Short Stories
comprehensible agitation.
"Oh, no, don't talk to me, I won't listen, I won't listen," she cried,
suddenly getting quite cross. "You are always against me, you wretch!
There's no doing anything with you, you will never give me any advice!
Other people tell me that I can get a divorce because Ivan Matveitch will
not get his salary now."
"Elena Ivanovna! is it you I hear!" I exclaimed pathetically. "What villain
could have put such an idea into your head? And divorce on such a trivial
ground as a salary is quite impossible. And poor Ivan Matveitch, poor Ivan
Matveitch is, so to speak, burning with love for you even in the bowels of
the monster. What's more, he is melting away with love like a lump of
sugar. Yesterday while you were enjoying yourself at the masquerade, he was
saying that he might in the last resort send for you as his lawful spouse
to join him in the entrails of the monster, especially as it appears the
crocodile is exceedingly roomy, not only able to accommodate two but even
three persons...."
And then I told her all that interesting part of my conversation the night
before with Ivan Matveitch.
"What, what!" she cried, in surprise. "You want me to get into the monster
too, to be with Ivan Matveitch? What an idea! And how am I to get in there,
in my hat and crinoline? Heavens, what foolishness! And what should I look
like while I was getting into it, and very likely there would be some one
there to see me! It's absurd! And what should I have to eat there? And ...
and ... and what should I do there when.... Oh, my goodness, what will they
think of next?... And what should I have to amuse me there?... You say
there's a smell of gutta-percha? And what should I do if we
quarrelled--should we have to go on staying there side by side? Foo, how
horrid!"
"I agree, I agree with all those arguments, my sweet Elena Ivanovna," I
interrupted, striving to express myself with that natural enthusiasm which
always overtakes a man when he feels the truth is on his side. "But one
thing you have not appreciated in all this, you have not realised that he
cannot live without you if he is inviting you there; that is a proof of
love, passionate, faithful, ardent love.... You have thought too little of
his love, dear Elena Ivanovna!"
"I won't, I won't, I won't hear anything about it!" waving me off with her
pretty little hand with glistening pink nails that had just been washed and
polished. "Horrid man! You will reduce me to tears! Get into it yourself,
if you like the prospect. You are his friend, get in and keep him company,
and spend your life discussing some tedious science...."
"You are wrong to laugh at this suggestion"--I checked the frivolous woman
with dignity--"Ivan Matveitch has invited me as it is. You, of course, are
summoned there by duty; for me, it would be an act of generosity. But when
Ivan Matveitch described to me last night the elasticity of the crocodile,
he hinted very plainly that there would be room not only for you two, but
for me also as a friend of the family, especially if I wished to join you,
and therefore...."
"How so, the three of us?" cried Elena Ivanovna, looking at me in surprise.
"Why, how should we ... are we going to be all three there together?
Ha-ha-ha! How silly you both are! Ha-ha-ha! I shall certainly pinch you all
the time, you wretch! Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!"
And falling back on the sofa, she laughed till she cried. All this--the
tears and the laughter--were so fascinating that I could not resist rushing
eagerly to kiss her hand, which she did not oppose, though she did pinch my
ears lightly as a sign of reconciliation.
Then we both grew very cheerful, and I described to her in detail all Ivan
Matveitch's plans. The thought of her evening receptions and her _salon_
pleased her very much.
"Only I should need a great many new dresses," she observed, "and so Ivan
Matveitch must send me as much of his salary as possible and as soon as
possible. Only ... only I don't know about that," she added thoughtfully.
"How can he be brought here in the tank? That's very absurd. I don't want
my husband to be carried about in a tank. I should feel quite ashamed for
my visitors to see it.... I don't want that, no, I don't."
"By the way, while I think of it, was Timofey Semyonitch here yesterday?"
"Oh, yes, he was; he came to comfort me, and do you know, we played cards
all the time. He played for sweet-meats, and if I lost he was to kiss my
hands. What a wretch he is! And only fancy, he almost came to the
masquerade with me, really!"
"He was carried away by his feelings!" I observed. "And who would not be
with you, you charmer?"
"Oh, get along with your compliments! Stay, I'll give you a pinch as a
parting present. I've learnt to pinch awfully well lately. Well, what do
you say to that? By the way, you say Ivan Matveitch spoke several times of
me yesterday?"
"N-no, not exactly.... I must say he is thinking more now of the fate of
humanity, and wants...."
"Oh, let him! You needn't go on! I am sure it's fearfully boring. I'll go
and see him some time. I shall certainly go to-morrow. Only not to-day;
I've got a headache, and besides, there will be such a lot of people there
to-day.... They'll say, 'That's his wife,' and I shall feel ashamed....
Good-bye. You will be ... there this evening, won't you?"
"To see him, yes. He asked me to go and take him the papers."
"That's capital. Go and read to him. But don't come and see me to-day. I am
not well, and perhaps I may go and see some one. Good-bye, you naughty
man."
"It's that swarthy fellow is going to see her this evening," I thought.
