The Witch
The WitchTHE WITCHPEASANT WIVESTHE POSTTHE NEW VILLADREAMSTHE PIPEAGAFYAAT CHRISTMAS TIMEGUSEVTHE STUDENTIN THE RAVINETHE HUNTSMANHAPPINESSA MALEFACTORPEASANTSCopyright
The Witch
Anton Pavlovich Chekhov
THE WITCH
IT was approaching nightfall. The sexton, Savely Gykin, was
lying in his huge bed in the hut adjoining the church. He was not
asleep, though it was his habit to go to sleep at the same time as
the hens. His coarse red hair peeped from under one end of the
greasy patchwork quilt, made up of coloured rags, while his big
unwashed feet stuck out from the other. He was listening. His hut
adjoined the wall that encircled the church and the solitary window
in it looked out upon the open country. And out there a regular
battle was going on. It was hard to say who was being wiped off the
face of the earth, and for the sake of whose destruction nature was
being churned up into such a ferment; but, judging from the
unceasing malignant roar, someone was getting it very hot. A
victorious force was in full chase over the fields, storming in the
forest and on the church roof, battering spitefully with its fists
upon the windows, raging and tearing, while something vanquished
was howling and wailing.... A plaintive lament sobbed at the
window, on the roof, or in the stove. It sounded not like a call
for help, but like a cry of misery, a consciousness that it was too
late, that there was no salvation. The snowdrifts were covered with
a thin coating of ice; tears quivered on them and on the trees; a
dark slush of mud and melting snow flowed along the roads and
paths. In short, it was thawing, but through the dark night the
heavens failed to see it, and flung flakes of fresh snow upon the
melting earth at a terrific rate. And the wind staggered like a
drunkard. It would not let the snow settle on the ground, and
whirled it round in the darkness at random.Savely listened to all this din and frowned. The fact was
that he knew, or at any rate suspected, what all this racket
outside the window was tending to and whose handiwork it
was."I know!" he muttered, shaking his finger menacingly under
the bedclothes; "I know all about it."On a stool by the window sat the sexton's wife, Raissa
Nilovna. A tin lamp standing on another stool, as though timid and
distrustful of its powers, shed a dim and flickering light on her
broad shoulders, on the handsome, tempting-looking contours of her
person, and on her thick plait, which reached to the floor. She was
making sacks out of coarse hempen stuff. Her hands moved nimbly,
while her whole body, her eyes, her eyebrows, her full lips, her
white neck were as still as though they were asleep, absorbed in
the monotonous, mechanical toil. Only from time to time she raised
her head to rest her weary neck, glanced for a moment towards the
window, beyond which the snowstorm was raging, and bent again over
her sacking. No desire, no joy, no grief, nothing was expressed by
her handsome face with its turned-up nose and its dimples. So a
beautiful fountain expresses nothing when it is not
playing.But at last she had finished a sack. She flung it aside, and,
stretching luxuriously, rested her motionless, lack-lustre eyes on
the window. The panes were swimming with drops like tears, and
white with short-lived snowflakes which fell on the window, glanced
at Raissa, and melted...."Come to bed!" growled the sexton. Raissa remained mute. But
suddenly her eyelashes flickered and there was a gleam of attention
in her eye. Savely, all the time watching her expression from under
the quilt, put out his head and asked:"What is it?""Nothing.... I fancy someone's coming," she answered
quietly.The sexton flung the quilt off with his arms and legs, knelt
up in bed, and looked blankly at his wife. The timid light of the
lamp illuminated his hirsute, pock-marked countenance and glided
over his rough matted hair."Do you hear?" asked his wife.Through the monotonous roar of the storm he caught a scarcely
audible thin and jingling monotone like the shrill note of a gnat
when it wants to settle on one's cheek and is angry at being
prevented."It's the post," muttered Savely, squatting on his
heels.Two miles from the church ran the posting road. In windy
weather, when the wind was blowing from the road to the church, the
inmates of the hut caught the sound of bells."Lord! fancy people wanting to drive about in such weather,"
sighed Raissa."It's government work. You've to go whether you like or
not."The murmur hung in the air and died away."It has driven by," said Savely, getting into
bed.But before he had time to cover himself up with the
bedclothes he heard a distinct sound of the bell. The sexton looked
anxiously at his wife, leapt out of bed and walked, waddling, to
and fro by the stove. The bell went on ringing for a little, then
died away again as though it had ceased."I don't hear it," said the sexton, stopping and looking at
his wife with his eyes screwed up.But at that moment the wind rapped on the window and with it
floated a shrill jingling note. Savely turned pale, cleared his
