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«There is more evidence I must give at once … at once! Here is a document, a letter… take it, read it quickly, quickly! It’s a letter from that monster… that man there, there!» she pointed to Mitya. «It was he killed his father, you will see that directly. He wrote to me how he would kill his father! But the other one is ill, he is ill, he is delirious!» she kept crying out, beside herself.
The court usher took the document she held out to the President, and she, dropping into her chair, hiding her face in her hands, began convulsively and noiselessly sobbing, shaking all over, and stifling every sound for fear she should be ejected from the court.
The document she had handed up was that letter Mitya had written at the Metropolis tavern, which Ivan had spoken of as a «mathematical proof.» Alas! its mathematical conclus-iveness was recognised, and had it not been for that letter, Mitya might have escaped his doom or, at least, that doom would have been less terrible. It was, I repeat, difficult to notice every detail. What followed is still confused to my mind. The President must, I suppose, have at once passed on the document to the judges, the jury, and the lawyers on both sides. I only remember how they began examining the witness. On being gently asked by the President whether she had recovered sufficiently, Katerina Ivanovna exclaimed impetuously: «I am ready, I am ready! I am quite equal to answering you,» she added, evidently still afraid that she would somehow be prevented from giving evidence. She was asked to explain
in detail what this letter was and under what circumstances she received it.
«I received it the day before the crime was committed, but he wrote it the day before that, at the tavern- that is, two days before he committed the crime. Look, it is written on some sort of bill!» she cried breathlessly. «He hated me at that time, because he had behaved contemptibly and was running after that creature … and because he owed me that three thousand…. Oh! he was humiliated by that three thousand on account of his own meanness! This is how it happened about that three thousand. I beg you, I beseech you, to hear me. Three weeks before he murdered his father, he came to me one morning. I knew he was in want of money, and what he wanted it for. Yes, yes- to win that creature and carry her off. I knew then 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
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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 attent-ively- 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
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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 under-stand 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
