And it was here that Alyosha entered. Fyodor Pavlovich, as we have seen, was terribly glad he had come.
“We’re on your subject, your subject!” he chuckled gleefully, sitting Alyosha down to listen.
“Concerning mutton, it isn’t so, sir, and there will be nothing there for that, sir, and there shouldn’t be any such thing, if it’s in all fairness,” Smerdyakov solemnly observed.
“How do you mean—in all fairness?” Fyodor Pavlovich cried even more merrily, nudging Alyosha with his knee.
“He’s a scoundrel, that’s who he is!” Grigory suddenly burst out. Angrily he looked Smerdyakov straight in the eye.
“Wait a little with your ‘scoundrel,’ Grigory Vasilievich, sir,” Smerdyakov retorted quietly and with restraint, “and you’d better consider for yourself, that if I am taken captive by the tormentors of Christian people, and they demand that I curse God’s name and renounce my holy baptism, then I’m quite authorized to do it by my own reason, because there wouldn’t be any sin in it.”
“You’ve already said all that. Don’t embroider on it, but prove it!” cried Fyodor Pavlovich.
“Broth-maker!” Grigory whispered scornfully.
“Wait a little with your ‘broth-maker,’ too, Grigory Vasilievich, and consider for yourself without scolding. Because as soon as I say to my tormentors: ‘No, I’m not a Christian and I curse my true God,’ then at once, by the highest divine judgment, I immediately and specifically become anathema, I’m cursed and completely excommunicated from the Holy Church like a heathener, as it were, so that even at that very moment, sir, not as soon as I say it, but as soon as I just think of saying it, not even a quarter of a second goes by and I’m excommunicated—is that so or not, Grigory Vasilievich?”
He addressed Grigory with obvious pleasure, though essentially he was answering Fyodor Pavlovich’s questions, and was well aware of it, but deliberately pretending that it was Grigory who had asked them.
“Ivan!” Fyodor Pavlovich suddenly shouted, “give me your ear. He arranged all this for you, he wants you to praise him. Go on, praise him!” Ivan Fyodorovich listened quite seriously to his papa’s rapturous communication.
“Wait, Smerdyakov, be still for a minute,” Fyodor Pavlovich shouted again. “Ivan, your ear again.”
Ivan Fyodorovich leaned over once more with a most serious expression.
“I love you as much as Alyoshka. Don’t think that I don’t love you. A little cognac?”
“Yes.” Ivan Fyodorovich looked intently at his father, thinking, “You’re pretty well loaded yourself.” As for Smerdyakov, he was watching him with great curiosity.
“You’re anathema and cursed even now,” Grigory suddenly broke out, “and how dare you reason after that, you scoundrel, if...”
“No abuse, Grigory, no abuse!” Fyodor Pavlovich interrupted.
“You wait, Grigory Vasilievich, at least for a very short time, sir, and keep listening, because I haven’t finished yet. Because at the very time when I immediately become cursed by God, at that moment, at that highest moment, sir, I become a heathener, as it were, and my baptism is taken off me and counts for nothing—is that so, at least?”
“Come on, lad, get to the point,” Fyodor Pavlovich hurried him, sipping with pleasure from his glass.
“And since I’m no longer a Christian, it follows that I’m not lying to my tormentors when they ask am I a Christian or not, since God himself has already deprived me of my Christianity, for the sole reason of my intention and before I even had time to say a word to my tormentors. And if I’m already demoted, then in what way, with what sort of justice can they call me to account in the other world, as if I were a Christian, about my renunciation of Christ, when for the intention alone, even before the renunciation, I was deprived of my baptism? If I’m not a Christian, then I can’t renunciate Christ, because I’ll have nothing to renounce. Who, even in heaven, Grigory Vasilievich, will ask an unclean Tartar to answer for not being born a Christian, and who is going to punish him for that, considering that you can’t skin the same ox twice? And God Almighty himself, even if he does hold the Tartar to account when he dies, I suppose will only give him the smallest punishment (because it’s not possible not to punish him at all), considering that it’s surely not his fault that he came into the world unclean, and from unclean parents. The Lord God can’t take some Tartar by the neck and claim that he, too, was a Christian? That would mean that the Lord Almighty was saying a real untruth. And how can the Almighty Lord of heaven and earth tell a lie, even if it’s only one word, sir?”
Grigory was dumbfounded and stared wide-eyed at the orator. Though he did not understand very well what was being said, he did suddenly understand some of all this gibberish, and stood looking like a man who had just run his head into a wall. Fyodor Pavlovich emptied his glass and burst into shrill laughter.
