19 KiB
+++ date = '2025-11-06T22:13:25-04:00' title = 'Man from the Restaurant by Ivan Shmelyov [translated]' banner_left = '/man-from-the-restaurant/man-from-the-restaurant-banner-left.jpg' banner_right = '/man-from-the-restaurant/man-from-the-restaurant-banner-right.jpg' banner_title = 'Funeral of negotiant, 1876; Firs Sergeyevich Zhuravlev' +++
Preface
Ivan Shmelev (Иван Шмелёв) is one of my biggest literary discoveries. Even as a Russian myself, I didn't even know about him until recently. He wasn't part of our school program, he isn't often mentioned online, and people don't add him to their reading lists as often as they do with Dostoevsky and Tolstoy. It took actual effort to at least find how they translate titles of Shmelev's books! Even the titles, let alone the texts themselves. From what I learned about him, he was actively published in the western world back then in the XX century, and was widely recognized; he was even nominated to the Nobel Prize or something (Thomas Mann really pushed for it), and now there is almost no trace of him. Quite interesting, to say the least. Well, the best introduction to an artist is through their actual works, so here it is: a relatively short novel by Shmelev that I am taking the opportunity to translate in a whimsical and unprofessional way, so at least my friends can experience what I did. Should anyone find this useful or interesting, I am happy.
- Editing and revising (I had to have a native speaker on my side): https://life-can-be-a-dream.net/
- Proofreading: https://life-can-be-a-dream.net/, https://waifuism.life
- Source for the following translation, Russian: https://azbyka.ru/fiction/chelovek-iz-restorana/
- It said that the to-be-mentioned-often-in-the-novel restaurant is a place that had actually existed: the famous Moscow restaurant "Prague". The novel was finished in 1911, just 6 years before the October Revolution which put the Russian Empire to an end, with all the Soviets and all the USSR things to come. This context is important to understand all the police stuff and public unrest that plays an important role with the doings of the main character.
- And now, on all the Russian names. 'Kolyushka' is an archaic diminutive form of Nikolay. Today people say 'Kolya' instead. 'Lusha' is an archaic diminutive form of Lukerya. Even the full name is not common today. The rest is probably can be figured out without my commentaries, good luck.
- Politically charged terms such as 'capitalist' should all be perceived neutrally, bearing in mind that they were used in their literal dictionary sense at the time, without 'signaling' connotations they have today.
I
I am peaceful and reserved in my temperament. Thirty-eight years old, so to speak, in my prime. But after such words, I felt like I was suddenly burned. Face to face, in private, I would have overlooked it from this kind of person... I might as well get blood from a turnip! He did it in the presence of Kolyushka, and with what words!
"You have no right to rummage around someone else's apartment! I trusted you and never locked my room. But you were rummaging with outsiders!.. You're so used to digging around people's pockets in your restaurants; and now you dare to think I will let you regard my hearth so!.."
So he went... He wasn't even drunk. As if there was actual gold somewhere... That's him taking revenge for us asking him to move out, to clear the room. We have had enough. He once served as a clerk, very proud and suspicious. And I asked him with respect, explaining that it was impossible for us, in one apartment, with such a proud character and his always being drunk. I posted an announcement on the gate. And so he became annoyed that I was showing his room, and lunged at me.
"You don't consider me a person!" and so on!.. Quite the contrary, we were always careful and even cautious with him, because he could be very malicious in his occupation, as Kolyushka warned. And Kolyushka and I often talked about my own occupation back then. As he grew up and became educated, it didn't sit well with him that I worked at a restaurant. Then Crooked, our tenant (his surname is Yezhov; Crooked is what we called him between ourselves), he hit the sore spot. That I'm a pickpocket! I almost beat him up for saying that, but, being a very sly person, he immediately locked the door. Later he wrote a note and sent it to me via Lusha, my wife. It was all as if from sorrow and misfortunes, and he offered to add fifty kopecks for the room. I couldn't care less for these empty promises, since he had always paid that way before. If only he would move out; for he could be even frightening in his actions... Although he was always afraid to show himself up - always trying to sneak past. But I had a very heated conversation with Kolyushka. Back then, I even slapped him for one remark... Often he would make all kinds of reprimands:
"See, dad... Any low-life can go around jabbing a finger and pointing!"
And I remained silent and thought to myself that he was still young and didn't understand the depths of life. But once he had been around and taken a closer look at people, he would speak differently.
And yet it was hurtful to hear such things from my own son, very hurtful! Well, a lackey, a waiter... So what if I am a lackey by destiny! Besides, I am not just any lackey, but one from a first-class restaurant where the society is high and most distinguished. We don't even let the common rabble in here; and the doormen, down below, have strict orders on this matter. The clientele is all thoughtful people: generals, capitalists, the most educated people, professors and so on, commercial people, aristocrats... The society is of the highest and most refined sort. With this type of guest, you need very artful service, and you also need to know how to behave properly so that there is no irritation. And they don't just hire anyone off the street, either; it's as if you're put through fire and flames, as if applying to a university. You must have an appropriate figure, a clean and unblemished face, with a stern and dignified gaze. It's not just "give this or that" - everything is done with good reason. And you have to stand there with understanding and stare as if you weren't there at all, yet keep track of everything and be on guard. It's just the same as for a head waiter in a second-rate restaurant.
"Your trade," he said, "is worthless and base! Fawning over every thug and boor... You lick their feet for a few coins!"
Ah?! He dared to scorn me for the coins! But he himself grew up on those very tips I received for my service - for my bows, for my assistance to all kinds of gentlemen, drunk and noble, and so on! His pants were sewn from those tips, and his jackets, and all the books for his studies were bought, and his boots - everything! So that's what it means to know nothing of life! If only he could imagine how people bow down and lick all kinds of feet out of so-called 'high principles,' let alone for tips! I have seen it all.
Once, a formal dinner was served in the round hall to mark the arrival of a minister, and I was appointed to the service along with the others. I then saw with my own eyes how an important gentleman, with medals all over his chest, quickly ducked under the table to pick up the handkerchief the minister had dropped. He was faster than me; he picked it up and even pushed my hand away. All of this under the table. They have nothing to do with it - crawling around for handkerchiefs... If only Kolyushka could see, with all his "lackey this and lackey that!" I do my job, naturally, and even if I hand over a match, I do so in accordance with the regulations of my service, and not beyond.
Having started in this specialty when I was still but a boy, I stayed with it, unlike other, and even very distinguished, gentlemen... One day you look - his gaze is that of an eagle, at the head of the table, drinking Schlossganisberg or some champagne, sticking out his little finger with a ring on it, signaling with it in conversation; and he grumbles into his glass so that you can't make anything out. And another time you see him in a completely different company, where his voice is sugary and thin, and he sits on the edge of his chair, holding his head like a heron, on the alert, his whole figure straining in one direction. I have seen it all.
