 Book 3, Chapter 7 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 Father Ziley of Detroit. The Brothers Karamazov by Fedor Dostoevsky, translated by Constance Garnet. Book 3, Chapter 7, The Controversy. But Balaam's ass had suddenly spoken. The subject was a strange one. Grigory had gone in the morning to make purchases, and had heard from the shopkeeper, Lukyanov, the story of a Russian soldier, which had appeared in the newspaper of that day. This soldier had been taken prisoner in some remote part of Asia, and was threatened with an immediate agonizing death if he did not renounce Christianity and follow Islam. He refused to deny his faith, and was tortured, flayed alive, and died, praising and glorifying Christ. Grigory had related the story at table. Fedor Pavlovich always liked, over the dessert after dinner, to laugh and talk if only with Grigory. This afternoon he was in a particularly good humor and expansive mood. Sipping his brandy and listening to the story, he observed that they ought to make a saint of a soldier like that, and to take his skin to some monastery. That would make the people flock and bring the money in. Grigory frowned, seeing that Fedor Pavlovich was by no means touched, but as usual was beginning to scoff. At that moment, Smerdyakov, who was standing by the door, smiled. Smerdyakov often waited at table towards the end of dinner, and since Ivan's arrival in our town he had done so every day. What are you grinning at, asked Fedor Pavlovich, catching the smile instantly and knowing that it referred to Grigory? Well, my opinion is, Smerdyakov began suddenly and unexpectedly in a loud voice, that if that laudable soldier's exploit was so very great there would have been to my thinking no sin in it if he had on such an emergency renounced, so to speak, the name of Christ and his own christening, to save by that same his life for good deeds, by which in the course of years to expiate his cowardice. How could it not be a sin, you're talking nonsense, for that you'll go straight to hell and be roasted there like mutton, put in Fedor Pavlovich. It was at this point that Alyosha came in and Fedor Pavlovich, as we have seen, was highly delighted at his appearance. We're on your subject, your subject, he chuckled gleefully, making Alyosha sit down to listen. As for mutton, that's not so, and there'll be nothing there for this, and there shouldn't be either, if it's according to justice, Smerdyakov maintained stoutly. How do you mean according to justice, Fedor Pavlovich cried, still more gaily, nudging Alyosha with his knee. He's a rascal, that's what he is, first from Grigory. He looked Smerdyakov wrathfully in the face. As for being a rascal, wait a little, Grigory Vasilyevich answered Smerdyakov with perfect composure. You'd better consider yourself that once I am taken prisoner by the enemies of the Christian race, and they demand from me to curse the name of God and to renounce my holy christening, I am fully entitled to act by my own reason, since there would be no sin in it. But you've said that before, don't waste words, prove it, cried Fedor Pavlovich. Soupmaker muttered Grigory contemptuously. As for being a soupmaker, wait a bit too, and consider for yourself, Grigory Vasilyevich, without abusing me. For as soon as I say to those enemies, no, I'm not a Christian, and I curse my true God, then at once, by God's high judgment, I become immediately and especially anathema cursed, and am cut off from the holy church exactly as though I were a heathen, so that at the very instant, not only when I say it aloud, but when I think of saying it before a quarter of a second has passed, I am cut off, is that so, or not, Grigory Vasilyevich. He addressed Grigory with obvious satisfaction, though he was really answering Fedor Pavlovich's questions, and was well aware of it, and intentionally pretending that Grigory had asked the questions. Ivan, cried Fedor Pavlovich suddenly, stooped down for me to whisper, he's got this all up for your benefit, he wants you to praise him, praise him. Ivan listened with perfect seriousness to his father's excited whisper, stay, smeared your cove, be quite a minute, cried Fedor Pavlovich once more, Ivan, your ear again, Ivan bent down again with a perfectly grave face, I love you as I do Alyosha, don't think I don't love you, some brandy? Yes, but you're rather drunk yourself, thought Ivan, looking steadily at his father, he was watching smeared your cove with great curiosity, your anathema accursed as it is, Grigory suddenly burst out, and how dare you argue you rascal after that if don't scold him Grigory, don't scold him, Fedor Pavlovich cut him short, you should wait Grigory Vasilyevich if only a short time, and listen, for I haven't finished all I had to say, for at the very moment I become accursed, at that same highest moment I become exactly like a heathen, and my christening is taken off me, and becomes of no avail, isn't that so? Make haste and finish my boy, Fedor Pavlovich urged him, sipping from his wine glass with relish, and if I have ceased to be a Christian, then I told no lie to the enemy when they asked whether I was a Christian or not a Christian, saying I had already been relieved by God himself of my Christianity by reason of the thought alone, before I had time to utter a word to the enemy, and if I have already been discharged, in what manner, and in what sort of justice, can I be held responsible as a Christian in the other world for having denied Christ, when, through the very thought alone before denying him, I had been relieved from my christening, if I'm no longer a Christian then I can't renounce Christ, for I have nothing then to renounce, who will hold an unclean tartar responsible Grigory Vasilyevich even in heaven for not having been born a Christian, and who would punish him for that considering that you can't take two skins off one ox? For God Almighty Himself, even if He did make the tartar responsible when He dies, would give Him the smallest possible punishment, I imagine, since He must be punished, judging that He is not to blame if He has come into the world an unclean heathen from heathen parents. But Lord God can't surely take a tartar and say He was a Christian. That would mean that the Almighty would tell a real untrue, and can the Lord of heaven and earth tell a lie even in one word? Grigory was thunderstruck and looked at the orator, his eyes nearly staring out of his head, though he did not clearly understand what was said. He had caught something in this rigmarole and stood looking like a man who has just hit his head against a wall. Feodor Pavlovich emptied his glass and went off into his shrill laugh. Alyosha, Alyosha, what do you say to that? Ah, you casualist. He must have been with a Jesuit somewhere, Ivan. Oh, you stinking Jesuit, who taught you? But you're talking nonsense, you casualist. Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense. Don't cry, Grigory. We'll reduce him to smoke and ashes in a moment. Tell me this, O ass, you may be right before your enemies, but you have renounced your faith all the same in your own heart, and you say yourself in that very hour you became anathema accursed, and if once you're anathema they won't pat you on the head for it in hell, what do you say to that, my fine Jesuit? There's no doubt that I have renounced it in my own heart, but there's no special sin in that. Or if there was no special sin, it was the most ordinary. How's that the most ordinary? You lie accursed one, hissed Grigory. Consider yourself, Grigory Vasilyevich, Smirjakov went on, stayed and unruffled, conscious of his triumph, but as it were generous to the vanquished foe, consider yourself, Grigory Vasilyevich. It is said in the scripture that if you have faith, even as a mustard seed, and bid a mountain move into the sea, it will move without the least delay at your bidding. While, Grigory Vasilyevich, if I am without faith, and you have so great faith that you are continually swearing at me, you try yourself telling this mountain not to move into the sea, for that's a long way off. But even to our stinking little river which runs at the bottom of the garden, you'll see for yourself that it won't budge, but will remain just where it is, however much you shout at it. And that shows Grigory Vasilyevich that you have faith in the proper manner, and only abuse others about it. Again, taking into consideration that no one in our day, not only you, but actually no one from the highest person to the lowest peasant, can shove mountains into the sea, except perhaps some one man in the world, or at most two, and they most likely are saving their souls in secret somewhere in the Egyptian desert, so you wouldn't find them. If so it be, if all the rest have no faith, will God curse all the rest? That is, the population of the whole earth, except about two hermits in the desert, and his well-known mercy, will he not forgive one of them? And so I'm persuaded that though I may once have doubted, I shall be forgiven if I shed tears of repentance. Stay, cried spirit or Pavlovich, in a transport of delight. So you do suppose there are two who can move mountains? Ivan, make a note of it, write it down. There you have the Russian all over. You're quite right in saying it's characteristic of the people's faith, Ivan asserted with an approving smile. You agree, then it must be so if you agree. It's true, isn't it, Alyosha? That's the Russian faith all over, isn't it? No, Smerdyakov has not the Russian faith at all, said Alyosha, firmly and gravely. I'm not talking about his faith, I mean those two in the desert, only that idea. Surely that's Russian, isn't it? Yes, that's purely Russian, said Alyosha, smiling. Your words are worth a gold piece, oh, ass, and I'll give it to you today. But as to the rest, you talk nonsense, nonsense, nonsense. Let me tell you, stupid, that we here are all of little faith, only from carelessness, because we haven't time. Things are too much for us. And in the second place, the Lord God has given us so little time, only 24 hours in the day, so that one