 Book 8, Chapter 8, of the Brothers Karamazov. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Ashley Candland. The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky, translated by Constance Garnett. Book 8, Chapter 8, Delirium. What followed was almost an orgy, a feast to which all were welcome. Grushenko was the first to call for wine. I want to drink. I want to be quite drunk, as we were before. Do you remember Mitya? Do you remember how we made friends here last time? Mitya himself was almost delirious, feeling that his happiness was at hand. But Grushenko was continually sending him away from her. Go and enjoy yourself. Call him to dance, to make merry. Let the stove and cottage dance, as we had it last time, she kept exclaiming. She was tremendously excited. And Mitya hastened to obey her. The chorus were in the next room. The room in which they had been sitting till that moment was too small, and was divided into by cotton curtains, behind which was a huge bed with a puffy feather mattress and a pyramid of cotton pillows. In the four rooms for visitors there were beds. Grushenko settled herself just at the door. Mitya set an easy chair for her. She had sat in the same place to watch the dancing and singing the time before, when they had made merry there. All the girls who had come had been there then. The Jewish band with fiddles and zithers had come too, and at last the long-expected cart had arrived with the wines and provisions. Mitya bustled about. All sorts of people began coming into the room to look on, peasants and their women, who had been roused from sleep and attracted by the hopes of another marvelous entertainment such as they had enjoyed a month before. Mitya remembered their faces, greeting and embracing everyone he knew. He uncorked bottles and poured out wine for everyone who presented himself. Only the girls were very eager for the champagne. The men preferred rum, brandy, and above all hot punch. Mitya had chocolate made for all the girls, and in order that three samovars should be kept boiling all night to provide tea and punch for everyone to help himself. An absurd chaotic confusion followed, but Mitya was in his natural element, and the more foolish it became, the more his spirits rose. If the peasants had asked him for money at that moment he would have pulled out his notes and given them away right and left. This was probably why the landlord, Trifan Borisovich, kept hovering about Mitya to protect him. He seemed to have given up all idea of going to bed that night, but he drank little, only one glass of punch, and kept a sharp look out on Mitya's interests after his own fashion. He intervened in the nick of time, civilly and obsequiously persuading Mitya not to give away cigars and rye and wine, and above all money to the peasants as he had done before. He was very indignant, too, at the peasant girls drinking liqueur and eating sweets. There a lousy lot, Dmitry Fyodorovich, he said. I'd give them a kick, every one of them, and they'd take it as an honor. That's all they're worth. Mitya remembered Andrei again, and ordered punch to be sent out to him. I was rude to him just now. He repeated with a sinking, softened voice. Kalganoff did to drink, and at first did not care for the girl singing. But after he had drunk a couple of glasses of champagne he became extraordinarily lively, strolling about the room, laughing and praising the music and the songs, admiring everyone and everything. Maximoff, blissfully drunk, never left his side. Grushenko, too, was beginning to get drunk. Pointing to Kalganoff, she said to Mitya, what a dear, charming boy he is. And Mitya, delighted, ran to kiss Kalganoff and Maximoff. Oh, great were his hopes! She had said nothing yet, and seemed indeed purposely to refrain from speaking. But she looked at him from time to time, with caressing and passionate eyes. At last she suddenly gripped his hand and drew him vigorously to her. She was sitting at the moment in the low chair by the door. How was it you came just now, eh? Have you walked in? I was frightened. So you wanted to give me up to him, did you? Did you really want to? I didn't want to spoil your happiness, Mitya faltered blissfully. But she did not need his answer. Well, go and enjoy yourself. She sent him away once more. Don't cry. I'll call you back again. He would run away, and she listened to the singing and looked at the dancing, though her eyes followed him wherever he went. But in another quarter of an hour she would call him once more, and again he would run back to her. Come, sit beside me, tell me. How did you hear about me, and my coming here yesterday? From whom did you first hear it? And Mitya began telling her all about it, disconnectedly, apparently, feverishly. He spoke strangely, often frowning, and stopping abruptly. What are you frowning at? She asked. Nothing. I left a man ill there. I'd give ten years of my life for him to get well, to know he was all right. Well, never mind him if he's ill. So you meant to shoot yourself tomorrow. What a silly boy. What for? I like such reckless fellows as you, she list, with a rather halting tongue. So you would go any length for me, eh? Did you really mean to shoot yourself tomorrow, you stupid? No, wait a little. Tomorrow I may have something to say to you. I won't say it today, but tomorrow. You'd like it to be today? No, I don't want to today. Come, go along now, go and amuse yourself. Once however, she called him as it were puzzled and uneasy. Why are you sad? I see you're sad. Yes, I see it, she added, looking intently into his eyes. Though you keep kissing the peasants and shouting, I see something. No, be merry. I'm merry, you be merry too. I love somebody here. Guess who it is? Ah, look, my boy has fallen asleep, poor dear, he's drunk. She met Kalganoff. He was, in fact, drunk, and had dropped asleep for a moment, sitting on the sofa. But he was not merely drowsy from drink. He felt suddenly dejected, or as he said, bored. He was intensely depressed by the girl's songs, which, as the drinking went on, gradually became coarse and more reckless. And the dances were as bad. Two girls dressed up as bears, and a lively girl, called Stepanada, with a stick in her hand, acted the part of keeper, and began to show them. Look alive, Maria, or you'll get the stick. The bears rolled on the ground at last in the most unseemly fashion, amid roars of laughter from the closely packed crowd of men and women. Well, let them, let them, said Grushankis, intensely, with an ecstatic expression on her face. When they do get a day to enjoy themselves, why shouldn't folks be happy? Kalganoff looked as though he had been besmirched with dirt. It's swinish, all this peasant foolery, he murmured, moving away. It's the game they play when it's light all night in summer. He particularly disliked one new song to a jaunty dance-tune. It described how a gentleman came and tried his luck with the girls to see whether they would love him. The master came to try the girls. Would they love him? Would they not? But the girls could not love the master. He would beat me cruelly, and such love won't do for me. Then a gypsy comes along, and he too tries. The gypsy came to try the girls. Would they love him? Would they not? But they couldn't love the gypsy, either. He would be a thief, I fear, and would cause me many a tear. And many more men came to try their luck, among them a soldier. The soldier came to try the girls. Would they love him? Would they not? But the soldier is rejected with contempt, in two indecent lines, sung with absolute frankness and producing a furor in the audience. The song ends with a merchant. The merchant came to try the girls. Would they love him? Would they not? And it appears that he wins their love, because the merchant will make gold for me, and his queen I'll gladly be. Pilganoff was positively indignant. That's just a song of yesterday, he said aloud. Who writes such things for them? They might just as well have had a railway man or a Jew come to try his luck with the girls that have carried all before them. And almost as though it were a personal affront, he declared on the spot that he was bored. Sat down on the sofa, and immediately fell asleep. His pretty little face looked rather pale, as it fell back on the sofa cushion. Look how pretty he is, said Grushanka, taking Mitya up to him. I was combing his hair just now. His hair's like flax, and so thick. And bending over him tenderly, she kissed his forehead. Pilganoff instantly opened his eyes, looked at her, stood up, and with the most anxious air inquired, where was Maximoff? So that's who it is you want, Grushanka laughed. Stay with me a minute. Mitya, run and find his Maximoff. Maximoff, it appeared, could not tear himself away from the girls, only running away from time to time to pour himself out a glass of liqueur. He had drunk two cups of chocolate. His face was red, and his nose was crimson, his eyes were moist and mockishly sweet. He ran up and announced that he was going to dance the saboteer. They taught me all those well-bred, aristocratic dances when I was little. Go, go with him, Mitya, and I'll watch from here how he dances, said Grushanka. No, no, I'm coming to look on, too, exclaimed Pilganoff, brushing aside in the most naïve way Grushanka's offered to sit with him. They all went to look on. Maximoff danced his dance. But it roused no great admiration in anyone but Mitya. It consisted of nothing but skipping and hopping, kicking the feet, and at every step Maximoff slapped the upturned soul of his boot. Kalganoff did not like it at all, but Mitya kissed the dancer. Thanks. You're tired, perhaps? What are you looking for here? Would you like some sweets? A cigar, perhaps? A cigarette? Don't you want a drink? I'll just have a liqueur. Have you any chocolates? Yes, there's a heap of them on the table there. Choose one, my dear soul. I like one with vanilla. For old people, he-he. No, brother, we've none of that special sort. I say, the old man bent down to whisper in Mitya's ear. That girl there, little Maria, he-he, how would it be if you were to help me make friends with her? So that's what you're after. No, brother, that won't do. I do no harm to anyone, Maximoff muttered disconsolately. Oh, all right, all right. They only come here to dance and sing, you know, brother. But damn it all, wait a bit. Eat and drink and be merry meanwhile. Don't you want money? You're on, perhaps, Smiled Maximoff. All right, all right. Mitya's head was burning. He went outside to the wooden balcony, which ran around the whole building on the inner side, overlooking the courtyard. The fresh air revived him. He stood alone in a dark corner, and suddenly clutched his head in both hands. His scattered thoughts came together. His sensations blended into a hole and threw a sudden light into his mind. A fearful and terrible light. If I'm to shoot myself, why not now, pass through his mind? Why not go for the pistols, bring them here, and here, in this dark dirty corner, make an end? Almost a minute he stood, undecided. A few hours earlier, when he had been dashing here, he was pursued by disgrace. By the theft he had committed, and that blood, that blood. But yet it was easier for him then. Then everything was over. He had lost her, given her up. She was gone for him. Oh, then his death sentence had been easier for him. At least it had seemed necessary, inevitable, for what had he to stay on earth for. But now? Was it the same as then? Now one phantom, one terror at least, was at an end. That first rightful lover, that fateful figure, had vanished, leaving no trace. The terrible phantom had turned into something so small, so comic. It had been carried into the bedroom and locked in. It would never return. She was ashamed, and from her eyes he could see now whom she loved. Now he had everything to make