来自：A Sportsman's Sketches
"Yes indeed, we do. My brother Avdyushka and I work as lisovshchiks {"Lisovshchiks" polish and scrape paper. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)}." "I see—factory workers!" "Well, so how did you hear it?" asked Fedya. "Like this. My brother Avdyushka and I had to spend the night, along with Fyodor Mikheyevsky, and Ivashka the Cross-eyed, and another Ivashka from Red Hills, and Ivashka Sukhorukov, and some other boys were there too; there were about ten of us boys altogether—the whole shift; we had to spend the night in the rolling room, not that we exactly had to, but Nazarov, the overseer, forbade us; he says: 'Why should you boys drag yourselves home; there's a lot of work tomorrow, so you boys don't go home.' So we stayed and lay down all together, and Avdyushka started talking, saying, well boys, what if the house spirit comes?... And no sooner had he, Avdey, said this, than suddenly someone started walking above our heads; but we were lying downstairs, and he was walking upstairs, by the wheel. We hear: he's walking, the boards under him bending and creaking; then he passed over our heads; the water suddenly started rushing, rushing along the wheel; the wheel started knocking, knocking, turning; but the sluice gates at the sluice {"Sluice" is what we call the place where water runs onto the wheel. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)} were lowered. We wondered: who raised them so the water started flowing; but the wheel turned and turned, then stopped. That one went to the door upstairs and started coming down the stairs, and you could hear he wasn't hurrying; the steps under him were even groaning... Well, that one approached our door, waited, waited—the door suddenly flung wide open. We got scared, looked—nothing... Suddenly, look, at one vat the mold {The sieve with which paper is scooped. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)} started moving, lifted up, dipped down, moved about, moved about in the air, as if someone was rinsing it, then back in place. Then at another vat the hook came off the nail and back onto the nail; then it was as if someone went to the door and suddenly started coughing, choking, like some sheep, and loudly too... We all fell in a heap, crawling under each other... How frightened we were at that time!" "I'll be!" said Pavel. "Why did it start coughing?" "Don't know; maybe from the dampness." Everyone fell silent. "Well," asked Fedya, "are the potatoes cooked?" Pavlusha felt them. "No, still raw... Listen, it splashed," he added, turning his face toward the river, "must be a pike... And there's a little star falling." "No, I'll tell you something, brothers," Kostya began in a thin voice, "listen, the other day what my father told me when I was there." "Well, we're listening," said Fedya with a patronizing air. "You know Gavrila, the village carpenter?" "Well yes; we know him." "And do you know why he's always so cheerless, always silent, you know? This is why he's so cheerless. He went once, father was telling me,—he went, my brothers, into the forest for nuts. So he went into the forest for nuts, and got lost; went—God knows where he went. He walked and walked, brothers,—no! he can't find the way; and night had already fallen. So he sat down under a tree; let me, he says, wait till morning,—he sat down and dozed off. So he dozed off and suddenly hears someone calling him. He looks—nobody. He dozed off again—called again. He looks again, looks: and before him on a branch sits a rusalka, swaying and calling him to her, and she's dying of laughter, laughing... And the moon was shining strongly, so strongly, the moon was shining clearly—everything, brothers, was visible. So she's calling him, and she herself is all so bright, white sitting on the branch, like some little roach or gudgeon,—or sometimes there's such a whitish carp, silvery... Gavrila the carpenter was frozen with fear, brothers, but she just kept laughing and beckoning him to her with her hand. Gavrila was about to get up, was about to obey the rusalka, brothers, but, evidently, the Lord put sense into him: he made the sign of the cross over himself... And how hard it was for him to make that sign, brothers; he says, his hand was simply like stone, wouldn't move... Oh you!.. So when he made the sign of the cross, brothers, the rusalka stopped laughing, and suddenly started crying... She's crying, brothers, wiping her eyes with her hair, and her hair is green, like hemp. So Gavrila looked and looked at her, and started asking her: 'Why are you crying, forest creature?' And the rusalka speaks to him: 'If you hadn't crossed yourself, man, you would have lived with me in merriment till the end of your days; but I'm crying, I'm grieving because you crossed yourself; but I won't be the only one grieving: grieve too till the end of your days.' Then she, brothers, disappeared, and Gavrila immediately understood how to get out of the forest... But since then he always goes about cheerless." "Well!" said Fedya after a brief silence, "but how can such an unclean forest thing spoil a Christian soul—he didn't obey her?" "There you go!" said Kostya. "And Gavrila said that her voice, he says, was so thin, plaintive, like a toad's." "Your father told this himself?" continued Fedya. "Himself. I was lying on the sleeping platform, heard everything." "A strange thing! Why should he be cheerless?... Well, apparently, he pleased her, that she called him." "Yes, pleased her!" Ilyusha picked up. "Sure! She wanted to tickle him to death, that's what she wanted. That's their business, these rusalkas." "But there must be rusalkas here too," remarked Fedya. "No," answered Kostya, "this is a clean place, open. Except—the river's close." Everyone fell silent. Suddenly, somewhere in the distance, rang out a prolonged, resonant, almost wailing sound, one of those incomprehensible night sounds that sometimes arise amid deep silence, rise, stand in the air and slowly spread at last, as if dying away. You listen—and it's as if there's nothing, but it rings. It seemed someone had cried out long, long under the very horizon, someone else seemed to answer him in the forest with thin, sharp laughter, and a weak, hissing whistle rushed along the river. The boys exchanged glances, shuddered... "The cross be with us!" whispered Ilya. "Eh, you crows!" cried Pavel. "What are you scared of? Look, the potatoes are cooked." (Everyone moved closer to the pot and began eating the steaming potatoes; only Vanya didn't stir.) "What about you?" said Pavel. But he didn't come out from under his mat. The pot was soon completely empty. "Have you heard, boys," Ilyusha began, "what happened the other day at our Varnavitsy?" "At the dam?" asked Fedya. "Yes, yes, at the dam, at the broken one. That's really an unclean place, so unclean, and so desolate. All around are ravines, gullies, and in the gullies all kinds of snakes {In Oryol dialect: serpents. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)} live." "Well, what happened? Tell us..." "Well, this is what happened. Maybe you don't know, Fedya, but there's a drowned man buried there; and he drowned long, long ago, when the pond was still deep; but his grave is still visible, though barely visible: just a little mound... So, the other day, the steward calls the dog-keeper Ermil; he says: 'Go, he says, Ermil, to the post.' Ermil always goes to the post for us; he's killed all his dogs: they don't live with him for some reason, never have lived, but he's a good dog-keeper, took everything. So Ermil went for the post, and lingered in town, and was riding back already drunk. And it was night, and a bright night: the moon was shining... So Ermil is riding across the dam: that was his road. Riding along like that, the dog-keeper Ermil, and he sees: on the drowned man's grave a little lamb, white, curly, pretty, is walking about. So Ermil thinks: 'I'll take it,—why should it perish like that,' and he got down, and took it in his arms... But the lamb—nothing. So Ermil goes to the horse, but the horse shies away from him, snorts, shakes its head; but he calmed it down, got on it with the lamb and rode on again: holding the lamb in front of him. He looks at it, and the lamb looks him right in the eyes. Ermil the dog-keeper felt uneasy: 'I don't remember, he says, rams looking people in the eyes like that'; but never mind; he started stroking its wool, saying: 'Baa, baa!' And the ram suddenly bared its teeth, and also said to him: 'Baa, baa!...' The storyteller had barely uttered this last word when suddenly both dogs rose at once, with convulsive barking rushed away from the fire and disappeared into the darkness. All the boys were frightened. Vanya jumped out from under his mat. Pavel with a shout rushed after the dogs. Their barking quickly receded... The anxious running of the startled herd could be heard. Pavel shouted loudly: "Gray! Beetle!..." In a few moments the barking ceased; Pavel's voice came from far away... A little more time passed; the boys