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

the really jealous man. It is hard to imagine what some

jealous men can make up their mind to and overlook, and what they

can forgive! The jealous are the readiest of all to forgive, and all

women know it. The jealous man can forgive extraordinarily quickly

(though, of course, after a violent scene), and he is able to

forgive infidelity almost conclusively proved, the very kisses and

embraces he has seen, if only he can somehow be convinced that it

has all been “for the last time,” and that his rival will vanish

from that day forward, will depart to the ends of the earth, or that

he himself will carry her away somewhere, where that dreaded rival

will not get near her. Of course the reconciliation is only for an

hour. For, even if the rival did disappear next day, he would invent

another one and would be jealous of him. And one might wonder what

there was in a love that had to be so watched over, what a love

could be worth that needed such strenuous guarding. But that the

jealous will never understand. And yet among them are men of noble

hearts. It is remarkable, too, that those very men of noble hearts,

standing hidden in some cupboard, listening and spying, never feel the

stings of conscience at that moment, anyway, though they understand

clearly enough with their “noble hearts” the shameful depths to

which they have voluntarily sunk.

 

At the sight of Grushenka, Mitya’s jealousy vanished, and, for

an instant he became trustful and generous, and positively despised

himself for his evil feelings. But it only proved that, in his love

for the woman, there was an element of something far higher than he

himself imagined, that it was not only a sensual passion, not only the

“curve of her body,” of which he had talked to Alyosha. But, as soon

as Grushenka had gone, Mitya began to suspect her of all the low

cunning of faithlessness, and he felt no sting of conscience at it.

 

And so jealousy surged up in him again. He had, in any case, to

make haste. The first thing to be done was to get hold of at least a

small, temporary loan of money. The nine roubles had almost all gone

on his expedition. And, as we all know, one can’t take a step

without money. But he had thought over in the cart where he could

get a loan. He had a brace of fine duelling pistols in a case, which

he had not pawned till then because he prized them above all his

possessions.

 

In the Metropolis tavern he had some time since made

acquaintance with a young official and had learnt that this very

opulent bachelor was passionately fond of weapons. He used to buy

pistols, revolvers, daggers, hang them on his wall and show them to

acquaintances. He prided himself on them, and was quite a specialist

on the mechanism of the revolver. Mitya, without stopping to think,

went straight to him, and offered to pawn his pistols to him for ten

roubles. The official, delighted, began trying to persuade him to sell

them outright. But Mitya would not consent, so the young man gave

him ten roubles, protesting that nothing would induce him to take

interest. They parted friends.

 

Mitya was in haste; he rushed towards Fyodor Pavlovitch’s by the

back way, to his arbour, to get hold of Smerdyakov as soon as

possible. In this way the fact was established that three or four

hours before a certain event, of which I shall speak later on, Mitya

had not a farthing, and pawned for ten roubles a possession he valued,

though, three hours later, he was in possession of thousands…. But I

am anticipating. From Marya Kondratyevna (the woman living near Fyodor

Pavlovitch’s) he learned the very disturbing fact of Smerdyakov’s

illness. He heard the story of his fall in the cellar, his fit, the

doctor’s visit, Fyodor Pavlovitch’s anxiety; he heard with interest,

too, that his brother Ivan had set off that morning for Moscow.

 

“Then he must have driven through Volovya before me,” thought

Dmitri, but he was terribly distressed about Smerdyakov. “What will

happen now? Who’ll keep watch for me? Who’ll bring me word?” he

thought. He began greedily questioning the women whether they had seen

anything the evening before. They quite understood what he was

trying to find out, and completely reassured him. No one had been

there. Ivan Fyodorovitch had been there that night; everything had

been perfectly as usual. Mitya grew thoughtful. He would certainly

have to keep watch to-day, but where? Here or at Samsonov’s gate? He

decided that he must be on the lookout both here and there, and

meanwhile… meanwhile… The difficulty was that he had to carry

out the new plan that he had made on the journey back. He was sure

of its success, but he must not delay acting upon it. Mitya resolved

to sacrifice an hour to it: “In an hour I shall know everything, I

shall settle everything, and then, then, then, first of all to

Samsonov’s. I’ll inquire whether Grushenka’s there and instantly be

back here again, stay till eleven, and then to Samsonov’s again to

bring her home.” This was what he decided.

 

He flew home, washed, combed his hair, brushed his clothes,

dressed, and went to Madame Hohlakov’s. Alas! he had built his hopes

on her. He had resolved to borrow three thousand from that lady. And

what was more, he felt suddenly convinced that she would not refuse to

lend it to him. It may be wondered why, if he felt so certain, he

had not gone to her at first, one of his own sort, so to speak,

instead of to Samsonov, a man he did not know, who was not of his

own class, and to whom he hardly knew how to speak.

 

But the fact was that he had never known Madame Hohlakov well, and

had seen nothing of her for the last month, and that he knew she could

not endure him. She had detested him from the first because he was

engaged to Katerina Ivanovna, while she had, for some reason, suddenly

conceived the desire that Katerina Ivanovna should throw him over, and

marry the “charming, chivalrously refined Ivan, who had such excellent

manners.” Mitya’s manners she detested. Mitya positively laughed at

her, and had once said about her that she was just as lively and at

her ease as she was uncultivated. But that morning in the cart a

brilliant idea had struck him: “If she is so anxious I should not

marry Katerina Ivanovna” (and he knew she was positively hysterical

upon the subject) “why should she refuse me now that three thousand,

just to enable me to leave Katya and get away from her for ever. These

spoilt fine ladies, if they set their hearts on anything, will spare

no expense to satisfy their caprice. Besides, she’s so rich,” Mitya

argued.

 

As for his “plan” it was just the same as before; it consisted

of the offer of his rights to Tchermashnya-but not with a

commercial object, as it had been with Samsonov, not trying to

allure the lady with the possibility of making a profit of six or

seven thousand-but simply as a security for the debt. As he worked

out this new idea, Mitya was enchanted with it, but so it always was

with him in all his undertakings, in all his sudden decisions. He gave

himself up to every new idea with passionate enthusiasm. Yet, when

he mounted the steps of Madame Hohlakov’s house he felt a shiver of

fear run down his spine. At that moment he saw fully, as a

mathematical certainty, that this was his last hope, that if this

broke down, nothing else was left him in the world but to “rob and

murder someone for the three thousand.” It was half-past seven when he

rang at the bell.

 

At first fortune seemed to smile upon him. As soon as he was

announced he was received with extraordinary rapidity. “As though

she were waiting for me,” thought Mitya, and as soon as he had been

led to the drawing-room, the lady of the house herself ran in, and

declared at once that she was expecting him.

 

“I was expecting you! I was expecting you! Though I’d no reason to

suppose you would come to see me, as you will admit yourself. Yet, I

did expect you. You may marvel at my instinct, Dmitri Fyodorovitch,

but I was convinced all the morning that you would come.”

 

“That is certainly wonderful, madam,” observed Mitya, sitting down

limply, “but I have come to you on a matter of great importance…. On

a matter of supreme importance for me, that is, madam… for me

alone… and I hasten- “

 

“I know you’ve come on most important business. Dmitri

Fyodorovitch; it’s not a case of presentiment, no reactionary

harking back to the miraculous (have you heard about Father Zossima?).

This is a case of mathematics: you couldn’t help coming, after all

that has passed with Katerina Ivanovna; you couldn’t, you couldn’t,

that’s a mathematical certainty.”

 

“The realism of actual life, madam, that’s what it is. But allow

me to explain-”

 

“Realism indeed, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. I’m all for realism now.

I’ve seen too much of miracles. You’ve heard that Father Zossima is

dead?”

 

“No, madam, it’s the first time I’ve heard of it.” Mitya was a

little surprised. The image of Alyosha rose to his mind.

 

“Last night, and only imagine-”

 

“Madam,” said Mitya, “I can imagine nothing except that I’m in a

desperate position, and that if you don’t help me, everything will

come to grief, and I first of all. Excuse me for the triviality of the

expression, but I’m in a fever-”

 

“I know, I know that you’re in a fever. You could hardly fail to

be, and whatever you may say to me, I know beforehand. I have long

been thinking over your destiny, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, I am watching

over it and studying it…. Oh, believe me, I’m an experienced

doctor of the soul, Dmitri Fyodorovitch.”

 

“Madam, if you are an experienced doctor, I’m certainly an

experienced patient,” said Mitya, with an effort to be polite, “and

I feel that if you are watching over my destiny in this way, you

will come to my help in my ruin, and so allow me, at least to

explain to you the plan with which I have ventured to come to you…

and what I am hoping of you…. I have come, madam-”

 

“Don’t explain it. It’s of secondary importance. But as for

help, you’re not the first I have helped, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. You

have most likely heard of my cousin, Madame Belmesov. Her husband

was ruined, ‘had come to grief,’ as you characteristically express it,

Dmitri Fyodorovitch. I recommended him to take to horse-breeding,

and now he’s doing well. Have you any idea of horse-breeding, Dmitri

Fyodorovitch?”

 

“Not the faintest, madam; ah, madam, not the faintest!” cried

Mitya, in nervous impatience, positively starting from his seat. “I

simply implore you, madam, to listen to me. Only give me two minutes

of free speech that I may just explain to you everything, the whole

plan with which I have come. Besides, I am short of time. I’m in a

fearful hurry,” Mitya cried hysterically, feeling that she was just

going to begin talking again, and hoping to cut her short. “I have

come in despair… in the last gasp of despair, to beg you to lend

me the sum of three thousand, a loan, but on safe, most safe security,

madam, with the most trustworthy guarantees! Only let me explain-”

 

“You must tell me all that afterwards, afterwards!” Madame

Hohlakov