hasn't even time to get sleep enough, much less to repent of one's sins. While you have denied your faith to your enemies, when you'd nothing else to think about, but to show your faith, so I consider, brother, that it constitutes a sin. Constitutes a sin, it may, but consider yourself, Grigory Vasilyevich, that it only extenuates it if it does not constitute. If I had believed then in very truth, as I ought to have believed, then it really would have been sinful if I had not faced tortures for my faith, and had gone over to the pagan Mohammedan faith. But of course it wouldn't have come to torture then, because I should only have had to say, at that instant to the mountain, move and crush the tormentor, and it would have moved, and at the very instant have crushed him like a black beetle. And I should have walked away as though nothing had happened, praising and glorifying God. But suppose at that very moment I had tried all that, and cried to the mountain, crush these tormentors, and it hadn't crushed them. How could I have helped doubting, pray at such a time, and at such a dread hour of mortal terror? And apart from that, I should know already that I could not attain to the fullness of the kingdom of heaven, for since the mountain had not moved at my word, they could not think very much of my faith up aloft, and there could be no very great reward awaiting me in the world to come. So why should I let them flay the skin off me as well, and to no good purpose? For even though they had flayed my skin half off my back, and even then the mountain would not have moved at my word or at my cry, and at such a moment not only doubt might come over one, but one might lose one's reason from fear, so that one would not be able to think at all. And therefore, how should I be particularly to blame if not seeing my advantage or reward there or here, I should at least save my skin? And so, trusting fully in the grace of the Lord, I should cherish the hope that I might be altogether forgiven. END OF CHAPTER VIII. CHAPTER VIII. CHAPTER VIII. OVER THE BRANDY. The controversy was over, but strange to say, Fyodor Pavlovich, who had been so gay, suddenly began frowning. He frowned and gulped Brandy, and it was already a glass too much. Get along with you Jesuits, he cried to the servants. Go away, Smedyokov, I'll send you the gold-piece I promised you to-day, but be off. Don't cry, Grigory, go to Marfa, she'll come for you and put you to bed. The rascals won't let us sit in peace after dinner. He snapped peevishly, as the servants promptly withdrew at his word. Smedyokov always pokes himself in now after dinner. It's you he's so interested in. What have you done to fascinate him? He added to Yvon. Nothing whatever, answered Yvon. He's pleased to have a high opinion of me. He's a lackey and a mean soul. Raw material for revolution, however, when the time comes. For revolution, there will be others and better ones, but there will be some like him as well. His kind will come first, and better ones after. And when will the time come? The rocket will go off and fizzle out, perhaps. The peasants are not very fond of listening to these soup-makers so far. Ah, brother, but a Balaam's ass like that thinks and thinks that the devil knows where he gets to. He's storing up ideas, said Yvon, smiling. You see, I know he can't bear me, nor anyone else, even you, though you fancy that he has a high opinion of you. We're still with Alyosha. He despises Alyosha. But he doesn't steal. That's one thing. And he's not a gossip. He holds his tongue and doesn't wash our dirty linen in public. He makes capital fish pasties, too. But damn him. Is he worth talking about so much? Of course he isn't. And as for the ideas he may be hatching, the Russian peasant, generally speaking, needs thrashing. That I've always maintained. Our peasants are swindlers and don't deserve to be pitied. And it's a good thing they're still flogged sometimes. Russia is rich in birches. If they destroy the forests, it would be the ruin of Russia. I stand up for the clever people. We've left off thrashing the peasants. We've grown so clever. But they go on thrashing themselves. And a good thing, too. For with what measure you met, it shall be measured to you again. Or how does it go? Anyhow, it will be measured. But Russia's all swindishness. My dear, if only you knew how I hate Russia. That is not Russia, but all this vice. But maybe I mean Russia. Do you know what I like? I like wit. You've had another glass. That's enough. Wait a bit. I'll have one more and then another and then I'll stop. No stay. You interrupted me. At Mokroyer, I was talking to an old man, and he told me, there's nothing we like so much as sentencing girls to be thrashed. And we all we give the lads the job of thrashing them. And the girl he has thrashed today, the young man will ask in marriage to-morrow. So it quite suits the girls, too, he said. There's a set of dasads for you. But it's clever, anyway. Shall we go over and have a look at it, eh? Al-Yasha, are you blushing? Don't be bashful, child. I'm sorry I didn't stay to dinner at the superiors and tell the monks about the girls at Mokroyer. Al-Yasha, don't be angry that I offended your superior this morning. I lost my temper. If there is a god, if he exists, then, of course, I'm to blame, and I shall have to answer for it. But if there isn't a god at all, what do they deserve your fathers? It's not enough to cut their heads off, for they keep back progress. Would you believe it, Yvonne, that that lacerates my sentiments? No, you don't believe it, as I see from your eyes. You believe what people say, that I'm nothing but a buffoon. Al-Yasha, do you believe that I'm nothing but a buffoon? No, I don't believe it. And I believe you don't, and that you speak the truth. You look sincere and you speak sincerely. But not Yvonne. Yvonne, supercilious. I'll make an end of your monks, though, all the same. I'd take all that mystic stuff and suppress it once for all, all over Russia, so as to bring all the fools to reason, and the gold and the silver would flow into the mint. But why suppress it? asked Yvonne. That truth may prevail. That's why. Well, if the truth were to prevail, you know, you'd be the first to be robbed and suppressed. Ha! Ah! I daresay you're right. Ah! I'm an ass! burst out Fyodor Pavlovitch, striking himself lightly on the forehead. Well, your monastery may stand then, Al-Yasha, if that's how it is, and we clever people will sit snug and enjoy our brandy. You know, Yvonne, it must have been so ordained by the Almighty himself. Yvonne, speak. Is there a God or not? Stay, speak the truth, speak seriously. Why are you laughing again? I'm laughing that you should have made a clever remark just now about Smedyukov's belief in the existence of two saints who could move mountains. Why, am I like him now, then? Very much. Well, that shows I'm Russian to you, and I have a Russian characteristic, and you may be caught in the same way, though you are a philosopher. Shall I catch you? What do you bet that I'll catch you tomorrow? Speak all the same. Is there a God or not? Only be serious. I want you to be serious now. No, there is no God. Al-Yasha, is there a God? There is. Yvonne, and is there immortality of some sort? Just a little, just a tiny bit. There is no immortality either. None at all. None at all. There's absolute nothingness, then. Perhaps there is just something. Anything is better than nothing. Absolute nothingness. Al-Yasha, is there immortality? There is. God and immortality? God and immortality. In God is immortality. It's more likely Yvonne's right, good Lord, to think what faith, what force of all kinds, man has lavished for nothing on that dream, and for how many thousands of years. Who is laughing at man? Yvonne, for the last time, once for all, is there a God or not? I ask for the last time. And for the last time there is not. Who is laughing at mankind, Yvonne? It must be the devil, said Yvonne, smiling. And the devil, does he exist? No, there's no devil either. Ah, it's a pity. Dammit all, and wouldn't I do to the man who first invented God? Hanging on a bitter aspen tree would be too good for him. There would have been no civilization if they hadn't invented God. Wouldn't there have been, without God? No, and there would have been no brandy either. But I must take your brandy away from you anyway. Stop, stop, stop, dear boy, one more little glass. I've hurt Al-Yasha's feelings. You're not angry with me, Al-Yasha, my dear little Alexei. No, I'm not angry. I know your thoughts. Your heart is better than your head. My heart better than my head, is it? Oh, Lord! And that from you. Yvonne, do you love Al-Yasha? Yes. You must love him. Fyodor Pavlovich was, by this time, very drunk. Listen, Al-Yasha, I was rude to your elder this morning. But I was excited. But there's wit in that elder. Don't you think, Yvonne? Very likely. There is. There is. He's a Jesuit, a Russian one, that is. And he's an honorable person. There's a hidden indignation boiling within him, and having to pretend and affect holiness. But, of course, he believes in God. Not a bit of it. Didn't you know why he tells everyone so himself? That is. Not everyone. But all the clever people who come to him. He said straight out to Governor Schultz not long ago, Kredo. But I don't know in what. Really? He really did. But I respect him. There's something of Mephistopheles about him. Or rather of the hero of our time, Arbenin. Or what's his name? You see, he's a sensualist. He's such a sensualist that I should be afraid for my daughter or my wife if she went to confess to him. You know, when he begins telling stories. The year before last he invited us to tea. Tea with liqueur. The ladies send him liqueur, and began telling us about old times till we nearly split our sides, especially how he once cured a paralyzed woman. If my legs were not bad, I know a dance. I would dance you, he said. What do you say to that? I've plenty of tricks in my time, said he. He did Demidov, the merchant out of sixty thousand. What, he stole it? He brought him the money as