Gusev by Anton Chekhov
IT was getting dark; it would soon be night.
Gusev, a discharged soldier, sat up in his hammock and said in an
"I say, Pavel Ivanitch. A soldier at Sutchan told me: while they were
sailing a big fish came into collision with their ship and stove a hole in
The nondescript individual whom he was addressing, and whom everyone in
the ship's hospital called Pavel Ivanitch, was silent, as though he had
And again a stillness followed... The wind frolicked with the rigging, the
screw throbbed, the waves lashed, the hammocks creaked, but the ear had
long ago become accustomed to these sounds, and it seemed that everything
around was asleep and silent. It was dreary. The three invalids—two
soldiers and a sailor—who had been playing cards all the day were
asleep and talking in their dreams.
It seemed as though the ship were beginning to rock. The hammock slowly
rose and fell under Gusev, as though it were heaving a sigh, and this was
repeated once, twice, three times.... Something crashed on to the floor
with a clang: it must have been a jug falling down.
"The wind has broken loose from its chain..." said Gusev, listening.
This time Pavel Ivanitch cleared his throat and answered irritably:
"One minute a vessel's running into a fish, the next, the wind's breaking
loose from its chain. Is the wind a beast that it can break loose from its
"That's how christened folk talk."
"They are as ignorant as you are then. They say all sorts of things. One
must keep a head on one's shoulders and use one's reason. You are a
Pavel Ivanitch was subject to sea-sickness. When the sea was rough he was
usually ill-humoured, and the merest trifle would make him irritable. And
in Gusev's opinion there was absolutely nothing to be vexed about. What
was there strange or wonderful, for instance, in the fish or in the wind's
breaking loose from its chain? Suppose the fish were as big as a mountain
and its back were as hard as a sturgeon: and in the same way, supposing
that away yonder at the end of the world there stood great stone walls and
the fierce winds were chained up to the walls... if they had not broken
loose, why did they tear about all over the sea like maniacs, and struggle
to escape like dogs? If they were not chained up, what did become of them
when it was calm?
Gusev pondered for a long time about fishes as big as a mountain and
stout, rusty chains, then he began to feel dull and thought of his native
place to which he was returning after five years' service in the East. He
pictured an immense pond covered with snow.... On one side of the pond the
red-brick building of the potteries with a tall chimney and clouds of
black smoke; on the other side—a village.... His brother Alexey
comes out in a sledge from the fifth yard from the end; behind him sits
his little son Vanka in big felt over-boots, and his little girl Akulka,
also in big felt boots. Alexey has been drinking, Vanka is laughing,
Akulka's face he could not see, she had muffled herself up.
"You never know, he'll get the children frozen..." thought Gusev. "Lord
send them sense and judgment that they may honour their father and mother
and not be wiser than their parents."
"They want re-soleing," a delirious sailor says in a bass voice. "Yes,
Gusev's thoughts break off, and instead of a pond there suddenly appears
apropos of nothing a huge bull's head without eyes, and the horse and
sledge are not driving along, but are whirling round and round in a cloud
of smoke. But still he was glad he had seen his own folks. He held his
breath from delight, shudders ran all over him, and his fingers twitched.
"The Lord let us meet again," he muttered feverishly, but he at once
opened his eyes and sought in the darkness for water.
He drank and lay back, and again the sledge was moving, then again the
bull's head without eyes, smoke, clouds.... And so on till daybreak.
The first outline visible in the darkness was a blue circle—the
little round window; then little by little Gusev could distinguish his
neighbour in the next hammock, Pavel Ivanitch. The man slept sitting up,
as he could not breathe lying down. His face was grey, his nose was long
and sharp, his eyes looked huge from the terrible thinness of his face,
his temples were sunken, his beard was skimpy, his hair was long....
Looking at him you could not make out of what class he was, whether he
were a gentleman, a merchant, or a peasant. Judging from his expression
and his long hair he might have been a hermit or a lay brother in a
monastery—but if one listened to what he said it seemed that he
could not be a monk. He was worn out by his cough and his illness and by
the stifling heat, and breathed with difficulty, moving his parched lips.
Noticing that Gusev was looking at him he turned his face towards him and
"I begin to guess.... Yes.... I understand it all perfectly now."
"What do you understand, Pavel Ivanitch?"
"I'll tell you.... It has always seemed to me strange that terribly ill as
you are you should be here in a steamer where it is so hot and stifling
and we are always being tossed up and down, where, in fact, everything
threatens you with death; now it is all clear to me.... Yes.... Your
doctors put you on the steamer to get rid of you. They get sick of looking
after poor brutes like you.... You don't pay them anything, they have a
bother with you, and you damage their records with your deaths—so,
of course, you are brutes! It's not difficult to get rid of you.... All
that is necessary is, in the first place, to have no conscience or
humanity, and, secondly, to deceive the steamer authorities. The first
condition need hardly be considered, in that respect we are artists; and
one can always succeed in the second with a little practice. In a crowd of
four hundred healthy soldiers and sailors half a dozen sick ones are not
conspicuous; well, they drove you all on to the steamer, mixed you with
the healthy ones, hurriedly counted you over, and in the confusion nothing
amiss was noticed, and when the steamer had started they saw that there
were paralytics and consumptives in the last stage lying about on the
Gusev did not understand Pavel Ivanitch; but supposing he was being
blamed, he said in self-defence:
"I lay on the deck because I had not the strength to stand; when we were
unloaded from the barge on to the ship I caught a fearful chill."
"It's revolting," Pavel Ivanitch went on. "The worst of it is they know
perfectly well that you can't last out the long journey, and yet they put
you here. Supposing you get as far as the Indian Ocean, what then? It's
horrible to think of it.... And that's their gratitude for your faithful,
Pavel Ivanitch's eyes looked angry; he frowned contemptuously and said,
"Those are the people who ought to be plucked in the newspapers till the
feathers fly in all directions."
The two sick soldiers and the sailor were awake and already playing cards.
The sailor was half reclining in his hammock, the soldiers were sitting
near him on the floor in the most uncomfortable attitudes. One of the
soldiers had his right arm in a sling, and the hand was swathed up in a
regular bundle so that he held his cards under his right arm or in the
crook of his elbow while he played with the left. The ship was rolling
heavily. They could not stand up, nor drink tea, nor take their medicines.
"Were you an officer's servant?" Pavel Ivanitch asked Gusev.
"Yes, an officer's servant."
"My God, my God!" said Pavel Ivanitch, and he shook his head mournfully.
"To tear a man out of his home, drag him twelve thousand miles away, then
to drive him into consumption and... and what is it all for, one wonders?
To turn him into a servant for some Captain Kopeikin or midshipman Dirka!
"It's not hard work, Pavel Ivanitch. You get up in the morning and clean
the boots, get the samovar, sweep the rooms, and then you have nothing
more to do. The lieutenant is all the day drawing plans, and if you like
you can say your prayers, if you like you can read a book or go out into
the street. God grant everyone such a life."
"Yes, very nice, the lieutenant draws plans all the day and you sit in the
kitchen and pine for home.... Plans indeed!... It is not plans that
matter, but a human life. Life is not given twice, it must be treated
"Of course, Pavel Ivanitch, a bad man gets no mercy anywhere, neither at
home nor in the army, but if you live as you ought and obey orders, who
has any need to insult you? The officers are educated gentlemen, they
understand.... In five years I was never once in prison, and I was never
struck a blow, so help me God, but once."
"For fighting. I have a heavy hand, Pavel Ivanitch. Four Chinamen came
into our yard; they were bringing firewood or something, I don't remember.
Well, I was bored and I knocked them about a bit, one's nose began
bleeding, damn the fellow.... The lieutenant saw it through the little
window, he was angry and gave me a box on the ear."
"Foolish, pitiful man..." whispered Pavel Ivanitch. "You don't understand
He was utterly exhausted by the tossing of the ship and closed his eyes;
his head alternately fell back and dropped forward on his breast. Several
times he tried to lie down but nothing came of it; his difficulty in
breathing prevented it.
"And what did you hit the four Chinamen for?" he asked a little while
"Oh, nothing. They came into the yard and I hit them."
And a stillness followed.... The card-players had been playing for two
hours with enthusiasm and loud abuse of one another, but the motion of the
ship overcame them, too; they threw aside the cards and lay down. Again
Gusev saw the big pond, the brick building, the village.... Again the
sledge was coming along, again Vanka was laughing and Akulka, silly little
thing, threw open her fur coat and stuck her feet out, as much as to say:
"Look, good people, my snowboots are not like Vanka's, they are new ones."
