Chapter 10 The third part 6-10

six The garden unloads old clothes and puts on new ones.All day the nightingale sang in the garden, and the windows below my room were propped up all day.The two small antique pane windows, the darkened oak ceiling, and the addition of the oak easy-chairs with smooth reclining backs and the oak bed, made the room even more lovely than it had been... at first.I just lay on the bed with a book, sometimes reading casually, sometimes listening to the nightingale singing, thinking about the "full" life I will live in the future.Sometimes I fell asleep suddenly. Although the time was short, I slept soundly.Every time I wake up, I feel very refreshed, and I am surprised that everything around me has become novel and beautiful.Every time I woke up, I wanted something to eat, so I jumped out of bed, or ran to the dining room (that is, the little deserted room with the glass door that opened into the hall), and got some marmalade, or ran to the downstairs. to find some black bread.The servant's room was always empty during the day, and Leonti was alone in a dark corner, lying on a hot and dirty stove.Leonti was tall and thin, with a yellow beard all over his face, and his skin was peeling all over his body.He used to be the cook of his grandmother, but somehow escaped death, and lived an incomprehensible and isolated life for many years... This is the longing for happiness, the longing for a happy life, as if this kind of life is in sight It's coming!But the realization of this dream is usually as simple as waking up from a short sleep, running to find a piece of black bread to eat, or being called to drink tea on the balcony, imagining that it is time to ride a horse and wander the twilight road. that's it

At this time there is a moon at night.Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and the nightingale has stopped singing.The whole world was silent, as if I had been awakened by this excessive silence.I suddenly thought of Pisarev, and felt a sudden terror.A tall shadow appeared by the door of the living room... But the shadow disappeared in an instant, and only a thin layer of dim light was seen covering a corner of the room.Beyond the open window the garden shone in the moonlight, beckoning one into the kingdom of light and silence.I jumped out of bed, opened the living room door carefully, and saw a portrait of my grandmother, wearing a cap, looking at me from the wall in the dark.I gazed at the whole hall, and remembered how many winter moonlit nights I had spent here, and how many wonderful moments I had spent here... Now the hall seemed even more mysterious and bleak, because the moon shone on the right side of the room in summer and never came to visit , and the room itself was a little darker than before, because the Lime Village outside the north window was already full of branches and leaves, casting a huge shade, covering the window... I walked out of the balcony, feeling amazed, puzzled, and even sad by this beautiful night time and time again .What is going on here?What can be done to deal with this feeling? !Now I experience such feelings again in the night.How did it feel when I first saw it all and smelled the difference between dewy burdock and damp grass?The tall and abnormally triangular Podocarpus pine, with one side covered with moonlight, still stands tall, stretching its tooth-like spire towards the transparent night sky.A few scattered little stars twinkled peacefully in the sky, they were so distant and so miraculous, like the eyes of God, that one could not help but kneel down and worship them.The open space in front of the house was filled with a strange light.On the right, over the garden, a full moon shone in the bright, empty sky, pale as a dead man, except for a somewhat dark, undulating outline in it.Now we are all familiar with each other, looking at each other for a long time, silently, without asking or answering, we are waiting for each other... What are we waiting for?All I know is that waiting for something we both sorely lack...

Later, I walked on the grassland in the forest with my shadow. The dewdrops on the grass were crystal clear and mottled, as gorgeous as a rainbow.I walked into a tree-lined road leading to a pond, where the shadows of the trees were half-lit.Yue'er followed me docilely.As I walked, I looked back, it was as bright as a mirror, and sometimes it rolled into a dark place where the branches and leaves were scattered, covered by flickering patterns everywhere, and the mirror surface was momentarily scattered.I stood on the dewy slope near the deep pond.On the right, near the embankment, the water surface of the pool is golden.I stood and gazed, and the moon stood and gazed.On the shore of the pond, under my feet, the sky orifice reflected in the bottom of the lake is dark and shaky.A few wild ducks hid their heads under their wings and slept lightly on the sky under the water, and their reflections hung deeply in the sky above the water.To the left after the pond, in the distance loomed a dark manor, which belonged to the landowner Uvarov, whose illegitimate son Glebochka was.On the opposite side of the pond, there is a sticky slope bathed in direct moonlight.In the past, there is a rural pasture with a bright moonlight, behind the pasture.A row of dark wooden farmhouses... how still--only a living thing can be so still!Suddenly, those wild ducks woke up, stirred up the smooth mirror-like sky below them, and uttered panic calls like thunder, resounding through the surrounding gardens... So I walked slowly along the right side of the pond Let's go, the moon quietly accompanied me, floating on the dark treetops.The trees are also fascinated by the beauty of this moonlit night...

