The Safety Match by Anton Tchehov, Part one. On the morning of October
sixth, eighteen eighty five, in the office of Inspector of Police of the
second Division of s District, there appeared a respectably dressed young man who announced
that his master, Marcus Ivanovitch Klausov, a retired officer of the horse Guards,
separated from his wife, had been murdered. While making this announcement,
the young man was white and terribly agitated. His hands trembled and his eyes
were full of terror. Whom have I the honor of addressing, asked the
Inspector Psaikov, Lieutenant Klausov's agent, agriculturist and mechanician. The inspector and his
deputy, on visiting the scene of the occurrence in company with Psaikov, found
the following. Near the wing in which Klausov had lived, was gathered a
dense crowd. The news of the murder had sped swift as lightnings for the
neighborhood and the peasantry, thanks to the fact that the day was a holiday,
had hurried together from all the neighboring villages. There was much commotion and
talk here and there. Pale tear stained faces were seen. The door of
Klasov's bedroom was found locked. The key was inside. It is quite clear
that the scoundrels got in by the window, said Psaikoff. As they examined
the door. They went to the garden into which the bedroom window opened.
The window looked dark and ominous. It was covered by a faded green curtain.
One corner of the curtain was slightly turned up, which made it possible
to look into the bedroom. Did any of you look into the window,
asked the inspector. Certainly not, your worship, answered Ephraim. The gardener,
a little, gray haired old man who looked like a retired sergeant.
Who's going to look in if all their bones are shaking? Ah, markus
Ivanovitch. Markus Ivanovitch sighed the inspector, looking at the window. I told
you you would come to a bad end, I told the dear man,
but he wouldn't listen. Dissipation doesn't bring any good. Thanks to Ephraim,
said Psikov. But for him we would never have guessed. He was the
first to guess that something was wrong. He comes to me this morning and
says, why is the master so long? Getting up? He hasn't left
his bedroom for a whole week. The moment he said that, it was
just as if some one had hit me with an axe, the thought flashed
through my mind. We haven't had a sight of him since last Saturday,
and to day is Sunday, seven whole days. Not a doubt of it.
Ay, poor fellow, again, sighed the Inspector. He was a
clever fellow, finely educated and kind hearted to that, and in society nobody
could touch him. But he was a oyster. God rest his soul.
I was prepared for anything since he refused to live with Olga Petrovna, poor
thing, a good wife, but a sharp tongue. Stephen, the Inspector
called to one of his deputies, go over to my house this minute,
and send Andrew to the captain to lodge an information with him. Tell him
that Markus Ivanovitch has been murdered and run over to the orderly. Why should
he sit there kicking his heels. Let him come here and go as fast
as you can to the examining magistrate Nikolas Yamulayevitch. Tell him to come over
here. Wait, I'll write him a note. The Inspector posted sentinels around
the wing, wrote a letter to the examining magistrate, and then went over
to the director's for a glass of tea. Ten minutes later, he was
sitting on a stool, carefully nibbling a lump of sugar and swallowing the scalding
tea. There you are, he was saying to Psikov. There you are,
a noble by birth, a rich man, a favorite of the gods.
You may say, as Pushkin has it. And what did he come
to? He drank and dissipated, And there you are. He is murdered.
After a couple of hours, the examining magistrate drove up Nicholas Yemulayevitch Chubikov,
for that was the magistrate's name, was a tall, fleshy old man
of sixty who had been wrestling with the duties of his office for a quarter
of a century. Every one in the district knew him as an honest man,
wise, energetic, and in love with his work. He was accompanied
to the scene of the murder by his inveterate companion, fellow worker and secretary
Dukovsky, a tall young fellow of twenty six. Is it possible, gentlemen,
cried Chubikov, entering Psakov's room and quickly shaking hands with every one.
Is it possible, marko Ivanovitch murdered, No, it is impossible, im
pass sobul go in there, sighed the inspector. Lord, have mercy on
us. Only last Friday I saw him at the fair and Farobankov I had
a drink of vodka with him. Save the mark, Go in there,
again, sighed the inspector. They sighed, uttered exclamations of horror, drank
a glass of tea each and went to the wing. Get back, the
orderly, cried to the peasants. Going to the wing, the examining magistrate
began his work by examining the bedroom door. The door proved to be of
pine, painted yellow, and was uninjured. Nothing was found which could serve
as a clew. They had to break in the door. Every One not
here on business as requested to keep away, said the magistrate, When after
much hammering and shaking, the door yielded to axe and chisel, I request
this in the interest of the investigation. Orderly, don't let any one in.
