"What of Dmitri and father? how will it end?" asked Alyosha anxiously.
"You are always harping upon it! What have I to do with it? Am I my brother Dmitri"s keeper?" Ivan snapped irritably, but then he suddenly smiled bitterly. "Cain"s answer about his murdered brother, wasn"t it? Perhaps that"s what you"re thinking at this moment? Well d.a.m.n it all, I can"t stay here to be their keeper, can I? I"ve finished what I had to do, and I am going. Do you imagine I am jealous of Dmitri, that I"ve been trying to steal his beautiful Katerina Ivanovna for the last three months? Nonsense, I had business of my own. I finished it. I am going. I finished it just now, you were witness."
"At Katerina Ivanovna"s?"
"Yes, and I"ve released myself once for all. And after all, what have I to do with Dmitri? Dmitri doesn"t come in. I had my own business to settle with Katerina Ivanovna. You know, on the contrary, that Dmitri behaved as though there was an understanding between us. I didn"t ask to do it, but he solemnly handed her over to me and gave us his blessing. It"s all too funny. Ah, Alyosha, if you only knew how light my heart is now! Would you believe it, I sat here eating my dinner and was nearly ordering champagne to celebrate my first hour of freedom. Tfoo! It"s been going on nearly six months, and all at once I"ve thrown it off. I could never have guessed even yesterday, how easy it would be to put an end to it if I wanted."
"You are speaking of your love, Ivan?"
"Of my love, if you like. I fell in love with the young lady, I worried myself over her and she worried me. I sat watching over her... and all at once it"s collapsed! I spoke this morning with inspiration, but I went away and roared with laughter. Would you believe it? Yes, it"s the literal truth."
"You seem very merry about it now," observed Alyosha, looking into his face, which had suddenly grown brighter.
"But how could I tell that I didn"t care for her a bit! Ha ha! It appears after all I didn"t. And yet how she attracted me! How attractive she was just now when I made my speech! And do you know she attracts me awfully even now, yet how easy it is to leave her. Do you think I am boasting?"
"No, only perhaps it wasn"t love."
"Alyosha," laughed Ivan, "don"t make reflections about love, it"s unseemly for you. How you rushed into the discussion this morning! I"ve forgotten to kiss you for it.... But how she tormented me! It certainly was sitting by a "laceration." Ah, she knew how I loved her! She loved me and not Dmitri," Ivan insisted gaily. "Her feeling for Dmitri was simply a self-laceration. All I told her just now was perfectly true, but the worst of it is, it may take her fifteen or twenty years to find out that she doesn"t care for Dmitri, and loves me whom she torments, and perhaps she may never find it out at all, in spite of her lesson to-day. Well, it"s better so; I can simply go away for good. By the way, how is she now? What happened after I departed?"
Alyosha told him she had been hysterical, and that she was now, he heard, unconscious and delirious.
"Isn"t Madame Hohlakov laying it on?"
"I think not."
"I must find out. n.o.body dies of hysterics, though. They don"t matter. G.o.d gave woman hysterics as a relief. I won"t go to her at all. Why push myself forward again?"
"But you told her that she had never cared for you."
"I did that on purpose. Alyosha, shall I call for some champagne? Let us drink to my freedom. Ah, if only you knew how glad I am!"
"No, brother, we had better not drink," said Alyosha suddenly. "Besides I feel somehow depressed."
"Yes, you"ve been depressed a long time, I"ve noticed it."
"Have you settled to go to-morrow morning, then?"
"Morning? I didn"t say I should go in the morning.... But perhaps it may be the morning. Would you believe it, I dined here to-day only to avoid dining with the old man, I loathe him so. I should have left long ago, so far as he is concerned. But why are you so worried about my going away? We"ve plenty of time before I go, an eternity!"
"If you are going away to-morrow, what do you mean by an eternity?"
"But what does it matter to us?" laughed Ivan. "We"ve time enough for our talk, for what brought us here. Why do you look so surprised? Answer: why have we met here? To talk of my love for Katerina Ivanovna, of the old man and Dmitri? of foreign travel? of the fatal position of Russia? of the Emperor Napoleon? Is that it?"
"No."
"Then you know what for. It"s different for other people; but we in our green youth have to settle the eternal questions first of all. That"s what we care about. Young Russia is talking about nothing but the eternal questions now. just when the old folks are all taken up with practical questions. Why have you been looking at me in expectation for the last three months? To ask me, "What do you believe, or don"t you believe at all?" That"s what your eyes have been meaning for these three months, haven"t they?"
"Perhaps so," smiled Alyosha. "You are not laughing at me, now, Ivan?
"Me laughing! I don"t want to wound my little brother who has been watching me with such expectation for three months. Alyosha, look straight at me! Of course, I am just such a little boy as you are, only not a novice. And what have Russian boys been doing up till now, some of them, I mean? In this stinking tavern, for instance, here, they meet and sit down in a corner. They"ve never met in their lives before and, when they go out of the tavern, they won"t meet again for forty years. And what do they talk about in that momentary halt in the tavern? Of the eternal questions, of the existence of G.o.d and immortality. And those who do not believe in G.o.d talk of socialism or anarchism, of the transformation of all humanity on a new pattern, so that it all comes to the same, they"re the same questions turned inside out. And ma.s.ses, ma.s.ses of the most original Russian boys do nothing but talk of the eternal questions! Isn"t it so?"
"Yes, for real Russians the questions of G.o.d"s existence and of immortality, or, as you say, the same questions turned inside out, come first and foremost, of course, and so they should," said Alyosha, still watching his brother with the same gentle and inquiring smile.
"Well, Alyosha, it"s sometimes very unwise to be a Russian at all, but anything stupider than the way Russian boys spend their time one can hardly imagine. But there"s one Russian boy called Alyosha I am awfully fond of."