So we went around the garden.It seems that we are meditating together, and we all think together: thinking of the mysterious, distressing but happy love life, thinking of the unpredictable but supposedly happy future, naturally, what we always think about It's An Qing.The image of Pisarev before and after his death has gradually faded away.What was my grandmother leaving behind besides the portrait hanging on the living room wall?The same goes for Pisarev.When I miss him, I think only of his portrait, which hangs in the drawing room of his home in Vasilyevskoye, painted when he was just married (presumably, he hoped he lived a long life!).I used to think: where is this person now?What happened to him?So what is eternal life?Where has he probably gone?But these unanswered questions no longer cause uneasiness and confusion, and there is even some comfort in them.Where is he? Only God can tell. Although I don't understand God, I should trust God. In order to live a happy life, I also believe in God.

An Qing made me more and more miserable.Even during the day, no matter what I see, feel, read, or think, everything is connected with her.I have a deep love for her, tenderness like water, and I miss her day and night.There are so many beauties in the world that we could have shared together, but how can I love her.There is no one to talk to, which makes me very painful.What more can be said about such a moonlit night, which has completely dominated me.As time goes by, even An Qing gradually becomes a legend.Her vivid face also began to fade.You can't believe she was with me and she's still somewhere.Now I only think of her and feel her when I am thinking about love, thinking about love, and thinking about the beauty of a certain beauty...

seven At the beginning of the summer, I read a newsletter in the "Weekly", which I had subscribed to that year, that the complete collection of Naderson's poems had been published.At that time the name Naderson caused great joy even in the remotest provinces!I've read Naderson's poetry, but no matter how hard I try, it doesn't stir my heart. "Let the venom of relentless doubts coagulate in a tortured heart"—that seems to me just stupid nonsense.I have no particular respect for such psalms, which say that moss grows over ponds, and even that "green branches" bend over it.But anyway, Naderson is already a "poet who died young", a young man who "died among roses and cypresses on the shore of the blue southern sea" with beautiful and sad eyes... When I was in I was so excited when I came out to eat in winter after reading about his death and knowing that his metal coffin was "sunk in flowers" and that it had been sent "to cold and foggy Petersburg" for a grand funeral He and his face were pale, so that my father glanced at me in panic from time to time, and he didn't feel at ease until I explained the reason for the pain.

————— ① Semyon Yakovlevich Nadersson (1862-1887) was a Russian poet. "Oh, is that all?" he asked in amazement when he learned that I was only suffering from Naderson's death.Then he added angrily, in a relaxed tone: "How confused you are, though!" At this moment, the newsletter of the "Weekly" makes me very excited again.Over the past winter Naderson's reputation has grown even more remarkable.The thought of honor suddenly entered my mind, and suddenly aroused in me a strong desire to pursue it.To receive this honor must begin now, without a moment's delay, so I decided to go to town tomorrow to find Naderson's collection of poems, so as to get a good idea of ​​who he was, except that the death of a poet, What was it about him that amazed and admired him so much throughout Russia?I had nothing to ride, because Kabaldinka was ill and the work horses were emaciated, and I had to go into town on foot.So I started walking, although the distance was not less than thirty versts. I went out early in the morning, walked non-stop along a hot, deserted road, and arrived at the city library on the Commercial Street in about three hours. .A young lady with curly hair was sitting alone in a small room.The room was covered from top to bottom with hardcover books, many with frayed covers.For some reason, the lady looked at me, a travel-worn person, very curiously.