"Five years old, and she has no sense yet," Gusev muttered in delirium.
"Instead of kicking your legs you had better come and get your soldier
uncle a drink. I will give you something nice."
Then Andron with a flintlock gun on his shoulder was carrying a hare he
had killed, and he was followed by the decrepit old Jew Isaitchik, who
offers to barter the hare for a piece of soap; then the black calf in the
shed, then Domna sewing at a shirt and crying about something, and then
again the bull's head without eyes, black smoke....
Overhead someone gave a loud shout, several sailors ran by, they seemed to
be dragging something bulky over the deck, something fell with a crash.
Again they ran by.... Had something gone wrong? Gusev raised his head,
listened, and saw that the two soldiers and the sailor were playing cards
again; Pavel Ivanitch was sitting up moving his lips. It was stifling, one
hadn't strength to breathe, one was thirsty, the water was warm,
disgusting. The ship heaved as much as ever.
Suddenly something strange happened to one of the soldiers playing
cards.... He called hearts diamonds, got muddled in his score, and dropped
his cards, then with a frightened, foolish smile looked round at all of
"I shan't be a minute, mates, I'll..." he said, and lay down on the floor.
Everybody was amazed. They called to him, he did not answer.
"Stephan, maybe you are feeling bad, eh?" the soldier with his arm in a
sling asked him. "Perhaps we had better bring the priest, eh?"
"Have a drink of water, Stepan..." said the sailor. "Here, lad, drink."
"Why are you knocking the jug against his teeth?" said Gusev angrily.
"Don't you see, turnip head?"
"What?" Gusev repeated, mimicking him. "There is no breath in him, he is
dead! That's what! What nonsensical people, Lord have mercy on us...!"
The ship was not rocking and Pavel Ivanitch was more cheerful. He was no
longer ill-humoured. His face had a boastful, defiant, mocking expression.
He looked as though he wanted to say: "Yes, in a minute I will tell you
something that will make you split your sides with laughing." The little
round window was open and a soft breeze was blowing on Pavel Ivanitch.
There was a sound of voices, of the plash of oars in the water.... Just
under the little window someone began droning in a high, unpleasant voice:
no doubt it was a Chinaman singing.
"Here we are in the harbour," said Pavel Ivanitch, smiling ironically.
"Only another month and we shall be in Russia. Well, worthy gentlemen and
warriors! I shall arrive at Odessa and from there go straight to Harkov.
In Harkov I have a friend, a literary man. I shall go to him and say,
'Come, old man, put aside your horrid subjects, ladies' amours and the
beauties of nature, and show up human depravity.'"
For a minute he pondered, then said:
"Gusev, do you know how I took them in?"
"Took in whom, Pavel Ivanitch?"
"Why, these fellows.... You know that on this steamer there is only a
first-class and a third-class, and they only allow peasants—that is
the rift-raft—to go in the third. If you have got on a reefer jacket
and have the faintest resemblance to a gentleman or a bourgeois you must
go first-class, if you please. You must fork out five hundred roubles if
you die for it. Why, I ask, have you made such a rule? Do you want to
raise the prestige of educated Russians thereby? Not a bit of it. We don't
let you go third-class simply because a decent person can't go
third-class; it is very horrible and disgusting. Yes, indeed. I am very
grateful for such solicitude for decent people's welfare. But in any case,
whether it is nasty there or nice, five hundred roubles I haven't got. I
haven't pilfered government money. I haven't exploited the natives, I
haven't trafficked in contraband, I have flogged no one to death, so judge
whether I have the right to travel first-class and even less to reckon
myself of the educated class? But you won't catch them with logic.... One
has to resort to deception. I put on a workman's coat and high boots, I
assumed a drunken, servile mug and went to the agents: 'Give us a little
ticket, your honour,' said I...."
"Why, what class do you belong to?" asked a sailor.
"Clerical. My father was an honest priest, he always told the great ones
of the world the truth to their faces; and he had a great deal to put up
with in consequence."
