บทที่ บทที่ 5 · 第5章

After hearing this eloquent recommendation, Akaki retired sadly to his

room. Those who can picture to themselves such a situation will

understand what sort of a night he passed. As early as possible the next

morning he went to the Superintendent's house. The servants told him

that he was still asleep. At ten o'clock he returned, only to receive

the same reply. At twelve o'clock the Superintendent had gone out.

About dinner-time the titular councillor called again, but the clerks

asked him in a severe tone what was his business with their superior.

Then for the first time in his life Akaki displayed an energetic

character. He declared that it was absolutely necessary for him to speak

with the Superintendent on an official matter, and that anyone who

ventured to put difficulties in his way would have to pay dearly for it.

This left them without reply. One of the clerks departed, in order to

deliver his message. When Akaki was admitted to the Superintendent's

presence, the latter's way of receiving his story was somewhat singular.

Instead of confining himself to the principal matter--the theft, he

asked the titular councillor how he came to be out so late, and whether

he had not been in suspicious company.

Taken aback by such a question, Akaki did not know what to answer, and

went away without knowing whether any steps would be taken in the matter

or not.

The whole day he had not been in his office--a perfectly new event in

his life. The next day he appeared there again with a pale face and

restless aspect, in his old cloak, which looked more wretched than ever.

When his colleagues heard of his misfortune, some were cruel enough to

laugh; most of them, however, felt a sincere sympathy with him, and

started a subscription for his benefit; but this praiseworthy

undertaking had only a very insignificant result, because these same

officials had been lately called upon to contribute to two other

subscriptions--in the first case to purchase a portrait of their

director, and in the second to buy a work which a friend of his had

published.

One of them, who felt sincerely sorry for Akaki, gave him some good

advice for want of something better. He told him it was a waste of time

to go again to the Superintendent, because even in case that this

official succeeded in recovering the cloak, the police would keep it

till the titular councillor had indisputably proved that he was the real

owner of it. Akaki's friend suggested to him to go to a certain

important personage, who because of his connection with the authorities

could expedite the matter.

In his bewilderment, Akaki resolved to follow this advice. It was not

known what position this personage occupied, nor how high it really was;

the only facts known were that he had only recently been placed in it,

and that there must be still higher personages than himself, as he was

leaving no stone unturned in order to get promotion. When he entered his

private room, he made his subordinates wait for him on the stairs below,

and no one had direct access to him. If anyone called with a request to

see him, the secretary of the board informed the Government secretary,

who in his turn passed it on to a higher official, and the latter

informed the important personage himself.

That is the way business is carried on in our Holy Russia. In the

endeavour to resemble the higher officials, everyone imitates the

manners of his superiors. Not long ago a titular councillor, who was

appointed to the headship of a little office, immediately placed over

the door of one of his two tiny rooms the inscription "Council-chamber."

Outside it were placed servants with red collars and lace-work on their

coats, in order to announce petitioners, and to conduct them into the

chamber which was hardly large enough to contain a chair.

But let us return to the important personage in question. His way of

carrying things on was dignified and imposing, but a trifle complicated.

His system might be summed up in a single word--"severity." This word he

would repeat in a sonorous tone three times in succession, and the last

time turn a piercing look on the person with whom he happened to be

speaking. He might have spared himself the trouble of displaying so much

disciplinary energy; the ten officials who were under his command feared

him quite sufficiently without it. As soon as they were aware of his

approach, they would lay down their pens, and hasten to station

themselves in a respectful attitude as he passed by. In converse with

his subordinates, he preserved a stiff, unbending attitude, and

generally confined himself to such expressions as "What do you want? Do

you know with whom you are speaking? Do you consider who is in front of

you?"

For the rest, he was a good-natured man, friendly and amiable with his

acquaintances. But the title of "District-Superintendent" had turned his

head. Since the time when it had been bestowed upon him, he lived for a

great part of the day in a kind of dizzy self-intoxication. Among his

equals, however, he recovered his equilibrium, and then showed his real

amiability in more than one direction; but as soon as he found himself

in the society of anyone of less rank than himself, he entrenched

himself in a severe taciturnity. This situation was all the more painful

for him as he was quite aware that he might have passed his time more

agreeably.

