The Karamazov Brothers

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

  ‘What brings you here, my child?’

  ‘Give my soul absolution, dear father,’ she said softly and unhurriedly and, dropping to her knees, bowed down at his feet.

  ‘I’ve sinned, my dear father, and my sin terrifies me.’

  The starets sat down on the lowest step, and the woman drew near without getting off her knees.

  ‘I’ve been widowed more than two years now,’ she began in a half-whisper, and a shudder seemed to shake her whole body. ‘It was a hard life with my husband, he was an old man and he beat me black and blue. He was lying sick, and I thought as I looked at him: what if he recovers and gets up again, what then? And then the idea came to me…’

  ‘Wait,’ said the starets and brought his ear to her lips. The woman continued in a soft, barely audible whisper. She soon finished speaking.

  ‘Over two years ago?’ asked the starets.

  ‘Yes. Didn’t think about it much at first, but I’m poorly now, and it’s tormenting me.’

  ‘Have you come from far away?’

  ‘Over five hundred versts from here.’

  ‘Have you confessed?’

  ‘I have, twice.’

  ‘Have you been allowed to receive communion?’

  ‘Yes. I’m frightened, I’m frightened of dying.’

  ‘Don’t be afraid of anything, never be afraid, and don’t torment yourself. Only be steadfast in your repentance, and God will forgive you everything. There is no sin, nor can there be any sin in the whole world, that God would not forgive the truly penitent. It is altogether beyond any man to commit a sin so great that it would exhaust God’s infinite love. For can there be such a sin as would exceed God’s love? Keep your thoughts on repentance alone—continually—and cast out fear from your mind. Do not forget that God loves you beyond your imagining, for he loves you sinful as you are and despite your sin. There is more joy in heaven over one that repents of his sins than there is over ten righteous ones;* this was spoken long ago. Go then, and do not be afraid. Do not be distressed by people, nor harbour anger if they have offended you. Forgive the deceased in your heart, however he might have offended you, and be truly reconciled to him. If you repent, you must love. And if you love, you are of God… Love gains everything, redeems everything. And if even I, a sinful being just as you are, have been moved and have pity for you, how much more so will God. Love is such a priceless treasure that you can purchase the whole world with it, and redeem not only your own but other people’s sins too. Go now, and have no fear.’

  The starets made the sign of the cross over her three times, took a little icon from his own neck, and put it around hers. She bowed down to the ground before him in silence. He half rose and looked cheerfully across at a healthy country wench holding a suckling babe in her arms.

  ‘From Vyshegorye, father.’

  ‘That’s six versts you’ve been struggling with that child. What brings you here?’

  ‘Came to have a look at you. I’ve been to see you before, have you forgotten? You can’t have much of a memory if you’ve forgotten me already. They said in our village you were sick, so I said to myself, well, I’ll go and see for myself: now I can see you, and there’s nothing the matter with you at all. You’ll last another twenty years, you will, God bless you! Anyway, it’s not as though you hadn’t enough people praying for you, why should you go and get sick?’

  ‘Thank you for everything, my dear.’

  ‘By the way, there was a little favour I wanted to ask you; here’s sixty kopecks, give them, father, to someone that’s poorer than me. On my way here, I was thinking to myself: it’d be best to give it to him, he’ll know who to give it to.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear, thank you, kind heart. I love you. It will be done without fail. Is that a little girl you’re holding?’

  ‘Yes, father, Lizaveta.’

  ‘God bless you both, you and your baby daughter Lizaveta. You’ve gladdened my heart, mother. Farewell, my dear ones, farewell, my kind, my beloved ones.’

  He blessed everybody and bowed deeply to all.

  4

  LADY OF LITTLE FAITH

  THE landowner’s widow, who had been following the starets’s conversation with the peasant women and watching him give his blessing, was shedding silent tears and dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. She was a sensitive, socially refined lady, inclined in most matters towards sincerity and goodness. When the starets at last went up to her, she greeted him with rapture.

  ‘I was so, so moved observing the whole of that touching scene…’ She broke off in sheer emotion. ‘Oh, I understand why the people love you, I too love the people, I have a great desire to love them, one can’t help but love the people, our wonderful, simple-hearted, magnificent Russian people!’

