“Calm yourself, Madam, and tell us what is the matter. We will do all we can for you.”
But he felt ashamed of these politely sympathetic words when he finally succeeded in learning that the woman was the mother of Mitia Spiridonoff, and that the hope and future pride of the Conservatory had that morning hanged himself in his room by a leather belt. He was further shocked to learn that Anton Egoritsch, that honorable elderly man, whom they had all so often seen leading his son by the hand, had lost his reason, that he neither saw nor heard, but sat hugging Mitia’s violin, kissing it and saying: “This is my son, my son. He will make us famous.”
When Onkel heard of the catastrophe, he staggered and fell back heavily in his chair. He narrowly escaped a paralytic stroke. Through Mitia’s death the greatest chance of his life to acquire fame was lost.
In half an hour the Conservatory was in a state of horror. The terrible news had rapidly spread from mouth to mouth. The ladies cried, fainted, or went into hysterics.
The following day the entire Conservatory was at the funeral of Mitia Spiridonoff. His playfellows carried the small coffin, followed by his grief-stricken mother and little sisters. Anton Egoritsch alone was not there. They had been compelled to send him to the asylum. He had broken into ravings and cursings by Mitia’s coffin.
A WORK OF ART
AND
THE SLANDERER
BY ANTON PAVLOVITCH CHEKHOV
