‘You… saw them?’ the little monk enquired.
‘Thus have I spoken—I see all things. Even as I departed from the abbot, I beheld one that did lurk behind the door, big, about an arshin and a half high it stood, nay more, and it had a long, thick, brownish tail, which it waved by the doorpost, and thereon did I slam the door and lo, the tail was made fast, for verily I am no fool. Then it screeched and flailed, and then I made over it the sign of the cross—thrice. It expired like a squashed spider. Verily must it be rotten in the corner now and powerful must be the stench thereof, yet neither can they see it nor can they smell it. A year have I not set foot there. To thee alone I reveal this, for thou art come from afar.’
‘These are frightening words! I say, holy and blessed father,’ the little monk was growing more and more confident, ‘is it true—you know, your fame is so great, even in the remotest parts of the land—is it true that you are in constant communion with the Holy Ghost?’
‘He doth fly down. Sometimes.’
‘Fly down? In what shape?’
‘As a bird.’
‘The Holy Ghost in the shape of a dove?’
‘There is the Holy Ghost, and then there is the Paraclete. The Paraclete is another matter, he cometh not only as a dove, but as other birds; sometimes he cometh as a swallow, sometimes as a goldfinch, and sometimes as a tomtit.’
‘How can you tell him from a tomtit?’
‘He speaketh.’
‘How does he speak, in what tongue?’
‘In the human tongue.’
‘And what does he say to you?’
‘This day he pronounced that a fool would come unto me asking all manner of rascally questions. Thou seekest to know too much, monk.’
‘Your words are frightening, blessed and holy father,’ said the little monk, shaking his head. There was now a glint of distrust in his restless eyes.
‘Seest thou yon tree?’ asked Father Therapon after a brief silence.
‘I do, holy father.’
‘To thee it is an elm tree, but to me it is something quite different.’
‘What?’ the little monk said, after waiting vainly for some elucidation.
‘It happeneth in the night. Seest thou those two branches? In the night it is Christ, who reacheth out His arms and seeketh me with His arms, I behold it clearly and I tremble with fear. Fearful, oh fearful!’
‘Why fearful, if it is Christ Himself?’
‘What if he seize me and bear me aloft?’
‘What, alive as you are?’
‘In the spirit and glory of Elias,* hast thou not heard? I shall be gathered into his arms and borne away…’
Though the little monk from Obdorsk returned extremely perplexed to the cell he had been allocated to share with one of the monks, he was nevertheless undoubtedly more sympathetic to Father Therapon than to Starets Zosima. To begin with, the little monk from Obdorsk was all for fasting, and it did not seem at all surprising to him that such a famous advocate of fasting as Father Therapon should have ‘witnessed the miraculous’. True, his words were somewhat incongruous, but the Lord would surely know what they signified; after all, the words and deeds of a holy fool when the spirit is upon him could well be a good deal more absurd. As for the devil’s tail being jammed in the door, he was quite ready to believe it not only figuratively, but literally too. Moreover, even before his arrival at the monastery he had been deeply prejudiced against the cult of startsy, which he knew only from hearsay, but which, along with many other people, he regarded as a harmful innovation. Even before the day was out, he had happened to overhear at the monastery the surreptitious mutterings of some of the more outspoken monks opposed to the cult of the startsy. Being a tireless busybody, he was by nature insatiably curious about everything. That is why the news of the new ‘miracle’ performed by Starets Zosima plunged him into profound confusion. Alyosha subsequently remembered seeing among the monks crowding round the entrance to the cell and striving for a view of the starets, the diminutive figure of the visitor from Obdorsk inquisitively scurrying from one group to another, listening to everything and gleaning and gathering every scrap of available information. But he paid little attention to him at the time, and only subsequently did it all come back to him… Anyway, his mind was then on other things: Starets Zosima, who was again feeling tired and had gone to bed, had suddenly, just as he was closing his eyes, remembered Alyosha and summoned him. Alyosha immediately hurried to him. The starets was alone except for Father Païsy, Father Yosif, and the novice Porfiry. He opened his weary eyes, looked hard at Alyosha and said suddenly:
‘Is your family expecting you, my son?’
Alyosha hesitated.
‘Do they need you? Did you tell anyone yesterday that you would see them today?’
‘Yes… my father… my brothers… and others too…’
‘You see, you must go without fail. Do not be sad. Do not be afraid, I shall not die before I have said my final words to you on this earth. Those words will be for you and you alone, they will be my bequest to you. To you, my precious one, because you are the one who loves me. And now, my son, go to whoever is waiting for you.’
Alyosha obeyed immediately, though he departed with a heavy heart. But the promise that he would hear the starets’s final utterance on earth and, above all, that it would be bequeathed to him and to him alone, filled Alyosha’s soul with ecstasy. He began to hurry so as to complete all his business in town and return all the sooner. Just then, Father Païsy also addressed some parting words which had a most profound and unexpected effect on him. This occurred after they had both left the starets’s cell.
‘Always remember, young man,’ Father Païsy began without any preamble, ‘that secular science, having become a powerful force, has examined in detail, especially in this last century, everything divine bequeathed to us in the Holy Scriptures, but having subjected all that is holy to such a rigorous analysis the scientists of the world have ended up empty-handed. For in looking at the component parts in isolation they have quite overlooked the whole, and with a truly astounding lack of vision. But the whole stands inviolate before their eyes, as it always has done, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.* For has it not survived for nineteen centuries, and does it not still continue to live in the souls of individuals, amidst the decline and fall of nations? It lives on, immutable as ever, even in the souls of those very atheists who have destroyed everything. For those who have renounced Christianity and are in revolt against it, they too still retain the image and likeness of Christ, and to this day neither in their wisdom nor in the passion of their hearts have they been able to offer mankind a more exalted and dignifying image than that which was revealed in the beginning by Christ. And where attempts have been made, they have produced only abomination. Remember this especially, my son, for you are being sent forth into the world by your dying starets. Perhaps when you look back upon this fateful day you will also recall my words given to you in heartfelt farewell, for you are young, and the temptations of this world are great and more than a match for your strength. Well, off you go now, my orphan.’
Thus saying, Father Païsy blessed him. On leaving the monastery and reflecting on these unexpected words Alyosha suddenly realized that in this monk, who had hitherto been strict and severe towards him, he had discovered a new and wonderful friend and a deeply sympathetic mentor, appointed, it would seem, by Starets Zosima himself on his deathbed. ‘Perhaps that really did take place between the two of them,’ Alyosha mused. As for the unexpected and learned discourse which Father Païsy had just delivered, it was that and that alone which amply testified to the goodness of his heart; he felt he had to arm the immature mind as soon as possible for the struggle against temptation, and shield the young soul entrusted to his care with the most impregnable defence imaginable.
2
AT HIS FATHER’S
ALYOSHA first of all went to see his father. As he approached the house he remembered his father in
sisting the day before that he should arrive without Ivan noticing him. ‘I wonder why?’ it suddenly occurred to Alyosha. ‘If father wants to tell me something in confidence, why should I have to enter the house unobserved? He probably meant to say something else yesterday, but he was so upset it completely slipped his mind,’ he concluded. Nevertheless, he was much relieved when Marfa Ignatyevna, on opening the gate (Grigory, it transpired, had fallen ill and was confined to bed in his quarters), informed him in answer to his question that Ivan Fyodorovich had already left two hours before.
‘How is father?’
‘He’s already up, having coffee,’ Marfa Ignatyevna replied somewhat dryly.
Alyosha went in. The old man, seated at the table and wearing a pair of slippers and a shabby old coat, was going through some accounts in a rather desultory fashion. He was completely on his own in the house (Smerdyakov had gone to town to buy some food for the midday meal). But it was not the accounts that preoccupied him. Even though he had got up quite early that morning and was trying to keep his spirits up, he nevertheless looked tired and weak. A red kerchief was tied round his forehead, on which extensive purple bruising had developed overnight. His nose had swollen appreciably in the night and it too was slightly bruised, which made him appear particularly angry and bad-tempered. The old man was aware of this himself, and he glared at Alyosha as he entered the room.
‘Coffee’s cold,’ he said brusquely. ‘Shan’t offer you any. All I’m having today is plain fish soup, and I’m not entertaining anybody. Why’ve you come?’
‘To find out how you are,’ Alyosha said.
‘Yes. I know I told you yesterday to come and see me. It was all a big mistake. You needn’t have bothered. But I knew you’d turn up soon enough…’
His tone was exceptionally hostile. He rose from his seat and (for perhaps the umpteenth time that morning) looked at his nose with concern in the mirror. He also began to adjust the kerchief on his head for appearance’s sake.
‘Prefer the red. White would have smacked too much of the infirmary,’ he remarked thoughtfully. ‘Well, what’s up? How’s your starets?’
‘He’s very ill. He may die today,’ Alyosha replied, but his father ignored the answer and even forgot that he had asked the question.
‘Ivan’s left,’ he said suddenly. ‘He’s doing his damnedest to steal Mitya’s bride-to-be… That’s why he’s staying here,’ he added angrily, and glanced at Alyosha with a grimace.
‘Did he tell you that himself?’ asked Alyosha.
‘Yes, quite a while ago too; about three weeks ago in fact. He didn’t come here to cut my throat, did he? He must have come for some reason!’
‘Stop it! You shouldn’t say things like that!’ Alyosha felt dreadfully confused.
‘He hasn’t asked for money, that’s true, though he’s not going to get a kopeck from me anyway. Let me inform you, my dear Aleksei Fyodorovich, that I intend to live upon this earth as long as possible and shall therefore need every kopeck I can get, and the longer I live, the greater will be my need,’ he continued, pacing up and down the room, his hands thrust into the pockets of his loose-fitting, grimy, lightweight, yellow calamanco coat. ‘I’m still a man, remember, only fifty-five, and I’ve got another twenty years or so of manhood left in me, because surely they won’t want to come to me of their own volition when I’m old and decrepit, and that’s just when I’ll really need the money. That’s why I’m saving as much as I possibly can purely for myself, my dear Aleksei Fyodorovich, and let me tell you this too, my son, I intend to continue to have women right up to the end, I’ll have you know. Up with fornication! They all condemn it, yet they all enjoy it, but they do it on the sly, whereas I’m open about it. And because I’m not a hypocrite, all the scoundrels take me to task. As for your paradise, Aleksei Fyodorovich, you can keep it, thank you very much: in fact, any honest person would feel positively uncomfortable entering that paradise of yours, even if it did exist. As far as I’m concerned, once you’re dead, that’s the end of it, but if you want to commemorate me, that’s fine by me, if not, to hell with you! That’s my philosophy. Ivan talked a lot of sense yesterday, even though we were all drunk. Ivan’s a braggart, and he’s certainly no intellectual… he’s not even particularly well educated, he just smiles at you and doesn’t say a word—that’s how he gets away with it.’
Alyosha listened to him in silence.
‘Why won’t he talk to me? And when he does condescend to, it’s all a sham. Your Ivan’s a scoundrel! I can marry Grushka any time I choose. Because if you’ve got money, you only have to snap your fingers and it’s done, Aleksei Fyodorovich. That’s precisely what Ivan’s afraid of, so he’s keeping a close watch on me and encouraging Dmitry to marry Grushka so as to prevent me from marrying her (as though I’d leave him any money even if I didn’t marry her!); if, furthermore, Dmitry did marry her, Ivan would pick up his wealthy bride, that’s his little game! He’s a scoundrel, that Ivan of yours!’
‘You’re in such a bad mood. It must be because of what happened yesterday; why don’t you go and lie down?’ Alyosha said.
‘Coming from you,’ the old man suddenly remarked, as though the thought had struck him for the first time ever, ‘coming from you it doesn’t make me angry at all, but if Ivan had said that to me, I’d have taken offence. It’s only with you that I have moments of goodness, because on the whole I’m a wicked person.’
‘You’re not wicked, just a little muddled,’ Alyosha smiled.
‘Listen, I wanted to get that criminal Mitka put behind bars today, and I might still do so, I haven’t decided yet. Of course, in these enlightened times it’s customary to regard your parents as a damned nuisance, but I put it to you that even these days you’re not allowed to grab your father by the hair, or kick him in the face while he’s on the floor in his own house, and then brag that you’ll be back later to finish him off—and all in front of witnesses. I could destroy him if I wanted to, I could have him put behind bars immediately for what he did yesterday.’
‘So you’re not going to lodge a complaint then?’
‘Ivan’s talked me out of it. Not that I care a damn about Ivan, but there’s one thing I do know…’
And, leaning across to Alyosha, he continued in a confidential whisper:
‘If I have the scoundrel locked up she’ll get to hear of it and will immediately go running to him. But if she finds out that he beat the living daylights out of a helpless old man, she might leave him and come to me… That’s her nature all over—as contrary as they come. I know her through and through! Fancy some brandy? The coffee’s cold, but I’ll add a drop of brandy—that should improve it no end.’
‘No thank you. I’ll have this piece of bread though, if I may,’ Alyosha said, and picked up a three-kopeck French roll, which he put in his cassock pocket.
‘And you shouldn’t have any brandy either,’ he added, cautiously peering into the old man’s face.
‘You’re right, it gets you worked up but doesn’t give you any peace of mind. Just one more glass though. I’ll just get it from the cupboard…’
And with that he unlocked a small cupboard, poured himself a glass, downed it, then locked the cupboard and put the key back in his pocket.
‘And that’s enough. One glass won’t kill me.’
‘Well, you’re already more sociable,’ Alyosha smiled.
‘Hm! I love you anyway, brandy or no brandy, but when it comes to scoundrels, I give as good as I get. Ivan hasn’t gone to Chermashnya—I wonder why? He wants to spy on me: he wants to find out how much I’ll give Grushenka if she comes. Everybody’s a scoundrel! I’ve no time for Ivan at all. Where did he come from? He’s not one of us. You think I’m going to leave him anything? For your information, I shan’t even make a will. As for Mitka, I’ll crush him like a cockroach. They make a crunching noise under my feet when I tread on them in the night. Your Dmitry will end up the same way. Your Dmitry, because you love him. You do love him, don’t you? But
I couldn’t care less even if you do. But if Ivan were to love him, I’d be scared. The fact is, Ivan doesn’t love anyone. Ivan isn’t one of us; people like Ivan, my boy, are strangers in our midst, they’re like chaff in the wind…* A puff of wind, and it’s gone… It was a stupid idea of mine yesterday to ask you to come here today: I wanted you to find out for me from Mitya—if I were to give him a thousand or two, would he agree, beggar and scoundrel that he is, to clear out for say five years, or better still thirty-five, and give up Grushka altogether?’
‘I… I’ll ask him…’, Alyosha mumbled. ‘If it were a whole three thousand, he just might…’
‘Rubbish! No need to ask now, no need for anything! I’ve changed my mind. It was just a stupid idea I got into my head yesterday. I shan’t give him anything, not one kopeck, I need all the money myself,’ the old man waved his hands. ‘I’ll crush him like a cockroach anyway. Don’t tell him anything, otherwise you’ll raise his hopes. And there’s nothing for you to do here either, so off you go. What about that fiancée of his, Katerina Ivanovna, that he’s been hiding from me so jealously—is she going to marry him or not? You went to see her yesterday, didn’t you?’
‘She won’t give him up under any circumstances.’
‘That’s the sort those refined ladies go for, libertines and scoundrels! They’re rubbish, those lily-faced ladies; not like… Well! If I had his youth and the looks I used to have (because, at twenty-eight, I was better looking than him), I could make as many conquests as him. He’s a villain! He’s not going to get Grushenka, he’s not!… I’ll grind him into dust!’
His rage boiled up again as he pronounced these last words.
The Karamazov Brothers Page 28
