Chekhov. The Writer.

In a room adjacent to the tea establishment of the merchant Ershakov, behind a tall desk, sat Ershakov himself, a young man, fashionably dressed, but with a crumpled look and evidently having lived somewhat riotously in his time. Judging by his flamboyant handwriting with curlicues, his hairstyle a la Capoule and the delicate cigar aroma, he was no stranger to European civilisation. But the aura of culture wafting from him grew even stronger when the office boy came in and announced

“The writer has arrived.”

“Ah! Call him in... But tell him he must leave his galoshes in the shop.”

A minute later a grey, balding old man comes into the room wearing a rusty coloured, worn overcoat with a red, frostbitten face and with an expression of weakness and uncertainty which is common to all those addicted to drink, even if only in small quantities.

“Ah, Greetings...” said Ershakov, not looking at the newcomer. “Have you brought something good, Mr Geinim.”

Ershakov confused the words ‘genie’ and ‘Geine’ and he merged them together into the single word Geinim.

“Well Sir,” Geinim replied, “I’ve completed your instructions. It’s ready Sir.”

“So quickly?”

“In three days, Zaxar Semyonich, not to mention an advert, one could create a novel. For an advert one hour is all that’s needed.”

“Is that all? And yet you always bargain with me as if a whole year is needed. Well then show me, what have you come up with?”

Geinim took out of his pocket several crumpled sheets of paper scribbled over in pencil and went up to the desk.

“It’s still a rough draft, with all the general features Sir. I’ll read it to you and you scrutinise it, and if you find any mistakes, let me know Sir. It’s not difficult to make a mistake, Zaxar Semyonich... Would you believe it, I have written adverts for three shops at the same time. It would be enough to set even Shakespeare’s head in a whirl.”

Geinim put on his spectacles, pursed his brows and started to read oratorically in a melancholy tone.

“The season of eighteen eighty five eighty six. The supplier of Chinese teas in all the towns of European and Asian Russia, and abroad, Z. S. Ershakov. The company was founded in eighteen forty four. – ‘This is all introductory, you understand, it will be decorated with ornaments, between coats of arms. For one merchant I did an advert and he took as an emblazonment the coats of arms of several towns. You could do the same, and I have thought up for you, Zaxar Semyonich, a suitable ornament, a lion holding a lyre in his teeth. Now I will carry on.’ Two words for our customers. Dear Gentlemen. Not the political events of recent times, nor the cold indifference, which is penetrating deeper and deeper into the layers of our society, nor the flood waters of the Volga, which but recently have been described by the better part of our newspapers, nothing at all will divert us from our course. The long years of establishment of our company, together with the favourable disposition which we have secured from our customers, allow us to stand four square on the ground and not change our eternally established system of management, both in relation to the owners of plantations and also in relation to the diligent fulfilment of customers’ orders. Our motto is sufficiently well known. It is expressed in a few, but nevertheless very significant words – ‘Diligence, cheapness, and rapid service’!!”

“Very good! Excellent!” interrupted Ershakov, fidgeting on his chair. “I never imagined you would write anything like that. Very clever. There is just one thing, my good friend, ... we need to introduce a bit of shading, to muddy the waters a bit, you know, to use some trickery. We are publicising here that the company has just received a consignment of the first select pickings of the spring tea crop of the current year 1885. Is that not so? But we need apart from that to show that this same crop of recently received tea has been lying in our warehouses for the last three years, but nevertheless, it is as if we imported it from China only last week.”

“I understand Sir. The public will not notice the contradiction. At the start of our description we’ll write that the consignment of tea has only just been received, then at the end we’ll say something like ‘Having a large store of tea on which duty has already been paid, we are able to offer it at last year’s rate without loss to ourselves.’ And so on. Well Sir, on the next page comes the price list. This also will have coats of arms and ornamental decoration. Under them in large lettering ‘Price List of Choice Fuchong, Kyaxting and Baikovy tea from the first spring harvest, just received from our newly acquired plantations.’ Then further on... ‘We direct the attention of true lovers of tea to the Lansing varieties, of which the one greatly deserving of love and respect is The Chinese Emblem, or The Envy of Competitors, three roubles and fifty kopecks. Among the rose scented teas we particularly recommend the Bogdixansky Rose, two roubles, and Chinese Maiden’s Eyes, one rouble eighty kopecks.’ After the price list follows in a small type face details of weights and despatch. Then about discounts and special offers: ‘The majority of our competitors, hoping to tempt customers, throw out a bait in the form of a special offer. We, from our point of view, are opposed to such suspect practices, and we offer to all our customers a free gift, replacing all those allures with which our competitors regale their victims. Every customer who spends more than fifty roubles with us may choose a free gift from the following five items: a teapot of Britannia metal; one hundred visiting cards; a map of the city of Moscow; a tea caddy in the form of a nude Chinese maiden; a novel – The Astonished Groom, or The Bride under the Trough, a tale by the wit and bon viveur Igrivov.’

Having finished his reading and after making a few corrections Geinim quickly wrote out the advert in a fair copy and handed it to Ershakov. After this there followed a silence. Both felt very awkward, as if they had just undertaken some dirty trickery.

“Will you give orders for me to receive the money now, or later?” asked Geinim hesitantly.

“Whenever you wish. Now if you like.” replied Ershakov carelessly. Go into the shop and take goods to the value of five and a half roubles.”

“I would prefer money, Zaxar Semyonich.”

“I don’t have the facilities for paying out money. I pay everyone with tea and sugar – you, the choristers where I am leader, the yard men.”

“Is my work to be put on the same level as that of yard men and choristers, Zaxar Semyonich? It is after all intellectual toil.”

“What sort of toil? You sat down, you wrote it, and there’s an end of it. You can’t eat a piece of writing, you can’t drink it... it’s a piffling thing!”

“Hmm... So that’s what you think about writing,” said Geinim, taking offence. “You can’t eat it, you can’t drink it. But what you don’t seem to understand is that perhaps, when I wrote that advert, I suffered inwardly, in my soul. You write, and at the same time you feel that you are leading all of Russia into deception. Give me money, Zaxar Semyonich!”

“This is getting irksome, dear chap. It’s not good to pester one so.”

“Very well then. I’ll take granulated sugar then. The lads in the shop will buy it back from me at eighty kopecks a pound. I’ll lose forty kopecks in the transaction, but what can one do? Good day Sir.”

Geinim turned to leave, but by the door he stopped and sighed and said gloomily “I have deceived Russia, all of Russia. I have betrayed the fatherland for a crust of bread! Ahh!”

After which he left. Ershakov lit a Havana cigar, and the room was filled even more strongly with the fragrance of a cultured man.

Chekhov

Ellisland