Chrubykov, his assistant and the inspector opened the door, and hesitatingly,
one after the other entered the room, their eyes met the following sight.
Beside the single window stood the big wooden bed with a huge feather mattress.
On the crumpled feather bed lay a tumbled, crumpled quilt. The pillow in
a cotton pillow case, also much crumpled, was dragging on the floor.
On the table beside the bed lay a silver watch and a silver twenty copeck
piece. Beside them lay himself a mattress. Beside the bed, the little
table and the single chair. There was no furniture in the room. Looking
under the bed, the inspector saw a couple of dozen empty bottles, an
old straw hat, and a quart of vodka. Under the table lay one
top boot covered with dust. Casting a glance around the room, the magistrate
frowned and grew red in the face. Scoundrels, he muttered, clenching his
fists. And where is markus Ivanovitch asked Dukovsky in a low voice. Mind
your own business, Chubikov answered roughly, be good enough to examine the floor.
This is not the first case of the kind I have had to deal
with, yugov Kuzmitch, he said, turning to the inspector and lowering his
voice. In eighteen seventy, I had another case like this, but you
must remember it, the murder of the merchant Putrietov. It was just the
same there. The scoundrels murdered him and dragged the corpse out through the window.
Chubikov went up to the window, pulled the curtain to one side,
and carefully pushed the window. The window opened. It opens. You see
it wasn't fastened. Mum. There are tracks under the window. Look,
there is the track of a knee. Somebody got in there. We must
examine the windows thoroughly. There is nothing special to be found on the floor,
said Dukovsky. No stains, are scratches. The only thing I found
was a struck safety match here. It is so far as I remember.
Marko Ivanovitch did not smoke, and he always used sulfur matches, never safety
matches. Perhaps this safety match may serve as a clue. Oh do shut
up, cried the magistrate deprecatingly. You go on about your match. I
can't buy these dreamers. Instead of chasing matches, you had better examine the
bed. After a thorough examination of the bed, Dukovsky reported there are no
spots either of blood or of anything else. There are likewise no new torn
places on the pillar. There are signs of teeth. The quilt is stained
with something which looked like beer and smells like beer. The general aspect of
the bed gives grounds for thinking that a struggle took place on it. I
know there was a struggle without your telling me. You are not being asked
about his struggle. Instead of looking for struggles, you had better. Here
is one top boot, but there is no sign of the other. Well,
and what of that? It proves that they strangled him while he was
taking his boots off. He hadn't time to take the second boot off.
When there you go, And how do you know they strangled him? There
are marks of teeth on the pillow. The pillow itself is badly crumpled and
thrown a couple of yards from the bed. Listen to his foolishness. Better
come into the garden. You would be better employed examining the garden than digging
around here. I can do that without you. When they reached the garden,
they began by examining the grass. The grass under the window was crushed
and trampled, A bushy bird growing under the window close to the wall was
also trampled. Dukovsky succeeded in finding on it some broken twigs and a piece
of cotton wool. On the upper branches were found some fine hairs of dark
blue wool. What color was his last suit, Dukovsky asked, Psaikov,
yellow crash. Excellent, you see they wore blue. A few twigs of
the burdock were cut off and carefully wrapped in paper by the investigators. At
this point, please, Captain Atsuybashev, Svistakovski and doctor Tyutyev arrived. The
captain bade them good day and immediately began to satisfy his curiosity. The doctor,
a tall, very lean man with dull eyes, a long nose and
a pointed chin, without greeting anyone or asking about anything, sat down on
a log, sighed and began the servians are at war again. What in
Heaven's name can they want now, Austria, it's all you're doing. The
examination of the window from the outside did not supply any conclusive data. The
examination of the grass and the bush's nearest to the window yielded a series of
useful clues. For example, Dukovski succeeded in discovering a long, dark streak
made up of spots on the grass, which led some distance into the center
of the garden. The streak ended under one of the lilac bushes in a
dark browzed stain. Under this same lilac bush was found the top boot,
which turned out to be the fellow of the boot already found in the bedroom.
