Short Fiction Nikolai Gogol (bill gates books recommendations TXT) đ
- Author: Nikolai Gogol
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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:
âââTis 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?â
I think they are by Pushkin.
In the evening I wrapped myself in my cloak, hastened to the directorâs 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.â âOur chief clerk has gone mad. When I came to the office today he called me to his room and began as follows: âLook here, my friend, what wild ideas have got into your head?â
âHow! What? None at all,â I answered.
âConsider well. You are already past forty; it is quite time to be reasonable. What do you imagine? Do you think I donât know all your tricks? Are you trying to pay court to the directorâs daughter? Look at yourself and realise what you are! A nonentity, nothing else. I would not give a kopeck for you. Look well in the glass. How can you have such thoughts with such a caricature of a face?â
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 tailorâs son or some other obscure cabbage? I am a nobleman! I can also work my way up. I am just forty-twoâ âan age when a manâs real career generally begins. Wait a bit, my friend! I too may get to a superiorâs rank; or perhaps, if God 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 fashionable coat and wear a tie like yours, and you would be quite eclipsed.
But I have no moneyâ âthat is the worst part of it!
November 8th.â âI 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 passed 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 nobility.
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 ofâ âbut silence!
November 9th.â âAbout eight oâclock I went to the office. The chief clerk pretended not to notice my arrival. I for my part also behaved as though he were not in existence. I read through and collated documents. About four oâclock I left. I passed by the directorâs house, but no one was to be seen. After dinner I lay for a good while on the bed.
November 11th.â âToday I sat in the directorâs room, mended twenty-three pens for him, and for Herâ âfor Her Excellence, his daughter, four more.
The director likes to see many pens lying on his table. What a head he must have! He continually wraps himself in silence, but I donât think the smallest trifle escapes his eye. I should like to know what he is generally thinking of, what is really going on in this brain; I should like to get acquainted with the whole manner of life of these gentlemen, and get a closer view of their cunning courtiersâ arts, and all the activities of these circles. I have often thought of asking His Excellence about them; butâ âthe deuce knows why!â âevery time my tongue failed me and I could get nothing out but my meteorological report.
I wish I could get a look into the spare-room whose door I so often see open. And a second small room behind the spare-room excites my curiosity. How splendidly it is fitted up; what a quantity of mirrors and choice china it contains! I should also like to cast a glance into those regions where Her Excellency, the daughter, wields the sceptre. I should like to see how all the scent-bottles and boxes are arranged in her boudoir, and the flowers which exhale so delicious a scent that one is half afraid to breathe. And her clothes lying about which are too ethereal to be called clothesâ âbut silence!
Today there came to me what seemed a heavenly inspiration. I remembered the conversation between the two dogs which I had overheard on the Nevski Prospect. âVery good,â I thought; ânow I see my way clear. I must get hold of the correspondence which these two silly dogs have carried on with each other. In it I shall probably find many things explained.â
I had already once called Meggy to me and said to her, âListen, Meggy! Now we are alone together; if you like, I will also shut the door so that no one can see us.
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