Knights Without Fear and Reproach
Рыцари без страха и упрека
Headnote
"Knights Without Fear and Reproach" appeared in 1883, one of the dozens of short comic sketches the young Antosha Chekhonte was turning out for the Moscow humor weeklies at a rate that still startles his biographers. The title borrows the old chivalric epithet – "the knight without fear and reproach," attached in French tradition to figures like Bayard – and hangs it, with the flattest possible irony, over a knot of railway officials trading stories in a stationmaster’s parlor.
The story is built entirely from overheard talk: a frame of gathered guests, and inside it two extended tales told in the first person by men who are, transparently, the heroes of their own anecdotes. The first concerns a stationmaster undone not by dereliction but by a chief’s craving for crayfish à la bordelaise; the second, longer and stranger, follows a conductor named Ivan Mikhailych who solves the problem of smuggled, non-paying passengers by throwing them from a moving train. Neither narrator notices what he has actually confessed to. Chekhov lets the comic momentum – the interruptions, the "heh-heh"s, the way one tale launches instantly into the next before anyone can dwell on the broken leg just mentioned – carry the reader past the casual cruelty and small venality underneath. That gap between what is said and what is meant is the whole joke, and it is also the story’s only comment on its title.
This is very early Chekhov: fast, plotless, dialogue-driven, closer to a comic monologue transcribed than to a constructed scene. The railway setting recurs throughout the Chekhonte period, a world of petty hierarchies, bribery, and self-important men filling idle hours with talk that flatters themselves. Nothing here anticipates the later Chekhov’s famous restraint in the sense of withheld emotion – there is no emotion being withheld, only bluster – but the technique of letting speakers indict themselves without editorial comment is already fully formed, and would deepen, over the next two decades, into something much larger.
At the station "Smash-Up," in the apartments of the stationmaster, a large company was assembled. There were stationmasters, section chiefs, warehouse and depot chiefs and the like, retired and not retired, old and young. Among the regulation railway frock coats showed the colors of the ladies’ modes et robes fashionable outfits (French)., and here and there a child’s little face turned up... The company drank tea, played cards, made music, and regaled itself with talk. They spoke of incidents that had happened, by chance, on this or that line. A great deal was told; not everything could be written down. One Mr. Ukusilov talked for two hours... Just try writing it all out! I shall be brief, as usual.
На станции "Разбейся" в апартаментах г. начальника станции заседало большое общество. Тут были начальники станций, начальники дистанций, магазинов, депо и проч., отставные и неотставные, старые и молодые. Между форменными путейскими сюртуками виднелись цвета женских modes et robes модных нарядов (франц.)., попадались и детские мордочки... Компания пила чай, играла в карты, музицировала и услаждала себя беседою. Говорили о случаях, случайно случившихся на той или другой линии. Рассказано было много, не написать всего. Один г. Укусилов говорил два часа... Извольте-ка написать! Буду по обычаю краток.
"Three carriages smashed to bits!" Mr. Ukusilov finished his two-hour speech. "Two killed, five wounded, and what’s worse than that comes from the Evil One; unofficially, that is... Heh-heh-hm... From one work gang alone there were six wounded... I call them in... ’Well then! Somebody! Anybody! Say you were hurt!’ Two soldiers were given three roubles apiece to keep them quiet: hush and don’t spread it around! A great many warnings were taken, and yet it didn’t pass off without trouble. Right there on the spot they scared me and threatened me with the courts. You, they said, were asleep and didn’t send the telegram. So it seems a stationmaster isn’t even allowed to sleep... A shameless lot... Over trifles a family man was stripped of his post. In one of the carriages they were bringing fresh crayfish to the chief of traffic from his estate, and in the confusion they got lost. That evening the chief had been dreaming of eating crayfish à la bordelaise. Such delicate breeding... And if it hadn’t been for those wretched crayfish, the inquiry would never have come flying down to my station, and I’d never have lost my post..."
– Три вагона разбило! – кончил свою двухчасовую речь г. Укусилов. – Двое убитых, пять раненых, а что паче сего, то от лукавого; неофициально, то есть... Хе-хе-хмы... Из одной артели было шесть раненых... Призываю их... "Ежели!.. Да кто-нибудь! Да кому-нибудь!.. Говори, что ушибся!" Двум солдатикам по трешке дадено было для успокоения: молчи и не распространяйся! Предостережений много принято было, а между тем не обошлось без худа. С места меня пугнули и судом пригрозили. Ты-де, мол, спал и телеграммы не дал. Начальнику станции, выходит, и спать нельзя... Народ бессовестный... Из-за пустяков семейного человека места лишили. В одном из вагонов начальнику движения из его усадьбы свежих раков везли, да при суматохе растеряли. Начальник мечтал в тот вечер раки а ла бордалез кушать. Воспитания нежного... И не будь этих самых раков подлых, не прилетело бы ко мне на станцию следствие и не потерял бы я места...
"And you’re still without a post now?" asked priest-na-strastnoy-nedele/">the priest’s daughter from the neighboring village. (She had come to the station to ask, "as an acquaintance," for a free pass for her mama to visit an aunt.)
– Вы и теперь без места? – спросила поповна из соседнего села. (Она приехала на станцию попросить "по знакомству" для мамаши бесплатного проезда к тете.)
"What do you mean! Within a week I was already serving on another line, though I was still under investigation."
– Какое! Через неделю я служил уж на другой дороге, хоть и под судом числился.
"Ah, well, sir... there’s a case too," began Mr. Gartsunov, pouring himself some vodka. "You know Ivan Mikhailych, of course, who used to ride as head conductor. A rascal, I tell you! An honest man, a most noble man, but a scoundrel in his own way, a real rogue... That is, not a scoundrel, but, well... a genius in his own way, a kite of a fellow. He comes once to ’Carrion Hollow’ with a train... He rode with the freight trains. They never put him on the passenger ones, because he couldn’t look on women with any composure: he’d have a fit. So he arrives with the train... And just then some thirty mowers were standing on the platform. Working season, you understand, summertime..."
