The World’s Wit and Humor: An Encyclopedia in 15 Volumes. 1906.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky (1821–1881)The Crocodile
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The moment we entered the Passage he went into raptures over the magnificence of the building; and when we reached the shop in which the newly arrived monster was on view, he even wished to pay the crocodile-keeper the twenty-five copecks for my admission out of his own pocket—a thing which had never happened with him before. On entering, we found ourselves in a small room, in which, besides the crocodile, were several cockatoos, and a collection of monkeys in a separate cage in the background. To the left hand of the door, by the wall, stood a large tin tank, something like a bath, covered with a strong iron-wire netting, and at the bottom of it were two or three inches of water. In this shallow puddle lay an enormous crocodile, as still as a log, perfectly motionless, and appearing to have lost all his powers in our damp and, for foreigners, inhospitable climate. At first sight the monster aroused no particular interest in any of us.
“So that’s the crocodile!” said Elyona Ivanovna regretfully, in a singsong voice. “I thought he would be—quite different, somehow.”
She probably expected him to be made of diamonds. The German exhibitor, at once keeper and owner of the crocodile, who had come into the room, looked at us with an air of the greatest pride.
“He’s right,” whispered Ivan Matvyeich to me; “for he knows that no one else in all Russia is exhibiting a crocodile.”
I attributed this utterly senseless remark to the particularly pleasant humor that Ivan Matvyeich was in; for, on the whole, he was a very envious man.
“I think your crocodile is dead,” said Elyona Ivanovna, piqued by the ungraciousness of the German, and turning to him with a fascinating smile, intended to “vanquish this boor”—a peculiarly feminine maneuver.
“Oh, no, madam,” answered the German in his broken Russian, and, half-lifting the network of the tank, he began to tap the crocodile on the head with a cane.
At this the perfidious monster, to show that it was alive, slightly moved its feet and tail, raised its head, and uttered a sound resembling a prolonged snuffle.
“There, don’t be cross, Karlchen,” caressingly said the German, whose vanity was flattered.
“What a horrid brute! I am quite afraid of him,” lisped Elyona Ivanovna, still more coquettishly. “I shall dream of him now at night!”
“But he not vill bite you at ze night, madam,” gallantly rejoined the German, and burst out laughing at his own joke, though none of us answered him.
“Come, Semyon Semyonich,” continued Elyona Ivanovna, addressing herself to me, “let’s go and look at the monkeys. I am awfully fond of monkeys; some of them are such little loves; but the crocodile is horrible.”
“Oh, don’t be afraid, my dear,” Ivan Matvyeich called after us, showing off his bravery before his wife. “This sleepy denizen of the realm of the Pharaohs will do us no harm;” and he remained beside the tank. He even took off one glove, and began to tickle the crocodile’s nose with it, in the hope, as he afterward confessed, of making it snore again. The keeper, out of politeness to a lady, followed Elyona Ivanovna to the monkeys’ cage.
Thus all was well, and there was no sign of coming misfortune. Elyona Ivanovna was so much fascinated with the monkeys that she appeared completely absorbed in them. She uttered screams of delight, talked incessantly to me, as if wishing to ignore the keeper altogether, and went into fits of laughing over resemblances which she found in the monkeys to her most intimate friends and acquaintances. I, too, was greatly amused, for there could be no doubt as to the likeness. The German did not know whether to laugh or not, and therefore ended by scowling. At this moment an appalling, I may even say supernatural, shriek suddenly shook the room. Not knowing what to think, I stood for a moment rooted to the spot; then, hearing Elyona Ivanovna shrieking, too, I turned hastily round; and what did I see! I saw—oh, heavens!—I saw the unhappy Ivan Matvyeich in the fearful jaws of the crocodile, seized across the middle, lifted horizontally in the air, and kicking despairingly. Then—a moment—and he was gone!
I cannot even attempt to describe the agitation of Elyona Ivanovna. After her first cry she stood for some time as petrified, and stared at the scene before her, as if indifferently, though her eyes were starting out of her head; then she suddenly burst into a piercing shriek. I caught her by the hands. At this moment the keeper, who until now had also stood petrified with horror, clasped his hands, and raising his eyes to heaven, cried aloud:
“Oh, my crocodile! Oh, mein allerliebstes Karlchen! Mutter! Mutter! Mutter!”
At this cry the back door opened, and “Mutter,” a red-cheeked, untidy, elderly woman in a cap, rushed with a yell toward her son.
Then began an awful tumult. Elyona Ivanovna, beside herself, reiterated one single phrase, “Cut it! Cut it!” and rushed from the keeper to the “Mutter,” and back to the keeper, imploring them (evidently in a fit of frenzy) to “cut” something or some one for some reason. Neither the keeper nor “Mutter” took any notice of either of us; they were hanging over the tank, and shrieking like stuck pigs.
“He is gone dead; he vill sogleich burst, because he von ganz official of der government eat up haf!” cried the keeper.
“Unser Karlchen, unser allerliebstes Karlchen wird sterben!” wailed the mother.
“Ve are orphans, vitout bread!” moaned the keeper.
“Cut it! Cut it! Cut it open!” screamed Elyona Ivanovna, hanging on to the German’s coat.
“He did teaze ze crocodile! Vy your man teaze ze crocodile?” yelled the German, wriggling away. “You vill pay me if Karlchen wird bersten! Das war mein Sohn, das war mein einziger Sohn!”
“Cut it!” shrieked Elyona Ivanovna.
“How! You vill dat my crocodile shall be die? No, your man shall be die first, and denn my crocodile. Mein Vater show von crocodile, mein Grossvater show von crocodile, mein Sohn shall show von crocodile, and I shall show von crocodile. All ve shall show crocodile. I am ganz Europa famous, and you are not ganz Europa famous, and you do be me von fine pay shall!”
“Ja, ja!” agreed the woman savagely; “ve you not let out; fine ven Karlchen vill bersten.”
“For that matter,” I put in calmly, in the hope of getting Elyona Ivanovna home without further ado, “there’s no use in cutting it open, for in all probability our dear Ivan Matvyeich is now soaring in the empyrean.”
“My dear,” remarked at this moment the voice of Ivan Matvyeich, with startling suddenness, “my advice, my dear, is to act through the bureau of police, for the German will not comprehend the truth without the assistance of the police.”
These words, uttered with firmness and gravity, and expressing astonishing presence of mind, at first so much amazed us that we could not believe our ears. Of course, however, we instantly ran to the crocodile’s tank and listened to the speech of the unfortunate captive with a mixture of reverence and distrust. His voice sounded muffled, thin, and even squeaky, as though coming from a long distance.
“Ivan Matvyeich, my dearest, are you alive?” lisped Elyona Ivanovna.
“Alive and well,” answered Ivan Matvyeich; “and, thanks to the Almighty, swallowed whole without injury. I am only disturbed by doubt as to how the superior authorities will regard this episode; for, after having taken a ticket to go abroad, to go into a crocodile instead is hardly sensible.”
“Oh, my dear, don’t worry about sense now; first of all we must somehow or other dig you out,” interrupted Elyona Ivanovna.
“Tig!” cried the German. “I not vill let you to tig ze crocodile! Now shall bery mush Publikum be come, and I shall fifety copeck take, and Karlchen shall leave off to burst.”
“Gott sei Dank!” added the mother.
“They are right,” calmly remarked Ivan Matvyeich; “the economic principle before everything.”
“Dear friend,” I exclaimed, “I will fly at once to the authorities and complain, for I feel convinced that we can’t settle this mess by ourselves!”
“I also am of that opinion,” said Ivan Matvyeich; “but without economic compensation it is hard, in our age of financial crisis, to rip open the belly of a crocodile, and, nevertheless, we are confronted with the inevitable question: What will the owner take for his crocodile? With this there is also another question: Who is to pay? For you know I have not the means.”
“Couldn’t you get your salary in advance?” I began timidly. But the German instantly interrupted:
“I not sell ze crocodile. I tree tausend sell ze crocodile, I four tausend sell ze crocodile! Now shall mush Publikum come. I fife tausend sell ze crocodile!”
In a word, he carried it with a high hand; avarice and greed shone triumphantly in his eyes.
“I will go!” I cried indignantly.
“And I! And I too! I will go to Andrey Osipich himself. I will move him with my tears!” wailed Elyona Ivanovna.
“Don’t do that, my dear,” hastily interrupted Ivan Matvyeich, who had long been jealous of Andrey Osipich’s admiration of his wife, and knew that she was glad of a chance to weep before a man of refinement, as tears became her very well. “And you, my friend,” he continued, addressing me, “you had better go to Timofei Semyonich. And now take away Elyona Ivanovna. Be calm, my love,” he added to her. “I am tired of all this noise and feminine quarreling, and wish to take a little nap. It is warm and soft here, though I have not yet had time to look about me in this unexpected refuge.”
“Look about you! Is there any light there?” cried Elyona Ivanovna in rapture.
“I am surrounded by impenetrable darkness,” answered the poor captive; “but I can feel, and, so to say, look about me with my hands. Good-by! Be calm, and do not deny yourself recreation. You, Semyon Semyonich, come back to me this evening, and, as you are absent-minded and may forget, tie a knot in your handkerchief.”…
The respectable Timofei Semyonich received me in a hurried and, as it were, somewhat embarrassed manner.
He evidently knew all, much to my astonishment. However, I told him the whole story over again, with all details. I spoke with emotion, for at that moment I was fulfilling the duty of a true friend. He listened without any great surprise, but with evident suspiciousness.
“Just imagine,” he said, when I had done; “I always expected that this very thing would happen to him.”
“But why, Timofei Semyonich? The case is a most exceptional one.”
“Certainly. But during the whole term of his service Ivan Matvyeich has been leading up to this result. He’s too nimble—yes, and too conceited. Always ‘progress’ and new-fangled ideas—and that’s where progress ends.”
“But advise us,” said I; “guide us, as a man of experience—as a relative! What shall we do? Go to the authorities, or——”
“To the authorities? On no account!” hastily exclaimed Timofei Semyonich. “If you want my advice, I say the first thing is to hush up the matter, and act in the character of a private person. It is a suspicious case, an unheard-of case. The worst is that it’s unheard of—there’s no precedent; indeed, it looks very bad. So that the first of all things is caution. Let him stop where he is a bit. He must have patience, patience!”
“But how can he stop there, Timofei Semyonich? Supposing he chokes to death?”
“Why should he? Didn’t you tell me that he had made rather a comfortable arrangement for himself there?”
I repeated all over again. Timofei Semyonich meditated.
“Hm!” he pronounced, holding his snuff-box in his hands. “In my opinion it will be even a very good thing for him to stop there a bit, instead of going abroad. He can think at his leisure; of course it wouldn’t do to choke, and he must take measures for the preservation of his health— I mean, he must take care not to get a cough or anything. As for the German, my personal opinion is that he is right—more so than the other side, indeed; because, you see, Ivan Matvyeich got into his crocodile without leave, and not he into Ivan Matvyeich’s crocodile; indeed, so far as I remember, Ivan Matvyeich had no crocodile of his own. Very well, then, a crocodile constitutes private property, therefore without remuneration it cannot be cut open, as I take it.”
“To save a human life, Timofei Semyonich?”
“Oh, well, that’s the business of the police. You should apply to them.”
“But then, again, Ivan Matvyeich may be needed. He may be sent for——”
“Ivan Matvyeich needed? Ha-ha-ha! Besides, he is supposed to be on furlough; therefore we can ignore the whole matter and suppose him to be looking at European countries. It will be another case if he doesn’t turn up at the end of his furlough; then, of course, we must make inquiries.”
“Three months! Timofei Semyonich, for mercy’s sake!”
“It’s his own fault. Who asked him to poke his nose in there? I suppose next there’ll have to be a nurse-maid hired for him at government expense, and that’s not allowed in the regulations, you know. But the main point is that the crocodile is property; therefore what is called the economic principle comes into play. And the economic principle is before everything. Now, the day before yesterday, at Luka Andreich’s evening, Ignatyi Prokofich was talking about that. He’s a capitalist, a business man, and he put it all so plainly, you know. ‘What we want,’ he said, ‘is industry; we have too little industry. It must be created. We must create capital; that is, we must create a middle class; we must create what is called a bourgeoisie. And as we have no capital, we must import it from abroad.’ As you see, we are making efforts to attract foreign capital into the country, and now judge for yourself: the capital of the crocodile-keeper (a foreigner attracted here) has barely had time to become doubled by means of Ivan Matvyeich, and we, instead of protecting the foreign possessor of property, are aiming, on the contrary, to rip open the belly of the fundamental capital itself! Now, really, is that consistent? In my opinion, Ivan Matvyeich, as a true son of the Fatherland, should even be glad and proud that, by the addition of himself, he has doubled, and maybe trebled, the value of the foreign crocodile. That, sir, is an essential feature in the attracting of capital. If one succeeds, perhaps another will come with a crocodile, and a third will bring two or three at once, and capital will collect round them. And so you get your bourgeoisie. People must be encouraged, my good sir.”
“But, Timofei Semyonich,” I exclaimed, “you demand almost supernatural self-abnegation of poor Ivan Matvyeich!”
“And who told him to get into the crocodile? A respectable man, a man holding a certain position, living in lawful wedlock, and suddenly—such a step! Now, is that consistent?”
“But the step was taken unintentionally.”
“How should I know that? And then, how is the crocodile-keeper to be paid, eh? No, no, he had better stop where he is; he has nowhere to hurry to.”
A happy thought flashed into my mind.
“Can’t we manage it this way?” said I. “If he is fated to stay in the entrails of the monster, and if, by the will of Providence, he remains alive, can’t he send in a petition that he shall be regarded as serving during his sojourn there?”
“Hm—you mean, as on furlough, without salary?”
“No, I mean with his salary.”
“On what ground?”
“As being on an expedition, on government service——”
“What expedition? Where to?”
“Why, into the entrails—the crocodile’s entrails—so to say, to collect information, to study facts on the spot. Of course it is a new idea, but then it is progressive, and at the same time it shows an interest in education.”
Timofei Semyonich meditated.
“To despatch an official,” he remarked at last, “into a crocodile’s entrails on a special commission, is, according to my personal opinion, absurd. It is not provided for by the regulations. And then, what investigation can there be to make there?”
“Well, you know, natural philosophy—I mean the study of nature on the spot, in the living organism. Natural science is all the rage now, and botany and all that. He could live there and give information—well, for instance, about the digestion—or even the general habits—for the sake of obtaining facts.”
“This would belong to the department of statistics. Well, I’m not strong on that point, and then I’m not a philosopher. You say ‘facts.’ As it is, we’re crowded with facts, and don’t know what to do with them all. And then, these statistics are dangerous things.”
“How so?”
“Very dangerous. And, moreover, you must admit that he will have to communicate his facts while lying down at his ease. How can a man be on government service while he’s lying down? That, again, is an innovation, and a dangerous one; and for that, too, there is no precedent. Now, if there were even any sort of precedent, then, in my opinion, it might be possible to arrange a commission.”
“But up till now live crocodiles have not been brought here, Timofei Semyonich.”
“Hm—yes.” He meditated again. “There is some truth in your argument, and it might even serve as a basis for the further development of the case. But again, on the other hand, if, with the introduction of live crocodiles, government servants begin to disappear, and then, in consideration of the fact that it is soft and warm inside there, they want to be on commissions in order to live there, and then spend their time lying down, you must acknowledge it’ll be a bad example. Yes, every one will be trying to get paid for doing nothing. Well, good-by. Are you coming?”
“No, I must go back to the captive.”
“Ah, yes, to the captive. Oh-h-h! That’s what frivolity leads to!”…
When I reached the passage it was about nine o’clock, and I had to enter the crocodile-room by the back door, for the German had shut up his place earlier than usual. He was walking about at his ease in a greasy old coat, and was evidently three times more self-satisfied even than in the morning. It was plain that he was troubled with no fears, and that “bery mush Publikum” had come. “Mutter” came out, too, evidently for the purpose of keeping a watch upon me. She and her son often whispered together. Although the premises were shut up, the German took twenty-five copecks as entrance-fee from me. That seems to me an excess of accuracy!
“You vill pay ebery time; ze Publikum vill pay von ruble, and you vill pay twenti-fife copeck, vy for you are von goot friend ob your goot friend, and I honor ze friend.”
“Is he alive? Is my learned friend alive?” I cried loudly, approaching the crocodile.
“Alive and well,” answered Ivan Matvyeich, as if from a distance; “but of that afterward. What news?”
Pretending not to hear the question, I began hastily and with sympathy to put questions in my turn. I asked him how he was, how he got on in the crocodile, and what the inside of a crocodile was like. But he interrupted me irritably.
“What news?” he shouted, in his squeaky voice, which sounded now peculiarly unpleasant.
I related to him all my conversation with Timofei Semyonich, to the minutest detail. In relating it I tried to express that I was somewhat hurt.
“The old man is right,” said Ivan Matvyeich. “I like practical people, and can’t bear sentimental milksops. Sit down anywhere—on the floor, if you like—and listen to me:
“Now, for the first time, I have leisure to think out how to improve the lot of all humanity. Out of the crocodile shall come forth light and truth. I shall invent a new theory, all my own, of new economic relations—a theory of which I can be proud. Up till now my time has been occupied with the government service and with worldly, frivolous amusements. I shall overthrow everything and become a new Fourier. But to the point: where is my wife?”
I told him how I had left Elyona Ivanovna; but he did not even hear me out.
“I build great hopes upon her,” he said. “From next week she must begin to throw open her drawing-room every evening. I feel sure that the keeper will sometimes bring me, together with the crocodile, into my wife’s brilliant salon. I will stand, in my tank, in the splendid reception-room and shower around me witty sayings, which I will think out beforehand, in the mornings. I will confide my projects to statesmen; with poets I will speak of verse; with the ladies I will be amusing and fascinating, though strictly moral, and I shall have the advantage of being quite innocuous to their husbands. To the rest of society I will serve as an example of submission to fate and to the will of Providence.”
I confess that, though all this was something in Ivan Matvyeich’s usual style, it came into my head that he was feverish and light-headed. This was the ordinary, every-day Ivan Matvyeich twenty times magnified.
“My friend,” I asked him, “do you hope for a long life? Tell me about yourself: are you well? How do you eat, sleep, and breathe? I am your friend, and indeed you must acknowledge that the case is altogether supernatural, therefore my curiosity is altogether natural.”
“Idle curiosity, and nothing more,” he answered sententiously. “But you shall be satisfied. You ask, How am I domiciled in the entrails of the monster? In the first place, the crocodile, to my great surprise, turns out to be completely hollow. Its interior consists of what appears to be an enormous empty sac, made of gutta-percha. If it were not so, think yourself, how could I find room in it?”
“Is it possible?” I exclaimed in utter stupefaction. “Can the crocodile really be quite empty?”
“Quite,” severely and dogmatically affirmed Ivan Matvyeich. “In all probability it is so constructed in accordance with the laws of Nature herself. The crocodile has only jaws, furnished with sharp teeth, and, in addition to the jaws, a rather long tail; and in reality that is all. In the middle, between these two extremities, is an empty space, enclosed in something which resembles india-rubber, and which, in all probability, is india-rubber.”
“But the ribs, the stomach, the intestines, the liver, the heart?” I interrupted almost crossly.
“There is nothing, absolutely no-th-thing of the kind, and probably there never was anything of the kind. All those things are the idle fancies of frivolous travelers. Just as you swell out an air-cushion with air, so I now swell out the crocodile with my person. It is elastic to an incredible degree. For that matter, this hollow formation of the crocodile is fully in accordance with natural science. For supposing, for instance, you were commissioned to construct a new crocodile, the question would naturally present itself to you, What is the fundamental characteristic of the crocodile? The answer is plain, To swallow people. How should this aim—the swallowing of people—be attained in the construction of the crocodile? The answer is still plainer, Make him hollow. The science of physics has long proved that Nature abhors a vacuum. According to this law, the interior of the crocodile must necessarily be empty, in order that the crocodile may abhor a vacuum and may therefore swallow everything that comes to hand, so as to fill itself up. And this is the only reasonable cause that all crocodiles eat men. Now, the construction of man is different: for instance, the emptier a human head, the less desire it feels to fill itself up; and this is the only exception to the general rule. All this has now become as clear as day to me; all this I have comprehended out of my own intellect and experience, being, as it were, in the entrails of Nature, in Nature’s retort, listening to the beating of her pulse. Even etymology agrees with my theory, for the very name of the crocodile implies devouring greed. Crocodile, coccodrillo, is an Italian word—a word contemporary, it may be, with the ancient Egyptian Pharaohs, and evidently derived from the French root, croquer, which means, to eat, to devour, or in any way to use any object for food. All this I intend to explain in my first lecture to the audience which will assemble in Elyona Ivanovna’s salon, when I am carried there in my tank.”
“My dear friend, don’t you think you had better take a—a cooling medicine?” I involuntarily exclaimed. “He’s delirious, delirious!” I repeated to myself in horror.
“Fiddlesticks!” he replied contemptuously. “Moreover, in my present position that would be not altogether convenient. For that matter, I knew you would begin to talk about cooling medicines.”
“Ivan Matvyeich,” said I, “it is hard to believe all the wonders you speak of. And do you mean to tell me that you really, really intend never to dine any more?”
“What silly things you think about, you frivolous rattle-pate! I tell you of great ideas, and you— Let me tell you, then, that I am sufficiently nourished with the great ideas that illumine the night which surrounds me. For the rest, the good-natured keeper of the monster has talked the matter over with his kind-hearted mother, and they have decided together that every morning they will introduce into the jaws of the crocodile a curved metallic tube, something like a shepherd’s pipe, through which I am to suck coffee or broth with white bread soaked in it. The tube has already been ordered from a neighboring shop, but I consider that this is superfluous luxury. I hope to live at least a thousand years, if it be true that crocodiles live so long. By the bye, you had better look that up to-morrow in some book on natural history and let me know, for I may have made a mistake and confused the crocodile with some other fossil. One consideration alone somewhat disturbs me. As I am dressed in cloth and have boots on my feet, the crocodile is, of course, unable to digest me. Moreover, I am alive, and resist the digesting of myself with all my force of will; for, naturally, I do not wish to turn into what all food turns into, as that would be too humiliating. But I fear one thing: in the course of a thousand years the cloth of my coat, which, unfortunately, is of Russian manufacture, may decay, and I, remaining without clothes, may then, notwithstanding all my indignation, begin to be digested; and although by day I shall not permit, shall not under any circumstances allow this, by night, in sleep, when a man is deprived of his free-will, I may be overtaken by the most humiliating doom of a mere potato, pancake, or slice of veal. The thought of this drives me to frenzy. If only on this ground, the revenue law must be changed in order to encourage the importation of English cloth, which is stronger, and therefore will resist Nature longer in cases of persons tumbling into crocodiles. I shall take the earliest opportunity of communicating this idea to some statesman, and also to the political critics of our St. Petersburg daily papers. They can cry it up. I hope that this will not be the only idea they will take from me. I foresee that every morning a whole assembly of them, armed with editorial twenty-five-copeck pieces, will crowd around me, to catch my thoughts upon the telegrams of the day before. In short, the future appears to me in quite a rose-colored light.”
“High fever! High fever!” I whispered to myself. “But, my friend, what about liberty?” I asked, wishing to hear all he had to say upon that point. “You see, you are, as it were, in a dungeon, whereas man should enjoy freedom.”
“You are dull,” he replied. “Savages care for independence, but wise men love only order, and there is no order——”
“Ivan Matvyeich, for mercy’s sake!”
“Silence! Listen!” he screamed out in his rage at being interrupted. “My spirit has never soared so high as now. In my narrow retreat I have but one fear: the literary criticism of the big magazines, and the gibes of our satirical papers. I fear that frivolous visitors, fools, envious persons, and nihilists generally, may hold me up to ridicule. But I will take measures. I await with impatience to-morrow’s expression of public opinion, and, above all, the criticisms in the newspapers. Be sure and tell me about the papers to-morrow. But enough; you are probably sleepy. Go home, and don’t think of what I said about criticism. I am not afraid of criticism, for it is in a critical position itself. It is sufficient to be wise and virtuous, and you are certain to be raised upon a pedestal. If you do not become Socrates, you will become Diogenes, or perhaps both at once, and that is my future theory as regards humanity.”…
At the department I, of course, made no sign that I was devoured with such cares and responsibilities. I soon observed, though, that several of the most progressive daily papers were on that morning passing unusually quickly from hand to hand among my fellow officials, who read them with exceedingly grave faces. The first which fell into my hands was the Listok, a paper without any special tendency, but on the whole very humanitarian—for which it was generally despised in our set, although much read. It was with a certain surprise that I read the following:
“Yesterday our great capital was filled with extraordinary rumors. A certain N., a well-known gormand of the highest spheres of society, wearied, no doubt, of the cuisine of our first-class restaurants, entered the building of the Passage at that part where an immense crocodile, just brought to the capital, was on view, and demanded that the latter should be prepared for his dinner. After bargaining with the keeper, he instantly set to work to devour him (that is, not the keeper, an exceedingly peaceable German with a taste for accuracy, but the crocodile) alive, cutting off juicy morsels with a penknife and gulping them down with extraordinary speed. Gradually the whole of the crocodile disappeared into his fat paunch, and he even set to work upon the ichneumon, the constant companion of the crocodile, probably supposing that would be equally delicious. We have no objection to this new product, already long familiar to foreign gastronomists. We have even prophesied its introduction. In Egypt the English lords and travelers go out in regular parties to catch the crocodile, and eat the monster’s back in the form of steak, with mustard, onions, and potatoes. The French followers of de Lesseps prefer the feet, baked in hot ashes, though, indeed, they do this merely to spite the English, who make fun of them. Here both dishes will probably be appreciated. We, for our part, gladly welcome this new branch of industry, of which our great and active fatherland is so much in want. After the disappearance of this first crocodile into the interior of a St. Petersburg gormand, it is probable that, before a year passes, they will be imported by hundreds. And why should crocodiles not be acclimatized here in Russia? If the water of the Neva is too cold for these interesting foreigners, we have reservoirs within the capital and streams and lakes without. Why, for instance, should crocodiles not be reared at Pargolov or Pavlovsk, or in Moscow, in the Priessnensky or the Samotyok ponds? While providing a delicate and wholesome food for our refined gastronomists, they would also afford amusement to the ladies strolling past these ponds, and would serve for our children as a lesson in natural history. The skin of the crocodiles could be made into portfolios, traveling-trunks, cigarette-cases, and pocketbooks, and perhaps many a thousand rubles—in the greasy notes for which our commercial classes have so strong a predilection—would find their way into crocodile-skins. We hope to return often to this interesting subject.”