The Greatest Novellas & Short Stories of Anton Chekhov - Anton Chekhov

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or not, as you choose, but the long and the short of it was that I sat down to the table and wrote to my fiancée, breaking off the engagement. As I wrote I felt relieved that it was not yet too late to rectify my mistake. Sealing the letter, I hastened out into the street to post it. The lawyer himself came with me.

      “ ‘Excellent! Capital!’ he applauded me as my letter to Natasha disappeared into the darkness of the box. ‘I congratulate you with all my heart. I am glad for you.’

      “After walking a dozen paces with me the lawyer went on:

      “ ‘Of course, marriage has its good points. I, for instance, belong to the class of people to whom marriage and home life is everything.’

      “And he proceeded to describe his life, and lay before me all the hideousness of a solitary bachelor existence.

      “He spoke with enthusiasm of his future wife, of the sweets of ordinary family life, and was so eloquent, so sincere in his ecstasies that by the time we had reached his door, I was in despair.

      “ ‘What are you doing to me, you horrible man?’ I said, gasping. ‘You have ruined me! Why did you make me write that cursed letter? I love her, I love her!’

      “And I protested my love. I was horrified at my conduct which now seemed to me wild and senseless. It is impossible, gentlemen, to imagine a more violent emotion than I experienced at that moment. Oh, what I went through, what I suffered! If some kind person had thrust a revolver into my hand at that moment, I should have put a bullet through my brains with pleasure.

      “ ‘Come, come …’ said the lawyer, slapping me on the shoulder, and he laughed. ‘Give over crying. The letter won’t reach your fiancée. It was not you who wrote the address but I, and I muddled it so they won’t be able to make it out at the post-office. It will be a lesson to you not to argue about what you don’t understand.’

      “Now, gentlemen, I leave it to the next to speak.”

      The fifth juryman settled himself more comfortably, and had just opened his mouth to begin his story when we heard the clock strike on Spassky Tower.

      “Twelve …” one of the jurymen counted. “And into which class, gentlemen, would you put the emotions that are being experienced now by the man we are trying? He, that murderer, is spending the night in a convict cell here in the court, sitting or lying down and of course not sleeping, and throughout the whole sleepless night listening to that chime. What is he thinking of? What visions are haunting him?”

      And the jurymen all suddenly forgot about strong impressions; what their companion who had once written a letter to his Natasha had suffered seemed unimportant, even not amusing; and no one said anything more; they began quietly and in silence lying down to sleep.

       A GENTLEMAN FRIEND [trans. by John Middleton Murry]

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      When she came out of the hospital the charming Vanda, or, according to her passport, " the honourable lady-citizen Nastasya Kanavkina," found herself in a position in which she had never been before : without a roof and without a sou. What was to be done ?

      First of all, she went to a pawnshop to pledge her turquoise ring, her only jewellery. They gave her a rouble for the ring . . . but what can you buy for a rouble ? For that you can't get a short jacket a la mode, or an elaborate hat, or a pair of brown shoes ; yet without these things she felt naked. She felt as though, not only the people, but even the horses and dogs were staring at her and laughing at the plainness of her clothes. And her only thought was for her clothes ; she did not care at all what she ate or where she slept.

      " If only I were to meet a gentleman friend . . ." she thought. " I could get some money . . . Nobody would say ' No,' because . . ."

      But she came across no gentleman friends. It's easy to find them of nights in the Renaissance, but they wouldn't let her go into the Renaissance in that plain dress and without a hat. What's to be done ? After a long time of anguish, vexed and weary with walking, sitting, and thinking, Vanda made up her mind to play her last card : to go straight to the rooms of some gentleman friend and ask him for money.

      "But who shall I go to ? " she pondered. " I can't possibly go to Misha . . . he's got a family . . . The ginger-headed old man is at his office . . ."

      Vanda recollected Finkel, the dentist, the converted Jew, who gave her a bracelet three months ago. Once she poured a glass of beer on his head at the German club. She was awfully glad that she had thought of Finkel.

      "He'll be certain to give me some, if only I find him in . . ." she thought, on her way to him. " And if he won't, then I'll break every single thing there."

      She had her plan already prepared. She approached the dentist's door. She would run up the stairs, with a laugh, fly into his private room and ask for twenty-five roubles . . . But when she took hold of the bell-pull, the plan went clean out of her head. Vanda suddenly began to be afraid and agitated, a thing which had never happened to her before. She was never anything but bold and independent in drunken company ; but now, dressed in common clothes, and just like any ordinary person begging a favour, she felt timid and humble.

      "Perhaps he has forgotten me . . ." she thought, not daring to pull the bell. " And how can I go up to him in a dress like this ? As if I were a pauper, or a dowdy respectable . . ."

      She rang the bell irresolutely.

      There were steps behind the door. It was the porter.

      "Is the doctor at home ? " she asked.

      She would have been very pleased now if the porter had said " No," but instead of answering he showed her into the hall, and took her jacket. The stairs seemed to her luxurious and magnificent, but what she noticed first of all in all the luxury was a large mirror in which she saw a ragged creature without an elaborate hat, without a modish jacket, and without a pair of brown shoes. And Vanda found it strange that, now that she was poorly dressed and looking more like a seamstress or a washerwoman, for the first time she felt ashamed, and had no more assurance or boldness left. In her thoughts she began to call herself Nastya Kanavkina, instead of Vanda as she used.

      "This way, please ! " said the maid-servant, leading her to the private room. " The doctor will be here immediately . . . Please, take a seat."

      Vanda dropped into an easy chair.

      "I'll say : ' Lend me . . .' " she thought. " That's the right thing, because we are acquainted. But the maid must go out of the room . . . It's awkward in front of the maid . . . What is she standing there for ? "

      In five minutes the door opened and Finkel entered—a tall, swarthy, convert Jew, with fat cheeks and goggle-eyes. His cheeks, eyes, belly, fleshy hips—were all so full, repulsive, and coarse ! At the Renaissance and the German club he used always to be a little drunk, to spend a lot of money on women, patiently put up with all their tricks—for instance, when Vanda poured the beer on his head, he only smiled and shook his finger at her but now he looked dull and sleepy ; he had the pompous, chilly expression of a superior, and he was chewing something.

      "What is the matter ? " he asked, without looking at Vanda. Vanda glanced at the maid's serious face, at the blown-out figure of Finkel, who obviously did not recognise her, and she blushed.

      "What's the matter ? " the dentist repeated, irritated.

      "To ... oth ache . . ." whispered Vanda.

      "Ah ... which tooth . . . where ? "

      Vanda remembered she had a tooth with a hole.

      "At the bottom ... to the right," she said.

      "H'm . . . open your mouth."

      Finkel frowned, held his breath, and began to work the aching tooth loose.

      "Do you feel any pain ? " he asked, picking at her

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