The Karamazov Brothers Read online

  ‘Here’s her note,’ said Alyosha, taking it from his pocket. Mitya read it quickly.

  ‘And you were taking a short cut round the back lanes! Ye gods—may you be thanked for sending him this way into my arms, like the golden fish to the silly old fisherman in the fairy tale.* Listen, Alyosha, listen, my young brother. Now I’m going to tell you everything. I must get it off my chest. I’ve already told an angel in heaven, now I have to tell an angel on earth, too. You’re my angel on earth. You’ll listen to me, judge me, and forgive me… What I need is—for someone higher than myself to forgive me. Listen: if two beings were suddenly to escape from all that is earthly and go floating off into the unknown, or one of them did anyway, and if that one, before flying away or perishing, were to go to the other and say: do this or that for me, do for me what you can never ask of anyone, what you can only ask on your deathbed—surely he would do it… if he were a friend, if he were a brother?’

  ‘I’ll do what you ask, only tell me what it is, and make it quick,’ Alyosha said.

  ‘Quick… Hm. Don’t be impatient, Alyosha: you’re getting impatient and flustered. There’s no need to hurry. Now the world is entering a new era. Ah, Alyosha, what a pity you’ve never discovered ecstasy! But what am I saying to you? It’s I who’ve never discovered ecstasy! So, like a fool, I say:

  Be noble, O Man!*

  Who wrote that?’

  Alyosha decided to wait. He realized that at this moment his duty was to be here and, perhaps, nowhere else but here. Mitya was lost in thought, with his elbow propped on the table and his chin resting in the palm of his hand. They both fell silent for a while.

  ‘Alyosha,’ said Mitya, ‘you’re the only one who won’t laugh at me! I’d like to start my… confession… with Schiller’s Ode to Joy. An die Freude.* But I don’t know any German; all I know is ‘An die Freude’. And don’t think it’s the brandy talking. I’m not in the least drunk. Brandy is brandy, but it takes two bottles to get me drunk—

  And ruddy-faced Silenus*

  On his stumbling donkey—

  but I haven’t even drunk a quarter of a bottle, and I’m no Silenus. Not Silenus, but Hercules, because I’ve made a heroic decision. Forgive the analogy, you’ll have a lot to forgive me today besides analogies. Don’t worry, I’m not rambling. I’m talking seriously and I’ll get to the point in a moment. I’m going to be brief. Just a minute, how does it go?…’

  He raised his head, thought for a moment, and then began excitedly:

  ‘Timidly in rocks concealed*

  Naked Troglodyte lies low;

  Nomad races let the field

  Perish, as they errant go.

  Armed with deadly bow and spear,

  Strides the hunter through the land.

  Woe to strangers who appear

  On that unforgiving strand!

  ‘When, in her sad wandering lost,

  Seeking traces of her child;

  Ceres hailed the dreary coast,

  Ah, no verdant plain then smiled;

  Not a roof its refuge gave

  Where the guest unwelcome trod,

  And no temple’s architrave

  Testified a worshipped god.

  ‘No refreshing grain or fruit

  Offer her their nourishment;

  Human bones the fanes pollute

  And the altar’s sacrament.

  Wheresoe’er her footsteps turned,

  Sorrow only could she scan,

  And her lofty spirit burned,

  Grieving for the fall of man.

  Suddenly, Mitya broke down and sobbed. He seized Alyosha by the hand.

  ‘My boy, my dear boy, the fall of man, the fall of man—he is still fallen. It is man’s lot on earth to endure terrible suffering, terrible calamities! Don’t imagine I’m only a brute of an officer who drinks brandy and leads a life of debauchery. That’s all I think about, my brother, the fall of man, I’m being completely honest with you. God forbid that I should be lying or boasting. I think about man in his fallen state because I myself am in that state.

  Would man rise from degradation*

  He must join his mother earth,

  Join in everlasting union

  With the source that gave him birth.