"How nicely you put that in!" Alyosha laughed suddenly.
"Well, tell me where to begin, give your orders. The existence of G.o.d, eh?"
"Begin where you like. You declared yesterday at father"s that there was no G.o.d." Alyosha looked searchingly at his brother.
"I said that yesterday at dinner on purpose to tease you and I saw your eyes glow. But now I"ve no objection to discussing with you, and I say so very seriously. I want to be friends with you, Alyosha, for I have no friends and want to try it. Well, only fancy, perhaps I too accept G.o.d," laughed Ivan; "that"s a surprise for you, isn"t it?"
"Yes of course, if you are not joking now."
"Joking? I was told at the elder"s yesterday that I was joking. You know, dear boy, there was an old sinner in the eighteenth century who declared that, if there were no G.o.d, he would have to be invented. S"il n"existait pas Dieu, il faudrait l"inventer. And man has actually invented G.o.d. And what"s strange, what would be marvellous, is not that G.o.d should really exist; the marvel is that such an idea, the idea of the necessity of G.o.d, could enter the head of such a savage, vicious beast as man. So holy it is, so touching, so wise and so great a credit it does to man. As for me, I"ve long resolved not to think whether man created G.o.d or G.o.d man. And I won"t go through all the axioms laid down by Russian boys on that subject, all derived from European hypotheses; for what"s a hypothesis there is an axiom with the Russian boy, and not only with the boys but with their teachers too, for our Russian professors are often just the same boys themselves. And so I omit all the hypotheses. For what are we aiming at now? I am trying to explain as quickly as possible my essential nature, that is what manner of man I am, what I believe in, and for what I hope, that"s it, isn"t it? And therefore I tell you that I accept G.o.d simply. But you must note this: if G.o.d exists and if He really did create the world, then, as we all know, He created it according to the geometry of Euclid and the human mind with the conception of only three dimensions in s.p.a.ce. Yet there have been and still are geometricians and philosophers, and even some of the most distinguished, who doubt whether the whole universe, or to speak more widely, the whole of being, was only created in Euclid"s geometry; they even dare to dream that two parallel lines, which according to Euclid can never meet on earth, may meet somewhere in infinity. I have come to the conclusion that, since I can"t understand even that, I can"t expect to understand about G.o.d. I acknowledge humbly that I have no faculty for settling such questions, I have a Euclidian earthly mind, and how could I solve problems that are not of this world? And I advise you never to think about it either, my dear Alyosha, especially about G.o.d, whether He exists or not. All such questions are utterly inappropriate for a mind created with an idea of only three dimensions. And so I accept G.o.d and am glad to, and what"s more, I accept His wisdom, His purpose which are utterly beyond our ken; I believe in the underlying order and the meaning of life; I believe in the eternal harmony in which they say we shall one day be blended. I believe in the Word to Which the universe is striving, and Which Itself was "with G.o.d," and Which Itself is G.o.d and so on, and so on, to infinity. There are all sorts of phrases for it. I seem to be on the right path, don"t I"? Yet would you believe it, in the final result I don"t accept this world of G.o.d"s, and, although I know it exists, I don"t accept it at all. It"s not that I don"t accept G.o.d, you must understand, it"s the world created by Him I don"t and cannot accept. Let me make it plain. I believe like a child that suffering will be healed and made up for, that all the humiliating absurdity of human contradictions will vanish like a pitiful mirage, like the despicable fabrication of the impotent and infinitely small Euclidian mind of man, that in the world"s finale, at the moment of eternal harmony, something so precious will come to pa.s.s that it will suffice for all hearts, for the comforting of all resentments, for the atonement of all the crimes of humanity, of all the blood they"ve shed; that it will make it not only possible to forgive but to justify all that has happened with men- but thought all that may come to pa.s.s, I don"t accept it. I won"t accept it. Even if parallel lines do meet and I see it myself, I shall see it and say that they"ve met, but still I won"t accept it. That"s what"s at the root of me, Alyosha; that"s my creed. I am in earnest in what I say. I began our talk as stupidly as I could on purpose, but I"ve led up to my confession, for that"s all you want. You didn"t want to hear about G.o.d, but only to know what the brother you love lives by. And so I"ve told you."
Ivan concluded his long tirade with marked and unexpected feeling.
"And why did you begin "as stupidly as you could"?" asked Alyosha, looking dreamily at him.
"To begin with, for the sake of being Russian. Russian conversations on such subjects are always carried on inconceivably stupidly. And secondly, the stupider one is, the closer one is to reality. The stupider one is, the clearer one is. Stupidity is brief and artless, while intelligence wriggles and hides itself. Intelligence is a knave, but stupidity is honest and straight forward. I"ve led the conversation to my despair, and the more stupidly I have presented it, the better for me."
"You will explain why you don"t accept the world?" said Alyosha.
"To be sure I will, it"s not a secret, that"s what I"ve been leading up to. Dear little brother, I don"t want to corrupt you or to turn you from your stronghold, perhaps I want to be healed by you." Ivan smiled suddenly quite like a little gentle child. Alyosha had never seen such a smile on his face before.
Chapter 4.
Rebellion.
"I MUST make one confession" Ivan began. "I could never understand how one can love one"s neighbours. It"s just one"s neighbours, to my mind, that one can"t love, though one might love those at a distance. I once read somewhere of John the Merciful, a saint, that when a hungry, frozen beggar came to him, he took him into his bed, held him in his arms, and began breathing into his mouth, which was putrid and loathsome from some awful disease. I am convinced that he did that from "self-laceration," from the self-laceration of falsity, for the sake of the charity imposed by duty, as a penance laid on him. For anyone to love a man, he must be hidden, for as soon as he shows his face, love is gone."
