The Witch and other stories(女巫)

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THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES

THE WITCH AND

OTHER STORIES

ANTON CHEKHOV

THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES

THE WITCH

IT was approaching nightfall. The sexton, Savely Gykin, was lying in

his huge bed in the hut adjoining the church. He was not asleep, though it

was his habit to go to sleep at the same time as the hens. His coarse red

hair peeped from under one end of the greasy patchwork quilt, made up of

coloured rags, while his big unwashed feet stuck out from the other. He

was listening. His hut adjoined the wall that encircled the church and the

solitary window in it looked out upon the open country. And out there a

regular battle was going on. It was hard to say who was being wiped off

the face of the earth, and for the sake of whose destruction nature was

being churned up into such a ferment; but, judging from the unceasing

malignant roar, someone was getting it very hot. A victorious force was in

full chase over the fields, storming in the forest and on the church roof,

battering spitefully with its fists upon the windows, raging and tearing,

while something vanquished was howling and wailing. . . . A plaintive

lament sobbed at the window, on the roof, or in the stove. It sounded not

like a call for help, but like a cry of misery, a consciousness that it was too

late, that there was no salvation. The snowdrifts were covered with a thin

coating of ice; tears quivered on them and on the trees; a dark slush of

mud and melting snow flowed along the roads and paths. In short, it was

thawing, but through the dark night the heavens failed to see it, and flung

flakes of fresh snow upon the melting earth at a terrific rate. And the wind

staggered like a drunkard. It would not let the snow settle on the ground,

and whirled it round in the darkness at random.

Savely listened to all this din and frowned. The fact was that he knew,

or at any rate suspected, what all this racket outside the window was

tending to and whose handiwork it was.

"I know!" he muttered, shaking his finger menacingly under the

bedclothes; "I know all about it."

On a stool by the window sat the sexton's wife, Raissa Nilovna. A tin

lamp standing on another stool, as though timid and distrustful of its

powers, shed a dim and flickering light on her broad shoulders, on the

handsome, tempting-looking contours of her person, and on her thick plait,

THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES

which reached to the floor. She was making sacks out of coarse hempen

stuff. Her hands moved nimbly, while her whole body, her eyes, her

eyebrows, her full lips, her white neck were as still as though they were

asleep, absorbed in the monotonous, mechanical toil. Only from time to

time she raised her head to rest her weary neck, glanced for a moment

towards the window, beyond which the snowstorm was raging, and bent

again over her sacking. No desire, no joy, no grief, nothing was expressed

by her handsome face with its turned-up nose and its dimples. So a

beautiful fountain expresses nothing when it is not playing.

But at last she had finished a sack. She flung it aside, and, stretching

luxuriously, rested her motionless, lack-lustre eyes on the window. The

panes were swimming with drops like tears, and white with short-lived

snowflakes which fell on the window, glanced at Raissa, and melted. . . .

"Come to bed!" growled the sexton. Raissa remained mute. But

suddenly her eyelashes flickered and there was a gleam of attention in her

eye. Savely, all the time watching her expression from under the quilt, put

out his head and asked:

"What is it?"

"Nothing. . . . I fancy someone's coming," she answered quietly.

The sexton flung the quilt off with his arms and legs, knelt up in bed,

and looked blankly at his wife. The timid light of the lamp illuminated his

hirsute, pock-marked countenance and glided over his rough matted hair.

"Do you hear?" asked his wife.

Through the monotonous roar of the storm he caught a scarcely

audible thin and jingling monotone like the shrill note of a gnat when it

wants to settle on one's cheek and is angry at being prevented.

"It's the post," muttered Savely, squatting on his heels.

Two miles from the church ran the posting road. In windy weather,

when the wind was blowing from the road to the church, the inmates of

the hut caught the sound of bells.

"Lord! fancy people wanting to drive about in such weather," sighed

Raissa.

"It's government work. You've to go whether you like or not."

The murmur hung in the air and died away.

THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES

"It has driven by," said Savely, getting into bed.

But before he had time to cover himself up with the bedclothes he

heard a distinct sound of the bell. The sexton looked anxiously at his wife,

leapt out of bed and walked, waddling, to and fro by the stove. The bell

went on ringing for a little, then died away again as though it had ceased.

"I don't hear it," said the sexton, stopping and looking at his wife with

his eyes screwed up.

But at that moment the wind rapped on the window and with it floated

a shrill jingling note. Savely turned pale, cleared his throat, and flopped

about the floor with his bare feet again.

