The Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoyevsky (reading an ebook TXT) 📗
- Author: Fyodor Dostoyevsky
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that he had been false to me and meant to abandon me, and it was I, I,
who gave him that money, who offered it to him on the pretext of his
sending it to my sister in Moscow. And as I gave it him, I looked
him in the face and said that he could send it when he liked, ‘in a
month’s time would do.’ How, how could he have failed to understand
that I was practically telling him to his face, ‘You want money to
be false to me with your creature, so here’s the money for you. I give
it to you myself. Take it, if you have so little honour as to take
it!’ I wanted to prove what he was, and what happened? He took it,
he took it, and squandered it with that creature in one night….
But he knew, he knew that I knew all about it. I assure you he
understood, too, that I gave him that money to test him, to see
whether he was so lost to all sense of honour as to take it from me. I
looked into his eyes and he looked into mine, and he understood it all
and he took it-he carried off my money!
“That’s true, Katya,” Mitya roared suddenly, “I looked into your
eyes and I knew that you were dishonouring me, and yet I took your
money. Despise me as a scoundrel, despise me, all of you! I’ve
deserved it!”
“Prisoner,” cried the President, “another word and I will order
you to be removed.”
“That money was a torment to him,” Katya went on with impulsive
haste. “He wanted to repay it me. He wanted to, that’s true; but he
needed money for that creature, too. So he murdered his father, but he
didn’t repay me, and went off with her to that village where he was
arrested. There, again, he squandered the money he had stolen after
the murder of his father. And a day before the murder he wrote me this
letter. He was drunk when he wrote it. I saw it at once, at the
time. He wrote it from spite, and feeling certain, positively certain,
that I should never show it to anyone, even if he did kill him, or
else he wouldn’t have written it. For he knew I shouldn’t want to
revenge myself and ruin him! But read it, read it attentively-more
attentively, please-and you will see that he had described it all
in his letter, all beforehand, how he would kill his father and
where his money was kept. Look, please, don’t overlook that, there’s
one phrase there, ‘I shall kill him as soon as Ivan has gone away.’ he
thought it all out beforehand how he would kill him,” Katerina
Ivanovna pointed out to the court with venomous and malignant triumph.
Oh! it was clear she had studied every line of that letter and
detected every meaning underlining it. “If he hadn’t been drunk, he
wouldn’t have written to me; but, look, everything is written there
beforehand, just as he committed the murder after. A complete
programme of it!” she exclaimed frantically.
She was reckless now of all consequences to herself, though, no
doubt, she had foreseen them even a month ago, for even then, perhaps,
shaking with anger, she had pondered whether to show it at the trial
or not. Now she had taken the fatal plunge. I remember that the letter
was read aloud by the clerk, directly afterwards, I believe. It made
an overwhelming impression. They asked Mitya whether he admitted
having written the letter.
“It’s mine, mine!” cried Mitya. “I shouldn’t have written it if
I hadn’t been drunk!… We’ve hated each other for many things, Katya,
but I swear, I swear I loved you even while I hated you, and you
didn’t love me!”
He sank back on his seat, wringing his hands in despair. The
prosecutor and counsel for the defence began cross-examining her,
chiefly to ascertain what had induced her to conceal such a document
and to give her evidence in quite a different tone and spirit just
before.
“Yes, yes. I was telling lies just now. I was lying against my
honour and my conscience, but I wanted to save him, for he has hated
and despised me so!” Katya cried madly. “Oh, he has despised me
horribly, he has always despised me, and do you know, he has
despised me from the very moment that I bowed down to him for that
money. I saw that…. I felt it at once at the time, but for a long
time I wouldn’t believe it. How often I have read it in his eyes, ‘You
came of yourself, though.’ Oh, he didn’t understand, he had no idea
why I ran to him, he can suspect nothing but baseness, he judged me by
himself, he thought everyone was like himself!” Katya hissed
furiously, in a perfect frenzy. “And he only wanted to marry me,
because I’d inherited a fortune, because of that, because of that! I
always suspected it was because of that! Oh, he is a brute! He was
always convinced that I should be trembling with shame all my life
before him, because I went to him then, and that he had a right to
despise me forever for it, and so to be superior to me-that’s why
he wanted to marry me! That’s so, that’s all so! I tried to conquer
him by my love-a love that knew no bounds. I even tried to forgive
his faithlessness; but he understood nothing, nothing! How could he
understand indeed? He is a monster! I only received that letter the
next evening: it was brought me from the tavern-and only that
morning, only that morning I wanted to forgive him everything,
everything-even his treachery!”
The President and the prosecutor, of course, tried to calm her.
