At Christmastime
На святках
Headnote
1 “At Christmastime” (“На святках”) belongs to Chekhov’s last years. He wrote it at Yalta in December 1899 and it appeared in the Petersburg Gazette on New Year’s Day, 1900, in the same season as the long peasant chronicle “In the Ravine” and two years before “The Bishop.” It is among the shortest of the late stories and one of the most severely built: two panels, a village tavern kitchen and a Petersburg water-cure clinic, joined by a single sheet of paper.
2 The hinge is the letter. An illiterate old couple pay fifteen kopecks to a discharged soldier who sits all day in his sister’s tavern and is reputed to write a good letter. Vasilisa gets out the salutation and the Christmas greeting and then breaks down; four years of what she has meant to say – the want, the sold cow, her husband’s failing health, the question whether her daughter is even alive – never reach the page. What Yegor writes instead is boilerplate from the army disciplinary code, misspelled, capitalized at random, addressed to no one and about nothing. The comedy and the cruelty are the same fact. Chekhov supplies no verdict: he lets the pen squeak, gives Yegor a full stomach and a red neck, and allows Vasilisa to see exactly what she is looking at without being able to name it.
3 Then the letter arrives, and the story turns on the smallest possible pivot. Yefimya reads the opening lines – the only ones her mother actually spoke – and they are enough; she weeps over snow piled to the roofs and a little yellow dog, and never reaches the bombast underneath. Her husband, listening in the corridor, remembers the letters she gave him to post and that he never posted, which is the whole explanation of the four years’ silence and is disposed of in three lines. Nothing is repaired. The story closes where it opened, on language emptied of sense: a general who asks the same question every day and forgets the answer, and a porter who barks it back.
4 A word on the rendering. Yegor’s letter is misspelled and eccentrically capitalized in the Russian, and it is left so here rather than tidied into sense – the gap between what the old people feel and what gets written down is the story, and correcting the clerk’s prose would close it. The title translates святки, the twelve days from Christmas to Epiphany, and the “second day of the feast” on which the couple come to the tavern falls inside them. Where the narrator says that Yegor was пошлость itself, the word is given as “vulgarity,” as elsewhere in this edition: Chekhov’s term covers a smug, self-satisfied coarseness for which English has no single equivalent, and which he treated all his life as the real antagonist. The old man’s word for his son-in-law’s workplace is a countryman’s approximation of the medical term, and is rendered by a countryman’s approximation in English, against the narrator’s own more exact usage a few pages later.
At Christmastime
НА СВЯТКАХ
I
I
Vasilisa had not seen her daughter for four years now. After the wedding her daughter Yefimya had gone off with her husband to Petersburg, had sent two letters, and then vanished as though she had sunk into water; not a sound of her, not a breath. And whether the old woman was milking the cow at daybreak, or lighting the stove, or dozing at night – she thought always about the one thing: how was Yefimya there, was she alive. A letter ought to be sent, but the old man could not write, and there was no one to ask.
Василиса не виделась со своею дочерью уже четыре года. Дочь Ефимья после свадьбы уехала с мужем в Петербург, прислала два письма и потом как в воду канула; ни слуху ни духу. И доила ли старуха корову на рассвете, топила ли печку, дремала ли ночью – и всё думала об одном: как-то там Ефимья, жива ли. Надо бы послать письмо, но старик писать не умел, а попросить было некого.
But then Christmastide came, and Vasilisa could bear it no longer and went to the tavern to Yegor, the landlady’s brother, who ever since he came back from the service had sat at home, in the tavern, doing nothing; it was said of him that he could write a good letter if he was paid properly. Vasilisa talked it over in the tavern with the cook, then with the landlady, then with Yegor himself. They settled on fifteen kopecks.
Но вот пришли святки, и Василиса не вытерпела и пошла в трактир к Егору, хозяйкиному брату, который, как пришел со службы, так и сидел всё дома, в трактире, и ничего не делал; про него говорили, что он может хорошо писать письма, ежели ему заплатить как следует. Василиса поговорила в трактире с кухаркой, потом с хозяйкой, потом с самим Егором. Сошлись на пятиалтынном.
And now – this was on the second day of the feast, in the tavern, in the kitchen – Yegor sat at the table holding the pen in his hand. Vasilisa stood in front of him, sunk in thought, with an expression of care and grief on her face. Pyotr had come with her, her old man, very thin, tall, with a brown bald patch; he stood and looked straight ahead without moving, like a blind man. On the stove pork was frying in a pan; it hissed and spluttered and seemed even to be saying: “Flu-flu-flu.” It was stifling.
И теперь – это происходило на второй день праздника в трактире, в кухне – Егор сидел за столом и держал перо в руке. Василиса стояла перед ним, задумавшись, с выражением заботы и скорби на лице. С нею пришел и Петр, ее старик, очень худой, высокий, с коричневой лысиной; он стоял и глядел неподвижно и прямо, как слепой. На плите в кастрюле жарилась свинина; она шипела и фыркала и как будто даже говорила: "Флю-флю-флю". Было душно.
“What!” said Vasilisa, looking at him angrily and suspiciously. “Don’t hurry me! It’s not for nothing you’re writing, it’s for money! Well, write. To our dear son-in-law Andrei Khrisanfych and to our only beloved daughter Yefimya Petrovna, with love, a low bow and our parents’ blessing forever inviolable.”
– Чего! – сказала Василиса, глядя на него сердито и подозрительно. – Не гони! Небось не задаром пишешь, за деньги! Ну, пиши. Любезному нашему зятю Андрею Хрисанфычу и единственной нашей любимой дочери Ефимье Петровне с любовью низкий поклон и благословение родительское навеки нерушимо.
“Got it. Fire away.”
– Есть. Стреляй дальше.
“And also we send our greetings for the feast of the Nativity of Christ, we are alive and well, and wish the same to you from the Lord... the King of Heaven.”
– А еще поздравляем с праздником Рождества Христова, мы живы и здоровы, чего и вам желаем от господа... царя небесного.
Vasilisa thought a moment and exchanged a look with the old man.
Василиса подумала и переглянулась со стариком.
“And wish the same to you from the Lord... the King of Heaven...” she repeated, and began to cry.
– Чего и вам желаем от господа... царя небесного... – повторила она и заплакала.
She could say nothing more. And before, when she lay thinking at night, it had seemed to her that ten letters would not hold it all. Since the time her daughter had gone away with her husband, a great deal of water had run down to the sea; the old people had lived like orphans and had sighed heavily at night, as though they had buried their daughter. And how many things of every kind had happened in the village in that time, how many weddings, how many deaths! What long winters there had been! What long nights!
Больше ничего она не могла сказать. А раньше, когда она по ночам думала, то ей казалось, что всего не поместить и в десяти письмах. С того времени, как уехали дочь с мужем, утекло в море много воды, старики жили, как сироты, и тяжко вздыхали по ночам, точно похоронили дочь. А сколько за это время было в деревне всяких происшествий, сколько свадеб, смертей! Какие были длинные зимы! Какие длинные ночи!
“It’s hot!” said Yegor, unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Must be a good seventy degrees, I reckon. Well, what else?” he asked.
– Жарко! – проговорил Егор, расстегивая жилет. – Должно, градусов семьдесят будить. Что же еще? – спросил он.
The old people were silent.
Старики молчали.
“He’s out of the army, my dear man, you know that yourself,” the old man answered in a weak voice. “He came back from the service the same time as you. He was a soldier, and now, that is, he’s in Petersburg at a water-healing establishment. The doctor treats the sick with water. So he’s the doctor’s porter, that is.”
– Он из солдат, батюшка, тебе известно, – ответил слабым голосом старик. – В одно время с тобой со службы пришел. Был солдат, а теперь, значит, в Петербурге в водоцелебном заведении. Доктор больных водой пользует. Так он, значит, у доктора в швейцарах.