"The postman is lost in the storm," he wheezed out glancing

malignantly at his wife. "Do you hear? The postman has lost his way! . .

I . . . I know! Do you suppose I . . don't understand? " he muttered. "I

know all about it, curse you!"

"What do you know?" Raissa asked quietly, keeping her eyes fixed on

the window.

"I know that it's all your doing, you she-devil! Your doing, damn you!

This snowstorm and the post going wrong, you've done it all -- you!"

"You're mad, you silly," his wife answered calmly.

"I've been watching you for a long time past and I've seen it. From the

first day I married you I noticed that you'd bitch's blood in you!"

"Tfoo!" said Raissa, surprised, shrugging her shoulders and crossing

herself. "Cross yourself, you fool!"

"A witch is a witch," Savely pronounced in a hollow, tearful voice,

hurriedly blowing his nose on the hem of his shirt; "though you are my

wife, though you are of a clerical family, I'd say what you are even at

confession. . . . Why, God have mercy upon us! Last year on the Eve of the

Prophet Daniel and the Three Young Men there was a snowstorm, and

what happened then? The mechanic came in to warm himself. Then on St.

Alexey's Day the ice broke on the river and the district policeman turned

up, and he was chatting with you all night . . . the damned brute! And

when he came out in the morning and I looked at him, he had rings under

his eyes and his cheeks were hollow! Eh? During the August fast there

were two storms and each time the huntsman turned up. I saw it all, damn

THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES

him! Oh, she is redder than a crab now, aha!"

"You didn't see anything."

"Didn't I! And this winter before Christmas on the Day of the Ten

Martyrs of Crete, when the storm lasted for a whole day and night -- do

you remember? -- the marshal's clerk was lost, and turned up here, the

hound. . . . Tfoo! To be tempted by the clerk! It was worth upsetting God's

weather for him! A drivelling scribbler, not a foot from the ground,

pimples all over his mug and his neck awry! If he were good-looking,

anyway -- but he, tfoo! he is as ugly as Satan!"

The sexton took breath, wiped his lips and listened. The bell was not to

be heard, but the wind banged on the roof, and again there came a tinkle in

the darkness.

"And it's the same thing now!" Savely went on. "It's not for nothing

the postman is lost! Blast my eyes if the postman isn't looking for you! Oh,

the devil is a good hand at his work; he is a fine one to help! He will turn

him round and round and bring him here. I know, I see! You can't conceal

it, you devil's bauble, you heathen wanton! As soon as the storm began I

knew what you were up to."

"Here's a fool!" smiled his wife. "Why, do you suppose, you thick-

head, that I make the storm?"

"H'm! . . . Grin away! Whether it's your doing or not, I only know that

when your blood's on fire there's sure to be bad weather, and when there's

bad weather there's bound to be some crazy fellow turning up here. It

happens so every time! So it must be you!"

To be more impressive the sexton put his finger to his forehead, closed

his left eye, and said in a singsong voice:

"Oh, the madness! oh, the unclean Judas! If you really are a human

being and not a witch, you ought to think what if he is not the mechanic,

or the clerk, or the huntsman, but the devil in their form! Ah! You'd better

think of that!"

"Why, you are stupid, Savely," said his wife, looking at him

compassionately. "When father was alive and living here, all sorts of

people used to come to him to be cured of the ague: from the village, and

the hamlets, and the Armenian settlement. They came almost every day,

THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES

and no one called them devils. But if anyone once a year comes in bad

weather to warm himself, you wonder at it, you silly, and take all sorts of

notions into your head at once."

His wife's logic touched Savely. He stood with his bare feet wide apart,

bent his head, and pondered. He was not firmly convinced yet of the truth

of his suspicions, and his wife's genuine and unconcerned tone quite

disconcerted him. Yet after a moment's thought he wagged his head and

said:

"It's not as though they were old men or bandy-legged cripples; it's

always young men who want to come for the night. . . . Why is that? And

if they only wanted to warm themselves ---- But they are up to mischief.

No, woman; there's no creature in this world as cunning as your female

sort! Of real brains you've not an ounce, less than a starling, but for

devilish slyness -- oo-oo-oo! The Queen of Heaven protect us! There is the

postman's bell! When the storm was only beginning I knew all that was in

your mind. That's your witchery, you spider!"

"Why do you keep on at me, you heathen?" His wife lost her patience

at last. "Why do you keep sticking to it like pitch?"

