Short Stories by Chekhov
The doctor sits down to the little table, and rubbing his forehead,
prescribes bromide of potassium for Lizotchka, then makes his bow, and
promising to look in again in the evening, departs. Vassya does not go
to the office, but sits all day at his wife's feet.
At midday the admirers of her talent arrive in a crowd. They are
agitated and alarmed, they bring masses of flowers and French novels.
Lizotchka, in a snow-white cap and a light dressing jacket, lies in bed
with an enigmatic look, as though she did not believe in her own
recovery. The admirers of her talent see her husband, but readily
forgive his presence: they and he are united by one calamity at that
bedside!
At six o'clock in the evening Lizotchka falls asleep, and again sleeps
till two o'clock in the morning. Vassya as before sits at her feet,
struggles with drowsiness, changes her compress, plays at being a Jew,
and in the morning after a second night of suffering, Liza is prinking
before the looking-glass and putting on her hat.
"Wherever are you going, my dear?" asks Vassya, with an imploring look
at her.
"What?" says Lizotchka in wonder, assuming a scared expression, "don't
you know that there is a rehearsal to-day at Marya Lvovna's?"
After escorting her there, Vassya having nothing to do to while away his
boredom, takes his portfolio and goes to the office. His head aches so
violently from his sleepless nights that his left eye shuts of itself
and refuses to open. . . .
"What's the matter with you, my good sir?" his chief asks him. "What is
it?"
Vassya waves his hand and sits down.
"Don't ask me, your Excellency," he says with a sigh. "What I have
suffered in these two days, what I have suffered! Liza has been ill!"
"Good heavens," cried his chief in alarm. "Lizaveta Pavlovna, what is
wrong with her?"
Vassily Stepanovitch merely throws up his hands and raises his eyes to
the ceiling, as though he would say: "It's the will of Providence."
"Ah, my boy, I can sympathise with you with all my heart!" sighs his
chief, rolling his eyes. "I've lost my wife, my dear, I understand. That
is a loss, it is a loss! It's awful, awful! I hope Lizaveta Pavlovna is
better now! What doctor is attending her?"
"Von Schterk."
"Von Schterk! But you would have been better to have called in Magnus or
Semandritsky. But how very pale your face is. You are ill yourself! This
is awful!"
"Yes, your Excellency, I haven't slept. What I have suffered, what I
have been through!"
"And yet you came! Why you came I can't understand? One can't force
oneself like that! One mustn't do oneself harm like that. Go home and
stay there till you are well again! Go home, I command you! Zeal is a
very fine thing in a young official, but you mustn't forget as the
Romans used to say: 'mens sana in corpore sano,' that is, a healthy
brain in a healthy body."
Vassya agrees, puts his papers back in his portfolio, and, taking leave
of his chief, goes home to bed.
THE LION AND THE SUN
IN one of the towns lying on this side of the Urals a rumour was afloat
that a Persian magnate, called Rahat-Helam, was staying for a few days
in the town and putting up at the "Japan Hotel." This rumour made no
impression whatever upon the inhabitants; a Persian had arrived, well,
so be it. Only Stepan Ivanovitch Kutsyn, the mayor of the town, hearing
of the arrival of the oriental gentleman from the secretary of the Town
Hall, grew thoughtful and inquired:
"Where is he going?"
"To Paris or to London, I believe."
"H'm. . . . Then he is a big-wig, I suppose?"
"The devil only knows."
As he went home from the Town Hall and had his dinner, the mayor sank
into thought again, and this time he went on thinking till the evening.
The arrival of the distinguished Persian greatly intrigued him. It
seemed to him that fate itself had sent him this Rahat-Helam, and that a
favourable opportunity had come at last for realising his passionate,
secretly cherished dream. Kutsyn had already two medals, and the
Stanislav of the third degree, the badge of the Red Cross, and the badge
of the Society of Saving from Drowning, and in addition to these he had
made himself a little gold gun crossed by a guitar, and this ornament,
hung from a buttonhole in his uniform, looked in the distance like
something special, and delightfully resembled a badge of distinction. It
is well known that the more orders and medals you have the more you
want--and the mayor had long been desirous of receiving the Persian order
of The Lion and the Sun; he desired it passionately, madly. He knew very
well that there was no need to fight, or to subscribe to an asylum, or
to serve on committees to obtain this order; all that was needed was a
favourable opportunity. And now it seemed to him that this opportunity
had come.
At noon on the following day he put on his chain and all his badges of
distinction and went to the 'Japan.' Destiny favoured him. When he
entered the distinguished Persian's apartment the latter was alone and
doing nothing. Rahat-Helam, an enormous Asiatic, with a long nose like
the beak of a snipe, with prominent eyes, and with a fez on his head,
was sitting on the floor rummaging in his portmanteau.
"I beg you to excuse my disturbing you," began Kutsyn, smiling. "I have
the honour to introduce myself, the hereditary, honourable citizen and
cavalier, Stepan Ivanovitch Kutsyn, mayor of this town. I regard it as
my duty to honour, in the person of your Highness, so to say, the
representative of a friendly and neighbourly state."
The Persian turned and muttered something in very bad French, that
sounded like tapping a board with a piece of wood.
