[adapted]

by
Nikolai Gogol

October 3rd. — A strange thing happened today. I got up very late, and when Mawra brought me my clean boots, I asked her what time it was. When I heard it was already past ten, I dressed as quickly as possible.

To be honest, I did not want to go to the office today at all, because I already know that our boss will look very angry.

For some time now he has been saying to me, “Look here, my friend; there is something wrong with your head. You often run around as if you were mad. Then you make such mixed-up summaries of the papers that even the devil cannot understand them; you write the title without any capital letters, and add neither the date nor the file number.”

The long-legged bad man! He is surely jealous of me, because I sit in the director’s office, and fix His Excellency’s pens. In short, I would not have gone to the office if I had not hoped to meet the accountant, and maybe get a small advance from this stingy man.

A terrible man, this accountant! As for him paying your salary early, even once — you would sooner expect the sky to fall. You may beg and plead with him, and have almost no money left — this grey devil won’t move at all. At the same time, his own cook at home, as everyone knows, hits him on the ears.

I really don’t see what good a person gets by working in our department. There are no rewards there. In the tax and court offices it is very different. There some clumsy man sits in a corner and writes and writes; he has such an old coat and such an ugly face that you feel like spitting on both of them.

But you should see what a very nice country house he has rented. He would not even take a cup with gold on it as a present. “You can give that to your family doctor,” he would say.

Only a pair of brown horses, a fine carriage, or a coat made of beaver fur worth three hundred roubles would be good enough for him. And yet he seems so mild and quiet, and asks so politely, “Please lend me your small knife; I want to fix my pen.” But still, he knows how to treat a person who asks for something very harshly, till he has hardly any clothes left on his body.

In our office it must be said everything is done in a proper and polite way; there is more cleanness and neatness than you will ever find in government offices. The tables are made of dark wood, and everyone is called “sir.” And really, if not for this official politeness, I would have left my job long ago.

I put on my old coat, and took my umbrella, as a light rain was falling. No one could be seen on the streets except some women, who had put their skirts over their heads. Here and there you could see a cab driver or a shop worker with his umbrella open.

Among the higher classes, you only saw an official now and then. I saw one at the street crossing, and thought to myself, “Ah! my friend, you are not going to the office, but following that young lady who walks in front of you. You are just like the officers who chase every woman they see.”

As I was thinking like this, I saw a carriage stop in front of a shop just when I was walking by. I knew it at once; it was our director’s carriage. “He has no reason to be in the shop,” I said to myself; “it must be his daughter.”

I pressed myself close against the wall. A servant opened the carriage door, and, as I had expected, she came out of it like a bird. How proudly she looked to the right and left; how she pulled her eyebrows together, and her eyes flashed like lightning — good heavens! I am lost, completely lost!

“But why must she come out in such terrible weather? And yet they say women are so crazy about their fine clothes!”

She did not recognise me. I had wrapped myself as tightly as possible in my cloak. It was dirty and not modern, and I did not want her to see me wearing it. Now they wear cloaks with long collars, but mine has only a short double collar, and the cloth is poor quality.

Her little dog could not go into the shop, and stayed outside. I know this dog; its name is “Meggy.”

Before I had been standing there for a minute, I heard a voice say, “Good day, Meggy!”

Who on earth was that? I looked around and saw two ladies hurrying past under an umbrella — one old, the other quite young. They had already passed me when I heard the same voice say again, “Shame on you, Meggy!”

What was that? I saw Meggy smelling a dog that ran behind the ladies. Goodness! I thought to myself, “Am I not drunk? That does not happen often.”

“No, Fidel, you are wrong,” I heard Meggy say very clearly. “I was — bow — wow! — I was — bow! wow! wow! — very ill.”

What a strange dog! I was, to be honest, very surprised to hear it speak human language. But when I thought about it carefully, I stopped being surprised. In fact, such things have already happened in the world.

It is said that in England a fish put its head out of water and said a word or two in such a strange language that clever men have been thinking hard about them for three years, and have not been able to understand them yet. I also read in the paper of two cows who went into a shop and asked for a pound of tea.

In the meantime, what Meggy said next seemed even more strange to me. She also said, “I wrote to you recently, Fidel; maybe Polkan did not bring you the letter.”

Now I am ready to give up a full month’s pay if I have ever heard of dogs writing before. This has really surprised me. For a little while now I hear and see things that no other person has heard and seen.

