Fortune Teller

Anyone with half a brain will realise that this incident couldn’t have happened here or in France
or Germany. As is well known, here and in those countries judges are required to punish wrong-
doers according to the letter of the law rather than according to their ineffable acuity as superior
gentlemen. This story involves a judge who made a judgement based not on the relevant sections
of law but on his trusty common sense. So, as you will see, it has to do with England or, to be
more precise, London, or, to be even more precise, Kensington; or perhaps Brompton or
Bayswater – anyway, somewhere thereabouts. The judge was His Honour Judge Kelly and the
woman who was the object of his ineffable acuity was Miss Edith Myers.

I should explain that this otherwise respectable lady had aroused the suspicions of Police
Inspector McCleary. “My dear,” said McCleary one night to his wife. “I can’t get that Mrs Myers
out of my head. I’d love to know how she makes her money. Just imagine: even though it’s
winter, she’s still sending her servant to buy asparagus! I’ve also discovered she has about fifteen
visitors every day – everything from Covent Garden stall-holders to countesses. And I’m well
aware it could all be a front for something else: prostitution, spying or whatever. I need to find
out what’s going on.”

“Why don’t you just leave it to me, Bob,” said the redoubtable Mrs McCleary. And so it came to
pass that, the very next day, that good lady went to visit Mrs Myers in Bayswater or Marylebone
or wherever. Of course she’d taken the precaution of removing her wedding-ring and doing
herself up like a young girl – in a mutton-dressed-as-lamb sort of way, I might add. And she
pretended to be appropriately nervous as, having rung the bell, she waited to be shown in to Mrs
Myers.

“Sit down, my dear child,” said the old lady, after having had a good look at her simpering
visitor. “What can I do for you?”

“I…,” spluttered Mrs McCleary. “I… I would like… I’ll be twenty tomorrow and I’d be awfully
glad to know what the future holds in store for me.”

“But, Miss… Miss?” asked Mrs Myers, picking up a pack of cards at the same time, and
immediately beginning to shuffle them.

“Jones,” said Mrs McCleary, almost in a whisper.

“My dear Miss Jones,” Mrs Myers continued. “I think you’re mistaken. I don’t do card-readings
– except, of course, here and there, for old friends, as us old women tend to do. But if you’d like
to split the pack into five with your left hand… That’s right… So I do do card readings from
time to time, of course, but just for pleasure. Oh look!” she said, as she turned up the first pile.
“Diamonds. That means money. And the jack of hearts! That’s a lovely card.”

“Ah,” said Mrs McCleary. “And what next?”

“The jack of diamonds,” said Mrs Myers, as she turned over the second pile. “And the ten of
spades. That means travel. But then,” she exclaimed, “we’ve got clubs! Clubs always mean
adversity, but here’s the queen of hearts at the end!”

“And what does that mean?” asked Mrs McCleary, trying her hardest to look amazed.

“Diamonds again,” muttered Mrs Myers, turning over the third pile. “My dear child, you’re in
for a lot of money. But I’m still not sure whether it’s you who’ll be travelling, or someone close
to you.”

“I do have to go and visit my aunt in Southampton,” said Mrs McCleary.

“Oh, it will be further than that,” said Mrs Myers, turning over the fourth pile. “And somebody’s
going to try to stop you. An elderly man…”

“Probably my father!” Mrs McCleary exclaimed.

“So there we have it!” said Mrs Myers triumphantly, looking at the upturned fifth pile. “Dear
Miss Jones, this is the most beautiful spade I’ve ever seen. Within a year you’ll be married to a
fabulously wealthy young man, a millionaire, a businessman – because he travels a lot – but
before that you’ll have to overcome difficult obstacles: an elderly gentleman will try to prevent
your marriage. So you’ll have to be obstinate. And after you’ve got married you’ll move far
away from here, overseas most likely… That will be one guinea, please, for the Christian
missions amongst the poor Africans.”

“I’m so grateful to you,” said Mrs McCleary, taking one pound and one shilling from her purse.
Very very grateful. But may I ask, Mrs Myers, what it would cost without the adversity?”

“You can’t bribe a fortune-teller,” the old lady said in a tone of injured dignity. “What does your
father do, by the way?”

