Part 1
# Short story classics (Foreign), Vol. 1, Russian ### By Unknown
---
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
In the plain text version text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_), small capitals are represented in upper case as in SMALL CAPS, text in bold is represented as in =text in bold=.
A number of words in this book have both hyphenated and non-hyphenated variants. For the words with both variants present the one more used has been kept.
During the review process it was brought to the Transcriber's attention that the edition used to create this project has some text missing in the story "The Queen of Spades". A search made has confirmed the issue. According to the version of this story included in "The Prose Tales of Alexander Pushkin", translated by Thomas Keane, and posted also in Project Gutenberg, the following text is missing at the end:
Lizaveta Ivanovna has married a very amiable young man, a son of the former steward of the old Countess. He is in the service of the State somewhere, and is in receipt of a good income. Lizaveta is also supporting a poor relative.
Tomsky has been promoted to the rank of captain, and has become the husband of the Princess Pauline.
Obvious punctuation and other printing errors have been corrected.
* * * * *
[Illustration: =Turgenev=]
[Illustration]
SHORT STORY CLASSICS
(FOREIGN)
VOLUME ONE RUSSIAN
EDITED BY William Patten
WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
P. F. COLLIER & SON NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT 1907 BY P. F. COLLIER & SON
The use of the copyrighted translations in collection has been authorized by the authors or their representatives. The translations made especially for this collection are covered by the general copyright
CONTENTS--VOLUME I RUSSIAN
PAGE
THE QUEEN OF SPADES ALEXANDER SERGEIEVITCH POUSHKIN 3
THE CLOAK NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL 21
THE RENDEZVOUS IVÁN TURGENEV 67
THE COUNTING-HOUSE IVÁN TURGENEV 81
THE THIEF FEODOR MIKAILOVITCH DOSTOIEVSKI 109
THE LONG EXILE COUNT LEO NIKOLAIEVITCH TOLSTOI 137
EASTER NIGHT VLADÍMIR GALAKTIONOVITCH KOROLÉNKO 153
THE SIGNAL VSEVOLOD MIKAILOVITCH GARSHIN 165
THE CURSE OF FAME IGNATIY NIKOLAIEVITCH POTAPENKO 183
A WORK OF ART ANTON PAVLOVITCH CHEKHOV 217
THE SLANDERER ANTON PAVLOVITCH CHEKHOV 223
FAUST EUGÈNE NIKOLAIEVITCH CHIRIKOV 231
THE DUEL NIKOLAI DMÍTRIEVITCH TELESHOV 263
BOLESS ALEXEI MAXIMOVITCH PYESHKOV (MAXIM GORKI) 273
THE LOVE OF A SCENE-PAINTER “SKITALITZ” 285
VALIA LEONID ANDREIEV 309
CONTENTS--VOLUME II ITALIAN
PAGE
THE LOST LETTER ENRICO CASTELNUOVO 329
CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA GIOVANNI VERGA 347
THE SILVER CRUCIFIX ANTONIO FOGAZZARO 359
THE LITTLE SARDINIAN DRUMMER EDMONDO DE AMICIS 375
LULU’S TRIUMPH MATILDA SERAO 387
THE END OF CANDIA GABRIELE D’ANNUNZIO 411
SIGNORA SPERANZA LUIGI PIRANDELLO 427
TWO MEN AND A WOMAN GRAZIA DELEDDA 481
SCANDINAVIAN
RAILROAD AND CHURCHYARD BJÖRNSTJERNE BJÖRNSON 511
BJÖRN SIVERTSEN’S WEDDING TRIP HOLGER DRACHMANN 547
JALO THE TROTTER JOHANN JACOB AHRENBERG 567
THE PLAGUE AT BERGAMO JENS PETER JACOBSEN 583
KAREN ALEXANDER LANGE KIELLAND 595
LOVE AND BREAD JEAN AUGUST STRINDBERG 605
IRENE HOLM HERMANN JOACHIM BANG 619
THE OUTLAWS SELMA LAGERLÖF 637
CONTENTS--VOLUME III GERMAN
PAGE
THE BROKEN CUP JOHANN HEINRICH DANIEL ZSCHOKKE 663
CASTLE NEIDECK WILHELM HEINRICH VON RIEHL 691
THE YOUNG GIRL OF TREPPI PAUL JOHANN LUDWIG HEYSE 739
THE STONEBREAKERS FERDINAND VON SAAR 793
THOU SHALT NOT KILL LEOPOLD VON SACHER-MASOCH 839
THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH RUDOLF BAUMBACH 849
GOOD BLOOD ERNST VON WILDENBRUCH 863
DELIVERANCE MAX SIMON NORDAU 903
A NEW-YEAR’S EVE CONFESSION HERMANN SUDERMANN 917
BRIC-A-BRAC AND DESTINIES GABRIELE REUTER 929
THE FUR COAT LUDWIG FULDA 939
THE DEAD ARE SILENT ARTHUR SCHNITZLER 955
MARGRET’S PILGRIMAGE CLARA VIEBIG 981
CONTENTS--VOLUME IV FRENCH PAGE
THE UNKNOWN MASTERPIECE HONORÉ DE BALZAC 1007
THE PRICE OF A LIFE AUGUSTIN EUGÈNE SCRIBE 1049
NAPOLEON AND POPE PIUS VII ALFRED VICTOR, COMTE DE VIGNY 1067
CLAUDE GUEUX VICTOR MARIE HUGO 1083
A BAL MASQUÉ ALEXANDRE DAVY DE LA PAILLETERIE DUMAS 1105
HOW THE REDOUBT WAS TAKEN PROSPER MÉRIMÉE 1121
THE VENDEAN MARRIAGE JULES GABRIEL JANIN 1131
THE MARQUISE GEORGE SAND 1149
THE BEAUTY-SPOT ALFRED LOUIS CHARLES DE MUSSET 1185
THE MUMMY’S FOOT THÉOPHILE GAUTIER 1237
CIRCÉ OCTAVE FEUILLET 1257
THE HANGING AT LA PIROCHE ALEXANDRE DUMAS, FILS 1269
THE DEAN’S WATCH ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN 1289
AT THE PALAIS DE JUSTICE ALPHONSE DAUDET 1319
BOUM-BOUM JULES CLARETIE 1327
CONTENTS--VOLUME V FRENCH
PAGE
LA BRETONNE ANDRÉ THEURIET 1339
WHICH WAS THE MADMAN? EDMOND ABOUT 1349
THE GRAND MARRIAGE LUDOVIC HALÉVY 1379
THE ACCURSED HOUSE ÉMILE GABORIAU 1415
THE FÊTE AT COQUEVILLE ÉMILE ZOLA 1427
THE LOST CHILD FRANÇOIS COPPÉE 1471
PUTOIS ANATOLE FRANCE 1495
SAC-AU-DOS JORIS KARL HUYSMANS 1515
“BONJOUR, MONSIEUR” JEAN RICHEPIN 1559
THE BIT OF STRING GUY DE MAUPASSANT 1571
THE NECKLACE GUY DE MAUPASSANT 1581
THE WALL OPPOSITE PIERRE LOTI 1595
THE ANCESTOR PAUL BOURGET 1605
WHEN HE WAS A LITTLE BOY HENRI LAVEDAN 1639
A GENTLEMAN FINDS A WATCH GEORGES COURTELINE 1651
A YOUNG GIRL’S DIARY MARCEL PRÉVOST 1659
THE SIGN OF THE KEY AND THE CROSS HENRI DE RÉGNIER 1671
THE TELEGRAPH OPERATOR ALPHONSE ALLAIS 1685
_PREFACE_
_When the five-volume collection known as “Short Story Classics (American)” was planned, it was entirely evident that it should be supplemented by a collection of the best examples of the short story to be found in foreign literatures._
_The five volumes now offered to the public are designed to supply this lack. They contain seventy-eight short stories, chosen from the literatures of France, Russia, Germany, Italy, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and Finland--works of importance that have made their mark in the literary world._
_The aim has been not only to represent the most widely sympathetic writers, but to select their most generally interesting as well as characteristic stories. The stories have all been written within the last seventy-five years, which has this advantage for the reader, that the scope of the collection may be said to lie within present-day interests._
_None of the stories by the following authors appear in any other collection:_
_FRENCH_
_Honoré de Balzac_, _Eugène Scribe_, _Alfred de Vigny_, _Victor Hugo_, _Alexandre Dumas_, _Prosper Mérimée_, _Jules Janin_, _George Sand_, _Alfred de Musset_, _Théophile Gautier_, _Octave Feuillet_, _Alexandre Dumas (Fils)_, _Erckmann-Chatrian_, _Alphonse Daudet_, _André Theuriet_, _Ludovic Halévy_, _Émile Gaboriau_, _Émile Zola_, _Jules Claretie_, _François Coppée_, _Anatole France_, _Joris Karl Huysmans_, _Jean Richepin_, _Pierre Loti_, _Paul Bourget_, _Henri de Régnier_, _Henri Lavedan_, _Marcel Prévost_, _Georges Courteline_, _Alphonse Allais_.
_RUSSIAN_
_Poushkin_, _Gogol_, _Turgenev_, _Dostoievski_, _Tolstoi_, _Korolénko_, _Garshin_, _Potapenko_, _Chekhov_, _Chirikov_, _Teleshov_, _Maxim Gorki_, “_Skitalitz_,” _Andreiev_.
_ITALIAN AND SCANDINAVIAN_
