III. An Onion

Grushenka lived in the busiest part of town, near Cathedral Square, in the house of the merchant’s widow Morozova, from whom she rented a small wooden cottage in the yard. Morozova’s house itself was large, of stone, two-storied, old, and very unsightly to look at; in it the owner herself, an old woman, lived in seclusion with her two nieces, also maiden ladies well on in years. She had no need to let the cottage in her yard, but everyone knew that she had taken Grushenka in as a lodger (some four years ago now) solely to oblige her relative, the merchant Samsonov, Grushenka’s open protector. It was said that the jealous old man, in placing his “favorite” with Morozova, had at first had in mind the old woman’s sharp eye, to watch over the conduct of the new lodger. But the sharp eye very soon proved unnecessary, and it ended with Morozova even rarely meeting Grushenka and in the end not bothering her at all with any supervision. True, four years had passed already since the old man had brought into this house from the provincial capital an eighteen-year-old girl, timid, shy, slender, thin, pensive, and sad, and since then much water had flowed by. The life story of this girl, however, was known among us in town only slightly and confusedly; nor was more learned of late, and that even when a great many people had begun to take an interest in the “great beauty” into whom Agrafena Alexandrovna had turned in four years. There were only rumors that as a girl of barely seventeen she had been deceived by someone, by some officer supposedly, and then at once abandoned by him. The officer, it was said, had gone away and later married somewhere, and Grushenka had been left in disgrace and poverty. It was also said, however, that though Grushenka had indeed been taken out of poverty by her old man, she was of an honest family and somehow came from the clergy, was the daughter of some supernumerary deacon or something of the sort. And so in four years the sensitive, injured, and pitiful little orphan had turned into a rosy, full-bodied Russian beauty, a woman of bold and decisive character, proud and brazen, who understood money, an acquirer, stingy and cautious, who by fair means or foul had already managed, as was said of her, to scrape together a little capital of her own. Only on one point was everyone convinced: that Grushenka was hard of access, and that apart from the old man, her protector, there was not one single man, in all the four years, who could boast of her favor. The fact was firm, because quite a few hunters had sprung up to win that favor, especially in the last two years. But all attempts proved in vain, and some of the suitors were forced to retreat even with a comic and shameful outcome, thanks to the firm and mocking rebuff on the part of the young person of character. It was known, too, that the young person, especially in the last year, had gone in for what is called “gesheft,” sharp dealing, and that in this line she had proved to have extraordinary abilities, so that in the end many called her a regular Yid. Not that she lent money at interest, but it was known, for instance, that in company with Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov she had for some time really been engaged in buying up promissory notes for next to nothing, at ten kopecks on the ruble, and later had made on some of those notes a ruble for every ten kopecks. The sick Samsonov, who in the last year had lost the use of his swollen legs, a widower, the tyrant of his grown-up sons, worth a good hundred thousand, a man miserly and implacable, had nevertheless fallen under the strong influence of his protégée, whom at first he had kept on a tight rein and on short commons, “on Lenten oil,” as the scoffers said then. But Grushenka had managed to emancipate herself, while inspiring in him, all the same, a boundless trust as to her faithfulness to him. This old man, a great man of business (long since dead now), was also of a remarkable character, chiefly stingy and hard as flint, and though Grushenka had struck him so that he could not live without her (in the last two years, for instance, that was just how it was), still he did not settle a large, substantial capital on her, and even if she had threatened to leave him altogether, he would have remained implacable even then. But he did settle a small capital on her instead, and when this became known, it too was a wonder to everyone. “You’re a sharp woman yourself,” he said to her, settling some eight thousand on her, “so manage it yourself, but know that apart from your yearly allowance as before, until my very death, you’ll get nothing more from me, and in my will I won’t leave you anything more either.” And he was as good as his word: at his death everything went to his sons, whom all his life he had kept by him on the footing of servants, with their wives and children, and did not even mention Grushenka in his will at all. All this became known afterward. But with advice on how to manage “her own capital” he helped Grushenka not a little, and pointed out “deals” to her. When Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, who had first become involved with Grushenka over some chance “gesheft,” ended, quite unexpectedly for himself, by falling madly in love with her and as if even losing his mind, old Samsonov, who by then already had one foot in the grave, laughed at him heartily. It is remarkable that Grushenka, during the whole time of their acquaintance, was completely and even, as it were, heartily frank with her old man, and this, it seems, with him alone of anyone in the world. Most recently, when Dmitri Fyodorovich too had suddenly appeared with his love, the old man stopped laughing. On the contrary, he once advised Grushenka seriously and sternly: “If you’re going to choose between the two, the father or the son, then choose the old man, but on condition, mind, that the old scoundrel marries you without fail, and signs over at least some capital beforehand. And don’t take up with the captain, nothing will come of it.” These were the very words to Grushenka of the old voluptuary, who already sensed then that his death was near, and who did in fact die five months after this advice. I will note further in passing that, though many people in our town knew at the time about the absurd and monstrous rivalry of the Karamazovs, father and son, the object of which was Grushenka, few then understood the real meaning of her relations with either of them, with the old man and with the son. Even both of Grushenka’s maids (after the catastrophe had already broken out, of which more is still to come) testified later in court that Agrafena Alexandrovna had received Dmitri Fyodorovich solely out of fear, because, it would seem, “he threatened to kill her.” She had two maids, one a very old cook, from her parents’ household still, sickly and almost deaf, and the cook’s granddaughter, a lively young girl of about twenty, Grushenka’s housemaid. Grushenka lived very stingily, and in a setting not at all rich. She had in all three rooms in the cottage, furnished by the landlady with ancient mahogany furniture in the fashion of the twenties. When Rakitin and Alyosha came in, it was already full dusk, but the rooms had not yet been lit. Grushenka herself was lying in her drawing room on her big clumsy sofa with a mock-mahogany back, hard and covered with leather that had long since worn through and had holes in it. Under her head were two white down pillows from her bed. She lay on her back, stretched out motionless, both hands behind her head. She was dressed up as though expecting someone, in a black silk dress and a light lace headdress, which became her very well; around her shoulders was thrown a lace kerchief, pinned with a massive gold brooch. She was in fact expecting someone, and lay as if in anguish and impatience, her face somewhat pale, her lips and eyes burning, the tip of her right foot drumming impatiently on the arm of the sofa. The moment Rakitin and Alyosha appeared there was a small commotion: from the front hall they could hear Grushenka jump up quickly from the sofa and suddenly cry out in fright: “Who’s there?” But the girl met the visitors and at once called back to her mistress:

“It isn’t them, ma’am, it’s others, these are all right.”

“What could be the matter with her?” Rakitin muttered, leading Alyosha by the hand into the drawing room. Grushenka was standing by the sofa as if still frightened. A thick strand of her dark-brown braid had suddenly slipped out from under her headdress and fallen onto her right shoulder, but she did not notice and did not put it right until she had peered at her visitors and recognized them.

“Ah, it’s you, Rakitka? You frightened the life out of me. Who’s that with you? Who have you brought? Lord, look who he’s brought!” she exclaimed, making out Alyosha.

“Well, have them bring some candles!” said Rakitin, with the offhand manner of the closest of acquaintances, an intimate friend who even has the right to give orders in the house.

“Candles… of course, candles… Fenya, bring him a candle… Well, you found a fine time to bring him!” she exclaimed again, nodding at Alyosha, and, turning to the mirror, she quickly began with both hands to pin up her braid. She seemed displeased.

“Didn’t I please you?” asked Rakitin, almost instantly offended.

“You frightened me, Rakitka, that’s what,” Grushenka said, turning to Alyosha with a smile. “Don’t you be afraid of me, Alyosha, my dear, I’m awfully glad to see you, my unexpected guest. But you frightened me, Rakitka: I thought it was Mitya breaking in. You see, I fooled him earlier today and made him give me his word of honor to believe me, and I lied. I told him I was going to Kuzma Kuzmich’s, to my old man, for the whole evening and would be counting money with him till late. I go to him every week, you know, for a whole evening to settle accounts. We lock ourselves in: he clicks away on the abacus, and I sit—writing it in the books—he trusts no one but me. And Mitya believed I’d be there, while here I am at home, locked in—sitting and waiting for a certain piece of news. How did Fenya come to let you in! Fenya, Fenya! Run to the gate, open it, and look all around, is the captain anywhere about? Maybe he’s hiding and spying, I’m scared to death!”

“There’s no one, Agrafena Alexandrovna, I looked all around just now, and I keep going up to the crack and looking every minute, I’m all in a fright and a tremble myself.”

“Are the shutters closed, Fenya? And we ought to let down the curtains—like that!” She let down the heavy curtains herself. “Or else he’ll come flying straight at the light. I’m afraid of Mitya, your brother, today, Alyosha.” Grushenka spoke loudly, though in alarm, yet also as though in a kind of near rapture.

“Why are you so afraid of Mitenka today?” inquired Rakitin. “I thought you weren’t timid with him, he dances to your pipe.”

“I tell you, I’m waiting for news, a golden little piece of news, so that I don’t need Mitenka now at all. And he didn’t believe me, I feel it, that I went to Kuzma Kuzmich’s. He must be sitting over there now, in Fyodor Pavlovich’s garden out back, keeping watch for me. And if he’s settled himself there, it means he won’t come here, so much the better! And I really did run over to Kuzma Kuzmich’s, Mitya himself walked me there, I said I’d stay till midnight and that he must be sure to come at midnight and see me home. He went away, and I sat ten minutes or so with the old man and then back here again, ooh, I was afraid—I ran so as not to meet him.”

“And what are you dressed up for? Look what a curious cap you’ve got on!”

“And what a curious one you are yourself, Rakitin! I tell you, I’m waiting for a certain piece of news. When the news comes, I’ll jump up—and fly, and that’s the last you’ll see of me. That’s why I’m dressed up, so as to sit here ready.”

