 Chapter 8 of Best Russian Short Stories This is a Lirvogs recording. All Lirvogs recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Lirvogs.org Recording by O-123 Best Russian Short Stories Edited and compiled by Thomas Selger Harvey Muzik fed two officers by Mikhail Soltykov's cadre. Once upon a time there were two officers. They were both empty-headed and so they found themselves one day suddenly transported to an uninhibited aisle as if on a magic carpet. They had passed their whole life in a government department where records were kept. Had been born there, bred there, grown old there and consequently hadn't the least understanding for anything outside of the department. And the only words they knew were with assurances of the highest esteem, I am your humble servant. But the department was abolished and as the services of the two officers were no longer needed, they were given their freedom. So the retreat officials migrated to Badeseskaya Street in St. Petersburg. Each had his own home, his own cook and his pension. Waking up on an uninhibited aisle, they found themselves lying under the same cover. At first, of course, they couldn't understand what had happened to them and they spoke as if nothing extraordinary had taken place. What if you could dream I had last night your excellency? Say it to one officer. It seemed to me as if I were on an uninhibited aisle. Scarcely had he uttered the words when he jumped to his feet. The other officer also jumped up. Good Lord, what does this mean? Where are we? They cried out in astonishment. They felt each other to make sure that they were no longer dreaming and finally convinced themselves of the sad reality. We for them stretched the ocean and behind them was a little spot of art beyond which the ocean stretched again. They began to cry. It was time since the department had been shut down. They looked at each other and each noticed that the other was clad in nothing but his night shirt with his order hanging above his neck. We really should be having our coffee now. Object to one officer. Danny beat out himself again out of a strange situation he was in and a second time failed to weeping. What are we going to do now? He sobbed. Even supposing we had to draw up a report. What good would that do? You know what your excellency? Replied the other officer. You go to the east and I'll go to the west. But evening we'll come back here again and perhaps we shall have found something. They started to ascertain who chose the east and who chose the west. Recall that the head of the department had once said to them if you want to know where the east is then turn your face to the north and the east will be on your right. But when they tried to find out who chose the north they turned to the right and to the left and looked around on all sides. Having spent their whole life in the department of records their efforts were all in vain. To my mind your excellency the best thing to do would be for you to go to the right and me to go to the left. Said one officer who had served not only the department of records but also been a teacher of handwriting in the school for reserves and so was a little bit cleverer. So said, so done. To one official went to the right. He came upon trees bearing all sorts of fruits. Gladly would he have plucked an apple but they all hung so high that he would have been obliged to climb up. He tried to climb up in vain. All he succeeded in doing was tearing his night shirt. Then he struck upon a brook. It was swarming with fish. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we had all this fish in Potsayskaya Street? He thought and his mouth watered. Then he entered woods and found pet reaches, grouse and hairs. Good Lord what an abundance of food! He cried. His hunger was going up tremendously but he had to return to the appointed spot with empty hands. He found another official waiting for him. Well your excellency how went it? Did you find anything? Nothing but an old number of the Moscow gadget. Not another thing. The officials lay down to sleep again but the empty stomachs gave them no rest. They were partly robbed of the sleep by the thought of who was now enjoying their pension and partly by the recollection of the fruit, fishes, pet reaches, grouse and hairs that they had seen during the day. The human papillom in its original form flies, swims and grows on trees. Who would have thought it to your excellency? said the one official. To be sure, resumed the other official. I too must admit that I had imagined that our breakfast rolls came into the wall just as they appear on the table. From which it is to be deduced that if we want to eat a pheasant we must catch it first, kill it, pull its feeders and roast it. But how is that to be done? Yes. How is that to be done? repeated the other official. They turned silent and tried again to fall asleep but their hunger scared slip away. Before their eyes swum flocks of pheasants and ducks, huts or pocklings and they were all so juicy. Done so tenderly and garnished so delicisously with all eaps, capers and pickles. I believe I could devour my own boots now. said the one official. Gloves are not bad either. Especially if they have been born quite mellow, said the other official. The two officials stared at each other fixedly. In their glances gleamed an evil-boring fire. They tit-chattered and a dull groaning issued from their breasts. Slowly they crept upon each other and suddenly they burst into a fearful frenzy. There was a yelling and groaning. The rags flew about and the official who had been teacher of handwriting bid off his colleague's order and swallowed it. However, the sight of blood brought them back both to their senses. God help us, they cried at the same time. We certainly don't mean to each other up. How could we have come to such a pair since these? What if a genius is making sport of us? We must, by all means, entertain each other to pairs the time away. Other was terribly madder and dead, said the one official. You begin, said the other. Can you explain why it is that the sun first rises and then sets? Why isn't it the reverse? Aren't you a funny man, you excellency? You get up first, then you go to the office and work there, and at night you lie down to sleep. But why can't one assume the opposite? That is, that one goes to bed, sees all sorts of brim figures and then gets up. Well, yes, certainly. But when I was still an official, I always thought this way. Now it is dawn, then it will be day, then will come supper, and finally will come the time to go to bed. Now what supper recalled, that incident in the day's wings. And I thought of it made both offices melancholy, so that the conversation came to a halt. A doctor once told me that human beings can sustain themselves for a long time on their own juices. The one of a cell began again. What does that mean? It is quite simple, you see. One's own juices generate other juices and these in their turn steal other juices, and so it goes on until finally all the juices are consumed. And then what happens? Then food has to be taken into the system again. That's their will. No matter what topic the officials choose, the conversation invariably reverted to the subject of eating, which only increased their appetite more and more. So they decided to keep up talking all together and recollecting their Moscow gadget that one of them had found. They picked it up and began to read eagerly. Banquet given by the mayor. The table was set for 100 persons. The magnificence of it exceeded all expectations. The remotest provinces were represented at this feast of regards by the costliest gifts. The goldest sodium from Cessna and the silver-fation from the Caucasian woods held a round of wood strawberry so seldom to be had in our latitude in winter. The devil. For God's sake, stop reading your excellency. Couldn't you find something else to read about? Cried the other official in sheer desperation. He snatched a paper from his colleague's hands and started to read something else. Our correspondent in Tula informs us that yesterday a studio was found in the UPA, an event which even the oldest inhabitants cannot recall, and all the more remarkable since they recognized the former police captain in the studio. This was made the occasion for giving a banquet in the club. The prime cause of the banquet was served in a large wooden platter garnished with vinegar pickles. A bunch of parsley stuck out of its mouth. Dr. P, who acted as toast master, saw to it that everybody present got a piece of the studio. The sauces to go with it were unidulely varied and delicate. What made me your excellency? It seems to me you are not so careful either in the selection of reading matter. Interrupted the first official, who secured the gazette again and started to read. One of the oldest inhabitants of Vyarka has discovered a new and highly original recipe for fish soup. A live coffees, a lot of vulgaries is taken and beaten with a rod until its liver swells up with anger. The official's heads dropped. Whatever their eyes fell upon had something to do with eating. Even their own thoughts were fatal. No matter how much they tried to keep their minds off beef stick and the like, it was all in vain. The fans returned invariably with irreversible force back to that for which they were so painfully yearning. Suddenly an inspiration came to the official who had a one-star handwriting. I have it, he cried delightedly. What do you say to your excellency? What do you say to our finding a mosaic? A mosaic your excellency? What sort of a mosaic? Why a plain ordinary mosaic? A mosaic like all other mosaics? He would get the breakfast rolls for us right away and he could also catch batteries and fish for us. Hmm, a mosaic. But where are we to fetch one from if there is no mosaic here? Why shouldn't there be a mosaic here? There are mosaics everywhere. All one has to do is hunt for them. There certainly must be a mosaic hiding here somewhere so as to get out of working. They start so cheered officers that they instantly jumped up to go in search of a mosaic. For a long while they wandered about on the island without a desired result until finally a concerted smell of black braid and old sheepskin assaulted the nostrils and guided them in the right direction. There under a tree was a colossal mosaic lying fast asleep with his hands under his head. It was clear that to escape his duty to work he had evidently withdrawn to the island. The