The Brothers Karamazov
kitchen and the bottle’s been brought in warm and without a cork. Well,
let me have some, anyway.”
He went up to the table, took a glass, emptied it at one gulp and
poured himself out another.
“One doesn’t often stumble upon champagne,” he said, licking his lips.
“Now, Alyosha, take a glass, show what you can do! What shall we drink
to? The gates of paradise? Take a glass, Grushenka, you drink to the
gates of paradise, too.”
“What gates of paradise?”
She took a glass, Alyosha took his, tasted it and put it back.
“No, I’d better not,” he smiled gently.
“And you bragged!” cried Rakitin.
“Well, if so, I won’t either,” chimed in Grushenka, “I really don’t
want any. You can drink the whole bottle alone, Rakitin. If Alyosha has
some, I will.”
“What touching sentimentality!” said Rakitin tauntingly; “and she’s
sitting on his knee, too! He’s got something to grieve over, but what’s
the matter with you? He is rebelling against his God and ready to eat
sausage....”
“How so?”
“His elder died to-day, Father Zossima, the saint.”
“So Father Zossima is dead,” cried Grushenka. “Good God, I did not
know!” She crossed herself devoutly. “Goodness, what have I been doing,
sitting on his knee like this at such a moment!” She started up as
though in dismay, instantly slipped off his knee and sat down on the
sofa.
Alyosha bent a long wondering look upon her and a light seemed to dawn
in his face.
“Rakitin,” he said suddenly, in a firm and loud voice; “don’t taunt me
with having rebelled against God. I don’t want to feel angry with you,
so you must be kinder, too, I’ve lost a treasure such as you have never
had, and you cannot judge me now. You had much better look at her—do
you see how she has pity on me? I came here to find a wicked soul—I
felt drawn to evil because I was base and evil myself, and I’ve found a
true sister, I have found a treasure—a loving heart. She had pity on me
just now.... Agrafena Alexandrovna, I am speaking of you. You’ve raised
my soul from the depths.”
Alyosha’s lips were quivering and he caught his breath.
“She has saved you, it seems,” laughed Rakitin spitefully. “And she
meant to get you in her clutches, do you realize that?”
“Stay, Rakitin.” Grushenka jumped up. “Hush, both of you. Now I’ll tell
you all about it. Hush, Alyosha, your words make me ashamed, for I am
bad and not good—that’s what I am. And you hush, Rakitin, because you
are telling lies. I had the low idea of trying to get him in my
clutches, but now you are lying, now it’s all different. And don’t let
me hear anything more from you, Rakitin.”
All this Grushenka said with extreme emotion.
“They are both crazy,” said Rakitin, looking at them with amazement. “I
feel as though I were in a madhouse. They’re both getting so feeble
they’ll begin crying in a minute.”
“I shall begin to cry, I shall,” repeated Grushenka. “He called me his
sister and I shall never forget that. Only let me tell you, Rakitin,
though I am bad, I did give away an onion.”
“An onion? Hang it all, you really are crazy.”
Rakitin wondered at their enthusiasm. He was aggrieved and annoyed,
though he might have reflected that each of them was just passing
through a spiritual crisis such as does not come often in a lifetime.
But though Rakitin was very sensitive about everything that concerned
himself, he was very obtuse as regards the feelings and sensations of
others—partly from his youth and inexperience, partly from his intense
egoism.
“You see, Alyosha,” Grushenka turned to him with a nervous laugh. “I
was boasting when I told Rakitin I had given away an onion, but it’s
not to boast I tell you about it. It’s only a story, but it’s a nice
story. I used to hear it when I was a child from Matryona, my cook, who
is still with me. It’s like this. Once upon a time there was a peasant
woman and a very wicked woman she was. And she died and did not leave a
single good deed behind. The devils caught her and plunged her into the
lake of fire. So her guardian angel stood and wondered what good deed
of hers he could remember to tell to God; ‘She once pulled up an onion
in her garden,’ said he, ‘and gave it to a beggar woman.’ And God
answered: ‘You take that onion then, hold it out to her in the lake,
and let her take hold and be pulled out. And if you can pull her out of
the lake, let her come to Paradise, but if the onion breaks, then the
woman must stay where she is.’ The angel ran to the woman and held out
the onion to her. ‘Come,’ said he, ‘catch hold and I’ll pull you out.’
And he began cautiously pulling her out. He had just pulled her right
out, when the other sinners in the lake, seeing how she was being drawn
out, began catching hold of her so as to be pulled out with her. But
she was a very wicked woman and she began kicking them. ‘I’m to be
pulled out, not you. It’s my onion, not yours.’ As soon as she said
that, the onion broke. And the woman fell into the lake and she is
burning there to this day. So the angel wept and went away. So that’s
the story, Alyosha; I know it by heart, for I am that wicked woman
myself. I boasted to Rakitin that I had given away an onion, but to you
I’ll say: ‘I’ve done nothing but give away one onion all my life,
that’s the only good deed I’ve done.’ So don’t praise me, Alyosha,
don’t think me good, I am bad, I am a wicked woman and you make me
ashamed if you praise me. Eh, I must confess everything. Listen,
Alyosha. I was so anxious to get hold of you that I promised Rakitin
twenty-five roubles if he would bring you to me. Stay, Rakitin, wait!”
She went with rapid steps to the table, opened a drawer, pulled out a
purse and took from it a twenty-five rouble note.
“What nonsense! What nonsense!” cried Rakitin, disconcerted.
“Take it. Rakitin, I owe it you, there’s no fear of your refusing it,
you asked for it yourself.” And she threw the note to him.
“Likely I should refuse it,” boomed Rakitin, obviously abashed, but
carrying off his confusion with a swagger. “That will come in very
handy; fools are made for wise men’s profit.”
“And now hold your tongue, Rakitin, what I am going to say now is not
for your ears. Sit down in that corner and keep quiet. You don’t like
us, so hold your tongue.”
“What should I like you for?” Rakitin snarled, not concealing his
ill-humor. He put the twenty-five rouble note in his pocket and he felt
ashamed at Alyosha’s seeing it. He had reckoned on receiving his
payment later, without Alyosha’s knowing of it, and now, feeling
ashamed, he lost his temper. Till that moment he had thought it
discreet not to contradict Grushenka too flatly in spite of her
snubbing, since he had something to get out of her. But now he, too,
was angry:
“One loves people for some reason, but what have either of you done for
me?”
“You should love people without a reason, as Alyosha does.”
“How does he love you? How has he shown it, that you make such a fuss
about it?”
Grushenka was standing in the middle of the room; she spoke with heat
and there were hysterical notes in her voice.
“Hush, Rakitin, you know nothing about us! And don’t dare to speak to
me like that again. How dare you be so familiar! Sit in that corner and
be quiet, as though you were my footman! And now, Alyosha, I’ll tell
you the whole truth, that you may see what a wretch I am! I am not
talking to Rakitin, but to you. I wanted to ruin you, Alyosha, that’s
the holy truth; I quite meant to. I wanted to so much, that I bribed
Rakitin to bring you. And why did I want to do such a thing? You knew
nothing about it, Alyosha, you turned away from me; if you passed me,
you dropped your eyes. And I’ve looked at you a hundred times before
to-day; I began asking every one about you. Your face haunted my heart.
‘He despises me,’ I thought; ‘he won’t even look at me.’ And I felt it
so much at last that I wondered at myself for being so frightened of a
boy. I’ll get him in my clutches and laugh at him. I was full of spite
and anger. Would you believe it, nobody here dares talk or think of
coming to Agrafena Alexandrovna with any evil purpose. Old Kuzma is the
only man I have anything to do with here; I was bound and sold to him;
Satan brought us together, but there has been no one else. But looking
at you, I thought, I’ll get him in my clutches and laugh at him. You
see what a spiteful cur I am, and you called me your sister! And now
that man who wronged me has come; I sit here waiting for a message from
him. And do you know what that man has been to me? Five years ago, when
Kuzma brought me here, I used to shut myself up, that no one might have
sight or sound of me. I was a silly slip of a girl; I used to sit here
sobbing; I used to lie awake all night, thinking: ‘Where is he now, the
man who wronged me? He is laughing at me with another woman, most
likely. If only I could see him, if I could meet him again, I’d pay him
out, I’d pay him out!’ At night I used to lie sobbing into my pillow in
the dark, and I used to brood over it; I used to tear my heart on
purpose and gloat over my anger. ‘I’ll pay him out, I’ll pay him out!’
That’s what I used to cry out in the dark. And when I suddenly thought
that I should really do nothing to him, and that he was laughing at me
then, or perhaps had utterly forgotten me, I would fling myself on the
floor, melt into helpless tears, and lie there shaking till dawn. In
the morning I would get up more spiteful than a dog, ready to tear the
whole world to pieces. And then what do you think? I began saving
money, I became hard-hearted, grew stout—grew wiser, would you say? No,
no one in the whole world sees it, no one knows it, but when night
comes on, I sometimes lie as I did five years ago, when I was a silly
girl, clenching my teeth and crying all night, thinking, ‘I’ll pay him
out, I’ll pay him out!’ Do you hear? Well then, now you understand me.
A month ago a letter came to me—he was coming, he was a widower, he
wanted to see me. It took my breath away; then I suddenly thought: ‘If
he comes and whistles to call me, I shall creep back to him like a
beaten dog.’ I couldn’t believe myself. Am I so abject? Shall I run to
him or not? And I’ve been in such a rage with myself all this month
that I am worse than I was five years ago. Do you see now, Alyosha,
what a violent, vindictive creature I am? I have shown you the whole
truth! I played with Mitya to keep me from running to that other. Hush,
Rakitin, it’s not for you to judge me, I am not speaking to you. Before
you came in, I was lying here waiting, brooding, deciding my whole
future life, and you can never know what was in my heart. Yes, Alyosha,
tell your young lady not to be angry with me for what happened the day
before yesterday.... Nobody in the whole world knows what I am going
through now, and no one ever can know.... For perhaps I shall take a
knife with me to-day, I can’t make up my mind ...”
And at this “tragic” phrase Grushenka broke down, hid her face in her
hands, flung herself on the sofa pillows, and sobbed like a little
child.
Alyosha got up and went to Rakitin.
“Misha,” he said, “don’t be angry. She wounded you, but don’t be angry.
You heard what she said just now? You mustn’t ask too much of human
endurance, one must be merciful.”
Alyosha said this at the instinctive prompting of his heart. He felt
obliged to speak and he turned to Rakitin. If Rakitin had not been
there, he would have spoken to the air. But Rakitin looked at him
ironically and Alyosha stopped short.
“You were so primed up with your elder’s teaching last night that now
you have to let it off on me, Alexey, man of God!” said Rakitin, with a
smile of hatred.
“Don’t laugh, Rakitin, don’t smile, don’t talk of the dead—he was
better than any one in the world!” cried Alyosha, with tears in his