"Father Zossima has talked of that more than once," observed Alyosha; "he, too, said that the face of a man often hinders many people not practised in love, from loving him. But yet there"s a great deal of love in mankind, and almost Christ-like love. I know that myself, Ivan."
"Well, I know nothing of it so far, and can"t understand it, and the innumerable ma.s.s of mankind are with me there. The question is, whether that"s due to men"s bad qualities or whether it"s inherent in their nature. To my thinking, Christ-like love for men is a miracle impossible on earth. He was G.o.d. But we are not G.o.ds. Suppose I, for instance, suffer intensely. Another can never know how much I suffer, because he is another and not I. And what"s more, a man is rarely ready to admit another"s suffering (as though it were a distinction). Why won"t he admit it, do you think? Because I smell unpleasant, because I have a stupid face, because I once trod on his foot. Besides, there is suffering and suffering; degrading, humiliating suffering such as humbles me- hunger, for instance- my benefactor will perhaps allow me; but when you come to higher suffering- for an idea, for instance- he will very rarely admit that, perhaps because my face strikes him as not at all what he fancies a man should have who suffers for an idea. And so he deprives me instantly of his favour, and not at all from badness of heart. Beggars, especially genteel beggars, ought never to show themselves, but to ask for charity through the newspapers. One can love one"s neighbours in the abstract, or even at a distance, but at close quarters it"s almost impossible. If it were as on the stage, in the ballet, where if beggars come in, they wear silken rags and tattered lace and beg for alms dancing gracefully, then one might like looking at them. But even then we should not love them. But enough of that. I simply wanted to show you my point of view. I meant to speak of the suffering of mankind generally, but we had better confine ourselves to the sufferings of the children. That reduces the scope of my argument to a tenth of what it would be. Still we"d better keep to the children, though it does weaken my case. But, in the first place, children can be loved even at close quarters, even when they are dirty, even when they are ugly (I fancy, though, children never are ugly). The second reason why I won"t speak of grown-up people is that, besides being disgusting and unworthy of love, they have a compensation- they"ve eaten the apple and know good and evil, and they have become "like G.o.ds." They go on eating it still. But the children haven"t eaten anything, and are so far innocent. Are you fond of children, Alyosha? I know you are, and you will understand why I prefer to speak of them. If they, too, suffer horribly on earth, they must suffer for their fathers" sins, they must be punished for their fathers, who have eaten the apple; but that reasoning is of the other world and is incomprehensible for the heart of man here on earth. The innocent must not suffer for another"s sins, and especially such innocents! You may be surprised at me, Alyosha, but I am awfully fond of children, too. And observe, cruel people, the violent, the rapacious, the Karamazovs are sometimes very fond of children. Children while they are quite little- up to seven, for instance- are so remote from grown-up people they are different creatures, as it were, of a different species. I knew a criminal in prison who had, in the course of his career as a burglar, murdered whole families, including several children. But when he was in prison, he had a strange affection for them. He spent all his time at his window, watching the children playing in the prison yard. He trained one little boy to come up to his window and made great friends with him.... You don"t know why I am telling you all this, Alyosha? My head aches and I am sad."
"You speak with a strange air," observed Alyosha uneasily, "as though you were not quite yourself."
"By the way, a Bulgarian I met lately in Moscow," Ivan went on, seeming not to hear his brother"s words, "told me about the crimes committed by Turks and Circa.s.sians in all parts of Bulgaria through fear of a general rising of the Slavs. They burn villages, murder, outrage women and children, they nail their prisoners by the ears to the fences, leave them so till morning, and in the morning they hang them- all sorts of things you can"t imagine. People talk sometimes of b.e.s.t.i.a.l cruelty, but that"s a great injustice and insult to the beasts; a beast can never be so cruel as a man, so artistically cruel. The tiger only tears and gnaws, that"s all he can do. He would never think of nailing people by the ears, even if he were able to do it. These Turks took a pleasure in torturing children, -too; cutting the unborn child from the mothers womb, and tossing babies up in the air and catching them on the points of their bayonets before their mothers" eyes. Doing it before the mothers" eyes was what gave zest to the amus.e.m.e.nt. Here is another scene that I thought very interesting. Imagine a trembling mother with her baby in her arms, a circle of invading Turks around her. They"ve planned a diversion: they pet the baby, laugh to make it laugh. They succeed, the baby laughs. At that moment a Turk points a pistol four inches from the baby"s face. The baby laughs with glee, holds out its little hands to the pistol, and he pulls the trigger in the baby"s face and blows out its brains. Artistic, wasn"t it? By the way, Turks are particularly fond of sweet things, they say."
"Brother, what are you driving at?" asked Alyosha.
"I think if the devil doesn"t exist, but man has created him, he has created him in his own image and likeness."
"Just as he did G.o.d, then?" observed Alyosha.