indignation of the officers knew no bounds. What? Like a sleep here? He will let his bones see you? They ragged at him. It is nothing to you that there are two officers here who are fairly perishing of hunger? Up, forward, march, walk. The mosaic rose and looked at the two civil gentlemen standing in front of him. His first thought was to make his escape but the officers held him fast. He had to submit to his fate. He had to work. First he climbed up on a tree and plucked several dozen of the finest apples for the officials. He kept a rolling one for himself. Then he turned up the earth and dug out some potteros. Next he started a fire with two bits of wood that he rubbed against each other. Out of his own hair he made a snare and caught petriaches. Over the fire, by this time burning brightly he cooked up so many kinds of food that the question arose in the officers' minds whether they should not give some to this idler. Beholding the efforts of the mosaic they rejoiced in their hearts. They had already forgotten how the day before they had nearly been perishing of hunger and all they thought of now was what a good thing it is to be an official. Nothing bad can ever happen to an official. Are you satisfied, gentlemen? The legi mosaic asked. Yes, we appreciate industry. Replied the officers. Then you will permit me to rest a little. Go take a little rest but first make a good strong chord. The mosaic gathered wildly hamsters. Lay them in water, beat them and broke them and to an evening a good stout chord was ready. The officers took the chord and bound the mosaic to a tree so that he should not run away. Then they laid themselves to sleep. Thus day after day passed and the mosaic became so skillful that he could actually cook soup for the officials in his bare hands. The officials had become round and welfare and happy. It reserved them that he had didn't need any money and in the meanwhile the pensions were accumulating in Saint Petersburg. What is your opinion, Your Excellency? One said to the other after breakfast one day. Is the story of the Tower of Babel true? Don't you think it is simply an allegory? By no means, Your Excellency. I think it was something that really happened. What other explanation is there for the existence of so many different languages on earth? Then the flood must really have taken place to you. Finally, else, how would you explain the existence of anti-diluvian animals? Besides, the Moscow Gadget says let me search for the old number of the Moscow Gadget set themselves in the shade and read the whole shade from beginning to the end. There are a lot of festivities in Moscow, Tula, Panja and Ryazan and Strangely enough felt no discomfort as the description of the delicacy served. No seeing how long this life might have lasted. Finally, however, it began to bore the officiates. They often taught of their cooks in Saint Petersburg and then shared a few tears in secret. I wonder how it looks in Polisesk as street now, Your Excellency. One of them said to the other. Oh, don't remind me of it, Your Excellency. I am pining away with homesickness. It is very nice here. There is really no fault to be found with this place, but the lamb longs for its mothership. And it is a pity too for the beautiful uniforms. Yes indeed, the uniform of the 4th class is no joke. The golden rudder alone is enough to make one dizzy. Now, they began to approach the music to find some way of getting them back to Polisesk as street. And strange to say, the music even knew where Polisesk as street was. He had one strong bear and mate there. And the same goes, everything had run down his beard. Alice put nothing into his mouth. The officiates resourced and said, We are officiates from Polisesk as street. And I am one of those men, do you remember, who sit on a scaffolding hung by ropes from the ropes and paint the outside walls. I am one of those who crawl about on the ropes like flies. That is what I replied to the music. The music now pondered long and heavily on how to give great pleasure to his officiates, who had been so gracious to him, the lazybones, and had not gone to his work. And he actually succeeded in constructing a ship. It was not really a ship, but still it was a vessel that would carry them across the ocean close to Polisesk as street. Now take care, you duck, that you don't drown us, said the officiates. When they saw the draft raising and falling on the waves. Don't be afraid, the music is used to this, said the music, making all the preparations for the journey. He gathered swans down and made a couch for his two officiates. Then he crossed himself and rode off from shore. How frightened the officiates were on their way, how seasick they were during the storms, how discolored the chorus music for his idleness cannot be told, not described. The music, however, just kept rowing on and fed his officiates on herring. At last, they caught sight of their old mother-neighbour. Soon they were in the glorious catering canal, and then, oh joy! They struck the grand Polisesk as street. When the cooks saw their officiates so well fed round and so happy, they rejoiced immensely. The officiates drank coffee and rolls and put on their uniforms and drove to the pension bureau. How much money they collected there is another thing that can neither be told, not described. Nor was the music forgotten. The officiates sent a glass of whiskey out to him and five co-peg. Now, music rejoiced and of how a music fed two officiates. By Mikhail Soltikovsky Part 1 A month and two days had elapsed since the judges amid the louder claim of the Athenian people have pronounced the death sentence against the philosopher Socrates because he had sought to destroy faith in the gods. What the gadfly is to the horse, Socrates was to Athens. The gadfly stings the horse in order to prevent it from dozing off and to keep it moving briskly on its course. The philosopher said to the people of Athens, I am your gadfly. My sting pricks your conscience and arouses you when you are caught napping. Sleep not. Sleep not, people of Athens. Awake and seek the truth. The people arose in their exasperation and cruelly demanded to be rid of their gadfly. By chance both of his accusers, Miletus and Antius, are wrong, said the citizens on leaving the court after sentence had been pronounced. But after all, whether do his doctrines tend? What would he do? He has wrought confusion. He overthrows beliefs that have existed since the beginning. He speaks of new virtues which must be recognized and sought for. He speaks of a divinity hitherto unknown to us. The blasphemer. He deems himself wiser than the gods. No, to a better we remain true to the old gods whom we know. They may not always be just. Sometimes they may flare up in unjust wrath and they may also be seized with a wanton lust for the wives of mortals. But did not our ancestors live with them in the peace of their souls? Did not our forefathers accomplish their heroic deeds with the help of these very gods? The faces of these Olympians have paled and the old virtue is out of joint. Where does it all lead to? Should not an end be put to this impious wisdom once for all? Thus the citizens of Athens spoke to one another as they left the place. And the blue twilight was falling. They had determined to kill the restless gadfly in the hope that the countenances of the gods would shine again. And yet, before their souls arose the mild figure of the singular philosopher. There were some citizens who recalled how courageously he had shared their troubles and dangers at Potter Day. How he alone had prevented them from committing the sin of unjustly executing the generals after the victory over the Argynusae. How he alone had dared to raise his voice against the tyrants who had had 1,500 people put to death speaking to the people on the marketplace concerning shepherds and their sheep. Is he not a good shepherd? He asked, who guards his flock, watches over its increase? Or is it the work of the good shepherd to reduce the number of his sheep and disperse them out of the good ruler to do the same with these people? Man of Athens, let us investigate this question. And at this question of the solitary, undefended philosopher the faces of the tyrants paled while the eyes of the youths kindled with the fire of just wrath and indignation. Thus, when on dispersing after the sentence the Athenians recalled all these things of Socrates their hearts repressed with heavy doubt. Have we not done the cruel wrong to the son of Sofraniscus? But then the good Athenians looked upon the harbour and the sea, and in the red glow of the dying day they saw the purple sails of the sharp, keeled ship sent to the Delian festival shimmering in the distance on the blue Pontus. The ship would not return until the expiration of a month and the Athenians recollected that during this time no blood might be shed in Athens whether the blood of the innocent or the guilty. A month, moreover, has many days and still more hours. Supposing the son of Sofraniscus had been unjustly condemned, who would hinder his escaping from the prison, especially since he had numerous friends to help him? Was it so difficult for the rich Plato, for Eskenes and others to bribe the guards? Then the restless gadfly would flee from Athens to the Barbarians in Thessaly or to the Peloponnesus or still father to Egypt. Athens would no longer hear his blasphemous speeches, his death would not weigh upon the conscience of the worthy citizens and so everything would end for the best of all. Thus said many to themselves that evening while aloud they praised the wisdom of the Demos and the Heliests. In secret, however, they cherished the hope that the restless philosopher would leave Athens, fly from the hemlock to the Barbarians and so free the Athenians of his troublesome presence and of the pangs of consciences that smote them for inflicting death upon an innocent man. Two and thirty times since that evening had the sun risen from the ocean and dipped down into it again. The ship had returned from Delos and lay in the harbour with sadly dripping sails as if ashamed of its native city. The moon did not shine in the heavens, the sea heaved under heavy fog and on the hill lights peered through the obscurity like the eyes of men gripped by a sense of guilt. The stubborn Socrates did not spare the conscience of the good Athenians. We part, you go home and I go to death. He said to the judges after the sentence had been pronounced, I