Humiliated and Insulted

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

  “Yes,” she said in the same whisper. I spoke to her with tears in my eyes. She kept casting me timid glances.

  “Do you believe me?

  “I do.”

  “Well then, I’ll go with you. I’ll take you to them, they’ll make you welcome and will start asking questions. Then I’ll steer the conversation in such a way that they’ll ask you how you lived before, they’ll ask you about your mother and about your granddad. Tell them, Nelly, everything the way you told it to me. Keep it simple but don’t hold anything back. Tell them how an evil man deserted your mother and how your mother lay dying in Bubnova’s basement, how you and your mother walked the streets begging, what she said to you and what she asked of you when she was dying… Tell them about your granddad too. Tell them, how he wouldn’t forgive your mother, and how she sent you to him just before she died that he should come and forgive her, and that he wouldn’t… and that she died. Tell them everything, absolutely everything! And at the end of your story, her father will search his own heart. He knows that Alyosha has deserted her today and that she’s now been left shamed and dishonoured, all alone, with no one to help her or protect her from the insults of her enemy. He knows all this… Nelly! Save Natasha! Will you come?”

  “Yes,” she replied, drawing a deep and painful breath as she cast me a strange, long and probing look; there was something akin to reproach in it, and I felt it in my heart.

  But I could not relinquish my idea. I had too much faith in it. I grabbed Nelly by the arm, and we left. It was gone two o’clock in the afternoon. Clouds were gathering. For some time past the weather had been hot and sultry, but now there came from somewhere the distant rumble of early spring thunder. A gust of wind swept through the dust-laden streets.

  We took a cab. Nelly was silent all the way, only occasionally casting me that same strange and mysterious look. Her chest was heaving, and as I held her to support her in the droshky, I could feel her little heart thumping against the palm of my hand as though it would break free.

  7

  The road seemed to me interminable. At last we arrived, and I entered the old couple’s house with a troubled heart. I had no idea how I would leave their house, but I knew that come what may it would have to be on terms of peace and reconciliation.

  It was already after three. The Ikhmenevs were on their own as usual. Nikolai Sergeich was very upset and ill, reclining in his comfortable armchair, pale and exhausted, with a kerchief tied round his head. Anna Andreyevna was sitting beside him, from time to time dabbing his temples with vinegar and ceaselessly peering into his face with a prying woeful mien, which he evidently found irritating and even distressing. He maintained a stubborn silence, and she dared not speak. Our sudden arrival astonished them both. On seeing that I had Nelly with me, Anna Andreyevna panicked for some reason and for the first few minutes regarded us with what seemed a guilty air.

  “Here, I’ve brought you my Nelly,” I said on entering. “She’s thought things over and now wants to be with you. Make her welcome and give her your love…”

  Ikhmenev glanced at me suspiciously, and just by that look I could tell that he knew everything, that is, that Natasha was now on her own, abandoned, rejected and no doubt feeling insulted. He was dying to guess the reason behind our visit, and looked quizzically at Nelly and myself. Nelly was shaking all over, tightly clenching my hand as she stared at the ground, only occasionally casting frightened glances around the room like a trapped little animal. But Anna Andreyevna soon recovered her wits and sized up the situation. She rushed towards Nelly, embraced her, kissed her, stroked her affectionately and even shed a tear as she lovingly seated her beside her without letting go of her hand. Nelly measured her with a curious, sidelong, somewhat astonished glance.

  But, having comforted Nelly, now that they were sitting side by side, Anna Andreyevna did not know what to do next, and began to look at me in naive expectation. Ikhmenev winced; perhaps he thought he knew why I had brought Nelly along. On seeing that I was beginning to draw conclusions from his sour mien and wrinkled brow, he brought his hand up to his head and said, falteringly, “Headache, Vanya.”

  We all sat in silence; I was casting around for something to say. It was dusky in the room; a black cloud was gathering outside, and again there was a distant rumble of thunder.

  “Thunderstorms are early this spring,” Ikhmenev said. “But in eighteen-thirty-seven, I remember, there was one even earlier in our parts.”

  Anna Andreyevna sighed.

  “Shall we have the samovar in?” she asked diffidently, but no one responded, and she again turned to Nelly.

  “What do they call you, my dearest?” she asked her.

