CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 LIBRARY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PG 3456 .A19G61 1918 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924026395016 
 
NINE 
 
 HUMOROUS 
 
 TALES 
 
STRATFORD UNIVERSAL LIBRARY 
 
 Nine 
 Humorous Tales 
 
 by 
 ANTON CHEKHOV 
 
 translated by 
 Isaac Goldberg : : Henry T. Schnittkind 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 The Stratford Company, Publishers 
 
 1918 
 
Copyright 1918 
 
 The STRATFORD CO., Publishers 
 
 Boston, Mass. 
 
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Anton Chekhov 
 
 (1860-1904) 
 
 AN IMPRESSION 
 
 IT may be more than mere accident that in the history of 
 modern literature so many men of talent have turned from the 
 practice of medicine to the profession of letters. The physician's 
 office is largely a place of confession and his mind a focus gather- 
 ing the light of human experiences from every angle. These, 
 if he is a man of imagination as well as of science, he is prompted 
 to reflect through the lens of fiction. 
 
 Though Anton Chekhov was a physician by training, (hav- 
 ing been graduated from the Moscow University in 1884, at the 
 age of twenty-four) he was a writer by preference. The wide 
 knowledge gained from his medical studies and practice, 
 coupled with the fact that his father was a peasant by birth and 
 a city shop-keeper by occupation, must have contributed in great 
 measure to the wide scope of his art. 
 
 American readers are by this time fairly well acquainted 
 with Chekhov as a writer of many-sided interests and the posses- 
 sor of a style that has been called the best since de Maupassant. 
 One phase of the great Russian's work, however, has thus far 
 been largely neglected ; his humorous vein. This is all the more 
 surprising because the Chekhov of the humorous tales naturally 
 prompts comparison with our own 0. Henry, although it would 
 be unfair to both writers to extend the comparison too far. 
 
 Many of the tales of Chekhov, in their technique, resemble 
 an unframed picture, the boundless wastes of the Russian steppe 
 in miniature, while 0. Henry's tales, on the other hand, at times 
 contain more frame than picture, — the narrowness of the me- 
 
 vii 
 
AN INSPIRATION 
 
 tropolis lined on either side by skyscrapers. Yet over skyscraper 
 and steppe alike reposes that same heaven into which each in his 
 own way has given us a glimpse. 
 
 Of the tales chosen for inclusion in this volume the first 
 two resemble most closely the type of story generally associated 
 in the public mind with the name of 0. Henry. They are told 
 with that same breeziness, that same crispness, and end with 
 that same "punch" as characterize the American's work. The 
 sad undercurrent of a story like "Her Gentleman Friend" is 
 likewise not altogether foreign to our native writer. "Who Was 
 She?" perhaps, is the most Maupassant-like story in the collec- 
 tion, while "Such Is Fame" strikes a note that is peculiar to 
 the Russian himself. In stories like "The Scandal Monger," 
 "Carelessness" and "Overspiced," Chekhov's humor seems to 
 display a gentle humanity beneath the surface of the action; he 
 is here not so much a deathless Puck who exclaims "Lord, what 
 fools these mortals be!" as one of our very own who laughs 
 "Lord, what fools we mortals be !" If Chekhov is more humanly 
 self -revealing than de Maupassant, he is on the whole more deep 
 than 0. Henry. If 0. Henry may be called the American Chek- 
 hov with a "punch," Chekhov may equally be termed the Rus- 
 sian 0. Henry with a caress. 
 
 Vlll 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Work of Aet 11 
 
 Vengeance 16 
 
 Her Gentleman Friend 22 
 
 Who Was She? 27 
 
 The Scandal-Monger 33 
 
 Carelessness 38 
 
 That "Fresh Kid" 43 
 
 Such is Fame ! 46 
 
 OYcrspiced 55 
 
 IX 
 
A Work of Art 
 
 HOLDING under his arm an object wrapped in a newspaper, 
 Sasha Smimov, the only son of his mother, walked nerv- 
 ously into the office of Doctor Koshelkov. 
 
 "WeU, my dear boy," exclaimed the doctor warmly, "how do 
 you feel to-day ? What 's the good news ? ' ' 
 
 Sasha began to blink with his eyes, put his hand over his 
 heart, and stammered nervously: 
 
 "My mother sends her regards and begs me to thank you 
 
 I am my mother's only son, and you have saved my life. . . . 
 You have cured me of a terrible disease and .... and we both 
 hardly know how to thank you." 
 
 "Come, come, my young friend, let us not speak of it," in- 
 terrupted the doctor, literally melting with pleasure. "I have 
 only done what anybody else in my place would have done." 
 
 "I am the only son of my mother. . . . We are poor people and 
 consequently we are not in a position to pay you for your 
 trouble. . . .and it makes it very embarrassing for us, Doctor; 
 although both of us, mother and I, who am the only son of my 
 mother, beg of you to accept from us, as a token of our gratitude, 
 this object which ... is an object of rare worth, a wonderful 
 masterpiece in antique bronze. ' ' 
 
 The doctor made a grimace. 
 
 "Why, my dear friend," he said, "it is entirely unnecessary. 
 I don't need this in the least." 
 
 "Oh, no, no!" stammered Sasha. "I beg of you, please ac- 
 cept it!" 
 
 He began to unwrap the bundle, continuing his entreaties in 
 the meantime : 
 
 "If you do not accept this, you will offend both my mother 
 
 11 
 
12 HUMOROUS TALES 
 
 and myself. . . This is a very rare work of art. . .an antique 
 bronze. It is a relic left by my dead father. We have been 
 prizing it as a very dear remembrance . . . My father used to 
 buy up bronze antiques, selling them to lovers of old statuary. . . 
 And now we continue in the same business, my mother and 
 myself." 
 
 Sasha undid the package and enthusiastically placed it on 
 the table. 
 
 It was a low candelabrum of antique bronze, a work of real 
 art representing a group : On a pedestal stood two figures of 
 women clad in the costume of Mother Eve and in poses that I 
 have neither the audacity nor the temperament to describe. These 
 figures were smiling coquettishly and in general gave one the 
 impression that, were it not for the fact that they were obliged 
 to support the candle-stick, they would leap down from their 
 pedestal and exhibit a performance which. . .my dear reader, 
 I am even ashamed to think of it ! 
 
 When the doctor espied the present, he slowly scratched his 
 head, cleared his throat and blew his nose. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, a very pretty piece of work," he mumbled. . . 
 "But, — ^how shall I say it — ^not quite... I mean. . .rather un- 
 conventional. . .not a bit literary, is it?... You know. . .the 
 devil knows. . . " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Beelzebub himself could not have conceived anything more 
 ugly. Should I place such a phantasmagoria upon my table I 
 would pollute my entire home!" 
 
 "Why, Doctor, what a strange conception you have of art!" 
 cried Sasha iu offended tones. ' ' This is a real masterpiece. Just 
 look at it! Such is its harmonious beauty that just to con- 
 template it fills the soul with ecstasy and makes the throat choke 
 down a sob ! When you see such loveltaess you forget all earthly 
 thiugs. . . Just look at it! What life, what motion, what ex- 
 pression ! ' ' 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 13 
 
 "I quite understand all this, my dear boy," interrupted the 
 doctor. "But I am a married man. Little children run in 
 and out of this room and ladies come here continually." 
 
 "Of course," said Sasha, "if you look at it through the eyes 
 of the rabble, you see this noble masterpiece in an entirely dif- 
 ferent light. But you certainly are above all that. Doctor, and 
 especially when your refusal to accept this gift will deeply 
 offend both my mother and myself, who am the only son of my 
 mother. . . You have saved my life. . .and in return we give you 
 our dearest possession. . .and. . .my only regret is that we are 
 unable to give you the mate to this candelabrum." 
 
 "Thanks, friend, many thanks... Remember me to your 
 mother and. . . But for God's sake! You can see for yourself, 
 can't you? Little children run in and out of this room, and 
 ladies come here continually. . . However, leave it here! There's 
 no use arguing with you. ' ' 
 
 "Don't say another word!" exclaimed Sasha joyously. "Put 
 the candelabrum right here, next to the vase. By Jove, but it's 
 a pity that I haven't got the mate to this to give you. But it 
 can't be helped. Well, good-bye, Doctor!" 
 
 After the departure of Sasha the doctor looked for a long 
 time at the candelabrum and scratched his head. 
 
 ' ' This is beautiful, all right, ' ' he thought. ' ' It would be a pity 
 to throw it away. . . And yet I dare not keep it. . . Hm!. . . 
 Now who in the world is there to whom I can present or donate 
 it?" 
 
 After long deliberation he hit upon a good friend of his, the 
 lawyer Ukhov, to whom he was indebted for legal services. 
 
 "Fine!" chuckled the doctor. "Being such a dose friend of 
 his, I cannot very well offer him money, and so I will give him 
 this piece of indecency instead. . . And he's just the man for 
 it . . . single, and somewhat of a gay bird, too. ' ' 
 
 No sooner thought than done. Dressing himself, the doctor 
 took the candelabrum and went to the home of Ukhov. 
 
14 HUMOEOUS TALES 
 
 "Good morning, old chap!" he said. "I have come here to 
 thank you for your trouble. . .You will not take money, and I 
 will therefore repay you by presenting you with this exquisite 
 masterpiece. . . Now say for yourself, isn't it a dream?" 
 
 As soon as the lawyer caught sight of it he was exhilarated 
 with its beauty. 
 
 "What a wonderful work of art!" he laughed uproariously. 
 "Ye gods, what conceptions artists will get into their heads! 
 What alluring charm ! Where did you get this little dandy ? ' ' 
 
 But now his exhilaration had oozed away and he became 
 frightened. Looking stealthily toward the door, he said: 
 
 "But, I can't accept it, old chap . You must take it right 
 back." 
 
 "Why?" asked the doctor in alarm. 
 
 "Because. . .because. . .my mother often visits me, my clients 
 come here . . . and besides, I would be disgraced even in the eyes 
 of my servants." 
 
 "Don't say another word!" cried the doctor gesticulating 
 wildly. "You simply have got to accept it! It would be rank 
 ingratitude for you to refuse it! Such a masterpiece! What 
 motion, what expression. . . You will greatly offend me if you 
 don't take it!" 
 
 "If only this were daubed over or covered with fig-leaves. . . " 
 
 But the doctor refused to listen to him. Gesticulating even 
 more wildly, he ran out of Ukhov's house, happy in the thought 
 that he was rid of the present. 
 
 When the doctor was gone the lawyer carefully examined the 
 candelabrum, and then, just as the doctor had done, he began to 
 wonder what in the world he coiald do with it. 
 
 "A very beautiful object, ' ' he thought. " It is a pity to throw 
 it away, and yet it is disgraceful to keep it. I had best present it 
 to someone. . . I've got it!. . . This very evening I'm going to 
 give it to the comedian Shoshkin. The rascal loves such things, 
 and besides, this is his benefit night. . . " 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 15 
 
 No sooner thought than done. That afternoon the well-packed 
 candelabrum was brought to the comedian Shoshkin. 
 
 That whole evening the dressing-room of the comedian Shosh- 
 kin was besieged by men who hastened to inspect the present. 
 And during all that time the room reechoed with hilarious laugh- 
 ter which most closely resembled the neighing of horses. 
 
 If any of the actresses approached the door and said, "May 
 I enter?" the hoarse voice of Shoshkin was immediately heard 
 to reply : 
 
 ' ' Oh, no, no, my darling, you mustn't ! I am not dressed ! ' ' 
 
 After the performance the comedian shrugged his shoulders, 
 gesticulated with his hands and said : 
 
 "Now what in the world am I to do with this? I live in a 
 private apartment ! I am often visited by actresses ! And this 
 isn't a photograph that one could conceal in a drawer!" 
 
 "Why don't you sell it?" suggested the wig maker "There 
 is a certain old woman who buys up antique bronzes. . . Her name 
 is Smimova. . . You had better take a run over there; they'll 
 show you the place all right, everybody knows her ..." 
 
 The comedian followed his advice. . . 
 
 Two days later Koshelkov, his head supported on his hand, 
 was sitting in his office and concocting pills. Suddenly the door 
 was opened and into the office rushed Sasha. He was smiling 
 radiantly and his breast heaved with joy. . . In his hands he held 
 something wrapped in a newspaper. 
 
 ' ' Doctor ! " he cried breathlessly. ' ' Imagine my joy ! As luck 
 would have it, I've just succeeded in getting the mate to your 
 candelabrum! Mother is so happy! I am the only son of my 
 mother. . . You have saved my life. . . " 
 
 And Sasha, quivering with thankfulness and rapture, placed 
 a candelabrum before the doctor. The latter opened his mouth, 
 as if about to say something, but uttered not a word. . . His 
 power of speech was gone . . . 
 
Vengeance 
 
 LYEV Sawitch Turmanov, a worthy citizen who possessed a 
 nice little fortune, a nice little wife, and a nice little bald 
 spot on his head, was celebrating the birthday of one of his 
 friends with a game of cards. After a stremious effort which 
 covered his forehead with perspiration, he suddenly recollected 
 that he and the bottle had been strangers for quite a long time. 
 
 He rose and, balancing himself on his tiptoes between the 
 tables, went into the guest room where the youngsters were 
 dancing. Here he smiled graciously and with a fatherly caress 
 he patted the shoulders of a young skinny druggist, slipping 
 forthwith through a little door which led into the dining room. 
 On a little round table in this room stood bottles and glasses with 
 whiskey. . . Among other refreshments he spied a plate contain- 
 ing half a herring alluringly decorated with onions and parsley. 
 
 Lyev Sawitch filled a glass, made a gesture as though about 
 to deliver a speech, emptied the glass and made a wry face. Then 
 he jabbed the herring with the fork and. . . . But suddenly he 
 overheard voices behind the waU. 
 
 ' ' Very well, ' ' spoke a woman 's voice, ' ' but when ? ' ' 
 
 "My wife," said Lyev Sawitch to himself, recognizing the 
 voice. "I wonder whom she is talking to?" 
 
 "Whenever you desire," replied a deep and heavy bass. 
 
 "Today it is not convenient, tomorrow I shall be busy the 
 whole day. . ." 
 
 "This is Dentjarev," thought Lyev recognizing the bass 
 voice of his friend. "Et tu. Brute ! And so she has caught you, 
 too, in her net? By Jove, nothing seems to satisfy her. I've 
 never seen such a restless woman in my life ! Not a single day 
 can she live through without her little romance!" 
 
 16 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 17 
 
 "Yes, tomorrow I shall be busy," continued the heavy bass. 
 What do you say to writing me a little note ? That will give me 
 great pleasure. . . But we must introduce some system into our 
 correspondence. Let's see if we can't find some way. It isn't a 
 bit safe to send our letters through the mail. Your turkey is 
 liable to intercept our correspondence in that way. And when 
 you write to me, my wife might sometimes open the letter in my 
 absence, and then ! . . . " 
 
 "What shall we do, then?" 
 
 "We've got to find some way, It won't do to send them 
 through a servant, for your lobster of a husband is surely watch- 
 ing the servants. . . I wonder whether he's still at that game of 
 cards?" 
 
 "Yes, and he always loses, too, the big boob!" 
 
 "He must be lucky in love, then," laughed Dentjarev. . . 
 "Now, listen, my little girlie. I've hit upon a plan. On my way 
 from the office tomorrow at six o'clock I pass by the Public Gar- 
 den where I am to meet the Inspector. And so, sweetheart, I 
 want you to manage just a little before six, but not later, to 
 place a note for me in the marble vase that stands to the left of 
 the grape-vine arbor. Do you know the place I mean ? ' ' 
 
 "Certainly I do." 
 
 ' ' That will be poetical and mysterious and unique. And in 
 this way neither your wooden-headed meal ticket nor my old 
 shrew will know anything about it. Do you understand?" 
 
 Lyev Sawitch emptied another glass and returned to the 
 game. The discovery which he had just made did not surprise 
 him ; it did not even arouse his jealousy or anger. He had long 
 outgrown the habit of scolding and fuming and raging and even 
 occasionally beating his wife for her misbehavior. He had long 
 ago given up all hope and nowadays he merely looked through his 
 fingers at his wife's romantic vagaries. And yet he was now feel- 
 ing uncomfortable. His pride and self-love were touched to the 
 
18 HUMOROUS TALES 
 
 quick at such appelations as "boob," "lobster," and "wooden- 
 headed meal ticket." 
 
 "Ye gods, what a blackguard this Dentjarev is !" he thought 
 as he naarked down his score. When he meets me in the street he 
 pretends to be a good friend, grinning and patting me in the 
 belly; and yet see what he can do behind my back. When he 
 speaks to me man to man, I'm his friend, and when he talks be- 
 hind my back, lo and behold ! I'm a boob and a lobster. . ." 
 
 And the more he lost at the game, the more indignant he felt. 
 
 "Why, his mother's milk is still wet on his lips," he thought, 
 crushing in his rage the piece of chalk which he held. "He's 
 nothing but a little snipe. . . If it were not for the fact that I 
 wouldn't condescend to slap his face, I'd show him what a wood- 
 en-headed meal ticket can do!" 
 
 At supper he was unable to look Dentjarev straight in the 
 face, although the latter seemed as if on purpose determined to 
 annoy him with his questions. Had he won or lost ? Why was he 
 so sad? and so forth. He even had the nerve to scold Lyev's wife 
 for not being sufficiently careful of her husband's health. . . And 
 his wife, as though nothing had happened, looked at her husband 
 with buttery eyes, chatting so innocently and laughing so gen- 
 uinely that the devil himself could not have accused her of faith- 
 lessness. 
 
 And when he came home, Lyev Sawitch felt angry and dis- 
 satisfied, as though he had eaten old rubbers instead of veal for 
 supper. He might have made an effort to forget the whole inci- 
 dent were it not for his wife's laughter and prattle which re- 
 minded him every minute of the boob, the lobster, the wooden- 
 headed meal ticket. 
 
 "I should have punched him in the jaw, that low life," he 
 thought. "Right in front of everybody. . ." 
 
 And he pictured to himself how nice it would be to thrash 
 Dentjarev, or to challenge him and shoot him like a bird. . . It 
 woiddn't be a bad idea to make him lose his job. . . Or perhaps 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 19 
 
 it would be best to put some disgusting object into the marble 
 vase, something with a nasty smell, r— a dead rat for instance. . . 
 Perhaps he might abscond his wife's letter and put in its place a 
 silly poem signed "Your Akulyka," or something else of that 
 sort. 
 
 For a long time he paced through his bed-room cooUng his 
 rage with these reveries. Suddenly he stopped and slapped his 
 forehead. 
 
 "Hooray, I've got it!" he exclaimed, beaming with joy. 
 ' ' This is a wonderful idea ! Excellent ! ' ' 
 
 "When his wife fell asleep, he sat down near the table and 
 after long deliberation, disguising his handwriting and purposely 
 committing a number of errors, he penned the following : 
 "To the Merchant Dulinov. 
 Dere Sir: — 
 
 If up to six oclock dis evenin, the twelvth of Sep- 
 tember, you fale to put two hundred dollars inter the 
 marble vaze wieh is situaited in the Public Garden, just 
 to the left of the graip-vine arber, you will be a dead 
 man and your dry-gudes store will be blown up." 
 And signing this missive, Lyev Sawitch jumped up enthus- 
 iastically. 
 
 "Isn't this a wonderful plan?" he growled rubbing his 
 hands together. ' ' Immense, even if I do say so myself ! Beelze- 
 bub himself couldn't have hit upon a happier idea! It is quite 
 certain that the store-keeper Dulinov will get so scared that he 
 will immediately notify the police. And they wiU surely send a 
 number of detectives who will hide themselves among the bushes 
 and watch. . . At six o'clock, when Dentjarev comes for his letter, 
 they will nab the poor bloke, — and by Jove, won't he get pepper 
 to smell!. . . He'll be scared blue, and before everything is 
 cleared up, the rascal will get a good chance to cool his amorous 
 ardor iu jail. . . And it will serve him right, too. . . Bravo, Lyev 
 Sawitch!..." 
 
20 HUMOEOUS TALES 
 
 He put a stamp on the envelope and going down stairs 
 deposited it himself in the letter box. 
 
 He fell asleep with a radiant smile playing upon his lips. 
 For many a long night had he not slept so sweetly and so soundly. 
 
 When he awoke in the morning and recalled his plan he 
 felt so happy that he actually began to purr and even went so 
 far as to flirt with his faithless wife. . . 
 
 On his way to work and later, while sitting in his office, he 
 kept smiling to himself as he pictured Dentjarev's terror on find- 
 ing himself caught in the trap. . . 
 
 Toward six o'clock he could restrain himself no longer and 
 ran to the Public Garden in order to witness with his own eyes 
 the downfall of his enemy. 
 
 "Aha!^' he thought, seeing a policeman in the vicinity. 
 
 Arriving at the well-known arbor he sat down behind a tree 
 and, fixing his sharp, stern eyes upon the vase, awaited the 
 arrival of Dentjarev. He sat as if on pins and needles in his 
 impatience. 
 
 Precisely at six Dentjarev appeared. The young man was 
 evidently in a very good humor. His silk hat encircled his head 
 at a coquettish angle, and through his unbuttoned coat his very 
 soul seemed to glitter together with his vest. He was smoking a 
 cigar and whistling a merry tune. . . 
 
 "Now, you big slob, I'll show you who is a lobster and a 
 wooden-headed meal ticket!" chuckled Turmanov. "You just 
 wait!" 
 
 Dentjarev approached the vase and languidly put his hand 
 into it. . . Lyev Sawitch half rose and fixed his eyes upon him. . . 
 The young man took a tiny package out of the vase, carefully 
 examined it on all sides and shrugged his shoulders. Then he 
 undid the package, shrugged his shoulders again and opened his 
 mouth in astonishment; the package contained two brand new 
 one hundred dollar bills. . . 
 
 Dentjarev looked long at these bills. Finally, shrugging his 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 21 
 
 shoulders once more, he put them into his pocket and said, "Many- 
 thanks!" 
 
