幼年 英文版 Childhood
列夫.托尔斯泰 Leo Tolstoy
I
THE TUTOR, KARL IVANITCH
On the 12th of August, 18-- (just three days after my tenthbirthday, when I had been given such wonderful presents), I wasawakened at seven o'clock in the morning by Karl Ivanitchslapping the wall close to my head with a fly-flap made of sugarpaper and a stick. He did this so roughly that he hit the imageof my patron saint suspended to the oaken back of my bed, and thedead fly fell down on my curls. I peeped out from under thecoverlet, steadied the still shaking image with my hand, flickedthe dead fly on to the floor, and gazed at Karl Ivanitch withsleepy, wrathful eyes. He, in a parti-coloured wadded dressing-gown fastened about the waist with a wide belt of the samematerial, a red knitted cap adorned with a tassel, and softslippers of goat skin, went on walking round the walls and takingaim at, and slapping, flies.
"Suppose," I thought to myself," that I am only a small boy,yet why should he disturb me? Why does he not go killing fliesaround Woloda's bed? No; Woloda is older than I, and I am theyoungest of the family, so he torments me. That is what he thinksof all day long--how to tease me. He knows very well that he haswoken me up and frightened me, but he pretends not to notice it.Disgusting brute! And his dressing-gown and cap and tassel too--they are all of them disgusting."
While I was thus inwardly venting my wrath upon Karl Ivanitch, hehad passed to his own bedstead, looked at his watch (which hungsuspended in a little shoe sewn with bugles), and deposited thefly-flap on a nail, then, evidently in the most cheerful moodpossible, he turned round to us.
"Get up, children! It is quite time, and your mother is alreadyin the drawing-room," he exclaimed in his strong German accent.Then he crossed over to me, sat down at my feet, and took hissnuff-box out of his pocket. I pretended to be asleep. KarlIvanitch sneezed, wiped his nose, flicked his fingers, and beganamusing himself by teasing me and tickling my toes as he saidwith a smile, "Well, well, little lazy one!"
For all my dread of being tickled, I determined not to get out ofbed or to answer him,. but hid my head deeper in the pillow,kicked out with all my strength, and strained every nerve to keepfrom laughing.
"How kind he is, and how fond of us!" I thought to myself,Yet to think that I could be hating him so just now!"
I felt angry, both with myself and with Karl Ivanitch, I wantedto laugh and to cry at the same time, for my nerves were all onedge.
"Leave me alone, Karl!" I exclaimed at length, with tears in myeyes, as I raised my head from beneath the bed-clothes.
Karl Ivanitch was taken aback, He left off tickling my feet, andasked me kindly what the matter was, Had I had a disagreeabledream? His good German face and the sympathy with which he soughtto know the cause of my tears made them flow the faster. I feltconscience-stricken, and could not understand how, only a minuteago, I had been hating Karl, and thinking his dressing-gown andcap and tassel disgusting. On the contrary, they looked eminentlylovable now. Even the tassel seemed another token of hisgoodness. I replied that I was crying because I had had a baddream, and had seen Mamma dead and being buried. Of course it wasa mere invention, since I did not remember having dreamt anythingat all that night, but the truth was that Karl's sympathy as hetried to comfort and reassure me had gradually made me believethat I HAD dreamt such a horrible dream, and so weep the more--though from a different cause to the one he imagined
the morning of which I am speaking, Karl Ivanitchtook off his dressing-gown, put on his blue frockcoat with itscreased and crumpled shoulders, adjusted his .
When Karl Ivanitch had left me, I sat up in bed and proceeded todraw my stockings over my little feet. The tears had quite driednow, yet the mournful thought of the invented dream was stillhaunting me a little. Presently Uncle [This term is often appliedby children to old servants in Russia] Nicola came in--a neatlittle man who was always grave, methodical, and respectful, aswell as a great friend of Karl's, He brought with him ourclothes and boots--at least, boots for Woloda, and for myself theold detestable, be-ribanded shoes. In his presence I felt ashamedto cry, and, moreover, the morning sun was shining so gailythrough the window, and Woloda, standing at the washstand as hemimicked Maria Ivanovna (my sister's governess), was laughing soloud and so long, that even the serious Nicola--a towel over hisshoulder, the soap in one hand, and the basin in the other--couldnot help smiling as he said, "Will you please let me wash you,Vladimir Petrovitch?" I had cheered up completely.
