THE first of these things was at the house of Madame Hohlakov, and

he hurried there to get it over as quickly as possible and not be

too late for Mitya. Madame Hohlakov had been slightly ailing for the

last three weeks: her foot had for some reason swollen up, and

though she was not in bed, she lay all day half-reclining on the couch

in her boudoir, in a fascinating but decorous deshabille. Alyosha

had once noted with innocent amusement that, in spite of her

illness, Madame Hohlakov had begun to be rather dressy- topknots,

ribbons, loose wrappers had made their appearance, and he had an

inkling of the reason, though he dismissed such ideas from his mind as

frivolous. During the last two months the young official, Perhotin,

had become a regular visitor at the house.

    Alyosha had not called for four days and he was in haste to go

straight to Lise, as it was with her he had to speak, for Lise had

sent a maid to him the previous day specially asking him to come to

her "about something very important," a request which, for certain

reasons, had interest for Alyosha. But while the maid went to take his

name in to Lise, Madame Hohlakov heard of his arrival from someone,

and immediately sent to beg him to come to her "just for one

minute." Alyosha reflected that it was better to accede to the mamma's

request, or else she would be sending down to Lise's room every minute

that he was there. Madame Hohlakov was lying on a couch. She was

particularly smartly dressed and was evidently in a state of extreme

nervous excitement. She greeted Alyosha with cries of rapture.

    "It's ages, ages, perfect ages since I've seen you! It's a whole

week- only think of it! Ah, but you were here only four days ago, on

Wednesday. You have come to see Lise. I'm sure you meant to slip

into her room on tiptoe, without my hearing you. My dear, dear

Alexey Fyodorovitch, if you only knew how worried I am about her!

But of that later, though that's the most important thing, of that

later. Dear Alexey Fyodorovitch, I trust you implicitly with my

Lise. Since the death of Father Zossima- God rest his soul!" (she

crossed herself)- "I look upon you as a monk, though you look charming

in your new suit. Where did you find such a tailor in these parts? No,

no, that's not the chief thing- of that later. Forgive me for

sometimes calling you Alyosha; an old woman like me may take

liberties," she smiled coquettishly; "but that will do later, too. The

important thing is that I shouldn't forget what is important. Please

remind me of it yourself. As soon as my tongue runs away with me,

you just say 'the important thing?' Ach! how do I know now what is

of most importance? Ever since Lise took back her promise- her

childish promise, Alexey Fyodorovitch- to marry you, you've

realised, of course, that it was only the playful fancy of a sick

child who had been so long confined to her chair- thank God, she can

walk now!... that-new doctor Katya sent for from Moscow for your

unhappy brother, who will to-morrow- but why speak of to-morrow? I

am ready to die at the very thought of to-morrow. Ready to die of

curiosity.... That doctor was with us yesterday and saw Lise.... I

paid him fifty roubles for the visit. But that's not the point, that's

not the point again. You see, I'm mixing everything up. I am in such a

hurry. Why am I in a hurry? I don't understand. It's awful how I

seem growing unable to understand anything. Everything seems mixed

up in a sort of tangle. I am afraid you are so bored you will jump

up and run away, and that will be all I shall see of you. Goodness!

Why are we sitting here and no coffee? Yulia, Glafira, coffee!"

    Alyosha made haste to thank her, and said that he had only just

had coffee.

    "Where?"

    "At Agrfena Alexandrovna's."

    "At... at that woman's? Ah, it's she has brought ruin on everyone.

I know nothing about it though. They say she has become a saint,

though it's rather late in the day. She had better have done it

before. What use is it now? Hush, hush, Alexey Fyodorovitch, for I

have so much to say to you that I am afraid I shall tell you

nothing. This awful trial... I shall certainly go, I am making

arrangements. I shall be carried there in my chair; besides I can

sit up. I shall have people with me. And, you know, I am a witness.

How shall I speak, how shall I speak? I don't know what I shall say.

One has to take an oath, hasn't one?"

    "Yes; but I don't think you will be able to go."

    "I can sit up. Ah, you put me out! Ah! this trial, this savage

act, and then they are all going to Siberia, some are getting married,

and all this so quickly, so quickly, everything's changing, and at

last- nothing. All grow old and have death to look forward to. Well,

so be it! I am weary. This Katya, cette charmante personne, has

disappointed all my hopes. Now she is going to follow one of your

brothers to Siberia, and your other brother is going to follow her,

and will live in the nearest town, and they will all torment one

another. It drives me out of my mind. Worst of all- the publicity. The

story has been told a million times over in all the papers in Moscow

and Petersburg. Ah! yes, would you believe it, there's a paragraph

that I was 'a dear friend' of your brother's- , I can't repeat the

horrid word. just fancy, just fancy!"

    "Impossible! Where was the paragraph? What did it say?"

    "I'll show you directly. I got the paper and read it yesterday.

Here, in the Petersburg paper Gossip. The paper began coming out

this year. I am awfully fond of gossip, and I take it in, and now it

pays me out- this is what gossip comes to! Here it is, here, this

passage. Read it."

    And she handed Alyosha a sheet of newspaper which had been under

her pillow.

    It was not exactly that she was upset, she seemed overwhelmed

and perhaps everything really was mixed up in a tangle in her head.

The paragraph was very typical, and must have been a great shock to

her, but, fortunately perhaps, she was unable to keep her mind fixed

on any one subject at that moment, and so might race off in a minute

to something else and quite forget the newspaper.

    Alyosha was well aware that the story of the terrible case had

spread all over Russia. And, good heavens! what wild rumours about his

brother, about the Karamazovs, and about himself he had read in the

course of those two months, among other equally credible items! One

paper had even stated that he had gone into a monastery and become a

monk, in horror at his brother's crime. Another contradicted this, and

stated that he and his elder, Father Zossima, had broken into the

monastery chest and "made tracks from the monastery." The present

paragraph in the paper Gossip was under the heading, "The Karamazov

Case at Skotoprigonyevsk." (That, alas! was the name of our little

town. I had hitherto kept it concealed.) It was brief, and Madame

Hohlakov was not directly mentioned in it. No names appeared, in fact.

It was merely stated that the criminal, whose approaching trial was

making such a sensation- retired army captain, an idle swaggerer,

and reactionary bully- was continually involved in amorous

intrigues, and particularly popular with certain ladies "who were

pining in solitude." One such lady, a pining widow, who tried to

seem young though she had a grown-up daughter, was so fascinated by

him that only two hours before the crime she offered him three

thousand roubles, on condition that he would elope with her to the

gold mines. But the criminal, counting on escaping punishment, had

preferred to murder his father to get the three thousand rather than

go off to Siberia with the middle-aged charms of his pining lady. This

playful paragraph finished, of course, with an outburst of generous

indignation at the wickedness of parricide and at the lately abolished

institution of serfdom. Reading it with curiosity, Alyosha folded up

the paper and handed it back to Madame Hohlakov.

    "Well, that must be me," she hurried on again. "Of course I am

meant. Scarcely more than an hour before, I suggested gold mines to

him, and here they talk of 'middle-aged charms' as though that were my

motive! He writes that out of spite! God Almighty forgive him for

the middle-aged charms, as I forgive him! You know it's -Do you know

who it is? It's your friend Rakitin."

    "Perhaps," said Alyosha, "though I've heard nothing about it."

    "It's he, it's he! No 'perhaps' about it. You know I turned him

out of the house.... You know all that story, don't you?"

    "I know that you asked him not to visit you for the future, but

why it was, I haven't heard... from you, at least."

    "Ah, then you've heard it from him! He abuses me, I suppose,

abuses me dreadfully?"

    "Yes, he does; but then he abuses everyone. But why you've given

him up I, haven't heard from him either. I meet him very seldom now,

indeed. We are not friends."

    "Well, then, I'll tell you all about it. There's no help for it,

I'll confess, for there is one point in which I was perhaps to

blame. Only a little, little point, so little that perhaps it

doesn't count. You see, my dear boy"- Madame Hohlakov suddenly

looked arch and a charming, though enigmatic, smile played about her

lips- "you see, I suspect... You must forgive me, Alyosha. I am like a

mother to you... No, no; quite the contrary. I speak to you now as

though you were my father- mother's quite out of place. Well, it's

as though I were confessing to Father Zossima, that's just it. I

called you a monk just now. Well, that poor young man, your friend,

Rakitin (Mercy on us! I can't be angry with him. I feel cross, but not

very), that frivolous young man, would you believe it, seems to have

taken it into his head to fall in love with me. I only noticed it

later. At first- a month ago- he only began to come oftener to see me,

almost every day; though, of course, we were acquainted before. I knew

nothing about it... and suddenly it dawned upon me, and I began to

notice things with surprise. You know, two months ago, that modest,

charming, excellent young man, Ilyitch Perhotin, who's in the

service here, began to be a regular visitor at the house. You met

him here ever so many times yourself. And he is an excellent,

earnest young man, isn't he? He comes once every three days, not every

day (though I should be glad to see him every day), and always so well

dressed. Altogether, I love young people, Alyosha, talented, modest,

like you, and he has almost the mind of a statesman, he talks so

charmingly, and I shall certainly, certainly try and get promotion for

him. He is a future diplomat. On that awful day he almost saved me

from death by coming in the night. And your friend Rakitin comes in

such boots, and always stretches them out on the carpet.... He began

hinting at his feelings, in fact, and one day, as he was going, he

squeezed my hand terribly hard. My foot began to swell directly

after he pressed my hand like that. He had met Pyotr Ilyitch here

before, and would you believe it, he is always gibing at him, growling

at him, for some reason. I simply looked at the way they went on

together and laughed inwardly. So I was sitting here alone- no, I

was laid up then. Well, I was lying here alone and suddenly Rakitin

comes in, and only fancy! brought me some verses of his own

composition- a short poem, on my bad foot: that is, he described my

foot in a poem. Wait a minute- how did it go?



                     A captivating little foot.



    It began somehow like that. I can never remember poetry. I've

got it here. I'll show it to you later. But it's a charming thing-

charming; and, you know, it's not only about the foot, it had a good

moral, too, a charming idea, only I've forgotten it; in fact, it was

just the thing for an album. So, of course, I thanked him, and he

was evidently flattered. I'd hardly had time to thank him when in

comes Pyotr Ilyitch, and Rakitin suddenly looked as black as night.

I could see that Pyotr Ilyitch was in the way, for Rakitin certainly

wanted to say something after giving me the verses. I had a

presentiment of it; but Pyotr Ilyitch came in. I showed Pyotr

Ilyitch the verses and didn't say who was the author. But I am

convinced that he guessed, though he won't own it to this day, and

declares he had no idea. But he says that on purpose. Pyotr Ilyitch

began to laugh at once, and fell to criticising it. 'Wretched

doggerel,' he said they were, 'some divinity student must have written

them,' and with such vehemence, such vehemence! Then, instead of

laughing, your friend flew into a rage. 'Good gracious!' I thought,

'they'll fly at each other.' 'It was I who wrote them,' said he. 'I

wrote them as a joke,' he said, 'for I think it degrading to write

verses.... But they are good poetry. They want to put a monument to

your Pushkin for writing about women's feet, while I wrote with a

moral purpose, and you,' said he, 'are an advocate of serfdom.

You've no humane ideas,' said he. 'You have no modern enlightened

feelings, you are uninfluenced by progress, you are a mere

official,' he said, 'and you take bribes.' Then I began screaming

and imploring them. And, you know, Pyotr Ilyitch is anything but a

coward. He at once took up the most gentlemanly tone, looked at him

sarcastically, listened, and apologised. 'I'd no idea,' said he. 'I

shouldn't have said it, if I had known. I should have praised it.

Poets are all so irritable,' he said. In short, he laughed at him

under cover of the most gentlemanly tone. He explained to me

afterwards that it was all sarcastic. I thought he was in earnest.

Only as I lay there, just as before you now, I thought, 'Would it,

or would it not, be the proper thing for me to turn Rakitin out for

shouting so rudely at a visitor in my house?' And, would you believe

it, I lay here, shut my eyes, and wondered, would it be the proper

thing or not. I kept worrying and worrying, and my heart began to

beat, and I couldn't make up my mind whether to make an outcry or not.

One voice seemed to be telling me, 'Speak,' and the other 'No, don't

speak.' And no sooner had the second voice said that than I cried out,

and fainted. Of course, there was a fuss. I got up suddenly and said

to Rakitin, 'It's painful for me to say it, but I don't wish to see

you in my house again.' So I turned him out. Ah! Alexey

Fyodorovitch, I know myself I did wrong. I was putting it on. I wasn't

angry with him at all, really; but I suddenly fancied- that was what

did it- that it would be such a fine scene.... And yet, believe me, it

was quite natural, for I really shed tears and cried for several

days afterwards, and then suddenly, one afternoon, I forgot all

about it. So it's a fortnight since he's been here, and I kept

wondering whether he would come again. I wondered even yesterday, then

suddenly last night came this Gossip. I read it and gasped. Who

could have written it? He must have written it. He went home, sat

down, wrote it on the spot, sent it, and they put it in. It was a

fortnight ago, you see. But, Alyosha, it's awful how I keep talking

and don't say what I want to say. the words come of themselves!"

    "It's very important for me to be in time to see my brother

to-day," Alyosha faltered.

    "To be sure, to be sure! You bring it all back to me. Listen, what

is an aberration?"

    "What aberration?" asked Alyosha, wondering.

    "In the legal sense. An aberration in which everything is

pardonable. Whatever you do, you will be acquitted at once."

    "What do you mean?"

    "I'll tell you. This Katya... Ah! she is a charming, charming

creature, only I never can make out who it is she is in love with. She

was with me some time ago and I couldn't get anything out of her.

Especially as she won't talk to me except on the surface now. She is

always talking about my health and nothing else, and she takes up such

a tone with me, too. I simply said to myself, 'Well so be it. I

don't care'...Oh, yes. I was talking of aberration. This doctor has

come. You know a doctor has come? Of course, you know it- the one

who discovers madmen. You wrote for him. No, it wasn't you, but Katya.

It's all Katya's doing. Well, you see, a man may be sitting

perfectly sane and suddenly have an aberration. He may be conscious

and know what he is doing and yet be in a state of aberration. And

there's no doubt that Dmitri Fyodorovitch was suffering from

aberration. They found out about aberration as soon as the law

courts were reformed. It's all the good effect of the reformed law

courts. The doctor has been here and questioned me about that evening,

about the gold mines. 'How did he seem then?' he asked me. He must

have been in a state of aberration. He came in shouting, 'Money,

money, three thousand! Give me three thousand!' and then went away and

immediately did the murder. 'I don't want to murder him,' he said, and

he suddenly went and murdered him. That's why they'll acquit him,

because he struggled against it and yet he murdered him."

    "But he didn't murder him," Alyosha interrupted rather sharply. He

felt more and more sick with anxiety and impatience.

    "Yes, I know it was that old man Grigory murdered him."

    "Grigory?" cried Alyosha.

    "Yes, yes; it was Grigory. He lay as Dmitri Fyodorovitch struck

him down, and then got up, saw the door open, went in and killed

Fyodor Pavlovitch."

    "But why, why?"

    "Suffering from aberration. When he recovered from the blow Dmitri

Fyodorovitch gave him on the head, he was suffering from aberration:

he went and committed the murder. As for his saying he didn't, he very

likely doesn't remember. Only, you know, it'll be better, ever so much

better, if Dmitri Fyodorovitch murdered him. And that's how it must

have been, though I say it was Grigory. It certainly was Dmitri

Fyodorovitch, and that's better, ever so much better! Oh! not better

that a son should have killed his father, I don't defend that.

Children ought to honour their parents, and yet it would be better

if it were he, as you'd have nothing to cry over then, for he did it

when he was unconscious or rather when he was conscious, but did not

know what he was doing. Let them acquit him- that's so humane, and

would show what a blessing reformed law courts are. I knew nothing

about it, but they say they have been so a long time. And when I heard

it yesterday, I was so struck by it that I wanted to send for you at

once. And if he is acquitted, make him come straight from the law

courts to dinner with me, and I'll have a party of friends, and

we'll drink to the reformed law courts. I don't believe he'd be

dangerous; besides, I'll invite a great many friends, so that he could

always be led out if he did anything. And then he might be made a

justice of the peace or something in another town, for those who

have been in trouble themselves make the best judges. And, besides,

who isn't suffering from aberration nowadays?- you, I, all of us,

are in a state of aberration, and there are ever so many examples of

it: a man sits singing a song, suddenly something annoys him, he takes

a pistol and shoots the first person he comes across, and no one

blames him for it. I read that lately, and all the doctors confirm it.

The doctors are always confirming; they confirm,- anything. Why, my

Lise is in a state of aberration. She made me cry again yesterday, and

the day before, too, and to-day I suddenly realised that it's all

due to aberration. Oh, Lise grieves me so! I believe she's quite

mad. Why did she send for you? Did she send for you or did you come of

yourself?"

    "Yes, she sent for me, and I am just going to her." Alyosha got up

resolutely.

    "Oh, my dear, dear Alexey Fyodorovitch, perhaps that's what's most

important," Madame Hohlakov cried, suddenly bursting into tears.

"God knows I trust Lise to you with all my heart, and it's no matter

her sending for you on the sly, without telling her mother. But

forgive me, I can't trust my daughter so easily to your brother Ivan

Fyodorovitch, though I still consider him the most chivalrous young

man. But only fancy, he's been to see Lise and I knew nothing about

it!"

    "How? What? When?" Alyosha was exceedingly surprised. He had not

sat down again and listened standing.

    "I will tell you; that's perhaps why I asked you to come, for I

don't know now why I did ask you to come. Well, Ivan Fyodorovitch

has been to see me twice, since he came back from Moscow. First time

he came as a friend to call on me, and the second time Katya was

here and he came because he heard she was here. I didn't, of course,

expect him to come often, knowing what a lot he has to do as it is,

vous comprenez, cette affaire et la mort terrible de votre papa.

(You know, this affair and your father's terrible death.) But I

suddenly heard he'd been here again, not to see me but to see Lise.

That's six days ago now. He came, stayed five minutes, and went

away. And I didn't hear of it till three days afterwards, from

Glafira, so it was a great shock to me. I sent for Lise directly.

She laughed. 'He thought you were asleep,' she said, 'and came in to

me to ask after your health.' Of course, that's how it happened. But

Lise, Lise, mercy on us, how she distresses me! Would you believe

it, one night, four days ago, just after you saw her last time, and

had gone away, she suddenly had a fit, screaming, shrieking,

hysterics! Why is it I never have hysterics? Then, next day another

fit, and the same thing on the third, and yesterday too, and then

yesterday that aberration. She suddenly screamed out, 'I hate Ivan

Fyodorovitch. I insist on your never letting him come to the house

again.' I was struck dumb at these amazing words, and answered, 'On

what grounds could I refuse to see such an excellent young man, a

young man of such learning too, and so unfortunate?'- for all this

business is a misfortune, isn't it?' She suddenly burst out laughing

at my words, and so rudely, you know. Well, I was pleased; I thought I

had amused her and the fits would pass off, especially as I wanted

to refuse to see Ivan Fyodorovitch anyway on account of his strange

visits without my knowledge, and meant to ask him for an

explanation. But early this morning Lise waked up and flew into a

passion with Yulia and, would you believe it, slapped her in the face.

That's monstrous; I am always polite to my servants. And an hour later

she was hugging Yulia's feet and kissing them. She sent a message to

me that she wasn't coming to me at all, and would never come and see

me again, and when I dragged myself down to her, she rushed to kiss

me, crying, and as she kissed me, she pushed me out of the room

without saying a word, so I couldn't find out what was the matter.

Now, dear Alexey Fyodorovitch, I rest all my hopes on you, and, of

course, my whole life is in your hands. I simply beg you to go to Lise

and find out everything from her, as you alone can, and come back

and tell me- me, her mother, for you understand it will be the death

of me, simply the death of me, if this goes on, or else I shall run

away. I can stand no more. I have patience; but I may lose patience,

and then... then something awful will happen. Ah, dear me! At last,

Pyotr Ilyitch!" cried Madame Hohlakov, beaming all over as she saw

Perhotin enter the room. "You are late, you are late! Well, sit

down, speak, put us out of suspense. What does the counsel say.

Where are you off to, Alexey Fyodorovitch?"

    "To Lise."

    "Oh, yes. You won't forget, you won't forget what I asked you?

It's a question of life and death!

    "Of course, I won't forget, if I can... but I am so late,"

muttered Alyosha, beating a hasty retreat.

    "No, be sure, be sure to come in; don't say 'If you can.' I

shall die if you don't," Madame Hohlakov called after him, but Alyosha

had already left the room.