第 十一 章 · Another Reputation Ruined

. Another Reputation Ruined

It was not much more than three-quarters of a mile from the town to the

monastery. Alyosha walked quickly along the road, at that hour

deserted. It was almost night, and too dark to see anything clearly at

thirty paces ahead. There were cross-roads half-way. A figure came into

sight under a solitary willow at the cross-roads. As soon as Alyosha

reached the cross-roads the figure moved out and rushed at him,

shouting savagely:

“Your money or your life!”

“So it’s you, Mitya,” cried Alyosha, in surprise, violently startled

however.

“Ha ha ha! You didn’t expect me? I wondered where to wait for you. By

her house? There are three ways from it, and I might have missed you.

At last I thought of waiting here, for you had to pass here, there’s no

other way to the monastery. Come, tell me the truth. Crush me like a

beetle. But what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, brother—it’s the fright you gave me. Oh, Dmitri! Father’s

blood just now.” (Alyosha began to cry, he had been on the verge of

tears for a long time, and now something seemed to snap in his soul.)

“You almost killed him—cursed him—and now—here—you’re making

jokes—‘Your money or your life!’”

“Well, what of that? It’s not seemly—is that it? Not suitable in my

position?”

“No—I only—”

“Stay. Look at the night. You see what a dark night, what clouds, what

a wind has risen. I hid here under the willow waiting for you. And as

God’s above, I suddenly thought, why go on in misery any longer, what

is there to wait for? Here I have a willow, a handkerchief, a shirt, I

can twist them into a rope in a minute, and braces besides, and why go

on burdening the earth, dishonoring it with my vile presence? And then

I heard you coming—Heavens, it was as though something flew down to me

suddenly. So there is a man, then, whom I love. Here he is, that man,

my dear little brother, whom I love more than any one in the world, the

only one I love in the world. And I loved you so much, so much at that

moment that I thought, ‘I’ll fall on his neck at once.’ Then a stupid

idea struck me, to have a joke with you and scare you. I shouted, like

a fool, ‘Your money!’ Forgive my foolery—it was only nonsense, and

there’s nothing unseemly in my soul.... Damn it all, tell me what’s

happened. What did she say? Strike me, crush me, don’t spare me! Was

she furious?”

“No, not that.... There was nothing like that, Mitya. There—I found

them both there.”

“Both? Whom?”

“Grushenka at Katerina Ivanovna’s.”

Dmitri was struck dumb.

“Impossible!” he cried. “You’re raving! Grushenka with her?”

Alyosha described all that had happened from the moment he went in to

Katerina Ivanovna’s. He was ten minutes telling his story. He can’t be

said to have told it fluently and consecutively, but he seemed to make

it clear, not omitting any word or action of significance, and vividly

describing, often in one word, his own sensations. Dmitri listened in

silence, gazing at him with a terrible fixed stare, but it was clear to

Alyosha that he understood it all, and had grasped every point. But as

the story went on, his face became not merely gloomy, but menacing. He

scowled, he clenched his teeth, and his fixed stare became still more

rigid, more concentrated, more terrible, when suddenly, with incredible

rapidity, his wrathful, savage face changed, his tightly compressed

lips parted, and Dmitri Fyodorovitch broke into uncontrolled,

spontaneous laughter. He literally shook with laughter. For a long time

he could not speak.

“So she wouldn’t kiss her hand! So she didn’t kiss it; so she ran

away!” he kept exclaiming with hysterical delight; insolent delight it

might have been called, if it had not been so spontaneous. “So the

other one called her tigress! And a tigress she is! So she ought to be

flogged on a scaffold? Yes, yes, so she ought. That’s just what I

think; she ought to have been long ago. It’s like this, brother, let

her be punished, but I must get better first. I understand the queen of

impudence. That’s her all over! You saw her all over in that

hand-kissing, the she-devil! She’s magnificent in her own line! So she

ran home? I’ll go—ah—I’ll run to her! Alyosha, don’t blame me, I agree

that hanging is too good for her.”