That is a blood stain made some time ago, said Dukovski, examining
the spot. At the word blood, the doctor rose and going over lazily
looked at the spot. Yes, it is blood, he muttered. That
shows he wasn't strangled. If there was blood, said Chubikov, looking sarcastically
at Dukovsky. They strangled him in the bedroom, and here, fearing him
come round again, they struck him a blow with some sharp pointed instrument.
The stain under the bush proves that he lay there a considerable time while they
were looking about for some way of carrying him out of the garden. Well,
and how about the boot. The boot confirms completely my idea that they
murdered him while he was taking his boots off before going to bed. He
had already taken off one boot and the other this one here he had only
had time to take half off. The half off boot came off of itself
while the body was dragged over and fell. There's a lively imagination for you,
laughed Chubekov. He goes on and on like that. When will you
learn enough to drop your deductions? Instead of arguing and deducing, it would
be much better if you took some of the blood stained grass for analysis.
When they had finished their examination and drawn a plan of the locality, the
investigators went to the director's office to write their report and have breakfast. While
they were breakfasting, there went on talking the watch, the money, and
so on, all untouched. Tchubykov began leading off the talk show. As
clearly as two and two are four that the murder was not committed for the
purpose of robbery. The murder was committed by an educated man, insisted Dukovsky.
What evidence have you of that the safety match proves that to me?
For the peasants hereabouts are not yet acquainted with safety matches. Only the landowners
use them, and by no means all of them. And it is evident
that there was not one murderer, but at least three, two held him
while one killed him. Klasov was strong, and the murderers must have known
it. What good would his strength be Supposing he was asleep? The murderers
came on him while he was taking off his boots. If he was taking
off his boots, that proves he wasn't asleep. Stop inventing your deductions.
Better eat, in my opinion, your worship, said the gardener Ephraim,
setting the samovar on the table. It was nobody but Nicholas who did this
dirty trick? Quite possible, said Psykov. And who is Nicholas the Master's
valid, your worship, answered Ephraim. Who else could it be? He
is a rascal, your worship. He is a drunkard and a blackguard,
the like of which Heaven should not permit. He always took the Master his
vodka and put the Master to bed. Who else could it be? And
I also ventured to point out to your worship he once boasted at the public
house that he would kill the Master. It happened on account of Aquilina,
the woman you know he was making up to his soldier's widow. She pleased
the Master. The Master made friends with her himself, and Nicholas. Naturally
he was mad. He is rolling about drunk in the kitchen. Now he
is crying and telling lies, saying he is sorry for the master. The
examining magistrate ordered Nicholas to be brought. Nicholas, a lanky young fellow with
a long freckled nose, narrow chested, and wearing an old jacket of his
master's, entered Psikov's room and bowed low before the magistrate. His face was
sleepy and tear stained. He was tipsy and could hardly keep his feet.
Where is your master, Tchubikov asked him, murdered you, worship. As
he said this, Nicholas blinked and began to weep. We know he was
murdered, but where is he now? Where is his body? They say
he was dragged out of the window and buried in the garden. Hum The
results of the investigation are known in the kitchen already. That's bad. Where
were you, my good fellow, the night the master was murdered Saturday night?
That is? Nicholas raised his head, stretched his neck and began to
think. I don't know you, worship, He said, I was drunk
and don't remember. An alibi whispered Dukovsky, smiling and rubbing his hands.
So and why is there blood under the master's window. Nicholas jerked his head
up and considered. Hurry up, said the Captain of police right away.
That blood doesn't amount to anything, you worship. I was cutting a chicken's
throat. I was doing it quite simply in the usual way, when all
of a sudden it broke away and started to run. That is where the
blood came from. Iphraim declared that Nicholas did kill a chicken every evening,
and always in some new place, but that nobody ever heard of a half
killed chicken running about the garden, though of course it wasn't impossible. An
alibi, sneered Dukovsky. And what an assenine alibi? Did ye know?
Aquilina? Yes, your worship, I know her, and the Master cut
you out with her, not at all, he cut me out, mister
Psaikoff. Here Ivan Mikhailovitch, and the Master cut Ivan mikhailov That is how
it was. Psakov grew confused and began to scratch his left eye. Dukovsky
looked at him attentively, noted his confusion, and started. He noticed that
the director had dark blue trousers, which he had not observed before. The
trousers reminded him of the dark blue threads found on the burdock Troubikov, in
his turn, glanced suspiciously at Psykov Go, he said to Nicholas, and
now permit me to put a question to you, mister Psikoff. Of course
you were here last Saturday evening. Yes, I had supper with markouz Ivanovitch
about ten o'clock and afterwards, afterwards, afterwards, Really, I do not
remember, stammered Psiko. I had a good deal to drink at supper.
