Taras Bulba, and Other TalesGogol, Nikolai Vasilevich
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Taras Bulba, and Other Tales
Gogol, Nikolai Vasilevich
Russia -- Fiction; Short stories
Petrovitch worked at the cloak two whole weeks, for there was a great
deal of quilting: otherwise it would have been finished sooner. He
charged twelve rubles for the job, it could not possibly have been
done for less. It was all sewed with silk, in small, double seams; and
Petrovitch went over each seam afterwards with his own teeth, stamping
in various patterns.
It was--it is difficult to say precisely on what day, but probably
the most glorious one in Akakiy Akakievitch’s life, when Petrovitch at
length brought home the cloak. He brought it in the morning, before
the hour when it was necessary to start for the department. Never did a
cloak arrive so exactly in the nick of time; for the severe cold had set
in, and it seemed to threaten to increase. Petrovitch brought the cloak
himself as befits a good tailor. On his countenance was a significant
expression, such as Akakiy Akakievitch had never beheld there. He
seemed fully sensible that he had done no small deed, and crossed a gulf
separating tailors who only put in linings, and execute repairs,
from those who make new things. He took the cloak out of the pocket
handkerchief in which he had brought it. The handkerchief was fresh
from the laundress, and he put it in his pocket for use. Taking out the
cloak, he gazed proudly at it, held it up with both hands, and flung it
skilfully over the shoulders of Akakiy Akakievitch. Then he pulled it
and fitted it down behind with his hand, and he draped it around
Akakiy Akakievitch without buttoning it. Akakiy Akakievitch, like an
experienced man, wished to try the sleeves. Petrovitch helped him on
with them, and it turned out that the sleeves were satisfactory also. In
short, the cloak appeared to be perfect, and most seasonable. Petrovitch
did not neglect to observe that it was only because he lived in a narrow
street, and had no signboard, and had known Akakiy Akakievitch so long,
that he had made it so cheaply; but that if he had been in business on
the Nevsky Prospect, he would have charged seventy-five rubles for the
making alone. Akakiy Akakievitch did not care to argue this point with
Petrovitch. He paid him, thanked him, and set out at once in his new
cloak for the department. Petrovitch followed him, and, pausing in the
street, gazed long at the cloak in the distance, after which he went to
one side expressly to run through a crooked alley, and emerge again into
the street beyond to gaze once more upon the cloak from another point,
namely, directly in front.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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