Diary of a Madman and Other Stories Read Free

plain words that they cheated the public, and that their sons behaved disreputably and tried to insinuate themselves into the gentry. There was also an amusing couplet about the journalists, saying that they were fond of abusing everything and everybody, and that the author begged the public to defend him against them. Very amusing plays are being written by authors nowadays. I like being at the theatre. As soon as I have a penny in my pocket, nothing can keep me from going. But others of our friends the Government clerks are such swine that they will never go to the theatre, unless, perhaps, you give them a free ticket. An actress sang very nicely. I thought of her . . . damnation! But no, no, not a word!
    NOVEMBER 9
    AT eight o’clock I went to the Department. The Chief of Section put on a look as though he did not see me come in. I, too, behaved as though nothing had passed between us. Looked through and checked some documents. Left at four. As I passed the Director’s door I saw no one. After dinner, for the most part, lay on my bed.
    NOVEMBER 11
    TO-DAY I sat in the Director’s study. I mended twenty-three pens for him, and for her . . . Oh! Oh! for Her Excellency, four pens. He likes to see a lot of pens standing on his table. My, he must have a head! Never a word, but all the time he must be turning over everything in his head. I should like to know what he thinks most about. What is being matured in that head? I should like to see at closer quarters the life of these gentlemen, with all their equivocations and courtier’s tricks. How they behave and what they do in their own set—that is what I should like to find out. I have several times intended to start a conversation with His Excellency, but there! my tongue won’t obey me: all I can bring myself to say is that it’s cold, or that it’s fine, and then I get stuck. I should like to get a view of the drawing-room, which I can only occasionally see through a half-opened door, and another room beyond it. My goodness, what sumptuous furniture! What mirrors and porcelain! I should like to have a look at the other rooms, inhabited by Her Excellency—that I should! to see her boudoir, and how all those little jars and bottles are arranged, and such flowers that one is afraid to breathe on them, and to see her dresses lying scattered about, more like thin air than dresses. I should like to have a look at her bedroom . . . there, I expect, there must be marvels, a paradise, such as is not even to be found in Heaven. To look at the stool on which she puts her foot when she gets out of bed, and the way a snow-white stocking is put on that dainty leg . . . Oh, oh, oh! But no, no, not a word!
    To-day, however, a light dawned on me: I remembered that conversation of the two dogs in the Nevsky. “Good,” I thought to myself, “now I will find out everything. I must get hold of the correspondence of the wretched dogs. There I am sure to find out something.” To tell the truth, I went so far as to call Madgie to me, and said to her: “Look here, Madgie; here we are alone. If you like I shall shut the door, too, so that no one shall see us talking. Tell me all you know about your mistress: what she is and how she behaves. I swear I won’t tell any one.” But the mischievous beast put her tail between her legs, doubled herself up, and sneaked away to the door as though she hadn’t heard. I have long suspected dogs of being far more intelligent than human beings; I was convinced that they had the gift of speech, only they are singularly obstinate. They are great politicians: they notice everything, one’s every step. No, whatever happens, I will go to-morrow to Zverkov’s house, I will question Fidèle, and, if possible, I will seize all the letters she has received from Madgie.
    NOVEMBER 12
    AT two P.M. I set out determined to see Fidèle and question her. I can’t endure cabbage, the smell of which