章节正文
evil passions. . . Can it be that wickedness is
so attractive? . . .
Grushnitski and I left the house together. In
the street he took my arm, and, after a long
silence, said:
"Well?"
"You are a fool," I should have liked to answer.
But I restrained myself and only shrugged my
shoulders.
CHAPTER VII
6th June.
ALL these days I have not once departed from
my system. Princess Mary has come to like
talking to me; I have told her a few of the
strange events of my life, and she is beginning to
look on me as an extraordinary man. I mock at
everything in the world, especially feelings; and
she is taking alarm. When I am present, she does
not dare to embark upon sentimental discussions
with Grushnitski, and already, on a few occasions,
she has answered his sallies with a mocking smile.
But every time that Grushnitski comes up to her
I assume an air of meekness and leave the two of
them together. On the first occasion, she was
glad, or tried to make it appear so; on the
second, she was angry with me; on the third --
with Grushnitski.
"You have very little vanity!" she said to me
yesterday. "What makes you think that I find
Grushnitski the more entertaining?"
I answered that I was sacrificing my own
pleasure for the sake of the happiness of a friend.
"And my pleasure, too," she added.
I looked at her intently and assumed a serious
air. After that for the whole day I did not speak
a single word to her. . . In the evening, she was
pensive; this morning, at the well, more pensive
still. When I went up to her, she was listening
absent-mindedly to Grushnitski, who was ap-
parently falling into raptures about Nature, but,
so soon as she perceived me, she began to laugh --
at a most inopportune moment -- pretending not
to notice me. I went on a little further and
began stealthily to observe her. She turned
away from her companion and yawned twice.
Decidedly she had grown tired of Grushnitski -- I
will not talk to her for another two days.
CHAPTER VIII
11th June.
I OFTEN ask myself why I am so obstinately
endeavouring to win the love of a young girl
whom I do not wish to deceive, and whom I will
never marry. Why this woman-like coquetry?
Vera loves me more than Princess Mary ever will.
Had I regarded the latter as an invincible beauty, I
should perhaps have been allured by the difficulty
of the undertaking. . .
However, there is no such difficulty in this
case! Consequently, my present feeling is not
that restlesscraving for love which torments us
in the early days of our youth, flinging us from
one woman to another until we find one who can-
not endure us. And then begins our constancy --
that sincere, unending passion which may be
expressed mathematically by a line falling from
a point into space -- the secret of that endlessness
lying only in the impossibility of attaining the
aim, that is to say, the end.
From what motive, then, am I taking all this
trouble? -- Envy of Grushnitski? Poor fellow!
He is quite undeserving of it. Or, is it the result
of that ugly, but invincible, feeling which causes
us to destroy the sweet illusions of our neighbour
in order to have the petty satisfaction of saying
to him, when, in despair, he asks what he is to
believe:
"My friend, the same thing happened to me,
and you see, nevertheless, that I dine, sup, and
sleep very peacefully, and I shall, I hope, know
how to die without tears and lamentations."
There is, in sooth, a boundlessenjoyment in the
possession of a young, scarce-budded soul! It is
like a floweret which exhales its best perfume at
the kiss of the first ray of the sun. You should
pluck the flower at that moment, and, breathing
its fragrance to the full, cast it upon the road:
perchance someone will pick it up! I feel
within me that insatiate hunger which devours
everything it meets upon the way; I look upon
the sufferings and joys of others only from the
point of view of their relation to myself, regarding
them as the nutriment which sustains my
spiritual forces. I myself am no longer capable
of committing follies under the influence of
passion; with me, ambition has been repressed
by circumstances, but it has emerged in another
form, because ambition is nothing more nor less
than a thirst for power, and my chief pleasure is
to make everything that surrounds me subject to
my will. To arouse the feeling of love, devotion
and awe towards oneself -- is not that the first sign,
and the greatest triumph, of power? To be the
cause of suffering and joy to another -- without
in the least possessing any definite right to be
so -- is not that the sweetest food for our pride?
