He has a most peculiar name. He always sits and mends pens. The hair on his head is very much like hay. Papa always sends him on errands instead of the servant....
I believe that beastly little dog is alluding to me. Now, is my hair like hay?
Sophie simply cannot keep from laughing when she looks at him.
You lie, you confounded dog! What an abominable style! As if I didn’t know that this is simply a case of envy; as if I didn’t know it’s an intrigue. It’s an intrigue of the chief of the section. The man has sworn implacable hate against me, and now he does everything he can to injure me, to injure me at every step. Well, I’ll look at just one more letter, perhaps the affair will explain itself.
Ma chère Fidèle,—Forgive me for having been so long without writing; I have been in a state of absolute intoxication. It is perfectly true what some writer has said, that love is second life. And then there are great changes going on in our house. The Kammerjunker comes every day now. Sophie is madly in love with him. Papa is very happy. I even heard from our Grigòrii, who sweeps the floors and almost always talks to himself, that there will soon be a wedding, because papa is very anxious to see Sophie married, either to a general, or to a Kammerjunker, or an army colonel.
Deuce take it all! I can read no more. A Kammerjunker or a general! I should like to become a general myself, not in order to obtain her hand or anything like that—no, I should like to be a general, only to see them put on all their airs and graces and show off all their Court ways; and then tell them that I don’t care a brass farthing for either of them. It really is annoying, confound it all! I tore the silly little dog’s letters into bits.
December 3rd.
It cannot be; it’s impossible; there sha’n’t be a wedding. What if he is a Kammerjunker! That’s nothing more than a title; it’s not a tangible thing that you can pick up in your hand. Why, his being a Kammerjunker doesn’t give him a third eye in the middle of his forehead. After all, his nose is not made of gold; it’s just like mine or anybody else’s; after all, he has it to smell with, not to eat with; to sneeze with, not to cough with. I have often wished to understand what is the cause of all these differences. Why am I a Government clerk? And for what purpose am I a Government clerk? Perhaps I am really a count or a general, and only appear to be a Government clerk. Perhaps I myself don’t know what I am. There have been so many cases in history: some ordinary man, not a noble at all, but some common artizan or even peasant, will all of a sudden turn out to be a great lord or baron, or what do you call it? Well, if a peasant can turn out like that, what should a noble turn out? Now, suppose I suddenly come in with a general’s uniform on, an epaulette on the right shoulder and an epaulette on the left shoulder, and a blue ribbon across—what will my beauty say, then, ah? What will papa himself say, our director? Oh! he’s a very ambitious man! He’s a Freemason; I’m convinced he’s a Freemason; he makes all sorts of pretences, but I noticed at once that he’s a Freemason; if he shakes hands with you, he only puts out two fingers. And does anybody suppose that I can’t be appointed governor-general this very moment, or a commissary, or something else of the kind? I should like to know why I am a clerk? Why particularly a clerk?
December 5th.
I spent the whole of this morning reading the newspapers. Most extraordinary things are going on in Spain. I can’t even quite make them out. It is said that the throne is vacant; that the statesmen in office are in a great dilemma, having to choose an heir apparent; and that this has resulted in disturbances. All this seems to me exceedingly strange. How can the throne be vacant? They say that some donna will succeed to the throne; but a donna cannot be sovereign, it is quite impossible. There must be a king on the throne. They say there is no king; but it cannot happen that there is no king; a State cannot exist without a king. Undoubtedly there is a king, only he is living incognito somewhere or other. It is very likely that he is living there, only he is obliged to hide himself for some family reasons, or on account of some dangers threatened by neighbouring states—France and the other countries. Anyway, there must be some reason.