FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
*The censor so mangled this chapter that Dostoevsky later complained that he was made to contradict himself several times. (D.M.)
A GENTLE CREATURE
A FANTASTIC STORY
SHORT PREFACE BY THE AUTHOR
I hope my readers will forgive me if, instead of my “Diary” in its usual form, I am giving them only a story this time. I am afraid my only excuse is that I have been really working on this story for the better part of a month. I should, in any event, like to ask my readers for their indulgence.
Now a few words about the story itself. I have given it the subtitle of “A Fantastic Story,” though I myself regard it as eminently realistic. But there is indeed a subcurrent of fantasy in it, particularly in the very form of the story, which I think it necessary to explain before starting on the story proper.
The point is that it is neither fiction nor biography. Imagine a husband whose wife had committed suicide a few hours before by throwing herself out of a window and whose dead body is lying on the table. His mind is in a state of confusion, and he has not as yet had time to collect his thoughts. He keeps pacing the room, trying to find some reason for what has happened, “to gather his thoughts to a point.” He is, besides, an inveterate hypochondriac, one of those men who talk to themselves. So there he is, talking to himself, telling the whole story, trying to explain it to himself. Notwithstanding the apparent consistency of his speech, he contradicts himself several times, both in the logic of his arguments and his feelings. He is justifying himself, accusing her, indulging in explanations that have no possible bearing on the case: you have here a certain crudity of mind and heart as well as genuine deep feeling. Little by little he really does explain the whole thing to himself and “gathers his thoughts to a point.” A succession of memories which he recalls does at last lead him inevitably to the truth, and truth inevitably elevates his mind and heart. Towards the end even the tone of the story changes as compared with the general untidiness of its beginning. Truth dawns upon the unhappy man in a form that is both clear and definite, at least so far as he himself is concerned.
That is the theme. No doubt, the telling of the story, interrupted by all sorts of digressions and interludes, takes up a few hours, and it is told in a rather rambling way: sometimes he is speaking to himself, sometimes he is addressing an invisible listener, a sort of a judge. And, as a matter of fact, this is how it actually happens in real life. If a stenographer could have overheard him and taken down his words in shorthand, the result might have been a little rougher, a little less finished than the way I am telling it; but the psychological sequence (so at least it seems to me) would have remained pretty much the same. It is this suggestion of a stenographer taking everything down in shorthand (after which I should have edited it) that I consider the fantastic element in this story. But this sort of thing, or something very like it, has been done several times in works of fiction. Victor Hugo, for instance, uses almost the identical method in his masterpiece The Last Day of a Man Condemned to Death. And though he does not actually pretend to employ a stenographer, he has recourse to an even greater improbability by assuming that a man sentenced to death is able (and has the time) to keep a diary not only on his last day, but also during his last hour and, literally, his last minute. But had he not adopted this fanciful way of telling the story, his novel—one of the most realistic and most truthful he ever wrote—would not have existed.
CHAPTER ONE
I
WHO WAS I AND WHO WAS SHE
… Well, while she is still here everything is all right: I go up and have a look at her every minute. But they will take her away tomorrow and—how can I stay here alone? She is now in the sitting-room, on a table. Two card tables put together side by side. They will bring the coffin tomorrow. A white coffin. White gros-de-Naples. However that’s not what.… I keep on walking and walking. Trying to explain the whole thing to myself. It’s six hours now that I’ve been trying to explain it to myself, but I just can’t gather my thoughts to a point. Can’t do it. Can’t do it. The trouble is I’m always walking, walking, walking.… Now, that’s how it was. I’ll simply tell it just as it happened. In the right order. (Order!) Ladies and gentlemen, I do not pretend to be a literary chap, as I expect you can see for yourselves, but never mind. I’ll tell it just as I understand it. That’s the horrible part of it—I understand everything!
