Текст книги "The Brothers Karamazov"
Автор книги: Федор Достоевский
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Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 70 страниц)
“Have you, too, fallen into temptation?” Father Paissy exclaimed suddenly. “Can it be that you, too, are with those of little faith?” he added ruefully.
Alyosha stopped and glanced somehow indefinitely at Father Paissy, but again quickly turned away and dropped his eyes to the ground. He stood sideways, not facing his questioner. Father Paissy observed him attentively.
“Where are you hurrying to? The bell is ringing for the service,” he asked again, but Alyosha once more gave no answer.
“Or are you leaving the hermitage? Without permission? Without a blessing?”
Alyosha suddenly gave a twisted smile, raised his eyes strangely, very strangely, to the inquiring father, the one to whom, at his death, his former guide, the former master of his heart and mind, his beloved elder, had entrusted him, and suddenly, still without answering, waved his hand as if he cared nothing even about respect, and with quick steps walked towards the gates of the hermitage.
“But you will come back!” Father Paissy whispered, looking after him with rueful surprise.
Chapter 2: An Opportune Moment
Of course Father Paissy was not mistaken when he decided that his “dear boy” would come back, and perhaps even perceived (if not completely, yet perspicaciously) the true meaning of the mood of Alyosha’s soul. Nevertheless I shall frankly admit that it would be very difficult for me now to convey clearly the precise meaning of this strange and uncertain moment in the life of the hero of my story, whom I love so much and who is still so young. To the rueful question Father Paissy addressed to Alyosha: “Or are you, too, with those of little faith?”—I could, of course, answer firmly for Alyosha: “No, he is not with those of little faith.” Moreover, it was even quite the opposite: all his dismay arose precisely because his faith was so great. But dismay there was, it did arise, and it was so tormenting that even later, long afterwards, Alyosha considered this rueful day one of the most painful and fatal days of his life. If I were asked directly: “Could all this anguish and such great perturbation have arisen in him only because, instead of beginning at once to produce healings, the body of his elder, on the contrary, showed signs of early corruption?” I would answer without hesitation: “Yes, indeed it was so.” I would only ask the reader not to be in too great a hurry to laugh at my young man’s pure heart. Not only have I no intention of apologizing for him, of excusing and justifying his simple faith on account of his youth, for instance, or the little progress he had made formerly in the study of science, and so on and so forth, but I will do the opposite and declare firmly that I sincerely respect the nature of his heart. No doubt some other young man, who takes his heart’s impressions more prudently, who has already learned how to love not ardently but just lukewarmly, whose thoughts, though correct, are too reasonable (and therefore cheap) for his age, such a young man, I say, would avoid what happened to my young man, but in certain cases, really, it is more honorable to yield to some passion, however unwise, if it springs from great love, than not to yield to it at all. Still more so in youth, for a young man who is constantly too reasonable is suspect and of too cheap a price—that is my opinion!”But,” reasonable people may exclaim at this point, “not every young man can believe in such prejudices, and your young man is no example for others.” To this I again reply: yes, my young man believed, believed piously and unshakably, but still I do not apologize for him. You see, though I declared above (and perhaps too hastily) that I was not going to explain, excuse, or justify my hero, I find that it is still necessary, for the further comprehension of my story, to understand certain things. I will say this much: it was not a matter of miracles. It was not an expectation of miracles, frivolous in its impatience. Alyosha did not need miracles then for the triumph of certain convictions (it was not that at all), nor so that some sort of former, preconceived idea would quickly triumph over another—oh, no, by no means: in all this, and above all else, in the first place, there stood before him the person, and only the person—the person of his beloved elder, the person of that righteous man whom he revered to the point of adoration. That was just it, that the entirety of the love for “all and all” that lay hidden in his young and pure heart, then and during the whole previous year, was at times as if wholly concentrated, perhaps even incorrectly, mainly on just one being, at least in the strongest impulses of his heart—on his beloved elder, now deceased. True, this being had stood before him as an indisputable ideal for so long that all his youthful powers and all their yearning could not but turn to this ideal exclusively, in some moments even to the forgetting of “all and all.” (He himself remembered later that on that painful day he quite forgot his brother Dmitri, about whom he had been so worried and grieved the day before; he also forgot to take