The Brothers Karamazov

“On the contrary, you’ve expressed it all quite beautifully, Dmitri Fyodorovich,” Nikolai Parfenovich gravely and approvingly agreed.

“And away with little details, gentlemen, with all these pettifogging details,” Mitya delightedly exclaimed, “otherwise the devil knows what will come of it, isn’t that so?”

“I will follow your sensible advice completely,” the prosecutor suddenly mixed in, addressing Mitya. “However, I still do not withdraw my question. It is all too essentially necessary for us to know why precisely you needed such an amount—that is, precisely three thousand.” “Why I needed it? Well, for this and that ... well, to repay a debt.”

“To whom, precisely?”

“That I positively refuse to tell you, gentlemen! You see, it’s not that I cannot tell you, or don’t dare, or am afraid, because it’s all a paltry matter and perfectly trifling, no, but I won’t tell you on principle: it’s my private life, and I will not allow you to invade my private life. That is my principle. Your question is irrelevant to the case, and whatever is irrelevant to the case is my private life! I wanted to repay a debt, a debt of honor, but to whom I won’t say.”

“Allow us to write that down,” said the prosecutor.

“As you wish. Write down this: that I just won’t say. Write, gentlemen, that I would even consider it dishonorable to say. You’ve got lots of time for writing, haven’t you?”

“Allow me, dear sir, to caution you and remind you once more, in case you are still unaware of it,” the prosecutor said with particular and rather stern impressiveness, “that you have every right not to answer the questions that are put to you now, and we, on the contrary, have no right to extort answers from you, if you decline to answer for one reason or another. That is a matter of your personal consideration. On the other hand, in such a situation, it is our business to point out to you and explain the full extent of the harm you will be doing yourself by refusing to give this or that evidence. At which point I ask you to continue.”

“Gentlemen, I’m not angry ... I ... ,” Mitya started mumbling, somewhat taken aback by this reprimand, “you see, gentlemen, this Samsonov to whom I went then ...”