章节正文
"In the evening I had a lengthy explanation
with him. I was vexed that his feelings towards
the poor girl had changed; to say nothing of his
spending half the day hunting, his manner
towards her had become cold. He rarely caressed
her, and she was beginning perceptibly to pine
away; her little face was becoming drawn,
her large eyes growing dim.
"'What are you sighing for, Bela?' I would
ask her. 'Are you sad?'
"'No!'
"'Do you want anything?'
"'No!'
"'You are pining for your kinsfolk?'
"'I have none!'
"Sometimes for whole days not a word could
be drawn from her but 'Yes' and 'No.'
"So I straightway proceeded to talk to
Pechorin about her."
CHAPTER IX
"'LISTEN, Maksim Maksimych,' said Pech-
orin. 'Mine is an unfortunate dis-
position; whether it is the result of my up-
bringing or whether it is innate -- I know not.
I only know this, that if I am the cause of un-
happiness in others I myself am no less unhappy.
Of course, that is a poor consolation to them --
only the fact remains that such is the case.
In my early youth, from the moment I ceased
to be under the guardianship of my relations, I
began madly to enjoy all the pleasures which
money could buy -- and, of course, such pleasures
became irksome to me. Then I launched out
into the world of fashion -- and that, too, soon
palled upon me. I fell in love with fashionable
beauties and was loved by them, but my imagina-
tion and egoism alone were aroused; my heart
remained empty. . . I began to read, to study --
but sciences also became utterly wearisome to me.
I saw that neither fame nor happiness depends
on them in the least, because the happiest
people are the uneducated, and fame is good
fortune, to attain which you have only to be
smart. Then I grew bored. . . Soon after-
wards I was transferred to the Caucasus; and
that was the happiest time of my life. I hoped
that under the bullets of the Chechenes boredom
could not exist -- a vain hope! In a month I
grew so accustomed to the buzzing of the bullets
and to the proximity of death that, to tell the
truth, I paid more attention to the gnats -- and
I became more bored than ever, because I had
lost what was almost my last hope. When I saw
Bela in my own house; when, for the first time,
I held her on my knee and kissed her black locks, I,
fool that I was, thought that she was an angel
sent to me by sympathetic fate. . . Again
I was mistaken; the love of a savage is little
better than that of your lady of quality, the
barbaric ignorance and simplicity of the one
weary you as much as the coquetry of the other.
I am not saying that I do not love her still; I
am grateful to her for a few fairly sweet moments;
I would give my life for her -- only I am bored
with her. . . Whether I am a fool or a villain
I know not; but this is certain, I am also most
deserving of pity -- perhaps more than she. My
soul has been spoiled by the world, my imagination
is unquiet, my heart insatiate. To me everything
is of little moment. I become as easily accus-
tomed to grief as to joy, and my life grows emptier
day by day. One expedient only is left to me --
travel.
"'As soon as I can, I shall set off -- but not to
Europe. Heaven forfend! I shall go to America,
to Arabia, to India -- perchance I shall die some-
where on the way. At any rate, I am convinced
that, thanks to storms and bad roads, that last
consolation will not quickly be exhausted!'
"For a long time he went on speaking thus,
and his words have remained stamped upon my
memory, because it was the first time that I had
heard such things from a man of five-and-twenty
-- and Heaven grant it may be the last. Isn't it
astonishing? Tell me, please," continued the
staff-captain, appealing to me. "You used to
live in the Capital, I think, and that not so very
long ago. Is it possible that the young men there
are all like that?"
I replied that there were a good many people
who used the same sort of language, that, prob-
ably, there might even be some who spoke in all
sincerity; that disillusionment, moreover, like
all other vogues, having had its beginning in the
higher strata of society, had descended to the
lower, where it was being worn threadbare,
and that, now, those who were really and truly
bored strove to conceal their misfortune as if it
were a vice. The staff-captain did not under-
stand these subtleties, shook his head, and smiled
slyly.
"Anyhow, I suppose it was the French who
introduced the fashion?"
"No, the English."
"Aha, there you are!" he answered. "They
always have been arrant drunkards, you know!"
Involuntarily I recalled to mind a certain lady,
living in Moscow, who used to maintain that
Byron was nothing more nor less than a drunkard.
However, the staff-captain's observation was
more excusable; in order to abstain from strong
drink, he naturally endeavoured to convince
himself that all the misfortunes in the world are
the result of drunkenness.
CHAPTER X
MEANWHILE the staff-captain continued
his story.
"Kazbich never put in an appearance again;
but somehow -- I don't know why -- I could not
get the idea out of my head that he had had a
reason for coming, and that some mischievous
scheme was in his mind.
"Well, one day Pechorin tried to persuade
me to go boar-hunting with him. For a long
time I refused. What novelty was a wild boar
to me?
