The Wife Page #6

"The Wife" is a poignant short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov that delves into the complexities of marriage and the nature of love. The narrative follows Masha, a woman who reflects on her relationship with her husband, Ivan, as tensions and emotional disconnect manifest in their lives. Chekhov masterfully captures the nuances of hope, despair, and the often-unspoken struggles within a partnership, inviting readers to ponder the true essence of companionship and the sacrifices made in its name. Through rich character development and subtle insights, "The Wife" explores themes of longing, identity, and the bittersweet nature of human connection.

								

stouter, embracing a man I did not know. By now convinced that that
would certainly happen, "'Why," I asked myself, "Why, in one of our long
past quarrels, had not I given her a divorce, or why had she not at that
time left me altogether? I should not have had this yearning for her
now, this hatred, this anxiety; and I should have lived out my life
quietly, working and not worrying about anything."

A carriage with two lamps drove into the yard, then a big sledge with
three horses. My wife was evidently having a party.

Till midnight everything was quiet downstairs and I heard nothing, but
at midnight there was a sound of moving chairs and a clatter of
crockery. So there was supper. Then the chairs moved again, and through
the floor I heard a noise; they seemed to be shouting hurrah. Marya
Gerasimovna was already asleep and I was quite alone in the whole upper
storey; the portraits of my forefathers, cruel, insignificant people,
looked at me from the walls of the drawing-room, and the reflection of
my lamp in the window winked unpleasantly. And with a feeling of
jealousy and envy for what was going on downstairs, I listened and
thought: "I am master here; if I like, I can in a moment turn out all
that fine crew." But I knew that all that was nonsense, that I could not
turn out any one, and the word "master" had no meaning. One may think
oneself master, married, rich, a kammer-junker, as much as one likes,
and at the same time not know what it means.

After supper some one downstairs began singing in a tenor voice.

"Why, nothing special has happened," I tried to persuade myself. "Why am
I so upset? I won't go downstairs tomorrow, that's all; and that will be
the end of our quarrel."

At a quarter past one I went to bed.

"Have the visitors downstairs gone?" I asked Alexey as he was undressing
me.

"Yes, sir, they've gone."

"And why were they shouting hurrah?"

"Alexey Dmitritch Mahonov subscribed for the famine fund a thousand
bushels of flour and a thousand roubles. And the old lady--I don't know
her name--promised to set up a soup kitchen on her estate to feed a
hundred and fifty people. Thank God... Natalya Gavrilovna has been
pleased to arrange that all the gentry should assemble every Friday."

"To assemble here, downstairs?"

"Yes, sir. Before supper they read a list: since August up to today
Natalya Gavrilovna has collected eight thousand roubles, besides corn.
Thank God.... What I think is that if our mistress does take trouble for
the salvation of her soul, she will soon collect a lot. There are plenty
of rich people here."

Dismissing Alexey, I put out the light and drew the bedclothes over my
head.

"After all, why am I so troubled?" I thought. "What force draws me to
the starving peasants like a butterfly to a flame? I don't know them, I
don't understand them; I have never seen them and I don't like them. Why
this uneasiness?"

I suddenly crossed myself under the quilt.

"But what a woman she is!" I said to myself, thinking of my wife.
"There's a regular committee held in the house without my knowing. Why
this secrecy? Why this conspiracy? What have I done to them? Ivan
Ivanitch is right--I must go away."

Next morning I woke up firmly resolved to go away. The events of the
previous day--the conversation at tea, my wife, Sobol, the supper, my
apprehensions--worried me, and I felt glad to think of getting away from
the surroundings which reminded me of all that. While I was drinking my
coffee the bailiff gave me a long report on various matters. The most
agreeable item he saved for the last.

"The thieves who stole our rye have been found," he announced with a
smile. "The magistrate arrested three peasants at Pestrovo yesterday."

"Go away!" I shouted at him; and a propos of nothing, I picked up the
cake-basket and flung it on the floor.

IV

After lunch I rubbed my hands, and thought I must go to my wife and tell
her that I was going away. Why? Who cared? Nobody cares, I answered, but
why shouldn't I tell her, especially as it would give her nothing but
pleasure? Besides, to go away after our yesterday's quarrel without
saying a word would not be quite tactful: she might think that I was
frightened of her, and perhaps the thought that she has driven me out of
my house may weigh upon her. It would be just as well, too, to tell her
that I subscribe five thousand, and to give her some advice about the
organization, and to warn her that her inexperience in such a
complicated and responsible matter might lead to most lamentable
results. In short, I wanted to see my wife, and while I thought of
various pretexts for going to her, I had a firm conviction in my heart
that I should do so.

It was still light when I went in to her, and the lamps had not yet been
lighted. She was sitting in her study, which led from the drawing-room
to her bedroom, and, bending low over the table, was writing something
quickly. Seeing me, she started, got up from the table, and remained
standing in an attitude such as to screen her papers from me.

"I beg your pardon, I have only come for a minute," I said, and, I don't
know why, I was overcome with embarrassment. "I have learnt by chance
that you are organizing relief for the famine, Natalie."

"Yes, I am. But that's my business," she answered.

"Yes, it is your business," I said softly. "I am glad of it, for it just
fits in with my intentions. I beg your permission to take part in it."

"Forgive me, I cannot let you do it," she said in response, and looked
away.

"Why not, Natalie?" I said quietly. "Why not? I, too, am well fed and I,
too, want to help the hungry."

"I don't know what it has to do with you," she said with a contemptuous
smile, shrugging her shoulders. "Nobody asks you."

"Nobody asks you, either, and yet you have got up a regular committee in
my house," I said.

"I am asked, but you can have my word for it no one will ever ask you.
Go and help where you are not known."

"For God's sake, don't talk to me in that tone." I tried to be mild, and
besought myself most earnestly not to lose my temper. For the first few
minutes I felt glad to be with my wife. I felt an atmosphere of youth,
of home, of feminine softness, of the most refined elegance--exactly what
was lacking on my floor and in my life altogether. My wife was wearing a
pink flannel dressing-gown; it made her look much younger, and gave a
softness to her rapid and sometimes abrupt movements. Her beautiful dark
hair, the mere sight of which at one time stirred me to passion, had
from sitting so long with her head bent come loose from the comb and was
untidy, but, to my eyes, that only made it look more rich and luxuriant.
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