Chapter 7 woman with puppy

woman with puppy one A newcomer is said to have appeared on the embankment: a woman with a puppy.Dmitry Dmitrich Gurov had lived in Yalta for two weeks, was already familiar with the place, and was beginning to take an interest in the newcomers.Sitting in Vernay's kiosk, he saw walking on the embankment a young fair-haired woman of short height in a bonnet; a white poodle ran after her. Later he met her in a park in the city, in a small park in the middle of the street, several times a day.She walked alone, always in that bonnet, and with her white poodle; no one knew who she was, and they simply called her "the lady with the puppy."

"If she doesn't live here with her husband and has no acquaintances," Gurov thought to himself, "it wouldn't be bad to get acquainted with her." He's not yet forty, but he already has a twelve-year-old daughter and two middle-school-age sons.He married early, when he was a sophomore in college, and now his wife seems half his age.She was a tall woman, with dark eyebrows, direct, dignified, dignified, and, as she said to herself, a thinking woman.She had read many books, did not write the hard letter "b" in her letters, and called her husband Dmitri instead of Gmitri; He was afraid of her and didn't like being at home.He had already begun to have affairs with other women behind her back, and more than once, and it was probably for this reason that he almost always spoke of women in bad terms; They: "Lowly race!"

He thought he had had enough of the painful experience and could scold them as he pleased, but even so, as long as he didn't have that "low race" around him for two consecutive days, he couldn't go on.He finds it boring and dissatisfactory to get along with men, he doesn't have much to talk to them, he is indifferent, but when he is among women, he feels free, knows what to talk to them, what attitude to adopt; he doesn't even talk to them I also feel very relaxed.His appearance, his character, his whole being had something charming and inscrutable which attracted women to him and attracted them; They go there.

Many experiences, indeed bitter ones, had taught him that acquaintances with decent women, especially indecisive and indecisive Moscow women, at first add a pleasant change to life, seem light and lovely. Life has its ups and downs, but then they inevitably turn into big, complex problems that eventually become unbearable.But every time he met a new interesting woman, the experience somehow faded from his memory; he longed for life, and everything seemed so simple and fascinating. One evening, as he was eating in the park, the woman in the bonnet came slowly up to sit down at a table next to him.Her look, her gait, her dress, her hairstyle told him that she was a woman of the upper class, married, that it was the first time she had been in Yalta, that she was alone and that she felt very lonely here. ... Many of the rumors about the corruption of local morals were false, and he ignored them, knowing that most of these rumors were fabricated by people who were willing to commit crimes if they could; but when the woman left him Sitting down at the table only three steps away, he couldn't help thinking of the rumors of love affairs and mountaineering trips, so he had a quick and short union with a woman whose origin was unknown and whose name he didn't even know. The seductive thought of an affair suddenly overwhelmed him.

He greeted the poodle affectionately, and when it did come near, he shook his finger to frighten it.The poodle barked barkingly.Gurov frightened it again by shaking his finger. The woman glanced at him and immediately lowered her eyes. "It doesn't bite," she said, blushing. "Can I give it a bone?" After she nodded her head affirmatively, he asked courteously, "Have you been in Yalta for a long time?" "It's been five days." "I've been here for two weeks." They were silent for a while. "Time flies, and it's so dreary here!" she said, without looking at him.

"It's just a common way of saying it's dull here. A citizen who lives in an inland town of Belev or Zhizdra doesn't think it's dull, but when he gets here he says: "Oh, it's boring!Hey, what a big dust! 'One would think he was from Grenada. " she laughed.Afterwards the two continued to eat in silence, as if they did not know each other, but after the meal they walked side by side, and began a light, joking conversation, free and content, no matter where they went. People who don't care about going or whatever they talk about talk like this.As they walked they talked of how strangely the sea shone, how lavender it was, so soft and warm, with long streaks of gold rippling across the surface in the moonlight.They talked about how sweltering it was after the hot day.Gurov said he was a Muscovite, studied philology at school, but worked in a bank; he was going to sing in a private opera troupe, but he quit, and he has two houses in Moscow . ... He knew from her that she had grown up in Petersburg, but that after she got married she went to live in Schloss, where she had lived for two years, and that she would live in Yalta for a month, and that her husband might as well. Come, he also wants to rest.As for where her husband worked, whether in the provincial government or in the Zemstvo executive office in the province, she couldn't tell anyway, which even made her laugh.Gurov also found out that her name was Anna Sergeyevna.

