Chapter 2 gooseberry

gooseberry From early morning the whole sky was covered with rain clouds.Without a phoenix, it is not hot, but the air is dull.It was always like this in gloomy weather when the clouds were hanging low over the land, waiting for rain but not seeing it.Ivan Ivanitch, the veterinarian, and Bulkin, the schoolteacher, were tired from walking, and the field before them seemed endless.Far ahead, the windmills in the village of Mironosic can be seen faintly.On the right, the rolling hills rolled away, disappearing far behind the village.They all knew that it was the bank of the river, with the meadows and the green willows and the manors.If you climb up the hill and look around, you can see the same open field, telephone poles, and a train crawling like a caterpillar in the distance.On a clear day, there are even vistas of the city from there.Today, in this windless weather, the whole nature seems warm and quiet.Ivan Ivanitch and Bulkin were so filled with love for the land, and both were thinking how vast and beautiful it is!

"Last time we spent the night together in the shed of the mayor Prokofy," said Bulkin, "and you wanted to tell a story." "Yes, I wanted to tell about my brother." Ivan Ivanitch sighed deeply, lit his pipe, and was about to start talking, but unfortunately it began to rain.Four or five minutes later, the rain became heavy and overwhelming, and it was hard to predict when the rain would stop.Ivan Ivanitch and Burkin stopped hesitantly.Their dog, already wet, stood with its tail between its legs, looking at them fawningly. "We must find shelter from the rain," said Bulkin. "Let's go to Alekhin. He lives near."

"Then let's go," They immediately turned the corner and kept walking through the harvested fields, sometimes going straight, sometimes turning to the right, and at last they took a road.Before long poplar groves appeared, orchards, and then the red roofs of barns.There was a shimmering river, and there was a view of a deep bay, windmills, and a white bathing shed.This is the Sofino village where Aleksin lives. The rumble of the wind mill was turning, drowning out the sound of the rain, and the dam was quivering.A few wet horses stood with their heads bowed beside the cart over there, and people walked around in sacks.It's wet, muddy, stuffy here.This deep water bay looked cold and sinister.Ivan Ivanitch and Burkin were soaked, unclean, and uncomfortable, and their feet were heavy with mud.As they crossed the dike and climbed the hill to the landowner's barn, they remained silent, as if they were angry with each other.

In a barn the windmill of the winnowing roared.The door was open, and clouds of smoke and dust rose from within.Alehin happened to be standing at the door. He was a tall, fat man of about forty, with long hair. He looked more like a professor or a painter than a landowner.He was wearing a white shirt that hadn't been washed for a long time, with a rope tied around his waist, a pair of long underpants that were used as outer pants, and his boots were also stained with mud and grass.The dust blackened his nose and eyes.He recognized Ivan Ivanitch and Burkin, and was evidently very pleased.

"Sit in the room quickly, gentlemen," he said with a smile, "I'll be there in a moment." This is a big house with two floors.Alehin lived downstairs, in two rooms with vaulted ceilings and small windows, where the housekeepers had originally lived.The room was simply furnished and smelled of rye bread, cheap vodka, and harness.He rarely went to the main room upstairs, and only went up when guests came.In the house Ivan Ivanitch and Bulkin were received by a young and pretty woman, and at the same time they stopped their feet and glanced at each other. "You can't imagine how glad I am to see you, gentlemen," said Alekhin, following them into the hall, "I didn't expect that! Pelagia," he said, turning to the maid, "hurry up Find two clothes for the guests to change. By the way, I also want to change clothes. I just need to take a bath first. I don’t think I have taken a bath since the beginning of spring. Gentlemen, do you want to go to the bath shed? Time to let them tidy up here."

Pretty Pelagia, so obliging and so gentle, brought them bath towels and soap.Alehin led the guests into the bathing shed. "Yeah, I haven't bathed for a long time," he said as he undressed. "My shower shed, as you have seen, is very nice. It was built by my father, but somehow I never have time to take a bath." He sat on the steps and soaped his long hair and neck so much that the water around him turned brown. "Yes, I think so too..." said Ivan Ivanitch, looking meaningfully at his head. "I haven't bathed for a long time..." Alehin repeated sheepishly, and he scrubbed himself again, and the water around him turned an ink-like dark blue.

