Station buffet attendants, their wives and acquaintances.
Landowners of the area traveling to a station in order to play a game of whist with the stationmaster, their wives, and relatives.
Guests of railroad employees.
Note: In cases where drawn-out goodbyes are called for, the stationmaster may delay the train for up to twenty minutes.
All acquaintances of the conductor, without exception.
All creditors of the Imperial Russian Railways.
IN SECOND-CLASS CARRIAGES
Valets of railroad employees, cooks, scullery maids, coachmen, housemaids, and chimney sweeps.
The servants of the relatives and acquaintances of railroad employees.
The relatives and acquaintances of the servants of railroad employees.
Horses, donkeys, and oxen in the service of the railroads.
IN THIRD-CLASS CARRIAGES
All passengers who have purchased tickets for first- or second-class carriages, but cannot secure a place as said carriages are filled with passengers traveling for free.
Note: The aforementioned ticketed passengers may travel in third-class carriages standing. The board of the Libau-Romensk Railway Line will also permit them to lie beneath the benches or hang from coat hooks.
THE PROPOSAL
(A Tale for Young Ladies)
Valentin Petrovich Perederkin, a young man of pleasant demeanor, put on his coat and tails, slipped into lacquered pointed boots, donned a top hat, and, struggling to contain his agitation, drove to Princess Vera Zapiskina’s estate.
What a pity, gentle reader, that you are not acquainted with the princess! What a sweet and charming creature she is: soft eyes the color of the sky, locks silken and wavy! The waves of the sea may break upon the rocky shore, but on the waves of the princess’s locks every stone crumbles to dust. Only an undiscerning dunce can remain unmoved by her smiles and the warmth emanating from her miniature bust that seems chiseled from the finest stone. Only a hard-boiled brute will not be transported to the heights of bliss when she speaks, laughs, or shows her dazzlingly white teeth.
Perederkin was shown into the drawing room.
He took a seat opposite the princess.
“There is something, dearest princess,” he began falteringly, “that I would like to ask you.”
“I’m listening.”
“Princess . . . forgive me, I do not know how to begin . . . you will surely find this so sudden . . . so impromptu . . . you will be angry.”
He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. The princess smiled and looked at him questioningly.
“From the moment I set eyes on you,” he continued, “my heart . . . my heart was filled with a longing that leaves me no peace day or night! And if this longing is not assuaged, I . . . I will be very unhappy!”
The princess lowered her eyes pensively. Perederkin fell silent for a moment, but then continued. “You will surely be taken aback by what I have to say . . . you have such a lofty nature, far above mine, but in my eyes you are the ideal person for me.”
Silence hung in the air. Perederkin sighed.
“And of course my estate does border on yours . . . and I am a man of considerable means.”
“What is this about?” the princess asked demurely.
“What is this about?” Perederkin said heatedly, and rose. “Princess, I beg you, do not reject me! Do not destroy all my dreams! Dearest princess, I would like to make a proposal.”
Perederkin sat down quickly, and leaned toward the princess. “A most profitable one, as you will see,” he whispered. “In a single year we could sell a million poods of lard. I am proposing that we set up a lard processing factory on our estates, fifty-fifty.”
The princess thought awhile. “Fifty-fifty?” she said. “It’s a deal!”
And the innocent reader, who expected a melodramatic ending, can breathe a sigh of relief.
MAN
(A Few Philosophical Musings)
Atall, slender, dark-haired man—still young, though now approaching more mature years—stood at the door in his black frock coat and snow-white cravat, gazing sadly into the room filled with dazzling lights and waltzing couples.
“How dreary and hard is the life of man!” he mused. “Man is a slave not only to his passions but also to his fellow men. Yes, a slave! I am a slave to this bright and merry crowd, which pays me so it need not notice me. Its will, its slightest whim, shackles my hands and feet, its gaze crushes me like a python crushes a rabbit. I am not averse to toiling, I am happy to serve, but this subservience makes me ill! Why am I here? Whom am I serving? This eternal whirl, with its ladies and ice cream, its flowers and champagne, that knocks me off my feet! Unbearable! How terrible is the lot of man! How happy I will be when I cease to be one!”
It is uncertain to what depths the young pessimist’s thoughts might have plummeted had not a young woman of remarkable beauty approached him. Her face was aglow, and exuded resolve. She ran her glove over her alabaster forehead, and, in a voice that sounded like music, said, “A glass of water, my good man!”
The good man put on a respectful face, and hurried off to fetch one.
FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF A COUNTRY SQUIRE
Upon his retirement, State Councilor Kaprikornov bought himself a small country estate on which he settled. There, in imitation partly of Cincinnatus, partly of the mushroom specialist Professor Kaigorodov, he toiled the land and recorded his observations on nature. After his death his notes, along with the rest of his property, was transferred by his last will and testament to his housekeeper, Marfa Evlampiyevna, a devoted old soul who had the manor house pulled down and a sturdy tavern that served liquor built in its place. This tavern had a special clean room for traveling landowners and officials, and on the table in that room she placed the deceased’s bundle of notes, in case someone needed a piece of scrap paper. One of these pieces of paper has fallen into my hands; from what I could surmise, it must have been from the beginning of the deceased’s agricultural notes, and contains the following entries:
March 3. The birds of spring are now arriving. Yesterday I saw some sparrows. Greetings to you, O children of southern climes! In your sweet chirping I believe I hear you calling back to me: “And a good day to you, Your Excellency!”
March 14. Today I asked Marfa Evlampiyevna: “Why does our cockerel crow so often?” Her answer: “Because he has a throat.” So I said: “I, too, have a throat, and yet I do not crow!” Oh the mysteries of nature!
All the years I served in St. Petersburg I often ate turkeys, but saw my first live one yesterday. A most remarkable bird.
March 22. The village constable came by. We had a long talk—I seated, he standing—about the virtues. As we conversed, he asked me: “If given the opportunity, Your Excellency, would you wish to be young again?” To which I replied: “No, I would not. If I were young again I would not have the high rank I have attained.” He agreed with me, and, visibly moved, went on his way.
April 16. With my own hands I dug two vegetable beds in the garden and sowed semolina in them. I did not tell a soul about this, as I wanted the semolina beds to be a surprise for dear Marfa Evlampiyevna, to whom I owe so many happy moments. Yesterday, as we were having tea, she lamented the condition her figure was in, complaining that her size no longer allowed her to fit through the pantry door. I remarked to her: “On the contrary, my dearest, the fullness of your form frames you most wonderfully and fans my inclination.” She blushed, and I stood up and embraced her with both arms (as one can no longer reach around her with just one).