finished_summaries/shmoop/The Brothers Karamazov/section_36_part_0.txt
The Brothers Karamazov.book 5.chapter 6
book 5, chapter 6
{"name": "Book 5, Chapter 6", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201023112808/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/brothers-karamazov/summary/book-5-chapter-6", "summary": "As Ivan heads back to his father's house, he feels increasingly troubled. When he arrives, he sees Smerdyakov sitting on a bench outside and is suddenly overwhelmed by his intense loathing for him. But despite this, he finds himself sitting down on the bench to talk with Smerdyakov. Smerdyakov asks Ivan why he doesn't go to Chermashnya, and Ivan is confused by his question. Smerdyakov then babbles a bit about how concerned he is by the trouble between Dmitri and Fyodor, and how worried he is that Dmitri will kill him for conspiring with Fyodor. He wonders whether he'll get an attack of \"falling sickness\" the next day. Ivan thinks Smerdyakov is being absurd because he isn't supposed to be able to predict when his epileptic fits will come on. Smerdyakov then worries that he'll be considered Dmitri's accomplice just in case Dmitri does end up killing Fyodor, because he's told Dmitri about the secret signals. If Grushenka arrives to accept Fyodor's money, Smerdyakov and Fyodor have agreed on a special knock to announce her arrival. Ivan gets even more irritated, but Smerdyakov continues on to tell him that Grigory, Fyodor's faithful servant, is knocked out from the tonic he takes for his back troubles, and his wife Marfa has taken a sip too. If Smerdyakov does have a fit, there will be no one to prevent Dmitri from attacking Fyodor and stealing his money. Ivan wants to know why Smerdyakov is so convinced that Dmitri will kill Fyodor. Smerdyakov says if Grushenka were to seduce Fyodor, she would convince him to sign over their inheritance to her. Ivan asks whether that's the real reason Smerdyakov wants Ivan to go to Chermashnya instead of Moscow - Chermashnya is closer just in case Dmitri does commit the murder. Smerdyakov is so irritating at this point that Ivan is about to punch him, but instead he walks away laughing.", "analysis": ""}
Chapter VI. For Awhile A Very Obscure One


And Ivan, on parting from Alyosha, went home to Fyodor Pavlovitch's house.
But, strange to say, he was overcome by insufferable depression, which
grew greater at every step he took towards the house. There was nothing
strange in his being depressed; what was strange was that Ivan could not
have said what was the cause of it. He had often been depressed before,
and there was nothing surprising at his feeling so at such a moment, when
he had broken off with everything that had brought him here, and was
preparing that day to make a new start and enter upon a new, unknown
future. He would again be as solitary as ever, and though he had great
hopes, and great--too great--expectations from life, he could not have given
any definite account of his hopes, his expectations, or even his desires.

Yet at that moment, though the apprehension of the new and unknown
certainly found place in his heart, what was worrying him was something
quite different. "Is it loathing for my father's house?" he wondered.
"Quite likely; I am so sick of it; and though it's the last time I shall
cross its hateful threshold, still I loathe it.... No, it's not that
either. Is it the parting with Alyosha and the conversation I had with
him? For so many years I've been silent with the whole world and not
deigned to speak, and all of a sudden I reel off a rigmarole like that."
It certainly might have been the youthful vexation of youthful
inexperience and vanity--vexation at having failed to express himself,
especially with such a being as Alyosha, on whom his heart had certainly
been reckoning. No doubt that came in, that vexation, it must have done
indeed; but yet that was not it, that was not it either. "I feel sick with
depression and yet I can't tell what I want. Better not think, perhaps."

Ivan tried "not to think," but that, too, was no use. What made his
depression so vexatious and irritating was that it had a kind of casual,
external character--he felt that. Some person or thing seemed to be
standing out somewhere, just as something will sometimes obtrude itself
upon the eye, and though one may be so busy with work or conversation that
for a long time one does not notice it, yet it irritates and almost
torments one till at last one realizes, and removes the offending object,
often quite a trifling and ridiculous one--some article left about in the
wrong place, a handkerchief on the floor, a book not replaced on the
shelf, and so on.

At last, feeling very cross and ill-humored, Ivan arrived home, and
suddenly, about fifteen paces from the garden gate, he guessed what was
fretting and worrying him.

