rush into each other’s arms, as had often happened before at such reconciliations. But Natasha seemed overcome by her happiness; she let her head sink on her breast and ... began crying softly.... Then Alyosha couldn’t restrain himself. He threw himself at her feet. He kissed her hands, her feet. He seemed frantic. I pushed an easy-chair towards her. She sank into it. Her legs were giving way beneath her.
Last updated on Wed Jan 12 09:26:21 2011 for eBooks@Adelaide.
The Insulted and the Injured, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Part II Chapter I
A MINUTE later we were all laughing as though we were crazy.
“Let me explain; let me explain!” cried Alyosha, his ringing voice rising above our laughter. “They think it’s just as usual ... that I’ve come with some nonsense. . . . I say, I’ve something most interesting to tell you. But will you ever be quiet?”
He was extremely anxious to tell his story. One could see from his face that he had important news. But the dignified air he assumed in his naive pride at the possession of such news tickled Natasha at once. I could not help laughing too. And the angrier he was with us the more we laughed. Alyosha’s vexation and then childish despair reduced us at last to the condition of Gogol’s midshipman who roared with laughter if one held up one’s finger. Mavra, coming out of the kitchen, stood in the doorway and looked at us with grave indignation, vexed that Alyosha had not come in for a good “wigging” from Natasha, as she had been eagerly anticipating for the last five days, and that we were all so merry instead.
At last Natasha, seeing that our laughter was hurting Alyosha’s feelings, left off laughing.
“What do you want to tell us?” she asked.
“Well, am I to set the samovar?” asked Mavra, interrupting Alyosha without the slightest ceremony.
“Be off, Mavra, be off!” he cried, waving his hands at her, in a hurry to get rid of her. “I’m going to tell you everything that has happened, is happening, and is going to happen, because I know all about it. I see, my friends, you want to know where I’ve been for the last five days — that’s what I want to tell you, but you won’t let me. To begin with, I’ve been deceiving you all this time, Natasha, I’ve been deceiving you for ever so long, and that’s the chief thing.”
“Deceiving me?”
“Yes, deceiving you for the last month; I had begun it before my father came back. Now the time has come for complete openness. A month ago, before father came back, I got an immense letter from him, and I said nothing to either of you about it. In his letter he told me, plainly and simply — and, I assure you, in such a serious tone that I was really alarmed — that my engagement was a settled thing, that my fiancee was simply perfection; that of course I wasn’t good enough for her, but that I must marry her all the same, and so I must be prepared to put all this nonsense out of my head, and so on, and so on — we know, of course, what he means by nonsense. Well, that letter I concealed from you.”
“You didn’t!” Natasha interposed. “See how he flatters himself! As a matter of fact he told us all about it at once. I remember how obedient and tender you were all at once, and wouldn’t leave my side, as though you were feeling guilty about something, and you told us the whole letter in fragments.”
“Impossible; the chief point I’m sure I didn’t tell you. Perhaps you both guessed something, but that’s your affair. I didn’t tell you. I kept it secret and was fearfully unhappy about it.”
“I remember, Alyosha, you were continually asking my advice and told me all about it, a bit at a time, of course, as though it were an imaginary case,” I added, looking at Natasha.
“You told us everything! Don’t brag, please,” she chimed in.
“As though you could keep anything secret! Deception is not your strong point. Even Mavra knew all about it. Didn’t you, Mavra?”
“How could I help it?” retorted Mavra, popping her head in at the door. “ You’d told us all about it before three days were over. You couldn’t deceive a child.”
“Foo! How annoying it is to talk to you! You’re doing all this for spite, Natasha! And you’re mistaken too, Mavra. I remember, I was like a madman then. Do you remember, Mavra?”
“To be sure I do, you’re like a madman now.”
“No, no, I don’t mean that. Do you remember, we’d no money then and you went to pawn my silver cigar- case. And what’s more, Mavra, let me tell you you’re forgetting yourself and being horribly rude to me. It’s Natasha has let you get into such ways. Well, suppose I did tell you all about it at the time, bit by bit (I do remember it now), but you don’t know the tone of the letter, the tone of it. And the tone was what mattered most in the letter, let me tell you. That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Why, what was the tone?” asked Natasha.
“Listen, Natasha, you keep asking questions as though you were in fun. Don’t joke about it. I assure you that it’s very important. It was in such a tone that I was in despair. My father had never spoken to me like that. It was as though he would sooner expect an earthquake of Lisbon than that he should fail to get his own way; that was the tone of it.”
“Well. well, tell us. Why did you want to conceal it from me?”
“Ach, my goodness! Why, for fear of frightening you! I hoped to arrange it all myself. Well, after that letter, as soon as my father came my troubles began. I prepared myself to answer him firmly, distinctly and earnestly, but somehow it never came off, He never asked me about it, he’s cunning! On the contrary he behaved as though the whole thing were settled and as though any difference or misunderstanding between us were impossible. Do you hear, impossible, such confidence! And he was so affectionate, so sweet to me. I was simply amazed. How clever he is, Ivan Petrovitch, if only you knew! He has read everything; he knows everything; you’ve only to look at him once and he knows all your thoughts as though they were his own. That’s no doubt why he has been called a Jesuit. Natasha doesn’t like me to praise him. Don’t be cross, Natasha. Well, so that’s how it is . . . oh, by the way! At first he wouldn’t give me any money, but now he has. He gave me some yesterday. Natasha, my angel! Our poverty is over now! Here, look! All he took off my allowance these last six months, to punish me, he paid yesterday. See how much there is; I haven’t counted it yet. Mavra, look what a lot of money; now we needn’t pawn our spoons and studs!”
He brought out of his pocket rather a thick bundle of notes, fifteen hundred roubles, and laid it on the table. Mavra looked at Alyosha with surprise and approval. Natasha eagerly urged him on.
“Well, so I wondered what I was to do,” Alyosha went on. “How was I to oppose him? If he’d been nasty to me I assure you I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. I’d have told him plainly I wouldn’t, that I was grown up now, and a man, and that that was the end of it. And believe me, I’d have stuck to it. But as it is, what could I say to him? But don’t blame me. I see you seem displeased, Natasha. Why do you look at one another? No doubt you’re thinking: here they’ve caught him at once and he hasn’t a grain of will. I have will, I have more than you think. And the proof of it is that in spite of my position I told myself at once, ‘it is my duty; I must tell my father everything, everything,’ and I began speaking and told him everything, and he listened.”
“But what? What did you tell him exactly?” Natasha asked anxiously.
“Why, that I don’t want any other fiancee, and that I have one already — you. That is, I didn’t tell him that straight out, but I prepared him for it, and I shall tell him tomorrow. I’ve made up my mind. To begin with I said that to marry for money was shameful and ignoble, and that for us to consider ourselves aristocrats was simply stupid (I talk perfectly openly to him as though he were my brother). Then I explained to him that I belonged to the tiers etat, and that the tiers etat c’est l’essentiel, that I am proud of being just like everybody else, and that I don’t want to be distinguished in any way; in fact, I laid all those sound ideas before him. . . . I talked warmly, convincingly. I was surprised at myself. I proved it to him, even from his own point of view. . . . I said to him straight out — how can we call ourselves princes? It’s simply a matter of birth; for what is there princely about us? We’re not particularly wealthy, and wealth’s the chief point. The greatest prince nowadays is Rothschild. And secondly, it’s a long time since anything has been heard of us in real society. The last was Uncle Semyon Valkovsky, and he was only known in Moscow, and he was only famous for squandering his last three hundred serfs, and if father hadn’t made money for himself, his grandsons might have been ploughing the land themselves. There are princes like that. We’ve nothing to be stuck-up over. In short, I told him everything that I was brimming over with — everything, warmly and openly; in fact, I said something more. He did not even answer me, but simply began blaming me for having given up going to Count Nainsky’s, and then told me I must try and keep in the good graces
