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What do you mean by sorry to lose God? Imagine: inside, in the nerves, in the headthat is, these nerves are there in the brain (damn them!) there are sort of little tails, the little tails of those nerves, and as soon as they begin quivering that is, you see, I look at something with my eyes and then they begin quivering, those little tails and when they quiver, then an image appears it doesnt appear at once, but an instant, a second, passes and then something like a moment appears; that is, not a momentdevil take the moment!but an image; that is, an object, or an action, damn it! Thats why I see and then think, because of those tails, not at all because Ive got a soul, and that I am some sort of image and likeness. All that is nonsense! Rakitin explained it all to me yesterday, brother, and it simply bowled me over. Its magnificent, Alyosha, this science! A new mans arisingthat I understand. And yet I am sorry to lose God! Well, thats a good thing, anyway, said Alyosha. That I am sorry to lose God! Its chemistry, brother, chemistry! Theres no help for it, your reverence, you must make way for chemistry. And Rakitin does dislike God. Ough! doesnt he dislike Him! Thats the sore point with all of them. But they conceal it. They tell lies. They pretend. Will you preach this in your reviews? I asked him. Oh, well, if I did it openly, they wont let it through, he said. He laughed. But what will become of men then? I asked him, without God and immortal life? All things are lawful then, they can do what they like? Didnt you know? he said laughing, a clever man can do what he likes, he said. A clever man knows his way about, but youve put your foot in it, committing a murder, and now you are rotting in prison. He says that to my face! A regular pig! I used to kick such people out, but now I listen to them. He talks a lot of sense, too. Writes well. He began reading me an article last week. I copied out three lines of it. Wait a minute. Here it is. Mitya hurriedly pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and read: In order to determine this question, it is above all essential to put ones personality in contradiction to ones reality. Do you understand that? No, I dont, said Alyosha. He looked at Mitya and listened to him with curiosity. I dont understand either. Its dark and obscure, but intellectual. Every one writes like that now, he says, its the effect of their environment. They are afraid of the environment. He writes poetry, too, the rascal. Hes written in honour of Madame Hohlakovs foot. Ha, ha, ha! Ive heard about it, said Alyosha. Have you? And have you heard the poem? No. Ive got it. Here it is. Ill read it to you. You dont knowI havent told youtheres quite a story about it. Hes a rascal! Three weeks ago he began to tease me: Youve got yourself into a mess, like a fool, for the sake of three thousand, but Im going to collar a hundred and fifty thousand. I am going to marry a widow and buy a house in Petersburg. And he told me he was courting Madame Hohlakov. She hadnt much brains in her youth, and now at forty she has lost what she had. But shes awfully sentimental, he says; thats how I shall get hold of her. When I marry her, I shall take her to Petersburg and there I shall start a newspaper. And his mouth was simply watering, the beast, not for the widow, but for the hundred and fifty thousand. And he made me believe it. He came to see me every day. She is coming round, he declared. He was beaming with delight. And then, all of a sudden, he was turned out of the house. Perhotins carrying everything before him, bravo! I could kiss the silly old noodle for turning him out of the house. And he had written this doggerel. Its the first time Ive soiled my hands with writing poetry, he said. Its to win her heart, so its in a good cause. When I get hold of the silly womans fortune, I can be of great social utility. They have this social justification for every nasty thing they do! Anyway |
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