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双语小说
【分类】双语小说
-[作者: 陀思妥耶夫斯基]
阅读：[7390]
PART I:Book I. The History Of A Family:Chapter IV. The Third Son, Alyosha
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当时他才二十岁，而他的二哥伊凡已快二十四岁，大哥德米特里已经过了二十七岁。首先我要声明，阿廖沙这个年轻人绝不是宗教狂，至少据我看来，甚至也不是神秘主义者。让我先把自己的全部观点告诉大家：他只是个早熟的博爱者罢了。他之所以遁入空门，那只是因为当初唯有这条路才能打动他，向他提供一种理想的归宿，使他的灵魂摆脱尘世仇恨的黑暗而进入爱的光明。这条道路之所以能打动他，只是因为他在这里遇到了一个据他认为是非同寻常的人物——我们修道院里德高望重的佐西马长老，他那颗如饥似渴的心灵怀着初恋般的炽烈感情迷上了这位长老。不过我并不反对这样一种说法，即当时他就已经是个非常奇特的人，甚至从摇篮时代开始就显得与众不同了。顺便说一句，我在上文已经提到，他母亲去世的时候他才三岁多一点，可是他却一辈子记住了她，记住了她的面容，她的爱抚，“简直活生生地站在我面前”。众所周知，年纪再小的孩子，哪怕是两岁多的幼儿，也能保留这种记忆，只不过在以后的一生中仅仅是作为黑暗中的几个亮点出现的，就好比从一幅巨画中撕下的一角，整幅画已经暗淡无光，甚至消失，唯独这一角依然光彩夺目。他的情况就是这样。他记得在一个寂静的夏日傍晚，夕阳的斜辉照进敞开的窗户（这斜辉他记得特别清晰），房间的一角有尊圣像，圣像前点着圣灯，她母亲跪在圣像前痛哭，歇斯底里似的大喊大叫，双手把他紧紧搂在怀里，勒得他都感到疼了。她双手捧着他，送到圣像前，她替他向圣母祈祷，似乎在祈求圣母庇护……突然，奶妈跑进来，惊恐万分地把他从母亲手里夺走了。真是太奇怪了！阿廖沙在那一瞬间记住了母亲的脸。据他记忆，他说那是一张麻木迟钝却又非常美丽的脸。不过他不太愿意把这回忆告诉别人。在童年和少年时代，他的感情很少外露，甚至不太愿意说话，这倒不是由于不信任别人，也不是由于胆小或者生性孤僻，恰恰相反，完全是由于别的原因，由于某种纯粹个人的内心忧虑，这种忧虑跟别人毫无关系，而对他自己则至关重要，以致似乎忘记了别人。不过他对人们却怀着一颗爱心，似乎他一辈子都绝对信赖别人，而其他人也从来没有把他当做一个头脑简单或者天真幼稚的人，他身上似乎有一种东西在告诉并暗示大家（以后一辈子都是这样）：他不想充当人们的裁判，他不愿意也决不会去谴责别人，他甚至会容忍一切，丝毫没有谴责的意思，尽管内心经常感到悲伤。不仅如此，在这方面他甚至到了任何人都无法使他惊讶和惧怕的地步。这情形在他步入青年时代的时候就已经开始了。他二十岁那年去看望父亲，走进那个名副其实的肮脏的淫窟，这位纯洁无邪的青年到了实在看不下去的时候才默默地离开，然而却没有丝毫轻蔑或责备任何人的神色。他父亲原来是寄人篱下的食客，所以对屈辱特别敏感、特别计较，见了他起初心存疑虑，神色阴郁（说他“嘴上一声不吭，可肚子里鬼点子多着呢”），可是过后不久，不到两个星期，便开始经常拥抱他、亲吻他了，尽管是流着醉醺醺的眼泪，出于酒后的冲动，但显然是真心诚意地、打心眼里爱他了，当然，他这种人还从来没有这样爱过任何人……
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不论这年轻人到哪儿，大家都喜欢他，他从小就是个人见人爱的孩子。他到了抚养他的恩人叶菲姆·彼得罗维奇·波列诺夫家里，便博得了全家的喜欢，大家都把他当成了自己家里的孩子。而他进入这个家庭时还是个婴儿，那种年龄的孩子无论如何不会耍什么心计，不可能掌握讨好迎合、巴结奉承的技巧或者迫使别人喜欢自己的本领。他身上就有这种特别招人喜爱的天赋，即所谓来自天性，没有丝毫的做作，显得十分自然。他在学校里也是这样。尽管像他这样的孩子似乎会引起同学们不信任，有时候会招来讥笑，甚至憎恨，譬如说，他经常陷入沉思，似乎不怎么合群，他从小就喜欢躲在角落里看书，但是同学们都非常爱他，他在校期间可以说始终是大家共同的宠儿。他难得淘气，甚至难得快活，可是只要看他一眼，马上就会发现这并不是因为他生性忧郁，恰恰相反，他的心情始终很平静很开朗。在同龄人中间他从来不愿意显得与众不同。也许正是由于这个原因，他从来不惧怕任何人，而男孩子们马上会明白他丝毫没有因为自己无所畏惧而自以为了不起，他的神情看上去好像他根本不知道自己十分勇敢、无所畏惧似的。他从来不记恨。往往有这样的情形，他受了委屈，一小时之后就会搭理欺侮他的人，或者主动跟那人说话，态度十分诚恳，内心不存丝毫芥蒂，仿佛两人之间根本没有发生什么事似的。这时候他的神态不像是偶尔忘记了他受到的委屈或者故意原谅了对方，而纯粹是他并不认为这是什么委屈。正是这一点令孩子们彻底佩服他。他还有一个特点，就是全校各个年级，自低年级直到高年级的所有同学都要取笑他，但这不是恶毒的嘲笑，而仅仅是因为他们感到这样做好玩。他身上的这个特点便是一种古怪而强烈的害羞心理和纯洁感情。他不愿去听那些关于女人的众所周知的言论，不幸的是，这种“众所周知”的言论在学校里并未杜绝。