Later, in his hotel, he thought of her, thinking that he would meet her tomorrow.This is for sure.He went to bed and lay down, remembering how not so long ago she had been a pupil of a noble girls' high school, still at school, just as his daughter is now, remembering how shy and awkward she was when she laughed and talked to strangers. Well, it was probably the first time in her life that she was alone in an environment where people were following her, watching her, talking to her purely for a secret purpose she would not understand.He thought of her thin neck and her beautiful gray eyes.

"Anyway, she's kind of pathetic," he thought, falling asleep. two A week passed after they met.This day is a holiday.The room was stuffy, and the wind was blowing in the street, kicking up dust and blowing people's hats off.People were thirsty all day long, and Gurov went to the kiosk several times and offered Anna Sergeyevna now juice and now ice cream.People simply don't know where to hide. In the evening, when the wind subsided a little, they walked up and down on the breakwater to see how the ship arrived here.There are many walkers on the quay; here they gather, with bouquets in their hands, ready to meet someone.Two features stand out clearly in this well-dressed Yalta crowd: the elderly ladies dress like the young women, and there are many generals.

Because of the storm at sea, the steamer was late, did not come until after sunset, and took a long time to turn around before approaching the breakwater.Anna Sergeyevna raised her spectacles and looked at the ship and the passengers, as if looking for an acquaintance; and when she turned to Gurov her eyes lit up.She talked a lot, her questions didn't match the beginning and the end, and she forgot what she was asking as soon as she finished asking, and then lost her glasses in the crowd. The well-dressed crowd had dispersed, no one was to be seen, the wind had completely stopped, but Gurov and Anna Sergeyevna were still standing there, as if waiting to see if there was anyone else on board. like down.Anna Sergeyevna was already silent, smelling a bouquet, without looking at Gurov.

"The weather is getting better in the evening," he said. "But where are we going now? Shall we go for a drive somewhere in a carriage?" She didn't answer a word. At this moment he fixed his eyes on her, suddenly put his arms around her, and kissed her on the lips. The scent and moisture of the bouquet came to him, and he immediately looked around tremblingly: did anyone see them? "Let's go to your hotel..." he said softly. The two left quickly. Her hotel room was stuffy and smelled of perfume she had bought in a Japanese store.Gurov looked at her and thought to himself: "What a variety of people you meet in life!" His memory retained images of carefree, honest-hearted women who, out of love, And happy, grateful for the happiness he brought, although this happiness is very short-lived; still retains the impression of other women, such as his wife, who lack sincerity in love, talk too much, put on airs, and have emotional morbidity, from their From the looks of his eyes, it seems that this is not love, not lust, but something more meaningful; in addition, he still retains the impression of two or three women who are beautiful in appearance but cold in heart, with Suddenly there will be a greedy look like a beast. They have a stubborn desire to ask for and fight for what life can't give. This kind of woman is not young, she is capricious, unreasonable, very bossy, and has no brains. Clever, whenever Gurov turned cold towards them, their beauty always aroused in him a feeling of hatred, and at such times the lace of their blouses looked like fish scales to his eyes.

