yC-NRLF ^B an . ■/ t ^ . flu '''^ VIZETELLY'S ONE-VOLUME NOVELS. XVII. Injury and Insult. VIZETELLY'S ONE-VOLUME NOVELS. By English and Foreign Authors of Repute. A DHAM.A. IN MUSLIN : a Realistic Novel. By Geohoe Moore, Author of "A Mummer'B Wife." Second Edition. DISENCHANTMENT. By F. Mabel Robinson, Author of " Mr. Butler's Ward." INJURY AND INSULT. By Fedor Dostoieffsky, Author of " Crime and Punislunent." CRIME AND PUNISHMENT : a Russian Reahstio Novel. By Fedor Dostoieffsky. Second Edition. THE TRI\LS OF JETTA MALAUBRET. (Nolrs et Rouges.) By Victor Cherbuliez, of the French Academy. Translated by the Countoss Gaston de La RcK-hefoucauld. ROLAND; ou, The Exi'iATioN OF A Sin. By Ahy Ecilaw. PRINCE ZILAH. By Jule.s Claretie, Author of " The Million," Ac. Tniiialatod fr«m the 57th French Edition, A MUMMER'S* WIFE. By GEoiiaE Moore, Author of "A Modern Lover." Seventh Edition. THE IRONMASTER; or, Love and Pride. By Georges OuNET. Translated without abridgment from the 146th French Edition. Sixth Edition. MR. BUTLER'S WARD. ^y F. Mabel Robinson. Third Edition. A MODERN LOVER. By Georoe Moore, Author of "A Mummer's Wife." Second Edi ion. NUMA KOUMESTAN; ok, Joy Ahkoad and Grief at Home. By Ai.I'Ho.vse Daudet, Tninslated by Mrs. J. G. Layard. Tliird Edition. THE COIISARS ; or, Love and Lucre. By John Hill, Author of "The Waters t)f Marah," i^Lc. Sei-ond Edition. THE FORKED TONGUE. By R. L. Dk Havili.and, M.A., Autlior i)f " En.ilaved," Ac. Second Edition. COUNTESS SARAH. By Geokues OiiNK.r, Autlior of " Thf IroMiiiiister." Translated from the llbth Frencli EcUtion. Third Edition. BETn'KI'N MIDNKJHT AND DAWN. By Lna L. Cassilis, Atithur of "Society's Quoen," i^'C. Sui'ond Edition. THE TIIKKATENING EVE. By E. F.. Kniout, Author <.f " Tl'.j Cruise of the Falcon." Soc » • « •• Reproduced by DUOPAGE process MICRO PHOTO INC. Cleveland 12, Ohio en o? //A-' A. LiJ FEDOR MICHAILOVITCII DOSTOIEFFSKY. FeDOR MICHAILOVITCII DOSTOIEI^-FSKY, the most powerful of the three great I^ussian novehsts who rose.as it were, from the ashes of Gogol, the remaining members of this trinity of genius being Turgenieff and Tolstoi, was born at Moscow in 1S21. His father, a retired army surgeon, held at this time an appointment on the medical staff of the Pauper Hospital, and it was in that abode of misery and sorrow that the eyes of the Russian Shakespeare, as he has sometimes been styled, first opened to the light. The effect of the surroundings amidst which his earliest years were spent is to be distinctly traced both in his life and works. From the outset he identiticd himself with the poor, the sorrowful, and the oppressed. It was their existence, shared in common by him, which he loved to describe, their cause which he sought to champion. His father, like nearly all men of his station at this epocli, owned a small landed estate, with a few serfs attached, situate in the Government ofToula, and here Fcdor acquired a knowledge of country life and an appreciation of the beauties of nature, of which some traces are to be found in his writings. Ihit his genius preferred to linger Ov-er the pale faces and drooping forms of the " Injured" and the "In- sulted," to tell their wrongs, their miseries and their crimes ; to ex- press that deep sympathy for the humbler classes, that desperate pity for the lowly, the downtrodden, and the unfortunate which is his leading characteristic. The elder Dostoieflsky succeeded in getting his two sons Fedor and Alexis idmitted into the School of Military Engineering at St . Petersburg. A warm attacnmeiit existed between the brothers, fostered in a great measure by their common taste for literature, and destined to be a source of mutual comfort and support during the trials of their after-life. Fedor's letters to Alexis published in Dostoiefisky's Life and Correspondence some few years bacli at 290 vi Fedor Michailmntch Dostoicffsky. St. Petersburg, form one of the most interesting features of that work. B01.H brothers found themselves out of their element in the Schocl of Engineering. \'auban and Cohorn were less to their taste than Pouschkin, Gogol, Bahac, Eugene Sue and George Sand, the latter of whom seems to have exercised a powerful in- fluence over Fedor's mind. But his favourite author was un- doubtedly Go;^ol, and of all books Gogol's " Dead Souls " was the one th it created the deepest and most lasting impression upon him. Leaving the Sclioul of En:^Mneering in 1843 with the rank of sub- lieutenant, Fedor Dostoieffsky did not long pursue his military career. He sent in his resignation the following yoar, and thence- forward devoted himself exclusively to literature. From that day began his terrible duel with wanl and misery which was to last for close upon forty years. His father had died and the little Toula estate divided amongst his numerous children gav"e but a trifle to each. Dosloietfbky's correspondence during this period of his life, reads like one great and continual cry of anguish. Want and debt both weighed him down, and the only time that he was absolutely sure of his daily bread, was that spent in prison. It was not the material suffering that pre\ed upon him, however, but tl e moral degradation of poverty, terrible to one of his proud and sensitive nature, and expressed in the words and actions of some of the heroes of his stories in which the workings of his own mind are portrayed. His health, too'.had already begun to suffer, his ner\cs were giving w.iy and from his youth he had been subject to epileptic fits. At the age of twenty-three he wrote his fust story, " Poor Folk." He did not know a soul in the literary world and was at a lo-s what to do with his work. One of his friends, named (iregorievitch, submitted it to the poet Nekrassof. At three o'clock one morning F/osioieifsky was aroused by a violent knocking at his door. It was Nekrassof, who had been sitting up reading the manuscript and who could not even wait till a more orthodox hour for calling, in his eagerness to make tlie acquaintance of its author. The poet then liastencd with the manuscript to the critic Bielinsky, tlir great oracie of Russian thought of that day. "Anew Gogol 1. born to us I" was his exclamation as he entered the critic's study. " Gogols are sprini^ing up like mushrooms," was Bielinsky's siui\ reply. However he had no sooner read llie work than his cntin; si. ism rivalled Nekras:>of's, and a few months later, in 1846, " I'l . - Folk," ai)pcared in the St. J\/crsl>iit\ii Sbor/ii/c, of which the latte- was e.litor, and all Russia ratiticd his judgment. It is only a simplt. \ Fcdor Michailovilch Dostoicffsky. \ii tile in tiio form of letters passing between a poor clerk and a young gill, but their lives and sorrows arc so faithfully depicted as to dr.iw from Hiciinsky, on his first introduction to the author, the exclamation, '' Young nian do you really understand all the trutii of what you have written ? '' A literary career in Russia, and above all at that epoch, was not only p'.ecarious but dangerous. DostoiclTsky was now to go through the terrible trial that did so much to tinge his writings with their tragic force. In 1S47 he had joined a band of youthful agitators, whose meetings developed into what was known as the rctrachc'sky conspiracy. Some of his conipanions drc.imcd of the emancip.uiot'. of llie serfs and a liljcr.\l con-lilution, ollicrs were the forerunners of tlie Nihilists of to-d,iy. Dostoieffsky identilicd himself widi the more moderate of these two parties, he was not a man of action and was mainly moved by his innate syni|)alhy for the poor and oppressed. The very charges subactjuently levelled against him are of a very trivial character amounting to little more than his presence at certain meetings, alleged re- marks against the press censorship, reading prohibited pamph- lets, and promising aid in the starting of a contemplated printing- oftice. However, in April, 1849, he, with his brother Alexis and thirty-two others, was ."rresteil on a charge of conspirac)-, and conlincd for eight months in a cell in the cisematcs of the citadel. Sonie of the accused, including Alexis, were released ; but on the 22nd Deccml.>er, DostoietT^ky and twenty other convicted conspira- tors were ied out to the Semenofsky Square to hear the sentence that had been passed in their absence by a military triljunal read out to them, and apparently to have it executed, for the tirst object that n)et their eyes was a huge scaffold erected in the middle of the square. A van laden with colVms was drawn up close at hand. As the prisoners assembled on the platform Uostoieffsky communicated to one of his companions in misfortune, named .Monbelli, the plot of a novel which he had thought out in prison. It was freezing hard, but the prisoners were forced to strip to their shirts wiiilst their sentence was slowly read out to them, half an hour being con- sumed in the process. ' Surely we are not going to be executed.'"' said Dostoieffsky to his neighbour Mourof, for the notion th.it it would be so, had net struck him till that moment. Mourof merely pointed towards the coffins. The sentence closed with the words "are condemned to death and sentenced to be shot." A priest was r viii Fedor Mkhailovitch Dostoieffsky. present, and exhorted the wretched men to confess, but only one complied with this invitation, the rest merely kissing the cross. They were to be shot in batches. I'etrachefsky and two of the chief ringleaders were first lashed to the flital posts, a firing party took up its position in front of them and the officer in command gave ihe words " Ready, present." The muskets were levelled and the word " Fire," was about to be given, when, suddenly, an aide-de- camp waved a white flag and it was announced to the prisoners that tiie Czar, in his clemency, had commuted the sentence of death to various terms of penal servitude. \'ehicles were in readiness at the foot of the scaffold to convey them to Siberia. The criminals tied to the posts were unbound, when it was found that one of them, (ircgoricvit';h, had lost his reason, which he never recovered. Dos- toieffsky gives a vivid portrayal of his thoughts whilst thus waiting for death in his novel, " The Idiot." The senlence on l)i)stuieffsky was four years' penal servitude, to be followed by enfoned service for an indelinile period as a private soUlicr and dcpriv.uion of his rank as a noble, and of all his civil riglus. For four years this nervous, sensitive, myslic.illy- inclincd thinker had to work amongst the lowest scum of the criminal classes, under military supervision. Me has himself ably described liis sufferings, the crushing fatigue of the labour one feels to be useless, the mental torture of never being alone even for a single instant for years. Yet his greatest anguish was the impossi- bility of writing, i)f alleviating his misery by putting his thoughts into \4ords. His only solace lay in a copy of the New Testament which he read at night, whilst his companions slept otT the fatigues of the day. His "Recollections of the Deadhouse," translated into English under tlie title of " Buried Alive," is a personal record of his life in Siberia, though presented as the experience of one Ale.xander ' jorianchikolf. The device was necessary in order to evade the ccnsorshij) at a time when the Russian (iovernment would not even admit that there were such things as political criminals, and when even judges, in passing sentence, veiled the name of Silx'ria under ine euplieniisin of " a distant locality." His term of pen.il servitude worked out, Uostoielfsky w,\s forceel to enlist in one of the Siberian regiments but shortly g.\ined |)romolion. In 1856011 t'.ie accession of llie Fmperor Alex.uuler II., his civil rights were restored, and he was allowed to retire from the army. It was not, however, till three years later that he received permission to return to Russia. He found his nativ^e country quivering, it Fcdur Michailovitch Dostoicjffsky. ix may be said, with expectancy and hope. It was the eve of the emancipation of the serfs. Dostoieffsky had brought back a wife, the widow of one of his follow-conspi'"ators. The story of his marriage is full of the ill-hick which dof^ged the novelist's footsteps, as well as of the noble self- denial which distinguished his whole life. The lady had been attacheu to another, and Uostoicffsky, despite his love for her, laboured to remove tlic obstacles to her union with the man she seemed to prefer. We find a reflection of this epoch of his life in the present volume, " Injury and Insult,'' in which the hero, a young no\clist, hibours untiringly for the happiness of the girl he loves, although the success of his endeavours means the absolute loss of hope to himself Let those, therefore, who may consider the character of Vania overdrawn in its mirvcllous unselfishness, reflect that they arc reading the record of DostoiefTsky's own con- duct under circumstances very similar to those in this novel. The character of Natasha, the incarnation of passion, has been aptly likened to one of the victims of ;• Greek tragedy, whilst there is something about Nelly which recalls the creations of Dickens. From the dale of his return to Russia, till 18O5, Dostoieffsky devoted the whole of his time and genius to journalism. He started two papers for the prcpag.ition of his peculiar ideas, which seemed to hold a middle place between Liberalism and Slavophil- ism. His motto was a mystic verse of Tutchef to the effect that Russia cannot be understood by any mere reasoning process and must be believed in with blind faith. Both papers failed, and in 1865, he lost his wife and his brother. To escape his creditors he crossed tfie frontier and for some years led a miserable life in Germany and Italy, a victim to epilepsy— a disease on the torments of which he enlarges eloquently in several of his works— re- turning once or twice in secret to his native country in order to obtain money from his publishers. Life abroad does not appear to have greatly impressed him, the only vivid recollection he seems to have retained being that of an execution by the guillotine at Lyons, which he has introduced as an incident in more '.ban one of his books. During this exile between 1S65, and 1871, he wrote three of his greatest works, " Crime and Punishment," " The Idiot," and " Demons." The first of these has been termed the profoundest study of criminal psychology written since •' Macbeth " was penned. None but a Russian and a genius could have drawn such a character as Rodion Raskolnikoflf, who has J. Fedor MUhailovitch Dostoicffsky. been described as "the Hamlet of the Madhouse." The appearance of this book at once guaranteed the lasting fame of its author, and the sensation it produced in Russia was overwhelming. Strangely enough, a Moscow student murdered a pawnbroker immediately after its publication under circumstances in every way identical to those set forth in " Crinie and Punishment." The interest and enthusiasm with which this book was everywhere received were intensified !)y this circumstance. • " 1 he Idiot," the hero of the work bearing that title, is, however, the character whose creation was at once Dostoietfsky's greatc-^l feat as it was his chief delight. The type is a victim to epilepsy like Dosloicfl'sky himself, and the author enlarges willi many m>:>lic;il ilisquisiiions upon tlie thoughts and feelings of the sufferer before each climax in the story. Kogojine, too, is a terri- ble type, the man whose love is fascination, whose fascination is hale, and whuse hate means murder. "Deir.ons" is a picture of Nihilistic life, written during the period of rivalry and hatred existing between the two great m;i3lers wno, at that time, disputed between them the chief laurels of Rusrsi.m lileralure, Turgenieff and Dostoiellbky, for as jet the bUir of TolMini had not risen. The plut, a IS'iiiilistic con- bpir.icy ii> a i)rovincial tt.)wn, is much the same as that of 'I'ur- genieifu '• \'irgin Soil," but the diabolically realistic power of some of Ouiitoietfbky's secnes, buch as the murder of Shatof, has never been ai)proached by his rival who, however, can cl.iim to have been firit in tlij tield in presenting a Nilulibt hero, the cynical Ikuarof of '• Fathers and Soiib." UostuielVsky could never forgive Tur- genieff the creation of this prototyj)e, and sought to avenge him- self by presenting h's great competitor for literary fame in the char.icter of a ridi'ulous author in his novel of " Demons." After the puljlicaiion of " Demons," which by many Russians is held lo be ilic most interesting of his works, Dostoielfsky re- turned to Ruibi.i, and ft)r the remaining ten years of his life led a mure peaceful and ([uiet existence, than heretofure. He marrieil again, and his second wife, an intelligent and courageous woman, proved of the greatest value to him both as an intellectual com- panion and a clever helpmate. Thanks to her, he managed to free himself Ironi the load- of debt that had weighed upon him so long. During lliis time he wrote his longest novel, "The Brothers Karama/:of," a work containing many distinctive traces of the master hand ; also "The Gamblers," " Stepanchikoff," " Uncle's Dream," Fcdor i.lichailorilch Dostoicffsky. xi *• The Permanent Husband," " Letters from Underground," " The Double Man,' " Nctorlika," "The Lady of the House," " Another Man's Wife," "Tiie OlTsIioot," and oilier stories, all dislinc^uished by his individual penius. During tlic last few years of his life, too, he issued a publication entitled "The Note-book of a Writer," which appeared at intervals more or less rcj^ular, and was destined to embody and p.opagatc his peculiar ideas ;ind theories jjolilical, social, and literary. !t has been likened rather to a record of tlic intermittent oracles issued by the Pythoness at Dcljjlii, than to anNthiUf.' of the nature of a newsnapcr or review. \'iscount Kugene Mclcliior de X'o.mie, a jiersonal acquaintance of Dostoieffsky writing in the Revue (f.s dctix Mo/ufrs, descril)cs him as small, slight, nervous, worn and liowed by sixty c\ il years, and yet possessing a certain kittenish vivacity. His hair and beard were still ycHow and worn long. His face was that of a Russian peasant, a real Moscow moujik, a flattened nose, small eyes twink- ling with, a fire, now sombre, now mild, from under heavy brows, a broad forehead, studded with knobs and protuberances, dr.iwn features and a melancholy mouth. No human face ever wore such an expression of concentrated suflcring, every torture of mind and body seemed to have been stamped uyion it, and in it could be read better than in his books the long haljits of fear, distrust, .md mart) r- dom. When excited or passionately dec laiming against vice or oppression, his features wore sudr an expression of fury as to recall tliosc of some desperate criminal ; a moment later he was the sad old saint of a Sclavonic ikon. Dostoieffsky is a singer whose audience is the heart of humanity. The mass of his fellow-countrymen adored him and the as( en- dcncy he exercised over the jxiorer classes was prodigious. His share in tlie direction of contemporary movement in Russia can- not be overrated. At the inauguration of the Pouschkin monu- ment in iSSo, at which the whole of tlic foremost representatives of Russian literature we:e i)resent, his popularity eclipsed that of .ill his rivals. The audience burst into sobs when he spoke, and after- wards carried him home in triumph. Put on the Tolh, of February, i88i, the giant mind was at rest for ever, the pitiful heart which for over forty years had bled for the poor, the injured, and the insulted, had ceased to beat after a few days' illness. Whilst lying in humble state in his coffin, thousands of his poor admirers thronged to gaze tlieir last at tlicir old champion and friend, whilst his funeral was the signal for a great demonstration of the dis- xii Fedor Michailovitch Dostoieffsky. satisfied. Twenty to thirty thousand persons with banners and wreaths followed the coffin, and a hundred thousand more lined the route along which the procession passed to the Monastery ot St. Alexander Nevsky. There are many Russian writers of mark and ability, some known and some unknown in this country, but none who can com- pare with Dostoieffsl:y in that dreadful power of the creation of character no less terrible than true. Someone has said of his creations that if you scratch them they bleed. It is to be hopeil that the series of translations of the works of Fedor Dostoieffsky, which the publishers of the present volume have undertaken, will have the effect of making the writings of this Russian Titan better known amongst English readers. INJURY AND INSULT. PART I. CHAITER I. LAST year, on the evonin,'; of the 22nd Marcli, I met \viili a very sinf;ular advcnturo, I had Ijceii running aI)Out town all day looking for lodgings ; mine were damp, and I caught a bad cold in them, and, though I had wanted to change them since last autumn, somehow or oilier I had put off tlic change until now— the spring. I had looked about, as I said, all day, but found nothing suitable: I wanted my lodging to be isolated, a!)Ove aU things — in case of need one room would ilo, but it must be spacious,— and, at the same time, 1 did not want to lay a higli rent. I have always observed that in a confmed lodging one's ideas do not run freely. I hke to walk up and down the room as I meditate upon my novels; and, while I am on the subject of my novels, I may add that I have always found far more charm in dreaming them out than in writing them down. Why is this? for I am l)y no means lazy by nature. I had felt unwell ever since early morning, and now, towards evening, I was worse ; I felt feverish, and, as I had been on my feet all day, I was harassed with fatigue when I arrived in Voznesensky Street, a few minutes before sunset. I love the March sun in St. Petersburg, especially at its setting on a calm, fine evening. When the weather is frosty, the whole street, inundated with floods of light, bursts into glory in an instant The houses seem suddenly to give out B a INJURY AND INSULT. rays of sunshine, and tlicir colours — grey, yellow, dirty green — lose their sinister aspect in the wink of an eye. Then a man's soul lights up too, and a cold chill runs through his veins, and you wake up with a start, as though someone had touched your funny-bone. New ideas come with the new light ; oh! wonder- ful power of a ray of sunshine over the human soul ! Meanwhile the sun had set, tlie frost was growing keener and began to tickle one's nose, the darkness grew deeper, and the gas-light streamed from the shop windows. When I was opposite Mliller the confectioner's shop, I suddenly remained fixed to the spot, and stared at the opposite side of the road, with a presentiment that something extraordinary was about to happen, and, at the same instant, I observed, on the j-ave- ment opposite to me, an old man and a dog. My heart seemed Ic wince under the blow of a disagreeable impression, but I could not tell whence it arose. I r.m no " mystic," I believe very little in presentiments and divinations ; at the same time there have occurred in my experience, just the same as in that of others, certain circinnstances ditticu'lt of explanation. This old man, for instance,— why did I feel, at the sight of Iiini, that something would this day hapi^en to me, different from my usual daily experiences ? However, 1 was ill, and one's im- pressions during sickness are nearly always illusory. The old man proceeded towards the confectioner's shop referred to ; he advanced with slow and uncertain stej); he moved his lim!;s without bending them, as though they were blocks ot wood ; he stooped and tapped tl^^ stones of the pavement as he went along. In all my life I never saw so strange-looking a figure ; every time I had met him at Miiller's shoj) he had left a disagreeable, sad impression upon me. His tall figure ; his crooked back ; his livid face— eighty years old— that looked like the face of a corpse ; his old coat, torn at the seams ; his round hat, bruised and broken, which miglit well have seen twenty years of service, covering his bald head, which retained just one tuft of hair at tlie nape of the neck--hair which had been white, but had now turned yellow ; his automatic move- ments ; ail these things struck persons, meeting him for the first time, in spite of themselves. It was strange enough to see this old man dragging on a solitary life, williout a soul to look after him, as it seemed, and locking more like a madman escaped from his keepers than anything else. His leanness was quite indescribable — he had, INJIRY AND INSUl.r. 3 one might almost say, no body left ; he was skin and bone, and nothing mere. His eyes, large but dim, and surrounded by a sort of bluish ( irrle, stared constantly straight in front of him — • uiideviating, they never looked aside, and never saw anything. I am pretty sure of that, for I had more than once noticed that he would stare straight at you and walk straight into you, just as though he had nothing but space before him. He had lately begun to fre'iuent MuUer's — he and his dog ; but not one of the usual customers at the confectioner's had ever made up his mind to address the old man, and he, for his ])art, had never said a word to anyone. " W hy does he come to MuUer's? What does he come to do?" So I thought to myself as ! watched him from the other side, without being able to remove my eyes from hin^. ; and I was conscious of a sort of s]iiti;ful feeling against him developing in my heart, the consetpience of illness and fatigue. " What does he think about?" I said to myself " Wh.U ideas can he have inside his head ? Does he still think at all ? ' All expression seemed to have died ovit for ever from this o\d face. Where did he get this villanous old dog from, that ai)pearcd to be an integral and insciKirab'e part of its master, whom it so strongly resembled ? 'I'his wretched dog seemed to be eighty years old, like its master. It had the app.carance of a dog which must certainly be far older than any other (piadruped of its species ever was ; and lurther, I don't know why, the very fust time that 1 saw it, I conceived the idea that this dog couldn't be like any other tjog — that it was a beast of an extraordinary nature; that it had within it some germ of sorcery ; that it was a sort of Mei)his- tophcles ill canine form ; and tliat its destiny was in some way or other linked with that of its master by a mysterious tic. It was as thin as a skeleton, or, to put it better, as thin as its master ; if you had seen the beast you would have said, as I did, that it had not touched food for years. It was (juite bald ; its tail, stuck on to its body like a piece of wood, was i)rcssed tight between its emaciated legs ; and its long cars hung sadly back over its head, which also hung down. In all my life 1 never saw such another wretcheddooking beast as this. When the pair of them walked along the streets — the master in front, followed by his dog, with its muzzle glued to the skirts of his coat — their gait and appearance seemed to say at every steo, " Oh, but we're old, we're old ! oh, God, but we're oldl" B — 2 4 INJURY AND INSULT. One day the idea struck me that the old man and his do^ had become detached from a page of Hoffmann, illustrated by (lavarni, and that they walked the world as a sort of walkir.i; advertisement for the editor. Well, I crossed the road and went into the confectioner's. The old man's behaviour inside the shop was strange to a degree ; and Miiller, from behind his counter, used to make :i face of disgust whenever this unwelcome visitor arrived. This singular customer of his never ate anything, but used to go straight to the corner where the stove was; and, if this place- happened to be occupied, he would stand and stare vacantly, with a stupid perplexed look, before the occupant for a fi-n moments, and then move off with a disappointed air to tli^- other side of the room, near the window ; there he would take a ciiair, scat himself slowly, take off his hat, and put it near him on the floor ; he would then i)lace his stick alongside of his hat, lean full length against the back of his chair, and so remain — immovable for three or four hours at a time. No one h.ul evt-r seen him with a newspaper in his hand, or heard him say a word or even utter a sound. lie-used to sitthcre, staring lixedly before him with his du!i lustreless eyes, so that you would wager anything that heneillur saw nor heard aught of what was going on around him. His log, after turning round two or three times in its place, used to he down at his feet, gloomy and dejected, pushing his nv)^e well in between his master's boots, giving a profound sigh, and I hen, stretched at lull length on the floor, he would lie immov- able, and as though he had ceased to li\e, the whole evening. Anyone migbX well imagine that these two crealuies, long sim e tlead, were in the habit of resuscitating themselves at sunstt-, sok'y in order to come to Miiller's shop to fulfil some mysterious obligation unknown to man. When he had sat thus for some hours the old man would gel up, take his hat and stick, and start cff homewards ; the oM dog got up, too, and, with head bent down and tail between his legs, followed his aged master like some old mac hine. The frecjuenters of the confectioner's shop — nearly all (ler mans-'diu all they could to avoid the old fellow, and tried tc sit anywhere but near hiin, in order to show him their dislike for l.is person ; but he never took the slightest notice of them. I used to go to .M tiller's the first lew days of each month to read the Russian reviews. When I went into the room on INJURY AND INSULT. 5 this particular cvenin,<:, I found the old man already installed near the window, and his (loi:, as usual, stretched at his feet. I sat &.-)Ari in silence in a corner aufl asked myself, mentally, this question, " Why have I come here, where I have got absolutely nolhinp: to do, — and, es|)erially just now, when I am feeling ill, and had much better go straight home, have a cuj) of tea, and get to bed ? Have I conic here with no object but to look at this old man ? " 'l"hc feeling of dislike seemed to have taken jmssession of me. " ^^'hat have I got to do witii the old wreUh,'' I thought, as I remembered the feeling of uneasiness which he had caused me in the street, "or he with me?" Whence came this weird humour that was U]:)on me, and which arose withir. me and disfjuieted me with every little unimpoitant event that transpired, and prevented me from observing clearly whpt went on arcjund me ? — a humour which the critic, who 'lad rexiewed my last novel, and who was him- self a thinker too, had observed and pointed out. Whilst I made these reflections, and vexed mvself over them, I continued sitting where I was, and the heaviness of illness fell heavier and heavier on me each moment, imtil at last I felt that 1 could not lea\e the warm room 1 was in without risk at present ; so I took up a I'Vench newspaper, read a few lines, and do/ed off. 'I'he Germans, talking and smoking and reading around, did not disturb me ; but after half an hour I was awakened by a fit of shivering. I must certainly get home ! I'ut a silent scene which was going on in the room at the moment kept me seated. I have already said that the old man, as soon as he had settled himself in his chair, would fiv his eyes U]ion some point or other, and keep them thus fixed for the rest of the evening. It had been. my lot, before now, to have this stui)idly-obstinate gaze, which discerned nothing, focussed upon me. It was a most disagreeable, even intolerable sensation, and, as a rule, I would change my place as quickly as possible. For the last quarter of an hour the victim of this gaze was a small, neat, and plump German, whose red face was encircled by a collar starched to a degree ; he was a merchant from Riga, staying at St. Petersburg ; his name, as I heard after- wards, Adam Ivanitch Schultz ; and he was an intimate friend of Miiller's. and did not as yet know anything about the old man. He was reading *' The Village Barber," when, suddenly 6 INJURY AND INSULT. raising his head to take a sip of his punch, he observed the man's gaze riveted upon him. Adam Ivanitch was a particularly susceptible man, as are all (lermans of the betier class ; he thought it strange and offensive conduct on the part of anyone to stare at him so fixedly and unceremoniously. With suppressed indignation he turned away his eyes from this ill-mannered guest, muttered somethin.u between his teeth, and hid behind his paper. Soon he peered out again — the same pertinacity in the old fellow's eyes, and the same utter absence of intelligence in his stare. Adam Ivanitch still kept (luiet. But the third time his patience gave way, and he felt that he must stand up for his dignity, and not permit the fair « ity of Riga, of which he no doubt felt himself the representative, to be compromised in the presence of a distinguished company like the present. He threw his paper on to the table, b;uigiiig the I.Uler at the saiiu- lime with some force, iifler which, carried away by his sense of ()ersonal dignity, red in the tace with punch anil aiiioin- J^ropre, he, in his turn, fixed his little inflamed eyes upon the cause of his displeasure. It looked like a trial as to whi( h would overcome the other by the magnetic inlluence of his }i;aze, and as though they were wailing to see who would cave in fust, and haul down his colours. 'I'lii.- noise of Adam Ivanitch's blow upon the table, and the eccentric position he had now placed himself in, had centred the attention of all present upon the pnir. Mveryone had suspjiiiled his occu|)alion for the moment, in order to wat< h tiic two 'hitrnpioh'*, and looked ou willi grave and silent curiosity. The scene was becoming very comical ; but the magnetic attack of Adam Ivanitch's eyes spent itself in pure waste ; Adam Ivanitch became absolutely crimson, while the old man continued to stare at the furious Mr. Schultz, and was )io niore conscious that he had become the object of general curiosity than if he had been up in tiie moon. At length Adam Ivanitch's jjatience became fairly exhausted, and he bur'-t forth, " Why do you continue to stare at me so? " he called out, in German, with a shrill, jjiercing voice and a threatening air ; but his adversary no more emerged out of his silence than if he had'neither understood nor heard tlie (juestion. So Adam Ivanitch decided to sjieak Russian to him. " i ask vQu why you go on staring at me in that obstinate INJURY AND INSULT. 7 way ? " he yelled with redoubled rage, and in very bad Russian, jumping \ip from his chair. '1 he old man never moved. The audience raised a murmur of disapprobation. Miiller himself, attracted by the noise, entered the room. Being informed of the circumstances, he judL;ed that the old man was deaf, and put his lips close to his ear. " Mr. Scb.uhz has just asked you not to stare at him so obstinately," !ic said as loudly as ever he could. The incom- prehensible visitor methanically turned his pa/.e upon Miiller, anil his countenance, immovable until this moment, suddenly assumed an expression of troulile and anxiety. Violently agi- tated, he stooi)ed and felt for his hat, seized it ciuickly, with his sti( k. got uj), and with a piteous smile — the smile of humiliation whi( h the poor n'.an juits on who has occupied some seat to whi( h he is not entitled and gets turned out — prepared to There was something so piteous about the humble and obsc- (luious precipitation of the infirm old man — something which ^touched the heart so dec])ly, that all present, beginning with 1 Adam Ivanitch, immediately softened towards him. It was clear, that not only was the old man (juite incajtable of insulting anyone liimself, l)Ut that he r]uite understood that he could be turned out from any place he liappencd to be in, at any ! moment, like any beggar. Miiller was a good sort of man, and "comjiassionate. " No, no," he said, patting him familiarly on the shoulder, to encourage him. " No, no ; sit down again. Mr. Schultz (who is an eminent gentleman, and known at Court) only begs you not to stare at him so ; that's all." But the poor old man understood no more this time than the last; his agitation only increased; he stooped to ])ick up bis handkerchief — an old blue tattered handkerchief which had just fallen out of his hat, and called his dog, which — stretched at fvill length on the floor, with its two forefeet pressed against its muzzle — never moved, and seemed to be fast asleep. " Azor, Azor," said the old mm, with his trembling broken voice, " Azorka I" Azorka never budged. "Azorka," repeated the old man anxiously, and he touched the dog with the end of his cane ; but the dog did not alter its position. The cane dropped from his grasp. He bent down, he fell on his knees, and with both hands he raised Azor's nose. 8 INJURY AND INSULT. Pocr Azorlia ! he was dead — without a sign, dead at his master's feei— of old age, perhaps, and perliaps of starvation. The old man looked at him for a moment in consternation, as though he did not reali/e that the dog was dead, then he stooped quietly over his okl servant — his old friend — am! jiressed his pale face against that dead muzzle. There was a moment of silence. We were all affected ; at last the poor oKl man got up, his pallor was extiaordinary, and he shivered as tht)ugh under the inlluence of a terrible fever. "One can stuff it, you know," said Miillcr, in comixassionatc tones, anxious to console the poor old fellow, " it can be stuffed very easily. Here's Fedur Karlovitch Kruger ; he's a great hand at stuffing animals. Fedor Karlovitch Kruger i- really a master at stutfing," he repeated, picking up the oUl man's iiat from the tloor and returning it to its owner. "Yes, I know how to stuff animals very well," said Mr. Kruger modestly, coming to the front ; he was a very tall, thin (Jerman, with reddish dishevelled hair and a hooked nose, sur mounted by a jjair of spectacle's. " Oh yes," added Miiller, who began to be rather enthusiast iJ- over his idea, *' T'edor Karlovitch Kruger has a wonderful talent for stuffuig all sorts of animals." '• \'es, I must say I have some talent for stuffing all sorts «.f anin?als," repeated Kruger, "and lam very anxious to stufr your dog there, gratis— for nothing, you know," he added in .i fit of liberality. "No, no," cried Mr. Scluillz, " I will pay for stuffing the dog." Mr. Schultz's face was now redder than ever, and, probably considering himself the innocent cause of all this trouble, lie. too, broke out into flames of generosity. The old man heard all tiii'i v.ithout understanding a word, evidently, and h\^ shiv'.ring attack went on. " Look here, you must drink up this glass of good cognac,'" said Miiller at last, seeing that his mysterious visitor was intent upon getting away at all costs. They gave him the glass, which the old fellow took mechani- cally, but his hand trembled, and, before he had time to lift the brandy to his lips, he had spilled more than a half of it, and he put the glass down again on the plate without having touched a droi). Then, with a strange laugh, which had nothing in it^ sound at all consistent with the circumstances, he unsteadilv. INJURY AND INSULI'. 9 Init prccipifatcly, made his way out, leaving Azorka stretched in its place. All present rcniaincd half-sUipefied, and soon exclama- tions l)ei,'an to be heard on all sides. " \\ eii, did you ever see the like of that ! That's a nice sort of lhi;ig to happen!" remarked these Germans, staring blankly at each other. As tor mc, I darted out in pursuit of the old man. A few jaces from tlie shoj) there was a little street, narrow and dark, i)ordered by hii^h houses, and I had a feeling that iie must Iiave taken th.at turning. 'I'he second building on the right side of this street was a house in process of construction, sur- rounu'jd by scaffolding. 'I'his scnffolding reached nearly into the middle of tlie »-()ad, and I i)erccived the old man hidden by the shadow in the corner made by the scaffokling and the wall of the next liouse ; he was silting on the pavement, his elbows resting on ins knees, and he held his head between his two hands. I sat down by his side. " Come, come," I said, not knowing ii\ the least how to begin, " come, come ; don't be so miserable about poor Azorka. Let mc take you home. Here, I'll hire a droshky, and we'll drive home. Where do you live?" He made no answer. I didn't know what to do ; the street was empty. .Suddenly he seized my hand. " I'ni suffocating ; I'm choking I" he saiil. llis voice was feeble and hoarse. " Vv'cll, I'll take you home. Come," I said, raising him by force ; *' you must have a cup of tea and get to bed. I'll call a trap. I'll get you a iloctor — one of my friends." I don't remember what else I said to him ; he tried to get up, but v.hen he was half on his feet he fell down again, and beuan to mvuter once more with that dreadful choking voice of his. I !)ent over him again, and listened. " Vasslli Ostrof" — the words rattled in tlie old man's throat — "Sixth Line, Six — th Li — ne." He said no more, and was mute again. *' You live in Vassili Island, do you?" I said; "but you were not going in that direction. Look here, you must go this way ! Come along, I'll take you there !" He did not budge. I took his hand— rit fell back lifeless. I looked at his face — I touched it. He was dead ! I thought I must be dreaming. lO INJURY AND INSULT. Well, this adventure caused me a good deal of worry and trouble, but my feverish attack passed off of itself, thanks to it all. We found out the old man's lodging. He did not live at the Vassili Ostrof, but a step or two fiom the spot where he had breathed his last— in Klugen's house, fifth story, just below the rocf. He had a little antechamber and a large room, very low, and provided with tiiree little skylights to serve for win- dows. The old fellow had existed there in great misery. For furniture he had nothing but a table, two chairs, and an old bed, as hard as a stone, and with fibres of some coarse stuffmg sticking out all over it ; and it turned out afterwards that even tliis miserable furniture did not belong to him. but to the landlord. One could see that tlie stove had not been heated for an age, and there was no candle to be found. Probably, his one idea of going to Midler's was to get into the light and warmth, and sit there. On the table there was an earthenware jug with nothing in it, and an old crust of bread, as dry as a board. There was not a farthing of money to be found ; he had not even a change ol linen to be buried in ; someone came forward and provided a sliirt. 1 1 was clear that he could not have lived like, this absolutely alone — someliody must have come to look alter him, however rarely. His passjtort was in the drawer of the table. The dead man had been a foreigner, but a naturalised Russian subject ; his name was Jeremiah Smith, his calling a mechanic, and his- age 78, On die table were two books — an abridged geography and a New Testament in Russian, the margin covered with pencil and nail marks ; I bought these two books. We made incpiiries of the other inhabitants of the house, and of the land- lord ; they hardly knew anything about him. There were a host of small lodgers in the house, mostly mechanics and German women, who occupied furnished rooms, with board and service. The landlord knew nothing of his late lodger, excepting that he used to pay six roubles per month for his room, and that he had not setUed for the last month, so that they iiad l)een obliged to give him notice to (piit. We made eiKjuines as to whether anyone ever came to see the old man, but nobody could give a satisfactory answer to this question. 'I'he house was a large one, and so many people came in and out of the arched gateway that it was dithcult to remem- INJURY AM) INSULT. II her much about it. The porter, who had served at the gate for some five y.virs, could, no doubt, have given some informa- tion ; but lie had gone to his village a fortniglit before, and liad left his nephew in charge — a young fellow who did not as yet know half the inhabitants of the house. I am not very sure what w.is the upshot of all these inquiries, but ttie oUl man was buried at last. In sjjite of all sorts of other business which I had on hand» I went over to Vassili Ostrof every day, to the Sixth Line ; I almost laughed at myself i'or doing it. What could I see in the Sixth Line but a row of houses; but, thought I, why did the old man talk about the Sixth Line at the very moment of his death ? Could he have been simi)ly raving? As soon as his lodging was free I took it ; I liked it. What pleased me about it, was the size of the room ; at the same time, however, it was so low that at first I was continually under the impression that I should knock my head against the ceiling ; but I soon got accustomed to it. At all events one couldn't expect anything better for six roubles a month, and I liked the absolute independence oi the lodging. Tliere was nothing to be arranged now excepting to get somebody to serve me, and, meanwhile, th.e porter undertook to come at least once a day to tidy up, and promised to act as waiter on occasions. I hoped, too, that somebody would come and incpiire after the old man ; but he had been dead five days now, and as yet nobody had turned uj). CHAPTER IL AT this time, that is about ii year ago, I was on the staff of several journals, contributing short articles to them, but I felt sure that I could develop into an author of more important works, and at the moment I was busy over a great novel. As for all my fine projects, the ultimate result has been that here I am, stretched on a bed of sickness in a hospital, and, so far as 1 can make out, on the straight road to death. 13 INJURY AND INSULT. And it* the end is near, what is the use of writing down these recollections ? This last and painful year of my life, in spite of myself, and without a moment's respite, will come and range itself in my memory ; I shall write the whole thing down, because I believe that unless I do so I shall simply die of ennui. All these impressions of the past throw my soul into a state of agitation which amounts to downright misery — torment almost. Under my \)cn they will perhaps calm down and range themselves into order; they will appear less like a dreadlul dream, or nightmare. The mechanical action of writing has its value — it tranpiilliscs and cools me ; it awakes within me my old hal)its as an author and transforms my nigiitmare and sick- man's 'isioas into palpable shape — into real work. Yes, here's a gooi! idea! Now, if I die, the sick-nurse shall inherit my memoirs ; he can i)aste his double window U|), when winter comes, with the paper. I began my story in the middle, I don't know why. Anyhow 1 must write it all down; so let':- begin again at the beginning. My autobiography at all events shall not be a long one. I was born, not in St. Petersburg, but a long way from this city, in the Government of . My parents were good enough rpose; anyhow they left mean orphan while I was still small, and I grew up in the house of Nicholas Sergcevitch Ikmcnicf, a small landowner, who took me in out of pity. He had but one daughter, Natdsha, three years younger than myself, and she and I grew up together like brother and sister. Oh,, beautiful days of my childhood ! What folly that all I have to look back to, and regret, at twenty-five years of age, is you ! that, at the hour of death, you are all I can look back to with joy and love. 'I'he sun used to shine so bright, it was so different from this St. Petersburg sun ; and oiir little hearts used to beat so joyously. 'Ihen we -vere surrounded by green fields and woods — not, as now, by piles of inanimate stones. What marvels were the park and garden at Vassiliefsky, the property of which Nicholas Sergcevitch was steward ! Ah me I Natiisha and I used to walk al)out together in that garden, and in the damp forest which stretched beyond it, and in which we one day lost ourselves. Happy days ! here life first began to appear as it is, full of mystery and attraction ; and it was so sweet to learn it INJURY AND INSUI/r. 15 logclhcr. I used to tliink tliat some mysterious bcini,', un- f.ithomahle and unknown, existed hidden behind each tree, within every shrub ; the world of fairy-tales and the world of reality were merged into one, for us ; and often, when the mists of evening were denser than usual over the dark valleys, Natasha and I would stand together, hand in hand, overhwking the whirlpool in tlie river, and would look in each other's face in the darkness, and wait, with a fearful curiosity, to sec something stalking out of the mist, or to hear some voice speaking to us out of the depths of the precipice, and to find that our nurse's tales were about to prove to be pure truth. Once, years afterwards, I reminded Natdsha of the day when they first gave us a oook to read, called " First Readings for Cliildrcn," and liow we had immediately run off into the garden, near the little pond, where there was a grassy bank beneath an old tufted maple, and how we settled down there and read a fairy story, called " Alphonso and Delinda."' To this moment I cannot think of that tale without strange emotion, and only last year, when I repeated the first lines of it to Natasha — "Alphonso, iho hero of my tale, was born in Portugal ; Don Kamir, his father,"' etc.— the tears came to my eyes. I dare say I looked a dreadful fool, for Natasha could not help smiling, which contrasted funnily with my enlluisiasm. Slie had seen this, however, and to make amends she began to talk over the past with me ; and while she spoke she, too, had become moved Oh, the delightful evening we spent together, rummaging among those okl recollections of the past ! And the day when I left "to stay at the capital of the (iovernmcnt, //r'?*:' she had cried. And then, at our last separation, when I left Vassi- liefsky finally, to continue my studies at the St. Tetersburg University ! I was seventeen years old ; she was going on for fifteen. She has since told me that I was at that time a long lanky boy, so badly put together that no one could look at me without laughing. Well, when the moment came for i)artmg, I remember I took her aside to tell her something of terrific importance, but my tongue refused to utter a sound — it was paralysed, and we had no conversation at all. I did not know what to say, and I dare say she. would not have understood what I meant ; anyhow, I wept hot tears over her, and went away without having said a word. We did not see each other ^4 INJURY AND INSULT. for long after this— two years after, and then it was at St Petersburg, whither her father had removed with his family, on account of a lawsuit, just when I began my literary career. CHAPTER III. NICHOLAS SERGEEVITCH IKMENIEF belonged to a good, but long since almost ruined, family. At the death of his parents he had inherited a very fair property, and a hundred r.nd fifty serfs. At twenty years old he had joined the hussars, and had served six years, when, one fine evening, he lost all his property at a game of cards. He did not sleep a wink that nl^;ht, but next day he reajjpeared at the card- table, and litaked iiis horse, which was all he had left, on a single card : that card happened to win, so did another, and a thiril, and in half an hour he had rewon fifty serfs and the little estate of Ikmeniefsky. He ncjw threw up card-playing, applied for his retirement from the army, got it two months later, with the rank of lieutenant, and returned to vegetate on his iirojjerty. He never meiitic^ned the circumstances just described, and un- doubtedly, in spite of his well-known sweet temper, he would have quarrelleil with anyone who dared remind him of them. He studied rural economy assitluously after this, and a few y irs later he married a young lady belonging to the intit.' fiol>Usst\ Anna Andreevna Shoumiloff, who was i)0or, ami didn't bring him a farthing, but who had been educated at a distinguislwd establishment a. the lapital, Madame RevecheV, a French refugee, and was very proud of this fact all her life] though no one could ever make out wherein this magnificent education consisted. Nuholas Sergecvitch developed into a first-rate scientific farmer, and his neighbours took him for their model. He lived in this tjuiet fashion tor some years, until one fine day I'riu' c Tctcr Alexandrovilch X'alkof^ki, a neighbouring landowm. r, who.->e estate, \'assilicfsky, numbered nine hundred serfs, arn\ed Irom St. Petersburg INJURY AND INSULT. 1 5 His arrival made a great sensation in the country. Although not quite in the first bloom of youth, the prince was still in the prime of life ; his position was good ; he had relations of intlu- cnre ; he was handsome, ricli, and a widower — this last fact rendering him particularly interesting in the eyes of all the mammas and of all the marriageable women in the (lovernment. IVople spoke of the brilliant reception which h^ul been accorded to lum by the governor, who was discovered to be a distant relation of the prince. It was said that his amiable manners had (juite turned tlic heads of all the women at)out, and so on. In short, he was one of those brilliant rei)resentatives of the iiighest vSt. Tetersburg society, so rarely seen in the provinces, and who produce such an extraordinary effect there when they do turn up. However, it api^eared that the prince was not (juite as sweet as honey to all, and especially to those whom he had no need to treat so well —his iriferiors ; nor did he think it necessary to make the acquamtance of tiie landowners in the neighbour- hood of his own estate, which fact n'lade him many enemies. Whit then must have been the general astonishment when he determmcd to pay a visit to Nicholas Sergeevitch ! It was true, however, that the latter certainly was his nearest neigh- bour. The advent of the ]irincc was an event in the Ikmenief's e>tablishm(M-it. From the very first day the married couple were (piitc charmed with him, especially Anna Andreevna, whose enthusiasm knew no boup.ds. After a very short while the i)rince was perfectly at home with them, used to come and see them any or every day, invited them to his house, cracked jokes with them, and sang and i)layed on their miserable piano. The Ikmeniefs could never see enough of him ; how could any- one have saiU of so amiable, so agreeable a man that he was proud and egotistical, as the neighbours still loved to repeat ? Nicholas Sergeevitch— simple, honest, noble, and disinterested nature that he was — had certainly made a good impression on the prince, as very soon appeared. The prince had come down to dismiss his steward, a Ger- man debauchee, — a man full of ambitious notions ; with respect- able white hail, an aquiline nose, and spectacles, — who plun- dered his master shamelessly, and who had maltreated several serfs with the lash. This miserable creature, taken in the act of pillaging his master, played the injured innocent and talked l6 INJURY AND INSULT. a great deal about German honesty, but was nevertheless ignominiously dismissed. The prince needed another steward, and his choice fell on Nicholas Sergeeviich, who was certainly a perfect manager and honest to the full sense and depth of the term, in ihe sight, and 10 the knowicdge, of all the world. The prince would h:ive liked Ikmenief to offer himself as the new steward ; but in de- fault of this he decided one fine morning to make the proposil himself in the most friendly terms, and in the form of a humble reciuest. Ikmenief refused ; but the emoluments, which were very considerable, were seductive to Anna Andreevna, and the amiability of the prince became so increasingly pronounced, that Ikmenief's doubts and hesitations vanished, and the prince attuined his ead at last. It is clear that the jfrince excelled in knowledge of human nature ; the short space of time in which he had known Ikmenief was (luite enough for him to understand his man, and that Ikmenief must be got at by friendship, by attachment of the heart, without which the tcmjjlation of making money would weigh very li'.tle with him. What the prince required was a steward in whom he could rei)Ose the blindest confidence, so that he never need come bac k to Vasihefsky unless he wished. The charm which he exer- cised over Ikmenief was so great that the latter sincerely believed in his friendship. Ikmenief possesses one of those excellent natures found among Russian.-, — artless, ingenuous to a degree, and romantic, — who easily attach themselves to other natures, often (piite unworthy of them ; who give themselves heart and soul to tlicir friends, and sometimes carry their devotion to a point which ni)i»roaches the ridicuUnis. Years passed; the i)rince's lands were in a flourishing con- dition ; the princ e and his steward had never had the slightest disagreement, and their relations were confined to dry corre- spondence on business. The prince, wlio never interfered in the slightest degree with any of Nicholas Sergeevitch's arrange- ments, .sometimes, however, gave Ikmenief counsel, whicli astonishetl tJie latter by its practical and intelligent character. 1 1 was evident that the prince not only disliked needless ex- penditure, but (luite understood the art of making profits. live years after his visit to Vasihefsky, the prince sent IkmC-nief orders for the purchase of another estate in the same INJURY AND INSULT, 1 7 Government ; it was a ma.i;n!ficent proj)crty of four hundred serfs. Nicholas Scrgcevitch was transported with admiration ; he was so iiiiich interested in the prince's successes, in the attainment of his objects, in Iiis advancement ; and he worked as hard foi the prince's aggrandisement generally, as he would have for that of his own brother. But his enthusiasm reached its utmost limits when, as I am now about to relate, the prince reposed in him, as steward, an amount of confidence which was really extraordinary. However, as the prince is one of the chief actors in my story, I think I liad better give a few details of his life, anterior to the events to be related. CHAPTER IV. THAVl'^ already said that the prince was a widower. While still young ho had married money ; his family, who had always lived in Moscow, were quite ruined ; his fiither had. left iiim nothing but the estate at Vasiliefsky, burdened with debt and mortgage, so tiiat at tiic age of t\venty-t\vo he had found hunself obliged to enter a (Jovernment olhce in Moscow, for he had not a farthing left in the world, and he began life like the wretched shoot of a good old stock. His marriage with the more than mature daughter of a brandy-monopolist saved him. .\lthough the monopolist of brandy cheated him in the mar- riage portion, as might have been expected of him, the prince was at least able to clear his paternal acres from debt, and to plant his foot upon his own soil once more. The merchant's daughter hardly knew how to write her own name, couldn't read two words, was ugly, and had but one merit — she was good and sweet-tempered. The prince well knew how to make the most of these (jualities. After a year of married life he left his wife at Moscow — she had just pre- sented him with a son — in charge of her father, and himself went off to the Government of to occupy an important position in the service, a position to which he had been appointed tb.anks to his own solicitations and to the protection c l8 INJURY AND INSULT. of an influential relation. He thirsted for distinction ; he was devouied with the strong desire of aggrandisement, to make a career, and since he reckoned that, thanks to his wife's extrac- tion, he could not live either in St. Petersburg or Moscow, he resolved to make his debut in the provinces and wait for better times. He treated his wife with the greatest cruelty ; it was said that during the first year of their married life he had very nearly killed her. These reports aroused the greatest indigna- tion in Jkmenief, who of course took the prince's part with much warmth, and declared his master to be utterly incapable of any sort of vileness. At last, after seven years, the prince became a widower and left for St. Petersburg. His arrival made some sensation in the capital. Still young, handsome, rich, with a hundred brilliant gifts, spiritual, full of taste, gay, and unf.iilingly good-huiuuured, he made hii entry into society, not as a man who comes to look for fortune and advancement, but as one who has a right to come in with eftect. He had, it was said, a sort of prestige which enforced and insisted upon admiration. Women adored him, and an attach- ment with a certain woman of the world put the glory of a- scandal to his account. He spent his money freely, though up till now he liad been economical to a i)oinl approaching avarice ; he lost at cards where he judged that he would gain by so losing, and that without betraying the slightest emotion how- ever large the sum lost might be. Count N a relation of rank, who would never h.ivc deigned to have taken any notice of him if he had simply come forward as a vulgar place-seeker, was struck by his success in society. He thought it nut only possible, but even convenient to honour him with some attention, and even tc^ok his son, aged seven years, into his own household to be edu- cated. It was just at this epoch that the prince went to Vasiliefsky and made acquaintance with the Ikmeniefs. ]?y t!;c interest of Count N the prince now got the ap- pointment of attache to one of the principal embassies and went abroad. C()vn\tless reports were current, at this time, with regard to the prince and his affairs, but ihey were always hidden in obscurity and mystery ; men spoke of a disagreeable event which had happened to him abroad, but nobody knew any- INJURY AND INSULT. I9 thing ccTtAin as to the nattire of it. All that was positively known was that the jirince was suddenly in a position to purchase an estate of four hundred souls — the same that I mentioned alcove. After some years the prince came back to Russia, having attained a high rank in the service, and soon got a good appointment in St. Petersburg. Rejwrts now reached Ikmenicfka that he was about to mprry again into a rich and powerful family this time. Nicholas Sorgeevitch rubbed his liands with glee. I was in St. Petersburg at the time working at the University, and Ikmenief wrote me to inquire as to the truth of the rei)orts about the prince's marriage. He also wrote to the l.Utcr recommending me to his kindness, but he received no answer. For my part all that. I could find out was that his st)n had been educated in Count Xainsky's household, and then at the Lyceum, and that his studies were at an end now, at the age of nineteen. I gave Ikmenief these pieces of information, and added that the prince was very fond of his son and spoiled liim, and had already made projects for his future, all of which I learned irom a fellow-student at the University, who knew the young fellow. One fine morning Ikmenief got a letter which astonished liim considerably. The ])rince, who up to now had corre- si)onded with, his steward in an exclusively formal business manner, suddenly wrote him a frank, friendly letter about his family aff.i'rs. He couiplained of his son, whose conduct wa? causing Imn a good deal of disquiet ; he said that, though he did not wishi to attach to the mere wantonness of a youth of his age more importance than it deserved (he evidently wished to palliate his son's offences), yet he had resolved to punish him, and frighten liim, and therefore he wished to send him down to spend some time witli Ikmenief— who should act guardian — in the country. The jtrince put himself entirely in the hands of his " honourable and excellent friend," and of his spouse, and begged thcni to receive his giddy-head of a son into their family; to make him listen to the voice of reason while in exile; to love him, if possible — but at all events to correct his weakness of character and to inculcate him with " those salutary and rigorous principles which are so necessary in life." The yo'.:ng prince arrived, and was received into the family like a son. Nicholas Sergeevitch soon loved him as his own daughter Natdsha, and soon after, when he quarrelled with the c — 2 20 INJURY AND INSULT. father, he often tliought with joy of his dear Aledsha, as he used to call the young prince, Alexis Petrovitch, He was certainly a charming boy, as pretty and as delicate and nervous as a girl, at the same time gay and ingenuous to a degree, with a heart endowed with candour and accessible to the noblest sentiments ; an affectionate disposition, honest and sympathetic — he soon became the idol of the Ikmenief fimily. He was still a child in spite of his twenty years ; and it was difficult to understand why his father, who was said to be so fond of him, had thus exiled him. He had led, they said, a wild, indolent life in the capital, and had refused to enter the (Government service, whicli had much annoyed his father. Ikmenief never asked any questions, because he gathered from the i)rincc's letter that he wished to say nothing about the real reasons for his son's exile. According to some rumours, he had been guilty of unpardonable wildness ; some talked of a liaison some of a duel, some of losses of most improbable amounts at cards, some even spoke of a sum of money whicli the young prince had spent, and whi'h belonged to someone else ; others attributed the father's action to certain personal con- siilerations of a secret nature, to a calculating and egotistical scheme of tlie prince's own. Ikmenief repudiated all these rumours with indignation, especially as the young man was greatly attached to his father, whom he had hardly known during his childhood and youth, but of whom he never spoke except with enthusiasm, and whom he evidently regarded with entire submission. Occasion.iUy Aleo^ha spoke of some countess, and of a rivalry Ijetween his father and himself. It appeared that he had cut out his father in this little affair, which had made the old prince furious. Aleusha used to tell this story with great ani- mation, iind with a sort of childish grace, and with a loud and joyous laugh ; but Ikmenief would stop him at the first words of the tale. Aleu.^ha confirmed the rumours that the prince had matrimoni il views for him. He had now spent about a year in exile, and wrote occasion- ally to his fath.er — most respectful and reasonable his letters were, — and by this time he was so well acclimatised to \'asilief- sky that when the prince came down in spring on business, as he had i)romised Ikmenief, the exile begged to be allowed to slay on as long as possible, assuring his father that he felt a INJURY AND INSULT. 2 1 real vocation for country-life. Every action, every impulse of Alc(islia's proceeded from his excessive impressionability and nervousness, from his warmth of heart, his indolence — which sometimes almost reached the absurd, — from his extraordinary readiness to succumb to any exterior influence, and from his absolute lack of will. The i:)rincc received his son's request with a considerable show of cjiposition. Ikmenief had some difticulty in recog- nising his old friend, he was so com])letely changed. IJe had become n^.can and jietty, and in liis examination of the accounts he showed huiiseif sordid, shabb)-, and disagreeably combative. 'J'his was a source of great sorrow to good old Ikmenief, who would not cre(Ht it at first. However, everything was exactly tlie reverse of what had happened at the prince's former visit, fourteen years before ; he made acquaintance with all the neighbours round — the nvjst imj)ortant, that is, and never set foot within the Ikmeiiiefs' doors, but treated the latter as inferiors. Suddenly, one day, something inconceivable hapjiened ; without the least aj^jparent c uisc there was a stormy interview between the prince and Ikmenief; violent words were ex- changed, offensive epithets were used, and Ikmenief left the house, indign Hit and angry ; but tliat was not the end of it. Odious scandals began to circulate in the district: that Ikmenief had studied the character of the young i)rince in .order to make a i)rofit out of his faults; that his daughter, Natiisha, had found the way to the young fellow's heart, and that, while pretending to see nothing of it, her parents had secretly encouraged this love : that Xatdsha, an artful and depraved girl, had entirely bewitched the young ])rince, who. thanks to her cvuuiing, had never set eyes on a single one of the numerous young girls whose charms were ripening within the family seats of the neighbouring gentry, during the whole year which he had spent here. People went so far as to wliisper that the young lovers had arranged to go and get married at Cirigorievo, a village about ten miles from V'asiliefsk\', nominally v^nknown to the girl's parents, who, however, in reality were ac(iuainted with the minutest details of the ])lan, and egged on tiieir daughter by their advice. In short, a thick volume would not hold the wretched gossip which the scandal- mongers of the place, of both sexes, succeeded in circulating. What was most astonishing of all was that the prince 2 2 INJURY AND INSULT. believed every word of it all ; indeed, he had only come down lo Vaiiiliefsky in consequence of an anonymous communica- tion bent to him at St. Petersburg. It would certainly be sui>- posed that anyone with the smallest knowledge of lkm<^nief would have refused to believe a word of all this ; and yet, as it often happens in such cases, everyone busied himself with the rumours, talked ihem over, blamed Ikmenief, shook his head, and passed judgment without appeal. Ikmenief had too much proper pride to justify his daughter to a troup of gossipers, and he forbade his wile, solemnly, to enter into any kind of explanation on the subject with her neighbours. Natilsha, so cruelly maligned, for the best part of a year never heard a word of all these trumped-up lies and caluumics, and continued to be gay and innocent and happy as a child of twelve. Meanwhile the qunrrel grew more and more envenomed ; the gossipcrs and scandal-mongers did not sleep ; denouncers of Ikmenief turned up, and witnesses who did not fail to prove to the prince that the manner in which Ikmenief had adminis- tered the affairs of the estate had been far from a model of honest dealing. They went so far as to allirm that three years since, during the sale of a forest, Ikmenief had embezzled twelve thousand roubles, which could be proved clearly and legally by witnesses ; and ail the more easily because Iknu'nief had had no procuration from tiie prince to sell the timber, i)Ut had acted on his own initiative, and had only convinced the prince of the necessity for tlie sale after it was all over, reiuilting him a sum, as tlie result of the business, very much smallc" than what he had really received. 'I'hese were all })ure fabrications, as was proved afterwards ; but tile prince believed tiiem, and, in presence of witnesses, accused Ikmenief of theft. The latter would not bear the affront, and answered the prince with as good measure as he gave. A dreadful cjuarrel followed, and a lawsuit was begun. Ikmenief soon saw that his case would fail; he required certain papers, and above all he needed protection and help. He had had absolutely no experience of such matters, and it looked like his losing the case, and his property being i)Ut into secjueslratior. The indignant old man left the place at once, and transported his home to St. Petersburg in order to look alter his Ici'al interests in connection with the lawsuit. He left INJURY AND INSULT. 2j an agent on his estate in whom he had entire confidence, and set off for the capital. The prince, doubtless, very soon reah'sed that he had in- sulted Iknicnicf (}uite gratuitously ; but the insults had flowed so freely from both sides that it was impossible now to find place for a word of reconciliation ; and the angry prince did all ho could to turn the affair to his own profit, which simply meant taking the last bit of bread out of his old steward's mouth. CHAPTER V. SO the Iknicnicfs went to St. Petersburg. I will not describe my meeting with Naliishn, wl>o duriiig the four years of our separation had never for a moment been out of my thou^^hts I did not dwell much on my recollection of her, and of the sentiments she had awakened in me in former times, when we a-ain met ; but 1 know that my first thought now was that Fate had awarded her to me. It seemed to me, at the same time, that she liad not developed much, and that she had remained very much tlie same child-girl of the days before oar separation. As time went on, however, I began to see something new in her everyday, something wiiieh I seemed to have missed observing before, as th.ough she had concealed it on purpose, as if the girl had wished to dissemble her perfections in my eyes. And, oh 1 the joy of those di^coveries I louring the period of his stay in the ca[)ital, Ikmenief was bilious and irritable ; his affairs were not gomg well ; he used to get angry, and would bury him- self in his papers, and taKC no notice of us. Anna Andreevna, his wife, was like one lost, and did not know what to do with herself. St. Petersburg was terrible to her ; she was afraid of the place. 'She would sigh and tremble and bewail the old haunt«t in which slic had passed her lile up to now. She would moan that her Natasha had arrived at a marriageable age, and there was nobody v.-ho gave her a thought. She became strangely confidential with me, probably because there did not happen to be anybody better qualified to receive her confidences. 34 INJURY AND INSULT. I liad just finished my first novel — the first-fruits of my literar)' career ; and, as a beginner, I did not know where to place it. I did not tell tlie Ikmeniefs a word about it, and they were nearly ready to quarrel with me for leading a life of indolence — that is without employment, and without doinj; anything to obtain employment. My adopted father had reproached me severely ; and as his ^ensures were dictated by paternal affection towards me, I felt ashamed of telling him how I had spent my time. How could I, in diet, tell him plump out that I did not want to be a " functionary," and that my function was to write novels ? I deceived him, therefore, so far as to tell him that I had not found a place as yet, although I had done all 1 could to ^et one. However, he had no time to bother about my afairs just then. One day Natasha, who had been present at one of my inter- views with her father, took me aside, and, with tears in her eyes, besought me to think of my future. She (piestioned me, and tried to find out how I spent my time ; and, as 1 did not tell her the secret cither, she made me swear not to make myself wretrlu'd by my sloth and idleness. I did not disclose the nature of my work to her, and yet 1 am quite sure that one word of encouragement from her would have caused me more joy than all the flattering judgments which I afterwards heard. My novel apjieared at last. Long before its jjublicaiion it was talked of in the literary world. B had rejoiced like a child over my manuscript. It" ever I was happy it was not during the first intoxicating moments of my success, but it was while I had not read ur shown my work to a single soul as yet. It was during tho.se long iiighls of dreaming and of enthusiastic hopes, while I lal)Oured passionately, and lived among the persons whom 1 had created, as though they were relations, living and breathing and ri.-al. I loved them, and shared their joys and sorrows ; indeed, I remember now and again being actually moved to tears by the stupidity of one of my heroes. I cannot describe the joy of the old couple — the Ikmeniefs, when they first heard the whisper of my success ; their first sensation was blank surprise. Anna Andreevna simply wouUl rot believe that this new writer, whom the whole world was jiraising, was that very Vdnia who, etc., etc., and she set to noilding her old head with wonder. INJURY AND INSULT. 25 The old man took longer still to realise the thing, and when he first heard the news he was downright startled ; lie told nie I should lose all chance of making a career in (iovernmcnt service, and s[)oke to me of the ill-regulated life led by most writers. However, the favourable notices which appeared in the papers, and a few words of praise on my behalf which he heard s[)oken by men for whom lie had the most confiding veneration, caused iiim *o change his opinion. As soon as he saw that I had money, too, and understood how well literary work can be remunerated, liis last scruples vanished. (Miirk to leap from doubt to absolute confidence, as happy as a child for my success, he had abandoned himself all at once to the most foolish aspirations on my account, to day-dreams of the most da/zluig description as to my future. Every day he in- vented some new career for me, and formed some new project, and heaven only knows what these projects of his did not embrace ; he even began to assume towards me a deferential de- meanour which he hatl certainly never put on before. Now ami then, his doubts returned and besiegeil him in the very midsi of his most exuberant fancies, disconcerting him entirely. 'J'o be an aud.or, a poet ! what a curious line to take up ! Did poets ever make their way in the world? Did they ever attain honours? 'I'liere was nothing to be made of all these scrib- blers — worthless crew, »he whole lot of them ! 'I'hese doubts and perplexities generally assailed him at the twilight hour ; he was always impressionable, nervous, and suspicious at that time of day especially: Natasha and 1 knew this, and used to amuse ourselves in the k!V)wledge. I woidd endeavour to make him take a less pessimistic view of the matter by telling him some story about Soumorokof, who was given the C'viivalent rank of general ; or about Derjavine, who got a snulf-box full of gold pieces ; I told him how the I'lmpress 'Calherii-'e personally vi.-,ited l.omonosoff ; 1 spoke of I'ouschkin, of Ciogol. " 1 know, my friend ; T know all that," he used }o say, though likely enough he heard these tales now for the first time in his life. " I know all that ; but what docs comfort me a little in your case is that your hash is not stewed in verse. Verses, my dear boy, are simply absurdity — don't contradict me ; take th It from an old fellow who wishes you well — absurdity, pure waste of time. If college professors go in for rhyming, that's another thing : but for a young fellow of your age to do it, niy 86 INJURY AND INSULT. dear boy, it's the straight road to the lunatic asylum. Pousch- kin is a great man, no one can deny that ; but verses and nothing but verses, simply ephemeral I not that I have read mucli poetry. Prose, now, is another thing altogether. The author can instruct, he can talk of patriotism and virtue ; Vn\ not a good hand at explaining things, but you know what I mean. It's my friendship for you that makes me speak to you so ; however, let's have a look at what you are going to read to us," he concluded, in a patronising tone, the day when I was at last enabled to bring them the book. We were all together sitting round the table after tea. " Now, then," he added, " read us a bit of what you have been scribblingall this time. You have managed to get yourself talked about a good deal ; let's see what there is in it ! " I settled myself to read ; the novel had appeared that very day, and as soon as I had been able to get a copy I had run off with it to the Ikmeniefs'. How annoyed I had been to be unaljle to read it to them sooner ; but the manuscript had been ii\ the ])ublisher's han'Is. Natdsha had wej)! for indignation ; she had scolded me and said that 1 allowed strangers to read my novel before her. Well, ht^re we were at last assembled ! the father assumed an air of extraordinary solemnity ; he was prepared to bring the most severe criticism to bear upon the work ; he wished to form his own opinion on it, and to convince himself as to its merits. Tlie old lady, too, had assumed a far more serious air than she usually wore ; she had even put on a new cap expressly in honour of the reading. For a long time she had been aware that I regarded her Natasha with infinite love, that my spirit dwelt on her image, that my eyes dimmed when I spoke to her, and that Nataslia, in her turn, now looked at me more brightly tiian before. Yes, the time was now near when success bhould realise golden hopes, and bring me the happiness I longed for. She had also observed tlie tendency on iier husband's part, of late, to praise me extravagantly, and to look at me and his daughter with a new and peculiar expression on his face, and she suddenly took fright ; i w.is neither count, nor prince, nor reigning duke. If only I had been, in default of higher things, at least a counsellor — a fine young fellow just out of the law- schools, full of wisdom and honours! When the old lady got into this groove of thought, she never liked to halt by the way or stick ot trifles. INJURY AND INSULT. 2J ClIAPTKR VI. I READ the whole of my novel at one silting, which lasted till two in the morning. The old man had, at first, con- tracted his eyebrows ; he expected something exalted, in- accessible ; something which perhaps even he would scarcely be able to take in at once, but at all events something decidedly loity in its aim ; instead of which he discovered very soon that he was only going to gei ordinary everyday incident, and the very same sort of humdrum events that go on around one at all times. If I had only had some grand type of a hero, now ; some individual of extraordinary merit, some historical person- age like Youri Miloslafsky or Rosladief ; but no, I dished up a poor devil of a clerk, obscure, and decidedly foolish, one whose shabby coat had lost all 'ts buttons, and all this in as simple a narrative-form as I could adopt— in fact, in the same sort of language that we all use in everyday life among ourselves. It certainly was rather singular on my part ! Aima Andreevna glanced at her husband with inquiring eye, slightly offended, as though she fancied herself the least little bit hurt by the particular line i had taken up. " Were chese wretc bed details really worth ])rinting and reading, and who on earth is going to buy them ? " she seemed to ask. Natasha was all attention ; she listened with avidity, and never took her eyes off me ; and with every word I uttered her sweet lips moved with mine. Well, I had not read half the book when I made them all cry. The old lady wept in all sincerity ; she was sorry, with all the dci lait you, too, may he, eh ? or is it too early to think of that yet, ch ? It is too soon yet, porhnjis; you'll have to write somctliing else first. If that's ihc case, all 1 can say is, -.vrite, write ! peg away, my boy, i)eg away ! don't rest on your laurels, you must strike while the iron's hot ! " He said all this witii such an air of conviction, and with such warmth of heart, that I hadn't the courage to stop him and cool his cntluisiasm. " Tliey'll give you a snulT-hox, too," he went on. " Why not ? it'll encourage you; and — who knows? — you may get an invita- tion to Court I " He said this in a whisper and with a wink of his left eye. " No ? Why ? Is it too soon to get asked to Court ? " "That's good,'' said die mother, " you've got him an entree to Court already, have you? " " You'll he giving r.ie tiie rank of a general next," I said,, laughing heartily. 'I'iie old man laughed, too ; he was as happy as possible just now. "Come and have something to eat, general," said Natasha who had been getting supper ready meanwhile, and slie burst out laughing in a nervous way, and tlirew herself into her father's arms. " Dear good father," she said, overcome with emotion. Ikmenief was moved too. "All right; my darling," he snid, "we are all joking; but, general or no general, let's have supper. What a sensible litde woman it is," he added, patting Natasha's blushing cheeks. " You know, Vania, all I say about this is simply prompted by my friendship for you. You must see that ; and, whether you become a general or not, at all events you are a public man, now, you are an author 1 " "They cali them • writer' nowadays, father' " " Not author ? I wasn't aware of the fact ; very well, a "writer then ; but what I was going to say was that, though jierhaps you won't be made a groom of the bed-chamber for having written a novel (it's clear, we must not e.xpcct all that at once), still you will be somct>ody. You may be appointed an attache' to one of the emba'.sies ; you may be sent abroad for your health, or to study your art; or the State may give you a money sub- sidy. Ol course, anything you get must be earned by yourself, not gained by favour. Your wealth will be the honourable result of your own labours." 3© INJURY AND INSULT " In that case, you'll never need to be proud," struck in Anna Andr^evna, laughing. " Oh, father, let him at least have a star on his breast ! " cried Natasha ; " attachd to an embassy ! why, that's a miser- able reward for him ! " She pinched my arm again. "There she goes, chafting me again," said the old man, looking at Natdsha with pride. Her cheeks were on fire, and her eyes were shining like two stars. "Well, i)erhaps, I did go a little too far, children," he said. " I am always like that ; but you know, for all your glory, Vdnia, when I look at you, I don't seem to see anything extraordinary about you." " Why, good heavens ! father, what would you exi)ect to see in him ? " " No, no, it's not that ; that's not what I mean. I mean I don't see anything in the least poetical about your face. Ycu know, j.-oets are said to be pale ; and then their hair, and their eyes — they look something like this, you know — Goethe, and those sort of people — I've read that in an almanac. Well — what ! have I said anything absurd ? There's that little rogue laughing at my expense again. My dear friend, I am not a deeply-read individual, but 1 have a good deal of sensibility. Your fiice is not so bad, you know, it's not a bad face ; I like your face \ery well. That's not what I was going to say, though. The principal thing, my boy, is be honest, be a good fellow, lead an upright life, and don't have too good an opinion of yourself. Vou have a fair future before you, make the most and best of it — there, that's what I wanted to say ; that's jus/ wliat I have been trying to get said all this time." What a splendid time that was. I spent all my evenings at the Ikn^.eniefs', and all my spare moments too, and I told the old man all the literary news — all about the authors, who hatl, somehow, lately begun to be a subject of great interest to him. He even b<»gan to read the articles of a certain reviewer of whom I liad spoken to him a good deal. He didn't understand a word oi these articles, but he praised them up to the skies. The old mother kept watch and ward over us — Natdsha and I ; but we were cpiite ec^ual to eluding her vigilance, ^^'e •cnti.ely understood each other — she and I. She had told me, bending her pretty head low, in sweet confusion, that she loved me ; the; old folks knew it., and pondered over the matter ; INJURY AND INSULT. 3I the old lady went about shaking her head — she lacked confi- dence in my position. " You've had a good success this time," she said tome; "but supposing that next time you dont succeed, or if anything were to happen to you, what should you do ? If only you had some fixed employment ! " " As for me," said the old gentleman, after having reflected for a moment, " I've seen it all, I noticed it, and I confess I was really glad to see that Natasha and you. . . there could lie no harm in it, but, my wife is right there, you are too >oung, both of yoii. Now listen to mi> ; you have talent, strait talent, 1 admit, but they went too far when they called it genius. Well then, you have talent (I've just been reading a criticism in which yon arc woefully cut up), but talent means nothing. Vou see talent is not a balance at one's banker's, and both of you are poor. Wait a year, a year and a half; if all goes well, it you get on in your chosen line, Nat;lsha is yours. If you liotCt succeed — judge for yourself, you are an honest fellow — tiiink now," And so we waited, and a year after this we were still waiting. Yes, it was just about a year after, that one lovely clear Septem- ber evening, I went to my old friends' liouse, ill, and with a leeling of despair in my soul, and, as soon as I arrived thete, I fell into a chair in an almost fainting condition, much to the alarm of the good j)eople. but if my iiead throbbed and my heart was full of anguish at that time, the reason was not that 1 had of late, on ten rrself " There are vespers sounding," she said. " You want to go, Nat;islia ; go, darling — go and i^ray, by all means. It is not far, and you'll get a little walk. You don't go out enough ; INJURY AND INSULT. 35 MMi always look so pale, nowadays, one would think some- iuuly had thrown a spell ovit you." " 1 don't think I will go to-day,'' she said slowly, and >( iicely audihly ; she seemed to be almost choking. "1 don't kel quite myself," and she grew as ])ale as a corpse. " W hy won't you go, my little one? You wanted to go just now; you've even got your hat to go. (}o, darling; go and pray (lod to give you health again," said the mother encour.ag- ingly. " Ves, yes, by all means ! \ ou 11 get a little air at the same time," added the old nian. He, too. looked at his daughter .mxiously. " \'our mother is (juite right. Vdnia will go with you" I thought I observed a bitter smile cross Natasha's lijjs-. She got her hat, and put it on ; her hand was trembling. She seemed to be acting aulomalic.illy, without knowing what she did. Her father and mother watched her with astonish- ment. *' dood-bye," she said, in a scarcely audible voice. "Why goodbye, my darling?" said the mother. "You won't be long, it's (juite a short distance ; come, you'll get a little air, and that will do you good. \'ou're so pale, little one. Oh de.ir, I'd torgolter. all at)out it I (1 forget everything just now) I've finished that little case for you, and stitched the prayer m^ide it. A man at Kief showed me how to do it last year ; It's a very eliicacious prayer, my birdie. Take it, darling ; take it with you, and perliaps the good (lod will send you back sour health. We have only you," and sue took from her work- l)o\ the golden cross that Natasha always wore at her neck ; the little case which -Aic had worked was tied on to the same piece ol ribbon. "Ciod give you health," she said, as she put the ribbon round Natasha's neck, and made the sign of the cross. "'Ihere w.is a time when I used to do this e\ery evening," she sobbed. " 1 used to say a prayer, and you repeated it after me, before >ou Went to sleep; but now you are not the same, and (iod does not give you the same tranciuillity of si)irit. Oh. Natdsha, Natasha ! my maternal j)rayers don't help you, they don't do you any good ! " and she cried bitterly. Natdsha kissed her mother's hand, in silence, and made a step m the direction of the door, but siiddenly she turned and approached her father quickly, her breast heaving. 36 INJURY AND INSULT. " Father, you must bless me, too ; bless your daughter," she said in suffocating tones ; and she fell on her knees before the old man. We were all troubled strangely at this most unexpected conduct on her part. The old father looked at her for u moment, bewildered. " Naldsha, my darling, my little one, my own dear little daughter, what is the matter with you, girlie ?" he cried at last, the tears running down his cheeks ; " tell me your sorrow. Wiiy do you cry day and night, what is it my darling? I sec it all, you know ; i don't sleep at night any better than you do, and I licar you crying. Tell me all about it, my Natasha ; tell your old father all your troubles, my birdie, and we — .'' He did not finish, but he tcjok iicr in his arms and clasped her close to him. She i)ressed herself convulsively to the old man's breast, and hid her head on his shoulder. " Nothing, nothing, I'm a little unwell, that's all," she said ; and hci' voice sounded as though suffocating with the tears which she was trying to keep down. *' May (jod bless you, even as I give you my blessing now, my daiiiiig, my [)recious child," said her latlier ; "and may He send you peace from this time forth, and keep you from all harm ! I'ray to (lod, my darlmg, that my prayers may reach Him, sinner as I am." " My blessing go with you also," added her mother weeping. " CJood-bye," said Natasha, in a faint voice. When ^hr got to the door she slopped and looked once a:;ain at them ; she seemed to wish to say sonielhing more, but had not sticngth, and rushed rapidly out ot the room. I dartevhrit I was saying. " And yet it is all true," she said, " and I don't know what will become of them ; J am leaving them. I don't even know what will become of myself." " Vou are going to //«w ? " " ^'es," she said. " But the thing is impossible," I cried, excitedly ; "you know it's impossible, Natdsha. My poor NMasha, it is madness! It will kill them ; and you—you are lost, lost ! Don't you know it, Natasha ? " " Ves, I know it," she said, " but I can do nothing ; it is not of my own will." Her words betrayed the same sort of desp.iir of mind as though she were on her way to the scaffold. " Return, return, while it is not too late, Natasha ! " I en- treated, with all the solemnity of which 1 was capable ; but I knew my exhortation was both useless and absurd. "Then, have you thought of your father ? You know how bitterly at enmity are Jiis father and yours — that his father insulted your own, accused him of embezzlement, called him a thief? You know that they are this moment at law, and that, last but not least — good God, you must know this I — that he has suspected your parents of having designedly encouraged you to form this connection with Aleosha, while he was with you in the country. Remember how your poor father has suffered by these calum- nies. His hair has turned white with it. I don't say a word of what it must cost them to lose you ; you^ their treasure ; you^ who are all that remains to them in their old age. You know 38 INJURY AND INSULT. all that yovircelf, Natdsha. But remember MiV, that your father believts you as innocent as a babe, and the victim of the malignant suspicions of all these haughty gentry. The old animosity between your father and his has burst out anew since Aleosha's late visits to your house. His father has insulte'd yours again ; and, while the wound of this last insult is still open, suddenly both this and all the other accusations are to be justified by your conduct. All those who have heard of these insinuations and accusations against you and your father, will now be able to say that the prince was in the right after all. What will become of your father ? It will kill him ; the shame, the infamy of it all will kill him ; and at whose hands is the blow? At yours, Natdsha — his ewe-lamb, his daughter, his darlin-. And your mother ; do you think she will survive the old man's death? Natdsha, Natdsha, think of it all! awake to yout own self again ; come back, Natdsha ! " She was silent, but I read in her eyes such an intensity of sorrow, such terrible suffering, that I understood how nuich her heart was bleeding even without the added reproach of my words. I sav; how much it had cost her to make up her mind to this action, and how terribly 1 had just tortured her — lacerated her by my tardy and useless representations. And yet I felt that I niust go on. " A moment ago you told your mother that perhaps you would not go out, — would not go to vespers. This shows that you had, at all events at that moment, the wish to stay — that your mind was not absolutely made u|)." S!ie smiled bitterly. Why did I talk like this? I could see that her mind was irrevocably made up. I could bear it no lonL;er. " Do you love him so madly, then ? " I cried. My heart was full of dread for her, and I harha madly ; but sometimes it seems to me that I love you still better as my friend. I could ne\er live without you. You arc necessary to me, my "Vdnia — you and your heart of gold ! Oh, the future, the dreadful future, full of bitterness as it must be !" She burst into tears. " And I did so require to see you," she went on, stifling her tears. •' You arc thin and pale ; you have been ill, Vdnia, and I didn't even ask you about it. I talked of nothing but myself! And what are you doing now, Vdnia? How does the novel get on ? " " The devil take my novels 1 Tell me, did Aledsha insist on your eloping with him ? " 40 INJURY AND INSULT. " It was more my own doing. He certainly did say — wait, I'd better tell you all. They want to marry him to a girl of rank and immense wealth ; his father — you know the scheming nature of the man — insists on his marrying her, and will do his utmost to force h\n\ to it, because he won't get such another chance — rank, colossal fortune ; and, besides that, the girl herself is very pretty, very well read, and an angel of good- ness, Ale<)sha himself is taken with her ; and as his father is anxious to get Aleosha off his hands as soon as ])Ossible, .in (iider to marry again himself, the prince is deternuned to sejia- raie us, anyhow he can, but somehow. He fears my influence over his son." " l>ut is !k" aware of your relations with his sun ? " 1 a->ked, interrupting her. " He knows all." "Who toUl him about it?" '* Aicosiia lold him everything." "Ciood heavens ! What does he mean by that ? He told his fathe*-, and at such a moment ?" " Doii't blame him ! don't laugh at him ! It would not be fair to judge him as you. would anyone else. He is a child; and a child who has been brought up ([uitc differently from our- selves. \'ou must not sup])ose he knows what he does. The first impiession, the fust inlluence exerted over him, is ijuite enough to cause him to renounce ever) thing he swore by a a moment betbre. He has absolutely //(-"force of character. He is yours one day, and the same evening he is another's, and in perleclly good faith ; and he is the first to < ome and tell vou of it. lie might do something dreadful ; and it would be im- possible to know whether one slu)uld blame him or weep for him. He is capable of .sacrificing himself altogether, but only until the next impression, and then it's all forgotten again ; and //'.' 7i.'ill for^^it iiw too, if I am not alicays by /lim." " Very likely this marriage you talk about is sim|)ly a false rumour. How can he marry ? he's a child ! " " I tell you liis father has his own calculations and schemes." " How do you know the girl is so pretty, and that Aleosha it taken by her ? " " He told me so himself" "What ! //£' told you that he might fall in love with another girl, and yet asked you to sacrifice everything for his sake ?" INJURY AND INSLLJ". 4 1 " N'o, no ; you don't know him I You lia\ c not seen enough of him J you ought to know him better l)efore judging him. 'I'herc doesn't exist a n^iore lionest or a ]nircr heart than liis. A\'ouId it liave been any better if he had told a lie about it? That he allowed himselt to be taken with her is not very sur- prismg. Were he to be a week without seeing me, he would very hkely go and fall in love with somebody else, but so soon as he saw me again he would l)e mine onee more. I am very glad he tells me all ; I should die of jealousy if he did not. 1 have (juite !iiade up my mind. // I i/o fioi rciiiain cotntaiiiJy at his Slit',; he 7.7// caisc to love me ; he" II /.>ri;et me, and /aire vie. I know him so well. Mvery woman he sees might seduce him ; and then what would b;(()nie of me ? I should die ! That would not matter !iiueh ; for death would be nothing but a happiness to me ! To live without ////// — that would be far worse than death, worse than torture. Oh, Vania, Vania ! you must see that I love him very much, when 1 leave mv father and mother like this for his sake. I)on't reason with me. I am (juite determined. I viu^t have him by me every liour, every moment ! I can't go back now. 1 know that I am lost if I go— I know it I and that others are ruined by me too. Oil, Vania !" she cried sucUlenly, trembling ; " if he really had ceased to love \wc ; if what you hue just said were really true — that he was supply decei\ing me" (I had not said any- thing of the sort) ; " if he were only honest and true in appear- ance, but in reality were wicked and deceptive ! And 1 here standing up for him against your arguments, when ])erhaps, he is with some other gi 1 the wIkjIc time, and laughing at me — while I, wretched creature, have left everything h)r him, and am walking about the streets looking for him. Oh, Vania ! " She moaned and sobbed so miserably that I was fpiite alarmed for her. I could see that she had lost all command over herself. The blindest jealousy, and nothing but that, could have forced her to take a step so senseless as this. Jealous in my turn, I could not contain myself, but allowed words to esi ape me which were basely unkind. " I don't understand how you can ])ossibly continue to love him after what you have told me about him. You don't esteem liim ; you don't trust hi3 love for you ; and yet you run away for him, and deal a death-blow to all those who are dear to you. Think what you arc doing 1 You are preparing bitter- 4* INJURY AND INSULT. ness and misery for each other; you are blind. I don't understand this sort of love." " Yes, 1 !ove him madly ; I know it." She was pale with anguish and grief ** I ne>'<;r loved you like this, Vdnia. I know well enough that 1 have Icsi my wits, and that I ought not to love him like this. I have felt for long, and I fed now, I felt it in my happiest moments, that there was nothing but pain and torment before me ; but what am 1 to do if torments that come from him are happiness to me ? I know what is before me, and what 1 H.'inll have to suffer. He has sworn to love me. He has made me all kinds of prouMscs ; and I have no faith in his piomises. I do not trust tlu ni, and never did ; yet I know that he ha« never lied to me and that he is incapable of lying. I have teid. him, of my own accord, that I do not wish to bind him in an) thing ; nol)o(ly likes being bound. I hate it myself. I ain happy in being his slave — his voluntary slave, and to suffer anything he likes if only he be with me, near me, and I can see him aiul look at him. It almost seems to me that 1 could i)Ut up with his loving someone else if only I might be there, at his side. What baseness, isn't it, Vania ? " she cried, suiklenly looking at me with burning face. " I know that it is baseness ; and yet if he abanchjned me I would run after him to the world's end, even if he repulsed me and drove me away. You ask me to change my mind and go back. What would be the use ? 1 should go away again to-morrow, if he called me. He has only to call me — to whistle for me like his doi(, and I would follow him at once. 1 fear no torments, if they come fro'u him. I should know it came trom him, and Uh, \''ania ! one can't desiribo one's feelings." She seemed to have forgotten all about her father and mother, " lias not he told you that he wanted to marry you? " " Oh, yes, he promised me; lie has promised everything. He tuiil me that we should go off ([uietly to-morrow out of town, and get married ; but he doesn't know himself what he says. 1 don't think he even knows what steps to take to get married. What a singular husband he would make. And if he were to marry he would reproach me for it after- wards. 1 don't want him to have anything to reproach me for. I don't exact anything from him. U his marrying me is INJURY AND INSULT. 43 to make him unhappy afterwards, why should I be the cause of unhappincss to him?" " Xal;ishn. you arc simjjly vapouring," I said ; "and now are 3()U going straight to him?" •' No, he promised lo come and fetch me from here." She looked imp,atiently up the street, but there seemed to be no one about. •' And yet he hasn't coinc. lie has allowed you to be first at the rendezvous ! "' I cried with indignation. My exclama- tion caused her to shiver, and her face took an expression of suffering. " Perhaps he won't come at all," she said with a smile of bitterness. " He wrote to me the day before yesterday, tliat if I dd not promise to come he would be obliged to i)ut off our night and marriage to a later date, and that liis f;\ther was going to take him down to his betrothed. Oh, Vania ! if he should be with lur now ! " 1 made no re[ily. She pressed my hand hard, and her eyes shone like fire. " He is witli her," she said, so faintly that I could scarcely hoar her. *' He hoped that I would not come, so that he mi_L;ht go to her, ami say afterwards that it was my fault, that, in spite of his letter, I didn't come. I am an incubus to him, and he is lea\ing ine. Oh, fool that i am! and he told me the last time 1 saw him that I bored him ! Why do 1 wait for him?" "There he is!" I suddenly exclaimed, on seeing him some way off, on the Quay. Natasha trembled, and gave a cry as she saw Alcosha. Then she let go of my hand, and ran to meet him. The street was nearly empty. They flew into each other's arms, and kissed and laughed. Natasha was crying and luighing at the same time ; her cheeks were scarlet, and she seemed to be in a frenzy of ecstasy. Aleosha saw me, and came up. . CIIArii:R IX. I LOOKED at him as though I saw him now for the first time. Yet I had often seen him. I searched his face as though 1 expected to find something there to dissipate my anguish and 44 INJURY AND INSULT. explain how a child like him had managed to bewitch Natd>>ha, and -inspire Iv.-r with a love so mad — a love which had caused her lo forget her first duties and to sacrifice, madly, everything that she had held most sacred up to now. He pressed my hand warmly, and his sweet and calm gaze went to my heart. I felt that 1 might easily be deceived in my estiniate of him, because, and solely because, he was my rival. For I divl not like hinj, and had never changed my opinion- though everyone else seemed to love him. I did not even like his elegant, too elegant, exterior. He was a tall, slender, well-|)ro- portione'd younj; fellow. His face was o\al — always pale, his hair light, and he had big blue eyes — sweet and dreamy, which shone at times with the frankest and most childlike happiiKss. His full red lips — beiulifuUy chiselled, nearly always had a serious expression on them ; but when he laughed such an ingenuous, naive smile suddenly played over them, that one could not help laughing back. He always looked neat, and this grace, which he evinced in everything, gave him no effort. He had, certainly, several tricks — certain bad habits of .society — ihoughtlesr^ness, conceit, and a kind of impertinence which was full of i)oliteness ; but, being gifted with a simplicity of mind and a serenity which was very reninrkal)le, lie was al\\a)s the fust to acknowledge his faults and to laugh at them. I don't think he ccjuld lie, even in joke, or, if he did, he did it ([uite unconsciously. liven his selfishness seemed to possess an attraction, perhaps because he showed it with so much candour — there was no deceit in his composition. Weak, sanguine, and limid of heart, he had absolutely no will. '1 o insult him or to deceive him would have wounded him sorely ; it would be as sinful as deceiving or wronging a child. Innocent in an incredible degree for one of his age, he knew hardly anything of life. I should think he would scarcely know any more when he got to forty years old. Some i)eople seem to be condenmed to wait for ever before they come of age. J am sure no one coukl help loving him, he knew how to get at one with i:is childlike ways. Natasha was right. Under the inliuence of some wicked person he might easily be led to commit a wicked action, but he would certainly die of remorse when he learned the conseijuences of it. INJURY AND INSULT. 45 Natasha fo'.t instinctively tliat she would hc^in by being his sovereign, iiis (luecn, and end by being his victim. Slie had a foretaste of tlie rai)ture of hjving to niadnes.-; and of torment- ing tlie one wo love, simply because we do love him or her, and perhaps '.hi;; is wiiy she iiastened to sacrifice herself lirst. His eyes were sparklmg with love, now, and he was looking at N.Uasha in a sort of ecstacy. She had forgotten everything — parents, farewells, jealous suspicions, everything. She was ''•M'l'y-^ " V'ania," she said, " I wronged him. I am not worthy of him ; forget my wicked words." 'I'hen she looked at him with uiT-peakaljle love in her eyes, and added — '• I thought you were not coming ! " .Meosha kissed her hand, and said to me : — ' Don't b'ame me, j)lease. I liave long wanted to greet you as a brotiuT. The things she has told me about you ! We have seen very little of each other, and have hardly ever spoken to each other. Let us be friends, and You must forgive u-;," he added, lowering his voice and blushing. " Ves, yes," cried Xala'sha, *' he is ours ; he is our friend and brother for ever : he hatj forgiven us already, for we could never be hap])y without hirn. I have told him so already. Oh, \'ania,'' she went on, her lip trembling, "go back to them; they know your heart of gold, and even if they won't forgive me, when they r,ee that you have forgiven me, j^erhaps they may soften a little towards me. Tell them everything, Vania, in wortls that . DUie straight from your heart ; take my part and ciiampion me to them ; tell them everything as you see it your- self. I don't know that I should have been able to decide to leave today, if you had not called. AVhen I saw you, I felt a hope that perha])s you would be able to soften the shock of my gomg away lor tiiem. Oh, (iod ! oh, God ! V^'inia, tell them thai I know forgiveness is impossible. If they forgive me, (i(yd will not ; and if tiiey curse me, tell them I shall not bless them the less. I shall pray for them all my life. My heart is whole and full towartls them. Oh ! why can't we nil be happy ? Why ? oh, Vdnia ! What am I doing ? " she said suddenly, as though waking up to her own self again ; and she covered her face with her liands. Aleosha took her and pressed her in his arms. We were all silent for a few moments. 46 INJURY AND INSULT. " And you could bring yourself to exact a sacrifice like this ? " I cried, looking at Alcdsha reproachfully. " Don't blame me," he said ; " all this sorrow will only last a short time. I am certain of it. All we want is a little strength to get through this ordeal. Natdsha thinks the same. You know the cause of all this is that family quarrel— the law- suit, and al! that ; but (I've thought over it a good deal, I assure you) all the trouble will very soon come to an end now. We shall be a united family once more, and our parents, when they see licw happy we are, will forgive us and be reconciled to us again. Who knows? — perhaps our wedding will be the first step towards their reconciliation. It must be. ^\■hat do you think?" "You talk of marriage, but when do you propose to be married?" I asked, looking at Natasha. " To-morrow, or the day after at latest. I don't know quite for certain myself, and I haven't arranged anything as yet, it's true. I thought that very likely Nata>ha would not come to- day ; and, besides, my fallier wanted to take me to my betrothed this evening (you know, of course, that they want to marry me off — Natdslia has told you all about it, but I don't want to many the girl) ; so that I couldn't count on anything with Certainly for to-day. In any (ase, we shall be married by tiie day after to-morrow, at Kr.sl I think so, ami it can't be other- wise Tomorrow we'll go down by the I'.skoff road ; there's one of my fellow-students at the l.)ieum, a lapilal fellow, who lives down there. We'll find a priest in the village near him. I'm not (juite certain that there is one. I ought to have found out all about it first, but I hadn't time. However, all this is mere detail. We can alwa)s get a priest from some village near, can't we? Jt is a pity that I had not time to write a {kiw lines to let n^y friend know ; he may not be at home. Hang it, it doesn't matter ; where there's a will there's a way. Mean- wiiile, Natasha will stay at my place till to-morrow. 1 have hired apartments for us to live in when we come back. You will understand, I don't want to live with my father then. You'll come to see us, and my old L)ceum friends will come, too, and we'll have jolly little evenings." I looked at him with anguish of heart. Natasha's fare seemed to besjieak my toleiation for him ; she toUowed his words with a sail Muile, and at the same time she looketl at him with the same sort of admiration which one bestows on a little INJURY AND INSULT. 47 rliilil, wIkjsc pretty ] 'rattle is senseless to listen to, but very sweet to hear I, iiowever, looked at him angrily. I felt a most intolerable sorrow in my heart. " I5ut," I asked, "are you (juite certain that your father will fur.:;i\e you? " "Of course he will ; what else can he do? He'll rurse me at first, I know ; naturally, he is a severe man. He may appeal to law to assert his parental authority ; but that won't last, he loves me too well. He'll l)e very angry at first, and then for- give us; then everybody will be reconciled one to another, and we shall all be hapi)y ; and her fatiier will be kind to her agam, too." " And what if ho doesn't forgive you ? Have you thought of th.at ? " " lUit he icill ; it's as certain as can be, but i)erha])S not quite so soon as one would like. I'll show him that I have charac- ter. He has only to tell me that I have none— that I'm nothing but an idle loafer, and he shall st;e whether I am or not. That sort of tiling is no joke ; when one is married owe is not a little l)o\' any more. I shall tell him that I want to be as other fellows are — like other married men. I shall live by my own work. Natasha says that's better than being sui)ported by other people, as fellows like myself usually are. Vou should just hear all the jolly things she tells me — things that I nc\er had any idea of before ; 1 wasn't brought \\\) to think like that. I know well enough, that 1 am an emply-heatled ' masher,' inca- pable of doing anything decently ; but two or three days ago I li.id a grand idea. Although this is not the most suitable moment jierlnjjs, I will tell you what it was; Natasha ought to know it to(;, of course ; and you can give me your advice about it. Here's the secret : i want to write novels for the papers, ju-.t as you do. You'll introduce me to the ])u1)lishers and |»eo])le, won't you ? 1 rely on you, )ou know. Last night I was thinking out a novel, and I think it may turn out a very pretty little work. 1 borrowed the plot from a comedy of Scribe's ; but I'll tell you all about it another time. Tiie principal thing is that it brings one in a good bit of money ; they do pay you for your writings, don't they ? '" I could not help bursting out laughing. "You laugh," he said, and he laughed hiiuself; " but you must not think 1 am just what I seem to be." He said this with the most inconceivable simplicity of expression. I assure 48 INJURY AND INSULT. you I have a considerable gift of observation. You'll see il yourself. So why shouldn't I try ? Who knows ? — per- haps — and yet »nr.y be you are right ; I may not have se.n real life, so Natasha and otiier people tell nie ; what sort of an author then would I make ? Laugh away, laui^h away, and put me right ! Do it for hep- sake ; for I know you love her ! To tullyou the truth. 1 am very far from worthy of her ; I feel it, and it weighs on me. I can't understand how I managed to inspire so much lovijas she has for me. I believe I would give my lifo for her. Up to the i)rescni I have had no fear whatever for the consequences of what we are doing ; but just now I feel alr.iid. ^VIlal are we doing ? Clood heavens ! is it possible that a man, devoted entirely to his duly, and determined to do it, should lack the firmness and knowledge of the world necessary to perform that duty ? Come to our aid, you, our only triend I As for me, 1 know nothing about anything. Forgive me coimf- ing on you like this ; I know you have a noble heart, and that you are a far better fellow tiian myselt, but you may re^t assured that I intend to become worthy of both vou and her." He pressed my hand again ; his face wore a look which C(^nve)'ed an idea of the gnindest and loftiest sentiments ; he g ive me his hand with such absolute confidence ; he was so sure of my friendship. "She'll hel[) me to get better," he went on. " Don't form too bad an opinicjn of us, and don't be down-hearted about us. I am full of hope ; and, as far as substantial cares go, we are as sate as possible If, for instance, my idea oi a novel does not work itself out, 1 can always give music lessons. I am not in the least bit ashamid (A living by the sweat of my brow, I have (|uile modern ideas on this point ; besides that, 1 have ijuantities of mcknacks that I can sell, and we can live on the jiroceeds for goodness knows how long. Then, if v e can't do anything else for a living, I can go into a (Government office ; my father has worried me to (Vi it (jllen, and would be delighted if 1 did. 1 have always told him that I was too delicate to work, up to now. W hen he sees that my marriage has im- pro\eil me, ami that I have turned more serious and settled, and that 1 have gone into the State harness, he will be delighted, and will forgue us at once." " JUit have you given a thought to what has taken place between your father and hers lately? lla\e you rellected on IN.IIRY AN!) INSULT. 49 ^vhat isfijoina; on this cvcnini,' at licr pirents' liousc?" I added. poiiuiiiL,' to Natasha, who waspa'eas death to hear what 1 said ; but I was pitiless. " \'ou are rit;ht," he saiil, " it is dreadful to tliink of — I hav.- tho\i-lit of it all ; I am (juite heart-t)roken ahout it. Rut what's to be done? If only they would forgive us! I love them so much, you know ; they have been real parents to nie, and this is how I am repaying them. Oh, these quarrels ! this lawsuit ! and what is it all about ? ^^'e love each other, and yet we must needs fight. If they would only he reconciled to one another! They really ought to, and then all these troubles would be at an end. Your words have a str.ingc effect on nie. Nat.isha, we realiy are doing a dreadful thing, you know. 1 told her so before. But it was you who insisted on doing it, Xat.isha. Look here, \ania, don't you think it ni.ay all turn out for the best? Of course, the old pco])le, our parents, must be reconciled some day ; and why should it not be wc who reconcile them? Tiicy will never be able to resist our love. You would never believe what a kind heart my father has sometimes. It you only knew how tenderly he spoke to me this morning, and how hard he tried to persuade me ! .\nd now 1 turn against him. like this, and all because of certain miserable misunderstandings! It is such folly; he would, only need to look at her, and to be with her half an hour, ami he w,)uld give his consent to anything she liked," he added, gazing at Natasha with a look full of tenderness and jxission. " I have told hmi a thousand times," he continued, beginning another rigmarole, " liow lie will love her as soon as he sees her, and how she will asty life was blasted ! I went back slowly by the. road we' came, to call on her poor old j^arcnts. I did not know, I never knew, h(Mv I got there, or what I told them ; my thoughts were numbed, my limbs seemed to quake and give way beneath me. There ends the history of my happiness, and the story of my love ! CHAPTER X. I^IVE days after the death of Smith, I was installed in his lodging. It was a day of misery for me; the weather was cold, and a mixture of snow and rain fell the whole day ; only in the evening the sun shone for a minute or two, and a tiny ray which had lost its way came and looked into my room, out of pure curiosity, no doubt. I had already begun to regret having taken this lodging ; the room was a large one, but so low and so smoky, and so stuffy and confined was the atmos- jihere, and it looked so horribly empty withal, in sjMte of my Ijits of furniture, tiiat I was cpiite out of conceit with it. I passed the morning putting my juipers in order, which papers I had brought over in a pillow-case because 1 had no portfolio. Alter arranging them 1 began to write, but my pen INHKV AND INSULT. 5 1 remained still, between my fingers — for my head was full of other things. I threw my |)cn down and went to the window ; it was hfj^inning to get dark, and my sorrows seemed to he on the increase. Disagreeable and painful thoughts kept assailing mc ; I felt that 1 should end by breaking down in this huge city. Spring was coming near ; oh. I thought, if only I could i^rt out of my shell, lure, and make my way somewhere and smell } the fresh air of the fields and wcods, which 1 have not seen for so long, I believe I might li\e again. How glorious it would be, I tliought, if by enchantment, or by some miracle, I could suddenly and entirely forget all I have gone through during the past few years, and with free and new lite-power begin all ovei again. If I could, I thought at last, I would go into a lunatic-asylum, and get my brain thoroughly cured and recast m a new way. I had a consuming thirst to live, and to believe in life. Here, in the middle of my metlitations, T Inirst out 'laughing. What shall 1 do, I thought, after I leave the lunatic-asylum ? Shall I set to and write some more novels ? . . I went on dreaming and bothering my head, and at last night came. I had jjrcjmised Natasha to go and see her this evening, she had begged me specially to come, by letter. I raised myself and prepared to go out. for 1 felt that I must gel away from this' wretched room' somehow or oiher. In proportion to the darkness that fell ujion the room, the latter seemed to grow vaster and vaster. I had the idea that 1 should see Smith eve'ry night — he would be here, sitting im- inov,il)le and staring at me, as he used to stare at the confec- ' tioner's, and Azor would come, too, and lie at his feet. 1 was in the midst of these fancies when something happened which made a great impression on me. 1 must admit, frankly, that whether it was my nerves were out of order, or whether the thing was caused liy the imi)res- sions to whicli this new lodging gave rise, or whether it was the spleen which, had been worrying me for some lime past, however it was, I had begun to fall gradually into that state of mind in which I often find myself just now (while 1 am lying ill, here, at the hospital) — a state of mind which might be described as mystical nervousness. It is a form of terror, the most grievous of all perhaps, but of a kind which I cannot describe, which I cannot quite recall when not present, which does not even exist under ordinary circumstances, but which E — 2 52 INJURY AND INSULT. may come on at any moment like a standing irony against all the arguments of reason. This form of terror arrays itself before lue as an incontestable fact, hideous and inexorable ; it de- velops more and more in the very teeth of all the testimony which cool judgment brings to bear against it ; so that at last the sjMrit, although it very likely will gain in keenness of vision at these moments, nevertheless loses all power to resist the sensations described. I was standing before the table, turning my back to the door, and was just going to get my hat, when the impression came over me suddenly, tliat the moment I turned round again I should see Smith ; he would open the door noiselessly ; would stoj) at the entrance and look round the room ; and then (juictly, and with his old head bent low, he would come and post him- self before me, and focus me with his vacant eyes; and would suddenly laugh a long laugh, in my very face, shaking his old body for a considerable time. 'l"he picture painted itself in my imagination with the most extraordinary vividness, while at the same time there came over me a feeling ot absolute cer- tainly that all this was really happening behind me, and that if I did not See it, ii was simi)ly because my back was turned, while the door seemed to have been opened. \\'hen I turned round a moment after, the door 7iV7.f just opening, noiselessly and slowly — exactly as I had imagined it ; I gaveacry.and for an instant or two nothing was to be seen ; it was just as if the door liad opened of itself; then, all of a sudden, an extraordinary creature apfieared at the threshold, and I caught sight of a pair of eyes which, so far as 1 could distinguish in the dusk, were staring at ine, I'lxed and motionless. An icy chilT pervaded my lunbs ; 1 distinguishetl with terror that it was the figure of a child— a lillle girl ; and if it had been Smith himseirajjpear- ing to me, the apparition would not have startled me so much as this sudden and unexpected apparition of an unknown child in my room at such an hour of tiie night. Slie opened the door slowly and (|uietly, as though she was afraid to come in. She stopped at the tlireshold and stared at me as though stupefied, then she took a couple of steps towards me and stood in front ot me, without having saiil a word as yet. 1 observed her more closely ; she was a little girl of twelve or tiiirteen, thin and very pale, just as though she had lately recovered from some illness ; her large black eyes shone, too, with die sort of light that illness gives. With her left hand she INJURY AND INSULT. 53 licld the end of an old torn kerchief wliirh covered her l)osoni, and she was trein'nliny witli the cold wliich j^revailed out of doors. Her clothes were nothing' l)Ut tatters ; her black hair was neglected and (.hshevelled. We stood and stared at each other for some minutes, "Where is grandpapa?" she asked at lengtii. Her voice was hoarse and weak, just as though her chest and throat were affected. My "mystical nervousness" vanished with her ([uestion. Smitli was being asked for ; here were traces of hun turning up in this most unexpected fashion. " Vour grandpapa ?" 1 answered, rather abruptly, — " but he's dead ! " 1 had answered without reflection, and was sorry for it immediately afterwards. She stood nearly a minute in the same position that she was in before, and then suddenly began to tremble to such an extent that I thought she was going to have a nervous attack ; 1 hastened to support her, for fear she should fall. She seemed to feel better in a few moments, and 1 could see thai she was making superhuman eflorts to master lier emotion. '* Forgive me, forgive me, little one ; forgive me, my child ! I told you too suddenly, perhaps it was not your gran(lpai)a alter all. l'o(>r little w(.;man ; tell me whom you are looking for. J-. it the old man who used to live here ? " " \'es," slie murmured, with dilficulty, and looking at me anxiously. " Was his name Smith ? " " Ves." "'i'hen I'm afraid it was indeed your grandpapa ; yes, he is • lead ; but you mustn't cry, little one ! Tell me, why didn't vou come sooner ? Where have you come from now? He was buried yesterday — he died (luite suddenly. Are you his grand-daughter ? " She did not answer my rapid, incoherent (juestions ; but went back softly to the door, and glided out without a word. I was so astonished that I did nothing to retain her ; but she stopped a moment on the threshold, and, turning half low-ards me and half away, she asked — "Is Azorka dead too ? " " Yes, he's dead too," I said, surprised at the unexpected question. It seemed as though she supposeil that the old dog must, of necessity, liave died at the same time as his master. 