САПОГИ

BOOTS

NOTES.  

Blue Beard was an operetta by Offenbach apparently performed in Moscow in the winter of 1885.

The piano tuner Murkin, a closely shaven man with a yellow face and a snuff stained nose, his ears stuffed with cotton wool, came out of his room and shouted in a trembling voice “Semyon!  Houseboy!”

Looking at his terrified face one would be inclined to think that a load of ceiling plaster had fallen on him, or he had just seen an apparition.

“Great heavens, Semyon!” he shouted, seeing the houseboy running towards him “What on earth is this?  I have a rheumaticky condition, I’m an infirm man, and you’re forcing me to come out of my room in bare feet.  Why have you not yet brought me my boots? Where are they?” 

Semyon went into Murkin’s room and looked at the place where he normally stood the cleaned boots, and then scratched the back of his head.  There was no sign of them.

“Where could they be, the damned things?” he said.  “In the evening, it seems, I cleaned them and put them here. Hmm... Yesterday evening, it’s true, I was a bit sloshed.  Quite likely then, I suppose, I put them in another room.  There’s a mountain of boots, the devil knows how you can separate them when you’re sloshed and can’t even remember yourself... It must be then, I left them at the lady’s in the next door room, the actress. 

“So thanks to you I now have to go to this lady and disturb her!  Thanks to you, for a trivial reason I have to wake up an honest woman!”

So, sighing and coughing, Murkin went to the neighbouring room and knocked cautiously at the door. 

“Who’s there?” said a woman’s voice a minute later. 

“It’s me, madam,” Murkin began in a complaining tone, standing in the pose of a gentleman addressing a woman from high society.  “Pardon me for the disturbance, m’lady, but I have a rheumaticky condition, I’m an infirm man... The doctor, m’lady, told me to keep my feet warm, all the more so that today I have to go and tune the grand piano at General Shevelitsin’s wife’s house.  I can’t go to her barefoot!” 

“But what is it you want? What grand piano?”

“It’s not a grand piano, m’lady, it’s a question of some boots.  That blockhead Semyon cleaned my boots and by mistake left them in your room.  Would you be so good, m’lady, as to give me my boots?”

A rustling sound was heard, a jump from the bed, the shuffling of slippers, after which the door slightly opened and a plump woman’s hand flung a pair of boots at Murkin’s feet.  The piano tuner thanked her and went back to his room.   

“Strange!” he muttered, putting on the boots.  “It’s as if this isn’t a right foot.  These are two left footed boots.  They’re both left feet.  Hey, listen Semyon.  These are not my boots! My boots have got red pull on straps and with no patches, and these are all worn and without straps. 

Semyon picked up the boots, turned them over several times in front of his eyes and frowned. 

“These boots belong to Pavel Alexandrich,” he mumbled, glancing to one side.  (He had a squint in his left eye). 

“Who is Pavel Alexandrich?

“An actor. He comes here every Tuesday.  Instead of his own then, it must be, he put your boots on.  I put them in her room, evidently, both pairs, his and yours.  What a palaver!”

“Well go and change them then.”

“Thanks a bundle!” said Semyon with a laugh. “Go and change them he says.  And where am I going to find him?  It’s already an hour since he left... Go and find the wind in the fields!”

“Where does he live?”

“God only knows.  He comes here every Tuesday, but where he lives, we don’t know.  He comes, he spends the night here, then you wait till the next Tuesday.”

“So you see now, you swine, what you’ve got me into! So, what am I meant to do now? I’m supposed to be at General Shevelitsin’s, you damned heretic.  My feet are frozen!”

“It doesn’t take long to change the boots. Put these ones on, wear them till the evening, then in the evening go to the theatre. Ask there for the actor Blistanov. If you don’t want to go to the theatre, then you’ll have to wait till next Tuesday.”

“But why are there two left boots here?” asked the piano tuner, squeamishly handling the boots. 