exchanged puzzled glances, as if waiting to see what would happen... Suddenly the hoofbeats of a galloping horse rang out; it stopped sharply right at the fire, and, clutching the mane, Pavel nimbly jumped off. Both dogs also jumped into the circle of light and immediately sat down, tongues hanging out. "What was it? What happened?" the boys asked. "Nothing," Pavel answered, waving his hand at the horse, "the dogs just sensed something. I thought it was a wolf," he added in an indifferent voice, breathing quickly with his whole chest. I involuntarily admired Pavlusha. He was very fine at that moment. His plain face, animated by the swift ride, glowed with bold daring and firm resolve. Without a stick in his hand, at night, he had galloped alone at a wolf without the slightest hesitation... "What a splendid boy!" I thought, looking at him. "Have you seen them, the wolves?" asked the timid Kostya. "There are always many of them here," Pavel answered, "but they're only troublesome in winter." He settled down again before the fire. Sitting down on the ground, he dropped his hand on the shaggy head of one of the dogs, and for a long time the delighted animal didn't turn its head, glancing sideways at Pavlusha with grateful pride. Vanya burrowed under his mat again. "What frightening things you've been telling us, Ilyushka," began Fedya, who, as the son of a wealthy peasant, had to be the leader (though he himself spoke little, as if afraid of lowering his dignity). "And the devil made the dogs bark too... But it's true, I've heard that place of yours is unclean." "Varnavitsy?... Of course it is! Very unclean! They say the old master has been seen there many times—the late master. He walks about, they say, in a long-skirted caftan and keeps groaning, looking for something on the ground. Once grandfather Trofimych met him: 'What, he says, sir, Ivan Ivanovich, are you looking for on the ground?'" "He asked him that?" interrupted the amazed Fedya. "Yes, he asked." "Well, Trofimych is brave after that... Well, and what did he say?" "Looking for break-grass, he says. And he spoke so hollowly, hollowly:—Break-grass.—And why do you need, sir Ivan Ivanovich, break-grass?—The grave is pressing, he says, Trofimych: want to get out, get out..." "What a thing!" remarked Fedya, "didn't live long enough, apparently." "What a wonder!" said Kostya. "I thought you could only see the dead on Parents' Saturday." "You can see the dead any time," Ilyusha picked up with confidence, who, as far as I could observe, knew all the village beliefs best... "But on Parents' Saturday you can see the living one, whose turn it is to die that year. You just have to sit at night on the church porch and keep looking at the road. Those who are to die that year will pass by you on the road. Last year our woman Ulyana went to the porch." "Well, and did she see anyone?" asked Kostya with curiosity. "Of course. First she sat for a long, long time, didn't see or hear anyone... only it seemed like a dog was barking somewhere, barking... Suddenly, she looks: a boy in just a shirt is walking along the path. She looked closely—Ivashka Fedoseyev is walking..." "The one who died in spring?" interrupted Fedya. "The very same. Walking and not raising his little head... And Ulyana recognized him... But then she looks: a woman is walking. She peered and peered,—oh Lord!—she herself is walking along the road, Ulyana herself." "Really herself?" asked Fedya. "By God, herself." "Well what of it, she hasn't died yet?" "But the year hasn't passed yet. And look at her: what's keeping her soul in her body." Everyone fell silent again. Pavel threw a handful of dry twigs on the fire. They turned sharply black against the suddenly flaring flame, crackled, smoked and began to curl, lifting their charred ends. The reflection of light struck, trembling fitfully, in all directions, especially upward. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a white dove flew right into this reflection, circled fearfully in one place, bathed in hot light, and disappeared, wings ringing. "Must have strayed from home," remarked Pavel. "Now it'll fly until it hits something, and where it bumps, there it'll spend the night till dawn." "Well, Pavlusha," said Kostya, "wasn't that a righteous soul flying to heaven, eh?" Pavel threw another handful of twigs on the fire. "Maybe," he said at last. "And tell me, please, Pavlusha," began Fedya, "did you also see the heavenly foreboding {This is what peasants call a solar eclipse. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)} in Shalamovo?" "When the sun disappeared? Of course." "I suppose you were frightened too?" "Not just us. Our master, though he explained to us beforehand that, he says, there will be a foreboding for you, but when it got dark, he himself, they say, got so scared. And the cook woman in the servants' quarters, as soon as it got dark, listen to this, she took the poker and smashed all the pots in the stove: 'Who's going to eat now, she says, the end of the world has come.' So the cabbage soup ran everywhere. And in our village such rumors were going around, brother, that, they say, white wolves would run across the earth, would eat people, a bird of prey would fly, or they'd even see Trishka himself {In the belief about "Trishka," probably echoes the legend of the antichrist. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)}." "What Trishka is that?" asked Kostya. "Don't you know?" Ilyusha picked up eagerly. "Well, brother, where are you from, that you don't know Trishka? Real stay-at-homes you are in your village, that's for sure, stay-at-homes! Trishka—that will be such a remarkable man who will come; and he'll come when the last times arrive. And he'll be such a remarkable man that they won't be able to catch him, and nothing can be done to him: he'll be such a remarkable man. The peasants will want, for example, to catch him; they'll come out at him with clubs, surround him, but he'll deceive their eyes—he'll deceive their eyes so that they'll beat each other instead. They'll put him in jail, for example,—he'll ask for a drink of water in a ladle: they'll bring him a ladle, and he'll dive into it, and that's the last you'll see of him. They'll put chains on him, but he'll just clap his hands—and they'll fall right off him. Well, and this Trishka will go about villages and towns; and this Trishka, a cunning man, will tempt the Christian people... well, but nothing can be done to him... He'll be such a remarkable, cunning man." "Well yes," Pavel continued in his unhurried voice, "that's the one. They were expecting him at our place. The old men were saying that when, they say, the heavenly foreboding begins, then Trishka will come. So the foreboding began. All the people poured out into the street, into the field, waiting to see what would happen. And at our place, you know, it's a visible spot, open. They look—suddenly from the settlement, from the hill, some person is coming, such a strange one, with such a remarkable head... Everyone screamed: 'Oh, Trishka's coming! oh, Trishka's coming!'—and scattered in all directions! Our elder crawled into a ditch; the elder's wife got stuck in the gateway, screaming bloody murder, scared her own yard dog so much that it broke off the chain, jumped over the fence, and into the forest; and Kuzka's father, Dorofeich, jumped into the oats, crouched down, and started crying like a quail: 'Maybe, he says, the enemy, the murderer, will at least spare the bird.' That's how frightened everyone got!.. But the person was our cooper, Vavila: he'd bought himself a new tub and put the empty tub on his head." All the boys laughed and fell silent again for a moment, as often happens with people conversing in the open air. I looked around: night stood solemn and majestic; the damp freshness of late evening had been replaced by midnight's dry warmth, and it would lie long yet as a soft canopy over the sleeping fields; much time remained until the first murmur, the first rustlings and whispers of morning, until the first dewdrops of dawn. There was no moon in the sky: it rose late at that time. Countless golden stars seemed to flow quietly, all twinkling in competition, in the direction of the Milky Way, and truly, looking at them, you seemed to feel dimly yourself the impetuous, ceaseless running of the earth... A strange, sharp, painful cry rang out suddenly twice in succession over the river and, after a few moments, repeated itself farther away... Kostya shuddered. "What's that?" "That's a heron crying," Pavel answered calmly. "A heron," Kostya repeated... "But what was it, Pavlusha, that I heard yesterday evening," he added, after a brief pause, "you might know..." "What did you hear?" "This is what I heard. I was walking from Stone Ridge to Shashkino; and I walked first through our hazel grove, then across the meadow—you know, where it comes out at the sharp bend {Sharp bend—a steep turn in a ravine. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)},—there's a deep pool there {Deep pool—a deep pit with spring water left after flooding, which doesn't dry up even in summer. (Note by I.S. Turgenev.)}, you know; it's all overgrown with reeds; so I walked past this pool, brothers, and suddenly from that pool someone started moaning, and so pitifully, pitifully: oo-oo... oo-oo... oo-oo! Such fear seized me, brothers: it was late, and the voice was so sickly. So it seemed I'd start crying myself... What could that have been? eh?" "In that pool two years ago thieves drowned Akim the forester," remarked Pavel, "so maybe it's his soul complaining." "Well, that could be it, brothers," answered Kostya, widening his already enormous eyes... "I didn't know that Akim was drowned in that pool: I would have been even more frightened." "And they say there are such tiny frogs," Pavel continued, "that cry so pitifully." "Frogs? Well, no, those weren't frogs... what kind of... (The heron cried again over the river.) There it is!" Kostya involuntarily exclaimed, "just like a wood-demon crying." "The wood-demon doesn't cry, he's mute," Ilyusha picked up, "he only claps his hands and rattles..." "And have you seen him, the wood-demon?" Fedya interrupted mockingly. "No, I haven't seen him, and God save me from seeing him; but others have seen him. Just the other day he led one of our peasants astray: led him, led him through the forest, and all around one clearing... He barely made it home by daylight." "Well, and did he see him?" "He saw him. He says he stood there big, big, dark, wrapped up, like behind a tree, you couldn't make him out well, like hiding from the moon, and looking, looking with his huge eyes, blinking them, blinking..." "Oh!" exclaimed Fedya, shuddering slightly and twitching his shoulders, "ugh!.." "And why has this filth spread in the world?" remarked Pavel. "I don't understand, really!" "Don't curse, watch out, he'll hear," remarked Ilya. Silence fell again. "Look, look, boys," Vanya's childish voice suddenly rang out, "look at God's little stars—like bees swarming!" He stuck his fresh little face out from under the mat, propped himself on his fist and slowly raised upward his large quiet eyes. The eyes of all the boys rose to the sky and didn't lower quickly. "Well, Vanya," Fedya spoke gently, "is your sister Anyutka well?" "She's well," Vanya answered, slightly lisping. "Tell her—why doesn't she come to us?..." "I don't know." "Tell her to come." "I'll tell her." "Tell her I'll give her a present." "And will you give me one?" "I'll give you one too." Vanya sighed. "Well, no, I don't need one. Give it to her instead: she's so kind." And Vanya laid his head on the ground again. Pavel stood up and took the empty pot in his hand. "Where are you going?" Fedya asked him. "To the river, to scoop some water: I want to drink some water." The dogs got up and followed him. "Watch you don't fall in the river!" Ilyusha called after him. "Why should he fall in?" said Fedya, "he'll be careful." "Yes, he'll be careful. Anything can happen: he'll bend down, start scooping water, and the water-demon will grab him by the hand and drag him to himself. Then they'll say: the boy fell, they say, into the water... What do you mean fell?.. There, he's gone into the reeds," he added, listening. The reeds were indeed "rustling," parting, as we say. "Is it true," asked Kostya, "that Akulina the fool-woman went mad after she was in the water?" "Since then... What she's like now! But they say she was a beauty before. The water-demon spoiled her. Apparently he didn't expect they'd pull her out so soon. So he spoiled her there, at the bottom." (I myself met this Akulina more than once. Covered in rags, terribly thin, with a face black as coal, a clouded gaze and eternally bared teeth, she stamps for whole hours in one place, somewhere on the road, pressing her bony hands tightly to her chest and slowly swaying from foot to foot, like a wild beast in a cage. She understands nothing, whatever anyone says to her, and only occasionally laughs convulsively.) "And they say," Kostya continued, "that Akulina threw herself in the river because her lover deceived her." "That's why." "And do you remember Vasya?" Kostya added sadly. "What Vasya?" asked Fedya. "The one who drowned," answered Kostya, "in this very river. What a boy he was! oh, what a boy he was! His mother, Feklista, how she loved him, Vasya! And it was as if she sensed, Feklista, that he would perish from water. Sometimes Vasya would go with us, with the boys, in summer to swim in the river,—and she'd be all aflutter. Other women don't care, they walk by with their washtubs, waddling along, but Feklista would put down her tub and start calling him: 'Come back, she'd say, come back, my bright one! oh, come back, my falcon!' And how he drowned, God knows. He was playing on the bank, and his mother was right there, raking hay; suddenly she hears, like someone's blowing bubbles on the water,—she looks, and only Vasya's little cap is floating on the water. Ever since then Feklista hasn't been in her right mind: she'll come and lie down in the place where he drowned; she'll lie down, brothers, and start singing a song,—remember, Vasya always sang such a song,—so she starts singing it, and herself crying, crying, bitterly complaining to God..." "And here comes Pavlusha," said Fedya. Pavel approached the fire with a full pot in his hand. "Well, boys," he began, after a pause, "something's wrong." "What?" Kostya asked hurriedly. "I heard Vasya's voice." Everyone shuddered. "What are you saying, what?" Kostya stammered. "By God. I'd just started bending down to the water, when I suddenly hear someone calling me with Vasya's voice and as if from under the water: 'Pavlusha, oh Pavlusha!' I listen; and he calls again: 'Pavlusha, come here.' I walked away. But I scooped up the water." "Oh Lord! oh Lord!" said the boys, crossing themselves. "That was the water-demon calling you, Pavel," added Fedya... "And we were just talking about him, about Vasya." "Oh, that's a bad omen," said Ilyusha deliberately. "Well, never mind, let it be!" Pavel said decisively and sat down again, "you can't escape your fate." The boys quieted down. It was evident that Pavel's words had made a deep impression on them. They began settling down before the fire, as if preparing to sleep. "What's that?" Kostya suddenly asked, lifting his head. Pavel listened. "Those are sandpipers flying, whistling." "Where are they flying?" "There, where they say there's no winter." "Is there really such a land?" "There is." "Far away?" "Far, far away, beyond the warm seas." Kostya sighed and closed his eyes. More than three hours had passed since I had joined the boys. The moon finally rose; I didn't notice it right away: it was so small and narrow. This moonless night seemed to be just as magnificent as before... But already many stars, still recently standing high in the sky, had declined toward the dark edge of the earth; everything had completely quieted around, as everything usually quiets only toward morning: everything slept a deep, motionless, pre-dawn sleep. The air no longer smelled so strongly,—dampness seemed to spread through it again... Short are summer nights!.. The boys' conversation died down along with the fires... Even the dogs were dozing; the horses, as far as I could make out, in the barely glimmering, weakly flowing light of the stars, also lay with lowered heads... Sweet oblivion came over me; it turned into drowsiness. A fresh stream ran across my face. I opened my eyes: morning was beginning. The dawn wasn't blushing anywhere yet, but the east was already whitening. Everything became visible, though dimly visible, around. The pale-gray sky was brightening, growing cold, turning blue; the stars either twinkled with weak light or disappeared; the earth grew damp, the leaves sweated, living sounds and voices began to be heard here and there, and a thin, early breeze was already wandering and fluttering over the earth. My body answered it with a light, cheerful tremor. I got up briskly and approached the boys. They were all sleeping like the dead around the smoldering fire; only Pavel raised himself halfway and looked intently at me. I nodded to him and went my way along the smoking river. Before I had walked two versts, all around me across the wide wet meadow, and ahead along the greening hills, from forest to forest, and behind along the long dusty road, along the sparkling, crimsoned bushes, and along the river, shyly turning blue from under the thinning fog—first scarlet, then red, golden streams of young, hot light poured forth... Everything stirred, awoke, sang, rustled, spoke. Everywhere large drops of dew sparkled like radiant diamonds; toward me, pure and clear, as if also washed by the morning coolness, came the sounds of a bell, and suddenly past me, driven by the familiar boys, the rested herd rushed by... I must, unfortunately, add that in that same year Pavel was no more. He didn't drown: he was killed, falling from a horse. A pity, he was a splendid lad!
Byryuk
(From the cycle "A Sportsman's Sketches")