On a bench in the gateway the valet Smerdyakov was sitting enjoying the
coolness of the evening, and at the first glance at him Ivan knew that the
valet Smerdyakov was on his mind, and that it was this man that his soul
loathed. It all dawned upon him suddenly and became clear. Just before,
when Alyosha had been telling him of his meeting with Smerdyakov, he had
felt a sudden twinge of gloom and loathing, which had immediately stirred
responsive anger in his heart. Afterwards, as he talked, Smerdyakov had
been forgotten for the time; but still he had been in his mind, and as
soon as Ivan parted with Alyosha and was walking home, the forgotten
sensation began to obtrude itself again. "Is it possible that a miserable,
contemptible creature like that can worry me so much?" he wondered, with
insufferable irritation.

It was true that Ivan had come of late to feel an intense dislike for the
man, especially during the last few days. He had even begun to notice in
himself a growing feeling that was almost of hatred for the creature.
Perhaps this hatred was accentuated by the fact that when Ivan first came
to the neighborhood he had felt quite differently. Then he had taken a
marked interest in Smerdyakov, and had even thought him very original. He
had encouraged him to talk to him, although he had always wondered at a
certain incoherence, or rather restlessness, in his mind, and could not
understand what it was that so continually and insistently worked upon the
brain of "the contemplative." They discussed philosophical questions and
even how there could have been light on the first day when the sun, moon,
and stars were only created on the fourth day, and how that was to be
understood. But Ivan soon saw that, though the sun, moon, and stars might
be an interesting subject, yet that it was quite secondary to Smerdyakov,
and that he was looking for something altogether different. In one way and
another, he began to betray a boundless vanity, and a wounded vanity, too,
and that Ivan disliked. It had first given rise to his aversion. Later on,
there had been trouble in the house. Grushenka had come on the scene, and
there had been the scandals with his brother Dmitri--they discussed that,
too. But though Smerdyakov always talked of that with great excitement, it
was impossible to discover what he desired to come of it. There was, in
fact, something surprising in the illogicality and incoherence of some of
his desires, accidentally betrayed and always vaguely expressed.
Smerdyakov was always inquiring, putting certain indirect but obviously
premeditated questions, but what his object was he did not explain, and
usually at the most important moment he would break off and relapse into
silence or pass to another subject. But what finally irritated Ivan most
and confirmed his dislike for him was the peculiar, revolting familiarity
which Smerdyakov began to show more and more markedly. Not that he forgot
himself and was rude; on the contrary, he always spoke very respectfully,
yet he had obviously begun to consider--goodness knows why!--that there was
some sort of understanding between him and Ivan Fyodorovitch. He always
spoke in a tone that suggested that those two had some kind of compact,
some secret between them, that had at some time been expressed on both
sides, only known to them and beyond the comprehension of those around
them. But for a long while Ivan did not recognize the real cause of his
growing dislike and he had only lately realized what was at the root of
it.

With a feeling of disgust and irritation he tried to pass in at the gate
without speaking or looking at Smerdyakov. But Smerdyakov rose from the
bench, and from that action alone, Ivan knew instantly that he wanted
particularly to talk to him. Ivan looked at him and stopped, and the fact
that he did stop, instead of passing by, as he meant to the minute before,
drove him to fury. With anger and repulsion he looked at Smerdyakov's
emasculate, sickly face, with the little curls combed forward on his
forehead. His left eye winked and he grinned as if to say, "Where are you
going? You won't pass by; you see that we two clever people have something
to say to each other."

Ivan shook. "Get away, miserable idiot. What have I to do with you?" was
on the tip of his tongue, but to his profound astonishment he heard
himself say, "Is my father still asleep, or has he waked?"

He asked the question softly and meekly, to his own surprise, and at once,
again to his own surprise, sat down on the bench. For an instant he felt
almost frightened; he remembered it afterwards. Smerdyakov stood facing
him, his hands behind his back, looking at him with assurance and almost
severity.

"His honor is still asleep," he articulated deliberately ("You were the
first to speak, not I," he seemed to say). "I am surprised at you, sir,"
he added, after a pause, dropping his eyes affectedly, setting his right
foot forward, and playing with the tip of his polished boot.

"Why are you surprised at me?" Ivan asked abruptly and sullenly, doing his
utmost to restrain himself, and suddenly realizing, with disgust, that he
was feeling intense curiosity and would not, on any account, have gone
away without satisfying it.

"Why don't you go to Tchermashnya, sir?" Smerdyakov suddenly raised his
eyes and smiled familiarly. "Why I smile you must understand of yourself,
if you are a clever man," his screwed-up left eye seemed to say.

"Why should I go to Tchermashnya?" Ivan asked in surprise.

Smerdyakov was silent again.

"Fyodor Pavlovitch himself has so begged you to," he said at last, slowly
and apparently attaching no significance to his answer. "I put you off
with a secondary reason," he seemed to suggest, "simply to say something."

"Damn you! Speak out what you want!" Ivan cried angrily at last, passing
from meekness to violence.

Smerdyakov drew his right foot up to his left, pulled himself up, but
still looked at him with the same serenity and the same little smile.

"Substantially nothing--but just by way of conversation."

Another silence followed. They did not speak for nearly a minute. Ivan
knew that he ought to get up and show anger, and Smerdyakov stood before
him and seemed to be waiting as though to see whether he would be angry or
not. So at least it seemed to Ivan. At last he moved to get up. Smerdyakov
seemed to seize the moment.

"I'm in an awful position, Ivan Fyodorovitch. I don't know how to help
myself," he said resolutely and distinctly, and at his last word he
sighed. Ivan Fyodorovitch sat down again.

"They are both utterly crazy, they are no better than little children,"
Smerdyakov went on. "I am speaking of your parent and your brother Dmitri
Fyodorovitch. Here Fyodor Pavlovitch will get up directly and begin
worrying me every minute, 'Has she come? Why hasn't she come?' and so on
up till midnight and even after midnight. And if Agrafena Alexandrovna
doesn't come (for very likely she does not mean to come at all) then he
will be at me again to-morrow morning, 'Why hasn't she come? When will she
come?'--as though I were to blame for it. On the other side it's no better.
As soon as it gets dark, or even before, your brother will appear with his
gun in his hands: 'Look out, you rogue, you soup-maker. If you miss her
and don't let me know she's been--I'll kill you before any one.' When the
night's over, in the morning, he, too, like Fyodor Pavlovitch, begins
worrying me to death. 'Why hasn't she come? Will she come soon?' And he,
too, thinks me to blame because his lady hasn't come. And every day and
every hour they get angrier and angrier, so that I sometimes think I shall
kill myself in a fright. I can't depend upon them, sir."

"And why have you meddled? Why did you begin to spy for Dmitri
Fyodorovitch?" said Ivan irritably.

"How could I help meddling? Though, indeed, I haven't meddled at all, if
you want to know the truth of the matter. I kept quiet from the very
beginning, not daring to answer; but he pitched on me to be his servant.
He has had only one thing to say since: 'I'll kill you, you scoundrel, if
you miss her,' I feel certain, sir, that I shall have a long fit to-
morrow."

"What do you mean by 'a long fit'?"

"A long fit, lasting a long time--several hours, or perhaps a day or two.
Once it went on for three days. I fell from the garret that time. The
struggling ceased and then began again, and for three days I couldn't come
back to my senses. Fyodor Pavlovitch sent for Herzenstube, the doctor
here, and he put ice on my head and tried another remedy, too.... I might
have died."

"But they say one can't tell with epilepsy when a fit is coming. What
makes you say you will have one to-morrow?" Ivan inquired, with a
peculiar, irritable curiosity.

"That's just so. You can't tell beforehand."

"Besides, you fell from the garret then."

"I climb up to the garret every day. I might fall from the garret again
to-morrow. And, if not, I might fall down the cellar steps. I have to go
into the cellar every day, too."

Ivan took a long look at him.

"You are talking nonsense, I see, and I don't quite understand you," he
said softly, but with a sort of menace. "Do you mean to pretend to be ill
to-morrow for three days, eh?"

Smerdyakov, who was looking at the ground again, and playing with the toe
of his right foot, set the foot down, moved the left one forward, and,
grinning, articulated:

"If I were able to play such a trick, that is, pretend to have a fit--and
it would not be difficult for a man accustomed to them--I should have a
perfect right to use such a means to save myself from death. For even if
Agrafena Alexandrovna comes to see his father while I am ill, his honor
can't blame a sick man for not telling him. He'd be ashamed to."

