Anton Pavlovich Chekhov 



   A Slander

    Serge Kapitonich Ahineev,  the writing master, was marrying his daughter to 
the teacher of history and geography. The wedding festivities  were  going  off 
most successfully. In the drawing room there was singing, playing, and dancing. 
Waiters hired from the club were flitting distractedly about the rooms, dressed 
in black swallow-tails and dirty white ties. There was a continual  hubbub  and 
din of conversation.  Sitting  side  by  side  on  the  sofa,  the  teacher  of 
mathematics, Tarantulov, the French teacher, Pasdequoi, and the junior assessor 
of taxes, Mzda, were talking hurriedly and interrupting  one  another  as  they 
described to the guests cases of persons being buried  alive,  and  gave  their 
opinions on spiritualism. None  of  them  believed  in  spiritualism,  but  all 
admitted that there were many things in this world which would always be beyond 
the mind of man.  In  the  next  room  the  literature  master,  Dodonsky,  was 
explaining to the visitors the cases in which a sentry has the right to fire on 
passers-by. The subjects, as you perceive, were alarming, but  very  agreeable. 
Persons whose social position precluded them from entering were looking  in  at 
the windows from the yard. 
    Just at midnight the master of the house  went  into  the  kitchen  to  see 
whether everything was ready for supper. The kitchen from floor to ceiling  was 
filled with fumes composed of goose, duck, and many other odours. On two tables 
the accessories, the drinks and light refreshments, were set  out  in  artistic 
disorder. The cook, Marfa, a red-faced woman whose figure  was  like  a  barrel 
with a belt around it, was bustling about the tables. 
    "Show me the sturgeon, Marfa," said Ahineev, rubbing his hands and  licking 
his lips. "What a perfume! I could eat up the whole kitchen. Come, show me  the 
sturgeon." 
    Marfa went up to one of the benches and cautiously lifted a piece of greasy 
newspaper. Under the paper on an immense dish there reposed  a  huge  sturgeon, 
masked in jelly and decorated with capers, olives, and carrots.  Ahineev  gazed 
at the sturgeon and gasped. His face beamed, he turned his  eyes  up.  He  bent 
down and with his lips emitted the sound of an ungreased wheel. After  standing 
a moment he snapped his fingers with delight and once more smacked his lips. 
    "Ah-ah! the sound of a passionate kiss... Who  is  it  you're  kissing  out 
there, little Marfa?" came a voice from the next room, and in the doorway there 
appeared the cropped head of the assistant usher, Vankin. "Who is it?  A-a-h!.. 
Delighted to meet you! Sergei Kapitonich! You're a  fine  grandfather,  I  must 
say! Tête-à-tête with the fair sex - tette!" 
    "I'm not kissing," said Ahineev in confusion. "Who told you so,  you  fool? 
I was only... I smacked my lips... in reference to... as  an  indication  of... 
pleasure... at the sight of the fish." 
    "Tell that to the marines!" The intrusive face vanished,  wearing  a  broad 
grin. Ahineev flushed. 
    "Hang it!" he thought, "the beast will  go  now  and  talk  scandal.  He'll 
disgrace me to all the town, the brute." 
    Ahineev went timidly into the drawing-room and looked stealthily round  for 
Vankin. Vankin was standing by the piano, and, bending down with a jaunty  air, 
was whispering something to the inspector's sister-in-law, who was laughing. 
    "Talking about me!" thought Ahineev. "About me, blast him! And she believes 
it... believes it! She laughs! Mercy on us! No, I can't let it pass... I can't. 
I must do something to prevent his being believed... I'll speak  to  them  all,  
and he'll be shown up for a fool and a gossip." 
    Ahineev scratched his head, and still overcome with embarrassment, went  up 
to Pasdequoi. 
    "I've just been in the kitchen to see after the supper,"  he  said  to  the 
Frenchman. "I know you are fond of fish, and I've a sturgeon, my  dear  fellow, 
beyond everything! A yard and a half long! Ha, ha, ha! And, by the way... I was 
just forgetting... In  the  kitchen  just  now,  with  that  sturgeon...  quite 
a little story! I went into the kitchen just now and  wanted  to  look  at  the 
supper dishes. I looked at the sturgeon and I smacked my  lips  with  relish... 
