the wife and other stories-第15节

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vices；　consisted　only　of　three　rooms。　In　one　there　was　a　bed；　in　the　second　there　were　canvases；　brushes；　greasy　papers；　and　men's　overcoats　and　hats　lying　about　on　the　chairs　and　in　the　windows；　while　in　the　third　Dymov　found　three　unknown　men；　two　were　dark…haired　and　had　beards；　the　other　was　clean…shaven　and　fat；　apparently　an　actor。　There　was　a　samovar　boiling　on　the　table。

〃What　do　you　want？〃　asked　the　actor　in　a　bass　voice；　looking　at　Dymov　ungraciously。　〃Do　you　want　Olga　Ivanovna？　Wait　a　minute；　she　will　be　here　directly。〃

Dymov　sat　down　and　waited。　One　of　the　dark…haired　men；　looking　sleepily　and　listlessly　at　him；　poured　himself　out　a　glass　of　tea；　and　asked：

〃Perhaps　you　would　like　some　tea？〃

Dymov　was　both　hungry　and　thirsty；　but　he　refused　tea　for　fear　of　spoiling　his　supper。　Soon　he　heard　footsteps　and　a　familiar　laugh；　a　door　slammed；　and　Olga　Ivanovna　ran　into　the　room；　wearing　a　wide…brimmed　hat　and　carrying　a　box　in　her　hand；　she　was　followed　by　Ryabovsky；　rosy　and　good…humoured；　carrying　a　big　umbrella　and　a　camp…stool。

〃Dymov！〃　cried　Olga　Ivanovna；　and　she　flushed　crimson　with　pleasure。　〃Dymov！〃　she　repeated；　laying　her　head　and　both　arms　on　his　bosom。　〃Is　that　you？　Why　haven't　you　come　for　so　long？　Why？　Why？〃

〃When　could　I；　little　mother？　I　am　always　busy；　and　whenever　I　am　free　it　always　happens　somehow　that　the　train　does　not　fit。〃

〃But　how　glad　I　am　to　see　you！　I　have　been　dreaming　about　you　the　whole　night；　the　whole　night；　and　I　was　afraid　you　must　be　ill。　Ah！　if　you　only　knew　how　sweet　you　are！　You　have　come　in　the　nick　of　time！　You　will　be　my　salvation！　You　are　the　only　person　who　can　save　me！　There　is　to　be　a　most　original　wedding　here　tomorrow；〃　she　went　on；　laughing；　and　tying　her　husband's　cravat。　〃A　young　telegraph　clerk　at　the　station；　called　Tchikeldyeev；　is　going　to　be　married。　He　is　a　handsome　young　man　and　　well；　not　stupid；　and　you　know　there　is　something　strong；　bearlike　in　his　face　。　。　。　you　might　paint　him　as　a　young　Norman。　We　summer　visitors　take　a　great　interest　in　him；　and　have　promised　to　be　at　his　wedding。　。　。　。　He　is　a　lonely；　timid　man；　not　well　off；　and　of　course　it　would　be　a　shame　not　to　be　sympathetic　to　him。　Fancy！　the　wedding　will　be　after　the　service；　then　we　shall　all　walk　from　the　church　to　the　bride's　lodgings。　。　。　you　see　the　wood；　the　birds　singing；　patches　of　sunlight　on　the　grass；　and　all　of　us　spots　of　different　colours　against　the　bright　green　background　　very　original；　in　the　style　of　the　French　impressionists。　But；　Dymov；　what　am　I　to　go　to　the　church　in？〃　said　Olga　Ivanovna；　and　she　looked　as　though　she　were　going　to　cry。　〃I　have　nothing　here；　literally　nothing！　　no　dress；　no　　flowers；　no　gloves　。　。　。　you　must　save　me。　Since　you　have　come；　fate　itself　bids　you　save　me。　Take　the　keys；　my　precious；　go　home　and　get　my　pink　dress　from　the　wardrobe。　You　remember　it；　it　hangs　in　front。　。　。　。　Then；　in　the　storeroom；　on　the　floor；　on　the　right　side；　you　will　see　two　cardboard　boxes。　When　you　open　the　top　one　you　will　see　tulle；　heaps　of　tulle　and　rags　of　all　sorts；　and　under　them　flowers。　Take　out　all　the　flowers　carefully；　try　not　to　crush　them；　darling；　I　will　choose　among　them　later。　。　。　。　And　buy　me　some　gloves。〃