“Here, it’s written down here...” said the old woman, taking a letter out of her kerchief. “We had it from Yefimya, God knows how long ago. Maybe they’re not even in the world any more.”
– Вот тут написано... – сказала старуха, вынимая из платочка письмо. – От Ефимьи получили, еще бог знает когда. Может, их уж и на свете нет.
“At the present time,” he wrote, “as your fait has through itself determined you upon the Militery Carreer, we advise You to look into the Statute of Disiplinery Penalties and the Criminal Laws of the Militery Department, and You will percieve in the aforesaid Law the sivilization of the Ranks of the Militery Department.”
"В настоящее время, – писал он, – как судба ваша через себе определила на Военое Попрыще, то мы Вам советуем заглянуть в Устав Дисцыплинарных Взысканий и Уголовных Законов Военнаго Ведомства, и Вы усмотрите в оном Законе цывилизацию Чинов Военаго Ведомства".
He wrote and read aloud what he had written, while Vasilisa was working out what ought to be written: what want there had been the year before, how the bread had not lasted even till Christmastide, how they had had to sell the cow. Money ought to be asked for, it ought to be written that the old man was often ailing and would soon, most likely, give up his soul to God... But how was this to be put into words? What to say first and what after?
Он писал и прочитывал вслух написанное, а Василиса соображала о том, что надо бы написать, какая в прошлом году была нужда, не хватило хлеба даже до святок, пришлось продать корову. Надо бы попросить денег, надо бы написать, что старик часто похварывает и скоро, должно быть, отдаст богу душу... Но как выразить это на словах? Что сказать прежде и что после?
“Take Notice,” Yegor went on writing, “in the 5th volume of the Militery Regulasions. Soldier is a Name that is Comon, Illustrius. Both the Foremoste General and the lowest Private is called a Soldier...”
"Обратите внимание, – продолжал Егор писать, – в 5 томе Военых Постановлений. Солдат есть Имя обчшее, Знаменитое. Солдатом называется Перьвейшый Генерал и последней Рядовой..."
The old man moved his lips and said quietly:
Старик пошевелил губами и сказал тихо:
“To have a look at the grandchildren – that wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
– Внучат поглядеть, оно бы ничего.
“What grandchildren?” asked the old woman, and looked at him angrily. “There may not be any!”
– Каких внучат? – спросила старуха и поглядела на него сердито. – Да, может, их и нету!
“Grandchildren? Well, there may be. Who knows!”
– Внучат-то? А может, и есть. Кто их знает!
The pen squeaked, working flourishes on the paper like fishhooks. Yegor was in a hurry and read every line over several times. He sat on a stool, his legs spread wide under the table, well fed, healthy, big-jowled, with a red nape. This was vulgarity itself, coarse, arrogant, invincible, proud of having been born and grown up in a tavern, and Vasilisa understood perfectly well that here was vulgarity, but she could not put it into words, and only looked at Yegor angrily and suspiciously. From his voice, from the words she could not understand, from the heat and the closeness, her head began to ache and her thoughts got tangled, and she no longer said anything, no longer thought anything, and only waited for him to finish squeaking. But the old man looked on with complete trust. He trusted the old woman, who had brought him here, and he trusted Yegor; and when he had mentioned the water-cure establishment just now, it could be seen in his face that he trusted the establishment too, and the healing power of the water.
Перо скрипело, выделывая на бумаге завитушки, похожие на рыболовные крючки. Егор спешил и прочитывал каждую строчку по нескольку раз. Он сидел на табурете, раскинув широко ноги под столом, сытый, здоровый, мордатый, с красным затылком. Это была сама пошлость, грубая, надменная, непобедимая, гордая тем, что она родилась и выросла в трактире, и Василиса хорошо понимала, что тут пошлость, но не могла выразить на словах, а только глядела на Егора сердито и подозрительно. От его голоса, непонятных слов, от жара и духоты у нее разболелась голова, запутались мысли, и она уже ничего не говорила, не думала и ждала только, когда он кончит скрипеть. А старик глядел с полным доверием. Он верил и старухе, которая его привела сюда, и Егору; и когда упомянул давеча о водолечебном заведении, то видно было по лицу, что он верил и в заведение, и в целебную силу воды.
