The Brothers Karamazov (71 page)

“I know, I know you’re feverish, because you could not possibly not be. Besides, I know in advance everything you have on your mind even before you say it. I’ve been watching you for a long time, Mr. Karamazov; I’ve been studying your behavior for a long time, you know . . . Oh, Mr. Karamazov, I’m a very experienced doctor of human souls, believe me!”

“Good, madam, for if you are an experienced doctor, I myself am an experienced patient,” Dmitry said, making an effort to sound amiable, “and I feel that, since you’ve been watching over my life with such interest, you will not allow me to ruin it and will let me take the liberty of telling you about the plan I have in mind . . . and then about the favor I have come to ask of you . . . I’ve come, madam . . .”

“Don’t bother to tell me about it—it’s only of secondary importance! As to helping people out, you won’t be the first person to receive my help, Mr. Karamazov, you may rest assured of that! I’m sure you must have heard of my cousin, Mrs. Belmesov, whose husband was a lost man, at the end of his tether, as you put it so characteristically. And what do you think—I advised him to go in for horse-breeding on a large scale and now he’s prospering. Do you know anything about horse-breeding, by the way, Mr. Karamazov?”

“Nothing, madam, absolutely nothing, I’m sorry to say!” Mitya cried with nervous impatience, getting up from his chair. “Please madam, I beg you, let me tell you what I’ve come to tell you! It won’t take me more than two minutes if you will only let me talk, and I’ll explain the whole plan I wanted to present to you. Besides, I have terribly little time! . . .” he almost shouted, sensing that she was about to interrupt him again and hoping to drown her out. “I’ve come here because I’m desperate. I’ve reached the limits of my endurance . . . I want to ask you to lend me some money, to lend me three thousand rubles . . . But I have a perfect security . . . please allow me to explain to you, madam . . .”

“Later, you can do that later, later.” Mrs. Khokhlakov waved her hands at him in a hushing gesture. “Besides, I know in advance everything you’re going to say to me, as I told you before. You’re asking me for a certain sum, you say you need three thousand rubles, but I’ll give you infinitely more than that, my dear Mr. Karamazov, incomparably more—I’ll save you. But for that you’ll have to listen to what I have to say.”

Mitya almost leaped into the air.

“Would you really be so awfully kind, madam!” he exclaimed with tremendous feeling. “My God, madam, you’ve saved my life! You have just saved a man from violent death, from a bullet . . . I’ll be eternally grateful to you!”

“Yes, I’ll give you infinitely more than three thousand!” Mrs. Khokhlakov cried in her turn, smiling as she saw Mitya’s exultation.

“Infinitely more? But I don’t even need that much. All I need is the three terrible thousand rubles. And for my part, I can guarantee that sum, for which I am so infinitely grateful to you, and I would like to offer you the following plan, which . . .”

“Enough, Mr. Karamazov—I’ve said it and I’ll do it!” Mrs. Khokhlakov cut him short with a modesty worthy of her generosity. “I’ve promised to save you and save you I shall. I’ll save you just as I saved my cousin Belmesov. Have you ever thought of gold mines, Mr. Karamazov?”

“Gold mines, madam? No, I’ve never given a thought to gold mines.”

“You haven’t, but I’ve been thinking for you. I’ve been thinking and thinking and that is what has made me watch you during this past month. I watched you walking by in the street a hundred times and I kept repeating to myself: ‘There’s an energetic young man who ought to go out to the gold mines.’ I even studied your way of walking and I decided that here was a man who would discover many gold mines.”

“You decided that from my way of walking, madam?” Mitya asked with a smile.

“And what’s so strange about that? Do you really refuse to recognize that one can tell a man’s character by the way he walks? Why, that’s been established by natural science, Mr. Karamazov. And from today on, after that terrible thing that happened in the monastery, I have become an out-and-out realist and have decided to go in for practical endeavors. I have been cured once and for all, I assure you. ‘Enough of that!’ as Turgenev said.”

“But, madam, the three thousand, which you so generously offered to lend me . . .”

