HE certainly was really grieved in a way he had seldom been

before. He had rushed in like a fool, and meddled in what? In a

love-affair. "But what do I know about it? What can I tell about

such things?" he repeated to himself for the hundredth time,

flushing crimson. "Oh, being ashamed would be nothing; shame is only

the punishment I deserve. The trouble is I shall certainly have caused

more unhappiness.... And Father Zossima sent me to reconcile and bring

them together. Is this the way to bring them together?" Then he

suddenly remembered how he had tried to join their hands, and he

felt fearfully ashamed again. "Though I acted quite sincerely, I

must be more sensible in the future," he concluded suddenly, and did

not even smile at his conclusion.

    Katerina Ivanovna's commission took him to Lake Street, and his

brother Dmitri lived close by, in a turning out of Lake Street.

Alyosha decided to go to him in any case before going to the

captain, though he had a presentiment that he would not find his

brother. He suspected that he would intentionally keep out of his

way now, but he must find him anyhow. Time was passing: the thought of

his dying elder had not left Alyosha for one minute from the time he

set off from the monastery.

    There was one point which interested him particularly about

Katerina Ivanovna's commission; when she had mentioned the captain's

son, the little schoolboy who had run beside his father crying, the

idea had at once struck Alyosha that this must be the schoolboy who

had bitten his finger when he, Alyosha, asked him what he had done

to hurt him. Now Alyosha felt practically certain of this, though he

could not have said why. Thinking of another subject was a relief, and

he resolved to think no more about the "mischief" he had done, and not

to torture himself with remorse, but to do what he had to do, let come

what would. At that thought he was completely comforted. Turning to

the street where Dmitri lodged, he felt hungry, and taking out of

his pocket the roll he had brought from his father's, he ate it. It

made him feel stronger.

    Dmitri was not at home. The people of the house, an old

cabinet-maker, his son, and his old wife, looked with positive

suspicion at Alyosha. "He hasn't slept here for the last three nights.

Maybe he has gone away," the old man said in answer to Alyosha's

persistent inquiries. Alyosha saw that he was answering in

accordance with instructions. When he asked whether he were not at

Grushenka's or in hiding at Foma's (Alyosha spoke so freely on

purpose), all three looked at him in alarm. "They are fond of him,

they are doing their best for him," thought Alyosha. "That's good."

    At last he found the house in Lake Street. It was a decrepit

little house, sunk on one side, with three windows looking into the

street, and with a muddy yard, in the middle of which stood a solitary

cow. He crossed the yard and found the door opening into the

passage. On the left of the passage lived the old woman of the house

with her old daughter. Both seemed to be deaf. In answer to his

repeated inquiry for the captain, one of them at last understood

that he was asking for their lodgers, and pointed to a door across the

passage. The captain's lodging turned out to be a simple cottage room.

Alyosha had his hand on the iron latch to open the door, when he was

struck by the strange hush within. Yet he knew from Katerina

Ivanovna's words that the man had a family. "Either they are all

asleep or perhaps they have heard me coming and are waiting for me

to open the door. I'd better knock first," and he knocked. An answer

came, but not at once, after an interval of perhaps ten seconds.

    "Who's there?" shouted someone in a loud and very angry voice.

    Then Alyosha opened the door and crossed the threshold. He found

himself in a regular peasant's room. Though it was large, it was

cumbered up with domestic belongings of all sorts, and there were

several people in it. On the left was a large Russian stove. From

the stove to the window on the left was a string running across the

room, and on it there were rags hanging. There was a bedstead

against the wall on each side, right and left, covered with knitted

quilts. On the one on the left was a pyramid of four print-covered

pillows, each smaller than the one beneath. On the other there was

only one very small pillow. The opposite corner was screened off by

a curtain or a sheet hung on a string. Behind this curtain could be

seen a bed made up on a bench and a chair. The rough square table of

plain wood had been moved into the middle window. The three windows,

which consisted each of four tiny greenish mildewy panes, gave

little light, and were close shut, so that the room was not very light

and rather stuffy. On the table was a frying pan with the remains of

some fried eggs, a half-eaten piece of bread, and a small bottle

with a few drops of vodka.

    A woman of genteel appearance, wearing a cotton gown, was

sitting on a chair by the bed on the left. Her face was thin and

yellow, and her sunken cheeks betrayed at the first glance that she

was ill. But what struck Alyosha most was the expression in the poor

woman's eyes- a look of surprised inquiry and yet of haughty pride.

And while he was talking to her husband, her big brown eyes moved from

one speaker to the other with the same haughty and questioning

expression. Beside her at the window stood a young girl, rather plain,

with scanty reddish hair, poorly but very neatly dressed. She looked

disdainfully at Alyosha as he came in. Beside the other bed was

sitting another female figure. She was a very sad sight, a young

girl of about twenty, but hunchback and crippled "with withered legs,"

as Alyosha was told afterwards. Her crutches stood in the corner close

by. The strikingly beautiful and gentle eyes of this poor girl

looked with mild serenity at Alyosha. A man of forty-five was

sitting at the table, finishing the fried eggs. He was spare, small,

and weakly built. He had reddish hair and a scanty light-coloured

beard, very much like a wisp of tow (this comparison and the phrase "a

wisp of tow" flashed at once into Alyosha's mind for some reason, he

remembered it afterwards). It was obviously this gentleman who had

shouted to him, as there was no other man in the room. But when

Alyosha went in, he leapt up from the bench on which he was sitting,

and, hastily wiping his mouth with a ragged napkin, darted up to

Alyosha.

    "It's a monk come to beg for the monastery. A nice place to come

to!" the girl standing in the left corner said aloud. The man spun

round instantly towards her and answered her in an excited and

breaking voice:

    "No, Varvara, you are wrong. Allow me to ask," he turned again

to Alyosha, "what has brought you to our retreat?"

    Alyosha looked attentively at him. It was the first time he had

seen him. There was something angular, flurried and irritable about

him. Though he had obviously just been drinking, he was not drunk.

There was extraordinary impudence in his expression, and yet,

strange to say, at the same time there was fear. He looked like a

man who had long been kept in subjection and had submitted to it,

and now had suddenly turned and was trying to assert himself. Or,

better still, like a man who wants dreadfully to hit you but is

horribly afraid you will hit him. In his words and in the intonation

of his shrill voice there was a sort of crazy humour, at times

spiteful and at times cringing, and continually shifting from one tone

to another. The question about "our retreat" he had asked, as it were,

quivering all over, rolling his eyes, and skipping up so close to

Alyosha that he instinctively drew back a step. He was dressed in a

very shabby dark cotton coat, patched and spotted. He wore checked

trousers of an extremely light colour, long out of fashion, and of

very thin material. They were so crumpled and so short that he

looked as though he had grown out of them like a boy.

    "I am Alexey Karamazov," Alyosha began in reply.

    "I quite understand that, sir," the gentleman snapped out at

once to assure him that he knew who he was already. "I am Captain

Snegiryov, sir, but I am still desirous to know precisely what has led

you- "

    "Oh, I've come for nothing special. I wanted to have a word with

you- if only you allow me."

    "In that case, here is a chair, sir; kindly be seated. That's what

they used to say in the old comedies, 'kindly be seated,'" and with

a rapid gesture he seized an empty chair (it was a rough wooden chair,

not upholstered) and set it for him almost in the middle of the

room; then, taking another similar chair for himself, he sat down

facing Alyosha, so close to him that their knees almost touched.

    "Nikolay Ilyitch Snegiryov, sir, formerly a captain in the Russian

infantry, put to shame for his vices, but still a captain. Though I

might not be one now for the way I talk; for the last half of my

life I've learnt to say 'sir.' It's a word you use when you've come

down in the world."

    "That's very true," smiled Alyosha. "But is it used

involuntarily or on purpose?"

    "As God's above, it's involuntary, and I usen't to use it! I

didn't use the word 'sir' all my life, but as soon as I sank into

low water I began to say 'sir.' It's the work of a higher power. I see

you are interested in contemporary questions, but how can I have

excited your curiosity, living as I do in surroundings impossible

for the exercise of hospitality?"

    "I've come- about that business."

    "About what business?" the captain interrupted impatiently.

    "About your meeting with my brother Dmitri Fyodorovitch,"

Alyosha blurted out awkwardly.

    "What meeting, sir? You don't mean that meeting? About my 'wisp of

tow,' then?" He moved closer so that his knees positively knocked

against Alyosha. His lips were strangely compressed like a thread.

    "What wisp of tow?" muttered Alyosha.

    "He is come to complain of me, father!" cried a voice familiar

to Alyosha- the voice of the schoolboy- from behind the curtain. "I

bit his finger just now." The curtain was pulled, and Alyosha saw

his assailant lying on a little bed made up on the bench and the chair

in the corner under the ikons. The boy lay covered by his coat and

an old wadded quilt. He was evidently unwell, and, judging by his

glittering eyes, he was in a fever. He looked at Alyosha without fear,

as though he felt he was at home and could not be touched.

    "What! Did he bite your finger?" The captain jumped up from his

chair. "Was it your finger he bit?"

    "Yes. He was throwing stones with other schoolboys. There were six

of them against  him alone. I went up to him, and he threw a stone

at me and then another at my head. I asked him what I had done to him.

And then he rushed at me and bit my finger badly, I don't know why."

    "I'll thrash him, sir, at once- this minute!" The captain jumped

up from his seat.

    "But I am not complaining at all, I am simply telling you.... I

don't want him to be thrashed. Besides, he seems to be ill."

    "And do you suppose I'd thrash him? That I'd take my Ilusha and

thrash him before you for your satisfaction? Would you like it done at

once, sir?" said the captain, suddenly turning to Alyosha, as though

he were going to attack him. "I am sorry about your finger, sir; but

instead of thrashing Ilusha, would you like me to chop off my four

fingers with this knife here before your eyes to satisfy your just

wrath? I should think four fingers would be enough to satisfy your

thirst for vengeance. You won't ask for the fifth one too?" He stopped

short with a catch in his throat. Every feature in his face was

twitching and working; he looked extremely defiant. He was in a sort

of frenzy.

    "I think I understand it all now," said Alyosha gently and

sorrowfully, still keeping his seat. "So your boy is a good boy, he

loves his father, and he attacked me as the brother of your

assailant.... Now I understand it," he repeated thoughtfully. "But

my brother Dmitri Fyodorovitch regrets his action, I know that, and if

only it is possible for him to come to you, or better still, to meet

you in that same place, he will ask your forgiveness before

everyone- if you wish it."

    "After pulling out my beard, you mean, he will ask my forgiveness?

And he thinks that will be a satisfactory finish, doesn't he?"

    "Oh, no! On the contrary, he will do anything you like and in

any way you like."

    "So if I were to ask his highness to go down on his knees before

me in that very tavern- 'The Metropolis' it's called- or in the

marketplace, he would do it?"

    "Yes, he would even go down on his knees."

    "You've pierced me to the heart, sir. Touched me to tears and

pierced me to the heart! I am only too sensible of your brother's

generosity. Allow me to introduce my family, my two daughters and my

son- my litter. If I die, who will care for them, and while I live who

but they will care for a wretch like me? That's a great thing the Lord

has ordained for every man of my sort, sir. For there must be

someone able to love even a man like me."

    "Ah, that's perfectly true!" exclaimed Alyosha.

    "Oh, do leave off playing the fool! Some idiot comes in, and you

put us to shame!" cried the girl by the window, suddenly turning to

her father with a disdainful and contemptuous air.

    "Wait a little, Varvara!" cried her father, speaking

peremptorily but looking at them quite approvingly. "That's her

character," he said, addressing Alyosha again.



                    "And in all nature there was naught

                     That could find favour in his eyes-



or rather in the feminine- that could find favour in her eyes- . But

now let me present you to my wife, Arina Petrovna. She is crippled,

she is forty-three; she can move, but very little. She is of humble

origin. Arina Petrovna, compose your countenance. This is Alexey

Fyodorovitch Karamazov. Get up, Alexey Fyodorovitch." He took him by

the hand and with unexpected force pulled him up. "You must stand up

to be introduced to a lady. It's not the Karamazov, mamma, who...

h'm... etcetera, but his brother, radiant with modest virtues. Come,

Arina Petrovna, come, mamma, first your hand to be kissed."

