The Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoyevsky (reading an ebook TXT) 📗

marriage, now she is an

orphan and here; she is betrothed to him, yet before her very eyes

he is dancing attendance on a certain enchantress. And although this

enchantress has lived in, so to speak, civil marriage with a

respectable man, yet she is of an independent character, an

unapproachable fortress for everybody, just like a legal wife-for she

is virtuous, yes, holy Fathers, she is virtuous. Dmitri Fyodorovitch

wants to open this fortress with a golden key, and that’s why he is

insolent to me now, trying to get money from me, though he has

wasted thousands on this enchantress already. He’s continually

borrowing money for the purpose. From whom do you think? Shall I

say, Mitya?”

 

“Be silent!” cried Dmitri, “wait till I’m gone. Don’t dare in my

presence to asperse the good name of an honourable girl! That you

should utter a word about her is an outrage, and I won’t permit it!”

He was breathless.

 

He was breathless. “Mitya! Mitya!” cried Fyodor Pavlovitch

hysterically, squeezing out a tear. “And is your father’s blessing

nothing to you? If I curse you, what then?”

 

“Shameless hypocrite! “exclaimed Dmitri furiously.

 

“He says that to his father! his father What would he be with

others? Gentlemen, only fancy; there’s a poor but honourable man

living here, burdened with a numerous family, a captain who got into

trouble and was discharged from the army, but not publicly, not by

court-martial, with no slur on his honour. And three weeks ago, Dmitri

seized him by the beard in a tavern, dragged him out into the street

and beat him publicly, and all because he is an agent in a little

business of mine.”

 

“It’s all a lie! Outwardly it’s the truth, but inwardly a lie!”

Dmitri was trembling with rage. “Father, I don’t justify my action.

Yes, I confess it publicly, I behaved like a brute to that captain,

and I regret it now, and I’m disgusted with myself for my brutal rage.

But this captain, this agent of yours, went to that lady whom you call

an enchantress, and suggested to her from you, that she should take

I.O.U.s of mine which were in your possession, and should sue me for

the money so as to get me into prison by means of them, if I persisted

in claiming an account from you of my property. Now you reproach me

for having a weakness for that lady when you yourself incited her to

captivate me! She told me so to my face…. She told me the story

and laughed at you…. You wanted to put me in prison because you

are jealous of me with her, because you’d begun to force your

attentions upon her; and I know all about that, too; she laughed at

you for that as well-you hear-she laughed at you as she described

it. So here you have this man, this father who reproaches his

profligate son! Gentlemen, forgive my anger, but I foresaw that this

crafty old man would only bring you together to create a scandal. I

had come to forgive him if he held out his hand; to forgive him, and

ask forgiveness! But as he has just this minute insulted not only

me, but an honourable young lady, for whom I feel such reverence

that I dare not take her name in vain, I have made up my mind to

show up his game, though he is my father….”

 

He could not go on. His eyes were glittering and he breathed

with difficulty. But everyone in the cell was stirred. All except

Father Zossima got up from their seats uneasily. The monks looked

austere but waited for guidance from the elder. He sat still, pale,

not from excitement but from the weakness of disease. An imploring

smile lighted up his face; from time to time he raised his hand, as

though to check the storm, and, of course, a gesture from him would

have been enough to end the scene; but he seemed to be waiting for

something and watched them intently as though trying to make out

something which was not perfectly clear to him. At last Miusov felt

completely humiliated and disgraced.

 

“We are all to blame for this scandalous scene,” he said hotly.

“But I did not foresee it when I came, though I knew with whom I had

to deal. This must be stopped at once! Believe me, your reverence, I

had no precise knowledge of the details that have just come to

light, I was unwilling to believe them, and I learn for the first

time…. A father is jealous of his son’s relation with a woman of

loose behaviour and intrigues with the creature to get his son into

prison! This is the company in which I have been forced to be present!

I was deceived. I declare to you all that I was as much deceived as

anyone.”

 

“Dmitri Fyodorovitch,” yelled Fyodor Pavlovitch suddenly, in an

unnatural voice, “if you were not my son I would challenge you this

instant to a duel… with pistols, at three paces… across a

handkerchief,” he ended, stamping with both feet.

 

With old liars who have been acting all their lives there are

moments when they enter so completely into their part that they

tremble or shed tears of emotion in earnest, although at that very

moment, or a second later, they are able to whisper to themselves,

“You know you are lying, you shameless old sinner! You’re acting

now, in spite of your ‘holy’ wrath.”

 

Dmitri frowned painfully, and looked with unutterable contempt

at his father.

 

“I thought… I thought,” he said. in a soft and, as it were,

controlled voice, “that I was coming to my native place with the angel

of my heart, my betrothed, to cherish his old age, and I find

nothing but a depraved profligate, a despicable clown!”

 

“A duel!” yelled the old wretch again, breathless and

spluttering at each syllable. “And you, Pyotr Alexandrovitch Miusov,

let me tell you that there has never been in all your family a

loftier, and more honest-you hear-more honest woman than this

‘creature,’ as you have dared to call her! And you, Dmitri

Fyodorovitch, have abandoned your betrothed for that ‘creature,’ so

you must yourself have thought that your betrothed couldn’t hold a

candle to her. That’s the woman called a “creature”

 

“Shameful!” broke from Father Iosif.

 

“Shameful and disgraceful!” Kalganov, flushing crimson cried in

a boyish voice, trembling with emotion. He had been silent till that

moment.

 

“Why is such a man alive?” Dmitri, beside himself with rage,

growled in a hollow voice, hunching up his shoulders till he looked

almost deformed. “Tell me, can he be allowed to go on defiling the

earth?” He looked round at everyone and pointed at the old man. He

spoke evenly and deliberately.

 

“Listen, listen, monks, to the parricide!” cried Fyodor

Pavlovitch, rushing up to Father Iosif. “That’s the answer to your

‘shameful!’ What is shameful? That ‘creature,’ that ‘woman of loose

behaviour’ is perhaps holier than you are yourselves, you monks who

are seeking salvation! She fell perhaps in her youth, ruined by her

environment. But she loved much, and Christ himself forgave the

woman ‘who loved much.’”

 

“It was not for such love Christ forgave her,” broke impatiently

from the gentle Father Iosif.

 

“Yes, it was for such, monks, it was! You save your souls here,

eating cabbage, and think you are the righteous. You eat a gudgeon a

day, and you think you bribe God with gudgeon.”

 

“This is unendurable!” was heard on all sides in the cell.

 

But this unseemly scene was cut short in a most unexpected way.

Father Zossima Father Zossima rose suddenly from his seat. Almost

distracted with anxiety for the elder and everyone else, Alyosha

succeeded, however, in supporting him by the arm. Father Zossima moved

towards Dmitri and reaching him sank on his knees before him.

Alyosha thought that he had fallen from weakness, but this was not so.

The elder distinctly and deliberately bowed down at Dmitri’s feet till

his forehead touched the floor. Alyosha was so astounded that he

failed to assist him when he got up again. There was a faint smile

on his lips.

 

“Goodbye! Forgive me, all of you” he said, bowing on all sides to

his guests.

 

Dmitri stood for a few moments in amazement. Bowing down to him-what did it mean? Suddenly he cried aloud, “Oh God!” hid his face in

his hands, and rushed out of the room. All the guests flocked out

after him, in their confusion not saying good-bye, or bowing to

their host. Only the monks went up to him again for a blessing.

 

“What did it mean, falling at his feet like that? Was it

symbolic or what?” said Fyodor Pavlovitch, suddenly quieted and trying

to reopen conversation without venturing to address anybody in

particular. They were all passing out of the precincts of the

hermitage at the moment.

 

“I can’t answer for a madhouse and for madmen,” Miusov answered at

once ill-humouredly, “but I will spare myself your company, Fyodor

Pavlovitch, and, trust me, for ever. Where’s that monk?”

 

“That monk,” that is, the monk who had invited them to dine with

the Superior, did not keep them waiting. He met them as soon as they

came down the steps from the elder’s cell, as though he had been

waiting for them all the time.

 

“Reverend Father, kindly do me a favour. Convey my deepest respect

to the Father Superior, apologise for me, personally, Miusov, to his

reverence, telling him that I deeply regret that owing to unforeseen

circumstances I am unable to have the honour of being present at his

table, greatly I should desire to do so,” Miusov said irritably to the

monk.

 

“And that unforeseen circumstance, of course, is myself,” Fyodor

Pavlovitch cut in immediately. “Do you hear, Father; this gentleman

doesn’t want to remain in my company or else he’d come at once. And

you shall go, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, pray go to the Father Superior and

good appetite to you. I will decline, and not you. Home, home, I’ll

eat at home, I don’t feel equal to it here, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, my

amiable relative.”

 

“I am not your relative and never have been, you contemptible

man!”

 

“I said it on purpose to madden you, because you always disclaim

the relationship, though you really are a relation in spite of your

shuffling. I’ll prove it by the church calendar. As for you, Ivan,

stay if you like. I’ll send the horses for you later. Propriety

requires you to go to the Father Superior, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, to

apologise for the disturbance we’ve been making….”

 

“Is it true that you are going home? Aren’t you lying?”

 

“Pyotr Alexandrovitch! How could I dare after what’s happened!

Forgive me, gentlemen, I was carried away! And upset besides! And,

indeed, I am ashamed. Gentlemen, one man has the heart of Alexander of

Macedon and another the heart of the little dog Fido. Mine is that

of the little dog Fido. I am ashamed! After such an escapade how can I

go to dinner, to gobble up the monastery’s sauces? I am ashamed, I

can’t. You must excuse me!”

 

“The devil only knows, what if he deceives us?” thought Miusov,

still hesitating, and watching the retreating buffoon with distrustful

eyes. The latter turned round, and noticing that Miusov was watching

him, waved him a kiss.

 

“Well, are you coming to the Superior?” Miusov asked Ivan

abruptly.

 

“Why not? I was especially invited yesterday.”

 

“Unfortunately I feel myself compelled to go to this confounded

dinner,” said Miusov with the same irritability, regardless of the

fact that the monk was listening. “We ought, at least, to