Short Stories by Chekhov
the hoop were brought in, and every day almost the same performance took
place. The lesson lasted three or four hours, so that sometimes Fyodor
Timofeyitch was so tired that he staggered about like a drunken man, and
Ivan Ivanitch opened his beak and breathed heavily, while their master
became red in the face and could not mop the sweat from his brow fast
enough.
The lesson and the dinner made the day very interesting, but the
evenings were tedious. As a rule, their master went off somewhere in the
evening and took the cat and the gander with him. Left alone, Auntie lay
down on her little mattress and began to feel sad.
Melancholy crept on her imperceptibly and took possession of her by
degrees, as darkness does of a room. It began with the dog's losing
every inclination to bark, to eat, to run about the rooms, and even to
look at things; then vague figures, half dogs, half human beings, with
countenances attractive, pleasant, but incomprehensible, would appear in
her imagination; when they came Auntie wagged her tail, and it seemed to
her that she had somewhere, at some time, seen them and loved them. And
as she dropped asleep, she always felt that those figures smelt of glue,
shavings, and varnish.
When she had grown quite used to her new life, and from a thin, long
mongrel, had changed into a sleek, well-groomed dog, her master looked
at her one day before the lesson and said:
"It's high time, Auntie, to get to business. You have kicked up your
heels in idleness long enough. I want to make an artiste of you. . . .
Do you want to be an artiste?"
And he began teaching her various accomplishments. At the first lesson
he taught her to stand and walk on her hind legs, which she liked
extremely. At the second lesson she had to jump on her hind legs and
catch some sugar, which her teacher held high above her head. After
that, in the following lessons she danced, ran tied to a cord, howled to
music, rang the bell, and fired the pistol, and in a month could
successfully replace Fyodor Timofeyitch in the "Egyptian Pyramid." She
learned very eagerly and was pleased with her own success; running with
her tongue out on the cord, leaping through the hoop, and riding on old
Fyodor Timofeyitch, gave her the greatest enjoyment. She accompanied
every successful trick with a shrill, delighted bark, while her teacher
wondered, was also delighted, and rubbed his hands.
"It's talent! It's talent!" he said. "Unquestionable talent! You will
certainly be successful!"
And Auntie grew so used to the word talent, that every time her master
pronounced it, she jumped up as if it had been her name. VI
|An Uneasy Night
Auntie had a doggy dream that a porter ran after her with a broom, and
she woke up in a fright.
It was quite dark and very stuffy in the room. The fleas were biting.
Auntie had never been afraid of darkness before, but now, for some
reason, she felt frightened and inclined to bark.
Her master heaved a loud sigh in the next room, then soon afterwards the
sow grunted in her sty, and then all was still again. When one thinks
about eating one's heart grows lighter, and Auntie began thinking how
that day she had stolen the leg of a chicken from Fyodor Timofeyitch,
and had hidden it in the drawing-room, between the cupboard and the
wall, where there were a great many spiders' webs and a great deal of
dust. Would it not be as well to go now and look whether the chicken leg
were still there or not? It was very possible that her master had found
it and eaten it. But she must not go out of the room before morning,
that was the rule. Auntie shut her eyes to go to sleep as quickly as
possible, for she knew by experience that the sooner you go to sleep the
sooner the morning comes. But all at once there was a strange scream not
far from her which made her start and jump up on all four legs. It was
Ivan Ivanitch, and his cry was not babbling and persuasive as usual, but
a wild, shrill, unnatural scream like the squeak of a door opening.
Unable to distinguish anything in the darkness, and not understanding
what was wrong, Auntie felt still more frightened and growled: "R-r-r-r.
. . ."
Some time passed, as long as it takes to eat a good bone; the scream was
not repeated. Little by little Auntie's uneasiness passed off and she
began to doze. She dreamed of two big black dogs with tufts of last
year's coat left on their haunches and sides; they were eating out of a
big basin some swill, from which there came a white steam and a most
appetising smell; from time to time they looked round at Auntie, showed
their teeth and growled: "We are not going to give you any!" But a
peasant in a fur-coat ran out of the house and drove them away with a
whip; then Auntie went up to the basin and began eating, but as soon as
the peasant went out of the gate, the two black dogs rushed at her
growling, and all at once there was again a shrill scream.
"K-gee! K-gee-gee!" cried Ivan Ivanitch.
Auntie woke, jumped up and, without leaving her mattress, went off into
a yelping bark. It seemed to her that it was not Ivan Ivanitch that was
screaming but someone else, and for some reason the sow again grunted in
her sty.
Then there was the sound of shuffling slippers, and the master came into
the room in his dressing-gown with a candle in his hand. The flickering
light danced over the dirty wall-paper and the ceiling, and chased away
the darkness. Auntie saw that there was no stranger in the room. Ivan
Ivanitch was sitting on the floor and was not asleep. His wings were
spread out and his beak was open, and altogether he looked as though he
were very tired and thirsty. Old Fyodor Timofeyitch was not asleep
either. He, too, must have been awakened by the scream.
"Ivan Ivanitch, what's the matter with you?" the master asked the
gander. "Why are you screaming? Are you ill?"
