Headnote
1
"The Student" ("Студент") is one of Chekhov’s shortest and most concentrated stories, and by his own repeated account – reported by several memoirists, including Ivan Bunin – his personal favorite among everything he wrote, offered as proof against the charge, common among his contemporary critics, that he was merely a cold-eyed chronicler of Russian gloom with no interest in affirming anything. Chekhov himself called himself, elsewhere, the most non-tendentious of writers; "The Student" is the story most often produced to complicate that self-description, since its four brief pages end in an almost unguarded declaration of meaning and joy.
2
On the evening before Good Friday, Ivan Velikopolsky, a theological student and sexton’s son, is walking home from an unsuccessful evening of shooting, cold, hungry, and sunk in the thought that the same poverty, ignorance, and misery that surround him now have always existed and always will, and that nothing changes across a thousand years. Passing a bonfire kept by two widows, a mother and daughter, he warms himself and, apropos of the fire itself, retells them the Gospel account of the apostle Peter’s threefold denial of Christ on the night of the Passion – Peter warming himself at just such a fire in the high priest’s courtyard, denying three times that he knew Jesus, then weeping bitterly when the cock crowed and he remembered Christ’s prediction. The older widow, Vasilisa, bursts into tears at the telling; her daughter Lukerya’s face registers a suppressed, straining pain. Walking on, the student reasons from their reaction that an event nineteen centuries past is not sealed off in the past at all – that past and present are joined by an unbroken chain, so that touching one end makes the other tremble – and the story ends with a sudden, almost physical surge of youth, hope, and inexpressible happiness overtaking him as he climbs the hill toward his village.
3
Dating note: the corpus’s metadata for this file (source filename, works.yaml date field) places the story in 1892, in the same batch as the other stories translated from the 1892–1894 collected grouping. The story is, however, very widely and specifically dated in the standard Chekhov bibliography to the spring of 1894 – it was first published in Русские ведомости (Russian Gazette), no. 104, 15 April 1894, shortly before that year’s Orthodox Easter, a season that matches the story’s own Good-Friday-eve setting far more precisely than 1892 does. This discrepancy is flagged here rather than silently corrected, per corpus policy of not hand-editing dating metadata outside works.yaml itself; it is noted for whoever next reconciles the corpus’s date fields against the standard bibliography.
4
the story’s central Gospel retelling (sections 8, 10, 12, and 14) draws on the Passion narrative as given across the four Gospels (compare especially Matthew 26:31–75, Mark 14:27–72, Luke 22:31–62, and John 13:36–38 and 18:15–27), and Chekhov’s own paraphrase in the Russian source does not quote any single Gospel verbatim except for the one bracketed clause explicitly marked as scripture in section 14 ("И исшед вон, плакася горько" / "And he went out, and wept bitterly," a Church Slavonic-inflected rendering close to Matthew 26:75 and Luke 22:62). That one clause is translated here to preserve its slightly more liturgical, archaic register against the surrounding plain narration, in keeping with how it reads in the source. The reference in section 10 to being "at the Twelve Gospels" (на двенадцати евангелиях) is to the Orthodox Holy Thursday-night Matins service (утреня Великого Пятка), at which twelve Gospel readings recounting the Passion are read in succession; it is rendered here as "the reading of the Twelve Gospels" rather than literally "the twelve gospels" to make the reference to a specific service clear to a reader unfamiliar with the Orthodox liturgical calendar.
Translation Original
1 The weather was fine and still to begin with. Thrushes were calling, and somewhere nearby in the marshes something alive droned plaintively, as if someone were blowing into an empty bottle. A single woodcock flew over, and the shot fired at it rang out in the spring air, rolling and merry. But when it grew dark in the forest, an untimely cold, piercing wind blew up from the east, and everything fell silent. Icy needles stretched across the puddles, and the forest grew cheerless, dead, and unwelcoming. It smelled of winter.
Погода вначале была хорошая, тихая. Кричали дрозды, и по соседству в болотах что-то живое жалобно гудело, точно дуло в пустую бутылку. Протянул один вальдшнеп, и выстрел по нем прозвучал в весеннем воздухе раскатисто и весело. Но когда стемнело в лесу, некстати подул с востока холодный пронизывающий ветер, всё смолкло. По лужам протянулись ледяные иглы, и стало в лесу неуютно, глухо и нелюдимо. Запахло зимой.
