Читать книгу The Best Works of Anton Chekhov - Anton Chekhov - Страница 19

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How opportune! How opportune!’ the Count cried as he greeted me and scratched my cheek with his long, pointed moustache. ‘You could not have chosen a happier time! We have only just sat down to luncheon… Of course, you are acquainted… You have doubtless often come across each other in your legal department… Ha, ha!’

With both hands the Count pointed to two men who, seated in soft armchairs, were partaking of cold tongue. In one I had the vexation of recognizing the Justice of the Peace, Kalinin; the other, a little grey-haired man with a large moonlike bald pate, was my good friend, Babaev, a rich landowner who occupied the post of perpetual member of our district council. Having exchanged bows, I looked with astonishment at Kalinin. I knew how much he disliked the Count and what reports he had set in circulation in the district about the man at whose table he was now eating tongue and green peas with such appetite and drinking ten-year-old liqueur. How could a respectable man explain such a visit? The Justice of the Peace caught my glance and evidently understood it.

‘I have devoted this day to visits,’ he said to me. ‘I am driving round the whole district… And, as you see, I have also called upon his Excellency…’

Ilya brought a fourth cover. I sat down, drank a glass of vodka, and began to lunch.

‘It’s wrong, your Excellency, very wrong!’ Kalinin said, continuing the conversation my entrance had interrupted. ‘It’s no sin for us little people, but you are an illustrious man, a rich man, a brilliant man… It’s a sin for you to fail.’

‘That’s quite true; it’s a sin,’ Babaev acquiesced.

‘What’s this all about?’ I asked.

‘Nikolai Ignat’ich has given me a good idea!’ the Count said, nodding to the justice of the peace. ‘He came to me… We sat down to lunch, and I began complaining of being bored…’

‘And he complained to me of being bored,’ Kalinin interrupted the Count. ‘Boredom, melancholy… this and that… In a word, disillusionment. A sort of Onegin. “Your Excellency,” I said, “you’re yourself to blame…”

“How so?”

“Quite simply… In order not to be bored,” I said, “accept some office… occupy yourself with the management of your estate… Farming is excellent, wonderful…” He tells me he intends to occupy himself with farming, but still he is bored… What fails him is, so to speak, the entertaining, the stimulating element. There is not the — how am I to express myself? - er - strong sensations…’

‘Well, and what idea did you give him?’

‘I really suggested no idea, I only reproached his Excellency. “How is it your Excellency,” I said, “that you, a young, cultivated, brilliant man, can live in such seclusion? Is it not a sin?” I asked. “You go nowhere, you receive nobody, you are seen nowhere… You live like an old man, or a hermit… What would it cost you to arrange parties… so to speak, at homes?”’

‘Why should he have at homes?’ I asked.

‘How can you ask? First, if his Excellency gave evening parties, he would become acquainted with society - study it, so to speak… Secondly, society would have the honour of becoming more closely acquainted with one of the richest of our landowners… There would be, so to speak, a mutual exchange of thoughts, conversation, gaiety… And when one comes to think of it, how many cultivated young ladies and men we have among us! What musical evenings, dances, picnics could be arranged! Only think! The reception rooms are huge, there are pavilions in the gardens, and so on, and so on. Nobody in the district could have dreamed of the private theatricals or the concerts that could be got up… Yes, by God! Only imagine them! Now all this is lost, as if we’re buried alive; but then… one must just know how to do things! If I had his Excellency’s means, I would show them how to live! And he says: “Bored”! By God! it’s laughable to listen to it… It makes one feel ashamed…’

And Kalinin began to blink his eyes, wishing to appear to be really ashamed…

‘All this is quite just,’ the Count said, rising from his seat and thrusting his hands into his pockets. ‘I could give excellent evening parties… Concerts, private theatricals… all this could be arranged charmingly. Besides, these parties would not only entertain society, they would have an educational influence too! Don’t you think so?’

