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A.P. Chekhov -
Betrothed
I II
III IV
V VI
I
IT was ten o'clock in the evening and the
full moon was shining over the garden. In the Shumins' house an
evening service celebrated at the request of the grandmother,
Marfa Mihalovna, was just over, and now Nadya -- she had gone
into the garden for a minute -- could see the table being laid
for supper in the dining-room, and her grandmother bustling
about in her gorgeous silk dress; Father Andrey, a chief priest
of the cathedral, was talking to Nadya's mother, Nina Ivanovna,
and now in the evening light through the window her mother for
some reason looked very young; Andrey Andreitch, Father Andrey's
son, was standing by listening attentively.
It was still and cool in the garden, and dark peaceful shadows
lay on the ground. There was a sound of frogs croaking, far, far
away beyond the town. There was a feeling of May, sweet May! One
drew deep breaths and longed to fancy that not here but far away
under the sky, above the trees, far away in the open country, in
the fields and the woods, the life of spring was unfolding now,
mysterious, lovely, rich and holy beyond the understanding of
weak, sinful man. And for some reason one wanted to cry.
She, Nadya, was already twenty-three. Ever since she was sixteen
she had been passionately dreaming of marriage and at last she
was engaged to Andrey Andreitch, the young man who was standing
on the other side of the window; she liked him, the wedding was
already fixed for July 7, and yet there was no joy in her heart,
she was sleeping badly, her spirits drooped. . . . She could
hear from the open windows of the basement where the kitchen was
the hurrying servants, the clatter of knives, the banging of the
swing door; there was a smell of roast turkey and pickled
cherries, and for some reason it seemed to her that it would be
like that all her life, with no change, no end to it.
Some one came out of the house and stood on the steps; it was
Alexandr Timofeitch, or, as he was always called, Sasha, who had
come from Moscow ten days before and was staying with them.
Years ago a distant relation of the grandmother, a gentleman's
widow called Marya Petrovna, a thin, sickly little woman who had
sunk into poverty, used to come to the house to ask for
assistance. She had a son Sasha. It used for some reason to be
said that he had talent as an artist, and when his mother died
Nadya's grandmother had, for the salvation of her soul, sent him
to the Komissarovsky school in Moscow; two years later he went
into the school of painting, spent nearly fifteen years there,
and only just managed to scrape through the leaving examination
in the section of architecture. He did not set up as an
architect, however, but took a job at a lithographer's. He used
to come almost every year, usually very ill, to stay with
Nadya's grandmother to rest and recover.
He was wearing now a frock-coat buttoned up, and shabby canvas
trousers, crumpled into creases at the bottom. And his shirt had
not been ironed and he had somehow all over a look of not being
fresh. He was very thin, with big eyes, long thin fingers and a
swarthy bearded face, and all the same he was handsome. With the
Shumins he was like one of the family, and in their house felt
he was at home. And the room in which he lived when he was there
had for years been called Sasha's room. Standing on the steps he
saw Nadya, and went up to her.
"It's nice here," he said.
"Of course it's nice, you ought to stay here till the autumn."
"Yes, I expect it will come to that. I dare say I shall stay
with you till September."
He laughed for no reason, and sat down beside her.
"I'm sitting gazing at mother," said Nadya. "She looks so young
from here! My mother has her weaknesses, of course," she added,
after a pause, "but still she is an exceptional woman."
"Yes, she is very nice . . ." Sasha agreed. "Your mother, in her
own way of course, is a very good and sweet woman, but . . . how
shall I say? I went early this morning into your kitchen and
there I found four servants sleeping on the floor, no bedsteads,
and rags for bedding, stench, bugs, beetles . . . it is just as
it was twenty years ago, no change at all. Well, Granny, God
bless her, what else can you expect of Granny? But your mother
speaks French, you know, and acts in private theatricals. One
would think she might understand."
As Sasha talked, he used to stretch out two long wasted fingers
before the listener's face.
