THE BET (Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, 1860-1904) [Pit ower fae the shoart stoary Пари (1889)] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- I. It wis a daurk autumn nicht. The aul banker wis pacin fae coarner to coarner o his study, mindin oan the pairty he had gien in the autumn fifteen year afore. There wis a hantle clivver folk at the pairty an a rooth o intrestin conversations. They talked amang ither things o capital punishment. The feck o the guests, amang them a gey wheen scholars an journalists, didnae approve o it: they funn it obsolete as a means o punishment, no fittin tae a Christian State an immoral. Some o them thoacht that imprisonment fir life shid tak the place o capital punishment. Ah dinnae haud wi ye, said the host. Ah masel hiv nivver went through either capital punishment or imprisonment fir life, but if a boady wis tae judge a priori, then tae ma mind capital punishment is mair moral an mair humane nor imprisonment. Execution kills ye strecht aff, life-imprisonment kills ye bit by bit. Wha’s the mair humane executioner, somebdy that kills ye in a wheen saiconts or somebdy that sooks the life oot o ye withoot pause, fir years? Theyre baith jist as immoral, remarked yin o the guests, ’cause their purpose is the same, daein awaw wi life. The State is nae God. It has nae richt tae tak awaw whit it cannae gie back even if it waantit tae. Amang the company wis a lawyer, a young man o aboot twenty-five. Whin they asked him whit he thoacht o it, he said: Capital punishment an life-imprisonment ur jist as immoral; but if I wis gien the chyce atween them, Ah’m shair Ah’d be fir the saicont. ‘Tis better tae live somewey nor tae no be leevin avaw. Efter thon the discussion hid spunkt up. The banker wis younger an mair nervous back then, an aw o a sudden loast the rag, banged his fist oan the table, an turnin tae the young lawyer cried oot: Its a lee. Ah bet ye twa mullion ye widnae last in a cell even five year. If ye’r serious aboot it, replied the lawyer, then Ah’ll bet ye Ah kin bide in it no five but fifteen. Fifteen! Duin! cried the banker. Gentlemen, ma stake’s twa mullion. That’s agreed then. Yer stake’s twa mullion, mines’s freedom, said the lawyer. So this wild, daft bet cam tae pass. The banker, that back then hid ower mony mullions tae coont an wis spylt an flichtie furbye, wis ower the muin wi joy. Durin supper he tuk a rise oot o the lawyer, sayin: Come to yir senses, young man, afore its ower late. Twa mullion’s naethin tae me, but ye’r aboot tae loass three or fower o the best years o yir life. I say three or fower, cause yell nivver thole it ony langer nor that. An dinnae you furgit, ye wratchit man ye, that a willin imprisonment is a fair sicht heavier nor yin forced oan ye. The idea that ye hiv the richt tae free yirsel at ony moment wull pyson the haill o yir life ben the cell. Ah peety ye. Noo the banker, pacin fae coarner tae coarner, wis mindin oan aw this, an asked hissel: Whit did Ah mak this bet fir? Whits the guid o’t? The lawyer loasses fifteen year o his life an Ah chuck awaw twa mullion. Wull it convince folk that capital punishment is wurse or better nor imprisonment fir life? Na, na! Aw blethers an haivers. Oan ma side, it wis the whim o a weel-stapt man; oan the lawyers, pure greed o gowd. He mindit whit hid happent efter the evenin pairty tae. It wis decidit that the lawyer should spenn his imprisonment unner the strictest observation, in a gairden wing o the bankers hoose. It wis agreed that durin thon period he wid loass the richt tae croass the doorstane, tae see leevin folk, tae hear human vyces, an tae git letters an newspapers. He wis allooed tae hae a musical instrument, tae read buiks, to write letters, tae drink wine an smoke baccy. By the agreement he cud communicate, but only in silence, wi the ootside wurld through a wee windae specially built fir that purpose. Awthin he needit, be it buiks, music, wine, he cud git as much as he waantit by sendin a note through the windae. The agreement covert aw the toatiest details, an that made the confinement strictly solitary, forcin the lawyer tae bide there exackly fifteen year fae twelve ocloack o Novemmer 14th, 1870, tae twelve ocloack o Novemmer 14th, 1885. The least attempt on his side tae violate the conditions, or tae brek oot afore the set time, even fir twa meenits, freed the banker fae the obligation tae pey him the twa mullion. Durin the furst year o imprisonment the lawyer, sae faur as it cud be tellt fae his shoart notes, wis awfae lanely an bored. Fae his wing, day an nicht, cam the soon o the pianie. He tunt doon wine an baccy. Wine, he wrote, rooses desires, an desires ur a prisoner’s main enemies; furbye, naethin is dowier nor drinkin guid wine yer lane, an baccy fylet the air in his room. Durin the furst year the lawyer wis sent licht buiks, novels wi a complicatit love plot, stoaries o crime an fantasy, comedies, an