Pavel Ivanitch was exhausted with talking and gasped for breath, but still
"Yes, I always tell people the truth to their faces. I am not afraid of
anyone or anything. There is a vast difference between me and all of you
in that respect. You are in darkness, you are blind, crushed; you see
nothing and what you do see you don't understand.... You are told the wind
breaks loose from its chain, that you are beasts, Petchenyegs, and you
believe it; they punch you in the neck, you kiss their hands; some animal
in a sable-lined coat robs you and then tips you fifteen kopecks and you:
'Let me kiss your hand, sir.' You are pariahs, pitiful people.... I am a
different sort. My eyes are open, I see it all as clearly as a hawk or an
eagle when it floats over the earth, and I understand it all. I am a
living protest. I see irresponsible tyranny—I protest. I see cant
and hypocrisy—I protest. I see swine triumphant—I protest. And
I cannot be suppressed, no Spanish Inquisition can make me hold my tongue.
No.... Cut out my tongue and I would protest in dumb show; shut me up in a
cellar—I will shout from it to be heard half a mile away, or I will
starve myself to death that they may have another weight on their black
consciences. Kill me and I will haunt them with my ghost. All my
acquaintances say to me: 'You are a most insufferable person, Pavel
Ivanitch.' I am proud of such a reputation. I have served three years in
the far East, and I shall be remembered there for a hundred years: I had
rows with everyone. My friends write to me from Russia, 'Don't come back,'
but here I am going back to spite them... yes.... That is life as I
understand it. That is what one can call life."
Gusev was looking at the little window and was not listening. A boat was
swaying on the transparent, soft, turquoise water all bathed in hot,
dazzling sunshine. In it there were naked Chinamen holding up cages with
canaries and calling out:
"It sings, it sings!"
Another boat knocked against the first; the steam cutter darted by. And
then there came another boat with a fat Chinaman sitting in it, eating
rice with little sticks.
Languidly the water heaved, languidly the white seagulls floated over it.
"I should like to give that fat fellow one in the neck," thought Gusev,
gazing at the stout Chinaman, with a yawn.
He dozed off, and it seemed to him that all nature was dozing, too. Time
flew swiftly by; imperceptibly the day passed, imperceptibly the darkness
came on.... The steamer was no longer standing still, but moving on
Two days passed, Pavel Ivanitch lay down instead of sitting up; his eyes
were closed, his nose seemed to have grown sharper.
"Pavel Ivanitch," Gusev called to him. "Hey, Pavel Ivanitch."
Pavel Ivanitch opened his eyes and moved his lips.
"Are you feeling bad?"
"No... it's nothing..." answered Pavel Ivanitch, gasping. "Nothing; on the
contrary—I am rather better.... You see I can lie down. I am a
"Well, thank God for that, Pavel Ivanitch."
"When I compare myself with you I am sorry for you... poor fellow. My
lungs are all right, it is only a stomach cough.... I can stand hell, let
alone the Red Sea. Besides I take a critical attitude to my illness and to
the medicines they give me for it. While you... you are in darkness....
It's hard for you, very, very hard!"
The ship was not rolling, it was calm, but as hot and stifling as a
bath-house; it was not only hard to speak but even hard to listen. Gusev
hugged his knees, laid his head on them and thought of his home. Good
heavens, what a relief it was to think of snow and cold in that stifling
heat! You drive in a sledge, all at once the horses take fright at
something and bolt.... Regardless of the road, the ditches, the ravines,
they dash like mad things, right through the village, over the pond by the
pottery works, out across the open fields. "Hold on," the pottery hands
and the peasants sho ut, meeting them. "Hold on." But why? Let the keen,
cold wind beat in one's face and bite one's hands; let the lumps of snow,
kicked up by the horses' hoofs, fall on one's cap, on one's back, down
one's collar, on one's chest; let the runners ring on the snow, and the
traces and the sledge be smashed, deuce take them one and all! And how
delightful when the sledge upsets and you go flying full tilt into a
drift, face downwards in the snow, and then you get up white all over with
icicles on your moustaches; no cap, no gloves, your belt undone.... People
laugh, the dogs bark....
Pavel Ivanitch half opened one eye, looked at Gusev with it, and asked
"Gusev, did your commanding officer steal?"