life happy. But he could not go on living. He could not. Oh, damnation. Oh, God, restore to life the man I knocked down at the fence. Let this fearful cup pass from me. God, thou hast wrought miracles for such sinners as me. But what, what if the old man's alive? Oh, then the shame of the other disgrace I would wipe away. I would restore the stolen money. I'd give it back. I'd get it somehow. No trace of that shame will remain except in my heart forever. But no, no, oh, impossible, cowardly dreams, oh, damnation. Yet there was a ray of light and hope in his darkness. He jumped up and ran back to the room, to her, to her, his queen forever, was not one moment of her love worth all the rest of life, even in the agonies of disgrace. This wild question clutched at his heart, to her, to her alone, to see her, to hear her, to think of nothing, to forget everything, if only for that night, for an hour, for a moment. Just as he turned from the balcony into the passage, he came upon the landlord, Trifin Borisovich. He thought he looked gloomy and worried, and fancied he had come to find him. What is it, Trifin Borisovich? Are you looking for me? No, sir, the landlord seemed disconcerted. Why should I be looking for you? Where have you been? Why do you look so glum? You're not angry, are you? Wait a bit. You shall soon get to bed. What's the time? It'll be three o'clock, past three it must be. We'll leave off soon. We'll leave off. Don't mention it. It doesn't matter. Keep it up as long as you like. What's the matter with him? Mitya wondered for an instant, and he ran back to the room where the girls were dancing. But she was not there. She was not in the blue room, either. There was no one but Kalganoff asleep on the sofa. Mitya peeped behind the curtain. She was there. She was sitting in the corner on a trunk. Bent forward with her head and arms on the bed, close by, she was crying bitterly, doing her utmost to stifle her sobs that she might not be heard. Seeing Mitya, she beckoned him to her, and when he ran to her, she grasped his hand tightly. Mitya, Mitya, I loved him, you know. How I have loved him these five years, all that time. Did I love him, or only my own anger? No, him, him. It's a lie that it was my anger I loved and not him. Mitya, I was only seventeen then. He was so kind to me, so merry, he used to sing to me. Or so it seemed to a silly girl like me. And now, oh Lord, it's not the same man. Even his face is not the same. He's different altogether. I shouldn't have known him. I drove here with Timifee, and all the way I was thinking how I should meet him, what I should say to him, how we should look at one another. My soul was faint, and all of a sudden it was just as though he had emptied a pail of dirty water over me. He talked to me like a schoolmaster, all so grave and learned. He met me so solemnly that I was struck dumb. I couldn't get a word in. At first I thought he was ashamed to talk before his great big pull. I sat staring at him and wondering why I couldn't say a word to him now. It must have been his wife that ruined him. You know he threw me up to get married. She must have changed him like that. Mitya, how shameful it is. Oh, Mitya, I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed for all my life. Curse it, curse it, curse those five years. And again she burst into tears, but clung tight to Mitya's hand and did not let it go. Mitya, darling, stay. Don't go away. I want to say one word to you. She whispered and suddenly raised her face to him. Listen, tell me who it is I love. I love one man here. Who is that man? That's what you must tell me. A smile lighted up her face that was swollen with weeping and her eyes shown in the half-darkness. A falcon flew in and my heart sank. Fool, that's the man you love. That was what my heart whispered to me at once. You came in and all grew bright. What's he afraid of, I wondered, for you were frightened, you couldn't speak. It's not them he's afraid of. Could you be frightened of anyone? It's me he's afraid of, I thought, only me. Theofenya told you, you little stupid, how I called to Alyosha out of the window that I'd loved Mityanka for one hour and that I was going now to love another. Mitya, Mitya, how could I be such a fool as to think I could love anyone after you? Do you forgive me, Mitya? Do you forgive me or not? Do you love me? Do you love me? She jumped up and held him with both hands on his shoulders. Mitya, dumb with rapture, gazed into her eyes at her face, at her smile and suddenly clasped her tightly in his arms and kissed her passionately. You will forgive me for having tormented you? It was through spite I tormented you all. It was for spite I drove the old man out of his mind. Do you remember how you drank at my house one day and broke the wine glass? I remember that and I broke a glass today and drank to my vile heart. Mitya, my falcon, why don't you kiss me? He kissed me once and now he draws back and looks and listens. Why listen to me? Kiss me, kiss me hard, that's right. If you love, well, then love. I'll be your slave now, your slave for the rest of my life. It's sweet to be a slave. Kiss me, beat me, ill treat me, do what you will with me, and I do deserve to suffer. Stay, wait, afterwards I won't have that. She suddenly thrust him away. Go along, Mitya, I'll come and have some wine. I want to be drunk. I'm going to get drunk and dance. I must, I must. She tore herself away from him and disappeared behind the curtain. Mitya followed like a drunken man. Yes, come what may. Whatever may happen now, for one minute I'd give the whole world, he thought. Rushanka did, in fact, toss off a whole glass of champagne at one gulp, and became at once very tipsy. She sat down in the same chair as before, with a blissful smile on her face. Her cheeks were glowing, her lips were burning, her flashing eyes were moist. There was passionate appeal in her eyes. Even Kalgana felt a stir at the heart, and went up to her. Did you feel how I kissed you when you were asleep just now, she said thickly. I'm drunk now, that's what it is. And aren't you drunk? And why isn't Mitya drinking? Why don't you drink, Mitya? I'm drunk, and you don't drink. I am drunk. I'm drunk as it is, drunk with you. And now I'll be drunk with wine, too. He drank off another glass, and he thought it strange himself. That glass made him completely drunk. He was suddenly drunk. Although till that moment he had been quite sober, he remembered that. From that moment everything whirled about him, as though he were delirious. He walked, laughed, talked to everybody, without knowing what he was doing. Only one persistent burning sensation made itself felt continually. Like a red hot coal in his heart, he said afterwards. He went up to her, sat beside her, gazed at her, listened to her. She became very talkative, kept calling everyone to her, and beckoned to different girls out of the chorus. When the girl came up she either kissed her, or made the sign of the crossover her. In another minute she might have cried. She was greatly amused by the little old man, as she called Maximoff. He ran up every minute to kiss her hands, each little finger. Then finally he danced another dance to an old song, which he sang himself. He danced with special vigor to the refrain. The little pig says oomf, oomf, oomf. The little calf says moo, moo, moo. The little duck says quack, quack, quack. The little goose says ga, ga, ga. The hen goes strutting through the porch. True, roo, roo, roo, she'll say. True, roo, roo, roo, roo, she'll say. Give him something, Mitcha, said Grushinka. Give him a present. He's poor, you know. Ah, the poor, the insulted. Do you know, Mitcha, I shall go into a nunnery. No, I really shall one day. Alyosha said something to me today that I shall remember all my life. Yes. But today let us dance, tomorrow to the nunnery, but today we'll dance. I want to play today good people, and what of it? God will forgive us. If I were God I'd forgive everyone. My dear sinners, from this day forth I forgive you. I'm going to beg forgiveness. Forgive me, good people, I stilly winch. I'm a beast. That's what I am. But I want to pray. I gave a little onion, wicked as I've been. I want to pray. Mitcha, let them dance. Don't stop them. Everyone in the world is good. Everyone, even the worst of them. The world's a nice place. Though we're bad, the world's all right. We're good and bad, good and bad. Come, tell me, I have something to ask you. Come here, everyone, and I'll ask you. Why am I so good? You know I am good. I'm very good. Come, why am I so good? So Grushanka babbled on, getting more and more drunk. At last she announced that she was going to dance, too. She got up from her chair, staggering. Mithya, don't give me any more wine. If I ask you, don't give it to me. Wine doesn't give peace. Everything's going round, the stove and everything. I want to dance. Let everyone see how I dance. Let them see how beautifully I dance. She really meant it. She pulled a white cambered handkerchief out of her pocket and took it by one corner in her right hand to wave it in the dance. Mithya ran to and fro. The girls were quiet and got ready to break into a dancing song at the first signal. Maximoff, hearing that Grushanka wanted to dance, squealed with delight and ran, skipping about in front of her humming, with legs so slim and sides so trim and its little tail curled tight. But Grushanka waved her handkerchief at him and drove him away. Shhh. Mithya, why don't they come? Let everyone come to look on. Call them in, too, that were locked in. Why did you lock them in? Tell them I'm going to dance. Let them look on, too. Mithya walked with a drunken swagger to the locked door and began knocking to the poles with his fist. Hi, you, Podbysotsky's. Come, she's going to dance, she calls you. Lajdak, one of the poles shouted in reply. You're a Lajdak yourself. You're a little scoundrel, that's what you are. Leave off laughing at Poland, said Kulganoff sententiously. He, too, was drunk. Be quiet, boy. If I call him a scoundrel, it doesn't mean that I called all Poland so. One Lajdak doesn't make a Poland. Be quiet, my pretty boy, eat a sweet meat. Ah, what fellows, as though they were not men. Why won't they make friends, said Grushenko, and went forward to dance? The chorus broke into, ah, my porch, my new porch. Grushenko flung back her head, half opened her lips, smiled, waved her handkerchief, and suddenly, with a violent lurch, stood still in the middle of the room, looking bewildered. I'm weak, she said, in an exhausted voice. Forgive me. I'm weak, I can't. I'm sorry. She bowed to the chorus and then began bowing in all directions. I'm sorry. Forgive me. The lady's been drinking. The pretty lady has been drinking, voices were heard saying. The lady's drunk too much, Max Moff explained to the girls, giggling. Mitya, lead me away. Take me, said Grushenko helplessly. Mitya pounced on her, snatched her up in his arms, and carried the precious burden through the curtains. Well, now I'll go, thought Kalganoff, and walking out of the blue room, he closed the two halves of the door after him. But the orgy in the larger room went on and grew louder and louder. Mitya laid Grushenko on the bed and kissed her on the lips. Don't touch me, she faltered in an imploring voice. Don't touch me till I'm yours. I've told you I'm yours, but don't touch me, spare me. With them here, with them close, you mustn't. He's here, it's nasty here. I'll obey you, I won't think of it. I worship you, muttered Mitya. Yes, it's nasty here, it's abominable. And still holding her in his arms, he sank on his knees by the bedside. I know, though you're a brute, you're generous, Grushenko articulated with difficulty. It must be honorable. It shall be honorable for the future, and let us be honest. Let us be good, not brute, but good. Take me away, take me