Brothers -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Russia -- Social life and customs -- 1533-1917 -- Fiction
“Help me now, Alexey Fyodorovitch. Now I really need your help. I’ll
tell you what I think, and you must simply say whether it’s right or
not. Listen! If he had sent me his compliments in passing, without
insisting on your repeating the words, without emphasizing them, that
would be the end of everything! But if he particularly insisted on
those words, if he particularly told you not to forget to repeat them
to me, then perhaps he was in excitement, beside himself. He had made
his decision and was frightened at it. He wasn’t walking away from me
with a resolute step, but leaping headlong. The emphasis on that phrase
may have been simply bravado.”
“Yes, yes!” cried Alyosha warmly. “I believe that is it.”
“And, if so, he’s not altogether lost. I can still save him. Stay! Did
he not tell you anything about money—about three thousand roubles?”
“He did speak about it, and it’s that more than anything that’s
crushing him. He said he had lost his honor and that nothing matters
now,” Alyosha answered warmly, feeling a rush of hope in his heart and
believing that there really might be a way of escape and salvation for
his brother. “But do you know about the money?” he added, and suddenly
broke off.
“I’ve known of it a long time; I telegraphed to Moscow to inquire, and
heard long ago that the money had not arrived. He hadn’t sent the
money, but I said nothing. Last week I learnt that he was still in need
of money. My only object in all this was that he should know to whom to
turn, and who was his true friend. No, he won’t recognize that I am his
truest friend; he won’t know me, and looks on me merely as a woman.
I’ve been tormented all the week, trying to think how to prevent him
from being ashamed to face me because he spent that three thousand. Let
him feel ashamed of himself, let him be ashamed of other people’s
knowing, but not of my knowing. He can tell God everything without
shame. Why is it he still does not understand how much I am ready to
bear for his sake? Why, why doesn’t he know me? How dare he not know me
after all that has happened? I want to save him for ever. Let him
forget me as his betrothed. And here he fears that he is dishonored in
my eyes. Why, he wasn’t afraid to be open with you, Alexey
Fyodorovitch. How is it that I don’t deserve the same?”
The last words she uttered in tears. Tears gushed from her eyes.
“I must tell you,” Alyosha began, his voice trembling too, “what
happened just now between him and my father.”
And he described the whole scene, how Dmitri had sent him to get the
money, how he had broken in, knocked his father down, and after that
had again specially and emphatically begged him to take his compliments
and farewell. “He went to that woman,” Alyosha added softly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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