"I stick to it because if anything -- God forbid -- happens to-night . . .

do you hear? . . . if anything happens to-night, I'll go straight off to-

morrow morning to Father Nikodim and tell him all about it. 'Father

Nikodim,' I shall say, 'graciously excuse me, but she is a witch.' 'Why so?'

'H'm! do you want to know why?' 'Certainly. . . .' And I shall tell him. And

woe to you, woman! Not only at the dread Seat of Judgment, but in your

earthly life you'll be punished, too! It's not for nothing there are prayers in

the breviary against your kind!"

Suddenly there was a knock at the window, so loud and unusual that

Savely turned pale and almost dropped backwards with fright. His wife

jumped up, and she, too, turned pale.

"For God's sake, let us come in and get warm!" they heard in a

trembling deep bass. "Who lives here? For mercy's sake! We've lost our

way."

"Who are you?" asked Raissa, afraid to look at the window.

"The post," answered a second voice.

THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES

"You've succeeded with your devil's tricks," said Savely with a wave

of his hand. "No mistake; I am right! Well, you'd better look out!"

The sexton jumped on to the bed in two skips, stretched himself on the

feather mattress, and sniffing angrily, turned with his face to the wall.

Soon he felt a draught of cold air on his back. The door creaked and the

tall figure of a man, plastered over with snow from head to foot, appeared

in the doorway. Behind him could be seen a second figure as white.

"Am I to bring in the bags?" asked the second in a hoarse bass voice.

"You can't leave them there." Saying this, the first figure began

untying his hood, but gave it up, and pulling it off impatiently with his cap,

angrily flung it near the stove. Then taking off his greatcoat, he threw that

down beside it, and, without saying good-evening, began pacing up and

down the hut.

He was a fair-haired, young postman wearing a shabby uniform and

black rusty-looking high boots. After warming himself by walking to and

fro, he sat down at the table, stretched out his muddy feet towards the

sacks and leaned his chin on his fist. His pale face, reddened in places by

the cold, still bore vivid traces of the pain and terror he had just been

through. Though distorted by anger and bearing traces of recent suffering,

physical and moral, it was handsome in spite of the melting snow on the

eyebrows, moustaches, and short beard.

"It's a dog's life!" muttered the postman, looking round the walls and

seeming hardly able to believe that he was in the warmth. "We were nearly

lost! If it had not been for your light, I don't know what would have

happened. Goodness only knows when it will all be over! There's no end

to this dog's life! Where have we come?" he asked, dropping his voice and

raising his eyes to the sexton's wife.

"To the Gulyaevsky Hill on General Kalinovsky's estate," she

answered, startled and blushing.

"Do you hear, Stepan?" The postman turned to the driver, who was

wedged in the doorway with a huge mail-bag on his shoulders. "We've got

to Gulyaevsky Hill."

"Yes . . . we're a long way out." Jerking out these words like a hoarse

sigh, the driver went out and soon after returned with another bag, then

THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES

went out once more and this time brought the postman's sword on a big

belt, of the pattern of that long flat blade with which Judith is portrayed by

the bedside of Holofernes in cheap woodcuts. Laying the bags along the

wall, he went out into the outer room, sat down there and lighted his pipe.

"Perhaps you'd like some tea after your journey?" Raissa inquired.

"How can we sit drinking tea?" said the postman, frowning. "We must

make haste and get warm, and then set off, or we shall be late for the mail

train. We'll stay ten minutes and then get on our way. Only be so good as

to show us the way."

"What an infliction it is, this weather!" sighed Raissa.

"H'm, yes. . . . Who may you be?"

"We? We live here, by the church. . . . We belong to the clergy. . . .

There lies my husband. Savely, get up and say good-evening! This used to

be a separate parish till eighteen months ago. Of course, when the gentry

lived here there were more people, and it was worth while to have the

services. But now the gentry have gone, and I need not tell you there's

nothing for the clergy to live on. The nearest village is Markovka, and

that's over three miles away. Savely is on the retired list now, and has got

the watchman's job; he has to look after the church. . . ."

And the postman was immediately informed that if Savely were to go

to the General's lady and ask her for a letter to the bishop, he would be

given a good berth. "But he doesn't go to the General's lady because he is

lazy and afraid of people. We belong to the clergy all the same . . ." added

Raissa.

"What do you live on?" asked the postman.

"There's a kitchen garden and a meadow belonging to the church. Only

we don't get much from that," sighed Raissa. "The old skinflint, Father

Nikodim, from the next village celebrates here on St. Nicolas' Day in the

winter and on St. Nicolas' Day in the summer, and for that he takes almost

all the crops for himself. There's no one to stick up for us!"

"You are lying," Savely growled hoarsely. "Father Nikodim is a saintly

soul, a luminary of the Church; and if he does take it, it's the regulation!"

"You've a cross one!" said the postman, with a grin. "Have you been

married long?"

THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES

"It was three years ago the last Sunday before Lent. My father was

sexton here in the old days, and when the time came for him to die, he

went to the Consistory and asked them to send some unmarried man to

marry me that I might keep the place. So I married him."

"Aha, so you killed two birds with one stone!" said the postman,

looking at Savely's back. "Got wife and job together."

Savely wriggled his leg impatiently and moved closer to the wall. The

postman moved away from the table, stretched, and sat down on the mail-

bag. After a moment's thought he squeezed the bags with his hands,

shifted his sword to the other side, and lay down with one foot touching

the floor.

"It's a dog's life," he muttered, putting his hands behind his head and

closing his eyes. "I wouldn't wish a wild Tatar such a life."

Soon everything was still. Nothing was audible except the sniffing of

Savely and the slow, even breathing of the sleeping po stman, who uttered

a deep prolonged "h-h-h" at every breath. From time to time there was a

sound like a creaking wheel in his throat, and his twitching foot rustled

against the bag.

Savely fidgeted under the quilt and looked round slowly. His wife was

sitting on the stool, and with her hands pressed against her cheeks was

gazing at the postman's face. Her face was immovable, like the face of

some one frightened and astonished.

"Well, what are you gaping at?" Savely whispered angrily.

"What is it to you? Lie down!" answered his wife without taking her

eyes off the flaxen head.

Savely angrily puffed all the air out of his chest and turned abruptly to

the wall. Three minutes later he turned over restlessly again, knelt up on

the bed, and with his hands on the pillow looked askance at his wife. She

was still sitting motionless, staring at the visitor. Her cheeks were pale and

her eyes were glowing with a strange fire. The sexton cleared his throat,

crawled on his stomach off the bed, and going up to the postman, put a

handkerchief over his face.

"What's that for?" asked his wife.

"To keep the light out of his eyes."

THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES

"Then put out the light!"

Savely looked distrustfully at his wife, put out his lips towards the

lamp, but at once thought better of it and clasped his hands.

"Isn't that devilish cunning?" he exclaimed. "Ah! Is there any creature

slyer than womenkind?"

"Ah, you long-skirted devil!" hissed his wife, frowning with vexation.

"You wait a bit!"

And settling herself more comfortably, she stared at the postman

again.

It did not matter to her that his face was covered. She was not so much

interested in his face as in his whole appearance, in the novelty of this man.

His chest was broad and powerful, his hands were slender and well formed,

and his graceful, muscular legs were much comelier than Savely's stumps.

There could be no comparison, in fact.

"Though I am a long-skirted devil," Savely said after a brief interval,

"they've no business to sleep here. . . . It's government work; we shall have

to answer for keeping them. If you carry the letters, carry them, you can't

go to sleep. . . . Hey! you!" Savely shouted into the outer room. "You,

driver. What's your name? Shall I show you the way? Get up; postmen

mustn't sleep!"

And Savely, thoroughly roused, ran up to the postman and tugged him

by the sleeve.

"Hey, your honour, if you must go, go; and if you don't, it's not the

thing. . . . Sleeping won't do."

The postman jumped up, sat down, looked with blank eyes round the

hut, and lay down again.

"But when are you going?" Savely pattered away. "That's what the

post is for -- to get there in good time, do you hear? I'll take you."

The postman opened his eyes. Warmed and relaxed by his first sweet

sleep, and not yet quite awake, he saw as through a mist the white neck

and the immovable, alluring eyes of the sexton's wife. He closed his eyes

and smiled as though he had been dreaming it all.

"Come, how can you go in such weather!" he heard a soft feminine

voice; "you ought to have a sound sleep and it would do you good!"

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THEWITCHANDOTHERSTORIES1THEWITCHANDOTHERSTORIESANTONCHEKHOVTHEWITCHANDOTHERSTORIES2THEWITCHITwasapproachingnightfall.Thesexton,SavelyGykin,waslyinginhishugebedinthehutadjoiningthechurch.Hewasnotasleep,thoughitwashishabittogotosleepatthesametimeasthehens.Hiscoarseredhairpeepedfromunderoneendofthegrea...

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