Author: Various Release Date: September 11, 2004 [EBook #13437]

perspiring terribly, "I, your excellency, presumed to trouble you

because secretaries--are an untrustworthy race."

"What, what, what!" said the important personage. "Where did you get

such courage? Where did you get such ideas? What impudence towards

their chiefs and superiors has spread among the young generation!" The

prominent personage apparently had not observed that Akaky Akakiyevich

was already in the neighbourhood of fifty. If he could be called a

young man, it must have been in comparison with some one who was

seventy. "Do you know to whom you are speaking? Do you realise who is

standing before you? Do you realise it? Do you realise it, I ask you!"

Then he stamped his foot, and raised his voice to such a pitch that it

would have frightened even a different man from Akaky Akakiyevich.

Akaky Akakiyevich's senses failed him. He staggered, trembled in every

limb, and, if the porters had not run in to support him, would have

fallen to the floor. They carried him out insensible. But the

prominent personage, gratified that the effect should have surpassed

his expectations, and quite intoxicated with the thought that his word

could even deprive a man of his senses, glanced sideways at his friend

in order to see how he looked upon this, and perceived, not without

satisfaction, that his friend was in a most uneasy frame of mind, and

even beginning on his part, to feel a trifle frightened.
Akaky Akakiyevich could not remember how he descended the stairs, and

got into the street. He felt neither his hands nor feet. Never in his

life had he been so rated by any high official, let alone a strange

one. He went staggering on through the snow-storm, which was blowing

in the streets, with his mouth wide open. The wind, in St. Petersburg

fashion, darted upon him from all quarters, and down every

cross-street. In a twinkling it had blown a quinsy into his throat,

and he reached home unable to utter a word. His throat was swollen,

and he lay down on his bed. So powerful is sometimes a good scolding!
The next day a violent fever developed. Thanks to the generous

assistance of the St. Petersburg climate, the malady progressed more

rapidly than could have been expected, and when the doctor arrived, he

found, on feeling the sick man's pulse, that there was nothing to be

done, except to prescribe a poultice, so that the patient might not be

left entirely without the beneficent aid of medicine. But at the same

time, he predicted his end in thirty-six hours. After this he turned

to the landlady, and said, "And as for you, don't waste your time on

him. Order his pine coffin now, for an oak one will be too expensive

for him."

Did Akaky Akakiyevich hear these fatal words? And if he heard them,

did they produce any overwhelming effect upon him? Did he lament the

bitterness of his life?--We know not, for he continued in a delirious

condition. Visions incessantly appeared to him, each stranger than the

other. Now he saw Petrovich, and ordered him to make a cloak, with

some traps for robbers, who seemed to him to be always under the bed;

and he cried every moment to the landlady to pull one of them from

under his coverlet. Then he inquired why his old mantle hung before

him when he had a new cloak. Next he fancied that he was standing

before the prominent person, listening to a thorough setting-down and

saying, "Forgive me, your excellency!" but at last he began to curse,

uttering the most horrible words, so that his aged landlady crossed

herself, never in her life having heard anything of the kind from him,

and more so as these words followed directly after the words "your

excellency." Later on he talked utter nonsense, of which nothing could

be made, all that was evident being that these incoherent words and

thoughts hovered ever about one thing, his cloak.
At length poor Akaky Akakiyevich breathed his last. They sealed up

neither his room nor his effects, because, in the first place, there

were no heirs, and, in the second, there was very little to inherit

beyond a bundle of goose-quills, a quire of white official paper,

three pairs of socks, two or three buttons which had burst off his

trousers, and the mantle already known to the reader. To whom all this

fell, God knows. I confess that the person who told me this tale took

no interest in the matter. They carried Akaky Akakiyevich out, and

buried him.
And St. Petersburg was left without Akaky Akakiyevich, as though he

had never lived there. A being disappeared, who was protected by none,

dear to none, interesting to none, and who never even attracted to

himself the attention of those students of human nature who omit no

opportunity of thrusting a pin through a common fly and examining it

under the microscope. A being who bore meekly the jibes of the

department, and went to his grave without having done one unusual

deed, but to whom, nevertheless, at the close of his life, appeared a

bright visitant in the form of a cloak, which momentarily cheered his

poor life, and upon him, thereafter, an intolerable misfortune

descended, just as it descends upon the heads of the mighty of this

world!
Several days after his death, the porter was sent from the department

to his lodgings, with an order for him to present himself there

immediately, the chief commanding it. But the porter had to return

unsuccessful, with the answer that he could not come; and to the

question, "Why?" replied, "Well, because he is dead! he was buried

four days ago." In this manner did they hear of Akaky Akakiyevich's

death at the department. And the next day a new official sat in his

place, with a handwriting by no means so upright, but more inclined

and slanting.