 Poor Lyev Sawitch heard these words "many thanks." 
 That entire evening he stood opposite Dulinov's dry-goods store, 
 shook his fist at the sign and raged : 
 
 ' ' You coward ! You soul of a penny store-keeper ! Pinhead ! 
 Ass ! You pot-bellied rabbit you ! . . . " 
 
Her Gentleman Friend 
 
 CHARMING Vanda, or, as she was named in her passport, 
 the honorable citizeness Nastasia Kanavkina, found herself, 
 upon her discharge from the hospital, in a position worse 
 than, any she had ever known : without lodgings and without a 
 kopek. What was to be done? 
 
 Her first thought was the pawnshop. Thither she went, 
 pawning her turquoise ring, the one "valuable" she possessed. 
 For the ring she received a rouble. But . . . what can a ruble buy ? 
 For such a sum one can purchase neither an up-to-date short 
 jacket, nor a picture hat, nor gold-colored slippers ; and without 
 these articles she felt just as though she were naked. It seemed 
 to her that not only the people she passed, but even the horses 
 and the dogs stared at her and poked fun at the simplicity of her 
 clothes. She thought only of her toilet, while the matter of food 
 and shelter gave her not the slightest concern. 
 
 "If I should only meet a gentleman friend,'' she thought. "I'd 
 ask him for a small loan. . . Nobody would refuse me, for. . . " 
 
 But no gentleman friends came her way. It would not have 
 been difficult to find some that evening at the "Renaissance," but 
 they surely would not admit her into the "Renaissance" in her 
 plaiu garb and without a hat. What was she to do? 
 , After long hesitation, when she had wearied of walking, sit- 
 ting and meditating, Vanda resolved to try the last recourse: 
 to walk right into the apartment of one of her men friends and 
 ask him for money. 
 
 "But whom shall I go to?" she debated. "Not to Misha. . . 
 that wouldn't do — ^he's married and has a family. . . And the 
 red-headed old fellow is at his office now. . . " 
 
 The dentist Finkel came to her mind. He was a converted 
 
 22 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 23 
 
 Jew, who, three months before, had presented her with a brace- 
 let; once at a supper in the "German club," she had poured 
 a glass of beer over his pate. At thought of this Pinkel, Vanda 
 was seized with frightful delight. 
 
 "He'll certainly give me something if I only find him at 
 home..." she thought, on the way to the dentist. "If he 
 doesn't, I'U smash all his lamps for him. . . " 
 
 By the time she had reached the doctor's door her plan was 
 fully formulated: she would run up the steps with laughter, 
 burst into the dentist's private office and request twenty-five 
 roubles. . . But when she stretched her hand toward the bell 
 the plan vani^ed into thin air, as if by magic : Vanda was sud- 
 denly seized with fright, — something that had never happened 
 to her. She had been bold and impudent, only in tipsy company ; 
 but now, in common clothes, in the role of an ordinary beggar 
 who was not even presentable, she felt embarrassed and low- 
 spirited. Shame and fear overwhelmed her. 
 
 "Perhaps he has already forgotten me..." she thought, 
 while she summoned the courage to pull the bell. ' ' And how can 
 I approach him in this garb? Like a beggar or some shabby 
 shop-girl " 
 
 And hesitantly she pulled the bell. 
 
 Behind the door sounded footsteps ; it was the doorkeeper. 
 
 "Is the doctor in?" she asked. 
 
 Now she would have felt far better if the doorkeeper should 
 answer "No." But instead of a reply he simply led her into the 
 vestibule and helped her remove her coat. 
 
 The staircase semed wonderfully luxurious to her, but of all 
 this luxury her eye was first struck by a tall mirror in which she 
 beheld a disgraceful object without an up-to-date jacket, without 
 a picture hat and without gold-colored slippers. And it seemed 
 strange to Vanda that, now that she was so poorly clad and 
 looked like a seamstress or a washerwoman, she was again seized 
 
24 HUMOROUS TALES 
 
 with a feeling of shame ; she possessed none of her former bold- 
 ness or insolence and even to herself she was no longer Vanda, 
 but, as of yore, Nastya Kanavkina. . . 
 
 "Please step this way," said the chambermaid, leading her 
 into the office. ' ' The doctor wiU be in directly ... Be seated. ' ' 
 
 Vanda sank into a soft armchair. 
 
 "I'll just say to him: Lend me the money," she thought. 
 "That's certainly proper, for he knows me. If only that maid 
 would leave the room ! With her around it would be very hard. . . 
 And why on earth does she stand here, of aU places?" 
 
 After about five minutes the door opened and Finkel, tall, 
 dark, with fat cheeks and bulging eyes, stepped in. His cheeks, 
 his paunch, his broad hips — everything about him was com- 
 placent and repulsive. At the "Renaissance" and at the "Ger- 
 man club" he was usually tipsy, spent a good deal on women 
 and bore their pranks patiently. For instance, when Vanda had 
 poured a glass of beer over his head, he had merely smiled and 
 shaken his finger at her. Now, however, he appeared bloated 
 and sleepy;' he looked into the room with an air of importance 
 and superiority, and was chewing something. 
 
 ""What can I do for you?" he asked, without looking at her. 
 
 Vanda cast a glance at the grave countenance of the maid, then 
 at the over-fed figure of Finkel, who plainly seemed not to recog- 
 nize her, and then — she blushed. . . 
 
 "What can I do for you?" repeated the dentist, now some- 
 what irritated. 
 
 "I've got a tooth-ache. . . " stammered Vanda. 
 
 "Aha. . . Which tooth? Where?" 
 
 Vanda suddenly recalled that she had a cavity. 
 
 "At the right, my lower jaw. . . " she said. 
 
 " H 'm ! Open your mouth. ' ' 
 
 "Finkel furrowed his forehead, held his breath and began to 
 examine the aching tooth. 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 25 
 
 "Does it hurt?" he asked, poking about in her tooth with a 
 sharp instrument. 
 
 "Yes. . . " lied Vanda. "Shall I remind him?" she thought. 
 "He would certainly recognize me then... But... the maid! 
 What is she standing there for?" 
 
 Finkel suddenly began to puff like a steam-engine straight 
 into her mouth, and said, "I should advise you not to fill it. . . 
 This tooth will be of no use to you anyway." 
 
 After he had dug about the tooth for a few moments more and 
 had soiled Vanda 's lips and gums with his tobacco-stained fin- 
 gers, he again held his breath and shoved something cold into 
 her mouth. . . 
 
 Suddenly Vanda felt a terrible pain, let out a shriek and seized 
 Finkel by the arm. 
 
 "All right, never mind," he murmured. "Don't be so timid. 
 You would have had little use from this tooth, anyway. One 
 must be brave. ' ' 
 
 And his tobacco-stained fingers, covered with blood, held before 
 her eyes the extracted tooth, while the maid stepped forward and 
 brought her a bowl. 
 
 "When you get home, rinse your mouth with cold water. . . " 
 said Finkel, "and the bleeding will stop." 
 
 He stood before her in the attitude of a man who is waiting 
 impatiently to be rid of his visitor and to be left alone. 
 
 "Good-by. . . " she said, turning to the door. 
 
 "H'm!. . . And who is to pay me for my services?" asked 
 Finkel in a merry voice. 
 
 "Oh. . .yes. .." gasped Vanda, suddenly recalling herself. 
 She blushed and handed the dentist the rouble she had received 
 for her turquoise ring. 
 
 Stepping into the street she felt a keener sense of shame than 
 before ; but she was no longer ashamed of her poverty. She no 
 longer was conscious that she lacked a picture hat and an up-to- 
 
26 HUMOROUS TALES 
 
 date jacket. She walked along the street expectorating blood, 
 and every spot of blood spoke to her of her life, of her evU, bitter 
 life, and of the insults that she had experienced, — and those she 
 would have to endure to-morrow, and next week, and next year — 
 and all her life until death. 
 ' ' Oh, how terrible ! " she whispered. ' 'My God, how terrible ! ' ' 
 But on the next day she was at the "Renaissance," dancing 
 there. She was dressed ia a huge, red hat, and up-to-date jacket 
 and gold-colored slippers. And she was treated to supper by 
 a young merchant from Kazan. 
 
Who Was She? 
 
 Do tell us a story, Pyotr Ivanovitch!" begged the young 
 ladies. 
 The colonel stroked his gray side-whiskers, cleared his 
 throat and began : 
 
 "It happened in the year 1843, when our regiment was sta- 
 tioned before Chenstokhov. That winter, my dear ladies, was an 
 exceedingly severe one, so that not a day passed without the sen- 
 tries having their noses frozen or the streets being piled high 
 with snow. The intense cold weather began in October and 
 lasted into April. In those days, I must teU you, I didn't look 
 so old and pass6 as now; on the contrary, I was — as you may 
 well imagine — a dashing fellow, in the fuU bloom of youth ; in a 
 word, a handsome young man. I used to strut about like a pea- 
 cock, threw money right and left and twirled my side-whiskers 
 unlike any other lieutenant on earth. Yes ... I needed merely 
 to wink an eye, clank my spurs and twirl my whiskers, and the 
 proudest beauty would be transformed into an obedient lambkin. 
 I had a sweet-tooth for women, just like a spider's for a fly, and 
 if I were to count for you, my dear ladies, the number of Polish 
 and Jewish women that languished for me in those days, then 
 I assure you that there would not be enough figures in Mathe- 
 matics for the reckoning. . . 
 
 "And kindly remember that I was regimental aide-de-camp, 
 that I danced the mazurka excellently, and was married to a 
 most charming woman. Heaven rest her soul! You simplj 
 cannot imagine what a dare-devil rogue I was. Why, whenever 
 in our district any love catastrophe occurred, such as a Jew hav- 
 ing his temple-locks torn off, or a Pole being boxed in the ears, 
 they knew at once that second-lieutenant Vivertov had done it. 
 
 27 
 
28 HUMOROUS TALES 
 
 "As aide-de-camp it was my duty to journey about the district 
 quite frequently. Now I 'd be off to purchase oats or hay, now to 
 sell to the Jews or the Poles horses that had outlived their use- 
 fulness to the army. But most often, dear ladies, under the pre- 
 text of duty I would ride away to a rendezvous with some woman, 
 or to wealthy landowners, for a game of cards . . . 
 
 "One Christmas eve, — I remember it as clearly as if it hap- 
 pened only yesterday — I was journeying from Chenstokhov to 
 the village of Shevelki, whither I had been sent on official busi- 
 ness. The weather, I must tell you, was murderous . . . The cold 
 was so bitter and biting that even the horses could scarcely 
 endure it and I and my driver, within half an hour, were human 
 icicles. . . If the cold had been all, we might have found means 
 to cope with it, but on the middle of the way there suddenly broke 
 out a snowstorm. Eddies of snow whirled and danced about us 
 like a troop of devils. The wind raged as if his wife had been 
 stolen; the road disappeared. . . In less than ten minutes I, the 
 driver and the horses were completely covered with snow. 
 
 " 'Your excellency, we have lost the way,' announced the 
 driver. 
 
 " 'The deuce ! Why didn't you keep your eyes open? Well, 
 keep right on. Perhaps we'U come to some hiunan habitation!' 
 
 "Well, we rode and rode, and turned and turned, and thus 
 toward midnight our horses stumbled upon the gate of an estate 
 that belonged, if I remember correctly, to Count Boyadlovski, a 
 wealthy Polish nobleman. Poles and Jews are one and the same 
 to me, like mustard after dinner, but they're a hospitable lot, — 
 you've got to concede that to them, and when it comes to passion- 
 ate women, none can equal the Poles. . . 
 
