"Here you all are," began the prince, "settling yourselves down to listen to me with so much curiosity, that if I do not satisfy you you will probably be angry with me. No, no! I'm only joking!" he added, hastily, with a smile.
"Well, then--they were all children there, and I was always among children and only with children. They were the children of the village in which I lived, and they went to the school there--all of them. I did not teach them, oh no; there was a master for that, one Jules Thibaut. I may have taught them some things, but I was among them just as an outsider, and I passed all four years of my life there among them. I wished for nothing better; I used to tell them everything and hid nothing from them. Their fathers and relations were very angry with me, because the children could do nothing without me at last, and used to throng after me at all times. The schoolmaster was my greatest enemy in the end! I had many enemies, and all because of the children. Even Schneider reproached me. What were they afraid of? One can tell a child everything, anything. I have often been struck by the fact that parents know their children so little. They should not conceal so much from them. How well even little children understand that their parents conceal things from them, because they consider them too young to understand! Children are capable of giving advice in the most important matters. How can one deceive these dear little birds, when they look at one so sweetly and confidingly? I call them birds because there is nothing in the world better than birds!
"However, most of the people were angry with me about one and the same thing; but Thibaut simply was jealous of me. At first he had wagged his head and wondered how it was that the children understood what I told them so well, and could not learn from him; and he laughed like anything when I replied that neither he nor I could teach them very much, but that THEY might teach us a good deal.
"How he could hate me and tell scandalous stories about me, living among children as he did, is what I cannot understand. Children soothe and heal the wounded heart. I remember there was one poor fellow at our professor's who was being treated for madness, and you have no idea what those children did for him, eventually. I don't think he was mad, but only terribly unhappy. But I'll tell you all about him another day. Now I must get on with this story.
"The children did not love me at first; I was such a sickly, awkward kind of a fellow then--and I know I am ugly. Besides, I was a foreigner. The children used to laugh at me, at first; and they even went so far as to throw stones at me, when they saw me kiss Marie. I only kissed her once in my life--no, no, don't laugh!" The prince hastened to suppress the smiles of his audience at this point. "It was not a matter of LOVE at all! If only you knew what a miserable creature she was, you would have pitied her, just as I did. She belonged to our village. Her mother was an old, old woman, and they used to sell string and thread, and soap and tobacco, out of the window of their little house, and lived on the pittance they gained by this trade. The old woman was ill and very old, and could hardly move. Marie was her daughter, a girl of twenty, weak and thin and consumptive; but still she did heavy work at the houses around, day by day. Well, one fine day a commercial traveller betrayed her and carried her off; and a week later he deserted her. She came home dirty, draggled, and shoeless; she had walked for a whole week without shoes; she had slept in the fields, and caught a terrible cold; her feet were swollen and sore, and her hands torn and scratched all over. She never had been pretty even before; but her eyes were quiet, innocent, kind eyes.
"She was very quiet always--and I remember once, when she had suddenly begun singing at her work, everyone said, 'Marie tried to sing today!' and she got so chaffed that she was silent for ever after. She had been treated kindly in the place before; but when she came back now--ill and shunned and miserable--not one of them all had the slightest sympathy for her. Cruel people! Oh, what hazy understandings they have on such matters! Her mother was the first to show the way. She received her wrathfully, unkindly, and with contempt. 'You have disgraced me,' she said. She was the first to cast her into ignominy; but when they all heard that Marie had returned to the village, they ran out to see her and crowded into the little cottage--old men, children, women, girls--such a hurrying, stamping, greedy crowd. Marie was lying on the floor at the old woman's feet, hungry, torn, draggled, crying, miserable.
"When everyone crowded into the room she hid her face in her dishevelled hair and lay cowering on the floor. Everyone looked at her as though she were a piece of dirt off the road. The old men scolded and condemned, and the young ones laughed at her. The women condemned her too, and looked at her contemptuously, just as though she were some loathsome insect.
"Her mother allowed all this to go on, and nodded her head and encouraged them. The old woman was very ill at that time, and knew she was dying (she really did die a couple of months later), and though she felt the end approaching she never thought of forgiving her daughter, to the very day of her death. She would not even speak to her. She made her sleep on straw in a shed, and hardly gave her food enough to support life.
"Marie was very gentle to her mother, and nursed her, and did everything for her; but the old woman accepted all her services without a word and never showed her the slightest kindness. Marie bore all this; and I could see when I got to know her that she thought it quite right and fitting, considering herself the lowest and meanest of creatures.
"When the old woman took to her bed finally, the other old women in the village sat with her by turns, as the custom is there; and then Marie was quite driven out of the house. They gave her no food at all, and she could not get any work in the village; none would employ her. The men seemed to consider her no longer a woman, they said such dreadful things to her. Sometimes on Sundays, if they were drunk enough, they used to throw her a penny or two, into the mud, and Marie would silently pick up the money. She had began to spit blood at that time.
