Chapter VII: Act II: Scene I (5)

“Well, when I served in the army, I used to be postillion for the commander; then, in Mouràvki, I was cook for the examining magistrate. I’m a Jack-of-all trades, your honour—gardener, whipper-in, cook—anything you like!”

“Can you break stones?”

“Why, no, your honour, I can’t do that kind of work!”

“Why?”

“Well, you see, the army life breaks a chap down so; I was in a line regiment, not in the guards, and a man never gets over that.”

“Oh, you’re healthy enough, I can see that, and yet you want to do such little fiddling work! What sort of career is it to be a bailiff or a whipper-in?”...

“Surely, your honour, it’s better than stone-breaking!”

“I think stone-breaking a very fine occupation.... H’m.... Have you recommendations from your former employers?”

“No, your honour.”

“I can’t take you without a character, my good man.”

“Yes, sir, you’re quite right, sir.”

“Perhaps you’re some good-for-nothing fellow—a thief or drunkard for all I know....”

“Just so, your honour.”

“You must bring me a character.”

“Yes, sir; good-morning, sir.”

The soldier went away. Presently the steward came up to his master and announced—

“If you please, sir, a strange gentleman came while your honour was asleep; he calls himself a village schoolmaster.”

“Where is he now?”

“Sitting in the office.”

“Let him in.”

There came on to the verandah a sunburnt man of about forty, in a nankeen coat and high boots. The master of the house offered him a chair.

“Who are you?”

“Schoolmaster from the Pobiràkhinsky district, from the village of Bezzùbov. I humbly venture to trouble you with a request; can I not obtain some kind of situation?”

“I don’t want a schoolmaster,” said the owner of the house.

“I can take other situations. I have heard that you are looking for a clerk?”

“Why did you leave your situation in Bezzùbov?”

“The school was destroyed by fire.”

“Long ago?”

“On All Soul’s day. The cause is not known—the whole village was burnt down.”

“Yes, one is constantly hearing of fires nowadays. A village close to us has been burnt down too.... Allow me to ask, though, how did you become a teacher?”

“After completing my education I lived in my brother’s house in the village of Khmyèlnoye. I did not work, but he supported me. Then I took a situation as tutor in a country gentleman’s house at Ogoùrtzov, at a salary of two roubles a month. But I did not stop with him long, and while there I served chiefly as coachman....”

“But why?”

“Because my pupil did not like studying, and his parents let him have his own way, and employed me temporarily as coachman....”

“That’s strange!”

“I did the work properly! I had no choice....”

“How much did you get for it?”

“Nothing! only board and lodging, and a cast-off dressing-gown that the gentleman gave me. In that dressing-gown I went back to my brother, and he said: ‘What are you hanging about here for, doing nothing? can’t you set to and learn something, if it’s only singing—you might get to be choir-master in time.’ So I began to study singing, and then my brother got tired of hearing me. ‘Confound it all!’ he said, ‘I’m sick of this; go home to father.’ Well, then I went home. Of course my people abused me:—‘Always hanging about in the way! We’ve had enough of this!’ What would you have me do, sir, when I couldn’t get a situation anywhere? I thought one time of going into a monastery; but just then I got a letter from my brother, telling me to come to him. I went, and he said, ‘The prince’s steward wants to start a choir. You must engage yourself as choir-master.’ I asked him how did he suppose I was to do that when I don’t know how to sing myself? But all he would say was: ‘Don’t be afraid! you’ll learn in teaching your class.’ So I took the post. They gave me a tuning-fork——”

“May I ask,” interrupted the gentleman, “whether you were attired in the dressing-gown?”...

“No, in my mother’s cloak; the dressing-gown was worn out.... It was a short cloak, ... home-made....”

“Well, and how did you get on?”

“Very well. There was quite a fair choir. My brother sang tenor; Ivàn Alexèyich (at the present moment a teacher of patrology and hermeneutics) bass; then there were a few more volunteers. We got perfect in ‘Kol Slàven,’[25] and two sort of ... a ... choral part-songs, ‘Vzỳde’ and’ Polozhìl yesi.’ The steward was quite surprised at us; he was a critic in musical matters; and he wrote a letter to Moscow, to the prince, about a salary for the choir-master. Meanwhile we began to practice: ‘Kto Bog?’ and ‘Kheruvìmskaya Razòrennaya’[26].... All of a sudden the prince wrote back, ‘I don’t want a choir; I am going away for my health.’...

“So after that I got appointed at the village school at Bezzùbov. The people there are very poor; many of the peasants used to sleep in their ovens in winter-time. One day the priest came into a cottage to bless the household; he looked round, and there was no one there, so he began to sing the _tropar_.[27] Suddenly the people crawled out from the oven and came up to kiss the crucifix.... A good many of my pupils went about begging. For all that, though, a great gentleman from St. Petersburg passed through our village, and he said the people were not averse to education—really.”

“Do you mean that ironically?” asked the master of the house.

“Oh dear no!”

“Of course, even a poor man may desire education; just take the case of Lomonòsov: he was a peasant and became an academician.”

“Exactly so.”

“Well, what else did the great gentleman from St. Petersburg remark?”

“He said that it would be a good thing for our administration to introduce a uniform for the scholars.”

“A capital idea!” exclaimed the master of the house; “there ought to be discipline in a school. Without discipline no institution can exist. H’m.... What subjects were taught in your school?”

“We used the New Testament in the Russian and Slavonic tongues, a hundred and four selections from the Old and New Testaments, the ‘Elements of Christian Doctrine,’ ‘Examples of Piety,’ and the Breviary, for the children to learn by heart; the first hour’s division[28] of the Thirty-third Psalm, and the Book of Six Psalms, with ‘All that has breath.’”...