But this woman was still so shy, showing the awkwardness and awkwardness of an inexperienced youth; she gave the impression of being panic-stricken, as if someone had suddenly knocked at the door unexpectedly. of.Anna Sergeyevna, the "woman with the puppy", took what had just happened in a peculiar way, took it very seriously, as if it was her fall, at least it seemed so, and this is weird and inappropriate.She was drooping and listless, her long hair hung sadly on either side of her face, and she was idly lost in despondency, like the guilty woman in an ancient painting. "It's not good," she said. "Now you're going to be the first to disrespect me." There is a watermelon on the table in the room.Gurov cut himself a piece and began to eat slowly.At least half an hour passed in silence. Anna Sergeyevna was charming, and exuded from her the innocence of a decent, simple, and inexperienced woman.A solitary candle was burning on the table, barely illuminating her face, but she could still see that she was in a bad mood. "How can I stop respecting you?" Gurov asked. "You don't even know what you're talking about." "God forgive me!" she said, with tears in her eyes. "It's scary." "You seem to be justifying yourself." "What reason have I to justify myself? I'm a vile wretch, I despise myself, and I have no intention of justifying myself. It's not my husband I've cheated, it's myself. And not just now Well, I've been deceiving myself for a long time. My husband may be an honest and good man, but you know, he's a slave! I don't know what he does there or how he works, I just know he's a slave. I marry I was only twenty years old when I gave it to him, and I was tormented by curiosity. I longed for a better life, and I said to myself: "There must be a different life. 'I just want to live well!I want to live, live. ... Curiosity burns me, ... You won't understand that, but, I swear to God, I can't control myself, I've changed, nothing can hold me back, I just Tell my husband I'm sick and I'm here. ... When I got here, I kept walking up and down, as if possessed and crazy. ...Now, I have become a vulgar and vulgar woman, and no one will look down on me. " Gurov was already tired of hearing it; the naivety of the tone, the utterly unexpected and distasteful confession offended him.Had it not been for the tears in her eyes one might have thought she was joking or putting on a show. "I don't understand," he said softly, "what do you want?" She buried her face in his chest and clung to him. "Take my word for it, take my word for it, I beg you..." she said. "I like an upright and pure life, and I hate crime. I don't know what I'm doing. The common people say: ghosts are obsessed. Now I can say the same thing about myself: ghosts have obsessed my mind." "Come on, come on..." he muttered. He looked into her fixed, frightened eyes, kissed her, and whispered affectionately, and by degrees she calmed down and felt happy again, and they both laughed. Then, when they had gone out, there was no one on the embankment, the city and its cypress trees seemed dead, but the sea was still crashing and lapping against the shore, and a motorboat was bobbing on the waves, and its lights Sleepy flickering. They hired a carriage and drove to Oreanda. "I saw your surname just now in the hall downstairs, and the sign says von Tijelitz," said Gurov. "Is your husband a German?" "No, his grandfather seems to have been German, but he himself was an Orthodox Christian." When they arrived in Oreanda, they sat on a bench not far from the church, looking at the ocean below, and were silent.Through the morning mist, Yalta was hazy and could not be seen clearly, and the white clouds stayed motionless on the top of the mountain.The leaves on the trees were motionless, the cicadas were calling, and the monotonous and low sound of the sea came up from below, telling of peace, of the eternal sleep that awaits