54 INJURY AND INSULT. Then she went out, and closed the door behind her. A moment after I darted out in pursuit, very angry with my- self lor allowing her to go. She had glided away so quietly that I had not heard the door open — the outer door leading to the main staircase. "She has not had time to get down yet," I thought, and I stood and listened on the landing. But all was silence, there was no sound of any kind to be heard ; the door of a lodging lower down was closed, and again silence prevailed. I ran down ; the stair Irom my lodging down to the fourth story was a winding one, but thence to the bottom it was .straight ; it was a dirty, dark, sombre, old staircase, one of those okl-fashioned ones that one finds frcciiiently in those large St. Petersburg houses which are divided into numerous small lodgings. At this time of the day, or night, the most absolute darkness prevailed ; I ran down to the fourth story, and then it siiuik me ihat somebody was iliere, close to me on the landing, hilling. I groj)ed about looking for her, and sure enough tliere she was, with her little face hidden up against the wall, crying quietly. "Why are you frightened?" I asked her. "I'm afraid I startled you ; it was wrong of me. Your grandpajja spoke of you when he was dying, his last words were about you. 'I'here are two books here, his no doubt. \\'hat is your name? \Vhere do you live? He said )ou lived in the Sixth Line — " But 1 never finished my sentence. Siie gave a sudden cry, evidently drawn from her by the idea that I knew where she lived ; gave me a push back with her thin white hand, and rushed downstairs. 1 followed her. 1 heard the Sound of her flying Steps, it ceased suddenly, and when I reached the bottom she was gone. I went to the end of our street after her, but all in vain. " She'll be hiding somewhere on the stairs," I said to myself. CHAPTER XI. SUDDENLY 1 brushed up agains*^ someone who was passing ; he was walking quickly with his head bent down, and was plunged in thought. My astonishment was INJURY AND INSULT. 55 great when I recognised Iknienief. This was evidently an evening of unexpected encounters for mc. Iknienief had been taken ill tiiree days before, seriously ill, and suddenly i meet him in the street in tliis detestable weather ; and he a man, too, who never, or scarcely ever, went out of an evening, and who had become still more of a stay-at-home since Natasha went away. He seemed like a man tired of his own company, who had gone out on purpose to exchange ideas with a frien'i, and appeared to be more ihan usually pleased to see me. He took my hand and jiressed it warmly, and then drew me with him in the direction he was taking, and did not even ask me which way I was going. He had a hurried, impetuous air. ** Where could he have been goingto ?" I thouglu. It was quite useless, worse than use- less, to ask nim, because he had grown so irritable of late, and so apt to see odensive allusion or insult in the most ordinary questions or remarks addressed to him. I looked at him stealthily. He had grown very thin, he was unshaven, and there was a sickly look on his face ; his hair, which had become (juitegrey, escaped from under his worn hat, and hung down over the collar of his old overcoat in long wisps I have already described the old man's liability to fits of absence of mind. He would sometimes forget that he was alone in the room, and would begin talking and gesticulating with his hands. It was a jjainful sort of thing to witness. " Wiiere were you off to.'" he asked. "I was just out on business," he continued. "And how are you getting on; better ? " " Surely I ought to ask after >'<'//'■ health," I said. " You were quite ill a day or two ago, and here you are up and out." He did not reply, and did not even ap()ear to have heard what I said. " How is Anna ;\ndrecvna ? " I asked. " She's all right, she's all right, though she is a little indis- ix)sed, too. She is so do7i'», altogether low. She has often spoken about you, and wants to know why you never come to sec us. Perhaps you are on your way to our house now ? " No? I am keeping you, perhaps. Am I taking you out of your way ?" He said all this looking at me distrustfully. I hastened to assure him that I was just on my way to pay Anna Andreevna a visit, although I felt that this would make it too late for mi.^ to go and see Natasha. 56 INJURY AND INSULT. " That's all right, that's verv nice," he said, evidently tran- (luilliscd by my answer ; after which he was silent, and walked pensively on. " Yes, that's very nice," he repeated mechanically a few minutes later, as though waking up from a deep reverie. " Vania, dear boy," he went on, "you have always been like a son to us. Ciod did not give us a son, but he sent you instead. I have always felt that, and so has my old wife ; and you have always been so respectful and gentle towards us both, just like a good, dutiful son. (iod bless you for it, dear \';inia. May He bless you and love you as we two old folks do." His voice treml)led as he spoke ; then he was silent for a minute. " Have you been ill, \'dnia ?" he went on. " Why have you been so long without coming to see us?" 1 told Jiiin tiie story of old Smith, and exjjlained that all this had prevented my coming. I added that J liad been very near having a serious illness, and that all the bustle I had been in had made it impossible for me to get to Vassili Ostrof (where he lived). I very nearly let out that I had been to see Natasha, in spite ol all the illness and bustle which 1 had put forward by way of excuse a moment ago; but, luckily, I stopped myself in time. The story of Smith interested him very much. He followed my narrative with keen attention. When he heard that my new loilging was dam])— a worse lodging even than my last one, and thai 1 paid si\ roubles a month for it, he llared up. He had become so irritable and impatient, his wife was the only i)erson who could calm him in moments of anger, and she did not always succeeil of late. " There, it's that literature of yours," he cried, with warmth. '* It's brought you to the garret, and it will take you to the graveyard. I told you it would, 1 jiredicted it ! What is \\ doing, leviewing as u^ual ? " " Dead of phthisis. 1 thought 1 had told you some time ago !" " He's dead, is he ? Dead ! of course, so it was sure to be ! Has he left ap.ything for his widow and children to live on ? I think you said he was married. Why do these sort of peojjle marry ?" " He did not leave a farthing," I said. "There you aie !" he cried, with so nnich irritation and e\- ( itement that v,e might have been discussing a near relation of his, or his own brother. INJIRY AND INSULT. 57 " You see, Vdnia. I told you it would end like this. Not left a farthing ! it's easy enough to say that! Well, and iiis fame ! He may have gained undying fame, but that won't satisfy their stomaclis. And you, too, Winia, dear boy, 1 told you how it would be. I praise 1 you up, I kiiow ; but 1 felt all along how it would be. So he's dead ! And wiiy siiouUln't one die, after all. IaU: is very lovely, isn't it ? this mortal habitation is so very delightful ! Look there ! " .And, with an -.nvoiuntary, abrupt gesture of the hand, he drew attention to the foggy street, badly lighted with lamps wliieh were ([uiie lost in the dam|) mist ; the dirty houses ; the i wet stones of the pavement, shining in the lamplight ; the miser- able looking passers by, sullen and drenched with the rain ; the whole {)ictare consistently crowmd with the sombre St. Petersburg sky. that looked as though it had sucked itself lull of Indian ink. We reached th.e ojien scjuare. Picfore us toweicd, in the darkness, the statue of the Emperor Nicholas, lighted up from behind by jets of gas ; and further on, in the rear of the statue, rose the immense mass of the St. Isaac's Cathedral, which seemed to be shapeless, e.vccpt where it gained a vague outline against the dark background of the sky. " \()u told me, Vania, that he was a good, generous, sympa- thetic, sensible, kindliearled man. Now, let me tell you, all your sympatlietic, kiml-heailed fellows are like this ; all that they do is to multiply orphans — that's what it is. IJah ! one ought to be content to die ; eh ? so one ought. Anything to get out of this. (Jo anywhere, even to Siberia ; it couldn't be worse. What do you want, little one? " he asked suddenly, seeing a little child on the pavement begging. She was a child, of seven or eight years old at most, dressed in tatters ; her little stockingless feet were encased in old, lorn slijjpers, and she tried hard to cover her poor little shivering body with the semblance of an old dress, (piile shai)e- less, and evidently grown out of long ago. Her thin face, pale and sickly-locking, was turned towards us, and she was looking at us silently and anxiously, while she held out her little trem- bling hand, afraid of, and yet evidently resigned to, a refusal of the alms she sought. The old man, on seeing her, was seized with such a fit of trembling, and turned round so quickly towards her, that he frightened her. She shivered, and moved a step further from hiin. 58 INJURY AND INSULT. " Don't be afraid, little one," he said. " You want alms, do you? \Nait a minute, then. Here ! " And, trembling with emotion, he felt about in his pockets, and brought out two or three pieces of money ; however, when he had given it, it seemed too little to him, I suppose, for he jJuUed out his purse and gave her a rouble-note, which was all there was in it. " May the Lord Jesus guard you, little one, and God's angels protect you ! " and with his trembling old hand he made the sign of the cross several times over the little beggar-maid ; but suddenly, obser\ing that 1 was there, and that I was looking at him, he frowned, and went on, with long strides, down the street. " Look you, Vdnia," he said at last, after an angry pause, *' I can't bear to see innocent little things like that starving in the streets, through the fault of their cursed fathers and mothers. And yet I don't believe any mother would send a little child like that on such a miserable errand, unless she were herself hopelessly wretched ; probably, she has several more little oi[jhans stowed away in some corner. This one is the eldest, no doubt ; she herself — the old mother^ — is ill ; and, well, they are not ciiikhen of a prince, you see. There are lots of children in the world, \'ania, who are not prince's brats." He was silent for a few moments. "You see, Vania," he said, evidently rather embarrassed and confused, "you see I have i)romised my wife — or, I should say, we have decided, she and 1 — to adopt a little orjihan girl, the first that l\i])pens to come across us ; she must be poor, of course, and cpiite young. We are so dull, we two old people, li\ing all alone like this ; but she has begun, now, to put diffi- culties in tile way. Do talk to her about it, Vdnia. Pretend it's your own idea, and that I had nothing to do with it. Reason with her, you understand. I've long wanted to ask you to do this for me, it's so painful for me to do it myself, and why should I, after all ? What have I got to do with little orphan cliildren? I have no need of any children ; it would only be for tlic sake of liearing a child's voice now and tlicn, and just for the old wife, to distract her a little. But we shall never get home at this rale; let's take a droshky ; she's probably waiting impaticiitly." It was hall-past seven when we arrived. INJURY AND INSULT. ' 59 CHAPTER XII. -^y^HK IkiiK-nicfs wore very fond of each other ; long-existing [^ custom liad bound the old couple very close to one another. This fact, however, did not prevent the old gentle- man from being, at times, slightly undemonstrative in his manner towards his wife, amounting occasionally almost to rudeness. Some delicate, sensitive natures arc full of a fine reserve, which prevents their giving scope to the feelings which they entertain towards those they love — not only in public, but also, and perhaps even more so, in private. Such was old Ikmenief in relation to his wife ; he esteemed and loved her, although she iiad not a single merit excepting that of being j^ihh/, and although 3hc knew notiiing whatever, excepting how to love him, and although her love for him was sometimes, out of pure simplicity, a little too demonstrative. Their affeciior. for each other had increased since Nat;isha's departure. The feeling that ttiey were (juite alone now weighed on them, and, in spite of moments when the old man was morose and low-spirited, they did not like leaving each other, and could not do so even for a few hours without pain and grief. They seemed to have made a tacit agreement never to men- tion their daughter. The old mother did not dare even allude to her in tlie presence of her husband, although this reticence was most painful to herself. She had long since forgiven Natdsha ; and we had a sort of private convention that at e.-^-h visit I should give her some news al)Out her dear daughter, who was always present to her thoughts. She became ill if 1 kept her without news for any time ; and when I brought her news, she interested herself in worrying every little detail out of me — • questioning me in a feverish, excited manner. My report always soothed her. She nearly died of fright one day when Natdsha fell ill, and v.-as as near as possible going to see her. There were days when she was wretchedly low, would weej), and call her daughter evci/ affectionate name she could think of, and would talk bitterly of her old husband. Then she wouki speak of cruelty and hardness of heart, in his presence^ and even went so far as to hint that God would never pardon 60 INJURY AND INSULT. those who could not themselves forgive others. Nearer Ihau tliis to a direct allusion, she never dared go. At such moments the old man used to become sad and depressed. He frowned and said nothing, or else changed the subject, or at other tunes he got up and left us, and went to his own roon^., so that the old lady was at liberty to ease her sorrow in tears and lamentations. He used to leave us alone together whenever I came ; indeed, he hardly gave himself time to greet me before he was out of the room, so that I might be able to plunge straight into my story of Natasha and her doings for his old wife's benefit. He did the same this evening, as usual. " I am soaked," he said, the moment we got in, " 1 must go to my rooin fur a sliorl wliilc ; sit down Vunia. He'll tell you all al)uut something Jiat hapi^encd in connection with his new lodging," he added to his wife. " I'll be back in a few minutes." He left the room i)reci[)itately, with a sort of false shame to have allowed us to be in cunfidenlial couununieation about Nat;'isha, and evidently feeling put out by his own want of firmness, and by his cu^descen^5iun. " That's what he always does," said i)oor Anna Andn'-evna, " and he knows (juile well, the whole time, that we see through it. Why sliouKl he di^^semble with us so? I am not a stranger to him. And my Natasha — he might torgive her, perhaps lie would like lo forgive her. (lod alone can read his thoughts. 1 hear him crymg at night, and yet when he is not alone he is marble; [jride seems to get the entire mastery over him. 'J'ell me now, tpiick, where was he coming iVom ? " *' 1 was just going to ask you the same cpiestion. " " 1 was alarmed when 1 saw him go out on such an evening. He must have something very imi)ortant — and )et, what coula behave to do? 1 am afraid, 1 daren't ask him. 1 live in perpetual uay-ilreams for her and him. 1 say to myself, per- iiaps he has gone to see her; perhaps he has resolved to pardon her. He kpows everything about her ; even the latest details. H(AV does he get his knowledge? 1 cannot make it out. Yesterday and to-day he has been worrying himself about something. You don't speak. Has anything hajjpened yit down there? 1 have been wailing for you, as for the Messiah. Tell me nov,', does that scoundrel intend to abandon Natasha ? '' I told lu;r all 1 knew with the frankness which I always assumed for her ; 1 told her that there i>.>as something stiniug INJl'KY AND INSULT. 6l which looked rather hkc a rupture, niid that ilicrc had been soino rather niore serious differences of opinion than heretofore, anil tliat Natasha had written, beg^'ini; nic to see her on this particular evening, so that, I added, I should not have come to sec her (Madame IkmenieQ to-night, hut tliat iier husband dragL,'ed me in. 1 explained to her that the situation had grown very critical. The prince had returned from atrip abroad and had taken his son seriously in hand, atul the latter now seemed to ha\e less aversion to his wife-designate, it was even said that he was bcLiinning to fall in love with her. Natdsha had written in a state of extreme agitation ; she had told me that this even- ing would decide everything. What did that mean ? 1 had no idea ; but anyhow I must make a point of being with her at the hour appointed, and there was no time to lose. " do, go, by all means, dear Vania. \'es, you must go un- doubtedly ; but take a cup of tea before he comes back, I wish tliey"d bring in the hot water. Matreona ! let us have the tea- urn, quick. What a slow-coach the girl is ! So that's settled : you'll just take a cup of tea, and then make some excuse to him, and go ; and come early to morrow and tell me all about it. Gracious heaven ! if any new misfortune has hapi)ened to my darling! My husband knows every little detail that goes on ; 1 am sure of it. To-day he is in a bad humour ; he has been cross with me and scolded me. After dinner be went into his room, to rest, nominally ; but F saw hiiu, through the key-hole, praying on his knees before the ikon."^' After tea, instead of liaving his na|), as usual, he took his hat and went out. J did not dare ask him where he was going to, he would have begun scolding at me ; he often does scold nowa-days — sometimes he flies out at Matreona, and sometimes at me. When he begins to shout at me I always feel my limbs cjuake beneath me, and my heart seems to feel as though it were being torn out by the roots. Could you let me see what Natdsha writes ? " I showed her the note. The j)Oor old thing had a con- viction, which she cherished secretly deep down in her heart. It was that Aleosha — whom she never failed to refer to as that scoundrel, tliat heartless wretch, that idiot of a boy, and so on — would finish by marrying Natdsha, and that the old prince would give his consent to the union. * A picture of a s&int, generally painted on vood, and hung in the corner of each room in • Kusiian l-ouie. 62 INJURY AND INSULT. She had betrayed the existence of this idea before me on several occasions ; but she would not, for the world, have i)ut the thought into words in her husband's presence. lie would have cursed Nai.lsha, 1 think ; and would have banished her from his heart for ever from the moment he thought such a union possible. We all recognised this : that he was ever waiting for her, that his soul longed for her ; but that he would expect her to come alone, penitent, and having torn the very memory of her lover out of her heart — these were the absolute conditions of his pardon. "This miserable boy has no more character than lieart ; I have always said so," said Anna Andreevna. *' They have brought him up badly ; they've made a ne'er-do-weel of him. He is going to abandon her ; I see it. \\'hat will become of the i^oor darling ? and what can he have found so extra- ordinarily fascinating about this other girl? It's astonishing 1 '' " They say she is a charming girl," I said ; " and Natdsha herself says — " " Charming ! You scribblers find every woman that comes near you ch(tr>/ii/i^i^\ And if Natasha really says so, it-is pure nubility of soul on her part. She gives up everything to him ; and how many times has he l)etrayed her — the scoundrel, the heartless villain that he is ! I am simply appalled when I see the pride of some people. If only my old man would con- (juer this resentment ; if he would pardon her, my darling ! if he would bring her back to me, how 1 would kiss her, how 1 would gaze at the darling ! Tell me, is she very thin ? " " She is, rather." "Poor little victim! Oh, Vania, 1 am so unhappy; day and night 1 do nothing but cry — I'll tell you all about it another time ; and a thousand times 1 have been on the i)oint of begging him to forgive her, but my heart always fails me, when 1 reflect that he might get angry and curse her. Tiiat would be too dreadful ! God always chastises any child cursed by its parents. Constant quaking and trembling, that's what my life is ! and you, who grew up in our house, and never knew anything but kindness and caresses at our hands, how comes it that you can think her charming — this other woman ? 1 know the real facts of the case. A relative of our Matreona is a servant at the prince's house, and has told me all the ins and outs of the story. The prince has had intimate acquaintance with a certain countess, who has long INJURY AND INSULT. 63 tried to get liim to marry her; hut he has always nianapcd to kcc]) out of this marriage, 'liiis countct^s had made herself (lisurai efully consincuous by her way of behaving, even during lier husband's life ; and when she became a widow she went aliroad. The French and Italians had to look out for them- selves when she was among them. They say she had several l)arons hanging to her skirts over there, and that it was there she hooked the prince, Alcdsha's father. The countess has a step-daughter, a child of her husband's by a former marriage ; and, while »he mother wasted her share of the fortune, the step-daughter's two million roubles, which her father, a brandy monopolist, left her, went on increasing while the girl grew up. "They say thac she has Uiree millions now, and the old prince, who is no fooi, says to himself, 'She shall marry Aledsha.' He is not the sort of man to let such an opportunity escape. One of his relatioiis, a count and a high lunclionary, ([uite agrees with him as to the expediency of the step. ' Three millions!' he says. ' It's not a thing to be sneezed at. Go to the countess, and see what she has to say.' But the countess won't hear of it, and fights hands and feet against it. She sicms to be a very unj)nnci])led woman, this countess, and a cool hand, too. She is not received in society here ; she may be received abroad, but that's quite a different thing. ' Oh, dear, no ! ' she says to the i)rince. ' Vou shall marry me, if you like ; but Aleosha is not going to marry my step-daughter.' As for the girl, 1 hear she loves this step-mother, and obeys her, too, in everything ; they say she's an angel of sweetness. 'Countess,' says the prince, 'be calm; you have eaten up your fortune and are loaded with debt I If Aledsha marries your step-daugliler, it will be a very well-assorted match. Your daughter is an innocent little thing, and my son is a great booby ; we'll take them under our tuition and n-.anage their affairs for them, and you shall not want cash. But as for marrying you ; what's the use of that ? ' The ])rince is as sly as a fox. For six months the countess would not consent ;. but now they say that she and he have been to Warsaw together for a trip, and have coine back in perfect harmony as to the matter in dispute. 1 have it on first rate authority." All this was in strict conformity with what Aledsha had told me ; swearing by all liis saints that he would never marry for money. And now it seemed that the charms of this Catherine Feodorovna were seducing him ! He was quite aware, too, that 64 INJURY AND INSULT. the reports of his father's intention to marry again were true enough, although the prince denied them so as not to irritate the countess just at present. Aleosha was very fond of his fatlier, and beUeved in him Hke an oracle. "She is not a countess, you know -this girl whom you were pleased to tell me was so c'/iarmini^," continued the good old lady, still irritated witii this word of praise which I had bestowed upon Aleosha's betrothed. " Natasha would be a nnu h better match for him ; she is of noble blood— the old nobility, and the other girl is nothing higher than the daughter of a brandy-farmer. Yesterday evening— I forgot to tell you this— my husband was rummaging among our old papers and documents ; he had opened the old desk in which he keeps them. He was sitting there, very serious ; I didn't dare look at him, and ho noticed that I didn't say anything, which made him cross, nnd he called me up to him and explained all about our -enealogy. Well, you must know the Ikmeniefs' titles of nobility date from the reign of Ivan the Terrible, and the Shoiuniloffs were known as early as the time of Alexis Michailo- vilih. W'e have all the documents in our possession, and Karam- sine mentions us in his history. So you see, my dear boy, we are as good as our neighbours. 1 don't (piite understand why he t(jok the trouble of explaining all this to me; probably he went through it all because he felt hurt at their contempt for Natasha. They cannot crow over its tor all that, except for their money ! How this brigand of a ])rince runs after the money — the heartless, greedy villain that he is ; everybody knows it! Tht-y say that he became a Jesuit at Warsaw, secretlv : is it true ? " ^ " All absurdity," I replied, rather struck with the remark, however. I!ut what did strike me as very strange was that Ikmenief had gone over his genealogical documents. He had never before this seemed to take any glory in his descent. "They are all a set of villains and monsters," she went on. " Now tell me, what does my darling do with herself? Is she very dull, does she cry much ? Oh, its time for you to go and see her. IMatreona ! Matreona ! What a maid that is ! Tell me, Vunia, are they ever insolent to my little one?" What could I say? .She began crying again ; and I asked her what was the new misfortune she liad alluded to a few minutes before. INJURY AND INSULT. 65 "All, my denr V;\nia, I am not it the end of my troubles \ct," she sobbed. "1 had a gold locket witli the portrait of my Natasha as a little ciiild ; she was eight years old then, the little darling! A wandering artist did it ; he was a good portrait painter ; he represented her as Love, with pretty shiny iiair, all curly, and a little muslin chemise on, which showed her ik-ar little figure through. She was go j)retty— so pretty that one could never look enough at her. I wanted him to i)ut a pair of little wings on to th.e picture of her, but he wouldn't. Well, dear, after all these troubles which we have had, I took this locket out of the case and wore it on my neck, with my cross, and I was dreadfully afraid that my husband would see it, for you know he has thrown away or burnt everything of hors that remained behind. I could at least look at her portrait, and cry o>er it, and that was a comfort to me. When I was alone I used to talk to it. I used to bless it at night, before sleeping. I asked it cjuestions, and it seemed to answer nie. I was so glad that he knew nothing about it ; and then, yesterday morning, the locket was gone ! My heart froze when I saw that it was no longer there. I searched, and searched, and searched — lost. comi)lctely lost ! ^Vhcre could it have gone to? I've looked everywhere ; someone must have found it, but who could have found it, unless Matreona or //<• ? And it was not Matreona. She would have given it back to me. She is devoted to me, soul and body. Matreona ! do bring that tea-urn. "Then I said tomyself, 'If//rhas found it, what will become of 'i\V .\nd I sat and moped and cried here, and could not stop my tears anyhow. As for him, he was kind and caressing, and he looked at me sadly, as though he knew well enough what I was crying about, and as though he was sorry for mc. It was he who found the locket, and he has destroyed it ; he is fjuite capable of doing so when he is angry, and now he is sorry that he did it. I cried all night about my locket. I'm sure this jiortends some new calamity. The fact is, I do nothing (^/// weep ; and I have been waiting and longing to sec you, deai, good Viinia, as though you were an angel of God come to comfort my poor old heart." She sobbed, and went on : "I wanted to ask you something more. Did he tell you that he wanted to adopt a little girl ? " " Yes, he did speak about it. He said that you and he had decided upon it."' 66 INJURY AND INSULT. " I don't dream of any such thing, my dear boy ; it would only remind me of our grief. Unless I can have my Natdsha, I want nobody. I have only had one daughter, and I will not have another. Where did he get such an idea from? Perhaps he thinks that it •.vouUl console me, because he sees that I cry a good deal ; or, does he want to banish the memory of his dau,<;hter utterly from his heart, by attaching himself to another child? Did ;he talk to you about me ? Was he cross and nioody ? Husli ! here he comes. You can tell me another time ; and above a'l don't forget to rome to-morrow." CHAPTER XIII. IKMENIEF r.ame in. He scrutinised us closely as he sat down. "And the teaurn," he asked. " Why haven't they brought it?" "It's just coming, just coming, dear," Anna Andr«Sevna hastened to reply. Matreona no sooner saw Ikmenief than she appeared with the tea-urn, just as though she had waited for him before she would bring it. She was an old servant, tried and devoted, but he most inveterate old grumbler in the world. " H'm ! it's not very pleasant to come in soaked ; and some people don't wish to get one's tea ready for one," growled the old man. His wife looked at me significantly. Ikmenief hated this sort of private eye-signalling ; and, although he pretended not to be noticing, his ex[)ression showed that he had observed the look she gave me. •♦ 1 was out on business, V.inia," he said, quite suddenly. " It's a shameful thing ; I am k,)sing my case all down the line. 1 have got no jjrools, yon see ; 1 ouglit to have some papers whi( h J can't get hold of '{"he empiiry was made unjustly, and in a partial way. Ah ! " He w.is talking al)out the lawsuit. Not knowing what to say, I held my peace, wliile he .stared at me deliantly. INJURY ANtl INSULT. 6j •* Bah! '' he cried siRlJenly, as though irritated by our silcnrc, " the sooner tiie belter ! They can condemn me as much as they hke, but they can't make mc a dislioncst man. My conscience is on my side. Let them condemn me as much as they hke. At le.Tst, it will be the end of it. When they have ruined me, tliey will leave me in peace. I shall let everything go, and move to .Siberia." "("rood heavens ! W/icre does he want to go to ; why so far off?" the old lady could not help crying. "What do wc giin by being nearer here?" he replied rudely, and as if he thought that he had been given his cue. " Well, there arc people—" Anna Andreevna began, looking at me very anxiously. " What sort of people ? " cried the old man, looking at us angrily, one after die othcr,"thieves, calumniators, and Judases ? There arc plenty of them everywhere, you needn't lie afraid. However, if you don't wish to go with me, you can stay. I don't force you to go." " But, Nicholas, my dear," said the poor old woman, " wliy should I stay without you; you know that 1 Iiaven't a soul besides you in the world." She became much confused, and looked at mc entreatingly, as though begging for help ; but the old man was irritated, anything and e\erything angered him just now ; there was no use in saying an\ thing to /ii»i. " Calm yourse'f, .\nna Andreevna," I said. " It's not half so bad in Siberia as people think. Should any misfortune over- take you, so that you are obliged to sell your ])roperty, Nicholas Sergeevitch's idea is a capital one. He would easily find a good place in Siberia, and — " " There, that's what I call sense ! That's just as I think. I shall leave everything and be off! " *' Well, I never expected that of you," cried poor Anna Andreevna, clasping her hands in despair. " Nor of you, Vdnia, cither ; you have never had anything but kindness from us, and now you — " ** Well, and what else arc we to do ? What arc wc to live on here ? Think of that a little ! Our money is all spent, wc are at our lust copecks ! Perhaps you would advise me to go to the prince, Peter Alexandrovitch, and beg his pardon." On hearing the prince's name the good old lady began to tremble with fear, her spoon slipped out of her hand and fell into the saucer with a loud clatter. F— 2 68 INJURY AND [NSULT. "Thai's a very good idea," continued Ikmfnitf, huRging himself with a mischievous joy. " What do you think, Vdnia ? Don't you think I'd better go to him? Why should I set out for Siberia ? I must get myself nicely dressed to-morrow, and triunned and curled ; Anna Andreevna shall find a clean shirt for me — one wants that to pay a visit to such a great man. I'll buy a jiair of gloves, so as to be in the most correct fashion, and I'll go thus into the presence of his high mightiness. * My lord,' I'll .say, * your excellency ! my benefactor, my father ! pardon and pity ! (live me a bit of bread ! 1 have a wife and children — small children !' "Is that the way to do it, Anna Andreevna ? Is that what you wish mc to do ? " *' I don't wish anything of the sort, my dear. All I did was to speak— foolishly, without thinking ; that's all. Forgive me if I i)ained you ; but don't scold me, dear," she said, [iiteously. 1 am ceitain that his heart was rent at sight of the tears and alarm of his poor old wife, and that he suffered as much as, and perhaps more than she did ; but he was beside himself. One often sees this in kind and nervcnis natures. In spite of all iheir kindness of heart, they alUnv themselves, sometimes, to be carried away so far as to find enjoyment in their niviments of atiliction and anger, which 20HI out at all costs, even in giving offence to some perfectly innocent being, and especially to those nearest and dearest to them. Women very often feel the need of imagining themselves miscral)le or offended, when neither misery nor offence exists. Many men resemble women in this peculiarity, and men who are decidedly //^i/ of weak character. Old Iknienief felt the need of (juarrelling, although he himself suffered in hatching the (piarrel. Tue idea struck me at this moment, that he might really h.ive made some sort of attempt of the nature suspected l)y Anna Amlreevna. Perhaps (lod had |)Ut a good thought into his head, and lie had set out to go and see Natdsha, but had changed his mind on the way, or something or other had diverted him from his purpose ; and he returned home irritated, wounded, ashauK-d of his late sentiment, and looking about ■for someone on whom he might vent the anger which his own weakness had aroused, and choosing precisely that person who, lie susi)ected, held the same views. INJURY AND INSULT. 69 IVrliaps, when desiring to forgive his daiiglitcr, lie bad pictured to himself very accurately the ecstasy of joy into which his forgiveness of Natasha would throw the poor old mother ; and therefore, in face of a check, she was naturally the fir^t to suffer hy it. However, iie was touched just now to sec her trembling there before hii.i, and frightened at his violence. He was ashamed of his anger, and for an instant lie restrained him- self W'c were all silent. I avoiiled catching his eye. Ikit the peace was a very short one. The storm had to burst. An explosion of some kind was absolutely necessary. iVrliajis it would be a curse. " Look here," he said to me, suddenly; "I would rather not have done it, and 1 am sorry to bo obliged to do it ; but the time is come when I must explain myself o[)enly — without any heating about the bush — as every honest man should, you understaiid. I atii very glad you are here, because 1 am goi: g to say oul loud, and in your presence, so that flthers may he ir and take a note of it, that all this nonsense, this crymg, and these ^ighings and lamentations, are beginning to pall upon mc. ^^'hat I tore out (jf my heart, lacerating myself and bleeding to death, almost, in the jirocess, will never ha\c j)lace theie again. What I have said, I will do. I am talking of what happened six months ago, you understand ; antl I do so thus plainly so that you should have no excuse for misvm- derstanding the sense of my words.'' He said this turning his bloodshot eyes on me and avoid- ing the looks of his frightened wife. " I want to have no more of these absurdities. What makes me wild is that some people take me for a fool and a coward, and attribute to mc weakness and baseness which are not in my nature; the fact is, they think I am mad with grief. It's ixbsurd. I have uprooted all my old sentiments out of my heart. I have forgotten them. 'i"he memory of them does not exist, so far as I am concerned. It's gone, gone j I have forgotten it." He rose up and banged his fist on the table. "Oh> Nicholas Sergeevitch, do have some pity on Anna Andreevna," I cried indignantly. " See what a state you have brought her to," but it was pouring oil on to the fire. " I'ily 1" he cried trembling with rage, " has she any for me ? No, nol No pity when plots are being hatched at my own yo INJURY AND INSULT. fireside against mc, and in favour of a depraved daughter, who deserves every kind of punishment and curse that can be inflicted upon her." "Oh, Nicholas, dear Nicholas, don't curse her! anything, anything but t^iat ; don't curse your daughter, Nicholas 1 " cried the poor niotluT. " I do curse her," repeated the old man speaking louder and louder, " I curse her, because I, I who am the sinned against, the olTendcd, the outraged, am expected to go and ask pardon of this cursed girl. Oh, yes, that's what it amounts to ! That's what I am tormented to do day and night in my own house, by these cryings and moanings and lamentations and silly allusions. It is thought to soften my heart in that way, and to make me pitiful, look Ivjre, Vdnia, look here ! " he went on, dragging out of his pocket, hurriedly and with trembling fingers, a bundle of papers, " these are the copies of my lawsuit papers, the result of them is that I am a swindler and a thief, and that I robbed my benefa( tor. I am dishonoured, I am disgraced, and all because of her ; wait, look here, look ! " and he threw the papers about over the table. In his fren/y he seized everything that there was to seize in his pocket, and suddenly something noisy and heavy fell on to the table. Anna Andreevna gave a cry. It was the lost locket. 1 could hardly believe my eyes. The old man blushed to the roots of his hair and shook all over. His wife stood before him with hands clasped together, and a supplicating expression on her face. Her eyes wore a happy radiant look of hope. This blushing and confusion of the old man, what did it signify ? It meant that she was not mistaken in her idea that he slill loved his daughter. She knew now how the locket had disapi)eared. She understood now that he had found it and rejoiceil to find it, and, perhaps, trembling with joyous excite- ment had hidden it away somewhere about him, safe from all other eyes ; that alone, somewhere or other, he had gazed at his belo\ed daugluer's face, gazed and gazed very likely, and could not gaze enough ! That, perhaps, he had shut him- self up, as she, the i)oor mother, had done, and, out of hearing of every «ne, liad talked to his dear Naldsha's portrait, and invented iniaginary rei)lies ; and that at night he had very likely soothed his poor old tormented and tortured heart by caressing and kissir.g the dear imrge, his breast heaving with sobs, and INJURY AND INSUI.r. 7! that instead of curses, he had heaped forgiveness and a father's blessiny on her whom lie professed to loathe and to curse before otliers. " iMy dear old husband," cried Anna Andreevna, "so you dti love her still ! " she rould not contain herself any Ioniser, although lie had cvnsed Natasha in his fury a nu)Uient before. Hut no sooner did he hear her words than a wild rage lit up his eyes. He caught up the locket, threw it violently to the ground, and stamped on it witli his foot. " 1 curs'j you, 1 curse you," he cried hoarsely, '* for ever, yes, for ever ! " " Her, her ! my Natasha, my darling girl ! " shrieked the old woman, " her little face —he is crushing it underfoot, underfoot, the tyrant ! Unfeeling monster ! Demon of pride that you are ! " Ikmenief no sooner heard his wife's cry than he paused; he was sorry for what he had done. Catching up the locket, he rushed out of the room, but, before he had taken two steps, he fell on his knees, and seizing the arm of a sofa which stood near him, bowed his old head upon it, as if his strength were utterly spent. He sobbed like a child, like a woman ; his sobs tightened his breast to suffocation, as thougli they would burst his heart strings. The apparently hartl-hearted old man had suddenly become weaker than any child. Ah me! he didn't look like cursing now ! He was not ashamed of showing his affection for '.lis daughter before us now ; and, in a sudden transport of love, he covered the httle portrait-face with countless kisses, the portrait which, but a moment before, he had trampled be- neath his feet. All the tenderness, all the love which he felt for his daughter, so long kept under, had now burst forth with irresistible strength, and the violence of the transport had quite overcome him. "Forgive her, forgive her '" cried the old mother, sobbing — she had bent over him, and was embracing him, — " oh ! forgive her, and bring her back to her own home; and God, in His dreadful judgment day, will remember your mercy and for- giveness." " No! nol never, I never will," he said, in a hoarse, broken voice, '• never, never ! " 12 INJURY AND INSULT. I CHAPTER XIV. GOT to Natiisha's rather late — ten o'clock. She was living _ then on i\w. Fontdnka, by the Senienofski r)ridge, in a large, (iirty-looking house, belonging to one Kolulushkino, on the fourth storey. When she first kit her home, she and Aleosha had occupied a very nice set of apartments, not very large, but prettily furnished and very conveniently situated, on the third storey of a house, on the Liteynaya ; but the resources of tlie young prince very soon failed. He did not become a music-mast(.r, but he began to borrow money, and ran heavily into debt, comparatively speaking; he wanted money to decorate the rooms, and for presents for Natdsha, who had i)rotested, scolded him, even cried about it. The kind-hearted Aleosha very often would ponder for a week as to what he could get to ])lease her, and how he was to raise • the wind for it, thoroughly enjoying the antic ipation, and some- times telling me, gleefully, long before the day, all about what he was going to give her, aivl so on ; but he used to be con- siderably discouraged by her scolding and tears, so that he was sorry he had sjjcnt the money ; and the result ot all his pleasurable anticipations was that they (luarrelled and scolded over the presents which he had so looked forward to giving her. But, besides this, Aleosha spent a good deal of money (juietly, that Natasha knew nothing about. His old school- fellows led l]im astray ; he would make vicjlent love to some Josephine or Mina, and all the same he loved Natdsha through it all. liut his love seemed to have an element of torture in it ; he used to come to me very often — out of sorts, and low in spirits — and swear that he was not worth Natdsha's little finger ; that he was a vile, useless wretch ; and that he did not understand, and was quite unworthy of her. And he was generally rig'.it, too, for they were a very badly assorted couple. He always felt like a child before her, and she ahva)s treated him as a boy. He used to lell me of his many youthful escapades, and beg me, with tears, to say nothing about them to Natdsha; but when he started off with me — lie always insisted on my going INJURY AND INSULT. 73 with him, im.ij^ining that I coiiUl i)roloct liim somehow from the scolding he expected, and protesting tliat he didn't dare look Nat.isha in the fare, alone, after iiis sins — repentant and frightened, to see Nat.isha and confess, the girl always knew what was the fnatter at the liist glance. She was always particularly jealous, and yet she invariably forgave him these freaks of his. 'I'his is what usually h.ii)|)ened in these cases : Aleusha came in and began to talk to her in a shnniefaced sort of way, looking sheepishly tender and ga/.ing into her eyes ; she immediately knew by these signs tliat he had been guilty of something vr other, but never "helrayed her knowledge, never eross-cpiestioned him, or asked him anytl;ing inconvenient to answer — on the contrary, she redoubled her caresses and tender looks and words, and grew lively and radiant. It was not a case of deceit on her part ; she was not placing a game with l.im ; oh, dear no, but it seemed to be an everlasting joy and satisfaction to this sweet nature to pity and pard(jn. Of course, there was never anything particularly sericnis the matter— some girl or other was always at the bottom of it, and Aleosha, wh.en he saw Natasha's kindness and readiness to for- give, invarialily |)lunged headlong into a vf)luniary confession, unable t(i contain himself any longer, and dying to "relieve his soul '■ as he called it, and to be "as we were before" to each other. On receiving Natasha's forgiveness he would burst out iiUo a transport of joy, very often crying for happines-; in his tenderness towards Nat.isha, and kissed and embraced her in his ecstasy. After this reconciliation he used always to develoji tl'.e wildest spirits, and would tell all about his love passages with Josephine, or whoever it might bt:, as candidly as possible, making a joke of it, laughing and chuckling alter- nately, blessing and kissing Nat;isha, as happy and simple as any child ; and so the evening passed haj:>pily and gaily after all. When he had sjient all his money, Aleosha began to sell various things ; at Natdsha's instigation they took a small and cheap lodging on the Font.-inka, but the sale of his property went on, and Nat.isha had even to jiart with some of her clothes, and was obliged to look out for work. When Aleosha heard this he was in despair, he cursed himself, declared that he loathed himself, but did nothing whatever to improve matters. At the moment of which 1 am speaking, even the proceeds of these sales of clothes, and so on, had been spent, and there 74 INJURY AND INSULT. was nothing left tliein but what could be made by needlework, which was uncommonly little. From the first moment of their setting up an establishment together, Alcoslii had had a dreadful quarrel with his father. The prince's intention to marry his son to Katherine was at that time in an embryo condition, but the prince was keenly anxious to bring about this, his pet project, and did his utmost to make Aleusha ingratiate himself with the girl, bullying him with arguments and threats. However, the project was defeated, at first, by the opposition of the countess, as we have seen, so that the prince decided to ignore Aleosha's connection with Naidsha for tiie time, feeling pretty sure that the flighty and weak-minded boy would very soon cool and forget all about her. As lor the question of the possibility of Aledsha marrying Xatdslia, the prince hardly gave himself a thought about it until the last moment ; and as for the young people, they |)ut off the marriage until they should be enabled to get the prince to give a formal consent, or, in a couple of words, "until better times. Naldsha, however, did not seem to care to talk about it at all. Alet)sha gave me to understand i)rivately that his father was in reality rather pleased with the present stale of affairs, he liked to think of the state of feeling of the Ikmeniefs under the circumstances. He made a show of recording his displeasure periodically, and cut down Aleosha's already scanty allowance (he was always very close-fisted with his son), and threatened to deprive him of it altogether ; but soon after this he Vi'ent off to Poland to see the countess who had affairs there to look afier, although never ceasing to wish and work for Aleosha's marriage with Katherine. Aleosha was certainly rather young to be married, but then the countess's step-daughter was so delightfully rich, he really could not miss such a chance ! He hit ui)on a ])lan, before long, to ,)Ush matters in the direction he wished, and soon rinnours began to get about that Aleosha was engaged. At this time the prince had just come back from Poland, and received his son kindly, but was disagreeably surprised at the persistence of his line for Natasha ; he became suspicious and alarmed, and sternly onlered Aleoiha to break with her, but immediately afterwards thought of a nuich belter plan, and took the boy away with him to see the countess. Katherine, wh.o was almost a child, was a very sweet girl. She [possessed the kindest of hearts, was very clever, and of an INJURY AND INSULT. 75 arfcrtionatc disposition. 'I'lic prince thought that the six niontlis C)f Alc(')sha's passion for Natasha must now make them- selves felt — she had no longer the charm of novelty for him — and that he would j.rolia'oly look at Kalherine now with very different eyes, and with far more favour than half a year before 'Ihe prince was right. Ale()sha was decidedly taken with the girl. I may Oild that the prince now became wonderfully l)olile and kind towards his son; he did not, liowever, say a word about allowing him any more money. Aleosha knew very well that the prince was only hiding his inflexible and invinci- ble resolve beneath his cliarm of manner, and chafed and resisted ; but his opposition was very much modified since he had begun to see Kathcrine every day. I knew that on this ])nrticular day of which I write, Nat;isha had not seen a sign of h.im for five days. He had not been near her. On my way to her house from the Ikmeniefs' 1 thought over the matter and wondered what she could liave specially to say to me ; I was anxious about it. The light was burning in her window ; I saw it a long way off. NVc had long had an agreement that she was to put a light in the window if she uigently reijuired to see mc about anything; so that I could at any time tell — for I passed her window nearly every night, — by the unusual light there, whether I was wanted, and if she were waiting up for me. Lately the poor girl's candle was vcrv often there. CHAPTER XV. IrOUNI) Natdsha alone ; she was walking slowly up and downthc room, with her hands folded over her breast, deep in thought. The tea-urn was hissing on the table, it had been got ready for me a long time before I came ; she said nothing, but smiled and pressed my hand. Her face was pale, and had an expression of suffering upon it. There was a painful suggestion of endurance and resignation in her smile, but it was tender, too ; and her large blue open eyes 76 INJURY AND INSULT. « seemed larger than they had been before, and her hair looked thicker. Probably all this was the elTect of illness and of her dreadfiii thinness. •' I really thouj^ht you were not coming," she said, giving me her hand aL!;ain. " 1 was very near sending Mavra to enquire about yuu ; I thought you might be ill again." "Oh, no, I'm not ill," I said. "I have been delayed ; I'll tell you all about it afterwards. Now tell me, Natdsha, what is it, wh.it has happened ?'' "Nothing," she said, protending to be surprised at the question, "why should au) thing have lia[>pencd ? " " Why, you wrote to me ; you wrote yesterday and asked me to come round. Vou s[)c( ially begged me to come at a certain moment ; not a minute earlier or later you said. 'I'hat doesn't sound like an ordmary inv'lation to tea." " Oh yes, I forgot. \'ou see I expected ////// yesterday." "Hasn't he beenjr/?" I asked. "No," she said, and paused; then she continued, "and 1 w.»s tliinking that if he doesn't come I must talk things over with you." " Dill you expect iiiin to-day?" " No ; he goes there in the evenings ? " " Vou dont mean to say that you think he'll not come any more at all ? " "Of course he will," she answered, and looked at me, as it seemed, with more than her usual seriousness. She did not like the raj.idity with which my (luesiitms followed one another. \\'c said nolliing more then, but walked up and down the room together without a word. At last she smiled and went on — " I've been waiting for you a long time, Vania ; and do you know how I have been amusing myself? I have been walking about here reading poetry the whole evening. Do you remerober that poem about — ' 'I'lio bl(.ilj;c LcUs r.in}j upon the ro.id.' " We read it together once ; don't you know it ? It goes on about — ' 'I'lic viiicc i.f my pnct, my lovo — Wlu'ii will lie CDiiie \silh liih, slcilgc-bclls CLui^^iii^ aU)iis^ llie ruad ? \\ lieu \\ ill he ctnnc lu icst Hcic oil iiiy LiLast ? ' — and so on. INJURY AND INSULT. 77 " Isn't 't a pretty [)icturc, V;1nia ? I can ima<;inc the very house, in any vill.iue (ours down there, for instance), and the ' samovar ' liissing on the ta!)lc. The house that I see is one of those ne'.v huts (don't you renienihcr) made of routjli l)«'"im INSULT. 79 would not know me now. He loved mo, but the thing he loved was a girl, a big rhild ; lie used to delight in my childish siinplieity. When he caressed me he would pat my head just as he dill wiieii I was a j;even-year-()ld child, and when sitting on hii knee I used to sing him over my litlle lunsrry rhvmes. l-'ruiu my earliest chiidliood until the last day I spent at homo he Used always to come to my bedside and bless me at night. .\ month or so before all these troubles began he bought me some car-rings (it was a great secret, but I knew all about it), and he was as happy as a child over it, thinking how pleased I wouUl be to get his present ; and how angry he grew with every- one near, especially myself, when he found out that I knew lie had the ear rings for me I Three days before my departure he noticed thai I was rather sad, and immediately became (luitc ill with melancholy himself. And, what do you think ? he actually wanted tc take me to the theatre to cheer me uj), and got the tickets too. I assure you he really thought to cure me of my sorrow by taking me to tlie theatre I He knew and loved a little child, and could not bring himself to realize that this child would ever grow up to be a woman. It never struck him. So that if 1 were to go home again tiow, he would simply not know me. "If he pardoned me," Natasha continued, "whom wouUI he be meeting when 1 came home ? Not me, for I am not the same person. I am not a child at all now : I have lived through too much. F.ven if he were to like me, he would always be lecalling the past, and complaining and getting angry because I was not the same as I used to be, because 1 was no longer a child. Old things always attract more than new, and yet it is painful to recall the past. Oh, but the i)ast is very dear, V;inia !" she cried, suddenly ; and with this exclamation, which seemed to tear its way out of her heart, leaving a track of pain, she i)aused. "All this is (juile true, Natdsha,"' I said ; "but the outcome of it is that he must make your acquaintance over again, and learn to love you once more. Of course, he icill learn to love you again. You surely don't suppose that he, /ic — a man like that, with such a heart as he has — will not take the trouble to study and understand you anew." "Oh, Vania, don't be unreasonable ! There is nothing to understand in me more than in other people. It was not that I was speaking about You sec, a father's love is very jealous. 8o INJURY AND INSULT. He is offended that all this began without him and finished without him. I mean my affair with Aledsha. He knew nothmg of it ; he did not observe its growth. He knows that he had no foreboding of all this, and the unhappy result of our love — my flight — is laid down by him to my mean secrecy. I never came for his advice from the very first,' nor did I after* wards confess to liim a single phase of my heart's growth in love. On the controry, I kept it all to myself, and hid every- thing from him ; and 1 assure you, Vania, this secrecy on my part is what has offended him far more than these results of my love — 1 mean, my desertion of him and my mother, and the fact that I gave up everything for the sake of my lover. I admit that he would prolxably receive me like a father, tenderly and affectionately ; but the seeds of animosity would still be there. The second or third day there would be signs of unpleasantness, and quarrelling would follow. So that forgiveness, unconditional forgiveness, cannot exist. '* Of course, I am ready to tell him, and to tell him with perfect sincerity, that I realize from the very depths of my heart how much I have offended, and how sadly guilty I am before him. And thougii it be torture to me," she continued, "to ex[)lain to him, supposing he does not wish to understand it, what all this ' happiness ' with Aleosha has cost me, and what my own sufferings have been and are ; still, I will sink the pain It nuist be to me to tell him all about it. I will bear any- thing. Ihit even this won't be enough for him. He will recpjire indemnification of a kind which it is imi)ossible to give him. He will want me to curse my past, to curse Aleosha, and to reijcnt in dust and ashes my love for him. He will require of me to undo the last half-year, and blot it out of our lives, which is i'ni)ossil)le. I will not curse anyone, and I cannot repent. W hat happened, happened, and it can't lie helped. No; no. \'ania ; it really cannot be done. The time has not come yet." " ^Vhen will the lime come, then ? " I asked. " Oh, 1 doii'i know, Vania," she said. " I can't tell. We ^ must build up our new hajjpiness on some new foundation. W'c must purchase it with new torments. Suffering wipes out everything. Oh, Vdnia, what a deal of pain there is in the world ! " . ! was sclent and looked at her thoughtfully, 1 suppose, for she sa;d — INJURY AND INSULT. 8l " A\'hy do you look at mc like that, Alc(')sha — T mean, Vdnia?" she corrected herself, and laughed at her mistake. "Well, I am looking at your smile, Nat;isha," I said. " Where dill you get it from? Vou used not to have that kind of smile." " Wiiy, what is there in my smile?" "Some of your old simplicity still lingers in it," T answered. " I)Ut now when you smile it always seems to me that, at the same moment, you uiu'.t feel a sharp twinge at your heart. \so/u/i-/y, not a tear to be shed, you know ! l<>erybody is to be jolly and happy in it." " Vou poor old fellow, how you do have to work ! And what about Smith ?"' " Why, Smith's dead long ago ! " " Hasn't he appeared to you ? I am serious, Vdnia. You are ill, you know, and your nerves are unstrung, you might easily see visions. I thought of that when you told me all about how it was you took your present lodgings. Is your room still damp; it's a nasty room, isn't it?" "Yes; something did happen tonight, by-the-byc, I'll tell you about it afterwards." She did not hear me ; she was sitting in a brown study. •' I don't understand," she went on," how I ever could have left M^w then," she said at last. " I was fearfully excited, it was fever," she added, looking at me with an expression which showed that she did not expect mc to answer. If I had answered she would not have heard me. " Vdnia," she said, "I asked you to come to-night on purpose." " What is it ? " I enquired. c 8a INJURY AND INSULT. •• I am leaving him," she whisi)ered. I could hardly hear her voice. " Have you parted, or are you going to part ? '•' I asked. " This way of living must be put an end to," she cried, «* and I sent for you to lay before you all, ererything that has hai> l)ened lately, and which I have hidden from you up to now." She always began like this, but as a rule I found that all the secrets to be divulged were things of which she had informed me already, long ago. •'Oh, Natasha," 1 blurted out, "I have heard all this a thou- sand times ! Of course you can't go on living together, your union is a very curious one indeed ; there is not a single inch of common ground between you. But, have you the needful strength ? " " My dear Vdnia," she said, " up to the present I had nothing but projects, but now my mind is (juite made up. I love liim boundlessly, eternally : but all the same, I am his fust enemy. I am wrecking his future. I must free him ! He cannot marry me, he is not strong enough to oppose his father. I don't want to bmd him, and 1 am glad he has fallen in love with the bride chosen for him, it will be easier for him to part with me. I see my duty ; if I love him 1 ought to sacrifice everything to him, to show and prove my love, oughtn't I ? Isn't that my duty ?" •' Bui you don't, you never did coerce him in any way 1 " •' No, I never do, I shall be exactly the same to him always. If he v.-ere to come into the room this moment I should be just the same as usual ; but 1 want to fmd a way to make it less difficult for him to part with me without feeling ashamed of himself. That's what bothers me ; help me, Vdnia ; suggest something." "There is but one royal road to that point," I said. " You must cease to love him, and love somebody else instead. And yet that would fail too. You know the man's character. He has not been near you for five days. Assume that he has deserted you. All that you have to do is to write to him, and say that you leave him of your own accord, and he'll trot back to you ! '' *' Why do you dislike him so, Vdnia ? " •' I ! " "Yes, you! you! You are his enemy, secretly and openly You can't talk about him without a tone of vengeance in you INJURY AND IN'SUI.T. 83 words. I have noticed a tliousand times that your chief satis- faction is to vilify and blacken his character. Yes, vilify — I'm tcllini; you the plain truth about it." " If you iiavc told me so a thousand times, Natdsha, surely you need not ti;ll me so any more. Let's change the subject." " I should like to move into another lodging," she went on after a pause. " Now don't be angry, Vdnia." " He'll come just the same to another lodging. I'm not angry," I said. " Love is strong. His new love may keep him away ; if he did come back to mc it would only be for a minute ; don't you think so? " " I don't know, Natdsha, really. He is not a man whose actions can be counted upon in any circumstances ; he seems to want to marry the other girl and to go on loving you. This seems (]uite a possible state of things to him." " If I knew for certain that he loved her i would decide at once. Viinia, don't deceive me ! Do you know anything that you don't wish to tell me, or not ? " She looked at me anxiously and search ingly. " I don't know anything, my dear friend," I said ; " I give you my word, nothing. I have always been perfectly candid with you. Ikit this is v.hat I think. I'erhaps Ale(5sha is not nearly so much in love wilh the countess's step-daughter as we suppose, so that— " " You think so, \';{nia ! Oh ! if I only knew that for certain. If I could but see him now, just for a minute, and look into his face, I should know all about it at a glance. But he is not here, he does not come ! '' " Hut do you expect him, Natdsha?" " No, he is with her. I know it, for I sent to find out. Oh, how I should like to see hcr^ too ! Look here, Vdnia, is it im- ])ossible for me to sec her? Couldn't I manage to meet her somewhere ? Wliat do you think ? " She waited anxiously to hear what I would say. "Oh, yes ; you could see her, of course 1 But it's not mucli use seeing her only." " Oh, yes, oven that would satisfy me for the present. I could guess the rest. Listen, Vdnia ! I've grown so stupid lately. I walk up and down here, up and down, and think and thmk, always alone. My head goes buzzing round and round, and I always feel so heavy. But, listen ! I thought of this : G — 2 84 INJURY AND INSULT. Couldn't you make her acquaintance, Vdnia? Why, the countess praised your book ; you said so yourself. You go to Prince R 's evenings now and then, don't you ? she goes there too. Get yourself introduced to her there, then you could come and tell me all about her." "Dear old Natdsha, we'll talk of all this by-and-bye; meanwhile listen to me. Do you seriously tliink that you are strong enough to bear parting with Aleosha ? Look at your- self now. Do you think you are calm at this moment ? " '* 1 can bear it," she said, hardly audibly, "it's all for his sake, my whole life is for him. But do you know, Vania, what I can't bear to think of is that he is with her now ; that he has forgotten me, and is sitting by her, laughing and tellingstorics (you know his way) just as he has sat and chatted here dozens of times. He is looking straight into her eyes; he always looks at one like that, and not a thought of me enters his head — of me, sitting here like this with you." She looked at me despairingly. " But, Natasha," I said, " you were saying only a minute agothot — " " Let us break with each other simultaneously," she cut in. ** I could bear that and bless him for it ; but, oh ! Vdnia, it's very hard when he forgets me like this first. Oh, dear ! oli, dear ! what a muddle the whole thing is. I can't make myself out ; in theory, I know so well what I ought to do, but in practice it always comes out (juiie different. What's going to become of me ? " " Cilm yourself, Natasha." I entreated her. " Five days, five days!" she went on, "sleeping, or waking, or dreaming, it's always about him, and him, and him. Ill tell you what, Vdnia, let's go there ; take me there, (juick ! " " Oh, Natasha, do be calm ! " I cried. " No, no," she insisted, " let's go ! I've waited a long time for you, Vdnia. Thice days I've thought of this ; that was what I wrote to you for. You oui^Jit to take me there, you ought not to refuse me this, Vdnia ; 1 have waited for you so long — three days ! There's a party there to-night ; and he's there, come ! " She was like one in a delirium. Just then there was a noise in the hall outside ; ^Lavra seemed to be arguing wit!\ someone " Slop, Nat.-isha," I said ; "who's that ? Listen ! " She listencii with a sort of incredulous smile, but suddenly grew ashy pale. INJURY ANn INSULT. 85 " Cidod licavcns ! who's tlicrc ? "she asked, scarcely audibly. Slie tried to detain mc, but I passed her and went into the iiall to speak to Mavra. Sure enough, there was Master Ale()sha ! He was asking Mavra sonietliing, and she seemed to want to prevent him coming in. "Oii, it's you, is it?" she was saying to Aleosha ; "and, pray, what are you going to find to say for yourself? " "Oh, I'm not afraid of anybody; I'm going in," said .\le()sha, looking ratl.er confused in spite of his boast. "Hollo ! " he said, seeing mc. *' Well, this is luck to find \ou here 1 " " Here I am, you sec," he went on; '• but look here, how -hall I—" He hesitated. "(Jo straight in," I said ; " what arc you afraid of?" " I'm not afraid of anything, I assure you," he said, " be- I ause I am not to biamc. Vou think I am to blame ; oh, very U(.ll, you'll soon see when I justify myself. Natasha!" he coiuinueou all about it." " Why, why ! what's the use?" sobbed Natdsha, "shake hands, and there's an end of the matter, as usual." She came out of her corner now, and a ruby blush began 86 INJURY AND INSULT. to creep over her checks ; she looked down at the ground as though afraid to raise her eyes to Aleosha. " Oh, dear 1 oh, dear ! " cried Aleosha, in a state of frenzy, "if only I were guilty I should never look her in the face again. But look here, look here ! " turning to me, " she thinks I am in fault; everythmg is against me, certainly, all the visible evidence is against me ; I haven't been near her for five days; rumours reach her that I am with the girl they want me to marryj and yet she forgives me. ' Shake hands,' she says, 'and it's all over 1' Natasha, my darling, my angel ! Naliisha, believe mo, I am innocent. I am ttot guTlty ; on tlic contrary." " Vcs, but you ought to be there now ; you are invited t/iere to-night. What are you doing here ? What's the time ? " " Half-past ten. I have been tlure, but I shammed ill and gf)t away, and that's the first time these five days that I've been frce---liiat I could get out of their cluK hes and come to yuu, Nat;Ibija. Tliat is, 1 could have come before, but 1 didn't, on purpose; why ? you shall know directly. I'll tell you all ; I have come here on purpose to tell you all about everything, but I give you my word solemnly, this time I am as innocent as a baby ; I really am." Natasha raised her head and looked at him. His answering look was so frank, his expression was so happy, so honest, and so bright, that it was a downright impossibility to doubt him. I though! they would ily to each otheis' arms, as they usually did on these occasions, but Natasha, as though overcome with her joy, had let her head f.ill on her bre.ist, and was crying ([uietly. Aleobha could not stand that. 1 le threw himself at her feet, he kiv,Ld her hands, her feet ; he behaved like a lunatic geiv.iaily. 1 pushed a (hair towards her and she sat down ; her hmbs were all of a tremble. A PART II. CHAPTER I. MINUTE or two aficr tliis wc were all laughing like mad things. " Oh, do let nie get on with my story," Aleosha shouted, overtoi»[)ing all tlic laughter with his sonorous voice. " Tiiey thmk it's just as usual this time, and that I've come here with some cock-and-bull story to stick into them. I tell you I've got a story of thrilling interest . Now then, are you ever going to stop?" he shouted. He was evidently most anxious to tell us his story. One could see by the boy's face that he had imiiortant news, but his absurdly dignified look made Natasha laugh, and I couldn't help laughing with her; and the angrier Aleosha got the more wc laughed. Alcosha's comical indignation, and then his childish despair, brought us to tliat stage where anyijody need but raise a fmger and one (juakes with laughter. Mavra had come out of the kitchen, and was staring at us with a melancholy face. She was dis- api)ointed that Aleosha had not got a good headwashing from Nat.'isha, as she had hoped he would, and that we all seemed so jolly together, instead of scolding one another. At last \at;lsha saw that our mirth was offending Akosha, and stopjied laughing. " What do you want to tell us about ? " she asked. "Shall I bring in the tea-urn ? " asked Mavra, looking at Aleosha without much respect in her eyes. "Oh ! go out, go away, Mavra !" he said, motioning her to the door. "I'm going to tell you everything," he went on, "all that has been, is, and is going to be, because I know all about it. I see you want to know, my dears, where I have been these five days. That's just what I want to tell you, and you won't 88 INJURY AND INSULT. let me. Well, in the first place, Natdsha, I've been deceiving you the whole time, and long before this, too, and that's the chief point of the whole thing." ** Deceivini^ me ! " *• Yes; deceiving you, for a whole month, before my father came home ;. but now the time has come for perfect candour. About a month before my father came home I got a tremendous letter from him, and told neither of you anything about it. In this letter he told me straight out and simply, and so solemnly that I was really quite alarmed, that everything was quite arranged about my wedding ; that my Ji a ncie was perfection, that, of course, 1 was not in the least worthy of her, but that 1 must marry her all the same. And in order to prepare myself for her, the first thing I must do was to clear my head of all the nonsense 1 had got into it, and so on. We all know what the * nonsense ' meant, eh ! Well, this letter 1 kept mum — all to myself." " You did nothing of the sort," said Nat;lsha, cutting in. " That's a pretty cool assertion ! \Vhy, you told us every word of it. 1 can even remember what a good boy you became just then, and how tender you were to me, and never left me for a minute, just as if you had been naughty, and you told us every scrap of the letter, bit by bit." "Impossible ! Anyhow, I didn't tell you the chief news in it. Of course, you may have guessed it, that's your afl;iir, but I know I never let it out, and 1 suffered in stifling it down, I can tell you." •' My dear Aleosha," I said, " I remember you talking it all over with us, and telling us all about it." "Of course you did," said Natdsha. "So no more boasting. Even Mavra remembers your letting out about the letter." " Oh, well ! oh, well ! perhaps 1 did tell you something about it ; yes, 1 remember there was something of the sort," Aleosha exjilaJncd, "but the /one of the letter, that's what was the chief point, the totte." "Well, what about the tone}" asked Natdsha. " Look here, Nat;isha, you go on as if the whole thing were a joke. Don'i make a joke of it ; it's serious enough, I assure you. I know I droj)i)ed my hands when 1 got that letter. Never had my father spoken to me like that before. It was, 'You shall do as I wish, if the whole town comes down about our cars for it ' —that sort of tone." INJURY AND INSULT. 89 "Well, go on, why hnd )ou to conceal it from mc ?" " \\ liy, so as not to ini^htcn you. 1 hoped it would all right itself. Well, after this letter, as soon as my fatlier arrived, all my troubles began. 1 jjrcpared to answer him firmly, clearly, and seriously, but somehow it did not come off. lie never even asked mc a word about it, the sly old fellow ; in fact, he went on as though the whole thing was settled, and as if there never was or could be such a thing as a difference of oi)inion between iiim and myself. He grew so kind and nice to mc, I was quite sur[)rised. You know, V;lnia, he is an uncommonly clever man is m) father. He has read everything and knows everything. Vou have only to look at him once, and he knows every ihougiit in your head, like his own. I suppose that is why he has been called Jesuitical. Natdsha doesn't like my singing his jiraises. 'i'herc, don't be angry, Nat;isha. Then agaui, he used to give me no money, and yesterday he gave me some. Natasha, my angel, our poverty is over! Look here ! All that he had skimped mc of before, as a punish- ment — all the last half-year's allowance, paid up in full 1 Look what a jolly lot ! 1 haven't counted it up yet. ^Llvra, look what a lot of money ! No more need to pawn our spoons and studs now, ^L'lvra." He pulled a thick bundle of notes out of his pocket, fifteen hundred roubleS; and threw it on the table. Mavra stared at the money in amazement. Nat;tsha hurried him on with his story. "Well," Aleosha went on, " I thought to myself : wiial am I to do now ? How am I to go against him ? Nov;, I take my oath, and you may both of you be witnesses, that if he had been nasty to me, instead of kind, as he was, 1 sh.ouldn't have thought twice about it. 1 should simply have told him ' No ! I don't want to marry the girl. I am a grown up man, and I won't do it, and there's an end of the matter. I assure you I should have stuck up to him. But, as things were, what was I to say to him ? Don't blame mc ; I sec you are looking dissatisfied, Natdsha. Why do you two exchange glances like that ? I see you think I was caught at once, and that there isn't a scrap of firmness about me. I have got firmness, as it happens, and a good deal more of it than you suppose, and the proof of it is that I said to myself: My duty is to tell my father everything. And, what's more, 1 went and told him, too, every word, and he heard me OMl." 90 INJURY AND INSULT. "But what did you tell him?" asked Nutdsha, looking anxious. "Why's that J did not want auy /lufiay, that. I had my own — you, you know ! That is, I haven't exactly told him quite this, uj) to now, but I've prepared his mind for it, and I'm goinj^ to tell him all about it to-morrow ; I've decided on //uif. Well, first I told him that it is a shameful and dishonourable thing to marry for money ; and that it is all humbug to consider ourselves aristocrats (I was very frank with him you see), and that I was proud to be like evcrycjne el^e, and didn't want to be considered different. I sp(;ke with warmth and Vire, and rather astonished myself. I proved to him, from his own point of viev.-, that we were a very pour sort of princes." " We are princes," I said, "but only by birlh. .WValth is the j)rinciijal and mo.t jjiincely thing, and we haven't got it. The i)rince among princes now is Roliischild. Society hadn't heard much about us," i said, "lor a lung while. My grand- f itlier had spent all we pos-^essed as a tamily, and it was no thanks to liim that we were not ploughmen, as some born iprinces have become in this country. 1 proved to him with tlie greatest eloijuence that we ha\e nothing to keep up. He didn't contradict me, but just suggisted that I had better call on the Couiu Nainsky again all the same, and that I must do the dutiful to my godmother, i'rincess K., because she can push me on in the world. All this was just a gentle hint that when you and I fell in hne with each other, Natasha, I threw over all these guoii people, that this was tlie effect of )()ur inlluence, in fact. He has not referred to you direc tly though ; indeed he evidently pvoids doing .so. We are both as cunning as foxes, and we lie in wait for each ollic, and enlraj) each other grandly. 'I'here'll be some fun )et ! " " Oh, Aleosha, what a chilil yuu are ; do go on. How did it all end? tell us. What did he decide? that's the principal point ! " "Oh, goodness knows, one can't make out what he has decided upon. (As for my being a child, I am kir from it). lie hasn't decided anything — that's where we are, and he only sunled at all my arguments, but his smile was a kind one, as if he [jilied me. ' 1 (juite agree with )ou,' he tc»ld me, ' but come along to Count Nainsky's, and mind you don't talk like this //n/r; I understand yuu, you know, but perhaps ////^ wouldn't.' 1 don't think they (j.ii'e understand /u'm INJURY AND INSULT. 9I cither, md they arc ani;ry about something or otlicr. I hardly know how it is, but people don't seem to like my father. Count Nainsky was as haughty as possible with me, when I first went, hut I have played my cards so cunningly that he is as fond of me as he can be now." " Look hero, Aleosha," cried Natdsha, im[iatiently, ** do stick to the point. I thought you were going to tell us something that concerns ourselves, not all about your counts and countesses. What have I to do with your counts ?" " Well, after calling at the count's, I went with my father to see the princess, my godmother, who is very old and very deaf, and very fond of little dogs, of which she has a whole collec- tion. In spite of her infnniities, the old lady is very great in society, even the superb Count Nainsky is at her beck and call. \\'ell, on ih.e way to lier house I laid a plan of operations, and what do you think I founded my plan upon? ^^'i1y, on the fact that little ilogs are all very fond of me. They are, really ; wiiether it's some magnetism in me, or because I'm very fond of them and ali animals, I don't know. l>y-the-byc, talking of magnetism, Natasha, I haven't told you yet how we raised spirits the otlicr day. I was at a medium's; I assure you, Vania, it was most interesting and astonishing ; I called up Julius Ci\}sar." I " (iood heavens ! Why Juluis_Cocsar of all people ? " cried ' Natasha, loughing. " Why nwt Julius Cesar ? What are you laughing at ? " " Well ; what did Julius Caesar say? " *' He did'nl say anything. I took hold of a jiencil and it ran about over a bit (.,f paper and wrote of itself, and they told me it was Julius Cxsar writing. I didn't believe that." "Well, let's hear about the princess." " I was going to tell you all about it when you interru|)ted me. We got to the house, and I began my tactics by playing with Mirny. Mimy is a nasty little, old, ugly lai)dog, snarly and snappy too, and as obstinate as a ])ig. Tiie princess is wild about her ; she loves her so. I think they were born about the same year. Well, I began by stuffing Mimy with sweets, and in about ten minutes 1 taught her to hold out her paw, which they had failed to do all their lives. The princess went into ecstasies ; she almost cried for joy. ' Mimy, Mimy, . Mimy, sl>e can give you her paw ! ' Somebody came to call. Mimy can give a paw 1 My godson here taneht her. A 92 INJURY AND INSULT. Count Nainsky came in. ' Mirny can give a paw ! ' She looked at me with a tenderness that threatened weeping on my shoulder. Oh, the kindest old woman, I'm sorry for her ! " Well,'" he continued, " I made another move. She had a snuft"-box wiih a portrait, on the lid, of herself as a bride about sixty years ago. She knocked this snufT-box over, and I ran and picked it up. * Oh, what a lovely picture,* I said. ' What ideal beauty.' After ///«/, my dear friends, I can tell you I was all there. It was, where had I been to school ? and, what houses did I go to ? and what pretty hair I had ; and, oh gracious, how the old lady did keep it up ! I was pretty smart, too, and made her laugh, and told her funny stories. She loves that sort of thing. Si)e shook her old finger at me ; but laughed like an) thing. When I went away she kissed me, and made the sign of ihe cross over me, and told me to come up everyday and make her laugh. Cyunt Nainsky pressed my hand, and looked at me with his oily eyes. He was pleased witii me ; and as for my fLiiher, honest and upriglit and honourable as he is, I assure you he nearly cried for joy when we two got home. He embraced me, and opened his heart to' me about careers, and money, and marriage, and that sort of thing ; but I didn't understand much of what he was driving at. It was then he gave me this money. " TomoiTow I am off to the old jjrincess's again," he con- tinued will-(jut an instant's pause, "but my fatlier is the most honourable of men, Natasha, and you must not misjudge him because he wants to separate us ; because you see he is ijlinded. Me wants those millif)ns of theirs, and you haven't' got any nullions. It's fur me lie wants ihem, and fur me alone ; and it is only his ignorance of you that makes him unjust to you. All fathers wish for their sons' happiness, and it is nut his fault if he thinks that inillwiis constitute happiness. They are all like this; his class. l-Vom one point of view he is perfectly right. I wanted to come and tell you all this as soon as pussible, Nat.isha, because I'm alraid you are prejudiced against him ; and no wonder. 1 d(jn't blame you, you know." " 'I'hen is this all ? Is this career that the princess is going to make for you all the result of yuur arch cunning ? " asked N.ilaslia. "Of course not. What an idea. This is only the beginning. Why, I get hold of the princess simply in order to have my fallar in iny hands. My real history hasn't even begun yet." INJURY AND INSULT. 93 " Well, go on with your story." "To-day a very strange thing happened, and to this moment I am ([uitc ama/.ed at it," Alcoslia went on. " I must tell you that though my father and the countess have (|uitc decided upon my marriage, still there has been no offic'uxl engagement, aiul if we broke it all off this moment there would be no scandal. Count N'ainsky is the only \\^^^\ who knows about it, but he is a sort of relatix'C and guardian. Besides, though Kdtia and I have become great friends during the last fortnigiit, still we had never said a word until this evening about the feature, that is, about marriage, and — well, about love. Then again, the princess has to l)e asked her consent, for they e\[)ect all sorts of things from her protection — showers of gold, and all that kind of thing. What she thinks about it, the 7it be i/fi/'ossi/'Ii- to get at the man's /«'.// expression. Observing iiiip. slill more closely, you soon l)egan to see beneath his perpetual nr.i:.k. p sunielhing cunning and wicked, ami ;//A7/j-<7i' eguti^ti* al. ]]ut what especially claimed one's attention was his sjjlendid open ;;re)- eyes. 'I'hey alone seemed to refuse to yield invari- alile subservience to his will ; and when he wanted to look al- togellier kinil and benevolent they would emit rays of uiixed iuTport ; so that in his soft and bencvoleiU looks one couUl detei t gl Mices belra)iiig sur^picion, harshness and inisc hief He was fairly tail, well put together, rather thin, and alwnvs looked nuu h youngi r than he really was. His ears, hantis, and feet were beautilully sliaped; this was his family inheritamc. His (lollies were alwa)s i)erfeet, and lie had several of the wa)s of a Noung man — knacks which lie hit off admirably and with greal suit ess. He looked like Aledsha's elder l)rolher ; at all events, nobody could have taken him for the father (»f so grown tip a son. He went straight up tt) Natasha and said, looking firmly into her face : " 1 knowmycomiiighereat tliistimeof the evening, and without inviialii>n, is not in strit t accortlanee u ilh the rules of etiipietle ; but 1 hope you will believe that I am painfully aware of the ecceiitiK ily of my comUut. Vou see, I know whom I have to deal will). 1 know you are high-minded and sympathetic; so, ma\ I isk for just tell minutes ot )()ur time? I am sure you will tlien uiulerstaiul my coining, and will forgive, it not appreciate it." lie said all this most courteously, but firmly, and with a sort of irisist;i!u;e. "lake a seat," said N'aldsha, not (piite rid of the confusion which she had felt at fust, and of the timidity that seemed to ha\e co'.ne over her. He bowed slightly and sat down. " I'irst of all let me say a couple of words to him," he saiil. pointing to Aledsha, INJURY AND INSULT. 99 *• Aledsha," he l)ogan, "you had only just left the house (\vith(nit saying gooii-bye to me, or letting me know you were goiiiL!;. hv the smxic token) when they came and told the countess that Katia was fainting. The countess jumjjed up to goto her, when Kdtia came in herself in the greatest agitation. She told us plamly that she could never be your wife. She said she would join a convent, and that you yourself had begged her to helji you, and had told her you loved this lady, Natasha Nicolaevna. Of course, K.itia's state of agitation was the result of your communication to her. She was beside her- self Vou may imagine how thunderstruck I was, and how shocked." " Driving by just now," he went on, turning to Natdsha, " I saw the light in your windows. An idea which had been hovering about me some time seemed now to gain such hold upon me that I could not resist it, and came in to see you. Why ? you will ask. I will tell you ; but 1 must beg you first of all to excuse any crudeness al)out my explanation, it is all so sudden." •' I trust I shall understand and value your communication as I ought," said Natasha, with hesitation. Tiie prince looked keenly at her, as though he would read her very thoughts. •' I trust to your penetration," he continued " and if I pre- sumed to come to your house in this way, 1 did so in the full knowledge of the soit of person I had to deal with. I l.iive long known and appreciated you, although my conduct towards you may hive often ap[)cared reprehensible and, perh.ips, unjust in your eyes. Rut listen. Vou know, of course, all about the old unpleasantness between myself and your father. I don't justify myself; perhai)S I am more to blame than I have thought up til! now. If so, I myself was deceived by circum- stances. It is the unfortunate disposition of a sour heart to believe in evil more than in good ; but I don't hide my own faults. I believed all the rumours I heard, and when you left your home I trembled for Aleoshx But I didn't know you then. Kntjuiries which I set on foot encour.iged me, little by little. I studied the question, and [lersuaded mvself at last that my suspicions were unfounded. I found out thit you had (juarrelled with your family ; and I discovcicii, too, that your father is very firmly set against your marriage with my son. And the simple fact that you, having such power H — 2 lOO INJURY AND INSULT. over Aledsha as you have, did not use that power to push c his marriage with yourself proves you conclusively to he well, a most admirable young woman." The prince bowe courteously. " Mc.Tnwhile, I do not conceal from you, that I worked tool and nail against your mnrriage with Alcdsha, I admit this, ai perhaps I om expressing myself too brusquely ; but frankness i my i>rintipal aim at this moment, you will admit it as I go ci. Well, soon after you left your home, I went away ; but in leavii. IVtersburgl had no fear for Aleosha, because I trusted to yoii: high-minded i^ride. I well understood that you yourself woii'il not desire to marry Aleosha before our family {jur.rrels wi r settled. I felt that you were unwilling to destroy the accor^ between Ale(')^ha and myself (for I couldnot have forgiven In marr)ing you). I knew, too, that you \Vould never like it to \> said of you, that you were on the look out for a husband wli. was the son of a prince, and that you were dying to marr\- int. our family : on the contrary, I knew you disdained us, and we; ]irnbably waiting for the moment when I should come and b. you to honour us by giving your hand to my son. Still : remained your enemy. I don't justify myself, mind ; but I \s; not conceal my motives — here they are: you are unknou, and jwor. Now, thoi.gh I have a little money, we want a goo deal more. Our family is on the decline. We wwj/ have con 1 neciion and wealth. Katia has not much connection, certain;-., i but she is \ery rich ; a little delay, and we might have lost lu as Akosha's betrothed. I could not miss such a chance, aiu'. in spite of his youth, 1 deteriniued to marry him to Katia. \\> see, 1 do not conceal anything from you. "Vou may," he addeil ingenuously, "well look upon n father, wiio has confessed to having tried to j)ersuade his sui^ cut of g'.eed, to icmuiiit a wicked ac t, with susjiicion ; for it /> . wiiked act to deseit a high niindetl girl, who has sacrifm tvcrylhing for his sake, and towards whom he has not b(.ha\i altogether as he might. lUit I do not attempt to justify nr. self. The second reason I had for wishing my son to man the countess's stei)daiighter was that Katia is, in the fulk- sense of the word, absolutely worthy of all love and esteeir. She is womierfully well bied, very good in disposition, with tl sweetest nature, clever too, although still a child in many w.u Alei'tsha has no character, he is a young scatter-brain and .i thoughtless as a child ; in fact, at twenty-two years old he ib , INJURY AND INSULT. lOI chilli Still, h'e hns one good thing, however — a kind heart ; but that is a da;igcrous quality in conjunction with his other cha- racteristics. I have long observed that my intluence over him is on the decrease. "Youthful ardour," the prince continued, "begins to have its own way nowadays ; I can't manage hini. Perliaps I am too fond of the boy, but I am jjcrsuadcd that he requires more than myself alone to guide him. He ought to l)e under some continuous high moral direction ; his nature is far more cut out for submission and for loving obedience, than for command He will always bo so to the end of his days ; imagine, then, my delight \<) find in Kdtia a girl — the ideal of the girl to whom I would like to marry Ale(')sha ; but I rejoiced, reckon- ing without mine host ! I found that another inthience was at work, iiidestructible and overto]>j)ing Katia's, I mean yours. I observed him keenly a month ago, when I rcturneil, and could not help remarking his great improvement for the better. Mis childishness and lightheadedness were there as us^al, but he seemed to careless for childish amusements and had gained higher ground in his aspirations ; he thought more of honour and lolty aims, and so on ; his ideas were crude and strange, of course, but his wishes, his aims, his heart had taken a better tone, and that is the chief thing. " Now all this was unquestionably your doing;" the prince inclined his head towards Nat.-i-^ha, "you seem to have brought him up all over again — I confess I had the idea at this time that probably you could secure his hajjpiness more surely than any- one else, but I did not wish to harbour this idea, I chased it from my brain ; I wanted to get him away from you, cost what it might, and devoted my whole mind and energy to attaining this end. An hour ago I still thought that the victory was on my side. But the occurrence at the countess's quite u])set all my calculations, and, al)ove all, I was struck by the unexpected fact of Aledsha's seriousness, and of the wonderful strength and l)ertinacity and vitality^ of his attachment to you. I repeat, you have changed him entirely. I suddenly became aware that the change for the letter which I had observed in him went further than 1 had thought; to day he has shown signs of a kind of wisdom of which I did not even suspect him to be possessed, and, at the same time, of a refined sagacity of mind. He chose, the very best way to get out of a ditTiculty. He awoke and touched the noblest sentiments of the human heart, that of the power 1 02 INJURY AND INSULT. of extending forgiveness and remission of faults. He put lii' Self into the hands of the wronged, and flew to Jur for help, i exeited all the pride of a woman who loved him already, adijiitting to her very face that she had a rival, and at i; same time contrived to awake in her a feeling of sympatl»y t that rival, and to extract from her a promise of forgiveness ai an asbiaance of her disinterested .sisterly friendship To i< her all this and not to offend her, not even to hurt her feelii — why, this is a feat that the wisest man might tail to perlon and which onl\ fresh ingenuous young hearts, well guided 1 his, can hope to accomi)lish safely. 1 am .sure. Nan- Nicolaevna, that you had no share whatever in his action this evening, neither hy word nor advice. Very likely >■ liave just heard all about it from him for the first time. Am nght?" ^ " \es," said Natasha, " you aie (juite right." Her face was all ablate, and her eyes were gleam! with a strange light, like that of inspiration. 'Ihe priiii >. dialectics were beginning to do their work. "1 haven't seen Aledsha for five days," she went > •' He thought of it all himself, and carried it out all Ijimselt, loo.'' "Quite so," said the i)rince ; "but all this unexjieciL firmness and good sense of his is the result of your inlhui; upon him. All this I turned over in my mind as I iii> along just now, and, while ihinkmg, I suddenly felt i strength to come to a resolution born within me. The marii. between our house and the countess is knocked on the Ik. f>..r ever, it can never be rearranged ; if it couKl be, it shi tut.' Why, 1 am i)ersu.aded that you alone could make h lu'i pv, that you are his best I'riend and guide; >ou have | the *.ommencing stroke to his l\iture happiness. 1 did not 1.. anything from you in my si)eech, and I will hide noihi; now, 1 will tell you frankly, 1 am hugely fond of a cau. and money, and eminence, and even rank. But t!u are circumstances when one must give up one's *• ideas, and other conditions under whicli ever)thing cam be measured with the same standard; besides which I , very fond of my son; in f.ict, I have come to •., conclusion ; that you and .Meosha must not be parted, the poor boy will be ruined. And now, shall 1 confess . I must have come to this conclusion a month ago, .i: INJURY AND INSULT. I03 vet I iiave only this very day disrovercil the f.ict myself. Of course, I mi;;ht Imvo told you all tliis to-morrow, instead of coniini; in at this time of ni,:;ht ; but, at all events, my haste to tell you will have convinced you of my zeal and sincerity. " 1 am not a child," continued the prince, " and I could not take such a stLp as I have ju^l taken without serious thouLjht. I had made up my mind when I came in here, but I'm atiaid I shall have to exercise some patience before I can persuade you of my sincerity. However, to business. Must I tell you why I came liere ? I came to do what I conceive to be my duty — solenM-jly, and with a sense of boundless regard towanls your ])erson. I entreat you to make my son haj^py, and to accord him your hand I Do not think of me as the cruel father, deciding at length to pardon his children, and to agree to allow them to be happy together. No, no ! Vou would humiliate me if you were to atiril)utc such thoughts to me. Nor would I have you think that I counted on your consent to my entreat), knowing, as I do, how much you have sacritlced for my son. Oh, no ! I am the first to declare that he is not worthy of you. He is a good boy, and will confirm it ; but I came here to beg you to accept me (here he rose from his place with some solemnity, and with an air of courtly deference) as your friend. I know, only too well, that I have not the slightest claim to the honour I ask of you, but, may I hope to earn the right some day ? May I hoi)e ? " Bowing respectfully before Natasha, the i)rince awaited her re|)ly. All the while he had been speaking I had kept a keen obser\ation upon him. He saw this. Some time afterwards, on looking back to this long speech of his, I remembered several things which struck me as incon- sistent with the circumstances, but now it was (piite a different thing. He seemed to speak the last words as though from his very soul, and they had so thoroughly the smack of sincerity, and looked so very like the truth, that he ijuite imposed upon us all. Indeed, something uncommonly like tears seemed to appear on his eyelashes. Natdsha's generous heart was quite won. She, like him, rose from her place, and in the extremest agitation, but without speaking, held out her hand to him. He took it, and kissed it tenderly. Aleosha was beside himself with ecstasy. XC4 INJURY AND INSULT. "What did I tell you, Natdsha?" he cried, "and y< wouldn't believe nie. You wouldn't believe that this is li n\or^t generous man in all the world. 'I'here, now you can .^^ it fur yourself ! " He rushed to his father and embraced him with warmt; The prince responded, but seemed to wish to bring this scci of agitation to an end. lie appeared to be ashamed of shuv ing his feelings. " Enough, enough ! " he said, and took his hat. *' I must l now ;. I asked you for ten minutes and have stayed an hour, he said, smiling. " May r be allowed to visit you as often as I can ?" " Vcs, yes," Natasha replied, "as often as you can. I war to learn to love you." She spoke with some confusion. " Ho'.v honest, hov/ true you are," said the prince, smilin as he spoke. '' Vour candour is very sweet to me, so mu< more fresii and pleasant than all the artificial politeness I ^i. so much of. ]Uit oh, how long I shall have to labour in orik to earn your love. 1 see it." " Oh, don't ; i)lease, don't 1 " Natdsha said, shy and con fused. " \'ou are llaltering me." Oh, how lovely she looked at this'moment. "Just two more words," said the prince. "Imagine how unfoMimately things have fallen out. I cannot come to se. you to-monuw, nor next day. 1 received a letter this eveniii. which necessitates my absence. I can't get off it. 1 mi leave i'elersburg to-mornjw Don't think, now, that I cam. in to-night because 1 should have no time these next few da) - Of course, you will not think it. 'I'hat's just an e.\am|)le of mv suspicious nature. This susjjicious nature of mine has don me great injury in life. All my tiuarrels with your good folk arose siuiply from, that characteristic. Let's see, now, ti' day's Tuesday ; Thursday, l'"riday, on Saturday, I shall ii. back, and shall certainly come and see you. May 1 stay il.v. whole evening ? " " Certainly, certainly," cried Natasha. " Saturday evenin;. then. I shall wait lor you with the greatest imiiatience." "How iucky 1 am, to be sure," said the prince. "I sli.J get to know you better and better. lUit I cannot leave the room without shaking you by the hand," he said, turning sud denly to me. " I'orgive me, we are all speaking to each otlK' now, as it were, outside of etiquette. You know, I /iate IkI'I INJURY AND INSULT. I05 the honour of meeting you once or twice, and I think we were even introduced to one another. I cannot leave the room without giving cx])rcssion to the hope that I may be allowed to renew the great pleasure of your acquaintance." "We have met, certainly,'* I answered ; "but, excuse mc, I cannot remember the introduction you speak of." I toc.k the innd he held out to me. " At Prince R"s, last year." " Pardon me, I have forgotten all about it ; but I assure you I shall not be so forgetful again. This evening will be fsi)e(ially memorable to me." " (^uite so, and to mc also. I have long known you to be the true and tried friend of Natasha Nicolaevna and of my son. My Iionc is to make a fourth to your three. Am I right ? " he asked, turning to Natasha. " Oh, yes, he is indeed our tried friend ; and I should dearly love it, if we four could be together always," replied Nata-iha, much affected. Poor dear little woman. She was so delighted to sec that the i)rince had not forgotten to be polite to mc. She loved me well. I know it. " I riave met many of your admirers," the prince went on. "There are two especially of your most faithful readers, who would so like to know you personally. They arc — my great friend t!ie countess and her step-daughter K;itia. May I hoi)e that you will allow me to introiluce you to these ladies?" " 1 should feel most tlattcrcd," 1 said ; " though I don't go into sr»ricty much just now." " lUit you will give me your address ? I must do myself the |)leasure of calling." *' Oh, prince ! I'm afraid I cannot receive at my lodgings ; not at present, at all events." " J5ut I hope I may be privileged, though I am conscious that I have no right to claim the privilege, to — " " Oh, of course, if you wish it. I shall be delighted. I live in the— ^'perculok, Klugen's house." " Kiugcn's house ! " he cried, as though struck with the news. " How ! Have you lived there long ? " " No, not long," I replied, observing him involuntarily but closely. " My lodging is N. 44." " N. 44 1 and do you live alone ? " " Oh, yes ; quite."' * Pereulok, a liae or imall street. I06 INJURY AND INSULT. *• Dear me ! I asked because I seemed to know the house Oh, well, so much the belter ! 1 shall certainly look you up. I have a t;ooddeal to say to you, and I expect a good deal fr»iir; you. You can hel[) me vastly in — something;. You see, I am In. ginning our accjuaintance as a beggar. Well, au n'vo/r, then Let me press your hand again." He pressed my hand and Ale6sha's, and kissed Nat;isha' fingers, and went out, not even asking Aleusha to I'ollo' him. We three remained in a state of the most utter astonisl. ment. All this l.ad happened so suddenly, so unex[)ectetllv We all felt that cirryihing had changed in a moment, and ili.. a new order of things, an une.\i)l()red region, was opened o' before us. Aledsha sat down sc4"tly beside Natasha, and toi her hand and kissed it quietly. Now and then he glanced .. her lace, as though wailing to hear what she would say. " Alcosha, dear, drive over to Kaiia's to-morrow," she sa; at last. " I thought of that too," he said. " I will certainly do sc". "Perhaps it may be painful for her to see you. How is ii i be managed ? " " I can't tell, darling, but I'll go a'nd see, and deride accor*. ing to circumstances. Oh, Natasha," he went on, unable i contain his joy, " all is changed for us now 1 " She smiled and looked at liim long and very tenderly. "And what good taste he showed. He saw the wretch^ lodging you occupied, and never made a remark about — " " Wei:, what ? " "About getting another, or anything of that sort," sa Aledsha, blushing. " He did show good'taste, didn't he ? ;i- ho.v he praised you, Natdsha. 1 told you so, I told you so ! I; is the sort of man who can understand and appreciate bet; than anyone. As for myself, he made me out cjuite a chi' They all treat me like that. I suppose it's all right. 1 ./ rather that sort of |)erson." " You arc a regular old baby, Aledsha, and yet you are li sharpest of us all. You are a good boy, Aledsha." " He said my soft heart would ruin me. What did that me.ii Do you know, Nauisha, I think I ought to go and see hini once. What do you think? To-morrow morning I'll coi; and see you early." " Yes, go, dear boy, by all means ; it's a good idea, and mir. INJURY AND INSULT. I07 you sec him. Come back early to-morrow ; you won't be five days away now, will you ? " she said slily, and with a look of jila\ful tenderness in her eyes. We were all in a state of j)lacid but jjcrfcct hapjiincss. ** Are you coming now, Vuni;i ? " Aleobha called out from the ])assai;c. "No ; he is not f;oinLj yet," said Nat;isha in reply. " I must have a chat with him first. Come early to-morrow, mind 1" " Rather I " shouted Aleosha. " Good-night, iMavra." Mavra was in a state of the greatest agitation. She had hoard enouj^h to sliDW her that a great change had taken place in the prosi)ecis of her mistress, and was evidently dying to hear all the particulars. ^^'hen we were left alone Xatdsha took my hand, and we sat silent. She was evidently tliinking how to begin. *'Uh, I'm so tired," she said at last, and her voice was weak. " Look here, Vania, shall you go to them to-morrow ?" " Certainly.'' "Tell mother all about it, but not him^ " Of course not. I never do speak of you to him." "I kn')w. Ihit he's certain to hear of it. Just think, what will he say, how will he take it ? Oh, Vdnia, surely he won't curse me for making this marriage? Oh, no, no, Vdiiia !" "The prince niust arrange everything comfortably," I said, anxious to relieve and soothe her. " He will make i)eace with your father, and then everything will go smoothly." " Oh, V.inia, if it (jnly could be so ; if only, only it could be so 1" she cried. It was almost a jirayer in the way she said it. " l?e calm, Natd^ha," I said. " It will all go well now, it is tending that way." She gazed at me fixedly. " Vdnia, what do you think of the prince ? " " If he is sincere, I think he must be the most generous and noble of men." " If he is sincere. What does that mean? Could all he said have been insincere ? Surely not ! " " Oh, I don't think it at all likely," I replied. But I added to myself, ''■ She evidently has some suspicion all the same. It is very strange." •• You star.;d at him so fixedly," she said. *• Well, yes ; he struck me a good deal." I08 INJURY AND INSULT. •' And me too. He seemed to speak the whole time as if Do you know, Vania, I am so tired. You must go home ; hi; come to-morrow as soon as you can after you have seen tfun' Just teil me this : Was it rude or unkind to say as I did, that i wished to learn to love him soon ?" " No, certainly not ; why unkind ?" "Nor — nor foolish? \\'hy, it must have meant — he mii-' have understood that I doti't love him yet." '* My dear girl, it was beautifully said ; so naive and prett\ it was. And you looked so charming just then, too. He mu^' be a great fool if he did not appreciate the taste you showed he with his society experience." " You seem to me to dislike him, Vdnia. Hut what a su- picious, bad girl I am ! Don't laugh at me, Vania ; I tell yo. evLr)lliing, you know. Oh, you dear, good old friend ; il 1 have unhappiness again — were grief to be mine once more, you would come, I know; peihaps )ou alone of all the worli wo.ild ron^.e to see me. How am I to repay you for all thr-^. dear old W-inia? You must never curse me or hate me, whatever hajjpens." I went h(jine, undressed, and turned into bed. My rooin was damp and dark — a regular cellar. A host of ideas an! strange Sftnsatioiis held carnival within me, and it was Ion., before 1 «-.)uld fall asieej). Probably, at the same time, there was a certain individual, snugly ensconced in his luxurious bed, who lay there and laughed with the greatest enjoyment to think of us thr< e innovents ; that is, it he thought such fools worth laughing at ; probably, though, he despised us too much even to lauL,li • at us ! CHAPIER HI. NEXT morning, at ten o'clock, when I went out. in hot haste, to see the Iknieniefs, on the Vassdi Ostrof, in order [.• go thence to Natdsha's, I knocked uj) against my small visitor «>} the i)revious day — old Smith's grandchild. She was coming uj> to Uiy door. I don't know why, out I was overjoyed to sev INJURY AND INSULT. IO9 her. I had not had time to look at her very closely last fvcninj,', anil nv)\v, ir dajlij^ht, she astonished me more than ever. It would be impossible to find a more strange, more original being — as to exterior I mean — than she was. Small; with large, l)lack, undvussian eyes; thick, tangled, black hair ; and a sort of dumb, stubborn, but thoughtful ex- pression she might well attract the attention of any [asserdjy. Her appearance was most striking; she looked clever, and had a j.erpetual e.xprcssion of mistrust, almost susj)icion, about her. Her torn and dirty dress looked more than ever like a bundle of rags by daylight. She appeared to me to be the victim of some slow, obstinate, killing malady, slowly but surely destroying her being. Her face had a dark, tawny colour, and was very thin ; but, in spite of all the perverse conditions of dirt and rags, there was a certain distinct beauty about her. Her eyebrows were well pencilled, thin, and very beautiiul ; \\c.x wide forehead was a very handsome feature, wide and rather low ; and her lips were beautifully formed, and had a sort of proud and fearless " set," but they were almost wiute — they had scarcely any colour whatever in them. " Oh, here you are again ! " I said. " 1 thought you would turn up ; come in ! '' She came in, crossing the threshold very gingerly, as she did yesterday, and glancing suspiciously round the room. She seemed to observe everything \ery carefully, as though making a note of the changes since her grandfather's time. " Like grandiather, like grandchild," I thought. " I hope she is not mad ; she hasn't said a word yet I " 1 waited. " 'Ihc books, please," she whispered at last, with her eyes on the ground. " Oh, yes, your books ; here they are. I took care of them for you," "She looked up at me with curiosity, and her mouth gave a twitch as though she wanted to smile incredulously ; but the smile i)asscd ofT, and her lips assumed their usual austere expression of ])ride once mure. " Did grandfather tell you about me, then?" She said this ironically, and surveying me all over from head to foot. " No,'he did not ; but he — " "Then how did you know I would 'turn up?' Who told you?" She took me up uncommonly sharp. no INJURY AND INSULT. " Well, I thought you; grandfather could not have lived absolutely alone in the world ; he was so old and feeble, and, therefore, I supposed that somebody must have come and looked after him. Here are the books. Are you learning out of them ? " " No." " What do you want them for ? " "Gr.mdfather taught me out of them when I used to come." " Did you stop coming then?" " Yes J 1 got ill," she said, as if to justify herself. •'Have you a father and mother? What relations have you ? '' i>he frowned and knitted her eyebrows, and looked up at me with a scared look, and then tjuietly turned round and went out without answering, just as she had done the day before. I followed her with my eyes, but she stopped on the tlircshold. "What did he die of?" she asked abruptly, and turning slightly towards me, just as she did the day before, when she asked about Azorka, with her nose against the door. I went up to her and told her all about it as briefly as I could , she listened c|iiietly and incpiisitivdy, with her head inclined and her back towards me. I told her al)out the old man having mentioned the Sixth Line, with his dying breath. I thought it probable, 1 added, that someone dear to him liveil there and would come to entpiire after him. " He evidently must have loved you," 1 said, " to think of you, as he did, at his last moment." " No," she said, almost involuntarily, "he did not love me at all." She was very much agitated. In telling my story I had stooped clown and looked into her face ; 1 observed that she exerci..^.-d al! her strength to smother her agitation, as though she were t"o proiul to exhibit it before me. She was very |)ale, and bit her lower lip (piite hard. 13ut what especially struck me was the extraordinary beating of her heart ; it seemed to beat louder and louder, so that one couKI hear it two or three paces away, as is the case in aneurism. I thought she would end by bursting into tears, but she repressed the iiulination. " \V here's the scaffolding ? " she said. «' What bcalToldmg?" INJURY AND INSULT. Ill " The one you say lie died under." " I'll show you when we go out. But listen, what's your name ? " " Oh, never mind ! " "Never mind what?" •' Nothing ; I'm not called anything ! " She spoke abruptly, and as if vexed, and made a movement as though to go out. I stopped her. " iV'ait a minute, you strange girl ! Look here, I wish you well ; I have been very sorry for you ever since I found you crying on the stairs yesterday. Your grandfather died in my arms, and when he mentioned the Sixth Line with his last breath, he was, as it were, leaving you in my charge. I dream of hull ! Then I took care of your books (or you, and yet for ail this you are so shy and strange, just as though you were friLjhtcned of me. You are evidently very poor, probably an orphan and in the care of strangers. Is it so?" I (juite entreated her. I don't know why, but I seemed to be so strongly attracted to her. It was not all i)ity ; there was something else. Was it the mystery of the thing, or the impres- sion matle upon me by Smith, or my own curious fantastical state of mind and body, or what? Anyhow I felt wonderfully drawn towards he:'. My words seemed to touch her; she looked strangely at me, not harshly this time, but more gently and for a longer while ; then she bent her head again as thouLrh in thought. " Helen," she whispered suddenly, unexpectedly, and very softly. " What ! is your name Helen ? " " Yes." " Will you come and see me sometimes ? " "I can't; I don't know," she stammered, as if thinking it over. Just then some clock struck. She shivered, and asked me with delirious eagerness : — "What tinjc was that ? " " Half-past ten, I think." She gave a cry of alarm, and turned to make off ; but once more 1 stopped her. " I can't let you go like this," I said. " What are you afraid of? Are you late for something? " "Yes yes; let me go, please; I escaped from her; she'll beat me !" She spoke in a broken voice, struggling to get free from me. 1 12 INJURY AND INSULT. "Listen to me," I said, " and don't struggle. I'm going to Vassi'li Ostrof; to the Thirteenth Line; I am late, too, and am going to take a droshky. Lll drive you there ! You'll get honi'.' all the (juicker." " But you mustn't go to where I live ! " she cried in extreme agitation. Her features became (juite disfigured with sin)[jle fear that I should try to find out where she lived. " I tell you I am going to the Thirteenth Line, twt to your place. Come along, you'll get there much quicker with me than on foot." We ran down stairs quickly. I took the first droshky I saw ; a very wretched concern it was, too. Helen must evidently have been in a great hurry to consent to go with me. I did not dare ask any questions, for wiien I cfid ask her whom she was so fiifjhtened of at home, slie swimg her arms about, and became so agitated that she nearly fell out of the droshky. " What on earth can the mystery be ? " 1 thought to myself. .She- was very uncomfortable on the droshky. At every jolt she caught hold of my coat with her left hand — a little dirty freckled one it was. She held her bo(jks tight in her other hantl. It was evident that she valued these books very highly. Once, while recovering her balance, she showed her ankle, and I observed, to my astonishment, that she had nothing but a pair of old torn shoes and no stockings. Although I had determined not to catechise her in any way, I could not help asking her a (|Uestion. " Have you really no stockings?" I said, " How can yon go about without any in this dreadful, damp, cold weather? " " No ; 1 haven't any," she answered abiujuly. "liut, my dear child, surely you live with somebody. Couldn t you have } procured a pair to come out in ? " " 1 go like this of my own accord." " liui you'll get ill ; you'll die." ♦' Very well, then, I'll die." She evidently did not like to answer my questions ; they aimoyed her. "There, this is where he died," I said, showing her the liouse under wlujse shadow the old man had brealheil Iiis last. She looked fi.xedly at the place, and then suddenly turned to me with entreating eyes, and said — " Don't, itoiCt come after me ! 1 will come, I really will, as soon as ever I can." INJURY AND INSULT. II3 " Very well," I said. " I told you before that I wouldn't. l?iit, wliat arc you afraid of, poor liule thin^ ? It pains me to see you like this." "1 ni not afraid of anyone," she answered irritably. " Hut \(»u said just now, 'She'll beat nie.'" " Well,/:/ her beat nie ! let iier luat me !" she repeated, and her upper lip seemed to curl with scorn and to quiver at the same tune. We reached the "Island" at last. She stop))cd the driver at the beginning of the Sixth Line, on the (juay, and jumi>cd out of the droshky, looking around her in a frightened way. " Drive away, drive away," she entreated, "don't come after me ; do drive away at once."' I drove on. Hut when I had proceeded a little way aloni; the (piay I discharged the droshky, and walked back to the Sixth Line, crossing the road cpiickly. I saw her ; she had not had tune to go far, and she looked all about her as she went ; she even stopped every other minute po as to look around her more delil)erately Should I follow her or not? I did go on, and, as I hid myself carefully behind gates and lam])-posts whenever she turned round, I managed to keep out of her sight. On she went and I after her, but alwavs on the other side of the road. My curiosity was excited t(j the highest degree. I had determined not to follow her into any house, but I felt that I must find out whicli house she lived in. I was under the influence of a weighty depression, such as I felt when I saw the old man's dog, Azorka, lying dead at the confectioner's. CHAPTER IV. ON we went ; it was a long way, nearly as far as the Small Prospect. She almost ran ; at last she went into a little grocery shop. 1 stopped and waited. " She can't live in a grocery shop," I *.hought. After a minute or so she came out, without the books. Instead of the books she had an earthenware cup in 114 INJURY AND INSULT. her hand. She went a lew paces further, and then passed in at the gate of an ill-fevoureJ looking house — a small, old, two- storied house, painted a dirty yellow. In one of the lower windowii— there were hut three — there was a little red coftin, serving lo show that a eottiii -maker plied his trade inside. 'I'he seroiKl-tloor windcnvs were small and square, with dirty jianes and pink caru:o curtains. I crossed the roael, and read on the iron plate over the gate- way the legend, " ^Irs. IJuhnoff's house." 1 had hardly had time to read this when, from inside the yard, I heard an angry woman's voice raised to scold somebody. I looked in through the gate, and there, on a low tlight of steps, leading to a side door, stood a stout-looking woman, dressed in the manner of the lower middle classes, witii a handkerchief over her head and a greet) shawl. Her face was of a hideous purple colour ; her little bloodshot eyes were twinkling in a way that meant mis( hief. She was evidently the worse for drink, in spite of the early hour. .She wasscokling [)Oor Helen, who stood before her, about something that had to do with the cup which she lield in her hand. I''i()in behind her, on the steps, an untidy, powdered, and jiaintrtl f:.iiiale looked on. A moment after, a door below opened, and there aj)pearetl, evidently attracted Iw' the ncjise going km, a jjoorly dressed but nice looking, middle aged Woman, of a modest and less rowdy ty])e ; an old man and a girl lt)oked out of the door behind her. A tall, robust- looking nu)ujik stood in the middle of the y.iril, probably the "dvoniik " (yard-man), and la/ily watched the scene, broom in hand. '' Oh )()U little blood-drinkingcursed little villain !" screamed the Woman, discharging all her expletives in a sort of volley v,itlu)ut commas or pause of any kind, but with an occasional choke in between the words. " This is die way you repay all my care, is it, scarecrow ! I send her i)iit for a few gherkins and she slips away. My heart told me she'd slip aw.iy when 1 sent her. She got her hair lialf jjulletl out of her heail for doing it yesterday, and to- day she is at it again. Where have you been t(;, you little \ i\cn ; )()n drcjp of poison, you ? tell me, you little devil, or I'll kill you this minute ! " So saying, the infuriated woman fell upon poor little Helen, but catching sight of the woman looking out of the door below INJURY AND INSULT. II5 she Stopped, and turning to her began her complaints all over again, seeming to be calling her neighbour to witness the mon- strous inuiuity of her wretclied little victim. " Her mother died here — you know yourselves, good people," she yelled — "and this brat was left all alone, on your hands — you know she was — and you have hardly enough to feed yourselves. I saw that ; and took her in ; to please blessed St. Nicholas, I took the orjihan. Well, what do you think ! I've kept her two whole months drinking my blood, she has sucked my very blood out of me, I tell you. Snake ! vermin ! vixen ! look at her, you may beat her, she never says a word ; knock her down, not a word will you get out of her. Whom do you take your- self for, you little green-eyed baboon ; you spawn of Satan ? you'd have starved m the streets, if it had not been for me ; you'd have died but for me, scorpion." " What's tlie matter, Anna 'I'rifonova ; why excite yourself to such an extent ? What has she done to offend you?" asked the woman to whom this raging tigress addressed her re- marks. " What has she done, my excellent friend ! What has she done ! Disobedience, madam, that's what it is, she's seniling me to my grave. I sent her for some gherkins next door, and she comes dancing back three hours after. Where did she go to ? where has she been ? Who are her new friends ? Haven't I been a good friend to her? Yes, and forgave hei wretched mother a debt of fourteen roubles, besides; and buried her at my own expense, and then took this little devil of hers in; you know it, my good woman, you know I did. Haven't I a little right over her after all this ? She ought to feel my kind- ness, insteatTof which she disobeys me. I wanted to make her happy ; I got the little rubbish a muslin dress and a new pair of shoes. Would you believe it, in a couple of days she had torn everything to pieces, on purpose too, for I saw her do it myself. * I want to go about in cotton dresses,' the little vixen said, • not muslin.' Well, she had to wash the floors for that, and then, bang she had gone — bolted ! you heard me beat her last night when she came home. I took away her stock ings, and her boots. ' She won't go without them,' 1 thought, and bang away she goes to-day. Where have you been to, carrion ? Speak, you little murrain ! Where have you been sneaking to ? \Vhom have you been telling lies to about me ? Speak, you gipsy-faced baggage 1 " 1 — a Il6 INJURY AND INSULT. Here she flung herself at the i)Oor frightened child, and scratched her, and pulkd her hair like a mad thing. The cup with the gherkins Hew out of the girl's hands and smaslied ; which still further infuriated the drunken woman. She beat lier victim's face and head, but Helen never uttered a sound, nor a cry, nor a complaint ol any kind under the storm of blows. 1 precipitated myself into the yard, hardly knowing what I was doing, so furious 1 felt, and rushed at the woman. " What are you doing? How dare you treat a i)oor little orphan like that?" 1 cried, catihing hold of the Fury's arm. " W'lial's this ? Who are you ? " she whee/ed, letting go of Helen and resting her hands on her sides. " What may you want iii my house ? " " 1 want to tell you that you are a pitiless, cruel woman," I cried. " How dare you tyrannise over a jjoor child like this? She is not yours. 1 lieard you say yourself that slie was an orphan, and that you had taken her in." " Wiio are )ou ?" yelled the Fury. "Did you come v>ith her then ? Oh ! it's to you she goes then, is it ? Uh ! and you think ycm can come and get up a row in a strange house, do )ou ? I'olice ! " And siie fell on me with her fists. But at this moment there rang out a dreadful inhuman shriek. 1 turned round and just caught sight of Helen lalling to the ground m a fit of convulsions. Her face was dist'igured ; it was epile})sy. 'Ihe untidy-looking woman and a girl ran down the steps, raised her, and carried her up. " 1 wish you may die, you useless baggage," cried the Fury after her. "Three fits in a month. Now then, clear out." 'J'his last was to me, as she advanced threateningly towards me again, 'i'lie dvornik told n.e 1 had better go ; there was nothing lo be done. I left the yard persuaded tliat 1 luid done no good by interfering. But my indignation was bubbling over within me. I got as f.ir as the pavement outside and then looked back. '1 he Fury had ruslied upstairs when I left ; the dvornik had dis- ajipeared also. After a minute the woman who had helped to c.irry Helen in came out of the upi)er door, and hurried down stairs lo her own lodging. Seeing me she stopped and looked at me incjuisitively. 1 liked her ijuiet, kind face, so I took heart of grace and went back into the yard. INJURY AND INSULT. II7 " May I enquire," I said, " who this poor child is, and what she is d()in^' i)cre with that I)rulal woman? You must not think that I ask out of jnire curiosity. I liavc met the child before, and am very particularly interested in her for a certain reason." "If you are interested in licr you had better take her away with you or find some place for her ; that's all I can say," said the woman, edging away from me, and seeming to speak in spite of h.crself. "She'll come to no good here." " l}ut unless you tell me what to do I don't know how to set about it. Is that Mrs. JJubnoff ? " " Yes." "Tell me ; how did the child get into the Bubnoffs' hands ? Did her mother di,- here ? " "Oh, she got here somehow," said the woman, evidently wishing to be rid of me. " It's not my business, and I don't meddle with other people's." " Hut can't you hcl|) me? I really think I might do some- thing for her. Who is the child? Who was her mother ?" " Some foreigner. She lived down below with us here ; a sickly sort of woman. She died of consumption." "Ihen I may gather that slie was dreadfully poor, since she lived in a c(jrner of a cellar like that ? " " I'oor, I should think so ! One's heart ached to see her. We are not much better off ourselves ; but she died owing us five months' expenses. We buried her too ; my husband made the colVm." | " Why, Mrs. DubnolT was just saying that she had buried the I)Oor woman." " That's all a lie." " What was her name ? " " Oh, sop.iethingjunpronounccable. German, I should think." "Smith, was it?" " No ; I don't think it was that. Well, Mrs. Bubnofl" took the ori>han to bring her uj), she said ; but it's a bad business." " I su|)pose she has some object in view in taking the girl ? " " She may have ; but if so — Well, it's pretty sure to be a bad object." She spoke slowly and thoughtfully, and with hesitation, and went on — " I don't know whether I ought to talk like this ; it's no affair of mine;' we are outsiders." Il8 INJURY AND INSULT. " You had better shut your mouth now," said a man's voice behind her at this moment. 'I'he voice belonged to an elderly man in a dressing-gown with a Russian kalian over it. This was my friend's husband, cvidcnily. " It's best not to talk about these sort of things," he said, looking askance at me. " You go in," he continued, to his s})ouse. " Good murning, sir ! " he added to me. " We are col'tin makers, and if you want anything in that line I am very nuich at your service ; otherwise, I don't cjuitc sec tlnit wc can do mucli good by going on with this conversation." 1 took tlie hint, and left the house, much agitated. I could not see any way of heljnng Helen, and yet I felt it intolerable to leave the child thus. Some of my informant's words troubled me det-ply. I telt sure that there was foul play of some sort going on ; of tiiis I was convinced. However, I went slowly away, head bent, a prey to disquieting thoughis, wiicn suildenly a loud voice calling my name, roused me Iroin my reverie. 1 looked up and saw a tipsy-looking individual standing before me, fairly well dressed, hut with a wretched greasy caj) on his head. His face seemed very familiar. 