 "We were admitted . . . Count Boyadlovski himself, at that 
 time, was living at Paris, and we were received by his steward 
 Kasimir Klapzinski, likewise a Pole. I recall that before an 
 hour had passed I was seated in the steward's home, flirting with 
 his wife, drinking and playing cards. After I had won five du- 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 29 
 
 cats and more than extinguished my thirst I asked to be shown 
 to my chamber. Since there was no more room in the steward's 
 house, I was led to a chamber in the Count's dwelling. 
 
 " 'Aren't you afraid of ghosts?' asked the steward, lead- 
 ing me into a medium-sized room, which was next to a vast empty 
 hall, cold and dark. 
 
 " 'Is this a haunted house, then?' I asked, while I heard 
 the hoUow echo repeat my words and my footsteps. 
 
 '"I don't know!' " laughed the Pole. " 'But it seems to 
 me that this place is an ideal one for ghosts and spirits.' " 
 
 "I had poured down a goodly quantity behind my belt, and 
 was as soused as forty-thousand cobblers ; but, to tell the truth, 
 at these words I felt icy shivers run down my spine. Devil take 
 it ! Eather a hundred Circassians than one ghost ! But there was 
 no help for it. I undressed and went to bed . . . My candle 
 barely illumined the walls, upon which there hung ancestral por- 
 traits, one more frightful than the other, — ancient weapons, 
 hunting horns and like things . . . The stillness of the grave 
 reigned in the room, and only in the adjacent hall could be heard 
 the scampering of the mice, and their gnawing at the old furni- 
 ture. Outside, however, raged a heUish din . . . The wind sang 
 a funeral mass, the trees bent, groaning and weeping ; some dev- 
 ilish object, probably a shutter, squeaked lugubriously and struck 
 against the window-frame. Add to this that my head was whirl- 
 ing round and round, and with it the wh/fte world . . . When I 
 closed my eyes it seemed to me that my bed was flying through 
 the whole house, playing chase with the spirits. In order to les- 
 sen my fears, first of all I extinguished the candle, for empty 
 rooms seem much more horrible when lighted than in the dark- 
 ness. . ." 
 
 The three young ladies who were listening to the Colonel 
 edged closer to the speaker and gazed at him in motionless ex- 
 pectancy. 
 
30 HUMOEOUS TALES 
 
 "Well," continued th.e Colonel, "as hard as I tried to fall 
 asleep, I simply could not. Now it seemed to me that thieves were 
 climbing in over the window-sill, now I heard somewhere a mys- 
 terious whispering, and now somebody touched me on the shoul- 
 der — everything seemed to me the work of diabolical hands, — a 
 mood known to aU who have ever been in a condition of nervous 
 tension. Yet, can you imagine it, — through all this devilish 
 clatter and chaos of sounds I suddenly distinguish a noise that 
 resembles the gliding of slippers. I listen intently and hear — 
 what do you think? — somebody approaching my door. There 
 is a cough; the door is opened. 
 
 " 'Who is there?' " I ask, rising. 
 
 " 'It is I . . . have no fear!' answered a woman's voice. 
 
 "I went to the door . . . Several seconds passed and I felt 
 two hands, soft as eiderdown, placed upon my shoulders." 
 
 " 'I love you. . . You are dearer to me than life itself,' 
 spoke the melodious voice of a woman. 
 
 "A hot breath scorched my cheek. . . I forgot the snow- 
 storm, the ghosts, : — everything in the world, and wound my 
 arm around her waist . . . and such a waist ! Such waists nature 
 can make only for special orders, and even then, only once in ten 
 years. . . Thin, as if chiseled ; hot, ephemeral as the breath of a 
 child ! I could no longer restrain myself and clasped her in my 
 arms. . . Our lips met in a long, passionate kiss and ... I swear it, 
 by aH the women in the world, I'll carry the memory of that 
 kiss with me to the grave. — " 
 
 The Colonel was silent, swallowed a half glass of water and 
 with a lowered voice, continued: 
 
 " — The next morning, when I looked out of the window, I 
 saw that the snowstorm had increased in violence. . . It was im- 
 possible to proceed on my journey. So I had to remain at the 
 steward's all day long, playing cards and drinking. At night I 
 found myself again in the empty house, and exactly at midnight 
 I embraced the selfsame waist as the night before. . . 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 31 
 
 "Yes, dear ladies, had it not been for love I should have 
 died of ennui that time, or else surrendered completely to Bac- 
 chus. — " 
 
 The Colonel sighed, arose and began to pace silently up and 
 down the salon. 
 
 "Well. . . and what happened after that?" asked one of the 
 young ladies, who was dying of curiosity. 
 
 "Nothing. The next day I was again on my journey." 
 
 "Yes. . .but who was this woman?" the young ladies asked, 
 bashfully. 
 
 "Why, that's very evident, isn't it?" 
 
 "Not at all!" 
 
 "It was my wife!" 
 
 The three young ladies sprang to their feet as if they had 
 been stung by a tarantula. 
 
 "Yes. . . but how do you explain it?" they asked. 
 
 "Heavens! What is there about this that is so difficult to 
 understand?" asked the Colonel, shrugging his shoulders with 
 vexation. "I expressed inyself clearly enough, I believe! I was 
 riding to Shevelki with my wife . . . She spent the night in the 
 empty house, in the room next to mine. . . Isn't that simple 
 enough ? ' ' 
 
 "Mmm. . ." murmured the young ladies, dropping their 
 hands into their laps, disappointed. "You began so well, and 
 ended Lord knows how. . . Only your wife ! . . Pardon us, but the 
 tale isn 't a bit interestiag and. . . not at all clever. ' ' 
 
 "Now, that's comical! You'd prefer it to be not my law- 
 fully wedded wife, but some strange woman! Ah, my dear 
 ladies, my dear ladies! If that's how you are now, how will you 
 be when you are married?" 
 
 The young ladies were embarrassed, and made no reply. 
 "No. It's altogether. . ; unbecoming!" exploded one of 
 them, unable to restrain herself any longer. "Why did you need 
 
32 HUMOEOUS TALES 
 
 to tell us the tale if it had such an end? There's nothing nice 
 in the story. . . or exceptional, either ! ' ' 
 
 "You began so entrancingly and then, all of a sudden. . ." 
 added her companion. "You were merely poking fun at us. . ." 
 
 "Well, well, well. . . it was only a joke on my part. . ." 
 said the Colonel. "Please don't be angry, dear ladies, "I was 
 only jesting. It was not my wife, but the steward's. . ." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 The young ladies suddenly recovered their joyful spirits; 
 their eyes sparkled. . . They edged closer to the Colonel, poured 
 out wine for him and showered him with questions. Their ennui 
 disappeared. And the supper soon disappeared with it, for the 
 young ladies attacked the meal with ravenous appetite. 
 
The Scandal Monger 
 
 AKHINEYEV, the teacher of penmanship, was marrying off 
 his daughter Natalia to Loshadinikh, the instructor in 
 geography and history. 
 
 The wedding festivities were in full swing. The haU re- 
 sounded with singing, playing and the scuffle of dancing feet. 
 Hired servants in black frock coats and dirty white cravats were 
 scurrying madly about the room. Tarantulov, the instructor in 
 mathematics, the Frenchman Pasdequoi and Msda, the junior 
 inspector were seated together upon the sofa telling the guests, 
 amidst m9.ny interruptions and corrections of each other, all the 
 cases known to them of persons having been buried alive, and 
 were moreover airing their views upon spiritualism. None of the 
 three believed in spiritualism, to be sure, but they were willing to 
 admit that there was much in this world that could not be ex- 
 plained by human intelligence. 
 
 In another room Dodonski, teacher of literature, was ex- 
 plaining the circumstances under which a sentry might fire upon 
 civilians. The conversation was, as you see, a trifle gruesome, 
 yet highly animated. 
 
 Through the windows, from without, looked in a crowd of 
 envious people whose social position did not grant them the priv- 
 ilege of entrance. 
 
 At exactly twelve o'clock the master of the house, Akhineyev, 
 stepped into the kitchen to see whether all was ready for the 
 wedding supper. From floor to ceiling the kitchen steamed with 
 an aroma of geese, ducks and countless other appetizing dishes. 
 Upon two tables were beheld, in artistic disorder, the ingredients 
 of a truly Lucullian banquet. And Marfa the cook, a buxom 
 woman with a two-story stomach, was busy about the table. 
 
 33 
 
34 HUMOEOUS TALES 
 
 "My dear woman, just let me have a look at that fish," re- 
 quested AMiineyev, chuckling and rubbing his palms together. 
 "Mm! What a delicious odor! Enough to make you eat the 
 whole kitchen up I Let's see that fish, do !" 
 
 Marfa went over to one of the chairs and carefully removed 
 a greasy newspaper, underneath which there reposed upon a 
 gigantic platter a huge whitefish, garnished with capers, olives 
 and vegetables. Akhineyev looked at the fish and almost melted 
 with rapture. His countenance beamed ; his eyes almost popped 
 out of their sockets. He leaned forward and with his lips made a 
 sound resembling the squeal of an ungreased axle. For a moment 
 he stood motionless, then snapped his fingers and smacked his lips 
 again. 
 
 "Aha! The music of a passionate kiss. . . Whom are you 
 kissing there?. . .Marfa?" came a voice from the adjoining room, 
 and in the doorway there appeared the close-cropped head of 
 Akhineyev 's colleague Vanykin. 
 
 "Who is the lucky fellow? Aha. . . . fine! Mr. Akhineyev 
 himself! Bravo, grandpa! Excellent! A nice little tete-a-tete 
 with a charming lady. . ." 
 
 "I'm not kissing anybody," retorted Akhineyev, embar- 
 rassed. "What an idea! You. . . I was merely smacking my 
 lips. . . with delight. . . as I looked upon the fish here. . ." 
 
 Vanykin 's features wrinkled with laughter and he disap- 
 peared. Akhineyev turned red. 
 
 "The deuce!" he thought. "Now this fellow is going 
 around everywhere gossiping about me. A thing like this can 
 easily spread through the whole city. . . The jackass ! ' ' 
 
 Akhineyev returned to the hall shyly, and glanced furtively 
 in all directions for Vanykin. That worthy was standing by the 
 piano telling something in his most cavalier-like manner to the 
 inspector's mother-in-law, who smiled in evident pleasure. 
 
 "It's about me!" suspected Akhineyev. "About me, devil 
 take the rascal! And she, she believes every word and laughs! 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 35 
 
 Such a silly goose ! Good God! No, I must not allow this. No. . . 
 I must do something to discredit him in advance. . . I '11 speak to 
 everybody about the incident and unmask him as a stupid gossip- 
 monger!" 
 
 Akhineyev scratched himself and then, still in embarrass- 
 ment, walked over to Pasdequoi. 
 
