"Here there was no room for dispute: it was her right and his;this was her first love which, after five years, she had not forgotten; so she had loved him only for those five years, and I, how do I come in? What right have I? Step aside, Mitya, and make way! What am I now? Now everything is over apart from the officer even if he had not appeared, everything would be over..."These words would roughly have expressed his feelings, if he had been capable of reasoning.But he could not reason at that moment.His present plan of action had arisen without reasoning.At Fenya's first words, it had sprung from feeling, and been adopted in a flash, with all its consequences.And yet, in spite of his resolution, there was confusion in his soul, an agonising confusion: his resolution did not give him peace.There was so much behind that tortured him.And it seemed strange to him, at moments, to think that he had written his own sentence of death with pen and paper: "Ipunish myself," and the paper was lying there in his pocket, ready;the pistol was loaded; he had already resolved how, next morning, he would meet the first warm ray of "golden-haired Phoebus."And yet he could not be quit of the past, of all that he had left behind and that tortured him.He felt that miserably, and the thought of it sank into his heart with despair.There was one moment when he felt an impulse to stop Andrey, to jump out of the cart, to pull out his loaded pistol, and to make an end of everything without waiting for the dawn.But that moment flew by like a spark.The horses galloped on, "devouring space," and as he drew near his goal, again the thought of her, of her alone, took more and more complete possession of his soul, chasing away the fearful images that had been haunting it.Oh, how he longed to look upon her, if only for a moment, if only from a distance!
"She's now with him," he thought, "now I shall see what she looks like with him, her first love, and that's all I want." Never had this woman, who was such a fateful influence in his life, aroused such love in his breast, such new and unknown feeling, surprising even to himself, a feeling tender to devoutness, to self-effacement before her! "I will efface myself!" he said, in a rush of almost hysterical ecstasy.
They had been galloping nearly an hour.Mitya was silent, and though Andrey was, as a rule, a talkative peasant, he did not utter a word, either.He seemed afraid to talk, he only whipped up smartly his three lean, but mettlesome, bay horses.Suddenly Mitya cried out in horrible anxiety:
"Andrey! What if they're asleep?"
This thought fell upon him like a blow.It had not occurred to him before.
"It may well be that they're gone to bed by now, Dmitri Fyodorovitch."Mitya frowned as though in pain.Yes, indeed...he was rushing there...with such feelings...while they were asleep...she was asleep, perhaps, there too....An angry feeling surged up in his heart.
"Drive on, Andrey! Whip them up! Look alive!" he cried, beside himself.
"But maybe they're not in bed!" Andrey went on after a pause.
"Timofey said they were a lot of them there-.""At the station?"
"Not at the posting-station, but at Plastunov's, at the inn, where they let out horses, too.""I know.So you say there are a lot of them? How's that? Who are they?" cried Mitya, greatly dismayed at this unexpected news.
"Well, Timofey was saying they're all gentlefolk.Two from our town- who they are I can't say- and there are two others, strangers, maybe more besides.I didn't ask particularly.They've set to playing cards, so Timofey said.""Cards?"
"So, maybe they're not in bed if they're at cards.It's most likely not more than eleven.""Quicker, Andrey! Quicker!" Mitya cried again, nervously.
"May I ask you something, sir?" said Andrey, after a pause.
"Only I'm afraid of angering you, sir."
"What is it?"
"Why, Fenya threw herself at your feet just now, and begged you not to harm her mistress, and someone else, too...so you see, sir-It's I am taking you there...forgive me, sir, it's my conscience...
maybe it's stupid of me to speak of it-."Mitya suddenly seized him by the shoulders from behind.
"Are you a driver?" he asked frantically.
"Yes sir."
"Then you know that one has to make way.What would you say to a driver who wouldn't make way for anyone, but would just drive on and crush people? No, a driver mustn't run over people.One can't run over a man.One can't spoil people's lives.And if you have spoilt a life- punish yourself....If only you've spoilt, if only you've ruined anyone's life- punish yourself and go away."These phrases burst from Mitya almost hysterically.Though Andrey was surprised at him, he kept up the conversation.
"That's right, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, you're quite right, one mustn't crush or torment a man, or any kind of creature, for every creature is created by God.Take a horse, for instance, for some folks, even among us drivers, drive anyhow.Nothing will restrain them, they just force it along.""To hell?" Mitya interrupted, and went off into his abrupt, short laugh."Andrey, simple soul," he seized him by the shoulders again, "tell me, will Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov go to hell, or not, what do you think?""I don't know, darling, it depends on you, for you are...you see, sir, when the Son of God was nailed on the Cross and died, He went straight down to hell from the Cross, and set free all sinners that were in agony.And the devil groaned, because he thought that he would get no more sinners in hell.And God said to him, then, 'Don't groan, for you shall have all the mighty of the earth, the rulers, the chief judges, and the rich men, and shall be filled up as you have been in all the ages till I come again.' Those were His very words...""A peasant legend! Capital! Whip up the left, Andrey!""So you see, sir, who it is hell's for," said Andrey, whipping up the left horse, "but you're like a little child...that's how we look on you...and though you're hasty-tempered, sir, yet God will forgive you for your kind heart.""And you, do you forgive me, Andrey?"