us.Back when there was no Yalta or Oreanda here, the sea below was still buzzing like this, and it is still buzzing now, and it will still be buzzing coldly and lowly when we are no longer alive.This permanence, this complete indifference to the life and death of each of us, may conceal a guarantee of our eternal salvation, of the continual movement of human life, of continual perfection.Gurov sat with a young woman who looked very beautiful at dawn, facing this fabulous environment, facing the sea, the mountains, the clouds, the vast sky, he could not help calming down and being ecstatic. Bewildered, thinking to myself: If you think about it deeply, then in fact, everything in this world is beautiful, only what we think and do when we forget the highest goal of life and our human dignity is exceptional. Someone, probably the guard, came up, looked at them, and walked away.The little thing seemed so mysterious, and so beautiful.A steamer from Feodosia could be seen approaching, its hull illuminated by the morning twilight, its lamps extinguished. "There is dew on the grass," said Anna Sergeyevna after a silence. "Yes. It's time to go back." They went back to the city. Afterwards, they met every day at noon on the embankment, had breakfast and lunch together, walked and admired the ocean.She complained of sleeplessness, of a restless heartbeat; she kept asking the same questions, alternately excited by jealousy, now worried that he did not respect her very much.In the small park on the square or in the big park, whenever there was no one around them, he would suddenly draw her to him and kiss her passionately.The sheer idleness, this kissing in the sun and the apprehension of looking around lest someone see, the heat, the smell of the sea, and the constant passing of idle, well-dressed, well-fed people, seemed as if rejuvenated him; he told Anna Sergeyevna how beautiful and charming she was, how passionately he fell in love with her, and would never leave her side, while she was always in a trance, always It was asking him to admit that he didn't respect her, didn't love her at all, and only thought of her as a vulgar woman.Almost every evening, as night fell, they would drive out of the town in a carriage, to Oreanda, or to the waterfall.Such play is always delightful, and the impression they get must always be one of beauty and majesty. They are waiting for her husband to come here.But he sent her a letter informing her that something was wrong with his eyes, and begging his wife to hurry home.Anna Sergeyevna was in a hurry. "It's good that I'm going," she said to Gurov. "It's also destiny." She got into the carriage and went away, and he saw her off.They walked all day.As soon as she was seated in an express car, and the second bell struck, she said, "Well, let me see you one more time. . . one more time. That will do." She didn't cry, but she looked sad, as if ill, and her face was shaking. "I'll think of you, . . . of you," she said. "May the Lord be with you, and I wish you all the best. Don't forget what is wrong with me. We are separated forever, and it should be, because we shouldn't meet at all. Well, please be with me. You are with me." The train drove away quickly, the lights on the trains went out, and for a moment not even the rumble could be heard, as if everything were conspiring to end this wonderful dream, this madness.Gurov was left alone on the platform, looking into the dark distance, listening to the katydids and the buzzing of the telegraph wires, and felt as if he had just woken up.He thought to himself: Now there was another adventure, or adventure, in his life, and that too was over, and now only the memory remained. ... He was moved, sad, and a little bit regretful; you know, this young woman whom he will never see again did not live happily with him; In his attitude, in his tone and tenderness, there was still a slight shadow of