章节正文
He stopped on the threshold; he would gladly
have pressed my hand . . . and, had I shown the
slightest desire to embrace him, he would have
thrown himself upon my neck; but I remained
cold as a rock -- and he left the room.
That is just like men! They are all the same:
they know beforehand all the bad points of an
act, they help, they advise, they even encourage it,
seeing the impossibility of any other expedient --
and then they wash their hands of the whole
affair and turn away with indignation from him
who has had the courage to take the whole burden
of responsibility upon himself. They are all like
that, even the best-natured, the wisest. . .
CHAPTER XXII
NEXT morning, having received orders from
the supreme authority to betake myself to
the N---- Fortress, I called upon Princess Ligov-
ski to say good-bye.
She was surprised when, in answer to her ques-
tion, whether I had not anything of special im-
portance to tell her, I said I had come to wish her
good-bye, and so on.
"But I must have a very serious talk with you."
I sat down in silence.
It was clear that she did not know how to
begin; her face grew livid, she tapped the table
with her plump fingers; at length, in a broken
voice, she said:
"Listen, Monsieur Pechorin, I think that you
are a gentleman."
I bowed.
"Nay, I am sure of it," she continued, "al-
though your behaviour is somewhat equivocal,
but you may have reasons which I do not know;
and you must now confide them to me. You have
protected my daughter from slander, you have
fought a duel on her behalf -- consequently you
have risked your life. . . Do not answer. I
know that you will not acknowledge it because
Grushnitski has been killed" -- she crossed herself.
"God forgive him -- and you too, I hope. . .
That does not concern me. . . I dare not con-
demn you because my daughter, although inno-
cently, has been the cause. She has told me
everything . . . everything, I think. You have
declared your love for her. . . She has admitted
hers to you." -- Here Princess Ligovski sighed
heavily. -- "But she is ill, and I am certain that
it is no simple illness! Secret grief is killing her;
she will not confess, but I am convinced that you
are the cause of it. . . Listen: you think, per-
haps, that I am looking for rank or immense
wealth -- be undeceived, my daughter's happiness
is my sole desire. Your present position is un-
enviable, but it may be bettered: you have
means; my daughter loves you; she has been
brought up in such a way that she will make her
husband a happy man. I am wealthy, she is my
only child. . . Tell me, what is keeping you
back? . . . You see, I ought not to be saying all
this to you, but I rely upon your heart, upon your
honour -- remember she is my only daughter . . .
my only one" . . .
She burst into tears.
"Princess," I said, "it is impossible for me to
answer you; allow me to speak to your daughter,
alone" . . .
"Never!" she exclaimed, rising from her
chair in violent agitation.
"As you wish," I answered, preparing to go
away.
She fell into thought, made a sign to me with
her hand that I should wait a little, and left the
room.
Five minutes passed. My heart was beating
violently, but my thoughts were tranquil, my
head cool. However assiduously I sought in my
breast for even a spark of love for the charming
Mary, my efforts were of no avail!
Then the door opened, and she entered.
Heavens! How she had changed since I had last
seen her -- and that but a short time ago!
When she reached the middle of the room, she
staggered. I jumped up, gave her my arm, and
led her to a chair.
I stood facing her. We remained silent for a
long time; her large eyes, full of unutterable
grief, seemed to be searching in mine for some-
thing resembling hope; her wan lips vainly en-
deavoured to smile; her tender hands, which
were folded upon her knees, were so thin and
transparent that I pitied her.
"Princess," I said, "you know that I have
been making fun of you? . . . You must despise
me."
A sickly flush suffused her cheeks.
"Consequently," I continued, "you cannot
love me" . . .
She turned her head away, leaned her elbows
on the table, covered her eyes with her hand, and
it seemed to me that she was on the point of
tears.
"Oh, God!" she said, almost inaudibly.
The situation was growing intolerable. Another
minute -- and I should have fallen at her feet.
"So you see, yourself," I said in as firm a voice
as I could command, and with a forced smile,
"you see, yourself, that I cannot marry you.
Even if you wished it now, you would soon repent.
