 Book 10, Chapter 7 of the Brothers Karamazov. The doctor came out of the room again, muffled in his fur coat and with his cap on his head. His face looked almost angry and disgusted as though we were afraid of getting dirty. He cast a cursory glance round the passage, looking sternly at Ayosha and Koya as he did so. Ayosha waved from the door to the coachman, and the carriage that had brought the doctor drove up. The captain darted out after the doctor, and, bowing apologetically, stopped him to get the last word. The poor fellow looked utterly crushed. There was a scared look in his eyes. "'Erexonancy! Erexonancy! Is it possible?' he began, but could not go on, and clasped his hands in despair. Yet he still gazed imploringly at the doctor, as though word from him might still change the poor boy's fate. "'I can't help it. I am not God,' the doctor answered offhand, though with the customary impressiveness. "'Doctor! Erexonancy! And will it be soon? Soon?' "'You must be prepared for anything,' said the doctor, in emphatic and incisive tones, and, dropping his eyes, he was about to step out to the coach. "'Erexonancy! For Christ's sake!' The terror-stricken captain stopped him again. "'Erexonancy! But can nothing, absolutely nothing, save him now?' "'It's not in my hands now,' said the doctor, impatiently. "'But,' he stopped suddenly, "'if you could, for instance, send your patient at once without delay,' the words at once without delay, the doctor uttered with an almost wrathful sternus that made the captain start. To Syracuse, if the change the new beneficial climatic conditions might possibly affect—' "'To Syracuse,' cried the captain, unable to grasp what was said. "'Syracuse is in Cicely,' Collier said suddenly, in explanation. The doctor looked at him. "'Cicely, your Excellency,' said the captain. "'But you've seen,' he spread out his hands, indicating his surroundings. "'Mama, and my family?' "'No, Cicely is not the place for the family. The family should go to the Caucasus in the early spring. Your daughter must go to the Caucasus, and your wife, after a course with the waters in the Caucasus for her rheumatism, must be sent straight to Paris to the mental specialist Le Pelletier. I could give you a note to him, and then there might be a change. "'Doctor, doctor, but you see,' the captain flung wide his hands again despairingly, indicating the bare wooden walls of the passage. "'Well, that's not my business,' grinned the doctor. "'I've only told you the answer of medical signs to your question, as to possible.' "'Don't be afraid, apothecary. My dog won't bite you,' Collier repped out loudly, noticing the doctor's rather uneasy glance at Pergevon, who was standing in the doorway. There was a wrathful nod in Collier's voice. He used the word apothecary instead of doctor on purpose, and, as he explained afterwards, used it to insult him. "'What's that?' the doctor flung up his head, staring with surprise at Collier. "'Who's this?' he addressed Alyosha, as though asking him to explain. "'It's Pergevon's master. Don't worry about me,' Collier said incisively again. "'Pergevon?' translated's note, a chime of bells. Repeated the doctor, perplexed. "'He hears the bell, but where it is he cannot tell. Good-bye. We shall meet in Syracuse.' "'Who's this? Who is this?' the doctor flew into a terrible rage. "'He is a schoolboy, doctor. He is a mischievous boy. Take no notice of him,' said Alyosha, frowning and speaking quickly. "'Collier, hold your tongue,' he cried to Krosotkin. "'Take no notice of him, doctor,' he repeated, rather impatiently. "'He wants a thrashing, a good thrashing.' The doctor stamped in a perfect fury. "'And you know, apothecary, my Pergevon might bite,' said Collier, turning pale with quivering voice and flashing eyes. "'Easy, Pergevon!' "'Collier, if you say another word, I have nothing more to do with you,' Alyosha cried, preemptorily. "'There's only one man in the world who can command Nikolai Krosotkin. This is the man,' Collier pointed to Alyosha. "'I obey him. Good-bye.' He stepped forward, opened the door, and quickly went into the inner room. Pergevon flew after him. The doctor stood still for five seconds in amazement, looking at Alyosha. Then, with a curse, he went out quickly to the carriage, repeating aloud, "'This is—this is—I don't know what it is!' The captain darted forward to help him into the carriage. Alyosha followed Collier into the room. He was already by Alyosha's bedside. The sick boy was holding his hand and calling for his father. A minute later the captain, too, came back. "'Father, father, come—we—' Alyosha folded in violent excitement, but apparently unable to go on. He flung his wasted arms, found his father and Collier uniting them in one embrace, and hugging them as tightly as he could. The captain suddenly began to shake with dumb sobs, and Collier's lips and chin twitched. "'Father, father, how sorry I am for you,' Alyosha moaned bitterly. "'Alyosha, darling,' the doctor said, "'You would be all right. You shall be happy,' the doctor, the captain began. "'Ah, father, I know what the new doctor said to you about me.' "'I saw,' cried Alyosha, and again he hugged them both with all his strength, hiding his face on his father's shoulder. "'Father, don't cry, and when I die, get a good boy, another one. Choose one of them, a good one, call him Alyosha, and love him instead of me.' "'Her, shalt man, you'll get well,' Kosotkin cried suddenly, in a voice that sounded angry. "'But don't ever forget me, father,' Alyosha went on. "'Come to my grave, and, father, bury me by our big stone, where we used to go for our walk, and come to me there with Kosotkin in the evening, and Pergevon, I shall expect you. "'Father, father,' his voice broke. They were all three silent, still embracing. Nina was crying, quietly in her chair, and at last, seeing them all crying, Mama, too, burst into tears. "'Alyosha, Alyosha,' she exclaimed, Kosotkin suddenly released himself from Alyosha's embrace. "'Good-bye, old man. Mother expects me back to dinner,' he said quickly. "'What a pity I did not tell her. She'll be dreadfully anxious. But after dinner I'll come back to you, for the whole day, for the whole evening, and I'll tell you all sorts of things, all sorts of things, and I'll bring Pergevon. But now I'll take him with me, because he will begin to howl when I'm away and bother you. Good-bye.' And he ran out into the passage. He didn't want to cry, but in the passage he burst into tears. Alyosha found him crying. "'Kaulia, you must be sure to keep your word and come, or you'll be terribly disappointed,' Alyosha said emphatically. "'I will. Oh, how I cursed myself for not having come before,' muttered Kaulia, crying, and no longer ashamed of it. At that moment the captain flew out of the room, and at once closed the door behind him. His face looked frenzied, his lips were trembling. He stood before the two and flung up his arms. "'I don't want a good boy. I don't want another boy.' He muttered, in a wild whisper, clenching his teeth. "'If I forget thee, Jerusalem, may my tongue!' He broke off with a sob, and sank on his knees before the wooden bench. Pressing his fists against his head, he began sobbing with absurd, whimpering cries, doing as utmost that his cries should not be heard in the room. Kaulia ran out into the street. "'Good-bye, Karamazov. Will you come yourself?' He cried sharply and angrily to Alyosha. "'I will certainly come in the evening.' "'What was that he said about Jerusalem? What did he mean by that?' "'It's from the Bible. If I forget thee, Jerusalem, that is, if I forget all that is most precious to me, if I let anything take its place, then may—' "'I understand, that's enough. Mind you, come.' "'Acey, Perzvan!' He cried with positive ferocity to the dog, and with rapid strides he went home.' End of book 10. Book 11, Chapter 1 of the Brothers Karamazov. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Brothers Karamazov by Fiya George Ostoyevsky. Translated by Constance Garnett. Book 11, Ivan. CHAPTER I. AT GRESENKA'S. Alyosha went towards the cathedral square to the widow Marazov's house to see Groshenka, who had sent Fenya to him early in the morning with an urgent message begging him to come. Questioning Fenya, Alyosha learned that her mistress had been particularly distressed since the previous day. During the two months that had passed, since Mitya's arrest, Alyosha had called frequently at the widow Marazov's house, both from his own inclination and to take messages from Mitya. Three days after Mitya's arrest, Groshenka was taken very ill, and was ill for nearly five weeks. For one whole week she was unconscious. She was very much changed, thinner and a little sallow, though she had, for the past fortnight, been well enough to go out. But to Alyosha her face was even more attractive than before, and she liked to meet her eyes when he went into her. A look of firmness and intelligent purpose had developed in her face. There were signs of a spiritual transformation in her, and a steadfast, fine and humble determination that nothing could shake could be discerned in her. There was a small vertical line between her brows, which gave her charming face a look of concentrated thought, almost austere at the first glance. There was scarcely a trace of her former frivolity. It seemed strange to Alyosha, too, that in spite of the calamity that had overtaken the poor girl betrothed to a man who had been arrested for a terrible crime, almost at the instant of their betrothal, in spite of her illness and the most inevitable sentence hanging over Mitya, Groshenka had not yet lost her youthful cheerfulness. There was a soft light in the once-proud eyes, though at times they gleamed with the old vindictive fire when she was visited by one disturbing thought stronger than ever in her heart. The object of that uneasiness was the same as ever. Katerina Ivanova, of whom Groshenka had even raved when she lay in delirium. Alyosha knew that she was fearfully jealous of her, yet Katerina Ivanova had not once visited Mitya in his prison, though she might have done it whenever she liked. All this made it a difficult problem for Alyosha, for he was the only person to whom Groshenka opened her heart, and from whom she was continually asking advice. Sometimes he was unable to say anything. Full of anxiety he entered her lodging. She was at home. She had returned from seeing Mitya half an hour before, and from the rapid movement with which she leapt up from her chair to meet him, he saw that she had been expecting him with great impatience. A pack of cards dealt for a game of fools lay on the table. A bed had been made up, on the leather sofa, on the other side, and maximum of lay, half reclining on it. He wore a dressing gown and a cotton nightcap, and was evidently ill and weak, though he was smiling blissfully. When the homeless old man returned with Groshenka from Makro two months before, he had simply stayed on and was still staying with her. He arrived with her in rain and sleet, sat down on the sofa, drenched and scared, and gazed mutely at her with a timid, appealing smile. Groshenka, who was in terrible grief and in the first stage of fever, almost forgot his existence in all she had to do the first half hour after her arrival. Suddenly she chanced to look at him intently. He laughed a pitiful, helpless little laugh. She called Fenya and told her to give him something to eat. All that day he sat in the same place, almost without stirring. When it got dark and the shutters were closed Fenya asked her Mistress, is the gentleman going to stay the night, Mistress? Yes, make him a bed on the sofa, answered Groshenka. Questioning him in more detail, Groshenka learned from him that he had literally nowhere to go, and that Mr. Kalganov, my benefactor, told me straight that he wouldn't receive me again and gave me five rubles. Well, God bless you, you'd better