Текст книги "The Insulted and the Injured"
Автор книги: Федор Достоевский
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The Insulted and the Injured, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Chapter IX
I waked up late, at ten o’clock in the morning, feeling ill. I felt giddy and my head was aching; I glanced towards Elena’s bed. The bed was empty. At the same moment from my little room on the right sounds reached me as though someone were sweeping with a broom. I went to look. Elena had a broom in her hand and holding up her smart dress which she had kept on ever since at evening, she was sweeping the floor. The wood for the stove was piled up in the corner. The table had been scrubbed, the kettle had been cleaned. In a word, Elena was doing the housework.
“Listen, Elena,” I cried. “Who wants you to sweep the floor? I don’t wish it, you’re ill. Have you come here to be a drudge for me?”
“Who is going to sweep the floor here?” she answered, drawing herself up and looking straight at me. “I’m not ill now.”
“But I didn’t take you to make you work, Elena. You seem to be afraid I shall scold you like Mme. Bubnov for living with me for nothing. And where did you get that horrid broom? I had no broom,” I added, looking at her in wonder.
“It’s my broom. I brought it here myself, I used to sweep the floor here for grandfather too. And the broom’s been lying here ever since under the stove.”
I went back to the other room musing. Perhaps I may have been in error, but it seemed to me that she felt oppressed by my hospitality and that she wanted in every possible way to show me that she was doing something for her living.
“What an embittered character, if so,” I thought. Two minutes later she came in and without a word sat down on the sofa in the same place as yesterday, looking inquisitively at me. Meanwhile I boiled the kettle, made the tea, poured out a cup for her and handed it her with a slice of white bread. She took it in silence and without opposition. She had had nothing for twenty-four hours.
“See, you’ve dirtied your pretty dress with that broom,” I said, noticing a streak of dirt on her skirt.
She looked down and suddenly, to my intense astonishment, she put down her cup, and, apparently calm and composed, she picked up a breadth of the muslin skirt in both hands and with one rip tore it from top to bottom. When she had done this she raised her stubborn, flashing eyes to me in silence. Her face was pale.
“What are you about, Elena?” I cried, feeling sure the child was mad.
“It’s a horrid dress,” she cried, almost gasping with excitement. “Why do you say it’s a nice dress? I don’t want to wear it!” she cried suddenly, jumping up from her place. “I’ll tear it up. I didn’t ask her to dress me up. She did it herself, by force. I’ve torn one dress already. I’ll tear this one! I’ll tear it, I’ll tear it, I’ll tear it! . . .”
And she fell upon her luckless dress with fury. In one moment she had torn it almost into rags. When she had finished she was so pale she could hardly stand. I looked with surprise at such rage. She looked at me with a defiant air as though I too had somehow offended her. But I knew now what to do.
I made up my mind to buy her a new dress that morning. This wild, embittered little creature must be tamed by kindness. She looked as though she had never met anyone kind. If once already in spite of severe punishment she had torn another similar dress to rags, with what fury she must look on this one now, when it recalled to her those awful moments.
In Tolkutchy Market one could buy a good, plain dress very cheaply. Unfortunately at that moment I had scarcely any money. But as I went to bed the night before I had made up my mind to go that morning to a place where I had hopes of getting some. It was fortunately not far from the market. I took my hat. Elena watched me intently as though expecting something.
“Are you going to lock me in again?” she asked when I took up the key to lock the door behind me, as I had done the day before and the day before that.
“My dear,” I said, going up to her. “Don’t be angry at that. I lock the door because someone might come. You are ill, and you’d perhaps be frightened. And there’s no knowing who might not come. Perhaps Bubnov might take it into her head to. . . .”
I said this on purpose. I locked her in because I didn’t trust her. I was afraid that she might suddenly take it into her head to leave me. I determined to be cautious for a time. Elena said nothing and I locked her in again.