“Is that all?”

“No, we had a library, containing the following books:

“Selected Passages from Schreck’s ‘Universal History.’”
“The Programme for Acceptance into the Military Service.”
“Food for the Mind and Heart.”
The Psalter, without red lettering.
The Breviary, with red lettering.
A work of Glinka, entitled, “Hurrah.”
“The Life of St. Prokopius the Natural.”
“Reader for the People.”
“Domestic Conversations.”
“The Clever Reader.”

And a few others.”

“The books are good,” remarked the gentleman; “I’ll order ‘Domestic Conversation’ and the ‘Clever Reader’ myself. How long did you retain your post?”

“Eight years. I received no rise in my salary for the whole time. One day the inspector came, and he asked me, ‘How long have you been teaching here?’ ‘Eight years,’ said I. ‘Has your salary been raised?’ ‘No,’ said I; ‘I receive the minimum salary.’ ‘Why is that?’ ‘I don’t know.’ Then he turned to the chief of the district and said, ‘The teacher is to receive a rise in his salary.’ The inspector observed, too, that the school-house garden was neglected, and ordered it to be put to rights, saying, ‘that it would then have a favourable moral influence on the minds of the scholars, who would, in time, become agriculturists.’”

“I agree with him. The bad tendencies must be restrained in these people from the very tenderest years.”

“The inspector ordered flowers to be planted in the garden——”

“H’m, in my opinion that is superfluous. He should have had birch trees planted; that would have influenced the pupils more favourably.”

“There were birch trees already——”

“Ah! Birch trees are as valuable as the ‘Clever Reader’ and ‘Domestic Conversations.’ Are you married?”

“I SHOULD HAVE LIKED TO MARRY.”
]

“I should have liked to marry, but I was afraid to. The parish clerk of Ogoùrtzov offered me his sister-in-law in marriage. I knew her—she was a first-rate girl. I went to see her.”

“Was she clever?”

“A-a! Really, sir, I don’t know whether she was clever or not.”

“But you talked with her?”

“Oh yes, of course! I said, ‘We are acquaintances, Olga Mìtrevna.’”

“Oh yes,” she said, “I am quite aware of that.”

“I have been brought here,” said I, “to ask you in marriage.”

“Indeed!” said she.

“Do you know where I have seen you? At a christening at Ogoùrtzov,” said I, and she answered—

“Yes, I remember. And you are from Khmièlnoye?”

“Yes,” said I.

“Ah! the scenery is pretty round there.”

“And that was about all her cleverness!... Her father kept on begging me to marry quickly, because a man can’t live properly without some one to keep his house. ‘We shall get on much better together,’ she used to say.... So we stayed up till dawn, singing and dancing.”

“Sacred songs?”

“No, sir, various—sacred and secular.”

“Well, and did your betrothed sing?”

“No; afterwards, when I left her—she sang that romance—you know—

‘’Twas my fault for thus betraying
All too soon my love to thee;
Now thou hast beheld my weakness,
Ah! thou hast forsaken me.’”

“That’s to say, you jilted her?”

“I don’t know—anyway, I hadn’t anything to keep her on.”

“H’m—so you say the school burned down?”

“To the ground.”

“And are all the books and things burnt too?”

“No; they were saved. The fire was in the day-time, and our people had time to get the books out.”

“That’s good. So I suppose it will soon be built again, and you can go on being teacher?”

“I don’t wish to take that work.”

“Why not?”

“I’m sick of it! You wouldn’t believe me, I’ve often thought of putting an end to myself.”

“So you prefer to be a clerk?”

“Yes, sir.”

“H’m’m—I am sorry that I can’t help you; it’s true that I’ve just dismissed my clerk, but I don’t want another. You see, in these times one must look after everything oneself. I do all my accounts myself. Now, I have a vacancy for a bailiff, but you wouldn’t care for that ... the salary is so small ... three roubles a month.”

“That is very little,” said the teacher.

“There you see! and I don’t want a clerk. Besides, I can’t understand why you don’t wish to be a teacher.”

“I can’t stand it, indeed I can’t!”

“It’s true that the root of learning is bitter, but, you see, the fruits are sweet.... No, I would advise you to disseminate instruction among the people.... At the present time, when education has become a positive necessity, we ought all of us to assist in the work, to the limit of our powers. For my part, I am quite willing to do what I can. I will make a donation of books to your school. Here! Aliòshka! Fetch the hamper that stands under the ante-room sofa.”

The footman brought in a hamper of books, gnawed all over by rats.

“THE FORMER TEACHER, IT IS SAID, HAD HANGED HIMSELF.”
]

“Now,” said the gentleman, “here’s a book for you; ‘Nature’s Vengeance,’ a capital book; I’ve forgotten what it’s about. Ah! and here ... ‘The Oath, taken at the Holy Sepulchre.’... In fact, you can have the whole lot. When your new school is built, kindly range all these works in your library with an inscription: ‘Presented by Mr. Yàkov Antònovich Svinooùkhov,[29] the squire of Prokhòrovka.’ Posterity will remember me.... I am very glad that fortune brought you here, otherwise my books would have lain by uselessly, but now they will do good; and not to one generation only, but to future ages.... Hi! Aliòshka. Tell the man to harness a horse and conduct these books and the schoolmaster with them to the village of Bezzùbov.”

* * * * *

Two months later the new school was built. The educational library had been enriched by the following works, the gift of Mr. Svinooùkhov:—

“The Correspondence of the Nobility of Hell.”
“Hunting with the Hounds.”
“The Russian Theatre.”
“Nature’s Vengeance.”
“The Works of Bulgarin.”
“Political and Moral Fables.”
“_The Moscow Gazette._”
“A New Latin Alphabet.”
“Words to Scholars, Concerning the Attributes of True Wisdom.”
“A Guide to Didactics.”
“A Short Dissertation upon the Rules of True Wisdom.”