far away, do you hear? I don't want it to be here but far, far away. Oh yes, yes, it must be, said Mitya, pressing her in his arms. I'll take you and we'll fly away. Oh, I'd give my whole life for one year only to know about that blood. What blood? Asked Grushenko bewildered. Nothing, muttered Mitya through his teeth. Grusha, you want it to be honest, but I'm a thief. But I've stolen money from Katya. Disgrace, disgrace. From Katya, from that young lady? No, you didn't steal it. Give it back to her, take it from me. Why make a fuss? Now everything of mine is yours. What does money matter? We shall waste it anyway. Folks like us are bound to waste money. But we'd better go and work the land. I want to dig the earth with my own hands. We must work, do you hear? Alyosha said so. I won't be your mistress, I'll be faithful to you. I'll be your slave, I'll work for you. We'll go to the young lady and bow down to her together so that she may forgive us, and then we'll go away. And if she won't forgive us, we'll go anyway. Take her money and love me. Don't love her, don't love her anymore. If you love her, I shall strangle her. I'll put out both her eyes with a needle. I love you, I love only you. I'll love you in Siberia. Why Siberia? Never mind Siberia if you like, I don't care. We'll work. There's snow in Siberia. I love driving in the snow. Men must have bells. Do you hear there's a bell ringing? Where is that bell ringing? There are people coming. Now it's stopped. She closed her eyes, exhausted, and suddenly fell asleep for an instant. There had certainly been the sound of a bell in the distance, but the ringing had ceased. Mitia let his head sink on her breast. He did not notice that the bell had ceased ringing, nor did he notice that the song had ceased, and that instead of singing and drunken clamor, there was absolute stillness in the house. Grushenko opened her eyes. What's the matter? Was I asleep? Yes, a bell. I've been asleep and dreamt I was driving over the snow with bells and I dozed. I was with someone I loved, with you. And far, far away, I was holding you and kissing you, nestling close to you. I was cold and the snow glistened. You know how the snow glistens at night when the moon shines. It was as though I was not on earth. I woke up and my dear one is close to me. How sweet that is. Close to you, remember Mitia, kissing her dress, her bosom, her hands. And suddenly he had a strange fancy. It seemed to him that she was looking straight before her, not at him, not into his face, but over his head, with an intent, almost uncanny, fixity, an expression of wonder, almost of alarm, came suddenly into her face. Mitia, who was that looking at us? She whispered. Mitia turned and saw that someone had, in fact, parted the curtains and seemed to be watching them. And not one person alone, it seemed. He jumped up and walked quickly to the intruder. Here, come to us, come here, said a voice, speaking not loudly, but firmly and preemptorily. Mitia passed to the other side of the curtain and stood stock still. The room was filled with people, but not those who had been there before. An instantaneous shiver ran down his back and he shuddered. He recognized all those people instantly. That tall, stout old man in the overcoat and forage cap with a cockade was the police captain. Mikhail Makarovitch. And that consumptive-looking trim dandy who always had such polished boots, that was the deputy prosecutor. He has a chronometer worth 400 rubles. He showed it to me. And that small, young man in spectacles. Mitia forgot his surname, though he knew him, had seen him. He was the investigating lawyer from the School of Jurisprudence, who had only lately come to the town. And this man, the inspector of police, Mavdike Mavdikevich, a man he knew well. And those fellows with the brass plates on. Why are they here? And those other two, peasants. And they're at the door, Kalganov, with Trifon Borisovich. Gentlemen, what's this for, gentlemen? began Mitia. But suddenly, as though beside himself, not knowing what he was doing, he cried aloud at the top of his voice. I understand. The young man in spectacles moved forward suddenly and stepping up to Mitia began with dignity, though hurriedly. We have to make, in brief, I beg you to come this way, this way to the sofa. It is absolutely imperative that you should give an explanation. The old man cried Mitia frantically. The old man in his blood, I understand. And he sank, almost fell on a chair close by, as though he had been moaned down by a scythe. You understand? He understands it. Monster and parasite. Your father's blood cries out against you. The old captain of police roared suddenly, stepping up to Mitia. He was beside himself, crimson in the face, and quivering all over. This is impossible, cried the small young man. Mihail Makarovitch, Mihail Makarovitch, this won't do. I beg you'll allow me to speak. I should never have expected such behavior from you. This is delirium, gentlemen. Raving delirium, cried the captain of police. Look at him, drunk at this time of night in the company of a disreputable woman with the blood of his father on his hands. It's delirium. I beg you most earnestly, dear Mihail Makarovitch, to restrain your feelings, the prosecutor said in a rapid whisper to the old police captain, or I shall be forced to resort to, but the little lawyer did not allow him to finish. He turned to Mitia and delivered himself in a loud, firm, dignified voice. Next, Lieutenant Karamazov, it is my duty to inform you that you are charged with the murder of your father. Theodore Pavlovitch Karamazov perpetrated this night. He said something more, and the prosecutor, too, put in something. But though Mitia heard them, he did not understand them. He stared at them all with wild eyes. End of book eight, recording by Ashley Candland. Book nine, chapter one of The Brothers Karamazov. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Anna Simon. The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky, translated by Constance Garnett. Book nine, The Preliminary Investigation. Chapter one, The Beginning of Perhotin's Official Career. Piotr Ilyich Perhotin, whom he left knocking at the strong locked gates of the widow Morozov's house, ended, of course, by making himself heard. Fania, who was still excited by the fright she had had two hours before, and too much upset to go to bed, was almost frightened into hysterics on hearing the furious knocking at the gate. Though she had herself seen him drive away, she fancied that it must be Dmitry Fyodorovich knocking again. And no one else could knock so savagely. She ran to the house-porter who had already waked up and gone out to the gate, and began imploring him not to open it. But having questioned Piotr Ilyich, and learned that he wanted to see Fania on very important business, the man made up his mind at last to open. Piotr Ilyich was admitted into Fania's kitchen, but the girl begged him to allow the house-porter to be present because of her misgivings. He began questioning her, and at once learned the most vital fact, that is, that when Dmitry Fyodorovich had run out to look for Grzhenka, he had snatched up a pestle from the mortar, and that when he returned, the pestle was not with him, and his hands were smeared with blood. And the blood was simply flowing, dripping from him, dripping! Fania kept exclaiming. This horrible detail was simply the product of her disordered imagination. But although not dripping, Piotr Ilyich had himself seen those hands stained with blood, and had helped to wash them. Moreover, the question he had to decide was not how soon the blood had dried, but where Dmitry Fyodorovich had run with the pestle, or rather, whether it really was to Fyodor Pavlovich's, and how we could satisfactorily ascertain. Piotr Ilyich persisted in returning to this point, and though he found out nothing conclusive, yet he carried away a conviction that Dmitry Fyodorovich could have gone nowhere but to his father's house, and that, therefore, something must have happened there. And when he came back, Fania added with excitement, I told him the whole story, and then I began asking him, Why have you got blood on your hands, Dmitry Fyodorovich? And he answered that that was human blood, and that he had just killed someone. He confessed it all to me, and suddenly ran off like a madman. I sat down and began thinking, Where is he run off to now, like a madman? He go to Mokkoe, I thought, and kill my mistress there. I ran out to beg him not to kill her. I was running to his lodgings, but I looked at Plotnikov's shop, and saw him just setting off, and there was no blood on his hands then. Fania had noticed this, and remembered it. Fania's old grandmother confirmed her evidence as far as she was capable. After asking some further questions, Piotr Ilyich left the house, even more upset and uneasy than he had been when he entered it. The most direct and the easiest thing for him to do would have been to go straight to Fyodor Pavlovich's, to find out whether anything had happened there, and if so, what, and only to go to the police-captain, as Piotr Ilyich firmly intended doing, when he had satisfied himself of the fact. But the night was dark, Fyodor Pavlovich's gates were strong, and he would have to knock again. His acquaintance with Fyodor Pavlovich was at the slightest, and what if, after he'd been knocking, they opened to him, and nothing had happened? Fyodor Pavlovich, in his jarring way, would go telling the story all over the town, how a stranger called Prohotin had broken in upon him at midnight to ask if anyone had killed him. It would make a scandal, and scandal was what Piotr Ilyich dreaded more than anything in the world. Yet the feeling that possessed him was so strong, that, though he stemmed his foot angrily and swore at himself, he set off again, not to Fyodor Pavlovich's, but to Madame Chachlakov's. He decided that if she denied having just given Dmitry Fyodor Pavlovich 3,000 rubles, he would go straight to the police-captain, but if she admitted having given him the money, he would go home and let the metal rest till next morning. It is, of course, perfectly evident that there was even more likelihood of causing scandal by going at eleven o'clock at night to a fashionable lady, a complete stranger, and perhaps rousing her from her bed to ask her an amazing question, then by going to Fyodor Pavlovich. But that is just how it is, sometimes, especially in cases like the present one, with the decisions of the most precise and phlegmatic people. Piotr Ilyich was by no means phlegmatic at that moment. He remembered all his life, how a haunting uneasiness gradually gained possession of him, growing more and more painful, and driving him on against his will. Yet he kept cursing himself, of course, all the way for going to this lady, but, I will get to the bottom of it, I will! He repeated for the tenth time, grinding his teeth, and he carried out his intention. It was exactly eleven o'clock when he entered Madame Chachlakov's house. He was admitted into the yard pretty quickly, but in response to his inquiry, whether the lady was still up, the porter could give no answer, except that she was usually in bed by the time. Art got atop of the stairs. If the lady wants to receive you, she'll receive you. If she won't, she won't. Piotr Ilyich went up, but did not find things so easy here. The footman was unwilling to take in his name, but finally called a maid. Piotr Ilyich, politely but insistently begged her to inform her lady that an official living in the town, called Pahotin, had called on particular business, and that if it were not of the greatest importance he would not have ventured to come. Tell her in those words, in those words exactly, he asked the girl. She went away. He remained waiting in the entry. Madame Chachlakov herself was already