1 t>bserved him closely. Hg winked and buiiled in a tipsy, ironical manner. '* Well, don't you know me ? " he said. CHAPTER V. '* \ X "^ H V, it's MaslobdefT ! " I cried, suddenly recognising an V V "'*J school friend. " Well, this is an unexpected pleasure !" " rieasure ! I should think so. We haven't had this same pleasure ior six years. We have met occasionally, of course, but your worship has not condescended to recognise me, naturally. Why, you're a general now— a literary general!" He pro- nounced tliis last sentence with a smile ol excjuisite derision. "Now, my good fellow," 1 answered, ''don't be an ass ! In the first place, generals — literary or other — don't come out walking in this sort of g'.ise. And in the second place, if you 11 excuse my mentioning it, on the two occasions when I INJURY AND INSULT. IIQ 1-iavc lind the Imnour of seeing yon in Iho streets, it was your- self wlu.) avoitlcd me ; and what's more, yovi made this so clear, that I could do nothing else but let you alone. And what is still more— I'll tell you frankly what I think — if you were not half-seas-over at this moment, you would have cut ni'.- again ; wouldn't you now ? All the same, I'm more than delighted to meet you I " " Is that true, old boy ? Don't I rather comi>roniisc your respectability with my — well, not (juite r^^ww/f'/y/c//// condition ? No ! Well, let's let it alone, Vania. I tell you what, I always think of yoa as one of the best fellows I ever knew. Why, don't yor. remember getting birched instead of me, one day ? \'ou wouldn't say a word, and wouldn't sneak about mc, and instead of being grateful, I laughed at you for it. Why, you're a rare old fellow, \'ania ! And how are you, old chap?" ilere we ki^se'i each other in true Russian style. "I dont forget my old friends, and don't make new ones." He ga/ed in my Lxco. in the feeble way that a half-tipsy man docs ga/.e. I was sorry to sec his condition, for Maslobdeff was always a capital good fellow. " Look here, Vania ; let's have a chat," he said. " Are you in a hurry ? " " Well, yes I am ; I am drcadfullv worried about sometliing." I Slid. " Hut I'll tell you what I'll do. Look here I where do you hve ? " " You shall have my address. lUit let me tell you what's better still. Look up there! " He pointed to a signboard on the wall of a house a few yards off. " Look — restaurant I I knr)w it, and it's a good one. My dear boy, the vodki there — uns])eak- able ! I know it, for I've drunk gallons of it. They know Philip I'hilipovitch ! They daren't serve him up anything but the real article. Well, what doi's that face mean ? Look here, let me speak now ; it's just a (piarter past eleven ; at five and twenty minutes to twelve you shall be free to go. There ! you don't grudge twenty little minutes for a chat with an old friend ? " I agreed to the twenty minuter., and we went up the dirty wooden stairs to the second floor. On the stairs \vc met two men ; one a flashy youngster with valuable rings and scarf-pin, the other an elderly, stout, coatse-looking man, who saluted Masloboeff as we passed, and informed him that Mitroshka was upstairs. On entering the cofTee-room, at one end of I30 INJURY AND INSULT. which was a long counter covered with meat pies, radishes, and a host of light refreshments, togethe^r with decanters contain- ing every conceival)lo varioty of wine and spirit, Masloboeff hurried nie througli to the lar corner, where we sat down. My companion I'ointcd out Mitroshka. "I'herc he is," he said, "stancUng at the window, that gipsy- looking fellow ; he's a iiorse dealer and knows all the gentry al)oui liere. 'That man, sir, will manufacture a roulJle note untler your eyes, and you'll take it as a good one the minute after. Vou may jiut him into a frock coat and take him to the yachl-clul) as Count Harahanoff, and he'll play whist with the suelis for a couple of hours, and be the best count there. Mitrushka is at daggers drawn with the fat old fellow we met, beiMU.S"' tlic fat man sna]>ped that otlier young chaj) out of MitrosiTka's hanils before Muioshka had time to scpiee/e him dry (lie h;ul money lell iiim). I don't want Mitroshka to see me, \'ania. Don't you stare at him. Here, let's go into this next room. \o>v then, Stepan !" he saiil to the waiter, " of course, you kiiow what 1 want?" "Oh, yes, sir." " And vou intend to satisfv me, do you ? " "1 (io.'sir." "()rf you go, then. Sit down, V.-inia. How you stare at nie, \'ania ; what is it? Do 1 surprise you? Never be sur- j)nsed at anytliing ! Men must cliange you know, and perliaps J am cliangeil since we read ' Cornelius Nepos ' together. But believe one thing, \'ania. MaslolnVlT may j)erhaps have gone astray a bit now and then, but his heart is all right, my boy, though circumstances are different. I thought of going in for doctormg once, but it fell thrt)ugh ; then I tried tutoring, and didn't like that ; then 1 wrote a treatise on Ciogt)! ; then I thought of setting up as a jeweller; thei; I thought 1 would marry money, and it nearly came off; and now I'm nobody's .servant, ami yet I make money. 1 am a sui)porter of the law aiiil a taker t>f fees, and I'm icull in, 7tv// m with my work, \ .iuia. 1 hive a large connection in a mysterious legal direc- ti(.)n. Do you see ? " "Secret police, 1 supi>ose?" " Not exactly tliat. My work is private as well as ofhcial. I'll tell you what my princii)al business is, Vdnia — drinking. 1 never drink my wits away, I'm all right there. Wui I'm afraid 1 ni a poor lot, \'dnia. You can't wash a black horse INJURY AND INSULT. 121 vliite. You were rij^ht just now Vdnia. I have often wanted to conic up and speak to you, hut never dared. I should nf)t have dared to day, hut that I was tipsy. You were ([uite riglit. Now, let's talk al)out you. I've read it, my hoy ; I've read it ! Your hook, I mean. l",ii, man, and how I read it ! I very nearly heeanic a respertahle fellow straight off, t.)urh and go, I as>ure you ; hut i thought it all over, and decided that I had hettcr remain a blackguard after all." .\iul so he maundered on, getting more and tiiorc under the inlhience (^f the drink he took. I'oor Maslol.HKff! he was always a good fellow, hut terribly weak. He was a cunning, sly character, even at school ; hut he had a generous heart. A good man lost to the world. There are many Russians of tliis type; men of excellent cai)a- hilities, who ruin themselves deliberately and against their own sense and self-respect, purely out of weakness to resist certain teinptalions. And they not only inevitcd)ly ruin themselves, hut will tell you long before their ruin that they see it approach- ing. Maslohoeff was drowning his soul in litjuor. "Just one more word, Vdiiia," he went on, "I read your book and sever.d reviews u|)on it (you think I don't read anything, but I really did), after which 1 met you in the •streets in wret( hed boots and a caved-iii hat. What are you working at now ? '' "Journalism." "Oh, that's what I call being a post-horse. Well, all I can say is, 1 like drink'ng better. Look at me now! I have a goocl drink and then go home and lie down on my sofa (it's a good one too, on sjirings) ; and there I lie and dream, and fancy myself som.e Homer or Dante. Now you can't imagine yourself Dante or Homer or anybody else; firstly, because you want to be a fellow like that yourself; and secondly, because post-horses mustn't have fancies. Now look here, candidly and frankly, and like a brother, listen to me ; don't you want some money? I've got it, you know. None of your faces, now! Take the money, settle with your employers, take off your harness, and go and have a quiet year of peace and life — somewhere — and then write ! See what the grand result will be ! There ! What do you say to that ! " " Listen, Maslohoeff, old fellow ; I value your brotherly offer deeply; but — I can't say anything just now; there are circumstances — it's a long business, but I promise to tell 122 INJURY AND INSULT. you all about it another time ! Thanks, old boy, thanks very much ! and I'll come and see you — often ! Look here, there's one thing — you have been very open with me, so I will just ask your advice about it, especially as you are an expert in this sort of business," and I told him the whole history of old Smith and liis grandchild, beginning at the scene in the confectioner's shop. Strangely enough, as I went on I could see by his eyes that he kiiew suinething about it. I entjuircd if this was so. " Well, I didn't know much about Smitli," he said, " except in so fir that I knew an old man had died in a restaurant ; but as to Mrs. Hubnoff, I certainly do hap[)en to know some- thiiiL? ! I got a fee from her a month or two ago ! \'ou see, *■ Jc prtuds inon bien ou je U iroiive !'' I'm like Moliere for once ! 15ut she cheated me, and I vowed to get my due out of her some day. She's a bad woman, the worst sort ; and her business is — well, unspeakable ! Vou nmst not think me a Dun Quixote; but 1 don't like that sort of thing. However, I uni very glad you told me all about this ; it has given me an idea. I take up all sorts of private eni|uiries, you know; and get to know the most extraordinary mixture of people. I had a little job on behalf of a prince, the other day. Well, all I can say is, 1 shouldn't have thought it of the prince ! I could tell you a strange tale or two, Vania. Vou cume to me and 111 give you such sulijccts for your novels that you'll make your readers skip with astonishment." "What was your prince's name ? " I asked, with a feeling that something curious was about to be revealed. '* And what do you want to know Mt degree." " C'ome along, old fellow, by all means ! I can tell stories as well as most people, but within limits, you know — honour- bound, and that sort of thing." " Of course, fair play and strict honour. You needn't tell me more than you ought." I was intensely agitated, and he saw it. INJURY AND INSULT. I23 " M'asloliocfr," I continued, " have you any advice to give me as to tlie history I told you ? " " Your liistory I wait a minute and I'll tell you ?" He went over to tlie counter, and there, as though acciden- tally, entered into conversation withthctnanwlioni hehadi)ointed out to me as Mitroshka. He seemed to l)e far more intimate with this gentleman than was to be gatliered from his previous remarks. After a while he came back to me. " Look lierc, Vania," he said, "come and see me at seven this evening. Very likely, I may have something to tell you. You see I'm not much use to you alone. I 7i'as a useful sort of fellow not long ago ; l)ut just now I have had very httle. profes- sional practice, and have studied the science of drinking more. However, I have my old connections, and I can do a good deal of snufhng about with their help ; not that I am not a pretty good hand myself, if I choose an opportune, that is a sober, moment for my work, ^\'ell, well, here's my address, old boy ; 1 live in the Shestilavochnaya. Just now I'm a little too far g(jnc for anything like work. One more glass, and then home. 1 shall lie down till you come ; mind and be punctual 1 You shall make Alexandra Semednovna's acquaintance, and we shall have time for a talk aboiu i)0ctry, you know." " And how about the other thing ? " "Oh, we'll fit that in, tool" " All right, I'll be sure to come," I said ; and we parted. CHAPTER VI. W HEN I got to the Ikmenicfs' I found that the old / y lady had been exi)ecting me for a long while. What I had told her yes'erday about Natasha's urgent note to me had raised her curiosity painfully, and she had been w.iiting anxiously for nie ever since ten. When I did come, at about two, the torment of expectation had brought the jioor old lady to the verge of despair. Besides this, she longed to tell me of the new hoj^es which had arisen in her breast since the day before, and about old Ikmenief, who, though he had been morose and ill, had become much more tender and kind to 124 INJURY AND INSULT. wards herself. She was so angry with me for coming late, when I did turn up, that I thought she would have asked n)e coldly what I had come for, or soiucthmg of that sort, she looked so st'.'rn and unconcerned as to what I had to tell her ; but I hastened to rei^ort the whole scene at Natdsha's lodging wiihout preface. No sooner did the old lady hear of the prince's visit, and of his solenm proposal for Natasha's hand, th;in away went all her accumulated spleen and temper. Words fail me to descril)e her joy. Siie seemed to lose her wits ; she cried, and crossed herself again and again ; she knelt before her ikon in the corner, and touched the ground v.ith her fore- heod • she embraced me, and wanted to rush off to the old gentleman to tell him the joyful news. " Wiiy, bless you, my boy," she said, "he is naturally angry at all I'.ie humiliations and insults that have been heaped upon him of iate ; but when lie hears that Natasha is to have her rights and be made happy, he'll forget it all in the twinkling of an eye." I had the greatest difficulty in dissuading her. Good old . lady ! in spite of the fact that she had been married to him tweiity-hve years, she did not know her husband as I did. 'Then, again, she wanted to go straight off to Natdsha with me. I pointed out that Ikmenief would not only disap[)rove of her action, but that we shtnild very likely spoil the whole thing. She had great ditliculty in understanding this patent fact, and she kept me half an hour beyond my time, the only words she could fmd to say during the entire period being — " How am I to sit alone here, between these four walls, with my heart so lull of joy !" At last I persuailcd her to let me go, by representing to her that Natasha would be anxious to see me. The good old lady blessed and crossed me several times, sent her blessing specially to Natasha, and nearly cried when I refused to come again the same day, unless anything particular happened in connection with Natasha. I ditl not see old Ikine'nief this time; he had not slejit all night from feverish headache, and was now taking a siesta in his study. I found that Natdsha had also expected me all the mornmg. When 1 came in she was walking up and down the ro(jni as usual, deep in thought. Even now, whenever I think of her, as at this period, I see the picture of a lone girl walking up INJURY AND INSULT. 12$ and down, up and down, in a slial)l)y room, thouglitful, deserted, waiting, expecting— her hands folded together, her eyes on the ground, and always aimlessly walking uj) and down, up and down ! She (juietiy asked me (still walking up and down) why I came so late. I told her all my adventures ; but she hardly listened. It was evident that she was much preoccu[)ied ! " What is there new ? " I asked. •'There is nothing new," she said, but with an expression which satisfied me that ihcre r.'<7.f something new, and that she had been waiting for me on purpose to tell me ; but that, as usual, she wouKl not say a word about it until the very moment when 1 got up to go away. So I simply waiteil. W'e talked about yesterday's ei)isode. What struck me cs])ecially was that our ideas as to the prince were so strangely alike. Evidently she did not like him to-day, she disliked him more to-day tlian she had the day before. And, when we went through the details of his visit of the past evening.Natasha suddenly said — " \'ou know, \';inia, it's a sure sign — it always is so — if you don't like a man at first, that you will get to like him afterwards. At all events, it is always like that with me." *' God grant it be so, Natasha ! " I said. " My opinion is, and I have gone carefully through the whole matter, that though the iirince may be a regular Jesuit, and all that, yet he has certainly consented to your marriage, truly and seriously." Natdsha stopped in the midst of her walk and looked at me suddenly, with an expression of hardness on her face ; her very lips were trembling. " Vdnia ! " she said, " how could a man begin to deceive and //d' under circumstances like these ? " She spoke haughtily, but as ilujugh the i|uestion perplexed her. "Of course, ol course !" I hastened to remark. "Yes, of course ! He could not have been lying ; it is an absunl idea to suppose it for a moment. Why, why should he ? To what purpose could he try to deceive us now ? Besides, what should he take me for to think of making such a mockery of me as that would amount to? Surely no man exists who could do such a cruel act as that ! " "Of course, of course!" 1 agreed; but I said to myself. "You think of nothing else, all the same, my poor, dear little girl, as you walk up and down here all alone; and, if the truth 126 INJURY AND INSULT. were known, you probably suspect the prince even more than 1 do." " I wish he would come back ! " she said. " He must have very imi)ortant business, to drop everything here and go away ! Do you know anything about his business, Vania?" " Not I ! Probably he is making money, somehow. He always is ; but that is not ot/r affair, Nat.lsha ! " " Of course, not ; but Aleosha spoke of some letter yester- day." " \\W\, it may be that ! Has Aleosha been ? " " Oh, yes." " Early ? " " He came at twelve ; he get's up late, you know. He sat for a time, and then I sent him off to see Katia. I thought I ought to do that, \'dnia." " Didn't he want to go of himself?" "Oh, yes— " She \v;is going to add something but stopped ; I looked at her, and waited. Her face was sad, and 1 longed to ask her what was the matter, but I knew she didn't like questions. "Oh ! he's such a strange boy — a sirafii^e boy ! " she said at last with one side of iicr mouth slightly drawn U[>, and evi- dently trying not to look at me. " Wliy ? " I asked. " Was there anything particular at your interview to-day ? " "Oh, no! nothing at all; just so. He was very nice to me, but — " Oh ! well," I said, " all his troubles and an.xieties are at an end now." She looked earnestly at me, as if she would have said, " unconunonly little trouble or anxiety he ever allowed himself to suffer." lUit she saw that I was thinking the same thing, and said nothing. Natasha was very sweet and i)retty this afternoon, although she was evidently much disturbed. She and I s;it and talked for an hour or more. The j)rin(e's visit had frightened her a good deal; and I could see from her cpieslions that she was longing to know what sort of impression she had made upon the prince. Hod not she shown her joy too unmistakeably ? Had not she put on too nmch of an offended air ? or was she too much the other way — too complaisant ? What did he INJURY AND INSULT. 12? think of her? did he dce tslalilishuienl had long been known as " suspieious," anil as to which Maslobdefi" related certain details which were enough to cause nic the greatest anxiety on Helen's account. 'I'iie first nio\e in. Masloi)delf's pi. in of [)roceedings was for us to go to Mrs. lUibnoff's restaurant, and thither we now ni.ide i>ur way. " Will they let us in, though ? " I asked. "Of course they will, as guests," MaslobdefT replied. " She knows uie, and she knows Mitroshka, and won't suspect our iiUe'itions." As scjon as we reac:hed the gate (after we had joined Mit- roshka) t'le d\i)rnik winked at the latter and let us in. We lelt our tlrosliky with instruciions to be ready for us, and entered. Mrs. Bubnoff, looking dishevelled and half tipsy, opened the door to u.;, car.dle in hand, and welcomed us. She showed us into a room, however, which Maslobdeff would not liear of having. " No, no !" he said, "we want a better reception th.in thi-^. (let us some ieeil t hampagne, and show us another room. Look here," he added, 'is Sizibruchoff here ?" J cs. "The young villain : How dared he come here before me?" he said. " Very likely he is waiting for you,'" said Mrs. liuhnofT. " He seems to be expecting somebody.'' Mitroshka staved outside, and we went into another ro mi where we found the young fellow referred to as Si/ibruihoff, sittmg at a small table with a lady friend, and some champagne and sweet liisi uits and bonbons before them. " riiilip I'liilipovitch, 1 am delighted to see you," he said, C(.)ming forward with a tipsily li.ippy expression of face. Si/ibruchoff introduceil us to the lady who was seated at the table with him, anil who informed us that he had just been telling her of his vi^it to Paris." •' He WIS just about to tell me how he broke a pier-glass at a restaurant there," she said. INJURY AND INSULT. I3I " How was that ?" we asked. "Well, 1 was then witli Karp Vasilitch," he said; "and Karp V;;sihtch was so drunk that ho insisted on talking Russian to the proprietor. Karp was standing alongside of a great long l'jigh\h jiier-glass, and cannoned U|) against it. Juiibert, the proprietor, called out, ' Tiiat glass cost nie seven "hundred francs ; look out, or you'll be having it over ! ' Karp Vasilitch looked across at nie and called out, 'I say, Sizibru- choff, shall we go halves, eh ? ' " ' Pone ! with you,' I said. " No sooner had I said the word, than bani:; went his great fist against the glass, and crash went the whole thing on tlie ground. " MN'hat the blazes are you al)out, you scoundrel?' yelled Joubcit, making for his face. " * My dear sir,' said Karp Vasilitch, 'never mind about scratching my face, but take your mone_\' while you can get it,' and with that he whip|)ed out six hundred and fifty francs, and paid him down on the nail. ^Ve got off the other fifty francs." Just at this moment there wa'-- a fearful shriek some rooms off. 1 knew the voic-e ; it was Helen's! A moment after there were other cries, and the sound of quarrelling and blows — Mitroshka's voice and another's. Suddenly the door burst open, and in rushed Helen, her hair dishevelled; her muslin dress — the one we have heard of as being a s|)ecial detestation of hers — torn and crushed, and her eyes blazing with a subdued tire. I was standing opposite the door by whi( h she entered, and she rushed straight up to me and encircled me with her arms. Everyone jumped up at the apparition. "Look here, Vania," said Maslt)bdeff, coming calmly up to mc and cla]>ping mc on the shoulder.just take the droshky and drive straight home with the child. You have nodiing more to do here. We'll see about the rest of this business to-morrow, if there be anything more to see after." I did not wait for a second bidding. Seizing Helen by the hand I rusheil away, dragging her after me. .\o one stopped us. Mrs. lUibnoff was evidently under the intluence of terror, it had all happened so suddenly that she had not collected her wits. The droshky was ready, and twenty minutes later we were safe at my house. K — 2 132 INJURY AND INSULT. Helen was in a semi-conscious state. I loosened the hooks of her dress at the neck, sprinkled her face with water, and laid her down on my sufa-hed. She was feverish, and began to wander. I looked at her pale little face and Ikt colourless lips. I gazed at her dishevelled hair, which had evidently been carelully combed,- however, and on her torn muslin dress. And as I ga/.ed I realised more and more the dreadful nature of the home, and the awful perils out ot which 1 had brought her. I'oor little thing ! she became' worse and worse, I could not leave her, and decided not to go to Natasha's this evening. Now and then Helen r.iised her long eyelash','S and looked at me long and fixedly, as though trying to rec(;gnise who I was. She fell asleep late, between one and two o'clock, and I lay down on the lloor by her side. CHAPTER VHI. I AROSE very early. All the night I had kept waking up nearly every half-hour, and each tmie I went to my poor little guest and carefully observed her. She was feverish and slightly delirious ; but towartls morning she fell into a Sound sleep. 'Ihat's a good sign, i thought ; but all the same, I determined that while the poor little thing still slept I would run for the doctor. I knew a doctor, a kind-hearted old bachelor who had lived in the Vladmirsky froni time imme- mori.il, all alone ssilh his derman housekeeper. 1 ran off to him and ot)tained his promise to come in at ten o'clock ; it w.is ciglit when 1 arriveel there, ami I felt that I should like to call at Masloboeffs on the way home ; but I retlected that Helen might wake up, and be alarmed at finding herself alone and at my lodging ; in her i)resent state she might well have lorgotten how, and under what circumstances, she had come there. Siie awoke at the very moment that I came in. 1 went up to her, and very ([iiielly eiKjuired how she felt? She did not answer, but stared long ami fixedly at me with her large expres- sive black eyes. She looked as though her head were all right, and as though she understood clearly ; so I assumed that she did not answer merely from lier habit of silence. She had INJURY AND INSULT. T33 alwiys been like this, starinp; ohstinntcly nt one instead of answering, earii time I had seen her. I5c>i(les obstinacy, tliere was a r:crtain pride in I'.er ga/.e, mingled with a strange curiosity of exjjression, together with a look of austerity and increduiiiy. I wanted to i)ut my liand upon her foreliead to feel whether she had any fever, hut slie (piielly and silently took my hand with her own little hand, and put it aside, turning her face to tile wall at the same time. I went away from her bedside, so as not to worry her further. I hail a lar,;e brass kettle which 1 had long used, instead of a tea-urn, for i)oiling my water in. I iiad also a stock of wood handy, the dvi^rnik having brought in a (piantity to last al)out five days. I \nn the water on to boil, on a hastily made fire, and got my tea-things ready on the tal)le ; Helen turned round and watched tlie wliole o|)eration with great curiosity. I asked her whether she wanted anything ; but she turnetl away once more and said nothing. " I wonder what she is angry with me about," I thought, "strange little girl." My old doctor turned U|), as promised, at ten o'clock. He carefully examined the little jiaticnt, with real (lerman atten- tion, and assured me that, tiiough siie was a little fcveri-.h, there was no particular danger about her condition. He added that she probal>ly suffered from some continual malady, something connected with the heart's action, he thought, which jjoint would require special attention afterwards ; at present she was not in any danger He wrote a i)rcscription for iier — mixtuie and jKAvders ; and then put all sorts of questions to me, as to how she came to be here, and so on. Helen had struck him very much ; she had jiushed his hand away when lie wanted to feel her pulse, and would not show her tongue. She would not answer a word to all his (juestions, but she stared fixedly the whole time at the large order of iSt. Stanislas hanging at his neck. " Probably her iiead aches badly," he said ; *' and, good gracious, how the child stares ! " I did not think it necessary to tell him all about Helen ; I said it was too long a hi>,tory for the present. " Let me know if you want me," he said as he went out; " at present there is no danger." I determined to stay with Helen all day, if possible until she was cjuite well again, leaving her alone as seldom as possible. But as I knew that Natdshaand Madame Ikmenief would pro- 134 INJURY AND INSULT. bably be put out if I did not turn up, I resolved to send Natasha a note saying I could not come to-day. 1 could nui write to the old lady. She had asked nie never to do so, on one occasion wlicn I had written during Natasha's illness. " My old husband frowns so," she had said, "when he sees your letter. He longs to know what it is about, but does not like to ask ; and so he is in a bad luiniour for the rest of thi; day. So you don't do nie much good with your letters, my boy; besides, wha»'s the use of ten lines or so? I alwa)::. long to know mure, and you are not there to ask." So I only wrote to Natasha, and posted it on my way to the apothecary's. While 1 was away Helen fell asleep again. She moaned a little when I returned, and tremMcd. '1 hen, she awoke alter a time with a little cry, and looked at me as though with dislike — as though the associations with my appearance were painful to her. I confess that this hurt me a gooil deal. iMaslobdeff came at eleven. He was much preoccupied, and was in a great hurry to go somewhere, so that he only stayed a minute. " Well, old fellow," he said, " I guessed you didn't live in style ; l»i\t I never thought I shoukl find you in such a hole as this. Why, this is a /r////-^', not a loilging. Vou can't A'//.V, you know, in a place like this. Now look here, this won't do. Vou nmst I ome and see me ne.xt Sunday inurning, and we'll talk it over logically. You can't go on like this. Surely you wouldn't think it any dishonour to borrow a little money from me ? " . "(Ml, never mind about me," I said. "Tell me how it all ended at Bubnoff's last night?" "(Juite right, of course; a!ul you achieved your end. What else do you want ? I haven't time to go into it all now ; but I just came in to find out what you intend to do with the chikl ? Shall you place her somewhere, or keep her here, or what ? We must make up our minds as to this point at once." " I hardly know yet what to do. I was waiting to talk it over with yourself. Could 1 keep her hereon some pretext, do you think? " " Of course ; why not? Keep her as your servant." " Do talk rather less noisily, my dear fellow. 'Ihough she is ill, she h.as all her wits about her. When you came in 1 saw INJURY AND INSULT. 135 her sluiiklor perceptibly. She evidently connected you with yesterday somehow." I ])roeeedetl to tell Maslobocff all 1 knew about this child and Ikt ehararter. He was very nuK h interested. I added that I had hopes of getting her into a house wlierc I was known and told him all about \\\\ Ikmenief friends. To my unbounded nstoni.-ihment b.e was acquaintetl witli most of Natasha's hi.story ; and when 1 asked him how on earth he hai)pcned to know t/itii f he said — "Oh, one i)i(ks uj) these things by bits somehow. It fits in to anotlier little affair I have li.id to do with. I told you that I knew Trlnre Valkofski. \'ou are (juilo right to send her to the Ikmeniefs if you cm. There's no romn for both of ycju here, 'I'hen we mustn't forget that she mu^t be got up respectably. Just leave that part of the business tome; I'd look after it. (lOodbye now, old boy. Come in and see us as often as you can. Is she asleep now ?" " I think so," 1 said. But scarcely had he gone out when Helen beckoned to me. "Who's that?" she asked. Her voice shook; but she looked at me with the same fixity and haughtiness of expression. I cannot describe it more clearly than by the.sc woids. I told her Masloboeffs name, and added that it was through him I had been able to get her away from Ihibnoff's. I added that Bubnoff was \eryniuch afraid of .Maslolxieff. Her cheeks flushed at my words, i>rol)ably at the recollection which Ihibnoffs name conjured up. " She will never come here, will she ? " slie a^ked anxiously. I hastened to reassure her. She was silent and took my hand in hers for a moment, but as suddenly dropped it, apparently recollecting herself. " She cannot possibly feel any dislike for me," I thought. "This is simply ivr manner; or, ])erhaps, the poor litUe thing has seen so much grief and cruelty that she cannot as yet believe in anyone or anything." At the time appointed 1 went to the chemist's, and also to an eating-house where I was known and had a credit. I took a basin with mc, and brought back some chicken broth for jioor ilelen ; but she would not eat it, and I had to put it on the stove to keep it warm. Having given her her medicine, I settled down to my work. I thought she went to sleep, now ; but looking up accidentally, a few moments later, I saw that she 136 INJURY AND INSULT. was watching me writing, evidently much interested ; I pre- tended nut to notice her and went on. She soon fell asleep in real earnest, and, to my great satisfaction, without any delirium or moaning. 1 fell into a reverie. "Natasha," I thought, "will be angry with me for not coming ; not only that, she will feel hurt that 1 should seem to feel no interest in her affairs just at this critical time, and I may be most necessary to her to-day ; who knows? She may be having all sorts of worries and souk' question to deciiK'. rendering my presence most essential, and here 1 am, not avail- able." .Xs for Madame Iknienief, 1 had not the slightest idia how I should ever dare to face her to-morrow, and, as 1 turned the matter over and over in my mind, I suddenly deternwned to r'.in off and sec them both and be hack in a couple ot hours. Helen was asleep, she would not hear me go t)ut. 1 jumped up, took my coat and hat, and was just leaving, when sud- denly Helen called me. I was nuieh surprised ; surely she iiad not heen pretending to be asleep. I may mention here that 1 liked to .^ee that Helen, although she spoke so little, now seeuied to call me to her side more freciuently, and to turn to me for explanation when anything i)U/./ted her, " Where are you going to send me to?" she asked, when I came up to her betlsitle. She always asked her questions in so sharj) and sudden a manner that she surprised me ; this time I hanlly knew what to answer. 1 diiln'l realise what she was referring to. " \'ou were talking to your friend just now, and saying that you wanted to send me to some house. I won't go anywliere." 1 bent over her ; she was very feverish again. I did all I couKl t'.)S(jolhe and reassure her, and told her that if she pre- ferred to remain with me 1 should certainly not send her any- where. \\hile s.iying this 1 took my hat and coat off ag.iin ; I could not leave her in this condition. " No, no,'' she said, seeing at once that I wanted to stay for lu r sake. " No, no, 1 wish to go to sleep ; I shall be asleep in a minute." •' but how are you to stay all alone?" I said dubiously. " Of course, I should be back in a c()Ui)le of hours," 1 aiided, "but — " Co, ot course," she said. " \\'hy, if 1 am to be ill for a year, you'll h.avt.' to stay at home for a year, at that rate." She trieil to smile, and looked very strangely at me, as though struggling with some kind of sentiment which had arisen in her INJURY AND INSULT. 137 hcnrf, poor littlo tlung ! Tier jinor tender hcnrt was pccpinc; out ol the mist of inisanthr<)])y aiul obduracy that ciniroiicd licr. I went first to tl)c Iknicnicfs'. The old lady was waiting for mo in a state of feverisii expectancy, and met me with re- l)roaches. She was much disturbed. Ikmenief had gone out immediately after dinner, she did not know where to. I felt sure that she liad told the old gentleman everything that 1 had related to her, in her own special way, by a series of hints ; in fact, she confessed as much, telling me that she had not found it ])ossihle co abstain Irom sharing her great joy with her hus- band ; but that Ikmenief had got " blacker than a cloud," and had not said a word ; had not even answered her (juestions, and immediately after dinner had gone out. She told nie all this with the greatest signs of anxiety, and begged me to slay with her until Ikmenief came back. I told her almost coldly that I could not, and that 1 should jjrobably not see her next day, and that 1 had now come iirinci pally to tell her this. We very nearly quarrelled this time. She cried, reproaclied me bitterlv, and only when 1 was on the doorstej) she suddenly fell on my neck, embraced me with botli arms and told me not to be angry with her, nor to take offence at anything she had said. I found Natasha alone, contrary to my expectations, and she seemed less glad than usual to see me ; it appeared to me that I was almost in the way. To my question as to whether Aledsha liad been, she replied — " Of course he has, but not for long. He promised to come in the evening ; " she spoke, as if in a reverie. " Was he here last evening ? " " No — no, he was kept ! " she said hurriedly. " Well, Vania, and how goes it with you ?" 1 saw that she was trying to change the subject ; and when 1 looked fixedly at her. it was clear that she was un(]uestional)ly agitated. She observed me watching her, and turned su( h a sharp gaze upon me, that one might have fancied she wanted to l)urn me up with it. " She has got some new trouble," I thought, " but she doesn't want to tell me about it yet." I told her the whole story of little Helen, by way of answer to her question about my affairs. My story interested her very much ; she seemed greatly struck. " Good heavens ! " she said, "and you could leave her like that, alone and ill ? " 138 INJURY AND INSULT. I explained tliat I hac' wished to stay at home, but had been afraid of offending her (Nat;isha), and, besides, I thought she nii-^ht want me." "Want you," she said, musingly, "perhaps I do want you ; but it will do another time. Have you been to see them ? " 1 told her of my visit to her mother. "Yes," she said, "God only knows- how my father will take the news, and\et after all, what news is there?" " How, what news?" I asked. Here was a sudden change with a vei't) you think I shall repruaih you, as Mrs. lUibiu^ff ilid, for living with me without paying tor it? And whore iliil yi>u fmd that wretched buish ? 1 had no brush," I added, in wonderment. " It's my brush ; I brought it liere myself. I used to sweep mv giandt'.idur's tloor with it ; it has been hidden behind the stove ever since." I Clime hac k into the room musing. I might be wrong, but it seemed clear to me tliat this child felt it irksome to live for nothuig, and was determine I to prove to me from the out- set that she was earning her keep ; if so, what a sensitive little ch.ua( ter sue must be, 1 thought. A couple of minutes later she lame in and sat down in her j)l,tce on the sofa, looking at me with curiosity. Meanwhile I h id boiled die water, made tea, antl j>oured out a cup for her, which 1 gave to her with a ])iece of bread ; she acce])ted it silently— p.o wonder I she had haiilly oaten anything for days. " I^ook how you've dirtied your pretty frock sweeping the floor I" 1 sail! showing her a large smudge on her skirl. .She looked down, and then, to my extreme astonishment, she put down her cu|), took hoKl of the muhlin dress deliberately and uidi both hamls, and in an instant tore the whole thing from toj) to bottom ; having done this she lot)ked up at me with llishing eyes, but saying nothing. Her face was white as a sheet. "What on earth are you doing that for, Helen?" 1 asked. I fieizan to think tiie chilil uuist be mad. " It IS ;/,'/ a jiretty frock," she s.iiil, breathless with agitation. " Why dul you say it was a prettv frock ? I won't wear it, I won't ! " sue cried, jumping up, " I'll tear it up ! 1 never asked INJURY AND INSULT. I4I her to dress nic smart ; slio dressed 111c up a^'ninst my will ! I've torn one dress up, and I'll tear this, too 1 I will : 1 will ! 1 will !" ami in a moment she had seized the wretched frock and torn it almost to bits. N\hen she had finished she was so weak and jiale that she cimld hardly stand. I gazed at this exhibition in silent wonder. She was staring at me, asthc)Ut:h I were the object of her wrath, and with a sort of (.lehanl expression in her eyes. However, I knew now how to treat her. I determined to go and buy her a new dress this very morning. This wild little nature must be managed solely by kindness ; she looked as though she had never come across good people in her short life. I knew that at the Tolkoochi Rhinok I could get a very neat frock for her, cheaj). The worst of it was, it so happened that at the moment I was nearly penniless. However, 1 had thought of a source whence I expected to be able to raise some money, so I took my hat and prepared to go. Little Helen watched me intently; she seemed to he waiting for something. "Are you going to lock me in again?" she asked, as I took the key, intending to lock the door after me as 1 had done the day before. "Dear child," I said, coming up to her, "dont be angry ! I locked the door because somebody might come m. Wnx are ill ; you might easily be frightened, (loodness knows who might come in ! Mrs. Hubnoff, for instance ! " I said this on purpose, by way of excuse ; but I really locked her up because I did not trust her, I was afraid that she might run away from me, so I thought it better to be cautious. Heleri said nothing, and I locked her in as before. I knew an editor, for wliom I sometimes worked when j)ar- ticularly hard uj) for ready money ; he was a good i)aymas- ter, and he agreed to advance twenty-five roubles on account, an article to be delivered later on. 1 often did this sort of thing when I needed money. Having secured the needful, I went off towards the Tolkoochi ; there I sought out an old body who kei>t a general outt'itting shop. I told lier Helen's height, as near as i could, and she i)romptly brought out a pretty print dress, both cheap and neat. I got Helen a neckerchief, too; and, when I was paying for the things, it struck me that she would also re(iuire either some little warm jacket or mantle as the weather was cold, and 142 INJURY AND INSULT. she had literally nothing to wear. However, I put off this purchase to another day. Helen was such a funny, proud child, goodness knows how slie would take my bringing her these things, though I had carefully picked out the cleapcst anc' simplest clothes I could find. Nevertheless I bought her, besides the foregoing a couple of pairs of cotton stockings and one pair of woollen ones. I could give her tliese under the excuse that the room was a cold one, and that she was ill. She required linen, too ; but all this I determined to put off until 1 should become more intimate with the child. Then I bou-ht Helen some old curtains to partition off her bed ; I was sure that she would appreciate this, at all events. It was one o'clock when I got home after all this shopping. My door opened so cjuietly that Helen did not liear me come in at first I saw her standing at my table looking at my books and mnnusrri])ts ; but, as sot)n as she (observed me, she sluii up the l>ook with a bang — she had been reading it, — and walked away from the table. I looked at the book — it was my fust novel, a small one-volume book, on the first page of whi< h was my name, as author, as large as lile. " Someone came and knocked while you were away," she said, "and asked why you had locked the door?" " It may have been the doctor," 1 replied. " Did you call out to hip.i, Helen?" " No." I said notliing, but took my i)arcel, untied it, and pulled out my purchases. " Here, little woman," I said, " look here ! you can't go about in such rags as you have on now. I've just bought this for you ; it's ipiite a common, everyday cheap thing, so you need not worry yourself about the cost of it. The whole dress only tost a roul)le and twenty copecks." I put the froi k down beside her. She blushed, and looked at me with big, wide-open eyes. She was evidently greatly sur|»rised, but at the same time I rcjiild see that she felt dreadfully ashamed for some reason or other. Huwe\er, something softer and gentler lighted up her eyes now. Seeing tliat she diil not wish to speak for the. moment, 1 turned away to the table. My action had evidently struck her; but she restrained all show of feeling, and sat down with her eyes fixed on the ground. INJURY AND INSULT, I43 My head ached worse and worse ; the fresh air had not (lone ine any good. Meanwhile, I must go to Natasha's, for my anviety about her had l)y no means subsided since yester- (l.iy. On ttie c'ontrary, it had increased. Suddenly, as I sat ihinkin;^, 1 heard Helen call me. I went up {o her. " \\ hen you go away, don't lock me up," she said, i)icking at the fringe of the sofa, with her head bent over it, as if that occu|)ali«)n were absorbing her whole attention. " I won't go away from here." " Very well, Helen, I agree," I said ; " but supposing somebody comes ? Cioodness knows who may come ! " " Leave the key here, and I'll l(jck the door inside; and tiicn, if tluy knock I will call out, ' Not at home.' " She looked at me slily, as though she would have added, " You see liow easily f/ui/ little matter can be arranged." " \Vho washes your iinen?" she asked, so suddenly and {}uickly that I had not time to reply to the [)reccding remark. "'Ih.ere's a woman in the house who does it," I observed. " 1 can wash," she said ; " and where did you get that food from, yesterday ? " " From a restaurant." " /can cook. I shall prejiare your dinners." " Nonsense, little woman," I said. " What can you know- about cooking ? You are joking." Helen was silent. She didn't like my last remark, evidently. We sat ([uiet for ten minutes, at least. "Sou|) ! ■' she suddenly cried, without raising her head. "What about soup?" I asked in surprise. " I can make soup ; I used to make it for mother when she was ill. I used Ic go to market, too." "Oh, Helen, Helen," I said, coming up to her, and sitting down beside her on thic sofa, "you see hov,- jiroutl you are. 1 am simply doing to you now just what my heart dictates. You are all alone, without relatives or friends, and you are l)oor and unha|)py. I want to help you. You would help mc just the same if i needed \our help. IJut you 7iw/'/ Icjok at it in this way; and you worry yourself if 1 give you the smallest thing by way of a i)rcscnt. You want to pay me (or it at once, to work your title to it ; just as though I were a Mrs. Bubnoff, and were reproaching you. If this is as I say, Helen, it is wrong and bad of you." She did not answer. Her lips trembled. I think she wanted 144 INJURY AND INSULT. to say something, but she grew obdurate again, and n\ade no reply. I rose to go and see Natdsha. This time I gave Helen the key, with ijistructions to find out who it was, if anyone knocked. I felt sure that something unsatisfactory had iiap- j)ened at Natasha's, and determined to go there at once, but only to stay for a minute or two, for fear Natasha should mistake my motives, and consider nve importunate. So it tur-.ied out. Slie received me with a look in which welcome was not api)arent. I thou'^ht I had better go away again, !iut I was so tired I had to sit down. " I hue only come in for a minute, Natasha," I said, "for your advice. What am I to do with my little guest?" And 1 told her all about Helen, up to my leaving the house. Natasha listened silently. " 1 don't know what to advise, Vania," she said. " It's a strange little being, that's very clear. Probably she has been dreadfully ill-treated and frightened. Let her get (juite well, and see then. You want to send her to my people ? " "Slie insists that she won't go anywhere. And then, good- ness knows whether they will have her. Now, tell me, dear, how are you ? \V)U didn't appear to be very brilliant yesterday." I said this rather timidly. " Yes," she said, " my head ached ; and so it does to day," she adilcd, in an abstracted manner. " Have you seen my jjeople t()-(lay ? " *' No, I am to go there to-morrow. To morrow is Saturday, Natasha." "Well, what of that?" " Wliv, t'le prince is coming in the evening." " Wel'i, 1 hadn't forgotten."' " No, no, of course not, I was just mentioning the fact, that's all." She came and stood in front of me, and g.ized into my eyes long and t'lxedly ; her expression had a certain determination cr obstinacy of purpose abcjut it ; she k).)ked feverish and hot. " l.ot^k here, \'ania," she said, " be a good, kind boy; let me alcjne now, I am not in the humour to talk to you." I rose from my chair, and stared at her in indescribable astonishment. " Natasha, dear girl, what /s the matter with you ? " 1 cried, agluut. INJURY ANO INSULT. I45 " Xotliini;, notliiiii;," slie saiil, " to-morrow you shnll know all ; but to-day I w.uU to bo (|uitc alone. Cio, Vania, go, at once, please ; it niins nie to look at you." •' At least tell iue " "To-morrow, to-morrow, go away now, (jiiicky I left the room. So astouiided did I (eel that I could not recall my souses. Mavra rushed out o't the kitchen, and sto|>|>eil mo on tlio tlireshold. "Woll, was she angry this morning?" she asked. " I daren't go near her myself." " Ves, she was angry ; what is it all about ? " " Simply, that you-know-who hasn't shown his nose here for three days." "How, three days?" I asked, incredulously. "Why, she told me herself yesterday that he had been here that morning, and that he was commg again in the evening." "Evening, indeed! He wasn't here in the morning cither. I tell you, tills is the third day we haven't had a glimpse of him. Vou don't mean to say she really said he had been here yesterday ? " "Yes, she certainly said so." " Well, " said Mavia, reflectively, " then she must be very hard hit, if she won't acknowledge, even \.q you, that he has not lieen here. Uh, he's a beauty, he is ! " " I5ut what on earth is the meaning of it ? '' I cried. "I don't know," said Mavra, shrugging her shoulders. " All I can tell you is tliat she sent me for him twice yesterday, and twice stopped rnc on the road. To-day she won't even s[)eak to me. Couldn't you manage to see him ? I daren't leave her now.'' I was beside myself, and rushed downstairs like a mad creature. " Are you coming here in the evening ? " Mavra shouted after me. " I don't know, I'll see," I called back. I felt that it was quite possible I might be dead before then, I was so ill ; something seemed to be stabbing me deep down to my very heart. 146 INJURY AND INSULT. CHAPTER X. I WENT straight off to Aleosha's. He lived with his fatliur in the Little Morskoy. The prince had a large luilging, although there was no one living with him excepting Aleoslui. 'I'he latter had two hue large rooms to himself. I had been very seldom to see him, once only, 1 think, before this. He usee! to come to me tnuch oflener, especially at first, when his connection with Nata-slui was a novelty. He was not at home; but 1 went straight to his sitting- room and left a note for Inm. " Akosha," I wrote, " you seem to have gone out of your senses, since your father himself begged Natasha, last Tuesday evening, to do him the honour to be your wife ; and seeing that )ou Were delighted with his reciuest, you must allow that your present hue of C(jnduct is, to say the least of it, strange. Do you know what you are doing by Natasha? At all evLius this note will remind you that your conduct towards your future wife is, to the highest degree, unworthy and negligent. I am jjerfecnly well aware that I have no right to read you a scruivin, but I don't care whether I have the right or not. " I'.S.— She knows nothing of this note, and it was not she who uAd me about you." I closed the (.nvelope and left it on his table. To my que.->lion, the ser\ant iiilormed me that Aledsha was scarcely t\er at home, antl lliat he wouKl not now come in till late at night. I leac hetl home wiUi difluiilty, my head whirled and my legs telt weak and shaky. My tlnir was open, and 1 fouiul old Ikmiiiief sitting and waiting for me. He was seated at the tal)le, and silently, and with evident surprise, watched Helen, who in her turn as wonderiiigly ga/.ed at him; but maintained an obstinate silence. " Xo wonder that he is looking sur|)rised ! " I thought. " Well, X'aiiia, I have been waiting an hour for you," he said, " and 1 must say, 1 did not e\[*ect to fmd you living like INJURY AND INSULT. I47 tilis," he added, surveying the room, his eyes full of amazement. On looking closer at him I saw that his old face was very pale and full of care and grief " Sit down, sit down," he continued, " I came here to see you in a hurry, on business ; but what's the matter ? You don t look yourself." " I'm not very well, my head has ached since early this morning." "Take care, my boy; you mustn't play tricks with yourself. Have you caught cold, or what ? " "Oh no, nothing but a nervous attack; it's all right, I'm subject to tiicm. How arc you yourself?" "Oh, so so, not very brilliant ; but sit down, I have some- thing to talk about."' I drew up a chair, and sat down beside him. The old man bent over towards me and whispered, without looking at Helen— " Who is your little guest sitting there ? " " I'll tell you all about her afterwards, sir," I whispered. " She is a poor litlle orph.in, grand-daughter of that old Smith I told you about, who died at the confectioner's." " What, lie had a grandchild, had he ? Well, she is a queer little ])arty. //cm' she stares, /umi she stares at one. I tell you, if you hadn't come within the next five minutes I couldn't have stood it any longer. She hasn't said a word the whole time ; she is not like an ordinary human being. I suppose she came to see her giandf.Uher, not knowing he was dead ? " " \'es ; she has been very unha])py ; the old man spoke about her when he died." " Well, well, you shall tell me all about it afterwards, perhaps I may find some way to help tlie poor little thing, if siie is so unhappy as you say, and poor. Ihit can't you ask her to go out for a little while now, Vania ? I must have a serious talk with you." I told the old man that this could not be managed ; but that we could talk before her [)erfectly freely, as she was still quite a cluld. " Of course she's a child, but, you astonish me my dear boy ; do you mean to say you have taken her in, here ? (ioodness gracious ! " and he looked intently at the child once more. Helen felt that we were talkmg about her, and sat silent and with her head bent down on her breast. She had found time L — 2 / X48 INJURY AND INSULT. to pvit on her new dress, which fitted her capitally. Her hair was iieaiiy Ijrushed, and altogether, but for the 7*7/^ expression about her eyes, she looked cjuite a lovely child. " Now then," said the old man, at last, " clearly and con- cisely, tliis is the point, — '' he paused ; and I saw that though lie seemed in a great hurry to get to business, and though he used the words "clearly and concisely," yet he could not find language to go on with. 1 wondered what I was to hear. '• Look here, \'ania," he began again, " I have come here with an important reijuest ; but first I nmst explain certain imp()it;;!it circumstances." He coughed and looked at me, then blusluj^i and got angry with himself for doing so, and at last decided to go on. " No,'' he said, " I shall explain nothing at all ; you under- stand well enough without that. In a word, I am going to call the prince out, and 1 want you to arrange the duel, and to be my second." I le!l back against the rail of the chair, and looked at him, bchiilc myseh with auia/.ement. " What are you staring at me like that for, Vania ? I am not mad ! " '* jiut, good heavens ! " I said, " what's your pretext — what's the object ? And how can you possibly " •' Pretext! object !" cried the old gentleman, "well that is good." " Very well, very well," I said, " I know what you'll say. liut what good can come of your fighting this man ? 1 confess, 1 caitiiot see the use of it." " 1 did not suppose you would see it, but listen. Our law- suit is finished — tliat is, it is as good as finished ; and 1 have lost. I have to pay up ten thousaml roubles ; they have con- demned me to tlo it — my estate is held in security for the money. So this bhickguard is sure of getting his award, and 1, since he is sure of it, can now be considered an outsider. Alia ! most noble prince, you have insulted me for two whole years, you have soiled my name and the honour of my family, and 1 had t(j bear it. 1 could not call you out all that time, because you would have said, ' Oh, you cunning old rogue, you want to kill me, so as to get off paying the money which you know well enough will be adjudged to me sooner or later. No, no ; first let's see huw the case goes, and then you can call me out.' Now, noble prince, the case is over and you are sure of your INJURY AND INSULT. 149 money, so there need he no difficulty ahoiit the matter ; there- fore, kindly step out here, to tlie lists. That's what the matter is ; there you are with my pretext and object ! Now then, do you still tlunk I have not the right to avenge myself for all — for all, mind, foi all? " His eyes were Hashing ; I gazed at him silently for a long time. I longed to get at his inmost thought. " Listen," I said at last, determined to say the word without which wt; should never properly understand one another. •' Can you he (juite open with me, or not?" "Yes, I can," he said, firmly. " Tell me, candidly, then," I said, " is it simply the desire for rri'cu'^r that pronijjts you to call him out, oris there something else ? " "Vania,"he said, "you know well that there are certain sul)jects which I allow no one to name before me ; but I make an exception in this instance, because you have at once seen, with your clear percejition, that we cannot discuss the matter without touching upon those subjects. Yes, there is some- thing else. My real object is to save my i)oor daughter from ruin, and to prevent her from taking the fatal road which cir- cumstances are ])ointing out to her at this moment." "Yes, but how will your duel effect this object? That is the question." " Hy preventing what they are concocting. Look here, Vdnia, don't sujipose that I am the slave to any ridiculous feeling of tenderness. I don't make a jiraclice of showing the recesses of my heart to anyone ; you don't know what is there either. My daughter has let me, left my house with her lover, and I have torn her memory from my heart, uprooted it ont e and for ever on that evening ; you remember it. If you hap- pened to see me one day sobbing over her portrait, that is no ])roof that I am anxious to forgive her. I did not forgive her even at that vcr^ moment. I was lamenting my lost happiness, I was weeping over an empty image of past joy, not f(jr lur as she now is ! Very likely I often do weep, I am n* t ashamed of acknowledging it ; no more than I am .ashamed of acknowledging that I used to love my child better than any- thing on earth. Ail this is ap])arently inconsistent with my present intention of calling the i)rince out. You might say , * If this is so, if you are indifferent as to the fate of her whom you no longer consider your daughter, then why do you interfere 150 INJURY AND INSULT. with what is being arranged for her ? ' I reply, firstly, because I don't want a base low nvin to be allowed to triuinpli ; and secondly, because I feel the calls of common philan- throjiy. Though this woman is no longer my daughter, still she is a weak and defenceless and basely imposed upon crea- ture, whom wicked men are deceiving more and more every day, in order to effect her utter ruin. 1 cannot interfere directly in the matter ; but iudirecUy, by means of a duel I can and will. If 1 should be killed, or my blood be shed, I will not believe that she would step over the barrier of our lists, perliajjs over my very body, and walk off to the altar with the son of my murderer, like the daugiiter of tiiat king — you remember the story in that reading book you learned out of at our iiouse, how the girl dro\e over her father's body in the chariot. besides, if they accept my challenge and come out to fight, these fine prince fellows won't care par- ticularly for the marriage themselves afterwards. In a word, I don I want this marriage, and I shall jnit forth all niy power to prevent it. Do you underbtand me now?" " No, not a bit. If you wish well to Natdsha, how can you possibly tlesire to i)revent her marriage, which alone can reestablish her good name? She ticiJs a good name; there is long life before her, in which to feel the necessity of it." " Sh.e ought to s[>it on the world's opinion ; that's what her duty is. She ought to see that the greatest shame that can fall to her lot would be this marriage, this alliance with the>e blackguards, with this pitiable crew. Noble pride I that shouUl be her answer to the world. Then, perliaps I might cc^nscnt to give her my hand ; and with her hand in mine 1 should like to see the man who would dare to insult my ciuld." This desperate idealism ama/.ed me, but I guessed that the old geiuleii-.an was rather beside himself with passii)n. " All this is too ideal," 1 replied, " and too violent. Vou exjiect her to possess a strength of mind which probably you did not endow her with at her birlh. Do yc)U suppose she consents to this marriage because she wants to be a princess ? \\'hy, tiie girl is m love ; this is a matler oi J'asswn, ot Jii/i: .Meanwhile, you expect her to despise the world's opinion, and \et you bow down beiore it yourself. You wish to turi\ the laugh against this prince, to make a fool of him ; aiul, to attain this end, you sacrifice the happiness of your daugiiter. Is not this egotism ? " INJURY AND INSULT. T5I The oM man sat gloomy and frowning, and for a long lime did not answer a word. •' \'ou arc not just to mo, V.inia,'' he said at last, and the tears lay shining in)on his eyelashes. " 1 swear to you, X'aiiia, it is unjust, hut we'll let that alone for the present. I ran't turn my heart inside out to prove this to you," he continued, rising and taking his hat; "hut I will say one thing ; you spoke of my daughter's hapi)iness — well, 1 cateLiorically and ahsolutely declare that I don't believe in her happiness; not only that, hut I am certain this marriage will never come off, even with- out my interference." " Why so?" I cried, full of curiosity. " Perhaps you know something new about the matter?" " No, nothing particular ; but I don't believe that such a cursed old fox would ever really take the step. The whole thing is humbug, and I am sure of it; and, mark my words, the scheme will collapse. Secondly, sup|)osing this marriage 7('rrg to come off, that is, supposing the scoundrel really could gain something by its consummation (I don't understand how he possibly could gain by it under any circumstances, but unless he did gain he would cert.imly never permit it) and it did actually come off, then, ask your own heart, \'ania, would it be a happy marriage? Rejjroaches, humiliations, wretched boy- friends of the bridegroom's bu/zing about her with their calf- love ; all this would follow the union. He would begin to bully her after the first day ; in proportion as her passion showed itself, so would his coldness increase, misery would ensue, and torment — perhaps ultimat -ly ct-inw. No no, \\'inia, if you encourage this business, and hel|) to bring it about, I warn you solemnly you will have to answer for it before (lod, and it will be too late. Good-bye, my boy." I stopped him. " Look here, sir," I said, "let's decide so; We'll 7.',///. ]5e assured that not our eyes alone are watching this affair. ^Vho knows? Perhaps it will be decided for the best widiout an) artificial interference on our part, and without the need of any duelling ! Time will decide and develop better than we can. And meanwhile, allow me to add that your whole project is absolutely, im[jracticable. You surely don't suppose for a moment that the prince would accept your challenge ? " "Of course he would. What are you thinking of? You forget yourself." IS* INJURY AND INSULT. •• I swear to you that he will get out of it ; he will find some siiflkicnt excuse. He will do it with jjcrfect grace, and you will lie made a fool of." " lOxt use me, wait a minute. Why not ? Why will he not accept p.iy challenge? No, Vdnia, you are a poet ; you don't understand these things. You are a simple poet. Why do you suppose he will not fight me? I am no worse than he is, nund, in point of family, and besides I am an old man and an injured lather. You are one of our Russian authors, and therefore of honourable standing also, and you can quite well be my second, and — really I don't understand." "Look here, he will bring forward such arguments that you will be the very first to allow that you cannot jiossibly meet." " 11 'm ; well, let it be as you wish. 1 will wait, a short time of coufsL, and see uhat haj.pens. Now, my dear boy, give me )our word that you will not rejieat this conversation either to lur or to my wit'e." " I promise." " Another thing, Vania, never hc^in this subject .again with me." "Yery well, I won't" "lastly, another re(iuest. I know, my dear fellow, that it must be dreadlully dull at our house for you ; but do come as often .ns you can. My.])oor old lady is very fond of you, and —well, she's dull when you don't come in, Yania ; do you understand?" He pressed my hand hard, and I promised to obey his last recjuest with all my heart "Now then, Yania, how about money? Have you any?" "Money!" 