The Steppe and Other Stories, 1887-91

by Anton Chekhov

  ‘The passengers are snugly asleep in their cabins,’ Layevsky thought and envied others their rest.

  The windows in Samoylenko’s house were open. Layevsky peered through one of them, then another. Inside it was dark and quiet.

  ‘Are you asleep, Alexander?’ he called. ‘Alexander!’

  He heard some coughing and then a cry of alarm. ‘Who in the devil’s name is that?’

  ‘It’s me, Alexander. Please forgive me.’

  A few moments later the door opened, a lamp cast its soft light and the massive figure of Samoylenko appeared, all in white and with a white nightcap.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked, breathing heavily and scratching himself as he stood there half asleep. ‘Just a moment, I’ll open up.’

  ‘Don’t bother, I can get through the window.’

  Layevsky climbed through a small window, went up to Samoylenko and gripped his arm.

  ‘Alexander,’ he said in a trembling voice, ‘save me! I beg you, I implore you! Try and understand! I’m in absolute agony. Another couple of days of this and I’ll hang myself like… like a dog!’

  ‘Wait a minute… What exactly are you on about?’

  ‘Light a candle.’

  ‘Oh, oh,’ Samoylenko sighed, lighting a candle. ‘Good heavens, it’s already past one, my dear chap.’

  ‘Forgive me, but I can’t stay at home,’ Layevsky said, greatly relieved at the candlelight and Samoylenko’s presence. ‘You, Alexander, are my best, my only friend. You are my only hope. Whether you want to or not, please save me, for God’s sake! I must escape from here at all costs. Lend me some money!’

  ‘Oh, good Lord, good Lord!’ Samoylenko sighed, scratching himself. ‘I was just falling asleep when I heard the ship’s siren… and now you… Do you need much?’

  ‘At least three hundred roubles. I must leave her a hundred and I need two hundred for the journey… I already owe you about four hundred, but I’ll send you everything in the post… everything…’

  Samoylenko grasped both side-whiskers in one hand, stood with legs apart and pondered. ‘Well now,’ he murmured pensively. ‘Three hundred… All right. But I don’t have that much. I’ll have to borrow it from someone.’

  ‘Please borrow it then, for God’s sake!’ Layevsky said and he could tell from Samoylenko’s face that he wanted to lend him the money and that he would not let him down. ‘Borrow it, I’ll pay you back without fail. I’ll send it from St Petersburg the moment I arrive, don’t worry about that.’ Brightening up he added, ‘I’ll tell you what, Sasha, let’s have some wine.’

  ‘All right, let’s drink some wine.’

  They both went into the dining-room.

  ‘But what about Nadezhda?’ Samoylenko asked, putting three bottles and a bowl of peaches on the table. ‘She’s not staying on, surely?’

  ‘I’ll arrange everything, everything,’ Layevsky said, with a sudden surge of joy in his heart. ‘Later on I’ll send her money and then she’ll come and join me. We’ll sort things out all right once we’re there. Your health, my friend.’

  ‘Wait a moment!’ Samoylenko said. ‘Try this first… it’s from my own vineyard. That one’s from Navaridze’s and this is an Akhatulov… Try them all and tell me quite frankly what you think… Mine’s a little sharp, eh? Do you think so?’

  ‘Yes. You’ve really cheered me up, Alexander. Thanks. I’m a new man.’

  ‘Rather sharp?’

  ‘Damn it, I don’t know. But you’re a wonderful, marvellous person.’

  As he looked at his pale, excited, kind face Samoylenko remembered von Koren’s opinion, that such people should be exterminated, and Layevsky struck him as a weak, defenceless child whom anyone could harm or exterminate.

  ‘Be sure you make your peace with your mother when you go,’ he said. ‘This sort of thing’s not very nice.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Without fail.’

  For a moment neither said a word. When the first bottle was finished Samoylenko said, ‘You ought to make it up with von Koren too. You’re always quarrelling.’

