading a newspaper.A candle was burning on the chair beside him.His face was hidden by the newspaper and she couldn't see it. "Take the trouble to explain: what does this mean? I ask you!" "'You' . . . " Peter Dmitritch imitated her, without showing his face. "That's annoying, Olga! To tell the truth, I'm too tired to take care of it now. . . . Let's quarrel tomorrow." "No, I know you very well!" continued Olga Mikhailovna. "You hate me! Yes, yes! You hate me because I'm richer than you! And because of that, you'll never forgive me and always lie to me! ("Bitch's logic!" The thought crossed her mind again.) Now, I know, you're laughing at me. . . . I'm even convinced that you're marrying me for the property and those nasty horses. . . . Oh, I'm so unlucky !" Pyotr Dmitritch's newspaper fell to the floor and he sat up.This unexpected insult froze him.He smiled helplessly like a child, looked at his wife bewilderedly, held out his hand to her, as if to protect himself from a blow, and said in a beseeching voice: "Olya!" He expected that she would say something terrible, so he clung to the back of the couch, and his whole burly body began to become as childish and embarrassed as his smile. "Olya, how can you say that?" he whispered. Olga Mihailovna regained consciousness.She realized suddenly that she had always been madly in love with this man, and remembered that he was her husband, Peter Dmitritch, without whom she could not live a day, and who was also madly in love with her.She burst into tears, and even her voice changed.She hugged her head and ran back to the bedroom. She threw herself on the bed, short hysterical cries resounded through the dormitory, making her breathless and her arms and legs twitching uncontrollably.She remembered that there was a guest staying the night three or four rooms away, so she buried her head under the pillow to drown out her cries, but the pillow fell to the floor.She bent down to pick it up, but almost fell.She pulled the quilt over her face, but her hands wouldn't work, tearing convulsively at whatever they caught. She felt that it was all over, that her life had been shattered by the lies she had uttered to insult her husband.Her husband will not forgive her.No tenderness, no oath could offset her insult to him. . . . How could she convince her husband that she did not believe what she said? "It's over, it's over!" she cried, not noticing that her pillow had dropped to the floor again. "For God's sake! For God's sake!" The guest and the servants had probably been awakened by her cries, and tomorrow the whole county would know that she had suffered a hysteria, and it would be wrong to blame Pyotr Dmitrich for it.She tried to restrain herself, but the crying became louder and louder. "For God's sake!" she cried, her voice changing, and she didn't know why. "For God's sake!" She felt the bed beneath her was sinking and her legs were caught in the covers. Pyotr Dmitritch came into the bedroom, dressed in a robe and holding a candle in his hand. "Olya, don't cry!" he said. She turned over, knelt on the bed, her eyes were narrowed by the light of the candle, and she cried and said, "You have to understand...you have to understand..." She wanted to say that she had suffered from those guests, his hypocrisy, her She was tormented by hypocrisy, and wanted to say that her heart was churning, but all she could say were these few words: "You have to understand,...you have to understand!" "Here, drink some water!" he said, handing her a glass of water. She obediently took the glass and began to drink, but the water spilled over and spilled on her hands, chest, and knees. ... "Perhaps I'm very ugly now!" she thought to herself.Pyotr Dmitritch silently helped her to lie down, covered her with the quilt, and went out with the candle. "For God's sake!" cried Olga Mikhailovna again. "Peter, you have to understand, you have