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Updated: May 13, 2025
Babka Tanya unrolled the baby, and the priest covered its face with his hand, and down it went under the water, once, twice, and again. Then he took some of the sacred ointment on his finger and anointed the baby's forehead, and feet, and hands, and little round stomach.
He talked a great deal, drank wine, and smoked expensive cigars. Very often, almost every day, young ladies of neighbouring families would come to the Pesotskys', and would sing and play the piano with Tanya; sometimes a young neighbour who was a good violinist would come, too.
At the bottom of his heart he genuinely considered now that his marriage to Tanya had been a mistake. He was glad that their separation was final, and the thought of that woman who in the end had turned into a living relic, still walking about though everything seemed dead in her except her big, staring, intelligent eyes the thought of her roused in him nothing but pity and disgust with himself.
Tanya, seeing how he lashed the horse, and seeing how he pulled his cap over his ears, understood what he was feeling, shut herself up in her room, and cried the whole day. In the hot-houses the peaches and plums were already ripe; the packing and sending off of these tender and fragile goods to Moscow took a great deal of care, work, and trouble.
What I fear most is: she will marry some fine gentleman, and he will be greedy, and he will let the garden to people who will run it for profit, and everything will go to the devil the very first year! In our work females are the scourge of God!" Yegor Semyonitch sighed and paused for a while. "Perhaps it is egoism, but I tell you frankly: I don't want Tanya to get married. I am afraid of it!
I am wretched." "Oh, of course, I am Herod, and you and your father are the innocents. Of course." His face seemed to Tanya ugly and unpleasant. Hatred and an ironical expression did not suit him. And, indeed, she had noticed before that there was something lacking in his face, as though ever since his hair had been cut his face had changed, too.
Why don't you tell me? TATYÁNA. What should I say? I don't know how. I might say more than you. But why say anything you know yourself. BABÁYEV. That is, possibly, I guess, but TATYÁNA. Why "but"? There's nothing to be said! BABÁYEV. Yes, there is. Well, how about it, Tánya? TATYÁNA. What do you want? Do you love me very much? TATYÁNA. Yes. BABÁYEV. Will you go to the village with me?
And when we learned from the bakers that the soldier had begun "running after our Tanya," we felt a sort of delighted terror, and life was so interesting that we did not even notice that our employer had taken advantage of our pre-occupation to increase our work by fourteen pounds of dough a day. We seemed, indeed, not even tired by our work. Tanya's name was on our lips all day long.
"Tell you?" the baker turned suddenly to him. "Well?" "You know Tanya?" "Well?" "Well, there then! Only try." "You!" "Her? Why that's nothing to me-pooh!" "We shall see!" "You will see! Ha! ha!" "She'll " "Give me a month!" "What a braggart you are, soldier!" "A fortnight! I'll prove it! Who is it? Tanya! Pooh!" "Well, get out. You're in my way!" "A fortnight and it's done! Ah, you "
However, we told her nothing about the dispute. We asked her no questions and treated her as kindly as before. But something new and foreign to our former feelings for Tanya crept in stealthily into our relation toward her, and this new something was keen curiosity, sharp and cold like a steel knife. "Fellows! Time is up to-day!" said the baker one morning, commencing to work.
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