Chapter 3 Part 11-15

eleven Time passed, day after day, week after week, month after month.Summer turns to autumn, winter turns to spring...but what can I say about that?There is only one general impression, that during these years I passed unconsciously into conscious life. I remember that one day, I ran into my mother's bedroom and suddenly saw myself in a small wall mirror (the mirror was set in a walnut oval frame and hung opposite the door).I froze for a while, and a tall, dignified and thin child looked at me in surprise and even a little fear.He wore a brown cross-collared shirt, black serge breeches, and well-worn but well-fitting suede shoes.Of course, I have seen myself in the mirror many times before, but I have no impression of it, and I have never paid attention to it.Why are you paying attention now?Apparently it was the surprise, and even a little horror, of the sudden change in me at last.This change in itself may have started in one summer (as it often does).However, I don't quite remember exactly when, what year and month it started to change, and how old I was at that time.Now I guess it was fall, because I think of that kid in the mirror, his tanned skin fading, when I was maybe seven years old.What I remember most clearly is that I liked this little boy, with his dignified figure, his fine sun-faded hair, and his expressive face--a change that caught one off guard and astonishment.why?Apparently, this is because I (as a bystander) suddenly realized my own charm.In this discovery, somehow there was something melancholy, and I saw that I was quite tall and thin.The face has a vivid, comprehensible expression.In short, I suddenly discovered that I am no longer a child.I vaguely feel that there is a big turning point in my life, maybe, it is turning for the worst...

And indeed it was, and from about this time the period of pure bliss that I remember was almost over--which in itself meant no small thing.And at the same time I acquired certain new and truly rare knowledge, thoughts and feelings here on earth.Shortly thereafter, I met a well-known man in his family who came into my life and I began to study with him.I was seriously ill for the first time and witnessed new deaths - Nadja died, and later, my grandmother also passed away... twelve In the cold spring, on a cloudy day, a man in a frock coat suddenly appeared in the yard of my house.He came to my house once more afterward--I don't remember exactly when, but he did.He appears to be a truly unhappy man, but of a very special kind, that is to say, not an ordinary unhappy man, but one who makes himself unhappy out of his own will, and yet takes pleasure in it.All in all he seemed to belong to a formidable class of Russians.This kind of people, of course, I didn't really understand until later when I matured.His name was Baskakov, he came from a wealthy and noble family, he was very intelligent and talented, so he could live a life that was not worse than many people, if not better.He was thin, a little hunchbacked, with an aquiline nose and a swarthy complexion, and it was no wonder that he was said to be "ghost-like."Moreover, he has a crazy personality. When he was a student of Fazheng School, he had a big fight with his father, and then left home cursing.Later, when his father died, he became furious with his brother over the division of the inheritance, tore the papers of the division into pieces, insulted his brother, and shouted, "How unreasonable!" He didn't want to know anything about it, he didn't take a penny of his share, then he slammed the door, left his former residence forever, and started a wandering career from then on.He could never stay in one place, in one home, for even a few months.He couldn't stay in our house at first, and soon after he first appeared in our compound, he and my father came close to fighting with each other.But the second time there was a miracle: Baskakov, after staying for a while, declared that he would stay with us forever.So he lived in our house for three years, until I entered middle school.He even admitted that, in general, he had nothing but contempt and hatred for people, but he had great love for our family, and especially for me.He began to be my tutor and teacher, and before long I became very attached to him.Being near him has been the source of many of my most complex and intense emotions.

This heightened sensitivity was born with me.I inherited it not only from my parents, but from my grandfather, my great-grandfather, and those very, very unique people who once made up civilized society in Russia.Baskakov greatly facilitated the development of this sensitivity in me.As a breeder and teacher in general, he was totally unqualified.He quickly taught me to copy and read the Russian translation of Don Quixote.This book was found by accident among the few books we had in our house.What did you do next.I don't know much about it, and I'm not interested in finding out.He spoke often in French with my mother, whom, by the way, he always treated with great respect and concern.My mother suggested that he teach me French.He took up the task quickly, and with great interest, but did not persevere.In order to get me into the first grade of middle school, he ordered some textbooks in the city that I was required to read, and then began to make me simply memorize them.It turned out that his greatest influence on me was in another direction entirely.Generally speaking he was withdrawn and shy, but at times he was extraordinarily jovial, affectionate, courteous, talkative, and quite witty, even trying to show it, with a spout of clever stories.However, he was usually taciturn, always in deep thought, often grinning grinningly and muttering viciously at the same time. In the house and in the yard, he swung his pair of thin looped legs rapidly, and hurried back and forth endlessly with his head bowed.At such times, anyone who tried to speak to him was rebuffed with curt, irritating courtesies, or even rudeness.But even at such times, when he saw me, he changed completely.He would immediately run to meet me, put his arms around my shoulders, lead me out into the field or garden, sit with me in a corner, tell me stories, read aloud, and make me feel and think exactly the opposite of what I had before. .

