A.P. Chekhov - Minds in Ferment
THE earth was like an oven. The afternoon sun blazed with such
energy that even the thermometer hanging in the excise officer's
room lost its head: it ran up to 112.5 and stopped there,
irresolute. The inhabitants streamed with perspiration like
overdriven horses, and were too lazy to mop their faces.
Two of the inhabitants were walking along the market-place in
front of the closely shuttered houses. One was Potcheshihin, the
local treasury clerk, and the other was Optimov, the agent, for
many years a correspondent of the Son of the Fatherland
newspaper. They walked in silence, speechless from the heat.
Optimov felt tempted to find fault with the local authorities
for the dust and disorder of the market-place, but, aware of the
peace-loving disposition and moderate views of his companion, he
In the middle of the market-place Potcheshihin suddenly halted
and began gazing into the sky.
"What are you looking at?"
"Those starlings that flew up. I wonder where they have settled.
Clouds and clouds of them. . . . If one were to go and take a
shot at them, and if one were to pick them up . . . and if . . .
They have settled in the Father Prebendary's garden!"
"Oh no! They are not in the Father Prebendary's, they are in the
Father Deacon's. If you did have a shot at them from here you
wouldn't kill anything. Fine shot won't carry so far; it loses
its force. And why should you kill them, anyway? They're birds
destructive of the fruit, that's true; still, they're fowls of
the air, works of the Lord. The starling sings, you know. . . .
And what does it sing, pray? A song of praise. . . . 'All ye
fowls of the air, praise ye the Lord.' No. I do believe they
have settled in the Father Prebendary's garden."
Three old pilgrim women, wearing bark shoes and carrying
wallets, passed noiselessly by the speakers. Looking enquiringly
at the gentlemen who were for some unknown reason staring at the
Father Prebendary's house, they slackened their pace, and when
they were a few yards off stopped, glanced at the friends once
more, and then fell to gazing at the house themselves.
"Yes, you were right; they have settled in the Father
Prebendary's," said Optimov. "His cherries are ripe now, so they
have gone there to peck them."
From the garden gate emerged the Father Prebendary himself,
accompanied by the sexton. Seeing the attention directed upon
his abode and wondering what people were staring at, he stopped,
and he, too, as well as the sexton, began looking upwards to
"The father is going to a service somewhere, I suppose," said
Potcheshihin. "The Lord be his succour!"
Some workmen from Purov's factory, who had been bathing in the
river, passed between the friends and the priest. Seeing the
latter absorbed in contemplation of the heavens and the pilgrim
women, too, standing motionless with their eyes turned upwards,
they stood still and stared in the same direction.
A small boy leading a blind beggar and a peasant, carrying a tub
of stinking fish to throw into the market-place, did the same.
"There must be something the matter, I should think," said
Potcheshihin, "a fire or something. But there's no sign of smoke
anywhere. Hey! Kuzma!" he shouted to the peasant, "what's the
The peasant made some reply, but Potcheshihin and Optimov did
not catch it. Sleepy-looking shopmen made their appearance at
the doors of all the shops. Some plasterers at work on a
warehouse near left their ladders and joined the workmen.
The fireman, who was describing circles with his bare feet, on
the watch-tower, halted, and, after looking steadily at them for
a few minutes, came down. The watch-tower was left deserted.
This seemed suspicious.
"There must be a fire somewhere. Don't shove me! You damned
"Where do you see the fire? What fire? Pass on, gentlemen! I ask
"It must be a fire indoors!"
"Asks us civilly and keeps poking with his elbows. Keep your
hands to yourself! Though you are a head constable, you have no
sort of right to make free with your fists!"
"He's trodden on my corn! Ah! I'll crush you!"
"Crushed? Who's crushed? Lads! a man's been crushed!
"What's the meaning of this crowd? What do you want?"
"A man's been crushed, please your honour!"
"Where? Pass on! I ask you civilly! I ask you civilly, you
"You may shove a peasant, but you daren't touch a gentleman!
"Did you ever know such people? There's no doing anything with
them by fair words, the devils! Sidorov, run for Akim Danilitch!
Look sharp! It'll be the worse for you, gentlemen! Akim
Danilitch is coming, and he'll give it to you! You here, Parfen?
A blind man, and at his age too! Can't see, but he must be like
other people and won't do what he's told. Smirnov, put his name
"Yes, sir! And shall I write down the men from Purov's? That man
there with the swollen cheek, he's from Purov's works."
"Don't put down the men from Purov's. It's Purov's birthday
The starlings rose in a black cloud from the Father Prebendary's
garden, but Potcheshihin and Optimov did not notice them. They
stood staring into the air, wondering what could have attracted
such a crowd, and what it was looking at.
Akim Danilitch appeared. Still munching and wiping his lips, he
cut his way into the crowd, bellowing:
"Firemen, be ready! Disperse! Mr. Optimov, disperse, or it'll be
the worse for you! Instead of writing all kinds of things about
decent people in the papers, you had better try to behave
yourself more conformably! No good ever comes of reading the
"Kindly refrain from reflections upon literature!" cried Optimov
hotly. "I am a literary man, and I will allow no one to make
reflections upon literature! though, as is the duty of a
citizen, I respect you as a father and benefactor!"
"Firemen, turn the hose on them!"
"There's no water, please your honour!"
"Don't answer me! Go and get some! Look sharp!"
"We've nothing to get it in, your honour. The major has taken
the fire-brigade horses to drive his aunt to the station.
"Disperse! Stand back, damnation take you! Is that to your
taste? Put him down, the devil!"
"I've lost my pencil, please your honour!"
The crowd grew larger and larger. There is no telling what
proportions it might have reached if the new organ just arrived
from Moscow had not fortunately begun playing in the tavern
close by. Hearing their favourite tune, the crowd gasped and
rushed off to the tavern. So nobody ever knew why the crowd had
assembled, and Potcheshihin and Optimov had by now forgotten the
existence of the starlings who were innocently responsible for
An hour later the town was still and silent again, and only a
solitary figure was to be seen -- the fireman pacing round and
round on the watch-tower.
The same evening Akim Danilitch sat in the grocer's shop
drinking limonade gaseuse and brandy, and writing:
"In addition to the official report, I venture, your Excellency,
to append a few supplementary observations of my own. Father and
benefactor! In very truth, but for the prayers of your virtuous
spouse in her salubrious villa near our town, there's no knowing
what might not have come to pass. What I have been through
to-day I can find no words to express. The efficiency of
Krushensky and of the major of the fire brigade are beyond all
praise! I am proud of such devoted servants of our country! As
for me, I did all that a weak man could do, whose only desire is
the welfare of his neighbour; and sitting now in the bosom of my
family, with tears in my eyes I thank Him Who spared us
bloodshed! In absence of evidence, the guilty parties remain in
custody, but I propose to release them in a week or so. It was
their ignorance that led them astray!"
All ye fowls of the air, praise ye the Lord!: Although similar
to Job 12:7, this is does not appear to be a quote from the
Bible (another translation of this story offers Psalm 150:6,
"Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord")