“No, sir, I—excuse me for interrupting you, Anton Antonovich—I, Anton Antonovich, would like to know how this clerk, that is, on what grounds is he here?”
“In place of the deceased Semyon Ivanovich, in his vacant place; a vacancy opened up, so they replaced him. Now, really, the thing is that this dear deceased Semyon Ivanovich, they say, left three children—each one smaller than the next. The widow fell at his excellency’s feet. They say, however, that she’s got something hidden away; there’s a bit of money there, but she’s hidden it away…”
“No, Anton Antonovich, sir, I’m still talking about this circumstance.”
“That is? Well, yes! but why does it interest you so? I tell you, don’t be embarrassed. It’s all a bit temporary. What, then? it’s not your concern; the Lord God Himself arranged it this way, such was His will, and it’s sinful to murmur against it. His wisdom can be seen in it. And you, Yakov Petrovich, as far as I understand, are not at all to blame. There are all sorts of wonders in the world! Mother Nature is generous; and you won’t be asked to answer for it, you will not answer for it. Take, for example, incidentally speaking, you’ve heard, I hope, how those, what do you call them, yes, Siamese twins, are joined at the back, so they live, and eat, and sleep together; they say they bring in a lot of money.”
“Excuse me, Anton Antonovich…”
“I understand you, I understand! Yes! well, and so?—never mind! I speak from my utmost understanding, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. What of it? He’s a clerk like any other, and seems to be an efficient man. He says he’s Goliadkin; not from these parts, he says, a titular councillor. Had a personal talk with his excellency.”
“Well, and how was it, sir?”
“All right, sir. They say he gave sufficient explanations, presented reasons; he said thus and so, Your Excellency, I have no fortune, but I wish to serve, and especially under your flattering leadership…well, and everything one ought to say, you know, he put it aptly. Must be a clever man. Well, naturally, he came with a recommendation; no doing without that…”
“Well, but who from, sir?…that is, I mean to say, precisely who mixed his hand in this shameful business?”
“Yes, sir. A good recommendation, they say; his excellency, they say, had a laugh with Andrei Filippovich.”
“A laugh with Andrei Filippovich?”
“Yes, sir. He just smiled and said it was good, and that for his part he was not against it, as long as he served loyally…”
“Well, go on, sir. You’ve revived me a bit, Anton Antonovich; I beg you, go on, sir.”
“Excuse me, I again said something that you…Well, yes, sir; well, and never mind, sir; it’s an uncomplicated matter; I tell you, don’t be embarrassed, and there’s nothing dubious to be found in it…”
“No, sir. I, that is, want to ask you, Anton Antonovich, whether his excellency added nothing more…concerning me, for example?”
“How’s that, sir? Right, sir! Well, no, nothing; you can be perfectly at ease. You know, of course, to be sure, it’s a very striking circumstance and at first…yet I, for example, almost didn’t notice at first. I really don’t know why I didn’t notice until you reminded me. However, you can be perfectly at ease. He said nothing at all, nothing in particular,” added the kindly Anton Antonovich, getting up from his chair.
“So, then, sir, I, Anton Antonovich…”
“Ah, you must forgive me, sir. I’ve been babbling about trifles, and here’s an important, urgent matter. I must make inquiries.”
“Anton Antonovich!” the politely summoning voice of Andrei Filippovich rang out, “his excellency is asking for you.”
“At once, at once, Andrei Filippovich, I’ll come at once, sir.” And Anton Antonovich, taking a small pile of papers in his hands, flew first to Andrei Filippovich and then to his excellency’s office.
“What’s this?” Mr. Goliadkin thought to himself. “So this is the sort of game we’ve got here! This is the sort of wind we’ve got blowing now…Not bad; it means things have taken a most agreeable turn,” our hero said to himself, rubbing his hands and not feeling the chair under him from joy.
“So our affair is quite an ordinary affair. So it ends in trifles, resolves itself into nothing. In fact, nobody thinks anything, and they don’t peep, the robbers, they sit and keep busy; nice, very nice! I love a good man, love and am always ready to respect…However, if you think about it, this Anton Antonovich…I’m afraid to trust him: he’s much too gray-haired and pretty shaky with old age.
However, the nicest and greatest thing is that his excellency said nothing and let it pass: that’s good! I approve! Only what’s Andrei Filippovich doing mixing into it with his laughter? What is it to him? The old stitch! He’s always in my way, always trying to run across a man’s path like a black cat, always thwarting and spiting him; spiting and thwarting him…”
Mr. Goliadkin looked around again, and again hope revived him. However, he still felt embarrassed by some remote thought, some bad thought. It even occurred to him to somehow sidle up to the clerks, to run ahead harelike, even (somehow as they were leaving after work or approaching them as if on business) in the midst of conversation, and to hint that, say, gentlemen, thus and so, there’s this striking resemblance, a strange circumstance, a lampoonish comedy—that is, to make fun of it all and in this way to sound the depths of the danger.
Because still waters do run deep, our hero concluded mentally. However, Mr. Goliadkin only thought it; but he caught himself in time. He realized that it would be going too far. “That’s your nature!” he said to himself, slapping himself lightly on the forehead. “You immediately start playing, rejoicing!
A truthful soul! No, Yakov Petrovich, you and I had better wait and be patient!” Nevertheless, and as we have already mentioned, Mr. Goliadkin was reborn in full hope, as if resurrected from the dead. “Never mind,” he thought, “it’s as if five hundred pounds had fallen off my chest!
There’s a circumstance for you! And the coffer had no trick to it. Krylov’s right, Krylov’s right18…he’s a dab, a stitch, that Krylov, and a great fable writer! And as for that one, let him work, let him work all he likes, as long as he doesn’t interfere with anybody or touch anybody; let him work—I agree and I approbate!”
But meanwhile the hours passed, flew by, and before he noticed it struck four o’clock. The office closed; Andrei Filippovich took his hat, and, as usual, everyone followed his example. Mr. Goliadkin lingered a little, as long as necessary, and purposely went out after everyone else, last, when everyone had already wandered off their different ways.
Going outside, he felt as if he was in paradise, so that he even had a desire to stroll along Nevsky, though it meant a detour. “That’s fate for you!” said our hero. “An unexpected turnabout of the whole affair. And the weather has cleared, and there’s frost, and sleighriding. And frost suits the Russian man, the Russian man gets along nicely with frost! I love the Russian man. And there’s snow, a first dust of snow, as a hunter would say. Oh, to be tracking a hare in the first dust of snow! Ahh! Well, never mind!”
Thus Mr. Goliadkin expressed his delight, and yet something kept tickling in his head—anguish or not, but at times his heart was so wrenched that Mr. Goliadkin did not know how to comfort himself. “However, let’s wait till daytime and then rejoice. What is all this, however?
Well, let’s reason and see. Well, go on and reason, my young friend, go on and reason. Well, he’s a man the same as you, first of all, exactly the same. Well, what of it? If that’s what he is, why should I weep? What is it to me? I stand apart, I whistle to myself, that’s all. So it goes, that’s all! Let him work!
Well, it’s a wonder and a strange thing, they say, these Siamese twins…Well, who needs them, these Siamese? Suppose they are twins, but great people have also looked strange sometimes. It’s even known from history that the famous Suvorov crowed like a rooster19…Well, for him it was all politics; and great generals…yes, however, what about generals? I’m my own man, that’s all, I don’t care about anybody, and in my innocence I despise the enemy. I’m not an intriguer, and I’m proud of it. I’m pure, straightforward, neat, agreeable, unresentful…”
Suddenly Mr. Goliadkin fell silent, stopped short, and trembled like a leaf, and even closed his eyes for a moment. Hoping, however, that the object of his fear was simply an illusion, he finally opened his eyes and glanced timidly to the right. No, it was not an illusion!…Beside him trotted his morning acquaintance, smiling, peeking into his eyes, and apparently waiting for a chance to start a conversation. The conversation, however, would not get started. The two men went some fifty steps like that.
All Mr. Goliadkin’s effort went into wrapping himself more tightly, burying himself in his overcoat, and pulling the hat down over his eyes as far as possible. To complete the injury, even his friend’s overcoat and hat were exactly as if they had just been taken from Mr. Goliadkin’s shoulders.
“My dear sir,” our hero finally said, trying to speak almost in a whisper and not looking at his friend, “it seems we’re going different ways…I’m even sure of it,” he said after some