"However, off he dragged me, all the same.
We took four or five soldiers and set out early
in the morning. Up till ten o'clock we scurried
about the reeds and the forest -- there wasn't a
wild beast to be found!
"'I say, oughtn't we to be going back?' I
said. 'What's the use of sticking at it? It is
evident enough that we have happened on an
unlucky day!'
"But, in spite of heat and fatigue, Pechorin
didn't like to return empty-handed. . . That
is just the kind of man he was; whatever he set
his heart on he had to have -- evidently, in his
childhood, he had been spoiled by an indulgent
mother. At last, at midday, we discovered one
of those cursed wild boars -- Bang! Bang! -- No
good! -- Off it went into the reeds. That was
an unlucky day, to be sure! . . . So, after a
short rest, we set off homeward. . .
"We rode in silence, side by side, giving the
horses their head. We had almost reached the
fortress, and only the brushwood concealed it
from view. Suddenly a shot rang out. . . We
glanced at each other, both struck with the self-
same suspicion. . . We galloped headlong in
the direction of the shot, looked, and saw the
soldiers clustered together on the rampart and
pointing towards a field, along which a rider was
flying at full speed, holding something white
across his saddle. Grigori Aleksandrovich yelled
like any Chechene, whipped his gun from its
cover, and gave chase -- I after him.
"Luckily, thanks to our unsuccessful hunt,
our horses were not jaded; they strained under
the saddle, and with every moment we drew
nearer and nearer. . . At length I recognised
Kazbich, only I could not make out what it was
that he was holding in front of him.
"Then I drew level with Pechorin and shouted
to him:
"'It is Kazbich!'
"He looked at me, nodded, and struck his
horse with his whip.
"At last we were within gunshot of Kazbich.
Whether it was that his horse was jaded or
not so good as ours, I don't know, but, in
spite of all his efforts, it did not get along very
fast. I fancy at that moment he remembered his
Karagyoz!
"I looked at Pechorin. He was taking aim
as he galloped. . .
"'Don't shoot,' I cried. 'Save the shot!
We will catch up with him as it is.'
"Oh, these young men! Always taking fire
at the wrong moment! The shot rang out and
the bullet broke one of the horse's hind legs. It
gave a few fiery leaps forward, stumbled, and
fell to its knees. Kazbich sprang off, and then
we perceived that it was a woman he was holding
in his arms -- a woman wrapped in a veil. It
was Bela -- poor Bela! He shouted something
to us in his own language and raised his dagger
over her. . . Delay was useless; I fired in my
turn, at haphazard. Probably the bullet struck
him in the shoulder, because he dropped his
hand suddenly. When the smoke cleared off, we
could see the wounded horse lying on the ground
and Bela beside it; but Kazbich, his gun flung
away, was clambering like a cat up the cliff,
through the brushwood. I should have liked
to have brought him down from there -- but I
hadn't a charge ready. We jumped off our
horses and rushed to Bela. Poor girl! She was
lying motionless, and the blood was pouring in
streams from her wound. The villain! If he
with him. I was vexed that his feelings towards
the poor girl had changed; to say nothing of his
spending half the day hunting, his manner
towards her had become cold. He rarely caressed
her, and she was beginning perceptibly to pine
away; her little face was becoming drawn,
her large eyes growing dim.
"'What are you sighing for, Bela?' I would
ask her. 'Are you sad?'
"'No!'
"'Do you want anything?'
"'No!'
"'You are pining for your kinsfolk?'
"'I have none!'
"Sometimes for whole days not a word could
be drawn from her but 'Yes' and 'No.'
"So I straightway proceeded to talk to
Pechorin about her."
CHAPTER IX
"'LISTEN, Maksim Maksimych,' said Pech-
orin. 'Mine is an unfortunate dis-
position; whether it is the result of my up-
bringing or whether it is innate -- I know not.
I only know this, that if I am the cause of un-
happiness in others I myself am no less unhappy.
Of course, that is a poor consolation to them --
only the fact remains that such is the case.
In my early youth, from the moment I ceased
to be under the guardianship of my relations, I
began madly to enjoy all the pleasures which
money could buy -- and, of course, such pleasures
became irksome to me. Then I launched out
into the world of fashion -- and that, too, soon
palled upon me. I fell in love with fashionable
beauties and was loved by them, but my imagina-
tion and egoism alone were aroused; my heart
remained empty. . . I began to read, to study --
but sciences also became utterly wearisome to me.