My conversation with your mother has compelled
me to explain myself to you so frankly and so
brutally. I hope that she is under a delusion: it
will be easy for you to undeceive her. You see, I
am playing a most pitiful and ugly role in your
eyes, and I even admit it -- that is the utmost I
can do for your sake. However bad an opinion
you may entertain of me, I submit to it. . . You
see that I am base in your sight, am I not? . . .
Is it not true that, even if you have loved me, you
would despise me from this moment?" . . .
She turned round to me. She was pale as
marble, but her eyes were sparkling wondrously.
"I hate you" . . . she said.
I thanked her, bowed respectfully, and left the
room.
An hour afterwards a postal express was bearing
me rapidly from Kislovodsk. A few versts from
Essentuki I recognized near the roadway the body
of my spirited horse. The saddle had been taken
off, no doubt by a passing Cossack, and, in its
place, two ravens were sitting on the horse's back.
I sighed and turned away. . .
And now, here in this wearisome fortress, I
often ask myself, as my thoughts wander back to
the past: why did I not wish to tread that way,
thrown open by destiny, where soft joys and ease
of soul were awaiting me? . . . No, I could
never have become habituated to such a fate!
I am like a sailor born and bred on the deck of a
pirate brig: his soul has grown accustomed to
storms and battles; but, once let him be case
upon the shore, and he chafes, he pines away,
however invitingly the shady groves allure, how-
ever brightly shines the peaceful sun. The live-
long day he paces the sandy shore, hearkens to the
monotonous murmur of the onrushing waves, and
gazes into the misty distance: lo! yonder, upon
the pale line dividing the blue deep from the
grey clouds, is there not glancing the longed-for
sail, at first like the wing of a seagull, but little
by little severing itself from the foam of the
billows and, with even course, drawing nigh to
the desert harbour?
APPENDIX
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
(By the Author)
THE preface to a book serves the double
purpose of prologue and epilogue. It
affords the author an opportunity of explaining
the object of the work, or of vindicating himself
and replying to his critics. As a rule, however,
the reader is concerned neither with the moral
purpose of the book nor with the attacks of the
Reviewers, and so the preface remains unread.
Nevertheless, this is a pity, especially with us
Russians! The public of this country is so youth-
ful, not to say simple-minded, that it cannot
understand the meaning of a fable unless the
moral is set forth at the end. Unable to see a
joke, insensible to irony, it has, in a word, been
badly brought up. It has not yet learned that in
a decent book, as in decent society, open invective
can have no place; that our present-day civilisa-
tion has invented a keener weapon, none the less
deadly for being almost invisible, which, under
the cloak of flattery, strikes with sure and irre-
sistible effect. The Russian public is like a
simple-minded person from the country who,
chancing to overhear a conversation between two
diplomatists belonging to hostile courts, comes
away with the conviction that each of them has
been deceiving his Government in the interest of
a most affectionate private friendship.
The unfortunate effects of an over-literal accep-
tation of words by certain readers and even Re-
viewers have recently been manifested in regard to
the present book. Many of its readers have been
dreadfully, and in all seriousness, shocked to find
such an immoral man as Pechorin set before
them as an example. Others have observed,
with much acumen, that the author has painted
his own portrait and those of his acquaint-
ances! . . . What a stale and wretched jest!
But Russia, it appears, has been constituted in
such a way that absurdities of this kind will
never be eradicated. It is doubtful whether, in
this country, the most ethereal of fairy-tales
would escape the reproach of attempting offen-
sive personalities.
Pechorin, gentlemen, is in fact a portrait, but
have pressed my hand . . . and, had I shown the
slightest desire to embrace him, he would have
thrown himself upon my neck; but I remained
cold as a rock -- and he left the room.
That is just like men! They are all the same:
they know beforehand all the bad points of an
act, they help, they advise, they even encourage it,
seeing the impossibility of any other expedient --
and then they wash their hands of the whole
affair and turn away with indignation from him
who has had the courage to take the whole burden
of responsibility upon himself. They are all like
that, even the best-natured, the wisest. . .
CHAPTER XXII
NEXT morning, having received orders from
the supreme authority to betake myself to
the N---- Fortress, I called upon Princess Ligov-
ski to say good-bye.
