October 3rd.
An extraordinary circumstance happened to-day. I got up rather late, and when Mavra brought me my boots I asked her what time it was. Hearing that it was long past ten I dressed hurriedly. I confess I did not want to go to the Department at all, knowing beforehand what black looks I should get from the chief of our division. For some time he’s taken to saying to me, “What ever sort of rot have you always got in your head now, man? Sometimes you tear about like a possessed creature; sometimes you muddle the papers so that the very devil couldn’t make them out; you write the titles without capital letters, and leave out all the dates and numbers!” Hang the fellow! He’s envious, of course, because I sit in the director’s study and mend his excellency’s pens. In short, I shouldn’t have gone to the Department at all if I hadn’t hoped to meet the treasurer, and, perhaps, get the confounded Jew to give me, anyway, a little of my salary in advance. I never came across such a creature! For him to ever advance one the money a single month—why, doomsday will come before that happens! You can beg him, entreat him—however hard up you are the old grey devil won’t give it you. And yet at home his own cook boxes his ears. She does—everybody knows that. I can’t understand what advantage it is to serve in the Department. There are no resources whatsoever. Now, in the Provincial Administration, or in the Common Courts, or Court of Exchequer—that’s quite another thing; there sometimes you’ll see a fellow squeezed up in the corner writing away, in a shabby old coat, and such a fright to look at, and yet see what a nice little villa he rents! You can’t offer him a gilded china cup, for instance; he’ll say, “That’s a doctor’s present.” No, you must give him a pair of carriage horses, or a fine sledge, or beaver fur worth three hundred roubles. He’ll look as meek as meek can be, and talk so sweetly—“May I trouble you to lend me your penknife?” and then he’ll fleece you—till he leaves nothing but the shirt on your back. It’s true, though, our service is more genteel—everything’s so clean, the tables are of red wood, and all the directors say “you.” Indeed, but that it’s a genteel service, I’d have left the Department long ago.
“I LOOKED ROUND AND SAW TWO LADIES UNDER AN UMBRELLA, AN OLD LADY AND A YOUNG ONE.”
I put on my old cloak and took my umbrella because it was pouring with rain. There was no one in the streets; I saw nothing but a few women with shawls over their heads and some Russian shopkeepers with umbrellas. There was no one of the upper classes about except an official like myself. I saw him at a crossing, and said to myself, “Aha! No, my friend, you’re not going to the Department; you’re running after the woman in front of you and looking at her ankles.” What a set of brutes our officials are! They’re just as bad as any officer; can’t see a woman’s hat at all without going for it. Just as I was thinking that, I saw a carriage driving up to a shop I was passing. I knew it at once; it was our director’s carriage. “But he wouldn’t be going shopping,” I thought; “it must be his daughter.” I stopped, and leaned against the wall; a footman opened the carriage door, and she sprang out like a bird. How she glanced round with those eyes and brows of hers! Heaven defend me! I am done for! And why ever should she drive out in this pouring rain? And then people say that women are not devoted to chiffons! She did not recognise me, and indeed I purposely muffled myself up, because my cloak was very muddy and old-fashioned too. Now they are worn with deep capes, and mine had little capes one above the other; and the cloth wasn’t good either. Her lap-dog didn’t get in before the shop-door was shut, and was left out in the street. I know that dog; it is called Medji. The next minute I suddenly heard a little voice, “Good-morning, Medji.” Why! what the deuce! Who said that? I looked round and saw two ladies under an umbrella, an old lady and a young one; but they went past; and suddenly I heard again, “Oh, for shame, Medji!” What the devil! There were Medji and the ladies’ lap-dog smelling each other. “I say,” thought I to myself, “I must be drunk!” And yet it is a rare thing with me to be drunk. “No, Fidèle, you are quite mistaken” (I actually saw Medji saying that). “I have been—bow-wow-wow—I have been—bow-wow-wow—very ill.” Well, there now! I really was very much surprised to hear the lap-dog talking in human