  ‘How’s your daughter’s health? Would you like to talk to me again?’

  ‘Oh, I was imploring and beseeching everyone, I was ready to kneel at your window for three days, waiting for you to see me. We’ve come to you, great healer, to convey our boundless gratitude. You have cured my Lise, you have cured her completely—and how did you do it? By praying over her last Thursday and laying your hands on her. We rushed here to kiss those hands, to express our sentiments and our veneration.’

  ‘What do you mean, cured? Isn’t she still in her invalid chair?’

  ‘But her nocturnal fevers have completely stopped, it’s been two nights in a row now, ever since Thursday,’ the woman continued, full of nervous energy. ‘What’s more, her legs have become stronger. This morning she woke up feeling a lot better, she slept all through the night, just look at her rosy cheeks and her sparkling eyes! She was always crying before, but now she’s laughing, she’s happy and cheerful. Today she insisted we should let her stand on her own feet, and she stood up for a whole minute with no support whatsoever. She’s laid a wager with me that in two weeks’ time she’ll be dancing the quadrille. I consulted our local doctor, Herzenstube, and he just shrugged his shoulders; he was surprised and baffled. Would you really rather we hadn’t disturbed you, are you wishing we hadn’t hurried here to thank you? Lise, thank Father Zosima, go on, thank him!’

  Lise’s sweet, laughing little face suddenly became serious. She sat up in her chair as far as she could and, looking at the starets, clasped her hands in front of her face, but, unable to restrain herself, burst out laughing.

  ‘It’s him, it’s him!’ she said, pointing to Alyosha, childishly annoyed with herself for being unable to restrain her laughter. Anyone looking at Alyosha, who was standing one pace behind the starets, would have noticed a quick flush suffusing his face, a sudden reddening of his cheeks. His eyes sparkled and he looked down at his feet.

  ‘She has a message for you, Aleksei Fyodorovich… How are you?’ the mother continued, turning suddenly to Alyosha and stretching out a beautifully gloved hand towards him. The starets turned and looked closely at Alyosha. The latter approached Lise and, with a strange and awkward smile, put out his hand. Lise assumed a serious expression.

  ‘Katerina Ivanovna has asked me to give you this,’ and she handed him a small envelope. ‘She especially asks you to go and see her, the sooner the better, and mind you don’t let me down, you must go without fail.’

  ‘She wants me to go and see her? Me? Whatever for?’ Alyosha murmured in great surprise. His face suddenly took on an expression of extreme concern.

  ‘Oh, it’s all about Dmitry Fyodorovich and… all those recent goings-on,’ the mother hurried to explain. ‘Katerina Ivanovna has made up her mind… but she really needs to see you… What for? That, of course, I don’t know, but she wants you to go as soon as possible. And you will go, you will definitely go, won’t you? It’s a matter of Christian duty.’

  ‘I’ve only ever seen her once,’ said Alyosha, still baffled.

  ‘Oh, she’s such a noble creature, unfathomable! Her sufferings alone… just imagine what she’s had to endure, what she’s going through now, just imagine what the future holds for her… it’s all
so terrible, terrible!’

  ‘All right, I’ll go,’ Alyosha decided, after reading the short, mysterious note, which contained no explanation, apart from the insistent request that he should go and see her.

  ‘Oh, how kind and splendid of you,’ Lise exclaimed with sudden elation. ‘And I told mother: nothing will make him go; after all, he’s a monk. Aren’t you just wonderful! You know, I always thought you were wonderful, I don’t mind telling you!’

  ‘Lise,’ her mother said firmly, and at once broke into a smile.

  ‘You’ve neglected us too, Aleksei Fyodorovich, you never even come to see us any more: but Lise has told me several times that she feels well only in your company.’ Alyosha raised his eyes, suddenly blushed once more, and smiled again, but he did not know why. The starets, however, was no longer observing him. He had entered into conversation with the visiting monk who, as we have already said, was standing by Lise’s chair, waiting. He was to all appearances a monk of the most unassuming kind, that is, of humble birth, with a narrow, restricted view of the world, but devout and, in his own way, stubborn. He announced that he was from somewhere in the far north, from Obdorsk, from St Silvester’s, a poor monastery with only nine monks. The starets blessed him and invited him to come to see him in his cell whenever he wished.

  ‘How can you take it upon yourself to do such things?’ the monk suddenly asked, with a meaningful glance at Lise. He was referring to her ‘cure’.

  ‘Of course, it’s too early to talk about that. Improvement is not the same as total cure, which could be due to other causes. But even if there were something of the kind, it would be due to no other power than the will of God. Everything is from God. By all means come and see me, father,’ he added to the monk, ‘although I’ve had to restrict the number of visitors. I am ill and I know my days are numbered.’

  ‘Oh no, no, God will not take you away from us, you will live a long time yet,’ the mother cried out. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you! You look so healthy, cheerful, and happy.’

  ‘Today I feel very much better, but I know that this is only temporary. There is no mistaking my illness now. If, however, I seem so cheerful to you, there could be no greater joy for me than to hear you mention that. For the fact is, man has been created for happiness, and he who is wholly happy has a perfect right to say to himself: I have performed God’s will on earth. All the righteous, all the saints, all the holy martyrs have been happy.’

  ‘Oh, what wonderful things you say, how courageous and evocative your words are,’ exclaimed the mother. ‘When you speak, you touch me to the quick. And yet happiness, happiness—where is it? Who can claim that he is happy? Oh, since you’ve been kind enough to let us see you again today, do listen to what I kept back from you last time, what I didn’t dare reveal to you, all that has been causing me so much suffering for so long, for so long! I am suffering, forgive me, I am suffering…’, and, moved by some sudden strong emotion, she folded her hands before him in supplication.

  ‘What is it in particular?’

  ‘I am suffering… because of lack of faith…’

  ‘Lack of faith in God?’

  ‘Oh no, no, I wouldn’t even dare to contemplate anything like that—it’s simply the matter of the life to come, it’s such a mystery! And nobody, you see, nobody knows the answer to it! Look, you are a healer, you have knowledge of men’s souls; of course, I daren’t presume that you should believe everything I say, but I assure you most emphatically that I’m not being trivial; the thought of life after death drives me to distraction, it terrifies me… and I don’t know who to turn to, I’ve lacked the courage all my life… And now I’ve plucked up the courage to turn to you… Oh God! What will you think of me now?’ She held up her hands in an outburst of emotion.

  ‘Do not worry about my opinion,’ replied the starets. ‘I truly can believe your anguish is genuine.’

  ‘Oh, how grateful I am to you! You see, I often shut my eyes and think: if everybody has faith, where do they all get it from? And yet at the same time we are told that, originally, it all came from fear in the face of the threatening forces of nature, and that really there’s nothing at all after death! Well, the thought that occurs to me is this: here I am, a lifelong believer, but I’ll die, and suddenly there’ll be nothing, just “burdock on my grave”, as one author* put it. How terrible! How can one buttress one’s faith—how? Anyway, I only really believed when I was a small child, automatically, without thinking about it… What proof is there—what? I’ve come to prostrate myself before you, to ask you for your answer to my question. If I miss this opportunity, nobody will ever give me an answer. What proof is there, how can I dispel my doubts? Oh, I’m so unhappy! And when I look around, I see that no one’s concerned about it at all, or practically no one, no one cares about it now, and that it’s only me who’s worrying herself to death about it all. It’s unbearable—simply unbearable!’

  ‘Quite so, quite so. But it’s not so much a matter of obtaining proof, as of dispelling doubt.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘By the practice of active love. Try to love your neighbours actively and steadfastly. The more you practise love, the more you will be convinced of the existence of God and the immortality of your soul. Should you attain total renunciation of self in your love for your neighbour, then your faith will be absolute, and no doubt will ever assail your soul. This has been tried, this has been tested.’

  ‘Active love? That’s the problem, and what a problem, what a problem it is! You see, I love mankind so much that, believe me, I sometimes dream of giving up everything, giving up everything I have, leaving Lise and becoming a sister of mercy. I shut my eyes, I think and I dream, and in those moments I feel an insuperable strength within me. No wounds, no festering sores could hold any terrors for me. I would dress them and wash them with my own hands, I would nurse those poor sufferers, I am ready to kiss their sores…’

  ‘That is more than enough, and it’s good that your mind is on such thoughts and no others. Who knows, one day you may succeed in accomplishing something good.’

  ‘Yes, but how long could I endure such a life?’ the lady continued passionately, almost in a frenzy. ‘That’s the most important question. That’s the most painful of all my questions! I shut my eyes and keep asking myself: how long could I endure that way of life? If the patient whose sores you were tending should fail to respond with immediate gratitude, were on the contrary to start tormenting you with his caprices, neither valuing nor acknowledging your humanitarian services, start shouting at you, making rude demands, even complaining to the authorities (as often happens with the very sick)—what then? Would you continue to love, or not? And—imagine, to my disgust, I already know the answer: if there were anything that could immediately dampen my “active” love for humanity, it would be ingratitude. In other words, I work for payment, I demand instant payment, that is, to be praised and paid with love for my love. I am incapable of loving on any other terms!’

  She was in the throes of the most fervent self-castigation, and, having finished, gave the starets a look full of challenge and resolve.

  ‘That’s exactly what a doctor said to me once, a long time ago though,’ observed the starets. ‘He was already elderly and unquestionably a wise man. He spoke just as frankly as you have done, but with humour, bitter humour. I love mankind, he said, but I’m surprised at myself; the more I love mankind in general, the less I love men in particular, that is, separately, as individuals. In my thoughts, he said to me, I’ve often had a passionate desire to serve humanity, and would perhaps have actually gone to the cross for mankind if I had ever been required to do so, and yet at the same time, as I well know from my personal experience, I’m incapable of enduring two days in the same room with any other person. The moment anybody comes close to me, his personality begins to overpower my self-esteem and intrude upon my freedom. Within one day I can end up hating the very best of men, some because they take too long over their dinner, others
because they’ve caught a cold and keep blowing their noses. I become a misanthrope, he said, the minute I come into contact with people. And it has always been the same with me; the more I have detested people individually, the more passionately I have loved humanity in general.’

  ‘But what can one do? What is one to do in such cases? Must one be driven to despair?’

  ‘No, for it is enough that you should agonize over it. Do what you can and it will be rendered to your account. You have accomplished much already, for you have come to know your own self deeply and sincerely. If, however, you are speaking as frankly as you are doing now merely in order to be praised for your truthfulness, then of course you will never attain active love, you won’t progress beyond the contemplative stage, and your whole life will flash past like a shadow. Naturally enough, you’ll forget all about life in the hereafter, though ultimately you may well find contentment of some sort or other.’

  ‘You have crushed me utterly! Even as you were talking, I was conscious that when I was telling you about my inability to tolerate ingratitude, I was really hoping you would praise my sincerity. You have fathomed me, you have seen into my very being, and you’ve explained to me so much about myself!’

  ‘Are you being sincere? Well, after such an admission, I believe you are honest and of good heart. Even if you do not attain happiness, always remember that you are on the right path, and try not to deviate from it. The main thing is to abhor dishonesty, any kind of dishonesty, but above all, dishonesty with regard to your own self. Be aware of your dishonesty and ponder it every hour, every minute of the day. Never be squeamish, both with regard to yourself and others; what appears to you disgusting in yourself is cleansed by the very fact that you have acknowledged it within yourself. Avoid giving in to fear too, since all fear is only the consequence of falsity. Never be afraid of your own faint-heartedness in the endeavour to love, nor even too fearful of any bad actions that you may commit in the course of that endeavour. I am sorry I cannot say anything more comforting to you, for active love compared with contemplative love is a hard and awesome business. Contemplative love seeks a heroic deed that can be accomplished without delay and in full view of everyone. Indeed, some people are even ready to lay down their lives as long as the process is not long drawn out but takes place quickly, as though it were being staged for everybody to watch and applaud. Active love, on the other hand, is unremitting hard work and tenacity, and for some it is a veritable science. But let me tell you in advance: even as you may realize with horror that, in spite of your best efforts, not only have you not come any nearer to your goal, but you may even have receded from it, it is precisely at that moment, I tell you, that you will suddenly reach your goal and clearly behold the wondrous power of God, who has at all times loved you, at all times mysteriously guided you. I am sorry, I cannot stay any longer with you; people are waiting for me. Goodbye.’