the wife and other stories-第33节

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In　a　state　so　poverty…stricken；　a　serious　ailment；　the　fear　of　death；　the　influences　of　circumstance　and　men　were　enough　to　turn　upside　down　and　scatter　in　fragments　all　which　I　had　once　looked　upon　as　my　theory　of　life；　and　in　which　I　had　seen　the　meaning　and　joy　of　my　existence。　So　there　is　nothing　surprising　in　the　fact　that　I　have　over…shadowed　the　last　months　of　my　life　with　thoughts　and　feelings　only　worthy　of　a　slave　and　barbarian；　and　that　now　I　am　indifferent　and　take　no　heed　of　the　dawn。　When　a　man　has　not　in　him　what　is　loftier　and　mightier　than　all　external　impressions　a　bad　cold　is　really　enough　to　upset　his　equilibrium　and　make　him　begin　to　see　an　owl　in　every　bird；　to　hear　a　dog　howling　in　every　sound。　And　all　his　pessimism　or　optimism　with　his　thoughts　great　and　small　have　at　such　times　significance　as　symptoms　and　nothing　more。

I　am　vanquished。　If　it　is　so；　it　is　useless　to　think；　it　is　useless　to　talk。　I　will　sit　and　wait　in　silence　for　what　is　to　come。

In　the　morning　the　corridor　attendant　brings　me　tea　and　a　copy　of　the　local　newspaper。　Mechanically　I　read　the　advertisements　on　the　first　page；　the　leading　article；　the　extracts　from　the　newspapers　and　journals；　the　chronicle　of　events。　。　。　。　In　the　latter　I　find；　among　other　things；　the　following　paragraph：　〃Our　distinguished　savant；　Professor　Nikolay　Stepanovitch　So…and…so；　arrived　yesterday　in　Harkov；　and　is　staying　in　the　So…and…so　Hotel。〃

Apparently；　illustrious　names　are　created　to　live　on　their　own　account；　apart　from　those　that　bear　them。　Now　my　name　is　promenading　tranquilly　about　Harkov；　in　another　three　months；　printed　in　gold　letters　on　my　monument；　it　will　shine　bright　as　the　sun　itself；　while　I　s　hall　be　already　under　the　moss。

A　light　tap　at　the　door。　Somebody　wants　me。

〃Who　is　there？　Come　in。〃

The　door　opens；　and　I　step　back　surprised　and　hurriedly　wrap　my　dressing…gown　round　me。　Before　me　stands　Katya。

〃How　do　you　do？〃　she　says；　breathless　with　running　upstairs。　〃You　didn't　expect　me？　I　have　come　here；　too。　。　。　。　I　have　come；　too！〃

She　sits　down　and　goes　on；　hesitating　and　not　looking　at　me。

〃Why　don't　you　speak　to　me？　I　have　come；　too　。　。　。　today。　。　。　。　I　found　out　that　you　were　in　this　hotel；　and　have　come　to　you。〃

〃Very　glad　to　see　you；〃　I　say；　shrugging　my　shoulders；　〃but　I　am　surprised。　You　seem　to　have　dropped　from　the　skies。　What　have　you　come　for？〃

〃Oh　。　。　。　I've　simply　come。〃

Silence。　Suddenly　she　jumps　up　impulsively　and　comes　to　me。

〃Nikolay　Stepanovitch；〃　she　says；　turning　pale　and　pressing　her　hands　on　her　bosom　　〃Nikolay　Stepanovitch；　I　cannot　go　on　living　like　this！　I　cannot！　For　God's　sake　tell　me　quickly；　this　minute；　what　I　am　to　do！　Tell　me；　what　am　I　to　do？〃

〃What　can　I　tell　you？〃　I　ask　in　perplexity。　〃I　can　do　nothing。〃

〃Tell　me；　I　beseech　you；〃　she　goes　on；　breathing　hard　and　trembling　all　over。　〃I　swear　that　I　cannot　go　on　living　like　this。　It's　too　much　for　me！〃

She　sinks　on　a　chair　and　begins　sobbing。　She　flings　her　head　back；　wrings　her　hands；　taps　with　her　feet；　her　hat　falls　off　and　hangs　bobbing　on　its　elastic；　her　hair　is　ruffled。

