Stories · 1884

Idyll

Идиллия

Headnote

"Idyll" appeared in 1884, one of the compact, fast comic sketches Chekhov was turning out under his early pen name "Antosha Chekhonte" for the humor magazines of Moscow and St. Petersburg. It belongs to a form he had by then mastered: a piece of a few hundred words built on a single sustained device, timed to land its punch in the closing lines.

The device here is the second-person address – "you" drive up, "you" are enveloped in luxury, "you" remember your lost youth – a mock-elevated apostrophe borrowed from the sentimental feuilleton and the society column, the kind of overheated prose that dressed up an evening at cards as a return to Eden. Chekhov lets the convention build for most of the piece: the doorman with his mace, the tropical palms, the mirrored ballroom, the waltz that thaws a heart the narrator was sure had gone cold. The literary reference points – Cooper, Mayne Reid – are the adventure novelists of a reader’s boyhood, invoked to signal just how far this "idyll" has wandered from anything real.

Then the joke turns, and the elevated diction keeps running straight into the gutter: the golden winnings become gambling losses, the "high priest" led by "acolytes" is a mark being walked to the door by two bouncers, and the piece ends not in reverie but on a physical kick down a marble staircase – delivered, with perfect comic indifference, under the gaze of a marble Venus. The whole sketch is an exercise in Chekhov’s earliest and bluntest tool: letting an inflated style discredit itself, syllable by syllable, until the reader arrives at the pratfall already primed to laugh at the register that concealed it.

On a swift cabby’s sledge, swift as lightning, you drive up to the entrance,
На быстром, как молния, лихаче вы подкатываете к подъезду,
flooded with light... Passing the imposing doorman with his gleaming mace, you set
залитому светом... Минуя солидного швейцара с сверкающей булавой, вы заносите
your foot on the step, covered with a velvet carpet, and in an instant you are enveloped
ногу на ступень, покрытую бархатным ковром, и через мгновение вас окутывает
in the luxury of tropical plants. Slender palms, lataniers, and philodendrons are reflected
роскошь тропических растений. Стройные пальмы, латании и филодендроны отражаются
in endless mirrors and, forming an ocean of green, carry your imagination off to the land
в бесконечных зеркалах и, образуя океан зелени, уносят ваше воображение в страну
of Cooper and Mayne Reid. Enchanted, you go still; but soon a furious whirlwind
Купера и Майн-Рида. Вы, очарованный, замираете; но вскоре неистовый вихрь
of a mad waltz revives your responsive soul, and once more you feel yourself in Europe
бешеного вальса воскрешает вашу чуткую душу, и вы вновь чувствуете себя в Европе
in the nest of civilization... Fiery glances from unearthly, poetic creatures send
– в гнезде цивилизации... Огненные взоры неземных, поэтических созданий шлют
you love, bare shoulders beckon you into the past... You begin to remember...
вам любовь, обнаженные плечи манят вас в прошлое... Вы начинаете вспоминать...
Childhood, youth with its roses, her... Strange! An hour ago you were convinced
Детство, юность с ее розами, она... Странно! Час тому назад вы были убеждены,
that you were incapable of love, that your soul had died forever, for all time, that
что вы не способны любить, что душа ваша умерла навсегда, навеки, что вам смешон
this babble was laughable to you, this waltz was laughable... and now what? Today your soul lives again by that
этот лепет, смешон этот вальс... и что же? Сегодня ваша душа вновь живет тем,
at which it laughed yesterday.
над чем хохотала вчера.
Worn out by the waltz, exhausted, feeling a sweet languor, you
Утомленный вальсом, изнемогший, чувствующий сладкую истому, вы
sit down at the green table... Here a new series of pleasures begins... Half an hour passes – and
садитесь за зеленый стол... Тут новая серия наслаждений... Проходит полчаса – и
the yellow bill you laid before you at the start of the game turns into a mountain
желтая бумажка, которую вы в начале игры положили перед собой, обращается в гору
of banknotes, shares, promissory notes... A feeling familiar to Croesus and Rothschild
банковых билетов, акций, векселей... Чувство, знакомое Крезу и Ротшильду,
takes hold of your soul... But that is not all... Fate, it seems, has decided not to
охватывает вашу душу... Но это не все... Судьба, по-видимому, решила не
stop there... Two honest plebeians, their faces worn by labor and
останавливаться... Двое честных плебеев с лицами, изможденными трудами и
suffering, take you by the arms and lead you... You feel yourself a high priest,
страданиями, берут вас под руки и ведут... Вы чувствуете себя первосвященником,
led by obedient acolytes... A minute full of expectation passes – and two powerful
ведомым послушными жрецами... Проходит полная ожиданий минута – и две мощные
hands lower you down the marble staircase, adorned with statues. The air
руки спускают вас вниз по мраморной, украшенной статуями лестнице. Воздух
rings with the sound of a classic cuff on the back of the neck, and, rolling down, you see a smile
оглашается звуком классического подзатыльника, и вы, катясь вниз, видите улыбку,
sent to you by the marble Venus...
которую шлет вам мраморная Венера...
Notes
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