"At last her rags became so tattered and torn that she was ashamed of appearing in the village any longer. The children used to pelt her with mud; so she begged to be taken on as assistant cowherd, but the cowherd would not have her. Then she took to helping him without leave; and he saw how valuable her assistance was to him, and did not drive her away again; on the contrary, he occasionally gave her the remnants of his dinner, bread and cheese. He considered that he was being very kind. When the mother died, the village parson was not ashamed to hold Marie up to public derision and shame. Marie was standing at the coffin's head, in all her rags, crying.
"A crowd of people had collected to see how she would cry. The parson, a young fellow ambitious of becoming a great preacher, began his sermon and pointed to Marie. 'There,' he said, 'there is the cause of the death of this venerable woman'--(which was a lie, because she had been ill for at least two years)--'there she stands before you, and dares not lift her eyes from the ground, because she knows that the finger of God is upon her. Look at her tatters and rags--the badge of those who lose their virtue. Who is she? her daughter!' and so on to the end.
"And just fancy, this infamy pleased them, all of them, nearly. Only the children had altered--for then they were all on my side and had learned to love Marie.
"This is how it was: I had wished to do something for Marie; I longed to give her some money, but I never had a farthing while I was there. But I had a little diamond pin, and this I sold to a travelling pedlar; he gave me eight francs for it--it was worth at least forty.
"I long sought to meet Marie alone; and at last I did meet her, on the hillside beyond the village. I gave her the eight francs and asked her to take care of the money because I could get no more; and then I kissed her and said that she was not to suppose I kissed her with any evil motives or because I was in love with her, for that I did so solely out of pity for her, and because from the first I had not accounted her as guilty so much as unfortunate. I longed to console and encourage her somehow, and to assure her that she was not the low, base thing which she and others strove to make out; but I don't think she understood me. She stood before me, dreadfully ashamed of herself, and with downcast eyes; and when I had finished she kissed my hand. I would have kissed hers, but she drew it away. Just at this moment the whole troop of children saw us. (I found out afterwards that they had long kept a watch upon me.) They all began whistling and clapping their hands, and laughing at us. Marie ran away at once; and when I tried to talk to them, they threw stones at me. All the village heard of it the same day, and Marie's position became worse than ever. The children would not let her pass now in the streets, but annoyed her and threw dirt at her more than before. They used to run after her--she racing away with her poor feeble lungs panting and gasping, and they pelting her and shouting abuse at her.
"Once I had to interfere by force; and after that I took to speaking to them every day and whenever I could. Occasionally they stopped and listened; but they teased Marie all the same.
"I told them how unhappy Marie was, and after a while they stopped their abuse of her, and let her go by silently. Little by little we got into the way of conversing together, the children and I. I concealed nothing from them, I told them all. They listened very attentively and soon began to be sorry for Marie. At last some of them took to saying 'Good-morning' to her, kindly, when they met her. It is the custom there to salute anyone you meet with 'Good-morning' whether acquainted or not. I can imagine how astonished Marie was at these first greetings from the children.
"Once two little girls got hold of some food and took it to her, and came back and told me. They said she had burst into tears, and that they loved her very much now. Very soon after that they all became fond of Marie, and at the same time they began to develop the greatest affection for myself. They often came to me and begged me to tell them stories. I think I must have told stories well, for they did so love to hear them. At last I took to reading up interesting things on purpose to pass them on to the little ones, and this went on for all the rest of my time there, three years. Later, when everyone--even Schneider--was angry with me for hiding nothing from the children, I pointed out how foolish it was, for they always knew things, only they learnt them in a way that soiled their minds but not so from me. One has only to remember one's own childhood to admit the truth of this. But nobody was convinced. . . It was two weeks before her mother died that I had kissed Marie; and when the clergyman preached that sermon the children were all on my side.
"When I told them what a shame it was of the parson to talk as he had done, and explained my reason, they were so angry that some of them went and broke his windows with stones. Of course I stopped them, for that was not right, but all the village heard of it, and how I caught it for spoiling the children! Everyone discovered now that the little ones had taken to being fond of Marie, and their parents were terribly alarmed; but Marie was so happy. The children were forbidden to meet her; but they used to run out of the village to the herd and take her food and things; and sometimes just ran off there and kissed her, and said, 'Je vous aime, Marie!' and then trotted back again. They imagined that I was in love with Marie, and this was the only point on which I did not undeceive them, for they got such enjoyment out of it. And what delicacy and tenderness they showed!