stay, then Groshenka decided, in her grief, smiling compassionately at him. Her smile wrung the old man's heart and his lips twitched with grateful tears, and so the destitute wanderer had stayed with her ever since. He did not leave the house even when she was ill. Fenya and her grandmother, the cook, did not turn him out, but went on serving him meals and making up his bed on the sofa. Groshenka had grown used to him, and, coming back from seeing Mitya, whom she had begun to visit in prison before she was really well, she would sit down and begin talking to Maximushka about trifling matters, to keep her from thinking of her sorrow. The old man turned out to be a good storyteller on occasions, so that at last he became necessary to her. Groshenka saw scarcely anyone else beside Alyosha, who did not come every day and never stayed long. Her old merchant lay seriously ill at this time, at his last gasp, as they said in the town, and he did, in fact, die a week after Mitya's trial. Three weeks before his death, feeling the end approaching, he made his sons, their wives and children, come upstairs to him at last, and made them not leave him again. From that moment he gave strict orders to his servants, not to admit Groshenka and to tell her if she came. The master wishes you long life and happiness, and tells you to forget him, but Groshenka sent almost every day to inquire after him. "'You've come at last,' she cried, flinging down the cards and joyfully greeting Alyosha, and Maximushka's been scaring me that perhaps you wouldn't come. Ah, how I need you! Sit down to the table. What will you have coffee?' "'Yes, please,' said Alyosha, sitting down at the table. I am very hungry.' "'That's right, fenya, fenya, coffee,' cried Groshenka. "'It's been made a long time ready for you, and bring some little pies, and mind they are hot. Do you know we've had a storm over those pies today? I took them to the prison for him, and, was you believe it, he threw them back to me. He would not eat them. He flung one of them on the floor and stamped on it. So I said to him, I shall leave them with the water. If you don't eat them before evening, it will be that your venomous spite is enough for you. With that I went away. We quarreled again. Would you believe it? Whenever I go, we quarrel.' Groshenka said all this in one breath in her agitation. Maximov, feeling nervous, at once smiled and looked on the floor. "'What did you quarrel about this time?' asked Alyosha. "'I didn't expect it in the least. Silly fancy. He is jealous of the pole.' "'Why are you keeping him?' he said. So you've begun keeping him. He is jealous. Jealous of me all the time. Jealous eating and sleeping. He even took into his head to be jealous of Kuzma last week.' But he knew about the pole before. Yes, there it is. He has known about him from the very beginning, but today he suddenly got up and began scolding about him. I am ashamed to repeat what he said. Really, fellow, Raketian went in as I came out. Perhaps Raketian is egging him on. "'What do you think?' she added carelessly. "'He loves you. That's what it is. He loves you so much. And now he is particularly worried. I should think you might be with the trial tomorrow, and I went to him to say something about tomorrow, for I dread to think what's going to happen then. You say that he is worried. But how worried I am? And he talks about the pole. He's too silly. He is not jealous of Maximushka yet, anyway.' "'My wife was dreadfully jealous over me, too,' Maximov put in his word. "'Jealous of you?' Grishanka laughed in spite of herself. "'Of whom could she have been jealous?' "'Of the servant-girls.' "'Hold your tongue, Maximushka. I am in no laughing mood now. I feel angry. Don't ogle the pies. I shan't give you any. They are not good for you. And I won't give you any vodka, either. I have to look after him, too, just as though I kept an alms-house,' she laughed. "'I don't deserve your kindness. I am a worthless creature,' said Maximov, with tears in his voice. You would do better to spend your kindness on people of more use than me.' "'Ech! Everyone is of use, Maximushka. And how can we tell who's of most use? If only that pole didn't exist, Ayosha. He's taken it into his head to fall ill, too, to-day. I've been to see him also. And I shall send him some pies, too, on purpose. I hadn't sent him any, but Mitya accused me of it, so now I shall send some. Ah! Here's Venya with a letter. Yes, it's from the Poles begging again.' Pan Musilovitch had indeed sent an extremely long and characteristically eloquent letter in which he begged her to lend him three rubles. In the letter was enclosed a receipt for the sum, with a promise to repay it within three months, signed by Pan Vrblevski as well. Grishanka had received many such letters, accompanied by such receipts from her former lover during the fortnight of her convalescence. But she knew that the two Poles had been to ask after her health during her illness. The first letter Grishanka got from them was a long one, written on large note paper, and with a big family crest on the seal. It was so obscure and rhetorical that Grishanka put it down before she had read half, unable to make head or tail of it. She could not attend to letters then. The first letter was followed next day by another in which Pan Musilovitch begged her for a loan of two thousand rubles for a very short period. Grishanka left that letter, too, unanswered. A whole series of letters had followed, one every day, all as pompous and rhetorical, but the loan asked for, gradually diminishing, drop to a hundred rubles, then to twenty-five, to ten, and finally Grishanka received a letter in which both the Poles begged her for only one ruble and included a receipt signed by both. Then Grishanka suddenly felt sorry for them, and at dusk she went round herself to their lodging. She found the two Poles in great poverty, almost destitution, without food or fuel, without cigarettes, in debt to their landlady. The two hundred rubles they had carried off from Metia at Makro had soon disappeared. But Grishanka was surprised at their meeting with her arrogant dignity and self-assertion with the greatest punctilio and pompous species. Grishanka simply laughed, and gave her former admirer ten rubles. Then, laughing, she told Metia of it, and he was not in the least jealous. But ever since, the Poles had attached themselves to Grishanka and bombarded her daily with requests for money, and she had always sent them small sums. And now that day Metia had taken it into his head to be fearfully jealous. Like a fool, I went round to him, just for a minute, on the way to see Metia. For he is ill, too, my pole. Grishanka began again with nervous haste. I was laughing, telling Metia about it. Fancy, I said. My pole had the happy thought to sing his old songs to me to the guitar. He thought I would be touched and marry him. Metia leapt up swearing. So there, I'll send them the pies. But Fenya, is it that little girl they've sent? Here, give her three rubles and pack up a dozen pies in a paper, and tell her to take them. And you, Alyosha, be sure to tell Metia that I did send them the pies. I wouldn't tell him for anything, said Alyosha, smiling. Ech, you think he is unhappy about it. Why, he's jealous on purpose. He doesn't care, said Grishanka bitterly. On purpose, queried Alyosha. I tell you you are silly, Alyosha. You know nothing about it, with all your cleverness. I am not offended that he is jealous of a girl like me. I would be offended if he were not jealous. I am like that. I am not offended at jealousy. I have a fierce heart, too. I can be jealous myself. Only what offends me is that he doesn't love me at all. I tell you, he is jealous now on purpose. Am I blind, don't I see? He began talking to me just now of that woman of Catarina, saying she was this and that, and she had ordered a doctor from Moscow for him to try and save him, how she had ordered the best counsel, the most learned one, too. So he loves her, if he'll praise her, to my face, more shame to him. He's treated me badly himself, so he attacked me to make out I am in fault first, and to throw it all on me. You were with your pole before me, so I can't be blamed for Catarina. That's what it amounts to. He wants to throw the whole blame on me. He attacked me on purpose. On purpose, I tell you, but I'll—Grishanka could not finish saying what she would. She hit her eyes in her handkerchief, and sobbed violently. He doesn't love, Catarina Ivanova, said Aloyosha firmly. Well, whether he loves her or not, I'll soon find out for myself, said Grishanka, with a menacing note in her voice, ticking the handkerchief from her eyes. Her face was distorted. Aloyosha saw sorrowfully, that from being mild and serene, it had become sullen and spiteful. Enough of this foolishness, she said suddenly, it's not for that I sent you. Aloyosha, darling, to-morrow. What will happen to-morrow? That's what worries me, and it's only me it worries. I look at everything, and no one is thinking of it. No one cares about it. Are you thinking about it, then? Tomorrow he'll be tried, you know. Tell me, how will he be tried? You know it's the valet. The valet killed him. Good heavens! Can they condemn him in place of the valet, and will no one stand up for him? They haven't troubled the valet at all, have they? He's been severely cross-examined, observed Aloyosha thoughtfully. But everyone came to the conclusion it was not he. Now he is lying very ill. He has been ill ever since the attack. Really ill, added Aloyosha. Oh dear, couldn't you go to that council yourself, and tell him the whole thing by yourself? He's been brought from Petersburg for three thousand rubles, they say. We gave these three thousand together, even Katerina Ivanovna and I, but she paid two thousand for the doctor from Moscow herself. The council, Fetya Kovic, would have charged me more, but the case has become known all over Russia, it's talked of in the papers and journals. Fetya Kovic agreed to come more for the glory of the thing, because the case became so notorious. I saw him yesterday. Well, did you talk to him? Grishenko put in eagerly. He listened and said nothing. He told me that he had already formed his opinion, but he promised to give my words consideration. Consideration? Ah, they are swindlers, they'll ruin him! And why did she send for the doctor? As an expert, they want to prove that Mitya's mad and committed a murder when he didn't know what he was doing. Al-Yusha smiled gently. But Mitya won't agree to that. Yes, but that would be the truth, if he had killed him, cried Grishenko. He was mad then, perfectly mad, and that was my fault, wretch, that I am. But, of course, he didn't do it. He didn't do it. And they are all against him, the whole town. And Fenya's evidence went to prove he had done it. And the people at the shop, and that official, and at the tavern too, before, people had heard him say so. They are all, all against him, all crying out against him. Yes, there's a fearful accumulation of evidence, Al-Yusha observed grimly. And Grigory, Grigory Vasilyevitch, sticks to his story that the door was open, persists, that he saw it, there's no shaking him. I went and talked to him myself. He's rude about it, too. Yes, that's perhaps the strongest evidence against him, said Al-Yusha. And as for Mitya's being mad, he certainly seems like it now, Grishenko began with a peculiarly anxious and mysterious error. Do you know, Al-Yusha, I've been wanting to talk to you about it for a long time. I go to him every day and simply wonder about him. Tell me now, what do you suppose he's always talking about? He talks and talks, and I can make nothing of it. I fancied he was talking of something intellectual that I couldn't understand in my foolishness. Only he suddenly began talking to me about a babe, that is, about some child. Why is the babe poor, he said? It's for the