“He works for the police,” lied the young lady, looking as innocent as she could. “He’s a secret
agent.”

“Aha!” said the old lady. She pulled three cards out from the pack. “That’s bad, very bad. Please
tell him, my dear child, that he’s in grave danger. He should come to see me to find out more. A
lot of Scotland Yard people come and ask me to read the cards for them. And they tell me
everything that’s worrying them. So, send him to see me. You say he’s in the political
department? Mr Jones? Tell him I’ll be expecting him. Goodbye, my dear Miss Jones… Next
please!”

“I don’t like the sound of it,” Mr McCleary said, rubbing the back of his head. “Not at all, Katy.
That woman was far too interested in your late father. And apart from that her name isn’t Myers:
it’s Meierhof and she’s from Lübeck. A damn German!” he grumbled. “What shall we do about
her? I don’t doubt for a moment she’s getting stuff out of people that’s none of her business… I
know! I’ll report her to the high-ups.”
And that’s what Mr McCleary did. Somewhat surprisingly the high-ups took it all seriously, and
thus it was that Mrs Myers was eventually summoned to appear before His Honour Judge Kelly.

“So, Mrs Myers,” said he, “what’s all this business with the cards?”

“Why do you ask?” said the old lady. “One has to earn one’s keep somehow. At my age I’m
hardly going to go and dance in vaudeville!”

“That’s all very well,” said Judge Kelly, “but I’ve had a complaint that you’re not reading the
cards properly. And that, my dear Mrs Myers, is just the same as if you were selling bars of clay
instead of chocolate. If they’re going to pay a guinea, people are entitled to expect a proper
reading. Would you kindly tell me why you’ve set yourself up as a fortune teller when you don’t
know how to do it properly?”

“But people don’t complain,” the old lady replied. “The thing is, I tell them things they like to
hear. And the pleasure they get from that is surely worth a few shillings. And sometimes I even
get it right. Just the other day a lady said to me, ‘No-one has ever read the cards and given me
such good advice as you, Mrs Myers!’ She lives in St John’s Wood and is getting a divorce from
her husband…”

“But,” said His Honour, “here we have a witness to what you’ve been getting up to. Please tell us
about it, Mrs McCleary.”

“Mrs Myers read the cards for me,” said Mrs McCleary. “She told me that within a year I’d be
married, that my husband would be a wealthy young man and that we’d move overseas…”

“Why overseas, exactly?” asked the judge.

“Because there was a ten of spades in the second pile, and that means travel,” said Mrs Myers.

“Nonsense!” said the judge. “The ten of spades means good fortune. It’s the jack of spades that
means travel; when it comes together with the seven of diamonds, that’s when it means travel to
far-away places and good fortune. You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, Mrs Myers! And you
told our witness here that within the year she’d marry a wealthy young man. But Mrs McCleary
is already married; she married Police Inspector McCleary three years ago, and a fine man he is
too. So how do you explain this nonsense, Mrs Myers?”

“Well now,” said the old lady, perfectly calmly. “That’s how it goes sometimes. This person
came to me all dolled up like a silly girl. But I noticed that her left glove was torn. So, someone
who’s not rolling in money, but wants to give the appearance that she is. And she told me she
was twenty, whereas in fact she’s twenty-five…”

“Twenty-four!” interrupted Mrs McCleary forcefully.

“Well, it’s all the same. So she’d like to get married – that’s to say, she made out she was single.
So I foresaw a wedding for her and a rich bridegroom. That’s what seemed to me the most
appropriate.”

“And what about the adversity?” demanded Mrs McCleary. “The elderly gentleman and the
journey abroad?”

“For something more to say,” was Mrs Myers’ simple reply. “For a guinea you have to say more
than just a couple of things.”

“I’ve heard all I need to hear,” said the judge. “There’s no getting out of it, Mrs Myers: reading
the cards like that is a swindle. Fortune tellers have to understand the cards. It’s true there are
various theories about it, but the ten of spades never – and I emphasise the word ‘never’ – means
a journey. You will pay a fine of fifty pounds, just like tradespeople who wrongly describe their
wares. There’s also a suspicion that you’re a spy, Mrs Myers, but you’re hardly going to own up
to that, are you?”