a man he could trust, saying, Take care of it for me, friend. There'll be a police search at my place tomorrow. And he kept it. You have given it to the church, he declared. I said to him, You're a scoundrel, I said. No, said he. I'm not a scoundrel. But I'm broad-minded. But that wasn't he that was someone else. I've muddled him with someone else without noticing it. Calm another glass, and that's enough. Take away the bottle, Yvonne. I've been telling lies. Why didn't you stop me, Yvonne? And tell me I was lying. I knew you'd stop of yourself. That's a lie. You did it from spite. You simple spite against me. You despise me. You've come to me and despise me in my own house. Well, I'm going away. You've had too much brandy. I've begged you for Christ's sakes to go to Tremachnia for a day or two. And you don't go. I'll go tomorrow if you're so upset upon it. You won't go. You want to keep an eye on me. That's what you want, spiteful fellow. That's why you won't go. The old man persisted. He had reached that state of drunkenness when the drunkard who has till then been inoffensive tries to pick a quarrel and to assert himself. Why are you looking at me? Why do you look like that? Your eyes look at me and say, You ugly drunkard. Your eyes are mistrustful. They're contemptuous. You've come here with some design. Alyosha here looks at me and his eyes shine. Alyosha doesn't despise me. Alexei, you mustn't love Yvonne. Don't be ill-tempered with my brother. Leave off attacking him. Alyosha said emphatically. All right. My headaches. Take away the brandy, Yvonne. It's the third time I've told you. He mused and suddenly a slow, cunning grin spread over his face. Don't be angry with a feeble old man, Yvonne. I know you don't love me. But don't be angry all the same. You've nothing to love me for. You go to Tremachnia. I'll come to you myself and bring you a present. I'll show you a little wench there. I've had my eye on her a long time. She's still running about barefoot. Don't be afraid of barefooted wenches. Don't despise them. They're pearls. And he kissed his hand with a smack. To my thinking, he revived it once, seeming to grow sober the instant he touched on his favorite topic. To my thinking, ha, you boys, you children, little sucking pigs to my thinking, I never thought a woman ugly in my life. That's been my rule. Can you understand that? How could you understand it? You've milked in your veins, not blood. You're not out of your shells yet. My rule has been that you can always find something devilishly interesting in every woman that you wouldn't find in any other. Only one must know how to find it. That's the point. That's a talent. To my mind, there are no ugly women. The very fact that she is a woman is half the battle. But how could you understand that? Even in vigafeds, even in them, you may discover something that makes you simply wonder that men have been such fools as to let them grow old without noticing them. Barefooted girls are unattractive ones. You must take by surprise. Didn't you know that? You must astound them till they're fascinated, upset, ashamed that such a gentleman should fall in love with such a little slut. It's a jolly good thing that there always are and will be masters and slaves in the world. So there always will be a little maid of all work and her master. And, you know, that's all that's needed for happiness. Stay. Listen, Al-Yosa. I always used to surprise your mother. But in a different way. I pay no attention to her at all. But all at once, when the minute came, I'd be all devotion to her, crawl on my knees, kiss her feet. And I always, always, I remember, as though it were today, reduced her to that tinkling, quiet, nervous, queer little laugh. It was peculiar to her. I knew her attacks always used to begin like that. The next day she would begin shrieking hysterically, and this little laugh was not a sign of delight, though it made a very good counterfeit. That's the great thing to know how to take everyone. Once Believsky, he was a handsome fellow and rich, used to like to come here and hang about her. Suddenly gave me a slap in the face in her presence. And she, such a mild sheep. Why, I thought she would have knocked me down for that blow. How she sat on me. You're beaten. You're beaten now, she said. You've taken a blow from him. You've been trying to sell me to him, she said. And how dared he strike you in my presence. Don't dare come near me again. Never, never. Run at once. Challenge him to a duel. I took her to the monastery, then, to bring her to her senses. The Holy Fathers prayed her back to reason. But I swear by God, al-Yosha, I never insulted the poor, crazy girl. Only once, perhaps, in the first year. Then she was very fond of praying. She used to keep the feast of our Lady particularly, and used to turn me out of her room, then. I'll knock that mysticism out of her, thought I. Here, said I. You see your holy image. Here it is. Here I take it down. You believe it's miraculous. But here I'll spit on it directly, and nothing will happen to me for it. When she saw it, good Lord! I thought she would kill me. But she only jumped up, rung her hands, then suddenly hit her face in them, began trembling all over and fell on the floor. Fell all over heep. Al-Yosha? Al-Yosha, what's the matter? The old man jumped up in alarm. From the time he had begun speaking about his mother, a change had gradually come over Al-Yosha's face. He flushed crimson. His eyes glowed. His lips quivered. The old sought had gone spluttering on, noticing nothing, till the moment when something very strange happened to Al-Yosha, precisely what he was describing, and the crazy woman was suddenly repeated with Al-Yosha. He jumped up from his seat exactly as his mother was said to have done, rung his hands, hit his face in them, and fell back in his chair, shaking all over in hysterical paroxysm of sudden, violent, silent weeping. His extraordinary resemblance to his mother, particularly impressed the old man. Ivan! Ivan! Water quickly! It's like exactly as she used to be then, his mother. Sprit some water on him from your mouth. That's what I used to do to her. He's upset about his mother. His mother. He muttered to Ivan. But she was my mother too, I believe, his mother. Was she not? Said Ivan, with uncontrolled anger and contempt. The old man shrank before his flashing eyes. But something very strange had happened, though only for a second. It seemed really to have escaped the old man's mind that Al-Yosha's mother actually was the mother of Ivan too. Your mother, he muttered, not understanding. What do you mean? What mother are you talking about? Was she? Why, damn it! Of course she was yours too, damn it! My mind has never been so darkened before. Excuse me. Why, I was thinking, Ivan, he, he, he stopped. A broad, drunken, half-senseless grin overspread his face. At that moment a fearful noise and clamour was heard in the hall. There were violent shouts. The door was flung open and Dimitri burst into the room. The old man rushed to Ivan in terror. He'll kill me! He'll kill me! Don't let him get at me! He screamed, clinging to the skirt of Ivan's coat. This ends Chapter 8. Book 3. Chapter 9 of the Brothers Karamazov. The Brothers Karamazov, by Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky, translated by Konstantin Skarnet. Book 3. Chapter 9. The Centralists Grigori and Smedjokov ran into the room after Dimitri. They had been struggling with him in the passage, refusing to admit him, acting on instructions given them by Fyodor Pavlovich some days before. Taking advantage of the fact that Dimitri stopped a moment on entering the room to look about him, Grigori ran round the table, closed the double doors on the opposite side of the room leading to the inner apartments, and stood before the closed doors, stretching wide his arms, prepared to defend the entrance, so to speak, with the last drop of his blood. Seeing this, Dimitri uttered a scream rather than a shout and rushed at Grigori. Then she's here! She's hidden there, out of the way, scoundrel! He tried to pull Grigori away, but the old servant pushed him back. Beside himself with fury Dimitri struck out and hit Grigori with all his might. The old man fell like a log, and Dimitri, leaping over him, broke in the door. Smerdiakov remained pale and trembling at the other end of the room, huddling close to Fyodor Pavlovich. She's here! shouted Dimitri. I saw her turn towards the house just now, but I couldn't catch her. Where is she? Where is she? That shout, she is here, produced an indescribable effect on Fyodor Pavlovich. All his terror left him. Hold him! Hold him! He cried, and dashed after Dimitri. Meanwhile Grigori had got up from the floor, but still seemed stunned. Ivan and Al-Yasha ran after their father. In the third room something was heard to fall on the floor with a ringing crash. It was a large glass face, not an expensive one, on a marble pedestal which Dimitri had upset as he ran past it. At him shouted the old man, Help! Ivan and Al-Yasha caught the old man and were forcibly bringing him back. Why do you run after him? He'll murder you outright! Ivan cried wrathfully at his father. Ivan! Al-Yasha! She must be here! Grushinka's here! He said he saw her himself running. He was choking. He was not expecting Grushinka at the time, and the sudden news that she was here made him beside himself. He was trembling all over. He seemed frantic. But you've seen for yourself that she hasn't come, cried Ivan. But she may have come by that other entrance. You know that entrance is locked, and you have the key. Dimitri suddenly reappeared in the drawing room. He had, of course, found the other entrance locked, and the key actually was in Fyodor Pavlovitch's pocket. The windows of all the rooms were also closed, so Grushinka could not have come in anywhere, nor have run out anywhere. Hold him! shrieked Fyodor Pavlovitch. As soon as he saw him again, he's been stealing money in my bedroom. And tearing himself from Ivan, he rushed again at Dimitri. But Dimitri threw up both hands and suddenly clutched the old man by