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"Hullo! hullo! here he is! " he suddenly heard a squeaky voice just above his ear, and a plump hand slapped him on the shoulder. He lifted his head, and perceived one of his few Moscow acquaintances, a certain Bambaev, a good—natured but good—for—nothing fellow. He was no longer young, he had a flabby nose and soft cheeks, that looked as if they had been boiled, dishevelled greasy locks, and a fat squat person. Everlastingly short of cash, and everlastingly in raptures over something, Rostislav Bambaev wandered, aimless but exclamatory, over the face of our long—suffering mother—earth. "Well, this is something like a meeting! " he repeated, opening wide his sunken eyes, and drawing down his thick lips, over which the straggling dyed moustaches seemed strangely out of place. "Ah, Baden! All the world runs here like black—beetles! How did you come here, Grisha? "
“嘿！嘿！他在这里啊！” 他的耳际突然传来又尖又细的声音，一只肥胖的手拍了一下他的肩膀。他抬头，认出是他在莫斯科认识的少数熟人之一：庞巴耶夫。他为人和善，但一无是处。他已不再年轻，鼻子和脸颊都十分松弛，好像被水煮过一样，头发凌乱而油腻，身材矮胖。罗斯季斯拉夫? 庞巴耶夫老是缺钱，但总是兴奋不已。他在我们饱受磨难的大地母亲身上漫无目的但不无赞叹地游荡。 “啊，真是巧啊！” 他反复说道，睁着一双凹陷的大眼睛，撅着厚唇，嘴唇上凌乱的染过色的胡须显得很奇怪，与整张脸格格不入。 “啊，巴登！世界上所有的人像蟑螂一样涌到这里来了！您怎么也到这里来了，格里沙？”
There was positively no one in the world Bambaev did not address by his Christian name.
庞巴耶夫对世界上所有的人一律用教名称呼。
"I came here three days ago. "
“我三天前来的。”
"From where? "
“从哪里来？”
"Why do you ask? "
“您问这干什么？”
"Why indeed? But stop, stop a minute, Grisha. You are, perhaps, not aware who has just arrived here! Gubaryov himself, in person! That's who's here! He came yesterday from Heidelberg. You know him of course? "
“这是什么话？但是，等一下，就等一分钟，格里沙。您也许不知道刚刚谁来了！古巴廖夫他亲自来了！就是他，他在这里！他昨天从海德堡来。您肯定认识他吧？”
"I have heard of him. "
“我听说过他。”
"Is that all? Upon my word! At once, this very minute we will haul you along to him. Not know a man like that! And by the way here's Voroshilov... Stop a minute, Grisha, perhaps you don't know him either? I have the honor to present you to one another. Both learned men! He's a phoenix, indeed! Kiss each other!”
“仅此而已吗？太奇怪了！那我现在、马上拉您去见他。您居然不认识像他那样的人！顺便说一下，沃罗希洛夫也来了……等一下，格里沙, 您或许也不认识他吧？我很荣幸介绍你们俩认识。你们都是知识渊博的人！他实在是人中之凤！你们相互亲吻吧！”
And uttering these words, Bambaev turned to a good—looking young man standing near him with a fresh and rosy, but prematurely demure face. Litvinov got up, and, it need hardly be said, did not kiss him, but exchanged a cursory bow with the phoenix, who, to judge from the severity of his demeanor, was not overpleased at this unexpected introduction.
说完，庞巴耶夫转向他身旁站着的一位英俊的年轻人。这个年轻人精神饱满、面色红润，但表情过于严肃。李特维诺夫站起来。不用说，他没有亲吻他，只是向那只凤凰微微鞠了个躬。从对方严肃的神情来看，他似乎也不怎么喜欢这出乎意料的介绍。
"I said a phoenix, and I will not go back from my word, " continued Bambaev; "go to Petersburg, to the military school, and look at the golden board; whose name stands first there? The name of Voroshilov, Semyon Yakovlevitch! But, Gubaryov, Gubaryov, my dear fellow! It's to him we must fly! I absolutely worship that man! And I 'm not alone, every one's at his feet! Ah, what a work he is writing, O—O—O!... "
“我说他是只凤凰，绝不会收回这句话。” 庞巴耶夫继续说， “您到彼得斯堡军校的光荣榜上看看，谁的名字居于榜首？是沃罗希洛夫? 谢苗? 雅科夫列维奇！但是古巴廖夫，古巴廖夫，我亲爱的老兄！他才是我们奋斗的目标！我对他崇拜得五体投地！而且，崇拜他的可不只我一个，每个人都匍匐在他脚下。啊，他正在写一部鸿篇巨著。噢……噢……噢！”
"What is his work about? " inquired Litvinov.