in her bedroom, though not yet asleep. She had felt upset ever since Mitya's visit, and had a presentment that she would not get through the night without a sick headache which always, with her, followed such excitement. She was surprised on hearing the announcement from the maid. She irritably declined to see him, however, though the unexpected visit at such an hour of an official living in the town, who was a total stranger, roused her feminine curiosity intensely. But this time Piotr Ilyich was as obstinate as a mule. He begged the maid, most earnestly, to take another message in these very words, that he had come on business of the greatest importance, and that Madame Chachlakov might have caused her regretted later if she refused to see him now. I plunged headlong, he described it afterwards. The maid, gazing at him in amazement, went to take his message again. Madame Chachlakov was impressed. She thought a little, asked what he looked like, and learned that he was very well dressed, young, and so polite. We may note, parenthetically, that Piotr Ilyich was a rather good-looking young man, and well aware of the fact. Madame Chachlakov made up her mind to see him. She was in her dressing-gown, and slippers, but she flung a black shawl over her shoulders. The official was asked to walk into the drawing-room, the very room in which Mitja had been received shortly before. The lady came to meet her visitor, with a sternly inquiring countenance, and, without asking him to sit down, began at once with the question, What do you want? I have ventured to disturb you, madam, on a matter concerning our common acquaintance, Dmitry Fyodorovich Karmasov, for hot and began. But he had hardly uttered the name, when the lady's face showed signs of acute irritation. She almost shrieked, and interrupted him in a fury. How much longer am I to be worried by that awful man? She cried hysterically. How dare you, sir! How could you venture to disturb a lady who is a stranger to you, in her own house, at such an hour, and to force herself upon her to talk of a man who came here to this very drawing-room, only three hours ago, to murder me, and went stamping out of the room, as no one would go out of a decent house? Let me tell you, sir, that I shall lodge a complaint against you, that I will not let it pass. Kindly leave me at once. I am a mother. I... I... Murder? Then he tried to murder you, too? Why, has he killed somebody else? Madame Chachlikov asked impulsively. If you would kindly listen, madam, for half a moment, I'll explain it all in a couple of words, answered Perotin firmly. At five o'clock this afternoon Dmitry Fyodorovich borrowed ten rubles from me, and I know for a fact he had no money. Yet at nine o'clock he came to see me with a bundle of hundred rubles notes in his hand, about two or three thousand rubles. His hands and face were all covered with blood, and he looked like a madman. When I asked him where he had got so much money, he answered that he had just received it from you, and that you had given him a sum of three thousand to go to the gold mines. Madame Chachlikov's face assumed an expression of intense and painful excitement. Good God! He must have killed his old father! She cried, clasping her hands. I have never given him money, never! Oh! Run! Run! Don't say another word! Save the old man! Yes, Father! Run! Excuse me, Madame. Then you did not give him money? You remember for a fact that you did not give him any money? No, I didn't. I didn't. I refused to give it him, for he could not appreciate it. He ran out in a fury, stamping. He rushed at me, but I slipped away, and let me tell you, as I wish to hide nothing from you now, that he positively spat at me. Can you fancy that? But why are we standing? Ah! Sit down. Excuse me. I— Or better, run! Run! You must run, and save the poor old man from an awful death. But if he has killed him already— Ah! Good heavens, yes! Then what are we to do now? What do you think we must do now? Meantime she had made Pyotr Ilyich sit down, and sat down herself, facing him. Briefly, but fairly clearly, Pyotr Ilyich told her the history of the affair—that part of it, at least, which he had himself witnessed. He described to his visit to Fenya, and told her about the pestle. All these details produce an overwhelming effect on the distracted lady, who kept uttering shrieks, and covering her face with her hands. Would you believe it? I foresaw all this. I have had special faculty, whatever I imagined comes to pass. And how often I have looked at that awful man, and always thought, that man will end by murdering me. Even now it's happened. That is, if he hasn't murdered me, but only his own father, it's only because the finger of God preserved me. And what's more, he was ashamed to murder me, because in his very place I put the holy icon from the relics of the holy martyr, St. Vavra, on his neck. And to think how near I was to death at that minute I went close up to him, and he stretched out his neck to me. Do you know Pyotr Ilyich? I think you said your name was Pyotr Ilyich? I don't believe in miracles, but that icon, and this unmistakable miracle with me now, that shakes me, and I'm ready to believe in anything you like. Have you heard about Father Sosima? But I don't know what I'm saying. And only fancy with the icon on his neck, he spattered me. He only spattered, it's true. He didn't murder me, and he dashed away. But what shall we do? What must we do now? What do you think? Pyotr Ilyich got up, and announced that he was going straight to the police captain, to tell him all about it, and leave him to do what he thought fit. Oh, he's an excellent man, excellent. Mikhail Makarovitch, I know him. Of course, he's the person to go to. How practical you are, Pyotr Ilyich. How well you've thought of everything. I should never have thought of it in your place. Especially as I know the police captain very well too, observed Pyotr Ilyich, who still continued to stand, and was obviously anxious to escape as quickly as possible from the impulsive lady, who would not let him say goodbye and go away. And be sure, be sure, she paddled on, to come back and tell me what you see there, and what you find out, what comes to light, how they'll try him, and what he's condemned to. Tell me, we have no capital punishment, have we? But be sure to come, even if it's at three o'clock at night, at four, at half past four. Tell them to wake me, to wake me, to shake me, if I don't get up. But good heavens, I shan't sleep. But wait, and I better come with you. No, but if you would write three lines with your own hand, stating that you did not give Dmitriy Fyodorovitch money, it might perhaps be of use, in case it's needed. To be sure, Madame Khaklakov skipped the lighted to her bureau, and you know, I'm simply struck, amazed at your resourcefulness, your good sense in such affairs. Are you in the service here? I'm delighted to think that you're in the service here. And still speaking, she scribbled on half a sheet of no paper the following lines. I've never in my life lent to that unhappy man, Dmitriy Fyodorovitch Karamazov, for in spite of all he is unhappy, 3,000 rubles today, I've never given him money, never let I swear by all that's holy. Kar Khaklakov. Here's the note, she turned quickly to Pyotr Ilyich. Go, save him, it's a noble deed on your part. And she made the sign of the cross three times over him. She ran out to accompany him to the passage. How grateful I am to you. You can't think how grateful I am to you for having come to me first. How is it I haven't met you before? I shall be flattered at seeing you at my house in the future. How delightful it is that you're living here. Such precision, such practical ability. They must appreciate you. They must understand you. If there's anything I can do, believe me. Oh, I love young people. I'm in love with young people. The younger generation are the one prop of our suffering country, her one hope. Oh, go, go! But Pyotr Ilyich had already run away or she would not have let him go so soon. Yet Madame Khaklakov had made a rather agreeable impression on him, which had somewhat softened his anxiety at being drawn into such an unpleasant affair. Tastes differ as we all know. She's by no means so elderly, he thought, feeling pleased. On the contrary, I should have taken her for her daughter. As for Madame Khaklakov, she was simply enchanted by the young man. Such sense, such exactness, in so young a man. In our day, and all that with such manners and appearance, people say the young people of today are no good for anything, but here's an example, etc. So she simply forgot this dreadful affair, and it was only as she was getting into bed that suddenly recalling how near at death she had been, she exclaimed, Ah, it is awful, awful! But she thought at once into a sound sweet sleep. I would not, however, have dwelt on such trivial and irrelevant details if this eccentric meeting of the young official with the by no means elderly widow had not subsequently turned out to be the foundation of the whole career of that practical and precise young man. His story is remembered to this day with amazement in our town, and I shall perhaps have something to say about it when I have finished my long history of the Brothers Karamazov. End of Chapter 1 of Book 9 Book 9, Chapter 2 of the Brothers Karamazov. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Martin Giesen The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky Translated by Constance Garnet Book 9, Chapter 2, The Alarm Our police captain, Mikhail Makarovitch Makarov, a retired lieutenant colonel, was a widower and an excellent man. He had only come to us three years previously, but had won general esteem, chiefly because he knew how to keep society together. He was never without visitors and could not have got on without them. Someone or other was always dining with him. He never sat down to table without guests. He gave regular dinners, too, on all sorts of occasions, sometimes most surprising ones. Though the fare was not recherche, it was abundant. The fish pies were excellent and the wine made up in quantity for what it lacked in quality. The first room his guests entered was a well-fitted billiard room with pictures of English racehorses in black frames on the walls, an essential decoration, as we all know, for a bachelor's billiard room. There was card playing every evening at his house, if only at one table, but at frequent intervals, all the society of our town, with the mamas and young ladies, assembled at his house to dance. Mikhail Makarovitch was a widower. He did not live alone. His widowed daughter lived with him, with her two unmarried daughters, grown-up girls who had finished their education. They were of agreeable appearance and lively character, and though everyone knew they would have no dowry, they attracted all the young men of fashion to their grandfather's house. Mikhail Makarovitch was by no means very efficient in his work, though he performed his duties no worse than many others. To speak plainly, he had a rather narrow education. His understanding of the limits of his administrative power could not always be relied upon. It was not so much that he failed to grasp certain reforms enacted during the present reign as that he made conspicuous blunders in his interpretation of them. This was not from any special lack of intelligence, but from carelessness, for he was always in too great a hurry to go into the subject. I had the heart of a soldier rather than of a civilian, he used to say of himself. He had not even formed a definite idea of the fundamental principles of the reforms connected with the emancipation of the serfs, and only picked it up, so to speak, from year to year, involuntarily increasing his knowledge by practice. And yet he was himself a landowner. Pyotr Ilyich knew for certain