""It"s wonderful how you can turn words," as Polonius says in Hamlet," laughed Ivan. "You turn my words against me. Well, I am glad. Yours must be a fine G.o.d, if man created Him in his image and likeness. You asked just now what I was driving at. You see, I am fond of collecting certain facts, and, would you believe, I even copy anecdotes of a certain sort from newspapers and books, and I"ve already got a fine collection. The Turks, of course, have gone into it, but they are foreigners. I have specimens from home that are even better than the Turks. You know we prefer beating- rods and scourges- that"s our national inst.i.tution. Nailing ears is unthinkable for us, for we are, after all, Europeans. But the rod and the scourge we have always with us and they cannot be taken from us. Abroad now they scarcely do any beating. Manners are more humane, or laws have been pa.s.sed, so that they don"t dare to flog men now. But they make up for it in another way just as national as ours. And so national that it would be practically impossible among us, though I believe we are being inoculated with it, since the religious movement began in our aristocracy. I have a charming pamphlet, translated from the French, describing how, quite recently, five years ago, a murderer, Richard, was executed- a young man, I believe, of three and twenty, who repented and was converted to the Christian faith at the very scaffold. This Richard was an illegitimate child who was given as a child of six by his parents to some shepherds on the Swiss mountains. They brought him up to work for them. He grew up like a little wild beast among them. The shepherds taught him nothing, and scarcely fed or clothed him, but sent him out at seven to herd the flock in cold and wet, and no one hesitated or scrupled to treat him so. Quite the contrary, they thought they had every right, for Richard had been given to them as a chattel, and they did not even see the necessity of feeding him. Richard himself describes how in those years, like the Prodigal Son in the Gospel, he longed to eat of the mash given to the pigs, which were fattened for sale. But they wouldn"t even give that, and beat him when he stole from the pigs. And that was how he spent all his childhood and his youth, till he grew up and was strong enough to go away and be a thief. The savage began to earn his living as a day labourer in Geneva. He drank what he earned, he lived like a brute, and finished by killing and robbing an old man. He was caught, tried, and condemned to death. They are not sentimentalists there. And in prison he was immediately surrounded by pastors, members of Christian brotherhoods, philanthropic ladies, and the like. They taught him to read and write in prison, and expounded the Gospel to him. They exhorted him, worked upon him, drummed at him incessantly, till at last he solemnly confessed his crime. He was converted. He wrote to the court himself that he was a monster, but that in the end G.o.d had vouchsafed him light and shown grace. All Geneva was in excitement about him- all philanthropic and religious Geneva. All the aristocratic and well-bred society of the town rushed to the prison, kissed Richard and embraced him; "You are our brother, you have found grace." And Richard does nothing but weep with emotion, "Yes, I"ve found grace! All my youth and childhood I was glad of pigs" food, but now even I have found grace. I am dying in the Lord." "Yes, Richard, die in the Lord; you have shed blood and must die. Though it"s not your fault that you knew not the Lord, when you coveted the pigs" food and were beaten for stealing it (which was very wrong of you, for stealing is forbidden); but you"ve shed blood and you must die."And on the last day, Richard, perfectly limp, did nothing but cry and repeat every minute: "This is my happiest day. I am going to the Lord." "Yes," cry the pastors and the judges and philanthropic ladies. "This is the happiest day of your life, for you are going to the Lord!" They all walk or drive to the scaffold in procession behind the prison van. At the scaffold they call to Richard: "Die, brother, die in the Lord, for even thou hast found grace!" And so, covered with his brothers" kisses, Richard is dragged on to the scaffold, and led to the guillotine. And they chopped off his head in brotherly fashion, because he had found grace. Yes, that"s characteristic. That pamphlet is translated into Russian by some Russian philanthropists of aristocratic rank and evangelical aspirations, and has been distributed gratis for the enlightenment of the people. The case of Richard is interesting because it"s national. Though to us it"s absurd to cut off a man"s head, because he has become our brother and has found grace, yet we have our own speciality, which is all but worse. Our historical pastime is the direct satisfaction of inflicting pain. There are lines in Nekra.s.sov describing how a peasant lashes a horse on the eyes, "on its meek eyes," everyone must have seen it. It"s peculiarly Russian. He describes how a feeble little nag has foundered under too heavy a load and cannot move. The peasant beats it, beats it savagely, beats it at last not knowing what he is doing in the intoxication of cruelty, thrashes it mercilessly over and over again. "However weak you are, you must pull, if you die for it." The nag strains, and then he begins lashing the poor defenceless creature on its weeping, on its "meek eyes." The frantic beast tugs and draws the load, trembling all over, gasping for breath, moving sideways, with a sort of unnatural spasmodic action- it"s awful in Nekra.s.sov. But that only a horse, and G.o.d has horses to be beaten. So the Tatars have taught us, and they left us the knout as a remembrance of it. But men, too, can be beaten. A well-educated, cultured gentleman and his wife beat their own child with a birch-rod, a girl of seven. I have an exact account of it. The papa was glad that the birch was covered with twigs. "It stings more," said he, and so be began stinging his daughter. I know for a fact there are people who at every blow are worked up to sensuality, to literal sensuality, which increases progressively at every blow they inflict. They beat for a minute, for five minutes, for ten minutes, more often and more savagely. The child screams. At last the child cannot scream, it gasps, "Daddy daddy!" By some diabolical unseemly chance the case was brought into court. A counsel is engaged. The Russian people have long called a barrister "a conscience for hire." The counsel protests in his client"s defence. "It"s such a simple thing," he says, "an everyday domestic event. A father corrects his child. To our shame be it said, it is brought into court." The jury, convinced by him, give a favourable verdict. The public roars with delight that the torturer is acquitted. Ah, pity I wasn"t there! I would have proposed to raise a subscription in his honour! Charming pictures.
"But I"ve still better things about children. I"ve collected a great, great deal about Russian children, Alyosha. There was a little girl of five who was hated by her father and mother, "most worthy and respectable people, of good education and breeding." You see, I must repeat again, it is a peculiar characteristic of many people, this love of torturing children, and children only. To all other types of humanity these torturers behave mildly and benevolently, like cultivated and humane Europeans; but they are very fond of tormenting children, even fond of children themselves in that sense. it"s just their defencelessness that tempts the tormentor, just the angelic confidence of the child who has no refuge and no appeal, that sets his vile blood on fire. In every man, of course, a demon lies hidden- the demon of rage, the demon of l.u.s.tful heat at the screams of the tortured victim, the demon of lawlessness let off the chain, the demon of diseases that follow on vice, gout, kidney disease, and so on.
