Stories · 1883

The Virtuous Tavern-Keeper

Добродетельный кабатчик (плач оскудевшего)

Headnote

Chekhov published "The Virtuous Tavern-Keeper" in 1883, under the Antosha Chekhonte byline, in the fast, disposable comic-paper format that paid his family’s bills while he finished his medical degree. It belongs to his miniature genre of mock literary forms: the piece announces itself first as a "Lament of a Man Grown Poor" and then, mid-title, as a "Graveside Epitaph" – two overlapping parodies of the sentimental and elegiac modes fashionable in the "impoverished gentry" literature of the period, before the story proper has even begun.

The joke turns on debt and inversion. A ruined landowner, nostalgic for the serf economy that once fed him hens, horses, and idle luxury, is rescued piece by piece by his own former serf – who lends him money, rebuilds his outbuildings, and restores his estate, all while addressing him with the old deferential "master" and taking promissory notes in return. The landowner reads this as an almost providential loyalty, a reversal of the natural order he is eager to hold up as a moral lesson ("Take note, foreigners!"). The final lines undercut him without a word of commentary: the "fox" to be smoked out is the landowner himself, and the tavern-keeper’s solicitude about the bailiff’s bottles reveals, in a single unremarked stroke, exactly who now owns the place.

Written barely two decades after the Emancipation of 1861, the sketch is one of many early Chekhov pieces working the same material: the gentry’s economic displacement by the newly capital-holding peasantry, seen not through argument but through a first-person voice that keeps insisting on its own dignity while the facts around it say otherwise. The comedy is broad and the timing brisk, in the manner of the Chekhonte years, but the withholding technique that would define the mature work is already visible in the story’s very last gesture.

