Humiliated and Insulted

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

  And although she was laughing, she was flushed and Masloboyev did not come off lightly.

  “He shouldn’t be shaming me so!” she added, turning to me with a serious expression.

  “Well, Vanya, such is the life I lead! This, of course, calls for a drink!” Masloboyev observed, smoothing his hair and hurrying almost at full pelt to get to the decanter. But Alexandra Semyonovna beat him to it. She rushed up to the table, filled a glass herself, handed it to him, and even fondled his cheek lovingly. Masloboyev winked at me proudly, clicked his tongue and downed his drink with gusto.

  “Apropos these bonbons, I don’t quite know what to say,” he began, settling himself down beside me on the couch. “I bought them at a greengrocer’s three days ago when I was drunk – goodness knows why. Maybe to help the national economy or the confectionery industry – search me! All I remember is that I was walking along the street smashed out of my mind, fell in the mud, tore the hair on my head and cried bitterly that I’m fit for nothing. Naturally I forgot all about the bonbons in my pocket until yesterday, when I felt them as I sat down on your sofa. As for the dancing, there again blame the demon drink. Yesterday I was sloshed, and when I’m sloshed and pleased with my lot in life, I sometimes break into a dance. That’s all there is to it, except that the little orphan managed to tug at my heartstrings. But apart from that, she seemed angry and quite reluctant to speak to me. That’s when I broke into the dance, to cheer her up, and treated her to the bonbons to sweeten her.”

  “To sweeten her in order to find out something from her, and – you might as well tell me honestly – did you call at my place deliberately, knowing that I’d be out, so as to have a chat with her eye to eye and fish something out of her, eh? I know you spent an hour and a half with her, convinced her you knew her deceased mother, and there was something else you wanted to know, wasn’t there?”

  Masloboyev knitted his eyebrows and smiled roguishly.

  “You know, that wouldn’t have been such a bad idea at all,” he said. “No, Vanya, it’s not like that. Mind you, what’s wrong with asking a few questions if the timing’s right? But that’s not the point. Look here, my dear boy, even though I am fairly sloshed, as usual of course, remember this though: Filip will never tell you a malicious lie – malicious, mark.”

  “Well, what about non-malicious?”

  “All right… not non-malicious either. But to hell with all this, let’s have a drink and get down to business! It’s hardly worth talking about really,” he continued after a drink. “This Bubnova had no right to keep the girl. I checked everything. There’s no suggestion of adoption or anything like that. Her mother owed her money, so she simply took the girl. Bubnova may be a fraud and a battleaxe, but she’s pretty stupid with it, like all women. Her mother’s passport was in order, so everything’s above board. Yelena may stay with you, though it’d be an excellent idea if some respectable family were to take her in to give her a decent upbringing. But for the time being let her stay with you. Don’t worry, I’ll see to everything for you. Bubnova won’t be able to do a thing. As for her deceased mother, I didn’t manage to find out anything specific. She was a widow – name of Saltzman.”

  “That’s what Nelly told me too.”

  “Well, that’s all there is to it then. And now, Vanya,” he resumed with some gravity, “I’ve a favour to ask of you. I’d be grateful if you’d oblige me. Tell me, in as much detail as possible, what sort of business you run, where you go, where you spend your days. I’ve heard things and have a rough idea, but I’m after a more detailed picture.”

  Such an approach surprised me and even put me on my guard.

  “What’s all this? Why do you need to know? And you’re so serious about it—”

  “It’s like this, Vanya – let’s not bandy with words – I want to do you a good turn. You see, my dear friend, if I was up to no good, I’d have been able to get everything out of you without any preambles. And yet you suspect me of wanting to double-cross you – bonbons and the like. Don’t worry, I can see it all. But as I’m making no bones about it, it means I’m going out of my way for your sake, not mine. So, don’t be so suspicious and stop beating about the bush, let’s have the truth – the whole truth…”

  “What good turn? Listen, Masloboyev, why don’t you want to tell me something about the Prince? I need to know. That’d be a good turn indeed.”