You see, if you must know, I mean, if I’m to tell you everything from the very beginning, I first met her because she used to come to me to pawn things. She wanted the money to pay for an advertisement in The Voice. Trying to get herself a job as governess. No objection to living in the country, or giving lessons to children at their homes, and so on and so forth. That’s how it began. At the time I didn’t of course think her any different from anyone else. She used to come to me like the rest, and so on. But later I began to notice the difference. She was such a slender girl, very thin, fair, of medium height, always a little awkward with me, as though embarrassed. (I cannot help thinking that she must have been the same with all strangers, and to her of course I was not different from anyone else, considered as a man, I mean, and not as a pawnbroker.) The minute she got her money, she’d turn round and go away. And all without uttering a word. Others usually started arguing, begging, haggling, to get more money. But not this one. Took what she was given.… I’m afraid I’m getting a little muddled.… Yes, it was the things she brought which first of all attracted my attention. Silver gilt earrings, a cheap medallion—there wasn’t anything I’d give more than sixpence for. She knew herself, of course, that they were only worth threepence, but I could see that to her they were priceless. As a matter of fact, it was all that was left her by her mother and father. I got to know about it later. Only once did I permit myself to smile at her things. For, you see, I never permit myself anything of the kind. In my dealings with the public my manners are always those of a gentleman: a few words, polite and stern. “Stern, stern, stern.” But one day she actually brought me the remnants (I mean, literally) of an old hareskin coat, and I couldn’t refrain from making a rather mild joke about it. Dear me, how she flushed! Her eyes were large, blue, wistful, but—how they blazed! She never said a word, though. Took her “remnants” and went out. It was then that for the first time I noticed her specially, and I thought something of the sort about her, that is, something of a special sort. Yes. There’s something else I remember. Another impression. I mean, if you really want to know, it was really the most important impression which summed up everything, namely, that she was awfully young. So young that I could have sworn she wasn’t a day older than fourteen. Actually, however, she was fifteen years and nine months, to be exact. However, that wasn’t what I wanted to say. That wasn’t the total impression. The next day she came again. I found out later that she had been to Dobronravov and Mozer with that precious fur coat of hers, but they don’t accept anything but gold, so they wouldn’t even talk to her. I, on the other hand, had once accepted a cameo from her (a really cheap one it was, too), and, having thought it over, was afterwards surprised at myself. For, you see, I don’t accept anything but gold and silver, either, and yet I took the cameo from her. That was the second time I had thought about her. I remember it very well.
This time, that is, from Mozer, she brought me an amber cigar holder. Not a bad thing, something for a connoisseur, but again hardly worth anything to me, for we only deal in gold articles. As she came to me the day after her rebellion, I received her sternly. Sternness with me means dryness. However, as I was handing her the two roubles, I couldn’t resist saying to her with a certain note of exasperation in my voice, “I’m only doing it for you, for Mozer would never have accepted such a thing from you.” I put a special emphasis on the words for you. Invested them quite deliberately with a certain meaning. I was furious. She flushed crimson again at the for you, but swallowed the insult, didn’t fling the money back at me. Took it like a lamb. That’s what poverty doe
s for you! But, Lord, how she blushed! I realised that I had hurt her feelings. But when she went out, I suddenly asked myself, Is this triumph over her really worth two roubles? Dear, oh dear! I remember I asked myself that very question twice: “Is it worth it? Is it worth it?” And, laughing, decided that it was. Felt very jolly that time. But it wasn’t a bad feeling: I did it deliberately, intentionally. I wanted to put her to the test. I wanted to do that because suddenly certain plans with regard to her began stirring in my mind. That was my third special thought about her.
… Well, it was from that time that it all started. I, naturally, took immediate steps to find out what could be found out about her in an indirect way, and I waited for her next visit with particular impatience. For I had a premonition that she would come soon. When she did come, I entered into a very amiable conversation with her, doing my utmost to be as civil to her as possible. I have had quite a good education, you see, and my manners are irreproachable. Well, it was then that I realised that she was good and gentle. Good and gentle creatures do not offer a very stiff resistance, not for long, anyway, and though they may not open their hearts to you altogether, they don’t know how to steer clear of a conversation: they reply in monosyllables but they do reply, and the further they get drawn into it, the more talkative they become, so long, that is, as you don’t get tired of it yourself, so long as you want to make the most of your opportunity. I need hardly tell you that she did not explain anything to me at the time. It was afterwards that I found out about The Voice and everything else. She was just then advertising wildly, first, of course, in a rather high and mighty fashion, “A governess, ready to take a situation in the country, please reply about conditions of employment by post,” but later it was, “Willing to accept anything, to give lessons, to be a companion, to look after the household, to act as a nurse to a sick lady, plain sewing,” and so on and so forth. The usual thing. All this of course was put in for publication at different times and in different versions, but in the end when things got really desperate, it was even “without salary, in return for board.” But nothing doing. She could not find herself a job! It was then that I made up my mind to put her to the test for the last time. I suddenly picked up the last issue of The Voice and showed her an advertisement: “A young lady, orphan, looking for situation as governess to young children, preferably with an elderly widower. Willing to help with household duties.”