"In the evening I used to walk to the waterfall. There was a spot there which was quite closed in and hidden from view by large trees; and to this spot the children used to come to me. They could not bear that their dear Leon should love a poor girl without shoes to her feet and dressed all in rags and tatters. So, would you believe it, they actually clubbed together, somehow, and bought her shoes and stockings, and some linen, and even a dress! I can't understand how they managed it, but they did it, all together. When I asked them about it they only laughed and shouted, and the little girls clapped their hands and kissed me. I sometimes went to see Marie secretly, too. She had become very ill, and could hardly walk. She still went with the herd, but could not help the herdsman any longer. She used to sit on a stone near, and wait there almost motionless all day, till the herd went home. Her consumption was so advanced, and she was so weak, that she used to sit with closed eyes, breathing heavily. Her face was as thin as a skeleton's, and sweat used to stand on her white brow in large drops. I always found her sitting just like that. I used to come up quietly to look at her; but Marie would hear me, open her eyes, and tremble violently as she kissed my hands. I did not take my hand away because it made her happy to have it, and so she would sit and cry quietly. Sometimes she tried to speak; but it was very difficult to understand her. She was almost like a madwoman, with excitement and ecstasy, whenever I came. Occasionally the children came with me; when they did so, they would stand some way off and keep guard over us, so as to tell me if anybody came near. This was a great pleasure to them.
"When we left her, Marie used to relapse at once into her old condition, and sit with closed eyes and motionless limbs. One day she could not go out at all, and remained at home all alone in the empty hut; but the children very soon became aware of the fact, and nearly all of them visited her that day as she lay alone and helpless in her miserable bed.
"For two days the children looked after her, and then, when the village people got to know that Marie was really dying, some of the old women came and took it in turns to sit by her and look after her a bit. I think they began to be a little sorry for her in the village at last; at all events they did not interfere with the children any more, on her account.
"Marie lay in a state of uncomfortable delirium the whole while; she coughed dreadfully. The old women would not let the children stay in the room; but they all collected outside the window each morning, if only for a moment, and shouted 'Bon jour, notre bonne Marie!' and Marie no sooner caught sight of, or heard them, and she became quite animated at once, and, in spite of the old women, would try to sit up and nod her head and smile at them, and thank them. The little ones used to bring her nice things and sweets to eat, but she could hardly touch anything. Thanks to them, I assure you, the girl died almost perfectly happy. She almost forgot her misery, and seemed to accept their love as a sort of symbol of pardon for her offence, though she never ceased to consider herself a dreadful sinner. They used to flutter at her window just like little birds, calling out: 'Nous t'aimons, Marie!'
"She died very soon; I had thought she would live much longer. The day before her death I went to see her for the last time, just before sunset. I think she recognized me, for she pressed my hand.
"Next morning they came and told me that Marie was dead. The children could not be restrained now; they went and covered her coffin with flowers, and put a wreath of lovely blossoms on her head. The pastor did not throw any more shameful words at the poor dead woman; but there were very few people at the funeral. However, when it came to carrying the coffin, all the children rushed up, to carry it themselves. Of course they could not do it alone, but they insisted on helping, and walked alongside and behind, crying.
"They have planted roses all round her grave, and every year they look alter the flowers and make Marie's resting-place as beautiful as they can. I was in ill odour after all this with the parents of the children, and especially with the parson and schoolmaster. Schneider was obliged to promise that I should not meet them and talk to them; but we conversed from a distance by signs, and they used to write me sweet little notes. Afterwards I came closer than ever to those little souls, but even then it was very dear to me, to have them so fond of me.
"Schneider said that I did the children great harm by my pernicious 'system'; what nonsense that was! And what did he mean by my system? He said afterwards that he believed I was a child myself--just before I came away. 'You have the form and face of an adult' he said, 'but as regards soul, and character, and perhaps even intelligence, you are a child in the completest sense of the word, and always will be, if you live to be sixty.' I laughed very much, for of course that is nonsense. But it is a fact that I do not care to be among grown-up people and much prefer the society of children. However kind people may be to me, I never feel quite at home with them, and am always glad to get back to my little companions. Now my companions have always been children, not because I was a child myself once, but because young things attract me. On one of the first days of my stay in Switzerland, I was strolling about alone and miserable, when I came upon the children rushing noisily out of school, with their slates and bags, and books, their games, their laughter and shouts--and my soul went out to them. I stopped and laughed happily as I watched their little feet moving so quickly. Girls and boys, laughing and crying; for as they went home many of them found time to fight and make peace, to weep and play. I forgot my troubles in looking at them. And then, all those three years, I tried to understand why men should be for ever tormenting themselves. I lived the life of a child there, and thought I should never leave the little village; indeed, I was far from thinking that I should ever return to Russia. But at last I recognized the fact that Schneider could not keep me any longer. And then something so important happened, that Schneider himself urged me to depart. I am going to see now if can get good advice about it. Perhaps my lot in life will be changed; but that is not the principal thing. The principal thing is the entire change that has already come over me. I left many things behind me--too many. They have gone. On the journey I said to myself, 'I am going into the world of men. I don't know much, perhaps, but a new life has begun for me.' I made up my mind to be honest, and steadfast in accomplishing my task. Perhaps I shall meet with troubles and many disappointments, but I have made up my mind to be polite and sincere to everyone; more cannot be asked of me. People may consider me a child if they like. I am often called an idiot, and at one time I certainly was so ill that I was nearly as bad as an idiot; but I am not an idiot now. How can I possibly be so when I know myself that I am considered one?
