Taras Bulba, and Other TalesGogol, Nikolai Vasilevich
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Taras Bulba, and Other Tales
Gogol, Nikolai Vasilevich
Russia -- Fiction; Short stories
Akakiy Akakievitch, who was already imbued with a due amount of fear,
became somewhat confused: and as well as his tongue would permit,
explained, with a rather more frequent addition than usual of the word
“that,” that his cloak was quite new, and had been stolen in the most
inhuman manner; that he had applied to him in order that he might, in
some way, by his intermediation--that he might enter into correspondence
with the chief of police, and find the cloak.
For some inexplicable reason this conduct seemed familiar to the
prominent personage. “What, my dear sir!” he said abruptly, “are you not
acquainted with etiquette? Where have you come from? Don’t you know
how such matters are managed? You should first have entered a complaint
about this at the court below: it would have gone to the head of the
department, then to the chief of the division, then it would have been
handed over to the secretary, and the secretary would have given it to
me.”
“But, your excellency,” said Akakiy Akakievitch, trying to collect
his small handful of wits, and conscious at the same time that he
was perspiring terribly, “I, your excellency, presumed to trouble you
because secretaries--are an untrustworthy race.”
“What, what, what!” said the important personage. “Where did you get
such courage? Where did you get such ideas? What impudence towards
their chiefs and superiors has spread among the young generation!” The
prominent personage apparently had not observed that Akakiy Akakievitch
was already in the neighbourhood of fifty. If he could be called a young
man, it must have been in comparison with some one who was twenty. “Do
you know to whom you speak? Do you realise who stands before you? Do you
realise it? do you realise it? I ask you!” Then he stamped his foot and
raised his voice to such a pitch that it would have frightened even a
different man from Akakiy Akakievitch.
Akakiy Akakievitch’s senses failed him; he staggered, trembled in every
limb, and, if the porters had not run to support him, would have
fallen to the floor. They carried him out insensible. But the prominent
personage, gratified that the effect should have surpassed his
expectations, and quite intoxicated with the thought that his word could
even deprive a man of his senses, glanced sideways at his friend
in order to see how he looked upon this, and perceived, not without
satisfaction, that his friend was in a most uneasy frame of mind, and
even beginning, on his part, to feel a trifle frightened.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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