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『白痴』のカラフル対訳について

カラフル対訳で紹介している『白痴』は、パブリックドメインの作品を出典としています。

このサイトで使われている作品は、ロシアの文豪フョードル・ドストエフスキーによる小説 The Idiot を出典としています。 英文は Eva M. Martin による英訳版をもとにしています。 原文は、著作権の切れた名作などの全文を電子化し、インターネット上で公開している Project Gutenberg(プロジェクト・グーテンベルク)、 朗読音声は LibriVox(リブリヴォックス/朗読図書館) の公開音声を出典としています。

原文はProject Gutenberg、音声はLibriVoxで公開されているパブリックドメイン作品を出典としています。

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『白痴』英文/和訳 PART II CHAPTER VII 貧しき騎士の朗読とパヴリシチェフの息子

『The Idiot』PART II CHAPTER VII を、英語学習用に「英文→和訳」の順で読みやすく整理し、重要語句を多めに色分けしています。上部の操作パネルで、和訳・色分け・ミニ訳・カテゴリ別ハイライトを切り替えられます。

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カテゴリ別ハイライト
動作・変化 感情・心理 場面・描写 人物・性格 疑問・不穏 重要表現

The young man who accompanied the general was about twenty-eight years old, tall and well built, with a handsome, intelligent face and bright black eyes full of fun and cleverness.

Aglaya did not even glance at the new arrivals. She went on with her recitation, looking all the while at the prince, and at him alone, in a deliberately affected manner.

The prince could see clearly that she was doing all this with some special purpose.

Still, the entrance of the newcomers somewhat relieved his strained and uncomfortable position.

Seeing them approach, he rose, nodded kindly to the general, and made a sign that the recitation should not be interrupted.

Then he moved behind his chair and stood with his left hand resting on its back. Thanks to this change of position, he could listen to the ballad with far less embarrassment.

Mrs. Epanchin also motioned twice to the new arrivals to be quiet and remain where they were.

The prince was much interested in the young man who had just entered. He easily guessed that this was Evgenie Pavlovitch Radomski, whose name he had already heard several times.

He was puzzled, however, by the young man’s plain clothes, for he had always heard of Evgenie Pavlovitch as a military man.

An ironical smile played on Evgenie’s lips while the recitation went on, and it suggested that he too was probably in the secret of the “poor knight” joke.

But with Aglaya herself the matter had now changed completely.

All the affectation she had shown at the beginning disappeared as the ballad continued.

She recited the lines with such seriousness, such exaltation, and such taste that the exaggerated solemnity with which she had stepped forward seemed almost justified.

It was now impossible to see in her anything but a deep feeling for the spirit of the poem she had undertaken to interpret.

Her eyes shone with inspiration, and once or twice a slight tremor of delight passed over her beautiful features.

“Once there came a vision glorious,

Mystic, dreadful, wondrous fair;

Burned itself into his spirit,

And abode for ever there!”

“Never more—from that sweet moment—

Gazed he on womankind;

He was dumb to love and wooing,

And to all their graces blind.”

“Full of love for that sweet vision,

Brave and pure he took the field;

With his blood he stained the letters

N. P. B. upon his shield.”

“Lumen caeli, sancta Rosa!”

Shouting on the foe he fell,

And like thunder rang his war-cry

O’er the cowering infidel.

“Then within his distant castle,

Home returned, he dreamed his days—

Silent, sad,—and when death took him

He was mad, the legend says.”

Afterwards, when the prince recalled all this, he could not understand how to reconcile the girl’s beautiful, sincere, pure nature with the irony of this jest.

That it was a jest there could be no doubt. He knew it well, and he had good reason for his certainty.

During her recitation, Aglaya had deliberately changed the letters A. N. B. into N. P. B.

The prince was quite sure that she had not done it by accident, and that his ears had not deceived him.

In any case, her performance, though of course a joke and a rather crude one, was premeditated.

They had evidently been talking and laughing about the “poor knight” for more than a month.

Yet Aglaya pronounced the letters N. P. B. without the slightest appearance of irony, without even giving them any special emphasis.

Her seriousness was so smooth and unbroken that anyone might have supposed those initials were the original ones in the ballad.

This made a painful impression on the prince.

Mrs. Epanchin, of course, saw nothing either in the change of initials or in the hidden allusion.

General Epanchin merely knew that some verses were being recited, and took no further interest in the matter.

Many of the others, however, understood the allusion and wondered at the daring of the young lady and the motive beneath it.