"The frontiers of Persia"--Kutsyn continued the greeting he had
previously learned by heart--"are in close contact with the borders of
our spacious fatherland, and therefore mutual sympathies impel me, so to
speak, to express my solidarity with you."
The illustrious Persian got up and again muttered something in a wooden
tongue. Kutsyn, who knew no foreign language, shook his head to show
that he did not understand.
"Well, how am I to talk to him?" he thought. "It would be a good thing
to send for an interpreter at once, but it is a delicate matter, I can't
talk before witnesses. The interpreter would be chattering all over the
town afterwards."
And Kutsyn tried to recall the foreign words he had picked up from the
newspapers.
"I am the mayor of the town," he muttered. "That is the lord mayor . . .
municipalais . . . Vwee? Kompreney?"
He wanted to express his social position in words or in gesture, and did
not know how. A picture hanging on the wall with an inscription in large
letters, "The Town of Venice," helped him out of his difficulties. He
pointed with his finger at the town, then at his own head, and in that
way obtained, as he imagined, the phrase: "I am the head of the town."
The Persian did not understand, but he gave a smile, and said:
"Goot, monsieur . . . goot . . . . ." Half-an-hour later the mayor was
slapping the Persian, first on the knee and then on the shoulder, and
saying:
"Kompreney? Vwee? As lord mayor and municipalais I suggest that you
should take a little promenage . . . kompreney? Promenage."
Kutsyn pointed at Venice, and with two fingers represented walking legs.
Rahat-Helam who kept his eyes fixed on his medals, and was apparently
guessing that this was the most important person in the town, understood
the word promenage and grinned politely. Then they both put on their
coats and went out of the room. Downstairs near the door leading to the
restaurant of the 'Japan,' Kutsyn reflected that it would not be amiss
to entertain the Persian. He stopped and indicating the tables, said:
"By Russian custom it wouldn't be amiss . . . puree, entrekot, champagne
and so on, kompreney."
The illustrious visitor understood, and a little later they were both
sitting in the very best room of the restaurant, eating, and drinking
champagne.
"Let us drink to the prosperity of Persia!" said Kutsyn. "We Russians
love the Persians. Though we are of another faith, yet there are common
interests, mutual, so to say, sympathies . . . progress . . . Asiatic
markets. . . . The campaigns of peace so to say. . . ."
The illustrious Persian ate and drank with an excellent appetite, he
stuck his fork into a slice of smoked sturgeon, and wagging his head,
enthusiastically said: "Goot, bien."
"You like it?" said the mayor delighted. "Bien, that's capital." And
turning to the waiter he said: "Luka, my lad, see that two pieces of
smoked sturgeon, the best you have, are sent up to his Highness's room!"
Then the mayor and the Persian magnate went to look at the menagerie.
The townspeople saw their Stepan Ivanovitch, flushed with champagne, gay
and very well pleased, leading the Persian about the principal streets
and the bazaar, showing him the points of interest of the town, and even
taking him to the fire tower.
Among other things the townspeople saw him stop near some stone gates
with lions on it, and point out to the Persian first the lion, then the
sun overhead, and then his own breast; then again he pointed to the lion
and to the sun while the Persian nodded his head as though in sign of
assent, and smiling showed his white teeth. In the evening they were
sitting in the London Hotel listening to the harp-players, and where
they spent the night is not known.
Next day the mayor was at the Town Hall in the morning; the officials
there apparently already knew something and were making their
conjectures, for the secretary went up to him and said with an ironical
smile:
"It is the custom of the Persians when an illustrious visitor comes to
visit you, you must slaughter a sheep with your own hands."
And a little later an envelope that had come by post was handed to him.
The mayor tore it open and saw a caricature in it. It was a drawing of
Rahat-Helam with the mayor on his knees before him, stretching out his
hands and saying:
"To prove our Russian friendship For Persia's mighty realm, And show
respect for you, her envoy, Myself I'd slaughter like a lamb, But,
pardon me, for I'm a--donkey!"
The mayor was conscious of an unpleasant feeling like a gnawing in the
pit of the stomach, but not for long. By midday he was again with the
illustrious Persian, again he was regaling him and showing him the
points of interest in the town. Again he led him to the stone gates, and
again pointed to the lion, to the sun and to his own breast. They dined
at the 'Japan'; after dinner, with cigars in their teeth, both, flushed
and blissful, again mounted the fire tower, and the mayor, evidently
wishing to entertain the visitor with an unusual spectacle, shouted from
the top to a sentry walking below:
"Sound the alarm!"
But the alarm was not sounded as the firemen were at the baths at the
moment.
They supped at the 'London' and, after supper, the Persian departed.
When he saw him off, Stepan Ivanovitch kissed him three times after the
Russian fashion, and even grew tearful. And when the train started, he
shouted:
"Give our greeting to Persia! Tell her that we love her!"
A year and four months had passed. There was a bitter frost, thirty-five
degrees, and a piercing wind was blowing. Stepan Ivanovitch was walking
along the street with his fur coat thrown open over his chest, and he
was annoyed that he met no one to see the Lion and the Sun upon his
breast. He walked about like this till evening with his fur coat open,
was chilled to the bone, and at night tossed from side to side and could
not get to sleep.
He felt heavy at heart.
There was a burning sensation inside him, and his heart throbbed
uneasily; he had a longing now to get a Serbian order. It was a painful,
passionate longing.