"Now there's a line to borrow Naderson's books," she said casually. "It's a month before you can wait until..." I was suddenly in a daze, at a loss.Didn't this run thirty versts in vain!But, it seems she just wanted to tease me a little bit. "Aren't you a poet too?" she added immediately, laughing. "I know you, you were a schoolboy when I saw you... Let me lend you my private copy..." I thanked you repeatedly, feeling embarrassed and proud, and blushed.I was so happy to get this precious book that I jumped into the street and almost knocked over a thin girl.The girl was fifteen years old, in a gray denim dress, and had just stepped out of a carriage which was parked near the pavement.There were three strange horses harnessed to this carriage—one-color piebald horses, small in size, strong in muscle, exactly the same in color and appearance.Stranger still was the coachman, who sat hunched over the driver's seat, scrawny, small but strong, ragged but well-dressed.He was a red-haired Caucasian man with a tall brown fur hat tilted back on his head.In the carriage sat a tall, well-mannered lady in a roomy cocoon overcoat, who glanced at me rather sternly and in surprise.The little girl was taken aback and hurriedly asked aside.Her dark tubercular eyes, her bluish delicate face, and her poor diseased lips all expressed strange horror.I was even more at a loss, and shouted to her very excitedly and politely: "Oh, please forgive me!" I didn't look back, and ran straight down the street to the market, just wanting to be in a market. Have a cup of tea in a restaurant and take a quick glance at the book.However, this encounter was destined not to end so simply.

I was very lucky on this day.In the restaurant were some peasants from Baturino.When the peasants saw me, they exclaimed with joy like fellow countrymen meeting in the city: "Isn't this our young master? Master! Please come to our side! Don't feel bad, come and sit with us!" I sat down next to them, very happy in my heart, wishing I could go home with them.really.They immediately offered to send me back by the way.It seems that they came to transport bricks, and the carts were kept outside the city, in the brick factory near Beglaja-Sloboda.They had been loading bricks all evening, and could not turn back until "night."I sat in the brickyard for hours on end.He stared intently at the twilight-empty fields before him that stretched beyond the road.Farmers are busy loading bricks.The town bells were ringing for vespers, and the sun was sinking all over the red fields, but they were still laying bricks.I was worn out with boredom and drowsiness when suddenly a farmer dragged a box of new red bricks onto the wagon and nodded to a troika that was kicking up dust on the avenue beside the road with a mocking sneer. Kiss said:

"That's Mrs. Bibikova. She came to us to find Uvarov. He told me the day before yesterday that he was expecting her to come and bought a sheep to slaughter..." Another farmer went on to say: "That's right, it's her. There's that vampire on the cab..." I took a closer look and immediately recognized the piebald horses that had just parked near the library.It dawned on me.What has not quieted my mind ever since I hurried out of the library is this skinny girl that troubles me.As soon as I heard that she was coming to our Baturino, I jumped up and asked the peasants a series of questions.Then I knew a lot of things at once: Mrs. Bibikova was the girl's mother, she was a widow, and the girl was studying at a college in Voronezh, which the peasants called a "noble institution."They live in their own "manor" on the left bank of the Don River, and their life is quite poor.They were relatives of Uvarov.They also had a relative, Markov, who lived next to them and who gave them some horses.His piebald horses were famous throughout the province, and so was the vampire Caucasian coachman.He used to be Markov's horse trainer, but later "tame down" in his house and became Markov's close friend.The reason is a terrible thing as follows: Once, a gypsy horse thief.Trying to steal the best mare from Markov's herd, only to be whipped to death by this Caucasian...