I knew a publisher who had been for the last twelve years bringing out a compilation in many volumes. I often used to get work from him when I was obliged to make money somehow. He paid regularly. I applied to him, and he gave me twenty-five roubles in advance, engaging me to compile an article by the end of the week. But I hoped to pick up time on my novel. I often did this when it came to the last necessity. Having got the money I set off to the market. There I soon found an old woman I knew who sold old clothes of all sorts. I gave her Elena’s size approximately, and she instantly picked me out a light-coloured cotton dress priced extremely cheaply, though it was quite strong and had not been washed more than once. While I was about it I took a neckerchief too. As I paid for them I reflected that Elena would need a coat, mantle, or something of that kind. It was cold weather and she had absolutely nothing. But I put off that purchase for another time. Elena was so proud and ready to take offence. Goodness knows, I thought, how she’ll take this dress even though I purposely picked out the most ordinary garment as plain and unattractive as possible. I did, however, buy her two pairs of thread stockings and one pair of woollen. Those I could give her on the ground that she was ill and that it was cold in the room. She would need underclothes too. But all that I left till I should get to know her better. Then I bought some old curtains for the bed. They were necessary and might be a great satisfaction to Elena.
With all these things I returned home at one o’clock in the afternoon. My key turned almost noiselessly in the lock, so that Elena did not at once hear me come in. I noticed that she was standing at the table turning over my books and papers. Hearing me she hurriedly closed the book she was reading, and moved away from the table, flushing all over. I glanced at the book. It was my first novel, which had been republished in book form and had my name on the title-page.
“Someone knocked here while you were away!” she said in a tone which seemed to taunt me for having locked her in.
“Wasn’t it the doctor?” I said. “Didn’t you call to him, Elena?”
“No!
I made no answer, but took my parcel, untied it, and took out the dress I had bought.
“Here, Elena, my dear!” I said going up to her. “You can’t go about in such rags as you’ve got on now. So I’ve bought you a dress, an everyday one, very cheap. So there’s no need for you to worry about it. It only cost one rouble twenty kopecks. Wear it with my best wishes.”
I put the dress down beside her. She flushed crimson and looked at me for some time with open eyes.
She was extremely surprised and at the same time it seemed to me that she was horribly ashamed for some reason. But there was a light of something soft and tender in her eyes. Seeing that she said nothing I turned away to the table. What I had done had evidently impressed her, but she controlled herself with an effort, and sat with her eyes cast down.
My head was going round and aching more and more. The fresh air had done me no good. Meanwhile I had to go to Natasha’s. My anxiety about her was no less than yesterday. On the contrary it kept growing more and more. Suddenly I fancied that Elena called me. I turned to her.
“Don’t lock me in when you go out,” she said, looking away and picking at the border of the sofa, as though she were entirely absorbed in doing so. “I will not go away from you.”
“Very well, Elena, I agree, But what if some stranger comes? There’s no knowing who may!”
“Then leave me the key and I’ll lock myself in and if they knock I shall say, ‘not at home.’”
And she looked slyly at me as much as to say, “See how simply that’s done!”
“Who washes your clothes?” she asked suddenly, before I had had time to answer her.
“There’s a woman here, in this house.”
“I know how to wash clothes. And where did you get the food yesterday?”
“At a restaurant.”
“I know how to cook, too. I will do your cooking.”
“That will do, Elena. What can you know about cooking? You’re talking nonsense. . . .”
Elena looked down and was silent. She was evidently wounded at my remark. Ten minutes at least passed. We were both silent.
“Soup!” she said suddenly, without raising her head.
“What about soup? What soup?” I asked, surprised.
“I can make soup. I used to make it for mother when she was ill. I used to go to market too.”
“See, Elena, just see how proud you are,” I said, going up to her and sitting down beside her on the sofa. “I treat you as my heart prompts me. You are all alone, without relations, and unhappy. I want to help you. You’d help me in the same way if I were in trouble. But you won’t look at it like that, and it’s disagreeable to you to take the smallest present from me. You want to repay it at once, to pay for it by work, as though I were Mme. Bubnov and would taunt you with it. If that is so, it’s a shame, Elena.”
She made no answer. Her lips quivered. I believe she wanted to say something; but she controlled herself and was silent. I got up to go to Natasha. That time I left Elena the key, begging her if anybody should come and knock, to call out and ask who was there. I felt perfectly sure that something dreadful was happening to Natasha, and that she was keeping it dark from me for the time, as she had done more than once before. I resolved in any case to look in only for one moment for fear of irritating her by my persistence.
And it turned out I was right. She met me again with a look of harsh displeasure. I ought to have left her at once but my legs were giving way under me.
“I’ve only come for a minute, Natasha,” I began, “to ask your advice what I’m to do with my visitor.”