"When I received a letter from those dear little souls, while passing through Berlin, I only then realized how much I loved them. It was very, very painful, getting that first little letter. How melancholy they had been when they saw me off! For a month before, they had been talking of my departure and sorrowing over it; and at the waterfall, of an evening, when we parted for the night, they would hug me so tight and kiss me so warmly, far more so than before. And every now and then they would turn up one by one when I was alone, just to give me a kiss and a hug, to show their love for me. The whole flock went with me to the station, which was about a mile from the village, and every now and then one of them would stop to throw his arms round me, and all the little girls had tears in their voices, though they tried hard not to cry. As the train steamed out of the station, I saw them all standing on the platform waving to me and crying 'Hurrah!' till they were lost in the distance.
"I assure you, when I came in here just now and saw your kind faces (I can read faces well) my heart felt light for the first time since that moment of parting. I think I must be one of those who are born to be in luck, for one does not often meet with people whom one feels he can love from the first sight of their faces; and yet, no sooner do I step out of the railway carriage than I happen upon you!
"I know it is more or less a shamefaced thing to speak of one's feelings before others; and yet here am I talking like this to you, and am not a bit ashamed or shy. I am an unsociable sort of fellow and shall very likely not come to see you again for some time; but don't think the worse of me for that. It is not that I do not value your society; and you must never suppose that I have taken offence at anything.
"You asked me about your faces, and what I could read in them; I will tell you with the greatest pleasure. You, Adelaida Ivanovna, have a very happy face; it is the most sympathetic of the three. Not to speak of your natural beauty, one can look at your face and say to one's self, 'She has the face of a kind sister.' You are simple and merry, but you can see into another's heart very quickly. That's what I read in your face.