_Enrico Castelnuovo_, _Giovanni Verga_, _Antonio Fogaszaro_, _Edmondo de Amicis_, _Matilda Serao_, _Gabriele d’Annunzio_, _Luigi Pirandello_, _Grazia Deledda_, _Björnson_, _Holger Drachmann_, _Jacob Ahrenberg_, _Jens Peter Jacobsen_, _Alexander Kielland_, _August Strindberg_, _Hermann Bang_, _Selma Lagerlöf_.
_GERMAN_
_Heinrich Zschokke_, _Wilhelm Heinrich von Riehl_, _Paul Heyse_, _Ferdinand von Saar_, _Leopold von Sacher-Masoch_, _Rudolf Baumbach_, _Ernst von Wildenbruch_, _Max Nordau_, _Hermann Sudermann_, _Gabriele Reuter_, _Ludwig Fulda_, _Arthur Schnitzler_, _and Clara Viebig_.
_About half of the stories have been especially translated for this collection, and some of them now appear in English for the first time. Among these will be found some by the more recent writers in Germany and Russia, two very interesting groups of moderns whose work has not received as much attention at the hands of the public as it would seem to merit._
_In only two or three cases, where the point of view was likely to fail of appreciation by American readers, have the stories been abbreviated or otherwise altered; and attention has been called to this in the accompanying note._
_The notes which preceded the stories in “Short Story Classics (American)” proved to be an appreciated and even popular feature, and it is hoped that those written for the present collection may prove equally acceptable._
_If any one country more than another can be said to excel in the use and development of the modern short story form, it is France. The literatures of Russia, Italy, Germany, Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, as well as that of the United States, have all been influenced to a greater or lesser extent by the art of Balzac, Gautier, Mérimée, and De Maupassant, for in France short story writing may be said to be based on a theory of art, and to be, consequently, the result of conviction._
_This theory of art, apart from the questions of form which it involves, in themselves important considerations, affords great freedom to the writer in the choice of subject-matter and the method of treatment. It presupposes the artist’s right to his point of view. It presupposes an audience more keenly alive to life and the manifestations of life than is characteristic of the general reading public in America at the present time. Generalizations like these are at the best unsatisfactory, since the differences alluded to must be apprehended and can not be well expounded; they will have abundantly served their purpose if they awaken curiosity and prompt the reader unfamiliar with the short story in foreign literatures, and especially in the literature of France, to make his own comparisons._
_All over the world the literary main current seems to be toward the development of the realism of twenty-five years ago. From Denmark, where the trace is slightest, to Russia, where it is most brutal, the best work is apparently being done by the realists. In France there is a decided reaction against strenuous realism, but it is principally the reaction of a few individuals, and among these the most prominent is Anatole France. He is not any the less a realist, in the sense of being true to nature, because his intelligence is concerned with an appreciation of something else besides the material side of life._
_To those who are familiar with the work of Émile Zola, it seems desirable to explain that “Jacques Damour,” a really great story, was too long to be included in this collection. An interesting comparison can be made between “The Bit of String,” by Guy de Maupassant, and the two stories which it inspired, “The Slanderer,” by Anton Chekhov, and “The End of Candia,” by Gabriele d’Annunzio._