"This poor child of five was subjected to every possible torture by those cultivated parents. They beat her, thrashed her, kicked her for no reason till her body was one bruise. Then, they went to greater refinements of cruelty- shut her up all night in the cold and frost in a privy, and because she didn"t ask to be taken up at night (as though a child of five sleeping its angelic, sound sleep could be trained to wake and ask), they smeared her face and filled her mouth with excrement, and it was her mother, her mother did this. And that mother could sleep, hearing the poor child"s groans! Can you understand why a little creature, who can"t even understand what"s done to her, should beat her little aching heart with her tiny fist in the dark and the cold, and weep her meek unresentful tears to dear, kind G.o.d to protect her? Do you understand that, friend and brother, you pious and humble novice? Do you understand why this infamy must be and is permitted? Without it, I am told, man could not have existed on earth, for he could not have known good and evil. Why should he know that diabolical good and evil when it costs so much? Why, the whole world of knowledge is not worth that child"s prayer to dear, kind G.o.d"! I say nothing of the sufferings of grown-up people, they have eaten the apple, d.a.m.n them, and the devil take them all! But these little ones! I am making you suffer, Alyosha, you are not yourself. I"ll leave off if you like."
"Nevermind. I want to suffer too," muttered Alyosha.
"One picture, only one more, because it"s so curious, so characteristic, and I have only just read it in some collection of Russian antiquities. I"ve forgotten the name. I must look it up. It was in the darkest days of serfdom at the beginning of the century, and long live the Liberator of the People! There was in those days a general of aristocratic connections, the owner of great estates, one of those men- somewhat exceptional, I believe, even then- who, retiring from the service into a life of leisure, are convinced that they"ve earned absolute power over the lives of their subjects. There were such men then. So our general, settled on his property of two thousand souls, lives in pomp, and domineers over his poor neighbours as though they were dependents and buffoons. He has kennels of hundreds of hounds and nearly a hundred dog-boys- all mounted, and in uniform. One day a serf-boy, a little child of eight, threw a stone in play and hurt the paw of the general"s favourite hound. "Why is my favourite dog lame?" He is told that the boy threw a stone that hurt the dog"s paw. "So you did it." The general looked the child up and down. "Take him." He was taken- taken from his mother and kept shut up all night. Early that morning the general comes out on horseback, with the hounds, his dependents, dog-boys, and huntsmen, all mounted around him in full hunting parade. The servants are summoned for their edification, and in front of them all stands the mother of the child. The child is brought from the lock-up. It"s a gloomy, cold, foggy, autumn day, a capital day for hunting. The general orders the child to be undressed; the child is stripped naked. He shivers, numb with terror, not daring to cry.... "Make him run," commands the general. "Run! run!" shout the dog-boys. The boy runs.... "At him!" yells the general, and he sets the whole pack of hounds on the child. The hounds catch him, and tear him to pieces before his mother"s eyes!... I believe the general was afterwards declared incapable of administering his estates. Well- what did he deserve? To be shot? To be shot for the satisfaction of our moral feelings? Speak, Alyosha!
"To be shot," murmured Alyosha, lifting his eyes to Ivan with a pale, twisted smile.
"Bravo!" cried Ivan delighted. "If even you say so... You"re a pretty monk! So there is a little devil sitting in your heart, Alyosha Karamazov!"
"What I said was absurd, but-"
"That"s just the point, that "but"!" cried Ivan. "Let me tell you, novice, that the absurd is only too necessary on earth. The world stands on absurdities, and perhaps nothing would have come to pa.s.s in it without them. We know what we know!"
"What do you know?"
"I understand nothing," Ivan went on, as though in delirium. "I don"t want to understand anything now. I want to stick to the fact. I made up my mind long ago not to understand. If I try to understand anything, I shall be false to the fact, and I have determined to stick to the fact."
"Why are you trying me?" Alyosha cried, with sudden distress. "Will you say what you mean at last?"
"Of course, I will; that"s what I"ve been leading up to. You are dear to me, I don"t want to let you go, and I won"t give you up to your Zossima."
Ivan for a minute was silent, his face became all at once very sad.