"Hang it all!" Ivan cried, his face working with anger, "why are you
always in such a funk for your life? All my brother Dmitri's threats are
only hasty words and mean nothing. He won't kill you; it's not you he'll
kill!"

"He'd kill me first of all, like a fly. But even more than that, I am
afraid I shall be taken for an accomplice of his when he does something
crazy to his father."

"Why should you be taken for an accomplice?"

"They'll think I am an accomplice, because I let him know the signals as a
great secret."

"What signals? Whom did you tell? Confound you, speak more plainly."

"I'm bound to admit the fact," Smerdyakov drawled with pedantic composure,
"that I have a secret with Fyodor Pavlovitch in this business. As you know
yourself (if only you do know it) he has for several days past locked
himself in as soon as night or even evening comes on. Of late you've been
going upstairs to your room early every evening, and yesterday you did not
come down at all, and so perhaps you don't know how carefully he has begun
to lock himself in at night, and even if Grigory Vassilyevitch comes to
the door he won't open to him till he hears his voice. But Grigory
Vassilyevitch does not come, because I wait upon him alone in his room
now. That's the arrangement he made himself ever since this to-do with
Agrafena Alexandrovna began. But at night, by his orders, I go away to the
lodge so that I don't get to sleep till midnight, but am on the watch,
getting up and walking about the yard, waiting for Agrafena Alexandrovna
to come. For the last few days he's been perfectly frantic expecting her.
What he argues is, she is afraid of him, Dmitri Fyodorovitch (Mitya, as he
calls him), 'and so,' says he, 'she'll come the back-way, late at night,
to me. You look out for her,' says he, 'till midnight and later; and if
she does come, you run up and knock at my door or at the window from the
garden. Knock at first twice, rather gently, and then three times more
quickly, then,' says he, 'I shall understand at once that she has come,
and will open the door to you quietly.' Another signal he gave me in case
anything unexpected happens. At first, two knocks, and then, after an
interval, another much louder. Then he will understand that something has
happened suddenly and that I must see him, and he will open to me so that
I can go and speak to him. That's all in case Agrafena Alexandrovna can't
come herself, but sends a message. Besides, Dmitri Fyodorovitch might
come, too, so I must let him know he is near. His honor is awfully afraid
of Dmitri Fyodorovitch, so that even if Agrafena Alexandrovna had come and
were locked in with him, and Dmitri Fyodorovitch were to turn up anywhere
near at the time, I should be bound to let him know at once, knocking
three times. So that the first signal of five knocks means Agrafena
Alexandrovna has come, while the second signal of three knocks means
'something important to tell you.' His honor has shown me them several
times and explained them. And as in the whole universe no one knows of
these signals but myself and his honor, so he'd open the door without the
slightest hesitation and without calling out (he is awfully afraid of
calling out aloud). Well, those signals are known to Dmitri Fyodorovitch
too, now."

"How are they known? Did you tell him? How dared you tell him?"

"It was through fright I did it. How could I dare to keep it back from
him? Dmitri Fyodorovitch kept persisting every day, 'You are deceiving me,
you are hiding something from me! I'll break both your legs for you.' So I
told him those secret signals that he might see my slavish devotion, and
might be satisfied that I was not deceiving him, but was telling him all I
could."

"If you think that he'll make use of those signals and try to get in,
don't let him in."

"But if I should be laid up with a fit, how can I prevent him coming in
then, even if I dared prevent him, knowing how desperate he is?"

"Hang it! How can you be so sure you are going to have a fit, confound
you? Are you laughing at me?"

"How could I dare laugh at you? I am in no laughing humor with this fear
on me. I feel I am going to have a fit. I have a presentiment. Fright
alone will bring it on."

"Confound it! If you are laid up, Grigory will be on the watch. Let
Grigory know beforehand; he will be sure not to let him in."

