The Brothers Karamazov
the whole world,” he thought. Grushenka did, in fact, toss off a whole
glass of champagne at one gulp, and became at once very tipsy. She sat
down in the same chair as before, with a blissful smile on her face.
Her cheeks were glowing, her lips were burning, her flashing eyes were
moist; there was passionate appeal in her eyes. Even Kalganov felt a
stir at the heart and went up to her.
“Did you feel how I kissed you when you were asleep just now?” she said
thickly. “I’m drunk now, that’s what it is.... And aren’t you drunk?
And why isn’t Mitya drinking? Why don’t you drink, Mitya? I’m drunk,
and you don’t drink....”
“I am drunk! I’m drunk as it is ... drunk with you ... and now I’ll be
drunk with wine, too.”
He drank off another glass, and—he thought it strange himself—that
glass made him completely drunk. He was suddenly drunk, although till
that moment he had been quite sober, he remembered that. From that
moment everything whirled about him, as though he were delirious. He
walked, laughed, talked to everybody, without knowing what he was
doing. Only one persistent burning sensation made itself felt
continually, “like a red-hot coal in his heart,” he said afterwards. He
went up to her, sat beside her, gazed at her, listened to her.... She
became very talkative, kept calling every one to her, and beckoned to
different girls out of the chorus. When the girl came up, she either
kissed her, or made the sign of the cross over her. In another minute
she might have cried. She was greatly amused by the “little old man,”
as she called Maximov. He ran up every minute to kiss her hands, “each
little finger,” and finally he danced another dance to an old song,
which he sang himself. He danced with special vigor to the refrain:
The little pig says—umph! umph! umph!
The little calf says—moo, moo, moo,
The little duck says—quack, quack, quack,
The little goose says—ga, ga, ga.
The hen goes strutting through the porch;
Troo-roo-roo-roo-roo, she’ll say,
Troo-roo-roo-roo-roo, she’ll say!
“Give him something, Mitya,” said Grushenka. “Give him a present, he’s
poor, you know. Ah, the poor, the insulted!... Do you know, Mitya, I
shall go into a nunnery. No, I really shall one day, Alyosha said
something to me to-day that I shall remember all my life.... Yes....
But to-day let us dance. To-morrow to the nunnery, but to-day we’ll
dance. I want to play to-day, good people, and what of it? God will
forgive us. If I were God, I’d forgive every one: ‘My dear sinners,
from this day forth I forgive you.’ I’m going to beg forgiveness:
‘Forgive me, good people, a silly wench.’ I’m a beast, that’s what I
am. But I want to pray. I gave a little onion. Wicked as I’ve been, I
want to pray. Mitya, let them dance, don’t stop them. Every one in the
world is good. Every one—even the worst of them. The world’s a nice
place. Though we’re bad the world’s all right. We’re good and bad, good
and bad.... Come, tell me, I’ve something to ask you: come here every
one, and I’ll ask you: Why am I so good? You know I am good. I’m very
good.... Come, why am I so good?”
So Grushenka babbled on, getting more and more drunk. At last she
announced that she was going to dance, too. She got up from her chair,
staggering. “Mitya, don’t give me any more wine—if I ask you, don’t
give it to me. Wine doesn’t give peace. Everything’s going round, the
stove, and everything. I want to dance. Let every one see how I dance
... let them see how beautifully I dance....”
She really meant it. She pulled a white cambric handkerchief out of her
pocket, and took it by one corner in her right hand, to wave it in the
dance. Mitya ran to and fro, the girls were quiet, and got ready to
break into a dancing song at the first signal. Maximov, hearing that
Grushenka wanted to dance, squealed with delight, and ran skipping
about in front of her, humming:
With legs so slim and sides so trim
And its little tail curled tight.
But Grushenka waved her handkerchief at him and drove him away.
“Sh-h! Mitya, why don’t they come? Let every one come ... to look on.
Call them in, too, that were locked in.... Why did you lock them in?
Tell them I’m going to dance. Let them look on, too....”
Mitya walked with a drunken swagger to the locked door, and began
knocking to the Poles with his fist.
“Hi, you ... Podvysotskys! Come, she’s going to dance. She calls you.”
“_Lajdak!_” one of the Poles shouted in reply.
“You’re a _lajdak_ yourself! You’re a little scoundrel, that’s what you
are.”
“Leave off laughing at Poland,” said Kalganov sententiously. He too was
drunk.
“Be quiet, boy! If I call him a scoundrel, it doesn’t mean that I
called all Poland so. One _lajdak_ doesn’t make a Poland. Be quiet, my
pretty boy, eat a sweetmeat.”
“Ach, what fellows! As though they were not men. Why won’t they make
friends?” said Grushenka, and went forward to dance. The chorus broke
into “Ah, my porch, my new porch!” Grushenka flung back her head, half
opened her lips, smiled, waved her handkerchief, and suddenly, with a
violent lurch, stood still in the middle of the room, looking
bewildered.
“I’m weak....” she said in an exhausted voice. “Forgive me.... I’m
weak, I can’t.... I’m sorry.”
She bowed to the chorus, and then began bowing in all directions.
“I’m sorry.... Forgive me....”
“The lady’s been drinking. The pretty lady has been drinking,” voices
were heard saying.
“The lady’s drunk too much,” Maximov explained to the girls, giggling.
“Mitya, lead me away ... take me,” said Grushenka helplessly. Mitya
pounced on her, snatched her up in his arms, and carried the precious
burden through the curtains.
“Well, now I’ll go,” thought Kalganov, and walking out of the blue
room, he closed the two halves of the door after him. But the orgy in
the larger room went on and grew louder and louder. Mitya laid
Grushenka on the bed and kissed her on the lips.
“Don’t touch me....” she faltered, in an imploring voice. “Don’t touch
me, till I’m yours.... I’ve told you I’m yours, but don’t touch me ...
spare me.... With them here, with them close, you mustn’t. He’s here.
It’s nasty here....”
“I’ll obey you! I won’t think of it ... I worship you!” muttered Mitya.
“Yes, it’s nasty here, it’s abominable.”
And still holding her in his arms, he sank on his knees by the bedside.
“I know, though you’re a brute, you’re generous,” Grushenka articulated
with difficulty. “It must be honorable ... it shall be honorable for
the future ... and let us be honest, let us be good, not brutes, but
good ... take me away, take me far away, do you hear? I don’t want it
to be here, but far, far away....”
“Oh, yes, yes, it must be!” said Mitya, pressing her in his arms. “I’ll
take you and we’ll fly away.... Oh, I’d give my whole life for one year
only to know about that blood!”
“What blood?” asked Grushenka, bewildered.
“Nothing,” muttered Mitya, through his teeth. “Grusha, you wanted to be
honest, but I’m a thief. But I’ve stolen money from Katya.... Disgrace,
a disgrace!”
“From Katya, from that young lady? No, you didn’t steal it. Give it her
back, take it from me.... Why make a fuss? Now everything of mine is
yours. What does money matter? We shall waste it anyway.... Folks like
us are bound to waste money. But we’d better go and work the land. I
want to dig the earth with my own hands. We must work, do you hear?
Alyosha said so. I won’t be your mistress, I’ll be faithful to you,
I’ll be your slave, I’ll work for you. We’ll go to the young lady and
bow down to her together, so that she may forgive us, and then we’ll go
away. And if she won’t forgive us, we’ll go, anyway. Take her her money
and love me.... Don’t love her.... Don’t love her any more. If you love
her, I shall strangle her.... I’ll put out both her eyes with a
needle....”
“I love you. I love only you. I’ll love you in Siberia....”
“Why Siberia? Never mind, Siberia, if you like. I don’t care ... we’ll
work ... there’s snow in Siberia.... I love driving in the snow ... and
must have bells.... Do you hear, there’s a bell ringing? Where is that
bell ringing? There are people coming.... Now it’s stopped.”
She closed her eyes, exhausted, and suddenly fell asleep for an
instant. There had certainly been the sound of a bell in the distance,
but the ringing had ceased. Mitya let his head sink on her breast. He
did not notice that the bell had ceased ringing, nor did he notice that
the songs had ceased, and that instead of singing and drunken clamor
there was absolute stillness in the house. Grushenka opened her eyes.
“What’s the matter? Was I asleep? Yes ... a bell ... I’ve been asleep
and dreamt I was driving over the snow with bells, and I dozed. I was
with some one I loved, with you. And far, far away. I was holding you
and kissing you, nestling close to you. I was cold, and the snow
glistened.... You know how the snow glistens at night when the moon
shines. It was as though I was not on earth. I woke up, and my dear one
is close to me. How sweet that is!...”
“Close to you,” murmured Mitya, kissing her dress, her bosom, her
hands. And suddenly he had a strange fancy: it seemed to him that she
was looking straight before her, not at him, not into his face, but
over his head, with an intent, almost uncanny fixity. An expression of
wonder, almost of alarm, came suddenly into her face.
“Mitya, who is that looking at us?” she whispered.
Mitya turned, and saw that some one had, in fact, parted the curtains
and seemed to be watching them. And not one person alone, it seemed.
He jumped up and walked quickly to the intruder.
“Here, come to us, come here,” said a voice, speaking not loudly, but
firmly and peremptorily.
Mitya passed to the other side of the curtain and stood stock still.
The room was filled with people, but not those who had been there
before. An instantaneous shiver ran down his back, and he shuddered. He
recognized all those people instantly. That tall, stout old man in the
overcoat and forage-cap with a cockade—was the police captain, Mihail
Makarovitch. And that “consumptive-looking” trim dandy, “who always has
such polished boots”—that was the deputy prosecutor. “He has a
chronometer worth four hundred roubles; he showed it to me.” And that
small young man in spectacles.... Mitya forgot his surname though he
knew him, had seen him: he was the “investigating lawyer,” from the
“school of jurisprudence,” who had only lately come to the town. And
this man—the inspector of police, Mavriky Mavrikyevitch, a man he knew
well. And those fellows with the brass plates on, why are they here?
And those other two ... peasants.... And there at the door Kalganov
with Trifon Borissovitch....
“Gentlemen! What’s this for, gentlemen?” began Mitya, but suddenly, as
though beside himself, not knowing what he was doing, he cried aloud,
at the top of his voice:
“I un—der—stand!”
The young man in spectacles moved forward suddenly, and stepping up to
Mitya, began with dignity, though hurriedly:
“We have to make ... in brief, I beg you to come this way, this way to
the sofa.... It is absolutely imperative that you should give an
explanation.”
“The old man!” cried Mitya frantically. “The old man and his blood!...
I understand.”
And he sank, almost fell, on a chair close by, as though he had been
mown down by a scythe.
“You understand? He understands it! Monster and parricide! Your
father’s blood cries out against you!” the old captain of police roared
suddenly, stepping up to Mitya.
He was beside himself, crimson in the face and quivering all over.
“This is impossible!” cried the small young man. “Mihail Makarovitch,
Mihail Makarovitch, this won’t do!... I beg you’ll allow me to speak. I
should never have expected such behavior from you....”