Ivan Ivanitch ran outside, jumped into the water with a splash, swung his arms vigorously, and swam in the rain.He stirred the water into waves, and the white water lilies drifted with the waves.He swam to the middle of the deep-water bay, plunged down with a sharp plunge, and then showed his head in another place after a while. He continued to swim over, diving into the water continuously, trying to touch the bottom of the river. "Oh, my God..." he repeated cheerfully, "oh, my God..." He swam up to the mill, talked to some farmers, swam back, and lay on his back in the middle of the deep bay. On the water, letting the rain hit his face.Bulkin and Alehin were dressed and ready to go back, but he kept swimming and had his legs pierced.

"You've had enough swimming!" Bulkin called to him. They go back to the house.The lamps were lit in the large drawing-room upstairs, and Bulkin and Ivan Ivanitch put on silk robes and warm slippers and sat in armchairs.Aleksin himself had bathed, combed his hair, looked clean, put on a new coat, and paced up and down the living room, obviously enjoying the warmth and cleanliness to his heart's content in having changed into dry clothes and light shoes.Pretty Pelagia walked quietly on the carpet, with a gentle smile on her face, and brought tea and jam on a tray.It was at this time that Ivan Ivanitch began to tell his story.It seemed that Bulkin and Alekhin were not the only ones listening to the story. The wives, old and young, and the generals looked at them calmly and sternly from the gold-rimmed picture frames on the wall, and seemed to be listening too.

"We are two brothers," he began, "my name is Ivan Ivanitch, his name is Nikolai Ivanitch, and he is two years younger than me. I have finished my studies and become a veterinarian, Nikolay I have been in the office of the provincial tax office since I was nineteen. Our father, Chimsha-Himalayaski, was a hereditary soldier, but he later became an officer for meritorious service, leaving us hereditary nobility and a small The estate. After his death, the small estate was forced to pay off the debt, but anyway, our childhood was spent in the country freely. We were exactly like farm children, staying in the fields day and night , in the woods, tending the horses, barking trees, fishing, and things like that... You know whoever catches only one perch in his life, or sees a thrush fly south once in the fall, sees them How to fly over the village in groups on a clear and cool day, then he is no longer a city dweller, and he will yearn for this kind of free life until his death. My younger brother is in the provincial tax office, but he always misses the countryside in his heart. One year Years passed, but he was still sitting in the same place, writing the same old official documents, thinking about the same thing: it would be better to go back to the country. His longing gradually became a definite desire, an ideal—to Buy a little farm somewhere by a river or a lake.

"My brother is a kind and gentle man, and I like him, but I have never sympathized with his desire to shut himself up in his estate for the rest of his life. It is often said that a man needs only three argentinas of land." Yes. But you know, it is dead bodies, not living people, that need three arshins of land. It is said again that it would be a good thing if our intellectuals yearned for land, for manors. ①In Russia in the first half of the nineteenth century, the sons of soldiers were entered into the register of military service after they were born. ② combined two · two meters, refers to the length of the tomb.thing.But you must know that these estates are nothing more than three arshins of land.Leaving the city, leaving the struggle, leaving the boiling life, running away, hiding in one's own manor - this is not life, this is selfishness, laziness, this is also a monastic life, but a monastic life without merit Life.What man needs is not three arshins of land, not an estate, but the whole earth, the whole of nature, in which he can display all the qualities and characteristics of his free spirit.

"My younger brother Nicholas is sitting in his office, dreaming that one day he will drink his own vegetable soup that smells so good that the yard can be smelled all over the yard, eat on the green grass, sleep in the sun, and have a few days in a row. When I was a child, I sat on a bench outside the gate looking at the fields and woods. Pamphlets on agriculture and such advice in calendars were a great pleasure to him, and a favorite food for thought. He liked to read newspapers, but Just read the advertisement column in it, such as a certain place for sale of several dessia acres of arable land and pasture, together with manor, orchard, mill, and several ponds with running water. Then he drew in his mind the paths in the orchard, the flowers, the fruits, and the brown birdcages , crucian carp in the pond, you know, all these kinds of things. Of course, these imaginary pictures are different, depending on the content of the advertisements he saw. But somehow there must be vinegar in all the pictures He could not imagine a manor, an idyllic place, without gooseberries. "'Countryside life has its joys,' he used to say, 'you can sit on the balcony and drink tea, and there is a pond where your own ducklings are playing, and the birds are singing and the flowers are fragrant, and... and the gooseberries are ripe. ' "He made sketches of his estate, each time showing the same things: one, the master's house; two, the servants' quarters; three, the vegetable garden; He is half hungry, doesn’t drink much tea, God knows what kind of tatters he wears, he looks like a beggar, but he keeps saving money and deposits it in the bank. He has become a miser! I feel sad when I see him, and I often give him some money. Send him some before the holidays, but he saves even that. If a man makes up his mind, there's nothing he can do about it. "A few years later, he was transferred to work in another province. He was over 40 years old at the time, but he was still reading newspaper advertisements and saving money. Later I heard that he was married. For the same purpose, that is, Buying a manor with gooseberries, he married an old, ugly widow whom he had no affection for because she had some filthy money. He was still stingy when they lived together, and often let her eat half full, puts her money in the bank in her own name. Her first husband was a postmaster, and she is used to eating pies and drinking sherbet, and now she's in the house of her second husband. There was not much bread. This kind of life made her so sick that she gave up her soul to God within three years. Of course, it never occurred to my brother that it was his fault that she died. Money is like vodka, it can turn people into monsters. There used to be a businessman in our city who was dying of illness. Before he died, he ordered a plate of honey, and he ate all his money and lottery tickets. No one can get it. Another time I was checking the herd at the train station, and a cattle dealer fell under a locomotive and broke his leg. We took him to the emergency room, bleeding like Note—it's scary. And he keeps begging us to get his broken leg back, and he's always worried, because there's twenty-five rubles in the boot of that leg, so don't lose it." "Well, you've lost the point," said Bulkin. "After the death of my wife," continued Ivan Ivanitch, after thinking for half a minute, "my brother began to look for a farm. Of course, if you look for five years, you will make mistakes in the end, and what you buy is not exactly what you want. No matter. The younger brother Nicholas bought a farm of 120 dessiatins in installments through a salesman. Gooseberries, no running ponds, no ducklings. There is a river, but the water is brown, because on one side of the farm there is a brickworks and on the other a boneyard, but my Nikolai Ivanitch never Discouraged, he immediately ordered twenty gooseberry clumps, planted them, and lived the life of a landowner. "Last year I went to see him. I thought I'd have to see what he was up to there. He called his estate in his letters 'Chumbarokhlof Wilderness,' or 'Himalayan Village.' I Arrived at 'Himalayan Village' in the afternoon. It was hot. There were ditches and fences and walls everywhere, and rows of spruces everywhere - so you didn't know how to get to his house and where to tie the horses. I walked towards a house, and I met a red-and-brown dog, as fat as a pig. It wanted to bark, but was too lazy to open its mouth. A cook, barefoot and as fat as a pig, came out of the kitchen. A pig. She told me that my master was resting after dinner. I went into the house and looked for my brother. He sat on the bed with the quilt on his knees. He was old and fat and his skin was loose. His cheeks, nose and lips They all protruded forward, and were about to hiss like pigs and get under the covers. "We embraced each other, and wept tears of joy and sorrow: we were all young, but now we are