She was surprised when, in answer to her ques-
tion, whether I had not anything of special im-
portance to tell her, I said I had come to wish her
good-bye, and so on.
"But I must have a very serious talk with you."
I sat down in silence.
It was clear that she did not know how to
begin; her face grew livid, she tapped the table
with her plump fingers; at length, in a broken
voice, she said:
"Listen, Monsieur Pechorin, I think that you
are a gentleman."
I bowed.
"Nay, I am sure of it," she continued, "al-
though your behaviour is somewhat equivocal,
but you may have reasons which I do not know;
and you must now confide them to me. You have
protected my daughter from slander, you have
fought a duel on her behalf -- consequently you
have risked your life. . . Do not answer. I
know that you will not acknowledge it because
Grushnitski has been killed" -- she crossed herself.
"God forgive him -- and you too, I hope. . .
That does not concern me. . . I dare not con-
demn you because my daughter, although inno-
cently, has been the cause. She has told me
everything . . . everything, I think. You have
declared your love for her. . . She has admitted
hers to you." -- Here Princess Ligovski sighed
heavily. -- "But she is ill, and I am certain that
it is no simple illness! Secret grief is killing her;
she will not confess, but I am convinced that you
are the cause of it. . . Listen: you think, per-
haps, that I am looking for rank or immense
wealth -- be undeceived, my daughter's happiness
is my sole desire. Your present position is un-
enviable, but it may be bettered: you have
means; my daughter loves you; she has been
brought up in such a way that she will make her
husband a happy man. I am wealthy, she is my
only child. . . Tell me, what is keeping you
back? . . . You see, I ought not to be saying all
this to you, but I rely upon your heart, upon your
honour -- remember she is my only daughter . . .
my only one" . . .
She burst into tears.
"Princess," I said, "it is impossible for me to
answer you; allow me to speak to your daughter,
alone" . . .
"Never!" she exclaimed, rising from her
chair in violent agitation.
"As you wish," I answered, preparing to go
away.
She fell into thought, made a sign to me with
her hand that I should wait a little, and left the
room.
Five minutes passed. My heart was beating
violently, but my thoughts were tranquil, my
head cool. However assiduously I sought in my
breast for even a spark of love for the charming
Mary, my efforts were of no avail!
Then the door opened, and she entered.
Heavens! How she had changed since I had last
seen her -- and that but a short time ago!
When she reached the middle of the room, she
staggered. I jumped up, gave her my arm, and
led her to a chair.
I stood facing her. We remained silent for a
long time; her large eyes, full of unutterable
grief, seemed to be searching in mine for some-
thing resembling hope; her wan lips vainly en-
deavoured to smile; her tender hands, which
were folded upon her knees, were so thin and
transparent that I pitied her.
"Princess," I said, "you know that I have
been making fun of you? . . . You must despise
me."
A sickly flush suffused her cheeks.
"Consequently," I continued, "you cannot
love me" . . .
She turned her head away, leaned her elbows
on the table, covered her eyes with her hand, and
it seemed to me that she was on the point of
tears.
"Oh, God!" she said, almost inaudibly.
The situation was growing intolerable. Another
minute -- and I should have fallen at her feet.
"So you see, yourself," I said in as firm a voice
as I could command, and with a forced smile,
"you see, yourself, that I cannot marry you.
Even if you wished it now, you would soon repent.
My conversation with your mother has compelled
me to explain myself to you so frankly and so
brutally. I hope that she is under a delusion: it
will be easy for you to undeceive her. You see, I
am playing a most pitiful and ugly role in your
eyes, and I even admit it -- that is the utmost I
can do for your sake. However bad an opinion
you may entertain of me, I submit to it. . . You
see that I am base in your sight, am I not? . . .
Is it not true that, even if you have loved me, you
would despise me from this moment?" . . .
She turned round to me. She was pale as
marble, but her eyes were sparkling wondrously.
"I hate you" . . . she said.
I thanked her, bowed respectfully, and left the
room.