 "I was just in the kitchen to settle some details about the 
 supper," he said to the Frenchman. "I know that you're very 
 fond of fish, and I've got one down there about two yards long! 
 He-he-he!. . . Yes, and then, : — I almost forgot it : — In the 
 kitchen just now, such a funny joke ! You see, I come into the 
 kitchen and want to take a look at the dishes. . . I see the fish and 
 from sheer delight. . . such a splendid specimen. . . I smacked my 
 lips, so. . . And at this very moment in pops that bad sheep Vany- 
 kin and says. . . ha-ha-ha!. . . and says, 'Aha! You're kissing 
 somebody here ? ' . . . Such a fool, — imagining that I was kissing 
 Marfa, the cook ! Why, that woman looks as if . . . — Fie ! To kiss 
 a thing like her ! There's a fool for you ! Such a dub !" 
 
 "Who's that?" asked Tarantidov, coming in. 
 
 ' ' Vanykin ! You see, I come into the kitchen. . . " 
 
 The tale of Marfa and the fish was repeated. 
 
 ' ' Think of it ! Why, I 'd just as soon kiss a mongrel as kiss 
 Marfa. . ." And Akhineyev, turning around, noticed Mr. Msda. 
 
 "We were just speaking of Vanykin," said Akhineyev to 
 Msda. " Such a simpleton ! Pops into the kitchen, sees me near 
 Marfa the cook and at once makes up a whole story. 'So, you're 
 kissing Marfa ? ' says he to me. He was a little bit tipsy, upon my 
 word! And I answered that I'd sooner kiss a turkey than kiss 
 Marfa. And I reminded him, too, that I was a married man. 
 Think of his silly idea ! Ridiculous ! ' ' 
 
 "What's ridiculous?" asked the rector, happening to pass 
 by. 
 
 "That chap Vanykin. I'm in the kitchen, you understand, 
 looking at the fish. . . " 
 
36 HUMOEOUS TALES 
 
 And so forth. In the course of a half hour nearly all the 
 guests were fully informed of the story of the fish. 
 
 "Now let him tell as many people as he wishes!" thought 
 Akhineyev, rubbing his palms. "Just let him! As soon as he 
 begins I can say to him, * Spare your breath, dear friend ! We 
 know all about it already!" 
 
 And the thought so comforted Akhineyev that he drank four 
 glasses more than were good for him. After the supper he led 
 the newlywed couple to the bridal chamber, went to bed and 
 slept like a log. By the next morning he had forgotten the tale 
 of the fish completely. But woe ! Man proposes and God dis- 
 poses. . . The evil tongue accomplished its wicked work and Ak- 
 hineyev 's cunning was all in vain! Exactly a week later, on a 
 Wednesday, just after the third lesson had begun and Akhineyev 
 was standing in the class-room correcting the exaggerated slope of 
 the pupil Vissekin's handwriting, the Director stepped over to 
 him and called him to one side. 
 
 "My dear Mr. Akhineyev," said the Director. — "You will 
 pardon me. . . It is really none of my business, but I must speak 
 to you about it. . . It is my official duty. . . You must know that 
 the rumor is running through the city that you have certain 
 relations with. . . with your cook. . . Of course it's no affair of 
 mine, as I have said, but. . . live with her, kiss her. . . to your 
 heart's content. But I beg of you, not so publicly! I beg of 
 you ! Do not forget your high calling ! ' ' 
 
 A cold shiver ran down Akhineyev 's spine and he lost his 
 self-composure. As if he had been stung by a gigantic swarm of 
 bees, or scalded with boiling water, he flew to his home. On the 
 way it seemed to him that the whole city were stariag at him as 
 if he had been tarred and feathered ... At home a new vexation 
 was awaiting him. 
 
 "Why don't you eat?" asked his wife at dinner time. 
 "What are you dreaming about ? Your love ? Are you yearning 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 37 
 
 for Marf a ? You Mohammedan, you ! I know everything ! My 
 eyes have been opened ! You. . . barbarian ! ' ' 
 
 And slap! he received a blow over the cheek. He arose 
 from the table and as if in a trance, with neither hat nor coat, he 
 went to Vanykin. He found Vanykin at home. 
 
 "You slanderer!" cried Akhineyev, turning upon him. 
 "Why have you soiled my reputation before the whole world? 
 How dare you have slandered me 1 " 
 
 "What do you mean, — 'slandered?' Where did you ever 
 get that notion?" 
 
 "Then who did invent the story that I had been kissing 
 Marf a? I suppose it wasn't you, eh? Not you, eh?" 
 
 Vanykin 's eyes began to blink, his whole lively countenance 
 was convulsed with twitching. Raising his eyes to the ikon 
 in the comer, he cried out, "May God punish me! I swear by 
 the salvation of my soul that I never repeated a word of the 
 story! May I be cursed with eternal damnation! May I. . ." 
 
 There was no questioning Vanykin 's sincerity. It was clear 
 that he had not spread the gossip. 
 
 "But who then? Who?" muttered Akhineyev, beating his 
 fists against his breasts and mentally going over the list of all 
 his friends. "Who then?" 
 
Carelessness 
 
 PYOTR Petrovitch Strizhin, the same whose rubbers had been 
 stolen last year, was returning home from a Christening 
 party at two o'clock in the morning. 
 
 In order not to arouse the household he quietly undressed in 
 the haU and breathlessly tiptoed into his bedroom, where, with- 
 out turning on a light, he was about to lie down. 
 
 Strizhin was a fellow with the face of a fool, living a regular 
 and sober life and reading only books with a moral purpose. It 
 was only on such a festive occasion as the present that, in honor 
 of the newly bom child of Lyubov Spirodovna, he allowed him- 
 self to empty four glasses of whiskey and a glass of wine which 
 tasted like castor-oil. These hot beverages are like sea-water or 
 fame : the more you quaff, the more thirsty you become. . . 
 
 And now, while he was undressing, Strizhin suddenly 
 acquired an overwhelming thirst. 
 
 "If I'm not mistaken," said he, "there is a bottle of whiskey 
 in Dashenka's cupboard. It's right there in the comer, if I'm 
 not mistaken. . . She'll never notice the difference if I take only 
 a little glass." 
 
 After a short deliberation he mastered his timidity and went 
 to the cupboard. 
 
 Opening the door of the cupboard slowly, he found a bottle 
 in the right-hand comer. He filled a glass in the dark, replaced 
 the bottle, crossed himself, and swallowed the contents with a 
 single gulp. 
 
 And here something remarkable happened. A terrible force, 
 like a bomb, hurled Strizhin from the cupboard to the trunk. His 
 eyes beheld a flash of lightning, he began to choke and shiver as 
 though he had just fallen into a swamp full of blood-suckers. It 
 
 38 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 39 
 
 seemed to him that instead of whiskey he had just swallowed a 
 piece of dynamite which blew him to pieces and scattered his 
 head, his arms, his legs, the house and the entire street in all 
 directions, way up in the air, the devil knows whither. . . 
 
 For about three minutes he lay motionless and breathless on 
 the trunk. Then he rose and asked himself: 
 
 "Where am I?" 
 
 When he came to himself, he smelt for the first time a strong 
 odor of kerosene. 
 
 "Holy Father in Heaven!" he cried, I've drunk kerosene in- 
 stead of whiskey ! And a shudder passed through his body. 
 
 The thought that he had poisoned himself threw him into 
 an ague. And that he really had poisoned himself was evident 
 not only from the odor in the room, but also from the sparks that 
 danced before his eyes, from the ringing in his ears and from 
 the stabbing pain in his stomach. 
 
 Realizing that he was about to die and unable to delude him- 
 self with false hopes, he decided to say good-bye to his nearest 
 friends. He therefore went into Dashenka's bed-room, for he 
 was a widower and Dashenka, an old maid, was keeping house 
 for him. 
 
 "Dashenka," he said with a sob, "dear Dashenka!" 
 
 Something stirred in the dark and emitted a deep sigh. 
 
 "Dashenka!" 
 
 "Who is it?" said Dashenka with a start. "Oh, is it you, 
 Pyotr Petrovitch? Are you back already? Well? Did they 
 name the baby ? Who was the god-mother ? ' ' 
 
 "Natalya Andreyevna was the godmother, and Pavel Ivan- 
 itch was the god-father, and I think I am dying, Dashenka. The 
 baby was named Olympiada. . . and. . . I have drunk kerosene." 
 
 "What ! You don't mean to say they gave you kerosene, do 
 you?" 
 
 "I'H make a clean breast of it. I wanted to take a little nip 
 of whiskey without getting your permission. . . and. . . God pun- 
 
40 HUMOROUS TALES 
 
 ished me for it. By mistake I took kerosene in the dark. . . What 
 shall I do now?" 
 
 When she heard that her cupboard had been opened without 
 her permission she jumped to her feet. Hastily lighting a 
 candle, she drew herself to her full angular and bony height, 
 and forgetting to throw anything over her nightgown she shuf- 
 fled in her bare feet over to the cupboard. 
 
 "Who gave you permission?" she cried, opening the cup- 
 board. "Nobody ever put the whiskey there for your benefit!" 
 
 "I. . . I. . . have drunk kerosene, Dashenka, not whiskey.. . " 
 mumbled Strizhin, wiping the cold perspiration from his face. 
 
 "And why should you be nosing around my kerosene ? Is it 
 any of your business? I didn't buy it for you, did I? If you 
 only knew what a devilish price I've had to pay for it! You 
 know nothing about that, of course you don't!" 
 
 "Dear Dashenka," he groaned, "it is a question of life and 
 death, and you speak about money!" 
 
 "Not satisfied with getting drunk, he comes around sticking 
 his nose into the cupboard ! ' ' raged Dashenka, shutting the door 
 of the cupboard with a bang. "You bandit, you torturer, you! 
 Not a minute of rest have I ! By day and by night you ruin me ! 
 Robber, murderer ! May you live in the next world as peacefully 
 as you let me live here ! Tomorrow I am going to leave this place. 
 I am a virgin and I refuse to let you remain in my presence in 
 your underwear ! And don 't you dare to look at me when I am 
 undressed!" 
 
 She gave loose rein to her tongue and away it galloped, on 
 and on and on. . . 
 
 Knowing that nothing could be done with her in her fit of 
 anger, that neither soft words nor harsh, neither prayers nor 
 oaths, nor even bullets would be of any avail, Strizhin made a 
 gesture of despair, dressed himself and went in search of a doc- 
 tor. But doctors and policemen are found only when not needed. 
 He ran through several streets, rang five times at one doctor's 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 41 
 
 house, seven times at another's, and finally hastened over to the 
 drug store. Perhaps the druggist would help. 
 
 After a long pause a little, dark, curly-headed druggist 
 opened the door. He was dressed in his bathrobe and his eyes 
 were still sleepy, but his face inspired a feeling of awe, so stem 
 and intelligent was its expression. 
 
 "What can I do for you?" he asked in tones which only 
 smart and worthy druggists know how to employ. 
 
 "For God's sake, I beseech you!" cried Strizhin breath- 
 lessly. "Give me something, anything! . . I've just drunk kero- 
 sene! I'm dying!" 
 
 "Now, don't become excited, my good fellow, but answer 
 the questions that I am going to put to you. Your nervous frame 
 of mind makes it impossible for me to understand you. You 
 have drunk kerosene. Am I right?" 
 