&c., &c.

Nothing was wanting, except a teacher. The former teacher, it is said, had hanged himself.

_THE RECOLLECTIONS OF ONÉSIME CHENAPAN._

“Une triste histoire. Souvenirs d’un voyage dans les steppes du Nord,”
par Onésime Chenapan, ancien agent provocateur, ayant servi sous les
ordres de Monseigneur Maupas, Préfet de Police, 1853. Paris: Librairie
nouvelle, 1 vol.

_From “Opinions of distinguished foreigners concerning
Pompadours,”_—(_Appendix to “Pompadours and Pompadouresses.”_)

BY “SHCHEDRÌN” (SALTYKÒV).

I take up my pen to show how one rash step may ruin a man’s whole life, destroy all the fruits gained at the cost of long-continued humiliation, and turn to dust all hopes of further advancement in his special career—nay, it may even rob from a man his dearest earthly right—the right to be called a faithful son of the holy Roman Church!

All this was brought upon me by a worthless being who called himself a Pompadour; he did it simply, calmly, without an instant’s hesitation, leaving me without even the faintest hope of obtaining any recompense whatsoever for all the losses he caused me!

Oh, young man! Thou who readest these tear-stained pages, consider them and ponder deeply. And if ever, in the Closerie de Lilas, or any other such place, thou meetest with a man called a Pompadour, flee from him! For the name of that man is frivolity and hardness of heart!

* * * * *

In the year 1852, not long after the famous _coup d’état_ of December, chance brought me together with the Prince de la Klioukwà, a man still young although a little _tarè_, a man whom I, seeing only his personal appearance and cheerful manners, should never have guessed to be a high official. It appeared, however, that such he was.

We met in one of the Parisian _cafés chantans_ which I frequented in the exercise of my professional duties, as these agreeable places were the favourite resorts of those mistaken young people who failed to show due unconditional confidence in the changes of December 2nd. Here also were to be found many foreigners, acquainting themselves with Paris from the point of view of the _dolce far niente_.

Our conversation began _à propos_ of the song, “Ah! j’ai un pied qui r’mue,” which at that time had just come into fashion, and was charmingly sung by Mdlle. Rivière. It appeared that my neighbour (we were sitting at the same table, in leisurely enjoyment of our _petits verres_) was not only a fine connoisseur of _genre_, but himself performed admirably the principal pieces of the _Cascade_ repertoire. I cannot explain how it was, but, to my sorrow, I experienced a kind of blind, unreasoning attraction towards this man, and, after not more than a quarter of an hour’s conversation, I frankly acknowledged to him that I was an _agent provocateur_, honoured by the peculiar confidence of Monseigneur Maupas. To my astonishment, he not only did not start up to strike me (as mistaken young people almost invariably do), but he even held out both his hands to me, and, in his turn, informed me that he was a Russian, occupying in his native land the rank of Pompadour.

“WE MET IN ONE OF THE PARISIAN _CAFÉS CHANTANS_.”
]

“I will explain to you afterwards,” said he, observing the perplexity expressed in my face, “what constitute the attributes and jurisdiction of a Pompadour’s office; at present I will only say that no other meeting could cause me such pleasure as this meeting with you. I was just seeking to make the acquaintance of a good, thoroughly reliable _agent provocateur_. Tell me, is your business a profitable one?”

“Monseigneur,” I replied, “I receive a regular salary of 1,500 francs a year, and, besides that, as encouragement, extra pay for every denunciation.”

“Why ... that’s not bad!”

“If I were paid by the line, though only at the rate of the newspaper penny-a-liners, it would really be not bad; but the thing is, monseigneur, that I am paid by the job.”

“But, no doubt, at Christmas or Easter there are some little perquisites?”

“No, monseigneur. All the perquisites go to Monseigneur Maupas, and his most gracious Majesty the Emperor Napoleon III. The only addition to the salary I told you of consists in a special sum, reserved for cases of mutilation and fatal injuries, which are very common occurrences in my profession. On the 2nd of December I literally presented the appearance of a mass of flesh streaming with blood, so that in one day I earned more than a thousand francs!”

“A thousand francs ... _mais c’est très joli_!”

“But I have an aged mother, monseigneur! I have a maiden sister, whom I do my utmost to settle in life!”

“Oh! _quant à cela_ ... the deuce take them!”

This exclamation was very noteworthy, and should have served as a warning to me. But it pleased Providence to darken my reason, doubtless in order that I might drain to the very dregs the chalice of bitterness which this terrible man was to bring to me.

“Well, and now tell me, has it ever happened to you—in the exercise of your functions, _s’entend_—to open other people’s letters?” he continued, after a momentary silence, which followed his exclamation.

“Very often, _excellence_!”

“Understand my idea. Formerly, when letters were fastened down merely with sealing-wax, when envelopes were not gummed at the edges, it was quite simple, of course. All that was necessary was to insert a thin wooden needle, roll the letter upon it and draw it out of the envelope. But now that the envelope presents an unbroken, impenetrable surface, what is one to do? I have repeatedly tried the use of saliva, but I confess that my efforts have never once been crowned with success. The persons who received the letters have always observed it and made complaints.”

“And yet nothing is simpler, _excellence_. Here, in such cases, we take the following course: we approach the letter to boiling water and hold in the steam that side of the envelope on which are the gummed edges, until the gum melts. Then we open it, take out the letter, read it, and replace it in the envelope; and there remain no signs of indiscretion.”