(Lament of a Man Grown Poor)
(Плач оскудевшего)
"– Pour me, my dear fellow, a nice cold
"– Подай, голубчик, холодненькой
bite of something... And... a little vodka..."
закусочки... Ну и... водочки..."
(A Graveside Epitaph)
(Надгробная эпитафия)
I sit here now, and grieve, and philosophize.
Сижу теперь, тоскую и мудрствую.
In the days of old, on my ancestral estate, there were hens, geese, turkeys – a foolish, unreasoning bird, but very, very tasty. On my stud farm they bred and multiplied, "ah, you my horses, my horses..." the mills never stood idle, the mines gave up their coal, the peasant women gathered raspberries. On my acres flora and fauna abounded past all need – want to eat, eat; want to play at zoology and botany, play at that instead... One could sit in the front row, and have a hand of cards, and boast of one’s mistress...
Во время оно в родовой усадьбе моей были куры, гуси, индейки – птица глупая, нерассудительная, но весьма и весьма вкусная. На моем конском заводе плодились и размножались "ах, вы, кони мои, кони...", мельницы не стояли без дела, копи уголь давали, бабы малину собирали. На десятинах преизбыточествовали флора и фауна, хочешь – ешь, хочешь – зоологией и ботаникой занимайся... Можно было и в первом ряду посидеть, и в картишки поиграть, и содержаночкой похвастать...
Now it is not so, not so at all!
Теперь не то, совсем не то!
A year ago, on Elijah’s Day, I was sitting on my terrace, grieving. Before me stood a teapot filled with ruble tea... My soul was being clawed at by cats, I wanted to howl...
Год тому назад, на Ильин день, сидел я у себя на террасе и тосковал. Передо мной стоял чайник, засыпанный рублевым чаем... На душе кошки скребли, реветь хотелось...
I was grieving and did not notice Efim Tsutsykov come up to me, the tavern-keeper, my former serf. He came up and stopped respectfully by the table.
Я тосковал и не заметил, как подошел ко мне Ефим Цуцыков, кабатчик, мой бывший крепостной. Он подошел и почтительно остановился возле стола.
– You ought to order the roof painted, master! – he said, setting a bottle of vodka on the table. – It’s an iron roof, it rusts without paint. And rust, as everyone knows, eats away... There’ll be holes!
– Вы бы приказали, барин, крышу выкрасить! – сказал он, ставя на стол бутылку водки. – Крыша железная, без краски ржавеет. А ржа, известно, ест... Дыры будут!
– And with what money am I to paint it, Efimushka? – I say. – You know yourself...
– За какие же деньги я выкрашу, Ефимушка? – говорю я. – Сам знаешь...
– Borrow it, sir! There’ll be holes, if... And you ought to order, master, a watchman hired for the orchard as well. They’re stealing the trees!
– Займите-с! Дыры будут, ежели... Да приказали бы еще, барин, сторожа в сад принанять... Деревья воруют!
– Ah, and that too needs money!
– Ах, опять-таки нужны деньги!
– I’ll give it... It’s all the same, you’ll pay it back. It’s not the first time you’ve taken from me...
– Я дам... Всё одно, отдадите. Не в первый раз берете-то...
Tsutsykov peeled off five hundred silver rubles for me, took a promissory note, and left. After he had gone I propped my head on my fists and fell to thinking about the common people and their qualities... I even wanted to write an article for Rus...
Отвалил мне Цуцыков пятьсот целковых, взял вексель и ушел. По уходе его я подпер голову кулаками и задумался о народе и его свойствах... Хотел даже в "Русь" статью писать...
– He does me good, he plays the magnanimous benefactor... and for what? For the fact that I once... had him flogged... What an absence of malice! Take note, foreigners!
– Благодетельствует мне, великодушничает... за что? За то, что я его... сек когда-то... Какое отсутствие злопамятности! Учитесь, иностранцы!
A week later a little shed caught fire in my yard. Tsutsykov was the first to come running to the fire. He tore the shed apart with his own hands and dragged over his own tarpaulins, so as to have something to cover my house with in case of need. He was shaking, red-faced, soaked through, exactly as if he were defending his own property.
Через неделю загорелся у меня во дворе сарайчик. Первым прибежал на пожар Цуцыков. Он собственноручно разнес сарайчик и притащил свои брезенты, чтобы в случае чего укрыть ими мой дом. Он дрожал, был красен, мокр, точно свое добро отстаивал.
– Now a new one needs building, – he said to me after the fire. – I have a bit of timber, I’ll send it over... You ought to order, master, the little pond cleaned out... Yesterday they were catching crucian carp and tore the whole net to pieces on the weeds... It’ll cost three hundred rubles... Take it! It’s not the first time you’ve taken from me...
– Теперь новый строить нужно, – сказал он мне после пожара. – У меня лесок есть, пришлю... Приказали бы, барин, прудик почистить... Вчерась карасей ловили и весь невод о водоросль разорвали... Триста рублей стоит... Возьмите! Не впервой берете-то...
And so on and so on... They cleaned out the pond, painted all the roofs, repaired the stables – and all of it on Tsutsykov’s money.
И так далее... Почистили пруд, выкрасили все крыши, ремонтировали конюшни – и всё это на деньги Цуцыкова.
A week ago Tsutsykov comes to me, stands by the door, and coughs respectfully into his fist.
Неделю тому назад приходит ко мне Цуцыков, становится у дверей и почтительно кашляет в кулак.
– One wouldn’t know your estate now, – he says. – Fit for a count or a prince to live in... And they’ve cleaned the ponds, and sown the winter crop, and got in some little horses...
– И не узнаешь теперь вашей усадьбы-то, – говорит он. – Графу аль князю в пору жить... И пруды вычистили, и озимь посеяли, лошадушек завели...
– And it’s all you, Efimushka! – I say, nearly weeping with tenderness.
– А всё ты, Ефимушка! – говорю я, чуть не плача от умиления.
I rise and embrace the peasant in the most heartfelt manner...
Встаю и самым искреннейшим образом обнимаю мужика...
– God willing, my affairs will mend, I’ll pay it all back, Efimushka... With interest. Let me embrace you once more!
– Бог даст, дела поправятся, всё отдам, Ефимушка... С процентами. Дай мне еще раз обнять тебя!
– Everything’s been mended and set in order... God has helped! One thing alone remains now: to smoke the fox out of here...
– Всё починили и благоустроили... Помог бог! Осталось теперь одно только: лисицу отседа выкурить...
– What fox, Efimushka?
– Какую лисицу, Ефимушка?
– You know very well what fox...
– Известно какую...
And, having been silent a little while, Tsutsykov adds:
И, помолчав немного, Цуцыков добавляет:
– The court bailiff has come by... You’d best put away the bottles... God forbid the bailiff should see and think that drinking is the only business going on at my estate... Shall I order you lodgings hired in the village, or will you be off to town?
Судебный пристав там приехал... Вы бутылки приберите-то... Неравно пристав увидит... Подумает, что у меня в имении только и дела, что пьянство... Фатеру прикажете вам в деревне нанять аль в город поедете?
I sit here now, and philosophize.
Сижу теперь и мудрствую.

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