LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

I drive?”

      “To the Ismailovsky Bridge, my friend.”

      The driver plumped down on the box, with difficulty roused his pair of lean nags from the trough of hay, and was setting off for Ismailovsky Bridge. But suddenly Mr. Golyadkin pulled the cord, stopped the cab, and besought him in an imploring voice not to drive to Ismailovsky Bridge, but to turn back to another street. The driver turned into another street, and then minutes later Mr. Golyadkin’s newly hired equipage was standing before the house in which his Excellency had a flat. Mr. Golyadkin got out of the carriage, begged the driver to be sure to wait and with a sinking heart ran upstairs to the third storey and pulled the bell; the door was opened and our hero found himself in the entry of his Excellency’s flat.

      “Is his Excellency graciously pleased to be at home?” said Mr. Golyadkin, addressing the man who opened the door.

      “What do you want?” asked the servant, scrutinizing Mr. Golyadkin from head to foot.

      “I, my friend... I am Golyadkin, the titular councillor, Golyadkin... To say... something or other... to explain...”

      “You must wait; you cannot...”

      “My friend, I cannot wait; my business is important, it’s business that admits of no delay...”

      “But from whom have you come? Have you brought papers?...”

      “No, my friend, I am on my own account. Announce me, my friend, say something or other, explain. I’ll reward you, my good man...”

      “I cannot. His Excellency is not at home, he has visitors. Come at ten o’clock in the morning...”

      “Take in my name, my good man, I can’t wait — it is impossible... You’ll have to answer for it, my good man.”

      “Why, go and announce him! What’s the matter with you; want to save your shoe leather?” said another lackey who was lolling on the bench and had not uttered a word till then.

      “Shoe leather! I was told not to show any one up, you know; their time is the morning.”

      “Announce him, have you lost your tongue?”

      “I’ll announce him all right — I’ve not lost my tongue. It’s not my orders; I’ve told you, it’s not my orders. Walk inside.”

      Mr. Golyadkin went into the outermost room; there was a clock on the table. He glanced at it: it was half-past eight. His heart ached within him. Already he wanted to turn back, but at that very moment the footman standing at the door of the next room had already boomed out Mr. Golyadkin’s name.

      “Oh, what lungs,” thought our hero in indescribable misery. “Why, you ought to have said: ‘he has come most humbly and meekly to make an explanation... something... be graciously pleased to see him’... Now the whole business is ruined; all my hopes are scattered to the winds. But... however... never mind...”

      There was no time to think, moreover. The lackey, returning, said, “Please walk in,” and led Mr. Golyadkin into the study.

      When our hero went in, he felt as though he were blinded, for he could see nothing at all... But three or four figures seemed flitting before his eyes: “Oh, yes, they are the visitors,” flashed through Mr. Golyadkin’s mind. At last our hero could distinguish clearly the star on the black coat of his Excellency, then by degrees advanced to seeing the black coat and at last gained the power of complete vision...

      “What is it?” said a familiar voice above Mr. Golyadkin.

      “The titular councillor, Golyadkin, your Excellency.”

      “Well?”

      “I have come to make an explanation...”

      “How?... What?”

      “Why, yes. This is how it is. I’ve come for an explanation, your Excellency...”

      “But you... but who are you?...”

      “M-m-m-mist-er Golyadkin, your Excellency, a titular councillor.”

      “Well, what is it you want?”

      “Why, this is how it is, I look upon you as a father; I retire... defend me from my enemy!...”

      “What’s this?...”

      “We all know...”

      “What do we all know?”

      Mr. Golyadkin was silent: his chin began twitching a little.

      “Well?”

      “I thought it was chivalrous, your Excellency... ‘There’s something chivalrous in it,’ I said, ‘and I look upon my superior as a father’... this is what I thought; ‘protect me, I tear... earfully... b... eg and that such imp... impulses ought... to... be encouraged...”

      His excellency turned away, our hero for some minutes could distinguish nothing. There was a weight on his chest. His breathing was laboured; he did not know where he was standing... He felt ashamed and sad. God knows what followed... Recovering himself, our hero noticed that his Excellency was talking with his guests, and seemed to be briskly and emphatically discussing something with them. One of the visitors Mr. Golyadkin recognized at once. This was Andrey Filippovitch; he knew no one else; yet there was another person that seemed familiar — a tall, thick-set figure, middle-aged, possessed of very thick eyebrows and whiskers and a significant sharp expression. On his chest was an order and in his mouth a cigar. This gentleman was smoking and nodding significantly without taking the cigar out of his mouth, glancing from time to time at Mr. Golyadkin. Mr. Golyadkin felt awkward; he turned away his eyes and immediately saw another very strange visitor. Through a door which our hero had taken for a looking-glass, just as he had done once before — he made his appearance — we know who: a very intimate friend and acquaintance of Mr. Golyadkin’s. Mr. Golyadkin junior had actually been till then in a little room close by, hurriedly writing something; now, apparently, he was needed — and he came in with papers under his arm, went up to his Excellency, and while waiting for exclusive attention to be paid him succeeded very adroitly in putting his spoke into the talk and consultation, taking his place a little behind Andrey Filippovitch’s back and partly screening him from the gentleman smoking the cigar. Apparently Mr. Golyadkin junior took an intense interest in the conversation, to which he was listening now in a gentlemanly way, nodding his head, fidgeting with his feet, smiling, continually looking at his Excellency — as it were beseeching him with his eyes to let him put his word in.

      “The scoundrel,” thought Mr. Golyadkin, and involuntarily he took a step forward. At this moment his Excellency turned round and came rather hesitatingly towards Mr. Golyadkin.

      “Well, that’s all right, that’s all right; well, run along, now. I’ll look into your case, and give orders for you to be taken...”

      At this point his Excellency glanced at the gentleman with the thick whiskers. The latter nodded in assent.

      Mr. Golyadkin felt and distinctly understood that they were taking him for something different and not looking at him in the proper light at all.

      “In one way or another I must explain myself,” he thought; “I must say, ‘This is how it is, your Excellency.’”

      At this point in his perplexity he dropped his eyes to the floor and to his great astonishment he saw a good-sized patch of something white on his Excellency’s boots.

      “Can there be a hole in them?” thought Mr. Golyadkin. Mr. Golyadkin was, however, soon convinced that his Excellency’s boots were not split, but were only shining brilliantly — a phenomenon fully explained by the fact that they were patent leather and highly polished.

      “It is what they call blick,” thought our hero; “the term is used particularly in artists studios; in other places such a reflected light is called a rib of light.”

      At this point Mr. Golyadkin raised his eyes and saw that the time had come to speak, for things might easily end badly...

Скачать книгу