Short Stories by Fyodor Dostoyevsky - 12/15. The Crocodile, Part 2/2

CHAPTER XII. Three And yet it was not a dream, but actual indubitable fact. Should I be telling the story if it were not? It was late, about nine o'clock before I reached the arcade, and I had to go into the crocodile room by the back entrance, for the German had closed the shop earlier than usual that evening. Now in the seclusion of domesticity, he was walking about in a greasy old frock coat, but he seemed three times as pleased as he had been in the morning. It was evidently that he had no apprehensions now, and that the public had been coming many more. The mutter came out later, evidently to keep an eye on me. The German and the mutter frequently whispered together. Although the shop was closed, he charged me a quarter rouble. What unnecessary exactitude! You will pay. You will every time pay. The public will one rouble, and you one quarter pay, for you are the good friend of your good friend, and I a friend to respect. Are you alive? Are you alive, my cultured friend? I cried as I approached the crocodile, expecting my words to reach Ivan Medvedev from a distance and to flatter his vanity. Alive and well, he answered, as though from a long way off, or from under the bed, though I was standing close beside him. Alive and well, but of that later. How are things going? As though purposely not hearing the question. I was just beginning with sympathetic haste to question him how he was, what it was like in the crocodile, and what in fact there was inside the crocodile. Both friendship and common civility demanded this, but with capricious annoyance he interrupted me. How are things going? he shouted, in a shrill and on this occasion particularly revolting voice, addressing me peremptorily as usual. I described to him my whole conversation with Timofey Semyonitch, down to the smallest detail. As I told my story, I tried to show my resentment in my voice. The old man is right, Ivan Medvedev pronounced as abruptly as usual in his conversation with me. I like practical people. I can't endure sentimental milk sops. I am ready to admit, however, that your idea about a special commission is not altogether absurd. I certainly have a great deal to report, both from a scientific and from an ethical point of view. But now all this has taken a new and unexpected aspect, and it is not worthwhile to trouble about mere salary. Listen attentively. Are you sitting down? No, I am standing up. Sit down on the floor, if there is nothing else, and listen attentively. Resentfully I took a chair and put it down on the floor with a bang in my anger. Listen, he began dictatorially. The public came today in masses. There was no room left in the evening, and the police came in to keep order. At eight o'clock, that is earlier than usual, the proprietor thought it necessary to close the shop and end the exhibition to count the money he had taken, and to prepare for tomorrow more conveniently. So I know there will be a regular fair tomorrow. So we may assume that all the most cultivated people in the capital, the ladies of the best society, the foreign ambassadors, the leading lawyers, and so on, will all be present. What's more, people will be flowing here from the remotest provinces of our vast and interesting empire. The upshot of it is that I am the siniseur of all eyes, and though hidden to sight, I am eminent. I shall teach the idle crowd. Taught by experience, I shall be an example of greatness and a resignation to fate. I shall be, so to say, a pulpit from which to instruct mankind. The mere biological details I can furnish about the monster I am inhabiting are of priceless value, and so, far from repining at what has happened, I confidently hope for the most brilliant of careers. You won't find it wearisome? I asked sarcastically. What irritated me more than anything was the extreme pomposity of his language. Nevertheless, it all rather disconcerted me. What an earth, what can this frivolous blockhead find to be so cocky about? To myself. He ought to be crying instead of being cocky. No, he answered my observation sharply, for I am full of great ideas. Only now can I at leisure ponder over the amelioration of the lot of humanity. Truth and light will come forth now from the crocodile. I shall certainly develop a new economic theory of my own, and I shall be proud of it, which I have hitherto been prevented from doing by my official duties and by trivial distractions. I shall refute everything and be a new Fourier. By the way, did you give Timofey Semyonitch the seven roubles?" Yes, out of my own pocket, I answered, trying to emphasize that fact in my voice. We will settle it, he answered superciliously. I confidently expect my salary to be raised, for who should get a raise if not I? I am of the utmost service now. What to business? My wife?" You are, I suppose, inquiring after Elena Ivanovna?" My wife!" he shouted, this time in a positive squeal. There was no help for it. Meekly, though gnashing my teeth, I told him how I had left Elena Ivanovna. He did not even hear me out. I have special plans in regard to her, he began impatiently. If I am celebrated here, I wish her to be celebrated there. Savants, poets, philosophers, foreign mineralogists, statesmen, after conversing in the morning with me, will visit her in her salon in the evening. From next week onwards she must have an at-home every evening. With my salary doubled we shall have the