|
||||||||
Yes, he does; but then he abuses every one. But why youve given him up I havent heard from him either. I meet him very seldom now, indeed. We are not friends. Well, then, Ill tell you all about it. Theres no help for it, Ill confess, for there is one point in which I was perhaps to blame. Only a little, little point, so little that perhaps it doesnt count. You see, my dear boyMadame Hohlakov suddenly looked arch and a charming, thought enigmatic, smile played about her lipsYou see, I suspect You must forgive me, Alyosha. I am like a mother to you. No, no; quite the contrary. I speak to you now, as though you were my fathermothers quite out of place. Well, its as though I were confessing to Father Zossima, thats just it. I called you a monk just now. Well, that poor young man, your friend Rakitin (Mercy on us! I cant be angry with him. I feel cross, but now very), that frivolous young man, would you believe it, seems to have taken it into his head to fall in love with me. I only noticed it later. At firsta month agohe only began to come oftener to see me. almost every day; though, of course, we were acquainted before. I knew nothing about it and suddenly it dawned upon me, and I began to notice things with surprise. You know, two months ago, that modest, charming, excellent young man, Pyotr Ilyitch Perhotin, whos in the service here, began to be a regular visitor at the house. You met him here ever so many times yourself. And he is an excellent, earnest young man, isnt he? He comes once every three days, not every day (though I should be glad to see him every day), and always so well dressed. Altogether, I love young people, Alyosha, talented, modest, like you, and he has almost the mind of a statesman, he talks so charmingly, and I shall certainly, certainly try and get promotion for him. He is a future diplomat. On that day he almost saved me from death by coming in the night. And your friend Rakitin comes in such boots, and always stretches them out on the carpet. He began hinting at his feeling, in fact, and one day, as he was going, he squeezed my hand terribly hard. My foot began to swell directly after he pressed my hand like that. He had met Pyotr Ilyitch here before, and would you believe it, he is always gibing at him, growling at him, for some reason. I simply looked at the way they went on together and laughed inwardly. So I was sitting her aloneno, I was laid up then. Well, I was lying here alone and suddenly Rakitin comes in, and only fancy! brought me some verses of his own compositiona short poem, on my bad foot: that is, he described my foot in a poem. Wait a minutehow did it go? A captivating little foot. It began somehow like that. I can never remember poetry. Ive got it here. Ill show it to you later. But its a charming thingcharming; and, you know, its not only about the foot; it had a good moral, too, a charming idea, only Ive forgotten it; in fact, it was just the thing for an album. So, of course, I thanked him, and he was evidently flattered. Id hardly had time to thank him when in comes Pyotr Ilyitch, and Rakitin suddenly looked as black as night. I could see that Pyotr Ilyitch was in the way, for Rakitin certainly wanted to say something after giving me the verses. I had a presentiment of it; but Pyotr Ilyitch came in. I showed Pyotr Ilyitch the verses and didnt say who was the author. But I am convinced that he guessed, though he wont own it to this day, and declares he had no idea. But he says that on purpose. Pyotr Ilyitch began to laugh at once, and fell to criticising it. Wretched doggerel, he said they were, some divinity student must have written them, and with such vehemence, such vehemence! Then instead of laughing, your friend flew into a rage. Good gracious! I thought, theyll fly at each other. It was I who wrote them, said he. I wrote them as a joke, he said, for I think it degrading to write verses. But they are good poetry. They want to put a monument to your Pushkin for writing about womens feet, while I wrote with a moral purpose, and you, said he, are an advocate of serfdom. Youve no humane ideas, said he. You have no modern, enlightened feelings, you are uninfluenced by progress, you are a mere official, he said, and you take bribes. Then I began screaming and imploring them. And, you know, Pyotr Ilyitch is anything but a coward. He at once took up the most gentlemanly tone, looked at him sarcastically, listened, and apologised. Id no idea, said he. I shouldnt have said it, if I had known. I should have praised it. Poets are all so irritable, he said. In short, he laughed at him under the cover of the most gentlemanly tone. He explained to me afterwards that it was all sarcastic. I thought he was in earnest. Only as I lay there, just as before you now, I thought, would it, or would it not, be the proper thing for me to turn Rakitin out for shouting so rudely at a visitor in my house? And, would you believe it, I lay here, shut my eyes and wondered, would it be the proper thing or not. I kept worrying and worrying, |
||||||||
|
||||||||
|
||||||||
Copyright: All texts on Bibliomania are © Bibliomania.com Ltd, and may not be reproduced in any form without our written permission. See our FAQ for more details. | ||||||||