  “About the Prince! Hm… Well, all right, I might as well be honest with you – he’s the very man I had in mind.”

  “What?”

  “Listen to me! I noticed, old chap, he’s been prying into your affairs. Incidentally, he was asking me about you. As to how he found out that we knew each other – that’s none of your business. But the main thing is you have to watch the Prince. He’s a real Judas, but even worse. Consequently, when I saw him meddling in your affairs I began to be seriously worried for you. Mind you, I know nothing at all – that’s precisely why I want you to put me in the picture so that I can form a judgement… In fact, that’s exactly why I asked you to come tonight. That is the important matter – take my word for it.”

  “Won’t you at least tell me something – why should I, for instance, be careful of the Prince?”

  “Fair enough. You see, sometimes I get hired to do all kinds of things, but the reason people trust me by and large is because I know how to keep my mouth shut. So how would it be for me if I told you everything? You’ll pardon me therefore if I speak in general terms, deliberately so, if only to show what an out-and-out scoundrel he really is. Anyway, why don’t you have your say first?”

  I decided there was absolutely nothing in my affairs I should hide from Masloboyev. Natasha’s circumstances were no secret; as it happens, I could expect a certain amount of support from Masloboyev. Nevertheless, there were some points in my story which I largely chose to skirt around. Masloboyev listened particularly carefully to everything that related to the Prince; on many occasions he stopped me, asked me to repeat many things, so that in the end he got a fairly detailed picture. My story lasted about half an hour.

  “Hm! That girl’s got her head screwed on,” Masloboyev concluded. “Even if she hasn’t quite cracked the Prince, at least it’s good she immediately recognized whom she was up against and has cut all ties with him. Well done, Natalia Nikolayevna! Your health!” (He knocked back a glass.) “It’s not just brains one needed for this, but a heart too, to prevent someone double-crossing you. Her heart didn’t let her down. It goes without saying, her case is lost – the Prince will get his way and Alyosha’ll drop her. It’s old Ikhmenev I’m sorry for though – having to pay out ten thousand to that scoundrel! And who represented him, who acted for him? No one but himself, I suppose! My, oh my! These hot-headed, high-minded types! Some people just haven’t got any sense! That wasn’t the way to deal with the Prince! I’d have found Ikhmenev the best lawyer in town – never mind, though!” And he brought his fist down on the table in exasperation.

  “So what about the Prince then?”

  “You still on about the Prince, are you? What’s the point of talking about him. I wish I’d never volunteered. You see, Vanya, I merely wanted to warn you about that scoundrel, as it were, safeguard you against his influence. You need a long spoon to sup with the devil. So, be on your guard – that’s all. No doubt you expected me to come up with some tale of mystery and suspense. You’re not a novelist for nothing! Well, what’s the point of talking about the villain? Once a villain, always a villain… So, for argument’s sake, let me just tell you one of the things he got up to, obviously without specifying either places, faces or calendar details. You know when he was still a lad, eking out an existence on a meagre office clerk’s salary, he went and married a wealthy merchant’s daughter. Well, he treated her none too gently, and though that’s neither here nor there at the moment, I’ll say this to you, Vanya my friend, that’s how he liked to operate most of the time. Here�
�s another instance – he went on a trip abroad. There—”

  “Hold it, Masloboyev, what trip are you talking about? What year was that?”

  “Precisely ninety-nine years and three months ago. Well, there he seduced someone’s daughter and whisked her off to Paris with him. And how did he go about it! The father was some kind of an industrialist or a partner in some enterprise or other. I’m not too sure. All I can tell you are my own conjectures and deductions based on various facts. Anyway, he wormed his way into the father’s business and proceeded to diddle him. He strung him along and took money off him. The old man, of course, kept certain receipts to the effect. The Prince, naturally, had no intention of paying him back. To put it bluntly – he simply meant to steal it. Now the old boy had a daughter, and very beautiful she was, and she had a lover, an upstanding chap, a knight in shining armour, a veritable Schiller, a poet and a merchant to boot, a young dreamer – in a word, a German through and through, Pfefferkuchen or something like that.”

