[1]There is a popular Russian tale about a priest who had a very old dog. It begins, "The priest had a dog ..."
[1]There is a popular Russian tale about a priest who had a very old dog. It begins, "The priest had a dog ..."
[2]Krilov's fable is of a returned traveller who tells his friend at home about a cucumber he saw at Rome as large as a mountain. The incredulous friend tells him about one of the home wonders—a bridge which tumbles every liar who attempts to cross it into the river. The traveller gradually reduces the size of the cucumber, but even then he finally suggests that they find a place where they might ford the stream.
[2]Krilov's fable is of a returned traveller who tells his friend at home about a cucumber he saw at Rome as large as a mountain. The incredulous friend tells him about one of the home wonders—a bridge which tumbles every liar who attempts to cross it into the river. The traveller gradually reduces the size of the cucumber, but even then he finally suggests that they find a place where they might ford the stream.
Rumours of the forged letters spread about the town. Conversations about them preoccupied the townsmen and gave them great pleasure. Nearly everyone took Varvara's part and was glad that Peredonov had been made a fool of. And all those who had seen the letters asserted as with one voice that they had guessed it at once. Especially great was the rejoicing in Vershina's house: Marta, though she was going to marry Mourin, had nevertheless been rejected by Peredonov; Vershina wanted Mourin for herself but she had to yield him to Marta; Vladya had his obvious reasons for hating Peredonov and for rejoicing at his discomfiture. Though he felt vexed to think that Peredonov would remain at thegymnasia,still this vexation was outweighed by his pleasure at the fact that Peredonov had been let down badly. And besides this, during the last few days there was a persistent rumour that the Head-Master had informed the Director of the National Schools that Peredonov was out of his mind. And someone was going to be sent to examine him, after which he would be taken away.
Whenever her acquaintances met Varvara they would refer more or less openly to her stratagem, accompanying their words with coarse jokes and impudent winks. She would smile insolently and would not admit it, but she did not deny it.
Others hinted to Grushina that they knew of her share in the forgery. She was frightened and came to Varvara, reproaching her for gossiping too much. Varvara said to, her with a smile:
"Now, don't make such a fuss. I never had the least intention of telling anyone."
"How did they find it out then?" asked Grushina hotly. "Of course I shouldn't tell anyone, I'm not such a fool."
"And I haven't told anyone," asserted Varvara.
"I want the letter back," demanded Grushina, "or else he'll begin to look at it closely and he'll recognise from the handwriting that it's a forgery."
"Well, let him find out!" said Varvara. "Why should I stop to consider a fool?"
Grushina's eyes gleamed and she shouted:
"It's all very well for you who've got all you wanted, but I might be jailed on your account! No, I must have that letter, whatever you do. Because they can unmarry you as well, you know."
"That's all nonsense," replied Varvara with her arms insolently akimbo. "You might announce it in the market-place, but you couldn't undo the marriage."
"Not nonsense at all," shouted Grushina. "There is no law that permits you to marry through deception. If Ardalyon Borisitch should let the authorities know about this affair and the affair went up to the Higher Court they'd settle your hash for you."
Varvara got frightened and said:
"Now don't be angry—I'll get you the letter. There's nothing to be afraid of—I'll not give you away. I'm not such a beast as all that. I've got a soul too."
"What's a soul got to do with it?" said Grushina harshly. "A dog and a man have the same breath, but there is no soul. You live while you live."
Varvara decided to steal the letter, though this was difficult. Grushina urged her to hurry. There was one hope—to take the letter from Peredonov when he was drunk. And he drank a great deal now. He had even not infrequently appeared at thegymnasiain a rather tipsy state and had made unpleasant remarks which had aroused repugnance in even the worst of the boys.
Once Peredonov returned from the billiard saloon more drunk than usual: they had baptised the new billiard balls. But he never let go of his wallet. As he managed to undress somehow, he stuck it under his pillow. He slept restlessly but profoundly, and during his sleep his mind wandered and he babbled about something terrible and monstrous. And these words inspired Varvara with a painful apprehension.
"Well, it's nothing," she encouraged herself. "So long as he doesn't wake up."
She had tried to waken him. She nudged him—he only muttered something and cursed violently, but did not awaken. Varvara lit a candle and placed it so that the light should not fall into Peredonov's eyes. Numb with terror, she rose in the bed and slipped her hand under Peredonov's pillow. The wallet was quite close but for a long time it seemed to elude her fingers. The candle burned dimly. Its light wavered. Timorous shadows ran on the walls and on the bed—evil little devils flashed by. The air was close and motionless. There was a smell of badly-distilled vodka. Peredonov's snores and drunken ravings filled the bedroom. The whole place was like the incarnation of a nightmare.
Varvara took the letter with trembling hands and replaced the wallet. In the morning Peredonov looked for his letter, failed to find it, and shouted in a fright:
"Where's the letter, Varya?"
Varvara felt very much afraid but concealed it and said:
"How should I know, Ardalyon Borisitch? You keep showing it to everyone, you must have dropped it. Or else someone has stolen it from you. You have a lot of friends and acquaintances that you get drunk with at night."
Peredonov thought that the letter had been stolen by his enemies, most likely by Volodin. The letter was now in Volodin's hands and later he would get the other papers and the appointment into his clutches, and he would go away to his inspectorship while Peredonov remained a disappointed beggar.
Peredonov decided that he must defend himself. Every day he wrote denunciations of his enemies: Vershina, the Routilovs, Volodin, his colleagues, who, it seemed to him, had their eye on the same position. In the evening he would take these denunciations to Roubovsky.
The Officer of the gendarmerie lived in a prominent place on the square near thegymnasia.Many people observed from their windows how often Peredonov entered the gates of the Officer of the gendarmerie.