And I began briefly telling her all about Elena. Natasha listened to me in silence.
“I don’t know what to advise you, Vanya,” she said. “Everything shows that she’s a very strange little creature. Perhaps she has been dreadfully ill-treated and frightened. Give her time to get well, anyway. You think of my people for her?”
“She keeps saying that she won’t go anywhere away from me. And goodness knows how they’ll take her, so I don’t know what to do. Well, tell me, dear, how you are. You didn’t seem quite well yesterday,” I said timidly.
“Yes . . . my head aches rather today, too,” she answered absent-mindedly. “Haven’t you seen any of our people?”
“No. I shall go tomorrow. To-morrow’s Saturday, you know. . . .”
“Well, what of it?”
“The prince is coming in the evening.”
“Well? I’ve not forgotten.”
“No, I only. . . .”
She stood still, exactly opposite me, and looked for a long time intently into my face. There was a look of determination, of obstinacy, in her eyes, something feverish and wrathful.
“Look here, Vanya,” she said, “be kind, go away, you worry me.”
I got up from my chair and looked at her, unutterably astonished.
“Natasha, dear, what’s the matter? What has happened?” I cried in alarm.
“Nothing’s happened. You’ll know all about it tomorrow, but now I want to be alone. Do you hear, Vanya? Go away at once. I can’t bear, I can’t bear to look at you!”
“But tell me at least ....”
“You’ll know all about it tomorrow! Oh, my God! Are you going?”
I went out. I was so overcome that I hardly knew what I was doing. Mavra started out into the passage to meet me.
“What, is she angry?” she asked me. “I’m afraid to go near her.”
“But what’s the matter with her
“‘Why, our young gentleman hasn’t shown his nose here for the last three days!”
“Three days! “I repeated in amazement. “Why, she told me yesterday that he had been here in the morning and was coming again in the evening . . .”
“She did? He never came near us in the morning! I tell you we haven’t set eyes on him for three days. You don’t say she told you yesterday that he’d been in the morning?”
“Yes, she said so.”
“Well,” said Mavra, musing, “it must have cut her to the quick if she won’t own it even to you. Well, he’s a pretty one!”
“But what does it mean?” I cried.
“It means I don’t know what to do with her,” said Mavra, throwing up her hands. “She was sending me to him yesterday, but twice she turned me back as I was starting. And today she won’t even speak to me. If only you could see him. I daren’t leave her now.”
I rushed down the staircase, beside myself.
“Will you be here this evening?” Mavra called after me.
“We’ll see then,” I called up to her. “I may just run in to you to ask how she is. If only I’m alive myself.”
I really felt as though something had struck me to the very heart.
Last updated on Wed Jan 12 09:26:21 2011 for eBooks@Adelaide.
The Insulted and the Injured, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Chapter X
I WENT straight to Alyosha’s. He lived with his father in Little Morskaya. Prince Valkovsky had a rather large flat, though he lived alone. Alyosha had two splendid rooms in the flat. I had very rarely been to see him, only once before, I believe, in fact. He had come to see me much oftener, especially at first, during the early period of his connexion with Natasha.
He was not at home. I went straight to his rooms and wrote him the following note:
“Alyosha, you seem to have gone out of your mind. As on Tuesday evening your father himself asked Natasha to do you the honour of becoming your wife, and you were delighted at his doing so, as I saw myself, you must admit that your behaviour is somewhat strange. Do you know what you are doing to Natasha? In any case this note will remind you that your behaviour towards your future wife is unworthy and frivolous in the extreme. I am very well aware that I have no right to lecture you, but I don’t care about that in the least.
“P.S.-She knows nothing about this letter, and in fact it was not she who told me about you.”
I sealed up the letter and left it on his table. In answer to my question the servant said that Alexey Petrovitch was hardly ever at home, and that he would not be back now till the small hours of the morning.
I could hardly get home. I was overcome with giddiness, and my legs were weak and trembling. My door was open. Nikolay Sergeyitch Ichmenyev was sitting waiting for me. He was sitting at the table watching Elena in silent wonder, and she, too, was watching him with no less wonder, though she was obstinately silent. “To be sure,” I thought, “he must think her queer.”
