The Little Demon

by Fyodor Sologub

  ‘Hurry up and deal, Pavlushka!’ Peredonov cried out impatiently.

  Volodin, who felt he was the equal of all the others, assumed an important expression and asked, ‘Why do you call me Pavlushka? Out of friendship, or what?’

  ‘Out of friendship, friendship,’ Peredonov replied casually. ‘Now, deal a bit quicker.’

  ‘Well, if it’s out of friendship, then I’m very pleased,’ Volodin said with a happy stupid laugh as he dealt. ‘You’re a good man, Ardalyon, and I’m very fond of you. If it weren’t out of friendship it would be quite a different matter, but if it is, I’m glad. I’ve dealt you an ace for it!’ Volodin added and led with a trump.

  In fact Peredonov was dealt an ace, but not a trump, and he had to pay a forfeit. ‘You dealt me an ace all right,’ Peredonov growled, ‘but the wrong one. There’s something going on here! I needed the trump, but what did you deal me? What do I need that teak-bellied* ace for?’

  Rutilov picked up the phrase with a laugh and said, ‘He’s dealt you an ace with a large belly because your own is getting fat!’

  ‘The future inspector’s getting his tongue in a twist. Puz, puz, karapuz!’† cried Volodin.

  Rutilov chattered incessantly, repeated scandal, all kinds of anecdotes, some of which were quite risqué. To tease Peredonov he related how scandalously the boys at school were behaving, especially those who lived out. They smoked, drank vodka and chased the girls. Peredonov believed him and Grushina confirmed this account. The stories gave her particular pleasure: after her husband’s death she had wanted to take in three or four boarders, but the headmaster was well aware of her reputation in that town and in spite of Peredonov’s intervention refused to give her a licence. Now she began to tell malicious lies about landladies who were accorded that privilege.

  ‘They bribe the headmaster,’ she announced.

  ‘All landladies are bitches,’ Volodin said with conviction. ‘Take mine, for example. When I first took the room she agreed to bring me up three glasses of milk every evening. It was all right for the first month or so.’

  ‘You didn’t drink yourself silly, did you?’ Rutilov laughed.

  ‘Why should I do that?’ Volodin replied indignantly. ‘Milk is good for you. And I like to have three glasses before going to sleep. Then I noticed that she was bringing me only two glasses. I asked the maid why and she said, “Madam is very sorry but the cow isn’t giving much milk just now.” What did that have to do with me? After all, an agreement’s an agreement. Why should I go thirsty because of the confounded cow? So I sent the maid back with the message, “Tell your mistress that if there’s no milk I’ll make do with water. I must have my three glasses, two’s not enough.” ’

  ‘Did you know our Pavlushka’s a hero?’ said Peredonov. ‘Tell them about your argument with the general.’

  Volodin was only too willing to repeat the story. But this time he was laughed down and he indignantly stuck out his lower lip.

  During supper everyone got drunk, even the ladies. Volodin suggested another attack on the walls, to the delight of all present. Before they had even finished the meal they got down to work and wildly enjoyed themselves. They spat on the wallpaper, poured beer all over it and fired paper darts tipped with butter at the walls and the ceiling, which was spattered with pieces of chewed-up bread. Then they had a competition to see who could tear off the largest strip of wallpaper and the Prepolovenskys won a further one-and-a-half roubles.

  Volodin had no success at all and the combined effects of this and his intoxication brought on a sudden depression. He began to complain bitterly about his mother. His face full of reproach and his arm thrust downwards for some reason, he said, ‘Why did she bear me? And what were her thoughts at the time? Look at my life now. She was never a mother to me, only the person who bore me. A real mother cares about her children, but when I was a few years old she bundled me off to an orphanage.’

  ‘But it didn’t do you any harm by the look of it,’ Mrs Prepolovensky said.

  Volodin stared at the floor, shook his head and said, ‘You’re wrong. I lead a dog’s life. Why, why did she give birth to me? What were her thoughts?’

  Peredonov suddenly remembered the erli of yesterday. There you are, he thought. He’s complaining about his mother and why she bore him, so he doesn’t want to be Pavlushka Volodin. He must be jealous. Perhaps he wants to be in my shoes and marry Varvara?