the two tufts of hair that remained on his temples, tugged at them, and flung him with a crash on the floor. He kicked him two or three times with his heel in the face. The old man moaned shrilly. Ivan, though not so strong as Dimitri, threw his arms round him, and with all his might pulled him away. Alyosha helped him with his slender strength, holding Dimitri in front. Madman, you've killed him! cried Ivan. Serve him right! shouted Dimitri breathlessly. If I haven't killed him, I'll come again and kill him. You can't protect him. Dimitri, go away at once! cried Alyosha commandingly. Alexei, you tell me, it's only you I can believe. Was she here just now or not? I saw her myself creeping this way by the fence from the lane. I shouted. She ran away. I swear she's not been here, and no one expected her. But I saw her. So she must. I'll find out at once where she is. Goodbye, Alexei. Not a word to ace up about the money now. But go to Katerina Ivanovna at once and be sure to say he sends his compliments to you. Compliments? His compliments. Just compliments and farewell. Describe the scene to her. Meanwhile Ivan and Grigori had raised the old man and seated him in an armchair. His face was covered with blood. But he was conscious and listened greedily to Dimitri's cries. He was still fancying that Grushinka really was somewhere in the house. Dimitri looked at him with hatred as he went out. I don't repent shedding your blood, he cried. Beware, old man, beware of your dream, for I have my dream too. I curse you and disown you altogether. He ran out of the room. She's here. She must be here. Spend your cough. Spend your cough. The old man wheezed, scarcely audibly, beckoning to him with his finger. No, she's not here, you old lunatic. Ivan shouted at him angrily. Here he's fainting. Water, a towel. Make haste, sped your cough. Sped your cough, ran for water. At last they got the old man undressed and put him to bed. They wrapped a wet towel round his head. Exhausted by the brandy, by his violent emotion, and the blows he had received, he shut his eyes and fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. Ivan and Alyosha went back to the drawing-room. Sped your cough removed the fragments of the broken vase, while Gurgori stood by the table looking gloomily at the floor. Shouldn't you put a wet bandage on your head and go to bed too, Alyosha said to him. We'll look after him. My brother gave you a terrible blow on the head. He's insulted me, Gurgori articulated, gloomily and distinctly. He's insulted his father, not only you, observed Ivan with a forced smile. I used to wash him in his tub. He's insulted me, repeated Gurgori. Damn it all. If I hadn't pulled him away, perhaps he'd have murdered him. He wouldn't have taken too much. Do you Aesop in, would it? whispered Ivan to Alyosha. God forbid, cried Alyosha. Why should he forbid? Ivan went on in the same whisper, with a malignant grimace. One reptile will devour the other, and serve them both right too. Alyosha shuddered. Of course I won't let him be murdered as I didn't just now. Stay here, Alyosha. I'll go for a turn in the yard. My heads begun to ache. Alyosha went to his father's bedroom, and sat by his bedside beside the screen for about an hour. The old man suddenly opened his eyes and gazed for a long while at Alyosha, evidently remembering and meditating. All at once his face betrayed extraordinary excitement. Alyosha! he whispered apprehensively. Where's Ivan? In the yard. He's got a headache. He's on the watch. Give me that looking-glass. It stands over there. Give it to me. Alyosha gave him a little round, folding looking-glass, which stood on the chest of drawers. The old man looked at himself in it. His nose was considerably swollen, and on the left side of his forehead there was a rather large crimson bruise. What does Ivan say? Alyosha, my dear, my only son. I'm afraid of Ivan. I'm more afraid of Ivan than the other. You're the only one I'm not afraid of. Don't be afraid of Ivan, either. He's angry, but he'll defend you. Alyosha! and what of the other? He's run to Grushinka. My angel, tell me the truth. Was she here just now or not? No one has seen her. It was a mistake. She has not been here. You know Mitya wants to marry her. To marry her. She won't marry him. She won't. She won't. She won't. She won't. She won't. On any account. The old man fairly fluttered with joy, as though nothing more comforting could have been said to him. In his delight he seized Alyosha's hand and pressed it warmly to his heart. Tears positively glittered in his eyes. That image of the mother of God of which I was telling you just now, he said, take it home and keep it for yourself, and I'll let you go back to the monastery. I was joking this morning. Don't be angry with me. My headache's Alyosha. Alyosha, comfort my heart. Be an angel and tell me the truth. You're still asking whether she has been here or not, Alyosha said sorrowfully. No, no, no. I believe you. I'll tell you what it is. You go to Grushinka yourself, or see her somehow, make haste, and ask her, see for yourself which she means to choose, him or me. Eh? What? Can you? If I see her, I'll ask her, Alyosha muttered, embarrassed. No, she won't tell you, the old man interrupted. She's a rogue. She'll begin kissing you and say that it's you she wants. She's a deceitful, shameless, haci. You mustn't go to her. You mustn't. No, father, and it wouldn't be suitable. It wouldn't be right at all. Where was he sending you just now? He shouted, Go! as he ran away. To Katarina Ivanovna. For money? To ask her for money? No, not for money. He's no money, not a farthing. I'll settle down for the night, and think things over, and you can go. Perhaps you'll meet her. Only be sure to come to me tomorrow in the morning. Be sure to. I have a word to say to you tomorrow. Will you come? Yes. When you come, pretend you've come of your own accord to ask after me. Don't tell anyone I've told you to. Don't say a word to Ivan. Very well. Goodbye, my angel. You stood up for me just now. I shall never forget it. I have a word to say to you tomorrow, but I must think about it. And how do you feel now? I shall get up tomorrow and go out perfectly well, perfectly well. Crossing the yard, Alyosha found Ivan sitting on the bench at the gateway. He was sitting writing something in pencil in his notebook. Alyosha told Ivan that their father had waked up, was conscious, and had let him go back to sleep at the monastery. Alyosha, I should be very glad to meet you tomorrow morning, said Ivan cordially, standing up. His cordiality was a complete surprise to Alyosha. I shall be at the Hoflachovs tomorrow, answered Alyosha. I may be at Katerina Ivanovna's, too, if I don't find her now. But you're going to her now, anyway, for that complements him farewell. St. Ivan smiling. Alyosha was disconcerted. I think I quite understand his exclamations just now, and part of what went before. Dimitri has asked you to go to her, and say that he, well, in fact, takes his leave of her. Brother, how will all this horror end between father and Dimitri? exclaimed Alyosha. One can't tell for certain. Perhaps in nothing. It may all fizzle out. That woman is a beast. In any case, we must keep the old man indoors and not let Dimitri in the house. Brother, let me ask one more thing. Has any man a right to look at any other man and decide which is worthy to live? Why bring in the question of worth? The matter is most often decided in men's hearts, on other grounds much more natural, and as for rights, who has not the right to wish? Not for another man's death. What even if for another man's death? Why lie to oneself, since all men live so, and perhaps cannot help living so? Are you referring to what I said just now, that one reptile will devour the other? In that case, let me ask you. Do you think me, like Dimitri capable of shedding Asop's blood, murdering him? What are you saying, Yvonne? Such an idea never crossed my mind. I don't think Dimitri is capable of it, either. Thanks, if only for that, smiled Yvonne. Be sure I should always defend him, but in my wishes I reserve myself full latitude in this case. Goodbye till tomorrow. Don't condemn me, and don't look on me as a villain, he added with a smile. They shook hands warmly, as they had never done before. Alyosha felt that his brother had taken the first step towards him, and that he had certainly done this with some definite motive. This ends Chapter 9. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Brother's Karamazov, by Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky. Translated by Constance Garnet. Book 3. Chapter 10. Both Together Alyosha left his father's house, feeling even more exhausted and dejected in spirit than when he had entered it. His mind too seemed shattered and unhinged, while he felt that he was afraid to put together the disjointed fragments and form a general idea from all the agonizing and conflicting experiences of the day. He felt something bordering upon despair, which he had never known till then. Towering like a mountain above all the rest, stood the fatal insoluble question. How would things end between his father and his brother Dmitry with this terrible woman? Now he had himself been a witness of it. He had been present and seen them face to face. Yet only his brother Dmitry could be made unhappy, terribly, completely unhappy. There was trouble awaiting him. It appeared too that there were other people concerned, far more so than Alyosha could have supposed before. There was something positively mysterious in it too. Ivan had made a step towards him, which was what Alyosha had been long desiring. Yet now he felt for some reason that he was frightened at it. And these women. Strange to say, that morning he had set out for Katerina Ivanovna's in the greatest embarrassment. Now he felt nothing of the kind. On the contrary, he was hastening there as though expecting to find guidance from her. Yet to give her this message was obviously more difficult than before. The matter of the three thousand was decided irrevocably, and Dmitry, feeling himself dishonored and losing his last hope, might sink to any depth. He had moreover told him to describe to Katerina Ivanovna the scene which had just taken place with his father. It was by now seven o'clock, and it was getting dark as Alyosha entered the very spacious and convenient house in the high street occupied by Katerina Ivanovna. Alyosha knew that she lived with two aunts. One of them, a woman of little education, was that aunt of her half-sister Agafya Ivanovna, who had looked after her in her father's house when she came from boarding school. The other aunt was a Moscow lady of style and consequence, though in straitened circumstances. It was said that they both gave way in everything to Katerina Ivanovna, and that she only kept them as her chaperones. Katerina Ivanovna herself gave way to no one but her benefactress, the General's widow, who had been kept by illness in Moscow, and to whom she was obliged to write twice a week a full account of all her doings. When Alyosha entered the hall and asked the maid who opened the door to him to take his name up, it was evident that they were already aware of his arrival. Possibly he had been noticed from the window. At least Alyosha heard a noise, caught the sound of flying footsteps and rustling skirts. Two or three women, perhaps, had run out of the room. Alyosha thought it strange that his arrival should cause such excitement. He was conducted, however, to the drawing-room at once. It was a large room, elegantly and amply furnished, not at all in provincial style. There were many sofas, lounges, setties, big and little tables. There were pictures on the walls, vases and lamps on the tables, masses of flowers, and even an aquarium in the window. It was twilight and rather dark. Alyosha made out a silk mantle thrown down on the sofa, where people had evidently just been sitting, and on a table in front of the sofa were two unfinished cups of chocolate, cakes, a glass saucer with blue raisins, and another with sweetmeats. Alyosha saw that he had interrupted visitors and frowned. But at that instant the portier was raised, and with rapid, hurrying footsteps, Katerina Ivanovna came in, holding out both hands to Alyosha, with a radiant smile of delight. At the same instant a servant brought in two lighted candles and set them on the table. Thank God! At last you've come, too. I've been simply praying for you all day. Sit down. Alyosha had been struck by Katerina Ivanovna's beauty, when three weeks before, Dimitri had first brought him at Katerina Ivanovna's special request to be introduced to her. There had been no conversation between them at that interview. Supposing Alyosha to be very shy, Katerina Ivanovna had talked all the time to Dimitri to spare him. Alyosha had been silent, but he had seen a great deal very clearly. He was struck by the imperiousness, proud ease, and self-confidence of the hotty girl. And all that was certain. Alyosha felt that he was not exaggerating it. He thought her great glowing black eyes were very fine, especially with her pale, even rather sallow, longish face. But in those eyes, and in the lines of her exquisite lips, there was something with which his brother might well be passionately in love, but which perhaps could not be loved for long. He expressed this thought almost plainly to Dimitri, when after the visit his brother besought and insisted that he should not conceal his impressions on seeing his betrothed. You'll be happy with her, but perhaps not tranquilly happy. Quite so, brother, such people remain always the same, they don't yield to fate, so you think I shan't love her forever. No, perhaps you will love her forever, but perhaps you won't always be happy with her. Alyosha had given his opinion at the time, blushing and angry with himself for having yielded to his brothers and treaties, and put such foolish ideas into words. For his opinion had struck him as awfully foolish immediately after he had uttered it. He felt ashamed, too, of having given so confident an opinion about a woman. It was with the more amazement that he'd felt now, at the first glance at Katerina Ivanovna as she ran to him, that he had perhaps been utterly mistaken. This time her face was beaming with spontaneous, good-natured kindliness, and direct warm-hearted sincerity. The pride and haughtiness which had struck Alyosha so much before was only betrayed now in a frank, generous energy, and a sort of bright, strong faith in herself. Alyosha realized at the first glance, at the first word, that all the tragedy of her position in relation to the man she loved so dearly was no secret to her, that perhaps already she knew everything, positively everything, and yet in spite of that there was such brightness in her face, such faith in the future. Alyosha felt at once that he had gravely wronged her in his thoughts. He was conquered and captivated immediately. Besides all this he noticed at her first words that she was in great excitement, an excitement perhaps quite exceptional, and almost approaching ecstasy. I was so eager to see you, because I can learn from you the whole truth, from you and from no one else. I've come, muttered Alyosha confusedly. I—he sent me. Ah! he sent you. I foresaw that. Now I know everything, everything! cried Katerina Ivanovna, her eyes flashing. Wait a moment, Alexei Fyodorovich, I'll tell you why I've been so longing to see you. You see, I know perhaps far more than you do yourself, and there's no need for you to tell me anything. I'll tell you what I want from you. I want to know your own last impression of him. I want you to tell me most directly, plainly, coarsely even, always coarsely as you like, what you thought of him just now, and of his position after your meeting with him today. That will perhaps be better than if I had personal explanation with him, as he does not want to come to me. Do you understand what I want from you? Now tell me simply, tell me every word of the message he sent you with. I knew he would send you. He told me to give you his compliments, and to say that he would never come again, but to give you his compliments. His compliments? Was that what he said, his own expression? Yes. Accidentally perhaps he made a mistake in the word. Perhaps he did not use the right word. No. He told me precisely to repeat that word. He begged me two or three times not to forget to say so. Katarina Ivanovna flushed hotly. Help me now, Alexei Fyodorovich. Now I really need your help. I tell you what I think, and you must simply say whether it's right or not. Listen. If he had sent me his compliments in passing, without insisting on your repeating the words, without emphasizing them, that would be the end of everything. But if he particularly insisted on those words, if he particularly told you not to forget to repeat them to me, then perhaps he was an excitement beside himself. He had made his decision and was frightened at it. He wasn't walking away from me with resolute step, but leaping headlong. The emphasis on that phrase may have been simply bravado. Yes. Yes. Cried Alyosha warmly. I believe that is it. And if so, he's not altogether lost. I can still save him. Stay. Did he not tell you anything about money, about three thousand rubles? He did speak about it. And it's that more than anything that's crushing him. He said that he had lost his honor, and that nothing matters now. Alyosha answered warmly, feeling a rush of hope in his heart and believing that there really might be a way of escape and salvation for his brother. But do you know about the money? He added, and suddenly broke off. I've known of it a long time. I telegraphed to Moscow to inquire, and heard long ago that the money had not arrived. He hadn't sent the money, but I said nothing. Last week I learned that he was still in need of money. My only object in all this was that he should know to whom to turn, and who was his true friend. No, he won't recognize that I am his truest friend. He won't know me, and looks on me merely as a woman. I've been tormented all the week trying to think how to prevent him from being ashamed to face me because he spent that three thousand. Let him feel ashamed of himself. Let him be ashamed of other people knowing, but not of my knowing. He can tell God everything without shame. Why is it he still does not understand how much I am ready to bear for his sake? Why? Why doesn't he know me? How dare he not know me after all that has happened. I want to save him for ever. Let him forget me as his betrothed, and here he fears that he is dishonored in my eyes. Why, he wasn't afraid to be opened with you, Alexei Fyodorovich. How is it that I don't deserve the same? The last words she uttered in tears, tears gushed from her eyes. I must tell you, Alyosha began, his voice trembling too. What happened just now between him and father? And he described the whole scene, how Dimitri had sent him to get the money, how he had broken in, knocked his father down, and after that had again specially and emphatically begged him to take his compliments and farewell. He went to that woman. Alyosha added softly. And do you suppose that I can't put up with that woman? Does he think I can't? But he won't marry her. She suddenly laughed nervously. Could such a passion last forever in a karamazov? It's passion not love. He won't marry her, because she won't marry him. Again, Katerina Ivanovna laughed strangely. He may marry her, said Alyosha mournfully, looking down. He won't marry her, I tell you. That girl is an angel. Do you know that? Do you know that? Katerina Ivanovna explained suddenly with extraordinary warmth. She is one of the most fantastic of fantastic creatures. I know how bewitching she is. But I know too that she is kind, firm, and noble. Why do you look at me like that, Alexei Fyodorovich? Perhaps you are wondering at my words. Perhaps you don't believe me. Agrafina Aleksandrovna, my angel, she cried suddenly to someone, peeping into the next room. Come into us. This is a friend. This is Alyosha. He knows all about our affairs. Show yourself to him. I've only been waiting behind the curtain for you to call me. Set us soft, one might even say sugary, feminine voice. The portier was raised, and Grushenko herself, smiling and beaming, came up to the table. A violent revulsion passed over Alyosha. He fixed his eyes on her and could not take them off. Here she was, that awful woman, the beast as Ivan had called her half an hour before. And yet one would have thought the creature standing before him most simple and ordinary. A good-natured, kind woman, handsome certainly, but so like other handsome ordinary women. It is true that she was very, very good-looking, with that Russian beauty so passionately loved by many men. She was a rather tall woman, though a little shorter than Katerina Ivanovna, who was exceptionally tall. She had a full figure with soft, as it were, noiseless movements, softened to a peculiar over-sweetness like her voice. She moved, not like Katerina Ivanovna, with a vigorous bold step, but noiselessly. Her feet meant absolutely no sound on the floor. She sank softly into a low chair, softly rustling her sumptuous black silk dress, and delicately nestling her milk-white neck, and broad shoulders in a costly cashmere shawl. She was twenty-two years old, and her face looked exactly that age. She was very white in the face, with a pale pink tint on her cheeks. The modelling of her face might be said to be too broad, and the lower jaw was set a trifle forward. Her upper lip was thin, but the slightly prominent lower lip was at least twice as full, and looked pouting. But her magnificent, abundant dark brown hair, her sable-coloured eyebrows, and charming gray blue eyes, with their long lashes, would have made the most indifferent person, meaning her casually in a crowd in the street, stop at the sight of her face, and remember it long after. What struck Alyosha most in that face was his expression of childlike good nature. There was a childlike look in her eyes, a look of childish delight. She came up to the table beaming with delight, and seemed to expect something with childish, impatient, and confiding curiosity. The light in her eyes gladdened the soul. Alyosha felt that. There was something else in her which he could not understand, or would not have been able to define, and which yet perhaps unconsciously affected him. It was that softness, that voluptuousness of her bodily movements, that catlike noiselessness. Yet it was a vigorous ample body, under the shawl could be seen full broad shoulders, a high, still quite girlish bosom. Her figure suggested the lines of the Venus of Milo, though already in somewhat exaggerated proportions. That could be divined. Connoisseurs of Russian beauty could have foretold with certainty that this fresh, still youthful beauty, would lose its harmony by the age of thirty, would spread, that the face would become puffy, and that wrinkles would very soon appear upon her forehead and round the eyes. The complexure would grow coarse and red perhaps. In fact, that it was the beauty of the moment, the fleeting beauty which is so often met with in Russian women. Alyosha, of course, did not think of this. But though he was fascinated, yet he wondered with an unpleasant sensation, and as it were regretfully, why she drawled in that way, and could not speak naturally. She did so evidently, feeling there was a charm in the exaggerated, honeyed modulation of the syllables. It was, of course, only a bad, unbred habit that showed bad education, and a false idea of good manners. And yet this intonation, and manner of speaking impressed Alyosha, is almost incredibly incongruous with the childishly simple and happy expression of her face. The soft, babyish joy in her eyes. Katerina Ivanovna at once made her sit down in an armchair facing Alyosha, and ecstatically kissed her several times on her smiling lips. She seemed quite in love with her. This is the first time we've met Alexei Fyodorovich. She said rapturously, I wanted to know her, to see her. I wanted to go to her. But I no sooner expressed the wish than she came to me. I knew we should settle everything together. Everything. My heart told me so. I was begged not to take that step. But I foresaw it would be a way out of the difficulty, and I was not mistaken. Grushinka has explained everything to me, told me all she means to do. She flew here like an angel of goodness, and brought us peace and joy. You did not disdain me, sweet, excellent young lady, drolled Grushinka in her sing-song voice, still with the same charming smile of delight. Don't dare to speak to me like that, you sorceress! You witch! Distan you! Here I must kiss your lower lip once more. It looks as though it were swollen, and now more so, and more and more. Look how she laughs, Alexei Fyodorovich. It does one's heart good to see the angel. Alyosha flushed, and faint, imperceptible shivers kept running down him. You make so much of me, dear young lady, and perhaps I am not at all worthy of your kindness. Not worthy. She's not worthy of it. Katerina Ivanovna cried again with the same warmth. You know, Alexei Fyodorovich, we're fanciful. We're self-willed, but proudest of the proud in our little heart. We're noble. We're generous, Alexei Fyodorovich. Let me tell you. We have only been unfortunate. We were too ready to make every sacrifice for an unworthy, perhaps, or a fickle man. There was one man, one in officer two. We loved him. We sacrificed everything to him. That was long ago, five years ago, and he has forgotten us. He was married. Now he's a widower. He is written. He is coming here. And do you know, we've loved him, none but him all this time, and we've loved him for all our life. He will come, and Grushenka will be happy again. For the last five years she's been wretched. But who can reproach her? Who can boast of her favour? Only that bed-ridden old merchant. But he is more like her father, her friend, her protector. He found her then in despair, in agony deserted by the man she loved. She was ready to drown herself then. But the old merchant saved her. Saved her. You defend me very kindly, dear young lady. You are in a great hurry about everything. Grushenka drawled again. Defend you? Is it for me to defend you? Should I dare to defend you? Grushenka, angel, give me your hand. Look at that charming, soft little hand, Alexei Fyodorovitch. Look at it. It has brought me happiness and has lifted me up, and I'm going to kiss it, outside and inside, here, here, here. And three times she kissed the certainly charming, the rather fat, hand of Grushenka, in a sort of rapture. She held out her hand with a charming, musical, nervous little laugh, watched the sweet young lady, and obviously liked having her hand kissed. Perhaps there's rather too much rapture, thought Heliosha. He blushed. He felt a peculiar uneasiness at heart the whole time. You won't make me blush, dear young lady, kissing my hand like this before Alexei Fyodorovitch. Do you think I meant to make you blush? said Katerina Ivanovna, somewhat surprised. Oh, my dear, how little you understand me! Yes, and you too, perhaps, quite misunderstand me, dear young lady. Maybe I'm not so good as I seem to you. I have a bad heart. I will have my own way. I fascinated poor Dmitri Fyodorovitch that day, simply for fun. But now you'll save him. You've given me your word. You'll explain it all to him. You'll break it to him that you have long loved another man, who is now offering you his hand. Oh, no! I didn't give you my word to do that. It was you kept talking about that. I didn't give you my word. Then I didn't quite understand you, said Katerina Ivanovna slowly, turning a little pale. You promised. Oh, no, angel lady! I've promised nothing. Grushanka interrupted softly and evenly, still with the same gay and simple expression. You see at once, dear young lady, what a willful wretch I am compared with you. If I want to do a thing, I do it. I may have made you some promise just now. But now again I'm thinking. I may take me to again. I liked him very much once. Liked him for almost a whole hour. Now maybe I shall go and tell him to stay with me from this day forward. You see, I'm so changeable. Just now you said something quite different. Katerina Ivanovna whispered faintly. Just now, but you know, I'm such a soft-hearted, silly creature. Only think what he's gone through on my account. What if when I go home, I feel sorry for him? What then? I never expected. Ah, young lady, how good and generous you are compared with me. Now, perhaps you won't care for a silly creature like me. Now you know my character. Give me your sweet little hand, angelic lady. She said tenderly and with a sort of reverence took Katerina Ivanovna's hand. Here, dear young lady, I'll take your hand and kiss it as you did mine. You kissed mine three times. But I ought to kiss yours three hundred times to be even with you. Well, but let that pass, and then it shall be as God wills. Perhaps I shall be your slave entirely, and want to do your bidding like a slave. Let it be as God wills, without any agreements and promises. What a sweet hand. What a sweet hand you have, you sweet young lady, you incredible beauty. She slowly raised the hands to her lips, with the strange object indeed of being even with her and kisses. Katerina Ivanovna did not take her hand away. She listened with timid hope to the last words, though Grushenka's promise to do her bidding like a slave was very strangely expressed. She looked intently into her eyes. She still saw in those eyes the same simple-hearted, confiding expression, the same bright gaiety. She's perhaps too naive, thought Katerina Ivanovna with a gleam of hope. Grushenka, meanwhile, seemed enthusiastic over the sweet hand. She raised it deliberately to her lips, but she held it for two or three minutes near her lips, as though reconsidering something. Do you know angel lady? She suddenly drolled, in an even more soft and sugary voice. Do you know, after all, I think I won't kiss your hand? And she laughed, a little merry laugh. As you please, what's the matter with you? said Katerina Ivanovna, starting suddenly, so that you may be left to remember that you kissed