Chapter 14 "Wife" Six

six At ten o'clock in the morning I went to the railway station by sleigh.It wasn't too cold, but there was a lot of wet snow and an uncomfortably damp wind. We passed a pond, then through a grove of young birches, and began to follow the road up to the high hill I could see from the window.I turned around to take one last look at my house, but it was snowing so hard I couldn't see anything.After a while, some black farmhouses appeared ahead, as if in a fog.That is the village of Petrovo. "If one day I go mad, I'll blame this village of Petrovo," I thought, "it's killing me."

We walked into the street of the village.All the roofs of those farmhouses are intact, not a single one has been taken down, so my steward is lying.A boy was pulling a small sleigh, and in it sat a little girl with a baby in her arms.The other boy was about three years old, his head was tightly wrapped like a woman's, and he wore large gloves on his hands, and he was laughing while sticking out his tongue to catch the falling snow.At this time, a cart loaded with dry firewood drove towards him, and a farmer walked beside him. No one could tell whether his beard was originally white, or whether it was white because of the sticking snow.He recognized my coachman, smiled at him, said something, and involuntarily took off his hat when he saw me.Several dogs came out of the yard and looked at my horse curiously.Everything is quiet, ordinary, unpretentious.The immigrants came back without food, and in the farmhouse "some laughed and some went crazy with anger," but the situation before them was so ordinary that it was impossible to believe that such a thing had really happened.There were no flustered faces, no voices begging for relief, no weeping, no cursing.There was silence, order in life, children, sleds, and dogs with their tails cocked.Neither those children nor the farmer I met just now seemed restless, but why am I so restless?

I looked at the smiling peasants, at the boy in the big glove, at the farmhouse, and thought of my wife, and realized that no disaster could defeat these people.I felt that victory was already in the air, and I was so proud that I wanted to shout to them: I am with them.But my horses have run out of the village, into the wilderness, the snow is flying, the wind is howling, and I can only guard my thoughts alone.Among thousands of people working for the people, life itself threw me out alone, like an unnecessary, incompetent villain.I became an obstacle, a small part of the people's disaster, and I was beaten and cast aside.I hastened to the railway station, intending to leave this place and take refuge in Petersburg, in a hotel on Veliky Morskaya Street.

An hour later, we arrived at the train station.A railway inspector with a number plate on his chest and a coachman carried my suitcase into the women's waiting room.Nicanor, the coachman, tucked in his skirts, wearing felt boots, wet from the snow, was glad to be out, smiled at me kindly, and said: "Have a good trip, my lord. God bless you on your journey." By the way: Everyone calls me my lord, but in fact I am just a sixth-rank civil servant, a young servant.The railway inspector said the train had not left the previous station.I just had to wait.I went outside, my head heavy from a sleepless night, my legs too tired to walk.I walked aimlessly towards the water tower.

There was no one around. "Why should I go?" I asked myself. "What's waiting for me over there? It's nothing more than acquaintances I haven't seen for a long time, loneliness, restaurant meals, noise, and electric lights that hurt my eyes. ...Where am I going?Why go?Why should I go? " Besides, it was strange to walk away without saying a word to my wife.I thought I would confuse her.Before I left, I should have explained to her that she was right, that I was indeed a bad person. When I came back from the water tower, the station master came out of the door. I had twice reported him to his superiors.Because of the heavy wind and snow, he turned up the collar of his coat, shrunk his neck, walked up to me, raised two fingers to the brim of his hat, and told me with a flustered, barely respectful, and hateful expression, Said that the train was delayed by twenty minutes, would I like to go to a warm place to wait for the train now.

"Thank you," I replied, "but I probably won't go. Tell my coachman to wait. I'll think about it." I walked up and down on the platform, thinking to myself: Can I walk or not?When the train arrived, I decided not to leave.What awaited me at home would be my wife's bewildered look, and perhaps her sneering smile, plus the gloomy atmosphere upstairs and my own uneasy mood.But at my age, it was better than two days and two nights on the train to Petersburg with many strangers, always aware that my life was unnecessary to anyone and any cause, the day was drawing to a close, and after all People feel more relaxed and more or less kind.Yeah, it's better to go home anyway. ... I walked out of the train station.However, the people in my family were very happy to see me go out, but now that I go back, and I go back during the day, it will be a disappointment.Then I might as well spend the day at the neighbor's and come home in the evening.