“Well, my boy, I’ve been waiting for you for a good hour, and I must confess I had never expected to find things . . . like this,” he went on, looking round the room, with a scarcely perceptible sign towards Elena.
His face expressed his astonishment. But looking at him more closely I noticed in him signs of agitation and distress. His face was paler than usual.
“Sit down, sit down,” he said with a preoccupied and anxious air. “I’ve come round to you in a hurry. I’ve something to say to you. But what’s the matter? You don’t look yourself.”
“I’m not well. I’ve been giddy all day.”
“Well, mind, you mustn’t neglect that. Have you caught cold, or what?”
“No, it’s simply a nervous attack. I sometimes have them. But aren’t you unwell?”
“No, no! It’s nothing; it’s excitement. I’ve something to say. Sit down.”
I moved a chair over and sat down at the table, facing him. The old man bent forward to me, and said in a half whisper:
“Mind, don’t look at her, but seem as though we were speaking of something else. What sort of visitor is this you’ve got here?”
“I’ll explain to you afterwards, Nikolay Sergeyitch. This poor girl is absolutely alone in the world. She’s the grandchild of that old Smith who used to live here and died at the confectioner’s.”
“Ah, so he had a grandchild! Well, my boy, she’s a queer little thing! How she stares, how she stares! I tell you plainly if you hadn’t come in I couldn’t have stood it another five minutes. She would hardly open the door, and all this time not a word! It’s quite uncanny; she’s not like a human being. But how did she come here? I suppose she came to see her grandfather, not knowing he was died?”
“Yes, she has been very unfortunate. The old man thought of her when he was dying.”
“Hm! She seems to take after her grandfather. You’ll tell me all about that later. Perhaps one could help her somehow, in some way, if she’s so unfortunate. But now, my boy, can’t you tell her to go away, for I want to talk to you of something serious.”
“But she’s nowhere to go. She’s living here.”
I explained in a few words as far as I could, adding that he could speak before her, that she was only a child.
“To be sure . . . she’s a child. But you have surprised me, my boy. She’s staying with you! Good heavens!
And the old man looked at her again in amazement.
Elena, feeling that we were talking about her, sat silent, with her head bent, picking at the edge of the sofa with her fingers. She had already had time to put on her new dress, which fitted her perfectly. Her hair had been brushed more carefully than usual, perhaps in honour of the new dress. Altogether, if it had not been for the strange wildness of her expression, she would have been a very pretty child.
“Short and clear, that’s what I have to tell you,” the old man began again. “It’s a long business, an important business.”
He sat looking down, with a grave and meditative air and in spite of his haste and his “short and clear,” he could find no words to begin. “What’s coming?” I wondered.
“Do you know, Vanya, I’ve come to you to ask a very great favour. But first . . . as I realize now myself, I must explain to you certain circumstances . . . very delicate circumstances.”
He cleared his throat and stole a look at me; looked and flushed red; flushed and was angry with himself for his awkwardness; he was angry and pressed on.
“Well, what is there to explain! You understand yourself The long and short of it is, I am challenging Prince Valkovsky to a duel, and I beg you to make the arrangements and be my second.”
I fell back in my chair and gazed at him, beside myself with astonishment.
“Well, what are you staring at? I’ve not gone out of my mind.”
“But, excuse me, Nikolay Sergeyitch! On what pretext P With what object? And, in fact, how is it possible?”
“Pretext! Object!” cried the old man. “That’s good!”
“Very well, very well. I know what you’ll say; but what good will you do by your action? What will be gained by the duel! I must own I don’t understand it.”
“I thought you wouldn’t understand. Listen, our lawsuit over (that is, it will be over in a few days, There are only a few formalities to come). I have lost the case. I’ve to pay ten thousand; that’s the decree of the court. Ichmenyevka is the security for it. So now this base man is secure of his money, and giving up Ichmenyevka I have paid him the damages and become a free man. Now I can hold up my head and say, ‘You’ve been insulting me one way and another, honoured prince, for the last two years; you have sullied my name and the honour of my family, and I have been obliged to bear all this! I could not then challenge you to a duel. You’d have said openly then, ‘You cunning fellow, you want to kill me in order not to pay me the money which you foresee you’ll be sentenced to pay sooner or later. No, first let’s see how the case ends and then you can challenge me.’ Now, honoured prince, the case is settled, you are secure, so now there are no difficulties, and so now will you be pleased to meet me at the barrier?’ That’s what I have to say to you. What, to your thinking haven’t I the right to avenge myself, for everything, for everything?”