know not, my friends, which of us chooses the better lot? As the time had approached for the return of the ship many of the citizens had begun to feel uneasy. Must that obstant fellow really die? And they began to appeal to the consciences of Eskenes, Phaedo, and other pupils of Socrates trying to urge them on to further efforts for their master. Will you permit your teacher to die? They asked reproachfully in biting tones. Or do you grudge the few coins it would take to bribe the guard? In vain Crito besought Socrates to take to flight, and complained that the public was upbraiding his disciples with lack of friendship and with avarice. The self-willed philosopher refused to gratify his pupils all the good people of Athens. Let us investigate, he said. If it turns out that I must flee, I will flee, but if I must die, I will die. Let us remember what we once said. The wise man need not fear death. He need fear nothing but falsehood. Is it right to abide by the laws we ourselves have made so long as they are agreeable to us? I refuse to obey those which are disagreeable. My memory does not deceive me. I believe we once spoke of these things. Did we not? Yes, we did, asked his people. I think all would agree as to the answer. Yes, but perhaps what is true for others is not true for us. No, truth is alike for all, including ourselves. But perhaps when we must die, and not someone else, truth becomes untruth. No, Socrates, truth remains the truth under all circumstances. After his pupil had thus agreed to each premise of Socrates in turn, he smiled and drew his conclusion. If that is so, my friend, mustn't I die? Or has my head already become so weak that I am no longer in a condition to draw a logical conclusion? Then correct me, my friend, and ensure my earing brain the right way. His pupil covered his face with his mantle and turned aside. Yes, he said, now I see you must die. And on that evening, when the sea tossed hither and thither and roared dullly under the load of fog, and the whimsical winds in mournful astonishment gently stirred the sails of the ships, when the citizens meeting on the streets asked one another, is he dead? And their voices timidly betrayed the hope that he was not dead. When the first breath of awakened conscience reached the hearts of the Athenians, like the first messenger of the storm, and when it seemed the very faces of the gods were darkened with shame, on that evening, at the sinking of the sun, the self-willed man drank the cup of death. The wind increased in violence and shrouded the city more closely in the veil of mist, angrily tugging at the sails of the vessels delayed in the harbor. And the Orinias sang their gloomy songs to the hearts of the citizens who looked up in their breasts that tempest which was later to overwhelm the announcers of Socrates. But in that hour the first stirring of regret was still uncertain and confused. The citizens found more fault with Socrates than ever because he had not given them the satisfaction of fleeing to Thessaly. They were annoyed with his pupils because in the last days they had walked about in somber morning attire, a living reproach to the Athenians. They were vexed with the judges because they had not had the sense and the courage to resist the blind rage of the excited people. They bore even the gods' resentment. To you, ye gods, have we brought this sacrifice? spoke many. Rejoice, ye unsatiable! I know not which you ask, Jesus, the better lot. Those words of Socrates came back to their memory, those his last words to the judges and to the people gathered in the court. Now he lay in prison, quiet and motionless under his cloak, while over the city hovered mourning, horror and shame. Again he became the tormentor of the city, he who was himself no longer accessible to torment. The gadfly had been killed, but it stung the people more sharply than ever. Sleep not, sleep not this night, O men of Athens, sleep not. You have committed an injustice, a cruel injustice which can never be erased. 2. During those sad days, Xenophon, the general, a pupil of Socrates, was marching with his ten thousand in a distant land, amid dangers, seeking a way of return to his beloved fatherland. Eskenes, Crito, Cretobolus, Phaedo and Apollodorus were now occupied with the preparations for the modest funeral. Plato was burning his lamp and bending over a parchment. The best disciple of the philosopher was busy inscribing the deeds, words and teachings that marked the end of the sage's life. A thought is never lost, and the truth discovered by great intellect illumines the way for future generations like a torch in the dark. 3. There was one other disciple of Socrates. Not long before, the impetuous Stesipus had been one of the most frivolous and pleasure-seeking of the Athenian youths. He had set up beauty as his sole God, and had bowed before Clinius as its highest exemplar. But since he had become equated with Socrates, all desire for pleasure and all light-mindedness had gone from him. He looked on indifferently while others took his place with Clinius. The grace of thought and the harmony of spirit that he found in Socrates seemed a hundred times more attractive from the graceful form of Clinius' features of Clinius. With all the intensity of his stormy temperament he hung on the man who had disturbed the serenity of his virginal soul, which for the first time opened to doubts as the bud of a young oak opens to the fresh winds of spring. Now that the master was dead he could find peace neither at his own hearth nor in the oppressive stillness of the streets, nor among his friends and fellow disciples. The presence of hearth and home and the gods of the people inspired him with repugnance. A near knot, he said, whether he is the best of all the gods to whom numerous generations have bearing incense and brought offerings, all I know is that for your sake the blind mob extinguished the clear torch of truth and for your sake sacrificed the greatest and best of mortals. It almost seemed to stesipus and marketplaces still echoed with the shrieking of that unjust sentence. And he remembered how it was here that the people clamoured for the execution of the generals who had led them to victory against the Arjunisay and how Socrates alone had opposed the savage sentence of the judges and the blind rage of the mob. But when Socrates himself needed a champion no one had been found to defend him with equal strength. Stesipus blamed himself and his friends and for that reason he wanted to avoid everybody even himself if possible. That evening he went to the sea but his grief grew only the more violent. It seemed to him that the morning daughters of Nereus were tossing hither and thither on the shore bewailing the death of the best of the Athenians and the folly of the frenzied city. The waves broke on the rocky coast with a growl of lament. Their booming sounded like a funeral dirge. He turned away left the shore and went on further without looking before him if he got time and space and his own ego filled only with the afflicting thought of Socrates. Yesterday he still was yesterday his mild words could still be heard how is it possible that today he no longer is or a knight and shrouded in mist or heaving sea moved by your own life or restless winds that carry the breath of an immeasurable word on your wings or starry vote flecked with flying clouds take me to you disclose to me the mystery of this death if it is revealed to you and if you know not then grant me either and so your own lofty indifference remove from me these torturing questions I no longer have the strength to carry them in my bosom without an answer without even a hope of an answer for who shall answer them now that the lips of Socrates are sealed in eternal silence and eternal darkness is laid upon his lids thus his disciples cried out to the sea and the mountains and to the dark night which followed its invariable course ceaselessly invisibly over the slumbering world many hours passed before Stesipus glanced up and saw wither his steps and unconsciously led him a dark horror seized his soul as he looked about him three it seemed as if the unknown gods of eternal night had heard his impious prayer Stesipus looked about without being able to recognize the place where he was the lights of the city the darkness the roaring of the sea had died away in the distance his anxious soul had even lost the recollection of having heard it no single sound no mournful cry of nocturnal bird nor whir of wings nor rustling of trees nor murmur of a merry stream broke the deep silence only the blind will of the wisps flickered here and there over rocks and sheet lightning sound fled up and died down against crag peaks this brief illumination merely emphasized the darkness and the dead light disclosed the outlines of dead deserts crossed by gorges like crawling serpents and rising into rocky heights in a wild chaos all the joyous gods that haunt green groves pearling brooks and mountain valleys seemed to have fled forever from these deserts Pan alone the great and mysterious Pan was hiding somewhere nearby in the chaos of nature and with mocking glance seemed to be pursuing the tiny ant that a short time before a blasphemously asked to know the secret of the world and of death dark senseless horror overwhelmed the soul of Stesipus it is thus that the sea in stormy flood tide overwhelms a rock on the shore was it a dream? was it reality? or was it the revelation of the unknown divinity? Stesipus felt that in an instant he would step across the threshold of life that his soul would melt into an ocean of unending inconceivable horror like a drop of rain in the waves of the grey sea on a dark and stormy night but at this moment he suddenly heard voices that seemed familiar to him and in the glare of the sheet lightning his eyes recognized human figures End of the Shades A Fantasy by Vladimir G. Korolenko Part 1 Recording by Algi Pug Perth, Western Australia Chapter 10 A Best Russian Short Stories This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer LibriVox.org Recording by Algi Pug Best Russian Short Stories edited and compiled by Thomas Seltzer The Shades A Fantasy by Vladimir G. Korolenko Part 2 4 On a rocky slope set a man in deep despair he had thrown a cloak over his head and was bowed to the ground another figure approached him softly cautiously climbing upward and carefully feeling every step the first man uncovered his face and exclaimed, Is that you I just now saw my good Socrates? Is that you passing by me in this cheerless place? I've already spent many hours here without knowing when day will relieve the night I've been waiting in vain for the dawn. Socrates my friend and you are you not Elpidius who died three days before me? Yes, I am Elpidius formerly the richest tanner in Athens now the most miserable of slaves for the first time I understand the words of the poet better to be a slave in this world than a ruler in gloomy Hades. My friend if it is disagreeable for you where you are why don't you move to another spot? Oh Socrates I marvel at you how dare you wonder about in this cheerless gloom I sit here overcome with grief and bemoan the joys of a fleeting life Rand Elpidius like you I too was plunged in this gloom when the light of earthly life was removed from my eyes but an inner voice told me tread this new path without hesitation and I went But whether do you go O son of Sofraniscus here there is no way no path not even a ray of light nothing but a chaos of rocks mist and gloom True but my Elpidius since you are aware of this sad truth have you not asked yourself what is the most distressing thing in your present situation undoubtedly the dismal darkness and one should seek for light but chance you will find here the great law that vortals must in darkness seek the source of life do you not think it is better so to seek than to remain sitting in one spot I think it is therefore I keep walking Farewell O good Socrates abandon me not you go with sure steps through the pathless chaos in Hades hold out to me but a fold of your mantle have you think it is better for you too and follow me friend Elpidius and the two shades walked on while the soul of Stesipus released by sleep from its mortal envelope after them greedily absorbing the tones of the clear Socratic speech are you here good Socrates the voice of the Athenian again was heard why are you silent converse shortened the way and I swear by Hercules never did I have to traverse such a horrid way all right questions friend Elpidius the question of one who seeks knowledge brings forth answers and produces conversation Elpidius maintained silence for a moment and then after he had collected his thoughts asked yes this is what I wanted to say tell me my poor Socrates did they at least give you a good burial I must confess friend Elpidius I cannot satisfy your curiosity I understand your poor Socrates it doesn't help you cut a figure now with me it was so different oh yeah they buried me how magnificently they buried me my poor fellow wanderer I still think with great pleasure of those lovely moments after my death first they washed me and sprinkled me with well smelling balsam then my faithful Larissa dressed me in garments of the finest weave the messed morning women of the city tore their hair from their heads because they'd been promised good pay and in a family vault they placed an amphora a crater with beautiful decorated handles of bronze and besides a vile stay friend Elpidius I'm convinced that the faithful Larissa converted her love into several meaners yet exactly ten meaners and four drakners not counting the drinks for the guests I hardly think that the richest tanner can come before the souls of his ancestors and boast of such respect on the part of the living Rand Elpidius don't you think that money would have been of more use to the poor people who are still alive in Athens and to you at this moment omit Socrates you are speaking in envy responded Elpidius Paine I am sorry for you unfortunate Socrates although between ourselves you really deserved your fate I myself in the family circle said more than once that an end ought to be put to your empire's doings because stay friend I thought you wanted to draw a conclusion and I fear you are straying from the street path tell me my good friend whether does your wavering thought tend I wanted to say that in my goodness I am sorry for you a month ago I myself spoke against you in the assembly but truly none of us who shouted so loud wanted such a great ill to before you believe me now I am all the sorry for you unhappy philosopher I thank you but tell me my friend do you perceive a brightness before your eyes no contrary such darkness lies before me they must ask myself whether this is not the misty region of Orcus this way therefore is just as dark for you as for me quite right if I am not mistaken you are even holding on to the folds of my clique also true then we are both in the same position you see your ancestors are not hastening to rejoice in the tale of your pompous burial where is the difference between us my good friend but Socrates have the gods enveloped your reason in such obscurity that the difference is not clear to you friend if your situation is clear to you then give me your hand and lead me for I swear by the dog take your head in this darkness cease your scoffing Socrates do not make sport and do not compare yourself your godless self with a man who died in his own bed ah I believe I am beginning to understand you but tell me old pilius do you have ever again to rejoice in your bed oh I think not and was there ever a time you did not sleep in it yes that was before I bought goods from a gezelaus at half their value you see that a gezelaus is really a deep dyed rogue ah never mind about a gezelaus perhaps he is getting them back from your widow at a quarter their value then wasn't I right when I said that you were in possession of your bed only part of the time yes you were right well and I too was in possession of the bed in which I died part of the time Proteus the good god of the prison lent it to me for a period oh if I had known what you are aiming at with your talk I wouldn't have answered your wily questions by Hercules such profanation is unheard of he compares himself with me why I could put an end to you words if it came to it say them Elpideus without fair words can scarcely be more destructive to me than the hemlock well then that is just what I wanted to say you unfortunate man you died by the sentence of the court and had to drink hemlock but I have known that since the day of my death even long before and you unfortunate Elpideus tell me what caused your death oh with me it was different entirely different you see I got the dropsy in my abdomen an expensive physician from Corinth was called who promised to cure me for two meaners and he was given half that amount in advance I'm afraid that Larissa in her lack of experience in such things gave him the other half too and the physician did not keep his promise that's it and you died from dropsy Ah Socrates believe me three times it wanted to vanquish me and finally it quenched the flame of my life and tell me did death by dropsy give you a great pleasure oh wicked Socrates don't make sport of me I told you it wanted to vanquish me three times I feel like a steer under the knife of the slaughterer and beg the passe to cut the thread of my life as quickly as possible that doesn't surprise me but from what do you conclude that the dropsy was pleasanter to you than the hemlock to me the hemlock made an end to me in a moment I see I fell into your snare again you crafty sinner I won't you rage the gods still more by speaking with you the warrior of sacred customs both for silent and quiet reigned but in a short while El Pideas was again the first to begin a conversation why are you silent good Socrates my friend didn't you yourself ask for silence I am not proud and I can treat men who are worse than I am considerably don't let us quarrel I did not quarrel with you friend El Pideas and did not wish to say anything to insult you I am merely accustomed to get at the truth of things by comparisons my situation is not clear to me you consider your situation better and I should be glad to learn why on the other hand it would not hurt you to learn the truth whatever shape it may take well no more of this tell me are you afraid I don't think that the feeling I have now can be called fear I am afraid although I have less cause than you to be at odds with the gods but don't you think that the gods in abandoning us to ourselves here in this chaos have treated us of our hopes that depends upon what sort of hopes there were what did you expect from the gods El Pideas well well what did I expect from the gods what curious questions you ask Socrates if a man throughout life brings offerings and at his death passes away with a pious heart and all that custom demands the gods might at least send someone to meet him at least one of the inferior gods to show a man the way but that reminds me many a time when I begged for good luck in traffic in hides in these calves and you didn't have luck oh yes I had luck with Socrates but I understand you had no calf Socrates a rich tenor and not have calves now I understand you had luck had calves but you kept them for yourself and Hermes received nothing you're a clever man I've often said so I've kept only three of my ten oaths and I didn't deal differently with the other gods if the same is the case with you isn't that the reason possibly why we are now abandoned by the gods to be sure I ordered Larissa to sacrifice a whole heck of tomb after my death but that is Larissa's affair where it was you friend El Pideas who made the promises that's true that's true but you Socrates could you godless as you are deal better with the gods than I who was a god fearing tenor my friend I know not whether I've dealt better or worse at first I brought offerings without having made vows later I offered neither calves nor vows what not a single calf you unfortunate man yes friend by my gifts I'm afraid he would have grown very thin I understand you did not traffic in cattle so you offered articles of some other trade probably a meaner or so of what the pupils paid you you know my friend I didn't ask pair my pupils and my trade scarcely suffice to support me if the gods reckoned on the sorry remnants of my meals I calculated oh blasphemer in comparison with you I can be proud of my piety ye gods look upon this man I did deceive you at times but now and then I shared with you the surplus of some fortunate deal he who gives it all gives much in comparison with a blasphemer who gives nothing Socrates I think you had better go on alone I fear that your company godless one judges me in the eyes of the gods as you well good albideus I swear by the dog no one shall force his company on another unhand the fold of a