Chapter 8 "Prairie" 1

one One early morning in July, a dilapidated, springless, covered carriage rolled out of a certain county town in a certain province, rumbling along the post road. At present, such very old carriages are only used in Russia by merchants' buddies, Only cattle dealers and priests who are not well-to-do are willing to ride.The car creaked and creaked at the slightest movement, and the bucket tied to the back of the car also came to help with a muffled sound.Just listening to these sounds, and just looking at the shabby pieces of leather hanging on the peeling-off body, one can tell that this car is old and will fall into pieces at any moment.

In the car sat two inhabitants of the same town, one was a town merchant, Ivan Ivanich Kuzmitchov, with a shaved beard, glasses on his face, and a straw hat on his head. He looked more like a civil servant than a merchant, and there was the priest Christopher Siljski, pastor of the county church of St. Nicholas, a little old man with long hair and wearing a He wore a gray canvas gown and a wide-brimmed top hat tied around the waist with a colorful embroidered ribbon.The businessman is absorbed in his thoughts, shaking his head to drive away drowsiness.On his face the customary serious indifference was at odds with the mildness of a man who had just said goodbye to his family and had a good drink.The abbe, with his moist eyes, gazed in amazement upon the world of God, and his smile spread so broadly that it seemed to be on the brim of his hat.His face was quite red, as if he had been frozen.They, Father Christopher and Kuzmitchov, were now driving in a cart to sell wool.

I said goodbye to my family just now. They had a full meal of bread and butter, and although it was early in the morning, they drank a few glasses of wine. ... Both of them are in a very good mood. Besides the two persons just described, and Deniska the coachman, who kept whipping the pair of light-footed sorrel horses, there was another passenger in the carriage, a boy of nine years old, whose face was sunburned. It was black and stained with tears.This is Yegorushka, Kuzmitchov's nephew.With his uncle's permission and Father Christopher's kindness, he got into the car and wanted to go somewhere to go to school.

His mother, Olga Ivanovna, the widow of a senior civil servant and Kuzmitchov's sister, liked educated people and high society, and asked her brother to take him with him when he went out to sell wool. with Yegorushka and take him to school.Now the boy himself didn't know where he was going or why he was going, but he just sat next to Deniska on the driver's seat and grabbed his elbow, afraid of falling off.His body jumped up and down like a teapot on the top of a samovar.The back of his red shirt bulged like a bubble from the speed of the car.His new hat had a peacock feather, like a coachman's hat, which kept slipping to the back of his head.He felt that he was the most unfortunate person, and he wished he could cry.

As the carriage passed the prison, Yegorushka looked at the sentries walking slowly under the high white wall, at the small windows with iron lattices, at the cross shining on the roof, and remembered going to the prison. He went with his mother to the Prison Church for the Feast of the Patron Saints the following week on the Feast of Our Lady of Kazan, and he remembered that he had been to the prison at Easter with the cooks Rudmila and Deniska, and Easter bread, eggs, pies, and fried beef were given to the prisoners, and the prisoners thanked them and made the cross on their chests. One of the prisoners even gave Yegorushka a pair of tin cufflinks he made himself. .

The boy stared intently at those familiar places, but the hateful carriage flew by and left them all behind.Behind the prison the smoky blacksmith's shop peeped out, and beyond that a peaceful green cemetery surrounded by a wall of cobblestones.White crosses and tombstones peeped merrily from the walls.Hidden among the green cherry trees, they looked like white spots from a distance.Yegorushka remembered that when the cherry trees were in bloom, those white spots mixed with the cherry blossoms and turned into a sea of ​​white.When the cherries are ripe, the white tombstone and the white cross are dotted with many small purple spots, like blood.Yegorushka's father and grandmother Zinaida Danilovna lay there all day and night in the shade of the cherry tree in the enclosure.When the grandmother died, she was placed in a narrow coffin, and two five-kopeck copper plates were pressed over her eyes that refused to close.Before she died, she was alive and used to buy soft bread from the market, sprinkled with poppy seeds.Now, she's asleep, asleep. ... There is a brick factory behind the cemetery that is smoking.From under the long roofs of thatched roofs that seemed to be clinging to the ground, great puffs of thick black smoke rose lazily upward.The sky over the brickyards and the cemetery was dark, and the great shadows of the puffs of smoke crawled across the fields and roads.Some men and horses walked in the smoke beside those roofs, covered with red ash. …When you get to the brick factory, the county town has come to an end, and after that there are fields.

Yegorushka took a last look at the city, put his face on Deniska's elbow, and wept mournfully. ... "Hmph, I haven't howled enough, what a weeper!" Kuzmitchov said. "Another snot and tears, sweet child! If you don't want to go, then don't go. No one is forcing you to go!" "Come, come, little brother Yegor, come..." Father Christopher muttered quickly, "come, little brother. . . . God bless you. , It’s not harmful to you, but beneficial to you. As the saying goes: Learning is light, ignorance is darkness.  …It’s true.” "Do you want to go back?" Kuzmitchov asked.

