The Karamazov Brothers

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

  ‘Well said, doctor!’ Mitya yelled out from where he was sitting. ‘You’re perfectly right!’

  Mitya was not allowed to continue, of course, but the young doctor’s views had the most decisive effect on both the bench and the public, because, as it transpired later, everyone was in agreement with him. Incidentally, Doctor Herzenstube, now testifying as an ordinary witness, suddenly and quite unexpectedly did Mitya a good turn. As a long-time resident of our town who had known the Karamazov family for many years, he made a number of comments which were of great interest to the prosecution, and then all of a sudden added, as though he had just realized something:

  ‘And then again, this poor young man could have been dealt an incomparably better fate, because he had a kind heart when he was a child, and afterwards, too, I know he did. But the Russian proverb says: If one man has a good head, that is fine, but if another clever person joins him, it will be even better, because then there will be two heads, and not just one…’

  ‘Two heads are better than one,’ prompted the prosecutor, running out of patience. He was only too familiar with the old man’s habit of speaking slowly and long-windedly, regardless of the impression he was creating or of the strain he was putting on others’ patience; the old man, on the contrary, being inordinately proud of his unsophisticated and ever-cheerfully smug Germanic sense of humour, loved to show off his wit.

  ‘Oh, ja-ja, that is what I say, too,’ he acquiesced eagerly, ‘one head is good, but two is much better. But he did not have the benefit of another head, and he allowed his own to… How was it again, what did he let his head to do? This word—what did he let it to do, I have forgotten,’ he continued, gesticulating with his hand in front of his eyes, ‘oh, ja, spazieren.’

  ‘To wander off?’

  ‘That’s right, to wander off, that’s what I mean. His mind just wandered off and ended up in such a remote place, where it was totally lost. And yet he is a noble and sensitive young man, oh, I remember him very well when he was still just a tot, abandoned in the backyard of his father’s house, running around without any shoes, his trousers hanging on by just one button.’

  A sensitive and compassionate note had entered his voice. Fetyukovich pricked up his ears, as though expecting something, and began to pay attention.

  ‘Oh yes, I was still a young man then… I… well, yes, I was then forty-five years old and I just arrived here. And I became very sorry for the little lad, and I wondered if I could buy him a pound of… what was it?… a pound of what? I have forgotten, what they are called… a pound of what children are very fond of, what do you call them—well, you know…’, the doctor started to gesticulate again, ‘they grow on trees, and they are picked and given as presents to everybody…’

  ‘Apples?’

  ‘Oh n-no-o no! A pound, a pound! Apples are sold by the dozen, not by the pound… no, there are many of them and they are all small, you put them in your mouth and cr-rr-ack…!’

  ‘Nuts?’

  ‘Of course, “nuts”, that’s what I mean,’ the doctor confirmed in the most matter-of-fact way, as though he had not had any difficulty at all in finding the right word, ‘and I bought him a pound of nuts, because no one had ever bought the boy a pound of nuts before, and I raised my finger and said to him: “My boy! Gott der Vater” and he laughed and said: “Gott der Vater”. “Gott der Sohn” He laughed again and babbled: “Gott der Sohn.” “Gott der Heilige Geist” Then he laughed again and repeated, as best he could: “Gott der Heilige Geist” And then I left. I was passing by two days later, and there he was, calling out to me of his own accord: “Uncle, Gott der Vater, Gott der Sohn” the only thing he forgot was “Gott der Heilige Geist”* but I remembered it to him, and again I felt very sorry for him. But he was taken away, and I did not see him any more. And so twenty-three years passed; my head already white, I was sitting in my surgery one morning, and suddenly in comes a young man in full bloom whom I just could not recognize, but he raised his finger and said, laughing: “Gott der Vater, Gott der Sohn und Gott der Heilige Geist! I have just arrived and came to thank you for the pound of nuts, because no one had ever bought me a pound of nuts before, and you were the only one who bought me a pound of nuts.” And then I remembered my own happy youth and the poor boy without boots in the yard, and my heart was moved, and I said: “You are a grateful young man, for you have remembered all your life that pound of nuts which I bought you in your childhood.” And I embraced him and blessed him. And I began to cry. He was laughing, but he also was crying… because a Russian will often laugh where it is necessary to cry. He was crying, I could see it. But now, alas!…’

  ‘And I’m crying now too, my good German, I’m crying now too, you dear old man!’ Mitya shouted out suddenly, from where he was sitting.

  Be that as it may, the little anecdote produced quite a favourable reaction amongst the public. But the thing that swayed opinion in Mitya’s favour most of all was Katerina Ivanovna’s statement, to which I shall come in a moment. On the whole, though, after the witnesses à décharge—that is, those called by the defence—began to take the stand, fate suddenly seemed to smile upon Mitya, unmistakably and—this was most extraordinary—even against the expectation of the defence. But before Katerina Ivanovna’s testimony Alyosha gave his evidence, and he suddenly recalled one more fact which seemed to refute one of the salient points of the prosecution’s case.

