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Updated: June 1, 2025
It is always unpleasant to see that a man one regards as baser or lower than oneself likes or hates the same things, and so puts himself on a level with oneself. The young peasant looked at Chelkash and saw in him an employer. "Well," he began, "I don't mind. I'm glad of it. Why, it's work for, you or any other man. I only meant that you don't look like a working man a bit too-ragged.
Chelkash was pleased with his success, with himself, and with this youth, who had been so frightened of him and had been turned into his slave. He had a vision of unstinted dissipation to-morrow, while now he enjoyed the sense of his strength, which had enslaved this young, fresh lad. He watched how he was toiling, and felt sorry for him, wanted to encourage him.
Chelkash muttered, discontentedly. He, the thief and cynic, loved the sea. His effervescent, nervous nature, greedy after impressions, was never weary of gazing at that dark expanse, boundless, free, and mighty. And it hurt him to hear such an answer to his question about the beauty of what he loved.
Gavrilo felt something intoxicating and oppressive creeping over him, over all his limbs, making his head reel, and his eyes grow dim, as they moved inquisitively about the eating-house. Chelkash came in, and they began eating and drinking and talking. At the third glass Gavrilo was drunk.
He became lively and wanted to say something pleasant to his employer, who the good fellow! though he had done nothing for him yet, was entertaining him so agreeably. But the words which flowed in perfect waves to his throat, for some reason would not come from his tongue. Chelkash looked at him and smiled sarcastically, saying: "You're screwed! Ugh milksop! with five glasses! how will you work?"
He crushed the notes up tight in his hand. "Brother! You forgive me? Won't you? Eh?" he asked tearfully. "Brother of mine!" Chelkash mimicked him as he got, reeling, on to his legs. "What for? There's nothing to forgive. To-day you do for me, to-morrow I'll do for you." "Oh, brother, brother!" Gavrilo sighed mournfully, shaking his head.
When the dock laborers, knocking off work, had scattered about the dock in noisy groups, buying various edibles from the women hawking food, and were settling themselves to dinner in shady corners on the pavement, there walked into their midst Grishka Chelkash, an old hunted wolf, well known to all the dock population as a hardened drunkard and a bold and dexterous thief.
Before him lay the attractive prospect of a substantial haul, which would call for some little exertion and a great deal of dexterity; Chelkash was confident that he had plenty of the latter, and, half-closing his eyes, dreamed of how he would indulge to~morrow morning when the business would be over and the notes would be rustling in his pocket.
Two soldiers felt Chelkash all over, and gave him a slight shove into the streets. "Don't let him go!" wailed Semyonitch, who had stayed behind in the dockyard. Chelkash crossed the road and sat down on a stone post opposite the door of the inn. From the dock gates rolled rumbling an endless string of laden carts. To meet them, rattled empty carts, with their drivers jolting up and down in them.
And he felt crushed, lost, pitiful, and solitary, torn up and cast out for ever from that life which had distilled the very blood that flowed in his veins. "Hey! but where are we going?" Gavrilo asked suddenly. Chelkash started and looked round with the uneasy look of a bird of prey. "Ah, the devil's taken the boat! No matter. Row a bit harder. We'll be there directly." "You were dreaming?"
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