1 repeated with surprise. " \'es." (The old man looked down and blushed.) "You see, I look at your room and at your circumstances, and It strikes me that you must h.ave extra expenses, especially just now. So I tlw>uuht ; in fact, dear bov, here are a hundred and fitly roubles by way of beginning." . "A hundred and fifty roubles— and that by w.ay of leginninii ; and you have just lost your lawsuit!" ••\ania, you don't understand me. There may occur (xifiut, Unary casrs where you will reciuire readv-money. Sometimes ready money makes indejiendence | ossilile, inde- pendence of decision in certain crises and climaxes. I'cr- haps you may not want this money //cr.' ; but the lime nuay INJURY AND INSULT. 1 53 conic, and anyhow I will leave it with you. This is all I <(nild get hold of. If you don't spend it, give it bark. Now, good-bye Ciood gracious, how pale you are 1 You look (juite ill I " I took the money. It was very clear for what purpose he left it with me. " I can hardly stand up," I said in reply to his remark. " I am ill." " Don't make light of this attack, Vdnia, dear boy," he con- tinued. " 1 )on.'t go out to-day. I'll tell Anna Andreevna tiiat you are ill. Wouldn't you like to see a doctor ? I'll look you up to- morrow if I possibly can ; you had better go to bed at once. Well, good-bye ; goodbye, little girl. Here, Vdnia, here's five roubles more for the child. Don't say I gave it, but just buy what she requires — shoes, linen ; there are plenty of things she will want. Good-bye, my boy." I saw him out of the gate, as I had to ask the dvornik to go and fetch something to eat ; Helen had liad no dinner as yet. CHAPTER XI. BUT I had h.Trdly reached my room again when my head began to turn, and I fell lull length in the middle c)f the Hoor. I can only remember Helen's cry; she threw u]) her hands and rushed to catch me. That was the last thing I could recollei't After that I remember being in bed. Helen told me how she and the dvornik (who came in just then with the dinner) had carried me to the bed. I awoke several times, and each time I saw the anxious, sympathetic little face of Helen bending over me. All this I recall now as a sort of dream, or as seen through a kind of mist, and the image of the dear little girl dances before me, vivid amid forgotten surroundings, like a vision or a picture. She brought me drink, settled my bed- clothes, or sat on the bedside frigiitened and sad, gently smoothing my hair with her liltle hand. Once, I remember feeling a soft kiss on my face. Another time J awoke suddenly during the night, and saw by the 154 INJURY AND INSULT. li^ht of a candlo, which was very nearly burnt out, that Ildon hail licnt furwarJ froiu her chair until her face was resting on my l»illi)W, am', there slie lay fast asleep, witli one hand under her cheek and her lips parted. 1 only hnally awoke when morning came ; the candle was (juile burned out, and the rosy light of morn played on the wall. Helen was sitting on a chair at the table, and w.is fast asleep, with her tired he.id resting on her kit hand ; anil I remember watching her childish face, with its sadly precocious expression of suffering, and her strange beauty., w!-.i< !>. always suggested the presiiue of hidden malady, and her lilack long wavy hair falling about, and covering her pale cheeks, with the long eyelashes drooping over them ; her other liaiul lay on my pillow, and 1 kissed it very, very gently; but the poor tned child did not awake, only a sort of half smile played for an instant about her i)ale lips. 1 ga/ed and ga/.ed at her, and so, gradually and (luietly, fell inii» a Utost refreshing sleep, which lastnl until nigh mid-day. When I awoke, I felt myself almost well, but a weakness and sh.ikiness of all my meml)ers bore wiln«.s>, to the sickness which had hekl me captive the ilay before. I knew these attacks of old ; 1 had o!"ien experienced them before. 'I'hey generally came and went within the twenty-four hours, but during that period they always raged furiously. It was nearly mid day. The first thing I noticed was that the corner ol the room was curtained off with the curtains which I Ind bought yesterday; Helen had chosen her place, and screened it off. The chilil was now se.ited before the stove making tea, and, observing that 1 was awake, she smiled gaily, aiul came up to me at once. " My dear little girl," I said, "you have been looking after me all night ; 1 didn't know you were so kind and good." " How do you know I have been looking after you ? " she asked. " i'erliaps 1 have been asleep all night." She looked at me with a very sweet expression, but blushed at her own words. " I woke up and saw you ; you only fell asleep at daybreak." "Will you luive some tea now.'" she a^ked abruptly, as though unwilling to continue the conversation. " \ e.s, please," I s.iid. " Did you have your dinner yester- day?" I went on." "No ; but I got somesupper ; the dvornik brought me some. Lut you mustn't talk, you must just lie quietly ; you are not INJURY AND INSULT. 155 (juitc well yet,' she added, bringing me some tea, and sitting down at the bedside. "Oh, I can't lie here long, Helen," I said. "I musl go out." " If you must, you must. Is it yesterday's visitor you want to see ? " " No ; not that one." ".\nd a very good thing too ; it was he who upset you last night. .\ie you going to his daughter?" "What d(^ you know about his daughter?" " I heard all you said yesterday," she said, looking rather con- fused, and then frowning. " He is a bad old man," she added. "What do you know about it ? " 1 said. " On the contrary, he is a very g(wd and kind old gentleman." " No, no ; he's wicked. I heard it all," she said warmly. " /r/n;/didyou hear?" "That he will not forgive his daughter." " Ves ; but he loves her all tlie same. She has not been good to him, and he is worried about her." "That may be ; but why doesn't he forgive her ? It's too late now," she adiled ; " if he diii want to forgive her now, she wouldn't come to him." " How ! why so ? " " Because he is not worthy of her love," she answered ex- citedly. " She ought to let him alone now, and never go near him again ; slie should l)eg in tiie streets first, and let hmi see her begging, and see how he likes it." Her^-yes ll.ished and her cheeks burned. " This is not simply a spontaneous idea on her part," I thought to myself. " Was it to his house you wanted to send me?" she went on after a pause. "Ves, Helen." "No, thank you ; I'll go out as a servant first." " I low al)surd you are, little woman," I said. " Why, whom could you go to as a servant ? " "To the first moujik I came across," she replied i)assion- ately. " Hut mcujiks don't want servants," I said, laughing. "Weil, to some gentleman, then." "Do you think you could lead the life of a servant, with yout character?" " Of course I could, I should bear it. They would scold 156 INJURY AND INSULT. me, and I should not say a word ; then they would heat me, anil I should not say a word. Let them heat away as much as they pleased, I should never cry. They wouldn't like that." " Helen, Helen," 1 said, "what an auj^ry little woman you are ; and where did you get your pride Irom ? You must have seen ;» ^tjod ileal of sorrow." 1 got up and went to the large tahle, Helen remained sitting moodily on the sofa twisting the fringe, with her head hent down over it. She was silent. " Is she angry with me ?" I thought. 1 took u[) the parcel of hooks of reference, which I had broULjlu home yesterday for my article, and began to work. " \\'hat are you writing?" Helen asked, smiling timidly and coming up to thl* table sofily. •' Uh, all sorts of things, Helen," I said ; *' they pay me for doing it " " What is it, a petition?" •' Oil, no ; not that," and I endeavoured to explain that I wrote histories of various things and jieople, and male books which were called novels and romances. She listened with the greatest interest. " And is it all true ? " she asked, " Oh, no ; I invent the stories." ♦' Why don't yit used to bring him food ? " " Ves, I brought him food sometimes." " Where did you get it from, from Mrs. Bubnoff?" " No, 1 never have taken (i/iy/Z/i/ix from Mrs. lUibnoff's hands." She said this empliatically, though her voice trembled. " Where did vou get it from, then? You had no money, had you ?" ' Nelly sat silent, and grew very white ; then she gazed at me with a long, long look. " I begged alms in the streets; and. as soon as I had collected a few copecks, 1 went and got him some bread and a little snuff." " Oh, Nelly, as if he really could allow you to do this." " .At first I used to go, and told him nothing about it; but when he found out th.it I begged, he used to pack me off himself to seek alms. I would go and stand begging on the bridge, and he would wait a little way off, and the instant he saw somebody give me money, he used to rush up and take it from me — just as though 1 wanted to hide it iVom him, and hid not begged it on purpose for him ! " While she uttered theae last word-;, her mouth curved itself into a bitter, scornful INJfRV AND INSUt.T. 159 smile. *' All this was when mother was dead ; he seemed to lose his wits then." "Of course, he was mu< Ii attached to your mother. How was it he did not live with you ?" "Oh, no; he didn't love mother. Tie was a wicked old man, and would not forgive her. Just like tliat bad old man of yesterday," she went on, almost in a whisper, and growing paler and paler. I am not ashamed to own that I simi)ly trciuhliJ. The plot of a whole novel was opening itself out before me. This poor destitute woman, dying in a cellar, under the charitable care of a coftlnmaker ; her little orphan daughter visiting her grandfather, who had cursed her mother; the old half-witted man dying near the confectioner's shop, just after his dog's deatli. " .\/orka used to be mother's," Nelly said suddenly, smiling as though with some recollection. " Orandfalher used to be very fonii of mother, and when mother left him .\/orka remained behind. That's wiiy he loved Azorka so. He didn't forgive mother, and yet when Azorka died he went and died too." The snnle died out of her eyes as she said the last few words. " What was the old man formerly, Nelly?" I asked, after a pause. " He was ri( h once. 1 don't know who he was, but he was rich. He had some sort of a factory, so mother told me. At first, motlicr used to think me too young, and did not te 1 me all about herself; she used to kiss me, and teil me I should hear it all in good time. She used to cry over me, and call me her pf)or little unfortunate darling ; she always called me that. \'ery often I used to hear lier at night — she thought I was asleep, but I was only pretending — crying and sobbing, and kissing me, and saying 'poor little darling.'" " What did your mother die of ? " " Consumption. It's six weeks now." " Can you remember the time when your grandfather was rich ? " " Oh, no ; I wasn't even born. Mother left grandfather before I was born." " Whom did she go away with ? " "I don't know," said Nelly, softly and thoughtfully. "She went abioad, and I was born abroad." l6o INJURY AND INSULT. ♦'Where?" " In Switzerland ; hut I have been in Italy and Paris too." " Ikit how do you know Russian so well, Nelly ? " " Mother taught uk- Russian, even wlien we were in Switzer- land. She was Russian, because her mother was a Russian. Grandfather was an Knglishuian, but just like a Russian ; and when we canu' here, a year and a half ago, 1 learned the language thoroughly. Mother was ill even then, and we got jjoorer and jioorer. Mother used to cry and cry. At lir^t she used to search and search for grandfather, and always said that she had not been good to him ; and she cried and c-ied. Oh, how slie cried ! And when she found out that grandfather was so poor, she cried all the more. She wtoIc him a great m.iny letters, l)Ut he never answereil one." . " W'liy did your mother come back here ? Solely to find her father?" " 1 don't know, but it was so lonely living over there." Nelly's eyes sparkled. " We were alone there, mother and I ; there was one kind friend we had — a good man like you, but he died, and soon after we came here." " \\'as it with him that your mother left her father?" "Oil no, not with hnn ; mother left grandfather's house with another man, who deserted her." " but who was it, Nelly?" Nelly looked at me but did not answer, she evidently knew who tlic man was with wnom her mother had eloped, and who was, po doubt, her father, but it was painful for her to name him, even to me. I did not wish to bother her with (juesticns. The child's nature was so strange, so nervous, and so irriiable, though with Hoods of emotion always held back somewhere in reserve. All the whil'j 1 knew her, and in spite of the love she beire me — so pure, so full, and bright a love it was, almost ecjual to the love which she had given to her dead mother, of whom she could never speak without pain ; in spite of all this, she hardly ever broke through her reserve with me, and, excepting this day, ^lle scarcely ever felt the i\t:^:d of talking about her dreadlul experiences of the past ; on the coiitrary, she generally beh.aved with the greatest possible reserve. lUit to-day, for hours at a time, and with continual interruptions of fits of anguish and sobbing, she went on and on with her story and told me all, in spite of the dreadful agitation which it INJURY AND INSULT. l6l cniised her. Never slmll I fori;ct tlic fearful story she had to tell ! It was the story of a poor forsaken woman, who had out- hved her liapi)iness ; ill, worried, and ahandoncd by everyone; rcjeeted by tlie bcin^ in whom of all others she was entitled to trust — her father, who had l)een at some time or other injured by herself, and who, in his turn, had bcrome maddened through liis intoUrable sufferings and humiliations. It was the story of a woman l)rought to despair, tram]iing with her little girl, whom she considered a child, through tlie cold and dirt of the St. Petersburg streets, begging ; of a woman dying then and for months afterwards, by slow degrees in a damp cellar, and whose father refused to forgive her that past (jffence to the hut minute ot her life, but who at that last minute had thought better ()( it and had rushed to her cellar in order to extend the panlon which she so longed for. only to find a cold cori)se instead of ihc daughter whom he loved better than all the world. It was the story of mysterious, almo.st incomprehensible, relations of a half willed old man with his little grandchild, who understood hni and read him in some marvellous way, in spite of her childish years, and who understood a great deal more of the world m general than wliole years of smooth, happy life could have revealed to her. One of those gloomy tales — those sad, obscure histories which are so often and so mys- teriously enacted beneath the d.irk St, Petersburg skies, in the foul se( ret lanes and alleys of the huge city, in the midst of the giddy whirl of ever-boiling life, of black egoism, of con- flicting interests, of vile corruption, of secret crime ; in the midst, in a word, of all that goes to make up the hellishness of the most senseless, abnormal conditions of the life of a large town. But you shall hear all this history later on. PART 111. CHAPTER I. DUSK had long fallen, and the evening was well begun, before I awoke from the reverie into which this gloomy recital plunged me, and began to think of the present " Nelly," I said, " here you are cjuite ill and broken down, and 1 nuist go away and leave you, agitated as you are, and crying. Forgive me, dear, and know tlial there is another very dear and as yet unforgiven being, who is also unhai)|)y and injured and abandoned, and that this pour creature is now Ywiiiing lor me ; and, do you know, child, your story has so touciitil me that if 1 don't see her' curious change. His first and natural expression was one of hatred and mischief, hut it very (juickly changed to one of the most winning and merry character, and he took both of my hands in his with, ai)i)arently, especial heartiness and delight. " Ah, it's ycni," he said, " I was just going to fall on my knees, and I'ray for my life. Did you hear me swearing?" and he laughed in the frankest and most charming manner, but again his face changed ; he looked serious, almost jiained. "To think that Aledsha," he said, wagging his head, " could go and put Natasha into such a lodging as this. It's precisely this sort of tritle that shows a man up. I fear for that boy. He is kind, he has a noble heart, but, here you are ; he loves a girl to distraction, and yet he can allow her to live in a hole like this. I have even heard," he continued in a whisper, and groping about for the door bell, " that sometimes victuals have been scarce in the establishment. I sim|)ly tremble when I think of his future, and esjjecially Anne's." He did not notice that he liad named Natasha wrong, in his irritation at his futile gro|)ing for the bell ; there was no bell, after all ; but, when I rattled the door handle, Mavra hastily opened to us. In the kitchen, which was separated from the tiny " entrance hall," by a thin wooden partition, tiiere appeared to be some cooking arrangements going on ; everything seemed "got u])" and smart, not in its everyday guise ; we were evidently expected. There was a fire burning, and some new crockery on the table. Mavra hastened to help us off witli our coats. " Is Aledsha here \ " I asked her. ** He has not been at all," siie replied in a mysterious whisper. We went into Natasha's room. There everything was ns usual, and there seemed to have been no special prc|)arations made ; but then her rooms were always neat and charming, and there was no need to make any alteration. Natasha received us at the door. I was struck with her face, it appeared so dreadfully thin, and ill and pale, though for one moment a blusii did tht over her deathly i)allid features. Her eyes looked feverish ; she held out her hand silently but quickly to the prince ; she was evidently rather bewildered, I did not even get a look Irom her, so I stood and waited silently. M — 2 164 INJURY AKD insult. " Well," said the prince, in a friendly and hearty tone, " here I am, you see. I only arrived an hour or two since. All the while I was away you were in my thoughts." He kissed her hand tenderly. "Oh, how I have thought, and thought about you ; and I have the result of it all to tell you. Firstly, my young weathercock of a son, who, I see, is not here yet " "Excuse me, prince," said Natdsha, suddenly, looking much confused, "I must say a word or two to Ivan retrovitch. Vania, come witli me ; just two words." She seized my wrist, and dragged me behind the screen into the darkest corner of the room. "Vinia,"she whispered, "do you forgive me or not?" " Natdsha, what nonsense ! Wliat are you talking about? " " No, no, Vania ; you've forgiven me too often and too much. There is a limit to everyone's forbearance. Vou will never cease .'ovin;^ me. 1 know that ; but you may call me ungratcUil. 1 li'ds ungrateful, selfish, and horrid, both yesterday and the day before.'' She suddenly burst into tears and pressed her face to my shoulder. " Oh, Natdsha, please don't trouble your poor head about that," 1 h;istcncd to reassure her. "I was ill yesterday ; I am (juite weak still ; and 1 did not come before simply because I was physically unfit to move. Please don't think I was offended, or, anything. My dear old friend, as if I don't realise what you are going through just now." " '1 lianks, then," she said, smiling through her tears, and scjueezing my hand till it hurt me. " You've forgiven me as usual. We'll talk about the other things afterwards. I have much to say to you ; but now we must go back to him." " Vcs, (juick," 1 said, "we left him so suddenly." "Come then," .Natasha whispered, "and listen to what I shall have to say to him. I know everythin\^ now — guessed it all. He is to blame for everything. This evening much must be decided. Come, \'ania !" I didn't understand her; but there was no time to ask questions. Natasha came out into the prince's ])resence with a radiant face. The prince was still standing, hat in iiand. She gaily excused our conduct in having him, took his hat, placed a cliair for him, and we all three settled ourselves round lu-r.table. " I was beginning about that giddy boy of mine," said the prince ; " 1 have only seen him for z. minute, and then he INJURY AND INSULT. " 165 was just seating himself in a droshky to drive to tlie countess. And tanry, though he had not seen me for four days, he would not even get out and have a chat with me — in such a hurry he seemed to be. I'm afraid it's my fault, Natasha, that he is not here at this moment, and that I am before him ; because, as I couldn't go to the countess's myself, I iiad to ask him to do a commission there for me; but he's certain to come in a minute." " He promised you, doubtless, that he would come today ?" asked Nat.-isha, with extreme simplicity in her face as she looked at the prince. ••(iood heavens ! of course he is coming ! " cried the prince, staring at her in astonishment. " What a thing to say ! " Oh ! " he continued, " I understand ; you are angry with him for coming later than we did. It docs seem bad form; but don't be vexed with him, for, as I tell you, it is my fault. Aieosha is a frivolous, giddy youth, I don't deny it ; but there are special circumstances which make it most desirable that he should not cut the countess and certain other society houses just now ; on the contrary, he must be jiarticularly polite and call very often. Therefore, since I dare swear he hasn t left your side all the while I have been away, and has forgotten all about the rest of the world, please don't be angry if I carry him ofT now and again for an hour or two on society business, I'li engage that he has not been near the countess's since that evening. I wish I had asked him just now, when I saw him." I looked at Nat.-isha ; she was listening to the prince with a faint, half-amused smile on her face. But the man spoke so naturally, so unafTeclcdly and simply that it seemed absolutely impossilile to doubt his sincerity. •' And you really are not aware that he has not been near mc all these days ? " She said this as though it were the most ordinary observation. " What! not been near you all these days? Excuse mc," said the i)rincc, apparently in a state of boundless amaze- ment, " what do you mean ? " "You were here on Tuesday evening; next morning he came in, for half an hour and since that moment I have not set eyes on him." " Oh ! but it's impossible." The prince became more and more amazed- '• Why, I thought he had not left you for a moment, pardon me, but this Is more than surprising — it is incredible." l66 INJU:inute to-day, and that I asked him no(|uestions atall, and I must say, I think it strange that you — well, ye)u actually do not seem to believe me," he continued, looking keenly at both of us. "Oh, heavt;n forbid!" Natasha exclauued, smiling and looking straight into lus eyes. " Kindly ex[jlain then," said the prince, with apparent perplexity. " Oh, there's nothing to explain, it's all ({uite simple. You know his tlighty, forgetful nature? Well, as soon as he had liberty given him he went off, and sometiiing or somebody has attracted him." " CJh, no ! oh, no ! that sort of thing cannot possibly have hajjpened. There's more behind, and the instant he comes 1 will make him confess it all. But what surprises me is that yi)U seem to blame ine for something or other, when I was not even here. However, Natasha, I can see very plainly that yt)U are angry with him. Naturally enough, you have a right to be so, and of course, I am catching it betause 1 came first; isn't it so ? " he said, turning to me wuh an irritating smile. Natasha Hushed up. "I admit, Natasha Ivanovna," he continued with dignity, "that I am to blame inasmuch that I left town the day after our introduction ; had I stayed here you would have known me better and would not have had the oppcjrlunity, which I ob- serve you have taken, of altering the opinion you had formed of me on that occasion. Your character, I have remarked, is a little inclined to suspicion. Circumstances have led you to think ill of me ; but, if I had been at hand to look after him, Aledsha should not have behaved like this ; you shall hear, when he comes, how I intend to pitch into the young rascal for it." "That is, you will begin to make >nc a drai^ upon him. It is impossible that a man of your ix'netration could seriously INJURY AND INSULT. 167 suppose that such a proceeding would be of service to my cause." " Dear me. Vou hint that my ohjfct is to make him feel tliat you are a drag upon him. 'I'hank you, Nataslia Nicolaevna, you are not exactly kind to me to day." " Xo, I do my best to avoid /////////.c, whomsoever I may be talking with," Natasha replied ; " on the contrary, I try to make my mcming as clear as possible, as I dare say you will remark this very day. I do not wish to offend ; I have no reason to wish it, if only because I know very well that nothing I said would or could offencl )()U. I am i[uite sure of this, because I understand our mutual relations thoroughly. Why, you cannot look seriously upon these relations. Now can you? liowever, if I really have said anything to offend you, I am, of course, ready to a|)ologise, in deference to the laws of— — hospitality." In spile of the light, almost playful, tone in which Natasha uttered this sentence; m spite of the smile which played on her lips, I had never seen her in such a state of nervous irritability before. Now only did I re-ilise for the first time the torture which her heart had undergone during the la>t two d.iys. Her words, tliat she had guessed and knew all the truth erf the matter, startled me ; they referred ilirectly to the prince. She had clumgcd her o[)inion of him, ami now looked upon him as an enemy ; th:it was 'piile clear. She ascribed all her dilhcultics with Aledsha to his inlluence, and, perhaps, she had some grounds to ba'^e her opinion upon. I v.as afraitl of a sudden scene between them. Her irony was loo open, she took no steps to conceal it. Her last words, that he ould not look upon their relations seriously, and about ai)ologising as his hostess, and her i)romise to let him see this evening tb.at she could speak her mind phinly— all this was much too clear and unmistakeable for the prince to misuiulersland. I noticed that his expression changed, but he had full mastery over himself. He instantly put on the ai)[)ear- ance of not having observed the meanmg of her words, and answered them playfully. "On, heaven forbid ! " he said, laughing. " Don't apologise, 1 beg. I never wish ladies to apologise ; that's a rule with me. I told you something ot my character the last time I was here, and so you will pardon my saying, esi)ccially as it is the case with all women. You will agree with me, I'm sure," he added to me, with a charming sniile, " that it is a trait in the character l68 INJURY AND INSULT. of every woman to be far more ready to admit her guilt as to anything, and to gloss it over with a thousand caresses, sometime after the offence, than to admit it at once, even if taken red-handed, and to beg forgiveness ! Therefore, if we pre ; supijose that I have been offended by you, I make a point of saying nothing about it at present, because I know that it will pay me belter to wait a little, when you will be ready to admit your fault, and to atone for it before me with a thousand caresses. And you are so good, and sweet, and fresh, and delightful, that I foresee your moment of repentance will be most charming. Now then, instead of ai)ologies and f()rgi\e- ncsses, cannot I prove to you somehow, to-iUi)\ that I am far more sincere and candid in my behaviour towards you than )ou win give me credit for?" Nataslia blushed. It struck me, too, that the prince's tone was a little too playful. His jesting verged on the immodest. " Vou wihh to prove to me that your conduct towards me is sincere and candid?" she asked, with a keen look at the prince. " Yes." " 'I'iien fulfil my request." " .My word upon it, even before I hear it." " \'ery well, then ; do not worry Aleosha about me either to-day or to-morrow, by word or hint. Do not utter a word of reproach respecting his having forgotten me. Say nothing about it. I wish to meet him as though there were no bone to pick between us I wish him to notice nothing in me that savours of com[>laint. I must have this so. Will you give me )our word ? " " With the greatest pleasure ; and permit me to add, that rarely liave I met anyone with so intelligent and clear an iiibiglit into such things as yourself, liut here comes Aleosha himself, 1 think." And, sure enough, there was a sound in the entry. Natasha flushed up, and seemed to i)repare herself for somethiiig. The piiiue sat still, with a serious air, as though awaiting events ; but he watched Natasha intently. Then the door opened, and i!i rushed Aleosha. INJURY AND INSULT. 1 69 CHAPTKR II IT E rushed into tlie room, looking radinnt nnd Imppy. J[ Evidently he had spent four very jolly days, lie Wore the look of having something to tell us. " ^^'ell," he cried to the com])any in general ; " here I am, you see ; and 1 ought to have been liere first of all ! I'-ut you shall know all directly, directly. Just now, father, 1 hadn't time to say two words to you, and yet I have heaps of things to tell you. I am absolutely chafii:,fd during the last four days. I'll tell you all about that, too. The chief thing is, first of all — Here s/ic is, the darling ! Natasha again, my beauty, my angel ! How are you, my Natasha?" he cried, sitting down by her, and kissing her iiands enthusiastically. " I've been so grieved about you these days, my beauty ; but what's to be done ? I couldn't come ; I couldn't manage it anyhow. Vou seem to have grown tiiinner, my darling, and you look so pale. What is it?" He covered her hand with kisses ecst.itically, and gn/ed tenderly at her with his fme eyes, as though he co ild never look enough. 1 glanced at Natasha, and saw at once that our thoughts were the same. Ho was i)erfe( tly innocent. A ruby glow over- sjiread her pale cheeks, as though all the blood in her he.irt had suddenly collected there ; her eyes sparkled and Hashed, and she looked at the prince proudly. " Bin where — have you been — so many days?" she asked, in a subdued and rather broken voice. She was breathing heavily and irregularly. My (lod, how she loved that boy ! ""V'es, that's just it; I seem to be to blame. Sftm ! of course I avi to blame, and I came here because I knac I was to blame. Katia told me yesterday and to day, too, that no woman would forgive such neglect. She knows all about our Tuesday's conversation and arrangement ; I told her next day. I argued the matter with her, and said Natasha was the girl's name, and that in all the world there was only one other equal to her, and that was Katia. Of course, I got the IJO INJURY AND INSULT. best of the argument. As though, angel like, you would not forgive me ! ' If he has not turned up, something i/reventcd him;' that's what I knew my Natasha would he thinking about it, not that I had teased to love her; absurd idea! My whole heart bled for you ; but I am to blame, of course. W'licn you know all, you will be the first to justify me. I will tell you the whole siory at once ; I want to unburden myself before you all ; 1 came on purpose. To-day I had half a mip.ute of spare time, and wanted to come straight here, just to kiss you and away again, when I was prevented. Katia Sent to say that she must see me on important business. Thai was before )ou saw me on the droshky, father. I was going to hev again llieii, in response to a second note. We ha\e notes ll) uig backwards and forwards ail day ju^t now. Vania, I only saw your note last night. All you said was perfectly rigiit and just. I admit it ; but what was to be done ? I'hysical impossibility ! so I thought : ' Well, well, to-morrow evening I will justify myself before them all.' 1 couldn't have kept away this evening, Natasha." " What note are you referring to?" Natasha asked. •' Oh, he came to see me, and ditln't fmd me at home ; so he leit me a note, pitching into me like anjthing for not coming to see you ; and he was ijuite right. That was la.it niglu." " l>ut if you had plenty of time to be at Katia's from morn till nigb.t— — " the jirince began. " Oh, i know, I know what you are going to say," Aleo->ha cut in. '' \'ou are going to say, ' If you could go to Katia's, yeu should have been able to come here far more.' I (juite agree. Indeed, I admit that for a million reasons I should have come here//>j/. But there are thousands of unexpected events in life, which alter our little arrangements, and some sucii events have oc( urred to me during these days. Why, I tell you, I an<. totally changed in these lour days. So you may im.igine tluit 1 have had matters of some importance to de.il widj." " Oh, good heavens ! do tell us what these matters were," cried Natasha, laughing feverishly. " For goodness' sake, don't waniler so, .\ledsha ! " He really was very fnnny. He was in a great hurry to get on with his st(jry, and his words flew out of his mouth, tumbling over each other, and jostling one another in their INJURY AND INSUr.T. 17I flight. lie wanted to talk, and talk, and talk ; and all the while he never let go of Natasha's hand, but kept raising it to his lips as he talked, as though he could not have his fill of kissing it. "Tluit's what it is," Aleosha went on. " What those matters were, ah ! \N'hat people I've seen. N\'hat things I've done during these days. First of all there's Katia ! Whai />tr/('c/in/r she is ! Why, I didn't know her a smip until now. J'Aen 011 Tuesday, Natasha, you iLiUL'inher how enthusiastically I s[)oke of her then ? \\'ell, even then I h.ardly knew her at all. She has nK)re or less been a closed book to me until just now ; but now we know eacli other thoroughly, (jh, Natdsha, if you could only hear how she talked about iw/, when I told her what happened here on Tuesday. J5y-thc-bye, what a fool I was when I looked in here next morning. Vou received me with transport ; you were full of our new and happy jiosition towards one another ; you wanted to talk it all over with me ; you were serious, and yet playful with me, and I behaved like some wooden dummy. OI1, fool ! ass that I must have looked. I give you my word, Natasha, it was /•/v'^/t' to think that I was going to be a /ius/'nfi(f no soon ; and you were tlie first person before whom I had an opportunity of swaggering in my new character. How you must have laughed at me that morning, and how I deserved it." The prince sat silent, and looked at Aleosha with a kind of solemnly ironical smile, lie looked as though he were actually jileased that his son sliovihl show himself uj) in sue h a comic- ally frivolous light. All the evening I carefully watched the jirince, and became jierfectly ( onvinced that he didn't care a fig about his son, although he was usually credited with ultra- afleetionate paternal feelings towards Aleosha. " After being here, I went to Kalia's," Aleosha continued. •' I have said already that only this morning we learned to know one another thoroughly, strangely enough. I hardly know how it came about. A few warm words, a few sensations, a few thoughts spoken out frankly, and we were close allies for ever. You must, you rriuft know her, Natasha. J/o7C' ahc spoke of you ! //a7i' she preached to me about what a treasure you are to mc, and all that. Little by little she told me all her ideas and views about lite. She's such a serious and enthusiastic girl. She spoke about our duty, and the meaning of the saying that we ought all of us to work for the good of mankind. Well, as 173 INJURY AND INSULT. we entirely agreed about everything in four or five hours, we finislied by swearing eternal friendship, and by arranging that we will act together all our lives." ** How act together? " asked the prince with surprise. " Oh, I'm so changed, father, that you won't, of course, under- stand me at all at first ; but I anticipate everyone of your objec- tions," said Aleosha solemnly. " Vou are all practical people in your set. You have your laws of experience, serious set laws, and you look askance at everylliing new, and fresh, and youn'.,'. Vou laugh at it, and don't believe in it. lUit I am not the man you knew a few days since. I'm another man now, alto- getlier. If I know for a fact that my creed is the right one, and follow it out to its logical conclusion, and do not err frt)m the way of it, then I am an honest man. 1 am ijuite satisfied with myself. Say what you please, I am as strong in my new convictions as can be." " Oho ! " said the prince, highly amused. Natasha looked round uncomfortably. iShe didn't like Aleosha to get out of his depth in conversation, as he often did. She did not like his appearing foolish before anyone else, especially his fa4h'.r. '* Wliy, Aledsha," she said, "this is some philosophy you have got hold of. Some one must have been teaching you all this. Let's hear all about it." "Yes, I'll tell you," he said. " You see, Katia has two dis- tant cousins, Levinka and Koiinka, one a student, the other — well, just a young man. They are most uncommon fellows. They rarely go to the countess's, on principle, but they know Katia well. ^Vhen we began to talk about the aims of humanity siie sent n)e off to see them, and I went and called at one e. We got on capitally. There were men of twelve different callings there. .Students, officers, artists, everything you like ; there was an author too. 'I'hey all knew you, Vania, and cx- jiect great things from you in the future. I promised to intro- duce you. ^\■ell, they all received me as a brother. I told them I was going to be married soon, and they treated me like a m.'uried man. They meet very otten ; but always on Wed- nesdays at I.evinka's and Horinka's. We talked about the , present and the future, and science an'('///■ fate ; » hut rci\ieinl)er, if you are honest, that with your own fall you will involve Nataslia's utter ruin. " \'ou have been talkiu'j; for an hour," continued the prince, "about love of huniuuty, and noble convictions, and _L;rand bcinijs, whose ac(iuaintance you have made, and so on ; but ask han rclrcnilch, here, what 1 said to him on the stairs, ju^t now, when we were climbm;^ up those loathsome steps and- ]iraying for our limbs and lives. Do you know what the tlioUL;ht wis that came into my head involuntarily, when I reachetl the top? I wondered how you, who profess to love Natasha so well, could allow her to live in a lodgiuL; like this. Did it never strike you that unless you have money, unless you are able to fulfil the duties of the position, you have no ri^ht to assume the stale of a married man, or to undertake those duties and responsibilities ? Love alone is not enough ; love is proved by works, whereas you say, '\'()U may have to suffer with me, but you must live with me." Wiiy, it's .\n inhuman doctrine, most ignoble. To hold forth about universal love and general humanity and at the same time to sin against lo\e without ever remarking it, is most incomprehensible. Don't interrupt me, Xauisha Nicolaevna, let me finish ; it is very bitter to me and I must speak out. " You say, Alet)sha, that during these few days you have been attracted to the doctrines of the good ami nol)le, and honour- able and hiL;h, ami reproach me tliat in mv set vou find nothing but dry veneration of the intellect ; but look here, to bind your^^elf to all that is noble and lovely, and then, after what happened liere on 'I'uesday, to neglect the woman who ought to be dearer than all the world to you, for four whole days is — Well : you admit that you argued with Katia, and contended that Natasha, in her loftiness of mind, would forgive you; but what right have you to count on her tor- givcness in such a case, and even to offer to lay a wager upon it ? Vou surely do not mean to say that you never once thought of all the bitter rcllections, suspicions, and heart-burnings, that you allotted Natasha for her portion all that while ? Surely, because you were there attracted by certain new ideas, you had no right to neglect your very first duties here ? Forgive me, Natdsha, for breaking my word ; but present circumstances over ride my promise j you N 178 INJURY AND INSULT. will understand tiiat yourself. You are not, perhaps, aware, Alcosha, that I found Natasha in the nndst of sufferings which had made these last few days a hell for hei, these da)s wiiicii should have been sonic of the happiest in her lile. \'ou show me your acts on one side, and to counter- b.dance them you give us words, words, and words for tiie other. Am 1 riglu, or am I not ? And you can calmly blame me, wlien you are wrong yourself from every pohu of view.' The jirince fmishcd. He was impressed by his own elonucnce, and could not conceal his triumph. When Aledslui heard of Natasha's sulTcrings he looked at her in a jjaroxysm of anguish, but Nat;isha had made \\\\ her mind to speak. *• It's all right, Aledsha," she said, "don't be unhappy about th.it; sit down and listen to what 1 am going to say to your fiilher. 'i here are others more guihy than you." '• Explain yourself, please, Natasha Nicolaevna," put in the prince. "1 ha\e listened to these hints for the last two hours, the position is growing stKiiiictl ; and 1 nuist say I did not expect Sill h a receinion as you have given me to-day." •' \'ery likely; because you thought you could so blind us with your words that we should lose sight of your real inten- tions. What am I to ex|jlain } Vou know and understand the wlu;lc matter as well as anybody. Aledsha is right. Vour first ami greatest wish is to separate us. Vou almost knew beloreli.md the details, perhaps, of what would happen here after Tuesday ; you counted it all out on your tnigers. I said belore that yini look on me, and on this marriage, which you yoiusell pri;i)osed, without real seriousness. You are playing with us, uiul have your own private ends. Your game is a good one. Vou play^well. Aledsha was right when he said that you look on all this as a good joke. Vou ought to be tielighleil, and not reproach .Aledsha; because, without knowing it, he has carried out e\ery thing you intended him to do, perhajis even more fully than you lioj)ed." 1 was stupefied with amazement. 1 had not exi)ected such a catastioijhe this evening; and the too cutting candour of Natasha, and the unconcealed suspicion of her tone in address- ing the prince, ama/ed me to the very limits of wonder. She viiist know something, 1 thought. ^Very likely she was waiting impatiently for the prince, simply for the sake of throwing all this in his teeth. The prince had paled a little at Natasha's sally, and Aledsha's face bore e\ idence to his anxiety. INJURY AND INSULT. 1 79 *' just tliink, reflect wliat you have accused mc of," criod the [niiue. "Just think over it a little. 1 cannot understand what you arc driving at." "Oiilindcid. 'I'hen you don't 7iut Aleosha has a sensitive, tender heart, and your words — your tone as lie calls it, remained impressed \\\)(.)\\ that lieart." " I don't understand a word ; not a word," repeated the jirince, turning to me with an expression of amazement, as though calling me to witness. He w;is (luite wound up and lieated by this time. " ^'ou are suspicious, and you are agi- tated," he continued to her. " To ])Ut it simply, you are jealous of Katia, and therefore you arc ready to find fault with all the world, and me in particular ; and — allow me to finish — one sees a strange revelation of your character. I am not accus- tomed to this kind of scene, and I should not stay here a single minute more did not my son's interests — 1 am waiting for you to be good enough to explain." " Oh, then you are determined to be obstinate and to refuse to understand in a couple of words, though you see through and through the whole matter in reality? You insist upon my telling you everything out and out in plain language ? " "That's all I am waiting for." " Very well, then," cried Nat.-isha, her eyes flashing with anger, •• very well, listen ; I'll tell you all." CHAPTER III. SHE stood up, and began to speak standing ; not even observing the fact in the extremity of her agitation. The prmce listened awhile, and then stood up also. The scene became impressively solemn. N- l8o INJURY AND INSULT. " Recall your own sally of Tuesday to mind," Natdsha began. " Vou said, ' I must have money and weight in the world.' Do you remember ? " "Ves." " Very well, then, in order to obtain this money and all these advantages, which were sli[>i)ing out of your hands, you came here last 'J'ucsday, and invented our engagement, calcu- hitmg that this farce would assist you to obtain liold once more of what was slipping away frcjm you." '* N:it;islia," I crictl, " think what you are saying." " Farce ! " repealed the prince in a lone of deeply-injured dignity. Alc6sha sat silent, half deail with sorrow, and hardly tot/k in a word. " \'es, yes ; don't interrupt me. I have promised to tell you all," continued poor excited Natdslia. " Vuu remember quite well Aleosha would not obey you. You had worked for half a year to separate him from me ; he would not give in to you. Suddenly a moment came when you could wait no longer, li you let go of him, his bride and her money (chielly her nif)ney, (jf course), three million roubles — all would slip through your fingers. Only one thing remained ; .Med^Iia n)U^t fill in hne with the girl whom you had fixed u|>on for his wife. You jjondered ; if he fell in love with her, then, perhaps, he would throw me over." '• Natasha, Natasha !" Aleosha called out in des[)air, "what <7/v you saying, darling?" "You tried to compass it," Natasha continued, making no pause at Aledsha's cry ; "but the same old story again ; all might go well, but / was in the way. Only one thing gave you hope ; you, as an experienced and cunning man, had dcjubtless remarked that .Medsha occasionally beiame rather b(jretl with his old hne. You c(juUl not avoitl observing that he had begun to neglect me a little at times, and some- times was four or five days without coming near me. ' I'eihaps he will get tired of her and throw her uj) altogether,' you thouglU ; but Aledsha's decided action of Tuesday struck you forcibly. What must you do next? you thought.'' " Excuse me," the ])rince struck in ; "on the contrary " "I say," insisted Natasha, "that that evening you said to yourself, * What shall 1 do next ? ' and you decided to allow him to marry me ; that is not actually^ but in words — to pacify him I We can [Jut off the wedding, you thought, as long as we like; INIUPY AND INSULT. t8l and, mcanwiiilc, a new love was being horn and developing in liis heart. Vou had observed that ; and on the foundation of this new love your whole structure depended ! " " Novels, novels ! " the prince said, as though speaking to himself. "Solitude, suspicious nature, and too many novels ! " " Ves ; you built everytliing on the basis of this new love," Natasha continued, taking not the slightest notice of the prince's remark — she was at fever heat now, "and what s])lendid chances of growth this new love had. ^Vhy, it bcLran even -before he had realised the girl's perfection ! At that very moment when Alec5sha unbosomed himself to this girl, and told her that he could never love her, because duty and an- other attachment prevented him, she suddenly displayed before him so much nobility of character, and generosity to him and her rival, such wealth of forgiveness, that he — although he (lid not believe much in her beauty, and till that moment had not even thou^lit of her as beautiful— came straight off to me and talked of nothing but her and of how she had im- I'ressed him. And the next day, too, he must needs go and see this ideal, beautiful being, if only out of gratitude. And why not go and see her ? The old love was suff-.Ting no longer, her fate was decided, he could ha\c her for ever, and this other girl was only to be seen for a niinute or so, now! What a wretched creature Natasha would be were she to grudge him that one little mimite ! And then, Natasha, this same Nataslia, finds that not only that minute, but a day, another, a thirtl are taken from her and given to the new love ! And meanwhile, the other dis])liys herself to him in the most attractive guise ; she appears as the pink of generositv, of cntjiusiastic grace and goodness, and withal a simple naive chiUl, like himself, and therefore very good company for him. " They swear eternal friendship, brotherly love and sisterly love, and wish to part no more all their lives. In some five or six hours' conversation his soul opens itsell to the reception of new sensations, and his whole heart is given away! 'The time comes at last,' you think, * he is comparing his old lo\e with these new, fresh sensations ' ; there it's all old and com- nioni)lace, all seriousness and dulness, jealousy, and scolding and tears ; and if they do give him a turn of playlulness, he is treated not as an equal liut as a child." Here tears choked the poor girl ; but she fortified herself for another struggle, and continued :-t- 182 INJURY AND INSULT. " WeU, what next ? Oh, time ! Why, the marriage to Natasha is not coming off at once. Give him time and all will change. Then come your words, and hints, and elocjuence — a little slander of this vexatious Notdsha, a little showing of her up in an unbecoming light— and oh ! I don't know how it's all exactly done, but the victory is yours. Aleosha; don't blame me, dear ! dori't say that I cannot understand, or do not value, your love i I know (juite well that you do love me, and that at this very minute you do not understand my complaints. I know, too, that it is very, very wrong of me to speak out like this. lUit what am I to do when I understand and see all this as it goes on, and in spite of it love you, love you ! My darling! more and more, I love you! " She covereiu'v, is corrupting that son ! W'liat did you tell me just now about my staircase and this wret( hed lodging? Wasn't it you who cut off his all and down this room for four days, and I thought it all out and weighed it, every word of yours and every e\]iression of your face, anil I am convinced that the whole thing was a game of play, a comedy — an insulting, base, undignified pretence and sfuiui on your part I Oh, I know you well ; I have known you a long time ! Every time Aledsha came to see me from your house I guessed what you had been saying to him and instil- ling into his mind, from his face ; I learnt all your influences in his expression ! No, no, you can't deceive me ! Very likely you may have other ideas in your head ; quite possibly I I 84 INJURY AND INSULT. may not have touched the chief one, but it's all the same ; you hi\\c tried to deceive me, that's the essential point, and that is what I was bound to tell you to your face ! " " Is tliat all ? And these are all your proofs ! But consider, you enlluisiasiic W(jnian ! in that sally of mine (as you have i)een pleased to call my speech of Tuesday) I bound myself too ti^hily — that would iu)l be consistent with your ideas!" "How (lid )ou bind y(.)urseU ? How? What do you care alxjut deceiving ///£•? What doi.'s a girl's grievance matter to you — especially a ]>()or wretched girl who has eloped, lias been rejected by her father, is disgraced, — immoral 1 Is it worth while to stand on ceremony with such a person, if the amiable little deception is likely to turn out in the very least degree profitable ? " " Now think, Nal^isha Nicolaevna, what a position you are l)lacing yourselt in ! \'ou insist that 1 have insulted you, but 1 cannot understand how you can insist on being insulted in this way, how you (an even iiiuis^^ine su( h an insult ! Kxcuse me, but I cannot uiuler.itand it. I base a riglit to reproach you f(jr setting my son against mc. If he has not assailed me on ycHir behalf for what you said in your last speech, 1 feel sure that at heart he is against me for it." " No, father, no ! " cried .\le()sha. " If I have not attacked you it is because I do not believe you ca])able of insulting Nat;ihha so, and because 1 do not believe such an in^Llll could \)c imagined." "There! you hear," said the prince. "Natasha, I am all to blame. Do not accuse him," said Ale(>^ha again. " It is dreadful to hear you ! " '* Listen, N'ania! he is against me a!ieaily,"cried Natasha to me. " l:^ncugh," said the prince. " Wo xnn^i put an cm\ to this. This wild llood of jealousy, bouiKlUss and senseless on your part, brings out your char.icler in (piite a new light to me. I am forewarned. \\e were ha^ty, distinctly too hasty ! Vou do not even observe how )<;u have insulted me — it is nothing to you. We were hasty — we were hasty ! Of course, my word is sacred, but, 1 am a father, and I wish my son to be happy, and — " " Ah : you are taking back your word," Natasha cried, beside herself. " And right glad you are of the chain e Hut allow me to tell you that two ilays ago I made up my mini to release Aledsha from his bon(.l of my own tree will, and now I con- firm it before you all. I withdraw from the engagement.'' INJURY AND INSULT. 1 85 •'That mcans,"rcmnrkcd the prinrc, " that you wish to awaken in him once more all that disiinietude which the sense of duty < alls up in him — all the ani,'uish of responsibility, to put it neatly — in order that iiy this means you may attach him to yourself as firmly as cvera^ain. Why, this is consistent with \()ur own theory; that's why I bring the argument forward I i')Ut enough of this ; time will decide. I sliall look out for a moment of less agitation to talk it all over with you fully. I trust that we do not now break off our relations finally. I hope you may learn to estimate me at a rather higher figure, yet. I wanted to tell you of a i)roject of mine with regard to your jiarents which would have proved to you — but enough of tliis. Ivan Tetrovitch,'' he continued, advancing to me, " now, more than ever, do I feel the desire to make your better ac(iuaintance. I mean, above and beyond my former wish -you understand me? I hope to call upon you in a day or two, if I may be permitted." I bowed. It a])peared to mc that, under tlie circumstances, I could not now avoid receiving him. He pressed my hand, Itowed sik-ntly to Natasha, and left the room with the air of dignitied, but injured innocence. CH.XriER IV. T^OR a few moments not one of us said a word. Natasha ± sat still, thoughtful and depressed. All her energy had suddenly faded away. She looked straight before her, but saw nothing, and she held Ale()sha's hand in her own the while, unconscious and absent — he crying steadily, and occa- sionally glancing at Natasha's face with timid curiosity. At last he began to soothe her in a nervous manner. He begged her not to be angry ; he blamed himself. It was evident that he longed to justify his father, and that this was uppermost in his heart. He several times hinted at this subject, but never dared to broach it openly, being fearful of rousing Natasha's anger again. He swore to her that he loved her as much as ever, unchangeably and fondly, and excitedly justified his attachment to Kdtia, repeating over and over again l86 INJURY AND INSULT. that he loved Katia, but only as a sister — as a dear kind sister, — that b.e could not break with her altogether, because it would be unkind and harsh ; and he swore that if Natasha could only see Kaiia they would be friends at once, that then every- tl-.inj4 would be cleared up, and misunderstandings no longer exist. He did not comjirehend Nataslia's fears in the least ; indeed he had not thoroughly taken in what she had said to his father ; all he knew was that they had quarrelled, and that fact l.iy like a stone on his heart. " Do you blame me on your father's account ? " Natasha asked him. " How can I l)lame you," he replied feelingly, "when lam the cause of the whole quarrel, and in fault myself all round. It was I made you angry, and in your anger you blamed my fuller, because you wished U) excuse me. I am not worth it, NaiiisiiA ! ^'uu liad to Hnd fault with somel)ody, so you maile him the scapegoat. Hut he is rcMy, rej//y innocent. As if he would have come here for that ! " he cried, greatly agitated ; but seemg that Natasha looked reproachfully at him, lie imme- diately became timid, and exclaimed, " Well, I won't say it, I won't say it ! Forgive me 1 I am to blame for everything." " Ves, Aleosha," Natasha began, with stirring emotion in her voice, " yes, he has ct)me between us and annihilated all our peace, for life. You have always trusted me more than aiiy-ne in the world ; but now he has instilled su'ipicion of me into your heart, and distrust ; you blame me now— he has taken half your heart away from me. A black cat has run between us. He lias drawn you to himself with his false arguments and affected simplicity,'' Natasha continued, "and now he will continue to strengthen the barrier he has raised between us." " I swear to you that it is not so," cried Aleosha, in great excitement ; " he was beside himself when he said that he liad been ' hasty.' You'll see to-morrow or next day that he will come to his senses and all will be right ; but if it turns out that he reallv wishes to break off our engagement I Solemnly swear to you that I won't listen to him. 1 shall find strength to resist him, I dare say ; and do you know who will help us," he suddenly cried, enthusiastically : " Katia will, and then you'll see, you'll see, what a splendid creature she is ! Vou shall see whether she really wishes to be our enemy and to separate us. Oh, Natasha, how unjust you were when you said INJURY AND INSULT. 187 I was the sort of mnn who begins to fall away from his wife the day after ttie wedding. It 7i'as hitter to hear that. No; I am not tliat kind of man; and if 1 have been at Katia's rather often " "Oh, Aleosha, go tliere as often as you like ; it was not of that I spoke. Vou did not understand ; amuse yourself with whomever you please, I cannot exact more from your heart than it can give." Here Mavra came in, and remarked that the tea-urn had been ready f(jr two hours, and that it was eleven o'clock. She spoke angrily, anO it was evident that she was not ])lease(l with her mistress for some reason or other. The fact of the matter was, she had been drawing the long-bow all over the house as to Natasha's marriage; and in the yard and in the shops in the street, and to the policemen at the corner, she had spread the news of how the prince, 'a general, and enormously rich,' had come to her mistress and begged her hand for his son ; and now she had heard the conversation with the prince, and githering that the whole thin.; was ruined and knocked on the head, jump.-d to the conclusion that Natasha was to blame for it all. " .V nice state of things," she growled, " here have I been i>reparing this supper all day and all night, and running all the way to the Nefsky for wine, and now — " here her feel- ings were too much for her, and she left the room, banging the dour behind her. Natasiia looked at me quaintly, and blushed. " ^'ou see, Vania," she said, " I felt that this interview would end as it has, and yet I got this little supper ready ; for I said to myself that perhaps, pcr!'aps it might turn out differently ; Aleoslia would come and begin to make it up at once; and my sus- picions about the prince would be dissipated ; I should be reassured. And so I got the suj^per ready for all emergencies." There was a capital supper brought in by Mavra by this time — fish, game, and a couple of bottles of good wine from Eliseyeffs. Poor Natasha! she blushed so as she spoke. Aleosha went into ecstasies. •'There you sec, Natasha," he cried, "you did not believe in your suspicions yourself a couple of hours ago ! No; this must be set right, I am the guilty party, and it is I that must put the thing straight again. Natdsha, let me go o(Tto my father's at once ! I must see him, he is offended; I must go and make it up with hirn, and I'll tell him all — as from myself alone j 1 88 INJURY AND INSULT. I won't compromise you in any way. Ill arrange everything. Dcjn't be angry with me for wanting to leave you like this and to go to him ; I am sorry for liim. He will justify himself in your eyes, you'll see. To-morrow I will come early, and be with you all day — I shan't go near Kdtia." Natasha did not stop him, in fact she advised him to go. She was so afraid that Aledsha might insist on staying with Ikt against his inclination. She merely begged him to say notlnng to his father as from her, and did her best to smile gaily as she said good-night io him. He was just about to go, when he suddenly ajjproached her, took both her hands and sat down beside her ; he gazed at her with unspeakable tendtjrncss. " Natasha, my darling," he said, "don't be angry with me ! we will never (juarrel ; and tell me that you will always trust me, as I do you ! Now listen, my angel ; once we had a (ia;iircl — I forget what about, but it was my fault. We did not speak to one another ; I did not want to ask pardon, and I was Ncry misL'ral)!e. 1 wandered about town witli a heavy heart, all abt)ut the place, and then suddenly it came into my hea 1, ' What if Natasha were to be ill and die.' When this idea struck me, I fell such a j^ang of sorrow — just as if I had really lost you foi ever. My imagination grew more and more melan- choly, and gradually I had the idea that I had been to see your grave, had fallen down upon it senseless with anguish. 1 fancied that I kissed your tombstone, called upon you to come out, if ^)niy for one minute, and prayed God to grant me a miracle and let you ri.se before me for just an in.stant ; and then it seemed to me that I threw myself into your arms, and einl)raced you and kissed you; and 1 think I died of joy. And then I thought how that here I was praying for you to come out of your grave for just one minute, and yet we had had each other for n-onths at a time, and had miserably neglected our opportunities of happiness, and had nagged at each other over and over again, and had refused \.o spe.ik to one another for days and days. Wlien I thought of this I could bear it no longer, and rushed away to you, got here, and found you wailing for me ; and when wc embraced each other, oil ! I remember 1 i)ressed you to my breast so tight, just as though I were really losing you. Natasha, we will never (juarrel again; I cannot bear it! And, oh Natasha, how <-^///oeff, and went out. " Now tell me, for goodness' sake ! " I said", as I went in. " I am not going to tell you anyt/iin-^!" replied Maslobdeff, taking his cap hastily and making for the front door. "I must be off, my boy ; 1 have some most imi)ortant business on hand ! " " \\ h)', my dear fellow, you wrote me yourself asking me to come at twelve o'clock.'- "Wluit of that ! I left you a nolo yesterday, and somebody sent ;//(■ ()ne to-day ; my dear boy, such business, my head whirls ! Forgive me \'ania, old chap, but they are wailing for me ; any satisfaction I can gi\e you 1 shall be delighted ! Here, iut me, do; jjunch my head fur asking you to come and iliLii going out, but do it (juickly for goodness' sake; don't keep me, I )niiit be off'' " Well, I won't hit you dus time ; if you have something to do, go and do it by all means, everybody has unforeseen afiairs now and then — but " " No, no ; none of your buts," he said, rushing to the door, and putting on his coat (I did the same); ''look heie! 1 have soniething most important to spe.ik to you about, that's why 1 asked you now, so do, for goodness' sake come here at INJURY AND INSULT. 1 95 seven ])Uiir.tiially to ni^ht. It's something that concerns your own interest ! 