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I went with no preconceptions of the band and came away completely thrilled. Everyone there was given the chance to experience a wonderful evening. Light is excellent as always, thanks Ulf. Every single note came beautifully from the stage. Another thank you to Thomas for the repeatedly great announcements and not least to the camera people who capture each of these magical moments.
Das Trio aus England nahm das Publikum sofort gefangen. Volumen und Power, woher nimmt diese kleine Frau das nur? Ich bin mir sicher: Dann wieder Midtemponummern mit herrlich flirrenden Gitarren. Der Applaus wurde immer mehr und schien alsbald nicht mehr enden zu wollen. So soll es sein. Licht hervorragend wie immer. Sound einfach nur klasse. We are very excited to be returning to our favourite Blues caravan in Hamburg. Thank you to Thomas Fuchs for these great photographs from the first gig of our tour at MusicStar Norderstedt last night.
We had a wonderful time. By the skin of our teeth we have finally made it to the Netherlands and the last stretch of our Spring tour. This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use. In short, I wanted to see my wife, and while I thought of various pretexts for going to her, I had a firm conviction in my heart that I should do so.
It was still light when I went in to her, and the lamps had not yet been lighted. She was sitting in her study, which led from the drawing-room to her bedroom, and, bending low over the table, was writing something quickly. Seeing me, she started, got up from the table, and remained standing in an attitude such as to screen her papers from me. But that's my business," she answered. I beg your permission to take part in it.
I, too, am well fed and I, too, want to help the hungry. Go and help where you are not known.
For the first few minutes I felt glad to be with my wife. I felt an atmosphere of youth, of home, of feminine softness, of the most refined elegance -- exactly what was lacking on my floor and in my life altogether. My wife was wearing a pink flannel dressing-gown; it made her look much younger, and gave a softness to her rapid and sometimes abrupt movements.
Her beautiful dark hair, the mere sight of which at one time stirred me to passion, had from sitting so long with her head bent c ome loose from the comb and was untidy, but, to my eyes, that only made it look more rich and luxuriant. All this, though is banal to the point of vulgarity. Before me stood an ordinary woman, perhaps neither beautiful nor elegant, but this was my wife with whom I had once lived, and with whom I should have been living to this day if it had not been for her unfortunate character; she was the one human being on the terrestrial globe whom I loved.
At this moment, just before going away, when I knew that I should no longer see her even through the window, she seemed to me fascinating even as she was, cold and forbidding, answering me with a proud and contemptuous mockery. I was proud of her, and confessed to myself that to go away from her was terrible and impossible. Anton Chekhov 23 "Pavel Andreitch," she said after a brief silence, "for two years we have not interfered with each other but have lived quietly. Why do you suddenly feel it necessary to go back to the past? Yesterday you came to insult and humiliate me," she went on, raising her voice, and her face flushed and her eyes flamed with hatred; "but restrain yourself; do not do it, Pavel Andreitch!
Tomorrow I will send in a petition and they will give me a passport, and I will go away; I will go!
I'll go into a convent, into a widows' home, into an almshouse. That would be better, that would be better," she cried, with flashing eyes. They are free and honest, while, thanks to you, I am a parasite, I am perishing in idleness, I eat your bread, I spend your money, and I repay you with my liberty and a fidelity which is of no use to any one.
Because you won't give me a passport, I must respect your good name, though it doesn't exist. Clenching my teeth, I walked quickly into the drawingroom, but turned back at once and said: I only admit to my house those with whom I am acquainted, and let all your crew find another place to do it if they want to take up philanthropy. I can't allow people at midnight in my house to be shouting hurrah at successfully exploiting an hysterical woman like you! With a wave of my hand, I went into the drawing-room.
I was choking with rage, and at the same time I was trembling with terror that I might not restrain myself, and that I might say or do something which I might regret all my life.
And I clenched my hands tight, hoping to hold myself in. After drinking some water and recovering my calm a little, I went back to my wife. She was standing in the same attitude as before, as though barring my German acquainted: Tears were slowly trickling down her pale, cold face. I paused then and said to her bitterly but without anger: How unjust you are to me! I swear upon my honour I came to you with the best of motives, with nothing but the desire to do good! Force yourself to do one kind action in your life.
I entreat you, go away from here! That's the only thing you can do for the starving peasants. Go away, and I will forgive you everything, everything! Yesterday you reproached me with indifference and with being devoid of the feeling of compassion. How well you know me! You are worried because the starving peasants can get on without you, and because the Zemstvo, and in fact every one who is helping them, does not need your guidance.
I sat down, too, thought a little, and said: Motiv, Beweggrund, Ansporne, Antriebe. Moved by love for your fellow-creatures, you have undertaken the organization of famine relief. I have nothing against that, of course; I am completely in sympathy with you, and am prepared to co-operate with you in every way, whatever our relations may be. But, with all my respect for your mind and your heart. You are a woman, you are inexperienced, you know nothing of life, you are too confiding and expansive. You have surrounded yourself with assistants whom you know nothing about.
I am not exaggerating if I say that under these conditions your work will inevitably lead to two deplorable consequences. To begin with, our district will be left unrelieved; and, secondly, you will have to pay for your mistakes and those of your assistants, not only with your purse, but with your reputation.
The money deficit and other losses I could, no doubt, make good, but who could restore you your good name? When through lack of proper supervision and oversight there is a rumour that you, and consequently I, have made two hundred thousand over the famine fund, will your assistants come to your aid? Then inform me daily of every fresh subscription in money or kind, and of every fresh outlay. You will also give me, Natalie, the list of your helpers.
Perhaps they are quite decent people; I don't doubt it; but, still, it is absolutely necessary to make inquiries. I got up, and walked up and down the room. Any one may see. It was getting dusk. I lighted a candle. You ought to number each letter and make a special note of it in a special record. You ought to do the same with your own letters. But I will do all that myself. I was very much pleased with myself. Attracted by this living interesting work, by the little table, the naive exercise books and the charm of doing this work in my wife's society, I was afraid that my wife would suddenly hinder me and upset everything by some sudden whim, and so I was in haste and made an effort to attach no consequence to the fact that her lips were quivering, and that she was looking about her with a helpless and frightened air like a wild creature in a trap.
There I will look through them and tell you what I think about it tomorrow. Have you any more papers? Anton Chekhov 27 "Take them, take them all! That's all that was left me in life. She opened the drawer in the table and began flinging the papers out of it on the table at random, poking me in the chest with her elbow and brushing my face with her hair; as she did so, copper coins kept dropping upon my knees and on the floor.
When she had thrown out the papers she walked away from me, and putting both hands to her head, she flung herself on the couch. I picked up the money, put it back in the drawer, and locked it up that the servants might not be led into dishonesty; then I gathered up all the papers and went off with them. As I passed my wife I stopped. I assure you you will. The exercise books were not bound, the pages were not numbered.
The entries were put in all sorts of handwritings; evidently any one who liked had a hand in managing the books. In the record of the subscriptions in kind there was no note of their money value. But, excuse me, I thought, the rye which is now worth one rouble fifteen kopecks may be worth two roubles fifteen kopecks in two months' time! Was that the way to do things? Then, "Given to A. For what purpose was it given? Where was the receipt? There was nothing to show, and no making anything of it. In case of legal proceedings, these papers would only obscure the case.
Kupfer, Kupfern, kupferartig, Ehern. For a start that was very good. The business which had so worried and interested me was at last in my hands; I was doing what the others would not and could not do; I was doing my duty, organizing the relief fund in a practical and businesslike way Everything seemed to be going in accordance with my desires and intentions; but why did my feeling of uneasiness persist?
I spent four hours over my wife's papers, making out their meaning and correcting her mistakes, but instead of feeling soothed, I felt as though some one were standing behind me and rubbing my back with a rough hand. What was it I wanted? The organization of the relief fund had come into trustworthy hands, the hungry would be fed -- what more was wanted? The four hours of this light work for some reason exhausted me, so that I could not sit bending over the table nor write. From below I heard from time to time a smothered moan; it was my wife sobbing. Alexey, invariably meek, sleepy, and sanctimonious, kept coming up to the table to see to the candles, and looked at me somewhat strangely.
I will set off tomorrow. As, feeling quite worn out and shattered, I held the papers and the exercise books to my breast with both hands, and passing through my bedroom saw my trunks, the sound of weeping reached me through the floor. But yet you are a reptile. Anton Chekhov 29 display. Am I going to get a decoration for working for the peasants or be made the director of a department? And who is there to show off to here in the country?
But, still, you are a reptile. A maid was standing beside her with a perplexed and frightened face. I sent the maid away, laid the papers on the table, thought a moment and said: It's all in order, it's all capital, and I am very much pleased. I am going away tomorrow. I went into the drawing-room and sat there in the dark. My wife's sobs, her sighs, accused me of something, and to justify myself I remembered the whole of our quarrel, starting from my unhappy idea of inviting my wife to our consultation and ending with the exercise books and these tears. It was an ordinary attack of our conjugal hatred, senseless and unseemly, such as had been frequent during our married life, but what had the starving peasants to do with it?
How could it have happened that they had become a bone of contention between us? It was just as though pursuing one another we had accidentally run up to the altar and had carried on a quarrel there. How could I persuade the wild duck, living in captivity and hating me, that it was dear to me, and that I felt for its sufferings? I had never known my wife, so I had never known how to talk to her or what to talk about. Her appearance I knew very well and appreciated it as it deserved, but her spiritual, moral world, her mind, her German accidentally: When in my collisions with her I tried to define what sort of a person she was, my psychology went no farther than deciding that she was giddy, impractical, ill-tempered, guided by feminine logic; and it seemed to me that that was quite sufficient.
But now that she was crying I had a passionate desire to know more. I went up to my wife. She sat up on the couch, and, with her head propped in both hands, looked fixedly and dreamily at the fire. I walked across the room, sighed, and said: So you think I have wronged you. I beg you calmly and in brief terms to formulate the wrong I've done you.
