“And it keeps sprinkling and sprinkling,” muttered Semyon, fired from a revolver, probably with the idea that the ferrymen wiping the snow from his face; “and where it all comes from were asleep or had gone to the pot-house in the village.
God only knows.”
“All right, you have plenty of time,” said Semyon in the On the bank stood a thin man of medium height in a jacket tone of a man convinced that there was no necessity in this lined with fox fur and in a white lambskin cap. He was stand-world to hurry — that it would lead to nothing, anyway.
ing at a little distance from his horses and not moving; he had The heavy, clumsy barge moved away from the bank and a gloomy, concentrated expression, as though he were trying floated between the willow-bushes, and only the willows to remember something and angry with his untrustworthy slowly moving back showed that the barge was not standing memory. When Semyon went up to him and took off his still but moving. The ferrymen swung the oars evenly in time; cap, smiling, he said:
Semyon lay with his stomach on the tiller and, describing a
“I am hastening to Anastasyevka. My daughter’s worse again, semicircle in the air, flew from one side to the other. In the and they say that there is a new doctor at Anastasyevka.” darkness it looked as though the men were sitting on some They dragged the carriage on to the barge and floated back.
antediluvian animal with long paws, and were moving on it The man whom Semyon addressed as Vassily Sergeyitch stood through a cold, desolate land, the land of which one some-all the time motionless, tightly compressing his thick lips and times dreams in nightmares.
staring off into space; when his coachman asked permission They passed beyond the willows and floated out into the to smoke in his presence he made no answer, as though he open. The creak and regular splash of the oars was heard on had not heard. Semyon, lying with his stomach on the tiller, the further shore, and a shout came: “Make haste! make haste!” looked mockingly at him and said:
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The Schoolmistress and other stories
“Even in Siberia people can live — can li-ive!” hatred and repulsion, shivering, and mixing Tatar words with There was a triumphant expression on Canny’s face, as his broken Russian, said: “He is good … good; but you are though he had proved something and was delighted that things bad! You are bad! The gentleman is a good soul, excellent, had happened as he had foretold. The unhappy helplessness and you are a beast, bad! The gentleman is alive, but you are a of the man in the foxskin coat evidently afforded him great dead carcass… . God created man to be alive, and to have joy pleasure.
and grief and sorrow; but you want nothing, so you are not
“It’s muddy driving now, Vassily Sergeyitch,” he said when alive, you are stone, clay! A stone wants nothing and you want the horses were harnessed again on the bank. “You should nothing. You are a stone, and God does not love you, but He have put off going for another fortnight, when it will be drier.
loves the gentleman!”
Or else not have gone at all… . If any good would come of Everyone laughed; the Tatar frowned contemptuously, and with your going —but as you know yourself, people have been a wave of his hand wrapped himself in his rags and went to the driving about for years and years, day and night, and it’s alway’s campfire. The ferrymen and Semyon sauntered to the hut.
been no use. That’s the truth.”
“It’s cold,” said one ferryman huskily as he stretched him-Vassily Sergeyitch tipped him without a word, got into his self on the straw with which the damp clay floor was covered.
carriage and drove off.
“Yes, its not warm,” another assented. “It’s a dog’s life… .”
“There, he has galloped off for a doctor!” said Semyon, They all lay down. The door was thrown open by the wind shrinking from the cold. “But looking for a good doctor is and the snow drifted into the hut; nobody felt inclined to get like chasing the wind in the fields or catching the devil by the up and shut the door: they were cold, and it was too much tail, plague take your soul! What a queer chap, Lord forgive trouble.
me a sinner!”
“I am all right,” said Semyon as he began to doze. “I wouldn’t The Tatar went up to Canny, and, looking at him with wish anyone a better life.”
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Anton Chekhov
“You are a tough one, we all know. Even the devils won’t THE CATTLE-DEALERS
take you!”
Sounds like a dog’s howling came from outside.