"You too, Alexandra Ivanovna, have a very lovely face; but I think you may have some secret sorrow. Your heart is undoubtedly a kind, good one, but you are not merry. There is a certain suspicion of 'shadow' in your face, like in that of Holbein's Madonna in Dresden. So much for your face. Have I guessed right?
"As for your face, Lizabetha Prokofievna, I not only think, but am perfectly SURE, that you are an absolute child--in all, in all, mind, both good and bad-and in spite of your years. Don't be angry with me for saying so; you know what my feelings for children are. And do not suppose that I am so candid out of pure simplicity of soul. Oh dear no, it is by no means the case! Perhaps I have my own very profound object in view."
我年龄这么大，我又总这么笨拙；我知道，我也长得不好看……最后，我还是个外国人。孩子们起先嘲笑我，后来，他们看见我吻了玛丽，甚至还朝我掷石块。可我就吻了她一次……不，你们别笑，”公爵急忙制止自己听客的讪笑，“这里根本没有爱情。如果你们知道，这是个多么不幸的人，那么你们自己也会像我一样十分怜悯她的。她是我们村子的人。她母亲是个年纪很大的老太婆。在她们那完全破旧的有两扇窗户的小房子里，隔出了一扇窗户，是得到村当局允许的，他们允许她从这个窗口卖细绳子，线，烟草，肥皂，全是些卖几文钱的小东西，她也就是以此为生。她有病，两条腿是浮肿的，因此老是坐在一个地方。玛丽是她的女儿，２０岁左右，消瘦孱弱；她早就有了肺病，但她仍然受雇于许多人家，每天都去他们那里干繁重的生活--擦地板，洗衣服，扫院子，照料牲口。一个路过的法国商务代办引诱了她并把她带走，可是过了一星期就将她孤零零一人抛在路上，悄悄离开了。她一路乞讨，上下邋塌，全身褴楼，穿着破鞋，回到了家里；她步行了整整一星期，睡在田野上，得了重伤风；脚上全是伤痛，双手浮肿、皲裂。不过，她本来就不漂亮，只有眼睛是安详、善良的、天真无邪的。她寡言少语至极。有一次，还是先前的事，她在干活的时候忽然唱起歌来，我记得，大家都感到惊讶并笑开了：‘玛丽唱歌了！怎么回事？玛丽唱歌了！’--她非常窘，后来就永远保持沉默了。
那时人家还怜爱她，可是在她受尽苦难拖着有病的身子回来以后，无论谁也对她不表丝毫同情。他们在这件事上是多么残酷呀！他们在这件事上有着多么迟钝的概念呀！母亲第一个凶狠而轻蔑地对待她：‘现在你败坏了我的名声。’她第一个让她当众受辱：当村里人听说玛丽回来了，大家便跑来看她，差不多全村人都愧拢到老大婆的茅屋里来：老人，孩子，妇女）姑娘，所有的人都争先恐后急于赶来贪看个热闹，玛丽躺在地板上，就在老太婆脚跟前，饥肠槽糟，破衣烂衫的，哭泣着。当大家都跑来时，她那蓬乱的头发完全盖住了脸，就这样伏在地板上。周围大家就像看一个坏女人那样看着她；老人们斥责她咒骂她，年轻人甚至嘲笑她，女人们辱骂她，谴责她，犹如望着一只蜘蛛似的蔑视地望着她。母亲自己却容忍了这一切，她坐在那里，点着头，赞许着。母亲在当时就已病得很重，几乎就要死去了；过了两个月也确实死了；她知道自己要死，但直至临死也仍然不想跟女儿和解，甚至连一句话也不跟她说，把她赶到草棚里睡觉，甚至几乎不给她吃东西。老太婆需要经常在温水里浸泡病腿；玛丽每天给她洗脚，服侍她；她不吭一声地接受玛丽的照料侍侯，却对她没有说一句抚爱的话。玛丽承受着这一切，我认识她以后也发现了这一点，她自己也认可了这一切、认为自己是最卑贱的淫荡女人。当老太婆完全病倒时，村里的老妇们都轮流来照料她，那里是这样的规矩。于是就根本不给玛丽吃东西；而村里还老是赶她走，甚至谁也不愿像以前那样给她活干。
