The Brothers Karamazov

This little foot, this little foot, Is hurting now a little bit ... or something like that—I can never remember poetry—I have it here—but I’ll show it to you later, it’s charming, charming, and, you know, it’s not just about my foot, it’s edifying, too, with a charming idea, only I’ve forgotten it, in short, it’s just right for an album. Well, naturally I thanked him, and he was obviously flattered. I had only just thanked him when Pyotr Ilyich also came in, and Mikhail Ivanovich suddenly looked black as night. I could see that Pyotr Ilyich had hampered him in something, because Mikhail Ivanovich certainly wanted to say something right after the poem, I already anticipated it, and then Pyotr Ilyich walked in. I suddenly showed Pyotr Ilyich the poem, and didn’t tell him who wrote it. But I’m sure, I’m sure he guessed at once, though he still hasn’t admitted it and says he didn’t guess; but he says it on purpose. Pyotr Ilyich immediately laughed and started criticizing: worthless doggerel, he said, some seminarian must have written it—and you know, he said it with such passion, such passion! Here your friend, instead of laughing, suddenly got completely furious ... Lord, I thought, they’re going to start fighting. ‘I wrote it,’ he said. ‘I wrote it as a joke,’ he said, ‘because I consider it base to write poetry ... Only my poem is good. They want to setup a monument to your Pushkin for women’s little feet,^[288] but my poem has a tendency, and you,’ he said, ‘are a serf-owner; you have no humaneness at all,’ he said, ‘you don’t feel any of today’s enlightened feelings, progress hasn’t touched you; you are an official,’ he said, ‘and you take bribes!’ At that point I began shouting and pleading with them. And Pyotr Ilyich, you know, is not timid at all, and he suddenly assumed the most noble tone: he looked at him mockingly, listened, and apologized: I did not know,’ he said. ‘If I had known, I should not have said it, I should have praised it,’ he said ... ‘Poets,’ he said, ‘are all so irritable . . In short, it was that sort of taunting in the guise of the most noble tone. He himself explained to me later that he was just taunting him, and I thought he was in earnest. Only suddenly I was lying there, just as I am before you now, and I thought: would it be noble, or would it not, if I suddenly turned Mikhail Ivanovich out for shouting so rudely at a guest in my house? And, would you believe it, I lay there, I closed my eyes and thought: would it or would it not be noble, and I couldn’t decide, and I was tormented, tormented, and my heart was pounding: should I shout, or shouldn’t I? One voice said: shout, and the other said: no, don’t shout! And no sooner had that other voice spoken than I suddenly shouted and suddenly fainted. Well, naturally there was a commotion. I suddenly stood up and said to Mikhail Ivanovich: ‘It grieves me to say this to you, but I no longer wish to receive you in my house.’ So I turned him out. Ah, Alexei Fyodorovich! I know myself that I did a bad thing, it was all a lie, I wasn’t angry with him at all, but I suddenly— the main thing is, I suddenly fancied that it would be so nice, that scene ... Only, believe me, it was quite a natural scene, because I even burst into tears, and cried for several days afterwards, and then suddenly after dinner I forgot it all. So he stopped coming, it’s been two weeks now, and I wondered: will he really not come ever again? That was just yesterday, and suddenly in the evening these Rumors came. I read it and gasped, who could have written it, he wrote it, he went home that time, sat down—and wrote it; he sent it—they printed it. Because it happened two weeks ago. Only, Alyosha, it’s terrible what I’m saying, and I’m not at all saying what I should be saying! Ah, it comes out by itself!”

“Today I need terribly to get to see my brother in time,” Alyosha attempted to murmur.

“Precisely, precisely! You’ve reminded me of everything! Listen, what is a fit of passion?”

“A fit of passion?” Alyosha said in surprise. “A legal fit of passion. A fit of passion for which they forgive everything. Whatever you do—you’re immediately forgiven.”

“But what are you talking about?”