means for entertaining, and as the entertainment must not go beyond tea and hard footman, that's settled. Both here and there they will talk of me. I have long thirst for an opportunity for being talked about, but could not attain it, fettered by my humble position and low grade in the service. And now all this has been attained by a simple gulp on the part of the crocodile. Every word of mine will be listened to, every utterance will be thought over, repeated, printed, and I'll teach them what I am worth. They shall understand at last what abilities they have allowed to vanish in the entrails of a monster. This man might have been foreign minister, or might have ruled a kingdom, some will say. And that man did not rule a kingdom, others will say. In what way am I inferior to Garnier Begasishki, or whatever they are called? My wife must be a worthy second. I have brains, she has beauty and charm. She is beautiful, and that is why she is his wife, some will say. She is beautiful because she is his wife, others will amend. To be ready for anything, let Elena Ivanovna buy tomorrow the encyclopedia edited by Andrei Kerevsky, that she may be able to converse on any topic. Above all, let her be sure to read the political leader in the Petersburg news, comparing it every day with the voice. I imagine that the proprietor will consent to take me sometimes with the crocodile to my wife's brilliant salon. I will be in a tank in the middle of the magnificent drawing room, and I will scintillate with witticisms, which I will prepare in the morning. To the statesman I will impart my projects, to the poet I will speak in rhyme. With the ladies I can be amusing and charming without impropriety, since I shall be no danger to their husband's peace of mind. To all the rest I shall serve as a pattern of resignation to fate and the will of providence. I shall make my wife a brilliant literary lady. I shall bring her forward and explain her to the public. As my wife, she must be full of the most striking virtues, and if they are right in calling Andrei Alexandrovich our Russian Alfred de Mousset, they will be still more right in calling her our Russian Yevgenia Tur. I must confess that although this wild nonsense was rather in Ivan Medvedch's habitual style, it did occur to me that he was in fever and delirious. It was the same every day Ivan Medvedch, but magnified twenty times. —My friend, I asked him, are you hoping for a long life? Tell me, in fact. Are you well? How do you eat? How do you sleep? How do you breathe? I am your friend, and you must admit that the incident is most unnatural, and consequently my curiosity is most natural. Idle curiosity and nothing else, he pronounced sententiously. But you shall be satisfied. You ask how I am managing in the entrails of the monster. To begin with, the crocodile, to my amusement, turns out to be perfectly empty. His inside consists of a sort of huge empty sack, made of gutter percha, like the elastic goods sold in the Gorohovy street, in the Moroskaya, and, if I am not mistaken, in the Voznesensky prospect. Otherwise, if you think of it, how could I find room? —Is it possible? I cried, in a surprise that may well be understood. Can the crocodile be perfectly empty? —Perfectly! Ivan Medvedch maintained, sternly and impressively. And, in all probability, it is so constructed by the laws of nature. The crocodile possesses nothing but jaws furnished with sharp teeth, and besides the jaws, a tail of considerable length. That is all. Properly speaking, the middle part between these two extremities is an empty space, enclosed by something of the nature of gutter percha, probably really gutter percha. But the ribs, the stomach, the intestines, the liver, the heart—I interrupted quite angrily—there is nothing, absolutely nothing of all that. And probably there never has been. For that is the fancy of frivolous travellers. As one inflates an air-cushion, I am now with my person inflating the crocodile. He is incredibly elastic. Indeed, you might, as the friend of the family, get in with me, if you were generous and self-sacrificing enough. And even with you here, there would be room to spare. I even think that in the last resort I might send for Elena Ivanovna. However, this void, hollow formation of the crocodile is quite in keeping with the teachings of natural science. If, for example, one had to construct a new crocodile, the question would naturally present itself. What is the fundamental characteristic of the crocodile? The answer is clear. To swallow human beings. How is one in constructing the crocodile to secure that he should swallow people? The answer is clearer still. Construct him hollow. It was settled by physics long ago that nature abhors a vacuum. Hence the inside of the crocodile must be hollow so that it may abhor the vacuum, and consequently swallow and so fill itself with anything it can come across. And that is the sole rational cause why every crocodile swallows men. It is not the same in the constitution of man. The emptier a man's head is, for instance, the less he feels the thirst to fill it. And that is the one exception to the general rule. It is all as clear as day to me now. I have deduced it by my own observations and experience, being, so to speak, in the very bowels of nature, in its retort, listening to the throbbing of its pulse. Even etymology supports me, for the very word crocodile means veracity. Crocodile, crocodylo, is evidently an Italian word, dating perhaps from the Egyptian pharaohs, and evidently derived from the French verb croquer, which means to eat, to devour, in general to absorb nourishment. All these remarks I intend to deliver as my first lecture in Elena Ivanovna's salon, when they take me there in the tank. "'My friend, ordened you at least to take some purgative?' I cried involuntarily. "'He is in a fever, a fever, he is feverish,' I repeated to myself in alarm. "'Nonsense!' he answered contemptuously. "'Besides, in my present position it would be most inconvenient. I knew, though, you would be sure to talk of taking medicine. "'But, my friend, how? How do you take food now? Have you dined today?' "'No, but I am not hungry, and most likely I shall never take food again. And that, too, is quite natural. Filling the whole interior of the crocodile, I make him feel always full. Now he need not be fed for some years. On the other hand, nourished by me, he will naturally impart to me all the vital juices of his body. It is the same as with some accomplished coquettes, who embed themselves in their whole persons for the night in raw steak, and then, after their morning bath, are fresh, supple, buxom, and fascinating. In that way, nourishing the crocodile, I myself obtain nourishment from him. Consequently, we mutually nourish one another. But, as it is difficult even for a crocodile to digest a man like me, he must, no doubt, be conscious of a certain weight in his stomach, an organ which he does not, however, possess. And that is why, to avoid causing the creature suffering, I do not often turn over, and although I could turn over, I do not do so, from humanitarian motives. This is one drawback of my present position, and in an allegorical sense, Timofei Semyonitch was right in saying I was lying like a log. But I will prove that even lying like a log, nay, that only lying like a log, one can revolutionize the lot of mankind. All the great ideas and movements of our newspapers and magazines have evidently been the work of men who were lying like logs. That is why they call them divorce from the realities of life. But what does it matter they're saying that? I am constructing now a complete system of my own, and you wouldn't believe how easy it is. You have only to creep into a secluded corner, or into a crocodile, to shut your eyes, and you immediately devise a perfect millennium for mankind. When you went away this afternoon, I set to work at once, and have already invented three systems. Now I am preparing a fourth. It is true that at first one must refute everything that has gone before, but from the crocodile it is so easy to refute it. Besides, it all becomes clearer, seen from the inside of a crocodile. There are some drawbacks, though small ones, in my position, however. It is somewhat damp here, and covered with a sort of slime. Moreover, there is a smell of India rubber, like the smell of my old galoshes. That is all. There are no other drawbacks. Ivan Medvedch, I interrupted. All this is a miracle in which I can scarcely believe. And can you... can you intend never to dine again? What trivial nonsense you are troubling about, you thoughtless, frivolous creature! I talk to you about great ideas, and you understand that I am sufficiently nourished by the great ideas which light up the darkness in which I am enveloped. The good-natured proprietor has, however, after consulting the kindly mutter, decided with her that they will every morning insert into the monster's jaws a bent metal tube, something like a whistlepipe, by means of which I can absorb coffee and broth with bread soaked in it. The pipe has already been bespoken in the neighborhood. But I think this is superfluous luxury. I hope to live at least a thousand years. If it is true that crocodiles live so long, which, by the way, good thing I thought of it, you had better look up in some natural history tomorrow and tell me, for I may have been mistaken and have mixed it up with some excavated monster. There is only one reflection that troubles me. As I am dressed in cloth and have boots on, the crocodile can obviously not digest me. Besides, I am alive, and so I am opposing the process of digestion, with my whole willpower, for you can understand that I do not wish to be turned into what all nourishment turns into, for that would be too humiliating for words. But there is one thing I am afraid of. In a thousand years the cloth of my coat, unfortunately of Russian make, may decay, and then, left without clothing, I might perhaps, in spite of my indignation, begin to be digested, and though by day nothing would induce me to allow it, at night, in my sleep, when a man's will deserts him, I may be overtaken by the humiliating destiny of a potato, a pancake, or veal. Such an idea reduces me to fury. This alone is an argument for the revision of the tariff and the encouragement of the importation of English cloth, which is stronger and so will withstand nature longer when one is swallowed by a crocodile. At the first opportunity I will impart this idea to some statesmen, and at the same time to the political writers on our Petersburg dailies. Let them publish it abroad. I trust this will not be the only idea they will borrow from me. I foresee that every morning a regular crowd of them, provided with quarter roubles from the editorial office, will be flocking round me to seize my ideas on the telegrams of the previous day. In brief, the future presents itself