The Schoolmaster and Other StoriesChekhov, Anton Pavlovich
General
The Schoolmaster and Other Stories
Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich
Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich, 1860-1904 -- Translations into English; Russia -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
"At last," sighed Abogin, reaching towards the door-handle. "Let
us go, please."
The doctor started, glanced at him, and remembered. . . .
"Why, I have told you already that I can't go!" he said, growing
more animated. "How strange!"
"Doctor, I am not a stone, I fully understand your position . . .
I feel for you," Abogin said in an imploring voice, laying his hand
on his scarf. "But I am not asking you for myself. My wife is dying.
If you had heard that cry, if you had seen her face, you would
understand my pertinacity. My God, I thought you had gone to get
ready! Doctor, time is precious. Let us go, I entreat you."
"I cannot go," said Kirilov emphatically and he took a step into
the drawing-room.
Abogin followed him and caught hold of his sleeve.
"You are in sorrow, I understand. But I'm not asking you to a case
of toothache, or to a consultation, but to save a human life!" he
went on entreating like a beggar. "Life comes before any personal
sorrow! Come, I ask for courage, for heroism! For the love of
humanity!"
"Humanity--that cuts both ways," Kirilov said irritably. "In the
name of humanity I beg you not to take me. And how queer it is,
really! I can hardly stand and you talk to me about humanity! I am
fit for nothing just now. . . . Nothing will induce me to go, and
I can't leave my wife alone. No, no. . ."
Kirilov waved his hands and staggered back.
"And . . . and don't ask me," he went on in a tone of alarm. "Excuse
me. By No. XIII of the regulations I am obliged to go and you have
the right to drag me by my collar . . . drag me if you like, but . . .
I am not fit . . . I can't even speak . . . excuse me."
"There is no need to take that tone to me, doctor!" said Abogin,
again taking the doctor by his sleeve. "What do I care about No.
XIII! To force you against your will I have no right whatever. If
you will, come; if you will not--God forgive you; but I am not
appealing to your will, but to your feelings. A young woman is
dying. You were just speaking of the death of your son. Who should
understand my horror if not you?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account