something supernatural has happened to you? I mean to say, something
inconsistent with the laws of nature?"
"I do maintain it," replied the gentleman addressed as "My dear sir,"
whose name was Porfiry Kapitonitch.
"Inconsistent with the laws of nature!" Anton Stepanitch repeated
angrily; apparently he liked the phrase.
"Just so ... yes; it was precisely what you say."
"That's amazing! What do you think of it,
gentlemen?" Anton Stepanitch tried to give
his features an ironical expression, but without
effect--or to speak more accurately, merely
with the effect of suggesting that the dignified
civil councillor had detected an unpleasant
smell. "Might we trouble you, dear sir," he
went on, addressing the Kaluga landowner, "to
give us the details of so interesting an incident?"
"Certainly, why not?" answered the landowner and, moving in a
free-and-easy way to the middle of the room, he spoke as follows:
"I have, gentlemen, as you are probably aware, or perhaps are not
aware, a small estate in the Kozelsky district. In old days I used to
get something out of it, though now, of course, I have nothing to look
forward to but unpleasantness. But enough of politics. Well, in that
district I have a little place: the usual kitchen garden, a little
pond with carp in it, farm buildings of a sort and a little lodge for
my own sinful person ... I am a bachelor. Well, one day--some six
years ago--I came home rather late; I had had a game of cards at a
neighbour's and I was--I beg you to note--the least little bit
elevated, as they say; I undressed, got into bed and put out the
candle. And only fancy, gentlemen: as soon as I put out the candle
there was something moving under my bed! I wondered whether it was a
rat; no, it was not a rat: it moved about, scratched on the floor and
scratched itself.... At last it flapped its ears!
"There was no mistake about it; it was a dog. But where could a dog
have come from? I did not keep one; could some stray dog have run in,
I wondered. I called my servant; Filka was his name. He came in with a
candle.
"'How's this,' I said, 'Filka, my lad? Is that how you look after
things? A dog has got under my bed?' 'What dog?' said he. 'How do I
know,' said I, 'that's your business--to save your master from
disturbance.' My Filka bent down, and began moving the candle under
the bed. 'But there's no dog here,' said he. I bent down, too; there
certainly was no dog there. What a queer thing!--I glanced at Filka
and he was smiling. 'You stupid,' I said to him, 'why are you
grinning. When you opened the door the dog must have whisked out into
the passage. And you, gaping idiot, saw nothing because you are always
asleep. You don't suppose I am drunk, do you?' He would have answered,
but I sent him out, curled up and that night heard nothing more.
"But the next night--only fancy--the thing was repeated. As soon as I
blew out the candle, he scratched himself and flapped his ears again.
Again I called Filka; again he looked under the bed--again there was
nothing! I sent him away, blew out the candle--and, damn it all, the
dog was there again and it was a dog right enough: one could hear it
breathing, biting its coat, looking for fleas.... It was so
distinct--'Filka,' I said, 'come here without the candle!' He came in.
'Well, now,' I said, 'do you hear?' 'Yes,' he said. I could not see
him, but I felt that the fellow was scared. 'What do you make of it?'
said I. 'What do you bid me make of it, Porfiry Kapitonitch? It's
sorcery!' 'You are a foolish fellow,' I said, 'hold your tongue with
your sorcery....' And our voices quavered like a bird's and we were
trembling in the dark as though we were in a fever. I lighted a
candle, no dog, no sound, only us two, as white as chalk. So I kept a
candle burning till morning and I assure you, gentlemen, you may
believe me or you may not, but from that night for six weeks the same
thing was repeated. In the end I actually got used to it and began
putting out the candle, because I couldn't get to sleep in the light.
'Let him fidget,' I thought, 'he doesn't do me any harm.'"
"Well, I see you are not one of the chicken-hearted brigade," Anton
Stepanitch interrupted in a half-contemptuous, half-condescending
tone! "One can see the Hussar at once!"
"I shouldn't be afraid of you in any case," Porfiry Kapitonitch
observed, and for an instant he really did look like a Hussar.
"But listen to the rest. A neighbour came to see me, the very one with
whom I used to play cards. He dined with me on what luck provided and
dropped some fifty roubles for his visit; night came on, it was time
for him to be off. But I had my own idea. 'Stay the night with me,' I
said, 'Vassily Vassilitch; tomorrow, please God, you will win it
back.' Vassily Vassilitch considered and stayed. I had a bed put up
for him in my room.... Well, we went to bed, smoked, chatted--about
the fair sex for the most part, as is only suitable in bachelor
company--we laughed, of course; I saw Vassily Vassilitch put out his
candle and turn his back towards me: as much as to say: 'Good night.'
I waited a little, then I, too, put out my candle. And, only fancy, I
had hardly time to wonder what sort of trick would be played this
time, when the sweet creature was moving again. And moving was not
all; it came out from under the bed, walked across the room, tapped on
the floor with its paws, shook its ears and all of a sudden pushed
against the very chair that was close by Vassily Vassilitch's bed.
'Porfiry Kapitonitch,' said the latter, and in such an unconcerned
voice, you know, 'I did not know you had a dog. What sort is it, a
setter?' 'I haven't a dog,' I said, 'and never have had one!' 'You
haven't? Why, what's this?' 'What's this?' said I, 'why, light
the candle and then you will see for yourself.' 'Isn't it a dog?'
'No.' Vassily Vassilitch turned over in bed. 'But you are joking, dash
it all.' 'No, I am not joking.' I heard him go strike, strike, with a
match, while the creature persisted in scratching its ribs. The light
flared up ... and, hey presto! not a trace remained! Vassily
Vassilitch looked at me and I looked at him. 'What trick is this?' he
said. 'It's a trick,' I said, 'that, if you were to set Socrates
himself on one side and Frederick the Great on the other, even they
could not make it out.' And then I told him all about it. Didn't my
Vassily Vassilitch jump out of bed! As though he had been scalded! He
couldn't get into his boots. 'Horses,' he cried, 'horses!' I began
trying to persuade him, but it was no use! He positively gasped! 'I
won't stay,' he said, 'not a minute! You must be a man under a curse!
Horses.' However, I prevailed upon him. Only his bed was dragged into
another room and nightlights were lighted everywhere. At our tea in
the morning he had regained his equanimity; he began to give me
Kapitonitch,' he said, 'perhaps
this abomination would leave you.' And
I must tell you: my neighbour was a man of immense intellect. He
managed his mother-in-law wonderfully: he fastened an I. O. U. upon
her; he must have chosen a sentimental moment! She became as soft as
silk, she gave him an authorisation for the management of all her
estate--what more would you have? You know it is something to get the
better of one's mother-in-law. Eh! You can judge for yourselves.
However, he took leave of me in some displeasure; I'd stripped him of
a hundred roubles again. He actually abused me. 'You are ungrateful.'
he said, 'you have no feeling'; but how was I to blame? Well, be that
as it may, I considered his advice. That very day I drove off to the
town and put up at an inn, kept by an old man I knew, a Dissenter. He
was a worthy old fellow, though a little morose from living in
solitude, all his family were dead. But he disliked tobacco and had
the greatest loathing for dogs; I believe he would have been torn to
pieces rather than consent to let a dog into his room. 'For how can
one?' he would say, 'the Queen of Heaven herself is graciously pleased
to be on my wall there, and is an unclean dog to put his infidel nose
there?' Of course, it was lack of education! However, to my thinking,
whatever wisdom a man has he had better stick to that."
"I see you are a great philosopher," Anton Stepanitch interrupted a
second time with the same sarcastic smile.
This time Porfiry Kapitonitch actually frowned.
"How much I know of philosophy I cannot tell," he observed, tugging
grimly at his moustache, "but I would be glad to give you a lesson in
it."
We all simply stared at Anton Stepanitch. Every one of us expected a
haughty reply, or at least a glance like a flash of lightning.... But
the civil councillor turned his contemptuous smile into one of
indifference, then yawned, swung his foot and--that was all!
"Well, I stayed at that old fellow's," Porfiry Kapitonitch went on.
