 Book 4, Chapter 6 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 Fyodor Dostoyevsky, translated by Konstantz Garnet. Book 4, Chapter 6, Alaceration in the Cottage He certainly was really grieved in a way he had seldom been before. He had rushed in like a fool, and meddled in what? In a love affair. But what do I know about it? What can I tell about such things? He repeated to himself for the hundredth time, flushing crimson. Oh, being ashamed would be nothing. Being is only the punishment I deserve. The trouble is, I shall certainly have caused more unhappiness, and Father Zosima sent me to reconcile and bring them together. Is this the way to bring them together? Then he suddenly remembered how he had tried to join their hands, and he felt fearfully ashamed again. Though I acted quite sincerely, I must be more sensible in the future, he concluded suddenly. And did not even smile at his conclusion. Katerina Ivanovna's commission took him to Lake Street, and his brother Dmitry lived close by in a turning out of Lake Street. Alyosha decided to go to him in any case before going to the captain, though he had a pre-sentiment that he would not find his brother. He suspected that he would intentionally keep out of his way now, but he must find him anyhow. Time was passing. The thought of his dying elder had not left Alyosha for one minute from the time he set off from the monastery. There was one point which interested him particularly about Katerina Ivanovna's commission, when she had mentioned the captain's son, the little schoolboy who had run beside his father crying. The idea had at once struck Alyosha that this must be the schoolboy who had bitten his finger when he, Alyosha, asked him what he had done to hurt him. Now Alyosha felt practically certain of this, though he could not have said why. Thinking of another subject was a relief, and he resolved to think no more about the mischief he had done, and not to torture himself with remorse, but to do what he had to do, let come what would. At that thought, he was completely comforted. Turning to the street where Dimitri lodged, he felt hungry, and taking out of his pocket the role he had brought from his father's, he ate it. It made him feel stronger. Dimitri was not at home. The people of the house, an old cabinet-maker, his son, and his old wife, looked with positive suspicion at Alyosha. He hasn't slept here for the last three nights. Maybe he has gone away. The old man said in answer to Alyosha's persistent inquiries. Alyosha saw that he was answering in accordance with instructions. When he asked whether he were not at Gushankas or in hiding at Formas, Alyosha spoke so freely on purpose. All three looked at him in alarm. They are fond of him, they are doing their best for him, thought Alyosha. That's good. At last he found the house in Lake Street. It was a decrepit little house, sunk on one side with three windows looking into the street, and with a muddy yard in the middle of which stood a solitary cow. He crossed the yard and found the door opening into the passage. On the left of the passage lived the old woman of the house with her old daughter. Both seemed to be deaf. In answer to his repeated inquiry for the captain, one of them at last understood that he was asking for their lodgers and pointed to a door across the passage. The captain's lodging turned out to be a simple cottage room. Alyosha had his hand on the iron latch to open the door when he was struck by a strange hush within. Yet he knew from Katharina Ivanovna's words that the man had a family. Either they are all asleep or perhaps they have heard me coming and are waiting for me to open the door. I'd better knock first, and he knocked. An answer came but not at once, after an interval of perhaps ten seconds. Who's there? shouted someone in a loud and very angry voice. Then Alyosha opened the door and crossed the threshold. He found himself in a regular peasant's room, though it was large. It was cumbered up with domestic belongings of all sorts, and there were several people in it. On the left was a large Russian stove. From the stove to the window on the left there was a string running across the room, and on it there were rags hanging. There was a bedstead against the wall on each side, right and left, covered with knitted quilts. On the one on the left was a pyramid of four print-covered pillows, each smaller than the one beneath. On the other there was only one very small pillow. The opposite corner was screened off by a curtain or a sheet hung on a string. Behind this curtain could be seen a bed made up on a bench and a chair. The rough square table of plain wood had been moved into the middle window. The three windows which consisted of four tiny greenish mildewy panes gave little light and were closed shut so that the room was not very light and rather stuffy. On the table was a frying pan with the remains of some fried eggs, a half-eaten piece of bread, and a small bottle with a few drops of vodka. A woman of gentile appearance, wearing a cotton gown, was sitting on a chair by the bed on the left. Her face was thin and yellow, and her sunken cheeks betrayed at the first glance that she was ill. But what struck Alyosha most was the expression in the poor woman's eyes, a look of surprised inquiry and yet of haughty pride. And while he was talking to her husband, her big brown eyes moved from one speaker to the other with the same haughty and questioning expression. Beside her at the windows stood a young girl, rather plain, with scanty reddish hair, poorly but very neatly dressed. She looked disdainfully at Alyosha as he came in. Beside the other bed was sitting another female figure. She was a very sad sight, a young girl of about twenty but hunchback and crippled with withered legs as Alyosha was told afterwards. Her crutches stood in the corner close by. The strikingly beautiful and gentle eyes of this poor girl looked with mild serenity at Alyosha. A man of forty-five was sitting at the table, finishing the fried eggs. He was spare, small and weakly built. He had reddish hair and a scanty, light-colored beard, very much like a wisp of toe. This comparison and the phrase, a wisp of toe, flashed at once into Alyosha's mind for some reason. He remembered it afterwards. It was obviously this gentleman who had shouted to him, as there was no other man in the room. But when Alyosha went in, he leapt up from the bench on which he was sitting and hastily wiping his mouth with a ragged napkin, darted up to Alyosha. It's a monk come to beg for the monastery, a nice place to come to the girl standing in the left corner said aloud. The man spun round instantly towards her and answered her in an excited and breaking voice. No, Vaivara, you are wrong. Allow me to ask, he turned again to Alyosha. What has brought you to our retreat? Alyosha looked attentively at him. It was the first time he had seen him. There was something angular, flurried and irritable about him. Although he had obviously just been drinking, he was not drunk. There was an extraordinary impudence in his expression, and yet strange to say, at the same time, there was fear. He looked like a man who had long been kept in subjection and had submitted to it, and now had suddenly turned and was trying to assert himself. Or, better still, like a man who wants dreadfully to hit you but is horribly afraid you will hit him. In his words and in the intonation of his shrill voice, there was a sort of crazy humor, at times spiteful and at times cringing and continually shifting from one tone to another. The question about our retreat, he had asked, as it were quivering all over, rolling his eyes and skipping up so close to Alyosha that he instinctively drew back a step. He was dressed in a very shabby dark cotton coat, patched and spotted. He wore checked trousers of an extremely light color, long out of fashion and a very thin material. They were so crumpled and so short that he looked as though he had grown out of them like a boy. I am Alexei Karamazov, Alyosha began in reply. I quite understand that, sir, the gentleman snapped out at once to assure him that he knew who he was already. I am Captain Snagiryev, sir. But I am still desirous to know precisely what has led you. Oh, I've come for nothing special. I wanted to have a word with you, if only you'll allow me. In that case, here is a chair, sir, kindly be seated. That's what they used to say in the old comedies, kindly be seated. And with a rapid gesture, he seized an empty chair. It was a rough wooden chair, not upholstered, and set it for him in the middle of the room. Then, taking another similar chair for himself, he sat down facing Alyosha, so close to him that their knees almost touched. Nikolai Ilyich Snagiryev, sir, formerly a captain in the Russian infantry, put to shame for his vices, but still a captain. Though I might not be one now for the way I talk, for the last half of my life, I've learned to say, sir, it's a word you use when you've come down in the world. That's very true, smiled Alyosha. But is it used involuntarily or on purpose? As God's above, it's involuntary. But I use it to use it. I didn't use the word, sir, all my life. But as soon as I sank into low water, I began to say, sir. It's the work of a higher power. I see you're interested in contemporary questions, but how can I have excited your curiosity, living as I do, in surroundings impossible for the exercise of hospitality? I've come about that business. About what business, the captain interrupted impatiently? About your meeting with my brother Dimitri Fyodorovich. Alyosha blurted out awkwardly. What meeting, sir? You don't mean that meeting? About my wisp of toe, then? He moved closer so that his knees positively knocked against Alyosha. His lips were strangely compressed like a thread. What wisp of toe, muttered Alyosha? He has come to complain of me, father, quite a voice familiar to Alyosha, the voice of the schoolboy from behind the curtain. I bit his finger just now. The curtain was pulled, and Alyosha saw his assailant, lying on a little bed made up on the bench and the chair in the corner under the icons. The boy lay covered by his coat and an old wadded quilt. He was evidently unwell, and judging by his glittering eyes, he was in a fever. He looked at Alyosha without fear, as though he felt he was at home and could not be touched. What? Did he bite your finger? The captain jumped up from his chair. Was it your finger he bit? Yes, he was throwing stones at the schoolboys. There were six of them against him alone. I went up to him, and he threw a stone at me, and then another at my head. I asked him what I had done to him, and then he rushed at me and bit my finger badly. I don't know why. I'll thrash him, sir, at once. This minute, the captain jumped up from his seat. But I am not complaining at all. I am simply telling you. I don't want him to be thrashed. Besides, he seems ill. And do you suppose that I thrash him? That I take my Alyosha and thrash him before you for your satisfaction? Would you like it done at once, sir? Said the captain, suddenly turning to Alyosha, as though he were going to attack him. I am sorry about your finger, sir. But instead of thrashing Alyosha, would you like me to chop off my four fingers with this knife here before your eyes to satisfy your just wrath? I should think four fingers would be enough to satisfy your thirst for vengeance. You won't ask for the fifth one, too. He stopped short with a catch in his throat. Every feature in his face was twitching and working. He looked extremely defiant. He was in a sort of frenzy. I think I understand it all now, said Alyosha gently and sorrowfully, still keeping his seat. So your boy is a good boy. He loves his father, and he attacked me as the brother of your assailant. Now I understand it, he repeated thoughtfully. But my brother, Dmitry Fyodorovich, regrets his action. I know that. And if only it is possible for him to come to you, or better still, to meet you in that same place, he will ask for your forgiveness before everyone if you wish it. After pulling out my beard, you mean, he will ask my forgiveness, and he thinks that will be a satisfactory finish, doesn't he? Oh no, on the contrary, he