Knock, Knock, Knock and Other Stories

by Иван Тургенев

  something supernatural has happened to you? I mean to say, something

  inconsistent with the laws of nature?"

  "I do maintain it," replied the gentleman addressed as "My dear sir,"

  whose name was Porfiry Kapitonitch.

  "Inconsistent with the laws of nature!" Anton Stepanitch repeated

  angrily; apparently he liked the phrase.

  "Just so ... yes; it was precisely what you say."

  "That's amazing! What do you think of it,

  gentlemen?" Anton Stepanitch tried to give

  his features an ironical expression, but without

  effect--or to speak more accurately, merely

  with the effect of suggesting that the dignified

  civil councillor had detected an unpleasant

  smell. "Might we trouble you, dear sir," he

  went on, addressing the Kaluga landowner, "to

  give us the details of so interesting an incident?"

  "Certainly, why not?" answered the landowner and, moving in a

  free-and-easy way to the middle of the room, he spoke as follows:

  "I have, gentlemen, as you are probably aware, or perhaps are not

  aware, a small estate in the Kozelsky district. In old days I used to

  get something out of it, though now, of course, I have nothing to look

  forward to but unpleasantness. But enough of politics. Well, in that

  district I have a little place: the usual kitchen garden, a little

  pond with carp in it, farm buildings of a sort and a little lodge for

  my own sinful person ... I am a bachelor. Well, one day--some six

  years ago--I came home rather late; I had had a game of cards at a

  neighbour's and I was--I beg you to note--the least little bit

  elevated, as they say; I undressed, got into bed and put out the

  candle. And only fancy, gentlemen: as soon as I put out the candle

  there was something moving under my bed! I wondered whether it was a

  rat; no, it was not a rat: it moved about, scratched on the floor and

  scratched itself.... At last it flapped its ears!

  "There was no mistake about it; it was a dog. But where could a dog

  have come from? I did not keep one; could some stray dog have run in,

  I wondered. I called my servant; Filka was his name. He came in with a

  candle.

  "'How's this,' I said, 'Filka, my lad? Is that how you look after

  things? A dog has got under my bed?' 'What dog?' said he. 'How do I

  know,' said I, 'that's your business--to save your master from

  disturbance.' My Filka bent down, and began moving the candle under

  the bed. 'But there's no dog here,' said he. I bent down, too; there

  certainly was no dog there. What a queer thing!--I glanced at Filka

  and he was smiling. 'You stupid,' I said to him, 'why are you

  grinning. When you opened the door the dog must have whisked out into

  the passage. And you, gaping idiot, saw nothing because you are always

  asleep. You don't suppose I am drunk, do you?' He would have answered,

  but I sent him out, curled up and that night heard nothing more.

  "But the next night--only fancy--the thing was repeated. As soon as I

  blew out the candle, he scratched himself and flapped his ears again.

  Again I called Filka; again he looked under the bed--again there was

  nothing! I sent him away, blew out the candle--and, damn it all, the

  dog was there again and it was a dog right enough: one could hear it

  breathing, biting its coat, looking for fleas.... It was so

  distinct--'Filka,' I said, 'come here without the candle!' He came in.

  'Well, now,' I said, 'do you hear?' 'Yes,' he said. I could not see

  him, but I felt that the fellow was scared. 'What do you make of it?'

  said I. 'What do you bid me make of it, Porfiry Kapitonitch? It's

  sorcery!' 'You are a foolish fellow,' I said, 'hold your tongue with

  your sorcery....' And our voices quavered like a bird's and we were

  trembling in the dark as though we were in a fever. I lighted a

  candle, no dog, no sound, only us two, as white as chalk. So I kept a

  candle burning till morning and I assure you, gentlemen, you may

  believe me or you may not, but from that night for six weeks the same

  thing was repeated. In the end I actually got used to it and began

  putting out the candle, because I couldn't get to sleep in the light.

  'Let him fidget,' I thought, 'he doesn't do me any harm.'"

  "Well, I see you are not one of the chicken-hearted brigade," Anton

  Stepanitch interrupted in a half-contemptuous, half-condescending

  tone! "One can see the Hussar at once!"

  "I shouldn't be afraid of you in any case," Porfiry Kapitonitch

  observed, and for an instant he really did look like a Hussar.