〃Very　well；〃　said　Dymov；　〃I　will　go　tomorrow　and　send　them　to　you。〃

〃Tomorrow？〃　asked　Olga　Ivanovna；　and　she　looked　at　him　surprised。　〃You　won't　have　time　tomorrow。　The　first　train　goes　tomorrow　at　nine；　and　the　wedding's　at　eleven。　No；　darling；　it　must　be　today；　it　absolutely　must　be　today。　If　you　won't　be　able　to　come　tomorrow；　send　them　by　a　messenger。　Come；　you　must　run　along。　。　。　。　The　passenger　train　will　be　in　directly；　don't　miss　it；　darling。〃

〃Very　well。〃

〃Oh；　how　sorry　I　am　to　let　you　go！〃　said　Olga　Ivanovna；　and　tears　came　into　her　eyes。　〃And　why　did　I　promise　that　telegraph　clerk；　like　a　silly？〃

Dymov　hurriedly　drank　a　glass　of　tea；　took　a　cracknel；　and；　smiling　gently；　went　to　the　station。　And　the　caviare；　the　cheese；　and　the　white　salmon　were　eaten　by　the　two　dark　gentlemen　and　the　fat　actor。

IV

On　a　still　moonlight　night　in　July　Olga　Ivanovna　was　standing　on　the　deck　of　a　Volga　steamer　and　looking　alternately　at　the　water　and　at　the　picturesque　banks。　Beside　her　was　standing　Ryabovsky；　telling　her　the　black　shadows　on　the　water　were　not　shadows；　but　a　dream；　that　it　would　be　sweet　to　sink　into　forgetfulness；　to　die；　to　become　a　memory　in　the　sight　of　that　enchanted　water　with　the　fantastic　glimmer；　in　sight　of　the　fathomless　sky　and　the　mournful；　dreamy　shores　that　told　of　the　vanity　of　our　life　and　of　the　existence　of　something　higher；　blessed；　and　eternal。　The　past　was　vulgar　and　uninteresting；　the　future　was　trivial；　and　that　marvellous　night；　unique　in　a　lifetime；　would　soon　be　over；　would　blend　with　eternity；　then；　why　live？

And　Olga　Ivanovna　listened　alternately　to　Ryabovsky's　voice　and　the　silence　of　the　night；　and　thought　of　her　being　immortal　and　never　dying。　The　turquoise　colour　of　the　water；　such　as　she　had　never　seen　before；　the　sky；　the　river…banks；　the　black　shadows；　and　the　unaccountable　joy　that　flooded　her　soul；　all　told　her　that　she　would　make　a　great　artist；　and　that　somewhere　in　the　distance；　in　the　infinite　space　beyond　the　moonlight；　success；　glory；　the　love　of　the　people；　lay　awaiting　her。　。　。　。　When　she　gazed　steadily　without　blinking　into　the　distance；　she　seemed　to　see　crowds　of　people；　lights；　triumphant　strains　of　music；　cries　of　enthusiasm；　she　herself　in　a　white　dress；　and　flowers　showered　upon　her　from　all　sides。　She　thought；　too；　that　beside　her；　leaning　with　his　elbows　on　the　rail　of　the　steamer；　there　was　standing　a　real　great　man；　a　genius；　one　of　God's　elect。　。　。　。　All　that　he　had　created　up　to　the　present　was　fine；　new；　and　extraordinary；　but　what　he　would　create　in　time；　when　with　maturity　his　rare　talent　reached　its　full　development；　would　be　astounding；　immeasurably　sublime；　and　that　could　be　seen　by　his　face；　by　his　manner　of　expressing　himself　and　his　attitude　to　nature。　He　talked　of　shadows；　of　the　tones　of　evening；　of　the　moonlight；　in　a　special　way；　in　a　language　of　his　own；　so　that　one　could　not　help　feeling　the　fascination　of　his　power　over　nature。　He　was　very　handsome；　original；　and　his　life；　free；　independent；　aloof　from　all　common　cares；　was　like　the　life　of　a　bird。

