The Collected Works of Anton Chekhov: Plays, Novellas, Short Stories, Diary & Letters. Anton Chekhov

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СКАЧАТЬ a spare woman with fair hair and heavy freckles, and two unknown men: one a lanky young man with curly red hair and a big Adam’s apple; the other, a short stubby man with a shaven face like an actor’s and a bluish crooked chin.

      “Natalya, set the samovar,” cried Nadyezhda Stepanovna, with a loud rustle of her skirts. “I hear Pavel Matveyitch is come. Pavel, where are you? Good-evening, Pavel!” she said, running into the study breathlessly. “So you’ve come. I am so glad…. Two of our amateurs have come with me…. Come, I’ll introduce you…. Here, the taller one is Koromyslov… he sings splendidly; and the other, the little one… is called Smerkalov: he is a real actor… he recites magnificently. Oh, how tired I am! We have just had a rehearsal…. It goes splendidly. We are acting ‘The Lodger with the Trombone’ and ‘Waiting for Him.’… The performance is the day after tomorrow… .”

      “Why did you bring them?” asked Zaikin.

      “I couldn’t help it, Poppet; after tea we must rehearse our parts and sing something…. I am to sing a duet with Koromyslov…. Oh, yes, I was almost forgetting! Darling, send Natalya to get some sardines, vodka, cheese, and something else. They will most likely stay to supper…. Oh, how tired I am!”

      “H’m! I’ve no money.”

      “You must, Poppet! It would be awkward! Don’t make me blush.”

      Half an hour later Natalya was sent for vodka and savouries; Zaikin, after drinking tea and eating a whole French loaf, went to his bedroom and lay down on the bed, while Nadyezhda Stepanovna and her visitors, with much noise and laughter, set to work to rehearse their parts. For a long time Pavel Matveyitch heard Koromyslov’s nasal reciting and Smerkalov’s theatrical exclamations…. The rehearsal was followed by a long conversation, interrupted by the shrill laughter of Olga Kirillovna. Smerkalov, as a real actor, explained the parts with aplomb and heat….

      Then followed the duet, and after the duet there was the clatter of crockery…. Through his drowsiness Zaikin heard them persuading Smerkalov to read “The Woman who was a Sinner,” and heard him, after affecting to refuse, begin to recite. He hissed, beat himself on the breast, wept, laughed in a husky bass…. Zaikin scowled and hid his head under the quilt.

      “It’s a long way for you to go, and it’s dark,” he heard Nadyezhda Stepanovna’s voice an hour later. “Why shouldn’t you stay the night here? Koromyslov can sleep here in the drawing-room on the sofa, and you, Smerkalov, in Petya’s bed…. I can put Petya in my husband’s study…. Do stay, really!”

      At last when the clock was striking two, all was hushed, the bedroom door opened, and Nadyezhda Stepanovna appeared.

      “Pavel, are you asleep?” she whispered.

      “No; why?”

      “Go into your study, darling, and lie on the sofa. I am going to put Olga Kirillovna here, in your bed. Do go, dear! I would put her to sleep in the study, but she is afraid to sleep alone…. Do get up!”

      Zaikin got up, threw on his dressing-gown, and taking his pillow, crept wearily to the study…. Feeling his way to his sofa, he lighted a match, and saw Petya lying on the sofa. The boy was not asleep, and, looking at the match with wide-open eyes:

      “Father, why is it gnats don’t go to sleep at night?” he asked.

      “Because… because… you and I are not wanted…. We have nowhere to sleep even.”

      “Father, and why is it Olga Kirillovna has freckles on her face?”

      “Oh, shut up! I am tired of you.”

      After a moment’s thought, Zaikin dressed and went out into the street for a breath of air…. He looked at the grey morning sky, at the motionless clouds, heard the lazy call of the drowsy corncrake, and began dreaming of the next day, when he would go to town, and coming back from the court would tumble into bed…. Suddenly the figure of a man appeared round the corner.

      “A watchman, no doubt,” thought Zaikin. But going nearer and looking more closely he recognized in the figure the summer visitor in the ginger trousers.

      “You’re not asleep?” he asked.

      “No, I can’t sleep,” sighed Ginger Trousers. “I am enjoying Nature…. A welcome visitor, my wife’s mother, arrived by the night train, you know. She brought with her our nieces… splendid girls! I was delighted to see them, although… it’s very damp! And you, too, are enjoying Nature?”

      “Yes,” grunted Zaikin, “I am enjoying it, too…. Do you know whether there is any sort of tavern or restaurant in the neighbourhood?”

      Ginger Trousers raised his eyes to heaven and meditated profoundly.

       THE CHORUS GIRL [trans. by Marian Fell]

       Table of Contents

      ONE day while she was still pretty and young and her voice was sweet, Nikolai Kolpakoff, an admirer of hers, was sitting in a room on the second floor of her cottage. The afternoon was unbearably sultry and hot. Kolpakoff, who had just dined and drunk a whole bottle of vile port, felt thoroughly ill and out of sorts. Both he and she were bored, and were waiting for the heat to abate so that they might go for a stroll.

      Suddenly a bell rang in the hall. Kolpakoff, who was sitting in his slippers without a coat, jumped up and looked at Pasha with a question in his eyes.

      "It is probably the postman or one of the girls," said the singer.

      Kolpakoff was not afraid of the postman or of Pasha's girl friends, but nevertheless he snatched up his coat and disappeared into the next room while Pasha ran to open the door. What was her astonishment when she saw on the threshold, not the postman nor a girl friend, but an unknown woman, beautiful and young ! Her dress was distinguished and she was evidently a lady.

      The stranger was pale and was breathing heavily as if she were out of breath from climbing the stairs.

      "What can I do for you?" Pasha inquired.

      The lady did not reply at once. She took a step forward, looked slowly around the room, and sank into a chair as if her legs had collapsed under her from faintness or fatigue. Her pale lips moved silently, trying to utter words which would not come.

      "Is my husband here?" she asked at last, raising her large eyes with their red and swollen lids to Pasha's face.

      "What husband do you mean?" Pasha whispered, suddenly taking such violent fright that her hands and feet grew as cold as ice. "What husband?" she repeated beginning to tremble.

      "My husband—Nikolai Kolpakoff."

      "N—no, my lady. I don't know your husband."

      A minute passed in silence. The stranger drew her handkerchief several times across her pale lips, and held her breath in an effort to subdue an inward trembling, while Pasha stood before her as motionless as a statue, gazing at her full of uncertainty and fear.

      "So you say he is not here?" asked the lady. Her voice was firm now and a strange smile had СКАЧАТЬ