I saw that neither fame nor happiness depends
on them in the least, because the happiest
people are the uneducated, and fame is good
fortune, to attain which you have only to be
smart. Then I grew bored. . . Soon after-
wards I was transferred to the Caucasus; and
that was the happiest time of my life. I hoped
that under the bullets of the Chechenes boredom
could not exist -- a vain hope! In a month I
grew so accustomed to the buzzing of the bullets
and to the proximity of death that, to tell the
truth, I paid more attention to the gnats -- and
I became more bored than ever, because I had
lost what was almost my last hope. When I saw
Bela in my own house; when, for the first time,
I held her on my knee and kissed her black locks, I,
fool that I was, thought that she was an angel
sent to me by sympathetic fate. . . Again
I was mistaken; the love of a savage is little
better than that of your lady of quality, the
barbaric ignorance and simplicity of the one
weary you as much as the coquetry of the other.
I am not saying that I do not love her still; I
am grateful to her for a few fairly sweet moments;
I would give my life for her -- only I am bored
with her. . . Whether I am a fool or a villain
I know not; but this is certain, I am also most
deserving of pity -- perhaps more than she. My
soul has been spoiled by the world, my imagination
is unquiet, my heart insatiate. To me everything
is of little moment. I become as easily accus-
tomed to grief as to joy, and my life grows emptier
day by day. One expedient only is left to me --
travel.
"'As soon as I can, I shall set off -- but not to
Europe. Heaven forfend! I shall go to America,
to Arabia, to India -- perchance I shall die some-
where on the way. At any rate, I am convinced
that, thanks to storms and bad roads, that last
consolation will not quickly be exhausted!'
"For a long time he went on speaking thus,
and his words have remained stamped upon my
memory, because it was the first time that I had
heard such things from a man of five-and-twenty
-- and Heaven grant it may be the last. Isn't it
astonishing? Tell me, please," continued the
staff-captain, appealing to me. "You used to
live in the Capital, I think, and that not so very
long ago. Is it possible that the young men there
are all like that?"
I replied that there were a good many people
who used the same sort of language, that, prob-
ably, there might even be some who spoke in all
sincerity; that disillusionment, moreover, like
all other vogues, having had its beginning in the
higher strata of society, had descended to the
lower, where it was being worn threadbare,
and that, now, those who were really and truly
bored strove to conceal their misfortune as if it
were a vice. The staff-captain did not under-
stand these subtleties, shook his head, and smiled
slyly.
"Anyhow, I suppose it was the French who
introduced the fashion?"
"No, the English."
"Aha, there you are!" he answered. "They
always have been arrant drunkards, you know!"
Involuntarily I recalled to mind a certain lady,
living in Moscow, who used to maintain that
Byron was nothing more nor less than a drunkard.
However, the staff-captain's observation was
more excusable; in order to abstain from strong
drink, he naturally endeavoured to convince
himself that all the misfortunes in the world are
the result of drunkenness.
CHAPTER X
MEANWHILE the staff-captain continued
his story.
"Kazbich never put in an appearance again;
but somehow -- I don't know why -- I could not
get the idea out of my head that he had had a
reason for coming, and that some mischievous
scheme was in his mind.
"Well, one day Pechorin tried to persuade
me to go boar-hunting with him. For a long
time I refused. What novelty was a wild boar
to me?
"However, off he dragged me, all the same.
We took four or five soldiers and set out early
in the morning. Up till ten o'clock we scurried
about the reeds and the forest -- there wasn't a
wild beast to be found!
"'I say, oughtn't we to be going back?' I
said. 'What's the use of sticking at it? It is
evident enough that we have happened on an
unlucky day!'
"But, in spite of heat and fatigue, Pechorin
didn't like to return empty-handed. . . That
is just the kind of man he was; whatever he set
his heart on he had to have -- evidently, in his
childhood, he had been spoiled by an indulgent
mother. At last, at midday, we discovered one
of those cursed wild boars -- Bang! Bang! -- No
good! -- Off it went into the reeds. That was
an unlucky day, to be sure! . . . So, after a
short rest, we set off homeward. . .
"We rode in silence, side by side, giving the
horses their head. We had almost reached the
fortress, and only the brushwood concealed it
from view. Suddenly a shot rang out. . . We
glanced at each other, both struck with the self-
same suspicion. . . We galloped headlong in
the direction of the shot, looked, and saw the
soldiers clustered together on the rampart and
pointing towards a field, along which a rider was
flying at full speed, holding something white
across his saddle. Grigori Aleksandrovich yelled
like any Chechene, whipped his gun from its
cover, and gave chase -- I after him.
"Luckily, thanks to our unsuccessful hunt,
our horses were not jaded; they strained under
the saddle, and with every moment we drew
nearer and nearer. . . At length I recognised
Kazbich, only I could not make out what it was
that he was holding in front of him.
"Then I drew level with Pechorin and shouted
to him:
"'It is Kazbich!'
"He looked at me, nodded, and struck his
horse with his whip.
"At last we were within gunshot of Kazbich.
Whether it was that his horse was jaded or
not so good as ours, I don't know, but, in
spite of all his efforts, it did not get along very
fast. I fancy at that moment he remembered his
Karagyoz!