the two hundred roubles to Ilyushechka’s father, as he had also so fervently intended to do the day before.) Again, it was not miracles he needed, but only a “higher justice,” which, as he believed, had been violated—it was this that wounded his heart so cruelly and suddenly. And what matter if, in the course of events, this “justice” had assumed in Alyosha’s expectations the form of those miracles expected immediately from the remains of his adored former teacher? Everyone in the monastery thought and expected the same, even those whose minds Alyosha revered, Father Paissy himself, for example, and so Alyosha, not troubling himself with any doubts, clothed his dreams in the same form as all the others. And it had been settled thus in his heart for a long time, through the whole year of his life in the monastery, and his heart had acquired the habit of expecting it. But it was justice, justice he thirsted for, not simply miracles! And now he who, according to his hope, was to have been exalted higher than anyone in the whole world, this very man, instead of receiving the glory that was due him, was suddenly thrown down and disgraced! Why? Who had decreed it? Who could have judged so? These were the questions that immediately tormented his inexperienced and virgin heart. He could not bear without insult, even without bitterness of heart, that this most righteous of righteous men should be given over to such derisive and spiteful jeering from a crowd so frivolous and so far beneath him. Let there be no miracles, let nothing miraculous be revealed, let that which was expected immediately not come to pass, but why should there be this ignominy, why should this shame be permitted, why this hasty corruption, which “forestalled nature,” as the spiteful monks were saying? Why this “sign” which they now so triumphantly brought forth together with Father Ferapont, and why did they believe they had any right to bring it forth? Where was Providence and its finger? Why did it hide its finger “at the most necessary moment” (Alyosha thought), as if wanting to submit itself to the blind, mute, merciless laws of nature?
That was why Alyosha’s heart was bleeding, and of course, as I have already said, here first of all was the person he loved more than anything in the world, and this very person was “disgraced,” this very person was “defamed”! Let this murmuring of my young man be thoughtless and rash, but I repeat again for the third time (granting beforehand that it is also perhaps thoughtless of me to do so): I am glad that at such a moment my young man turned out to be not so reasonable, the time will come for an intelligent man to be reasonable, but if at such an exceptional moment there is no love to be found in a young man’s heart, then when will it come? I must not, however, fail to mention in this connection a certain strange phenomenon that did, if only momentarily, reveal itself in Alyosha’s mind at this fatal and confused moment. This new something that appeared and flashed consisted of a certain tormenting impression from his conversation with his brother Ivan the day before, which Alyosha now kept recalling. Precisely now. Oh, not that any of his basic, so to speak elemental, beliefs were shaken in his soul. He loved his God and believed in him steadfastly, though he suddenly murmured against him. Yet some vague but tormenting and evil impression from the recollection of the previous day’s conversation with his brother Ivan now suddenly stirred again in his soul, demanding more and more to come to the surface. It was already quite dark when Rakitin, passing through the pine grove from the hermitage to the monastery, suddenly noticed Alyosha lying face down on the ground under a tree, motionless and as if asleep. He went up and called him by name.
“Is that you, Alexei? Can it be that ... ,” he began, astonished, but stopped without finishing. He was going to say, “Can it be that you’ve come tothis?” Alyosha did not glance up at him, but from a slight movement Rakitin guessed at once that he had heard and understood him.
“What’s the matter with you?” he went on in surprise, but the surprise on his face was already beginning to be supplanted by a smile that turned more and more sarcastic.
“Listen, I’ve been looking for you for over two hours. You suddenly disappeared from the place. What are you doing here? What is all this blessed nonsense? Look at me, at least . . .” Alyosha raised his head, sat up, and leaned his back against the tree. He was not crying, but his face wore an expression of suffering, and there was irritation in his eyes. He did not look at Rakitin, incidentally, but somewhere aside.
“You know, you’ve quite changed countenance. No more of that old, notorious meekness of yours. Are you angry with somebody, or what? Offended?”
“Leave me alone!” Alyosha said suddenly, still without looking at him, and waved his hand wearily.
“Oho, so that’s how we are now! We’re snappish, just like other mortals! And we used to be an angel! Well, Alyoshka, you surprise me, do you know that? I mean it. It’s a long time since anything here has surprised me. Still, I did always consider you an educated man...”
Alyosha finally looked at him, but somehow distractedly, as if he still scarcely understood him.
“Can it be just because your old man got himself stunk? Can it be that you seriously believed he’d start pulling off miracles?” Rakitin exclaimed, passing again to the most genuine amazement.
“I believed, I believe, and I want to believe, and I will believe, and what more do you want!” Alyosha cried irritably.
“Precisely nothing, my dear. Ah, the devil! But even thirteen-year-old schoolboys don’t believe such things anymore! Still ... ah, the devil ... So you’ve gotten angry with your God now, you’ve rebelled: they passed you over for promotion, you didn’t get a medal for the feast day! Ah, you!”
Alyosha gave Rakitin a long look, his eyes somehow narrowed, and something flashed in them ... but not anger at Rakitin.
“I do not rebel against my God, I simply ‘do not accept his world,’ “ Alyosha suddenly smiled crookedly.
“What do you mean, you don’t accept his world?” Rakitin thought over his reply for a moment. “What sort of gibberish is that?”
Alyosha did not answer.
“Well, enough talk of trifles, now to business: did you eat anything today?”
“I don’t remember ... I think I did.”
“By the looks of you, you need fortifying. What a sorry sight! You didn’t sleep last night, so I hear, you had a meeting. And then all this fuss and muss ... I bet you had nothing but a piece of blessed bread to chew on. I’ve got a hunk of sausage here in my pocket, I brought it from town just in case, because I was coming here, only you probably won’t...”
“Let’s have your sausage.”
“Aha! So that’s how it is! Real rebellion, barricades and all! Well, brother, that’s not to be sneered at! Let’s go to my place ... I’d love a shot of vodka right now, I’m dead tired. You wouldn’t go so far as to have vodka ... or would you?”
“Let’s have your vodka.”
“Say! Amazing, brother!” Rakitin rolled his eyes. “Well, one way or the other, vodka or sausage, it’s a brave thing, a fine thing, not to be missed! Let’s go!”
Alyosha silently got up from the ground and went after Rakitin.
“If your brother Vanechka could see it, wouldn’t he be surprised! By the way, your good brother Ivan Fyodorovich went off to Moscow this morning, did you know that?”
“Yes,” Alyosha said indifferently, and suddenly the image of his brother Dmitri flashed through his mind, but only flashed, and though it reminded him of something, some urgent business, which could not be put off even a minute longer, some duty, some terrible responsibility, this recollection did not make any impression on him, did not reach his heart, it flitted through his memory and was forgotten. But long afterwards Alyosha kept remembering it.
“Your dear brother Vanechka once pronounced me a ‘giftless liberal windbag.’ And you, too, could not help letting me know once that I was ‘dishonest’ ... Very well! Now we’ll see how gifted and honest you are” (Rakitin finished the phrase to himself, in a whisper). “Bah, listen!” he raised his voice again, “let’s bypass the monastery and take the path straight to town ... Hmm. By the way, I need to stop and see Khokhlakov. Imagine, I wrote her a report about all that happened, and just think, she replied at once with a note, in pencil (the lady simply loves writing notes), that she ‘would not have expected such conductfrom such a venerable old man as Father Zosima’! That’s what she wrote: ‘such conduct! She was angry, too; ah, you all...! Wait!” he cried again all at once, stopped suddenly, and, taking Alyosha by the shoulder, made him stop, too.
“You know, Alyoshka,” he looked searchingly in his eyes, entirely absorbed by the impression of the sudden new thought that had shone upon him, and though ostensibly laughing, he was apparently afraid to voice this sudden new thought of his, so hard was it still for him to believe the surprising and quite unexpected mood in which he saw Alyosha now, “Alyoshka, do you know the best place of all for us to go now?” he finally said timidly and ingratiatingly.
“It makes no difference ... wherever you like.”
“Let’s go to Grushenka’s, eh? Will you go?” Rakitin finally uttered, all atremble with timid expectancy. “Let’s go to Grushenka’s,” Alyosha replied calmly and at once, and this was so unexpected for Rakitin—that is, this prompt and calm assent—that he almost jumped back.
“W-well...! Now...!” he shouted in amazement, and suddenly, grasping Alyosha firmly by the arm, he led him quickly along the path, still terribly fearful that his determination might disappear. They walked in silence; Rakitin was even afraid to start talking.
“And how glad she’ll be, how glad ... ,” he muttered, and fell silent again. It was not at all to make Grushenka glad that he was leading Alyosha to her; he was a serious man and never undertook anything without the aim of profiting from it. His aim this time was twofold: first, a revengeful one—that is, to see “the disgrace of the righteous man,” the probable “fall” of Alyosha “from the saints to the sinners,” which he was already savoring in anticipation– and second, he had in mind a material aim as well, one rather profitable for himself, of which more shall be said below.
“Well, if such a moment has come along,” he thought gaily and maliciously to himself, “then we’d better just catch it by the scruff of the neck, the moment, I mean, because it’s very opportune for us.”
Chapter 3: An Onion
Grushenka lived in the busiest part of town, near the cathedral square, in a house belonging to the widow of the merchant Morozov, from whom she rented a small wooden cottage. The widow’s house was large, stone, two-storied, old, and extremely unattractive. The owner, an old woman, lived a secluded life there with her two nieces, also quite elderly spinsters. She had no need to rent the cottage in her backyard, but everyone knew that she had taken Grushenka as her tenant (already four years since) only to please her relative, the merchant Samsonov, who was openly Grushenka’s patron. It was said that in placing his “favorite” with the widow Morozov, the jealous old man had originally had in view the old woman’s keen eye, to keep watch over the new tenant’s behavior. But the keen eye soon turned out to be unnecessary, and in the end the widow Morozov rarely even met Grushenka and finally stopped bothering her altogether with her surveillance. True, it had already been four years since the old man had brought the timid, shy, eighteen-year-old girl, delicate, thin, pensive, and sad, to this house from the provincial capital, and since then much water had flowed under the bridge. All the same, the biography of this girl was only slightly and inconsistently known in our town; nor had anything been learned more recently, even at a time when a great many people began to be interested in the “beauty” Agrafena Alexandrovna had become in four years. There were only rumors that as a seventeen-year-old girl she had been deceived by someone, allegedly some officer, and then abandoned by him forthwith. The officer left, and was soon married somewhere, and Grushenka remained in poverty and disgrace. It was said, however, that though Grushenka had indeed been taken up from poverty by her old man, she was from an honorable family and came in some way from the clergy, being the daughter of a retired deacon or something of the sort. Thus, in four years, from the sensitive, offended, and pitiful orphan, there emerged a red-cheeked, full-bodied Russian beauty, a woman of bold and determined character, proud and insolent, knowing the value of money, acquisitive, tight-fisted, and cautious, who by hook or crook had already succeeded, so they said, in knocking together a little fortune of her own. Everyone was convinced of one thing: that Grushenka was hard to get, and that apart from the old man, her patron, there was not yet a single man in all those four years who could boast of her favors. This was a firm fact, for not a few aspirants had turned up, especially over the past two years, to obtain those favors. But all attempts were in vain; and some of the suitors were even forced to beat a comical and shameful retreat, after the firm and mocking rebuff dealt them by the strong-willed young lady. It was also known that the young lady, especially during the past year, had gotten into what is known as “gescheft,” [229] and that she had proved herself extraordinarily able in this respect, so that in the end many started calling her a real Jew. Not that she lent money on interest, but it was known, for example, that for some time, together with Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, she had indeed been busily buying up promissory notes for next to nothing, ten kopecks to the rouble, and later made a rouble to ten kopecks on some of them. The ailing Samsonov, who in the past year had lost the use of his swollen legs, a widower, a tyrant over his two grown sons, a man of great wealth, stingy and implacable, fell, however, under the strong influence of his protégée, whom he had at first kept in an iron grip, on a short leash, on “lenten fare,” as some wags said at the time. But Grushenka had succeeded in emancipating herself, having inspired in him, however, a boundless trust regarding her fidelity. This old man, a great businessman (now long deceased), was also of remarkable character, tight-fisted above all and hard as flint, and though Grushenka so struck him that he even could not live without her (in the past two years, for example, it had really been so), he still did not allot her a large, considerable fortune, and even if she had threatened to abandon him altogether, he would still have remained implacable. Instead he allotted her a small sum, and even that, when it became known, was a surprise to everyone. “You’re a sharp woman,” he said to her, giving her about eight thousand roubles, “you’ll make out for yourself; but know this, that apart from your yearly allowance, as usual, you’ll get no more from me before I die, and I will leave you nothing in my will.” And he kept his word: he died and left everything to his sons, whom he had kept about him all his life on the level of servants, with their wives and children, and made no mention of Grushenka in his will. All of this became known afterwards. But he helped Grushenka a great deal with advice on how to manage “her own money” and brought “business” her way. When Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, who originally was connected with Grushenka with regard to some chance “ gescheft,” ended quite unexpectedly to himself by falling head over heels in love with her and nearly losing his reason, old Samsonov, who by then already had one foot in the grave, chuckled greatly. It is remarkable that Grushenka, throughout their acquaintance, was fully and even, as it were, cordially frank with her old man, and apparently with no one else in the whole world. Most recently, when Dmitri Fyodorovich had also appeared suddenly with his love, the old man had stopped chuckling. On the contrary, one day he seriously and sternly advised Grushenka: “If you must choose between the two of them, father and son, choose the old man, only in such a way, however, that the old scoundrel is certain to marry you, and makes over at least some of his money in advance. And don’t hobnob with the captain, nothing good will come of it.” These were the very words to Grushenka from the old voluptuary, who already felt himself near death and indeed died five months after giving this advice. I will also note in passing that although many in our town knew about the absurd and ugly rivalry at that time between the Karamazovs, father and son, the object of which was Grushenka, few then understood the true meaning of her relations with the two of them, the old man and the son. Even Grushenka’s two serving women (after the catastrophe, of which we shall speak further on, broke out) later testified in court that Agrafena Alexandrovna received Dmitri Fyodorovich only out of fear, because, they said, “he threatened to kill her.” She had two serving women, one a very old cook, from her parents’ household, ailing and nearly deaf, and the other her granddaughter, a pert young girl, about twenty years old, Grushenka’s maid. Grushenka lived very frugally and in quite poor surroundings. There were only three rooms in her cottage, furnished by the landlady with old mahogany furniture in the fashion of the twenties. When Rakitin and Alyosha arrived, it was already dusk, but there were no lights in the rooms. Grushenka was lying down in her drawing room on her big, clumsy sofa with its imitation mahogany back, hard and upholstered with leather that had long since become worn and full of holes. Under her head were two white down pillows from her bed. She was lying stretched out on her back, motionless, with both hands behind her head. She was dressed up as though she were expecting someone, in a black silk dress, with a delicate lace fichu on her head, which was very becoming to her; the lace shawl thrown around her shoulders was pinned with a massive gold brooch. She precisely was expecting someone, lying as if in anguish and impatience, with a somewhat pale face, with hot lips and eyes, impatiently tapping the arm of the sofa with her right toe. The moment Rakitin and Alyosha appeared, a slight commotion took place: from the front hall they heard Grushenka jump up quickly from the sofa and suddenly cry out in fear: “Who is it?” But the visitors were met by the maid, who at once replied to her mistress:
“It’s not him, miss, it’s some others, they’re all right.”
“What’s the matter with her?” Rakitin muttered as he led Alyosha by the arm into the drawing room. Grushenka stood by the sofa, still looking frightened. A thick coil of her dark brown braid escaped suddenly from under the fichu and fell over her right shoulder, but she did not notice it and did not tuck it back until she had peered into her visitors’ faces and recognized them.
“Ah, it’s you, Rakitka? You got me all frightened. Who did you bring? Who is that with you? Lord, look who he’s brought!” she exclaimed as she made out Alyosha’s face.
“Send for some candles!” Rakitin said with the casual air of a very close acquaintance and intimate, who even has the right to give orders in the house.
“Candles ... of course, candles ... Fenya, fetch him a candle ... Well, you chose a fine time to bring him!” she exclaimed again, nodding at Alyosha, and turning to the mirror, she began to tuck up her braid with both hands. She seemed displeased.
“Why, is something wrong?” Rakitin asked, instantly almost offended.
“You frightened me, Rakitka, that’s what,” Grushenka turned to Alyosha with a smile. “Don’t be afraid of me, Alyosha darling, I’m awfully glad to see you, my so-unexpected visitor. But you, Rakitka, you frightened me: I thought it was Mitya forcing his way in. You see, I tricked him this afternoon, I made him swear to believe me, and then I lied to him. I told him I was going to be with Kuzma Kuzmich, my old man, all evening, counting the money with him till late at night. I go every week and spend a whole evening settling accounts with him. We lock ourselves in: he clicks away on the abacus, and I sit and write it down in the books—I’m the only one he trusts. Mitya believed I’d be there, but I’ve locked myself up in my house and sit here waiting for a message. How could Fenya have let you in! Fenya, Fenya! Run out to the gate, open it, and look around, see if the captain is there anywhere. Maybe he’s hiding and spying on me, I’m scared to death!”
“No one’s there, Agrafena Alexandrovna, I just looked, and I keep peeking through the crack all the time, because I’m in fear and trembling myself.”
“Are the shutters fastened, Fenya? And the curtains should be drawn– there!” she drew the heavy curtains herself, “or he might see the light and come flying in. I’m afraid of your brother Mitya today, Alyosha.” Grushenka was speaking loudly, and though she was worried, she also seemed almost in a sort of ecstasy.
“Why are you so afraid of Mitenka today?” Rakitin inquired. “You don’t seem to be timid with him, he dances to your tune.”
“I told you, I’m expecting a message, a certain golden message, so it would be better now if there were no Mitenka around at all. Besides, he didn’t believe I was going to see Kuzma Kuzmich, I feel it. He must be sitting there in the garden now, behind Fyodor Pavlovich’s house, watching for me. And if he’s sat himself down there, then he won’t come here—so much the better! And I really did run over to see Kuzma Kuzmich, Mitya took me there himself, I told him I’d stay till midnight, and that he must come at midnight to take me home. He left, and I stayed at the old man’s for about ten minutes and came back here again—oh, was I scared, I ran so as not to meet him.”
“And why are you so spruced up? What a curious little cap you’ve got on!”
“You’re much too curious yourself, Rakitin! I told you, I’m expecting a certain message. When it comes, I’ll jump up and fly away, and that will be the last you ever see of me. So I’m all dressed and ready to go.”
“Where will you fly to?”
“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.”
“Just look at her! Happy all over ... I’ve never seen you like this. Decked out as if for a ball,” Rakitin looked her up and down.
“A lot you know about balls.”
“And you?”
“I saw a ball once. Two years ago Kuzma Kuzmich’s son got married, and I watched from the gallery. But why am I talking with you, Rakitka, when such a prince is standing here? What a visitor! Alyosha, darling, I look at you and can’t believe it—Lord, how can you be here? To tell the truth, I never dreamed, I never expected, and till now I never believed you would come. Though it’s not the right moment, still I’m awfully glad to see you! Sit down on the sofa, here, like that, my young moon. Really, I still can’t come to my senses ... Ah, Rakitka, why didn’t you bring him yesterday, or the day before...! Well, I’m glad all the same. Maybe it’s even better that it’s now, at such a moment, and not two days ago ...”
She came over friskily, sat down next to Alyosha on the sofa, and looked at him decidedly with admiration. She really was glad, she was not lying when she said so. Her eyes were shining, her lips laughing, but good-naturedly, gaily. Alyosha never expected to see such a kind expression on her face ... He had seldom met her until the day before, had formed a horrifying notion of her, and had been so terribly shocked the day before by her vicious and perfidious escapade with Katerina Ivanovna, that he was very surprised now suddenly to see in her, as it were, quite a different and unexpected being. And however weighed down he was by his own grief, his eyes involuntarily rested on her with attention. Her whole manner also seemed to have changed for the better since the day before: there was almost no trace of that sugary inflection, of those pampered and affected movements ... everything was simple, simple-hearted, her movements were quick, direct, trusting, but she was very excited.
“Oh, Lord, such things keep coming true today, really,” she began prattling again. “And why I’m so glad of you, Alyosha, I don’t know myself. If you asked, I couldn’t say.”
‘“You really don’t know why you’re glad?” Rakitin grinned. “There must have been some reason why you kept pestering me to bring him, bring him, all the time.”
“I had a different reason before, but that’s gone now, it’s not the right moment. I’ll feed you now, that’s what. I’ve become kind now, Rakitka. Do sit down, Rakitka, why are you standing? Ah, you are sitting down? Never fear, Rakitushka will always look out for himself. Now he’s sitting across from us, Alyosha, and feeling offended because I didn’t ask him to sit down before you. My Rakitka is touchy, oh, so touchy!” Grushenka laughed. “Don’t be angry, Rakitka, I’m feeling kind today. But why are you sitting there so sadly, Alyoshechka, or are you afraid of me?” she looked into his eyes with mocking gaiety.