1 sliall be at lionie then." "My dear fellow," I said, "I should be very glad; but I wanted to call soiuewliere else this evening." "do there now, and come to me in the evening ; you've no idea what tilings I have to (ell you." " All right," I replied, "111 doit. I declare you've quite roused my curiosity." Meanwhile we had got outside the house anil were stantling on the jjavement in front. " Well," lie insisted, " you'll come then, for certain." " I t..ld you I would." " No, no; that won't do. (iive me your word of honour 1" "Very well, you funny old kllow ! " *' Capital I Now, which way are you going ?" " 'I'o the right," I replied. " Oh, well, I'm off to the left," he said. "Good-bye ; don't forget seven o'clock." I looked after him, and thought what a strange fellow he was. I wanted to go to Nat.asha's in the evening, but, as I had now promihctl Maslobdeff, I determined to go to her at once. I felt sure tiiat I should fmd Aleosha there, and so 1 did, and right glad he was to see me. lie was in a delightful luimo'.ir, and very gentle to Natasha; as I say, he was overjoyed to see me. Natasha tried to be gay and jolly, too, but ite\idenlly went against the grain.. Her face looked \k\\c and ill. bhe was very kind and caressing towards Alei'isha. Aleosha, tlunigh he talked a gre;it deal, and did his best to make Nata>ha gay, and to force her lips to form themselves into a smile, was evidently anxious to avoid speaking of Katia and his father, Irom which f.icl I concluded that his yesterday's attempt at peace-making hatl failed. "Do you know what?" Natasha whispered to me, when Ale()sha had gone out for a minute to speak to Mavra, " he is longing to get away and doesn't like to. I am afraid of telling him he hail better be going, because then he is pretty sure to stay on purpose. \\'hat I am jjrincipally afraid of is, that he will stay on and get tired of me, and so, gradually, his love will cool down. \\'hat am I to do ?" " Ciood heavens I " I said, " w hat wild things you do imagine ; and how suspicious you arc, and how you watch and — 2 11)6 INJURY AND INSULT. s|)y each other. Why, simply tell him what you want to tell him outright, and the thint; is done. This sort of forced position is jiiht the kind of thing to boro him ! " " \\hat shall I do ? " she asked, frightened out of her wits at my suggestion. " Wait .1 miiuile, I'll arrange it for you," I said, and went iiUo the kitt hen. 1 was going to make an excuse by asking Mavra to give my dirty boots a brush up. " lie cartful, V:inia," Natasha shouted after me. 'i'he instant I a])peared in the kitchen Aleosha rushed at me, just as though lie had been wailing for me. " \'ania, dear old boy, what u/n 1 to do ? Advise me ! I told Katia jtsictday that 1 would be with her to-day, just at this linic. I (ant break tlie a]i])ointmfnt, you know. I love Natasha ewr so nuuh ; 1 woultl go through tire and water for lur, but one can't throw another girl over entirely — altogether." "Well, what? go, of course," I said. " r>ut liow ai)out Natasha? It will hurt her feelings, Vania ; tell me how to manage it." " Simply go at once," I said. " Vou know how she loves you ; she'll tliuik you are dull, and slaying by her side against the grain. A strained jiosilion is always a mistake. ISut let's go in, and I'll help you." " Dear old fellow, \anin, you are always so good!" We went in. .Alter a miiuite or so I said to him, "1 saw your father tI^^l morning." " Where ? " lie cried, startled. '• In the r^lieet, accident, illy. He stopped me for a minute, and agaiii begged to be allowed to come and see me. He asked about you, whether I knew where you were? He wanted to see you about sonielliing ; he had something or other to say to you, I think." "Oh! Aleosha, go at once and show yourself !" Natasha cried. She saw what I was diiving at. "Where shall I find hiui though? Is he at home?" " No ; as far as I remember he was just olT to the countess's." " ( )h ! but — how — w hat can 1 do ? " said .Aleosha, looking at Natasha with an expression of naive melancholy. " \\ hat ? " she said. " Why surely, Aleosha, you don't seriously wish to cut their ac (juaintance so as to soothe my feelings? What a childish thing that would be. Firstly, it is INJURY AND INSULT. 197 impossible ; and secondly, it would he most unL^rntcfnl towards R;itia. \'ou arc friends ; you caunot break with her so rou;4hly and suddenly. I-'inally, you simply offend me l)y supposing that 1 could be jealous of you. (lo at once, I entreat you to ! Your fithcr will be relieved too." " Natasha, you an^el, 1 am not worthy of your little fm^cr." Aleosha spoke with enthusiasm and some remorse. " Vou arc so good, and 1 — I — well, I'll just tell you. A moment ago I begged \';inia, in the kitchen there, to help me to get away, and this i)lan is simply his invention. I'.ut don't ju//rsf morning, think of that ! The instant she heard you were coming she began her prc- ])arations," saitl Maslohoeff, "and has been tormenting her- self al)out it all day." " Tiiat's not true," said Alexandra, " it was j/nf from earliest niorning. I began last night. \'ou told me when you came home last night th.at he was coming to spend the evening, and I thought, why shouUln't we receive liim ]troperly. W'c live on, week after week, and never see a S(nil, and yet we have all sorts of nice things to show. \Vhy shouldn't peojilc of pr)sition when tlicy t/if come, sec that we know how to receive tliem." " Sec what a splendid liousekec])cr you are, you mean," aOO INJURY AND INSULT. laughed Masloboefl. "But think of >/ie, what have /done to have this smart shirt and slippers and dressing gown piled on to nu', and all these studs stuek in, and my hair scented — she did it all, my dear fellow, and smeared bcrgamot on my hair. She wanted to sprinkle some nasty scent over me, but I drew the line there. 1 exerted a little authority ! " " It wasn't bergamot, it was best French pomade ! Judge for yourself now, Ivan retrovitch, never a theatre or a dance do 1 see !. lie gives me lots of dresses, but what is the use of then> ? I get myself up in them and march up and down the room. Tlie other day we were just off to the theatre, I was all ready and pinning on my brooch, when I see my gentleman at the wine cupboard. ' Just one glass,' he said ; then he had another, then he settled to it ; and not a glimpse of that theatre did we gel. ^\'e never see a soul, except an occasional business caller of a morning, and then I am turned out of the room. 1 have thought over it for a year, and made uj) niy mind that if ever a guest, a real guest, did come to see us we Would give him a sight of all uur [\\\c tea-cups and tea- urns and things ; I want to hear them admired. As for pomad- ing his h.air, I'm sorry I took the trouble, for the stupid o\d donkey isn't worth it. Vou see that smart dressing gown — nuu li t(»o good for him — it was given to him. ;\11 he cares about is his drinking; you'll see he will want you to take vodki before your tea." "( ^.liie true, and very right. Come along Vania, we"ll have a drain, one gcjld coloured one and one silver one ; then our souls will be nicely freshened up, and we can settle down to a steady drink." " 1 knew it," said .Me.xamlra. "All right, .Sashenka, we'll have a cup of your mi.\ture after- wards, with a droj) of cognac in it to your health." "There, llial's just like him !" cried the indignant Ale.xan- cha ; "tea at si\ roubles a pound — presented to us by a mer- chant — and he wants to drink it with nasty brandy. Don't listen to him, Ivan Petrovitch, I'll i)our )ou out a cup of this, and you'll see what K)vely tea it is," and she began fussing over her tea things. It was evident that I was e.\i)ected to stay'all the evening. Alexandra Seme6no\ iia had waited a year tor a guest, and was going to make the most of him ; but this was not in my calculations. " Listen, Masloboeff," I said, sitting down, " you must INJURY AND INSULT. 201 not consider mo a guest, I have come on business ; you liad sonictliiii^ to say to mo. At half-past oight I must l)o off." " Not a hit of it ; you arc not ^"'"0 l" iru:\i mo and Alox- anilra hke that. Look at Ikt, she is stui)cficd witli your news ! And wliat do you suppose I'm pomadotl for ! Why, I've got borgamot on my hair, my good sir, think of that ! " "VouwiUIkuo y()\ir joke, Maslol)ooff. JUil hstcn, Alex- andra Sonioiinovna, 1 promise faitlifully lo come and dino with you no\l friday. lUit I can't p(jssil)ly stay long to- night. Vou IkkI bettor toll me at once, Maslobdoff, what you have to say." "Surely you can stay longer than till half-past. eight," said Alexandra, j)laintivoly, and handing mo a cup of tea, almost with tears in her eyes. *' Don't bother yourself about it,Sashonka," said Maslobcjoff; •' it's all twaddle, ho isn't going. Look hero, \'ania, I think you hatl iKttor tell mo where you are always going to. What business have }oii got on hand ? You run away somewhere every day — you do no work." " I'orhaps I'll toll you afterwards. Meanwhile, just inform me what made you call at my rooms last night, when, as you re- member, I had told \ou that I would not be at home ? " "Oh, 1 forgot. 1 wanted to talk to you about something; but I chiefly wanted to apiiJoaso Alexandra. She said, 'There's an old Iriend, why don't you invite him here?' 1 assure you, my dear fellow, 1 have been worried about you for days. As for the bergamot stuff, it will cover a multitude of sins in the next world. 'I'o tell you the truth, I wanted just to have a ch.at \vith you ; so I dovisotl the stratagem of leaving a note to say that if you didn't come and talk about a certain subject, some- thing dreadful would happen." I beggotl him not to do that sort of thing in future, and said that I much preferred i)lain speaking. As for his explanation^ it by no moans satisfied me. " Well, and what did you run away from me this morning for?" I asked. *' I really had business," he said. "What, with the prince? " "How do you like our tea," asked the honeyed voice of Alexandra Semconovna. " It's splendid^ Alexandra Semeonovna," I said. " I have never tasted such tea before." She had waited five minutes 202 INJURY AND INSULT. for my opinion, poor little woman, and I had forgotten all about it." She flushed up with joy, and hastily poured me out another cup. " The prince ! " cried Maslohdcff. " I tell you, my dear sir, that prince is the greatest /luinl'iii;, ^Vhy, I myself am a pretty fvir Markguard, but fori)ure modesty's sake, 1 shouldn't like to be in his skin. And that's all I can say about him. I can't tell you any more." "And it so happens that one of my chief reasons in coming to see you, was to ask all about him. Well, we'll talk about that afterwards. Just tell me, first of all, why you gave my Nelly those sweets last night ; and whv you pirouetted before her, and wh.it you found to talk about for an hour and a lialf?" "Nelly is a child, about eleven or twelve years old, who is at jircsent staying \\'\i\\ Ivan Petrovilch," explained Maslobdeff to Alexandra. " Look, Vania, just look at her !" he went on, pointing v.ith his finger at her. " Look how she llushed up when she heard I had taken sweets to a str.mge girl 1 How red she got, and how slie treml)led, just as if sonielxjdy had fired a pistol off. Look at her eyes, they are shining like a couple of coals ! All right, .Sashenka, all right. 1 know! You needn't try to hide it — it's jealousy. I tell you, my dear boy, if 1 h.adn't hastened to inform her that the strange girl was eleven years old, I should have caught it in another minute— e\en the bergamot wouldn't have saveil me." " It won't save you now, either," and with these words, and before MasloIxielT ccnild due k his bead, she had sprung out from behind her tea-urn, caught hold of a large lock of his hair, and gi\ en it a jjretty smart tug. "There!" she said, "there ! you clare tell me I'm jealous, before a guest, eh? Vou dare, do you ? " She was as reil as a turkey cock, and though she was not really angry, Maslob()eff caught it pretty hot. " lie is never ashamed of himsell," Alexandra said to me. " He'll say anything." "There, Vania, that's the sort of life 1 lead, .\fter that, I must certainly have a little vodki," said Maslobi'ieff, smoothing his hair, and almost running tor the decanter. lUit Alexandra was before him. She rushetl to the table, poured him out a wine glass of vodki, and handed it to him, patting his cheek INJURY AND INSULT. 203 caressingly. ^Taslol)ocTf winked al nic solemnly, put out his tunmie, and with i;real soleninily cini>tied his glass. " .As for the sweets,"' he said, silting down by me, "it is very dillieult to say. I hought them tl;e other day at a dirty hltle sho]), when 1 was — well, drunk. 1 don't know why. l'eihai)S 1 wanletl to eneourage the trade of my country — I don't know I All I remember is that I was going along the road, in the con- ped me several times, and nsked no c\v\ of (juestions, so that l)y the time I had finished he had learned pretty well all the details. My narrative lasted half-an-hour. " Il'm ! she's got a head on iier shoulders, that girl!" Maslob()eff said. "Though she may not have made an exact estimate of the ])rince's aclicMi, still slie saw from the very first step what sort of man she had to deal with, and promptly broke off all relations with him. Well done, Natasha Nico- laevna 1 I drink to her health ! " (He drank.) " Of course, she has lost the game, the prince will insist on liis own way, and Aleosha will droj) her, that's (juite certain. I'm very sorry for old Ikmenief, to have to pay ten thousand roubles to that blackguard ! Who was his lawyer — liimself I suppose? Oh ! of course; it's always the way with these fiery, generous l)eoplc ; they are no use. That wasn't the way to behave with a man like the prince ! I'd have got him such a legal adviser that — oh ! " He banged the table with mortification. "Well," I asked, "what aliout the jirime now-'" " How you harp on the prince, ^\'llat am I to say. I sim])ly wanted to forewarn you against t'nc scoundrel, so las to put you out of reach of his intluence. \\'hoever has dealings with him is on dangerous ground. So just keep your ears open, and that's all. Vou thought I was going to tell you, heaven knows what awful mysteries. Evidently ! you are a novelist What's one to say about a scoundrel ? A scoundrel is a scoundrel. Well, look here, I'll just tell you one little tale about him, of course, without names, without towns, dates, or any particulars. Vou know that when he was young and living on his salary as a government clerk, he married a rich merchant's claughtcr. Well, he did not behave very nicely towards this girl ; and though we have not to do with lier at present, I will just observe that all his life he has loved to go 206 INJURY AND INSULT. in for the sort of little game, an example of which I am now going to describe. Well, he wont abnxid, and there ." " Wait, Maslobueff, what year was this ? " "Just ninety-nine years and three months since. Well, when tb.ere he lured a certain girl from a certain father, and carried her off to Paris. And the way the fellow did it ! The father was a sort of manufacturer, or a sharelioKler in some works or other. Our Iriend gut round hinr somehow, and sniggled into the enterprise as a })artner. Then he cheated the old man com[)letely, and borrowed money h\)m him. 0{ course, the old man took some kind of receipt ; but liic prince wanted io borrow the money in that kiml of way that one tloesn't pay it back — I iiave heard it des( ribed as stcalini^^. Well, the old man had a pretty daughter, and this daughter was loved m.uliy by an ideal fellcjw, a brother of .Schiller's, a ])oet, and at the same lime a mer( hant — a young visionary, in a word, a ihorouuh (lerman, a certain I'fefferkuciien." " Vou mean, his name was rferrerku( hen? " " 1 dare say that was his name ; deuce take it, we have notjiing to do with that ! Well, the prince set hiuiselflo win this girl's a'fet tion, ant! succeeded so well that she fell madly in love wuh bun. The prince wanted two things, fust to get hold of the daughter, and next to get hold of ilie receii)ts lor the money borrowed. Now, the keys of all the old man's boxes Were in the young woman's ])ocket. The oKl man loved his dau-hler to such an extent that he would not, or could not, bring himself to let aii\one marry her. lie was jealous of every marriageable man about the ])lace — he ctJuUln't think of sejiaration from her. lie drove I'fefferkuciien away, - some young beggar of an ]'-ngli.->hman — " " Knghshmai; ! ^Vhy, where did all this take i)Iace ? " "Oh I 1 just said Englishman for fun ! How you snap one up! It took pku e at Santa I'e de Ikigota, or was it Oracuw, or Nassau ? NaNsau I think it was ; will that ilo for you ? Well, the prince got hold of \\\v daughter and carried her off, and the daughter, by his ordei^, brought aw.iy some t)f her Kilher's papers. One does see lo\e like tliis sometimes ; and yet, gooil heavens ! the girl was as lioiust and noble a girl as — and I dare say, she knew nothing about the papers she took away. One thing troubled the girl— her father's curse. So tlie p-rince stepped forward and gave her a formal legal document undertaking to marry her. And by this means lie ])ersuaded INJURY AND INSULT. 207 her tliat they uould just have a Httlo journey together and cnjdy tlu'm>c)\t.s a l)il, atid then come hack married and Hvc cnlrois svith lier lather, as hajipy as huks, and make money and so (>n, to all eternity. So off they went ; tlie old man cursed liis daui;hter, and his business smashed up. ^\'ell, Frauenmikh followed her to Paris, leaving husiiuss and every- thing to do so ; he was very nnu h in luve was hrauenmilch." "Stoi) I who is l''r.uienmilch 1 " "Oh, that fellow, what's his name? Feuerhach ! Oh! hang him ! Tfefferkuchen. Well, of course, the prince could not marry — what would Countess Clestoff say ? what would 15aron ronioikin think of it? — so he must deceive her. This was not tliflicult, and he did it too well. First, he took to beating her ; then he invited this rfeflVrkuchen to the house ; rfefferkuchen went and became the girl's confidant. 'I'hey would sit together ft)r hours crying and bewailing their miseries. The prince so arranged that he came in one evening late and found them together. He inmiedialely ])retended that their intimacy had been criminal, picked a (juarrel with I'feffer- kuchen, swore that lie had been an e)e-\\ilness of their pevfuly, and kicketl them both out of his front door. 'I'hcn he went off to Londcjn, and she gave birth to a daughter innnediately — • that is, not a daughter but a son, who was chrislenetl V^uldilia. Well, rfefferkuchen took care of her; he had a liiile money, and they went round Italy and Switzerland — all the romantic places, in fact. She did nothing but ( ry, and I'fLfferkuchen passed his time in whimpeiing, and so the yeais-weiU by and tlie girl grew. All would have been delightful for the prince but for one thing ; he had not got back his document under- taking to marry her. " ' Vou scoundrel,' she had said to him at i)arting, 'you have cheated and betrayed and dishonoureii me, and now you desert me, but I will not give you back your promise of marriage. Not because I would ever marry you; but because you arc afraid of this document. So I shall keep it safe in my own hands.' *' In u word, she lost her temper ; but tlie prince remained calm. It is very convenient and delightful for blac:kguards like that to have to deal with your exalted type of persons. They are so high-minded that they are easily duped ; and again, they invariably prefer to treat their enemies with noble and generous contempt, rather than with tlie ajiplicaiion of the y ao8 INJURY AND- INSULT. scourge of the law. Therefore, though this poor mother wrapped herself up in the cloak of scorn and ke[)t the docu- ment in her pocket, the prince knew well enough that she would sooner hang herself than make use of the said document, so he was quite comfortable for the time. And though she sj^at — figuratively, in the scoundrel's face, there was little Volodia left on hrr hands ; and, if she were to die, what would become of him ? However, she did not think much of that, and young Ikiiderschaft encouraged her to leave the matter alone, too. They read Schiller together instead. However, one fine day, young lirilderschaft got ill and died." " Do you mean I'leffeikuchen ?" "Oh, hang the fellow — yes, and she — "Wait a bit ; how many ye.irs had they wandcre>k your ;ul\ii:e. How is it to be managed? How can I arrange so that Ikmenief keeps the money ? " I ihought lu my^elf, "As if you want any advice as to such a point as tlial. Vou must be joking." However, I answered in all simplicity, " 1 really thju't know, I'rince. If there is any informal ion I can gi%e vou in regard to Nat.asha Nicol.ievna's affair I am \ery nnu h at your service; but as to the matter you sjjcak of you know lar more about it than do. " Not at all ; not at all. Vou are a great friend of the family, INJURY AND INSULT. 21^ and very likely Xat.i^lia herself has often told you her idens on this suhjeet, and liiat wouUl l)c a j^reat guide to me. You might lu.'lp me so mueh ; and the affair is difficult enough to manage. I am ready to yield on this point ; more, I am deter- mined to yieUl — you understand — however other matiers at issue may end. IJut //ore to surrender my right to this money, that is the cjuestion. 'I'he old man is as proud as he is obstinate ; jjerhaps my generosity may offend him and he may throw the money hack in my face." " Excuse me, hut whose projjerty do you consider the money to be ; yours or his?" •MVell, as I won the suit, of course the money is mine." "Yes, but from the point of view of honour?'' " Mine, of course," he said, evidently piiiueil by my want ol ceremony, " However, 1 supjxise you do not know the essential points of the business. 1 do not accuse the old man of intentional deceit, nor, I admit, did I ever deem him guilty of it. He insisted on marching deliberately to his own dis- comfiture. He was guilty merely of negligence in some of the affairs entrusted to him, for the results of which negligence he was, by our agreement, responsible. lUit as you very likely are aware the troul)le was not there — that was not the sote poiiit ; the re.d iau>e (jf the whole {[uestion w'as that quarrel of ours and the mutual insults we heajjed upon each other — in a word, our wounded self-love. I dare say I should never ha\e thought of those wretched ten thousaml roubles but for that ([uarrel. Hut, of course, you know all about the occurrence 1 admit that I v.as suspicious, and perhaps wrongly so — wrongly then, of course— but I was not aware of it at the time, and being annoyed and offended by his rudeness I seized the (>pportunity of this excuse to commence a lawsuit against him. All this may a]>pear to you as not the most high-minded conduct on my part. 1 do not justify myself; all I wish to remark is that anger and wounded self-love do not necessitate the absence of high-mindedness, and — I'ut 1 hardly knew the Ikmoniefs, you nmst remember, and besides, 1 believed all the reports about Aleosha and the old man's daughter, and therefore it was not incQnsistent to believe etjually in the possibility of Ikmcnief having robbed me, as reported by tittle tattlers. But all this is supertluous. The cjuestion is, how am I to act now ? Give up the right to the money ? Very well ; but if I do so, and still hold that my claim was just, then it simply amounts to 214 INJURY AND INSULT. making him a present of the money. Add to this difficulty the strained position of affairs as regards Natdsha, and — well, he is sure to hurl the money back in my face." "You see you use tlie expression 'hurl'; consequently you consider the man honest, and therefore you must be perfectly convinced that he did not steal your money. And if so, why can't you go straight to him and tell him that you consider your claim was unjust ? That would be the high-minded thing to do, and then very likely Ikmenief might find himself able to take his own money back again." " ll'm, his own money ; that's just it. Now look what you want mc to do. I am to go to this man and tell him that I consider my claim on him to have been unlawful. LOh ! then why did you i)Ut the claim forward when you knew it was unjust ? ' So he and everyone else will ask me ; and 1 have not deserved this, because I made my claim with perfect legality. I never said or wrote anywhere that he had robbed me ; but as for his carelessness and neglect and inability to iS.o his work — of that I was and still am (|uite persuaded. 'J his money is undoubtedly viy oicn, and therefore it is a little too much to expect me to draw down his slander on my head ; and, in f.ict, as I said before, the old man brought his trouble on himself, and you ex[K'Ct me to bog his pardon for it, which is decidedly hard on me." *' It seems to me that if two men want to make up a quarrel " "What? You think it ought to be easy enough? No, my dear friend, sometimes it is by no means so easy, especially when " " Esi)ccially when there are special circumstances to com- plicate matters. Yes ; there I (juite agree with you, Prince. The a flair of Natasha and your son's marriage ought to be settled at onct; so far as you are concerned, and settled, too, to the entire satisfaction of the Ikmeniefs. Only when you have done ih.is can you freely communicate your views about the lawsuit to the old man ; but now, while nothing what- ever is settled, there is but one road open to you — to admit the injustice of your claim, and atlmit it not only freely, but, if necessary, publicly. There you have my opinion. 1 give it frankly because you asked for it, and prol).d)ly do not wish me to deceive you. And this fact emboldens me to ask you, why are you so anxious to return this money to the lkm6niefs? INJURY AND INSULT. 215 If you think your claim was just \Ahy give up tlic money? Excuse my curiosity, l)ut this (lucstion is so intimately con- nected with other (juestions that " " And what do you think ? " the jirincc asked suddenly, and as thougli he had not heard a word of my cjuestion. " Would Ikme refuse this money if it were offered him without a word of explanation or apology ? " " Of course he would ! " I felt quite hot and even trembled with indignation. This insolently scejjtical cpiestion gave me a shock of disgust just as though the ])rince had suddenly spat in my face. And this feeling of disgust was intensified by the rude, aristocratic manner of the prince in not answer- ing iiiy question, but substituting another of his own, thereby giving me to understand that I was exceeding the bounds of lamiharity in initting such questions to him. I had always loathed these aristocratic tricks of manner, and had done my best to cure Aleosha of them in the past. " H'm ! you are a little too warm ; these sort of things do not always go m the way you seem to think right, in the ivorld^' the prince (juietly observed, in answer to my heated exclama- tion. " I think Natasha might partly decide the question ; tell her so. She might give her peo|)le some good advice on the subject " "Not by any means," 1 replied, rudely; "you were good enough to interrupt what I was about to say a minute or two ago. I wished to observe that Natasha Nicolaevna will un- derstand very well, that if you return this money to her father in an underhand insincere way, and without any aj^ology, as you call it, you desire to imply that you are paying her father for his daughter and are paying I.er- for Ale(')slia ; in otlur words, that you are glcs^>ing over with a sum of money what—" " H'm 1 So that's how you understand my character, my gentle Ivan i'etrovitch ! " The prince laughed. Why did he laugh ? I wondered. " I5ut," he continued, " we have plenty to say to each other yet, and there's no time now. I will only beg one thing of you — to undorstanrl this : that the matter directly concerns Natasha and her future, and that that future depends partly upon what you and I may decide together, and upon the ground we take up. You are a necessity in this aftiir, you must see that ; and therefore if you continue to feel attached to Natasha you cannot refuse to have it all out with me, how- ever little sympathy you may feel forme personally. But here we are; so (l bicntot / " ai6 INJURY AND INSULT. CHAPTER IX. THE countess lived on a grand scale ; her rooms were elegantly and comlurtably furnished, but not gaudily. She had rented the lodging fur a season, and I had heard that she was going to her own estate in Siiuhirsk for tlie summer, and that the prince was to escort her. 1 thought witli dread of the (juestion as to what Alcosha would do— how lie would act, when Katia went away with the countess. 1 had not dared to talk to Natasha of this yet, but from certain hints wiiich she let dro[) she appeared to have heard the rumour. However, she said nothing about it, and kept her sulferings to herself as u.-iual. The countess received me .well, courteously gave me her hand, and said that she had long wished to know me. She poured me out a cui> of tea, hum a beautiful silver tea-urn near whith were sealed the [iiince, myself, and an elder!) and . extremely aristocratic-looking indi\idual, highly starched, and of engagmg manners ; he had the appearance of a diplomati>t. This guest was apparently much honoured. 'I'he countess, not having returned trom abroad very long, had not as )et matle any very iniptjilant coniiue^ls, nor had she consolidated her position in society as she had hoped : and this visiit)r was the only one v. ho came in during tliee\ening. 1 looked for Katia ; she was in another room with Alebsha, but, hearing of our arrival, came in at once to see us. The prince kissed her hand alfectionatel)', and the countess introduced me. J ga/.ed ;U Katia with the must im|iatient t uriosity. She was a gentle-looking little blontle, dressed in white ; she was not tall, and her face had a ipuet, peaceful expression; her eyes were perfectly blue, as Aleosha had said, and she was pretty, as all youth is i>relty, but no mure. I had expected to hnd the perfection of lovelmess, but she had no real i)eaut)'. The regular and delicately traced oval of her face, her fairly good features, and her nice hair were all well enough, but if I had met her anywhere 1 should have pa>sed her by without particularly noticing her. However, I had time to study her INJURY AND INSULT. 21 7 face more carefully during the evening, and it improved iipon ac(iuaintance. 'Ihe mere manner ot giving me her hand, looking into my eyes with grave, concentrated interest, and without a word, struck me very forcibly. I cf)uld not lul]> smihng at h.er ; it was so evident tliat the Hltle i)eing l)efort' mc was innocent and ])urc of heart. 'Jhe countess watched her intently. Having shaken hands with mc, K;itia Inirried off to the other end of tlic room, and sat down there with Aledsha. Alcdsha, when he greeted me, took the opportunity of whisj)ering, " I'm only here for a mitiuti\ you know, and then I'm off i/ii/i." The dijilomatist (I don't know his name) was holding forth calmly and with majesty while the countess listened with great deference. The i)ruKe, too, listened with an approving and flattering smile. This orator often lield forth to the prince as one of his best listeners. 'I'hcsegood i)eo])le gave me my cup of lea and then left me in jieace, for which I fell deeply gratified. I took the op])ortunity of studying the countess. She jjleased me — I ct)nfess it, though I did not wish lobe i)le:ised — at first. Her face was very fresh-looking, and it struck me that when young slie must have lieen very beautiful ; she did not look much more than about twenty-eight however. Her hair was dark and thick, and h.er expression was distinctly iL^nuious, though one detected an undercurrent 'of irony. She was \ however, evidently on her good behaviour, just now, and her Mace looked clever and intelligent, as well as kind and full of animation. She sal by the prince, whose influence over her was of the greatest. I knew that there had been, or was, a liaison between them, and had heard that ihc iirincc was not a ])arti- cularly jealous lover ; and I thought, ancl think now, that there must have been some other connection between them besides that of love — some mysterious mutual obligation founded on financial (luestions; something or other there must h.ne been. 1 also knew diat the i)rince was at present dreadtuUy tired of her, but that their intimacy was not broken off. Probably Katia was the principal tie between them at this time, and Aledsha had told me that the prince had opposed the countess's wish to marry himself, and had persuaded her to work with him for the union of Aledsha and Katia. Aledsha told me further that he had observed that the prince, though he seemed to have the 2l8 INJURY AND INSULT. , countess under his thumb, still had some mysterious reason iox/earin,^ her. I heard afterwards that the prince was most anxious to find her a husband, and was sending her off to the Simbirsk estate, on pur})ose to see if some eligible gentleman might not turn up in the provinces. 1 sat and libtcned, and wondered when I should have an opportunity of si)eaking to Katia face to face. The diplomatist was holding forth about some new reforms in home policy, and whether we ought to be afraid of them or not ; he spoke (juietly, lengthily, and with the insistence and conviction of tiie powers that be. He talked well, but his ideas disgusted me. He. argued that since reforms were sure to lead to grief eventually, the sooner they arrived at the full length of their tether the better it would be for all parties. "Tiiey can't do without us," he said (referring, of course, to his own particular corner of society) ; " no society has ever stood which excluded us. We sliall not lose — we shall and must gain whatever happens. Our device at this moment should be, ^ Pire (a V(7, iiiieux fii arnge Natasha ; on tlie contrary, he saw in her a love which passed all bounds, and which she indulged to an impossible extent." lUit Katia interrupted him, and would not allow him to finish. Siie began to reproach him, and to pro\e to him that his father had been praising Natdsha simply to impose upon him with assumed goodwill ; and that the prince's object was to break ofi' his connection with Natasha by imperceptibly in- Huencing him against her. She warmly and cleverly i)ointcd out how truly Natasha must love him ; how no love could forgi\c such conduct as liis ; and that the really selfish one was himself. Little by little Katia brought him first into a condition of piteous melancholy, and then into abject remorse and penitence. He sat by us, with his eyes fixed on the ground, saying not a word, thoroughly vanquished, and with an exjires- sion of real suffering on his face. lUit Jviilia- was unpitying. I watched her with the greatest interest. LI wanted to study this remarkable girl's ch iracter as ([uickly as possible. She ^^as only a child ; but a child of convictions, and principles, and of passionate love for goodness and justice. She belonged to the class of i/iin/a'n,!^ chilthrii^ of which our Russian families have many specimens ; she had evidently thought a great dealj It would have been a most interesting experiment to examine this girl's head, and to observe how childish ideas were there intermingled witli grave and serious convictions and observa- tions of life. She loved tliinking and searching fiir the truth, and was so ingenuous withal, and so Httle a pedant, that at the first glance one could not help loving this originality in her, and ac(iuicscing in it. I thought of I.evinka and P.orinka, and it seemed to me that it was all perfectly consistent with the order of things. A strange fact was, that though I had not recognised any beauty in her face, yet now I thought her more and more lovely and attractive every minute. 'I'his naive mixture of child and thoughtfiil woman, this childish and absolutely sincere thirst for truth and justice, and imfailing faith in the asj^irations which she felt within herself — all this lighted up her face with the beautiful beams of sincerity, and gave her a sort of exalted spiritual beauty, which was not the sooner forgotten because 322 INJURY AND INSULT. her ordinary looks and expressions did not share it. I saw that Alcobha must inevitably fall in love with her. Since he could not think for himself he would always love those who could both think and even 7<.'/7/ for him, and Katia had taken him under her tutorship. lie had a generous heart, and he attached himself at once and permanently to everything upright and lovely, and Kati;i was an example of all that was possible in the way of truth and childish sincerity and uprii;htne^s. He had not a particle of will, while she had a j^rcat ileal, and strong will withal ; and Aleosha could only attach himself to those who could rule and command him. Natasha had had such ])owcr over him in the s])ring of their intimacy ; but Kaiia had the pre-eminence over Natasha in this, that she was herself a child, and goodness knows how long she would not remain one. This childishness of hers, together with lier clever intellect, and, at the same time, a Certain absence of judgment, seemed to bring her more on a level with Aleosha. He felt this, and therefore Katia attracted him more and more. 1 feel sure that when they had their U)ng tilt: ii-tite conversations, side by side with Kdiia's high llown loy / Do explain this to me ! I often wonder ! " " I cannot explain it, Katerina Fcodorovna ; love has no laws. True, he is a child, but you know how a child can be beloved." My heart softened towards this girl, with her deep blue, serious eyes fixed in intenscst interest on my face. "And the less a child Natasha is, the more seriou>ly and speedily would she fall in love with him. He is honest, true, ingenuous, and sometimes delightfully naive ; perhaps she fell in love with him out of a sort of pity, who knows? Iligh- souled creatures do love lower beings out of compassion sometimes. However, I cannot ex[)lain the matter, and there- fore I refer the question back to yourself; you love him yourself, don't you ? " u 224 INJURY AND INSULT. I . put this inquiry boldly, and felt confident that by the iiUiUlcnncss of it 1 should avoid disconcerting the absolute purity of this young and candid soul. " Before heaven, I cannot tell yet," she answered, very v« explain why you love him ?" "There is no falseness in him," she replied, thoughtluUy ; " and wiien lie lonks straight into my eyes and says something, while looking like that, it is very sweet to me. JUit listen, Ivan Petrovitch, here am I talking like this to you; 1 am a girl, and you arc a man. Ouglit 1 to do this ? Is it right ?" Why, what's the harm of it ?" TIku's it ; 1 don't see any myself, but they " (nodding at the countess and her group) " would certainly say it is wrong. Are they right, do you think ? " " No ; your conscience doesn't tell you that you are doing wiong, ami therefore " " Ves ; that's what I always do," she said. Evidently she was anxious to confule in me as nmcli as p(issible. " Whenever I feel disturbed about anything, I alwa)s ask my heart, and if my heart tells me it's all right, then I know 1 am safe. That is how one ought to act, I'm sure, ^vnd I am speaking to you openly like this because, in the first pl.acc, 1 know you to l)e a good man, and secondly, because I have lu'ard your f )rmer history — about you and Natasha, before Alei'isha came m ; and oh I how I cried when I wau told about it." " W ho told you the story ?" " .Meo.-iha, o\ course ; he cried himself when he spoke about il ; it was very nice of him ; 1 liked it. I think he loves you iiuuh belter than )()U love him, Ivan Petrovitch. I like when he does that sort of thing. An<;ther reason why I speak to you (juile openly is, because you are a wise man, and may very likely be able to L;ive nie yoocl ailvice." " .And how do )'ou know that I am so wise as all that ?" " Well, ne\er mind about all that. Let's consid' r the chief point now. I ( annot hel]) knowing, Ivan IVtrovitch, that I am Natasha's rival. Now, how am I to act ? That is why I asked you whether they would be happy together. I think of all this clay and ni;^ht. Nal;isha's |)osition is dreadful, dreadful ! I think he has (piite ceased to love her, ami th.it he loves me more and more ; isn't it so ?" INJURY AND INSULT. 3 25 " I'm afraid you arc right." " He is not deceiving her, for he does not know it himself. But she knows it well enough. How she must suffer !" " Well, what do you i)r()])ose to do, Miss Katia ? " "I have several projects," she said, seriously ; "and mean- while I get more and more bewildered. I have awaited you most imjiatiently, hoping that you might help me to decide. V'ou know all about it so much belter than I do. II always think of you as a kind of god.] This is how I judged at first : if they love one another, they must be hapjjy, and must remain so; and I must help them at the sacrifice of myself." " I know you sacrificed yourself" •' Yes ; I did. Hut when he kept coming to see mc time after time, and his love grew greater and greater, I began to think to myself, shall I sacrifice myself or not? All this is very bad ; isn't it ? " " It's natural," I said, " it must be, and therefore you are not to blame ! " . " I don't think so ! You say so because you are kind-hearted, liut I'm afraid my heart is not perfectly clean in the matter. If it were, I should know how to decide. However— after- wards I learned more about the relations between them, from the prince, from mamma, and from Aleosha ; and I guessed that they were not suited to one another, which you have now confirmed. This made me think all the more. What shall I do now ? Why, if they are to be unhappy, they had much better separate ; so I determined to ask you for full particu- lars about the whole cjuestion and then to pay Natasha a visit myself, and settle it all with her." " Hut how can you decide it ? That's the question ! " •* I shall tell her: ' You love this boy more than anything ; therefore, you ought to value his happiness above your own ; therefore, you are bound to release him from his engagement and to separate.' " '* Yes ; that's all very well ; but it's a pleasant sort of thing for her to bear 1 and supposing that she agrees with you, do you think .she will have strength to carry it out ?" •' That's what I think of day and night;" and she burst into tears, " you don't know how sorry I am for Natasha ! " She sobbed, her lips trembling with her emotion. There was no reply to be made to this remark, and I was silent. Looking at her, I, too, felt inclined to cry for very love. Q 226 INJURY AND INSULT. What a darling child this was ! I did not ask her why she thought she was more fitted to make Aledsha happy than Natasha was. •' Do you like music ? " she asked me suddenly, still sobbing. " Yes," I said, with some surprise. '* If there were time I would play you Beethoven's Third Concerto, there are all these various emotions to be found in that ; but I'll show you another time, we must go on talking now." We began to consult how best to arrange for her to see Natasha. Slie told me that she was very careliilly looked after, and that though her htcp-mother was fond of and very kind to her, yet she wuuUl never think of allowing her to make Natasha's aci|uainiance ; so she must manage it secretly. She went out walking every day wuh tlie countess, she told me ; and if the countess couldn't go, from headache or anything, then the old French companion took her out ; but the latter was ill just now, and, therefore, when next her step-mother had a headache she would manage to get away. She could easily get over the old l-'rench body, who was a kind old thing; but it was im- possible lo tell Natasha beforehand what day she would come. '' If you make Natasha's ac(iuaintance," I said, " you will Certainly not repent it. She herself is very anxious to know you, and she ought to know )ou, too, if only that she may see wliom she is giving Aleosha up to. Do not disturb yourself about all ihis too much ; time will decide it all for you, if necessary. You are going to the country, are you not ? " " Ves," she said, " in a month ; the prince insists upon this." " Do you think that Aleosha will go with you ?" " 1 was just thinking of that, too," she said, gazing fixedly at nie. '' 1 suppose he 7t'/// go !" " Oh yes ; he's sure to go ! " " (ii)od heavens I what will be the upshot of all this ! Listen, Ivan Petrovilch, I shall write and tell you about everything — long letters and frecjuent ones. I shall worry you with corres- ponilence. Vou'll come and see us often, here, won't you?" " 1 { an't i)ioniise ; it depends upon circumstances. Perhaps 1 sliali not be able to come at all." "Why? " " Well, there are several things that my coming must depend on. ; I'lrsl of all, my relations with the prince." INJURY AND INSULT. 227 " Oh ! that dishonest crcnturc ! " said Kdtia, with decision. / " Do you know \vliat, Ivan Tetrovitch — what if I came to you ? ^^'oulcl that be right or not ? " "What do you think yourself?" "All right, I think," the said, smiling ; "I would call on you, you know. I must tell you, that besides admiring you very much, I am very fond of you, and one can learn so much from you. Oh yes! 1 love you very much. It's no shame to speak like this, is it ? " L" Shame! of course not. Why, you are as dear to me alreaily as th.ough we were near relations I " " Do you care to be my friend ?" " Yes, yes ; indeed ! " I replied. "Those good people would certainly say that it is shameful and dreadfully wrong for a young girl to behave like this," she saiil, nodtling towards the tea-table once more. I may remark here that I believe the prince left us together on pur- pose to talk our till. " I know very well," she resumed, a minute afterwards " that the prince wants to get hold of my money. They think me a mere child, and, in fact, they tell me that I am in so many words ; but I am of a different oi^inion. I am not a child. Re- markable people they are ; they behave just like children themselves. What on earth are they always busying themselves about ? " " Miss Kdtia," I said, " I forgot to ask you who are Levin ka and borinka, whom Ale()sha so often goes to see ?" "Distant relations of mine, very clever and very honest boys ; but they talk too much. I know them 1 " and she laughed. . " Is it true that you intend giving them a million roubles some day ? " " Well, I don't know. I don't mind sacrificing the million. What should I want all these huge sums for ? But they worry one about it till it becomes unbearable ; and assume that I have determined to sacrifice the money— some years hence it will l)e. \\W\, they are all hard at it now, dividing, distributing, awarding, (juarrelling as to how it had better be spent — they all seem to be in suth a hurry ; yet they are all true, good-hearted, and intelligent peojjle. They are learning to be useful fellows, and that's better than the way most other j^eople live, isn't it ?" And so on ; we talked a great deal. She gave me almost a Q— 2 228 INJURY AND INSULT. minute history of her life, and listened with the greatest avidity to what I had to tell her about myself. She continually begged me to tell her more and more about Aledsha and Natasha. It was twelve o'clock when the prince came up and informed me that it was time to. go. I said good-bye. Kdtia pressed my hand very warmly, and looked at me most expressively. The countess asked me to come again, and I took my leave, going out with tlic prince. I cannot refrain from making a strange, and perhaps, quite inappropriate remark here. I carried away from my three hours' conversation with Katia the full and deep conviction tliut she was so absolutely a child that she had no idta whatever of any mysterious connection between the male and the female. 'Ihis circumstance give an unusual and comical aspect to some of her arguments and deductions, and, generally, to the serious tone which she adopted in speaking of many important subjects. CHAPTER X. DO you know what ? " said tlie prince, as we seated our- selves in his carriage. *' I think a little supper would be a good thing. What do you say ?" " I really don't know, prince," 1 said hesitatingly. " I never eat supper." " Of course, we'll have a talk after supper," he added, looking fixedly and slyly at mc. It was strange; he wanted to speak out, I thought, and that's just what 1 wanted myself 1 consented. " Drive to 15 's, (Ireat Morskaya," he said to the driver. " What, a restaurant ? " I asked, with surprise. "Certamly," he said. " 1 seldom sup at home. Surely you will allow me to invite you as my guest ?" " But I tell you, I never do eat supper." " Oh just once in a way make an exception. I ask you as an exception." 'I'hal meant " I'll pay for you.'' I felt sure he added it on purpose. Well, 1 decided to go, but to pay for myself at the INJURY AND INSULT. 229 restaurant. The prince engai^ed a private room, and very deli- berately, and with evident knowledge of the subject, ordered two or three dishes. They weie expensive dishes, and the bottles of good wine which he told the waiter to bring were also ex- pensive. All that sort of thing was far out of reach of my pocket. I looked at the inenu, and asked for half a jjartridge and a glass of Lafite. The prince immediately fired up. " Vou don't wish to be my guest ! Kxcuse me, my young friend, but it is a little absurd ; in fact, it's ridiculous scrupu- lousness, mere petty self-love on your part. I assure you you are wounding my fceHngs." I stuck to my point all the same. " Well, do as you like," he added, "I don't comjjel you. Now tell me, Ivan Petrovitch, am I to speak to you with friendly candour?" " Tray do so." " Well, let me tell you then that this over-scupulousness will injure you, as all your class are injured continually by the same kind of thing. Vou are a literary man ; you ought to know the world, but you don't go out and learn it. I'm not now alluding to that bit of partridge ; but you eschew all relations with men of my class of society, and that is distinctly injurious to yourself, besides which you sacrifice what I may call a career by this abstinence from society. Surely you ought to know something of the things you describe in your novels ? You bring in counts and princes and boudoirs and so on : but your i)rincipal actors are poor ragged wretches, fiery officers, government employes, and the like. I know all about it." " But you are making a slight error, prince. If I do not desire to move in the exalted circle which you adorn, known as the 'ujiper classes,' it is because, firstly, the upper classes bore me so dreadfully ; and, secondly, I have nothing to do with them. I do go out sometimes, however." " Yes, once a year to Prmce R 's ; it was there I met you. The rest of the year you clothe yourself in democratic pride and shut yourself up in your attics. Not that you all do it, however, for there are some inveterate claimants, who are always bothering one." *' May I ask you, prince, to change the subject, and to keep clear of us and our attics in your future remarks ?" •* Oh, good gracious 1 now you're offended ! Y ou told me yourself that I might speak with friendly candour ! But for- 230 INJURY AND INSULT. give me ! I have as yet done nothing to gain your friendship. This wine is not at all bad ; try some." He poured me out a little from his bottle. " You see, my dear Ivan Pctrovitch, I quite understand that it is not good form to push one's friendship down other peojjle's throats. We are not all rude or impertinent to your class, as you imagine. I understand also, very clearly, that you are sitting here with me now, not out of any sympathy with myself, but simply because I promised to talk to you ; am I right?" He burst out laughing. " And as you are watching the interests of a certain individual you are naturally anxious to hear what I have to say to you, eh ? " The prince smiled mischievously. "You are not mistaken," I said, impatiently. I saw that he was one of those people who, so soon as they have another person ever so slightly in their power, lose no time in show- mg their victim that this is the case. 1 was distinctly in his l>o\ver ; for i could not go away without hearing all that he had to say .^or himself, and he knew it. His tone had changed (juite suddenly, and grew from this moment mure and more insolently familiar and sarcastic. "You are right, prmce," I conimued, " I came to hear your explanations, otherwise, I confess, i should not be sitting here so late." I waiited to say, " otherwise I should not be sitting with you at ali," hut 1 changed my mind — not out of fear, but thanks to my confounded dehcacy and refinement. It is not so easy to be rude to a man to his face, though he may deserve it ever so much, and though, one may feel as I did, so strongly inclined t > say it. I think the prince read these thoughts in my face, for he looked ironically at me during the whole of my remark, as though amused at my yt)ulhful simplicity and as though he wanted to provoke me by his gaze, which said plainly enough, " Aha, my boy, you dareut say it ! " I am sure I read his thoughts correctly, for as soon as I had finished speaking, he burst out laughing and patted my knee in a patronising way. " Don't go (juite so fast, my young friend," I read in his eyes. "Wait a bit," I thouglu to myself " I feel particularly happy, to-night," cried the prince, " I really don't know why. I feel wonderfully jolly, dear boy. I specially wanted to have a talk about that personage— you know who, — we really must speak out about her — have it out INJURY AND INSULT. 23I coni|)lctcly, you know, and decide something. This time I hope to <,'et you to understand me thornii;^'hly. I spoke to you a httlo while a^^o about that money ([uestion, and about that riihculoui father of hers — the young sexagenarian. IJut we needn't talk about tluit. Of course, I only said all that rub- bish just so. You are a literary man, you will have guessed. Ha ! ha ! ha 1 " I looked at him with amazement, I don't think he was drunk yet. " Hut as for this girl, I assure you I honour her, I even love her, I really do. She's ratlier a i)epoerbo\, but there's no rose without a thorn, you know ; and, though my .\le()sha is a dreadiul fool, I forgive him a great deal for his good taste ; in a word, I like this girl, and I have (here he smacked his lips ostentatiously) special views for her benefit. But we'll talk of that later." " Listen to me, prince," I said, " I do not understand tliis sharp change of tone on your part; but kindly change the subject." " What, angry again ! Very well, very well, T will. I just want to ask you this one question first, my good friend : Do you esteem her very much ? " "Of course," I said, curtly, and with imi)atienre. *' .'\nd — well, and lovehcr ? " he continued, showing his teeth in a revolting n.anner and blinking his eyes. ** You are forgetting yourself," I cried. "Well I won't, 1 won't ; be calm. I am in a most extraor- dinary frame of mind to-day. I feel jollier than I have felt for ages. Let's have some cham[)agne, what think you, my poet ?" •' I am not going to drink ; I don't want it. " Don't say so, you are to keep me company to-day. I frel myself kind this evening to sentimentality, and I can't allow myself to be hapiiy alone. Who knows ?— perhaps we shall drink ourselves into the most brotherly familiarity. Ha 1 ha I ha ! No ; my young friend, you don't know me yet. I feel sure that you will love me. I want you to share both joy and sorrow with me to-night, and tears and laughter, though I trust that I shan't do very much crying myself. Now, just think, Ivan Petrovitch, if I don't have my way i)erhaps all this inspiration of mine will pass away, and be lost, and you'll get no benefit of it. Why, you are here solely to hear something from me. Isn't it so?" he added, looking at me 33* INJURY AND INSULT. with an impertinent leer. " Yes. Very well, then choose your wine.' I consented. " Does he want to make me drunk ? " I thought. By the bye, I may as well here mention a rumour which I had long since heard concerning the prince. The rumour was, that, however refined and gentlemanly the man might be, and was, in society, he liked to drink hard at nights and was often dis- gracefully drunk. They say Aleosha knew this, and did his best to hide it from all, especially from Nataslia ; he had once •almost let it out to me, but had pulled himseW up and refused to answer any questions. I had heard the fact from otlier sources, but never believed it. To-night, however, I waited to sue what would happen. The wine was brought. The prince poured out a couple of glasses, one for me and one lor himself. " She's a dear sweet girl, though she did pitch into me," he continued, Listing his wine with relish. " These charming beings are just at their best at such moments. 1 believe she thought that she had put me to utter confusion, and pulverised me that evening. Vou remember how those blushes became her? Are you a connoisseur of women ? Sometimes a sudden flush suits a p.iir of pale cheeks wonderfully ; have you noticed it ? My goodness, I do believe you are getting angry again ! " " Yes, I am angry," I shouted, " I do not wish you to speak of Nat.ish.i Nicolaevna at all now ; at least not in that tone. I — I — won't allow it." "Oho ! very well, to please you, I'll change the subject. I am as yielding and pliant as pie-crust. We'll talk about w//. 1 am fond of you, Ivan I'etrovitch. If you only knew what a friendl), sincere affection I felt for you ! " " Hadn't wc better talk about business, prince?" I inter- rupted. *• Ih.it is about our little affair. I understand you, my good friend. I'ut you've no idea how close we shall get to that (juestion, if we talk about yourself; that is, if you don't inter- rui)t me. So I'll go on. I wanted to say, my invaluable Ivan retrcniteh, that living as you live, is simply going to raek and rum ! May I touch on a delicate matter, in pure friend- ship ? You are poor ; you borrow from your jjublishers in advance ; you pay your debts, and live on the rest for half a year, drinking tea in your garret in hopes of a good time INJURY AND INSULT. 233 coming, when your novel will come out in your publisher's periodical. Is this so?" •• If it is true, such a life is " " I know. Better than robbery, or servility, or bribery, or intriyue, etc., etc. I know what you want to say ; all that has long ago ai)peared in i)rint." "Then tliere can be no necessity to talk of my affairs! Sorely, prince, I need not teach you good manners ! " .,** Oh no, certainly not ! but what's to be done if we alight upon this delicate ground ? We can't walk round it. Well, we'll leave the garrets alone for the present ; I don't care much al)Oiit tliem myself, ^nlcss under special circumstances." He laughed hideously. L" But this is what surprises me. What fun can you find in playing second fiddle ? Of course, I re- member tiiat one of your authors has said that ' The very greatest exploit a man can perform, is to confine himself to playing second fiddle in life.' I tliink that's what he says — something of the sort. I have heard something like this, I know ; but Aleosha whip[)ed off your bride from under your nose, and yet you, like some Schiller, defend tliem, and chamjiion them, and serve them. Forgive me, dear boy, but this is really a j)oor sort of game. Don't you get tired of it ? Aren't you ashamed of the j^osition ? I think I should die of mortification in your phvce ; but the principal thing is the shame of it, the shame ! ". " I'rince, I believe you brought me here on purpose to insult me!" I cried, beside myself with indignation. "Oh, dear, no, oh no, my friend. I am simply at this moment a man of the world, and I want you to be happy ; in a word, I want to arrange the whole business. But we'll leave it alone for a bit ; you just hear me out, and try not to flare up so, if only for a few minutes. Now, what do you think of marrying yourself? You see, I am speaking now of something altogether outside of the question. Why do you look at me in surprise?" " I am waiting for you to stop," I said, more than amazed. •'What I want to know, is," he went on, "what you would say if one of your friends, desiring your real and true happi- ness — nothing ephemeral, but rcal^ you kno\T — were to offer you a girl, young and beautiful, but — well, whose affections may have been a little tampered with by someone else — I speak allegorically, but you will understand me— for instance, like 234 INJURY AND INSULT. Natasha Nicolaevna ; and suppose you were offered a handsome sum of money for your support (you observe I am talking of something ijuite outside of our affair) — well, what should you say ? " " I tell you you're f/iad, prince j you're mad\ " •' Ha I ha ! ha ! Ikih ! Why, 1 declare, you look as though you wished to hit me ! " I certainly did long to be at him. I felt that I could not stand it any longer. He gave me the impression that he was suiue reptile — some huge and disgusting spider which I longed to destroy. He was enjoying his jesting at my expense. He played with me. as a cat does with a mouse, assuming that I was entirely in his power. It seemed to me (and I understoud it well enough) that he found a certain satisfaction, a sort of voluptuousness in the vulgarity and impudence and cynicism with which he was at last tearing off his mask before my eyes. He wanted to enjoy my surprise and my horror. He thoroughly despised lue and laughed at me I had felt a presentiment that all this was premeditated, and was leading to something ; but 1 was in such a position that 1 was bound to hear him out, whatever he might say. It was to the interest of Natasha, and I must make up my mind to bear anything ; because, perhaj)s, at this moment the whole (juestion was in i)rocess of settle- ment. And yet, how was I to listen to these cynical, detestable insinuations about her? How could I sit and listen to his vile words in cold blood ? And to make it worse, he understood very well that 1 must listen, and could not help myself. I began to answer him shoitly and a!)Usively. He understood. " Look here, my young friend," he said, ga/ing seriously at me, " we can't go on like this ; so we had better come to an agreement. Now, I want to speak out t(j you, and you must be so very kind as to hear what I have to say, whatever it may be. I wish to say wli.it I like and choose, and I ought to be permitted to do so. Well, then, my young friend, will you be jiatient, or will you not ? " I set the nmscles of my face and kept cjuiet, though he looked at me with an expression of bitter irony which seemed to challenge a cutting rejoinder. He understood that I agreed to listen, and went on. " Don't be angry with me, my young friend. You did not ex- pect any belter of me, you know I You did not expect much of me; you would have thought just the same of me, however INJURY AND INSULT. 