will do anything you like and in any way you like. So if I were to ask his highness to go down on his knees before me in that very tavern, the Metropolis, it's called, or in the marketplace, he would do it? Yes, he would even go down on his knees. You've pierced me to the heart, sir. Touch me to tears and pierce me to the heart. I am only too sensible of your brother's generosity. Allow me to introduce my family, my two daughters, and my son, my litter. If I die, who will care for them? And while I live, who but they will care for a wretch like me? That's a great thing the Lord has ordained for every man of my sort, sir, for there must be someone able to love even a man like me. Ah, that's perfectly true, exclaimed Alyosha. Oh, do leave off playing the fool. Some idiot comes in and you put us to shame, cried the girl by the window, suddenly turning to her father with a disdainful and contemptuous air. Wait a little, Varvara, cried her father, speaking peremptorily, but looking at them quite approvingly. That's her character, he said, addressing Alyosha again. And in all nature, there was not that could find favor in his eyes, or rather in the feminine that would find favor in her eyes. But now let me present you to my wife, Arina Petrovna. She is crippled. She is 43. She can move, but very little. She is of humble origin. Arina Petrovna, compose your countenance. This is Alexei Fyodorovich Karamazov. Get up, Alexei Fyodorovich. He took him by the hand, and with unexpected force pulled him up. You must stand up to be introduced to a lady. It's not the Karamazov, Mama, who, hm, et cetera, but his brother, radiant with modest virtues. Come, Arina Petrovna, come, Mama, first your hand to be kissed. And he kissed his wife's hand respectfully, and even tenderly. The girl at the window turned her back indignantly on the scene. An expression of extraordinary cordiality came over the haughty, inquiring face of the woman. Good morning. Sit down, Mr. Chernamazov, she said. Karamazov, Mama, Karamazov. We have humble origin, he whispered again. Well, Karamazov, or whatever it is. But I always think of Chernamazov. Sit down. Why has he pulled you up? He calls me crippled, but I am not. Only my legs are swollen like barrels, and I am shriveled up myself. Once I used to be so fat, but now it's as though I had swallowed a needle. We are of humble origin, the captain muttered again. Oh, father, father, the hunchback girl, who had till then been silent on her chair, said suddenly. And she hid her eyes in the handkerchief. Buffoon, flirted out the girl at the window. Have you heard our news, said the mother, pointing at her daughters? It's like clouds coming over. The clouds pass, and we have music again. When we were with the army, we used to have many such guests. I don't mean to make any comparisons, everyone to their taste. The deacon's wife used to come and say, Aleksandr, Aleksandrovich is a man of the noblest heart, but that Tassia Petrovna, she would say, is of the brood of hell. Well, I said, that's a matter of taste. But you are a little spitfire, and you want keeping in your place, says she. You black sword, said I. Who asked you to teach me? But my breath, says she, is clean, and yours is unclean. You ask all the officers whether my breath is unclean, and ever since then I had it in my mind. Not long ago, I was sitting here as I am now when I saw that very general come in who came here for Easter, and I asked him, your excellency, said I, can a lady's breath be unpleasant? Yes, he answered. You ought to open a window pane or open the door for the air is not fresh here. And they go on like that. And what is my breath to them? The dead smell worse still. I won't spoil the air, said I. I'll order some slippers and I'll go away. My darlings, don't blame your own mother. Nikolai Ilyich, how is it I can't please you? There's only Urusha who comes home from school and loves me. Yesterday he brought me an apple. Forgive your own mother. Forgive a poor, lonely creature. Why has my breath become so unpleasant to you? And the poor mad woman broke into sobs and tears streamed down her cheeks. The captain rushed up to her. Mama, mama, my dear, give over. You are not lonely. Everyone loves you. Everyone adores you. He began kissing both her hands again and tenderly stroking her face, taking the dinner napkin. He began wiping away her tears. Alyosha fancied that he too had tears in his eyes. There, you see, you hear. He turned with a sort of fury to Alyosha, pointing to the poor imbecile. I see and hear, murdered Alyosha. Father, father, how can you with him? Let him alone, cried the boy, sitting up in his bed and gazing at his father with glowing eyes. Do give over, fooling, showing off your silly antics which never lead to anything, shouted Varvara, stamping her foot with passion. Your anger is quite just this time, Varvara, and I'll make haste to satisfy you. Come, put on your cap, Alexei Fyodorovich, and I'll put on mine. We will go out. I have a word to say to you in earnest, but not within these walls. This girl sitting here is my daughter Nina. I forgot to introduce her to you. She is a heavenly angel incarnate who has flown down to us mortals, if you can understand. There he is, shaking all over, as though he is in convulsions, Varvara went on indignantly. And there, stamping her foot at me and calling me a fool just now, she is a heavenly angel incarnate too, and she has good reason to call me so. Come along, Alexei Fyodorovich. We must make an end. And, snatching Alyosha's hand, he drew him out of the room into the street. End of chapter six, book four. The Brothers Karamazov, book four, chapter seven. 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 Fyodor Dostoevsky, translated by Konstantz Garnet, book four, chapter seven. And in the open air. The air is fresh, but in my apartment it is not so in any sense of the word. Let us walk slowly, sir. I should be glad of your kind interest. I too have something important to say to you, observed Alyosha. Only I don't know how to begin. To be sure you must have business with me, you would never have looked in upon me without some object, unless you come simply to complain of the boy, and that's hardly likely. And by the way, about the boy, I could not explain to you in there, but here I will describe that scene to you. My toe was thicker a week ago, I mean, my beard. That's the nickname they give to my beard, the schoolboys most of all. Well, your brother, Dmitri Fyodorovich, was pulling me by my beard. I'd done nothing. He was in a towering rage and happened to come upon me. He dragged me out of the tavern and into the marketplace, and at that moment the boys were coming out of school, and with them Alyosha. As soon as he saw me in such a state, he rushed up to me, father he cried, father, he got hold of me, hugged me, tried to pull me away, crying to my assailant, let go, let go, it's my father, forgive him. Yes, he actually cried, forgive him. He clutched at that hand, that very hand, in his little hands and kissed it. I remember his little face at that moment. I haven't forgotten it and I never shall. I swear, cried Alyosha, that my brother will express his most deep and sincere regret, even if he has to go down on his knees in that same marketplace. I'll make him or he is no brother of mine. Aha, then it's only a suggestion, and it does not come from him, but simply from the generosity of your own warm heart. You should have said so. No, in that case, allow me to tell you of your brother's highly chillerous, soldierly generosity, for he did give expression to it at the time. He left off dragging me by the beard and released me. You are an officer, he said, and I am an officer. If you can find a decent man to be your second, send me your challenge. I will give satisfaction, though you are scoundrel. That is what he said, a chivalrous spirit indeed. I retired with Alyosha, and that scene is a family record imprinted forever on Alyosha's soul. No, it's not for us to claim the privileges of noblemen, judge for yourself. You've just been in our mansion. What did you see there? Three ladies, one a cripple and weak-minded, another a cripple and hunchback, and the third, not crippled but far too clever. She is a student, dying to get back to Petersburg, to work for the emancipation of the Russian woman on the banks of the Neva. I won't speak of Alyosha, he is only nine. I am alone in the world, and if I die, what will become of all of them? I simply ask you that, and if I challenge him and he kills me on the spot, what then? What will become of them? And worse still, if he doesn't kill me but only cripples me, I couldn't work. But I should still be a mouth to feed. Who would feed it, and who would feed them all? Must I take Alyosha from school and send him to beg in the streets? That's what it means for me to challenge him to a duel. It's silly talk and nothing else. He will beg your forgiveness. He will bow down at your feet in the middle of the marketplace, cry Alyosha again with glowing eyes. I did think of prosecuting him, the captain went on. But look in our code. Could I get much compensation for a personal injury? And then Agrafena Alexandrovna, open bracket translator's note, Ruschenka closed bracket, sent for me and shouted at me. Don't dare to dream of it. If you proceed against him, I'll publish it to all the world that he beat you for your dishonesty. And then you will be prosecuted. I call God to witness whose was the dishonesty and by whose commands I acted. Wasn't it by her own and Fyodor Pavlovich's? And what more she went on. I'll dismiss you for good and you'll never earn another penny from me. I'll speak to my merchant too. That's what she calls her old man. And he will dismiss you. And if he dismisses me, what can I earn then from anyone? Those two are all I have to look to. For your Fyodor Pavlovich has not only given over to employing me for another reason, but he means to make use of papers I've signed to go to law against me. And so I keep quiet and you have seen our retreat. But now let me ask you, did Ilusha hurt your finger much? I didn't like to go into our mansion before him. Yes, very much. And he was in a great fury. He was avenging you on me as a Karamazov. I see that now. But if only you had seen how he was throwing stones at his school fellows, it's very dangerous. They might kill him. They are children and stupid. A stone may be thrown and break somebody's head. That's just what happened. He had been bruised by a stone today, not on the head, but on the chest, just above the heart. He came home crying and groaning and now he is ill. And you know, he attacks them first. He is bitter against them on your account. They say he stabbed a boy called Krasotkin with a pen knife not long ago. I've heard about that too. It's dangerous. Krasotkin is an official here. We may hear more about that. I would advise you, Ilusha went on warmly, not to send him to school for a time until he is calmer and his anger is passed. Anger, the captain repeated. That's just what it is. He is a little creature, but it's a mighty anger. You don't know it all, sir. Let me tell you more. Since that incident, all the boys have been teasing him about the Wisp of Toe. School boys are a merciless race. Individually, they are angels, but together, especially in schools, they are often merciless. Their teasing has stiffed up a gallant spirit in Ilusha. An ordinary boy, a weak son would have submitted, felt ashamed of his father, sir, but he stood up for his father against them all, for his father and for truth and justice, for what he suffered when he kissed your brother's hand and cried to him, forgive father, forgive him, that only God knows and I, his father, for our children, not your children, but ours, the children of the poor gentlemen looked down upon by everyone. Know what justice means, sir, even at nine years old. How should the rich know? They don't explore such depths once in their lives, but at that moment in the square when he kissed his hand, at that moment, my Ilusha had grasped all the justice means. That truth entered into him and crushed him forever, sir, the captain said hotly again with a sort of frenzy and he struck his right fist against his left palm as though he wanted to show how the truth crushed Ilusha. That very day, sir, he fell ill with fever and was delirious all night. All that day he hardly said a word to me, but I noticed he kept watching me from the corner, though he turned to the window and pretended to be learning his lessons, but I could see his mind was not on his lessons. Next day I got drunk and forgot my troubles, sinful man as I am, and I don't remember much. Mama began crying, too. I am very fond of mama. Well, I spent my last penny drowning my troubles. Don't despise me for that, sir. In Russia, men who drink are the best. The best amongst us are the greatest drunkards. I lay down and I don't remember about Ilusha. Though all that day the boys had been jeering at him at school, wisp of toe, they shouted. Your father was pulled out of the tavern by his wisp of toe. You ran and begged forgiveness. On the third day, when he came back from school, I saw he looked pale and wretched. What is it, I asked, he wouldn't answer. Well, there's no talking in our mansion without mama and the girls taking part in it. What's more, the girls had heard about it. The very first day, Vavara had begun snarling. You fools and buffoons, can you ever do anything rational? Quite so, I said. Can we ever do anything rational? For the time I turned it off like that. So in the evening, I took the boy out for a walk. You must know that we go for a walk every evening, always the same way, along which we are going now. From our gate to that great stone, which lies in the road under the hurdle, which marks the beginning of the town pasture, a beautiful and lonely spot, sir. Ilyusha and I walked hand in hand as usual. He has a little hand, his fingers are thin and cold, he suffers with his chest, you know. Father, said he, father. Well, said I. I saw his eyes flashing. Father, how he treated you then. It can't be helped, Ilyusha, I said. Don't forgive him, father, don't forgive him. At school they say that he has paid you 10 rubles for it. No, Ilyusha, said I. I would not take money from him for anything. He began trembling all over, took my hand in both his and kissed it again. Father, he said. Father, challenge him to a duel. At school they say you are coward and won't challenge him. And at that you'll accept 10 rubles from him. I can't challenge him to a duel, Ilyusha, I answered. And I told briefly what I've just told you. He listened. Father, he said. Anyway, don't forgive him. When I grow up, I'll call him out myself and kill him. His eyes shone and glowed. And of course, I am his father and I had to put in a word. It's a sin to kill, I said, even in a duel. Father, he said, when I grow up, I'll knock him down, knock the sword out of his hand. I'll fall on him, wave my sword over him and say I could kill you but I forgive you, so there. You see what the workings of his little mind have been during these two days. He must have been planning that vengeance all day and raving about it at night. But he began to come home from school, badly beaten. I found out about it the day before yesterday and you are right. I won't send him to that school anymore. I heard that he was standing up against all the class alone and defying them all, that his heart was full of resentment, of bitterness. I was alarmed about him. We went for another walk. Father, he asked, are rich people stronger than anyone else on earth? Yes, Ilusha, I said. There are no people on earth stronger than the rich. Father, he said, I will get rich. I will become an officer and conquer everybody. The Tsar will reward me. I will come back here and then no one will dare. Then he was silent and his lips kept trembling. Father, he said, what a horrid town this is. Yes, Ilusha, I said, it isn't a very nice town. Father, let us move into another town, a nice one, he said, where people don't know about us. We will move, we will, Ilusha, said I. Only I must save up for it. I was glad to be able to turn his mind from painful thoughts, and we began to dream of how we would move to another town, how we would buy a horse and cart. We will put mama and your sisters inside, we will cover them up and we'll walk. You shall have a lift now and then, and I'll walk beside, for we must take care of our horse. We can't all ride. That's how we'll go. He was enchanted at that, most of all, at the thought of having a horse and driving him, for, of course, a Russian boy is born among horses. We chatted a long while. Thank God, I thought. I have diverted his mind and comforted him. That was the day before yesterday. In the evening, but last night, everything changed. He had gone to school in the morning. He came back depressed, terribly depressed. In the evening, I took him by the hand and we went for a walk. He would not talk. There was a wind blowing and no sun and a feeling of autumn. Twilight was coming on. We walked along, both of us depressed. Well, my boy, said I. How about our setting off on our travels? I thought I might bring him back to our talk of the day before. He didn't answer, but I felt his fingers trembling in my hand. Ah, I thought, it's a bad job. There's something fresh. We had reached the stone where we are now. I sat down on the stone and in the air there were lots of kites, flapping and whirling. There were as many as 30 in sight. Of course, it's just the season for the kites. Look, Ilusha, said I. It's time we got out our last year's kite again. I'll mend it. Where have you put it away? My boy made no answer. He looked away and turned sideways to me and then a gust of wind blew up the sand. He suddenly fell on me, threw both his little arms around my neck and held me tight. You know when children are silent and proud and try to keep back their tears, when they are in great trouble and suddenly break down, their tears fall in streams. With those warm streams of tears, he suddenly wetted my face. He sobbed and shook as though he were in convulsions and squeezed up against me as I sat on the stone. Father, he kept crying, dear father, how he insulted you. And I sobbed too. We sat shaking in each other's arms. Ilusha, I said to him. Ilusha, darling. No one saw us then. God alone saw us. I hope he will accord it to my credit. You must thank your brother, Alexi Fyodorovich. No, sir, I won't thrash my boy for your satisfaction. He had gone back to his original tone of resentful buffoonery. Alyosha felt, though that he trusted him, and if there had been someone else in his, Alyosha's place, the man would not have spoken so openly and would not have told what he had just told. This encouraged Alyosha, whose heart was trembling on the verge of tears. Ah, how I would like to make friends with your boy, he cried. If you could arrange it. Certainly, sir, muttered the captain. But now listen to something quite different, Alyosha went on. I have a message for you. That same brother of mine, Dmitri, has insulted his betrothed too, a noble hearted girl of whom you have probably heard. I have a right to tell you of her wrong. I ought to do so, in fact, for hearing of the insult done to you and learning all about your unfortunate position, she commissioned me at once, just now, to bring you this help from her. But only from her alone, not from Dmitri, who has abandoned her. Nor from me, his brother, nor from anyone else, but from her, only from her. She entreats you to accept her help. You have both been insulted by the same man. She thought of you when she had just received a similar insult from him. Similar in its cruelty, I mean. She comes like a sister to help a brother in misfortune. She told me to persuade you to take these 200 rubles from her, as from a sister, knowing that you were in such need. No one will know it. It can give rise to no one just slander. There are the 200 rubles and I swear you must take them unless all men are to be enemies on earth. But there are brothers even on earth. You have a generous heart. You must see that. You must. And Alyosha held out the two new rainbow-colored hundred rubles notes. They were both standing at the time by the great stone close to the fence, and there was no one near. The notes seemed to produce a tremendous impression on the captain. He started, but at first only from astonishment. Such an outcome of their conversation was the last thing he expected. Nothing could have been farther from his dreams than help from anyone, and such a sum he took the notes, and for a minute he was almost unable to answer. Quite a new expression came into his face. That for me, so much money, 200 rubles? Good heavens. Why, I haven't seen so much money for the last four years. Mercy on us. And she says she is a sister? And is that the truth? I swear that all I told you is the truth, cried Alyosha. The captain flushed red. Listen, my dear, listen. If I take it, I shan't be behaving like a scoundrel. In your eyes, Alexi Fyodorovich, I shan't be a scoundrel? No, Alexi Fyodorovich, listen, listen. He hurried, touching Alyosha with both his hands. You are persuading me to take it, saying that it's a sister sends it. But inwardly, in your heart, don't you feel contempt for me if I take it, eh? No, no, on my salvation I swear I shan't. And no one will ever know but me, I, you, and she. And one other lady, her great friend. Never mind the lady, listen, Alexi Fyodorovich. At a moment like this you must listen, for you can't understand what these 200 rubles mean to me now. The poor fellow went on, rising gradually, into a sort of incoherent, almost wild enthusiasm. He was thrown off his balance, and talked extremely fast, as though afraid he would not be allowed to say all he had to say. Besides, it's being honestly acquired from a sister, so highly respected and revered. Do you know that now I can look after Mama and Nina, my hunchback angel daughter? Dr. Herzenstuba came to me in the kindness of his heart, and was examining them for a whole hour. I can make nothing of it, said he. But he prescribed the mineral water, which is kept at the chemist here. He said it would be sure to do her good. And he ordered baths, too, with some medicine in them. The mineral water cost thirty copax, and she'd need to drink forty bottles perhaps, so I took the prescription, and laid it on the shelf under the icons, and there it lies. And he ordered hot baths for Nina, with something dissolved in them, morning and evening. But how can we carry out such a cure in our mansion, without servants, without help, without a bath, and without water? Nina is rheumatic all over. I think I told you that. All her right side aches at night. She has an agony, and would you believe it, the angel bears it without groaning for fear of waking us? We eat what we can get, and she'll only take the leavings, what you'll scarcely give to a dog. I am not worth it. I am not taking it from you. I am a burden on you. That's what her angel eyes try to express. We wait on her, but she doesn't like it. I'm a useless cripple, no good to anyone. As though she were not worth it, when she is saving us all with her angelic sweetness. Without her, without her gentle word, it would be hell among us. She softens even Vavara. And don't judge Vavara harshly, either. She is an angel, too. She, too, has suffered wrong. She came to us this summer, and she brought sixteen rubles she had earned by lessons, and saved up to go back to Petersburg in September. But that is now. But we took her money, and lived on it. So now she has nothing to go back with. Though, indeed, she can't go back. For she has to work for us like a slave. She is like an overdriven horse, with all of us on her back. She waits on us all. Men's and washes, sweeps the floor, puts Mama to bed. And Mama is capricious, and tearful, and insane. And now I can get a servant with his money, you understand. Alexei Fyodorovich, I can get medicines for the dear creatures. I can send my student to Petersburg. I can buy beef. I can feed them properly. Good Lord! But it's a dream! While the Osha was delighted that he had brought him such happiness, that the poor fellow had consented to be made happy. Stay, Alexei Fyodorovich, stay. The captain began to talk with frenzied rapidity, carried away by a new dream. Do you know that Ilyusha and I will perhaps really carry out our dream? We will buy a horse and cart, a black horse. He insists on its being black. And we will set off as we pretended the other day. I have an old friend, a lawyer in Kay province. And I heard through a trustworthy man, that if I were to go, he'd give me a place as clerk in his office. So who knows, maybe he would. So I just put Mama and Nina in the cart, and Ilyusha could drive, and I'd walk. I'd walk. Why, if only I succeed in getting one debt paid that's owing me, I should have perhaps enough for that too. There would be enough, cried Alyusha. Katerina Ivanovna will send you as much as you need. And you know I have money too. Take what you want, as you would from a brother, from a friend. You can give it back later. You'll get rich, you'll get rich. And you know you couldn't have a better idea than to move to another province. It would be the saving of you, especially of your boy. And you ought to go quickly, before the winter, before the cold. You must write to us when you are there. And we will always be brothers. No, it's not a dream. Alyusha could have hugged him. He was so pleased, but glancing at him he stopped short. The man was standing with his neck outstretched and his lips protruding, with a pale and frenzied face. His lips were moving, as though trying to articulate something. No sound came, but his lips moved. It was uncanny. What is it, asked Alyusha, startled. Alexei Fjodorovic, I, you, mothered the captain, faltering, looking at him, with a strange, wild, fixed stare, and an air of desperate resolution. At the same time, there was a sort of grin on his lips. I, you, sir, wouldn't you like me to show you a little trick, I know? He murmured, suddenly, in a firm, rapid whisper. His voice no longer faltering. What trick? A pretty trick, whispered the captain. His mouth was twisted on the left side, his eye was screwed up, and he still stared at Alyusha. What is the matter? What trick? Alyusha cried, now thoroughly alarmed. Why, look! squealed the captain suddenly, and showing him the two notes which he had been holding by one corner between his thumb and forefinger during the conversation, he crumpled them up savagely, and squeezed them tight in his right hand. Do you see? Do you see? He shrieked, pale and infuriated, and suddenly, flinging up his hand, he threw the crumpled notes on the sand. Do you see? He shrieked again, pointing to them. Look there! And with wild fury, he began trampling them under his heel, gasping and exclaiming as he did so. So much for your money! So much for your money! So much for your money! So much for your money! Suddenly he darted back and drew himself up before Alyusha, and his whole figure expressed unutterable pride. Tell those who sent you that the wisp of tow does not sell his honor, he cried, rising his arm in the air. Then he turned quickly and began to run, but he had not run five steps before he turned completely round and kissed his hand to Alyusha. He ran another five paces, and then turned round for the last time. This time his face was not contorted with laughter, but quivering all over with tears. In a tearful, faltering, sobbing voice he cried, What should I say to my boy if I took money from you for our shame? And then he ran on without turning. Alyusha looked after him, inexpressibly grieved. Oh, he saw that till the very last moment, the man had not known he would crumple up and fling away those notes. He did not turn back. Alyusha knew he would not. He would not follow him and call him back. He knew why. When he was out of sight, Alyusha picked up the two notes. They were very much crushed and crumpled, and had been pressed into the sand, but were uninjured, and even rustled like new ones when Alyusha unfolded them and smoothed them out. After smoothing them out, he folded them up, put them in his pocket, and went to Katarina Ivanovna to report on the success of her commission. The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Translated by Constance Garnet. Book 5. Pro and Contra. Chapter 1. The Engagement. Madame Holokov was again the first to meet Alyusha. She was flustered. Something important had happened. Katarina Ivanovna's hysterics had ended in a fainting fit, and then a terrible, awful weakness had followed. She lay with her eyes turned up and was delirious. Now she was in a fever. They had sent for herzenstube. They had sent for the ants. The ants were already here, but herzenstube had not yet come. They were all sitting in her room, waiting. She was unconscious now, and what if it turned to brain fever? Madame Holokov looked gravely alarmed. This is serious, serious, she added at every word, as though nothing that had happened to her before had been serious. Alyusha listened with distress, and was beginning to describe his adventures. But she interrupted him at the first words. She had not time to listen. She begged him to sit with Lize and wait for her there. Lize, she whispered almost in his ear, Lize has greatly surprised me just now, dear Alexei Fyodorovich. She touched me too, and so my heart forgives her everything. Only fancy, as soon as you had gone, she began to be truly remorseful for having laughed at you today and yesterday, though she was not laughing at you, but only joking. But she was seriously sorry for it, almost ready to cry, so that I was quite surprised. She has never been really sorry for laughing at me, but has only made a joke of it. And you know she is laughing at me every minute. But this time she was an earnest, she thinks a great deal of your opinion, Alexei Fyodorovich, and don't take offense or be wounded by her if you can help it. I am never hard upon her, for she is such a clever little thing. Would you believe it? She said just now that you are a friend of her childhood, the greatest friend of her childhood. Just think of that, greatest friend. And what about me? She has very strong feelings and memories, and, what's more, she uses these phrases, most unexpected words, which come out all of a sudden when you least expect them. She spoke lately about a pine tree, for instance. There used to be a pine tree standing in our garden in her early childhood, very likely at standing there still, so there's no need to speak in the past tense. Pine trees are not like people, Alexei Fyodorovich, they don't change quickly. Mama, she said, I remember this pine tree as in a dream. Only she said something so original about it that I can't repeat it. Besides, I've forgotten it. Well, good-bye, I am so worried I feel I shall go out of my mind. Ah, Alexei Fyodorovich, I've been out of my mind twice in my life. Go to Lise, cheer her up, as you always can, so charmingly. Lise, she cried, going to her door. Here I've brought you Alexei Fyodorovich, whom you insulted so. Not at all angry, I assure you. On the contrary, he is surprised that you could suppose so. Merci, Mama, come in, Alexei Fyodorovich. Alyosha went in. Lise looked rather embarrassed, and at once flushed crimson. She was evidently ashamed of something, and, as other people always do in such cases, she began immediately talking of other things, as though they were of absorbing interest to her at the moment. Mama has just told me all about the two hundred rubles, Alexei Fyodorovich, and you're taking them to that poor officer. And she told me all the awful story of how he had been insulted, and you know, although Mama muddles things, she always rushes from one thing to another. I cried when I heard. Well, did you give him the money, and how is that poor man getting on? The fact is, I didn't give it to him, and it's a long story, answered Alyosha, as though he too could think of nothing but his regret at having failed. Yet Lise saw perfectly well that he too looked away, and that he too was trying to talk of other things. Alyosha sat down to the table, and began to tell his story, but at the first words he lost his embarrassment, and gained the whole of Lise's attention as well. He spoke with deep feeling under the influence of the strong impression he had just received, and he succeeded in telling his story well and circumstantially. In old days in Moscow he had been fond of coming to Lise, and describing to her what had just happened to him, what he had read, or what he remembered of his childhood. Sometimes they had made daydreams, and woven whole romances together, generally cheerful and amusing ones. Now they both felt suddenly transported to the old days in Moscow, two years before. Lise was extremely touched by his story. Alyosha described Ilyusha with warm feeling. When he finished describing how the luckless man trampled on the money, Lise could not help clasping her hands and crying out, so you didn't give him the money, so you let him run away. Oh, dear, you ought to have run after him. No, Lise, it's better I didn't run after him, said Alyosha, getting up from his chair, and walking thoughtfully across the room. How so? How is it better? Now they are without food, and their case is hopeless. Not hopeless, for the two hundred rubles will still come to them. He'll take the money to-morrow. Tomorrow he will be sure to take it, said Alyosha, pacing up and down, pondering. You see, Lise, he went on, stopping suddenly before her. I made one blunder, but that, even that, is all for the best. What blunder, and why is it for the best? I'll tell you. He is a man of weak and timorous character. He has suffered so much, and is very good-natured. I keep wondering why he took offence so suddenly. For I assure you, up to the last minute, he did not know that he was going to trample on the notes. But I think now that there was a great deal to offend him, and it could not have been otherwise in his position. To begin with, he was sort, having been so glad of the money in my presence, and not having concealed it from me. If he had been pleased, but not so much, if he had not shown it, if he had begun effecting scruples and difficulties as other people do when they take money, he might still endure to take it. But he was too genuinely delighted, and that was mortifying. Alyosha, he is a good and truthful man. He is the worst of the whole business. All the while he talked, his voice was so weak, so broken. He talked so fast, so fast. He kept laughing such a laugh. Or perhaps he was crying. Yes, I am sure he was crying. He was so delighted. And he talked about his daughters, and about the situation he could get in another town. And when he had poured out his heart, he felt ashamed at having shown me his inmost soul like that. So he began to hate me at once. He is one of those awfully sensitive poor people. What had made him feel most ashamed was that he had given in too soon, and accepted me as a friend, you see. At first he almost flew at me and tried to intimidate me, but as soon as he saw the money he had begun embracing me, he kept touching me with his hands. This must have been how he came to feel it all so humiliating. And then I made that blunder, a very important one. I suddenly said to him that if he had not money enough to move to another town, we would give it to him. And indeed I myself would give him as much as he wanted out of my own money. That struck him all at once. Why, he thought, did I put myself forward to help him? You know, Lise, it's awfully hard for a man who has been injured when other people look at him as though they were his benefactors. I've heard that. Father Zosima told me so. I don't know how to put it, but I have often seen it myself. And I feel like that myself too. And the worst of it was that, though he did not know, to the very last minute that he would trample on the notes, he had a kind of presentment of it, I'm sure of that. It's just what made him so ecstatic that he had that presentment. And though it's so dreadful, it's all for the best. In fact, I believe nothing better could have happened. Why? Why could nothing better have happened? cried Lise, looking with great surprise at Al-Yosha. Because if he had taken the money, in an hour after getting home, he would be crying with mortification, that's just what would have happened, and most likely he would have come to me early to-morrow, and perhaps have flung the notes at me and trampled upon them as he did just now. But now he has gone home awfully proud and