Forty Stories

by Anton Chekhov

  There are, of course, no laws promulgated against sneezing. It is done by peasants, police inspectors, even by privy councilors. Everyone sneezes. Chervyakov was not in the least embarrassed. He wiped his nose with a handkerchief, and like any well-behaved man, he looked round to see whether he had inconvenienced anyone. He was acutely embarrassed when he saw, sitting in the front row of the stalls just in front of him, an old man who was carefully wiping his bald head and neck with a pair of gloves and muttering something under his breath. The old man, as Chervyakov recognized, was General Brizzhalov, a very high official in the Ministry of Communications.

  “I splashed him!” thought Chervyakov. “He’s not my boss, but still—it’s devilishly awkward! I shall have to apologize.”

  Chervyakov coughed, leaned forward, and whispered in the general’s ear: “I’m afraid, Your Excellency, I sneezed … quite unintentionally.…”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Forgive me, for God’s sake. I really didn’t intend …”

  “Sit down and keep quiet! Let me listen!”

  Chervyakov was embarrassed. He smiled stupidly, and began to turn his attention to the stage. Watching the actors, he no longer felt he was the most blessed among mortals. He was suffering torments of anxiety. During the entr’acte he sought out Brizzhalov, hovered around him for a while, and at last, gaining courage, he murmured: “Excellency, I sneezed over you. Forgive me. I didn’t … I really haven’t …”

  “Oh, this is too much!” the general exploded, his lower lip twitching with impatience. “I’d forgotten all about it.”

  “He’s forgotten all about it, but there’s a mean look in his eyes,” Chervyakov thought, glancing suspiciously in the general’s direction. “He refuses to talk to me. I’ll have to explain I had absolutely no intention of … Why, it’s a law of nature!… He may even think I spat on him deliberately. Maybe not now, but later that’s what he’ll think.”

  As soon as he got home, Chervyakov told his wife about this unfortunate happening. It occurred to him that his wife took the news with altogether too much levity. There was a moment when she seemed alarmed, but when she understood that Brizzhalov belonged “to another bureau,” she regained her composure.

  “Still, I think you should go and apologize,” she said. “Otherwise he may think you don’t know how to behave in public.”

  “That’s just it! I’ve already apologized, but he behaved so strangely.… His words didn’t make sense. He gave me no time to explain.…”

  The next day Chervyakov put on his new frock coat, had a haircut, and went to offer his excuses to Brizzhalov. He found the general’s reception room full of petitioners, the general himself standing there and listening to the petitions. He listened to quite a few of them before he raised his eyes and recognized Chervyakov.

  “Yesterday, Your Excellency … if you remember … at the Arcadia Theater … I sneezed, sir … and quite accidently splashed a little …”

  “Balderdash!” snapped the general. “God knows what’s going to happen next! What can I do for you?” he went on, addressing the next petitioner.

  “He won’t talk to me,” Chervyakov thought, turning pale. “He’s furious with me. I can’t possibly leave it like that. I’ll have to explain to him …”

  When the general had finished talking with the last of the petitioners and was turning to enter his private apartments, Chervyakov hurried after him, muttering: “Your Excellency, may I presume to trouble you for a moment … feelings dictated, you might say, by a deep regret … not intentionally … extremely sorry …”

  The general looked as though he were about to break out in tears, and waved him away.

  “You’re making fun of me, my dear sir!” the general said, before shutting the door in his face.

  “So I am making fun of him, am I?” Chervyakov thought. “It’s not a laughing matter! He’s a general, and knows nothing. Well, I won’t bother to apologize any more to that brazen old fool! Devil take him! I’ll write him a letter, and never set eyes on him again. God in heaven, I’ll never trouble him again.”

  So Chervyakov thought as he made his way home. But he did not write a letter to the general. He thought and thought, but he could never put the words in the right order. On the following day he again visited the general to offer his excuses.