"I should never dare to tell Grigory Vassilyevitch about the signals
without orders from my master. And as for Grigory Vassilyevitch hearing
him and not admitting him, he has been ill ever since yesterday, and Marfa
Ignatyevna intends to give him medicine to-morrow. They've just arranged
it. It's a very strange remedy of hers. Marfa Ignatyevna knows of a
preparation and always keeps it. It's a strong thing made from some herb.
She has the secret of it, and she always gives it to Grigory Vassilyevitch
three times a year when his lumbago's so bad he is almost paralyzed by it.
Then she takes a towel, wets it with the stuff, and rubs his whole back
for half an hour till it's quite red and swollen, and what's left in the
bottle she gives him to drink with a special prayer; but not quite all,
for on such occasions she leaves some for herself, and drinks it herself.
And as they never take strong drink, I assure you they both drop asleep at
once and sleep sound a very long time. And when Grigory Vassilyevitch
wakes up he is perfectly well after it, but Marfa Ignatyevna always has a
headache from it. So, if Marfa Ignatyevna carries out her intention to-
morrow, they won't hear anything and hinder Dmitri Fyodorovitch. They'll
be asleep."

"What a rigmarole! And it all seems to happen at once, as though it were
planned. You'll have a fit and they'll both be unconscious," cried Ivan.
"But aren't you trying to arrange it so?" broke from him suddenly, and he
frowned threateningly.

"How could I?... And why should I, when it all depends on Dmitri
Fyodorovitch and his plans?... If he means to do anything, he'll do it;
but if not, I shan't be thrusting him upon his father."

"And why should he go to father, especially on the sly, if, as you say
yourself, Agrafena Alexandrovna won't come at all?" Ivan went on, turning
white with anger. "You say that yourself, and all the while I've been
here, I've felt sure it was all the old man's fancy, and the creature
won't come to him. Why should Dmitri break in on him if she doesn't come?
Speak, I want to know what you are thinking!"

"You know yourself why he'll come. What's the use of what I think? His
honor will come simply because he is in a rage or suspicious on account of
my illness perhaps, and he'll dash in, as he did yesterday through
impatience to search the rooms, to see whether she hasn't escaped him on
the sly. He is perfectly well aware, too, that Fyodor Pavlovitch has a big
envelope with three thousand roubles in it, tied up with ribbon and sealed
with three seals. On it is written in his own hand, 'To my angel
Grushenka, if she will come,' to which he added three days later, 'for my
little chicken.' There's no knowing what that might do."

"Nonsense!" cried Ivan, almost beside himself. "Dmitri won't come to steal
money and kill my father to do it. He might have killed him yesterday on
account of Grushenka, like the frantic, savage fool he is, but he won't
steal."

"He is in very great need of money now--the greatest need, Ivan
Fyodorovitch. You don't know in what need he is," Smerdyakov explained,
with perfect composure and remarkable distinctness. "He looks on that
three thousand as his own, too. He said so to me himself. 'My father still
owes me just three thousand,' he said. And besides that, consider, Ivan
Fyodorovitch, there is something else perfectly true. It's as good as
certain, so to say, that Agrafena Alexandrovna will force him, if only she
cares to, to marry her--the master himself, I mean, Fyodor Pavlovitch--if
only she cares to, and of course she may care to. All I've said is that
she won't come, but maybe she's looking for more than that--I mean to be
mistress here. I know myself that Samsonov, her merchant, was laughing
with her about it, telling her quite openly that it would not be at all a
stupid thing to do. And she's got plenty of sense. She wouldn't marry a
beggar like Dmitri Fyodorovitch. So, taking that into consideration, Ivan
Fyodorovitch, reflect that then neither Dmitri Fyodorovitch nor yourself
and your brother, Alexey Fyodorovitch, would have anything after the
master's death, not a rouble, for Agrafena Alexandrovna would marry him
simply to get hold of the whole, all the money there is. But if your
father were to die now, there'd be some forty thousand for sure, even for
Dmitri Fyodorovitch whom he hates so, for he's made no will.... Dmitri
Fyodorovitch knows all that very well."

A sort of shudder passed over Ivan's face. He suddenly flushed.

"Then why on earth," he suddenly interrupted Smerdyakov, "do you advise me
to go to Tchermashnya? What did you mean by that? If I go away, you see
what will happen here." Ivan drew his breath with difficulty.

"Precisely so," said Smerdyakov, softly and reasonably, watching Ivan
intently, however.