  Nelly mumbled her name and dropped her head even lower. Ikhmenev looked at her.

  “That’s short for Yelena, isn’t it?” Anna Andreyevna continued, becoming more animated.

  “Yes,” Nelly replied, and another minute’s silence followed.

  “Praskovya Ivanovna’s sister had a niece, Yelena,” Nikolai Sergeich said, “she too was called Nelly, I remember.”

  “Haven’t you got any parents, my pet, a father, or mother?” Anna Andreyevna asked again.

  “No, I haven’t,” Nelly replied in a halting, nervous whisper.

  “So I heard, so I heard. And has your mother been dead long?”

  “No.”

  “My dearest poppet, my little orphan,” the good lady continued, looking at her pityingly. Nikolai Sergeich drummed on the tabletop with his fingers in exasperation.

  “So your mother was from foreign parts, was she? That’s what you told me, Ivan Petrovich, wasn’t it?” Anna Andreyevna persisted tentatively.

  Nelly fleetingly looked at me with her dark eyes as though appealing for help. Her breathing seemed to be laboured and uneven.

  “Her mother, Anna Andreyevna,” I began, “had an English father and a Russian mother, so she was more Russian than English. Nelly, however, was born abroad.”

  “Why then did her mother go to live abroad with her husband?”

  Nelly suddenly flushed with anger. Anna Andreyevna realized immediately she had said the wrong thing, and blanched under her husband’s furious glance. He darted her a disapproving look and then turned towards the window.

  “Her mother was led astray by a worthless scoundrel,” he said suddenly, addressing Anna Andreyevna. “She ran away from her father with him and entrusted her father’s money to her lover, who took it from her on false pretences, travelled abroad with her, fleeced her and left her destitute. There was one kind-hearted person who didn’t desert her but helped her till the day he died. After his death two years ago, she returned to her father. That’s what you told me anyway, Vanya, wasn’t it?” he asked haltingly.

  Nelly got up in utter distress and headed for the door.

  “Come here, Nelly,” Ikhmenev said, putting out his hand to her at last. “Sit here, sit next to me, that’s right – sit!” He leant over, kissed her on the forehead and began to stroke her head gently. Nelly simply quaked all over… but she took a grip on herself. Anna Andreyevna, elated by hope, looked on with delight as her Nikolai Sergeich appeared to have befriended the little orphan girl.

  “I know, Nelly, that your mother was ruined by an evil man, evil and unscrupulous, but I also know that she loved her father and respected him,” Ikhmenev said, his voice filled with emotion as he continued to stroke Nelly’s head, unable to resist throwing down this challenge to us. A light colour rose to his pale cheeks; he made every effort to avoid looking at us.

  “Mummy loved Granddad more than Granddad loved her,” Nelly said demurely but firmly, also trying not to look at anyone.

  “And how do you know that?” Ikhmenev asked sharply, unable to suppress his eagerness like a child, and evidently embarrassed at his own lack of restraint.

  “I know,” Nelly replied haltingly. “He wouldn’t see Mu
mmy and… turned her away…”

  I could see Nikolai Sergeich wanted to say something, to object, to say for instance that the old man had a good reason not to welcome his daughter, but he glanced at us and said nothing.

  “So how then did you manage, where did you stay after your granddad turned you away?” Anna Andreyevna asked, suddenly determined and eager to pursue this of all themes.

  “When we arrived in Russia, we spent a long time looking for Granddad,” Nelly replied, “but we couldn’t find him at all. That’s when my mother told me that Granddad had been very rich before and wanted to build a factory, but that he was very poor now, because the man Mummy went away with took from her all the money that belonged to Granddad and wouldn’t give it back. She told me that herself.”

  “Hm…” Ikhmenev responded.