“And where will you fly to?”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Just look at you. All joy… I’ve never seen you like this before. Decked out as if for a ball,” Rakitin looked her over.

“A lot you know about balls.”

“And you know a lot?”

“I’ve seen a ball, I have. The year before last Kuzma Kuzmich married off his son, and I watched from the gallery. But why should I be talking with you, Rakitka, when there’s such a prince standing here. Now that’s a guest! Alyosha, my dear, I look at you and I don’t believe it; Lord, how did you come to turn up at my place! To tell you the truth, I never expected it, never dreamed it, and before this I never believed you could come. Though this isn’t the moment for it now, still I’m awfully glad to see you! Sit down on the sofa, here, like that, my young moon. Really, I still can’t seem to take it in… Oh, Rakitka, if only you’d brought him yesterday or the day before!… Well, I’m glad even so. Maybe it’s better that it’s now, at such a moment, and not the day before yesterday…”

She sat down playfully beside Alyosha on the sofa, right next to him, and looked at him in downright delight. And her gladness was real; she had told no lie in saying so. Her eyes were shining, her lips were laughing, but laughing good-naturedly, merrily. Alyosha had not even expected such a kind expression in her face… Until yesterday he had met her little, had formed a frightening notion of her, and yesterday he had been so terribly shaken by her spiteful and treacherous attack on Katerina Ivanovna, and he was very surprised to see in her now, all of a sudden, as it were a quite different and unexpected being. And however crushed he was by his own grief, his eyes rested on her with attention in spite of himself. All her manners too seemed to have changed since yesterday, altogether for the better: there was almost none of yesterday’s sugariness in her speech, none of those pampered and affected movements… everything was simple, artless, her movements were quick, direct, trusting, but she was very excited.

“Lord, what things keep coming true today, really,” she began to babble again. “And why I’m so glad to see you, Alyosha, I don’t know myself. Ask me, and I don’t know.”

“Come now, you don’t know why you’re glad?” Rakitin grinned. “Before, you kept pestering me for some reason, bring him, bring him, so you did have an aim.”

“Before, I had a different aim, but now that’s passed, it isn’t the moment for it. I’m going to treat you both, that’s what. I’ve turned kind now, Rakitka. Sit down, you too, Rakitka, why are you standing? Or have you sat down already? I bet Rakitushka won’t forget himself. Look at him now, Alyosha, sitting there across from us and taking offense: why didn’t I ask him to sit down before you. Ooh, my Rakitka is touchy, so touchy!” Grushenka laughed. “Don’t be cross, Rakitka, today I’m kind. But why are you sitting there so sad, Alyoshechka, or are you afraid of me?” She looked into his eyes with merry mockery.

“He has a grief. They didn’t give him his promotion,” Rakitin boomed in a bass voice.

“What promotion?”

“His elder has begun to stink.”

“Begun to stink? You’re grinding out some nonsense, you want to say something nasty. Hush, you fool. Will you let me sit on your knee, Alyosha, like this!” And suddenly, in an instant, she sprang up and, laughing, jumped onto his knee like a fondling kitten, tenderly putting her right arm around his neck. “I’ll cheer you up, my pious boy! No, really, will you actually let me sit on your knee, you won’t be angry? Tell me to, and I’ll jump off.”

Alyosha was silent. He sat afraid to move; he heard her words, “Tell me to, and I’ll jump off,” but he did not answer, as though he had frozen. But what was in him was not what anyone might have expected or imagined in him now, Rakitin, for instance, who was watching lustfully from his place. The great grief of his soul swallowed up all sensations that could possibly arise in his heart, and if only he could have given himself a full account at this moment, he would himself have guessed that he was now in the strongest armor against any temptation and seduction. Nevertheless, in spite of all the vague unaccountability of his state of soul and of all the grief that oppressed him, he still could not help wondering at one new and strange sensation arising in his heart: this woman, this “terrible” woman, not only did not frighten him now with his former fear, the fear that used to arise in him at any dream of a woman, if such a dream ever flitted through his soul, but, on the contrary, this woman, whom he had feared more than any other, sitting on his knee and embracing him, aroused in him suddenly now a quite different, unexpected, and peculiar feeling, a feeling of an extraordinary, very great, and most pure-hearted curiosity about her, and all this now without any fear, without the slightest of his former terror—that was the main thing, and that was what surprised him in spite of himself.

“That’s enough of your babbling nonsense,” Rakitin shouted, “you’d better serve the champagne, you owe it, you know you do!”

“It’s true, I owe it. You see, Alyosha, on top of everything I promised him champagne for you, if he brought you. Bring on the champagne, I’ll drink too! Fenya, Fenya, bring us champagne, that bottle Mitya left, run quickly. Stingy as I am, I’ll serve a bottle, not for you, Rakitka, you’re a mushroom, but he’s a prince! And though that isn’t what my soul is full of now, so be it, I’ll drink with you too, I feel like carousing!”

