«Katerina Ivanovna loves you, brother,» said Alyosha sadly. «Perhaps; but I am not very keen on her.»
«She is suffering. Why do you… sometimes say things to her that give her hope?» Alyosha went on, with timid reproach. «I know that you’ve given her hope. Forgive me for speaking to you like this,» he added.
«I can’t behave to her as I ought- break off altogether and tell her so straight out,» said Ivan, irritably. «I must wait till sentence is passed on the murderer. If I break off with her now, she will avenge herself on me by ruining that scoundrel to-morrow at the trial, for she hates him and knows she hates him. It’s all a lie- lie upon lie! As long as I don’t break off with her, she goes on hoping, and she won’t ruin that monster, knowing how I want to get him out of trouble. If only that damned verdict would come!»
The words «murderer» and «monster» echoed painfully in Alyosha’s heart.
«But how can she ruin Mitya?» he asked, pondering on Ivan’s words. «What evidence can she give that would ruin Mitya?»
«You don’t know that yet. She’s got a document in her hands, in Mitya’s own writing, that proves conclusively that he did murder Fyodor Pavlovitch.»
«That’s impossible!» cried Alyosha.
«Why is it impossible? I’ve read it myself.»
«There can’t be such a document!» Alyosha repeated warmly. «There can’t be, because he’s not the murderer. It’s not he murdered father, not he!»
Ivan suddenly stopped.
«Who is the murderer then, according to you?» he asked, with apparent coldness. There was even a supercilious note in his voice.
«You know who,» Alyosha pronounced in a low, penetrating voice.
«Who? You mean the myth about that crazy idiot, the epileptic, Smerdyakov?» Alyosha suddenly felt himself trembling all over.
531 book page, Chapter 5 — Not You, Not You!
«You know who,» broke helplessly from him. He could scarcely breathe. «Who? Who?» Ivan cried almost fiercely. All his restraint suddenly vanished.
«I only know one thing,» Alyosha went on, still almost in a whisper, «it wasn’t you killed father.»
«‘Not you’! What do you mean by ‘not you’?» Ivan was thunderstruck. «It was not you killed father, not you! Alyosha repeated firmly.
The silence lasted for half a minute.
«I know I didn’t. Are you raving?» said Ivan, with a pale, distorted smile. His eyes were riveted on Alyosha. They were standing again under a lamp-post.
«No, Ivan. You’ve told yourself several times that you are the murderer.»
«When did I say so? I was in Moscow…. When have I said so?» Ivan faltered helplessly. «You’ve said so to yourself many times, when you’ve been alone during these two dreadful months,» Alyosha went on softly and distinctly as before. Yet he was speaking now, as it were, not of himself, not of his own will, but obeying some irresistible command. «You have accused yourself and have confessed to yourself that you are the murderer and no one else. But you didn’t do it: you are mistaken: you are not the murderer. Do you hear? It was
not you! God has sent me to tell you so.»
They were both silent. The silence lasted a whole long minute. They were both standing still, gazing into each other’s eyes. They were both pale. Suddenly Ivan began trembling all over, and clutched Alyosha’s shoulder.
«You’ve been in my room!» he whispered hoarsely. «You’ve been there at night, when he came…. Confess… have you seen him, have you seen him?»
«Whom do you mean- Mitya?» Alyosha asked, bewildered.
«Not him, damn the monster!» Ivan shouted, in a frenzy, «Do you know that he visits me? How did you find out? Speak!»
«Who is he? I don’t know whom you are talking about,» Alyosha faltered, beginning to be alarmed.
«Yes, you do know. or how could you- ? It’s impossible that you don’t know.» Suddenly he seemed to check himself. He stood still and seemed to reflect. A strange
grin contorted his lips.
«Brother,» Alyosha began again, in a shaking voice, «I have said this to you, because you’ll believe my word, I know that. I tell you once and for all, it’s not you. You hear, once for all! God has put it into my heart to say this to you, even though it may make you hate me from this hour.»
But by now Ivan had apparently regained his self-control.
