The Insulted and the Injured

“‘See, you wicked, cruel man. Look! ... Look!

“Then grandfather screamed and fell down as though he were dead ...”

Nellie jumped up, freed herself from A

“I’ll be a mother to you now, Nellie, and you shall be my child. Yes, Nellie, let us go, let us give up these cruel, wicked people.. Let them mock at people; God will requite them. Come, Nellie, come away from here, come!”

I have never, before or since, seen her so agitated, and I had never thought she could be so excited. Nikolay Sergeyitch sat up in his chair, stood up, and in a breaking voice asked:

“Where are you going, A

“To her, to my daughter, to Natasha!” she exclaimed, drawing Nellie after her to the door.

“Stay, stay! Wait!”

“No need to wait, you cruel, cold-hearted man! I have waited too long, and she has waited, but now, good-bye! ...”

Saying this, A

“You, too! ... You coming with us, too!” she cried, clasping her hands in supplication, looking at him incredulously as though she dared not believe in such happiness.

“Natasha! Where is my Natasha? Where is she? Where’s my daughter?” broke at last from the old man’s lips. “Give me back my Natasha! Where, where is she?”

And seizing his stick, which I handed him, he rushed to the door.

“He has forgiven! Forgiven!” cried A

But the old man did not get to the door. The door opened quickly and Natasha dashed into the room, pale, with flashing eyes as though she were in a fever. Her dress was crumpled and soaked with rain. The handkerchief with which she had covered her head had slipped on to her neck, and her thick, curly hair glistened with big raindrops. She ran in, saw her father, and falling on her knees before him, stretched out her hands to him.

Last updated on Wed Jan 12 09:26:21 2011 for eBooks@Adelaide.

The Insulted and the Injured, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Chapter IX

BUT he was already holding her in his arms!

He lifted her up like a child and carried her to his chair, sat her down, and fell on his knees before her. He kissed her hands and her feet, he hastened to kiss her, hastened to gaze at her as though he could not yet believe that she was with him, that he saw and heard her again — her, his daughter, his Natasha. A

“My dear! ... My life! ... My joy! ...” the old man exclaimed incoherently, clasping Natasha’s hands and gazing like a lover at her pale, thin, but lovely face, and into her eyes which glistened with tears. “My joy, my child!” he repeated, and paused again, and with reverent Transports gazed at her. “Why, why did you tell me she was thi

“Get up, father. Oh, do get up,” said Natasha. “I want to kiss you, too. . .”

“Oh, the darling! Do you hear, A

And he embraced her convulsively.

“No, Natasha, it’s for me, for me to lie at your feet, till my heart tells me that you’ve forgiven me, for I can never, never deserve your forgiveness now! I cast you off, I cursed you; do you hear, Natasha, I cursed you! I was capable of that! . . . And you, you, Natasha, could you believe that I had cursed you! She did believe it, yes, she did! She ought not to have believed it! She shouldn’t have believed it, she simply shouldn’t! Cruel little heart! why didn’t you come to me? You must have known I should receive you.... Oh, Natasha, you must remember how I used to love you! Well, now I’ve loved you all this time twice as much, a thousand times as much as before. I’ve loved you with every drop of my blood. I would have torn my heart out, torn it into shreds and laid it at your feet. Oh! my joy!”

“Well, kiss me then, you cruel man, kiss me on any lips, on my face, as mother kisses me!” exclaimed Natasha in a faint, weak voice, full of joyful tears.

“And on your dear eyes, too! Your dear eyes! As I used to, do you remember?” repeated the old man after a long, sweet embrace. “Oh, Natasha! Did you sometimes dream of us? I dreamed of you almost every night, and every night you came to me and I cried over you. Once you came as a little thing, as you were when you were ten years old and were just begi

He got up, lifted her out of the chair and held her close, close to his heart.

“She is here, near my heart again!” he cried. “Oh Lord, I thank Thee for all, for all, for Thy wrath and for Thy mercy! . . .And for Thy sun which is shining upon us again after the storm! For all this minute I thank Thee! Oh, we may be insulted and injured, but we’re together again, and now the proud and haughty who have insulted and injured us may triumph! Let them throw stones at us! Have no fear, Natasha.... We will go hand in hand and I will say to them, ‘This is my darling, this is my beloved daughter, my i

“Vanya, Vanya,” Natasha cried in a weak voice, holding out her hand to me from her father’s arms.

Oh, I shall never forget that at that moment she thought of me and called to me!

“Where is Nellie?” asked the old man, looking round.

“Ah, where is she?” cried his wife. “My darling! We’re forgetting her!”

But she was not in the room. She had slipped away u

“Nellie, what’s the matter with you, my child?” cried the old man, trying to put his arm round her.

But she bent on him a strange, long gaze.

“Mother, where’s mother?” she brought out, as though in delirium. “Mere is my mother?” she cried once more, stretching out her trembling hands to us.

And suddenly a fearful, unearthly shriek broke from her bosom; her face worked convulsively, and she fell on the floor in a terrible fit.

Last updated on Wed Jan 12 09:26:21 2011 for eBooks@Adelaide.