But Peredonov thought that he was unobserved. He had good reason to take these denunciations at night, by the back way through the kitchen.
He kept the papers under his coat. It was noticeable at once that he was holding something. When it happened that he had to take his hand out to shake hands with someone, he clutched the papers under his coat with his left hand, and imagined that no one would guess that anything was there. When his acquaintances asked him where he was going he lied to them very clumsily, but was very satisfied himself with his awkward inventions.
He explained to Roubovsky:
"They're all traitors. They pretend to be your friends so as to be more certain of deceiving you. But none of them stop to think that I know things about them that would send them all to Siberia."
Roubovsky listened to him in silence. The first denunciation, which was patently absurd, he sent to the Head-Master, and he did the same thing with several others. He kept certain others in case he should need them. The Head-Master wrote to the Director of National Schools that Peredonov was showing clear symptoms of mental disease.
At home Peredonov constantly heard ceaseless, exasperating and mocking rustlings. He said to Varvara dejectedly:
"Someone's walking about on tip-toe. There are so many spies in the house, jostling each other. Varya, you're not taking care of me."
Varvara did not understand the meaning of Peredonov's ravings. At one time she taunted him, at another she felt afraid. She said to him malignantly and yet with fear:
"You see all sorts of things when you're drunk."
The door to the hall seemed especially suspicious to Peredonov. It did not close tightly. The crevice between the two halves hinted at something that was hiding outside. Wasn't it the knave who was peeping through it? Someone's evil, penetrating eye gleamed behind it.
The cat followed Peredonov everywhere with its wide, green eyes. Sometimes it blinked its eyes, sometimes it mewed fearfully. It was obvious that the animal wanted to catch Peredonov at something, but it could not and was therefore angry. Peredonov exorcised the cat by spitting, but the cat remained unmoved.
The nedotikomka ran under the chair and in the corners, and squealed. It was dirty, evil-smelling, repulsive and terrifying. It was already quite clear that it was hostile to Peredonov, and rolled in entirely on his account, and that it had not existed anywhere before. It had been created—and it had been bewitched. And this evil, many-eyed beast lived here to his dread and to his perdition—followed him, deceived him, laughed at him—now rolled upon the floor, now turned into a rag, a ribbon, a twig, a flag, a small cloud, a little dog, a pillar of dust in the street, and everywhere it crawled and ran after Peredonov. It harassed him, it wearied him with its vacillating dance. If only someone would deliver him from it, with a word or with a downright blow. But he had no friends here, there was no one to come to save him. He must use his own cunning or the malicious beast would ruin him.
Peredonov thought of a device. He smeared the entire floor with glue so that the nedotikomka should get stuck. What did stick to the floor was the soles of Varvara's shoes and the hems of her dress, but the nedotikomka rolled on freely and laughed shrilly. Varvara abused him loudly.
Persistent suspicions of being under constant persecution frightened him. More and more he became immersed in a world of wild illusions. This reflected itself in his face, which became a motionless mask of terror.
In the evenings Peredonov no longer went to play billiards. After dinner he shut himself in his bedroom, barricaded the room with various objects—a chair upon a table—and very carefully surrounded himself with crosses and exorcisms and sat down to write denunciations against everyone he could think of. He wrote denunciations not only against people but against playing-card queens. As soon as he had written one he would take it immediately to the Officer of the gendarmerie. And in this way he spent every evening.
Everywhere card-figures walked before Peredonov's eyes, as if they were alive—kings, queens and knaves. Even the other cards walked about. These consisted of people with silver buttons: schoolboys and policemen. There was the ace of spades—stout, with a protruding stomach, almost entirely stomach. Sometimes the cards became transformed into his acquaintances. Living people were mixed up with these strange phantasms.
Peredonov was convinced that a knave was standing behind the door and that he had strength and power—something like a policeman's—and that he could take you away somewhere to some terrible jail. Under the table sat the nedotikomka. And Peredonov was afraid to glance either under the table or behind the door.
The nimble eights of the pack, like little boys, mocked at Peredonov—these were the phantasms of schoolboys. They lifted their legs with strange, stiff movements, like the legs of a compass, but their legs were shaggy and with hoofs. Instead of tails they had whipping rods, which they swung with a swish, and at each flourish they gave a squeak. The nedotikomka grunted from under the table, and laughed at the play of these eights. Peredonov thought with rage that the nedotikomka would not have dared to come to an official.
"They surely wouldn't let it in," he thought enviously. "The lackeys would drive it out with their mops." At last Peredonov could no longer stand its evil, insolently shrill laughter. He brought an axe from the kitchen and he split the table under which the nedotikomka was hiding. The nedotikomka squeaked piteously and furiously. It dashed out from under the table and rolled away. Peredonov trembled. "It might bite," he thought, and screamed with terror and sat down, but the nedotikomka hid itself peacefully. Not for long....
Sometimes Peredonov took the cards and with a ferocious expression on his face cut the heads off the court cards. Especially those of the queens. In cutting the kings, he glanced around him so as not to be detected and not to be accused of a political crime. But even these executions did not help for long. Visitors came, cards were brought and evil spies again took possession of the cards.
Peredonov already began to consider himself a secret criminal. He imagined that even from his student days he had been under the surveillance of the police. For some reason he thought that they were watching him. This terrified and yet flattered him.
The wind stirred the wall-paper. It shook with a quiet, evil rustling. And soft half-shadows glided over their vividly coloured patterns. "There's a spy hiding behind the wall-paper," thought Peredonov sadly. "Evil people! No wonder they put the paper on the wall so unevenly and so poorly, for a skilful, patient, flat villain to creep in and hide behind. Such things have happened even before."