“As God is my witness…,” Mrs Myers began, but His Honour interrupted her. “Never mind:
we’ll leave that to one side. But, because you’re a foreigner without proper employment, I shall
order the police authorities to expel you from this country. Goodbye, Mrs Myers, and thank you,
Mrs McCleary. Fraudulent fortune telling is cynical and dishonest behaviour, Mrs Myers. I hope
you’ll learn your lesson.”

About a year later, Judge Kelly happened to meet Police Superintendent McCleary. “Lovely
weather we’re having,” said His Honour. “By the way, how’s Mrs McCleary?”

Mr McCleary grimaced. “Well… the thing is, Mr Kelly,” he said, clearly embarrassed, “Mrs
McCleary…the thing is… we got divorced.”

“No! Really?” said the judge. “Such an attractive young woman.”

“That was just the problem,” muttered Mr McCleary. “A young dandy took a shine to her. Some
sort of millionaire businessman from Melbourne… Of course, I tried to talk sense into her,
but…” He waved his hand. “They left for Australia last week.”
A Work Of Art
by Anton Chekhov

SASHA SMIRNOV, the only son of his mother, holding under his arm, something wrapped up
in No. 223 of the Financial News, assumed a sentimental expression, and went into Dr.
Koshelkov's consulting-room.

"Ah, dear lad!" was how the doctor greeted him. "Well! how are we feeling? What good news
have you for me?"

Sasha blinked, laid his hand on his heart and said in an agitated voice: "Mamma sends her
greetings to you, Ivan Nikolaevitch, and told me to thank you. . . . I am the only son of my
mother and you have saved my life . . . you have brought me through a dangerous illness and . . .
we do not know how to thank you."

"Nonsense, lad!" said the doctor, highly delighted. "I only did what anyone else would have done
in my place."

"I am the only son of my mother . . . we are poor people and cannot of course repay you, and we
are quite ashamed, doctor, although, however, mamma and I . . . the only son of my mother,
earnestly beg you to accept in token of our gratitude . . . this object, which . . . An object of great
value, an antique bronze. . . . A rare work of art."

"You shouldn't!" said the doctor, frowning. "What's this for!"

"No, please do not refuse," Sasha went on muttering as he unpacked the parcel. "You will wound
mamma and me by refusing. . . . It's a fine thing . . . an antique bronze. . . . It was left us by my
deceased father and we have kept it as a precious souvenir. My father used to buy antique
bronzes and sell them to connoisseurs . . . Mamma and I keep on the business now."

Sasha undid the object and put it solemnly on the table. It was a not very tall candelabra of old
bronze and artistic workmanship. It consisted of a group: on the pedestal stood two female
figures in the costume of Eve and in attitudes for the description of which I have neither the
courage nor the fitting temperament. The figures were smiling coquettishly and altogether looked
as though, had it not been for the necessity of supporting the candlestick, they would have
skipped off the pedestal and have indulged in an orgy such as is improper for the reader even to
imagine.
Looking at the present, the doctor slowly scratched behind his ear, cleared his throat and blew his
nose irresolutely.

"Yes, it certainly is a fine thing," he muttered, "but . . . how shall I express it? . . . it's . . . h'm . . .
it's not quite for family reading. It's not simply decollet but beyond anything, dash it all. . . ."

"How do you mean?"

"The serpent-tempter himself could not have invented anything worse. . . . Why, to put such a
phantasmagoria on the table would be defiling the whole flat."

"What a strange way of looking at art, doctor!" said Sasha, offended. "Why, it is an artistic thing,
look at it! There is so much beauty and elegance that it fills one's soul with a feeling of reverence
and brings a lump into one's throat! When one sees anything so beautiful one forgets everything
earthly. . . . Only look, how much movement, what an atmosphere, what expression!"

"I understand all that very well, my dear boy," the doctor interposed, "but you know I am a
family man, my children run in here, ladies come in."

"Of course if you look at it from the point of view of the crowd," said Sasha, "then this
exquisitely artistic work may appear in a certain light. . . . But, doctor, rise superior to the crowd,
especially as you will wound mamma and me by refusing it. I am the only son of my mother, you
have saved my life. . . . We are giving you the thing most precious to us and . . . and I only regret
that I have not the pair to present to you. . . ."