When he had finished writing, Yegor got up and read the whole letter through from the beginning. The old man did not understand, but he nodded his head trustingly.
Кончив писать, Егор встал и прочел всё письмо сначала. Старик не понял, но доверчиво закивал головой.
“It’s all right, it runs smooth...” he said. “God give you health. It’s all right...”
– Ничего, гладко... – сказал он, – дай бог здоровья. Ничего...
They laid three five-kopeck pieces on the table and went out of the tavern; the old man looked straight ahead without moving, like a blind man, and complete trust was written on his face, and Vasilisa, as they were going out of the tavern, swung her arm at a dog and said angrily:
Положили на стол три пятака и вышли из трактира; старик глядел неподвижно и прямо, как слепой, и на лице его было написано полное доверие, а Василиса, когда выходили из трактира, замахнулась на собаку и сказала сердито:
“Ugh, you plague!”
– У-у, язва!
All that night the old woman did not sleep; her thoughts would not let her be, and at daybreak she got up, said her prayers, and set off for the station to send the letter.
Всю ночь старуха не спала, беспокоили ее мысли, а на рассвете она встала, помолилась и пошла на станцию, чтобы послать письмо.
II
II
Dr. B. O. Mozelveizer’s hydropathic establishment was open on New Year’s Day just as on ordinary days, and the only difference was that the porter, Andrei Khrisanfych, had on a uniform with new braid, and his boots shone somehow particularly; and he wished everyone who came in a happy New Year and new happiness.
Водолечебница доктора Б. О. Мозельвейзера работала и на Новый год так же, как в обыкновенные дни, и только на швейцаре Андрее Хрисанфыче был мундир с новыми галунами, блестели как-то особенно сапоги; и всех приходивших он поздравлял с Новым годом, с новым счастьем.
It was morning. Andrei Khrisanfych stood at the door reading a newspaper. At exactly ten o’clock a general came in, an acquaintance, one of the regular visitors, and behind him the postman. Andrei Khrisanfych took the general’s greatcoat and said:
Было утро. Андрей Хрисанфыч стоял у двери и читал газету. Ровно в десять часов вошел генерал, знакомый, один из обычных посетителей, а вслед за ним – почтальон. Андрей Хрисанфыч снял с генерала шинель и сказал:
“A happy New Year and new happiness, Your Excellency!”
– С Новым годом, с новым счастьем, ваше превосходительство!
“Thank you, my good man. And the same to you.”
– Спасибо, любезный. И тебя также.
And going up the stairs, the general nodded at a door and asked (he asked every day and every time afterwards forgot):
И, идя вверх по лестнице, генерал кивнул на дверь и спросил (он каждый день спрашивал и всякий раз потом забывал):
“And what’s in this room?”
– А в этой комнате что?
“The massage room, Your Excellency!”
– Кабинет для массажа, ваше превосходительство!
When the general’s steps had died away, Andrei Khrisanfych looked over the post that had come and found one letter addressed to himself. He opened it, read a few lines, then, without hurrying, his eyes on the newspaper, went to his own room, which was right there downstairs at the end of the corridor. His wife Yefimya was sitting on the bed feeding a baby; another child, the eldest, stood beside her with his curly head laid on her knees, a third was asleep on the bed.
Когда шаги генерала затихли, Андрей Хрисанфыч осмотрел полученную почту и нашел одно письмо на свое имя. Он распечатал, прочел несколько строк, потом, не спеша, глядя в газету, пошел к себе в свою комнату, которая была тут же внизу, в конце коридора. Жена его Ефимья сидела на кровати и кормила ребенка; другой ребенок, самый старший, стоял возле, положив кудрявую голову ей на колени, третий спал на кровати.