We left the city in the evening.Pulling slowly, dragging slowly, walking all night--those skinny horses were doing enough to pull a hundred loads of pood weight.What a night!When we were just walking on the road at dusk, a wind suddenly blew up, and clusters of dark clouds rolled in from the east.At first the rumble of thunder shook the entire sky, and what was even more frightening was that flashes of red lightning flashed... Half an hour later, I couldn't see my fingers.In this darkness, sometimes a hot wind blows from all directions, sometimes a cool wind.Those pink and white lightning bolts darted across the dark fields, making people dizzy.The very terrible rumbling and thundering sound roared and crackled above our heads from time to time, like a landslide, deafening.Later, there was a strong wind, thunder and lightning, and the dark clouds in the high sky were pierced by the snake-like white-hot electric light, and tooth-shaped flames flashed out, trembling violently, which was extremely terrifying.Then the rain poured down, the rain splashed, and the torrential rain kept beating us.In this apocalyptic flash and flame, the hellishly dark sky moved above us, and seemed to expose the depths of the nadir all the way, so that we could dimly see the ashes. The cloud mountains shining like yellow steel, they are like the magical Himalayas that have existed since ancient times... I lay on the cold bricks, covered with some coarse cloth and a few thick woolen jackets, and the peasants took the energy It was all covered for me, but it was all soaking wet after five minutes.What have this hellish torment and the great flood to me!I'm totally in love with my new love... Eight For me, Pushkin was a real part of my life at that time. When did he fascinate me?I have heard his poetry since I was a child.We mention his name almost always personally, as to a relative, a person who is wholly "our" and who is with us in both ordinary and particular circumstances of life.All the poems he wrote belonged to "ours".He wrote for us and with our feelings.The storm described in his poem, "the wind whirling with snowflakes in the air", filled the sky with clouds, just like the howling snowstorm on a winter night near the estate in Kamenka.Sometimes my mother indulges in fantasy, and with a lovely, languid smile, she recites to me the poem "Yesterday, I drank with a cavalier" in an old-fashioned way, and I would ask: " Mother, which hussar did you drink with? Is it your dead uncle?" When she read aloud: "I found a small flower in the book, it has long since withered and no longer fragrant" ③ I also saw this flower. Xiaohua is caught in the album of her own girlhood... As for my childhood, it was spent entirely with Pushkin. Lermontov is also inseparable from my boyhood. The blue prairie is silent, The Caucasus is like a silver ring, hold it tight. It stands on the seashore, frowns and sleeps quietly, It was like a giant, bent over the shield, Hearing the parable of the raging waves, And the Black Sea is noisy, not calm for a moment...④ ————— ① See Pushkin's poem "Winter Evening". ② See Pushkin's poem "Teardrops". ③See Pushkin's poem "Little Flower". ④See Lermontov's poem "In memory of Odoevsky". How these verses catered to my boyish thoughts of strange travels, to my longing for distant and beautiful things, to the secret voice of my heart, which awakened and stirred my soul!But I am most affectionate or Pushkin.What emotions he aroused in me!I often use him as my emotional and life partner! I awoke on a cold, sunny morning with the added joy of exclaiming with Pushkin: "Frost and sunshine, what a day!" He not only described the morning so well, but also gave Got me a magic image: Beautiful person, you are sleeping peacefully...② I woke up in a snowstorm, remembered that today I was going hunting with hounds, and I started the day again like Pushkin: I asked: Is it warm?Is the blizzard still under? Is there snow on the ground?can you ride a horse Go hunting, or better yet read in bed The neighbor's old magazines until lunch? ③ ————— ① See Pushkin's poem "Winter Morning". ② See Pushkin's poem "Winter Morning". ③See Pushkin's poem "Winter". In the evening of spring, when Venus was shining over the garden, and the windows of the garden were open, Pushkin was with me again, expressing my heart's desire: Come quickly, my beauty, Venus of love Has ascended to heaven! ① The sky was completely dark, and the whole garden was in distress, and the nightingale was in distress: Did you hear that behind the jungle Singer of love at night, sing your sorrows? ② I slept in my bed "with a sad candle burning beside the bed"—a sad oil candle really, not an electric lamp.Who expressed the love of his