The Brothers Karamazov

It was already quite late (and how long is a November day?) when Alyosha rang at the prison gate. It was even beginning to get dark. But Alyosha knew he would be allowed to see Mitya without hindrance. Such things are the same in our town as everywhere else. At first, of course, after the conclusion of the whole preliminary investigation, access to Mitya on the part of his relations and certain other persons was hedged by certain necessary formalities, but after a while, though these formalities were not exactly relaxed, certain exceptions somehow established themselves, at least for some of Mitya’s visitors. So much so that sometimes their meetings with the prisoner in the specially designated room even took place almost one-to-one. However, there were very few such visitors: only Grushenka, Alyosha, and Rakitin. But Grushenka was very much in favor with the police commissioner, Mikhail Makarovich. His shouting at her in Mokroye weighed on the old man’s heart. Afterwards, having learned the essentials, he completely changed his thinking about her. And, strangely, though he was firmly convinced of Mitya’s crime, since the moment of his imprisonment he had come to look on him more and more leniently: “He was probably a man of good soul, and then came to grief like a Swede at Poltava,^[290]from drinking and disorder!” His initial horror gave place in his heart to some sort of pity. As for Alyosha, the commissioner loved him very much and had already known him for a long time, and Rakitin, who later took to visiting the prisoner very often, was one of the closest acquaintances of “the commissioner’s misses,” as he called them, and was daily to be found hanging about their house. And he gave lessons in the home of the prison warden, a good-natured old man, though a seasoned veteran. Alyosha, again, was also a special and old acquaintance of the warden’s, who loved to talk with him generally about “wisdom.”^[291] Ivan Fyodorovich, for example, was not really respected by the warden, but was actually even feared, above all for his opinions, though the warden himself was a great philosopher, “having gotten there by his own reason,” of course. But he felt some sort of irresistible sympathy for Alyosha. During the past year the old man had set himself to reading the Apocryphal Gospels,^[292] and reported his impressions every other moment to his young friend. Earlier he had even gone to visit him in the monastery and had spent long hours talking with him and with the hieromonks. In short, even if Alyosha was late coming to the prison, he had only to go to the warden and the matter was always settled. Besides, everyone in the prison, down to the last guard, was used to Alyosha. And the sentries, of course, would not interfere as long as the authorities had given their permission. Mitya, when he was summoned, would always come down from his little cell to the place designated for visits. Just as he entered the room, Alyosha ran into Rakitin, who was taking leave of Mitya. Both were talking loudly. Mitya, seeing him out, was laughing heartily at something, and Rakitin seemed to be grumbling. Rakitin, especially of late, did not like meeting Alyosha, hardly spoke to him, and even greeted him with difficulty. Now, seeing Alyosha come in, he frowned more than usual and looked the other way, as if totally absorbed in buttoning his big, warm coat with its fur collar. Then he immediately began looking for his umbrella.

“Mustn’t forget my things,” he muttered, just to say something.

“Don’t forget anyone else’s things either!” Mitya joked, and promptly guffawed at his own joke. Rakitin instantly flared up.

“Tell that to your Karamazovs, your serf-owning spawn, not to Rakitin!” he cried suddenly, beginning to shake with anger.

“What’s the matter? I was joking!” cried Mitya. “Pah, the devil! They’re all like that,” he turned to Alyosha, nodding towards the quickly departing Rakitin. “He was sitting here laughing, feeling fine, and now suddenly he boils over! He didn’t even nod to you, have you really quarreled or something? And why so late? I wasn’t only expecting you, I’ve been thirsting for you all morning. But never mind! We’ll make up for it!”

“Why has he taken to coming so often? Are you friends with him now, or what?” Alyosha asked, also nodding towards the door through which Rakitin had cleared out.

“Me, friends with Mikhail? No, not really. Why would I be, the swine! He considers me ... a scoundrel. And he doesn’t understand jokes—that’s the main trouble with them. They never understand jokes. Their souls are dry, flat and dry, like the prison walls when I was looking at them as I drove up that day. But he’s an intelligent man, intelligent. Well, Alexei, my head will roll now!”

He sat down on the bench and sat Alyosha down next to him.

“Yes, tomorrow is the trial. You mean you really have no hope at all, brother?” Alyosha said with a timid feeling.