Chapter 8 Part Two 16-19

sixteen The fate of all people is coincidental, it all depends on chance and surrounding circumstances... Such was the fate of my boyhood, it determined the fate of my life. As the old poem says: I also travel and return to my hometown, The wild grass is deep and long, life as usual, The heart is full of joy. Why should I come back to this home?Why am I leaving middle school?If my teenage years had been real teenage years, if my life had been completely defined, wouldn't this seemingly insignificant event not have happened? My father sometimes said that it was absurd for me to drop out of school suddenly, for reasons which were utterly intolerable, or, as he liked to put it, out of "aristocratic caprice," called me a curmudgeon, and blamed myself for indulging My waywardness.But he also said something else (his opinions were always extremely contradictory), that I acted perfectly "logically" (a word he used with great aptness and refinement), that I acted out of nature. .

"No," he said, "Alexey's ambition is not to be a civil servant, not to be an official or a lord, not to run production, but to write poetry for the soul and life. Something is going to work. Who knows, maybe he will become the second Pushkin or Lermontov in the future?  … In fact, there are many things that make me oppose that kind of rigid learning: one is "willfulness", this trait already existed in the ancient Rus period, and far from being unique to nobles, it is also a lot in my blood The second is that I inherited my father's temperament; the third is my ambition to "engage in the poetry creation of the soul and life", this ambition has been clearly defined as early as that period, and finally an accident happened, that is, my brother was not Sent to Siberia, but back to Baturin.

In my last year of middle school, I somehow got stronger and matured all of a sudden.I used to think that my mother's characteristics were the most in me, but now it is my father's characteristics that are rapidly developing: his vigorous vitality, resistance to circumstances and emotions (he is also sentimental, but he always knows consciously and timely control of one's emotions), the unconscious tenacity of not giving up until the goal is reached, and the willful temper.The matter of my brother, which terrified our family at the time, was insignificant.Although I couldn't immediately explain why I was afraid, I still felt it after all, and this incident even made me mature and aroused my strength.I began to feel that my father's words were right. He said, "You can't live like a weeping willow" and "life is the best thing after all". I realized that there is indeed a very beautiful thing that fascinates people in life-literary and artistic creation.So I have already decided in my heart that no matter what, I will only study until the fifth grade, and then I will say goodbye to middle school forever, return to Baturino, and become "the second Pushkin or Lermontov", Zhukovsky①, Baturin Latynsky ②.For these great poets, I have long felt that I have a blood relationship with them.It seems that from the first time I knew them, I saw their portraits as I saw the portraits of a family that has been passed down for generations.

————— ① Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky (1783-1852), an outstanding Russian poet. ② Yevgeny Abramovich Balatinsky (1800-1844), Russian poet. This winter, I tried my best to live a diligent and vigorous life, and in the spring I will not need to work so hard.Undoubtedly, after this winter, I have undergone obvious changes. This is mainly due to the growth of my body, just like what happens suddenly to all teenagers, the hair on my face suddenly grows, and my hands and feet become thicker.Thankfully, even then.I didn't appear brutish in any way, except that my fur turned blond, my eyes bluer, and the contours of my face began to take shape, as if painted with a thin, toned, tanned colour.So, I didn't cope with the exams like I used to.I buried myself in my books all day long, admiring my indefatigability and cleanliness, feeling very happy that everything was young, healthy, and clean, and sometimes I felt that the exam was like going to a passionate church, going to a fasting prayer, a confession and an acceptance. Same as communion.I went to bed at three or four o'clock, and I woke up very briskly in the morning. I was very serious about washing and dressing, and I was devout when I prayed. I believed that God would definitely help me even when I was in the grammar class of verbs and short forms.When I left home, I was in a calm mood, and I often took everything I got yesterday and what I must submit today.When this test is successfully completed, what awaits me is another kind of joy: my parents will not come to pick me up and go back to Baturino this time. A two-horse four-wheeled carriage, driven by a laughing young workman who soon became my bosom friend on the road.Baturino was a large and well-to-do village, with three estates of landowners buried in extensive gardens surrounded by ponds and extensive pastures.Now a hundred flowers are blooming everywhere, a piece of green.I suddenly felt that I had fully understood the beauty of this happiness, the splendor and freshness of the shade of the trees, the crystal clearness of the water in the pool, the mischievousness of the nightingales and frogs like young people...