_Even the most casual reader must surely be impressed with the extraordinary vitality of these stories and their likeness to life. It is a likeness that is not always optimistic, it is true, as in the case of many of the Russian writers, for example, but it seldom depends on a misstatement of the facts of experience to create its effect, and is seldom lacking in integrity of workmanship._
_I am glad of an opportunity to record my appreciation of the intelligent and interested assistance rendered by Mr. R. W. Howes 3d, in preparing these volumes for the press._
_William Patten._
THE QUEEN OF SPADES BY ALEXANDER SERGEIEVITCH POUSHKIN
[Illustration]
_Alexander Poushkin (born 1799, died 1837) was the greatest genius among the Russian poets. Though born of a noble family, thick lips and crisp, curly hair showed his descent from an Abyssinian negro slave ancestor on his mother’s side. As a poet his work has been compared with that of Byron, of which he was frankly a close student. Chronologically he comes first in the list of Russian prose writers, a list that includes Gogol, Turgenev, Dostoievski, and Tolstoi. “The Queen of Spades” is one of the best and most characteristic of his short stories._
[Illustration]
THE QUEEN OF SPADES BY ALEXANDER POUSHKIN
Translated by H. Twitehell. Copyright, 1901, by The Current Literature Publishing Company.
At the house of Naroumov, a cavalry officer, the long winter night had been passed in gambling. At five in the morning breakfast was served to the weary players. The winners ate with relish; the losers, on the contrary, pushed back their plates and sat brooding gloomily. Under the influence of the good wine, however, the conversation became general.
“Well, Sourine?” said the host inquiringly.
“Oh, I lost as usual. My luck is abominable. No matter how cool I keep, I never win.”
“How is it, Herman, that you never touch a card?” remarked one of the men, addressing a young officer of the Engineering Corps. “Here you are with the rest of us at five o’clock in the morning, and you have neither played nor bet all night.”
“Play interests me greatly,” replied the person addressed, “but I hardly care to sacrifice the necessaries of life for uncertain superfluities.”
“Herman is a German, therefore economical; that explains it,” said Tomsky. “But the person I can’t quite understand is my grandmother, the Countess Anna Fedorovna.”
“Why?” inquired a chorus of voices.
“I can’t understand why my grandmother never gambles.”
“I don’t see anything very striking in the fact that a woman of eighty refuses to gamble,” objected Naroumov.
“Have you never heard her story?”
“No.”
“Well, then, listen to it. To begin with, sixty years ago my grandmother went to Paris, where she was all the fashion. People crowded each other in the streets to get a chance to see the ‘Muscovite Venus,’ as she was called. All the great ladies played faro, then. On one occasion, while playing with the Duke of Orleans, she lost an enormous sum. She told her husband of the debt, but he refused outright to pay it. Nothing could induce him to change his mind on the subject, and grandmother was at her wits’ ends. Finally, she remembered a friend of hers, Count Saint-Germain. You must have heard of him, as many wonderful stories have been told about him. He is said to have discovered the elixir of life, the philosopher’s stone, and many other equally marvelous things. He had money at his disposal, and my grandmother knew it. She sent him a note asking him to come to see her. He obeyed her summons and found her in great distress. She painted the cruelty of her husband in the darkest colors, and ended by telling the Count that she depended upon his friendship and generosity.
