Part 9 (1/2)

She greeted me and asked, ”Has not my father come yet?”

Ah! what a voice. A canary bird! A real canary bird!

”Your Excellency,” I wanted to exclaim, ”don't have me executed, but if it must be done, then kill me rather with your own angelic hand.” But, G.o.d knows why, I could not bring it out, so I only said, ”No, he has not come yet.”

She glanced at me, looked at the books, and let her handkerchief fall.

Instantly I started up, but slipped on the infernal polished floor, and nearly broke my nose. Still I succeeded in picking up the handkerchief.

Ye heavenly choirs, what a handkerchief! So tender and soft, of the finest cambric. It had the scent of a general's rank!

She thanked me, and smiled so amiably that her sugar lips nearly melted.

Then she left the room.

After I had sat there about an hour, a flunkey came in and said, ”You can go home, Mr Ivanovitch; the director has already gone out!”

I cannot stand these lackeys! They hang about the vestibules, and scarcely vouchsafe to greet one with a nod. Yes, sometimes it is even worse; once one of these rascals offered me his snuff-box without even getting up from his chair. ”Don't you know then, you country-b.u.mpkin, that I am an official and of aristocratic birth?”

This time, however, I took my hat and overcoat quietly; these people naturally never think of helping one on with it. I went home, lay a good while on the bed, and wrote some verses in my note:

”'Tis an hour since I saw thee, And it seems a whole long year; If I loathe my own existence, How can I live on, my dear?”

I think they are by Pushkin.

In the evening I wrapped myself in my cloak, hastened to the director's house, and waited there a long time to see if she would come out and get into the carriage. I only wanted to see her once, but she did not come.

_November 6th._--Our chief clerk has gone mad. When I came to the office to-day he called me to his room and began as follows: ”Look here, my friend, what wild ideas have got into your head?”

”How! What? None at all,” I answered.

”Consider well. You are already past forty; it is quite time to be reasonable. What do you imagine? Do you think I don't know all your tricks? Are you trying to pay court to the director's daughter? Look at yourself and realise what you are! A nonent.i.ty, nothing else. I would not give a kopeck for you. Look well in the gla.s.s. How can you have such thoughts with such a caricature of a face?”

May the devil take him! Because his own face has a certain resemblance to a medicine-bottle, because he has a curly bush of hair on his head, and sometimes combs it upwards, and sometimes plasters it down in all kinds of queer ways, he thinks that he can do everything. I know well, I know why he is angry with me. He is envious; perhaps he has noticed the tokens of favour which have been graciously shown me. But why should I bother about him? A councillor! What sort of important animal is that?

He wears a gold chain with his watch, buys himself boots at thirty roubles a pair; may the deuce take him! Am I a tailor's son or some other obscure cabbage? I am a n.o.bleman! I can also work my way up. I am just forty-two--an age when a man's real career generally begins. Wait a bit, my friend! I too may get to a superior's rank; or perhaps, if G.o.d is gracious, even to a higher one. I shall make a name which will far outstrip yours. You think there are no able men except yourself? I only need to order a fas.h.i.+onable coat and wear a tie like yours, and you would be quite eclipsed.

But I have no money--that is the worst part of it!

_November 8th._--I was at the theatre. ”The Russian House-Fool” was performed. I laughed heartily. There was also a kind of musical comedy which contained amusing hits at barristers. The language was very broad; I wonder the censor pa.s.sed it. In the comedy lines occur which accuse the merchants of cheating; their sons are said to lead immoral lives, and to behave very disrespectfully towards the n.o.bility.

The critics also are criticised; they are said only to be able to find fault, so that authors have to beg the public for protection.

Our modern dramatists certainly write amusing things. I am very fond of the theatre. If I have only a kopeck in my pocket, I always go there.

Most of my fellow-officials are uneducated boors, and never enter a theatre unless one throws free tickets at their head.

One actress sang divinely. I thought also of--but silence!