The Brothers Karamazov Fyodor Dostoevsky (the reader ebook txt) đ
- Author: Fyodor Dostoevsky
Book online «The Brothers Karamazov Fyodor Dostoevsky (the reader ebook txt) đ». Author Fyodor Dostoevsky
âYou are welcome with all my heart,â answered the Superior. âGentlemen!â he added, âI venture to beg you most earnestly to lay aside your dissensions, and to be united in love and family harmonyâ âwith prayer to the Lord at our humble table.â
âNo, no, it is impossible!â cried MiĂŒsov, beside himself.
âWell, if it is impossible for Pyotr Alexandrovitch, it is impossible for me, and I wonât stop. That is why I came. I will keep with Pyotr Alexandrovitch everywhere now. If you will go away, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, I will go away too, if you remain, I will remain. You stung him by what you said about family harmony, Father Superior, he does not admit he is my relation. Thatâs right, isnât it, Von Sohn? Hereâs Von Sohn. How are you, Von Sohn?â
âDo you mean me?â muttered Maximov, puzzled.
âOf course I mean you,â cried Fyodor Pavlovitch. âWho else? The Father Superior could not be Von Sohn.â
âBut I am not Von Sohn either. I am Maximov.â
âNo, you are Von Sohn. Your reverence, do you know who Von Sohn was? It was a famous murder case. He was killed in a house of harlotryâ âI believe that is what such places are called among youâ âhe was killed and robbed, and in spite of his venerable age, he was nailed up in a box and sent from Petersburg to Moscow in the luggage van, and while they were nailing him up, the harlots sang songs and played the harp, that is to say, the piano. So this is that very Von Sohn. He has risen from the dead, hasnât he, Von Sohn?â
âWhat is happening? Whatâs this?â voices were heard in the group of monks.
âLet us go,â cried MiĂŒsov, addressing Kalganov.
âNo, excuse me,â Fyodor Pavlovitch broke in shrilly, taking another step into the room. âAllow me to finish. There in the cell you blamed me for behaving disrespectfully just because I spoke of eating gudgeon, Pyotr Alexandrovitch. MiĂŒsov, my relation, prefers to have plus de noblesse que de sincĂ©ritĂ© in his words, but I prefer in mine plus de sincĂ©ritĂ© que de noblesse, andâ âdamn the noblesse! Thatâs right, isnât it, Von Sohn? Allow me, Father Superior, though I am a buffoon and play the buffoon, yet I am the soul of honor, and I want to speak my mind. Yes, I am the soul of honor, while in Pyotr Alexandrovitch there is wounded vanity and nothing else. I came here perhaps to have a look and speak my mind. My son, Alexey, is here, being saved. I am his father; I care for his welfare, and it is my duty to care. While Iâve been playing the fool, I have been listening and having a look on the sly; and now I want to give you the last act of the performance. You know how things are with us? As a thing falls, so it lies. As a thing once has fallen, so it must lie forever. Not a bit of it! I want to get up again. Holy Father, I am indignant with you. Confession is a great sacrament, before which I am ready to bow down reverently; but there in the cell, they all kneel down and confess aloud. Can it be right to confess aloud? It was ordained by the holy Fathers to confess in secret: then only your confession will be a mystery, and so it was of old. But how can I explain to him before everyone that I did this and thatâ ââ ⊠well, you understand whatâ âsometimes it would not be proper to talk about itâ âso it is really a scandal! No, Fathers, one might be carried along with you to the Flagellants, I dare sayâ ââ ⊠at the first opportunity I shall write to the Synod, and I shall take my son, Alexey, home.â
We must note here that Fyodor Pavlovitch knew where to look for the weak spot. There had been at one time malicious rumors which had even reached the Archbishop (not only regarding our monastery, but in others where the institution of elders existed) that too much respect was paid to the elders, even to the detriment of the authority of the Superior, that the elders abused the sacrament of confession and so on and so onâ âabsurd charges which had died away of themselves everywhere. But the spirit of folly, which had caught up Fyodor Pavlovitch, and was bearing him on the current of his own nerves into lower and lower depths of ignominy, prompted him with this old slander. Fyodor Pavlovitch did not understand a word of it, and he could not even put it sensibly, for on this occasion no one had been kneeling and confessing aloud in the elderâs cell, so that he could not have seen anything of the kind. He was only speaking from confused memory of old slanders. But as soon as he had uttered his foolish tirade, he felt he had been talking absurd nonsense, and at once longed to prove to his audience, and above all to himself, that he had not been talking nonsense. And, though he knew perfectly well that with each word he would be adding more and more absurdity, he could not restrain himself, and plunged forward blindly.
âHow disgraceful!â cried Pyotr Alexandrovitch.
âPardon me!â said the Father Superior. âIt was said of old, âMany have begun to speak against me and have uttered evil sayings about me. And hearing it I have said to myself: it is the correction of the Lord and He has sent it to heal my vain soul.â And so we humbly thank you, honored guest!â and he made Fyodor Pavlovitch a low bow.
âTutâ âtutâ âtutâ âsanctimoniousness and stock phrases! Old phrases and old gestures. The old lies and formal prostrations. We know all about them. A kiss on the lips and a dagger in the heart, as in Schillerâs Robbers. I donât like falsehood, Fathers, I want the truth. But the truth is not to be found in
Comments (0)