"It all seems somehow strange to me here, now I am out of the
habit of it," he went on. "There is no making it out. Nobody
ever does anything. Your mother spends the whole day walking
about like a duchess, Granny does nothing either, nor you
either. And your Andrey Andreitch never does anything either."
Nadya had heard this the year before and, she fancied, the year
before that too, and she knew that Sasha could not make any
other criticism, and in old days this had amused her, but now
for some reason she felt annoyed.
"That's all stale, and I have been sick of it for ages," she
said and got up. "You should think of something a little newer."
He laughed and got up too, and they went together toward the
house. She, tall, handsome, and well-made, beside him looked
very healthy and smartly dressed; she was conscious of this and
felt sorry for him and for some reason awkward.
"And you say a great deal you should not," she said. "You've
just been talking about my Andrey, but you see you don't know
him."
"My Andrey. . . . Bother him, your Andrey. I am sorry for your
youth."
They were already sitting down to supper as the young people
went into the dining-room. The grandmother, or Granny as she was
called in the household, a very stout, plain old lady with bushy
eyebrows and a little moustache, was talking loudly, and from
her voice and manner of speaking it could be seen that she was
the person of most importance in the house. She owned rows of
shops in the market, and the old-fashioned house with columns
and the garden, yet she prayed every morning that God might save
her from ruin and shed tears as she did so. Her daughter-in-law,
Nadya's mother, Nina Ivanovna, a fair-haired woman tightly laced
in, with a pince-nez, and diamonds on every finger, Father
Andrey, a lean, toothless old man whose face always looked as
though he were just going to say something amusing, and his son,
Andrey Andreitch, a stout and handsome young man with curly hair
looking like an artist or an actor, were all talking of
hypnotism.
"You will get well in a week here," said Granny, addressing
Sasha. "Only you must eat more. What do you look like!" she
sighed. "You are really dreadful! You are a regular prodigal
son, that is what you are."
"After wasting his father's substance in riotous living," said
Father Andrey slowly, with laughing eyes. "He fed with senseless
beasts."
"I like my dad," said Andrey Andreitch, touching his father on
the shoulder. "He is a splendid old fellow, a dear old fellow."
Everyone was silent for a space. Sasha suddenly burst out
laughing and put his dinner napkin to his mouth.
"So you believe in hypnotism?" said Father Andrey to Nina
Ivanovna.
"I cannot, of course, assert that I believe," answered Nina
Ivanovna, assuming a very serious, even severe, expression; "but
I must own that there is much that is mysterious and
incomprehensible in nature."
"I quite agree with you, though I must add that religion
distinctly curtails for us the domain of the mysterious."
A big and very fat turkey was served. Father Andrey and Nina
Ivanovna went on with their conversation. Nina Ivanovna's
diamonds glittered on her fingers, then tears began to glitter
in her eyes, she grew excited.
"Though I cannot venture to argue with you," she said, "you must
admit there are so many insoluble riddles in life!"
"Not one, I assure you."
After supper Andrey Andreitch played the fiddle and Nina
Ivanovna accompanied him on the piano. Ten years before he had
taken his degree at the university in the Faculty of Arts, but
had never held any post, had no definite work, and only from
time to time took part in concerts for charitable objects; and
in the town he was regarded as a musician.
Andrey Andreitch played; they all listened in silence. The
samovar was boiling quietly on the table and no one but Sasha
was drinking tea. Then when it struck twelve a violin string
suddenly broke; everyone laughed, bustled about, and began
saying good-bye.
After seeing her fianc out, Nadya went upstairs where she and
her mother had their rooms (the lower storey was occupied by the
grandmother). They began putting the lights out below in the
dining-room, while Sasha still sat on drinking tea. He always
spent a long time over tea in the Moscow style, drinking as much
as seven glasses at a time. For a long time after Nadya had
undressed and gone to bed she could hear the servants clearing
away downstairs and Granny talking angrily. At last everything
was hushed, and nothing could be heard but Sasha from time to
time coughing on a bass note in his room below.
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