that he would meet some of Mikhail Makarovitch's visitors there that evening, but he did not know which. As it happened at that moment, the prosecutor and Varvinsky, our district doctor, a young man who had only just come to us from Petersburg after taking a brilliant degree at the Academy of Medicine were playing wist at the police captains. Ipolit Kirilovich, the prosecutor, he was really the deputy prosecutor, but we always called him the prosecutor, was rather a peculiar man of about five and thirty, inclined to be consumptive and married to a fat and childless woman. He was vain and irritable, though he had a good intellect and even a kind heart. It seemed that all that was wrong with him was that he had a better opinion of himself than his ability warranted, and that made him seem constantly uneasy. He had moreover certain higher, even artistic leanings towards psychology, for instance a special study on the human heart, a special knowledge of the criminal and his crime. He cherished grievance on this ground, considering that he had been passed over in the service and being firmly persuaded that in higher spheres he had not been properly appreciated and had enemies. In gloomy moments, he even threatened to give up his post and practice as a barrister in criminal cases. The unexpected Karamazov case agitated him profoundly. It was a case that might well be talked about all over Russia. But I am anticipating. Nikolai Parfenovich Nelyudov, the young investigating lawyer who had only come from Petersburg two months before, was sitting in the next room with the young ladies. People talked about it afterwards and wondered that all the gentlemen should have so intentionally on the evening of the crime were together at the house of the executive authority. Yet it was perfectly simple and happened quite naturally. Ipolit Kirilovich's wife had had toothache for the last two days and he was obliged to go out to escape from her groans. The doctor from the very nature of his being could not spend an evening except at Cards. Nikolai Parfenovich Nelyudov had been intending for three days past to drop in that evening at Mikhail Makarovitch's so to speak casually so as slyly to startle the eldest granddaughter Olga Mikhailovna by showing that he knew her secret, that he knew it was her birthday and that she was trying to conceal it on purpose so as not to be obliged to give a dance. He anticipated a great deal of merriment when he playful jests about her age and her being afraid to reveal it about his knowing her secret and telling everybody and so on. The charming young man was a great adept at such teasing. The ladies had christened him the naughty man and he seemed to be delighted at the name. He was extremely well bred, however, of good family, education and feelings and though leading a life of pleasure his sallies were always innocent and in good taste. He was short and delicate looking. On his white slender little fingers he always wore a number of big glittering rings. When he was engaged in his official duties he always became extra-ordinary grave as though realising his position and the sanctity of the obligations laid upon him. He had a special gift for mystifying murderers and other criminals of the peasant class during interrogation and if he did not win their respect he certainly succeeded in arousing their wonder. Piotr Ilyich was simply dumbfounded when he went into the police captains. He saw instantly that everyone knew. They had positively thrown down their cards always standing up and talking. Even Nikolai Parvenievich had left the young ladies and run in looking strenuous and ready for action. Piotr Ilyich was met with the astounding news that old Fyodor Pavlovich really had been murdered that evening in his own house, murdered and robbed. The news had only just reached them in the following manner. Marfa Ignatyevna, the wife of old Grigori who had been knocked senseless near the fence was sleeping soundly in her bed and might well have slept till morning after the draught she had taken. But all of a sudden she waked up no doubt roused by a fearful epileptic scream from Smrtyakov, who was lying in the next room unconscious. That scream always preceded his fit and always terrified and upset Marfa Ignatyevna. She could never get accustomed to it. She jumped up and ran half awake to Smrtyakov's room. But it was dark there and she could only hear the invalid beginning to gasp and struggle. Then Marfa Ignatyevna herself screamed out and was going to call her husband. But suddenly realized that when she had got up he was not beside her in bed. She ran back to the bedstead and began groping with her hands but the bed was really empty. And he must have gone out. Where? She ran to the steps and timidly called him. She got no answer, of course, but she caught the sound of groans far away in the garden in the darkness. She listened. The groans were repeated and it was evident they came from the garden. Good Lord! Just as it was with Lisaveta Smrtyashchaya she thought distractedly. She went timidly down the steps and saw that the gate into the garden was open. He must be out there, poor dear! She thought. She went up to the gate and all at once she distinctly heard Grigori calling her by name. Marfa! Marfa! In a weak, moaning, dreadful voice. Lord, preserve us from harm! Marfa Ignatyevna murmured and ran towards the voice and that was how she found Grigori. But she found him knocked by the fence where he had been knocked down but about twenty paces off. It appeared later that he had crawled away on coming to himself and probably had been a long time getting so far losing consciousness several times. She noticed at once that he was covered with blood and screamed at the top of her voice. Grigori was muttering incoherently. He has murdered. His father murdered. Why scream, silly? Run! Petch someone! But Marfa continued screaming and seeing that her master's window was open and that there was a candle, a light in the window and she ran there and began calling Fyodor Pavlovich. But peeping in at the window she saw a fearful sight. Her master was lying on his back motionless on the floor. His light-coloured dressing gown and white shirt were soaked with blood. The candle on the table brightly lighted up the blood and the motionless dead face of Fyodor Pavlovich. Terror-stricken Marfa rushed away from the window, ran out of the garden, drew the bolt of the big gate and rang headlong by the back way to the neighbour, Maria Kondratyevna. Both mother and daughter were asleep but they waked up at Marfa's desperate and persistent screaming and knocking at the shutter. Marfa, shrieking and screaming incoherently, managed to tell them the main fact and to beg for assistance. It happened that Fomer had come back from his wanderings and was staying the night with them. They got him up immediately and all three ran to the scene of the crime. On the way, Maria Kondratyevna remembered that at about eight o'clock she heard a dreadful scream from their garden and this was no doubt Grigori's scream. Pariside! Uttered when he caught hold of Mitya's leg. Some one person screamed out and then was silent, Maria Kondratyevna explained as she ran. Running to the place where Grigori lay, the two women with the help of Fomer carried him to the lodge. They lighted the candle and saw that Smerdiakov was no better but he was writhing in convulsions, his eyes fixed in a squint and that foam was flowing from his lips. They moistened Grigori's forehead with water mixed with vinegar and the water revived him at once. He asked immediately, is the master murdered? Then Fomer and both the women ran to the house and saw this time that not only the window but also the door into the garden was wide open. Both Fyodor Pavlovich had for the last week locked himself in every night and did not allow even Grigori to come in on any pretext. Seeing that door open they were afraid to go into Fyodor Pavlovich for fear anything should happen afterwards. And when they returned to Grigori the old man told them to go straight to the police captain. Maria Kondratyevna ran there and gave the alarm to the whole party at the police captains. She arrived only five minutes before Piotr Ilyich so that his story came not as his own surmise and theory but as the direct confirmation by a witness of the theory held by all as to the identity of the criminal. A theory he had in the bottom of his heart refused to believe till that moment. It was resolved to act with energy. The deputy police inspector of the town was commissioned to take four witnesses to enter Fyodor Pavlovich's house and there to open an inquiry on the spot according to the regular forms which I will not go into here. The district doctor, a zealous man, knew to his work almost insisted on accompanying the police captain, wrapped in the prosecutor and the investigating lawyer. I will note briefly that Fyodor Pavlovich was found to be quite dead with his skull battered in. But with what? Most likely with the same weapon with which Grigori had been attacked and immediately that weapon was found. Grigori to whom all possible medical assistance was at once given described in a weak and breaking voice how he had been knocked down. They began looking with a lantern by the fence and found the brass pestle dropped in the most conspicuous place on the garden path. There were no signs of disturbance in the room where Fyodor Pavlovich was lying. But by the bed behind the screen they picked up from the floor a big and thick envelope with the inscription a present of 3,000 rubles for my angel Grushenka if she is willing to come. And below that had been added by Fyodor Pavlovich for my little chicken. There were three seals of red sealing racks on the envelope but it had been torn open and was empty. The money had been removed. They found also on the floor a piece of narrow pink ribbon with which the envelope had been tied up. One piece of Piotr Ilyich's evidence made a great impression on the prosecutor and the investigating magistrate. Namely his idea that Mr. Fyodorovich would shoot himself before daybreak that he had resolved to do so had spoken of it to Ilyich had taken the pistols, loaded them before him written a letter, put it in his pocket, etc. When Piotr Ilyich, though still unwilling to believe in it threatened to tell someone so as to prevent the suicide Mitya had answered grinning you'll be too late so they must make haste to McCroyer to find the criminal before he really did shoot himself. That's clear, that's clear repeated the prosecutor in great excitement that's just the way with mad fellows like that I shall kill myself tomorrow so I'll make merry till I die. The story of how he had bought the wine and provisions excited the prosecutor more than ever. Do you remember the fellow that murdered a merchant called Olsufiev, gentlemen? In 1500 went at once to have his hair curled and then without even hiding the money carried it almost in his hand in the same way he went off to the girls all were delayed however by the inquiry, the search and the formalities etc in the house of Fyodor Pavlovich it all took time and so two hours before starting they sent on ahead to McCroyer the officer of the rural police Mavriky Mavrikyevich Schmerzov who had arrived in the town the morning before to get his pay he was instructed to avoid raising the alarm when he reached McCroyer but to keep constant watch over the criminal till the arrival of the proper authorities to procure also witnesses for the arrest, police constables and so on Mavriky Mavrikyevich did as he was told preserving his incognito and giving no one but his old acquaintance Trifon Borisovich the slightest hint of his secret business he had spoken to him just before Mitya met the landlord in the balcony looking for him in the dark and noticed at once a change in Trifon Borisovich's