Текст книги "The Brothers Karamazov"
Автор книги: Федор Достоевский
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Текущая страница: 51 (всего у книги 70 страниц)
“Well, who else is it but me?” she started prattling again. “It’s me, I offered him gold mines almost an hour before, and suddenly those ‘forty-year-old charms’! But it wasn’t that! He says it on purpose! May the eternal judge forgive him those forty-year-old charms, as I forgive him, but this ... do you know who it is? It’s your friend Rakitin.”
“Perhaps,” said Alyosha, “though I’ve heard nothing about it.”
“It’s him, him, and no ‘perhaps’! Because I turned him out ... Do you know that whole story?”
“I know you suggested that he not visit you in the future, but precisely why, I haven’t heard ... at least, not from you.”
“Ah, so you heard it from him! And what, does he abuse me, does he abuse me very much?”
“Yes, he abuses you, but he abuses everybody. But why you closed your door to him—that he didn’t tell me. And in fact I see him very seldom. We are not friends.”
“Well, then I’ll reveal it all to you and—since there’s no help for it—I’ll confess, because there’s a point here that may be my own fault. Just a tiny, little point, the tiniest, so tiny it may not even exist. You see, my dear,” Madame Khokhlakov suddenly acquired a sort of playful look, and a lovely, though mysterious, little smile flashed on her lips, “you see, I suspect ... you’ll forgive me, Alyosha, I’m speaking to you as a mother ... oh, no, no, on the contrary, I’m speaking to you now as my father ... because mother doesn’t fit here at all ... Well, just as to Father Zosima in confession, that’s the most accurate, that fits very well: I did just call you a monk—well, so that poor young man, your friend Rakitin (oh, God, I simply cannot be angry with him! I’m angry and cross, but not very much), in short, that frivolous young man, just imagine, suddenly seems to have decided to fall in love with me. I only noticed it later, suddenly, but at first, that is, about a month ago, he started visiting me more often, almost every day, though we were acquainted before then. I didn’t suspect a thing ... and then suddenly it dawned on me, as it were, and I began noticing, to my surprise. You know, two months ago I began to receive that modest, nice, and worthy young man Pyotr Ilyich Perkhotin, who is in service here. You’ve met him so many times yourself. A worthy, serious man, isn’t it so? He comes once every three days, not every day (though why not every day?), and is always so well dressed, and generally I like young people, Alyosha, talented, modest, like you, and he has almost the mind of a statesman, he speaks so nicely, I shall certainly, certainly put in a word for him. He is a future diplomat. He all but saved me from death on that horrible day, when he came to me at night. Well, and then your friend Rakitin always comes in such boots, and drags them on the carpet ... in short, he even began dropping some hints, and suddenly once, as he was leaving, he squeezed my hand terribly. As soon as he squeezed my hand, my foot suddenly started to hurt. He had met Pyotr Ilyich in my house before, and would you believe it, he was constantly nagging him, nagging him, just grumbling at him for some reason. I used to look at the two of them, when they got together, and laugh to myself. Then suddenly, as I was sitting alone, that is, no, I was already lying down then, suddenly, as I was lying alone, Mikhail Ivanovich came and, imagine, brought me a poem of his, a very short one, on my ailing foot, that is, he described my ailing foot in the poem. Wait, how did it go?
This little foot, this little foot, Is hurting now a little bit ... or something like that—I can never remember poetry—I have it here—but I’ll show it to you later, it’s charming, charming, and, you know, it’s not just about my foot, it’s edifying, too, with a charming idea, only I’ve forgotten it, in short, it’s just right for an album. Well, naturally I thanked him, and he was obviously flattered. I had only just thanked him when Pyotr Ilyich also came in, and Mikhail Ivanovich suddenly looked black as night. I could see that Pyotr Ilyich had hampered him in something, because Mikhail Ivanovich certainly wanted to say something right after the poem, I already anticipated it, and then Pyotr Ilyich walked in. I suddenly showed Pyotr Ilyich the poem, and didn’t tell him who wrote it. But I’m sure, I’m sure he guessed at once, though he still hasn’t admitted it and says he didn’t guess; but he says it on purpose. Pyotr Ilyich immediately laughed and started criticizing: worthless doggerel, he said, some seminarian must have written it—and you know, he said it with such passion, such passion! Here your friend, instead of laughing, suddenly got completely furious ... Lord, I thought, they’re going to start fighting. ‘I wrote it,’ he said. ‘I wrote it as a joke,’ he said, ‘because I consider it base to write poetry ... Only my poem is good. They want to setup a monument to your Pushkin for women’s little feet, [288]but my poem has a tendency, and you,’ he said, ‘are a serf-owner; you have no humaneness at all,’ he said, ‘you don’t feel any of today’s enlightened feelings, progress hasn’t touched you; you are an official,’ he said, ‘and you take bribes!’ At that point I began shouting and pleading with them. And Pyotr Ilyich, you know, is not timid at all, and he suddenly assumed the most noble tone: he looked at him mockingly, listened, and apologized: I did not know,’ he said. ‘If I had known, I should not have said it, I should have praised it,’ he said ... ‘Poets,’ he said, ‘are all so irritable . . In short, it was that sort of taunting in the guise of the most noble tone. He himself explained to me later that he was just taunting him, and I thought he was in earnest. Only suddenly I was lying there, just as I am before you now, and I thought: would it be noble, or would it not, if I suddenly turned Mikhail Ivanovich out for shouting so rudely at a guest in my house? And, would you believe it, I lay there, I closed my eyes and thought: would it or would it not be noble, and I couldn’t decide, and I was tormented, tormented, and my heart was pounding: should I shout, or shouldn’t I? One voice said: shout, and the other said: no, don’t shout! And no sooner had that other voice spoken than I suddenly shouted and suddenly fainted. Well, naturally there was a commotion. I suddenly stood up and said to Mikhail Ivanovich: ‘It grieves me to say this to you, but I no longer wish to receive you in my house.’ So I turned him out. Ah, Alexei Fyodorovich! I know myself that I did a bad thing, it was all a lie, I wasn’t angry with him at all, but I suddenly– the main thing is, I suddenly fancied that it would be so nice, that scene ... Only, believe me, it was quite a natural scene, because I even burst into tears, and cried for several days afterwards, and then suddenly after dinner I forgot it all. So he stopped coming, it’s been two weeks now, and I wondered: will he really not come ever again? That was just yesterday, and suddenly in the evening these Rumors came. I read it and gasped, who could have written it, he wrote it, he went home that time, sat down—and wrote it; he sent it—they printed it. Because it happened two weeks ago. Only, Alyosha, it’s terrible what I’m saying, and I’m not at all saying what I should be saying! Ah, it comes out by itself!”
“Today I need terribly to get to see my brother in time,” Alyosha attempted to murmur.
“Precisely, precisely! You’ve reminded me of everything! Listen, what is a fit of passion?”
“A fit of passion?” Alyosha said in surprise. “A legal fit of passion. A fit of passion for which they forgive everything. Whatever you do—you’re immediately forgiven.”
“But what are you talking about?”
“I’ll tell you: this Katya ... ah, she’s a dear, dear creature, only I can’t tell who she’s in love with. She was sitting here the other day, and I couldn’t get anything out of her. The more so as she’s begun talking to me so superficially now, in short, it’s all about my health and nothing more, and she even adopts such a tone, so I said to myself: well, never mind, God be with you ... Ah, yes, so about this fit of passion: the doctor has come. You do know that the doctor has come? But of course you know, the one who can recognize crazy people, you invited him yourself—that is, not you but Katya. It’s all Katya! So, look: a man sits there and he’s not crazy at all, only suddenly he has a fit of passion. He may be fully conscious and know what he’s doing, but at the same time he’s in a fit of passion. And so, apparently, Dmitri Fyodorovich also had a fit of passion. They found out about the fit of passion as soon as they opened the new law courts. It’s a blessing of the new courts. The doctor was here and questioned me about that evening, I mean about the gold mines: ‘How was he then?’ he said. Of course it was a fit of passion—he came in shouting: ‘Money, money, three thousand, give me three thousand,’ and then went and suddenly killed. ‘I don’t want to,’ he said, ‘I don’t want to kill,’ and suddenly he killed. And so, just for that he’ll be forgiven, because he tried to resist, and then killed.”
“But he did not kill,” Alyosha interrupted a bit sharply. Worry and impatience were overcoming him more and more.