to me in the rosiest light. Fever! Fever! I whispered to myself. My friend! And freedom? Wishing to learn his views thoroughly. You are, so to speak, in prison, while every man has a right to the enjoyment of freedom. You are a fool, he answered. Savages love independence. Wise men love order. And if there is no order—Ivan Matveich, spare me, please. Hold your tongue and listen, he squealed, vexed at my interrupting him. Never has my spirit soared as now. In my narrow refuge there is only one thing that I dread—the literary criticism of the monthlies, and the hiss of our satirical papers. I am afraid that thoughtless visitors, stupid and envious people, and nihilists in general, may turn me into ridicule. But I will take measures. I am impatiently awaiting the response of the public tomorrow, and especially the opinion of the newspapers. You must tell me about the papers tomorrow." Very good. Tomorrow I will bring a perfect pile of papers with me. Tomorrow it is too soon to expect reports in the newspaper, for it will take four days for it to be advertised. But from today come to me every evening by the back way through the yard. I am intending to employ you as my secretary. You shall read the newspapers and magazines to me, and I will dictate to you my ideas and give you commissions. Be particularly careful not to forget the foreign telegrams. Let all the European telegrams be here every day. But enough. Most likely you are sleepy by now. Go home, and do not think of what I said just now about criticisms. I am not afraid of it, for the critics themselves are in a critical position. One has only to be wise and virtuous, and one will certainly get on to a pedestal. If not Socrates, then Diogenes, or perhaps both of them together. That is my future role among mankind. So frivolously and boastfully did Ivan Medvedch hasten to express himself before me, like feverish, weak-willed women who, as we are told by the proverb, cannot keep a secret. All that he told me about the crocodile struck me as most suspicious. How is it possible that the crocodile was absolutely hollow? I don't mind betting that he was bragging from vanity, and partly to humiliate me. It is true that he was an invalid, and one must make allowances for invalids. But I must frankly confess I never could endure Ivan Medvedch. I have been trying all my life from a child up to escape from his tutelage, and have not been able to. A thousand times over I have been tempted to break with him altogether, and every time I have been drawn to him again, as though I were still hoping to prove something to him, or to revenge myself on him. A strange thing, this friendship. I can positively assert that nine-tenths of my friendship for him was made up of malice. On this occasion, however, we parted with genuine feeling. Your friend is a very clever man, the German said to me, in an undertone, as he moved to see me out. He had been listening all the time attentively to our conversation. Apropos, I said, while I think of it, how much would you ask for your crocodile, in case anyone wanted to buy it? Ivan Medvedch, who heard the question, was waiting with curiosity for the answer. It was evident that he did not want the German to ask too little. Anyway, he cleared his throat in a peculiar way on hearing my question. At first the German would not listen, was positively angry. No one will dare my own crocodile to buy, he cried furiously, and turned as red as a boiled lobster. Me not want to sell the crocodile, I would not for the crocodile a minion tailor's take. I took a hundred and thirty tailors from the public to-day, and I shall to-morrow ten thousand take, and then a hundred thousand every day I shall take. I will not him sell. Ivan Medvedch positively chuckled with satisfaction. Controlling myself, for I felt it was a duty to my friend, I hinted coolly and reasonably to the crazy German that his calculations were not quite correct, that if he makes a hundred thousand every day, Old Petersburg will have visited him in four days, and then there will be no one left to bring him rubles, that life and death are in God's hands, that the crocodile may burst, or Ivan Medvedch may fall ill and die, and so on, and so on. The German grew pensive. I will him drops from the chemist get, he said after pondering, and will save your friend that he die not. Drops are all very well, I answered, but consider, too, that the thing may get into the law courts. Ivan Medvedch's wife may demand the restitution of her lawful spouse. You are intending to get rich, but do you intend to give Elena Ivanovna a pension? No, me not intend, said the German, in stern decision. No, me not intend, said the Mutter, with positive malignancy. And so would it not be better for you to accept something now, at once, a secure and solid, though moderate sum, than to leave things to chance? I ought to tell you that I am inquiring simply from curiosity. The German drew the Mutter aside to consult with her in a corner, where there stood a case with the largest and ugliest monkey of his collection. Well, you will see, said Ivan Medvedch. As for me, I was at that moment burning with the desire, first, to give the German a thrashing, next, to give the Mutter an even sounder one, and thirdly, to give Ivan Medvedch the soundest thrashing of all, for his boundless vanity. But all this paled beside the answer of the rapacious German. After consultation with the Mutter, he demanded for his crocodile