Читать книгу THE COLLECTED WORKS OF ANTON CHEKHOV - Anton Chekhov - Страница 21

Table of Contents

An hour later we were all seated at long tables, dining. To anybody who was accustomed to cobwebs, mildew and wild gipsy whoops in the Count’s apartments it must have seemed strange to look on the workaday, prosaical crowd that now, by their habitual chatter, broke the usual silence of the ancient and deserted halls. This varied and noisy throng looked like a flight of starlings which in flying past had alighted to rest in a neglected churchyard or - may the noble bird forgive me such a comparison! - a flight of storks that on one of their migrations had settled down on the ruins of a deserted castle.

I sat there hating that crowd which frivolously examined the decaying wealth of the Counts Karnéev. The mosaic walls, the carved ceilings, the rich Persian carpets and the rococo furniture excited enthusiasm and astonishment. A self-satisfied smile never left the Count’s moustachioed face. He received the enthusiastic flattery of his guests as something that he deserved, though in reality all the riches and luxuries of his deserted mansion were not acquired in any way thanks to him, but on the contrary, he merited the bitterest reproaches and contempt for the barbarously dull indifference with which he treated all the wealth that had been collected by his fathers and grandfathers, collected not in days, but in scores of years! It was only the mentally blind or the poor of spirit who could not see in every slab of damp marble, in every picture, in each dark corner of the Count’s garden, the sweat, the tears and the callouses on the hands of the people whose children now swarmed in the little log huts of the Count’s miserable villages… Among all those people seated at the wedding feast, rich, independent people, people who might easily have told him the plainest truths, there was not one who would have told the Count that his self-satisfied grin was stupid and out of place… Everybody found it necessary to smile flatteringly and to burn paltry incense before him. If this was ordinary politeness (with us, many love to attribute everything to politeness and propriety), I would prefer the churl who eats with his hands, who takes the bread from his neighbour’s plate, and blows his nose between two fingers, to these dandies.

Urbenin smiled, but he had his own reasons for this. He smiled flatteringly, respectfully, and in a childlike, happy manner. His broad smiles were the result of a sort of dog’s happiness. A devoted and loving dog, who had been fondled and petted, and now in sign of gratitude wagged its tail gaily and with sincerity.

Like Risler Père in Alphonse Daudet’s novel, beaming and rubbing his hands with delight, he gazed at his young wife, and from the superabundance of his feelings could not refrain from asking question after question:

‘Who could have thought that this young beauty would fall in love with an old man like myself? Is it possible she could not find anybody younger and more elegant? Women’s hearts are incomprehensible!’

He even had the courage to turn to me and blurt out: ‘When one looks around, what an age this is we live in! He, he! When an old man can carry off such a fairy from under the nose of youth! Where have you all had your eyes? He, he… Young men are not what they used to be!’

Not knowing what to do or how to express the feelings of gratitude that were overflowing in his broad breast, he was constantly jumping up, stretching out his glass towards the Count’s glass and saying in a voice that trembled with emotion: ‘Your Excellency, my feelings toward you are well known. This day you have done so much for me that my affection for you appears like nothing. How have I merited such a great favour, your Excellency, or that you should take such an interest in my joy? It is only Counts and bankers who celebrate their weddings in such a way! What luxury, what a bevy of distinguished guests! Oh what can I say! Believe me, your Excellency, I shall never forget you, as I shall never forget this best and happiest day of my life.’

And so on… Olenka was evidently not pleased with her husband’s florid respectfulness. One could see she was annoyed at his speeches, that raised smiles on the faces of the guests and even caused them to feel ashamed for him. Notwithstanding the champagne she had drunk, she was still not gay, and morose as before… She was as pale as she had been in church, and the same look of dread was in her eyes… She was silent, she answered indifferently all the questions that were asked, scarcely smiled at the Count’s witticisms, and she hardly touched the expensive dishes… The more Urbenin became slightly intoxicated and accounted himself the happiest of mortals, the more unhappy her pretty face appeared. It made me sad to look at her, and in order not to see her face I tried to keep my eyes on my plate.

How could her sadness be explained? Was not regret beginning to gnaw at the poor girl’s heart? Or perhaps her vanity had expected even greater pomp?

