Chapter 4   -   Cana of Galilee

    IT was very late, according to the monastery ideas, when Alyosha

returned to the hermitage; the door-keeper let him in by a special

entrance. It had struck nine o'clock- the hour of rest and repose

after a day of such agitation for all. Alyosha timidly opened the door

and went into the elder's cell where his coffin was now standing.

There was no one in the cell but Father Paissy, reading the Gospel

in solitude over the coffin, and the young novice Porfiry, who,

exhausted by the previous night's conversation and the disturbing

incidents of the day, was sleeping the deep sound sleep of youth on

the floor of the other room. Though Father Paissy heard Alyosha come

in, he did not even look in his direction. Alyosha turned to the right

from the door to the corner, fell on his knees and began to pray.

    His soul was overflowing but with mingled feelings; no single

sensation stood out distinctly; on the contrary, one drove out another

in a slow, continual rotation. But there was a sweetness in his

heart and, strange to say, Alyosha was not surprised at it. Again he

saw that coffin before him, the hidden dead figure so precious to him,

but the weeping and poignant grief of the morning was no longer aching

in his soul. As soon as he came in, he fell down before the coffin

as before a holy shrine, but joy, joy was glowing in his mind and in

his heart. The one window of the cell was open, the air was fresh

and cool. "So the smell must have become stronger, if they opened

the window," thought Alyosha. But even this thought of the smell of

corruption, which had seemed to him so awful and humiliating a few

hours before, no longer made him feel miserable or indignant. He began

quietly praying, but he soon felt that he was praying almost

mechanically. Fragments of thought floated through his soul, flashed

like stars and went out again at once, to be succeeded by others.

But yet there was reigning in his soul a sense of the wholeness of

things- something steadfast and comforting- and he was aware of it

himself. Sometimes he began praying ardently, he longed to pour out

his thankfulness and love...

    But when he had begun to pray, he passed suddenly to something

else, and sank into thought, forgetting both the prayer and what had

interrupted it. He began listening to what Father Paissy was

reading, but worn out with exhaustion he gradually began to doze.

    "And the third day there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee,"

read Father Paissy. "And the mother of Jesus was there; And both Jesus

was there; And both Jesus was called, and his disciples, to the


    "Marriage? What's that?... A marriage!" floated whirling through

Alyosha's mind. "There is happiness for her, too... She has gone to

the feast.... No, she has not taken the knife.... That was only a

tragic phrase.... Well... tragic phrases should be forgiven, they must

be. Tragic phrases comfort the heart... Without them, sorrow would

be too heavy for men to bear. Rakitin has gone off to the back

alley. As long as Rakitin broods over his wrongs, he will always go

off to the back alley.... But the high road... The road is wide and

straight and bright as crystal, and the sun is at the end of it....

Ah!... What's being read?"...

    "And when they wanted wine, the mother of Jesus saith unto him,

They have no wine"... Alyosha heard.

    "Ah, yes, I was missing that, and I didn't want to miss it, I love

that passage: it's Cana of Galilee, the first miracle.... Ah, that

miracle! Ah, that sweet miracle! It was not men's grief, but their joy

Christ visited, He worked His first miracle to help men's gladness....

'He who loves men loves their gladness, too'... He was always

repeating that, it was one of his leading ideas... 'There's no

living without joy,' Mitya says.... Yes, Mitya.... 'Everything that is

true and good is always full of forgiveness,' he used to say that,


            "Jesus saith unto her, Woman, what has it to do

                with thee or me? Mine hour not yet come.

            "His mother saith unto the servants, Whatsoever

                he saith unto you, do it". . .

    "Do it.... Gladness, the gladness of some poor, very poor,

people.... Of course they were poor, since they hadn't wine enough

even at a wedding.... The historians write that, in those days, the

people living about the Lake of Gennesaret were the poorest that can

possibly be imagined... and another great heart, that other great

being, His Mother, knew that He had come not only to make His great

terrible sacrifice. She knew that His heart was open even to the

simple, artless merrymaking of some obscure and unlearned people,

who had warmly bidden Him to their poor wedding. 'Mine hour is not yet

come,' He said, with a soft smile (He must have smiled gently to her).

And, indeed, was it to make wine abundant at poor weddings He had come

down to earth? And yet He went and did as she asked Him.... Ah, he

is reading again"...

      "Jesus saith unto them, Fill the waterpots with water.

          And they filled them up to the brim.

      "And he saith unto them, Draw out now and bear unto

          the governor of the feast. And they bear it.

      "When the ruler of the feast had tasted the water

          that was made wine, and knew not whence it was

          (but the servants which drew the water knew);

          the governor of the feast called the bridegroom,

      "And saith unto him, Every man at the beginning doth

          set forth good wine; and when men have well drunk,

          that which is worse; but thou hast kept

                                   the good wine until now."

    "But what's this, what's this? Why is the room growing wider?...

