The Brothers Karamazov (128 page)

“By her own admission,” the prosecutor went on, “she was laughing at both of them. Yes, she suddenly decided to have a bit of fun at their expense—she had not thought of it before, but now she did—and soon she had both of them conquered and lying at her feet. The old man, a money-worshipper, immediately set aside three thousand rubles, which would be hers if she simply paid him a visit at his house, but soon she brought him to a point where he would have been happy to give her his name and all his possessions if only she would agree to become his wife. We have irrefutable evidence on this point.

“As to the accused, his tragic fate is here before our eyes. It was not part of her game to give him any hope, and hope, real hope, was given him only at the last moment when, kneeling before his tormentress, he stretched out his hands to her, covered with the blood of his father and rival. And it was in that posture that he was arrested. ‘It was all my fault. I have brought him to this. I am the guiltiest of all. Send me to Siberia with him!’ the young woman cried out in sincere repentance when he was arrested. That talented young man, Mr. Rakitin, whom I have already mentioned, characterized that fatal woman in the following few phrases: ‘Early disappointment, betrayal, and fall, desertion by the man who seduced her. Then angry eviction by her respectable family, poverty, and finally a rich old protector, whom she still regards as her benefactor. Her young heart, which had perhaps once contained much that was good, was thus very early in life filled with angry resentment. She became calculating, money-hoarding. She became sarcastic and full of vengeful, anti-social feelings.’ If you accept this characterization, you will easily understand how she could enjoy herself by wickedly playing the two men against each other.

“And so, in that month of hopeless passion, of moral degradation, of betrayal of the woman to whom he was engaged, after misappropriating the money that had been entrusted to his honor, the accused finds himself on the verge of a frantic explosion provoked by his constant jealousy. And of whom is he jealous? He is jealous of his own father! And what makes it even worse is that the crazy old man is trying to tempt the object of their common passion with the very three thousand rubles that somehow or other the son considers his own rightful inheritance from his mother’s estate, out of which, he is convinced, his father has cheated him.

“Yes, I agree, it was a difficult situation to bear and it could have turned the accused into a maniac. But it is not the sum of money itself that matters here—it is the fact that this sum was being used with disgusting cynicism to shatter his dream!”

From here, the prosecutor went on to explain how the idea of parricide gradually gained ground in the mind of the accused, and he retraced it step by step.

“At first, he only shouted about it in taverns and inns. That went on for a month. Oh, he likes company and likes to say out loud anything that comes to his mind, including the most monstrous thoughts, and for some reason, he expects everyone to respond to it all with spontaneous sympathy, to be concerned with his worries and fears, to become furious and tear the tavern to pieces.” At this point the prosecutor recounted the incident with retired Captain Snegirev. “Those who saw and heard the accused during that month,” he went on, “finally came to realize that there might be more than shouting and empty threats to kill his father here, that, in the frantic state the man was in, his threats could very well be turned to action at any moment.”

The prosecutor then related the family meeting at the monastery, mentioned Dmitry’s conversation with Alyosha, and told of the ugly scene in the victim’s house, when the accused broke in and beat up his father. Then he continued:

“I believe that, until that scene, the accused had not made up his mind to get his father out of his way by killing him. But the idea had occurred to him several times and he had given it some thought; we have evidence on this point both from witnesses’ testimony and his own confession. I will admit, however, that, until today, I have hesitated to think that this was a planned and premeditated murder. Although I was fully convinced that he had had a vision of the fatal moment many times before, I thought it was just a vision, just a possibility, but that he had not determined on a definite time or place or means of carrying it out. But that was only until I saw today the fateful piece of evidence presented by Miss Katerina Verkhovtsev. That letter gave, indeed, a full program of the crime. And that is just how she described it, that letter written by the accused while he was in a drunken state. Indeed, the letter proves that the accused had a ‘program,’ and this stamps his crime as premeditated murder! This letter was written forty-eight hours before the terrible plan was carried out, for in it the accused swore that, if he failed to find the sum he needed the next day, he would kill his father and take the money in the envelope tied with a red ribbon that the old man kept under his pillow, ‘provided,’ he added, ‘Ivan has left town.’ Please note that Ivan had to be away, which means that everything had been worked out. And, to be sure, he carried it all out, exactly as planned and described in this letter! Therefore, there can be no doubt about planning and premeditation: he had decided to kill in order to steal the money and we have his written and signed statement to this effect. The accused does not even try to contest his signature. Some may object that he was drunk when he wrote it, but that changes nothing; if anything, it makes it more important: when drunk he wrote something that he had decided when he was sober, for if he had not conceived the idea when he was sober, he would not have written it down when he was drunk. I suppose people may also ask why he went around the taverns shouting his threats, for a man who is premeditating a murder usually keeps it to himself and keeps his affairs a secret. That is true, but when he was shouting it about, he had not yet made any plan or thought it out; it was just wishful thinking then. The idea was maturing in his mind. Later, though, he talked less about it. The evening he wrote that letter, after drinking at the Capital City Inn, he was unusually quiet, did not play billiards, sat alone without talking to anyone, and only made a local shopkeeper move out of his seat, and that he did almost unthinkingly, out of habit, because when he was in a drinking place, he felt something was missing if he hadn’t succeeded in picking a quarrel. It is also a fact that, once he had made up his mind, it must have occurred to the accused that he had been shouting about it all over town far too much and that that might make him look like the perpetrator if he now actually went through with the crime. But what could he do about it? It was too late. He could not undo what he had done. And besides, he had often been in tight spots before and had somehow managed to get out of them, so he hoped it would be the same this time. He was, in fact, just trusting to his luck, gentlemen of the jury! I must also concede that he tried hard to find some other way out, to avoid the gory situation. ‘I shall beg everybody to give me three thousand,’ he writes in his peculiar language, ‘but if people do not give it to me, blood will be shed.’ And this again was written when he was drunk but carried out when he was sober.”