I didn't marry you by force. But if you want to live in freedom, go; I'll give you your liberty. You can go and love who m you please. I will give you a divorce. You are not to blame for being older or for my being younger, or that I might be able to love some one else if I were free; but because you are a difficult person, an egoist, and hate every one.
I don't know," I said. You want to go on at me till the morning, but I warn you I am quite worn out and cannot answer you. You promised me to go to town. I am very grateful; I ask nothing more. Anton Chekhov 31 My wife wanted me to go away, but it was not easy for me to do that. I was dispirited and I dreaded the big, cheerless, chill rooms that I was so weary of. Sometimes when I had an ache or a pain as a child, I used to huddle up to my mother or my nurse, and when I hid my face in the warm folds of their dress, it seemed to me as though I were hiding from the pain.
And in the same way it seemed to me now that I could only hide from my uneasiness in this little room beside my wife. I sat down and screened away the light from my eyes with my hand. There was a stillness. You have a straightforward way of looking at things, and so you hate the whole world. You hate those who have faith, because faith is an expression of ignorance and lack of culture, and at the same time you hate those who have no faith for having no faith and no ideals; you hate old people for being conservative and behind the times, and young people for freethinking.
The interests of the peasantry and of Russia are dear to you, and so you hate the peasants because you suspect every one of them of being a thief and a robber. You hate every one. You are just, and always take your stand on your legal rights, and so you are always at law with the peasants and your neighbours. You have had twenty bushels of rye stolen, and your love of order has made you complain of the peasants to the Governor and all the local authorities, and to send a complaint of the local authorities to Petersburg. Law and morality is such that a self-respecting healthy young woman has to spend her life in idleness, in depression, and in continual apprehension, and to receive in return board and lodging from a man she does not love.
You have a thorough knowledge of the law, you are very honest and just, you respect marriage and family life, and the effect of all that is that all your life you have not done one kind action, that every one hates you, that you are on bad terms with every one, German ache: You've had no wife and I've had no husband.
To live with a man like you is impossible; there is no way of doing it. In the early years I was frightened with you, and now I am ashamed. That's how my best years have been wasted. When I fought with you I ruined my temper, grew shrewish, coarse, timid, mistrustful. Oh, but what's the use of talking! As though you wanted to understand! Go upstairs, and God be with you! There's no bringing it back now. I did not understand what was wanted of me by my conscience, and my wife, translating it in her feminine way, made clear to me in the meaning of my agitation.
As often before in the moments of intense uneasiness, I guessed that the whole secret lay, not in the starving peasants, but in my not being the sort of a man I ought to be. My wife got up with an effort and came up to me. Call this" -- she pointed to her papers -- "self-deception, feminine logic, a mistake, as you like; but do not hinder me. It's all that is left me in life. I have wasted my youth in fighting with you. Now I have caught at this and am living; I am happy. It seems to me that I have found in this a means of justifying my existence. Anton Chekhov 33 "Natalie, you are a good woman, a woman of ideas," I said, looking at my wife enthusiastically, and everything you say and do is intelligent and fine.
We both felt ashamed; I felt that I must at all costs efface this clumsiness at once, or else I should feel ashamed afterwards, in the train and at Petersburg. But how efface it? What was I to say? But allow me at parting to give you one piece of advice, Natalie; be on your guard with Sobol, and with your assistants generally, and don't trust them blindly. I don't say they are not honest, but they are not gentlefolks; they are people with no ideas, no ideals, no faith, with no aim in life, no definite principles, and the whole object of their life is comprised in the rouble.
Yes, that's your way: It's time you understand that. Scythian you are in reality! That's because you lead a cramped life full of hatred, see no one, and read nothing but your engineering books. And, you know, there are good people, good books! I ought to be in bed. An hour later -- it was halfpast one -- I went downstairs again with a candle in my hand to speak to my wife.
I didn't know what I was going to say to her, but I felt that I must say some thing very important and necessary. She was not in her study, the door leading to her bedroom was closed. There was no answer. I stood near the door, sighed, and went into the drawing-room. There I sat down on the sofa, put out the candle, and remained sitting in the dark till the dawn. VI I went to the station at ten o'clock in the morning. There was no frost, but snow was falling in big wet flakes and an unpleasant damp wind was blowing.
We passed a pond and then a birch copse, and then began going uphill along the road which I could see from my window. I turned round to take a last German birch: Blasend, Blasen, Sausen, Geblas, Gepus. Kerze, Licht, Wachskerze, Wachslicht. Anton Chekhov 35 look at my house, but I could see nothing for the snow. Soon afterwards dark huts came into sight ahead of us as in a fog. All the roofs were intact, not one of them had been pulled to pieces; so my bailiff had told a lie. A boy was pulling along a little girl and a baby in a sledge.
Another boy of three, with his head wrapped up like a peasant woman's and with huge mufflers on his hands, was trying to catch the flying snowflakes on his tongue, and laughing. Then a wagon loaded with fagots came toward us and a peasant walking beside it, and there was no telling whether his beard was white or whether it was covered with snow. He recognized my coachman, smiled at him and said something, and mechanically took off his hat to me.
The dogs ran out of the yards and looked inquisitively at my horses. Everything was quiet, ordinary, as usual. The emigrants had returned, there was no bread; in the huts "some were laughing, some were delirious"; but it all looked so ordinary that one could not believe it really was so. There were no distracted faces, no voices whining for help, no weeping, nor abuse, but all around was stillness, order, life, children, sledges, dogs with dishevelled tails.
Neither the children nor the peasant we met were troubled; why was I so troubled? Looking at the smiling peasant, at the boy with the huge mufflers, at the huts, remembering my wife, I realized there was no calamity that could daunt this people; I felt as though there were already a breath of victory in the air. I felt proud and felt ready to cry out that I was with them too; but the horses were carrying us away from the village into the open country, the snow was whirling, the wind was howling, and I was left alone with my thoughts.
Of the million people working for the peasantry, life itself had cast me out as a useless, incompetent, bad man. I was a hindrance, a part of the people's calamity; I was vanquished, cast out, and I was hurrying to the station to go away and hide myself in Petersburg in a hotel in Bolshaya Morskaya. Auswanderer, Emigranten, Wandert aus. The coachman and a porter with a disc on his breast carried my trunks into the ladies' room. My coachman Nikanor, wearing high felt boots and the skirt of his coat tucked up through his belt, all wet with the snow and glad I was going away, gave me a friendly smile and said: God give you luck.
The porter told me the train had not yet left the next station; I had to wait. I went outside, and with my head heavy from my sleepless night, and so exhausted I could hardly move my legs, I walked aimlessly towards the pump. There was not a soul anywhere near. The acquaintances from whom I have come away, loneliness, restaurant dinners, noise, the electric light, which makes my eyes ache. Where am I going, and what am I going for? What am I going for? I felt that I was leaving her in uncertainty. Going away, I ought to have told that she was right, that I really was a bad man.
When I turned away from the pump, I saw in the doorway the station-master, of whom I had twice made complaints to his superiors, turning up the collar of his coat, shrinking from the wind and the snow. He came up to me, and putting two fingers to the peak of his cap, told me with an expression of helpless confusion, strained respectfulness, and hatred on his face, that the train was twenty minutes late, and asked me would I not like to wait in the warm? Send word to my coachman to wait; I have not made up my mind. When the train came in I decided not to go. At home I had to expect my wife's amazement and perhaps her mockery, the dismal upper storey and my uneasiness; but, still, at my age that was easier and as it were more homelike than travelling for two days and nights with strangers to Petersburg, where I German aimlessly: Anton Chekhov 37 should be conscious every minute that my life was of no use to any one or to anything, and that it was approaching its end.
No, better at home whatever awaited me there. I went out of the station. It was awkward by daylight to return home, where every one was so glad at my going. I might spend the rest of the day till evening at some neighbour's, but with whom? With some of them I was on strained relations, others I did not know at all. I considered and thought of Ivan Ivanitch. Well, I don't care. Let's give the general a drive! If you come to grief he'll buy new ones, my darlings! We'll run you down! He must have been drinking at the station. At the bottom of the descent there was the crash of ice; a piece of dirty frozen snow thrown up from the road hit me a painful blow in the face.
The runaway horses ran up the hill as rapidly as they had downhill, and before I had time to shout to Nikanor my sledge was flying along on the level in German approaching: He laughed till he coughed, laid his head on my breast, and said what he always did say on meeting me: I don't know what dye you use for your hair and your beard; you might give me some of it. I am an old man; I like respect. Two peasant women helped me off with my coat in the entry, and a peasant in a red shirt hung it on a hook, and when Ivan Ivanitch and I went into his little study, two barefooted little girls were sitting on the floor looking at a picture-book; when they saw us they jumped up and ran away, and a tall, thin old woman in specta cles came in at once, bowed gravely to me, and picking up a pillow from the sofa and a picture-book from the floor, went away.
From the adjoining rooms we heard incessant whispering and the patter of bare feet. He dines with me every Wednesday, God bless him. Perhaps it is annoying, but don't be cross. My only prayer to God before I die is to live in peace and harmony with all in the true way. My face was burning from the snow and the wind, and I felt as though my whole body were basking in the warmth and growing weaker from it.
Harmonie, Eintracht, Die Harmonie, Wohlklang. Kopfkissen, Kissen, Polster, das Kissen. The writing-table and the mahogany cupboard here were made for my father by a self-taught cabinet-maker -- Glyeb Butyga, a serf of General Zhukov's. Then Ivan Ivanitch went into the next room to show me a polisander wood chest of drawers remarkable for its beauty and cheapness. He tapped the chest with his fingers, then called my attention to a stove of patterned tiles, such as one never sees now.