I don't remember when or where I went to sleep. Why are you all
looking at me like that, as if I was the murderer? Where were
you when you woke up? I was in the servants kitch, lying behind
the stove. They can all confirm it. How I got behind the stove,
I don't know. Do not get agitated. Do you know, Aquilina,
there is nothing extraordinary about that. She first liked you and then preferred
Klausov. Yes, Iphraim, give us some more mushrooms? Do you want
some more tea? Yugrovkuzmitch a heavy oppressive silence began and lasted fully five minutes.
Dukovsky silently kept his piercing eyes fixed on Psaikov's pale face. The silence
was finally broken by the examining magistrate. We must go to the house and
talk with Marya Ivanovna, the sister of the deceased. Perhaps she may be
able to supply some clues. Tchubikov and his assistant expressed their thanks for the
breakfast and went toward the house. They found Klausov's sister, marya Ivanovna,
an old maid of forty five, at prayer before the big case of ikons.
When she saw the porfolios in her guest's hands and their official caps,
she grew pale. Let me begin by apologizing for disturbing, so to speak,
your devotions, began the gallant tobikough, bowing and scraping. We have
come to you with a request. Of course, you have heard already.
There is a suspicion that your dear brother, in some way or other,
has been murdered the will of God. You know no one can escape death,
neither tsar nor plowmen. Could you not help us with some clue,
some explanation? Oh, don't ask me, said marya Ivanovna, growing still
paler and covering her face with her hands. I can tell you nothing,
nothing. I beg you, I know nothing. What can I do?
Oh no, no, not a word about my brother. If I die,
I won't say anything. Marya Ivanovna began to weep and left the room.
The investigators looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and beat a
retreat. Confound the woman, scolded Dukovsky, going out of the house.
It is clear she knows something and is concealing it, and the chambermaid has
a queer expression too. Wait, you wretches, we'll ferret it all out.
In the evening, Chubikov and his deputy lit on their road by the
pale moon, wended their way homeward. They sat in their carriage and sought
over the results of the day. Both were tired and kept silent. Chubikov
was always unwilling to talk while traveling, and the talkative Dukovsky remained silent to
fall in with the elder man's humor. But at the end of their journey,
the deputy could hold in no longer and said, it is quite certain.
He said that Nicholas had something to do with the matter non dubitandum.
Est you can see by his face what sort of a case he is.
His alibi betrays him body and bones. But it is also certain that he
did not see the thing going. He was only the stupid hired tool.
Do you agree? And the humble Psikov was not without some slight share in
the matter. His dark blue breeches, his agitation, his lying behind the
stove in terror after the murder, his alibi, and Aquilina grind away million.
It's your week. So according to you, whoever knew Aquilina is the
murderer, hot head, you ought to be sucking a bottle and not handling
affairs. You were one of Aquilina's admirers yourself. Does it follow that you
are implicated too? Aquilina was cooking your house for a month. I am
saying nothing about that. The night before that Saturday, I was playing cards
with you and saw you. Otherwise I should be after you too. It
isn't the woman that matters, old Chap. It is the mean, nasty,
low spirit of jealousy that matters. The retiring young man was not pleased
when they got the better of him. You see his vanity don't you see
he wanted rever then those thick lips of his suggest passion. So there you
have it wound itself, love and passion. That is quite enough motive for
a murder. We have two of them in our hands. But who is
the third? Nicholas and Psakov held him. But who smothered him? Psikov
is shy, timid and all round coward, and Nicholas would not know how
to smother with a pillow his sort use an axe or a club. Some
third person did the smothering. But who was it? Draukovski crambed his hat
down over his eyes and pondered. He remained silent until the carriage rolled up
to the magistrate's door. Eureka, he said, entering the little house and
throwing off his overcoat. Eureka, Nikolas Yamulayevitch. The only thing I can't
understand is how it did not occur to me sooner? Do you know who
the third person was? Oh, for goodness sake, shut up, There
is supper. Sit down to y evening meal. The magistrate on Dukovsky sat
down to supper. Dukovsky poured himself out a glass of vodka. Rose drew
himself up and said with sparkling eyes, Well, learn that the third person
who acted in concert with that scoundrel Psaikhov and did the smothering was a woman.