The prosecutor then described in great detail Mitya’s efforts to obtain the money he needed and thus avoid killing his father. He described his offer to Samsonov, his trip out of town in search of the Hound, and documented everything.

“Finally he returns to town, exhausted, hungry, feeling that he has been made a fool of. To go on that fool’s errand he had to sell his watch, although allegedly—oh, allegedly!—he had fifteen hundred rubles on him. And, mind you, he left town worried to death that the object of his love would, in his absence, rush to his father. But, thank God, he finds that she has not gone to his father’s. Then he sees her off to her protector’s house, for, strangely enough, he is not jealous of Samsonov—a very characteristic psychological feature of his affair. After that he returns to his observation post in the back garden, and there he learns that Smerdyakov has had an epileptic seizure and that the other man-servant is sick too. So the field is clear for action and he knows the agreed knocking signals. This is quite a temptation! Nevertheless, he still resists it and goes first to see Mrs. Khokhlakov, one of the most respected citizens in our town. Mrs. Khokhlakov had long felt sorry for him and now she offered him an extremely sensible piece of advice—namely, to quit his debauchery, leave his ugly passion, stop wasting his youthful energy in taverns, and, instead, to go gold-mining in Siberia where, she said, he would find an application for his turbulent energies and his romantic character which so longed for adventure.”

After describing the result of the accused’s conversation with Mrs. Khokhlakov, the prosecutor recounted how Mitya had learned that Grushenka had not really stayed at Samsonov’s and how this exasperated, nervous man had grown frantic at the thought that, since she had deceived him, she might be with his father at that very moment. The prosecutor emphasized the important part played by chance:

“If the maid-servant of his lady love had told him right off that her mistress was in Mokroye with her ‘first and rightful’ lover, nothing would have happened. But she lost her head in her fear and swore ignorance; she believes that if the accused did not kill her then and there, it was only because he was in too much of a hurry to catch up with her mistress, who had deceived him. But I want you to note this: frantic as he was at that moment, he still snatched up that brass pestle and took it along with him. And why did he choose that pestle rather than any other weapon? For a whole month he had been visualizing the scene of the crime and preparing himself for it, so as soon as he caught sight of something that could be used as a weapon, he picked it up. He had been thinking during the whole month that such an object could be used as a weapon, so he recognized and accepted it as such the very second he saw it! Hence, it cannot be said that he picked up the fatal pestle unconsciously and involuntarily.

“The next thing, he is in his father’s garden. The field is clear. There are no witnesses about. It is late at night, it is dark, and he is mad with jealousy. The suspicion that she may be there with his father, in his rival’s arms, perhaps laughing at him at this moment, takes his breath away. Besides, he feels this is no longer a matter of mere suspicion. He is now sure she has deceived him and is in there, behind the lighted window, in his father’s room, behind the screen. And the wretched man steals up to the window and peers in . . .

“And then he leaves. Quietly and reasonably he hurries away from possible trouble, afraid that something dangerous and immoral might take place . . . This is what they want us to believe, we who understand so well the character of the accused and the state in which he was at that moment, a state clearly revealed by the evidence at our disposal, and, above all, who know that, being aware of the secret knocks, the accused could at any moment have the door opened and be let into the house!”

Here, in connection with the knocking signals, the prosecutor felt he had to leave aside for the moment his account of the crime to dwell at some length on the character of Smerdyakov, in order to put an end once and for all to the unfounded speculations about Smerdyakov’s possible role in the murder. He did it very circumstantially and thoroughly. Evidently, despite his professed scorn for the theory of Smerdyakov’s guilt, he must have considered it sufficiently important, since he went to such great lengths to dismiss it.

