THE COLLECTED WORKS OF ANTON CHEKHOV. Anton Chekhov

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СКАЧАТЬ Petrovich, see that this sort of thing does not happen here again: I won’t have it,’ he said in the tone of a severe parent. ‘I don’t like it…’

      ‘What’s “it”?’

      ‘That thing… You think I did not see? I saw everything… See that she doesn’t dare come here again. This is no house for that sort of philandering. There are other places for that…’

      I was in the best of humours, so Polycarp’s spying and his censorious tone did not make me angry. I only laughed and sent him to the kitchen.

      I had hardly had time to collect my thoughts after Olga’s visit when another guest arrived. A carriage rattled up to my door and Polycarp, spitting to each side and mumbling abuse, announced the arrival of that there fellow, may he be…!’ etc., etc. It was the Count, whom he hated with the whole strength of his soul. The Count entered, looked tearfully at me, and shook his head.

      ‘You turn away… You don’t want to speak…’

      ‘I don’t turn away,’ I said.

      ‘I am so fond of you, Serezha, and you… for a trifle! Why do you wound me? Why?’

      The Count sat down, sighed, and shook his head.

      ‘Well, you’ve played the fool long enough!’ I said. ‘All right!’

      I had a strong influence upon this weak, puny little man; it was as strong as my contempt for him… My contemptuous tone never offended him; on the contrary… When he heard my ‘All right!’ he jumped up and embraced me.

      ‘I have brought him with me… He is sitting in the carriage… Do you wish him to apologize?’

      ‘Do you know his fault?’

      ‘No…’

      ‘So much the better. He needn’t apologize, but you had better warn him that if ever a similar thing occurs, I’ll not get excited, but I will take my own measures.’

      ‘Then, Serezha, it’s peace? Excellent! It ought to have been so long ago; the deuce only knows what you quarrelled about! Like two schoolgirls! Oh, by-the-by, golubchek, haven’t you got half a glass of vodka? My throat is terribly dry!’

      I ordered vodka to be served. The Count drank two glasses, sprawled himself out on the sofa, and began to chatter.

      ‘I say, brother, I just met Olia… A fine girl! I must tell you, I’m beginning to detest Urbenin… That means that Olenka is beginning to please me… She’s devilish pretty! I’m thinking of making up to her.’

      ‘One ought not to touch the married ones!’ I said with a sigh.

      ‘Come now, he’s an old man… It’s no sin to cheat Pëtr Egorych out of his wife… She’s no mate for him… He’s like a dog; he can’t eat it himself and won’t let others have it… I’m going to begin my siege today; I’ll begin systematically… She’s such a sweet little duck - h’m! - quite chic, brother! One licks one’s chops!’

      The Count drank a third glass and continued:

      ‘Of the girls here, do you know who else pleases me? Nadenka, that fool Kalinin’s daughter… A burning brunette, you know the sort, pale, with wonderful eyes… I must also cast my line there… I’m giving a party at Whitsuntide, a musical, vocal, literary evening on purpose to invite her… As it turns out, it’s not so bad here; quite jolly! There’s society, and women… and… May I have forty winks here… only a moment?’

      ‘You may… But how about Pshekhotsky in the carriage?’

      ‘He may wait, the devil take him! Brother, I myself don’t like him.’

      The Count raised himself on his elbow and said mysteriously:

      ‘I keep him only from necessity… because I must… May the devil take him!’

      The Count’s elbow gave way, his head sank on the cushion. A minute later snores were heard.

      In the evening after the Count had left, I had another visitor; the doctor, Pavel Ivanovich. He came to inform me of Nadezhda Nikolaevna’s illness and also that she had definitely refused him her hand. The poor fellow was downhearted and went about like a drenched hen.

      CHAPTER XVII

       Table of Contents

      The poetical month of May had passed…

      The lilacs and tulips were over, and fate decreed that with them the ecstasies of love, which, notwithstanding their guiltiness and painfulness, had yet occasionally afforded us sweet moments that can never be effaced from our memory, should likewise wither. There are moments for which one would give months, yea, even years!

      On a June evening when the sun was already set, but its broad track in purple and gold still glowed in the distant West, foretelling a calm and clear day for the morrow, I rode on Zorka up to the house where Urbenin lived. On that evening the Count was giving a musical party. The guests were already arriving, but the Count was not at home; he had gone for a ride and had left word he would return soon.

      A little later I was standing at the porch, holding my horse by the bridle and chatting with Urbenin’s little daughter, Sasha. Urbenin himself was sitting on the steps with his head supported on his fists, looking into the distance, which could be seen through the open gates. He was gloomy and answered my questions reluctantly. I left him in peace and occupied myself with Sasha.

      ‘Where is your new mama?’ I asked her.

      ‘She has gone riding with the Count. She rides with him every day.’

      ‘Every day!’ Urbenin grumbled with a sigh.

      Much could be heard in that sigh. The same feelings could be heard in it that were agitating my soul and that I was trying to explain to myself, but was unable to do so, and therefore became lost in conjecture.

      Every day Olga went out for rides with the Count. But that was a trifle. Olga could not fall in love with the Count, and Urbenin’s jealousy was groundless. We ought not to have been jealous of the Count, but of something else which, however, I could not understand for a long time. This ‘something else’ built up a whole wall between Olga and me. She continued to love me, but after the visit which has been described in the last chapter, she had not been to my house more than twice, and when we met in other places she flared up in a strange way and obstinately refused to answer my questions. She returned my caresses with passion, but her movements were sudden and startled, so that our short rendezvous only left a feeling of painful perplexity in my mind. Her conscience was not clean; this was clear, but what was the real cause? Nothing could be read on Olga’s guilty face.

      ‘I hope your new mama is well?’ I asked Sasha.

      ‘She’s quite well. Only in the night she had toothache. She cried.’

      ‘She cried,’ Urbenin repeated, looking at Sasha. ‘Did you see it? My darling, you only dreamed СКАЧАТЬ