“So simple—and I never knew! Yes, the French are in advance of us in all respects! Oh, generous nation! How sad that revolutions so often disturb thee! Et moi, qui, à mes risques et périls, me consumais à dépenser ma salive! Quelle dérision!”[30]

“But does the opening of other people’s letters appertain to your ... attributes, monseigneur?”

“Everything connected with internal policy appertains to my duties, especially the opening of private letters and the exaction of _nedoimki_.[31]

“Do you know, my new friend, that you have helped me out of a very great difficulty?”

He pressed my hand warmly, and was so generous as to invite me to supper with him at the Café Anglais, where we passed the time in the most agreeable manner till almost morning. Finally, he very amiably proposed that I should accompany him to his native Steppes, where, according to him, a highly advantageous career was open to me.

“You will travel with me, and at my expense,” said he; “your salary will amount to four hundred francs a month; besides that, you will live with me and receive free board, light, and fuel. Your duties will be as follows: to teach me all the secrets of your profession and to find out all that is said about me in the town. And, in order to attain my purpose more easily, you will frequent society and the clubs, and there abuse me right and left.”

I was bewildered and delighted. Oh, ma pauvre mère! Oh, ma soeur, dont la jeunesse se consume dans la vaine attente d’un mari!...[32]

Yet, notwithstanding my agitation, I observed a certain inconsistency in his proposition, and instantly remarked it to him.

“Permit me to make one respectful comment, monseigneur,” said I. “You were so kind as to say that I should live in your house, yet at the same time you desire me to malign you. Although I fully understand that the latter measure may be one of utility (for ascertaining the direction of public opinion), still, would it not be better if I were to live, not in your house, but in a separate lodging—just in the character of a distinguished foreigner living on his income?”

“That’s of no consequence,” he replied, with a fascinating smile. “Please do not disturb yourself about that. In our Steppes it is a customary thing to foul your own nest; when you eat a man’s bread, you’re supposed to abuse him.”...

I decided.

Parting with thee, oh, my beloved France, I felt that my heart was torn in pieces!

Oh, ma mère!

Oh, ma pauvre sœur chérie!

But I said to myself, “Oh, ma belle France! If only the Steppes do not swallow me up, I will scrape together a small capital, and will set up in Paris a matrimonial and divorce agency. Then shall nothing ever separate us more, oh, beloved—oh, incomparable native land!”

Looking forward to that longed-for moment, I decided to give up all my salary to my poor mother. For myself, I intended to live on casual gains, of which, by the exercise on my part of a certain amount of skill and inventive capacity, there would certainly be no lack.

On the journey the prince was exceedingly obliging. He always permitted me to sit at the same table with him, and gave me good food. Several times he attempted to explain to me in detail in what consist the “attributes of a Pompadour”; but I must confess that these explanations produced on me no other effect than complete bewilderment. This bewilderment was still further increased by the fact that during these explanations his face wore so ambiguous an expression that I never was able to make out whether he was speaking seriously or romancing.

“The Pompadourical profession,” said he, “is almost a superfluous one, but just that very superfluity is what gives to it the _piquante_ significance which it has in our country. It is unnecessary, and yet it is ... you understand me?”

“Not quite, monseigneur.”

“I will try to express myself more clearly. A Pompadour has no special business; it would be better to say _no_ business,” he added, correcting himself. “He produces nothing, manages nothing directly, and decides nothing. But he has internal policy and time to spare. The former gives him the right to interfere in the affairs of others; the latter enables him to vary that right without limit. I hope that now you understand me?”

“Pardon me, _excellence_, but I am so imperfectly initiated into the wire-pulling of the policy of the Steppes that there is much which I cannot comprehend. Thus, for instance, why do you _interfere_ in other people’s affairs? Surely all those ‘others’ are servants of the same bureaucratic principle of which you are a representative. For, in so far as I understand, the constitution of the Steppes——”

“First of all, we have no constitution whatever. Our Steppes are free—as Steppes should be—or as the hurricane that sweeps across them from end to end. Who shall control the hurricane? I ask you, What constitution can attain to it?”

He interrupted me so sternly that I became somewhat embarrassed and felt it necessary to apologise.

“I expressed myself badly, monseigneur,” said I; “I used the word ‘constitution’ in quite another sense from the one you were pleased to give to it. According to the opinion of scientific men, any state, when once _constituted_, by that very fact declares itself to have a _constitution_. It is a matter admitting of no doubt that there may be constitutions which are pernicious, and others again which are useful——”

“All that is very fine, but I beg of you not to employ in our conversations the hateful word ‘constitution’—never! Entendez vous: jamais! Et maintenant que vous êtes averti, continuons.”

I therefore explained that I could not understand of what use the interference of one set of bureaucrats in the affairs of another set could possibly be. I was just going to add: “Possibly you share? In that case ... I understand. Oh, comme je comprends cela, monseigneur!” But, not being, as yet, _quite_ intimate with my illustrious friend, I refrained from that remark. Apparently, however, he guessed my secret thought, for he grew as red as a boiled lobster, and exclaimed, in an agitated voice—

“I protest with all my soul! Do you hear—I protest!”

“But, in that case, I really do not understand what is the purpose of this constant interference.”

“You are stupid, Chenapan!” (Yes, he said that to me, although at that time he was still very polite to me.) “You don’t understand that the more interference there is on my part, the more right I attain to the notice of the higher authorities. If I put down one revolution a year, that is well; but if I put down two in a year, that is excellent! And you, who are in the service of the greatest of suppressors of revolutions—you cannot understand that!”