“You see, this advertisement appeared this morning and I’m ready to bet you anything she’ll have her job before the evening. That’s the way to advertise.”
Again she flushed. Again her eyes blazed. She turned round and went out at once. That pleased me very much. However, at that time I was already sure of everything and had no longer any fear. No one you see, would take her cigar holders. And, besides, she had no more cigar holders to pawn. Well, I was right. Two days later she called again, looking very pale and agitated. I realised that she must have had some trouble at home, and so it was. I’ll explain presently what the trouble was. At the moment I just want to mention how I suddenly impressed her and how I rose in her estimation. It was a sort of scheme I suddenly conceived. You see, as a matter of fact she brought this icon (had made up her mind at last to bring it!) … Now, listen. Please, listen. It was just then that everything began. I’m afraid I’ve been a bit muddled till now.… You see, I’m trying to recall all this—every detail—every little thing. I’m trying all the time to gather my thoughts to a point, but—but somehow I can’t do it, and all these little details count. All these little details are frightfully important.…
An icon of the Virgin. The Virgin with the Babe. A family icon, an ancient one, the embossed metal of silver gilt—worth—well, shall we say, six roubles at most. I could see that the icon was precious to her. She was pawning it, you see, without removing the embossed metal.
“Why don’t you take off the metal setting and take the icon back with you?” I said. “For, after all, it’s an icon, and it’s hardly what you might call the done thing to pawn an icon, is it?”
“Why not? Aren’t you allowed to take it?”
“Oh yes, I can take it all right, but don’t you think you may perhaps yourself.…”
“All right, take it off, if you like.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” I said, thinking it over. “I shan’t take it off, but I’ll put it here together with the other icons in the icon case under the lamp (I always had a lamp burning above the icons, ever since the day I first opened my pawnshop), and I’ll give you ten roubles for it.”
“I don’t want ten. Five will be quite enough for me. I’ll most certainly redeem it.”
“Are you sure you won’t take ten? The icon is worth it, you know,” I said, noticing that her eyes flashed again.
She made no answer. I went into the other room and came back with five roubles for her.
“Don’t despise anyone,” I said. “I was once in such straits myself, perhaps even in worse straits, and if you see me now engaged in this sort of business, it’s—I mean, after what I’ve been through—”
“You don’t mean you’re revenging yourself on society, do you? Is that it?” she interrupted suddenly, with rather a caustic smile, which was quite innocent, though (I mean it was a “general” sort of smile, for at that time she made no distinction whatever between me and anyone else, so that she had said it almost without offence).
“Aha!” thought I. “So that’s the sort of person you are! Showing your claws, my pretty one! I shouldn’t wonder if you are not a member of one of the new movements!”
“You see,” I said at once, half jokingly, half mysteriously, “I—I am part of that Power which still doeth good, though scheming ill.…”
She shot a glance at me, a glance that betrayed a great deal of interest, though, I suppose, there was quite a lot of childish curiosity in it, too.
“Wait—what kind of an idea is that? Where is it from? I believe I’ve heard it somewhere.…”
“Don’t rack your brains. It’s in these words that Mephistopheles introduces himself to Faust. You’ve read Faust, haven’t you?”
“No, I mean, not really.…”
“You mean you haven’t read it at all, don’t you? You ought to read it. However, I can see that sardonic smile on your lips again. Please don’t imagine I’ve so little good taste as to wish to disguise my part as pawnbroker by introducing myself to you as a sort of Mephistopheles. Once a pawnbroker, always a pawnbroker. I know.”
“You’re so strange.… I never dreamt of saying anything of the kind to you.”
What she really meant to say was, “I never expected you to be an educated man.” But she didn’t say it, though I knew she thought it. I had pleased her enormously.
