Short Stories by Chekhov
cowardice, Vaxin pulled the bedclothes over his head and shut his eyes.
For about ten minutes he felt fairly comfortable, then the same nonsense
came creeping back into his mind. . . . He swore to himself, felt for
the matches, and without opening his eyes lighted a candle.
But even the light was no use. To Vaxin' s excited imagination it seemed
as though someone were peeping round the corner and that his uncle's
eyes were moving.
"I'll ring her up again . . . damn the woman!" he decided. "I'll tell
her I'm unwell and ask for some drops."
Vaxin rang. There was no response. He rang again, and as though
answering his ring, he heard the church-bell toll the hour.
Overcome with terror, cold all over, he jumped out of bed, ran headlong
out of his bedroom, and making the sign of the cross and cursing himself
for his cowardice, he fled barefoot in his night-shirt to the
governess's room.
"Rosalia Karlovna!" he began in a shaking voice as he knocked at her
door, "Rosalia Karlovna! . . . Are you asleep? . . . I feel . . . so . .
. er . . . er . . . unwell. . . . Drops! . . ."
There was no answer. Silence reigned.
"I beg you . . . do you understand? I beg you! Why this squeamishness, I
can't understand . . . especially when a man . . . is ill . . . How
absurdly zierlich manierlich you are really . . . at your age. . . ."
"I to your wife shall tell. . . . Will not leave an honest maiden in
peace. . . . When I was at Baron Anzig's, and the baron try to come to
me for matches, I understand at once what his matches mean and tell to
the baroness. . . . I am an honest maiden."
"Hang your honesty! I am ill I tell you . . . and asking you for drops.
Do you understand? I'm ill!"
"Your wife is an honest, good woman, and you ought her to love! Ja! She
is noble! . . . I will not be her foe!"
"You are a fool! simply a fool! Do you understand, a fool?"
Vaxin leaned against the door-post, folded his arms and waited for his
panic to pass off. To return to his room where the lamp flickered and
his uncle stared at him from his frame was more than he could face, and
to stand at the governess's door in nothing but his night-shirt was
inconvenient from every point of view. What could he do?
It struck two o'clock and his terror had not left him. There was no
light in the passage and something dark seemed to be peeping out from
every corner. Vaxin turned so as to face the door-post, but at that
instant it seemed as though somebody tweaked his night-shirt from behind
and touched him on the shoulder.
"Damnation! . . . Rosalia Karlovna!"
No answer. Vaxin hesitatingly opened the door and peeped into the room.
The virtuous German was sweetly slumbering. The tiny flame of a night-
light threw her solid buxom person into relief. Vaxin stepped into the
room and sat down on a wickerwork trunk near the door. He felt better in
the presence of a living creature, even though that creature was asleep.
"Let the German idiot sleep," he thought, "I'll sit here, and when it
gets light I'll go back. . . . It's daylight early now."
Vaxin curled up on the trunk and put his arm under his head to await the
coming of dawn.
"What a thing it is to have nerves!" he reflected. "An educated,
intelligent man! . . . Hang it all! . . . It's a perfect disgrace!"
As he listened to the gentle, even breathing of Rosalia Karlovna, he
soon recovered himself completely.
At six o'clock, Vaxin's wife returned from the all-night service, and
not finding her husband in their bedroom, went to the governess to ask
her for some change for the cabman.
On entering the German's room, a strange sight met her eyes.
On the bed lay stretched Rosalia Karlovna fast asleep, and a couple of
yards from her was her husband curled up on the trunk sleeping the sleep
of the just and snoring loudly.
What she said to her husband, and how he looked when he woke, I leave to
others to describe. It is beyond my powers.
A WORK OF ART
SASHA SMIRNOV, the only son of his mother, holding under his arm,
something wrapped up in No. 223 of the Financial News, assumed a
sentimental expression, and went into Dr. Koshelkov's consulting-room.
"Ah, dear lad!" was how the doctor greeted him. "Well! how are we
feeling? What good news have you for me?"
Sasha blinked, laid his hand on his heart and said in an agitated
voice: "Mamma sends her greetings to you, Ivan Nikolaevitch, and told me
to thank you. . . . I am the only son of my mother and you have saved my
life . . . you have brought me through a dangerous illness and . . . we
do not know how to thank you."
"Nonsense, lad!" said the doctor, highly delighted. "I only did what
anyone else would have done in my place."
"I am the only son of my mother . . . we are poor people and cannot of
course repay you, and we are quite ashamed, doctor, although, however,
mamma and I . . . the only son of my mother, earnestly beg you to accept
in token of our gratitude . . . this object, which . . . An object of
great value, an antique bronze. . . . A rare work of art."
"You shouldn't!" said the doctor, frowning. "What's this for!"
"No, please do not refuse," Sasha went on muttering as he unpacked the
parcel. "You will wound mamma and me by refusing. . . . It's a fine
thing . . . an antique bronze. . . . It was left us by my deceased
father and we have kept it as a precious souvenir. My father used to buy
antique bronzes and sell them to connoisseurs . . . Mamma and I keep on
the business now."