I can’t help thinking that they felt ashamed of taking advantage of
her hysteria and of listening to such avowals. I remember hearing them
say to her, “We understand how hard it is for you; be sure we are able
to feel for you,” and so on, and so on. And yet they dragged the
evidence out of the raving, hysterical woman. She described at last
with extraordinary clearness, which is so often seen, though only
for a moment, in such overwrought states, how Ivan had been nearly
driven out of his mind during the last two months trying to save
“the monster and murderer,” his brother.
“He tortured himself,” she exclaimed, “he was always trying to
minimise his brother’s guilt and confessing to me that he, too, had
never loved his father, and perhaps desired his death himself. Oh,
he has a tender, over-tender conscience! He tormented himself with his
conscience! He told me everything, everything! He came every day and
talked to me as his only friend. I have the honour to be his only
friend!” she cried suddenly with a sort of defiance, and her eyes
flashed. “He had been twice to see Smerdyakov. One day he came to me
and said, ‘If it was not my brother, but Smerdyakov committed the
murder’ (for the legend was circulating everywhere that Smerdyakov had
done it), ‘perhaps I too am guilty, for Smerdyakov knew I didn’t
like my father and perhaps believed that I desired my father’s death.’
Then I brought out that letter and showed it him. He was entirely
convinced that his brother had done it, and he was overwhelmed by
it. He couldn’t endure the thought that his own brother was a
parricide! Only a week ago I saw that it was making him ill. During
the last few days he has talked incoherently in my presence. I saw his
mind was giving way. He walked about, raving; he was seen muttering in
the streets. The doctor from Moscow, at my request, examined him the
day before yesterday and told me that he was on the eve of brain
fever-and all on his account, on account of this monster! And last
night he learnt that Smerdyakov was dead! It was such a shock that
it drove him out of his mind… and all through this monster, all
for the sake of saving the monster!”
Oh, of course, such an outpouring, such an avowal is only possible
once in a lifetime-at the hour of death, for instance, on the way
to the scaffold! But it was in Katya’s character, and it was such a
moment in her life. It was the same impetuous Katya who had thrown
herself on the mercy of a young profligate to save her father; the
same Katya who had just before, in her pride and chastity,
sacrificed herself and her maidenly modesty before all these people,
telling of Mitya’s generous conduct, in the hope of softening his fate
a little. And now, again, she sacrificed herself; but this time it was
for another, and perhaps only now-perhaps only at this moment-she
felt and knew how dear that other was to her! She had sacrificed
herself in terror for him; conceiving all of a sudden that he had
ruined himself by his confession that it was he who had committed
the murder, not his brother, she had sacrificed herself to save him,
to save his good name, his reputation!
And yet one terrible doubt occurred to one-was she lying in her
description of her former relations with Mitya?- that was the
question. No, she had not intentionally slandered him when she cried
that Mitya despised her for her bowing down to him! She believed it
herself. She had been firmly convinced, perhaps ever since that bow,
that the simplehearted Mitya, who even then adored her, was laughing
at her and despising her. She had loved him with an hysterical,
“lacerated” love only from pride, from wounded pride, and that love
was not like love, but more like revenge. Oh! perhaps that lacerated
love would have grown into real love, perhaps Katya longed for nothing
more than that, but Mitya’s faithlessness had wounded her to the
bottom of her heart, and her heart could not forgive him. The moment
of revenge had come upon her suddenly, and all that had been
accumulating so long and so painfully in the offended woman’s breast
burst out all at once and unexpectedly. She betrayed Mitya, but she
betrayed herself, too. And no sooner had she given full expression
to her feelings than the tension of course was over and she was
overwhelmed with shame. Hysterics began again: she fell on the
floor, sobbing and screaming. She was carried out. At that moment
Grushenka, with a wail, rushed towards Mitya before they had time to
prevent her.
“Mitya,” she wailed, “your serpent has destroyed you! There, she
has shown you what she is!” she shouted to the judges, shaking with
anger. At a signal from the President they seized her and tried to
remove her from the court. She wouldn’t allow it. She fought and
struggled to get back to Mitya. Mitya uttered a cry and struggled to
get to her. He was overpowered.
Yes, I think the ladies who came to see the spectacle must have
been satisfied-the show had been a varied one. Then I remember the
Moscow doctor appeared on the scene. I believe the President had
previously sent the court usher to arrange for medical aid for Ivan.
The doctor announced to the court that the sick man was suffering from
a dangerous attack of brain fever, and that he must be at once
removed. In answer to questions from the prosecutor and the counsel
for the defence he said that the patient had come to him of his own
accord the day before yesterday and that he had warned him that he
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