to understand!" Suddenly, something pressed her lower body against her stomach and back, so hard that even her crying was interrupted, and she bit the pillow in pain.Immediately, however, the pain relaxed her, and she began to cry again. A maid came in, adjusted the quilt for her, and asked anxiously, "Madam, good lady, what's the matter with you?" "Get out!" said Pyotr Dmitritch sternly, coming up to the bed. "You must understand, you must understand . . . " began Olga Mihailovna. "Olya, I beg you, be quiet!" he said. "I didn't intend to offend you. If I had known that my leaving the dormitory would have such an effect on you, I would not have come out of the dormitory. I was upset just now. I am speaking to you as an honest man would say." . . . " "You understand. . . . You're a hypocrite, I'm a hypocrite. . . . " "I understand. . . . Come on, come on, forget it! I understand . . . " said Pyotr Dmitritch softly. , sat down on her bed. "You said that in a fit of anger, I know. . . . I swear to God, I love you more than anything in the world. When I married you, it never occurred to me that you were rich." .I love you infinitely and nothing else. . . .I assure you.I have never been short of money nor know the value of money so feel no difference between your property and mine The difference. I always thought we were both equally wealthy. As for me cheating on little things, that's... of course, the truth. My life has been so unserious up to now, so somehow, if there hadn't been this Petty falsifications are out of the question. I don't feel well now. For God's sake, let's not talk about it!..." Olga Mikhailovna felt the pain again, and took hold of her husband's arm. sleeves. "I hurt, hurt, hurt..." she said quickly. "Oh, it hurts!" "Let the devil catch those guests!" muttered Pyotr Dmitritch, getting up. "You shouldn't be on that island today!" he cried. "How did I, a fool, not stop you? Lord, my God!" He scratched his scalp in frustration, waved his hands, and walked out of the bedroom. Afterwards he came into the bedroom several times, sat down next to her by the bed, and talked a lot, sometimes very softly, sometimes angry, but she could no longer hear clearly.Her cries alternated with terrible pains, each of which became more intense and longer.At first she held her breath and bit the pillow in pain, but then she cried out in a wild, tearing voice.Once, seeing her husband sitting beside her, remembering that she had insulted him, without considering whether it was a dream or whether Pyotr Dmitritch was really here, she stretched out her hands to grab his, Can't stop kissing it. "You lied, I lied..." She began to argue. "You have to understand, you have to understand. . . . I'm exhausted and impatient. . . . " "Olya, there are strangers in our room!" said Peter Dmitritch. Olga Mikhailovna raised her head slightly, and saw Varvara kneeling at the chest of drawers, pulling out the lower drawer.The upper drawers have been pulled out. Varvara, having finished opening the chest of drawers, stood up, flushed with effort, and opened a small box with a calm and dignified countenance. "Maria, I can't open it!" she whispered. "Come and drive." Maria the maid was digging through the candlestick with scissors to put a new candle in it. She went to Varvara and helped her open the little box. "Don't shut anything tightly," Varvara whispered. "That locket, my dear, must be opened too. Sir," she said to Pyotr Dmitritch, "you must send to Father Mikhail, and tell him to take the ikon from the wall. The door is open! It must be opened!" "Do what you want," said Pyotr Dmitritch breathlessly. "Just for God's sake, hurry up and get the doctor or the midwife! Has Vasily gone? Send another one." people go. Just send your husband!" "I'm going to have a baby," Olga Mikhailovna thought to herself. "Varvara," she moaned, "but the child will not be born