The Nightingale's Benefit
Бенефис соловья (рецензия)
Headnote
"The Nightingale’s Benefit" is a two-page squib from 1883, written under one of the Antosha Chekhonte pen names Chekhov used through the early 1880s while still a medical student earning kopecks from the humor weeklies. The conceit is theatrical: a nightingale’s night of singing is written up as a performer’s benefit night, the annual performance an actor or singer gave for their own profit, complete with a program, an anticipated audience, an intermission, and a review of the acts that precede the star turn. Chekhov runs the joke straight through – the cuckoo, the oriole, the rooks, and the frogs are all "performers," the nightingale is "the beneficiary," and the narrator grumbles through the delay like any impatient subscriber kept waiting past the overture.
The piece belongs to the first gear of Chekhov’s method: fast, broad, built on a single sustained absurdity, and over almost before the reader has settled into the frame. But watch what happens at the end. The mock-review voice, so confident describing tardy cuckoos and grumbling audiences, goes quiet the moment real violence enters – a cook’s snare, a fist closing on the singer, a basket. The narrator does not editorialize on the cruelty; he reports the cook’s grin and the request "into the cage with him," and lets the corncrake’s cry the next morning carry what he does not say. It is an early, small instance of the withholding that would define the mature Chekhov: the review of a nightingale’s benefit turns, in its last lines, into a poacher’s plain fact.
(A review)
(Рецензия)
We took our places by the bank of the river. Ahead of us the brown clay bank fell away steeply, and behind our backs a broad grove stood dark. We arranged ourselves bellies-down on the young, soft grass, propped our heads on our fists, and gave our legs complete freedom: let them go where they liked. We had taken off our spring coats, but we paid no twenty-kopeck piece for their checking, since, thank God, there were no attendants about. The grove, the sky, and the field clear to the farthest distance were flooded with moonlight, and far off a red little flame glimmered quietly. The air was still, transparent, fragrant... Everything favored the beneficiary. It remained only for him not to abuse our patience and to begin as soon as possible. But he was a long time not beginning... While we waited for him we listened, as the program required, to the other performers.
Мы заняли места у берега речки. Впереди нас круто спускался коричневый глинистый берег, а за нашими спинами темнела широкая роща. Расположились мы животами на молодой, мягкой травке, головы подперли кулаками, а ногам дали полную волю: суйся куда знаешь. Весенние пальто мы сняли, но двугривенных за хранение их не платили, ибо около нас, слава богу, капельдинеров не было. Роща, небо и поле вплоть до самой глубокой дали были залиты лунным светом, а вдали тихо мерцал красный огонек. Воздух был тих, прозрачен, душист... Всё благоприятствовало бенефицианту. Оставалось ему только не злоупотреблять нашим терпением и поскорей начинать. Но он долго не начинал... В ожидании его мы, согласно программе, слушали других исполнителей.
The evening opened with the singing of a cuckoo. She called lazily somewhere far off in the grove, and, having cuckooed some ten times, fell silent. At once, above our heads, with a sharp squeal, two hobby-falcons went flying past. Then an oriole sang contralto, a singer of some reputation, seriously devoted to her art. We listened to her with pleasure and would have listened long, had it not been for the rooks flying in to roost... In the distance a black cloud appeared, moved toward us, and came down on the grove with a cawing. That cloud was a long time falling silent.
Вечер начался пением кукушки. Она лениво закукукала где-то далеко в роще и, прокукукав раз десять, умолкла. Тотчас же над нашими головами с резким писком пронеслись два кобчика. Запела затем контральто иволга, певица известная, серьезно занимающаяся. Мы прослушали ее с удовольствием и слушали бы долго, если бы не грачи, летевшие на ночевку... Вдали показалась черная туча, двинулась к нам и с карканьем опустилась на рощу. Долго не умолкала эта туча.