And what is happiness? -- Satisfied pride. Were
I to consider myself the best, the most powerful
man in the world, I should be happy; were all to
love me, I should find within me inexhaustible
springs of love. Evil begets evil; the first
suffering gives us the conception of the satis-
faction of torturing another. The idea of evil
cannot enter the mind without arousing a desire
to put it actually into practice. "Ideas are
organic entities," someone has said. The very
fact of their birth endows them with form, and
that form is action. He in whose brain the most
ideas are born accomplishes the most. From
that cause a genius, chained to an official desk,
must die or go mad, just as it often happens that
a man of powerful constitution, and at the same
time of sedentary life and simple habits, dies of
an apoplectic stroke.
Passions are naught but ideas in their first
development; they are an attribute of the youth
of the heart, and foolish is he who thinks that he
will be agitated by them all his life. Many quiet
rivers begin their course as noisy waterfalls, and
there is not a single stream which will leap or
foam throughout its way to the sea. That quiet-
ness, however, is frequently the sign of great,
though latent, strength. The fulness and depth
of feelings and thoughts do not admit of frenzied
outbursts. In suffering and in enjoyment the soul
renders itself a strictaccount of all it experiences
and convinces itself that such things must be. It
knows that, but for storms, the constant heat of
the sun would dry it up! It imbues itself with
its own life -- pets and punishes itself like a
favourite child. It is only in that highest state
of self-knowledge that a man can appreciate the
divine justice.
On reading over this page, I observe that I have
made a wide digression from my subject. . .
But what matter? . . . You see, it is for myself
that I am writing this diary, and, consequently
anything that I jot down in it will in time be a
valuable reminiscence for me.
. . . . .
Grushnitski has called to see me to-day. He
flung himself upon my neck; he has been pro-
moted to be an officer. We drank champagne.
Doctor Werner came in after him.
"I do not congratulate you," he said to
Grushnitski.
"Why not?"
"Because the soldier's cloak suits you very well,
and you must confess that an infantry uniform,
made by one of the local tailors, will not add
anything of interest to you. . . Do you not
see? Hitherto, you have been an exception,
but now you will come under the general
rule."
"Talk away, doctor, talk away! You will not
prevent me from rejoicing. He does not know,"
added Grushnitski in a whisper to me, "how
many hopes these epaulettes have lent me. . .
Oh! . . . Epaulettes, epaulettes! Your little
stars are guiding stars! No! I am perfectly
happy now!"
"Are you coming with us on our walk to the
hollow?" I asked him.
"I? Not on any account will I show myself to
Princess Mary until my uniform is finished."
"Would you like me to inform her of your
happiness?"
"No, please, not a word. . . I want to give
her a surprise" . . .
"Tell me, though, how are you getting on
with her?"
He became embarrassed, and fell into thought;
he would gladly have bragged and told lies, but
his conscience would not let him; and, at the
same time, he was ashamed to confess the
truth.
"What do you think? Does she love
you?" . . .
"Love me? Good gracious, Pechorin, what
ideas you do have! . . . How could she possibly
love me so soon? . . . And a well-bred woman,
even if she is in love, will never say so" . . .
"Very well! And, I suppose, in your opinion,
a well-bred man should also keep silence in regard
to his passion?" . . .
"Ah, my dear fellow! There are ways of
doing everything; often things may remain
unspoken, but yet may be guessed" . . .
"That is true. . . But the love which we
read in the eyes does not pledge a woman to any-
thing, whilst words. . . Have a care, Grush-
nitski, she is befooling you!"
so attractive? . . .
Grushnitski and I left the house together. In
the street he took my arm, and, after a long
silence, said:
"Well?"
"You are a fool," I should have liked to answer.
But I restrained myself and only shrugged my
shoulders.
CHAPTER VII
6th June.
ALL these days I have not once departed from
my system. Princess Mary has come to like
talking to me; I have told her a few of the
strange events of my life, and she is beginning to
look on me as an extraordinary man. I mock at
everything in the world, especially feelings; and
she is taking alarm. When I am present, she does
not dare to embark upon sentimental discussions
with Grushnitski, and already, on a few occasions,
she has answered his sallies with a mocking smile.
