The Party and other stories

d talking incessantly, the clatter of the crockery, the stupidity of the servants, the long intervals between the courses, and the stays she had put on to conceal her condition from the vis

nd the image of a little creature of undetermined sex and undefined features, and it began to seem as though it were not the spider’s web that tickled her face and neck caressingly, but that little creature. When, at the end of the path, a thin wicker hurdle came into sight, and behind it podgy beeh

of women. Her husband, as usual, argued in order to show off his Conservative ideas before his visitors — and still more in order to disagree with her uncle, whom he disliked. Her uncle contradicted him and wrangled over every word he uttered, so as to show the company that he, Uncle Nikolay Nikolaitch, still retained his youthful freshness of spirit and free-thinking in spite of his fifty-nine years. And towards the end of dinner even Olga Mihalovna her

ain, but in spite of that it was hot and stifling. The hay cut under the trees on the previous day was lying ungathered, looking melancholy, with here and there a

voices; some one was coming alo

minine voice. “What do you thin

fore night,” a very familiar male voice answ

wn and crept into the shanty. At once she felt upon her face, her neck, her arms, the hot air as heavy as steam. If it had not been for the stuffiness and the close smell of rye bread, fennel, and brushwoo

a feminine voice. “Let us

t boarding-school. Pyotr Dmitritch, with his hat on the back of his head, languid and indolent from having drunk so much at dinner, slouched by the hurdle and raked the

zily raking together the hay in order to sit down on it with Lubotchka and chatter to her of trivialities; there was nothing out of the way, either, in prett

tch, sinking down on the hay and stretchin

telling you anything

! Can I go to sleep while eye

was nothing out of the way either. He was spoilt by women, knew that they found him attractive, and had adopted with them a specia

fter a brief silence —“is it true th

mbered among the trans

what

t. I, an obscurantist and reactionary, ventured in an official paper to make use of an expression offensive in the eyes of s

ch yawned aga

like, but God preserve you from touching the Liberals! Heaven forbid! A Liberal is like the poison

appened

adly. If there had been insulting behaviour, the insult had anyway been mutual. Vostryakov ought to have fined them both for a breach of the peace and have turned them out of the court — that is all. But that’s not our way of doing things. With us what stands first is not the person — not the fact itself, but the trade-mark and label. However great a rascal a teacher ma

intelligent man he could not help feeling that he had gone too far in expressing his disagreement; and how much lying had been needful to conceal that feeling from himself and from others! How many unnecessary conversations there had been! How much grumbling and insincere laughter at what was not

the province of Poltava?”

itritch. “I came back th

t is very n

nd. You can see the men mowing from any window you stand at. They are mowing in the meadow, they are mowing in the garden. There are no visitors, no fuss nor hurry either, so that you can’t help seeing, feeling, hearing nothing but the haymaking. There is a smell of hay indoors and outdoors. There’s the sound of the scythes from sunrise to sunset. Altogether Little Russia is a charming country. Wou

isited his Poltava property simply to avoid seeing his study, his servants, his acqua

mped up and waved her

e!” she shrieked

g,” said Pyotr Dmitritch

a; and looking round at the

looked at her, of his farm, of solitude, and — who knows? — perhaps he was even thinking how snug and cosy life would be

, dissatisfied with himself and ashamed, and when people are ashamed they hold aloof, above all from those nearest to them, and are unreserved with strangers; she could understand, also, that she had nothing to fear f

rmulate her jealousy and her vexation with her husband

fe to reveal them to the first pretty face he came across. What harm had his wife done him? How was she to blame? Long ago she had been sickened by his lying: he was for ever posing, flirting, saying what he did not think, and trying to seem different from what he was and what he ought to be. Why this falsity? Was it seemly in a decent man? If he lied he was demeaning himself a

eyes, and sat down. Olga Mihalovna did not like the local officials. She did not care for their clumsy, ceremonious wives, their scandal-mongering, their frequent visits, their flattery of her husband, whom they all hated. Now, when they were drinking, were replete with food and showed no signs of going away, she felt their presence an agonizing weariness; but not to appear impolite, she smiled cordially to the Magistrate, and shook h

arguing at dinner and whom his guests knew, but a different man — wearied, feeling guilty and dissatisfied with himself, whom nobody knew but his wife. He must have come to the study to

perhaps struggling with himself. Olga Mihalovna went up to the table in silence: wanting to show that she had forg

of it. I will say to him, ‘You have been carried away by the false part you are playing; you have insulted people who were attached to you and have

assumed the expression it had worn at dinner and in the gard

s are merciful and leave us at eleven, even then we have another

teps died away: he must have gone out into the garden. And now not jealousy, not vexation, but real hatred of his footsteps, his insincere laugh and voice, took possession of Olga Mihalovna. She went to the window and looked out into the garden. Pyotr Dmitritch was already walking a

Dmitritch, the boys and the student stopped, and probably congratulated him on his name-day. With a graceful swing of his shoulders, he patted the children on their cheeks, and carelessly offered the student his hand without looking

ood sir, we have a salubrious atmosphere and t

watched the back of his head in perplexity. How had this man of thirty-four come by the dignified deportment of a general? How had he come by that imp

l chair there sat not Pyotr Dmitritch, but another man whom every one called Mr. President. This consciousness of power prevented him from sitting still in his place, and he seized every opportunity to ring his bell, to glance sternly at the public, to shout. . . . Where had he got his short-sight and his deafness when he suddenly began to see and hear with difficulty, and, frowning majestically, insisted on people speaking louder and coming closer to the table? From the height of his grandeur he could hardly distinguish faces or sounds, so that it seemed that if Olga Mihalovna herself had gone up to him he would have shoute

an by that?” he

of words you do not understand.” And the lawyer, finishing his speech, would walk away from the table, red and perspiring, while Pyotr Dmitritch; with a self-satisfied smile, would lean back in his chair triumphant. In his manner with the lawyers he imitated Coun