THE LONG GOODS TRAIN has been standing for hours in the little
“What’s that? Who’s there?”
station. The engine is as silent as though its fire had gone out;
“It’s the Tatar crying.”
there is not a soul near the train or in the station yard.
“I say… . He’s a queer one!”
A pale streak of light comes from one of the vans and glides
“He’ll get u-used to it!” said Semyon, and at once fell asleep.
over the rails of a siding. In that van two men are sitting on an The others were soon asleep too. The door remained un-outspread cape: one is an old man with a big gray beard, wear-closed.
ing a sheepskin coat and a high lambskin hat, somewhat like a busby; the other a beardless youth in a threadbare cloth reefer jacket and muddy high boots. They are the owners of the goods. The old man sits, his legs stretched out before him, musing in silence; the young man half reclines and softly strums on a cheap accordion. A lantern with a tallow candle in it is hanging on the wall near them.
The van is quite full. If one glances in through the dim light of the lantern, for the first moment the eyes receive an impression of something shapeless, monstrous, and unmistakably alive, something very much like gigantic crabs which move their claws and feelers, crowd together, and noiselessly climb up the walls to the ceiling; but if one looks more closely, 62
The Schoolmistress and other stories horns and their shadows, long lean backs, dirty hides, tails,
“Are we going to stay here much longer?” asks the old man.
eyes begin to stand out in the dusk. They are cattle and their No answer. The motionless figure is evidently asleep. The shadows. There are eight of them in the van. Some turn round old man clears his throat impatiently and, shrinking from the and stare at the men and swing their tails. Others try to stand penetrating damp, walks round the engine, and as he does so or lie d own more comfortably. They are crowded. If one lies the brilliant light of the two engine lamps dazzles his eyes for down the others must stand and huddle closer. No manger, an instant and makes the night even blacker to him; he goes no halter, no litter, not a wisp of hay… .*
to the station.
At last the old man pulls out of his pocket a silver watch The platform and steps of the station are wet. Here and and looks at the time: a quarter past two.
there are white patches of freshly fallen melting snow. In the
“We have been here nearly two hours,” he says, yawning. “Bet-station itself it is light and as hot as a steam-bath. There is a ter go and stir them up, or we may be here till morning. They smell of paraffin. Except for the weighing-machine and a yel-have gone to sleep, or goodness knows what they are up to.” low seat on which a man wearing a guard’s uniform is asleep, The old man gets up and, followed by his long shadow, there is no furniture in the place at all. On the left are two cautiously gets down from the van into the darkness. He makes wide-open doors. Through one of them the telegraphic aphis way along beside the train to the engine, and after passing paratus and a lamp with a green shade on it can be seen; through some two dozen vans sees a red open furnace; a human figure the other, a small room, half of it taken up by a dark cup-sits motionless facing it; its peaked cap, nose, and knees are board. In this room the head guard and the engine-driver are lighted up by the crimson glow, all the rest is black and can sitting on the window-sill. They are both feeling a cap with scarcely be distinguished in the darkness.
their fingers and disputing.
“That’s not real beaver, it’s imitation,” says the engine-driver.
* On many railway lines, in order to avoid accidents, it is against the regulations to carry hay on the trains, and so live
“Real beaver is not like that. Five roubles would be a high stock are without fodder on the journey. — Author’s Note.
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Anton Chekhov
price for the whole cap, if you care to know!” stations to let the trains going the opposite way pass. Whether
“You know a great deal about it, …” the head guard says, we set off now or in the morning we shan’t be number four-offended. “Five roubles, indeed! Here, we will ask the mer-teen. We shall have to be number twenty-three.” chant. Mr. Malahin,” he says, addressing the old man, “what
“And how do you make that out?”
do you say: is this imitation beaver or real?”
“Well, there it is.”
Old Malahin takes the cap into his hand, and with the air Malahin looks at the guard, reflects, and mutters mechani-of a connoisseur pinches the fur, blows on it, sniffs at it, and cally as though to himself:
a contemptuous smile lights up his angry face.
