Kashtanka Page #6

"Kashtanka" is a short story by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov that follows the life of a stray dog named Kashtanka. After getting lost from her owner, she encounters a kind-hearted circus performer who takes her in. The story captures the themes of loyalty, survival, and the bond between humans and animals as Kashtanka adapts to her new life while reflecting on her past. Through her experiences, Chekhov explores the complexities of love and belonging, highlighting the emotional depth of both the dog and the people she interacts with. The narrative is rich with Chekhov's signature observational humor and poignant insight into the human condition.

								

tail instead of a nose, and two long gnawed bones sticking out of his
mouth.

The cat mewed huskily under Auntie's paws, but at that moment the coat
was flung open, the master said, "Hop!" and Fyodor Timofeyitch and
Auntie jumped to the floor. They were now in a little room with grey
plank walls; there was no other furniture in it but a little table with
a looking-glass on it, a stool, and some rags hung about the corners,
and instead of a lamp or candles, there was a bright fan-shaped light
attached to a little pipe fixed in the wall. Fyodor Timofeyitch licked
his coat which had been ruffled by Auntie, went under the stool, and lay
down. Their master, still agitated and rubbing his hands, began
undressing. . . . He undressed as he usually did at home when he was
preparing to get under the rug, that is, took off everything but his
underlinen, then he sat down on the stool, and, looking in the looking-
glass, began playing the most surprising tricks with himself. . . .
First of all he put on his head a wig, with a parting and with two tufts
of hair standing up like horns, then he smeared his face thickly with
something white, and over the white colour painted his eyebrows, his
moustaches, and red on his cheeks. His antics did not end with that.
After smearing his face and neck, he began putting himself into an
extraordinary and incongruous costume, such as Auntie had never seen
before, either in houses or in the street. Imagine very full trousers,
made of chintz covered with big flowers, such as is used in working-
class houses for curtains and covering furniture, trousers which
buttoned up just under his armpits. One trouser leg was made of brown
chintz, the other of bright yellow. Almost lost in these, he then put on
a short chintz jacket, with a big scalloped collar, and a gold star on
the back, stockings of different colours, and green slippers.

Everything seemed going round before Auntie's eyes and in her soul. The
white-faced, sack-like figure smelt like her master, its voice, too, was
the familiar master's voice, but there were moments when Auntie was
tortured by doubts, and then she was ready to run away from the parti-
coloured figure and to bark. The new place, the fan-shaped light, the
smell, the transformation that had taken place in her master--all this
aroused in her a vague dread and a foreboding that she would certainly
meet with some horror such as the big face with the tail instead of a
nose. And then, somewhere through the wall, some hateful band was
playing, and from time to time she heard an incomprehensible roar. Only
one thing reassured her--that was the imperturbability of Fyodor
Timofeyitch. He dozed with the utmost tranquillity under the stool, and
did not open his eyes even when it was moved.

A man in a dress coat and a white waistcoat peeped into the little room
and said:

"Miss Arabella has just gone on. After her--you."

Their master made no answer. He drew a small box from under the table,
sat down, and waited. From his lips and his hands it could be seen that
he was agitated, and Auntie could hear how his breathing came in gasps.

"Monsieur George, come on!" someone shouted behind the door. Their
master got up and crossed himself three times, then took the cat from
under the stool and put him in the box.

"Come, Auntie," he said softly.

Auntie, who could make nothing out of it, went up to his hands, he
kissed her on the head, and put her beside Fyodor Timofeyitch. Then
followed darkness. . . . Auntie trampled on the cat, scratched at the
walls of the box, and was so frightened that she could not utter a
sound, while the box swayed and quivered, as though it were on the
waves. . . .

"Here we are again!" her master shouted aloud: "here we are again!"

Auntie felt that after that shout the box struck against something hard
and left off swaying. There was a loud deep roar, someone was being
slapped, and that someone, probably the monster with the tail instead of
a nose, roared and laughed so loud that the locks of the box trembled.
In response to the roar, there came a shrill, squeaky laugh from her
master, such as he never laughed at home.

"Ha!" he shouted, trying to shout above the roar. "Honoured friends! I
have only just come from the station! My granny's kicked the bucket and
left me a fortune! There is something very heavy in the box, it must be
gold, ha! ha! I bet there's a million here! We'll open it and look. . .
."

The lock of the box clicked. The bright light dazzled Auntie's eyes, she
jumped out of the box, and, deafened by the roar, ran quickly round her
master, and broke into a shrill bark.

"Ha!" exclaimed her master. "Uncle Fyodor Timofeyitch! Beloved Aunt,
dear relations! The devil take you!"

He fell on his stomach on the sand, seized the cat and Auntie, and fell
to embracing them. While he held Auntie tight in his arms, she glanced
round into the world into which fate had brought her and, impressed by
its immensity, was for a minute dumbfounded with amazement and delight,
then jumped out of her master's arms, and to express the intensity of
her emotions, whirled round and round on one spot like a top. This new
world was big and full of bright light; wherever she looked, on all
sides, from floor to ceiling there were faces, faces, faces, and nothing
else.

"Auntie, I beg you to sit down!" shouted her master. Remembering what
that meant, Auntie jumped on to a chair, and sat down. She looked at her
master. His eyes looked at her gravely and kindly as always, but his
face, especially his mouth and teeth, were made grotesque by a broad
immovable grin. He laughed, skipped about, twitched his shoulders, and
made a show of being very merry in the presence of the thousands of
faces. Auntie believed in his merriment, all at once felt all over her
that those thousands of faces were looking at her, lifted up her fox-
like head, and howled joyously.

"You sit there, Auntie," her master said to her, "while Uncle and I will
dance the Kamarinsky."

Fyodor Timofeyitch stood looking about him indifferently, waiting to be
made to do something silly. He danced listlessly, carelessly, sullenly,
and one could see from his movements, his tail and his ears, that he had
a profound contempt for the crowd, the bright light, his master and
himself. When he had performed his allotted task, he gave a yawn and sat
down.

"Now, Auntie!" said her master, "we'll have first a song, and then a
dance, shall we?"

He took a pipe out of his pocket, and began playing. Auntie, who could
not endure music, began moving uneasily in her chair and howled. A roar
of applause rose from all sides. Her master bowed, and when all was
still again, went on playing. . . . Just as he took one very high note,
someone high up among the audience uttered a loud exclamation:

"Auntie!" cried a child's voice, "why it's Kashtanka!"
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes