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black currant, elder, snowball-tree, and lilac, there stood a
tumbledown green summer-house; blackened with age. Its
walls were of lattice-work, but there was still a roof which
could give shelter. God knows when this summer-house was
built. There was a tradition that it had been put up some fif-
ty years before by a retired colonel called von Schmidt, who
owned the house at that time. It was all in decay, the floor
was rotting, the planks were loose, the woodwork smelled
musty. In the summer-house there was a green wooden
table fixed in the ground, and round it were some green
benches upon which it was still possible to sit. Alyosha had
at once observed his brother’s exhilarated condition, and
on entering the arbour he saw half a bottle of brandy and a
wineglass on the table.
‘That’s brandy,’ Mitya laughed. ‘I see your look: ‘He’s
drinking again’ Distrust the apparition.
Distrust the worthless, lying crowd,
And lay aside thy doubts.
I’m not drinking, I’m only ‘indulging,’ as that pig, your
Rakitin, says. He’ll be a civil councillor one day, but he’ll
always talk about ‘indulging.’ Sit down. I could take you in
my arms, Alyosha, and press you to my bosom till I crush
you, for in the whole world — in reality — in real-i-ty —
(can you take it in?) I love no one but you!
He uttered the last words in a sort of exaltation.
‘No one but you and one ‘jade’ I have fallen in love with,
to my ruin. But being in love doesn’t mean loving. You may
be in love with a woman and yet hate her. Remember that!
I can talk about it gaily still. Sit down here by the table and