Chekhov, who has been called the Russian De Maupassant, was born of humble parents in the suburbs of Moscow in 1860, and died of consumption in 1904. Though he received the degree of M.D., he never practised medicine. His was a nature far more poetical than that of De Maupassant, and it would perhaps be nearer right to call him a Russian Stevenson, for, like him, he had a lifelong struggle against illness, and, like him, illness and suffering mellowed and sweetened his character. Chekhov was an artist to his finger-tips, in a sense and to a degree beyond that of any of his Russian predecessors.
A WORK OF ART
THE STORY OF A GIFT
BY ANTON CHEKHOV
Translated by Archibald J. Wolfe. Copyright, 1905,
by the Short Stories Co., Limited.
Alexander Smirnoff, the only son of his mother, holding in his hand some object carefully wrapped in a newspaper, an angelic smile on his youthful face, entered the consulting-room of Dr. Koshelkoff.
“Ah, dear youth!” exclaimed the doctor, “how are you? What is the good news?”
Confused and excited, the young man replied:
“Doctor, my mother is sending her regards—I am her only son, you know—You saved my life. Your skill—We hardly know how to thank you!”