Yes, I'm in The murdered man's sister, marya Ivanovna Chubikov choked over
his vodka and fixed his eyes on Dukovsky. If you aren't what's its name?
Your head isn't what you call it, You haven't a pain in it?
I am perfectly well, very well, let us say I am crazy.
But how do you explain her confusion when we appeared? How do you
explain her unwillingness to give us any information? Let us admit that these are
trifles. Very well, all right, but remember their relations. She detested
her brother. She never forgave him for living apart from his wife. She
is of the old while in her eyes he is a godless profligate. There
is where the germ of her hate was hatched. They say he succeeded in
making her believe that he was an angel of Satan. He even went in
for spiritualism in her presence. Well, what of that? Ye don't understand?
She as a member of the old faith, murdered him through fanaticism.
It was not only that she was putting to death a weed, a profligate.
She was freeing the world of an antichrist. And there, in her
opinion was her service, her religious achievement. Oh you don't know those old
maids of the old faith? Read Dostoyevsky, and what does Lyskov say about
them? Or Pocchersky. It was she and nobody else. Even if you
cut me open, she smothered him. Oh, treacherous woman. Wasn't that
the reason why she was kneeling before the icons when we came in, just
to take our attention away. Let me kneel down and pray, she said
to herself, and they will think I am tranquil in did not expect them.
That is the plan of all novices in crime. Nicholas Yamulayevitch, Old
pal, my, dear, old man. Won't you entrust this business to
me? Let me personally bring it through. Friend, I began it and
I will finish it. Chubikov shook his head and frowned. We know how
to manage difficult matters ourselves, he said, And your business is not to
push yourself in where ye don't belong. Write from dictation. When you are
dictated to that is your job. Dukovsky flared up, banged the door and
disappeared. Clever Rascal, muttered Chubikov, glancing after him. Awfully clever,
but too much of a hot head. I must buy him a cigar case
at the fair as at present. The next day, early in the morning,
a young man with a big head and a pursed up mouth who came
from Klasov's place, was introduced to the magistrate's office. He said he was
the shepherd Daniel and brought a very interesting piece of information. I was a
bit drunk, he said. I was with my pal till midnight. On
my way home. As I was drunk, I went into the river for
a bath. I was taking a bath when I looked up. Two men
were walking along the dam carrying something black show. I cried at them.
They got scared and went off like the wind toward Makareff's cabbage garden. Strike
me dead if they weren't carrying away the master. That same day, toward
evening, Psakov and Nicholas were arrested and brought under guard to the district town.
In the town, they were committed to the cells of the prison.
Part two. A fortnight passed, it was morning. The magistrate Nicholas Yamalayevitch
was sitting in his office before a green table, turning over the papers of
the Klausov case. Taukovsky was striding restlessly up and down, like a wolf
in a cage. You are convinced of the guilt of Nikola Psykov, he
said, nervously, plucking at his young beard. Why will you not believe
in the guilt of marya Ivanovna. Are there not proofs enough for you?
I don't say I am not convinced. I am convinced, but somehow I
don't believe it. There are no real proofs, but just a kind of
philosophizing fanaticism. This and that you can't do without an axe and blood stained
sheets. Those jurists very well, I'll prove it to you. You will
stop sneering at the psychological side of the affair to Siberia with your marya Ivanovna.
I will prove it. If philosophy is not enough for you, I
have something substantial for you. It will show you how correct my philosophy is.
Just give me permission. What are you going on about about the safety
match. Have you forgotten it? I haven't. I am going to find
out who struck it in the murdered man's room. It was not Nicholas that
struck it. It was not Psykov, for neither of them had any matches
when they were examined. It was the third person, marya Ivanovna. I
will prove it to you. Just give me permission to go through the district
to find out. That's enough, Sit down, Let's go on with the
examination. Dukovsky sat down at a little table and plunged his long nose in
a bundle of papers. Bring in Nicholas, Tetakov, cried the examining magistrate.
They brought Nicholas in. Nicholas was pale and thin as a rail.
He was trembling. Tetakov began Tchubikov. In eighteen seventy nine, you were
tried in the court of the first Division, convicted of theft and sentenced to
imprisonment. In eighteen eighty two you would tried a second time for theft and
were again imprisoned. We know all astonishment was depicted in Nicholas's face. The
examining magistrate's omniscience startled him, but soon His expression of astonishment changed wish to
extreme indignation. He began to cry and requested permission to go and wash his
face and quiet down. They led him away. Bring in Psikov, ordered
the examining magistrate. They brought in Psikov. The young man had changed greatly
during the last few days. He had grown thin and pale and looked haggard.
