 3. Ilyusha's Funeral. The Speech at the Stone. He really was late. They had waited for him, and had already decided to bear the pretty flower-decked little coffin to the church without him. It was the coffin of poor little Ilyusha. He had died two days after Mitya was sentenced. At the gate of the house Alyusha was met by the shouts of the boys, Ilyusha's school fellows. They had all been impatiently expecting him, and were glad that he had come at last. There were about twelve of them. They all had their school bags or satchels on their shoulders. 4. Father will cry, be with father, Ilyusha had told them as he lay dying, and the boys remembered it. Koliakrasotkin was the foremost of them. 5. How glad I am you've come, Karamazov! he cried, holding out his hand to Alyusha. It's awful here. It's really horrible to see it. Snigaryev is not drunk. We know for a fact he said nothing to drink today, but he seems as if he were drunk. I am always manly, but this is awful. Karamazov, if I am not keeping you, one question before you go in? 6. What is it, Koliak? said Alyusha. 7. Is your brother innocent or guilty? Was it he killed your father, or was it the valet? As you say, so it will be. I haven't slept for the last four nights for thinking of it. 8. The valet killed him. My brother is innocent. answered Alyusha. 9. That's what I said, cried Smurov. 10. So he will perish an innocent victim, exclaimed Koliak. Though he is ruined, he is happy. I could envy him. 11. What do you mean? How can you? Why? cried Alyusha, surprised. 12. Oh, if I too could sacrifice myself some day for truth, said Koliak with enthusiasm. 13. But not in such a cause, not with such disgrace, and such horror, said Alyusha. 14. Of course I should like to die for all humanity, and as for disgrace I don't care about that. Our names may perish. I respect your brother. 15. And so do I. The boy, who had once declared that he knew who had founded Troy, cried suddenly and unexpectedly, and he blushed up to his ears like a peony as he had done on that occasion. 16. Alyusha went into the room. Alyusha lay with his hands folded and his eyes closed in a blue coffin with a white frill round it. His thin face was hardly changed at all, and strange to say there was no smell of decay from the corpse. The expression of his face was serious, and, as it were, thoughtful. His hands, crossed over his breast, looked particularly beautiful as though chiseled in marble. There were flowers in his hands and the coffin, with flowers which had been sent early in the morning by Lee's holocaust. But there were flowers too from Katerina Ivanovna, and when Alyusha opened the door the captain had a bunch in his trembling hands and was stirring them again over his dear boy. He scarcely glanced at Alyusha when he came in, and he would not look at anyone, even at his crazy weeping wife, Mama, who kept trying to stand on her crippled legs to get a nearer look at her dead boy. Nina had been pushed in her chair by the boy's close up to the coffin. She sat with her head pressed to it, and she too was no doubt quietly weeping. Snigaryov's face looked eager, yet bewildered and exasperated. There was something crazy about his gestures and the words that broke from him. "'Old man, dear old man,' he exclaimed every minute, gazing at Alyusha. It was his habit to call Alyusha old man, as a term of affection when he was alive. "'Father, give me a flower too. Take that white one out of his hand and give it me,' the crazy mother begged, whimpering. Either because the little white rose in Alyusha's hand had caught her fancy, or that she wanted one from his hand to keep in memory of him. She moved restlessly, stretching out her hands for the flower. "'I won't give it to anyone. I won't give you anything,' Snigaryov cried callously. "'They are his flowers, not yours. Everything is his. Nothing is yours.' "'Father, give mother a flower,' said Nina, lifting her face wet with tears. "'I won't give away anything, and to her less than anyone. She didn't love Alyusha. She took away his little cannon, and he gave it to her.' The captain broke into loud sobs at the thought of how Alyusha had given up his cannon to his mother. The poor, crazy creature was bathed in noiseless tears, hiding her face in her hands. The boys, seeing that the father would not leave the coffin and that it was time to carry it out, stood round it in a closed circle and began to lift it up. "'I don't want him to be buried in the churchyard,' Snigaryov wailed suddenly. "'I'll bury him by the stone, by our stone. Alyusha told me to. I won't let him be carried out. He had been saying for the last three days that he would bury him by the stone. But Alyusha, Krasotkin, the landlady, her sister, and all the boys interfered. "'What an idea! bury him by an unholy stone, as though he had hanged himself,' the old landlady said sternly. There in the churchyard the ground has been crossed. He'll be prayed for there. One can hear the singing in church, and the deacon reads so plainly and verbally that it will reach him every time, just as though it were read over his grave. At last the captain made a gesture of despair as though to say, Take him where you will.' The boys raised the coffin, but as they passed the mother they stopped for a moment and lowered it that she might say good-bye to Alyusha. But on seeing that precious little face which for the last three days she