mantel and farewell I will go on alone and Socrates walked forward with a sure tread feeling the ground however at every step but alpideus behind me instantly cried out wait wait my good fellow citizen alone in this horrible place I was only making fun take what I said as a joke and don't go so quickly I marvel how you can see a thing in this hellish darkness friend, have a cast of my eyes do it that's good, still I can't approve of you not having brought sacrifices to the gods no I can't for Socrates I can't the honorable Sofraniscus certainly taught you better in your youth you yourself used to take part in the prayers I saw you yes but I am accustomed to examine all our motors and to accept only those that after investigation proved to be reasonable and so there he came on which I said to myself Socrates here you are praying to the Olympians why are you praying to them alpideus laughed really you philosophers sometimes don't know how to answer the simplest questions I am a plain tenor who never in my life studied sophistry yet I know why I must honor the Olympians tell me quickly so that I too may know why why ha ha ha ha it's too simple you wise Socrates there much the better if it's simple but don't keep your wisdom from me tell me why must one honor the gods why because everybody does it friend you know very well that not everyone honors the gods wouldn't it be more correct to say many very well many but tell me don't more men deal wickedly than righteously I think so you find more wicked people than good people therefore if you follow the majority you ought to deal wickedly and not righteously what are you saying I'm not saying it you are but I think the reason that men reverence the Olympians is not because the majority worship them we must find another more rational ground perhaps you mean they deserve reverence yes very right good but then arises a new question why do they deserve reverence because of their greatness ah that's more like it perhaps I will soon be agreeing with you it only remains for you to tell me where in their greatness consists that's a difficult question isn't it let us think the answer together Homer says that the impetuous R is when stretched flat on the ground by a stone thrown by Palisthenia in his body the space that can be traveled in seven mornings you see what an enormous space is that where in greatness consists there you have me my friend that raises another question do you remember the athlete Theophantis he towered over the people the whole heads length whereas Pericles was no larger than you dreamed we call great Pericles or Theophantis I see that greatness does not consist in size of body in that you're right I am glad we agree perhaps greatness consists in virtue certainly I think so too well then we must bow to him the small before the large or those who are large in virtues before the wicked the answer is clear I think so too now we will look further into this matter tell me truly did you ever kill other people's children with arrows it goes without saying never do you think so ill of me nor have you I trust ever seduced the wives of other men I was an upright tenor and a good husband don't forget that Socrates I beg of you you never became a brute nor by your lustfulness gave your faithful Larissa occasion to revenge herself on women whom you had ruined and on their innocent children you anger me really Socrates but perhaps you snatched your inheritance from your father and threw him into prison never why are those insulting questions wait my friend perhaps you'll both reach a conclusion tell me have you ever considered a man great who had done all of these things of which I have spoken no, no, no I should have called such a man a scoundrel and what's public complaint against him with the judges in the marketplace well Alapideus why did he not complain in the marketplace against Zeus and the Olympians the son of Cronus carried on war with his own father and was seized with brutal lust for the daughters of men and took vengeance upon innocent virgins did not both of them convert the unhappy daughter of Inicus into a common cow did not Apollo kill all the children of Nairobi with his arrows did not Colenius steal bulls well then Alapideus if it is true that he who has less virtue must do honour to him who has more then you should not build orders to the Olympians but they do you blaspheme not empire socrates, keep quiet how dare you judge the acts of the gods friend higher powers judge them let us investigate the question what is the mark of divinity I think you said greatness which consists in virtue now is not this greatness the one divine spark in man but if we test the greatness of the gods in our small human virtues and it turns out that which measures is greater than that which is measured then it follows that the divine principle itself condends the Olympians but then what then and friend Alapideus there are no gods but deceptive fandoms creations of a dream is it not so ah that's with your talk leads you barefooted philosopher I see what they said of you is true you are like that fish that takes men captive with its look so you took me captive in order to confound my believing soul and awaken doubt in it it was already beginning to waver in its reverence pursuits speak alone I won't answer any more bear not wrathful Alapideus I don't wish to inflict any evil upon you but if you are tired of following my arguments they are logical conclusions permit me to relate to you an allegory of a Malaysian youth allegories rest the mind and the relaxation is not unprofitable speak if your story is not too long and its purpose is good its purpose is truth friend Alapideus and I will be brief once you know in ancient times militus was exposed to the attacks of the barbarians among the youths who were seized was the son of the wisest and best of all the citizens in the land his precious child was overtaken by severe illness and became unconscious he was abandoned and allowed to lie like worthless booty in the dead of night he came to his senses I above him glimmered the stars round about stretched the desert and in the distance he heard the howl of beasts of prey he was alone he was entirely alone and besides that the gods had taken from him the recollection of his former life in vain he wracked his brain it was as dark and empty as the inhospitable desert in which he found himself but somewhere far away behind the misty and obscure figures conjured up by his reason loomed the thought of his lost home and a vague realization of the figure of the best of all men and in his heart resounded the word father doesn't it seem to you that the fate of this youth resembles the fate of all humanity hell so do we not all awake to life on earth with a hazy recollection of another home and does not the figure of the great unknown hover before our souls continue Socrates I'm listening the earth revived to rise and walk cautiously seeking to avoid all dangers when after long wandering his strength was nearly gone he discerned a fire in the misty distance which illumined the darkness and banished the cold a faint hope crept into his weary soul and the recollection of his father's house again awoke within him the youth walked toward the light and cried it is you my father it is you and was it his father's house no it was merely a night lodging of wild nomads so for many years he led the miserable life of a captive slave and only in his dream saw the distant home and rested on his father's bosom sometimes with weak hand he endeavored to lure from dead clay wood or stone a face and form that ever hovered before him there even came moments where he grew weary and embraced his own handy work and prayed to it and wet it with his tears but the stone remained cold stone and as he waxed in years the youth destroyed his creations which already seemed to him a vile deformation of his ever present dreams the last fate brought him to a good barbarian who asked him for the cause of his constant mourning when the youth confided to him the hopes and longings of his soul the barbarian a wise man said the world would be better did such a man in such a country exist as that of which you speak but by what mark would you recognize your father in my country answered the youth their reverence wisdom and virtue their father as to the master well and good answered the barbarian I must assume that a colonel of your father's teaching resides in you therefore take up the wondrous staff and proceed on your way seek perfect wisdom and truth and when you have found them cast aside your staff there would be your home and your father and the youth went on his way at break of day did he find the one whom he sought? he is still seeking many countries cities and men has he seen he has come to know all the ways by land he has traversed the stormy seas he has searched the courses of the stars in heaven by which pilgrim can direct his course over the limitless deserts and each time that on his weary some way an inviting fire lighted up the darkness before his eyes his heart beat faster and hope crept into his soul that is my father's hospitable house he thought and when hospitable host would greet the tired traveller and offer him the peace and blessing of his heart the youth would fall at his feet and say with emotion I thank you my father do you not recognize your son? and many were prepared to take him as their son for at that time children were frequently kidnapped but after the first glow of enthusiasm the youth would detect traces of imperfection sometimes even of wickedness then he would begin to investigate and to test his host with questions concerning justice and injustice and soon he would be driven forth again upon the cold weary some way more than once he said to himself I will remain at this last half I will preserve my last belief it shall be the home of my father do you know Socrates perhaps that would be the most sensible thing to do so he thought sometimes but the habit of investigating the confused dream of a father gave him no peace again and again he shook the dust from his feet again and again he grasped his staff not a few stormy nights found him shelterless doesn't it seem to you that the feet of this youth resembles the feet of mankind why does not the race of men make trial of its childish belief and doubt it while seeking the unknown doesn't it fashion the form of its father in wood stone, custom and tradition and then man finds the form imperfect destroys