But who could have imagined that this was not really the end of Akaky

Akakiyevich, that he was destined to raise a commotion after death, as

if in compensation for his utterly insignificant life? But so it

happened, and our poor story unexpectedly gains a fantastic ending.

A rumour suddenly spread through St. Petersburg, that a dead man had

taken to appearing on the Kalinkin Bridge, and its vicinity, at night

in the form of an official seeking a stolen cloak, and that, under the

pretext of its being the stolen cloak, he dragged, without regard to

rank or calling, every one's cloak from his shoulders, be it cat-skin,

beaver, fox, bear, sable, in a word, every sort of fur and skin which

men adopted for their covering. One of the department officials saw

the dead man with his own eyes, and immediately recognised in him

Akaky Akakiyevich. This, however, inspired him with such terror, that

he ran off with all his might, and therefore did not scan the dead man

closely, but only saw how the latter threatened him from afar with his

finger. Constant complaints poured in from all quarters, that the

backs and shoulders, not only of titular but even of court

councillors, were exposed to the danger of a cold, on account of the

frequent dragging off of their cloaks.
Arrangements were made by the police to catch the corpse, alive or

dead, at any cost, and punish him as an example to others, in the most

severe manner. In this they nearly succeeded, for a watchman, on guard

in Kirinshkin Lane, caught the corpse by the collar on the very scene

of his evil deeds, when attempting to pull off the frieze cloak of a

retired musician. Having seized him by the collar, he summoned, with a

shout, two of his comrades, whom he enjoined to hold him fast, while

he himself felt for a moment in his boot, in order to draw out his

snuff-box, and refresh his frozen nose. But the snuff was of a sort

which even a corpse could not endure. The watchman having closed his

right nostril with his finger, had no sooner succeeded in holding half

a handful up to the left, than the corpse sneezed so violently that he

completely filled the eyes of all three. While they raised their hands

to wipe them, the dead man vanished completely, so that they

positively did not know whether they had actually had him in their

grip at all. Thereafter the watchmen conceived such a terror of dead

men that they were afraid even to seize the living, and only screamed

from a distance. "Hey, there! go your way!" So the dead official began

to appear even beyond the Kalinkin Bridge, causing no little terror to

all timid people.

But we have totally neglected that certain prominent personage who may

really be considered as the cause of the fantastic turn taken by this

true history. First of all, justice compels us to say, that after the

departure of poor, annihilated Akaky Akakiyevich, he felt something

like remorse. Suffering was unpleasant to him, for his heart was

accessible to many good impulses, in spite of the fact that his rank

often prevented his showing his true self. As soon as his friend had

left his cabinet, he began to think about poor Akaky Akakiyevich. And

from that day forth, poor Akaky Akakiyevich, who could not bear up

under an official reprimand, recurred to his mind almost every day.

The thought troubled him to such an extent, that a week later he even

resolved to send an official to him, to learn whether he really could

assist him. And when it was reported to him that Akaky Akakiyevich had

died suddenly of fever, he was startled, hearkened to the reproaches

of his conscience, and was out of sorts for the whole day.
Wishing to divert his mind in some way and drive away the disagreeable

impression, he set out that evening for one of his friends' houses,

where he found quite a large party assembled. What was better, nearly

every one was of the same rank as himself, so that he need not feel in

the least constrained. This had a marvellous effect upon his mental

state. He grew expansive, made himself agreeable in conversation, in

short, he passed a delightful evening. After supper he drank a couple

of glasses of champagne--not a bad recipe for cheerfulness, as every

one knows. The champagne inclined him to various adventures, and he

determined not to return home, but to go and see a certain well-known

lady, of German extraction, Karolina Ivanovna, a lady, it appears,

with whom he was on a very friendly footing.

It must be mentioned that the prominent personage was no longer a

young man, but a good husband and respected father of a family. Two

sons, one of whom was already in the service, and a good-looking,

sixteen-year-old daughter, with a slightly arched but pretty little

nose, came every morning to kiss his hand and say, "_Bon jour_, papa."

His wife, a still fresh and good-looking woman, first gave him her

hand to kiss, and then, reversing the procedure, kissed his. But the

prominent personage, though perfectly satisfied in his domestic

relations, considered it stylish to have a friend in another quarter

of the city. This friend was scarcely prettier or younger than his

wife; but there are such puzzles in the world, and it is not our place

to judge them. So the important personage descended the stairs,

stepped into his sledge, said to the coachman, "To Karolina

Ivanovna's," and, wrapping himself luxuriously in his warm cloak,

found himself in that delightful frame of mind than which a Russian

can conceive nothing better, namely, when you think of nothing

yourself, yet when the thoughts creep into your mind of their own

accord, each more agreeable than the other, giving you no trouble

either to drive them away, or seek them. Fully satisfied, he recalled

all the gay features of the evening just passed and all the mots which

had made the little circle laugh. Many of them he repeated in a low

voice, and found them quite as funny as before; so it is not

surprising that he should laugh heartily at them. Occasionally,

however, he was interrupted by gusts of wind, which, coming suddenly,

God knows whence or why, cut his face, drove masses of snow into it,

filled out his cloak-collar like a sail, or suddenly blew it over his

head with supernatural force, and thus caused him constant trouble to

disentangle himself.