大家都唾弃她，男人们甚至不把她当女人，尽对她说些下流话。有时候，那是很难得的，星期天醉汉们喝够了寻开心，便仍给她一些小钱，就这么扔在地上；玛丽默默地个个捡起来。她那时已经开始咯血了。后来，她身上的破衣服已完全成了破布片，穿着它都羞于在村里露面；依然是回来后就打的光脚。就在这种情形下，特别是孩子们，成群结帮的--有４０多个小学生--开始作弄她，甚至向她投泥巴。她请求牧人让她看守母牛，但牧人赶开了她。于是她自己离开家整天地跟牛群在一起。因为她给牧人带来许多好处，牧人也觉察到了这一点，所以就不再赶她，甚至有时还把自己午餐吃剩的奶酪和面包给她，他认为这是很大的慈悲。当母亲死去时，教堂里的牧师当众羞辱玛丽而不以为耻。玛丽站在灵枢旁，仍跟原来那样，穿着破衣衫，哭泣着。许多人集拢来看，她怎么哭，怎么跟在灵枢后面走；于是牧师--他还是个年轻人，他的全部抱负是做一个大传教士--朝向大家，指着玛丽说，‘这就是这位可敬的妇女死去的原因’（这是不对的，因为老太婆已经病了两年了），‘瞧她站在你们面前，不敢朝你们看一眼，因为上帝的手指戳着她；瞧她赤着脚，穿着破衣服，这对那些失去美德的人是个例子！她是谁呢？这是她的女儿！’以及诸如此类的话。你们倒想想，几乎所有的人竟都爱听这种卑鄙的话语，但是……这时却出了一件特别的事：孩子们当时出来袒护她，因为那时他们已经都站在我这一边并喜欢上玛丽了。这是怎么回事呢？我很想为玛丽做点什么事；很有必要给她一些钱，但是在那里我从来都是身无分文的。我有一只钻石别针，于是把它卖给了一个贩子；他来往于各个村庄，贩卖旧衣服。他给了我８个法郎，实际上要值足足４０法郎。我竭力想单独遇见玛丽一个人；等了很久，终于在村外篱笆旁通往山里的一条小径上，在一棵树后面遇上了。就在那里我把８个法郎给了她并对她说，让她爱惜着用，因为我再也没有钱了，然后吻了她一下，并说，要她别以为我怀有什么不良的居心，我吻她并不是爱上了她，而是因为我很怜悯勉，还说，我一开始就认为她丝毫也没有过错，而只是个不幸的人。我很想马上就能使她得到慰藉并相信，她不应该在众人面前认为自己如此低贱，但她好象不理解。我立即就发觉了这一点，虽然她一直沉默不语站在我面前，低垂着双眼，十分羞涩。我说完时，她吻了我的手，我也当即拿起她的手想吻，但她很快挣脱了。突然这时孩子们在窥视着我们，他们有一大群；后来我知道，他们早就在暗中注意了我：他们开始打唿哨，拍巴掌，发笑声，玛丽便急忙逃跑了。我本想说话，但他们朝我扔石块。那一天全村都知道了这件事；大家又狠狠地责难玛丽，更加不喜欢她。我甚至听说，人们想判处她刑罚，但是，上帝保佑，事情总算就这么过去了；然而孩子们却老是不放过她，比过去更恶劣地作弄她，向她扔泥巴，追赶她，她则逃避他们，因为肺部有病，逃得上气不接下气，孩子们在她后面喊啊，骂啊。有一次，我甚至冲上前去跟他们打架：后来我开始跟他们谈，只要我有可能，天天都谈。他们有时候停下来听，尽管仍然还要骂人。我对他们说，‘玛丽多么不幸’；很快他们便不再骂她，并默默地走开了，渐渐地我们开始交谈起来，我对他们什么都不隐瞒，我全部对他们讲了，他们非常好奇地听着，很快便开始怜悯起玛丽来。有些孩子在遇到她时还亲切地跟她打招呼；那里的习俗是，不论认识还是不认识，彼此相遇时要鞠躬并说：‘您好’，我可以想象，玛丽一定会非常惊讶。有一次两个女孩搞到一点食物，带去找她，给了她，她们也来告诉了我。她们说，玛丽放声大哭了，还说她们现在很爱她。很快大家都开始爱她，同时也突然喜欢上我了。
他们开始常常到我这儿来，老是请求我给他们讲故事；我觉得，我讲得不错，因为他们非常喜欢听我讲。以后我学习和看书全都只是为了给他们讲故事，后来就给他们讲了整整三年。结果大家都责怪我，连施奈德也这样，指责我为什么对孩子们跟对大人一样讲话，为什么对他们什么都不隐瞒，我回答他们说，对他们撒谎我感到羞耻，不论怎么瞒他们，他们反正还是会全都知道的，大概，只知道那些肮脏的事，而从我这儿知道的则不是这些。任何人只要回想一下，他自己是孩子时是怎样的。他们不同意……我吻玛丽还是在她母亲去世前两个晕期；当牧师布道时，所有的孩子都已经站在我一边了。我立即对他们讲了并使他们明白牧师的行为；大家都很生他的气，有些孩子甚至气得用石块砸碎他的窗玻璃。我制止了他们，因为这可是粗野的行为，可马上村子里全都知道了，这下便开始指责我把孩子们带坏了。后来大家又知道，孩子们喜欢玛丽，更是万分惊慌；但玛丽已经是幸福的了。大人们甚至还禁止孩子们与玛丽见面，但他们悄悄地跑到牛群那里去找她，那是在离村半俄里的很远的地方；他们给她带去糖果，有的孩子跑去就只是为了拥抱她，吻她，对她说：‘Ｊｅ ｖｏｕｓ ａｉｍｅ， Ｍａｒｉｅ！＊”然后就赶快跑回去。玛丽因为这突如其来的幸福而差点发狂；她连做梦也想不到会这样，她觉得又羞愧又高兴，更主要的是，孩子们，特别是女孩子们想跑去转告她，我爱她并对他们讲了许多关于她的事。