Bab Bab 6 · 第6章

Akaki had no idea how he got down the stairs and crossed the street, for

he felt more dead than alive. In his whole life he had never been so

scolded by a superior official, let alone one whom he had never seen

before.

He wandered in the storm which raged without taking the least care of

himself, nor sheltering himself on the side-walk against its fury. The

wind, which blew from all sides and out of all the narrow streets,

caused him to contract inflammation of the throat. When he reached home

he was unable to speak a word, and went straight to bed.

Such was the result of the Superintendent's lecture.

The next day Akaki had a violent fever. Thanks to the St Petersburg

climate, his illness developed with terrible rapidity. When the doctor

came, he saw that the case was already hopeless; he felt his pulse and

ordered him some poultices, merely in order that he should not die

without some medical help, and declared at once that he had only two

days to live. After giving this opinion, he said to Akaki's landlady,

"There is no time to be lost; order a pine coffin, for an oak one would

be too expensive for this poor man."

Whether the titular councillor heard these words, whether they excited

him and made him lament his tragic lot, no one ever knew, for he was

delirious all the time. Strange pictures passed incessantly through his

weakened brain. At one time he saw Petrovitch the tailor and asked him

to make a cloak with nooses attached for the thieves who persecuted him

in bed, and begged his old landlady to chase away the robbers who were

hidden under his coverlet. At another time he seemed to be listening to

the Superintendent's severe reprimand, and asking his forgiveness. Then

he uttered such strange and confused remarks that the old woman crossed

herself in alarm. She had never heard anything of the kind in her life,

and these ravings astonished her all the more because the expression

"Your Excellency" constantly occurred in them. Later on he murmured wild

disconnected words, from which it could only be gathered that his

thoughts were continually revolving round a cloak.

At last Akaki breathed his last. Neither his room nor his cupboard were

officially sealed up, for the simple reason that he had no heir and left

nothing behind him but a bundle of goose-quills, a notebook of white

paper, three pairs of socks, some trouser buttons, and his old coat.

Into whose possession did these relics pass? Heaven only knows! The

writer of this narrative has never inquired.

Akaki was wrapped in his shroud, and laid to rest in the churchyard. The

great city of St Petersburg continued its life as though he had never

existed. Thus disappeared a human creature who had never possessed a

patron or friend, who had never elicited real hearty sympathy from

anyone, nor even aroused the curiosity of the naturalists, though they

are most eager to subject a rare insect to microscopic examination.

Without a complaint he had borne the scorn and contempt of his

colleagues; he had proceeded on his quiet way to the grave without

anything extraordinary happening to him--only towards the end of his

life he had been joyfully excited by the possession of a new cloak, and

had then been overthrown by misfortune.

Some days after his conversation with the Superintendent, his superior

in the chancellery, where no one knew what had become of him, sent an

official to his house to demand his presence. The official returned with

the news that no one would see the titular councillor any more.

"Why?" asked all the clerks.

"Because he was buried four days ago."

In such a manner did Akaki's colleagues hear of his death.

The next day his place was occupied by an official of robuster fibre, a

man who did not trouble to make so many fair transcripts of state

documents.

* * * * *

It seems as though Akaki's story ended here, and that there was nothing

more to be said of him; but the modest titular councillor was destined

to attract more notice after his death than during his life, and our

tale now assumes a somewhat ghostly complexion.

One day there spread in St Petersburg the report that near the Katinka

Bridge there appeared every night a spectre in a uniform like that of

the chancellery officials; that he was searching for a stolen cloak, and

stripped all passers-by of their cloaks without any regard for rank or

title. It mattered not whether they were lined with wadding, mink, cat,

otter, bear, or beaverskin; he took all he could get hold of. One of the

titular councillor's former colleagues had seen the ghost, and quite

clearly recognised Akaki. He ran as hard as he could and managed to

escape, but had seen him shaking his fist in the distance. Everywhere it

was reported that councillors, and not only titular councillors but also

state-councillors, had caught serious colds in their honourable backs on

account of these raids.

The police adopted all possible measures in order to get this ghost dead

or alive into their power, and to inflict an exemplary punishment on

him; but all their attempts were vain.

One evening, however, a sentinel succeeded in getting hold of the

malefactor just as he was trying to rob a musician of his cloak. The

sentinel summoned with all the force of his lungs two of his comrades,

to whom he entrusted the prisoner while he sought for his snuff-box in

order to bring some life again into his half-frozen nose. Probably his

snuff was so strong that even a ghost could not stand it. Scarcely had

the sentinel thrust a grain or two up his nostrils than the prisoner

began to sneeze so violently that a kind of mist rose before the eyes of

the sentinels. While the three were rubbing their eyes, the prisoner

disappeared. Since that day, all the sentries were so afraid of the

ghost that they did not even venture to arrest the living but shouted to

them from afar "Go on! Go on!"