“It won’t escape you, Mr. Karamazov,” Mrs. Khokhlakov cut him off at once. “You can consider the three thousand as in your pocket, and not just three thousand, but three million, Mr. Karamazov, in no time at all! Now let me tell you your idea: you will find the mines and make millions, and then return and become a businessman. And you will run our lives, too, directing us to good deeds. Does it all have to be left to the Jews? You will construct buildings and various enterprises. You will help the poor, and they will bless you for it. This is the age of railroads, Mr. Karamazov. You will become famous and indispensable to the Ministry of Finances, which is now in such need. The fall in value of the paper ruble keeps me awake at night, Mr. Karamazov—this side of me is little known . . .”

“Madam, madam . . .” Dmitry interrupted her, somehow beginning to worry again, “I may . . . I may very well take your advice, your excellent advice, madam . . . I may indeed go there, to those mines . . . And, if I may, I’d like to come back sometime and talk to you about it some more . . . many times . . . But now, what about the three thousand you so generously promised me? That would untie my hands . . . If you could do it today . . . That is, you understand, I haven’t a minute, not a minute to spare . . .”

“Enough of that, Mr. Karamazov,” Mrs. Khokhlakov interrupted him imperiously. “The question is now: Are you or are you not going gold mining? Have you made up your mind? I want a mathematically precise answer.”

“I’m going, madam, but not just now . . . I’ll go wherever you wish, madam, but now . . .”

“Wait a second then,” Mrs. Khokhlakov cried. She hurried over to her magnificent desk with its innumerable little drawers that she proceeded to pull out in turn, obviously looking for something which she was tremendously impatient to find.

Mitya’s heart came almost to a standstill—“Three thousand . . . and right away, without even having to sign any documents, without even drawing up an IOU, a true gentlemen’s agreement . . . What a wonderful woman! If only she talked a little less . . .”

“Here!” Mrs. Khokhlakov cried joyfully, coming back from her desk. “I’ve found what I was looking for!”

She was holding a tiny silver icon, the kind some people wear around their necks on a chain with a cross.

“This comes from Kiev, dear Mr. Karamazov,” she said reverently, “from the relics of the holy martyr Barbara. Allow me to put it around your neck myself and to give you my blessing for your new life and new exploits.”

And she actually put the icon around his neck and even started to push it inside his shirt. Mitya, feeling very embarrassed, bent down, and tried to help her, and finally, between the two of them, they managed to slip the icon under his tie and shirt onto his chest.

“And now you are ready to leave!” Mrs. Khokhlakov announced solemnly, resuming her seat.

“I’m greatly touched, madam. I don’t even know how to thank you for such kindness . . . But you cannot imagine how short of time I am now . . . and that sum I’m waiting for . . . that you so generously . . . Oh, madam, you are so kind, so touching, so generous to me, that I hope you will allow me to confess to you,” Mitya suddenly cried in exaltation, “allow me to confess to you, although you must have known it for a long time, that . . . that I am in love with a woman here . . . I have betrayed Katya, I mean Katerina . . . Oh, I know I have behaved cruelly and dishonorably toward her . . . But I fell in love with another woman here, someone you may despise—for you know everything already—but still I cannot give her up anymore. I just can’t, and that’s why . . . the three thousand rubles . . .”

“Forget all that, Mr. Karamazov,” Mrs. Khokhlakov said in a tone that brooked no contradiction, “and, above all, forget women, for from now on your goal in life is the gold mines and there’s no need to take women with you there. Later, when you return, rich and famous, I’m sure you will find a life-companion among the girls of our highest society. And she will be a modern girl, well educated, without any of the old prejudices and superstitions. By that time the emancipation of women will have become a reality and the new woman will have come into existence . . .”

“Yes, yes, madam, but that’s not . . . that’s not the point now . . .” Mitya pressed his hands together prayerfully.

“It is very much the point, Mr. Karamazov. It’s just what you need. It’s just what you are yearning for, although you may be unaware of it yourself. I am not at all unfavorably disposed toward the emancipation of women as things stand now, Mr. Karamazov. Higher education for women and even a role for women in politics in the near future—I believe in this ideal, my dear sir. I have a daughter myself, and people know very little of that side of me. I wrote to Saltykov-Shchedrin about it. That writer has revealed so very much to me about the role of women that a year or so ago I sent him an anonymous two-line letter: ‘I embrace you, I kiss you, you are a writer after my heart and the champion of contemporary woman. Please continue,’ and I signed it, ‘A mother.’ I thought of signing it, ‘A contemporary mother,’ but after long hesitation I decided to leave it just, ‘A mother.’ I thought it had greater moral impact and beauty that way. Besides, the word ‘contemporary’ would have reminded Saltykov-Shchedrin of his magazine 
The Contemporary
, a rather painful reminder in view of the difficulties they are having with our present censors . . . But, good gracious, what’s the matter with you?”