Still, they tried to show nothing. But Evgenie Pavlovitch, as the prince was ready to wager, both understood and tried his best to show that he understood.

His mocking smile left no doubt on that point.

“How beautiful that is!” cried Mrs. Epanchin, with sincere admiration. “Whose poem is it?”

“Pushkin’s, mamma, of course! Don’t disgrace us all by showing your ignorance,” said Adelaida.

“As soon as we reach home, give it to me to read.”

“I don’t think we have a copy of Pushkin in the house,” said one of the girls.

“There are a couple of torn volumes somewhere; they have been lying about from time immemorial,” added Alexandra.

“Then send Feodor or Alexey up by the first train to buy a copy,” said Mrs. Epanchin. “Aglaya, come here and kiss me, dear. You recited beautifully.”

Then she whispered, “But if you were sincere, I am sorry for you. If it was a joke, I do not approve of the feelings that led you to it.”

“In any case, it would have been better not to recite it at all. Do you understand? Now come along, young woman. We have sat here too long. I will speak to you about this another time.”

* * *

Meanwhile the prince took the opportunity to greet General Epanchin, and the general introduced Evgenie Pavlovitch to him.

“I met him on the way to your house,” explained the general. “He had heard that we were all here.”

“Yes, and I heard that you were here too,” added Evgenie Pavlovitch.

“I have long promised myself the pleasure of seeking not only your acquaintance, but your friendship. So I did not want to waste time, and came straight here.”

“I am sorry to hear that you are unwell.”

“Oh, I am quite well now, thank you. I am very glad to make your acquaintance. Prince S. has often spoken to me about you,” said Muishkin.

For an instant the two men looked intently into one another’s eyes.

The prince noticed that Evgenie Pavlovitch’s plain clothes had made a strong impression on the company.

Indeed, all other interests seemed to fade before this surprising fact.

His change of dress was clearly a matter of some importance.

Adelaida and Alexandra poured out questions; Prince S., who was related to the young man, looked annoyed; and Ivan Fedorovitch became quite excited.

Aglaya alone seemed uninterested. She merely looked closely at Evgenie for a moment, perhaps wondering whether civilian or military clothes suited him better, and then turned away.

Lizabetha Prokofievna asked no questions, but it was clear that she was uneasy. The prince fancied that Evgenie was not in her good graces.

“He has astonished me,” said Ivan Fedorovitch. “I nearly fell over with surprise when I met him in Petersburg just now.”

“Why this haste? That is what I want to know. He has always said himself that there is no need to break windows.”

Evgenie Pavlovitch remarked that he had spoken of leaving the service long ago.

However, he had always joked about it more or less, so no one had taken him seriously.

For that matter, he joked about everything, and his friends never knew what to believe when he did not want them to understand him.

“I have retired only for a time,” he said, laughing. “For a few months, at most for a year.”

“But there is no necessity for you to retire at all, as far as I know,” complained the general.

“I want to go and look after my country estates. You yourself advised me to do that,” replied Evgenie. “And then I wish to go abroad.”

After a few more objections, the conversation drifted elsewhere. But the prince, who had listened attentively, thought this excitement over such a small matter very curious.

“There must be more in it than appears,” he said to himself.

“I see the ‘poor knight’ has appeared again,” said Evgenie Pavlovitch, stepping to Aglaya’s side.

To the prince’s amazement, Aglaya looked at him haughtily and inquiringly, as though to make him understand once for all that there could be no conversation between them about the “poor knight.”

“But not now! It is too late to send to town for Pushkin now,” Colia was exclaiming loudly. “I have told you so at least a hundred times.”

“Yes, it really is too late to send to town now,” said Evgenie Pavlovitch, who had escaped from Aglaya as quickly as possible.

“I am sure the shops are closed in Petersburg. It is past eight o’clock,” he added, looking at his watch.

“We have done without him so far,” interrupted Adelaida. “Surely we can wait until tomorrow.”

“Besides,” said Colia, “it is quite unusual, almost improper, for people in our position to take any interest in literature.”

“Ask Evgenie Pavlovitch if I am not right. It is much more fashionable to drive a waggonette with red wheels.”

“You got that from some magazine, Colia,” remarked Adelaida.

“He gets most of his conversation that way,” laughed Evgenie Pavlovitch.

“He borrows whole phrases from the reviews. I have long had the pleasure of knowing Nicolai Ardalionovitch and his conversational methods.”

