Complete Works of Anton Chekhov

“But the Swedish match, you know! How could I tell. . . .”

“Choke yourself with your match! Go away and don’t irritate me, or goodness knows what I shall do to you. Don’t let me set eyes on you.”

Dyukovsky heaved a sigh, took his hat, and went out.

“I’ll go and get drunk!” he decided, as he went out of the gate, and he sauntered dejectedly towards the tavern.

When the superintendent’s wife got home from the bath-house she found her husband in the drawing-room.

“What did the examining magistrate come about?” asked her husband.

“He came to say that they had found Klyauzov. Only fancy, they found him staying with another man’s wife.”

“Ah, Mark Ivanitch, Mark Ivanitch!” sighed the police superintendent, turning up his eyes. “I told you that dissipation would lead to no good! I told you so -- you wouldn’t heed me!”

 

NOTES

police superintendent: stanovoi pristav or city chief of police

witnesses: members of the public had to be present when the police searched for evidence

police captain’s: ispravnik or district chief of police

examining magistrate: sledovatel

; based on the French model, Russian examining magistrates were usually appointed for life and were in charge of all criminal investigations

Nana: the prostitute heroine of the French novel Nana by Emile Zola (1840-1902)

non dubitandum est: no doubt

Old Believer: those who adhered to the ritual of the Russian Orthodox Church as practiced before the 17th century reforms

read Dostoevsky: Ivan Shatov, in The Possessed, for example, by the novelist Fyodor M. Dostoyevsky (1821-1881)

Lyeskov... and Petchersky: Nikolay Semenovich Leskov (1831-1895) wrote stories of the Russian church and its clergy; Andrey Petchersky (real name, Pavel Ivanovich Melnikov, 1819-1883) wrote fiction concerned with the lives of Old Believers

Veni, vidi, vici!: I came, I saw, I conquered, saying of Julius Caesar

Gaboriau: Emile Gaboriau (1832-1873), Frenchman who wrote many early crime novels

CHORISTERS

Translated by Constance Garnett 1882-1885

THE Justice of the Peace, who had received a letter from Petersburg, had set the news going that the owner of Yefremovo, Count Vladimir Ivanovitch, would soon be arriving. When he would arrive -- there was no saying.

“Like a thief in the night,” said Father Kuzma, a grey-headed little priest in a lilac cassock. “And when he does come the place will be crowded with the nobility and other high gentry. All the neighbours will flock here. Mind now, do your best, Alexey Alexeitch.... I beg you most earnestly.”

“You need not trouble about me,” said Alexey Alexeitch, frowning. “I know my business. If only my enemy intones the litany in the right key. He may... out of sheer spite. . . .”

“There, there.... I’ll persuade the deacon. . . I’ll persuade him.”

Alexey Alexeitch was the sacristan of the Yefremovo church. He also taught the schoolboys church and secular singing, for which he received sixty roubles a year from the revenues of the Count’s estate. The schoolboys were bound to sing in church in return for their teaching. Alexey Alexeitch was a tall, thick-set man of dignified deportment, with a fat, clean-shaven face that reminded one of a cow’s udder. His imposing figure and double chin made him look like a man occupying an important position in the secular hierarchy rather than a sacristan. It was strange to see him, so dignified and imposing, flop to the ground before the bishop and, on one occasion, after too loud a squabble with the deacon Yevlampy Avdiessov, remain on his knees for two hours by order of the head priest of the district. Grandeur was more in keeping with his figure than humiliation.

On account of the rumours of the Count’s approaching visit he had a choir practice every day, morning and evening. The choir practice was held at the school. It did not interfere much with the school work. During the practice the schoolmaster, Sergey Makaritch, set the children writing copies while he joined the tenors as an amateur.

This is how the choir practice was conducted. Alexey Alexeitch would come into the school-room, slamming the door and blowing his nose. The trebles and altos extricated themselves noisily from the school-tables. The tenors and basses, who had been waiting for some time in the yard, came in, tramping like horses. They all took their places. Alexey Alexeitch drew himself up, made a sign to enforce silence, and struck a note with the tuning fork.

“To-to-li-to-tom... Do-mi-sol-do!”

“Adagio, adagio.... Once more.”