Why are your fits getting worse? asked Fyodor Pavlovitch, looking askance at his new cook. Would you like to get married? Shall I find you a wife?
But Smerdyakov turned pale with anger, and made no reply. Fyodor Pavlovitch left him with an impatient gesture. The great thing was that he had absolute confidence in his honesty. It happened once, when Fyodor Pavlovitch was drunk, that he dropped in the muddy courtyard three hundredrouble notes which he had only just received. He only missed them next day, and was just hastening to search his pockets when he saw the notes lying on the table. Where had they come from? Smerdyakov had picked them up and brought them in the day before.
Well, my lad, Ive never met any one like you, Fyodor Pavlovitch said shortly, and gave him ten roubles. We may add that he not only believed in his honesty, but had, for some reason, a liking for him, although the young man looked as morosely at him as at every one and was always silent. He rarely spoke. If it had occurred to any one to wonder at the time what the young man was interested in, and what was in his mind, it would have been impossible to tell by looking at him. Yet he used sometimes to stop suddenly in the house, or even in the yard or street, and would stand still for ten minutes, lost in thought. A physiognomist studying his face would have said that there was no thought in it, no reflection, but only a sort of contemplation. There is a remarkable picture by the painter Kramskoy, called Contemplation. There is a forest in winter, and on a roadway through the forest, in absolute solitude, stands a peasant in a torn kaftan and bark shoes. He stands, as it were, lost in thought. Yet he is not thinking; he is contemplating. If any one touched him he would start and look at one as though awakening and bewildered. Its true he would come to himself immediately; but if he were asked what he had been thinking about, he would remember nothing. Yet probably he has, hidden within himself, the impression which had dominated him during the period of contemplation. Those impressions are dear to him and no doubt he hoards them imperceptibly, and even unconsciously. How and why, of course, he does not know either. He may suddenly, after hoarding impressions for many years, abandon everything and go off to Jerusalem on a pilgrimage for his souls salvation, or perhaps he will suddenly set fire to his native village, and perhaps do both. There are a good many contemplatives among the peasantry. Well, Smerdyakov was probably one of them, and he probably was greedily hoarding up his impressions, hardly knowing why.
[2] A proverbial expression in Russia.
Chapter VII.
The Controversy
But Balaams ass had suddenly spoken. The subject was a strange one. Grigory had gone in the morning to make purchases, and had heard from the shopkeeper Lukyanov the story of a Russian soldier which had appeared in the newspaper of that day. This soldier had been taken prisoner in some remote part of Asia, and was threatened with an immediate agonizing death if he did not renounce Christianity and follow Islam. He refused to deny his faith, and was tortured, flayed alive, and died, praising and glorifying Christ. Grigory had related the story at table. Fyodor Pavlovitch always liked, over the dessert after dinner, to laugh and talk, if only with Grigory. This afternoon he was in a particularly goodhumored and expansive mood. Sipping his brandy and listening to the story, he observed that they ought to make a saint of a soldier like that, and to take his skin to some monastery. That would make the people flock, and bring the money in.
Grigory frowned, seeing that Fyodor Pavlovitch was by no means touched, but, as usual, was beginning to scoff. At that moment Smerdyakov, who was standing by the door, smiled. Smerdyakov often waited at table towards the end of dinner, and since Ivans arrival in our town he had done so every day.
What are you grinning at? asked Fyodor Pavlovitch, catching the smile instantly, and knowing that it referred to Grigory.
Well, my opinion is, Smerdyakov began suddenly and unexpectedly in a loud voice, that if that laudable soldiers exploit was so very great there would have been, to my thinking, no sin in it if he had on such an emergency renounced, so to speak, the name of Christ and his own christening, to save by that same his life, for good deeds, by which, in the course of years to expiate his cowardice.
How could it not be a sin? Youre talking nonsense. For that youll go straight to hell and be roasted there like mutton, put in Fyodor Pavlovitch.
It was at this point that Alyosha came in, and Fyodor Pavlovitch, as we have seen, was highly delighted at his appearance.
Were on your subject, your subject, he chuckled gleefully, making Alyosha sit down to listen.
As for mutton, thats not so, and therell be nothing there for this, and there shouldnt be either, if its according to justice, Smerdyakov maintained stoutly.
How do you mean according to justice? Fyodor Pavlovitch cried still more gayly, nudging Alyosha with his knee.
Hes a rascal, thats what he is! burst from Grigory. He looked Smerdyakov wrathfully in the face.
As for being a rascal, wait a little, Grigory Vassilyevitch, answered Smerdyakov with perfect composure. Youd better consider yourself that, once I am taken prisoner by the enemies of the Christian race, and they demand from me to curse the name of God and to renounce my holy christening, I am fully entitled to act by my own reason, since there would be no sin in it.
But youve said that before. Dont waste words. Prove it, cried Fyodor Pavlovitch.
Soupmaker! muttered Grigory contemptuously.
As for being a soupmaker, wait a bit, too, and consider for yourself, Grigory Vassilyevitch, without abusing me. For as soon as I say to those enemies, No, Im not a Christian, and I curse my true God, then at once, by Gods high judgment, I become immediately and specially anathema accursed, and am cut off from the Holy Church, exactly as though I were a heathen, so that at that very instant, not only when I say it aloud, but when I think of saying it, before a quarter of a second has passed, I am cut off. Is that so or not, Grigory Vassilyevitch?
He addressed Grigory with obvious satisfaction, though he was really answering Fyodor Pavlovitchs questions, and was well aware of it, and intentionally pretending that Grigory had asked the questions.
Ivan, cried Fyodor Pavlovitch suddenly, stoop down for me to whisper. Hes got this all up for your benefit. He wants you to praise him. Praise him.
Ivan listened with perfect seriousness to his fathers excited whisper.
Stay, Smerdyakov, be quiet a minute, cried Fyodor Pavlovitch once more. Ivan, your ear again.
Ivan bent down again with a perfectly grave face.
I love you as I do Alyosha. Dont think I dont love you. Some brandy?
Yes.But youre rather drunk yourself, thought Ivan, looking steadily at his father.
He was watching Smerdyakov with great curiosity.
Youre anathema accursed, as it is, Grigory suddenly burst out, and how dare you argue, you rascal, after that, if
Dont scold him, Grigory, dont scold him, Fyodor Pavlovitch cut him short.
You should wait, Grigory Vassilyevitch, if only a short time, and listen, for I havent finished all I had to say. For at the very moment I become accursed, at that same highest moment, I become exactly like a heathen, and my christening is taken off me and becomes of no avail. Isnt that so?
Make haste and finish, my boy, Fyodor Pavlovitch urged him, sipping from his wineglass with relish.
And if Ive ceased to be a Christian, then I told no lie to the enemy when they asked whether I was a Christian or not a Christian, seeing I had already been relieved by God Himself of my Christianity by reason of the thought alone, before I had time to utter a word to the enemy. And if I have already been discharged, in what manner and with what sort of justice can I be held responsible as a Christian in the other world for having denied Christ, when, through the very thought alone, before denying Him I had been relieved from my christening? If Im no longer a Christian, then I cant renounce Christ, for Ive nothing then to renounce. Who will hold an unclean Tatar responsible, Grigory Vassilyevitch, even in heaven, for not having been born a Christian? And who would punish him for that, considering that you cant take two skins off one ox? For God Almighty Himself, even if He did make the Tatar responsible, when he dies would give him the smallest possible punishment, I imagine (since he must be punished), judging that he is not to blame if he has come into the world an unclean heathen, from heathen parents. The Lord God cant surely take a Tatar and say he was a Christian? That would mean that the Almighty would tell a real untruth. And can the Lord of Heaven and earth tell a lie, even in one word?
Grigory was thunderstruck and looked at the orator, his eyes nearly starting out of his head. Though he did not clearly understand what was said, he had caught something in this rigmarole, and stood, looking like a man who has just hit his head against a wall. Fyodor Pavlovitch emptied his glass and went off into his shrill laugh.
Alyosha! Alyosha! What do you say to that! Ah, you casuist! He must have been with the Jesuits, somewhere, Ivan. Oh, you stinking Jesuit, who taught you? But youre talking nonsense, you casuist, nonsense, nonsense, nonsense. Dont cry, Grigory, well reduce him to smoke and ashes in a moment. Tell me this, O ass; you may be right before your enemies, but you have renounced your faith all the same in your own heart, and you say yourself that in that very hour you became anathema accursed. And if once youre anathema they wont pat you on the head for it in hell. What do you say to that, my fine Jesuit?
There is no doubt that I have renounced it in my own heart, but there was no special sin in that. Or if there was sin, it was the most ordinary.
Grigory was thunderstruck and looked at the orator, his eyes nearly starting out of his head. Though he did not clearly understand what was said, he had caught something in this rigmarole, and stood, looking like a man who has just hit his head against a wall. Fyodor Pavlovitch emptied his glass and went off into his shrill laugh.