“But what sort of moment is it you’re having, and what is this ‘news,’ may one ask, or is it a secret?” Rakitin put in again with curiosity, trying with all his might to pretend he took no notice of the fillips that kept flying at him without a pause.

“Oh, it’s no secret, and you know it yourself,” Grushenka said suddenly with a preoccupied air, turning her head toward Rakitin and leaning back a little from Alyosha, though still going on sitting on his knee with her arm around his neck. “The officer is coming, Rakitin, my officer is coming!”

“I heard he was coming, but is he really that close?”

“He’s in Mokroye now, he’ll send a courier here from there, he wrote so himself, I got a letter earlier today. I’m sitting and waiting for the courier.”

“Well, well! Why in Mokroye?”

“It’s a long story, and you’ve heard enough.”

“So that’s what it means for Mitenka now—oh, oh! Does he know or doesn’t he?”

“Know what! He doesn’t know at all! If he found out, he’d kill me. But I’m not afraid of that at all now, I’m not afraid of his knife now. Hush, Rakitka, don’t remind me of Dmitri Fyodorovich: he’s crushed my heart to pieces. And I don’t want to think about any of that at this moment. Now, Alyoshechka I can think about, I’m looking at Alyoshechka… Smile at me, my dear, cheer up, smile at my foolishness, at my joy… Why, he did smile, he smiled! Look how kindly he’s looking. You know, Alyosha, I kept thinking you were angry with me for the day before yesterday, for that young lady. I was a dog, that’s what… Only it’s good all the same that it happened like that. It was bad and it was good,” Grushenka suddenly smiled pensively, and some cruel little line suddenly flashed in her smile. “Mitya told me she screamed: ‘She ought to be flogged!’ I really did insult her badly that time. She invited me over, wanted to conquer me, to seduce me with her chocolate… No, it’s good that it happened like that,” she smiled again. “Only I keep being afraid you’re angry…”

“But it’s true, you know,” Rakitin suddenly put in with serious surprise. “She really is afraid of you, Alyosha, a little chick like you.”

“It’s for you, Rakitka, that he’s a little chick, that’s what… because you have no conscience, that’s what! I, you see, I love him with my soul, that’s what! Do you believe, Alyosha, that I love you with all my soul?”

“Oh, you shameless woman! She’s declaring her love to you, Alexei!”

“Well, what of it, I do love him.”

“And the officer? And the golden little news from Mokroye?”

“That’s one thing, and this is another.”

“That’s how it works out, woman-fashion!”

“Don’t make me angry, Rakitka,” Grushenka took him up hotly, “that’s one thing, and this is another. I love Alyosha in a different way. It’s true, Alyosha, I did have a sly thought about you before. But then, I’m low, I’m violent, and yet at other moments, Alyosha, I used to look on you as my conscience. I keep thinking: ‘How a man like that must despise me now, vile as I am.’ I thought it the day before yesterday too, as I was running here from the young lady. I noticed you that way long ago, Alyosha, and Mitya knows, I told him. Now Mitya understands that. Would you believe it, sometimes, really, Alyosha, I look at you and I’m ashamed, ashamed of my whole self… And how I came to think about you, and since when, I don’t know and don’t remember…”

Fenya came in and set a tray on the table, with an uncorked bottle on it and three glasses already poured.

“The champagne’s here!” cried Rakitin. “You’re excited, Agrafena Alexandrovna, and beside yourself. You drink a glass and you’ll be off dancing. Ah, they couldn’t even manage that,” he added, examining the champagne. “The old woman poured it out in the kitchen, and they brought the bottle without a cork, and it’s warm. Well, let’s have it even so.”

He stepped over to the table, picked up a glass, drained it in one gulp, and poured himself another.

“It isn’t often you stumble on champagne,” he said, licking his lips. “Come on, Alyosha, take a glass, show what you’re made of. What shall we drink to? To the gates of paradise? Take a glass, Grusha, you drink to the gates of paradise too.”

“What gates of paradise?”

She took a glass. Alyosha took his, sipped a little, and put the glass back.

“No, I’d better not after all!” he smiled quietly.

“And you boasted!” cried Rakitin.

“Well, if that’s how it is, I won’t either,” Grushenka chimed in, “and I don’t feel like it anyway. Drink the whole bottle yourself, Rakitka. If Alyosha drinks, then I’ll drink too.”

“Now the calf-love begins!” Rakitin teased. “And sitting on his knee herself! He, let’s say, has a grief, but what’s the matter with you? He’s rebelled against his God, he was all set to gobble sausage…”

“How so?”

“His elder died today, the elder Zosima, the saint.”

“So the elder Zosima has died!” exclaimed Grushenka. “Lord, and I didn’t even know!” She crossed herself devoutly. “Lord, what am I doing, here I am sitting on his knee now!” she started up suddenly as if in fright, instantly jumped off his knee, and moved over onto the sofa. Alyosha gave her a long look of surprise, and something seemed to light up in his face.