“I know, it was that old man, Grigory...”
“What? Grigory?” Alyosha cried.
“Yes, yes, it was Grigory. After Dmitri Fyodorovich hit him, he lay there for a while, then got up, saw the door open, went in, and killed Fyodor Pavlovich.”
“But why, why?”
“He had a fit of passion. After Dmitri Fyodorovich hit him on the head, he came to, had a fit of passion, and went and killed him. And if he says he didn’t kill him, then maybe he just doesn’t remember. Only, you see: it would be better, so much better, if it were Dmitri Fyodorovich who killed him. And that’s how it was, though I say it was Grigory, it was certainly Dmitri Fyodorovich, and that’s much, much better! Oh, not better because a son killed his father, I’m not praising that; on the contrary, children should honor their parents; but still it’s better if it was he, because then there’s nothing to weep about, because he was beside himself when he did it, or, rather, he was within himself, but didn’t know what was happening to him. No, let them forgive him; it’s so humane, and everyone will see this blessing of the new courts, and I didn’t even know about it, but they say it has existed for a long time, and when I found out yesterday, I was so struck that I wanted to send for you at once; and afterwards, if they forgive him, then right after the trial he’ll come here for dinner, and I’ll invite acquaintances, and we shall drink to the new courts. I don’t think he’s dangerous; besides, I’ll invite a lot of guests, so it will always be possible to remove him if he does anything; and later he can become a justice of the peace somewhere in another town, or something like that, because those who have suffered some misfortune themselves are the best judges of all. And moreover, who isn’t in a fit of passion these days—you, me, we’re all in a fit of passion, there are so many examples: a man sits singing some old song, and suddenly something annoys him, he takes out a gun and shoots whoever happens to be there, and then they all forgive him. I read it recently, and all the doctors confirmed it. The doctors confirm nowadays, they confirm everything. Good heavens, my Lise is in a fit of passion, I wept just yesterday on her account, and the day before yesterday, and today I realized that she’s simply in a fit of passion. Oh, Lise upsets me so! I think she’s gone quite mad. Why did she send for you? Did she send for you, or did you come by yourself?”
“Yes, she sent for me, and I shall go to her now,” Alyosha made a resolute attempt to stand up.
“Ah, dear, dear Alexei Fyodorovich, perhaps that is the main thing,” Madame Khokhlakov cried, and suddenly burst into tears. “God knows I sincerely trust you with Lise, and it doesn’t matter that she sent for you in secret from her mother. But, forgive me, I cannot with the same ease trust my daughter to your brother, Ivan Fyodorovich, though I continue to regard him as a most chivalrous young man. And, imagine, he suddenly visited Lise, and I knew nothing about it.”
“What? How? When?” Alyosha was terribly surprised. He did not sit down again, but listened standing.
“I shall tell you, that is perhaps why I called you here, because otherwise I don’t know why I called you here. It was like this: Ivan Fyodorovich has been to see me only twice since his return from Moscow; the first time he came as an acquaintance, to visit me; the other time, this was just recently, Katya was here, and he came over because he found out she was here. I, naturally, have never claimed he should visit often, knowing how many troubles he had without that– vous comprenez, cette affaire et la mort terrible de votre papa [289] – only I suddenly learned that he had come again, not to me but to Lise, it was about six days ago, he came, stayed for five minutes, and left. And I learned of it a whole three days later from Glafira, so it was quite a shock to me. I summoned Lise at once, and she laughed: ‘He thought you were asleep,’ she said, ‘and came to ask me about your health.’ Of course that’s how it was. Only Lise, Lise—oh, God, how she upsets me! Imagine, one night suddenly—it was four days ago, just after you were here last time and left—suddenly that night she had hysterics, shouting, shrieking! Why is it I never have hysterics? Then hysterics the next day, and again the third day, and yesterday, and then yesterday this fit of passion. And she suddenly shouted at me: ‘I hate Ivan Fyodorovich, I demand that you not receive him, that you forbid him the house! ‘ I was astounded, it was so sudden, and I objected to her: ‘Why on earth should I not receive such a worthy young man, and such a learned one besides, and with such misfortunes, because all these stories—certainly they’re a misfortune, there’s nothing fortunate about them, is there?’ She suddenly burst out laughing at my words, and, you know, so impudently. Well, I was glad, thinking I had made her laugh and now the hysterics would go away, all the more so as I myself wanted to stop receiving Ivan Fyodorovich, because of these strange visits without my consent, and to demand an explanation. Only suddenly this morning, Liza woke up and got angry with Yulia, and, imagine, slapped her in the face. But this is monstrous, I am always formal with my maids. And suddenly an hour later she was embracing Yulia and kissing her feet. And she sent to tell me that she would not come to me at all and would never come to me thereafter, and when I dragged myself to her, she rushed to kiss me and weep, and as she was kissing me, she pushed me out without saying a word, so that I didn’t find out anything. Now, dear Alexei Fyodorovich, all my hopes are on you, and, of course, the fate of my whole life is in your hands. I simply ask you to go to Lise, find out everything from her, as only you can do, and come and tell me—me, her mother, because you understand I shall die, I shall simply die, if this all goes on, or else I shall run away. I can bear it no longer, I have patience, but I may lose it, and then. . . and then there will be horrors. Ah, my God, here is Pyotr Ilyich at last!” Madame Khokhlakov cried, brightening up all over, as she saw Pyotr Ilyich Perkhotin come in. “You’re late, late! Well, what is it, sit down, speak, decide my fate, what about this lawyer? Where are you going, Alexei Fyodorovich?”
“To Lise.”
“Ah, yes! But you won’t forget, you won’t forget what I asked you? It’s a matter of fate, of fate!”
“Of course I won’t forget, if only I can ... but I’m so late,” Alyosha muttered, hastily retreating.
“No, come for certain, for certain, and no ‘if I can,’ otherwise I’ll die!” Madame Khokhlakov called after him, but Alyosha had already left the room.
Chapter 3: A Little Demon
When he entered Liza’s room, he found her half-reclining in her former chair, in which she had been wheeled around while she was as yet unable to walk. She did not make a move to meet him, but fixed him with her alert, sharp eyes. Her eyes were somewhat feverish, her face was pale and yellow. Alyosha was amazed at how much she had changed in three days; she had even lost weight. She did not hold out her hand to him. He touched her thin, long fingers, which lay motionless on her dress, then silently sat down facing her.
“I know you’re in a hurry to get to the prison,” Liza said sharply, “and my mother has just kept you for two hours telling you about me and Yulia.”
“How did you find out?” asked Alyosha.
“I was eavesdropping. Why are you staring at me? If I want to eavesdrop, I’ll eavesdrop, there’s nothing wrong with it. I’m not asking forgiveness.”
“Are you upset about something?”
“On the contrary, I am very pleased. I’ve just been thinking over for the thirtieth time how good it is that I refused you and am not going to be your wife. You’re unfit to be a husband: I’d marry you, and suddenly give you a note to take to someone I’d have fallen in love with after you, and you would take it and make sure to deliver it, and even bring back the reply. And you’d be forty years old and still carrying such notes.”
She suddenly laughed.
“There is something wicked and guileless about you at the same time,” Alyosha smiled at her.
“What’s guileless is that I’m not ashamed with you. Moreover, not only am I not ashamed, but I do not want to be ashamed, precisely before you, precisely with you. Alyosha, why don’t I respect you? I love you very much, but I don’t respect you. If I respected you, I wouldn’t talk like this without being ashamed, would I?”
“That’s true.”
“And do you believe that I’m not ashamed with you?”
“No, I don’t.”
Liza again laughed nervously; she was talking rapidly, quickly.
“I sent some candy to your brother, Dmitri Fyodorovich, in prison. Alyosha, you know, you are so nice! I will love you terribly for allowing me not to love you so soon.”
“Why did you send for me today, Lise?”
“I wanted to tell you a wish of mine. I want someone to torment me, to marry me and then torment me, deceive me, leave me and go away. I don’t want to be happy!”
“You’ve come to love disorder?”
“Ah, I want disorder. I keep wanting to set fire to the house. I imagine how I’ll sneak up and set fire to it on the sly, it must be on the sly. They’ll try to put it out, but it will go on burning. And I’ll know and say nothing. Ah, what foolishness! And so boring!”
She waved her hand in disgust.
“It’s your rich life,” Alyosha said softly.
