The Little Demon

by Fyodor Sologub

  When he’d had his after-dinner nap, Peredonov went off to the club to play billiards in the restaurant there. In the street he met Mrs Prepolovensky: after seeing Varvara home she had gone to tell her friend Vershina about what had happened, in secret. They were going the same way and walked together. Peredonov took the opportunity of inviting her and her husband to come and play cards that evening, for small stakes. Sofya led the conversation round to why he wasn’t getting married. Peredonov remained gloomily silent. Sofya dropped a few hints about her cousin – wasn’t Peredonov very fond of nice plump girls like her? She thought that he agreed – he looked just as mournful as ever and didn’t argue.

  ‘I do know your tastes with women,’ Sofya said. ‘You don’t fancy skinny ones, so you must choose someone suitable, a girl with some flesh on her.’

  Peredonov was afraid to speak – they might be trying to hook him – and he kept angrily glancing at Sofya.

  3. On the way Peredonov told Volodin that Zhenya, Sofya’s cousin, was Mr Prepolovensky’s mistress. Volodin immediately believed him: he was furious with Zhenya, who had turned him down not so long before.

  ‘She ought to be reported to the ecclesiastical court,’ Peredonov said. ‘After all, she’s from a Church family, a bishop’s daughter. Yes, they should report her, then she’d be packed off to a convent to do penance – and there they would whip her!’

  Volodin wasn’t sure whether he should report her. But he decided to be magnanimous and he left her alone. Otherwise he might get involved, be summoned to the court and told to prove the allegation.

  4. Still conversing about such matters, they arrived at the village. The house where the lessee – Marta and Vladya’s father – lived was low and wide, with a high grey roof and carved shutters. It wasn’t new, but it was solidly built. Hiding behind a row of birches it looked comfortable and charming – at least, that was how it appeared to Vladya and Marta. But Peredonov didn’t care for the young birches in front of the house – he would have had them cut down or broken off.

  Three barefoot children aged from about eight to ten ran out to greet the visitors with joyful shouts. There were one girl and two boys, all with blue eyes and freckles.

  The host, a broad-shouldered, powerful-looking Polish gentleman, with a long grey moustache and an angular face, greeted the visitors at the front door. His face put one in mind of those composite photographs where several similar faces are printed at the same time on the same plate. In such photographs all the distinguishing features of a person are lost, leaving only a general impression of what is typical of all, or most, faces. And so it seemed with Nartanovich’s face, which had no particular distinguishing features unique to him alone, but only what was typical of all Polish faces. For this reason one of the town wags nicknamed Nartanovich the ‘four and forty’ Pole. Nartanovich behaved accordingly: he was polite, perhaps over-polite, but he never lost the sense of pride of a Polish gentleman, saying only what was absolutely necessary, as if he were afraid that, should he say too much, he would reveal what concerned him alone, no one else.

  He was clearly pleased at having a guest and, like a true country-dweller, gave him a grossly exaggerated welcome. When he spoke his voice would thunder forth, as if competing with the wind, drowning all other sounds and then abruptly breaking off and falling away. After his, all other voices seemed weak and pathetic.

  In one of the rooms, which were rather dark and low, where the master could easily have touched the ceiling, a table was quickly laid. A lively peasant girl brought vodka and savouries.

  ‘Please help yourself,’ said Nartanovich, accenting his words incorrectly from lack of conversational practice. ‘But you’ll have to take pot luck.’

  Peredonov quickly downed some vodka, ate a few little snacks and then proceeded to complain about Vladya. Nartanovich gave his son a fierce look and kept plying Peredonov with food and drink, without saying very much. However, Peredonov was determined not to eat any more.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m here on business, so you listen to me first.’

  ‘Oh, you’re here on business,’ cried the host. ‘So there’s a reason for this visit?’

  Peredonov maligned Vladya in every way. The father became even more furious. ‘Oh, the lazy devil!’ he slowly exclaimed, impressively accenting every syllable. ‘A good tanning is what you need! I’m going to give you such a thrashing now – a hundred stingers!’

  Vladya burst into tears.

  ‘I promised him that I would come with the express purpose of seeing you punish him in my presence,’ Peredonov said.

  ‘And for that I’m truly grateful,’ Nartanovich said. ‘I shall give that idler such a thrashing with the rod that he won’t forget it in a hurry.’

  Staring fiercely at Vladya, Nartanovich got up and Vladya had the impression he was so enormous he’d forced all the air out of the room. He grabbed the boy’s shoulders and hauled him off to the kitchen. The other children huddled around Marta and looked in terror at the sobbing Vladya. Peredonov followed Nartanovich.

  ‘What are you standing there for?’ he asked Marta. ‘You should come too. Watch how we do it and give us a hand. You’ll have your own children one day.’

  Marta flushed, gathered all three children into her arms and smartly sped with them out of the house, as far away as she could, so that they wouldn’t hear what was going on in the kitchen.

  When Peredonov entered the kitchen, Vladya was undressing. His father was standing before him, slowly uttering dreadful words.

  ‘Lie down on the bench,’ he said when Vladya was completely undressed.

  Vladya obeyed. Tears were streaming from his eyes, but he was trying to control himself. His father didn’t like cries of entreaty – that would only make matters worse. Peredonov glanced at Vladya and his father, surveyed the kitchen and grew anxious when he couldn’t see the whipping rods anywhere. Was Nartanovich really doing this just for show? He would give his son a good fright and then let him go, unpunished. It was no coincidence that Vladya was acting peculiarly, not at all as Peredonov had expected: he didn’t struggle or sob, or go down on his knees (all Poles are grovellers), or beg forgiveness, or run to Peredonov to plead with him. Had Peredonov travelled all that way just to witness preparations for punishment and no more than this?

  Meanwhile Nartanovich, without hurrying, tied his son to the bench, fastened his hands over his head with a strap, tied each foot separately to the bench with a rope, one foot to each side of it. For good measure he tied a rope around his waist. Now Vladya couldn’t move at all and he lay there trembling with fear, convinced that his father would thrash him to within an inch of his life, since on previous occasions he had punished him for minor transgressions without tying him up. When he had finished, Nartanovich said, ‘Now I must break off some rods and whip you, you wretched idler – that is, if the gentleman doesn’t find it too repellent seeing you getting your hide tanned.’

  Nartanovich gave a sidelong glance at the gloomy Peredonov, grinned as he smoothed his long moustache and went over to the window, beneath which grew a birch tree. ‘We don’t even have to go out of the house,’ Nartanovich said, breaking off some twigs.

  Vladya closed his eyes. He felt that he was going to faint right away.

  ‘Now listen to me, you lazy devil!’ his father shouted in a terrifying voice over his head. ‘For the first offence this year I shall give you twenty strokes, but next time the dose will be increased.’

  Vladya felt relieved – this was the lowest number recognized by his father, and the punishment was nothing new to him.

  His father started whipping him with long firm rods. Vladya clenched his teeth and didn’t cry out. The blood came through in delicate dewy drops.

  ‘That’s good!’ his father said when he’d finished. ‘A sturdy lad!’ And he started untying him. Peredonov thought that it hadn’t really hurt Vladya.

  ‘It was hardly worth tying him up just for that,’ he said angrily. ‘It was just water off a
duck’s back for him.’

  Nartanovich looked at Peredonov with his calm blue eyes and said, ‘Next time, if you like, he’ll get more. But that’ll do for today.’

  Vladya put on his shirt and wept as he kissed his father’s hand.

  ‘Kiss the rod, you black-faced urchin!’ his father shouted. ‘And get dressed.’

  Vladya dressed and ran barefoot into the garden to have a good cry in peace.

  Nartanovich took Peredonov around the house and outbuildings and showed him how he ran the farm. But Peredonov didn’t find it at all interesting. Although he had often thought of saving up to buy an estate, now, as he looked at everything Nartanovich was showing him, he could see only crude, dirty implements. He had no idea why they should exist at all, and couldn’t understand what they were used for or what they had to do with running the farm.

