Subtly Worded and Other Stories

by Teffi, Robert Chandler (Translator), Anne Marie Jackson (Translator), Clare Kitson (Translator), Natalia Wase (Translator)

Overview

A selection of the finest stories by this female Chekhov, now available in a striking new Pushkin Blues format.

Teffi's genius with the short form made her a literary star in pre-revolutionary Russia, beloved by Tsar Nicholas II and Vladimir Lenin alike. These stories, taken from the whole of her career, show the full range of her gifts. Extremely funny-a wry, scathing observer of society-she is also capable, as capable even as Chekhov, of miraculous subtlety and depth of character.

There are stories here from her own life (as a child, going to meet Tolstoy to plead for the life of War and Peace's Prince Bolkonsky, or, much later, her strange, charged meetings with the already-legendary Rasputin). There are stories of émigré society, its members held together by mutual repulsion. There are stories of people misunderstanding each other or misrepresenting themselves. And throughout there is a sly, sardonic wit and a deep, compelling intelligence.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781782277309
Publisher:	Steerforth Press
Publication date:	06/01/2021
Series:	Pushkin Blues
Pages:	304
Product dimensions:	5.10(w) x 7.76(h) x 0.72(d)

About the Author

Nadezhda Teffi was a phenomenally popular writer in pre-revolutionary Russia - a favourite of Tsar Nicholas II and Vladimir Lenin alike. She was born in 1872 into a prominent St Petersburg family and emigrated from Bolshevik Russia in 1919. She eventually settled in Paris, where she became an important figure in the émigré literary scene, and where she lived until her death in 1952. A master of the short form, in her lifetime Teffi published countless stories, plays and feuilletons. After her death, she was gradually forgotten, but the collapse of the Soviet Union brought about her rediscovery by Russian readers. Now, nearly a century after her emigration, she once again enjoys critical acclaim and a wide readership in her motherland.

Read an Excerpt

The Corsican
The interrogation had been dragging on, and the police officer felt exhausted; he declared a break and went off to his office for a rest.
With a sweet smile of satisfaction he was approaching the couch; suddenly he stopped, his face taking on a twisted look, as if he had seen something foul.
The other side of the wall, a loud bass voice was singing,
clearly enunciating each word: “Forward, forward, O
working class!”
Not quite able to keep up with this, out of time and out of tune, a timid and hoarse little voice was singing: “Fowad, fowad!”
“What on earth’s going on?” the officer exclaimed, pointing to the wall.
The clerk straightened up a little in his chair.
“I have already had occasion to report to you on the matter of this agent.”
“What are you on about? Keep it simple.”
“Agent Fialkin has expressed a pressing and imperative wish to enter the ranks of our provocateurs. This is the second winter running that he has been on duty by the
Mikhailov tramway. He’s a quiet chap. Only he’s ambitious beyond his station in life. Here I am, he says, wasting my youth and expending the best of my strength on the trams.
He is concerned about the slow progress of his career on the trams and the impossibility of applying his exceptional abilities—that is, supposing he possesses such abilities.”
“For juthtith thake we thpill our blood,” went the thin voice behind the wall.
“Out of tune!” said the bass.
“And is he talented?” asked the officer.
“He’s ambitious—even excessively ambitious. He wants to become a provocateur, but he doesn’t know a single revolutionary song. He’s been moaning on and on about this.
And so police constable No. 4711 has come to his rescue.
No. 4711 knows every song perfectly—you’d think he had the music right there in front of him. Now, of course, most constables know the words well enough. You can hardly block your ears when you’re out on the streets. But this one has a fine feel for music as well. So he’s teaching Fialkin.”
“Well, well! And so now they’re belting out the
‘Warszawianka’,” the officer murmured dreamily. “Ambition’s no bad thing. It can help a man get on in the world. Take
Napoleon. A simple Corsican, but he achieved… quite something…”
“The people’s flag is burning red. It’s sheltered oft our martyred dead,” growled constable No. 4711.
“They seem to be on another tune already,” said the officer, suddenly suspicious. “Is he teaching him all the revolutionary songs in one go?”
“Every last one of them. Fialkin’s in a hurry. He thinks there’s an important conspiracy being hatched.”
“Well, there’s certainly no lack of ambition round here!”
“The see-eed of the future,” Fialkin bleated from behind the wall.
“The energy of the Devil,” sighed the officer. “They say that when Napoleon was just a simple Corsican…”
From the staircase below came muffled thumps and a kind of roar.
“And what’s that?” asked the officer, raising his eyebrows.
“That’s our lot, on the ground floor. They eat there.
They’re getting agitated.”
“What about?”
“Seems they can hear the singing. They don’t like it.”
“Damn it! This really is a bit awkward. People out on the street might hear, too. They’ll think there’s a protest meeting here in this building.”
“Damn you!” said the bass the other side of the wall.
“Howling like a dog! Is that the way a revolutionary sings?
A revolutionary sings with an open heart. He makes a clear sound. Every word can be heard. But you just whimper into your cheeks, and your eyes keep darting about. Keep your eyes still! I’m saying this for the last time. Or I’ll up and leave. If you’re really so keen to have lessons, you can go and find yourself a Maximalist!”
“Now he’s losing his temper,” grinned the clerk. “A real
Vera Figner.”
“Ambition! Ambition!” the officer repeated. “And he’s taken it into his head to be a provocateur… No, brother,
there’s no rose without thorns. Court martials don’t have time for long deliberations. Get yourself arrested, brother,
and no one will bother to check whether you’re a revolutionary or whether you’re the purest of provocateurs. You’ll swing for it anyway.”
“Gluttons grow fat on workers’ sweat,” roared the bass,
letting himself go.
“Ow! It’s even making my teeth ache! Can’t anyone find a way to talk him out of all this?”
“But how can they?” sighed the clerk. “He’s a man possessed.
People are all such careerists nowadays.”

Table of Contents

Introduction 1

Part I Before the Revolution

A Radiant Easter 21

The Corsican 28

Will-Power 32

The Hat 35

The Lifeless Beast 40

Jealousy 50

The Quiet Backwater 57

Duty and Honour 66

Part II 1916-19: Rasputin, Revolution and Civil War

Petrograd Monologue 75

One Day in the Future 79

One of Us 84

Rasputin 91

Part III 1920s and 1930s in Paris

Que Fairs? 139

Subtly Worded 144

Marquita 149

My First Tolstoy 159

Heart of a Valkyrie 165

Ernest with the Languages 173

Part IV 1930s: Magic Tales

"The Kind that Walk" 187

The Dog (A Story from a Stranger) 196

Part V Last Stories

The Blind One 235

Thy Will 245

And Time Was No More 269

Acknowledgements 291

Notes 293