finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Brothers Karamazov/section_14_part_4.txt
The Brothers Karamazov.book 12.chapter 4
book 12, chapter 4
{"name": "book 12, Chapter 4", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210305110438/https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/brothersk/section15/", "summary": "Fortune Smiles on Mitya Alyosha next offers some useful evidence: he remembers that Dmitri used to hit the locket on his chest in moments of self-loathing, implying that perhaps he really was wearing the money around his neck, and did not steal it from Fyodor Pavlovich. Alyosha also admits that he believes Smerdyakov may be the real murderer. Katerina tells the story of Dmitri saving her father from prison. The crowd, which was impressed with Alyosha's testimony, is slightly disgusted with Katerina because she has so thoroughly debased herself before Dmitri, who does not love her. Grushenka is questioned and vehemently insists on Dmitri's innocence", "analysis": ""}
Chapter IV. Fortune Smiles On Mitya


It came quite as a surprise even to Alyosha himself. He was not required
to take the oath, and I remember that both sides addressed him very gently
and sympathetically. It was evident that his reputation for goodness had
preceded him. Alyosha gave his evidence modestly and with restraint, but
his warm sympathy for his unhappy brother was unmistakable. In answer to
one question, he sketched his brother's character as that of a man,
violent-tempered perhaps and carried away by his passions, but at the same
time honorable, proud and generous, capable of self-sacrifice, if
necessary. He admitted, however, that, through his passion for Grushenka
and his rivalry with his father, his brother had been of late in an
intolerable position. But he repelled with indignation the suggestion that
his brother might have committed a murder for the sake of gain, though he
recognized that the three thousand roubles had become almost an obsession
with Mitya; that he looked upon them as part of the inheritance he had
been cheated of by his father, and that, indifferent as he was to money as
a rule, he could not even speak of that three thousand without fury. As
for the rivalry of the two "ladies," as the prosecutor expressed it--that
is, of Grushenka and Katya--he answered evasively and was even unwilling to
answer one or two questions altogether.

"Did your brother tell you, anyway, that he intended to kill your father?"
asked the prosecutor. "You can refuse to answer if you think necessary,"
he added.

"He did not tell me so directly," answered Alyosha.

"How so? Did he indirectly?"

"He spoke to me once of his hatred for our father and his fear that at an
extreme moment ... at a moment of fury, he might perhaps murder him."

"And you believed him?"

"I am afraid to say that I did. But I never doubted that some higher
feeling would always save him at the fatal moment, as it has indeed saved
him, for it was not he killed my father," Alyosha said firmly, in a loud
voice that was heard throughout the court.

The prosecutor started like a war-horse at the sound of a trumpet.

"Let me assure you that I fully believe in the complete sincerity of your
conviction and do not explain it by or identify it with your affection for
your unhappy brother. Your peculiar view of the whole tragic episode is
known to us already from the preliminary investigation. I won't attempt to
conceal from you that it is highly individual and contradicts all the
other evidence collected by the prosecution. And so I think it essential
to press you to tell me what facts have led you to this conviction of your
brother's innocence and of the guilt of another person against whom you
gave evidence at the preliminary inquiry?"

"I only answered the questions asked me at the preliminary inquiry,"
replied Alyosha, slowly and calmly. "I made no accusation against
Smerdyakov of myself."

"Yet you gave evidence against him?"

"I was led to do so by my brother Dmitri's words. I was told what took
place at his arrest and how he had pointed to Smerdyakov before I was
examined. I believe absolutely that my brother is innocent, and if he
didn't commit the murder, then--"

"Then Smerdyakov? Why Smerdyakov? And why are you so completely persuaded
of your brother's innocence?"

"I cannot help believing my brother. I know he wouldn't lie to me. I saw
from his face he wasn't lying."

"Only from his face? Is that all the proof you have?"

"I have no other proof."

"And of Smerdyakov's guilt you have no proof whatever but your brother's
word and the expression of his face?"

"No, I have no other proof."

