Experiments in Translation: "The Lady With the Little Dog" , "In the Cart"

"The Lady with the Little Dog" by Anton Chekhov

Word among the locals was a new face had appeared on the boardwalk: a lady with a little dog. Dmitry Dmitrich Gurov, here in Yalta now two weeks and settled completely, was also keeping a lookout for new faces. Sitting in Vernet’s waterfront cafe he saw, walking along the boardwalk, a young woman, a blonde of modest height wearing a beret. Behind her trotted the small white shpitz.

Khmelnik, 2021

It was said that a new person had appeared on the sea-front: a lady with a little dog. Dmitri Dmitritch Gurov, who had by then been a fortnight at Yalta, and so was fairly at home there, had begun to take an interest in new arrivals. Sitting in Verney's pavilion, he saw, walking on the sea-front, a fair-haired young lady of medium height, wearing a beret; a white Pomeranian dog was running behind her.

Constance Garnett, 1917

The talk was that a new face had appeared on the embankment: a lady with a little dog. Dmitri Dmitrich Gurov, who had already spent two weeks in Yalta and was used to it, also began to take an interest in new faces. Sitting in a pavilion at Vernet’s, he saw a young woman, not very tall, blond, in a beret, walking along the embankment; behind her ran a white spitz.

Pavear and Volohosky, 2000

"In the Cart" by Anton Chekhov

At half past eight, they started the drive out of town.

The main road was dry, the beautiful April sun, palpably warm, but, in the ditches and in the woods, snow still lay on the ground. Winter, angry, dark, long, had been here so recently, spring had arrived with such suddenness, but Marya Vasilyevna, who sat now in the old wooden cart, saw nothing new or interesting about the warmth, or the silent, thawed by the breath of spring, transparent woods, or the black flocks that flew above the fields, over enormous puddles that looked like lakes, or this sky, marvelous, bottomless, into which one imagined one might walk so joyfully. She’d been thirteen years a schoolteacher, and you would lose count trying to number the times she'd gone into town for her pay; and whether it was spring, as now, or an autumn evening in the rain, or winter—she didn't care, and always, invariably, wanted one thing: to arrive more quickly.

Khmelnik, 2021

They drove out of town at half past eight in the morning

The paved road was dry, a splendid April sun was shedding warmth, but there was still snow in the ditches and in the woods. Winter, evil, dark, long, had ended so recently; spring had arrived suddenly; but neither the warmth nor the languid, transparent woods, warmed by the breath of spring, nor the black flocks flying in the fields over huge puddles that were like lakes, nor this marvelous, immeasurably deep sky, into which it seemed that one would plunge with such joy, offered anything new and interesting to Marya Vasilyevna, who was sitting in the cart. She had been teaching school for thirteen years, and in the course of all those years she had gone to the town for her salary countless times; and whether it was spring, as now, or a rainy autumn evening, or winter, it was all the same to her, and what she always, invariably, longed for was to reach her destination as soon as possible.

Yarmolinsky,

They drove out of town at half past eight in the morning.

The road was dry, the wonderful April sun was very warm, but there was still snow in the ditches and the woods. The fierce, dark, long winter was still so near, spring had come suddenly, but for Marya Vasilyevna, who was now sitting in the wagon, there as nothing new or interesting either in the warmth or in the languid, transparent woods, thawed by the breath of spring, or in the black flocks flying in the field over the huge puddles that resembled lakes, or in the sky, wondrous, bottomless, into which it seemed you could go so joyfully. It was already thirteen years that she had been working as a teacher, and there was no counting how many times in all those years she had ridden to town for her salary; and whether it was spring, as now, or a rainy autumn evening, or winter — for her it was all the same, and she always invariably wanted one thing: to get there quickly.

Pavear and Volohonsky, 2020