babe I am going to Siberia now. I am not a murderer, but I must go to Siberia. What that meant, what babe, I couldn't tell for the life of me. Only I cried when he said it, because he said it so nicely. He cried himself, and I cried, too. He suddenly kissed me and made the sign of the cross over me. What did it mean, Al-Yusha? Tell me. What is this babe? It must be Raketian, who's been going to see him lately, smiled Al-Yusha. So that's not Raketian's doing. I didn't see Mitya yesterday. I'll see him today. No, it's not Raketian. It's his brother, even Fyodorovich, upsetting him. It's his going to see him. That's what it is. Krashenka began, and suddenly broke off. Al-Yusha gazed at her in amazement. Evens going? Has he been to see him? They told me himself, that even hasn't been once. There, there, what a girl I am. Blorting things out, exclaimed Krashenka, confused and suddenly blushing. Stay, Al-Yusha, hush. Since I've said so much, I'll tell the whole truth. He's been to see him twice. The first directly he arrived. He galloped here from Moscow at once. Of course, before I was taken ill, and the second time was a week ago. He told me to not to tell you about it, under any circumstances, and not to tell anyone in fact. He came secretly. Al-Yusha sat, plunged in thought, considering something. The news evidently impressed him. Even doesn't talk to me of Mechia's case, he said slowly. He said very little to me these last two months. And whenever I go to see him, he seems vexed at my coming, so I have not been to him for the last three weeks. Hmm. If he was there a week ago, there certainly has been a change in Mechia this week. There has been a change, Krashenka assented quickly. They have a secret. They have a secret. Mechia told me herself, there was a secret, and such a secret that Mechia can't rest. Before then he was cheerful, and indeed he is cheerful now, but when he shakes his head like that, you know, and strides about the room, and keeps pulling at the hair on his right temple with his right hand, I know there is something on his mind worrying him, I know. He was cheerful before, though indeed he is cheerful today. But you said he was worried. Yes, he is worried, and yet cheerful. He keeps going on being irritable for a minute, and then cheerful, and then irritable again. And you know, Alyosha, I am constantly wondering at him. With this awful thing hanging over him, he sometimes laughs at such trifles as though he were a baby himself. And did he really tell you not to tell me about even? Did he say, don't tell him? Yes, he told me, don't tell him. It's you that Mechia is most afraid of. Because it's a secret, he said himself it was a secret. Alyosha, darling, go to him, and find out what the secret is, and come and tell me. Grushenka besought him with sudden eagerness. Set my mind at rest, that I may know the worst that's in store for me. That's why I sent for you. You think it's something to do with you? If it were, he wouldn't have told you there was a secret. I don't know, perhaps he wants to tell me, but doesn't dare to. He warns me. There's a secret he tells me, but he won't tell me what it is. What do you think yourself? What do I think? It's the end for me, that's what I think. They all three have been plotting my end, for Katerina's in it. It's all Katerina, it all comes from her. She is this and that, and that means that I am not. He tells me that beforehand, warns me. He is planning to throw me over. That's the whole secret. They've planted together the three of them, Mitya, Katerina, and even Fyodorovich. Alyosha, I've been wanting to ask you a long time. A week ago he suddenly told me that even was in love with Katerina, because he often goes to see her. Did he tell me the truth or not? Tell me, on your conscience, tell me the worst. I won't tell you a lie. Even is not in love with Katerina, even over, I think. Oh, that is what I thought. He is lying to me, shameless deceiver, that's what it is, and he was jealous of me just now. So as to put the blame on me afterwards. He is stupid, he can't disguise what he is doing. He is so open, you know. But I'll give it to him. I'll give it to him. You believe I did it, he said. He said that to me. To me. He reproached me with that. God forgive him. You wait. I'll make it hot for Katerina at the trial. I'll just say a word then. I'll tell everything then. And again she cried bitterly. This I can tell you for certain Grishanka, Alyosha said, getting up. First that he loves you. He loves you more than anyone in the world. And you only, believe me, I know. I do know. The second thing is, I don't want to worm his secret out of him. But if he'll tell me of himself today, I shall tell him straight out that I have promised to tell you. Then I'll come to you today and tell you. Only, I fancy, Katerina even over has nothing to do with it. And that the secret is about something else. That's certain. It isn't likely, it's about Katerina even over. It seems to me. Goodbye for now. Alyosha shook hands with her. Grishanka was still crying. He saw that she put little faith in his consolation. But she was better for having had her sorrow out, for having spoken of it. He was sorry to leave her in such a state of mind, but he was in haste. He had a great many things to do still. The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky translated by Konstantin Skarnet. Book 11, Chapter 2, The Injured Foot. The first of these things was at the house of Madame Holokov. And he hurried there to get it over as quickly as possible and not be too late for Metia. Madame Holokov had been slightly ailing for the last three weeks. Her foot had, for some reason, swollen up, and, though she was not in bed, she lay all day, half reclining, on the couch in her boudoir, in a fascinating but decorous dechabil. Alyosha had once noted with innocent amusement that, in spite of her illness, Madame Holokov had begun to be rather dressy. Topknotts, ribbons, loose wrappers had made their appearance, and he had an inkling of the reason, though he dismissed such ideas from his mind as frivolous. During the last two months the young official, Peratin, had become a regular visitor at the house. Alyosha had not called for four days, and he was in haste to go straight to Lys, as it was with her he had to speak. For Lys had sent a maid to him the previous day, especially asking him to come up to her about something very important, a request which, for certain reasons, had interest for Alyosha. But while the maid went to take his name in to Lys, Madame Holokov heard of his arrival from someone, and immediately sent to beg him to come to her just for one minute. Alyosha reflected that it was better to accede to the mamma's request, or else she would be sending down to Lys's room every minute that he was there. Madame Holokov was lying on a couch. She was particularly smartly dressed, and was evidently in a state of extreme nervous excitement. She greeted Alyosha with cries of rapture. It's ages, ages, perfect ages since I've seen you. It's a whole week, only think of it. Ah, but you were here only four days ago, on Wednesday. You have come to see Lys. I'm sure you meant to slip into her room on tiptoe without my hearing you. My dear, dear Alexi Fyodorovich, if you only knew how worried I am about her. But of that later, though that's the most important thing, of that later. Dear Alexi Fyodorovich, I trust you implicitly with my lies. Since the death of Father Zosima, God rest his soul, she crossed herself, I look upon you as a monk, though you look charming in your suit. Where did you find such a tailor in these parts? No, no, that's not the chief thing, of that later. Forgive me for sometimes calling you Alyosha. An old woman like me may take liberties, she smiled coquettishly, but that will do later too. The important thing is that I shouldn't forget what is important. Please remind me of it yourself. As soon as my tongue runs away with me, you just say, the important thing? Ah, how do I know now what is of most importance? Ever since Lys took back her promise, her childish promise, Alexi Fyodorovich, to marry you, you've realized, of course, that it was only the playful fancy of a sick child who had been so long confined to her chair. Thank God, she can walk now. That new doctor, Cape Tia, sent for from Moscow for your unhappy brother, who will to-morrow, but my speak of to-morrow, I am ready to die at the very thought of to-morrow, ready to die of curiosity. That doctor was with us yesterday and saw Lys, I paid him fifty rubles for the visit, but that's not the point, that's not the point again. You see, I'm mixing everything up. I am in such a hurry. Why am I in a hurry? I don't understand. It's awful how I seem unable to understand anything. Everything seems mixed up in a sort of tangle. I am afraid. You are being so bored, you will jump up and run away. And that will be all I shall see of you. Goodness! Why are we sitting here and no coffee? Yulia Glafira, coffee! Ayusha made haste to thank her, and said that he had only just had coffee. Where? At Arfegna, Alex Androvna's. At that woman's? Ah, it she has brought ruin on everyone. I know nothing about it, though. They say she has become a saint, though it's rather late in the day. She had better had done it before. What use is it now? Hush, hush, Alexi Fedorovich, for I have so much to say to you that I am afraid I shall tell you nothing, this awful trial. I shall certainly go. I am making arrangements. I shall be carried there in my chair. Besides, I can sit up. I shall have people with me. And, you know, I am a witness. How shall I speak? How shall I speak? I don't know what to say. One has to take an oath, hasn't one? Yes, but I don't think you will be able to go. I can sit up. Ah, you put me out. Ah, this trial, this savage act. And then they are all going to Siberia. Some are getting married, and all this so quickly. So quickly, everything's changing. And at last, nothing. All grow old and have death to look forward to. Well, so be it. I am weary. This Katiea, said Sharmanta persona, has disappointed all my hopes. Now she is going to follow one of your brothers to Siberia. And your other brother is going to follow her, and will live in the nearest town. And they will all torment one another. It drives me out of my mind. Worst of all, the publicity. The story has been told a million times over in all the papers in Moscow and Petersburg. Ah, yes, would you believe it? There's a paragraph that I was a dear friend of your brothers. I can't repeat the hard word. Just fancy. Just fancy. Impossible. Where was the paragraph? What did it say? I'll show you directly. I got the paper and read it yesterday. Here, in the Petersburg paper gossip, the paper began coming out this year. I am awfully fond of gossip, and I take it in, and now it pays me out. This is what gossip comes to. Here it is. Here, this passage. Read it. She handed Al-Yoshia a sheet of newspaper, which had been under her pillow. It was not exactly that she was upset. She seemed overwhelmed, and perhaps everything really was mixed up in a tangle in her head. The paragraph was very typical, and must have been a great shock to her, but fortunately perhaps she was unable to keep her mind fixed on any one subject at that moment, and so might race off in a minute to something else and quite forget the newspaper. Al-Yoshia was well aware that the story of the terrible case had spread all over Russia, and good heavens what wild rumors about his brother, about the Karamazovs, and about himself he had read in the course over these two months, among other equally credible items. One paper had even stated that he had gone into a monastery and become a monk in horror at his brother's crime. Another contradicted this, and stated that he, and his elder, Father Zosima, had broken into a monastery chest and made tracks from the monastery. The present paragraph in the paper