“Whatever ones God sent, those were the ones he wore.  Because of his poverty. How could an actor afford any? “These boots of yours,” I said to him, “are an absolute disgrace!” But he said to me, “Be quiet! Turn pale!” he said. “In these very boots,” he said, “I played a count and a prince.” Strange people! There’s only one word for it – an artist. If I were a governor, or some man of authority, I’d round up all these actors, and off to Siberia with them.  

Endlessly groaning and frowning, Murkin dragged on the two left boots, then, limping, he set off for General Shevelitsin’s wife’s abode. The whole day he trudged around the town tuning pianos, and for the whole day it seemed to him that the entire world was looking at his feet and seeing the boots with patches on them and with twisted heels. Apart from the moral torment, he was forced also to endure physical discomfort – the boots raised a blister.

In the evening he made his way to the theatre. Blue Beard was being shown. Only before the last act, and that only with the help of a flautist whom he knew, did he manage to get back stage. Getting into the men’s dressing room, he found in it many male personages. Some were changing costumes, others were being made up, still others were smoking.  Blue Beard himself was standing with King Bobyosh and was showing him a revolver.  “Buy it!” said Blue Beard. I bought it by chance in Kursk for eight roubles, and it’s yours for six. It’s a wonderful action!”

“Careful now! It’s loaded!”

Could I possibly see Mr. Blistanov?” asked the piano tuner as he came in.

“That’s me,” said Blue Beard. “What can I do for you?”

“Pardon me, Sir, for disturbing you,” said the piano tuner in a plaintive voice. “But believe me, I have a rheumaticky condition, I’m an infirm man... The doctors ordered me to keep my feet warm.”

“But what, actually speaking, is it that you want?”

“Well you see Sir,” said the piano tuner, turning his attention to Blue Beard. “That is, Sir... Last night you were so kind as to stay at the furnished apartments of the merchant Buxteyev, in room number Sixty four.”

“What sort of wild tale is this?” exclaimed with a laugh King Bobyosh. “My wife lives in room number sixty four.” 

“Your wife Sir? I’m delighted Sir.” Murkin smiled. “The lady herself Sir, your wife, personally gave me the boots of this gentleman. When this gentleman,” here Murkin indicated Blistanov, “went from her presence, I noticed my boots were missing. So I shouted, you know, for the house boy, and the house boy said, “Indeed Sir, I left your boots in the neighbouring room.” He made a mistake, you see, being in a drunken state, and left my boots in number sixty four.” Here Murkin turned to Blistanov – “And you Sir, when leaving the lady, put on my boots.”

“So what is it you’re after?” declared Blistanov with a frown. “Have you come here to spread gossip?”

“In no way Sir! God preserve me from that Sir! You have misunderstood me... For you see, this is my concern? I am talking about the boots. You were so good as to spend the night in Room 64?”

“When?”

“Last night Sir.”

“And did you see me there?”

“No Sir. I did not see you Sir.” replied Murkin in a state of great confusion, and sitting down he rapidly removed the boots.” I did not see you Sir. But this gentleman’s good wife flung out your boots to me instead of mine.”

“What right do you have, my dear Sir, to make assertions such as these? I speak not now of myself, but you are dishonouring a woman, and that in the presence of her husband.”

Back stage there now arose a dreadful hubbub. King Bobyosh, the offended husband, suddenly turned crimson and with all his strength he smashed his fist down on the table, with the result that, in the neighbouring dressing room, two actresses came over very queasy.

“And you believe him, do you?” Blue Beard shouted at him. “You believe this villain. Aha! If you like, I’ll kill him, like a dog. Would you like me to? I’ll make a beef steak out of him! I’ll smash him to pieces!”

And all those who happened to be strolling in the town garden that evening near the summer theatre now tell the story of what they saw, of how, before the fourth act, down the main alley of the park in front of the theatre, ran a barefooted man with a yellow face and his eyes full of terror. He was pursued by a man wearing the costume of Blue Beard and carrying a revolver. What happened afterwards nobody saw. All that is known is that, after his encounter with Blistanov, Murkin lay ill in bed for a fortnight. And in addition to the words “I have a rheumaticky condition, I’m an infirm man,” was now added the phrase “I am a wounded man”...

1885

St. Petersburg Gazette.