The Bishop and Other StoriesChekhov, Anton Pavlovich
General
The Bishop and Other Stories
Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich
Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich, 1860-1904 -- Translations into English; Russia -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
Yakov seized him by the shoulders and dragged him away from the
table, while he turned whiter than ever, and frightened and bewildered,
began muttering, "What is it? What's the matter?" and, struggling
and making efforts to free himself from Yakov's hands, he accidentally
caught hold of his shirt near the neck and tore the collar; and it
seemed to Aglaia that he was trying to beat Yakov. She uttered a
shriek, snatched up the bottle of Lenten oil and with all her force
brought it down straight on the skull of the cousin she hated.
Matvey reeled, and in one instant his face became calm and indifferent.
Yakov, breathing heavily, excited, and feeling pleasure at the
gurgle the bottle had made, like a living thing, when it had struck
the head, kept him from falling and several times (he remembered
this very distinctly) motioned Aglaia towards the iron with his
finger; and only when the blood began trickling through his hands
and he heard Dashutka's loud wail, and when the ironing-board fell
with a crash, and Matvey rolled heavily on it, Yakov left off feeling
anger and understood what had happened.
"Let him rot, the factory buck!" Aglaia brought out with repulsion,
still keeping the iron in her hand. The white bloodstained kerchief
slipped on to her shoulders and her grey hair fell in disorder.
"He's got what he deserved!"
Everything was terrible. Dashutka sat on the floor near the stove
with the yarn in her hands, sobbing, and continually bowing down,
uttering at each bow a gasping sound. But nothing was so terrible
to Yakov as the potato in the blood, on which he was afraid of
stepping, and there was something else terrible which weighed upon
him like a bad dream and seemed the worst danger, though he could
not take it in for the first minute. This was the waiter, Sergey
Nikanoritch, who was standing in the doorway with the reckoning
beads in his hands, very pale, looking with horror at what was
happening in the kitchen. Only when he turned and went quickly into
the passage and from there outside, Yakov grasped who it was and
followed him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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