The Bet and Other Stories
Copyright© 2024 by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov
A Gentleman Friend
When she came out of the hospital the charming Vanda, or, according to her passport, “the honourable lady-citizen Nastasya Kanavkina,” found herself in a position in which she had never been before: without a roof and without a son. What was to be done?
First of all, she went to a pawnshop to pledge her turquoise ring, her only jewellery. They gave her a rouble for the ring ... but what can you buy for a rouble? For that you can’t get a short jacket à la mode, or an elaborate hat, or a pair of brown shoes; yet without these things she felt naked. She felt as though, not only the people, but even the horses and dogs were staring at her and laughing at the plainness of her clothes. And her only thought was for her clothes; she did not care at all what she ate or where she slept.
“If only I were to meet a gentleman friend...” she thought. “I could get some money ... Nobody would say ‘No,’ because...”
But she came across no gentleman friends. It’s easy to find them of nights in the Renaissance, but they wouldn’t let her go into the Renaissance in that plain dress and without a hat. What’s to be done? After a long time of anguish, vexed and weary with walking, sitting, and thinking, Vanda made up her mind to play her last card: to go straight to the rooms of some gentleman friend and ask him for money.
“But who shall I go to?” she pondered. “I can’t possibly go to Misha ... he’s got a family ... The ginger-headed old man is at his office...”
Vanda recollected Finkel, the dentist, the converted Jew, who gave her a bracelet three months ago. Once she poured a glass of beer on his head at the German club. She was awfully glad that she had thought of Finkel.
“He’ll be certain to give me some, if only I find him in...” she thought, on her way to him. “And if he won’t, then I’ll break every single thing there.”
She had her plan already prepared. She approached the dentist’s door. She would run up the stairs, with a laugh, fly into his private room and ask for twenty-five roubles ... But when she took hold of the bell-pull, the plan went clean out of her head. Vanda suddenly began to be afraid and agitated, a thing which had never happened to her before. She was never anything but bold and independent in drunken company; but now, dressed in common clothes, and just like any ordinary person begging a favour, she felt timid and humble.
“Perhaps he has forgotten me...” she thought, not daring to pull the bell. “And how can I go up to him in a dress like this? As if I were a pauper, or a dowdy respectable...”
She rang the bell irresolutely.
There were steps behind the door. It was the porter.
“Is the doctor at home?” she asked.
She would have been very pleased now if the porter had said “No,” but instead of answering he showed her into the hall, and took her jacket. The stairs seemed to her luxurious and magnificent, but what she noticed first of all in all the luxury was a large mirror in which she saw a ragged creature without an elaborate hat, without a modish jacket, and without a pair of brown shoes. And Vanda found it strange that, now that she was poorly dressed and looking more like a seamstress or a washerwoman, for the first time she felt ashamed, and had no more assurance or boldness left. In her thoughts she began to call herself Nastya Kanavkina, instead of Vanda as she used.
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