The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (easy to read books for adults list .txt) 📕
"Those innocent eyes slit my soul up like a razor," he used to say afterwards, with his loathsome snigger. In a man so depraved this might, of course, mean no more than sensual attraction. As he had received no dowry with his wife, and had, so to speak, taken her "from the halter," he did not stand on ceremony with her. Making her feel that she had "wronged" him, he took advantage of her phenomenal meekness and submissiveness to trample on the elemen
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that about feelings you’ve no right to question me. I know that you
are bound by your office, I quite understand that, but that’s my
affair, my private, intimate affair, yet… since I haven’t
concealed my feelings in the past… in the tavern, for instance, I’ve
talked to everyone, so… so I won’t make a secret of it now. You see,
I understand, gentlemen, that there are terrible facts against me in
this business. I told everyone that I’d kill him, and now, all of a
sudden, he’s been killed. So it must have been me! Ha ha! I can make
allowances for you, gentlemen, I can quite make allowances. I’m struck
all of a heap myself, for who can have murdered him, if not I?
That’s what it comes to, isn’t it? If not I, who can it be, who?
Gentlemen, I want to know, I insist on knowing!” he exclaimed
suddenly. “Where was he murdered? How was he murdered? How, and with
what? Tell me,” he asked quickly, looking at the two lawyers.
“We found him in his study, lying on his back on the floor, with
his head battered in,” said the prosecutor.
“That’s horrible!” Mitya shuddered and, putting his elbows on
the table, hid his face in his right hand.
“We will continue,” interposed Nikolay Parfenovitch. “So what
was it that impelled you to this sentiment of hatred? You have
asserted in public, I believe, that it was based upon jealousy?”
“Well, yes, jealousy. not only jealousy.”
“Disputes about money?”
“Yes, about money, too.”
“There was a dispute about three thousand roubles, I think,
which you claimed as part of your inheritance?”
“Three thousand! More, more,” cried Mitya hotly; “more than six
thousand, more than ten, perhaps. I told everyone so, shouted it at
them. But I made up my mind to let it go at three thousand. I was
desperately in need of that three thousand… so the bundle of notes
for three thousand that I knew he kept under his pillow, ready for
Grushenka, I considered as simply stolen from me. Yes, gentlemen, I
looked upon it as mine, as my own property…”
The prosecutor looked significantly at the investigating lawyer,
and had time to wink at him on the sly.
“We will return to that subject later,” said the lawyer
promptly. “You will allow us to note that point and write it down;
that you looked upon that money as your own property?”
“Write it down, by all means. I know that’s another fact that
tells against me, but I’m not afraid of facts and I tell them
against myself. Do you hear? Do you know, gentlemen, you take me for a
different sort of man from what I am,” he added, suddenly gloomy and
dejected. “You have to deal with a man of honour, a man of the highest
honour; above all don’t lose sight of it-a man who’s done a lot of
nasty things, but has always been, and still is, honourable at bottom,
in his inner being. I don’t know how to express it. That’s just what’s
made me wretched all my life, that I yearned to be honourable, that
I was, so to say, a martyr to a sense of honour, seeking for it with a
lantern, with the lantern of Diogenes, and yet all my life I’ve been
doing filthy things like all of us, gentlemen… that is like me
alone. That was a mistake, like me alone, me alone!… Gentlemen, my
head aches…” His brows contracted with pain. “You see, gentlemen,
I couldn’t bear the look of him, there was something in him ignoble,
impudent, trampling on everything sacred, something sneering and
irreverent, loathsome, loathsome. But now that he’s dead, I feel
differently.”
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t feel differently, but I wish I hadn’t hated him so.”
“You feel penitent?”
“No, not penitent, don’t write that. I’m not much good myself; I’m
not very beautiful, so I had no right to consider him repulsive.
That’s what I mean. Write that down, if you like.”
Saying this Mitya became very mournful. He had grown more and more
gloomy as the inquiry continued.
At that moment another unexpected scene followed. Though Grushenka
had been removed, she had not been taken far away, only into the
room next but one from the blue room, in which the examination was
proceeding. It was a little room with one window, next beyond the
large room in which they had danced and feasted so lavishly. She was
sitting there with no one by her but Maximov, who was terribly
depressed, terribly scared, and clung to her side, as though for
security. At their door stood one of the peasants with a metal plate
on his breast. Grushenka was crying, and suddenly her grief was too
much for her, she jumped up, flung up her arms and, with a loud wail
of sorrow, rushed out of the room to him, to her Mitya, and so
unexpectedly that they had not time to stop her. Mitya, hearing her
cry, trembled, jumped up, and with a yell rushed impetuously to meet
her, not knowing what he was doing. But they were not allowed to
come together, though they saw one another. He was seized by the arms.
He struggled, and tried to tear himself away. It took three or four
men to hold him. She was seized too, and he saw her stretching out her
arms to him, crying aloud as they carried her away. When the scene was
over, he came to himself again, sitting in the same place as before,
opposite the investigating lawyer, and crying out to them:
“What do you want with her? Why do you torment her? She’s done
nothing, nothing!
