Summary The man who was Thursday
GK Chesterton The
Man Who Was Thursday
In a romantic and strange corner of London called Saffron Park, Lucian Gregory met – an anarchist poet whose long fiery curls combined with a rough chin suggested the connection of an angel and a monkey, and Gabriel Syme – a young man in a dandy suit, with a graceful blond beard and also a poet. “Creativity is true anarchy, and anarchy is genuine creativity,” Gregory preached. “I know another poetry, the poetry of human norm and order,” Sim said, “and what you say is an ordinary artistic exaggeration.” “Oh, that’s it, give me your word that you will not report to the police, and I’ll show you something that will completely convince you of the seriousness of my words.” “I’ll not bring you to the police.”
In a small cafe, where Gregory brought Saima, the table behind which they were sitting, suddenly sinks into the dungeon with the help of
At the meeting, Sim, posing as a representative of the Sunday itself, takes Gregory’s candidacy and offers himself instead of himself. In vain Gregory grinds his teeth and throws inarticulate furious cues. Sime becomes Thursday.
At one time he became a police agent, because he was fascinated by the metaphysical idea of fighting anarchism, as with the universal evil. The
Now extraordinary luck allows Simon to attend a meeting of the Council dedicated to the upcoming murder in Paris of the French president and the Russian Tsar who arrived on a visit. Every member of the Anarchist Council has some sombre oddity, but the most strange and even nightmarish is Sunday. He is a man of unusual appearance: he is huge, looks like a balloon, is elephant, his thickness exceeds all imagination. According to extraordinary rules of conspiracy introduced by Sunday, the meeting is held in public view, on the balcony of a luxury restaurant. With a hellish appetite, Sunday absorbs huge portions of refined food, but refuses to discuss the attempt, as among them, he declares, is a police agent. Sim can hardly restrain himself, expecting a failure, but Sunday indicates Tuesday. Tuesday,
On the street, Sim finds a shadowing. This Friday is Professor de Worms, a frail old man with a long white beard. But, as it turns out, he moves extraordinarily quickly, it is simply impossible to escape from him. Thursday hides in a cafe, but Friday suddenly finds himself at his table. “Admit it, you are a police agent, as well as Tuesday and as well as… I”, – the professor presents the blue card of the Department for Combating Anarchists. Simim gives her own relief.
They go to Saturday – Dr. Bull, a man whose face is distorted by terrible black glasses, making the most terrible assumptions about the crime of his nature. But it turns out that it’s worthwhile for Sabbot to take off his glasses for a minute, as everything magically changes: the face of a nice young man appears in which Tuesday and Thursday immediately recognize their own. Blue cards are presented.
Now three enemies of anarchism rush into the pursuit of the Environment. This is the Marquis of Saint-Eustache, whose appearance reveals mysterious vices inherited from the depths of centuries. It was to him, apparently, charged with a criminal action in Paris. Overtaking him on the French coast, Sim calls the marquess into a duel, during which it turns out that the appearance of the Environment is a skillful make-up, and underneath it lies the inspector of the London police, the owner of the blue card of the secret agent. Now there are four of them, but they immediately discover that they are being pursued by a whole crowd of anarchists, led by a gloomy Monday – Secretary of the Council of Anarchy.
The rest unfolds like a real nightmare. The crowd of persecutors is becoming more numerous, and those who could not be expected to come to the side of the enemy, those who first helped the unfortunate pursued policeman, are the old Breton peasant, a respectable French doctor, the chief of the gendarmerie of a small town. It reveals the truly almighty power of the criminal Sunday – everything is bought, everything is corrupted, everything collapses, everything is on the side of evil. Heard of the crowd of pursuers, rushing horses, cracking shots, bullets whistling, a car crashing into a lamppost, and finally triumphant Monday declares to the detectives: “You’re under arrest!” – and makes a blue card… He pursued them, believing that he was chasing the anarchists.
Returning to London, all the “six days of the week” (they are joined on Tuesday) hope to cope together with the terrible Sunday. When they come to his house, he exclaims: “Have you guessed at all who I am? I’m that person in a dark room that took you to the detectives!” Then the giant fat man easily jumps from the balcony, bounces like a ball, and quickly jumps into the cab. Three cabs with detectives rush in pursuit. Sunday turns them funny faces and has time to throw notes, the content of which is roughly the same as “I love, kiss, but I hold the same opinion.” Your uncle Peter “or something like that.
Further, Sunday makes the following spectacular rides: jumps on the move from the cab to the fire engine, deftly, like a huge gray cat, climbs over the fence of the London zoo, rushes around the city on horseback on an elephant (maybe this is his best number), and finally rises to air in the gondola of a balloon. God, how strange this man is! So thick and so light, it’s like an elephant and a balloon, and something like a ringing and bright fire engine.
Six of them are now without a road on the London suburbs, looking for the place where the balloon dropped. They are tired, their clothes are dusty and torn, and thoughts are filled with the mystery of Sunday. Everyone sees it in their own way. There is fear and admiration and bewilderment, but everyone finds breadth in it, the likeness of the fullness of the universe, the spill of its elements.
But here they are met by a servant in livery, inviting Mr. Resurrection to the estate. They rest in a beautiful house. They are dressed in magnificent multicolored, masquerade, symbolic clothes. They are invited to a table, set in a wonderful paradise garden. Sunday appears, he is calm, quiet and full of dignity. The dazzling simplicity of truth is revealed to them. Sunday is the rest of the Lord, this is the Day of the Seventh, the day of the fulfilled creation. He embodies the completion of order in the visible disorder, in the fun and triumph of the eternally renewing norm. And they themselves are days of work, everyday life, which in eternal running and pursuit deserve rest and peace. In front of them, before the inexorable clarity of order, finally the metaphysical rebel anarchist, the red-haired Lucifer-Gregory, and the great Sunday grows, expanding, merging with the fullness of God’s world.
How strange that this dream visited the poet Gabriel Saim while he quietly walked along the alleys of the Saffron Park, chatting about trifles with his friend, the red Gregory, but the clarity found in this dream did not leave him, and thanks to her, he suddenly I saw a red-haired girl in the light of the dawn, tearing a lilac with the unconscious grandeur of youth, to put a bouquet on the table when the time of breakfast comes.
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