it and again goes on his wanderings in the desert of doubt always for the purpose of seeking something better oh you cutting sage now I understand the purpose of your allegory and I will tell you to your face that if only a ray of light were to penetrate this gloom I would not put the Lord on trial with unnecessary questions friend the light is already lost in socrates 5 it seemed as if the words of the philosopher had taken effect high up in the distance a beam of light penetrated a vapory envelope and disappeared in the mountains it was followed by a second and a third there beyond the darkness luminous genie seemed to be hovering and a great mystery seemed about to be revealed as if the breath of life were blowing as if some great mystery were in process but it was still very remote the shades descended thicker and thicker foggy clouds rolled into masses separated and chased one another endlessly ceaselessly a blue light from a distant peak fell upon a deep ravine the clouds rose and covered the heavens to the zenith the rays disappeared and withdrew to a greater and greater distance as if fleeing from this veil of shades and horrors socrates stood and looked after them sadly the alpideus peered up at the peak full of dread look socrates what do you see there on the mountain friend answered the philosopher let us investigate our situation since we are in motion we must arrive somewhere and since the earthly existence must have a limit I believe that this limit is to be found in the casting of two beginnings in the struggle of light with darkness we attain the crown of our endeavours since the ability to think has not been taken from us I believe that it is the will of the divine being who caught our power of thinking into existence that we should investigate the goal of our endeavours ourselves therefore alpideus led us in dignified manner on that lies beyond those clouds oh my friend if that is the dawn I'd rather the long cheerless night had endured forever for it was quiet and peaceful don't you think our time passed horribly well in instructive converse and now my soul trembles before the tempest-during nigh say what you will but there before us are no ordinary shades of the dead nigh Zeus hurled a bolt into the bottomless gulf Stesipus looked up to the peak and his soul was frozen with horror huge somber figures of the Olympian gods crowded on the mountain in a circle a last ray shot through the region of clouds and mists and died away like a faint memory a storm was approaching now and the powers of night were once more in the ascendant dark figures covered the heavens in the centre Stesipus could discern the all-powerful son who was surrounded by a halo the somber figures of the older gods encircled him in rothful excitement like flocks of birds winging their way in the twilight like eddies of dust driven by a hurricane like autumn leaves lashed by Boreus numerous minor gods hovered in long clouds and occupied the spaces when the clouds gradually lifted from the peak and sent down dismal horror to embrace the earth and fell upon his knees later he admitted that in this dreadful moment if he got all his masters the deductions and conclusions his courage failed him and terror took possession of his soul he merely listened two voices resounded there where before had only been silence the one the mighty and threatening voice of the godhead the other the weak voice of a mortal which the wind carried from the mountain slope to the spot where Stesipus had left Socrates are you thus spake the voice from the clouds are you the blasphemous Socrates who strives with the gods of heaven and earth once through an un-so-joyous so immortal as we now for long we have passed our days in darkness because of the unbelief and doubt that have come upon earth never has the mist closed in on us so heavily since the time your voice resounded in Athens the city we once so dearly loved why did you not follow the commands of your father Sofraniscus the good man permitted himself a few little sins especially in his youth yet by way of recompense we frequently enjoyed the smell of his offerings stay son of Cronus and solve my doubts do I understand that you prefer cowardly hypocrisy to searchings for the truth at this question the crags tremble with the shock of a thundering peel the first breath of the tempest scattered in the distant gorges but the mountains still trembled for he who was enthroned upon them still trembled and in the anxious quiet of the night only distant sighs could be heard in the very bowels of the earth the chained titans seem to be groaning under the blow of the son of Cronus where are you now you impious questioner suddenly came the mocking voice of the Olympian I am here son of Cronus on the same spot nothing but your answer can move me from it I am waiting thunder bellowed in the clouds like a wild animal amazed at the daring of a Libyan tamer's fearless approach at the end of a few moments the voice again rolled over the spaces son of Sophroniscus is it not enough that you bred so much scepticism on earth that the clouds of your doubt reached even to Olympus indeed many a time when you would carry on your discourse in the marketplaces or in the academies or on the promenades it seemed to me as if you had already destroyed all the altars on earth and the dust for rising from them up to us here on the mountain even that is not enough here before my very face you will not recognize the power of the immortals this thou art wrathful tell me who gave me the demon which spoke to my soul throughout my life and forced me to seek the truth without resting mysterious silence reigned in the clouds was it not here you are silent then I will investigate the matter either this divine beginning emanates from you or from someone else if from you I bring it to you as an offering I offer you the ripe fruit of my life the flame of the spark of your own kindling see son of Cronus I preserved my gift in my deeper start grew the seed that you sowed it is the very fire of my soul it burned in all those crises when with my own hand I tore the thread of life why will you not accept it would you have me regard you as a poor master whose age prevents him from seeing that his own pupil obediently follows out his command you are you that would command me to stifle the flame that has illumined my whole life ever since it was penetrated by the first ray of sacred thought the sun says not to the stars be extinguished that I may rise the sun rises and the weak glimmer of the stars is quenched by its far, far stronger light the day says not to the torch be extinguished you interfere with me the day breaks and the torch smokes but no longer shines the divinity that I am questing is not you who are afraid of doubt that divinity is like the day like the sun and shines without extinguishing other lights the guard I seek is the guard who would say to me wanderer give me your torch you no longer need it for I am the source of all light searcher for truth set upon my order the little gift of your doubt because in me is its solution if you are that God I can demand questions no one kills his own child and my doubts are a branch of the eternal spirit whose name is truth round about the fires of heaven tore the dark clouds and out of the howling storm again resound to the powerful voice whether did your doubts tend you arrogant sage who renounced humility the most beautiful adornment of earthly virtues you abandoned the friendly shelter of credulous simplicity to wander in the desert of doubt you have seen this dead space from which the living gods have departed will you traverse it you insignificant worm who crawled in the dust of your pitiful profanation of the gods will you vivify the world will you conceive the unknown divinity to whom you do not dare to pray you miserable digger of dung soiled by the smart of ruined altars will you perchance the architect who shall build the new temple upon what do you base your hopes you who disavow the old gods and have no new gods to take their place the eternal night of doubts unsolved the dead desert deprived of the living spirit this is your world your pitiful worm who gnawed at the living belief which is a refuge for simple hearts and inverted the world into a dead chaos now then where are you you insignificant blasphemous sage nothing was heard but the mighty storm roaring through the spaces then the thunder died away the wind folded its pinions and torrents of rain streamed through the darkness like incessant floods of tears which threatened to devour the earth and drown it in a deluge of unquenchable grief it seemed as desipous that the master was overcome and that the fearless restless questioning voice had been silenced forever but a few moments later it issued again from the same spot your words, son of Cronus hit the mark better than your thunderbolts the thoughts that you have cast into my terrified soul have haunted me often it is often seemed as if my heart would break unto the burden of their unendurable anguish yes I have burdened the friendly shelter of credulous simplicity yes I have seen the spaces from which the living gods have departed enveloped in the night of eternal doubt but I walked without fear for my demon lighted the way the divine beginning of all life let us investigate the question are not offerings of incense burnt on your orders in the name of him who gives life you are stealing what belongs to another not you, but that other is served by credulous simplicity yes, you are right I am no architect I am not the builder of a new temple nor to me was it given to raise from the earth to the heavens the glorious structure of the coming faith I am one who digs dung soiled by the smut of destruction but my conscience tells me son of Cronus that the work of one who digs dung is also necessary for the future temple when the time comes for the proud and stately edifice to stand on a purified place and for the living divinity of the new belief to erect his throne upon it I, the modest figure of dung will go to him and say here am I who restlessly crawled in the dust of disavow when surrounded by fog and soot I had no time to raise my eyes from the ground my head had only a vague conception of the future building will you reject me you're just one just and true and great silence and astonishment reigned in the spaces and continued the sunbeam falls upon the filthy puddle and light vapor leaving heavy mud behind rises to the sun melts