the wife and other stories- 第30部分

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。　He　measured　me　all　over　lengthways　and　crossways；　as　though　he　meant　to　put　hoops　round　me　like　a　barrel；　then　he　spent　a　long　time　noting　down　my　measurements　with　a　thick　pencil　on　a　bit　of　paper；　and　ticked　off　all　the　measurements　with　triangular　signs。　When　he　had　finished　with　me　he　set　to　work　on　my　tutor；　Yegor　Alexyevitch　Pobyedimsky。　My　beloved　tutor　was　then　at　the　stage　when　young　men　watch　the　growth　of　their　moustache　and　are　critical　of　their　clothes；　and　so　you　can　imagine　the　devout　awe　with　which　Spiridon　approached　him。　Yegor　Alexyevitch　had　to　throw　back　his　head；　to　straddle　his　legs　like　an　inverted　V；　first　lift　up　his　arms；　　then　let　them　fall。　Spiridon　measured　him　several　times；　walking　round　him　during　the　process　like　a　love…sick　pigeon　round　its　mate；　going　down　on　one　knee；　bending　double。　。　。　。　My　mother；　weary；　exhausted　by　her　exertions　and　heated　by　ironing；　watched　these　lengthy　proceedings；　and　said：

〃Mind　now；　Spiridon；　you　will　have　to　answer　for　it　to　God　if　you　spoil　the　cloth！　And　it　will　be　the　worse　for　you　if　you　don't　make　them　fit！〃

Mother's　words　threw　Spiridon　first　into　a　fever；　then　into　a　perspiration；　for　he　was　convinced　that　he　would　not　make　them　fit。　He　received　one　rouble　twenty　kopecks　for　making　my　suit；　and　for　Pobyedimsky's　two　roubles；　but　we　provided　the　cloth；　the　lining；　and　the　buttons。　The　price　cannot　be　considered　excessive；　as　Novostroevka　was　about　seven　miles　from　us；　and　the　tailor　came　to　fit　us　four　times。　When　he　came　to　try　the　things　on　and　we　squeezed　ourselves　into　the　tight　trousers　and　jackets　adorned　with　basting　threads；　mother　always　frowned　contemptuously　and　expressed　her　surprise：

〃Goodness　knows　what　the　fashions　are　coming　to　nowadays！　I　am　positively　ashamed　to　look　at　them。　If　brother　were　not　used　to　Petersburg　I　would　not　get　you　fashionable　clothes！〃

Spiridon；　relieved　that　the　blame　was　thrown　on　the　fashion　and　not　on　him；　shrugged　his　shoulders　and　sighed；　as　though　to　say：

〃There's　no　help　for　it；　it's　the　spirit　of　the　age！〃

The　excitement　with　which　we　awaited　the　arrival　of　our　guest　can　only　be　compared　with　the　strained　suspense　with　which　spiritualists　wait　from　minute　to　minute　the　appearance　of　a　ghost。　Mother　went　about　with　a　sick　headache；　and　was　continually　melting　into　tears。　I　lost　my　appetite；　slept　badly；　and　did　not　learn　my　lessons。　Even　in　my　dreams　I　was　haunted　by　an　impatient　longing　to　see　a　general　　that　is；　a　man　with　epaulettes　and　an　embroidered　collar　sticking　up　to　his　ears；　and　with　a　naked　sword　in　his　hands；　exactly　like　the　one　who　hung　over　the　sofa　in　the　drawing…room　and　glared　with　terrible　black　eyes　at　everybody　who　dared　to　look　at　him。　Pobyedimsky　was　the　only　one　who　felt　himself　in　his　element。　He　was　neither　terrified　nor　delighted；　and　merely　from　time　to　time；　when　he　heard　the　history　of　the　Gundasov　family；　said：

〃Yes；　it　will　be　pleasant　to　have　some　one　fresh　to　talk　to。〃

My　tutor　was　looked　upon　among　us　as　an　exceptional　nature。　He　was　a　young　man　of　twenty；　with　a　pimply