〃Help　me！　help　me！　〃she　implores　me。　〃I　cannot　go　on！〃

She　takes　her　handkerchief　out　of　her　travelling…bag；　and　with　it　pulls　out　several　letters；　which　fall　from　her　lap　to　the　floor。　I　pick　them　up；　and　on　one　of　them　I　recognize　the　handwriting　of　Mihail　Fyodorovitch　and　accidentally　read　a　bit　of　a　word　〃passionat。　。　。〃

〃There　is　nothing　I　can　tell　you；　Katya；〃　I　say。

〃Help　me！〃　she　sobs；　clutching　at　my　hand　and　kissing　it。　〃You　are　my　father；　you　know；　my　only　friend！　You　are　clever；　educated；　you　have　lived　so　long；　you　have　been　a　teacher！　Tell　me；　what　am　I　to　do？〃

〃Upon　my　word；　Katya；　I　don't　know。　。　。　。〃

I　am　utterly　at　a　loss　and　confused；　touched　by　her　sobs；　and　hardly　able　to　stand。

〃Let　us　have　lunch；　Katya；〃　I　say；　with　a　forced　smile。　〃Give　over　crying。〃

And　at　once　I　add　in　a　sinking　voice：

〃I　shall　soon　be　gone；　Katya。　。　。　。〃

〃Only　one　word；　only　one　word！〃　she　weeps；　stretching　out　her　hands　to　me。

〃What　am　I　to　do？〃

〃You　are　a　queer　girl；　really　。　。　。〃　I　mutter。　〃I　don't　understand　it！　So　sensible；　and　all　at　once　crying　your　eyes　out。　。　。　。〃

A　silence　follows。　Katya　straightens　her　hair；　puts　on　her　hat；　then　crumples　up　the　letters　and　stuffs　them　in　her　bag　　and　all　this　deliberately；　in　silence。　Her　face；　her　bosom；　and　her　gloves　are　wet　with　tears；　but　her　expression　now　is　cold　and　forbidding。　。　。　。　I　look　at　her；　and　feel　ashamed　that　I　am　happier　than　she。　The　absence　of　what　my　philosophic　colleagues　call　a　general　idea　I　have　detected　in　myself　only　just　before　death；　in　the　decline　of　my　days；　while　the　soul　of　this　poor　girl　has　known　and　will　know　no　refuge　all　her　life；　all　her　life！

〃Let　us　have　lunch；　Katya；〃　I　say。

〃No；　thank　you；〃　she　answers　coldly。　Another　minute　passes　in　silence。　〃I　don't　like　Harkov；〃　I　say；　〃it's　so　grey　here　　such　a　grey　town。〃

〃Yes；　perhaps。　。　。　。　It's　ugly。　I　am　here　not　for　long；　passing　through。　I　am　going　on　today。〃

〃Where？〃

〃To　the　Crimea　。　。　。　that　is；　to　the　Caucasus。〃

〃Oh！　For　long？〃

〃I　don't　know。〃

Katya　gets　up；　and；　with　a　cold　smile；　holds　out　her　hand　without　looking　at　me。

I　want　to　ask　her；　〃Then；　you　won't　be　at　my　funeral？〃　but　she　does　not　look　at　me；　her　hand　is　cold　and；　as　it　were；　strange。　I　escort　her　to　the　door　in　silence。　She　goes　out；　walks　down　the　long　corridor　without　looking　back；　she　knows　that　I　am　looking　after　her；　and　most　likely　she　will　look　back　at　the　turn。

No；　she　did　not　look　back。　I've　seen　her　black　dress　for　the　last　time：　her　steps　have　died　away。　Farewell；　my　treasure！


THE　PRIVY　COUNCILLOR

AT　the　beginning　of　April　in　1870　my　mother；　Klavdia　Arhipovna；　the　widow　of　a　lieutenant；　received　from　her　brother　Ivan；　a　privy　councillor　in　Petersburg；　a　letter　in　which；　among　other　things；　this　passage　occurred：　〃My　liver　trouble　forces　me　to　spend　every　summer　abroad；　and　as　I　have　not　at　the　moment　the　money　in　hand　for　a　trip　to　Marienbad；　it　is　very　possible；　dear　sister；　that　I　may　spend　this　summer　with　you　at　Kotchuevko。　。　。　。〃

