Her voice trembled, and tears glistened on her eyelashes. Alyosha started inwardly: “This girl is truthful and sincere,” he thought, “and ... and she no longer loves Dmitri!”
“That’s right! Right!” Madame Khokhlakov exclaimed.
“Wait, my dear Katerina Osipovna, I haven’t said the main thing, I haven’t said the final thing that I decided during the night. I feel that my decision, perhaps, is terrible—terrible for me—but I have a feeling that I shall never change it for anything, not for anything, for the rest of my life it will be so. My dear, my kind, my constant and generous advisor and profound reader of hearts, my only friend in the world, Ivan Fyodorovich, approves of me in everything and praises my decision ... He knows what it is.”
“Yes, I approve of it,” Ivan Fyodorovich said in a quiet but firm voice.
“But I wish that Alyosha, too (ah, Alexei Fyodorovich, forgive me for calling you simply Alyosha), I wish Alexei Fyodorovich to tell me now, before my two friends, whether I am right or not. I have an instinctive feeling that you, Alyosha, my dear brother (because you are my dear brother),” she said again rapturously, grasping his cold hand with her hot one, “I have a feeling that your decision, your approval, in spite of all my torments, will bring me peace, because after your words I shall calm down and be reconciled—I feel it.”
“I don’t know what you are going to ask me,” Alyosha spoke out, his face burning, “I only know that I love you, and at this moment I wish for your happiness more than for my own...! But I know nothing about these affairs ... ,” he suddenly hastened to add for some reason.
“In these affairs, Alexei Fyodorovich, in these affairs the main thing now is honor and duty, and something else, I don’t know what, but something higher, even perhaps higher than duty itself. My heart tells me of this irresistible feeling, and it draws me irresistibly. But it can all be said in two words. I’ve already made up my mind: even if he marries that ... creature,” she began solemnly, “whom I can never, never forgive, Istill will not leave him! From now on I will never, never leave him!” she spoke with a sort of strain, in a sort of pale, forced ecstasy. “I do not mean that I shall drag myself after him, trying to throw myself in front of his eyes every minute, tormenting him—oh, no, I shall go to another town, anywhere you like, but I will watch him all my life, all my life, untiringly. And when he becomes unhappy with that woman, and he certainly will and very soon, then let him come to me and he will find a friend, a sister ... Only a sister, of course, and that will be so forever, but he will finally be convinced that this sister really is his loving sister, who has sacrificed her whole life for him. I will do it, I will insist that he finally know me and tell me everything without being ashamed!” she exclaimed as if in frenzy. “I will be his god, to whom he shall pray—that, at least, he owes me for his betrayal and for what I suffered yesterday because of him. And let him see throughout his whole life, that all my life I will be faithful to him and to the word I once gave, despite the fact that he was faithless and betrayed me. I shall ... I shall become simply the means of his happiness (or how should I say it?), the instrument, the mechanism of his happiness, and that for my whole life, my whole life, so that he may see it from now on, all his life! That is the whole of my decision. Ivan Fyodorovich approves of me in the highest degree.”
She was breathless. She might have wished to express her thought in a more dignified, artful, and natural way, but it came out too hastily and too baldly. There was too much youthful uncontrol, too much that still echoed with yesterday’s irritation and the need to show her pride—she felt it herself. Her face suddenly somehow darkened, an ugly look came into her eyes. Alyosha noticed it all immediately, and his heart was moved to compassion. And just then his brother Ivan added to it.
“I only expressed my thought,” he said. “In any other woman, all of that would have come out in a broken and forced way—but not so in you. Another woman would be wrong, but you are right. I do not know what is behind it, but I see that you are sincere in the highest degree, and therefore you are right ...”
“But only for this moment ... And what is this moment? Just yesterday’s insult—that’s all it is!” Madame Khokhlakov, though she obviously did not want to interfere, could not contain herself and suddenly spoke this very correct thought. “Yes, yes,” Ivan interrupted, with a sort of sudden passion, clearly angry that he had been interrupted, “yes, and in another woman this moment would be only yesterday’s impression, and no more than a moment, but with Katerina Ivanovna’s character, this moment will last all her life. What for others would be just a promise, for her is an everlasting, heavy, perhaps grim, but unfailing, duty. And she will be nourished by this feeling of fulfilled duty! Your life, Katerina Ivanovna, will now be spent in the suffering contemplation of your own feelings, of your own high deed and your own grief, but later this suffering will mellow, and your life will then turn into the sweet contemplation of a firm and proud design, fulfilled once and for all, truly proud in its own way, and desperate in any case, but which you have carried through, and this awareness will finally bring you the most complete satisfaction and will reconcile you to all the rest ...”
He spoke decidedly with a sort of malice, evidently deliberate, and even, perhaps, not wishing to conceal his intentions—that is, that he was speaking deliberately and in mockery.
“Oh God, how all that is wrong!” Madame Khokhlakov again exclaimed.
“You speak, Alexei Fyodorovich! I desperately need to know what you will tell me!” exclaimed Katerina Ivanovna, and she suddenly dissolved in tears. Alyosha got up from the sofa.
“It’s nothing, nothing!” she went on crying. “It’s because I’m upset, because of last night, but near two such friends as you and your brother, I still feel myself strong ... for I know ... you two will never leave me ...”
“Unfortunately, I must go to Moscow, tomorrow perhaps, and leave you for a long time ... And that, unfortunately, cannot be changed ... ,” Ivan Fyodorovich suddenly said.
“To Moscow, tomorrow!” suddenly Katerina Ivanovna’s whole face became distorted. “But ... but, my God, how fortunate!” she cried in a voice instantly quite changed and having instantly chased away her tears so that no trace of them was left. Precisely in an instant an astonishing change took place in her, which greatly amazed Alyosha: instead of the poor, insulted girl who had just been crying in a sort of strain of emotion, there suddenly appeared a woman in complete possession of herself and even greatly pleased, as if she were suddenly rejoicing at something.
“Oh, not fortunate that I must abandon you, of course not that,” she suddenly corrected herself, as it were, with a charming worldly smile, “a friend like you could not think that; on the contrary, I am only too unhappy to be losing you” (she suddenly dashed impulsively to Ivan Fyodorovich and, grasping both his hands, pressed them with ardent feeling), “but what is fortunate is that you yourself, personally, will now be able to tell auntie and Agasha, in Moscow, of my whole situation, my whole present horror, with complete frankness to Agasha, but sparing dear auntie, as you will know how to do. You cannot imagine how unhappy I was yesterday and this morning, wondering how I could ever write them this terrible letter ... because there was no way in the world to say it in a letter ... But now it will be easy for me to write, because you are going to be there in person and will explain it all. Oh, how glad I am! But I am only glad for that, again believe me. You yourself, of course, are irreplaceable for me ... I’ll run at once and write the letter,” she suddenly concluded, and even turned to leave the room.