‘Well, yes, ‘ I acquiesced. ‘As soon as our young ladies see your moustachioed physiognomy they will at once be penetrated by the spirit of civilization…’

‘Serezha, you’re always joking,’ the Count said, somewhat offended, ‘and you never give me any friendly advice! Everything is laughable for you! My friend, it is about time to drop these student habits!’

The Count began to pace about the room from corner to corner, and to explain to me in long and tiresome sentences the benefits that his evening parties might bring to humanity. Music, literature, the drama, riding, shooting. The shooting alone might unite all the best forces of the district!

‘We shall revert to the subject,’ the Count said to Kalinin in taking leave of him after lunch.

‘Then, if I understand your Excellency, the district may hope?’ the Justice of the Peace inquired.

‘Certainly, certainly… I will develop this idea and see what I can do… I am happy… delighted. You can tell everybody…’

It was a sight to note the look of beatitude that was imprinted on the face of the Justice of the Peace as he took his seat in his carriage and said to the coachman: ‘Go!’ He was so delighted that he even forgot our differences and in taking leave he called me ‘golubchek’ and pressed my hand warmly.

After the visitors had left, the Count and I sat down to table again and continued our lunch. We lunched till seven o’clock in the evening, when the crockery was removed from the table and dinner was served. Young drunkards know how to shorten the time between meals. The whole time we drank and ate tidbits, by which means we sustained the appetite which would have failed us if we had entirely ceased to eat.

‘Did you send money to anybody today?’ I asked the Count, remembering the packets of hundred-rouble notes I had seen in the morning in the Tenevo post-office.

‘I sent no money.’

‘Tell me, please, is your - what’s his name? — new friend, Kazimir Kaetanych, or Kaetan Kazimirovich, a wealthy man?’

‘No, Serezha. He’s a poor beggar! But what a soul he has - what a heart! You are wrong in speaking so disdainfully of him… and you bully him. Brother, you must learn to discriminate between people. Let’s have another glass?’

Pshekhotsky returned for dinner. When he saw me sitting at table and drinking, he frowned, and after turning about round our table for a time he seemed to think it best to retire to his own room. He refused to have any dinner, pleading a bad headache, but he expressed no objection when the Count advised him to go to bed and have his dinner there.

During the second course, Urbenin came in. I hardly recognized him. His broad red face beamed all over with pleasure. A happy smile seemed to be playing on his protruding ears and on the thick fingers with which he was arranging his smart new necktie all the time.

‘One of the cows is ill, your Excellency,’ he reported. ‘I sent for the vet, but it appears he has gone away somewhere. Wouldn’t it be a good thing to send to town for the veterinary surgeon? If I send to him he won’t listen and won’t come, but if you write to him it will be quite a different matter. Perhaps it is a mere trifle, but it may be something serious.’

‘All right, I will write…’ the Count grumbled.

‘I congratulate you, Pëtr Egorych,’ I said, rising and stretching out my hand to the bailiff.

‘On what occasion?’ he murmured.

‘Why, you are about to get married!’

‘Yes, yes, just fancy! He’s going to get married!’ the Count began, winking at the blushing Urbenin. ‘What do you think of him? Ha, ha, ha! He was silent, never said a word, and then suddenly - this bombshell. And — do you know whom he is going to marry? We guessed it that evening! Pëtr Egorych, we thought then that that mischievous heart of yours was up to no good. When he looked at you and Olenka he said: “That fellow’s bitten!” Ha, ha! Sit down and have dinner with us, Pëtr Egorych!’

Urbenin sat down carefully and respectfully and made a sign with his eyes to Il’ya to bring him a plate of soup. I poured him out a glass of vodka.

‘I don’t drink, sir,’ he said.

‘Nonsense, you drink more than we do.’

‘I used to drink, but now I don’t,’ the bailiff said, smiling. ‘Now, I mustn’t drink… There’s no cause. Thank God, everything is settled satisfactorily, everything is arranged, all exactly as my heart had desired, even better than I could have expected.’