“But this time he is not repeating something he has read. He is no doubt alluding to my yellow waggonette, which has, or had, red wheels.”

“But I have exchanged it, so you are rather behind the times, Colia.”

The prince listened carefully to Radomski’s words and found his manner very pleasant.

When Colia teased him about the waggonette, he answered with perfect ease and friendliness. This pleased Muishkin.

* * *

At that moment Vera came up to Lizabetha Prokofievna, carrying several large, beautifully bound books that seemed quite new.

“What is it?” demanded the lady.

“This is Pushkin,” replied the girl. “Papa told me to offer it to you.”

“What? Impossible!” exclaimed Mrs. Epanchin.

“Not as a present, not as a present! I should not have taken such a liberty,” said Lebedeff, suddenly appearing from behind his daughter.

“It is our own Pushkin, our family copy, Annenkoff’s edition. It could not be bought now.”

“I respectfully suggest that your excellency should buy it, and thus quench the noble literary thirst which is consuming you at this moment,” he concluded grandly.

“Oh! If you will sell it, very good, and thank you. You shall not lose by it,” said Mrs. Epanchin.

“But for goodness’ sake, don’t twist about like that, sir! I have heard of you; they tell me you are very learned. We must have a talk one day.”

“Will you bring me the books yourself?”

“With the greatest respect and veneration,” replied Lebedeff, making extraordinary grimaces.

“Well, bring them with or without respect, provided you do not drop them on the way,” said the lady.

“But on one condition,” she added, looking straight at him, “you are not to cross my threshold. I do not intend to receive you today.”

“You may send your daughter Vera at once, if you like. I am very pleased with her.”

“Why don’t you tell him about them?” said Vera impatiently to her father.

“They will come in whether you announce them or not, and they are beginning to make a disturbance.”

“Lef Nicolaievitch,” she said, turning to the prince, “four men are here asking for you. They have waited some time, and papa refuses to bring them in.”

“Who are these people?” asked the prince.

“They say they have come on business. They look like the kind of men who will follow you in the street if you do not see them here.”

“It would be better to receive them and get rid of them. Gavrila Ardalionovitch and Ptitsin are both there, trying to reason with them.”

“Pavlicheff’s son! It is not worth while!” cried Lebedeff.

“There is no necessity to see them, and it would be most unpleasant for your excellency. They do not deserve—”

“What? Pavlicheff’s son!” cried the prince, deeply disturbed. “I know, I know. But I entrusted this matter to Gavrila Ardalionovitch. He told me—”

At that moment Gania, accompanied by Ptitsin, came out onto the terrace.

From the next room came the sound of angry voices, and General Ivolgin could be heard loudly trying to shout them down.

Colia rushed off at once to discover the cause of the uproar.

“This is most interesting!” observed Evgenie Pavlovitch.

“I expect he knows all about it,” thought the prince.

“What, the son of Pavlicheff? And who may this son of Pavlicheff be?” asked General Epanchin in surprise.

Looking curiously around, he discovered that he alone had no clue to the mystery.

Expectation and suspense were written on every face, except the prince’s.

The prince stood gravely, wondering how an entirely personal affair could have awakened such lively and widespread interest so quickly.

Aglaya went up to him with a particularly serious expression.

“It will be best,” she said, “if you put an end to this affair yourself at once. But you must allow us to be your witnesses.”

“They want to throw mud at you, prince, and you must be triumphantly vindicated. I congratulate you beforehand.”

“And I too wish justice to be done, once for all,” cried Madame Epanchin, “about this impudent claim.”

“Deal with them promptly, prince, and do not spare them! I am sick of hearing about this affair, and I have had many quarrels in your cause.”

“But I confess I am anxious to see what happens, so do make them come out here, and we shall remain.”

“You have heard people talking about it, no doubt?” she added, turning to Prince S.

“Of course,” said he. “I have heard it spoken about at your house, and I am curious to see these young men.”

“They are Nihilists, are they not?”

“No, they are not Nihilists,” explained Lebedeff, growing excited.

“They are a different lot, a special group. According to my nephew, they are even more advanced than the Nihilists.”

“You are quite wrong, your excellency, if you think your presence will frighten them. Nothing frightens them.”

“Educated men, even learned men, may be found among Nihilists. But these people go further: they are men of action.”

“The movement is, properly speaking, a derivative of Nihilism, though known only indirectly and by hearsay.”

“They do not advertise themselves in the newspapers. They go straight to the point.”

