The Complete Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky: Novels, Short Stories and Autobiographical Writings. Федор Достоевский
she had shown no particular affection for me all the while I was with her; on the contrary, she seemed rather colder to me than usual. She kissed me warmly and looked for a long time into my face.
“Listen,” she said. “Alyosha was very absurd this morning and quite surprised me. He was very sweet, very happy apparently. but flew in, such a butterfly — such a dandy, and kept prinking before the looking-glass. He’s a little too unceremonious now…. Yes, and he didn’t stay long. Fancy, he brought me some sweets.”
“Sweets? Why, that’s very charming and simplehearted, Ah, what a pair you are. Now you’ve begun watching and spying on one another, studying each other’s faces, and reading hidden thoughts in them (and understanding nothing about it). He’s not different. He’s merry and schoolboyish as he always was. But you, you!”
And whenever Natasha changed her tone and came to me with some complaint against Alyosha, or to ask for a solution of some ticklish question, or to tell me some secret, expecting me to understand her at half a word, she always, I remember, looked at me with a smile, as it were imploring me to answer somehow so that she should feel happy at heart at once. And I remember, too, I always in such cases assumed a severe and harsh tone as though scolding someone, and this happened quite unconsciously with me, but it was always successful. My severity and gravity were what was wanted; they seemed more authoritative, and people sometimes feel an irresistible craving to be scolded. Natasha was sometimes left quite consoled.
“No, Vanya, you see,” she went on, keeping one of her little hands on my shoulder, while her other pressed my hand and her eyes looked into mine, “I fancied that he was somehow too little affected … he seemed already such a man — you know, as though he’d been married ten years but was still polite to his wife. Isn’t that very premature? … He laughed, and prinked, but just as though all that didn’t matter, as though it only partly concerned me, not as it used to be … he was in a great hurry to see Katerina Fyodorovna…
. If I spoke to him he didn’t listen to me, or began talking of something else, you know, that horrid, aristocratic habit we’ve both been getting him out of. In fact, he was too…even indifferent it seemed…. But what am I saying! Here I’m doing it, here I’ve begun! Ah, what exacting, capricious despots we all are, Vanya! Only now I see it! We can’t forgive a man for a trifling change in his face, and God knows what has made his face change! You were right, Vanya, in reproaching me just now! It’s all my fault! We make our own troubles and then we complain of them…. Thanks, Vanya, you have quite comforted me. Ah, if he would only come to-day! But there perhaps he’ll be angry for what happened this morning.”
“Surely you haven’t quarrelled already!” I cried with surprise.
“I made no sign! But I was a little sad, and though he came in so cheerful he suddenly became thoughtful, and I fancied he said goodbye coldly. Yes, I’ll send for him… . You come, too, to-day, Vanya.”
“Yes, I’ll be sure to, unless I’m detained by one thing.”
“Why, what thing is it?”
“I’ve brought it on myself! But I think I’m sure to come all the same.”
CHAPTER VII
AT SEVEN O’CLOCK precisely I was at Masloboev’s. He lived in lodge, a little house, in Shestilavotchny Street. He had three rather grubby but not badly furnished rooms. There was even the appearance of some prosperity, at the same time an extreme slovenliness. The door was opened by a very pretty girl of nineteen, plainly but charmingly dressed, clean, and with very goodnatured, merry eyes. I guessed at once that this was the Alexandra Semyonovna to whom he had made passing allusion that morning, holding out an introduction to her as an allurement to me. She asked who I was, and hearing my name said that Masloboev was expecting me, but that he was asleep now in his room, to which she took me. Masloboev was asleep on a very good soft sofa with his dirty greatcoat over him, and a shabby leather pillow under his head. He was sleeping very lightly. As soon as we went in he called me by my name.
“Ah, that was you? I was expecting you. I was just dreaming you’d come in and wake me. So it’s time. Come along.”
“Where are we going?
“To see a lady.”
“What lady? Why?”
“Mme. Bubnov, to pay her out. Isn’t she a beauty?” he drawled, turning to Alexandra Semyonovna, and he positively kissed his fin-ger-tips at the thought of Mme. Bubnov.
“Get along, you’re making it up!” said Alexandra Semyonovna, feeling it incumbent on her to make a show of anger.
“Don’t you know her? Let me introduce you, old man. Here, Alexandra Semyonovna, let me present to you a literary general; it’s only once a year he’s on view for nothing, at other times you have to pay.”
“Here he is up to his nonsense again! Don’t you listen to him; he’s always laughing at me. How can this gentleman be a general!”
“That’s just what I tell you, he’s a special sort. But don’t you imagine, your excellency, that we’re silly; we are much cleverer than we seem at first sight.”
“Don’t listen to him! He’s always putting me to confusion before honest folk, the shameless fellow. He’d much better take me to the theatre sometimes.”
“Alexandra Semyonovna, love your household…. Haven’t you forgotten what you must love? Haven’t you forgotten the word? the one I taught you!”
“Of course I haven’t! It means some nonsense.”
“Well, what was the word then?”
“As if I were going to disgrace myself before a visitor! Most likely it means something shameful. Strike me dumb if I’ll say it!”
“Well, you have forgotten then.”
“Well, I haven’t then, penates!… love your penates, that’s what he invents! Perhaps there never were any penates. An why should one love them? He’s always talking nonsense!”
“But at Mme. Bubnov’s….”
“Foo! You and your Bubnov!”
And Alexandra Semyonovna ran out of the room in great
indignation.
“It’s time to go. Goodbye, Alexandra Semyonovna.”
We went out.
“Look here, Vanya, first let’s get into this cab. That’s right And secondly, I found out something after I had said good-by to you yesterday, and not by guesswork, but for a certainty I spent, a whole hour in Vassilyevsky Island. That fat man an awful scoundrel, a nasty, filthy brute, up to all sorts of trick and with vile tastes of all kinds. This Bubnov has long been notorious for some shifty doings in the same line. She was almost caught over a little girl of respectable family the other day. The muslin dress she dressed that orphan up in (as you described this morning) won’t let me rest, because I’ve heard something of the sort already. I learnt something else this morning, quite by chance, but I think I can rely on it. How old is she?”
“From her face I should say thirteen.”
“But small for her age. Well, this is how she’ll do, then. When need be she’ll say she’s eleven, and another time that she’s fifteen.
And as the poor child has no one to protect her she’s….”
“Is it possible!”
“What do you suppose? Mme. Bubnov wouldn’t have adopted an orphan simply out of compassion. And if the fat man’s hanging round, you may be sure it’s that. He saw her yesterday. And that blockhead Sizobryuhov’s been promised a beauty to-day, a married woman, an officer’s wife, a woman of rank.