那些心灵纯洁的男孩，几乎还是小孩子，经常喜欢在教室里私下甚至公开谈论那些连大兵们都说不出口的事情，那些具体的场面和情状。不仅如此，我们有知识的上流社会的青少年在这方面熟悉的东西有许多是大兵们不知道也无法理解的。这也许还算不上道德败坏，也算不上厚颜无耻，算不上真正的深入骨髓的腐化堕落，而仅仅是一种表面的恬不知耻，然而正是这种表面的无耻行为往往被他们当做体面、微妙、洒脱，值得仿效的东西。他们发现“阿廖沙·卡拉马佐夫”听到别人说起“这种事”的时候就赶快用手捂住耳朵，于是有时候故意围住他，强行扳开他的手，对着他的两只耳朵喊脏话。他拼命摆脱他们，一屁股坐到地板上或者闭起眼睛躺下来，对他们的恶作剧毫无怨言，也不骂他们一声，默默地听任他们欺负。不过到最后他们也就不再欺负他，不再讥笑他是“黄毛丫头”了，反倒可怜起他来。顺便说一句，他在学习上一直是班里的优等生，但从来没有得过第一名。
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叶菲姆·彼得罗维奇死后，阿廖沙在省城的中学里又呆了两年。悲伤不已的叶菲姆·彼得罗维奇的夫人在丈夫死后立即带着由清一色的女性组成的全家到意大利定居，阿廖沙则到了另外两位太太家里。这两位太太他以前从来没有见过，是叶菲姆·彼得罗维奇的远房亲戚，至于她们为什么要收养他，连他自己都不知道。他从来不过问自己靠谁的钱生活，这也是他的一个特点，甚至是非常突出的特点。在这方面他跟自己的二哥伊凡·费奥多罗维奇截然不同，他二哥在大学读书的头两年吃尽了苦头，只能靠自己的劳动养活自己，从小就痛心地意识到自己寄人篱下，受人恩惠。不过阿列克谢的这个性格特征似乎不应该受到过分严厉的责备，因为任何一个对他稍有了解的人，如果出现这类疑问，就立即会相信，阿列克谢肯定是这样一种傻里傻气的青年，即使他突然拥有了一大笔资产，那么他会毫不犹豫地送给任何一个向他要钱的人，或者捐给慈善事业，或者也许会随随便便送给一名狡猾的骗子，如果那骗子向他伸手的话。总而言之，他好像一点也不知道金钱的价值，当然不是指字面上的意义。他从来没有讨过零用钱，有时候给他点零用钱，那么他一连几个星期都不知道这些钱该怎么花，或者根本不加珍惜，转眼间便分文不剩了。彼得·亚历山德罗维奇·米乌索夫是个把金钱和资产阶级的信誉看得很重的人，他仔细观察了阿列克谢之后，有一次对他作了这样一个深中肯綮的评价：“像他这样的人也许是世界上独一无二的，即使突然把他放到一个有百万人口的陌生城市的广场上，他身上不名一文，那他也决不会丧命，决不会饿死或者冻死，因为别人会马上供他吃喝，马上会给他提供住处，如果不给他安排，那么他自己会安排的，而且他可以不费一点力气，不会忍受屈辱，而照顾他的人也决不会感到是一种累赘，也许恰恰相反，甚至认为这是一种乐趣。”
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他在中学里没能结束自己的学业。离毕业还有整整一年时，他突然对那两位太太说，他想回到父亲那儿去办一件事。两位太太非常怜惜他，舍不得放他走。路费很便宜，他当掉自己的怀表——那是他的恩人一家出国前送给他的礼物，两位太太不允许他这样做，给了他一笔充裕的盘缠，甚至给了他新的内衣和外衣。但是他把其中一半的钱还给她们，说是他决定坐三等车厢回去。他一回到我们城里，他父亲劈头就问：“为什么不等毕业就回来了？”他一句话也没回答，听说当时他显得心事重重。不久发现他原来要寻找自己母亲的坟墓。当时他自己也承认他回来就是为了这个目的。但是，他此行的全部目的未必仅限于此。很有可能当时连他自己都不知道甚至无法解释清楚，究竟是什么原因使他心血来潮，并且不可抗拒地把他吸引到一条陌生却又难以避免的新路上。费奥多尔·巴夫洛维奇无法向他指出埋葬第二位妻子的地点，因为自从棺材入土之后他再也没有去过墓地，时间一长，连当时埋葬在何处也完全记不得了……
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顺便谈谈费奥多尔·巴夫洛维奇的情况吧。在这之前很长一段时间他没有住在我们城里。第二个妻子死后过了三四年，他前往南俄，最后到了敖德萨，在那儿一直住了好几年。据他自己说，起初结识了“许多男男女女老老少少的犹太佬”，到后来不仅那些做小商小贩的“犹太佬”，就是有脸面的犹太人也接待他了。应该承认，他一生中正是在这个阶段充分发挥了那种赚钱捞钱的特殊本领。他重新回到我们这个小城市不过是阿廖沙到来之前两三年的事。他原来的那些熟人发现他衰老得十分厉害，尽管按他的年龄还不该这么衰老，至于他的行为举止，非但没有变得高尚些，反而更加卑鄙无耻了。譬如说，这个原来的小丑萌生了一种无耻的需要——把别人装扮成小丑。他从前就喜欢跟女人胡搞，现在似乎变本加厉，更加恶劣了。不久，他在全县各处开了许多新的酒馆。显然，他的家产也许达到十万卢布，或者略为少些。不久便有许多城里和县里的居民向他告贷，当然喽，要有极可靠的抵押。最近以来他似乎老态毕露，失去了平衡和精明，陷于浮躁状态，做事丢三落四，有始无终，并且三天两头喝得烂醉如泥，倘若没有那个一直服侍他的仆人格里戈里——这时候他也十分老迈，有时候几乎像家庭教师那样侍候他——那么费奥多尔·巴夫洛维奇的生活不免会碰到种种特别的麻烦。