my hand. But I didn't kiss yours. There was a sudden gleam in her eyes. She looked with awful intentness at Katerina Ivanovna. Insolent creature cried Katerina Ivanovna, as though suddenly grasping something. She flushed all over and leapt up from her seat. Grushenka too got up, but without haste. So I shall tell Mitya how you kissed my hand. But I didn't kiss yours at all. And how he will laugh. Vile slut, go away! Ah, for shame, young lady, ah, for shame. That's unbecoming for you, dear young lady. A word like that. Go away! You're a creature for sale. Screamed Katerina Ivanovna. Every feature was working in her utterly distorted face. For sale, indeed. You used to visit gentlemen in the dusk for money once. You brought your beauty for sale. You see, I know. Katerina Ivanovna shrieked, and would have rushed at her. But Alyosha held her with all his strength. Not a step, not a word. Don't speak. Don't answer her. She'll go away. She'll go away at once. At that instant Katerina Ivanovna's two aunts ran in at her cry, and with them a maidservant, all hurried to her. I will go away, said Grushenka, taking up her mantle from the sofa. Alyosha, darling, see me home. Go away! Go away! Make haste! cried Alyosha, clasping his hands imploringly. Dear little Alyosha, see me home. I've got a pretty little story to tell you on the way. I got up this scene for your benefit, Alyosha. See me home, dear. You'll be glad for it afterwards. Alyosha turned away, ringing his hands. Grushenka ran out of the house, laughing musically. Katerina Ivanovna went into a fit of hysterics. She sobbed and was shaken with convulsions. Everyone rushed around her. I warned you, said the elder of her aunts. I tried to prevent your doing this. You're too impulsive. How could you do such a thing? You don't know these creatures, and they say she's worse than any of them. You're too self-willed. She's a Tigress! yelled Katerina Ivanovna. Why did you hold me, Alexei Fyodorovich? I'd have beaten her, beaten her. She could not control herself before Alyosha. Perhaps she did not care to indeed. She ought to be flogged in a public on a scaffold. Alyosha withdrew towards the door. But my God! cried Katerina Ivanovna, clasping her hands. He! He could be so dishonorable. So inhumane! Why, he told that creature what happened on that fatal, accursed day. You brought your beauty for sale, dear young lady. She knows it. Your brother's a scoundrel, Alexei Fyodorovich. Alyosha wanted to say something, but he couldn't find a word. His heart ached. Go away, Alexei Fyodorovich. It's shameful. It's awful for me. Tomorrow I beg you on my knees. Come to-morrow. Don't condemn me. Forgive me. I don't know what I shall do with myself now. Alyosha walked out into the street reeling. He could have wept as she did. Suddenly he was overtaken by the maid. The young lady forgot to give you this letter from Madame Hoflikoff. It's been left with us since dinnertime. Alyosha took the little pink envelope mechanically and put it almost unconsciously into his pocket. This ends Chapter 10. Book 3 Chapter 11 of the Brother's Karamazov This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Book 3 Chapter 11 Another reputation ruined. It was not much more than three-quarters of a mile from the town to the monastery. Alyosha walked quickly along the road, at that hour deserted. It was almost night and too dark to see anything clearly at thirty paces ahead. There were crossroads halfway. A figure came into sight under a solitary willow at the crossroads. As soon as Alyosha reached the crossroads, the figure moved out and rushed at him, shouting savagely, your money or your life. So it's you, Mitya, cried Alyosha in surprise, violently startled, however. You didn't expect me. I wondered where to wait for you, by her house. There are three ways from it, and I might have missed you. At least I thought of waiting here, for you had to pass here. There's no other way to the monastery. Come, tell me the truth. Crush me like a beetle. But what's the matter? Nothing, brother. It's the fright you gave me. Oh, Dimitri, father's blood just now. Alyosha began to cry. He had been on the verge of tears for a long time, and now something seemed to snap in his soul. You almost killed him, cursed him, and now here you're making jokes, your money or your life. Well, what of it? It's not seemly, is that it? Not suitable in my position? No, I only—stay, look at the night. You see what a dark night, what clouds, what a wind has risen. I hid here under the willow waiting for you, and as gods above, I suddenly thought, why go on in misery any longer? What is there to wait for? Here I have a willow, a handkerchief, a shirt. I can twist them into a rope, in a minute, and brace this besides. Why go on burning the earth, dishonoring it with my vile presence? And then I heard you coming. Heavens, it was as though something flew down to me suddenly. So there is a man, then, whom I love. Here he is, that man, my dear little brother, whom I love more than anyone in the world—the only one I love in the world. And I loved you so much. So much at that moment that I thought I'll fall on his neck at once. Then a stupid idea struck me, to have a joke with you and scare you. I shouted like a fool, your money. Forgive my foolery. It was only nonsense, and there's nothing unseemly in my soul. Damn it, I'll tell me what's happened. What did she say? Strike me, crush me, don't spare me? Was she furious? No, not that. There was nothing like that, Midya. There, I found them both there. Both? Whom? Grušenka, at Caterina Ivanovna's. Dimitri was struck dumb. Impossible, he cried. You're raving. Grušenka? With her? Alyosha described all that had happened from the moment he went into Caterina Ivanovna's. He was ten minutes telling his story. He can't be said to have told it fluidly and consecutively, but he seemed to make it clear, not omitting any word or action of significance, and vividly describing, often in one word, his own sensations. Dimitri listened in silence, gazing at him with a terrible, fixed stare. But it was clear to Alyosha that he had understood it all, and had grasped every point. But as the story went on, his face became not merely gloomy, but menacing. He scowled, he clenched his teeth, and his fixed stare became still more rigid, more concentrated, more terrible. When suddenly, with incredible rapidity, his wrathful, savage face changed, his tightly compressed lips parted, and Dimitri Fyodorovich broke into uncontrolled, spontaneous laughter. He literally shook with laughter. For a long time he could not speak. So she wouldn't kiss her hand. So she didn't kiss it. So she ran away. He kept exclaiming with hysterical delight, insolent delight it might have been called, if it had not been so spontaneous. So the other one called her Tigris, and a Tigris she is. So she ought to be flogged on a scaffold. Yes, yes, so she ought. That's just what I think. She ought to have been long ago. It's like this, brother, let her be punished, but I must get better first. I understand the queen of impudence. That's her all over. You saw her all over in that hand-kissing, the she-devil. She's magnificent in her own line. So she ran home. I'll go. Ah, I'll run to her. Alyosha, don't blame me. I agree that hanging is too good for her. But Katarvina Ivanovna exclaimed Alyosha sorrowfully. I see her too. I see right through her as I've never done before. It's her regular discovery on the four continents of the world. That is, of the five. What a thing to do. That's just like Katya, who is not afraid to face a coarse, unmanorly officer, and risk a deadly insult on a generous impulse to save her father. But the pride, the recklessness, the defiance of fate, the unbounded defiance. You say that aunt tried to stop her? That aunt, you know, is overbearing herself. She's the sister of the general's widow in Moscow, and even more stuck up than she. But her husband was caught stealing government money. He lost everything, his estate and all, and the proud wife had to lower her colours and hasn't raised them since. So she tried to prevent Katya, but she wouldn't listen to her. She thinks she can overcome everything, that everything will give way to her. She thought she could be witch-grushinka she liked, and she believed it herself. She plays a part to herself, and whose fault is it? Do you think she kissed Grushinka's hand first on purpose, with a motive? No. She really was fascinated by Grushinka. That's to say, not by Grushinka, but by her own dream. Her own delusion. Because it was her dream. Her delusion. Alyosha, darling, how did you escape from them, those women? Did you pick up your caustic and run? Brother, you don't seem to have noticed how you've insulted Katya and Ivana by telling Grushinka about that day, and she flung it in her face just now, that she had gone to gentlemen in secret to sell her beauty. Brother, what could be worse than that insult? What worried Alyosha more than anything was that, incredible as it seemed, his brother appeared pleased at Katarina Ivanovna's humiliation. Dimitri frowned fiercely, and struck his forehead with his hand. He only now realized it, though Alyosha had just told him of the insult, and Katarina Ivanovna's cry. Your brother is a scoundrel! Yes. Perhaps I really did tell Grushinka about that fatal day, as Katya calls it. Yes, I did tell her. I remember. It was that time at Mokroya. I was drunk, the gypsies were singing, but I was sobbing. I was sobbing then, kneeling and praying to Katya's image, and Grushinka understood it. She understood it all then. I remember, she cried herself. Damn it all. But it's bound to be so now. Then she cried, but now the dagger in the heart, that's how women are. He looked down and sank into thought. Yes, I am a scoundrel. A thorough scoundrel, he said suddenly in a gloomy voice. It doesn't matter whether I cried or not, I'm a scoundrel. Tell her I accept the name, if that's any comfort. Come, that's enough. Goodbye. It's no use talking. It's not amusing. You go your way, and I mine, and I don't want to see you again except as a last resort. Goodbye, Alexei. He warmly pressed Alyosha's hand and still looking down, without raising his head, as though tearing himself away turned rapidly towards the town. Alyosha looked after him, unable to believe he would go away so abruptly. Stay, Alexei, one more confession to you alone, cried Dimitri, suddenly turning back. Look at me. Look at me well. You see here? Here? There's terrible disgrace in store for me. As he said here, Dimitri struck his chest with his fist with a strange air, as though the dishonor lay precisely on his chest, in some spot, in a pocket perhaps, or hanging round his neck. You know me now, a scoundrel, an avowed scoundrel, but let me tell you that I've never done anything before, and never shall again. Anything that can compare in baseness with the dishonor which I bear now at this very minute on my breast. Here. Here. Which will come to pass, though I'm perfectly free to stop it. I can stop it or carry it through, note that. Well, let me tell you I shall carry it through. I shan't stop it. I told you everything just now, but I didn't tell you this, because even if I had not brass enough for it, I can still pull up. If I do, I can give back the full half of my lost honour to-morrow. But I shan't pull up. I shall carry out my base plan, and you can bear witness that I told you so beforehand. Darkness and destruction. No need to explain. You'll find out in due time the filthy back alley in the she-devil. Goodbye. Don't pray for me. I'm not worth it. And there's no need. No need at all. I don't need it. Away! And he suddenly retreated. This time finally. Al Yasha went towards the monastery. What? I shall never see him again? What is he saying? He wondered wildly. Why, I shall certainly see him to-morrow. I shall look him up. I shall make a point of it. What does he mean? He went round the monastery and crossed the pine wood to the hermitage. The door was open to him, though no one was admitted at that hour. There was a tremor in his heart as he went to Father Zosima's cell. Why? Why had he gone forth? Why had he sent him into the world? Here was peace. Here was holiness. But there was confusion. There was darkness in which one lost one's way and went astray at once. In the cell he found the novice Porphyry and Father Paesi who came every hour to inquire after Father Zosima. Al Yasha learned with alarm that he was getting worse and worse. Even his usual discourse with the brothers could not take place that day. As a rule every evening after service the monks flocked into Father Zosima's cell and all confessed aloud their sins of the day, their sinful thoughts and temptations, even their disputes, if there had been any. Some confessed kneeling. The elder absolved, reconciled, exhorted, imposed penance, blessed, and dismissed them. It was against this general confession that the opponents of elders protested, maintaining it was a profanation of sacrament and of confession. Almost a sacrilege, though this was quite a different thing. They even represented to the diocesan authorities that such confessions attained no good object, but actually to a large extent led to sin and temptation. Many of the brothers disliked going to the elder and went against their own will because everyone went, and for fear that they should be accused of pride and rebellious ideas. People said that some of the monks agreed beforehand, saying, I'll confess I lost my temper with you this morning and you confirm it, simply in order to have something to say. Al Yasha knew that this actually happened sometimes. He knew, too, that there were among the monks, some who deeply resented the fact that letters from relations were habitually taken to the elder, to be opened and read by him before those to whom they were addressed. It was assumed, of course, that all this was done freely and in good faith by way of voluntary submission and salutary guidance. But, in fact, there was sometimes no little insincerity, and much that was false and strained in this practice. Yet the older and more experienced of the monks adhered to their opinion, arguing that, for those who have come within these walls sincerely seeking salvation, such obedience and sacrifice will certainly be salutary and of great benefit. Those on the other hand who find it irksome and repine are no true monks and have made a mistake in entering the monastery. Their proper place is in the world, even in the temple when cannot be safe from sin and the devil, so it was no good taking it too much into account. He is weaker, and drowsiness has come over him. Father Paesi whispered to Al Yasha as he blessed him. It's difficult to rouse him, and he must not be roused. He waked up for five minutes, sent his blessing to the brothers, and begged their prayers for him at night. He intends to take the sacrament again in the morning. He remembered you, Alexei. He asked whether you had gone away, and was told that you were in the town. I blessed him for that work, he said. His place is there, not here for a while. Those were his words about you. He remembered you lovingly, with anxiety. Do you understand how he honoured you? But how is that he had decided that you shall spend some time in the world? He must have foreseen something in your destiny. Understand, Alexei, that if you return to the world, it must be to do the duty laid upon you by your elder, and not for frivolous vanity and worldly pleasures. Father Paesi went out. Al Yasha had no doubt that Father Zosima was dying, though he might live another day or two. Al Yasha firmly and ardently resolved that in spite of his promises to his father, the Hoflokovs and Katerina Ivanovna, he would not leave the monastery next day, but would remain with his elder to the end. His heart glowed with love, and he reproached himself bitterly for having been able for one instant to forget him, whom he had left in the monastery, on his deathbed, and whom he honoured above everyone in the world. He went into Father Zosima's bedroom, knelt down, and bowed to the ground before the elder, who slept quietly, without stirring, with regular, hardly audible breathing, and a peaceful face. Al Yasha returned to the other room where Father Zosima had received his guests in the morning. Taking off his boots he lay down on the hard, narrow, leatheren sofa, which he had long used as a bed, bringing nothing but a pillow. The mattress about which his father had shouted to him that morning, he had long forgotten to lie on. He took off his cassock, which he used as a covering, but before going to bed he fell on his knees and prayed a long time. In his fervent prayer he did not beseech God to lighten his darkness, but only thirsted for the joyous emotion which always visited his soul after the praise and adoration of which his evening prayer usually consisted. That joy always brought him light, untroubled sleep. As he was praying he suddenly felt in his pocket the little pink note the servant had handed him, as he left Katerina Ivanovna's. He was disturbed, but finished his prayer. Then after some hesitation he opened the envelope, and it was a letter to him, signed by Lisa, the young daughter of Madame Hofflickoff, who had laughed at him before the elder in the morning. Alexei Fyodorovich, she wrote, I am writing to you without anyone's knowledge, even mamaz, and I know how wrong it is, but I cannot live without telling you the feeling that has sprung up in my heart, and this no one but us too must know for a time. But how am I to say what I want so much to tell you? Paper, they say, does not blush, but I assure you it's not true, and that it's blessing just as I am now all over. Dear Alyosha, I love you. I've loved you from my childhood, since our Moscow days, when you were very different from what you are now, and I shall love you all my life. My heart has chosen you to unite our lives and pass them together till our old age, of course on condition that you will leave the monastery. As for our age we will wait for the time fixed by the law. By that time I shall certainly be quite strong. I shall be walking and dancing. There can be no doubt of that. You see how I've thought of everything. There's only one thing I can't imagine. What you'll think of me when you read this. I'm always laughing and being naughty. I made you angry this morning, but I assure you, before I took up my pen, I prayed before the image of the mother of God, and now I'm praying and almost crying. My secret is in your hands. When you come tomorrow, I don't know how I shall look at you. Ah, Alexei Fyodorovich, what if I can't restrain myself like a silly and laugh when I look at you as I did today? You'll think I'm a nasty girl making fun of you, and you won't believe my letter. And so I beg you, dear one, if you've any penny for me, when you come tomorrow, don't look me straight in the face, for if I meet your eyes, it will be sure to make me laugh, especially as you'll be in that long gown. I feel cold all over when I think of it. So when you come, don't look at me at all for a time. Look at Mama or at the window. Here I've written you a love letter. Oh, dear, what have I done? Alyosha don't despise me, and if I've done something very horrid and wounded you, forgive me. Now the secret of my reputation, ruined perhaps forever, is in your hands. I shall certainly cry today. Goodbye to our meeting, our awful meeting. Lees. PS. Alyosha, you must, must, must come. Lees. Alyosha read the note in amazement, read it through twice, thought a little, and suddenly laughed a soft, sweet laugh. He started. That laugh seemed to him sinful. But a minute later he laughed again just as softly and happily. He slowly replaced the note in the envelope, crossed himself and lay down. The agitation in his heart passed at once. What have mercy upon all of them? Have all these unhappy and turbulent souls in thy keeping, and set them in the right path? All ways are thine. Save them according to thy wisdom. Thou art love, thou wilt send joy to all. Alyosha murmured, crossing himself, and falling into peaceful sleep. This ends Chapter 11, and concludes Part 1 of the Brothers Karamazov.