had only looked at from a distance, she trembled all over and her grey head began twitching spasmodically over the coffin. "'Mother, make the sign of the cross over him, give him your blessing, kiss him,' Nina cried to her. But her head still twitched like an automaton, and with a face contorted with bitter grief she began, without a word, beating her breast with her fist. They carried the coffin past her. Nina pressed her lips to her brothers for the last time as they bore the coffin by her. As Alyusha went out of the house he begged the landlady to look after those who were left behind, but she interrupted him before he had finished. "'To be sure I'll stay with them, we are Christians too,' the old woman wept as she said it. They had not far to carry the coffin to the church, not more than three hundred paces. It was a still, clear day, with a slight frost. The church bells were still ringing. Snigaryov ran fussing and distracted after the coffin in his short, old summer overcoat, with his head bare and his soft, old, wide-brimmed hat in his hand. He seemed in the state of bewildered anxiety. At one minute he stretched out his hand to support the head of the coffin, and only hindered the bearers. At another he ran alongside and tried to find a place for himself there. A flower fell on the snow, and he rushed to pick it up as though everything in the world depended on the loss of that flower. "'And the crust of bread, we've forgotten the crust,' he cried suddenly in dismay. But the boys reminded him at once that he had taken the crust of bread already, and that it was in his pocket. He instantly pulled it out and was reassured. "'Illusia told me to, Illusia,' he explained at once to Alyosha. I was sitting by him one night, and he suddenly told me, Father, when my grave is filled up, crumble a piece of bread on it so that the sparrows may fly down. I shall hear, and it will cheer me up not to be lying alone. "'That's a good thing,' said Alyosha. We must often take some. "'Every day, every day,' said the captain quickly, seeming cheered at the thought. They reached the church at last and set the coffin in the middle of it. The boys surrounded it and remained revently standing so, all through the service. It was an old and rather poor church. Many of the icons were without settings, but such churches are the best for praying in. During the mass, Snigaranov became somewhat calmer, though at times he had outbursts of the same unconscious and, as it were, incoherent anxiety. At one moment he went up to the coffin to set straight the cover or the wreath. When a candle fell out of the candlestick he rushed to replace it and was a fearful time fumbling over it. Then he subsided and stood quietly by the coffin with a look of blank uneasiness and perplexity. After the epistle he suddenly whispered to Alyosha, who was standing beside him, that the epistle had not been read properly, but did not explain what he meant. During the prayer, like the cherubim, he joined in the singing, but did not go on to the end. Falling on his knees he pressed his forehead to the stone floor and lay so for a long while. At last came the funeral service itself, and candles were distributed. The distracted father began fussing about again, but the touching and impressive funeral prayers moved and roused his soul. He seemed suddenly to shrink together and broke into rapid, short sobs, which he tried at first to smother, but at last he sobbed aloud. When they began taking leave of the dead and closing the coffin he flung his arms about as though he would not allow them to cover Alyosha and began greedily and persistently kissing his dead boy on the lips. At last they succeeded in persuading him to come away from the step, but suddenly he impulsively stretched out his hand and snatched a few flowers from the coffin. He looked at them and a new idea seemed to dawn upon him so that he apparently forgot his grief for a minute. Gradually he seemed to sink into brooding and did not resist when the coffin was lifted up and carried to the grave. It was an expensive one in the churchyard close to the church, Katarina Ivanovna had paid for it. After the customary rites the grave-diggers lowered the coffin, Snigaryov with his flowers in his hands bent down so low over the open grave that the boys caught hold of his coat in alarm and pulled him back. He did not seem to understand fully what was happening. When they began filling up the grave he suddenly pointed anxiously at the falling earth and began trying to say something but no one could make out what he meant and he stopped suddenly. Then he was reminded that he must crumble the bread and he was awfully excited, snatched up the bread and began pulling it to pieces and flinging the morsels on the grave. Come fly down, birds fly down, sparrows! he muttered anxiously. One of the boys observed that it was awkward for him to crumble the bread with the flowers in his hands and suggested he should give them to someone to hold for a time. But he would not do this and seemed indeed suddenly alarmed for his flowers as though they wanted to take them from him altogether. And after looking at the grave and as it were satisfying himself that everything had been done and the bread had been crumbled he suddenly, to the surprise of everyone, turned quite composedly even and made his way homewards. But his steps became more and more hurried. He almost ran. The boys and Alyosha kept up with him. The flowers are for Mama. The flowers are for Mama. I was unkind to Mama, he began exclaiming suddenly. Someone called to him to put on his hat as it was cold. But he flung the hat in the snow as though he were angry and kept repeating, I won't have the hat. I won't have the hat. Smirov picked it up and carried it after him. All the boys were crying and Kolya and the boy who had discovered about Troy most of all. Though Smirov, with the captain's hat in his hand, was crying bitterly too, he managed as he ran to snatch up a piece of red brick that lay on the snow of the path to fling it at the flock of sparrows that was flying by. He missed them, of course, and went on crying as he ran. Halfway, Snigaryov suddenly stopped, stood still for half a minute as though struck by something, and suddenly turning back to the church ran towards the deserted grave. But the boys instantly overtook him and caught hold of him on all sides. Then he fell helpless on the snow as though he had been knocked down and struggling, sobbing and wailing. He began crying out, Alusha old man, dear old man! Al-Yoshha and Kolya tried to make him get up, soothing and persuading him. Captain, give over, a brave man must show fortitude, muttered Kolya. You'll spoil the flowers, said Al-Yoshha, and Mama is expecting them. She is sitting crying because he would not give her any before. Alusha's little bed is still there. Yes, yes, Mama! Snigaryov suddenly recollected. They'll take away the bed, they'll take it away, he added, as though alarmed that they really would. He jumped up and ran homewards again. But it was not far off, and they all arrived together. Snigaryov opened the door hurriedly, and called to his wife, with whom he had so cruelly quarreled just before. Mama, poor crippled darling, Alusha has sent you these flowers. He cried, holding out to her a little bunch of flowers that had been frozen and broken while he was struggling in the snow. But at that instant he saw in the corner, by the little bed, Alusha's little boots, which the landlady had put tidily side by side. Seeing the old, patched, rusty-looking, stiff boots, he flung up his hands and rushed to them, fell on his knees, snatched up one boot, and pressing his lips to it, began kissing it greedily, crying, Alusha, old man, dear old man, where are your little feet? Where have you taken him away? Where have you taken him? The lunatic cried in a heart-rending voice. Nina, too, broke into sobs. Kolja ran out of the room. The boys followed him. At last Alyosha, too, went out. Let them weep, he said to Kolja. It's no use trying to comfort them just now. Let's wait a minute, and then go back. No, it's no use. It's awful, Kolja assented. Do you know, Karamazov? He dropped his voice so that no one could hear them. I feel dreadfully sad, and if it were only possible to bring him back, I'd give anything in the world to do it. Ah, so would I, said Alusha. What do you think, Karamazov? Had we better come back here to-night? He'll be drunk, you know. Perhaps he will. Let us come together, you and I. That will be enough to spend an hour with them, with the mother and Nina. If we all come together, we shall remind them of everything again, Alyosha suggested. The landlady is laying the table for them now. There'll be a funeral dinner or something. The priest is coming. Shall we go back to it, Karamazov? Of course, said Alyosha. It's also strange, Karamazov, such sorrow and then pancakes after it. It all seems so unnatural in our religion. They are going to have salmon, too, the boy who had discovered about Troy observed in a loud voice. I beg you most earnestly, Kartashov, not to interrupt again with your idiotic remarks, especially when one is not talking to you and doesn't care to know whether you exist or not, Kulia snapped out irritably. The boy flushed crimson but did not dare to reply. Meanwhile they were strolling slowly along the path, and suddenly Smirov exclaimed, There's Alyosha's stone, under which they wanted to bury him. They all stood still by the big stone. Alyosha looked, and the whole picture of what Snigaryev had described to him that day. How Alyosha, weeping and hugging his father, had cried, Father, Father, how he insulted you, rose at once before his imagination. A sudden impulse seemed to come into his soul. With a serious and earnest expression he looked from one to another of the bright, pleasant faces of Alyosha's school-fellows, and suddenly said to them, Boys, I should like to say one word to you, here at this place. The boys stood round him, and at once bent attentive and expectant eyes upon him. Boys, we shall soon part. I shall be for some time with my two brothers, of whom one is going to Siberia and the other is lying at death's door. But soon I shall leave this town, perhaps for a long time, so we shall part. Let us make a compact here, and Alyosha's stone, that we will never forget Alyosha and one another. And whatever happens to us later in life, if we don't meet for twenty years afterwards, let us always remember how we buried the poor boy at whom we once threw stones. Do you remember, by the bridge? And afterwards we all grew so fond of him. He was a fine boy, a kind-hearted, brave boy. He felt for his father's honour, and resented the cruel insult to him and stood up for him. And so, in the first place, we will remember him, boys, all