“Rakitin,” he said suddenly, loudly and firmly, “don’t taunt me that I’ve rebelled against my God. I don’t want to bear you any malice, so be kinder yourself too. I have lost a treasure such as you never had, and you cannot judge me now. Look over here at her instead: did you see how she spared me? I came here to find a wicked soul—I was drawn to that myself, because I was base and wicked, and I found a true sister, I found a treasure—a loving soul… She spared me just now… Agrafena Alexandrovna, it’s you I’m speaking of. You have just now raised up my soul again.”

Alyosha’s lips began to tremble and his breath caught. He stopped.

“As if she’d gone and saved you!” Rakitin laughed spitefully. “Why, she wanted to swallow you up, do you know that?”

“Stop, Rakitka!” Grushenka suddenly jumped up. “Be quiet, both of you. Now I’ll tell everything: you, Alyosha, be quiet, because such words of yours make me ashamed, because I’m wicked and not good—that’s what I am. And you, Rakitka, be quiet because you’re lying. There was such a vile thought, that I wanted to swallow him up, but now you’re lying, now it’s not that at all… and don’t let me hear another word out of you, Rakitka!” Grushenka said all this with extraordinary agitation.

“Just look at them, both raving!” hissed Rakitin, examining them both with surprise. “Like lunatics, as if I’d landed in a madhouse. They’ve both gone soft, they’ll start crying in a minute!”

“And I will start crying, I will start crying!” Grushenka kept saying. “He called me his sister, and I’ll never forget that, ever! Only here’s the thing, Rakitka, wicked as I am, still, I did give away an onion.”

“What onion’s that? Pfoo, damn it, they really have gone mad!”

Rakitin was surprised at their exaltation and was offended and angry, though he might have realized that for both of them everything had just come together that could shake their souls, as happens not often in life. But Rakitin, who was very sensitive in understanding everything that concerned himself, was very crude in understanding the feelings and sensations of his neighbors—partly from his youthful inexperience, and partly from his great egoism.

“You see, Alyoshechka,” Grushenka suddenly laughed nervously, turning to him, “I was boasting to Rakitka that I gave away an onion, but to you I won’t boast, I’ll tell it to you with another aim. It’s only a fable, but it’s a good fable, I heard it when I was still a child from my Matryona, who’s my cook now. You see, it goes like this: ‘Once upon a time there was a peasant woman, as wicked as wicked could be, and she died. And not one good deed was left behind her. The devils seized her and threw her into the lake of fire. And her guardian angel stood there and thought: what good deed of hers can I remember, to tell God? He remembered one and said to God: she once pulled up an onion in her garden, he says, and gave it to a beggar woman. And God answers him: then take that very onion, he says, and hold it out to her in the lake, let her catch hold of it and be pulled, and if you pull her out of the lake, let her go to paradise, but if the onion breaks, then the woman stays where she is now. So the angel ran off to the woman and reached the onion out to her: here, woman, he says, catch hold and be pulled. And he began pulling her carefully, and he had almost pulled her all the way out, but the other sinners in the lake, when they saw her being pulled out, all began clutching at her so they’d be pulled out along with her. And the woman was as wicked as wicked could be, and she started kicking them with her feet: “It’s me that’s being pulled, not you, it’s my onion, not yours.” No sooner had she said it than the onion broke. And the woman fell into the lake and is burning to this day. And the angel wept and went away.’ That’s the fable, Alyosha, I learned it by heart, because I myself am that very woman, as wicked as can be. I boasted to Rakitka that I gave away an onion, but to you I’ll put it differently: in my whole life I’ve given away just one little onion or so, and that’s all the good deeds there are on me. So don’t praise me after that, Alyosha, don’t take me for a good woman, I’m wicked, as wicked as wicked can be, and if you praise me you’ll put me to shame. Oh, I may as well confess everything. Listen, Alyosha: I wanted so badly to lure you to my place, and pestered Rakitka so much, that I promised him twenty-five rubles if he’d bring you to me. Wait, Rakitka, hold on!” She went with quick steps to the table, opened a drawer, took out a purse, and from it a twenty-five-ruble note.

“What nonsense! What nonsense!” Rakitin kept exclaiming, nonplussed.

“Take your debt, Rakitka, I bet you won’t refuse, you asked for it yourself.” And she flung the note at him.

“As if I’d refuse,” Rakitin boomed, visibly embarrassed but covering his shame with a swagger. “That will come in very handy for us; fools exist for the profit of the clever man.”

“And now be quiet, Rakitka, now everything I’m going to say won’t be for your ears. Sit here in the corner and be quiet, you don’t love us, so be quiet.”

“And what should I love you for?” Rakitin snapped, no longer hiding his spite. He had stuffed the twenty-five-ruble note in his pocket, and before Alyosha he was decidedly ashamed. He had counted on receiving his payment later, so that Alyosha would not even find out, and now he was angry from shame. Until this moment he had found it very politic not to contradict Grushenka much, in spite of all her fillips, for it was evident that she had some sort of power over him. But now he too got angry:

“People love for something, and what have either of you done for me?”

“Then love for nothing, the way Alyosha loves.”

“And how does he love you, and what has he shown you that you go making such a fuss?”

Grushenka was standing in the middle of the room, she spoke hotly, and hysterical notes could be heard in her voice.

“Be quiet, Rakitka, you don’t understand anything about us! And don’t you dare call me by the familiar you from now on, I won’t allow it, and where did you get such boldness, that’s what I’d like to know! Sit in the corner and be quiet, like my lackey. And now, Alyosha, I’ll tell the whole pure truth to you alone, so you’ll see what a creature I am! Not to Rakitka, to you I’m telling it. I wanted to ruin you, Alyosha, that’s the great truth, I had quite made up my mind to; I wanted it so much that I bribed Rakitka with money to bring you. And what made me want it so? You, Alyosha, didn’t know anything, you turned away from me, you’d pass by and lower your eyes, but I’d looked at you a hundred times before this, I started asking everyone about you. Your face stayed in my heart: ‘He despises me,’ I think, ‘he won’t even want to look at me.’ And such a feeling came over me in the end that I wonder at myself: why am I afraid of a boy like that? I’ll swallow him whole and laugh. I got really furious. Would you believe it: there’s no one here who dares say or even think that he could come to Agrafena Alexandrovna for that nasty business; there’s only the old man here, I’m bound to him and sold to him, Satan married us, but of the others—no one. But looking at you, I made up my mind: I’ll swallow him. I’ll swallow him and laugh. You see what a wicked dog I am, the one you called your sister! And now that offender of mine has come, now I’m sitting and waiting for news. And do you know what that offender was to me? Five years ago, when Kuzma carried me off here—I’d sit hiding from people, so they wouldn’t see me or hear me, a thin little silly thing, I’d sit and sob, I wouldn’t sleep whole nights through—I’d think: ‘And where is he now, my offender? Laughing at me with another woman, I suppose, and oh, I’ll show him,’ I think, ‘if only I could see him, meet him some time: oh, I’ll pay him back, oh, I’ll pay him back!’ At night in the dark I’d sob into my pillow and think it all over and over, tearing my heart on purpose, soothing it with spite: ‘Oh, I’ll pay him, I’ll pay him back!’ That’s how I used to cry out in the dark. And when I’d suddenly remember that I’d never do anything to him, and that he was laughing at me now, or maybe had forgotten me altogether and didn’t remember, then I’d throw myself from the bed onto the floor, flood myself with helpless tears, and shake and shake till dawn. In the morning I’d get up wickeder than a dog, ready to swallow the whole world. Then, what do you think: I started saving up capital, I became pitiless, I grew fat—you think I grew wiser, eh? Well, I didn’t, no one sees it or knows it in the whole universe, but when the dark of night comes down, I lie there sometimes, just as I did as a girl, five years ago, gnashing my teeth and crying all night: ‘Oh, I’ll pay him, oh, I’ll pay him back,’ I think! Did you hear all that? Well, so now how do you understand me: a month ago suddenly this very letter comes to me: he’s coming, he’s been widowed, he wants to see me. It took my breath away then, Lord, and suddenly I thought: and if he comes and whistles to me, calls me, I’ll crawl to him like a little dog, beaten, guilty! I think it and I don’t believe myself: ‘Am I vile or not vile, will I run to him or won’t I?’ And such fury came over me against my own self this whole month that it’s worse even than five years ago. Do you see now, Alyosha, how violent I am, how furious I am, I’ve told you the whole truth! I played with Mitya so as not to run to that one. Be quiet, Rakitka, it isn’t for you to judge me, I wasn’t speaking to you. Before you came I was lying here, waiting, thinking, deciding my whole fate, and you’ll never know what was in my heart. No, Alyosha, tell your young lady not to be angry about the day before yesterday!… And no one in the whole world knows what it’s like for me now, and no one can know… Because maybe today I’ll take a knife with me there, I haven’t decided that yet…”

And having uttered this “pitiful” word, Grushenka suddenly could not hold out, did not finish, covered her face with her hands, threw herself on the sofa into the pillows, and sobbed like a little child. Alyosha got up from his place and went over to Rakitin.

“Misha,” he said, “don’t be angry. She has offended you, but don’t be angry. Did you hear her just now? One cannot ask so much of a person’s soul, one must be more merciful…”

Alyosha said this in an irrepressible impulse of the heart. He needed to speak out, and he turned to Rakitin. If Rakitin had not been there, he would have begun exclaiming alone. But Rakitin looked at him mockingly, and Alyosha suddenly stopped.

“They loaded you up with that elder of yours earlier, and now you’ve fired your elder off at me, Alyoshenka, you little man of God,” said Rakitin with a hate-filled smile.

