Short Fiction by Anton Chekhov (libby ebook reader .txt) 📕

fancy did nothing else. She was looked upon as a cocotte, and that was indeed her profession; but when people wanted to refer to her in a literary fashion, they called her an actress and a singer. I used to be devoted to the theatre, and therefore this fraudulent pretense of being an actress made me furiously indignant. My young lady had not the slightest right to call herself an actress or a singer. She was a creature entirely devoid of talent, devoid of feeling⁠—a pitiful creature one may say. As far as I can judge she sang disgustingly. The whole charm of her ‘art’ lay in her kicking up her legs on every suitable occasion, and not being embarrassed when people walked into her dressing room. She usually selected translated vaudevilles, with singing in them, and opportunities for disporting herself in male attire, in tights. In fact it was⁠—ough! Well, I ask your attention. As I remember now, a public ceremony took place to celebrate the opening of the newly constructed bridge. There was a religious service, there were speeches, telegrams, and so on. I hung about my cherished creation, you know, all the while afraid that my heart would burst with the excitement of an author. Its an old story and there’s no need for false modesty, and so I will tell you that my bridge was a magnificent work! It was not a bridge but a picture, a perfect delight! And who would not have been excited when the whole town came to the opening? ‘Oh,’ I thought, ‘now the eyes of all the public will be on me! Where shall I hide myself?’ Well, I need not have worried myself, sir⁠—alas! Except the official personages, no one took the slightest notice of me. They stood in a crowd on the riverbank, gazed like sheep at the bridge, and did not concern themselves to know who had built it. And it was from that time, by the way, that I began to hate our estimable public⁠—damnation take them! Well, to continue. All at once the public became agitated; a whisper ran through the crowd,⁠ ⁠… a smile came on their faces, their shoulders began to move. ‘They must have seen me,’ I thought. A likely idea! I looked, and my singer, with a train of young scamps, was making her way through the crowd. The eyes of the crowd were hurriedly following this procession. A whisper began in a thousand voices: ‘That’s so-and-so.⁠ ⁠… Charming! Bewitching!’ Then it was they noticed me.⁠ ⁠… A couple of young milksops, local amateurs of the scenic art, I presume, looked at me, exchanged glances, and whispered: ‘That’s her lover!’ How do you like that? And an unprepossessing individual in a top-hat, with a chin that badly needed shaving, hung round me, shifting from one foot to the other, then turned to me with the words:

“ ‘Do you know who that lady is, walking on the other bank? That’s so-and-so.⁠ ⁠… Her voice is beneath all criticism, but she has a most perfect mastery of it!⁠ ⁠…’

“ ‘Can you tell me,’ I asked the unprepossessing individual, ‘who built this bridge?’

“ ‘I really don’t know,’ answered the individual; some engineer, I expect.’

“ ‘And who built the cathedral in your town?’ I asked again.

“ ‘I really can’t tell you.’

“Then I asked him who was considered the best teacher in K⁠⸺, who the best architect, and to all my questions the unprepossessing individual answered that he did not know.

“ ‘And tell me, please,’ I asked in conclusion, with whom is that singer living?’

“ ‘With some engineer called Krikunov.’

“Well, how do you like that, sir? But to proceed. There are no minnesingers or bards nowadays, and celebrity is created almost exclusively by the newspapers. The day after the dedication of the bridge, I greedily snatched up the local Messenger, and looked for myself in it. I spent a long time running my eyes over all the four pages, and at last there it was⁠—hurrah! I began reading: ‘Yesterday in beautiful weather, before a vast concourse of people, in the presence of His Excellency the Governor of the province, so-and-so, and other dignitaries, the ceremony of the dedication of the newly constructed bridge took place,’ and so on.⁠ ⁠… Towards the end: Our talented actress so-and-so, the favorite of the K⁠⸺ public, was present at the dedication looking very beautiful. I need not say that her arrival created a sensation. The star was wearing⁠ ⁠…’ and so on. They might have given me one word! Half a word. Petty as it seems, I actually cried with vexation!

“I consoled myself with the reflection that the provinces are stupid, and one could expect nothing of them and for celebrity one must go to the intellectual centers⁠—to Petersburg and to Moscow. And as it happened, at that very time there was a work of mine in Petersburg which I had sent in for a competition. The date on which the result was to be declared was at hand.

“I took leave of K⁠⸺ and went to Petersburg. It is a long journey from K⁠⸺ to Petersburg, and that I might not be bored on the journey I took a reserved compartment and⁠—well⁠—of course, I took my singer. We set off, and all the way we were eating, drinking champagne, and⁠—tra-la-la! But behold, at last we reach the intellectual center. I arrived on the very day the result was declared, and had the satisfaction, my dear sir, of celebrating my own success: my work received the first prize. Hurrah! Next day I went out along the Nevsky and spent seventy kopecks on various newspapers. I hastened to my hotel room, lay down on the sofa, and, controlling a quiver of excitement, made haste to read. I ran through one newspaper⁠—nothing. I ran through a second⁠—nothing either; my God! At last, in the fourth, I lighted upon the following paragraph: ‘Yesterday the well-known provincial actress so-and-so arrived by express in Petersburg. We note with pleasure that the climate of the South has had a beneficial