It was already dark when Lukáshka went out into the street. The autumn
night was fresh and calm. The full golden moon floated up behind the
tall dark poplars that grew on one side of the square. From the
chimneys of the outhouses smoke rose and spread above the village,
mingling with the mist. Here and there lights shone through the
windows, and the air was laden with the smell of _kisyak_, grape-pulp,
and mist. The sounds of voices, laughter, songs, and the cracking of
seeds mingled just as they had done in the daytime, but were now more
distinct. Clusters of white kerchiefs and caps gleamed through the
darkness near the houses and by the fences.
In the square, before the shop door which was lit up and open, the
black and white figures of Cossack men and maids showed through the
darkness, and one heard from afar their loud songs and laughter and
talk. The girls, hand in hand, went round and round in a circle
stepping lightly in the dusty square. A skinny girl, the plainest of
them all, set the tune:
“From beyond the wood, from the forest dark,
From the garden green and the shady park,
There came out one day two young lads so gay.
Young bachelors, hey! brave and smart were they!
And they walked and walked, then stood still, each man,
And they talked and soon to dispute began!
Then a maid came out; as she came along,
Said, ‘To one of you I shall soon belong!’
’Twas the fair-faced lad got the maiden fair,
Yes, the fair-faced lad with the golden hair!
Her right hand so white in his own took he,
And he led her round for his mates to see!
And said, ‘Have you ever in all your life,
Met a lass as fair as my sweet little wife?’”
The old women stood round listening to the songs. The little boys and
girls ran about chasing one another in the dark. The men stood by,
catching at the girls as the latter moved round, and sometimes breaking
the ring and entering it. On the dark side of the doorway stood
Belétski and Olénin, in their Circassian coats and sheepskin caps, and
talked together in a style of speech unlike that of the Cossacks, in
low but distinct tones, conscious that they were attracting attention.
Next to one another in the _khorovód_ circle moved plump little Ústenka
in her red _beshmet_ and the stately Maryánka in her new smock and
_beshmet_. Olénin and Belétski were discussing how to snatch Ústenka
and Maryánka out of the ring. Belétski thought that Olénin wished only
to amuse himself, but Olénin was expecting his fate to be decided. He
wanted at any cost to see Maryánka alone that very day and to tell her
everything, and ask her whether she could and would be his wife.
Although that question had long been answered in the negative in his
own mind, he hoped he would be able to tell her all he felt, and that
she would understand him.
“Why did you not tell me sooner?” said Belétski. “I would have got
Ústenka to arrange it for you. You are such a queer fellow! ...”
“What’s to be done! ... Some day, very soon, I’ll tell you all about
it. Only now, for Heaven’s sake, arrange so that she should come to
Ústenka’s.”
“All right, that’s easily done! Well, Maryánka, will you belong to the
‘fair-faced lad’, and not to Lukáshka?” said Belétski, speaking to
Maryánka first for propriety’s sake, but having received no reply he
went up to Ústenka and begged her to bring Maryánka home with her. He
had hardly time to finish what he was saying before the leader began
another song and the girls started pulling each other round in the ring
by the hand.
They sang:
Past the garden, by the garden,
A young man came strolling down,
Up the street and through the town.
And the first time as he passed
He did wave his strong right hand.
As the second time he passed
Waved his hat with silken band.
But the third time as he went
He stood still: before her bent.
How is it that thou, my dear,
My reproaches dost not fear?
In the park don’t come to walk
That we there might have a talk?
Come now, answer me, my dear,
Dost thou hold me in contempt?
Later on, thou knowest, dear,
Thou’lt get sober and repent.
Soon to woo thee I will come,
And when we shall married be
Thou wilt weep because of me!
Though I knew what to reply,
Yet I dared not him deny,
No, I dared not him deny!
So into the park went I,
In the park my lad to meet,
There my dear one I did greet.
Maiden dear, I bow to thee!
Take this handkerchief from me.
In thy white hand take it, see!
Say I am beloved by thee.
I don’t know at all, I fear,
What I am to give thee, dear!
To my dear I think I will
Of a shawl a present make—
And five kisses for it take.
Lukáshka and Nazárka broke into the ring and started walking about
among the girls. Lukáshka joined in the singing, taking seconds in his
clear voice as he walked in the middle of the ring swinging his arms.