"Listen! I took the case of children only to make my case clearer. Of the other tears of humanity with which the earth is soaked from its crust to its centre, I will say nothing. I have narrowed my subject on purpose. I am a bug, and I recognise in all humility that I cannot understand why the world is arranged as it is. Men are themselves to blame, I suppose; they were given paradise, they wanted freedom, and stole fire from heaven, though they knew they would become unhappy, so there is no need to pity them. With my pitiful, earthly, Euclidian understanding, all I know is that there is suffering and that there are none guilty; that cause follows effect, simply and directly; that everything flows and finds its level- but that"s only Euclidian nonsense, I know that, and I can"t consent to live by it! What comfort is it to me that there are none guilty and that cause follows effect simply and directly, and that I know it?- I must have justice, or I will destroy myself. And not justice in some remote infinite time and s.p.a.ce, but here on earth, and that I could see myself. I have believed in it. I want to see it, and if I am dead by then, let me rise again, for if it all happens without me, it will be too unfair. Surely I haven"t suffered simply that I, my crimes and my sufferings, may manure the soil of the future harmony for somebody else. I want to see with my own eyes the hind lie down with the lion and the victim rise up and embrace his murderer. I want to be there when everyone suddenly understands what it has all been for. All the religions of the world are built on this longing, and I am a believer. But then there are the children, and what am I to do about them? That"s a question I can"t answer. For the hundredth time I repeat, there are numbers of questions, but I"ve only taken the children, because in their case what I mean is so unanswerably clear. Listen! If all must suffer to pay for the eternal harmony, what have children to do with it, tell me, please? It"s beyond all comprehension why they should suffer, and why they should pay for the harmony. Why should they, too, furnish material to enrich the soil for the harmony of the future? I understand solidarity in sin among men. I understand solidarity in retribution, too; but there can be no such solidarity with children. And if it is really true that they must share responsibility for all their fathers" crimes, such a truth is not of this world and is beyond my comprehension. Some jester will say, perhaps, that the child would have grown up and have sinned, but you see he didn"t grow up, he was torn to pieces by the dogs, at eight years old. Oh, Alyosha, I am not blaspheming! I understand, of course, what an upheaval of the universe it will be when everything in heaven and earth blends in one hymn of praise and everything that lives and has lived cries aloud: "Thou art just, O Lord, for Thy ways are revealed." When the mother embraces the fiend who threw her child to the dogs, and all three cry aloud with tears, "Thou art just, O Lord!" then, of course, the crown of knowledge will be reached and all will be made clear. But what pulls me up here is that I can"t accept that harmony. And while I am on earth, I make haste to take my own measures. You see, Alyosha, perhaps it really may happen that if I live to that moment, or rise again to see it, I, too, perhaps, may cry aloud with the rest, looking at the mother embracing the child"s torturer, "Thou art just, O Lord!" but I don"t want to cry aloud then. While there is still time, I hasten to protect myself, and so I renounce the higher harmony altogether. It"s not worth the tears of that one tortured child who beat itself on the breast with its little fist and prayed in its stinking outhouse, with its unexpiated tears to "dear, kind G.o.d"! It"s not worth it, because those tears are unatoned for. They must be atoned for, or there can be no harmony. But how? How are you going to atone for them? Is it possible? By their being avenged? But what do I care for avenging them? What do I care for a h.e.l.l for oppressors? What good can h.e.l.l do, since those children have already been tortured? And what becomes of harmony, if there is h.e.l.l? I want to forgive. I want to embrace. I don"t want more suffering. And if the sufferings of children go to swell the sum of sufferings which was necessary to pay for truth, then I protest that the truth is not worth such a price. I don"t want the mother to embrace the oppressor who threw her son to the dogs! She dare not forgive him! Let her forgive him for herself, if she will, let her forgive the torturer for the immeasurable suffering of her mother"s heart. But the sufferings of her tortured child she has no right to forgive; she dare not forgive the torturer, even if the child were to forgive him! And if that is so, if they dare not forgive, what becomes of harmony? Is there in the whole world a being who would have the right to forgive and could forgive? I don"t want harmony. From love for humanity I don"t want it. I would rather be left with the unavenged suffering. I would rather remain with my unavenged suffering and unsatisfied indignation, even if I were wrong. Besides, too high a price is asked for harmony; it"s beyond our means to pay so much to enter on it. And so I hasten to give back my entrance ticket, and if I am an honest man I am bound to give it back as soon as possible. And that I am doing. It"s not G.o.d that I don"t accept, Alyosha, only I most respectfully return him the ticket."
"That"s rebellion," murmered Alyosha, looking down.
"Rebellion? I am sorry you call it that," said Ivan earnestly. "One can hardly live in rebellion, and I want to live. Tell me yourself, I challenge your answer. Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end, giving them peace and rest at last, but that it was essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creature- that baby beating its breast with its fist, for instance- and to found that edifice on its unavenged tears, would you consent to be the architect on those conditions? Tell me, and tell the truth."
"No, I wouldn"t consent," said Alyosha softly.
"And can you admit the idea that men for whom you are building it would agree to accept their happiness on the foundation of the unexpiated blood of a little victim? And accepting it would remain happy for ever?"
"No, I can"t admit it. Brother," said Alyosha suddenly, with flashing eyes, "you said just now, is there a being in the whole world who would have the right to forgive and could forgive? But there is a Being and He can forgive everything, all and for all, because He gave His innocent blood for all and everything. You have forgotten Him, and on Him is built the edifice, and it is to Him they cry aloud, "Thou art just, O Lord, for Thy ways are revealed!"
"Ah! the One without sin and His blood! No, I have not forgotten Him; on the contrary I"ve been wondering all the time how it was you did not bring Him in before, for usually all arguments on your side put Him in the foreground. Do you know, Alyosha- don"t laugh I made a poem about a year ago. If you can waste another ten minutes on me, I"ll tell it to you."
"You wrote a poem?"
"Oh, no, I didn"t write it," laughed Ivan, and I"ve never written two lines of poetry in my life. But I made up this poem in prose and I remembered it. I was carried away when I made it up. You will be my first reader- that is listener. Why should an author forego even one listener?" smiled Ivan. "Shall I tell it to you?"
"I am all attention." said Alyosha.
"My poem is called The Grand Inquisitor; it"s a ridiculous thing, but I want to tell it to you.
Chapter 5.
The Grand Inquisitor.
