THE TALES OF CHEKHOV
VOLUME 1
THE DARLING AND OTHER STORIES
BY
ANTON TCHEKHOV
Translated by CONSTANCE GARNETT
CONTENTS
THE DARLING
ARIADNE
POLINKA
ANYUTA
THE TWO VOLODYAS
THE TROUSSEAU
THE HELPMATE
TALENT
AN ARTIST'S STORY
THREE YEARS
THE DARLING
OLENKA, the daughter of the retired collegiate assessor, Plemyanniakov,was sitting in her back porch, lost in thought. It was hot, theflies were persistent and teasing, and it was pleasant to reflectthat it would soon be evening. Dark rainclouds were gathering fromthe east, and bringing from time to time a breath of moisture inthe air.
Kukin, who was the manager of an open-air theatre called the Tivoli,and who lived in the lodge, was standing in the middle of the gardenlooking at the sky.
"Again!" he observed despairingly. "It's going to rain again! Rainevery day, as though to spite me. I might as well hang myself! It'sruin! Fearful losses every day."
He flung up his hands, and went on, addressing Olenka:
"There! that's the life we lead, Olga Semyonovna. It's enough tomake one cry. One works and does one's utmost, one wears oneselfout, getting no sleep at night, and racks one's brain what to dofor the best. And then what happens? To begin with, one's publicis ignorant, boorish. I give them the very best operetta, a daintymasque, first rate music-hall artists. But do you suppose that'swhat they want! They don't understand anything of that sort. Theywant a clown; what they ask for is vulgarity. And then look at theweather! Almost every evening it rains. It started on the tenth ofMay, and it's kept it up all May and June. It's simply awful! Thepublic doesn't come, but I've to pay the rent just the same, andpay the artists."
The next evening the clouds would gather again, and Kukin would saywith an hysterical laugh:
"Well, rain away, then! Flood the garden, drown me! Damn my luckin this world and the next! Let the artists have me up! Send me toprison!--to Siberia!--the scaffold! Ha, ha, ha!"
And next day the same thing.
Olenka listened to Kukin with silent gravity, and sometimes tearscame into her eyes. In the end his misfortunes touched her; shegrew to love him. He was a small thin man, with a yellow face, andcurls combed forward on his forehead. He spoke in a thin tenor; ashe talked his mouth worked on one side, and there was always anexpression of despair on his face; yet he aroused a deep and genuineaffection in her. She was always fond of some one, and could notexist without loving. In earlier days she had loved her papa, whonow sat in a darkened room, breathing with difficulty; she had lovedher aunt who used to come every other year from Bryansk; and beforethat, when she was at school, she had loved her French master. Shewas a gentle, soft-hearted, compassionate girl, with mild, tendereyes and very good health. At the sight of her full rosy cheeks,her soft white neck with a little dark mole on it, and the kind,naïve smile, which came into her face when she listened to anythingpleasant, men thought, "Yes, not half bad," and smiled too, whilelady vis