  He looked sadly at Volodin: he must get him married to someone as soon as possible.

  That night, in the bedroom, Varvara told Peredonov, ‘Do you think all those young girls who are chasing after you are so beautiful? If you really want to know, they’re absolute rubbish. I’m prettier than the lot of them.’

  She quickly undressed and with a provocative smile showed Peredonov her beautiful pale pink, shapely, supple body. Though she was still reeling from drink and her flabby lascivious face would have inspired nothing but disgust in most men, her body had a strange allure. It was the lovely body of a gentle nymph with a faded whore’s head attached to it by some perverse magic. And this beautiful body was for those two drunken filthy-minded wretches merely the source of the basest pleasures. Indeed, as is so often the case in our day and age, beauty is debased, abused.

  Peredonov mournfully laughed as he looked at his naked mistress. All night long he dreamed of women of all kinds, naked and disgusting. Varvara really believed that following Mrs Prepolovensky’s advice and rubbing herself daily with nettles had helped her put on weight. Whenever she met a friend she would ask. ‘Don’t you think I’ve filled out a little?’ And she thought that Peredonov would waste no time in marrying her when he saw how much weight she’d put on, and especially when he’d received the letter.

  Peredonov, however, was in a far less optimistic frame of mind. The headmaster was his deadly enemy – of that he had long been convinced. In fact the headmaster considered Peredonov lazy and incompetent. Peredonov, on the other hand, thought that the headmaster was purposely encouraging the boys to be rude, which of course was nothing but a stupid invention of his own.

  However, it convinced Peredonov that he must defend himself and he tried to get his own back by inventing scandalous stories about the headmaster and telling them to the senior boys, many of whom were only too ready to listen. And now, as he was hoping to become an inspector, this hostility on the headmaster’s part was particularly unwelcome. If she so wished, the princess could presumably use her influence to overcome the headmaster’s machinations. All the same, they were a possible source of danger.

  And there were others in the town, as Peredonov had recently noticed, who were hostile and who wanted to block his promotion. Volodin, for instance, who obviously for some good reason kept on using the words ‘future inspector’. There had been cases where people had impersonated others and subsequently prospered. Of course, for Volodin actually to take the place of Peredonov himself would prove rather difficult, but there was no knowing what crazy things an imbecile like that might get up to. And then the Rutilovs, Vershina and Marta – partners in jealousy – would jump at the chance to do him harm. But how could they? They could make him out to be extremely unreliable, blacken his name before the authorities – that was quite obvious.

  Therefore Peredonov was faced with two problems: to show how very reliable he was, and to make himself safe from Volodin by ensuring he married some rich woman.

  So one day he asked Volodin, ‘Would you like to marry Miss Adamenko? Or are you still pining for Marta? Isn’t a whole month rather a long time to get over it?’

  ‘Why should I be pining for Marta?’ Volodin replied. ‘I did her a great honour by proposing, but if she doesn’t want me what do you expect me to do? I won’t have much trouble finding someone else. There’s as good fish in the sea …’

  ‘Yes, but Marta made a fool of you,’ Peredonov teased.

  ‘I just don’t know what kind of husband they’re looking for,’ Volodin said in a hurt voice. ‘I wouldn’t care, bu
t she hasn’t even any money. I think it’s you she’s after, Ardalyon.’

  ‘If I were you I’d smear her gates with tar,’ Peredonov advised.

  ‘It could be nasty if I were caught.’

  ‘Hire someone, why do it yourself?’ Peredonov said.

  ‘She deserves it, by God she deserves it!’ Volodin said with animation. ‘She doesn’t want to enter into lawful wedlock, yet she lets young men in through the window – what sort of behaviour is that! Some people have no shame, no conscience.’

  SIX

  Next day Peredonov and Volodin went to see Nadezhda Adamenko. Volodin had dressed himself up for the occasion, wearing his new tight-fitting jacket, a freshly starched shirt and a bright neckerchief. His hair was heavily greased and he had sprayed himself with scent. He was in very high spirits.