fifty thousand roubles, in bonds of the last Russian loan, with a lottery voucher attached, a brick house in Gorohovy Street, with a chemist's shop attached, and, in addition, the rank of Russian colonel. You see, Ivan Medvedch cried triumphantly, I told you so. Apart from the last senseless desire for the rank of a colonel, he is perfectly right, for he fully understands the present value of the monster he is exhibiting, the economic principle before everything. Upon my word, I cried furiously to the German, What exploit have you performed? What service have you done? In what way have you gained military glory? You are really crazy. Crazy? cried the German, offended. No, a person very sensible. But you very stupid. I have a colonel deserved, for that I have a crocodile shown, and in him a live Hothrath sitting. And the Russian can a crocodile not show, and a live Hothrath in him sitting. Me extremely clever man, and much wish colonel to be. Well, good-bye then, Ivan Medvedch, I cried, shaking with fury, and I went out of the crocodile room, almost at a run. I felt that in another minute I could not have answered for myself. The unnatural expectations of these two blockheads were insupportable. The gold air refreshed me, and somewhat moderated my indignation. At last, after spitting vigorously fifteen times on each side, I took a cab, got home, undressed, and flung myself into bed. What vexed me more than anything was my having become his secretary. Now I was to die of boredom there every evening, doing the duty of a true friend. I was ready to beat myself for it. And I did, in fact, after putting out the candle and pulling up the bed clothes, punch myself several times on the head and various parts of my body. That somewhat relieved me, and at last I fell asleep, fairly soundly, in fact, for I was very tired. All night long I could dream of nothing but monkeys. But towards morning I dreamt of Elena Ivanovna. 4. The monkeys I dreamed about, I surmise, because they were shut up in the case at the Germans. But Elena Ivanovna was a different story. I may as well say at once, I loved the lady. But I make haste, post-haste, to make a qualification. I loved her as a father, neither more nor less. I judge that because I often felt an irresistible desire to kiss her little head, or her rosy cheek. And though I never carried out this inclination, I would not have refused even to kiss her lips, and not merely her lips, but her teeth, which always gleamed so charmingly like two rows of pretty well-matched pearls when she laughed. She laughed extraordinarily often. Ivan Medvedev, in demonstrative moments, used to call her his darling absurdity, a name extremely happy and appropriate. She was a perfect sugar-plum, and that was all one could say of her. Therefore I am utterly at a loss to understand what possessed Ivan Medvedev to imagine his wife as a Russian Anyway, my dream, with the exception of the monkeys, left a most pleasant impression upon me, and going over all the incidents of the previous day as I drank my morning cup of tea, I resolved to go and see Elena Ivanovna at once on my way to the office, which, indeed, I was bound to do as the friend of the family. In a tiny little room out of the bedroom, the so-called little drawing-room, though their big drawing-room was little too, Elena Ivanovna was sitting, in some half-transparent morning wrapper, on a smart little sofa before a little tea-table, drinking coffee out of a little cup in which she was dipping a minute biscuit. She was ravishingly pretty, but struck me as being at the same time rather pensive. Ah, that is you, naughty man, she said, greeting me with an absent-minded smile. Sit down, featherhead, have some coffee. Well, what were you doing yesterday? Were you at the masquerade? Why, were you? I don't go, you know. Besides, yesterday I was visiting our captive. I sighed, and assumed a pious expression as I took the coffee. Whom? What captive? Oh, yes, poor fellow. Well, how is he? Bored? Do you know? I wanted to ask you. I suppose I can ask for a divorce now. A divorce? I cried in indignation, and almost spilled the coffee. It's that swarthy fellow, I thought to myself, bitterly. There was a certain swarthy gentleman with little moustaches, who was something in the architectural line, and who came far too often to see them, and was extremely skilful in amusing Elena Ivanovna. I must confess I hated him, and there was no doubt that he had succeeded in seeing Elena Ivanovna yesterday either at the masquerade, or even here, and putting all sorts of nonsense into her head. Why? Elena Ivanovna rattled off hurriedly as though it were a lesson she had learnt. If he is going to stay on in the Crocodile, perhaps not coming back all his life, while I sit here waiting for him here, Asmon ought to live at home and not in a Crocodile. But this was an unforeseen occurrence. I was beginning in very 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 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 Medveich, poor Ivan Medveich 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 about my conversation the night before with Ivan Medveich. What? What? she cried in surprise. You want me to get into the monster too? To be with Ivan Medveich? 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 someone 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 gutter 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 interrupt it, 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 realized that he cannot live without you if he is inviting you there. That is the 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 check the frivolous woman with dignity. Ivan Medvedev 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 Medvedev 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 wish 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? How silly you both are! I shall certainly pinch you all the time, you wretch! And falling back on the sofa, she laughed till she cried. All this, the tears and the laughter, was 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 Medvedev'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 Medvedev 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 a 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 Timofei Semyonovich here yesterday? Oh yes, he was. He came to comfort me. And do you know, we played cards all the time. He played for sweetmeats, and if I lost, he was to kiss my hands. What a wretch he is! And only 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 learned to pinch awfully well lately. Well, what do you say to that? By the way, you say Ivan Medvedev spoke several times of me yesterday? 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 sometime. I shall certainly go tomorrow. Only, not today. I've got a headache. And besides, there will be such a lot of people there today. They'll say, there's his wife, and I shall feel ashamed. Goodbye. 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 today. I'm not well, and perhaps I may go and see someone. Goodbye, 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 metropolis. A certain well-known bon vivant of the high 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 ignumon, 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 acclimatized 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 Samoteika, 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's 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 the 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 Prohas Savich, 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 Prohas Savich was a very queer man. A taciturn old bachelor, he was not on intimate terms with any of us, scarcely spoke to anyone in the office, always had an opinion of his own about everything, but could not bear to import it to anyone. He lived alone. Hardly anyone among us had even been in his lodging. This is what I read in the voice. Everyone 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 to sleep. 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, sick. 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 never water laid on, and the staircase lighted by gas, frequently with a hall porter, maintained by the proprietor. We would call all 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 lies swollen out to the size of a mountain, awaiting death in insufferable agonies. In Europe, persons guilty of inhumanity towards domestic animals have long been punished by law. But in spite of our European enlightenment, in spite of our European pavements, in spite of the European architecture of our houses, we are still far from shaking off our time-honored traditions. Though the houses are new, the conventions are old. And indeed, the houses are not new, at least the staircases in them are not. We have more than once in our paper alluded to the fact that in the Petersburg side, in the house of the merchant Lukyanov, the steps of the wooden staircase have decayed, fallen away, and have long been a danger for Afimiya Skapitarov, a soldier's wife who works in the house and is often obliged to go up the stairs with water or armfuls of wood. At last our predictions have come true. Yesterday evening at half-past eight, Afimiya Skapitarov fell down with a basin of soup and broke her leg. We do not know whether Lukyanov will mend his staircase now. Russians are often wise after the event. But the victim of Russian carelessness has by now been taken to the hospital. In the same way, we shall never cease to maintain that the house porters who clear away the mud from the wooden pavement in the Viborsky side ought not to spatter the legs of passers-by, but should throw the mud into heaps as is done in Europe, and so on, and so on." "'What's this?' I asked, in some perplexity, looking at Prohor Savich. "'What's the meaning of it?' "'How do you mean?' "'Why, upon my word, instead of pitying Ivan Medved, they pity the crocodile.' "'What of it? They have pity even for a beast, a mammal. We must be up to Europe, mustn't we? They have a very warm feeling for crocodiles there, too.' Saying this, queer old Prohor Savich dived into his papers and would not utter another word. I stuffed the voice and the news-sheet into my pocket and collected as many old copies of the newspaper as I could find for Ivan Medved's diversion in the evening, and though the evening was far off, yet on this occasion I slipped away from the office early to go to the arcade and look, if only from a distance, at what was going on there, and to listen to the various remarks and currents of opinion. I foresaw that there would be a regular crush there, and turned up the collar of my coat to meet it. I somehow felt rather shy, so unaccustomed are we to publicity, but I feel that I have no right to report my own prosaic feelings when faced with this remarkable and original incident." End of chapter 12 Recording by P. J. Hurie