Here I want to emphasize that he tells a great story.The rich facial expressions, gestures, and rapidly changing tones make everything he says come alive and exciting, and even reading aloud can make you listen with fascination.According to his habit, he always narrowed his left eye slightly and put the book far away.He often chooses things that arouse feelings that are diametrically opposed to what I used to think.He only considered the needs of the story itself, completely disregarding my age.It seemed that everything he said was the most painful and poignant thing he had ever experienced, and it was a testimony of the meanness and cruelty of the world.He also chose some heroic and noble things to read aloud, telling the most beautiful and joyful passions in people's hearts.As I listened to him, I was very excited, resentful of the fellow who made him so poor, sympathetic to his own misfortune, and sorry for him.Sometimes I am so happy that I am in a daze, not knowing what to do.His eyes are short-sighted, like shrimp eyes, often red, with a dark brown, piercing, and his facial expression is often surprisingly tense.When he walked, or rather, when he ran, his dry gray hair and the hem of his very old, unreplaced frock coat fluttered in the wind. "I don't want anyone to take me as a burden" - he is really eccentric in this regard.He only smokes (and always only smokes) Mahe cigarettes, sleeps in the granary in summer, and sleeps in the long-abandoned lower house in winter.At meals, all he was interested in was vodka and a little vinegar and mustard.He seems to have become convinced that people need food only out of sheer prejudice.This really surprised everyone: how did he live on...

He told me about the violent conflicts he had with "thugs" in his life, about Moscow where he once studied, about the very remote jungle where he once wandered.He read Don Quixote with me, he read The Globetrotter, he read a book called The Land and Man, he read Robinson Crusoe... He painted watercolours—he I am fascinated by the passionate fantasy of becoming a famous sketcher.Trembling at the sight of the paint box, I scribbled on the paper from morning to night and stood for hours gazing at the wondrous blue sky fading to lavender.On hot, sunny days, the blue sky is revealed through the treetops, and the woods seem to be bathed in blue sky.I have always had the deepest feeling for the true and wonderful meaning of the colors of the earth and sky. This conclusion was given to me by life. I think this is one of the most important conclusions.This lavender blue sky that peeps through the branches and leaves will remind me when I die...

————— ① The author of this book is unknown. ② That is "Robinson Crusoe" written by the British writer Defoe. Thirteen On the wall of my father's study hung an old hunting dagger.- I have seen my father sometimes pull the gleaming white dagger out of its sheath and wipe it with the hem of his coat.As long as I touch this smooth, cold, sharp steel a little bit, I will be immersed in a burst of pleasure!I really want to kiss it, hold it against my bosom, and shove it into something, all the way up to the handle.My father's razor was also steel and sharper, but I didn't find it.Until now I have been thrilled at the sight of any weapon made of steel.Where does this feeling come from?I was kind and gentle in my childhood, but once I killed a young rook with a broken wing with real pleasure.I remember that the courtyard was very empty at that time, and there was no one in the house for some reason.At this time, I suddenly saw a very black big bird, which turned sideways, awkwardly spread a drooping wing, and jumped on the grass to the granary in a panic.I ran into the study, took out the dagger, and jumped out of the window... When I arrived in front of the rook, it suddenly held its breath, and there was a look of fear in its timid bright eyes. On the ground, he opened his mouth wide and let out a slight cry, so fierce that even his voice was hoarse.Apparently, it had made up its mind to fight me to the death... It seemed to me that it was a very important event when I killed for the first time in my life.For several days afterward I was in a state of restlessness, bewildered and lost, and I prayed not only to God in secret, but to all the world, to be forgiven for my vile and grievous crime, and to be relieved of the agony of my soul.But I killed this unfortunate rook, who was desperately struggling with me, and its blood spattered my hands, and I killed it with great pleasure!