“Don’t laugh, Rakitin, don’t smirk, don’t talk about the dead man: he is higher than anyone who has ever been on earth!” Alyosha cried with tears in his voice. “I didn’t stand up to speak to you as a judge, but as the lowest of the accused myself. What am I compared with her? I came here to be ruined, and I said, ‘Let it be, let it be!’—and that out of my own faintheartedness, while she, after five years of torment, as soon as someone came for the first time and said a sincere word to her—she forgave everything, forgot everything, and is weeping! Her offender has come back, he’s calling her, and she forgives him everything, and hurries to him in joy, and she won’t take a knife, she won’t! No, I am not like that. Whether you are like that, Misha, I don’t know, but I am not! Today, just now, I was given this lesson… She is higher than we are in love… Had you heard from her before what she has told us now? No, you hadn’t; if you had, you would have understood everything long ago… and the other one too, the one insulted the day before yesterday, let her forgive her too! And she will forgive, if she finds out… and she will find out… This soul is not yet reconciled, it must be spared… there may be a treasure in this soul…”

Alyosha fell silent, because his breath failed him. Rakitin, in spite of all his spite, was looking at him with surprise. Never had he expected such a tirade from the quiet Alyosha.

“Look at the lawyer who’s turned up! Have you fallen in love with her, or what? Agrafena Alexandrovna, why, our faster really has fallen in love with you, you’ve won!” he shouted with an insolent laugh.

Grushenka lifted her head from the pillow and gazed at Alyosha with a melting smile, which shone on her face, somehow suddenly swollen from the tears she had just shed.

“Leave him alone, Alyosha, my cherub, you see what he is, you found someone to talk to. I, Mikhail Osipovich,” she turned to Rakitin, “was going to ask your forgiveness for abusing you, but now I don’t want to again. Alyosha, come to me, sit here,” she beckoned him with a joyful smile, “like that, sit here, and tell me” (she took him by the hand and, smiling, peered into his face), “tell me: do I love that man or not? My offender, do I love him or not? Before you came I was lying here in the dark, I kept questioning my heart: do I love that man or not? Settle it for me, Alyosha, the time has come; whatever you decide, so it shall be. Shall I forgive him or not?”

“But you’ve already forgiven him,” Alyosha said, smiling.

“And really I have forgiven him,” Grushenka said pensively. “What a vile heart! To my vile heart!” She suddenly snatched a glass from the table, drank it at one gulp, raised it, and with a full swing hurled it to the floor. The glass broke with a ringing crash. Some cruel little line flashed in her smile.

“And yet maybe I haven’t forgiven him yet,” she said somehow menacingly, lowering her eyes to the ground, as though she were talking alone to herself. “Maybe my heart is still only getting ready to forgive. I’ll struggle with my heart some more. You see, Alyosha, I’ve grown terribly fond of my five years of tears… Maybe it’s only my injury I’ve grown fond of, and not him at all!”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be in his skin!” hissed Rakitin.

“And you won’t be, Rakitka, you’ll never be in his skin. You’ll be making my shoes, Rakitka, that’s the job I’ll put you to, but you’ll never set eyes on a woman like me… And maybe he won’t either…”

“He won’t? Then what did you dress up for?” Rakitin teased venomously.

“Don’t reproach me with my finery, Rakitka, you don’t know all my heart yet! If I want, I’ll tear off my finery, I’ll tear it off right now, this minute,” she cried in a ringing voice. “You don’t know what this finery is for, Rakitka! Maybe I’ll go out to him and say: ‘Have you ever seen me like this or not yet?’ He left me, after all, a thin, consumptive, seventeen-year-old crybaby. And I’ll sit down beside him, and I’ll seduce him, and I’ll set him on fire: ‘Have you seen what I’m like now?’ I’ll say. ‘Well then, be content with that, my dear sir: it ran down your mustache, but none went in your mouth!’—that’s what this finery may be for, Rakitka,” Grushenka finished with a spiteful little laugh. “I’m violent, Alyosha, I’m furious. I’ll tear off my finery, I’ll maim myself, my beauty, I’ll burn my face and slash it with a knife, I’ll go begging for alms. If I want, I won’t go anywhere now or to anyone, if I want—tomorrow I’ll send back to Kuzma everything he’s given me, and all his money, and I’ll go and work as a day laborer all my life!… You think I won’t do it, Rakitka, won’t dare do it? I will, I will, I can do it right now, only don’t provoke me… and that one I’ll drive away, I’ll give that one the fig, that one will never set eyes on me!”

She shouted the last words hysterically, but again could not hold out, covered her face with her hands, threw herself into the pillow, and again shook with sobs. Rakitin got up from his place.

“It’s time,” he said, “it’s late, they won’t let us into the monastery.”

Grushenka simply leaped up from her place.

“Can you really mean to leave, Alyosha!” she exclaimed in sorrowful amazement. “What are you doing to me now: you’ve called me all to life, torn me to pieces, and now there’s this night again, and again I’m to be left alone!”

