DMITRI FYODOROVITCH, a young man of eight and twenty, of medium

height and agreeable countenance, looked older than his years. He

was muscular, and showed signs of considerable physical strength.

Yet there was something not healthy in his face. It was rather thin,

his cheeks were hollow, and there was an unhealthy sallowness in their

colour. His rather large, prominent, dark eyes had an expression of

firm determination, and yet there was a vague look in them, too.

Even when he was excited and talking irritably, his eyes somehow did

not follow his mood, but betrayed something else, sometimes quite

incongruous with what was passing. "It's hard to tell what he's

thinking," those who talked to him sometimes declared. People who

saw something pensive and sullen in his eyes were startled by his

sudden laugh, which bore witness to mirthful and light-hearted

thoughts at the very time when his eyes were so gloomy. A certain

strained look in his face was easy to understand at this moment.

Everyone knew, or had heard of, the extremely restless and

dissipated life which he had been leading of late, as well as of the

violent anger to which he had been roused in his quarrels with his

father. There were several stories current in the town about it. It is

true that he was irascible by nature, "of an unstable and unbalanced

mind," as our justice of the peace, Katchalnikov, happily described

him.

    He was stylishly and irreproachably dressed in a carefully

buttoned frock-coat. He wore black gloves and carried a top hat.

Having only lately left the army, he still had moustaches and no

beard. His dark brown hair was cropped short, and combed forward on

his temples. He had the long, determined stride of a military man.

He stood still for a moment on the threshold, and glancing at the

whole party went straight up to the elder, guessing him to be their

host. He made him a low bow, and asked his blessing. Father Zossima,

rising in his chair, blessed him. Dmitri kissed his hand respectfully,

and with intense feeling, almost anger, he said:

    "Be so generous as to forgive me for having kept you waiting so

long, but Smerdyakov, the valet sent me by my father, in reply to my

inquiries, told me twice over that the appointment was for one. Now

I suddenly learn- "

    "Don't disturb yourself," interposed the elder. "No matter. You

are a little late. It's of no consequence.... "

    "I'm extremely obliged to you, and expected no less from your

goodness."

    Saying this, Dmitri bowed once more. Then, turning suddenly

towards his father, made him, too, a similarly low and respectful bow.

He had evidently considered it beforehand, and made this bow in all

seriousness, thinking it his duty to show his respect and good

intentions.

    Although Fyodor Pavlovitch was taken unawares, he was equal to the

occasion. In response to Dmitri's bow he jumped up from his chair

and made his son a bow as low in return. His face was suddenly

solemn and impressive, which gave him a positively malignant look.

Dmitri bowed generally to all present, and without a word walked to

the window with his long, resolute stride, sat down on the only

empty chair, near Father Paissy, and, bending forward, prepared to

listen to the conversation he had interrupted.

    Dmitri's entrance had taken no more than two minutes, and the

conversation was resumed. But this time Miusov thought it

unnecessary to reply to Father Paissy's persistent and almost

irritable question.

    "Allow me to withdraw from this discussion," he observed with a

certain well-bred nonchalance. "It's a subtle question, too. Here Ivan

Fyodorovitch is smiling at us. He must have something interesting to

say about that also. Ask him."

    "Nothing special, except one little remark," Ivan replied at once.

"European Liberals in general, and even our liberal dilettanti,

often mix up the final results of socialism with those of

Christianity. This wild notion is, of course, a characteristic

feature. But it's not only Liberals and dilettanti who mix up

socialism and Christianity, but, in many cases, it appears, the

police- the foreign police, of course- do the same. Your Paris

anecdote is rather to the point, Pyotr Alexandrovitch."