An hour afterwards a postal express was bearing
me rapidly from Kislovodsk. A few versts from
Essentuki I recognized near the roadway the body
of my spirited horse. The saddle had been taken
off, no doubt by a passing Cossack, and, in its
place, two ravens were sitting on the horse's back.
I sighed and turned away. . .
And now, here in this wearisome fortress, I
often ask myself, as my thoughts wander back to
the past: why did I not wish to tread that way,
thrown open by destiny, where soft joys and ease
of soul were awaiting me? . . . No, I could
never have become habituated to such a fate!
I am like a sailor born and bred on the deck of a
pirate brig: his soul has grown accustomed to
storms and battles; but, once let him be case
upon the shore, and he chafes, he pines away,
however invitingly the shady groves allure, how-
ever brightly shines the peaceful sun. The live-
long day he paces the sandy shore, hearkens to the
monotonous murmur of the onrushing waves, and
gazes into the misty distance: lo! yonder, upon
the pale line dividing the blue deep from the
grey clouds, is there not glancing the longed-for
sail, at first like the wing of a seagull, but little
by little severing itself from the foam of the
billows and, with even course, drawing nigh to
the desert harbour?
APPENDIX
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
(By the Author)
THE preface to a book serves the double
purpose of prologue and epilogue. It
affords the author an opportunity of explaining
the object of the work, or of vindicating himself
and replying to his critics. As a rule, however,
the reader is concerned neither with the moral
purpose of the book nor with the attacks of the
Reviewers, and so the preface remains unread.
Nevertheless, this is a pity, especially with us
Russians! The public of this country is so youth-
ful, not to say simple-minded, that it cannot
understand the meaning of a fable unless the
moral is set forth at the end. Unable to see a
joke, insensible to irony, it has, in a word, been
badly brought up. It has not yet learned that in
a decent book, as in decent society, open invective
can have no place; that our present-day civilisa-
tion has invented a keener weapon, none the less
deadly for being almost invisible, which, under
the cloak of flattery, strikes with sure and irre-
sistible effect. The Russian public is like a
simple-minded person from the country who,
chancing to overhear a conversation between two
diplomatists belonging to hostile courts, comes
away with the conviction that each of them has
been deceiving his Government in the interest of
a most affectionate private friendship.
The unfortunate effects of an over-literal accep-
tation of words by certain readers and even Re-
viewers have recently been manifested in regard to
the present book. Many of its readers have been
dreadfully, and in all seriousness, shocked to find
such an immoral man as Pechorin set before
them as an example. Others have observed,
with much acumen, that the author has painted
his own portrait and those of his acquaint-
ances! . . . What a stale and wretched jest!
But Russia, it appears, has been constituted in