On　reading　the　letter　my　mother　turned　pale　and　began　trembling　all　over；　then　an　expression　of　mingled　tears　and　laughter　came　into　her　face。　She　began　crying　and　laughing。　This　conflict　of　tears　and　laughter　always　reminds　me　of　the　flickering　and　spluttering　of　a　brightly　burning　candle　when　one　sprinkles　it　with　water。　Reading　the　letter　once　more；　mother　called　together　all　the　household；　and　in　a　voice　broken　with　emotion　began　explaining　to　us　that　there　had　been　four　Gundasov　brothers：　one　Gundasov　had　died　as　a　baby；　another　had　gone　to　the　war；　and　he；　too；　was　dead；　the　third；　without　offence　to　him　be　it　said；　was　an　actor；　the　fourth　。　。　。

〃The　fourth　has　risen　far　above　us；〃　my　mother　brought　out　tearfully。　〃My　own　brother；　we　grew　up　together；　and　I　am　all　of　a　tremble；　all　of　a　tremble！　。　。　。　A　privy　councillor　with　the　rank　of　a　general！　How　shall　I　meet　him；　my　angel　brother？　What　can　I；　a　foolish；　uneducated　woman；　talk　to　him　about？　It's　fifteen　years　since　I've　seen　him！　Andryushenka；〃　my　mother　turned　to　me；　〃you　must　rejoice；　little　stupid！　It's　a　piece　of　luck　for　you　that　God　is　sending　him　to　us！〃

After　we　had　heard　a　detailed　history　of　the　Gundasovs；　there　followed　a　fuss　and　bustle　in　the　place　such　as　I　had　been　accustomed　to　see　only　before　Christmas　and　Easter。　The　sky　above　and　the　water　in　the　river　were　all　that　escaped；　everything　else　was　subjected　to　a　merciless　cleansing；　scrubbing；　painting。　If　the　sky　had　been　lower　and　smaller　and　the　river　had　not　flowed　so　swiftly；　they　would　have　scoured　them；　too；　with　bath…brick　and　rubbed　them；　too；　with　tow。　Our　walls　were　as　white　as　snow；　but　they　were　whitewashed；　the　floors　were　bright　and　shining；　but　they　were　washed　every　day。　The　cat　Bobtail　（as　a　small　child　I　had　cut　off　a　good　quarter　of　his　tail　with　the　knife　used　for　chopping　the　sugar；　and　that　was　why　he　was　called　Bobtail）　was　carried　off　to　the　kitchen　and　put　in　charge　of　Anisya；　Fedka　was　told　that　if　any　of　the　dogs　came　near　the　front…door　〃God　would　punish　him。〃　But　no　one　was　so　badly　treated　as　the　poor　sofas；　easy…chairs；　and　rugs！　They　had　never；　before　been　so　violently　beaten　as　on　this　occasion　in　preparation　for　our　visitor。　My　pigeons　took　fright　at　the　loud　thud　of　the　sticks；　and　were　continually　flying　up　into　the　sky。

The　tailor　Spiridon；　the　only　tailor　in　the　whole　district　who　ventured　to　make　for　the　gentry；　came　over　from　Novostroevka。　He　was　a　hard…working　capable　man　who　did　not　drink　and　was　not　without　a　certain　fancy　and　feeling　for　form；　but　yet　he　was　an　atrocious　tailor。　His　work　was　ruined　by　hesitation。　。　。　。　The　idea　that　his　cut　was　not　fashionable　enough　made　him　alter　everything　half　a　dozen　times；　walk　all　the　way　to　the　town　simply　to　study　the　dandies；　and　in　the　end　dress　us　in　suits　that　even　a　caricaturist　would　have　called　_outre_　and　grotesque。　We　cut　a　dash　in　impossibly　narrow　trousers　and　in　such　short　jackets　that　we　always　felt　quite　abashed　in　the　presence　of　young　ladies。

This　Spiridon　spent　a　long　time　taking　my　measure。　H