Zinaida Gippius
The little demon

I came across a little demon,
Thin and scrawny, like a gnat.
His body was that of a child,
His face was wild: sharp and old.

It rained... He 'trembled, growing darker,
Disheveled fur grew wet,
And I said to myself, “Imagine that!
He too is cold. He too is alone.”

People keep saying: Love, love! I do not know,
Do not ever hear it. Have not seen it.
But pity... pity I understand.
And I seized the little demon.

Let’s go, kid? Want to warm yourself?
Don't be afraid. Don’t bristle.
Why hang about here in the street?
A lump of sugar... Want to come?

And he then suddenly in such a lush, loud.
Masculine, caressing bass
(I must admit, it wasn’t even decent
And frightening it was coming from him)

Roared: “Sugar? Don’t be a fool:
Don’t cat sugar, my sweet.
Give me some veal, and soup...
Then I’ll come to your place to stay for good...”

He angered me with his bragging...
And I had wanted to be helpful.
To hell with you and your effrontery!
And slowly I went off.

But he screwed up his face and in a thin voice
Began to grunt... Looked sick...
And again I felt sorry for him... And the little demon
I dragged off, with an effort to my home.

I looked at him in the lamplight: sickly, repulsive,
Half child and half old man,
Repeating all the time: “...my sweet, my sweet...”
I left him there. Got used to him.

And even somehow in the end
Identified with the little devil.
At midday he would jump round like a young goat,
Grow dark by nightfall, like a corpse.

Would sometimes strut round like a man,
And sometimes fuss about me like a woman.
And if it rained — he had a canine smell
And licked his fur by the fire.

Before I used to worry about everything,
I wanted this, I dreamed of that...
But my house with him... I wouldn’t say that it came to life,
But there was a kind of bloom on it.

It was joylessly happy,
Gently dreamy, and dark...
And for the little devil and myself, life was sweetly dull...
Child or old man, what did it matter!

He was so odd, so soft, so scrawny,
Like a decaying mushroom,
So tenacious, sweet and sticky,
Kept sticking, sticking — and stuck fast.

And both of us became one thing.
No more am I with him — I’m in him, in him,
It’s I who, in foul weather, acquires a canine reek,
And lick my fur beside the fire...

Translated by Lubov Yakovleva