The Shooting Party

by Anton Chekhov

  Nadezhda glanced at me with her limpid eyes and smiled cheerfully, just as though she could read the sincerity in my face.

  ‘What are they saying?’ she asked.

  ‘That your Papa and yourself are trying to hook the Count and that in the end the Count will make fools of you.’

  ‘They talk like that because they don’t know the Count,’ Nadezhda flared up. ‘Those shameless, slandering women! They’re used to seeing only the bad side of people. The good things are beyond their comprehension!’

  ‘And did you find anything good in him?’

  ‘Yes, I did! You’re the first who should know that I would never have let him come anywhere near me if I hadn’t been convinced of his honourable intentions.’

  ‘So, things with you two have already come to “honourable intentions”,’ I said in surprise. ‘Soon… But why have you got “honourable intentions” into your head?’

  ‘You’d like to know?’ she asked – and her eyes sparkled. ‘Those scandalmongers aren’t lying. I do want to marry him! Now, don’t look so surprised – and don’t smile! You’ll be telling me next that marrying without love is dishonest and all the rest of it… all that’s been said a thousand times before but… what can I do? It’s very hard, feeling that you’re no more than a piece of unwanted furniture in this world. It’s terrible living without any purpose. But when this man whom you dislike so much has made me his wife, I shall have a purpose in life. I shall reform him, make him stop drinking, teach him to work. Just take a look at him! He doesn’t look anything like a man at the moment – but I shall make a man of him!’

  ‘Etcetera, etcetera,’ I said. ‘You’ll take care of his vast fortune, you’ll do good deeds… The whole district will bless you and look upon you as an angel sent from on high to comfort the wretched. You’ll be a mother, you’ll bring up his children… Yes, it’s a massive undertaking! You’re an intelligent woman, but you reason like a schoolgirl!’

  ‘Well, what if my idea is useless, what if it is ludicrous and naive – the fact is, I live by it. Under its influence I’ve become healthier and more cheerful. Now, please don’t disillusion me! Let me disillusion myself, but not now – some other time, later, in the distant future… Enough of this conversation!’

  ‘Just one more indiscreet question – are you expecting a proposal?’

  ‘Yes, judging from the note I received from him today my fate will be decided this evening. He writes that he has something very important to say. His whole future happiness will depend on my reply, he says.’

  ‘Thanks for being so frank,’ I replied.

  The meaning of that note which Nadezhda received was quite clear to me. A vile proposal was awaiting that poor girl. I decided to free her from it.

  ‘We’ve already reached my forest,’ said the Count, drawing level with our wagonette. ‘Would you like to stop for a while, Nadezhda Nikolayevna?’

  Without waiting for an answer he clapped his hands.

  ‘Sto-op!’ he ordered in a loud, reverberant voice.

  We settled ourselves along the edge of the forest. The sun had disappeared behind the trees, colouring with golden purple only the crowns of the loftiest alders and playing on the golden cross of the Count’s church that was visible in the distance. Frightened merlins and orioles flew over our heads. One of the men fired his rifle and struck even more fear into that feathered kingdom, setting off an untiring avian concert. This kind of concert has its own peculiar charm in spring and summer, but when one senses the coming of chilly autumn in the air it irritates the nerves and hints at fast-approaching migration.

  The freshness of evening wafted from the thick woods. The ladies’ noses turned blue and the Count (who was sensitive to the cold) started rubbing his hands. Nothing could have been more appropriate than the smell of samovar charcoal and the clatter of crockery. One-eyed Kuzma, puffing and panting, and entangling himself in the long grass, brought out a case of brandy. We started warming ourselves.

  A lengthy walk in cool, fresh air stimulates the appetite better than any artificial appetizer. After a long walk, cured sturgeon, caviare, roast partridge and other victuals delight the eye, like roses on an early spring morning.

  ‘You’re very clever today!’ I told the Count, cutting myself a slice of sturgeon. ‘Cleverer than ever before. You couldn’t have arranged things better!’

