The Collected Works of Anton Chekhov - Anton Chekhov

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felt stifled.

      ‘Its peak… Well… I finished her… I just finished her… You understand about Kuz’ma….’

      I glanced at Kamyshev. On his face I could neither read repentance nor regret. ‘I just finished her’ was said as easily as ‘I just had a smoke.’ In my turn I also experienced a feeling of wrath and loathing… I turned away.

      ‘And Urbenin is in penal servitude?’ I asked quietly.

      ‘Yes… I heard he had died on the way, but that is not certain… What then?’

      ‘What then? An innocent man is suffering and you ask “What then?” *

      ‘But what am I to do? Go and confess?’

      ‘I should think so.’

      ‘Well, let us suppose it! I have nothing against taking Urbenin’s place, but I won’t do it voluntarily… Let them take me if they want, but I won’t give myself up. Why did they not take me when I was in their hands? At Olga’s funeral I wept so long, and had such hysterics that even a blind man should have known the truth… It’s not my fault that they are stupid.’

      ‘You are odious to me.’

      ‘That is natural… I am odious to myself….’

      There was silence again… I opened the cash-book and began mechanically to count the figures… Kamyshev took up his hat.

      ‘I see you feel stifled by my presence,’ he said. ‘By-the-by, don’t you want to see Count Karnéev. There he is sitting in the cab!’

      I went up to the window and glanced at him… Sitting in the cab with his back towards us sat a small stooping figure, in a shabby hat and a faded collar. It was difficult to recognize in him one of the actors of the drama!

      ‘I heard that Urbenin’s son is living here in Moscow in the Andréev Chambers,’ Kamyshev said. ‘Do you know what I want, what I am going to do? I’ll ruin the Count, I’ll bring him to such a pass that he’ll be asking Urbenin’s son for money. That will be his punishment. But I must say goodbye….’

      Kamyshev nodded and left the room. I sat down at the table and gave myself up to bitter thoughts.

      I felt stifled.

      Plays:

       Table of Contents

      ON THE HIGH ROAD

       Table of Contents

       A DRAMATIC STUDY

      CHARACTERS

      TIHON EVSTIGNEYEV, the proprietor of a inn on the main road

      SEMYON SERGEYEVITCH BORTSOV, a ruined landowner

      MARIA EGOROVNA, his wife

      SAVVA, an aged pilgrim

      NAZAROVNA and EFIMOVNA, women pilgrims

      FEDYA, a labourer

      EGOR MERIK, a tramp

      KUSMA, a driver

      POSTMAN

      BORTSOV’S WIFE’S COACHMAN

      PILGRIMS, CATTLE-DEALERS, ETC.

      The action takes place in one of the provinces of Southern Russia

      [The scene is laid in TIHON’S bar. On the right is the bar-counter and shelves with bottles. At the back is a door leading out of the house. Over it, on the outside, hangs a dirty red lantern. The floor and the forms, which stand against the wall, are closely occupied by pilgrims and passersby. Many of them, for lack of space, are sleeping as they sit. It is late at night. As the curtain rises thunder is heard, and lightning is seen through the door.]

      [TIHON is behind the counter. FEDYA is half-lying in a heap on one of the forms, and is quietly playing on a concertina. Next to him is BORTSOV, wearing a shabby summer overcoat. SAVVA, NAZAROVNA, and EFIMOVNA are stretched out on the floor by the benches.]

      EFIMOVNA. [To NAZAROVNA] Give the old man a nudge dear! Can’t get any answer out of him.

      NAZAROVNA. [Lifting the corner of a cloth covering of SAVVA’S face] Are you alive or are you dead, you holy man?

      SAVVA. Why should I be dead? I’m alive, mother! [Raises himself on his elbow] Cover up my feet, there’s a saint! That’s it. A bit more on the right one. That’s it, mother. God be good to us.

      NAZAROVNA. [Wrapping up SAVVA’S feet] Sleep, little father.

      SAVVA. What sleep can I have? If only I had the patience to endure this pain, mother; sleep’s quite another matter. A sinner doesn’t deserve to be given rest. What’s that noise, pilgrim-woman?

      NAZAROVNA. God is sending a storm. The wind is wailing, and the rain is pouring down, pouring down. All down the roof and into the windows like dried peas. Do you hear? The windows of heaven are opened… [Thunder] Holy, holy, holy…

      FEDYA. And it roars and thunders, and rages, sad there’s no end to it! Hoooo… it’s like the noise of a forest…. Hoooo…. The wind is wailing like a dog…. [Shrinking back] It’s cold! My clothes are wet, it’s all coming in through the open door… you might put me through a wringer…. [Plays softly] My concertina’s damp, and so there’s no music for you, my Orthodox brethren, or else I’d give you such a concert, my word! — Something marvellous! You can have a quadrille, or a polka, if you like, or some Russian dance for two…. I can do them all. In the town, where I was an attendant at the Grand Hotel, I couldn’t make any money, but I did wonders on my concertina. And, I can play the guitar.

      A VOICE FROM THE CORNER. A silly speech from a silly fool.

      FEDYA. I can hear another of them. [Pause.]

      NAZAROVNA. [To SAVVA] If you’d only lie where it was warm now, old man, and warm your feet. [Pause.] Old man! Man of God! [Shakes SAVVA] Are you going to die?

      FEDYA. You ought to drink a little vodka, grandfather. Drink, and it’ll burn, burn in your stomach, and warm up your heart. Drink, do!

      NAZAROVNA. Don’t swank, young man! Perhaps the old man is giving back his soul to God, or repenting for his sins, and you talk like that, and play your concertina…. Put it down! You’ve no shame!

      FEDYA. And what are you sticking to him for? He can’t do anything and you… with your old women’s talk… He can’t say a word in reply, and you’re glad, and happy because he’s listening to your nonsense…. You go on sleeping, grandfather; never mind her! Let her talk, don’t you take any notice of her. A woman’s tongue is the devil’s broom — it will sweep the good man and the clever man both out of the house. Don’t you mind…. [Waves his hands] But it’s thin you are, brother of mine! Terrible! Like a dead skeleton! No life in you! Are you really dying?

      SAVVA. Why should I die? Save me, O Lord, from dying in vain…. I’ll suffer a little, and then get up with God’s help…. The Mother of God won’t let me die in a strange land…. I’ll die at home.

      FEDYA. Are you from far off?

      SAVVA. From Vologda. The town itself…. I live there.

      FEDYA. And where is this Vologda?

      TIHON. The other side of Moscow….

      FEDYA. Well, well, well…. You have come a long way, old man! On foot?

      SAVVA. On foot, young man. I’ve been to Tihon of the Don, and I’m going to the

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