Russian fiction -- Translations into English; Short stories, Russian -- Translations into English
Even in those hours when the gray sky of St. Petersburg became
altogether extinct, and the entire official multitude had already dined
to satiety, each as he could, according to his means and whim; when all
had rested after the departmental grating of pens, running about for
one’s own affairs and those urgent ones of strangers--indeed, all the
work which tireless man had willingly created for himself, even far
beyond any actual need; when officials hasten to devote the rest of
the evening to pleasure--the more alert going to the theatre; those on
the street employing their time looking at the bonnets; one spending
his evening in paying compliments to some pretty girl, the star of
a small official circle; another--and this being the more frequent
rule--visiting a colleague on the fourth or third floor, in two small
rooms, with an antechamber or kitchen, and some fashionable pretensions
such as a lamp or another article costing many sacrifices, perhaps
a dinner or an outing; in a word, at the very hour that all the
officials scatter among the confined quarters of their friends to play
whist, at the same time sipping their tea out of glasses with cheap
sugar, smoking long pipes, relating now and then titbits of gossip
emanating from superior society, which the Russian can never, under any
circumstances, deny himself, even when there is nothing to talk about,
repeating the eternal anecdote concerning the commandant to whom word
had been sent that the tails of the horses on the Falconet monument
had been cut off; in short, just at the hour when all seek to divert
themselves, Akaki Akakievich indulged in no kind of diversion. No one
could say that he had ever been seen at any kind of evening party.
Having written to his heart’s desire, he would go to bed, smiling
anticipatingly at the thought of the morrow: what will the Lord send
him for the next day’s copying?
So flowed on the peaceful life of this man, who on a salary of four
hundred rubles a year was yet content with his lot; and perhaps it
would have continued to flow on to a good old age, were it not for the
fact that the path of human life is strewn with all sorts of ills, not
alone for titular councillors, but also for private, actual, court, and
various other councillors, even for those who render counsel unto no
one, and take none themselves.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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