"I looked at Pechorin. He was taking aim
as he galloped. . .
"'Don't shoot,' I cried. 'Save the shot!
We will catch up with him as it is.'
"Oh, these young men! Always taking fire
at the wrong moment! The shot rang out and
the bullet broke one of the horse's hind legs. It
gave a few fiery leaps forward, stumbled, and
fell to its knees. Kazbich sprang off, and then
we perceived that it was a woman he was holding
in his arms -- a woman wrapped in a veil. It
was Bela -- poor Bela! He shouted something
to us in his own language and raised his dagger
over her. . . Delay was useless; I fired in my
turn, at haphazard. Probably the bullet struck
him in the shoulder, because he dropped his
hand suddenly. When the smoke cleared off, we
could see the wounded horse lying on the ground
and Bela beside it; but Kazbich, his gun flung
away, was clambering like a cat up the cliff,
through the brushwood. I should have liked
to have brought him down from there -- but I
hadn't a charge ready. We jumped off our
horses and rushed to Bela. Poor girl! She was
lying motionless, and the blood was pouring in
streams from her wound. The villain! If he
- rarely [´reəli]
ad.难得；非凡地 (初中英语单词) - beginning [bi´giniŋ] n.开始，开端；起源 (初中英语单词)
- unfortunate [ʌn´fɔ:tʃunit] a.不幸的，运气差的 (初中英语单词)
- attain [ə´tein] v.取得；到达；成为 (初中英语单词)
- sympathetic [,simpə´θetik] a.同情的，有同情心的 (初中英语单词)
- savage [´sævidʒ] a.野蛮的 n.蛮人 (初中英语单词)
- ignorance [´ignərəns] n.无知，愚昧 (初中英语单词)
- grateful [´greitful] a.感谢的；令人愉快的 (初中英语单词)
- moreover [mɔ:´rəuvə] ad.再者，此外，而且 (初中英语单词)
- conceal [kən´si:l] vt.藏；隐瞒 (初中英语单词)
- moscow [´mɔskəu] n.莫斯科 (初中英语单词)
- maintain [mein´tein] vt.维持；保持；继续 (初中英语单词)
- observation [,ɔbzə´veiʃən] n.观测；注意；意义 (初中英语单词)
- whatever [wɔt´evə] pron.&a.无论什么 (初中英语单词)
- evidently [´evidəntli] ad.明显地 (初中英语单词)
- suspicion [sə´spiʃən] n.怀(猜)疑；嫌疑 (初中英语单词)
- saddle [´sædl] n.鞍子 v.装鞍(于) (初中英语单词)
- bullet [´bulit] n.子弹 (初中英语单词)
- sprang [spræŋ] spring 的过去式 (初中英语单词)
- useless [´ju:sləs] a.无用的，无价值的 (初中英语单词)
- charge [tʃɑ:dʒ] v.收费；冲锋 n.费用 (初中英语单词)
- straightway [´streitwei] ad.立刻 (高中英语单词)
- mistaken [mis´teikən] mistake的过去分词 (高中英语单词)
- simplicity [sim´plisiti] n.简单；朴素 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- strove [strəuv] strive的过去式 (高中英语单词)
- misfortune [mis´fɔ:tʃən] n.不幸；灾祸 (高中英语单词)
- novelty [´nɔvəlti] n.新奇(的事物) (高中英语单词)
- fatigue [fə´ti:g] n.&vt.(使)疲劳(劳累) (高中英语单词)
- homeward [´həumwəd] ad.&a.回家(的) (高中英语单词)
- headlong [´hedlɔŋ] ad.&a.轻率地(的) (高中英语单词)
- motionless [´məuʃənləs] a.静止的；固定的 (高中英语单词)
- consolation [,kɔnsə´leiʃən] n.安慰，慰问 (英语四级单词)
- expedient [ik´spi:diənt] a.合适的 n.权宜之计 (英语四级单词)
- arabia [ə´reibiə] n.阿拉伯 (英语四级单词)
- perchance [pə´tʃɑ:ns] ad.偶然；可能 (英语四级单词)
- midday [´middei] n.中午 (英语四级单词)
- unlucky [ʌn´lʌki] a.倒霉的，不幸的 (英语四级单词)
- unsuccessful [,ʌnsək´sesful] a.不成功的，失败的 (英语四级单词)
- hunting [´hʌntiŋ] n.打猎 (英语六级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
- arrant [´ærənt] a.彻头彻尾的；极恶的 (英语六级单词)
- abstain [əb´stein] vi.节制；戒除 (英语六级单词)
- rampart [´ræmpɑ:t] n.壁垒 vt.防护 (英语六级单词)
- holding [´həuldiŋ] n.保持，固定，存储 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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