He tapped the stove, too, with his fingers. There was an atmosphere of good-natured simplicity and wellfed abundance about the chest of drawers, the tiled stove, the low chairs, the pictures embroidered in wool and silk on canvas in solid, ugly frames. When one remembers that all those objects were standing in the same places and precisely in the same order when I was a little child, and used to come here to name-day parties with my mother, it is simply unbelievable that they could ever cease to exist. I thought what a fearful difference between Butyga and me!
Butyga who made things, above all, solidly and substantially, and seeing in that his chief object, gave to length of life peculiar significance, had no thought of death, and probably hardly believed in its possibility; I, when I built my bridges of iron and stone which would last a thousand years, could not keep from me the thought, "It's not for long. Butyga loved his fellowcreatures and would not admit the thought that they might die and be annihilated, and so when he made his furniture he had the immortal man in his mind. The engineer Asorin did not love life or his fellow-creatures; even in the happy moments of creation, thoughts of death, of finiteness and dissolution, were not alien to him, and we see how insignificant and finite, how timid and poor, are these lines of his.
I've shut them up. While he was rubbing his cold hands and stroking his wet beard, I had time to notice in the first place that he had a very dull life, and so was pleased to see Ivan Ivanitch and me; and, secondly, that he was a naive and simple-hearted man. He looked at me as though I were very glad to see him and very much interested in him.
I am as sleepy as Satan, do you know. His naive eyes, his crumpled coat, his cheap tie and the smell of iodoform made an unpleasant impression upon me; I felt as though I were in vulgar company. When we sat down to table he filled my glass with vodka, and, smiling helplessly, I drank it; he put a piece of ham on my plate and I ate it submissively.
I have turned into a peasant, a savage in the wilds; I've grown coarse, but I am still an educated man, and I tell you in good earnest, it's tedious without company. The doctor went on talking, and I was soon convinced that he was a weak, unfortunate man, disorderly in German biting: Kohl, Kohlkopf, Kraut, der Kohl. Anton Chekhov 41 external life. Three glasses of vodka made him drunk; he grew unnaturally lively, ate a great deal, kept clearing his throat and smacking his lips, and already addressed me in Italian, "Eccellenza.
I've read nothing for ten years! For ten years, Eccellenza. As for the financial side of the question, ask Ivan Ivanitch: I have often no money to buy tobacco. Pie was served; then, I remember, with long intervals between, during which we drank home-made liquors, they gave us a stew of pigeons, some dish of giblets, roast sucking-pig, partridges, cauliflower, curd dumplings, curd cheese and milk, jelly, and finally pancakes and jam.
At first I ate with great relish, especially the cabbage soup and the buckwheat, but afterwards I munched and German abusing: Aufrichtigkeit, Wahrheitssinn, Ehrlichkeit, Gerechtigkeit. Blumenkohl, Karfiol, der Blumenkohl. My face was burning from the hot cabbage soup and the heat of the room. Ivan Ivanitch and Sobol, too, were crimson. Tell her her doctor sends her his respects.
Almost the whole business is in her hands, and they all gather round her, the doctor, the District Captains, and the ladies. With people of the right sort that happens of itself. The apple-tree need take no thought for the apple to grow on it; it will grow of itself. One must not worry oneself. Just so, just so. Only do your duty towards God and your neighbour, and then never mind what happens. It's nothing but being burnt down, starving, and struggling against nature in every way. What was I saying?
If one thinks about it, you know, looks into it and analyses all this hotchpotch, if you will allow me to call it so, it's not life but more like a fire in a theatre! Any one who falls down or screams with terror, or rushes about, is the worst enemy of good order; one must stand up and look sharp, and not stir a hair! There's no time for whimpering and busying oneself with trifles. When you have to deal with elemental forces you must put out force against them, be firm and as unyielding as a stone.
Isn't that right, grandfather? I can't endure petty feelings! One mopes, another is frightened, a third will come straight in here and say: Here you've guzzled a dozen courses and you talk about the starving! Sammelsurium, Plunder, Mischmasch, Kram. Anton Chekhov 43 That's petty and stupid! A fourth will reproach you, Eccellenza, for being rich. Excuse me, Eccellenza," he went on in a loud voice, laying his hand on his heart, "but your having set our magistrate the task of hunting day and night for your thieves -- excuse me, that's also petty on your part.
I am a little drunk, so that's why I say this now, but you know, it is petty! I didn't ask him to. They turned out not to be the right ones, and now they are looking for a fresh lot," said Sobol, laughing. What's it all for? Well, supposing I was wrong, supposing I have done wrong, why do they try to put me more in the wrong? I have had a drop, that is why I said it. My tongue is my enemy. Come," he sighed, "we have eaten and drunk wine, and now for a nap.
Ivan Ivanitch and I smoked in silence. I don't sleep after dinner, my dear," said Ivan Ivanitch, "but you have a rest in the lounge-room. In the half-dark and warmly heated room they called the loungeroom, there stood against the walls long, wide sofas, solid and heavy, the work of Butyga the cabinet maker; on them lay high, soft, white beds, probably made by the old woman in spectacles.
