He hated all his customers, especially the one who lived in Kolokolny Road. This was a personage of lugubrious aspect—long-haired, sallow, with big blue-tinted spectacles and a hoarse voice. He had an unpronounceable German surname. What his calling might be, what he did, was a complete mystery. When Theodore had gone to take his measurements a fortnight ago, he had been sitting on the floor pounding away at a mortar. Before the cobbler could say good day the contents of the mortar suddenly flashed and blazed up with a bright red flame, there was a stench of sulphur and burnt feathers, and the room was filled with dense pink smoke that made Theodore sneeze five times.
'No God-fearing man would meddle with the likes of that,' he reflected on returning home.
When the bottle was empty he put the boots on the table and pondered. Leaning his heavy head on his fist, hc began thiiking ofhis poverty, and ofhis gloomy, cheerless life. Then he thought of the rich widi their big houses, their carriages, their hundred-rouble notes. How nice it would be if the houses of the bloody rich fcll apart, if their horses dicd, if their fur coats and sable caps wore threadbare. How splendid if the rich gradually becamc beggars with nothing to eat, while the poor cobbler t^rcd into a rich man who went round bully- ing poor cobblers on Christmas Eve.
Thus brooding, he suddenly remembered his work and opened his eyes. 'What a business!' he thought, looking at the boots. 'The job was fmished long ago, and here I sit. I must take them to the gentle- man. '
He wrapped his work in a red handkerchief, put his coat on and went into the street. Fine, hard snow was falling and pricked his face like needles. It was cold, slippery and dark, the gas lamps were dim, and there was such a smell of paraffm in the street for some reason that he spluttered and coughed. Rich men drove up and downwn thc road, each with a ham and a bottle of vodka in his hand. From the carriages and sledges rich young ladies peeped at Theodore, putting out their tongues and shouting.
'A beggar! A beggar! Ha ha ha !'
Students, officers, merchants and generals walked behind him, all jeering. 'Boozy bootmaker! Godles welt-stitcher! Pauper! But his soles go marching on, ha ha ha!'
It was al most offensive, but he said nothing and only spat in disgust. Then he met Kuzma Lebyodkin, a master bootmaker from Warsaw. 'I married a rich woman,' Kuzma told him. 'And I have apprentices working for mc. But you're a pauper and have nothing to eat.'
Theodore could not resist r^rning after him. He chased him until he found himself in Kolokolny Road, where his customer lived in a top- floor flat in the fourth house from the corner. To reach him you had to crou a long, dark courtyard, and then climb a very high slippery staircase that vibrated under your feet. When the cobbler entered, the customer was sitting on the floor pounding something in a mortar, just as he had becn a fortnight earlier.
'I've brought your boots, sir,' said Theodore sullenly.
The other stood up without speaking and made to the boots on. Wishing to help him, Theodore went downwn on one knee and pulled one ofhis old boots off, but immediately sprang up, aghast, and backed away to the door. In place of a foot the creature had a hoof like a horse's!
'Dear me!' thought the cobbler. 'What a business!'
The best thing would have been to cross himself, drop everything and run do^rotairs. But he immediately rcflected that this was his ftrst, and would probably be his last, encounter with thc Devil, and that it would be foolish not to take advantage of his good offices.
Puling hi^^lf together, he decided to chance his luck, and clasped his hands behind his back to stop himselfmaking the sign of the crou.
'Folks say there's nothing more diabolical and evil on this earth than the Devil,' he remarked with a respectful cough. 'But to my way of t^^tog, your Reverence, the Prince of Darkness must be highly educated like. The Devil has hoofs and a tail, saving your presence, but he's a sight more brainy than many a scholar.'
'Thank you for those kind words,' said the customer, flattered. 'Thank you, cobbler. What do you desire?'
Losing no time, the cobbler began complaining of his lot, and started with having envied the rich since childhood. He had always resented folk not living alike in big hornes, with fine horses. Why, he wondered, was he poor? How was he worse than Kuzma Lebyodkin from Warsaw who o^ed his o^ house, whose wife wore a hat? He had the same sort of nose, hands, feet, head and back as the rich, so why was he forced to work while others enjoyed themselves? Why was he married to Marya, not to a lady smelling of scent? He had often seen beautiful young ladies in the houses of rich customers, but they had taken no notice of him, except for laughing sometimes and whispering to each other.
'What a red nose that cobbler has!'
True, Marya was a good, kind, hard-working woman, but she was uneducated, wasn't she? She had a heavy hand, she hit hard, and you only had to speak of politics or something brainy in her presence for her to chip in with the most arrant nonsense.
'So what are your wishes?' broke in his customer.
'Well, seeing as how you're so kind, Mr. Devil, sir, I'd like your Reverence to make me rich.'
'Certainly. But you must give me your soul in ret^rc, you know. Before the cocks crow, go and sign ^^ paper assigning your soul to me.'
'Now see here, your Reverence,' said Theodore politely. 'When you ordered the vamps done I didn't take money in advance. You must carry out the order first and ask for payment afterwards.'
'Oh, all right,' agreed the customer.
Bright flame suddenly flared in the mortar, followed by a gust of dense pink smoke and the smell of b^^t feathers and sulphur. When the smoke had dispersed Theodore rubbed his eyes and saw that he was no longer Theodore the shoemaker but quite a different person— one who wore a waistcoat with a watch-chain, and new trousers—and that he was sitting in an armchair at a big table. Two footmen were serving him dishes with low bows and a 'Good appetite, sir'.
What wealth! The footmen served a large slice of roast mutton and a dish of cuc^bers. Then they brought roast goose in a pan followed shortly afterwards by roast pork and horse-radish sauce. And how classy it was, all this—this was rcal politics for you! He ate, gulping a large tumbler of excellent vodka before every course like any general or count. After the pork, buckwheat gruel with goose fat was s^ed, and then an omelette with bacon fat and fried liver, all of which he ate and thoroughly enjoyed. And what else? They also served onion pie and steamed ^mips with kvas.
'I wonder the gentry don't burst with meals like this,' he thought.
Finally a large pot of honey was served, and after the meal the Devil appeared wearing his blue spectacles. 'Was dinner satisfactory, Mr. Cobbler?' he asked with a low bow.
But Theodore could not get a word out, for he was nearly bursting after his meal. He had the disagreeable, stuffed sensation that comes from overeating, and tried to distract himself by s^tinizing the boot on his left foot.
'I never charged less than seven-and-a-half roubles for boots like that,' he thought, and asked which cobbler had made it.
'Kuzma Lebyodkin,' answered a footman.
'Tell that imbecile to come here!'
Soon Kuzma Lebyodkin from Warsaw appeared.
'What are your orders, sir?' He stopped by the door in a respectful attitude.
'Hold your tongue!' cried Theodore, stamping his foot. 'Don't ^wer me back! Know your place, cobbler, and your station in life! Oaf! You don't know how to make boots! I'll smash your face in! Why did you come here?'
'For my money, sir.'
'What money? Be off with you! Come back on Saturday. Clout him one, my man!'
Then he immediately remembered what a life his customers had led him, and he felt sick at heart. To amuse himself he took a fat wallet from his pocket and started counting his money. There was a lot of it, but he wanted even more. The Devil in the blue spectacles brought him another, fatter wallet, but he wanted more still, and the more he countcd the more discontented he grew.