“You see,” I observed, “one can do good in any profession. I’m not of course referring to myself. I’m quite ready to admit that I do nothing but evil, yet—”
“Of course one can do good in any business,” she said, with a quick but keen glance at me. “Yes, in any business,” she suddenly added.
Oh, I remember it all! I remember all those moments! And I’d like to add here that when these young people, these dear young people, want to say something clever and profound, they betray it suddenly and rather too openly and naïvely by a look on their faces—“See? I’m saying something clever and profound to you!” And not out of vanity, either, like people of my age. You could see how she herself valued it so enormously, believed in it, esteemed it so highly, and was dead certain that you too esteemed it as highly as she did. Oh, how important sincerity is! It is their sincerity that assures them their victory. And in her this was so delightful!
Yes, I remember it all. I’ve forgotten nothing. As soon as she was gone, I made up my mind. The same day I went out to make my last inquiries and found out all the latest details about her present circumstances. I knew every detail of her past from Lukerya, who was their maid at the time and who had been in my pay for some time. These details were so terribl
e that I don’t know how she could have laughed as she did the other day, or have been so curious about the words of Mephistopheles when she herself was in such a dreadful position. But—youth! Yes, that is just what I thought about her at the time with pride and joy. For there is magnanimity there too: though I may be standing on the very brink of a precipice, Goethe’s grand words still shed a radiance! Youth is always magnanimous, though only a little bit, though wrong-headedly. I mean, it’s about her I’m thinking—about her alone. And, above all, even at that time I already regarded her as mine, and not for one moment did I doubt my own power. It’s one of the most voluptuous thoughts in the world, you know. Not to be in doubt, I mean.
But what’s the matter with me? If I go on like this I shall never be able to gather everything to a point. Quick, quick—oh God, that’s not it at all.
II
A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE
The “details” I found out about her I can explain in a few words. Her father and mother were dead. They had died three years before I met her, and she had been left with her disreputable aunts, though “disreputable” is hardly the right word for them. One aunt was a widow, a mother of a large family—six children, all close to one another in age. Her other aunt was an old maid, as bad as they make ’em. Both were bad. Her father had been a civil servant. A clerk in a Government office, a nonhereditary nobleman. In short, everything was in my favour. I appeared as though from a higher world. After all, I’m a retired first lieutenant of a famous regiment, a nobleman by birth, independent, etc. As for my pawnshop and money-lending business, the aunts could only have looked upon it with respect. She had been slaving for her aunts for three years, but in spite of that she seemed to have found time to pass her school exams somewhere, passed them by hook or by crook, passed them for all her daily drudgery. And that after all meant something, if only as showing her desire to achieve something higher and nobler! Why, what did I want to get married for? However, to blazes with me! I’ll discuss that later. Besides, that isn’t the point really.… Anyway, she taught her aunt’s children, made their underclothing for them, and in the end not only made their underclothing for them, but scrubbed the floors as well, and that with her weak chest, too. Why, not to put too fine a point on it, they even beat her, begrudged her every bite of bread she ate. And they ended up by intending to sell her. Damn ’em! I’ll leave out the sordid details. She told me all about it afterwards. A whole year the fat shopkeeper next door had been watching it all. Not an ordinary shopkeeper, either. Owned two grocery shops. He had already driven two wives into their graves, and as he was now looking for a third one, he cast his eyes on her. “A quiet one,” he thought, “brought up in poverty, and I am marrying her for the sake of my motherless children.” And he had children all right. So he opened up negotiations with her aunts. Asked for the girl’s hand in marriage. He was fifty. Of course, she was horrified. It was then she began coming to me to get money to pay for the advertisements in The Voice. At last she began imploring her aunts to give her a little time to think it over. Just a little time. They gave her a little time, only a very little time, not a minute more. Made her life a hell on earth. “We don’t know how to fill our own bellies without an extra mouth to feed!” I knew all about it, and after her visit in the morning that day made up my mind finally. That evening the shopkeeper came to see them. Brought her a pound of sweets from his shop worth a shilling. While she was entertaining him, I called Lukerya out of the kitchen and told her to go and whisper to her that I was waiting for her at the gate and wanted to see her on a very urgent matter. I felt very pleased with myself. As a matter of fact, I was tremendously pleased with myself all that day.
The Best Short Stories of Fyodor Dostoevsky (Modern Library Classics) Page 27