The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (best e book reader for android txt) 📖

head to be jealous of Kuzma last

week.”

 

“But he knew about the Pole before?”

 

“Yes, but there it is. He has known about him from the very

beginning but to-day he suddenly got up and began scolding about

him. I am ashamed to repeat what he said. Silly fellow! Rakitin went

in as I came out. Perhaps Rakitin is egging him on. What do you

think?” she added carelessly.

 

“He loves you, that’s what it is; he loves you so much. And now he

is particularly worried.”

 

“I should think he might be, with the trial to-morrow. And I

went to him to say something about to-morrow, for I dread to think

what’s going to happen then. You say that he is worried, but how

worried I am! And he talks about the Pole! He’s too silly! He is not

jealous of Maximushka yet, anyway.”

 

“My wife was dreadfully jealous over me, too,” Maximov put in

his word.

 

“Jealous of you?” Grushenka laughed in spite of herself. “Of

whom could she have been jealous?”

 

“Of the servant girls.”

 

“Hold your tongue, Maximushka, I am in no laughing mood now; I

feel angry. Don’t ogle the pies. I shan’t give you any; they are not

good for you, and I won’t give you any vodka either. I have to look

after him, too, just as though I kept an almshouse,” she laughed.

 

“I don’t deserve your kindness. I am a worthless creature,” said

Maximov, with tears in his voice. “You would do better to spend your

kindness on people of more use than me.”

 

“Ech, everyone is of use, Maximushka, and how can we tell who’s of

most use? If only that Pole didn’t exist, Alyosha. He’s taken it

into his head to fall ill, too, to-day. I’ve been to see him also. And

I shall send him some pies, too, on purpose. I hadn’t sent him any,

but Mitya accused me of it, so now I shall send some! Ah, here’s Fenya

with a letter! Yes, it’s from the Poles-begging again!

 

Pan Mussyalovitch had indeed sent an extremely long and

characteristically eloquent letter in which he begged her to lend

him three roubles. In the letter was enclosed a receipt for the sum,

with a promise to repay it within three months, signed by Pan

Vrublevsky as well. Grushenka had received many such letters,

accompanied by such receipts, from her former lover during the

fortnight of her convalescence. But she knew that the two Poles had

been to ask after her health during her illness. The first letter

Grushenka got from them was a long one, written on large notepaper and

with a big family crest on the seal. It was so obscure and

rhetorical that Grushenka put it down before she had read half, unable

to make head or tail of it. She could not attend to letters then.

The first letter was followed next day by another in which Pan

Mussyalovitch begged her for a loan of two thousand roubles for a very

short period. Grushenka left that letter, too, unanswered. A whole

series of letters had followed-one every day-all as pompous and

rhetorical, but the loan asked for, gradually diminishing, dropped

to a hundred roubles, than to twenty-five, to ten, and finally

Grushenka received a letter in which both the Poles begged her for

only one rouble and included a receipt signed by both.

 

Then Grushenka suddenly felt sorry for them, and at dusk she

went round herself to their lodging. She found the two Poles in

great poverty, almost destitution, without food or fuel, without

cigarettes, in debt to their landlady. The two hundred roubles they

had carried off from Mitya at Mokroe had soon disappeared. But

Grushenka was surprised at their meeting her with arrogant dignity and

self-assertion, with the greatest punctilio and pompous speeches.

Grushenka simply laughed, and gave her former admirer ten roubles.

Then, laughing, she told Mitya of it and he was not in the least

jealous. But ever since, the Poles had attached themselves to

Grushenka and bombarded her daily with requests for money and she

had always sent them small sums. And now that day Mitya had taken it

into his head to be fearfully jealous.

 

“Like a fool, I went round to him just for a minute, on the way to

see Mitya, for he is ill, too, my Pole,” Grushenka began again with

nervous haste. “I was laughing, telling Mitya about it. ‘Fancy,’ I

said, ‘my Pole had the happy thought to sing his old songs to me to

the guitar. He thought I would be touched and marry him!’ Mitya

leapt up swearing…. So, there, I’ll send them the pies! Fenya, is it

that little girl they’ve sent? Here, give her three roubles and pack

up a dozen pies in a paper and tell her to take them. And you,

Alyosha, be sure to tell Mitya that I did send them the pies.”

 

“I wouldn’t tell him for anything,” said Alyosha, smiling.

 

“Ech! You think he is unhappy about it. Why, he’s jealous on

purpose. He doesn’t care,” said Grushenka bitterly.

 

“On purpose?” queried Alyosha.

 

“I tell you you are silly, Alyosha. You know nothing about it,

with all your cleverness. I am not offended that he is jealous of a

girl like me. I would be offended if he were not jealous. I am like

that. I am not offended at jealousy. I have a fierce heart, too. I can

be jealous myself. Only what offends me is that he doesn’t love me

at all. I tell you he is jealous now on purpose. Am I blind? Don’t I

see? He began talking to me just now of that woman, of Katerina,

saying she was this and that, how she had ordered a doctor from Moscow

for him, to try and save him; how she had ordered the best counsel,

the most learned one, too. So he loves her, if he’ll praise her to

my face, more shame to him! He’s treated me badly himself, so he

attacked me, to make out I am in fault first and to throw it all on

me. ‘You were with your Pole before me, so I can’t be blamed for

Katerina,’ that’s what it amounts to. He wants to throw the whole

blame on me. He attacked me on purpose, on purpose, I tell you, but

I’ll-”

 

Grushenka could not finish saying what she would do. She hid her

eyes in her handkerchief and sobbed violently.