During the second course when I lifted my eyes and looked at her, I was painfully struck by her expression. The poor girl, in trying to answer some of the Count’s silly remarks, was making strenuous efforts to swallow something; sobs were welling up in her throat. She did not remove her handkerchief from her mouth, and looked at us timidly, like a frightened little animal, to see whether we had noticed that she wanted to cry.

‘Why are you looking so glum today?’ the Count asked. ‘Oh, ho! Pëtr Egorych, it’s your fault! Have the goodness to cheer your wife up! Ladies and gentlemen, I demand a kiss! Ha, ha! The kiss I demand is, of course, not for me, but only… that they should kiss each other!’

Urbenin, smiling all over his red face, rose and began to blink. Olenka, forced by the calls and the demands of the guests, rose slightly and offered her motionless, lifeless lips to Urbenin. He kissed her… Olenka pressed her lips together as if she feared they would be kissed another time, and glanced at me… Probably my look was an evil one. Catching my eye, she suddenly blushed, and taking up her handkerchief, she began to blow her nose, trying in that way to hide her terrible confusion… The thought entered my mind that she was ashamed before me, ashamed of that kiss, ashamed of her marriage.

‘What have I to do with you?’ I thought, but at the same time I did not remove my eyes from her face, trying to discover the cause of her confusion.

The poor little thing could not stand my gaze. It is true the blush of shame soon left her face, but in place of it tears began to rise up in her eyes, real tears such as I had never before seen on her face. Pressing her handkerchief to her face, she rose and rushed out of the dining-room.

‘Olga Nikolaevna has a bad headache,’ I hastened to say in order to explain her departure. ‘Already this morning she complained of her head…’

‘Not at all, brother,’ the Count said jokingly. ‘A headache has nothing to do with it. It’s all caused by the kiss, it has confused her. Ladies and gentlemen, I announce a severe reprimand for the bridegroom! He has not taught his bride how to kiss! Ha, ha, ha!’

The guests, delighted with the Count’s wit, began to laugh… But they ought not to have laughed…

Five minutes passed, ten minutes passed, and the bride did not return… A silence fell on the party… Even the Count ceased joking… Olenka’s absence was all the more striking as she had left suddenly without saying a word… To say nothing about the etiquette of the matter, Olenka had left the table immediately after the kiss, so it was evident she was cross at having been forced to kiss her husband… It was impossible to suppose she had gone away because she was confused… One can be confused for a minute, for two, but not for an eternity, as the first ten minutes of her absence appeared to us all. What a number of evil thoughts entered into the half tipsy minds of the men, what scandals were being prepared by the charming ladies! The bride had risen and left the table! What a picturesque scene for a drama in the provincial beau mondé!

Urbenin began to be uneasy and looked around.

‘Nerves…’ he muttered. ‘Or perhaps something has gone wrong with her toilette… Who can account for anything with these women? She’ll come back directly - this very minute.’

But when another ten minutes had passed and she had not appeared, he looked at me with such unhappy, imploring eyes that I was sorry for him.

‘Would it matter if I went to look for her?’ his eyes asked. ‘Won’t you help me, golubchek, to get out of this horrible position? Of all here you are the cleverest, the boldest, the most ready-witted man. Do help me!’

I saw the entreaty in his unhappy eyes and decided to help him. How I helped him the reader will see farther on… I will only say that the bear who assisted the hermit in Krylov’s fable loses all its animal majesty, becomes pale, and turns into an innocent infusoria when I think of myself in the part of the ‘obliging fool’… The resemblance between me and the bear consists only in this that we both went to help quite sincerely without foreseeing any bad consequences from our help, but the difference between us is enormous… The stone with which I struck Urbenin’s forehead was many times more weighty…

‘Where is Olga Nikolaevna?’ I asked the lackey who had brought round the salad.

‘She went into the garden, sir,’ he replied.

‘This is becoming quite impossible, mesdames!’ I said in a jocular tone, addressing myself to the ladies. ‘The bride has gone away and my wine has become quite sour! I must go to look for her and bring her back, even if all her teeth were aching! The best man is an official personage, and he is going to show his authority!’

