Diary of a Madman and Other Stories by Nikolái Gógol Read Free Book Online

hands, legs and head, when he passes politely along the pavement, or sometimes a squat mechanic—you will meet no one else at this time in the Nevski Prospect.
    But as soon as twilight falls on houses and on streets, and the watchman, covering himself with his plaid, scrambles up the steps to light the lamp, and from the low shop windows those prints gaze out which dare not show themselves by day, then the Nevski Prospect begins to revive and to move again, and then begins that mysterious time when the lamps lend an enticing, wondrous light to all things. You will meet a great many young people, for the most part bachelors in warm coats and cloaks. At this time one feels a kind of purpose, or rather, something resembling a purpose, something completely involuntary; everyone’s pace grows more hurried and becomes uneven. Long shadows glimmer on the walls and on the pavement and nearly top the Police Bridge. The young collegiate registrars and provincial and collegiate secretaries promenade about for a long time; but the old collegiate registrars and titular and aulic councillors mostly sit at home, either because they are married people, or because the German cooks who live in their homes prepare their meals so well. You will meet those highly respected old men who strolled along the Nevski Prospect at two o’clock with such importance and such amazing breeding. You will see them hastening just like the young collegiate registrars in order to peep beneath the hat-brim of a lady glimpsed in the distance, whose full lips and cheeks plastered with rouge are so pleasing to many of those walking by, and principally to the barmen, workmen and shop-keepers always dressed in German overcoats, who walk in crowds and usually arm-in-arm.
    â€œJust a minute!” cried Lieutenant Pirogov at this time, catching hold of the young man in the dress-coat and cloak walking with him. “Did you see?”
    â€œYes. She’s marvellous, an absolute Perugino Bianca. ”
    â€œWhat one d’you mean?”
    â€œThat one, the one with the dark hair.... And what eyes, God, what eyes! The lines, the contour and features of the face—marvellous!”
    â€œI’m talking about the blonde who went after her that way. But why not follow the brunette if you like the look of her so much?”
    â€œOh, how can one!” exclaimed the young man in the dress-coat, flushing. “As if she’s one of the women who go about the Nevski Prospect in the evening; she must be a lady of great distinction,” he added sighing: “Her mantle alone would cost about eighty roubles!”
    â€œIdiot!” cried Pirogov, giving him a violent push in the direction where her bright mantle was waving: “Go on, you ninny, you’ll miss her! And I’ll follow the blonde.” The two friends parted company.
    â€œWe know you all,” Pirogov thought to himself with a self-satisfied and self-assured smile, confident that no beauty alive could resist him.
    The young man in the dress-coat and cloak walked with shy and fearful steps after the colored cape which floated on in the distance, now clothed in a bright sheen as it neared the light of a lamp, now momentarily covered with shadows as it passed beyond. His heart beat fast and he involuntarily quickened his pace. He did not even dare to imagine that he might gain any right to the attention of the beautiful woman fleeing into the distance, far less permit the black thought at which Pirogov had hinted; he just wanted to see the house, to note where stood the dwelling of the lovely being who, it seemed, had alighted on the Nevski Prospect straight from the skies and would probably soar away again to an unknown destination. He sped along so fast that he constantly pushed dignified personages with grey side-whiskers from the pavement.
    This young man belonged to a class which is rather a strange phenomenon in our midst, and no more belongs to the citizens of St.