alive!" "Nothing, nothing, ma'am..." Varvara whispered. "God willing, he'll let it go (she pronounced 'live' as 'go')! He'll let it go!" When Olga Mikhailovna woke up after another labor pain, she could no longer cry, could no longer turn over, and could only moan constantly.Even when she wasn't in pain, she couldn't help moaning.The candles were still burning, but the early morning light was already filtering through the curtains.It was about five o'clock in the morning.Sitting next to the small round table in the dormitory was a woman she didn't know, wearing a white apron, with a humble look on her face.It can be seen from her posture that she has been sitting for a long time.Olga Mikhailovna guessed that this person was a midwife. "Are you about to give birth?" she asked, hearing a peculiar, unfamiliar tone in her own voice, which she had never heard before. "I'm probably going to die in childbirth," she thought to herself. Pyotr Dmitritch came cautiously into the bedroom, dressed in day clothes, and stood by the window with his back to his wife.He raised the curtain a little and looked out the window. "It's raining a lot!" he said. "What time is it?" asked Olga Mikhailovna, in order to hear again the unfamiliar tone in her voice. "A quarter past five," answered the midwife. "What if I should really die?" thought Olga Mikhailovna, looking at her husband's head and the rain-beating panes. "How will he live without me? With whom will he drink tea and eat? With whom will he talk and sleep in the evening?" He seemed so weak and lonely to her that she could not help pity him and wanted to say something nice, tender, comforting to him.She recalled that he had originally planned to buy some hounds this spring, but she thought hunting was a cruel and dangerous pastime, so she refused to let him buy it. "Peter, buy some hounds!" she moaned. He drew down the curtains, went to the bed, and was about to speak, but at that moment Olga Mihailovna felt a pain, and cried out in a wild, tearing voice. She finally became numb from the pain, from constant yelling and moaning.She listened, looked, and sometimes talked, but she didn't understand much of anything except that she was hurting, or was about to hurt.She felt that the name day seemed to be a long time ago, not yesterday, but as if it was a year ago.This painful new life of hers seemed to outlive her childhood, her school and college years, her married life, and it would go on for a long time without end.She saw the servants bring tea to the midwife, call her to breakfast at noon, and then call her to lunch.She saw Pyotr Dmitritch often come in, stand for a long time at the window, and then go out again, and also several strange men, the maid, and Varvara. ……瓦尔瓦拉老是说：“会豁着的，会豁着的，”一看见有人关五屉柜的抽屉就生气。奥尔迦·米海洛芙娜看见房里和窗外的亮光常常变换，一忽儿幽暗，一忽儿迷迷蒙蒙，象是有雾，一忽儿如同白昼，跟昨天午饭时候那样明亮，一忽儿又幽暗了。 ……每次变化都要延续很久，就跟她的童年时代、她在中学和高等学校读书的时期一样长。 ……傍晚有两位医师来给奥尔迦·米海洛芙娜动手术，一位很瘦，秃头，留一把很宽的红胡子，另一位生着犹太人的脸型，黑皮肤、黑头发，戴一副价钱便宜的眼镜。她眼看陌生的男人碰她的身体，却毫不在意。她已经没有羞耻的感觉，也没有意志，人人都可以随意摆布她。即使这时候有人拿着刀子向她扑过来，或者侮辱彼得·德米特利奇，或者夺去她生小宝宝的权利，她也不会说一句话的。 动手术的时候，她闻了哥罗芳③。等她事后清醒过来，疼痛却还是延续不断，而且痛得受不了。那时候是夜里。奥尔迦·米海洛芙娜想起仿佛以前有过这样一个夜晚，安安静静，神像前面点着小灯，接生婆一动不动地坐在床边，五屉柜的抽屉拉开来，彼得·德米特利奇站在窗前，然而，好象那是老早老早以前的事了。 ... "Notes" ①法语：一千次致意。 ②基督教节日，复活节前的四十天。 ③一种麻醉剂。 Fives “我没有死，……”等到奥尔迦·米海洛芙娜又了解周围的事，不再觉得疼痛以后，她暗自想道。 夏季明亮的白昼从寝室里两个敞开的窗口照进来。窗外，花园里，麻雀和喜鹊一秒钟也不停地叫着。 五屉柜的抽屉已经关上，她丈夫的床收拾整齐了。寝室里没有接生婆，没有瓦尔瓦拉，没有女仆，只有彼得·德米特利奇仍旧站在窗前，一动也不动，瞧着花园里。听不见婴孩的啼哭声，谁也没有来道喜，或者高兴，看来，小宝宝生下来却没有活着。 “彼得！”奥尔迦·米海洛芙娜叫她的丈夫。 彼得·德米特利奇回过头来看。大概从最后一个客人告辞、奥尔迦·米海洛芙娜侮辱她丈夫以后，已经过了很多时间，因为彼得·德米特利奇明显地变得消瘦憔悴了。 “你要什么？”他走到床前，问道。 他眼睛瞧着一旁，嘴唇努动着，象小孩那样狼狈地微笑。 “事情都完结了吗？”奥尔迦·米海洛芙娜问道。 彼得·德米特利奇想回答一句话，可是他的嘴唇发抖，嘴巴象老人似的撇着，就跟她那掉了牙的叔叔尼古拉·尼古拉伊奇一个样。 “奥丽雅！”他说，绞着手，他的眼睛里忽然滴下几颗大泪珠。“奥丽雅！我不需要你的财产权，不需要会审法庭，……”他哽咽一下。“……不需要特殊的见解，不需要那些客人，也不需要你的陪嫁，……我什么都不需要！为什么我们没保住我们的孩子呢？唉，说这些也无益了！” 他摆一下手，走出寝室去了。 可是这对奥尔迦·米海洛芙娜简直没有产生什么影响。 她的脑子由于哥罗芳的作用变得昏昏沉沉，心里一片空白。 ……她至今还处在刚才两位医师给她动手术的时候，她对生活麻木、冷漠的那种状态之中。