And my appearance is no worse than that of others'. I even bear a resemblance to the lawyer Glotanov, Anton Stepanovich - so all our lot had a laugh about it. We are both wearing tailcoats, except, of course, his is tailored more neatly and made of a better cloth. Well, his stomach is more prominent, to be sure, and he sports a thick golden chain. And he also has a bald little spot. In general, though, it's all in the same vein. Only I have sideburns; they don't shave theirs. Though if you were to make them shave and attach my badge to their side, they could easily pass for me. And I do have a wallet too, but all the difference is internal. His wallet is bulging, of course, with stacks of all sorts of cash and bills. While mine is flat and scarce, and instead of bills, there are two business cards that have been lying there for three weeks now: one from a judicial candidate, Perekrylov, for twelve rubles from an occasion when he forgot his money at home; and one from Mr. Zatsepsky, a theater singer - a crowned piece of paper - for nine rubles, for the same reason. They haven't been here for three weeks and are probably thinking of not paying, but - just you wait, madam! We have many such gentlemen. To pay for every forgetful one, even the state bank wouldn't be enough, I should think. There are those who have no funds but like to show off and put on airs in a first-class restaurant, especially when they are in the company of high-society specimens. It is very flattering, indeed, to walk upon our carpets and dine in the white halls with mirrors, particularly when it comes to satisfying the demands of spoiled ladies... And, so to speak, they end up acting rashly. But overall, it's not quite pleasant to watch them get embarrassed: nervously checking their bill, and then calling the staff out into the hallway under the pretense of verifying the expenses, their voice full of tremor. They are ashamed in front of everyone. Well, you accept the business cards at your own risk. And it can be beneficial when they add a couple of rubles as a thank you. It's not harmful to anyone; on the contrary, it's useful and helps the wheels of life turn. And there is nothing wrong with that. Even Anton Stepanovich himself, when having breakfast with business people, speaks very well of turning wheels of capital; and they now have two houses in a good location - they were recently congratulated on a third one, bought at auction. Also, Vasily Vasilyevich Kasherotov, a 'first responder,' as we call him, is friends with him. He always carries blank promissory notes with him to hand out to young people from good families. Everything is done on the spot; then he reaps the benefits. And right before my eyes, he came out into society and became acquainted with such people that... well! A trustee of a convent, and a lover - he particularly adores the nuns; he wins them over, all through his influence and 'sacrifices.' Through his business with the promissory notes, they say, he has become acquainted with elegant ladies from the wealthiest families. Indeed!.. What money can do! And as for himself, he's all shriveled up, and with his rotten teeth, you can smell his breath from a mile away. Of course, life has taken its toll on me, and I have lost some of my luster, but I am no slouch, and my face still has a presentable appearance. I am even allowed to keep my sideburns, contrary to our rules. The restaurant is French-style, and therefore everyone is supposed to be clean-shaven. But once, when the director, Mr. Stross - who keeps excellent racehorses and two mistresses - deigned to observe me during my duty, he demanded the head waiter and ordered: "Let him keep the sideburns."
Ignatius Eliseich hid his stomach - out of respect - and bowed deeply: "Yes, sir! Some do approve of such looks... representativeness..."
"There. Let it remain as an example." So they made a special disposition in my case. And Ignatius Eliseich gave me a strict order: "And you are on no account to shave them off! This is nothing short of a blessing for you."
A blessing, sure! It makes me look more important, of course, but now they're ashamed to just slip me a fifty-kopeck piece. And that's a hindrance in our line of work.
In general, my appearance is very respectable and even diplomatic, as Kirill Saveryanich used to joke. Kirill Saveryanich!.. Ah, how I used to admire him, and how he went to seed before my eyes! What a man he was!.. If it weren't for his humble origins, with his intelligence and good connections, he could have been involved in government affairs. And what a mess he would have made there! Even now, he still runs a barbershop and also sells perfume. A highly intellectual person - he even used to write about life in a notebook. Many times he comforted me in my sorrows and would argue with Kolyushka, using all sorts of fancy words to prove his point.
"You, Yakov Savronych, facilitate the intake of meals; I, for my part, tidy up appearances. And this is not some invention of ours, but a principle that comes from life itself..."
Pure gold he was! And when you stand there in your full uniform in front of the mirrored walls, it is truly hard to believe that it's really me, and that, as it happens, I can be yelled at in the office when I'm drunk. Once... But I am, after all, not a nobody, not some hearthless wretch. I am a person with a habitation and I earn not just kopecks, but sometimes seventy, sometimes even eighty rubles; and I understand the subtleties of propriety and how to address even the most distinguished individuals. Furthermore, my son attended a real school, and my daughter, Natasha, was educated at a gymnasium... Now, taking all my routine into consideration, at times most noble gentlemen, who ought to understand, they... And they are so subtle in their behavior and actions, and how they speak different languages!.. They eat so delicately and handle even the tiniest bone with care, and when they knock over a chair, they apologize. But sometimes...