"What do you mean by 'precisely so'?" Ivan questioned him, with a menacing
light in his eyes, restraining himself with difficulty.

"I spoke because I felt sorry for you. If I were in your place I should
simply throw it all up ... rather than stay on in such a position,"
answered Smerdyakov, with the most candid air looking at Ivan's flashing
eyes. They were both silent.

"You seem to be a perfect idiot, and what's more ... an awful scoundrel,
too." Ivan rose suddenly from the bench. He was about to pass straight
through the gate, but he stopped short and turned to Smerdyakov. Something
strange followed. Ivan, in a sudden paroxysm, bit his lip, clenched his
fists, and, in another minute, would have flung himself on Smerdyakov. The
latter, anyway, noticed it at the same moment, started, and shrank back.
But the moment passed without mischief to Smerdyakov, and Ivan turned in
silence, as it seemed in perplexity, to the gate.

"I am going away to Moscow to-morrow, if you care to know--early to-morrow
morning. That's all!" he suddenly said aloud angrily, and wondered himself
afterwards what need there was to say this then to Smerdyakov.

"That's the best thing you can do," he responded, as though he had
expected to hear it; "except that you can always be telegraphed for from
Moscow, if anything should happen here."

Ivan stopped again, and again turned quickly to Smerdyakov. But a change
had passed over him, too. All his familiarity and carelessness had
completely disappeared. His face expressed attention and expectation,
intent but timid and cringing.

"Haven't you something more to say--something to add?" could be read in the
intent gaze he fixed on Ivan.

"And couldn't I be sent for from Tchermashnya, too--in case anything
happened?" Ivan shouted suddenly, for some unknown reason raising his
voice.

"From Tchermashnya, too ... you could be sent for," Smerdyakov muttered,
almost in a whisper, looking disconcerted, but gazing intently into Ivan's
eyes.

"Only Moscow is farther and Tchermashnya is nearer. Is it to save my
spending money on the fare, or to save my going so far out of my way, that
you insist on Tchermashnya?"

"Precisely so ..." muttered Smerdyakov, with a breaking voice. He looked
at Ivan with a revolting smile, and again made ready to draw back. But to
his astonishment Ivan broke into a laugh, and went through the gate still
laughing. Any one who had seen his face at that moment would have known
that he was not laughing from lightness of heart, and he could not have
explained himself what he was feeling at that instant. He moved and walked
as though in a nervous frenzy.





Book 5, Chapter 6
As Ivan heads back to his father's house, he feels increasingly troubled. When he arrives, he sees Smerdyakov sitting on a bench outside and is suddenly overwhelmed by his intense loathing for him. But despite this, he finds himself sitting down on the bench to talk with Smerdyakov. Smerdyakov asks Ivan why he doesn't go to Chermashnya, and Ivan is confused by his question. Smerdyakov then babbles a bit about how concerned he is by the trouble between Dmitri and Fyodor, and how worried he is that Dmitri will kill him for conspiring with Fyodor. He wonders whether he'll get an attack of "falling sickness" the next day. Ivan thinks Smerdyakov is being absurd because he isn't supposed to be able to predict when his epileptic fits will come on. Smerdyakov then worries that he'll be considered Dmitri's accomplice just in case Dmitri does end up killing Fyodor, because he's told Dmitri about the secret signals. If Grushenka arrives to accept Fyodor's money, Smerdyakov and Fyodor have agreed on a special knock to announce her arrival. Ivan gets even more irritated, but Smerdyakov continues on to tell him that Grigory, Fyodor's faithful servant, is knocked out from the tonic he takes for his back troubles, and his wife Marfa has taken a sip too. If Smerdyakov does have a fit, there will be no one to prevent Dmitri from attacking Fyodor and stealing his money. Ivan wants to know why Smerdyakov is so convinced that Dmitri will kill Fyodor. Smerdyakov says if Grushenka were to seduce Fyodor, she would convince him to sign over their inheritance to her. Ivan asks whether that's the real reason Smerdyakov wants Ivan to go to Chermashnya instead of Moscow - Chermashnya is closer just in case Dmitri does commit the murder. Smerdyakov is so irritating at this point that Ivan is about to punch him, but instead he walks away laughing.