 ' ' Yes ! Kerosene ! Save me ! " 
 
 The druggist solemnly went to his counter, opened a book 
 and was lost in deep meditation. Having perused a couple of 
 pages, he shrugged one shoulder, then the other, made a grimace, 
 mused for a minute or two and then went into a rear room. At 
 this moment the clock struck four. At precisely a quarter to 
 five he returned from the rear room with another book and once 
 more was lost in deep perusal. 
 
 "H'm!" he finally said in perplexity. "The very fact that 
 you feel bad shows that you ought to go to a doctor instead of a 
 druggist. ' ' 
 
 "But I've already been to doctors! I rang and rang, but 
 nobody answered." 
 
 "H'm ! Evidently you don't regard us druggists as human 
 beings. It's nothing to you to wake us up even at four o'clock at 
 night. Every dog, every cat has its rest. . . But you will not lis- 
 ten to it. You imagine that we are not human, and that our 
 nerves are made of hemp ! ' ' 
 
42 HUMOEOUS TALES 
 
 Strizhin listened patiently till the druggist finished his har- 
 angue, sighed and went home. 
 
 "I guess it is my fate to die !" he thought. 
 
 His mouth was as hot as a furnace, his throat was choking 
 with the odor of kerosene, his stomach writhed with cramps and 
 his ears were deafened with a ringing noise : boom ! boom ! boom ! 
 Every moment he thought that he was dying and that his heart 
 would beat no more. . 
 
 When he returned home, he quickly penned the following 
 note: "I hold no one responsible for my death." Then he 
 uttered a prayer, stretched himself out on his bed and drew a 
 quilt over his head. 
 
 Till sunrise he lay awake waiting for his death and picturing 
 to himself how his grave would be strewn with fresh flowers and 
 how the birds would be singing above him. . . 
 
 In the morning he was sitting on his bed and talking to 
 Dashenka : 
 
 "Whoever lives a normal and temperate life, my dear friend, 
 is immune from every harm, even poison. Take me, for example ; 
 I was already standing with both feet in the grave, I suffered, I 
 died, — and now, lo and behold! I only feel a slight bitter 
 taste in the mouth and my throat is a little burned; but as for 
 my entire body, why, thank God. . . And why ? Because I lead a 
 normal and decent life." 
 
 "Not at all! This only shows that my kerosene was worth- 
 less ! ' ' sighed Dashenka, thinking only of the price it cost. ' ' This 
 merely shows that the grocer, instead of giving me his best kero- 
 sene, gave me the stuff that costs only a cent and a half a quart ! 
 Good God, what robbers those people are ! How they will take 
 advantage of a poor, helpless woman ! Thieves, murderers ! May 
 they live in the next world as peacefully as they let me live here ! 
 What blood-suckers they are! . ." 
 
 And her tongue gathered more and more steam as it galloped 
 on and on and on. 
 
That "Fresh Kid" 
 
 IVAN Ivanitch Lapkin, a young man of pleasant appearance, 
 and Anna Semyonovna Zamblitskaya, a young girl with a 
 snub nose, descended the steep river-bank and sank down upon a 
 bench. The bench was situated close by the water's edge, hidden 
 among thick willow bushes. What a splendid lovers' cove ! Here 
 one might sit hidden from all the world, seen only by the fish 
 and the water-spiders, that darted here and there like streaks 
 of lightning. The young couple were provided with fishing-rods, 
 bags, cans of worms and everything else needed for a fishing ex- 
 cursion. 
 
 No sooner were they seated than they betook themselves to 
 their work. 
 
 "I'm so glad that we're alone at last, began Lapkin after 
 looking around. ' ' I have so much to teU you, Anna Semyonovna 
 .... So much. . . When I saw you for the first time. . . You've 
 got a nibble there ! . . . Then, for the first time I understood my 
 life's purpose ; then I saw for the first time the goddess to whom 
 I must dedicate my entire life work. . . It looks as if a big fel- 
 low's tugging at your line!. . . When I beheld you, for the fiarst 
 time I learned to love, to love passionately ! Don't pull yet. . . Let 
 him get a good bite . . . Tell me, my All, I entreat you — not 
 whether I may hope for my love to be returned, for I am un- 
 worthy of such good fortune and must never dream of it — ^but 
 tell me whether I may ever look forward to. . . Pull!" 
 
 With a scream Anna Semyonovna jerked the hand that held 
 the rod high into the air. A silvergreen perch glistened in the 
 sun. 
 
 "Good heavens, a perch! Ah! oh!. . . Quick! He'll wiggle 
 off!" 
 
 43 
 
44 HUMOROUS TALES 
 
 The perch worked himself free of the hook, began to flop 
 about on the grass and at length fell with a splash back into its 
 native element. 
 
 During the pursuit of the fish Lapkin, altogether unaware 
 of it, had seized instead of the fish, Anna Semyonovna's hand 
 and raised it inadvertently to his lips. . . The girl, indeed, had 
 withdrawn her hand, but it was already too late ; unawares the 
 lips had joined in a kiss. Everything had occurred so totally 
 unawares. The first kiss was succeeded by a second ; thereupon 
 followed pledges and vows. . . Happy moments ! 
 
 After all, there is upon this earth of ours no such thing 
 as absolute happiness. Every joy either carries its poison within 
 itself, or is poisoned by something from without. So did it prove 
 here. Even while the young folks were kissing there suddenly 
 resounded an explosion of laughter. They looked toward the 
 river and their eyes distended with amazement : there, up to his 
 hips in water, stood a naked boy. It was the school-boy Kolya, 
 Anna Semyonovna's brother. He stood in the water, looked 
 at the young folks and laughed diabolically. 
 
 "Ah — ah — ah. . . So you're kissing?" he taunted. "Fine! 
 I'll tell mamma." 
 
 "I hope that you, as a man of honor. . ." Lapkin began 
 to stammer, blushing, ' ' Eavesdropping is contemptible and gossip 
 is mean, despicable. . . I hope that you, as a person of breeding 
 and as a man of honor. . . " 
 
 "Give me a rouble and I won't tell!" replied the man of 
 honor. ' ' If you don 't, I '11 blab ! ' ' 
 
 Lapkin took a rouble from his pocket and handed it to 
 Kolya, who crumpled the note into his wet fist, whistled and 
 swam off. And they kissed no more that day. 
 
 The next day Lapkin brought for Kolya, from the city, 
 a box of paints and a ball; his sister, too, presented him with 
 all her pretty pill-boxes. And after that she had to give him 
 a set of dog's head cuff -buttons. 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 45 
 
 All this largess was manifestly pleasing to the mischievous 
 rascal, and in order to extort more he began to play the spy. 
 Wherever Lapkin and Anna Semyonovna were, there he was, too. 
 Not for a moment did he let them out of sight. 
 
 "The scamp!" exclaimed Lapkin, gnashing his teeth. "So 
 young and already such a dangerous scoundrel ! What wiU be- 
 come of him later?" 
 
 Throughout the entire month of June Kolya gave the poor 
 lovers not a moment's rest. He threatened them with betrayal, 
 spied upon them and extorted all kinds of gifts. His demands 
 became more and more extortionate and finally he began to 
 talk of a gold watch. And what was the result? The gold 
 watch had to be forthcoming. 
 
 Once during dinner, just as the waffles were being served, 
 he suddenly burst into laughter, winked to Lapkin with one eye 
 and said, "Shall I tell her? Yes?" 
 
 Lapkin turned frightfully red and instead of the waffles 
 began to chew his napkin. Anna Semyonovna sprang up from 
 her seat and ran into the next room. 
 
 The young couple suffered in this state of affairs until the 
 end of August, — ^until the day on which Lapkin finally proposed 
 to Anna Semyonovna. Oh, what a joyous day was that ! After 
 Lapkin had spoken to her parents and had received their con- 
 sent, he dashed into the garden and began to hunt for Kolva. 
 When he had found him he almost choked with rapture and 
 seized the mischievous rascal by the ear. Anna Semyonovna, 
 who had also been on the hunt for Kolya, appeared at this instant 
 and seized his other ear. And it would have done your heart 
 good to behold the delight that shone on the lovers' faces as 
 Kolya cried and begged, "Darling sister! Dearest friend! I 
 won't do it any more. . . Ow, ow, ow! Forgive me!" 
 
 Afterwards they both confessed that during the entire 
 period of their courtship and betrothal they never experienced 
 such happiness, such brimming ecstasy, as during those moments 
 when they were pulling that "fresh kid" by the ears. 
 
Such is Fame! 
 
 THE passenger of the first class, who had just finished dinner, 
 in the railway station, was a trifle drowsy; he lay down 
 upon the velvet sofa, stretched himself out with a grunt 
 of contentment and was soon dozing. 
 
 He lay thus, however, for but five minutes; then he awoke, 
 looked with buttery eyes at his neighbor, who sat directly op- 
 posite him, smiled and said, "My late father, blessed be his mem- 
 ory, was fond of having women scratch his heels after dinner. 
 I take after him, with this one difference, that after dinner I like 
 to scratch my tongue and my head. I, sinner that I am, like to 
 prattle on a full stomach. WiU you allow me to prattle a bit 
 with you?" 
 
 "With pleasure," answered his neighbor. 
 
 "After a good dinner, at the slightest opportunity the deepest 
 thoughts begin to flood my mind. For instance, just now we 
 saw with you, at the lunch-counter, two young men, and you 
 heard one of them congratulating the other because of his popu- 
 larity. 'I congratulate you,' he said, 'you are already a popular 
 personage, you beginning to acquire fame. ' 
 
 "They must be actors or journalists. But it is not they who 
 interest me. What interests me is the question : What should we 
 really understand by the word fame or popularity? What is 
 your opinion? According to Pushkin fame is a bright patch 
 upon a worn-out garment. We all look upon it the same way 
 Pushkin does, — ^that is, more or less subjectively, but up to the 
 present no one has given a clear, logical definition of the word. 
 I would give much for a concise explanation of the word fame." 
 
 "Why does it concern you so deeply?" 
 
 "Well, if we knew precisely what fame was, you understand, 
 
 46 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 47 
 
 then perhaps we should know also how to attain it," answered 
 the passenger of the first class after brief meditation. "I must 
 tell you, sir, that when I was younger, I strained every string of 
 my soul in the quest of fame. In the first place, I am an engineer 
 by profession. I've built a score of wonderful bridges in various 
 parts of Russia, installed water systems in three cities, have 
 worked in Russia, England, Belgium. . . In the second place, I've 
 written a large number of special treatises on matters connected 
 with my profession. Thirdly, my good sir, from earliest child- 
 hood I've had a weakness for Chemistry; devoting my leisure 
 time to that science I discovered means of extracting many or- 
 ganic acids, for which reason you can meet my name in all for- 
 eign study books on Chemistry. I'D. not burden you with an 
 account of all my services and accomplishments,: — I shall merely 
 tell you that I accomplished far more than many celebrities. And 
 the result? As you see, I am already old and ready to die, and 
 I'm just as much known as that black dog running across the 
 tracks over there." 
 
 ' ' How do you know ? Perhaps you are famous ? ' ' 
 
 "H'm! "We'n soon see. . . Tell me, did you ever hear of the 
 Krikunov family?" 
 
 The other man raised his eyes to the ceiling, thought a while 
 and began to laugh. 
 
 "No. Can't say that I have. . . " he replied. 
 