“I understand—I understand that very well, monseigneur. But I confess I had supposed that the condition of your country——”

“All countries are in the same condition for a man who desires to attract to himself the attention of the authorities—_vous m’entendez_! But that is not all! I have my personal _amour-propre_.... _Sacrebleu!_ I have my internal policy; I have my prerogatives! I wish to introduce my view—_sapristi!_ I wish that people should act in harmony with my views, not in contradiction to them. It is my right; if you like to put it so, it is my caprice. You lay a responsibility on me; you demand of me this and that ... allow me, too, to have my caprice. I hope that this does not amount to any monstrous pretentiousness on my part?”

“But the law, monseigneur? How can you reconcile caprices with the law?”

“La loi! Parlez moi de ça! nous en avons quinze volumes, mon cher!”[33]

Here our conversation broke off. Although the administrative theory expressed in the last exclamation of my interlocutor was quite new to me, still I acknowledge frankly that the coolness with which he spoke of the law pleased me. Monseigneur Maupas had often said to me, “In case of need, _mon cher_, even the law can alter,” but he said it softly, as if afraid that any one should hear. And now suddenly—this clearness, this daring, this _élan_—how could one fail to be charmed by them! The Cossacks are a bold race altogether, and inclined to see enemies where we, people of an older civilisation, see only protection and surety. These people are absolutely fresh, and are free from all those prejudices which burden the life of a Western. They look upon the so-called “moral duties” with the most easy-going cheerfulness, but, on the other hand, no one can compare with them in matters of physical exertion; and as for their activity at table, with the bottle, with women—there they are undoubtedly the first warriors in the whole world. I, for instance, have never once seen my amphytrion drunk, although the quantity of liquor consumed by him before my eyes is, indeed, hardly credible. Never once did he lay down his arms before the enemy, and all the effect that wine ever produced on him consisted in a change of colour and a certain extra animation in romancing.

“I CANNOT REMEMBER HOW THE CEREMONY WAS PERFORMED.”
]

I am none the less bound to acknowledge that the significance of Pompadours in Russian society continued to appear to me wanting in clearness. I could not conceive that there could exist anywhere an administrative caste, the duties of which should consist in _hindering_ (I consider the word “intervene” too serious for such an occupation), and which, when reminded of the law, could answer, “’Pristi! nous en avons quinze volumes!” For the rest, I ascribed my doubts, not to my own want of comprehension, but rather to the prince’s incapacity to formulate his thought clearly. It was evident that he himself did not understand in what his administrative _rôle_ consists; and this is quite comprehensible if we remember that in Russia up to the present time[34] the corps of cadets are regarded as the nurseries of the administration. In these institutions the pupils are put through a detailed course of study in only one science, which bears the name of “_Zwon popêta razdawaiss_”[35] (the prince was in an exceedingly merry humour when he told me this long name, and I am convinced that in no other European country is there a science with such a name); the other sciences, without which it is impossible to get on in any human society, are passed over more than superficially. It is, therefore, not in the least surprising that persons who have received such an education prove incapable of expressing their thoughts coherently and consequentially, but get along how they can with such senseless exclamations as “Sapristi!” “Ventre de biche!” “Parlez moi de ça!” and so on.

Only when the inhospitable Steppe received us in its stern embrace, that is to say, when we arrived at our destination, did I even to some extent realise what my exalted amphytrion meant by his prerogatives.

Until we entered the confines of that tract of country over which the Prince de la Klioukwà’s Pompadourical sway extended, his conduct was in some degree moderate. He beat the drivers with a leniency of which I can only speak with the greatest admiration (as for his behaviour when abroad, of that I need not speak—it was the very pink of courtesy). But no sooner did he see the boundary-post which marks the beginning of his jurisdiction, than he drew his sword from its scabbard, made the sign of the cross, and, turning to the driver, uttered a cry of gloomy significance. We flew along like an arrow from the bow, and the remaining fifteen versts to the posting station were taken at a gallop. He, however, considered that we were not going fast enough, for every five minutes he would encourage the driver with violent blows of his sword.

I was unable to understand the cause of his anger, but I have never seen any human being so enraged. I confess that I was very much afraid the axle-tree of our carriage would break, as, if that had happened, we should inevitably have perished. But to persuade him not to hurry the driver was impossible, for furious driving along the roads is one of those prerogatives to which the Pompadours most passionately cling.

“I’ll teach him how to drive—_canaille_!” he repeated, addressing me, and appearing to enjoy the terror depicted on my countenance.

And indeed we travelled more than two hundred versts in twelve hours, and yet, notwithstanding this unheard of speed, at the stations he used to order the drivers to be flogged, remarking to me:

“C’est notre manière de leur donner le pourboire!”[36]

On arriving at the principal town we stopped at a large state building, in which we were absolutely lost, as in a desert. (The Prince had no family.) It was early morning, and I was dying for want of sleep; but he insisted on having the official reception at once, and despatched couriers in all directions with the news of his arrival. Two hours later the state-rooms of the house were filled with trembling officials.

Although prerogatives play an important part in our fair France, yet I could never have conceived of anything like what I saw here. Among us such words as “scoundrel” (“vaurien,” “polisson” and—unfortunately—“Chenapan”) constitute the severest reprimand which a guilty official can possibly deserve from an angry superior. Here, on the contrary, independently of plenteously-scattered personal insults, it is customary to add emphatic remarks concerning the genealogy of the person abused.

The prince was as scarlet as a boiled lobster, and hurried on from one subordinate to another, pouring out deluges of virulent abuse. He was especially hard upon a certain lame major, whom he ironically introduced to me with the remark, “This is my Maupas.” I at first imagined that this unhappy man must have attempted to usurp the prince’s power during his absence (which, of course, would have justified his wrath), but it appeared that nothing of the kind had happened. Up to this day I cannot explain to myself what was the cause of those grievous scenes which I witnessed on that memorable morning. The prince explained them to me as resulting from a desire to defend his prerogatives, but that reason appeared to me insufficient, as no one, apparently, had infringed those prerogatives. In a word, the official reception ended in a complete victory for my exalted amphytrion, who paced about the rooms, bridling like a spirited horse and proudly rejoicing in his easily-won triumph.