"Yes, . . . . . . . . . " replied Yegorushka, sobbing. "Then go back. Anyway, you've made the trip for nothing, just in line with the old saying: You've traveled seven miles just to eat a spoonful of jelly." "Come, come, little brother . . . " went on Father Christopher. "God bless you. . . . Lomonosov went out with fishermen in the same way, and later he became a famous figure in Europe. Wisdom and faith together will bear the fruit that God likes .What does the prayer say? Glory to the Creator, comfort to our parents, benefit to our church and country. . . . That's it."

"The benefits are often not the same ..." said Kuzmitchov, lighting a cheap cigar. "Some people have studied for 20 years, but they still haven't understood the truth." "There are such things." "Learning is good for some people, but for others it confuses their brains. My sister is a naive woman who wants to live like a gentleman, and she wants to make Yegorka into a decent woman Learned people, but they don't understand that I can teach Yegorka to do my business and live a happy life. Let me tell you: if everyone wants to study and be a gentleman, no one will do it Business, planting crops. Everyone is going to starve to death."

"But if everybody does business and grows crops, there's no one to be educated." Kuzmitchov and Father Christopher, realizing that both sides had said a convincing and weighty statement, put on serious faces and cleared their throats together.Deniska listened to what they said, did not understand a word, shook her head, bent slightly, and whipped the sorrel horses.Silence followed. At this moment, a plain spread out before the traveler's eyes, a vast expanse, cut off by a series of continuous hills.Those hills squeezed each other, scrambling to stick their heads out, forming a highland, stretching out on the right side of the road, until the horizon, disappearing into the lavender distance.The car went forward and back, but no matter what, it was impossible to see where the plain started and where it ended. ... The sun was already peeking out from behind the city, quietly and unhurriedly going about its business.At first, in front of them, far away, at the place where the sky and the earth meet, near some small graves and windmills that looked like little people shaking their arms from a distance, there was a broad and dazzling yellow band of light crawling along the ground. Then, after a while, the band of light came a little closer shiningly, and climbed to the right, embracing the mountains.Something warm touched Yegorushka's back.It turned out that there was a light band coming quietly from behind, passing the cars and horses, and running to meet another light band.Suddenly, the entire vast grassland shook off the haze of the early morning, showing a smile, shining with the light of dewdrops.