so oan. In the saicont year the pianie wisnae heard onymair, an the lawyer only asked fir classics. In the fift year, music wis heard again, an the prisoner asked fir wine. Them that waatched him said that fir the haill o thon year he wis only eatin, drinkin, an lyin oan his bed. He oaften gantit, an hid gey mad talks wi hissel. Buiks he didnae read. Whiles at nichts he wid sit doon tae write. He wid write fir a gey while an teir it aw up in the moarnin. Mair nor yinst he wis heard greetin. In the saicont hauf o the sixt year, the prisoner became gey eident at studyin languages, philosophy, an history. He wis that keen in giein hissel ower tae thae subjecks, that the banker haurdly hid time tae git him enough buiks. In fower year aboot six hunner volumes wir bocht at his request. It wis while thon passion lasted that the banker gote the follaein letter fae the prisoner: Ma dear jyler, Ah’m writin these lines in six languages. Show them tae experts. Lit them read them. If they dinnae find wan single mistake, Ah beg ye tae gie orders tae hae a gun fired aff in the gairden. By the noise Ah’ll ken ma efforts hivnae been fir naethin. The geniuses o aw ages an countries speak in different languages; but in them aw burns the selsame lowe. Oh, if ye kent the heivenly happiness Ah feel, noo that Ah kin unnerstaun them! The prisoners wush wis fulfulled. Twa shotes wir fired in the gairden at the bankers order. A wee efter, in the eleevent year, the lawyer sat ruitit afore his table an read only the New Testament. The banker funn it queer that a man that in fower year hid went through six hunner learnt volumes shid spenn near a year in readin jist the wan buik, yin that wis easy tae unnerstaun an no thick avaw. The New Testament wis then replaced by the history o religions an theology. Durin the last twa year he wis loackt up, the prisoner read a heap o buiks, gey random-like. Noo he wid apply hissel tae the naiteral sciences, then he wid read Byron or Shakespeare. Notes yaised tae come fae him whaur he asked to be sent a buik oan chemistry, a text-buik o medicine, a novel, an some treatise oan philosophy or theology, aw at the same time. He read as if he wis swimmin in the sea amang the broke pieces o a wrack, an in his wush tae save his life wis glegly gittin the haud o yin piece efter anither. II. The banker mindit oan aw this, an thoacht: The moarn at twelve ocloack he’ll win his freedom. Unner the agreement Ah’ll hae tae pey him twa mullion. If Ah pey, its aw ower wi me. Ah’ll be ruint fir evermair … Fifteen year afore he hid hid ower mony mullions tae coont, but noo he wis feart tae ask hissel whit he hid mair o, money or debts. Gamblin oan the Stock-Excheynge, risky speculation, an the racklessness he cudnae git shote o even in aul age, hid bit by bit sent his business doon the stank; an the frichtless, gallus, prood businessman hid become an ordnary banker that shook wi fear at every rise an faw in the mercat. Thon cursed bet, mummlet the aul man haudin his heid in despair… Whit wey did the man no dee? Hes only forty year aul. He’ll tak awaw ma last farthin, git merriet, enjy life, gamble oan the Excheynge, an Ah’ll jist hae tae luk oan lik a jealous beggarman an hear the selsame wurds fae him evry day: Ahm obleeged tae ye fir the happiness o ma life. Lit me help ye. Naw, Ah cannae thole it! The only wey oot o bankruptcy an disgrace—is if thon man dees. The noack hid jist chapped three. The banker wis listenin. In the hoose awbdy wis sleepin, an ye cud only hear the frozen trees girnin ootside the windaes. Ettlin no tae mak a soon, he tuk oot o his safe the key o the door that hidnae been opent fir fifteen year, pit oan his greatcoat, an went oot o the hoose. The gairden wis daurk an caul. It wis rainin. A mochie, snell wind yowled in the gairden an gied the trees nae rest. Fir aw that he strained his een, the banker cud see neither the grun, nor the white statues, nor the gairden wing, nor the trees. As he won nearer the gairden wing, he cried oan the waatchman twicet. There wis nae answer. Clearly the waatchman hid soacht bield fae the ill weather an wis noo sleepin someplace in the kitchen or the greenhoose. If I hiv the spunk tae dae whit Ah ettle tae, thoacht the aul man, the suspeecion wull furst o aw faw oan the waatchman. In the mirk he grabbled fir the steps an the door an entered the haw o the gairden-wing, then poked his wey into a narra passage an struck a spunk. No a sowl wis there. Somebdys bed, wi nae bedclaes oan it, stud there, an an iron stove rose daurk in the coarner. The seals oan the door that led intae the prisoners room wirnae broke. When the spunk went oot, the aul man, chitterin in a frenzy, keeked intae the wee windae. In the prisoners room a caunle wis burnin gey dim. The prisoner hissel sat by the table. Only his back, the hair oan his heid an his hauns cud be seen. Open buiks wir strawn aboot oan the table, the twa chairs, an