Войдя в свою комнатку, Андрей подал жене письмо и сказал:
“Must be from the village.”
– Должно, из деревни.
Then he went out again, without taking his eyes off the newspaper, and stopped in the corridor not far from his door. He could hear Yefimya read the first lines in a trembling voice. She read them and could go no further; those lines were enough for her, she burst into tears and, hugging her eldest boy and kissing him, began to talk, and it was impossible to tell whether she was crying or laughing.
Затем он вышел, не отрывая глаз от газеты, и остановился в коридоре, недалеко от своей двери. Ему было слышно, как Ефимья дрожащим голосом прочла первые строки. Прочла и уж больше не могла; для нее было довольно и этих строк, она залилась слезами и, обнимая своего старшенького, целуя его, стала говорить, и нельзя было понять, плачет она или смеется.
“It’s from Granny, from Grandpa...” she was saying. “From the village... Queen of Heaven, holy saints. The snow’s piled up to the roofs there now... the trees all white, white. The little ones on their tiny sledges... And Grandpa, bald as anything, up on the stove... and the little yellow dog... My own dear ones!”
– Это от бабушки, от дедушки... – говорила она. – Из деревни... Царица небесная, святители-угодники. Там теперь снегу навалило под крыши... деревья белые-белые. Ребятки на махоньких саночках... И дедушка лысенький на печке... и собачка желтенькая... Голубчики мои родные!
Andrei Khrisanfych, listening to this, remembered that three or four times his wife had given him letters and asked him to send them to the village, but some important business had got in the way: he had not sent them, and the letters had been mislaid somewhere.
Андрей Хрисанфыч, слушая это, вспомнил, что раза три или четыре жена давала ему письма, просила послать в деревню, но мешали какие-то важные дела: он не послал, письма где-то завалялись.
“And out in the fields the hares are running,” Yefimya lamented, streaming with tears, kissing her boy. “Grandpa is quiet and kind, and Granny is kind too, and full of pity. In the village they live from the heart, they fear God... And there’s a little church in the village, and the men sing in the choir. If only the Queen of Heaven, our mother and intercessor, would carry us away from here!”
– А в поле зайчики бегают, – причитывала Ефимья, обливаясь слезами, целуя своего мальчика. – Дедушка тихий, добрый, бабушка тоже добрая, жалосливая. В деревне душевно живут, бога боятся... И церковочка в селе, мужички на клиросе поют. Унесла бы нас отсюда царица небесная, заступница-матушка!
Andrei Khrisanfych went back to his little room to smoke before anyone came in, and Yefimya suddenly fell silent, grew still and wiped her eyes, and only her lips went on trembling. She was very much afraid of him – ah, how afraid she was! She shook, she was seized with terror at his step, at his look, and did not dare say a single word in his presence.
Андрей Хрисанфыч вернулся к себе в комнатку, чтобы покурить, пока кто не пришел, и Ефимья вдруг замолчала, притихла и вытерла глаза, и только губы у нее дрожали. Она его очень боялась, ах, как боялась! Трепетала, приходила в ужас от его шагов, от его взгляда, не смела сказать при нем ни одного слова.
Andrei Khrisanfych lit a cigarette, but at that very moment the bell rang upstairs. He put out the cigarette and, making a very serious face, ran to his front door.
Андрей Хрисанфыч закурил, но как раз в это время наверху позвонили. Он потушил папиросу и, сделав очень серьезное лицо, побежал к своей парадной двери.
The general was coming down, pink and fresh from his bath.
Сверху спускался генерал, розовый, свежий от ванны.
“And what’s in this room?” he asked, pointing at the door.
– А в этой комнате что? – спросил он, указывая на дверь.
Andrei Khrisanfych drew himself up, hands at his sides, and said loudly:
Андрей Хрисанфыч вытянулся, руки по швам, и произнес громко: