finished_summaries/shmoop/The Brothers Karamazov/section_20_part_0.txt
The Brothers Karamazov.book 3.chapter 8
book 3, chapter 8
{"name": "Book 3, Chapter 8", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201023112808/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/brothers-karamazov/summary/book-3-chapter-8", "summary": "Fyodor dismisses the servants. He gets more and more drunk on cognac and starts making up stories about Zosima. He asks Ivan why he won't go to Chermashnya as a favor to him, but Ivan continues to refuse. Fyodor then tells Alyosha some unsavory stories about his dead mother. After getting through one story about how he spit upon one of her religious icons, Fyodor notices that Alyosha has, all of a sudden, begun to tremble and weep, just as his mother, the \"shrieker,\" used to do. Fyodor wonders if he's gone too far, and Ivan savagely reminds him that Alyosha's mother is his mother, too. At this point, Dmitri suddenly barges into the room.", "analysis": ""}
Chapter VIII. Over The Brandy


The controversy was over. But, strange to say, Fyodor Pavlovitch, who had
been so gay, suddenly began frowning. He frowned and gulped brandy, and it
was already a glass too much.

"Get along with you, Jesuits!" he cried to the servants. "Go away,
Smerdyakov. I'll send you the gold piece I promised you to-day, but be
off! Don't cry, Grigory. Go to Marfa. She'll comfort you and put you to
bed. The rascals won't let us sit in peace after dinner," he snapped
peevishly, as the servants promptly withdrew at his word.

"Smerdyakov always pokes himself in now, after dinner. It's you he's so
interested in. What have you done to fascinate him?" he added to Ivan.

"Nothing whatever," answered Ivan. "He's pleased to have a high opinion of
me; he's a lackey and a mean soul. Raw material for revolution, however,
when the time comes."

"For revolution?"

"There will be others and better ones. But there will be some like him as
well. His kind will come first, and better ones after."

"And when will the time come?"

"The rocket will go off and fizzle out, perhaps. The peasants are not very
fond of listening to these soup-makers, so far."

"Ah, brother, but a Balaam's ass like that thinks and thinks, and the
devil knows where he gets to."

"He's storing up ideas," said Ivan, smiling.

"You see, I know he can't bear me, nor any one else, even you, though you
fancy that he has a high opinion of you. Worse still with Alyosha, he
despises Alyosha. But he doesn't steal, that's one thing, and he's not a
gossip, he holds his tongue, and doesn't wash our dirty linen in public.
He makes capital fish pasties too. But, damn him, is he worth talking
about so much?"

"Of course he isn't."

"And as for the ideas he may be hatching, the Russian peasant, generally
speaking, needs thrashing. That I've always maintained. Our peasants are
swindlers, and don't deserve to be pitied, and it's a good thing they're
still flogged sometimes. Russia is rich in birches. If they destroyed the
forests, it would be the ruin of Russia. I stand up for the clever people.
We've left off thrashing the peasants, we've grown so clever, but they go
on thrashing themselves. And a good thing too. 'For with what measure ye
mete it shall be measured to you again,' or how does it go? Anyhow, it
will be measured. But Russia's all swinishness. My dear, if you only knew
how I hate Russia.... That is, not Russia, but all this vice! But maybe I
mean Russia. _Tout cela c'est de la cochonnerie_.... Do you know what I
like? I like wit."

"You've had another glass. That's enough."

"Wait a bit. I'll have one more, and then another, and then I'll stop. No,
stay, you interrupted me. At Mokroe I was talking to an old man, and he
told me: 'There's nothing we like so much as sentencing girls to be
thrashed, and we always give the lads the job of thrashing them. And the
girl he has thrashed to-day, the young man will ask in marriage to-morrow.
So it quite suits the girls, too,' he said. There's a set of de Sades for
you! But it's clever, anyway. Shall we go over and have a look at it, eh?
Alyosha, are you blushing? Don't be bashful, child. I'm sorry I didn't
stay to dinner at the Superior's and tell the monks about the girls at
Mokroe. Alyosha, don't be angry that I offended your Superior this
morning. I lost my temper. If there is a God, if He exists, then, of
course, I'm to blame, and I shall have to answer for it. But if there
isn't a God at all, what do they deserve, your fathers? It's not enough to
cut their heads off, for they keep back progress. Would you believe it,
Ivan, that that lacerates my sentiments? No, you don't believe it as I see
from your eyes. You believe what people say, that I'm nothing but a
buffoon. Alyosha, do you believe that I'm nothing but a buffoon?"

"No, I don't believe it."

"And I believe you don't, and that you speak the truth. You look sincere
and you speak sincerely. But not Ivan. Ivan's supercilious.... I'd make an
end of your monks, though, all the same. I'd take all that mystic stuff
and suppress it, once for all, all over Russia, so as to bring all the
fools to reason. And the gold and the silver that would flow into the
mint!"

"But why suppress it?" asked Ivan.

"That Truth may prevail. That's why."

"Well, if Truth were to prevail, you know, you'd be the first to be robbed
and suppressed."

"Ah! I dare say you're right. Ah, I'm an ass!" burst out Fyodor
Pavlovitch, striking himself lightly on the forehead. "Well, your
monastery may stand then, Alyosha, if that's how it is. And we clever
people will sit snug and enjoy our brandy. You know, Ivan, it must have
been so ordained by the Almighty Himself. Ivan, speak, is there a God or
not? Stay, speak the truth, speak seriously. Why are you laughing again?"

"I'm laughing that you should have made a clever remark just now about
Smerdyakov's belief in the existence of two saints who could move
mountains."

"Why, am I like him now, then?"

"Very much."

"Well, that shows I'm a Russian, too, and I have a Russian characteristic.
And you may be caught in the same way, though you are a philosopher. Shall
I catch you? What do you bet that I'll catch you to-morrow. Speak, all the
same, is there a God, or not? Only, be serious. I want you to be serious
now."

"No, there is no God."

"Alyosha, is there a God?"

"There is."

"Ivan, and is there immortality of some sort, just a little, just a tiny
bit?"

"There is no immortality either."

"None at all?"

"None at all."

"There's absolute nothingness then. Perhaps there is just something?
Anything is better than nothing!"

"Absolute nothingness."

"Alyosha, is there immortality?"

"There is."

"God and immortality?"

"God and immortality. In God is immortality."

"H'm! It's more likely Ivan's right. Good Lord! to think what faith, what
force of all kinds, man has lavished for nothing, on that dream, and for
how many thousand years. Who is it laughing at man? Ivan! For the last
time, once for all, is there a God or not? I ask for the last time!"

"And for the last time there is not."

"Who is laughing at mankind, Ivan?"

"It must be the devil," said Ivan, smiling.

"And the devil? Does he exist?"

"No, there's no devil either."

"It's a pity. Damn it all, what wouldn't I do to the man who first
invented God! Hanging on a bitter aspen tree would be too good for him."

"There would have been no civilization if they hadn't invented God."

"Wouldn't there have been? Without God?"

"No. And there would have been no brandy either. But I must take your
brandy away from you, anyway."

"Stop, stop, stop, dear boy, one more little glass. I've hurt Alyosha's
feelings. You're not angry with me, Alyosha? My dear little Alexey!"

"No, I am not angry. I know your thoughts. Your heart is better than your
head."

"My heart better than my head, is it? Oh, Lord! And that from you. Ivan,
do you love Alyosha?"

"Yes."

"You must love him" (Fyodor Pavlovitch was by this time very drunk).
"Listen, Alyosha, I was rude to your elder this morning. But I was
excited. But there's wit in that elder, don't you think, Ivan?"

"Very likely."

"There is, there is. _Il y a du Piron la-dedans._ He's a Jesuit, a Russian
one, that is. As he's an honorable person there's a hidden indignation
boiling within him at having to pretend and affect holiness."

"But, of course, he believes in God."

"Not a bit of it. Didn't you know? Why, he tells every one so, himself.
That is, not every one, but all the clever people who come to him. He said
straight out to Governor Schultz not long ago: '_Credo_, but I don't know
in what.' "

"Really?"

"He really did. But I respect him. There's something of Mephistopheles
about him, or rather of 'The hero of our time' ... Arbenin, or what's his
name?... You see, he's a sensualist. He's such a sensualist that I should
be afraid for my daughter or my wife if she went to confess to him. You
know, when he begins telling stories.... The year before last he invited
us to tea, tea with liqueur (the ladies send him liqueur), and began
telling us about old times till we nearly split our sides.... Especially
how he once cured a paralyzed woman. 'If my legs were not bad I know a
dance I could dance you,' he said. What do you say to that? 'I've plenty
of tricks in my time,' said he. He did Dernidov, the merchant, out of
sixty thousand."

"What, he stole it?"

"He brought him the money as a man he could trust, saying, 'Take care of
it for me, friend, there'll be a police search at my place to-morrow.' And
he kept it. 'You have given it to the Church,' he declared. I said to him:
'You're a scoundrel,' I said. 'No,' said he, 'I'm not a scoundrel, but I'm
broad-minded.' But that wasn't he, that was some one else. I've muddled
him with some one else ... without noticing it. Come, another glass and
that's enough. Take away the bottle, Ivan. I've been telling lies. Why
didn't you stop me, Ivan, and tell me I was lying?"

"I knew you'd stop of yourself."

"That's a lie. You did it from spite, from simple spite against me. You
despise me. You have come to me and despised me in my own house."

"Well, I'm going away. You've had too much brandy."

"I've begged you for Christ's sake to go to Tchermashnya for a day or two,
and you don't go."

"I'll go to-morrow if you're so set upon it."

"You won't go. You want to keep an eye on me. That's what you want,
spiteful fellow. That's why you won't go."

The old man persisted. He had reached that state of drunkenness when the
drunkard who has till then been inoffensive tries to pick a quarrel and to
assert himself.

"Why are you looking at me? Why do you look like that? Your eyes look at
me and say, 'You ugly drunkard!' Your eyes are mistrustful. They're
contemptuous.... You've come here with some design. Alyosha, here, looks
at me and his eyes shine. Alyosha doesn't despise me. Alexey, you mustn't
love Ivan."

"Don't be ill-tempered with my brother. Leave off attacking him," Alyosha
said emphatically.

"Oh, all right. Ugh, my head aches. Take away the brandy, Ivan. It's the
third time I've told you."

He mused, and suddenly a slow, cunning grin spread over his face.

"Don't be angry with a feeble old man, Ivan. I know you don't love me, but
don't be angry all the same. You've nothing to love me for. You go to
Tchermashnya. I'll come to you myself and bring you a present. I'll show
you a little wench there. I've had my eye on her a long time. She's still
running about bare-foot. Don't be afraid of bare-footed wenches--don't
despise them--they're pearls!"

And he kissed his hand with a smack.

"To my thinking," he revived at once, seeming to grow sober the instant he
touched on his favorite topic. "To my thinking ... Ah, you boys! You
children, little sucking-pigs, to my thinking ... I never thought a woman
ugly in my life--that's been my rule! Can you understand that? How could
you understand it? You've milk in your veins, not blood. You're not out of
your shells yet. My rule has been that you can always find something
devilishly interesting in every woman that you wouldn't find in any other.
Only, one must know how to find it, that's the point! That's a talent! To
my mind there are no ugly women. The very fact that she is a woman is half
the battle ... but how could you understand that? Even in _vieilles
filles_, even in them you may discover something that makes you simply
wonder that men have been such fools as to let them grow old without
noticing them. Bare-footed girls or unattractive ones, you must take by
surprise. Didn't you know that? You must astound them till they're
fascinated, upset, ashamed that such a gentleman should fall in love with
such a little slut. It's a jolly good thing that there always are and will
be masters and slaves in the world, so there always will be a little maid-
of-all-work and her master, and you know, that's all that's needed for
happiness. Stay ... listen, Alyosha, I always used to surprise your
mother, but in a different way. I paid no attention to her at all, but all
at once, when the minute came, I'd be all devotion to her, crawl on my
knees, kiss her feet, and I always, always--I remember it as though it were
to-day--reduced her to that tinkling, quiet, nervous, queer little laugh.
It was peculiar to her. I knew her attacks always used to begin like that.
The next day she would begin shrieking hysterically, and this little laugh
was not a sign of delight, though it made a very good counterfeit. That's
the great thing, to know how to take every one. Once Belyavsky--he was a
handsome fellow, and rich--used to like to come here and hang about
her--suddenly gave me a slap in the face in her presence. And she--such a
mild sheep--why, I thought she would have knocked me down for that blow.
How she set on me! 'You're beaten, beaten now,' she said. 'You've taken a
blow from him. You have been trying to sell me to him,' she said.... 'And
how dared he strike you in my presence! Don't dare come near me again,
never, never! Run at once, challenge him to a duel!'... I took her to the
monastery then to bring her to her senses. The holy Fathers prayed her
back to reason. But I swear, by God, Alyosha, I never insulted the poor
crazy girl! Only once, perhaps, in the first year; then she was very fond
of praying. She used to keep the feasts of Our Lady particularly and used
to turn me out of her room then. I'll knock that mysticism out of her,
thought I! 'Here,' said I, 'you see your holy image. Here it is. Here I
take it down. You believe it's miraculous, but here, I'll spit on it
directly and nothing will happen to me for it!'... When she saw it, good
Lord! I thought she would kill me. But she only jumped up, wrung her
hands, then suddenly hid her face in them, began trembling all over and
fell on the floor ... fell all of a heap. Alyosha, Alyosha, what's the
matter?"

The old man jumped up in alarm. From the time he had begun speaking about
his mother, a change had gradually come over Alyosha's face. He flushed
crimson, his eyes glowed, his lips quivered. The old sot had gone
spluttering on, noticing nothing, till the moment when something very
strange happened to Alyosha. Precisely what he was describing in the crazy
woman was suddenly repeated with Alyosha. He jumped up from his seat
exactly as his mother was said to have done, wrung his hands, hid his face
in them, and fell back in his chair, shaking all over in an hysterical
paroxysm of sudden violent, silent weeping. His extraordinary resemblance
to his mother particularly impressed the old man.

"Ivan, Ivan! Water, quickly! It's like her, exactly as she used to be
then, his mother. Spurt some water on him from your mouth, that's what I
used to do to her. He's upset about his mother, his mother," he muttered
to Ivan.

"But she was my mother, too, I believe, his mother. Was she not?" said
Ivan, with uncontrolled anger and contempt. The old man shrank before his
flashing eyes. But something very strange had happened, though only for a
second; it seemed really to have escaped the old man's mind that Alyosha's
mother actually was the mother of Ivan too.

"Your mother?" he muttered, not understanding. "What do you mean? What
mother are you talking about? Was she?... Why, damn it! of course she was
yours too! Damn it! My mind has never been so darkened before. Excuse me,
why, I was thinking, Ivan.... He he he!" He stopped. A broad, drunken,
half-senseless grin overspread his face.

At that moment a fearful noise and clamor was heard in the hall, there
were violent shouts, the door was flung open, and Dmitri burst into the
room. The old man rushed to Ivan in terror.

"He'll kill me! He'll kill me! Don't let him get at me!" he screamed,
clinging to the skirt of Ivan's coat.





Book 3, Chapter 8
Fyodor dismisses the servants. He gets more and more drunk on cognac and starts making up stories about Zosima. He asks Ivan why he won't go to Chermashnya as a favor to him, but Ivan continues to refuse. Fyodor then tells Alyosha some unsavory stories about his dead mother. After getting through one story about how he spit upon one of her religious icons, Fyodor notices that Alyosha has, all of a sudden, begun to tremble and weep, just as his mother, the "shrieker," used to do. Fyodor wonders if he's gone too far, and Ivan savagely reminds him that Alyosha's mother is his mother, too. At this point, Dmitri suddenly barges into the room.