  “Yesterday I ventured to trouble Your Excellency,” he murmured, as soon as the general turned a questioning glance in his direction. “I assure Your Excellency I never intended to make fun of you. I’ve come to apologize for sneezing, for splashing a little … Making fun of Your Excellency was the last thing on my mind. I wouldn’t dare to—I really wouldn’t. If we made fun of people, I ask you, what would happen to respect for the individual?”

  “Get out of here!” the general roared, livid and shaking with rage.

  “What were you saying, sir?” Chervyakov whispered.

  “Get out!” the general repeated, and he stamped his foot.

  In the living body of Chervyakov something snapped. He neither heard nor saw anything as he backed towards the door, went out into the street, and shuffled slowly away. Mechanically he put one foot before the other, reached his home, and without taking off his frock coat he lay down on the divan and died.

  July 1883

  1 Chervyak means “worm.”

  At the Post Office

  A FEW days ago we attended the funeral of the beautiful young wife of our postmaster, Sladkopertsov. According to traditions handed down from our forefathers, the burial was followed by the “commemoration,” which took place at the post office.

  While the pancakes were being offered round, the old widower was weeping bitterly.

  “Those pancakes are just as pink as my poor darling,” he said. “So beautiful she was. Indeed she was …”

  “Well, that’s true enough,” we all chanted in unison. “She really was beautiful—no doubt about it.”

  “True, true. Everyone was amazed when they saw her. Oh, but, gentlemen, I did not love her for her beauty or her gentle disposition alone. It’s natural for women to have these qualities, and many times one finds them in this world below. I loved her for another quality entirely. The truth is I loved my poor darling—may God grant her to enter the Kingdom of Heaven—because in spite of her playfulness and joie de vivre she was always faithful to her husband. She was faithful to me though she was only twenty, and I shall soon be past sixty. She was faithful to her old man!”

  The deacon, who was sharing our meal, expressed his disbelief by means of an eloquent, bellowlike cough.

  “Why, don’t you believe me?” The widower turned in his direction.

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” the deacon said in some confusion. “But you know … young wives nowadays … what is it called?… rendezvous … sauce provençale …”

  “Then you don’t believe me! Well, I’ll prove it! I kept her faithful to me by means of certain strategical efforts on my part—you might call them fortifications. Because of what I did, and because I am a very cunning man, it was absolutely impossible for my wife to be unfaithful to me. I employed craft to protect my marriage bed. I know some magic words. I have only to say these words, and—basta!—I can sleep in peace as far as unfaithfulness goes.”

  “What were the words?”

  “Very simple. I spread a terrible rumor round the town. I am sure you know the rumor. I told everyone: ‘My wife Alyona is sleeping with Ivan Alexeyevich Zalikhvatsky, the Chief of Police.’ These words were enough. Not a single man dared to make love to Alyona for fear of the wrath of the Chief of Police. And if anyone so much as caught a glimpse of her, he would soon be running away for dear life, for fear of what Zalikhvatsky might think of him. Hee-hee-hee. Try having anything to do with that whiskered pisspot! You’ll get no satisfaction from him! He’ll write out five official reports about your sanitation, and if he so much as saw your cat wandering about in the street, he would write a report which would make it look as though
a herd of cattle were wandering abroad.”

  “So your wife didn’t live with Ivan Alexeyevich?” we said in amazement, the truth slowly dawning on us.

  “No, of course not! That was where I was clever! Hee-hee. I played the fool with you, eh? Clever, wasn’t I?”

  Three minutes passed in silence. We sat and said not a word, and we felt insulted and ashamed for having been so successfully cheated by that fat, red-nosed old man.

  “May God grant you to marry again,” the deacon said.

  October 1883

  Surgery

  IN the zemstvo hospital the patients were received by the medical orderly Kuryatin in the absence of the doctor, who had gone away to get married. Kuryatin, a stout man, about forty, was wearing a shabby pongee jacket and frayed woolen trousers, and his expression was one of amiability and devotion to duty. Between the index and middle finger of his left hand, there was a terrible-smelling cigar.