“God be my judge, I have reckoned it and even jotted it
“It must be imitation!” he says gleefully. “Imitation it is.” down in a notebook; we have wasted thirty-four hours stand-A dispute follows. The guard maintains that the cap is real ing still on the journey. If you go on like this, either the cattle beaver, and the engine-driver and Malahin try to persuade will die, or they won’t pay me two roubles for the meat when him that it is not. In the middle of the argument the old man I do get there. It’s not traveling, but ruination.” suddenly remembers the object of his coming.
The guard raises his eyebrows and sighs with an air that
“Beaver and cap is all very well, but the train’s standing still, seems to say: “All that is unhappily true!” The engine-driver gentlemen!” he says. “Who is it we are waiting for? Let us start!” sits silent, dreamily looking at the cap. From their faces one
“Let us,” the guard agrees. “We will smoke another ciga-can see that they have a secret thought in common, which rette and go on. But there is no need to be in a hurry… . We they do not utter, not because they want to conceal it, but shall be delayed at the next station anyway!” because such thoughts are much better expressed by signs than
“Why should we?”
by words. And the old man understands. He feels in his pocket,
“Oh, well… . We are too much behind time… . If you are takes out a ten-rouble note, and without preliminary words, late at one station you can’t help being delayed at the other without any change in the tone of his voice or the expression 64
The Schoolmistress and other stories of his face, but with the confidence and directness with which person, but he is broad, strong, heavy and rough like the old probably only Russians give and take bribes, he gives the guard man; he does not stir nor shift his position, as though he is the note. The latter takes it, folds it in four, and without not equal to moving his big body. It seems as though any undue haste puts it in his pocket. After that all three go out of movement he made would tear his clothes and be so noisy as the room, and waking the sleeping guard on the way, go on to frighten both him and the cattle. From under his big fat to the platform.
fingers that clumsily pick out the stops and keys of the accor-
“What weather!” grumbles the head guard, shrugging his dion comes a steady flow of thin, tinkling sounds which blend shoulders. “You can’t see your hand before your face.” into a simple, monotonous little tune; he listens to it, and is
“Yes, it’s vile weather.”
evidently much pleased with his performance.
From the window they can see the flaxen head of the tele-A bell rings, but with such a muffled note that it seems to graph clerk appear beside the green lamp and the telegraphic come from far away. A hurried second bell soon follows, then apparatus; soon after another head, bearded and wearing a red a third and the guard’s whistle. A minute passes in profound cap, appears beside it — no doubt that of the station-master.
silence; the van does not move, it stands still, but vague sounds The station-master bends down to the table, reads something begin to come from beneath it, like the crunch of snow un-on a blue form, rapidly passing his cigarette along the lines… .
der sledge-runners; the van begins to shake and the sounds Malahin goes to his van.
cease. Silence reigns again. But now comes the clank of buff-The young man, his companion, is still half reclining and ers, the violent shock makes the van start and, as it were, give hardly audibly strumming on the accordion. He is little more a lurch forward, and all the cattle fall against one another.
than a boy, with no trace of a mustache; his full white face
“May you be served the same in the world to come,” with its broad cheek-bones is childishly dreamy; his eyes have grumbles the old man, setting straight his cap, which had a melancholy and tranquil look unlike that of a grown-up slipped on the back of his head from the jolt. “He’ll maim all 65
Anton Chekhov
my cattle like this!”
“Shut the door, Yasha, and we will go to bed,” says the old Yasha gets up without a word and, taking one of the fallen man. “Why burn a candle for nothing?” beasts by the horns, helps it to get on to its legs… . The jolt Yasha moves the heavy door; there is a sound of a whistle, is followed by a stillness again. The sounds of crunching snow the engine and the train set off.
come from under the van again, and it seems as though the
“It’s cold,” mutters the old man, stretching himself on the train had moved back a little.
cape and laying his head on a bundle. “It is very different at
“There will be another jolt in a minute,” says the old man.
home! It’s warm and clean and soft, and there is room to say And the convulsive quiver does, in fact, run along the train, your prayers, but here we are worse off than any pigs. It’s four there is a crashing sound and the bullocks fall on one an-days and nights since I have taken off my boots.” other again.
Yasha, staggering from the jolting of the train, opens the
“It’s a job!” says Yasha, listening. “The train must be heavy.
lantern and snuffs out the wick with his wet fingers. The It seems it won’t move.”
light flares up, hisses like a frying pan and goes out.
“It was not heavy before, but now it has suddenly got heavy. No,
“Yes, my lad,” Malahin goes on, as he feels Yasha lie down my lad, the guard has not gone shares with him, I expect. Go and beside him and the young man’s huge back huddle against his take him something, or he will be jolting us till morning.” own, “it’s cold. There is a draught from every crack. If your Yasha takes a three-rouble note from the old man and jumps mother or your sister were to sleep here for one night they out of the van. The dull thud of his heavy footsteps resounds would be dead by morning. There it is, my lad, you wouldn’t outside the van and gradually dies away. Stillness… . In the study and go to the high school like your brothers, so you next van a bullock utters a prolonged subdued “moo,” as must take the cattle with your father. It’s your own fault, you though it were singing.
have only yourself to blame… . Your brothers are asleep in Yasha comes back. A cold damp wind darts into the van.
their beds now, they are snug under the bedclothes, but you, 66
The Schoolmistress and other stories the careless and lazy one, are in the same box as the cattle… .
is busy with the cattle.
Yes… .”
The old man wakes up out of humor. Frowning and The old man’s words are inaudible in the noise of the train, gloomy, he clears his throat angrily and looks from under his but for a long time he goes on muttering, sighing and clear-brows at Yasha who, supporting a bullock with his powerful ing his throat… . The cold air in the railway van grows thicker shoulder and slightly lifting it, is trying to disentangle its leg.
and more stifling The pungent odor of fresh dung and smol-
“I told you last night that the cords were too long,” mutters dering candle makes it so repulsive and acrid that it irritates the old man; “but no, ‘It’s not too long, Daddy.’ There’s no Yasha’s throat and chest as he falls asleep. He coughs and making you do anything, you will have everything your own sneezes, while the old man, being accustomed to it, breathes way… . Blockhead!”
with his whole chest as though nothing were amiss, and merely He angrily moves the door open and the light rushes into clears his throat.
the van. A passenger train is standing exactly opposite the door, To judge from the swaying of the van and the rattle of the and behind it a red building with a roofed-in platform — a wheels the train is moving rapidly and unevenly. The engine big station with a refreshment bar. The roofs and bridges of breathes heavily, snorting out of time with the pulsation of the trains, the earth, the sleepers, all are covered with a thin the train, and altogether there is a medley of sounds. The coating of fluffy, freshly fallen snow. In the spaces between bullocks huddle together uneasily and knock their horns the carriages of the passenger train the passengers can be seen against the walls.
moving to and fro, and a red-haired, red-faced gendarme walk-When the old man wakes up, the deep blue sky of early ing up and down; a waiter in a frock-coat and a snow-white morning is peeping in at the cracks and at the little uncovered shirt-front, looking cold and sleepy, and probably very much window. He feels unbearably cold, especially in the back and dissatisfied with his fate, is running along the platform carry-the feet. The train is standing still; Yasha, sleepy and morose, ing a glass of tea and two rusks on a tray.
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Anton Chekhov
The old man gets up and begins saying his prayers towards interfered with fills his teapot with boiling water.
the east. Yasha, having finished with the bullock and put down
“Damned blackguard!” the bar-keeper shouts after him as the spade in the corner, stands beside him and says his prayers he runs back to the railway van.
also. He merely moves his lips and crosses himself; the father The scowling face of Malahin grows a little brighter over prays in a loud whisper and pronounces the end of each prayer the tea.
aloud and distinctly.
