The Little Demon by Fyodor Sologub (reading e books .TXT) 📕
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Ardalyon Borisitch Peredonov believes himself better than his job as a teacher, and hopes that the Princess will be able to promote him to the position of Inspector. Unfortunately for him his connection to the Princess is through his fiancée Varvara, and she has her own plans. With little sign of the desired position his life of petty cruelty escalates, even as his grip on reality begins to break apart and his paranoia manifests itself in hallucinations of a shadowy creature.
Finished in 1907, The Little Demon (alternatively translated as The Petty Demon) is Fyodor Sologub’s most famous novel, and received both popular and critical attention on its publication despite its less-than-favorable depictions of provincial Russian life. Its portrayal of Peredonov as a paranoid character simultaneously both banal and bereft of goodness is an essay on the Russian concept of poshlost; a theme that makes an appearance in many other Russian novels, not least Chichikov in Gogol’s Dead Souls. This translation (primarily by John Cournos) was published in 1916, and includes a preface by Sologub for the English-speaking reader.
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- Author: Fyodor Sologub
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Peredonov dwelt long and incoherently on his apprehensions. Avinovitsky listened with an angry countenance and punctuated his discourse with exclamations:
“Villains! Scamps! Children of Herod!”
“What sort of Nihilist am I?” said Peredonov. “It’s ridiculous. I have an official cap with a badge, but I don’t always wear it—and I sometimes wear a bowler. As for the fact that Mickiewicz hangs on my wall, I put him there because of his poetry and not because he was a rebel. I haven’t even read his Kolokol.”16
“Well, you’ve caught that from another opera,” said Avinovitsky unceremoniously. “Herzen published it and not Mickiewicz.”
“That was another Kolokol,” said Peredonov. “Mickiewicz also published a Kolokol.”
“I didn’t know it—you’d better publish the fact. It would be a great discovery. You’d become celebrated.”
“It’s forbidden to publish it,” said Peredonov angrily; “I’m not allowed to read forbidden books. And I never read them. I’m a patriot.”
After lengthy lamentations in which Peredonov poured himself out, Avinovitsky concluded that someone was trying to blackmail Peredonov, and with this purpose in view was spreading rumours about him in order to frighten him and to prepare a basis for a sudden demand for money. That these rumours did not reach him, Avinovitsky explained by the fact that the blackmailer was acting skilfully upon Peredonov’s immediate circle—because it was only necessary to frighten Peredonov. Avinovitsky asked:
“Whom do you suspect?”
Peredonov fell into thought. Quite by chance Grushina came into his mind, he recalled confusedly the recent conversation with her, during which he interrupted her by a threat of informing against her. The fact that it was he who had threatened to inform against Grushina became in his mind a vague idea of informing in general. Whether he was to inform against someone or whether they were to inform against him was not clear, and Peredonov had no desire to exert himself to recall the matter precisely—one thing was clear, that Grushina was an enemy. And what was worse she had seen where he hid Pisarev. He would have to hide the books somewhere else.
Peredonov said at last:
“Well, there’s Grushina.”
“Yes, I know, she’s a first class rogue,” said Avinovitsky sharply.
“She’s always coming to our house,” complained Peredonov. “And always nosing around. She’s very grasping—she takes all she can get. It’s possible that she wants money from me in order to keep her from reporting that I once had Pisarev. Or perhaps she wants to marry me. But I don’t want to pay her. And I have someone else I want to marry—let her inform against me—I’m not guilty. Only it’s unpleasant to me to have this gossip as it might prevent my appointment.”
“She’s a well-known charlatan,” said the District Attorney. “She wanted to take up fortune-telling by cards here, and to get money out of fools. But I asked the police to stop it. At that time they were sensible and did what I told them.”
“Even now she tells fortunes,” said Peredonov. “She spread out the cards for me and she always saw a long journey and an official letter for me.”
“She knows what to say to everybody. Just wait, she’ll set a trap for you and then she’ll try and extort money from you. Then you come to me and I’ll give her a hundred of the hottest lashes,” said Avinovitsky, using his favourite expression.
This expression was not to be taken literally, it merely meant an ordinary rebuke.
Thus Avinovitsky promised his protection to Peredonov, but Peredonov left him agitated by vague fears inspired by Avinovitsky’s loud, stern speeches.
In this manner Peredonov made a single visit every day before dinner—he could not manage more than one because everywhere he had to make circumstantial explanations. In the evening, as was his custom, he went to play billiards.
As before, Vershina enticed him in by her witching invitations, as before Routilov praised his sisters to him. At home Varvara used her persuasive powers to make him marry her sooner—but he came to no resolution. He indeed thought sometimes that to marry Varvara would be the best thing he could do—but suppose the Princess should deceive him? He would become the laughingstock of the town, and this possibility made him pause.
The pursuit of him by would-be brides, the envy of his comrades, more often the product of his imagination than an actual fact, all sorts of suspected snares—all this made his life wearisome and unhappy, like the weather which for several successive days had been bleak, and often resolved itself into slow and scant, but cold and prolonged rains. Peredonov felt that life was becoming a detestable thing—but he thought that he would soon become an inspector, and then everything would take a turn for the better.
XOn Thursday, Peredonov went to see the Marshal of the Nobility.
The Marshal’s house reminded one of a palatial cottage in Pavlovsk or in Tsarskoye Selo, with full conveniences even for winter residence. Though there was no blatant display of luxury, the newness of many articles seemed unnecessarily pretentious.
Aleksandr Mikhailovitch Veriga received Peredonov in his study. He pretended to hurry forward to greet his guest, and gave the impression that it was only his extreme busyness that kept him from meeting Peredonov earlier.
Veriga held himself extraordinarily erect even for a retired cavalry officer. It was whispered that he wore corsets. His clean-shaven face was a uniform red, as if it were painted. His head was shorn by the closest-cutting clippers—a convenient method of minimising his bald patch. His eyes were grey, affable, but cold. In his manner he was extremely amiable
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