阿廖沙的到来似乎在道德方面也对他产生了影响，这个早衰的老人久已枯寂的心里似乎有什么东西苏醒过来了。“你知道吗，”他常常一边端详着阿廖沙一边对他说，“你像她，像那个疯疯癫癫的女人！”他这样称呼自己已经去世的妻子，阿廖沙的母亲。“疯疯癫癫的女人”的坟墓最后还是由格里戈里指给阿廖沙看的，他把他领到我们城市的公共墓地，在一个偏僻的角落里指给他看一块价钱不贵但还算体面的铁铸墓碑，墓碑上甚至刻着死者的姓名、身份、年龄和死亡日期，墓碑下方还刻有四行类似诗歌的文字，那是从一般中等人家坟墓上常用的古体悼亡诗中选取的。奇怪的是，这块墓碑是格里戈里竖的，他自掏腰包，亲手在可怜的“疯癫女人”的坟墓上竖了这块碑，那是在他反复多次向费奥多尔·巴夫洛维奇提起这个坟墓最后终于惹得主人厌烦而离开此地前往敖德萨之后的事。主人不仅对这个坟墓不顾不问，而且不愿意回忆过去的往事。阿廖沙在自己母亲的墓地里没有说过一句特别动情的话，他只是仔细倾听了格里戈里郑重其事而又合情合理地叙述立墓碑的过程，垂着脑袋站了一会儿，然后默默地离开了，从此以后他甚至整整一年都没有去过他母亲的墓地。不过对于费奥多尔·巴夫洛维奇，这个细小的情节也发生了作用，而且这作用非同寻常。他突然拿了一千卢布送到我们的修道院用作追祭妻子的亡灵，但不是追祭第二位妻子，阿廖沙的生母，那个疯癫女人的亡灵，而是第一位妻子，就是那位经常揍他的阿杰莱达·伊凡诺芙娜的亡灵。那天晚上他喝得酩酊大醉，当着阿廖沙的面把修士大骂一通。他自己远不是信教的人，他也许永远不会买五戈比的蜡烛放到圣像面前。他这种人往往会莫名其妙地迸发出种种出人意料的感情和冒出出人意料的想法。
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我已经说过，他显得十分衰老，他的外貌再清楚不过地说明了他前半辈子生活的特征和本质。除了他那永远流露着蛮横、无耻、怀疑和讥讽的小眼睛底下两坨肥大的眼袋，除了那张胖胖的小脸上多而深的皱纹，尖削的下颌下还挂着一个硕大的喉结，肉鼓鼓的，像一只椭圆形的钱袋，这更给他增添了一种令人厌恶的色迷迷的模样。还有一张食肉兽似的长嘴，两片厚厚的嘴唇，嘴里露出一片黑乎乎的残牙。他一开口说话就唾沫横飞，不过他自己也喜欢嘲弄自己那副嘴脸，虽然他对自己的长相还是满意的。他特别欣赏自己那个虽然不太大但很细巧的高高隆起的鼻子。他炫耀说：“这是真正的罗马式鼻子，再配上喉结，就是地地道道的衰落时期古罗马贵族的尊容。”他似乎引以为豪。
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阿廖沙找到母亲坟墓不久，突然向父亲宣布说，他想进修道院，而修士们也愿意接收他当见习修士。他还解释说，这是他的迫切愿望，因此想征得父亲的正式同意。老人早就知道，在本地修道院里修行的佐西马长老对他这个“不声不响的孩子”产生了特别深刻的影响。
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“这位长老当然是他们中间最诚实的一位修士。”他沉默着若有所思地听阿廖沙说完之后作了这样的表示，不过对儿子的请求几乎一点儿也不感到惊讶。“嗯，原来你是想到那儿去啊，我的不声不响的孩子！”他处于半醉状态，可脸上突然露出了笑容，那笑容保持了好久，虽然带着几分醉意，却不无狡猾和酒后的诡谲。“嗯，我早就预感到你会有这种结局，这一点你能想象吗？那地方是你一直向往的。好吧，你去吧。你名下不是有两千卢布吗，那就是给你的陪嫁。我的天使，我是永远不会抛弃你的，现在我就可以为你支付全部必需的费用，如果那儿向你提出这种要求的话。不过，如果他们不提出来，那我们何必硬要送上门去，是吗？你花钱省得就像金丝雀，一星期才吃两粒米……嗯。你知道吗，有一座修道院在城外专门拥有一座小镇，那儿的人都知道，小镇上住的全是‘修士的老婆’，大家都这么叫她们，我估摸有三十来个……我去过那儿，你知道吗，挺有意思，就是别有风味，我是指可以尝到各种各样的味道。糟糕的只是俄国味太浓，缺少法国女人，本来是可以有的，钱绰绰有余。只要宣传一下，她们就会来的。这里的修道院倒没什么，这里没有修士的妻子，修士倒有二百来名。修士都挺老实，全是吃素的。我得承认……嗯。那么你真的想去当修士吗？我真舍不得你，阿廖沙，真的，你信不信，我已经喜欢上你了……不过，这倒也是个合适的机会，你可以替我们这些有罪的人祈祷，我们在这里作孽太多了。我一直在想，今后有谁能替我祈祷呢？世界上有没有这样的人？我亲爱的孩子，在这方面我愚蠢透了，也许你不相信？真是蠢透了。你瞧，不管我有多蠢，这个问题我还是考虑的，还是考虑的，当然是有时候想想，不是一直在想。我想，我死了魔鬼总不至于忘了用钩子把我钩去。我在想：是用钩子吗？它们的钩子是哪儿来的？用什么做的？铁做的吗？又是在哪里打的呢？难道它们也有铁厂吗？修道院里的修士们一定以为地狱里，譬如说，有天花板。而我可以相信有地狱存在，不过地狱里没有天花板。它的模样似乎应该比较雅致，比较文明，就像路德教派所主张的那样。实际上有没有天花板不都是一回事吗？不过，这个可恶的问题就在这里！假如没有天花板，那就不会有钩子，假如没有钩子，那一切都不存在，这么说来，问题又搞不清楚了，到时候谁用钩子来把我拖走呢？如果不把我拖走，那么到时候又会怎么样呢？这世界上的真理在哪儿？应该制造出这种钩子，特意为我，为我一个人制造，因为你要知道，阿廖沙，我是个恬不知耻的人！……”
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“那儿确实没有钩子。”阿廖沙凝视着父亲，一本正经地轻轻说道。“是的，是的，只有钩子的影儿，我知道，我知道。有一位法国人曾经描写过地狱，我看是马车夫的影儿，用刷子的影儿，擦马车的影儿！亲爱的孩子，你怎么知道没有钩子呢？你到修士们中间呆一段时间以后，就不会这样说了。不过，你去吧，等你找到了真理再回来告诉我，因为如果确实弄清了阴间是怎么回事，那么到那个世界去的时候心情毕竟要轻松些。再说你到修士们那儿总比在我这儿，跟我这个老酒鬼和一群黄毛丫头混在一起要体面些……虽然这里不会对你这个天使产生任何影响，兴许那里也不会对你产生任何影响。正是由于这个原因，我才答应你去的，我就是抱着这最后一个希望。你的智慧不会让魔鬼吃掉的。你像一把火，烧一阵之后就会熄灭，你治好了病就会回来的。我等着你，我觉得你是世界上唯一不责备我的人，我亲爱的孩子，这一点我有所感觉，我不会感觉不到的！……”
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他甚至抽抽噎噎地哭了起来，他是个非常容易动感情的人。他既凶狠又多愁善感。
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He was only twenty, his brother Ivan was in his twenty‐fourth year at the time, while their elder brother Dmitri was twenty‐seven. First of all, I must explain that this young man, Alyosha, was not a fanatic, and, in my opinion at least, was not even a mystic. I may as well give my full opinion from the beginning. He was simply an early lover of humanity, and that he adopted the monastic life was simply because at that time it struck him, so to say, as the ideal escape for his soul struggling from the darkness of worldly wickedness to the light of love. And the reason this life struck him in this way was that he found in it at that time, as he thought, an extraordinary being, our celebrated elder, Zossima, to whom he became attached with all the warm first love of his ardent heart. But I do not dispute that he was very strange even at that time, and had been so indeed from his cradle. I have mentioned already, by the way, that though he lost his mother in his fourth year he remembered her all his life—her face, her caresses, “as though she stood living before me.” Such memories may persist, as every one knows, from an even earlier age, even from two years old, but scarcely standing out through a whole lifetime like spots of light out of darkness, like a corner torn out of a huge picture, which has all faded and disappeared except that fragment. That is how it was with him. He remembered one still summer evening, an open window, the slanting rays of the setting sun (that he recalled most vividly of all); in a corner of the room the holy image, before it a lighted lamp, and on her knees before the image his mother, sobbing hysterically with cries and moans, snatching him up in both arms, squeezing him close till it hurt, and praying for him to the Mother of God, holding him out in both arms to the image as though to put him under the Mother’s protection ... and suddenly a nurse runs in and snatches him from her in terror. That was the picture! And Alyosha remembered his mother’s face at that minute. He used to say that it was frenzied but beautiful as he remembered. But he rarely cared to speak of this memory to any one. In his childhood and youth he was by no means expansive, and talked little indeed, but not from shyness or a sullen unsociability; quite the contrary, from something different, from a sort of inner preoccupation entirely personal and unconcerned with other people, but so important to him that he seemed, as it were, to forget others on account of it. But he was fond of people: he seemed throughout his life to put implicit trust in people: yet no one ever looked on him as a simpleton or naïve person. There was something about him which made one feel at once (and it was so all his life afterwards) that he did not care to be a judge of others—that he would never take it upon himself to criticize and would never condemn any one for anything. He seemed, indeed, to accept everything without the least condemnation though often grieving bitterly: and this was so much so that no one could surprise or frighten him even in his earliest youth. Coming at twenty to his father’s house, which was a very sink of filthy debauchery, he, chaste and pure as he was, simply withdrew in silence when to look on was unbearable, but without the slightest sign of contempt or condemnation. His father, who had once been in a dependent position, and so was sensitive and ready to take offense, met him at first with distrust and sullenness. “He does not say much,” he used to say, “and thinks the more.” But soon, within a fortnight indeed, he took to embracing him and kissing him terribly often, with drunken tears, with sottish sentimentality, yet he evidently felt a real and deep affection for him, such as he had never been capable of feeling for any one before.
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Every one, indeed, loved this young man wherever he went, and it was so from his earliest childhood. When he entered the household of his patron and benefactor, Yefim Petrovitch Polenov, he gained the hearts of all the family, so that they looked on him quite as their own child. Yet he entered the house at such a tender age that he could not have acted from design nor artfulness in winning affection. So that the gift of making himself loved directly and unconsciously was inherent in him, in his very nature, so to speak. It was the same at school, though he seemed to be just one of those children who are distrusted, sometimes ridiculed, and even disliked by their schoolfellows. He was dreamy, for instance, and rather solitary. From his earliest childhood he was fond of creeping into a corner to read, and yet he was a general favorite all the while he was at school. He was rarely playful or merry, but any one could see at the first glance that this was not from any sullenness. On the contrary he was bright and good‐tempered. He never tried to show off among his schoolfellows. Perhaps because of this, he was never afraid of any one, yet the boys immediately understood that he was not proud of his fearlessness and seemed to be unaware that he was bold and courageous. He never resented an insult. It would happen that an hour after the offense he would address the offender or answer some question with as trustful and candid an expression as though nothing had happened between them. And it was not that he seemed to have forgotten or intentionally forgiven the affront, but simply that he did not regard it as an affront, and this completely conquered and captivated the boys. He had one characteristic which made all his schoolfellows from the bottom class to the top want to mock at him, not from malice but because it amused them. This characteristic was a wild fanatical modesty and chastity. He could not bear to hear certain words and certain conversations about women. There are “certain” words and conversations unhappily impossible to eradicate in schools. Boys pure in mind and heart, almost children, are fond of talking in school among themselves, and even aloud, of things, pictures, and images of which even soldiers would sometimes hesitate to speak. More than that, much that soldiers have no knowledge or conception of is familiar to quite young children of our intellectual and higher classes. There is no moral depravity, no real corrupt inner cynicism in it, but there is the appearance of it, and it is often looked upon among them as something refined, subtle, daring, and worthy of imitation. Seeing that Alyosha Karamazov put his fingers in his ears when they talked of “that,” they used sometimes to crowd round him, pull his hands away, and shout nastiness into both ears, while he struggled, slipped to the floor, tried to hide himself without uttering one word of abuse, enduring their insults in silence. But at last they left him alone and gave up taunting him with being a “regular girl,” and what’s more they looked upon it with compassion as a weakness. He was always one of the best in the class but was never first.
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At the time of Yefim Petrovitch’s death Alyosha had two more years to complete at the provincial gymnasium. The inconsolable widow went almost immediately after his death for a long visit to Italy with her whole family, which consisted only of women and girls. Alyosha went to live in the house of two distant relations of Yefim Petrovitch, ladies whom he had never seen before. On what terms he lived with them he did not know himself. It was very characteristic of him, indeed, that he never cared at whose expense he was living. In that respect he was a striking contrast to his elder brother Ivan, who struggled with poverty for his first two years in the university, maintained himself by his own efforts, and had from childhood been bitterly conscious of living at the expense of his benefactor. But this strange trait in Alyosha’s character must not, I think, be criticized too severely, for at the slightest acquaintance with him any one would have perceived that Alyosha was one of those youths, almost of the type of religious enthusiast, who, if they were suddenly to come into possession of a large fortune, would not hesitate to give it away for the asking, either for good works or perhaps to a clever rogue. In general he seemed scarcely to know the value of money, not, of course, in a literal sense. When he was given pocket‐money, which he never asked for, he was either terribly careless of it so that it was gone in a moment, or he kept it for weeks together, not knowing what to do with it.
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In later years Pyotr Alexandrovitch Miüsov, a man very sensitive on the score of money and bourgeois honesty, pronounced the following judgment, after getting to know Alyosha:
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“Here is perhaps the one man in the world whom you might leave alone without a penny, in the center of an unknown town of a million inhabitants, and he would not come to harm, he would not die of cold and hunger, for he would be fed and sheltered at once; and if he were not, he would find a shelter for himself, and it would cost him no effort or humiliation. And to shelter him would be no burden, but, on the contrary, would probably be looked on as a pleasure.”
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He did not finish his studies at the gymnasium. A year before the end of the course he suddenly announced to the ladies that he was going to see his father about a plan which had occurred to him. They were sorry and unwilling to let him go. The journey was not an expensive one, and the ladies would not let him pawn his watch, a parting present from his benefactor’s family. They provided him liberally with money and even fitted him out with new clothes and linen. But he returned half the money they gave him, saying that he intended to go third class. On his arrival in the town he made no answer to his father’s first inquiry why he had come before completing his studies, and seemed, so they say, unusually thoughtful. It soon became apparent that he was looking for his mother’s tomb. He practically acknowledged at the time that that was the only object of his visit. But it can hardly have been the whole reason of it. It is more probable that he himself did not understand and could not explain what had suddenly arisen in his soul, and drawn him irresistibly into a new, unknown, but inevitable path. Fyodor Pavlovitch could not show him where his second wife was buried, for he had never visited her grave since he had thrown earth upon her coffin, and in the course of years had entirely forgotten where she was buried.
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Fyodor Pavlovitch, by the way, had for some time previously not been living in our town. Three or four years after his wife’s death he had gone to the south of Russia and finally turned up in Odessa, where he spent several years. He made the acquaintance at first, in his own words, “of a lot of low Jews, Jewesses, and Jewkins,” and ended by being received by “Jews high and low alike.” It may be presumed that at this period he developed a peculiar faculty for making and hoarding money. He finally returned to our town only three years before Alyosha’s arrival. His former acquaintances found him looking terribly aged, although he was by no means an old man. He behaved not exactly with more dignity but with more effrontery. The former buffoon showed an insolent propensity for making buffoons of others. His depravity with women was not simply what it used to be, but even more revolting. In a short time he opened a great number of new taverns in the district. It was evident that he had perhaps a hundred thousand roubles or not much less. Many of the inhabitants of the town and district were soon in his debt, and, of course, had given good security. Of late, too, he looked somehow bloated and seemed more irresponsible, more uneven, had sunk into a sort of incoherence, used to begin one thing and go on with another, as though he were letting himself go altogether. He was more and more frequently drunk. And, if it had not been for the same servant Grigory, who by that time had aged considerably too, and used to look after him sometimes almost like a tutor, Fyodor Pavlovitch might have got into terrible scrapes. Alyosha’s arrival seemed to affect even his moral side, as though something had awakened in this prematurely old man which had long been dead in his soul.
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“Do you know,” he used often to say, looking at Alyosha, “that you are like her, ‘the crazy woman’ ”—that was what he used to call his dead wife, Alyosha’s mother. Grigory it was who pointed out the “crazy woman’s” grave to Alyosha. He took him to our town cemetery and showed him in a remote corner a cast‐iron tombstone, cheap but decently kept, on which were inscribed the name and age of the deceased and the date of her death, and below a four‐lined verse, such as are commonly used on old‐fashioned middle‐class tombs. To Alyosha’s amazement this tomb turned out to be Grigory’s doing. He had put it up on the poor “crazy woman’s” grave at his own expense, after Fyodor Pavlovitch, whom he had often pestered about the grave, had gone to Odessa, abandoning the grave and all his memories. Alyosha showed no particular emotion at the sight of his mother’s grave. He only listened to Grigory’s minute and solemn account of the erection of the tomb; he stood with bowed head and walked away without uttering a word. It was perhaps a year before he visited the cemetery again. But this little episode was not without an influence upon Fyodor Pavlovitch—and a very original one. He suddenly took a thousand roubles to our monastery to pay for requiems for the soul of his wife; but not for the second, Alyosha’s mother, the “crazy woman,” but for the first, Adelaïda Ivanovna, who used to thrash him. In the evening of the same day he got drunk and abused the monks to Alyosha. He himself was far from being religious; he had probably never put a penny candle before the image of a saint. Strange impulses of sudden feeling and sudden thought are common in such types.