Baskakov and I climbed to the top room several times. According to legend, there must be a grandfather's or great-grandfather's saber there.We climbed up a very steep ladder, bending over in the gloom.Step by step, he got in, past roof beams, ceiling beams, piles of dust and rubbish.The ceiling was warm and stuffy, with the smell of cooled fire smoke, oil fumes, and stoves.In the world there is sky, sun, and vast space, but here it is dark, which makes people uncomfortable and makes people drowsy.On the roof, the wind from the field howled freely around us, but the sound of the wind became hoarse when it penetrated here, and it became another kind of ominous wind, like blowing from a monster... The darkness gradually became brighter, and we borrowed the help of the skylight. The light bypassed the brick flue and the upper section of the chimney, and kept drilling down and down, looking carefully at the underside of the beams, looking at the dusty girders leaning on the beams, with the help of the light, Pick up the dust one by one, the dust is sometimes gray, sometimes purple... How wonderful it would be to find this magical saber!I'd be so happy I couldn't even breathe!But what do I want it for?Where did my wild and blind love for it come from?

However, everything in the world is blind and does not know why it exists. I already feel this. Weary after searching in vain, we stopped to rest.Sitting on the girder, rolling a cigarette, the strange man who was looking for the saber with me was meditating and muttering something in a low voice.He is the only one who understands my blind fantasies and passions.For some reason he's ruining his entire life and trashing it all over the world with no purpose.I stood and looked out the skylight.Now the ceiling is almost completely bright, especially around the skylight, and the sound of the phoenix in the ceiling doesn't feel menacing anymore.But here we are still us, and the manor is still the manor.Like a bystander, I imagined the scene of the manor, and imagined the peaceful life of the manor.Just below me, on a sunny world, surrounded me in a variety of light green gardens and dark green treetops.Seen from above, these tree-tops are a marvel, filled with the lively twittering of sparrows, where the sparrows are covered with green shade.But seen from above, they shone like glass in the sun.I looked at it and thought: Why is this?Maybe it's just for aesthetics.Behind the garden, the fields stretched into the distance, and on the horizon Baturino appeared blue like a distant forest.There, for some reason, my grandmother spent eighty springs and autumns in her old manor, in that very high-ceilinged house with stained glass.Looking to the left, everything is shining in the dust of the sun.Behind the pasture, there is Novoselki, with vines, vegetable gardens, barns of poor peasants and a series of rough huts on both sides of the long street... Why are there chickens, dogs, calves, water wagons, hay sheds, pot-bellied Child.The sharp-tongued woman, the pretty girl, the disheveled, depressed farmer. Why does Brother Nicholas go there almost every day to see Sashka?It was simply because he felt strangely relieved when he saw her sweet and docile face, her white poplin blouse, her bare skin above the scoop neckline, her slender figure and bare feet. ... I also like the exposed skin on the top of the scoop neck, which also arouses a kind of uncomfortable feeling in me.I'd love to do something with it, but what exactly, and why?I am also baffled.

Yes, in those days, what fascinated me most was the saber hidden in the crown.But sometimes I think of Sashka too.One day, she came to our manor and stood on the steps with her head bowed, talking timidly to my mother.Then suddenly I felt for her a peculiarly sweet and distressing feeling, the first flash of a most inexplicable feeling. . . . fourteen I learned to read "Don Quixote", and I was completely fascinated by this book and its illustrations and Baskakov's story about the age of chivalry.All day and night I think of castles and dent walls and towers and drawbridges, of armor and visors and swords and bows, and battles and tournaments.I imagined the scene of being knighted, and imagined a young man with disheveled hair kneeling on the ground, receiving a severe blow on the shoulder with a large saber. Like the first communion, this blow decided his fate for life.Thinking of this makes me shudder.In the Tablets of A. K. Tolstoy, there are such words: "How fascinating the Wartburg is! There are even some twelfth-century utensils there. As your heart beats in Asia, so does mine." Throbbing and leaping in this world of knights. Now I know that I belonged to this world." I think I once belonged to that world, too.When I visited the many famous castles in Europe in this century, I was more than once amazed at how I could have known life in the castle so vividly as a child.How can you imagine the appearance of the castle so accurately?At that time, there was little difference between me and any child in Vyserki. When I saw the illustrations in the book and heard the crazy tramp smoking a horse and telling stories, everything about the castle came to mind.Yes, I once belonged to this world too.I'm even a fervent Catholic.Neither the Acropolis, Balbik, Tvey, Beston, St. Sophia, nor the old churches of the Russian Kremlin have, until now, been comparable to the Gothic cathedrals in my mind.When I first walked into a Catholic church (in my youth), it was nothing more than a Catholic church in Vitebsk, but the structure blew me away!It seemed to me then that there is no sound in the world more strange than the majestic, grinding creaking, rattling, and booming of churches, in which are mingled with opposite sounds, that is in The joyous voices of the angels sing in the mighty heaven...