Confused recollections stirred in his mind. Someone had hidden behind the wall-paper; someone had been stabbed either with a poignard or an awl. Peredonov bought an awl. And when he returned home the wall-paper stirred unevenly and restlessly—a spy felt his danger and was perhaps trying to creep in farther. A shadow jumped to the ceiling and there threatened and grimaced.
Peredonov was infuriated. He struck the wall-paper impetuously with the awl. A shiver ran over the wall. Peredonov began to sing triumphantly and to dance, brandishing the awl. Varvara came in.
"Why are you dancing by yourself, Ardalyon Borisitch?" she asked, smiling stupidly and insolently as always.
"I've killed a beetle," explained Peredonov morosely.
His eyes gleamed in wild triumph. Only one thing annoyed him; the disagreeable odour. The murdered spy stank putridly behind the wall-paper. Horror and triumph shook Peredonov—he had killed an enemy! He had hardened his heart to the very end of the deed. It was not a real murder—but for Peredonov it was quite real. A mad horror had forged in him a readiness to commit the crime—and the deep, unconscious image of future murder, dormant in the lower strata of spiritual life, the tormenting itch to murder, a condition of primitive wrath, oppressed his diseased will. The ancient Cain—overlaid by many generations—found gratification in his breaking and damaging property, in his chopping with the axe, in his cutting with the knife, in his cutting down trees in the garden to prevent the spies from looking out behind them. And the ancient demon, the spirit of prehistoric confusion, of hoary chaos, rejoiced in the destruction of things, while the wild eyes of the madman reflected horror, like the horror of the death agonies of some monster.
And the same illusions tormented him again and again. Varvara, amusing herself at Peredonov's expense, sometimes hid herself behind the door of the room where he was sitting, and talked in assumed voices. He would get frightened, walk up quietly to catch the enemy—and find Varvara.
"Whom were you whispering to?" he asked sadly.
Varvara smiled and replied:
"It only seemed to you, Ardalyon Borisitch."
"Surely everything doesn't merely seem to me," muttered Peredonov sadly. "There must be also truth upon the earth."
Even Peredonov, in common with all conscious life, strove towards the truth, and this striving tortured him. He was not conscious that he, like all people, was striving towards the truth, and that was why he suffered this confused restlessness. He could not find the truth he sought, and he was caught in the toils and was perishing.
His acquaintances began to taunt him with being a dupe. With the usual cruelty of our town towards the weak, they talked of this deception in his presence. Prepolovenskaya asked with a derisive smile:
"How is it, Ardalyon Borisitch, that you haven't gone away to your inspector's job yet?"
Varvara answered for him with suppressed anger:
"We shall get the paper soon, and we shall leave at once."
But these questions depressed him.
"How can I live, if the place isn't given to me?" he thought.
He kept devising new plans of defence against his enemies. He stole the axe from the kitchen and hid it under the bed. He bought a Swedish knife and always carried it about in his pocket. He frequently locked himself in his room. At night he put traps around the house and in the rooms and later he would examine them. These traps were, of course, so constructed that they could not catch anyone. They gripped but could not hold anyone, and it was easy to walk away with them. But Peredonov had no technical knowledge and no common sense. When he saw each morning that no one was caught Peredonov imagined that his enemies had tampered with the traps. This again frightened him.
Peredonov watched Volodin with special attention. He frequently went to Volodin when he knew that Volodin would not be at home and rummaged among the papers to see if there were any stolen from himself.
Peredonov began to suspect what the Princess wanted—it was that he should love her again. She was repugnant to him, a decrepit old woman.
"She's a hundred and fifty years old," he thought with vexation. "Yes, she's old, but then how powerful she is!" And his repulsion became mingled with an allurement. "She's an almost cold little old woman, she smells slightly of a corpse," he imagined, and he felt faint with a savage voluptuousness.
"Perhaps it would be possible to arrange a meeting, and her heart would be touched. Oughtn't I to send her a letter?"
This time Peredonov, with slight hesitation, composed a letter to the Princess. He wrote:
"I love you, because you are cold and remote. Varvara perspires, it is hot to sleep with her, it is like the breath of an oven. I would like to have a cold and remote love. Come here and respond to me."
He wrote it and posted it—and then repented.
"What will come of it?" he thought. "Perhaps I ought not to have written. I should have waited until the Princess came here."
This letter was an accidental occurrence, like so much that Peredonov did—he was like a corpse moved by external powers, and moved as if these powers had no desire to busy themselves with him for long: one would play with him and then cast him to another.
Soon the nedotikomka reappeared—for a long time it rolled around Peredonov as if it were on the end of a lasso, and kept mocking him. And it was now noiseless, and laughed only with a shaking of its body. The evil, shameless beast flared up with dimly golden sparks—it threatened and burned with an intolerable triumph. And the cat threatened Peredonov; its eyes gleamed and it mewed arrogantly and fiercely.
"Why are they so glad?" thought Peredonov dejectedly, and suddenly understood that the end was approaching, that the Princess was already here, close, quite close. Perhaps she was in this very pack of cards.
Yes, undoubtedly she was the queen of spades or the queen of hearts. Perhaps she was hiding in another pack, or in other cards, but he did not know what she looked like. The difficulty was that Peredonov had never seen her. It would be useless to ask Varvara—she would tell lies.
At last Peredonov thought he would burn the whole pack. Let them all burn! If they creep into the cards to his ruin, then it's their own fault.
Peredonov chose a time when Varvara was not at home. The stove in the parlour was alight—and he threw all the cards into the stove. With a crackling the marvellous pale red flowers opened out—they burned but were black at the edges. Peredonov looked in horror at these flaming blossoms.
The cards contracted, bent over and moved as if they were trying to escape from the stove.
Peredonov caught hold of the poker and began to beat the lighted cards with it. There was a shower of tiny bright sparks on all sides—and suddenly in a bright, wild riot of sparks the Princess rose out of the fire, a little ash-grey woman, bestrewn with small dying sparks; she wailed piercingly in her shrill voice and hissed and spit on the flames.
Peredonov fell backward. He cried out in horror. The darkness embraced him, tickled him, and laughed with a thousand jarring little noises.
Sasha was fascinated by Liudmilla, but something prevented him from talking about her to Kokovkina. He felt somehow ashamed, and sometimes he came to be afraid of her visits. His heart would feel faint and his eyebrows contract involuntarily when he saw her rose-yellow hat pass quickly under his window. Nevertheless he awaited her with anxiety and impatience—he was sad when she did not come for a long time. Contradictory feelings were mingled in his soul, feelings dark and vague—morbid because premature, and sweet because morbid.
Liudmilla had called neither yesterday nor to-day. Sasha exhausted himself with waiting and had already ceased to expect her. Suddenly she came. He grew radiant and rushed forward to kiss her hand.
"Well, have you forgotten me?" he reproached her. "I haven't seen you for two days."
She laughed happily and a sweet, languid and piquant odour of Japanesefunkiaemanated from her, as if it came from her light hair. Liudmilla and Sasha went out for a walk in the town. They invited Kokovkina but she would not go.
"How could an old woman like me go out with you? I'd only get in your way. You'd better go out by yourselves."
"But we'll get into mischief," laughed Liudmilla.
The warm, languid air caressed them and called to remembrance the irrevocable. The sun, as if diseased, burned dimly and lividly in the pale, tired sky. The dry leaves lay humbly on the dark earth, dead.
Liudmilla and Sasha went into a hollow. It was cool, refreshing, almost damp there—a tender autumn weariness reigned there within its shady slopes.
Liudmilla walked in front. She lifted her skirt. She showed her small shoes and flesh-coloured stockings. Sasha looked on the ground, so as not to stumble over roots, and saw the stockings. It seemed to him that she had put on shoes without stockings. He flushed. He felt giddy.
"If only I could fall suddenly before her," he thought, "snatch off her shoes, and kiss her delicate feet!"
Liudmilla instinctively felt Sasha's passionate glance, his impatient desire. She laughed and turned to him with a question:
"Are you looking at my stockings?"
"No, I—er——" mumbled Sasha in confusion.
"What dreadful stockings I've got on," said Liudmilla laughing and not listening to him. "It almost looks as if I had put my shoes on my bare feet—they're absolutely flesh-coloured. Don't you think they're dreadfully ridiculous stockings?"
She turned her face to Sasha and lifted the hem of her dress.
"Aren't they ridiculous?" she asked.
"No, they're beautiful," said Sasha, red with embarrassment.
Liudmilla pretended to be surprised, raised her eyebrows and exclaimed:
"And what do you know about beauty?"
Liudmilla laughed and walked on. Sasha, burning with confusion, walked uneasily after her, stumbling frequently.
They managed to get through the hollow. They sat down on a birch trunk thrown down by the wind. Liudmilla said:
"My shoes are full of sand. I can't go on any further." She took off her shoes, shook out the sand and looked archly at Sasha.
"Do you think it's a pretty foot?" she asked.
Sasha flushed even more and did not know what to say. Liudmilla pulled off her stockings.
"Don't you think they're very white feet?" she asked and smiled strangely and coquettishly. "Down on your knees! Kiss them!" she said severely, and a commanding severity showed on her face.
Sasha went down on his knees quickly and kissed Liudmilla's feet.
"It's much nicer without stockings," said Liudmilla as she placed her stockings in her pocket and stuck her feet into her shoes. And her face again became gay and calm as if Sasha had not just been on his knees before her, kissing her naked feet.
Sasha asked:
"Won't you catch cold, dear?"
His voice sounded tender and tremulous. Liudmilla laughed.
"What a notion! I'm used to it. I'm not so delicate as that."
Liudmilla once came to Kokovkina's just before dusk and called Sasha:
"Come and help me put up a new shelf."
Sasha loved to knock nails in, and somehow he had promised to help Liudmilla in arranging her room. And now he eagerly consented, glad that there was an innocent pretext to go to Liudmilla's house. And now the innocent, pungent odour of essence ofmuguetblew from Liudmilla's greenish dress and gently soothed him.
For the work Liudmilla redressed herself behind a screen, and came out to Sasha in a short, spruce skirt, and short sleeves, perfumed with the pleasant, languid, pungent Japanesefunkia.
"Oh, but how spruced up you are!" said Sasha.
"Yes, I am," said Liudmilla laughing. "Look, my feet are bare," she said, drawling out her words in a half-ashamed, half-provoking way.
Sasha shrugged his shoulders and said:
"You're always spruce. Well, let's begin to work. Have you got any nails?"
"Wait a bit," replied Liudmilla. "Sit still a moment with me. You seem as if you had come on business and found it a bore to talk to me."
Sasha flushed and said tenderly:
"Dear Liudmillotchka, I would like to sit with you as long as you want, until you drove me out, but I've got my lessons to do."
Liudmilla sighed and said slowly:
"You're getting handsomer, Sasha."
Sasha reddened, laughed and protruded the end of his curled-up tongue.
"What a thing to say! You might think I was a girl from the way you talk."
"A beautiful face, but what kind of body? You might show it, at least to the waist," entreated Liudmilla caressingly, and put her arm round his shoulder.
"What an idea!" said Sasha, ashamed and vexed at the same time.
"Why, what's the matter?" asked Liudmilla in a different voice. "What have you got to hide?"
"Someone might come," said Sasha.
"Who'll come in?" said Liudmilla as gaily and carelessly as before.
"We can lock the door and then no one will come in."
Liudmilla walked quickly up to the door and bolted it. Sasha felt that Liudmilla was serious. He flushed so deeply that little drops of perspiration came out on his forehead and he said:
"We oughtn't to do it, Liudmillotchka."
"Stupid! Why not?" asked Liudmilla in a persuasive voice.
She pulled Sasha to her and began to undo his blouse. Sasha resisted and caught her wrists. His face looked frightened—and an equal shame possessed him, and these emotions made him feel suddenly weak. Liudmilla contracted her eyebrows and began to undress him determinedly. She took off his belt and somehow pulled off his blouse. Sasha resisted more and more desperately. They tussled with each other about the room, stumbling against tables and chairs. A pungent scent came from Liudmilla, intoxicated Sasha and weakened him.
With a quick thrust against his chest Liudmilla pushed Sasha on to the sofa. A button flew off from the shirt she was pulling at. Liudmilla bared Sasha's shoulder, and began to pull his arm out of the sleeve. Sasha resisted and accidently struck Liudmilla's cheek with his hand. He did not want to strike her, but the blow fell hard on Liudmilla's cheek. Liudmilla shook, staggered, her cheeks went a violent red, but she did not let go of Sasha.
"You wicked boy to fight!" she exclaimed in a choking voice.
Sasha felt distressed, dropped his arms and looked guiltily at the white marks of his fingers on Liudmilla's left cheek. Liudmilla took advantage of his confusion. She quickly pulled the shirt from both shoulders to his elbows. Sasha recovered himself, tried to get away from her but only made things worse—Liudmilla pulled the sleeves off his arms and his shirt fell down to his waist. Sasha felt cold, and a new flood of shame, hard and pitiless, made his head whirl. He was now naked to the waist. Liudmilla held his arms tightly and patted his back with her trembling hand, looking at the same time into his downcast, strangely gleaming eyes under their blue-black eyebrows.
Suddenly these eyelashes trembled, his face was wrinkled by a pitiful, childish grimace, and he began to sob.
"You wicked girl!" he exclaimed in a sobbing voice. "Let me go!"
"Cry-baby!" said Liudmilla angrily, and pushed him away.
Sasha turned away, drying his tears on the palms of his hands. He felt ashamed because he was crying. He tried to hold back his tears. Liudmilla looked eagerly at his naked back.
"How much beauty there is in the world!" she thought. "People hide so much beauty from themselves. Why?"
Sasha, shrinking ashamedly with his naked shoulders, tried to put on his shirt, but it only became entangled in his trembling hands and he could not get his arms into the sleeves. Sasha caught hold of his blouse—let the shirt remain as it was for the present.
"Oh, you're afraid for your property. No, I shan't steal it!" said Liudmilla in a loud, angry voice, ringing with tears.
She threw him the belt impetuously, and turned towards the window. Much she wanted him, wrapped up in his grey blouse, the horrid boy!
Sasha quickly put on his blouse, somehow arranged his shirt and looked at Liudmilla cautiously, indecisively and shamefacedly. He saw that she was wiping her cheeks with her fingers; he walked up to her timidly and looked into her face—and the tears which were trickling down her cheeks weakened him into pity—and he felt no longer ashamed and angry.
"Why are you crying, dear Liudmillotchka?" he asked quietly.
And suddenly he flushed—he remembered that he had struck her.
"I hit you—forgive me! I didn't do it on purpose," he said timidly.
"Are you afraid you'll melt away, you silly boy, that you won't sit with your shoulders naked?" said Liudmilla reproachfully. "Or are you afraid that you'll get sunburnt, or your beauty and innocence be lost?"
"But why do you want me to do it, Liudmillotchka?" said Sasha with a grimace of embarrassment.
"Why?" said Liudmilla passionately, "because I love beauty. Because I am a pagan, a sinner. I ought to have been born in ancient Athens. I love flowers, perfumes, brightly coloured clothes, the naked body. They say there is a soul. I don't know, I've never seen it. And what is it to me? Let me die altogether like an Undine, let me melt away like a cloud under the sun. I love the body, the strong, agile, naked body, which is capable of enjoyment."
"Yes, but it can suffer also," said Sasha quietly.
"And to suffer is also good," whispered Liudmilla. "There is sweetness in pain—if only to feel the body, to see its nakedness and bodily beauty."
"But it is shameful to be without clothes," said Sasha timidly.
Liudmilla impetuously threw herself on her knees before him. She kissed his hands and whispered breathlessly:
"My dear, my idol, divine boy, just for a moment, only for a moment, let me see your beautiful shoulders."
Sasha sighed, looked down, flushed and took off his blouse awkwardly. Liudmilla caught him with her warm hands and covered his shoulders, which trembled with shame, with kisses.
"Do you see how obedient I am?" said Sasha with a forced smile, trying to get rid of his embarrassment with a jest.
Liudmilla quickly kissed his arms from the shoulders to the fingers, and Sasha, immersed in passionate, grave thoughts, did not take them away. Liudmilla's kisses were warm with adoration—and it was as if her lips were kissing not a boy but a boy-god in a mysterious worship of the blossoming Body.
Darya and Valeria were standing behind the door, looking through the keyhole in turns, jostling each other with impatience, and their hearts were sick with a passionate, burning agitation.
"It's time to dress," said Sasha at last.
Liudmilla sighed, and with the same reverent expression helped him on with his clothes.
