Brothers -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Russia -- Social life and customs -- 1533-1917 -- Fiction
“Aha, then it’s only a suggestion! And it does not come from him but
simply from the generosity of your own warm heart. You should have said
so. No, in that case allow me to tell you of your brother’s highly
chivalrous soldierly generosity, for he did give expression to it at
the time. He left off dragging me by my beard and released me: ‘You are
an officer,’ he said, ‘and I am an officer, if you can find a decent
man to be your second send me your challenge. I will give satisfaction,
though you are a scoundrel.’ That’s what he said. A chivalrous spirit
indeed! I retired with Ilusha, and that scene is a family record
imprinted for ever on Ilusha’s soul. No, it’s not for us to claim the
privileges of noblemen. Judge for yourself. You’ve just been in our
mansion, what did you see there? Three ladies, one a cripple and
weak-minded, another a cripple and hunchback and the third not crippled
but far too clever. She is a student, dying to get back to Petersburg,
to work for the emancipation of the Russian woman on the banks of the
Neva. I won’t speak of Ilusha, he is only nine. I am alone in the
world, and if I die, what will become of all of them? I simply ask you
that. And if I challenge him and he kills me on the spot, what then?
What will become of them? And worse still, if he doesn’t kill me but
only cripples me: I couldn’t work, but I should still be a mouth to
feed. Who would feed it and who would feed them all? Must I take Ilusha
from school and send him to beg in the streets? That’s what it means
for me to challenge him to a duel. It’s silly talk and nothing else.”
“He will beg your forgiveness, he will bow down at your feet in the
middle of the market-place,” cried Alyosha again, with glowing eyes.
“I did think of prosecuting him,” the captain went on, “but look in our
code, could I get much compensation for a personal injury? And then
Agrafena Alexandrovna[3] sent for me and shouted at me: ‘Don’t dare to
dream of it! If you proceed against him, I’ll publish it to all the
world that he beat you for your dishonesty, and then you will be
prosecuted.’ I call God to witness whose was the dishonesty and by
whose commands I acted, wasn’t it by her own and Fyodor Pavlovitch’s?
‘And what’s more,’ she went on, ‘I’ll dismiss you for good and you’ll
never earn another penny from me. I’ll speak to my merchant too’
(that’s what she calls her old man) ‘and he will dismiss you!’ And if
he dismisses me, what can I earn then from any one? Those two are all I
have to look to, for your Fyodor Pavlovitch has not only given over
employing me, for another reason, but he means to make use of papers
I’ve signed to go to law against me. And so I kept quiet, and you have
seen our retreat. But now let me ask you: did Ilusha hurt your finger
much? I didn’t like to go into it in our mansion before him.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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