“是关于什么的？” 李特维诺夫问道。
"About everything, my dear boy, after the style of Buckle, you know... but more profound, more profound…Everything will be solved and made clear in it? "
“关于一切，我亲爱的老弟。您知道的，仿效的是巴克尔的风格……但是更加深刻，更加深刻……一切问题都能解决并且阐述清楚？”
"And have you read this work yourself? "
“您自己已经读过这部作品了？”
"No, I have not read it, and indeed it's a secret, which must not be spread about; but from Gubaryov one may expect everything, everything! Yes! " Bambaev sighed and clasped his hands. "Ah, if we had two or three intellects like that growing up in Russia, ah, what mightn't we see then, my God! I tell you one thing, Grisha; whatever pursuit you may have been engaged in in these latter days—and I don't even know what your pursuits are in general—whatever your convictions may be—I don't know them either—from him, Gubaryov, you will find something to learn. Unluckily, he is not here for long. We must make the most of him, we must go. To him, to him!”
“不，我还没读。这的确是个秘密，不能泄露。但是古巴廖夫能够办到所有的事情，所有的事情，是的！” 庞巴耶夫叹了口气，握紧双手。 “啊，如果我们俄国也能有两三个他那样的智者，哦，我的天哪！我们就没什么做不到的了！告诉您件事情，格里沙。不管您近来在追求什么——我连您的追求大致是什么也不知道——不管您的信仰是什么——对此我也一无所知——但是，您将在古巴廖夫的身上找到需要您去学习的东西。不幸的是，他不会在这里久留。我们必须充分利用他，我们必须走了。去拜访他，拜访他！”
A passing dandy with reddish curls and a blue ribbon on his low hat, turned round and stared through his eyeglass with a sarcastic smile at Bambaev. Litvinov felt irritated.
一位留着淡红色卷发、低腰礼帽上系着蓝色丝带的花花公子正经过这里。他转过头，透过眼镜盯着庞巴耶夫看，脸上堆着嘲讽的笑容。李特维诺夫感到很恼火。
"What are you shouting for? " he said; "one would think you were hallooing dogs on at a hunt! I have not had dinner yet. "
“您叫什么叫？” 他说， “人们会以为您是在呼喊猎犬去追捕猎物！我还没吃晚饭呢。”
"Well, think of that! we can go at once to Weber's... the three of us... capital! You have the cash to pay for me? " he added in an undertone.
“呃，既然这样, 我们可以马上去韦伯咖啡馆……我们三个……钱！您有钱给我买单吗？” 他低声补充道。
"Yes, yes; only, I really don't know—"
“有，有的；只是，我真不知道——”
"Leave off, please; you will thank me for it, and he will be delighted. Ah, heavens! " Bambaev interrupted himself. "It's the finale from Ernani they're playing. How delicious!... A som... mo Carlo... What a fellow I am, though! In tears in a minute. Well, Semyon Yakovlevitch! Voroshilov! shall we go, eh? " Voroshilov, who had remained all the while standing with immovable propriety, still maintaining his former haughty dignity of demeanor, dropped his eyes expressively, frowned, and muttered something between his teeth... but he did not refuse; and Litvinov thought, "Well, we may as well do it, as I've plenty of time on my hands. " Bambaev took his arm, but before turning towards the cafe he beckoned to Isabelle the renowned flower—girl of the Jockey Club: he had conceived the idea of buying a bunch of flowers of her. But the aristocratic flower—girl did not stir; and, indeed, what should induce her to approach a gentleman without gloves, in a soiled fustian jacket, streaky cravat, and boots trodden down at heel, whom she had not even seen in Paris? Then Voroshilov in his turn beckoned to her. To him she responded, and he, taking a tiny bunch of violets from her basket, flung her a florin. He thought to astonish her by his munificence, but not an eyelash on her face quivered, and when he had turned away, she pursed up her mouth contemptuously. Voroshilov was dressed very fashionably, even exquisitely, but the experienced eye of the Parisian girl noted at once in his get—up and in his bearing, in his very walk, which showed traces of premature military drill, the absence of genuine, pure—blooded "chic".
“请别说了；您会为此感激我的，他也会很高兴的。啊，天哪！” 庞巴耶夫打断了自己的话， “他们在演奏《欧那尼》的终曲。多美妙啊！……向伟大的卡尔致敬……但是，瞧我这人！只消一分钟就会流泪。嗨，谢苗? 雅科夫列维奇！沃罗希洛夫！我们可以走了吧，嗯？” 沃罗希洛夫依旧保持着傲慢而端庄的神情，一动不动地站着。他意味深长地垂下了双眼，皱起了眉毛，喃喃自语着……但是他并没有拒绝。李特维诺夫想道： “好，去就去吧，反正我还有的是时间。” 庞巴耶夫挽住他的胳膊，但是在去咖啡馆之前，他跟跑马俱乐部有名的卖花女伊萨贝拉打了个手势：他想向她买束花。不过，那位带有贵族气质的卖花女没搭理他。也是，有什么能诱使她接近这样一位绅士呢？他不仅不戴手套，还穿着件肮脏的棉亚麻混纺粗布短上衣，系着条纹领带，穿着一双脚跟磨损的皮鞋，就是在巴黎她也没见过这种人。于是轮到沃罗希洛夫跟他做了个手势。她走近他，他在她的花篮里挑了一小束紫罗兰并且扔给她一先令。他想凭借他的慷慨令她吃惊，但她连睫毛都没动一下。而且，当他转身离开时，她轻蔑地撅起嘴。沃罗希洛夫穿着入时，甚至说得上精致，但是见多识广的巴黎女郎从他的穿衣打扮、行为举止和他那尽显早年军队训练痕迹的步伐中，马上就注意到他缺乏真正的、纯血统的 “气质” 。
When they had taken their seats in the principal dining—hall at Weber's, and ordered dinner, our friends fell into conversation. Bambaev discoursed loudly and, hotly upon the immense importance of Gubaryov, but soon he ceased speaking, and, gasping and chewing noisily, drained off glass after glass. Voroshilov ate and drank little, and as it were reluctantly, and after questioning Litvinov as to the nature of his interests, fell to giving expression to his own opinions—not so much on those interests, as on questions of various kinds in general…All at once he warmed up, and set off at a gallop like a spirited horse, boldly and decisively assigning to every syllable, every letter, its due weight, like a confident cadet going up for his "final" examination, with vehement, but inappropriate gestures. At every instant, since no one interrupted him, he became more eloquent, more emphatic; it seemed as though he were reading a dissertation or lecture. The names of the most recent scientific authorities—with the addition of the dates of the birth or death of each of them—the titles of pamphlets that had only just appeared, and names, names, names... fell in showers together from his tongue, affording himself intense satisfaction, reflected in his glowing eyes. Voroshilov, seemingly, despised everything old, and attached value only to the cream of culture, the latest, most advanced points of science; to mention, however inappropriately, a book of some Doctor Zauerbengel on Pennsylvanian prisons, or yesterday's articles in the Asiatic Journal on the Vedas and Puranas (he pronounced it Journal in the English fashion, though he certainly did not know English) was for him a real joy, a felicity. Litvinov listened and listened to him, and could not make out what could be his special line. At one moment his talk was of the part played by the Celtic race in history; then he was carried away to the ancient world, and discoursed upon the? ginetan marbles, harangued with great warmth on the sculptor living earlier than Phidias, Onetas, who was, however, transformed by him into Jonathan, which lent his whole discourse a half—Biblical, half—American flavor; then he suddenly bounded away to political economy and called Bastiat a fool or a blockhead, "as bad as Adam Smith and all the physiocrats. " "Physiocrats, " murmured Bambaev after him... "aristocrats? " Among other things Voroshilov called forth an expression of bewilderment on Bambaev's face by criticism, dropped casually in passing, of Macaulay, as an old—fashioned writer, superseded by modem historical science; as for Gneist, he declared he need scarcely refer to him, and he shrugged his shoulders. Bambaev shrugged his shoulders too. "And all this at once, without any inducement, before strangers, in a cafe” —Litvinov reflected, looking at the fair hair, clear eyes, and white teeth of his new acquaintance (he was specially embarrassed by those large sugar—white teeth, and those hands with their inappropriate gesticulations), " and he doesn't once smile; and with it all, he would seem to be a nice lad, and absolutely inexperienced. "Voroshilov began to calm down at last, his voice, youthfully resonant and shrill as a young cock's, broke a little... Bambaev seized the opportunity to declaim verses and again nearly burst into tears, which scandalized one table near them, round which was seated an English family, and set another tittering; two Parisian cocottes were dining at this second table with a creature who resembled an ancient baby in a wig. The waiter brought the bill; the friends paid it.