throat, and flopped about the floor with his bare feet
again."The postman is lost in the storm," he wheezed out glancing
malignantly at his wife. "Do you hear? The postman has lost his
way!... I... I know! Do you suppose I... don't understand?" he
muttered. "I know all about it, curse you!""What do you know?" Raissa asked quietly, keeping her eyes
fixed on the window."I know that it's all your doing, you she-devil! Your doing,
damn you! This snowstorm and the post going wrong, you've done it
all—you!""You're mad, you silly," his wife answered
calmly."I've been watching you for a long time past and I've seen
it. From the first day I married you I noticed that you'd bitch's
blood in you!""Tfoo!" said Raissa, surprised, shrugging her shoulders and
crossing herself. "Cross yourself, you fool!""A witch is a witch," Savely pronounced in a hollow, tearful
voice, hurriedly blowing his nose on the hem of his shirt; "though
you are my wife, though you are of a clerical family, I'd say what
you are even at confession.... Why, God have mercy upon us! Last
year on the Eve of the Prophet Daniel and the Three Young Men there
was a snowstorm, and what happened then? The mechanic came in to
warm himself. Then on St. Alexey's Day the ice broke on the river
and the district policeman turned up, and he was chatting with you
all night... the damned brute! And when he came out in the morning
and I looked at him, he had rings under his eyes and his cheeks
were hollow! Eh? During the August fast there were two storms and
each time the huntsman turned up. I saw it all, damn him! Oh, she
is redder than a crab now, aha!""You didn't see anything.""Didn't I! And this winter before Christmas on the Day of the
Ten Martyrs of Crete, when the storm lasted for a whole day and
night—do you remember?—the marshal's clerk was lost, and turned up
here, the hound.... Tfoo! To be tempted by the clerk! It was worth
upsetting God's weather for him! A drivelling scribbler, not a foot
from the ground, pimples all over his mug and his neck awry! If he
were good-looking, anyway—but he, tfoo! he is as ugly as
Satan!"The sexton took breath, wiped his lips and listened. The bell
was not to be heard, but the wind banged on the roof, and again
there came a tinkle in the darkness."And it's the same thing now!" Savely went on. "It's not for
nothing the postman is lost! Blast my eyes if the postman isn't
looking for you! Oh, the devil is a good hand at his work; he is a
fine one to help! He will turn him round and round and bring him
here. I know, I see! You can't conceal it, you devil's bauble, you
heathen wanton! As soon as the storm began I knew what you were up
to.""Here's a fool!" smiled his wife. "Why, do you suppose, you
thick-head, that I make the storm?""H'm!... Grin away! Whether it's your doing or not, I only
know that when your blood's on fire there's sure to be bad weather,
and when there's bad weather there's bound to be some crazy fellow
turning up here. It happens so every time! So it must be
you!"To be more impressive the sexton put his finger to his
forehead, closed his left eye, and said in a singsong
voice:"Oh, the madness! oh, the unclean Judas! If you really are a
human being and not a witch, you ought to think what if he is not
the mechanic, or the clerk, or the huntsman, but the devil in their
form! Ah! You'd better think of that!""Why, you are stupid, Savely," said his wife, looking at him
compassionately. "When father was alive and living here, all sorts
of people used to come to him to be cured of the ague: from the
village, and the hamlets, and the Armenian settlement. They came
almost every day, and no one called them devils. But if anyone once
a year comes in bad weather to warm himself, you wonder at it, you
silly, and take all sorts of notions into your head at
once."His wife's logic touched Savely. He stood with his bare feet
wide apart, bent his head, and pondered. He was not firmly
convinced yet of the truth of his suspicions, and his wife's
genuine and unconcerned tone quite disconcerted him. Yet after a
moment's thought he wagged his head and said:"It's not as though they were old men or bandy-legged
cripples; it's always young men who want to come for the night....
Why is that? And if they only wanted to warm themselves——But they
are up to mischief. No, woman; there's no creature in this world as
cunning as your female sort! Of real brains you've not an ounce,
less than a starling, but for devilish slyness—oo-oo-oo! The Queen
of Heaven protect us! There is the postman's bell! When the storm
was only beginning I knew all that was in your mind. That's your
witchery, you spider!""Why do you keep on at me, you heathen?" His wife lost her
patience at last. "Why do you keep sticking to it like
pitch?""I stick to it because if anything—God forbid—happens
to-night... do you hear?... if anything happens to-night, I'll go
straight off to-morrow morning to Father Nikodim and tell him all
about it. 'Father Nikodim,' I shall say, 'graciously excuse me, but
she is a witch.' 'Why so?' 'H'm! do you want to know why?'