youth, or, more correctly, the longing for love, he or me? Oneiroi, please give me the love of distress With sweet joy till dawn! ③ ————— ① See Pushkin's poem "To Doria". ② See Pushkin's poem "The Singer". ③See Pushkin's poem "To Oneiroi". And yonder "the woods stripped off their red coats again, and the winter wheat field suffered another wild game", and I was equally fascinated by this game: How quickly, in the wide fields, My newly shod horse is galloping! Its hooves tap the frozen ground, What a crisp, loud echo! ① At night, when the dim, red moon rose silently over our dead, dark garden, this wonderful line resounded in my mind: Behind the pines, the dim moon, Rising like a phantom in the east,—② My mind is filled with unspeakable dreams of that which is unknowable and which always fascinates me.In this silent hour, the unknowable is in a faraway land: Towards the tumultuous sea-beating shore...③ ————— ① See Pushkin's poem "How Fast". ② See Pushkintao's "Rainy Day". ③ See Pushkin's poem "Rainy Days". Nine My affection for Lisa Bibikova stems not only from my childishness, but also from my love for our way of life.There was a time when all poetry in Russia was closely related to this way of life. My love for Lisa is in the old poetic mood, as I am for any character who belongs entirely to our social class. The spirit of this social class, I suppose, was romanticized, but it was lost forever before my eyes, which made me feel better. I saw that our life began to be poor, but only because of this I cherished it all the more, and I was even a little strangely overjoyed by this poverty... Maybe that's why I discovered my closeness to Pushkin.According to Yazekov's description, Pushkin's home is by no means a scene of wealth: adornment on the wall some hole-punched wallpaper, Floor not repaired, only two windows and a glass door between the windows, A sofa stands in the corner before the icon, And two chairs... But when Lisa lived in Baturino, our poverty was overshadowed by the hot June.The gardens were then covered with greenery, filled with the scent of dead jasmines, and the fragrance of blooming roses, and the pond was swimmable.Our side of the pond, covered with garden shade and steeped in thick, cool grass, was shaded, as in a picture, by tall willow bushes.The young leaves of the willow bushes are shining, the soft branches are flickering... for me.Lisa was forever at one with these swimming early summers, with the June landscape, with the smell of jasmine, roses, strawberries at lunch, willows along the shore, lake water softened by the sun, and green moss.The long leaves of the willow tree are very fragrant, but the taste is bitter... I did not go to the Uvarovs that summer, because Glebochka spent the summer at the agricultural school—he had been transferred to the agricultural school because of poor grades at the secondary school.The Uvarovs did not come to us either, and our relationship was very tense, caused by petty quarrels, as is common in the countryside.But Uvarova finally came to ask her father to allow them to swim in our pond, so she came to us with the Bibikova family almost every day, so that I often met them by accident at the pond.I gave special courtesy to them, bending over and bowing.And Mrs. Bibikova, although she has always been a little arrogant, walks with dignity, but she is wearing a baggy gown and a large bath towel is draped over her shoulders. She salutes me very kindly and with a smile. Probably because I remembered the embarrassment I ran out of the library in the city.Lisa returned the salute, first timidly, then more and more friendly and affectionate.Her skin was a little tanned, and her big eyes sparkled.She was wearing a white sailor top with a blue collar, a rather short blue skirt, no sun hat of any kind, and her black hair was slightly curly in braids in a large white bow.Instead of swimming, she just sat by the pond and watched her mother and Uvarova bathe under a particularly thick willow bush.But sometimes she took off her sandals and walked up and down on the grass, enjoying the tenderness and coolness of the grass.In this way, I saw her bare feet several times.On the green grass, her white and tender feet are extraordinarily elegant and beautiful... Another moonlit night.So I decided to stay up all night, just lie down and sleep when the sun came out, and read and write poems in my room at night, sitting under the light, and then walk in the garden and look at Uvaro from the side of the pond dam. Baby, my manor... During the day, there are often some peasant women and girls on this dam.They leaned over a large, flat boulder by the water, and lifted their trousers up over their knees, revealing their ruddy, thick but