But to whose house?Some neighbors I have a tense relationship with, and others I don't know at all.I thought about it for a while, and thought of Ivan Ivanitch. "Let's go to Bratin's!" I said to the driver, sitting down in the sleigh. "It's far," said Nicanor, with a sigh. "About twenty-eight versts, or a good thirty." "Please, dear friend," I said, sounding as if Nicanor had a right not to obey my orders. "Come on, please!" Nicanor shook his head suspiciously, and said slowly that it was time to change the shaft horse, not the Circassian one, but the "peasant" one, or the "singer" one.He held out his gloved hand hesitantly, and took the reins, as if waiting for me to change my mind.He leaned back a little, thought about it, and then swung the whip.

"A series of anticlimactic actions..." I thought to myself, hiding my face in my collar to avoid the falling snow. "I'm going crazy. Well, let it go..." Nicanor came to a very high and steep hillside, and first carefully let his horse downhill, but when he was halfway up the hillside, the horse suddenly lost control and flew fast. ran downhill.He froze for a moment, raised his elbow, and yelled in a savage and frantic voice I'd never heard him call before, "Hey, let's take the General for a ride in a fast car! If you run out of luck, the General will buy New, baby! Hey, watch out, you're exhausted!"

Only then, when the sled was going so fast that I couldn't breathe, did I realize that he was very drunk.He probably had a drink at the train station. At the bottom of the canyon, the ice broke, and a small piece of hard snow covered with horse dung jumped up from the road and hit me in the face very painfully.The galloping horses rushed up the hill as fast as they had just descended, and before I had time to call out to Nicanor, the sleigh, drawn by three horses, was galloping across the flat ground and into an old spruce tree. The tall spruces on both sides stretched their furry white paws towards me.

"I'm crazy, the coachman is drunk, ..." I thought. "This is wonderful!" I happened to find Ivan Ivanitch at home.He coughed with laughter, put his head on my chest, and said what he was bound to say when he met me: "You're getting younger and younger. I don't know what paint you used to dye your hair and beard, You should give me some." "I beg you back and forth, Ivan Ivanitch," I lied. "Don't be surprised, I'm from the capital, and I pay attention to courtesy and reciprocity, and I'm used to it." "Very glad, good friend! I'm old-fashioned, and I like saving face. . . . Yes."