2 Ivan Velikopolsky, a student at the theological academy, the son of a
sexton, was walking home along the path through the water-meadow, coming back from an evening’s shooting. His fingers were numb with cold, and his face burned from the wind. It seemed to him that this sudden onset of cold had disturbed all order and harmony in things, that nature herself felt a kind of dread, and that was why the evening dusk was gathering faster than it should. All around was desolate and somehow particularly gloomy. Only on the widows’ garden plots by the river was there a fire burning; far off all around, and where the village lay, some four
versts off, everything was drowned entirely in the cold evening haze. The student remembered that when he had left home, his mother had been sitting on the floor of the entryway, barefoot, cleaning the
samovar, while his father lay on the stove coughing; because it was Good Friday nothing had been cooked at home, and he was tormented by hunger. And now, shrinking from the cold, the student thought that just such a wind had blown in the days of
Rurik, and of
Ivan the Terrible, and of
Peter, and that in their time there had been just the same fierce poverty, the same hunger, the same leaky thatched roofs, ignorance, misery, the same desolation all around, the same darkness, the same feeling of oppression – all these horrors had been, were, and would be, and though a thousand years more should pass, life would be no better. And he did not want to go home.
Иван Великопольский, студент духовной академии, сын дьячка, возвращаясь с тяги домой, шел всё время заливным лугом по тропинке. У него закоченели пальцы, и разгорелось от ветра лицо. Ему казалось, что этот внезапно наступивший холод нарушил во всем порядок и согласие, что самой природе жутко, и оттого вечерние потемки сгустились быстрей, чем надо. Кругом было пустынно и как-то особенно мрачно. Только на вдовьих огородах около реки светился огонь; далеко же кругом и там, где была деревня, версты за четыре, всё сплошь утопало в холодной вечерней мгле. Студент вспомнил, что, когда он уходил из дому, его мать, сидя в сенях на полу, босая, чистила самовар, а отец лежал на печи и кашлял; по случаю страстной пятницы дома ничего не варили, и мучительно хотелось есть. И теперь, пожимаясь от холода, студент думал о том, что точно такой же ветер дул и
при Рюрике, и
при Иоанне Грозном, и
при Петре, и что при них была точно такая же лютая бедность, голод, такие же дырявые соломенные крыши, невежество, тоска, такая же пустыня кругом, мрак, чувство гнета, – все эти ужасы были, есть и будут, и оттого, что пройдет еще тысяча лет, жизнь не станет лучше. И ему не хотелось домой.
3 The garden plots were called the widows’ because they were kept by two widows, a mother and daughter. The bonfire burned hot, crackling, lighting up the ploughed earth far around. The widow
Vasilisa, a tall, plump old woman in a man’s sheepskin coat, stood beside it, looking thoughtfully into the fire; her daughter
Lukerya, a small, pockmarked woman with a rather dull face, sat on the ground washing out a cauldron and spoons. They had evidently just finished supper. Men’s voices could be heard; it was the laborers here watering their horses at the river.
Огороды назывались вдовьими потому, что их содержали две вдовы, мать и дочь. Костер горел жарко, с треском, освещая далеко кругом вспаханную землю.
Вдова Василиса, высокая, пухлая старуха в мужском полушубке, стояла возле и в раздумье глядела на огонь; ее дочь
Лукерья, маленькая, рябая, с глуповатым лицом, сидела на земле и мыла котел и ложки. Очевидно, только что отужинали. Слышались мужские голоса; это здешние работники на реке поили лошадей.
4 “So winter’s come back to us,” said the student, coming up to the fire. “Good evening!”
– Вот вам и зима пришла назад, – сказал студент, подходя к костру. – Здравствуйте!
5 Vasilisa gave a start, but recognized him at once and smiled warmly.
Василиса вздрогнула, но тотчас же узнала его и улыбнулась приветливо.
6 “I didn’t know you, God bless you,” she said. “You’ll be rich.”
– Не узнала, бог с тобой, – сказала она. – Богатым быть.
7 They talked. Vasilisa, a woman of the world, who had once served in the gentry’s houses as a wet-nurse and then as a nanny, spoke with a certain delicacy, and a soft, sedate smile never left her face; her daughter
Lukerya, a peasant woman beaten down by her husband, only screwed up her eyes at the student and said nothing, and her expression was strange, like that of a deaf-mute.
Поговорили. Василиса, женщина бывалая, служившая когда-то у господ в мамках, а потом няньках, выражалась деликатно, и с лица ее всё время не сходила мягкая, степенная улыбка; дочь же ее Лукерья, деревенская баба, забитая мужем, только щурилась на студента и молчала, и выражение у нее было странное, как у глухонемой.