The prosecutor dropped the examination at this point. The impression left
by Alyosha's evidence on the public was most disappointing. There had been
talk about Smerdyakov before the trial; some one had heard something, some
one had pointed out something else, it was said that Alyosha had gathered
together some extraordinary proofs of his brother's innocence and
Smerdyakov's guilt, and after all there was nothing, no evidence except
certain moral convictions so natural in a brother.

But Fetyukovitch began his cross-examination. On his asking Alyosha when
it was that the prisoner had told him of his hatred for his father and
that he might kill him, and whether he had heard it, for instance, at
their last meeting before the catastrophe, Alyosha started as he answered,
as though only just recollecting and understanding something.

"I remember one circumstance now which I'd quite forgotten myself. It
wasn't clear to me at the time, but now--"

And, obviously only now for the first time struck by an idea, he recounted
eagerly how, at his last interview with Mitya that evening under the tree,
on the road to the monastery, Mitya had struck himself on the breast, "the
upper part of the breast," and had repeated several times that he had a
means of regaining his honor, that that means was here, here on his
breast. "I thought, when he struck himself on the breast, he meant that it
was in his heart," Alyosha continued, "that he might find in his heart
strength to save himself from some awful disgrace which was awaiting him
and which he did not dare confess even to me. I must confess I did think
at the time that he was speaking of our father, and that the disgrace he
was shuddering at was the thought of going to our father and doing some
violence to him. Yet it was just then that he pointed to something on his
breast, so that I remember the idea struck me at the time that the heart
is not on that part of the breast, but below, and that he struck himself
much too high, just below the neck, and kept pointing to that place. My
idea seemed silly to me at the time, but he was perhaps pointing then to
that little bag in which he had fifteen hundred roubles!"

"Just so," Mitya cried from his place. "That's right, Alyosha, it was the
little bag I struck with my fist."

Fetyukovitch flew to him in hot haste entreating him to keep quiet, and at
the same instant pounced on Alyosha. Alyosha, carried away himself by his
recollection, warmly expressed his theory that this disgrace was probably
just that fifteen hundred roubles on him, which he might have returned to
Katerina Ivanovna as half of what he owed her, but which he had yet
determined not to repay her and to use for another purpose--namely, to
enable him to elope with Grushenka, if she consented.

"It is so, it must be so," exclaimed Alyosha, in sudden excitement. "My
brother cried several times that half of the disgrace, half of it (he said
_half_ several times) he could free himself from at once, but that he was
so unhappy in his weakness of will that he wouldn't do it ... that he knew
beforehand he was incapable of doing it!"

"And you clearly, confidently remember that he struck himself just on this
part of the breast?" Fetyukovitch asked eagerly.

"Clearly and confidently, for I thought at the time, 'Why does he strike
himself up there when the heart is lower down?' and the thought seemed
stupid to me at the time ... I remember its seeming stupid ... it flashed
through my mind. That's what brought it back to me just now. How could I
have forgotten it till now? It was that little bag he meant when he said
he had the means but wouldn't give back that fifteen hundred. And when he
was arrested at Mokroe he cried out--I know, I was told it--that he
considered it the most disgraceful act of his life that when he had the
means of repaying Katerina Ivanovna half (half, note!) what he owed her,
he yet could not bring himself to repay the money and preferred to remain
a thief in her eyes rather than part with it. And what torture, what
torture that debt has been to him!" Alyosha exclaimed in conclusion.

The prosecutor, of course, intervened. He asked Alyosha to describe once
more how it had all happened, and several times insisted on the question,
"Had the prisoner seemed to point to anything? Perhaps he had simply
struck himself with his fist on the breast?"

"But it was not with his fist," cried Alyosha; "he pointed with his
fingers and pointed here, very high up.... How could I have so completely
forgotten it till this moment?"

The President asked Mitya what he had to say to the last witness's
evidence. Mitya confirmed it, saying that he had been pointing to the
fifteen hundred roubles which were on his breast, just below the neck, and
that that was, of course, the disgrace, "A disgrace I cannot deny, the
most shameful act of my whole life," cried Mitya. "I might have repaid it
and didn't repay it. I preferred to remain a thief in her eyes rather than
give it back. And the most shameful part of it was that I knew beforehand
I shouldn't give it back! You are right, Alyosha! Thanks, Alyosha!"