– А вот-с... тоже случай, – начал г. Гарцунов, наливая себе водки. – Вы, конечно, знаете Ивана Михайлыча, что обер-кондуктором ездил. Бестия, я вам скажу! Честнейший человек, благороднейший, но мерзавец в своем роде, архаровец... То есть, не мерзавец, а так себе... гений в своем роде, коршун... Приходит он однажды на "Живодерово" с поездом... С товарным он ездил. В пассажирские его не производили, потому что женщин он не мог видеть равнодушно: припадок с ним делался. Приходит он с поездом... А на ту пору на платформе человек тридцать косарей стояло. Время рабочее, знаете ли, летнее...
"’Where are you off to, my mowers?’ he asks. ’Come along,’ he says, ’I’ll carry you to the next station in the freight car. I’ll take a ten-kopeck piece a head,’ he says, ’only...’"
"Куда идете, косарики? – спрашивает. – Давайте, говорит, я вас в товарном поезде до следующей станции довезу. По гривеннику, говорит, возьму с человека, только..."
"That suited them fine, of course, it was just what they wanted. Ivan Mikhailych collected his ten kopecks apiece and packed the lot of them into the service car. Off went our mowers... Out of sheer delight they struck up a song. What a farce! I happened to be riding in the car myself just then, trying to get to a christening in time, to Ilya Petrovich’s, you know... they were christening their little Olga..."
– Тем это на руку, разумеется, того только и нужно. Получил с них Иван Михайлыч по гривеннику и засадил всех в служебный вагон. Поехали наши косари... От восторга песню запели. Па-атеха! На ту пору я в вагоне ехал, поспеть на крестины хотел, к Илье, вот, Петровичу... Олечку ихнюю крестили...
"’Why, I say, Ivan Mikhailych, did you pack them all in? There’s an inspector at the station!’ ’What’s that?’ ’Drop dead on the spot...’"
"Зачем вы, говорю, Иван Михайлыч, их насажали? Ведь на станции контролер!" – "Нуте?" – "Сейчас помереть..."
"Ivan Mikhailych fell to thinking... Naturally, he had no wish to be caught out. It was nothing much, you understand, everyone rides free and everybody knows it perfectly well, but it’s awkward all the same, you know... And inspectors come in all kinds... Sometimes such a devil turns up that you won’t be glad you’re alive... It happens! More out of spite they report you, or to make themselves look good before the higher-ups..."
– Иван Михайлыч задумался... Известно, не хотелось оконфузиться. Оно-то ничего, знаете, все даром возят, и всем это великолепно известно, но неловко как-то, знаете... Да и контролеры разные бывают... Иной чёрт такой попадется, что жизни не рад будешь... Бывает! По злобе больше доносят или отличиться перед начальством хочет...
"’Can’t stop the train,’ says Ivan Mikhailych, ’but they’ll have to be put off, the devils... What’s to be done?’"
"Поезд не остановишь, – говорит Иван Михайлыч, – а ссадить их, чертей, надо... Как быть?"
"And just then another train met us, with three lanterns on the service car. Among them, among the conductors, that’s a sign: if there are three lanterns on the service car, say, or two flags or some other agreed signal, it means there’s an inspector at the station. My words were confirmed. Ivan Mikhailych thought it over and thought of something. What a farce! He opens the door of the car, takes hold of the gentlemen mowers by the collar, and at full speed – off you go! Jump! And the mowers went jumping... Heh-heh-heh... Falling like sheaves."
– А тут еще поезд нам встретился, с тремя фонарями на служебном вагоне. У них, у кондукторов, знак такой: ежели на служебном вагоне три фонаря, положим, два флага или что-нибудь другое условное, то на станции, значит, контролер. Мои слова подтвердились. Иван Михайлыч думал и надумал. Па-атеха! Отворяет в вагоне дверь, берет господ косарей за шиворот и на всем ходу – марш! Прыгай! Запрыгали косари... Хе-хе-хе... Как снопы повалились.
"’Jump!’ he shouts. ’Jump forward, and nothing will happen to you! Jump, you such-and-such! Devil! Fiend!’"
"Прыгай! – кричит. – Прыгай наперед, и ничего тебе не будет! Прыгай, такой-сякой! Чёрт, дьявол!"
"We watched and nearly died laughing... They all leapt off. Only one broke his leg, the rest all came through fine. So their ten-kopeck pieces went for nothing... Heh-heh-heh... A week or so later somehow they got wind of this scandal, dug up from somewhere the mower with the broken leg... Somebody informed, devil take him... Human spite... They gave the mower five roubles, and Ivan Mikhailych was turned out of his post..." "Heh-heh..."
– Мы глядим и со смеху помираем... Все соскочили. Один только ногу себе сломал, а остальные все благополучно. Так и пропали ихние гривенники... Хе-хе-хе... Через неделю как-то узнали об этом скандале, выцарапали откуда-то косаря со сломанной ногой... Донес кто-то, шут возьми... Злоба людская... Косарю дали пять рублей, а Ивана Михайлыча с места долой... Хе-хе...
"And he’s without a post now too?"
– И он без места теперь?
"He’s going into opera, I hear. He’s got a fine baritone. He’d ride along in the train, get drunk, and start in singing. The beasts would fall silent listening, the birds would weep! A talented man, there’s no denying it..."
– В оперу, слышал, поступает. Баритон у него славный. Едет, бывало, в поезде, напьется и давай петь. Звери заслушивались, птицы плакали! Талантливый человек, и говорить нечего...