'Certainly....' And I shall tell him. And woe to you, woman! Not
only at the dread Seat of Judgment, but in your earthly life you'll
be punished, too! It's not for nothing there are prayers in the
breviary against your kind!"Suddenly there was a knock at the window, so loud and unusual
that Savely turned pale and almost dropped backwards with fright.
His wife jumped up, and she, too, turned pale."For God's sake, let us come in and get warm!" they heard in
a trembling deep bass. "Who lives here? For mercy's sake! We've
lost our way.""Who are you?" asked Raissa, afraid to look at the
window."The post," answered a second voice."You've succeeded with your devil's tricks," said Savely with
a wave of his hand. "No mistake; I am right! Well, you'd better
look out!"The sexton jumped on to the bed in two skips, stretched
himself on the feather mattress, and sniffing angrily, turned with
his face to the wall. Soon he felt a draught of cold air on his
back. The door creaked and the tall figure of a man, plastered over
with snow from head to foot, appeared in the doorway. Behind him
could be seen a second figure as white."Am I to bring in the bags?" asked the second in a hoarse
bass voice."You can't leave them there." Saying this, the first figure
began untying his hood, but gave it up, and pulling it off
impatiently with his cap, angrily flung it near the stove. Then
taking off his greatcoat, he threw that down beside it, and,
without saying good-evening, began pacing up and down the
hut.He was a fair-haired, young postman wearing a shabby uniform
and black rusty-looking high boots. After warming himself by
walking to and fro, he sat down at the table, stretched out his
muddy feet towards the sacks and leaned his chin on his fist. His
pale face, reddened in places by the cold, still bore vivid traces
of the pain and terror he had just been through. Though distorted
by anger and bearing traces of recent suffering, physical and
moral, it was handsome in spite of the melting snow on the
eyebrows, moustaches, and short beard."It's a dog's life!" muttered the postman, looking round the
walls and seeming hardly able to believe that he was in the warmth.
"We were nearly lost! If it had not been for your light, I don't
know what would have happened. Goodness only knows when it will all
be over! There's no end to this dog's life! Where have we come?" he
asked, dropping his voice and raising his eyes to the sexton's
wife."To the Gulyaevsky Hill on General Kalinovsky's estate," she
answered, startled and blushing."Do you hear, Stepan?" The postman turned to the driver, who
was wedged in the doorway with a huge mail-bag on his shoulders.
"We've got to Gulyaevsky Hill.""Yes... we're a long way out." Jerking out these words like a
hoarse sigh, the driver went out and soon after returned with
another bag, then went out once more and this time brought the
postman's sword on a big belt, of the pattern of that long flat
blade with which Judith is portrayed by the bedside of Holofernes
in cheap woodcuts. Laying the bags along the wall, he went out into
the outer room, sat down there and lighted his pipe."Perhaps you'd like some tea after your journey?" Raissa
inquired."How can we sit drinking tea?" said the postman, frowning.
"We must make haste and get warm, and then set off, or we shall be
late for the mail train. We'll stay ten minutes and then get on our
way. Only be so good as to show us the way.""What an infliction it is, this weather!" sighed
Raissa."H'm, yes.... Who may you be?""We? We live here, by the church.... We belong to the
clergy.... There lies my husband. Savely, get up and say
good-evening! This used to be a separate parish till eighteen
months ago. Of course, when the gentry lived here there were more
people, and it was worth while to have the services. But now the
gentry have gone, and I need not tell you there's nothing for the
clergy to live on. The nearest village is Markovka, and that's over
three miles away. Savely is on the retired list now, and has got
the watchman's job; he has to look after the
church...."And the postman was immediately informed that if Savely were
to go to the General's lady and ask her for a letter to the bishop,
he would be given a good berth. "But he doesn't go to the General's
lady because he is lazy and afraid of people. We belong to the
clergy all the same..." added Raissa."What do you live on?" asked the postman."There's a kitchen garden and a meadow belonging to the
church. Only we don't get much from that," sighed Raissa. "The old
skinflint, Father Nikodim, from the next village celebrates here on
St. Nicolas' Day in the winter and on St. Nicolas' Day in the
summer, and for that he takes almost all the crops for himself.
