The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoyevsky [children's books read aloud TXT] 📗

Chapter 2

(c) Recollections of Father Zossima’s Youth before

 

he became a Monk. The Duel

 

I SPENT a long time, almost eight years, in the military cadet

school at Petersburg, and in the novelty of my surroundings there,

many of my childish impressions grew dimmer, though I forgot

nothing. I picked up so many new habits and opinions that I was

transformed into a cruel, absurd, almost savage creature. A surface

polish of courtesy and society manners I did acquire together with the

French language.

 

But we all, myself included, looked upon the soldiers in our

service as cattle. I was perhaps worse than the rest in that

respect, for I was so much more impressionable than my companions.

By the time we left the school as officers, we were ready to lay

down our lives for the honour of the regiment, but no one of us had

any knowledge of the real meaning of honour, and if anyone had known

it, he would have been the first to ridicule it. Drunkenness,

debauchery and devilry were what we almost prided ourselves on. I

don’t say that we were bad by nature, all these young men were good

fellows, but they behaved badly, and I worst of all. What made it

worse for me was that I had come into my own money, and so I flung

myself into a life of pleasure, and plunged headlong into all the

recklessness of youth.

 

I was fond of reading, yet strange to say, the Bible was the one

book I never opened at that time, though I always carried it about

with me, and I was never separated from it; in very truth I was

keeping that book “for the day and the hour, for the month and the

year,” though I knew it not.

 

After four years of this life, I chanced to be in the town of K.

where our regiment was stationed at the time. We found the people of

the town hospitable, rich, and fond of entertainments. I met with a

cordial reception everywhere, as I was of a lively temperament and was

known to be well off, which always goes a long way in the world. And

then a circumstance happened which was the beginning of it all.

 

I formed an attachment to a beautiful and intelligent young girl

of noble and lofty character, the daughter of people much respected.

They were well-to-do people of influence and position. They always

gave me a cordial and friendly reception. I fancied that the young

lady looked on me with favour and my heart was aflame at such an idea.

Later on I saw and fully realised that I perhaps was not so

passionately in love with her at all, but only recognised the

elevation of her mind and character, which I could not indeed have

helped doing. I was prevented, however, from making her an offer at

the time by my selfishness; I was loath to part with the allurements

of my free and licentious bachelor life in the heyday of my youth, and

with my pockets full of money. I did drop some hint as to my

feelings however, though I put off taking any decisive step for a

time. Then, all of a sudden, we were ordered off for two months to

another district.

 

On my return two months later, I found the young lady already

married to a rich neighbouring landowner, a very amiable man, still

young though older than I was, connected with the best Petersburg

society, which I was not, and of excellent education, which I also was

not. I was so overwhelmed at this unexpected circumstance that my mind

was positively clouded. The worst of it all was that, as I learned

then, the young landowner had been a long while betrothed to her,

and I had met him indeed many times in her house, but blinded by my

conceit I had noticed nothing. And this particularly mortified me;

almost everybody had known all about it, while I knew nothing. I was

filled with sudden irrepressible fury. With flushed face I began

recalling how often I had been on the point of declaring my love to

her, and as she had not attempted to stop me or to warn me, she

must, I concluded, have been laughing at me all the time. Later on, of

course, I reflected and remembered that she had been very far from

laughing at me; on the contrary, she used to turn off any

love-making on my part with a jest and begin talking of other

subjects; but at that moment I was incapable of reflecting and was all

eagerness for revenge. I am surprised to remember that my wrath and

revengeful feelings were extremely repugnant to my own nature, for

being of an easy temper, I found it difficult to be angry with

anyone for long, and so I had to work myself up artificially and

became at last revolting and absurd.

 

I waited for an opportunity and succeeded in insulting my

“rival” in the presence of a large company. I insulted him on a

perfectly extraneous pretext, jeering at his opinion upon an important

public event-it was in the year 1826-my jeer was, so people said,

clever and effective. Then I forced him to ask for an explanation, and

behaved so rudely that he accepted my challenge in spite of the vast

inequality between us, as I was younger, a person of no consequence,

and of inferior rank. I learned afterwards for a fact that it was from

a jealous feeling on his side also that my challenge was accepted;

he had been rather jealous of me on his wife’s account before their

marriage; he fancied now that if he submitted to be insulted by me and

refused to accept my challenge, and if she heard of it, she might

begin to despise him and waver in her love for him. I soon found a

second in a comrade, an ensign of our regiment. In those days though

duels were severely punished, yet duelling was a kind of fashion among

the officers-so strong and deeply rooted will a brutal prejudice

sometimes be.

 

It was the end of June, and our meeting was to take place at seven

o’clock the next day on the outskirts of the town-and then

something happened that in very truth was the turning point of my

life. In the evening, returning home in a savage and brutal humour,

I flew into a rage with my orderly Afanasy, and gave him two blows

in the face with all my might, so that it was covered with blood. He

had not long been in my service and I had struck him before, but never

with such ferocious cruelty. And, believe me, though it’s forty

years ago, I recall it now with shame and pain. I went to bed and

slept for about three hours; when I waked up the day was breaking. I

got up-I did not want to sleep any more-I went to the window-opened

it, it looked out upon the garden; I saw the sun rising; it was warm

and beautiful, the birds were singing.

 

“What’s the meaning of it?” I thought. “I feel in my heart as it

were something vile and shameful. Is it because I am going to shed

blood? No,” I thought, “I feel it’s not that. Can it be that I am

afraid of death, afraid of being killed? No, that’s not it, that’s not

it at all.”… And all at once I knew what it was: it was because I

had beaten Afanasy the evening before! It all rose before my mind,

it all was, as it were, repeated over again; he stood before me and

I was beating him straight on the face and he was holding his arms

stiffly down, his head erect, his eyes fixed upon me as though on

parade. He staggered at every blow and did not even dare to raise

his hands to protect himself. That is what a man has been brought

to, and that was a man beating a fellow creature! What a crime! It was

as though a sharp dagger had pierced me right through. I stood as if I

were struck dumb, while the sun was shining, the leaves were rejoicing

and the birds were trilling the praise of God…. I hid my face in

my hands, fell on my bed and broke into a storm of tears. And then I

remembered by brother Markel and what he said on his deathbed to

his servants: “My dear ones, why do you wait on me, why do you love

me, am I worth your waiting on me?”

 

“Yes, am I worth it?” flashed through my mind. “After all what

am I worth, that another man, a fellow creature, made in the

likeness and image of God, should serve me?” For the first time in

my life this question forced itself upon me. He had said, “Mother,

my little heart, in truth we are each responsible to all for all, it’s

only that men don’t know this. If they knew it, the world would be a

paradise at once.”

 

“God, can that too be false?” I thought as I wept. “In truth,

perhaps, I am more than all others responsible for all, a greater

sinner than all men in the world.” And all at once the whole truth

in its full light appeared to me: what was I going to do? I was

going to kill a good, clever, noble man, who had done me no wrong, and

by depriving his wife of happiness for the rest of her life, I

should be torturing and killing her too. I lay thus in my bed with

my face in the pillow, heedless how the time was passing. Suddenly

my second, the ensign, came in with the pistols to fetch me.

 

“Ah,” said he, “it’s a good