"So you're a pagan?" asked Sasha.
Liudmilla laughed.
"And you?" she asked.
"What a question?" said Sasha with assurance. "I've learned the whole catechism."
Liudmilla laughed loudly. Sasha looked at her smiling and asked:
"If you're a pagan, why do you go to church?"
Liudmilla ceased laughing and reflected.
"Well," she said, "one has to pray. One has to pray, to weep, to burn a candle, and do something for the dead. And I love it all, the candles, the image-lamps, the incense, the vestments, the singing—if the singers are good—the ikons, with their trimmings and ribbons. Yes, all that is beautiful. And I also love Him ... you know ... the Crucified One...."
Liudmilla pronounced the last words very quietly, almost in a whisper, blushed like a guilty person and cast down her eyes.
"Do you know I sometimes dream of Him on the cross, and there are drops of blood on His body."
From that time on Liudmilla more than once took Sasha to her room and began to unbutton his blouse. At first he was ashamed to tears, but he soon got used to it. And already he looked clearly and calmly when Liudmilla bared his shoulders and caressed his back. In the end he would take off his clothes himself.
And Liudmilla found it very pleasant to hold him half-naked on her knees, kissing him.
Sasha was alone at home. He thought of Liudmilla and of his naked shoulders under her passionate glances.
"And what does she want?" he thought. And suddenly he grew livid and his heart beat rapidly. A tumultuous happiness seized him. He turned several somersaults, threw himself on the floor, jumped on the furniture—a thousand absurd movements threw him from one corner to another and his gay, clear laughter resounded through the house. Kokovkina, who had returned home, heard this extraordinary din and went into Sasha's room. She stood on the threshold in perplexity, shaking her head.
"Why are you making such a row, Sashenka?" she said. "You might have an excuse to do it with other boys, but you're alone. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, young man—you're not a child any longer."
Sasha stood still and in his embarrassment seemed to lose the use of his hands—his whole body trembled with excitement.
Once Kokovkina came home and found Liudmilla there. She was giving Sasha sweets.
"You're spoiling him," said Kokovkina affectionately. "He loves sweets."
"Yes, and yet he calls me a wicked girl," complained Liudmilla.
"Oh, Sashenka, how could you!" said Kokovkina reproachfully. "Why did you say that?"
"She's teasing me," said Sasha falteringly.
He looked at Liudmilla with vexation and flushed. Liudmilla laughed.
"Story-teller!" Sasha whispered to her.
"Don't be rude, Sashenka," said Kokovkina, "it isn't nice!"
Sasha glanced at Liudmilla with a smile and said quietly:
"Well, I won't do it again."
Each time that Sasha came now Liudmilla locked the door and dressed him up in various costumes. Their sweet shame was dressed up in laughter and jokes. Sometimes Liudmilla pulled Sasha into corsets and dressed him in one of her gowns. In the low-cut dress Sasha's full, gently-rounded arms and round shoulders looked very beautiful. His skin was yellowish, but of an even, soft complexion—a rare occurrence. Liudmilla's skirt, sleeves and stockings were all becoming to Sasha. Dressed entirely in woman's clothes Sasha sat down obediently and waved a fan. In this costume he really resembled a girl, and he tried to behave like one. There was only one flaw—Sasha's short hair. Liudmilla thought it would be ugly to put a wig on Sasha's hair or to tie on a plait of hair.
Liudmilla taught Sasha to curtsy. He did this awkwardly and shyly at first. But he was graceful in spite of his boyish angularity. Blushing and laughing, he learned diligently to curtsy and he coquetted furiously.
Sometimes Liudmilla seized his bare, graceful arms and kissed them. Sasha did not resist, and looked laughingly at Liudmilla. Sometimes he held out his hands to her lips and said:
"Kiss them!"
But he liked most of all other costumes, which Liudmilla herself made, particularly the dress of a fisher-boy with bare legs, the tunic of a bare-foot Athenian boy.
Liudmilla would dress him up and admire him. But she herself would go pale and look melancholy.
Sasha was sitting on Liudmilla's bed, playing with the folds of his tunic and dangling his naked legs. Liudmilla stood in front of him and looked at him with an expression of happiness and surprise.
"How stupid you are!" said Sasha.
"There's so much happiness in my stupidity," said Liudmilla, pale and crying, and kissing Sasha's hands.
"Why are you crying?" asked Sasha, smiling unconcernedly.
"My heart is stung with happiness. My breast is pierced with seven swords of happiness—how can I help crying?"
"You are a little fool, really you're a little fool," said Sasha with a laugh.
"And you're wise!" replied Liudmilla in sudden vexation and sighed, wiping her tears away. "Understand, little stupid," she said in a quiet, persuasive voice, "that happiness and wisdom are only to be found in madness."
"Yes, yes?" said Sasha incredulously.
"You must forget and forget yourself and then you'll understand everything," whispered Liudmilla. "In your opinion, do wise men think?"
"And what else should they do?"
"They simply know. It's given to them at once; they only have to look and everything's opened to them."
The autumn evening dragged along quietly. A barely audible rustle came now and then through the window when the wind moved the tree branches. Sasha and Liudmilla were alone. Liudmilla had dressed him up as a bare-legged fisher-boy—in a costume of thin blue canvas. He was lying on a low couch and she sat on the floor by his bare feet, herself bare-foot and in a chemise. She sprinkled Sasha's clothes and body with perfume—a dense, grassy smell like the motionless odour of a strangely blossoming valley locked in hills.
