{"id":881,"date":"2024-11-03T02:59:45","date_gmt":"2024-11-03T02:59:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/?p=881"},"modified":"2024-11-03T02:59:45","modified_gmt":"2024-11-03T02:59:45","slug":"vanka-by-anton-chekhov","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/?p=881","title":{"rendered":"Vanka by Anton Chekhov"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Vanka by <a href=\"https:\/\/quizlit.org\/the-schoolmaster-by-anton-chekhov\">Anton Chekhov<\/a> was published in 1886. It tells the story of a young orphan boy, Vanka, who has been apprenticed to a cobbler in Moscow.<\/p>\n<p><em>This post may contain affiliate links that earn us a commission at no extra cost to you.<\/em><\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Vanka by Anton Chekhov<\/h2>\n<div class=\"epyt-video-wrapper\">\n<div class=\"__youtube_prefs__ epyt-facade no-lazyload\"><button class=\"epyt-facade-play\"><\/button><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Vanka by Anton Chekhov<\/h3>\n<p>Nine-year-old Vanka Zhukov, who had been apprentice to the shoemaker Aliakhin for three months, did not go to bed the night before Christmas. He waited till the master and mistress and the assistants had gone out to an early church-service, to procure from his employer\u2019s cupboard a small phial of ink and a penholder with a rusty nib; then, spreading a crumpled sheet of paper in front of him, he began to write.<\/p>\n<p>Before, however, deciding to make the first letter, he looked furtively at the door and at the window, glanced several times at the sombre ikon, on either side of which stretched shelves full of lasts, and heaved a heart-rending sigh. The sheet of paper was spread on a bench, and he himself was on his knees in front of it.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDear Grandfather Konstantin Makarych,\u201d he wrote, \u201cI am writing you a letter. I wish you a Happy Christmas and all God\u2019s holy best. I have no mamma or papa, you are all I have.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Vanka gave a look towards the window in which shone the reflection of his candle, and vividly pictured to himself his grandfather, Konstantin Makarych, who was night-watchman at Messrs. Zhivarev. He was a small, lean, unusually lively and active old man of sixty-five, always smiling and blear-eyed. All day he slept in the servants\u2019 kitchen or trifled with the cooks. At night, enveloped in an ample sheep-skin coat, he strayed round the domain tapping with his cudgel. <\/p>\n<p>Behind him, each hanging its head, walked the old bitch Kashtanka, and the dog Viun, so named because of his black coat and long body and his resemblance to a loach. Viun was an unusually civil and friendly dog, looking as kindly at a stranger as at his masters, but he was not to be trusted. <\/p>\n<p>Beneath his deference and humbleness was hid the most inquisitorial maliciousness. No one knew better than he how to sneak up and take a bite at a leg, or slip into the larder or steal a muzhik\u2019s chicken. More than once they had nearly broken his hind-legs, twice he had been hung up, every week he was nearly flogged to death, but he always recovered.<\/p>\n<p>At this moment, for certain, Vanka\u2019s grandfather must be standing at the gate, blinking his eyes at the bright red windows of the village church, stamping his feet in their high-felt boots, and jesting with the people in the yard; his cudgel will be hanging from his belt, he will be hugging himself with cold, giving a little dry, old man\u2019s cough, and at times pinching a servant-girl or a cook.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWon\u2019t we take some snuff?\u201d he asks, holding out his snuff-box to the women. The women take a pinch of snuff, and sneeze.<\/p>\n<p>The old man goes into indescribable ecstasies, breaks into loud laughter, and cries:<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOff with it, it will freeze to your nose!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He gives his snuff to the dogs, too. Kashtanka sneezes, twitches her nose, and walks away offended. Viun deferentially refuses to sniff and wags his tail. It is glorious weather, not a breath of wind, clear, and frosty; it is a dark night, but the whole village, its white roofs and streaks of smoke from the chimneys, the trees silvered with hoar-frost, and the snowdrifts, you can see it all. The sky scintillates with bright twinkling stars, and the Milky Way stands out so clearly that it looks as if it had been polished and rubbed over with snow for the holidays\u2026<\/p>\n<p>Vanka sighs, dips his pen in the ink, and continues to write:<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLast night I got a thrashing, my master dragged me by my hair into the yard, and belaboured me with a shoe-maker\u2019s stirrup, because, while I was rocking his brat in its cradle, I unfortunately fell asleep. And during the week, my mistress told me to clean a herring, and I began by its tail, so she took the herring and stuck its snout into my face. The assistants tease me, send me to the tavern for vodka, make me steal the master\u2019s cucumbers, and the master beats me with whatever is handy. <\/p>\n<p>Food there is none; in the morning it\u2019s bread, at dinner gruel, and in the evening bread again. As for tea or sour-cabbage soup, the master and the mistress themselves guzzle that. They make me sleep in the vestibule, and when their brat cries, I don\u2019t sleep at all, but have to rock the cradle. Dear Grandpapa, for Heaven\u2019s sake, take me away from here, home to our village, I can\u2019t bear this any more\u2026 I bow to the ground to you, and will pray to God for ever and ever, take me from here or I shall die\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The corners of Vanka\u2019s mouth went down, he rubbed his eyes with his dirty fist, and sobbed.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ll grate your tobacco for you,\u201d he continued, \u201cI\u2019ll pray to God for you, and if there is anything wrong, then flog me like the grey goat. And if you really think I shan\u2019t find work, then I\u2019ll ask the manager, for Christ\u2019s sake, to let me clean the boots, or I\u2019ll go instead of Fedya as underherdsman. <\/p>\n<p>Dear Grandpapa, I can\u2019t bear this any more, it\u2019ll kill me\u2026 I wanted to run away to our village, but I have no boots, and I was afraid of the frost, and when I grow up I\u2019ll look after you, no one shall harm you, and when you die I\u2019ll pray for the repose of your soul, just like I do for mamma Pelagueya.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAs for Moscow, it is a large town, there are all gentlemen\u2019s houses, lots of horses, no sheep, and the dogs are not vicious. The children don\u2019t come round at Christmas with a star, no one is allowed to sing in the choir, and once I saw in a shop window hooks on a line and fishing rods, all for sale, and for every kind of fish, awfully convenient. <\/p>\n<p>And there was one hook which would catch a sheat-fish weighing a pound. And there are shops with guns, like the master\u2019s, and I am sure they must cost 100 rubles each. And in the meat-shops there are woodcocks, partridges, and hares, but who shot them or where they come from, the shopman won\u2019t say.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDear Grandpapa, and when the masters give a Christmas tree, take a golden walnut and hide it in my green box. Ask the young lady, Olga Ignatyevna, for it, say it\u2019s for Vanka.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Vanka sighed convulsively, and again stared at the window. He remembered that his grandfather always went to the forest for the Christmas tree, and took his grandson with him. What happy times! The frost crackled, his grandfather crackled, and as they both did, Vanka did the same. Then before cutting down the Christmas tree his grandfather smoked his pipe, took a long pinch of snuff, and made fun of poor frozen little Vanka\u2026 The young fir trees, wrapt in hoar-frost, stood motionless, waiting for which of them would die. Suddenly a hare springing from somewhere would dart over the snowdrift\u2026 His grandfather could not help shouting:<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCatch it, catch it, catch it! Ah, short-tailed devil!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>When the tree was down, his grandfather dragged it to the master\u2019s house, and there they set about decorating it. The young lady, Olga Ignatyevna, Vanka\u2019s great friend, busied herself most about it. When little Vanka\u2019s mother, Pelagueya, was still alive, and was servant-woman in the house, Olga Ignatyevna used to stuff him with sugar-candy, and, having nothing to do, taught him to read, write, count up to one hundred, and even to dance the quadrille. When Pelagueya died, they placed the orphan Vanka in the kitchen with his grandfather, and from the kitchen he was sent to Moscow to Aliakhin, the shoemaker.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCome quick, dear Grandpapa,\u201d continued Vanka, \u201cI beseech you for Christ\u2019s sake take me from here. Have pity on a poor orphan, for here they beat me, and I am frightfully hungry, and so sad that I can\u2019t tell you, I cry all the time. The other day the master hit me on the head with a last; I fell to the ground, and only just returned to life. My life is a misfortune, worse than any dog\u2019s\u2026 I send greetings to Aliona, to one-eyed Tegor, and the coachman, and don\u2019t let any one have my mouth-organ. I remain, your grandson, Ivan Zhukov, dear Grandpapa, do come.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Vanka folded his sheet of paper in four, and put it into an envelope purchased the night before for a kopek. He thought a little, dipped the pen into the ink, and wrote the address:<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe village, to my grandfather.\u201d He then scratched his head, thought again, and added: \u201cKonstantin Makarych.\u201d Pleased at not having been interfered with in his writing, he put on his cap, and, without putting on his sheep-skin coat, ran out in his shirt-sleeves into the street.<\/p>\n<p>The shopman at the poulterer\u2019s, from whom he had inquired the night before, had told him that letters were to be put into post-boxes, and from there they were conveyed over the whole earth in mail troikas by drunken post-boys and to the sound of bells. Vanka ran to the first post-box and slipped his precious letter into the slit.<\/p>\n<p>An hour afterwards, lulled by hope, he was sleeping soundly. In his dreams he saw a stove, by the stove his grandfather sitting with his legs dangling down, barefooted, and reading a letter to the cooks, and Viun walking round the stove wagging his tail.<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Best Anton Chekhov Books to Read<\/h2>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3KYUco1\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3W7HVDs\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/47BjWzt\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3sCJttj\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><br \/>\nClick on the image to buy a copy<\/p>\n<p>Narrated by Alan Davis Drake, courtesy of Librivox<\/p>\n<p>If you enjoyed Vanka by Anton Chekhov, check out <a href=\"https:\/\/quizlit.org\/oysters-by-anton-chekhov\">Oysters by Anton Chekhov<\/a><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Vanka by Anton Chekhov was published in 1886. It tells the story of a young orphan boy, Vanka, who has been apprenticed to a cobbler in Moscow. This post may contain affiliate links that earn us a commission at no extra cost to you. Vanka by Anton Chekhov Vanka by Anton Chekhov Nine-year-old Vanka Zhukov, [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":0,"featured_media":882,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-881","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-bookreviews"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/881"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=881"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/881\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/882"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=881"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=881"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=881"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}