"Are you nearly ready?" came Karl's voice from the schoolroom.The tone of that voice sounded stern now, and had nothing in it ofthe kindness which had just touched me so much. In fact, in theschoolroom Karl was altogether a different man from what he wasat other times. There he was the tutor. I washed and dressedmyself hurriedly, and, a brush still in my hand as I smoothed mywet hair, answered to his call. Karl, with spectacles on noseand a book in his hand, was sitting, as usual, between the doorand one of the windows. To the left of the door were two shelves--one of them the children's (that is to say, ours), and the otherone Karl's own. Upon ours were heaped all sorts of books--lessonbooks and play books--some standing up and some lying down. Theonly two standing decorously against the wall were two largevolumes of a Histoire des Voyages, in red binding. On that shelfcould be seen books thick and thin and books large and small, aswell as covers without books and books without covers, sinceeverything got crammed up together anyhow when play time arrivedand we were told to put the "library" (as Karl called theseshelves) in order The collection of books on his own shelf was,if not so numerous as ours, at least more varied. Three of themin particular I remember, namely, a German pamphlet (minus acover) on Manuring Cabbages in Kitchen-Gardens, a History of theSeven Years' War (bound in parchment and burnt at one corner),and a Course of Hydrostatics. Though Karl passed so much of histime in reading that he had injured his sight by doing so, henever read anything beyond these books and The Northern Bee.
Another article on Karl's shelf I remember well. This was around piece of cardboard fastened by a screw to a wooden stand,with a sort of comic picture of a lady and a hairdresser glued tothe cardboard. Karl was very clever at fixing pieces of cardboardtogether, and had devised this contrivance for shielding his weakeyes from any very strong light.
I can see him before me now--the tall figure in its waddeddressing-gown and red cap (a few grey hairs visible beneath thelatter) sitting beside the table; the screen with thehairdresser shading his face; one hand holding a book, and theother one resting on the arm of the chair. Before him lie hiswatch, with a huntsman painted on the dial, a check cottonhandkerchief, a round black snuff-box, and a green spectacle-case, The neatness and orderliness of all these articles showclearly that Karl Ivanitch has a clear conscience and a quietmind.
Sometimes, when tired of running about the salon downstairs, Iwould steal on tiptoe to the schoolroom and find Karl sittingalone in his armchair as, with a grave and quiet expression onhis face, he perused one of his favourite books. Yet sometimes,also, there were moments when he was not reading, and when thespectacles had slipped down his large aquiline nose, and theblue, half-closed eyes and faintly smiling lips seemed to begazing before them with a curious expression, All would be quietin the room--not a sound being audible save his regular breathingand the ticking of the watch with the hunter painted on the dial.He would not see me, and I would stand at the door and think:
"Poor, poor old man! There are many of us, and we can playtogether and be happy, but he sits there all alone, and hasnobody to be fond of him. Surely he speaks truth when he saysthat he is an orphan. And the story of his life, too--how terribleit is! I remember him telling it to Nicola, How dreadful to be inhis position!" Then I would feel so sorry for him that I wouldgo to him, and take his hand, and say, "Dear Karl Ivanitch!" andhe would be visibly delighted whenever I spoke to him like this,and would look much brighter.
On the second wall of the schoolroom hung some maps--mostly torn,but glued together again by Karl's hand. On the third wall (inthe middle of which stood the door) hung, on one side of thedoor, a couple of rulers (one of them ours--much bescratched, andthe other one his--quite a new one), with, on the further side ofthe door, a blackboard on which our more serious faults weremarked by circles and our lesser faults by crosses. To the leftof the blackboard was the corner in which we had to kneel whennaughty. How well I remember that corner--the shutter on thestove, the ventilator above it, and the noise which it made whenturned! Sometimes I would be made to stay in that corner till myback and knees were aching all over, and I would think to myself."Has Karl Ivanitch forgotten me? He goes on sitting quietly inhis arm-chair and reading his Hydrostatics, while I--!" Then, toremind him of my presence, I would begin gently turning theventilator round. Or scratching some plaster off the wall; but ifby chance an extra large piece fell upon the floor, the fright ofit was worse than any punishment. I would glance round at Karl,but he would still be sitting there quietly, book in hand, andpretending that he had noticed nothing.
In the middle of the room stood a table, covered with a tornblack oilcloth so much cut about with penknives that the edge ofthe table showed through. Round the table stood unpainted chairswhich, through use, had attained a high degree of polish. Thefourth and last wall contained three windows, from the first ofwhich the view was as follows, Immediately beneath it there ran ahigh road on which every irregularity, every pebble, every rutwas known and dear to me. Beside the road stretched a row oflime-trees, through which glimpses could be caught of a wattledfence, with a meadow with farm buildings on one side of it and awood on the other--the whole bounded by the keeper's hut at thefurther end of the meadow, The next window to the rightoverlooked the part of the terrace where the "grownups" of thefamily used to sit before luncheon. Sometimes, when Karl wascorrecting our exercises, I would look out of that window and seeMamma's dark hair and the backs of some persons with her, andhear the murmur of their talking and laughter. Then I would feelvexed that I could not be there too, and think to myself, "Whenam I going to be grown up, and to have no more lessons, but sitwith the people whom I love instead of with these horriddialogues in my hand?" Then my anger would change to sadness,and I would fall into such a reverie that I never heard Karl whenhe scolded me for my mistakes.
At last, on the morning of which I am speaking, Karl Ivanitchtook off his dressing-gown, put on his blue frockcoat with itscreased and crumpled shoulders, adjusted his tie before thelooking-glass, and took us down to greet Mamma.