I couldn’t suppress a smile.
“You’re laughing at me,” he said, smiling in turn. “No, listen to me,” he added with ineffable artlessness, “don’t misunderstand me, I’m not as stupid as I look, I’m pretty observant really, you’ll see for yourself. Why shouldn’t I have a try? Perhaps something will come of it… On the other hand, you’re probably right – I know next to nothing about real life. That’s what Natasha has been saying to me, and everybody else too. What sort of a writer would I make? Go on, you can laugh as much as you like, put me right if you must – in the end you’ll be doing Natasha a favour, since you love her. I’ll be frank with you, I’m not worthy of her. I feel it. It’s hard for me, and I don’t really know why she has fallen so deeply in love with me. For my part, I’m sure I’d be ready to die for her! Honestly, I wasn’t afraid of anything until just now, but now I am. What on earth are we doing? My God, isn’t it a downright shame if a man with a sense of duty suddenly loses faith and courage in himself to do the decent thing at the crucial moment! Won’t you help us at least, friend that you are – our only remaining friend! What can I do on my own? I’m sorry to be putting so much reliance on you.
I look up to you as a gentleman and as my better by far. But rest assured, I’ll mend my ways and prove myself worthy of you both.”
He again shook my hand, and his wonderful eyes lit up with goodness and warmth of feeling. He offered his hand so trustingly; he was so confident that I was his friend!
“She’ll help me to mend my ways,” he continued. “You mustn’t jump to gloomy conclusions, there’s no need to worry about us. After all, I’ve a lot going for me, and materially we should be perfectly well provided for. If for instance the novel doesn’t succeed – frankly, it did occur to me even as I was telling you about it that the idea might be rather silly, but I mentioned it simply because I wanted to hear your opinion – if the novel doesn’t succeed, then if the worst came to the worst, I could give music lessons. You didn’t know I was something of a musician, did you? I shan’t turn up my nose at earning a living that way. After all, I can be as progressive as the next man. Besides, I possess lots of expensive trinkets, gentleman’s accoutrements. What do I need them for? I shall sell them, and you’ll be surprised how long we can live on the proceeds! And if it really came to it, I might even take a government post. Father would be delighted. He’s always on at me to start working, but I keep telling him I can’t because of my health. I’ve a feeling he’s already got something lined up for me. But when he sees that the marriage has done me a power of good, has brought me to my senses and that I’ve actually started working – he’ll be over the moon and forgive me…”
“But Alexei Petrovich, have you considered the consequences for her father and for yours? Can you imagine the atmosphere in her house tonight?” And I motioned towards Natasha, who was, I suddenly saw, completely devastated by my words. I was being merciless.
“Yes, of course, you’re quite right, it’s awful!” he replied. “I’ve thought about it and agonized over it all… But what’s to be done? You’re right – if only her parents would forgive us! If only you knew how much I love them both! I regard them completely as my own, and look how I’m repaying them!… These squabbles and lawsuits really are the limit! You’ve no idea how unpleasant it all is for us! And what is it they’re squabbling over? We all love one another so much, and yet we fight! How I wish they’d make up and be done with it! Seriously, that’s what I’d do if I were in their place… I’m very worried by what you said. Natasha, it’s terrible, what we’re letting ourselves in for!
I did warn you about this… You were the one who insisted… But listen, Ivan Petrovich: perhaps everything will turn out for the best – what do you think? Surely they’re bound to make it up in the end! We’ll see to it that they do. There’s no other way, none at all! Our love will conquer all… Let them curse us – we’ll carry on loving them regardless, and they’re bound to give in. You won’t believe how kind-hearted my papa can be! He may look daggers sometimes, but he can also be perfectly reasonable. If only you knew how warmly he spoke to me today, how he reasoned with me! And here I am, going against him – it makes me very sad. It’s these wretched prejudices of his! It’s enough to drive you mad! If only he’d take a good look at her and spend just half an hour with her, he’d have let us do what we want straight away.” Saying this, Alyosha cast a tender, passionate glance at Natasha.
“I’ve imagined thousands of times, and with what delight,” he prattled on, “how he’d have got on with her once he’d got to know her better, and how she’d have astonished them all. They’ll never have seen a girl like that before! Father’s convinced she’s nothing but an out-and-out little schemer. So it’s up to me to restore her reputation, and I shall do that all right! Oh, Natasha! Everyone will love you, everyone… There’s no one in the world who wouldn’t love you,” he added exultantly. “Though I’m nowhere near good enough for you, don’t give up loving me, Natasha, and rest assured I’ll… you know me, don’t you? Anyway, we don’t need much to make us happy, do we? Yes, I believe, I do believe that after tonight we’ll all be the closest and happiest of friends! Blessed be this night! I’m right, Natasha, am I not? But what’s wrong, Natasha? My God, what’s the matter with you?”
She had gone as white as a sheet. All the time Alyosha had been perorating, she had looked at him intently, but her eyes had become more and more glazed and vacant, her face paler and paler. It seemed to me that in the end she had hardly been listening, and had fallen into a kind of trance. Alyosha’s exclamation appeared to bring her to her senses. She regained her composure, looked around – and suddenly turned towards me. Hastily, in an attempt to conceal what she was doing from Alyosha, she produced a letter from her pocket and handed it to me. It was to her parents and had been written the day before. As she gave it to me, her eyes were riveted on me. There was despair in them; I shall never forget that terrible look. I too was seized with fear; I could see that she only now fully realized the full horror of what she had done. She struggled to say something; she was about to begin, but suddenly fainted. I managed to catch her. Alyosha went pale with fright; he rubbed her temples, kissed her hands, her lips. After a couple of minutes she came to. Not far off stood the cab that had brought Alyosha; he called it to pull up closer. Getting into it, Natasha desperately grabbed my hand and I felt a hot tear run down my fingers. The cab moved off. I stood for a long time following it with my eyes. All my happiness was destroyed in a flash; my life was shattered. It all came home to me with a vengeance… I began slowly to walk back to her parents’ house. I had no idea what I was going to say to them, how I would face them. My mind was numb, my legs were giving way under me…
So much for my happiness; that’s how the love of my life came to an abrupt end. I shall now continue my story where I left off.
10
About five days after smith’s death, I moved into his lodgings. The whole of that day I was unbearably depressed. The weather was miserable, cold and sleety. It was only towards evening that the sun emerged and the odd ray, as though from curiosity, strayed into my room for a moment. I was beginning to regret having made the move. Admittedly the room was large, but the ceiling was low and the place was smoke-stained, stuffy and, apart from a few sticks of furniture, unpleasantly empty. I couldn’t help feeling that I was bound to ruin my health completely there. And that is just what happened.
All that morning I was busy with my papers, sorting them out and putting them in order. Not having a briefcase, I brought them over in a pillowcase, where they had ended up in a crumpled mess. Later I sat down to write. At that time I was still working on my long novel, but with my mind on other things I couldn’t make any headway…
I threw down my pen and settled by the window. It was getting dark, and my spirits were sinking. I was beset by all kinds of gloomy thoughts. I was convinced I would finally meet my end in St Petersburg. Spring was co
ming. What wouldn’t I have given to break out of this shell into the open air, to breathe the fresh smell of fields and forests which I hadn’t seen for so long?… I remember that it also occurred to me how good it would have been if by some magic or miracle I could have completely forgotten everything that had happened, everything that I had endured in recent years; forgotten the whole lot, turned over a new leaf and started afresh, my strength fully restored. At that time I was still given to daydreaming, hoping for a kind of rebirth. “Why not a spell in a lunatic asylum?” I thought at last. “Get them somehow to reset my brain in my head and make a new man of me!” So I still had a thirst for life and faith in it!… But as I remember, this made me burst out laughing. What would I do when I came out of the asylum? Surely not go back to writing novels?…
That evening I went on ruminating along these lines and feeling sorry for myself, and meanwhile time was passing. Night was approaching. I had agreed to meet Natasha that evening; in a note sent the day before she had urged me to come and see her. I jumped to my feet and began to get ready. I needed little excuse to escape outdoors, even if it was into the rain and sleet.
As darkness fell, my room appeared to become more and more spacious – as though it were expanding. I imagined that from then on, each night, I would see Smith in every corner, sitting and staring at me unblinkingly as he had stared at Adam Ivanovich in the coffee house, with Azorka lying at his feet. It was then that something astounding happened.
But let me be perfectly frank here. Whether it was because of my nervous disorder, or the impressions my new dwelling made on me, or my recent dejection, at the first approach of dusk I would gradually, almost imperceptibly, enter that spiritual state (so familiar to me now at night-time in my illness), which I call mystical terror. It is a most dreadful, agonizing fear of something I cannot define, something unfathomable and non-existent in the normal course of events, but which may at any given moment materialize and confront me as an unquestionable, terrible, ghastly and implacable reality, making a mockery of all evidence of reason. This fear, totally confounding all rationalization, normally increases inexorably, so that in the end the mind – which oddly enough on such occasions can function with particular lucidity – nevertheless loses all capacity to counteract the senses. It becomes unresponsive and impotent, and the resulting dichotomy only heightens the fearful agony of suspense. It seems to me that something similar must be experienced by those who suffer from necrophobia. But on the occasion in question the vagueness of the apprehension merely served to intensify my torment.
I remember I was standing with my back to the door, about to reach for my hat from the table, when I suddenly had the feeling that if I turned I would see Smith. First he would open the door slowly, hesitate on the threshold and glance around the room, then enter noiselessly with his head bowed, stand in front of me, fix his watery eyes on me and suddenly burst out laughing full in my face – a long, toothless, inaudible laugh which would set his whole body into prolonged agitation. This apparition was suddenly conjured up in my imagination with extraordinary clarity and precision; at the same time I was gripped by the absolute conviction that it would all inevitably happen, that it might indeed already be happening but that I hadn’t been aware of it for the simple reason that I was standing with my back to the door which at that very instant was perhaps already opening. I spun round. To my intense horror I saw that the door was in fact slowly, soundlessly opening, just as I had imagined a moment before. I let out a cry. For a long time no one was visible – as though the door had opened by itself; then suddenly a strange creature appeared on the threshold; a pair of eyes, so far as I could make out in the darkness, were watching me keenly and warily. A cold shudder ran through me. To my utter astonishment I saw that it was a child, a girl – and had it been Smith himself, I doubt if he would have frightened me as much as the strange and unexpected appearance of that child in my room at such an hour, in such circumstances.
I have already mentioned that she opened the door softly and slowly, as though afraid to enter. Having come into view, she stopped as if struck dumb and looked at me for a long time in consternation; at last she gingerly took a couple of silent steps forwards and stopped in front of me, still without uttering a word. I looked at her more closely. She was about twelve or thirteen, small, thin and pale as though just over a severe illness. This only intensified the brightness of her large dark eyes. With her left hand she was clutching the folds of a ragged old shawl to her shivering chest against the evening cold. Her clothes were completely in tatters; her thick, black hair was unkempt and dishevelled. We stood there for about two minutes, eyeing each other intently.
“Where’s Granddad?” she asked at last in a croaky, barely audible voice as though she had a sore throat or a pain in her chest.
All my mystical terror vanished in a trice at this question. Someone was asking after Smith – here suddenly was an unexpected clue.
“Your granddad? He’s dead!” I blurted out, quite unprepared for her question, and regretted my answer at once. She remained standing for about a minute without changing her position, then suddenly began to shake violently all over as though she were about to have some dangerous nervous fit. I reached out to steady her, and to stop her from falling. A few minutes later I could clearly see that she felt better and was making a superhuman effort to conceal her agitation.
“I’m sorry, I really am sorry, you poor little girl! I’m so sorry, my dear child!” I said, “I spoke without thinking… You poor thing!… Who are you looking for? The old gentleman who lived here?”
It was obviously a great effort for her to speak, but she whispered “yes”, looking at me apprehensively.
“The gentleman whose name was Smith? Is that right?”
“Y-yes!”
“It was him… well yes, he was the one who died… But don’t you worry, my pet. Why didn’t you come before? Where have you come from now? His funeral was yesterday. He died suddenly, unexpectedly… So you’re his granddaughter, are you?”
The girl did not reply to my hurried, disjointed questions. Without saying anything she turned her back on me and slowly started to leave. I was so taken aback that I made no attempt to stop her, or question her any further. She halted once more on the threshold and, half-turning towards me, asked:
“Is Azorka dead too?”
“Yes, Azorka’s dead too,” I replied – and her question struck me as odd. It was as if in her mind Azorka must have died at the same time as the old man. After I had finished, the girl left the room silently, shutting the door carefully behind her.
After about a minute I ran out after her, bitterly regretting that I had let her leave like that! She had gone out so quietly that I hadn’t heard her open the outer door to the landing. She wouldn’t have had time to reach the bottom of the stairs yet, I thought, and stopped to listen in the hallway. But all was silent, and there was no sound of footsteps. Only a door banged somewhere on the ground floor – after that all was quiet again.
I hurried down the stairs. From the doorway of my room on the fourth floor there was a spiral staircase to the third; from the third to the ground floor was a straight flight. It was a dirty, dismal, perpetually dark stairway with small apartments leading off it, typical of large rambling lodging houses. Feeling my way down to the third floor I stopped short, and suddenly I had the overwhelming feeling that there was someone there on the landing, hiding from me. I began to grope about; the girl was there all right. She was crouching in a corner with her face to the wall, sobbing softly, almost inaudibly.
“Listen, what are you afraid of?” I began. “I frightened you, didn’t I? I’m sorry. Your granddad spoke of you when he was dying. In fact, his last words were about you… I’ve got some books of his. They’re probably yours. What’s your name? Where do you live? He said it was on Sixth Lane…”
But I didn’t finish. She cried out, perhaps because she was afraid that
I might know where she lived, pushed me aside with a thin, bony hand and rushed down the stairs. I dashed after her. I could still hear her footsteps resounding on the lower flight. Suddenly the sound ceased… By the time I ran out into the street, she had gone. And when I had run as far as Voznesensky Prospect, I realized that all my attempts to find her would be in vain. She had vanished. She had probably hidden herself from me somewhere as she ran down the stairs, I thought to myself.
11
No sooner had i stepped out onto the muddy, wet pavement of Voznesensky Prospect than I ran into someone walking along in a hurry, his head bowed, apparently deep in thought. To my great astonishment it was Ikhmenev. This was an evening of unexpected encounters for me. I knew that he had been very poorly these past few days – and yet here he was, out of doors, and in such foul weather! Besides, he nearly always stayed in after dark and, ever since Natasha had left home – nearly six months before – had turned into a virtual recluse. Now he somehow seemed just a little too pleased to see me – it was as though he had at long last found a friend he could share his thoughts with; he shook me firmly by the hand and without asking me where I was going dragged me along with him. He was agitated, impatient and abrupt. Where on earth had he been? I wondered, but thought better of asking him. He had become terribly touchy, and would take offence at the most innocuous question or remark.
Humiliated and Insulted Page 7