There's no one to stick up for us!""You are lying," Savely growled hoarsely. "Father Nikodim is
a saintly soul, a luminary of the Church; and if he does take it,
it's the regulation!""You've a cross one!" said the postman, with a grin. "Have
you been married long?""It was three years ago the last Sunday before Lent. My
father was sexton here in the old days, and when the time came for
him to die, he went to the Consistory and asked them to send some
unmarried man to marry me that I might keep the place. So I married
him.""Aha, so you killed two birds with one stone!" said the
postman, looking at Savely's back. "Got wife and job
together."Savely wriggled his leg impatiently and moved closer to the
wall. The postman moved away from the table, stretched, and sat
down on the mail-bag. After a moment's thought he squeezed the bags
with his hands, shifted his sword to the other side, and lay down
with one foot touching the floor."It's a dog's life," he muttered, putting his hands behind
his head and closing his eyes. "I wouldn't wish a wild Tatar such a
life."Soon everything was still. Nothing was audible except the
sniffing of Savely and the slow, even breathing of the sleeping
postman, who uttered a deep prolonged "h-h-h" at every breath. From
time to time there was a sound like a creaking wheel in his throat,
and his twitching foot rustled against the bag.Savely fidgeted under the quilt and looked round slowly. His
wife was sitting on the stool, and with her hands pressed against
her cheeks was gazing at the postman's face. Her face was
immovable, like the face of some one frightened and
astonished."Well, what are you gaping at?" Savely whispered
angrily."What is it to you? Lie down!" answered his wife without
taking her eyes off the flaxen head.Savely angrily puffed all the air out of his chest and turned
abruptly to the wall. Three minutes later he turned over restlessly
again, knelt up on the bed, and with his hands on the pillow looked
askance at his wife. She was still sitting motionless, staring at
the visitor. Her cheeks were pale and her eyes were glowing with a
strange fire. The sexton cleared his throat, crawled on his stomach
off the bed, and going up to the postman, put a handkerchief over
his face."What's that for?" asked his wife."To keep the light out of his eyes.""Then put out the light!"Savely looked distrustfully at his wife, put out his lips
towards the lamp, but at once thought better of it and clasped his
hands."Isn't that devilish cunning?" he exclaimed. "Ah! Is there
any creature slyer than womenkind?""Ah, you long-skirted devil!" hissed his wife, frowning with
vexation. "You wait a bit!"And settling herself more comfortably, she stared at the
postman again.It did not matter to her that his face was covered. She was
not so much interested in his face as in his whole appearance, in
the novelty of this man. His chest was broad and powerful, his
hands were slender and well formed, and his graceful, muscular legs
were much comelier than Savely's stumps. There could be no
comparison, in fact."Though I am a long-skirted devil," Savely said after a brief
interval, "they've no business to sleep here.... It's government
work; we shall have to answer for keeping them. If you carry the
letters, carry them, you can't go to sleep.... Hey! you!" Savely
shouted into the outer room. "You, driver. What's your name? Shall
I show you the way? Get up; postmen mustn't sleep!"And Savely, thoroughly roused, ran up to the postman and
tugged him by the sleeve."Hey, your honour, if you must go, go; and if you don't, it's
not the thing.... Sleeping won't do."The postman jumped up, sat down, looked with blank eyes round
the hut, and lay down again."But when are you going?" Savely pattered away. "That's what
the post is for—to get there in good time, do you hear? I'll take
you."The postman opened his eyes. Warmed and relaxed by his first
sweet sleep, and not yet quite awake, he saw as through a mist the
white neck and the immovable, alluring eyes of the sexton's wife.
He closed his eyes and smiled as though he had been dreaming it
all."Come, how can you go in such weather!" he heard a soft
feminine voice; "you ought to have a sound sleep and it would do
you good!""And what about the post?" said Savely anxiously. "Who's
going to take the post? Are you going to take it, pray,
you?"The postman opened his eyes again, looked at the play of the
dimples on Raissa's face, remembered where he was, and understood
Savely. The thought that he had to go out into the cold darkness
sent a chill shudder all down him, and he winced."I might sleep another five minutes," he said, yawning. "I
shall be late, anyway....""We might be just in time," came a voice from the outer room.