But every time that Grushnitski comes up to her
I assume an air of meekness and leave the two of
them together. On the first occasion, she was
glad, or tried to make it appear so; on the
second, she was angry with me; on the third --
with Grushnitski.
"You have very little vanity!" she said to me
yesterday. "What makes you think that I find
Grushnitski the more entertaining?"
I answered that I was sacrificing my own
pleasure for the sake of the happiness of a friend.
"And my pleasure, too," she added.
I looked at her intently and assumed a serious
air. After that for the whole day I did not speak
a single word to her. . . In the evening, she was
pensive; this morning, at the well, more pensive
still. When I went up to her, she was listening
absent-mindedly to Grushnitski, who was ap-
parently falling into raptures about Nature, but,
so soon as she perceived me, she began to laugh --
at a most inopportune moment -- pretending not
to notice me. I went on a little further and
began stealthily to observe her. She turned
away from her companion and yawned twice.
Decidedly she had grown tired of Grushnitski -- I
will not talk to her for another two days.
CHAPTER VIII
11th June.
I OFTEN ask myself why I am so obstinately
endeavouring to win the love of a young girl
whom I do not wish to deceive, and whom I will
never marry. Why this woman-like coquetry?
Vera loves me more than Princess Mary ever will.
Had I regarded the latter as an invincible beauty, I
should perhaps have been allured by the difficulty
of the undertaking. . .
However, there is no such difficulty in this
case! Consequently, my present feeling is not
that restlesscraving for love which torments us
in the early days of our youth, flinging us from
one woman to another until we find one who can-
not endure us. And then begins our constancy --
that sincere, unending passion which may be
expressed mathematically by a line falling from
a point into space -- the secret of that endlessness
lying only in the impossibility of attaining the
aim, that is to say, the end.
From what motive, then, am I taking all this
trouble? -- Envy of Grushnitski? Poor fellow!
He is quite undeserving of it. Or, is it the result
of that ugly, but invincible, feeling which causes
us to destroy the sweet illusions of our neighbour
in order to have the petty satisfaction of saying
to him, when, in despair, he asks what he is to
believe:
"My friend, the same thing happened to me,
and you see, nevertheless, that I dine, sup, and
sleep very peacefully, and I shall, I hope, know
how to die without tears and lamentations."
There is, in sooth, a boundlessenjoyment in the
possession of a young, scarce-budded soul! It is
like a floweret which exhales its best perfume at
the kiss of the first ray of the sun. You should
pluck the flower at that moment, and, breathing
its fragrance to the full, cast it upon the road:
perchance someone will pick it up! I feel
within me that insatiate hunger which devours
everything it meets upon the way; I look upon
the sufferings and joys of others only from the
point of view of their relation to myself, regarding
them as the nutriment which sustains my
spiritual forces. I myself am no longer capable
of committing follies under the influence of
passion; with me, ambition has been repressed
by circumstances, but it has emerged in another
form, because ambition is nothing more nor less
than a thirst for power, and my chief pleasure is
to make everything that surrounds me subject to
my will. To arouse the feeling of love, devotion
and awe towards oneself -- is not that the first sign,
and the greatest triumph, of power? To be the
cause of suffering and joy to another -- without
in the least possessing any definite right to be
so -- is not that the sweetest food for our pride?
And what is happiness? -- Satisfied pride. Were
I to consider myself the best, the most powerful
man in the world, I should be happy; were all to
love me, I should find within me inexhaustible
springs of love. Evil begets evil; the first
suffering gives us the conception of the satis-
faction of torturing another. The idea of evil
cannot enter the mind without arousing a desire
to put it actually into practice. "Ideas are
organic entities," someone has said. The very
fact of their birth endows them with form, and
that form is action. He in whose brain the most
ideas are born accomplishes the most. From
that cause a genius, chained to an official desk,
must die or go mad, just as it often happens that
a man of powerful constitution, and at the same
time of sedentary life and simple habits, dies of
an apoplectic stroke.
