Brothers -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Russia -- Social life and customs -- 1533-1917 -- Fiction
“Ah, what I have been feeling, looking on at this touching scene!...”
She could not go on for emotion. “Oh, I understand the people’s love
for you. I love the people myself. I want to love them. And who could
help loving them, our splendid Russian people, so simple in their
greatness!”
“How is your daughter’s health? You wanted to talk to me again?”
“Oh, I have been urgently begging for it, I have prayed for it! I was
ready to fall on my knees and kneel for three days at your windows
until you let me in. We have come, great healer, to express our ardent
gratitude. You have healed my Lise, healed her completely, merely by
praying over her last Thursday and laying your hands upon her. We have
hastened here to kiss those hands, to pour out our feelings and our
homage.”
“What do you mean by healed? But she is still lying down in her chair.”
“But her night fevers have entirely ceased ever since Thursday,” said
the lady with nervous haste. “And that’s not all. Her legs are
stronger. This morning she got up well; she had slept all night. Look
at her rosy cheeks, her bright eyes! She used to be always crying, but
now she laughs and is gay and happy. This morning she insisted on my
letting her stand up, and she stood up for a whole minute without any
support. She wagers that in a fortnight she’ll be dancing a quadrille.
I’ve called in Doctor Herzenstube. He shrugged his shoulders and said,
‘I am amazed; I can make nothing of it.’ And would you have us not come
here to disturb you, not fly here to thank you? Lise, thank him—thank
him!”
Lise’s pretty little laughing face became suddenly serious. She rose in
her chair as far as she could and, looking at the elder, clasped her
hands before him, but could not restrain herself and broke into
laughter.
“It’s at him,” she said, pointing to Alyosha, with childish vexation at
herself for not being able to repress her mirth.
If any one had looked at Alyosha standing a step behind the elder, he
would have caught a quick flush crimsoning his cheeks in an instant.
His eyes shone and he looked down.
“She has a message for you, Alexey Fyodorovitch. How are you?” the
mother went on, holding out her exquisitely gloved hand to Alyosha.
The elder turned round and all at once looked attentively at Alyosha.
The latter went nearer to Lise and, smiling in a strangely awkward way,
held out his hand to her too. Lise assumed an important air.
“Katerina Ivanovna has sent you this through me.” She handed him a
little note. “She particularly begs you to go and see her as soon as
possible; that you will not fail her, but will be sure to come.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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