sarcasm, showing a bit of rude arrogance of a happy man who was almost twice her age.She kept saying that he was good-hearted, extraordinary, and noble; it was evident that in her mind he was not what he really was, and so he had deceived her unwittingly. ...Here, at the station, it's already autumnal, and it's very cool in the evening. "I should go back to the north too," Gurov thought to himself as he stepped out of the platform. "it's time!" three In Moscow, every house is already in the winter, the stove is lit, and when the children are going to school and drinking morning tea in the morning, when it is still dark, the nanny will light the lamp for a while.The severe cold has begun.When it snows for the first time, people get on the sleigh for the first time and feel very happy when they see the vast white land, the white roofs, and the soft and comfortable breathing. At this time, they can't help thinking of their youth.Those old lindens and birches, white with heavy frost, have a kind of honest look, which is closer to the heart than the cypresses and palm trees, and when they are near, one has no desire to think about the mountains and the sea. . Gurov, a native of Moscow, returned to Moscow on a fine, cold day, and when he put on his fur coat and warm gloves and walked along Petrovka, hearing the church bells every Saturday evening, he soon The previous trip and the places he had been to had lost all charm for him.He gradually immersed himself in Moscow life, and read three newspapers every day with relish, but said that he did not read Moscow newspapers in principle.He already liked going to restaurants, clubs, banquets, memorials, and he was honored when famous lawyers and actors came to his house, or when he played cards with the professor in the Physician's Club.He can already eat a whole serving of sauerkraut stew served in a small frying pan. ... He felt that in the next month or so, Anna Sergeyevna would be obscured in his memory by a mist, and only now and then she would appear in his dreams as other people did, and she would show her charming face. Just a smile.But more than a month passed, winter came, and everything was still clear in his memory, as if he had only parted from Anna Sergeyevna yesterday.And the memory grew stronger, whether in the silence of the evening, the sound of the child's lessons came to his study, or the lyrical songs heard in the restaurant, the sound of the organ, or the blizzard whining in the fireplace. Suddenly, everything would come alive in his memory: what had happened on the jetty, the morning and the mist on the mountains, the steamer from Feodosia, the kiss, and so on.He walked up and down the study for a long time, thinking, smiling, and then the memory turned into a fantasy, in which the past was confused with the future.Anna Sergeyevna did not come into his dream, but she followed him about like a shadow, not letting go of him.As soon as he closed his eyes he saw her standing before him, alive, even more beautiful than she had been, young and tender; and he himself looked even more beautiful than he had been in Yalta.Every evening she always looked at him from the bookcase, from the fireplace, and from the corner of the wall, and he heard her breathing and the friendly rustling of her clothes.On the street, his eyes often follow the women who come and go, trying to find someone who looks like her. . . . he was tormented by a strong desire to talk to someone about this memory.However, you can't talk about your love at home, and you can't find anyone to talk to outside.It's not okay to talk to the tenants, and it's not okay to talk to the bank. And what to talk about?Did he really love her back then?Was there anything graceful, poetic, or instructive, or simply amusing in his relations with Anna Sergeyevna?He had to talk vaguely about love, about women, and no one could guess what he meant, but his wife