  4

  FORTUNE SMILES ON MITYA

  THIS came as a total surprise, even to Alyosha himself. He was called as a witness but without having to take the oath,* and I recall that, from the very beginning of his testimony, he was treated extremely kindly and sympathetically. It was evident that he enjoyed a good reputation. Alyosha testified calmly and with restraint, but every now and again an ardent sympathy for his hapless brother surfaced in his testimony. Replying to one particular question, he portrayed his brother as being perhaps impetuous and given to outbursts of passion, but at the same time noble, exalted, and magnanimous, and even prepared to make sacrifices if he were called upon so to do. He admitted, however, that towards the end, because of his passion for Grushenka and his rivalry with his father on this score, Mitya had been in an unbearable situation. Nevertheless, he indignantly rejected even the suggestion that his brother could have committed the murder with robbery in mind, although he had to admit, however, that the three thousand roubles which Mitya considered to be the rightful inheritance of which his father had illegally deprived him had somehow become an obsession in his mind, and that while being in no way avaricious he was quite incapable of even mentioning the three thousand without flying into a rage. Concerning the matter of the rivalry between the two ‘ladies’, as the prosecutor chose to call them—that is to say, Grushenka and Katya—he replied evasively, and even refused categorically to answer one or two questions.

  ‘Did your brother ever tell you that he intended to kill his father?’ asked the prosecutor. ‘You don’t have to reply, of course,’ he added.

  ‘He didn’t say it directly,’ replied Alyosha.

  ‘How then? Indirectly?’

  ‘He once told me about his personal hatred towards father and that he was afraid that… in desperation… in a fit of revulsion… he could maybe kill him.’

  ‘And when you heard this, did you believe it?’

  ‘I’m afraid I have to say that I did. But I was convinced that his better self would always protect him at the critical moment, as in fact it did, because it was not he who killed father,’ Alyosha concluded firmly in a loud voice that echoed throughout the hall. The prosecutor shuddered like a horse in battle on hearing a trumpet-call.

  ‘Rest assured that I believe totally in the sincerity of your conviction, without identifying or confusing it in any way with your love for your unfortunate brother. Your personal interpretation of this whole family tragedy is already known to us from the preliminary hearing. To be frank, it is highly unorthodox and runs counter to all other testimony which the prosecut
ion has heard. I therefore find it necessary to urge you to indicate precisely which factors led you finally to conclude that your brother was innocent and that the guilty party was in fact a completely different person, whom you named at the preliminary hearing?’

  ‘I merely answered questions at the preliminary hearing,’ Alyosha said calmly and softly, ‘and I did not myself set out to accuse Smerdyakov.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you did mention him by name?’

  ‘Only because my brother Dmitry had already done so. I had been told before I was questioned that when he was arrested, Mitya himself had accused Smerdyakov. I believe totally that my brother is innocent. And since it wasn’t he who committed the murder, it must have been…’

  ‘Smerdyakov? Why necessarily Smerdyakov? And what makes you so absolutely sure that your brother is innocent?’

  ‘I could not help believing my brother. I know he would not lie to me. I could see by his face that he was telling the truth.’

  ‘Just by his face? Is that all the proof you have?’

  ‘I’ve no other proof.’

  ‘And as regards your accusation against Smerdyakov, you also have no proof other than your brother’s words and the expression on his face?’

  ‘No. I’ve no other proof.’

  The prosecutor had no more questions. Alyosha’s replies appeared to have had a most disappointing effect upon the public. Even before the trial began there had already been talk of Smerdyakov in our town: someone had heard something; someone had hinted at something; it was said that Alyosha had adduced some extraordinary evidence exonerating his brother and incriminating the servant; but when it came to it—nothing, no evidence whatsoever, only some moral conviction which was only natural, given that he was the brother of the accused.

  Then Fetyukovich began his cross-examination. When he asked Alyosha precisely when the accused had told him of his hatred for his father and that he might kill him, and whether he, Alyosha, had heard him say this during their last meeting before the tragedy, Alyosha seemed to shudder suddenly, as though he had only just remembered and understood something.

  ‘There’s one thing that comes back to me now, I’d nearly forgotten about it, it was so unclear to me at the time, whereas now…’

  And Alyosha recalled with elation—for indeed the idea seemed to have occurred to him suddenly, just at that moment—how, during his last meeting with Mitya that evening by the tree on the way to the monastery, Mitya, beating his breast, ‘the upper part of the chest’, had told him several times that he had the means to regain his honour, that the means were there, lying right there against his chest… ‘I thought at the time that the way he struck his chest, he meant his heart,’ Alyosha continued, ‘and that he could find the strength in his heart to overcome some great ignominy which was threatening him, and which he did not dare to admit even to me. I must say that at the time I thought he was talking about father and about how the mere thought of going to father and assaulting him made him shudder at the sheer infamy of it, and yet at the same time he seemed to be pointing to his upper chest, so that, as I recall, the thought flashed through my mind at that moment that the heart isn’t in that part of the chest at all, it’s lower down, whereas the place he was indicating was right here, just below his neck, and he kept pointing to that one spot. At the time the idea struck me as being silly, but he may indeed have been pointing to the purse in which he had sewn the fifteen hundred roubles…!’

  ‘That’s right!’ Mitya suddenly shouted from where he was sitting. ‘That’s just how it was, Alyosha, you’re right, that’s just what I was doing!’

  Fetyukovich quickly hurried over to him, begging him to stay calm, and immediately inundated Alyosha with questions. Alyosha, heartened by what he had just recalled, gave an impassioned exposition of his theory, namely that in all probability Mitya’s shame was due to the fact that, despite having on his person the fifteen hundred roubles which he owed Katerina Ivanovna and which he could have returned to her, he had nevertheless decided not to return it but to use it for another purpose, namely to finance his escape with Grushenka if she agreed to come with him…

  ‘That’s it, that’s precisely how it was,’ exclaimed Alyosha suddenly excited, ‘he really did keep on insisting that he could have expiated half his shame just like that (he repeated several times: half!), but that he was so miserably weak-willed that he knew he wouldn’t do it… he knew all along that he couldn’t do it, he simply hadn’t got the will-power to do it!’

  ‘And you remember clearly and distinctly that he pointed there, exactly there on his chest?’ Fetyukovich probed eagerly.

  ‘I do indeed, because it went through my mind at the time: why is he pointing so high up, when the heart is lower down, but the thought immediately struck me as silly… I remember it striking me as silly… it did flash through my mind. That’s precisely why I remembered it now. How on earth could I have forgotten it till this moment! It was definitely the purse that he was pointing to, meaning that he wasn’t going to return the fifteen hundred roubles, even though he could! And that’s just what he shouted when he was arrested in Mokroye—I know he did, someone told me—he shouted that it was the most shameful thing in his whole life, that is, having the means to repay half (note, half!) his debt to Katerina Ivanovna and thus ceasing to be a thief in her eyes, and yet knowing that he didn’t have the courage to return it, and choosing to stay a thief in her eyes rather than return the money! What he must have gone through, the suffering that his debt must have caused him!’ exclaimed Alyosha in conclusion.

  Naturally, the prosecutor also wanted to have his say. He asked Alyosha to describe how it all happened once more, and insisted on asking several times whether the accused really had been striking his chest to indicate something. Couldn’t he, perhaps, have been simply hitting himself on the chest with his fist, and nothing more?

  ‘It wasn’t his fist!’ Alyosha exclaimed. ‘It was definitely his fingers he was pointing with, and he was pointing here, very high up… But how on earth could I have totally forgotten about it right up to this moment!’

  The president turned to Mitya to ask him if he had any comments to make on what had just been said. Mitya confirmed that that was precisely how it had been, that he had been pointing precisely to the money, that it had been hanging there round his neck, and that it was, of course, shameful, ‘it was shameful, and I don’t deny it, the most ignoble act of my whole life!’ shouted Mitya. ‘I could have given it back, but I kept it instead. Rather than give it back I preferred to remain a thief in her eyes, and the most ignominious part about it was that I knew full well in advance that I wouldn’t give it back! Alyosha’s right! Thank you, Alyosha!’

  That was the end of Alyosha’s cross-examination. The important and significant point was that at least one fact, at least one piece of evidence, however small, a mere suggestion of evidence had emerged which went to prove that the purse really had existed, that it had contained fifteen hundred roubles, and that the accused had not been lying at the preliminary hearing in Mokroye when he announced that the fifteen hundred were his. Alyosha was delighted; his cheeks flushed, and he went and sat down as directed. For a long time he kept on repeating to himself: ‘How could I have forgotten it? How could it have happened? And how was it that it all came back to me suddenly just now?’

  It was now Katerina Ivanovna’s turn to be cross-examined. As soon as she appeared, a wave of excitement rippled through the courtroom. The ladies reached for their lorgnettes and opera-glasses, the men began to stir, some stood up to get a better view. Everyone maintained subsequently that, immediately she entered, Mitya went as white as a sheet. Dressed all in black, she approached—diffidently and almost meekly—the seat allocated for the witnesses. One could not have guessed from her face that she was agitated, but there was a glint of determination in her dark, sombre gaze. It should be pointed out that very many people said later that she appeared extraordinarily beautiful at that moment. She spoke softly, but
clearly enough to be heard throughout the hall. Her voice was very steady—or, at least, she made every effort to keep it steady. The president began his questioning cautiously and with extreme deference, as though afraid to broach ‘certain matters’, and sensitive to her great misfortune. But the first thing Katerina Ivanovna herself said when the questioning began was that she had been the fiancée of the accused ‘until he himself left me…’, she added softly. When asked about the three thousand roubles entrusted to Mitya for posting to her relatives, she said firmly: ‘I didn’t mean him to go straight to the post office with the money; I had a feeling that he was in financial difficulties then… just at that time… I gave him the three thousand on the understanding that he need not post it for a month if he so wished. There was no need for him to have worried himself so much over the debt afterwards…’