The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (easy to read books for adults list .txt) 📕

were off, come along!”

I did not know what to do and hurried to and fro undecided; we

went out to the carriage, however.

“Wait here a minute,” I said to him. “I’ll be back directly, I

have forgotten my purse.”

And I ran back alone, to Afanasy’s little room.

“Afanasy,” I said, “I gave you two blows on the face yesterday,

forgive me,” I said.

He started as though he were frightened, and looked at me; and I

saw that it was not enough, and on the spot, in my full officer’s

uniform, I dropped at his feet and bowed my head to the ground.

“Forgive me,” I said.

Then he was completely aghast.

“Your honour… sir, what are you doing? Am I worth it?”

And he burst out crying as I had done before, hid his face in

his hands, turned to the window and shook all over with his sobs. I

flew out to my comrade and jumped into the carriage.

“Ready,” I cried. “Have you ever seen a conqueror?” I asked him.

“Here is one before you.”

I was in ecstasy, laughing and talking all the way, I don’t

remember what about.

He looked at me. “Well, brother, you are a plucky fellow, you’ll

keep up the honour of the uniform, I can see.”

So we reached the place and found them there, waiting us. We

were placed twelve paces apart; he had the first shot. I stood

gaily, looking him full in the face; I did not twitch an eyelash, I

looked lovingly at him, for I knew what I would do. His shot just

grazed my cheek and ear.

“Thank God,” I cried, “no man has been killed,” and I seized my

pistol, turned back and flung it far away into the wood. “That’s the

place for you,” I cried.

I turned to my adversary.

“Forgive me, young fool that I am, sir,” I said, “for my

unprovoked insult to you and for forcing you to fire at me. I am ten

times worse than you and more, maybe. Tell that to the person whom you

hold dearest in the world.”

I had no sooner said this than they all three shouted at me.

“Upon my word,” cried my adversary, annoyed, “if you did not

want to fight, why did not you let me alone?”

“Yesterday I was a fool, to-day I know better,” I answered him

gaily.

“As to yesterday, I believe you, but as for to-day, it is

difficult to agree with your opinion,” said he.

“Bravo,” I cried, clapping my hands. “I agree with you there

too, I have deserved it!”

“Will you shoot, sir, or not?”

“No, I won’t,” I said; “if you like, fire at me again, but it

would be better for you not to fire.”

The seconds, especially mine, were shouting too: “Can you disgrace

the regiment like this, facing your antagonist and begging his

forgiveness! If I’d only known this!”

I stood facing them all, not laughing now.

“Gentlemen,” I said, “is it really so wonderful in these days to

find a man who can repent of his stupidity and publicly confess his

wrongdoing?”

“But not in a duel,” cried my second again.

“That’s what’s so strange,” I said. “For I ought to have owned

my fault as soon as I got here, before he had fired a shot, before

leading him into a great and deadly sin; but we have made our life

so grotesque, that to act in that way would have been almost

impossible, for only after I had faced his shot at the distance of

twelve paces could my words have any significance for him, and if I

had spoken before, he would have said, ‘He is a coward, the sight of

the pistols has frightened him, no use to listen to him.’

Gentlemen,” I cried suddenly, speaking straight from my heart, “look

around you at the gifts of God, the clear sky, the pure air, the

tender grass, the birds; nature is beautiful and sinless, and we, only

we, are sinful and foolish, and we don’t understand that life is

heaven, for we have only to understand that and it will at once be

fulfilled in all its beauty, we shall embrace each other and weep.”

I would have said more but I could not; my voice broke with the

sweetness and youthful gladness of it, and there was such bliss in

my heart as I had never known before in my life.

“All this is rational and edifying,” said my antagonist, “and in

any case you are an original person.”

“You may laugh,” I said to him, laughing too, “but afterwards

you will approve of me.”

“Oh, I am ready to approve of you now,” said he; “will you shake

hands? for I believe you are genuinely sincere.”

“No,” I said, “not now, later on when I have grown worthier and

deserve your esteem, then shake hands and you will do well.”

We went home, my second upbraiding me all the way, while I

kissed him. All my comrades heard of the affair at once and gathered

together to pass judgment on me the same day.

“He has disgraced the uniform,” they said; “Let him resign his

commission.”

Some stood up for me: “He faced the shot,” they said.

“Yes, but he was afraid of his other shot and begged for

forgiveness.”