and dissolves in the ether with your sunbeam you touch my dust leaden soul and it despired to you, unknown one whose name is mystery I saw it for you because you are truth I strove to attain to you because you are justice I loved you because you are love I died for you because you are the source of life will you reject me oh, unknown my torturing doubts my passionate search for truth my difficult life my voluntary death accept them as a bloodless offering as a prayer, as a sigh absorb them as the immeasurable ether absorbs the evaporating mists take them you whose name I do not know let not the ghosts of the night I have traversed bow the way to you to eternal light give way, you shades who dim the light of the dawn I tell you, gods of my people you are unjust and where there is no justice there can be no truth but only phantoms creations of a dream illusion have I come I, Socrates who sought to fathom all things rise, dead mists I go on my way to him whom I have sought all my life long the thunder burst again a short abrupt peel as if the aegis had fallen from the weakened hand of the thunderer stormed voices trembled from the mountains sounding dullly in the gorges and died away in the clefts surrounded other marvellous tones whencdessipus looked up in astonishment a spectacle presented itself such as no mortal eyes had ever seen the night vanished the clouds lifted and godly figures floated in the asia like golden ornaments on the hem of a festive robe heroic forms glimmered over the remote crags and ravines an elpidius whose little figure was seen standing at the edge of a cleft in the rock and hands toward them as if beseeching the vanishing gods for a solution of his fate a mountain peak now stood out clearly above the mysterious mist gleaming like a torch over dark blue valleys the sun of cronos, the thunderer was no longer enthroned upon it and the other olympians too were gone Socrates stood alone in the light of the sun under the high heavens aessipus was distinctly conscious of the pulse-speak of mysterious life quivering throughout nature stirring even the tiniest blade of grass a breath seemed to be stirring the barmy air a voice to be sounding in wonderful harmony an invisible tread to be heard the tread of the radiant dawn and on the illumined peak a man stood still stretching out his arms in mute ecstasy moved by a mighty impulse a moment and all disappeared and the light of an ordinary day shone upon the awakened soul of Ctesipus it was like dismal twilight after the revelation of nature that had blown upon him the breath of an unknown life in deep silence the pupils of the philosopher listened to the marvellous recital of Ctesipus Plato broke the silence let us investigate the dream and its significance he said let us investigate it responded the others The End of the Shades A Fantasy by Vladimir G. Korolenko Part 2 Recording by Algipug Perth Western Australia Chapter 11 of Best Russian Short Stories This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Nullafidian Best Russian Short Stories Edited and Compiled by Thomas Seltzer The Signal by Visevolod Garshin Semyon Ivanov was a track walker His hut was ten bursts away from a railroad station in one direction and twelve bursts away in the other About four bursts away there was a cotton mill that had opened the year before and its tall chimney rose up darkly from behind the fort The only dwellings around were the distant huts of the other track walkers Semyon Ivanov's health had been completely shattered Nine years before he had served right through the wars the servant to an officer the sun had roasted him the cold frozen him and hunger famished him on the forced marches of forty and fifty bursts a day in the heat and the cold and the rain and the shine The bullets had whizzed about him but thank god none had struck him Semyon's regiment had it once been on the firing line for a whole week there had been skirmishing with the Turks only a deep ravine separating the two hostile armies and from morn till eve there had been a steady crossfire Thrice Daly Semyon carried a steaming samovar and the fireman carried a steaming samovar and his officers meals from the camp kitchen to the ravine the bullets hummed about him and rattled viciously against the rocks Semyon was terrified and cried sometimes but still he kept right on the officers were pleased with him because he always had hot tea ready for them he returned from the campaign with limbs unbroken but crippled with rheumatism he had experienced no little sorrow since then he arrived home to find that his father an old man and his little four year old son had died Semyon remained alone with his wife they could not do much it was difficult to plow with rheumatic arms and legs they could no longer stay in their village so they started off to seek their fortune in new places they stayed for a short time on the line in Herzun and Don Cicina but nowhere found luck then the wife went out to service and Semyon continued to travel about once he happened to ride on an engine and at one of the stations the face of the station master seemed familiar to him Semyon looked at the station master and the station master looked at Semyon and they recognized each other he had been an officer in Semyon's regiment you are Ivanov, he said yes, your Excellency how do you come to be here Semyon told him all where are you off to I cannot tell you sir idiot what do you mean I cannot tell you I mean what I say your Excellency there is nowhere for me to go to I cannot for work sir the station master looked at him thought a bit and said see here friend stay here a while at the station you are married I think where is your wife yes, your Excellency, I am married my wife is at Kursk in service with a merchant well, right to your wife to come here, I will give you a free pass for her there is a position as track walker open I will speak to the chief on your behalf I shall be very grateful to you your Excellency replied Semyon he stayed at the station helped in the kitchen cut firewood kept the yard clean and swept the platform in a fortnight's time his wife arrived and Semyon went on a hand trolley to his hut the hut was a new one and warm with as much wood as he wanted there was a little vegetable garden the legacy of former track walkers and there was about half a desiatin of plowed land on either side of the railway embankment Semyon was rejoiced he began to think of doing some farming of purchasing a cow and a horse he was given all necessary stores a green flag a red flag lanterns, a horn, hammer screw wrench for the nuts a crowbar, spade broom, bolts and nails they gave him two books of regulations and a timetable of the train at first Semyon could not sleep at night and learnt the whole timetable by heart two hours before a train was due he would go over to his section sit on the bench at his hut and listen whether the rails were trembling or the rumble of the train could be heard he even learnt the regulations by heart although he could only read by spelling out each word it was summer the work was not heavy there was no snow to clear away and the trains on that line were infrequent Semyon used to go over his burst twice a day examine and screw up nuts here and there keep the bed level look at the water pipes and then go home to his own affairs there was only one drawback he always had to get the inspector's permission for the least little thing he wanted to do Semyon and his wife were even beginning to be bored two months passed and Semyon commenced to make the acquaintance of his neighbors the track walkers on either side of him one was a very old man whom the authorities were always meaning to relieve he scarcely moved out of his hut his wife used to do all his work the other track walker nearer the station was a young man thin but muscular he and Semyon met for the first time on the line midway between the huts Semyon took off his hat and bowed good health to you neighbor he said the neighbor glanced to scans at him how do you do he replied then turned around and made off later the wives met Semyon's wife passed the time of day with her neighbor but neither did she say much on one occasion Semyon said to her young woman your husband is not very talkative the woman said nothing at first then replied but what is there for him to talk about everyone has his own business go your way and God be with you however after another month or so they became acquainted Semyon would go with Vasily along the line sit on the edge of a pipe smoke and talk of life Vasily for the most part kept silent but Semyon talked of his village and of the campaign through which he had passed I've had no little sorrow in my day he would say and goodness knows I have not lived long God has not given me happiness but what he may give so will it be that's so friend Vasily Stepanich Vasily Stepanich knocked the ashes out of his pipe against a rail stood up and said it is not luck which follows us in life but human beings there is no crueler beast on this earth man wolf does not eat wolf but man will readily devour man come friend don't say that wolf eats wolf the words came into my mind and I said it all the same there is nothing crueler than man if it were not for his wickedness and greed it would be possible to live everybody tries to sting you to the quick to bite and eat you up Semyon pondered a bit I don't know brother he said perhaps it is as you say and perhaps it is God's will and perhaps it Vasily it is a waste of time for me to talk to you to put everything unpleasant on God and sit and suffer means brother being not a man but an animal that's what I have to say and he turned and went off without saying goodbye Semyon also got up and he called why do you lose your temper but his neighbor did not look round and kept on his way Semyon gazed after him until he was lost to sight in the cutting at the turn he went home and said to his wife arena our neighbor is a wicked person not a man however they did not quarrel they met again and discussed the same topics ah friend not for men we should not be poking in these huts said Vasily on one occasion and what if we are poking in these huts it's not so bad you can live in them live in them indeed you you have lived long and learned little looked at much and seen little what sort of life is there for a poor man in a hut here or there the cannibals are devouring you they are sucking up all your life blood and when you become old they will throw you out just