“‘I could lend you the money,’ replied the Count, after a moment of thoughtfulness, ‘but I know that you would not enjoy a moment’s rest until you had returned it; it would only add to your embarrassment. There is another way of freeing yourself.’
“‘But I have no money at all,’ insisted my grandmother.
“‘There is no need of money. Listen to me.’
“The Count then told her a secret which any of us would give a good deal to know.”
The young gamesters were all attention. Tomsky lit his pipe, took a few whiffs, then continued:
“The next evening, grandmother appeared at Versailles at the Queen’s gaming-table. The Duke of Orleans was the dealer. Grandmother made some excuse for not having brought any money, and began to punt. She chose three cards in succession, again and again, winning every time, and was soon out of debt.”
“A fable,” remarked Herman; “perhaps the cards were marked.”
“I hardly think so,” replied Tomsky, with an air of importance.
“So you have a grandmother who knows three winning cards, and you haven’t found out the magic secret.”
“I must say I have not. She had four sons, one of them being my father, all of whom are devoted to play; she never told the secret to one of them. But my uncle told me this much, on his word of honor. Tchaplitzky, who died in poverty after having squandered millions, lost at one time, at play, nearly three hundred thousand rubles. He was desperate and grandmother took pity on him. She told him the three cards, making him swear never to use them again. He returned to the game, staked fifty thousand rubles on each card, and came out ahead, after paying his debts.”
As day was dawning the party now broke up, each one draining his glass and taking his leave.
* * * * *
The Countess Anna Fedorovna was seated before her mirror in her dressing-room. Three women were assisting at her toilet. The old Countess no longer made the slightest pretensions to beauty, but she still clung to all the habits of her youth, and spent as much time at her toilet as she had done sixty years before. At the window a young girl, her ward, sat at her needle-work.
“Good afternoon, grandmother,” cried a young officer, who had just entered the room. “I have come to ask a favor of you.”
“What, Pavel?”
“I want to be allowed to present one of my friends to you, and to take you to the ball on Tuesday night.”
“Take me to the ball and present him to me there.”
After a few more remarks the officer walked up to the window where Lisaveta Ivanovna sat.
“Whom do you wish to present?” asked the girl.
“Naroumov; do you know him?”
“No; is he a soldier?”
“Yes.”
“An engineer?”
“No; why do you ask?”
The girl smiled and made no reply.
Pavel Tomsky took his leave, and, left to herself, Lisaveta glanced out of the window. Soon, a young officer appeared at the corner of the street; the girl blushed and bent her head low over her canvas.
This appearance of the officer had become a daily occurrence. The man was totally unknown to her, and as she was not accustomed to coquetting with the soldiers she saw on the street, she hardly knew how to explain his presence. His persistence finally roused an interest entirely strange to her. One day, she even ventured to smile upon her admirer, for such he seemed to be.
The reader need hardly be told that the officer was no other than Herman, the would-be gambler, whose imagination had been strongly excited by the story told by Tomsky of the three magic cards.
“Ah,” he thought, “if the old Countess would only reveal the secret to me. Why not try to win her good-will and appeal to her sympathy?”
With this idea in mind, he took up his daily station before the house, watching the pretty face at the window, and trusting to fate to bring about the desired acquaintance.
One day, as Lisaveta was standing on the pavement about to enter the carriage after the Countess, she felt herself jostled and a note was thrust into her hand. Turning, she saw the young officer at her elbow. As quick as thought, she put the note in her glove and entered the carriage. On her return from the drive, she hastened to her chamber to read the missive, in a state of excitement mingled with fear. It was a tender and respectful declaration of affection, copied word for word from a German novel. Of this fact, Lisa was, of course, ignorant.
The young girl was much impressed by the missive, but she felt that the writer must not be encouraged. She therefore wrote a few lines of explanation and, at the first opportunity, dropped it, with the letter, out of the window. The officer hastily crossed the street, picked up the papers and entered a shop to read them.