“He can hardly spend the night at your place, can he? But if he wants to—let him! I’ll go alone!” Rakitin joked venomously.

“Be quiet, you wicked soul,” Grushenka shouted at him furiously, “you never said such words to me as he came to say to me.”

“What has he said to you?” Rakitin grumbled irritably.

“I don’t know, I can’t tell, I can’t tell at all what it was he said to me, it spoke to my heart, he turned my heart over… He was the first to pity me, the only one, that’s what! Why didn’t you come before, my cherub?” She suddenly fell on her knees before him, as if in ecstasy. “All my life I’ve been waiting for someone like you, I knew that someone like that would come and forgive me. I believed that someone would love me too, nasty as I am, and not only for my shame!…”

“What have I done for you?” Alyosha answered with a tender smile, bending down to her and taking her gently by the hands. “I gave you an onion, one very little onion, that’s all, that’s all!…”

And having said it, he wept himself. At that moment there was a sudden noise in the entryway, someone came into the front hall; Grushenka leaped up as if in terrible fright. Fenya ran into the room, noisily, shouting.

“Mistress, dear, mistress, the courier has galloped up!” she cried merrily and out of breath. “A carriage from Mokroye for you, Timofei the coachman with a troika, they’re changing to fresh horses this minute… A letter, a letter, mistress, here’s the letter!”

The letter was in her hand, and all the while she was shouting she kept waving it in the air. Grushenka snatched the letter from her and held it to the candle. It was only a little note, a few lines; she read it in an instant.

“He’s called!” she cried, all pale, her face twisted with a painful smile. “He’s whistled! Crawl, little dog!”

But for only a single instant did she stand as if in indecision; suddenly the blood rushed to her head and flooded her cheeks with fire.

“I’m going!” she exclaimed suddenly. “My five years! Goodbye! Goodbye, Alyosha, my fate is decided… Go, go, go away from me now, all of you, so that I won’t see you anymore!… Grushenka has flown off into a new life… Don’t think ill of me either, Rakitka. Maybe I’m going to my death! Ooh! It’s as if I were drunk!”

She suddenly left them and ran into her bedroom.

“Well, she’s got no time for us now!” Rakitin grumbled. “Let’s go, or else, I dare say, that womanish screaming will start up again; I’m sick of these tearful screams already…”

Alyosha let himself be led out mechanically. In the yard stood the carriage; they were unharnessing the horses, walking about with a lantern, bustling. Through the open gates a fresh troika was being led in. But no sooner had Alyosha and Rakitin come down from the porch than the window of Grushenka’s bedroom suddenly opened, and she cried after Alyosha in a ringing voice:

“Alyoshechka, give my bow to your brother Mitenka, and tell him not to think ill of me, his villainess. And give him this from me too, in my own words: ‘Grushenka has gone to a scoundrel, and not to you, the noble one!’ And add this too, that Grushenka loved him for one little hour, only one little hour in all she loved him—so let him remember that little hour all his life from now on, Grushenka, tell him, bids you do it for the rest of your life!…”

She finished in a voice full of sobs. The window slammed shut.

“Hm, hm!” Rakitin mumbled, laughing. “She’s butchered brother Mitenka, and now she orders him to remember it all his life. What carnivorousness!”

Alyosha made no answer, as if he had not even heard; he walked beside Rakitin quickly, as if in a terrible hurry; he was as if in oblivion, walking mechanically. Something suddenly stung Rakitin, as if someone had touched his fresh wound with a finger. This was not at all what he had expected earlier, when he brought Grushenka and Alyosha together; something quite different had happened, and not what he had wanted so much.

“That officer of hers is a Pole,” he started up again, keeping himself in check, “and he isn’t an officer at all now, he served as an official in the customs in Siberia, somewhere out there on the Chinese border, some puny little Pole, I suppose. Lost his post, they say. Now he’s heard that Grushenka has got some capital, so he’s come back—and that’s all the miracle there is.”

Again Alyosha seemed not to hear. Rakitin could not hold out:

“Well, so you’ve converted a sinner?” he laughed spitefully at Alyosha. “Turned a harlot onto the path of truth? Cast out seven devils, eh? So there they are, our miracles from earlier on, the ones we were waiting for, they’ve come to pass!”

“Stop it, Rakitin,” Alyosha responded, with suffering in his soul.

“So now you ‘despise’ me for that twenty-five rubles earlier? Sold his true friend, you think. But you’re not Christ, you know, and I’m not Judas.”

“Ah, Rakitin, I assure you, I’d forgotten all about it,” exclaimed Alyosha. “You reminded me yourself just now…”

But Rakitin was now angry beyond recall.

“Devil take you all, every one of you!” he suddenly yelled. “And why the devil did I ever get mixed up with you! I don’t want to know you from now on. Go on alone, there’s your road!”

And he turned sharply into another street, leaving Alyosha alone in the darkness. Alyosha walked out of town and went across the fields toward the monastery.