  Half an hour later they sat down to supper. Vladya was called to the table too. Peredonov tried to joke at Vladya’s expense, but the intended witticisms turned out crude and stupid. Vladya blushed and was close to tears, but the others didn’t laugh, which distressed Peredonov. Moreover, he was annoyed that Vladya hadn’t cried out during the punishment. It must have been painful – not for nothing had the blood spurted out. But that little devil had kept quiet. An out-and-out little Polish stinker! thought Peredonov. By now he was beginning to think that his journey had been a complete waste of time.

  Next morning Peredonov got up early and said he was leaving right away. They tried in vain to persuade him to stay another day – he flatly refused. ‘I only came on business,’ he said glumly.

  Nartanovich produced a faint grin, stroked his long greying moustache and said in his thunderous voice, ‘What a shame! A real shame!’

  Several times Peredonov teased Vladya, who was absolutely delighted that Peredonov was leaving. Now, after yesterday’s punishment, he knew that he could do what he liked at home and that his father wouldn’t scold him. He would have been only too pleased to reply to Peredonov’s pestering with some impertinence, but during the past few days Vershina had told him more than once that if he really had Marta’s welfare at heart he should do nothing that would make Peredonov angry. And so he took great pains to ensure that Peredonov was seated even more comfortably than yesterday evening.

  As he stood on the porch, Peredonov watched him running about.

  ‘Well, did he really let fly?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Vladya replied with a bashful smile.

  ‘You won’t forget it until the next thrashing?’

  ‘No I won’t.’

  ‘So it was a really good one?’

  ‘Very good.’

  And the conversation continued in this vein while the cart was being hitched up. Vladya was beginning to think that there were limits as to how polite one could be, but Peredonov drove off and he breathed freely. That day his father treated him as if nothing had happened the previous evening and Vladya’s day was a happy one.

  Over dinner Nartanovich told Marta, ‘That teacher of theirs is so stupid. He doesn’t have any children of his own and he goes around making sure other people’s are thrashed. What a monster!’

  ‘You could have let Vladya off this time,’ Marta said.

  Nartanovich looked at her sternly and said peremptorily, ‘Even for someone of your age there’s nothing to be said against a good thrashing – please remember that. Anyway, he deserved it.’

  Marta blushed … Vladya said with a restrained smile, ‘It’ll heal in time for my wedding!’

  5. Peredonov walked very quickly, almost ran. He was frightened and annoyed by the policemen he happened to meet. What do they want? he wondered. They’re just like spies.

  6. He knew an astonishing amount about the townsfolk and in actual fact, if every shady deal were to be exposed, with sufficient evidence for submission to the law courts, then the people in that town would have had the opportunity of seeing in the dock citizens who normally enjoyed universal respect. Several of the cases would have proved quite fascinating!

  7. There were now one hundred and seventy-seven students in the school, including twenty-eight from lower-middle-class families, eight peasants and only a hundred and five from the gentry and civil service families.

  8. ‘So that means you’re not a Liberal now, but a Conservative.’ ‘Yes, a Conservative, Your Excellency.’

  9. When Peredonov returned home he found Varvara in the sitting-room with a book in her hands – a very rare sight. She was reading a cookery book, the only one she ever opened.

  There was a great deal she didn’t understand and everything she read in it and wanted to put into practice ended in failure: in no way could she get the different amounts of ingredients she needed right, since the recipes were for six or twelve people, whereas she had to cook for two or three, rarely more. All the same, she sometimes prepared dishes exactly as the book stated. The cookery book was old and tattered and it had a black binding. This binding immediately caught Peredonov’s attention and put him in an utterly miserable mood.

  ‘What are you reading, Varvara?’ he angrily asked.

  ‘Can’t you see? A cookery book,’ replied Varvara. ‘I have no time for reading silly books.’

  ‘But why a cookery book?’ Peredonov asked in horror.

  ‘What do you mean, why? I want to prepare a dish especially for you. You’re so fussy with your food,’ Varvara explained, grinning with an arrogant, self-satisfied expression.

  ‘I refuse to eat anything out of a black book!’ Peredonov announced with determination. He seized the book and carried it off to the bedroom.

