The Little Demon Fyodor Sologub (large ebook reader .TXT) 📖

“I always go,” he answered. “I believe in God⁠—unlike the others. Perhaps I am the only one of that kind in the gymnasia. That’s why I’m persecuted. The Headmaster is an atheist.”

“When you are free, let me know,” said Mourin.

Peredonov said, twisting his cap irritatedly in his hands:

“I have no time to go visiting.”

But suddenly he recalled that Mourin was very hospitable with food and drink, so he said:

“Well, I can come to you on Monday.”

Mourin showed great pleasure at this, and was about to ask Vershina and Marta also, but Peredonov said:

“I don’t want any ladies. We might get a little tipsy and blurt out something which would be awkward in their presence.”

When Peredonov left, Vershina said sneeringly:

“Ardalyon Borisitch is acting curiously. He would very much like to be an inspector, and it looks to me as if Varvara were leading him by the nose. So he’s up to all sorts of tricks.”

Vladya⁠—who had hidden himself while Peredonov was there⁠—came out and said with a malicious smile:

“The locksmith’s sons have found out from someone that it was Peredonov who told about them.”

“They’ll break his windows,” exclaimed Vitkevitch laughing gleefully.

Everything in the street seemed hostile and ominous to Peredonov. A ram stood at the crossroads and looked stupidly at him. This ram so closely resembled Volodin that Peredonov felt frightened. He thought that possibly Volodin had turned into a ram to spy upon him.

“How do we know?” he thought. “Perhaps it is possible; science has not discovered everything and it’s possible someone does know something. Now there are the French⁠—a learned people, and yet magicians and mages have begun to spread there.” And a fear took possession of him. “This ram might kick me,” he thought.

The ram began to bleat, and its bleat resembled Volodin’s laughter. It was sharp, piercing and unpleasant.

Then he met the Officer of the gendarmerie. Peredonov went up to him and said in a whisper:

“You’d better watch Adamenko. She corresponds with Socialists. She’s one of them.”

Roubovsky looked at him in silent astonishment. Peredonov walked on further and thought dejectedly:

“Why do I always keep coming across him? He must be watching me, and he has put policemen everywhere.”

The dirty streets, the gloomy sky, the pitiful little houses, the ragged, withered-looking children⁠—all these breathed depression, neglect and a hopeless sadness.

“It’s a foul town,” thought Peredonov. “The people here are disgusting and malignant; the sooner I get to another town the better, where the instructors would bow down to one and the schoolboys will be afraid and whisper in fear: ‘The inspector is coming.’ Yes! The higher officials always live differently in the world.”

“Inspector of the second District of the Rouban Government,” he mumbled under his nose. “The Right Honourable the State Councillor, Peredonov⁠—that’s the way! Do you know who I am? His Excellency, Headmaster of the National Schools of the Rouban Government, the Actual State Councillor Peredonov. Hats off! Hand in your resignation! Get out! I’ll manage you!”

Peredonov’s countenance became arrogant. In his poor imagination he had already received his share of power.

When Peredonov returned home, while he was taking off his overcoat, he heard shrill sounds from the dining-room⁠—it was Volodin laughing. Peredonov’s spirits fell.

“He’s managed to get here already,” he thought. “Perhaps he’s now conspiring with Varvara against me. That’s why he’s laughing; he’s glad because Varvara agrees with him.”

He walked angrily and dejectedly into the dining-room. The table was already set for dinner. Varvara met Peredonov with an anxious face.

“Ardalyon Borisitch,” she exclaimed, “think what’s happened! The cat’s run away.”

“Well,” exclaimed Peredonov with an expression of fear in his face, “why did you let it go?”

“You didn’t expect me to sew his tail to my petticoat, did you?” asked Varvara in irritation.

Volodin sniggered. Peredonov thought it had perhaps gone to the Officer of the gendarmerie to purr out all it knew about Peredonov and about where and why he went out at night⁠—she would reveal everything and would even mew a little more than had happened. More troubles! Peredonov sat down on a chair at the table, bent his head, twirled the end of the tablecloth in his fingers and became lost in gloomy reflections.

“Cats always run back to their old home,” said Volodin, “because cats get used to a place and not to their master. A cat should be swung round several times and then taken to her new home. She mustn’t be shown the way or otherwise she’ll go back.”

Peredonov listened and felt consoled.

“So you think he’s gone back to the old house, Pavloushka?” he asked.

“Undoubtedly, Ardasha,” replied Volodin.

Peredonov rose and shouted:

“Well, we’ll have a drink, Pavloushka!”

Volodin sniggered.

“That’s a possibility, Ardasha,” he said. “It’s always possible to take a drink.”

“We must get that cat back,” decided Peredonov.

“A treasure,” replied Varvara sarcastically. “I’ll send Klavdiushka for it after dinner.”

They sat down to dinner. Volodin was in a cheerful mood and chattered and laughed a great deal. His laughter sounded to Peredonov like the bleating of the ram he had met in the street.

“Why has he got evil intentions against me?” thought Peredonov. “What does he want?”

And Peredonov thought that he would get Volodin on his side.

“Listen, Pavloushka,” he said, “if you’ll stop trying to injure me, then I’ll buy you a pound of the best sugar-candy every week⁠—you can suck it to my good health.”

Volodin laughed, but immediately afterwards looked hurt and said:

“Ardalyon Borisitch, I have no idea of injuring you, and I don’t want your sugar-candy because I don’t like it.”

Peredonov became depressed. Varvara said sneeringly:

“You’ve made a big enough fool of yourself, Ardalyon Borisitch. How can he do you any injury?”

“Any fool can do you harm,” said Peredonov dejectedly.

Volodin thrust out an offended lip, shook his head and said:

“If you have such an idea about me, Ardalyon Borisitch, then I can only say one thing: I thank you most humbly. If you think that way about me, what have I to say? What shall I understand by this, in what sense?”

“Take a drink, Pavloushka, and pour me one too,” said