I could see from the tone of his voice and the happy smile on his face that he was flattered by my visit.In the hall, two peasant women took off my fur coat, which was hung on a hook by a peasant in a red shirt.I went with Ivan Ivanitch into his little study, where two barefoot girls were sitting on the floor, reading a picture book in hardcover.When they saw us coming, they jumped up and ran out, and immediately a tall, thin old woman with spectacles came in, bowed respectfully to me, and took a pillow from the couch, and a pillow from the floor. He picked up the album and walked out.From the next room came the constant murmurs and bare feet. "I am expecting the doctor to come to dinner," said Ivan Ivanitch. "He promised to come to me when he came out of the clinic. Yeah. He eats at my house every Wednesday and asks God to give him health." He leaned over my side and kissed my neck. "You're here, my friend, so you're not angry," he whispered to me, breathlessly. "Don't be angry, my dear. Yes. It may be hard, but don't be angry. Before I die, I only ask God one thing: Let me live with everyone honestly and in harmony. Yes." .” "I'm sorry, Ivan Ivanitch, but I'm going to put one foot in this armchair," I said, feeling too tired to sit upright.I sat down on the back of the couch and put one foot on the armchair.My face was feverish from the blows of the wind and the snow, and my whole body seemed to be sucking in the heat, and it became limp. "It's nice here," I went on, "warm, soft, and comfortable. . . . And the quill," I said with a smile, glancing at the desk, "the sander. . . . " "Huh? Yes. Yes. . . . This desk and the mahogany chest over there were made for my father by a self-taught carpenter, Gleb Boudica, a serf of General Zhukov. Yes.  … ...he's a great artist in his field." He was listless and told me about Boudica, the carpenter, in the voice of someone who was about to fall asleep.I listen.Then Ivan Ivanitch went into the next room and showed me a mahogany wardrobe, which was very handsome and cheap.He tapped the wardrobe a bit with his fingers, then called my attention to a painted tile stove that is now out of sight.He also tapped the stove with his finger.The wardrobe, the tiled stove, the armchairs, the pictures embroidered with wool and silk on crosscloth and set in strong ugly frames, all radiated kindness and contentment. I think back to when I used to come here with my mother for name day parties when I was a kid and all this furniture had been in the same pattern and in the same place, and I couldn't believe that it wasn't going to exist any day. I thought to myself: How different is Boudica from me!Boudica first pays attention to firmness in making things, and thinks this is the main point.He attaches a special meaning to human perpetuity, does not think of death at all, and probably does not believe much in the possibility of death; but I, when I build those railway bridges and stone bridges that will last a thousand years, I can't help but think, "This stuff isn't going to last forever. ...that kind of thing doesn't make sense. "If a shrewd art historian happens to see Boudica's cabinet and my bridge later on, he'll say: 'It was done by two people, each in their own way: Boudica loves humans and doesn't allow himself to think that they will Death will be destroyed, so when making furniture, the imaginary person is immortal; and Asolin engineer, he neither loves human beings nor life, and even in the happy creation moment, he does not feel death, destruction, and the end. The idea of ​​a species is abominable, so, you see, how small, cramped, timid, pitiful are his lines. . . . " "I light only these rooms," murmured Ivan Ivanitch, showing me his rooms. "Since my wife died and my son was killed in battle, I have The living room and hall are no longer closed.Yeah, ... voila. ..." He opened a door, and I saw a large room with four pillars, an old piano, and a pile of peas on the floor.There was a chill and dampness there. "In another room there are garden benches . . . " Ivan Ivanitch babbled. "Nobody dances the mazurka anymore. . . . I just lock the room." There was a lot of noise.It turned out that Dr. Sobol had arrived.He was rubbing his hands in the cold and smoothing out his damp beard, and I saw, first, that he was living a dull life, and it was a pleasure to see Ivan Ivanitch and me; second, that he was a man. A simple-minded naive guy.He looked at me as if I were glad to see him and interested in him, from the way he looked. "I haven't slept in two nights!" he said, looking at me innocently, smoothing his beard. "One night was busy delivering babies, and one night I got bedbugs all night, and I was sleeping at a farmer's house. I was sleepy, you know." He took my arm and led me into the dining-room with an air as if the thing could feel nothing but pleasure to me.His innocent eyes, his crumpled coat, his cheap cravat, his smell of iodine made an unpleasant impression on me.I feel like I'm in the lower class of society.We sat around the table, he poured