“Why, is it better to be poor?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Your deceased monk filled you with all that. It’s not true. Let me be rich and everyone else poor, I’ll eat candy and drink cream, and I won’t give any to any of them. Ah, don’t speak, don’t say anything,” she waved her hand, though Alyosha had not even opened his mouth, “you’ve told me all that before, I know it all by heart. Boring. If I’m ever poor, I’ll kill somebody—and maybe I’ll kill somebody even if I’m rich—why just sit there? But, you know, what I want is to reap, to reap the rye. I’ll marry you, and you’ll become a peasant, a real peasant, we’ll keep a colt, would you like that? Do you know Kalganov?”
“Yes.”
“He walks about and dreams. He says: why live in reality, it’s better to dream. One can dream up the gayest things, but to live is boring. And yet he’s going to marry soon, he’s even made me a declaration of love. Do you know how to spin a top?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he’s like a top: spin him and set him down and then whip, whip, whip: I’ll marry him and keep him spinning all his life. Are you ashamed to sit with me?”
“No.”
“You’re terribly angry that I don’t talk about holy things. I don’t want to be holy. What will they do in that world for the greatest sin? You must know exactly.”
“God will judge,” Alyosha was studying her intently.
“That’s just how I want it to be. I’ll come, and they will judge me, and suddenly I’ll laugh them all in the face. I want terribly to set fire to the house, Alyosha, to our house—you still don’t believe me?”
“Why shouldn’t I? There are even children, about twelve years old, who want very much to set fire to something, and they do set fire to things. It’s a sort of illness.”
“That’s wrong, wrong; maybe there are children, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“You take evil for good, it’s a momentary crisis, perhaps it comes from your former illness.”
“So, after all, you do despise me! I just don’t want to do good, I want to do evil, and illness has nothing to do with it.”
“Why do evil?”
“So that there will be nothing left anywhere. Ah, how good it would be if there were nothing left! You know, Alyosha, I sometimes think about doing an awful lot of evil, all sorts of nasty things, and I’d be doing them on the sly for a long time, and suddenly everyone would find out. They would all surround me and point their fingers at me, and I would look at them all. That would be very pleasant. Why would it be so pleasant, Alyosha?”
“Who knows? The need to smash something good, or, as you said, to set fire to something. That also happens.”
“But I’m not just saying it, I’ll do it, too.”
“I believe you.”
“Ah, how I love you for saying you believe me. And you’re not lying at all, not at all. But maybe you think I’m saying all this on purpose, just to tease you?”
“No, I don’t think that. . . though maybe there’s a little of that need, too.”
“There is a little. I can never lie to you,” she said, her eyes flashing with some sort of fire.
Alyosha was struck most of all by her seriousness: not a shadow of laughter or playfulness was left on her face, though before gaiety and playfulness had not abandoned her even in her most “serious” moments.
“There are moments when people love crime,” Alyosha said pensively.
“Yes, yes! You’ve spoken my own thought, they love it, they all love it, and love it always, not just at ‘moments.’ You know, it’s as if at some point they all agreed to lie about it, and have been lying about it ever since. They all say they hate what’s bad, but secretly they all love it.”
“And are you still reading bad books?”
“Yes. Mama reads them and hides them under her pillow, and I steal them.”
“Aren’t you ashamed to be ruining yourself?”
“I want to ruin myself. There’s a boy here, and he lay down under the rails while a train rode over him. Lucky boy! Listen, your brother is on trial now for killing his father, and they all love it that he killed his father.”
“They love it that he killed his father?”
“They love it, they all love it! Everyone says it’s terrible, but secretly they all love it terribly. I’m the first to love it.”
“There’s some truth in what you say about everyone,” Alyosha said softly.
“Ah, what thoughts you have!” Liza shrieked with delight, “and you a monk! You wouldn’t believe how I respect you, Alyosha, for never lying. Ah, I’ll tell you a funny dream of mine: sometimes I have a dream about devils, it seems to be night, I’m in my room with a candle, and suddenly there are devils everywhere, in all the corners, and under the tables, and they open the door, and outside the door there’s a crowd of them, and they want to come in and grab me. And they’re coming close, they’re about to grab me. But I suddenly cross myself and they all draw back, afraid, only they don’t quite go away, they stand by the door and in the corners, waiting. And suddenly I have a terrible desire to start abusing God out loud, and so I start abusing him, and they suddenly rush at me again in a crowd, they’re so glad, and they’re grabbing me again, and I suddenly cross myself again—and they all draw back. It’s such terrible fun; it takes my breath away.”
“I’ve sometimes had the same dream,” Alyosha said suddenly.
“Really?” Liza cried out in surprise. “Listen, Alyosha, don’t laugh, this is terribly important: is it possible for two different people to have one and the same dream?”
“It must be.”
“Alyosha, I’m telling you, this is terribly important,” Liza went on in some sort of extreme amazement. “It’s not the dream that’s important, but that you could have the same dream I had. You never lie, so don’t lie now either: is it true? You’re not joking?”
“It’s true.”
Liza was terribly struck by something and sat silently for half a minute.
“Alyosha, do come to see me, come to see me more often,” she spoke suddenly in a pleading voice.
“I’ll always come to see you, all my life,” Alyosha answered firmly.
“I tell this to you alone,” Liza began again. “Only to myself, and also to you. You alone in the whole world. And rather to you than to myself. And I’m not at all ashamed with you. Alyosha, why am I not at all ashamed with you, not at all? Alyosha, is it true that Jews steal children on Passover and kill them?”
“I don’t know.”
“I have a book here, I read in it about some trial somewhere, and that a Jew first cut off all the fingers of a four-year-old boy, and then crucified him on the wall, nailed him with nails and crucified him, and then said at his trial that the boy died quickly, in four hours. Quickly! He said the boy was moaning, that he kept moaning, and he stood and admired it. That’s good!”
“Good?”
“Good. Sometimes I imagine that it was I who crucified him. He hangs there moaning, and I sit down facing him, eating pineapple compote. I like pineapple compote very much. Do you?”
Alyosha was silent and looked at her. Her pale yellow face suddenly became distorted, her eyes lit up.
“You know, after I read about that Jew, I shook with tears the whole night. I kept imagining how the child cried and moaned (four-year-old boys already understand), and I couldn’t get the thought of the compote out of my mind. In the morning I sent a letter to a certain man, telling him that he mustcome and see me. He came and I suddenly told him about the boy, and the compote, I told him everything, everything, and said it was ‘good.’ He suddenly laughed and said it was indeed good. Then he got up and left. He stayed only five minutes. Did he despise me, did he? Speak, speak, Alyosha, did he despise me or not?” she sat up straight on the couch, flashing her eyes.
“Tell me,” Alyosha said with agitation, “did you yourself send for him, for this man?”
“Yes, I did.”
“You sent him a letter?”
“Yes.” “To ask him just about that, about the child?”
“No, not about that at all, not at all. But as soon as he came, I immediately asked him about that. He answered, laughed, got up and left.”
“The man treated you honorably,” Alyosha said softly. “And despised me? Laughed at me?”
“No, because he may believe in the pineapple compote himself. He’s also very sick now, Lise.”
“Yes, he does believe in it!” Liza flashed her eyes.
“He doesn’t despise anyone,” Alyosha went on, “he simply doesn’t believe anyone. And since he doesn’t believe them, he also, of course, despises them.” “That means me, too? Me?”
“You, too.”
“That’s good,” Liza somehow rasped. “When he walked out laughing, I felt it was good to be despised. The boy with his fingers cut off is good, and to be despised is good...”
And she laughed in Alyosha’s face, somehow wickedly and feverishly.
“You know, Alyosha, you know, I’d like to. . . Alyosha, save me!” she suddenly jumped up from the couch, rushed to him, and held him tightly in her arms. “Save me,” she almost groaned. “Would I tell anyone in the world what I told you? But I told you the truth, the truth, the truth! I’ll kill myself, because everything is so loathsome to me! I don’t want to live, because everything is so loathsome to me. Everything is so loathsome, so loathsome! Alyosha, why, why don’t you love me at all!” she finished in a frenzy.
“No, I do love you!” Alyosha answered ardently.
“And will you weep for me? Will you?”
“I will.”
“Not because I didn’t want to be your wife, but just weep for me, just so?”
“I will.”
“Thank you! I need only your tears. And as for all the rest, let them punish me and trample me with their feet, all, all of them, without anyexception! Because I don’t love anyone. Do you hear, not a-ny-one! On the contrary, I hate them! Go, Alyosha, it’s time you went to your brother!” she suddenly tore herself away from him.
“But how can I leave you like this?” Alyosha said, almost afraid.
“Go to your brother, they’ll shut the prison, go, here’s your hat! Kiss Mitya for me, go, go!”
And she pushed Alyosha out the door almost by force. He looked at her with rueful perplexity, when suddenly he felt a letter in his right hand, a small letter, tightly folded and sealed. He looked and at once read the address: “To Ivan Fyodorovich Karamazov.” He glanced quickly at Liza. Her face became almost menacing,
“Give it to him, be sure to give it to him!” she ordered frenziedly, shaking all over, “today, at once! Otherwise I will poison myself! That’s why I sent for you!”
And she quickly slammed the door. The lock clicked. Alyosha put the letter in his pocket and went straight to the stairs without stopping to see Madame Khokhlakov, having even forgotten about her. And Liza, as soon as Alyosha was gone, unlocked the door at once, opened it a little, put her finger into the chink, and, slamming the door, crushed it with all her might. Ten seconds later, having released her hand, she went quietly and slowly to her chair, sat straight up in it, and began looking intently at her blackened finger and the blood oozing from under the nail. Her lips trembled, and she whispered very quickly to herself:
“Mean, mean, mean, mean!”
Chapter 4: A Hymn and a Secret
It was already quite late (and how long is a November day?) when Alyosha rang at the prison gate. It was even beginning to get dark. But Alyosha knew he would be allowed to see Mitya without hindrance. Such things are the same in our town as everywhere else. At first, of course, after the conclusion of the whole preliminary investigation, access to Mitya on the part of his relations and certain other persons was hedged by certain necessary formalities, but after a while, though these formalities were not exactly relaxed, certain exceptions somehow established themselves, at least for some of Mitya’s visitors. So much so that sometimes their meetings with the prisoner in the specially designated room even took place almost one-to-one. However, there were very few such visitors: only Grushenka, Alyosha, and Rakitin. But Grushenka was very much in favor with the police commissioner, Mikhail Makarovich. His shouting at her in Mokroye weighed on the old man’s heart. Afterwards, having learned the essentials, he completely changed his thinking about her. And, strangely, though he was firmly convinced of Mitya’s crime, since the moment of his imprisonment he had come to look on him more and more leniently: “He was probably a man of good soul, and then came to grief like a Swede at Poltava, [290] from drinking and disorder!” His initial horror gave place in his heart to some sort of pity. As for Alyosha, the commissioner loved him very much and had already known him for a long time, and Rakitin, who later took to visiting the prisoner very often, was one of the closest acquaintances of “the commissioner’s misses,” as he called them, and was daily to be found hanging about their house. And he gave lessons in the home of the prison warden, a good-natured old man, though a seasoned veteran. Alyosha, again, was also a special and old acquaintance of the warden’s, who loved to talk with him generally about “wisdom.” [291]Ivan Fyodorovich, for example, was not really respected by the warden, but was actually even feared, above all for his opinions, though the warden himself was a great philosopher, “having gotten there by his own reason,” of course. But he felt some sort of irresistible sympathy for Alyosha. During the past year the old man had set himself to reading the Apocryphal Gospels, [292]and reported his impressions every other moment to his young friend. Earlier he had even gone to visit him in the monastery and had spent long hours talking with him and with the hieromonks. In short, even if Alyosha was late coming to the prison, he had only to go to the warden and the matter was always settled. Besides, everyone in the prison, down to the last guard, was used to Alyosha. And the sentries, of course, would not interfere as long as the authorities had given their permission. Mitya, when he was summoned, would always come down from his little cell to the place designated for visits. Just as he entered the room, Alyosha ran into Rakitin, who was taking leave of Mitya. Both were talking loudly. Mitya, seeing him out, was laughing heartily at something, and Rakitin seemed to be grumbling. Rakitin, especially of late, did not like meeting Alyosha, hardly spoke to him, and even greeted him with difficulty. Now, seeing Alyosha come in, he frowned more than usual and looked the other way, as if totally absorbed in buttoning his big, warm coat with its fur collar. Then he immediately began looking for his umbrella.