Brother Nicholas was the calmest of us, but he was finally getting impatient because he had nothing to do.In the summer he married, to the daughter of a German who managed the official estate in the village of Vasilyevskoye.I think the wedding and the festive occasion she turned our summer into, and the presence of this young woman in the family afterward, contributed to my development. Soon, brother Georgi suddenly came to Baturino.It was a June evening, and the yard smelled of cooling grass, and our old house with its wooden columns and high roofs (soaked in the brooding beauty of the evening, seemed to be in a It was like in an ancient painting of a paradise. At this time, everyone was sitting on the balcony in the garden drinking tea. I strolled along the courtyard to the stables, saddled a horse for myself, and was about to go out to the road. At the gate of the village, something extraordinary happened: a city carriage came! Until now, I still remember my brother’s familiar face. But at the same time, it was a completely strange face. The exceptional pallor of the prisoner astounded me...

This is the happiest evening in my family's life, and it is also the beginning of peace and tranquility. This last peace and tranquility came to my family for three full years before my family dispersed... seventeen In the spring of that year, I returned to Baturino with the feelings of a teenager.Most of the summer I went with my brother Nikolai to visit his fiancée in the village of Vasilievskoye in a friendly way, and to share their beautiful moments.Before dusk, drive three sets of carriages freely on the path among the dense wheat fields, listen to the cuckoo crows in the distance covered with flowers and plants in the birch bushes, watch the strange-shaped clouds in the western golden sky, and breathe the mixed atmosphere of the countryside in the evening —the smells of the farmhouse, the garden, the river, the winery, and the food being prepared for dinner in the steward's house, while admiring the banjo that the steward's young daughters played for us, harsh but moving.There were still landscapes by Westphal on the walls of the manager's house, and a large bouquet of crimson peonies stood on the little table.We found everything very comfortable in this home, and the host treated us hospitablely, according to the German custom.That tall, thin girl is not very beautiful, but she is very cute. She is becoming more and more affectionate to us, and she is about to become a member of our family. She already calls me "you and me"...

————— ①Westphalia is a place in present-day West Germany. I'm not yet a bridesmaid, but it's also not appropriate for me to be the bridesmaid at a wedding.I was wearing a shiny new uniform, white gloves, sparkling eyes and oiled hair.I put white satin slippers on her silk-stockinged feet, and I drove with her to Znameniye in a carriage with two strong gray horses.It rained heavily that day, the horses galloped, the blue-black mud splashed everywhere, the rye was densely packed on the side of the road, and the wet gray-green ears of wheat were poured on the road after eating too much rain, the low sun often penetrated the golden The torrential rain in the sky is shining, and it is said that this is a wish for a happy marriage.The windows of the carriage were up, covered with rain and tears, and glistened like precious stones.The carriage was very crowded, and because of the bride's fragrance and because she was wrapped in a gorgeous white dress, I was so happy that I couldn't breathe.Clumsily holding an icon in a new golden cassock (which was to bless her), I gazed into her tearful eyes... During the wedding in the church, I felt for the first time There was something strange and ancient about this joyful ceremony.In a country church, the ceremony is especially elaborate.A school-shaped chandelier was lit in the church. Although it was shabby, once it was grand, the country priest cheered loudly, although the tone was very dissonant.A group of happy women and girls crowded the gate open to the evening blue sky... At this moment, the sudden arrival of brother Georgi made our family full of youthful vitality and added a new, Seems like a happy factor.It would be ridiculous to think of me going back to middle school now that our whole family is together and everything is going well.

