The Crocodile Page #3

"The Crocodile" is a satirical novella by Fyodor Dostoevsky, first published in 1865. The story follows a man named Ivan Matveich, who is swallowed alive by a crocodile while visiting a zoo in St. Petersburg. Throughout the narrative, Dostoevsky explores themes of existentialism, identity, and the absurdity of human existence. As Ivan navigates his unusual circumstances, he reflects on society's reactions to his plight and the nature of life and death. The novella combines dark humor with philosophical insights, showcasing Dostoevsky's skill in blending the absurd with profound social commentary.

• Novel

								

unhappy captive. His voice was muffled, thin and even squeaky, as though it
came from a considerable distance. It reminded one of a jocose person who,
covering his mouth with a pillow, shouts from an adjoining room, trying to
mimic the sound of two peasants calling to one another in a deserted plain
or across a wide ravine--a performance to which I once had the pleasure of
listening in a friend's house at Christmas.

"Ivan Matveitch, my dear, and so you are alive!" faltered Elena Ivanovna.

"Alive and well," answered Ivan Matveitch, "and, thanks to the Almighty,
swallowed without any damage whatever. I am only uneasy as to the view my
superiors may take of the incident; for after getting a permit to go abroad
I've got into a crocodile, which seems anything but clever."

"But, my dear, don't trouble your head about being clever; first of all we
must somehow excavate you from where you are," Elena Ivanovna interrupted.

"Excavate!" cried the proprietor. "I will not let my crocodile be
excavated. Now the publicum will come many more, and I will fünfzig
kopecks ask and Karlchen will cease to burst."

"Gott sei dank!" put in his wife.

"They are right," Ivan Matveitch observed tranquilly; "the principles of
economics before everything."

"My dear! I will fly at once to the authorities and lodge a complaint, for
I feel that we cannot settle this mess by ourselves."

"I think so too," observed Ivan Matveitch; "but in our age of industrial
crisis it is not easy to rip open the belly of a crocodile without economic
compensation, and meanwhile the inevitable question presents itself: What
will the German take for his crocodile? And with it another: How will it be
paid? For, as you know, I have no means...."

"Perhaps out of your salary...." I observed timidly, but the proprietor
interrupted me at once.

"I will not the crocodile sell; I will for three thousand the crocodile
sell! I will for four thousand the crocodile sell! Now the publicum will
come very many. I will for five thousand the crocodile sell!"

In fact he gave himself insufferable airs. Covetousness and a revolting
greed gleamed joyfully in his eyes.

"I am going!" I cried indignantly.

"And I! I too! I shall go to Andrey Osipitch himself. I will soften him
with my tears," whined Elena Ivanovna.

"Don't do that, my dear," Ivan Matveitch hastened to interpose. He had long
been jealous of Andrey Osipitch on his wife's account, and he knew she
would enjoy going to weep before a gentleman of refinement, for tears
suited her. "And I don't advise you to do so either, my friend," he added,
addressing me. "It's no good plunging headlong in that slap-dash way;
there's no knowing what it may lead to. You had much better go to-day to
Timofey Semyonitch, as though to pay an ordinary visit; he is an
old-fashioned and by no means brilliant man, but he is trustworthy, and
what matters most of all, he is straightforward. Give him my greetings and
describe the circumstances of the case. And since I owe him seven roubles
over our last game of cards, take the opportunity to pay him the money;
that will soften the stern old man. In any case his advice may serve as a
guide for us. And meanwhile take Elena Ivanovna home.... Calm yourself, my
dear," he continued, addressing her. "I am weary of these outcries and
feminine squabblings, and should like a nap. It's soft and warm in here,
though I have hardly had time to look round in this unexpected haven."

"Look round! Why, is it light in there?" cried Elena Ivanovna in a tone of
relief.

"I am surrounded by impenetrable night," answered the poor captive; "but I
can feel and, so to speak, have a look round with my hands.... Good-bye;
set your mind at rest and don't deny yourself recreation and diversion.
Till to-morrow! And you, Semyon Semyonitch, come to me in the evening, and
as you are absent-minded and may forget it, tie a knot in your
handkerchief."

I confess I was glad to get away, for I was overtired and somewhat bored.
Hastening to offer my arm to the disconsolate Elena Ivanovna, whose charms
were only enhanced by her agitation, I hurriedly led her out of the
crocodile room.

"The charge will be another quarter-rouble in the evening," the proprietor
called after us.

"Oh, dear, how greedy they are!" said Elena Ivanovna, looking at herself in
every mirror on the walls of the Arcade, and evidently aware that she was
looking prettier than usual.

"The principles of economics," I answered with some emotion, proud that
passers-by should see the lady on my arm.

"The principles of economics," she drawled in a touching little voice. "I
did not in the least understand what Ivan Matveitch said about those horrid
economics just now."

"I will explain to you," I answered, and began at once telling her of the
beneficial effects of the introduction of foreign capital into our country,
upon which I had read an article in the Petersburg News and the Voice
that morning.

"How strange it is," she interrupted, after listening for some time. "But
do leave off, you horrid man. What nonsense you are talking.... Tell me, do
I look purple?"

"You look perfect, and not purple!" I observed, seizing the opportunity to
pay her a compliment.

"Naughty man!" she said complacently. "Poor Ivan Matveitch," she added a
minute later, putting her little head on one side coquettishly. "I am
really sorry for him. Oh, dear!" she cried suddenly, "how is he going to
have his dinner ... and ... and ... what will he do ... if he wants
anything?"

"An unforeseen question," I answered, perplexed in my turn. To tell the
truth, it had not entered my head, so much more practical are women than we
men in the solution of the problems of daily life!

"Poor dear! how could he have got into such a mess ... nothing to amuse
him, and in the dark.... How vexing it is that I have no photograph of
him.... And so now I am a sort of widow," she added, with a seductive
smile, evidently interested in her new position. "Hm!... I am sorry for
him, though."

It was, in short, the expression of the very natural and intelligible grief
of a young and interesting wife for the loss of her husband. I took her
home at last, soothed her, and after dining with her and drinking a cup of
aromatic coffee, set off at six o'clock to Timofey Semyonitch, calculating
that at that hour all married people of settled habits would be sitting or
lying down at home.

Having written this first chapter in a style appropriate to the incident
recorded, I intend to proceed in a language more natural though less
elevated, and I beg to forewarn the reader of the fact.
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