Suddenly the important personage felt some one clutch him firmly by

the collar. Turning round, he perceived a man of short stature, in an

old, worn uniform, and recognised, not without terror, Akaky

Akakiyevich. The official's face was white as snow, and looked just

like a corpse's. But the horror of the important personage transcended

all bounds when he saw the dead man's mouth open, and heard it utter

the following remarks, while it breathed upon him the terrible odour

of the grave: "Ah, here you are at last! I have you, that--by the

collar! I need your cloak. You took no trouble about mine, but

reprimanded me. So now give up your own."

The pallid prominent personage almost died of fright. Brave as he was

in the office and in the presence of inferiors generally, and

although, at the sight of his manly form and appearance, every one

said, "Ugh! how much character he has!" at this crisis, he, like many

possessed of an heroic exterior, experienced such terror, that, not

without cause, he began to fear an attack of illness. He flung his

cloak hastily from his shoulders and shouted to his coachman in an

unnatural voice, "Home at full speed!" The coachman, hearing the tone

which is generally employed at critical moments, and even accompanied

by something much more tangible, drew his head down between his

shoulders in case of an emergency, flourished his whip, and flew on

like an arrow. In a little more than six minutes the prominent

personage was at the entrance of his own house. Pale, thoroughly

scared, and cloakless, he went home instead of to Karolina Ivanovna's,

reached his room somehow or other, and passed the night in the direst

distress; so that the next morning over their tea, his daughter said,

"You are very pale to-day, papa." But papa remained silent, and said

not a word to any one of what had happened to him, where he had been,

or where he had intended to go.
This occurrence made a deep impression upon him. He even began to say,

"How dare you? Do you realise who is standing before you?" less

frequently to the under-officials, and, if he did utter the words, it

was only after first having learned the bearings of the matter. But

the most noteworthy point was, that from that day forward the

apparition of the dead official ceased to be seen. Evidently the

prominent personage's cloak just fitted his shoulders. At all events,

no more instances of his dragging cloaks from people's shoulders were

heard of. But many active and solicitous persons could by no means

reassure themselves, and asserted that the dead official still showed

himself in distant parts of the city.
In fact, one watchman in Kolomen saw with his own eyes the apparition

come from behind a house. But the watchman was not a strong man, so he

was afraid to arrest him, and followed him in the dark, until, at

length, the apparition looked round, paused, and inquired, "What do

you want?" at the same time showing such a fist as is never seen on

living men. The watchman said, "Nothing," and turned back instantly.

But the apparition was much too tall, wore huge moustaches, and,

directing its steps apparently towards the Obukhov Bridge, disappeared

in the darkness of the night.

THE DISTRICT DOCTOR

BY IVAN S. TURGENEV

One day in autumn on my way back from a remote part of the country I

caught cold and fell ill. Fortunately the fever attacked me in the

district town at the inn; I sent for the doctor. In half-an-hour the

district doctor appeared, a thin, dark-haired man of middle height. He

prescribed me the usual sudorific, ordered a mustard-plaster to be put

on, very deftly slid a five-ruble note up his sleeve, coughing drily

and looking away as he did so, and then was getting up to go home, but

somehow fell into talk and remained. I was exhausted with

feverishness; I foresaw a sleepless night, and was glad of a little

chat with a pleasant companion. Tea was served. My doctor began to

converse freely. He was a sensible fellow, and expressed himself with

vigour and some humour. Queer things happen in the world: you may live

a long while with some people, and be on friendly terms with them, and

never once speak openly with them from your soul; with others you have

scarcely time to get acquainted, and all at once you are pouring out

to him--or he to you--all your secrets, as though you were at

confession. I don't know how I gained the confidence of my new

friend--anyway, with nothing to lead up to it, he told me a rather

curious incident; and here I will report his tale for the information

of the indulgent reader. I will try to tell it in the doctor's own

words.
"You don't happen to know," he began in a weak and quavering voice

(the common result of the use of unmixed Berezov snuff); "you don't

happen to know the judge here, Mylov, Pavel Lukich?... You don't know

him?... Well, it's all the same." (He cleared his throat and rubbed

his eyes.) "Well, you see, the thing happened, to tell you exactly

without mistake, in Lent, at the very time of the thaws. I was sitting

at his house--our judge's, you know--playing preference. Our judge is

a good fellow, and fond of playing preference. Suddenly" (the doctor

made frequent use of this word, suddenly) "they tell me, 'There's a

servant asking for you.' I say, 'What does he want?' They say, He has

brought a note--it must be from a patient.' 'Give me the note,' I say.