as they do husks to feed the pigs on what pay do you get not much Vasily Stepanich twelve rubles and I thirteen and a half rubles why by the regulations the company should give us fifteen rubles a month with firing and lighting who decides that you should have twelve rubles or I thirteen and a half ask yourself and you may say a man can live on that you understand it is not a question of one and a half rubles or three rubles even if they paid us each the whole fifteen rubles I was at the station last month the director passed through I saw him I had that honor he had a separate coach he came out and stood on the platform I shall not stay here long I shall go somewhere, anywhere follow my nose but where will you go Stepanich leave well enough alone here you have a house warmth a little piece of land your wife is a worker land you should look at my piece of land not a twig on it nothing I planted some cabbages in the spring the inspector came along he said what is this why have you not reported this why have you done this without permission dig them up roots and all he was drunk another time he would not have said a word but this time it struck him three rubles fine Vasily kept silent for a while pulling at his pipe then added quietly a little more and I should have done for him you are hot tempered no I am not hot tempered but I tell the truth and think yes he will still get a bloody nose for me I will complain to the chief we will see then and Vasily did complain to the chief once the chief came to inspect the line three days later important the personages were coming from St. Petersburg and would pass over the line they were conducting an inquiry so that previous to their journey it was necessary to put everything in order ballast was laid down the bed was leveled the sleepers carefully examined spikes driven in a bit nuts screwed up posts painted and orders given for yellow sand to be sprinkled the woman at the neighboring hut turned her old man out to weed Semyon worked for a whole week he put everything in order mended his kaftan cleaned and polished his brass plate until it fairly shone Vasily also worked hard the chief arrived on a trolley four men working the handles and the levers making the six wheels hum the trolley traveled at 20 an hour but the wheels squeaked it reached Semyon's hut and he ran out and reported in soldierly fashion all appeared to be in repair have you been here long inquired the chief since the second of May your excellency all right, thank you and who is at hut number 164 the traffic inspector he was traveling with the chief on the trolley Vasily Spiridov Spiridov Spiridov ah, is he the man against whom you made a note last year? he is well, we will see Vasily Spiridov go on the workmen laid to the handles and the trolley got under way Semyon watched it and thought there will be trouble between them and my neighbor about two hours later he started on his round he saw someone coming along the line from the cutting something white showed on his head Semyon began to look more attentively it was Vasily he had a stick in his hand a small bundle on his shoulder and his cheek was bound up in a handkerchief where are you off to? Vasily came quite close he was very pale white as chalk and his eyes had a wild look almost choking he muttered to town, to Moscow to the head office head office? ah, you were going to complain I suppose give it up, Vasily Stepanovich forget it no mate, I will not forget it is too late, see he struck me in the face drew blood I will not live, I will not forget I will not leave it like this Semyon took his hand give it up, Stepanovich I am giving you good advice you will not better things better things I know myself I shot better things you were right about fate it would be better for me not to do it but one must stand up for the right but tell me, how did it happen? how? he examined everything got down from the trolley looked into the hut I knew beforehand that he would be strict and so I would put everything into proper order he was just going when I made my complaint he immediately cried out here is a government inquiry coming and you make a complaint about a vegetable garden here are privy counsellors coming and you annoy me with cabbages I lost patience and said something not very much but it offended him and he struck me in the face I stood still I did nothing just as if what he did was perfectly all right they went off I came to myself washed my face and left and what about the hut my wife is staying there she will look after things never mind about their roads Vasily got up and collected himself goodbye Ivanov I do not know whether I shall get anyone at the office to listen to me surely you are not going to walk at the station I will try to get on a freight train and tomorrow I shall be in Moscow the neighbors bade each other farewell Vasily was absent for some time his wife worked for him night and day she never slept and wore herself out waiting for her husband on the third day the commission arrived an engine, luggage van and two first class saloons but Vasily was still away Semyon saw his wife on the fourth day her face was swollen from crying and her eyes were red has your husband returned he asked but the woman only made a gesture with her hands and without saying a word went her way Semyon had learnt when still allowed to make flutes out of a kind of reed he used to burn out the heart of the stock and make holes where necessary drill them fix a mouthpiece at one end and tune them so well that it was possible to play almost any air upon them he made a number of them in his spare time he sent them by friends amongst the freight breakmen to the bazaar in the town he got two co-packs apiece for them on the day following the visit of the commission he left his wife at home to meet the six o'clock train and started off to the forest to cut some sticks he went to the end of his section at this point the line made a sharp turn descended from the embankment and struck into the wood at the foot of the mountain about half a burst away there was a big marsh around which splendid reeds for his flutes grew he cut a whole bundle of stocks and started back home the sun was already drooping low and in the dead stillness only the twittering of the birds was audible and the crackle of the dead wood under his feet as he walked along rapidly the line of iron striking iron and he redoubled his pace there was no repair going on in his section what did it mean he emerged from the woods the railway embankment stood high before him on the top a man was squatting on the bed of the line busily engaged in something Semyon commenced quietly to crawl up towards him he thought it was someone after the nuts which secure the rails he watched and the man got up holding a crowbar in his hand he had loosened a rail so that it would move to one side a mist swam before Semyon's eyes he wanted to cry out but could not it was busily Semyon scrambled up the bank as busily with crowbar and wrench slid headlong down the other side busily stepanich my dear friend come back give me the crowbar we will put the rail back no one will know come back save your soul from sin busily did not look back but disappeared into the woods Semyon stood before the rail which had been torn up he threw down his bundle of sticks a train was due not a freight but a passenger train and he had nothing with which to stop it no flag he could not replace the rail and could not drive in the spikes with his bare hands it was necessary to run absolutely necessary to run to the hut for some tools God help me he murmured Semyon started running towards his hut he was out of breath but still ran falling every now and then he had cleared the forest a hundred feet from his hut not more when he heard the distant hooter of the factory sound six o'clock in two minutes time number seven train was due oh lord have pity on innocent souls in his mind Semyon saw the engine strike against the loosened rail with its left wheel shiver, careen, tear up and splinter the sleepers and just there there was a curve about seventy feet high down which the engine would topple and the third class carriages would be packed little children all sitting in the train now never dreaming of danger oh lord tell me what to do no it is impossible to run to the hut and get back in time Semyon did not run on to the hut but turned back and ran faster than before he was running almost mechanically blindly he did not know himself what was to happen he ran as far as the rail which had been pulled up his sticks were lying in a heap he bent down seized one without knowing why and ran on farther it seemed to him the train was already coming he heard the distant whistle he heard the quiet even tremor of the rails but his strength was exhausted he ran no farther and came to a halt about six hundred feet from the awful spot then an idea came into his head literally like a ray of light pulling off his cap he took out of it a cotton scarf drew his knife out of the upper part of his boot and crossed himself muttering God bless me he buried the knife in his left arm above the elbow the blood spurred it out flowing in a hot stream to scarf smoothed it out tied it to the stick and hung out his red flag he stood waving his flag the train was already in sight the driver would not see him would come close up and a heavy train cannot be pulled up in six hundred feet and the blood kept on flowing Simeon pressed the sides of the wound together so as to close it but the blood did not diminish evidently he had cut his arm very deep his head commenced to swim black spots began to dance before his eyes and then it became dark there was a ringing in his ears he could not see the train or hear the noise only one thought possessed him I shall not be able to keep standing up I shall fall and drop the flag the train will pass over me help me oh lord all turned black before him his mind became a blank and he dropped the flag but the bloodstained banner did not fall to the ground a hand seized it and held it high to meet the approaching train the engineer saw it shut the regulator and reversed steam the train came to a stand still people jumped out of the carriages and collected in a crowd they saw a man lying senseless on the footway drenched in blood and another man standing beside him with the bloodstained rag on a stick Vasily looked around at all then lowering his head he said bind me I tore up a rail end of the signal by the Savalod Garshan