The Brothers Karamazov - Достоевский Федор Михайлович 51 стр.

She still lies in delirium; she has not regained consciousness. Her aunts are here; but they do nothing but sigh and give themselves airs. Herzenstube came, and he was so alarmed that I didnt know what to do for him. I nearly sent for a doctor to look after him. He was driven home in my carriage. And on the top of it all, you and this letter! Its true nothing can happen for a year and a half. In the name of all thats holy, in the name of your dying elder, show me that letter, Alexey Fyodorovitch. Im her mother. Hold it in your hand, if you like, and I will read it so.

No, I wont show it to you. Even if she sanctioned it, I wouldnt. I am coming tomorrow, and if you like, we can talk over many things, but now goodby!

And Alyosha ran downstairs and into the street.

And Alyosha ran downstairs and into the street.

Chapter II.

Smerdyakov With a Guitar

He had no time to lose indeed. Even while he was saying goodby to Lise, the thought had struck him that he must attempt some stratagem to find his brother Dmitri, who was evidently keeping out of his way. It was getting late, nearly three oclock. Alyoshas whole soul turned to the monastery, to his dying saint, but the necessity of seeing Dmitri outweighed everything. The conviction that a great inevitable catastrophe was about to happen grew stronger in Alyoshas mind with every hour. What that catastrophe was, and what he would say at that moment to his brother, he could perhaps not have said definitely. Even if my benefactor must die without me, anyway I wont have to reproach myself all my life with the thought that I might have saved something and did not, but passed by and hastened home. If I do as I intend, I shall be following his great precept.

His plan was to catch his brother Dmitri unawares, to climb over the fence, as he had the day before, get into the garden and sit in the summerhouse. If Dmitri were not there, thought Alyosha, he would not announce himself to Foma or the women of the house, but would remain hidden in the summerhouse, even if he had to wait there till evening. If, as before, Dmitri were lying in wait for Grushenka to come, he would be very likely to come to the summerhouse. Alyosha did not, however, give much thought to the details of his plan, but resolved to act upon it, even if it meant not getting back to the monastery that day.

Everything happened without hindrance, he climbed over the hurdle almost in the same spot as the day before, and stole into the summerhouse unseen. He did not want to be noticed. The woman of the house and Foma too, if he were here, might be loyal to his brother and obey his instructions, and so refuse to let Alyosha come into the garden, or might warn Dmitri that he was being sought and inquired for.

There was no one in the summerhouse. Alyosha sat down and began to wait. He looked round the summerhouse, which somehow struck him as a great deal more ancient than before. Though the day was just as fine as yesterday, it seemed a wretched little place this time. There was a circle on the table, left no doubt from the glass of brandy having been spilt the day before. Foolish and irrelevant ideas strayed about his mind, as they always do in a time of tedious waiting. He wondered, for instance, why he had sat down precisely in the same place as before, why not in the other seat. At last he felt very depresseddepressed by suspense and uncertainty. But he had not sat there more than a quarter of an hour, when he suddenly heard the thrum of a guitar somewhere quite close. People were sitting, or had only just sat down, somewhere in the bushes not more than twenty paces away. Alyosha suddenly recollected that on coming out of the summerhouse the day before, he had caught a glimpse of an old green low gardenseat among the bushes on the left, by the fence. The people must be sitting on it now. Who were they?

A mans voice suddenly began singing in a sugary falsetto, accompanying himself on the guitar:

The voice ceased. It was a lackeys tenor and a lackeys song. Another voice, a womans, suddenly asked insinuatingly and bashfully, though with mincing affectation:

Why havent you been to see us for so long, Pavel Fyodorovitch? Why do you always look down upon us?

Not at all, answered a mans voice politely, but with emphatic dignity. It was clear that the man had the best of the position, and that the woman was making advances. I believe the man must be Smerdyakov, thought Alyosha, from his voice. And the lady must be the daughter of the house here, who has come from Moscow, the one who wears the dress with a tail and goes to Marfa for soup.

I am awfully fond of verses of all kinds, if they rhyme, the womans voice continued. Why dont you go on?

The man sang again:

It was even better last time, observed the womans voice. You sang If my darling be in health; it sounded more tender. I suppose youve forgotten today.

Poetry is rubbish! said Smerdyakov curtly.

Oh, no! I am very fond of poetry.

So far as its poetry, its essential rubbish. Consider yourself, who ever talks in rhyme? And if we were all to talk in rhyme, even though it were decreed by government, we shouldnt say much, should we? Poetry is no good, Marya Kondratyevna.

How clever you are! How is it youve gone so deep into everything? The womans voice was more and more insinuating.

I could have done better than that. I could have known more than that, if it had not been for my destiny from my childhood up. I would have shot a man in a duel if he called me names because I am descended from a filthy beggar and have no father. And they used to throw it in my teeth in Moscow. It had reached them from here, thanks to Grigory Vassilyevitch. Grigory Vassilyevitch blames me for rebelling against my birth, but I would have sanctioned their killing me before I was born that I might not have come into the world at all. They used to say in the market, and your mamma too, with great lack of delicacy, set off telling me that her hair was like a mat on her head, and that she was short of five foot by a wee bit. Why talk of a wee bit while she might have said a little bit, like every one else? She wanted to make it touching, a regular peasants feeling. Can a Russian peasant be said to feel, in comparison with an educated man? He cant be said to have feeling at all, in his ignorance. From my childhood up when I hear a wee bit, I am ready to burst with rage. I hate all Russia, Marya Kondratyevna.

If youd been a cadet in the army, or a young hussar, you wouldnt have talked like that, but would have drawn your saber to defend all Russia.

I dont want to be a hussar, Marya Kondratyevna, and, whats more, I should like to abolish all soldiers.

And when an enemy comes, who is going to defend us?

Theres no need of defense. In 1812 there was a great invasion of Russia by Napoleon, first Emperor of the French, father of the present one, and it would have been a good thing if they had conquered us. A clever nation would have conquered a very stupid one and annexed it. We should have had quite different institutions.

Are they so much better in their own country than we are? I wouldnt change a dandy I know of for three young Englishmen, observed Marya Kondratyevna tenderly, doubtless accompanying her words with a most languishing glance.

Thats as one prefers.

But you are just like a foreignerjust like a most gentlemanly foreigner. I tell you that, though it makes me bashful.

If you care to know, the folks there and ours here are just alike in their vice. They are swindlers, only there the scoundrel wears polished boots and here he grovels in filth and sees no harm in it. The Russian people want thrashing, as Fyodor Pavlovitch said very truly yesterday, though he is mad, and all his children.

You said yourself you had such a respect for Ivan Fyodorovitch.

But he said I was a stinking lackey. He thinks that I might be unruly. He is mistaken there. If I had a certain sum in my pocket, I would have left here long ago. Dmitri Fyodorovitch is lower than any lackey in his behavior, in his mind, and in his poverty. He doesnt know how to do anything, and yet he is respected by every one. I may be only a soupmaker, but with luck I could open a café restaurant in Petrovka, in Moscow, for my cookery is something special, and theres no one in Moscow, except the foreigners, whose cookery is anything special. Dmitri Fyodorovitch is a beggar, but if he were to challenge the son of the first count in the country, hed fight him. Though in what way is he better than I am? For he is ever so much stupider than I am. Look at the money he has wasted without any need!

It must be lovely, a duel, Marya Kondratyevna observed suddenly.

How so?

It must be so dreadful and so brave, especially when young officers with pistols in their hands pop at one another for the sake of some lady. A perfect picture! Ah, if only girls were allowed to look on, Id give anything to see one!

Its all very well when you are firing at some one, but when he is firing straight in your mug, you must feel pretty silly. Youd be glad to run away, Marya Kondratyevna.

You dont mean you would run away? But Smerdyakov did not deign to reply. After a moments silence the guitar tinkled again, and he sang again in the same falsetto:

Then something unexpected happened. Alyosha suddenly sneezed. They were silent. Alyosha got up and walked towards them. He found Smerdyakov dressed up and wearing polished boots, his hair pomaded, and perhaps curled. The guitar lay on the gardenseat. His companion was the daughter of the house, wearing a lightblue dress with a train two yards long. She was young and would not have been badlooking, but that her face was so round and terribly freckled.

Will my brother Dmitri soon be back? asked Alyosha with as much composure as he could.