“We know how to eat and drink, but we don’t remember
“… And the life of the world to come. Amen,” the old man our work. Yesterday we could do nothing all day but eat and says aloud, draws in a breath, and at once whispers another drink, and I’ll be bound we forgot to put down what we prayer, rapping out clearly and firmly at the end: “ … and lay spent. What a memory! Lord have mercy on us!” calves upon Thy altar!”
The old man recalls aloud the expenditure of the day be-After saying his prayers, Yasha hurriedly crosses himself and fore, and writes down in a tattered notebook where and how says: “Five kopecks, please.”
much he had given to guards, engine-drivers, oilers… .
And on being given the five-kopeck piece, he takes a red Meanwhile the passenger train has long ago gone off, and copper teapot and runs to the station for boiling water. Tak-an engine runs backwards and forwards on the empty line, ing long jumps over the rails and sleepers, leaving huge tracks apparently without any definite object, but simply enjoying in the feathery snow, and pouring away yesterday’s tea out of its freedom. The sun has risen and is playing on the snow; the teapot he runs to the refreshment room and jingles his bright drops are falling from the station roof and the tops of five-kopeck piece against his teapot. From the van the bar-the vans.
keeper can be seen pushing away the big teapot and refusing Having finished his tea, the old man lazily saunters from to give half of his samovar for five kopecks, but Yasha turns the van to the station. Here in the middle of the first-class the tap himself and, spreading wide his elbows so as not to be waiting-room he sees the familiar figure of the guard stand-68
The Schoolmistress and other stories ing beside the station-master, a young man with a handsome and that he is ready to do for Malahin everything in his power.
beard and in a magnificent rough woollen overcoat. The young And from his face it is evident that he is ready to do anything man, probably new to his position, stands in the same place, to please not only Malahin, but the whole world — he is so gracefully shifting from one foot to the other like a good race-happy, so pleased, and so delighted! The old man listens, and horse, looks from side to side, salutes everyone that passes by, though he can make absolutely nothing of the intricate sys-smiles and screws up his eyes… . He is red-cheeked, sturdy, and tem of numbering the trains, he nods his head approvingly, good-humored; his face is full of eagerness, and is as fresh as and he, too, puts two fingers on the soft wool of the rough though he had just fallen from the sky with the feathery snow.
coat. He enjoys seeing and hearing the polite and genial young Seeing Malahin, the guard sighs guiltily and throws up his hands.
man. To show goodwill on his side also, he takes out a ten-
“We can’t go number fourteen,” he says. “We are very much rouble note and, after a moment’s thought, adds a couple of behind time. Another train has gone with that number.” rouble notes to it, and gives them to the station-master. The The station-master rapidly looks through some forms, then latter takes them, puts his finger to his cap, and gracefully turns his beaming blue eyes upon Malahin, and, his face radi-thrusts them into his pocket.
ant with smiles and freshness, showers questions on him:
“Well, gentlemen, can’t we arrange it like this?” he says,
“You are Mr. Malahin? You have the cattle? Eight vanloads?
kindled by a new idea that has flashed on him. “The troop What is to be done now? You are late and I let number four-train is late, … as you see, it is not here, … so why shouldn’t teen go in the night. What are we to do now?” you go as the troop train?** And I will let the troop train go The young man discreetly takes hold of the fur of Malahin’s as twenty-eight. Eh?”
coat with two pink fingers and, shifting from one foot to the
**The train destined especially for the transport of troops is other, explains affably and convincingly that such and such called the troop train; when they are no troops it takes goods, numbers have gone already, and that such and such are going, and goes more rapidly than ordinary goods train. — Author’s Note.
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Anton Chekhov
“If you like,” agrees the guard.
moving cattle every hour is precious. To-day meat is one price;
“Excellent!” the station-master says, delighted. “In that case and to-morrow, look you, it will be another. If you are a day there is no need for you to wait here; you can set off at once.
or two late and don’t get your price, instead of a profit you I’ll dispatch you immediately. Excellent!” get home — excuse my saying it — with out your breeches.
