A Work Of Art

Anton Chekhov

SASHA SMIRNOV, the only son of his mother, holding under his arm, something wrapped

up in No. 223 of the Financial News, assumed a sentimental expression, and went into Dr.

Koshelkov's consulting-room.

"Ah, dear lad!" was how the doctor greeted him. "Well! how are we feeling? What good

news have you for me?"

Sasha blinked, laid his hand on his heart and said in an agitated voice: "Mamma sends her

greetings to you, Ivan Nikolaevitch, and told me to thank you. . . . I am the only son of my

mother and you have saved my life . . . you have brought me through a dangerous illness

object of great value, an antique bronze. . . . A rare work of art."

"You shouldn't!" said the doctor, frowning. "What's this for!"

"No, please do not refuse," Sasha went on muttering as he unpacked the parcel. "You will

wound mamma and me by refusing. . . . It's a fine thing . . . an antique bronze. . . . It was

left us by my deceased father and we have kept it as a precious souvenir. My father used to

buy antique bronzes and sell them to connoisseurs . . . Mamma and I keep on the business

now."

Sasha undid the object and put it solemnly on the table. It was a not very tall candelabra of

old bronze and artistic workmanship. It consisted of a group: on the pedestal stood two

female figures in the costume of Eve and in attitudes for the description of which I have

"Yes, it certainly is a fine thing," he muttered, "but . . . how shall I express it? . . . it's . . .

h'm . . . it's not quite for family reading. It's not simply decolleté but beyond anything, dash

it all. . . ."

"How do you mean?"

"The serpent-tempter himself could not have invented anything worse. . . . Why, to put such

a phantasmagoria on the table would be defiling the whole flat."

"What a strange way of looking at art, doctor!" said Sasha, offended. "Why, it is an artistic

thing, look at it! There is so much beauty and elegance that it fills one's soul with a feeling

of reverence and brings a lump into one's throat! When one sees anything so beautiful one

forgets everything earthly. . . . Only look, how much movement, what an atmosphere, what

expression!"

"I understand all that very well, my dear boy," the doctor interposed, "but you know I am a

family man, my children run in here, ladies come in."

"Of course if you look at it from the point of view of the crowd," said Sasha, "then this

there's no arguing with you."

"And there is nothing to argue about," said Sasha, relieved. "Put the candlestick here, by

this vase. What a pity we have not the pair to it! It is a pity! Well, good-bye, doctor."

After Sasha's departure the doctor looked for a long time at the candelabra, scratched

behind his ear and meditated.

"It's a superb thing, there's no denying it," he thought, "and it would be a pity to throw it

away. . . . But it's impossible for me to keep it. . . . H'm! . . . Here's a problem! To whom

can I make a present of it, or to what charity can I give it?"

After long meditation he thought of his good friend, the lawyer Uhov, to whom he was

indebted for the management of legal business.

thank you for your efforts. . . . You won't take money so you must at least accept this thing

here. . . . See, my dear fellow. . . . The thing is magnificent!"

On seeing the bronze the lawyer was moved to indescribable delight.

"What a specimen!" he chuckled. "Ah, deuce take it, to think of them imagining such a

thing, the devils! Exquisite! Ravishing! Where did you get hold of such a delightful thing?"

After pouring out his ecstasies the lawyer looked timidly towards the door and said: "Only

you must carry off your present, my boy. . . . I can't take it. . . ."

"Why?" cried the doctor, disconcerted.

"Why . . . because my mother is here at times, my clients . . . besides I should be ashamed

for my servants to see it."

"Nonsense! Nonsense! Don't you dare to refuse!" said the doctor, gesticulating. "It's piggish

of you! It's a work of art! . . . What movement. . . what expression! I won't even talk of it!

You will offend me!"

home, glad that he had succeeded in getting the present off his hands.

like the doctor, racked his brains over the question what to do with the present.

"It's a fine thing," he mused, "and it would be a pity to throw it away and improper to keep

it. The very best thing would be to make a present of it to someone. . . . I know what! I'll

take it this evening to Shashkin, the comedian. The rascal is fond of such things, and by the

way it is his benefit tonight."

No sooner said than done. In the evening the candelabra, carefully wrapped up, was duly

carried to Shashkin's. The whole evening the comic actor's dressing-room was besieged by

men coming to admire the present; the dressing-room was filled with the hum of

enthusiasm and laughter like the neighing of horses. If one of the actresses approached the

my dear, I am not dressed!"

room, and with his finger to his brow was meditating on the acids of the bile. All at once

the door opened and Sasha Smirnov flew into the room. He was smiling, beaming, and his

newspaper.

"Doctor!" he began breathlessly, "imagine my delight! Happily for you we have succeeded

in picking up the pair to your candelabra! Mamma is so happy. . . . I am the only son of my

mother, you saved my life. . . ."

And Sasha, all of a tremor with gratitude, set the candelabra before the doctor. The doctor

opened his mouth, tried to say something, but said nothing: he could not speak.