第237章
第237章warmedbythespringsunshinehesatinthecarriage,lookingatthefirstgrass,thefirstbirchleavesandthefirstflecksofwhitespringcloudsfloatingoverthebrightblueofthesky.hewasthinkingofnothing,butlookingabouthim,light-heartedandthoughtless.
theycrossedthefordwherehehadtalkedwithpierreayearbefore.theydrovethroughamuddyvillage,bythreshingfloors,andpatchesofgreencorn;downhillbyadriftofsnowstilllyingnearthebridge,uphillalongaclayroadhollowedoutbytherain,bystripsofstubble-field,withcopseturninggreenhereandthere;anddroveatlastintoabirchforestthatlayonbothsidesoftheroad.intheforestitwasalmosthot,thewindcouldnotbefelt.thebirches,allstuddedwithsticky,greenleaves,didnotstir,andlilac-colouredflowersandthefirstgrassliftedthelastyear’sleavesandpeepedoutgreenfromunderthem.tinyfir-trees,dottedhereandthereamongthebirches,broughtajarringreminderofwinterwiththeircoarse,unchanginggreen.thehorsesneighedastheyenteredtheforestandwerevisiblyheated.
pyotrthefootmansaidsomethingtothecoachman;thecoachmanassented.butapparentlythecoachman’ssympathywasnotenoughforpyotr.heturnedroundontheboxtohismaster.
“yourexcellency,howsoftitis!”hesaid,smilingrespectfully.
“eh?”
“itissoft,yourexcellency.”
“whatdoeshemean?”wonderedprinceandrey.“oh,theweather,mostlikely,”hethought,lookingfromsidetoside.“and,indeed,everything’sgreenalready…howsoon!andthebirchandthewildcherryandthealderbeginningtocomeout.…butihaven’tnoticedtheoak.yes,hereheis,theoak!”
attheedgeofthewoodstoodanoak.probablytentimestheageofthebirch-treesthatformedthebulkoftheforest,itwastentimesthethicknessandtwicetheheightofanybirch-tree.itwasahugeoak,doubleaman’sspan,withbranchesbrokenoff,longagoitseemed,andwithbarktornoff,andsearedwitholdscars.withitshuge,uncouth,gnarledarmsandfingerssprawlingunsymmetrically,itstoodanaged,angry,andscornfulmonsteramongthesmilingbirches.onlythefewdead-looking,evergreenfirsdottedabouttheforest,andthisoak,refusedtoyieldtothespellofspring,andwouldseeneitherspringnorsunshine.
“springandloveandhappiness!”thatoakseemedtosay.“areyounotsickofthatever-same,stupid,andmeaninglesscheat?alwaysthesame,andalwaysacheat!thereisnospring,norsunshine,norhappiness.seeyonderstandthecramped,deadfir-trees,everthesame,andhereihaveflungmytornandbrokenfingerswherevertheyhavegrownoutofmybackormysides.astheyhavegrown,soistand,andiputnofaithinyourhopesanddeceptions.”
princeandreylookedroundseveraltimesatthatoakasthoughheexpectedsomethingfromit.therewereflowersandgrassundertheoaktoo,butstillitstood,scowling,rigid,weirdandgrim,amongthem.
“yes,he’sright,athousandtimesright,theoldoak,”thoughtprinceandrey.“others,youngcreatures,maybecaughtanewbythatdeception,butweknowlife—ourlifeisover!”awholefreshtrainofideas,hopeless,butmournfullysweet,stirredupinprinceandrey’ssoulinconnectionwiththatoak.duringthisjourneyhethoughtoverhiswholelifeasitwereanew,andcametothesamehopelessbutcalmingconclusion,thatitwasnotforhimtobeginanythingfresh,thathemustlivehislife,contenttodonoharm,dreadingnothinganddesiringnothing.