It was only at dinner that I began to feel at ease. It went off rather pleasantly, for there were present several favourites of the prince, young men, evidently very well educated. One of them, who had lately returned from St. Petersburg, very cleverly mimicked Mdlle. Paget,[37] at her _soirées intimes_, singing, “Un soir à la barrière.” This song, though far from new, and almost gone from my memory, gave me the greatest pleasure.

That evening the prince introduced me to the lady of his affections, whom he had taken away a short time before from one of the local municipal counsellors.[38] This most charming woman produced on me a profound impression, which was still further strengthened when I felt under the table the pressure of her foot against mine. Her husband was present, and greatly amused us by his jests at the expense of betrayed husbands, from which category the simple-hearted man did not exclude himself. Some of these jests, under the mask of _naïveté_, were so biting that the Pompadour reddened and lost his temper; but his morganatic friend, apparently, was accustomed to such scenes, for she looked on as if she had been an unconcerned outsider.

Our merry supper was drawing to a close, when suddenly some one came running in to announce that a fire had broken out at the end of the town.

“That is capital!” said the Pompadour to me. “Vous allez me voir à l’œuvre!”[39]

But I, for my part, was far from glad, for I observed that the prince, for the first time in our acquaintance, was quite drunk. Whether the proximity of the object of his affections acted on him as a stimulant, or whether it was the direct result of the intoxication of power—be that as it may, he could hardly keep on his feet. It turned out, however, that even this was to his advantage. As a general rule, no fire ever occurred without his beating somebody, but on this occasion he slept through the whole affair, and only woke up when the flames were fully extinguished.

As we returned home he startled me so distressingly that my heart seemed to contract as under the influence of some dark presentiment.

“Well, Monsieur Chenapan” (he did not even conceal the insulting double meaning that he put into my name), “how do you (_tu_) like my place?” asked he.

However deeply I was wounded by this deliberate jest, and by his unceremonious “thou,” addressed to a man who was no subordinate of his, I nevertheless felt it wise to submit.

“I am more than enchanted, monseigneur,” said I.

“H’m!... I should just like to see you not enchanted, you hound!”

As he said that he laughed so strangely that I suddenly understood—I was not a guest, but a captive!

Oh, ma France bien aimée! Oh, ma mère!

* * * * *

The prince very soon learned from me all the secrets of the craft, but, as he became more sure and confident in them, I fell lower and lower in his estimate. The first two months he paid my salary punctually, but the third month he told me right out that the whole of me was not worth two sous. When I tried to move him with entreaties, referring to my aged mother and my maiden sister, whose only treasure on earth is her virtue, he not only refused to hear the voice of generosity, but even permitted himself certain ambiguities concerning the virtue of my poor dear sister.

“STROLLING ABOUT THE BOULEVARDS.”
]

While waiting till God should soften his heart, I was forced to be content with receiving my board and lodging. Yet even this much cost me bitter insults. They took away my former bed and replaced it by a thing for which in our sweet language there is no name. At table they constantly mocked and jeered at me, and took to habitually calling me “rascal.” Unhappily, I was so imprudent as to let out on one occasion that I had sometimes been beaten in Paris when fulfilling my duties, and by this needless frankness I, as it were, laid myself open to the most monstrous and outrageous jests, in which these people (who have no inventive capacity of their own) indulged at my expense. Moreover, at every meal they would purposely leave me without some particular dish (as a general rule, with a refinement of cruelty, they would choose whichever dish I liked best); and when I complained of hunger they would unceremoniously send me into the servants’ hall. But what hurt me most of all was the fact that they insulted in my presence my most gracious sovereign and emperor, Napoleon III., and in his person my dear, beautiful France. Thus, for instance, they would ask me was it true that Napoleon (they purposely pronounced his name _Napoleòschka_—a contemptuous diminutive) sold geese in London? or was it true that he and Morny together had kept a house of tolerance in New York? etc.... And all this frivolous jesting at the moment when the terrible Eastern Question stood before us!...

So it went on until autumn. The cold weather began, but they neither put double windows into my room nor heated it. I was never of a rebellious temperament, but at the first cruel grasp of cold, even _my_ self-abnegation broke down. Only then did I become fully convinced that the hope that God would touch the heart of my exalted amphytrion was a hope in the last degree illusory and vain. Gathering up my courage, I decided to brave the inhospitable Steppes and appealed to the prince to grant me the necessary sum to reach the banks of the Seine.

“I no longer demand the payment of what is due to me, monseigneur,” said I; “the payment of what I have earned, far away from my beloved country, while subsisting on the bitter bread of exile....”

“You’re wise not to demand it—Chenapan!” he remarked, coldly.

“I beg for only one favour. Give me a sufficient sum to enable me to return to my country and embrace my beloved mother.”

“All right; I’ll think it over ... Chenapan!”

Day after day passed—still they did not heat my room, and still he thought. During that time I reached the last degree of prostration, and no longer complained to any one, but my eyes shed tears of themselves. If any dog had been in my position it might have aroused compassion—but he was silent!

Afterwards I learned that such things are called in the Russian language “jokes.” But if these are their _jokes_, what must their cruelties be?

At last he sent for me.

“All right,” he said; “I will give you four hundred francs, but only on condition that you become a convert to the Greek faith.”

I looked into his eyes with amazement, but those eyes expressed nothing, save an inflexibility that admits of no reply.