"EVEN this must have a preface- that is, a literary preface," laughed Ivan, "and I am a poor hand at making one. You see, my action takes place in the sixteenth century, and at that time, as you probably learnt at school, it was customary in poetry to bring down heavenly powers on earth. Not to speak of Dante, in France, clerks, as well as the monks in the monasteries, used to give regular performances in which the Madonna, the saints, the angels, Christ, and G.o.d Himself were brought on the stage. In those days it was done in all simplicity. In Victor Hugo"s Notre Dame de Paris an edifying and gratuitous spectacle was provided for the people in the Hotel de Ville of Paris in the reign of Louis XI in honour of the birth of the dauphin. It was called Le bon jugement de la tres sainte et gracieuse Vierge Marie, and she appears herself on the stage and p.r.o.nounces her bon jugement. Similar plays, chiefly from the Old Testament, were occasionally performed in Moscow too, up to the times of Peter the Great. But besides plays there were all sorts of legends and ballads scattered about the world, in which the saints and angels and all the powers of Heaven took part when required. In our monasteries the monks busied themselves in translating, copying, and even composing such poems- and even under the Tatars. There is, for instance, one such poem (of course, from the Greek), The Wanderings of Our Lady through h.e.l.l, with descriptions as bold as Dante"s. Our Lady visits h.e.l.l, and the Archangel Michael leads her through the torments. She sees the sinners and their punishment. There she sees among others one noteworthy set of sinners in a burning lake; some of them sink to the bottom of the lake so that they can"t swim out, and "these G.o.d forgets"- an expression of extraordinary depth and force. And so Our Lady, shocked and weeping, falls before the throne of G.o.d and begs for mercy for all in h.e.l.l- for all she has seen there, indiscriminately. Her conversation with G.o.d is immensely interesting. She beseeches Him, she will not desist, and when G.o.d points to the hands and feet of her Son, nailed to the Cross, and asks, "How can I forgive His tormentors?" she bids all the saints, all the martyrs, all the angels and archangels to fall down with her and pray for mercy on all without distinction. It ends by her winning from G.o.d a respite of suffering every year from Good Friday till Trinity Day, and the sinners at once raise a cry of thankfulness from h.e.l.l, chanting, "Thou art just, O Lord, in this judgment." Well, my poem would have been of that kind if it had appeared at that time. He comes on the scene in my poem, but He says nothing, only appears and pa.s.ses on. Fifteen centuries have pa.s.sed since He promised to come in His glory, fifteen centuries since His prophet wrote, "Behold, I come quickly"; "Of that day and that hour knoweth no man, neither the Son, but the Father," as He Himself predicted on earth. But humanity awaits him with the same faith and with the same love. Oh, with greater faith, for it is fifteen centuries since man has ceased to see signs from heaven.
No signs from heaven come to-day To add to what the heart doth say.
There was nothing left but faith in what the heart doth say. It is true there were many miracles in those days. There were saints who performed miraculous cures; some holy people, according to their biographies, were visited by the Queen of Heaven herself. But the devil did not slumber, and doubts were already arising among men of the truth of these miracles. And just then there appeared in the north of Germany a terrible new heresy. "A huge star like to a torch" (that is, to a church) "fell on the sources of the waters and they became bitter." These heretics began blasphemously denying miracles. But those who remained faithful were all the more ardent in their faith. The tears of humanity rose up to Him as before, awaited His coming, loved Him, hoped for Him, yearned to suffer and die for Him as before. And so many ages mankind had prayed with faith and fervour, "O Lord our G.o.d, hasten Thy coming"; so many ages called upon Him, that in His infinite mercy He deigned to come down to His servants. Before that day He had come down, He had visited some holy men, martyrs, and hermits, as is written in their lives. Among us, Tyutchev, with absolute faith in the truth of his words, bore witness that Bearing the Cross, in slavish dress, Weary and worn, the Heavenly King Our mother, Russia, came to bless, And through our land went wandering.
And that certainly was so, I a.s.sure you.
"And behold, He deigned to appear for a moment to the people, to the tortured, suffering people, sunk in iniquity, but loving Him like children. My story is laid in Spain, in Seville, in the most terrible time of the Inquisition, when fires were lighted every day to the glory of G.o.d, and "in the splendid auto da fe the wicked heretics were burnt." Oh, of course, this was not the coming in which He will appear, according to His promise, at the end of time in all His heavenly glory, and which will be sudden "as lightning flashing from east to west." No, He visited His children only for a moment, and there where the flames were crackling round the heretics. In His infinite mercy He came once more among men in that human shape in which He walked among men for thirty-three years fifteen centuries ago. He came down to the "hot pavements" of the southern town in which on the day before almost a hundred heretics had, ad majorem gloriam Dei, been burnt by the cardinal, the Grand Inquisitor, in a magnificent auto da fe, in the presence of the king, the court, the knights, the cardinals, the most charming ladies of the court, and the whole population of Seville.
"He came softly, un.o.bserved, and yet, strange to say, everyone recognised Him. That might be one of the best pa.s.sages in the poem. I mean, why they recognised Him. The people are irresistibly drawn to Him, they surround Him, they flock about Him, follow Him. He moves silently in their midst with a gentle smile of infinite compa.s.sion. The sun of love burns in His heart, and power shine from His eyes, and their radiance, shed on the people, stirs their hearts with responsive love. He holds out His hands to them, blesses them, and a healing virtue comes from contact with Him, even with His garments. An old man in the crowd, blind from childhood, cries out, "O Lord, heal me and I shall see Thee!" and, as it were, scales fall from his eyes and the blind man sees Him. The crowd weeps and kisses the earth under His feet. Children throw flowers before Him, sing, and cry hosannah. "It is He- it is He!" repeat. "It must be He, it can be no one but Him!" He stops at the steps of the Seville cathedral at the moment when the weeping mourners are bringing in a little open white coffin. In it lies a child of seven, the only daughter of a prominent citizen. The dead child lies hidden in flowers. "He will raise your child," the crowd shouts to the weeping mother. The priest, coming to meet the coffin, looks perplexed, and frowns, but the mother of the dead child throws herself at His feet with a wail. "If it is Thou, raise my child!" she cries, holding out her hands to Him. The procession halts, the coffin is laid on the steps at His feet. He looks with compa.s.sion, and His lips once more softly p.r.o.nounce, "Maiden, arise!" and the maiden arises. The little girl sits up in the coffin and looks round, smiling with wide-open wondering eyes, holding a bunch of white roses they had put in her hand.
