英文版 I Hor and Kalinitch… ……………………………………… 1 II Yermola? and the Miller’s Wife… …………………………14 III Raspberry Spring… ………………………………………26 IV The District Doctor…………………………………………36 V My Neighbour Radilov… …………………………………46 VI The Peasant Proprietor Ovsyanikov… ……………………54 VII Lgov… ……………………………………………………73 VIII Byezhin Prairie… …………………………………………85 IX Kassyan of Fair Springs………………………………… 106 X The Agent… …………………………………………… 126 XI The Counting-House… ………………………………… 140 XII Biryuk…………………………………………………… 158 XIII Two Country Gentlemen………………………………… 167 XIV Lebedyan………………………………………………… 176 XV Tatyana Borissovna and Her Nephew…………………… 189 XVI Death… ………………………………………………… 201 XVII The Singers……………………………………………… 214 XVIII Piotr Petrovitch Karataev… …………………………… 232 XIX The Tryst………………………………………………… 247 XX The Hamlet of the Shtchigri District… ………………… 256 XXI Tchertop-Hanov and Nedopyuskin……………………… 281 XXII The End of Tchertop-Hanov… ………………………… 300 XXIII A Living Relic…………………………………………… 335 XXIV The Rattling of Wheels… ……………………………… 348 EPILOGUE The Forest and the Steppe… …………………………… 363
Death I have a neighbour, a young landowner and a young sportsman.One fine July morning I rode over to him with a proposition that we should go out grouse-shooting together. He agreed. ‘Only let’s go,’he said, ‘to my underwoods at Zusha; I can seize the opportunity to have a look at Tchapligino; you know my oakwood; they’re felling timber there.’ ‘By all means.’ He ordered his horse to be saddled, put on a green coat with bronze buttons, stamped with a boar’s head, a game-bag embroidered in crewels, and a silver flask, slung a newfangled French gun over his shoulder, turned himself about with some satisfaction before the looking-glass, and called his dog, Hope, a gift from his cousin, an old maid with an excellent heart, but no hair on her head. We started. My neighbour took with him the village constable, Arhip, a stout, squat peasant with a square face and jaws of antediluvian proportions, and an overseer he had recently hired from the Baltic provinces, a youth of nineteen, thin, flaxen-haired, and short-sighted, with sloping shoulders and a long neck, Herr Gottlieb von der Kock.My neighbour had himself only recently come into the property. It had come to him by inheritance from an aunt, the widow of a councilor of state, Madame Kardon-Kataev, an excessively stout woman, who did nothing but lie in her bed, sighing and groaning. We reached the underwoods. ‘You wait for me here at the clearing,’ said Ardalion Mihalitch (my neighbour) addressing his companions. The German bowed, got off his horse, pulled a book out of his pocket — a novel of Johanna Schopenhauer’s, I fancy — and sat down under a bush; Arhip remained in the sun without stirring a muscle for an hour. We beat about among the bushes, but did not come on a single covey. Ardalion Mihalitch announced his intention of going on to the wood. I myself had no faith, somehow, in our luck that day; I, too, sauntered after him. We got back to the clearing. The German noted the page, got up, put the book in his pocket, and with some difficulty mounted his bob-tailed, broken-winded mare, who neighed and kicked at the slightest touch;Arhip shook himself, gave a tug at both reins at once, swung his legs,and at last succeeded in starting his torpid and dejected nag. We set off. I had been familiar with Ardalion Mihalitch’s wood from my childhood. I had often strolled in Tchapligino with my French tutor,Monsieur Désiré Fleury, the kindest of men (who had, however, almost ruined my constitution for life by dosing me with Leroux’s mixture every evening). The whole wood consisted of some two or three hundred immense oaks and ash-trees. Their stately, powerful trunks were magnificently black against the transparent golden green of the nut bushes and mountain-ashes; higher up, their wide knotted branches stood out in graceful lines against the clear blue sky, unfolding into a tent overhead; hawks, honey-buzzards and kestrels flew whizzing under the motionless tree-tops; variegated wood-peckers tapped loudly on the stout bark; the blackbird’s bell-like trill was heard suddenly in the thick foliage, following on the ever-changing note of the gold-hammer; in the bushes below was the chirp and twitter of hedge-warblers, siskins, and peewits; finches ran swiftly along the paths; a hare would steal along the edge of the wood, halting cautiously as he ran; a squirrel would hop sporting from tree to tree, then suddenly sit still, with its tail over its head. In the grass among the high ant-hills under the delicate shade of the lovely, feathery, deep-indented bracken, were violets and lilies of the valley, and funguses, russet, yellow, brown, red and crimson; in the patches of grass among the spreading bushes red strawberries were to be found....And oh, the shade in the wood! In the most stifling heat, at mid-day, it was like night in the wood: such peace, such fragrance, such freshness....I had spent happy times in Tchapligino, and so, I must own,it was with melancholy feelings I entered the wood I knew so well. The ruinous, snowless winter of 1840 had not spared my old friends, the oaks and the ashes; withered, naked, covered here and there with sickly foliage, they struggled mournfully up above the young growth which‘took their place, but could never replace them.’ Some trees, still covered with leaves below, fling their lifeless,ruined branches upwards, as it were, in reproach and despair; in others,stout, dead, dry branches are thrust out of the midst of foliage still thick,though with none of the luxuriant abundance of old; others have fallen altogether, and lie rotting like corpses on the ground. And — who could have dreamed of this in former days? — there was no shade — no shade to be found anywhere in Tchapligino! ‘Ah,’ I thought, looking at the dying trees: ‘isn’t it shameful and bitter for you?’...Koltsov’s lines recurred to me:
‘What has become Of the mighty voices, The haughty strength, The royal pomp? Where now is the Wealth of green?...’
以下为对购买帮助不大的评价