"Thank you, my dear fellow, I am very grateful . . . Give my respects to your mother but really
consider, my children run in here, ladies come. . . . However, let it remain! I see there's no
arguing with you."

"And there is nothing to argue about," said Sasha, relieved. "Put the candlestick here, by this
vase. What a pity we have not the pair to it! It is a pity! Well, good-bye, doctor."

After Sasha's departure the doctor looked for a long time at the candelabra, scratched behind his
ear and meditated.

"It's a superb thing, there's no denying it," he thought, "and it would be a pity to throw it away. . .
. But it's impossible for me to keep it. . . . H'm! . . . Here's a problem! To whom can I make a
present of it, or to what charity can I give it?"

After long meditation he thought of his good friend, the lawyer Uhov, to whom he was indebted
for the management of legal business.

"Excellent," the doctor decided, "it would be awkward for him as a friend to take money from
me, and it will be very suitable for me to present him with this. I will take him the devilish thing!
Luckily he is a bachelor and easy-going."
Without further procrastination the doctor put on his hat and coat, took the candelabra and went
off to Uhov's.

"How are you, friend!" he said, finding the lawyer at home. "I've come to see you . . . to thank
you for your efforts. . . . You won't take money so you must at least accept this thing here. . . .
See, my dear fellow. . . . The thing is magnificent!"

On seeing the bronze the lawyer was moved to indescribable delight.

"What a specimen!" he chuckled. "Ah, deuce take it, to think of them imagining such a thing, the
devils! Exquisite! Ravishing! Where did you get hold of such a delightful thing?"

After pouring out his ecstasies the lawyer looked timidly towards the door and said: "Only you
must carry off your present, my boy. . . . I can't take it. . . ."

"Why?" cried the doctor, disconcerted.

"Why . . . because my mother is here at times, my clients . . . besides I should be ashamed for my
servants to see it."

"Nonsense! Nonsense! Don't you dare to refuse!" said the doctor, gesticulating. "It's piggish of
you! It's a work of art! . . . What movement. . . what expression! I won't even talk of it! You will
offend me!"

"If one could plaster it over or stick on fig-leaves . . . "

But the doctor gesticulated more violently than before, and dashing out of the flat went home,
glad that he had succeeded in getting the present off his hands.

When he had gone away the lawyer examined the candelabra, fingered it all over, and then, like
the doctor, racked his brains over the question what to do with the present.

"It's a fine thing," he mused, "and it would be a pity to throw it away and improper to keep it.
The very best thing would be to make a present of it to someone. . . . I know what! I'll take it this
evening to Shashkin, the comedian. The rascal is fond of such things, and by the way it is his
benefit tonight."

No sooner said than done. In the evening the candelabra, carefully wrapped up, was duly carried
to Shashkin's. The whole evening the comic actor's dressing-room was besieged by men coming
to admire the present; the dressing-room was filled with the hum of enthusiasm and laughter like
the neighing of horses. If one of the actresses approached the door and asked: "May I come in?"
the comedian's husky voice was heard at once: "No, no, my dear, I am not dressed!"

After the performance the comedian shrugged his shoulders, flung up his hands and said: "Well
what am I to do with the horrid thing? Why, I live in a private flat! Actresses come and see me!
It's not a photograph that you can put in a drawer!"
"You had better sell it, sir," the hairdresser who was disrobing the actor advised him. "There's an
old woman living about here who buys antique bronzes. Go and enquire for Madame
Smirnov . . . everyone knows her."

The actor followed his advice. . . . Two days later the doctor was sitting in his consulting-room,
and with his finger to his brow was meditating on the acids of the bile. All at once the door
opened and Sasha Smirnov flew into the room. He was smiling, beaming, and his whole figure
was radiant with happiness. In his hands he held something wrapped up in newspaper.

"Doctor!" he began breathlessly, "imagine my delight! Happily for you we have succeeded in
picking up the pair to your candelabra! Mamma is so happy. . . . I am the only son of my mother,
you saved my life. . . ."

And Sasha, all of a tremor with gratitude, set the candelabra before the doctor. The doctor
opened his mouth, tried to say something, but said nothing: he could not speak.