  But that’s the whole trouble—how am I to join the earth for ever? I can’t kiss the earth or cut open her bosom—should I become a ploughman or a shepherd? I walk without knowing where I’m going—towards the stench of ignominy or towards radiance and joy. That’s the trouble, everything on earth is such a riddle. And whenever I have sunk to the most abject, the most appalling degradation (and this has always happened to me), I’ve always read this poem about Ceres* and man’s degradation. And has it made me any better? Never! Because I am a Karamazov. Because if I fall into the abyss, I go head first and even take pleasure in the extent of my own degradation, even find beauty in it. And from those depths of degradation, I begin to sing a hymn. I may be damned, I may be base and despicable, but I kiss the hem of the robe that envelops my God; I may be serving the devil at that same moment, but I’m still your son, O Lord, and I love you and feel that joy without which the world could not exist.

  ‘Joy in Nature’s wide dominion,*

  Mightiest cause of all is found;

  And ‘tis Joy that moves the pinion,

  When the wheel of time goes round;

  From the bud she lures the flower—

  Suns from out their orbs of light;

  Distant spheres obey her power,

  Far beyond all mortal sight.

  ‘From the breasts of kindly Nature

  All of Joy imbibe the dew;

  Good and bad alike, each creature

  Would her roseate path pursue.

  ‘Tis through her the wine-cup maddens,

  Love and friends to man she gives!

  Lust the meanest insect gladdens—

  Near God’s throne the Cherub lives!

  But that’s enough of poetry! I’ve shed tears, let me carry on weeping. This may be just foolishness that everyone will laugh at, but not you. Your eyes are glistening too. No more poetry. Now I want to tell you about the “insects”, those that God’s endowed with lust:

  Lust the meanest insect gladdens!

  I’m that very insect, it’s me that’s meant. And none of us Karamazovs is any different; even in you, angel that you are, this insect lives and whips up a fever in the blood. Yes—a fever: for lust is febrile, it’s more than a fever! Beauty’s an awesome, terrible thing! It’s awesome because it’s indefinable; as indefinable and mysterious as everything in God’s creation. It’s where opposites converge, where contradictions rule! I’m not an educated man, Alyosha, but I’ve thought about it a lot. There are so many mysteries! Man is beset by too many mysteries on this earth. Fathom them as best you can, and survive unscathed. Beauty! Sometimes it’s just too much to bear, to see a man of noble heart and high intellect begin with the ideal of the Madonna and finish with that of Sodom.* And what’s even worse, his heart can be aglow with the perfection of the Madonna as it was in the innocence of his youth—and still he won’t renounce Sodom. Yes, man’s prodigious, much too prodigious, I’d cut him down to size. The devil only knows what to make of all this, that’s my opinion! What the intellect finds shameful strikes the heart as sheer beauty! Is there beauty in Sodom? Take it from me, that’s just where it lurks for the vast majority of people—you didn’t know that, did you? The awesome mystery of beauty! God and the devil are locked in battle over this, and the battlefield is the heart of man. But I’m getting on my hobbyhorse. Let’s get to the point now.’

  4

  CONFESSIONS OF A PASSIONATE HEART. IN ANECDOTES

  ‘I LED a life of debauchery there. Father has been accusing me recently of spending thousands of roubles on seducing young girls. It’s a dirty lie, it was never true, the fact is that I’ve never had to pay for it. To me, money is just an accessory, it fuels the passions and provides the wherewithal. Today my love is a lady,
tomorrow a street-walker. And I entertain them both, I spend money like water—on music, fun, gypsies. And if need be I give them money, because, one has to admit, they’re more than willing to accept it, they’re only too happy to take it and are grateful. I’ve been loved by young ladies—not always, but it has been known to happen—but I’ve always frequented back alleys and dark, secluded corners, away from the public square—there you’ll find adventure, surprises, gold in the mire. I’m speaking metaphorically, Alyosha. In that little town of ours there weren’t really any back alleys like that, but metaphorically speaking they existed all right. If you were like me, you’d understand what I mean. I loved debauchery, I loved the stench of debauchery too. I loved cruelty: am I not a louse, an evil insect? I’m a Karamazov, don’t forget that! On one occasion the whole town went on an outing in seven troikas; it was winter, it was dark, and in the sledge I began to squeeze the hand of the girl next to me, a civil servant’s daughter, a shy, sweet, poor defenceless little thing. I forced my kisses upon her. In the darkness, she permitted me liberties, many liberties. She thought, bless her, that I’d come the next morning and ask for her hand (I was considered very eligible); but I never said a word to her afterwards, five months and not a word. Often at dances (we were always having dances in our town), I saw her gaze following me from a corner of the hall, her eyes glowing with gentle indignation. This game served to satisfy the insect lust that I nourished inside me. Five months later she married a civil servant and left the town… still angry and perhaps still in love with me. Now they live happily together. Mind you, I didn’t tell anyone, I didn’t compromise her; in spite of my vile desires and my love of baseness, I’m not dishonourable. You’re blushing, your eyes are flashing. You’ve had enough of this filth. Yet this was only the beginning, a few Paul de Kock* blossoms, and all the while the cruel insect was already maturing, already flourishing in my soul. I’ve a whole album of memories, Alyosha. But God bless them, the little dears. When the time came to part, I preferred not to quarrel. And I never betrayed or compromised a single one of them. But enough of that. Surely you didn’t think I brought you here just to make you listen to all this rubbish? No, I’ve got something more interesting to tell you; but don’t be surprised that I’m not ashamed in front of you; in fact, I’m positively glad.’

  ‘You mean, because I’m blushing?’ Alyosha interrupted suddenly. ‘But that’s not because of what you’ve been saying or what you’ve done. It’s because I’m just the same as you.’

  ‘You? That’s going a bit far.’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ Alyosha said excitedly. (Evidently this thought had already been on his mind for a long time.) ‘The ladder’s the same for all of us. I’m on the bottom rung and you’re a long way up, somewhere near the thirteenth. As I see it, there’s absolutely no difference between us. Once one steps on to the first rung, one is bound to go right to the top.’

  ‘So the best thing is not to step on it in the first place?’

  ‘Not if you can help it.’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘I don’t think I can.’

  ‘Hush, Alyosha—hush, my dear brother. I want to kiss your hand, I’m so touched. That vixen Grushenka knows all about men. She told me once that, sooner or later, she’d eat you up. All right, all right, I’ll stop! Let’s leave all that filth, that flyridden dung-heap and talk about my tragedy, also a foul, flyridden dung-heap that’s teeming with all kinds of vileness. The fact is, although that silly old man was lying about my seducing innocent girls, still, there was in fact one occasion in my tragedy, only one, mind, but nothing actually happened. When he was accusing me of things he’d dreamt up, he didn’t know the half of it: I’ve never told anyone about this, you’re the first I’ve ever told, except Ivan of course, Ivan knows all about it. He’s known for ages. But he’s as silent as the grave.’

  ‘Ivan—as silent as the grave?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Alyosha listened very attentively.

