The shooting party

by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

But Il'ya made no reply to these questions.… The part of the second messenger fell to the lot of a man who was not expected and whose appearance caused general surprise. Both the sudden appearance and the look of this man were astonishing.… When the Count saw him, and remembered that Olga was walking about in the forest, his heart sank, and from a terrible presentiment his legs gave way under him.

It was Pëtr Egorych Urbenin, the Count's former bailiff and Olga's husband. At first the company heard heavy footsteps and the cracking of brushwood.… It seemed as if a bear was making his way from the forest to the clearing. Then the heavy form of unfortunate Pëtr Egorych came in sight. When he came out of the forest and saw the company assembled on the clearing, he stepped back and stopped as if he were rooted to the ground. For about two minutes he remained silent and motionless, and in this way gave the people time to examine him properly. He had his usual grey jacket on and trousers that were already well worn. He was without a hat, and his matted hair stuck to his sweaty brow and temples.… His face, which was usually purple and often almost blue, was now quite pale.… His eyes looked around senselessly, staring wildly.… His hands and lips trembled.…

But what was the most astonishing and what instantly attracted the attention of the stupefied spectators were his blood-stained hands.… Both his hands and shirt cuffs were thickly covered with blood, as if they had been washed in a bath of blood.

Three minutes Urbenin remained dumbfounded, and then, as if awakening from a dream, he sat down on the grass cross-legged and groaned. The dogs, scenting something unwonted, surrounded him and raised a bark.… Having glanced round the assembled company with dim eyes, Urbenin covered his face with both hands and again there was silence.…

“Olga, Olga, what have you done!” he groaned.

Heartrending sobs were torn from his breast and shook his broad shoulders.… When he removed the hands from his face the whole company saw the marks of blood that they had left on his cheeks and forehead.

When he got to this place the Count waved his hands convulsively, seized a glass of vodka, drank it off, and continued:

“From that point my recollections become mixed. You can well understand all these events had so stunned me that I had lost the power of thinking.… I can remember nothing that happened afterwards! I only remember that the men brought some sort of a body in a torn, blood-stained dress out of the wood.… I could not look at it! They put it into a calash and drove off.… I did not hear either groans or weeping.… They say that the small dagger which she always carried about with her had been thrust into her side.… You remember it? I had given it to her. It was a blunt dagger—blunter than the edge of this glass.… What strength was necessary to plunge it in! Brother, I liked Caucasian arms, but now may the deuce take all those arms! To-morrow I will order them all to be thrown away.”

The Count drank another glass of vodka and continued:

“But what a shame! What an abomination! We brought her to the house.… You can understand our despair, our horror, when suddenly, may the devil take all the gipsies, we heard gay singing!… They were all ranged in a row, singing at the top of their voices!… You see, they wanted to receive us with chic, but it turned out quite misplaced.… It was like Ivanushka-the-fool, who, meeting a funeral, became excited and shouted: ‘Pull away, you can't pull it over!’ Yes, brother! I wanted to entertain my guests and had ordered the gipsies, and what a muddle came of it! Not gipsies ought to have been sent for but doctors and priests. And now I don't know what to do! What am I to do? I don't know any of these formalities and customs. I don't know whom to call in, for whom to send.… Perhaps the police ought to come, the Public Prosecutor.… How the devil can I know? Thank goodness, Father Jeremiah, having heard about the scandal, came to give her the Communion. I should never have thought of sending for him. I implore you, dear friend, make all the necessary arrangements! By God, I'm going mad! The arrival of my wife, the murder … Brrr!… Where is my wife now? Have you seen her?”