The prison was a long way off and it was getting late, so Nekhludoff took an isvostchik. The isvostchik, a middle-aged man with an intelligent and kind face, turned round towards Nekhludoff as they were driving along one of the streets and pointed to a huge house that was being built there.
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“您瞧,他们在盖一座多阔气的大楼,”他说,那副神气仿佛他也是这座房子的股东,因此得意扬扬。
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"Just see what a tremendous house they have begun to build," he said, as if he was partly responsible for the building of the house and proud of it.
The house was really immense and was being built in a very original style. The strong pine beams of the scaffolding were firmly fixed together with iron bands and a plank wall separated the building from the street.
On the boards of the scaffolding workmen, all bespattered with plaster, moved hither and thither like ants. Some were laying bricks, some hewing stones, some carrying up the heavy hods and pails and bringing them down empty.
A fat and finely-dressed gentleman--probably the architect--stood by the scaffolding, pointing upward and explaining something to a contractor, a peasant from the Vladimir Government, who was respectfully listening to him. Empty carts were coming out of the gate by which the architect and the contractor were standing, and loaded ones were going in.
"And how sure they all are--those that do the work as well as those that make them do it--that it ought to be; that while their wives at home, who are with child, are labouring beyond their strength, and their children with the patchwork caps, doomed soon to the cold grave, smile with suffering and contort their little legs, they must be building this stupid and useless palace for some stupid and useless person--one of those who spoil and rob them," Nekhludoff thought, while looking at the house.
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“是的,盖这样的房子真是荒唐,”他把心里的想法说出口来。
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"Yes, it is a stupid house," he said, uttering his thought out aloud.
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“怎么会荒唐呢?”马车夫生气地说,“老百姓靠它吃饭,可不能说它荒唐!”
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"Why stupid?" replied the isvostchik, in an offended tone. "Thanks to it, the people get work; it’s not stupid."
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“要知道这工作是没有用的。”
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"But the work is useless."
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“既然人家在盖,那就是有用的,”马车夫反驳说,“老百姓有饭吃了。”
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"It can’t be useless, or why should it be done?" said the isvostchik. "The people get bread by it."
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聂赫留朵夫不作声,特别是因为车轮辘辘作响,说话很费力。
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Nekhludoff was silent, and it would have been difficult to talk because of the clatter the wheels made.
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在离监狱不远的地方,马车从石子路拐到驿道上,谈话就方便了。马车夫又同聂赫留朵夫聊了起来。
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When they came nearer the prison, and the isvostchik turned off the paved on to the macadamised road, it became easier to talk, and he again turned to Nekhludoff.
"And what a lot of these people are flocking to the town nowadays; it’s awful," he said, turning round on the box and pointing to a party of peasant workmen who were coming towards them, carrying saws, axes, sheepskins, coats, and bags strapped to their shoulders.
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“难道比往年多吗?”聂赫留朵夫问。
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"More than in other years?" Nekhludoff asked.
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“多得多啦!今年到处都挤满人,简直要命。老板把乡下人丢来丢去,简直像刨花一样。到处都挤满了人。”
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"By far. This year every place is crowded, so that it’s just terrible. The employers just fling the workmen about like chaff. Not a job to be got."
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“怎么会这样呢?”
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"Why is that?"
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“人越来越多,没地方去。”
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"They’ve increased. There’s no room for them."
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“人怎么会越来越多呢?为什么他们不肯待在乡下?”
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"Well, what if they have increased? Why do not they stay in the village?"
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“待在乡下没活干。没有土地呀。”
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"There’s nothing for them to do in the village--no land to be had."
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聂赫留朵夫好像一个负伤的人,觉得别人总是有意碰他的伤疤,其实那是因为碰到痛的地方才有这样的感觉。
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Nekhludoff felt as one does when touching a sore place. It feels as if the bruised part was always being hit; yet it is only because the place is sore that the touch is felt.
"Is it possible that the same thing is happening everywhere?" he thought, and began questioning the isvostchik about the quantity of land in his village, how much land the man himself had, and why he had left the country.
"We have a desiatin per man, sir," he said. "Our family have three men’s shares of the land. My father and a brother are at home, and manage the land, and another brother is serving in the army. But there’s nothing to manage. My brother has had thoughts of coming to Moscow, too."
"How’s one to rent it nowadays? The gentry, such as they were, have squandered all theirs. Men of business have got it all into their own hands. One can’t rent it from them. They farm it themselves. We have a Frenchman ruling in our place; he bought the estate from our former landlord, and won’t let it--and there’s an end of it."
"Dufour is the Frenchman’s name. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. He makes wigs for the actors in the big theatre; it is a good business, so he’s prospering. He bought it from our lady, the whole of the estate, and now he has us in his power; he just rides on us as he pleases.
The Lord be thanked, he is a good man himself; only his wife, a Russian, is such a brute that--God have mercy on us. She robs the people. It’s awful. Well, here’s the prison. Am I to drive you to the entrance? I’m afraid they’ll not let us do it, though."