他们对她说，是我把一切都告诉了他们，所以现在他们也爱她，同情她，他们将永远这样对待她。后来他们跑到我这儿来，一张张小脸既兴奋又热心，他们转告我说，他们刚刚见到过玛丽，她向我致意。每天傍晚我都走到瀑布那儿去。那里有一个地方从村子方向看过来完全是隐蔽的，周围长满了白杨树；孩子们每到傍晚也跑到那里去找我，有些人还是偷偷跑去的。我觉得，我对玛丽的爱对他们来说是一种极大的满足，我在那里的全部生活中，就这一件事上欺骗了他们。我没有去说服他们，让他们相信我根本不受玛丽，也就是说我没有爱上她，我不过是很可怜她；根据一切情况来判断，我看到，他们更希望如他们自己想象的和他们彼此间认定的那样，因此我也就没有吭声并装出样子，似乎他们猜对了。
这些幼小的心灵温柔入微到什么地步呀：他们觉得，他们的莱昂＊＊就这么爱玛丽，玛丽就穿得这么糟，光着脚丫，那是不成的。请想想，他们给她搞来了鞋子，袜子，内衣，甚至还有一条裙子；他们是怎么想出办法弄到的，我不知道；全体孩子们都出了力。当我盘问他们时，他们只是快活地笑着，而女孩们拍着手掌，吻着我。有时候我也悄悄去见玛丽。她已经病得很重了，只能勉强行走；后来，完全不再帮牧人干活了，但每天早晨还是跟着牛群出去。她坐在一旁；那里一座几乎是陡直的峭壁有一块突出的地方；她就坐在那个角上的一块石头上，大家都看不到，几乎一动不动趴。从早晨坐到吝群回来的时分。她生肺病已经非常虚弱，坐在那里越来越经常地把头靠在岩石上，闭着眼睛，打着脑，呼吸很吃力；她的脸瘦得已像一个骨架，额头和双鬓则冒出虚汗。我见到她总是这样，我只去一会儿，因为我也不想让别人看见我。我一出现，玛丽立即打起颤来，睁开眼睛，扑过来吻我的手。我已经不再移开手了，因为对她来说这是幸福；我坐在那里的时候，她始终战栗着，哭泣着；确实，有几次她已开口说话，但是很难听懂她在讲什么。她常常像个失去理智的人，异常激动和欣喜。有时孩子们和我一起去。这种时候他们一般总是站在不远的地方，开始为我们警戒，免得发生什么事或被谁看到，这对他们来说是非常乐意干的事。当我们离开时，又剩下玛丽一个人，她又像原来那样一动不动，闭上眼睛，头靠在岩石上；也可能，她梦见了什么。有一天早晨她已经不能到畜群那儿去了，留在空洞洞的自家屋子里。孩子们马上就知道了，几乎所有的人这一天里都到她那里去看望她，她一个人孤零零地躺在被窝里。有两天就这些孩子们轮流跑来照料她，但是后来，村里人听说玛丽已经真的要死了，村里一些老太婆便到她这儿来守着，值班。村里好像开始可怜起玛丽来，至少已经不再像过去那样阻拦和责骂孩子们了。玛丽一直处于半睡的状态中，她睡得不安稳：咳嗽很厉害。老太婆们赶开孩子们，但他们跑到窗口下，有时只是一会儿，就为了说一句： ‘Ｂｏｎｊｏｕｒ，ｎｏｔｒｅ ｂｏｎｎｅ Ｍａｒｉｅ＊。”而她仅仅是远远地看到他们或者听到他们的声音，便全身都振奋起来，并且不听老太婆们的劝阻，用力撑坐起来，朝他们点头，表示感谢。他们像过去那样给她带来糖果，但她几乎什么也不吃。我请你们相信，因为有了他们，她几乎是幸福地死去的。因为有了他们，她才忘记了自己的苦难和不幸，她似乎从他们那里得到了宽恕，因为直至最后她都认为自己是个罪孽深重的人。他们像小鸟一样在她的窗口扑打着翅膀，每天早晨对她喊着：‘Ｎｏｕｓｔ’ ａｉｍｏｎｓ， Ｍａｒｉｅ’＊＊她很快就死了。我以为，她能活得长得多，在她去世的前夕，夕阳西下前，我顺便到那儿去；好像他认出了我，我最后一次握了她的手；她的手多干瘪呀！突然第二天早晨有人来说，玛丽死了。
这下可无法阻拦孩子们：他们用鲜花把她的整个灵枢装饰了起来，给她头上戴了花冠：教堂里的牧师已经不再玷辱死者，葬礼上去的人很少，有些人只是出于好奇才去；但当要抬灵枢时，孩子们一下子都奔过去，他们又亲自抬它。因为他们抬不动，于是便帮助抬，一直跟在灵枢后面跑着，哭着。从那时起玛丽的坟墓经常有孩子们去照料：每年他们都用鲜花装饰它，在四周像上玫瑰。但是从这次丧事后全村人因为孩子的事而开始排挤我。主谋便是牧师和学校的教师。村里甚至禁止孩子们跟我见面，而施奈德甚至担负起监察这件事的责任。但我们还是能见到，老远用手势来表达意思，他们常给我像来小纸条。后来这一切太平了，但那时我与孩子们的关系非常好。因为这种排挤，我跟孩子们反而更亲近了。最后一年我甚至跟蒂博和牧师也几乎和解了。而施奈德跟我说了和争论了许多有关对孩子们进行教育的我那种有害的‘方法’。我哪有什么方法！最后，施奈德对我说出了一个非常奇怪的想法，一那已经是在我动身离开之前了，--他对。我说，他完全确信我自己还完全是个孩子，也就是说十足是个孩子，我不过是身高和脸容像成人，至于说发育，心灵，性格，甚至可能智力，我则不是成人。而且即使我活到６０岁，今后也仍是这样。我听了哈哈大笑：他当然说得不对，因为我怎么是小孩呢。但有一点是对的，我真的不喜欢跟成年人、跟人们、跟大人们耽在一起，我早就发觉这一点了。