The Collected Works of Anton Chekhov. Anton Chekhov
her from that ordeal.
‘We have already arrived at our wood,’ the Count said, coming up to our wagonette. ‘Nadezhda Nikolaevna, would you not wish to make a halt here?’
And without waiting for an answer he clapped his hands and ordered in a loud, shaky voice:
‘Ha-a-lt!’
We settled ourselves down on the outskirts of the wood. The sun had sunk behind the trees, illuminating with purple and gold only the summits of the very highest alders and playing on the golden cross of the Count’s church that could be seen in the distance. Flocks of frightened orioles and sparrow hawks soared over our heads. One of the men fired into them, alarming this feathered kingdom still more, and setting up an incessant concert of twitterings. This sort of concert has its charms in the spring and summer, but when you feel the approach of the cold autumn in the air, it only irritates the nerves and reminds one of their near migration.
The coolness of evening spread from the dense forest. The ladies’ noses became blue and the Count began rubbing his hands against the chill. Nothing at that moment could have been more appropriate than the odour of charcoal in the samovars and the clatter of the tea service. One-eyed Kuz’ma, puffing and panting and stumbling about in the long grass, dragged forward a case of cognac. We began to warm ourselves.
A long outing in the fresh cool air acts on the appetite better than any appetising drops, and after it the balyk, the caviar, the roast partridge and the other viands were as caressing to the sight as roses are on an early spring morning.
‘You are wise today,’ I said to the Count as I helped myself to a slice of balyk. ‘Wise as you have never been before. It would have been difficult to arrange things better…’
‘We have arranged it together, the Count and I,’ Kalinin said with a giggle as he winked towards the coachmen, who were getting the hampers and baskets of provisions, wines and crockery out of the vehicles. ‘The little picnic will be a great success… Towards the end there will be champagne!’
On this occasion the face of the Justice of the Peace shone with satisfaction as it had never shone before. Did he not expect that in the evening his Nadenka would have a proposal made to her? Did he not have the champagne prepared in order to drink the health of the young couple? I looked attentively at his face and, as usual, I could read nothing there but careless satisfaction, satiety, and the stupid self-importance that was suffused over the whole of his portly figure.
We fell upon the hors d’œuvres gaily. Only two of the guests looked with indifference on the luxurious viands that were spread out on carpets before us: these two were Olga and Nadezhda Kalinin. The first was standing to one side leaning against the back of a wagonette, motionless and silently gazing at the game-bag that the Count had thrown on the ground. In the game-bag a wounded woodcock was moving about. Olga watched the movements of the unfortunate bird and seemed to be expecting its death.
Nadia was sitting next to me and looked with indifference on the boisterous, cheerful company.
‘When will all this be over?’ her tired eyes said.
I offered her a sandwich with caviar. She thanked me and put it to one side. She evidently did not wish to eat.
‘Olga Nikolaevna, why don’t you sit down?’ the Count called to Olga.
Olga did not answer but continued to stare as immovable as a statue, looking at the bird.
‘What heartless people there are,’ I said, going up to Olga. is it possible that you, a woman, are capable of watching with indifference the suffering of this woodcock? Instead of looking at his contortions, it would be better if you ordered it to be dispatched.’
‘Others suffer; let him suffer too,’ Olga answered, frowning, without looking at me.
‘Who else is suffering?’
‘Leave me in peace!’ she said hoarsely. ‘I am not disposed to speak to you today… nor with your friend, that fool the Count! Go away from me!’
She glanced at me with eyes that were full of wrath and tears. Her face was pale, her lips trembled.
‘What a change!’ I said as I lifted up the game-bag and wrung the woodcock’s neck. ‘What a tone! I am astounded! Quite astounded!’
‘Leave me in peace, I tell you! I’m not in the humour for jokes!’
‘What’s the matter with you, my enchantress?’
Olga looked at me from head to foot and turned her back on me.
‘Only depraved and venal women are spoken to in that tone,’ she continued. ‘You consider me such a one… well, then, go to those saints! I am worse and baser than anybody here… When you were driving with that virtuous Nadenka you were afraid to look at me… Well then, go to her! What are you waiting for? Go!’
‘Yes, you are worse and baser than anybody else here,’ I said, feeling that I was gradually being mastered by rage. ‘Yes, you are depraved and venal.’
‘Yes, I remember how you offered me money, damn you… Then I did not know its meaning; now I understand…’
Rage mastered me completely. And this rage was as strong as the love had been that at one time was beginning to be born in me for ‘the girl in red’… And who could - what stone could have remained indifferent? I saw before me beauty that had been cast by merciless fate into the mire. No mercy was shown to either youth, beauty or grace… Now, when this woman appeared to me more beautiful than ever, I felt what a loss nature had sustained in her person, and my soul was filled with painful anger at the injustice of fate and the order of things..’..
In moments of anger I am unable to control myself. I do not know what more Olga would have had to hear from me if she had not turned her back upon me and gone away. She walked slowly towards the trees and soon disappeared behind them… It appeared to me that she was crying…
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ I heard Kalinin making a speech. ‘On this day when we all have met for… for… in order to unite… we are assembled here, we are all acquainted with each other, we are all enjoying ourselves and this long desired union we owe to nobody else but to our luminary, to the star of our province… Count, don’t get confused… The ladies will understand of whom I am speaking… He, he, he! Well, ladies and gentlemen, let us continue. As we owe all this to our enlightened, to our youthful… youthful… Count Karnéev, I propose that we drink this glass to… But who is driving this way? Who is it?’
A calash was driving from the direction of the Count’s house towards the clearing where we were seated.
‘Who can it be?’ the Count said in astonishment, turning his field glass on the calash. ‘Hm! strange! It must be someone passing by… Oh, no! I see Kaetan Kazimirovich’s face… And who is that with him?’
Suddenly the Count sprang up as if he had been stung. His face became deadly pale, and the field glass fell from his hand. His eyes strayed around like the eyes of a trapped mouse, and they rested sometimes on me, sometimes on Nadia, as if looking for aid. Not everybody noticed his confusion as the attention of most was directed on the approaching calash.
‘Serezha, come here for a minute!’ he whispered to me, seizing hold of my arm and leading me to one side. ‘Golubchek, I implore you as a friend, as the best of men! No questions, no interrogating glances, no astonishment! I will tell you all afterwards! I swear that not an iota will remain a secret from you! It is such a misfortune in my life, such a misfortune, that I am unable to find words to express it! You will know all, but no questions now! Help me!’
Meanwhile the calash came nearer and nearer… At last it stopped, and the Count’s stupid secret became the property of the whole district. Pshekhotsky, clad in a new unbleached silk suit, panting and smiling, crawled out of the calash. After him a young lady of about three-and-twenty stepped out coolly. She was a tall, graceful, fair woman with regular but not sympathetic features, and with dark blue eyes. I only remember those dark blue expressionless eyes, a powdered