The Brothers Karamazov (66 page)

“Madam, oh, dear, dear me, the messenger is here!” Fenya shouted, bursting gaily into the room. “There’s a carriage from Mokroye waiting for you, ma’am—Timofei the coachman told me that they’re changing the horses now . . . And here’s a letter for you, ma’am!”

The letter was in Fenya’s hand. She had been waving it in the air all the time. Grushenka snatched the letter from her and held it close to the candle. It was just a short note, only a few lines, which she read in one second.

“So he’s whistled for me!” she cried, a painful grimace contorting her pale face. “He’s whistled: Come on doggie, crawl back to me!”

But a second later, the blood rushed to her head and set her cheeks on fire.

“I’m going!” she shouted. “Five years of my life! Finished now—good-by to everything! Farewell, Alyosha. My fate is sealed now! Go away, leave me, all of you, and I hope I never see you again . . . Grushenka is off to a new life! Well, don’t think too badly of me, Rakitin, my boy, for who can tell, I may be going to my death! Ah, I feel as if I were drunk! . . .”

She left them and ran into her bedroom.

“She has other things on her mind now,” Rakitin grumbled. “Let’s clear out of here, Alexei, or there’ll be more of those woman’s shrieks . . . I’m pretty sick of those tearful shrieks as it is.”

Alyosha absent-mindedly followed Rakitin out of the house. A carriage was standing in the yard. The horses were being unharnessed. People were hurrying about with lanterns. Three fresh horses were being led through the open gates. But as Alyosha and Rakitin stepped into the yard, the window of Grushenka’s bedroom flew open and she cried out in her ringing voice:

“Alyosha, give my greetings to your brother, Mitya, and ask him for me not to think too badly of me, wicked woman that I am. And tell him this, yes, in these words: ‘A despicable scoundrel got Grushenka in the end and not an honorable man like you! And tell him, too, that Grushenka did love him for an hour, but just for an hour. Tell him to remember that hour all his life, tell him, ‘Grushenka wants you to remember it always.’ ”

There were sobs in her voice as she finished. The window closed with a bang.

“Ha, that’s really something!” Rakitin chuckled. “She’s all but cut dear Mitya’s throat and now she wants him to remember it all his life. Never seen anyone so bloodthirsty!”

Alyosha did not answer. Perhaps he had not even heard him. He was walking very fast, as though hurrying somewhere. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. Rakitin suddenly felt as though someone had poked a finger into a fresh wound. Things had not worked out at all the way he had expected when he had delivered Alyosha to Grushenka. The result was quite different from what he had hoped for.

“That officer of hers is a Pole,” he said, restraining his rage. “Besides, he’s no longer an army officer—he’s been working for the customs office in Siberia lately, somewhere on the Chinese border, I believe, just a lousy little Polack customs official. I bet he lost his job and learned somehow that Grushenka had money and that that’s behind this miraculous return.”

Again Alyosha did not appear to hear him. Rakitin lost patience.

“So now what? You feel you’ve converted a sinner?” he said with a spiteful laugh. “Is the harlot back on the righteous path? Are the seven devils cast out? Are these the miracles we’ve been waiting for so eagerly? So the expectations have come true, after all!”

“Stop it, Rakitin,” Alyosha said, pained.

“Perhaps you despise me so much now because of those twenty-five rubles? Perhaps you think I sold my trusting friend? But please remember, at least, that you are no Christ and I am no Judas.”

“I assure you, Rakitin, I’d completely forgotten about that. I wouldn’t even have thought of it if you hadn’t reminded me now.”

That made Rakitin lose his temper altogether.

“Ah, the hell with you all, with every single one of you!” he screamed, beside himself. “Damned if I know why I had to get involved with you! Listen, from now on, I don’t know you anymore. Go, get out of my sight, off with you!”

And he turned abruptly into a sidestreet, leaving Alyosha alone in the darkness. Alyosha made his way out of town, toward the monastery.

Chapter 4: Cana Of Galilee

ALYOSHA REACHED the hermitage too late by the monastery rules and the gatekeeper let him in through a special entrance. Nine o’clock had struck. It was time for general rest after a day that had been very tiring and tormenting for everyone. Alyosha quietly opened the door to the elder’s cell, where his coffin now was. There was no one there except Father Paisii, who was reading the Gospels by the coffin, and the young novice Porfiry, who, exhausted by the vigil of the previous nights and the distressing events of the past day, was now deep in youthful sleep on the floor of the adjoining cell that had been the elder’s bedroom.