triumphant, though he knows he has ruined himself. So now nothing could be easier than to make him accept the two hundred roubles by to-morrow, for he has already vindicated his honor, tossed away the money, and trampled it underfoot. He couldn't know when he did it that I should bring it to him again to-morrow, and yet he is in terrible need of that money. Though he is proud of himself now, yet even today he'll be thinking what a help he has lost. He will think of it more than ever at night. He'll dream of it, and by to-morrow morning he may be ready to run to me to ask forgiveness. It's just then that all appear. Here, you are a proud man, I shall say. You have shown it, but now take the money and forgive us, and then he will take it." Al-Yoshua was carried away with joy as he uttered his last words, and then he will take it. Lise clapped her hands. Ah, that's true, I understand that perfectly now. Ah, Al-Yoshua, how do you know all this? So young, and yet he knows what's in the heart. I should never have worked it out. The great thing now is to persuade him that he is on an equal footing with us in spite of his taking money from us, Al-Yoshua went on in his excitement, and not only on an equal but even on a higher footing. On a higher footing is charming Alexei Fyodorovich, but go on, go on! You mean there isn't such an expression as on a higher footing, but that doesn't matter because, oh no, of course it doesn't matter. Al-Yoshua, dear, you know I scarcely respected you till now. That is, I respected you but on an equal footing. But now I shall begin to respect you on a higher footing. Don't be angry, dear, at my joking, she put in at once with strong feeling. I am absurd and small, but you, you, listen, Alexei Fyodorovich. Isn't there in all our analysis, I mean your analysis, no, better call it ours, aren't we showing contempt for him, for that poor man in analyzing his soul like this, as it were, from above, a, in deciding so certainly that he will take the money? No, Lies, it's not contempt, Al-Yoshua answered, as though he had prepared himself for the question. I was thinking of that on the way here. How can it be contempt when we are all like him, when we are all just the same as he is? For you know we are just the same, no better. If we are better, we should have been just the same in his place. I don't know about you, Lies, but I consider that I have a sordid soul in many ways, and his soul is not sordid, on the contrary, full of fine feeling. No, Lies, I have no contempt for him. Do you know, Lies, my elder told me once to care for most people exactly as one would for children, and for some of them as one would for the sick in hospitals. Ah, Alexei Fyodorovich, dear, let us care for people as we would for the sick. Let us, Lies, I am ready, though I am not altogether ready in myself. I am sometimes very impatient, and at other times I don't see things. It's different with you. Ah, I don't believe it! Alexei Fyodorovich, how happy I am! I am so glad you say so, Lies. Alexei Fyodorovich, you are wonderfully good, but you are sometimes sort of formal, and yet you are not a bit formal, really. Go to the door, open it gently, and see whether Mama is listening, said Lies, in a nervous hurried whisper. Lyosha went, opened the door, and reported that no one was listening. Come here, Alexei Fyodorovich, Lies went on, flushing redder and redder. Give me your hand, that's right. I have to make a great confession. I didn't write to you yesterday in joke, but in earnest. And she hid her eyes with her hand. It was evident that she was greatly ashamed of the confession. Suddenly she snatched his hand and impulsively kissed it three times. Ah, Lies, what a good thing! cried Lyosha joyfully. You know I was perfectly sure you were an earnest. Sure, upon my word! She put aside his hand, but did not leave go of it, blushing hotly, and laughing a little happy laugh. I kiss his hand, and he says, what a good thing! But her reproach was undeserved, Lyosha too was greatly overcome. I should like to please you always, Lies, but don't know how to do it, he muttered, blushing too. Ah, Lyosha, dear, you are cold and rude. Do you see? He has chosen me as his wife, and is quite settled about it. He is sure I was an earnest. What a thing to say! Why, that's impertinence! That's what it is! Why, was it wrong of me to feel sure, Lyosha asked, laughing suddenly. Ah, Lyosha, on the contrary, it was delightfully right, cried Lyosha, looking tenderly and happily at him. Lyosha stood still, holding her hand in his. Suddenly he stooped down and kissed her on her lips. Oh, what are you doing? cried Lyosha. Lyosha was terribly abashed. Oh, forgive me if I shouldn't. Perhaps I'm awfully stupid. You said I was cold, so I kissed you, but I see it was stupid. Lyosha laughed and hid her face in her hands. And in that dress she ejaculated in the midst of her mirth. That she suddenly ceased laughing and became serious, almost stern. Lyosha, we must put off kissing. We are not ready for that yet, and we shall have a long time to wait, she ended suddenly. Tell me rather why you who are so clever, so intellectual, so observant, chose a little idiot, an invalid like me. Ah, Lyosha, I am awfully happy, for I don't deserve you a bit. You do, Lyosha, I shall be leaving the monastery altogether in a few days. If I go into the world, I must marry. I know that. He told me to marry too. Whom could I marry better than you? And who would have me except you? I've been thinking it over. In the first place you've known me from a child, and you've a great many qualities I haven't. You are more lighthearted than I am. Above all, you are more innocent than I am. I've been brought into contact with many, many things already. Ah, you don't know, but I too am a Karamazov. What does it matter if you do laugh and make jokes, and at me too? Go on laughing. I am so glad you do. You laugh like a little child, but you think like a martyr. Like a martyr? How? Yes, Lyse, your question just now, whether we weren't showing contempt for that poor man by dissecting his soul, that was the question of a sufferer. You see, I don't know how to express it, but anyone who thinks of such questions is capable of suffering. Sitting in your invalid chair, you must have thought over many things already. Ah, Lyosha, give me your hand. Why are you taking it away, murmured Lyse, in a failing voice, weak with happiness? Listen, Lyosha, what will you wear when you come out of the monastery? What sort of suit? Don't laugh. Don't be angry. It's very, very important to me. I haven't thought about the suit, Lyse, but I'll wear whatever you like. I should like you to have a dark blue velvet coat, a white pink waistcoat, and a soft gray felt hat. Tell me, did you believe that I didn't care for you when I said I didn't mean what I wrote? No, I didn't believe it. Oh, you insupportable person, you are incorrigible. You see, I knew that you seemed to care for me, but I pretended to believe that you didn't care for me to make it easier for you. That makes it worse, worse and better than all. Lyosha, I am awfully fond of you. Just before you came this morning, I tried my fortune. I decided I would ask you for my letter, and if you brought it out calmly and gave it to me, as might have been expected from you. It would mean that you did not love me at all, that you felt nothing and were simply a stupid boy, good for nothing, and that I am ruined. But you left the letter at home, and that cheered me. You left it behind on purpose, so as not to give it back, because you knew I would ask for it? That was it, wasn't it? Ah, Lyse, it was not so a bit. The letter is with me now, and it was this morning, in this pocket. Here it is. Lyosha pulled the letter out laughing, and showed it her at a distance. But I am not going to give it to you. Look at it from here. Why, then you told the lie? You, a monk, told the lie! I told the lie if you like, Lyosha laughed, too. I told the lie so as not to give you back the letter. It's very precious to me, he added suddenly, with strong feeling, and again he flushed. It always will be, and I won't give it up to anyone. Lyse looked at him joyfully. Ah, Lyosha, she murmured again. Look at the door. Isn't Mama listening? Very well, Lyse, I'll look. But wouldn't it be better not to look? Why suspect your mother of such meanness? What meanness? As for spying on her daughter, it's her right. It's not meanness, cried Lyse, firing up. You may be sure, Alexei Fyodorovich, that when I am a mother, if I have a daughter like myself, I shall certainly spy on her. Really, Lyse? That's not right. Oh, my goodness! What has meanness to do with it? If she were listening to some ordinary worldly conversation, it would be meanness, but when her own daughter is shut up with a young man, listen, Lyosha, do you know I shall spy upon you as soon as we are married, and let me tell you I shall open all your letters and read them, so you may as well be prepared. Yes, of course. If so, muttered Lyosha, only it's not right. Ah, how contemptuous! Lyosha, dear, we won't quarrel the very first day. I'd better tell you the whole truth. Of course it's very wrong to spy on people, and of course I am not right, and you are. Only I shall spy on you all the same. Do then, you won't find out anything, laughed Lyosha. And Lyosha, will you give in to me? We must decide that, too. I shall be delighted to, Lyosha, and certain to, only not in the most important things. Even if you don't agree with me, I shall do my duty in the most important things. That's right, but let me tell you I am ready to give in to you, not only in the most important matters, but in everything, and I am ready to vow to do so now, in everything, and for all my life, cried Lyosha fervently, and I'll do it gladly, gladly. What's more, I'll swear never to spy on you, never once, never to read one of your letters. For you are right, and I am not. And though I shall be awfully tempted to spy, I know that I won't do it, since you consider it dishonorable. You are my conscience now. Listen, Alexei Fyodorovitch, why have you been so sad lately, both yesterday and today? I know you have a lot of anxiety and trouble, but I see you have some special grief besides some secret one perhaps? Yes, Lies, I have a secret one, too, answered Lyosha mournfully. I see you love me, since you guessed that. What grief? What about? Can you tell me? asked Lies with timid entreaty. I'll tell you later, Lies, afterwards, said Lyosha, confused. Now you wouldn't understand it perhaps, and perhaps I couldn't explain it. I know your brothers and your father are worrying you, too. Yes, my brothers, too, murmured Lyosha, pondering. I don't like your brother Ivan Alyosha, said Lies, suddenly. He noticed this remark with some surprise, but did not answer it. My brothers are destroying themselves, he went on. My father, too, and they are destroying others with them. It's the primitive force of the Karamazovs, as Father Paisy said the other day. A crude, unbridled, earthly force. Does the spirit of God move above that force? Even that I don't know. I only know that I, too, am a Karamazov, me a monk, a monk. Am I a monk, Lies? You said just now that I was. Yes, I did. And perhaps I don't even believe in God. You don't believe? What is the matter, said Lies, quietly and gently? But Alyosha did not answer. There was something too mysterious, too subjective in these last words of his, perhaps obscured to himself, but yet torturing him. And now, on the top of it all, my friend, the best man in the world is going, is leaving the earth, if you knew, Lies, how bound up and soul I am with him. And then I shall be left alone. I shall come to you, Lies, for the future we will be together. Yes, together, together, henceforward we shall be always together, all our lives. Listen, kiss me, I allow you. Alyosha kissed her. Come, now go, Christ be with you. And she made the sign of the cross over him. Make haste back to him, while he is alive. I see I have kept you cruelly. I will pray today for him and you. Alyosha, we shall be happy. Shall we be happy, shall we? I believe we shall, Lies. Alyosha thought it better not to go in to Madame Holikoff, and was going out of the house, without saying good-bye to her. But no sooner had he opened the door, than he found Madame Holikoff standing before him. From the first word Alyosha guessed that she had been waiting on purpose to meet him. Alexei Fyodorovich, this is awful. This is all childish nonsense and ridiculous. I trust you won't dream. It's foolishness, nothing but foolishness, she said, attacking him at once. Only don't tell her that, said Alyosha, or she will be upset, and that's bad for her now. Evil advice from a sensible young man? Am I to understand that you only agreed with her from compassion for her invalid state, because you didn't want to irritate her by contradiction? Oh no, not at all. I was quite serious in what I said, Alyosha declared stoutly. To be serious about it is impossible, unthinkable, and in the first place I shall never be at home to you again, and I shall take her away. You may be sure of that. But why, asked Alyosha, it's also far off. We may have to wait another year and a half. Ah, Alexei Fyodorovich, that's true, of course, and you'll have time to quarrel and separate a thousand times in a year and a half. But I am so unhappy, though at such nonsense it's a great blow to me. I feel like Famysov in the last scene of Sorrow from Witt. You are Cikatsky, and she is Sophia, and only fancy. I've run down to meet you on the stairs, and in the play the fatal scene takes place on the staircase. I heard it all. I almost dropped, so this is the explanation of her dreadful night and her hysterics of late. It means love to the daughter, but death to the mother. I might as well be in my grave at once. And a more serious matter still. What is this letter she has written? Show it me at once, at once. No, there's no need. Tell me, how does Katerina Ivanovna know? I must know. She still lies in delirium. She has not regained consciousness. Her aunts are here, but they do nothing but sign, give themselves heirs. Herzenstup came, and he was so alarmed that I didn't know what to do for him. I nearly sent for a doctor to look after him. He was driven home in my carriage, and on the top of it all, you in this letter. It's true nothing can happen for a year and a half. In the name of all that's holy, in the name of your dying elder, show me the letter Alexei Fyodorovich. I'm her mother. Hold it in your hand, if you like, and I will read it so. No, I won't show it to you. Even if she sanctioned it, I wouldn't. I'm coming to-morrow, and if you like we can talk over many things. But now good-bye." And Alyosha ran downstairs and into the streets. CHAPTER 1 OF BOOK V RECORDING by Aimee G. The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, translated by Constance Garnet. Book 5, Chapter 2, Smerdiakov with a Guitar. He had no time to lose, indeed. Even while he was saying good-bye to Lisa, the thought had struck him that he must attempt some stratagem to find his brother Dmitry, who was evidently keeping out of his way. It was getting late, nearly three o'clock. Alyosha's whole soul turned to the monastery, to his dying saint, but the necessity of seeing Dmitry outweighed everything. The conviction that a great, inevitable catastrophe was about to happen grew stronger in Alyosha's mind with every hour. What that catastrophe was, and what he would say at that moment to his brother, he could perhaps not have said, definitely. Even if my benefactor must die without me, anyway I won't have to reproach myself all my life with the thought that I might have saved something and did not, but passed by and hastened home. If I do as I intend, I shall be following his great precept. His plan was to catch his brother Dmitry unawares, to climb over the fence as he had the day before, get into the garden, and sit in the summer-house. If Dmitry were not there, thought Alyosha, he would not announce himself to Fomar or the women of the house, but would remain hidden in the summer-house, even if he had to wait there till evening. If as before Dmitry were lying in wait for Grushenka to come, he would be very likely to come to the summer-house. Alyosha did not, however, give much thought to the details of his plan, but resolved to act upon it, even if it meant not getting back to the monastery that day. Having happened without hindrance, he climbed over the hurdle in almost the same spot as the day before, and stole into the summer-house unseen. He did not want to be noticed. The women of the house, and Fomar too, if he were here, might be loyal to his brother and obey his instructions, and so refused to let Alyosha come into the garden, or might warn Dmitry that he was being sought and inquired for. There was no one in the summer-house. Alyosha sat down and began to wait. He looked round the summer-house, which somehow struck him as a great deal more ancient than before. Though the day was just as fine as yesterday, it seemed a wretched little place this time. There was a circle on the table, left no doubt from the glass of brandy having been spilt the day before. Foolish and irrelevant ideas strayed about his mind, as they always do in a time of tedious waiting. He wondered, for instance, why he had sat down precisely in the same place as before. Why not in the other seat? At last he felt very depressed, depressed by suspense and uncertainty. But he had not sat there more than a quarter of an hour, when he suddenly heard the thrum of a guitar somewhere quite close. People were sitting, or had only just sat down, somewhere in the bushes, not more than twenty paces away. Alyosha suddenly recollected that on coming out of the summer-house the day before, he had caught a glimpse of an old green, low-garden seat among the bushes on the left by the fence. The people must be sitting on it now. Who were they? A man's voice suddenly began singing in a sugary falsetto, accompanying himself on the guitar. With invincible force I am bound to my dear. Oh Lord, have mercy on her and on me. On her and on me. On her and on me. The voice ceased. It was a lacky's tenor and a lacky's song. Another voice, a woman, suddenly asked insinuatingly and bashfully, though with mincing affectation, why haven't you been to see us for so long, Pavel Fyodorovich? Why do you always look down upon us? Not at all, answered a man's voice politely, but with emphatic dignity. It was clear that the man had the best of the position, and that the woman was making advances. I believe the man must be Smerdiakov, thought Alyosha, from his voice, and the lady must be the daughter of the house here, who has come from Moscow, the one who wears the dress with a tail and goes to Marfa for soup. I am awfully fond of verses of all kinds if they rhyme. The woman's voice continued, why don't you go on? The man sang again. What do I care for royal wealth if but my dear one be in health? Lord have mercy on her and on me. On her and on me. On her and on me. It was even better last time, observed the woman's voice, you sang, if my darling be in health it sounded more tender. I suppose you've forgotten today. Poetry is rubbish, said Smerdiakov curtly. Oh no, I am very fond of poetry. So far as its poetry is essential rubbish, consider yourself, whoever talks in rhyme, and if we were all to talk in rhyme, even though it were decreed by government we shouldn't say much, should we? Poetry is no good, Maria Kondrativna. How clever you are! How is it you've gone so deep into everything? The woman's voice was more and more insinuating. I could have done better than that. I could have known more than that if it had knocked in for my destiny, for my childhood up. I would have shot a man in a duel if he called me names, because I'm descended from a filthy beggar and have no father. And they used to throw it in my teeth in Moscow. It had reached them from here, thanks to Grigory Vasilievich. Grigory Vasilievich blames me for rebelling against my birth, but I would have sanctioned their killing me before I was born that I might not have to come into the world at all. They used to say in the market, and your mama too, with great lack of delicacy, set off telling me that her hair was like a mat on her head, and that she was short of five foot by a wee bit. Why talk of a wee bit when she might have said a little bit like everyone else? She wanted to make it touching, a regular peasant's feeling. Can a Russian peasant be said to feel in comparison with an educated man? He can't be said to have feeling at all in his ignorance. From my childhood up, when I hear a wee bit, I'm ready to burst with rage. I hate all Russia, Maria Kondrativna. If you'd been a cadet in the army, or a young hazar, you wouldn't have talked like that, but would have drawn your sabre to defend all Russia. I don't want to be a hazar, Maria Kondrativna, and what's more I should like to abolish all soldiers. And when an enemy comes, who's going to defend us? There's no need of defence. In 1812 there was a great invasion of Russia by Napoleon, first emperor of the French, father of the present one, and it would have been a good thing if they had conquered us a clever nation would have conquered a very stupid one and annexed it. We should have had quite different institutions. Are they so much better in their own country than we are? I wouldn't change a dandy I know off for three young Englishmen, observed Maria Kondrativna tenderly, doubtless accompanying her words with the most languishing glance. That's as one prefers. But you are just like a foreigner, just like a most gentlemanly foreigner. I tell you that though it makes me bashful. If you care to know the folks there and ours here are just alike in their vise. They are swindlers, only there the scoundrel wears polished boots and here he grovels in filth and sees no harm in it. The Russian people want thrashing, as Fyodor Pavlovich said very truly yesterday, though he is mad and all his children. You said yourself you have such a respect for Ivan Fyodorovich. But he said I was a stinking lackey. He thinks that I might be unruly. He's mistaken there. If I had a certain sum in my pocket I would have left here long ago. Dmitri Fyodorovich is lower than any lackey in his behaviour and his mind and in his poverty. He doesn't know how to do anything and yet he is respected by everyone. I may be only a soup maker but with luck I could open a cafe, restaurant in Petrovka, Moscow. For my cookery is something special and there's no one in Moscow except the foreigners whose cookery is anything special. Dmitri Fyodorovich is a beggar but if he were to challenge the son of the first count in the country he'd fight him. Though in what way is he better than I am, for he's ever so much stupider than I am, look at the money he's wasted without any need. It must be lovely a duel, Madya Kondratyev no observed suddenly. How so? It must be so dreadful and so brave, especially when young officers with pistols in their hands pop at one another for the sake of some lady. A perfect picture. If only girls were allowed to look on I'd give anything to see one. It's all very well when you're firing at someone, but when he is firing straight into your mug you must feel pretty silly. You'd be glad to run away, Madya Kondratyevna. You don't mean you would run away, but Smirjakov did not deign to reply. After a moment's silence the guitar tinkled again and he sang again in the same falsetto. Whatever you may say I shall go far away. Life will be bright and gay in the city far away. I shall not grieve, I shall not grieve at all. I don't intend to grieve at all. Then something unexpected happened. Alyosha suddenly sneezed. They were silent. Alyosha got up and walked towards them. He found Smirjakov dressed up and wearing polished boots. His hair pomaded and perhaps curled. The guitar lay on the garden seat. His companion was the daughter of the house wearing a light blue dress with a train two yards long. She was young and would not have been bad-looking, but that her face was so round and terribly freckled. Will my brother Dmitri be soon be back? I asked Alyosha with as much composure as he could. Smirjakov got up slowly. Maria Kondratyevna rose too. How am I to know about Dmitri Piodorovich? It's not as if I were his keeper. Answered Smirjakov quietly, distinctly and superciliously. But I simply asked whether you do know, Alyosha explained. I know nothing of his whereabouts and don't want to. But my brother told me that you let him know all that goes on in the house and promised to let him know when Agrafeina Aleksandrovna comes. Smirjakov turned a deliberate, unmoved glance upon him. And how did you get in this time since the gate was bolted an hour ago? He asked, looking at Alyosha. I came in from the back alley over the fence and went straight to the summer house. I hope you'll forgive me, he added, addressing Maria Kondratyevna. I was in a hurry to find my brother. Ah, as though we could take it amiss in you, drolled Maria Kondratyevna, flattered by Alyosha's apology. But Dmitri Piodorovich often goes to the summer house in that way. We don't know he is here, and he's sitting in the summer house. I'm very anxious to find him or to learn from you where he is now. Believe me, it's on business of great importance to him. He never tells us, lisped Maria Kondratyevna. Though I used to come here as a friend—Smeridyakov began again—Dmitri Piodorovich has pestered me in a merciless way, even here by his incessant questions about the master. What news, he'll ask, what's going on in there now, who's coming and going, and can't I tell him anything more? Twice already he's threatened me with death. With death, Alyosha exclaimed in surprise. Do you suppose he'd think much of that with his temper, which you had a chance of observing yourself yesterday? He said, if I let Agrafeina Alexandrovna in and she passes the night there, I'll be the first to suffer for it. I'm terribly afraid of him. And if I were not even more afraid of doing so, I ought to let the police know. God only knows what he might not do. His honour said to him the other day, I'll pound you in a mortar, added Maria Kondratyevna. Oh, if it's pounding in a mortar, it may be only talk, observed Alyosha. If I could meet him, I might speak to him about that too. Well, the only thing I can tell you is this, said Smeridyakov as though thinking better of it. I am here as an old friend and neighbour, and it would be odd if I didn't come. On the other hand Ivan Fyodorovich sent me first thing this morning to your brother's lodging in Lake Street, without a letter, but with a message to Dmitriy Fyodorovich to go to dine with him at the restaurant here in the market place. I went, but didn't find Dmitriy Fyodorovich at home, though it was eight o'clock. He's been here, but he's quite gone. Those are the very words of his landlady. It's as though there was an understanding between them. Perhaps at this moment he's in the restaurant with Ivan Fyodorovich. But Ivan Fyodorovich has not been home to dine, and Fyodor Pavlovich dined alone an hour ago, and has gone to lie down. But I beg you most particularly not to speak of me and what I've told you, for he'd kill me for nothing at all. Brother Ivan invited Dmitriy to the restaurant today, repeated Alyosha quickly. That's so. The metropolis tavern in the market place. The very same. That's quite likely, cried Alyosha, much excited. Thank you, Smerodyakov, that's important. I'll go there at once. Don't betray me, Smerodyakov called after him. Oh no, I'll go to the tavern as though by chance. Don't be anxious. But wait a minute, I'll open the gate to you, cried Maria Kondratyevna. No, it's the shortcut. I'll get over the fence again. What he had heard threw Alyosha into great agitation. He ran to the tavern. It was impossible for him to go into the tavern in his monastic dress, but he could inquire at the entrance for his brothers and call them down. But just as he reached the tavern, a window was flung open, and his brother Ivan called down to him from it. Alyosha, can't you come up here to me? I shall be awfully grateful. To be sure I can, only I don't quite know whether in this dress. But I'm in a room apart. Come up the steps. I'll run down to meet you. A minute later Alyosha was sitting beside his brother. Ivan was alone, dining. End of Chapter 2 of Book 5. Recording by Martin Giesen of Hazelmere Surrey. Book 5, Chapter 3 of The Brothers Karamazov. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Amy G. The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, translated by Constance Garnet. Book 5, Chapter 3. The Brothers Make Friends. Ivan was not, however, in a separate room, but only in a place shut off by a screen, so that it was unseen by other people in the room. It was the first room from the entrance with a buffet along the wall. Waiters were continually darting to and fro in it. The only customer in the room was an old retired military man, drinking tea in a corner. But there was the usual bustle going on in the other rooms of the tavern. There were shouts for the waiters, the sound of popping corks, the click of billiard balls, the drone of the organ. Alyosha knew that Ivan did not usually visit this tavern and disliked taverns in general. So he must have come here, he reflected, simply to meet Dmitry by arrangement. Yet Dmitry was not there. Shall I order you fish, soup, or anything? You don't live on tea alone, I suppose, cried Ivan, apparently delighted at having got hold of Alyosha. He had finished dinner and was drinking tea. Let me have soup and tea afterwards. I am hungry, said Alyosha gaily. And cherry jam? They have it here. You remember how you used to love cherry jam when you were little? You remember that? Let me have jam, too. I like it still. Ivan rang for the waiter and ordered soup, jam, and tea. I remember everything, Alyosha. I remember you till you were eleven. I was nearly fifteen. There's such a difference between fifteen and eleven that brothers are never companions at those ages. I don't know whether I was fond of you, even. When I went away to Moscow for the first few years, I never thought of you at all. Then, when you came to Moscow yourself, we only met once somewhere, I believe, and now I've been here more than three months and so far we have scarcely said a word to each other. Tomorrow I am going away, and I was just thinking, as I sat here, how I could see you to say goodbye, and just then you passed. Were you very anxious to see me, then? Very. I want to get to know you once for all, and I want you to know me, and then to say goodbye. I believe it's always best to get to know people just before leaving them. I've noticed how you've been looking at me these three months. There has been a continual look of expectation in your eyes, and I can't endure that. That's how it is I've kept away from you. But in the end I've learned to respect you. The little man stands firm, I thought. Though I am laughing, I am serious. You do stand firm, don't you? I like people who are firm like that whatever it is they stand by, even if they are such little fellows as you. Your expectant eyes cease to annoy me. I grew fond of them in the end, those expectant eyes. You seem to love me for some reason, Alyosha. I do love you, Yvonne. Dimitri says of you, Yvonne is a tomb. I say of you, Yvonne is a riddle. You are a riddle to me even now. But I understand something in you, and I did not understand it till this morning. What's that? Laughed Yvonne. You won't be angry? Alyosha laughed too. Well? That you are just as young as other young men of three and twenty, that you are just a young and fresh and nice boy, green in fact. Now have I insulted you dreadfully? On the contrary, I am struck by a coincidence, cried Yvonne, warmly and good-humoredly. Would you believe it, that ever since that scene with her I've thought of nothing else but my youthful greenness, and just as though you guessed that, you begin about it. Do you know I've been sitting here thinking to myself, that if I didn't believe in life, if I lost faith in the woman I love, lost faith in the order of things, we're convinced, in fact, that everything is a disorderly, damnable, and perhaps devil-ridden chaos. If I were struck by every horror of man's disillusionment, still I should want to live, and, having once tasted of the cup, I would not turn away from it till I had drained it. At thirty, though, I shall be sure to leave the cup, even if I've not emptied it, and turn away, where I don't know. But till I am thirty, I know that my youth will triumph over everything, every disillusionment, every disgust with life. I've asked myself many times whether there is in the world any despair that would overcome this frantic, and perhaps unseemly thirst for life in me. And I've come to the conclusion that there isn't, that is, till I am thirty, and then I shall lose it of myself by fancy. Some driveling, consumptive moralists, and poets especially, often call that thirst for life base. It's a feature of the Karamazovs, it's true, that thirst for life, regardless of everything. You have it, no doubt, too. But why is it base? The centripetal force on our planet is still fearfully strong, Alyosha. I have a longing for life, and I go on living in spite of logic. Though I may not believe in the order of the universe, yet I love the sticky little leaves as they open in spring. I love the blue sky. I love some people, whom one loves you know sometimes without knowing why. I love some great deeds done by men, though I've long ceased perhaps to have faith in them. Yet from old habit one's heart prizes them. Here they have brought the soup for you, eat it, it will do you good. It's first-rate soup, they know how to make it here. I want to travel in Europe, Alyosha. I shall set off from here. And yet I know that I am only going to a graveyard. But it's a most precious graveyard, that's what it is. Precious are the dead that lie there. Every stone over them speaks of such burning life in the past. Of such passionate faith in their work, their truth, their struggle, and their science, that I know I shall fall on the ground and kiss those stones and weep over them. Though I'm convinced in my heart that it's long been nothing but a graveyard. And I shall not weep from despair. But simply because I shall be happy in my tears, I shall steep my soul in emotion. I love the sticky leaves in spring, the blue sky, that's all it is. It's not a matter of intellect or logic, it's loving with one's inside, with one's stomach. One loves the first strength of one's youth. Do you understand anything of my tirade Alyosha? Yvonne laughed suddenly. I understand too well Yvonne. One longs to love with one's inside, with one's stomach. You said that so well, and I am awfully glad that you have such longing for life, cried Alyosha. I think everyone should love life above everything in the world. Love life more than the meaning of it? Certainly, love it, regardless of logic, as you say. It must be regardless of logic, and it's only then one will understand the meaning of it. I've thought so a long time. Half your work is done, Yvonne. You love life. Now you've only to try to do the second half, and you are saved. You are trying to save me, but perhaps I am not lost. And what does your second half mean? Why, one has to raise up your dead, who perhaps have not died after all. Come, let me have tea. I am so glad of our talk, Yvonne. I see you are feeling inspired. I am awfully fond of such profession's défoie from such novices. You are a steadfast person, Alexei. Is it true that you mean to leave the monastery? Yes, my elder sends me out into the worlds. We shall see each other then in the worlds. We shall meet before I am thirty, when I shall begin to turn aside from the cup. Father doesn't want to turn aside from his cup till he is seventy. He dreams of hanging on to eighty, in fact, so he says. He means it only too seriously, though he is a buffoon. He stands on a firm rock, too. He stands on a sensuality, though after we are thirty, indeed, there may be nothing else to stand on. But to hang on to seventy is nasty, better only to thirty. One might retain a shadow of nobility by deceiving oneself. Have you seen Dmitry today? No, but I saw Smirdayakov, and Alyosha rapidly, though minutely, described his meeting with Smirdayakov. Yvonne began listening anxiously and questioned him. But he begged me not to tell Dmitry that he had told me about him, added Alyosha. Yvonne frowned and pondered. Are you frowning on Smirdayakov's account? asked Alyosha. Yes, on his account. Damn him, I certainly did want to see Dmitry, but now there's no need, said Yvonne reluctantly. But are you really going so soon, brother? What of Dmitry and Father? How will it end? asked Alyosha anxiously. You are always harping upon it. What have I to do with it? Am I my brother Dmitry's keeper? Yvonne snapped irritably. But then he suddenly smiled bitterly. Kane's answer about his murdered brother, wasn't it? Perhaps that's what you're thinking at this moment? Well, damn it all. I can't stay here to be their keeper, can I? I've finished what I had to do, and I'm going. Do you imagine I am jealous of Dmitry, that I have been trying to steal his beautiful Katarina Ivanovna for the last three months? Nonsense, I had business of my own. I finished it. I am going. I finished it just now. You were witness. At Katarina Ivanovna's? Yes, and I've released myself once for all. And after all, what have I to do with Dmitry? Dmitry doesn't come in. I had my own business to settle with Katarina Ivanovna. You know, on the contrary, that Dmitry behaved as though there was an understanding between us. I didn't ask to do it, but he soundly handed her over to me and gave us his blessing. It's all too funny. Ah, Elyosha, if you only knew how light my heart is now, would you believe it, I sat here eating my dinner, and was nearly ordering champagne to celebrate my first hour of freedom. Tfu, it's been going on nearly six months, and all at once I've thrown it off. I could never have guessed even yesterday how easy it would be to put an end to it if I wanted. You are speaking of your love, Ivan? Of my love, if you like. I fell in love with the young lady. I worried myself over her, and she worried me. I sat watching over her, and all at once it's collapsed. I spoke this morning with inspiration, but I went away and roared with laughter. Would you believe it? Yes, it's the literal truth. You seem very merry about it now, observed Elyosha, looking into his face, which had suddenly grown brighter. But how could I tell that I didn't care for her a bit? Ha, ha! It appears after all I didn't. And yet how she attracted me? How attractive she was just now when I made my speech. And do you know she attracts me awfully even now, yet how easy it is to leave her? Do you think I am boasting? No, only perhaps it wasn't love. Elyosha, laughed Ivan, don't make reflections about love, it's unseemly for you. How you rushed into the discussion this morning. I've forgotten to kiss you for it. But how she tormented me? It certainly was sitting by a laceration. Ah, she knew how I loved her. She loved me and not Dmitri, Ivan insisted gaily. Her feeling for Dmitri was simply a self-laceration. All I told her just now was perfectly true. But the worst of it is, it may take her fifteen or twenty years to find out that she doesn't care for Dmitri and loves me whom she torments. And perhaps she may never find it out at all, in spite of her lesson today. Well, it's better so. I can simply go away for good. By the way, how is she now? What happened after I departed? Elyosha told him she had been hysterical, and that she was now, he heard, unconscious and delirious. Isn't Madame Holikov laying it on? I think not. I must find out. Nobody dies of hysterics, though. They don't matter. God gave woman hysterics as a relief. I won't go to her at all. Why push myself forward again? But you told her that she had never cared for you. I did that on purpose. Elyosha, shall I call for some champagne? Let us drink to my freedom. Ah, if only you knew how glad I am. No, brother. We had better not drink, said Elyosha suddenly. Besides, I feel somehow depressed. Yes, you've been depressed a long time. I've noticed it. Have you settled to go to-morrow morning, men? Morning. I didn't say I should go in the morning. But perhaps it may be the morning. Would you believe it? I dined here today only to avoid dining with the old man. I loathe him so. I should have left long ago, so far as he is concerned. But why are you so worried about my going away? With plenty of time before I go, an eternity. If you are going away to-morrow, what do you mean by an eternity? But what does it matter to us? laughed Yvonne. We've time enough for our talk, for what brought us here. Why do you look so surprised? Answer, why have we met here, to talk of my love for Katarina Ivanovna, of the old man and Dimitri, of foreign travel, of the fatal position of Russia, of the Emperor Napoleon? Is that it? No. Then you know what for? It's different for other people. But we and our green youth have to settle the eternal questions, first of all. That's what we care about. Young Russia is talking about nothing but the eternal questions now, just when the old folks are all taken up with practical questions. Why have you been looking at me in expectation for the last three months? To ask me, what do you believe, or don't you believe at all? That's what your eyes have been meaning for these three months, haven't they? Perhaps so, smiled Alyosha. You are not laughing at me now, Yvonne. Me laughing? I don't want to wound my little brother who has been watching me with such expectation for three months. Alyosha, look straight at me. Of course, I am just such a little boy as you are, only not an office. And what have Russian boys been doing up till now? Some of them, I mean. In this stinking tavern, for instance, here they meet and sit down in a corner. They've never met in their lives before, and when they go out of the tavern, they won't meet again for forty years. And what do they talk about in that momentary halt in the tavern? Of the eternal questions, of the existence of God and immortality. And those who do not believe in God talk of socialism or anarchism, of the transformation of all humanity on a new pattern, so that it all comes to the same. They're the same questions turned inside out. And masses, masses of the most original Russian boys, do nothing but talk of the eternal questions. Isn't it so? Yes, for real Russians the questions of God's existence and of immortality, or, as you say, the same questions turned inside out, come first and foremost, of course, and so they should, said Alyosha, still watching his brother with the same gentle and inquiring smile. Well, Alyosha, it's sometimes very unwise to be a Russian at all, but anything stupider than the way Russian boys spend their time one can hardly imagine. But there's one Russian boy called Alyosha I am awfully fond of. How nicely you put that in, Alyosha laughed suddenly. Well, tell me where to begin. Give your orders. The existence of God, eh? Begin where you like. You declared yesterday at Fathers that there was no God. Alyosha looked searchingly at his brother. I said that yesterday at dinner on purpose to tease you, and I saw your eyes glow. But now I have no objection to discussing with you, and I say so very seriously. I want to be friends with you, Alyosha, for I have no friends, and want to try it. Well, only fancy. Perhaps I too accept God, laughed Ivan. That's a surprise for you, isn't it? Yes, of course, if you are not joking now. Joking? I was told at the elders yesterday that I was joking. You know, dear boy, there was an old sinner in the eighteenth century who declared that, if there were no God, he would have to be invented. Si il n'existe pas Dieu, il faudrait l'inventer. And man has actually invented God. And what's strange, what would be marvelous is not that God should really exist. The marvel is that such an idea, the idea of the necessity of God, could enter the head of such a savage, vicious beast as man. So holy it is, so touching, so wise, and so great a credit it does to man. As for me, I have long resolved not to think whether man created God or God-man. And I won't go through all the axioms laid down by Russian boys on that subject, all derived from European hypotheses. For what's a hypothesis there is an axiom with the Russian boy, and not only with the boys but with their teachers too, for our Russian professors are often just the same boys themselves. And so I omit all the hypotheses. For what are we aiming at now? I am trying to explain as quickly as possible my essential nature. That is what manner of man I am, what I believe in, and for what I hope. That's it, isn't it? And therefore I tell you that I accept God simply. But you must note this, if God exists, and if he really did create the world, then, as we all know, he created it according to the geometry of Euclid and the human mind with the conception of only three dimensions in space. Yet there have been, and still are, geometricians and philosophers, and even some of the most distinguished who doubt whether the whole universe, or to speak more widely, the whole of being was only created in Euclid's geometry. They even dare to dream that two parallel lines which according to Euclid can never meet on earth, may meet somewhere in infinity. I have come to the conclusion that, since I can't understand even that, I can't expect to understand about God. I acknowledge humbly that I have no faculty for settling such questions, I have a Euclidean earthly mind, and how could I solve problems that are not of this world? And I advise you never to think about it either, my dear Alyosha, especially about God, whether he exists or not. All such questions are utterly inappropriate for a mind created with an idea of only three dimensions. And so I accept God, and I'm glad to, and what's more, I accept his wisdom, his purpose, which are utterly beyond our kin. I believe in the underlying order and the meaning of life. I believe in the eternal harmony in which they say we shall one day be blended. I believe in the word to which the universe is striving, and which itself was with God, and which itself is God, and so on and so on to infinity. There are all sorts of phrases for it. I seem to be on the right path, don't I? Yet would you believe it? In the final result, I don't accept this world of God's, and although I know it exists, I don't accept it at all. It's not that I don't accept God, you must understand. It's the world created by him I don't and cannot accept. Let me make it plain. I believe, like a child, that suffering will be healed and made up for, that all the humiliating absurdity of human contradictions will vanish like a pitiful mirage, like the despicable fabrication of the impotent and infinitely small Euclidean mind of man, that in the world's finale, at the moment of eternal harmony, something so precious will come to pass that it will suffice for all hearts, for the comforting of all resentments, for the atonement of all the crimes of humanity, of all the blood they've shed, that it will make it not only possible to forgive, but to justify all that has happened with men. But though all that may come to pass, I don't accept it. I won't accept it. Even if parallel lines do meet, and I see it myself, I shall see it and say that they've met, but still I won't accept it. That's what's at the root of my Al-Yosha. That's my creed. I am an earnest in what I say. I began our talk as stupidly as I could on purpose, but I've led up to my confession, for that's all you want. You didn't want to hear about God, but only to know what the brother you love lives by. And so I've told you. Yvon concluded his long tirade with marked and unexpected feeling. And why did you begin as stupidly as you could? asked Al-Yosha, looking dreamily at him. To begin with, for the sake of being Russian, Russian conversations on such subjects are always carried on inconceivably stupidly. And secondly, the stupider one is. The closer one is to reality. The stupider one is. The clearer one is. Stupidity is brief and artless, while intelligence wriggles and hides itself. Intelligence is a nave, but stupidity is honest and straightforward. I've led the conversation to my despair, and the more stupidly I have presented it, the better for me. You will explain why you don't accept the world? said Al-Yosha. To be sure I will. It's not a secret. That's what I've been leading up to. Dear little brother, I don't want to corrupt you or to turn you from your stronghold. Perhaps I want to be healed by you. Yvonne smiled suddenly, quite like a little gentle child. Al-Yosha had never seen such a smile on his face before.