8 “Just so, on a cold night,
the apostle Peter warmed himself at a fire,” said the student, holding his hands out to the flames. “So it was cold then too. Ah, what a terrible night that must have been, granny! A dismal, long night beyond telling!”
– Точно так же в холодную ночь грелся у костра
апостол Петр, – сказал студент, протягивая к огню руки. – Значит, и тогда было холодно. Ах, какая то была страшная ночь, бабушка! До чрезвычайности унылая, длинная ночь!
9 He looked round at the darkness, gave his head a convulsive shake, and asked:
Он посмотрел кругом на потемки, судорожно встряхнул головой и спросил:
11 “I have,” answered Vasilisa.
– Была, – ответила Василиса.
12 “Then if you remember, at the Last Supper Peter said to
Jesus, ‘I am ready to go with you both to prison and to death.’ And the Lord said to him in answer, ‘I tell you, Peter, before the cock crows this day, you will deny three times that you know me.’ After the supper Jesus was in mortal anguish in the garden and prayed, while poor Peter was worn out in spirit, grew weak, his eyelids grew heavy, and he simply could not fight off sleep. He slept. Then, as you’ve heard, that same night
Judas kissed Jesus and betrayed him to his tormentors. They led him bound to
priest-passion/">the high priest and beat him, and Peter, exhausted, worn down by anguish and dread, you understand, not having slept enough, sensing that something terrible was about to happen on earth, followed behind... He loved Jesus passionately, beyond reason, and now he watched from a distance as they beat him...”
– Если помнишь, во время тайной вечери Петр сказал
Иисусу: "С тобою я готов и в темницу, и на смерть". А господь ему на это: "Говорю тебе, Петр, не пропоет сегодня петел, то есть петух, как ты трижды отречешься, что не знаешь меня". После вечери Иисус смертельно тосковал в саду и молился, а бедный Петр истомился душой, ослабел, веки у него отяжелели, и он никак не мог побороть сна. Спал. Потом, ты слышала,
Иуда в ту же ночь поцеловал Иисуса и предал его мучителям. Его связанного вели к
первосвященнику и били, а Петр, изнеможенный, замученный тоской и тревогой, понимаешь ли, не выспавшийся, предчувствуя, что вот-вот на земле произойдет что-то ужасное, шел вслед... Он страстно, без памяти любил Иисуса, и теперь видел издали, как его били...
13 Lukerya set down the spoons and fixed a motionless stare on the student.
Лукерья оставила ложки и устремила неподвижный взгляд на студента.
14 “They came to the high priest’s,” he went on, “and began to question Jesus, while the laborers meanwhile had lit a fire in the middle of the courtyard, because it was cold, and were warming themselves. Peter stood with them by the fire and warmed himself too, just as I am now. A certain woman, seeing him, said, ‘This man was with Jesus too’ – meaning that he too ought to be taken for questioning. And all the laborers standing by the fire must have looked at him with suspicion and severity, for he grew confused and said, ‘I do not know him.’ A little while later someone again recognized him as one of Jesus’ disciples and said, ‘You are one of them too.’ But again he denied it. And a third time someone turned to him: ‘Was it not you I saw with him in the garden today?’ A third time he denied it. And immediately after this, the cock crowed, and Peter, glancing from a distance at Jesus, remembered the words Jesus had said to him at the supper... He remembered, came to himself, went out from the courtyard, and wept bitterly, bitterly.
The Gospel says: ‘And he went out, and wept bitterly.’ I imagine it: a still, still, dark, dark garden, and in the stillness one can just make out muffled sobbing...”
– Пришли к первосвященнику, – продолжал он, – Иисуса стали допрашивать, а работники тем временем развели среди двора огонь, потому что было холодно, и грелись. С ними около костра стоял Петр и тоже грелся, как вот я теперь. Одна женщина, увидев его, сказала: "И этот был с Иисусом", то есть, что и его, мол, нужно вести к допросу. И все работники, что находились около огня, должно быть, подозрительно и сурово поглядели на него, потому что он смутился и сказал: "Я не знаю его". Немного погодя опять кто-то узнал в нем одного из учеников Иисуса и сказал: "И ты из них". Но он опять отрекся. И в третий раз кто-то обратился к нему: "Да не тебя ли сегодня я видел с ним в саду?" Он третий раз отрекся. И после этого раза тотчас же запел петух, и Петр, взглянув издали на Иисуса, вспомнил слова, которые он сказал ему на вечери... Вспомнил, очнулся, пошел со двора и горько-горько заплакал. В
евангелии сказано: "И исшед вон, плакася горько". Воображаю: тихий-тихий, темный-темный сад, и в тишине едва слышатся глухие рыдания...
