章节正文
presented himself to me in the full splendour
of the uniform of the Line infantry. Attached
to his third button was a little bronze chain, on
which hung a double lorgnette. Epaulettes of
incredible size were bent backwards and upwards
in the shape of a cupid's wings; his boots
creaked; in his left hand he held cinnamon-
coloured kid gloves and a forage-cap, and with
his right he kept every moment twisting his
frizzled tuft of hair up into tiny curls. Com-
placency and at the same time a certain diffi-
dence were depicted upon his face. His festal
appearance and proud gait would have made me
burst out laughing, if such a proceeding had
been in accordance with my intentions.
He threw his cap and gloves on the table and
began to pull down the skirts of his coat and to
put himself to rights before the looking-glass. An
enormous black handkerchief, which was twisted
into a very high stiffener for his cravat, and the
bristles of which supported his chin, stuck out an
inch over his collar. It seemed to him to be
rather small, and he drew it up as far as his ears.
As a result of that hard work -- the collar of his
uniform being very tight and uncomfortable --
he grew red in the face.
"They say you have been courting my princess
terribly these last few days?" he said, rather
carelessly and without looking at me.
"'Where are we fools to drink tea!'"[1] I
answered, repeating a pet phrase of one of the
cleverest rogues of past times, once celebrated in
song by Pushkin.
[1] A popular phrase, equivalent to: "How should I think
of doing such a thing?"
"Tell me, does my uniform fit me well? . . .
Oh, the cursed Jew! . . . How it cuts me
under the armpits! . . . Have you got any
scent?"
"Good gracious, what more do you want?
You are reeking of rose pomade as it is."
"Never mind. Give me some" . . .
He poured half a phial over his cravat, his
pocket-handkerchief, his sleeves.
"You are going to dance?" he asked.
"I think not."
"I am afraid I shall have to lead off the
mazurka with Princess Mary, and I scarcely know
a single figure" . . .
"Have you asked her to dance the mazurka
with you?"
"Not yet" . . .
"Mind you are not forestalled" . . .
"Just so, indeed!" he said, striking his fore-
head. "Good-bye. . . I will go and wait for
her at the entrance."
He seized his forage-cap and ran.
Half an hour later I also set off. The street
was dark and deserted. Around the assembly
rooms, or inn -- whichever you prefer -- people
were thronging. The windows were lighted up,
the strains of the regimental band were borne to
me on the evening breeze. I walked slowly; I
felt melancholy.
"Can it be possible," I thought, "that my sole
mission on earth is to destroy the hopes of others?
Ever since I began to live and to act, it seems
always to have been my fate to play a part in the
ending of other people's dramas, as if, but for me,
no one could either die or fall into despair! I
have been the indispensable person of the fifth
act; unwillingly I have played the pitiful part of
an executioner or a traitor. What object has fate
had in this? . . . Surely, I have not been
appointed by destiny to be an author of middle-
class tragedies and family romances, or to be a
collaborator with the purveyor of stories -- for the
'Reader's Library,'[1] for example? . . . How
can I tell? . . . Are there not many people who,
in beginning life, think to end it like Lord Byron
or Alexander the Great, and, nevertheless,
remain Titular Councillors[2] all their days?"
[1] Published by Senkovski, and under the censorship of the
Government.
[2] Civil servants of the ninth (the lowest) class.
Entering the saloon, I concealed myself in a
crowd of men, and began to make my observa-
tions.
Grushnitski was standing beside Princess Mary
and saying something with great warmth. She
was listening to him absent-mindedly and looking
about her, her fan laid to her lips. Impatience
was depicted upon her face, her eyes were
searching all around for somebody. I went
softly behind them in order to listen to their
conversation.
"You torture me, Princess!" Grushnitski
was saying. "You have changed dreadfully since
I saw you last" . . .
"You, too, have changed," she answered, casting
a rapid glance at him, in which he was unable to
detect the latent sneer.
"I! Changed? . . . Oh, never! You know
that such a thing is impossible! Whoever has
seen you once will bear your divine image with
him for ever."
"Stop" . . .
"But why will you not let me say to-night
what you have so often listened to with con-
descension -- and just recently, too?" . . .
"Because I do not like repetitions," she
answered, laughing.
"Oh! I have been bitterly mistaken! . . .
I thought, fool that I was, that these epaulettes,
at least, would give me the right to hope. . .
No, it would have been better for me to have
remained for ever in that contemptible soldier's
cloak, to which, probably, I was indebted for your
attention" . . .
"As a matter of fact, the cloak is much more
becoming to you" . . .
