ceiling there can be no hooks, and if there are no hooks it all breaks down, which is unlikely again, for then there would be none to drag me down to hell, and if they don’t drag me down what justice is there in the world? _Il faudrait les inventer_, those hooks, on purpose for me alone, for, if you only knew, Alyosha, what a blackguard I am.” “But there are no hooks there,” said Alyosha, looking gently and seriously at his father. “Yes, yes, only the shadows of hooks, I know, I know. That’s how a Frenchman described hell: ‘_J’ai vu l’ombre d’un cocher qui avec l’ombre d’une brosse frottait l’ombre d’une carrosse._’ How do you know there are no hooks, darling? When you’ve lived with the monks you’ll sing a different tune. But go and get at the truth there, and then come and tell me. Anyway it’s easier going to the other world if one knows what there is there. Besides, it will be more seemly for you with the monks than here with me, with a drunken old man and young harlots ... though you’re like an angel, nothing touches you. And I dare say nothing will touch you there. That’s why I let you go, because I hope for that. You’ve got all your wits about you. You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again. And I will wait for you. I feel that you’re the only creature in the world who has not condemned me. My dear boy, I feel it, you know. I can’t help feeling it.” And he even began blubbering. He was sentimental. He was wicked and sentimental. Chapter V. Elders