gray-haired, and we are dying. He dressed and took me to see his farm. "'Oh, how are you doing here?' I asked him. "'Not bad, thank God I'm doing fine.' "He is no longer the timid and poor little clerk he used to be, but a real landowner. He is used to life here and enjoys it. He eats a lot, takes a bath in the bathhouse, and has been with the village community. He has filed lawsuits with two factories, and he is very annoyed when farmers don't call him 'Master'. He is very concerned about the salvation of his soul, and he looks like a gentleman. What kind of good did he do? He cured farmers with soda and castor oil, said thanksgiving prayers in the village on his name day, and set out a half-barrel of liquor afterward, as he thought he should. What a terrible half-cask of white wine! Today the fat landowner is dragging the peasants to the magistrate to sue their livestock for harming his crops, but tomorrow, on his grand name day, he will set out a half-barrel of white wine for them .They shouted 'Ulla' when they drank, and the drunk man kowtowed to him. Life became rich, full of wine and food, idle, and cultivated Russian pretentiousness and impudence. Nikolai Ivan Nech, who was afraid to hold personal opinions in the tax office, now speaks wise words, and in the tone of a minister: "Education is essential, but it is too early for ordinary people . 'Another example' is that corporal punishment is generally harmful, but it is beneficial and irreplaceable on certain occasions. ' "'I know the people well, and I know how to deal with them,' said he, 'and the people like me. I just move a finger, and they'll do all the things I want.' "All this, please note, he said with a shrewd, good-natured smile. He repeated no less than twenty times: 'We nobles', 'I, as a nobleman...' Evidently We no longer remember that our grandfather was a farmer and our father was a soldier.Our surname Chimusha-Malajasky, which was a little strange at first, seemed to him to be loud, dignified, and very pleasing to the ear. "But the problem was not with him, but with myself. I want to tell you about the change that took place in me during the few hours I stayed at his estate. In the evening, while we were drinking tea, the cook A plate full of gooseberries was brought and put on the table. They were not bought, but grown at home, and it was the first time since the bush was planted that they picked fruit. Nikolai Ivanitch Smiling, he looked at the gooseberries silently and tearfully for a full minute, he was too excited to speak, then he put one of the fruits in his mouth and looked at me triumphantly, like a child Finally got my favorite toy. "'Delicious!' he said. "He ate with relish, and kept repeating: "'Hey, it's delicious! Try it, too!' The fruit is hard and sour, but, as Pushkin said, 'the lies that ennoble us are more precious to us than countless truths. '①I saw a happy man, whose ideals he had dreamed of had undoubtedly been fulfilled, who had reached his goal in life, who had obtained everything he wanted, who was satisfied with his lot and with himself.Whenever I think of human happiness, I don't know why my thoughts are often mixed with sentimental elements. Now, facing this happy person, my heart is filled with a heavy feeling that is close to despair.My heart was even heavier at night.They made a bed for me in the room next to my brother's bedroom, and at night I heard that he was not asleep, but often got up and went to the plate of gooseberries to eat.I thought to myself: In fact, there are many happy people who are satisfied!What a depressing force this is!Just look at this kind of life: the strong are rude and idle, the weak are ignorant and live a life of inferiority, everywhere is unimaginable poverty, crowding, depravity, alcoholism, hypocrisy, lies... At the same time, every A family and every street is quiet, people are calm.Of the 50,000 inhabitants of the city, not a single one would speak up and publicly express their indignation.What we see is people going to the market to buy food, eating during the day and sleeping at night, talking about the details of their lives, getting married, growing old, and peacefully taking their dead to the cemetery.But we don't see those who are suffering, we don't hear their voices, we don't see the tragedies of life going on behind the scenes.All is quiet and peaceful, and the only protests are silent statistics: how many people have gone mad, how many barrels of liquor have been drunk, how many children have died of malnutrition... Such an order is obviously necessary; So happiness is only because unhappy people bear their burdens in silence, and without this silence, some people's happiness is unthinkable.This is general insensitivity.There should really be a person standing behind the door of every contented and happy person, holding a small hammer, knocking on the door frequently to remind him that there are still unfortunate people