AUTHOR: Anton Pavlovich Chekhov (1860-1904) was a Russian physician, dramaturge and author who is considered to be among the greatest writers of short stories in history. |
A WORK OF ART
By Anton Chekhov
Sasha Smirnov, the only son of his mother, holding under his arm, something wrapped up in No. 223 of the Financial News, assumed a sentimental expression, and went into Dr. Koshelkov's consulting-room.
By Anton Chekhov
Sasha Smirnov, the only son of his mother, holding under his arm, something wrapped up in No. 223 of the Financial News, assumed a sentimental expression, and went into Dr. Koshelkov's consulting-room.
"Ah, dear lad!" was how the doctor greeted him.
"Well! how are we feeling? What good news have you for me?"
Sasha blinked, laid his hand on his heart and said in an
agitated voice: "Mamma sends her greetings to you, Ivan Nikolaevitch, and
told me to thank you. . . . I am the only son of my mother and you have saved
my life . . . you have brought me through a dangerous illness and . . . we do
not know how to thank you."
"Nonsense, lad!" said the doctor, highly
delighted. "I only did what anyone else would have done in my place."
"I am the only son of my mother . . . we are poor
people and cannot of course repay you, and we are quite ashamed, doctor,
although, however, mamma and I . . . the only son of my mother, earnestly beg
you to accept in token of our gratitude . . . this object, which . . . An
object of great value, an antique bronze. . . . A rare work of art."
"No, please do not refuse," Sasha went on
muttering as he unpacked the parcel. "You will wound mamma and me by refusing.
. . . It's a fine thing . . . an antique bronze. . . . It was left us by my
deceased father and we have kept it as a precious souvenir. My father used to
buy antique bronzes and sell them to connoisseurs . . . Mamma and I keep on the
business now."
Sasha undid the object and put it solemnly on the table. It
was a not very tall candelabra of old bronze and artistic workmanship. It
consisted of a group: on the pedestal stood two female figures in the costume
of Eve and in attitudes for the description of which I have neither the courage
nor the fitting temperament. The figures were smiling coquettishly and
altogether looked as though, had it not been for the necessity of supporting
the candlestick, they would have skipped off the pedestal and have indulged in
an orgy such as is improper for the reader even to imagine.
Looking at the present, the doctor slowly scratched behind
his ear, cleared his throat and blew his nose irresolutely.
"Yes, it certainly is a fine thing," he muttered,
"but . . . how shall I express it? . . . it's . . . h'm . . . it's not
quite for family reading. It's not simply decolleté but beyond anything, dash
it all. . . ."
"How do you mean?"
"The serpent-tempter himself could not have invented
anything worse . . . . Why, to put such a phantasmagoria on the table would be
defiling the whole flat."
"What a strange way of looking at art, doctor!"
said Sasha, offended. "Why, it is an artistic thing, look at it! There is
so much beauty and elegance that it fills one's soul with a feeling of
reverence and brings a lump into one's throat! When one sees anything so
beautiful one forgets everything earthly. . . . Only look, how much movement,
what an atmosphere, what expression!"
"I understand all that very well, my dear boy,"
the doctor interposed, "but you know I am a family man, my children run in
here, ladies come in."
"Of course if you look at it from the point of view of
the crowd," said Sasha, "then this exquisitely artistic work may
appear in a certain light. . . . But, doctor, rise superior to the crowd,
especially as you will wound mamma and me by refusing it. I am the only son of
my mother, you have saved my life. . . . We are giving you the thing most
precious to us and . . . and I only regret that I have not the pair to present
to you. . . ."
"Thank you, my dear fellow, I am very grateful . . .
Give my respects to your mother but really consider, my children run in here,
ladies come. . . . However, let it remain! I see there's no arguing with
you."
"And there is nothing to argue about," said Sasha,
relieved. "Put the candlestick here, by this vase. What a pity we have not
the pair to it! It is a pity! Well, good-bye, doctor."
