“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 went on: 

“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 further.

IV

Two days passed, Pavel Ivanitch lay down instead of sitting up; his eyes were closed, his nose seemed to have grown sharper.