His eyes glittered. I looked at him for a long time without speaking. I wanted to penetrate to his secret thought.
“Listen, Nikolay Sergeyitch,” I said at last, making up my mind to speak out on the real point without which we could not understand each other. “Can you be perfectly open with me?
“I can,” he answered firmly.
“Tell me plainly. Is it only the feeling of revenge that prompts you to challenge him, or have you other objects in view?”
“Vanya,” he answered, “you know that I allow no one to touch on certain points with me, but I’ll make an exception in the present case. For you, with your clear insight, have seen at once that we can’t avoid the point. Yes, I have another aim. That aim is to save my lost daughter and to rescue her from the path of ruin to which recent events are driving her now.”
“But how will you save her by this duel? That’s the question.”
“By hindering all that is being plotted among them now. Listen; don’t imagine that I am actuated by fatherly tenderness or any weakness of that sort. All that’s nonsense! I don’t display my inmost heart to anyone. Even you don’t know it. My daughter has abandoned me, has left my house with a lover, and I have cast her out of my heart – I cast her out once for all that very evening – you remember? If you have seen me sobbing over her portrait, it doesn’t follow that I want to forgive her. I did not forgive her then. I wept for my lost happiness, for my vain dreams, but not for her as she is now. I often weep perhaps. I’m not ashamed to own it, just as I’m not ashamed to own that I once loved my child more than anything on earth. All this seems to belie my conduct now. You may say to me ‘If it’s so, if you are indifferent to the fate of her whom you no longer look on as a daughter, why do you interfere in what they are plotting there?’ I answer: in the first place that I don’t want to let that base and crafty man triumph, and secondly, from a common feeling of humanity. If she’s no longer my daughter she’s a weak creature, defenceless and deceived, who is being still more deceived, that she may be utterly ruined. I can’t meddle directly, but indirectly, by a duel, I can. If I am killed or my blood is shed, surely she won’t step over our barrier, perhaps over my corpse, and stand at the altar beside the son of my murderer, like the daughter of that king (do you remember in the book you learnt to read out of?) who rode in her chariot over her father’s body? And, besides, if it comes to a duel, our princes won’t care for the marriage themselves. In short, I don’t want that marriage, and I’ll do everything I can to prevent it. Do you understand me now?”
“No. If you wish Natasha well, how can you make up your mind to hinder her marriage, that is, the one thing that can establish her good name? She has all her life before her; she will have need of her good name.”
“She ought to spit on the opinion of the world. That’s how she ought to look at it. She ought to realize that the greatest disgrace of all for her lies in that marriage, in being connected with those vile people, with that paltry society. A noble pride – that should be her answer to the world. Then perhaps I might consent to hold out a hand to her, and then we would see who dared cry shame on my child!”
Such desperate idealism amazed me. But I saw at once that he was not himself and was speaking in anger.
“That’s too idealistic,” I answered, “and therefore cruel. You’re demanding of her a strength which perhaps you did not give her at her birth. Do you suppose that she is consenting to this marriage because she wants to be a princess? Why, she’s in love; it’s passion; it’s fate. You expect of her a contempt for public opinion while you bow down before it yourself! The prince has insulted you, has publicly accused you of a base scheme to ally yourself with his princely house, and now you are reasoning that if she refuses them now after a formal offer of marriage from their side it will, of course, be the fullest and plainest refutation of the old calumny. That’s what you will gain by it. You are deferring to the opinion of the prince himself, and you’re struggling to make him recognize his mistake. You’re longing to turn him into derision, to revenge yourself on him, and for that you will sacrifice your daughter’s happiness. Isn’t that egoism?”
The old man sat gloomy and frowning, and for a long time he answered not a word.
“You’re unjust to me, Vanya,” he said at last, and a tear glistened on his eyelashes. “I swear you are unjust. But let us leave that! I can’t turn my heart inside out before you,” he went on, getting up and taking his hat. “One thing I will say – you spoke just now of my daughter’s happiness. I have absolutely and literally no faith in that happiness. Besides which, the marriage will never come off, apart from my interference.”
“How so? What makes you think so? Perhaps you know something?” I cried with curiosity.