His eyes had an apathetic expression. Sit down, Psychov said, Chubikov,
I hope that to day you are going to be reasonable and will not
tell lies as you did before. All these days you have denied that you
had anything to do with the murder of Klausov, in spite of all the
proofs that testify against you. That is foolish. Confession will lighten your guilt.
This is the last time I am going to talk to you. If
you do not confess to day, to morrow, it will be too late.
Come tell me all. I know nothing about it. I know nothing
about your proofs, answered Psikov, almost inaudibly. It's no use. Well,
let me relate to you how the matter took place. On Saturday evening,
you were sitting in Klausov's sleeping room and drinking vodka. And beer with
him. Dukovsky fixed his eyes on Psakov's face and kept them there all through
the examination. Nicholas was waiting on you. At one o'clock, Marko Ivanovitch
announced his attention of going to bed. He always went to bed at one
o'clock. When he was taking off his boots and was giving you directions about
details of management. You and Nicholas, at a given signal, seized your
drunken master and threw him on the bed. One of you sat on his
legs, the other on his head. Then a third person came in from
the passage, a woman in a black dress, whom ye know well,
and who had previously arranged with you as to her share in your criminal deed.
She seized a pillow and began to smother him. While the struggle was
going on, the candle went out. The woman took a box of safety
matches from her pocket and lit the candle. Was it not so I see
by your face that I am speaking the truth? But to go on?
After you had smothered him and saw that you had ceased breathing, Hugh and
Nicholas pulled him through the window and laid him down near the burdock. Fearing
that you might come round again, you struck him with something sharp. Then
you carried him away and laid him down under a lilac bush for a short
time. After resting a while and considering, you carried him across the fence.
Then you entered the road. After that comes the dam. Near the
dam, a peasant frightened you. Well, what is the matter with you?
I am suffocating, replied Psikov. Very well, have it so?
Only let me go out, please. They led Psikov away. At last,
he has confessed, cried Chubikov, stretching himself luxuriously. He has betrayed
himself, and didn't I get round him cleverly, regularly caught him napping,
and he doesn't deny the woman in the black dress out to Dukovsky. But
all the same, that safety match is tormenting me. Frightfully. I can't
stand it any longer. Good Bye, I am off. Dukovski put on
his cap and drove Offchubikov began to examine Aquilina. Aquilina declared that she knew
nothing whatever about it. At six that evening, Dukovski returned. He was
more agitated than he had ever been before. His hands trembled so that he
could not even unbutton his greatcoat. His cheeks glowed. It was clear that
he did not come empty handed. Vinny Vidyevitchy, he cried, rushing into
Chubikov's room and falling into an arm chair. I swear to you, my
honor, I begin to believe that I am a genius. Listen, devil,
take us all. It is funny and it is sad. We have
caught three already. Isn't that so well? I have found the fourth,
and a woman at that He will never believe who it is. But listen.
I went to Klasov's village and began to make a spiral round it.
I visited all the little shops, public houses, dram shops, on the
road, everywhere, asking for safety matches. Everywhere they said there hadn't any.
I made a wide round. Twenty times I lost faith, and twenty
times I got back again. I knocked about the whole day, and only
an hour ago I got on the track three versts from here. They gave
me a packet of ten boxes. One box was missing. Immediately who bought
the other box? Such a one? She was pleased with them Old man
Nicholas Yamalayevitch. See what a fellow who was expelled from the seminary and who
has read Garboryo can do. From to day on, I begin to respect
myself. Oof, Well, come, come where to HER's Noumber four?
We must hurry otherwise otherwise I'll burst with impatience. Do you know who she
is? You'll never guess. Olga Petrovna markus Ivanovitch's wife, his own wife,
That's who it is. She is the person who bought the match box.
You you, you are out of your mind. It's quite simple to
begin with. She smokes. Secondly, she was head and ears in love
with Klausov, even after he refused to live in the same house with her
because she was always scolding his head off. Why they say she used to
beat him because she loved him so much, and then he positively refused to
stay in the same house. Love tan souer hell hath no fury like a
woman scorned. But come along quick or it will be dark. Come.