Chapter 8: A Treatise On Smerdyakov

IN THE first place,” the prosecutor began, “what is the origin of this suspicion? The first to accuse Smerdyakov of the murder was the accused himself, the moment he was arrested, and, since that first accusation, to this very minute, he has never been able to offer us a single fact to corroborate his statement, or, indeed, anything that could be humanly considered as a hint of a fact. Now we have only three other persons who agree with this accusation: the accused’s two brothers and Miss Svetlov. And even then, the older of the two brothers, Ivan, did not express his suspicion of Smerdyakov until today, when he was obviously feverish and in a state of nervous disorder, for during the past two months we know for fact that he shared the general conviction of his brother’s guilt and he never even tried to argue against it. We shall return to this later. As to the youngest brother of the accused, Alexei, he conceded here, earlier today, that he had no facts to back up his hunch concerning Smerdyakov’s guilt and was basing himself solely on the accused’s words and his facial expression. Yes, that impressive proof was all that the brother of the accused could offer us! As to Miss Svetlov, her argument was perhaps even more impressive: ‘It is true,’ she assured us, ‘since the accused says so, for he is not the sort of man who would tell lies!’ This is all the proof we have against Smerdyakov, and it so happens that these accusations all come from persons directly interested in what happens to the accused. Nevertheless, rumors of Smerdyakov’s guilt have been circulating and are still in the air, hardly believable or imaginable though that may be!”

Here the prosecutor decided to outline the character of the late Smerdyakov, who, according to him, had “put an end to his life in a fit of violent madness.” He described Smerdyakov as a feeble-minded man with some rudiments of education, confused by certain philosophical ideas that were too much for his intelligence and frightened by some of the modern theories about the concept of duty and of one’s obligations, which he had had considerable opportunity to observe in his master—probably also his father—who openly led a highly irresponsible life. Smerdyakov had heard of these theories from his master’s son, Ivan Karamazov, with whom he had had some rather strange conversations on various philosophical subjects. Ivan indulged in these talks, either because he was bored or because he had a need to make fun of people and had no better subject than Smerdyakov at hand at the time. “Smerdyakov himself told me of his mental confusion during his last days in his master’s house,” the prosecutor explained, “but others also testify to it: the accused himself, Ivan Karamazov, and even the servant Gregory, that is, all those who knew him closely. And, besides being afflicted with the falling sickness, Smerdyakov was about as brave as a chicken, according to the accused. ‘He would drag himself to my feet and kiss them,’ the accused told us, before he realized that such information might be to his disadvantage. ‘A chicken suffering from falling sickness’ is how the accused actually described Smerdyakov, in his own characteristic language. And the accused himself testified that he had forced Smerdyakov to be his spy and informer by terrorizing him. And in his capacity as the accused’s ‘eye,’ Smerdyakov betrayed his master and told the accused of the existence of the envelope with the money in it and also of the knocking signals that would enable him to get into the house. But Smerdyakov had no choice: ‘He’d have killed me if I hadn’t told him. I could see right away he’d have killed me!’ he declared at the preliminary hearing and he was still trembling all over as he spoke to us, although by then the man who had terrorized him was safely under lock and key and could no longer harm him. ‘Mr. Dmitry suspected me at every moment and I was trembling with fear all the time; just so he wouldn’t be so angry with me, I hurried to tell him every single thing I knew, so he’d believe I was being straightforward with him and would let me stay alive.’ Those are Smerdyakov’s own words. I have them written down. ‘When he starts shouting at me, I just drop to my knees before him.’ Being a naturally honest young man and having gained the trust of his master, who had discerned that honesty when Smerdyakov returned some money he had lost, Smerdyakov, we must assume, was very unhappy at being forced to betray his master, whom he loved as his benefactor. According to psychiatrists of the highest standing, epileptics are inclined to constant, morbid self-condemnation; they are tormented by a feeling of guilt, which is often, of course, quite unfounded, and sometimes go as far as inventing sins and crimes for themselves. Such an individual acts like a really guilty man just out of fear, or because he has been intimidated. Besides, he felt strongly that something evil would result from what was going on before his eyes. When Ivan Karamazov decided to leave for Moscow, Smerdyakov beseeched him to stay, without, however, having the courage to state clearly and precisely what he was afraid of—he was much too timorous for that. He contented himself with hints, but his hints were not understood. I must point out that, in Ivan Karamazov, Smerdyakov saw a defender; he felt sure that, as long as Ivan was there, nothing evil would happen. And please consider this together with what Dmitry Karamazov wrote in his ‘drunken’ letter, namely, that he would kill the old man provided Ivan had left. So Ivan’s presence seemed to be a guarantee of peace and order in the house. Nevertheless, Ivan decides to leave, and almost at once, actually within an hour, Smerdyakov has an epileptic seizure. But this is quite understandable. It should be mentioned that, weighed down by his fears and by a sort of despair, Smerdyakov had, during the last few days, felt himself threatened by an approaching epileptic seizure, for he usually had them when he was in a state of mental strain and shock. It is, of course, impossible to predict exactly the day and time of a fit, but any epileptic will tell you that he can feel when a fit is coming on. This is borne out by medical experience.