"All days are not alike; the train may be late for a bit of
luck."The postman got up, and stretching lazily began putting on
his coat.Savely positively neighed with delight when he saw his
visitors were getting ready to go."Give us a hand," the driver shouted to him as he lifted up a
mail-bag.The sexton ran out and helped him drag the post-bags into the
yard. The postman began undoing the knot in his hood. The sexton's
wife gazed into his eyes, and seemed trying to look right into his
soul."You ought to have a cup of tea..." she said."I wouldn't say no... but, you see, they're getting ready,"
he assented. "We are late, anyway.""Do stay," she whispered, dropping her eyes and touching him
by the sleeve.The postman got the knot undone at last and flung the hood
over his elbow, hesitating. He felt it comfortable standing by
Raissa."What a... neck you've got!..." And he touched her neck with
two fingers. Seeing that she did not resist, he stroked her neck
and shoulders."I say, you are...""You'd better stay... have some tea.""Where are you putting it?" The driver's voice could be heard
outside. "Lay it crossways.""You'd better stay.... Hark how the wind howls."And the postman, not yet quite awake, not yet quite able to
shake off the intoxicating sleep of youth and fatigue, was suddenly
overwhelmed by a desire for the sake of which mail-bags, postal
trains... and all things in the world, are forgotten. He glanced at
the door in a frightened way, as though he wanted to escape or hide
himself, seized Raissa round the waist, and was just bending over
the lamp to put out the light, when he heard the tramp of boots in
the outer room, and the driver appeared in the doorway. Savely
peeped in over his shoulder. The postman dropped his hands quickly
and stood still as though irresolute."It's all ready," said the driver. The postman stood still
for a moment, resolutely threw up his head as though waking up
completely, and followed the driver out. Raissa was left
alone."Come, get in and show us the way!" she heard.One bell sounded languidly, then another, and the jingling
notes in a long delicate chain floated away from the
hut.When little by little they had died away, Raissa got up and
nervously paced to and fro. At first she was pale, then she flushed
all over. Her face was contorted with hate, her breathing was
tremulous, her eyes gleamed with wild, savage anger, and, pacing up
and down as in a cage, she looked like a tigress menaced with
red-hot iron. For a moment she stood still and looked at her abode.
Almost half of the room was filled up by the bed, which stretched
the length of the whole wall and consisted of a dirty feather-bed,
coarse grey pillows, a quilt, and nameless rags of various sorts.
The bed was a shapeless ugly mass which suggested the shock of hair
that always stood up on Savely's head whenever it occurred to him
to oil it. From the bed to the door that led into the cold outer
room stretched the dark stove surrounded by pots and hanging
clouts. Everything, including the absent Savely himself, was dirty,
greasy, and smutty to the last degree, so that it was strange to
see a woman's white neck and delicate skin in such
surroundings.Raissa ran up to the bed, stretched out her hands as though
she wanted to fling it all about, stamp it underfoot, and tear it
to shreds. But then, as though frightened by contact with the dirt,
she leapt back and began pacing up and down again.When Savely returned two hours later, worn out and covered
with snow, she was undressed and in bed. Her eyes were closed, but
from the slight tremor that ran over her face he guessed that she
was not asleep. On his way home he had vowed inwardly to wait till
next day and not to touch her, but he could not resist a biting
taunt at her."Your witchery was all in vain: he's gone off," he said,
grinning with malignant joy.His wife remained mute, but her chin quivered. Savely
undressed slowly, clambered over his wife, and lay down next to the
wall."To-morrow I'll let Father Nikodim know what sort of wife you
are!" he muttered, curling himself up.Raissa turned her face to him and her eyes
gleamed."The job's enough for you, and you can look for a wife in the
forest, blast you!" she said. "I am no wife for you, a clumsy lout,
a slug-a-bed, God forgive me!""Come, come... go to sleep!""How miserable I am!" sobbed his wife. "If it weren't for
you, I might have married a merchant or some gentleman! If it
weren't for you, I should love my husband now! And you haven't been
buried in the snow, you haven't been frozen on the highroad, you
Herod!"Raissa cried for a long time. At last she drew a deep sigh
and was still. The storm still raged without. Something wailed in
the stove, in the chimney, outside the walls, and it seemed to
Savely that the wailing was within him, in his ears. This evening
had completely confirmed him in his suspicions about his wife. He
no longer doubted that his wife, with the aid of the Evil One,
controlled the winds and the post sledges. But to add to his grief,
this mysteriousness, this supernatural, weird power gave the woman
beside him a peculiar, incomprehensible charm of which he had not
been conscious before. The fact that in his stupidity he
unconsciously threw a poetic glamour over her made her seem, as it
were, whiter, sleeker, more unapproachable."Witch!" he muttered indignantly. "Tfoo, horrid
creature!"Yet, waiting till she was quiet and began breathing evenly,
he touched her head with his finger... held her thick plait in his
hand for a minute. She did not feel it. Then he grew bolder and
stroked her neck."Leave off!" she shouted, and prodded him on the nose with
her elbow with such violence that he saw stars before his
eyes.The pain in his nose was soon over, but the torture in his
heart remained.