在韦伯咖啡馆的主厅就座并点完餐之后，我们的朋友们便开始聊天了。庞巴耶夫大声、热烈地说着古巴廖夫的重要性有多么巨大，但很快就不说话了，开始一杯接一杯地喝酒，嘴里发出吵闹的喘气和咀嚼声。沃罗希洛夫吃得少、喝得少，好像很不情愿的样子。问完李特维诺夫从事怎样的工作之后，他便开始发表自己的见解——与其说是关于那类工作的见解，不如说是关于各种问题笼统的见解……他马上变得活跃起来，像一匹兴高采烈的骏马驰骋似地侃侃而谈。他就像一位自信的军校学员参加期末考试，说话清晰果断，一字一句不失其应有的分量，虽激情四溢，但手势不当。由于停顿之处都没有人打断他，他变得越来越雄辩，语气变得越来越坚决，仿佛在读一篇论文或发表演讲。最近出现的科学界权威人士的名字，他们每个人的生卒年月和新作品的名称，总之，名字连着名字……从他嘴里倾泻而出，给他带来了巨大的满足感，这一点从他那闪闪发光的眼睛中便可以看出。沃罗希洛夫似乎藐视一切旧事物，仅仅珍视文化精髓和最新最先进的科学观点。尽管很不恰当，但是只要提及某位扎魏尔宾格里博士写的关于宾夕法尼亚监狱的作品或《亚洲杂志》昨天刊登的关于吠陀和往世书的文章（尽管他肯定不懂英语，他还是用英语说出 “杂志” 这个词），对他而言，就是一种真正的快乐和幸福。李特维诺夫一直听他说着，但仍猜不出他是做哪行的。他一度谈及凯尔特民族在历史上扮演的角色，然后又说到古代世界，继而谈论埃吉纳湾石雕，热情洋溢地大谈费迪亚斯之前的雕刻家奥纳塔斯。但是，奥纳塔斯在他嘴里后来又变成了乔纳森，致使他的整段言论带有半圣经式和半美国式的味道；突然他又跳转到政治经济学，骂巴斯夏是个傻子、笨蛋， “同亚当? 斯密和所有的重农主义者一样糟糕。” “重农主义者。” 庞巴耶夫接着他轻声说…… “是贵族学派吗？” 除这些以外，沃罗希洛夫又漫不经心地批评麦考莱是位过气的作家，已经被现代历史学所淘汰。这番言论使得庞巴耶夫一脸困惑的表情。至于海因斯特，他声称只需稍稍提及就够了，于是耸了耸肩。庞巴耶夫也耸了耸肩。 “在咖啡馆里，当着陌生人的面，无缘无故地说出这一切，” 李特维诺夫看着他刚结识的这位留着浅黄色的头发、有着明亮的眼睛和洁白的牙齿（那白糖似的牙齿和做着不当手势的双手使他感到特别地局促不安）的朋友，心想， “虽然他一次都没笑过，不过尽管如此，他看上去是个善良但毫无经验的的小伙子。” 沃罗希洛夫终于开始冷静了下来，他那充满活力、年轻响亮、尖锐得像只公鸡似的嗓音有点儿哑了……庞巴耶夫抓住机会朗诵一首诗，并再一次差点儿热泪盈眶，使得坐在旁边那张桌子上的一家英国人很愤怒。另一张桌上的两个巴黎妓女则窃笑不已，她们正陪着一位头戴假发的老顽童在吃饭。侍者拿来账单，这几位朋友付了钱。
"Well, " cried Bambaev, getting heavily up from his chair, "now for a cup of coffee, and quick march. There she is, 'our Russia, " he added, stopping in the doorway, and pointing almost rapturously with his soft red hand to Voroshilov and Litvinov... What do you think of her?...
“好了，” 庞巴耶夫一边费力地从凳子上站起来一边叫道， “现在，再喝杯咖啡，然后赶紧动身吧。 “这就是我们的俄国。” 他补充道。他站在门口，兴高采烈地伸出又红又软的手，指着沃罗希洛夫和李特维诺夫…… “觉得她怎么样？……”
"Russia, indeed, " thought Litvinov; and Voroshilov, whose face had by now regained its concentrated expression, again smiled condescendingly, and gave a little tap with his heels.
“的确是俄国。” 李特维诺夫心想。沃罗希洛夫的脸上恢复了全神贯注的表情，再一次谦逊地笑了笑，轻扣了下脚后跟。
Within five minutes they were all three mounting the stairs of the hotel where Stepan Nikolaitch Gubaryov was staying…A tail slender lady, in a hat with a short black veil, was coming quickly down the same staircase. Catching sight of Litvinov she turned suddenly round to him, and stopped still as though struck by amazement. Her 'face flushed instantaneously, and then as quickly grew pale under its thick lace veil; but Litvinov did not observe her, and the lady, ran down the wide steps more quickly than before.
五分钟之后，他们三个人全都走上了斯捷潘? 尼古拉耶维奇? 古巴廖夫住的旅馆的楼梯……一位身材苗条、头戴一顶带有短黑面纱的礼帽的女士正迅速走下楼梯。见到李特维诺夫，她突然转向他并停下脚步，像是非常惊讶的样子。在那厚厚的蕾丝面纱下，她的脸一下子变得通红，然后又迅速变得苍白。但是李特维诺夫并没有注意到她，她则用比之前更快的速度跑下宽敞的楼梯。