‘Well, then, to your happiness you can drink this,’ I said, pouring him out a glass of sherry.

‘This - why not? I really did drink hard. Now I can confess it to his Excellency. Sometimes from morning to night. When I rose in the morning I remembered it… well, naturally, I went to the cupboard at once. Now thank God, I have nothing to drown in vodka.’

Urbenin drank the glass of sherry. I poured out a second. He drank this one too, and imperceptibly got drunk…

‘I can scarcely believe it,’ he said, laughing a happy childish laugh. ‘I look at this ring and remember her words when she gave her consent — I can still scarcely believe it… It seems laughable… How could I, at my age, with my appearance, hope that this deserving girl would not disdain to become mine… the mother of my orphan children? Why, she’s a beauty, as you have been pleased to notice; an angel personified! Wonders will never cease! You have filled my glass again? Why not, for the last time… I drank to drown care, I will now drink to happiness. How I suffered, gentlemen! What grief I endured! I saw her first a year ago, and would you believe it - from that time I have not slept quietly a single night; there was not a single day on which I did not drown this - silly weakness with vodka… and scolded myself for this folly… I sometimes looked at her through the window and admired her and… tore out the hair of my head… At times I could have hanged myself… But, thank God, I plucked up courage and proposed, and, do you know, it took me quite by surprise. Ha, ha! I heard, but I could not believe my own ears. She said: “I accept,” and it appeared to me like: “Go to the devil, you old dotard!”… Afterwards, when she kissed me, I was convinced…’

At the recollection of that first kiss received from the poetical Olenka, Urbenin closed his eyes and, despite his fifty years, he blushed like a boy… I found it quite disgusting.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said, looking at us with happy, kind eyes, ‘why don’t you get married? Why are you wasting your lives, throwing them out of the window? Why do you shun that which is the greatest blessing of all who live upon the earth? The delight that debauchery gives is not a hundredth part of what a quiet family life would give you! Young men, your Excellency and you, Sergey Petrovich… I am happy now, and… God knows how I love you both! Forgive me for giving stupid advice, but… I want you both to be happy! Why don’t you get married? Family life is a blessing… It’s every man’s duty!..

The happy and fond look on the face of the old man, who was about to marry a young girl and was advising us to alter our dissolute existence for a quiet family life, became unbearable to me.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘family life is a duty. I agree with you. So you are discharging yourself of this duty for a second time?’

‘Yes, for a second time. I am fond of family life in general. To be a bachelor or a widower is only half of a life for me. Whatever you may say, gentlemen, wedlock is a great thing!’

‘Certainly… even when the husband is almost three times as old as his wife?’

Urbenin blushed. The hand that was lifting a spoonful of soup to his mouth trembled, and the soup spilled back into the plate.

‘I understand what you mean, Sergey Petrovich,’ he mumbled, I thank you for your frankness. I ask myself: Am I not being unfair? The thought torments me. But there seems no time to ask oneself such questions when every moment one feels happy, when one forgets one’s age, ugliness… everything. Homo sum, Sergey Petrovich! And when for a second, thoughts about the inequalities of our ages come to me, I don’t worry about finding an answer, but try to stay calm. I think I have made Olga happy. I have given her a father and my children a mother. Besides, all this is like a novel, and… my head feels giddy. It was wrong to make me drink sherry.’

Urbenin rose, wiped his face with his napkin, and sat down again. A minute later he gulped down another glass of sherry and looked at me for a long time with an imploring glance as if he were begging me for mercy, and suddenly his shoulders began to shake, and quite unexpectedly he burst into sobs like a boy.

‘It’s nothing… nothing!’ he mumbled, trying to master his sobs. ‘Don’t be uneasy. After your words my heart grew sick with a strange foreboding. But it is nothing.’

Urbenin’s foreboding was realized, realized so soon that I have not time to change my pen and begin a new page. From the next chapter my calm muse will change the expression of calmness on her face for one of passion and affliction. The introduction is finished and the drama begins.

The criminal will of man enters upon its rights.