  ‘You see, even though I was an ensign in that Siberian battalion in the back of beyond, I was constantly under surveillance, like a convict. But in the little garrison town they welcomed me with open arms. I spent money like water and people thought I was rich, and I believed it myself. But they must have liked me for some other reason too. Although they shook their heads over me, they were really fond of me. But my commanding officer, a Lieutenant-Colonel, who was already an old man, took a sudden dislike to me. He started to pick on me; still, I was able to pull a few strings and all the town was on my side, so he couldn’t actually get at me. I’m not saying I was altogether blameless. I was proud and deliberately refused him the respect that was his due. The old boy, who wasn’t a bad sort really, and was extremely kind and hospitable too but stubborn with it, had been married twice, and both his wives had died. His first wife, who was of peasant stock, had left him a daughter. She took after her mother, and when I first knew her she was a young woman of twenty-four, living with her father and her aunt, the sister of her dead mother. The aunt was a quiet, unassuming woman, and her niece, the Lieutenant-Colonel’s elder daughter, was a lively and open-hearted girl. Looking back, my dear Alyosha, I’ll say this: I’ve never known a girl of such delightful character. Her name was Agafya, Agafya Ivanovna. She was really not at all bad-looking in a Russian way—tall, buxom, with a good figure and lovely eyes, but unfortunately rather a coarse face. Although she’d had two offers of marriage, she’d stayed single and had kept her vivaciousness. I got to know her very well—not in that way, it was quite innocent, we were just good friends. You know, I’ve had plenty of quite innocent friendships with women. I could say the most outrageous things to her—and she’d just laugh. Many women love indiscretions, remember that, and what with her being a virgin, I found it most intriguing. She wasn’t a prude, that’s for sure. She and her aunt lived with her father in a kind of self-imposed subservience, and made no claims to be on the same level as the rest of society. She was well loved and valued for her dressmaking skills; she had a real talent, but didn’t charge for her services, helping out from the goodness of her heart, though she didn’t refuse payment if it was offered. As for the Lieutenant-Colonel, he was every inch an officer! He was one of the most notable figures in our society. He wasn’t mean with his money, and would entertain the whole town at dinners and balls. When I arrived in the town and enlisted in the battalion, the whole place was buzzing in expectation of the imminent arrival from the capital of the Lieutenant-Colonel’s second daughter, a renowned beauty, said to have just finished at a high-class finishing-school in the capital. This second daughter—Katerina Ivanovna—was from the Lieutenant-Colonel’s second marriage. And the second wife, now dead, had been from a well-known, important military family, although I have it on good authority that she brought the Lieutenant-Colonel no dowry. She had the background, and there must have been some expectations, but in the event—nothing. However, when the young lady arrived (just for a visit, not for good), our whole town seemed to take on a new lease of life, our foremost ladies—two of them titled, one a colonel’s wife—took the lead, and everyone else followed them. She was fêted everywhere, she was the queen of balls and picnic outings, events were arranged in aid of distressed governesses. I bided my time, I was living it up, I’d just pulled off some stunt that had got the whole town buzzing. I saw her looking me up and down, it was at the battery commander’s house; well, I didn’t go over to her then, you could say I declined to make her acquaintance. I approached her some time later, again at a party. I spoke to her but she hardly glanced at me, she curled her lips disdainfully, and I thought, “You wait, I’ll get my revenge!” At that time I was generally behaving like a frightful cad, and was well aware of this myself. And I was even more aware that “Katenka” was no innocent little schoolgirl, she had character, she was proud and indeed virtuous, moreover she was intelligent and educated, while I was none of these things. You think I had designs on her? Not at all, I simply wanted to get my revenge on her for
not recognizing what a fine fellow I was. Meanwhile, I continued to paint the town red. Finally, the Lieutenant-Colonel put me on a charge for three days. It was just at that time that father sent me six thousand roubles in exchange for my formally renouncing all my rights and agreeing that we were quits and that I wouldn’t make any further demands on him. At that time I didn’t understand a thing: I understood absolutely nothing about those financial wrangles with father, and that’s still the case, old chap, right up to the last few days even, perhaps till today. But to hell with all that now, I’ll come to that later. But then, when I had just received that six thousand, a friend sent me a letter containing an item of reliable information which I personally found most interesting, namely, that our Lieutenant-Colonel was under a cloud, that he was suspected of some irregularity—in short, his enemies were plotting to do the dirty on him. And indeed, the divisional commander arrived and gave him a piece of his mind. A short while later he was obliged to resign his commission. I won’t bore you with all the details of how this came about; he had some real enemies. Suddenly he and all his family were colds-houldered in the town, everyone gave them a wide berth. That was when I played my first trick. I met Agafya Ivanovna, with whom I’d always kept up a friendship, and I said: “So, four thousand five hundred roubles are missing from the battalion funds.” “What on earth do you mean? The General was here not long ago and it was all there…” “It was there then, but it isn’t now.” She was terrified. “Don’t frighten me, please. Where did you hear that from?” “Don’t worry,” I said, “I won’t tell anyone; you know that in matters like this I’m as silent as the grave, but while we’re on the subject, may I add one thing, just in case something happens: when they ask your papa for that four thousand five hundred that he hasn’t got, rather than let him be court-martialled and reduced to the ranks in his old age, why don’t you send your schoolgirl sister along to me on the quiet, I’ve just come into some money and, you know, I could probably see my way to helping her out with the four thousand odd, and no one need be any the wiser.” “How could you!” she said, “You scoundrel!” (Her very words!) “You wicked scoundrel, you! You haven’t got an ounce of shame in you!” She went away in high dudgeon, and I called after her once more that her secret would be safe and inviolate with me. I have to admit that both those simple women, Agafya and her aunt, behaved like perfect angels throughout the affair, they sincerely worshipped Katya, their proud sister, they humbled themselves before her, they were her maidservants… But Agafya repeated everything to her, our conversation, that is. I found this out afterwards, and I’m not telling you a lie. She made no secret of it, and that of course played right into my hands.