————— ①One of the Russian wedding customs, I wish the bride all the best in her husband's life. I went back to the city in the fall and started school again, but I only skimmed through the subjects and often didn't answer the teacher's questions.They listened maliciously and politely to my headache-excusing nonsense, and gloated at my misfortune.In order to kill time, I wandered around the city and the suburbs, went to the railway station in Zarechye to meet the trains. The people who sat down in the "Long-distance" carriage came when the porter, a portly man in long uniform, came to the center of the hall.I was utterly dazed as he announced which train was going where in his sonorous, majestic bass, only to hear him yelling down the road, majestic but sad...and so I stayed on until Christmas.I got my holiday, ran home as fast as I could, spent five minutes packing, and then hurriedly said goodbye to the Rostovtsevs and Glebochka (Glebochka was still waiting for a carriage from the country, and I To follow the railway, passing Vasilyevskoye).Then I lifted the suitcase.Running out into the street, jumping on a frozen sledge, and thinking frantically: Farewell, high school!The crude horse kicked desperately, the sled galloped, and galloped in all directions on the slippery road.The cold wind howled, lifted the collar of my coat, and scattered sharp snowflakes on my face.The whole city fell into a dim, snowy twilight, but I was out of breath with joy.I waited two full hours at the station because of the blizzard, but at last... Oh, all these snows, Russia, nights, blizzards, and railroads!The train has been whitened by snowflakes, and the cabin is very warm and comfortable, with the sound of hammers beating from time to time in the red stove.Outside the train was a severe cold and a blinding snowstorm, the station was covered by swirling snow and smoke, bells and voices were mixed, and lights were shining.And the locomotive screamed in despair again, and the shout drifted to the dark, stormy distance, hidden in an unknown place.The carriage began to shake, moving slowly, the lights of the platform gradually moved away along the windows of the carriage, the windows had been frozen, and diamond-like patterns appeared.Then it was night again, wilderness, snowstorm, howling wind from the ventilator, but all around you was the quiet, warm, half-light of the blue curtains.To sway on a soft velvet bed, while the train runs faster and faster, while the fur coat hangs on the hanger, swaying before your sleepy eyes, what a bliss it is!

It is about ten versts from our station to Vasilyevskoye. I arrived here in the middle of the night. Outside, the wind was howling and the snow was falling. I had to spend the night in this cold station. The kerosene lamps here were dim and smelly. Furious.The doors of the station banged as the crews of the freight cars came in and out, and the knocking of the doors was particularly harsh in the emptiness of the night.Carrying blackened red lights in their hands and covered in snow, these flight attendants walk in and out at any time, which is actually very charming.I slept soundly curled up on a bench in a women's waiting room, but, anxiously waiting for the dawn, coupled with howling wind and snow and wild sounds in the distance, I woke up from time to time.The furnace door of the locomotive parked under the window was open, blazing, and the locomotive was seething and whimpering.The morning was calm and cold.In the pink dawn, when I woke up, I jumped up like a wild beast...

An hour later I was in Vasilyevskoye, drinking coffee in the warm home of our new relative Wigand, when her young niece Anqing (who came from Leville) poured it for me Sometimes, I feel happy and embarrassed at the same time, I don't know where to look... eighteen Baturino's estate is beautiful.Especially in this winter.The stone pillars of the gate, the snow-white courtyard, the snowdrifts pierced by the sledge, the silence, the sun, the piercing cold, the sweet oily smoke from the kitchen, from the kitchen to the main room and from the lower room to the kitchen to the stables , to the footprints of other multi-purpose houses around the yard, the comfort of the family revealed in the footprints... the quietness, the scenery, the roof covered with thick snow, the gardens visible on both sides behind the house, buried deep in snowdrifts since winter, The black and bare branches are in various shapes, and the dark green treetops of the century-old spruce.From behind the roof, from behind the steep slope.It towers into the sky like the top of a snow mountain, and the chimneys on both sides of the treetops are surrounded by smoke... On the triangular silver ornaments warmed by the sun on the porch, there are a few jackdaws that look like nuns, snuggling comfortably.I usually like to chirp, but now it is silent.They squinted at the blinding joyful brilliance, at the icy variegated glare of the snow, and gazed affectionately at the little old latticed windows... You trod the hardened snow with your frozen felt boots on the steps With a creaking sound, climb up the main porch on the right, walk through the eaves, and push open the heavy blackened oak door, and you can pass through the long dark passage... In the servant's room, by the window Standing a big, clumsy wooden cabinet, it was cold and dark.The windows faced north, and the sun never stayed there, but there was a copper stove lid that was always vibrating and creaking.To the right of the room was a dark corridor leading directly to the bedroom, and directly opposite was a tall, also black, oak door.Entering the hall, there is no stove in the hall, it is empty and cold, and there are several portraits on the wall, one is a grandfather with a curly wig, he has a dark face and a dull expression, and the other is Emperor Paul, he is a man. He has a raised nose and wears a uniform with a red lapel.There are many other ancient portraits and candelabrums, stacked in a small, long-disused dining room.These things are all frozen.Peeping in through the half-glazed wooden door gave me special pleasure in my childhood.Everything in the hall was bathed in sunlight, and on the smooth and very wide floor flecks of lavender and garnet were burning and dissolving like sparks, the reflection of the stained-glass windows above.From a side window on the left, also facing north, a black branch of a large lime tree climbed in.From the sunny windows on the opposite side, the garden buried in snowdrifts can be seen.One of the middle windows was entirely blocked by the tallest spruce, the one visible between the two chimneys of the roof.Behind this window hung spruce branches, covered with snow, magnificent... On a cold moonlit night, the beauty of spruce is indescribable!When you enter the house, there are no lights in the hall, only a bright moon hanging high in the sky outside the window.The hall was empty, but very majestic, suffused with a thin cloud of smoke, and the dense spruce, whose needles were all covered with snow, stood majestically outside the glass window as if in mourning The tops of the trees stretched out into the clear and transparent bottomless sky.The constellation Orion spread across the sky silvery, and below, in the bright expanse of the sky, brilliant Sirius shone like a sapphire, trembling, my mother's favorite star... In the clouds and smoke of a moonlit night, How many times have I wandered on the floor where the long panes are photocopied, how many times have I ruminated over boyhood considerations, how many times have I recited Derchavin's majestic lines!