So Alyosha's cross-examination ended. What was important and striking
about it was that one fact at least had been found, and even though this
were only one tiny bit of evidence, a mere hint at evidence, it did go
some little way towards proving that the bag had existed and had contained
fifteen hundred roubles and that the prisoner had not been lying at the
preliminary inquiry when he alleged at Mokroe that those fifteen hundred
roubles were "his own." Alyosha was glad. With a flushed face he moved
away to the seat assigned to him. He kept repeating to himself: "How was
it I forgot? How could I have forgotten it? And what made it come back to
me now?"

Katerina Ivanovna was called to the witness-box. As she entered something
extraordinary happened in the court. The ladies clutched their lorgnettes
and opera-glasses. There was a stir among the men: some stood up to get a
better view. Everybody alleged afterwards that Mitya had turned "white as
a sheet" on her entrance. All in black, she advanced modestly, almost
timidly. It was impossible to tell from her face that she was agitated;
but there was a resolute gleam in her dark and gloomy eyes. I may remark
that many people mentioned that she looked particularly handsome at that
moment. She spoke softly but clearly, so that she was heard all over the
court. She expressed herself with composure, or at least tried to appear
composed. The President began his examination discreetly and very
respectfully, as though afraid to touch on "certain chords," and showing
consideration for her great unhappiness. But in answer to one of the first
questions Katerina Ivanovna replied firmly that she had been formerly
betrothed to the prisoner, "until he left me of his own accord..." she
added quietly. When they asked her about the three thousand she had
entrusted to Mitya to post to her relations, she said firmly, "I didn't
give him the money simply to send it off. I felt at the time that he was
in great need of money.... I gave him the three thousand on the
understanding that he should post it within the month if he cared to.
There was no need for him to worry himself about that debt afterwards."

I will not repeat all the questions asked her and all her answers in
detail. I will only give the substance of her evidence.

"I was firmly convinced that he would send off that sum as soon as he got
money from his father," she went on. "I have never doubted his
disinterestedness and his honesty ... his scrupulous honesty ... in money
matters. He felt quite certain that he would receive the money from his
father, and spoke to me several times about it. I knew he had a feud with
his father and have always believed that he had been unfairly treated by
his father. I don't remember any threat uttered by him against his father.
He certainly never uttered any such threat before me. If he had come to me
at that time, I should have at once relieved his anxiety about that
unlucky three thousand roubles, but he had given up coming to see me ...
and I myself was put in such a position ... that I could not invite
him.... And I had no right, indeed, to be exacting as to that money," she
added suddenly, and there was a ring of resolution in her voice. "I was
once indebted to him for assistance in money for more than three thousand,
and I took it, although I could not at that time foresee that I should
ever be in a position to repay my debt."

There was a note of defiance in her voice. It was then Fetyukovitch began
his cross-examination.

"Did that take place not here, but at the beginning of your acquaintance?"
Fetyukovitch suggested cautiously, feeling his way, instantly scenting
something favorable. I must mention in parenthesis that, though
Fetyukovitch had been brought from Petersburg partly at the instance of
Katerina Ivanovna herself, he knew nothing about the episode of the four
thousand roubles given her by Mitya, and of her "bowing to the ground to
him." She concealed this from him and said nothing about it, and that was
strange. It may be pretty certainly assumed that she herself did not know
till the very last minute whether she would speak of that episode in the
court, and waited for the inspiration of the moment.