face and voice so neither Mitya nor anyone else knew that he was being watched the box with the pistols had been carried off by Trifon Borisovich and put in a suitable place only after four o'clock almost at sunrise all the officials, the police captain the prosecutor, the investigating lawyer drove up in two carriages each drawn by three horses the doctor remained at Fyodor Pavlovich's to make a post-mortem next day on the body but he was particularly interested in the condition of the servants Mertiakov such violent and protracted epileptic fits continually for 24 hours are rarely to be met with and are of interest to science he declared enthusiastically to his companions and as they left they laughingly congratulated him on his find the prosecutor and the investigating lawyer distinctly remembered the doctor saying that Mertiakov could not outlive the night after these long but I think necessary explanations we will return to that moment of our tale at which we broke off end of chapter 2 of book 9 recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey book 9, chapter 3 of The Brothers Karamazov this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Bob Sherman The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky translated by Konstantz Garnet book 9, chapter 3 the sufferings of a soul the first ordeal and so Mitya sat looking wildly at the people around him not understanding what was said to him suddenly he got up flung up his hands and shouted aloud I'm not guilty I'm not guilty of that blood I'm not guilty of my father's blood I meant to kill him I'm not guilty not I but he had hardly said this before Grushenko rushed from behind the curtain and flung herself at the police captain's feet it was my fault my wickedness she cried in a heart-rending voice bathed in tears stretching out her clasp tans towards them he did it through me I tortured him and drove him to it I tortured that poor old man that's dead too in my wickedness it's my fault, mine first mine most my fault yes it's your fault you're the chief criminal you fury, you harlot you're the most of blame shouted the police captain threatening her with his hand but he was quickly and resolutely suppressed the prosecutor positively seized hold of him this is absolutely irregular Mikhail Makarevich he cried you are positively hindering the inquiry you're ruining the case he gasped follow the regular course follow the regular course Grushenko cried frantically still kneeling punish us together I will go with him now if it's to death Grusha my life my blood Mitya fell on his knees beside her and held her tight in his arms don't believe her he cried of anything, of any blood, of anything he remembered afterwards that he was forcibly dragged away from her by several men and that she was let out and that when he recovered himself he was sitting at the table beside him and behind him stood the men with metal plates facing him on the other side of the table sat Nikolai Parfenovich the investigating lawyer he kept persuading him to drink a little water out of a glass that stood on the table that will refresh you that will calm you, be calm don't be frightened he added extremely politely Mitya he remembered it afterwards became suddenly intensely interested in his big rings one with an amethyst and another with a transparent bright yellow stone of great brilliance and long afterwards he remembered with wonder how those rings had riveted his attention through all those terrible hours so that he was utterly unable to tear himself away from them and dismiss them as things that had nothing to do with his position on Mitya's left side in the place where Maximov had been sitting at the beginning of the evening the prosecutor was now seated and on Mitya's right hand where Grushenko had been was a rosy cheeked young man in a sort of shabby hunting jacket with ink and paper before him this was the secretary of the investigating lawyer and got him with him the police captain was now standing by the window at the other end of the room beside Kalganov who was sitting there drink some water said the investigating lawyer softly for the tenth time I have drunk it gentlemen I have but come gentlemen crush me, punish me, decide my fate cried Mitya staring with terribly fixed wide open eyes at the investigating lawyer so you positively declare that you are not guilty of the death of your father Fyodor Pavlovich asked the investigating lawyer softly but insistently I am not guilty I am guilty of the blood of another old man but not of my fathers and I weep for it I killed I killed the old man and knocked him down but it's hard to have to answer for that murder with another a terrible murder of which I am not guilty it's a terrible accusation gentlemen and knock down blow but who has killed my father who has killed him who can have killed him if I didn't it's marvellous extraordinary impossible yes who can have killed him the investigating lawyer was beginning but Ipolit Kirilovich the prosecutor glancing at him addressed Mitya you need not worry yourself about the old servant Grigory Vasilyevich he is alive he has recovered despite of the terrible blows inflicted according to his own and your evidence by you there seems no doubt that he will live so the doctor says at least alive he's alive cried Mitya flinging up his hands his face beamed Lord I thank thee for the miracle thou hast wrought for me a sinner and evildoer that's an answer to my prayer I've been praying all night and he crossed himself three times he was almost breathless so from this Grigory we have received such important evidence concerning you that the prosecutor would have continued but Mitya suddenly jumped up from his chair one minute gentlemen for God's sake one minute I will run to her excuse me at this moment it's quite impossible Nikolai Paifenevich almost freaked he too leaped to his feet Mitya was seized by the men with the metal plates but he sat down of his own accord gentlemen what a pity I wanted to see her for one minute only I wanted to tell her that it has been washed away it has gone that blood that was weighing on my heart all night and that I am not a murderer now gentlemen she is my betrothed he said ecstatically and reverently looking round at them all oh thank you gentlemen oh in one minute you have given me new life new heart that old man used to carry me in his arms gentlemen he used to wash me in the tub maybe three years old abandoned by everyone he was like a father to me and so you the investigating lawyer began allow me gentlemen allow me one minute more interposed Mitya putting his elbows on the table and covering his face with his hands let me have a moment to think let me breathe gentlemen all this is horribly upsetting horribly a man is not a drum gentlemen drink a little more water murmured Nikolai Paifenevich Mitya took his hands from his face and laughed his eyes were confident he seemed completely transformed in a moment his whole bearing was changed he was once more the equal of these men with all of whom he was acquainted as though they had all met the day before when nothing had happened at some social gathering we may note in passing that on his first arrival Mitya had been made very welcome at the police captains but later during the last month especially Mitya had hardly called at all and when the police captain met him in the street for instance Mitya noticed that he frowned and only bowed out of politeness his acquaintance with the prosecutor was less intimate though he sometimes paid his wife a nervous and fanciful lady visits of politeness without quite knowing why and she always received him graciously and had for some reason taken an interest in him up to the last he had not had time to get to know the meeting lawyer though he had met him and talked to him twice each time about the fair sex you're a most skillful lawyer I see Nikolai Parfenovich cried Mitya laughing gaily but I can help you now oh gentlemen I feel like a new man and don't be offended at my addressing you so simply and directly I'm rather drunk too I'll tell you that frankly I believe I've had the honour and pleasure of meeting you Nikolai Parfenovich gentlemen, gentlemen gentlemen I don't pretend to be on equal terms with you I understand of course in what character I'm sitting before you of course there's a horrible suspicion hanging over me if Grigori has given evidence horrible suspicion it's awful, awful I understand that but to business gentlemen I'm ready and we will make an end of it in one moment for listen, listen gentlemen since I know I'm innocent listen to it in a minute, can't we? can't we? Mitya spoke much and quickly nervously and effusively as though he positively took his listeners to be his best friends so for the present we will write that you absolutely deny the charge brought against you said Nikolai Parfenovich impressively and bending down to the secretary he dictated to him in an undertone what to write write it down? well write it I consent, I give my full consent gentlemen only do you see stay, stay, write this of disorderly conduct I am guilty of violence on a poor old man I am guilty and there is something else at the bottom of my heart of which I am guilty too but that you need not write down he turned suddenly to the secretary that's my personal life gentlemen that doesn't concern you the bottom of my heart that's to say but of the murder of my old father I am not guilty that's a wild idea it's quite a wild idea I will prove you that and you'll be convinced directly you will laugh gentlemen you'll laugh yourselves at your suspicion be calmed Mitya Fyodorovich said the investigating lawyer evidently trying to allay Mitya's excitement by his own composure before we go on with our inquiry I should like if you will consent to answer to hear you confirm the statement that you disliked your father Fyodor Pavlovich that you were involved in continual disputes with him here at least a quarter of an hour ago you exclaimed that you wanted to kill him I didn't kill him you said but I wanted to kill him did I exclaim that ah that may be so gentlemen yes unhappily I did want to kill him many times I wanted to unhappily unhappily you wanted to explain what motives precisely led you to such a sentiment of hatred for your parent what is there to explain gentlemen Mitya shrugged his shoulders sullenly looking down I have never concealed my feelings all the town knows about it everyone knows in the tavern only lately I declared him a father's osimus cell and the very same day in the evening I beat my father I nearly killed him and I swore I'd come again and kill him oh a thousand witnesses I've been shouting it aloud for the last month anyone can tell you that the fact stares you in the face it speaks for itself it cries aloud but feelings gentlemen feelings are another matter you see gentlemen Mitya frowned it seemed to me that about feelings you've no right to question me I know that you are bound by your office I quite understand that yet since I haven't concealed my feelings in the past in the tavern for instance I've talked to everyone so so I won't make a secret of it now you see I understand gentlemen that there are terrible facts against me in this business I told everyone that I'd kill him and now all of a sudden he's been killed so it must have been me I can make allowances for you gentlemen I can quite make allowances I'm struck all over heaped myself for who can have murdered him if not I that's what it comes to isn't it if not I who can it be who? a gentleman I want to know I insist on knowing he explained suddenly where was he murdered how was he murdered how and with what tell me he asked quickly looking at the two lawyers we found him in his study lying on his back on the floor with his head battered in said the prosecutor that's horrible Mitya shuddered and putting his elbows on