I surreptitiously had a good look at him. He looked sickly. He had grown very thin; his face bore a week’s stubble. His hair, which was completely grey, protruded in disorderly tufts from underneath his crumpled hat and long strands of it lay on the collar of his shabby old overcoat. In the past I had noticed that he could be very absent-minded at times; for instance, he would forget that he was not alone in a room and start talking to himself and gesticulating. It was painful to see him in that state.
“Well, Vanya, well!” he said. “Where were you going? I just popped out, my boy – on business. How are you keeping?”
“What about yourself?” I replied. “I hear you’ve been ill recently, and yet here you are, braving the elements.”
Ikhmenev made no reply, as though he hadn’t heard me.
“How’s Anna Andreyevna?”
“As well as could be… That’s to say, not particularly well. Not her cheerful self at the moment… She was asking after you, wondering why you hadn’t been to see us. But you were just on your way over to us, weren’t you, Vanya?… Or not? Am I keeping you?… Perhaps you’ve got other business!” he suddenly said, looking at me mistrustfully and suspiciously. The wary old devil had become so sensitive and irritable that if I had replied that I wasn’t on my way to see them, he’d certainly have taken umbrage and coldly turned his back on me. I took pains to assure him that I was indeed on my way to look in on Anna Andreyevna, even though I knew I’d be late for Natasha, or perhaps not get to her at all.
“Well, that’s good,” Ikhmenev said, completely reassured by my reply, “that’s good…” and suddenly he fell silent, lost in thought halfway through the sentence.
“Yes, that’s good,” he repeated mechanically after a long pause, as though emerging from a deep reverie. “Hm… you see, the thing is this, Vanya, we’ve always regarded you as our own son. God didn’t bless Anna Andreyevna and me with… a son… and sent you instead. That’s the way I’ve always looked at it. My dear wife too… yes! And you’ve always been respectful and considerate to us, just like a dutiful son. May God bless you for it, Vanya, and we old ones also give you our blessing and our love… yes!”
His voice faltered. He paused for a few moments.
“Yes… you were saying? You haven’t been ill, have you? Been a bit of a stranger to us, haven’t you?”
I told him all about Smith, taking care to explain that, having been preoccupied with his affairs, I had to catch up with my own, and added that I’d nearly became ill myself, and that what with one thing and another, it was altogether too far to visit them on Vasìlevsky Island, where they lived at the time. I nearly let the cat out of the bag by admitting that I had nevertheless managed to go and see Natasha, but stopped myself just in time.
Smith’s story intrigued him very much. He became more attentive. On learning that my new room was damp and perhaps even less desirable than the previous one, but still cost me six roubles a month, he became quite agitated. He had grown extremely short-tempered and intolerant of late. Only Anna Andreyevna seemed to be able to handle him in such moods, and then not always.
“Hm… that’s what comes of all that literature of yours, Vanya!” he exclaimed almost angrily. “It’s landed you up in an attic, it’ll land you in the grave! And it’s not as if I didn’t tell you and warn you!… So what about B. – still churning out his criticisms, is he?”
“He died some time ago, of consumption. I must have told you about it, surely?”
“Died, hm… died, eh? Serves him right. Did he leave anything to his wife and children? Didn’t you say he had a wife somewhere or other?… Why on earth do these people marry!”
“No, he left nothing,” I replied.
“Well, there you are!” he exclaimed with passion, as if it concerned him closely and intimately, as though the deceased B. were his own brother. “Nothing! Nothing indeed! But you know, Vanya, I knew all along that’s how he’d end up – even when, remember, you were always singing his praises. Left nothing, did he? A fine state of affairs! Hm… famous, is he? So he might have earned himself immortal fame for all I know, but fame isn’t going to feed you, is it? Even then I could see it all coming to you too, Vanya, my boy. I praised you all right, but deep down I could see it all coming. So B.’s dead! Small wonder! Isn’t life wonderful… just look at that; isn’t that a sight for sore eyes!”
