The Greatest Novellas & Short Stories of Anton Chekhov. Anton Chekhov
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for yourselves and for her.' "
Alyosha's eyes rested upon the stuffed bird and he mused.
"Exactly . . ." snorted Byelyaev. " This is what you do. You arrange conferences in sweet-shops. And your mother doesn't know ? "
"N—no . . . How could she know ? Pelagueia won't tell for anything. The day before yesterday Father stood us pears. Sweet, like jam. I had two."
"H'm . . . well, now . . . tell me, doesn't your father speak about me ? "
"About you ? How shall I put it ?"
Alyosha gave a searching glance to Byelyaev's face and shrugged his shoulders.
"He doesn't say anything in particular."
"What does he say, for instance ? "
"You won't be offended ? "
"What next ? Why, does he abuse me ? "
"He doesn't abuse you, but you know ... he is cross with you. He says that it's through you that Mother's unhappy and that you . . . ruined Mother. But he is so queer ! I explain to him that you are good and never shout at Mother, but he only shakes his head."
"Does he say those very words : that I ruined her ? "
"Yes. Don't be offended, Nicolai Ilyich ! "
Byelyaev got up, stood still a moment, and then began to walk about the drawing-room.
"This is strange, and . . . funny," he murmured, shrugging his shoulders and smiling ironically. " He is to blame all round, and now I've ruined her, eh ? What an innocent lamb ! Did he say those very words to you : that I ruined your mother ? "
"Yes, but . . . you said that you wouldn't get offended."
"I'm not offended, and . . . and it's none of your business ! No, it ... it's quite funny though. I fell into the trap, yet I'm to be blamed as well."
The bell rang. The boy dashed from his place and ran out. In a minute a lady entered the room with a little girl. It was Olga Ivanovna, Alyosha's mother. After her, hopping, hum- ming noisily, and waving his hands, followed Alyosha.
"Of course, who is there to accuse except me ? " he murmured, sniffing. " He's right, he's the injured husband."
"What's the matter ? " asked Olga Ivanovna.
"What's the matter ! Listen to the kind of sermon your dear husband preaches. It appears I'm a scoundrel and a murderer, I've ruined you and the children. All of you are unhappy, and only I am awfully happy ! Awfully, awfully happy ! "
"I don't understand, Nicolai ! What is it ? "
"Just listen to this young gentleman," Byelyaev said, pointing to Alyosha.
Alyosha blushed, then became pale suddenly and his whole face was twisted in fright.
"Nicolai Ilyich," he whispered loudly. "Shh ! "
Olga Ivanovna glanced in surprise at Alyosha, at Byelyaev, and then again at Alyosha.
"Ask him, if you please," went on Byelyaev. "That stupid fool Pelagueia of yours, takes them to sweet-shops and arranges meetings with their dear father there. But that's not the point. The point is that the dear father is a martyr, and I'm a murderer, I'm a scoundrel, who broke the lives of both of you. ..."
"Nicolai Ilyich ! " moaned Alyosha. " You gave your word of honour ! "
"Ah, let me alone ! " Byelyaev waved his hand. " This is something more important than any words of honour. The hypocrisy revolts me, the lie ! "
"I don't understand," muttered Olga Ivanovna, and tears began to glimmer in her eyes. "Tell me, Lyolka,'"—she turned to her son, "Do you see your father ? "
Alyosha did not hear and looked with horror at Byelyaev.
"It's impossible," said the mother. " I'll go and ask Pelagueia."
Olga Ivanovna went out.
"But, but you gave me your word of honour," Alyosha said trembling all over.
Byelyaev waved his hand at him and went on walking up and down. He was absorbed in his insult, and now, as before, he did not notice the presence of the boy. He, a big serious man, had nothing to do with boys. And Alyosha sat down in a corner and in terror told Sonya how he had been deceived. He trembled, stammered, wept. This was the first time in his life that he had been set, roughly, face to face with a lie. He had never known before that in this world besides sweet pears and cakes and expensive watches, there exist many other things which have no name in children's language.
A TRIFLE FROM REAL LIFE
[trans. by Marian Fell]
Translation by Marian Fell
NIKOLAI ILITCH BIELAYEFF was a young gentleman of St. Petersburg, aged thirty-two, rosy, well fed, and a patron of the race-tracks. Once, toward evening, he went to pay a call on Olga Ivanovna with whom, to use his own expression, he was dragging through a long and tedious love-affair. And the truth was that the first thrilling, inspiring pages of this romance had long since been read, and that the story was now dragging wearily on, presenting nothing that was either interesting or novel.
Not finding Olga at home, my hero threw himself upon a couch and prepared to await her return.
“Good evening, Nikolai Ilitch!” he heard a child’s voice say. “Mamma will soon be home. She has gone to the dressmaker’s with Sonia.”
On the divan in the same room lay Aliosha, Olga’s son, a small boy of eight, immaculately and picturesquely dressed in a little velvet suit and long black stockings. He had been lying on a satin pillow, mimicking the antics of an acrobat he had seen at the circus. First he stretched up one pretty leg, then another; then, when they were tired, he brought his arms into play, and at last jumped up galvanically, throwing himself on all fours in an effort to stand on his head. He went through all these motions with the most serious face in the world, puffing like a martyr, as if he himself regretted that God had given him such a restless little body.
“Ah, good evening, my boy!” said Belayeff. “Is that you? I did not know you were here. Is mamma well?”
Aliosha seized the toe of his left shoe in his right hand, assumed the most unnatural position in the world, rolled over, jumped up, and peeped out at Bielayeff from under the heavy fringes of the lampshade.
“Not very,” he said shrugging his shoulders. “Mamma is never really well. She is a woman, you see, and women always have something the matter with them.”
From lack of anything better to do, Belayeff began scrutinizing Aliosha’s face. During all his acquaintance with Olga he had never bestowed any consideration upon the boy or noticed his existence at all. He had seen the child about, but what he was doing there Belayeff, somehow, had never cared to think.
Now, in the dusk of evening, Aliosha’s pale face and fixed, dark eyes unexpectedly reminded Belayeff of Olga as she had appeared in the first pages of their romance. He wanted to pet the boy.
“Come here, little monkey,” he said, “and let me look at you!”
The boy jumped down from the sofa and ran to Bielayeff.
“Well,” the latter began, laying his hand on the boy’s thin shoulder. “And how are you? Is everything all right with you?”
“No, not very. It used to be much better.”
“In what way?”
“That’s easy to answer. Sonia and I used to learn only music and reading before, but now we have French verses, too. You have cut your beard!”
“Yes.”
“So