Short Fiction by Anton Chekhov (libby ebook reader .txt) 📕

suppose they must remain standing as they are now till the morning,” thought Sofya Lvovna, and it seemed to her dark, cold, and dreary⁠—drearier than a graveyard. She looked with a feeling of dreariness at the still, motionless figures and suddenly felt a pang at her heart. For some reason, in one short nun, with thin shoulders and a black kerchief on her head, she recognised Olga, though when Olga went into the nunnery she had been plump and had looked taller. Hesitating and extremely agitated, Sofya Lvovna went up to the nun, and looking over her shoulder into her face, recognised her as Olga.

“Olga!” she cried, throwing up her hands, and could not speak from emotion. “Olga!”

The nun knew her at once; she raised her eyebrows in surprise, and her pale, freshly washed face, and even, it seemed, the white headcloth that she wore under her wimple, beamed with pleasure.

“What a miracle from God!” she said, and she, too, threw up her thin, pale little hands.

Sofya Lvovna hugged her and kissed her warmly, and was afraid as she did so that she might smell of spirits.

“We were just driving past, and we thought of you,” she said, breathing hard, as though she had been running. “Dear me! How pale you are! I⁠ ⁠… I’m very glad to see you. Well, tell me how are you? Are you dull?”

Sofya Lvovna looked round at the other nuns, and went on in a subdued voice:

“There’ve been so many changes at home⁠ ⁠… you know, I’m married to Colonel Yagitch. You remember him, no doubt.⁠ ⁠… I am very happy with him.”

“Well, thank God for that. And is your father quite well?”

“Yes, he is quite well. He often speaks of you. You must come and see us during the holidays, Olga, won’t you?”

“I will come,” said Olga, and she smiled. “I’ll come on the second day.”

Sofya Lvovna began crying, she did not know why, and for a minute she shed tears in silence, then she wiped her eyes and said:

“Rita will be very sorry not to have seen you. She is with us too. And Volodya’s here. They are close to the gate. How pleased they’d be if you’d come out and see them. Let’s go out to them; the service hasn’t begun yet.”

“Let us,” Olga agreed. She crossed herself three times and went out with Sofya Lvovna to the entrance.

“So you say you’re happy, Sonitchka?” she asked when they came out at the gate.

“Very.”

“Well, thank God for that.”

The two Volodyas, seeing the nun, got out of the sledge and greeted her respectfully. Both were visibly touched by her pale face and her black monastic dress, and both were pleased that she had remembered them and come to greet them. That she might not be cold, Sofya Lvovna wrapped her up in a rug and put one half of her fur coat round her. Her tears had relieved and purified her heart, and she was glad that this noisy, restless, and, in reality, impure night should unexpectedly end so purely and serenely. And to keep Olga by her a little longer she suggested:

“Let us take her for a drive! Get in, Olga; we’ll go a little way.”

The men expected the nun to refuse⁠—saints don’t dash about in three-horse sledges; but to their surprise, she consented and got into the sledge. And while the horses were galloping to the city gate all were silent, and only tried to make her warm and comfortable, and each of them was thinking of what she had been in the past and what she was now. Her face was now passionless, inexpressive, cold, pale, and transparent, as though there were water, not blood, in her veins. And two or three years ago she had been plump and rosy, talking about her suitors and laughing at every trifle.

Near the city gate the sledge turned back; when it stopped ten minutes later near the nunnery, Olga got out of the sledge. The bell had begun to ring more rapidly.

“The Lord save you,” said Olga, and she bowed low as nuns do.

“Mind you come, Olga.”

“I will, I will.”

She went and quickly disappeared through the gateway. And when after that they drove on again, Sofya Lvovna felt very sad. Everyone was silent. She felt dispirited and weak all over. That she should have made a nun get into a sledge and drive in a company hardly sober seemed to her now stupid, tactless, and almost sacrilegious. As the intoxication passed off, the desire to deceive herself passed away also. It was clear to her now that she did not love her husband, and never could love him, and that it all had been foolishness and nonsense. She had married him from interested motives, because, in the words of her school friends, he was madly rich, and because she was afraid of becoming an old maid like Rita, and because she was sick of her father, the doctor, and wanted to annoy Volodya.

If she could have imagined when she got married, that it would be so oppressive, so dreadful, and so hideous, she would not have consented to the marriage for all the wealth in the world. But now there was no setting it right. She must make up her mind to it.

They reached home. Getting into her warm, soft bed, and pulling the bedclothes over her, Sofya Lvovna recalled the dark church, the smell of incense, and the figures by the columns, and she felt frightened at the thought that these figures would be standing there all the while she was asleep. The early service would be very, very long; then there would be “the hours,” then the mass, then the service of the day.

“But of course there is a God⁠—there certainly is a God; and I shall have to die, so that sooner or later one must think of one’s soul, of eternal life, like Olga. Olga is saved now; she has settled all questions for herself.⁠ ⁠… But if there is no God? Then