“Well, come in, one of you!” he said. The other girls pushed Maryánka,
but she would not enter the ring. The sound of shrill laughter, slaps,
kisses, and whispers mingled with the singing.
As he went past Olénin, Lukáshka gave a friendly nod.
“Dmítri Andréich! Have you too come to have a look?” he said.
“Yes,” answered Olénin dryly.
Belétski stooped and whispered something into Ústenka’s ear. She had
not time to reply till she came round again, when she said:
“All right, we’ll come.”
“And Maryánka too?”
Olénin stooped towards Maryánka. “You’ll come? Please do, if only for a
minute. I must speak to you.”
“If the other girls come, I will.”
“Will you answer my question?” said he, bending towards her. “You are
in good spirits today.”
She had already moved past him. He went after her.
“Will you answer?”
“Answer what?”
“The question I asked you the other day,” said Olénin, stooping to her
ear. “Will you marry me?”
Maryánka thought for a moment.
“I’ll tell you,” said she, “I’ll tell you tonight.”
And through the darkness her eyes gleamed brightly and kindly at the
young man.
He still followed her. He enjoyed stooping closer to her. But Lukáshka,
without ceasing to sing, suddenly seized her firmly by the hand and
pulled her from her place in the ring of girls into the middle. Olénin
had only time to say, “Come to Ústenka’s,” and stepped back to his
companion.
The song came to an end. Lukáshka wiped his lips, Maryánka did the
same, and they kissed. “No, no, kisses five!” said Lukáshka. Chatter,
laughter, and running about, succeeded to the rhythmic movements and
sound. Lukáshka, who seemed to have drunk a great deal, began to
distribute sweetmeats to the girls.
“I offer them to everyone!” he said with proud, comically pathetic
self-admiration. “But anyone who goes after soldiers goes out of the
ring!” he suddenly added, with an angry glance at Olénin.
The girls grabbed his sweetmeats from him, and, laughing, struggled for
them among themselves. Belétski and Olénin stepped aside.
Lukáshka, as if ashamed of his generosity, took off his cap and wiping
his forehead with his sleeve came up to Maryánka and Ústenka.
“Answer me, my dear, dost thou hold me in contempt?” he said in the
words of the song they had just been singing, and turning to Maryánka
he angrily repeated the words: “Dost thou hold me in contempt? When we
shall married be thou wilt weep because of me!” he added, embracing
Ústenka and Maryánka both together.
Ústenka tore herself away, and swinging her arm gave him such a blow on
the back that she hurt her hand.
“Well, are you going to have another turn?” he asked.
“The other girls may if they like,” answered Ústenka, “but I am going
home and Maryánka was coming to our house too.”
With his arm still round her, Lukáshka led Maryánka away from the crowd
to the darker corner of a house.
“Don’t go, Maryánka,” he said, “let’s have some fun for the last time.
Go home and I will come to you!”
“What am I to do at home? Holidays are meant for merrymaking. I am
going to Ústenka’s,” replied Maryánka.
“I’ll marry you all the same, you know!”
“All right,” said Maryánka, “we shall see when the time comes.”
“So you are going,” said Lukáshka sternly, and, pressing her close, he
kissed her on the cheek.
“There, leave off! Don’t bother,” and Maryánka, wrenching herself from
his arms, moved away.
“Ah my girl, it will turn out badly,” said Lukáshka reproachfully and
stood still, shaking his head. “Thou wilt weep because of me...” and
turning away from her he shouted to the other girls:
“Now then! Play away!”
What he had said seemed to have frightened and vexed Maryánka. She
stopped, “What will turn out badly?”
“Why, that!”
“That what?”
“Why, that you keep company with a soldier-lodger and no longer care
for me!”
“I’ll care just as long as I choose. You’re not my father, nor my
mother. What do you want? I’ll care for whom I like!”
“Well, all right...” said Lukáshka, “but remember!” He moved towards
the shop. “Girls!” he shouted, “why have you stopped? Go on dancing.
Nazárka, fetch some more _chikhir_.”
“Well, will they come?” asked Olénin, addressing Belétski.
“They’ll come directly,” replied Belétski. “Come along, we must prepare
the ball.”