Βιβλία σαν το «Ο κλεφτοκοτάς»

Long before anybody else was astir he arose and stole softly downstairs. The sunlight was stealing in at every crevice, and flashing in long streaks across the darkened rooms. The dining-room into which he looked struck chill and cheerless in the dark yellow light which came through the lowered blinds. He remembered that it had the same appearance when his father lay dead in the house; now, as then, everything seemed ghastly and unreal; the very chairs standing as their occupants had left them the night before seemed to be indulging in some dark communication of ideas.

There was nothing to be done. Both plaints were entered; and the affair promised to assume a sufficiently serious aspect when an unforeseen occurrence lent an added interest to it. As the judge was leaving the court in company with the clerk and secretary, and the employees were thrusting into sacks the fowls, eggs, loaves, pies, cracknels, and other odds and ends brought by the plaintiffs—just at that moment a brown sow rushed into the room and snatched, to the amazement of the spectators, neither a pie nor a crust of bread but Ivan Nikiforovitch’s plaint, which lay at the end of the table with its leaves hanging over. Having seized the document, mistress sow ran off so briskly that not one of the clerks or officials could catch her, in spite of the rulers and ink-bottles they hurled after her.

It was clear that the kindest thing to do would be to put the bird out of its pain, but when I suggested that, she took a step back from me, and covered it with her other hand. Her eyes gleamed, her mouth smiled, and I saw the tip of her tongue swiftly pass over her lips as if licking them.

Man’s nature is such, that happiness appears to be a thing unattainable; unconsciously and unintentionally friend offends friend, and even lovers inevitably fall out and quarrel at times. And since all legislators, from Lycurgus down to those of today, in their attempts to bestow happiness on mankind have failed miserably, I can at least comfort myself greatly with the thought of having made even one dog happy.

Μ’ εκάλεσεν ονομαστί, και είπε: ― Πώς ήλθες εδώ, τέκνον; ― Έχασα το δρόμο, απήντησα εγώ. Ο γέρων έσεισε την κεφαλήν. ― Έτσι χάνουν τον δρόμον τους, είπεν, όσοι δεν ηξεύρουν πόθεν έρχονται και πού πηγαίνουν. Μήπως σ’ έστειλαν πουθενά εις υπηρεσίαν και λέγεις έχασα τον δρόμον; Διατί δεν έκαμες υπακοήν; Δεν σου είπεν ο πατήρ σου ότι έπρεπε να μείνης εκεί μέχρι τέλους της λειτουργίας; Διατί έφυγες; Δεν ήξευρα τι να του πω. Δεν μου ήρχετο μάλιστα να τον ερωτήσω πώς το ηξεύρει. ― Και δεν σου έφθανεν ο κίνδυνος που έτρεξες να σε σκοτώση η φοράδα, σήμερον το πρωί; Δεν έπρεπεν να σωφρονισθής; ― Α! ήσουν αντίκρυ και μ’ έβλεπες; είπα εγώ, μη γνωρίζων τι άλλο να είπω. ― Ημείς τα βλέπομεν, είπε παραδόξως εκείνος. Εγώ είμαι ο Χαιρήμων μοναχός, διά τον οποίον σού διηγείτο προχθές ο πατήρ σου. Δεν εσκεπτόμην τίποτε.

Am I, then, immortal? This is a question which I have asked myself, by day and night, for now three hundred and three years, and yet cannot answer it. I detected a grey hair amidst my brown locks this very day—that surely signifies decay. Yet it may have remained concealed there for three hundred years—for some persons have become entirely white-headed before twenty years of age.