Fifty-Two Stories

“Well, my dear sir, how do you like that? But to go on…There are no minnesingers or bards in the wide world now, and celebrities are created almost exclusively by the newspapers. The day after the blessing of the bridge, I eagerly snatch up the local Messenger and search through it for something about my own person. I spend a long time looking over all four pages and, finally—there it is! Hurrah! I start reading: ‘Yesterday, the weather being excellent, an enormous gathering of people, in the presence of His Excellency Governor So-and-So and other authorities, attended the blessing of the newly constructed bridge…,’ etc. And it ended: ‘Present at the blessing, incidentally, radiant with beauty, was the darling of the K. public, our talented actress So-and-So. Needless to say, her appearance caused a sensation. The star was dressed…,’ etc. And not a single word about me! Not even half a word! It was very petty, but, believe me, I was so angry I even wept!

“I calmed myself with the thought that the province is stupid, there’s nothing to be expected from it, and for celebrity one must go to the intellectual centers, the capitals.² It so happened that one of my little projects was in Petersburg just then, sent to a competition. The date of the competition was approaching.

“I bade farewell to K. and went to Petersburg. The road from K. to Petersburg is long, so, not to be bored, I took a private compartment and…well, of course, the little singer. We rode along and all the way ate, drank champagne, and—tra-la-la! But here we arrive at the intellectual center. I arrived there on the very day of the competition, and had the pleasure, my dear sir, of celebrating a victory: my project was awarded the first prize. Hurrah! The next day I go to Nevsky Prospect and buy seventy kopecks’ worth of various newspapers. I hasten to my hotel room, lie down on the sofa, and, trying not to tremble, hasten to read. I look through one newspaper—nothing! I look through another—not a hint! Finally, in the fourth, I come across this news: ‘Yesterday on the express train the famous provincial actress So-and-So arrived in Petersburg. We are pleased to point out that the southern climate has had a beneficial effect on our acquaintance; her beautiful stage appearance…’ and I don’t remember what else! Far below this news, in the smallest typeface, was printed: ‘Yesterday in such-and-such competition the first prize was awarded to the engineer So-and-So.’ That’s all! And, to top it off, my last name was distorted: instead of Krikunov they wrote Kirkunov. There’s an intellectual center for you. But that’s not all…When I was leaving Petersburg a month later, the newspapers all vied with each other telling about ‘our incomparable, divine, highly talented’ and called my mistress not by her last name, but by her first name and patronymic….

“Several years later I was in Moscow. I was summoned there by a personal letter from the mayor, on business which Moscow and its newspapers had already been shouting about for more than a hundred years. Among other things, I delivered in one of the museums there five public lectures for charitable purposes. That seems like enough to make one a celebrity in the city, if only for three days, doesn’t it? But, alas! Not a single Moscow newspaper mentioned it. Fires, operettas, sleeping councillors, drunken merchants—they mention everything, but about me, my project, my lectures—not a peep. Ah, that dear old Moscow public! I get into a horse tram…The wagon is packed full: there are ladies and officers and students of both sexes—two and two.

“ ‘They say the Town Council has invited an engineer on such-and-such business!’ I say to my neighbor, loudly enough so that the whole wagon can hear. ‘Do you know his name?’

“The neighbor shook his head. The other people all glanced fleetingly at me, and in their eyes I read: ‘I don’t know.’

“ ‘They say someone’s giving lectures in such-and-such museum!’ I pester the public, wishing to strike up a conversation. ‘I’ve heard it’s interesting.’

“No one even nodded. Obviously not all of them had heard about the lectures, and the esteemed ladies didn’t even know about the existence of the museum. That was all still nothing, but imagine, my dear sir, the public suddenly jumped up and rushed to the windows. What is it? What’s the matter?

“ ‘Look, look!’ my neighbor nudged me. ‘See that dark-haired man getting into the cab? That’s the famous sprinter King!’ And the whole wagon, spluttering, began to talk about the sprinters, who then occupied the minds of Moscow.