There was this exceedingly polite gentleman in a uniform - with a round badge on his chest - sitting next to a lady in an enormous feathered hat. I even knew the lady and her background. When I accidentally brushed the edge of the fish platter against a feather - they were sitting so close together - he called me a dimwit. And, of course, I said, "I beg your pardon," for what else could I say? But it was deeply hurtful. Of course, I received a fifty-kopeck piece as a tip, but it wasn't an apology; it was for show, to parade their nobility in front of the mistress, not as compensation for the offense. Of course, Kirill Saveryanich, with his quick wit and sharp mind, turned it all into a discussion of the "bewilderment that befalls even the most illustrious people" - and yet, it's no good. He even cited a book where some scientist wrote that all labor is honest and noble and cannot be tarnished by words. But I know this without the book, and still, it's no good. It's all easy talk when you've never experienced it yourself. He is doing well; he has his own business, and if anyone calls him a dimwit, he can take them to court on the spot. But I would be fired the next day for causing a scandal, and I could forget about ever working in a first-class restaurant again, because they would sound the alarm everywhere. So a scientist can write anything in his book and no one will call him a dimwit. But if only this scientist had been in our shoes, when everyone feels superior to you for every kopeck - sometimes even for someone else's kopeck - he would have written something completely different. By the book, everything is slick, but let Agafya Markovna talk about the engineers - that's how things really turn out... All these scientists dined at our place once. They were toasting some short, bald one for his book, and in the process, they broke ten rubles' worth of dishes, with no thought of who the head waiter would deduct it from - such is the administration's order. You can't bother such people with trifles, or they might take offense! In the heat of conversation, with an irritated gesture, they knock glasses together and snatch a coin straight from your pocket. Indeed, there is no science that can explain this.
When you see Anton Stepanich selecting various delicacies and washing them down with the finest brandy, you wonder what great feat he accomplished to have all this bestowed upon him - houses, capital, all of it. And there is no way to understand. What's more, even his own friends call him a crook. I swear it. There was an annual dinner for the board of factory owners, with whom Anton Stepanich conducts business in all the courts and litigates against all the specimens; they were capitalists, including the world-famous millionaire Gushchin. And during the merry dinner - I heard it myself - this very same Mr. Gushchin clapped Anton Stepanich and said, "Such a cro-o-o-ok you are, what a brilliant mind!"
And everyone laughed uproariously, and Anton Stepanich just winked and bragged. And when the French women arrived for dessert, one of them even tried to flatter Mr. Gushchin in the same manner, but all she managed to slur was "gru-u-uk" - just imagine! Then Mr. Glotanov emerged, looking not terribly sober, of course, and shouted: "Ah, you... Such a... You as well!.."
They used very harsh words and made an obscene gesture. It caused such a scandal that only our restaurant's good reputation prevented serious consequences. And the girls got their dresses splattered with grainy caviar... They knocked over an entire jug! All sorts of things used to happen.
And you look at all this... Ah... Unfortunate creatures of God and the Creator! How many of them I have seen! They were pure and innocent once, but then they were seduced and cast out into the street. And no one pays any mind... At times, you come home, pray to God, go to bed... And behind the wall is Natasha. She breathes quietly... And you start to wonder... What lies ahead for her in life? She will not be left with any bonds or lottery tickets, winning or otherwise, or multi-story houses, like the ones inherited by the Pupayev sisters, in whose house I was living at the time.
II
work in progress
We lived on quietly and unnoticed, but then suddenly everything started moving and kept going... It all started in such a terrible manner... It was exactly Sunday, after I went to early mass, although Kolyushka always laughed at all my religious efforts; I was drinking tea slowly on the occasion that the restaurant was going to open at noon that day. And we had cabbage pies, and there was a barber, my friend Kirill Saveryanich, who was in a very cherful mood - he read the Apostle very clearly during the liturgy - and talking about politics and the nature of life.