  The sexton Vonmiglasov1 entered the waiting room. He was an old man, tall and thickset, and wore a cinnamon-colored cassock with a wide leather belt. He had a cataract in his right eye, and there was a wart on his nose which from a distance resembled a large fly. For about a second the sexton searched for an icon, and not finding one, he crossed himself in front of a bottle of carbolic acid, and then removed the communion bread from his red handkerchief and with a deep bow laid it before the medical orderly.

  “Ah-ha … Well, how are you?” the orderly yawned. “What brings you here, eh?”

  “May the Lord be upon you, Sergey Kuzmich. I’ve come because I have need of you. Verily hath the Psalmist said: ‘Thou givest them tears to drink in good measure.’ The other day I sat down to drink tea with my old woman, and dear God, not a drop, not a swallow could I take, though I lay me down and die.… Not even for one little sip did I have the strength! And not just the tooth alone, but the whole side of the face. And how it aches! How it aches! Excuse me, it goes right into my ear, as though a nail or something like that was being driven in! Such pain, I could die! I have sinned and transgressed against the law of God.… Such sins have I committed, my soul is like unto ice, and all the days of my life have been passed in slothfulness. It’s because of my sins, Sergey Kuzmich, because of my sins! The priest rebuked me after the liturgy: ‘You are tongue-tied, Yefim,’ he said. ‘You warble through your nose. You sing, and no one can understand a word you utter!’ Tell me, please, how can I sing, how can I open my mouth which is all swollen, and not having had any sleep last night?…”

  “M’yes … Sit down.… Open your mouth!”

  Vonmiglasov sat down and opened his mouth.

  Kuryatin knit his brows, peered into the mouth, found among all those teeth yellowed by age and tobacco one which was ornamented with a yawning cavity.

  “Father deacon recommended an application of vodka and horse-radish, but it didn’t help. Glyceria Anasimovna, God grant her health, gave me a little thread from Mount Athos to wear and recommended rinsing the tooth in warm milk, and I must confess I wore the little thread, but as for the milk there was a difference of opinion—I’m a God-fearing man, and I keep the fast.…”

  “Such superstition,” said the orderly, and there was a considerable pause. “We’ll have to pull it out, Yefim Mikheich.”

  “You know best, Sergey Kuzmich. You are properly trained, and you understand what has to be done: whether to pull it out, or use drops, or something else.… You are my benefactor, and this is your situation in life, and so God grant you health, so that day and night, until we drop into our graves, we should pray for you, our father.…”

  “A mere bagatelle,” said the orderly modestly, going to a cupboard and rummaging among the instruments. “Surgery is a mere nothing.… The important thing is a steady hand.… Quick as you can spit!… A few days ago the landowner Alexander Ivanich Yegipetskv came to the clinic, just like you … also about a tooth.… He’s a cultivated man, asks all kinds of questions, goes into everything, is concerned with the how and the what. He shook me by the hand and addressed me in the proper manner.… He lived in Petersburg for seven years and went around with all the professors.… I spent a long time with him.… He said: ‘For God’s sake, pull it out for me, Sergey Kuzmich!’ Well, why not? It can be pulled. Only you have to understand this business, and nothing happens without this understanding and knowledge. There are all kinds of teeth. Some are pulled with pincers, some with forceps, and others with monkey wrenches.… To each according …”

  The orderly took up the pincers, looked at them for a moment dubiously, then put them down and took up the forceps.

  “Now, open your mouth wide!” he said, advancing on the sexton with the forceps. “We’ll get rid of him … quick as you can spit! We’ll have to cut underneath the gum a bit … to acquire leverage on the vertical axis.” He cut under the gum. “That will be all.”

  “You are our benefactor. As for us, we are fools and poor idiots, while the Lord has enlightened you …”

  “Don’t start a conversation just because you have your mouth open.… We’ll pull this one easily, it’s not like those which are all roots.… This one will be quick as you can spit.…” Here he put down the forceps. “Don’t tremble! Keep still! In the twinkling of an eye.…” Here he acquired leverage. “The important thing is a very strong grip”—here he pulled at the tooth—“in order not to break the crown.”

