170 book page, Chapter 6 — A Laceration in the Cottage
I see you are interested in contemporary questions, but how can I have excited your curiosity, living as I do in surroundings impossible for the exercise of hospitality?»
«I’ve come- about that business.»
«About what business?» the captain interrupted impatiently.
«About your meeting with my brother Dmitri Fyodorovitch,» Alyosha blurted out awkwardly.
«What meeting, sir? You don’t mean that meeting? About my ‘wisp of tow,’ then?» He moved closer so that his knees positively knocked against Alyosha. His lips were strangely compressed like a thread.
«What wisp of tow?» muttered Alyosha.
«He is come to complain of me, father!» cried a voice familiar to Alyosha- the voice of the schoolboy- from behind the curtain. «I bit his finger just now.» The curtain was pulled, and Alyosha saw his assailant lying on a little bed made up on the bench and the chair in the corner under the ikons. The boy lay covered by his coat and an old wadded quilt. He was evidently unwell, and, judging by his glittering eyes, he was in a fever. He looked at Alyosha without fear, as though he felt he was at home and could not be touched.
«What! Did he bite your finger?» The captain jumped up from his chair. «Was it your finger he bit?»
«Yes. He was throwing stones with other schoolboys. There were six of them against him alone. I went up to him, and he threw a stone at me and then another at my head. I asked him what I had done to him. And then he rushed at me and bit my finger badly, I don’t know why.»
«I’ll thrash him, sir, at once- this minute!» The captain jumped up from his seat.
«But I am not complaining at all, I am simply telling you…. I don’t want him to be thrashed. Besides, he seems to be ill.»
«And do you suppose I’d thrash him? That I’d take my Ilusha and thrash him before you for your satisfaction? Would you like it done at once, sir?» said the captain, suddenly turning to Alyosha, as though he were going to attack him. «I am sorry about your finger, sir; but instead of thrashing Ilusha, would you like me to chop off my four fingers with this knife here before your eyes to satisfy your just wrath? I should think four fingers would be enough to satisfy your thirst for vengeance. You won’t ask for the fifth one too?» He stopped short with a catch in his throat. Every feature in his face was twitching and working; he looked extremely defiant. He was in a sort of frenzy.
«I think I understand it all now,» said Alyosha gently and sorrowfully, still keeping his seat. «So your boy is a good boy, he loves his father, and he attacked me as the brother of your assailant…. Now I understand it,» he repeated thoughtfully. «But my brother Dmitri Fyodorovitch regrets his action, I know that, and if only it is possible for him to come to
171 book page, Chapter 6 — A Laceration in the Cottage
you, or better still, to meet you in that same place, he will ask your forgiveness before everyone- if you wish it.»
«After pulling out my beard, you mean, he will ask my forgiveness? And he thinks that will be a satisfactory finish, doesn’t he?»
«Oh, no! On the contrary, he will do anything you like and in any way you like.»
«So if I were to ask his highness to go down on his knees before me in that very tavern-‘The Metropolis’ it’s called- or in the marketplace, he would do it?»
«Yes, he would even go down on his knees.»
«You’ve pierced me to the heart, sir. Touched me to tears and pierced me to the heart! I am only too sensible of your brother’s generosity. Allow me to introduce my family, my two daughters and my son- my litter. If I die, who will care for them, and while I live who but they will care for a wretch like me? That’s a great thing the Lord has ordained for every man of my sort, sir. For there must be someone able to love even a man like me.»
«Ah, that’s perfectly true!» exclaimed Alyosha.
«Oh, do leave off playing the fool! Some idiot comes in, and you put us to shame!» cried the girl by the window, suddenly turning to her father with a disdainful and contemptuous air.
«Wait a little, Varvara!» cried her father, speaking peremptorily but looking at them quite approvingly. «That’s her character,» he said, addressing Alyosha again.
«And in all nature there was naught That could find favour in his eyes-
or rather in the feminine- that could find favour in her eyes- . But now let me present you to my wife, Arina Petrovna. She is crippled, she is forty-three; she can move, but very little. She is of humble origin. Arina Petrovna, compose your countenance. This is Alexey Fyodorovitch Karamazov. Get up, Alexey Fyodorovitch.» He took him by the hand and with unexpected force pulled him up. «You must stand up to be introduced to a lady. It’s not the Karamazov, mamma, who… h’m… etcetera, but his brother, radiant with modest virtues. Come, Arina Petrovna, come, mamma, first your hand to be kissed.»
And he kissed his wife’s hand respectfully and even tenderly. The girl at the window turned her back indignantly on the scene; an expression of extraordinary cordiality came over the haughtily inquiring face of the woman.
«Good morning! Sit down, Mr. Tchernomazov,» she said.
«Karamazov, mamma, Karamazov. We are of humble origin,» he whispered again. «Well, Karamazov, or whatever it is, but I always think of Tchermomazov…. Sit down.
Why has he pulled you up? He calls me crippled, but I am not, only my legs are swollen like barrels, and I am shrivelled up myself. Once I used to be so fat, but now it’s as though I had swallowed a needle.»
«We are of humble origin,» the captain muttered again.
172 book page, Chapter 6 — A Laceration in the Cottage
«Oh, father, father!» the hunchback girl, who had till then been silent on her chair, said suddenly, and she hid her eyes in her handkerchief.
«Buffoon!» blurted out the girl at the window.
«Have you heard our news?» said the mother, pointing at her daughters. «It’s like clouds coming over; the clouds pass and we have music again. When we were with the army, we used to have many such guests. I don’t mean to make any comparisons; everyone to their taste. The deacon’s wife used to come then and say, ‘Alexandr Alexandrovitch is a man of the noblest heart, but Nastasya Petrovna,’ she would say, ‘is of the brood of hell.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘that’s a matter of taste; but you are a little spitfire.’ ‘And you want keeping in your place;’ says she. ‘You black sword,’ said I, ‘who asked you to teach me?’ ‘But my breath,’ says she, ‘is clean, and yours is unclean.’ ‘You ask all the officers whether my breath is unclean.’ And ever since then I had it in my mind. Not long ago I was sitting here as I am