Passions are naught but ideas in their first
development; they are an attribute of the youth
of the heart, and foolish is he who thinks that he
will be agitated by them all his life. Many quiet
rivers begin their course as noisy waterfalls, and
there is not a single stream which will leap or
foam throughout its way to the sea. That quiet-
ness, however, is frequently the sign of great,
though latent, strength. The fulness and depth
of feelings and thoughts do not admit of frenzied
outbursts. In suffering and in enjoyment the soul
renders itself a strictaccount of all it experiences
and convinces itself that such things must be. It
knows that, but for storms, the constant heat of
the sun would dry it up! It imbues itself with
its own life -- pets and punishes itself like a
favourite child. It is only in that highest state
of self-knowledge that a man can appreciate the
divine justice.
On reading over this page, I observe that I have
made a wide digression from my subject. . .
But what matter? . . . You see, it is for myself
that I am writing this diary, and, consequently
anything that I jot down in it will in time be a
valuable reminiscence for me.
. . . . .
Grushnitski has called to see me to-day. He
flung himself upon my neck; he has been pro-
moted to be an officer. We drank champagne.
Doctor Werner came in after him.
"I do not congratulate you," he said to
Grushnitski.
"Why not?"
"Because the soldier's cloak suits you very well,
and you must confess that an infantry uniform,
made by one of the local tailors, will not add
anything of interest to you. . . Do you not
see? Hitherto, you have been an exception,
but now you will come under the general
rule."
"Talk away, doctor, talk away! You will not
prevent me from rejoicing. He does not know,"
added Grushnitski in a whisper to me, "how
many hopes these epaulettes have lent me. . .
Oh! . . . Epaulettes, epaulettes! Your little
stars are guiding stars! No! I am perfectly
happy now!"
"Are you coming with us on our walk to the
hollow?" I asked him.
"I? Not on any account will I show myself to
Princess Mary until my uniform is finished."
"Would you like me to inform her of your
happiness?"
"No, please, not a word. . . I want to give
her a surprise" . . .
"Tell me, though, how are you getting on
with her?"
He became embarrassed, and fell into thought;
he would gladly have bragged and told lies, but
his conscience would not let him; and, at the
same time, he was ashamed to confess the
truth.
"What do you think? Does she love
you?" . . .
"Love me? Good gracious, Pechorin, what
ideas you do have! . . . How could she possibly
love me so soon? . . . And a well-bred woman,
even if she is in love, will never say so" . . .
"Very well! And, I suppose, in your opinion,
a well-bred man should also keep silence in regard
to his passion?" . . .
"Ah, my dear fellow! There are ways of
doing everything; often things may remain
unspoken, but yet may be guessed" . . .
"That is true. . . But the love which we
