“Generals, upon my word! all generals to-day! It’s a regular invasion of generals,” said he; then, having donned his own gala attire, he studied two or three noble attitudes before his mirror, and with his arms crossed on his breast and his head borne loftily, though slightly upon one side, he said with much assurance and in a loud tone of voice, “I know nothing about the others; let people look at us all, and decide for themselves. There are no doubt some wealthy men in this motley throng, men who are cultivated in mind, and handsome in person; but I—I alone, probably, realise the ideal of a general—an American general.” And tears, due to egotistical tenderness and of a vague uneasiness, bathed the rosy cheeks of our hero; while he said to himself, “Lord God, what is it that is taking place within me? Why these tears? It is my accursed ambition which weeps, knowing that it cannot be gratified. This ambition is a worm, gnawing at my heart, surfeiting itself upon my blood, living on me and in me, and which will only die when I die; to curse it is equivalent to cursing myself.”

Tchitchikoff then entered his carriage, and drove to the assembly. On the way he was stared at, for he was not one of those men who never have a thought depicted on their brows. He was especially noticed by the populace, because he distanced not only the pedestrians, but all the other carriages. Half of the street and three-quarters of the grand square were encumbered with vehicles.

The soldiers had the greatest difficulty in calming the excitement of the drivers, Tartars or Mongolians, who from the elevation of their boxes, still lead, at least as coachmen, that proud Russian aristocracy in which so many of their ancient princes figure. Perched on their high seats, they rise above all the general populace—the common herd, the promiscuous throng of nobles, the artisans, the clerks, the citizens, and the rustics alike.

“Hey, there, you big beard! To the left, to the left! and don’t leave the line. Well, don’t you hear me?” shouted one of those quellers of disorder known as the blue dragoons.

“We know what we are about,” retorted the son of Mamaï,⁵ who was thus addressed. “We have driven through Moscow and Petersburg, and you can’t frighten us, comrade.”

“Come, come! no arguing, unless you want to feel the flat of my sword.”

“Just try it on! My master, there within, is already three-quarters elected marshal. And yet, you spurred lout, you lay down the law like a commander-in-chief! What sort of a bird are you, I should like to know? We have our plate laid at the governor’s table. My master will tell him. Hallo! what are you hitting me for? Stop! listen! Leave me alone! Will you let me be, you madman? I’ll leave the box, and the horses, and the carriage! How dare you strike me?” Then the coachman called, turning towards his master, “Sir! Hey, sir!” And again confronting the dragoon: “There, that’s enough. Where would you like me to re-enter the line? Will you cease pestering me? Just see how you have treated my tchekmen,⁶ which belongs to my master. Hum! It’s disgusting how you beat and ill-treat people.”

Several soldiers and drivers had little asides of this nature on various points. Meanwhile, inside the hall the balloting began. Podgruzdyoff having announced his definite resignation of the office of marshal, votes were given in turn for three candidates who had brought themselves forward, and who were summarily rejected by black-balling. A compact party then advanced to vote for Melekitchentzoff, in Podgruzdyoff’s place, and the immense majority feeling discontented, observed that there was nobody to oppose him likely to have any chance whatever.

Tchitchikoff remained modestly leaning against a pillar, the devouring worm of ambition gnawing painfully at his heart. Everything was left in suspense for several minutes in default of a competitor to oppose this wealthy candidate, Melekitchentzoff, who was already casting patronising and triumphant glances upon his supporters, and leering tenderly at the curule chair of the marshalate. Our hero meanwhile said to himself, “Oh, it would have been a thousand times better if I had gone on a round of visits to Betrishtcheff’s relatives, rather than have come here and subjected myself to all this torture. I have suffered a great deal in my life; still, I have enjoyed some happy days. This is my harshest trial. Would it not be best for me to go and announce myself openly as a candidate? Good God! What, won’t anyone come