gossip was under the heading, the Karamazov case, at Skotepriginyevsk. That, alas, was the name of our little town I had hitherto kept it concealed. It was brief, and Madame Holokov was not directly mentioned in it. No names appeared, in fact. It was merely stated that the criminal whose approaching trial was making such a sensation, retired army captain, an idle swaggerer, and reactionary bully was continually involved in amorous intrigues, and particularly popular with certain ladies who were pining in solitude. One such lady, a pining widow, who tried to seem young, though she had a grown-up daughter, was so fascinated by him that only two hours before the crime she offered him three thousand rubles, on condition that he would elope with her to the gold mines. But the criminal, counting on escaping punishment, had preferred to murder his father, to get the three thousand, rather than go off to Siberia, with the middle-aged charms of his pining lady. This playful paragraph finished, of course, with an outburst of generous indignation at the wickedness of parasite, and at the lately abolished institution of serfdom. Reading it with curiosity, Al-Yoshia folds it up the paper and handed it back to Madame Holokov. Well, that must be me, she hurried on again. Of course I am meant, scarcely more than an hour before, I suggested gold mines to him, and here they talk of middle-aged charms, as though they were my motive. He writes that out of spite. God almighty forgive him for the middle-aged charms, as I forgive him. You know it's, do you know who it is? It's your friend, Raketian. Perhaps, said Al-Yoshia, though I've heard nothing about it. It's he, it's he, no perhaps about it. You know I turned him out of the house. You know all that story, don't you? I know that you asked him not to visit you for the future, but why it was I haven't heard, from you at least. Ah, then you've heard it from him. He abuses me, I suppose, abuses me dreadfully. Yes, he does, but then he abuses everyone. But why you've given him up? I haven't heard from him either. I meet him very seldom now, indeed. We are not friends. Well, then I'll tell you all about it. There's no help for it. I'll confess, for there is one point in which I was perhaps to blame. Only a little, little point. So little that perhaps it doesn't count. You see, my dear boy. Madam Holokov suddenly looked arched and a charming, though enigmatic, smile played about her lips. You see, I suspect, you must forgive me, Al-Yoshia. I am like a mother to you. No, no, quite the contrary. I speak to you now as though you were my father. Mother's quite out of place. Well, it's as though I were confessing to Father Zosima. That's just it. I called you a monk just now. Well, that poor young man, your friends, Rakhidian. Mercy upon us, I can't be angry with him. I feel cross, but not 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 first, a month ago, he only began to come oftener to see me, almost every day. And 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, Ilyich Perhutin, who's 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, isn't 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 awful day, he almost saved me from death by coming in the night. And your friend, Rakhidian, comes in such boots, and always stretches them out on the carpet. He began hinting at his feelings, 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 Peter, Ilyich, here before, and would you believe it, he is always giving 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 here alone. No, I was laid up then. Well, I was lying here alone, and suddenly Rakhidian comes in. And only fancy, brought me some verses of his own composition, a short poem on my bad foot. That is, he described my foot in a poem. Wait a minute. How did it go? A captivating little foot. It began somehow like that. I can never remember poetry. I've got it here. I'll show it to you later. But it's a charming thing, charming, and, you know, it's not only about the foot. It had a good moral, too. A charming idea, only I've forgotten it. In fact, it was just the thing for an album. So, of course, I thanked him, and he was evidently flattered. I'd hardly had time to thank him when in comes Peter Ilyich, and Rakhidian suddenly looked as black as night. I could see that Peter Ilyich was in the way. And Rakhidian certainly wanted to say something after giving me the verses. I had a presentiment of it, but Peter Ilyich came in. I showed Peter Ilyich the verses and didn't say who was the author. But I am convinced that he guessed, though he won't own it to this day, and declares he had no idea. But he says that on purpose. Peter Ilyich began to laugh at once and felt a criticising it. Wretched dog-girl, 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, they'll 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 women's feats, while I wrote with a moral purpose, and you, said he, are an advocate of serfdom. You've no humane ideas, said he. You have no modern and lightened 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 Peter Ilyich is anything but a coward. He at once took up the most gentlemanly tone, looked at him sarcastically, listened, and apologized. I had no idea, said he. I shouldn't 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 cover of the most gentlemanly tone. He explained to me afterwards that it was all sarcastic. I thought he was an earnest. Only as I lay there, just as before, you know, I thought, would it or would it not be the proper thing for me to turn Rackety in 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, and my heart began to beat. And I couldn't make up my mind whether to make an outcry or not. One voice seemed to be telling me, Speak, and the other, No, don't speak. And no sooner had the second voice said that than I cried out and fainted. Of course, there was a fuss. I got up suddenly and said to Racketyan, it is painful for me to say it, but I don't wish to see you in my house again. So I turned him out. Ah, Alexey Fyodorovich, I know myself, I did wrong. I was putting it on. I wasn't angry with him at all, really, but I suddenly fancied, that was what did it, that it would be such a fine scene. And yet, believe me, it was quite natural, for I really shed tears and cried for several days afterwards, and then suddenly, one afternoon, I forgot all about it. So it's a fortnight since he's been here, and I kept wondering whether he would come again. I wondered even yesterday, then suddenly last night came this gossip. I read it and gasped. Who could have written it? He must have written it. He went home, sat down, wrote it on the spot, sent it, and they put it in. It was a fortnight ago, you see, but, Alyosha, it's awful how I keep talking and don't say what I want to say. The words come of themselves. It's very important for me to be in time to see my brother today, Alyosha faltered. To be sure, to be sure, you bring it all back to me. Listen, what is an aberration? What aberration? Asked Alyosha, wondering. In the legal sense, an aberration in which everything is pardonable. Whatever you do, you'll be acquitted at once. What do you mean? I'll tell you. This Katie, she is a charming, charming creature. Only I never can make out who it is she is in love with. She was with me some time ago and I couldn't get anything out of her, especially as she won't talk to me except on the surface now. She is always talking about my health and nothing else and she takes up such a turn with me too. I simply said to myself, well, so be it, I don't care. Oh yes, I was talking of aberration. This doctor has come. You know a doctor has come. Of course you know it, the one who discovers madmen. You wrote for him. No, it wasn't you, but Katie, it's all Katie is doing. Well, you see, a man may be sitting perfectly sane and suddenly have an aberration. He may be conscious and know what he is doing and yet be in a state of aberration. And there's no doubt that Dmitri Fedorovich was suffering from aberration. They found out about aberration as soon as the law courts were reformed. It's all the good effect of the reformed law courts. The doctor has been here and questioned me about that evening, about the gold mines. How did he seem then? He asked me. He must have been in a state of aberration. He came in shouting, money, money, 3,000, give me 3,000. And then went away and immediately did the murder. I don't want to murder him, he said. And he suddenly went and murdered him. That's why they'll acquit him because he struggled against it. And yet he murdered him. But he didn't murder him. Alyosha interrupted rather sharply. He felt more and more sick with anxiety and impatience. Yes, I know, it was that old man Grigory murdered him. Grigory cried Alyosha. Yes, yes, it was Grigory. He lay as Dmitri Fedorovich, struck him down and then got up, saw the door open, went in and killed Fyodor Pavlovich. But why, why? Suffering from aberration? When he recovered from the blow Dmitri Fedorovich gave him on the head, he was suffering from aberration. He went and committed the murder. As for his saying he didn't, he very likely doesn't remember. Only you know, it'll be better, ever so much better if Dmitri Fedorovich murdered him. And that's how it must have been. Though I say it was Grigory. It certainly was Dmitri Fedorovich. And that's better, ever so much better. Oh, not better that a son should have killed his father. I don't defend that. Children ought to honor their parents. And yet it would be better if it were he, as you'd have nothing to cry over then. For he did it when he was unconscious, rather than when he was conscious. But did not know what he was doing. Let them acquit him. That's so humane. And would show what a blessing Reformed law courts are. I knew nothing about it, but they say they have been so a long time. And when I heard it yesterday, I was so struck by it that I wanted to send for you at once. And if he is acquitted, make him come straight from the law courts to dinner with me and I'll have a party of friends and we'll drink to the Reformed law courts. I don't believe he'd be dangerous. Besides, I'll invite a great many friends so that he could always be let out if he did anything. And then he might be made a justice of the peace or something in another town. For those who have been in trouble themselves make the best judges. And besides, who isn't suffering from an aberration now-a-days, you, I, all of us are in a state of aberration and there are ever so many examples of it. A man sits singing a song, suddenly something annoys him. He takes the pistol and shoots the first person he comes across and no one blames him for it. I read that lately and all the doctors confirm it. The doctors are always confirming. They confirm anything. Why, my Lies is in a state of aberration. She made me cry again yesterday and the day before too. And today I suddenly realized that it's all due to aberration. Oh, Lies grieves me so. I believe she's quite mad. Why did she send for you? Did she send for you or did you come of yourself? Yes, she sent for me. And I am just going to her. I'll you should got up resolutely. Oh, my dear, dear Alexi Fidguravich, perhaps that's what's most important. Madam Holokov cried, suddenly bursting into tears. God knows I trust Lies to you with all my heart and it's no matter her sending for you on the sly without telling her mother. But forgive me, I can't trust my daughter so easily to your brother even Fidguravich, though I still consider him the most chivalrous young man. But only fancy, he's been to see Lies and I know nothing about it. How? What, when? Alyosha was exceedingly surprised. He had not sat down again and listened standing. I will tell you, that's perhaps why I asked you to come, for I don't know now why I did ask you to come. Well, even Fidguravich has been to see me twice since he came back from Moscow. First time he came