an embroidered leather cushion, then a money-box probably for the sake of variety, or to meet the wishes of the purchasers. I could not remain passive even for ten minutes. I went up to the cushion, and afterwards to the cash-box, but at the critical moment my tongue failed me: these objects seemed to me quite out of the question. At last I saw an album in the warrant officers hand.
A family album in real morocco, second-hand, with sketches in water-colour and crayon, in a carved ivory case with silver clasps priced two roubles!
I went up: it looked an elegant article, but the carving was damaged in one place. I was the only person who went up to look at it, all were silent; there was no bidding for it. I might have undone the clasps and taken the album out of the case to look at it, but I did not make use of my privilege, and only waved a trembling hand as though to say never mind.
Two roubles, five kopecks, I said. I believe my teeth were chattering again.
The album was knocked down to me. I at once took out the money, paid for it, snatched up the album, and went into a corner of the room. There I took it out of its case, and began looking through it with feverish haste it was the most trumpery thing possible a little album of the size of a piece of notepaper, with rubbed gilt edges, exactly like the albums girls used to keep in former days when they left school. There were crayon and colour sketches of temples on mountain-sides, Cupids, a lake with floating swans; there were verses:
On a far journey I am starting,
From Moscow I am departing,
From my dear ones I am parting.
And with post-horses flying South.
They are enshrined in my memory!
I made up my mind that I had made a mess of it; if there ever was anything no one could possibly want it was this.
Never mind, I decided, ones bound to lose the first card; its a good omen, in fact.
I felt thoroughly light-hearted.
Ach, Im too late; is it yours? You have bought it? I suddenly heard beside me the voice of a well-dressed, presentable-looking gentleman in a blue coat. He had come in late.
I am too late. Ach, what a pity! How much was it?
Two roubles, five kopecks.
Ach, what a pity! Would you give it up?
Come outside, I whispered to him, in a tremor.
We went out on the staircase.
Ill let you have it for ten roubles, I said, feeling a shiver run down my back.
Ten roubles! Upon my word!
As you like.
He stared at me open-eyed. I was well dressed, not in the least like a Jew or a second-hand dealer.
Mercy on us why its a wretched old album, what use is it to anyone? The case isnt worth anything certainly. You certainly wont sell it to anyone.
I see you will buy it.
But thats for a special reason. I only found out yesterday. Im the only one who would. Upon my word, what are you thinking about!
I ought to have asked twenty-five roubles, but as there was, after all, a risk you might draw back, I only asked for ten to make sure of it. I wont take a farthing less.
I turned and walked away.
Well, take four roubles, he said, overtaking me in the yard, come, five!
I strode on without speaking.
Well, take it then!
He took out ten roubles. I gave him the album.
But you must own its not honest! Two roubles and then ten, eh?
Why not honest? Its a question of market.
What do you mean by market! He grew angry.
When theres a demand one has a market if you hadnt asked for it I shouldnt have sold it for forty kopecks.
Though I was serious and didnt burst out laughing I was laughing inwardly not from delight I dont know why myself, I was almost breathless.
Listen, I muttered, utterly unable to restrain myself, but speaking in a friendly way and feeling quite fond of him. Listen, when as a young man the late James Rothschild, the Parisian one, who left seventeen hundred million francs (he nodded), heard of the murder of the Duc de Berri some hours before anybody else he sent the news to the proper quarter, and by that one stroke in an instant made several millions thats how people get on!
So youre a Rothschild, are you? he cried as though indignant with me for being such a fool.
I walked quickly out of the house. One step, and I had made seven roubles ninety-five kopecks. It was a senseless step, a piece of childs play I admit, but it chimed in with my theories, and I could not help being deeply stirred by it. But it is no good describing ones feelings. My ten roubles were in my waistcoat pocket, I thrust in two fingers to feel it and walked along without taking my hand out. After walking a hundred yards along the street I took the note out
to look at it, I looked at it and felt like kissing it. A carriage rumbled up to the steps of a house. The house porter opened the door and a lady came out to get into the carriage. She was young, handsome and wealthy-looking, gorgeously dressed in silk and velvet, with a train more than two yards long. Suddenly a pretty little portfolio dropped out of her hand and fell on the ground; she got into the carriage. The footman stooped down to pick the thing up, but I flew up quickly, picked it up and handed it to the lady, taking off my hat. (The hat was a silk one, I was suitably dressed for a young man.) With a very pleasant smile, though with an air of reserve, the lady said to me: Merci, msieu! The carriage rolled away. I kissed the ten-rouble note.