The Petty Demon (14 page)

Peredonov said:

“There’s this person by the name of Grushina here.”

“I know, a first-rate rascal,” Avinovitsky concluded briefly.

“She’s always coming to our place,” Peredonov complained. “And she’s always trying to sniff things out. She’s greedy and she
always wants you to give her something. Perhaps she wants me to pay her money so she won’t denounce me for having Pisarev.
Or perhaps she wants to marry me. But I don’t want to pay and I have another fiancée. Let her denounce me, I’m not guilty.
Only it would be unpleasant for me if the story became known and that could harm my appointment.”

“She is a well-known charlatan,” the procurator said. “She wanted to deal in fortune-telling here, she was turning the heads
of fools and I told the police that it had to be halted. They were smart that time and obeyed.”

“She’s still telling fortunes now,” Peredonov said. “She read my fortune in the cards and it always came out the same: a long
journey and an official letter.”

“She knows what to say and to whom. Just wait, she’ll be casting her nooses and then she’ll go and try to extort money. At
that point you come straight to me. I’ll deal her a hundred hot ones,” Avinovitsky pronounced his favorite saying.

One wasn’t supposed to take it literally, it meant simply a proper tongue-lashing.

This was how Avinovitsky promised his protection to Peredonov. But Peredonov was still upset with vague fears when he left.
Avinovitsky’s threatening talk had strengthened those fears in Peredonov.

Each day Peredonov carried out one visit in this manner before dinner. He couldn’t manage more than one because he had to
conduct lengthy explanations everywhere he went. As was his habit he would go off to play billiards in the evening.

Vershina went on luring him with her spell-binding invitations. Rutilov went on singing the praises of his sisters. At home
Varvara tried to talk him into getting married as quickly as possible, but he made no decision. “Of course,” he thought at
times, “marrying Varvara would bring the greatest advantage to me, but what if suddenly I find out she’s deceiving me? People
in town would start to laugh at me.” And that would stop him.

The pursuit by prospective wives, the jealousy of his colleagues (more a product of his own imagination than actual fact),
the suspected intrigues of others—all that made his life monotonous and mournful like the weather which had been gloomy for
several days in a row and frequently culminated in a gentle, monotonous but long and cold rain. Life was taking a vile turn,
Peredonov felt, but he thought that soon he would become an inspector and then everything would take a turn for the better.

O
N THE
T
HURSDAY
, Peredonov made his way to the marshal of the nobility.

The marshal’s home was reminiscent of a roomy summer home somewhere in Pavlosk or Tsarskoe Selo
^*
that was entirely suitable for winter living. One wasn’t struck by any luxury, but the newness of many things seemed exaggerated
and superfluous, Alexander Mikhaylovich Veriga was waiting for Peredonov in his study. He pretended that he was supposedly
bestirring himself to greet his guest and only by chance hadn’t managed to do so earlier.

Veriga held himself extraordinarily erect even for a retired cavalry officer. People said that he wore a corsette. His face,
smoothly shaven, was uniformly ruddy as though it had been rouged. His hair had been clipped with an instrument that cut hair
very closely—a device that was convenient for minimizing his bald patch. His eyes were gray, polite and cold. He was extremely
polite in his treatment of everyone and in his views he was firm and stern. A fine military bearing was apparent in all his
movements and at times one had a glimpse of the manners of a future governor.

Peredonov, sitting opposite him at a carved oak table, started to explain:

“There are all sorts of rumors about me afoot, and so, as a member of the gentry, I am turning to you. People are saying all
sorts of nonsense about me, Your Excellency. Things that aren’t true.”

“I have heard nothing,” Veriga replied and smiling expectantly and politely, fixed his gray attentive eyes on Peredonov.

Peredonov peered stubbornly into a corner and said:

“I was never a socialist and the fact that at some other time a person might have said something superfluous, well then, who
doesn’t get a bit excited in their younger years. But now I have none of those thoughts whatsoever.”

“So you were really a great liberal?” Veriga asked with a polite smile. “You wanted a constitution, isn’t that right? In our
youth we all wanted a constitution. Would you care for one?”

Veriga moved a box of cigars towards Peredonov. Peredonov was afraid to take one and declined. Veriga lit one.

“Of course, Your Excellency,” Peredonov admitted, “at university I, and at the time I alone, wanted a different kind of constitution
than the others.”

“And precisely what kind was that?” Veriga asked with a hint of incipient displeasure in his voice.

“I wanted a constitution, only one without a parliament, “Peredonov said. “Otherwise they’d only be wrangling in parliament.”

Veriga’s gray eyes glittered with quiet rapture.

“A constitution without a parliament!” he said dreamily. “You know, that would be practical.”

“But that was a long while ago,” Peredonov said. “Now I think nothing of the sort.”
⁸

He looked hopefully at Veriga. Veriga emitted a slender filament of smoke from his mouth, was silent for a while and then
said slowly:

“Now you’re a pedagogue and given my position in the district I am obliged to come into contact with schools as well. From
your point of view, be so good as to tell me which schools you would give your preference to, the church-run parochial schools
or these so-called rural council schools?”
^*
.

Veriga knocked the ash off his cigar and stared directly at Peredonov with his polite but all-too-attentive eyes. Peredonov
frowned, glanced about the corners and said:

“The rural council schools have to be tightened up.”

“Tightened up,” Veriga repeated in a vague tone of voice. “I see.”

And he lowered his eyes to his smouldering cigar as though he were preparing himself to listen to long explanations.

“The teachers there are nihilists,” Peredonov said. “And the female teachers don’t believe in God. They stand in church and
blow their noses.”

Veriga glanced quickly at Peredonov, smiled and said:

“Well, you know, it is essential, sometimes.”

“Yes, but she blows her nose just like a horn so that the singers laugh,” Peredonov said angrily. “She does it on purpose.
There’s this woman by the name of Skobochkina.”

“No, that’s not nice,” Veriga said. “But with Skobochkina it’s more a matter of the lack of breeding. She’s a girl who’s utterly
without manners, but still a conscientious teacher. But in any event, it’s not nice. She should be told.”

“She goes around in a red blouse. And sometimes she even goes barefoot and wears a sarafan. She plays skittles with the young
boys. Things are very free in their schools,” Peredonov continued. “There’s no discipline. They don’t want to use any punishment
at all. But you can’t do that with the children of peasants the way you can with those of the gentry. They have to be whipped.”

Veriga gazed calmly at Peredonov. Then, as though experiencing some awkwardness over the absence of tact he had just witnessed,
he lowered his eyes and said in a chilly tone almost reminiscent of a governor:

“I must say that I have observed many fine qualities in the pupils of the country schools. There is no doubt that in the
vast majority of instances they
have a completely conscientious attitude to their work. Naturally, as is the case everywhere with children, offences are committed.
As a result of poor breeding in the local milieu these offences can assume rather vulgar forms, all the more so because the
sentiments of duty, honor and a respect for the property of others are generally poorly developed in the rural population
of Russia. The school is obliged to treat these kinds of offences in an earnest and strict fashion. If all measures of reprimand
are exhausted or if the offence is great, then, naturally, it would be necessary to seek recourse to extreme measures to avoid
dismissing the pupil. Incidentally, this would apply to all children, even to those of the gentry. But in general I am agreed
with you that education in this type of school is not organized in an entirely satisfactory manner. Mrs. Shteven, in her really
quite interesting book … have you, pray, read it?”

“No, Your Excellency,” Peredonov said with embarrassment. “I never had the time, there’s a great deal of work in the gymnasium.
But I will read it.”

“Well, it isn’t so essential,” Veriga said with a polite smile, as though he were giving Peredonov permission
not to read the book. “Well then, this Mrs. Shteven relates with great indignation about how two of her pupils, young fellows
close to seventeen, were sentenced by the rural court to be whipped. They were arrogant, you see, these young fellows, and
we, you understand, were all suffering torments as long as the shameful sentence hung over their heads. It was later repealed.
But I’ll say to you that in place of Mrs. Shteven I would have been ashamed to spread this story all over Russia. After all,
if you can imagine, they were sentenced for the theft of apples. I beg you to note—for theft! On top of it she writes that
these were her best pupils. Nevertheless, they stole the apples! So much for education! All that’s left is to frankly admit
that we are refuting the right of ownership.”

In his excitement Veriga had risen from his seat, and taken two steps forward,
but he immediately regained possession of himself and sat down again.

“If I become an inspector of public schools I’ll conduct
matters differently,” Peredonov said.

“Ah, you have prospects?” Veriga asked.

“Yes, Princess Volchanskaya has promised me.”

Veriga assumed a pleased look.

“I shall be pleased to offer my congratulations. I have no doubt that in your hands matters
will improve.”

“But the thing is, Your Excellency, people are spreading various bits of nonsense in the town. Furthermore
it could happen that someone will make a denunciation to the district authorities and interfere with my appointment, and yet
I’m innocent.”

“Whom do you suspect of spreading false rumors?” Veriga asked.

Peredonov grew distracted and muttered:

“Whom do I suspect? I don’t know. People. I’m concerned because it can do me harm in my career.”