〃It's　growing　cooler；〃　said　Olga　Ivanovna；　and　she　gave　a　shudder。

Ryabovsky　wrapped　her　in　his　cloak；　and　said　mournfully：

〃I　feel　that　I　am　in　your　power；　I　am　a　slave。　Why　are　you　so　enchanting　today？〃

He　kept　staring　intently　at　her；　and　his　eyes　were　terrible。　And　she　was　afraid　to　look　at　him。

〃I　love　you　madly；〃　he　whispered；　breathing　on　her　cheek。　〃Say　one　word　to　me　and　I　will　not　go　on　living；　I　will　give　up　art　。　。　。〃　he　muttered　in　violent　emotion。　〃Love　me；　love　。　。　。　。〃

〃Don't　talk　like　that；〃　said　Olga　Ivanovna；　covering　her　eyes。　〃It's　dreadful！　How　about　Dymov？〃

〃What　of　Dymov？　Why　Dymov？　What　have　I　to　do　with　Dymov？　The　Volga；　the　moon；　beauty；　my　love；　ecstasy；　and　there　is　no　such　thing　as　Dymov。　。　。　。　Ah！　I　don't　know　。　。　。　I　don't　care　about　the　past；　give　me　one　moment；　one　instant！〃

Olga　Ivanovna's　heart　began　to　throb。　She　tried　to　think　about　her　husband；　but　all　her　past；　with　her　wedding；　with　Dymov；　and　with　her　〃At　Homes；〃　seemed　to　her　petty；　trivial；　dingy；　unnecessary；　and　far；　far　away。　。　。　。　Yes；　really；　what　of　Dymov？　Why　Dymov？　What　had　she　to　do　with　Dymov？　Had　he　any　existence　in　nature；　or　was　he　only　a　dream？

〃For　him；　a　simple　and　ordinary　man　the　happiness　he　has　had　already　is　enough；〃　she　thought；　covering　her　face　with　her　hands。　〃Let　them　condemn　me；　let　them　curse　me；　but　in　spite　of　them　all　I　will　go　to　my　ruin；　I　will　go　to　my　ruin！　。　。　。　One　must　experience　everything　in　life。　My　God！　how　terrible　and　how　glorious！〃

〃Well？　Well？〃　muttered　the　artist；　embracing　her；　and　greedily　kissing　the　hands　with　which　she　feebly　tried　to　thrust　him　from　her。　〃You　love　me？　Yes？　Yes？　Oh；　what　a　night！　marvellous　night！〃

〃Yes；　what　a　night！〃　she　whispered；　looking　into　his　eyes；　which　were　bright　with　tears。

Then　she　looked　round　quickly；　put　her　arms　round　him；　and　kissed　him　on　the　lips。

〃We　are　nearing　Kineshmo！〃　said　some　one　on　the　other　side　of　the　deck。

They　heard　heavy　footsteps；　it　was　a　waiter　from　the　refreshment…bar。

〃Waiter；〃　said　Olga　Ivanovna；　laughing　and　crying　with　happiness；　〃bring　us　some　wine。〃

The　artist；　pale　with　emotion；　sat　on　the　seat；　looking　at　Olga　Ivanovna　with　adoring；　grateful　eyes；　then　he　closed　his　eyes；　and　said；　smiling　languidly：

〃I　am　tired。〃

And　he　leaned　his　head　against　the　rail。


V


On　the　second　of　September　the　day　was　warm　and　still；　but　overcast。　In　the　early　morning　a　light　mist　had　hung　over　the　Volga；　and　after　nine　o'clock　it　had　begun　to　spout　with　rain。　And　there　seemed　no　hope　of　the　sky　clearing。　Over　their　morning　tea　Ryabovsky　told　Olga　Ivanovna　that　painting　was　the　most　ungrateful　and　boring　art；　that　he　was　not　an　artist；　that　none　but　fools　thought　that　he　had　any　talent；　and　all　at　once；　for　no　rhyme　or　reason；　he　snatched　up　a　knife　and　with　it　scraped　over　his　very　best　sketch。　After　his　tea　he　sat　plunged　in　gloom　at　the　window　and