He reckoned that he would not find his brother Ivan Fyodorovich, who was so close with her, at her house: his brother Ivan was certainly with their father now. It was even more certain that he would not find Dmitri there, and he sensed why. So their conversation would be one to one. He would have liked very much to see his brother Dmitri, to run over to him before this fateful conversation. He would have a word with him without showing him the letter. But his brother Dmitri lived far away and most likely was not at home either. He stood still for a moment and at last made a final decision. He crossed himself with an accustomed and hasty cross, at once smiled at something, and firmly went to meet his terrible lady.
He knew her house. But if he were to go to Main Street, then across the square and so on, it would be rather long. Our small town is extremely sprawling, and the distances can sometimes be quite great. Besides, his father was expecting him, had perhaps not yet forgotten his order, and might wax capricious, and therefore Alyosha had to hurry to get to one place and the other. As a result of all these considerations, he decided to cut the distance by going the back way, which he knew like his own hand. That meant passing along deserted fences, almost without a path, sometimes even climbing over other people’s fences and past other people’s yards, where, by the way, everyone knew him and said hello to him. That way he could get to Main Street twice as soon. In one place he even had to pass very close to his father’s house—namely, by the garden adjacent to his father’s, which belonged to a decrepit, crooked little house with four windows. The owner of this little house was, as Alyosha knew, a bedridden old woman who lived with her daughter, a former civilized chambermaid from the capital, who until recently had lived in generals’ homes, and who now had come home for about a year already, because of the old woman’s infirmity, and paraded around in smart dresses. The old woman and her daughter fell into terrible poverty, however, and even went every day to the kitchen of their neighbor, Fyodor Pavlovich, for soup and bread. Marfa Ignatievna gladly ladled out the soup for them. But the daughter, while coming for soup, did not sell a single one of her dresses, one of which even had a very long train. This last circumstance Alyosha had learned—quite accidentally, of course—from his friend Rakitin, who knew decidedly everything in their little town, and having learned it, he naturally forgot it at once. But coming up to the neighbor’s garden, he suddenly remembered precisely about the train, quickly raised his downcast and thoughtful head, and ... stumbled into a most unexpected meeting. In the neighbors’ garden, perched on something on the other side of the wattle fence, and sticking up half over it, stood his brother Dmitri Fyodorovich, wildly gesticulating, waving and beckoning to him, apparently afraid not only to shout but even to speak aloud, for fear of being heard. Alyosha at once ran up to the fence.
“It’s a good thing you looked up yourself—I was just about to call out to you,” Dmitri Fyodorovich whispered to him joyfully and hurriedly. “Climb up here! Quick! Ah, how good that you’ve come. I was just thinking about you...”
Alyosha was glad himself and was only wondering how to get over the fence. But “Mitya” caught hold of his elbow with his powerful hand and helped him to jump. Alyosha tucked up his cassock and jumped over with the agility of a barefoot street urchin.
“Bravo! Let’s go!” Mitya burst out in a delighted whisper.
“Where?” Alyosha also whispered, looking around on all sides and finding himself in a completely deserted garden with no one there but the two of them. The garden was small, but even so the owner’s little house stood no less than fifty paces away from them. “Why are you whispering? There’s no one here.”
“Why am I whispering? Devil take it,” Dmitri Fyodorovich suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs, “why am I whispering! You see what jumbles of nature can suddenly happen? I’m here in secret, I’m guarding a secret. Explanation to follow; but knowing it’s a secret, I suddenly began to speak secretly, whispering like a fool when there’s no need to. Let’s go! Over there! Till then, silence. I want to kiss you!
Glory to the Highest in the world, Glory to the Highest in me ... ![79]
I was sitting here reciting that just before you came.”
The garden was about three acres or a little less, but there were trees planted only around it, along all four fences—apple trees, maples, lindens, birches. The middle of the garden was empty, a meadow that yielded several hundred pounds of hay in the summer. The owner rented the garden out for a few roubles each spring. There were rows of raspberries, gooseberries, currants, all near the fence as well; there was a vegetable garden up next to the house, started, in fact, quite recently. Dmitri Fyodorovich led his guest to the corner of the garden farthest from the house. Suddenly, amid a thicket of lindens and old currant, elder, snow ball, and lilac bushes, something that looked like the ruins of an ancient green gazebo appeared, blackened and lopsided, with lattice sides, but with a roof under which it was still possible to find shelter from the rain. The gazebo had been built God knows when, about fifty years ago according to tradition, by the then owner of the house, Alexander Karlovich von Schmidt, a retired lieutenant colonel. But everything. was decayed, the floor was rotted, all the planks were loose, the wood smelled of dampness. Inside the gazebo stood a green wooden table, fixed in the ground, and around it were benches, also green, on which it was still possible to sit. Alyosha had noticed at once his brother’s exalted state, but as he entered the gazebo, he saw on the table half a bottle of cognac and a liqueur glass.
“It’s cognac!” Mitya laughed loudly. “I see your look: ‘He’s drinking again! ‘ Do not believe the phantom.
Do not believe the empty, lying crowd, Forget your doubts . . .[80]
I’m not drinking, I’m just relishing, as that pig of yours, Rakitin, says; and he’ll become a state councillor and still say ‘relishing.’ Sit down. I could take you, Alyoshka, and press you to my heart until I crushed you, for in all the world ... I really ... re-al-ly ... (understand?) ... love only you!”
He spoke this last line almost in a sort of ecstasy.
“Only you, and also one other, a ‘low woman’ I’ve fallen in love with and it was the end of me. But to fall in love does not mean to love. One can fall in love and still hate. Remember that! I say it now while there’s still joy in it. Sit down here at the table, I’ll be right beside you, and I’ll look at you and go on talking. You’ll keep quiet and I’ll keep talking, for the time has come. And by the way, you know, I’ve decided we really ought to speak softly, because here ... here ... the most unexpected ears may turn up. I’ll explain everything: sequel to follow, as they say. Why was I longing for you, thirsting for you now, all these days and now? (It’s five days since I dropped anchor here.) Why all these days? Because I’ll tell everything to you alone, because it’s necessary, because you’re necessary, because tomorrow I’ll fall from the clouds, because tomorrow life will end and begin. Have you ever felt, have you ever dreamed that you were falling off a mountain into a deep pit? Well, I’m falling now, and not in a dream. And I’m not afraid, and don’t you be afraid either. That is, I am afraid, but I’m delighted! That is, not delighted, but ecstatic ... Oh, to hell with it, it’s all the same, whatever it is. Strong spirit, weak spirit, woman’s spirit—whatever it is! Let us praise nature: see how the sun shines, how clear the sky is, the leaves are all green, it’s still summer, four o’clock in the afternoon, so calm! Where were you going?”
“To father’s, but first I wanted to stop and see Katerina Ivanovna.”
“To her, and to father! Whew! A coincidence! Why was I calling you, wishing for you, why was I longing and thirsting for you with every curve of my soul and even with my ribs? Because I wanted to send you precisely to father, and then to her as well, to Katerina Ivanovna, to have done with her and with father. To send an angel. I could have sent anybody, but I need to send an angel. And here you are going to her and father yourself.”