So it is from a patient--well and good--you understand--it's our bread

and butter... But this is how it was: a lady, a widow, writes to me;

she says, 'My daughter is dying. Come, for God's sake!' she says, 'and

the horses have been sent for you.'... Well, that's all right. But she

was twenty miles from the town, and it was midnight out of doors, and

the roads in such a state, my word! And as she was poor herself, one

could not expect more than two silver rubles, and even that

problematic; and perhaps it might only be a matter of a roll of linen

and a sack of oatmeal in _payment_. However, duty, you know, before

everything: a fellow-creature may be dying. I hand over my cards at

once to Kalliopin, the member of the provincial commission, and return

home. I look; a wretched little trap was standing at the steps, with

peasant's horses, fat--too fat--and their coat as shaggy as felt; and

the coachman sitting with his cap off out of respect. Well, I think to

myself, 'It's clear, my friend, these patients aren't rolling in

riches.'... You smile; but I tell you, a poor man like me has to take

everything into consideration... If the coachman sits like a prince,

and doesn't touch his cap, and even sneers at you behind his beard,

and flicks his whip--then you may bet on six rubles. But this case, I

saw, had a very different air. However, I think there's no help for

it; duty before everything. I snatch up the most necessary drugs, and

set off. Will you believe it? I only just managed to get there at all.

The road was infernal: streams, snow, watercourses, and the dyke had

suddenly burst there--that was the worst of it! However, I arrived at

last. It was a little thatched house. There was a light in the

windows; that meant they expected me. I was met by an old lady, very

venerable, in a cap. 'Save her!' she says; 'she is dying.' I say,

'Pray don't distress yourself--Where is the invalid?' 'Come this way.'

I see a clean little room, a lamp in the corner; on the bed a girl of

twenty, unconscious. She was in a burning heat, and breathing

heavily--it was fever. There were two other girls, her sisters, scared

and in tears. 'Yesterday,' they tell me, 'she was perfectly well and

had a good appetite; this morning she complained of her head, and this

evening, suddenly, you see, like this.' I say again: 'Pray don't be

uneasy.' It's a doctor's duty, you know--and I went up to her and bled

her, told them to put on a mustard-plaster, and prescribed a mixture.

Meantime I looked at her; I looked at her, you know--there, by God! I

had never seen such a face!--she was a beauty, in a word! I felt quite

shaken with pity. Such lovely features; such eyes!... But, thank God!

she became easier; she fell into a perspiration, seemed to come to her

senses, looked round, smiled, and passed her hand over her face... Her

sisters bent over her. They ask, 'How are you?' 'All right,' she says,

and turns away. I looked at her; she had fallen asleep. 'Well,' I say,

'now the patient should be left alone.' So we all went out on tiptoe;

only a maid remained, in case she was wanted. In the parlour there was

a samovar standing on the table, and a bottle of rum; in our

profession one can't get on without it. They gave me tea; asked me to

stop the night... I consented: where could I go, indeed, at that time

of night? The old lady kept groaning. 'What is it?' I say; 'she will

live; don't worry yourself; you had better take a little rest

yourself; it is about two o'clock.' 'But will you send to wake me if

anything happens?' 'Yes, yes.' The old lady went away, and the girls

too went to their own room; they made up a bed for me in the parlour.

Well, I went to bed--but I could not get to sleep, for a wonder! for

in reality I was very tired. I could not get my patient out of my

head. At last I could not put up with it any longer; I got up

suddenly; I think to myself, 'I will go and see how the patient is

getting on.' Her bedroom was next to the parlour. Well, I got up, and

gently opened the door--how my heart beat! I looked in: the servant

was asleep, her mouth wide open, and even snoring, the wretch! but the

patient lay with her face towards me and her arms flung wide apart,

poor girl! I went up to her ... when suddenly she opened her eyes and

stared at me! 'Who is it? who is it?' I was in confusion. 'Don't be

alarmed, madam,' I say; 'I am the doctor; I have come to see how you

feel.' 'You the doctor?' 'Yes, the doctor; your mother sent for me

from the town; we have bled you, madam; now pray go to sleep, and in a

day or two, please God! we will set you on your feet again.' 'Ah, yes,

yes, doctor, don't let me die... please, please.' 'Why do you talk

like that? God bless you!' She is in a fever again, I think to myself;

I felt her pulse; yes, she was feverish. She looked at me, and then

took me by the hand. 'I will tell you why I don't want to die: I will

tell you... Now we are alone; and only, please don't you ... not to

any one ... Listen...' I bent down; she mov