He salutes Malahin and runs off to his room, reading forms Pray take a little… . I rely on you, and as for standing you as he goes. The old man is very much pleased by the conver-something or what you like, I shall be pleased to show you sation that has just taken place; he smiles and looks about the my respect at any time.”
room as though looking for something else agreeable.
After having fed the guard, Malahin goes back to the van.
“We’ll have a drink, though,” he says, taking the guard’s
“I have just got hold of the troop train,” he says to his son.
arm.
“We shall go quickly. The guard says if we go all the way with
“It seems a little early for drinking.” that number we shall arrive at eight o’clock to-morrow
“No, you must let me treat you to a glass in a friendly way.” evening. If one does not bestir oneself, my boy, one gets noth-They both go to the refreshment bar. After having a drink ing… . That’s so… . So you watch and learn… .” the guard spends a long time selecting something to eat.
After the first bell a man with a face black with soot, in a He is a very stout, elderly man, with a puffy and discolored blouse and filthy frayed trousers hanging very slack, comes to face. His fatness is unpleasant, flabby-looking, and he is sal-the door of the van. This is the oiler, who had been creeping low as people are who drink too much and sleep irregularly.
under the carriages and tapping the wheels with a hammer.
“And now we might have a second glass,” says Malahin.
“Are these your vans of cattle?” he asks.
“It’s cold now, it’s no sin to drink. Please take some. So I can
“Yes. Why?”
rely upon you, Mr. Guard, that there will be no hindrance or
“Why, because two of the vans are not safe. They can’t go unpleasantness for the rest of the journey. For you know in on, they must stay here to be repaired.” 70
The Schoolmistress and other stories
“Oh, come, tell us another! You simply want a drink, to get without ceasing, and at every stopping place runs to the re-something out of me… . You should have said so.” freshment bar. Feeling the need of a listener, he takes with
“As you please, only it is my duty to report it at once.” him first the guard, and then the engine-driver, and does not Without indignation or protest, simply, almost mechani-simply drink, but makes a long business of it, with suitable cally, the old man takes two twenty-kopeck pieces out of his remarks and clinking of glasses.
pocket and gives them to the oiler. He takes them very calmly,
“You have your job and we have ours,” he says with an af-too, and looking good-naturedly at the old man enters into fable smile. “May God prosper us and you, and not our will conversation.
but His be done.”
“You are going to sell your cattle, I suppose… . It’s good The vodka gradually excites him and he is worked up to a business!”
great pitch of energy. He wants to bestir himself, to fuss about, Malahin sighs and, looking calmly at the oiler’s black face, to make inquiries, to talk incessantly. At one minute he tells him that trading in cattle used certainly to be profitable, fumbles in his pockets and bundles and looks for some form.
but now it has become a risky and losing business.
Then he thinks of something and cannot remember it; then
“I have a mate here,” the oiler interrupts him. “You mer-takes out his pocketbook, and with no sort of object counts chant gentlemen might make him a little present….” over his money. He bustles about, sighs and groans, clasps his Malahin gives something to the mate too. The troop train hands… . Laying out before him the letters and telegrams goes quickly and the waits at the stations are comparatively from the meat salesmen in the city, bills, post office and tele-short. The old man is pleased. The pleasant impression made graphic receipt forms, and his note book, he reflects aloud by the young man in the rough overcoat has gone deep, the and insists on Yasha’s listening.
vodka he has drunk slightly clouds his brain, the weather is And when he is tired of reading over forms and talking magnificent, and everything seems to be going well. He talks about prices, he gets out at the stopping places, runs to the 71
Anton Chekhov
vans where his cattle are, does nothing, but simply clasps his and his assistant, very phlegmatic and imperturbable persons, hands and exclaims in horror.
perform incomprehensible movements and don’t hurry them-
“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” he says in a complaining voice. “Holy selves. After standing for a while by the engine, Yasha saunters Martyr Vlassy! Though they are bullocks, though they are beasts, lazily to the station; here he looks at the eatables in the re-yet they want to eat and drink as men do… . It’s four days and freshment bar, reads aloud