In no wise daunted by this rebuff, he found the opportunity to send her another note in a few days. He received no reply, but, evidently understanding the female heart, he persevered, begging for an interview. He was rewarded at last by the following:
“To-night we go to the ambassador’s ball. We shall remain until two o’clock. I can arrange for a meeting in this way. After our departure, the servants will probably all go out, or go to sleep. At half-past eleven enter the vestibule boldly, and if you see any one, inquire for the Countess; if not, ascend the stairs, turn to the left and go on until you come to a door, which opens into her bed-chamber. Enter this room and behind a screen you will find another door leading to a corridor; from this a spiral staircase leads to my sitting-room. I shall expect to find you there on my return.”
Herman trembled like a leaf as the appointed hour drew near. He obeyed instructions fully, and, as he met no one, he reached the old lady’s bed-chamber without difficulty. Instead of going out of the small door behind the screen, however, he concealed himself in a closet to await the return of the old Countess.
The hours dragged slowly by; at last he heard the sound of wheels. Immediately lamps were lighted and servants began moving about. Finally the old woman tottered into the room, completely exhausted. Her women removed her wraps and proceeded to get her in readiness for the night. Herman watched the proceedings with a curiosity not unmingled with superstitious fear. When at last she was attired in cap and gown, the old woman looked less uncanny than when she wore her ball-dress of blue brocade.
She sat down in an easy chair beside a table, as she was in the habit of doing before retiring, and her women withdrew. As the old lady sat swaying to and fro, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings, Herman crept out of his hiding-place.
At the slight noise the old woman opened her eyes, and gazed at the intruder with a half-dazed expression.
“Have no fear, I beg of you,” said Herman, in a calm voice. “I have not come to harm you, but to ask a favor of you instead.”
The Countess looked at him in silence, seemingly without comprehending him. Herman thought she might be deaf, so he put his lips close to her ear and repeated his remark. The listener remained perfectly mute.
“You could make my fortune without its costing you anything,” pleaded the young man; “only tell me the three cards which are sure to win, and--”
Herman paused as the old woman opened her lips as if about to speak.
“It was only a jest; I swear to you, it was only a jest,” came from the withered lips.
“There was no jesting about it. Remember Tchaplitzky, who, thanks to you, was able to pay his debts.”
An expression of interior agitation passed over the face of the old woman; then she relapsed into her former apathy.
“Will you tell me the names of the magic cards, or not?” asked Herman after a pause.
There was no reply.
The young man then drew a pistol from his pocket, exclaiming: “You old witch, I’ll force you to tell me!”
At the sight of the weapon the Countess gave a second sign of life. She threw back her head and put out her hands as if to protect herself; then they dropped and she sat motionless.
Herman grasped her arm roughly, and was about to renew his threats, when he saw that she was dead!
* * * * *
Seated in her room, still in her ball-dress, Lisaveta gave herself up to her reflections. She had expected to find the young officer there, but she felt relieved to see that he was not.
Strangely enough, that very night at the ball, Tomsky had rallied her about her preference for the young officer, assuring her that he knew more than she supposed he did.
“Of whom are you speaking?” she had asked in alarm, fearing her adventure had been discovered.
“Of the remarkable man,” was the reply. “His name is Herman.”
Lisa made no reply.
“This Herman,” continued Tomsky, “is a romantic character; he has the profile of a Napoleon and the heart of a Mephistopheles. It is said he has at least three crimes on his conscience. But how pale you are.”
“It is only a slight headache. But why do you talk to me of this Herman?”
“Because I believe he has serious intentions concerning you.”
“Where has he seen me?”
“At church, perhaps, or on the street.”
The conversation was interrupted at this point, to the great regret of the young girl. The words of Tomsky made a deep impression upon her, and she realized how imprudently she had acted. She was thinking of all this and a great deal more when the door of her apartment suddenly opened, and Herman stood before her. She drew back at sight of him, trembling violently.
“Where have you been?” she asked in a frightened whisper.