  ‘The Count and I arranged it together,’ tittered Kalinin, winking at the coachmen who were carrying hampers of food, wine and crockery from the wagonettes. ‘It’s going to be a wonderful little picnic! And we’re going to round it off with bubbly!’

  The JP’s face at this moment beamed with contentment as never before. Was he thinking that a proposal would be made to his Nadezhda that same evening? Wasn’t that his reason for stocking up with champagne to toast the young couple? I stared at his face, but as usual all I could read in it was immeasurable contentment, repletion – and a dull pomposity that suffused his entire portly figure.

  Cheerfully we attacked the savouries. Only two of the company were indifferent towards the sumptuous banquet that lay spread out before us on some rugs – Olga and Nadezhda Nikolayevna. The first stood to one side, leaning on the back of the wagonette without moving or saying a word as she gazed at the game bag that the Count had thrown to the ground; the wounded woodcock was tossing about in it. Olga was following the unfortunate bird’s movements and seemed to be waiting for it to die. Nadezhda was sitting next to me, looking indifferently at the mouths of the picnickers who had been eating away so cheerfully.

  ‘When will it all end?’ her weary eyes said.

  I offered her a caviare sandwich. She thanked me and put it to one side. Obviously she didn’t feel like eating.

  ‘Olga Nikolayevna! Why don’t you sit down?’ the Count shouted to her.

  Olga didn’t reply and continued standing there as still as a statue, watching the bird.

  ‘What heartless people there are,’ I said, going over to Olga. ‘How can you, a woman, calmly watch the sufferings of that woodcock? Instead of observing its contortions you’d better give orders for it to be put out of its misery.’

  ‘Others suffer, so let it suffer too,’ Olga said, without looking at me and knitting her eyebrows.

  ‘But who else is suffering?’

  ‘Leave me in peace,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I don’t feel like talking to you today – nor with that idiotic Count of yours! Now go away from me!’

  She glanced at me with eyes that were full of anger and tears. Her face was pale, her lips were trembling.

  ‘What a change!’ I said, picking up the game bag and dispatching the woodcock. ‘What a tone! I’m stunned, simply stunned!’

  ‘Leave me in peace, I’m telling you. I’m in no mood for jokes!’

  ‘What’s the matter, my enchantress?’

  Olga looked me up and down and turned her back on me.

  ‘Only dissolute women, prostitutes, are spoken to in that tone of voice,’ she said. ‘You consider me one of them… well then, go back to your saintly women friends! In this place I’m worse, viler than anyone else. When you were riding with that virtuous Nadezhda you were too afraid to look at me. Well, go back to them, what are you waiting for? Go!’

  ‘Yes, you’re the worst, the lowest of the lot in this place,’ I said, feeling that anger was gradually gaining the upper hand. ‘Yes, you’re dissolute and mercenary.’

  ‘I remember when you offered me that damned money… I didn’t understand what it meant at the time, but I do now.’

  Anger gripped my whole being – and this anger was as strong as the love that had once begun to stir within me for the girl in red. After all, what person, what stone would have remained indifferent? Before me I saw beauty that had been cast by merciless fate into the mire. Neither youth, beauty nor grace had been spared. And now, when that woman struck me as more beautiful than ever, I felt what a great loss Nature had sustained in her – and an agonizing feeling of rage at the injustice
of fate and the order of things filled my heart.

  In moments of anger I am unable to control myself. I simply don’t know what else Olga would have had to listen to had she not turned her back on me and walked off. She walked slowly towards the trees and soon disappeared behind them. She seemed to be crying.

  ‘My dear ladies, my dear gentlemen!’ I heard Kalinin say as he embarked on his speech. ‘On this day, when we are all gathered here to… to unite together… Here we are, all assembled together, we all know one another, we are all enjoying ourselves and for this long-awaited union we are indebted to none other than our luminary, the shining star of our province… Now, please don’t be embarrassed, Count! The ladies understand whom I’m talking about. Heeheehee! Well, to continue. Since we owe all of this to our enlightened, to our youthful… our youthful Count Karneyev, I propose a toast to… But who’s that coming this way? Who is it?’