PEASANT WIVES
IN the village of Reybuzh, just facing the church, stands a
two-storeyed house with a stone foundation and an iron roof. In the
lower storey the owner himself, Filip Ivanov Kashin, nicknamed
Dyudya, lives with his family, and on the upper floor, where it is
apt to be very hot in summer and very cold in winter, they put up
government officials, merchants, or landowners, who chance to be
travelling that way. Dyudya rents some bits of land, keeps a tavern
on the highroad, does a trade in tar, honey, cattle, and jackdaws,
and has already something like eight thousand roubles put by in the
bank in the town.
His elder son, Fyodor, is head engineer in the factory, and,
as the peasants say of him, he has risen so high in the world that
he is quite out of reach now. Fyodor's wife, Sofya, a plain, ailing
woman, lives at home at her father-in-law's. She is for ever
crying, and every Sunday she goes over to the hospital for
medicine. Dyudya's second son, the hunchback Alyoshka, is living at
home at his father's. He has only lately been married to Varvara,
whom they singled out for him from a poor family. She is a handsome
young woman, smart and buxom. When officials or merchants put up at
the house, they always insist on having Varvara to bring in the
samovar and make their beds.
One June evening when the sun was setting and the air was
full of the smell of hay, of steaming dung-heaps and new milk, a
plain-looking cart drove into Dyudya's yard with three people in
it: a man of about thirty in a canvas suit, beside him a little boy
of seven or eight in a long black coat with big bone buttons, and
on the driver's seat a young fellow in a red shirt.
The young fellow took out the horses and led them out into
the street to walk them up and down a bit, while the traveller
washed, said a prayer, turning towards the church, then spread a
rug near the cart and sat down with the boy to supper. He ate
without haste, sedately, and Dyudya, who had seen a good many
travellers in his time, knew him from his manners for a
businesslike man, serious and aware of his own value.
Dyudya was sitting on the step in his waistcoat without a cap
on, waiting for the visitor to speak first. He was used to hearing
all kinds of stories from the travellers in the evening, and he
liked listening to them before going to bed. His old wife,
Afanasyevna, and his daughter-in-law Sofya, were milking in the
cowshed. The other daughter-in-law, Varvara, was sitting at the
open window of the upper storey, eating sunflower seeds.
"The little chap will be your son, I'm thinking?" Dyudya
asked the traveller.
"No; adopted. An orphan. I took him for my soul's
salvation."
They got into conversation. The stranger seemed to be a man
fond of talking and ready of speech, and Dyudya learned from him
that he was from the town, was of the tradesman class, and had a
house of his own, that his name was Matvey Savitch, that he was on
his way now to look at some gardens that he was renting from some
German colonists, and that the boy's name was Kuzka. The evening
was hot and close, no one felt inclined for sleep. When it was
getting dark and pale stars began to twinkle here and there in the
sky, Matvey Savitch began to tell how he had come by Kuzka.
Afanasyevna and Sofya stood a little way off, listening. Kuzka had
gone to the gate.
"It's a complicated story, old man," began Matvey Savitch,
"and if I were to tell you all just as it happened, it would take
all night and more. Ten years ago in a little house in our street,
next door to me, where now there's a tallow and oil factory, there
was living an old widow, Marfa Semyonovna Kapluntsev, and she had
two sons: one was a guard on the railway, but the other, Vasya, who
was just my own age, lived at home with his mother. Old Kapluntsev
had kept five pair of horses and sent carriers all over the town;
his widow had not given up the business, but managed the carriers
as well as her husband had done, so that some days they would bring
in as much as five roubles from their rounds.