«Alexey Fyodorovitch,» he said, with a cold smile, «I can’t endure prophets and epileptics-messengers from God especially- and you know that only too well. I break off all relations with you from this moment and probably for ever. I beg you to leave me at this turning. It’s
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the way to your lodgings, too. You’d better be particularly careful not to come to me to-day! Do you hear?»
He turned and walked on with a firm step, not looking back.
«Brother,» Alyosha called after him, «if anything happens to you to-day, turn to me before anyone!»
But Ivan made no reply. Alyosha stood under the lamp-post at the cross roads, till Ivan had vanished into the darkness. Then he turned and walked slowly homewards. Both Alyosha and Ivan were living in lodgings; neither of them was willing to live in Fyodor Pavlovitch’s empty house. Alyosha had a furnished room in the house of some working people. Ivan lived some distance from him. He had taken a roomy and fairly comfortable lodge attached to a fine house that belonged to a well-to-do lady, the widow of an official. But his only at-tendant was a deaf and rheumatic old crone who went to bed at six o’clock every evening and got up at six in the morning. Ivan had become remarkably indifferent to his comforts of late, and very fond of being alone. He did everything for himself in the one room he lived in, and rarely entered any of the other rooms in his abode.
He reached the gate of the house and had his hand on the bell, when he suddenly stopped. He felt that he was trembling all over with anger. Suddenly he let go of the bell, turned back with a curse, and walked with rapid steps in the opposite direction. He walked a mile and a half to a tiny, slanting, wooden house, almost a hut, where Marya Kondratyevna, the neighbour who used to come to Fyodor Pavlovitch’s kitchen for soup and to whom Smerdyakov had once sung his songs and played on the guitar, was now lodging. She had sold their little house, and was now living here with her mother. Smerdyakov, who was ill-almost dying-had been with them ever since Fyodor Pavlovitch’s death. It was to him Ivan was going now, drawn by a sudden and irresistible prompting.
533 book page, Chapter 6 — The First Interview with Smerdyakov
THIS was the third time that Ivan had been to see Smerdyakov since his return from Moscow. The first time he had seen him and talked to him was on the first day of his arrival, then he had visited him once more, a fortnight later. But his visits had ended with that second one, so that it was now over a month since he had seen him. And he had scarcely heard anything of him.
Ivan had only returned five days after his father’s death, so that he was not present at the funeral, which took place the day before he came back. The cause of his delay was that Alyosha, not knowing his Moscow address, had to apply to Katerina Ivanovna to telegraph to him, and she, not knowing his address either, telegraphed to her sister and aunt, reckoning on Ivan’s going to see them as soon as he arrived in Moscow. But he did not go to them till four days after his arrival. When he got the telegram, he had, of course, set off post-haste to our town. The first to meet him was Alyosha, and Ivan was greatly surprised to find that, in opposition to the general opinion of the town, he refused to entertain a suspicion against Mitya, and spoke openly of Smerdyakov as the murderer. Later on, after seeing the police captain and the prosecutor, and hearing the details of the charge and the arrest, he was still more surprised at Alyosha, and ascribed his opinion only to his exaggerated brotherly feeling and sympathy with Mitya, of whom Alyosha, as Ivan knew, was very fond.
By the way, let us say a word or two of Ivan’s feeling to his brother Dmitri. He positively disliked him; at most, felt sometimes a compassion for him, and even that was mixed with great contempt, almost repugnance. Mitya’s whole personality, even his appearance, was extremely unattractive to him. Ivan looked with indignation on Katerina Ivanovna’s love for his brother. Yet he went to see Mitya on the first day of his arrival, and that interview, far from shaking Ivan’s belief in his guilt, positively strengthened it. He found his brother agitated, nervously excited. Mitya had been talkative, but very absent-minded and incoherent. He used violent language, accused Smerdyakov, and was fearfully muddled. He talked principally about the three thousand roubles, which he said had been «stolen» from him by his father.
«The money was mine, it was my money,» Mitya kept repeating. «Even if I had stolen it, I should have had the right.»
He hardly contested the evidence against him, and if he tried to turn a fact to his advant-age, it was in an absurd
