Tales of Chekhov 13 (final ) Love and other stories

churchyard close by. The bell tolled slowly, depressingly, mournfully. . . . A cold chill ran down Vaxin's neck and spine. He fancied he heard someone breathing heavily over his head, as though Uncle Klavdy had stepped out of his frame and was bending over his nephew. . . . Vaxin felt unbearably frightened. He clenched his teeth and held his breath in terror.

At last, when a cockchafer flew in at the open window and began buzzing over his bed, he could bear it no longer and gave a violent tug at the bellrope.

'Dmitri Osipitch, was wollen Sie?' he heard the voice of the

German governess at his door a moment later.

'Ah, it's you, Rosalia Karlovna!' Vaxin cried, delighted. 'Why do you trouble? Gavrila might just . . .'

'Yourself Gavrila to the town sent. And Glafira is somewhere all the evening gone. . . . There's nobody in the house. . . . Was wollen Sie doch?'

'Well, what I wanted . . . it's . . . but, please, come in . . . you needn't mind! . . . it's dark.'

Rosalia Karlovna, a stout red-cheeked person, came in to the bedroom and stood in an expectant attitude at the door.

'Sit down, please . . . you see, it's like this. . . . What on earth am I to ask her for?' he wondered, stealing a glance at Uncle Klavdy's portrait and feeling his soul gradually returning to tranquility.

'What I really wanted to ask you was . . . Oh, when the man goes to town, don't forget to tell him to . . . er . . . er . . . to get some cigarette-papers. . . . But do, please sit down.'

'Cigarette-papers? good. . . . Was wollen Sie noch?'

'Ich will . . . there's nothing I will, but. . . But do sit down! I shall think of something else in a minute.'

'It is shocking for a maiden in a man's room to remain. . . . Mr. Vaxin, you are, I see, a naughty man. . . . I understand. . . . To order cigarette-papers one does not a person wake. . . . I understand you. . . .'

Rosalia Karlovna turned and went out of the room.

Somewhat reassured by his conversation with her and ashamed of his cowardice, Vaxin pulled the bedclothes over his head and shut his eyes. For about ten minutes he felt fairly comfortable, then the same nonsense came creeping back into his mind. . . . He swore to himself, felt for the matches, and without opening his eyes lighted a candle.

But even the light was no use. To Vaxin' s excited imagination it seemed as though someone were peeping round the corner and that his uncle's eyes were moving.

'I'll ring her up again . . . damn the woman!' he decided. 'I'll tell her I'm unwell and ask for some drops.'

Vaxin rang. There was no response. He rang again, and as though answering his ring, he heard the church- bell toll the hour.

Overcome with terror, cold all over, he jumped out of bed, ran headlong out of his bedroom, and making the sign of the cross and cursing himself for his cowardice, he fled barefoot in his night-shirt to the governess's room.

'Rosalia Karlovna!' he began in a shaking voice as he knocked at her door, 'Rosalia Karlovna! . . . Are you asleep? . . . I feel . . . so . . . er . . . er . . . unwell. . . . Drops! . . .'

There was no answer. Silence reigned.

'I beg you . . . do you understand? I beg you! Why this squeamishness,

I can't understand . . . especially when a man . . . is ill . . .

How absurdly zierlich manierlich you are really . . . at your

age. . . .'

'I to your wife shall tell. . . . Will not leave an honest maiden in peace. . . . When I was at Baron Anzig's, and the baron try to come to me for matches, I understand at once what his matches mean and tell to the baroness. . . . I am an honest maiden.'

'Hang your honesty! I am ill I tell you . . . and asking you for drops. Do you understand? I'm ill!'

'Your wife is an honest, good woman, and you ought her to love! Ja! She is noble! . . . I will not be her foe!'

'You are a fool! simply a fool! Do you understand, a fool?'

Vaxin leaned against the door-post, folded his arms and waited for his panic to pass off. To return to his room where the lamp flickered and his uncle stared at him from his frame was more than he could face, and to stand at the governess's door in nothing but his night-shirt was inconvenient from every point of view. What could he do?

It struck two o'clock and his terror had not left him. There was no light in the passage and something dark seemed to be peeping out from every corner. Vaxin turned so as to face the door-post, but at that instant it seemed as though somebody tweaked his night-shirt from behind and touched him on the shoulder.

'Damnation! . . . Rosalia Karlovna!'

No answer. Vaxin hesitatingly opened the door and peeped into the room. The virtuous German was sweetly slumbering. The tiny flame of a night-light threw her solid buxom person into relief. Vaxin stepped into the room and sat down on a wickerwork trunk near the door. He felt better in the presence of a living creature, even though that creature was asleep.

'Let the German idiot sleep,' he thought, 'I'll sit here, and when it gets light I'll go back. . . . It's daylight early now.'

Vaxin curled up on the trunk and put his arm under his head to await the coming of dawn.

'What a thing it is to have nerves!' he reflected. 'An educated, intelligent man! . . . Hang it all! . . . It's a perfect disgrace!'

As he listened to the gentle, even breathing of Rosalia Karlovna, he soon recovered himself completely.

At six o'clock, Vaxin's wife returned from the all-night service, and not finding her husband in their bedroom, went to the governess to ask her for some change for the cabman.

On entering the German's room, a strange sight met her eyes.

On the bed lay stretched Rosalia Karlovna fast asleep, and a couple of yards from her was her husband curled up on the trunk sleeping the sleep of the just and snoring loudly.

What she said to her husband, and how he looked when he woke, I leave to others to describe. It is beyond my powers.

A WORK OF ART

SASHA SMIRNOV, the only son of his mother, holding under his arm, something wrapped up in No. 223 of the Financial News, assumed a sentimental expression, and went into Dr. Koshelkov's consulting-room.

'Ah, dear lad!' was how the doctor greeted him. 'Well! how are we feeling? What good news have you for me?'

Sasha blinked, laid his hand on his heart and said in an agitated voice: 'Mamma sends her greetings to you, Ivan Nikolaevitch, and told me to thank you. . . . I am the only son of my mother and you have saved my life . . . you have brought me through a dangerous illness and . . . we do not know how to thank you.'

'Nonsense, lad!' said the doctor, highly delighted. 'I only did what anyone else would have done in my place.'

'I am the only son of my mother . . . we are poor people and cannot of course repay you, and we are quite ashamed, doctor, although, however, mamma and I . . . the only son of my mother, earnestly beg you to accept in token of our gratitude . . . this object, which . . . An object of great value, an antique bronze. . . . A rare work of art.'

'You shouldn't!' said the doctor, frowning. 'What's this for!'

'No, please do not refuse,' Sasha went on muttering as he unpacked the parcel. 'You will wound mamma and