Sasha undid the object and put it solemnly on the table. It was a not
very tall candelabra of old bronze and artistic workmanship. It
consisted of a group: on the pedestal stood two female figures in the
costume of Eve and in attitudes for the description of which I have
neither the courage nor the fitting temperament. The figures were
smiling coquettishly and altogether looked as though, had it not been
for the necessity of supporting the candlestick, they would have skipped
off the pedestal and have indulged in an orgy such as is improper for
the reader even to imagine.
Looking at the present, the doctor slowly scratched behind his ear,
cleared his throat and blew his nose irresolutely.
"Yes, it certainly is a fine thing," he muttered, "but . . . how shall I
express it? . . . it's . . . h'm . . . it's not quite for family
reading. It's not simply decolleté but beyond anything, dash it all. .
. ."
"How do you mean?"
"The serpent-tempter himself could not have invented anything worse . .
. . Why, to put such a phantasmagoria on the table would be defiling the
whole flat."
"What a strange way of looking at art, doctor!" said Sasha, offended.
"Why, it is an artistic thing, look at it! There is so much beauty and
elegance that it fills one's soul with a feeling of reverence and brings
a lump into one's throat! When one sees anything so beautiful one
forgets everything earthly. . . . Only look, how much movement, what an
atmosphere, what expression!"
"I understand all that very well, my dear boy," the doctor interposed,
"but you know I am a family man, my children run in here, ladies come
in."
"Of course if you look at it from the point of view of the crowd," said
Sasha, "then this exquisitely artistic work may appear in a certain
light. . . . But, doctor, rise superior to the crowd, especially as you
will wound mamma and me by refusing it. I am the only son of my mother,
you have saved my life. . . . We are giving you the thing most precious
to us and . . . and I only regret that I have not the pair to present to
you. . . ."
"Thank you, my dear fellow, I am very grateful . . . Give my respects to
your mother but really consider, my children run in here, ladies come. .
. . However, let it remain! I see there's no arguing with you."
"And there is nothing to argue about," said Sasha, relieved. "Put the
candlestick here, by this vase. What a pity we have not the pair to it!
It is a pity! Well, good-bye, doctor."
After Sasha's departure the doctor looked for a long time at the
candelabra, scratched behind his ear and meditated.
"It's a superb thing, there's no denying it," he thought, "and it would
be a pity to throw it away. . . . But it's impossible for me to keep it.
. . . H'm! . . . Here's a problem! To whom can I make a present of it,
or to what charity can I give it?"
After long meditation he thought of his good friend, the lawyer Uhov, to
whom he was indebted for the management of legal business.
"Excellent," the doctor decided, "it would be awkward for him as a
friend to take money from me, and it will be very suitable for me to
present him with this. I will take him the devilish thing! Luckily he is
a bachelor and easy-going."
Without further procrastination the doctor put on his hat and coat, took
the candelabra and went off to Uhov's.
"How are you, friend!" he said, finding the lawyer at home. "I've come
to see you . . . to thank you for your efforts. . . . You won't take
money so you must at least accept this thing here. . . . See, my dear
fellow. . . . The thing is magnificent!"
On seeing the bronze the lawyer was moved to indescribable delight.
"What a specimen!" he chuckled. "Ah, deuce take it, to think of them
imagining such a thing, the devils! Exquisite! Ravishing! Where did you
get hold of such a delightful thing?"
After pouring out his ecstasies the lawyer looked timidly towards the
door and said: "Only you must carry off your present, my boy . . . . I
can't take it. . . ."
"Why?" cried the doctor, disconcerted.
"Why . . . because my mother is here at times, my clients . . . besides
I should be ashamed for my servants to see it."
"Nonsense! Nonsense! Don't you dare to refuse!" said the doctor,
gesticulating. "It's piggish of you! It's a work of art! . . . What
movement . . . what expression! I won't even talk of it! You will offend
me!"
"If one could plaster it over or stick on fig-leaves . . ."
But the doctor gesticulated more violently than before, and dashing out
of the flat went home, glad that he had succeeded in getting the present
off his hands.
When he had gone away the lawyer examined the candelabra, fingered it
all over, and then, like the doctor, racked his brains over the question
what to do with the present.
"It's a fine thing," he mused, "and it would be a pity to throw it away
and improper to keep it. The very best thing would be to make a present
of it to someone. . . . I know what! I'll take it this evening to
Shashkin, the comedian. The rascal is fond of such things, and by the
way it is his benefit tonight."
No sooner said than done. In the evening the candelabra, carefully
wrapped up, was duly carried to Shashkin's. The whole evening the comic
actor's dressing-room was besieged by men coming to admire the present;
the dressing-room was filled with the hum of enthusiasm and laughter
like the neighing of horses. If one of the actresses approached the door
and asked: "May I come in?" the comedian's husky voice was heard at
once: "No, no, my dear, I am not dressed!"
After the performance the comedian shrugged his shoulders, flung up his
hands and said: "Well what am I to do with the horrid thing? Why, I live
in a private flat! Actresses come and see me! It's not a photograph that
you can put in a drawer!"
"You had better sell it, sir," the hairdresser who was disrobing the
actor advised him. "There's an old woman living about here who buys
antique bronzes. Go and enquire for Madame Smirnov . . . everyone knows
her."
The actor followed his advice. . . . Two days later the doctor was
sitting in his consulting-room, and with his finger to his brow was
meditating on the acids of the bile. All at once the door opened and
Sasha Smirnov flew into the room. He was smiling, beaming, and his whole