Although Father Paisii heard Alyosha come in, he did not even look in his direction. When he entered, Alyosha went to a corner, knelt down, and began to pray. His heart was full to overflowing, but no one feeling stood out clearly from the others. Indeed, his feelings kept displacing one another, but smoothly in a sort of quiet, harmonious rotation. Somehow, a sweet feeling pervaded Alyosha and, strangely, he was not surprised by it. Again he had before him the coffin enclosing the man who had been so dear to him, but now the acutely painful feeling of pity that had gnawed at his heart in the morning was gone. Now he knelt before the coffin as before a holy shrine, and gladness filled his heart and his mind. One of the windows was open and fresh, cold air flowed into the cell. “The smell of decay must have increased since they decided to open the window,” Alyosha thought, but this idea, which had seemed so horrible and disgraceful to him earlier, aroused no indignation in him now, nor did it sadden him. He prayed on quietly, but soon realized that he was doing so almost mechanically. Fragments of thoughts flashed through his mind like little sparks, were at once extinguished, and were replaced by other sparks. But they were part of something continuous, of a greater whole, of something solid and very satisfying. Again and again he started to pray in his yearning to express his gratitude and his love . . . But once he had started, his thoughts soon shifted to something else. He became immersed in these thoughts, forgot his prayer, and finally gave it up altogether. He also tried to listen to the Gospels Father Paisii was reading. Gradually, though, feeling very tired, he began to doze . . .

“‘And the third day there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee,’” Father Paisii read, “‘and the mother of Jesus was there: and both Jesus was called, and His disciples, to the marriage.’”

“Marriage . . . What marriage? . . .” The words whirled through Alyosha’s head. “There is happiness for her too . . . she has gone to the ball . . . No, she didn’t, she didn’t take the knife . . . she just said that . . . People must always be forgiven for saying such emotional things . . . emotional words make people feel better . . . Sometimes the pain would be unbearable if they couldn’t say those things . . . Rakitin turned into a back alley and walked away . . . As long as he thinks of the offenses he has suffered, he will always be turning off into back alleys . . . But there is a bright, wide open road, a straight road, shining like crystal, leading to the sun . . . Ah, what is he reading? . . .”

“‘And when they wanted wine, the mother of Jesus saith unto Him, They have no wine’ . . .” Alyosha heard the voice reading.

“Ah, yes, I missed a passage there . . . That’s a shame—I didn’t want to miss it—I love that passage—it’s Cana of Galilee, the first miracle . . . Ah, that miracle, what a lovely miracle! It wasn’t sorrow, it was human happiness that Christ extolled, and the first miracle He worked was to bring men happiness . . . ‘He who loves men loves their happiness,’ Father Zosima used to repeat so often—that was one of his guiding ideas . . . And Mitya says it’s impossible to live without happiness . . . Yes, Mitya . . . Whatever is true and beautiful is always full of forgiveness—the elder used to say that too . . .”

“‘Jesus saith unto her, Woman, what have I to do with thee? Mine hour is not yet come.

“‘His mother saith unto the servants, Whatsoever He saith unto you, do it.’ ”

“Do it . . . Give happiness to some poor people . . . very poor, since they hadn’t even enough wine for the wedding . . . Historians say that the people around the lake of Gennesaret and in that whole region were as poor as can be imagined . . . Another great heart belonging to another great being—the heart of His mother—knew that He had not come down only for His great sacrifice but that His heart was open to the simple and artless joys of the plain, uneducated people who had warmly invited Him to a humble wedding. ‘Mine hour is not yet come,’ He says with a meek smile (yes, that’s very important—he smiles at her meekly) . . . Certainly, though, He had not come down on earth to increase the supply of wine at the weddings of the poor . . . And yet He did as she asked Him and went . . .”

“‘Jesus saith unto them, Fill the waterpots with water. And they filled them up to the brim.

“‘And He saith unto them, Draw out now, and bear unto the governor of the feast. And they bare it.

“‘When the ruler of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, and knew not whence it was: (but the servants which drew the water knew); the governor of the feast called the bridegroom.

“‘And saith unto him, Every man at the beginning doth set forth good wine; and when men have well drunk, then that which is worse; but thou hast kept the good wine until now.’ ”

“But what is happening? Why is the room growing? Ah, yes, it’s that wedding, that marriage, of course. Here are the wedding guests, the bride and the bridegroom are sitting over there, and there’s the merry crowd and . . . where’s the wise governor of the feast? But who is this? Who? The room has grown larger again . . . Who is that getting up from the long table over there? What? . . . So he is here too! But he’s in the coffin now . . . Yes, but he’s here too. He has risen from the table because he has seen me, and he’s coming over here . . . Ah, Lord!”

Yes, the dried-up little old man with his fine network of wrinkles and his gentle, radiant smile came up to Alyosha. The coffin was no longer there and he wore the clothes he had worn on the night when they had all gathered in his room. His face was uncovered, his eyes shone. How was it that he too had been invited to the wedding at Cana of Galilee?

“Yes, my dear boy, I was invited. I was called. I was bidden,” a soft voice said over Alyosha. “But why are you hiding here where no one can see you? Come and join us too.”

It was his voice, the voice of the elder Zosima . . . Besides, who else could it be, since he had invited Alyosha to join him? The elder took Alyosha by the hand and raised him from his knees.

“Let us enjoy ourselves,” said the dried-up little man. “Let us drink new wine, the wine of great, new happiness. Look at all the guests, and look, there are the bridegroom and the bride. And now the wise governor of the feast will taste the new wine. Why are you looking at me with such surprise? Once I gave an onion away and here I am. Many others here have also given away only one onion, one single little onion each . . . What do you think our deeds were? Why, you too, my quiet, gentle boy, you too knew how to give an onion to a needy woman today. So start out, my sweet, gentle boy, do your work . . . Can you see our sun now? Can you see Him?”

“I am afraid . . . I don’t dare look,” Alyosha whispered.

“Don’t be frightened of Him. Though He is frightening in His greatness, terrifying in His majesty, He is also infinitely merciful and, out of love, He has made Himself like one of us and shares our joy and turns our water into wine, so that the joy of the guests shall not cease, and He invites more and more guests, unceasingly, more new guests forever and ever. Look, see, they are bringing new vessels in . . .”

A bright flame burned in Alyosha’s heart. His heart was full to the brim and even pained him. Tears of rapture welled up from his soul. He stretched out his arms and awoke . . .

The coffin was back, and the open window and the measured voice reading the Gospels. But Alyosha no longer listened to the words. It was strange: he had fallen asleep kneeling down, but now he was on his feet. Suddenly, as if tearing himself from the ground, he took three determined steps that brought him so close to the coffin that his shoulder brushed against Father Paisii without his noticing it. Father Paisii raised his eyes from the Gospels and glanced at Alyosha, but then he quickly lowered them to his book again, realizing that something strange was happening to the youth. For half a minute Alyosha gazed at the coffin, at the covered, motionless body with the icon on his chest and the cowl on his head with the eight-cornered cross on it. He had just heard the dead elder’s voice and that voice was still resounding in his ears. Alyosha was listening, still hoping to hear . . . Suddenly he turned abruptly away and walked out of the room.

He did not stop outside the door, but walked quickly into the yard. His soul was overflowing with emotion and he felt he needed lots of room to move freely. Over his head was the vast vault of the sky, studded with shining, silent stars. The still-dim Milky Way was split in two from the zenith to the horizon. A cool, completely still night enfolded the earth. The white towers and the golden domes gleamed in the sapphire sky. The gorgeous autumnal flowers in the flowerbeds by the buildings were asleep until morning. The silence of the earth seemed to merge with the silence of the sky and the mystery of the earth was one with the mystery of the stars . . . Alyosha stood and gazed for a while; then, like a blade of grass cut by a scythe, he fell to the ground.

He did not know why he was hugging the earth, why he could not kiss it enough, why he longed to kiss it all . . . He kissed it again and again, drenching it with his tears, vowing to love it always, always. “Water the earth with the tears of your joy and love those tears,” a voice rang out in his soul. What was he weeping about? Oh, he was weeping with ecstasy, weeping, even, over those stars that shone down upon him from infinite distances, and he was “unashamed of his ecstasy.” It was as if the threads of all those innumerable worlds of God had met in his soul and his soul was vibrating from its contact with “different worlds.” He craved to forgive everyone and everything and to beg for forgiveness—oh, not forgiveness just for himself, but for everyone and everything. “Others will ask forgiveness of me too,” the voice rang out in his soul again. Every moment he felt clearly, almost physically, something real and indestructible, like the vault of the sky over his head, entering his soul. Something, a kind of idea, had taken over his soul forever and ever. He was a weak youth when he fell on the ground and he rose a strong and determined fighter. He knew it. He felt it during that moment of rapture. And never, never thereafter would Alyosha forget that moment. “Someone visited my soul then,” he would say later, with firm faith in his words.