At that moment I went up and bowed to
Princess Mary. She blushed a little, and went on
rapidly:
"Is it not true, Monsieur Pechorin, that the
grey cloak suits Monsieur Grushnitski much
better?" . . .
"I do not agree with you," I answered:
"he is more youthful-looking still in his
uniform."
That was a blow which Grushnitski could not
bear: like all boys, he has pretensions to being an
old man; he thinks that the deep traces of
passions upon his countenance take the place of
the lines scored by Time. He cast a furious
glance at me, stamped his foot, and took himself
off.
"Confess now," I said to Princess Mary: "that
although he has always been most ridiculous, yet
not so long ago he seemed to you to be inter-
esting . . . in the grey cloak?" . . .
She cast her eyes down and made no reply.
Grushnitski followed the Princess about during
the whole evening and danced either with her or
vis-a-vis. He devoured her with his eyes, sighed,
and wearied her with prayers and reproaches.
After the third quadrille she had begun to hate
him.
"I did not expect this from you," he said,
coming up to me and taking my arm.
"What?"
"You are going to dance the mazurka with
her?" he asked in a solemn tone. "She ad-
mitted it" . . .
"Well, what then? It is not a secret,
is it"?*
"Of course not. . . I ought to have expected
such a thing from that chit -- that flirt. . . I
will have my revenge, though!"
"You should lay the blame on your cloak, or
your epaulettes, but why accuse her? What
fault is it of hers that she does not like you any
longer?" . . .
"But why give me hopes?"
"Why did you hope? To desire and to strive
after something -- that I can understand! But
who ever hopes?"
"You have won the wager, but not quite," he
said, with a malignant smile.
The mazurka began. Grushnitski chose no one
but the Princess, other cavaliers chose her every
minute: obviously a conspiracy against me --
all the better! She wants to talk to me, they are
preventing her -- she will want to twice as
much.
I squeezed her hand once or twice; the
second time she drew it away without saying a
word.
"I shall sleep badly to-night," she said to me
when the mazurka was over.
"Grushnitski is to blame for that."
"Oh, no!"
And her face became so pensive, so sad, that I
promised myself that I would not fail to kiss her
hand that evening.
The guests began to disperse. As I was handing
Princess Mary into her carriage, I rapidly pressed
her little hand to my lips. The night was dark
and nobody could see.
I returned to the saloon very well satisfied
with myself.
The young men, Grushnitski amongst them,
were having supper at the large table. As
I came in, they all fell silent: evidently they
had been talking about me. Since the last
ball many of them have been sulky with me,
especially the captain of dragoons; and now,
it seems, a hostile gang is actually being
formed against me, under the command of
Grushnitski. He wears such a proud and
courageous air. . .
of the uniform of the Line infantry. Attached
to his third button was a little bronze chain, on
which hung a double lorgnette. Epaulettes of
incredible size were bent backwards and upwards
in the shape of a cupid's wings; his boots
creaked; in his left hand he held cinnamon-
coloured kid gloves and a forage-cap, and with
his right he kept every moment twisting his
frizzled tuft of hair up into tiny curls. Com-
placency and at the same time a certain diffi-
dence were depicted upon his face. His festal
appearance and proud gait would have made me
burst out laughing, if such a proceeding had
been in accordance with my intentions.
He threw his cap and gloves on the table and
began to pull down the skirts of his coat and to
put himself to rights before the looking-glass. An
enormous black handkerchief, which was twisted
into a very high stiffener for his cravat, and the
bristles of which supported his chin, stuck out an
inch over his collar. It seemed to him to be
rather small, and he drew it up as far as his ears.
As a result of that hard work -- the collar of his
uniform being very tight and uncomfortable --
he grew red in the face.
"They say you have been courting my princess
terribly these last few days?" he said, rather
carelessly and without looking at me.
"'Where are we fools to drink tea!'"[1] I
answered, repeating a pet phrase of one of the
cleverest rogues of past times, once celebrated in
song by Pushkin.
[1] A popular phrase, equivalent to: "How should I think
of doing such a thing?"
"Tell me, does my uniform fit me well? . . .
Oh, the cursed Jew! . . . How it cuts me
under the armpits! . . . Have you got any
scent?"
"Good gracious, what more do you want?
You are reeking of rose pomade as it is."
"Never mind. Give me some" . . .
He poured half a phial over his cravat, his
pocket-handkerchief, his sleeves.
"You are going to dance?" he asked.
"I think not."
"I am afraid I shall have to lead off the
mazurka with Princess Mary, and I scarcely know
a single figure" . . .
"Have you asked her to dance the mazurka
with you?"
"Not yet" . . .
"Mind you are not forestalled" . . .
"Just so, indeed!" he said, striking his fore-
head. "Good-bye. . . I will go and wait for
her at the entrance."
He seized his forage-cap and ran.
Half an hour later I also set off. The street
was dark and deserted. Around the assembly
rooms, or inn -- whichever you prefer -- people
were thronging. The windows were lighted up,
the strains of the regimental band were borne to
me on the evening breeze. I walked slowly; I
felt melancholy.
"Can it be possible," I thought, "that my sole
mission on earth is to destroy the hopes of others?
Ever since I began to live and to act, it seems
always to have been my fate to play a part in the
ending of other people's dramas, as if, but for me,
no one could either die or fall into despair! I
have been the indispensable person of the fifth
act; unwillingly I have played the pitiful part of
an executioner or a traitor. What object has fate
had in this? . . . Surely, I have not been
appointed by destiny to be an author of middle-
class tragedies and family romances, or to be a
collaborator with the purveyor of stories -- for the
'Reader's Library,'[1] for example? . . . How
can I tell? . . . Are there not many people who,
in beginning life, think to end it like Lord Byron
or Alexander the Great, and, nevertheless,
remain Titular Councillors[2] all their days?"
[1] Published by Senkovski, and under the censorship of the
Government.
[2] Civil servants of the ninth (the lowest) class.
Entering the saloon, I concealed myself in a
crowd of men, and began to make my observa-
tions.
Grushnitski was standing beside Princess Mary
and saying something with great warmth. She
was listening to him absent-mindedly and looking
about her, her fan laid to her lips. Impatience
was depicted upon her face, her eyes were
searching all around for somebody. I went
softly behind them in order to listen to their
conversation.
"You torture me, Princess!" Grushnitski
was saying. "You have changed dreadfully since
I saw you last" . . .
"You, too, have changed," she answered, casting
a rapid glance at him, in which he was unable to
detect the latent sneer.
"I! Changed? . . . Oh, never! You know
that such a thing is impossible! Whoever has
seen you once will bear your divine image with
him for ever."
"Stop" . . .
"But why will you not let me say to-night
what you have so often listened to with con-
descension -- and just recently, too?" . . .
"Because I do not like repetitions," she
answered, laughing.
"Oh! I have been bitterly mistaken! . . .
I thought, fool that I was, that these epaulettes,
at least, would give me the right to hope. . .
No, it would have been better for me to have
remained for ever in that contemptible soldier's
cloak, to which, probably, I was indebted for your
attention" . . .
"As a matter of fact, the cloak is much more
becoming to you" . . .
At that moment I went up and bowed to
Princess Mary. She blushed a little, and went on
rapidly:
"Is it not true, Monsieur Pechorin, that the
grey cloak suits Monsieur Grushnitski much
better?" . . .
"I do not agree with you," I answered:
"he is more youthful-looking still in his
uniform."
That was a blow which Grushnitski could not
bear: like all boys, he has pretensions to being an
old man; he thinks that the deep traces of
passions upon his countenance take the place of
the lines scored by Time. He cast a furious
glance at me, stamped his foot, and took himself
off.
"Confess now," I said to Princess Mary: "that
although he has always been most ridiculous, yet
not so long ago he seemed to you to be inter-
esting . . . in the grey cloak?" . . .
She cast her eyes down and made no reply.
Grushnitski followed the Princess about during
the whole evening and danced either with her or
vis-a-vis. He devoured her with his eyes, sighed,
and wearied her with prayers and reproaches.
After the third quadrille she had begun to hate
him.
"I did not expect this from you," he said,
coming up to me and taking my arm.
"What?"
"You are going to dance the mazurka with
her?" he asked in a solemn tone. "She ad-
mitted it" . . .
"Well, what then? It is not a secret,
is it"?*
"Of course not. . . I ought to have expected
such a thing from that chit -- that flirt. . . I
will have my revenge, though!"
"You should lay the blame on your cloak, or
your epaulettes, but why accuse her? What
fault is it of hers that she does not like you any
longer?" . . .
"But why give me hopes?"
"Why did you hope? To desire and to strive
after something -- that I can understand! But
who ever hopes?"
"You have won the wager, but not quite," he
said, with a malignant smile.
The mazurka began. Grushnitski chose no one
but the Princess, other cavaliers chose her every
minute: obviously a conspiracy against me --
all the better! She wants to talk to me, they are
preventing her -- she will want to twice as
much.
I squeezed her hand once or twice; the
second time she drew it away without saying a
word.
"I shall sleep badly to-night," she said to me
when the mazurka was over.
"Grushnitski is to blame for that."
"Oh, no!"
And her face became so pensive, so sad, that I
promised myself that I would not fail to kiss her
hand that evening.