I am not yet sufficiently crazy to go and disturb a respectable, honorable woman
in the middle of the night for a crazy boy. Respectable honorable do honorable
women murder their husbands. After that, you are a rag and not an
examining magistrate. I never ventured to call your names before, but now you
compel me to rag dressing gown. Dear, Nicholas Yamulakovitch, do come,
I beg of you. The magistrate made a deprecating motion with his hand.
I beg of you. I ask not for myself, but in the interests
of justice. I beg you. I implore you do what ask kitty.
Just this. Once Dukovsky went down on his knees. Nicholas Yamulakovitch, be
kind, call me a blackguard, and ne'er do well if I am mistaken
about this woman. You see what an affair it is, What a case?
It is a romance, a woman murdering her own husband for love.
The fame of it will go all over Russia. They will make investigator in
all important cases. Understand O, foolish old man. The magistrate frowned and
undecidedly stretched his hand towards his cap. Oh the devil take you, he
said, let us go. It was dark when the magist Tred's carriage rolled
up to the porch of the old country house, in which all Gopetrovna had
taken refuge with her brother. What pigs we are, said Tchubikov, taking
hold of the bell to disturb a poor woman like this. It's all right,
it's all right, don't get frightened. We can say that we have
broken a spring. Chubikov and Dukovsky were met at the threshold by a tall,
buxom woman of three and twenty with pitch black brows and juicy red lips.
It was all Gopetrovna, herself, apparently not in the least distressed by
the recent tragedy. Oh, what a pleasant surprise, she said, smiling
broadly. You are just in time for supper. Kosmar Petrovitch is not at
home. He is visiting the priest and has stayed late. But we'll get
on without him. Be seated. You have come from the examination. Yes,
we broke a spring, you know, began Tchubikov, entering the sitting
room and sinking into an arm chair. Take her unawares at once, whispered
Dukovsky. Take her unawares a spring. Hum, Yes, so we came
in. Take her unawares. I tell you, she will guess what the
matter is. If you drag things out like that. We'll do it yourself
as you want, but let me get out of it, muttered to muttered
Chubikov, rising and going to the window. Yes, a spring began Dukovsky,
going close to Olga Petrovna and wrinkling his long nose. We did not
drive over here to take supper with you or to see Cosmo Petrovitch. We
came here to ask you, respected madam, where Markus Ivanovitch is whom you
murdered? What Markus Ivanovitch murdered? Stammered Olga Petrovna, and her broad face
suddenly and instantaneously flushed bright scarlet. I don't understand. I ask you,
in the name of the law. Where is Klausov? We know all?
Who told you? Olga Petrovna asked in a low voice, unable to endure
Dukovsky's glance. Be so good as to show us where he is. But
how did you find out who told you? We know all? I demand
it in the name of the law. The examining magistrate, emboldened by her
confusion, came forward and said, show us and we will go away.
Otherwise we what do you want with him? Madam? What is the use
of these questions. We ask you to show us you tremble. You are
agitated. Yes, he has been murdered, and if you must have it
murdered by you, your accomplices have betrayed you. Olga Petrovna grew pale.
Come, she said, in a low voice, wringing her hands. I
have him hid in the bath house only for Heaven's sake. Do not tell
Kouzmar Petrovitch. I beg and implore you. He will never forgive me.
Olga Petrovna took down a big key from the wall and led her guests through
the kitchen and passage to the courtyard. The courtyard was on darkness, fine
rain was falling. Olga Petrovna walked in advance of them. Chubikoff and Dukovski
strode behind her through the long grass as the odor of wild hem and dishwater
splushing under their feet reached them. The courtyard was wide. Soon the dishwater
ceased, and they felt freshly broken earth under their feet. In the darkness
appeared the shadowy outlines of trees, and among the trees a little house with
a crooked chimney. That is the bath house, said Olga Petrovna. But
I implore you do not tell my brother. If ye do, I'll never
hear the end of it. Going up to the bath house, Chubikov and
Dukovsky saw a huge padlock on the door. Get your candle and matches ready,
whispered the examining magistrate to his deputy. Olga Petrovna unfastened the padlock and
let her guests into the bath house. Tukowski struck a match and lit up
the ante room. In the middle of the ante room stood table. On
the table Beside the sturdy little Samovar stood a soup tureen with old cabbage soup
and a plate with the remnants of some sauce. Forward, they went into
the next room, where the bath was, there was a table there.