The gander did not answer. The master touched him on the neck, stroked
his back, and said: "You are a queer chap. You don't sleep yourself, and
you don't let other people. . . ."
When the master went out, carrying the candle with him, there was
darkness again. Auntie felt frightened. The gander did not scream, but
again she fancied that there was some stranger in the room. What was
most dreadful was that this stranger could not be bitten, as he was
unseen and had no shape. And for some reason she thought that something
very bad would certainly happen that night. Fyodor Timofeyitch was
uneasy too.
Auntie could hear him shifting on his mattress, yawning and shaking his
head.
Somewhere in the street there was a knocking at a gate and the sow
grunted in her sty. Auntie began to whine, stretched out her front-paws
and laid her head down upon them. She fancied that in the knocking at
the gate, in the grunting of the sow, who was for some reason awake, in
the darkness and the stillness, there was something as miserable and
dreadful as in Ivan Ivanitch's scream. Everything was in agitation and
anxiety, but why? Who was the stranger who could not be seen? Then two
dim flashes of green gleamed for a minute near Auntie. It was Fyodor
Timofeyitch, for the first time of their whole acquaintance coming up to
her. What did he want? Auntie licked his paw, and not asking why he had
come, howled softly and on various notes.
"K-gee!" cried Ivan Ivanitch, "K-g-ee!"
The door opened again and the master came in with a candle.
The gander was sitting in the same attitude as before, with his beak
open, and his wings spread out, his eyes were closed.
"Ivan Ivanitch!" his master called him.
The gander did not stir. His master sat down before him on the floor,
looked at him in silence for a minute, and said:
"Ivan Ivanitch, what is it? Are you dying? Oh, I remember now, I
remember!" he cried out, and clutched at his head. "I know why it is!
It's because the horse stepped on you to-day! My God! My God!"
Auntie did not understand what her master was saying, but she saw from
his face that he, too, was expecting something dreadful. She stretched
out her head towards the dark window, where it seemed to her some
stranger was looking in, and howled.
"He is dying, Auntie!" said her master, and wrung his hands. "Yes, yes,
he is dying! Death has come into your room. What are we to do?"
Pale and agitated, the master went back into his room, sighing and
shaking his head. Auntie was afraid to remain in the darkness, and
followed her master into his bedroom. He sat down on the bed and
repeated several times: "My God, what's to be done?"
Auntie walked about round his feet, and not understanding why she was
wretched and why they were all so uneasy, and trying to understand,
watched every movement he made. Fyodor Timofeyitch, who rarely left his
little mattress, came into the master's bedroom too, and began rubbing
himself against his feet. He shook his head as though he wanted to shake
painful thoughts out of it, and kept peeping suspiciously under the bed.
The master took a saucer, poured some water from his wash-stand into it,
and went to the gander again.
"Drink, Ivan Ivanitch!" he said tenderly, setting the saucer before him;
"drink, darling."
But Ivan Ivanitch did not stir and did not open his eyes. His master
bent his head down to the saucer and dipped his beak into the water, but
the gander did not drink, he spread his wings wider than ever, and his
head remained lying in the saucer.
"No, there's nothing to be done now," sighed his master. "It's all over.
Ivan Ivanitch is gone!"
And shining drops, such as one sees on the window-pane when it rains,
trickled down his cheeks. Not understanding what was the matter, Auntie
and Fyodor Timofeyitch snuggled up to him and looked with horror at the
gander.
"Poor Ivan Ivanitch!" said the master, sighing mournfully. "And I was
dreaming I would take you in the spring into the country, and would walk
with you on the green grass. Dear creature, my good comrade, you are no
more! How shall I do without you now?"
It seemed to Auntie that the same thing would happen to her, that is,
that she too, there was no knowing why, would close her eyes, stretch
out her paws, open her mouth, and everyone would look at her with
horror. Apparently the same reflections were passing through the brain
of Fyodor Timofeyitch. Never before had the old cat been so morose and
gloomy.
It began to get light, and the unseen stranger who had so frightened
Auntie was no longer in the room. When it was quite daylight, the porter
came in, took the gander, and carried him away. And soon afterwards the
old woman came in and took away the trough.
Auntie went into the drawing-room and looked behind the cupboard: her
master had not eaten the chicken bone, it was lying in its place among
the dust and spiders' webs. But Auntie felt sad and dreary and wanted to
cry. She did not even sniff at the bone, but went under the sofa, sat
down there, and began softly whining in a thin voice. VII
|An Unsuccessful Début
One fine evening the master came into the room with the dirty wall-
paper, and, rubbing his hands, said:
"Well. . . ."
He meant to say something more, but went away without saying it. Auntie,
who during her lessons had thoroughly studied his face and intonations,
divined that he was agitated, anxious and, she fancied, angry. Soon
afterwards he came back and said:
"To-day I shall take with me Auntie and F'yodor Timofeyitch. To-day,
Auntie, you will take the place of poor Ivan Ivanitch in the 'Egyptian
Pyramid.' Goodness knows how it will be! Nothing is ready, nothing has
been thoroughly studied, there have been few rehearsals! We shall be
disgraced, we shall come to grief!"
Then he went out again, and a minute later, came back in his fur-coat
and top hat. Going up to the cat he took him by the fore-paws and put