  A carriage was bowling along from the direction of the Count’s estate towards the clearing where we were sitting.

  ‘Who can that be?’ the Count said in amazement, training his field glasses on the carriage. ‘Hm… strange… It must be some people passing by. Oh no! I can see Kaetan Kazimirovich’s ugly mug. Who’s that with him?’

  Suddenly the Count leapt up as if he’d been stung. His face turned deathly pale, the field glasses fell from his hands, his eyes darted about like those of a trapped mouse and – as if pleading for help – came to rest, first on me, then on Nadezhda. Not everyone noticed his confusion, since most people’s attention was distracted by the approaching carriage.

  ‘Seryozha! Come over here for a moment!’ he whispered, seizing my arm and leading me to one side. ‘My dear chap, I beg you, as the best of friends, as the best of men… no questions, no inquiring looks, no surprise! I’ll tell you everything later. I swear that not one iota of this will be kept a secret from you. There’s been such a calamity in my life, such a terrible disaster, that I simply cannot describe it to you. You’ll know everything later, but for the moment – no questions! Help me!’

  Meanwhile the carriage came nearer and nearer… Finally it stopped and our Count’s stupid secret became the property of the whole district. Out of the carriage stepped Pshekhotsky, puffing and smiling, and clad in a new light-brown tussore49 silk suit. After him a young lady of about twenty-three nimbly sprang out. She was a tall, shapely blonde, with regular but unpleasant features and dark-blue eyes. All I can remember is those blue, expressionless eyes, that powdered nose, that heavy but sumptuous dress and several massive bracelets on each arm… I remember the smell of evening damp and spilt brandy yielding to the pungent odour of some kind of perfume.

  ‘So many people here!’ the strange lady said in broken Russian. ‘You must all be having gay old time! Hullo, Aleksis!’

  She went over to Aleksis and offered him her cheek. The Count quickly gave her a smacking kiss and anxiously surveyed his guests.

  ‘May I introduce my wife,’ he mumbled. ‘And these, Sozya, are my good friends. Hm… I’ve a bad cough…’

  ‘I’ve only just arrived, but Kaetan keeps telling me that I should rest. I ask you why should I rest if I slept whole way? I’d much rather go shooting! So I dressed myself and here I am! Kaetan, where’s my cigarettes?’

  Pshekhotsky sprang forward and handed the blonde his gold cigarette case.

  ‘He’s my brother-in-law,’ the Count continued mumbling, pointing to Pshekhotsky. ‘But please help me,’ he went on, jogging my elbow. ‘Help me out of this, for God’s sake!’

  They say that Kalinin suddenly came over bad and that Nadezhda wanted to help him but was unable to get up from her seat. They say that many people rushed to their carriages and drove off. I saw none of this. I do remember going into the forest, trying to find the path, not looking ahead and going where my legs took me.*

  Bits of sticky clay hung from my legs and I was covered in mud when I emerged from the forest. Most probably I had to leap across a stream, but that’s something I cannot remember. I felt so exhausted, so worn out, it was as if I’d been severely beaten with sticks. I should have gone straight back to the Count’s estate, mounted Zorka and ridden off. But this I didn’t do and I set off home on foot. I couldn’t bear to see either the Count or his damned estate.†

  My path lay along the banks of the lake. That watery monster had already begun to roar its evening song. Lofty, white-crested waves covered its entire, vast expanse. There was a rumbling and booming in the air. A cold, damp wind penetrated to my bones. To the left was the angry lake, while from the right came the monotonous noise of the grim forest. I felt that I was face to face with Nature, as if I were confronting someone in court. It seemed that all its anger, all those noises, all that bellowing, were intended for me alone. In any other circumstances I might have felt apprehensive, but now I barely noticed the giants that surrounded me. What was Nature’s wrath in comparison with the storm that was raging within me?*

  XIX

  Back home I collapsed into bed without even undressing.

  ‘At it again, you shameless man – swimming in the lake fully dressed!’ growled Polikarp as he pulled off my wet and muddy clothes. ‘Again I have to suffer! You think you’re a gentleman, an educated man, but you’re worse than any chimney sweep! I don’t know what they taught you at university.’

