Short Stories by Chekhov
excited, talked loudly, and would not let others speak. This endless
chatter to the accompaniment of loud laughter and expressive gestures
wearied Andrey Yefimitch.
"Which of us is the madman?" he thought with vexation. "I, who try not
to disturb my fellow-passengers in any way, or this egoist who thinks
that he is cleverer and more interesting than anyone here, and so will
leave no one in peace?"
In Moscow Mihail Averyanitch put on a military coat without epaulettes
and trousers with red braid on them. He wore a military cap and overcoat
in the street, and soldiers saluted him. It seemed to Andrey Yefimitch,
now, that his companion was a man who had flung away all that was good
and kept only what was bad of all the characteristics of a country
gentleman that he had once possessed. He liked to be waited on even when
it was quite unnecessary. The matches would be lying before him on the
table, and he would see them and shout to the waiter to give him the
matches; he did not hesitate to appear before a maidservant in nothing
but his underclothes; he used the familiar mode of address to all
footmen indiscriminately, even old men, and when he was angry called
them fools and blockheads. This, Andrey Yefimitch thought, was like a
gentleman, but disgusting.
First of all Mihail Averyanitch led his friend to the Iversky Madonna.
He prayed fervently, shedding tears and bowing down to the earth, and
when he had finished, heaved a deep sigh and said:
"Even though one does not believe it makes one somehow easier when one
prays a little. Kiss the ikon, my dear fellow."
Andrey Yefimitch was embarrassed and he kissed the image, while Mihail
Averyanitch pursed up his lips and prayed in a whisper, and again tears
came into his eyes. Then they went to the Kremlin and looked there at
the Tsar-cannon and the Tsar-bell, and even touched them with their
fingers, admired the view over the river, visited St. Saviour's and the
Rumyantsev museum.
They dined at Tyestov's. Mihail Averyanitch looked a long time at the
menu, stroking his whiskers, and said in the tone of a gourmand
accustomed to dine in restaurants:
"We shall see what you give us to eat to-day, angel!" XIV
The doctor walked about, looked at things, ate and drank, but he had all
the while one feeling: annoyance with Mihail Averyanitch. He longed to
have a rest from his friend, to get away from him, to hide himself,
while the friend thought it was his duty not to let the doctor move a
step away from him, and to provide him with as many distractions as
possible. When there was nothing to look at he entertained him with
conversation. For two days Andrey Yefimitch endured it, but on the third
he announced to his friend that he was ill and wanted to stay at home
for the whole day; his friend replied that in that case he would stay
too--that really he needed rest, for he was run off his legs already.
Andrey Yefimitch lay on the sofa, with his face to the back, and
clenching his teeth, listened to his friend, who assured him with heat
that sooner or later France would certainly thrash Germany, that there
were a great many scoundrels in Moscow, and that it was impossible to
judge of a horse's quality by its outward appearance. The doctor began
to have a buzzing in his ears and palpitations of the heart, but out of
delicacy could not bring himself to beg his friend to go away or hold
his tongue. Fortunately Mihail Averyanitch grew weary of sitting in the
hotel room, and after dinner he went out for a walk.
As soon as he was alone Andrey Yefimitch abandoned himself to a feeling
of relief. How pleasant to lie motionless on the sofa and to know that
one is alone in the room! Real happiness is impossible without solitude.
The fallen angel betrayed God probably because he longed for solitude,
of which the angels know nothing. Andrey Yefimitch wanted to think about
what he had seen and heard during the last few days, but he could not
get Mihail Averyanitch out of his head.
"Why, he has taken a holiday and come with me out of friendship, out of
generosity," thought the doctor with vexation; "nothing could be worse
than this friendly supervision. I suppose he is good-natured and
generous and a lively fellow, but he is a bore. An insufferable bore. In
the same way there are people who never say anything but what is clever
and good, yet one feels that they are dull-witted people."
For the following days Andrey Yefimitch declared himself ill and would
not leave the hotel room; he lay with his face to the back of the sofa,
and suffered agonies of weariness when his friend entertained him with
conversation, or rested when his friend was absent. He was vexed with
himself for having come, and with his friend, who grew every day more
talkative and more free-and-easy; he could not succeed in attuning his
thoughts to a serious and lofty level.
"This is what I get from the real life Ivan Dmitritch talked about," he
thought, angry at his own pettiness. "It's of no consequence, though. .
. . I shall go home, and everything will go on as before . . . ."
It was the same thing in Petersburg too; for whole days together he did
not leave the hotel room, but lay on the sofa and only got up to drink
beer.
Mihail Averyanitch was all haste to get to Warsaw.
"My dear man, what should I go there for?" said Andrey Yefimitch in an
imploring voice. "You go alone and let me get home! I entreat you!"
"On no account," protested Mihail Averyanitch. "It's a marvellous town."
