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answered Smerdyakov with perfect composure. ‘You’d bet-
ter consider yourself that, once I am taken prisoner by the
enemies of the Christian race, and they demand from me to
curse the name of God and to renounce my holy christen-
ing, I am fully entitled to act by my own reason, since there
would be no sin in it.’
‘But you’ve said that before. Don’t waste words. Prove it,’
cried Fyodor Pavlovitch.
‘Soup-maker!’ muttered Grigory contemptuously.
‘As for being a soup-maker, wait a bit, too, and consid-
er for yourself, Grigory Vassilyevitch, without abusing me.
For as soon as I say to those enemies, ‘No, I’m not a Chris-
tian, and I curse my true God,’ then at once, by God’s high
judgment, I become immediately and specially anathema
accursed, and am cut off from the Holy Church, exactly as
though I were a heathen, so that at that very instant, not
only when I say it aloud, but when I think of saying it, be-
fore a quarter of a second has passed, I am cut off. Is that so
or not, Grigory Vassilyevitch?’
He addressed Grigory with obvious satisfaction, though
he was really answering Fyodor Pavlovitch’s questions, and
was well aware of it, and intentionally pretending that Grig-
ory had asked the questions.
‘Ivan,’ cried Fyodor Pavlovitch suddenly, ‘stoop down for
me to whisper. He’s got this all up for your benefit. He wants
you to praise him. Praise him.’
Ivan listened with perfect seriousness to his father’s ex-
cited whisper.
‘Stay, Smerdyakov, be quiet a minute,’ cried Fyodor Pav-