While the rooks were crying, the frogs living in the reeds in their crown-issue quarters set up a clamor too, and for a whole half hour the concert space was filled with all manner of sounds, which soon merged into one sound. Somewhere a thrush, drifting off to sleep, cried out. He was accompanied by a water-rail and a reed-warbler. After this came an intermission; a hush fell, broken now and then by the singing of a cricket sitting in the grass near the audience. During the intermission our patience reached its peak: we had begun already to grumble at the beneficiary. When night came down over the earth and the moon stood still in the middle of the sky directly over the grove, his turn came at last. He appeared in a stand of young maple, flitted into the blackthorn, turned his tail about, and went still. He wore a gray little jacket... altogether he takes no notice of the public and presents himself before it got up as a plain peasant sparrow. (Shame on you, young man! It is not the public that exists for you, but you for the public!) For some three minutes he sat silent, unmoving... But now the treetops began to stir, a breeze got up, the cricket chirred louder, and to the accompaniment of this orchestra the beneficiary performed his first trill. He sang. I will not undertake to describe that singing; I will say only that the orchestra itself fell silent from emotion and froze, when the artist, lifting his beak a little, whistled and scattered over the grove a hail of clicks and rolling notes... Such power and such tenderness in his voice... But I will not go poaching on the poets’ trade; let them write it. He sang, and round about reigned a listening stillness. Only once did the trees growl crossly and the wind hiss, when an owl took it into her head to sing, wishing to drown out the artist...
Когда кричали грачи, загалдели и лягушки, живущие в камышах на казенных квартирах, и целые полчаса концертное пространство было полно разнообразных звуков, слившихся скоро в один звук. Где-то закричал засыпающий дрозд. Ему аккомпанировали речная курочка и камышовка. За сим последовал антракт, наступила тишина, изредка нарушаемая пением сверчка, сидевшего в траве возле публики. В антракте наше терпение достигло своего апогея: мы начинали уже роптать на бенефицианта. Когда на землю спустилась ночь и луна остановилась среди неба над самой рощей, настала и его очередь. Он показался в молодом кленовнике, порхнул в терновник, повертел хвостом и стал неподвижен. На нем серый пиджак... вообще он игнорирует публику и является перед ней в костюме мужика-воробья. (Стыдно, молодой человек! Не публика для вас, а вы для публики!) Минуты три сидел он молча, не двигаясь... Но вот зашумели верхушки деревьев, задул ветерок, затрещал громче сверчок и под аккомпанемент этого оркестра бенефициант исполнил свою первую трель. Он запел. Не берусь описывать это пение, скажу только, что сам оркестр умолк от волнения и замер, когда артист, слегка приподняв свой клюв, засвистал и осыпал рощу щелканьем и дробью... И сила и нега в его голосе... Впрочем, не стану отбивать хлеб у поэтов, пусть они пишут. Он пел, а кругом царила внимающая тишина. Раз только сердито заворчали деревья и зашикал ветер, когда вздумала запеть сова, желавшая заглушить артиста...
When the sky began to gray, the stars went out, and the singer’s voice grew fainter and more tender, the count-landowner’s cook appeared at the edge of the grove. Bent low and holding his cap with his left hand, he crept along quietly. In his right hand was a small basket. He flickered between the trees and soon vanished into the thicket. The singer sang on a little longer and then suddenly fell silent. We made ready to go.
Когда засерело небо, потухли звезды и голос певца стал слабее и нежнее, на опушке рощи показался повар помещика-графа. Согнувшись и придерживая левой рукой шапку, он тихо крался. В правой руке его было лукошко. Он замелькал между деревьями и скоро исчез в чаще. Певец попел еще немного и вдруг умолк. Мы собрались уходить.
"There he is, the rascal!" we heard someone’s voice, and presently we saw the cook. The count’s cook was coming toward us and, laughing merrily, showed us his fist. Out of his fist stuck the head and tail of the beneficiary, just caught. Poor artist! God spare everyone such a benefit performance!
– Вот он, шельма! – услышали мы чей-то голос и скоро увидели повара. Графский повар шел к нам и, весело смеясь, показывал нам свой кулак. Из его кулака торчали головка и хвост только что пойманного им бенефицианта. Бедный артист! Избавь бог всякого от подобного сбора!
"Why did you catch him?" we asked the cook.
– Зачем вы его поймали? – спросили мы повара.
"Into the cage with him!"
– А в клетку!
Toward morning a corncrake cried out plaintively, and the grove, having lost its singer, grew loud. The cook thrust the rose’s lover into his basket and ran off merrily toward the village. We too went our separate ways.
Навстречу утру жалобно закричал коростель и зашумела роща, потерявшая певца. Повар сунул любовника розы в лукошко и весело побежал к деревне. Мы тоже разошлись.