No, I can never forget those moments. She began telling her story. She
told everything, the whole episode that Mitya had told Alyosha, and her
bowing to the ground, and her reason. She told about her father and her
going to Mitya, and did not in one word, in a single hint, suggest that
Mitya had himself, through her sister, proposed they should "send him
Katerina Ivanovna" to fetch the money. She generously concealed that and
was not ashamed to make it appear as though she had of her own impulse run
to the young officer, relying on something ... to beg him for the money.
It was something tremendous! I turned cold and trembled as I listened. The
court was hushed, trying to catch each word. It was something unexampled.
Even from such a self-willed and contemptuously proud girl as she was,
such an extremely frank avowal, such sacrifice, such self-immolation,
seemed incredible. And for what, for whom? To save the man who had
deceived and insulted her and to help, in however small a degree, in
saving him, by creating a strong impression in his favor. And, indeed, the
figure of the young officer who, with a respectful bow to the innocent
girl, handed her his last four thousand roubles--all he had in the
world--was thrown into a very sympathetic and attractive light, but ... I
had a painful misgiving at heart! I felt that calumny might come of it
later (and it did, in fact, it did). It was repeated all over the town
afterwards with spiteful laughter that the story was perhaps not quite
complete--that is, in the statement that the officer had let the young lady
depart "with nothing but a respectful bow." It was hinted that something
was here omitted.

"And even if nothing had been omitted, if this were the whole story," the
most highly respected of our ladies maintained, "even then it's very
doubtful whether it was creditable for a young girl to behave in that way,
even for the sake of saving her father."

And can Katerina Ivanovna, with her intelligence, her morbid
sensitiveness, have failed to understand that people would talk like that?
She must have understood it, yet she made up her mind to tell everything.
Of course, all these nasty little suspicions as to the truth of her story
only arose afterwards and at the first moment all were deeply impressed by
it. As for the judges and the lawyers, they listened in reverent, almost
shame-faced silence to Katerina Ivanovna. The prosecutor did not venture
upon even one question on the subject. Fetyukovitch made a low bow to her.
Oh, he was almost triumphant! Much ground had been gained. For a man to
give his last four thousand on a generous impulse and then for the same
man to murder his father for the sake of robbing him of three thousand--the
idea seemed too incongruous. Fetyukovitch felt that now the charge of
theft, at least, was as good as disproved. "The case" was thrown into
quite a different light. There was a wave of sympathy for Mitya. As for
him.... I was told that once or twice, while Katerina Ivanovna was giving
her evidence, he jumped up from his seat, sank back again, and hid his
face in his hands. But when she had finished, he suddenly cried in a
sobbing voice:

"Katya, why have you ruined me?" and his sobs were audible all over the
court. But he instantly restrained himself, and cried again:

"Now I am condemned!"

Then he sat rigid in his place, with his teeth clenched and his arms
across his chest. Katerina Ivanovna remained in the court and sat down in
her place. She was pale and sat with her eyes cast down. Those who were
sitting near her declared that for a long time she shivered all over as
though in a fever. Grushenka was called.

I am approaching the sudden catastrophe which was perhaps the final cause
of Mitya's ruin. For I am convinced, so is every one--all the lawyers said
the same afterwards--that if the episode had not occurred, the prisoner
would at least have been recommended to mercy. But of that later. A few
words first about Grushenka.

She, too, was dressed entirely in black, with her magnificent black shawl
on her shoulders. She walked to the witness-box with her smooth, noiseless
tread, with the slightly swaying gait common in women of full figure. She
looked steadily at the President, turning her eyes neither to the right
nor to the left. To my thinking she looked very handsome at that moment,
and not at all pale, as the ladies alleged afterwards. They declared, too,
that she had a concentrated and spiteful expression. I believe that she
was simply irritated and painfully conscious of the contemptuous and
inquisitive eyes of our scandal-loving public. She was proud and could not
stand contempt. She was one of those people who flare up, angry and eager
to retaliate, at the mere suggestion of contempt. There was an element of
timidity, too, of course, and inward shame at her own timidity, so it was
not strange that her tone kept changing. At one moment it was angry,
contemptuous and rough, and at another there was a sincere note of self-
condemnation. Sometimes she spoke as though she were taking a desperate
plunge; as though she felt, "I don't care what happens, I'll say it...."
Apropos of her acquaintance with Fyodor Pavlovitch, she remarked curtly,
"That's all nonsense, and was it my fault that he would pester me?" But a
minute later she added, "It was all my fault. I was laughing at them
both--at the old man and at him, too--and I brought both of them to this. It
was all on account of me it happened."