15 The student sighed and fell to thinking. Still smiling, Vasilisa suddenly gave a sob, and tears, large and abundant, ran down her cheeks, and she shielded her face from the fire with her sleeve, as though ashamed of her tears, while Lukerya, staring fixedly at the student, flushed red, and her expression grew heavy and strained, like that of someone holding back great pain.
Студент вздохнул и задумался. Продолжая улыбаться, Василиса вдруг всхлипнула, слезы, крупные, изобильные, потекли у нее по щекам, и она заслонила рукавом лицо от огня, как бы стыдясь своих слез, а Лукерья, глядя неподвижно на студента, покраснела, и выражение у нее стало тяжелым, напряженным, как у человека, который сдерживает сильную боль.
16 The laborers were coming back from the river, and one of them, on horseback, was already close by, and the light of the fire trembled on him. The student bade the widows good night and went on. Once again the darkness closed in, and his hands began to grow numb. A cruel wind was blowing; winter really was returning, and it did not seem as though
Easter would be the day after tomorrow.
Работники возвращались с реки, и один из них верхом на лошади был уже близко, и свет от костра дрожал на нем. Студент пожелал вдовам спокойной ночи и пошел дальше. И опять наступили потемки, и стали зябнуть руки. Дул жестокий ветер, в самом деле возвращалась зима, и не было похоже, что послезавтра
Пасха.
17 Now the student was thinking about Vasilisa: if she had wept, then everything that had happened to Peter on that terrible night must have some bearing on her...
Теперь студент думал о Василисе: если она заплакала, то, значит, всё, происходившее в ту страшную ночь с Петром, имеет к ней какое-то отношение...
18 He looked back. The lone fire flickered quietly in the darkness, and no one could be seen near it now. The student thought again that if Vasilisa had wept, and her daughter had grown troubled, then what he had just been telling them, which had happened nineteen centuries ago, must have some relation to the present – to both women, and probably to this desolate village, to himself, to all people. If the old woman had wept, it was not because he knew how to tell a story movingly, but because Peter was close to her, and because she was interested with her whole being in what had happened in Peter’s soul.
Он оглянулся. Одинокий огонь спокойно мигал в темноте, и возле него уже не было видно людей. Студент опять подумал, что если Василиса заплакала, а ее дочь смутилась, то, очевидно, то, о чем он только что рассказывал, что происходило девятнадцать веков назад, имеет отношение к настоящему – к обеим женщинам и, вероятно, к этой пустынной деревне, к нему самому, ко всем людям. Если старуха заплакала, то не потому, что он умеет трогательно рассказывать, а потому, что Петр ей близок, и потому, что она всем своим существом заинтересована в том, что происходило в душе Петра.
19 And a sudden joy stirred in his heart, and he even stopped for a minute to catch his breath. The past, he thought, is linked to the present by an unbroken chain of events flowing one out of another. And it seemed to him that he had just seen both ends of that chain: he had touched one end, and the other had trembled.
И радость вдруг заволновалась в его душе, и он даже остановился на минуту, чтобы перевести дух. Прошлое, думал он, связано с настоящим непрерывною цепью событий, вытекавших одно из другого. И ему казалось, что он только что видел оба конца этой цепи: дотронулся до одного конца, как дрогнул другой.
20 And when he crossed the river on the ferry, and afterward, climbing the hill, looked at his native village and toward the west, where a narrow band of cold crimson sunset still glowed, he thought that truth and beauty, which had guided human life there, in the garden and in the high priest’s courtyard, had continued on unbroken to this very day, and had evidently always been the chief thing in human life and on earth altogether; and a feeling of youth, health, strength – he was only twenty-two – and an inexpressibly sweet expectation of happiness, an unknown, mysterious happiness, took hold of him little by little, and life seemed to him enchanting, wondrous, and full of lofty meaning.
А когда он переправлялся на пароме через реку и потом, поднимаясь на гору, глядел на свою родную деревню и на запад, где узкою полосой светилась холодная багровая заря, то думал о том, что правда и красота, направлявшие человеческую жизнь там, в саду и во дворе первосвященника, продолжались непрерывно до сего дня и, по-видимому, всегда составляли главное в человеческой жизни и вообще на земле; и чувство молодости, здоровья, силы, – ему было только 22 года, – и невыразимо сладкое ожидание счастья, неведомого, таинственного счастья овладевали им мало-помалу, и жизнь казалась ему восхитительной, чудесной и полной высокого смысла.
