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me to

my face. ‘Oh, you are going to perform an act of heroic virtue: to

confess you murdered your father, that the valet murdered him at

your instigation.’”

 

“Brother,” Alyosha interposed, “restrain yourself. It was not

you murdered him. It’s not true!”

 

“That’s what he says, he, and he knows it. ‘You are going to

perform an act of heroic virtue, and you don’t believe in virtue;

that’s what tortures you and makes you angry, that’s why you are so

vindictive.’ He said that to me about me and he knows what he says.”

 

“It’s you say that, not he,” exclaimed Alyosha mournfully, “and

you say it because you are ill and delirious, tormenting yourself.”

 

“No, he knows what he says. ‘You are going from pride,’ he says.

‘You’ll stand up and say it was I killed him, and why do you writhe

with horror? You are lying! I despise your opinion, I despise your

horror!’ He said that about me. ‘And do you know you are longing for

their praise- “he is a criminal, a murderer, but what a generous soul;

he wanted to save his brother and he confessed.” That’s a lie

Alyosha!” Ivan cried suddenly, with flashing eyes. “I don’t want the

low rabble to praise me, I swear I don’t! That’s a lie! That’s why I

threw the glass at him and it broke against his ugly face.”

 

“Brother, calm yourself, stop!” Alyosha entreated him.

 

“Yes, he knows how to torment one. He’s cruel,” Ivan went on,

unheeding. “I had an inkling from the first what he came for.

‘Granting that you go through pride, still you had a hope that

Smerdyakov might be convicted and sent to Siberia, and Mitya would

be acquitted, while you would only be punished, with moral

condemnation’ (‘Do you hear?’ he laughed then)- ‘and some people

will praise you. But now Smerdyakov’s dead, he has hanged himself, and

who’ll believe you alone? But yet you are going, you are going, you’ll

go all the same, you’ve decided to go. What are you going for now?’

That’s awful, Alyosha. I can’t endure such questions. Who dare ask

me such questions?”

 

“Brother,” interposed Alyosha-his heart sank with terror, but

he still seemed to hope to bring Ivan to reason- “how could he have

told you of Smerdyakov’s death before I came, when no one knew of it

and there was no time for anyone to know of it?”

 

“He told me,” said Ivan firmly, refusing to admit a doubt. “It was

all he did talk about, if you come to that. ‘And it would be all right

if you believed in virtue,’ he said. ‘No matter if they disbelieve

you, you are going for the sake of principle. But you are a little pig

like Fyodor Pavlovitch, and what do you want with virtue? Why do you

want to go meddling if your sacrifice is of no use to anyone?

Because you don’t know yourself why you go! Oh, you’d give a great

deal to know yourself why you go! And can you have made up your

mind? You’ve not made up your mind. You’ll sit all night

deliberating whether to go or not. But you will go; you know you’ll

go. You know that whichever way you decide, the decision does not

depend on you. You’ll go because you won’t dare not to go. Why won’t

you dare? You must guess that for yourself. That’s a riddle for

you!’ He got up and went away. You came and he went. He called me a

coward, Alyosha! Le mot de l’enigme is that I am a coward. ‘It is

not for such eagles to soar above the earth.‘It was he added that-he!

And Smerdyakov said the same. He must be killed! Katya despises me.

I’ve seen that for a month past. Even Lise will begin to despise me!

‘You are going in order to be praised.’ That’s a brutal lie! And you

despise me too, Alyosha. Now I am going to hate you again! And I

hate the monster, too! I hate the monster! I don’t want to save the

monster. Let him rot in Siberia! He’s begun singing a hymn! Oh,

to-morrow I’ll go, stand before them, and spit in their faces!”

 

He jumped up in a frenzy, flung off the towel, and fell to

pacing up and down the room again. Alyosha recalled what he had just

said. “I seem to be sleeping awake… I walk, I speak, I see, but I am

asleep.” It seemed to be just like that now. Alyosha did not leave

him. The thought passed through his mind to run for a doctor, but he

was afraid to leave his brother alone: there was no one to whom he

could leave him. By degrees Ivan lost consciousness completely at

last. He still went on talking, talking incessantly, but quite

incoherently, and even articulated his words with difficulty. Suddenly

he staggered violently; but Alyosha was in time to support him. Ivan

let him lead him to his bed. Alyosha undressed him somehow and put him

to bed. He sat watching over him for another two hours. The sick man

slept soundly, without stirring, breathing softly and evenly.

Alyosha took a pillow and lay down on the sofa, without undressing.

 

As he fell asleep he prayed for Mitya and Ivan. He began to

understand Ivan’s illness. “The anguish of a proud determination. An

earnest conscience!” God, in Whom he disbelieved, and His truth were

gaining mastery over his heart, which still refused to submit.

“Yes,” the thought floated through Alyosha’s head as it lay on the

pillow, “yes, if Smerdyakov is dead, no one will believe Ivan’s

evidence; but he will go and give it.” Alyosha smiled softly. “God

will conquer!” he thought. “He will either rise up in the light of

truth, or… he’ll perish in hate, revenging on himself and on

everyone his having served the cause he does not believe in,”

Alyosha added bitterly, and again he prayed for Ivan.

Book XII

A Judicial Error

Chapter 1

The Fatal Day

 

AT ten o’clock in the morning of the day following the events I

have described, the trial of Dmitri Karamazov began in our district

court.

 

I hasten to emphasise the fact that I am far from esteeming myself

capable of reporting all that took place at the trial in full

detail, or even in the actual order of events. I imagine that to

mention everything with full explanation would fill a volume, even a

very large one. And so I trust I may not be reproached, for

confining myself to what struck me. I may have selected as of most

interest what was of secondary importance, and may have omitted the

most prominent and essential details. But I see I shall do better

not to apologise. I will do my best and the reader will see for

himself that I have done all I can.

 

And, to begin with, before entering the court, I will mention what

surprised me most on that day. Indeed, as it appeared later,

everyone was surprised at it, too. We all knew that the affair had

aroused great interest, that everyone was burning with impatience

for the trial to begin, that it had been a subject of talk,

conjecture, exclamation and surmise for the last two months in local

society. Everyone knew, too, that the case had become known throughout

Russia, but yet we had not imagined that it had aroused such

burning, such intense, interest in everyone, not only among ourselves,

but all over Russia. This became evident at the trial this day.

 

Visitors had arrived not only from the chief town of our province,

but from several other Russian towns, as well as from Moscow and

Petersburg. Among them were lawyers, ladies, and even several

distinguished personages. Every ticket of admission had been

snatched up. A special place behind the table at which the three

judges sat was set apart for the most distinguished and important of

the men visitors; a row of armchairs had been placed there-something

exceptional, which had never been allowed before. A large proportion

not less than half of the public-were ladies. There was such a

large number of lawyers from all parts that they did not know where to

seat them, for every ticket had long since been eagerly sought for and

distributed. I saw at the end of the room, behind the platform, a

special partition hurriedly put up, behind which all these lawyers

were admitted, and they thought themselves lucky to have standing room

there, for all chairs had been removed for the sake of space, and

the crowd behind the partition stood throughout the case closely

packed, shoulder to shoulder.

 

Some of the ladies, especially those who came from a distance,

made their appearance in the gallery very smartly dressed, but the

majority of the ladies were oblivious even of dress. Their faces

betrayed hysterical, intense, almost morbid, curiosity. A peculiar

fact-established afterwards by many observations-was that almost all

the ladies, or, at least the vast majority of them, were on Mitya’s

side and in favour of his being acquitted. This was perhaps chiefly

owing to his reputation as a conqueror of female hearts. It was

known that two women rivals were to appear in the case. One of them-Katerina Ivanovna-was an object of general interest. All sorts of

extraordinary tales were told about her, amazing anecdotes of her

passion for Mitya, in spite of his crime. Her pride and

“aristocratic connections” were particularly insisted upon (she had

called upon scarcely anyone in the town). People said she intended

to petition the Government for leave to accompany the criminal to

Siberia and to be married to him somewhere in the mines. The

appearance of Grushenka in court was awaited with no less

impatience. The public was looking forward with anxious curiosity to

the meeting of the two rivals-the proud aristocratic girl and “the

hetaira.” But Grushenka was a more familiar figure to the ladies of

the district than Katerina Ivanovna. They had already seen “the

woman who had ruined Fyodor Pavlovitch and his unhappy son,” and

all, almost without exception, wondered how father and son could be so

in love with “such a very common, ordinary Russian girl, who was not

even pretty.”

 

In brief, there was a great deal of talk. I know for a fact that

there were several serious family quarrels on Mitya’s account in our

town. Many ladies quarrelled violently with their husbands over

differences of opinion about the dreadful case, and it was that the

husbands of these ladies, far from being favourably disposed to the

prisoner, should enter the court bitterly prejudiced against him. In

fact, one may say pretty certainly that the masculine, as

distinguished from the feminine, part of the audience was biased

against the prisoner. There were numbers of severe, frowning, even

vindictive faces. Mitya, indeed, had managed to offend many people

during his stay in the town. Some of the visitors were, of course,

in excellent spirits and quite unconcerned as to the fate of Mitya

personally. But all were interested in the trial, and the majority

of the men were certainly hoping for the conviction of the criminal,

except perhaps the lawyers, who were more interested in the legal than

in the moral aspect of the case.

 

Everybody was excited at the presence of the celebrated lawyer,

Fetyukovitch. His talent was well known, and this was not the first

time he had defended notorious criminal cases in the provinces. And if

he defended them, such cases became celebrated and long remembered all

over Russia. There were stories, too, about our prosecutor and about

the President of the Court. It was said that Ippolit Kirillovitch

was in a tremor at meeting Fetyukovitch, and that they

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