He felt that, perhaps, indeed, his work lay here.
Mitya sank into thought for a moment, with his elbow on the table and his head in his hand.
Both were silent.
"Alyosha," said Mitya, "you're the only one who won't laugh.
I should like to begin- my confession- with Schiller's Hymn to Joy, An die Freude! I don't know German, I only know it's called that.
Don't think I'm talking nonsense because I'm drunk.
I'm not a bit drunk.
Brandy's all very well, but I need two bottles to make me drunk:
Silenus with his rosy phiz Upon his stumbling ass.
But I've not drunk a quarter of a bottle, and I'm not Silenus.
I'm not Silenus, though I am strong,* for I've made a decision once for all.
Forgive me the pun; you'll have to forgive me a lot more than puns to-day.
Don't be uneasy. I'm not spinning it out. I'm talking sense, and I'll come to the point in a minute.
I won't keep you in suspense.
Stay, how does it go?" * In Russian, silen.
He raised his head, thought a minute, and began with enthusiasm:
Wild and fearful in his cavern Hid the naked troglodyte, And the homeless nomad wandered Laying waste the fertile plain.
Menacing with spear and arrow In the woods the hunter strayed.... Woe to all poor wretches stranded On those cruel and hostile shores!
From the peak of high Olympus Came the mother Ceres down, Seeking in those savage regions Her lost daughter Proserpine.
But the Goddess found no refuge, Found no kindly welcome there, And no temple bearing witness To the worship of the gods.
From the fields and from the vineyards Came no fruits to deck the feasts, Only flesh of bloodstained victims Smouldered on the altar-fires,
And where'er the grieving goddess Turns her melancholy gaze, Sunk in vilest degradation Man his loathsomeness displays
Mitya broke into sobs and seized Alyosha's hand.
"My dear, my dear, in degradation, in degradation now, too.
There's a terrible amount of suffering for man on earth, a terrible lot of trouble.
Don't think I'm only a brute in an officer's uniform, wallowing in dirt and drink.
I hardly think of anything but of that degraded man- if only I'm not lying.
I pray God I'm not lying and showing off.
I think about that man because I am that man myself.
Would he purge his soul from vileness And attain to light and worth, He must turn and cling for ever To his ancient Mother Earth.
But the difficulty is how am I to cling for ever to Mother Earth.
I don't kiss her. I don't cleave to her bosom. Am I to become a peasant or a shepherd?
I go on and I don't know whether I'm going to shame or to light and joy.
That's the trouble, for everything in the world is a riddle!
And whenever I've happened to sink into the vilest degradation (and it's always been happening) I always read that poem about Ceres and man.
Has it reformed me?
Never!
For I'm a Karamazov.
For when I do leap into the pit, I go headlong with my heels up, and am pleased to be falling in that degrading attitude, and pride myself upon it.
And in the very depths of that degradation I begin a hymn of praise.
Let me be accursed. Let me be vile and base, only let me kiss the hem of the veil in which my God is shrouded. Though I may be following the devil, I am Thy son, O Lord, and I love Thee, and I feel the joy without which the world cannot stand.
Joy everlasting fostereth The soul of all creation, It is her secret ferment fires The cup of life with flame. 'Tis at her beck the grass hath turned Each blade towards the light And solar systems have evolved From chaos and dark night, Filling the realms of boundless space Beyond the sage's sight.
At bounteous Nature's kindly breast, All things that breathe drink Joy, And birds and beasts and creeping things All follow where She leads. Her gifts to man are friends in need, The wreath, the foaming must, To angels- vision of God's throne, To insects- sensual lust.
But enough poetry!
I am in tears; let me cry.
It may be foolishness that everyone would laugh at. But you won't laugh.
Your eyes are shining, too.
Enough poetry.
I want to tell you now about the insects to whom God gave 'sensual lust.'
To insects- sensual lust.