Veriga thought that there
was no need for him to know who exactly was responsible. After all he wasn’t the governor yet. He once again assumed the role
of marshal of the nobility and delivered a speech which
Peredonov listened to with fear and melancholy:

“I thank you for the trust which you have rendered to me in seeking recourse to my (here Veriga wanted to say ‘patronage’,
but restrained himself) mediation between you and the society wherein, according to your information, rumors are circulating
which are unfavorable to you. These rumors have not reached me and you may console yourself with the fact that the calumny,
which is being spread at your expense, does not dare to rise out of the depths of the town’s society and, So to speak, is
cringing in darkness and secrecy. But I am very pleased that while serving in your appointed position, nevertheless, you value
simultaneously the importance of public opinion and the dignity of the position that you occupy in the capacity of an educator
of youth, one of those to whose enlightened charge, we, the parents, entrust our most precious property, our children. As
an official you have your superior in the person of your exceedingly respected headmaster, but as a member of society and
a member of the gentry you always have the right to count on the … good offices of the marshal of the nobility in questions
concerning your honor, your dignity as a person and as a member of the gentry.”

Continuing to speak, Veriga stood up, and balancing himself with the fingers of his right hand on the edge of the desk, looked
at Peredonov with that neutrally polite and attentive expression with which people look at a crowd as they pronounce their
benevolently overbearing speeches. Peredonov stood up as well and crossing his hands over his stomach, stared sullenly at
the carpet under his host’s feet. Veriga was saying:

“I am happy that you have turned to me for the further reason that in our time it is particularly useful for the members of
the leading class everywhere and always to remember above all that they are members of the gentry, to treasure their membership
in this class, not only because of the rights, but also because of the obligations and honor of the gentry. The gentry in
Russia, as you of course know, represent what is primarily a service class. Strictly speaking, all civil positions, with the
exception of the lowest ones, of course, must be in the hands of the gentry. The presence of the
raznochintsy
^*
in the civil service represents, of course, one of the reasons for the kind of undesirable manifestations which have disturbed
your tranquillity. Calumny and defamation are the weapons of people of a lower order who have not been bred in the beneficial
traditions of the gentry. But I hope that public opinion will speak out clearly and loudly in your favor and you can count
entirely upon all my good offices in this regard.”

“I humbly thank you, Your Excellency,” Peredonov said. “I shall rely upon it.”

Veriga smiled politely and did not sit down, thereby indicating that the conversation was concluded. Having uttered his speech,
he suddenly had the feeling that it had ended up by being entirely irrelevant and that Peredonov was nothing other than some
coward seeking a good position, haunting doorsteps in search of patronage. He dismissed Peredonov with a
chilly condescension which he had become accustomed to feeling towards him for his dishonorable life.

Putting his coat on with the help of a lackey in the front hall and hearing the sounds of a piano coming from somewhere afar,
Peredonov was thinking that arrogant people were living the aristocratic life in that home and that they had a high opinion
of themselves. “He’s aiming for a governorship,” Peredonov thought in respectful and envious wonder.

On the stairs he was met by the two young sons of the marshal of the nobility who were returning from a walk with their tutor.
Peredonov gave them a look of somber curiosity.

“They’re real clean ones,” he thought. “Not even a speck of dust in their
ears. And so energetic and, likely, self-disciplined. They keep to the straight and narrow. No doubt,” he thought, “they’re
never whipped.”

Peredonov stared angrily after them as they quickly went upstairs, chatting happily. And the thing that amazed
Peredonov was that their tutor treated them as his equals and didn’t scowl and didn’t shout at them.

When Peredonov returned
home he found Varvara in the kitchen with a book in her hands, something that rarely happened. Varvara was reading a cookbook—the
only kind of book that she ever opened. The book was an old and tattered one, in a black binding. Peredonov was struck by
the black binding and it made him despondent.

“What are you reading, Varvara?” he asked angrily.

“What? You know what, a cookbook,”
Varvara replied. “I haven’t got time to read silly things.”

“Why a cookbook?” Peredonov asked with horror.

“What do you mean, why? So I’ll be able to prepare your food, you’re always so finicky,” Varvara explained, grinning with
self-satisfaction and arrogance.

“I’m not going to eat anything that comes out of a black book!” Peredonov declared resolutely, seized the book quickly out
of Varvara’s hands and carried it off to the bedroom.

“A black book! Just imagine, making dinners out of it!” he thought fearfully.
“That was all he needed, namely, to have people trying to openly torment him with black book sorcery! It’s essential to destroy
this terrible book,” he thought, paying no attention to Varvara’s noisy grumbling.
⁹

On Friday Peredonov was at the home of the president of the district rural council.

Everything in this house spoke of the
desire to live simply and well and to work for the common good. The eye was struck by many objects that were reminiscent of
country life and simplicity: an armchair with a shaft-bow for the back and axe-handles for arm rests; and inkstand in the
form of a horseshoe; a bast shoe for an ashtray. There were a large number of measuring devices in the room—on the walls,
tables and floor—with samples of various kinds of grain. And here and there were pieces of “famine bread”: nasty blocks resembling
peat moss. Drawings and models of agricultural implements hung in the living room. The study was piled high with shelves of
books on agricultural and
school matters. On the desk were papers, printed reports, boxes with cards of varying size. A lot of dust and not a single
picture.