the table hit his face in his right hand we will continue interposed Nikolai Parfenovich so what was it that impelled you to this sentiment of hatred you have asserted in public I believe that it was based upon jealousy well yes jealousy not only jealousy disputes about money yes about money too there was a dispute about 3,000 rubles I think which you claimed as part of your inheritance 3,000 more more cried Mitya hotly more than 6,000 more than 10 perhaps I told everyone so shouted it at them but I made up my mind to let it go at 3,000 I was desperately in need of that 3,000 so the bundle of notes for 3,000 that I knew he kept under his pillow ready for Grushenko I considered a simply stolen for me yes gentlemen I looked upon it as mine as my own property the prosecutor looked significantly at the investigating lawyer and had time to wink at him on the sly we will return to that subject later said the lawyer promptly you will allow us to note that point and write it down that you looked upon that money as your own property write it down by all means I know that's another fact that tells against me but I'm not afraid of facts and I tell them against myself do you hear gentlemen you take me for a different sort of man from what I am he added suddenly gloomy and dejected you have to deal with a man of honor a man of the highest honor above all don't lose sight of it a man who's done a lot of nasty things but has always been and still is honorable at bottom in his inner being I don't know how to express it that's just what made me wretched all my life that I yearned to be honorable that I was to say a martyr to a sense of honor seeking for it with a lantern with a lantern of diogenes and yet all my life I've been doing filthy things like all of us gentlemen that is like me alone that was a mistake like me alone me alone gentlemen my head aches his brows contracted with pain you see gentlemen I couldn't bear the look of him there was something in him ignoble impudent trampling on everything sacred something sneering in the reverent loathsome loathsome but now that he's dead I feel differently how do you mean I don't feel differently but I wish I hadn't hated him so you feel penitent no not penitent don't write that I'm not much good myself I'm not very beautiful so I had no right to consider him repulsive that's what I mean write that down if you like saying this Mitya became very mournful he had grown more and more gloomy as the inquiry continued at that moment another unexpected scene followed the Grushenka had been removed she had not been taken far away only into the room next but one from the blue room in which the examination was proceeding it was a little room with one window next beyond the large room in which they had danced and feasted so lavishly she was sitting there with no one by her but Maximov who was terribly depressed terribly scared and clung to her side as though for security at their door stood one of the peasants with a metal plate on his breast Grushenka was crying and suddenly her grief was too much for her she jumped up flung up her arms and with a loud wail of sorrow rushed out of the room to him to her Mitya and so unexpectedly that they had not time to stop her Mitya hearing her cry trembled jumped up and with a yell rushed impetuously to meet her not knowing what he was doing but they were not allowed to come together though they saw one another he was seized by the arms he struggled and tried to tear himself away it took three or four men to hold him she was seized too and he saw her stretching out her arms to him crying aloud as they carried her away when the scene was over again sitting in the same place as before opposite the investigating lawyer and crying out to them what do you want with her why do you torment her she's done nothing nothing the lawyers tried to soothe him about ten minutes passed like this at last Mihail Makarovitch who had been absent came hurriedly into the room and said in a loud and excited voice to the prosecutor she's been removed she's downstairs will you allow me to say one word to this unhappy man gentlemen in your presence gentlemen in your presence by all means Mihail Makarovitch answered the investigating lawyer in the present case we have nothing against it listened Dimitri Fyodorovitch my dear fellow began the police captain and there was a look of warm almost fatherly feeling for the luckless prisoner on his excited face I took your agrafeina Alexanderovna downstairs myself and confided her to the care of the landlord's daughters that old fellow Maximov is with her all the time and I soothed her do you hear I soothed and calmed her I impressed on her that you have to clear yourself so she mustn't hinder you must not depress you or you may lose your head and say the wrong thing in your evidence in fact I talked to her and she understood she's a sensible girl my boy a good hearted girl she would have kissed my old hands begging help for you to tell you not to worry about her and I must go my dear fellow I must go and tell her that you are calm and comforted about her and so you must be calm do you understand I was unfair to her she is a Christian soul gentleman yes I tell you she's a gentle soul and not to blame for anything so what am I to tell her Dimitri Fyodorovitch would you sit quiet or not the good natured police captain said a great deal that was irregular but Grushenko's suffering a fellow creature's suffering touched his good natured heart and tears stood in his eyes Meteor jumped up and rushed towards him forgive me gentlemen oh allow me allow me he cried you've the heart of an angel an angel Mikhail Makarovitch I thank you for her I will I will be calm cheerful in fact tell her in the kindness of your heart that I am cheerful quite cheerful in it knowing that she has a guardian angel like you I shall have done with all this directly and as soon as I'm free I'll be with her she'll see let her wait gentlemen he said turning to the two lawyers now I'll open my whole soul to you I'll pour out everything we'll finish this off directly finish it off gaily we shall laugh at it in the end, shan't we but gentlemen that woman is the queen of my heart oh let me tell you that I'll tell you now I see I'm with honorable men she is my light she is my holy one and if only you you did you hear her cry I'll go to death with you and what have I a penniless beggar done for her why such love for me how can a clumsy ugly brute like me with my ugly face deserve such love that she is ready to go to exile with me and how she fell down at your feet just now and yet she's proud and has done nothing how can I help adoring her how can I help crying out and rushing to her as I did just now gentlemen forgive me but now I am comforted and he sank back in his chair and covering his face with his hands burst into tears but they were happy tears he recovered himself instantly the old police captain seemed much pleased and the lawyers also they felt that the examination was passing into a new phase when the police captain went out Mithya was positively gay now gentlemen I am at your disposal entirely at your disposal and if it were not for all these trivial details we should understand one another in a minute I'm at those details again I'm at your disposal gentlemen but I declare that we must have mutual confidence you in me and I in you or there'll be no end to it I speak in your interests to business gentlemen to business and don't rummage in my soul don't tease me with trifles but only ask me about facts and what matters and I will satisfy you at once and damn the details so spoke Mithya the interrogation began again end of chapter 3 of book 9 book 9 chapter 4 of the brother's karma itself this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Nikki Sullivan the brother's karma itself by Fyodor Dostoyevsky translated by Constance Garnett book 9 chapter 4 the second ordeal you don't know how you encourage us Dmitry Fyodorovich for his readiness to answer said Nikolai Parfenovich with an animated air an obvious satisfaction beaming in his very prominent short-sighted light grey eyes from which he had removed his spectacles a moment before and you have made a very just remark about the mutual confidence without which it is sometimes positively impossible to get on in cases of such importance if the suspected party really hopes and desires to defend himself and is in the position to do so we on our side will do everything in our power and you can see for yourself how we are conducting the case you approve Ipollit Kurlovich he turned to the prosecutor oh undoubtedly replied the prosecutor his tone was somewhat cold compared with Nikolai Parfenovich's impulsiveness I will note once for all that Nikolai Parfenovich who had but lately arrived among us had from the first felt marked respect for Ipollit Kurlovich our prosecutor and had become almost his bosom friend he was almost the only person who put implicit faith in Ipollit Kurlovich's extraordinary talents as a psychologist and orator and in the justice of his grievance he had heard of him in Petersburg on the other hand young Nikolai Parfenovich was the only person in the whole world whom our unappreciated prosecutor genuinely liked on their way to Makro they had time to come to an understanding about the person case and now as they sat at the table the sharp-witted junior caught and interpreted every indication of his senior colleague's face half a word, a glance, or a wink gentlemen only let me tell my own story and don't interrupt me with trivial questions and I'll tell you everything in a moment Sid Mitcha excitedly excellent thank you but before we proceed to listen to your communication will you allow me to inquire as to another little fact of great interest to us I mean the ten rubles you borrowed yesterday at about five o'clock on the security of your pistols from your friend Piotr Ilyich Perhotin I pledged them gentlemen I pledged them for ten rubles what more? that's all about it as soon as I got back to town I pledged them you got back to town then you had been out of town yes, I went on a journey of four versets into the country didn't you know the prosecutor and Nikolai Parfanovich exchanged glances well how would it be if you began your story with a systematic description of all you did yesterday from the morning onwards allow us for instance to inquire why you were absent from the town when you left and when you came back all those facts you should have asked me like that from the beginning cried Mitya laughing aloud and if you like we won't begin from yesterday but from the morning of the day before then you'll understand how, why and where I went I went the day before yesterday gentlemen to a merchant of the town called Samsonov to borrow them on safe security and it was a pressing matter gentlemen it was a sudden necessity allow me to interrupt you the prosecutor put in politely why were you in such pressing need for just that sum, three thousand oh gentlemen you don't need to go into details how, when and why and why just so much money and not so much money and all that rigamarole why, it'll run to three volumes when an epilogue Mitya said all this with the good-natured but impatient familiarity of a man who is anxious to tell the whole truth and is full of the best intentions gentlemen he corrected himself hurriedly don't be vexed with me for my restiveness I beg you again believe me once more I feel the greatest respect for you and understand the true position of affairs don't think I'm drunk I'm quite sober now and besides being drunk would be of no hindrance it's with me you know, like the saying when he is sober he is a fool when he is drunk he is a wise man but I see gentlemen it's not the proper thing to make jokes to you so we've had our explanation I mean and I have my own dignity to keep up too I quite understand