The Collected Works of Anton Chekhov: Plays, Novellas, Short Stories, Diary & Letters. Anton Chekhov
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I got a C."
"I knew that would happen, I had a presentiment that it would!" his mother exclaimed. "The Lord have mercy on us ! What did you fail in."
"In Greek— Oh, mother—they asked me the future of Phero and, instead of answering Oisomai, I answered Opsomai; and then—and then the accent is not used if the last syllable is a diphthong, but—but I got confused, I forgot that the alpha was long and put on the accent. Then we had to decline Artaxerxes and I got muddled and made a mistake in the ablative—so he gave me a С — Oh, I'm the unhappiest boy in the whole world ! I worked all last night—I have got up at four every morning this week "
"No, it is not you who are unhappy, you good-for-nothing boy, it is I ! You have worn me as thin as a rail, you monster, you thorn in my flesh, you wicked burden on your parents ! I have wept for you, I have broken my back working for you, you worthless trifler, and what is my reward . Have you learned a thing ? "
"I—I study—all night—you see that yourself—"
"I have prayed God to send death to deliver me, poor sinner, but death will not come. You bane of my existence ! Other people have decent children, but my only child isn't worth a pin. Shall I beat you ? I would if I could, but where shall I get the strength to do it ? Mother of God, where shall I get the strength?"
Mamma covered her face with the hem of her dress and burst into tears. Vania squirmed with grief and pressed his forehead against the wall. His aunt came in.
"There, now, I had a presentiment of this!" she exclaimed, turning pale and throwing up her hands as she guessed at once what had happened. "I felt low in my mind all this morning; I knew we should have trouble, and here it is ! "
"You viper ! You bane of my existence ! " exclaimed Vania's mother.
"Why do you abuse him?" the boy's aunt scolded the mother, nervously pulling off the coffee-coloured kerchief she wore on her head. "How is he to blame? It is your fault ! Yours ! Why did you send him to that school? What sort of lady are you? Do you want to climb up among the gentlefolk ? Aha ! You will certainly get there at this rate ! If you had done as I told you, you would have put him into business as I did my Kuzia. There's Kuzia now making five hundred roubles a year. Is that such a trifle that you can afford to laugh at it? You have tortured yourself and tortured the boy with all this book-learning, worse luck to it ! See how thin he is ! Hear him cough ! He is thirteen years old and he looks more like ten."
"No, Nastenka, no, darling, I haven't beaten that tormentor of mine much, and beating is what he needs. Ugh ! You Jesuit ! You Mohammedan ! You thorn in my flesh ! " she cried, raising her hand as if to strike her son. "I should thrash you if I had the strength. People used to say to me when he was still little: 'Beat him ! Beat him !' But I didn't listen to them, unhappy woman that I am ! So now I have to suffer for it. But wait a bit, I'll have your ears boxed ! Wait a bit—"
His mother shook her fist at him and went weeping into the room occupied by her lodger, Eftiki Kuporosoff. The lodger was sitting at his table reading "Dancing Self-Taught." This Kuporosoff was considered a clever and learned person. He spoke through his nose, washed with scented soap that made every one in the house sneeze, ate meat on fast-days, and was looking for an enlightened wife; for these reasons he thought himself an extremely intellectual lodger. He also possessed a tenor voice.
"Dear me!" cried Vania's mother, running into his room with the tears streaming down her cheeks. "Do be so very kind as to thrash my boy ! Oh, do do me that favour ! He has failed in his examinations ! Oh, misery me ! Can you believe it, he has failed ! I can't punish him myself on account of being so weak and in bad health, so do thrash him for me ! Be kind, be chivalrous and do it for me, Mr. Kuporosoff ! Have mercy on a sick woman!"
Kuporosoff frowned and heaved a very deep sigh through his nostrils. He reflected, drummed on the table with his fingers, sighed once more, and went into Vania's room.
"Look here!" he began his harangue. "Your parents are trying to educate you, aren't they, and give you a start in life, you miserable young man ? Then why do you act like this?"
He held forth for a long time, he made quite a speech. He referred to science, and to darkness and light.
"Yes, indeed, young man!" he exclaimed from time to time.
When he had concluded, he took off his belt and caught hold of Vania's ear.
"This is the only way to treat you !" he exclaimed.
Vania knelt down obediently and put his head on Kuporosoff's knees. His large pink ears rubbed against Kuporosoff's new brown-striped trousers.
Vania made not a sound. That evening at a family conclave it was decided to put him into business at once.
A CLASSICAL STUDENT
[trans. by Constance Garnett]
BEFORE setting off for his examination in Greek, Vanya kissed all the holy images. His stomach felt as though it were upside down; there was a chill at his heart, while the heart itself throbbed and stood still with terror before the unknown. What would he get that day? A three or a two? Six times he went to his mother for her blessing, and, as he went out, asked his aunt to pray for him. On the way to school he gave a beggar two kopecks, in the hope that those two kopecks would atone for his ignorance, and that, please God, he would not get the numerals with those awful forties and eighties.
He came back from the high school late, between four and five. He came in, and noiselessly lay down on his bed. His thin face was pale. There were dark rings round his red eyes.
“Well, how did you get on? How were you marked?” asked his mother, going to his bedside.
Vanya blinked, twisted his mouth, and burst into tears. His mother turned pale, let her mouth fall open, and clasped her hands. The breeches she was mending dropped out of her hands.
“What are you crying for? You’ve failed, then?” she asked.
“I am plucked…. I got a two.”
“I knew it would be so! I had a presentiment of it,” said his mother. “Merciful God! How is it you have not passed? What is the reason of it? What subject have you failed in?”
“In Greek…. Mother, I… They asked me the future of phero, and I… instead of saying oisomai said opsomai. Then… then there isn’t an accent, if the last syllable is long, and I… I got flustered…. I forgot that the alpha was long in it…. I went and put in the accent. Then Artaxerxov told me to give the list of the enclitic particles…. I did, and I accidentally mixed in a pronoun… and made a mistake… and so he gave me a two…. I am a miserable person…. I was working all night… I’ve been getting up at four o’clock all this week… .”
“No, it’s not you but I who am miserable, you wretched boy! It’s I that am miserable! You’ve worn me to a threadpaper, you Herod, you torment, you bane of my life! I pay for you, you good-for-nothing rubbish; I’ve bent my back toiling for you, I’m worried to death, and, I may say, I am unhappy, and what do you care? How do you work?”
“I… I do work. All night…. You’ve seen it yourself.”
“I prayed to God to take me, but He won’t take me, a sinful woman…. You torment! Other people have children like everyone else, and I’ve one only and no sense, no comfort out of him. Beat you? I’d beat you, but where am I to find the strength? Mother of God, where am I to find the strength?”
The mamma hid her face in the folds of her blouse and broke into sobs. Vanya wriggled with anguish and pressed his forehead against the wall. The aunt came in.
“So that’s how it is…. Just what I expected,” she said, at once guessing what was wrong, turning pale and clasping her hands. “I’ve been depressed all the morning…. There’s trouble coming, I thought… and here it’s come… .”