  “Our Fathers … Blessed Mother!… Oh-oh-oh!”

  “Don’t do that! What’s come over you? Don’t hold my hands!” Here he pulled again. “Coming now—now! I suppose you think it is easy?”

  “Fathers! Blessed saints!” the sexton screamed. “Angels in heaven! Oh-oh! Pull! Pull! Why do you have to take five years to pull a tooth?”

  “You must understand … surgery is required.… Can’t be done quickly!… Now, now—”

  The sexton jerked his knees up to his elbows, his fingers twitched, his eyes bulged, his breath came in spasms. Perspiration broke out on his purple face, and tears filled his eyes. Kuryatin made loud breathing noises, wavered in front of the sexton, and pulled. There passed an agonizing half minute—and the forceps slipped off the tooth. The sexton jumped off the chair, and his fingers flew to his mouth. And feeling around in his mouth, he discovered that the tooth was in the same place.

  “So you really pulled it!” he exclaimed, and his voice was complaining and at the same time full of derision. “Let’s hope they pull you like that in the world to come! Our most humble thanks! If you don’t know how to pull a tooth, then you shouldn’t try! I can’t see anything …”

  “You shouldn’t have grabbed me!” the orderly said angrily. “I was pulling, and at the same time you were pushing me away and saying stupid things! You’re a fool!”

  “You’re a fool yourself!”

  “I suppose you think, peasant, that it is an easy thing to pull a tooth? Well, it’s not like going up in the bell tower and ringing bells!” Here he teased the sexton. “ ‘You don’t know how to do it!’ So an expert has come on the scene? Who is the expert? You? When I pulled for Mr. Yegipetsky—Alexander Ivanich Yegipetsky—he didn’t utter a single word.… He’s a better man than you are … didn’t grab hold of me.… Sit down! Sit down, I’m telling you!”

  “I can’t see anything.… Let me catch my breath.… Oh!” The sexton sat down. “Don’t take a long time, get it out quick! Just get it out—pull it right out!”

  “Teaching the teacher, eh? Oh Lord, how ignorant can you get? Live with people like that, and you’re fit for the madhouse! Open your mouth!” At this point he inserted the forceps. “Surgery is no joke, brother.… It’s not like reading the Scriptures from the pulpit.” Here he acquired leverage. “Don’t jerk your head back.… That tooth has been neglected for a long time and has deep roots.…” Here he pulled. “Don’t tremble so much!… There … there.… Don’t move.… Now—” A crunching sound was heard. “I knew it!”

  For a brief moment Vonmiglasov sat motionless, as though all feeling had
gone from him. He was stunned.… His eyes gazed blankly into space, and his face became pale and covered with sweat.

  “Perhaps I should have used the pincers,” the orderly murmured. “What a horrible mess!”

  Coming to himself, the sexton explored his mouth with his fingers, and in the place of the diseased tooth he found two sharp stumps.

  “You rotten devil!” he exploded. “You Satan, sent on earth to destroy us!”

  “Curse as much as you like!” the orderly murmured, putting the forceps back in the cupboard. “Poor little innocent lamb! They should have given you more strokes of the birch rod in the seminary!… Mr. Yegipetsky—Alexander Ivanich Yegipetsky—spent seven years in Petersburg … a cultured man … he didn’t mind spending a hundred rubles on a suit of clothes … and he didn’t swear.… What a little peacock you are! Nothing to worry about! You won’t die!”

  The sexton took up the communion bread from the table, and holding his hand to his cheek, he went on his way.

  August 1884

  1 Vonmiglasov means “Listen-to-my-voice.”

  In the Cemetery

  Where be your gibes now?

  your gambols? your songs? your

  flashes of merriment?

  HAMLET

  “GENTLEMEN, the wind is rising, and it is growing dark. Wouldn’t it be better all round if we left now?”

  The wind was playing among the yellow leaves of the ancient birch trees, and from the leaves heavy raindrops came showering down on us. One of us slipped in the mud, and to prevent himself from falling he grabbed at a large gray cross.