And with a broad, involuntary sweep of his arm he indicated to me the fog-shrouded vista of the street with its dim lights flickering feebly in the dank air; the shabby houses; the glistening paving stones; the sullen, angry, rain-soaked passers-by; the whole dismal scene under the pitch-black dome of the St Petersburg sky. We were entering St Isaac’s Square; before us in the mist towered the monument to Nicholas I, illuminated from below by gas jets, and further on loomed the huge dark hulk of the Cathedral, barely distinguishable against the dreary background of the sky.
“You did say, Vanya, that he was a good, generous, sensitive man with a kind heart. Well, they’re all the same, those kind-hearted, sensitive men of yours! All they know is how to beget orphans! Hm… And dying must have been such good fun for him, I suppose!… Haha! Why not just leave all this in exchange for Siberia if it came to it!… What’s the matter, young lady?” he asked suddenly, spotting a child close by begging for alms.
It was a stunted, emaciated girl of about seven or eight, no more, dressed in filthy rags; the shoes she wore on her tiny stockingless feet were full of holes. She was making every effort to wrap her shivering little body in a tattered old semblance of a frock which was much too small for her. Her drawn, pale, sickly face was turned towards us as she gazed up in shy silence and held out a shaking hand in a manner that anticipated a rebuff. At the sight of her Ikhmenev shook all over, and swung around towards her so abruptly that he startled her. She shuddered and recoiled.
“What, what’s the matter, little girl?” he exclaimed. “What is it? Do you want something? Yes? Here you are, here… take it, here you are!”
In complete turmoil and overcome with agitation, he hurriedly began to fumble in his pocket and produced two or three silver coins. But it seemed to him not enough; he reached for his wallet, and having taken out a rouble note – all the money there was in it – he put it in the little beggar girl’s hand.
“May the Good Lord protect you, my little one… you poor little mite! May God’s angel be with you!”
And with a trembling hand he made the sign of the cross over her several times, but suddenly noticing that I was there to see it all, frowned and walked off with rapid strides.
“You know, Vanya, I can’t bear to see that sort of thing,” he resumed after quite a long, awkward pause. “Tiny innocent creatures shivering in the cold on the streets… and all because of their cursed mothers and fathers. Though what mother would send a child to such horrors unless she were at her wits’ end herself!… I wouldn’t be surprised if she had some more waifs huddled in some corner, that one being just the oldest. The woman’s probably ill herself, and… hm! Not of princely stock, her children, that’s for sure! Altogether too many children in this world, Vanya… not of princely stock! Hm!”
He paused uneasily for a moment.
“You see, Vanya, I promised my Anna Andreyevna,” he began, stumbling over his words, “I promised her… that is, we agreed, Anna Andreyevna and I, to take in a little orphan and bring her up… some little girl in need, that is, some very young orphan – for us to bring up, do you follow? Otherwise it’s a lonely life for us old ones all on our own, hm… the only thing is, you see, my Anna Andreyevna has gone off the idea. Couldn’t you have a word with her? Don’t say I asked you to, you understand, but coming from you, as it were… see if you could persuade her – do you follow me? I’ve been meaning to ask you this for quite some time now… to try and get her to change her mind. It’s not something I find easy to talk about… still, that’s by the by! Why would I need a litt
le girl? I don’t really – except as a comfort – to hear the sound of a child’s voice around the house… To be perfectly honest, though, I’m only doing it for Anna Andreyevna, she’d die of boredom with only me for company. But I’m talking rubbish! Look here, Vanya, it’s too far to walk. Let’s take a cab. It’s a long way. Anna Andreyevna must be getting tired waiting for us…”
It was half-past seven when we arrived at the Ikhmenevs’.