oan the rug near the table. Five meenits went by, an the prisoner nivver steert wan bit. Fifteen years confinement hid learnt him tae sit withoot muivin. The banker gied a tap oan the windae wi his finger, but the prisoner made nae muivement in reply. Then the banker cannily broke the seals oan the door an pit the key intae the loack. The roosty loack gied a hoarse groan an the door chirked. The banker expected to hear richtawaw a cry o surprise an the soon o steps. Three meenits passed an it wis as quate inbye as it hid been afore. He made up his mind tae enter. Afore the table sat a man like nae ordnary human bein. It wis a skeleton, wi ticht-drawn skin, wi lang curly hair like a wummins, an a toosie beard. The colour o his face wis yella, o an earthy shade; the cheeks wir sunken, his back lang an narra, an the haun he leaned his hairy heid oan wis that lean an skinny, that it wis painfu tae luk at. His hair wis awready turnin silver, an naebdy that micht ha taen a keek at thon shilpit aul face wid ha believed that he wis only forty year aul. Oan the table, afore his booed heid, lay a sheet o paper wi somethin written oan in a wee toaty haun. Puir sowl, thocht the banker, hes sleepin an probably seein mullions in his dreams. Ah only hiv tak this hauf-deid thing an pap him oan the bed, smoor him a wee wi the pillae, an the canniest examination’ll no finn a trace o unnaiteral daith. But, furst, let’s read whit he has wrutten here. The banker took the sheet fae the table an read: The moarn at twelve ocloack at midnicht, I’ll win ma freedom thegither wi the richt tae mell wi folk. But afore Ah leave this room an see the sun Ah doot Ah must say a wheen wurds tae ye. Oan ma ain clear conscience an afore God that sees me Ah declare tae ye that Ah despise freedom, life, health, an aw that yir buiks cry the blessings o the wurld. For fifteen year Ah’v been eydent in studyin earthly life. True, Ah nivver seen either the earth or the folk, but in yir buiks Ah drank sweet-scentit wine, sang sangs, hunted deer an wild boar in the forests, loved weemin… An mony a stoater o a wummin, as airy as cloods, created by the magic o yir poets genius, veesited me by nicht an whuspered tae me wonnerfu tales that gart ma heid birl. In yir buiks Ah sclimmed tae the taps o Elbruz an Mont Blanc an seen fae there hoo the sun rose in the moarnin, an hoo in the evenin it pentit the sky, the ocean an the low mountain ridges wi a purple gold. Ah seen fae there hoo lichtnings abuin me glimmert as they wir rivin the cloods; Ah seen green forests, fields, rivers, lakes, cities; Ah heard syrens singin, an the playin o the pipes o Pan; Ah tiched the wings o bonny braw divvils that cam fleein tae me fir tae speak o God… In yir buiks Ah cast masel intae bottomless abysses, wurked miracles, burnt ceeties doon, preached new religions, conquered haill countries… Yir buiks made me wyce. Aw that unwearyin human thoacht creatit in the centuries is crushed tae a wee daud in my skull. Ah ken that Ah’m clivverer nor the hail lote o yese. An Ah despise yir buiks, despise aw wurldly blessins an wisdom. Awthin’s tuim, dweybly, an as big an unreal swick as a mirage. Fir aw that ye’r prood an wyce an bonny, daith’ll dicht ye clean aff fae the face o the earth like mice aneath the grun; an yir posterity, yir history, an the immortality o yir men o genius wull be lik frozen slag, burnt doon thegither wi the earth’s globe. Yese ur aff yer heid, yese’v aw went the wrang wey. Yese tak falsehood fir truith an ugsomeness fir bonnyness. Yese wid wunner if aw o a sudden aipple an orange trees bore puddocks an lizards insteid o fruit, an if roses began to braithe the guff o a sweitin hoerse. An Ah wunner at yese, that hiv troked heiven fir earth. Ah dinnae waant tae unnerstaun yese. So’s tae show ye in practice the geck Ah feel fir whit yese leeve by, Ah owergie the twa mullion Ah yinst dreamed o as paradise, an that Ah noo despise; so’s Ah kin gie up ma richt tae them fir ey, Ah’m gaun tae come oot fae here five meenits afore the agreed term, an thus brek wur pack. Whin he hid read the sheet, the banker pit it oan the table, kissed the heid o the queer man, an began tae greet. He went oot the wing. Nivver at ony ither time, no even efter his awfae loasses oan the Excheynge, hid he felt sich geck fir hissel as noo. Coming hame, he lay doon oan his bed, but a frenzy an tears kept him a gey while fae sleepin… The nixt moarnin the puir waatchman cam rinnin tae him an tellt him they hid seen the man that leeved in the wing sclimm through the windae intae the gairden. He hid went tae the gate an disappeared. Strechtawa the banker went wi his servants tae the wing an witnessed his prisoner’s flicht. Fir tae haud wide o unnecessary clash, he tuk the paper wi the disclaimer fae the table an, efter he cam back, loacked it in his safe.
Posted on: Sun, 14 Dec 2014 10:11:33 +0000
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