  “And another thing she told me,” Nelly continued, growing more and more excited, seemingly wishing to respond to Nikolai Sergeich, but addressing Anna Andreyevna instead, “she told me Granddad was very angry with her and she herself was to blame for everything, and that she had no one in the whole world except Granddad. And while she was saying this, she was crying… ‘He won’t ever forgive me,’ she said this when we were making our way back here, ‘but perhaps when he sees you, he’ll love you and forgive me for your sake.’ Mummy loved me a lot and she always kissed me when she told me that, but she was afraid to go to Granddad herself. But she taught me to pray for Granddad, and she prayed herself and told me lots of stories about how she used to live with Granddad and how Granddad loved her more than anyone. She used to play the piano to him and read books in the evening, and Granddad kissed her and used to give her lots of presents… all sorts, so that once they had a row on Mummy’s name day, because Granddad thought Mummy didn’t know what her present was going to be, but Mummy had found out ages before. Mummy wanted a pair of earrings, but Granddad kept lying to her deliberately and said he’d give her a broach and not earrings. And when he brought her earrings and realized Mummy knew already that it would be earrings, and not a brooch, he lost his temper because Mummy knew it already, and wouldn’t talk to her for half a day, and then came to her himself to kiss her and ask forgiveness…”

  Nelly spoke with fervour, and even her pale, wan cheeks flushed with colour.

  It was clear her mother had often spoken to her little Nelly about her former happy days as she sat in the corner of her basement, hugging and kissing her daughter, her only joy in life, and crying over her, and all the while not even for a moment imagining what a powerful impression these stories would subsequently make on the sick child’s morbidly susceptible and precocious mind.

  But after being carried away by her own story, Nelly suddenly seemed to check herself, looked around in mistrust and fell silent. Ikhmenev furrowed his brow and again began to beat a tattoo on the tabletop; Anna Andreyevna dabbed a tear that had welled up in her eye with her handkerchief.

  “Mummy was very sick when she arrived here,” Nelly added softly, “she had bad pains in her chest. We looked a long time for Granddad and couldn’t find him, and we were renting a corner in a basement then.”

  “A sick person in a basement!” Anna Andreyevna exclaimed.

  “Yes… in a basement…” Nelly replied. “Mummy was poor. Mummy told me,” she added, becoming more animated, “there’s nothing wrong in being poor, but it is wrong to be rich and to hurt people… and that it was God punishing her.”

  “Was it on Vasìlevsky Island you lodged? Over at Bubnova’s, was it?” Ikhmenev asked, turning to me and trying to inject a note of casualness into his tone. He spoke because he felt awkward just to sit and say nothing.

  “No, not there… on the Meshchanskaya Street at first,” Nelly replied. “It was very dark and damp there,” she continued after a pause, “and Mummy was very sick, but she could still walk then. I laundered for her, but she kept crying. There was also an old lady, a captain’s widow, and a retired clerk, who always came home drunk and shouted and made a lot of noise every night. I was very frightened of him. Mummy used to take me into her bed and hug me, but she was shivering all over, I remember, and the clerk kept shouting and swearing all the time. Once he tried to beat the captain’s widow, who was old and walked with a stick. Mummy was sorry for her and she stood up for her. The clerk hit Mummy, and I hit the clerk…”

  Nelly stopped. Her reminiscences upset her; her eyes glistened.

  “Good Heavens!” Anna Andreyevna exclaimed, entirely immersed in the story, her eyes riveted on Nelly, who had been mainly addressing her.

  “Once Mummy went out,” Nelly continued, “and took me with her. It was daytime. We walked the streets till evening, and Mummy just kept walking and crying, and she led me by the hand. I was very tired. We hadn’t eaten anything that day. And Mummy was talking to herself all the time and saying to me, ‘Stay poor, Nelly, and after I’m dead, don’t listen to anyone or anything. Don’t go to anyone. Stay on your own, stay poor and work, and if you can’t get a job, go and beg, but don’t go to them. We were just crossing a wide street at dusk when Mummy suddenly cried out, ‘Azorka! Azorka!’ And suddenly a large mangy dog ran up to Mummy, yelped and jumped all over her, but Mummy was frightened, she turned pale, cried out and fell on her knees in front of a tall old man who was walking with a stick and looking at the ground. And that tall man was Granddad, very thin and in such horrible clothes. That was when I saw Granddad for the first time. Granddad was very frightened too and went all pale, and when he saw Mummy lying on the ground with her arms round his feet – he broke free, pushed Mummy aside, struck the pavement with his stick and stalked off quickly. Azorka stayed behind, whining and licking Mummy, then ran back to Granddad, sank his teeth in his coat tail and tugged at it, but Granddad hit him with his stick. Then Azorka ran back to us, but Granddad called out and the dog ran after him, whining all the time. But Mummy was lying senseless on the ground, people gathered round, the police came. I was crying all the time, trying to get Mummy to stand up, and when she did, she looked around and followed me. I took her home. People were staring at us and shaking their heads…”

  Nelly paused to draw breath and to summon her strength. She was very pale, but resoluteness glinted in her eyes. Clearly, she was at last determined to tell everything. There was even something defiant in her at that instant.