I rose, amid the loud applause of my friend the Count, left the dining-room and went into the garden. The hot rays of the midday sun poured straight upon my head, which was already excited by wine. Suffocating heat and sultriness seemed to strike me in the face. I went along one of the side avenues at a venture, and, whistling some sort of melody, I gave full scope to my capacities as an ordinary detective. I examined all the bushes, summer-houses and caves, and when I began to be tormented by the regret that I had turned to the right instead of the left, I suddenly heard a strange sound. Somebody was laughing or crying. The sounds issued from one of the grottoes that I had left to examine last of all. Quickly entering it, I found the object of my search enveloped in dampness, the smell of mildew, mushrooms, and lime.

She stood there leaning against a wooden column that was covered with black moss, and lifting her eyes full of horror and despair on me, she tore at her hair. Tears poured from her eyes as from a sponge that is pressed.

‘What have I done? What have I done?’ she muttered.

‘Yes, Olia, what have you done?’ I said, standing before her with folded arms.

‘Why did I marry him? Where were my eyes? Where was my sense?’

‘Yes, Olia… It is difficult to explain your action. To explain it by inexperience is too indulgent; to explain it by depravity — I would rather not…’

‘I only understood it today… only today! Why did I not understand it yesterday? Now all is irrevocable, all is lost! All, all! I might have married the man I love, the man who loves me!’

‘Who is that, Olia?’ I asked.

‘You!’ she said, looking me straight and openly in the eyes. ‘But I was too hasty! I was foolish! You are clever, noble, young… You are rich! You appeared to me unattainable!’

‘Well, that’s enough, Olia,’ I said, taking her by the hand. ‘Wipe your little eyes and come along… They are waiting for you there… Well, don’t cry any more, don’t cry…’ I kissed her hand… ‘That’s enough, little girl! You have done a foolish thing and are now paying for it… It was your fault… Well, that’s enough, be calm…’

‘But you love me? Yes? You are so big, so handsome! Don’t you love me?’

‘It’s time to go, my darling…’ I said, noticing to my great horror that I was kissing her forehead, taking her round the waist, that she was scorching me with her hot breath and that she was hanging round my neck.

‘Enough!’ I mumbled. ‘That must satisfy you!’

Five minutes later, when I carried her out of the grotto in my arms and troubled by new impressions put her on her feet, I saw Pshekhotsky standing almost at the entrance… He stood there, looking at me maliciously, and silently applauding… I measured him with my glance, and giving Olga my arm, walked off towards the house.

‘We’ll see the last of you here today,’ I said, looking back at Pshekhotsky. ‘You will have to pay for this, spying!’

My kisses had probably been ardent because Olga’s face was burning as if ablaze. There were no traces of the recently shed tears to be seen on it.

‘Now I have no fear, I feel everything is possible,’ she murmured as we went together towards the house and she pressed my elbow convulsively. ‘This morning I did not know where to hide myself from terror, and now… now, my good giant, I don’t know what to do from happiness! My husband is sitting and waiting for me there… Ha, ha! What’s that to me? If he were even a crocodile, a terrible serpent… I’m afraid of nothing! I love you, and that’s all I want to know!’

I looked at her face, radiant with happiness, at her eyes, brimful of joyful, satisfied love, and my heart sank with fear for the future of this pretty, happy creature: her love for me was but an extra impulse towards the abyss… How will this laughing woman with no thought for the future end?… My heart misgave me and sank with a feeling that cannot be called either pity or sympathy, because it was stronger than these feelings. I stopped and laid my hand on Olga’s shoulder… I had never before seen anything more beautiful, graceful and at the same time more pitiful… There was no time for reasoning, deliberation or thought, and, carried away by my feelings, I exclaimed:

‘Olga, come home with me at once! This instant!’

‘How? What did you say?’ she asked, unable to understand my somewhat solemn tone.

‘Let us drive to my house immediately!’

Olga smiled and pointed to the house…

‘Well, and what of that?’ I said, isn’t it all the same if I take you tomorrow or today? But the sooner the better… Come!’

