The Elephant

"The Elephant" by Aleksandr Kuprin is a poignant and thought-provoking novella that explores the themes of human emotion, isolation, and the complex relationship between humans and animals. Set in a traveling circus, the story centers around the elephant, a majestic yet tragic creature that becomes a symbol of both beauty and suffering. Through vivid descriptions and deep character development, Kuprin delves into the lives of those connected to the elephant, revealing their struggles, desires, and moral dilemmas. The narrative invites readers to reflect on empathy, the nature of captivity, and the impact of societal indifference towards both animals and individuals in distress.

• Novel

								
I

The little girl was unwell. Every day the doctor came to see her, Dr.
Michael Petrovitch, whom she had known long, long ago. And sometimes
he brought with him two other doctors whom she didn't know. They
turned the little girl over on to her back and then on to her stomach,
listened to something, putting an ear against her body, pulled down her
under eyelids and looked at them. They seemed very important people,
they had stern faces, and they spoke to one another in a language the
little girl did not understand.

Afterwards they went out from the nursery into the drawing-room, where
mother sat waiting for them. The most important doctor--the tall one
with grey hair and gold eye-glasses--talked earnestly to her for a long
time. The door was not shut, and the little girl lying on her bed could
see and hear all. There was much that she didn't understand, but she
knew the talk was about her. Mother looked up at the doctor with large,
tired, tear-filled eyes. When the doctors went away the chief one said
loudly:

"The most important thing is--don't let her be dull. Give in to all her
whims."

"Ah, doctor, but she doesn't want anything!"

"Well, I don't know ... think what she used to like before she was ill.
Toys ... something nice to eat...."

"No, no, doctor; she doesn't want anything."

"Well, try and tempt her with something.... No matter what it is.... I
give you my word that if you can only make her laugh and enjoy herself,
it would be better than any medicine. You must understand that your
daughter's illness is indifference to life, and nothing more.... Good
morning, madam!"

II

"Dear Nadya, my dear little girl," said mother; "isn't there anything
you would like to have?"

"No, mother, I don't want anything."

"Wouldn't you like me to put out all your dolls on the bed? We'll
arrange the easy chair, the sofa, the little table, and put the
tea-service out. The dolls shall have tea and talk to one another about
the weather and their children's health."

"Thank you, mother.... I don't want it.... It's so dull...."

"Oh, very well, little girlie, we won't have the dolls. Suppose we ask
Katya or Zhenochka to come and see you. You're very fond of them."

"I don't want them, mother. Indeed, I don't. I don't want anything,
don't want anything. I'm so dull!"

"Shall I get you some chocolate?"

But the little girl didn't answer, she lay and stared at the ceiling
with steadfast, mournful eyes. She had no pain at all, she wasn't even
feverish. But she was getting thinner and weaker every day. She didn't
mind what was done to her; it made no difference, she didn't care for
anything. She lay like this all day and all night, quiet, mournful.
Sometimes she would doze for half an hour, and then in her dreams she
would see something long and grey and dull, as if she were looking at
rain in autumn.

When the door leading from the nursery into the drawing-room was open,
and the other door into the study was open too, the little girl could
see her father. Father would walk swiftly from one corner of the
room to the other, and all the time he would smoke, smoke. Sometimes
he would come into the nursery and sit on the edge of Nadya's bed
and stroke her feet gently. Then he would get up suddenly and go to
the window, whistle a little, and look out into the street, but his
shoulders would tremble. He would hurriedly press his handkerchief
first to one eye and then to the other, and then go back into his study
as if he were angry. Then he would begin again to pace up and down and
smoke ... and smoke ... and smoke. And his study would look all blue
from the clouds of tobacco smoke.

III

One morning the little girl woke to feel a little stronger than usual.
She had dreamed something, but she couldn't remember exactly what she
had dreamed, and she looked attentively into her mother's eyes for a
long time.

"What would you like?" asked mother.

But the little girl had suddenly remembered her dream, and she said in
a whisper, as if it were a secret:

"Mother ... could I have ... an elephant? Only not one that's painted
in a picture.... Eh?"

"Of course you can, my child, of course."

She went into the study and told papa that the little girl wanted
an elephant. Papa put on his coat and hat directly, and went off
somewhere. In half an hour he came back, bringing with him an expensive
beautiful toy. It was a large grey elephant that could move its head
and wave its tail; on its back was a red saddle, and on the saddle
there was a golden vent with three little men sitting inside. But the
little girl paid no attention to the toy; she only looked up at the
walls and ceiling, and said languidly:

"No. That's not at all what I meant. I wanted a real live elephant, and
this one's dead."

"But only look at it, Nadya," said mamma. "We'll wind him up, and he'll
be exactly, exactly like a live one."

The elephant was wound up with a key, and it then began to move its
legs and walk slowly along the table, nodding its head and waving
its tail. But the little girl wasn't interested at all; she was even
bored by it, though in order that her father shouldn't feel hurt she
whispered kindly:

"Thank you very very much, dear papa. I don't think anyone has such an
interesting toy as this.... Only ... you remember ... long ago, you
promised to take me to a menagerie to see a real elephant ... and you
didn't bring it here...."

"But listen, my dear child. Don't you understand that that's impossible.
An elephant is very big; he's as high as the ceiling, and we couldn't
get him into our rooms. And what's more, where could I obtain one?"

"Papa, I don't want such a big one.... You could bring me as little
a one as you like, so long as it's alive. As big as this ... a baby
elephant."

"My dear child, I should be glad to do anything for you, but this is
impossible. It's just as if you suddenly said to me, 'Papa, get me the
sun out of the sky.'"

The little girl smiled sadly.

"How stupid you are, papa! As if I didn't know it's impossible to get
the sun, it's all on fire. And the moon, too, you can't get. No, if
only I had a little elephant ... a real one."

And she quietly closed her eyes and whispered:

"I'm tired.... Forgive me, papa...."

Papa clutched at his hair and ran away to his study, where for some
time he marched up and down. Then he resolutely threw his unfinished
cigarette on the floor--mamma was always grumbling at him about
this--and called out to the maid:

"Olga! Bring me my hat and coat!"

His wife came out into the hall.

"Where are you going, Sasha?" asked she.

He breathed heavily as he buttoned up his coat.

"I don't know myself, Mashenka, where I'm going. ... Only I think that
this evening I shall actually bring a live elephant here.

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