Meanwhile the ghost extended his depredations to the other side of the

Katinka Bridge, and spread dismay and alarm in the whole of the quarter.

But now we must return to the Superintendent, who is the real origin of

our fantastic yet so veracious story. First of all we must do him the

justice to state that after Akaki's departure he felt a certain sympathy

for him. He was by no means without a sense of justice--no, he possessed

various good qualities, but his infatuation about his title hindered him

from showing his good side. When his friend left him, his thoughts began

to occupy themselves with the unfortunate titular councillor, and from

that moment onwards he saw him constantly in his mind's eye, crushed by

the severe reproof which had been administered to him. This image so

haunted him that at last one day he ordered one of his officials to find

out what had become of Akaki, and whether anything could be done for

him.

When the messenger returned with the news that the poor man had died

soon after that interview, the Superintendent felt a pang in his

conscience, and remained the whole day absorbed in melancholy brooding.

In order to banish his unpleasant sensations, he went in the evening to

a friend's house, where he hoped to find pleasant society and what was

the chief thing, some other officials of his own rank, so that he would

not be obliged to feel bored. And in fact he did succeed in throwing off

his melancholy thoughts there; he unbent and became lively, took an

active part in the conversation, and passed a very pleasant evening. At

supper he drank two glasses of champagne, which, as everyone knows, is

an effective means of heightening one's cheerfulness.

As he sat in his sledge, wrapped in his mantle, on his way home, his

mind was full of pleasant reveries. He thought of the society in which

he had passed such a cheerful evening, and of all the excellent jokes

with which he had made them laugh. He repeated some of them to himself

half-aloud, and laughed at them again.

From time to time, however, he was disturbed in this cheerful mood by

violent gusts of wind, which from some corner or other blew a quantity

of snowflakes into his face, lifted the folds of his cloak, and made it

belly like a sail, so that he had to exert all his strength to hold it

firmly on his shoulders. Suddenly he felt a powerful hand seize him by

the collar. He turned round, perceived a short man in an old, shabby

uniform, and recognised with terror Akaki's face, which wore a deathly

pallor and emaciation.

The titular councillor opened his mouth, from which issued a kind of

corpse-like odour, and with inexpressible fright the Superintendent

heard him say, "At last I have you--by the collar! I need your cloak.

You did not trouble about me when I was in distress; you thought it

necessary to reprimand me. Now give me your cloak."

The high dignitary nearly choked. In his office, and especially in the

presence of his subordinates, he was a man of imposing manners. He only

needed to fix his eye on one of them and they all seemed impressed by

his pompous bearing. But, as is the case with many such officials, all

this was only outward show; at this moment he felt so upset that he

seriously feared for his health. Taking off his cloak with a feverish,

trembling hand, he handed it to Akaki, and called to his coachman,

"Drive home quickly."

When the coachman heard this voice, which did not sound as it usually

did, and had often been accompanied by blows of a whip, he bent his head

cautiously and drove on apace.

Soon afterwards the Superintendent found himself at home. Cloakless, he

retired to his room with a pale face and wild looks, and had such a bad

night that on the following morning his daughter exclaimed "Father, are

you ill?" But he said nothing of what he had seen, though a very deep

impression had been made on him. From that day onwards he no longer

addressed to his subordinates in a violent tone the words, "Do you know

with whom you are speaking? Do you know who is standing before you?" Or

if it ever did happen that he spoke to them in a domineering tone, it

was not till he had first listened to what they had to say.

Strangely enough, from that time the spectre never appeared again.

Probably it was the Superintendent's cloak which he had been seeking so

earnestly; now he had it and did not want anything more. Various

persons, however, asserted that this formidable ghost was still to be

seen in other parts of the city. A sentinel went so far as to say that

he had seen him with his own eyes glide like a furtive shadow behind a

house. But this sentinel was of such a nervous disposition that he had

been chaffed about his timidity more than once. Since he did not venture

to seize the flitting shadow, he stole after it in the darkness; but the

shadow turned round and shouted at him "What do you want?" shaking an

enormous fist, such as no man had ever possessed.

"I want nothing," answered the sentry, quickly retiring.

This shadow, however, was taller than the ghost of the titular

councillor, and had an enormous moustache. He went with great strides

towards the Obuchoff Bridge, and disappeared in the darkness.