Also on the table was a dish with some ham, a bottle of vodka,
plaits, knives forks. But where is it? Where is the murdered
man, asked the examining magistrate. On the top tier, whispered Olga Petrovna,
still pale and trembling, Dukovski took the candle in his hand and climbed
up to the top tier of the sweating frame. There he saw a long
human body lying motionless, on a large feather bed. A slight snow came
from the body. You are making fun of us, devil, take it,
cried Dukovski. That is not the murdered man. Some live fool is
lying here here. Whoever you are the devil, take you. The body
drew in a quick breath, stirred. Teukovsky stuck his elbow into it.
It raised a hand, stretched itself and lifted its head. Who is sneaking
in here? He asked, in a hoarse, heavy bass, what do
you want? Teukovsky raised the candle to the face of the unknown and cried
out in the red nose, disheveled, unkempt hair, the pitch black mustaches,
one of which was jauntily twisted and pointed insolently toward the ceiling. He
recognized the gallant cavalryman Klausov You markus Ivanovitch. Is it possible? The examining
magistrate glanced sharply up at him and stood spellbound. Yes, it is I.
That's you, Dukovsky. What the devil do you want here? And
who's that other mug down there? Great snakes, it's the examining magistrate.
What fate has brought him here? Klasov rushed down and threw his arms round
Chubikov in a cordial embrace. Olga Petrovna slipped through the door. How did
you come here? Let's have a drink, devil take it. Tratati tutum,
tratati tutum. Let us drink? But who brought you here? How
did you find out that I was here? But it doesn't matter. Let's
have a drink. Klasov lit the lamp and poured out three glasses of vodka.
That is I don't understand you, said the examining magistrate, running his
hands over him. Is this you or not you? Oh? Shut up?
You want to preach me a sermon. Don't trouble yourself, young Dukovsky.
Empty your glass, friends, let us bring this What are you looking
at? Drink all the same? I do not understand, said the examining
magistrate, mechanically drinking off the vodka. What are you here for? Why
shouldn't I be here? If I am all right here, Klasov drained his
glass and took a bite of ham. I am in captivity here, as
you see, in solitude in a cavern, like a ghost or a bogy
drink. She carried me off and locked me up. And well, I
am living here in the deserted bath house like a hermit. I am fed.
Next week I think I'll try to get out. I'm tired of it
here incomprehensible, said Tukovski. What is incomprehensible about it? Incomprehensible? For
heaven's sake, how did your boot get into the garden? What boot?
We found one boot in the sleeping room and the other in the garden.
And what you want to know that for? It's none of your business.
Why didn't you drink? Devil take you? If you wakened me, then
drink with me. It is an interesting tale, brother, that of the
boot. I didn't want to go with Olga. I don't like to be
bossed. She came under the window and began to abuse me. She always
was a termagant. You know what women are, like all of them.
I was a bit drunk, so I took a boot and heaved it at
her. Ha ha ha tita not a scold enough time. But it didn't,
not a bit of it. She climbed in at the window, lit
the lamp and began to hammer poor tipsy me. She thrushed me dragged me
over here and locked me in. She feeds me now on love, vodka
and ham. But where are you off to, Chubikov, Where are you
going? The examining magistrates swore and left the bath house. Teukoski followed him,
crest fallen. They silently took their seats in the carriage and drove off.
The road never seemed to them so long and disagreeable as it did that
time. Both remained silent. Chubikov trembled with rage all the way. Teukovski
hid his nose in the collar of his overcoat, as if he was afraid
that the darkness and the drizzling rain might read the shame in his face.
When they reached home, the examining magistrate found doctor Tyutyev awaiting him. The
doctor was sitting at the table and, sighing deeply, was turning over the
pages of the Never such goings on there are in the world, he said,
meeting the examining magistrate with a sad smile. Austria is at it again,
and Gladstone also to some extent. Chubikov threw his cap under the table
and shook himself devil's skeletons don't you plague me A thousand times. I have
told you not to bother me with your politics. This is no question of
politics, and you, said Tchubikov, turning to Dukovsky and shaking his fist.
I won't forget this in a thousand years. But the safety match,
how could I know? Choke yourself with your safety match. Get out of
my way. Don't make me mad or the devil only knows what I'll do
to you. Dukovsky sighed, took his hat and went out. I'll go
and get drunk, he decided, going through the door and gloomily wending his
way to the public house. End of the Safety Match by Anton Tchekhov