12
The old couple loved each other very much. Their love and their long life together formed an indissoluble bond between them. Yet even in their happiest times Nikolai Sergeich had always been rather uncommunicative, sometimes even harsh with his Anna Andreyevna, especially in company. There is in some refined and sensitive natures a kind of stubbornness, an unwillingness – born of discretion – to talk about or demonstrate their feelings even to those they love most, not only in public but in private too – particularly in private. Only rarely will there be an emotional outpouring, and the longer it has been repressed, the more unrestrained and impetuous it will eventually be. This was what Ikhmenev had always been like with his Anna Andreyevna, even going back to his younger days. His love and respect for her knew no bounds; although she was simply a good woman, capable of nothing more than reciprocating his love, he disapproved intensely when, in her simplicity, she all too readily bared her soul to him. But after Natasha’s departure, their relationship mellowed; they now realized to their chagrin that they had no one but each other left in the world. And though Nikolai Sergeich would every now and again be overcome with depression, neither of them could endure being away from the other, even if only for a couple of hours, without feelings of pain and sadness. As for Natasha, they had tacitly agreed not to talk about her as though she had never existed. Anna Andreyevna was afraid even to mention her in her husband’s presence, which was no easy matter for her. In her heart she had forgiven Natasha long ago. The two of us had somehow come to an understanding that every time I came round, I would bring her word of her beloved, unforgettable child.
Anna Andreyevna would become positively ill if there was no news for a long time, and whenever I brought her some, she would hang on my every word, question me with anxious curiosity, and unburden her heart when she heard my reports; one day when Natasha fell ill, she nearly died of fright and was almost ready to go and see the patient for herself. But that was an extreme case. At first she couldn’t bring herself, even in front of me, to express her desire to see her daughter, and at the end of our heart-to-heart conversations, after she had pumped me for every detail, she would invariably and somewhat disingenuously point out that, even though she was interested in her daughter’s future, Natasha had done a terrible wrong, for which she could never be forgiven. But all this was just pretence. There were occasions when Anna Andreyevna would become completely distraught, weep in my presence, call Natasha by the fondest of names, and complain bitterly of Nikolai Sergeich, and in his presence start dropping not-so-subtle subtle hints about people’s pride and cold-heartedness, the fact that we are unable to forgive offences against us and that God will not forgive the unforgiving; but in his presence she never went further than that. On such occasions Ikhmenev would immediately bristle and either lapse into sullen silence or, quite unexpectedly, and usually in an embarrassingly pointed manner, try to change the conversation or, if all else failed, simply go to his room, leaving the two of us on our own, thereby giving Anna Andreyevna an opportunity to vent her grief in tears and lamentations. He also always used to go to his room in this way whenever I came, even before I had finished saying hello, clearly to give me time to tell Anna Andreyevna the latest news about Natasha. That is exactly what he did on this occasion.
“I’m drenched,” he said to her as soon as he came in. “I think I’ll go to my room, but you stay here, Vanya. You should hear what happened to him at his lodgings. Why don’t you tell her all about it? I’ll be back shortly…”
With that he hurried off, trying even not to look at us, as though resenting the fact that, as always, it was he who had brought us together. On such occasions, especially after he eventually rejoined us, he would always be gruff and acrimonious, even intolerant, towards both Anna Andreyevna and me as though annoyed with himself for his softness and compliance.
“You see what he’s like,” Anna Andreyevna said, having lately abandoned all her reserve and stratagems with me. “He’s always like that with me, and he knows perfectly well we can see through all his guiles. Why all this pretence with me! As if I were a stranger to him! He’s the same with his daughter. Surely he could have forgiven her – perhaps he’d like to, God only knows. He cries in the night, I’ve heard him! But he will put a brave face on it. It’s that stubborn pride of his… My dear Ivan Petrovich, hurry up and tell me now where did he go today?”
“Nikolai Sergeich? I’ve no idea. I was going to ask you myself.”
“I was worried sick when he went out. He wasn’t at all well, you know, and to have gone out in that weather, at that ungodly hour too! Well, I thought to myself, it must be something particularly important, but what could have been more important than the business we all know about? I kept turning it over in my mind – but do you think I could screw up the courage to ask him? Even now I’m afraid to ask him about anything. My God, I nearly fainted when I thought of them both. What if he had gone to see her, I thought – perhaps he had decided to forgive her? He had already found out everything, you know, he knows every last detail about her. I’m convinced he knows, but I can’t think how. He was in such a state yesterday and today. But why don’t you say something! Tell me, my dear, what else happened there! I’ve been waiting for you to come, like an angel of God. I thought you’d never come. Well, is that evil man going to desert our Natasha?”