  ‘Yes, he’s a very fine, very clever man,’ Layevsky agreed, now ready to praise and forgive everyone. ‘He’s a remarkable man, but I find him impossible to get on with. No! Our temperaments are too far apart. I’m a sluggish, feeble, servile sort of person. I might offer to shake hands with him when the time’s right, but he’d turn away in contempt…’ Layevsky sipped his wine, paced up and down and then continued, from the middle of the room, ‘I understand von Koren perfectly. He’s the firm, strong type, a despot. You’ve heard him always going on about expeditions and these are no idle words. He needs a desert, a moonlit night. All around, sleeping in tents and under the open sky, are his hungry, sick Cossacks, guides, bearers, doctor, priest, worn out by killing treks. He’s alone, doesn’t sleep and he sits like Stanley13 on his camp-stool, feeling lord of the desert and master of these people. He’s always going somewhere and his men groan and die, one after the other, but on and on he goes, until he himself perishes in the end. None the less he’s still tyrant, still lord and master, since the cross over his grave can be seen by caravans thirty or forty miles off and it rules the desert. I’m only sorry this man isn’t in the army. He would have made an excellent, brilliant commander. He would have known how to drown his cavalry in a river and build bridges from the corpses, and such daring is more necessary in war than any fortifications or tactics. Oh, I understand him perfectly! But tell me why is he hanging about here? What’s he after?’

  ‘He’s studying marine animals.’

  ‘No, my friend. No, no!’ Layevsky sighed. ‘A scientist on board ship told me the Black Sea is poor in fauna and that the excess of sulphuretted hydrogen in its depths makes organic life impossible. All serious zoologists work at the marine biological stations in Naples or Villefranche. But von Koren is stubborn and independent. He’s working on the Black Sea because no one else is. He’s severed all links with the university, he won’t have anything to do with scientists or colleagues, as he’s first and foremost a tyrant, and then a zoologist. He’ll go far, you see. And now he’s dreaming that when he gets back from his expedition he’ll root out intrigues and mediocrity from our universities and make the professors crawl like worms. Despotism is just as powerful in the academic world as in war. But he’s spending a second summer in this stinking little dump, as it’s better to be boss in a village than underdog in town. Here he’s lord and master. He rules everyone here with a rod of iron, crushes them with his authority. He’s taken everyone in hand, pokes his nose into other people’s business, gets involved in everything and everyone is scared of him. He senses I’m slipping through his fingers and he hates me for it. Didn’t he tell you I should be exterminated and made to do community work?’

  ‘Yes,’ Samoylenko laughed.

  Layevsky laughed too and drank some wine. ‘He’s even despotic in his ideals,’ he said, laughing and nibbling a peach. ‘Ordinary mortals working for the common good think of their fellow men – me, you, human beings in brief. But for von Koren people are amateurs and nonentities, too insignificant to serve any purpose in life. He does his work and he’ll go on his expedition where he’ll break his neck, not out of love for his fellow men, but in the name of some abstraction such as humanity, future generations, the ideal race. He’s striving to improve the human race and in this respect we’re nothing but slaves for him, just cannon fodder or beasts of burden. Some he would exterminate or pack off to labour camps, while others he would subject to strict discipline, making them get up and go to bed to the sound of the drum, like Arakcheyev.14 Or he’d bring in eunuchs to mount guard over our chastity and morals, he’d order anyone stepping outside the bounds of our narrow, conservative morality to be shot. And all this to improve the human race. But what is the human race? An illusion, a mirage… Despots have always been illusionists. I understand him perfectly, my dear chap. I appreciate him and don’t deny his importance: men like him provide a firm foundation for the world
and if it were left to us alone we’d make as big a mess of it as those flies are making of that picture, for all our kindness and good intentions.’

  Layevsky sat down by Samoylenko and said with genuine conviction, ‘I’m a superficial, insignificant wreck of a man! The air I breathe, this wine, love – all in all, I’ve paid for everything in my life up to now with lies, idleness and cowardice. Up to now I’ve been deceiving others and myself and have suffered as a result. And even my sufferings have been cheap and vulgar. I bow humbly before von Koren’s hatred, since I loathe and despise myself at times.’ Highly excited, Layevsky once again paced the room. ‘I’m glad I can see my own shortcomings so clearly and I admit them,’ he said. ‘That will help me to rise from the dead, become a new man. My dear fellow, if you only knew how passionately, with what yearning I long for this regeneration! I will be a real person, I promise you! I will be a man! I don’t know whether it’s the wine or if it’s really happening, but it seems ages since I knew such bright, pure moments as I’m experiencing right now with you.’