me white wine, I smiled helplessly and drank it.He put a small piece of ham on my plate, and I obediently ate it. "Repetitio est m ater studiorum," said Sobol, hastily downing his second glass of wine. "Believe it or not, I was so happy to see a good man that I lost my sleepiness. I became a countryman, I became wild and vulgar in the backcountry, but, gentlemen, I am still an intellectual, and I want to Sincerely to you: it is so sad to have no company!" Servants brought cold white suckling pig with Jerusalem artichoke and sour cream, followed by a fat, piping hot cabbage soup with pork and buckwheat porridge, steaming from the porridge.The doctor went on talking, and I was immediately convinced that he was a weak, disheveled, unhappy man.He was drunk after three glasses of wine, became unnaturally lively, ate a lot, cleared his throat, clicked his lips, and called me "Sir" in Italian.He looked at me innocently, as if believing that I was glad to see him and hear him talk.He told me that he had long ago divorced his wife and allocated three-quarters of his salary to her.She lived in the city with children, a boy and a girl, and he loved them.Besides, he said he was in love with a widow, a landowner, who was educated, but that he seldom went to her, because he was so busy with his work that he never had time to spare. "I spend a lot of time in the hospital or on the road," he said. "I can swear to you, my lord, that it is true: don't say I don't have time to see the woman I love, or even to study. Ten years I haven't read anything since! Ten years, my lord! As for my finances, just ask Ivan Ivanitch: sometimes I don't even have money for tobacco." "But you are happy in spirit," I said. "What?" he asked, squinting one eye. "No, we'd better drink." As I listened to the doctor, I measured him, according to my long-standing habit, by the usual scales, whether he was a mercenary or an idealist, whether he loved the ruble, whether he had a gregarious nature, etc., but there was no such measure. Yes, not even close.Strange to say, if I just listened to him and looked at him, I knew quite well what he was like; but once I used my yardstick to measure him, he became a man, despite his frankness and simplicity. Extraordinarily complex, indistinguishable, incomprehensible people.I asked myself: would this person embezzle someone else's money, betray someone's trust, like free bread?This issue, which seemed serious and important before, now seems naive and superficial, and should not be raised. The servants brought the pies, and then, I remember, they stopped for a long time between each course, and we took advantage of the intervals for sherbet wine.Pigeon in sauce, giblets, roast suckling pig, duck, partridge, cauliflower, sweet dumplings, curd and milk, fruit soup, and, lastly, pancakes with jam.At first, especially the cabbage soup and porridge, I ate with relish, but later, I ate things casually, swallowed them, smiled wryly, and couldn't tell the taste.My face burned badly from the plate of hot soup and the stuffy heat in the room.Ivan Ivanitch and Sobol blushed too. "To your wife's health," Sobol said. "She likes me. Please tell her: The imperial doctor greets her." "Really, she's lucky!" said Ivan Ivanitch, with a sigh. "She didn't run around, didn't worry, didn't rush, but as a result, she is now the number one person in the county. Almost all the work is in her hands, and everyone is gathered around her. There are doctors, There are Zemstvo officials, there are ladies. For the real people, it seems to happen automatically. Yes. . . . of." "Indifferent people don't worry," I said. "Ah? Yes, yes, . . . " murmured Ivan Ivanitch, who did not hear clearly. "That's true. . . . No need to worry about it. . . . Yes, yes. . . . That's what it says. . . . Just be fair before God, and before men, and nothing else." "Your Excellency," said Sobol solemnly, "look at the nature around you. Your nose or your ears will freeze as soon as they come out of your coat collar. In the wilderness Just stay an hour and it will be covered with snow. The countryside is exactly the same as it was in Rurik's time, the peasants are still Bechenegos and Polovets. They only know fire, famine, Fight against nature in every way. What am I going to say? Yes! You know, if you think about it, look at it, analyze it, then, to put it bluntly, it's not life , but a theater fire! In such a place, anyone who falls, whoever screams and runs about is the number one enemy of order. Stand up straight, keep your eyes open, and watch out, and don't panic! In such a place There is no time to cry and do trivial things. Since you are dealing with the forces of nature, you must use the same forces to deal with them. You must be firm and unyielding, just like a stone. Isn’t it so, old man? Grandfather?" he said, turning to Ivan Ivanitch, and laughed. "I'm a bitch myself, a wretch, a sluggish person, so I can't bear weakness. I don't like those idle feelings! Some people are sad, some are timid, and some people come here at this time, Said: "My good fellow, you eat ten dishes in one go, and you still talk about starving people!" 