"He gave me a little room, not one of the best, as we were old
friends; his own was close by, the other side of the partition--and
that was just what I wanted. The tortures I faced that night! A little
room, a regular oven, stuffiness, flies, and such sticky ones; in the
corner an extraordinarily big shrine with ancient ikons, with dingy
setting in relief on them. It fairly reeked of oil and some other
stuff, too; there were two featherbeds on the beds. If you moved the
pillow a black beetle would run from under it.... I had drunk an
incredible quantity of tea, feeling so dreary--it was simply dreadful!
I got into bed; there was no possibility of sleeping--and, the other
side of the partition, my host was sighing, clearing his throat,
repeating his prayers. However, he subsided at last. I heard him begin
to snore, but only faintly, in the old-fashioned polite way. I had put
my candle out long ago, but the little lamp was burning before the
ikons.... That prevented it, I suppose. So I got up softly with bare
feet, climbed up to the lamp, and blew it out.... Nothing happened.
'Oho!' I thought, 'so it doesn't come off in other people's houses.'
"But I had no sooner got into bed than there was a commotion again. He
was scraping on the floor and scratching himself and shaking his
ears ... the usual thing, in fact. Very good! I lay still and waited to
see what would happen. I heard the old man wake up. 'Sir,' he said,
waiting for my answer, he burst out all at once. 'What's that? What's
that, a dog? A dog! Ah, you vile heretic!' 'Wait a bit, old man, before
you scold,' I said. 'You had better come here yourself. Things are
happening,' I said, 'that may well make you wonder.' The old man
stirred behind the partition and came in to me, with a candle, a very,
very thin one, made of yellow wax; I was surprised when I looked at
him! He looked bristling all over, with hairy ears and eyes as fierce
as a weasel's; he had on a white woollen night cap, a beard to his
waist, white; too, and a waistcoat with copper buttons on it over his
shirt and fur boots on his feet and he smelt of juniper. In this
attire he approached the ikons, crossed himself three times with his
two fingers crossed, lighted the lamp, crossed himself again and,
turning to me, just grunted: 'Explain!' And thereupon, without delay,
I told him all that had happened. The old man listened to my account
and did not drop one word, simply shook his head. Then he sat down on
my bed and still said nothing. He scratched his chest, the back of his
head and so on and said nothing. 'Well,' I said, 'Fedul Ivanitch, what
do you think? Is it some devil's sorcery or what?' The old man looked
at me. 'What an idea! Devil's sorcery! A tobacco-smoker like you might
well have that at home, but not here. Only think what holiness there
is here! Sorcery, indeed!' 'And if it is not sorcery, what is it,
then?' The old man was silent again; again he scratched himself and
said at last, but in a muffled voice, for his moustache was all over
his mouth: 'You go to the town of Belyov. There is no one who can help
you but one man. And that man lives in Belyov. He is one of our
people. If he is willing to help you, you are lucky; if he is not,
nothing can be done.' 'And how am I to find this man?' I said. 'I can
direct you about that,' he answered; 'but how can it be sorcery? It is
an apparition, or rather an indication; but you cannot comprehend it,
it is beyond your understanding. Lie down to sleep now with the
blessing of our Lord Christ; I will burn incense and in the morning we
will converse. Morning, you know, brings wisdom.'
"Well, we did converse in the morning, only I was almost stifled by
that incense. And this was the counsel the old man gave me: that when
I reached Belyov I should go into the market place and ask in the
second shop on the right for one Prohoritch, and when I had found
Prohoritch, put into his hand a writing and the writing consisted of a
scrap of paper, on which stood the following words: 'In the name of
the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen. To Sergey Prohorovitch
Pervushin. Trust this man. Feduly Ivanitch.' And below, 'Send the
cabbages, for God's sake.'
"I thanked the old man and without further discussion ordered my
carriage and drove to Belyov. For I reflected, that though I suffered
no harm from my nocturnal visitor, yet it was uncanny and in fact not
quite the thing for a nobleman and an officer--what do you think?"
"And did you really go to Belyov?" murmured Finoplentov.
"Straight to Belyov. I went into the market place and asked at the
second shop on the right for Prohoritch. 'Is there such a person?' I
asked. 'Yes,' they told me. 'And where does he live?' 'By the Oka,
beyond the market gardens.' 'In whose house?' 'In his own.' I went to
the Oka, found his house, though it was really not a house but simply