“If he had been afraid of being shot, he would have shot his own

pistol first before asking forgiveness, while he flung it loaded

into the forest. No, there’s something else in this, something

original.”

I enjoyed listening and looking at them. “My dear friends and

comrades,” said I, “don’t worry about my resigning my commission,

for I have done so already. I have sent in my papers this morning

and as soon as I get my discharge I shall go into a monastery-it’s

with that object I am leaving the regiment.”

When I had said this every one of them burst out laughing.

“You should have told us of that first, that explains

everything, we can’t judge a monk.”

They laughed and could not stop themselves, and not scornfully,

but kindly and merrily. They all felt friendly to me at once, even

those who had been sternest in their censure, and all the following

month, before my discharge came, they could not make enough of me.

“Ah, you monk,” they would say. And everyone said something kind to

me, they began trying to dissuade me, even to pity me: “What are you

doing to yourself?”

“No,” they would say, “he is a brave fellow, he faced fire and

could have fired his own pistol too, but he had a dream the night

before that he should become a monk, that’s why he did it.”

It was the same thing with the society of the town. Till then I

had been kindly received, but had not been the object of special

attention, and now all came to know me at once and invited me; they

laughed at me, but they loved me. I may mention that although

everybody talked openly of our duel, the authorities took no notice of

it, because my antagonist was a near relation of our general, and as

there had been no bloodshed and no serious consequences, and as I

resigned my commission, they took it as a joke. And I began then to

speak aloud and fearlessly, regardless of their laughter, for it was

always kindly and not spiteful laughter. These conversations mostly

took place in the evenings, in the company of ladies; women

particularly liked listening to me then and they made the men listen.

“But how can I possibly be responsible for all?” everyone would

laugh in my face. “Can I, for instance, be responsible for you?”

“You may well not know it,” I would answer, “since the whole world

has long been going on a different line, since we consider the veriest

lies as truth and demand the same lies from others. Here I have for

once in my life acted sincerely and, well, you all look upon me as a

madman. Though you are friendly to me, yet, you see, you all laugh

at me.”

“But how can we help being friendly to you?” said my hostess,

laughing. The room was full of people. All of a sudden the young

lady rose, on whose account the duel had been fought and whom only

lately I had intended to be my future wife. I had not noticed her

coming into the room. She got up, came to me and held out her hand.

“Let me tell you,” she said, “that I am the first not to laugh

at you, but on the contrary I thank you with tears and express my

respect for you for your action then.”

Her husband, too, came up and then they all approached me and

almost kissed me. My heart was filled with joy, but my attention was

especially caught by a middle-aged man who came up to me with the

others. I knew him by name already, but had never made his

acquaintance nor exchanged a word with him till that evening.

(d) The Mysterious Visitor.

He had long been an official in the town; he was in a prominent

position, respected by all, rich and had a reputation for benevolence.

He subscribed considerable sums to the almshouse and the orphan

asylum; he was very charitable, too, in secret, a fact which only

became known after his death. He was a man of about fifty, almost

stern in appearance and not much given to conversation. He had been

married about ten years and his wife, who was still young, had borne

him three children. Well, I was sitting alone in my room the following

evening, when my door suddenly opened and this gentleman walked in.

I must mention, by the way, that I was no longer living in my

former quarters. As soon as I resigned my commission, I took rooms

with an old lady, the widow of a government clerk. My landlady’s

servant waited upon me, for I had moved into her rooms simply

because on my return from the duel I had sent Afanasy back to the

regiment, as I felt ashamed to look him in the face after my last

interview with him. So prone is the man of the world to be ashamed

of any righteous action.

“I have,” said my visitor, “with great interest listened to you

speaking in different houses the last few days and I wanted at last to

make your personal acquaintance, so as to talk to you more intimately.

Can you, dear sir, grant me this favour?”

“I can, with the greatest pleasure, and I shall look upon it as an

honour.” I said this, though I felt almost dismayed, so greatly was

I impressed from the first moment by the appearance of this man. For

though other people had listened to me with interest and attention, no

one had come to me before with such a serious, stern, and concentrated

expression. And now he had come to see me in my own rooms. He sat

down.

“You are, I see, a man of great strength of character” he said;

“as you have dared to serve the truth, even when by doing so you

risked incurring the contempt of all.”

“Your praise is, perhaps, excessive,” I replied.

“No, it’s not excessive,” he answered; “believe me, such a

course of action is far more difficult than you think. It is that