'It's boring, stupid!Others, my lord, will blame your wealth.Excuse me, my lord," he went on aloud, laying his hand on his heart, "you have given our court examiner some work to catch thieves for you day and night, and it is from your side, I beg your pardon. It's also boring to say.I'm drunk, that's why I'm saying this now, but you know, it's boring! " "Who'd bother him? I don't understand," I said, standing up.I was suddenly so ashamed and sad that I walked around the table. "Who wants him to worry? I never asked him. . . . To hell with him!" "He caught three peasants and let them go again. It turned out that he had caught the wrong one, and he was taking new ones right now," Sobol said, laughing. "It's a sin!" "I didn't ask him to worry about it at all," I said, on the verge of tears. "What is he doing it for, for what? Well, well, even if I'm wrong, I'm wrong, even if that's the case, why are they trying to make me more wrong?" "Come on, come on, come on, come on!" Sobol reassured me. "Come on! I was drunk, that's why I said these things.My tongue is my enemy. Come on,' he said, with a sigh. 'Dinner's done, drink'd, and now it's time for sleep. " He got up from the table, kissed Ivan Ivanitch on the head, and walked out of the dining-room crookedly, full of wine and food.Ivan Ivanitch and I smoked in silence. "As for me, my dear, I don't go to sleep after dinner," said Ivan Ivanitch, "please go to the drawing room and rest." I agreed.In the half-dark, fire-filled room known as the lounge, along the walls stood several long and wide couches, solid and heavy, the work of the carpenter Boudica, on which There are soft white quilts placed high up, probably made by the old woman wearing glasses.Sobol was already lying on a sofa bed, jacket and boots off, facing the back of the sofa, asleep; the other sofa bed was waiting for me.I take off my jacket and boots.Fatigue, the ghost of Boudica that permeated the quiet lounge, and Sobol's light, friendly snoring subdued me, and I lay down obediently. Immediately, I dreamed of my wife, her room, the station master with a hateful face, a pile of snow, a fire in the theater. ... I also dreamed of the farmer who stole twenty sacks of rye from my barn. ... "It was a good thing the interrogating officer let them go, after all," I said. I was awakened by my own voice, and drowsily looked at Sobol's broad back, the buttons of his waistcoat, and his round heels for a moment, then lay down again and fell asleep. When I woke up for the second time, it was already dark.Sobol was asleep.My heart is calm and I want to go home quickly.I get dressed and walk out of the lounge.Ivan Ivanitch was sitting in an arm-chair in his study, motionless, gazing at one place, as he had probably been doing all the time I was sleeping. "That's great!" I said, yawning. "I have the feeling that I woke up after breaking the fast at Easter. From now on I shall come to you often. Tell me, has my wife dined with you before? " "Come... come... come... come," murmured Ivan Ivanitch, trying to move his body. "She came to dinner last Saturday. Yes. . . . She likes me." After a short silence, I said: "Ivan Ivanitch, you said that I was of a bad temper and difficult to live with, do you remember? But what is to be done to change this temper?" "I don't know, dear friend. . . . I'm a useless man, too old to give advice. . . . Yes. . . . That time I told you those things, yes Because I love you, your wife, your father. . . . Yes. I'm dying, why should I keep it from you, or lie? Let me say it bluntly: I love you very much, but I No respect for you. Yes, no respect for you." He turned back to me, gasped and whispered: "It's impossible to respect you, good friend. From the outside, you seem to be a real person. You look and look like the French President Carnot, whom I saw in a pictorial the other day, . . . Yes. . . . You are well-spoken, you are intelligent, and you are a man of high rank, unattainable, but, dear friend, you lack a real soul. . . . Your soul has no power. . . . Yes." "In a word, I'm a Scythian," I said, laughing. "How about my wife, though? Tell me something about my wife. You know her better." I was going to talk about my wife, but Sobol came in and cut the conversation off. "I've slept and washed my face," he said, looking at me innocently. "I'll have another cup of garrum tea and I'm going home." "Notes" ①It is used to absorb the ink on the paper. ②Latin: review is the mother of learning (review is the most important thing to study). ③ Rurik, the legendary founder of the Russian state.Here is a metaphor for ancient times. ④ One of the ancient nations of the Turkic language family in Southeast Europe, here is a metaphor for "barbarians". ⑤ The nomadic Turkic peoples who lived in the grasslands of South Russia from the eleventh to the thirteenth centuries are used as a metaphor for "barbarians". ⑥ Carnot (1837-1894), since 1887, he has been the President of France.