I cannot remember how the ceremony was performed.... I am even not quite certain whether it was a _real_ ceremony, and whether the priest’s part was not played by the Pompadour’s adjutant disguised.

Justice compels me to add, however, that, after the ceremony was over, he behaved to me like a _grand seigneur_, that is, he gave me not only the whole of the sum agreed upon, but also two beautiful, hardly-worn suits, and ordered that I should be driven free of expense to the boundary of the next Pompadourdom. My hope did not deceive me. God had touched his heart at last!

Twelve days later I had reached the banks of the Seine, and, graciously received back into the service by Monseigneur Maupas, was strolling about the boulevards, humming merrily—

“Les lois de la France,
Votre Excellence!
Mourir, mourir,
Toujours mourir!”

Oh, ma France!
Oh, ma mère!

_THE CROCODILE._
AN EXTRAORDINARY EVENT; OR, A PASSAGE IN THE PASSAGE.

(_The true narrative of how a gentleman of a certain age and a certain
appearance was swallowed alive and whole by the crocodile of the
Passage, and of what were the consequences._)

BY FÈDOR DOSTOYÈVSKY.

“Ohè Lambert! Où est Lambert? As tu vu Lambert?”

On the 13th of this present month of January, 1865, at half-past twelve in the day, Elyòna Ivànovna, the spouse of my learned friend, fellow in office, and distant connection, Ivan Matvyèich, desired to visit the crocodile which is now to be seen for a certain price in the Passage.[40] Ivan Matvyèich, having already in his pocket his ticket for a foreign tour (it was more for interest than for his health that he was going abroad), and therefore considering himself as off duty, and perfectly free for the whole morning, not only did not oppose his wife’s uncontrollable desire, but even became fired with curiosity himself. “A splendid idea,” he said contentedly; “we’ll go and see the crocodile. Before starting for Europe it is well to make oneself acquainted with its native population;” and with these words he took his wife upon his arm and instantly started off with her for the Passage. I, as usual, went along with them, in my character of family friend. I had never seen Ivan Matvyèich in a more cheerful mood than on that memorable morning. How true it is that we know not our fate beforehand! The moment we entered the Passage he went into raptures over the magnificence of the building, and when we reached the shop in which the newly arrived monster was on view, he even wished to pay the crocodile keeper the twenty-five kopecks for my entrance out of his own pocket—a thing which had never happened with him before. On entering we found ourselves in a small room, in which, besides the crocodile, were several cockatoos and a collection of monkeys in a separate cage in the background. To the left hand of the door, by the wall, stood a large tin tank, something like a bath, covered with a strong iron-wire netting, and at the bottom of it were two or three inches of water. In this shallow puddle lay an enormous crocodile, as still as a log, perfectly motionless, and appearing to have lost all his powers in our damp and, for foreigners, inhospitable climate. At first sight the monster aroused no particular interest in any of us.

“So that’s the crocodile!” said Elyòna Ivànovna regretfully, in a sing-song voice. “I thought he would be ... quite different somehow.”

She probably expected him to be made of diamonds. The German exhibitor, at once keeper and owner of the crocodile, who had come into the room, looked at us with an air of the greatest pride.

“He’s right,” whispered Ivan Matvyèich to me; “for he knows that no one else in all Russia is exhibiting a crocodile.”

I attributed this utterly senseless remark to the particularly pleasant humour that Ivan Matvyèich was in, as on the whole he was a very envious man.

“I think your crocodile is dead,” said Elyòna Ivànovna, piqued by the ungraciousness of the German, and turning to him with a fascinating smile, intended to “vanquish this boor”—a peculiarly feminine manœuvre.

“Oh, no, madame,” answered the German in his broken Russian, and, half-lifting the network of the tank, he began to tap the crocodile on the head with a cane.

At this the perfidious monster, to show that it was alive, slightly moved its paws and tail, raised its head and uttered a sound resembling a prolonged snuffle.

“There, don’t be cross, Karlchen,” caressingly said the German, whose vanity was flattered.

“What a horrid brute! I am quite afraid of him,” lisped Elyòna Ivànovna still more coquettishly. “I shall dream of him now at night!”

“But he not vill bite you at ze night, madame,” gallantly rejoined the German, and burst out laughing at his own joke, though none of us answered him.

“Come, Semyòn Semyònich,” continued Elyòna Ivànovna, addressing herself only to me, “let’s go and look at the monkeys. I am awfully fond of monkeys; some of them are such little loves—but the crocodile is horrible.”

“Oh, don’t be afraid, my dear,” Ivan Matvyèich called after us, showing off his bravery before his wife. “This sleepy denizen of the realm of the Pharaohs will do us no harm;” and he remained beside the tank. He even took off one glove and began to tickle the crocodile’s nose with it, in the hope, as he afterwards confessed, of making it snore again. The keeper, out of politeness to a lady, followed Elyòna Ivànovna to the monkeys’ cage.