    And he kissed his wife's hand respectfully and even tenderly.

The girl at the window turned her back indignantly on the scene; an

expression of extraordinary cordiality came over the haughtily

inquiring face of the woman.

    "Good morning! Sit down, Mr. Tchernomazov," she said.

    "Karamazov, mamma, Karamazov. We are of humble origin," he

whispered again.

    "Well, Karamazov, or whatever it is, but I always think of

Tchermomazov.... Sit down. Why has he pulled you up? He calls me

crippled, but I am not, only my legs are swollen like barrels, and I

am shrivelled up myself. Once I used to be so fat, but now it's as

though I had swallowed a needle."

    "We are of humble origin," the captain muttered again.

    "Oh, father, father!" the hunchback girl, who had till then been

silent on her chair, said suddenly, and she hid her eyes in her

handkerchief.

    "Buffoon!" blurted out the girl at the window.

    "Have you heard our news?" said the mother, pointing at her

daughters. "It's like clouds coming over; the clouds pass and we

have music again. When we were with the army, we used to have many

such guests. I don't mean to make any comparisons; everyone to their

taste. The deacon's wife used to come then and say, 'Alexandr

Alexandrovitch is a man of the noblest heart, but Nastasya

Petrovna,' she would say, 'is of the brood of hell.' 'Well,' I said,

'that's a matter of taste; but you are a little spitfire.' 'And you

want keeping in your place;' says she. 'You black sword,' said I, 'who

asked you to teach me?' 'But my breath,' says she, 'is clean, and

yours is unclean.' 'You ask all the officers whether my breath is

unclean.' And ever since then I had it in my mind. Not long ago I

was sitting here as I am now, when I saw that very general come in who

came here for Easter, and I asked him: 'Your Excellency,' said I, 'can

a lady's breath be unpleasant?' 'Yes,' he answered; 'you ought to open

a window-pane or open the door, for the air is not fresh here.' And

they all go on like that! And what is my breath to them? The dead

smell worse still!. 'I won't spoil the air,' said I, 'I'll order

some slippers and go away.' My darlings, don't blame your own

mother! Nikolay Ilyitch, how is it I can't please you? There's only

Ilusha who comes home from school and loves me. Yesterday he brought

me an apple. Forgive your own mother- forgive a poor lonely

creature! Why has my breath become unpleasant to you?"

    And the poor mad woman broke into sobs, and tears streamed down

her cheeks. The captain rushed up to her.

    "Mamma, mamma, my dear, give over! You are not lonely. Everyone

loves you, everyone adores you." He began kissing both her hands again

and tenderly stroking her face; taking the dinner-napkin, he began

wiping away her tears. Alyosha fancied that he too had tears in his

eyes. "There, you see, you hear?" he turned with a sort of fury to

Alyosha, pointing to the poor imbecile.

    "I see and hear," muttered Alyosha.

    "Father, father, how can you- with him! Let him alone!" cried

the boy, sitting up in his bed and gazing at his father with glowing

eyes.

    "Do give over fooling, showing off your silly antics which never

lead to anything! shouted Varvara, stamping her foot with passion.

    "Your anger is quite just this time, Varvara, and I'll make

haste to satisfy you. Come, put on your cap, Alexey Fyodorovitch,

and I'll put on mine. We will go out. I have a word to say to you in

earnest, but not within these walls. This girl sitting here is my

daughter Nina; I forgot to introduce her to you. She is a heavenly

angel incarnate... who has flown down to us mortals,... if you can

understand."

    "There he is shaking all over, as though he is in convulsions!"

Varvara went on indignantly.

    "And she there stamping her foot at me and calling me a fool

just now, she is a heavenly angel incarnate too, and she has good

reason to call me so. Come along, Alexey Fyodorovitch, we must make an

end."

    And, snatching Alyosha's hand, he drew him out of the room into

the street.