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but did not show her the post office

receipt. I said I had sent the money and would bring the receipt,

and so far I haven’t brought it. I’ve forgotten it. Now what do you

think you’re going to her to-day to say? ‘He sends his compliments,’

and she’ll ask you, ‘What about the money?’ You might still have

said to her, ‘He’s a degraded sensualist, and a low creature, with

uncontrolled passions. He didn’t send your money then, but wasted

it, because, like a low brute, he couldn’t control himself.’ But still

you might have added, ‘He isn’t a thief though. Here is your three

thousand; he sends it back. Send it yourself to Agafya Ivanovna. But

he told me to say “he sends his compliments.” But, as it is, she

will ask, ‘But where is the money?’”

 

“Mitya, you are unhappy, yes! But not as unhappy as you think.

Don’t worry yourself to death with despair.”

 

“What, do you suppose I’d shoot myself because I can’t get three

thousand to pay back? That’s just it. I shan’t shoot myself. I haven’t

the strength now. Afterwards, perhaps. But now I’m going to Grushenka.

I don’t care what happens.”

 

“And what then?”

 

“I’ll be her husband if she deigns to have me, and when lovers

come, I’ll go into the next room. I’ll clean her friends’ goloshes,

blow up their samovar, run their errands.”

 

“Katerina Ivanovna will understand it all,” Alyosha said solemnly.

“She’ll understand how great this trouble is and will forgive. She has

a lofty mind, and no one could be more unhappy than you. She’ll see

that for herself.”

 

“She won’t forgive everything,” said Dmitri, with a grin. “There’s

something in it, brother, that no woman could forgive. Do you know

what would be the best thing to do?”

 

“What?”

 

“Pay back the three thousand.”

 

“Where can we get it from? I say, I have two thousand. Ivan will

give you another thousand-that makes three. Take it and pay it back.”

 

“And when would you get it, your three thousand? You’re not of

age, besides, and you must-you absolutely must-take my farewell to

her to-day, with the money or without it, for I can’t drag on any

longer, things have come to such a pass. To-morrow is too late. I

shall send you to father.”

 

“To father?”

 

“Yes, to father first. Ask him for three thousand.”

 

“But, Mitya, he won’t give it.”

 

“As though he would! I know he won’t. Do you know the meaning of

despair, Alexey?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Listen. Legally he owes me nothing. I’ve had it all from him, I

know that. But morally he owes me something, doesn’t he? You know he

started with twenty-eight thousand of my mother’s money and made a

hundred thousand with it. Let him give me back only three out of the

twenty-eight thousand, and he’ll draw my soul out of hell, and it will

atone for many of his sins. For that three thousand-I give you my

solemn word-I’ll make an end of everything, and he shall hear nothing

more of me. For the last time I give him the chance to be a father.

Tell him God Himself sends him this chance.”

 

“Mitya, he won’t give it for anything.”

 

“I know he won’t. I know it perfectly well. Now, especially.

That’s not all. I know something more. Now, only a few days ago,

perhaps only yesterday he found out for the first time in earnest

(underline in earnest) that Grushenka is really perhaps not joking,

and really means to marry me. He knows her nature; he knows the cat.

And do you suppose he’s going to give me money to help to bring that

about when he’s crazy about her himself? And that’s not all, either. I

can tell you more than that. I know that for the last five days he has

had three thousand drawn out of the bank, changed into notes of a

hundred roubles. packed into a large envelope, sealed with five seals,

and tied across with red tape. You see how well I know all about it!

On the envelope is written: ‘To my angel, Grushenka, when she will

come to me.’ He scrawled it himself in silence and in secret, and no

one knows that the money’s there except the valet, Smerdyakov, whom he

trusts like himself. So now he has been expecting Grushenka for the

last three or four days; he hopes she’ll come for the money. He has

sent her word of it, and she has sent him word that perhaps she’ll

come. And if she does go to the old man, can I marry her after that?

You understand now why I’m here in secret and what I’m on the watch

for.”

 

“For her?”

 

“Yes, for her. Foma has a room in the house of these sluts here.

Foma comes from our parts; he was a soldier in our regiment. He does

jobs for them. He’s watchman at night and goes grouse-shooting in

the day-time; and that’s how he lives. I’ve established myself in

his room. Neither he nor the women of the house know the secret-that is, that I am on the watch here.”

 

“No one but Smerdyakov knows, then?”

 

“No one else. He will let me know if she goes to the old man.”

 

“It was he told you about the money, then?”

 

“Yes. It’s a dead secret. Even Ivan doesn’t know about the

money, or anything. The old man is sending Ivan to Tchermashnya on a

two or three days’ journey. A purchaser has turned up for the copse:

he’ll give eight thousand for the timber. So the old man keeps

asking Ivan to help him by going to arrange it. It will take him two

or three days. That’s what the old man wants, so that Grushenka can

come while he’s away.”

 

“Then he’s expecting Grushenka to-day?”

 

“No, she won’t come to-day; there are signs, She’s certain not

to come,” cried Mitya suddenly. “Smerdyakov thinks so, too. Father’s

drinking now. He’s sitting at table with Ivan. Go to him, Alyosha, and

ask for the three thousand.”

 

“Mitya, dear, what’s the matter with you?” cried Alyosha,

jumping up from his place, and looking keenly at his brother’s

frenzied face. For one moment the thought struck him that Dmitri was

mad.

 

“What is it? I’m not insane,” said Dmitri, looking intently and

earnestly at him. “No fear. I am sending you to father, and I know

what I’m saying. I believe in miracles.”

 

“In miracles?”

 

“In a miracle of Divine Providence. God knows my heart. He sees my

despair. He sees the whole picture. Surely He won’t let something

awful happen. Alyosha, I believe in miracles. Go!”

 

“I am going. Tell me, will you wait for me here?”

 

“Yes. I know it will take some time. You can’t go at him point

blank. He’s drunk now. I’ll wait three hours-four, five, six,

seven. Only remember you must go to Katerina Ivanovna to-day, if it

has to be at midnight, with the money or without the money, and say,

‘He sends his compliments to you.’ I want you to say that verse to

her: ‘He sends his compliments to you.’”

 

“Mitya! And what if Grushenka comes to-day- if not to-day, or

the next day?”

 

“Grushenka? I shall see her. I shall rush out and prevent it.”

 

“And if- ?”

 

“If there’s an if, it will be murder. I couldn’t endure it.”

 

“Who will be murdered?”

 

“The old man. I shan’t kill her.”

 

“Brother, what are you saying?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know…. I don’t know. Perhaps I shan’t kill, and

perhaps I shall. I’m afraid that he will suddenly become so

loathsome to me with his face at that moment. I hate his ugly

throat, his nose, his eyes, his shameless snigger. I feel a physical

repulsion. That’s what I’m afraid of. That’s what may be too much

for me.”

 

“I’ll go, Mitya. I believe that God will order things for the

best, that nothing awful may happen.”

 

“And I will sit and wait for the miracle. And if it doesn’t come

to pass- “

 

Alyosha went thoughtfully towards his father’s house.

Chapter 6

Smerdyakov

 

HE did in fact find his father still at table. Though there was

a dining-room in the house, the table was laid as usual in the drawing

room, which was the largest room, and furnished with old-fashioned

ostentation. The furniture was white and very old, upholstered in old,

red, silky material. In the spaces between the windows there were

mirrors in elaborate white and gilt frames, of old-fashioned

carving. On the walls, covered with white paper, which was torn in

many places, there hung two large portraits-one of some prince who

had been governor of the district thirty years before, and the other

of some bishop, also long since dead. In the corner opposite the

door there were several ikons, before which a lamp was lighted at

nightfall… not so much for devotional purposes as to light the room.

Fyodor Pavlovitch used to go to bed very late, at three or four

o’clock in the morning,and would wander about the room at night or sit

in an armchair, thinking. This had become a habit with him. He often

slept quite alone in the house, sending his servants to the lodge; but

usually Smerdyakov remained, sleeping on a bench in the hall.

 

When Alyosha came in, dinner was over, but coffee and preserves

had been served. Fyodor Pavlovitch liked sweet things with brandy

after dinner. Ivan was also at table, sipping coffee. The servants,

Grigory and Smerdyakov, were standing by. Both the gentlemen and the

servants seemed in singularly good spirits. Fyodor Pavlovitch was

roaring with laughter. Before he entered the room, Alyosha heard the

shrill laugh he knew so well, and could tell from the sound of it that

his father had only reached the good-humoured stage, and was far

from being completely drunk.

 

“Here he is! Here he is!” yelled Fyodor Pavlovitch, highly

delighted at seeing Alyosha. “Join us. Sit down. Coffee is a lenten

dish, but it’s hot and good. I don’t offer you brandy, you’re

keeping the fast. But would you like some? No; I’d better give you

some of our famous liqueur. Smerdyakov, go to the cupboard, the second

shelf on the right. Here are the keys. Look sharp!”

 

Alyosha began refusing the liqueur.

 

“Never mind. If you won’t have it, we will,” said Fyodor

Pavlovitch, beaming. “But stay-have you dined?”

 

“Yes,” answered Alyosha, who had in truth only eaten a piece of

bread and drunk a glass of kvass in the Father Superior’s kitchen.

“Though I should be pleased to have some hot coffee.”

 

“Bravo, my darling! He’ll have some coffee. Does it want

warming? No, it’s boiling. It’s capital coffee: Smerdyakov’s making.

My Smerdyakov’s an artist at coffee and at fish patties, and at fish

soup, too. You must come one day and have some fish soup. Let me

know beforehand…. But, stay; didn’t I tell you this morning to

come home with your mattress and pillow and all? Have you brought your

mattress? He he he!”

 

“No, I haven’t,” said Alyosha, smiling, too.

 

“Ah, but you were frightened, you were frightened this morning,

weren’t you? There, my darling, I couldn’t do anything to vex you.

Do you know, Ivan, I can’t resist the way he looks one straight in the

face and laughs? It makes me laugh all over. I’m so fond of him.

Alyosha, let me give you my blessing-a father’s blessing.”

 

Alyosha rose, but Fyodor Pavlovitch had already changed his mind.

 

“No, no,” he said. “I’ll just

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