still feminine knees, which were very nice.While beating the wet gray clothes with pestles, they talked and laughed lively and heartily.Sometimes they straightened their waists and wiped the sweat from their foreheads with dry sleeves.When I passed them, they joked with me presumptuously, saying, "Master, did you lose something?" Then they bent down and beat harder, crackling, You say something to me, and I don’t know why I laughed.I hurried away, because I could no longer see their bent waists and bare knees... The estate of another of our neighbors, old man Alfirov, is just across the street from us.His son was exiled.Recently, some young ladies from Petersburg came to visit him.They are all his distant relatives, and one of them is named Axia, who is very young and charming.She was tall, quick-witted, lively, strong-willed, and graceful.She enjoys playing croquet, taking pictures, and riding horses.I have become a regular visitor to this manor without knowing it.Asya and I began to develop a degree of friendship with which she bathed me as a child, and at the same time she was very happy to befriend such a child.She used to take pictures of me, and we would play croquet for hours at a time, but often we would stop because I couldn't play, and to her great disappointment, she would scold me in a very lovely accent: "Oh, you fool, my God! How stupid you are!" Our favorite thing is to ride on the high road at dusk.I heard her cries of joy on the horse, saw her flushed face and disheveled hair, felt we were alone in the field, saw her harp-like body and her left hand clenched in the stirrups. Legs, which show from time to time under the swinging skirt, I can no longer be completely indifferent But it is only day and dusk, and at night I devote myself to poetry. One day, it was getting dark in the field, and the warm twilight was getting thicker.Asya and I strolled home, passing a village that smelled like a summer evening.After seeing Asya home, I went back to the compound of my estate; I threw the sweaty Kabaldinka reins to the groom, and ran into the house for dinner, where my brothers and sisters-in-law greeted me at the table. joke.After supper, I went with them to the pasture behind the pond, or to the high road for a walk, and watched the dim red moon rising behind the dark fields, where a gentle warm wind was blowing. .After a walk, I was finally alone.Everything around - the houses, the manor, the trees, the moonlit fields - was silent.I sat by the open window of my room, reading and writing.The slightly cool night wind blows in from the garden full of lights from time to time, shaking the candles.At night, swarms of borer moths danced around the candlelight, and when they were burned by the candlelight, they crackled, gave off a pleasant smell, and fell down, gradually spreading over the entire table.An unbearable drowsiness assailed me, and I could barely keep my eyes open, but I did everything I could to overcome it and stop it... By midnight the drowsiness had passed as usual.I got up and went to the garden.In this June day, according to the habit of summer, the moon moves relatively low. It hides behind the corner of the house and casts a wide shadow on the lawn. From this shadow, the seven-colored star can be seen very clearly. It is quiet. The earth flickers in the east.Far behind gardens, villages, and summer fields, the sound of quail fighting can sometimes be heard faintly from there, which makes one especially intoxicated.Near the house, the 100-year-old linden tree is blooming, and the fragrance is pleasant.The golden moon casts a warm radiance.Later, a white belly appeared in the east, and it seemed that it was approaching dawn.Just now, as usual before dawn, there was only a gust of warm wind blowing from the other side of the pond.Facing the peaceful air current, I walked quietly in the garden and walked to the embankment of the pond... The manor compound of the Uvarov family is connected with the pasture in the country, and the garden behind the house is connected with the fields .I looked at the house from the embankment and could well imagine who was sleeping where.I know that it is Lisa who sleeps in Glebochka's room, and the windows of this room also look directly on the dark, lush garden... I imagine that in this room, Liza is listening to the rustling of leaves. Sleep, the rain outside the window is flowing gently, and the warm wind from the field comes into the window from time to time, touching her dream as a child. It seems that there is nothing in the world that is more pure and beautiful than this dream. that's it.I look there with this feeling, but how on earth can I express my feeling! ? ten This strange way of life, which lasted