  "But listen to the rest. A neighbour came to see me, the very one with

  whom I used to play cards. He dined with me on what luck provided and

  dropped some fifty roubles for his visit; night came on, it was time

  for him to be off. But I had my own idea. 'Stay the night with me,' I

  said, 'Vassily Vassilitch; tomorrow, please God, you will win it

  back.' Vassily Vassilitch considered and stayed. I had a bed put up

  for him in my room.... Well, we went to bed, smoked, chatted--about

  the fair sex for the most part, as is only suitable in bachelor

  company--we laughed, of course; I saw Vassily Vassilitch put out his

  candle and turn his back towards me: as much as to say: 'Good night.'

  I waited a little, then I, too, put out my candle. And, only fancy, I

  had hardly time to wonder what sort of trick would be played this

  time, when the sweet creature was moving again. And moving was not

  all; it came out from under the bed, walked across the room, tapped on

  the floor with its paws, shook its ears and all of a sudden pushed

  against the very chair that was close by Vassily Vassilitch's bed.

  'Porfiry Kapitonitch,' said the latter, and in such an unconcerned

  voice, you know, 'I did not know you had a dog. What sort is it, a

  setter?' 'I haven't a dog,' I said, 'and never have had one!' 'You

  haven't? Why, what's this?' 'What's this?' said I, 'why, light

  the candle and then you will see for yourself.' 'Isn't it a dog?'

  'No.' Vassily Vassilitch turned over in bed. 'But you are joking, dash

  it all.' 'No, I am not joking.' I heard him go strike, strike, with a

  match, while the creature persisted in scratching its ribs. The light

  flared up ... and, hey presto! not a trace remained! Vassily

  Vassilitch looked at me and I looked at him. 'What trick is this?' he

  said. 'It's a trick,' I said, 'that, if you were to set Socrates

  himself on one side and Frederick the Great on the other, even they

  could not make it out.' And then I told him all about it. Didn't my

  Vassily Vassilitch jump out of bed! As though he had been scalded! He

  couldn't get into his boots. 'Horses,' he cried, 'horses!' I began

  trying to persuade him, but it was no use! He positively gasped! 'I

  won't stay,' he said, 'not a minute! You must be a man under a curse!

  Horses.' However, I prevailed upon him. Only his bed was dragged into

  another room and nightlights were lighted everywhere. At our tea in

  the morning he had regained his equanimity; he began to give me

  advice. 'You should try being away from home for a few days, Porfiry

  Kapitonitch,' he said, 'perhaps
this abomination would leave you.' And

  I must tell you: my neighbour was a man of immense intellect. He

  managed his mother-in-law wonderfully: he fastened an I. O. U. upon

  her; he must have chosen a sentimental moment! She became as soft as

  silk, she gave him an authorisation for the management of all her

  estate--what more would you have? You know it is something to get the

  better of one's mother-in-law. Eh! You can judge for yourselves.

  However, he took leave of me in some displeasure; I'd stripped him of

  a hundred roubles again. He actually abused me. 'You are ungrateful.'

  he said, 'you have no feeling'; but how was I to blame? Well, be that

  as it may, I considered his advice. That very day I drove off to the

  town and put up at an inn, kept by an old man I knew, a Dissenter. He

  was a worthy old fellow, though a little morose from living in

  solitude, all his family were dead. But he disliked tobacco and had

  the greatest loathing for dogs; I believe he would have been torn to

  pieces rather than consent to let a dog into his room. 'For how can

  one?' he would say, 'the Queen of Heaven herself is graciously pleased

  to be on my wall there, and is an unclean dog to put his infidel nose

  there?' Of course, it was lack of education! However, to my thinking,

  whatever wisdom a man has he had better stick to that."

  "I see you are a great philosopher," Anton Stepanitch interrupted a

  second time with the same sarcastic smile.

  This time Porfiry Kapitonitch actually frowned.

  "How much I know of philosophy I cannot tell," he observed, tugging

  grimly at his moustache, "but I would be glad to give you a lesson in

  it."

  We all simply stared at Anton Stepanitch. Every one of us expected a

  haughty reply, or at least a glance like a flash of lightning.... But

  the civil councillor turned his contemptuous smile into one of

  indifference, then yawned, swung his foot and--that was all!

  "Well, I stayed at that old fellow's," Porfiry Kapitonitch went on.