    "I ask your permission to drop this subject altogether," Miusov

repeated. "I will tell you instead, gentlemen, another interesting and

rather characteristic anecdote of Ivan Fyodorovitch himself. Only five

days ago, in a gathering here, principally of ladies, he solemnly

declared in argument that there was nothing in the whole world to make

men love their neighbours. That there was no law of nature that man

should love mankind, and that, if there had been any love on earth

hitherto, it was not owing to a natural law, but simply because men

have believed in immortality. Ivan Fyodorovitch added in parenthesis

that the whole natural law lies in that faith, and that if you were to

destroy in mankind the belief in immortality, not only love but

every living force maintaining the life of the world would at once

be dried up. Moreover, nothing then would be immoral, everything would

be lawful, even cannibalism. That's not all. He ended by asserting

that for every individual, like ourselves, who does not believe in God

or immortality, the moral law of nature must immediately be changed

into the exact contrary of the former religious law, and that

egoism, even to crime, must become not only lawful but even recognised

as the inevitable, the most rational, even honourable outcome of his

position. From this paradox, gentlemen, you can judge of the rest of

our eccentric and paradoxical friend Ivan Fyodorovitch's theories."

    "Excuse me," Dmitri cried suddenly; "if I've heard aright, crime

must not only be permitted but even recognised as the inevitable and

the most rational outcome of his position for every infidel! Is that

so or not?"

    "Quite so," said Father Paissy.

    "I'll remember it."

    Having uttered these words Dmitri ceased speaking as suddenly as

he had begun. Everyone looked at him with curiosity.

    "Is that really your conviction as to the consequences of the

disappearance of the faith in immortality?" the elder asked Ivan

suddenly.

    "Yes. That was my contention. There is no virtue if there is no

immortality."

    "You are blessed in believing that, or else most unhappy."

    "Why unhappy?" Ivan asked smiling.

    "Because, in all probability you don't believe yourself in the

immortality of your soul, nor in what you have written yourself in

your article on Church Jurisdiction."

    "Perhaps you are right!... But I wasn't altogether joking," Ivan

suddenly and strangely confessed, flushing quickly.

    "You were not altogether joking. That's true. The question is

still fretting your heart, and not answered. But the martyr likes

sometimes to divert himself with his despair, as it were driven to

it by despair itself. Meanwhile, in your despair, you, too, divert

yourself with magazine articles, and discussions in society, though

you don't believe your own arguments, and with an aching heart mock at

them inwardly.... That question you have not answered, and it is

your great grief, for it clamours for an answer."

    "But can it be answered by me? Answered in the affirmative?"

Ivan went on asking strangely, still looking at the elder with the

same inexplicable smile.

    "If it can't be decided in the affirmative, it will never be

decided in the negative. You know that that is the peculiarity of your

heart, and all its suffering is due to it. But thank the Creator who

has given you a lofty heart capable of such suffering; of thinking and

seeking higher things, for our dwelling is in the heavens. God grant

that your heart will attain the answer on earth, and may God bless

your path."

    The elder raised his hand and would have made the sign of the

cross over Ivan from where he stood. But the latter rose from his

seat, went up to him, received his blessing, and kissing his hand went

back to his place in silence. His face looked firm and earnest. This

action and all the preceding conversation, which was so surprising

from Ivan, impressed everyone by its strangeness and a certain

solemnity, so that all were silent for a moment, and there was a

look almost of apprehension in Alyosha's face. But Miusov suddenly

shrugged his shoulders. And at the same moment Fyodor Pavlovitch

jumped up from his seat.

    "Most pious and holy elder," he cried pointing to Ivan, "that is

my son, flesh of my flesh, the dearest of my flesh! He is my most

dutiful Karl Moor, so to speak, while this son who has just come in,

Dmitri, against whom I am seeking justice from you, is the undutiful

Franz Moor- they are both out of Schiller's Robbers, and so I am the

reigning Count von Moor! Judge and save us! We need not only your

prayers but your prophecies!"

    "Speak without buffoonery, and don't begin by insulting the

members of your family," answered the elder, in a faint, exhausted

voice. He was obviously getting more and more fatigued, and his

strength was failing.

    "An unseemly farce which I foresaw when I came here!" cried Dmitri

indignantly. He too leapt up. "Forgive it, reverend Father," he added,

addressing the elder. "I am not a cultivated man, and I don't even

know how to address you properly, but you have been deceived and you

have been too good-natured in letting us meet here. All my father

wants is a scandal. Why he wants it only he can tell. He always has

some motive. But I believe I know why- "

    "They all blame me, all of them!" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch in his

turn. "Pyotr Alexandrovitch here blames me too. You have been

blaming me, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, you have!" he turned suddenly to

Miusov, although the latter was not dreaming of interrupting him.

"They all accuse me of having hidden the children's money in my boots,

and cheated them, but isn't there a court of law? There they will

reckon out for you, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, from your notes, your

letters, and your agreements, how much money you had, how much you

have spent, and how much you have left. Why does Pyotr

Alexandrovitch refuse to pass judgment? Dmitri is not a stranger to

him. Because they are all against me, while Dmitri Fyodorovitch is

in debt to me, and not a little, but some thousands of which I have

documentary proof. The whole town is echoing with his debaucheries.

And where he was stationed before, he several times spent a thousand

or two for the seduction of some respectable girl; we know all about

that, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, in its most secret details. I'll prove

it.... Would you believe it, holy Father, he has captivated the

heart of the most honourable of young ladies of good family and

fortune, daughter of a gallant colonel, formerly his superior officer,

who had received many honours and had the Anna Order on his breast. He

compromised the girl by his promise of marriage, now she is an

orphan and here; she is betrothed to him, yet before her very eyes

he is dancing attendance on a certain enchantress. And although this

enchantress has lived in, so to speak, civil marriage with a

respectable man, yet she is of an independent character, an

unapproachable fortress for everybody, just like a legal wife- for she

is virtuous, yes, holy Fathers, she is virtuous. Dmitri Fyodorovitch

wants to open this fortress with a golden key, and that's why he is

insolent to me now, trying to get money from me, though he has

wasted thousands on this enchantress already. He's continually

borrowing money for the purpose. From whom do you think? Shall I

say, Mitya?"

    "Be silent!" cried Dmitri, "wait till I'm gone. Don't dare in my

presence to asperse the good name of an honourable girl! That you

should utter a word about her is an outrage, and I won't permit it!"

He was breathless.

    He was breathless. "Mitya! Mitya!" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch

hysterically, squeezing out a tear. "And is your father's blessing

nothing to you? If I curse you, what then?"

    "Shameless hypocrite! "exclaimed Dmitri furiously.

    "He says that to his father! his father What would he be with

others? Gentlemen, only fancy; there's a poor but honourable man

living here, burdened with a numerous family, a captain who got into

trouble and was discharged from the army, but not publicly, not by

court-martial, with no slur on his honour. And three weeks ago, Dmitri

seized him by the beard in a tavern, dragged him out into the street

and beat him publicly, and all because he is an agent in a little

business of mine."

    "It's all a lie! Outwardly it's the truth, but inwardly a lie!"

Dmitri was trembling with rage. "Father, I don't justify my action.

Yes, I confess it publicly, I behaved like a brute to that captain,

and I regret it now, and I'm disgusted with myself for my brutal rage.

But this captain, this agent of yours, went to that lady whom you call

an enchantress, and suggested to her from you, that she should take

I.O.U.s of mine which were in your possession, and should sue me for

the money so as to get me into prison by means of them, if I persisted

in claiming an account from you of my property. Now you reproach me

for having a weakness for that lady when you yourself incited her to

captivate me! She told me so to my face.... She told me the story

and laughed at you.... You wanted to put me in prison because you

are jealous of me with her, because you'd begun to force your

attentions upon her; and I know all about that, too; she laughed at

you for that as well- you hear- she laughed at you as she described

it. So here you have this man, this father who reproaches his

profligate son! Gentlemen, forgive my anger, but I foresaw that this

crafty old man would only bring you together to create a scandal. I

had come to forgive him if he held out his hand; to forgive him, and

ask forgiveness! But as he has just this minute insulted not only

me, but an honourable young lady, for whom I feel such reverence

that I dare not take her name in vain, I have made up my mind to

show up his game, though he is my father...."

    He could not go on. His eyes were glittering and he breathed

with difficulty. But everyone in the cell was stirred. All except

Father Zossima got up from their seats uneasily. The monks looked

austere but waited for guidance from the elder. He sat still, pale,

not from excitement but from the weakness of disease. An imploring

smile lighted up his face; from time to time he raised his hand, as

though to check the storm, and, of course, a gesture from him would

have been enough to end the scene; but he seemed to be waiting for

something and watched them intently as though trying to make out

something which was not perfectly clear to him. At last Miusov felt

completely humiliated and disgraced.

    "We are all to blame for this scandalous scene," he said hotly.

"But I did not foresee it when I came, though I knew with whom I had

to deal. This must be stopped at once! Believe me, your reverence, I

had no precise knowledge of the details that have just come to

light, I was unwilling to believe them, and I learn for the first

time.... A father is jealous of his son's relation with a woman of

loose behaviour and intrigues with the creature to get his son into

prison! This is the company in which I have been forced to be present!

I was deceived. I declare to you all that I was as much deceived as

anyone."

    "Dmitri Fyodorovitch," yelled Fyodor Pavlovitch suddenly, in an

unnatural voice, "if you were not my son I would challenge you this

instant to a duel... with pistols, at three paces... across a

handkerchief," he ended, stamping with both feet.

    With old liars who have been acting all their lives there are

moments when they enter so completely into their part that they

tremble or shed tears of emotion in earnest, although at that very

moment, or a second later, they are able to whisper to themselves,

"You know you are lying, you shameless old sinner! You're acting

now, in spite of your 'holy' wrath."

    Dmitri frowned painfully, and looked with unutterable contempt

at his father.

    "I thought... I thought," he said. in a soft and, as it were,

controlled voice, "that I was coming to my native place with the angel

of my heart, my betrothed, to cherish his old age, and I find

nothing but a depraved profligate, a despicable clown!"

    "A duel!" yelled the old wretch again, breathless and

spluttering at each syllable. "And you, Pyotr Alexandrovitch Miusov,

let me tell you that there has never been in all your family a

loftier, and more honest- you hear- more honest woman than this

'creature,' as you have dared to call her! And you, Dmitri

Fyodorovitch, have abandoned your betrothed for that 'creature,' so

you must yourself have thought that your betrothed couldn't hold a

candle to her. That's the woman called a "creature"

    "Shameful!" broke from Father Iosif.

    "Shameful and disgraceful!" Kalganov, flushing crimson cried in

a boyish voice, trembling with emotion. He had been silent till that

moment.

    "Why is such a man alive?" Dmitri, beside himself with rage,

growled in a hollow voice, hunching up his shoulders till he looked

almost deformed. "Tell me, can he be allowed to go on defiling the

earth?" He looked round at everyone and pointed at the old man. He

spoke evenly and deliberately.

    "Listen, listen, monks, to the parricide!" cried Fyodor

Pavlovitch, rushing up to Father Iosif. "That's the answer to your

'shameful!' What is shameful? That 'creature,' that 'woman of loose

behaviour' is perhaps holier than you are yourselves, you monks who

are seeking salvation! She fell perhaps in her youth, ruined by her

environment. But she loved much, and Christ himself forgave the

woman 'who loved much.'"

    "It was not for such love Christ forgave her," broke impatiently

from the gentle Father Iosif.

    "Yes, it was for such, monks, it was! You save your souls here,

eating cabbage, and think you are the righteous. You eat a gudgeon a

day, and you think you bribe God with gudgeon."

    "This is unendurable!" was heard on all sides in the cell.

    But this unseemly scene was cut short in a most unexpected way.

Father Zossima Father Zossima rose suddenly from his seat. Almost

distracted with anxiety for the elder and everyone else, Alyosha

succeeded, however, in supporting him by the arm. Father Zossima moved

towards Dmitri and reaching him sank on his knees before him.

Alyosha thought that he had fallen from weakness, but this was not so.

The elder distinctly and deliberately bowed down at Dmitri's feet till

his forehead touched the floor. Alyosha was so astounded that he

failed to assist him when he got up again. There was a faint smile

on his lips.

    "Good-bye! Forgive me, all of you" he said, bowing on all sides to

his guests.

    Dmitri stood for a few moments in amazement. Bowing down to him-

what did it mean? Suddenly he cried aloud, "Oh God!" hid his face in

his hands, and rushed out of the room. All the guests flocked out

after him, in their confusion not saying good-bye, or bowing to

their host. Only the monks went up to him again for a blessing.

    "What did it mean, falling at his feet like that? Was it

symbolic or what?" said Fyodor Pavlovitch, suddenly quieted and trying

to reopen conversation without venturing to address anybody in

particular. They were all passing out of the precincts of the

hermitage at the moment.

    "I can't answer for a madhouse and for madmen," Miusov answered at

once ill-humouredly, "but I will spare myself your company, Fyodor

Pavlovitch, and, trust me, for ever. Where's that monk?"

    "That monk," that is, the monk who had invited them to dine with

the Superior, did not keep them waiting. He met them as soon as they

came down the steps from the elder's cell, as though he had been

waiting for them all the time.

    "Reverend Father, kindly do me a favour. Convey my deepest respect

to the Father Superior, apologise for me, personally, Miusov, to his

reverence, telling him that I deeply regret that owing to unforeseen

circumstances I am unable to have the honour of being present at his

table, greatly I should desire to do so," Miusov said irritably to the

monk.

    "And that unforeseen circumstance, of course, is myself," Fyodor

Pavlovitch cut in immediately. "Do you hear, Father; this gentleman

doesn't want to remain in my company or else he'd come at once. And

you shall go, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, pray go to the Father Superior and

good appetite to you. I will decline, and not you. Home, home, I'll

eat at home, I don't feel equal to it here, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, my

amiable relative."

    "I am not your relative and never have been, you contemptible

man!"

    "I said it on purpose to madden you, because you always disclaim

the relationship, though you really are a relation in spite of your

shuffling. I'll prove it by the church calendar. As for you, Ivan,

stay if you like. I'll send the horses for you later. Propriety

requires you to go to the Father Superior, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, to

apologise for the disturbance we've been making...."

    "Is it true that you are going home? Aren't you lying?"

    "Pyotr Alexandrovitch! How could I dare after what's happened!

Forgive me, gentlemen, I was carried away! And upset besides! And,

indeed, I am ashamed. Gentlemen, one man has the heart of Alexander of

Macedon and another the heart of the little dog Fido. Mine is that

of the little dog Fido. I am ashamed! After such an escapade how can I

go to dinner, to gobble up the monastery's sauces? I am ashamed, I

can't. You must excuse me!"

    "The devil only knows, what if he deceives us?" thought Miusov,

still hesitating, and watching the retreating buffoon with distrustful

eyes. The latter turned round, and noticing that Miusov was watching

him, waved him a kiss.

    "Well, are you coming to the Superior?" Miusov asked Ivan

abruptly.

    "Why not? I was especially invited yesterday."

    "Unfortunately I feel myself compelled to go to this confounded

dinner," said Miusov with the same irritability, regardless of the

fact that the monk was listening. "We ought, at least, to apologise

for the disturbance, and explain that it was not our doing. What do

you think?"

    "Yes, we must explain that it wasn't our doing. Besides, father

won't be there," observed Ivan.

    "Well, I should hope not! Confound this dinner!"

    They all walked on, however. The monk listened in silence. On

the road through the copse he made one observation however- that the

Father Superior had been waiting a long time, and that they were

more than half an hour late. He received no answer. Miusov looked with

hatred at Ivan.

    "Here he is, going to the dinner as though nothing had

happened," he thought. "A brazen face, and the conscience of a

Karamazov!"