“I will,” I thought, “follow that dog to find out the truth about the matter. So, I opened my umbrella and went after the two ladies. They went down Bean Street, turned through Citizen Street and Carpenter Street, and finally stopped on the Cuckoo Bridge in front of a big house. I know this house; it is Sverkoff’s. What a monster he is! What kind of people live there! How many cooks, how many salesmen! There are other office workers like me there too, packed together like herrings. And I have a friend there, a good player on the cornet.”

The ladies went up to the fifth floor. “Very good,” I thought; “I will make a note of the number, so I can look into it at the first chance.”

October 4th. — Today is Wednesday, and I was as usual in the office. I came early on purpose, sat down, and fixed all the pens.

Our director must be a very clever man. The whole room is full of bookcases. I read the titles of some of the books; they were very difficult, too hard for people of my class to understand, and all in French and German.

I look at his face; see! how much pride there is in his eyes. I never hear a single extra word from his mouth, except that when he gives the papers, he asks “What is the weather like?”

No, he is not a man of our class; he is a real leader. I have already noticed that I am a special favourite of his. If now his daughter also — ah! what nonsense — let me say no more about it!

I have read the Northern Bee. What foolish people the French are! Heavens! I would like to fight them all, and give them a beating. I have also read a good description of a dance held by a landowner from Kursk. The landowners from Kursk write in a good style.

Then I saw that it was already half past twelve, and the director had not yet left his bedroom. But about half past one something happened that no words can describe.

The door opened. I thought it was the director; I jumped up with my papers from the seat, and — then — she — herself — came into the room. Oh, my! how beautifully she was dressed. Her clothes were whiter than a swan’s feathers — oh how wonderful! A sun, yes, a real sun!

She said hello to me and asked, “Hasn’t my father come yet?”

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

“Sir,” I wanted to shout, “don’t have me killed, but if it has to be done, then kill me instead with your own hand like an angel.” But, I don’t know why, I could not say it, so I only said, “No, he has not come yet.”

She looked at me, looked at the books, and dropped her handkerchief. At once I jumped up, but slipped on the awful shiny floor, and nearly broke my nose. Still I managed to pick up the handkerchief. Oh, heavens, what a handkerchief! So very thin and soft, of the finest linen. It had the smell of a general’s rank!

She thanked me, and smiled so kindly that her sweet lips nearly melted. Then she left the room.

After I sat there for about an hour, a servant came in and said, “You can go home, Mr. Ivanovitch; the director has already left!”

I can’t stand these servants! They stand around the entrance halls, and hardly even greet one with a nod. Yes, sometimes it is even worse; once one of these men offered me his tobacco box without even getting up from his chair. “Don’t you know then, you country fool, that I am an official and from a noble family?”

This time, though, I took my hat and coat quietly; these people, of course, never think of helping me put it on. I went home, lay for a long time on the bed, and wrote some poems in my note:

“It’s been an hour since I saw you,
And it seems like a whole long year;
If I hate my own life,
How can I live on, my dear?”

I think they are by Pushkin.

In the evening I put on my coat, hurried to the director’s house, and waited there a long time to see if she would come out and get into the car. I only wanted to see her once, but she did not come.

November 6th. — Our head clerk has gone crazy. When I came to the office today he called me to his room and started like this: “Look here, my friend, what wild ideas have got into your head?”

“How? What? None at all,” I answered.

“Think carefully. You are already over forty; it is quite time to be sensible. What do you think? Do you think I don’t know all your tricks? Are you trying to date the director’s daughter? Look at yourself and see what you are! A nobody, nothing else. I would not give a penny for you. Look well in the mirror. How can you have such thoughts with such an ugly face?”

May the devil take him! Because his own face looks a bit like a medicine bottle, because he has a lot of curly hair on his head, and sometimes combs it up, and sometimes presses it down in all kinds of strange ways, he thinks that he can do everything.

I know well, I know why he is angry with me. He is jealous; perhaps he has noticed the signs of favour that were kindly shown to 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 devil take him! Am I a tailor’s son or some other nobody? I am a nobleman! I can also move up. I am just forty-two — an age when a man’s real career usually begins.

Wait a bit, my friend! I too may get to a higher rank; or perhaps, if God is kind, even to a much higher one. I will become much more famous than you. You think there are no able men except yourself? I only need to order a smart coat and wear a tie like yours, and no one would notice you.

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