Sredni Vashtar

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　Conradin was ten years old, and the doctor had pronounced hisprofessional opinion that the boy would not live another fiveyears. The doctor was silky and effete, and counted for little,but his opinion was endorsed by Mrs. de Ropp, who counted fornearly everything. Mrs. De Ropp was Conradin's cousin andguardian, and in his eyes she represented those three-fifths ofthe world that are necessary and disagreeable and real; the othertwo-fifths, in perpetual antagonism to the foregoing, were summedup in himself and his imagination. One of these days Conradinsupposed he would succumb to the mastering pressure of wearisomenecessary things---such as illnesses and coddling restrictions anddrawn-out dullness. Without his imagination, which was rampantunder the spur of loneliness, he would have succumbed long ago.Mrs. de Ropp would never, in her honestest moments, have confessedto herself that she disliked Conradin, though she might have beendimly aware that thwarting him "for his good" was a duty which shedid not find particularly irksome. Conradin hated her with adesperate sincerity which he was perfectly able to mask. Such fewpleasures as he could contrive for himself gained an added relishfrom the likelihood that they would be displeasing to hisguardian, and from the realm of his imagination she was lockedout--an unclean thing, which should find no entrance.In the dull, cheerless garden, overlooked by so many windows thatwere ready to open with a message not to do this or that, or areminder that medicines were due, he found little attraction. Thefew fruit-trees that it contained were set jealously apart fromhis plucking, as though they were rare specimens of their kindblooming in an arid waste; it would probably have been difficultto find a market-gardener who would have offered ten shillings fortheir entire yearly produce. In a forgotten corner, however,almost hidden behind a dismal shrubbery, was a disused tool-shedof respectable proportions, and within its walls Conradin found ahaven, something that took on the varying aspects of a playroomand a cathedral. He had peopled it with a legion of familiarphantoms, evoked partly from fragments of history and partly fromhis own brain, but it also boasted two inmates of flesh and blood.In one corner lived a ragged-plumaged Houdan hen, on which the boylavished an affection that had scarcely another outlet. Furtherback in the gloom stood a large hutch, divided into twocompartments, one of which was fronted with close iron bars. Thiswas the abode of a large polecat-ferret, which a friendly butcher-boy had once smuggled, cage and all, into its present quarters, inexchange for a long-secreted hoard of small silver. Conradin wasdreadfully afraid of the lithe, sharp-fanged beast, but it was hismost treasured possession. Its very presence in the tool-shed wasa secret and fearful joy, to be kept scrupulously from theknowledge of the Woman, as he privately dubbed his cousin. Andone day, out of Heaven knows what material, he spun the beast awonderful name, and from that moment it grew into a god and areligion. The Woman indulged in religion once a week at a churchnear by, and took Conradin with her, but to him the church servicewas an alien rite in the House of Rimmon. Every Thursday, in thedim and musty silence of the tool-shed, he worshipped with mysticand elaborate ceremonial before the wooden hutch where dweltSredni Vashtar, the great ferret. Red flowers in their season andscarlet berries in the winter-time were offered at his shrine, forhe was a god who laid some special stress on the fierce impatientside of things, as opposed to the Woman's religion, which, as faras Conradin could observe, went to great lengths in the contrarydirection. And on great festivals powdered nutmeg was strewn infront of his hutch, an important feature of the offering beingthat the nutmeg had to be stolen. These festivals were ofirregular occurrence, and were chiefly appointed to celebrate somepassing event. On one occasion, when Mrs. de Ropp suffered fromacute toothache for three days, Conradin kept up the festivalduring the entire three days, and almost succeeded in persuadinghimself that Sredni Vashtar was personally responsible for thetoothache. If the malady had lasted for another day the supply ofnutmeg would have given out.The Houdan hen was never drawn into the cult of Sredni Vashtar.Conradin had long ago settled that she was an Anabaptist. He didnot pretend to have the remotest knowledge as to what anAnabaptist was, but he privately hoped that it was dashing and notvery respectable. Mrs. de Ropp was the ground plan on which hebased and detested all respectability.After a while Conradin's absorption in the tool-shed began toattract the notice of his guardian. "It is not good for him to bepottering down there in all weathers," she promptly decided, andat breakfast one morning she announced that the Houdan hen hadbeen sold and taken away overnight. With her short-sighted eyesshe peered at Conradin, waiting for an outbreak of rage andsorrow, which she was ready to rebuke with a flow of excellentprecepts and reasoning. But Conradin said nothing: there wasnothing to be said. Something perhaps in his white set face gaveher a momentary qualm, for at tea that afternoon there was toaston the table, a delicacy which she usually banned on the groundthat it was bad for him; also because the making of it "gavetrouble," a deadly offence in the middle-class feminine eye."I thought you liked toast," she exclaimed, with an injured air,observing that he did not touch it."Sometimes," said Conradin.In the shed that evening there was an innovation in the worship ofthe hutch-god. Conradin had been wont to chant his praises, to-night he asked a boon."Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar."The thing was not specified. As Sredni Vashtar was a god he mustbe supposed to know. And choking back a sob as he looked at thatother empty corner, Conradin went back to the world he so hated.And every night, in the welcome darkness of his bedroom, and everyevening in the dusk of the tool-shed, Conradin's bitter litanywent up: "Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar."Mrs. de Ropp noticed that the visits to the shed did not cease,and one day she made a further journey of inspection."What are you keeping in that locked hutch?" she asked. "Ibelieve it's guinea-pigs. I'll have them all cleared away."Conradin shut his lips tight, but the Woman ransacked his bedroomtill she found the carefully hidden key, and forthwith marcheddown to the shed to complete her discovery. It was a coldafternoon, and Conradin had been bidden to keep to the house.From the furthest window of the dining-room the door of the shedcould just be seen beyond the corner of the shrubbery, and thereConradin stationed himself. He saw the Woman enter, and then heimagined her opening the door of the sacred hutch and peering downwith her short-sighted eyes into the thick straw bed where his godlay hidden. Perhaps she would prod at the straw in her clumsyimpatience. And Conradin fervently breathed his prayer for thelast time. But he knew as he prayed that he did not believe. Heknew that the Woman would come out presently with that pursedsmile he loathed so well on her face, and that in an hour or twothe gardener would carry away his wonderful god, a god no longer,but a simple brown ferret in a hutch. And he knew that the Woman,would triumph always as she triumphed now, and that he would growever more sickly under her pestering and domineering and superiorwisdom, till one day nothing would matter much more with him, andthe doctor would be proved right. And in the sting and misery ofhis defeat, he began to chant loudly and defiantly the hymn of histhreatened idol: Sredni Vashtar went forth, His thoughts were red thoughts and his teeth were white. His enemies called for peace, but he brought them death. Sredni Vashtar the Beautiful. And then of a sudden he stopped his chanting and drew closer tothe window-pane. The door of the shed still stood ajar as it hadbeen left, and the minutes were slipping by. They were longminutes, but they slipped by nevertheless. He watched thestarlings running and flying in little parties across the lawn; hecounted them over and over again, with one eye always on thatswinging door. A sour-faced maid came in to lay the table fortea, and still Conradin stood and waited and watched. Hope hadcrept by inches into his heart, and now a look of triumph began toblaze in his eyes that had only known the wistful patience ofdefeat. Under his breath, with a furtive exultation, he beganonce again the paean of victory and devastation. And presentlyhis eyes were rewarded: out through that doorway came a long, low,yellow-and-brown beast, with eyes a-blink at the waning daylight,and dark wet stains around the fur of jaws and throat. Conradindropped on his knees. The great polecat-ferret made its way downto a small brook at the foot of the garden, drank for a moment,then crossed a little plank bridge and was lost to sight in thebushes. Such was the passing of Sredni Vashtar."Tea is ready," said the sour-faced maid; "where is the mistress?""She went down to the shed some time ago," said Conradin.And while the maid went to summon her mistress to tea, Conradinfished a toasting-fork out of the sideboard drawer and proceededto toast himself a piece of bread. And during the toasting of itand the buttering of it with much butter and the slow enjoyment ofeating it, Conradin listened to the noises and silences which fellin quick spasms beyond the dining-room door. The loud foolishscreaming of the maid, the answering chorus of wonderingejaculations from the kitchen region, the scuttering footsteps andhurried embassies for outside help, and then, after a lull, thescared sobbings and the shuffling tread of those who bore a heavyburden into the house."Whoever will break it to the poor child? I couldn't for the lifeof me!" exclaimed a shrill voice. And while they debated thematter among themselves, Conradin made himself another piece oftoast.