  A black book! What’s more, using recipes from it! he thought in terror. That would be the last straw if they tried to get rid of him with black magic, and quite openly at that! I must destroy it, he concluded, ignoring Varvara’s strident grumbles.

  But how could he destroy it? Burn it? But that might start a fire. Drown it? Of course, it would only come to the surface and fall into the clutches of someone else. Throw it away? No, someone was bound to find it. No, the best thing would be to tear one page out at a time, quietly steal off with them when paper was needed and, then, when they had all been ripped out, to burn the black cover. This made him feel more relaxed. But what should he do about Varvara? She might get hold of a new book of black magic. No, she had to be well and truly punished.

  Peredonov went into the garden, broke off some birch twigs and, after looking gloomily up at the windows, brought them into the bedroom. Then he shouted into the kitchen, through the partly opened door, ‘Claudia! Tell madam to come into the bedroom – and you can come as well.’

  Varvara and Claudia soon came in. Claudia was the first to see the birch twigs and she started giggling.

  ‘Lie down, Varvara!’ Peredonov ordered.

  Varvara screamed and made for the door.

  ‘Hold her, Claudia!’ shouted Peredonov.

  Together they lay Varvara on the bed. Claudia held her while Peredonov thrashed her. Varvara sobbed desperately and begged forgiveness.

  10. The gentle sound of children’s voices came from behind the door and they could hear Liza’s silvery laughter.

  ‘You wait here, behind the door,’ Mrs Gudayevsky whispered, ‘so he won’t know you’re in the house.’

  Peredonov hid in a dark corner of the corridor and pressed close to the wall. Mrs Gudayevsky impetuously flung open the door and entered the nursery. Through a narrow crack in the door-frame Peredonov could make out Antosha sitting at a table with his back to the door, next to a little girl in a white frock. Her curls touched his cheek and appeared dark, since only the side that was in the shadows was visible to Peredonov. Her hand was lying on Antosha’s shoulder. He was cutting something out of paper for her, which made Liza laugh with joy. Peredonov was annoyed that the two of them were laughing: what that boy deserved was a good thrashing, but here he was, amusing his sister instead of weeping tears of remorse. Then a feeling of malice gripped him. You’ll be howling in just a few moments,
Peredonov reflected, and the thought comforted him.

  Antosha and Liza turned round when they heard the door open. From his hiding-place Peredonov could distinguish Liza’s rosy cheek and short little nose under her long straight locks of hair, as well as the look of innocent surprise on Antosha’s face.

  Antosha’s mother went impetuously over to him, tenderly put her arms around his little shoulders and said in a bright, determined voice, ‘Let’s go, Antosha darling.’ Then turning to the nanny whom Peredonov couldn’t see she added, ‘And you stay here with Liza, Maryushka.’

  Antosha reluctantly got up and Liza started whining, as he hadn’t finished cutting out the paper for her.

  ‘Later, dear, he’ll do it later,’ her mother told her as she led her son from the room, holding on to his shoulders.

  Antosha still didn’t know what was going on, but his mother’s determined look had already struck fear into him and made him suspect something awful.

  When they came out into the corridor and Mrs Gudayevsky had shut the door, Antosha spotted Peredonov, took fright and tried to run back. But his mother gripped him firmly by the hand and quickly hauled him down the corridor.

  ‘Let’s go, let’s go, darling,’ she kept saying. ‘I’m going to treat you to some lovely little birch-rods. Your father – that tyrant! – is out, so I’m going to punish you with them. It will be so good for you, my darling.’

  Antosha burst into tears and cried out, ‘But I haven’t been naughty, so why should you punish me?’

  ‘Be quiet, my darling,’ his mother said, slapped him on the back of his neck and pushed him into the bedroom.

  Peredonov followed them, angrily muttering something to himself.

  The rods were lying ready in the bedroom. Peredonov wasn’t at all pleased – they were so stubby and short. Rods for the ladies, he angrily thought. Antosha’s mother quickly sat down on a chair, stood him in front of her and started unbuttoning him. His flushed face was bathed in tears. Antosha shouted, struggled between her hands and lashed out with his feet.

  ‘Mummy, Mummy! Please forgive me. I won’t ever do it again!’