Netochka Nezvanova (Penguin ed.)

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  ‘No, I must get to the bottom of this,’ he said at last, after consideration. ‘I confess that your look made me pause for a moment,’ he added with a strange smile, ‘but unfortunately the facts speak for themselves. I managed to read the first words of your letter. It’s a love letter. You can’t pretend otherwise. No! Dismiss that idea from your mind! And the fact that I could doubt it for a moment only proves that, to all your other excellent qualities, I must add a talent for lying, and I therefore repeat…’

  … As he talked his face became more and more distorted with malice. He turned pale; his lips were drawn and twitching so that he could hardly articulate the last words. It was getting dark. I was standing defenceless, alone, facing a man who was not above insulting a woman. All the odds were against me too; I was tortured by shame, distracted, and unable to understand this man’s fury. Without answering him I fled from the room racked with horror, and came to my senses only when I found myself standing outside the door to Alexandra Mikhailovna’s sitting-room. I heard her footsteps and was about to enter the room when I stopped as if thunderstruck.

  ‘What will happen to her?’ was the thought that flashed through my mind. ‘That letter!… No! Better anything in the world than that last blow to her…’ and I made to rush back. But it was too late: he was standing beside me.

  ‘Let’s go anywhere you like, only not here, not here!’ I whispered, clutching at his arm. ‘Spare her! I’ll go back to the library or… wherever you like! You’ll kill her!’

  ‘It’s you who are killing her,’ he said, pushing me away.

  Every hope vanished. I felt that to bring the whole scene before Alexandra Mikhailovna was just what he wanted.

  ‘For God’s sake, don’t,’ I said, doing my utmost to hold him back. But at that moment the screen was drawn back and Alexandra Mikhailovna stood facing us. She looked at us in surprise. Her face was paler than ever, and she could barely stand on her feet. It had obviously cost her a great effort to come to the door when she heard our voices.

  ‘Who’s there? What are you talking about?’ she asked, looking at us in complete amazement.

  There was a prolonged silence; she turned as white as a sheet. I rushed over and, putting my arms around her, dragged her back to her sitting-room. Pyotr Alexandrovitch followed. I hid my face in her bosom and clung to her, numb with dread.

  ‘What is it? What’s the matter with you both?’ asked Alexandra Mikhailovna for the second time.

  ‘Ask her. Only yesterday you were defending her so fiercely,’ said Pyotr Alexandrovitch, dropping heavily into an armchair. I continued to embrace her firmly.

  ‘My God! What is this?’ exclaimed Alexandra Mikhailovna in terrible dismay. ‘You’re so upset, and she’s frightened and in tears. Annetta, tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘No, let me,’ said Pyotr Alexandrovitch, coming over to us, taking me by the arm and pulling me away from Alexandra Mikhailovna. ‘Stand there,’ he said, placing me in the middle of the room. ‘i wish to judge you in front of the woman who has been a mother to you. Please calm yourself and sit down,’ he added to Alexandra Mikhailovna, seating her in an armchair. ‘It grieves me that I can’t spare you this distressing explanation, but now it’s unavoidable.’

  ‘Good heavens! What’s coming?’ said Alexandra Mikhailovna, in great distress, gazing alternately at me and at her husband. I wrung my hands, feeling that the fatal moment was at hand. I expected no mercy from him now.

  ‘In short,’ Pyotr Alexandrovitch went on, ‘I want you to judge between us. You always (and I can’t understand why, it’s one of your whims), you always – yesterday for example – thought and said… but I don’t know how to say it, I blush at the suggestion… In short, you defended her, you attacked me, you accused me of undue severity; you even hinted at another feeling, suggesting that that had provoked me to this undue severity. You… but I don’t understand why, I can’t help my confusion, and the colour that flushes my face at the thought of your suggestion – why, I can’t speak directly and openly before her… In fact, you –’

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t do that! No, don’t say that!’ cried Alexandra Mikhailovna, burning with shame and greatly agitated. ‘No, spare her. It was all my fault, it was my idea! I have no suspicions now. Forgive me for them, forgive me. I’m ill, you must forgive me, only do not speak of it to her, do not… Annetta,’ she said, coming up to me, ‘Annetta, go out of the room, quick, quick! He was joking; it’s all my fault; it’s a thoughtless joke…’

  ‘In fact, you were jealous of her on my account,’ said Pyotr Alexandrovitch, ruthlessly spitting out the words in the face of her agonized suspense.