235 I had spoken to you, even if I had clothed my words in per- fumed and lioneycd elegance. Vou despise me ; don't you now ? You sec liow charmingly simi)le and frank I am with you ! I admit everything ; even my childish tempers and fa(Js. Yes, my dear l)oy, give mo a little more botUiomie from your side, and we shall very soon settle all our business, and we shall at last understand one another thoroughly. Ikit don't he sur- prised at me ; I have g(jt so sick of all tliis innocence, all this pastoral humbug of Aleosha's, all this Schillerising, all this exaltation of iiis confounded tie with that Natasha girl (a very nice little woman, all the same), that I may say I am delighted to have this op[)ortunity of, as it were, sticking out my tongue at it all, in freedom. This is the opportunity, and that's why I wanted to pour out my soul to you. Ha ! ha ! ha ! " " \'ou surprise me, prince ; I hardly know you. You have dropped into the tone of a Polichinetti I These unexpected revelations — I " " Well done; ha, ha 1 very good, a capital simile. Ha, ha ! I am a dissipated rascal, and you must be very condescending to me. Hut, let's have a drink," he continued, raising his glass. *' Do you know, my friend, that one stupid evening at Natasha's finished me off completely. You remember ! She was admirable, certainly, but I came away from there very much put out, and I shall not forget it. Of course, our turn will come ; it is coming on f\st now, but at present we'll leave it. Among other things, I wished to explain one trait in my character, which has probably escaped you. It is hatred of all that stupid, naive innocence and pastoral trash ; and one of my delightful and pitjuant amusements is, to put on that sort of humbugging tone myself, to butter-up and make much of some such clever young Schiller fellow, and then suddenly to raise my mask before his very eyes, and make a grimace at him with a very solemn face, and show him my tongue — all tliis at the very moment when hj is the least in the world prepared for such a surprise. What ! don't you understand that sort of thing? Perhaps you think it low and ignoble and that " "Of course I do." "You are frank. Ah, well ! so am I myself, stupidly enough ; but it's my nature. I think I should like to tell you a few details of my character and life ; you will understand me better, and it will be curiously interesting to you." " Prince," I said, " it is late, and I " 236 INJURY AND INSULT. " Oh, don't hurry ! Where to ? No, no ; sit down, arid let's talk cosily and friendly over our wine. You think I am drunk. Never mind ; so much the better. Ha, ha, ha ! These friendly meetings are so memorable afterwards, they give one so much of the delight of retrospection. Ivan Petrovitch, you are nut a kmd-hcarted man ; you have no sentimentality or feel- ing. What is an hour or two for the sake of such a friend as I am ? IJcsides, you are an author ; you ought to bless such a chance as this. Why, you can make me «^)ne of your characters. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Good heavens ! how charmingly candid I am to-day." He was evidently getting drunk. His face was changed, and wore a most mischievous expression. He clearly meatit biting and kicking. " Perhaps it's better that he is drunk," I thought, "Ijccause drunken men always blab out their secrets." But he had his wits about him. " My friend," he began, " I told you just now, as a con- fession of weakness, of my great desire on certain oc- casions, to put out my tongue at people. For this simple and touching piece of candour you likened me to I'olichi- neiti, which amused me much. But if you reproach me, or are surprised at me, for being rude to you, or, jjerhajjs, even indecent in my comnmnicatiuns to you, like a moujik in fact — or, in a word, for changing my tone, then you are quite wrong. In the fust jilace, I like it; secondly, I am not at home, but on the spree with you, like two good churns, as wc arc ; and then, I love caprice. Do you know, I have sometimes turned jjhilanthropist through caprice, and have gone in for much the same sort of ideas as you indulge in. 'Jhat was long ago though, in my youth. I remember at that time I came down to my country place full of humanitari.in ideas and objects, and you've no notion how nuserably dull it was — so much so, that, fancy what hapjiened ! I had to make acijuaintance with the young women — the good-looking ones — • to relieve my dulness. You are not making laces, surely? Oh, my dear young friend, don't ! ^Vhy, we are having a friendly chat ; we are out on the spree together! 'I'his is the very time for unbosoming oneself ! Mine is a simple, pure, Russian nature ; it loves to be frank. Besides, catpe diem, my boy, let us enjoy life while we can. We shall have to thr.>w up the S])onge some day, and then *' Well, to resume, I remember one girl, a shepherdess, had INJURY AND INSULT. 237 a fine young moujik for a husband, whom I punished rather severely. He died in the hospital. I had a beautiful little hospit.d built, you know — twelve beds, and all delightfully clean and tidy. I've |)ulled it down long ago ; but at that time I had gone in for philanthropy. Well, I very nearly whipped that moujik to death tor having such a jiretty wife. Why, there you are, making a face again 1 Do you find tliis sort of thing repul- sive ? I )oes it wound your generous feelings ? Oh, calm your- self, do ! lt"s all past now ; these were juvenile jiranks. I did all this while 1 was romantic and longing to be a benefactor to Imaianity, and to found philanthropic institutions. I had got into that groove, I used to whip tliem like mad then. I don't now. One goes in for making faces now — everybody does it, it's the fashion. I'.ut what amuses me more than anything is that old fool Ikmenief. He must have known all about that moujik business. Out of tlie goodness of his heart (which is made of treacle, I think), and because he thought so highly of of me, he determined to believe nothing about it. He stuck uj) for me through thick and thin for twelve years ; in fact, until the shoe pinched his 07i'n foot. Ha I ha! ha ! But this is all humbug. Let's drink, my young friend. Listen, now. Do you like women ? " I made no answer. He had begun another bottle of wine now. •• I love talking about women at sujiper," he went on. I should like to introduce you to a certain ^Iademoiselle I'hilibcrt after sujiper ; shall I ? But what's the matter ? You won't even look at me. H'm ! " He became thoughtful ; but suddenly raised his head and looked intently at me. •* Look here, my young poet," he continued, " I dare say you are calling me a blackguard and scoundrel, and corrupt and vicious, and all the rest of it But for all that I am only guiltier than other jjcople in the fact that I confess and admit that which other peo|)le do their best to hide even from them- selves ; it may be wrong of me to do this, but I wish to do it. Besides," he added with a jesting laugh, " don't trouble your- self about me. I said guilty, but I don't in the least apologise for myself. Observe, too, I am most polite and generous, I do not try to put you to confusion by asking you wliether you do not also possess the same kind of secrets hidden away as I have just revealed, so as to justify myself by your 838 INJURY AND INSULT. admission of equal guilt. However, I always was a generous fellow." •' You are simply talking nonsense," I said, looking con- temptuously at him. "Nonsense; well done! You are wondering why I brought you here to unbosom myself to you without any ai>parcnt reason. Am I right?" " Well, yes." " Ah, you shall have a reason for it afterwards ! " "The simplest explanation is that you have drunk two bottles of wine and they have gone to your head." "That means that I am drunk, only you use a nicer expres- sion. Oh, beautiful delicacy 1 Ihit wait a bit, we are begin- ning to (juarrel again, and we were just getting on to such a very chainiing subject. All, yes, my pott ! if there be any- thing altogether delightful in this world it is— woman." " Ivxcuse me, prince, but I still do not understand why you selected nu; in particular, as the receptacle for your confidence and love-yeainings." "Il'm, well ! 1 told you you should know all later on. But even so, Kiting other reasons alone, you are a poet, you uniiei-stand me, and that's reason enough for me. There's a voluptuous pleasure in throwing off the mask like this before somebody. I'll tell you an anecdote about a madman in Paris ; they jiut him into a lunatic asylum afterwards, but one day, when he first went mad, it oct:uired to him to amuse himself like this : He undressed at home, all but his boots, threw a long ( loak over himself, wiap|)ed it well rouiul, and went out with great dignity into the streets. Well, to look at liim, you wciuld supiJOse he was jubt like any ordinaiy man out for a walk in a liig cloak ; but whenever he saw anybody coming along alone, widiout anyone else near, and in a (juiet j)lace, he would march up with a solenm air, apparently in deep thought, and, stopping suddenly before the astonished pedes- trian, would throw ojien his cloak and reveal himself in all tlu' dignity of nature's own garb. This would last a minute or so, and then, silently, he would wrap himself round once more, and, without moving a muscle of his lace, pass by the amazed spectator, solemnly and slowly, like the ghost in Haml'.t. He did this with every person lie met — man, woman, or child, and found the greatest satiNfaction in the j^roceeding. \\ell, some sort of pleasure of this kind is to be found in INJURY AND INSULT. 239 getting hold of a Schillery sort of a person and, having shocked him suddenly, in sticking out your tongue at him when lie least expects it." "Yes; but your friend was a madman, and you— " '•Well, what ? I am in my senses, am I ?" " Yes." The j)rince laughed. " You are right, my dear boy," he said, with the most insolent expression of face that can be imagined. " Prince," I said, irritated with his impudence, " you hate us — me and all of mine, and you are revenging yourself up.)n me now, for all. This is the fruit of your petty sell-love ; you are wicked; but even your wickedness is petty. We h.ive annoyed you ; probably that last evening especially angered you. . (){ course, you could not otherwise pay me out half so well as by thus showing your utter contempt for me ; yf)U exempt yourself from even the most ordinary civilities, which men usually consider necessary among themselves. You clearly let me see that you are not asliamed of pullmg ofT your miser- able mask before me, and of displaying your wretched cynicism. I am not worthy of causing you shame." "Why do you tell me all this?" he asked rudely, and look- ing mischievously at me. " I'o show how shar|) you are? " "To show you that I understand you, and to make that fact (juite clear to you." "What an idea, my good boy," he said, suddenly rela])sing into his former boisterous tone. "You are only di\erting me from my sul)ject. Let's drink, my friend ; let me fill your glass. I was just going to tell you of a most charming and curious adventure. I'll tell you the main points in general terms. Well, once I knew a certain lady, she was not in the first bloom of youth, but about twenty-seven or eight — such a beauty, such a bust, such a gait, such style ! Her eyes were like an eagle's, keen and severe. She carried herself and behaved in a most dignified manner. She was cold as ice, and enveloped everyone around her with the spell of her cruel virtue. I say cruel, because there never was so severe a judge as she was. She condemned not only corruption and vice, but the slightest tendency to weakness among other women, and condemned unconditionally and without appeal. She-was a great force in her own circle. She looked down on everyone about her with passionless austerity, like an abbess of the middle ages. 240 INJURY AND INSULT. Young girls were awfully afraid of her eyes, for one look from her, one hint, was enough to ruin their reputations. Even the men were afraid of her. " Well, at length my lady settled down into a sort of contem- j)lative mysticism, quiet and dignified, and what happened? Well, I had the honour to be the receiver of her confidence, and 1 tell you there was never corru|nion more corrupt than this woman , in a word, I was her secret lover myself. Our relations were so arranged, and all was done in such a masterly fashion, that Jiot one of all her houshold ever had the slightest suspicion, excepting a little French maid who was her mistress's confidante. I tell you, this woman was corrupt to such an extent that — and yet the cream of the whole thing, in her eyes, was the iiixslcry and the impudence of the imp(jsition. The laugh she ha(.l over all those whom she preached to in society, and the trampling on all that should not be trampled ui)on ! 'I'liat's what she liked! Well, she jilted me after a year, and I could not have injured her if 1 had tried e*'er so hard. Who would have believed a word against such a saint? Well, my young friend, what say you ? " 1 had listened to his story with loathing. " It's disgusting bestiality ; that's what I think," I said. " Ah ! you would not have been my dear young friend, if you had not answered so. 1 knew you would say that. NVait a bit, my dear boy ; you'll live and learn. Just now you must go on with your i)ap and buns. No, no ; you're not a poet after lluit ! ^\'hy, this woman understood life, and got the honey out of it." " liut why descend to such bestiality ? " " What bestiality ?" ^" 'I'hat to which you and this woman fell I " ' "Oh ! yuu cull it bestiality ; but that only shows that you are siili in leading-strings, liut come, we'll change the subject ; all this is twaddle, isn't it? 'I'he only thing that isn't humbug in this world is oneself. The whole world is for me, and was matle for me ; that's my creed. Listen, my ycning friend, one can live very fairly well in this worlil. This is the best faith to hoKl, because, without it, one can't live even badly. One would have to poison oneself. Some fot>l did that, they say. He moralised to such an extent that he destroyed ever) thing — everything; and at length arrived at the conclusion that he had nothing left to work on. He had reduced everything to INJURY AND INSULT. 24! tit! \ SO he dcriilcd that prussir acid was the only pood tiling in Hfe. Vou will say that was like a Hamlet — sunic grand dcs[):iir, or somethinL,' else grand—but you're a poet, and I'm a simple- niinilcd man who must look on things practically. For instance, I have long siiice freed myselC from all notions of res[)onsil)ility, and, in fact, from all beaten tracks. I only consider myself bound when I see some gain to myself in it. V INJURY AND INSULT. the world does. I want tolive till I'm ninety at least. I don't like deaih ; I'm afraid of it. Why, deuce knows hoio we shall have to die ; don't let's talk about it. The devil take all philosophy ! Let's drink ! Let's see, we had just begun to talk about pretty girls. Hollo ! where are you off to? " " I'm going home, and it's quite time you went too." "Oh, nonsense, nonsense. Here have I been opening njy very heart to you, and you don't appreciate this proof of the depth of my friendship. 'There's no sympathy in you, my poor poet. But stop a bit, I must have another bottle." '• What, a third ? " " Yes; a third. Now, as to virtue, my son — you'll allow me to call you by that sweet name ? Well, my son, as to virtue, fl have already said that the more virtuous virtue is, the more egotism there must be about it. I want to tell you a sweet little anecdote on this sul>ject. I loved a girl once, and I think I really did love this girl sincerely ; I may say she had sacrificed a good deal on my account, — " " Is that tile one you robbed ? " I asked, rudely, for I did not care to restrain myself any longer. The prince sluiddeied and his face changed ; he turned his inflamed eyes full on me, and they were ablaze with perplexity and rage. " Wait a minute," he said, as though to himself, " wait a minute, let me think ! I certainly am drunk, and it is difficult for me to collect my thoughts." He was silent, and looked slily and maliciously, but curiously, at me, holding my hand with his, as though he were afraid that I should go away. I am Certain tliat at this moment he was breaking his head to divine where I could have found out this, as he su])posed, unknown and unknowable lact, and whether there might be some danger in my knowledge of it. 'Ihis went on for a minute or so, and then his face suddenly changed. The same old boisterous, tipsy expression came into his eyes again. He burst out laughing. " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " he cried. " A real Talleyrand ! Yes, I certainly did stand before her, and have it thrown in my teeth that I had robbed her. Oh, the woman did rage, how she did scold ! She was dreadfully angry with me, and all for nothing, too. I never robbed her, as you so neatly expressed it just now ; she made me a present of her money, certainly, but having done so, the money was mine. Why, supposing INJURY AND INSULT. 243 you were to give me your best dress coat (he glanced at my shabby old one, — I had had it for three years), and I thanked you and wore it for a year and then that yoii were sud- denly to claim it and ([uarrel with mc for its possession, when I had worn it out. That would not be generous. Why give it to me at all ? Then again, in spite of the money being my own property, I would have given it back to her with the greatest })leasure, but where was I to raise such a sum as tliat? But above all, I can't stand pastorals and Schillerising, and all that, as I told you before, and that was the cause of our (juarrel. You've no idea how she looked, standing there and yelling that she surrendered the money {my money, 1)6 it remarked). Well, malice entered into my heart, and I was suddenly enabled to judge clearly in the matter, and I thought, * Now then, if I give her back this money I shall make her downright unhapjjy. I should be depriving her of the satis- faction of being miserable because of me and of being able to curse me all her life.' I assure you, my dear young friend, there dots exist, in misfortune, this very real and very exalted condition of mind, which finds the greatest relief and con- solation in being able to believe in one's own absolute innocence and high-mindedness and to have the right to call one's o[)ponent a scoundrel. This kind of intoxication is to be met with frequently in these Schillerizing natures, and though very likely she may afterwards have been in want of something to eat, yet, I am (juite convinced she was perfectly happy. I did not wish to deprive her ot her happiness, and so 1 kept the money. All this justifies my remark that the greater and louder the profession of highinindedness and virtue may be the more repulsive is the egotism hidden at its root. Isn't this clear to you yet ? Ah ! you wanted to catch me tripping ; didn't you, now? Oh you Talleyrand, you ! " "Good-bye," I said, getting up. " One minute; just a couple of words in conclusion," he cried, suddenly changing his voice from the disagreeat)le tone of tlie minute before to great seriousness. " Hear me out. From all I have said, I think you must perceive pretty clearly that I never have and never will let anyone stand in the way of my own private and personal gain. I love money, and money I must have. Kdtia has got plenty, her father held a spirit- monopoly for ten years. She has three million roubles, and these three millions will be of the greatest use to me. Aledsha R — a 244 INJURY AND INSULT. and Kdtia are a cnpital pair; both are fools to the very limits of fooldom, and that's what I want. Therefore, I desire that this marriage be consummated as (juickly as possilile. In two or three weeks, tl)e countess and Kdtia go to the interior, Aledsha escorting them. Just tell Natasha beforehand that there had better be no pastorals or Schillcrising about the matter; I had better not be balked, for I am revengeful and mischievously inclined. I am not at all afraid of her ; every- thing will go as I wish it to go, there's no doubt of that ; and therefore if I warn licr beforehand it can only be for her own sake. Just see thot there's no nonsense and that the girl behaves herself reasonably, otherwise it may be nasty, vtry nasty, for her. She ought to be very grateful to me that 1 did not (leal with her as 1 might legitimately have done. " \'ou must know, my poet, that Russian law protects do- mestic peace ; it guarantees to the father his son's obedience, and those who seduce the son from his sacred duties to his jjarenis are not encouraged by law. Just think now; I have ]jowerful connections, while she has none. As if 1 could not do what I liked with her ! lint I have done her no horm, because up to now she has been good and reasonable. Oh, don't be afraid ! I can assure you sharp eyes have been watch- ing her this last half-year ; we know all about her — every detail. 'J'hat is why I am waiting quietly for Aleosha to get tired of her and break with her ; he has begun already, and mean- while il has been a nice little distraction for him. I am still the kind humane father in his eyes, and so I must remain. Ha ! ha ! Dear me, I remember I went so far that evening as to compliment her on her disinterestedness in not having married Aleosha. I should like to see how she could have married him. As to my visit to the girl that day, all that was simj)ly because I felt that the time had come to jiut an end to the engagement ; ami 1 wanted to see how matters stood with my own eyes. Well, is that enough ? or jjcrhaps you would like to know a little more — why I brought you here ? \N'hy I have shown myself up like this and made a clean breast of it, when the whole thing could have been equally well done without these revelations, eh ? " "Yes." I braced myself and listened greedily; there was nothing more for me to say. •'Simply because, my friend, I have observed in yourself rather more reasonableness and a clearer view of things in INJURY AND INSULT. 245 general than exists among those fools of ours. It is a great thing, my friend, to know wlium one is dealing with, and I have shown you this. So now you know it ; and as you love /u-r I trust you will now use your intlucnce, for you certainly //(7-r influence over her, to save her from cfrtain worries ; otherwise she will have worries, and I solemnly assure you that the worries will not be of a kind to he trilled with. Well, the third reason for my candour is this (you've guessed it, my dear friend, I'm sure), that I felt it would do me good to spit at the whole business a little, and especially to sjiit in your face." " And you have attained your end," I said, shaking with rage. " I admit that you could not have expressed your devilry generally, and your contempt for me and all of us, better than by these revelations. You were not only not afraid that your disgusting confessions would compromise you before me, but you were not even ashamed to tell me all this about yourself, to such a depth of baseness have you descended. You do not seem to consider me a man." " You have guessed it, my young friend,'' he said, rising ; *' you have guessed everything. That comes of being a literary man ? I hope we part friends. Shall we drink a loving cu|) ? " " You are drunk, and that is the only reason why I do not now treat you as you deserve." " The spirit of silence is over us again. You don't say ho7U you ought to treat me. Ha ! ha I ha ! May I pay for your supper?" " Don't trouble yourself ; I am going to pay for myself." "Oh, very well 1 Do we go the same way?" " I won't go yours ! " "Good-bye, my poet. I hope you have understood me? " He went out, walking rather unsteadily, and did not turn to look at me. His footman put him into the carriage ; I went homewards. It was ^nearly three o'clock in the morning; rain was falling,and the night was very dark. PART IV. CHAPTER L I WILL not describe my exasperation. Though I might have expected every word of this, still I was astonished, just as though he had sprung all his villainy on me (juite unex- pectedly. My feelings were confused, I remember, just as though 1 had been wounded, antl a black anxiety was gnawing at my heart — I was dreadfully anxious about Natdsha. I had a presentiment of mucli trouble ahead for her, and I wondered vaguely how it might be avoided, and how to soften down the bitterness of these last moments before the final break up of the whole business. As to the inevitableness of such a break up there could now be no (juestion, and it was equally certain that the end was apjiroaching. 1 did not notice how I ever got home, though the rain poured down on me all the way ; it was three in the morning. I had not time to knock at the door when 1 heard groaning, and the door hastily opened, just as though Nelly had not been to bed, but had waiclied fur my arrival at the very threshold.- A candle was burning ; I looked at Nelly's face, and was much shocked at the sight. It was totally changed ; her eyes burned, as though \,ilh fever, and had a kind of wild appearance, just as il she did not recognise me. She was in a high fever. " Nelly, what's the matter? Are you ill ? " I asked, i)utting my arm round her. She nestled to me trembling, and said something very quickly and jerkily, jui.t as thou^ii slie had waited fur me at the door so as to tell me the news as (juickly as possible. l>ut her words were disconnected and strange — I understood nothing ; she was wandering. 1 led her to her bed as fast as 1 could ; but she kept clinging to me as though afraid of somebody or something ; 246 INJURY AND INSULT. 247 and even when she was lying down slic seized my hand and pressed it tight, so that I should not leave her again. My nerves were in such a perplexed and agitated state already, that I could not look at her without crying. I was quite ill myself. Seeing nie weeping, she stared at me long and fixedly, as though trying to collect her thoughts and concentrate thcni on soinctiiing. It was evident that it took all her strength to do this ; and at last something in the shape of a thought seemed to force its way through the mist. She generally found it very difTuult to collect herself after a bad fit, and to talk intelligibly, and this was the case now. After making the most strenuous exertions to make me understand something, and seeing that I could not follow her, she stretched out her little hand and began to wipe my tears away ; then she put her arm round my neck, pulled my face down to her and kissed me. It was clear that she had had a fit, and that it had overtaken her just when she was near the door ; and that on awaking from the attack she had been unable to come to herself. During the moments of recovery, I believe it frequently haj)pens that the patient suffering from epilc]isy is subject to delirium and strange dreuiful fancies ; ami probably at the corresponding moment of Nelly's atta< k came, mingled with her delirious fancies, the confused consciousness that I would be coming h(Mne shortly and wanting the door oi)ened ; and therefore, lying -^.t the very threshold of the door, she had waited for me there, and struggled to her feet at the first somul of my footsteps. " But why did she ha])pen to be at the door?" I thought. And suddenly I observed with surprise that she had her fur cloak on (one which I had just bought for her from an old woman who occasionally brought wares to the door, and from ivhom I now and then took things on cretlit) ; she must, therefore, have been just about to go out, and had probably opened the door wiien the epileptic fit seized her. Where could she have been going to ? Was she not under the influence of delirium even when she prepared to leave the house ? Meanwhile the fever did not abate and she was very soon wandering once more. She had had two fits in my rooms before this, but both had ended happily ; this time, however, she seemed to be in a dreadfully high fever. I watched over 248 INJURY AND INSULT. her for half an hour,, and then, drawing a couple of chairs up to her bedside, I lay down on them, dressed as I was, so as to awake at once if she called me. I did not put out the candles ; and I looked at her several times again before I fell asleep ; she was i)ale, her lips were dry and had blood on them, i)rol)ably the result of the fit ; the expression of pain had not left her fixce, and a sort of harassing anxiety seemed to be upon her even while she slept. 1 dctermmed to go for the doctor as early as j)Ossible next morning, if she became worse. I was afraid she might be having some serious fever. " The prince frightened her," I thought ; and I trembled as I called to mind that wretched man's story of the woman who had thrown her money in his face. CHAPTER II. A FORTNIGHT went by and Nelly was quite recovered. Although no serious fever developed itself, she had nevLTihelcss been very ill. She left her bed for the first time on a fine bright day at the end of April — it was Holy \Veek.. Poor liitle creature ! I cannot continue my narrative in strict consecutiveness just now. A long time has elapsed since then, but even now, when I write down these recollec- tions, I cannot think of that poor pale little face and those pi'jrcing long looks from out of the dark eyes, without a feeling of sharp pain and heaviness of heart. She used to gaze at me, when we were alone, ga/e and gaze as though making me guess what she was thinking o\ ; and then, seeing that i had not gues^e(l, she used to smile to herself, quietly and suddenly stretch out her thin little white hand, with its hot leveribh fingers, caressingly towards me. It's all j^ast history now, and everything is known that is to be known • but to this day I have never quite fathomed the mystery of this dear little woundetl, bewildered, offended heart. I feel that I am digressing, but at this moment I cannot think of anything but Nelly. It is strange, but now as I lie INJURY AND INSULT. 249 here on the hospital bed, deserted by all whom I have loved so long and dearly, occasionally some memory of that time comes over me, and things which I have never understood until now become illuminated, between my fleeting attacks of unconsciousness, with new meaning ; and I see and under- stand clearly, and in a moment, what up to this day has been involved in absolute mystery. The first four days of Nelly's illness the doctor and I were very nervous about her ; but on the fifth day the doctor drew me aside, and told me that there was nothing to fear, she would certainly recover. This was the same old bachelor doctor whom I had long known, a kind and jovial old fellow whom I had called in for Nelly's first attack, and whose large St. Stanislas order had so much struck Nelly's fancy. " Then there's notliing at all to be afraid of ? " I asked with delight. •' Well, she'll be all right nmo, but she will die very soon." " How ! die ? " I cried, stunned with this most unexpected news. " Yes, certainly ; she cannot live long. There is organic heart disease, and under ordinary circumstances she must inevitably have another attack. I dare say she will recover again ; but then a further attack will follow, and in the end she must succumb." "Oh, surely it cannot be so! Cannot anything be done to save her ? " " I fear it must be. But it is quite possible that under cir- cumstances of greater happiness, if her life be quiet and peaceful and more full of joy, the child's death may be averted for some time ; in fact, there have been cases — unexpected, abnormal, strange instances — where a patient has been saved, through some amalgamation of most favourable circumstances ; but radically anaJ, never." " Good God ! " I cried, " what can I do?" " Well, she must obey my orders, live a quiet, uneventful life, and take her powders regularly. I have observed that this little girl is the victim of caprices ; she hates to take her powders regularly ; just now she absolutely refused to take her dose." " Yes, doctor," I said; " she certainly is a strange child, but I ascribe it all to her illness ; yesterday she was most docile, and to-day, when I brought her the medicine, she 25© INJURY AND INSULT. jerked the spoon, as though accidentally, and spilled it all. When I tried to mix another powder, she seized the box, and threw it down on the ground, and burst into tears. I don't think the reason was that she had to take her powder, though," I added, thoughtfully. " H'm, irritation 1 Her former great miseries" (I had told the doctor a great part of Nelly's history, and my story had struck hitn very forcibly) "are the source of all the trouble. Meanwhile, the principal thing is, to take the powders ; she must do it. I'll just try once more whether I can't make her listen, to my medical counsels, or in other words, take a powder." We both came out of the kitchen, where our conversation was held, and the doctor went up to her bedside once more. But Nelly had heard us, I think ; at all events, she had turned her face towards us, and was lying as though listening intently. I saw this from the kitchen. However, when we came up to her, the little wretch had bobbed down again, and was looking at us with a mischievous smile. The poor little thing had grown dreadfully pale during her four days of illness ; her eyes were sunken ; the fever had not as yet left her. All the stranger for this did her mischievous looks now seem, and the kind-hearted old German doctor was much surprised to See her. He seriously, but softening his voice as much as he could, caressingly and kindly insisted on the absolute necessity for taking the powders. Nelly raised her head to take the dose, but suddenly, and apparently by the purest accident, she upset the spoon, and her medicine was all spilt on the floor. I felt sure she had done it on purpose. " Oil, what dreadful carelessness," said the old man, quite (piietly ; "and I'm afraid you did it on jnirpose, which was not nice of you ; however, it is easily mended, and 1 can get you anotliet powder ready." Nelly laughed in his face. The doctor wagged his head methodii.ally." " Oh, that's not at all nice," he said ; " not by any means praisewoflhy." " Don't be angry with me," said Nelly, trying vainly not to laugh again. " I really will take it ; but— do you love me ?--" " ir>(.u are good 1 will love you very much." " Very much?" INJURY AND INSULT. 251 " Ves, very much." "And now you don't love me ? " " Oil, yes, 1 love you now, too." '* And will you kiss nic if I wish it? " "Yes, if you deserve it." Here Nelly could not restrain herself, and burst out laughing again. " Our patient has a merry nature, but just now she is the victim of nervous caprice," the doctor observed, with the most serious air possible. " Very well, I'll take the powder," Nelly cried suddenly, with her little weak voice. Hut when I grow up and am big, will you take me for your wife ? " This last joke evidently pleased her greatly, for her eyes shone and her lips trembled with laughter as she awaited the amazed doctor's reply. " Oh yes I of course ! " he said, amused, but rather be- wildered. " Certainly, if you are a good and obedient girl, and if " " If I take my powders ? " Nelly put in. *' Oho ! yes ! " cried the doctor. " Take your powders. She's a good girl," he whispered to me. " There's a great deal of good in her, oh, a very great deal. But to be my wife ! NN'hat a strange fancy ! " He brought her the medicine again. This time she did not even make a pretence about the thing, but siini)ly jerked his hand up, spoon and all, and the whole of tlie medicine was spilled all over the poor old man's face and shirt-front. Nelly laughed loud, but not with tlie same joyousness and sim[)licity as before. Her face was sly and mischievous ; and all this time she seemed to be avoiding my eyes and looking only at the doctor, whom she watched with smiling face, through the trans- jurent veil of which I could plainly see that she was a good deal disturbed. I waited to see what the funny old man would do next. " Oh dear me ! spilt again ! what a misfortune I How- ever, we can easily mix another," said the poor old fellow, mopping his face and shirt-front. This struck Nelly very much. She expected me to be angry and scold her, or at all events to give her — what was all she wanted just now — some excuse for bursting into 353 INJURY AND INSULT. tears and groaning hysterically, or for upsetting more medicine, or even smashing something, to give vent to her poor little capricious aching heart's passions. Not only Nelly, but many other people are subject to such fits of caprice, which are, moreover, not jjcculiar to the sick. How often have I myscll walked up and down my room with an indefinite longing to be offended by somebody or other, or to have something said by someone which I could toke up and found a (juarrel upon in order to vent my evil humours. Women, when they arc- attacked in this way, generally relieve themselves with tears, and the more sensitive ones may even develop hysterics. It is a very simple matter, and one which is familiar to all — es})ecially when there exists in the heart of any person some grievance which he longs to confide in someone else and cannot do so. }iowever, Nelly, struck by the angelic kindness and patience of the old doctor whom she had so teased, and who had now prepared a third dose for her, without a word of reproach, had suddenly become very quiet. The jesting smile left her hps, she blushed, and her eyes filled with tears ; she looked at nie for a second, and then turned cjuickly away again. The doctor brought her the dose ; she drank it off (piickly antl timidly, and seized the old man's fat red hand, looking up into his eyes. " Vou are angry — that I am so naughty," she tried to say, but did not tinish her sentence ; and snuggling away under her bl.in- ket, head and all, she gave way to a fit of hysterical sobbing. "Oh ! don't cry, my dear little woman. This is only a ner- vous attack. Here, drink a little water." But Nelly did not hear. " Don't cry, little one !" he went on. " Dow't upset your- self like this ! " He very nearly cried over her himself, for he was an extremely sensitive man. "I'll forgive you and take you for my little wife, if you'll be a good little girl and " " 'i'ake iny powders ! " The words came up from under the bedclothes with a little weak bell-like laugh, nervous, and inter- rupted with a sob, a laugh that I knew so well by this time. " Oh, shie's a dear, ingenuous little girl ! " the doctor said solenmly, and with tears in his eyes. " Poor little thing ! " he added. And from this time there arose the strangest and most extraordinary sympathy between these two. It was just the INJURY AND INSULT. 253 ojtposite with me. Nelly seemed to prow more and more morose and nervous and irrital)le towards me. I did not know what to attril)ute this circumstance to, especially since the change had come on so very suddenly. During the first days of her illness she had been unspeakably tender and caressing towards me ; she had seemed imable to look at me enough, and would not allow me out of her sight. She used to take my hand in her little hot palms and scat me beside lier ; and if she noticed that I was |)ut out or irrilal)le about anything, she would try to cheer me up, she played with me and laughed and talked to me — evidently putting her own suffering aside for my .sake. She hated to see me working at night, or sitting up to watch at her bedside, and cried when I insisted on doing so. Now and then I remarked that she was much preoccupied ; she would begin to ask me questions about why I grieved, and what was on my mind ; but strangely enough, no sooner did I touch on Natasha than she changed the subject, or stopiied talking altogether. She seemed to avoid talking about Nat.asha, and this struck me very much. She was always so happy when I came home; and whenever I took up my hat to go out, she would look at me sadly and reproachfully, and follow me about with her eyes. On the fomth day of her illness, I was at Natasha's the whole evening, and even till past twelve o'clock ; we had a good deal to talk over that day. When I left my house, I liail tf)l(l Nelly that I should be back very soon, as I thought I should. Sta\ing longer than I expected at Natasha's, I felt quite comfortal)le about Nelly, whom I had not left alone. Alexandra Semednovna was sitting with her. She had heard from Maslobcnff that Nelly was ill — he had called in for a minute. Nfy goodness ! how that kind little woman, Alexandra Semednovna fussed about it. "So I suppose he won't come to dinner after all !" she had said. "And he's all alone, poor fellow, all alone ; well, we'll show him what our sympathy is. Now, here's a chance — we mustn't let it slip I" And she turned uj) at my rooms at once, bringing a whole cargo of things with her in a droshky. After informing me that she had come, and did not intend to go away again, but was going to stay and help me, she began to undo her bundle. Out of it came syrups, jams, chicken, in case the sick child got well enough to eat them ; cooking apples, oranges, Kiefsky 254 INJURY AND INSULT. (dried fruits) if the doctor allowed, and a lot of linen — sheets, table-napkins, ladies' underlinen, and all sorts of things, a whole hospital stock-in-trade. •' We've got n'erything\" she said to me hurriedly, "and you are a bachelor ; you haven't many of these sort of things about, so you must let me arrange it all. Philip Philipovitch tuld me to come. Now, then, what shall we do first ? Quick, quick! What's the first thing? Is she conscious? Oh! how uncomfortably she's lying, I must arrange that pillow, her head must be put lower ; don't )ou think a leather pillow would be better ? it's so nice and cool. Oh I what an idiot I am, I never (nought it ; I'll be off and fetch it ! Shall 1 light the fire ? I'll send you over my old maid, or I know an old woman who will do ; you have no woman- servant about the place. Well, what's to be done first ? What's this grassy stuff ? Did the doctor prescribe it ? for bronchial tea, 1 suppose? I'll light the fire." However, I calmed her transports ; she was much suri)rised and rather sorry that there turned out so little to be done. She at once made great friends with Nelly, and was a great helj) to me during the illness, coming in nearly every day ; she alwa}s entered in a terrific hurry and with most important mien, as though something had suddenly happened and must be set riglit at once, and she invariably quoted Philip Philipo- vitch as the authority for all her actions. She liked Nelly ex- ceedingly, they lo\ed each other like two sisters, and Pm sure Alexandra Semeonovna was in some respects just as much a a child as Nelly. She told Nelly stories and so amused her that Nelly was often very dull when Ale.xandra went away home. Her first apjiearance had much surprised my little invalid ; but she soon guessed why she had come, and, as usual, became silent and unpleasantly morose for a little while. *' Why did she come here?" Nelly had asked, apparently with great discontent, when Alexandra left the house. "To help )ou, Nelly, and lot>k alter you." " Wjiy ? Why should she ? I never did anything for her." " Kind people don't wait to have good done to them before they do good to others, Nelly. 'I'hey love to help those who need help, without that. Why, Nelly, there are lots of kind jjeople in the world ! It's only your misfortune, little one, that you have not come across them when you particularly required them." INJURY AND INSULT. 255 Nelly was silent, and I left her, but a quarter of an hour after she called me to her with her weak little voice, asking for something to drink, and suddenly embraced me tightly, drew me down to her breast, and would not leave go of me for a long, long while. Next day, when Alexandra Semednovna came in, Nelly received her with a pleased smile, but still rather as though she were ashamed of accepting her kindness. CHAPTER III. WELL, that was the day that I was at Natasha's all the evening. I got home very late, Nelly was asleep, and Alexandra was sleepy, too, but she sat up and waited for nie. She hastily began to tell me how Nelly had been ([uito jolly at first, and had laughed a good deal, but when I didn't come home she got more and more silent and thoughtful. Then she began to complain of headache, then began crying, and then sobbed and sobbed "so that I really didn't know lohat to do with her," .Alexandra added. " We began to talk about Natdsha Nicolaevna, but I could tell her nothing about your friend, and so she stoi)ped ask- ing me after a time, and did nothing but cry until she fell asleep. Well, good night, Ivan Petrovilch, she's certainly better to-day, I think. I must be going ; Phili[) Philipovitch said I must be home in respectable time — in fact, I may tell you, he only gave me two hours to-night, and I have stayed the rest of the time on my own responsibility. Oh, goodness ! Ivan Petrovilch, I forgot, he's sure to be tipsy, and how am I to get in ? He has something important going on in business just now ; I can't think what it is, and he is so preoccupied, and yet he will drink, oh dear me 1 Goodness ! Ivan Petro- vitch, what a lot of books you have got, and all wise ones I suppose, and what a fool I am, I have never read anything. Weil, good night ! an rn'oir till to-morrow ! " Next day Nelly woke up sad and cross, and did not want to speak to me at all. She seemed to be angry with me. How- 256 INJURY AND INSULT. ever, I caught several of her side-glances at nie, ur\observed, and remarked that they seemed to be full of a sort of tragic pain, and ytt had a great tenderness in them, nothing of which appealed in the looks she vouchsafed to give me straight to my face. This was the day of the scene with the doctor dur- ing the administering of her powders. I did not know what to think. Nelly's conduct towards me had changed completely. Her strangeness and caprice, and what at times appeared to amount to almost hatred for me continued until the day when she left my house— until the catastrophe, in fact, which brought an end to the whole of our romance ; but of this later. Occasionally, however, for an hour or so she would relapse into her old tenderness towards me; Her caresses seemed redoubled in earnestness during these intervals, and were nearly always .ac- comj)amed by bitter tears ; but the tender moments passed very (luickly, and she would fall back into her gloomy mood, looking crossly at me, or would be as capricious and passionate as she had been that day before the doctor; but observing that some new piece of mischief fell Hat on me, or seemed dis^ tasteful to me, she would first laugli loud and then burst into tears. She quarrelled with Alexandra Semeonovna once, and told her she did not require her help. When I began to re- ];ruach her for her ingratitude she fired up, answered me hotly,, and then relapsed into silence, refusing to speak to me for two whole days, refusing to take any medicines, refusing even to eat and drink, and only the old doctor could persuade her ultimately to be a little reasonable. I have said, before, that a strange sympathy sprang uj) between Nelly and the old doctor ever since the day of the jwwders ; Nelly was very fond of him and always received him with a j)lcased smile, however morose she might have been up to the moment of his coming. As fur the old man he took to coming every day, even twice a day, long after Nelly was quite well again ; he seemed to be unable to [xiss a day without lisiening to her laugh, and observing her pretty way of chatting with him. He took to bringing her books, all of an instructive kind ; be brought her bonbons in pretty boxes, coining in with such a solemn air on these occa- sions that Nelly always knew he had a i)resent for her. He used to sit down gravely beside Nelly, and begin a lecture about " if a certain little girl were good she should have some- thing nice," which made Nelly laugh at the simple-miaded old INJURY AND INSULT. 257 fellow ; hut always with a most alToctionate look in her hright ey(;s. The scone would invariahly end by the old man rising solemnly from his sent, pulling out the box of sweets, and handing it to Nelly with the words, " for my beloved future wife." At such nuiments the good old doctor was at least as h.Tppy as the recipient of his present. After this they would chat together ; and he would make a point of imi)ressing u])on her, each time, the importance of taking great care of herself and obeying his instructions to the letter. "The great tiling is to take care of oneself," he would end by saying dogmatically; " firstly, in order to preserve one's life as long as possible ; and, secondly, in order to secure health so that that life may be pleasant. If you have any griefs, my dear child, forget them ; or, better still, train yourself not to think of them. If you have not got any griefs, then, of course, you won't think of them, but get into the way of thinking of pleasant things, games, or " " What sort of games ? " asked Nelly. " Oh I " said the doctor, thoughtfully, " Any nice appro- priate games; or, well, anyt/iini:^ of that sort." " But I don't like playing games," said Nelly. I like new clothes mucl"! better." " New clothes? Oh, that's not nearly so nice ! One ought to take pleasure in the huml)ler amusements of life ; and, yes, perhaps you can like new clothes too." " Will you give me many new dresses when 1 am your wife?" asked Nelly. " What an idea," said the doctor, frowning involuntarily, Nelly looked mischievous, and once, forgetting herself, she looked round at me, smiling; "but I will," continued the doctor, " I'll make you a dress myself, if you deserve it." " Shall I have to take powders every day, when I'm your wife ? " " Oh, well — perhaps we shall let you olT now and then for a treat ! " said the old fellow, smiling. Nelly burst out laughing, and the doctor laughed too, watching the child's mirth with loving sympathy. " What a playful spirit she has," he con- tinued to me ; but I still see signs of caprice and passion." He was right. I could not, lor the life of me, make out what was the matter with her. She seemed to wish to avoid talking to me, just as though I had been guilty of something in her 258 INJURY AND INSULT. eyes ; it was very bitter to me. I was cross myself, and occa- sionally passed a whole day without speaking a word to her ; but on the following day I would feel ashamed. She often cried, and I had not the slightest idea how to comfort her. Occasionally she broke the silence. One day I came home just before dusk and caught Nelly hiding a book hastily under her pillow ; it was my novel, which ahe had taken u\) from the table and begun to read during my absence. Why should she hide it ? Just as though she were ashamed of reading it, I thought to myself. Jlowever, I did not show any signs of having observed her. A quarter of an hour afterwards, when I had gone into the next room for a minute, she jum[)cd up (juickly and put the book down again in its old place. When I came back I saw it lying there. The next minute she calU;d me to her. Her voice seemed very much agitated ; it was the fourth day that she had hardly spoken a word to me : " Are you going to — to Natdsha's to-day ? " she asked me in a broken voice. *' Yes, Xelly. I Mi/st see her to-day," I said. Nelly was silent. " Do you — love her very much?" she asked in a faint tone. " Yes, Nelly, very much." "So do I. I love her very much, too," she said, softly. Then followed silence for awhile again. " And I want to go and live with her," Nelly continued, looking timidly at me. "That's impossiljle, Nelly," I said, considerably surprised. "But why ; don't ytni like living with me?" " Why impossible ?"siie asked, blushing. " You are always trying to i)ersuade me to go to her father's house, and 1 don't want to go there. Has she a servant? " " Yes. " Well, let her send the servant away, and I'll serve her instead. I'll do all her work and take no pay. I will love her, and I'll cook her dinners for her ; tell her so to-day " " Oh, Nelly, why have you got this idea into your head ? And what must you think of her to suppose that she will let you come and be her cook ? If she took you at all it would be as her equal, as her little sister." " No, no 1 I don't want to go as her cciual. I won't go like that." "Why?" Nelly was silent; her li])S wer'j trembling; she seemed on the point of crying. INJURY AND INSULT. 3^() " That man whom she loves is Koint; away from her and will leave her all alune, won't he ? " she asked at last. I was much surprised. " Why, how do you know that, Nelly ? " "You told me yourself once ; and yesterday when Alexandra- Semeonovna's husband was here I asked him al)out it, too, and he told me everythin;,;." " How? Was Maslob(5efr here in the morning?" " Yes, he was," she replied, droi)ping hur eyes. *' .'\nd why didn't you tell me that he had been ? " •'So — " I thought f(jr a minute. What on earth was this confounded MasloboefTup to with his mysteries? I must see him and fuul him out. " Well," I said, "and what would it matter to you, Nelly, if this man does leave Natdsha and go away ? " " Why, you love her very much," she said, but without raising her eyes. "And if you love her so much I suppose you'll marry her when that other man goes away ? '" " No, Nelly, she doesn't love me as I love her ; and besides I — no, that will never be, Nelly." " And I would have served you both, as your servant, and you would have lived and been happy together," she said almost in a whisper and looking away from me. What /j the matter; what is the matter with the child? I wondered. My whole soul yearned towards her. After this, Nellv rcla]')scd mto silence and said not anotlier word the whole evening. When I went out she began to cry, and cried all the while I was away, so Alexandra told me afterwards, eventually falling asleep in tears. Even at night she cried and talked in her sleep. From this day she was more morose and silent than ever, and never talked to me at all ; it is true I caught occasional glances imex])cctedly — when I found that she had her eyes hxed on my face with the greatest possii)le tenderness. Hut these transient moments went by, and Nelly seemed to be all the sulkier afterwards ; she even changed towards the doctor. Meanwhile she had grown very nearly well, and at last the doctor allowed her to go out into the air, but only for a short while. It was fine, clear weather, and Holy Week, the season of roaster being very late this year. I went out early, having to be at Natrisha's in good time ; but I was to come back and take Nelly out for a walk. Meanwhile I left her alone. s — 2 26o INJURY AND INSULT. But I cannot describe how fearful a shock awaited me at home. I had hurried back and found the door-key outsidf. 1 went in — there was nobody about ; my heart sank. I looked around and saw a scrap of paj^er with something written in pencil in a large uneven hand ; it was this — " I have loft you and will never come back. But I love you very much. " Yours faithfully, " Nelly." I gave a cry of despair and rushed from the house. CHAPTER IV. I HAD not reached the street, and had not collected my thoughts sufficiently to know which way to turn or what to do, when tbiC first thing I saw was a droshky drawn up at the street door and Alexandra Sem^onovna getting out, holding Nelly by the hand. She held the child tight, as though she feared .that she might run away again. I rushed to them. " Nelly," I cried, " wliat is it ? Where did you go to ? Why did you go away ? " " Don't be in a hurry," said Alexandra, "let's get into your lodging, and then you shall hear. Such things I have to tell you, Ivan retrovitch," she continued, "you'll be surprised. Come along ; you shall hear all." Her face bore evidence of news of importance. " Nelly, go and lie down a little," she said, as we came in ; "you are tired ; you have been so far for a little convalescent ; lie down, darling, lie down ! " Then turning to me : " You and 1 will leave her alone and let her go to sleep," and she beckoned me into the kiti;hen. But Nelly would not lie down; she sat on the bed and covered her face with both her hands. We left !ier, and Alexandra told me all about it ; afterwards I heard hiriher details ; this is wliat h id happened : iiaving left my lodging, two hours before my return, Nelly had first made for the old doctor's house, whose address she had found out INJURY AND INSULT. 261 liefore. The old man told mc nftcrwards tint be (juite fmze when she turned u\) at his house, and all the wlv.le she was there he eouM not believe his eyes. " I don't believe it realty hai)i)encd, now," he said afterwards, "and I never shall." Vet Nelly really had been to him. lie was sittinj^ in his study, quietly, over his coffee, in a dressini:,'- gown. wht n she had suddenly rushed in, and thrown herself on his neck before he could utter a sound. She had cried, and embraced, and kissed him ; kissed his hands, and earne^tly, thout-'h very disconnectedly, entreated him to take her in, and let her live with him ; she said she could not live with me any longer and had left me ; that she was very unhappy ; that she would never laugh at him again, or talk about new clothes, and would behave herself very well ; she would learn to iron his shirts and wash them for him (probably slie had thought out the whole speech on the way, or perhaps before); and that she would really be very obedient now, and take her medicine every day regulariv; and that, if she had bothered him about marrying her, it was all nonsense ; she never really thought of such a thing. The old man was so stunned that he had sat the whole time with his mouth ojien, and raising his hand up and down, with a cigar between his fingers, which cigar he forgot all about and allowed to go out : " My dear little girl," he had said, finding his tongue at last, " so far as 1 understand you, you are asking me to give you a place here, in my house. Impossible ! you must see how little room I have here, and I am not rich ; besides which — so unexi)ectedly — so sudden a descent. Besides, it seems you liave run away from home. That is very wrong, very wrong ! And you were only to go out for a short walk undi-r the care of your benefactor, and here you are, leaving him in the lurch, and running all the way to my house when you ought to take care of yourself and, and — and — take your powders. And besides, I don't understand what's the matter." Nelly would not hear him ; she began all over again, crying and begging, but wuh no e fleet. The old man only grew more and more dazed, and understood less and less ot the mystery. At last Nelly left him, with a cry of despair, and rushed out of the room. She went ofT to the Maslob6efTs next ; she had their address also, and found them after some trouble. Maslobdeff was at home. Alexandra had wrung her hands 363 INJURY AND INSULT. when she heard what Nelly had to say. To the question, why Nelly wanted to leave nie, wasn't she happy with me ? Nelly would not answer a word, but threw herself into an armchair, sobbing. She sobbed so — Alexandra told me — that she thought it would kill her then and there. Nelly begged to be taken anyhou> ; as cook, as housemaid, anythin^^ ; she would learn to sweep the Jloor, wash the linen, anything they pleased. Alexandra Semeonovna thought they had better take her in until the mystery were solved, letting me know meanwhile where she was ; but Maslobdtff would not hear of it, and made her bring the little truant straight back to me. On the way home Alexandra had caressed and kissed Nelly, which only made licr cry the more ; Alexandra had cried, too, out of symj)atliy, and so the two of them had driven along — crying, together. " But, Nelly, why, icIiy don't you wish to live with him ? Does lie bully you? " Alexandra had asked her. '* Oh no! he is not unkind to me." " Wiiy, then ? " " Oh ! I don't want to live with him any more ; I can't. I'm so bad to him, and he's always so good. I wouldn't be bad at your house, I would work," she added, sobbing hys- terically. " But why are you bad with him, Nelly ?" " So, because " " And I never got anything more out of her," said Alexandra, wi[)ing her eyes. " \VlKit makes her like that ? What do you tluiik, Ivan I'etrovitch ? " We went into Nelijt's room; she was lying crying there, with her face buried in the pillow. I knelt by her, and took her little hands and kissed them ; she lore her hantls from mine and sobbed the more. 1 did not know what to say. Just at this moment in came old Ikmenief. " I've come on business, Vania," he said. " How are you ? " He glanced round, and observed, with amazement, that I was on my knees. The old fellow had been ill of late, he looked very white and thin ; but he had scorned his illness, as though he wanted to show off to someone, and took no notice of his old wife's admonitions, and went about his affairs just as usual. " Well, good-bye for the present," said Alexandra, staring at the old man ; " I'hilip rhili))Ovitcli, told me to come home as soon as possible; there is something going on at home, I'm INJURY AND INSULT. 263 wanted ; but I'll come in the evening and stay a couple of hours." She went out. " Who's that ? " asked the old man, who was evidently thinking of something else. I told him. "Ah !" ho said. " Look here, Vania, this is what I came about." (I knew what he had come to talk over, and had been expecting his visit.) He came to talk to Nelly and myself about getting her to live at his house. Anna Andreevna had at last consented to take the orphan in. This concession had been the result of our private talks. I had told her that the sight of the poor child, whose motl.er had been cursed by her father, might arouse in old Ikmenief other and softer thoughts. I made this icka so acccjitable to her that she had now begun to worry the old man to get hold of the child. Ikmenief was glad enough to busy himself about it; firstly, because he liked to please the old lady, and secondly, because he had his own ideas on the subject — ideas which 1 shall have to refer to later on. I have already said that Nelly did not like the old man at his first visit, and I had observed, since, that a kind of hale was visible in her face whenever the name of Ikmenief was mentioned. The old man i)lunged at once in medias res ; he went straight up to Nelly, who still lay with her face buried in the pillow, and, taking her hand in his, asked her whether she would like to come and live with him and be his little daughter. " I had a daughter once, and loved her better than my own life," said the. old gentleman, " but now she is with me no more ; she is dead ! Would you like to take her place in our bouse, and in my heart?" And tears stood in his eyes, his poor old sunken feverish eyes. "No, I don't want to," said Nelly, not raising her head. " Why not, dear child ? You have no home of your own ; Vdnia, here, can't keep you in his rooms for ever, and you shall be like in your own father's home with me." •'I don't want to because you are wicked — yes — wicked, wicked ! " she cried, raising her head and sitting down on the bed, opposite the old gentleman. " I am wicked myself, wickeder tlian other people — but you are worse than I am." Saying this, Nelly grew very pale and her eyes flashed, her lips trembled and became white and her mouth curved with some feeling of emotion. The old man stared amazed at her. 264 INJURY AND INSULT. •• Oh, yes, you are," she went on, " you are wickeder than anybody, because you won't forgive your daughter. You want to forgot her entirely, and to take another child into your heart; as if you could really forget your own daughter, and as if you could really love me.. VVhy, you would look at me and im- mediately remember that I was not your own, and that you >nce had your very own daughter whom you forgot of your own accord because you are a cruel man. I don't want to live with cruel people. I won't — I won't do it !" Nelly sol>- bed, and glanced at me. " 'J'he day after to-morrow," she con- tinued, " will be Easter, and everybody kisses one another,* and everybody makes peace and forgives injuries at Easter, but you — 1 know, you will be the only one who — o\\\ cruel, cruel man, go away ! " She burst into tears, I think she must have prepared this speech beforehand on the chance of Ikmenief coming again to invite her to his house. The old man was much struck with her words and grew very pale. An expression of great pain came over his face. "And why does everybody bother their heads about ine like this? I won't have it — I don't want it," she cried suddenly with great passion. " I shall go out into the streets and beg." '' Nelly, dear Nelly, what is the matter with you ? " 1 cried in- voluntarily ; but my exclamation only added oil to the tlanies. "Yes I will," she cried, sobbing, " I shall go and beg — I won't stay here. My mollier had to beg, and when she died she told me, ' be i)oor, beg alms, it is nuirh better than — than — it's no shame to beg.' I don't beg of any one person but of all. I shall go out and beg from everybody 1 meet. I won't stay here. I'm wicked — I'm worse than anyone, 'riiere ! Look how wicked I am !' And Nelly, (juite unexpectedly, seized a cu[) from the table and smashed it on the floor. " There ! Now, it's broken," she cried, lo(jking at me with a sort of triumphant stare. "There are only two cups and I shall break the other one too. What will you drink your tea out of then, eh ?" She was m such a state of rage, and seeme