A Setback
Неудача
Headnote
1 A Setback (“Neudacha” in the original) is a brief comic sketch that Chekhov published in 1885, in the vein of the rapid-fire humor pieces he was turning out for the weekly magazines during this period. It belongs to a recurring Chekhovian scene: the eavesdropping parents, engineering a marriage for their daughter through ambush rather than courtship.
The setup is pure farce. Ilya Sergeich Peplov and his wife listen at a door while their daughter Natashenka is courted, none too elegantly, by Shchupkin, the local penmanship teacher – a vain, self-satisfied figure who offers to write her verses and steals a kiss on the hand. The parents, convinced the moment has come, burst in to ambush the couple with an icon-blessing that is supposed to be legally and morally impossible to retract. The joke lands on the mother: in her haste she has grabbed the wrong object off the wall, blessing her daughter’s suitor not with a holy icon but with a portrait of the historical novelist Ivan Lazhechnikov. The teacher, realizing the trap has sprung on nothing, seizes the confusion and escapes.
The story is a compact piece of stage business – overheard dialogue, melodramatic gesture, and a sight gag punchline – typical of Chekhov’s early apprenticeship in the comic weeklies, before the quieter, more psychologically exact stories of his maturity. The title, usually rendered as “A Setback” or “Not a Success,” points to the trick that fails: the parents’ scheme collapses not because the young man resists it, but because of their own farcical error.
Ilya Sergeich Peplov and his wife Kleopatra Petrovna were standing by the door, eavesdropping avidly. Beyond the door, in the little parlor, a declaration of love was, it seemed, taking place: their daughter Natashenka and the district-school teacher Shchupkin were having it out.
Илья Сергеич Пеплов и жена его Клеопатра Петровна стояли у двери и жадно подслушивали. За дверью, в маленькой зале, происходило, по-видимому, объяснение в любви; объяснялись их дочь Наташенька и учитель уездного училища Щупкин.
“It’s biting!” whispered Peplov, trembling with impatience and rubbing his hands together. “Watch now, Petrovna – the moment they start talking about feelings, take the icon down off the wall at once and we’ll go in and give our blessing... We’ll catch them in the act... A blessing with the icon is sacred and cannot be undone... He won’t wriggle out of it then, not even if he takes it to court.”
– Клюет! – шептал Пеплов, дрожа от нетерпения и потирая руки. – Смотри же, Петровна, как только заговорят о чувствах, тотчас же снимай со стены образ и идем благословлять... Накроем... Благословение образом свято и ненарушимо... Не отвертится тогда, пусть хоть в суд подает.
And beyond the door this is the conversation that was taking place:
А за дверью происходил такой разговор:
“Drop that tone with me!” Shchupkin was saying, lighting a match against his checked trousers. “I never wrote you any letters at all!”
– Оставьте ваш характер! – говорил Щупкин, зажигая спичку о свои клетчатые брюки. – Вовсе я не писал вам писем!
“Oh, come now! As if I don’t know your handwriting!” the young lady laughed, giving an affected little shriek and glancing at herself in the mirror every other moment. “I knew it at once! And aren’t you a strange one! A teacher of penmanship, and your hand like a chicken’s scratch! How do you teach writing, if you write so badly yourself?”
– Ну да! Будто я не знаю вашего почерка! – хохотала девица, манерно взвизгивая и то и дело поглядывая на себя в зеркало. – Я сразу узнала! И какие вы странные! Учитель чистописания, а почерк как у курицы! Как же вы учите писать, если сами плохо пишете?
“Hm!... That means nothing, if you please. In penmanship the main thing isn’t the hand, the main thing is that the pupils don’t get above themselves. One you crack over the head with the ruler, another you put on his knees... And what’s handwriting! A trifle! Nekrasov was a writer, and it’s a shame to look at how he wrote. His handwriting’s shown in the collected edition of his works.”
– Гм!.. Это ничего не значит-с. В чистописании главное не почерк, главное, чтоб ученики не забывались. Кого линейкой по голове ударишь, кого на колени... Да что почерк! Пустое дело! Некрасов писатель был, а совестно глядеть, как он писал. В собрании сочинений показан его почерк.
“That’s Nekrasov, and this is you... (a sigh). I would gladly have gone for a writer. He’d be forever writing me verses to remember him by!”
– То Некрасов, а то вы... (вздох). Я за писателя с удовольствием бы пошла. Он постоянно бы мне стихи на память писал!
“I can write you verses too, if you like.”
– Стихи и я могу написать вам, ежели желаете,
“And what would you write about?”
– О чем же вы писать можете?
“About love... about feelings... about your eyes... You’d read it and you’d swoon... It would bring you to tears! And if I write you poetic verses, will you let me kiss your hand then?”
– О любви... о чувствах... о ваших глазах... Прочтете – очумеете... Слеза прошибет! А ежели я напишу вам поэтические стихи, то дадите тогда ручку поцеловать?
“Such a great favor!... Why, kiss it this instant if you like!”
– Велика важность!.. Да хоть сейчас целуйте!
Shchupkin jumped up and, eyes bulging, pressed his lips to a plump little hand that smelled of egg soap.
Щупкин вскочил и, выпучив глаза, припал к пухлой, пахнущей яичным мылом, ручке.
“Take down the icon!” Peplov hurried, jabbing his wife with his elbow, turning pale with agitation and buttoning his coat. “Let’s go! Now!”
– Снимай образ! – заторопился Пеплов, толкнув локтем свою жену, бледнея от волнения и застегиваясь. – Идем! Ну!
And without losing a second, Peplov flung open the door.
И, не медля ни секунды, Пеплов распахнул дверь.
“Children...” he mumbled, raising his arms and blinking tearfully. “The Lord bless you, my children... Live... be fruitful... and multiply...”
– Дети... – забормотал он, воздевая руки и слезливо мигая глазами. – Господь вас благословит, дети мой... Живите... плодитесь... размножайтесь...
“And... and I bless you too...” the mother said, weeping with happiness. “Be happy, my dears! Oh, you are taking from me my one treasure!” she turned to Shchupkin. “Love my daughter, be tender with her...”
– И... и я благословляю... – проговорила мамаша, плача от счастья. – Будьте счастливы, дорогие! О, вы отнимаете у меня единственное сокровище! – обратилась она к Щупкину. – Любите же мою дочь, жалейте ее...
Shchupkin’s mouth fell open in astonishment and fright. The parents’ assault had come so suddenly and so boldly that he could not get out a single word.
Щупкин разинул рот от изумления и испуга. Приступ родителей был так внезапен и смел, что он не мог выговорить ни одного слова.
“Caught! Trapped!” he thought, going faint with horror. “It’s over for you now, brother! There’s no jumping clear of this one!”
"Попался! Окрутили! – подумал он, млея от ужаса. – Крышка теперь тебе, брат! Не выскочишь!"
And he submissively bowed his head, as if to say: “Take me, I am conquered!”
И он покорно подставил свою голову, как бы желая сказать: "Берите, я побежден!"
“I b-bless... I bless you...” the father went on, and he too began to weep. “Natashenka, my daughter... come stand beside him... Petrovna, hand me the icon...”
– Бла... благословляю... – продолжал папаша и тоже заплакал. – Наташенька, дочь моя... становись рядом... Петровна, давай образ...
But just then the father suddenly stopped weeping, and his face twisted with fury.
Но тут родитель вдруг перестал плакать, и лицо у него перекосило от гнева.
“You blockhead!” he said angrily to his wife. “You stupid woman! Is that an icon, of all things?”
– Тумба! – сердито сказал он жене. – Голова твоя глупая! Да нешто это образ?
“Oh, saints alive!”
– Ах, батюшки-светы!
What had happened? The teacher of penmanship timidly raised his eyes and saw that he was saved: in her haste, the mother had taken down from the wall, instead of the icon, a portrait of the writer Lazhechnikov. Old Peplov and his wife Kleopatra Petrovna stood there with the portrait in their hands, mortified, not knowing what to do or what to say. The teacher of penmanship made use of the confusion and fled.
Что случилось? Учитель чистописания несмело поднял глаза и увидел, что он спасен: мамаша впопыхах сняла со стены вместо образа портрет писателя Лажечникова. Старик Пеплов и его супруга Клеопатра Петровна, с портретом в руках, стояли сконфуженные, не зная, что им делать и что говорить. Учитель чистописания воспользовался смятением и бежал.
Notes
Примечания