in the world; no matter how happy he is now, life will reach out to him sooner or later. Claws, disasters will come—sickness, poverty, losses of all kinds.At that time, no one will see or hear him, just as he cannot see or hear others now.But there is no one with a hammer, and the happy man lives his happy life just the same, and only the little annoyances of everyday life stir him up a little, like the breeze blowing through a poplar tree.Everything is happy and complete. ①Quoted from Pushkin's poem, the quotation is not entirely correct. "On that night I realized that I, too, was content and happy," Ivan Ivanitch continued, rising, "and that I taught others how to live, how to believe, how to Manage the common people. I also often say: learning is light, education is essential, but for ordinary people, as long as they can read and write, it is enough. Freedom is a good thing, and I say the same, no freedom is like no air The same cannot be done, but for now we must wait. Yes, that is what I said, but now I ask: why wait?" Ivan Ivanitch looked at Bulkin angrily, and asked, "I May I ask you, why do you wait? What are your considerations? Someone told me that everything cannot be achieved in one voyage, and that any ideal is always realized step by step in life and at the right time. But who said this? What evidence shows that this is true? You will cite the natural laws of things and the legitimacy of social phenomena. But I ask: I, a living, thinking person, stand before a ditch that I might have jumped over, or What is the law and legality of building a bridge over it, but I have to wait for it to close itself, or wait for the mud to fill it up? Again, why wait until I can't live Is it? But people need life and desire life! "I left my brother's estate early in the morning. Since then, I have found life in the city unbearable. The peace and tranquility depress me, and I am afraid to look in other people's windows, because now for me, there is nothing like sitting around a table. A scene of a happy family drinking tea is more painful. I'm too old to be a fighter, and I don't even hate. I'm just sad, angry, frustrated, and every night my head All kinds of thoughts come flooding in, and I'm so excited that I can't sleep... Oh, if only I were young!" Ivan Ivanitch was so excited that he walked up and down the two corners of the room, repeating: "If only I were still young!" Suddenly he went up to Alehin, took his hand, and then the other. "Pavel Konstantinitch!" he said imploringly, "you must never be satisfied, do not allow yourself to be insensitive! While you are young, strong, and fresh, you must tirelessly do good deeds! Happiness is If there is meaning and purpose in life, it is by no means our happiness. Our happiness lies in wiser and greater causes. Do good things!" Ivan Ivanitch said this with a pitiful, imploring smile, as if he were begging him for himself. Then the three of them sat in armchairs in different corners of the living room, all silent.The story of Ivan Ivanitch satisfied neither Bulkin nor Alekhin.In the yellow light, when the general and his wife in the gold frame looked at them as if they were alive, it was tedious to listen to the story of a poor clerk who was fond of gooseberries.For some reason they wanted to hear stories about men of letters or women.Everything in the living room where they are sitting, from the covered chandelier, the armchairs, to the rug under their feet, shows that these people who are looking at them in the picture frame have also walked here before and sat there. , drank tea.Now pretty Pelagia walked silently on the carpet--it was more beautiful than any story. Alehin was sleepy; he was up at three o'clock in the morning to do the housework, and now he couldn't keep his eyes open.But he was afraid of what interesting stories his guests might tell in his absence, so he refused to leave.Whether what Ivan Ivanitch had just said was true or not, he did not wonder.The guests did not talk about wheat seeds, thousands of herbs, or tar, and what they talked about had no direct relationship with his life, which made him very happy, and he hoped that they would continue to talk... "But it's time for bed," said Bulkin, rising. "Good night, everyone." Alehin said good night and went back to the downstairs room, while the two guests remained upstairs.They were led to spend the night in a large room with two old-fashioned carved wooden beds and an ivory crucifix of Jesus' crucifixion hanging in the corner.The bedding on the bed was spacious and clean, just made by the beautiful Pelagia, exuding a nice refreshing smell. Ivan Ivanitch undressed in silence and lay down. "Lord, forgive us sinners!" He said and fell asleep with his head covered. The pipe he had placed on the table smelled strongly of tobacco oil.Bulkin couldn't sleep and couldn't figure out where the bad smell came from. Rain beat on the windows all night. August 1898