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the monastery in time to serve at the Father Superior’s din-
ner, he felt a sudden pang at his heart, and stopped short.
He seemed to hear again Father Zossima’s words, foretell-
ing his approaching end. What he had foretold so exactly
must infallibly come to pass. Alyosha believed that implic-
itly. But how could he go? He had told him not to weep, and
to leave the monastery. Good God! It was long since Alyo-
sha had known such anguish. He hurried through the copse
that divided the monastery from the hermitage, and unable
to bear the burden of his thoughts, he gazed at the ancient
pines beside the path. He had not far to go — about five
hundred paces. He expected to meet no one at that hour,
but at the first turn of the path he noticed Rakitin. He was
waiting for someone.
‘Are you waiting for me?’ asked Alyosha, overtaking
him.
‘Yes,’ grinned Rakitin. ‘You are hurrying to the Father
Superior, I know; he has a banquet. There’s not been such
a banquet since the Superior entertained the Bishop and
General Pahatov, do you remember? I shan’t be there, but
you go and hand the sauces. Tell me one thing, Alexey, what
does that vision mean? That’s what I want to ask you.’
‘What vision?’
‘That bowing to your brother, Dmitri. And didn’t he tap
the ground with his forehead, too!’
‘You speak of Father Zossima?’
‘Yes, of Father Zossima,’
‘Tapped the ground?’
‘Ah, an irreverent expression! Well, what of it? Anyway,