secretary at the Home is retiring. If you like, you can have his place! There you are!'
Vremensky, not expecting such good fortune, beamed too.
'That's capital,' said the director. 'Write the application to-day.'
Dismissing Vremensky, Fyodor Petrovitch felt relieved and even gratified: the bent figure of the hissing schoolmaster was no longer confronting him, and it was agreeable to recognize that in offering a vacant post to Vremensky he had acted fairly and conscientiously, like a good-hearted and thoroughly decent person. But this agreeable state of mind did not last long. When he went home and sat down to dinner his wife, Nastasya Ivanovna, said suddenly:
'Oh yes, I was almost forgetting! Nina Sergeyevna came to see me yesterday and begged for your interest on behalf of a young man. I am told there is a vacancy in our Home. . . .'
Yes, but the post has already been promised to someone else,' said the director, and he frowned. 'And you know my rule: I never give posts through patronage.'
'I know, but for Nina Sergeyevna, I imagine, you might make an exception. She loves us as though we were relations, and we have never done anything for her. And don't think of refusing, Fedya! You will wound both her and me with your whims.'
'Who is it that she is recommending?'
'Polzuhin!'
'What Polzuhin? Is it that fellow who played Tchatsky at the party on New Year's Day? Is it that gentleman? Not on any account!'
The director left off eating.
'Not on any account!' he repeated. 'Heaven preserve us!'
'But why not?'
'Understand, my dear, that if a young man does not set to work directly, but through women, he must be good for nothing! Why doesn't he come to me himself?'
After dinner the director lay on the sofa in his study and began reading the letters and newspapers he had received.
'Dear Fyodor Petrovitch,' wrote the wife of the Mayor of the town. 'You once said that I knew the human heart and understood people. Now you have an opportunity of verifying this in practice. K. N. Polzuhin, whom I know to be an excellent young man, will call upon you in a day or two to ask you for the post of secretary at our Home. He is a very nice youth. If you take an interest in him you will be convinced of it.' And so on.
'On no account!' was the director's comment. 'Heaven preserve me!'
After that, not a day passed without the director's receiving letters recommending Polzuhin. One fine morning Polzuhin himself, a stout young man with a close-shaven face like a jockey's, in a new black suit, made his appearance. . . .
'I see people on business not here but at the office,' said the director drily, on hearing his request.
'Forgive me, your Excellency, but our common acquaintances advised me to come here.'
'H'm!' growled the director, looking with hatred at the pointed toes of the young man's shoes. 'To the best of my belief your father is a man of property and you are not in want,' he said. 'What induces you to ask for this post? The salary is very trifling!'
'It's not for the sake of the salary. . . . It's a government post, any way . . .'
'H'm. . . . It strikes me that within a month you will be sick of the job and you will give it up, and meanwhile there are candidates for whom it would be a career for life. There are poor men for whom . . .'
'I shan't get sick of it, your Excellency,' Polzuhin interposed. 'Honour bright, I will do my best!'
It was too much for the director.
'Tell me,' he said, smiling contemptuously, 'why was it you didn't apply to me direct but thought fitting instead to trouble ladies as a preliminary?'
'I didn't know that it would be disagreeable to you,' Polzuhin answered, and he was embarrassed. 'But, your Excellency, if you attach no significance to letters of recommendation, I can give you a testimonial. . . .'
He drew from his pocket a letter and handed it to the director. At the bottom of the testimonial, which was written in official language and handwriting, stood the signature of the Governor. Everything pointed to the Governor's having signed it unread, simply to get rid of some importunate lady.
'There's nothing for it, I bow to his authority. . . I obey . . .' said the director, reading the testimonial, and he heaved a sigh.
'Send in your application to-morrow. . . . There's nothing to be done. . . .'
And when Polzuhin had gone out, the director abandoned himself to a feeling of repulsion.
'Sneak!' he hissed, pacing from one corner to the other. 'He has got what he wanted, one way or the other, the good-for-nothing toady! Making up to the ladies! Reptile! Creature!'
The director spat loudly in the direction of the door by which Polzuhin had departed, and was immediately overcome with embarrassment, for at that moment a lady, the wife of the Superintendent of the Provincial Treasury, walked in at the door.
'I've come for a tiny minute . . . a tiny minute. . .' began the lady. 'Sit down, friend, and listen to me attentively. . . . Well, I've been told you have a post vacant. . . . To-day or to-morrow you will receive a visit from a young man called Polzuhin. . . .'
The lady chattered on, while the director gazed at her with lustreless, stupefied eyes like a man on the point of fainting, gazed and smiled from politeness.
And the next day when Vremensky came to his office it was a long time before the director could bring himself to tell the truth. He hesitated, was incoherent, and could not think how to begin or what to say. He wanted to apologize to the schoolmaster, to tell him the whole truth, but his tongue halted like a drunkard's, his ears burned, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with vexation and resentment that he should have to play such an absurd part -- in his own office, before his subordinate. He suddenly brought his fist down on the table, leaped up, and shouted angrily:
'I have no post for you! I have not, and that's all about it! Leave me in peace! Don't worry me! Be so good as to leave me alone!'
And he walked out of the office.
Strong Impressions
by Anton Chekhov
IT happened not so long ago in the Moscow circuit court. The jurymen, left in the court for the night, before lying down to sleep fell into conversation about strong impressions. They were led to this discussion by recalling a witness who, by his own account, had begun to stammer and had gone grey owing to a terrible moment. The jurymen decided that before going to sleep, each one of them should ransack among his memories and tell something that had happened to him. Man's life is brief, but yet there is no man who cannot boast that there have been terrible moments in his past.
One juryman told the story of how he was nearly drowned; another described how, in a place where there were neither doctors nor chemists, he had one night poisoned his own son through giving him zinc vitriol by mistake for soda. The child did not die, but the father nearly went out of his mind. A third, a man not old but in bad health, told how he had twice attempted to commit suicide: the first time by shooting himself and the second time by throwing himself before a train.
The fourth, a foppishly dressed, fat little man, told us the following story:
'I was not more than twenty-two or twenty-three when I fell head over ears in love with my present wife and made her an offer. Now I could with pleasure thrash myself for my early marriage, but at the time, I don't know what would have become of me if Natasha had refused me. My love was absolutely the real thing, just as it is described in novels -- frantic, passionate, and so on. My happiness overwhelmed me and I did not know how to get away from it, and I bored my father and my friends and the servants, continually talking about the fervour of my passion. Happy people are the most sickening bores. I was a fearful bore; I feel ashamed of it even now. . . .
'Among my friends there was in those days a young man who was beginning his career as a lawyer. Now he is a lawyer known all over Russia; in those days he was only just beginning to gain recognition and was not rich and
