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The Signal
One of Vsevolod Garshin's short story
Semyon Ivanonv was a track-walker. His hut was ten versts away from a railroad station in one direction and twelve versts away in the other. About four versts away there was a cotton mill that had opened the year before, and its tall chimney rose up darkly from behind the forest. The only dwellings around were the distant huts of the other track-walkers.
Semyon Ivanov's health had been completely shattered. Nine years before he had served right through the war as servant to an officer. The sun had roasted him, the cold frozen him, and hunger famished him on the forced marches of forty and fifty versts a day in the heat and the cold and the rain and the shine. The bullets had whizzed about him, but, thank God! none had struck him.
Semyon's regiment had once been on the firing line. For a whole week there had been skirmishing with the Turks, only a deep ravine separating the two hostile armies; and from morn till eve there had been a steady cross-fire. Thrice daily Semyon carried a steaming samovar and his officer's meals from the camp kitchen to the ravine. The bullets hummed about him and rattled viciously against the rocks. Semyon was terrified and cried sometimes, but still he kept right on. The officers were pleased with him, because he always had hot tea ready for them
Semyon Ivanonv was a track-walker. His hut was ten versts away from a railroad station in one direction and twelve versts away in the other. About four versts away there was a cotton mill that had opened the year before, and its tall chimney rose up darkly from behind the forest. The only dwellings around were the distant huts of the other track-walkers.
Semyon Ivanov's health had been completely shattered. Nine years before he had served right through the war as servant to an officer. The sun had roasted him, the cold frozen him, and hunger famished him on the forced marches of forty and fifty versts a day in the heat and the cold and the rain and the shine. The bullets had whizzed about him, but, thank God! none had struck him.
Semyon's regiment had once been on the firing line. For a whole week there had been skirmishing with the Turks, only a deep ravine separating the two hostile armies; and from morn till eve there had been a steady cross-fire. Thrice daily Semyon carried a steaming samovar and his officer's meals from the camp kitchen to the ravine. The bullets hummed about him and rattled viciously against the rocks. Semyon was terrified and cried sometimes, but still he kept right on. The officers were pleased with him, because he always had hot tea ready for them
6 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1887
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About the author
Vsevolod Garshin
165 books45 followersVsevolod Garshin (Russian: Всеволод Михайлович Гаршин) is considered one of Russia's masters of short fiction. The son of a wealthy army officer, he served in the last of the Russo-Turkish Wars (1877 to 1878) and wrote his first story, "Four Days" (1877), while recovering from battle wounds. His subsequent stories, which were praised by Ivan Turgenev and Anton Chekhov, often dealt with the subject of evil. Garshin suffered from recurring bouts of mental illness and his masterpiece, "The Scarlet Flower" (1883), was based on his confinement in an asylum. He committed suicide at 33. His collected works were translated into English as The Signal and Other Stories (1912).
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
August 8, 2012
just a normal short story
if u want to read novels for Garshin, go ahead and start with "The red flower". it's his masterpiece and considered one of the Russia's masterpieces of short fiction
if u want to read novels for Garshin, go ahead and start with "The red flower". it's his masterpiece and considered one of the Russia's masterpieces of short fiction
December 19, 2015
Te gusta liarla, Vasili, en el pueblo te llaman «el volado».
January 22, 2026
It talks about a man who's faithful in his beliefs, who thinks what he has been given is what he deserves stupidly, and who saves a train.
It draws how humans are their own sickness, with a stratum of norms, and from oppressive restrictions imposed by authority on one's way of life.
A small excerpt from the story, here is:
"I have had no little sorrow in my day," he would say; "and goodness knows I have not lived long. God has not given me happiness, but what He may give, so will it be. That's so, friend Vasily Stepanych."
Vasily Stepanych knocked the ashes out of his pipe against a rail, stood up, and said: "It is not luck which follows us in life, but human beings. There is no crueller beast on this earth than man. Wolf does not eat wolf, but man will readily devour man."
"Come, friend, don't say that; a wolf eats wolf."
"The words came into my mind and I said it. All the same, there is nothing crueller than man. If it were not for his wickedness and greed, it would be possible to live. Everybody tries to sting you to the quick, to bite and eat you up."
Semyon pondered a bit. "I don't know, brother," he said; "perhaps it is as you say, and perhaps it is God's will."
"And perhaps," said Vasily, "it is waste of time for me to talk to you. To put everything unpleasant on God, and sit and suffer, means, brother, being not a man but an animal. That's what I have to say." And he turned and went off without saying good-bye.
It draws how humans are their own sickness, with a stratum of norms, and from oppressive restrictions imposed by authority on one's way of life.
A small excerpt from the story, here is:
"I have had no little sorrow in my day," he would say; "and goodness knows I have not lived long. God has not given me happiness, but what He may give, so will it be. That's so, friend Vasily Stepanych."
Vasily Stepanych knocked the ashes out of his pipe against a rail, stood up, and said: "It is not luck which follows us in life, but human beings. There is no crueller beast on this earth than man. Wolf does not eat wolf, but man will readily devour man."
"Come, friend, don't say that; a wolf eats wolf."
"The words came into my mind and I said it. All the same, there is nothing crueller than man. If it were not for his wickedness and greed, it would be possible to live. Everybody tries to sting you to the quick, to bite and eat you up."
Semyon pondered a bit. "I don't know, brother," he said; "perhaps it is as you say, and perhaps it is God's will."
"And perhaps," said Vasily, "it is waste of time for me to talk to you. To put everything unpleasant on God, and sit and suffer, means, brother, being not a man but an animal. That's what I have to say." And he turned and went off without saying good-bye.
September 27, 2020
Being a fan of the the rail industry, this story struck a cord. The Signal offers a look into the working and living conditions of the peasantry, as well as a look into their day-to-day philosophy on life in general. The characters aren't the best developed and the translation is a bit sloppy, but it's an enjoyable read all the same.
June 21, 2024
An interesting early story about Kantian ethical dilemmas and the duality of human nature. Between Ivan’s honesty and Kantian philosophy of duty and Vasily’s search for redemption, it embodies a lot of enlightenment discussions surrounding human nature. Also noticed strong thematic similarities to Dickens’ ‘The Signalman’ (which predates this by two decades).
March 21, 2021
An interesting story and not much more
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January 23, 2022Remember that train suicide in Dr zhivago? This is like that scene
November 5, 2022
Quote: "There is no crueller beast on this earth than man. Wolf does not eat wolf, but man will readily devour man."
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews