Political fiction; Russia -- History -- 1801-1917 -- Fiction; Russia -- Officials and employees -- Fiction
drink to our everlasting friendship; but what was most bitter and
humiliating for me was that I knew even then, knew fully and for
certain, that I needed nothing of all this really, that I did not
really want to crush, to subdue, to attract them, and that I did not
care a straw really for the result, even if I did achieve it. Oh, how I
prayed for the day to pass quickly! In unutterable anguish I went to
the window, opened the movable pane and looked out into the troubled
darkness of the thickly falling wet snow. At last my wretched little
clock hissed out five. I seized my hat and, trying not to look at
Apollon, who had been all day expecting his month’s wages, but in his
foolishness was unwilling to be the first to speak about it, I slipped
between him and the door and, jumping into a high-class sledge, on
which I spent my last half rouble, I drove up in grand style to the
Hôtel de Paris.
IV
I had been certain the day before that I should be the first to arrive.
But it was not a question of being the first to arrive. Not only were
they not there, but I had difficulty in finding our room. The table was
not laid even. What did it mean? After a good many questions I elicited
from the waiters that the dinner had been ordered not for five, but for
six o’clock. This was confirmed at the buffet too. I felt really
ashamed to go on questioning them. It was only twenty-five minutes past
five. If they changed the dinner hour they ought at least to have let
me know—that is what the post is for, and not to have put me in an
absurd position in my own eyes and ... and even before the waiters. I
sat down; the servant began laying the table; I felt even more
humiliated when he was present. Towards six o’clock they brought in
candles, though there were lamps burning in the room. It had not
occurred to the waiter, however, to bring them in at once when I
arrived. In the next room two gloomy, angry-looking persons were eating
their dinners in silence at two different tables. There was a great
deal of noise, even shouting, in a room further away; one could hear
the laughter of a crowd of people, and nasty little shrieks in French:
there were ladies at the dinner. It was sickening, in fact. I rarely
passed more unpleasant moments, so much so that when they did arrive
all together punctually at six I was overjoyed to see them, as though
they were my deliverers, and even forgot that it was incumbent upon me
to show resentment.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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