  “You mean Pfefferkuchen was his name?”

  “Well, maybe not Pfefferkuchen, who cares, that’s neither here nor there. What matters is that the Prince started making up to the daughter, and so craftily that she was soon head over heels in love with him. There were two things the Prince was after: first to hang on to the daughter, and secondly to lay his hands on the receipts for the money that the old boy had advanced. The keys to all his safes were with his daughter, whom he loved to distraction, so much so that he wouldn’t even hear of her getting married. Seriously. He was jealous of any suitor, couldn’t imagine parting from her, and even kicked Pfefferkuchen out on his ear, a bit of a queer fish, an Englishman…”

  “An Englishman? So where did all this take place?”

  “I only said it in a manner of speaking, you don’t have to take everything literally. So it happened in Santa Fe de Bogotá, or perhaps in Cracow, but more likely than not in the Duchy of Nassau, what’s written on this here bottle of seltzer water, yes Nassau, that’s right – you’ll be the death of me, Vanya! Well, having seduced this girl, the Prince spirits her away from her father, and on the Prince’s insistence she grabs a document or two with her. That’s what love does for you, Vanya! And make no mistake, she was a decent, deserving, perfectly honest sort! All right, so perhaps she wasn’t all that clued up as regards legal documents. She was only concerned with one thing – her father would curse her for it. But the Prince knew how to deal with that one too – he gave her a formal, legal undertaking to marry her. As a result he managed to set her mind at rest that they’d both go away on a short holiday trip, and after the old boy’s anger had subsided, they’d return to him duly married and the three of them would live together happily ever after for all eternity. She did actually elope, the old man cursed her and promptly went bankrupt. Young Frauenmilch immediately dashed after her to Paris, leaving behind everything, his business included – all for the love of her.”

  “Hold on! What Frauenmilch?”

  “Well, you know whom I mean! Feuerbach… oh, hell – Pfefferkuchen! There was of course no chance of the Prince getting married, for what would Countess Khlestova say? What would Baron Hogwash think? Consequently he had to resort to chicanery. And he set about it pretty ruthlessly. First, he as near as damnit physically assaulted her. Secondly, he deliberately invited Pfefferkuchen to his house, who came, grew more and more attached to her, and so the two of them snivelled and spent their time together, evenings on end, bemoaning their misfortunes, as he tried to comfort her. Bless the poor souls! But the Prince had it all worked out. He caught them together late one night, used it as a pretext and accused them of having an affair. He claimed he saw it all with his own eyes, and booted them both out on the street. Then he went to stay in London for a while. Meantime she went into labour, and no sooner had she been turned out, she gave birth to a girl… what am I saying, not a girl, a boy, that’s right – a son, whom they christened Volodya. Pfefferkuchen was the godfather. So the two of them set off on a tour. Pfefferkuchen had a bit of money saved up. They travelled all over Switzerland, Italy… she got to see all the romantic spots, as well she might. She spent most of the time crying, while Pfefferkuchen whined and complained, and many years rolled by that way, and the little girl grew up. And everything would have been just right for the Prince, except for one thing – she wouldn’t release him from his promise to marry her. ‘You’re a cad, sir,’ she said to him on parting, ‘you robbed me, you dishonoured me and now you’re deserting me. Goodbye then! But you’re not going to get that piece of paper back. Not because I may want to marry you some day, but because you’re afraid of that document. So let it stay in my hands for ever more.’ In short, she let off some of her steam, but the Prince wasn’t too bothered. As it happens, such scoundrels always come out on top when dealing with these all too conscientious souls. They’re so honourable they’re asking to be duped, and secondly, rather than being brutally practical and, if possible, bringing the full force of the law to bear on the matter, they prefer to take refuge in virtuous and noble indignation. Well, so it was with this young mother, if only to illustrate the point. She took refuge in noble indignation and, though she kept the document, the Prince knew full well that she’d rather die than confront him with it, and he thought no more about it. As for her, even though she showed him up for what he was, she was still left with little Volodya on her hands. Were she to die, what would become of him? But this point was not considered. Bruderschaft also encouraged her but did damn all. They spent their time reading Schiller and the like. Finally, Bruderschaft went down with something, turned turtle and died—”

  “You mean Pfefferkuchen?”