Samsonov's name came up somehow. "That's nobody's business," she snapped
at once, with a sort of insolent defiance. "He was my benefactor; he took
me when I hadn't a shoe to my foot, when my family had turned me out." The
President reminded her, though very politely, that she must answer the
questions directly, without going off into irrelevant details. Grushenka
crimsoned and her eyes flashed.

The envelope with the notes in it she had not seen, but had only heard
from "that wicked wretch" that Fyodor Pavlovitch had an envelope with
notes for three thousand in it. "But that was all foolishness. I was only
laughing. I wouldn't have gone to him for anything."

"To whom are you referring as 'that wicked wretch'?" inquired the
prosecutor.

"The lackey, Smerdyakov, who murdered his master and hanged himself last
night."

She was, of course, at once asked what ground she had for such a definite
accusation; but it appeared that she, too, had no grounds for it.

"Dmitri Fyodorovitch told me so himself; you can believe him. The woman
who came between us has ruined him; she is the cause of it all, let me
tell you," Grushenka added. She seemed to be quivering with hatred, and
there was a vindictive note in her voice.

She was again asked to whom she was referring.

"The young lady, Katerina Ivanovna there. She sent for me, offered me
chocolate, tried to fascinate me. There's not much true shame about her, I
can tell you that...."

At this point the President checked her sternly, begging her to moderate
her language. But the jealous woman's heart was burning, and she did not
care what she did.

"When the prisoner was arrested at Mokroe," the prosecutor asked, "every
one saw and heard you run out of the next room and cry out: 'It's all my
fault. We'll go to Siberia together!' So you already believed him to have
murdered his father?"

"I don't remember what I felt at the time," answered Grushenka. "Every one
was crying out that he had killed his father, and I felt that it was my
fault, that it was on my account he had murdered him. But when he said he
wasn't guilty, I believed him at once, and I believe him now and always
shall believe him. He is not the man to tell a lie."

Fetyukovitch began his cross-examination. I remember that among other
things he asked about Rakitin and the twenty-five roubles "you paid him
for bringing Alexey Fyodorovitch Karamazov to see you."

"There was nothing strange about his taking the money," sneered Grushenka,
with angry contempt. "He was always coming to me for money: he used to get
thirty roubles a month at least out of me, chiefly for luxuries: he had
enough to keep him without my help."

"What led you to be so liberal to Mr. Rakitin?" Fetyukovitch asked, in
spite of an uneasy movement on the part of the President.

"Why, he is my cousin. His mother was my mother's sister. But he's always
besought me not to tell any one here of it, he is so dreadfully ashamed of
me."

This fact was a complete surprise to every one; no one in the town nor in
the monastery, not even Mitya, knew of it. I was told that Rakitin turned
purple with shame where he sat. Grushenka had somehow heard before she
came into the court that he had given evidence against Mitya, and so she
was angry. The whole effect on the public, of Rakitin's speech, of his
noble sentiments, of his attacks upon serfdom and the political disorder
of Russia, was this time finally ruined. Fetyukovitch was satisfied: it
was another godsend. Grushenka's cross-examination did not last long and,
of course, there could be nothing particularly new in her evidence. She
left a very disagreeable impression on the public; hundreds of
contemptuous eyes were fixed upon her, as she finished giving her evidence
and sat down again in the court, at a good distance from Katerina
Ivanovna. Mitya was silent throughout her evidence. He sat as though
turned to stone, with his eyes fixed on the ground.

Ivan was called to give evidence.





book 12, Chapter 4
Fortune Smiles on Mitya Alyosha next offers some useful evidence: he remembers that Dmitri used to hit the locket on his chest in moments of self-loathing, implying that perhaps he really was wearing the money around his neck, and did not steal it from Fyodor Pavlovich. Alyosha also admits that he believes Smerdyakov may be the real murderer. Katerina tells the story of Dmitri saving her father from prison. The crowd, which was impressed with Alyosha's testimony, is slightly disgusted with Katerina because she has so thoroughly debased herself before Dmitri, who does not love her. Grushenka is questioned and vehemently insists on Dmitri's innocence