“No. I know nothing special. But that cursed fox can never have brought himself to such a thing. It’s all nonsense, all a trap. I’m convinced of that, and, mark my words, it will turn out so. And secondly, even if this marriage did take place, which could only happen if that scoundrel has some special, mysterious interests to be served by it – interests which no one knows anything about, and I’m utterly at a loss to understand – tell me, ask your own heart, will she be happy in that marriage? Taunts, humiliations, with the partner of her life a wretched boy who is weary of her love already, and who will begin to neglect her, insult her, and humiliate her as soon as he is married. At the same time her own passion growing stronger as his grows cooler; jealousy, tortures, hell, divorce, perhaps crime itself. . . . No, Vanya! If you’re all working for that end, and you have a hand in it, you’ll have to answer to God for it. I warn you, though it will be too late then! Good-bye.”
I stopped him.
“Listen, Nikolay Sergeyitch. Let us decide to wait a bit. Let me assure you that more than one pair of eyes is watching over this affair. And perhaps it will be settled of itself in the best possible way without violence and artificial interference, such as a duel, for instance. Time is the very best arbiter. And, finally, let me tell you, your whole plan is utterly impossible. Could you for a moment suppose that Prince Valkovsky would accept your challenge?”
“Not accept it? What do you mean by that?”
“I swear he wouldn’t; and believe me, he’d find a perfectly satisfactory way out of it; he would do it all with pedantic dignity and meanwhile you would be an object of derision. . .”
“Upon my word, my boy, upon my word! You simply overwhelm me! How could he refuse to accept it? No, Vanya, you’re simply a romancer, a regular romancer! Why, do you suppose there is anything unbecoming in his fighting me? I’m just as good as he is. I’m an old man, ail insulted father. You’re a Russian author, and therefore also a respectable person. You can be a second and ... and ... I can’t make out what more you want ......
“Well, you’ll see. He’ll bring forward such excuses that you’ll be the first to see that it will be utterly impossible for you to fight him.”
“Hm! ... very well, my friend. Have it your own way wait, for a certain time, that is. We’ll see what time will do. But one thing, my dear, give me your word of honour that you’ll not speak of this conversation there, nor to Anna Andreyevna.”
“I promise.”
“Do me another favour, Vanya: never begin upon the subject again.”
“Very well. I promise.”
“And one more request: I know, my dear, that it’s dull for you perhaps, but come and see us as often as ever you can. My poor Anna Andreyevna is so fond of you, and ... and ... she’s so wretched without you.... You understand, Vanya.”
And he pressed my hand warmly. I promised him with all my heart.
“And now, Vanya, the last delicate question. Have you any money?
“Money?” I repeated with surprise.
“Yes.” (And the old man flushed and looked down.) “I look at you, my boy, at your lodgings ... at your circumstances ... and when I think that you may have other, outside expenses (and that you may have them just now), then ... Here, my boy, a hundred and fifty roubles as a first instalment. . . .”
“A hundred and fifty! As a first instalment. And you’ve just lost your case!”
“Vanya, I see you didn’t understand me at all! You may have exceptional calls on you, understand that. In some cases money may help to an independent position, an independent decision. Perhaps you don’t need it now, but won’t you need it for something in the future? In any case I shall leave it with you. It’s all I’ve been able to get together. If you don’t spend it you can give it back. And now good-bye. My God, how pale you are! Why, you’re quite ill . . .”
I took the money without protest. It was quite clear why he left it with me.
“I can scarcely stand up,” I answered.
“You must take care of yourself, Vanya, darling! Don’t go out today. I shall tell Anna Andreyevna what a state you’re in. Oughtn’t you to have a doctor? I’ll see how you are tomorrow; I’ll try my best to come, anyway, if only I can drag my legs along myself. Now you’d better lie down ... Well, good-bye. Good-bye, little girl; she’s turned her back! Listen, my dear, here are another five roubles. That’s for the child, but don’t tell her I gave it her. Simply spend it for her. Get her some shoes or underclothes. She must need all sorts of things. Good-bye, my dear. . . .”
I went down to the gate with him. I had to ask the porter to go out to get some food for me. Elena had had no dinner.
Last updated on Wed Jan 12 09:26:21 2011 for eBooks@Adelaide.
