Subpages
Smerdyakov with a Guitar
He had no time to lose indeed. Even while he was saying good-bye to Lise, the thought had struck him that he must attempt some stratagem to find his brother Dmitri, who was evidently keeping out of his way. It was getting late, nearly three o'clock. Alyosha's whole soul turned to the monastery, to his dying saint, but the necessity of seeing Dmitri outweighed everything. The conviction that a great inevitable catastrophe was about to happen grew stronger in Alyosha's mind with every hour. What that catastrophe was, and what he would say at that moment to his brother, he could perhaps not have said definitely. "Even if my benefactor must die without me, anyway I won't have to reproach myself all my life with the thought that I might have saved something and did not, but passed by and hastened home. If I do as I intend, I shall be following his great precept."
His plan was to catch his brother Dmitri unawares, to climb over
the fence, as he had the day before, get into the garden and sit in
the summer-house. If Dmitri were not there, thought Alyosha, he
would not announce himself to Foma or the women of the house, but
would remain hidden in the summer-house, even if he had to wait
there till evening. If, as before, Dmitri were lying in wait for
Grushenka to come, he would be very likely to come to the
summer-house. Alyosha did not, however, give much thought to the
details of his plan, but resolved to act upon it, even if it meant not
getting back to the monastery that day.
Everything happened without hindrance, he climbed over the
hurdle almost in the same spot as the day before, and stole into the
summer-house unseen. He did not want to be noticed. The woman of the
house and Foma too, if he were here, might be loyal to his brother and
obey his instructions, and so refuse to let Alyosha come into the
garden, or might warn Dmitri that he was being sought and inquired
for.
There was no one in the summer-house. Alyosha sat down and began
to wait. He looked round the summer-house, which somehow struck him as
a great deal more ancient than before. Though the day was just as fine
as yesterday, it seemed a wretched little place this time. There was a
circle on the table, left no doubt from the glass of brandy having
been spilt the day before. Foolish and irrelevant ideas strayed
about his mind, as they always do in a time of tedious waiting. He
wondered, for instance, why he had sat down precisely in the same
place as before, why not in the other seat. At last he felt very
depressed- depressed by suspense and uncertainty. But he had not sat
there more than a quarter of an hour, when he suddenly heard the thrum
of a guitar somewhere quite close. People were sitting, or had only
just sat down, somewhere in the bushes not more than twenty paces
away. Alyosha suddenly recollected that on coming out of the
summer-house the day before, he had caught a glimpse of an old green
low garden-seat among the bushes on the left, by the fence. The people
must be sitting on it now. Who were they?
A man's voice suddenly began singing in a sugary falsetto, accompanying himself on the guitar:
With invincible force
I am bound to my dear. O Lord, have mercy On her and on me! On her and on me! On her and on me!
The voice ceased. It was a lackey's tenor and a lackey's song. Another voice, a woman's, suddenly asked insinuatingly and bashfully, though with mincing affectation:
"Why haven't you been to see us for so long, Pavel Fyodorovitch? Why do you always look down upon us?"
"Not at all answered a man's voice politely, but with emphatic
dignity. It was clear that the man had the best of the position, and
that the woman was making advances. "I believe the man must be
Smerdyakov," thought Alyosha, "from his voice. And the lady must be
the daughter of the house here, who has come from Moscow, the one
who wears the dress with a tail and goes to Marfa for soup."
"I am awfully fond of verses of all kinds, if they rhyme," the
woman's voice continued. "Why don't you go on?"
The man sang again:
What do I care for royal wealth
If but my dear one be in health? Lord have mercy On her and on me! On her and on me! On her and on me!
"It was even better last time," observed the woman's voice. "You
sang 'If my darling be in health'; it sounded more tender. I suppose
you've forgotten to-day."