"Who can tell, Pavel Ivanitch! We can't say, it didn't reach us."
And after that a long time passed in silence. Gusev brooded, muttered
something in delirium, and kept drinking water; it was hard for him to
talk and hard to listen, and he was afraid of being talked to. An hour
passed, a second, a third; evening came on, then night, but he did not
notice it. He still sat dreaming of the frost.
There was a sound as though someone came into the hospital, and voices
were audible, but a few minutes passed and all was still again.
"The Kingdom of Heaven and eternal peace," said the soldier with his arm
in a sling. "He was an uncomfortable man."
"What?" asked Gusev. "Who?"
"He is dead, they have just carried him up."
"Oh, well," muttered Gusev, yawning, "the Kingdom of Heaven be his."
"What do you think?" the soldier with his arm in a sling asked Gusev.
"Will he be in the Kingdom of Heaven or not?"
"Who is it you are talking about?"
"He will be... he suffered so long. And there is another thing, he
belonged to the clergy, and the priests always have a lot of relations.
Their prayers will save him."
The soldier with the sling sat down on a hammock near Gusev and said in an
"And you, Gusev, are not long for this world. You will never get to
"Did the doctor or his assistant say so?" asked Gusev.
"It isn't that they said so, but one can see it.... One can see directly
when a man's going to die. You don't eat, you don't drink; it's dreadful
to see how thin you've got. It's consumption, in fact. I say it, not to
upset you, but because maybe you would like to have the sacrament and
extreme unction. And if you have any money you had better give it to the
"I haven't written home..." Gusev sighed. "I shall die and they won't
"They'll hear of it," the sick sailor brought out in a bass voice. "When
you die they will put it down in the Gazette, at Odessa they will
send in a report to the commanding officer there and he will send it to
the parish or somewhere...."
Gusev began to be uneasy after such a conversation and to feel a vague
yearning. He drank water—it was not that; he dragged himself to the
window and breathed the hot, moist air—it was not that; he tried to
think of home, of the frost—it was not that.... At last it seemed to
him one minute longer in the ward and he would certainly expire.
"It's stifling, mates..." he said. "I'll go on deck. Help me up, for
"All right," assented the soldier with the sling. "I'll carry you, you
can't walk, hold on to my neck."
Gusev put his arm round the soldier's neck, the latter put his unhurt arm
round him and carried him up. On the deck sailors and time-expired
soldiers were lying asleep side by side; there were so many of them it was
difficult to pass.
"Stand down," the soldier with the sling said softly. "Follow me quietly,
hold on to my shirt...."
It was dark. There was no light on deck, nor on the masts, nor anywhere on
the sea around. At the furthest end of the ship the man on watch was
standing perfectly still like a statue, and it looked as though he were
asleep. It seemed as though the steamer were abandoned to itself and were
going at its own will.
"Now they will throw Pavel Ivanitch into the sea," said the soldier with
the sling. "In a sack and then into the water."
"Yes, that's the rule."
"But it's better to lie at home in the earth. Anyway, your mother comes to
the grave and weeps."
There was a smell of hay and of dung. There were oxen standing with
drooping heads by the ship's rail. One, two, three; eight of them! And
there was a little horse. Gusev put out his hand to stroke it, but it
shook its head, showed its teeth, and tried to bite his sleeve.
"Damned brute..." said Gusev angrily.
The two of them, he and the soldier, threaded their way to the head of the
ship, then stood at the rail and looked up and down. Overhead deep sky,
bright stars, peace and stillness, exactly as at home in the village,
below darkness and disorder. The tall waves were resounding, no one could
tell why. Whichever wave you looked at each one was trying to rise higher
than all the rest and to chase and crush the next one; after it a third as
fierce and hideous flew noisily, with a glint of light on its white crest.
The sea has no sense and no pity. If the steamer had been smaller and not
made of thick iron, the waves would have crushed it to pieces without the
slightest compunction, and would have devoured all the people in it with
no distinction of saints or sinners. The steamer had the same cruel and
meaningless expression. This monster with its huge beak was dashing
onwards, cutting millions of waves in its path; it had no fear of the
darkness nor the wind, nor of space, nor of solitude, caring for nothing,
and if the ocean had its people, this monster would have crushed them,
too, without distinction of saints or sinners.