"There are cries, sobs, confusion among the people, and at that moment the cardinal himself, the Grand Inquisitor, pa.s.ses by the cathedral. He is an old man, almost ninety, tall and erect, with a withered face and sunken eyes, in which there is still a gleam of light. He is not dressed in his gorgeous cardinal"s robes, as he was the day before, when he was burning the enemies of the Roman Church- at this moment he is wearing his coa.r.s.e, old, monk"s ca.s.sock. At a distance behind him come his gloomy a.s.sistants and slaves and the "holy guard." He stops at the sight of the crowd and watches it from a distance. He sees everything; he sees them set the coffin down at His feet, sees the child rise up, and his face darkens. He knits his thick grey brows and his eyes gleam with a sinister fire. He holds out his finger and bids the guards take Him. And such is his power, so completely are the people cowed into submission and trembling obedience to him, that the crowd immediately makes way for the guards, and in the midst of deathlike silence they lay hands on Him and lead him away. The crowd instantly bows down to the earth, like one man, before the old Inquisitor. He blesses the people in silence and pa.s.ses on" The guards lead their prisoner to the close, gloomy vaulted prison- in the ancient palace of the Holy, inquisition and shut him in it. The day pa.s.ses and is followed by the dark, burning, "breathless" night of Seville. The air is "fragrant with laurel and lemon." In the pitch darkness the iron door of the prison is suddenly opened and the Grand Inquisitor himself comes in with a light in his hand. He is alone; the door is closed at once behind him. He stands in the doorway and for a minute or two gazes into His face. At last he goes up slowly, sets the light on the table and speaks.
""Is it Thou? Thou?" but receiving no answer, he adds at once. "Don"t answer, be silent. What canst Thou say, indeed? I know too well what Thou wouldst say. And Thou hast no right to add anything to what Thou hadst said of old. Why, then, art Thou come to hinder us? For Thou hast come to hinder us, and Thou knowest that. But dost thou know what will be to-morrow? I know not who Thou art and care not to know whether it is Thou or only a semblance of Him, but to-morrow I shall condemn Thee and burn Thee at the stake as the worst of heretics. And the very people who have to-day kissed Thy feet, to-morrow at the faintest sign from me will rush to heap up the embers of Thy fire. Knowest Thou that? Yes, maybe Thou knowest it," he added with thoughtful penetration, never for a moment taking his eyes off the Prisoner."
"I don"t quite understand, Ivan. What does it mean?" Alyosha, who had been listening in silence, said with a smile. "Is it simply a wild fantasy, or a mistake on the part of the old man- some impossible quid pro quo?"
"Take it as the last," said Ivan, laughing, "if you are so corrupted by modern realism and can"t stand anything fantastic. If you like it to be a case of mistaken ident.i.ty, let it be so. It is true," he went on, laughing, "the old man was ninety, and he might well be crazy over his set idea. He might have been struck by the appearance of the Prisoner. It might, in fact, be simply his ravings, the delusion of an old man of ninety, over-excited by the auto da fe of a hundred heretics the day before. But does it matter to us after all whether it was a mistake of ident.i.ty or a wild fantasy? All that matters is that the old man should speak out, that he should speak openly of what he has thought in silence for ninety years."
"And the Prisoner too is silent? Does He look at him and not say a word?"
"That"s inevitable in any case," Ivan laughed again. "The old man has told Him He hasn"t the right to add anything to what He has said of old. One may say it is the most fundamental feature of Roman Catholicism, in my opinion at least. "All has been given by Thee to the Pope," they say, "and all, therefore, is still in the Pope"s hands, and there is no need for Thee to come now at all. Thou must not meddle for the time, at least." That"s how they speak and write too- the Jesuits, at any rate. I have read it myself in the works of their theologians. "Hast Thou the right to reveal to us one of the mysteries of that world from which Thou hast come?" my old man asks Him, and answers the question for Him. "No, Thou hast not; that Thou mayest not add to what has been said of old, and mayest not take from men the freedom which Thou didst exalt when Thou wast on earth. Whatsoever Thou revealest anew will encroach on men"s freedom of faith; for it will be manifest as a miracle, and the freedom of their faith was dearer to Thee than anything in those days fifteen hundred years ago. Didst Thou not often say then, "I will make you free"? But now Thou hast seen these "free" men," the old man adds suddenly, with a pensive smile. "Yes, we"ve paid dearly for it," he goes on, looking sternly at Him, "but at last we have completed that work in Thy name. For fifteen centuries we have been wrestling with Thy freedom, but now it is ended and over for good. Dost Thou not believe that it"s over for good? Thou lookest meekly at me and deignest not even to be wroth with me. But let me tell Thee that now, to-day, people are more persuaded than ever that they have perfect freedom, yet they have brought their freedom to us and laid it humbly at our feet. But that has been our doing. Was this what Thou didst? Was this Thy freedom?""
"I don"t understand again." Alyosha broke in. "Is he ironical, is he jesting?"
"Not a bit of it! He claims it as a merit for himself and his Church that at last they have vanquished freedom and have done so to make men happy. "For now" (he is speaking of the Inquisition, of course) "for the first time it has become possible to think of the happiness of men. Man was created a rebel; and how can rebels be happy? Thou wast warned," he says to Him. "Thou hast had no lack of admonitions and warnings, but Thou didst not listen to those warnings; Thou didst reject the only way by which men might be made happy. But, fortunately, departing Thou didst hand on the work to us. Thou hast promised, Thou hast established by Thy word, Thou hast given to us the right to bind and to unbind, and now, of course, Thou canst not think of taking it away. Why, then, hast Thou come to hinder us?""
"And what"s the meaning of "no lack of admonitions and warnings"?" asked Alyosha.
"Why, that"s the chief part of what the old man must say.