  “Well yes, to hell with him! And she—”

  “Hang on! How many years did they travel about?”

  “Two hundred if a day. Well, she returned to Cracow. Her father wouldn’t have her back, put the mockers on her, she died, and the Prince thanked the heavens above and wept for joy.

  Drinking is healthy for young and for old

  In the heat of summer, or the freezing cold…

  “Let’s drink to it, Vanya!”

  “I’ve a feeling you’re in league with the Prince on this, Masloboyev.”

  “You’d like me to be, wouldn’t you?”

  “The only thing I can’t understand is where you come into all this!”

  “Look here, when she returned to Madrid after a ten-year absence under an assumed name, there was no end of things to be looked into – Bruderschaft, the old man, whether she was in fact back, what had become of the kid, if she was in fact still alive or not, if any legal documents had been left behind, and so on and so forth ad infinitum. And a few other things besides. The man is bad news, be careful of him, Vanya, but as for Masloboyev, remember one thing – never ever call him a scoundrel! He may well be one (who isn’t, if you ask me?), but not as far as you’re concerned. I’m thoroughly sloshed, but listen: should you ever feel – be it far, be it near, be it now, or the year after – that Masloboyev has been too clever by half with you (and, please, mark these words: too clever by half), remember, it was without malice aforethought. Masloboyev’s watching over you. And therefore don’t believe everything you hear, but just come straight over to Masloboyev and have a heart-to-heart talk with him without beating about the bush. And so how about a drink now?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “A bite to eat?”

  “No, you must excuse me…”

  “Well, clear off then, it’s quarter to nine, you’re too proud. It’s time you went.”

  “What’s all this? What’s going on?” Alexandra Semyonovna exclaimed almost in tears. “He’s had one too many and wants to boot his guest out! He’s always like that! For shame!”

  “It’s no good blowing against the wind! Alexandra Semyonovna, the two of us will just have to stay behind and content ourselves with each other’s company! Who are we compared to suc
h a general! No, Vanya, I tell a lie – you’re no general, but I am a scoundrel! Just look at me now! What am I compared to you? Forgive me, Vanya, and let me pour my heart out…”

  He embraced me and burst into tears. I started to make my way out.

  “Goodness gracious! And supper is all ready,” Alexandra Semyonovna said, utterly distressed. “But will you come to us on Friday?”

  “I will, Alexandra Semyonovna, honestly, I will.”

  “Perhaps you’ll take offence at him being like that?… Drunk. Don’t blame him for it though, Ivan Petrovich, he’s kind, ever so kind, and he’s so fond of you! He never stops talking about you day and night, it’s all I ever hear. He went out specially to buy your books for me. I haven’t had a chance to read them yet. I’ll start on them tomorrow. It’ll be such a treat for me when you come! I never see anybody, nobody ever comes to visit us. We’re not short of anything, but we always stay in on our own. I was sitting just now, listening, hanging on your every word, and it was so nice… So, till Friday then…”

  7

  I hurried home. masloboyev’s words had caused me a great deal of surprise. All kinds of unlikely thoughts crowded into my head… Quite unexpectedly, as I drew near my home an incident occurred, which shook me as though I’d been given an electric shock.

  Directly opposite the house where I lodged stood a street lamp. Just as I drew level with the gate, a strange figure suddenly rushed at me from under the lamp, which made me cry out; a quivering, frightened, half-demented creature caught hold of my hand with a shriek of distress. I was terror-stricken. It was Nelly!

  “Nelly! What’s the matter with you?” I cried out. “What’s wrong!”

  “There, upstairs… he’s there… in our room…”

  “Who? Come along! We’ll go together.”

  “I don’t want to, I don’t want to! I’ll wait till he’s gone… in the passage… I don’t want to.”