“Madam!” Mitya had been unable to stand it any longer. He was now standing with his clasped hands stretched out toward her in a gesture of impotent supplication. “You will make me weep, madam, if you postpone any longer your generous promise . . .”

“And what’s so terrible about weeping a little! That is a very fine way to feel, for you have a very, very long journey ahead of you. Tears will make your ordeal easier and there’ll be time enough for joy when you’re back. Indeed, you’ll come hurrying all the way from Siberia to see me, to share some of your happiness with me!”

“But please listen to me too!” Dmitry shouted suddenly. “For the last time, madam, I beseech you, answer me plainly: Will you give me, today, the sum you have promised me or won’t you? If you can’t let me have it right away, tell me, when may I come for it?”

“What exactly do you have in mind, Mr. Karamazov?”

“The three thousand that you promised . . . that you so generously . . .”

“Three thousand? What do you mean—three thousand rubles? My goodness, I certainly don’t have three thousand rubles,” Mrs. Khokhlakov said, sounding mildly surprised.

Mitya was stupefied.

“How can you? Why, you just said . . . the way you put it, it was as if I had the three thousand in my pocket . . .”

“Oh no, Mr. Karamazov, you didn’t understand me properly; in fact, you have misunderstood me completely. I was thinking of the gold mines . . . I remember now that I promised you much more, infinitely more, than three thousand, but I was thinking of the mines when I said that.”

“And what about the money? What about the three thousand rubles?” Dmitry cried incongruously.

“Oh well, if you were thinking of borrowing that sum from me—I just don’t have it. I am entirely without money just now, Mr. Karamazov; I have to fight for it constantly with the manager of my estates. In fact, the other day, I had to borrow five hundred rubles from Mr. Miusov myself. No, I just don’t have any money at all! Besides, you know, Mr. Karamazov, even if I had the money, I still wouldn’t give it to you. In the first place, I never lend money, because lending money to people means quarreling with them. Moreover, you are the very last person I’d lend money to, because I like you and I feel I must save you, and the only place for you is the gold mines, the gold mines, and the gold mines . . .”

“Ah, the hell with . . . !” Mitya roared, slamming his fist down on the table.

“Help!” cried Mrs. Khokhlakov in alarm, retreating hastily to the other end of her drawing room.

Mitya shrugged in disgust and walked quickly out of the room, out of the house, into the street, into the darkness. He looked like a madman, beating his breast as he walked, striking the same spot he had struck the last time he had spoken to Alyosha on the dark road. What Dmitry’s beating his breast meant—striking 
that spot
—and what he was trying to show by it was still a secret, a secret that no one in the world knew and that he had not told Alyosha either. That secret meant more to Mitya than disgrace, it meant death and suicide. For that is what he had decided on, if he failed to find three thousand rubles to pay back Katerina and thus remove 
from that spot on his breast
 the disgrace which was lodged there, weighing on his conscience. The reader will understand this fully later, but now, after the last hope of getting the money had vanished, this strong man, having walked only a few steps away from Mrs. Khokhlakov’s house, burst into tears like a small child. He walked on, unaware of anything, wiping away his tears with his hand. As he turned into the square, he suddenly bumped hard into someone. An old woman’s squeaky voice protested violently. He had almost knocked her over.

“Lord! He almost killed me! Can’t you look where you’re walking, you hooligan!”

“Oh, it’s you!” Mitya cried, recognizing in the darkness Samsonov’s old maid-servant, whom he remembered very clearly from the previous day.

“But who are you, sir?” the old woman said in a completely different voice now. “I don’t recognize you in the dark, sir.”

“You live and work at Mr. Samsonov’s, don’t you?”

“That’s right, sir. I’ve just been out to see Prokhorovich . . . But how is it I still don’t recognize you, sir?”

“Just tell me this, mother, is Miss Svetlov still at the house? I brought her there earlier.”

“She was there, sir, stayed for a while, and then left.”