  ‘Time for bed, my dear chap,’ Samoylenko said.

  ‘Yes, yes… Forgive me. I’m going right now.’

  Layevsky fussed around the furniture and windows in search of his cap.

  ‘Thank you,’ he muttered, sighing. ‘Thank you… Kindness and a friendly word are better than any charity. You’ve given me a new lease of life.’

  He found his cap, stopped for a moment and gave Samoylenko a guilty look.

  ‘Alexander!’ he begged.

  ‘What?’

  ‘My dear friend, please let me stay the night.’

  ‘Be my guest… Why not?’

  Layevsky lay down on the couch and went on talking to the doctor for a long time.

  X

  Three days after the picnic Marya Konstantinova unexpectedly called on Nadezhda. Without a word of greeting or taking her hat off she seized both her hands, pressed them to her breast and said in extreme agitation, ‘My dear, I’m so upset, absolutely stunned. Yesterday, it seems, our dear, charming doctor told my Nikodim that your husband has died. Tell me, my dear, is it true?’

  ‘Yes, it’s true. He’s dead,’ Nadezhda replied.

  ‘That’s terrible, just terrible, my dear! But every cloud has a silver lining. Your husband was probably a wonderful, extraordinary, saintly person, but men like him are needed more in heaven than in this world.’

  Every little feature and spot on Marya Konstantinova’s face trembled, as though tiny needles were jumping about under her skin; she produced that sugary smile and said breathlessly, ecstatically, ‘So, my dear, you’re free! You can hold your head high now and not be afraid to look people in the face. From now on God, and everyone here, will bless your union with Layevsky. It’s so enchanting it makes me tremble for joy! I’m lost for words. I’ll see to the wedding arrangements, my dear. Nikodim and I have always been so fond of you, you must allow us to give our blessing to your lawful, unsullied union. When, when is the day?’

  ‘I haven’t given it any thought,’ Nadezhda said, freeing her hands.

  ‘But that’s not possible, my dear. You must have thought about it!’

  ‘Really, I haven’t!’ Nadezhda said laughing. ‘What’s the point of our marrying? I don’t see the need for it. We’ll carry on as before.’

  ‘What are you saying!’ Marya Konstantinova said, horrified. ‘For God’s sake, what are you saying?’

  ‘Marrying won’t improve anything. On the contrary, it would even make things worse. We would lose our freedom.’

  ‘My dear! My dear, what are you saying!’ Marya Konstantinova cried, stepping back and wringing her hands. ‘You’re quite outrageous! Come to your senses! Calm down!’

  ‘What do you mean, calm down? I haven’t lived yet and you tell me to calm down!’

  Nadezhda recalled that she actually hadn’t had much of a life up to now. After boarding-school she married someone she did not love. Then she went away with Layevsky and stayed the whole time with him on this boring, deserted coast, hoping for better things. Was that any kind of life?

  ‘We ought to get married,’ she thought, but then she remembered Kirilin and Achmianov, and she blushed.

  ‘No, it’s impossible,’ she said. ‘Even if Ivan Andreich went down on his knees and begged me, I’d still refuse.’

  Marya Konstantinova sat silently for a minute on the couch, sad and serious, and staring at one point. Then she stood up and said coldly, ‘Goodbye, my dear! Forgive me for disturbing you. Although it’s not easy for me to say this, I must tell you that from now on it’s all over between us and despite my deep regard for Ivan Andreich the doors of my house are closed to you.’

  She pronounced this with great solemnity and seemed overcome by her own seriousness. Her face trembled again and assumed that mild, sugary expression. Holding out both her hands to a frightened, bewildered Nadezhda she pleaded, ‘My dear, please allow me to be your mother or elder sister – for one minute! I’ll speak to you frankly, just like a mother.’

  Nadezhda felt such warmth, joy and self-pity deep down inside, it was as if her mother had in fact risen from the dead and was standing before her. Impulsively she embraced Marya Konstantinova and buried her face in her shoulder. Both burst into tears and sat sobbing on the couch for several minutes, without looking at each other, unable to speak one word.