  She gave a shriek, turned pale and leaned against her chair for support, hardly able to stand on her feet.

  ‘God forgive you,’ she said at last in a faint voice. ‘Forgive me for him, Netochka, forgive me; it was all my fault, I was ill, I–’

  ‘But this is tyrannical, shameless, horrible!’ I screamed, understanding it all at last. Now I could see why he wanted to discredit me before his wife. ‘It’s beneath contempt, you –’

  ‘Annetta!’ cried Alexandra Mikhailovna, seizing my hand in horror.

  ‘It’s a farce, a farce and nothing else!’ said Pyotr Alexandrovitch, coming towards us in indescribable agitation. ‘It’s a farce, I tell you,’ he went on, looking at his wife with a vindictive smile. ‘And the only one who has been deceived by all this is you! I assure you that we’ he continued breathlessly, pointing at me, ‘are not at all afraid of discussing such matters. Believe me, we are not so innocent as to be offended, to blush and cover our ears when someone starts talking to us of such matters. You must excuse me: I express myself plainly, simply, coarsely perhaps, but it is necessary. Are you so sure, madam, of the style of this… young person’s conduct?’

  ‘My God! What’s the matter with you? You’re forgetting yourself!’ said Alexandra Mikhailovna, numbed and half dead with horror.

  ‘Not so loud, please,’ Pyotr Alexandrovitch interrupted her contemptuously. ‘I don’t like it. This is a simple matter, plain and vulgar in the extreme. I’m asking you about her behaviour. Do you know –’

  But I did not let him finish and, seizing him by the arm, I forcibly dragged him away. Another minute and all might have been lost.

  ‘Don’t mention the letter,’ I whispered quickly. ‘You will kill her on the spot. To reproach me is the same as reproaching her. She cannot be my judge because… I know everything… do you understand, everything!’ He stared at me with wild curiosity. He was confused, the blood rushing to his face.

  ‘I know everything, everything!’ I repeated. He was still hesitant. A question was trembling on his lips, but I pre-empted him.

  ‘This is what happened….’ I began hurriedly to speak aloud, addressing Alexandra Mikhailovna, who was looking at us in timid, anxious amazement. ‘It was all my fault. I have been deceiving you all, for the last four years. I took away the key of the library, and for four years I’ve been secretly reading the books inside. Pyotr Alexandrovitch caught me reading a book which… could not, should not have been in my hands. In his anxiety over me he has exaggerated the danger!… But I am not trying to justify myself,’ I hastened to add, noticing the mocking smile on his lips. ‘I’m entirely guilty. The temptation was too great and, having once done wrong, I was ashamed to confess what I’d done… That’s all, almost all that has passed between us.’

  ‘Oh, how clever!’ whispered Pyotr Alexandrovitch, who was standing near me.

  Alexandra Mikhailovna listened to me intently, but there was an unmistakable note of distrust written across her face. She kept looking from me to her husband. A silence followed. I could hardly breathe. She let her head fall on her breast and hid her face in her hands, evidently considering and weighing every word I had spoken. At last she lifted her head and looked straight at me.

  ‘Netochka, my child, I know that you’re not capable of telling a lie,’ she said. ‘Is that all, absolutely all th
at happened?’ ‘Yes, all,’ I answered. ‘Was that all?’ she asked her husband. ‘Yes,’ he answered, with an effort, ‘all!’

  I let out a sigh.

  ‘On your word, Netochka?’

  ‘Yes,’ I answered without faltering.

  But I could not help glancing at Pyotr Alexandrovitch. He laughed when he heard my answer. My face was hot; my dismay did not escape poor Alexandra Mikhailovna. There was a look of overwhelming, agonizing misery in her face.

  ‘That’s enough,’ she said mournfully. ‘I believe you; I cannot but believe you.’

  ‘I think such a confession is sufficient,’ said Pyotr Alexandrovitch. ‘You have heard it now! What would you have me think?’

  Alexandra Mikhailovna gave no answer. The scene was becoming increasingly intolerable.

  ‘Tomorrow I shall inspect all the books,’ Pyotr Alexandrovitch resumed. ‘I don’t know what else there was there, but –’

  ‘But what book was she reading?’ asked Alexandra Mikhailovna.

  ‘What book? Answer!’ he said, addressing me. ‘You can explain things better than I can,’ he said with hidden irony. I was flustered and could not utter a word. Alexandra Mikhailovna blushed and lowered her eyes. There was a long pause. Pyotr Alexandrovitch paced the room in vexation.

  ‘I don’t know what has passed between you,’ Alexandra Mikhailovna began at last, hesitantly articulating each word. ‘But if that was all,’ she went on, trying to put a special significance into her voice, and attempting in her embarrassment to avoid her husband’s disconcerting stare, ‘if that was all, then I don’t know what cause we have for grief or despair. I am more guilty than anyone – I alone – and it troubles me very much. I’ve neglected her education, and I ought to answer for it all. She must forgive me, and I cannot and dare not blame her. But again, what is there for us to be so upset about? The danger has passed. Look at her,’ she went on, speaking more and more feelingly and casting a searching look at her husband. ‘Look at her… has her unfortunate action scarred her? Can it be that I don’t know her, my child, my darling daughter? Don’t I know that her heart is pure and noble, and that in that pretty little head she drew me towards her and fondled me – ‘there is clear, candid intelligence and a conscience that is afraid of deceit… Enough of this, my dear! Let’s forget it! Surely there’s something else that’s distressing us; perhaps a shadow of animosity came over us for a moment. But let’s dispel it with love, with goodness; let’s put aside our worries. Perhaps we’ve been keeping things hidden, and for this I am to blame the most. I was the first to conceal something, when I started having suspicions, though God knows of what. My sick mind is to blame… but, since we have been open to some extent, you must both forgive me because… because indeed there was no great sin in what I suspected…’

  As she said this she glanced slyly, her cheeks flushed, at her husband and nervously awaited his response. While he listened to her a derisory smile came on to his lips. He ceased pacing the room and stood directly in front of her with his hands clasped behind his back; he was apparently contemplating her confusion, even delighting in it. Under his stare her anxiety deepened. He waited a moment as if he was expecting something more. Finally he cut short the uncomfortable scene with a soft, jeering laugh.

  ‘You poor woman, I do feel sorry for you,’ he said at last in a grave, bitter voice. He was no longer smiling. ‘You have adopted an attitude which you can’t keep up. What did you want? You wanted to incite me to answer, to rouse me with fresh suspicions, or rather with the old suspicion which you have failed to conceal with your words. The implication of what you say is that there is no need to be angry with her; that she’s upright even after reading immoral books, which –I speak my feelings – seem already to have borne some fruit; that you’re the one who is in fact responsible… Is that what you mean? Well, in explaining that, you hint at something else. You seem to think that my suspicions and my inquiries arise from another sort of feeling. You even implied yesterday – please do not interrupt, I wish to speak plainly – you even implied that in certain people (I remember that you said that such people are usually steady, severe, straightforward, intelligent, strong, and God knows what other attributes you gave them in your fit of magnanimity)… that in certain people, I repeat, love – and God knows where you got this idea from – can only show itself vehemently, harshly and grimly, often in the form of suspicions and persecutions. I don’t quite remember if that is exactly what you said yesterday… please don’t interrupt. I know your protégée well: she can hear all of this, all of it – I repeat for the hundredth time, all of it. You are decieved. But I don’t know why you like to persuade yourself that I’m that sort of a person. God knows, you enjoy making a fool of me. I am hardly of an age to love that girl, and for that matter, you may rest assured, madam, that I know my duty, and however generously you may excuse me, I shall say as before, that crime will always remain crime, that sin will always be sin: shameful vile, dishonourable, to whatever height of grandeur you raise the vicious feeling! But enough, enough, and let me hear no more of these abominations!’

  Alexandra Mikhailovna was crying. ‘Well, let me suffer this, let this be for me!’ she said at last, sobbing and embracing me. ‘My suspicions may have been shameful, you may well taunt me so… but you, my poor child, why have you been condemned to listen to such insults? And I’m helpless to defend you! I’m speechless! My God!, I can’t be silent! Sir, I can’t endure this… Your behaviour is insane.’

  ‘Hush, hush,’ I whispered, trying to soothe her agitation and afraid that her bitter reproaches would make him lose his patience. I was still quivering with fear for her.