Thus all was well, and there was no sign of coming misfortune. Elyòna Ivànovna was so much fascinated with the monkeys that she appeared completely absorbed in them. She uttered screams of delight, talked incessantly to me, as if wishing to ignore the keeper altogether, and went into fits of laughing over resemblances which she found in the monkeys to her most intimate friends and acquaintances. I, too, was greatly amused, for there could be no doubt as to the likeness. The German did not know whether to laugh or not, and therefore ended by scowling. At this moment an appalling—I may even say supernatural—shriek suddenly shook the room. Not knowing what to think, I stood for a moment rooted to the spot; then, hearing Elyòna Ivànovna shrieking too, I turned hastily round—and what did I see! I saw—oh, heavens!—I saw the unhappy Ivan Matvyèich in the fearful jaws of the crocodile, seized across the middle, lifted horizontally in the air, and kicking despairingly. Then, one moment, and he was gone. But I will describe all in detail, for I was standing motionless the whole time, and observed the entire process with an attention and curiosity such as I do not remember experiencing on any other occasion. For, thought I in that fatal moment, “what if this had happened to me, instead of to Ivan Matvyèich; how very unpleasant it would be for me!” But to the point. The crocodile began by turning poor Ivan Matvyèich round in its horrible jaws feet fore most, swallowed first of all his legs; then let Ivan Matvyèich, who all this while was clutching at the tank and trying to jump out, protrude again a little, and sucked him back into its throat to the waist. Again it let him protrude, and gulped him down once more. In this manner Ivan Matvyèich was visibly disappearing before our eyes. At last, with a final gulp, the crocodile drew into itself the whole of my learned friend, leaving nothing behind. On the surface of the crocodile one could see how Ivan Matvyèich, in his uniform, completely passed down its inside. I was just going to cry out again, when suddenly cruel fate played another jest upon us. The crocodile swelled itself out (probably half stifled by the enormous size of the mouthful), once more opened its fearful jaws, and for the last time the head of Ivan Matvyèich, with a despairing expression on the face, was suddenly protruded from them. At that instant the spectacles dropped off his nose into the bottom of the tank. It seemed as if this despairing head appeared only in order to cast one last glance upon everything, and take a mute farewell of all the pleasures of this world. But it had no time to carry out its intention; the crocodile once more gathered up its powers, gulped, and in a moment the head vanished, and this time for ever. This appearance and disappearance of a living human head was so dreadful, but at the same time, whether from the rapidity and unexpectedness of the event, or whether from the dropping of the spectacles from the nose, so funny, that I suddenly burst into a quite unexpected fit of laughter; but realising that for me, in my quality of family friend, to laugh at such a moment was improper, I instantly turned to Elyòna Ivànovna, and said to her with a look of sympathy—

“It’s all up now with Ivan Matvyèich!”

I cannot even attempt to describe the agitation of Elyòna Ivànovna during the whole process. After her first cry she stood for some time as petrified, and stared at the scene before her, as if indifferently, though her eyes were starting out of her head; then she suddenly burst into a piercing shriek. I caught her by the hands. At this moment the keeper, who until now had also stood petrified with horror, clasped his hands and raising his eyes to heaven, cried aloud—

“Oh, my crocodile! oh, mein allerliebster Karlchen! Mutter! Mutter! Mutter!”

At this cry the back door opened, and “Mutter,” a red-cheeked, untidy, elderly woman in a cap, rushed with a yell towards her son.

There began an awful row. Elyòna Ivànovna, beside herself, reiterated one single phrase: “Cut it! Cut it!” and rushed from the keeper to the “Mutter” and back to the keeper, imploring them (evidently in a fit of frenzy) to “cut” something or some one for some reason. Neither the keeper nor “Mutter” took any notice of either of us; they were hanging over the tank and shrieking like stuck pigs.

“He is gone dead; he vill sogleich burst, because he von ganz Tchinovnik eat up haf!” cried the keeper.

“Unser Karlchen, unser allerliebster Karlchen wird sterben!” wailed the mother.

“Ve are orphans, vitout bread!” moaned the keeper.

“Cut it! Cut it! Cut it open!” screamed Elyòna Ivànovna, hanging on to the German’s coat.

“He did teaze ze crocodile; vy your man teaze ze crocodile?” yelled the German, wriggling away; “you vill pay me if Karlchen wird bersten; dass war mein Sohn, dass war mein einziger Sohn!”

“Cut it!” shrieked Elyòna Ivànovna.

“How! You will dat my crocodile shall be die?” “No, your man shall be die first, and denn my crocodile. Mein Vater show von crocodile, mein Grossvater show von crocodile, mein Sohn shall show von crocodile, and I shall show von crocodile. All ve shall show crocodile. I am ganz Europa famous, and you are not ganz Europa famous, and do be me Straf pay shall!”

“Ja, ja!” agreed the woman, savagely; “ve you not let out; Straf ven Karlchen vill berst.”

“For that matter,” I put in calmly, in the hope of getting Elyòna Ivànovna home without further ado, “there’s no use in cutting it open, for in all probability our dear Ivan Matvyèich is now soaring in the empyrean....”

“My dear,” remarked at this moment the voice of Ivan Matvyèich, with startling suddenness, “my advice, my dear, is to act through the bureau of police, for the German will not comprehend truth without the assistance of the police.”

These words, uttered with firmness and gravity, and expressing astonishing presence of mind, at first so much amazed us that we could not believe our ears. Of course, however, we instantly ran to the crocodile’s tank and listened to the speech of the unfortunate captive with a mixture of reverence and distrust. His voice sounded muffled, thin, and even squeaky, as though coming from a long distance.

“Ivan Matvyèich, my dearest, and are you then alive?” lisped Elyòna Ivànovna.

“Alive and well,” answered Ivan Matvyèich; “and, thanks to the Almighty, swallowed whole without injury. I am only disturbed by doubt as to how the superior authorities will regard this episode; for, after having taken a ticket to go abroad, to go into a crocodile instead is hardly sensible.”

“Oh, my dear, don’t worry about sense now; first of all we must somehow or other dig you out,” interrupted Elyòna Ivànovna.

“Tig!” cried the German. “I not vill let you to tig ze crocodile! Now shall bery mush _publikum_ be come, and I shall fifety kopeck take, and Karlchen shall leave off to berst.”

“Gott sei Dank!” added the mother.

“They are right,” calmly remarked Ivan Matvyèich; “the economic principle before everything.”

“Dear friend!” I exclaimed; “I will fly at once to the authorities and complain, for I feel convinced that we can’t settle this hash by ourselves.”