'You do despise me, though! It's simply that I don't want to do good, I want to do evil, and it has nothing to do with illness.'
'Why do evil?'
'So that everything might be destroyed. Ah, how nice it would be if everything were destroyed! You know, Alyosha, I sometimes think of doing a fearful lot of harm and everything bad, and I should do it for a long while on the sly and suddenly everyone would find it out. Everyone will stand round and point their fingers at me and I would look at them all. That would be awfully nice. Why would it be so nice, Alyosha?'
'I don't know. It's a craving to destroy something good or, as you say, to set fire to something. It happens sometimes.'
'I not only say it, I shall do it.'
'I believe you.'
'Ah, how I love you for saying you believe me. And you are not lying one little bit. But perhaps you think that I am saying all this on purpose to annoy you?'
'No, I don't think that... though perhaps there is a little desire to do that in it, too.'
'There is a little. I never can tell lies to you,' she declared, with a strange fire in her eyes.
What struck Alyosha above everything was her earnestness. There was not a trace of humour or jesting in her face now, though, in old days, fun and gaiety never deserted her even at her most 'earnest' moments.
'There are moments when people love crime,' said Alyosha thoughtfully.
'Yes, yes! You have uttered my thought; they love crime, everyone loves crime, they love it always, not at some ‘moments.’ You know, it's as though people have made an agreement to lie about it and have lied about it ever since. They all declare that they hate evil, but secretly they all love it.'
'And are you still reading nasty books?'
'Yes, I am. Mamma reads them and hides them under her pillow and I steal them.'
'Aren't you ashamed to destroy yourself?'
'I want to destroy myself. There's a boy here, who lay down between the railway lines when the train was passing. Lucky fellow! Listen, your brother is being tried now for murdering his father and everyone loves his having killed his father.'
'Loves his having killed his father?'
'Yes, loves it; everyone loves it! Everybody says it's so awful, but secretly they simply love it. I for one love it.'
'There is some truth in what you say about everyone,' said Alyosha softly.
'Oh, what ideas you have!' Lise shrieked in delight. 'And you a monk, too! You wouldn't believe how I respect you, Alyosha, for never telling lies. Oh, I must tell you a funny dream of mine. I sometimes dream of devils. It's night; I am in my room with a candle and suddenly there are devils all over the place, in all the corners, under the table, and they open the doors; there's a crowd of them behind the doors and they want to come and seize me. And they are just coming, just seizing me. But I suddenly cross myself and they all draw back, though they don't go away altogether, they stand at the doors and in the corners, waiting. And suddenly I have a frightful longing to revile God aloud, and so I begin, and then they come crowding back to me, delighted, and seize me again and I cross myself again and they all draw back. It's awful fun, it takes one's breath away.'
'I've had the same dream, too,' said Alyosha suddenly.
'Really?' cried Lise, surprised. 'I say, Alyosha, don't laugh, that's awfully important. Could two different people have the same dream?'
'It seems they can.'
'Alyosha, I tell you, it's awfully important,' Lise went on, with really excessive amazement. 'It's not the dream that's important, but your having the same dream as me. You never lie to me, don't lie now; is it true? You are not laughing?'
'It's true.'
Lise seemed extraordinarily impressed and for half a minute she was silent.
'Alyosha, come and see me, come and see me more often,' she said suddenly, in a supplicating voice.
'I'll always come to see you, all my life,' answered Alyosha firmly.
'You are the only person I can talk to, you know,' Lise began again. 'I talk to no one but myself and you. Only you in the whole world. And to you more readily than to myself. And I am not a bit ashamed with you, not a bit. Alyosha, why am I not ashamed with you, not a bit? Alyosha, is it true that at Easter the Jews steal a child and kill it?'
'I don't know.'
'There's a book here in which I read about the trial of a Jew, who took a child of four years old and cut off the fingers from both hands, and then crucified him on the wall, hammered nails into him and crucified him, and afterwards, when he was tried, he said that the child died soon, within four hours. That was ‘soon'! He said the child moaned, kept on moaning and he stood admiring it. That's nice!'
'Nice?'
'Nice; I sometimes imagine that it was I who crucified him. He would hang there moaning and I would sit opposite him eating pineapple compote. I am awfully fond of pineapple compote. Do you like it?'
Alyosha looked at her in silence. Her pale, sallow face was suddenly contorted, her eyes burned.
'You know, when I read about that Jew I shook with sobs all night. I kept fancying how the little thing cried and moaned (a child of four years old understands, you know), and all the while the thought of pineapple compote haunted me. In the morning I wrote a letter to a certain person, begging him particularly to come and see me. He came and I suddenly told him all about the child and the pineapple compote. All about it, all, and said that it was nice. He laughed and said it really was nice. Then he got up and went away. He was only here five minutes. Did he despise me? Did he despise me? Tell me, tell me, Alyosha, did he despise me or not?' She sat up on the couch, with flashing eyes.
'Tell me,' Alyosha asked anxiously, 'did you send for that person?'
'Yes, I did.'
'Did you send him a letter?'
'Yes.'
'Simply to ask about that, about that child?'
'No, not about that at all. But when he came, I asked him about that at once. He answered, laughed, got up and went away.'
'That person behaved honourably,' Alyosha murmured.
'And did he despise me? Did he laugh at me?'
'No, for perhaps he believes in the pineapple compote himself. He is very ill now, too, Lise.'
'Yes, he does believe in it,' said Lise, with flashing eyes.
'He doesn't despise anyone,' Alyosha went on. 'Only he does not believe anyone. If he doesn't believe in people, of course, he does despise them.'
'Then he despises me, me?'
'You, too.'
'Good.' Lise seemed to grind her teeth. 'When he went out laughing, I felt that it was nice to be despised. The child with fingers cut off is nice, and to be despised is nice...'
And she laughed in Alyosha's face, a feverish malicious laugh.
'Do you know, Alyosha, do you know, I should like--Alyosha, save me!' She suddenly jumped from the couch, rushed to him and seized him with both hands. 'Save me!' she almost groaned. 'Is there anyone in the world I could tell what I've told you? I've told you the truth, the truth. I shall kill myself, because I loathe everything! I don't want to live, because I loathe everything! I loathe everything, everything. Alyosha, why don't you love me in the least?' she finished in a frenzy.
'But I do love you!' answered Alyosha warmly.
'And will you weep over me, will you?'
'Yes.'
'Not because I won't be your wife, but simply weep for me?'
'Yes.'
'Thank you! It's only your tears I want. Everyone else may punish me and trample me under foot, everyone,