  Nadezhda Vasilyevna Adamenko lived with her brother in a small red-brick house. Not far from the town she had a small estate, which she leased out. About two years previously she had left the local high school and now her sole occupation was lying on a divan reading novels of every description. She also gave lessons to her eleven-year-old schoolboy brother, who complained when she was too strict with him by angrily declaring, ‘It was better when Mama was alive. She would only stand the umbrella in the corner.’ Nadezhda’s aunt lived with her – a shrivelled-up anonymous old woman who had no say in the running of the house. Nadezhda was very choosy about her friends. Peredonov rarely visited her, but thought that a slight acquaintance was a good reason for supposing she would marry his friend Volodin.

  She was very surprised at this unexpected visit, but welcomed her uninvited guests most graciously. She wondered how she could entertain them and, remembering that Peredonov taught Russian literature, started to discuss educational matters, high-school reforms, literature, Symbolism and journals. She touched on all of these topics but all she received by way of reply were rather puzzling rebuffs, which showed her visitors weren’t in the least interested. She realized that the latest scandal would be the only possible topic of conversation, but in a last desperate attempt at serious conversation she asked, ‘Have you read Chekhov’s “Man in a Case”? It’s very well written and observed, isn’t it?’

  As this question was addressed to Volodin he grinned pleasantly and asked, ‘Is it an article or a novel?’

  ‘It’s a short story,’ Nadezhda explained.

  ‘By a Mr Chekhov, you said?’

  ‘Why, yes,’ Nadezhda replied, smiling.

  ‘Where did it appear?’ asked the inquisitive Volodin.

  ‘In Russian Thought,’* the young lady graciously replied.

  ‘In which number?’ Volodin asked yet again.

  ‘I really don’t remember, I think it came out in the summer,’ Nadezhda replied, still graciously but somewhat startled at all these questions.

  A small schoolboy suddenly poked his head round the corner. ‘It came out in May,’ he said, leaning against the door with one hand and surveying his sister and guests with his cheerful blue eyes.

  ‘You’re too young to be reading fiction,’ snapped Peredonov. ‘You should be studying what you’re given at school instead of reading obscene rubbish.’

  Nadezhda glared at her brother. ‘That’s very nice behaviour, listening behind the door.’ She crossed her fingers at a right angle. Two little fingers crossed meant that he had to stand in the corner for ten minutes. The schoolboy frowned and vanished. He went back to his room and stood in the corner looking at the clock. Sadly he thought, It was better when Mama was alive, she only stood the umbrella in the corner.

  Back in the drawing-room Volodin made a solemn promise to get hold of the May issue of Russian Thought and read Mr Chekhov’s story. Peredonov listened with an expression of undisguised boredom. Finally he said, ‘I haven’t read it either. As I said, I don’t read rubbish. In novels and stories they only write stupid nonsense.’

  Nadezhda smiled politely and said, ‘I think you’re being very hard on contemporary literature. You must admit some good things are being written these days?’

  ‘I read all the books worth reading a long time ago,’ Peredonov announced. ‘And I don’t intend reading any of this modern stuff.’

  Volodin looked at Peredonov with respect. Nadezhda gently sighed and, as there was nothing else she could do, engaged in idle talk and gossip to the best of her ability. Although she never indulged in trivial small talk she managed to keep the conversation going with all the skill and vivacity of an intelligent, confident young woman.

  The guests cheered up. Nadezhda was incredibly bored but her guests thought that she was being particularly nice to them. Peredonov ascribed this to Volodin’s inescapable infectious charm.

  When they were outside in the street Peredonov congratulated Volodin on his success. Volodin, who had clearly forgotten the refusals of the past, jumped up and down for joy.

  ‘Now stop leaping about like a four-year-old ram,’ Peredonov told him. ‘And don’t be too sure of yourself, she might still make a fool of you.’ However, he meant this as a joke: he really believed his matchmaking had been successful.

  Grushina went to see Varvara almost every day and Varvara visited her even more often, so the two were rarely apart. Varvara was very worried that Grushina was taking so long with the letter. Grushina assured her that it was very difficult to make a fair copy from such awkward handwriting.

