Stories · 1883

The Collection

Коллекция

Headnote

"The Collection" ("Коллекция") dates from 1883, written when Chekhov, twenty- three and still two years from his medical degree, was turning out short comic pieces at a furious rate for the Moscow and Petersburg humor weeklies under the signature Antosha Chekhonte. It belongs to the smallest and quickest of his early forms: a two-person sketch built entirely on a single conceit, told in a few strokes and closed before it can wear out its welcome.

The occasion is a visit and a refused cup of tea. The narrator’s friend, the journalist Misha Kovrov, will not send out for bread to go with the tea – and the reason he gives is a drawer. What he keeps in it is a private museum of disgust: a decade’s worth of foreign objects fished, one after another, out of food – a match from a bagel, a fingernail from a biscuit, a cockroach from cabbage soup, a bedbug from a mug of beer – each cross-referenced to the exact bakery, shop, or station buffet responsible. The catalogue names real Moscow institutions of the day, Sevastyanov’s and Filippov’s among them, chains whose bread was a fixture of ordinary city life; the joke lands because the horror is domestic and specific, not invented.

The mechanism is pure Chekhonte: an absurd premise stated flatly and pursued with total deadpan seriousness, the comedy generated entirely by Misha’s own connoisseurship – he does not complain about what he has swallowed, he appraises it, weighs it, admires it "for a minute" before pouring it back into the drawer. The narrator supplies no commentary of his own; the piece ends on the single deflating fact that he no longer wants bread with his tea. Slight as it is, "The Collection" already shows the discipline that would carry into the mature work: the joke is left to make itself, and the writer gets out of its way.

The other day I dropped in on a journalist friend of mine, Misha Kovrov. He was sitting on his sofa, cleaning his nails and drinking tea. He offered me a glass too.
Как-то на днях я зашел к своему приятелю, журналисту Мише Коврову. Он сидел у себя на диване, чистил ногти и пил чай. Предложил и мне стакан.
"I don’t drink without bread," I said. "Send out for some!"
– Я без хлеба не пью, – сказал я. – Пошли за хлебом!
"Not a chance! An enemy, if you like, I’ll treat to bread, but never a friend."
– Ни за что! Врага, изволь, угощу хлебом, а друга никогда.
"Strange... Why not?"
– Странно... Почему же?
"Here’s why... Come here!"
– А вот почему... Иди сюда!
Misha led me to the table and pulled open a drawer.
Миша подвел меня к столу и выдвинул один ящик:
"Look!"
– Гляди!
I looked into the drawer and saw absolutely nothing.
Я поглядел в ящик и не увидел решительно ничего.
"I don’t see anything... Some kind of rubbish... Nails, little rags, some sort of little tails..."
– Ничего не вижу... Сор какой-то... Гвозди, тряпочки, какие-то хвостики...
"That’s exactly what you ought to be looking at! Ten years I’ve been collecting these rags, bits of string, and nails! A remarkable collection."
– Вот именно на это-то и погляди! Десять лет собирал эти тряпочки, веревочки и гвоздички! Знаменательная коллекция.
And Misha gathered up the whole heap of rubbish in his hands and poured it out onto a sheet of newspaper.
И Миша сгреб в руки весь сор и высыпал его на газетный лист.
"See this burnt match?" he said, showing me an ordinary, slightly charred match. "That’s an interesting match. Last year I found it in a bagel bought at Sevastyanov’s bakery. Nearly choked on it. Lucky my wife was home – she thumped me on the back, or that match would have stayed lodged in my throat for good. See this fingernail? Three years ago it was found in a biscuit bought at Filippov’s bakery. The biscuit, as you see, had no arms, no legs, but it had fingernails. A freak of nature! This green rag lived five years ago in a sausage bought at one of the best shops in Moscow. This dried-up cockroach once went swimming in the cabbage soup I ate at the buffet of a certain railway station, and this nail – in the cutlet, at that same station. This rat’s tail and this little scrap of morocco leather were both found in one and the same loaf of Filippov bread. The sprat, of which only the bones remain now, my wife found in a cake presented to her on her name day. This creature, known as a bedbug, was presented to me in a mug of beer at a certain German beer hall... And this little piece of guano I very nearly swallowed, eating a meat pasty at a certain tavern... And so on, my friend."
– Видишь эту обгоревшую спичку? – сказал он, показывая мне обыкновенную, слегка обуглившуюся спичку. – Это интересная спичка. В прошлом году я нашел ее в баранке, купленной в булочной Севастьянова. Чуть было не подавился. Жена, спасибо, была дома и постучала мне по спине, а то бы так и осталась в горле эта спичка. Видишь этот ноготь? Три года тому назад он был найден в бисквите, купленном в булочной Филиппова. Бисквит, как видишь, был без рук, без ног, но с ногтями. Игра природы! Эта зеленая тряпочка пять лет тому назад обитала в колбасе, купленной в одном из наилучших московских магазинов. Сей засушенный таракан купался когда-то в щах, которые я ел в буфете одной железнодорожной станции, а этот гвоздь – в котлете, на той же станции. Этот крысиный хвостик и кусочек сафьяна были оба найдены в одном и том же филипповском хлебе. Кильку, от которой остались теперь одни только косточки, жена нашла в торте, который был поднесен ей в день ангела. Этот зверь, именуемый клопом, был поднесен мне в кружке пива в одной немецкой биргалке... А вот этот кусочек гуано я чуть было не проглотил, уписывая в одном трактире расстегай... И так далее, любезный.
"A marvelous collection!"
– Дивная коллекция!
"Yes. It weighs a pound and a half, not counting everything I absent-mindedly managed to swallow and digest. And that, I’d say, comes to another five or six pounds..."
– Да. Весит она полтора фунта, не считая всего того, что я по невниманию успел проглотить и переварить. А проглотил я, наверное, фунтов пять-шесть...
Misha carefully picked up the sheet of newspaper, admired the collection for a minute, and poured it back into the drawer. I picked up my glass and started drinking my tea, but I no longer asked him to send out for bread.
Миша взял осторожно газетный лист, минуту полюбовался коллекцией и высыпал ее обратно в ящик. Я взял в руки стакан, начал пить чай, но уж не просил послать за хлебом.

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The Collection

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