On one of them Sobol, without his coat and boots, already lay asleep with his face to the back of the sofa; another bed was awaiting me. I took off my coat and boots, and, overcome by fatigue, by the German drunk: I dreamed of the peasants who had stolen twenty sacks of rye out of my barn. I woke up at the sound of my own voice, looked for a moment in perplexity at Sobol's broad back, at the buckles of his waistcoat, at his thick heels, then lay down again and fell asleep. When I woke up the second time it was quite dark. There was peace in my heart, and I longed to make haste home.
I dressed and went out of the lounge-room. Ivan Ivanitch was sitting in a big arm-chair in his study, absolutely motionless, staring at a fixed point, and it was evident that he had been in the same state of petrifaction all the while I had been asleep.
I shall often come and see you now. Tell me, did my wife ever dine here? But what am I to do to make my character different? I'm a feeble old man, I can't advise you. But I said that to you at the time because I am fond of you and fond of your wife, and I was fond of your father.
I shall soon die, and what need have I to conceal things from you or to tell you lies? So I tell you: I am very fond of you, but I don't respect you. No, I don't respect you. Anton Chekhov 45 "It's impossible to respect you, my dear fellow. You look like a real man. You have the figure and deportment of the French President Carnot -- I saw a portrait of him the other day in an illustrated paper.
You use lofty language, and you are clever, and you are high up in the service beyond all reach, but haven't real soul, my dear boy. Tell me something about my wife; you know her better. Besides Ivan Ivanitch, women servants, the old dame in spectacles, the little girls and the peasant, all accompanied us from the hall out on to the steps, wishing us good-bye and all sorts of blessings, while near the horses in the darkness there were standing and moving about men with lanterns, telling our coachmen how and which way to drive, and wishing us a lucky journey.
The horses, the men, and the sledges were white. Some of the old servants are living out their lives with him, and then there are orphans of all sorts who have nowhere to go; there are some, too, who insist on living there, there's no turning them out. A queer old man! Falte, falten, zusammenlegen, falzen, zusammenfalten, umfalten, Pferch, gefaltete, Falz. It was as though the man I had been till that day were already a stranger to me.
From time to time he overtook me, drove side by side, and always, with the same naive confidence that it was very pleasant to me, offered me a ci garette or asked for the matches. Or, overtaking me, he would lean right out of his sledge, and waving about the sleeves of his fur coat, which were at least twice as long as his arms, shout: Beat the thousand roublers! My Nikanor took it as an affront, and held in his three horses, but when the doctor's bells had passed out of hearing, he raised his elbows, shouted, and our horses flew like mad in pursuit. We drove into a village, there were glimpses of lights, the silhouettes of huts.
When we caught up the doctor and drove more quietly, he asked for matches and said: And, you know, there are five streets like that, sir. Stay, stay," he shouted. We must get warm and let the horses rest. Welle, Wogen, Wellenlinie, Wellenbewegung. Anton Chekhov 47 side-streets, too, and one can do nothing but scratch one's head. It's hard to do anything.
Sobol asked for some beer and I asked for tea. As long as our relations to the people continue to have the character of ordinary philanthropy, as shown in orphan asylums and almshouses, so long we shall only be shuffling, shamming, and deceiving ourselves, and nothing more. Our relations ought to be businesslike, founded on calculation, knowledge, and justice.
My Vaska has been working for me all his life; his crops have failed, he is sick and starving. If I give him fifteen kopecks a day, by so doing I try to restore him to his former condition as a workman; that is, I am first and foremost looking after my own interests, and yet for some reason I call that fifteen kopecks relief, charity, good works. Now let us put it like this.
On the most modest computation, reckoning seven kopecks a soul and five souls a family, one needs three hundred and fifty roubles a day to feed a thousand families. That sum is fixed by our practical duty to a thousand families. Meanwhile we give not three hundred and fifty a day, but only ten, and say that that is relief, charity, that that makes your wife and all of us exceptionally good people and hurrah for our humaneness.
That is it, my dear soul! How many such humane, sensitive people there are among us who tear about in all good faith with subscription lists, but don't pay their tailors or their cooks.
There is no logic in our life; that's what it is! I was making a mental calculation and said: Come and see me tomorrow to talk it over. Waise, Waisenkind, Waisenknabe, Verwaist. I've forgotten mine in the tavern. Reaching home, I walked about my rooms, trying to think things over and to define my position clearly to myself; I had not one word, one phrase, ready for my wife.
My brain was not working. But without thinking of anything, I went downstairs to my wife. She was in her room, in the same pink dressing-gown, and standing in the same attitude as though screening her papers from me. On her face was an expression of perplexity and irony, and it was evident that having heard of my arrival, she had prepared herself not to cry, not to entreat me, not to defend herself, as she had done the day before, but to laugh at me, to answer me contemptuously, and to act with decision.
Her face was saying: I have gone out of my mind; I've grown old, I'm ill, I've become a different man -- think as you like. I've shaken off my old self with horror, with horror; I despise him and am ashamed of him, and the new man who has been in me since yesterday will not let me go away. Do not drive me away, Natalie!
Enchanted by her presence, warmed by the warmth of her room, I muttered as in delirium, holding out my hands to her: I have never for one minute ceased to miss you, and only obstinate vanity prevented me from owning it. The past, when we lived as husband and wife, cannot be brought back, and there's no need; but make me your servant, take all my property, and give it away to any one you like.
I am at peace, Natalie, I am content. I am at peace. Anton Chekhov 49 My wife, looking intently and with curiosity into my face, suddenly uttered a faint cry, burst into tears, and ran into the next room. I went upstairs to my own storey. Now I feel no uneasiness. Neither the scenes of disorder which I saw when I went the round of the huts at Pestrovo with my wife and Sobol the other day, nor malignant rumours, nor the mistakes of the people around me, nor old age close upon me -nothing disturbs me.
Just as the flying bullets do not hinder soldiers from talking of their own affairs, eating and cleaning their boots, so the starving peasants do not hinder me from sleeping quietly and looking after my personal affairs. In my house and far around it there is in full swing the work which Dr. Sobol calls "an orgy of philanthropy. What will happen in the future I don't know. Unordnung, Durcheinander, Bruch, Ausbruch. Sauber machen, Abputzend, disturbs: As usual, his face looked anxious and ill-humoured, and his beard was uncombed. Fedosya Semyonovna, his wife, his son Pyotr, a student, his eldest daughter Varvara, and three small boys, had been sitting waiting a long time.
The boys -- Kolka, Vanka, and Arhipka -- grubby, snub-nosed little fellows with chubby faces and tousled hair that wanted cutting, moved their chairs impatiently, while their elders sat without stirring, and apparently did not care whether they ate their dinner or waited. As though trying their patience, Shiryaev deliberately dried his hands, deliberately said his prayer, and sat down to the table without hurrying himself. Cabbage-soup was served immediately.
The sound of carpenters' axes Shiryaev was having a new barn built and the laughter of Fomka, their labourer, teasing the turkey, floated in from the courtyard. Verstorben, Verstorbene, verstorbener, tot, gestorben, seliger. Regen, regnen, der Regen. Anton Chekhov 51 Big, sparse drops of rain pattered on the window. Several times he laid down his spoon and cleared his throat, meaning to begin to speak, but after an intent look at his father he fell to eating again.
At last, when the porridge had been served, he cleared his throat resolutely and said: I out to have gone before; I have missed a fortnight as it is. The lectures begin on the first of September. Pack up and go, and good luck to you.
How many such humane, sensitive people there are among us who tear about in all good faith with subscription lists, but don't pay their tailors or their cooks. The student felt sorry for him, but immediately suppressing that feeling, he said: When she played the piano downstairs I stood up and listened. Snags and sandbars grew less and less frequent, and Tom grew more and more at his ease, seeing that all were so lovingly bent upon helping him and overlooking his mistakes. My uneasiness hindered me from working and concentrating myself; I did not know what it was, and chose to believe it was disappointment.
To be sure, you can't go without money. Take it at once, since you need it. You could have had it long ago! Deliberately Shiryaev took a pocket-book out of his coat-pocket and put on his spectacles. He always sighed when he saw money, even when he was receiving it. You will have change out of that which will be of use to you on the journey. I don't know how it will be this year; most likely it will take me a little time to find work. I ought to ask you for fifteen roubles for my lodging and dinner. Seufzen, Seufzer, Gier, Sucht.
Kehle, Gurgel, Hals, Rachen. He ought to have asked him for something more, for clothes, for lecture fees, for books, but after an intent look at his father he decided not to pester him further. Why, just see, how can he go to Moscow in such wrecks? Shiryaev's short, fat neck turned suddenly red as a beetroot. The colour mounted slowly to his ears, from his ears to his temples, and by degrees suffused his whole face.
Yevgraf Ivanovitch shifted in his chair and unbuttoned his shirt-collar to save himself from choking. He was evidently struggling with the feeling that was mastering him. A deathlike silence followed. The children held their breath. Fedosya Semyonovna, as though she did not grasp what was happening to her husband, went on: A revolting expression of anger, resentment, avarice -- all mixed together -- flamed on his face. Beherrschung, Meisterung, beherrscht, beherrschst, enthalten, sich beruhigen. Anton Chekhov 53 "Strip me to the last thread! He could not go on eating.
Fedosya Semyonovna, who had not after twenty-five years grown used to her husband's difficult character, shrank into herself and muttered something in selfdefence. An expression of amazement and dull terror came into her wasted and birdlike face, which at all times looked dull and scared. The little boys and the elder daughter Varvara, a girl in her teens, with a pale ugly face, laid down their spoons and sat mute.
Order yourself new boots and uniforms! I beg you to end this, for. I used to be able to put up with such scenes, but. I have got out of the way of it! I shall say what I like, and you hold your tongue. At your age I was earning my living, while you. Do you know what you cost me, you scoundrel? I'll turn you out! Schrecken, Schreck, Grauen, Entzetzen, Entsetzen. Zunge, Sprache, die Zunge. It's all your fault! He has no respect for us, does not say his prayers, and earns nothing! I am only one against the ten of you! I'll turn you out of the house!