  Unable to stand either human voices or faces, I wanted to shout at Polikarp to leave me in peace, but my words stuck in my throat. My tongue was as weak and exhausted as the rest of my body. However agonizing the ordeal, I still had to let Polikarp pull all my clothes off – even down to my drenched underwear.

  ‘You could at least turn over!’ my servant grumbled, rolling me from side to side like a small doll. ‘Tomorrow I’m handing in my notice! No, no – not for all the money in the world – I’ll be damned if I stay here any longer. This old fool’s had enough!’

  Fresh, warm linen didn’t warm up or relax me. I was trembling so violently with rage and fear that my teeth were chattering. But I could find no explanation for this fear. Neither apparitions nor ghosts had ever scared me – not even the portrait of my predecessor Pospelov hanging over my head: he never took his lifeless eyes off me and seemed to be winking. But I wasn’t in the least ruffled when I looked at him. Although my future wasn’t crystal clear, I could say with a high degree of probability that nothing was threatening me, that no black clouds were near. Death was still far off, I had no serious illnesses and I attached no significance to personal disasters. So, what was I afraid of and why were my teeth chattering?

  Nor was I able to explain the reason for my anger. It couldn’t have been the Count’s ‘secret’ that infuriated me so much. Neither the Count nor his marriage, which he had concealed from me, was any concern of mine. All that remains is to explain my state of mind at the time as shattered nerves and exhaustion. Any other explanation is beyond me.

  When Polikarp had left I covered myself up to the head with the intention of sleeping. It was dark and quiet. My parrot kept turning restlessly in its cage and I could hear the regular ticking of the wall clock in Polikarp’s room. Everywhere else there reigned peace and quiet. Physical and moral exhaustion prevailed and I began to doze off. I felt that some great weight was gradually being lifted from me, that those hateful images were giving way in my consciousness to clouds of mist… I remember that I even began to have dreams. I dreamt that on one bright winter’s morning I was walking along Nevsky Prospekt50 in St Petersburg, looking into shop windows for want of something to do. I felt cheerful, gay at heart. I had no reason to hurry anywhere, I had nothing to do – complete freedom, in fact. The realization that I was far from my village, from the Count’s estate and from that cold angry lake, put me in an even more relaxed and cheerful frame of mind. I stopped by the largest shop window and started inspecting women’s hats. These hats were familiar to me. I had seen Olga wearing one of them, Nadezhda another; a third I had seen on the day of the shooting party on the fair head of Sozya, who had arrive
d so unexpectedly. Under these hats familiar faces began to smile at me. When I wanted to tell them something all three merged into one large, red face. This face rolled its eyes angrily and stuck its tongue out. Someone squeezed my neck from behind.

  ‘A husband murdered his wife!’ the red face shouted. I shuddered, cried out and jumped out of bed as if I had been stung. My heart beat violently and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

  ‘A husband murdered his wife!’ repeated the parrot. ‘Now, give me some sugar! How stupid you are. You fool!’

  ‘It’s only the parrot,’ I said, calming myself as I lay down again on my bed… Thank God…’

  Then I heard a monotonous murmur – it was the rain pattering on the roof. The clouds that I had seen in the west when I was walking along the banks of the lake had now filled the whole sky. Faint flashes of lightning illuminated the portrait of the late Pospelov; thunder rumbled right over my head.

  The last storm this summer, I thought.

  I remember one of the first storms. Exactly the same kind of thunder had once rumbled in the forest when I had visited the forester’s house for the first time. The girl in red and I had stood by the window then, watching the lightning illuminate the pine trees. Fear shone in the eyes of that beautiful creature. She told me that her mother had been struck by lightning and that she herself was thirsting for a dramatic death. She would have liked to dress just like the richest lady aristocrats in the district. Luxurious dresses went well with her beauty, she felt. Conscious and proud of her delusions of grandeur, she wanted to ascend Stone Grave – there to die a dramatic death!