"The young fellow, too, made a trifle on his own account. He
used to breed fancy pigeons and sell them to fanciers; at times he
would stand for hours on the roof, waving a broom in the air and
whistling; his pigeons were right up in the clouds, but it wasn't
enough for him, and he'd want them to go higher yet. Siskins and
starlings, too, he used to catch, and he made cages for sale. All
trifles, but, mind you, he'd pick up some ten roubles a month over
such trifles. Well, as time went on, the old lady lost the use of
her legs and took to her bed. In consequence of which event the
house was left without a woman to look after it, and that's for all
the world like a man without an eye. The old lady bestirred herself
and made up her mind to marry Vasya. They called in a matchmaker at
once, the women got to talking of one thing and another, and Vasya
went off to have a look at the girls. He picked out Mashenka, a
widow's daughter. They made up their minds without loss of time and
in a week it was all settled. The girl was a little slip of a
thing, seventeen, but fair-skinned and pretty-looking, and like a
lady in all her ways; and a decent dowry with her, five hundred
roubles, a cow, a bed.... Well, the old lady—it seemed as though
she had known it was coming—three days after the wedding, departed
to the Heavenly Jerusalem where is neither sickness nor sighing.
The young people gave her a good funeral and began their life
together. For just six months they got on splendidly, and then all
of a sudden another misfortune. It never rains but it pours: Vasya
was summoned to the recruiting office to draw lots for the service.
He was taken, poor chap, for a soldier, and not even granted
exemption. They shaved his head and packed him off to Poland. It
was God's will; there was nothing to be done. When he said good-bye
to his wife in the yard, he bore it all right; but as he glanced up
at the hay-loft and his pigeons for the last time, he burst out
crying. It was pitiful to see him.
"At first Mashenka got her mother to stay with her, that she
mightn't be dull all alone; she stayed till the baby—this very
Kuzka here—was born, and then she went off to Oboyan to another
married daughter's and left Mashenka alone with the baby. There
were five peasants—the carriers—a drunken saucy lot; horses, too,
and dray-carts to see to, and then the fence would be broken or the
soot afire in the chimney—jobs beyond a woman, and through our
being neighbours, she got into the way of turning to me for every
little thing.... Well, I'd go over, set things to rights, and give
advice.... Naturally, not without going indoors, drinking a cup of
tea and having a little chat with her. I was a young fellow,
intellectual, and fond of talking on all sorts of subjects; she,
too, was well-bred and educated. She was always neatly dressed, and
in summer she walked out with a sunshade. Sometimes I would begin
upon religion or politics with her, and she was flattered and would
entertain me with tea and jam.... In a word, not to make a long
story of it, I must tell you, old man, a year had not passed before
the Evil One, the enemy of all mankind, confounded me. I began to
notice that any day I didn't go to see her, I seemed out of sorts
and dull. And I'd be continually making up something that I must
see her about: 'It's high time,' I'd say to myself, 'to put the
double windows in for the winter,' and the whole day I'd idle away
over at her place putting in the windows and take good care to
leave a couple of them over for the next day too.
"'I ought to count over Vasya's pigeons, to see none of them
have strayed,' and so on. I used always to be talking to her across
the fence, and in the end I made a little gate in the fence so as
not to have to go so far round. From womankind comes much evil into
the world and every kind of abomination. Not we sinners only; even
the saints themselves have been led astray by them. Mashenka did
not try to keep me at a distance. Instead of thinking of her
husband and being on her guard, she fell in love with me. I began
to notice that she was dull without me, and was always walking to
and fro by the fence looking into my yard through the
cracks.
"My brains were going round in my head in a sort of frenzy.
On Thursday in Holy Week I was going early in the morning—it was
scarcely light—to market. I passed close by her gate, and the Evil
One was by me—at my elbow. I looked—she had a gate with open
trellis work at the top—and there she was, up already, standing in
the middle of the yard, feeding the ducks. I could not restrain
myself, and I called her name. She came up and looked at me through
the trellis.... Her little face was white, her eyes soft and
sleepy-looking.... I liked her looks immensely, and I began paying
her compliments, as though we were not at the gate, but just as one
does on namedays, while she blushed, and laughed, and kept looking
straight into my eyes without winking.... I lost all sense and
began to declare my love to her.... She opened the gate, and from
that morning we began to live as man and wife...."
The hunchback Alyoshka came into the yard from the street and
ran out of breath into the house, not looking at any one. A minute
later he ran out of the house with a concertina. Jingling some
coppers in his pocket, and cracking sunflower seeds as he ran, he
went out at the gate.
"And who's that, pray?" asked Matvey Savitch.
"My son Alexey," answered Dyudya. "He's off on a spree, the
rascal. God has afflicted him with a hump, so we are not very hard
on him."
"And he's always drinking with the other fellows, always
drinking," sighed Afanasyevna. "Before Carnival we married him,
thinking he'd be steadier, but there! he's worse than ever."