such a way that absurdities of this kind will
never be eradicated. It is doubtful whether, in
this country, the most ethereal of fairy-tales
would escape the reproach of attempting offen-
sive personalities.
Pechorin, gentlemen, is in fact a portrait, but
- embrace [im´breis]
vt.&n.拥抱；采纳；信奉 (初中英语单词) - advise [əd´vaiz] vt.忠告；建议；通知 (初中英语单词)
- encourage [in´kʌridʒ] vt.鼓励；怂勇；促进 (初中英语单词)
- responsibility [ri,spɔnsə´biliti] n.责任(心)；职责；任务 (初中英语单词)
- supreme [su:´pri:m, sju:-] a.最高的，无上的 (初中英语单词)
- princess [,prin´ses] n.公主；王妃；亲王夫人 (初中英语单词)
- monsieur [mə´sjə:] n.先生 (初中英语单词)
- acknowledge [ək´nɔlidʒ] vt.(公开)承认；感谢 (初中英语单词)
- forgive [fə´giv] vt.原谅，谅解，宽恕 (初中英语单词)
- confess [kən´fes] vt.供认；坦白；承认 (初中英语单词)
- wealthy [´welθi] a.富有的；丰富的 (初中英语单词)
- violent [´vaiələnt] a.强暴的；猛烈的 (初中英语单词)
- frankly [´fræŋkli] ad.直率地；慷慨地 (初中英语单词)
- utmost [´ʌtməust] a.最大的 n.极端 (初中英语单词)
- entertain [,entə´tein] vt.招待；娱乐；使高兴 (初中英语单词)
- submit [səb´mit] vt.使服从；使忍受 (初中英语单词)
- despise [di´spaiz] vt.轻视，藐视 (初中英语单词)
- saddle [´sædl] n.鞍子 v.装鞍(于) (初中英语单词)
- wander [´wɔndə, ´wɑ:n:dər] v.徘徊；流浪 (初中英语单词)
- peaceful [´pi:sfəl] a.和平的；平静的 (初中英语单词)
- unable [ʌn´eibəl] a.不能的；无能为力的 (初中英语单词)
- weapon [´wepən] n.武器；斗争手段 (初中英语单词)
- invisible [in´vizəbəl] a.看不见的；无形的 (初中英语单词)
- hostile [´hɔstail] a.敌方的，敌意的 (初中英语单词)
- conviction [kən´vikʃən] n.定罪；确信，信服 (初中英语单词)
- unfortunate [ʌn´fɔ:tʃunit] a.不幸的，运气差的 (初中英语单词)
- wretched [´retʃid] a.可怜的；倒霉的 (初中英语单词)
- threshold [´θreʃhəuld] n.门槛；入门；开端 (高中英语单词)
- indignation [,indig´neiʃən] n.愤慨；气愤 (高中英语单词)
- fortress [´fɔ:tris] n.堡垒，要塞 (高中英语单词)
- confide [kən´faid] v.委托；吐露；信任 (高中英语单词)
- behalf [bi´hɑ:f] n.利益 (高中英语单词)
- consequently [´kɔnsikwəntli] ad.因此，所以 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- vainly [´veinli] ad.虚荣地；自负地 (高中英语单词)
- undeceive [,ʌndi´si:v] vt.使不再受骗；使醒悟 (高中英语单词)
- pitiful [´pitifəl] a.可怜的；慈悲的 (高中英语单词)
- postal [´pəustl] a.邮政的 n.明信片 (高中英语单词)
- destiny [´destini] n.命运 (高中英语单词)
- brightly [´braitli] ad.明亮地；聪明地 (高中英语单词)
- preface [´prefis] n.序 v.开始；导致 (高中英语单词)
- concerned [kən´sə:nd] a.有关的；担心的 (高中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- decent [´di:sənt] a.体面的，正派的 (高中英语单词)
- affectionate [ə´fekʃənit] a.亲爱的 (高中英语单词)
- portrait [´pɔ:trit] n.肖像；相片；雕像 (高中英语单词)
- doubtful [´dautful] a.怀疑的，可疑的 (高中英语单词)
- reproach [ri´prəutʃ] vt.&n.责备；指责；耻辱 (高中英语单词)
- beforehand [bi´fɔ:hænd] ad.事先；提前 (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)
- slander [´slɑ:ndə] vt.&n.诽谤(罪) (英语四级单词)
- sickly [´sikli] a.多病的；病态的 (英语四级单词)
- intolerable [in´tɔlərəb(ə)l] a.无法忍受的 (英语四级单词)
- respectfully [ris´pektfuli] ad.恭敬地 (英语四级单词)
- drawing [´drɔ:iŋ] n.画图；制图；图样 (英语四级单词)
- flattery [´flætəri] n.奉承；谄媚的举动 (英语四级单词)
- overhear [,əuvə´hiə] vt.偶然听到；偷听 (英语四级单词)
- impossibility [impɔsi´biliti] n.不可能办到的事 (英语六级单词)
- tranquil [´træŋkwil] a.平静的，稳定的 (英语六级单词)
- delusion [di´lu:ʒən] n.欺骗；幻觉；迷惑 (英语六级单词)
- roadway [´rəudwei] n.车行道；路面 (英语六级单词)
- allure [ə´ljuə, ə´lur] vt.诱惑；吸引 (英语六级单词)
- prologue [´prəulɔg] n.序言 vt.作...的序 (英语六级单词)
- insensible [in´sensəbəl] a.麻木的；冷淡的 (英语六级单词)
- seriousness [´siəriəsnis] n.严肃，认真；重要性 (英语六级单词)
- ethereal [i´θiəriəl] a.飘渺的；稀薄的 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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