 

“He doesn’t love Katerina Ivanovna,” said Alyosha firmly.

 

“Well, whether he loves her or not, I’ll soon find out for

myself,” said Grushenka, with a menacing note in her voice, taking the

handkerchief from her eyes. Her face was distorted. Alyosha saw

sorrowfully that from being mild and serene, it had become sullen

and spiteful.

 

“Enough of this foolishness,” she said suddenly; “it’s not for

that I sent for you. Alyosha, darling, to-morrow- what will happen

to-morrow? That’s what worries me! And it’s only me it worries! I look

at everyone and no one is thinking of it. No one cares about it. Are

you thinking about it even? To-morrow he’ll be tried, you know. Tell

me, how will he be tried? You know it’s the valet, the valet killed

him! Good heavens! Can they condemn him in place of the valet and will

no one stand up for him? They haven’t troubled the valet at all,

have they?”

 

“He’s been severely cross-examined,” observed Alyosha

thoughtfully; “but everyone came to the conclusion it was not he.

Now he is lying very ill. He has been ill ever since that attack.

Really ill,” added Alyosha.

 

“Oh, dear! couldn’t you go to that counsel yourself and tell him

the whole thing by yourself? He’s been brought from Petersburg for

three thousand roubles, they say.”

 

“We gave these three thousand together-Ivan, Katerina Ivanovna

and I-but she paid two thousand for the doctor from Moscow herself.

The counsel Fetyukovitch would have charged more, but the case has

become known all over Russia; it’s talked of in all the papers and

journals. Fetyukovitch agreed to come more for the glory of the thing,

because the case has become so notorious. I saw him yesterday.”

 

“Well? Did you talk to him?” Grushenka put in eagerly.

 

“He listened and said nothing. He told me that he had already

formed his opinion. But he promised to give my words consideration.”

 

“Consideration! Ah, they are swindlers! They’ll ruin him. And

why did she send for the doctor?”

 

“As an expert. They want to prove that Mitya’s mad and committed

the murder when he didn’t know what he was doing,” Alyosha smiled

gently, “but Mitya won’t agree to that.”

 

“Yes; but that would be the truth if he had killed him!” cried

Grushenka. “He was mad then, perfectly mad, and that was my fault,

wretch that I am! But, of course, he didn’t do it, he didn’t do it!

And they are all against him, the whole town. Even Fenya’s evidence

went to prove he had done it. And the people at the shop, and that

official, and at the tavern, too, before, people had heard him say so!

They are all, all against him, all crying out against him.”

 

“Yes, there’s a fearful accumulation of evidence,” Alyosha

observed grimly.

 

“And Grigory-Grigory Vassilyevitch-sticks to his story that

the door was open, persists that he saw it-there’s no shaking him.

I went and talked to him myself. He’s rude about it, too.”

 

“Yes, that’s perhaps the strongest evidence against him,” said

Alyosha.

 

“And as for Mitya’s being mad, he certainly seems like it now,”

Grushenka began with a peculiarly anxious and mysterious air. “Do

you know, Alyosha, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it for a

long time. I go to him every day and simply wonder at him. Tell me,

now, what do you suppose he’s always talking about? He talks and talks

and I can make nothing of it. I fancied he was talking of something

intellectual that I couldn’t understand in my foolishness. Only he

suddenly began talking to me about a babe-that is, about some

child. ‘Why is the babe poor?’ he said. ‘It’s for that babe I am going

to Siberia now. I am not a murderer, but I must go to Siberia!’ What

that meant, what babe, I couldn’t tell for the life of me. Only I

cried when he said it, because he said it so nicely. He cried himself,

and I cried, too. He suddenly kissed me and made the sign of the cross

over me. What did it mean, Alyosha, tell me? What is this babe?”

 

“It must be Rakitin, who’s been going to see him lately,” smiled

Alyosha, “though… that’s not Rakitin’s doing. I didn’t see Mitya

yesterday. I’ll see him to-day.”

 

“No, it’s not Rakitin; it’s his brother Ivan Fyodorovitch

upsetting him. It’s his going to see him, that’s what it is,”

Grushenka began, and suddenly broke off. Alyosha gazed at her in

amazement.

 

“Ivan’s going? Has he been to see him? Mitya told me himself

that Ivan hasn’t been once.”

 

“There… there! What a girl I am! Blurting things out!” exclaimed

Grushenka, confused and suddenly blushing. “Stay, Alyosha, hush! Since

I’ve said so much I’ll tell the whole truth-he’s been to see him

twice, the first directly he arrived. He galloped here from Moscow

at once, of course, before I was taken ill; and the second time was

a week ago. He told Mitya not to tell you about it, under any

circumstances; and not to tell anyone, in fact. He came secretly.”

 

Alyosha sat plunged in thought, considering something. The news

evidently impressed him.

 

“Ivan doesn’t talk to me