"It's been no use. Simply keeping another man's daughter for
nothing," said Dyudya.
Somewhere behind the church they began to sing a glorious,
mournful song. The words they could not catch and only the voices
could be heard—two tenors and a bass. All were listening; there was
complete stillness in the yard.... Two voices suddenly broke off
with a loud roar of laughter, but the third, a tenor, still sang
on, and took so high a note that every one instinctively looked
upwards, as though the voice had soared to heaven itself.
Varvara came out of the house, and screening her eyes with
her hand, as though from the sun, she looked towards the
church.
"It's the priest's sons with the schoolmaster," she
said.
Again all the three voices began to sing together. Matvey
Savitch sighed and went on:
"Well, that's how it was, old man. Two years later we got a
letter from Vasya from Warsaw. He wrote that he was being sent home
sick. He was ill. By that time I had put all that foolishness out
of my head, and I had a fine match picked out all ready for me,
only I didn't know how to break it off with my sweetheart. Every
day I'd make up my mind to have it out with Mashenka, but I didn't
know how to approach her so as not to have a woman's screeching
about my ears. The letter freed my hands. I read it through with
Mashenka; she turned white as a sheet, while I said to her: 'Thank
God; now,' says I, 'you'll be a married woman again.' But says she:
'I'm not going to live with him.' 'Why, isn't he your husband?'
said I. 'Is it an easy thing?... I never loved him and I married
him not of my own free will. My mother made me.' 'Don't try to get
out of it, silly,' said I, 'but tell me this: were you married to
him in church or not?' 'I was married,' she said, 'but it's you
that I love, and I will stay with you to the day of my death. Folks
may jeer. I don't care....' 'You're a Christian woman,' said I,
'and have read the Scriptures; what is written there?'
"Once married, with her husband she must live," said
Dyudya.
"'Man and wife are one flesh. We have sinned,' I said, 'you
and I, and it is enough; we must repent and fear God. We must
confess it all to Vasya,' said I; 'he's a quiet fellow and soft—he
won't kill you. And indeed,' said I, 'better to suffer torments in
this world at the hands of your lawful master than to gnash your
teeth at the dread Seat of Judgment.' The wench wouldn't listen;
she stuck to her silly, 'It's you I love!' and nothing more could I
get out of her.
"Vasya came back on the Saturday before Trinity, early in the
morning. From my fence I could see everything; he ran into the
house, and came back a minute later with Kuzka in his arms, and he
was laughing and crying all at once; he was kissing Kuzka and
looking up at the hay-loft, and hadn't the heart to put the child
down, and yet he was longing to go to his pigeons. He was always a
soft sort of chap—sentimental. That day passed off very well, all
quiet and proper. They had begun ringing the church bells for the
evening service, when the thought struck me: 'To-morrow's Trinity
Sunday; how is it they are not decking the gates and the fence with
green? Something's wrong,' I thought. I went over to them. I peeped
in, and there he was, sitting on the floor in the middle of the
room, his eyes staring like a drunken man's, the tears streaming
down his cheeks and his hands shaking; he was pulling cracknels,
necklaces, gingerbread nuts, and all sorts of little presents out
of his bundle and flinging them on the floor. Kuzka—he was three
years old—was crawling on the floor, munching the gingerbreads,
while Mashenka stood by the stove, white and shivering all over,
muttering: 'I'm not your wife; I can't live with you,' and all
sorts of foolishness. I bowed down at Vasya's feet, and said: 'We
have sinned against you, Vassily Maximitch; forgive us, for
Christ's sake!' Then I got up and spoke to Mashenka: 'You, Marya
Semyonovna, ought now to wash Vassily Maximitch's feet and drink
the water. Do you be an obedient wife to him, and pray to God for
me, that He in His mercy may forgive my transgression.' It came to
me like an inspiration from an angel of Heaven; I gave her solemn
counsel and spoke with such feeling that my own tears flowed too.
And so two days later Vasya comes to me: 'Matyusha,' says he, 'I
forgive you and my wife; God have mercy on you! She was a soldier's
wife, a young thing all alone; it was hard for her to be on her
guard. She's not the first, nor will she be the last. Only,' he
says, 'I beg you to behave as though there had never been anything
between you, and to make no sign, while I,' says he, 'will do my
best to please her in every way, so that she may come to love me
again.' He gave me his hand on it, drank a cup of tea, and went
away more cheerful.