我不喜欢，是因为我不会与他们相处。无论他们对我说什么；无论他们对我有多好，跟他们在一起，不知为什么我仍然总是感到很难受，当可以快点离开他们去找同伴时，我就非常高兴，而我的同伴总是些孩子，但这并不是因为我自己是孩子，而不过是因为孩子们对我有吸引力。还是在我开始住在村子里的时候，我一个人常去山里独自倡郁忧愁、当我子然一身徘徊时，有时，特别是中午放学时，我会遇到这一大群孩子，吵吵嚷嚷，省着书包，石板跑跑跳跳，伴随着喊叫、嘻笑、玩耍，这时我的整个心会突发出一股记望到他们那里去的欲望。我不知道为什么，但是每逢见到他们时，我便开始感受到某种十分强烈的幸福感。我停下来，看着他们闪过的永远在奔的小腿，看着一起跑着的男孩和女孩，看着他们笑和流泪（因为从学校到家里，许多人已经打过架，哭过，又和好如初，又一起玩耍），我便会愿到幸福而笑起来，那时也就会忘却我的全部忧愁。
后来，所有这三年中，我都不能理解，人们为什么要忧愁和怎么优愁？我的全部命运都维系在他们身上，我从来也没有打算过离开乡村，我头脑里也没有想到过，什么时候我会到俄罗斯这里来。我觉得，我始终将永远在那里，但我终于看到，施奈德不能总养着我，这时又突然碰上一件好像是很重要的事，以至施奈德亲自催促我动身并为我给这儿回了信。我这就要看看，这是怎么回事，并要找什么人商量商量。也许，我的命运将来会根本改变，但这毕竟不是最主要的。主要的是，我的整个生活已经改变了。我有许多东西留在那里了，留下太多了。一切都消逝了。我坐在车厢里就在想：‘现在我是到人们中间去；我可能什么都不知道，但是新生活降临了。’我决心要正直和坚定地去做自己的事。也许，跟人们相处我会感到无聊和难受。作为开端我决心跟所有的人都彬彬有礼，以诚相见；谁也不会对我有更多的奢求。也许，这里的人也把我看作是孩子，--让他们这样吧！不知为什么大家也认为我是白痴，我真的一度病得很厉害，那时倒是像白痴；但现在，当我自己也明白人家把我当白痴，我还算什么白痴呢？我每次上人家家去就想：‘这下又要把我当白痴了，可我反正是有理智的，他们是猜不到的……’我常有这个想法。我在柏林就收到了从那里寄来的几封小小的信件，他们已赶上给我写信了，只是这时我才明白，我是多么热爱他们。收到第一封信时心里非常难受！他们送我时，又是多么忧伤！还是一个月前他们就开始为我送别：‘Ｌｅｏｎ ｓｅｎ ｖａ，Ｌｅｏｎ ｖａ ｐｏｕｒ ｔｏｕｊｏｕｒｓ’＊我们每天晚上仍像以前那样聚集在瀑布旁，老是谈论着我们即将分离的事。
有时也仍像从前那么快活；只有在分手回去睡觉时，他们开始紧紧地热烈地拥抱我，这是过去所没有的。有的孩子背着大伙儿一个个跑到我这儿来，只是为了不当着大家的面单独拥抱和吻我。当我已要动身上路的时候，大家一窝蜂地全来送我上车站，铁路车站离我们村大约有１俄里。他们竭力忍着不哭出来，但许多人忍不住，饮位吞声着，特别是女孩子。为免得迟到，我们急着要上路，但是人群中突然有个人从路中间直向我扑来，用自己的小手拥抱我，吻我，就为此使大家停了下来；而我们虽然急着要走，但大家都停下来等他做完告别。当我坐进车厢，火车启动时，他们一齐向我呼喊‘乌拉！’，久久地站在那里，直至火车完全离去。我也望着……请听着，刚才我走进这里，看了一下你们可爱的脸蛋（我现在很注意端详人们的脸），听到你们最初说的话语，从那时起我是第一次感到心里轻松，我刚刚就在想，也许，我确实是个有福之人：因为我知道，一下子就喜爱的人，是不会马上就邀见的，而我刚下火车就遇见了你们。我很清楚地知道，对大家讲自己的感情是挺不好意思的，可我却对你们讲了，跟你们在一起我并不觉得难为情。我是个孤僻的人，也许，我会很久不上你们这儿来。只是请别把这理会成有什么不好的想法：我这样说并不是不尊重你们，也请别认为，什么地方得罪了我。你们问我你们的脸相以及我从脸相上看出了什么，我很乐意告诉你们这一点。您，阿杰莱达·伊万诺夫娜，有一张福相的脸，在你们三张脸中是最讨人喜爱的。此外您长得很好看，人家望着您就会说：‘她这张脸就是一个心地善良的姐姐的脸。’您待人接物纯真开朗，但是也善于很快地了解别人的心。您的脸相我觉得就是这样的。而您，亚历山德拉·伊万诺夫娜，也有一张姣美可爱的脸，但是，可能您有某种隐秘的忧愁；您的心无疑是最善良的，但您不快活。您脸上流露出某种特别的神色，就如在德累斯顿的霍尔拜因的圣丹像。好，您的脸相就说这些；我这个相面人好不好？是你们自己把我当相面人的。现在说您的脸相，叶莉扎维塔·普罗科菲耶夫娜，”他突然对将军夫人说，‘关于您的脸相，我不光是觉得，而简直是确信；尽管您已有这么大年岁。可是在一切方面、在所有的事情上，好的方面也罢，坏的方面也罢，您完全是个孩子。我这么说，您可不会生我气吧？因为您知道，我把孩子看作什么人？请别以为，我是呆傻才这样开门见山地当面把有关你们脸相的一切话都对你们说了；哦，不，根本不是！也许，这里有我自己的思想。”
＊法语：“我爱您，玛丽！”
＊＊即指梅什金公爵。