‘But… won’t it look strange?…’

‘What, girl, you’re afraid of the scandal? Yes, there’ll be a tremendous, an almighty scandal, but a thousand scandals are better than that you should remain here! I won’t leave you here! I can’t leave you here! Olga, do you understand? Cast aside your faintheartedness, your womanly logic, and obey me! Obey me if you do not desire your own ruin!’

Olga’s eyes said that she did not understand me… Meanwhile time did not stop but went its course, and it was impossible for us to remain standing in the avenue while they were expecting us there. We had to decide… I pressed to my heart ‘the girl in red’, who actually was my wife now, and at that moment it appeared to me that I really loved her… loved her with a husband’s love, that she was mine, and that her fate rested on my conscience… I saw that I was united with this creature for ever, irrevocably.

‘Listen, my darling, my treasure!’ I said, it’s a bold step… It will separate us from our nearest friends; it will call down upon our heads a thousand reproaches and tearful lamentations. Perhaps it will even spoil my career; it will cause me a thousand insurmountable unpleasantnesses, but, my darling, it is settled! You will be my wife! I want no better wife. God preserve me from all other women! I will make you happy; I will take care of you like the apple of my eye, as long as I live; I will educate you — make a woman of you! I promise you this, and here is my honest hand on it!’

I spoke with sincere passion, with feeling, like a stage lover acting the most pathetic scene of his part. I spoke very well, I seemed to be inspired by the touch of an eagle’s wing that was soaring over our heads. My Olia took my outstretched hand, held it in her own small hands, and kissed it tenderly. But this was not a sign of assent. On the silly little face of an inexperienced woman who had never before heard such speech, there appeared a look of perplexity… She still could not understand me.

‘You say I am to go to you?’ she said reflectively. ‘I don’t quite understand you… Don’t you know what he would say?’

‘What have you to do with what he would say?’

‘How so? No, Serezha! Better say no more… Please don’t mention it again… You love me, and I want nothing more. With your love I’m ready for anything.’

‘But, little fool, how will you manage it?’

‘I shall live here, and you — why, you will come every day… I will come to meet you.’

‘But I can’t imagine such a life for you without a shudder! At night - him; in the day - me… No, that is impossible! Olia, I love you so much at the present moment that… I am madly jealous… I never suspected that I had the capacity for such feelings.’

But what imprudence! I had my arm round her waist, and she was stroking my hand tenderly even though at any moment someone might pass along the avenue and see us.

‘Come,’ I said, removing my arm. ‘Put on your cloak and let us be off!’

‘How quickly you want to do things,’ she murmured in a tearful voice. ‘You hurry as if to a fire. God only knows what you’re dreaming of! To run away immediately after the marriage! What will people say?’

And Olenka shrugged her shoulders. Her face wore such a look of perplexity, astonishment and incomprehension that I only waved my hand and postponed discussion of her emotional problems to another moment. Besides, there was no time to continue our conversation: we were going up the stone stairs that led to the terrace and could hear the sound of voices. At the dining-room door Olia arranged her hair, saw that her dress was in order, and went into the room. No signs of confusion could be noticed on her face. She entered the room much more boldly than I had expected.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I have brought back the fugitive,’ I said as I sat down in my place, I found her with difficulty… I’m quite tired out by this search. I went into the garden, I looked around, and there she was walking about in the avenue… “Why are you here?” I asked her. “I just felt like it,” she answered. “It’s so stuffy.”

Olia looked at me, at the guests, at her husband, and began to laugh. Something amused her, and she became gay. I read on her face the wish to share with all that crowd of diners the sudden happiness that she had experienced; and not being able to give expression to it in words, she poured it out in her laughter.

‘What a funny person I am!’ she said. ‘I am laughing, and I don’t know why I am laughing… Count, laugh!’

‘Sweeten the wine,’ cried Kalinin.

Urbenin coughed and looked inquiringly at Olia.

‘Well?’ she said, with a momentary frown.

‘They are calling for us to sweeten the wine,’ Urbenin smiled, and rising, he wiped his lips with his napkin.

Olga rose too and allowed him to kiss her immovable lips…

The kiss was a cold one, but it served to increase the fire that was smouldering in my breast and threatened every moment to burst into flame… I turned away and with compressed lips awaited the end of the dinner… Fortunately the end was soon reached, otherwise I would not have been able to endure it.