The Collected Works of Anton Chekhov. Anton Chekhov

The Collected Works of Anton Chekhov - Anton Chekhov


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he will go out of his mind. People think he is badly treated here…. In what way is he badly treated? He eats with us, and he drinks with us…. Only we won’t give him money. If we were to give him any he would spend it on drink or waste it…. That’s another trouble for me! Lord forgive me, a sinner!”

      They made me stay the night. When I woke next morning, Bugrov was giving some one a lecture in the adjoining room….

      “Set a fool to say his prayers, and he will crack his skull on the floor! Why, who paints oars green! Do think, blockhead! Use your sense! Why don’t you speak?”

      “I… I… made a mistake,” said a husky tenor apologetically.

      The tenor belonged to Groholsky.

      Groholsky saw me to the station.

      “He is a despot, a tyrant,” he kept whispering to me all the way. “He is a generous man, but a tyrant! Neither heart nor brain are developed in him…. He tortures me! If it were not for that noble woman, I should have gone away long ago. I am sorry to leave her. It’s somehow easier to endure together.”

      Groholsky heaved a sigh, and went on:

      “She is with child…. You notice it? It is really my child…. Mine…. She soon saw her mistake, and gave herself to me again. She cannot endure him… .”

      “You are a rag,” I could not refrain from saying to Groholsky.

      “Yes, I am a man of weak character…. That is quite true. I was born so. Do you know how I came into the world? My late papa cruelly oppressed a certain little clerk — it was awful how he treated him! He poisoned his life. Well… and my late mama was tenderhearted. She came from the people, she was of the working class…. She took that little clerk to her heart from pity…. Well… and so I came into the world…. The son of the ill-treated clerk. How could I have a strong will? Where was I to get it from? But that’s the second bell…. Goodbye. Come and see us again, but don’t tell Ivan Petrovitch what I have said about him.”

      I pressed Groholsky’s hand, and got into the train. He bowed towards the carriage, and went to the water-barrel — I suppose he was thirsty!

       BLISS [trans. by Marian Fell]

       Table of Contents

      It was midnight. Suddenly Mitia Kuldaroff burst into his parents' house, dishevelled and excited, and went flying through all the rooms. His father and mother had already gone to rest; his sister was in bed finishing the last pages of a novel, and his school-boy brothers were fast asleep.

      "What brings you here?" cried his astonished parents. "What is the matter?"

      "Oh, don't ask me! I never expected anything like this ! No, no, I never expected it ! It is—it is absolutely incredible !"

      Mitia burst out laughing and dropped into a chair, unable to stand on his feet from happiness.

      "It is incredible! You can't imagine what it is! Look here!"

      His sister jumped out of bed, threw a blanket over her shoulders, and went to her brother. The schoolboys woke up—

      "What's the matter with you? You look like a ghost."

      "It's because I'm so happy, mother. I am known all over Russia now. Until to-day, you were the only people who knew that such a person as Dimitri Kuldaroff existed, but now all Russia knows it! Oh, mother! Oh, heavens!"

      Mitia jumped up, ran through all the rooms, and dropped back into a chair.

      "But what has happened? Talk sense!"

      "You live like wild animals, you don't read the news, the press is nothing to you, and yet there are so many wonderful things in the papers ! Everything that happens becomes known at once, nothing remains hidden ! Oh, how happy I am ! Oh, heavens ! The newspapers only write about famous people, and now there is something in them about me!"

      "What do you mean? Where is it?"

      Papa turned pale. Mamma glanced at the icon and crossed herself. The schoolboys jumped out of bed and ran to their brother in their short night-shirts.

      "Yes, sir! There is something about me in the paper ! The whole of Russia knows it now. Oh, mother, keep this number as a souvenir; we can read it from time to time. Look !"

      Mitia pulled a newspaper out of his pocket and handed it to his father, pointing to an item marked with a blue pencil.

      "Read that!"

      His father put on his glasses.

      "Come on, read it!"

      Mamma glanced at the icon once more, and crossed herself. Papa cleared his throat, and began:

      "At 11 p. M., on December 27, a young man by the name of Dimitri Kuldaroff—"

      "See? See? Go on!"

      "A young man by the name of Dimitri Kuldaroff, coming out of a tavern on Little Armourer Street, and being in an intoxicated condition—"

      "That's it, I was with Simion Petrovitch ! Every detail is correct. Go on! Listen!"

      "—being in an intoxicated condition, slipped and fell under the feet of a horse belonging to the cabman Ivan Drotoff, a peasant from the village of Durinka in the province of Yuknofski. The frightened horse jumped across Kuldaroff's prostrate body, pulling the sleigh after him. In the sleigh sat Stepan Lukoff, a merchant of the Second Moscow Guild of Merchants. The horse galloped down the street, but was finally stopped by some house porters. For a few moments Kuldaroff was stunned. He was conveyed to the police station and examined by a doctor. The blow which he had sustained on the back of the neck—"

      "That was from the shaft, papa. Go on! Read the rest!"

      "—the blow which he had sustained on the back of the neck was pronounced to be slight. The victim was given medical assistance."

      "They put cold-water bandages round my neck. Do you believe me now ? What do you think ? Isn't it great ? It has gone all over Russia by now ! Give me the paper!"

      Mitia seized the paper, folded it, and put it into his pocket, exclaiming:

      "I must run to the Makaroffs, and show it to them ! And the Ivanoffs must see it, too, and Natalia, and Anasim—I must run there at once ! Good-bye ! "

      Mitia crammed on his cap and ran blissfully and triumphantly out into the street.

      JOY

       [trans. by Constance Garnett]

       Table of Contents

      IT was twelve o’clock at night.

      Mitya Kuldarov, with excited face and ruffled hair, flew into his parents’ flat, and hurriedly ran through all the rooms. His parents had already gone to bed. His sister was in bed, finishing the last page of a novel. His schoolboy brothers were asleep.

      “Where have you come from?” cried his parents in amazement. “What is the matter with you?

      “Oh, don’t ask! I never expected it; no, I never expected it! It’s… it’s positively incredible!”

      Mitya laughed and sank into an armchair, so overcome by happiness that he could not stand on his legs.

      “It’s incredible! You can’t imagine! Look!”

      His sister jumped out of bed and, throwing a quilt round her, went in to her brother. The schoolboys woke up.

      “What’s the matter? You don’t look like yourself!”

      “It’s because I am so delighted, Mamma! Do you know, now all Russia knows


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