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I have mentioned already that he looked bloated. His countenance at this time bore traces of something that testified unmistakably to the life he had led. Besides the long fleshy bags under his little, always insolent, suspicious, and ironical eyes; besides the multitude of deep wrinkles in his little fat face, the Adam’s apple hung below his sharp chin like a great, fleshy goiter, which gave him a peculiar, repulsive, sensual appearance; add to that a long rapacious mouth with full lips, between which could be seen little stumps of black decayed teeth. He slobbered every time he began to speak. He was fond indeed of making fun of his own face, though, I believe, he was well satisfied with it. He used particularly to point to his nose, which was not very large, but very delicate and conspicuously aquiline. “A regular Roman nose,” he used to say, “with my goiter I’ve quite the countenance of an ancient Roman patrician of the decadent period.” He seemed proud of it.
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Not long after visiting his mother’s grave Alyosha suddenly announced that he wanted to enter the monastery, and that the monks were willing to receive him as a novice. He explained that this was his strong desire, and that he was solemnly asking his consent as his father. The old man knew that the elder Zossima, who was living in the monastery hermitage, had made a special impression upon his “gentle boy.”
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“That is the most honest monk among them, of course,” he observed, after listening in thoughtful silence to Alyosha, and seeming scarcely surprised at his request. “H’m!... So that’s where you want to be, my gentle boy?”
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He was half drunk, and suddenly he grinned his slow half‐drunken grin, which was not without a certain cunning and tipsy slyness. “H’m!... I had a presentiment that you would end in something like this. Would you believe it? You were making straight for it. Well, to be sure you have your own two thousand. That’s a dowry for you. And I’ll never desert you, my angel. And I’ll pay what’s wanted for you there, if they ask for it. But, of course, if they don’t ask, why should we worry them? What do you say? You know, you spend money like a canary, two grains a week. H’m!... Do you know that near one monastery there’s a place outside the town where every baby knows there are none but ‘the monks’ wives’ living, as they are called. Thirty women, I believe. I have been there myself. You know, it’s interesting in its own way, of course, as a variety. The worst of it is it’s awfully Russian. There are no French women there. Of course they could get them fast enough, they have plenty of money. If they get to hear of it they’ll come along. Well, there’s nothing of that sort here, no ‘monks’ wives,’ and two hundred monks. They’re honest. They keep the fasts. I admit it.... H’m.... So you want to be a monk? And do you know I’m sorry to lose you, Alyosha; would you believe it, I’ve really grown fond of you? Well, it’s a good opportunity. You’ll pray for us sinners; we have sinned too much here. I’ve always been thinking who would pray for me, and whether there’s any one in the world to do it. My dear boy, I’m awfully stupid about that. You wouldn’t believe it. Awfully. You see, however stupid I am about it, I keep thinking, I keep thinking—from time to time, of course, not all the while. It’s impossible, I think, for the devils to forget to drag me down to hell with their hooks when I die. Then I wonder—hooks? Where would they get them? What of? Iron hooks? Where do they forge them? Have they a foundry there of some sort? The monks in the monastery probably believe that there’s a ceiling in hell, for instance. Now I’m ready to believe in hell, but without a ceiling. It makes it more refined, more enlightened, more Lutheran that is. And, after all, what does it matter whether it has a ceiling or hasn’t? But, do you know, there’s a damnable question involved in it? If there’s no ceiling there can be no hooks, and if there are no hooks it all breaks down, which is unlikely again, for then there would be none to drag me down to hell, and if they don’t drag me down what justice is there in the world? Il faudrait les inventer, those hooks, on purpose for me alone, for, if you only knew, Alyosha, what a blackguard I am.”
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“But there are no hooks there,” said Alyosha, looking gently and seriously at his father.
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“Yes, yes, only the shadows of hooks, I know, I know. That’s how a Frenchman described hell: ‘J’ai vu l’ombre d’un cocher qui avec l’ombre d’une brosse frottait l’ombre d’une carrosse.’ How do you know there are no hooks, darling? When you’ve lived with the monks you’ll sing a different tune. But go and get at the truth there, and then come and tell me. Anyway it’s easier going to the other world if one knows what there is there. Besides, it will be more seemly for you with the monks than here with me, with a drunken old man and young harlots ... though you’re like an angel, nothing touches you. And I dare say nothing will touch you there. That’s why I let you go, because I hope for that. You’ve got all your wits about you. You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again. And I will wait for you. I feel that you’re the only creature in the world who has not condemned me. My dear boy, I feel it, you know. I can’t help feeling it.”
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And he even began blubbering. He was sentimental. He was wicked and sentimental.
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