I immediately told Anna Andreyevna everything I knew. I was always perfectly frank with her. I informed her that Natasha and Alyosha really seemed to be heading for a break-up – that this time it was more serious than any of their previous disagreements; that Natasha had sent me a note the day before, begging me to come and see her at nine that evening, which was why I hadn’t been planning to see them at all that night; that it was Nikolai Sergeich who had asked me to come back with him. I was at pains to explain to her that the position was now absolutely critical; that Alyosha’s father, in the two weeks since his return from abroad, would brook no opposition, and had taken Alyosha firmly in hand; but most important of all that Alyosha himself seemed not only not indifferent to his fiancée but, rumour had it, even to be in love with her. I also added that Natasha’s note was, as far as one could tell, written in great agitation, and that it said everything would be decided that evening – but as to what, there was no indication; puzzlingly it was dated the day before, although my meeting with her was fixed for that evening, even down to the hour – nine o’clock. And so I would definitely have to go, and soon.
“Go along, my dear, of course, if you must,” Anna Andreyevna began to fuss. “He’ll join us in a moment, you’ll have a glass of tea before you go, won’t you?… Oh, where’s the samovar! Matryona! What have you done with the samovar, girl? She’ll be the death of me, that girl will!… Well, have your tea, think of a likely excuse, and off you go. And make sure you come back tomorrow nice and early and tell me all about it. Heavens above! I hope to goodness nothing else has gone wrong! As if things weren’t bad enough already! I’m sure Nikolai Sergeich has found out everything – my heart tells me he has. I get to know a lot through Matryona, and she gets it from Agasha – Agasha’s the goddaughter of Marya Vasilyevna, who lives at the Prince’s house – but you know all that yourself, don’t you? Wasn’t my Nikolai in a foul mood today! There I was minding my own business, and then all of a sudden he fairly flies at me, but a little later he seemed to be sorry and said we were short of money. As if he’d shout at me over money! In the afternoon, off he went for a nap. I peeped at him through a chink in the door, and there he was, bless him,
on his knees in front of an icon, praying. When I saw that, my legs fairly gave way under me. He didn’t have his tea or his nap, just picked up his hat and walked out. Five o’clock it was when he left. I didn’t even dare ask where he was going – he’d have shouted at me. He’s taken to shouting a lot recently, mainly at Matryona, but I come in for it too. And every time he does, my legs go numb and my heart sinks. It’s all only words, I know, but it frightens me just the same. I prayed to God to make him see reason a whole hour after he left. Where’s that note of hers? Let me see it now!”
I showed it to her. I knew that Anna Andreyevna hoped against hope for one thing only, that Alyosha, whom sometimes she called an evil man, sometimes a silly heartless boy, would finally marry Natasha, and that his father, Prince Pyotr Alexandrovich, would not stand in the way. She even let slip as much to me, although on other occasions she expressed regret at what she had said and denied she had ever meant it. But she would never have dared to voice her hopes in Nikolai Sergeich’s presence – even though she knew he suspected her of entertaining them – because every so often he would in an indirect way rebuke her. I imagined that if he thought there was any likelihood of such a marriage, he’d have immediately cursed Natasha and torn her from his heart for ever.
We all thought so at the time. Ikhmenev looked forward to his daughter’s return with all his heart, but he expected her to come back alone and contrite, having cast out all memory of Alyosha from her heart. That was his sole condition for pardon, not articulated in so many words, but for all that plainly written on his face and not open to debate.
“He’s spineless, he’s a spineless brat, spineless and cruel, I always said so,” Anna Andreyevna began again. “They didn’t know how to bring him up either, and what a ne’er-do-well he’s turned out to be! And dear God, look what he rejects her for! What will become of her, the poor darling? I can’t imagine what it is he’s found in this new one!”
Humiliated and Insulted Page 8