All who watched him at such moments perceived clearly that he longed to

take part in an interesting conversation, but that the fear of

displaying some unguarded courtesy, of appearing too confidential, and

thereby doing a deadly injury to his dignity, held him back. In order to

avoid such a risk, he maintained an unnatural reserve, and only spoke

from time to time in monosyllables. He had driven this habit to such a

pitch that people called him "The Tedious," and the title was well

deserved.

Such was the person to whose aid Akaki wished to appeal. The moment at

which he came seemed expressly calculated to flatter the

Superintendent's vanity, and accordingly to help forward the titular

councillor's cause.

The high personage was seated in his office, talking cheerfully with an

old friend whom he had not seen for several years, when he was told that

a gentleman named Akakievitch begged for the honour of an interview.

"Who is the man?" asked the Superintendent in a contemptuous tone.

"An official," answered the servant.

"He must wait. I have no time to receive him now."

The high personage lied; there was nothing in the way of his granting

the desired audience. His friend and himself had already quite exhausted

various topics of conversation. Many long, embarrassing pauses had

occurred, during which they had lightly tapped each other on the

shoulder, saying, "So it was, you see."

"Yes, Stepan."

But the Superintendent refused to receive the petitioner, in order to

show his friend, who had quitted the public service and lived in the

country, his own importance, and how officials must wait in the

vestibule till he chose to receive them.

At last, after they had discussed various other subjects with other

intervals of silence, during which the two friends leaned back in their

chairs and blew cigarette smoke in the air, the Superintendent seemed

suddenly to remember that someone had sought an interview with him. He

called the secretary, who stood with a roll of papers in his hand at the

door, and told him to admit the petitioner.

When he saw Akaki approaching with his humble expression, wearing his

shabby old uniform, he turned round suddenly towards him and said "What

do you want?" in a severe voice, accompanied by a vibrating intonation

which at the time of receiving his promotion he had practised before the

looking-glass for eight days.

The modest Akaki was quite taken aback by his harsh manner; however, he

made an effort to recover his composure, and to relate how his cloak had

been stolen, but did not do so without encumbering his narrative with a

mass of superfluous detail. He added that he had applied to His

Excellence in the hope that through his making a representation to the

police inspector, or some other high personage, the cloak might be

traced.

The Superintendent found Akaki's method of procedure somewhat

unofficial. "Ah, sir," he said, "don't you know what steps you ought to

take in such a case? Don't you know the proper procedure? You should

have handed in your petition at the chancellery. This in due course

would have passed through the hands of the chief clerk and director of

the bureau. It would then have been brought before my secretary, who

would have made a communication to you."

"Allow me," replied Akaki, making a strenuous effort to preserve the

remnants of his presence of mind, for he felt that the perspiration

stood on his forehead, "allow me to remark to Your Excellence that I

ventured to trouble you personally in this matter because

secretaries--secretaries are a hopeless kind of people."

"What! How! Is it possible?" exclaimed the Superintendent. "How could

you say such a thing? Where have you got your ideas from? It is

disgraceful to see young people so rebellious towards their superiors."

In his official zeal the Superintendent overlooked the fact that the

titular councillor was well on in the fifties, and that the word "young"

could only apply to him conditionally, i.e. in comparison with a man of

seventy. "Do you also know," he continued, "with whom you are speaking?

Do you consider before whom you are standing? Do you consider, I ask

you, do you consider?" As he spoke, he stamped his foot, and his voice

grew deeper.

Akaki was quite upset--nay, thoroughly frightened; he trembled and shook

and could hardly remain standing upright. Unless one of the office

servants had hurried to help him, he would have fallen to the ground. As

it was, he was dragged out almost unconscious.

But the Superintendent was quite delighted at the effect he had

produced. It exceeded all his expectations, and filled with satisfaction

at the fact that his words made such an impression on a middle-aged man

that he lost consciousness, he cast a side-glance at his friend to see

what effect the scene had produced on him. His self-satisfaction was

further increased when he observed that his friend also was moved, and

looked at him half-timidly.