  "He gave me a little room, not one of the best, as we were old

  friends; his own was close by, the other side of the partition--and

  that was just what I wanted. The tortures I faced that night! A little

  room, a regular oven, stuffiness, flies, and such sticky ones; in the

  corner an extraordinarily big shrine with ancient ikons, with dingy

  setting in relief on them. It fairly reeked of oil and some other

  stuff, too; there were two featherbeds on the beds. If you moved the

  pillow a black beetle would run from under it.... I had drunk an

  incredible quantity of tea, feeling so dreary--it was simply dreadful!

  I got into bed; there was no possibility of sleeping--and, the other

  side of the partition, my host was sighing, clearing his throat,

  repeating his prayers. However, he subsided at last. I heard him begin

  to snore, but only faintly, in the old-fashioned polite way. I had put

  my candle out long ago, but the little lamp was burning before the

  ikons.... That prevented it, I suppose. So I got up softly with bare

  feet, climbed up to the lamp, and blew it out.... Nothing happened.

  'Oho!' I thought, 'so it doesn't come off in other people's houses.'

  "But I had no sooner got into bed than there was a commotion again. He

  was scraping on the floor and scratching himself and shaking his

  ears ... the usual thing, in fact. Very good! I lay still and waited to

  see what would happen. I heard the old man wake up. 'Sir,' he said,

  'hey, sir.' 'What is it?' 'Did you put out the lamp?' But without

  waiting for my answer, he burst out all at once. 'What's that? What's

  that, a dog? A dog! Ah, you vile heretic!' 'Wait a bit, old man, before

  you scold,' I said. 'You had better come here yourself. Things are

  happening,' I said, 'that may well make you wonder.' The old man

  stirred behind the partition and came in to me, with a candle, a very,

  very thin one, made of yellow wax; I was surprised when I looked at

  him! He looked bristling all over, with hairy ears and eyes as fierce

  as a weasel's; he had on a white woollen night cap, a beard to his

  waist, white; too, and a waistcoat with copper buttons on it over his

  shirt and fur boots on his feet and he smelt of juniper. In this

  attire he approached the ikons, crossed himself three times with his

  two fingers crossed, lighted the lamp, crossed himself again and,

  turning to me, just grunted: 'Explain!' And thereupon, without delay,

  I told him all that had happened. The old man listened to my account

  and did not drop one word, simply shook his head. Then he sat down on

  my bed and still said nothing. He scratched his chest, the back of his

  head and so on and said nothing. 'Well,' I said, 'Fedul Ivanitch, what

  do you think? Is it some devil's sorcery or what?' The old man looked

  at me. 'What an idea! Devil's sorcery! A tobacco-smoker like you might

  well have that at home, but not here. Only think what holiness there

  is here! Sorcery, indeed!' 'And if it is not sorcery, what is it,

  then?' The old man was silent again; again he scratched himself and

  said at last, but in a muffled voice, for his moustache was all over

  his mouth: 'You go to the town of Belyov. There is no one who can help

  you but one man. And that man lives in Belyov. He is one of our

  people. If he is willing to help you, you are lucky; if he is not,

  nothing can be done.' 'And how am I to find this man?' I said. 'I can

  direct you about that,' he answered; 'but how can it be sorcery? It is

  an apparition, or rather an indication; but you cannot comprehend it,

  it is beyond your understanding. Lie down to sleep now with the

  blessing of our Lord Christ; I will burn incense and in the morning we

  will converse. Morning, you know, brings wisdom.'

  "Well, we did converse in the morning, only I was almost stifled by

  that incense. And this was the counsel the old man gave me: that when

  I reached Belyov I should go into the market place and ask in the

  second shop on the right for one Prohoritch, and when I had found

  Prohoritch, put into his hand a writing and the writing consisted of a

  scrap of paper, on which stood the following words: 'In the name of

  the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen. To Sergey Prohorovitch

  Pervushin. Trust this man. Feduly Ivanitch.' And below, 'Send the

  cabbages, for God's sake.'

  "I thanked the old man and without further discussion ordered my

  carriage and drove to Belyov. For I reflected, that though I suffered

  no harm from my nocturnal visitor, yet it was uncanny and in fact not

  quite the thing for a nobleman and an officer--what do you think?"

  "And did you really go to Belyov?" murmured Finoplentov.

  "Straight to Belyov. I went into the market place and asked at the

  second shop on the right for Prohoritch. 'Is there such a person?' I

  asked. 'Yes,' they told me. 'And where does he live?' 'By the Oka,

  beyond the market gardens.' 'In whose house?' 'In his own.' I went to

  the Oka, found his house, though it was really not a house but simply