The guests began to disperse. As I was handing
Princess Mary into her carriage, I rapidly pressed
her little hand to my lips. The night was dark
and nobody could see.
I returned to the saloon very well satisfied
with myself.
The young men, Grushnitski amongst them,
were having supper at the large table. As
I came in, they all fell silent: evidently they
had been talking about me. Since the last
ball many of them have been sulky with me,
especially the captain of dragoons; and now,
it seems, a hostile gang is actually being
formed against me, under the command of
Grushnitski. He wears such a proud and
courageous air. . .
- button [´bʌtn]
n.钮扣 vt.扣上(扣子) (初中英语单词) - handkerchief [´hæŋkətʃif] n.手帕，手绢 (初中英语单词)
- collar [´kɔlə] n.衣领；(狗等的)项圈 (初中英语单词)
- phrase [freiz] n.短语；词组；措词 (初中英语单词)
- celebrated [´selibreitid] a.著名的 (初中英语单词)
- gracious [´greiʃəs] a.和蔼可亲的；任慈的 (初中英语单词)
- princess [,prin´ses] n.公主；王妃；亲王夫人 (初中英语单词)
- striking [´straikiŋ] a.显著的，明显的 (初中英语单词)
- breeze [bri:z] n.微风；不费力的事 (初中英语单词)
- traitor [´treitə] n.叛徒，卖国贼 (初中英语单词)
- beginning [bi´giniŋ] n.开始，开端；起源 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- warmth [wɔ:mθ] n.温暖；热情；激动 (初中英语单词)
- torture [´tɔ:tʃə] n.&vt.折磨；痛苦；拷问 (初中英语单词)
- dreadfully [dredfuli] ad.可怕地；糟透地 (初中英语单词)
- unable [ʌn´eibəl] a.不能的；无能为力的 (初中英语单词)
- divine [di´vain] a.神圣的 v.预言 (初中英语单词)
- bitterly [´bitəli] ad.悲痛地；憎恨地 (初中英语单词)
- monsieur [mə´sjə:] n.先生 (初中英语单词)
- countenance [´kauntinəns] n.面部表情；脸色；面容 (初中英语单词)
- solemn [´sɔləm] a.严肃的；隆重的 (初中英语单词)
- revenge [ri´vendʒ] vt.报复 n.报仇；报复 (初中英语单词)
- accuse [ə´kju:z] vt.谴责；控告，告发 (初中英语单词)
- obviously [´ɔbviəsli] ad.明显地；显而易见地 (初中英语单词)
- carriage [´kæridʒ] n.马车；客车；货运 (初中英语单词)
- evidently [´evidəntli] ad.明显地 (初中英语单词)
- hostile [´hɔstail] a.敌方的，敌意的 (初中英语单词)
- actually [´æktʃuəli] ad.事实上；实际上 (初中英语单词)
- infantry [´infəntri] n.步兵(部队) (高中英语单词)
- bronze [brɔnz] n.青铜(器) (高中英语单词)
- proceeding [prə´si:diŋ] n.程序；进程；行动 (高中英语单词)
- accordance [ə´kɔ:dəns] n.一致；调和 (高中英语单词)
- uncomfortable [ʌn´kʌmftəbəl] a.不舒服的，不自在的 (高中英语单词)
- equivalent [i´kwivələnt] a.相等的 n.同等物 (高中英语单词)
- indispensable [,indi´spensəbəl] a.绝对必要的 (高中英语单词)
- pitiful [´pitifəl] a.可怜的；慈悲的 (高中英语单词)
- destiny [´destini] n.命运 (高中英语单词)
- saloon [sə´lu:n] n.大厅；餐车 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- whoever [hu:´evə] pron.任何人，无论谁 (高中英语单词)
- ridiculous [ri´dikjuləs] a.荒谬的；可笑的 (高中英语单词)
- conspiracy [kən´spirəsi] n.密谋；协同作用 (高中英语单词)
- disperse [di´spə:s] v.解散；驱散；传播 (高中英语单词)
- amongst [ə´mʌŋst] prep.其中之一 =among (高中英语单词)
- backwards [´bækwədz] ad.向后 a.向后的 (英语六级单词)
- cravat [krə´væt] n.领带；围巾 (英语六级单词)
- whichever [witʃ´evə] a.&pron.无论哪个(些) (英语六级单词)
- latent [´leitənt] a.潜在的，潜伏的 (英语六级单词)
- contemptible [kən´temptəbəl] a.可鄙的；可轻视的 (英语六级单词)
- indebted [in´detid] a.负债的；感恩的 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- malignant [mə´lignənt] a.恶意的；有害的 (英语六级单词)
- pensive [´pensiv] a.沉思的；忧郁的 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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