the difference for the moment I am after all in the position of a criminal and so far from being on equal terms with you and it's your business to watch me I can't expect you to pat me on the head for what I did to Grigori for one can't break old man's heads with impunity I suppose you'll put me away for him for six months or a year perhaps in a house of correction I don't know what the punishment is but it will be without loss of my rank won't it so you see gentlemen I understand the connection between us but you must see that you could puzzle God himself with such questions how did you step where did you step when did you step and on what did you step I shall get mixed up if you go on like this and you will put it all down against me and what will that lead to to nothing and even if it's nonsense I'm talking now let me finish and you gentlemen being men of honor and refinement will forgive me I'll finish by asking you gentlemen to drop that conventional method of questioning I mean beginning from some miserable trifle how I got up what I had for breakfast how I spat and where I spat and so distracting the attention of the criminal suddenly stunned him with an overwhelming question whom did you murder whom did you rob ha that's the regulation method that's where all the cunning comes in you can put peasants off their guard like that but not me I know the tricks I've been in the service too you're not angry gentlemen you'll forgive my impertinence he cried looking at them with a good nature that was almost surprising it's only Mitya Karmatsov you know so you can overlook it it would be inexcusable in a sensible man but you can forgive it in Mitya Nikolai Parfunovich listened and laughed too though the prosecutor did not laugh he kept his eyes fixed keenly on Mitya as though anxious not to miss the least syllable the slightest movement the smallest twitch of any feature of his face that's how we've treated you from the beginning said Nikolai Parfunovich still laughing we haven't tried to put you out by asking how you got up in the morning and what you had for breakfast we began indeed with questions of the greatest importance I understand I saw it and appreciated it and I appreciate still more your present kindness to me an unprecedented kindness worthy of your noble hearts we three here are gentlemen and let everything be on the footing of mutual confidence between educated well-bred people who have the common bond of noble birth and honor in any case allow me to look upon you as my best friends at this moment of my life at this moment when my honor is assailed that's no offense to you gentlemen is it on the contrary you've expressed all that so well Dmitry Fyodorovich Nikolai Parfunovich answered with dignified approbation and enough of those trivial questions gentlemen all those tricky questions cried Mitya enthusiastically or there's simply no knowing where we shall get to is there I will follow your sensible advice entirely the prosecutor interposed addressing Mitya I don't withdraw my question however it is now a vital importance to us to know exactly why you needed that some I mean precisely three thousand why I needed it oh for one thing and another well it was to pay a debt a debt to whom that I absolutely refuse to answer gentlemen not because I couldn't or because I shouldn't dare or because it would be damaging for it's all a paltry matter and absolutely trifling but I won't because it's a matter of principle that's my private life and I won't allow any intrusion into my private life that's my principle your question has no bearing on the case and whatever has nothing to do with the case is my private affair I wanted to pay a debt I wanted to pay a debt but to whom I won't say allow me to make a note of that said the prosecutor by all means write down that I won't say that I won't write that I should think it dishonorable to say ah you can write it even nothing else to do with your time allow me to caution you sir and to remind you once more if you are unaware of it the prosecutor began with a peculiar and stern impressiveness that you have a perfect right not to answer the questions put to you now and we on our side have no right to extort any answer from you if you decline to give it for one reason or another that is entirely a matter of your personal decision but it is our duty on the other hand in such cases as the present to explain and set before you the degree of injury you will be doing to yourself by refusing to give this or that piece of evidence after which I will beg you to continue gentlemen I am not angry I Mitchell muttered in a rather disconcerted tone well gentlemen you see that Samson off to whom I went then we will of course not reproduce his account of what is known to the reader already Mitchell was impatiently anxious not to emit the slightest detail at the same time he was in a hurry to get it over but as he gave his evidence it was written down and therefore they had continually to pull him up Mitchell disliked this but submitted got angry though still good humbly he did it is true exclaimed from time to time gentlemen that is enough to make an angel out of patience or gentlemen it is no good you're irritating me but even though he exclaimed he still preserved for a time his genio expansive mood so he told them how Samson off had made a full of him two days before he had completely realized by now that he had been fooled the sale of his watch for six rubles to obtain money for the journey was something new to the lawyers they were at once really interested and even to Mitch's intense indignation thought it necessary to write the fact down as a secondary confirmation of the circumstance that he had hardly a farthing in his pocket at the time little by little Mitchell began to grow surly then after describing his journey to see Legave the night spent in the stifling hut and so on he came to his return to the town here he began without being particularly urged to give a minute account of the agonies of jealousy he endured on Grushinka's account he was heard with silent attention they inquired particularly into the circumstance of his having a place of ambush in Maria Kondratayevna's house at the back of Feodor Pelovnovich's garden to keep watch on Grushinka and of Shmerchikov's bringing him information they laid particular stress on this and noted it down of his jealousy he spoke warmly and at length and though inwardly ashamed at exposing his most intimate feelings to public ignominy so to speak he evidently overcame his shame in order to tell the truth the frigid severity with which the investigating lawyer and still more the prosecutor stared intently at him as he told his story disconcerted him at last considerably that boy, Nikolai Parvanovich to whom I was talking nonsense about women only a few days ago and that sickly prosecutor are not worth my telling this to he reflected mournfully it's ignominious be patient humble, hold thy peace he wound up his reflections with that line but he pulled himself together to go on again when he came to telling of his visit to Madame Holikov he regained his spirits and even wished to tell a little anecdote of that lady which had nothing to do with the case but the investigating lawyer stopped him and civilly suggested that he should pass on to the investigators at last when he described his despair and told them how when he left Madame Holikov he thought that he'd get three thousand if he had to murder someone to do it they stopped him again and noted down that he had admit to murder someone Mitchell let them write it without protest at last he reached the point in his story and returned from Samsonov's as soon as he left her there though she had said that she would stay there till midnight if I didn't kill Finya then gentlemen it was only because I hadn't time broke from him suddenly at that point in his story that too was carefully written down Mitchell waited gloomily and was beginning to tell how he ran into his father's garden when the investigating lawyer told him and opening the big portfolio that lay on the sofa beside him he brought out the brass pistol do you recognize this object he asked showing it to Mitchell oh yes he laughed gloomily of course I recognize it let me have a look at it damn it never mind you have forgotten to mention it the lawyer hang it all I shouldn't have concealed it from you do you suppose I could have managed without it it simply escaped my memory be so good as to tell us precisely how you came to arm yourself with it certainly I will be so good gentlemen and Mitchell described how he took the pistol and ran but what object had you in view in arming yourself with such a weapon what object I just picked it up and ran off what for if you had no object Mitchell's wrath flared up he looked intently at the boy and smiled gloomily and malignantly he was feeling more and more ashamed at having told such people the story of his jealousy so sincerely and spontaneously bother the pistol broke from him suddenly but still oh to keep off dogs oh because it was dark in case anything turned up but have you ever on previous occasions taken a weapon with you when you went out since you're afraid of the dark damn it all gentlemen there's positively no talking to you cried Mitchell exasperated beyond endurance and turning to the secretary crimson with anger he said quickly with a note of fury in his voice right down at once that I snatched up the pistol to go and kill my father Fyodor Pavlovich by hitting him on the head with it well now are you satisfied gentlemen are your minds relieved he said glaring defiantly at the lawyers we quite understand that you made that statement just now through exasperation with us and the questions we put to you which you consider trivial though they are in fact essential the prosecutor remarked dryly in reply well upon my word gentlemen I took the pistol what does one pick things up for in such moments I don't know what for I snatched it up and ran that's all for to me gentlemen pass on or I declare I won't tell you anymore he sat with his elbows on the table and his head in his hand he sat sideways to them and gazed at the wall struggling against a feeling of nausea he had in fact an awful inclination to get up and declare that he wouldn't say another word not if you hang me for it you see gentlemen he said at last with difficulty controlling himself you see I listen to you and am haunted by a dream it's a dream I have sometimes you know I often dream it that someone is hunting me someone I'm awfully afraid of that he's hunting me in the dark in the night tracking me and I hide somewhere from him behind a door or a cupboard hide in a degrading way and the worst of it is he always knows where I am but he pretends not to know where I am on purpose to prolong my agony to enjoy my terror that's just what you're doing now it's just like that is that the sort of thing you dream about inquired the prosecutor yes it is don't you want to write it down said mitcha with a distorted smile no no need to write it down but still you do have curious dreams it's not a question of dreams now gentlemen this is realism this is real life I am a wolf and you are the hunters well hunt him down you are wrong to make such comparisons began Nikolai Prafinovich with extraordinary softness no I am not wrong at all mitcha flared up again although his outburst of wrath had obviously relieved his heart he grew more good-humored at every word you may not trust a criminal or a man on trial tortured by your questions but an honorable man with the false of the heart I say that boldly no that you must believe you have no right indeed but be silent heart be patient humble hold thy peace well shall I go on he broke off gloomily if you'll be so kind answered Nikolai Prafinovich end of chapter four of book nine recording by Niki Sullivan Chicago