speech. But afterwards, when I thought it over, it didn’t astonish me. Indeed, there have been many such cases in the world. It is said that there appeared in England a fish that said two words in such a strange language that the learned men have been three years trying to make out what it said, and can’t understand it yet. And I remember reading in the newspapers about two cows that went into a shop and asked for a pound of tea. But I was very much more astonished when Medji said, “I wrote to you, Fidèle; Polkàn can’t have brought the letter.” Well! may I lose my salary if ever I heard in my life that dogs could write! It quite amazed me. Lately, indeed, I have begun to see and hear sometimes things that nobody ever saw or heard before. “I’ll follow that lap-dog,” thought I, “and find out what it is and what it thinks.” So I shut up my umbrella and followed the two ladies. They went along Goròkhovaya Street, turned into Myeshchànskaya, then into a carpenter’s shop, and at last up to the Kokoushkin Bridge, and there they stopped before a big house. “I know that house,” said I to myself; “that’s Tvyerkov’s house.” What a monster! Just to think of the numbers of people that live there—such a lot of strangers, servant maids, and as for my fellow officials, they are packed together like dogs! I have a friend living there who plays the trumpet very well. The ladies went up to the fifth story. “All right,” thought I, “I won’t go in now, but I will mark the place, and take advantage of the first opportunity.”
October 4th.
To-day is Wednesday, so I have been on duty in the director’s study. I purposely went early, sat down and mended all the pens. Our director must be a very clever man—all his study is fitted up with bookshelves. I read the titles of several books, but they were all so learned, so fearfully learned, that they are no use for a poor fellow like me; they are all either in French or in German. And just to look at his face! See the importance beaming in his eyes! I have never even heard of his saying an unnecessary word. Only, you know, when you hand him a paper he will ask, “What’s the weather like?” “Damp, your excellency.” Yes; we are not up to his level; he’s a statesman. Nevertheless, I have remarked that he is peculiarly fond of me. Now if only his daughter.... Confound it all! Never mind; never mind; hush! I began to read The Little Bee. What a stupid nation the French are! On my honour, I’d take them and flog them all round. Well, I was reading a charming account of a ball, written by a country squire from Koursk. The Koursk squires write very well. After that I observed that it was half-past twelve, and that the director hadn’t come out of his bedroom. But about half-past one there happened an occurrence that no pen can describe. The door opened, and, thinking it was the director, I jumped up with my papers; but it was—She; She herself! Holy saints! how she was dressed! All in white, like a swan, and so gorgeously! And how she looked! like the sunlight, I swear. She bowed to me and said, “Has papa been here?” Aï, aï, aï, what a voice! A perfect canary bird! “Your excellency,” I would have said, “have mercy on me. But, if I must die, let me die by your august hand.” But, the devil take it, all that would come on to my tongue was, “No, madam.” She looked at me; she looked at the books; she dropped her handkerchief. I rushed for it, slipped on the confounded polished floor, and nearly broke my nose. Still I managed to get the handkerchief. Heavens and earth! What a handkerchief! So fine; pure cambric; amber-scented; exhaling the aroma of high rank. She thanked me, laughed just a little, so that her sweet lips hardly moved, and went away. I waited another hour, and then a lackey came in and said, “You can go home, Aksèntyi Ivànovich. My master has gone out.” I cannot endure the footman class; they always lounge about in the ante-room, and don’t so much as take the trouble to nod to you. Indeed, that’s not all; once, one of these brutes had the insolence to offer me some tobacco without getting up. Why, can’t you understand, you stupid flunkey, that I am an official, that I am of noble birth! Nevertheless I took my hat, put on my cloak myself (these gentry never think of helping one), and went out. At home I spent most of the day lying on my bed. Then I copied out some charming verses:—
“An hour I had not seen my dearest,
That hour was as a year to me;
Oh life, how hateful thou appearest!