THE COLLECTED WORKS OF ANTON CHEKHOV. Anton Chekhov

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       THE COOK’S WEDDING [trans. by Marian Fell]

       Table of Contents

      GRISHA, a little urchin of seven, stood at the kitchen door with his eye at the keyhole, watching and listening. Something was taking place in the kitchen that seemed to him very strange and that he had never seen happen before. At the table on which the meat and onions were usually chopped sat a huge, burly peasant in a long coachman's coat. His hair and beard were red, and a large drop of perspiration hung from the tip of his nose. He was holding his saucer on the outstretched fingers of his right hand and, as he supped his tea, was nibbling a lump of sugar so noisily that the goose-flesh started out on Grisha's back. On a grimy stool opposite him sat Grisha's old nurse, Aksinia. She also was drinking tea; her mien was serious and at the same time radiant with triumph. Pelagia, the cook, was busy over the stove and seemed to be endeavouring to conceal her face by every possible means. Grisha could see that it was fairly on fire, burning hot, and flooded in turn with every colour of the rainbow from dark purple to a deathly pallor. The cook was constantly catching up knives, forks, stove-wood, and dish-rags in her trembling hands, and was bustling about and grumbling and making a great racket without accomplishing anything. She did not once glance toward the table at which the other two were sitting, and replied to the nurse's questions abruptly and roughly without ever turning her head in their direction.

      "Drink, drink, Danilo!" the nurse was urging the driver. "What makes you always drink tea? Take some vodka ! "

      And the nurse pushed the bottle toward her guest, her face assuming a malicious expression.

      "No, ma'am, I don't use it. Thank you, ma'am," the driver replied. " Don't force me to drink it, goody Aksinia ! "

      "What's the matter with you ? What, you a driver and won't drink vodka? A single man ought to drink ! Come, have a little !"

      The driver rolled his eyes at the vodka and then at the malicious face of the nurse, and his own face assumed an expression no less crafty than hers.

      "No, no; you'll not catch me, you old witch!" he seemed to be saying,

      "No, thank you; I don't drink," he answered aloud. "That foolishness won't do in our business. A workman can drink if he wants to because he never budges from the same place, but we fellows live too much in public. Don't we now? Supposing I were to go into an inn and my horse were to break away, or, worse still, supposing I were to get drunk and, before I knew it, were to go to sleep and fall off the box? That's what happens!"

      "How much do you make a day, Danilo?"

      "That depends on the day. There are days and days. A coachman's job isn't worth much now. You know yourself that drivers are as thick as flies, hay is expensive, travellers are scarce and are always wanting to go everywhere on horseback. But, praise be to God, we don't complain. We keep ourselves clothed and fed and we can even make some one else happy—(here the driver cast a look in Pelagia's direction)—if they want us to!"

      Grisha did not hear what was said next. His mamma came to the door and sent him away to the nursery to study.

      "Be off to your lessons, you have no business to be here!" she exclaimed.

      On reaching the nursery, Grisha took up "Our Mother Tongue," and tried to read, but without success. The words he had just overheard had raised a host of questions in his mind.

      "The cook is going to be married," he thought. "That is strange. I don't understand why she wants to be married. Mamma married papa and Cousin Vera married Pavel Andreitch, but papa and Pavel Andreitch have gold watch-chains and nice clothes and their boots are always clean. I can understand any one marrying them. But this horrid driver with his red nose and his felt boots—ugh СКАЧАТЬ