Andrey Yefimitch had not the strength of will to insist on his own way,
and much against his inclination went to Warsaw. There he did not leave
the hotel room, but lay on the sofa, furious with himself, with his
friend, and with the waiters, who obstinately refused to understand
Russian; while Mihail Averyanitch, healthy, hearty, and full of spirits
as usual, went about the town from morning to night, looking for his old
acquaintances. Several times he did not return home at night. After one
night spent in some unknown haunt he returned home early in the morning,
in a violently excited condition, with a red face and tousled hair. For
a long time he walked up and down the rooms muttering something to
himself, then stopped and said:
"Honour before everything."
After walking up and down a little longer he clutched his head in both
hands and pronounced in a tragic voice: "Yes, honour before everything!
Accursed be the moment when the idea first entered my head to visit this
Babylon! My dear friend," he added, addressing the doctor, "you may
despise me, I have played and lost; lend me five hundred roubles!"
Andrey Yefimitch counted out five hundred roubles and gave them to his
friend without a word. The latter, still crimson with shame and anger,
incoherently articulated some useless vow, put on his cap, and went out.
Returning two hours later he flopped into an easy-chair, heaved a loud
sigh, and said:
"My honour is saved. Let us go, my friend; I do not care to remain
another hour in this accursed town. Scoundrels! Austrian spies!"
By the time the friends were back in their own town it was November, and
deep snow was lying in the streets. Dr. Hobotov had Andrey Yefimitch's
post; he was still living in his old lodgings, waiting for Andrey
Yefimitch to arrive and clear out of the hospital apartments. The plain
woman whom he called his cook was already established in one of the
lodges.
Fresh scandals about the hospital were going the round of the town. It
was said that the plain woman had quarrelled with the superintendent,
and that the latter had crawled on his knees before her begging
forgiveness. On the very first day he arrived Andrey Yefimitch had to
look out for lodgings.
"My friend," the postmaster said to him timidly, "excuse an indiscreet
question: what means have you at your disposal?"
Andrey Yefimitch, without a word, counted out his money and said:
"Eighty-six roubles."
"I don't mean that," Mihail Averyanitch brought out in confusion,
misunderstanding him; "I mean, what have you to live on?"
"I tell you, eighty-six roubles . . . I have nothing else."
Mihail Averyanitch looked upon the doctor as an honourable man, yet he
suspected that he had accumulated a fortune of at least twenty thousand.
Now learning that Andrey Yefimitch was a beggar, that he had nothing to
live on he was for some reason suddenly moved to tears and embraced his
friend. XV
Andrey Yefimitch now lodged in a little house with three windows. There
were only three rooms besides the kitchen in the little house. The
doctor lived in two of them which looked into the street, while
Daryushka and the landlady with her three children lived in the third
room and the kitchen. Sometimes the landlady's lover, a drunken peasant
who was rowdy and reduced the children and Daryushka to terror, would
come for the night. When he arrived and established himself in the
kitchen and demanded vodka, they all felt very uncomfortable, and the
doctor would be moved by pity to take the crying children into his room
and let them lie on his floor, and this gave him great satisfaction.
He got up as before at eight o'clock, and after his morning tea sat down
to read his old books and magazines: he had no money for new ones.
Either because the books were old, or perhaps because of the change in
his surroundings, reading exhausted him, and did not grip his attention
as before. That he might not spend his time in idleness he made a
detailed catalogue of his books and gummed little labels on their backs,
and this mechanical, tedious work seemed to him more interesting than
reading. The monotonous, tedious work lulled his thoughts to sleep in
some unaccountable way, and the time passed quickly while he thought of
nothing. Even sitting in the kitchen, peeling potatoes with Daryushka or
picking over the buckwheat grain, seemed to him interesting. On
Saturdays and Sundays he went to church. Standing near the wall and half
closing his eyes, he listened to the singing and thought of his father,
of his mother, of the university, of the religions of the world; he felt
calm and melancholy, and as he went out of the church afterwards he
regretted that the service was so soon over. He went twice to the
hospital to talk to Ivan Dmitritch. But on both occasions Ivan Dmitritch
was unusually excited and ill-humoured; he bade the doctor leave him in
peace, as he had long been sick of empty chatter, and declared, to make
up for all his sufferings, he asked from the damned scoundrels only one
favour--solitary confinement. Surely they would not refuse him even that?
On both occasions when Andrey Yefimitch was taking leave of him and
wishing him good-night, he answered rudely and said:
"Go to hell!"
And Andrey Yefimitch did not know now whether to go to him for the third
time or not. He longed to go.
In old days Andrey Yefimitch used to walk about his rooms and think in
the interval after dinner, but now from dinner-time till evening tea he
lay on the sofa with his face to the back and gave himself up to trivial
thoughts which he could not struggle against. He was mortified that
after more than twenty years of service he had been given neither a
pension nor any assistance. It is true that he had not done his work
honestly, but, then, all who are in the Service get a pension without
distinction whether they are honest or not. Contemporary justice lies
precisely in the bestowal of grades, orders, and pensions, not for moral
qualities or capacities, but for service whatever it may have been like.
Why was he alone to be an exception? He had no money at all. He was
ashamed to pass by the shop and look at the woman who owned it. He owed
thirty-two roubles for beer already. There was money owing to the