at the piquancy of it. And at the very moment that  fool  Vankin  came  in  and 
said... 'Ha, ha, ha!.. So you're kissing here!' Kissing Marfa, the  cook!  What 
a thing to imagine, silly fool! The woman is a perfect  fright,  like  all  the 
beasts put together, and he talks about kissing! Queer fish!" 
    "Who's a queer fish?" asked Tarantulov, coming up. 
    "Why he, over there - Vankin! I went into the kitchen..." 
    And he told the story of Vankin. 
    "He amused me, queer fish! I'd rather kiss a dog than  Marfa,  if  you  ask 
me," added Ahineev. He looked round and saw behind him Mzda. 
    "We were talking of Vankin," he said. "Queer fish, he is! He went into  the 
kitchen, saw me beside Marfa, and began inventing all sorts of  silly  stories. 
'Why are you kissing?' he says. He must have had a  drop  too  much.  'And  I'd 
rather kiss a turkeycock than Marfa,' I said, 'And I've a wife of my  own,  you 
fool,' said I. He did amuse me!" 
    "Who amused you?" asked the priest who  taught  Scripture  in  the  school, 
going up to Ahineev. 
    "Vankin.  I  was  standing  in  the  kitchen,  you  know,  looking  at  the 
sturgeon..." 
    And so on. Within half an hour or so all the guests knew  the  incident  of 
the sturgeon and Vankin. 
    "Let him tell away now!" thought Ahineev,  rubbing  his  hands.  "Let  him! 
He'll begin telling his story and they'll say to him at once, 'Enough  of  your 
improbable nonsense, you fool, we know all about it!' " 
    And Ahineev was so relieved that in his joy he drank four glasses too many. 
After escorting the young people to their room, he went to bed and  slept  like 
an innocent babe, and next day he thought no more  of  the  incident  with  the 
sturgeon. But, alas! man proposes, but God disposes. An  evil  tongue  did  its 
evil work, and Ahineev's strategy was of no avail. Just a  week  later - to  be 
precise, on Wednesday after the third lesson - when Ahineev was standing in the 
middle of the teacher's room, holding forth  on  the  vicious  propensities  of 
a boy called Visekin, the head master went up to him and drew him aside: 
    "Look here, Sergei Kapitonich," said the  head  master,  "you  must  excuse 
me... It's not my business; but all the same I must make you realize... It's my 
duty. You see, there are rumors that you are  romancing  with  that...  cook... 
It's nothing to do with me, but... flirt with her, kiss her... as  you  please, 
but don't let it be so public, please. I entreat you! Don't forget that  you're 
a schoolmaster." 
    Ahineev turned cold and faint. He went home like a man  stung  by  a  whole 
swarm of bees, like a man scalded with boiling water. As  he  walked  home,  it 
seemed to him that the whole town was looking at him as though he were  smeared 
with pitch. At home fresh trouble awaited him. 
    "Why aren't you gobbling up your food as usual?"  his  wife  asked  him  at 
dinner. "What are you so pensive about? Brooding over your amours?  Pining  for 
your Marfa? I know all about it, Mohammedan! Kind friends have opened my  eyes! 
O-o-o!.. you savage!" 
    And she slapped him in the face. He got up from the table, not feeling  the 
earth under his feet, and without his hat or coat, made his way to  Vankin.  He 
found him at home. 
    "You scoundrel!" he addressed him. "Why have you covered me with mud before 
all the town? Why did you set this slander going about me?" 
    "What slander? What are you talking about?" 
    "Who was it gossiped of my kissing Marfa? Wasn't  it  you?  Tell  me  that. 
Wasn't it you, you brigand?" 
    Vankin blinked and twitched in every fibre  of  his  battered  countenance, 
raised his eyes to the icon and articulated, "God blast me! Strike me blind and 
lay me out, if I said a single word about you! May I be left without house  and 
home, may I be stricken with worse than cholera!" 
    Vankin's sincerity did not admit of doubt. It was evidently not he who  was 
the author of the slander. 
    "But who, then, who?" Ahineev wondered, going over all his acquaintances in 
his mind and beating himself on the breast. "Who, then?" 
    Who, then? We, too, ask the reader.

    1883

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