“For them, it is not a question of proving that Pushkin is stupid or that Russia must be torn to pieces.”

“No; if they strongly desire something, they believe they have a right to get it, even at the cost of eight lives, if necessary.”

“No obstacle stops them. In fact, prince, I should not advise you—”

But Muishkin had already risen and was going to open the door for his visitors.

“You are slandering them, Lebedeff,” he said, smiling.

“You are always thinking about your nephew’s conduct. Do not believe him, Lizabetha Prokofievna.”

“I can assure you, Gorsky and Daniloff are exceptions. These people are only mistaken.”

“Still, I do not care to receive them here in public. Excuse me, Lizabetha Prokofievna.”

“They are coming, and you can see them. Then I shall take them away. Please come in, gentlemen!”

Another thought tormented him: could this have been arranged to happen when he had guests in the house, in anticipation of his humiliation rather than his triumph?

He bitterly reproached himself for such a suspicion and felt he would die of shame if it were discovered.

When the visitors appeared, he was ready to believe himself infinitely less worthy of respect than any of them.

* * *

Four people entered, led by General Ivolgin, who was in a state of great excitement and talking eloquently.

“He is undoubtedly on my side,” thought the prince, with a smile.

Colia too had joined the group and was talking animatedly to Hippolyte, who listened with a mocking smile on his lips.

The prince asked the visitors to sit down. They were all so young that the whole affair seemed even more extraordinary.

Ivan Fedorovitch, who really understood nothing of what was happening, felt indignant at the sight of these youths.

He would have interfered in some way, had it not been for his wife’s intense interest in the affair.

So he remained, partly out of curiosity and partly from good nature, hoping his presence might be useful.

But the bow with which General Ivolgin greeted him irritated him again, and he decided to remain absolutely silent.

One of the visitors was a man of thirty, the retired officer who had been with Rogojin, now a boxer.

In happier days, he had given fifteen roubles at a time to beggars.

Evidently he had joined the others as a comrade, to give them moral and, if necessary, physical support.

The man spoken of as “Pavlicheff’s son,” though he gave the name Antip Burdovsky, was about twenty-two years old, fair, thin, and rather tall.

His appearance was notable for poverty, not to say uncleanliness.

The sleeves of his overcoat were greasy; his dirty waistcoat, buttoned to the neck, showed no trace of linen.

A filthy black silk scarf, twisted until it looked like a cord, was wound around his neck, and his hands were unwashed.

He looked around with an air of insolent effrontery.

His face, covered with pimples, showed neither thoughtfulness nor even contempt. It expressed only complacent satisfaction at claiming his rights and appearing as an injured party.

His voice trembled, and he spoke so quickly and with such stammering that one might have taken him for a foreigner, though the purest Russian blood ran in his veins.

Lebedeff’s nephew, whom the reader already knows, accompanied him, as did the youth named Hippolyte Terentieff.

The latter was only seventeen or eighteen.

He had an intelligent face, though its usual expression was irritated and fretful.

His skeleton-like body, ghastly complexion, bright eyes, and red spots on his cheeks revealed the victim of consumption at a glance.

He coughed constantly and gasped for breath; it seemed as though he had only a few weeks left to live.

He was almost dead with fatigue, and fell rather than sat into a chair.

The rest bowed as they entered, and being somewhat abashed, put on an air of extreme self-assurance.

In short, their manner was not what one would expect from men who professed to despise all trivialities, all foolish social conventions, and everything except their own personal interests.

“Antip Burdovsky,” stammered the son of Pavlicheff.

“Vladimir Doktorenko,” said Lebedeff’s nephew briskly, with a certain pride, as if boasting of his name.

“Keller,” murmured the retired officer.

“Hippolyte Terentieff,” cried the last-named youth in a shrill voice.

They now sat in a row facing the prince, frowning and playing with their caps.

All seemed ready to speak, and yet all were silent.

Their defiant faces seemed to say: “No, sir, you will not deceive us.”

It could be felt that the first word spoken by anyone present would release a torrent of speech from the whole deputation.

『The Idiot』by Fyodor Dostoyevsky / Translated by Eva Martin をもとに、英語学習用の英文・和訳・語句色分け形式に編集しています。原文の PART II CHAPTER VII に対応しています。
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白痴

『白痴』英文/和訳 PART II CHAPTER VI パヴロフスクの別荘と「貧しき騎士」 『白痴』英文/和訳 PART II CHAPTER IX ブルドフスキーの真実とリザヴェータ夫人の激怒