Читать книгу The Greatest Works of Anton Chekhov - Anton Chekhov - Страница 22

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‘Come here!’ I said to the Count rudely, going up to him after dinner.

The Count looked at me with astonishment and followed me into the empty room to which I led him.

‘What do you want, my dear friend?’ he asked as he unbuttoned his waistcoat and hiccuped.

‘Choose one of us…’I said, scarcely able to stand on my feet from the rage that had mastered me. ‘Either me or Pshekhotsky! If you don’t promise me that in an hour that scoundrel shall leave your estate, I will never set foot here again! I give you half a minute to make your choice!’

The Count dropped the cigar out of his mouth and spread his arms…

‘What’s the matter with you, Serezha?’ he asked, opening his eyes wide. ‘You look quite wild!’

‘No useless words, if you please! I cannot endure that spy, scoundrel, rogue, your friend Pshekhotsky, and in the name of our close friendship I demand that he leave this place, and instantly, too!’

‘But what has he done to you?’ the Count asked, much agitated. ‘Why are you attacking him?’

‘I ask you again: me or him?’

‘But, golubchek, you are placing me in a horribly awkward position… Stop! There’s a feather on your dress coat! You are demanding the impossible from me!’

‘Goodbye!’ I said. ‘I am no longer acquainted with you.’

And turning sharply on my heel, I went into the anteroom, put on my overcoat, and hastened out of the house. When crossing the garden towards the servants’ quarters, where I wanted to give the order to have my horse put to, I was stopped. Coming towards me with a small cup of coffee in her hand, I was met by Nadia Kalinin. She was also at Urbenin’s wedding, but a sort of undefined fear had forced me to avoid speaking to her, and during the whole day I had not gone up to her, nor said a word to her.

‘Sergey Petrovich!’ she said in an unnaturally deep voice when in passing her I slightly raised my hat. ‘Stop!’

‘What may your commands be?’ I asked, as I came up to her.

‘I have nothing to command… Besides, you are no lackey,’ she said, gazing straight into my eyes and becoming terribly pale. ‘You are hurrying somewhere, but if you have time might I detain you for a moment?’

‘Certainly! There was no need to ask.’

‘In that case let us sit down… Sergey Petrovich,’ she continued, after we had seated ourselves. ‘All this day you have tried to avoid seeing me, and have skirted me as if on purpose, as if you were afraid of meeting me. So I decided to speak to you… I am proud and egoistical… I do not know how to obtrude myself… but once in a lifetime one can sacrifice pride.’

‘To what do you refer?’

I had decided to ask you… the question is humiliating, it is difficult for me… I don’t know how I shall stand it… Answer me without looking at me… Sergey Petrovich, is it possible you are not sorry for me?’

Nadia looked at me and slightly shook her head. Her face became paler. Her upper lip trembled and was drawn to one side.

‘Sergey Petrovich! I always think that… you have been separated from me by some misunderstanding, some caprice… I think if we had an explanation, all would go on as formerly. If I did not think it, I would not have strength to put you the question you are about to hear. Sergey Petrovich, I am unhappy… You must see it… My life is no life… All is dried up… And chiefly… this uncertainty… one does not know, whether to hope or not… Your conduct towards me is so incomprehensible that it is impossible to arrive at any certain conclusion… Tell me, and I shall know what to do… My life will then have an aim… I shall then decide on something.’

‘Nadezhda Nikolaevna, you wish to ask me about something?’ I said, preparing in my mind an answer to the question I had a presentiment was coming.

‘Yes, I want to ask… the question is humiliating… If anybody were listening to us they might think I was obtruding myself - in a word, was behaving like Pushkin’s Tatiana… But this question has been tortured from me…’

The question was really forced from her by torture. When Nadia turned her face towards me to put that question, I became frightened: she trembled, pressed her fingers together convulsively, and uttered with melancholy sadness the fatal words. Her pallor was terrible.

‘May I hope?’ she whispered at last. ‘Do not be afraid to tell me candidly… Whatever the answer may be, it will be better than uncertainty. What is it? May I hope?’

She waited for an answer, but the state of my soul was such that I was incapable of making a sensible response. Drunk, excited by the occurrence in the grotto, enraged by Pshekhotsky’s spying, and Olga’s indecision, and the stupid conversation I had had with the Count, I scarcely heard Nadia.

‘May I hope?’ she repeated. ‘Answer me!’

‘Ach, I can’t answer now, Nadezhda Nikolaevna!’ I said with a wave of the hand as I rose. ‘I am incapable at the present moment of giving any sort of answer. Forgive me, I neither heard nor understood you. I am stupid and excited… It’s really a pity you took the trouble.’

I again waved my hand and left Nadia. It was only afterwards, when I became calm again, that I understood how stupid and cruel I had been in not giving the girl an answer to her simple and ingenuous question. Why did I not answer her?

Now when I can look back dispassionately at the past, I do not explain my cruelty by the condition of my soul. It appears to me that in not giving a straightforward answer I was coquetting and playing the fool. It is difficult to understand the human soul, but it is still more difficult to understand one’s own soul. If I really was playing the fool, may God forgive me. Although to make game of another’s suffering ought not to be forgiven.