Brothers -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Russia -- Social life and customs -- 1533-1917 -- Fiction
“Why has he forgotten everything, then? He used to carry me about when
I was little. We used to play together. He used to come to teach me to
read, do you know. Two years ago, when he went away, he said that he
would never forget me, that we were friends for ever, for ever, for
ever! And now he’s afraid of me all at once. Am I going to eat him? Why
doesn’t he want to come near me? Why doesn’t he talk? Why won’t he come
and see us? It’s not that you won’t let him. We know that he goes
everywhere. It’s not good manners for me to invite him. He ought to
have thought of it first, if he hasn’t forgotten me. No, now he’s
saving his soul! Why have you put that long gown on him? If he runs
he’ll fall.”
And suddenly she hid her face in her hand and went off into
irresistible, prolonged, nervous, inaudible laughter. The elder
listened to her with a smile, and blessed her tenderly. As she kissed
his hand she suddenly pressed it to her eyes and began crying.
“Don’t be angry with me. I’m silly and good for nothing ... and perhaps
Alyosha’s right, quite right, in not wanting to come and see such a
ridiculous girl.”
“I will certainly send him,” said the elder.
Chapter V.
So Be It! So Be It!
The elder’s absence from his cell had lasted for about twenty-five
minutes. It was more than half-past twelve, but Dmitri, on whose
account they had all met there, had still not appeared. But he seemed
almost to be forgotten, and when the elder entered the cell again, he
found his guests engaged in eager conversation. Ivan and the two monks
took the leading share in it. Miüsov, too, was trying to take a part,
and apparently very eagerly, in the conversation. But he was
unsuccessful in this also. He was evidently in the background, and his
remarks were treated with neglect, which increased his irritability. He
had had intellectual encounters with Ivan before and he could not
endure a certain carelessness Ivan showed him.
“Hitherto at least I have stood in the front ranks of all that is
progressive in Europe, and here the new generation positively ignores
us,” he thought.
Fyodor Pavlovitch, who had given his word to sit still and be quiet,
had actually been quiet for some time, but he watched his neighbor
Miüsov with an ironical little smile, obviously enjoying his
discomfiture. He had been waiting for some time to pay off old scores,
and now he could not let the opportunity slip. Bending over his
shoulder he began teasing him again in a whisper.
“Why didn’t you go away just now, after the ‘courteously kissing’? Why
did you consent to remain in such unseemly company? It was because you
felt insulted and aggrieved, and you remained to vindicate yourself by
showing off your intelligence. Now you won’t go till you’ve displayed
your intellect to them.”
“You again?... On the contrary, I’m just going.”
“You’ll be the last, the last of all to go!” Fyodor Pavlovitch
delivered him another thrust, almost at the moment of Father Zossima’s
return.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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