Large, bright Roman pearls sparkled on Liudmilla's neck, and golden, figured bracelets rang on her arms. Her body was scented with orris—it was an overpowering, fleshly, provoking perfume, bringing drowsiness and langour, created from the distillations of slow waters. She languished and sighed, looking at his smooth face, at his bluish-black eyelashes and at his night-dark eyes. She laid her head on his bare knees, and her bright hair caressed his smooth skin. She kissed his body, and her head whirled from the strange aroma, mingling with the scent of young flesh.
Sasha lay there and smiled a quiet, indefinite smile. A vague desire awoke in him, and sweetly tormented him. And when Liudmilla kissed his knees and feet the kisses aroused languorous, half-dreaming musings in him. He wanted to do something, something pleasant or painful, gentle or shameful—but what? To kiss her feet? Or to beat her long, hard, with long flexible twigs, so that she would laugh with joy or cry with pain? Perhaps she desired one or the other. But that was not enough. What then did she want? Here they were both half-naked, and with their freed flesh was bound desire and a restraining shame—but what then was the mystery of the flesh? And how then could he bring his blood and his body as an exquisite sacrifice to her desires, and to his shame?
And Liudmilla languished and stirred at his feet, going pale from impossible desires, now growing cold. She whispered passionately:
"Am I not beautiful? Haven't I burning eyes? Haven't I wonderful hair? Then caress me! Take me close to you! Tear off my bracelets, pull off my necklace!"
Sasha felt terrified, and impossible desires tormented him agonisingly.
Peredonov awoke in the morning. Someone was looking at him with huge, cloudy, four-cornered eyes. Wasn't it Pilnikov? Peredonov walked up to the window and spat on the evil apparition. Everything seemed bewitched. The wild nedotikomka squealed and the people and the beasts looked malignantly and craftily at Peredonov. Everything was hostile to him, he was one against all. During lessons at thegymnasiaPeredonov slandered his colleagues, the Head-Master, the parents and the pupils. The students listened to him in astonishment. Some, vulgarians by nature, truckled to Peredonov and showed their sympathy with him. Others remained gravely silent or defended their parents hotly, when Peredonov assailed them. Peredonov looked morosely and timorously on these boys, and avoided them, muttering something to himself.
At some of the lessons Peredonov amused his pupils by absurd comments.
They were reading the lines from Pushkin:
"The sun rises in a cold mist;The harvest-fields are silent;The wolf goes out on the roadWith his hungry mate."
"Let us stop here," said Peredonov. "This needs to be thoroughly understood. There's an allegory concealed here. Wolves go in pairs, that is, the wolf with his hungry mate. The wolf is fed, but she is hungry. The wife should always eat after the husband. The wife should be subject to the husband in everything."
Pilnikov was in a cheerful mood, he smiled and looked at Peredonov with his elusively fine, dark eyes. Sasha's face annoyed and yet attracted Peredonov. The cursed boy bewitched him with his artful smile.
Was it really a boy? Or perhaps there were two of them: a brother and a sister. But it was difficult to tell who was there. Or perhaps it was even possible for him to change himself from a boy into a girl. There must be some reason for his being so clean—when he changed his form he splashed in magical waters—otherwise how could he transform himself? And he always smelt of scents.
"What have you scented yourself with, Pilnikov?" asked Peredonov. "Was it patchkouli?"[1]
The boys laughed. Sasha grew red at the insult, but said nothing.
Peredonov could not understand the disinterested desire to please, not to be repulsive to others. Every such manifestation, even on the part of a boy, he considered a design against himself. He who was neatly dressed evidently was trying to gain Peredonov's favour. Otherwise, why should he go to so much trouble? Neatness and cleanliness were repulsive to Peredonov. Perfumes seemed to him to be bad smells. He preferred the stink of a manured field—which he considered good for the health—to all the perfumes of the world. To be neatly dressed, washed, clean, all this required time and labour; and the thought of labour depressed and dejected Peredonov. How good it would be to do nothing, and only eat, drink and sleep!
Sasha's companions teased him about his scenting himself with "patchkouli" and about Liudmillotchka's being in love with him. This angered him, and he replied hotly that it was not true, she was not in love with him—that it was all an invention of Peredonov, who had paid court to Liudmilla and had been snubbed; this was why he was angry with her and was spreading all sorts of evil rumours about her. His companions believed him—they knew Peredonov—but they did not stop teasing Sasha; it was such a pleasure to tease someone.
Peredonov persisted in telling everyone about Pilnikov's viciousness.
"He's got himself mixed up badly with Liudmillka," he said.
The townspeople gossiped of Liudmilla's affection for the schoolboy in a greatly exaggerated way, and with stupid, unseemly details. But there were only a few who believed this: Peredonov had overdone it. Ill-natured people—of whom there are not a few in our town—asked Liudmilla:
"What made you fall in love with a small boy? It's an insult to the cavaliers of our town."
Liudmilla laughed and said:
"Nonsense!"
The townspeople regarded Sasha with ugly curiosity. Sasha sometimes reproached Liudmilla because he was teased about her. It even happened that he slapped her, because she laughed so loudly.
To put an end to this stupid gossip, and to save Liudmilla from unpleasant scandal, all the Routilovs and their numerous friends and relatives acted against Peredonov and persuaded people that all his tales were the inventions of a madman. Peredonov's wild actions compelled many people to believe this explanation.
At the same time many denunciations of Peredonov were sent to the Director of the School District. From the District headquarters they sent an enquiry to the Head-Master. Khripatch referred them to his previous reports, and added that the further presence of Peredonov in thegymnasiawas a positive danger, as his mental disease was visibly increasing.
Peredonov was now entirely governed by wild illusions. The world was screened off from him by apparitions. His vacant, dull eyes wandered, and were unable to rest on objects as if he wanted to look beyond them on the other side of the objective world, and as if he sought for chinks of light between them.
