The priest, a shy and amiable looking little man, informed him at once that though Lyagavy had been staying with him at first, he was now at Suhoy Possyolok, that he was staying the night in the forester's cottage, as he was buying timber there too.At Mitya's urgent request that he would take him to Lyagavy at once, and by so doing "save him, so to speak," the priest agreed, after some demur, to conduct him to Suhoy Possyolok; his curiosity was obviously aroused.
But, unluckily, he advised their going on foot, as it would not be "much over" a verst.Mitya, of course, agreed, and marched off with his yard-long strides, so that the poor priest almost ran after him.
He was a very cautious man, though not old.
Mitya at once began talking to him, too, of his plans, nervously and excitedly asking advice in regard to Lyagavy, and talking all the way.The priest listened attentively, but gave little advice.He turned off Mitya's questions with: "I don't know.Ah, I can't say.How can I tell?" and so on.When Mitya began to speak of his quarrel with his father over his inheritance, the priest was positively alarmed, as he was in some way dependent on Fyodor Pavlovitch.He inquired, however, with surprise, why he called the peasant-trader Gorstkin, Lyagavy, and obligingly explained to Mitya that, though the man's name really was Lyagavy, he was never called so, as he would be grievously offended at the name, and that he must be sure to call him Gorstkin, "or you'll do nothing with him; he won't even listen to you," said the priest in conclusion.
Mitya was somewhat surprised for a moment, and explained that that was what Samsonov had called him.On hearing this fact, the priest dropped the subject, though he would have done well to put into words his doubt whether, if Samsonov had sent him to that peasant, calling him Lyagavy, there was not something wrong about it and he was turning him into ridicule.But Mitya had no time to pause over such trifles.He hurried, striding along, and only when he reached Suhoy Possyolok did he realise that they had come not one verst, nor one and a half, but at least three.This annoyed him, but he controlled himself.
They went into the hut.The forester lived in one half of the hut, and Gorstkin was lodging in the other, the better room the other side of the passage.They went into that room and lighted a tallow candle.The hut was extremely overheated.On the table there was a samovar that had gone out, a tray with cups, an empty rum bottle, a bottle of vodka partly full, and some half-eaten crusts of wheaten bread.The visitor himself lay stretched at full length on the bench, with his coat crushed up under his head for a pillow, snoring heavily.Mitya stood in perplexity.
"Of course, I must wake him.My business is too important.I've come in such haste.I'm in a hurry to get back to-day," he said in great agitation.But the priest and the forester stood in silence, not giving their opinion.Mitya went up and began trying to wake him himself; he tried vigorously, but the sleeper did not wake.
"He's drunk," Mitya decided."Good Lord! What am I to do? What am I to do?" And, terribly impatient, he began pulling him by the arms, by the legs, shaking his head, lifting him up and ****** him sit on the bench.Yet, after prolonged exertions, he could only succeed in getting the drunken man to utter absurd grunts, and violent, but inarticulate oaths.
"No, you'd better wait a little," the priest pronounced at last, "for he's obviously not in a fit state.""He's been drinking the whole day," the forester chimed in.
"Good heavens!" cried Mitya."If only you knew how important it is to me and how desperate I am!""No, you'd better wait till morning," the priest repeated.
"Till morning? Mercy! that's impossible!" And in his despair he was on the point of attacking the sleeping man again, but stopped short at once, realising the uselessness of his efforts.The priest said nothing, the sleepy forester looked gloomy.
"What terrible tragedies real life contrives for people," said Mitya, in complete despair.The perspiration was streaming down his face.The priest seized the moment to put before him, very reasonably, that, even if he succeeded in wakening the man, he would still be drunk and incapable of conversation."And your business is important,"he said, "so you'd certainly better put it off till morning." With a gesture of despair Mitya agreed.
"Father, I will stay here with a light, and seize the favourable moment.As soon as he wakes I'll begin.I'll pay you for the light,"he said to the forester, "for the night's lodging, too; you'll remember Dmitri Karamazov.Only Father, I don't know what we're to do with you.Where will you sleep?""No, I'm going home.I'll take his horse and get home," he said, indicating the forester."And now I'll say good-bye.I wish you all success."So it was settled.The priest rode off on the forester's horse, delighted to escape, though he shook his head uneasily, wondering whether he ought not next day to inform his benefactor Fyodor Pavlovitch of this curious incident, "or he may in an unlucky hour hear of it, be angry, and withdraw his favour."The forester, scratching himself, went back to his room without a word, and Mitya sat on the bench to "catch the favourable moment,"as he expressed it.Profound dejection clung about his soul like a heavy mist.A profound, intense dejection! He sat thinking, but could reach no conclusion.The candle burnt dimly, a cricket chirped; it became insufferably close in the overheated room.He suddenly pictured the garden, the path behind the garden, the door of his father's house mysteriously opening and Grushenka running in.
He leapt up from the bench.