read in the eyes does not pledge a woman to any-
thing, whilst words. . . Have a care, Grush-
nitski, she is befooling you!"
- attractive [ə´træktiv]
a.有吸引力；诱人的 (初中英语单词) - system [´sistəm] n.系统，体系，制度 (初中英语单词)
- princess [,prin´ses] n.公主；王妃；亲王夫人 (初中英语单词)
- beginning [bi´giniŋ] n.开始，开端；起源 (初中英语单词)
- extraordinary [ik´strɔ:dinəri] a.非常的；额外的 (初中英语单词)
- companion [kəm´pæniən] n.同伴；同事；伴侣 (初中英语单词)
- deceive [di´si:v] vt.欺骗，欺诈 (初中英语单词)
- restless [´restləs] a.没有休息的 (初中英语单词)
- endure [in´djuə] vt.忍耐，忍受；坚持 (初中英语单词)
- sincere [sin´siə] a.真挚的；直率的 (初中英语单词)
- passion [´pæʃən] n.激情；激怒；恋爱 (初中英语单词)
- motive [´məutiv] n.动机；主题 a.运动的 (初中英语单词)
- satisfaction [,sætis´fækʃən] n.满意；满足 (初中英语单词)
- despair [di´speə] vi.&n.绝望 (初中英语单词)
- nevertheless [,nevəðə´les] conj.&ad.然而；不过 (初中英语单词)
- perfume [´pə:fju:m, pə´fju:m] n.香味 vt.使发香 (初中英语单词)
- hunger [´hʌŋgə] n.饥饿；渴望 (初中英语单词)
- ambition [æm´biʃən] n.雄心，野心；企图 (初中英语单词)
- thirst [θə:st] n.渴，口渴；渴望 (初中英语单词)
- arouse [ə´rauz] vt.唤醒，唤起；激起 (初中英语单词)
- triumph [´traiəmf] n.胜利 vi.得胜，战胜 (初中英语单词)
- suffering [´sʌfəriŋ] n.痛苦；灾害 (初中英语单词)
- definite [´definit] a.确定的，明确的 (初中英语单词)
- actually [´æktʃuəli] ad.事实上；实际上 (初中英语单词)
- genius [´dʒi:niəs] n.天才(人物)；天赋 (初中英语单词)
- constitution [,kɔnsti´tju:ʃən] n.宪法；体格；体质 (初中英语单词)
- attribute [ə´tribju:t] n.象征 vt.归因于 (初中英语单词)
- stream [stri:m] n.河 vi.流出；飘扬 (初中英语单词)
- account [ə´kaunt] vi.说明 vt.认为 n.帐目 (初中英语单词)
- constant [´kɔnstənt] a.坚定的；坚贞的 (初中英语单词)
- appreciate [ə´pri:ʃieit] v.评价；珍惜；感激 (初中英语单词)
- reading [´ri:diŋ] n.(阅)读；朗读；读物 (初中英语单词)
- writing [´raitiŋ] n.书写；写作；书法 (初中英语单词)
- confess [kən´fes] vt.供认；坦白；承认 (初中英语单词)
- whisper [´wispə] v.耳语 n.低语；沙沙声 (初中英语单词)
- conscience [´kɔnʃəns] n.良心；道德心 (初中英语单词)
- ashamed [ə´ʃeimd] a.惭愧；不好意思 (初中英语单词)
- gracious [´greiʃəs] a.和蔼可亲的；任慈的 (初中英语单词)
- pledge [pledʒ] n.信物；誓约vt.使发誓 (初中英语单词)
- undertaking [,ʌndə´teikiŋ] n.任务；事业；计划 (高中英语单词)
- consequently [´kɔnsikwəntli] ad.因此，所以 (高中英语单词)
- enjoyment [in´dʒɔimənt] n.享受；愉快；乐趣 (高中英语单词)
- fragrance [´freigrəns] n.芬芳，芳香 (高中英语单词)
- conception [kən´sepʃən] n.构思；概念；怀孕 (高中英语单词)
- naught [nɔ:t] n.无；零 (高中英语单词)
- strict [strikt] a.严厉的；精确的 (高中英语单词)
- congratulate [kən´grætjuleit] vt.祝贺 (高中英语单词)
- infantry [´infəntri] n.步兵(部队) (高中英语单词)
- hitherto [,hiðə´tu:] ad.至今，迄今 (高中英语单词)
- rejoicing [ri´dʒɔisiŋ] n.高兴；欢呼 (高中英语单词)
- gladly [´glædli] ad.愉快地，高兴地 (高中英语单词)
- whilst [wailst] conj.当...时候；虽然 (高中英语单词)
- embark [im´bɑ:k] v.上船；装载；开始 (英语四级单词)
- sentimental [,senti´mentl] a.感伤的；多愁善感的 (英语四级单词)
- intently [in´tentli] ad.专心地 (英语四级单词)
- boundless [´baundlis] a.无边无际的 (英语四级单词)
- departed [di´pɑ:tid] a.已往的；已故的 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- meekness [´mi:knis] n.温顺；卑恭屈节 (英语六级单词)
- stealthily [´stelθili] ad.偷偷地，隐秘地 (英语六级单词)
- craving [´kreiviŋ] n.渴望，热望 (英语六级单词)
- constancy [´kɔnstənsi] n.坚定；坚贞；坚久不变 (英语六级单词)
- impossibility [impɔsi´biliti] n.不可能办到的事 (英语六级单词)
- peacefully [´pisfuli] ad.平静地；安宁地 (英语六级单词)
- latent [´leitənt] a.潜在的，潜伏的 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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