At the office, of course, I gave no sign of being consumed by these cares
and anxieties. But soon I noticed some of the most progressive papers
seemed to be passing particularly rapidly from hand to hand among my
colleagues, and were being read with an extremely serious expression of
face. The first one that reached me was the _News-sheet_, a paper of no
particular party but humanitarian in general, for which it was regarded
with contempt among us, though it was read. Not without surprise I read in
it the following paragraph:
"Yesterday strange rumours were circulating among the spacious ways and
sumptuous buildings of our vast metropolis. A certain well-known
_bon-vivant_ of the highest society, probably weary of the _cuisine_ at
Borel's and at the X. Club, went into the Arcade, into the place where an
immense crocodile recently brought to the metropolis is being exhibited,
and insisted on its being prepared for his dinner. After bargaining with
the proprietor he at once set to work to devour him (that is, not the
proprietor, a very meek and punctilious German, but his crocodile), cutting
juicy morsels with his penknife from the living animal, and swallowing them
with extraordinary rapidity. By degrees the whole crocodile disappeared
into the vast recesses of his stomach, so that he was even on the point of
attacking an ichneumon, a constant companion of the crocodile, probably
imagining that the latter would be as savoury. We are by no means opposed
to that new article of diet with which foreign _gourmands_ have long been
familiar. We have, indeed, predicted that it would come. English lords and
travellers make up regular parties for catching crocodiles in Egypt, and
consume the back of the monster cooked like beefsteak, with mustard, onions
and potatoes. The French who followed in the train of Lesseps prefer the
paws baked-in hot ashes, which they do, however, in opposition to the
English, who laugh at them. Probably both ways would be appreciated among
us. For our part, we are delighted at a new branch of industry, of which
our great and varied fatherland stands pre-eminently in need. Probably
before a year is out crocodiles will be brought in hundreds to replace this
first one, lost in the stomach of a Petersburg _gourmand_. And why should
not the crocodile be acclimatised among us in Russia? If the water of the
Neva is too cold for these interesting strangers, there are ponds in the
capital and rivers and lakes outside it. Why not breed crocodiles at
Pargolovo, for instance, or at Pavlovsk, in the Presnensky Ponds and in
Samoteka in Moscow? While providing agreeable, wholesome nourishment for
our fastidious _gourmands_, they might at the same time entertain the
ladies who walk about these ponds and instruct the children in natural
history. The crocodile skin might be used for making jewel-cases, boxes,
cigar-cases, pocket-books, and possibly more than one thousand saved up in
the greasy notes that are peculiarly beloved of merchants might be laid by
in crocodile skin. We hope to return more than once to this interesting
topic."
Though I had foreseen something of the sort, yet the reckless inaccuracy of
the paragraph overwhelmed me. Finding no one with whom to share my
impression, I turned to Prohor Savvitch who was sitting opposite to me, and
noticed that the latter had been watching me for some time, while in his
hand he held the _Voice_ as though he were on the point of passing it to
me. Without a word he took the _News-sheet_ from me, and as he handed me
the _Voice_ he drew a line with his nail against an article to which he
probably wished to call my attention. This Prohor Savvitch was a very queer
man: a taciturn old bachelor, he was not on intimate terms with any of us,
scarcely spoke to any one in the office, always had an opinion of his own
about everything, but could not bear to import it to any one. He lived
alone. Hardly any one among us had ever been in his lodging.
This was what I read in the _Voice_.
"Every one knows that we are progressive and humanitarian and want to be on
a level with Europe in this respect. But in spite of all our exertions and
the efforts of our paper we are still far from maturity, as may be judged
from the shocking incident which took place yesterday in the Arcade and
which we predicted long ago. A foreigner arrives in the capital bringing
with him a crocodile which he begins exhibiting in the Arcade. We
immediately hasten to welcome a new branch of useful industry such as our
powerful and varied fatherland stands in great need of. Suddenly yesterday
at four o'clock in the afternoon a gentleman of exceptional stoutness
enters the foreigner's shop in an intoxicated condition, pays his entrance
money, and immediately without any warning leaps into the jaws of the
crocodile, who was forced, of course, to swallow him, if only from an
instinct of self-preservation, to avoid being crushed. Tumbling into the
inside of the crocodile, the stranger at once dropped asleep. Neither the
shouts of the foreign proprietor, nor the lamentations of his terrified
family, nor threats to send for the police made the slightest impression.
Within the crocodile was heard nothing but laughter and a promise to flay
him (_sic_), though the poor mammal, compelled to swallow such a mass, was
vainly shedding tears. An uninvited guest is worse than a Tartar. But in
spite of the proverb the insolent visitor would not leave. We do not know
how to explain such barbarous incidents which prove our lack of culture
and disgrace us in the eyes of foreigners. The recklessness of the Russian
temperament has found a fresh outlet. It may be asked what was the object
of the uninvited visitor? A warm and comfortable abode? But there are many
excellent houses in the capital with very cheap and comfortable lodgings,
with the Neva water laid on, and a staircase lighted by gas, frequently
with a hall-porter maintained by the proprietor. We would call our readers'
attention to the barbarous treatment of domestic animals: it is difficult,
of course, for the crocodile to digest such a mass all at once, and now he