raised her black eyebrows and said: "You, Dmitri, are not worthy of being a flower. The role of the son." One night, coming out of the Physician's Club with a civil servant with whom he had just played cards, he could not help saying: "I wish you knew what a charming woman I met in Yalta!" The official got into the sleigh and went away, but suddenly turning his head, he called out: "Dmitry Dmitritch!" "What's up?" "You were right just now: that sturgeon meat does smell a bit bad!" It was an ordinary remark, but for some reason Gurov was offended, and he found it dirty and insulting.What a savage habit, what a man!What a dull night, what a dull, dull day!He gambled, ate, drank, and said the same old things over and over again.Unnecessary work and corny talk take up the best part of man's time, the best part of his energy, and in the end there is only a life short of wings and tail, a dull thing, I can't leave if I want to, and I can't escape if I want to, as if locked in a madhouse or a forced labor team in a prison! Gurov stayed up all night, filled with indignation, and then suffered from a headache all day.The next night he couldn't sleep well, always sitting up in bed, thinking, or walking from one corner to another.He hated his children, he hated the bank, he didn't want to go anywhere, he didn't want to talk. During the December holidays, getting ready to go, he told his wife that he was going to Petersburg to arrange something for a young man, but he set off for St. Petersburg.What are you going to do?He himself doesn't quite know.He wanted to see Anna Sergeyevna, talk to her, ask her out if possible. He arrived in Thales in the morning and took a good room in a hotel, in which the whole floor was covered with gray military cloth, and on the table stood an inkwell covered with gray dust, and on the bottle was carved a figure on a horse. The figure, holding up a hand holding a hat, has its head knocked off.The concierge gave him the necessary information: von Dijdelitz lived in his private house on Old Goncharnaya Street, not far from the hotel, was well off, wealthy, had his own carriage, Everyone in the city knows him. The porter pronounced his last name "Dredilitz." Gurov walked slowly towards Old Goncharnaya Street and found the house. Just opposite the house stood a long gray wall with nails on the top. "Anyone who sees such a wall will run away," thought Gurov, looking from the window to the wall. He calculated in his mind: Today is the day when the office is closed, and her husband is probably at home.Besides, it was never proper to break into her house and disturb her mind.If a letter was sent, it might fall into the hands of her husband, and that might spoil things.It's best to act on camera.He had been walking up and down the street by the fence, waiting for his chance.He saw a beggar come in through the gate, and some dogs came running towards him, and then, after an hour, he heard the sound of a piano playing, and the faint murmur of it came.Probably Anna Sergeyevna was playing.The front door opened suddenly, and an old woman came out, followed by the familiar white-haired poodle.Gurov wanted to call the dog, but his heart beat so violently that he forgot what the poodle was called because of his excitement. He walked up and down, loathing the gray wall more and more, and thinking angrily that Anna Sergeyevna had forgotten him, and that perhaps she was already in love with another man, and this was in a morning-to-night period. It was natural in the position of a young woman who had to look at the damned wall.He went back to his hotel room, sat on a couch for a long time, not knowing what to do, then ate his lunch and slept a long time after. "How stupid and annoying this is," he thought, waking up, looking at the blackened windows: it was dusk. "I don't know why I've had enough sleep. So what shall I do at night?" Sitting on the bed, covered with a gray, cheap, hospital-like quilt, he said to himself in annoyance, "Go to a woman who knows how to take a puppy. . . . to have an affair.  … You can just sit here." When he was still at the train station this morning, a poster in large characters caught his eye: "Gaisha" ③ premiere.Thinking of this, he drove to the theater. "She'll probably go to the first performance," he thought. The theater was full.Here, as in any outback theatre, there was a mist over the chandelier, and there was a din in the gallery; and before the show began, the local gentry stood in the front row with their hands clasped behind their backs; In the first seat of the governor's box sat the governor's daughter, wearing a fur boa, while the governor himself was modestly hidden behind a curtain, only his arms were visible. The curtain on the stage shook, and the band tuned for a long time.Gurov has been eagerly searching with his eyes as spectators walk in to find their seats. Anna Sergeyevna also entered.She was sitting in the third row, and when Gurov saw her, his heart contracted. Only then did he realize that to him now, there is no one in the whole world who is closer, more precious, and more precious than her. important person.She, this petite woman, unremarkable among the outback crowd, with a pair of tacky lorgnettes in her hand, now occupied all his life, was his sorrow, his How beautiful she was, he thought to himself, listening to that wretched orchestra, and the vulgar, mean violin.He pondered and fantasized. Entering with Anna Sergeyevna, sitting next to her was a tall young man with a small beard and a little stoop; he shook his head at every step, It seems that he can't stop nodding his head.This man must have been her husband, whom she had so bitterly denounced as a slave in Yalta.Sure enough, his slender figure, his side whiskers, and his patch of baldness all had a servant-like demeanor, his smile was cloyingly sweet, and there was something learned to shine in his buttonhole. The badge of the servant looks like the number plate of the footman. During the first intermission, her husband went out to smoke and she stayed in her seat.Gurov, who was also sitting on the pedestal, went up to her, forced a smile on his face, and said in a trembling voice, "Hello." She glanced at him, her face suddenly turned pale, and then she looked at him tremblingly again, unable to believe her eyes; she held the fan and long-handled glasses tightly with both hands, obviously trying to support herself so as not to faint.Neither man spoke.She sat, and he stood there, overwhelmed by her embarrassment, afraid to sit down next to her.The violin and flute began to be tuned, and he suddenly felt terrible, as if all the people in the box were watching them.But at this moment she stood up and walked quickly towards the exit; he followed her, and the two of them walked through the corridor in a daze, sometimes going upstairs and sometimes going downstairs, and some teachers and teachers in uniforms of judges dangled in front of their eyes. People in uniform, the uniform of the royal estate management department, all wearing badges. Some women and fur coats on hangers were shaken, and the draft was blowing in the face, bringing a smell of cigarette butts.Gurov's heart was beating violently, and he thought to himself: "Oh, Lord! Why should there be such people, such a band..." At that moment he suddenly remembered that he had seen off Anna Shea at the railway station that evening. When I saw Ergeyevna, I said to myself: This is the end of the matter, and they will never see each other again.But this matter is far from over! On a narrow, dark staircase marked "Access to the Terrace" she stopped. "You startled me!" she said, panting, still pale and frightened. "Why, you gave me such a fright. I nearly died. What are you doing? What are you doing?" "But you must understand, Anna, you must understand . . . " he whispered hastily, "I beg you, please understand . To impress his likeness more firmly in her memory. "I'm so miserable!" She continued without listening to him. "I think of you all the time, I think of you alone, I live entirely in thoughts of you. I want to forget, forget you, but why have you come here? Why?" Above, at the foot of the stairs, two schoolboys were smoking and looking down, but Gurov, not paying attention, drew Anna Sergeyevna close to her and began to kiss her face, her cheeks, her hands. . "What are you doing, what are you doing!" she said in horror, pushing him away. "We're both mad. You go today, at once. . . . I implore you, I implore you. . . . Someone's coming here!" Someone came upstairs from below. "You must go..." continued Anna Sergeyevna in a low voice. "Did you hear, Dmitri Dmitritch? I'll go to Moscow to find you. I've never been happy, I'm not, and I never will be, never, never." Yes! Do not cause me any more pain! I swear I will go to Moscow. Now let us part! My dear, good man, my precious man, let us part!" She shook his hand and began to walk downstairs quickly, looking back at him constantly. From the look in her eyes, it could be seen that she was indeed unhappy. ... Gurov stood for a while, listening attentively, and then, when all the noise had died down, found his overcoat on the coat rack, and left the theatre. Four Anna Sergeyevna actually set off for Moscow to see him.Every two or three months, she would go from Sicheng to tell her husband that she went to a professor to treat her women's disease, but her husband was skeptical.When she arrived in Moscow she took up residence at the Slavyansky Arcade, and at once sent a man in a red cap to Gurov. Gurov went to see her, and no one in Moscow knew about it. Once, one winter morning (the messenger had come for him the evening before, but had not met him), he went to see her in this way.他的女儿跟他同路，他打算送她去上学，正好是顺路。天上下着大片的湿雪。 “现在气温是零上三度，然而下雪了，”古罗夫对他的女儿说。“可是要知道，这只是地球表面的温度，大气上层的温度就完全不同了。” “爸爸，为什么冬天不打雷呢？” 关于这个问题他也解释了一下。他一边说，一边心里暗想：现在他正在去赴幽会，这件事一个人都不知道，大概永远也不会有人知道。他有两种生活：一种是公开的，凡是要知道这种生活的人都看得见，都知道，充满了传统的真实和传统的欺骗，跟他的熟人和朋友的生活完全一样；另一种生活则在暗地里进行。由于环境的一种奇特的、也许是偶然的巧合，凡是他认为重大的、有趣的、必不可少的事情，凡是他真诚地去做而没有欺骗自己的事情，凡是构成他的生活核心的事情，统统是瞒着别人，暗地里进行的；而凡是他弄虚作假，他用以伪装自己、以遮盖真相的外衣，例如他在银行里的工作、他在俱乐部里的争论、他的所谓“卑贱的人种”、他带着他的妻子去参加纪念会等，却统统是公开的。他根据自己来判断别人，就不相信他看见的事情，老是揣测每一个人都在秘密的掩盖下，就象在夜幕的遮盖下一样，过着他的真正的、最有趣的生活。每个人的私生活都包藏在秘密里，也许，多多少少因为这个缘故，有文化的人才那么萋萋惶惶地主张个人的秘密应当受到尊重吧。 古罗夫把他的女儿送到学校以后，就往斯拉维扬斯基商场走去。他在楼下脱掉皮大衣，上了楼，轻轻地敲门。安娜·谢尔盖耶芙娜穿着他所喜爱的那件灰色连衣裙，由于旅行和等待而感到疲乏，从昨天傍晚起就在盼他了。她脸色苍白，瞧着他，没有一点笑容，他刚走进去，她就扑在他的胸脯上了。仿佛他们有两年没有见面似的，他们的接吻又久又长。 “哦，你在那边过得怎么样？”他问。“有什么新闻吗？” “等一等，我过一忽儿告诉你。……我说不出话来了。” 她没法说话，因为她哭了。她转过脸去，用手绢捂住眼睛。 “好，就让她哭一场吧，我坐下来等着就是，”他想，就在一个圈椅上坐下来。 后来他摇铃，吩咐送茶来，然后他喝茶，她呢，仍旧站在那儿，脸对着窗子。……她哭，是因为激动，因为凄苦地体验到他们的生活落到多么悲惨的地步；他们只能偷偷地见面，瞒住外人，象窃贼一样！难道他们的生活不是毁掉了吗？ “得了，别哭了！”他说。 对他来说，事情是明显的，他们这场恋爱还不会很快就结束，不知道什么时候才会结束。安娜·谢尔盖耶芙娜越来越深地依恋他，崇拜他；如果有人对她说这场恋爱早晚一定会结束，那在她是不可想象的，而且说了她也不会相信。 他走到她跟前去，扶着她的肩膀，想跟她温存一下，说几句笑话，这当儿他看见了他自己在镜子里的影子。 他的头发已经开始花白。他不由得感到奇怪：近几年来他变得这样苍老，这样难看了。他的手扶着的那个肩膀是温暖的，在颤抖。他对这个生命感到怜悯，这个生命还这么温暖，这么美丽，可是大概已经临近开始凋谢、枯萎的地步，象他的生命一样了。她为什么这样爱他呢？他在女人的心目中老是跟他的本来面目不同，她们爱他并不是爱他本人，而是爱一个由她们的想象创造出来的、她们在生活里热切地寻求的人，后来她们发现自己错了，却仍旧爱他。她们跟他相好的时候，没有一个人幸福过。岁月如流，以往他认识过一些女人，跟她们相好过，分手了，然而他一次也没有爱过；把这种事情说成无论什么都可以，单单不能说是爱情。 直到现在，他的头发开始白了，他才生平第一次认真地、真正地爱上一个女人。 安娜·谢尔盖耶芙娜和他相亲相爱，象是十分贴近的亲人，象是一对夫妇，象是知心的朋友。他们觉得他们的遇合似乎是命中注定的，他们不懂为什么他已经娶了妻子，她也已经嫁了丈夫；他们仿佛是两只候鸟，一雌一雄，被人捉住，硬关在两只笼子里，分开生活似的。他们互相原谅他们过去做过的自觉羞愧的事，原谅目前所做的一切，感到他们的这种爱情把他们两个人都改变了。 以前在忧伤的时候，他总是用他想得到的任何道理来安慰自己，可是现在他顾不上什么道理了，他感到深深的怜悯，一心希望自己诚恳，温柔。……“别哭了，我的好人，”他说，“哭了一阵也就够了。……现在让我们来谈谈，想出一个什么办法来吧。” 后来他们商量了很久，讲到应该怎样做才能摆脱这种必须躲藏、欺骗、分居两地、很久不能见面的处境。应该怎样做才能从这种不堪忍受的桎梏中解放出来呢？ “应该怎样做？应该怎样做呢？”他问，抱住头。“应该怎样做呢？” 似乎再过一忽儿，解答就可以找到，到那时候，一种崭新的、美好的生活就要开始了，不过这两个人心里明白：离着结束还很远很远，那最复杂、最困难的道路现在才刚刚开始。 "Notes" ①指格林纳达岛，位于西印度群岛中向风群岛南部。 ②“犯了罪的女人”此处指“抹大拉的马利亚”。据《圣经》载，她本是个妓女，因受耶稣感化，忏悔了过去的罪恶。她的形象在文艺复兴时代的绘画中曾多次出现。 ③在当时俄国流行的一个由英国作曲家琼斯（１８６１—１９４６）创作的轻歌剧。