When he was alone he talked to himself and shouted senseless threats at some unknown person:
"I will kill you! I will cut your throat! I'll caulk you up!"
Varvara listened with a smile.
"Make all the row you want," she thought malignantly.
It seemed to her that it was only his rage; he must have guessed that they had fooled him and was angry. He wouldn't go out of his mind—a fool has no mind to go out of. And even if he did—well, madness cheers the stupid!
"Do you know, Ardalyon Borisitch," said Khripatch, "you look very unwell?"
"I have a headache," said Peredonov morosely.
"Do you know, my friend," continued the Head-Master in a cautious voice, "I would advise you not to come to thegymnasiaat present. You ought to attend to yourself—to give a little attention to your nerves, which are obviously a little unstrung."
"Not come to thegymnasia!Of course," thought Peredonov, "that's the best thing to do. Why didn't I think of it before! I'll look ill, and stay at home and see what will come of it."
"Yes, yes, I'd better not come. I am rather unwell," he said eagerly to Khripatch.
At the same time Khripatch wrote again to the Head Office of the District and awaited from day to day the appointment of the physicians for an examination of Peredonov. But the officials were very leisurely. That was because they were officials.
Peredonov did not go to thegymnasiaand awaited something. During the last few days he had clung more and more to Volodin. Directly he opened his eyes in the morning Peredonov thought gloomily of Volodin: where was he now? Was he up to something? Sometimes he had visions of Volodin: clouds floated in the sky like a flock of sheep, and Volodin ran among them, bleating with laughter, with a bowler hat on his head; sometimes he floated by in the smoke issuing from the chimneys, making monstrous grimaces and leaping in the air.
Volodin thought and told everyone with pride that Peredonov had recently taken a great fancy to him—that Peredonov simply could not live without him.
"Varvara has fooled him," explained Volodin, "and he sees that I alone am his faithful friend—that's why he sticks to me."
When Peredonov went out of his house to look for Volodin, the other met him on the way in his bowler hat, with his stick, jumping along gaily and laughing his bleating laugh.
"Why do you always wear a bowler?" Peredonov once asked him.
"Well, why shouldn't I wear a bowler, Ardalyon Borisitch?" replied Volodin gaily and shrewdly. "It's modest and becoming. I'm not allowed to wear a cap with a badge, and as for a top-hat, let the aristocrats stick to it, it doesn't become us."
"You'll roast in your bowler," said Peredonov morosely.
Volodin sniggered.
They went to Peredonov's house.
"One has to do so much walking," complained Peredonov.
"It's good to take exercise, Ardalyon Borisitch," said Volodin persuasively. "You work, you take a walk, you eat your meals, and you're healthy."
"Well, yes," said Peredonov, "do you think that in two or three hundred years from now people will have to work?"
"What else is there to do? If you don't work, you have no bread to eat. You buy bread with money and you have to earn the money."
"But I don't want bread."
"But there wouldn't be any rolls or tarts either," said Volodin with a snigger. "No one would have any money to buy vodka, and there wouldn't be anything to make liqueurs of."
"No, the people themselves won't work," said Peredonov. "There'll be machines for everything—all you'll have to do is to turn a handle like anariston[2]and it's ready.... But it would be a bore to turn it long."
Volodin lapsed into thought, lowered his head, stuck out his lips and said, reflectively:
"Yes, that would be very good. Only none of us will live to see it."
Peredonov looked at him malignantly and grumbled:
"You mean you won't live to see it, but I shall."
"May God grant you," said Volodin gaily, "to live two hundred years, and then to crawl on all fours for three hundred."
Peredonov no longer pronounced exorcisms—let the worst come. He would triumph over everything; he had only to be on his guard and not yield.
Once at home, sitting in the dining-room and drinking with Volodin, Peredonov told him about the Princess.
The Princess, according to Peredonov, grew more decrepit and terrible from day to day; yellow, wrinkled, bent, tusked, evil, she incessantly haunted Peredonov.
"She's two hundred years old," said Peredonov, looking strangely and gloomily before him, "and she wants me to make it up with her again. Until then she won't give me a job."
"She certainly wants a good deal," said Volodin shaking his head. "The old hag!"
Peredonov brooded over murder. He said to Volodin, frowning savagely:
"I've got one hidden behind the wall-paper. And I'm going to kill another under the floor."
But Volodin was not afraid, and kept on sniggering.
"Do you smell the stench from behind the wall-paper?" asked Peredonov.
"No, I don't smell it," said Volodin, still sniggering and grimacing.
"Your nose is blocked up," said Peredonov. "No wonder it's gone red. It's rotting there behind the wall-paper."
"A beetle!" exclaimed Varvara with a boisterous laugh. Peredonov looked dull and grave.
Peredonov became more and more engulfed in his madness, and began to write denunciations against the court cards, the nedotikomka, the Ram—that he, the Ram, was an imposter who, representing Volodin, was aiming for a high position, but was in reality only a Ram; against the forest destroyers who cut down the birches, so that there were no twigs for Turkish baths, and that it was impossible to bring up children, because they left only the aspens, and what use were they?
When he met the schoolboys in the street, Peredonov frightened the youngest and amused the older ones with his shameless and ridiculous words. The older ones walked after him in a crowd, scattering, however, when they saw one of the other masters; the younger ones ran away from him of their own accord.
Peredonov saw enchantments and sorceries in everything. His hallucinations terrified him and forced from him senseless moans and squeals. The nedotikomka appeared to him now blood-like, now flaming; it groaned and it bellowed, and its bellowing split his head with an unendurable pain. The cat grew to terrible dimensions, stamped with high boots and turned into a huge red bewhiskered person.