The cut rye, weeds, euphorbia, and wild hemp, which were originally withered and yellowed by the sun, some were reddened, and half dead, are now moistened by dew and caressed by the sun, and they are revived and will bloom again .Little puffins were flying in the sky above the road, calling happily.Chipmunks greet each other in the grass.Far to the left, from nowhere, crested wheat pheasants were wailing, and a group of partridges were disturbed by the carriage, flapped their wings and flew up, calling softly "Tererer", and flew up the mountain.Katydids, crickets, cicadas, and mole crickets made monotonous chirping sounds in the grass. But after a while, the dew evaporated, the air stagnated, and the deceived steppe took on the listless look of July, the grass drooped, and life stopped.The sun-drenched mountains are dark green, light purple when viewed from a distance, and have a tranquil atmosphere like shadows; the plain, hazy distance, and covering everything like a dome, can be seen without trees. , The sky that seemed very deep and clear on the grassland without mountains, now seems boundless and numb with depression. . . . What a bore, what a disappointment!The carriage drove on, but Yegorushka always saw the same things: the sky, the plain, and the low hills. ... the music in the meadow fell silent.Puffins fly away, partridges are gone.Rooks have nothing to do, hovering over the withered grass, they look alike to each other, making the grassland even more monotonous. An eagle flew close to the ground, flapping its wings evenly, and suddenly stopped in the air, as if thinking about the boring life, then flapped its wings, and flew across the grassland like an arrow. No one could explain why it flew. what it takes.In the distance, a windmill flapped its wings. ... To add a little variety, a white skull or pebbles occasionally flashed out of the weeds.From time to time, a gray stone statue appeared, or a dry willow tree with a blue crow parked on the top of the tree.A chipmunk sprinted across the road, and then there were only weeds, low hills, and rooks running in front of us. . . . But at last, thank God, a wagon came with bales.A girl was lying on the roof of the cart.She was drowsy and her limbs were weak from the heat. She raised her head and looked at the oncoming passengers.Deniska yawned at her, and the sorrel poked its nose out towards the grain.The coach creaked, kissed the cart, and the thorny ears of wheat brushed like a broom on Father Christopher's hat. "You drove your car over someone, fat girl!" cried Deniska. "Hey, what a fat face, it looks like I've been stung by a wasp!" The girl smiled sleepily, moved her lips, and lay down again. ... At this time, a solitary poplar tree appeared on the mountain.Who planted this?Why was it born there?God only knows.It is difficult to take your eyes off its slender figure and green clothes.Is this beauty happy?Hot in summer, bitterly cold in winter, blizzards and snows, and on terrible autumn nights, seeing nothing but darkness, hearing nothing but the savage howling wind, and worst of all, being alone all my life. ...Passing the poplar tree, the wheat fields stretched from the road to the top of the mountain, like dazzling yellow carpets.The wheat on the slopes has been harvested and bundled into bundles, but the fields at the foot of the mountains are just being reaped. ...Six reapers stood in a row, waved their sickles, and the sickles shone brightly, and they all uttered "Fushi! Fushi!" in time.From the movements of the women binding the wheat, from the countenance of the reapers, and from the light of the scythes, one could see that the heat had scorched them and suffocated them.A black dog stuck out its tongue and ran towards the carriage from the harvester, probably about to bark, but stopped halfway and looked indifferently at Deniska, who was threatening him with a whip.It's so hot that dogs won't bark anymore!A peasant woman straightened up, put her hands on her sore back, and fixed her eyes on Yegorushka's red cloth shirt.Whether the red color of the shirt caught her fancy or reminded her of her children was unknown, but she stood there motionless and stared at him for a long time. . . . but the wheat fields passed by this time.The dry plain, the sun-baked mountains, and the parched sky stretched out before me.Another eagle flew over the ground. In the distance, as before, a windmill was turning its blades, still looking like a little man shaking its arms.It's so boring to look at it all the time, as if it will never get to it, and it seems that it is hiding from the carriage and running far away. Father Christopher and Kuzmitchov were silent.From time to time Deniska whipped the bay horses and yelled at them.Yegorushka stopped crying, and looked around indifferently.The heat and the monotony of the prairie had worn him down.He felt as if he had been walking and jolting for a long time in the car, and the sun had baked his back for a long time.They hadn't gone ten versts before he was thinking: "Now it's time to stop and rest!" The gentle expression on his uncle's face gradually disappeared, leaving only a serious indifference, especially on his face. Glasses, nose, and temples, when dusty, always gave that thin, clean-shaven face a savage, torturer-like expression.Father Christopher remained the same, always looking at the world created by God with wonder and smiling.He was silent, thinking of something pleasant and beautiful, always with a kind and gentle smile on his face.It seemed that the beautiful and happy thoughts were frozen in his head by the heat. ... "Hey, Deniska, can we catch up with those convoys today?" asked Kuzmitchov. Deniska looked at the sky, got up and whipped the horse, and then replied: "In the night, if God pleases, we will catch up. . . . " There was the sound of a dog barking, and the tall dogs on the six prairies The watchdog seemed to be lying in ambush, but now it suddenly jumped out, roaring ferociously, and ran towards the carriage. They were all very fierce, with hairy, spider-like muzzles, and red eyes with anger. They surrounded the carriage, scrambling to get on top, making hoarse roars.They are full of hatred, as if they intend to bite the horse, the carriage, and the man to pieces. ... Deniska always liked to play with dogs, and liked to whip them with a whip. Seeing the opportunity came, she was very happy, with a gloating expression on her face, bent down, and whipped the sheepdog with a whip.The beasts barked more fiercely, but the horses still galloped.With some difficulty Yegorushka settled himself in his seat, looked at the dogs' eyes and teeth, and knew that if he fell, they would immediately bite him to pieces.But he was not frightened, he looked at them with the same schadenfreude as Janiska, and regretted that he did not have a whip in his hand. The carriage ran into a herd of sheep. "Stop!" cried Kuzmitchov. "Pull the rein! Huh! Ben 蚰头拍n barrel surprise    Li Lie 觯  Zhao ≡ Jing炻打B 左得A pardon? p> "Come here!" Kuzmitchov called to the shepherds. "Stop the dogs, these damned things!" The old shepherd had ragged clothes, bare feet, a warm hat, a dirty bundle around his waist, and a long crutch with a hook at the tip, just like a character in the Old Testament.He called to the dog, took off his hat, and went up to the carriage. Another identical Old Testament figure stood motionless at the other end of the flock, watching the travelers with indifference. "Whose sheep are these?" asked Kuzmitchov. "Varlamov's!" cried the old man. "Varlamov's!" said the shepherd at the other end of the flock. "Did Varlamov pass this road yesterday?" "No, . The wagon drove on, but the shepherds and their dogs stayed behind.Yegorushka looked unhappily at the lavender distance ahead, and gradually felt that the windmill with its flapping wings was getting closer.The windmill was getting bigger and bigger, becoming very tall, and its two wings could already be seen clearly.One wing was old and patched, the other had been recently made of new wood and glistened in the sun. The carriage kept going.For some reason, the windmill retreated to the left.They walked and walked, and the wind mill kept retreating to the left, but it didn't disappear, and it was still visible. "What a fine mill Boltva has opened for his son!" said Deniska. "Why can't you see his Zhuangzi?" "Zhuangzi is over there, behind the ravine." Bortova's Zhuangzi soon appeared, but the windmill still did not retreat, still did not stay behind.Still looking at Yegorushka with its shiny wings, it kept shaking.What a magician! "Notes" ①Yegorushka and Yegorka below are nicknames for Yegor. ② Lomonosov (1711-1765), an outstanding advocate of the Russian Enlightenment Movement, a scientist and poet, was born in a fisherman's family.