 "That's my family. You are an elderly, educated person, and 
 you never heard of me. — Isn't that sufficient proof? I guess, in 
 my chase after fame, striving to become known, popular, I didn't 
 do as I should have done. I didn't employ the proper means 
 and, wishing to catch fame by the tail, I didn't approach it from 
 the right direction ..." 
 
 "What proper means do you refer to?" 
 
 "Devil knows! You will say. . . Talent? Genius? Uncommon 
 gifts? That's a mistake, my friend. . . In my own time people 
 have lived and made reputations who, in comparison with me, are 
 
48 HUMOROUS TALES 
 
 incapable, good-for-nothing and altogether worthless. They did 
 not strive, did not dazzle with their talents, did not pursue fame, 
 yet behold them now ! Their names are often mentioned in the 
 papers and in conversation! If you're not already wearied of 
 listening, I'll illustrate my point with an example. 
 
 "A few years ago I was constructing a bridge in the city of 
 K. . . I must tell you that there isn't a deader place in the whole 
 world. If it weren't for the women and cards, I'd have gone out 
 of my mind. "Well, that's an old story. Just to kill time I made 
 friends there with a singer. Devil knows, they all used to go 
 wild over her, and in my own opinion — ^how shall I express it ? — 
 she was a most commonplace, average young lady, of a type that 
 is altogether too common. An empty-headed thing, capricious, 
 envious and a silly goose to boot. She ate a good deal, drank a 
 good deal, slept until five in the afternoon and even later. A 
 mediocre specimen, as you see. She was looked upon as a wanton 
 woman — ^that was her profession — ^but when folks wanted to 
 speak of her in literary language they would refer to her as 'the 
 actress,' or 'the singer.' In those days I was a passionate thea- 
 tre-goer, and I would fly into a rage when I heard her called an 
 actress. She had absolutely no right to the name actress or 
 singer. She was a creature without a spark of talent, without an 
 atom of feeling, — one might say, in sum, a poor little good-for- 
 nothing. 
 
 "As far as I understand singing, she sang frightfully, — ^badly 
 enough to make you faint. Her whole 'art' consisted in her 
 wiggling with her foot, when it was needed, and in letting men 
 into her dressing-room. 
 
 "She preferred, naturally, foreign vaudevilles, — spicy ones, 
 with singing and such, in which she could appear in masculine 
 attire. In a word, one of the 'real things!' But just listen to 
 this. I remember it as clearly as if it happend this very day. 
 The bridge was ready to be thrown open to the public. It was 
 opened with solemnity, — prayers, speeches, telegrams and so on. 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 49 
 
 I myself ran about all flustered, with my child, the work of my 
 brain, and was afraid that my heart would burst with excitement. 
 It was my work ! It 's an old story, and I may permit myself a bit 
 of pride, so let me inform you that the bridge turned out to be 
 a masterpiece! Not a bridge, but a picture, an inspiration! 
 How could I help being excited, when the whole city turned out 
 for the grand opening? 
 
 " 'WeU,' I thought, 'now the whole public will look at me, — 
 all eyes wiU seek me. Where can I hide t ' 
 
 "But, my good sir, my agitation was all in vain. Outside of 
 the official personages nobody even gave me a glance. They 
 gathered at the river bank, staring at the bridge like so many 
 wax figures, without giving so much as a passing thought to him 
 who had created the bridge. And since then, devil take them, 
 I've begun to hate our worthy public. But just listen. Sud- 
 denly a commotion arose among the assembled crowd. Faces 
 beamed, people began to elbow their way forward . . . 
 
 " 'Ah! They've noticed me at last!' I thought. But far 
 from it! I see my friend the singer squeezing through the 
 crowd, and at her heels a whole army of loafers. And all eyes 
 were centered upon her, and thousands of lips whispered, 'That's 
 so and so. . .isn't she charming! Divinely beautiful!' 
 
 "At this point I, too, was noticed by a couple of bums, most 
 likely local lovers of the dramatic art. Seeing me, they scrutin- 
 ized me and began to murmur, 'That's her paramour.' 
 
 "How do you like that ? A man in a silk hat, and with a jaw 
 that for a long time had not been scraped by a razor, stood near 
 me for quite a while, raising now one foot and now the other, 
 and finally accosted me. 
 
 " 'Do you know who that lady is, walking there at the river's 
 edge? That's so and so. . . Her voice is beneath all criticism, but 
 she certainly knows how to use it ! ' 
 
 " 'Can you tell me?' I asked the man in the silk hat, 'who con- 
 structed this bridge?' 
 
50 HUMOROUS TALES 
 
 " 'Upon my word, I don't know!' replied the silk hat. 'Some 
 engineer or other!' 
 
 " 'And who,' I asked, 'built this church for your city?' 
 
 " 'I can't tell you that, either.' 
 
 "I further asked the silk hat who was considered the leading 
 professor of the city, — the foremost architect, — and to all these 
 queries I received from the silk hat a single reply : 
 
 " 'I don't know. Can't tell you.' 
 
 " 'Tell me, pray,' I asked at last, 'with whom does this noted 
 singer live?' 
 
 " 'With a certain engineer by the name of Krikunov,* replied 
 the silk hat without hesitation. 
 
 "WeU, how do you like that, my friend?. . . But listen to the 
 rest of the story. . . On the day following the christening of the 
 bridge I seized the daily paper to discover something — about my- 
 self, about the builder of the bridge. For a long time I scanned 
 aU four pages of the paper and finally — found! Hurrah! I 
 begin to read : 
 
 Yesterday, under a smiling sky, in the presence of 
 His Excellency the governor and other government 
 officials, a vast municipal gathering celebrated the 
 opening of the new bridge, etc. 
 
 "The news report concluded in this fashion: 
 
 Among others there was also present at the open- 
 ing our beloved and gifted artist, Miss So and So. 
 As is easily understood, her appearance created a 
 furore. The noted actress was dressed in . . . etc. 
 
 "About me, — not a single word, not a syllable! As insignifi- 
 cant as the matter was, in that moment it grieved me so keenly 
 that I burst into tears. 
 
 "I soothed myself with the consolation that the province was 
 of mediocre intelligence, incapable of appreciating such a work, 
 and that it was foolish to expect recognition from such people ; 
 that it was possible to acquire fame only in intellectual centers, 
 in the metropolitan cities. 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 51 
 
 "Well, there was at Petersburg at that time one of my works 
 that I had submitted in a competition. The day of the award 
 was drawing nigh. 
 
 ' ' I bade f areweU to the city of K — I took the train for Peters- 
 burg. It's a long distance from K — to Petersburg. In order to 
 drive away lonesomeness I took a separate coupe and also. . .the 
 singer. We rode along and on the whole way did nothing but 
 eat, guzzle champagne and tra-la-la ! Had a great old time ! . . . 
 And at last there we were in Petersburg, in the great intellectual 
 center. I arrived on the very day of the award, and had the 
 pleasure, my dear friend, of celebrating a victory : my work was 
 honored with the first prize. Hurrah ! 
 
 "The next day I go to Nevski Prospekt and squander all of 
 seventy kopeks on newspapers. I return to my hotel, sink back 
 into the sofa and bury myself in the newspapers, all the while 
 quivering with excitement. 
 
 ' ' I look through one paper: — nothing ! A second — not a word ! 
 At length, in the fourth journal I come upon an announcement 
 like this: 
 
 Yesterday there arrived in Petersburg by express 
 the noted artiste of the provinces, Miss So and So. 
 We are delighted to state that the Southern climate 
 has had a very beneficial effect upon our well-known 
 friend. Her splendid artistic appearance. . . . 
 
 "I can't recall the rest! At the bottom of the page, under 
 the same news item, printed in the smallest size type, was the 
 following : 
 
 Yesterday, at the award of prizes in the such-and- 
 such competition, the engineer So-and-So received 
 first prize. 
 
 "And that was all! And to add insult to injury, they 
 twisted my name about. Instead of Krikunov, they printed 
 Kirkunov. There 's your intellectual center ! But that was not 
 aU... 
 
52 HUMOROUS TALES 
 
 "A month later, when I had left Petersburg, all the papers 
 were screaming without cease about 'our divine, highly-gifted,' 
 and my lady love was lauded by the public press as if she reaUy 
 amounted to something. . . 
 
 "Several years later I happened to be in Moscow. The head 
 of the Moscow Duma had invited me thither, by personal letter, 
 in regard to a subject in which the entire press of Moscow has 
 been interested for more than a century. 
 
 "Among other things I delivered at one of the Museums five 
 public lectures for a public cause. That, I imagine, was 
 sufficient to make a fellow talked about in the city, for three days 
 at least ? But, nothing doing ! Not a single paper in Moscow had 
 even a word in reference to me ! They were full of fires, cheap 
 musical comedies, druken merchants — of everything under the 
 sun except my affair, my project, my lectures. About these, not 
 a syllable ! 
 
 "I ride in the electric cars. . .packed, ladies with officers, stu- 
 dents of both sexes — each paired after its own kind. 
 
 " '^They say that the Duma invited a certain engineer in re- 
 gard to such and such a project. ' I say to my neighbor in a loud 
 voice, so that aU may hear. 'Do you know the engineer's name?' 
 
 "The fellow shook his head. No. The rest of the people in 
 the car looked at me, and in all their faces I read, 'I don't know.' 
 
 " 'They say that somebody's giving lectures in the so and so 
 Museums,' I continue, addressing another, wishing to start a 
 conversation. ' They say that the lectures are very interesting. ' 
 
 "Nobody stirred. Evidently not one of them had heard of 
 these lectures, and the woman did not even know that such a 
 museum was in existence. But that is not all. Just imagine, my 
 dear friend. All of a sudden the whole crowd in the car sprang 
 from their places and rushed to the window. What was the 
 matter ? What had happened ? 
 
 " 'Look! Look!' my neighbor cried, jobbing me in the ribs. 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 53 
 
 'Do you see that dark fellow sitting tkere in that droshke? That's 
 the famous king of the yeggs ! ' 
 
 "And the whole crowd began to talk with great animation 
 about the thugs who at that time interested the brains of Moscow. 
 
 "I could adduce numerous examples of the same kind. But I 
 believe these are sufficient. 
 
 "Now let me, for the sake of argument, admit that I am mis- 
 taken in regard to myself, — ^that I myself am only a conceited ass 
 without a spark of talent. But I could point out to you a 
 multitude of men, in my own time, who were remarkably gifted 
 as concerns talent and love of their work and yet who died un- 
 recognized. All the Russian sailors, chemists, physicists, me- 
 chanics, farmers — who among us knows them ? Are our Russian 
 painters, sculptors and authors known to the intellectual masses ? 
 Many an old literary dog with genuine talent wears out the 
 thresholds of editorial offices for thirty-three years, writing reams 
 and reams of material, is twenty times sued for libel and yet 
 cannot go a step further than his ant-hill ! Tell me the name of a 
 single genius in Russian literature that was known in his own 
 land before he had been recognized all over the world, or had 
 been killed in a duel, or had gone insane, or else had been con- 
 demned for life to hard-labor in Siberia, — or else, had acquired 
 a reputation for cheating at cards. ' ' 
 
 The passenger of the first class had grown so excited that he 
 took his cigar out of his mouth and arose. 
 