In the dark blue space, A golden moon is floating... Light up my house through the windows, it glows yellowish on my painted floor Draw many windows of gold... ————— ① Refers to Paul I (1754-1801), the Russian emperor since 1796. ② Gavrila Romanovich Derchavin (1743-1816), an outstanding Russian poet. I spent my first winter in this house, and some new thoughts and feelings were beautiful then.Throughout the winter I walked with my brother Georgi and had endless conversations which especially enriched my knowledge.Sometimes I also went to Vasilievskoye, and sometimes I read the poems of Derchavin and the poets of Pushkin's time.There are few books in Baturino's home.But I often go to Vasilyevskoye, where my cousin's estate is located on a hill facing a piece of official land managed by Wigand, on which there is a brewery.Our cousin is married to Pizarevi, and we haven't been to her house for many years.Her father-in-law, old Pisarev, was quite a man, and he was at odds with his son, and, of course, soon quarreled with my father too.This year the old man died, and the relationship between our two families has been repaired. It is entirely possible for me to use all his books, which are the old man's lifetime collection.There were a number of very fine volumes, all bound in dark yellow leather, with gold stars stamped on the spine.Writers include Sumarokov ①, Anna Bunina ②, Derchavin, Bachushkov ③, Zhukovsky, Vinnie Widinov ④, Yazekov ⑤, Kotz Love⑥, Balatinsky... The romantic floral decorations in these books-lyres, ancient Roman jars, steel helmets, garlands, fonts in the books, mostly light blue rough paper, pure and The sublime beauty, the elegant lines of poetry printed on paper, all this is intoxicating!Reading these volumes inspired the initial fantasies of boyhood and the strong desire to write for the first time.The first attempt to satisfy this craving, to satisfy the desire of the imagination.This kind of imagination does have a wonderful effect.If I read "The Young Singer Flies to the Battlefield," or "Row, Pale Stream, Row From the Steep Peak, Don't Be Silent," or "Among the Green Waves Kissing Tafrida, I'm in I saw Elide in the dawn, I can see and feel this singer, the stream, the green waves, the morning of the sea, Elide naked, and I want to sing, shout, laugh and cry... During this period, What comes out of my pen is so naive and trivial, I can't help but amazed! ————— ① Alexander Petrovich Sumarokov (1717-1777), Russian writer. ②Anna? Bunina, unknown. ③Konstantin Nikolaevich Bachushkov (1787-1855), Russian poet. ④ Dmitry Vladimirovich Wen Nievedinov (1805-1827), a Russian poet. ⑤ Nikolai Mihailovich Yazekov (1803-1846), Russian poet. ⑥ Ivan Ivanovich Kozlov (1779-1840), Russian poet. My very pleasant first love is also beautiful throughout the winter.An Qing is just a plain young girl, but there must be something else about her, right?She was gentle, kind, and always happy.She had said to me frankly and sincerely: "Aleshka, I like you very much, you have a burning, pure feeling!" Of course, the feeling was ignited in an instant.That day she was wearing a rose-coloured bright dress of her own design, from top to bottom showing the neatness of the Germans and the cuteness of a girl.As soon as she walked into Wigand's dining room in the winter morning sun and started pouring me coffee in front of me, frozen all the way from the station, I saw her and Make your face red.I lightly shook her hand that was still cold after washing, and my heart immediately trembled.I believe that is the feeling!I went back to Baturino feeling happy, because the Wigands were sure to come to us on the first day of Christmas.Now they're all here, laughing for no reason.Jokes aside, the whole house was filled with German raucous conviviality, and was piled up with country guests' winter goods, especially for holidays, and the outer room was filled with fragrant winter fur coats, boots and felt boots.In the evening other guests came, and all, except the old man, decided to go to the neighboring manor in disguise.Then there was a commotion, and everybody put on make-up, and put on whatever they wanted--mostly peasants and peasant women, and they rolled my hair up high, and painted my face with paint, and put a moustache with charcoal strips.Then a noisy crowd flocked to the steps near which several sledges and sledges were already parked in the dark.Everyone sat on it, laughed and yelled, and with the accompaniment of small bells, they rushed forward quickly through the newly accumulated snowdrifts in the yard.nature.I was sitting on the same seatless sleigh as