  Peredonov was still unwilling to arrange a date for the wedding and once again insisted on being appointed inspector before he took any such step. Reminding her how many girls were waiting for him he threatened Varvara more than once (as he had done the previous winter) with the words, ‘I’m going off to get married right now. And when I come back in the morning with my wife I expect you to be gone. This is the last night you’ll be spending here.’ And with these words he would go off to play billiards. Sometimes he would come straight home in the evening, but more often than not he would make merry in some disreputable drinking-den with Rutilov and Volodin. When this happened Varvara would lie awake the whole night and as a result suffered from migraine. It wasn’t so trying for her if he came home around midnight, but when he returned in the early morning she could hardly get through the day.

  Grushina at last finished the letter and showed it to Varvara. They scrutinized it very carefully, comparing it with the princess’s letter of the previous year. Grushina maintained that the princess herself would never tell the difference. Although there was little similarity Varvara believed her. Also, she realized that Peredonov would have only the faintest recollection of such unfamiliar handwriting and thus would never detect the forgery.

  ‘Well!’ she happily exclaimed. ‘I was really beginning to lose patience. But what about the envelope? What shall I tell him if he asks?’

  ‘I can’t forge the envelope, because of the postmark,’ Grushina chuckled, glancing at Varvara with her crafty, different-sized eyes: the right one was a little larger than the left.

  ‘What shall I do then?’

  ‘It’s quite easy, dear. Just tell him you threw it into the fire – why should you keep the envelope?’

  Varvara’s hopes rose. ‘If only he’d make up his mind and marry me there wouldn’t be any more of this running around. I’d make sure he did the running!’ she told Grushina.

  After dinner on Saturday Peredonov went off to play billiards. He was feeling unusually depressed. It’s terrible living with all these jealous, hostile people, he thought. But what can I do? Not everybody can be an inspector! That’s what they mean by survival of the fittest!

  At the intersection of two streets he had the bad luck to meet a police officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Nikolay Rubovsky, a short stocky man with jolly grey eyes and thick, bushy eyebrows. His limp made his spurs jingle unevenly and loudly. He was very charming and therefore well liked in local society. He knew everything about everyone in the town and loved listening to gossip, but he himself was a model of tact and discretion.

  They greeted eac
h other and chatted for a while. Then Peredonov frowned, looked all around and cautiously remarked, ‘I hear our Natasha’s working for you now. I wouldn’t believe a word she says about me, she’s a born liar.’

  ‘I don’t listen to maids’ gossip,’ Rubovsky replied with dignity.

  ‘She’s the lowest of the low,’ continued Peredonov, ignoring Rubovsky’s rejoinder. ‘She has a Polish lover and perhaps she came to you just to filch some secret document.’

  ‘You needn’t worry on that score,’ the lieutenant-colonel coldly replied. ‘I don’t have blueprints for fortresses at my house.’

  The mention of fortresses worried Peredonov. It seemed to him that Rubovsky was hinting that he could easily lock him away in one. ‘Well, I didn’t really mean fortresses,’ he muttered. ‘That’s the last thing on my mind. It’s just that, in general, people are talking all sorts of stupid nonsense about me, mainly out of sheer envy. Don’t you believe any of it. They want to inform on me to divert suspicion from themselves, but I’m quite capable of informing myself.’

  Rubovsky was mystified. ‘I do assure you,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders and jingling his spurs, ‘no one’s reported you to me. Obviously someone made the threat as a joke – people can say all sorts of things.’

  Peredonov did not believe him. He thought that the police officer was hiding something and suddenly he felt terrified.

  Every time Peredonov passed Vershina’s garden she would stop him and try and lure him in with her bewitching movements and words. And he would go in, unwillingly submitting to her gentle witchcraft. Perhaps she had a better chance of achieving her ends than the Rutilovs? After all, he was equally remote from everyone, so why shouldn’t he marry Marta? But it was now apparent that the morass Peredonov was sinking into was so tenacious that no sorcery could ever succeed in extricating him from it and dropping him into another. And now, after his encounter with Rubovsky, he was once again enticed into the garden by Vershina, who was dressed as usual in black.