The lawyers tried to soothe him. About ten minutes passed like
this. At last Mihail Makarovitch, who had been absent, came
hurriedly into the room, and said in a loud and excited voice to the
prosecutor:
“She’s been removed, she’s downstairs. Will you allow me to say
one word to this unhappy man, gentlemen? In your presence,
gentlemen, in your presence.”
“By all means, Mihail Makarovitch,” answered the investigating
lawyer. “In the present case we have nothing against it.”
“Listen, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, my dear fellow,” began the police
captain, and there was a look of warm, almost fatherly, feeling for
the luckless prisoner on his excited face. “I took your Agrafena
Alexandrovna downstairs myself, and confided her to the care of the
landlord’s daughters, and that old fellow Maximov is with her all
the time. And I soothed her, do you hear? I soothed and calmed her.
I impressed on her that you have to clear yourself, so she mustn’t
hinder you, must not depress you, or you may lose your head and say
the wrong thing in your evidence. In fact, I talked to her and she
understood. She’s a sensible girl, my boy, a good-hearted girl, she
would have kissed my old hands, begging help for you. She sent me
herself, to tell you not to worry about her. And I must go, my dear
fellow, I must go and tell her that you are calm and comforted about
her. And so you must be calm, do you understand? I was unfair to
her; she is a Christian soul, gentlemen, yes, I tell you, she’s a
gentle soul, and not to blame for anything. So what am I to tell
her, Dmitri Fyodorovitch? Will you sit quiet or not?”
The good-natured police captain said a great deal that was
irregular, but Grushenka’s suffering, a fellow creature’s suffering,
touched his good-natured heart, and tears stood in his eyes. Mitya
jumped up and rushed towards him.
“Forgive me, gentlemen, oh, allow me, allow me!” he cried. “You’ve
the heart of an angel, an angel, Mihail Makarovitch, I thank you for
her. I will, I will be calm, cheerful, in fact. Tell her, in the
kindness of your heart, that I am cheerful, quite cheerful, that I
shall be laughing in a minute, knowing that she has a guardian angel
like you. I shall have done with all this directly, and as soon as I’m
free, I’ll be with her, she’ll see, let her wait. Gentlemen,” he said,
turning to the two lawyers, now I’ll open my whole soul to you; I’ll
pour out everything. We’ll finish this off directly, finish it off
gaily. We shall laugh at it in the end, shan’t we? But gentlemen, that
woman is the queen of my heart. Oh, let me tell you that. That one
thing I’ll tell you now…. I see I’m with honourable men. She is my
light, she is my holy one, and if only you knew! Did you hear her cry,
‘I’ll go to death with you’? And what have I, a penniless beggar, done
for her? Why such love for me? How can a clumsy, ugly brute like me,
with my ugly face, deserve such love, that she is ready to go to exile
with me? And how she fell down at your feet for my sake, just
now!… and yet she’s proud and has done nothing! How can I help
adoring her, how can I help crying out and rushing to her as I did
just now? Gentlemen, forgive me! But now, now I am comforted.”
And he sank back in his chair and, covering his face with his
hands, burst into tears. But they were happy tears. He recovered
himself instantly. The old police captain seemed much pleased, and the
lawyers also. They felt that the examination was passing into a new
phase. When the police captain went out, Mitya was positively gay.
“Now, gentlemen, I am at your disposal, entirely at your disposal.
And if it were not for all these trivial details, we should understand
one another in a minute. I’m at those details again. I’m at your
disposal, gentlemen, but I declare that we must have mutual
confidence, you in me and I in you, or there’ll be no end to it. I
speak in your interests. To business, gentlemen, to business, and
don’t rummage in my soul; don’t tease me with trifles, but only ask me
about facts and what matters, and I will satisfy you at once. And damn
the details!”
So spoke Mitya. The interrogation began again.
The Second Ordeal
“YOU don’t know how you encourage us, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, by your
readiness to answer,” said Nikolay Parfenovitch, with an animated air,
and obvious satisfaction beaming in his very prominent, short-sighted,
light grey eyes, from which he had removed his spectacles a moment
before. “And you have made a very just remark about the mutual
confidence, without which it is sometimes positively impossible to get
on in cases of such importance, if the suspected party really hopes
and desires to defend himself and is in a position to do so. We on our
side, will do everything in our power, and you can see for yourself
how we are conducting the case. You approve, Ippolit Kirillovitch?” He
turned to the prosecutor.
“Oh, undoubtedly,” replied the prosecutor. His tone was somewhat
cold, compared with Nikolay Parfenovitch’s impulsiveness.
I will note once for all that Nikolay Parfenovitch, who had but
lately arrived among us, had from the first felt marked respect for
Ippolit Kirillovitch, our prosecutor, and had become almost his
bosom friend. He was almost the only person who put implicit faith
in Ippolit Kirillovitch’s extraordinary talents as a psychologist
and orator and in the justice of his grievance. He had heard of him in
Petersburg. On the other hand, young Nikolay Parfenovitch was the only
person in the whole world whom our “unappreciated” prosecutor
genuinely liked. On their way to Mokroe they
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