"Where are we now?" asked Gusev.
"I don't know. We must be in the ocean."
"There is no sight of land..."
"No indeed! They say we shan't see it for seven days."
The two soldiers watched the white foam with the phosphorus light on it
and were silent, thinking. Gusev was the first to break the silence.
"There is nothing to be afraid of," he said, "only one is full of dread as
though one were sitting in a dark forest; but if, for instance, they let a
boat down on to the water this minute and an officer ordered me to go a
hundred miles over the sea to catch fish, I'd go. Or, let's say, if a
Christian were to fall into the water this minute, I'd go in after him. A
German or a Chinaman I wouldn't save, but I'd go in after a Christian."
"And are you afraid to die?"
"Yes. I am sorry for the folks at home. My brother at home, you know,
isn't steady; he drinks, he beats his wife for nothing, he does not honour
his parents. Everything will go to ruin without me, and father and my old
mother will be begging their bread, I shouldn't wonder. But my legs won't
bear me, brother, and it's hot here. Let's go to sleep."
Gusev went back to the ward and got into his hammock. He was again
tormented by a vague craving, and he could not make out what he wanted.
There was an oppression on his chest, a throbbing in his head, his mouth
was so dry that it was difficult for him to move his tongue. He dozed, and
murmured in his sleep, and, worn out with nightmares, his cough, and the
stifling heat, towards morning he fell into a sound sleep. He dreamed that
they were just taking the bread out of the oven in the barracks and he
climbed into the stove and had a steam bath in it, lashing himself with a
bunch of birch twigs. He slept for two days, and at midday on the third
two sailors came down and carried him out.
He was sewn up in sailcloth and to make him heavier they put with him two
iron weights. Sewn up in the sailcloth he looked like a carrot or a
radish: broad at the head and narrow at the feet.... Before sunset they
brought him up to the deck and put him on a plank; one end of the plank
lay on the side of the ship, the other on a box, placed on a stool. Round
him stood the soldiers and the officers with their caps off.
"Blessed be the Name of the Lord..." the priest began. "As it was in the
beginning, is now, and ever shall be."
"Amen," chanted three sailors.
The soldiers and the officers crossed themselves and looked away at the
waves. It was strange that a man should be sewn up in sailcloth and should
soon be flying into the sea. Was it possible that such a thing might
happen to anyone?
The priest strewed earth upon Gusev and bowed down. They sang "Eternal
The man on watch duty tilted up the end of the plank, Gusev slid off and
flew head foremost, turned a somersault in the air and splashed into the
sea. He was covered with foam and for a moment looked as though he were
wrapped in lace, but the minute passed and he disappeared in the waves.
He went rapidly towards the bottom. Did he reach it? It was said to be
three miles to the bottom. After sinking sixty or seventy feet, he began
moving more and more slowly, swaying rhythmically, as though he were
hesitating and, carried along by the current, moved more rapidly sideways
Then he was met by a shoal of the fish called harbour pilots. Seeing the
dark body the fish stopped as though petrified, and suddenly turned round
and disappeared. In less than a minute they flew back swift as an arrow to
Gusev, and began zig-zagging round him in the water.
After that another dark body appeared. It was a shark. It swam under Gusev
with dignity and no show of interest, as though it did not notice him, and
sank down upon its back, then it turned belly upwards, basking in the
warm, transparent water and languidly opened its jaws with two rows of
teeth. The harbour pilots are delighted, they stop to see what will come
next. After playing a little with the body the shark nonchalantly puts its
jaws under it, cautiously touches it with its teeth, and the sailcloth is
rent its full length from head to foot; one of the weights falls out and
frightens the harbour pilots, and striking the shark on the ribs goes
rapidly to the bottom.
Overhead at this time the clouds are massed together on the side where the
sun is setting; one cloud like a triumphal arch, another like a lion, a
third like a pair of scissors.... From behind the clouds a broad, green
shaft of light pierces through and stretches to the middle of the sky; a
little later another, violet-coloured, lies beside it; next that, one of
gold, then one rose-coloured.... The sky turns a soft lilac. Looking at
this gorgeous, enchanted sky, at first the ocean scowls, but soon it, too,
takes tender, joyous, passionate colours for which it is hard to find a
name in human speech.