 "Yes," he continued, still roused to a high pitch, "and in 
 contrast to such persons I'll show you hundreds of insignificant 
 singers, acrobats and other clowns who have been heard of even 
 by infants in the cradle ! Yes, sir/" 
 
 The door creaked and a gust of wind blew in, and there en- 
 tered a third person with an angry countenance, wearing a cape, 
 a silk hat and blue spectacles. The newcomer looked at the va- 
 cant places, frowned and continued on his way. 
 
 "Do you know who that isV" came a timid voice from a 
 
54 HUMOROUS TALES 
 
 distant corner of the car. "That is N. N., the famous teller, who 
 is being sued by the A . . . Bank. ' ' 
 
 "There you have it!" laughed the passenger of the first 
 class. "He knows the teller, all right, yet ask him whether he 
 knows Semiradski, Chikovski, or the philosopher Solovyov, and 
 he 'U shake his thick head ! . . . Rabble ! ' ' 
 
 A brief silence. 
 
 "AJlow me to ask you a question," coughed the neighbor 
 opposite him, diffidently. "Is the name Pushkov familiar to 
 you?" 
 
 ' ' Pushkov 1 H 'm ! . . . Pushkov . . . No. I never heard of such 
 a name" 
 
 "That's my name. . . " continued the neighbor, embarrassed. 
 "So you never heard of me? And for thirty-five years I have 
 been professor in one of Russia's leading universities. . .a mem- 
 ber of the Academy of Science. . . More than once my treatises 
 have been printed. . . " 
 
 The passenger of the first class and his neighbor looked at 
 each other and burst into long and loud laughter. 
 
Overspiced 
 
 THE surveyor Smimov got off at Snoozeville Station. He 
 still had about thirty or forty miles to go before reaching 
 his destination. 
 
 "WiU you please tell me where I can get some post-horses?" 
 he asked of the ticket agent. 
 
 "What's that? Post-horses? You can't get any post-horses 
 or even an old, broken-down truck in a hundred miles . . . Where 
 are you bound for?" 
 
 "General Klokhotov's estate." 
 
 "Oh, is that so?" yawned the ticket agent. "WeU, in that 
 case you had better go over there to that house behind the sta- 
 tion. The fellow that lives there sometimes takes passengers." 
 
 With a sigh the surveyor betook himself to the designated 
 place where, after considerable searching and arguing and com- 
 plaining, he found a sturdy peasant, with an evil pock-marked 
 face, who wore a tattered smock and coarse straw boots. 
 
 "The devil knows what sort of a wagon this is!" said the 
 surveyor with a grimace as he clambered into the wagon. "It's 
 hard to tell which is the front and which is the back. . . " 
 
 " 'Tain't hard to tell at all," replied the peasant. "The 
 front is over there near the horse 's tail and the back is over here 
 where Your Honor is sitting." 
 
 The colt was young, but lean, knock-kneed and frazzled 
 around the ears. 
 
 The driver took his seat and whipped the mare; her only 
 reply was a nod of the head. He swore at her and whipped her 
 again; the wagon creaked and shivered as though it had the 
 ague. He struck a third blow ; the wagon began to bob. Finally 
 at the fourth blow the wagon stirred from its place. 
 
 55 
 
56 HUMOROUS TALES 
 
 "Are we going to drag along like this aU the way?" asked 
 the surveyor, who felt that his very life was being rattled out of 
 him although the wagon scarcely moved. 
 
 "We'll g-g-get there, all r-right!" the peasant reassured 
 him. "She's a young little mare and she certainly can run 
 once she gets started. You just wait till she gets a-going, and 
 you won't be able to hold your seat. . .Hey you, giddap, you 
 nasty old nag ! ' ' 
 
 The wagon left the station at dusk. To the right stretched 
 a dark frozen plain which seemed to extend to the very banquet- 
 ing halls of the devil. At the horizon, where the wide steppe 
 melted into the sky, the cold faint lights of the setting autumn 
 sun were burning out. . . To the left, confused hiUy shapes 
 loomed up here and there in the twilight. It was hard to tell 
 whether these were haystacks or trees. The surveyor was unable 
 to see in front of him, because the peasant's massive back blotted 
 out the entire landscape. A cold, frosty stillness held the entire 
 region in its grip. 
 
 "What a wilderness!" thought the surveyor, putting the 
 collar of his coat over his ears. "No sign of a dwelling and not 
 a living soul in sight. If robbers should attack me, nobody would 
 hear my cries, nobody would even know where to look for my 
 bones. . . And this driver is not at aU to my fancy. . . Did you 
 ever see such a back ? A big husky like him could beat the soul 
 out of the likes of me with one finger! And his snout, too, is 
 strange and angular like a wild beast's." 
 
 "Look here, my friend," asked the surveyor. "What's 
 your name?" 
 
 "My name? Klim." 
 
 "Listen, Klim. Is it quiet in these parts? Is is safe? I 
 mean, are people raising the devil around here ?" 
 
 "Everything is quiet, thank God. . . Nobody is raising the 
 devil." 
 
 "I am glad to hear nobody is raising the devil... Still, 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 57 
 
 I've. . . You never can tell. . . I've taken three pistols along with 
 me," lied the surveyor. . . "And you know very well, my dear 
 fellow, that it is a dangerous thing to play with pistols. With a . 
 single revolver I could easily take care of ten robbers. . ." 
 
 Night had fallen. The wagon suddenly creaked, began to 
 "shake and squeak and then swerved to the left, as if against its 
 will. 
 
 "Where is he dragging me ? " thought the surveyor. ' 'After 
 going to the right he turns aU. of a sudden to the left ... I 
 shouldn't be surprised if he's trying to take me into the woods 
 and. . .God help me!. . .You never can tell. . . Such things do 
 happen ! . . . 
 
 "Listen!" he turned to the peasant. "You say that there 
 is no danger here?... It's really too bad!... I love to have 
 a scrap with murderers. . . To look at me, one would take me for 
 a skinny weak-kneed piece of carrion, but by Jove, I've got the 
 strength of an ox. . . . Once I was attacked by three murderers, 
 and what do you think? I gave one of them such a beating that 
 ... he spit out his soul. . . And the other two were sent away to 
 Siberia for life. . .1 don't know, I'm sure, where I've got such 
 strength. . . Why, with one hand I can grab hold of a giant like 
 yourself, for instance, and. . .crumple him up like a piece of 
 paper." 
 
 Klim turned around and looked at the surveyor, blinked 
 and whipped up the pony. 
 
 "Yes, my good fellow," continued the surveyor, "God pity 
 those who start anything with me. They'll not only lose their 
 arms and legs, but they'll be sent away to Siberia, to boot. . . For 
 every single police judge knows me. . . I am an indispensable 
 person, a cog in the wheel of our government . . . Here I am 
 travelling with you, and the secret service knows all about it. 
 You had better take care that nothing happens to me. . . Every- 
 where hereabouts, behind every bush policemen and detectives 
 are hidden... H-h-hold on!" suddenly cried the surveyor in 
 
58 HUMOROUS TALES 
 
 alarm. "Where are you going? Where are you dragging me?" 
 
 ' ' Can't you see ? This is a forest. ' ' 
 
 "Sure enough, it is a forest," thought the surveyor, "and 
 that's just why I am so frightened. . . But it wouldn't do to show 
 him that I am afraid. . .He has already noticed how scared I am 
 . . . Why in the world does he keep turning around and looking at 
 me ? I guess he's already planning how to. . . At first he was trav- 
 elling so slowly, but now he 's galloping like the very devil ! . . . 
 
 "Look here, Klim, what are you hurrying the mare like this 
 for?" 
 
 "I'm not hurrying her, she's hurrying of her own accord. . . 
 Once she gets started, nothing in the world can stop her. . . Even 
 she herself is sorry for having such hurrying hoofs. ' ' 
 
 "You're lying, you rascal! I know that you're lying! But 
 just the same I'd advise you to slow her up. Stop her. . . Do 
 you hear? Stop her!" 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "What for? Becaxise I'm expecting four friends from the 
 station. . . I want them to catch up with me. . . They promised 
 to overtake me in the forest. . . It will be more cheerful to travel 
 together with them. . . They're huskies, — ^in fact, regular giants, 
 and every mother's son of them has got a pistol. . . Now what 
 in the world are you looking at me like that for? And why do 
 you bob around as though you were sitting on pins and needles, 
 ha? There's no need of your looking at me. There's nothing 
 extraordinary about my appearance. But my pistols are . . . 
 really worth looking at! If you want to, I'll take them out and 
 show them to you ... Do you want to see them ? Hey ? ' ' 
 
 The surveyor made a motion as if to look for them in his 
 pockets, when he was suddenly ameized to see that which even 
 in his worst fears, he had never expected: Klim rolled ofiE the 
 wagon and on all fours scurried away among the thick bushes. 
 
 "Help!" he began to cry. "Help! Take the mare and the 
 wagon and everything, but spare my life ! He-elp ! ' ' 
 
ANTON CHEKHOV 59 
 
 There was a sound of hurrying footsteps and the crackling 
 of dry branches, and after that all was stiU. . . The surveyor, who 
 was dumbfounded at this, stopped the wagon, rearranged the 
 seat under him and began to think. 
 
 ' ' He has run away, the fool ! What a coward ! . . . But what 
 in the world am I to do now?. . . I can't go on myself; for, in 
 the first place, I don't know the way, and in the second place, 
 people might suspect me of stealing the mare. . . What's to be 
 done?" 
 
 "Klim!" he called, "Klim!" And the echo rebounded from 
 the forest, ' ' Klim ! Klim ! ' ' 
 
 At the thought that he would have to stay all night in the 
 dark forest where the only sounds were the howling of the wolves 
 and the snorting of the lean mare, the surveyor's terror became 
 almost unbearable. 
 
 "My darling little Klim !" he began to cry, "My sweet, dear, 
 darling little Klim! Where are you?" 
 
 For about two hours the surveyor continued his entreaties. 
 Fiually, when he became hoarse from calling and was already 
 resigned to spend the night in the forest, the breeze brought a 
 faint moan to his ears. 
 
 ' ' Is that you, my darling little Klim ? Come, let us continue 
 our journey." 
 
 "I'm afraid you 11 k-k-kill me!" replied a weak voice. 
 
 "I was only joking, Klim darling! So help me God, I was 
 only fooling! I have no pistols with me. I only pretended 
 because I was afraid... Have pity on me! Let's go on! I'm 
 frozen!. . . " 
 
 Evidently realizing that a regular robber would long ago 
 have disappeared with the mare, Klim emerged from the bushes 
 and timidly approached his passenger. 
 
 "Well, you big jackass, what did you get frightened for? 
 I was only joking and you became scared. . . Sit down!" 
 
 "How should I know, your Honor?" stammered Klim, as he 
 
60 HUMOROUS TALES 
 
 clambered into the wagon. "If I had only known in the first 
 place, I wouldn't have taken you for a hundred roubles. I al- 
 most died of fright. . . " 
 
 Klim whipped the mare; the wagon began to creak and 
 shiver. Klim beat her a second time ; the wagon began to bob. 
 Finally at the fourth blow the wagon stirred from its place. The 
 surveyor put the collar of his coat over his ears. His fear was 
 entirely gone. 
 
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