  ‘But, you blind woman!’ he shouted. ‘You know nothing, you see nothing!’

  He paused for a moment.

  ‘Away from her!’ he said to me, and tore my hand from those of Alexandra Mikhailovna. ‘I will not allow you to touch my wife; you pollute her, your presence is an insult to her. But… but what is it that forces me to be silent when it is necessary – yes, essential – to speak?’ he cried, stamping his foot. ‘And I shall speak, I shall say everything. I have no idea what you know, madam, and with what you were trying to threaten me, nor do I wish to know. But listen to this,’ he said, addressing his wife, ‘just listen –’

  ‘Be silent!’ I cried, darting forwards. ‘Hold your tongue, not a word!’

  ‘Listen!…’

  ‘Hold your tongue in the name of –’

  ‘In the name of what, madam?’ he interrupted, with a swift, penetrating look into my eyes. ‘In the name of what?… Let me tell you, I took from her hands a letter from a lover! So that’s what’s going on in our house! That’s what’s happening at your side! That’s what you’ve failed to notice, or even to see!’

  I could barely stand up. Alexandra Mikhailovna had turned as white as a sheet.

  ‘It cannot be,’ she whispered in a voice hardly audible.

  ‘I have seen this letter, madam; it’s been in my hands. I read the first lines and there can be no mistake: the letter was from a lover. She snatched it away from me. She has it now, that’s clear; it’s true, there can be no doubt of it. If you still doubt it, just look at her and you’ll see there is no question about it.’

  ‘Netochka!’ cried Alexandra Mikhailovna, rushing over to me. ‘Ah, no, no, don’t speak! I don’t know what… how it… Oh, my God! My God!’ And she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  ‘But no, it cannot be,’ she cried again, ‘you’re mistaken! I know… I know what it means,’ she said, looking straight at her husband. ‘You… I… could not… you’re not deceiving me. Tell me all, don’t hide anything. He’s made a mistake. Yes, he’s made a mistake, hasn’t he? He’s seen something else, he was blind! He was, wasn’t he? Yes, he was. Why did you not tell me about it before, Netochka, my child, my own child?’

  ‘Answer, answer immediately!’ I heard Pyotr Alexandrovitch’s voice above my head. ‘Answer! Did I or did I not see the letter
in your hands?’

  ‘Yes!’ I answered, breathless with emotion.

  ‘Is the letter from your lover?’

  ‘Yes!’ I answered.

  ‘With whom you are carrying out an intrigue?’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ I said, hardly knowing what I was doing by now, and answering yes to every question, simply to put an end to our agony.

  ‘You heard her. Well, what do you say now? Believe me, your soul is too kind and trusting,’ he added, taking his wife’s hand. ‘Believe me, and don’t be deluded by all that your sick imagination has created. Now you see what this… young person is. I only wanted to show you how impossible your suspicions were. I noticed all this long ago, and I’m glad to have at last unmasked her before you. It was disagreeable to me to see her beside you, in your arms, sitting at the same table as us, in my house, indeed. I was outraged by your blindness and that’s the reason, the only reason, that I kept a watch on her; my attention attracted your notice and, starting from God knows what suspicions, you’ve deduced something or other from it. But now the position is clear, all doubt is settled, and tomorrow, madam, tomorrow you will leave my house,’ he concluded, turning to me.

  ‘Stop!’ screeched Alexandra Mikhailovna, half rising from her chair. ‘I don’t believe all this. Don’t look at me so fiercely, and don’t mock me! I want to judge you now. Annetta, my child, come to me; give me your hand. We are all sinners!’ she said in a voice that shook with tears, and looking meekly at her husband. ‘And which of us can refuse another’s hand? Give me your hand, Annetta, my dear child. I am no worthier, no better than you. You can’t harm me with your presence, for I too, I too am a sinner.’

  ‘Madam!’ cried Pyotr Alexandrovitch in amazement. ‘Madam, restrain yourself! Do not forget –’

  ‘I forget nothing. Don’t interrupt me… let me finish. You saw a letter in her hands; you even read it. You say, and she too admits it, that it was a letter from someone she loves. But does this really prove that she’s a criminal? Does it justify your treating her like this, degrading her in the eyes of your wife? Yes, sir, in the eyes of your wife. Have you perhaps considered the matter? And do you really know how it happened?’