Goussiev
'Yes. We are in the harbour,' said Pavel Ivanich, smiling mockingly. 'Another month and we shall be in Russia. It's true; my gallant warriors, I shall get to Odessa and thence I shall go straight to Kharkov. At Kharkov I have a friend, a literary man. I shall go to him and I shall say: "Now, my friend, give up your rotten little love-stories and descriptions of nature, and expose the vileness of the human biped...There's a subject for you."'
He thought for a moment and then he said:
'Goussiev, do you know how I swindled them?'
'Who, Pavel Ivanich?'
'The lot out there...You see there's only first and third class on the steamer, and only peasants are allowed to go third. If you have a decent suit, and look like a nobleman or bourgeois at a distance, then you must go first. It may break you, but you have to lay down your five hundred roubles. "What's the point of such an arrangement?" I asked. "Is it meant to raise the prestige of Russian intellectuals?" "Not a bit," said they. "We don't let you go, simply because it is impossible for a decent man to go third. It is so vile and disgusting." "Yes," said I. "Thanks for taking so much trouble about decent people. Anyhow, bad or no, I haven't got five hundred roubles, as I have neither robbed the Treasury nor exploited foreigners, not dealt in contraband, nor flogged anyone to death, and therefore, I think I have a right to go third class and to take rank with the intelligentsia of Russia." But there's no convincing them by logic...I had to try fraud. I put on a peasant's coat and long boots, and a drunken, stupid expression and went to the agent and said: "Give me a ticket, your honour."
"What's your position?" says the agent.
"Clerical," said I. "My father was an honest priest. He always told the truth to the great ones of the earth and so he suffered much."'
Pavel Ivanich got tired with talking, and his breath failed him, but he went on:
'Yes. I always tell the truth straight out...I am afraid of nobody and nothing. There's a great difference between myself and you in that respect. You are dull, blind, stupid, you see nothing, and you don't understand what you do see. You are told that the wind breaks its chain, that you are brutes and worse, and you believe; you are thrashed and you kiss the hand that thrashes you; a swine in a racoon pelisse robs you, and throws you sixpence for tea, and you say "Please your honour, let me kiss your hand." You are pariahs, skunks...I am different. I live consciously. I see everything, as an eagle or a hawk sees when it hovers over the earth, and I understand everything. I am a living protest. I see injustice - I protest; I see bigotry and hypocricy - I protest; I see swine triumphant - I protest and I am unconquerable. No Spanish Inquisition can make me hold my tongue. Aye...cut my tongue out. I'll protest by gesture.'
Anton Tchekhov, 'Goussiev'
No comments:
Post a Comment