The Greatest Novellas & Short Stories of Anton Chekhov. Anton Chekhov
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Название: The Greatest Novellas & Short Stories of Anton Chekhov
Автор: Anton Chekhov
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 9788027200122
isbn:
“It has got away! got away!” cried Pyotr Demyanitch, looking ferocious. “Where is he, the scoundrel? Under the table? You wait…”
My uncle dragged the kitten from under the table and shook him in the air.
“Wretched little beast,” he muttered, smacking him on the ear. “Take that, take that! Will you shirk it next time? Wr-r-r-etch… .”
Next day Praskovya heard again the summons.
“Praskovya, there is a mouse caught! Bring the kitten here!”
After the outrage of the previous day the kitten had taken refuge under the stove and had not come out all night. When Praskovya pulled him out and, carrying him by the scruff of the neck into the study, set him down before the mousetrap, he trembled all over and mewed piteously.
“Come, let him feel at home first,” Pyotr Demyanitch commanded. “Let him look and sniff. Look and learn! Stop, plague take you!” he shouted, noticing that the kitten was backing away from the mousetrap. “I’ll thrash you! Hold him by the ear! That’s it…. Well now, set him down before the trap… .”
My uncle slowly lifted the door of the trap… the mouse whisked under the very nose of the kitten, flung itself against Praskovya’s hand and fled under the cupboard; the kitten, feeling himself free, took a desperate bound and retreated under the sofa.
“He’s let another mouse go!” bawled Pyotr Demyanitch. “Do you call that a cat? Nasty little beast! Thrash him! thrash him by the mousetrap!”
When the third mouse had been caught, the kitten shivered all over at the sight of the mousetrap and its inmate, and scratched Praskovya’s hand…. After the fourth mouse my uncle flew into a rage, kicked the kitten, and said:
“Take the nasty thing away! Get rid of it! Chuck it away! It’s no earthly use!”
A year passed, the thin, frail kitten had turned into a solid and sagacious tom-cat. One day he was on his way by the back yards to an amatory interview. He had just reached his destination when he suddenly heard a rustle, and thereupon caught sight of a mouse which ran from a water-trough towards a stable; my hero’s hair stood on end, he arched his back, hissed, and trembling all over, took to ignominious flight.
Alas! sometimes I feel myself in the ludicrous position of the flying cat. Like the kitten, I had in my day the honour of being taught Latin by my uncle. Now, whenever I chance to see some work of classical antiquity, instead of being moved to eager enthusiasm, I begin recalling, ut consecutivum, the irregular verbs, the sallow grey face of my uncle, the ablative absolute…. I turn pale, my hair stands up on my head, and, like the cat, I take to ignominious flight.
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