————— ① A. Kang Tolstoy (1817-1875) was a Russian poet and playwright. ② Acropolis refers to the Acropolis of Athens, which has important public buildings and temples; Balbek is an ancient city in Lebanon, which has many famous temples; Twi may refer to the Middle Kingdom and the New Kingdom of ancient Egypt The capital of the era - "Hundred Mentvi", may also refer to the important city of Ossia in ancient Greece - "Seven Mentvi"; The colony of Paris is known as the city of prostitution, and there are many magnificent buildings here; St. Sophia, the capital of Bulgaria, has many famous cathedral buildings.

After Don Quixote and the knight's castle comes the world of the sea, the three-masted cruiser, Robinson Crusoe, the ocean and the tropics.I no doubt once belonged to this world. Robinson Crusoe and The Globetrotter contain many pictures, and with them a large yellowed map of the world, showing the vast southern seas and the dotted islands of Polynesia.Their charm is one that I have never resisted in my life.Narrow canoes, naked natives with bows and darts, coconut groves, big-leaf palms and primitive huts covered by big-leaf palms—all this feels so familiar and familiar to me, as if I had just left I sat near that hut yesterday and enjoyed the heavenly silence during my lunch break.Looking at these pictures, I experienced such a sweet and clear dream, and tasted such a real sadness of missing my hometown!Pierre Rodi spoke of "thrilling and mysterious" events, the meaning of which was included in the word "colonization" in his childish mind.He added: "Young Antoineti had many items from the colony: parrots, colorful birds in cages, collections of shells and insects of all kinds. In a box from her mother, I I saw some strange necklaces strung together with grains. In the granary of his family, there are still some animal skins, strange bags and boxes, and you can see the addresses of various places in the Andres Islands..." ② But, can something like this happen in Kamenka? ————— ① Pierre Rodi (1850-1923) was a French writer and the author of "Icelandic Fisherman". ② The original text of the direct quotation here is French. In the book "Land and People" there are some color illustrations.I remember two in particular.One of them depicts a japonica, a camel, and an Egyptian pyramid, the other a slender, very tall coconut tree, and a spotted giraffe like a slope, with its head stretched out in a gentle tilt. eyes, licking the feathers on its head with the tip of its thin, spear-like tongue, and next to it was a lion with many hyenas, its whole body curled up, soaring into the air, and pounced on the giraffe's neck.All of this—whether it’s camels, squirrels, pyramids, or giraffes and lions under coconut trees—is painted on a background of two very dazzling colors, one is a very bright, thick and uniform sky blue, and the other The species is a bright yellow sandy color.oh my god.Not only have I seen how many dry and hot days, how many fierce sunshine, but I have also experienced it!When I see this sky-blue and this ochre, I experience a true bliss, and am intoxicated!On the fields of Dombov, under the skies of Dombov, I recalled with this extraordinary power all that I had seen, and what I lived by in the forgotten lives that passed away, and later in Egypt, In Nubia, in the tropics, I could only say to myself: "Yes, yes, this is exactly what I first 'remembered' thirty years ago!" fifteen Pushkin's charming preface to "Ruslan and Lyudmila" blew me away: There is a green oak by the bay, A gold chain hangs from that oak tree... Some people probably think that a few lines of good poetry, even very good poetry, even the rarest of the most beautiful poems - are trivial matters!However, they remain in my heart for a lifetime and become my greatest pleasure in this world.Presumably someone thought that a bay that never existed, a "learned" cat that somehow appeared on the bay, chained to an oak tree for no reason, and dryad goblins, mermaid princesses, and "on lonely roads" There are a few tracks of rare beasts," which is nonsense.But, clearly, the problem is this: gibberish is an absurd, non-existent thing, not a reasonable, real thing.The point is that an insane, drunken and "learned" man in the drinking business is working his magic on the poet.This sorcery of incessant circular motions ("by day and night, the learned cat goes round and round in its chain") and these "lost" paths, and the "tracks of rare beasts,"--only tracks , not the beast itself, is exciting enough!The poem says "against the morning glow" rather than "in the first twilight time", the simplicity, vividness and vividness of the opening part (the bay, the green oak, the golden chain), and the dreamy, magical, complicated and disturbing part of the later part , and something erratic and swift, as charming as morning mists and clouds over a sleeping forest by some holy northern bay: Where forests and valleys sink into dreams, Where the waves reflect the morning glow, Flocking to the uninhabited sands of the desert, Those thirty gallant knights Filed from bright waves, Their uncle at sea is also with them... Gogol's "Old Landlord" and "The Terrible Revenge" made an extraordinary impression on me.These works are unforgettable!They have been engraved in my heart forever since childhood, and they still ring in my ears, and they have become my most important "content of life", as Gogol said.Look at these "singing doors," this "extremely beautiful" summer rain, which roars "luxuriously" in the garden, and look at these wild cats living in the woods behind the garden, where "some old tree-trunks are Covered by dense hazel trees, they are like the feathery claws of white doves... ".And "Dreadful Revenge" is even better! "Somewhere at the end of downtown Kyiv. Noisy and blaring, this is Cossack Captain Gorobets celebrating his son's wedding with a big wedding banquet. Many people came to the captain's house to say congratulations... "The captain's sworn brother Danilo Brewerbasch also came from the other side of the Dnieper River to congratulate his young wife Katerina and his one-year-old son. The guests were surprised that Mrs. Katerina She has a white face, black eyebrows that look like German velvet, and high boots with silver heels on her feet, but the guests are especially surprised that her old father is not accompanying her this time... ..." look further down; "The whole land was enveloped in a soft radiance, and the moon came out from behind the mountains. It seemed that the moon covered the rugged banks of the Dnieper with a precious Damascus tulle as white as snow, and its shadow receded far into the depths of the cypress forest. There was a canoe in the center of the Dnieper River. Two servants squatted on the bow, with their black Cossack hats tilted to one side, as they rowed down with one oar, the water splashed in all directions, like sparks from flint... " Now Katerina was talking softly to her husband, and she wiped the face of the sleeping baby in her arms with a handkerchief "on which were embroidered leaves and berries of red silk" (that is what I call I have seen those leaves and wild fruits, which I remember and love all my life).Now she was "silent, looking down at the sleeping river. The breeze blew and made ripples on the river, and the whole Dnieper was shining like a wolf's fur in the night..." I was surprised again: I was able to see all these scenes so vividly in Kamenka!My young mind can already distinguish and recognize what is good and what is bad, what is better and what is worse, what is needed and what is not needed!Some things I am cold and forgetful, while others I am passionate about, always remembering, always engraved in my heart.I do so because of a very confident discernment. "Everyone got out of the boat, and there was a straw roof behind the mountain. That was Danilo's ancestral residence. There was another mountain behind the house, and beyond that was an endless field. Even if you walk a hundred versts, you will find it Not a shadow of a Cossack..." Yep, that's all I need! "Danilo's village is located between two mountains, in a narrow valley leading to the Dnieper River. The house is not very tall, it looks like a Cossack cottage. There is only one main house... the wall The upper part is surrounded by oak shelves, on which are densely displayed many large bowls and saucepans. In the middle, there are long-stemmed silver goblets and gold-carved goblets, all of which are gifts from others or trophies from wars. Farther down, hung expensive muskets, swords, matchlocks, and pikes...Further down, at the foot of the wall, there were benches of smooth-planed oak. Beside the benches, in front of the heating pit, A cradle was suspended by a rope from a ring in the ceiling. The floor of the whole main house was covered with smooth and solid concrete. Danilo and his wife slept on the bench. On the pit was the old maid. The baby is playing in the cradle, slowly falling asleep with the rocking. On the ground, the guys are lying in a mess..." Even more incomparable is the epilogue: "In the time of Semigradsky's Prince Stepan, there were two Cossacks: Ivan and Pyotr..." ————— ① The quotations about "The Terrible Revenge" are all translated by Comrade Man Tao, and some places and translated titles have been slightly changed. "The Terrible Vengeance" aroused in my soul those sublime emotions which, having penetrated into every human heart, remain forever.It is the most sacred and just revenge, the most sacred feeling that good must completely defeat evil and evil should be severely punished...