  ‘My dear, my little child!’ Marya Konstantinova began. ‘I’m going to tell you a few home truths and I shan’t spare you!’

  ‘Please do, for goodness’ sake! Please do!’

  ‘Trust me, my dear. You will remember that I was the only lady here who invited you home. You horrified me from the very first day, but unlike the rest, I just couldn’t give you the cold shoulder. I suffered for that dear, kind Ivan Andreich as though he were my own son. He was a young man in a foreign country, inexperienced, weak, without his mother – and how I suffered! My husband was against making friends with him but I managed to win him over… We began inviting him home and of course that meant you as well, otherwise he would have taken offence. I have a daughter, a son… You understand. A child’s tender mind and pure heart – you know the passage, “But whoso shall offend one of these little ones”.15 When I had you home I trembled for my children. Oh, when you’re a mother you’ll understand my fears. Everyone was amazed that I received you – please forgive me – like a respectable person and they kept dropping hints. And of course there was gossip and speculation. In my heart of hearts I condemned you, but you were so unhappy, pathetic, so outrageous in your behaviour that I wept for pity!’

  ‘But why, why?’ Nadezhda asked, shaking all over. ‘What harm have I ever done anyone?’

  ‘You’ve committed a terrible sin. You’ve broken the vow you made to your husband at the altar. You’ve seduced a young man who, if he had never met you, might have taken a lawful wife from a good family, someone of his own class, and might have been leading a proper life now, like everyone else. You’ve ruined his youth. Don’t say anything, my dear, don’t say anything! I just can’t believe that men are to blame for our sins, the woman’s always the guilty party. When it comes to family life men are so thoughtless, they live by their minds and not their hearts, they understand very little, but a woman understands everything. Everything depends on her. Much has been given to women, but much will be required of them. Oh, my dear, if women were sillier or weaker than men in this respect, God would never have entrusted them with bringing up boys and girls. And then, my dear, you trod the path of vice and left all sense of shame behind you. In your position another woman would have hidden herself, locked the doors and stayed at home, and you would only have appeared in God’s temple, pale, all dressed in black, weeping. And everyone would have really been saddened and said “Oh Lord, this fallen angel returns to Thee…” But you cast all modesty aside, my dear, you lived quite brazenly, outrageously, as if you prided yourself on your sins. You behaved wantonly and laughed as I watched you. I shuddered in horror, afr
aid that heaven’s thunder might strike our house when you were there.

  ‘My dear, don’t speak, don’t speak!’ Marya Konstantinova shrieked, seeing that Nadezhda wanted to say something. ‘Trust me, I won’t deceive you, I won’t hide a single truth from your inner eye. Listen to me, my dear. God puts his mark on great sinners and this is what you bear. Remember, your dresses always were shocking!’

  Nadezhda, who had always greatly admired her own dresses, stopped crying and looked at her in amazement.

  ‘Yes, shocking!’ Marya Konstantinova continued. ‘Anyone can tell what your behaviour’s like from the pretentious, gaudy dresses you wear. Whenever people looked at you they all had a good laugh to themselves, but I suffered terribly. And if you’ll forgive me for saying so, my dear, you’re not very clean! You gave me a fright when we met in the bathing-house. Your top dress isn’t too bad, but what you wear underneath, your petticoat and slip… well my dear, it makes me blush! And poor Ivan Andreich’s no one to knot his tie properly for him and one look at his linen and boots shows no one looks after the poor man at home. And he never has enough to eat, my dear. In fact, if there’s no one at home to see to the tea and coffee you’ll have to spend half your salary in the Pavilion. And your house is awful, just awful! No one in the whole town has flies, but your place is swarming with them, all the saucers and plates are black with them. And as for the windowsills and tables, there’s dust, dead flies, glasses… Why keep glasses there? And you never clear the table, my dear. It makes one ashamed going into your bedroom, underwear just thrown anywhere, all those rubber things of yours hanging on the wall and that china object, whatever that may be, standing there… My dear! A husband should know nothing of these things and his wife should keep herself as pure as an angel for him. Every morning, as soon as it’s light, I wake up and wash my face with cold water so that my Nikodim won’t see me looking sleepy.’