Anqing... how could I forget the ringing of the bells on this winter night, this deep night on the desolate snowy field, forgetting that extraordinary, winter, gray, soft, and vague thing?On a snowy night, this thing merged with the flying snow and the low altitude, and the lights ahead, like the eyes of the unknown winter night monster!How can I forget the air in the field on a snowy night, the cold air passing through the thin leather boots under the raccoon fur coat, and the warmth of holding a girl protruding from the leather car cover for the first time in my young and fiery hands hands, forget those maiden eyes that shone with love in the dark? nineteen Then spring came, and this was the most extraordinary spring in my life. I still remember now that I was sitting with Olga in her room, with one window open towards the courtyard.It was about five o'clock on a sunny March evening.Suddenly, while buttoning his short fur coat, his father barged in as vigorously as usual.At this time, although his beard is a little grizzled, he still looks like a young man.He said: "A courier has arrived from Vasilievskoe. They say Pisarev seems to have had a stroke. I'm going there right away. Do you want to go with me?" I got up, suddenly going to Vasilievskoe, and I was lucky to see Anqing, and I was really happy, so we set off at once.What surprised me was that Pisarev was alive and happy, and he was also surprised, not understanding what had happened to him. 'You'd better drink less! ’ said his father to him in the antechamber at parting the next day. "Small things!" replied Pisarev, smiling with two gypsy eyes, and helping my father into his short fur coat.I saw that Beta was well-proportioned, dark-skinned, with a black beard, and wearing a red silk shirt with a slanted collar.With the skirts on the outside, a pair of baggy black knickerbockers, and a pair of red flat shoes embroidered with silver flowers.We got home safely.But soon the spring floods came, and they came so fast that for two weeks we had no communication with Vasilievskoye at all.By the first day of Easter everything was dry and the willows and pastures were green.We were all going to Vasilievskoye, and we were all in a carriage, when suddenly a horse came to the gate, followed by a race carriage, and in the carriage was his cousin Peter Peter. Rovich Arsenyev. "Christ is risen!" he said with great composure, as he approached the car. "Are you going to Vasilyevskoe? That couldn't be more timely. Pisarev is dead. He woke up this morning, went to see his sister, collapsed on a chair, and that's the end of it... ..." Pisarev had just been washed and put away when we went into their house.He was lying there, like the dead who just lay still and were not buried. The strange coincidence of this scene was indeed surprising, because he just parked in the hall where he was standing smiling at the door two weeks ago, because of the setting sun and his own eyes. The stimulation of cigarettes narrowed his eyes.He now also lies with his eyes squinted.I still remember those protruding purplish-gray eyes.He was perfectly alive now, with his wet, jet-black hair combed beautifully, and the same with his beard.He was wearing a new frock coat, a starched shirt and a black tie, and a quilt pulled up to his waist, under which his straight bound feet showed.I stared at him quietly and blankly, and even tried his forehead and hands, which were almost warm... But at dusk, everything changed drastically.I already know what happened.When I asked everyone to attend the first memorial service, I walked into the hall in a daze.From the windows of the hall one could still see the dim red glow of a spring sunset over the distant fields; The more densely submerged the rays of the setting sun.In the dim hall where the crowds were gathered, the incense was wafting, and the air was cloudy, and the candles in everyone's hands glowed yellow through the darkness and smoke, while the tall church candles, around the dead, glowed red. Swaying and smoky.Behind these candles, several priests sang with a mournful tone.Strangely enough, they kept singing "Christ Rises from the Dead," alternately with joy, now with indifference.I sometimes gazed ahead and saw the faces of the dead drooping somehow sadly, dulled by the day, appearing and disappearing dimly and horribly through the smoke and twilight.Sometimes, with fiery warmth and the feeling of looking for the only refuge, I found An Qing's lovely face in the crowd. She stood there quietly and humbly, with the candlelight shining gently and innocently from below. looking at her face...