It would be inappropriate to dwell too long on the problems of translation. Certain aspects of the young Chekhov's style, however, do deserve mention here. One of his subtlest methods of taking the reader into a character is to blend fragments of that character's indirect speech - from whole sentences to the merest inflexions of voice - freely into his own narration (particularly clear examples occur in Kids and Let Me Sleep). This may give rise to repetitions, which we have been careful to respect. Then there is the way a narrative may modulate through a range of tenses that would beunusual in English fiction, as in The L(ft/e Joke and Vanka. Here, too, we have tended to follow Chekhov, even at the risk ofsounding strange, since we regard the young Chekhov as nothing if not an innovator in style and technique. Finally, there is his use of three dots. Sometimes this is very personaclass="underline" the dots are carefully deployed by Chekhov aspoints de suspens/on. Often, however, as with his use of exclamation marks, the three dots are simply dictated by the conventions of Russian punctuation. We have considered each instance on its merits, and occasionally this has led to our cutting these forms in translation completely, or replacing them with others.
The collaboration of the translators has been very much more than a simple division oflabour. After one ofthetranslatorshad produced a first draft, this was sent off to Cambridge or Cromer and subjected to unsparmg criticism by the other, who returned it disfigured by amendments and suggestions for improvement. These were incorpo- rated or rejected by the original translator. The translators then met, and the revised draft was sub|ected to the further test of being read aloud, revealing new defects, especially in the rendering of dialogue. In many cases discussion rumbled on for weeks and months after that.
July 1981
To translate Chekhov sometimes requires familiarity with highly specialised areas of knowledge. We express heartfelt thanks to all those friends, relations and experts who advised us in these areas, and especially to Nikolay and Gill Andreyev (Cambridge), Nikolay Bokov (Paris), and M.P. Gromov and L.D. Opulskaya (Moscow) for their authoritative assistance with numerous points of Russian lan- guage and manners. Our gratitude to Richard Davies (Leeds), and everyone else who so patiently listened to, read, and re-read our drafts, cannot be overstated. Needless to say, the responsibility for the text and any errors it may contain remains our own, and we shall welcome correspondence concerning both.
Patrick Miles Harvey Pitcher
Rapture
Midnight.
Wild-eyed and dishevelled, Mitya Kuldarov burst into his parents' flat and dashed intoevery room. His parents were about to go to bed. His sister was in bed already and had just got on to the last page of her novel. His schoolboy brothers were asleep.
'Where've you come from?' his parents exclaimed in astonish- ment. 'Is something wrong?'
'Oh, I don't know how to tell you! I'm staggered, absolutely staggered! It's . . . it's quite incredible!'
Mitya burst out laughing and collapsed into an armchair, over- come with happiness.
'It's incredible! You'll never believe it! Take a look at this!'
His sister jumped out of bed and came over to him, wrapping a blanket round her. The schoolboys woke up.
'Is something wrong? You look awful!'
'I'm so happy, Mum, that's why! Now everyone in Russia knows about meJ Everyone! Till now only you knew of the existence of clerical officer of the fourteenth grade, Dmitry Kuldarov, but now everyone in Russia knows! O Lord, Mum!'
Mitya jumped up, ran round every room and sat down again.
'But tell us what's happened, for goodness' sake!'
'Oh, you live here like savages, you don't read the papers, you've no idea what's going on, and the papers are full of such remarkable things! As soon as anything happens, they make it all public, it's down there in black and white! O Lord, I'm so happy! Only famous peopleget their names in the paper, then all ofa sudden - they go and print a story about me!'
'What?! Where?'
Dad turned pale. Mum looked up at the icon and crossed herself. The schoolboys jumped out of bed and ran over to their elder brother, wearing nothing but their short little nightshirts.
'They have! About mc! Now I'm known all over Russia! You'd better keep this copy, Mum, and we can take it out now and then and read it. Look!'
1883
Mitya pulled the newspaper out of his pocket and handed it to hisfather, jahbing his finger at a p.issage ringed with blue pencil.
'Read it out!'
Father put on his glasses.
'Go on, read it!'
Mum looked up at the icon and crossed herself. Dad clcnred his throat and began:
'On December 29th at II p.m. clerical officer of the fourteenth grade, Dmitry Kuldarov -'
'See? See? Go on, Dad!'
' . .. clerical officer of the fourteenth grade, Dmitry Kuldarov, emerging from the public ale-house situated on the ground floor of Kozikhin's Buildings in Little Bronnaya Street and being in a state of intoxication -'
'It w.as me and Semyon Petrovich . . . They've got all the details! Go un! Now listen, listen to this bit!'
'. . . and being in a state of intoxication, slipped and fell in front of a cab-horse belonging to Ivan Knoutoff, peasant, from the village of Bumpkino in Pnoff district, which was standing at that spot. The frightened horse, stepping across Kuldarov, dragged over him the sledge 11 which was seated Ivan Lukov, merchant of the Second Guild in Moscow, bolted down the street and was arrested in its flight by some yard-porters. Kuldarov, being at first in a state of unconsciousness, was taken to the police-station and examined by a doctor. The blow which he had received on the back of the head -'
'I did it on the shaft, Dad. Go on, read the rest!'
'. . . which he had received on the back of the head, was classified as superficial. A police report was drawn up concerning the incident. Medical assistance was rendered to the victim -'
'They dabbed the back of my head with cold water. Finished? So what do you say to that, ch?! It'll be all over Russia by now! Give it here!'
Mitya grabbed the newspaper, folded it and stuffed it into his pocket.
'Must run and show the Makarovs . .. Then on ro the lvanitskys, Nataliya Ivanovna and Anisim Vasilich . .. Can't stop! 'Bye!'
Mitya put on his official cap with the cockade and radiant, trium- phant, ran out into the street.
The Death of a Civil Servant
One fine evening, a no less fine office factotum, Ivan Dmitrich Kreepikov, was sitting in the second row of the stalls and watching The Chimes of Normandy through opera glasses. He watched, and felt on top ofthe world. But suddenly . .. You ohen come across this 'But suddenly . ..' in short stories. And authors are right: life is so full of surprises! But suddenly, then, his face puckered, his eyes rolled upwards, his breathing ceased - he lowered his opera glasses, bent forward, and . . . atchoo!!! Sneezed, in other words. Now sneezing isn't prohibited to any one or in any place. Peasants sneeze, chiefs of police sneeze, and sometimes even Number 3's in the Civil Service. Everyone snee7.es. Kreepikov did not feel embarrassed at all, he simply wiped hisnose with his handkerchief and, being a polite kind of person, looked about him to see if he had disturbed anyone by sneezing. But then he did have cause forembarrassment. He saw that the little old gentleman sitting in front of him, in the first row, was carefully wiping his pate and the back of his neck with his glove, and muttering something. And in the elderly gentleman Kreepikov rec- ognised General Shpritsalov, a Number 2 in the Ministry of Com- munications.
'I spattered him!' thought Kreepikov. 'He's not my chief, it's true, but even so, it's awkward. I'll have to apologise.'