After Sasha's departure the doctor looked for a long time at
the candelabra, scratched behind his ear and meditated.
"It's a superb thing, there's no denying it," he
thought, "and it would be a pity to throw it away. . . . But it's
impossible for me to keep it. . . . H'm! . . . Here's a problem! To whom can I
make a present of it, or to what charity can I give it?"
After long meditation he thought of his good friend, the
lawyer
Uhov, to whom he was indebted for the management of legal
business.
"Excellent," the doctor decided, "it would be
awkward for him as a friend to take money from me, and it will be very suitable
for me to present him with this. I will take him the devilish thing! Luckily he
is a bachelor and easy-going."
Without further procrastination the doctor put on his hat
and coat, took the candelabra and went off to Uhov's.
"How are you, friend!" he said, finding the lawyer
at home. "I've come to see you . . . to thank you for your efforts. . . .
You won't take money so you must at least accept this thing here. . . . See, my
dear fellow. . . . The thing is magnificent!"
On seeing the bronze the lawyer was moved to indescribable
delight.
"What a specimen!" he chuckled. "Ah, deuce
take it, to think of them imagining such a thing, the devils! Exquisite!
Ravishing! Where did you get hold of such a delightful thing?"
After pouring out his ecstasies the lawyer looked timidly
towards the door and said: "Only you must carry off your present, my boy .
. . . I can't take it. . . ."
"Why?" cried the doctor, disconcerted.
"Why . . . because my mother is here at times, my
clients . . . besides I should be ashamed for my servants to see it."
"Nonsense! Nonsense! Don't you dare to refuse!"
said the doctor, gesticulating. "It's piggish of you! It's a work of art!
. . . What movement . . . what expression! I won't even talk of it! You will
offend me!"
"If one could plaster it over or stick on fig-leaves .
. ."
But the doctor gesticulated more violently than before, and
dashing out of the flat went home, glad that he had succeeded in getting the
present off his hands.
When he had gone away the lawyer examined the candelabra,
fingered it all over, and then, like the doctor, racked his brains over the
question what to do with the present.
"It's a fine thing," he mused, "and it would
be a pity to throw it away and improper to keep it. The very best thing would
be to make a present of it to someone. . . . I know what! I'll take it this
evening to Shashkin, the comedian. The rascal is fond of such things, and by
the way it is his benefit tonight."
No sooner said than done. In the evening the candelabra,
carefully wrapped up, was duly carried to Shashkin's. The whole evening the
comic actor's dressing-room was besieged by men coming to admire the present;
the dressing-room was filled with the hum of enthusiasm and laughter like the
neighing of horses. If one of the actresses approached the door and asked:
"May I come in?" the comedian's husky voice was heard at once:
"No, no, my dear, I am not dressed!"
After the performance the comedian shrugged his shoulders,
flung up his hands and said: "Well what am I to do with the horrid thing?
Why, I live in a private flat! Actresses come and see me! It's not a photograph
that you can put in a drawer!"
"You had better sell it, sir," the hairdresser who
was disrobing the actor advised him. "There's an old woman living about
here who buys antique bronzes. Go and enquire for Madame Smirnov . . . everyone
knows her."
The actor followed his advice. . . . Two days later the
doctor was sitting in his consulting-room, and with his finger to his brow was
meditating on the acids of the bile. All at once the door opened and Sasha
Smirnov flew into the room. He was smiling, beaming, and his whole figure was
radiant with happiness. In his hands he held something wrapped up in newspaper.
"Doctor!" he began breathlessly, "imagine my
delight! Happily for you we have succeeded in picking up the pair to your
candelabra! Mamma is so happy. . . . I am the only son of my mother, you saved
my life. . . ."
And Sasha, all of a tremor with gratitude, set the
candelabra before the doctor. The doctor opened his mouth, tried to say
something, but said nothing: he could not speak.
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