almost all summer, changed unexpectedly and rapidly.One morning I suddenly learned that the Bibikovas were no longer in Baturino—they had left yesterday.I managed to spend the whole day, looking for Axia near dusk, but what did I hear? "We're going to the Crimea tomorrow," she said when she saw me from a distance, her voice full of joy, as if to make me very happy. After that, the whole world became so empty and boring that I rode out to the fields from time to time.The wheat harvest had begun in the field, and I sat for hours between the ridges and the stubble, staring aimlessly at the reapers.I sat blankly, surrounded by dry and hot heat, and could only hear the rustling of the sickle, which was quite rhythmic.Under the hot, dark blue sky, the completely dried-out, yellow-sand-colored wheat stands up like a high wall, and the plump ears of wheat hang down their heads.The farmers unfastened their belts, and one by one, they walked forward neatly and slowly, staggering towards the sea of ​​wheat.They swung their scythes shining in the sun, rustling, and the wheat lined up.Row on the left, leaving yellow stinging stubble behind, revealing several wide open spaces.They mowed the whole field slowly, all the way to the distance, and turned it into a brand new look... "Master, why are you sitting here for nothing?" a reaper said to me meaningfully and kindly.He was a tall peasant, dark and handsome. "You bring me another sickle and cut the wheat with us..." So I stood up, and without further ado, I walked up to his cart.Then the harvesting began... At first I was in a lot of pain.Due to my haste and clumsiness, I was so exhausted that every night when I went home, I could barely drag my two legs. My waist seemed broken and I couldn't straighten up. Burning pain, his face was hot from the sun, his hair was sticky with sweat, and there was a bitter taste of mugwort in his mouth.But then I got used to this voluntary servitude, and even thought happily: "Go harvest again tomorrow!" After harvesting, it is loaded into trucks and transported away.The job was harder, harder: sticking the fork into a great bundle of springy straw, propping up the slippery fork on your knees, giving it a savage blow that made your stomach ache, and turning the rustling bundle Heavy objects were thrown onto the cart, spiky grains scattered all over him.The cart became more difficult and taller, and the place where it was placed became smaller and smaller, with ears of wheat sheaves exposed on all sides... Later, the mountains of wheat sheaves piled up on the cart were tied up from all sides with thick ropes.The sheaves, though heavy, swayed from side to side, piercing the skin, and exuded the warm, fragrant scent of rye.Then use the rope to pull the wheat sheaves tightly, and tie them firmly to the wooden poles on the edge of the cart... and then follow the rickety giant slowly on the rough dirt road, with the hot paved road The dusty wheels ran side by side, from time to time looking at the work horse, which looked so small under the cart, and from time to time, I worked hard with it in my heart, often worrying that the creaking cart would not be able to bear it anymore under the terrible weight. , at what turn, because the wheels were stuck due to too fast turning, so that the whole load fell down with a bang... All this is not a joke, not to mention that there is no hat on the head under the scorching sun, and the sweat on the chest is like Rain, scorching body, rye dust piercing the whole body, legs shaking with fatigue, mouthful of absinthe! I was still sitting on the threshing floor in September.The uneventful and meager days began.Threshers roared in the drying shed from morning to night, scattering straw and spitting out grains.Some peasant women and girls, with their dusty kerchiefs pulled over their eyes, worked enthusiastically beside the threshing machines with rakes.Other women beat the windmill rhythmically in the dark corner. They held the handle of the windmill, shook the leaves of the fan inside which shouldered the grain, and sang the same song from time to time, the singing was sad and sad.I always listen to them singing, sometimes stand beside them and help them shake the windmill, sometimes help them properly rake the wheat grains that have been dusted out completely clean, and then happily put the wheat into the prepared open pocket.我同这些农家妇女和姑娘们愈来愈亲近和相好了。有一个长腿的红发姑娘，唱歌比大家都大胆，尽管她的性格相当活泼和豪放，但内心却很悲伤。她曾对我完全明白地暗示过，譬如说，她是绝对不怕再次结婚的。如果在我的生活中不发生新的事件，那就不知道这将会引起什么结果。当时我意料不到自己的文章已发表在一家最大的彼得堡的月刊上，我的名字同当时最有名的作家并列在一起，并且还收到邮汇通知单，足有五十卢布。这都使我异常激动，我对自己说，不，这个干燥棚对我已经够啦，该要再去读书和写作，要开始工作了。于是我立刻给卡巴尔金卡备上马鞍——到城里去取汇款……虽然天色已晚，但我还是去备马，套好马后就沿着村庄、大路开始奔跑……当时田间一片空朦，冷落，使人悲愁，令人不乐，可是，我那少年孤寂的心灵却多么振作，朝气蓬勃，迎接生活并对生活充满信心！