The father, with a curse and a wave of the hand, ran out into the yard. But on this occasion, unfortunately, Pyotr the student was carried away by overmastering anger. He was just as hasty and ill-tempered as his father and his grandfather the priest, who used to beat his parishioners about the head with a stick. Pale and clenching his fists, he went up to his mother and shouted in the very highest tenor note his voice could reach: I want nothing from you! I would rather die of hunger than eat another mouthful at your expense!
Take your nasty money back! Shiryaev's house stood alone on a ravine which ran like a furrow for four miles along the steppe. Its sides were overgrown with oak saplings and alders, and a stream ran at the bottom. On one side the house looked towards the ravine, on the other towards the open country, there were no fences nor hurdles.
Instead there were farm-buildings of all sorts close to one another, shutting in a small space in front of the house which was regarded as the yard, and in which hens, ducks, and pigs ran about. Going out of the house, the student walked along the muddy road towards the open country. The air was full of a penetrating autumn dampness. The road German alders: Schlucht, Klamm, Felsenschlucht, Abgrund. Anton Chekhov 55 was muddy, puddles gleamed here and there, and in the yellow fields autumn itself seemed looking out from the grass, dismal, decaying, dark.
On the righthand side of the road was a vegetable-garden cleared of its crops and gloomylooking, with here and there sunflowers standing up in it with hanging heads already black. When he had gone eighty miles his father, frightened and aghast, would overtake him, would begin begging him to turn back or take the money, but he would not even look at him, but would go on and on.
Bare forests would be followed by desolate fields, fields by forests again; soon the earth would be white with the first snow, and the streams would be coated with ice.
Somewhere near Kursk or near Serpuhovo, exhausted and dying of hunger, he would sink down and die. His corpse would be found, and there would be a paragraph in all the papers saying that a student called Shiryaev had died of hunger. A white dog with a muddy tail who was wandering about the vegetablegarden looking for something gazed at him and sauntered after him. He walked along the road and thought of death, of the grief of his family, of the moral sufferings of his father, and then pictured all sorts of adventures on the road, each more marvellous than the one before -- picturesque places, terrible nights, chance encounters.
He imagined a string of pilgrims, a hut in the forest with one little window shining in the darkness; he stands before the window, begs for a night's lodging. They let him in, and suddenly he sees that they are robbers. Or, better still, he is taken into a big manor-house, where, learning who he is, they give him food and drink, play to him on the piano, listen to his complaints, and the daughter of the house, a beauty, falls in love with him.
Absorbed in his bitterness and such thoughts, young Shiryaev walked on and on. Far, far ahead he saw the inn, a dark patch against the grey background of cloud. Beyond the inn, on the very horizon, he could see a little hillock; this was the railway-station. That hillock reminded him of the connection existing German adventures: Abenteuer, Gefahren, Geschick, Schicksale. And he almost wept with depression and impatience.
The solemn landscape, with its order and beauty, the deathlike stillness all around, revolted him and moved him to despair and hatred! He bowed to her, and smiled all over his face. And at once he caught himself in that smile, which was so out of keeping with his gloomy mood. Where did it come from if his whole heart was full of vexation and misery? And he thought nature itself had given man this capacity for lying, that even in difficult moments of spiritual strain he might be able to hide the secrets of his nest as the fox and the wild duck do.
Every family has its joys and its horrors, but however great they may be, it's hard for an outsider's eye to see them; they are a secret. The father of the old lady who had just driven by, for instance, had for some offence lain for half his lifetime under the ban of the wrath of Tsar Nicolas I. One could imagine how many terrible scenes there must have been in her life, how many tears must have been shed. And yet the old lady seemed happy and satisfied, and she had answered his smile by smiling too. The student thought of his comrades, who did not like talking about their families; he thought of his mother, who almost always lied when she had to speak of her husband and children.
Pyotr walked about the roads far from home till dusk, abandoning himself to dreary thoughts. When it began to drizzle with rain he turned homewards. As he walked back he made up his mind at all costs to talk to his father, to explain to him, once and for all, that it was dreadful and oppressive to live with him. He found perfect stillness in the house. His sister Varvara was lying behind a screen with a headache, moaning faintly. His mother, with a look of amazement and guilt upon her face, was sitting beside her on a box, mending Arhipka's trousers.
Yevgraf Ivanovitch was pacing from one window to another, scowling German abandoning: Zorn, Wut, Erbitterung, Grimm, Gram. Anton Chekhov 57 at the weather. From his walk, from the way he cleared his throat, and even from the back of his head, it was evident he felt himself to blame. The student felt sorry for him, but immediately suppressing that feeling, he said: I must speak to you seriously. I have always respected you, and. The student, as though considering his words, rubbed his forehead and went on in great excitement: Your bread sticks in our throat.