our lives. And even if we are occupied with most important things, if we attain to honour or fall into great misfortune, still let us remember how good it was once here, when we were all together, united by a good and kind feeling which made us, for the time we were loving that poor boy, better perhaps than we are. My little doves, let me call you so, for you are very like them, those pretty blue birds at this minute as I look at your good, dear faces. My dear children, perhaps you won't understand what I am saying to you, because I often speak very unintelligibly. But you'll remember all the same, and will agree with my words some time. You must know that there is nothing higher and stronger and more wholesome and good for life in the future than some good memory, especially a memory of childhood, of home. People talk to you a great deal about your education, but some good, sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education. If a man carries many such memories with him into life, he is safe to the end of his days, and if one has only one good memory left in one's heart, even that may sometime be the means of saving us. Perhaps we may even grow wicked later on, may be unable to refrain from a bad action, may laugh at men's tears, and at those people who say as Kolia did just now, I want to suffer for all men, and may even jeer spitefully at such people. But however bad we may become, which God forbid, yet when we recall how we buried Alasha, how we loved him in his last days, and how we have been talking like friends altogether at this stone, the cruelest and most mocking of us, if we do become so, will not dare to laugh inwardly at having been kind and good at this moment. What's more, perhaps, that one memory may keep him from great evil, and he will reflect and say, Yes, I was good and brave and honest then. Let him laugh to himself, that's no matter, a man often laughs at what's good and kind, that's only from thoughtlessness, but I assure you, boys, that as he laughs he will say at once in his heart, No, I do wrong to laugh, for that's not a thing to laugh at. That will be so, I understand you, Karamazov, cried Kolya with flashing eyes. The boys were excited, and they too wanted to say something, but they restrained themselves, looking with intentness and emotion at the speaker. I say this in case we become bad, Alasha went on, but there's no reason why we should become bad, is there boys? Let us be first and above all kind, then honest, and then let us never forget each other. I say that again, I give you my word for my part that I'll never forget one of you. Every face looking at me now I shall remember, even for thirty years. Just now Kolya said to Kartashov that we did not care to know whether he exists or not, but I cannot forget that Kartashov exists, and that he is not blushing now as he did when he discovered the founders of Troy, but is looking at me with his jolly, kind, dear little eyes. Boys, my dear boys, let us all be generous and brave like Alasha, clever, brave and generous like Kolya, though he will be ever so much cleverer when he is grown up, and let us all be as modest, as clever and sweet as Kartashov. But why am I talking about those two? You are all dear to me, boys, from this day forth I have a place in my heart for you all, and I beg you to keep a place in your hearts for me. Well, and who has united us in this kind good feeling, which we shall remember and intend to remember all our lives? Who, if not Alasha, the good boy, the dear boy, precious to us forever? Let us never forget him. May his memory live forever in our hearts from this time forth. Yes, yes, forever, forever, the boys cried in their ringing voices, with softened faces. Let us remember his face and his clothes and his poor little boots, his coffin and his unhappy sinful father, and how boldly he stood up for him alone against the whole school. We will remember, we will remember, cried the boys, he was brave, he was good. Ah, how I loved him, exclaimed Kolya. Ah, children, ah, dear friends, don't be afraid of life, how good life is when one does something good and just. Yes, yes, the boys repeated enthusiastically. Karamazov, we love you, a voice, probably Kartashov's, cried impulsively. We love you, we love you, they all caught it up, there were tears in the eyes of many of them. Hurrah for Karamazov, Kolya shouted ecstatically, and may the dead boys' memory live forever, Alyosha added, again with feeling. Forever, the boys chimed in again. Karamazov, cried Kolya, can it be true what's taught us in religion, that we shall all rise again from the dead and shall live and see each other again, all Alyosha too? Certainly we shall all rise again, certainly we shall see each other and shall tell each other with joy and gladness all that has happened, Alyosha answered, half laughing, half enthusiastic. Ah, how splendid it will be, broke from Kolya. Well, now we will finish talking and go to his funeral dinner. Don't be put out of our eating pancakes, it's a very old custom, and there's something nice in that, laughed Alyosha. Well, let us go, and now we go hand in hand. And always so, all our lives hand in hand, hurrah for Karamazov, Kolya cried once more rapturously, and once more the boys took up his exclamation, hurrah for Karamazov. End of the Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, translated by Constance Garnet.