The Brothers Karamazov
because of the smallness of their means, and if Lutherans and heretics
come and lead the flock astray, they let them lead them astray because
they have so little to live upon. May the Lord increase the sustenance
that is so precious to them, for their complaint is just, too. But of a
truth I say, if any one is to blame in the matter, half the fault is
ours. For he may be short of time, he may say truly that he is
overwhelmed all the while with work and services, but still it’s not
all the time, even he has an hour a week to remember God. And he does
not work the whole year round. Let him gather round him once a week,
some hour in the evening, if only the children at first—the fathers
will hear of it and they too will begin to come. There’s no need to
build halls for this, let him take them into his own cottage. They
won’t spoil his cottage, they would only be there one hour. Let him
open that book and begin reading it without grand words or
superciliousness, without condescension to them, but gently and kindly,
being glad that he is reading to them and that they are listening with
attention, loving the words himself, only stopping from time to time to
explain words that are not understood by the peasants. Don’t be
anxious, they will understand everything, the orthodox heart will
understand all! Let him read them about Abraham and Sarah, about Isaac
and Rebecca, of how Jacob went to Laban and wrestled with the Lord in
his dream and said, “This place is holy”—and he will impress the devout
mind of the peasant. Let him read, especially to the children, how the
brothers sold Joseph, the tender boy, the dreamer and prophet, into
bondage, and told their father that a wild beast had devoured him, and
showed him his blood-stained clothes. Let him read them how the
brothers afterwards journeyed into Egypt for corn, and Joseph, already
a great ruler, unrecognized by them, tormented them, accused them, kept
his brother Benjamin, and all through love: “I love you, and loving you
I torment you.” For he remembered all his life how they had sold him to
the merchants in the burning desert by the well, and how, wringing his
hands, he had wept and besought his brothers not to sell him as a slave
in a strange land. And how, seeing them again after many years, he
loved them beyond measure, but he harassed and tormented them in love.
He left them at last not able to bear the suffering of his heart, flung
himself on his bed and wept. Then, wiping his tears away, he went out
to them joyful and told them, “Brothers, I am your brother Joseph!” Let
him read them further how happy old Jacob was on learning that his
darling boy was still alive, and how he went to Egypt leaving his own
country, and died in a foreign land, bequeathing his great prophecy
that had lain mysteriously hidden in his meek and timid heart all his
life, that from his offspring, from Judah, will come the great hope of
the world, the Messiah and Saviour.
Fathers and teachers, forgive me and don’t be angry, that like a little
child I’ve been babbling of what you know long ago, and can teach me a
hundred times more skillfully. I only speak from rapture, and forgive
my tears, for I love the Bible. Let him too weep, the priest of God,
and be sure that the hearts of his listeners will throb in response.
Only a little tiny seed is needed—drop it into the heart of the peasant
and it won’t die, it will live in his soul all his life, it will be
hidden in the midst of his darkness and sin, like a bright spot, like a
great reminder. And there’s no need of much teaching or explanation, he
will understand it all simply. Do you suppose that the peasants don’t
understand? Try reading them the touching story of the fair Esther and
the haughty Vashti; or the miraculous story of Jonah in the whale.
Don’t forget either the parables of Our Lord, choose especially from
the Gospel of St. Luke (that is what I did), and then from the Acts of
the Apostles the conversion of St. Paul (that you mustn’t leave out on
any account), and from the _Lives of the Saints_, for instance, the
life of Alexey, the man of God and, greatest of all, the happy martyr
and the seer of God, Mary of Egypt—and you will penetrate their hearts
with these simple tales. Give one hour a week to it in spite of your
poverty, only one little hour. And you will see for yourselves that our
people is gracious and grateful, and will repay you a hundred-fold.
Mindful of the kindness of their priest and the moving words they have
heard from him, they will of their own accord help him in his fields
and in his house, and will treat him with more respect than before—so
that it will even increase his worldly well-being too. The thing is so
simple that sometimes one is even afraid to put it into words, for fear
of being laughed at, and yet how true it is! One who does not believe
in God will not believe in God’s people. He who believes in God’s
people will see His Holiness too, even though he had not believed in it
till then. Only the people and their future spiritual power will
convert our atheists, who have torn themselves away from their native
soil.
And what is the use of Christ’s words, unless we set an example? The
people is lost without the Word of God, for its soul is athirst for the
Word and for all that is good.
In my youth, long ago, nearly forty years ago, I traveled all over
Russia with Father Anfim, collecting funds for our monastery, and we
stayed one night on the bank of a great navigable river with some
fishermen. A good-looking peasant lad, about eighteen, joined us; he
had to hurry back next morning to pull a merchant’s barge along the
bank. I noticed him looking straight before him with clear and tender
eyes. It was a bright, warm, still, July night, a cool mist rose from
the broad river, we could hear the plash of a fish, the birds were
still, all was hushed and beautiful, everything praying to God. Only we
two were not sleeping, the lad and I, and we talked of the beauty of
this world of God’s and of the great mystery of it. Every blade of
grass, every insect, ant, and golden bee, all so marvelously know their
path, though they have not intelligence, they bear witness to the
mystery of God and continually accomplish it themselves. I saw the dear
lad’s heart was moved. He told me that he loved the forest and the
forest birds. He was a bird-catcher, knew the note of each of them,
could call each bird. “I know nothing better than to be in the forest,”
said he, “though all things are good.”
“Truly,” I answered him, “all things are good and fair, because all is
truth. Look,” said I, “at the horse, that great beast that is so near
to man; or the lowly, pensive ox, which feeds him and works for him;
look at their faces, what meekness, what devotion to man, who often
beats them mercilessly. What gentleness, what confidence and what
beauty! It’s touching to know that there’s no sin in them, for all, all
except man, is sinless, and Christ has been with them before us.”
“Why,” asked the boy, “is Christ with them too?”
“It cannot but be so,” said I, “since the Word is for all. All creation
and all creatures, every leaf is striving to the Word, singing glory to
God, weeping to Christ, unconsciously accomplishing this by the mystery
of their sinless life. Yonder,” said I, “in the forest wanders the
dreadful bear, fierce and menacing, and yet innocent in it.” And I told
him how once a bear came to a great saint who had taken refuge in a
tiny cell in the wood. And the great saint pitied him, went up to him
without fear and gave him a piece of bread. “Go along,” said he,
“Christ be with you,” and the savage beast walked away meekly and
obediently, doing no harm. And the lad was delighted that the bear had
walked away without hurting the saint, and that Christ was with him
too. “Ah,” said he, “how good that is, how good and beautiful is all
God’s work!” He sat musing softly and sweetly. I saw he understood. And
he slept beside me a light and sinless sleep. May God bless youth! And
I prayed for him as I went to sleep. Lord, send peace and light to Thy
people!
Chapter II.
The Duel
_(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 honor
of the regiment, but no one of us had any knowledge of the real meaning
of honor, and if any one 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 favor and my heart was aflame at such an idea. Later on I saw
and fully realized that I perhaps was not so passionately in love with
her at all, but only recognized 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 neighboring 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