The Russian Masters: Works by Dostoevsky, Chekhov, Tolstoy, Pushkin, Gogol, Turgenev and More. Максим Горький

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СКАЧАТЬ go fishing to-morrow at the mill.

      SAVVA

      I don't like fishing. It bores me.

      FRIAR

      I'm sorry. Well then, let's go into the woods and knock down the dry branches of trees. It's fine sport to walk about in the forest and knock off the branches with a stick. And when you shout "Ho-ho-ho!" the echo from the ravine answers back "Ho-ho-ho!" Do you like swimming?

      SAVVA

      Yes, I like it. I am a good swimmer.

      FRIAR

      I like it too.

      SPERANSKY (with a deep sigh)

      Yes, it's a strange condition.

      SAVVA (smiling at the Friar)

      Eh? Well, how are you now?

      SPERANSKY

      When my uncle took me to his house, he made me promise I would never attempt suicide again. That was the only condition oh which he would consent to let me live with him. "All right," I said; "if we really exist, then I won't make any further attempt to hang myself."

      SAVVA

      Why do you want to know whether you exist or not? There is the sky. Look, how beautiful it is. There are the swallows and the sweet-scented grass. It's fine! (To the Friar) Fine, isn't it, Vassya?

      FRIAR

      Mr. Savva, do you like to tear up ant-hills?

      SAVVA

      I don't know. I never tried.

      FRIAR

      I like it. Do you like to fly kites?

      SAVVA

      It's a long time since I tried to. I used to like it very much.

      SPERANSKY (patiently awaiting the end of their conversation)

      Swallows! What good is their flying to me? Anyhow, maybe swallows don't exist either, and it's all a dream.

      SAVVA

      Suppose it is a dream. Dreams are very beautiful sometimes, you know.

      SPERANSKY

      I should like to wake up, but I can't. I wander around and wander around until I am weary and feeble, and when I rouse myself I find I am here, in the very same place. There is the monastery and the belfry, and the clock strikes the hour. And it's all like a dream, a fantasy. You close your eyes, and it does not exist. You open them, and it's there again. Sometimes I go out into the fields at night and close my eyes, and then it seems to me there is nothing at all existing. Suddenly the quail begin to call, and a wagon rolls down the road. Again a dream. For if you stopped up your ears, you wouldn't hear those sounds. When I die, everything will grow silent, and then it will be true. Only the dead know the truth, Mr. Savva.

      FRIAR (smiling, cautiously waving his hands at a bird; in a whisper) It's time to go to bed, time to go to bed.

      SAVVA (impatiently)

      What dead? Listen, my dear sir. I have a plain, simple, peasant mind, and I don't understand those subtleties. What dead are you talking about?

      SPERANSKY

      About all the dead, every one without exception. That's why the faces of the dead are so serene. Whatever agonies a man may have suffered before his death, the moment he dies his face becomes serene. That's because he has learned the truth. I always come here to attend the funerals. It's astonishing. There was a woman buried here. She had died of grief because her husband was crushed under a locomotive. You can imagine what must have been going on in her mind before her death. It's too horrible to think of. Yet she lay there, in the coffin, absolutely serene and calm. That's because she had come to know that her grief was nothing but a dream, a mere phantom. I like the dead, Mr. Savva. I think the dead really exist.

      SAVVA

      I don't like the dead. (Impatiently) You are a very disagreeable fellow. Has anybody ever told you that?

      SPERANSKY

      Yes, I have, heard it before.

      SAVVA

      I would never have taken you out of the noose. What damn fool did it anyway?

      SPERANSKY

      The first time it was the Father Steward, the next time my classmates. I am very sorry you disapprove of me, Mr. Tropinin. As you are an educated man, I should have liked to show you a bit of writing I did while I was in the seminary. It's called "The Tramp of Death." It's a sort of story.

      SAVVA

      No, spare me, please. Altogether I wish you'd—

      FRIAR. (rising)

      There comes Father Kirill. I had better beat it.

      SAVVA

      Why?

      FRIAR

      He came across me in the forest the other day when I was-shouting "Ho! Ho!" "Ah," said he, "you forest sprite with goat's feet!" To-morrow after dinner, all right? (Walks away, sedately at first, but then with a sort of dancing step)

      FAT MONK (approaches)

      Well, young men, having a pleasant chat? Are you Mr. Tropinin's son?

      SAVVA

      I am the man.

      FAT MONK

      I have heard about you. A decent, respectable gentleman your father is. May I sit down? (He sits down) The sun has set, yet it's still hot. I wonder if we'll have a storm to-night. Well, young man, how do you like it here? How does this place compare with the metropolis?

      SAVVA

      It's a rich monastery.

      FAT MONK

      Yes, thank the Lord. It's celebrated all over Russia. There are many who come here even from Siberia. Its fame reaches far. There'll soon be a feast-day, and—

      SPERANSKY

      You'll work yourself sick, father. Services day and night.

      FAT MONK

      Yes, we must do our best for the monastery.

      SAVVA

      Not for the people?

      FAT MONK

      Yes, for the people too. For whom else? Last year a large number of epileptics were cured; quite a lot of them. One blind man had his eyesight restored, СКАЧАТЬ