TEACHER. Well, sir . . . Now, can you tell me something about railroads?
PUPIL (rapidly and distinctly).The railroad, in the general acceptance of that word, is the name of an instrument which serves to transport fortunes, let blood and provide persons of low income powerful sensations. It consists properly of the rails and the railroad regulations. The latter are the following. Railroad stations are subject to hygiene inspections equivalent to those of slaughter-houses, the railroad to those of cemeteries: With a view to preserving the cleanliness of the air both of them must be kept at a respectable distance from residential areas. An individual, transported by the railroad, will be referred to as the passenger, but once he has arrived at his place of destination, he will be renamed the deceased. In case a man, on his way to visit his auntie in Tambov or his cousin in Saratov, is reluctant to submit to the will of the Fates and join his ancestors, he must state his reluctance, but no later than six months after the crash. Those wishing to write a will shall receive pen and ink from the chief conductor for a set fee. In case of a collision, derailment and the like, the passengers are obligated to keep silent and hug the ground. In case two trains collide, a third must not get involved . . .
TEACHER. That’ll do, hold on . . . Now then, what is justice?
PUPIL. Justice is the railroad fines, hung up on the inside wall of every carriage: for a broken window two rubles, for a torn curtain three rubles, for slashed upholstery on the seat five rubles, for breakage of one’s own person in case of a crash the passenger will not be fined.
TEACHER. Who cleans the Moscow streets?
PUPIL. Rain.
TEACHER. And who gets paid for it?
PUPIL. (Name a river.)
TEACHER. Well now . . . And what can you tell me about the horse-drawn railroad?
PUPIL. The horse-drawn tramway or, to put it more simply, the horse-and-equine-drawn transit system, consists of an inside, an outside, and the transit system regulations. The inside costs five kopeks, the outside three kopeks, the transit system regulations nothing. The first was given to mankind for the most comfortable contemplation of the conductors’ morals, the second for peeping in the morning into second-floor windows with low necklines, the third to be obeyed. These rules are as follows. The horse-drawn tram does not exist for the public, but the public for the horse-drawn tram. On the conductor’s entrance into the carriage the public must smile pleasantly. Movement forward, movement backward, and absolute stillness are synonymous. Speed is equal in negative proportion to size, now and then zero, and on major holidays one and a half miles per hour. If a car should be derailed, the passenger pays nothing.
TEACHER. Tell me, please, what is the reason that two cars on meeting one another ring a bell and what’s the reason the ticket-collectors tear off corners of the tickets?
PUPIL. They both constitute a trade secret of the inventors.
TEACHER. Which writer do you like the most?
PUPIL. The one who knows how to end a sentence with a period at the right moment.
TEACHER. Makes sense . . . But do you know who is responsible for the exaggerations, which are plaguing the reader at this very moment?
PUPIL. That constitutes a trade secret of the editorial board . . . However, just for you, I can probably . . . If you like, I’ll reveal that secret to you . . . (In a whisper). These exaggerations were committed in his old age by
A. Chekhonte
*I don’t understand what this is for! Author.
NOTES
1 Published in Splinters (Oskolki) 24 (June 16, 1884), pp. 277–280.
2 Latin, the indispensable condition.
“CHAOS-VILE IN ROME”1
“Ka‚aр‰ak ‚ Pимe”
A Comic Oddity in Three Acts, Five Scenes, with a Prologue and Two Flops.
CHARACTERS
COUNT FALCONI,2 a very fat man
COUNTESS, his nervous wife
LUNA, a planet pleasant in every respect3
ARTHUR,4 an artist-ventriloquist, who drinks with his belly
HESSE, an artist. You are requested not to confuse him with the match manufacturer and matchbox satirist Hesse5
THE ORPHAN GIRL, in red stockings. Innocent and virtuous, but not so much as to prevent her from adopting masculine garb
LENTOVSKY, with a pair of scissors. Disappointed.
THE BOX OFFICE, an old maid
SOLID PROFITS
her children
SLIM PROFITS
Drummers, fakirs, nuns, frogs, a papier-måché bull, a superfluous artist, thousands of hopes, wicked fairies, and so on.
PROLOGUE
It begins with an apotheosis from designs by Shekhtel:6 THE BOX OFFICE, pale, emaciated, holds in her arms her starving son SLIM PROFITS, and with a prayer stares at the audience. LENTOVSKY pulls out a dagger, trying to kill SLIM PROFITS, but cannot succeed, for the dagger is blunt. Picture. Bengal lights, groans . . . A vampire flies across the stage.
LENTOVSKY. I’ll kill you, oh detested babe! Ivan, bring me another knife! (IVAN, who looks like Andrdssy,7 brings him a knife, but this time a WICKED FAIRY descends.)
WICKED FAIRY (whispers to Lentovsky). Put on “Chaos-Vile in Rome” and it’s in the bag: Slim Profits will perish.
LENTOVSKY (slaps himself on the forehead). Why didn’t I think of it sooner! Grigory Aleksandrovich, put on “Chaos-Vile in Rome!” (ARBENIN’s8 voice is heard: “Splendid!”) With a prrrocession, damn it! (Falls asleep in sweet hopes.)
ACT ONE
ORPHAN GIRL (sits on a tiny rock). I am in love with Arthur . . . I can tell you nothing more. I myself am small, my voice is a small one, my role is a small one, but if I speak at great length, on the other hand you have ears and patience. Nothing’s happened to little me, but just you wait, Tamarin9 is going to treat you to such a long, wordy bit! Don’t scowl like that again! (Turns sour.)
LUNA. Hmm! (Yawns and frowns.)
RAPHAELI-TAMARIN (enters). I now shall tell you . . . The matter, you see, is this . . . (Takes a deep breath and begins a long monologue. Twice he sits down, five times he drips sweat, but finally he gets hoarse and, feeling ante-humous death throes in his throat, looks imploringly at Lentovsky.)
LENTOVSKY (taking the scissors). Already we’ve got to make cuts.
LUNA (frowning). Should we scram? Judging by the first act, nothing but misery will come of this operetta.
RAPHAELI (buys a picture of Arthur from the Orphan Girl for a thousand rubles). We’ll pass it off as my picture.