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Best Russian Short Stories written by Various

V >> Various >> Best Russian Short Stories




"The human pabulum in its original form flies, swims and grows on
trees. Who would have thought it your Excellency?" said the one
Official.

"To be sure," rejoined the other Official. "I, too, must admit that I
had imagined that our breakfast rolls, came into the world 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 feathers and roast it. But
how's that to be done?"

"Yes, how's that to be done?" repeated the other Official.

They turned silent and tried again to fall asleep, but their hunger
scared sleep away. Before their eyes swarmed flocks of pheasants and
ducks, herds of porklings, and they were all so juicy, done so
tenderly and garnished so deliciously with olives, 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-boding fire, their teeth 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 bit off his colleague's order and swallowed it.
However, the sight of blood brought them both back to their senses.

"God help us!" they cried at the same time. "We certainly don't mean
to eat each other up. How could we have come to such a pass as this?
What evil genius is making sport of us?"

"We must, by all means, entertain each other to pass the time away,
otherwise there will be murder and death," 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, your Excellency? You get up first, then you
go to your 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 dream 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.'"

The word "supper" recalled that incident in the day's doings, and the
thought of it made both Officials 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 Official began again.

"What does that mean?"

"It is quite simple. You see, one's own juices generate other juices,
and these in their turn still 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."

"The devil!"

No matter what topic the Officials chose, the conversation invariably
reverted to the subject of eating; which only increased their appetite
more and more. So they decided to give up talking altogether, and,
recollecting the _Moscow Gazette_ that the one of them had found, they
picked it up and began to read eagerly.


BANQUET GIVEN BY THE MAYOR

"The table was set for one hundred persons. The magnificence of it
exceeded all expectations. The remotest provinces were represented at
this feast of the gods by the costliest gifts. The golden sturgeon
from Sheksna and the silver pheasant from the Caucasian woods held a
rendezvous with strawberries 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 the paper from his colleague's hands,
and started to read something else.

"Our correspondent in Tula informs us that yesterday a sturgeon was
found in the Upa (an event which even the oldest inhabitants cannot
recall, and all the more remarkable since they recognised the former
police captain in this sturgeon). 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. Doctor P---- who acted as
toast-master saw to it that everybody present got a piece of the
sturgeon. The sauces to go with it were unusually varied and
delicate--"

"Permit 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 Viatka has discovered a new and
highly original recipe for fish soup; A live codfish (_lota vulgaris_)
is taken and beaten with a rod until its liver swells up with
anger..."

The Officials' heads drooped. 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 beefsteak and the
like, it was all in vain; their fancy returned invariably, with
irresistible force, back to that for which they were so painfully
yearning.

Suddenly an inspiration came to the Official who had once taught
handwriting.

"I have it!" he cried delightedly. "What do you say to this, your
Excellency? What do you say to our finding a muzhik?"

"A muzhik, your Excellency? What sort of a muzhik?"

"Why a plain ordinary muzhik. A muzhik like all other muzhiks. He
would get the breakfast rolls for us right away, and he could also
catch partridges and fish for us."

"Hm, a muzhik. But where are we to fetch one from, if there is no
muzhik here?"

"Why shouldn't there be a muzhik here? There are muzhiks everywhere.
All one has to do is hunt for them. There certainly must be a muzhik
hiding here somewhere so as to get out of working."

This thought so cheered the Officials that they instantly jumped up to
go in search of a muzhik.

For a long while they wandered about on the island without the desired
result, until finally a concentrated smell of black bread and old
sheep skin assailed their nostrils and guided them in the right
direction. There under a tree was a colossal muzhik lying fast asleep
with his hands under his head. It was clear that to escape his duty to
work he had impudently withdrawn to this island. The indignation of
the Officials knew no bounds.

"What, lying asleep here you lazy-bones you!" they raged at him, "It
is nothing to you that there are two Officials here who are fairly
perishing of hunger. Up, forward, march, work."

The Muzhik rose and looked at the two severe gentlemen standing in
front of him. His first thought was to make his escape, but the
Officials 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 rotten one for himself. Then he
turned up the earth and dug out some potatoes. 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 partridges. Over the fire, by this
time burning brightly, he cooked so many kinds of food that the
question arose in the Officials' minds whether they shouldn't give
some to this idler.

Beholding the efforts of the Muzhik, 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 lazy Muzhik asked.

"Yes, we appreciate your industry," replied the Officials.

"Then you will permit me to rest a little?"

"Go take a little rest, but first make a good strong cord."

The Muzhik gathered wild hemp stalks, laid them in water, beat them
and broke them, and toward evening a good stout cord was ready. The
Officials took the cord and bound the Muzhik to a tree, so that he
should not run away. Then they laid themselves to sleep.

Thus day after day passed, and the Muzhik became so skilful that he
could actually cook soup for the Officials in his bare hands. The
Officials had become round and well-fed and happy. It rejoiced them
that here they needn't spend any money and that in the meanwhile their
pensions were accumulating in St. 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, too?"

"Certainly, else; how would you explain the existence of Antediluvian
animals? Besides, the _Moscow Gazette_ says----"

They made search for the old number of the _Moscow Gazette_, seated
themselves in the shade, and read the whole sheet from beginning to
end. They read of festivities in Moscow, Tula, Penza and Riazan, and
strangely enough felt no discomfort at the description of the
delicacies served.

There is no saying how long this life might have lasted. Finally,
however, it began to bore the Officials. They often thought of their
cooks in St. Petersburg, and even shed a few tears in secret.

"I wonder how it looks in Podyacheskaya 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 mother sheep. And it is a pity, too,
for the beautiful uniforms."

"Yes, indeed, a uniform of the fourth class is no joke. The gold
embroidery alone is enough to make one dizzy."

Now they began to importune the Muzhik to find some way of getting
them back to Podyacheskaya Street, and strange to say, the Muzhik even
knew where Podyacheskaya Street was. He had once drunk beer and mead
there, and as the saying goes, everything had run down his beard,
alas, but nothing into his mouth. The Officials rejoiced and said: "We
are Officials from Podyacheskaya Street."

"And I am one of those men--do you remember?--who sit on a scaffolding
hung by ropes from the roofs and paint the outside walls. I am one of
those who crawl about on the roofs like flies. That is what I am,"
replied the Muzhik.

The Muzhik now pondered long and heavily on how to give great pleasure
to his Officials, who had been so gracious to him, the lazy-bones, and
had not scorned 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 Podyacheskaya Street.

"Now, take care, you dog, that you don't drown us," said the
Officials, when they saw the raft rising and falling on the waves.

"Don't be afraid. We muzhiks are used to this," said the Muzhik,
making all the preparations for the journey. He gathered swan's-down
and made a couch for his two Officials, then he crossed himself and
rowed off from shore.

How frightened the Officials were on the way, how seasick they were
during the storms, how they scolded the coarse Muzhik for his
idleness, can neither be told nor described. The Muzhik, however, just
kept rowing on and fed his Officials on herring. At last, they caught
sight of dear old Mother Neva. Soon they were in the glorious
Catherine Canal, and then, oh joy! they struck the grand Podyacheskaya
Street. When the cooks saw their Officials so well-fed, round and so
happy, they rejoiced immensely. The Officials drank coffee and rolls,
then put on their uniforms and drove to the Pension Bureau. How much
money they collected there is another thing that can neither be told
nor described. Nor was the Muzhik forgotten. The Officials sent a
glass of whiskey out to him and five kopeks. Now, Muzhik, rejoice.




THE SHADES, A PHANTASY



BY VLADIMIR G. KORLENKO


I

A month and two days had elapsed since the judges, amid the loud
acclaim of the Athenian people, had 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.

"Perchance both of his accusers, Meletus and Anytus, are wrong," said
the citizens, on leaving the court after sentence had been pronounced.

"But after all whither 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 recognised and
sought for, he speaks of a Divinity hitherto unknown to us. The
blasphemer, he deems himself wiser than the gods! No, 'twere 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? And now the faces of the Olympians have paled and the old virtue
is out of joint. What 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 Potidaea; how
he alone had prevented them from committing the sin of unjustly
executing the generals after the victory over the Arginusaee; how he
alone had dared to raise his voice against the tyrants who had had
fifteen hundred people put to death, speaking to the people on the
market-place concerning shepherds and their sheep.

"Is not he a good shepherd," he asked, "who guards his flock and
watches over its increase? Or is it the work of the good shepherd to
reduce the number of his sheep and disperse them, and of the good
ruler to do the same with his people? Men 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 were oppressed with heavy
doubt.

"Have we not done a cruel wrong to the son of Sophroniscus?"

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 Sophroniscus 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 AEschines 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 farther, 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 heliasts. 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 drooping sails, as if ashamed of its
native city. The moon did not shine in the heavens, the sea heaved
under a heavy fog, and, on the, hills 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 obstinate fellow really
die? And they began to appeal to the consciences of AEschines, 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 or 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, and refuse to obey those which are
disagreeable? If my memory does not deceive me I believe we once spoke
of these things, did we not?"

"Yes, we did," answered his pupil.

"And I think all were agreed 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 some one 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 show my erring 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
dully under the load of fog, and the whimsical wind 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, touched 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 harbour. And the Erinyes sang their gloomy songs to the hearts
of the citizens and whipped up in their breasts that tempest which was
later, to overwhelm the denouncers of Socrates.

But in that hour the first stirrings of regret were 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 sombre mourning 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 of us chooses 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 the 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!



II


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.

AEschines, Crito, Critobulus, 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 a great intellect illumines the way
for future generations like a torch in the dark.

There was one other disciple of Socrates. Not long before, the
impetuous Ctesippus 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 Clinias as its highest exemplar. But
since he had become acquainted with Socrates, all desire for pleasure
and all light-mindedness had gone from him. He looked on indifferently
while others took his place with Clinias. The grace of thought and the
harmony of spirit that he found in Socrates seemed a hundred times
more attractive than the graceful form and the harmonious features of
Clinias. 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 gods of hearth and home and the gods
of the people inspired him with repugnance.

"I know not," he said, "whether ye are the best of all the gods to
whom numerous generations have burned 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 Ctesippus as though the streets and market-places
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 Argunisae, 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.
Ctesippus 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 mourning 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. He forgot time and space and his own ego, filled only with
the afflicting thought of Socrates!

"Yesterday he still was, yesterday his mild words still could be
heard. How is it possible that to-day he no longer is? O night, O
giant mountain shrouded in mist, O heaving sea moved by your own life,
O restless winds that carry the breath of an immeasurable world on
your wings, O starry vault flecked with flying clouds--take me to you,
disclose to me the mystery of this death, if it is revealed to you!
And if ye know not, then grant my ignorant soul your own lofty
indifference. Remove from me these torturing questions. I no longer
have strength to carry them in my bosom without an answer, without
even the 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?"