  “Well,” Nikolai Sergeich observed in an unsteady voice, “well, your mother offended her father, and he justifiably rejected her—”

  “That’s what Mummy said too,” Nelly resumed sharply, “and as we walked home, she kept repeating, ‘That was your granddad, Nelly, I have wronged him, and he has cursed me for it which is why God is punishing me now,’ and she kept repeating this all evening and every day after that. And when she spoke, her mind seemed to be miles away…”

  Ikhmenev stayed silent.

  “And later, how did you move lodgings then?” Anna Andreyevna asked, continuing to cry quietly.

  “Mummy fell ill that same night, and the captain’s widow found us a place at Bubnova’s, and two days later we moved, and the captain’s widow came with us too. And after we had moved, Mummy went to bed and didn’t get up for the next three weeks, and I looked after her. All our money had run out, but the captain’s widow and Ivan Alexandrych helped us.”

  “The coffin-maker, their landlord,” I explained.

  “And after Mummy left her bed and started to walk about, she told me about Azorka.”

  Nelly paused. Ikhmenev perked up once the conversation changed to Azorka.

  “So what did she tell you about Azorka?” he asked, sinking even deeper into his armchair, determined to hide his face and stare at the ground.

  “She kept talking about Granddad,” Nelly replied, “she kept talking about him even when she was sick, and when she was raving she kept talking about him. So when she started getting better, she again began to talk about the way she had lived before… that’s w
hen she told me about Azorka, because one day some boys in the country were pulling Azorka by a rope round his neck to drown him in the river, and Mummy gave them some money and bought Azorka from them. Granddad saw Azorka and began to jeer at him. Azorka ran away. Mummy began to cry. Granddad got frightened and said he’d give a hundred roubles to whoever brought Azorka back. Someone brought the dog three days later. Granddad gave them the hundred roubles and from then on grew very fond of Azorka. And Mummy too loved him so much she used to take him to bed with her. She told me that Azorka had been with street actors before, could beg, carry a monkey on his back, present arms and many other things… But after Mummy left Granddad, he kept Azorka and walked with him everywhere, so that as soon as Mummy saw Azorka on the street, she knew Granddad had to be close by…”

  Evidently this was not what Ikhmenev had expected to hear about Azorka, and his face was getting more and more crabbed. He no longer asked any more questions.

  “So you didn’t see your granddad any more after that, did you?” Anna Andreyevna asked.

  “Yes I did, after Mummy started getting better I met Granddad again. I used to go to the shop for some bread – suddenly I saw a man with Azorka, I looked and recognized Granddad. I stepped back and pressed myself against a wall. Granddad looked at me, ever so long, and he was so scary that I was really frightened, and he walked past. But Azorka remembered me and began to leap up and down and lick my hands. I hurried home, looked back and he walked into the shop. I thought to myself he was probably asking questions and I got even more frightened, and when I got back home, I never told Mummy anything, so as not to make her ill again. I didn’t go to the shop the next day. I said I had a headache, and when I went the day after, I didn’t meet anyone and was ever so scared and ran all the way. But a day later I was walking along and, just as I turned the corner, there was Granddad in front of me, and so was Azorka. I ran and turned into another street to enter the shop from the opposite direction – only I bumped straight into him again and was so frightened I stopped and couldn’t go any further. Granddad stood in front of me and again looked at me a long time, then stroked my head, took my hand and we started walking together with Azorka following us and wagging his tail. That was when I noticed Granddad could hardly walk and kept leaning on his stick, his hands shaking and everything. He took me to a pedlar who was sitting on the street corner selling gingerbread and apples. Granddad bought me a gingerbread cockerel and a fish and one little sweet and an apple, and when he was taking his money out of his leather purse, his hands were really shaking and he dropped a