Chapter Chapter 2 · 第2章

When the grey St Petersburg sky is darkened by the veil of night, and

the whole of officialdom has finished its dinner according to its

gastronomical inclinations or the depth of its purse--when all recover

themselves from the perpetual scratching of bureaucratic pens, and all

the cares and business with which men so often needlessly burden

themselves, they devote the evening to recreation. One goes to the

theatre; another roams about the streets, inspecting toilettes; another

whispers flattering words to some young girl who has risen like a star

in his modest official circle. Here and there one visits a colleague in

his third or fourth story flat, consisting of two rooms with an

entrance-hall and kitchen, fitted with some pretentious articles of

furniture purchased by many abstinences.

In short, at this time every official betakes himself to some form of

recreation--playing whist, drinking tea, and eating cheap pastry or

smoking tobacco in long pipes. Some relate scandals about great people,

for in whatever situation of life the Russian may be, he always likes to

hear about the aristocracy; others recount well-worn but popular

anecdotes, as for example that of the commandant to whom it was reported

that a rogue had cut off the horse's tail on the monument of Peter the

Great.

But even at this time of rest and recreation, Akaki Akakievitch remained

faithful to his habits. No one could say that he had ever seen him in

any evening social circle. After he had written as much as he wanted, he

went to bed, and thought of the joys of the coming day, and the fine

copies which God would give him to do.

So flowed on the peaceful existence of a man who was quite content with

his post and his income of four hundred roubles a year. He might perhaps

have reached an extreme old age if one of those unfortunate events had

not befallen him, which not only happen to titular but to actual privy,

court, and other councillors, and also to persons who never give advice

nor receive it.

In St Petersburg all those who draw a salary of four hundred roubles or

thereabouts have a terrible enemy in our northern cold, although some

assert that it is very good for the health. About nine o'clock in the

morning, when the clerks of the various departments betake themselves to

their offices, the cold nips their noses so vigorously that most of them

are quite bewildered. If at this time even high officials so suffer from

the severity of the cold in their own persons that the tears come into

their eyes, what must be the sufferings of the titular councillors,

whose means do not allow of their protecting themselves against the

rigour of winter? When they have put on their light cloaks, they must

hurry through five or six streets as rapidly as possible, and then in

the porter's lodge warm themselves and wait till their frozen official

faculties have thawed.

For some time Akaki had been feeling on his back and shoulders very

sharp twinges of pain, although he ran as fast as possible from his

dwelling to the office. After well considering the matter, he came to

the conclusion that these were due to the imperfections of his cloak. In

his room he examined it carefully, and discovered that in two or three

places it had become so thin as to be quite transparent, and that the

lining was much torn.

This cloak had been for a long time the standing object of jests on the

part of Akaki's merciless colleagues. They had even robbed it of the

noble name of "cloak," and called it a cowl. It certainly presented a

remarkable appearance. Every year the collar had grown smaller, for

every year the poor titular councillor had taken a piece of it away in

order to repair some other part of the cloak; and these repairs did not

look as if they had been done by the skilled hand of a tailor. They had

been executed in a very clumsy way and looked remarkably ugly.

After Akaki Akakievitch had ended his melancholy examination, he said to

himself that he must certainly take his cloak to Petrovitch the tailor,

who lived high up in a dark den on the fourth floor.

With his squinting eyes and pock-marked face, Petrovitch certainly did

not look as if he had the honour to make frock-coats and trousers for

high officials--that is to say, when he was sober, and not absorbed in

more pleasant diversions.

I might dispense here with dwelling on this tailor; but since it is the

custom to portray the physiognomy of every separate personage in a tale,

I must give a better or worse description of Petrovitch. Formerly when

he was a simple serf in his master's house, he was merely called Gregor.

When he became free, he thought he ought to adorn himself with a new

name, and dubbed himself Petrovitch; at the same time he began to drink

lustily, not only on the high festivals but on all those which are

marked with a cross in the calendar. By thus solemnly celebrating the

days consecrated by the Church, he considered that he was remaining

faithful to the traditions of his childhood; and when he quarrelled with

his wife, he shouted that she was an earthly minded creature and a

German. Of this lady we have nothing more to relate than that she was

the wife of Petrovitch, and that she did not wear a kerchief but a cap

on her head. For the rest, she was not pretty; only the soldiers looked

at her as they passed, then they twirled their moustaches and walked on,

laughing.

Akaki Akakievitch accordingly betook himself to the tailor's attic. He

reached it by a dark, dirty, damp staircase, from which, as in all the

inhabited houses of the poorer class in St Petersburg, exhaled an

effluvia of spirits vexatious to nose and eyes alike. As the titular

councillor climbed these slippery stairs, he calculated what sum

Petrovitch could reasonably ask for repairing his cloak, and determined

only to give him a rouble.

The door of the tailor's flat stood open in order to provide an outlet

for the clouds of smoke which rolled from the kitchen, where

Petrovitch's wife was just then cooking fish. Akaki, his eyes smarting,

passed through the kitchen without her seeing him, and entered the room

where the tailor sat on a large, roughly made, wooden table, his legs

crossed like those of a Turkish pasha, and, as is the custom of tailors,

with bare feet. What first arrested attention, when one approached him,

was his thumb nail, which was a little misshapen but as hard and strong

as the shell of a tortoise. Round his neck were hung several skeins of

thread, and on his knees lay a tattered coat. For some minutes he had

been trying in vain to thread his needle. He was first of all angry with

the gathering darkness, then with the thread.

"Why the deuce won't you go in, you worthless scoundrel!" he exclaimed.

Akaki saw at once that he had come at an inopportune moment. He wished

he had found Petrovitch at a more favourable time, when he was enjoying

himself--when, as his wife expressed it, he was having a substantial

ration of brandy. At such times the tailor was extraordinarily ready to

meet his customer's proposals with bows and gratitude to boot. Sometimes

indeed his wife interfered in the transaction, and declared that he was

drunk and promised to do the work at much too low a price; but if the

customer paid a trifle more, the matter was settled.

Unfortunately for the titular councillor, Petrovitch had just now not

yet touched the brandy flask. At such moments he was hard, obstinate,

and ready to demand an exorbitant price.

Akaki foresaw this danger, and would gladly have turned back again, but

it was already too late. The tailor's single eye--for he was

one-eyed--had already noticed him, and Akaki Akakievitch murmured

involuntarily "Good day, Petrovitch."

"Welcome, sir," answered the tailor, and fastened his glance on the

titular councillor's hand to see what he had in it.

"I come just--merely--in order--I want--"

We must here remark that the modest titular councillor was in the habit

of expressing his thoughts only by prepositions, adverbs, or particles,

which never yielded a distinct meaning. If the matter of which he spoke

was a difficult one, he could never finish the sentence he had begun. So

that when transacting business, he generally entangled himself in the

formula "Yes--it is indeed true that----" Then he would remain standing

and forget what he wished to say, or believe that he had said it.

"What do you want, sir?" asked Petrovitch, scrutinising him from top to

toe with a searching look, and contemplating his collar, sleeves, coat,

buttons--in short his whole uniform, although he knew them all very

well, having made them himself. That is the way of tailors whenever they

meet an acquaintance.

Then Akaki answered, stammering as usual, "I want--Petrovitch--this

cloak--you see--it is still quite good, only a little dusty--and

therefore it looks a little old. It is, however, still quite new, only

that it is worn a little--there in the back and here in the

shoulder--and there are three quite little splits. You see it is hardly

worth talking about; it can be thoroughly repaired in a few minutes."

Petrovitch took the unfortunate cloak, spread it on the table,

contemplated it in silence, and shook his head. Then he stretched his

hand towards the window-sill for his snuff-box, a round one with the

portrait of a general on the lid. I do not know whose portrait it was,

for it had been accidentally injured, and the ingenious tailor had

gummed a piece of paper over it.

After Petrovitch had taken a pinch of snuff, he examined the cloak

again, held it to the light, and once more shook his head. Then he

examined the lining, took a second pinch of snuff, and at last

exclaimed, "No! that is a wretched rag! It is beyond repair!"

At these words Akaki's courage fell.

"What!" he cried in the querulous tone of a child. "Can this hole really

not be repaired? Look! Petrovitch; there are only two rents, and you

have enough pieces of cloth to mend them with."

"Yes, I have enough pieces of cloth; but how should I sew them on? The

stuff is quite worn out; it won't bear another stitch."