Ah, yes... It's the marriage, the wedding... yes, of course. Here

are the guests, here are the young couple sitting, and the merry crowd

and... Where is the wise governor of the feast? But who is this?

Who? Again the walls are receding.... Who is getting up there from the

great table? What!... He here, too? But he's in the coffin... but he's

here, too. He has stood up, he sees me, he is coming here.... God!"...

    Yes, he came up to him, to him, he, the little, thin old man, with

tiny wrinkles on his face, joyful and laughing softly. There was no

coffin now, and he was in the same dress as he had worn yesterday

sitting with them, when the visitors had gathered about him. His

face was uncovered, his eyes were shining. How was this, then? He,

too, had been called to the feast. He, too, at the marriage of Cana in


    "Yes, my dear, I am called, too, called and bidden," he heard a

soft voice saying over him. "Why have you hidden yourself here, out of

sight? You come and join us too."

    It was his voice, the voice of Father Zossima. And it must be

he, since he called him!

    The elder raised Alyosha by the hand and he rose from his knees.

    "We are rejoicing," the little, thin old man went on. "We are

drinking the new wine, the wine of new, great gladness; do you see how

many guests? Here are the bride and bridegroom, here is the wise

governor of the feast, he is tasting the new wine. Why do you wonder

at me? I gave an onion to a beggar, so I, too, am here. And many

here have given only an onion each- only one little onion.... What are

all our deeds? And you, my gentle one, you, my kind boy, you too

have known how to give a famished woman an onion to-day. Begin your

work, dear one, begin it, gentle one! Do you see our Sun, do you see


    "I am afraid... I dare not look," whispered Alyosha.

    "Do not fear Him. He is terrible in His greatness, awful in His

sublimity, but infinitely merciful. He has made Himself like unto us

from love and rejoices with us. He is changing the water into wine

that the gladness of the guests may not be cut short. He is

expecting new guests, He is calling new ones unceasingly for ever

and ever.... There they are bringing new wine. Do you see they are

bringing the vessels..."

    Something glowed in Alyosha's heart, something filled it till it

ached, tears of rapture rose from his soul.... He stretched out his

hands, uttered a cry and waked up.

    Again the coffin, the open window, and the soft, solemn,

distinct reading of the Gospel. But Alyosha did not listen to the

reading. It was strange, he had fallen asleep on his knees, but now he

was on his feet, and suddenly, as though thrown forward, with three

firm rapid steps he went right up to the coffin. His shoulder

brushed against Father Paissy without his noticing it. Father Paissy

raised his eyes for an instant from his book, but looked away again at

once, seeing that something strange was happening to the boy.

Alyosha gazed for half a minute at the coffin, at the covered,

motionless dead man that lay in the coffin, with the ikon on his

breast and the peaked cap with the octangular cross on his head. He

had only just been hearing his voice, and that voice was still ringing

in his ears. He was listening, still expecting other words, but

suddenly he turned sharply and went out of the cell.

    He did not stop on the steps either, but went quickly down; his

soul, overflowing with rapture, yearned for freedom, space,

openness. The vault of heaven, full of soft, shining stars,

stretched vast and fathomless above him. The Milky Way ran in two pale

streams from the zenith to the horizon. The fresh, motionless, still

night enfolded the earth. The white towers and golden domes of the

cathedral gleamed out against the sapphire sky. The gorgeous autumn

flowers, in the beds round the house, were slumbering till morning.

The silence of earth seemed to melt into the silence of the heavens.

The mystery of earth was one with the mystery of the stars....

    Alyosha stood, gazed, and suddenly threw himself down on the

earth. He did not know why he embraced it. He could not have told

why he longed so irresistibly to kiss it, to kiss it all. But he

kissed it weeping, sobbing, and watering it with his tears, and

vowed passionately to love it, to love it for ever and ever. "Water

the earth with the tears of your joy and love those tears," echoed

in his soul.

    What was he weeping over?

    Oh! in his rapture he was weeping even over those stars, which

were shining to him from the abyss of space, and "he was not ashamed

of that ecstasy." There seemed to be threads from all those

innumerable worlds of God, linking his soul to them, and it was

trembling all over "in contact with other worlds." He longed to

forgive everyone and for everything, and to beg forgiveness. Oh, not

for himself, but for all men, for all and for everything. "And

others are praying for me too," echoed again in his soul. But with

every instant he felt clearly and, as it were, tangibly, that

something firm and unshakable as that vault of heaven had entered into

his soul. It was as though some idea had seized the sovereignty of his

mind- and it was for all his life and for ever and ever. He had fallen

on the earth a weak boy, but he rose up a resolute champion, and he

knew and felt it suddenly at the very moment of his ecstasy. And

never, never, his life long, could Alyosha forget that minute.

    "Someone visited my soul in that hour," he used to say afterwards,

with implicit faith in his words.

    Within three days he left the monastery in accordance with the

words of his elder, who had bidden him "sojourn in the world."