“But Katerina Ivanovna!” exclaimed Alyosha sorrowfully.

“I see her, too! I see right through her, as I’ve never done before!

It’s a regular discovery of the four continents of the world, that is,

of the five! What a thing to do! That’s just like Katya, who was not

afraid to face a coarse, unmannerly officer and risk a deadly insult on

a generous impulse to save her father! But the pride, the recklessness,

the defiance of fate, the unbounded defiance! You say that aunt tried

to stop her? That aunt, you know, is overbearing, herself. She’s the

sister of the general’s widow in Moscow, and even more stuck-up than

she. But her husband was caught stealing government money. He lost

everything, his estate and all, and the proud wife had to lower her

colors, and hasn’t raised them since. So she tried to prevent Katya,

but she wouldn’t listen to her! She thinks she can overcome everything,

that everything will give way to her. She thought she could bewitch

Grushenka if she liked, and she believed it herself: she plays a part

to herself, and whose fault is it? Do you think she kissed Grushenka’s

hand first, on purpose, with a motive? No, she really was fascinated by

Grushenka, that’s to say, not by Grushenka, but by her own dream, her

own delusion—because it was _her_ dream, _her_ delusion! Alyosha,

darling, how did you escape from them, those women? Did you pick up

your cassock and run? Ha ha ha!”

“Brother, you don’t seem to have noticed how you’ve insulted Katerina

Ivanovna by telling Grushenka about that day. And she flung it in her

face just now that she had gone to gentlemen in secret to sell her

beauty! Brother, what could be worse than that insult?”

What worried Alyosha more than anything was that, incredible as it

seemed, his brother appeared pleased at Katerina Ivanovna’s

humiliation.

“Bah!” Dmitri frowned fiercely, and struck his forehead with his hand.

He only now realized it, though Alyosha had just told him of the

insult, and Katerina Ivanovna’s cry: “Your brother is a scoundrel!”

“Yes, perhaps, I really did tell Grushenka about that ‘fatal day,’ as

Katya calls it. Yes, I did tell her, I remember! It was that time at

Mokroe. I was drunk, the gypsies were singing.... But I was sobbing. I

was sobbing then, kneeling and praying to Katya’s image, and Grushenka

understood it. She understood it all then. I remember, she cried

herself.... Damn it all! But it’s bound to be so now.... Then she

cried, but now ‘the dagger in the heart’! That’s how women are.”

He looked down and sank into thought.

“Yes, I am a scoundrel, a thorough scoundrel!” he said suddenly, in a

gloomy voice. “It doesn’t matter whether I cried or not, I’m a

scoundrel! Tell her I accept the name, if that’s any comfort. Come,

that’s enough. Good-by. It’s no use talking! It’s not amusing. You go

your way and I mine. And I don’t want to see you again except as a last

resource. Good-by, Alexey!”

He warmly pressed Alyosha’s hand, and still looking down, without

raising his head, as though tearing himself away, turned rapidly

towards the town.

Alyosha looked after him, unable to believe he would go away so

abruptly.

“Stay, Alexey, one more confession to you alone!” cried Dmitri,

suddenly turning back. “Look at me. Look at me well. You see here,

here—there’s terrible disgrace in store for me.” (As he said “here,”

Dmitri struck his chest with his fist with a strange air, as though the

dishonor lay precisely on his chest, in some spot, in a pocket,

perhaps, or hanging round his neck.) “You know me now, a scoundrel, an

avowed scoundrel, but let me tell you that I’ve never done anything

before and never shall again, anything that can compare in baseness

with the dishonor which I bear now at this very minute on my breast,

here, here, which will come to pass, though I’m perfectly free to stop

it. I can stop it or carry it through, note that. Well, let me tell

you, I shall carry it through. I shan’t stop it. I told you everything

just now, but I didn’t tell you this, because even I had not brass

enough for it. I can still pull up; if I do, I can give back the full

half of my lost honor to-morrow. But I shan’t pull up. I shall carry

out my base plan, and you can bear witness that I told you so

beforehand. Darkness and destruction! No need to explain. You’ll find

out in due time. The filthy back-alley and the she-devil. Good-by.

Don’t pray for me, I’m not worth it. And there’s no need, no need at

all.... I don’t need it! Away!”

And he suddenly retreated, this time finally. Alyosha went towards the

monastery.

“What? I shall never see him again! What is he saying?” he wondered

wildly. “Why, I shall certainly see him to-morrow. I shall look him up.

I shall make a point of it. What does he mean?”

He went round the monastery, and crossed the pine-wood to the

hermitage. The door was opened to him, though no one was admitted at

that hour. There was a tremor in his heart as he went into Father

Zossima’s cell.

“Why, why, had he gone forth? Why had he sent him into the world? Here

was peace. Here was holiness. But there was confusion, there was

darkness in which one lost one’s way and went astray at once....”

In the cell he found the novice Porfiry and Father Païssy, who came

every hour to inquire after Father Zossima. Alyosha learnt with alarm

that he was getting worse and worse. Even his usual discourse with the

brothers could not take place that day. As a rule every evening after

service the monks flocked into Father Zossima’s cell, and all confessed

aloud their sins of the day, their sinful thoughts and temptations;

even their disputes, if there had been any. Some confessed kneeling.

The elder absolved, reconciled, exhorted, imposed penance, blessed, and

dismissed them. It was against this general “confession” that the

opponents of “elders” protested, maintaining that it was a profanation

of the sacrament of confession, almost a sacrilege, though this was

quite a different thing. They even represented to the diocesan

authorities that such confessions attained no good object, but actually

to a large extent led to sin and temptation. Many of the brothers

disliked going to the elder, and went against their own will because

every one went, and for fear they should be accused of pride and

rebellious ideas. People said that some of the monks agreed beforehand,

saying, “I’ll confess I lost my temper with you this morning, and you

confirm it,” simply in order to have something to say. Alyosha knew

that this actually happened sometimes. He knew, too, that there were

among the monks some who deeply resented the fact that letters from

relations were habitually taken to the elder, to be opened and read by

him before those to whom they were addressed.

It was assumed, of course, that all this was done freely, and in good

faith, by way of voluntary submission and salutary guidance. But, in

fact, there was sometimes no little insincerity, and much that was

false and strained in this practice. Yet the older and more experienced

of the monks adhered to their opinion, arguing that “for those who have

come within these walls sincerely seeking salvation, such obedience and

sacrifice will certainly be salutary and of great benefit; those, on

the other hand, who find it irksome, and repine, are no true monks, and

have made a mistake in entering the monastery—their proper place is in

the world. Even in the temple one cannot be safe from sin and the

devil. So it was no good taking it too much into account.”

“He is weaker, a drowsiness has come over him,” Father Païssy whispered

to Alyosha, as he blessed him. “It’s difficult to rouse him. And he

must not be roused. He waked up for five minutes, sent his blessing to

the brothers, and begged their prayers for him at night. He intends to

take the sacrament again in the morning. He remembered you, Alexey. He

asked whether you had gone away, and was told that you were in the

town. ‘I blessed him for that work,’ he said, ‘his place is there, not

here, for awhile.’ Those were his words about you. He remembered you

lovingly, with anxiety; do you understand how he honored you? But how

is it that he has decided that you shall spend some time in the world?

He must have foreseen something in your destiny! Understand, Alexey,

that if you return to the world, it must be to do the duty laid upon

you by your elder, and not for frivolous vanity and worldly pleasures.”

Father Païssy went out. Alyosha had no doubt that Father Zossima was

dying, though he might live another day or two. Alyosha firmly and

ardently resolved that in spite of his promises to his father, the

Hohlakovs, and Katerina Ivanovna, he would not leave the monastery next

day, but would remain with his elder to the end. His heart glowed with

love, and he reproached himself bitterly for having been able for one

instant to forget him whom he had left in the monastery on his

deathbed, and whom he honored above every one in the world. He went

into Father Zossima’s bedroom, knelt down, and bowed to the ground

before the elder, who slept quietly without stirring, with regular,

hardly audible breathing and a peaceful face.

Alyosha returned to the other room, where Father Zossima had received

his guests in the morning. Taking off his boots, he lay down on the

hard, narrow, leathern sofa, which he had long used as a bed, bringing

nothing but a pillow. The mattress, about which his father had shouted

to him that morning, he had long forgotten to lie on. He took off his

cassock, which he used as a covering. But before going to bed, he fell

on his knees and prayed a long time. In his fervent prayer he did not

beseech God to lighten his darkness but only thirsted for the joyous

emotion, which always visited his soul after the praise and adoration,

of which his evening prayer usually consisted. That joy always brought

him light untroubled sleep. As he was praying, he suddenly felt in his

pocket the little pink note the servant had handed him as he left

Katerina Ivanovna’s. He was disturbed, but finished his prayer. Then,

after some hesitation, he opened the envelope. In it was a letter to

him, signed by Lise, the young daughter of Madame Hohlakov, who had

laughed at him before the elder in the morning.

“Alexey Fyodorovitch,” she wrote, “I am writing to you without any

one’s knowledge, even mamma’s, and I know how wrong it is. But I cannot

live without telling you the feeling that has sprung up in my heart,

and this no one but us two must know for a time. But how am I to say

what I want so much to tell you? Paper, they say, does not blush, but I

assure you it’s not true and that it’s blushing just as I am now, all

over. Dear Alyosha, I love you, I’ve loved you from my childhood, since

our Moscow days, when you were very different from what you are now,

and I shall love you all my life. My heart has chosen you, to unite our

lives, and pass them together till our old age. Of course, on condition

that you will leave the monastery. As for our age we will wait for the

time fixed by the law. By that time I shall certainly be quite strong,

I shall be walking and dancing. There can be no doubt of that.

“You see how I’ve thought of everything. There’s only one thing I can’t

imagine: what you’ll think of me when you read this. I’m always

laughing and being naughty. I made you angry this morning, but I assure

you before I took up my pen, I prayed before the Image of the Mother of

God, and now I’m praying, and almost crying.

“My secret is in your hands. When you come to-morrow, I don’t know how

I shall look at you. Ah, Alexey Fyodorovitch, what if I can’t restrain

myself like a silly and laugh when I look at you as I did to-day.

You’ll think I’m a nasty girl making fun of you, and you won’t believe

my letter. And so I beg you, dear one, if you’ve any pity for me, when

you come to-morrow, don’t look me straight in the face, for if I meet

your eyes, it will be sure to make me laugh, especially as you’ll be in

that long gown. I feel cold all over when I think of it, so when you

come, don’t look at me at all for a time, look at mamma or at the

window....

“Here I’ve written you a love-letter. Oh, dear, what have I done?

Alyosha, don’t despise me, and if I’ve done something very horrid and

wounded you, forgive me. Now the secret of my reputation, ruined

perhaps for ever, is in your hands.

“I shall certainly cry to-day. Good-by till our meeting, our _awful_

meeting.—LISE.

“P.S.—Alyosha! You must, must, must come!—LISE.”

Alyosha read the note in amazement, read it through twice, thought a

little, and suddenly laughed a soft, sweet laugh. He started. That

laugh seemed to him sinful. But a minute later he laughed again just as

softly and happily. He slowly replaced the note in the envelope,

crossed himself and lay down. The agitation in his heart passed at

once. “God, have mercy upon all of them, have all these unhappy and

turbulent souls in Thy keeping, and set them in the right path. All

ways are Thine. Save them according to Thy wisdom. Thou art love. Thou

wilt send joy to all!” Alyosha murmured, crossing himself, and falling

into peaceful sleep.