as a friend to call on me and the second time Keiichi was here and he came because he heard she was here. I didn't, of course, expect him to come often, knowing what a lot he has to do as it is. You, called friends, s'est affaire et la mort terrible de vote papa. You know this affair and your father's terrible death. But I suddenly heard that he's been here again, not to see me but to see Lies. That's six days ago now. He came, stayed for five minutes and went away and I didn't hear of it till three days afterwards from Glefira, so it was a great shock to me. I sent for Lies directly. She laughed. He thought you were asleep, she said, and came into me to ask after your health. Of course that's how it happened, but Lies lies mercy on us how she distresses me. Would you believe it one night four days ago, just after you saw her last time and had gone away, she suddenly had a fit, screaming, shrieking hysterics. Why is it I never have hysterics? Then next day another fit, and the same thing on the third and yesterday too, and then yesterday that aberration. She suddenly screamed out, I hate even Fyodorovitch. I insist on your never letting him come to the house again. I was struck dumb at these amazing words and answered, on what grounds could I refuse to see such an excellent young man, a young man of such learning too, and so unfortunate, for all this business is a misfortune, isn't it? She suddenly burst out laughing at my words. And so rudely you know. Well, I was pleased. I thought I had amused her and the fits would pass off, especially as I wanted to refuse to see even Fyodorovitch, anyway on account of his strange visits without my knowledge. It meant to ask him for an explanation. But early this morning Lies waked up and flew into a passion with Yulia, and, would you believe it, slapped her in the face. That's monstrous. I am always polite to my servants. And an hour later she was hugging Yulia's feet and kissing them. She sent a message to me that she wasn't coming to me at all and would never come and see me again. And when I dragged myself down to her, she rushed to kiss me, crying, and as she kissed me, she pushed me out of the room without saying a word. So I couldn't find out what was the matter. Now, dear Alexey Fyodorovitch, I rest all my hopes on you. And, of course, my whole life is in your hands. I simply beg you to go to Lies and find out everything from her, as you alone can, and come back and tell me, me, her mother, for you understand it will be the death of me, simply the death of me, if this goes on, or else I shall run away. I can stand no more. I have patience, but I may lose patience. And then, then something awful will happen. Ah, dear me, at last, Petyar Ilyich, cried Madame Holokov, beaming all over as she saw. Paroutine entered the room. You are late, you are late. Well, sit down, speak, put us out of suspense. What does the council say? Where are you off to, Alexey Fyodorovitch? To Lies. Oh, yes, you won't forget, you won't forget what I asked you. It's a question of life and death. Of course I won't forget, if I can, but I am so late, murdered Alyosha, beating a hasty retreat. No, be sure but to come in. Don't say, if I can, I shall die if you don't, Madame Holokov called after him, but Alyosha had already left the room. End of chapter 2 of book 11. Recording by Katie Riley. May 2009. Book 11, chapter 3 of The Brothers Karamazov. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Luke Cordes. The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Translated by Konstantin Garnet. Book 11, chapter 3. A Little Demon. Going into Lies, he found her half reclining in the invalid chair in which she had been wheeled when she was unable to walk. She did not move to meet him, but her sharp, keen eyes were simply riveted on his face. There was a feverish look in her eyes, but her face was pale and yellow. Alyosha was amazed at the change that had taken place in her in three days. She was positively thinner. She did not hold out her hand to him. He touched the thin, long fingers which lay motionless on her dress, then he sat down facing her without a word. I know you are in a hurry to get to the prison, Liz said currently. And mamas kept you there for hours. He's just been telling you about me and Yulia. How do you know? Ask Alyosha. I've been listening. Why do you stare at me? I want to listen and I do listen. There's no harm in that. I don't apologize. You are upset about something? On the contrary, I am very happy. I've only just been reflecting for the thirtieth time what a good thing it is I refused you and shall not be your wife. You're not fit to be husband. If I were to marry you and give you a note to take to the man I left after you, you'd take it and be sure to give it to him and bring an answer back, too. If you were forty, you would still go on taking my love letters for me. She suddenly laughed. There is something spiteful and yet open-hearted about you, Alyosha smiled to her. The open-heartedness consists in my not being ashamed of myself with you. It's more. I don't want to feel ashamed with you. Just with you. Alyosha, why is it that I don't respect you? I am very fond of you, but I don't respect you. If I respected you, I shouldn't talk to you without shame, should I? No. But do you believe that I am not ashamed with you? No, I don't believe it. Liz laughed nervously again. She spoke rapidly. I sent your brother, Dmitry Fyodorovich, some sweets in prison. Alyosha, you know, you are quite pretty. I shall love you awfully for having so quickly allowed me not to love you. Why did you send for me to Daelis? I wanted to tell you of a longing I have. I should like someone to torture me, marry me and then torture me, deceive me and go away. I don't want to be happy. You are in love with disorder? Yes, I want disorder. I keep wanting to set fire to the house. I keep imagining how I'll creep up and set fire to the house on the sly. It must be on the sly, they'll try to put it out, but I'll go on burning, and I shall know and say nothing. What silliness, and how bored I am. She weighed her hand with a look of repulsion. It is your luxurious life, said Alyosha softly. Is it better than to be poor? Yes, it is better. That's what your monk taught you. That's not true. Let me be rich and all the rest poor. I'll eat sweets and drink cream and not give any to anyone else. I don't speak, don't say anything. She shook her hand at him, though Alyosha had not opened his mouth. You've told me all that before, I know it all by heart. It bores me. If I am ever poor, I shall murder somebody, and even if I'm rich, I may murder someone perhaps. Why do nothing? But do you know I should like to reap, cut the rye? I'll marry you and you shall become a peasant, a real peasant. We'll keep a cold, shall we? Do you know Kalganosh? Yes. He's always wondering about dreaming. He says, why live in real life, it's better to dream. One can dream the most delightful things, but real life is a bore. But he'll be married soon for all that. He's been making love to me already. Can you spin tops? Yes. Well, he's just like a top. He wants to be wound up and set spinning and then to be lashed, lashed, lashed with a whip. If I marry him, I'll keep him spinning all his life. You're not ashamed to be with me. No. You are awfully cross because I don't talk about holy things. I don't want to be holy. What will they do to one in the next world for the greatest sin? You must know all about that. God will censure you. Alosha was watching her steadily. That's just what I should like. I would go up and they would censure me and I would burst out laughing in their faces. I should dreadfully like to set fire to the house, Alosha, to our house. You still don't believe me? Why? There are children of 12 years old who have a longing to set fire to something and they do set things on fire too. It's a sort of disease. That's not true. That's not true. There may be children, but that's not what I mean. You take evil for good. It's a passing crisis. It's the result of your illness, perhaps. You do despise me, though. It's simply that I don't want to do good. I want to do evil, and it has nothing to do with illness. Why do evil? So that everything might be destroyed. Ha, how nice it would be if everything were destroyed. You know, Alosha, I sometimes think of doing a fearful lot of harm and everything bad and I should do it for a long while on the sly and suddenly everyone would find out. Everyone would stand round and point their fingers at me and I would look at them all. That would be awfully nice. Why would it be so nice, Alosha? I don't know. It's a craving to destroy something good or, as you say, to set fire to something. It happens sometimes. I not only say it, I shall do it. I believe you. How I love you for saying you believe me, and you are not lying one little bit. But perhaps you think that I am saying all this on purpose to annoy you. No, I don't think that. Though perhaps there is a little desire to do that in it too. There is a little. I never can tell lies to you, she declared with a strange fire in her eyes. What struck Alosha above everything was her earnestness. There was not a trace of humor or jesting in her face now, though in old days, fun and gaiety never deserted her even at her most earnest moments. There are moments when people love crime, said Alosha thoughtfully. Yes, yes. You have uttered my thought. They love crime. Everyone loves crime. They love it always, not at some moments. You know, it's as though people have made an agreement to lie about it and have lied about it ever since. They all declare that they hate evil, but secretly, they all love it. And are you still reading nasty books? Yes, I am. Mama reads them and hides them under her pillow and I steal them. Aren't you ashamed to destroy yourself? I want to destroy myself. There is a boy here who lay down between the railway lines when the train was passing. Lucky fellow. Listen, your brother is being tried now for murdering his father and everyone loves his having killed his father. Loves his having killed his father? Yes, loves it. Everyone loves it. They says it so awful, but secretly they simply love it. I for one love it. There is some truth in what you say about everyone, said Alosha softly. Oh, what ideas you have, Lee streaked in delight, and you a monk too. You wouldn't believe how I respect you, Alosha, for never telling lies. Oh, I must tell you a funny dream of mine. I sometimes dream of devils. It's night. I am in my room with a candle and suddenly there are devils all over the place and all the corners under the table and they all open the doors. There's a crowd of them behind the doors and they want to come and seize me. And they are just coming, just seizing me. But I suddenly cross myself and they all draw back. Though they don't go away altogether, they stand at the doors and in the corners waiting. And suddenly I have a frightful longing to revile God aloud and so I begin. And then they come crowding back to me, delighted, and seize me again. And I cross myself again and they all draw back again. It's awful fun. It takes one's breath away. I've had the same dream too, said Alosha suddenly. Really? cried Lee's surprised. I say Alosha, don't laugh. That's awfully important. Do two different people have the same dream? It seems they can. Alosha, I tell you, it's awfully important. Liz went on with really excessive amazement. It's not the dream that's important, but you having the same dream as me. You never lie to me, don't lie now. Is it true? You're not laughing. It's true. Liz seemed extraordinarily impressed and for half a minute she was silent. Alosha, come and see me. Come and see me more often, she said suddenly in a supplicating voice. I'll always come to see you. All my life, answered Alosha firmly. You are the only person I can talk to, you know? Liz began again. I talk to no one but myself and you, only you in the whole world. And to you more readily than to myself. And I am not a bit ashamed with you. Not a bit. Alosha, why am I not ashamed with you? Not a bit. Alosha, is it true that at Easter the Jews steal a child and kill it? I don't know. There's a book here in which I read about the trial of a Jew who took a child of four years old and cut off the fingers from both hands and then crucified him on the wall, hammered nails into him and crucified him and afterwards, when he was tried, he said that the child died soon, within four hours. That was soon. He said the child moaned, kept on moaning and he stood admiring it. That's nice. Nice? Nice. I sometimes imagine that it was I who crucified him. He would hang there moaning and I would sit opposite him, eating pineapple comfort. I am awfully fond of pineapple comfort. Do you like it? Alosha looked at her in silence. Her pale, sallow face was suddenly contorted. Her eyes burned. You know, when I read about that Jew, I shook with sobs all night. I kept fancying how the little thing cried and moaned. A child of four years old understands, you know. And all the while the thought of pineapple comfort haunted me. In the morning I wrote a letter to a certain person, begging him particularly to come and see me. He came and I suddenly told him all about the child and the pineapple comfort, all about it, all, and said that it was nice. He laughed and said it really was nice. Then he got up and went away. He was only here five minutes. Did he despise me? Did he despise me? Tell me, tell me, Alosha, did he despise me or not? She sat up on the couch with flashing eyes. Tell me, Alosha asked anxiously. Did you send for that person? Yes, I did. Did you send him a letter? Yes. Simply to ask about that? About the child? No, not about that at all. But when he came I asked him about that at once. He answered, laughed, got up and went away. Oh, that person behaved honorably, Alosha murmured. And did he despise me? Did he laugh at me? No, for perhaps he believes in the pineapple comfort himself. He is very ill now, too, Liz. Yes, he does believe in it, said Liz with flashing eyes. He doesn't despise anyone, Alosha went on. Only he does not believe anyone. If he doesn't believe in people, of course, he does despise them. Then he despises me. Me? You, too. Good. Liz seemed to grind her teeth. When he went out, laughing, I felt that it was nice to be despised. The child with fingers cut off is nice, and to be despised is nice. And she laughed in Alosha's face, a feverish, malicious laugh. Do you know, Alosha? Do you know? I should like. Alosha, save me! She suddenly jumped from the couch, rushed to him and seized him with both hands. Save me! She almost groaned. Is there anyone in the world I could tell what I've told you? I've told you the truth, the truth. I shall kill myself because I love everything. I don't want to live because I love everything. I love everything, everything. Alosha, why don't you love me in the least? She finished in the frenzy. But I do love you, answered Alosha warmly. And will you weep over me, will you? Yes. Not because I won't be your wife, but simply weep for me? Yes. Thank you. It's only your tears that I want. Everyone else may punish me and trample me under food, everyone. Everyone, not accepting anyone. For I don't love anyone. Do you hear? Not anyone. On the contrary, I hate him. Go, Alosha, it's time you went to your brother. She tore herself away from him suddenly. How can I leave you like this? said Alosha, almost in alarm. Go to your brother, the prison will be shut. Go. Here's your hat. Give my love to Mithja. Go, go. And she almost forcibly pushed Alosha out of the door. He looked at her with pain and surprise when he was suddenly aware of a letter in his right hand, a tiny letter folded up tight and sealed. He glanced at it and instantly read the address. To Ivan Fyodorovich Karamazov. He looked quickly at Liz. Her face had become almost menacing. Give it to him, you must give it to him. She ordered him trembling and beside herself. Today, at once, or I'll poison myself. That's why I sent for you. And she slammed the door quickly. The bolt clicked. Alosha put the note in his pocket and went straight downstairs without going back to Madame Hochlaku, forgetting her, in fact. As soon as Alosha had gone, Liz unbolted the door, opened it a little, put her finger in the crack and slammed the door with all her might, pinching her finger. Ten seconds after, releasing her finger, she walked softly, slowly to her chair, set up straight in it and looked intently at her blackened finger and at the blood that oozed from under the nail. Her lips were quivering and she kept whispering rapidly to herself. I am a wretch, wretch, wretch, wretch. And of Chapter 3 of Book 11. Recording by Luke Cordes. Book 11, Chapter 4 of the Brothers Karamazov. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Bob Sherman. The Brothers Karamazov by Fjodor Dostoevsky, translated by Constance Garnett. Book 11, Chapter 4, A Hymn and a Secret. It was quite late, days are short in November, when Alosha rang at the prison gate. It was beginning to get dusk, but Alosha knew that he would be admitted without difficulty. Interviews were managed in our little town, as everywhere else. At first, of course, on the conclusion of the preliminary inquiry, relations and a few other persons could only obtain interviews with Mitya by going through certain inevitable formalities. But later, though the formalities were not relaxed, exceptions were made for some at least of Mitya's visitors. So much so, that sometimes the interviews with the prisoner in the room set aside for the purpose were practically tet-a-tet. These exceptions, however, were few in number. Only Grushenka, Alosha and Rakitin were treated like this. But the captain of the police, Mikhail Mikhailovich, was very favorably disposed to Grushenka. His abuse of her at Mokroy weighed on the old man's conscience, and when he learned the whole story, he completely changed his view of her. And strange to say, though he was firmly persuaded of his guilt, yet after Mitya was once in prison, the old man came to take a more and more lenient view of him. He was a man of good heart, perhaps, he thought, who had come to grief from drinking and dissipation. His first horror had been succeeded by Pity. As for Alosha, the police captain was very fond of him, and had known him for a long time. Rakitin, who had of late taken to coming very often to see the prisoner, was one of the most intimate acquaintances of the police captain's young ladies, as he called them, and was always hanging about their house. He gave lessons in the house of the prison superintendent, too, who, though scrupulous in the performance of his duties, was a kind-hearted old man. Alosha, again, had an intimate acquaintance of long standing with the superintendent, who was fond of talking to him, generally on sacred subjects. He respected Ivan Fyodorovich and stood in awe of his opinion, though he was a great philosopher himself. Alosha thought, of course. But Alosha had an irresistible attraction for him. During the last year, the old man had taken to studying the apocryphal gospels, and constantly talked over his impressions with his young friend. He used to come and see him in the monastery, and discussed for hours together with him and with the monks. So even if Alosha were late at the prison, he had only to go to the superintendent, and everything was made easy. Besides, everyone in the prison, down to the humblest warder, had grown used to Alosha. The sentry, of course, did not trouble him so long as the authorities were satisfied. When Mitya was summoned from his cell, he always went downstairs to the place set aside for interviews. As Alosha entered the room, he came upon Raketin, who was just taking leave of Mitya. They were both talking loudly. Mitya was laughing heartily as he saw him out, while Raketin seemed grumbling. Raketin did not like meeting Alosha, especially of late. He scarcely spoke to him, and bowed to him stiffly. Seeing Alosha enter now, he frowned and looked away, as though he were entirely absorbed in buttoning his big, warm, fur trimmed overcoat. Then he began looking at once for his umbrella. I must mind not to forget my belongings, he muttered, simply to say something. Mind you don't forget other people's belongings, said Mitya, as a joke, and laughed at once at his own wit. Raketin fired up instantly. You'd better give that advice to your own family, who've always been a slave-driving lot, and not to Raketin, he cried, suddenly trembling with anger. What's the matter? I was joking, cried Mitya. Damn it all, they're all like that. He turned to Alosha, nodding towards Raketin's hurriedly retreating figure. He was sitting here laughing and cheerful, and all at once he boils up like that. He didn't even nod to you. Have you broken with him completely? Why are you so late? I've not been simply waiting but thirsting for you the whole morning, but never mind, we'll make up for it now. Why does he come here so often? Surely you were not such great friends, asked Alosha. He too nodded at the door through which Raketin had disappeared. Great friends with Raketin? No, not as much as that. Is it likely a pig like that? He considers I am a blaggard. They can't understand a joke, either. That's the worst of such people. They never understand a joke, and their souls are dry, dry and flat. They remind me of prison walls when I was first brought here. But he is a clever fellow, very clever. Well, Alexei, it's all over with me now. He sat down on the bench and made Alosha sit down beside him. Yes, the trial's tomorrow. Are you so hopeless, brother? Alosha said with an apprehensive feeling. What are you talking about? Alosha said, Mitya, looking at him rather uncertainly. Oh, you mean the trial! Damn it all! Till now we've been talking of things that don't matter, about this trial, but I haven't said a word to you about the chief thing. Yes, the trial is tomorrow, but it wasn't the trial I meant when I said it was all over with me. Why do you look at me so critically? What do you mean, Mitya? Ideas. Ideas. That's all. Ethics. What is ethics? Ethics? Is Alosha wondering? Yes. Is it a science? Yes, there is such a science, but I confess I can't explain to you what sort of science it is. Raketin knows. Raketin knows a lot, damn him. He's not going to be a monk. He means to go to Petersburg. There he'll go in for criticism of an elevating tendency. Who knows? He may be of use, and make his own career, too. Ugh! There first rate these people at making a career. Damn ethics! I am done for, Alexei. I am you man of God. I love you more than anyone. It makes my heart yearn to look at you. Who was Carl Bernard? Carl Bernard? Alosha was surprised again. No, not Carl. Stay, I made a mistake. Claude Bernard! What was he? Chemist or what? He must be a savant, answered Alosha. But I confess I can't tell you much about him, either. I've heard of him as a savant, but what sort I don't know. Well damn him, then. I don't know either, Swarmitia. A scoundrel of some sort, most likely. They're all scoundrels. And Raketin will make his way. Raketin will get on anywhere. He's another Bernard. Ah, these Bernards. They're all over the place. But what is the matter, Alosha asked insistently? He wants to write an article about me, about my case, and so begin his literary career. That's what he comes for. He said so himself. He wants to prove some theory. He wants to say he couldn't help murdering his father. He was corrupted by his environment, and so on. He explained it all to me. He's going to put in a tinge of socialism, he says. But there, damn the fellow. He can put in a tinge if he likes. I don't care. He can't bear Ivan. He hates him. He's not fond of you, either. But I don't turn him out, for he is a clever fellow, awfully conceited, though. I said to him, just now, that Karamazovs are not blackhearts but philosophers, for all true Russians are philosophers. And though you've studied, you are not a philosopher. You are a low fellow. He laughed, so maliciously. And I said to him, de ideabus non est disputandum. Isn't that rather good? I can set up for being a classic, you see. Meet you laughed, suddenly. Why is it all over with you? You said so just now, Alyosha interposed. Why is it all over with me? Hmm. The fact of it is, if you take it as a whole, I am sorry to lose God. That's why it is. What do you mean by sorry to lose God? Imagine, inside, in the nerves, in the head. That is, these nerves are there in the brain, damned them. There are sort of little tails, the little tails of those nerves, and as soon as they begin quivering, that is, you see, I look at something with my eyes, and then they begin quivering those little tails. And when they quiver, then an image appears. It doesn't appear at once, but an instant a second passes, and then something like a moment appears. That is not a moment. That will take the moment. But an image, that is, an object, or an action. Damn it! That's why I see, and then think, because of those tails. Not at all, because I've got a soul, and that I am some sort of image and likeness. All that is nonsense. Raketan explained it all to me yesterday, brother, and it simply bowled me over. It's magnificent, Alyosha, this science, a new man's arising, that I understand. And yet I am sorry to lose God. Well, that's a good thing anyway, said Alyosha, that I am sorry to lose God. It's chemistry, brother, chemistry. There's no help for it, your reverence. You must make way for chemistry. And Raketan does dislike God. Oh, doesn't he dislike him? That's the sore point with all of them. But they conceal it. They tell lies. They pretend. Will you preach this in your reviews, I asked him? Oh, well, if I did it openly, they won't let it through, he said. He laughed. But what will become of men, then, I asked him, without God and immortal life. All things are lawful, then. They can do what they like. Didn't you know, he said, laughing, a clever man can do what he likes, he said. A clever man knows his way about. But you've put your foot in it, committing a murder, and now you are rotting in prison. He says that to my face, a regular pig. I used to kick such people out, but now I listen to them. He talks a lot of sense, too, writes well. He began reading me an article last week. I copied out three lines of it. Wait a minute. Here it is. Mitya hurriedly pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and read, In order to determine this question, it is above all essential to put one's personality in contradiction to one's reality. Do you understand that? No, I don't, said Al-Yosha. He looked at Mitya and listened to him with curiosity. I don't understand either. It's dark and obscure, but intellectual. Everyone writes like that now, he says. It's the effect of their environment. They're afraid of the environment. He writes poetry, too, the rascal. He's written in honor of Madame Holakov's foot. I've heard about it, said Al-Yosha. Have you? And have you heard the poem? No. I've got it. Here it is. I'll read it to you. You don't know. I haven't told you. There's quite a story about it. He's a rascal. Three weeks ago he began to tease me. You've got yourself into a mess like a fool for the sake of three thousand, but I'm going to call her a hundred and fifty thousand. I'm going to marry a widow and buy a house in Petersburg. And he told me he was courting Madame Holakov. She hadn't much brains in her youth, and now at forty she has lost what she had. But she's awfully sentimental, he says. That's how I shall get hold of her. When I marry her, I shall take her to Petersburg, and there I shall start a newspaper. And his mouth was simply watering the beast, not for the widow, but for the hundred and fifty thousand. And he made me believe it. He came to see me every day. She's coming round, he declared. He was beaming with delight. And then, all of a sudden, he was turned out of the house, Perhotin's carrying everything before him. Bravo! I could kiss the silly old noodle for turning him out of the house! And he had written this dog-girl. It's the first time I've soiled my hands with writing poetry, he said. It's to win her heart, so it's in a good cause. When I get hold of the silly woman's fortune I can be of great social utility. They have this social justification for every nasty thing they do. Anyway, it's better than your Pushkin's poetry, he said. Thrive managed to advocate enlightenment, even in that. I understand what he means about Pushkin, I quite see that. If he really was a man of talent, and only wrote about women's feet, but wasn't Rakitin stuck up about his dog-girl, the vanity of these fellows, on the convalescence of the swollen foot of the object of my affections, he thought of that for a title. He's a waggish fellow. A captivating little foot, though swollen and red and tender, the doctors come and plaster's put, but still they cannot mend her. Yet is not for her foot I dread, a theme for Pushkin's muse more fit. It's not her foot, it is her head, I tremble for her loss of wit. For as her foot swells, strange to say, her intellect is on the wane. Oh, for some remedy I pray, that may restore both foot and brain. He's a pig, a regular pig, but he's very arched the rascal, and he really has put in a progressive idea. And wasn't he angry when she kicked him out? He was gnashing his teeth. He's taken his revenge already, said Alyosha. He's written a paragraph about Madame Holokov. And Alyosha told him briefly about the paragraph in Gossip. That's his doing, that's his doing, Mitya scented, frowning, that's him. These paragraphs I know, the insulting things that have been written about Grushenko, for instance, and about Katya, too. He walked across the room with the harassed air. Brother, I cannot stay long, Alyosha said, after a pause. Tomorrow will be a great and awful day for you. The judgment of God will be accomplished. I'm amazed at you, you walk about here talking of I don't know what. No, don't be amazed at me, Mitya broken warmly. Am I to talk of that stinking dog, of the murderer? We've talked enough of him. I don't want to say more of the stinking son of stinking, Lisa Veta. God will kill him, you will see. Hush! He went up to Alyosha excitedly and kissed him. His eyes glowed. Ketan wouldn't understand it. He began in a sort of exaltation, but you, you will understand it all. That's why I was thirsting for you. You see, there's so much I've been wanting to tell you for ever so long, here within these peeling walls. But I haven't said a word about what matters most. The moment never seems to have come. Now I can wait no longer, I must pour out my heart to you. Brother, these last two months I've found in myself a new man. A new man has risen up in me. He was hidden in me, but would never have come to the surface if it hadn't been for this blow from heaven. I am afraid. And what do I care if I spend twenty years in the mines breaking oar with a hammer? I'm not a bit afraid of that. It's something else I'm afraid of now, that that new man may leave me. Even there, in the mines underground, I may find a human heart in another convict and murderer by my side. And I may make friends with him, for even there one may live and love and suffer. One may thaw and revive a frozen heart in that convict. One may wait upon him for years, and at last bring up from the dark depths a lofty soul a feeling-suffering creature. One may bring forth an angel, create a hero. There are so many of them, hundreds of them, and we are all to blame for them. Why was it I dreamed of that babe at such a moment? Why is the babe so poor? That was a sign to me at that moment. It's for the babe I'm going, because we are all responsible for all. For all the babes, for there are big children as well as little children, all are babes. I go for all, because someone must go for all. I didn't kill father, but I've got to go. I accept it. It's all come to me here, here, within these peeling walls. There are numbers of them, there are hundreds of them underground, with hammers in their hands. Oh yes, we shall be in chains, and there will be no freedom. But then, in our great sorrow, we shall rise again to joy, without which man cannot live, nor God exists. For God gives joy. It's his privilege, a grand one. Ah, man should be dissolved in prayer. What should I be underground there without God? Raketans laughing. If they drive God from the earth, we shall shelter him underground. One cannot exist in prison without God. It's even more impossible than out of prison. And then, we men underground will sing from the bowels of the earth a glorious hymn to God, with whom is joy, hail to God and his joy. I love him. Here was almost gasping for breath as he uttered his wild speech. He turned pale, his lips quivered, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Yes, life is full, there is life even underground, he began again. You wouldn't believe, Alexei, how I want to live now. What a thirst for existence and consciousness has sprung up in me, within these peeling walls. Raketan doesn't understand that. All he cares about is building a house and letting flats, but I've been longing for you. And what is suffering? I'm not afraid of it, even if it were beyond reckoning. I'm not afraid of it now. I was afraid of it before. Do you know? Perhaps I won't answer at the trial at all. And I seem to have such strength in me now that I think I could stand anything, any suffering, only to be able to say and to repeat to myself every moment, I exist. In thousands of agonies, I exist. I'm tormented on the rack, but I exist. Though I sit alone on a pillar, I exist. I see the sun, and if I don't see the sun, I know it's there. And there's a whole life in that, knowing that the sun is there. Alyosha, my angel, all these philosophies are the death of me. Damn them! Brother Ivan, what of brother Ivan interrupted Alyosha, but Mithya did not hear. You see, I've never had any of these doubts before, but it was all hidden away in me. It was perhaps just because ideas I did not understand were surging up in me that I used to drink and fight and rage. It was to stifle them in myself, to still them, to smother them. Ivan is not Raketen. There is an idea in him. Ivan is as finks and as silent. He's always silent. It's God that's worrying me. That's the only thing that's worrying me. What if he doesn't exist? What if Raketen's right, that it's an idea made up by men? Then if he doesn't exist, man is the chief of the earth, of the universe, magnificent. Only how is he going to be good without God? That's the question. I always come back to that. For whom is man going to love then? To whom will he be thankful? To whom will he sing the hymn? Raketen laughs. Raketen says that one can love humanity without God. Well, only a snivelling idiot can maintain that. I can't understand it. Life's easy for Raketen. You'd better think about the extension of civic rights, or even of keeping down the price of meat. You will show your love for humanity more simply and directly by that than by philosophy. I answered him, well, but you, without a God, are more likely to raise the price of meat if it suits you and make a ruble on every co-pec. He lost his temper. But after all, what is goodness? Answer me that, Alexei. Goodness is one thing with me and another with a Chinaman, so it's a relative thing. Or isn't it? Is it not relative? A treacherous question. You won't laugh if I tell you it's kept me awake two nights. I only wonder now how people can live and think nothing about it. Vanity. Ivan has no God. He has an idea. It's beyond me. But he is silent. I believe he is a freemason. I asked him, but he is silent. I wanted a drink from the springs of his soul. He was silent. But once he did drop a word. What did he say? Alyosha took it up quickly. I said to him, then everything is lawful if it is so? He frowned. Fyodor Pavlovich, our Papa, he said, was a pig, but his ideas were right enough. That was what he dropped. That was all he said. That was going one better than Raketin. Yes, Alyosha, assented bitterly. When was he with you? Of that later. Now I must speak of something else. I have said nothing about Ivan to you before. I put it off to the last. When my business here is over and the verdict has been given, then I'll tell you something. I'll tell you everything. We've something tremendous on hand, and you shall be my judge in it. But don't begin about that now. Be silent. You talk of tomorrow, of the trial. But would you believe it? I know nothing about it. Have you talked to the council? What's the use of the council? I told him all about it. He's a soft, city-bred rogue, a Bernard. But he doesn't believe me. Not a bit of it. Only imagine. He believes I did it. I see it. In that case I asked him, why have you come to defend me? Hang them all. They've got a doctor down, too, want to prove I'm mad. I won't have that. Katarina Ivanovna wants to do her duty to the end, whatever the strain. Mitya smiled bitterly. The cat, hard-hearted creature. She knows that I said of her at Mokroy that she was a woman of great wrath. They repeated it. Yes, the facts against me have grown numerous as the sands of the sea. Grigori sticks to his point. Grigori's honest, but a fool. Many people are honest because they are fools. That's Raketin's idea. Grigori's my enemy, and there are some people who are better as foes than friends. I mean Katarina Ivanovna. I am afraid. Oh, I am afraid. She will tell how she bowed to the ground after that four thousand. She'll pay it back to the last farthing. I don't want her sacrifice. They'll put me to shame at the trial. I wonder how I can stand it. Go to her, Alyosha. Ask her not to speak of that in the court, can't you? But damn it all. It doesn't matter. I shall get through somehow. I don't pity her. It's her own doing. She deserves what she gets. I shall have my own story to tell Alexei. She smiled bitterly again. Only, only Grusha, Grusha! Good Lord! Why should she have such suffering to bear, he exclaimed, suddenly with tears? Grusha's killing me! The thought of her is killing me, killing me! She was with me just now. She told me she was very much grieved by you today. I know, confound my temper. It was jealousy. I was sorry. I kissed her as she was going. I didn't ask her forgiveness. Why didn't you, exclaimed Alyosha? Suddenly Mitya laughed almost mirthfully. God preserve you, my dear boy, from ever asking forgiveness for a fault from a woman you love. From one you love especially, however greatly you may have been at fault. For a woman, devil only knows what to make of a woman. I know something about them anyway. But try acknowledging you were in fault to a woman. Say, I am sorry. Forgive me. The shower of reproaches will follow. Nothing will make her forgive you simply and directly. She'll humble you to the dust, bring forward things that have never happened, recall everything, forget nothing, add something of her own, and only then forgive you. And even the best, the best of them do it. She'll scrape up all the scrapings and load them on your head. They're ready to flay you alive, I tell you, every one of them, all these angels without whom we cannot live. And I tell you plainly and openly, dear boy, every decent man ought to be under some woman's thumb. That's my conviction. Not conviction, but feeling. A man ought to be magnanimous, and it's no disgrace to a man, no disgrace to a hero, not even a Caesar. But don't ever beg her pardon all the same for anything. Remember that rule given you by your brother Mitya, who's come to ruin through women. No, I'd better make it up to Grusha somehow, without begging pardon. I worship her, Alexei, worship her. Only she doesn't see it. No, she still thinks I don't love her enough. And she tortures me, tortures me with her love. The past was nothing. In the past it was only those infernal curves of hers that tortured me. But now I've taken all her soul into my soul, and through her I've become a man myself. Will they marry us? If they don't, I shall die of jealousy. I imagine something every day. What did she say to you about me? Alyosha repeated all Grushenko had said to him that day. Mitya listened, made him repeat things, and seemed pleased. Then she is not angry at my being jealous, he exclaimed. She is a regular woman. I have a fierce heart myself. I love such fierce hearts, though I can't bear anyone's being jealous of me. I can't endure it. We shall fight. But I shall love her. I shall love her infinitely. Will they marry us? Do they let convicts marry? That's the question. And without her I can't exist. Mitya walked frowning across the room. It was almost dark. He suddenly seemed terribly worried. So there's a secret, she says, a secret. We have got up a plot against her, and Katya has mixed up in it, she thinks. No, my good Grushenko, that's not it. You are very wide of the mark in your foolish feminine way. Al-Yosha, darling, well, here goes, I'll tell you our secret. He looked round, went close up quickly to Al-Yosha, who was standing before him, and whispered to him with an air of mystery, though in reality no one could hear them. The old warder was dozing in the corner, and not a word could reach the ears of the soldiers on guard. I will tell you all our secret, Mitya whispered hurriedly. I meant to tell you later, for how could I decide on anything without you? You are everything to me. Though I say that Ivan is superior to us, you are my angel. It's your decision will decide it. Perhaps it's you that is superior and not Ivan. You see, it's a question of conscience, a question of the higher conscience. The secret is so important that I can't settle it myself, and I've put it off till I could speak to you. But anyway, it's too early to decide now, for we must wait for the verdict. As soon as the verdict is given, you shall decide my fate. Don't decide it now. I'll tell you now. You listen, but don't decide. Stand and keep quiet. I won't tell you everything. I'll only tell you the idea, without details, and you keep quiet. Not a question, not a movement, you agree? But goodness, what shall I do with your eyes? I'm afraid your eyes will tell me your decision, even if you don't speak. Oh, I'm afraid. Ivan suggests my escaping. I won't tell you the details. It's all been thought out. It can all be arranged. Hush, don't decide. I should go to America with Grusha. You know I can't live without Grusha. What if they won't let her follow me to Siberia? Do they let convicts get married? Ivan thinks not. And without Grusha, what should I do there underground with a hammer? I should only smash my skull with the hammer. But on the other hand, my conscience, I should have run away from suffering. A sign has come. I reject the sign. I have a way of salvation, and I turn my back on it. Ivan says that in America, with the good will, I can be of more use than underground. But what becomes of our hymn from underground? What's America? America's vanity again, and there's a lot of swindling in America too, I expect. I should have run away from crucifixion. I tell you, you know, Alexei, because you are the only person who can understand this. There's no one else. It's folly, madness to others. All I've told you of the hymn. They'll say I'm out of my mind, or a fool. I am not out of my mind, and I am not a fool. Ivan understands about the hymn too. He understands, only he doesn't answer. He doesn't speak. He doesn't believe in the hymn. Don't speak. I see how you look. You've already decided. Don't decide. Spare me. I can't live without Grusha, wait till after the trial. Mitya ended beside himself. He held Alyosha with both hands on his shoulders, and his yearning feverish eyes were fixed on his brothers. They don't let convicts marry, do they? He repeated for the third time in a supplicating voice. Alyosha listened with extreme surprise, and was deeply moved. Tell me one thing, he said. Is Ivan very keen on it, and whose idea was it? His, his, and he is very keen on it. He didn't come to see me at first, then he suddenly came a week ago, and he began about it straight away. He is awfully keen on it. He doesn't ask me, but orders me to escape. He doesn't doubt of my obeying him, though I showed him all my heart as I have to you, and told him about the hymn, too. He told me he'd arrange it. He's found out about everything. But of that later, he's simply set on it. It's all a matter of money. He'll pay ten thousand for escape, and give me twenty thousand for America. And he says we can arrange a magnificent escape for ten thousand. And he told you on no account to tell me, Alyosha asked again? To tell no one, and especially not you, on no account to tell you. He's afraid, no doubt, that you'll stand before me as my conscience. Don't tell him I told you. Don't tell him for anything. You are right, Alyosha pronounced. It's impossible to decide anything before the trial is over. After the trial you'll decide of yourself. Then you'll find that new man in yourself, and he will decide. A new man, or a Bernard, who will decide Ella Bernard, for I believe I'm a contemptible Bernard myself, said Mitya, with a bitter grin. But brother, have you no hope then of being acquitted? Mitya shrugged his shoulders nervously, and shook his head. Alyosha, darling, it's time you were going, he said, with a sudden haste. There's a superintendent shouting in the yard. He'll be here directly. We are late, it's irregular. Embrace me quickly. Kiss me. Sign me with the cross, darling, for the cross I have to bear tomorrow. They embraced and kissed. Yvonne, said Mitya, suddenly, suggests my escaping. But of course he believes I did it. A mournful smile came onto his lips. Have you asked him whether he believes it? Asked Alyosha. No, I haven't. I wanted to. But I couldn't. I hadn't the courage. But I saw it from his eyes. Well, goodbye. Once more they kissed hurriedly, and Alyosha was just going out when Mitya suddenly called him back. Stand facing me. That's right. And again he seized Alyosha, putting both hands on his shoulders. His face became suddenly quite pale so that it was dreadfully apparent, even through the gathering darkness. His lips twitched. His eyes fastened upon Alyosha. Alyosha, tell me the whole truth as you would before God. Do you believe I did it? Do you? Do you in yourself believe it? The whole truth. Don't lie, he cried desperately. Everything seemed heaving before Alyosha, and he felt something like a stab at his heart. Hush, what do you mean? He faltered helplessly. The whole truth. The whole. Don't lie, repeated Mitya. I've never for one instant believed that you were the murderer. Broken a shaking voice from Alyosha's breast, and he raised his right hand in the air as though calling God to witness his words. Mitya's whole face was lighted up with bliss. Think you, he articulated slowly, as though letting a sigh escape him after fainting. Now you have given me new life. Would you believe it till this moment I've been afraid to ask you, you, even you? Well go, you've given me strength for tomorrow. God bless you. Come go along. Love Yvonne, was Mitya's last word. Alyosha went out in tears. Such distrustfulness in Mitya, such lack of confidence, even to him, to Alyosha. All this suddenly opened before Alyosha an unsuspected depth of hopeless grief and despair in the soul of his unhappy brother. Intense, infinite compassion overwhelmed him instantly. There was a poignant ache in his torn heart. Love Yvonne, he suddenly recalled Mitya's words. And he was going to Yvonne. He badly wanted to see Yvonne all day. He was as much worried about Yvonne as about Mitya, and more than ever now. End of chapter 4 of book 11.